Summary: Buffy and Angel are immortal enemies as a genie and vampire rise over a past that they shared in love and in hatred.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: BA

Chapter 1: The Excavation

The excavation was proceeding ahead of schedule but the antique glass bottle had yet to be found.

Angel was impatient. He couldn’t wait another moment. If this was another fruitless search there’d be hell to pay, especially since he'd wasted his time out here in the dead of night to oversee the project.

Flames flickered on torches at the edges of the site, casting more shadows than light, but it was the best that they could do. He’d been searching for her for a long time now, ever since he’d met Anyanka, a charming vengeance demon. It’d been a long time since he'd last seen Buffy, nearly two-hundred years. The new millennium was eighty years coming, and he’d vowed long ago in a fit of rage to the demon to find her again before then.

Until now, all the labor and effort he’d put into this vow had been a pointless overture on his behalf, but Buffy was out there. He had a bone to pick with that genie, and he planned on picking it apart real soon. Perfect happiness didn't come around often and that spiteful little blonde had ruined it. Now, because of her and her lies, he was a demon: a blood parasite. He was going to make her pay dearly for all that she had done.

With an impatient shake of his head, he strolled into the dig, and en route to the newest site being carefully exhumed, grabbed an archaeologist by the neck. The mortals, funded by some legal company called Wolfram & Hart, were here in hopes of finding some sacred prophecy or another entailing the End of Days. They had eagerly let him on their excavation, pathetically eager to curry favor with the vampire who had been named The Scourge of Europe.

Angel paused before the deep pit that traveled further underground. The Senior Partners had sent him a long winded letter detailing how they had recently discovered a cave on the side of the silk road in the Middle East depicting his little genie. No cost they’d said, in fact offering to pay his way out there from his penthouse lair in Paris. Such a proposal was not to be overlooked, and the black and white photographs had cinched it. Buffy had been here, and he hoped that she still was lying around under the rocks and sand.

He sank his fangs into the jugular of the aging Dr. Giles and drank deeply, enjoying the shocked gasping noises of the old man. With a wrench of his head Angel ripped his fangs out of the wound, and stalked gracefully down the steps ignoring the gurgling of the archaeologist behind him. The prat should have gotten a better day job, because the night shift was surely killing him.

“Mr. Morgan, have you found it yet?” Angel growled, retaining his demonic visage, as he turned to the mortal in charge.

His eyes rounded in shock as a lithe and lovely woman sauntered up to him wearing a hard hat and a come hither smile on her face. The brunette stuck her hand out ignoring the demonic countenance that glowered at her with blood trickling from the corner of his lips.

“Mr. Angel, what a pleasure it is to meet you. Don’t worry I won’t hold it against you for that previous statement. Most masculine chauvinists can’t believe a legal agency as grand as Wolfram and Hart would employ me, much less make me head of this excavation.” She turned and started to walk briskly down into the deeper more lingering shadows of the old building. “Now if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you where we found the pictures.”

“I don’t give a fuck about her portrait, I want to know if it's here? I was told that in your search for a prophecy you’d come across something antiquated that might intrigue me. The only thing I desire is that glass bottle, so tell me where is it?”

Miss Morgan smiled engagingly at him over her shoulder, swinging her bottom in wide arcs in flirtation. “Now Mr. Angel, you do understand the history of demons and genies do you not?”

“Yes,” he growled, before reverting back into his more pleasant human visage. “They’ve been around since the dawn of time. Demons and genies are the immortal enemies of one another, most especially that of a vampire because of their human appearance.”

A Cheshire smile spread on her face and she laughed in a soft sultry tone, resting her hand on his arm before purring. “How little you know Mr. Angel, and you know just the basics, but Wolfram and Hart has been studying this since the dawn of time-- the Senior Partners to be exact-- I think you should be prepared for a more than slightly unwelcome greeting by your genie.”

“I’d expect a frosty greeting from the coldhearted wench in this bottle. I knew Buffy.”

Miss Morgan’s eyes rounded in an incredulous comical look, that mirrored his earlier disbelief when they'd first met. “You knew the mortal woman before her imprisonment? Is there any way that we could---”

“No,” Angel said firmly, giving her a rough push to keep them moving. “Absolutely not. I’m collecting the genie and leaving, and you should pray never to meet me again. When we next meet you won’t be important enough to keep alive.”

“Oh pooh,” Miss Morgan pouted prettily, with a little stomp of her foot. Then instantly she grinned again, spreading her arm out to motion him into a dilapidated room.

The first thing Angel noticed was the smell. Even after so long, he knew who it belonged to, because it had belonged to her. Jasmine… and lily of the valley. This was Buffy’s scent, he thought with a wicked gleam in his eye. It was strong in here, and now that he was confronted with the smell he could tell there were lingering traces around the underground cavern.

“So you believe her bottle is in here?” he asked, already prowling the perimeter of the room, watching the only two excavators in the room as they worked carefully on removing every bit of dust and sand.

“We believe so Mr. Angel.”

“Good,” he declared, returning to where Miss Morgan stood. “Would you like to grab a bite to eat?”

“I would love to, let’s get out of here.”

That wasn’t quite what he had in mind.

*****

Three weeks later, the room had been dismantled and completely torn apart. The staff had been relocated to another section of the dig, leaving Angel alone to try to find her. It shouldn’t be this hard to find a perfume bottle of such delicacy and stature. It had been commissioned by Buffy back in the days when he had known her in his mortal life - and hers. She had commissioned it for a perfume her father had wanted to purchase, its recipe and all existing quantities. Buffy’s father had been a rich old bastard who had doted on his daughter, making her first in his life and money right behind that. The old man died in grief thinking his daughter had been kidnapped and murdered.

Lilah had tried to help but he had threatened her very existence if she darkened the doorway of the room ever again. He worked ruthlessly, unmindful of the furniture, and priceless antiques. Angel wanted that bottle and he was going to get it, no matter what it took.

He had finally progressed to dismantling the walls, the beautiful portraits of Buffy and her Master were demolished in a fit of rage. How many men had she pleasured? He wondered cynically with quirk lighting his features. Angel knew how she had wanted him, had never made any other pretense. When he had first started whoring around she had told him how she’d never want to live that kind of life, opening her legs to any man with a coin.

Now she wasn’t even getting the satisfaction of money. And she couldn’t say no. Whatever her masters wished, she had to obey.

Angel laughed mirthlessly, as he took a sledge hammer to the smiling face of the bearded man in emerald robes holding Buffy in his lap. The kind face had been annoying, almost as much as her own returning smile.

Determination furrowed his brow as he worked on the crumbling mortar. It had to be here in the walls, it was the only place left to look… working now with his bare hands he ripped the wall apart, breaking his nails on the cement as he tore it down. As inch by inch the walls were torn down, Angel began to despair.

It was typical that in the last standing wall lay the treasure that he sought. He looked haggard at the end of the week as he pondered the prospect of tearing the wall down himself or getting a team in there to do it for him. Angel decided it was best if he did it, and immediately set to work on exposing the bottle lying within.

*****

Eighty years she had been cooped up in this little bottle after her last master had fallen to sickness. Maige thought it was someone close to him and had given her his last wish. Someone worthy would be the one to find her hidden in his house.

Obviously none of his blood relations were worthy, she thought with a cynical snort. She was doomed to remain inside this tiny palace for eternity because only one person was worthy of her. Angel, she thought with sadness.

He didn’t love her, and by now he could well have been staked. Not that that beast wearing his face was Angel. No, her Angel was long gone, lost the minute that whore had drained him of his life and given him her poisonous blood instead. All that survived now was the monster wearing his beautiful face.

Vampires were the immortal enemies of genies, but despite everything, the thought of him truly being gone, even just his shell and the echo that remained of his life, left her insides collapsing. So Buffy held onto the fact that he was a vampire, an immortal creature, and that one day should he ever care to look for her, he’d find her.

She had to explain herself, her actions that had led to what had trapped them in equal lives of despair.

Angel hadn’t given her the time to tell the whole story before he had exacted revenge upon her.

Now she was a genie, immortal, trapped within a young womanly body with just enough curves in all the right places. Buffy wished some days for her cursed existence to end, she had had 5 masters in her short life of servitude: two awful, one incompetent, and two endearingly sweet.

Maige, falling into the last category, had given her an out to the life of granting wishes that he hadn’t realized when he made that last wish. It had to be against the rulebook somewhere, but he had made it so that the only people that she’d ever serve again were good of heart. It was little enough comfort, but it was better than the life of uncertainty and brutality she had been subjected to before.

However if she had thought it through, she might not have acted so rashly, Buffy thought to herself. She could be out seeing the world, and inflicting half wishes on the masters who controlled her bottle. Maybe catch news of the world of the supernatural and hear of Angel.

But she hadn’t thought, and was stuck in her imprisonment for an eternity of loneliness. Not that it mattered without Angel, but to be able to hear another voice. To talk to someone, that might have been nice.

The bottle began to shake… startled, Buffy looked up at the lid that capped her inside this perfume palace and waited with baited breath. What was happening? Was the earth shaking? Or was someone picking her bottle up after all these years?

Terrified yet exhilarated, Buffy dashed to the side of her bottle looking out hopefully to see anything, light, movement. But no-- nothing-- just darkness and that steady shaking. Disappointment flooded her system, and she collapsed against the soft pillows of her velvet cage.

There weren’t any prospects to keep her mind entertained and as usual her thoughts drifted back again to the past. Gloomily she stared at the large Claddagh ring trapped within her perfume bottle, and dreamt of better days when she thought she could have anything… anything at all… including love.

*****

It felt like ages had gone by to Buffy.

That steady thrumming kept shaking her bottle. How long had it been since she felt the first tremors? Days? Weeks? Months? It certainly wasn’t an earthquake those things never lasted very long and would have dislodged her from her position behind Maige’s bedroom wall.

Maige had loved her in his own way, almost friendly. He had lusted after her when she first met him. But like the previous passionate attentions it had waned and died when they realized she while a genie, and could grant all their wishes… she was not a woman… becoming immortal had had its price.

Like a vampire she could not give children, whose eggs and sperm were not fertile; but she belonged to another wretched loss of virility. A male genie was rarer than the most precious metals on earth because most masculine genies were of awful temper and usually caused deaths to their masters through the granting of wishes. The female gender could very well do the same, but it was in their nature to be more appealing-- sultry, exotic, and docile for the most part. But genies, of both gender, lost something more precious then fertility.

Women lost their wombs and men had their manhoods forsaken.

Their magic too powerful to be allowed to breed. Phenomenal cosmic universal powers contained in an itty bitty space. The lifestyle was a bit cramped one could say.

Buffy had wanted in her mortal life to give birth to a dozen little brown haired imps with dark chocolate eyes so deep they must contain all the answers to all of life’s mysteries. Her plan had been simple; to marry the man she loved more than anything in the world, to make her husband happy, to live somewhere in the country, to die in her husband’s arms quietly having lived a full live brimmed to overflowing with laughter, joy, and love.

But simple plans always had kinks.

*****

Angel worked tirelessly on the last wall. Leveling it ceiling to floor, thankful always that he didn’t need to breathe for the dust and dirt floating in the air. Lilah was sending meals to him so that he could keep up his strength, and he appreciated it, but even feeding took time out of his efforts to clear out the wall.

He figured that today would be his last day working on the wall as he had only a part left to go, and if he calculated correctly it was probably behind the picture of her perfume bottle. An ingenious clever way to hint quite obviously where the bottle was at, but so obvious searchers would overlook it, like he had. Oh well, the time spent into the project was going to a good cause: revenge.

He remembered very well that day at the altar when his whole world had come crashing down. His pain so intense, his anger so strong, he had conjured a vengeance demon. The demon he had called avenged for men while his ex-fiancée avenged for women. Buffy had called upon Anyanka to ruin his wedding out of the spite of a woman scorned. Buffy hadn’t made peace with the fact that he loved someone other than her, that he’d go against his family’s wishes and marry the woman he had chosen to be his bride.

His engagement to Buffy had been arranged by their families. It had been an engagement that he had gladly broken to marry a woman of his own choosing, a woman he could love.

His grief at the loss of his one chance for pure happiness had conjured Rafeeliky to exact a punishment on the woman who had caused him to lose the life he had so desperately wanted.

The punishment wasn’t severe enough, Angel thought, a cloud of anger helping him ignore the pain in his torn and bloodied hands.

With one last heave, the section of the wall broke open and revealed that his hypothesis was correct. The bottle had indeed been behind the painting. Carefully, he removed the glass bauble, his body held in suspension as he awaited to be struck down for touching the home of a genie as it was known to happen when a demon had the temerity to pick up a genie's prison.

After a moment, when nothing had happened, Angel concluded that it was just a fable, because how often did demons run into genies? Only often enough to make them immortal enemies, but how could any demon resist the opportunity to have such a wealth of power at his disposal?

With satisfaction, Angel placed the bottle in a black canvas bag that he had brought to carry the wretched artifact should it try to cause him pain when he held it. Besides, why tell the lawyers he had found what he was looking for? It was none of their concern. They could just go on ignorant of what had happened.

Methodically, he tore down the rest of the wall and waited until dusk to depart from the excavation site.

*****

Chapter 2: The Unsealing of the Bottle

A fine bottle of Merlot beside him, his feet propped up on an ottoman, Angel brooded in a high-backed leather chair. Sitting in his lap was the expensive bottle that contained his smart mouthed little genie. He sipped wine from a long stemmed glass, pondering his first words to the conniving blonde who had ruined his life.

There was an advantage here. Besides being the one to know who was on the other side of the glass, the lines were already drawn for them: Angel was the master, and Buffy, the servant. He wished and she fulfilled, and his first wish was going to make her truly give a wish and not the normal tricks behind a twist of the words.

His next wish would be that any question that he asked of her would be answered explicitly without embellishment in full truth. Angel had many questions to ask of the woman lounging around inside her purple paned glass bottle. The one foremost in his thoughts was why. Why did she feel it necessary to do what she had done? Why had she ruined his one shot of happiness? Whatever her answer, his heart was hardened to her, and he wanted to make her pay even more dearly than she already had, with blood and humiliation.

Angel swallowed another swig of the warming Merlot preparing himself to unscrew the perfume cap. Would she be forced out of her bottle upon unscrewing the top or would he have to rub the lamp? Angel steeled himself; he placed the glass on the table beside him, and gripped the neck of the perfume bottle.

*****

Buffy huffed, thoroughly upset with the person outside her bottle. Being able to see the cheery swirls of multifaceted panes designed in curling patterns of gold, did little to change her mood. How was it that she got stuck with the one moron in the world who didn’t know how to open a genie bottle?

It wasn’t like it was hard to do. Three steps max! There were no words, like open sesame, or any false lamp rubbing. She was dying to get out of here, and it had been forever since the new master found her in the wall. It could have been weeks! or months!

“Damn it Master! You’re being cruel!” Buffy shouted, stamping her foot. “Oooh,” she fumed. “For that I should give you that litany about only three wishes and what those three wishes can’t be about.”

Buffy blinked, changing the confines of her bottle to a shimmering oasis with a small crystal clear river and cascading falls. It was almost paradise. Now if only she could bring people inside her glass prison to help her get rid of her loneliness. But alas as most things that filled the inside of her bottle, imagination could never actually bring the one man she wanted in here, and illusion would never be good enough.

Angel would always be her first choice, for fantasy…for love…for happiness. But if her years of slavery had taught her anything, it had taught her that she did not have the luxury of choice, nor the possibility for happiness. Worst of all, outside her faceted prison, the passage of years had marched inexorably along, years to decades, decades to centuries; Angel was long since gone.

She closed her eyes, remembering his chiseled features, his engaging half grin, the locks of hair that fell over his temples and those deep dark chocolate brown eyes… but if she brought someone in like that he wouldn’t be Angel or remotely look like him… damn.

Blinking away her servitude outfit, Buffy gingerly stepped toward the water’s edge to test the temperature. It was warm like a bath enticing her to dive into its magical depths. The water engulfed her, and she took a breath kicking out towards the waterfall. The warm water slid along her skin, washing over her thighs to caress the sexless flesh between her thighs. Her lips twisted bitterly, at the reminder of her cursed existence as a genderless slave, an attractive wish granting mannequin. Her breasts floated upward on a cushion of water currents, her nipples tightened exquisitely when she stood up under the falls.

Inhaling deeply, Buffy opened her eyes to peer through the trickling water up to the purple sky. Tonight she’d pretend that it was a real sunset, the first she had seen since Maige’s death. Curiously, Buffy tilted her head up as she slicked her hair back. She wondered what he looked like, because it was most definitely a man up there. A woman would have opened the perfume bottle immediately to see if there was anything left inside to dab on her wrists, and then of course she’d wind up being free.

What the hell was that guy doing up there anyway? If he had a girlfriend or wife or daughter he wound up giving her to wouldn’t he be pissed as all hell? Buffy puckered her lips smugly, poor Master. The wall from the fall tilted slightly, splashing onto the sand.

“Hell smells.”

Buffy blinked, changing the scenery quickly back to the plush harem setting including her fully clothed self. The lid appeared to be opening, a slimmer of light cracked around the edges before being pushed back on with a low pop. She stamped her foot in distress.

“Come on Master pluck the top off and let me free.”

*****

Angel popped the lid back on, not ready to face the woman who had been spiteful enough to seek petty revenge on him. Their fathers had arranged the marriage when they were both still in the womb, each planning to give the married couple the heritage of the wine business that they had started together. Best friends who wanted to see their children wed and give them many grandchildren.

At one time he could have seen himself doing that, working in the fields tending to the vines with his friend pregnant with his child. But once he had met Cordelia, the idea of wife hadn’t meant Buffy. His picture of his future had changed quickly to include pampering his brunette sweetheart with gifts and tokens of affection. He didn’t want children with Cordelia, he wanted to be with her, just the two of them alone as he showed her the world. A world Angel knew he was the only one to give to her, his beloved.

There was no mistaking that clutch in his throat as his heart had leapt up when the beautiful Miss Chase ad come around with her father to conduct business with the winery. Angel had been smitten, and still was with the memory of the voluptuous beauty. He had tried to tell Buffy about his growing attraction to the woman with big brown eyes and pretty pink lips, but she wouldn’t understand it. So he had remained silent in his affections towards Miss Chase until he had won her hand in marriage.

That’s when the trouble began.

Pain swept through him and he swept the bottle away from his lap, bouncing into the corner of his sofa. His lips curled in disgust. Buffy hadn’t been happy for him and his lady love, no Buffy hadn’t accepted the fact that he loved Cordelia, his Cordy. So she sabotaged his wedding from the planning to the ceremony and finally with that bitch from hell, Anyanka.

He’d never forgive her.

He stood, and with a jerk, yanked the bottle upright into his hand and strolled out of the study. Angel wouldn’t meet Buffy again after all these years until he’d had the chance to cool his feelings and control his temper. The wench wasn’t going to have the satisfaction to know she had gotten to him.

*****

Buffy sprawled inelegantly amongst the jostled pillows of her bedroom. The brute had thrown her! dropped her! He had done something to send her bottle round and round in circles. The cowardly yellow belly mud rake had better hope that her bottle still looked pretty after this or she wouldn’t be a nice genie.

Her cage was the only thing she had left of her father. The purples indicating the different hues of the grapes that had burgeoned on the vines, the gold strolling through were the skeletons of the vine from which the grape grew. As a last connection to her mortal past, it meant a lot to her.

It was always meant to go to her, but her father had originally intended it to be a wedding gift on the day she and Angel married. Then Cordelia came on the scene, batting her lashes, shoving her breasts at Angel. Jealousy had existed in that first year, until Angel had rooted out the cause of it. Big sweet handsome dope that he was.

Angel had told her that he didn’t like the noblewomen because they were empty headed ornaments who didn’t have a thought in their brain. He had told her this while exchanging sweet kisses between breaths. They had come very close to making love right there in the middle of the field for the sun and chance passerby to see, but she had breathlessly told him she had wanted to wait until their wedding night. Angel has acquiesced reluctantly, whispering as he lightly suckled on her breast beneath the blouse she had worn.

God how she wished she had changed her mind in the minutes he had teased lovingly on her nipple, so that she had at least one memory of a time with him.

Angel had given her a Claddagh ring the very next day murmuring on how it would make them man and wife by tradition until God and family as witness could see them exchange vows. He told her softly how much he had loved her, and it had been the happiest moment of her life. She had attacked him a moment later with lips and hands in a passionate embrace full of squeals and laughter.

A week before their wedding Cordelia and her father, Mr. Chase, showed up to make another request of wine for a rather large social gala. In a week everything had changed… in a week she had lost everything.

*****

Angel glowered at the scent of her perfume drifting lazily in his bedroom. He even resented how her bottle sat innocently on his dresser when it should be Cordelia’s things that sat thereon the varnished wood. Absently he tossed the keys to his apartment on the nightstand and headed off to take a quick shower.

Every movement he made had him walking back and forth in front of the dresser where the bottle innocently sat. First to remove his coat and hang it up in the closet, then to stick his leather pants neatly in the bottom drawer, and finally he passed the bottle once more when he put his watch done on the surface of the dresser.

Angel cursed under his breath. Why was he so hung up over this? Shouldn’t he be impatient to gloat over ruling her every action? To being her master?

In anger he picked the bottle up, only to set it down forcefully once more. Turning away in disgust, he went into the bathroom, and flipped the switch. The low hanging light swung softly as the electricity went through it, and in his haste to get into the bathroom he hit the cursed thing. Agitated, he rubbed the sore spot on his temple as he turned on the hot water taps and waited.

After a few minutes of still waiting, he cursed the land lord and New York for its inadequate water system. The tiny drizzle was freezing. He wasn’t going to take that, not when he had a genie to make it full and hot. Storming out into the other room, he snatched the bottle from its spot on the dresser.

With a jerk, he ripped the top off the bottle and bellowed. “Genie get out of there right now! I have a wish for you.”

*****

Oh finally! Buffy thought delightedly, unmindful of the angry tone of her new Master.

A plume of purple smoke clouded her as she made a grand first entrance. Up through the bottleneck, she squeezed her body tighter and with an audible pop, left the bottle to be slowly revealed to her Master as the smoke drifted away.

“What can I do for you Master?” she asked chirpily, keeping her smile bright with ease as she stretched unobtrusively, delighting in the sense of freedom even if it was false. “Now mind you there are rules to this, so if you’d let me take a few minutes of your time…” her voice died away as she finally cast her full attention upon the man who controlled her and her eyes took in the deep soulful brown eyes glaring angrily at her.

“Well this is a simple thing really. I want a strong hot water flow in my shower. In fact I wish it, and don’t give me any of that bullshit about only three wishes.” Angel growled, looking down on her with contempt.

A tremor shocked her belly at the sound of his voice. When he made a move to hit her, she remembered he was a vampire, and despite her confusion Buffy granted his wish quickly.

“What was that?” he growled, indicating the noise he had heard.

Buffy gestured to the door, avoiding his naked form as she explained, “It’s a sign that your wish was granted Master. That noise will accompany it every time I’ve done what you wished.”

“So my shower is hot?” he sneered.

“Yes Master.”

Angel didn’t say another word as he stormed away from her and into the bathroom.

Buffy stood there quaking in her slippers. She desperately wanted to retreat back into her bottle, wishing she had never been found in the first place. But if a genie could grant her own wishes she wouldn’t need a master.

Unsteadily, she crossed over to the bed and sunk onto the hard mattress. How could this have happened? A genie the slave of a vampire? What happened to the laws that prevented a vampire from laying a finger on a genie’s bottle without experiencing horrendous pain? What happened to the universal traditions that generally kept vampires and genies apart? What happened to just plain luck? What would he make her do? Kill? Bring him prey? Fountains of blood?

Buffy closed her eyes and reached out into the fabric of the thread of space and time and searched desperately for the answer. She felt dizzy as she stretched her senses through the universe searching out that secret… she was still searching when Angel stalked back into the room with a towel slung over his hips.

“What are you doing still out of your bottle? You won’t be allowed out except for when I wish it.” He dictated.

“As you wish Master,” Buffy murmured her eyes closed still commanding the folds of the universe to part for her.

“Well! What are you waiting for?”

And suddenly she knew. Buffy’s eyes snapped open, her eyes wide and horrified. “You’re you!” She cried.

He grunted, grabbing her arm, tugging her to her feet. “Brilliant deduction Sherlock, now back in the bottle.”

“Sherlock?”

“Detective in a fiction book,” Angel explained, shoving her into the dresser as he plucked the bottle from the top of it and smacked it into her hand. “Now in.”

“But its you, not the demon. Oh Angel!”

“Master,” he replied ruthlessly. “I am your Master and you will address me as such. Now I wish you back into your bottle.”

Her eyes filled with tears as she blinked, and cursed her existence back into the perfumed cage. Her Angel, a vampire. A vampire with a soul. He was so desolate, and if only he’d let her help him, then he could be free of the guilt that plagued him. Oh Angel… oh God! That meant… his eyes… it couldn’t be… oh God no…

But it was…

Tears poured down her cheeks, as she watched the lid be placed into the neck of the bottle. Even after all these years her worst fears were confirmed. Cordelia still ruled his soul and heart… her hold on him had to be broken.

“Forgive me Angel for what I must do. You must know true happiness as you had before not a false love’s cheap imitation of it.”

Chapter 3: The Wishes

She woke with a start, jarred by the shaking of her bottle. Right to left, left to right and then up and down, the fierce rattling of her world was an earthquake of irate-master-like proportions.

Buffy yawned, wishing she was still asleep dreaming of better times in an attempt to forget about what must be done. Distantly she heard shouting and decided it was time to pull herself together, before her vampire master managed to give himself a seizure..

Forgoing the smoke effect, she simply popped out of the bottle behind the yelling vampire who was still shaking the glass. She tapped Angel on the shoulder, finding herself grinning because - well in spite of it all, he was still so adorable when he was in a snit.

He slammed the bottle roughly back on to the dresser, his eyes flashing gold.

“Any wishes Master?” Buffy murmured, remembering his command to call him such.

“As a matter of fact yes,” he said tersely, stalking out of the bedroom.

“Well? I am here for your convenience,” she said amiably following him out in her silk negligee. “How may I be of service?”

Angel flopped down onto the leather sofa in the main room. He lay there watching her with steady intense mahogany eyes.

Unfortunately he was dressed, Buffy mused, waiting as patiently as she could. She had never seen him nude before, well completely since he had always had liked to strip off his shirt while working in the hot sun. Almost every time she had come out with a refreshing drink come to think of it; must have been for her benefit.

“I wish for you to never lie to me, to always answer my questions, and give me my full wishes not just the words. I also wish for you to not do anything behind my back, and when others are present you are only to talk to me and then only when I initiate it.”

Buffy felt her heart sink; he was effectively taking away her only option to break the hold that Cordelia still had over him.

If he noticed the droop in her shoulders or the change in her demeanor, Angel wrote it off to her regret that she couldn’t lie about his beloved or hurt him in anyway.

“Are you sure? What if it’s for your own good?” Buffy tried hopelessly.

Gold flickered behind the mahogany of his eyes and he growled terrifyingly at her. “My own good? What do you know about my own good? I was in love and happy and you ruined that!”

Buffy opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off with a wave of his hand. “No! I don’t want to hear it. You’re nothing to me, my genie slut.”

Her eyes widened at his crude words. Did Angel truly think she was such a horrid girl? That she was unfaithful, even if he didn’t remember? He had the power to hurt her like no other man or master ever had. Buffy wanted to deny his words, but knew if she didn’t grant his wish he’d believe her words to be lies. She swallowed convulsively…

A knot of sorrow rose in her throat, lodging there, as a hint of tears made her eyes shine brighter. Angel gave no comfort, his eyes cold and hard. She could hear the quiet fullness resting inside him, waiting patiently for release. His whole body was filled with life and yet he couldn’t be alive. His heart felt like it was locked up, restlessly pounding at the bars that held the real him in… and maybe it was that feeling, that knowing that finally caused Buffy to nod, then blink.

Angel smiled then, a smug smirk of triumph.

*****

Angel felt smug on how well everything was going. He left her to work on making his rundown little apartment look nicer, especially concentrating on the mold and rust. Once he had run her spirit down a little he’d work on interrogating the miserable creature.

However he was hungry, and left without truly enjoying the servile attitude of the girl who had made his existence hell. Stealthily he prowled the night, heading uptown to find a prostitute to lure one away and snack on.

Alert to the sounds and smells of the night, Angel crossed the street, his hands in his coat pockets and his head bent in an attitude of unwary contemplation.

There were two men following him now, dressed in so much cowhide it hurt his nose. Angel ducked into an open doorway to avoid an annoying confrontation with the men, stopping short when a familiar red head came into view.

She must have noticed him too, for she immediately bid the intended prey that she had been chatting coyly with goodbye and made her way over to him. Willow latched herself on his arm, gazing at him under her thin lashes. “Puppy, are you here for pleasure? You won’t need to look around at the cowpox painted face buxom hussies. You and I could just slip away.”

Angel peeled Willow off of him with disgust, “Good that means you included in the ‘don’t look’ category.”

“How dare you!”

“I show you how I dare,” he growled, shoving the sadistic vampire lesbian bitch against the wall by the door before exiting.

That was entertaining he thought snidely, already wishing he had just remained in the apartment and had Buffy serve him something tasty. He was feeling decidedly light headed and very famished.

Angel paused mid-step his eyes widening imperceptibly at his surroundings.

“BUFFY!” He bellowed, swinging around in his apartment front hall.

She appeared hastily from the kitchen, an apron wrapped around her waist and her face and hands dusted with flour. “Yes Master?”

“What is the meaning of this?”

“I was cooking when I heard you think you wished you stayed home, so I brought you back.”

“I didn’t mean that!” Angel growled, his hands clenching tightly as he swung around to leave before he shook her senseless.

“Then be careful what you think, just like that old adage be careful what you say.”

If he had had food that night his face would be turning red in contorted rage. The muscles in his neck stood out against the strain of anger swelling inside him. His chest ached with contained fury and the effort not to scream. Something was pressed in his hand and startled, he glanced down; it was a mug full of blood.

Angel felt the resentment drain away.

“Thank you,” he said automatically, letting her guide him into the study and sit him into the plush chair. He relaxed, sinking into the cushions and let Buffy pamper him.

“You sure do have a temper that I don’t remember.”

“Wasn’t a vampire at the time either.”

A pillow hit his nose, knocking some blood onto his shirt. Angel spluttered, floundering as he disentangled himself from the chair. He shot a glare at the genie laughing at him.

“The Angel I knew wouldn’t blame his ill temper and empty belly on a beast,” she reprimanded leaving the room.

“The Angel you knew didn’t have perfect happiness ripped away from him because of a jealous little girl.” He tossed back, grabbing a handkerchief to blot out the blood, but it seemed to be setting despite the effort he put into it.

“Would you like me to fix that?” Buffy asked, entering back into the room and without waiting for his reply she took the handkerchief from him and fixed both the shirt and it with a blink of an eye before handing it back.

“You’re a menace.”

“You’re just grumpy. Cities doesn’t do you well at all, and as sacrilegious as it sounds, you’d do better under a sky clean and clear and full of sun.”

“Unfortunately that’s not going to happen.”

“For a man who owns a genie, you sure are a pessimist.” Buffy murmured, her voice full of secrets, before sauntering away leaving him with a lot to think about.

*****

She hummed, enjoying the personal freedom to bake again. The kitchen was starting to smell homey, it was especially smelling of the pie that she had in the oven. Apple, like hers and Angel’s mother taught her in the evenings before the men trooped in with eleven-year-old Angel. The weekly ritual kept the families close and allowed the two of them to grow up as the best of friends. It wasn’t until she was ten that she had been allowed to actually tend to the vines. Two years younger than Angel, she had tagged along pestering him while he was supposed to be working for their fathers - not that he seemed to mind. As the years went on they would plant and harvest and keep vigils against frost together making the day full of simple joy.

At fourteen Angel stole his first kiss from her while she was mixing the batter for the dessert that night for the potluck dinner. Their mothers had been taking cool water to their fathers still out in the fields. It had been simple and sweet… soul shattering and wholly innocent. Their lips had touched lightly as he hesitated in the first tasting. The kiss had sparked a passion in Angel and an equal one in herself that led to them scampering all around the property taking kisses where they may.

For a summer they had playfully explored each other’s lips that eventually became French kissing. When they had discovered the use of tongues and how it could make them tremble in a rush of pleasure, they sought to kiss all the time; over baskets of grapes, over a row of vines, in the kitchen with flour on her nose, under the stars, on the porches of each other’s homes--- everywhere.

A slight tug on her ponytail had Buffy coming back to the kitchen that she was currently baking a pie in. The bowl was lax in her hands as she held the spoon absentmindedly licking away the extra batter. She found Angel standing there watching her with a guarded but curious expression on his face. Buffy bit her lip, smiling sheepishly at him, sticking the spoon back in the bowl.

“Is there anything I can do for you Master?” she asked nervously, as she busied herself in the seemingly tedious job of cleaning up. Buffy was embarrassed that he had caught her thinking of their first shared kisses, and scrubbed her lips self-consciously to remove the remembered tingle that played across them.

“I was just coming to investigate the smell. What is it?” Angel asked, crossing his arms over his chest, his nose wrinkling in disgust.

“Apple pie, like our mothers use to make.” Buffy answered, reluctantly tearing her gaze from the clean bowl.

“Why are you cooking it? You should just blink and make it appear and then it wouldn’t stink up the whole apartment.” He accused, watching her shrewdly.

Carefully wiping her hands on her apron, Buffy paid attention to the minute details of her appearance. Flour decorated her chest and cheeks, batter smeared on her apron and in her hair a bit when she absently placed a wayward strand of hair behind her ear.

“Well?” Angel pressed, then grabbed her fluttering hands and forced them to still their anxious movements.

“Inside the bottle I am forced to use magic to tend to my needs, whatever they may be, but outside of it, I get more freedom. I love to cook, and the food will taste scrumptious because I’m not relying on what I remembered. The inside of my bottle will only go as far as I can imagine it to go. Nobody can describe a taste. Its sweet or sour, but that isn’t enough to let you know what it is if you hadn’t had it before---”

“Stop! Stop! I get it.” Angel hastened to interrupt a spiel of hers. After a moment or two where they both stood there, smelling the cinnamon apples cook, he spoke up again gesturing towards the wrecked kitchen. “I remembered you liking to cook, always trying to stick me with your horrid little pastries because you made me your official guinea pig.”

“I remember you sneaking into my kitchen to steal the treats that I made. You were a bottomless pit.”

“You have a skewed sense of reality,” Angel muttered amused, before wiping the flour off of her nose with his fingers.

The timer dinged loudly signaling the pie was cooked to a golden brown perfection. Buffy broke away to go tend to her sinfully delicious dessert. It seemed the spell did more than make him forget all about them and their love… it made him forget about who he truly was, the heart and soul of himself, of his being.

Besides if Cordelia knew anything at all about Angel, Buffy thought snarkily, she would have known the way to his heart was paved with food, because he was a bottomless pit with a high metabolism.

*****

The smell of it should be revolting. It was mortal food, solid tasteless, a lump to sit in his gut. But despite what his nature was repulsed by, the scents were reminiscent of the life he'd once led. The life where he'd been happy. His mother had baked a mean quince pie that he had once eaten in its entirety sneaking the whole thing from the stove in the kitchen only to vomit it up later. His mother had teasingly told him that he didn’t have one sweet tooth, but more like three. Angel’s favorite pie was apple though, and that’s what was drifting to his nose. He wanted the pie, so much so that his mouth was watering in spite of the fact that he knew all food tasted as dust in his mouth. What he’d give to taste the mouthwatering aroma wafting from the over; it was almost a physical ache in his gut.

Some of the batter was still glopped on the swell of her left breast. She hadn’t noticed it in her quick little tidying of herself when he first came into the room. Eagerly he set about removing two plates and glasses for them, and somehow knew if he opened the little refrigerator box he’d find a small glass milk bottle.

Buffy placed the pie on a cooling rack in the center of a small cozy island table she’d conjured up with a quick blink of an eye. He noticed that she didn’t bother changing her clothes which was as simple as blinking, but sat down in the kitchen chair just as she was with flakes of white and red all over her as signs of her labor.

She cut a big slice for him, and a similar but slightly smaller one for herself. Angel quickly stuck his fork into the crispy crust and gooey filling of the pie to chop of a bite for himself, but halfway to his mouth he paused and sat the fork back on the plate in an angry resentful clatter.

“What is it An- Master?” Buffy asked, stilling her own bite of food.

“It’s going to taste like cardboard,” Angel growled angry at himself for forgetting for one moment that he was a vampire. It wasn’t healthy to be so self-deluding.

“Why don’t you wish it not to be so?” the chef of this catastrophe offered in a thick sugarcoated voice.

The fact that she had a point irked him. Grudgingly he tilted his head in accent, and stuck the fork in his mouth. It still tasted like cardboard! Shows how good her proclaimed cooking skills really were. His thoughts must have shown on his face, Angel thought, for the next moment she smiled cockily at him before dipping into her own slice.

He swallowed thickly, washing the dry bite down with the cool drink. When that similarly had no taste as well, he shot a reproachful look at Buffy. “Why can’t I taste it?”

“Because you didn’t wish it maybe?” she murmured with a smile.

“I wish it so,” Angel tossed at her, shoving another bite into his mouth in challenge.

She blinked and oh God… he thought hazily, the pleasure of this sinfully good slice of pie. Unwittingly he put on a show for Buffy, with low half moans as he snuck another bite into his mouth. His eyes glowed with the fiendish desire to get every crumb and sticky morsel into his mouth. He alternately shoveled food into his mouth and savored a single bite for moments at a time his eyes closed in ecstasy, before cutting himself another large slice.

“This is good,” Angel mumbled around a large bite of cinnamon apples.

“I can tell,” Buffy replied, topping his glass of milk off for the third time. She patted his belly as she stood collecting her plate to take to the sink.

“Oh God,” he moaned, rubbing his stomach, setting the fork down. “A man could live off of that alone for years and never grow tired of it.”

Glowing in pleasure, Buffy took his plate from him. “I’m glad you agree.”

“I know you said you could cook, but tasting anything near as good as this was almost wishful thinking.”

“Wishful thinking or not, the pie was mine and you won’t find a better cook elsewhere in the universe who know your tastes like I do.”

Angel sauntered out of the room with her following slightly behind. An awkward pause lapsed between them before she smoked herself back into the bottle. Stripping, he slid beneath the sheets and wished with all his might that her cooking was the only thing he’d need for nourishment again.

No more meals of stolen blood, no more guilt trips on sinking fangs into the necks of new victims, just a belly full of real honest to goodness home cooked food. That had to be heaven, he thought as he fell asleep with the thought of hotly cooked meals and pies running through his head.

*****

Chapter 4: The Dreams of Unguarded Sleep

The best thing about being a genie was absolute and perfect recall of anything and everything one had ever heard or seen. The worst thing about being a genie was absolute and perfect recall or anything and everything one had ever heard or seen…of experienced. It was a blessing wrapped in uncaring hands and should one’s attention wander, become unfocused or exhausted, dreams could spin fine spider webs, drawing the unwary back to things preferred to be forgotten.

As the dream world of past years spun idly in Buffy’s mind she was transported back to a time of her greatest joy and her greatest misery. Happily ever had been within her grasp only to be snatched away in a gust of wind…

*****

She looked up just in time to catch him gazing at her longingly, his eyes pleading with her to make mischief with him and dash away from their work. Heat curled low in her belly and she bit her lip to keep her attention on the grapes. They had to be pruned so to grow the sweetest grapes. It was important to trim the vines, but the mantra didn’t keep her from glancing up at his tanned half smirking face.

He knew he had won already. She spoiled him shamelessly with her attention and if she didn’t calm the flurries in her stomach the grapes would again be neglected, left to fend for themselves against the weather and nature herself. Buffy shook her head, trying to tell herself more than Angel that she couldn’t put the work aside and scamper off to the end of the grove to kiss and touch and love him.

“No Angel,” she hissed softly, snipping another carefully calculated vine.

“Yes Buffy,” he murmured adorably, so confident he would have her kiss and willingly at that.

“We have work,” Buffy reminded him, turning away to present her backside and keep her eyes off of temptation.

Angel slipped through his row to her and wrapped his arms tightly around her waist, whispering tantalizing seductions in her ear. “Come now, our families won’t mind. They are happy we are in love and wouldn’t deny us a few moment alone.”

“The vines Angel,” she muttered helplessly, settling back against him and the hard length pressing insistently into her bottom.

“Are going to be fine,” he told her soothingly, cupping her hands in his as he lead her astray. All resistance that she thought about putting up left when he smiled fully, his eyes darkening to almost black with an arousal he stopped holding in check. “I have something more important to be tending to,” Angel reminded her huskily, bending his head to sip from her parted lips.

His lips were warm from the sun, his hot tongue gingerly probing into her parted mouth. Angel clutched her to him, pressing her trembling belly against his rampant erection. A soft mewl left her throat; he swallowed it greedily, urging her body closer as he widened his stance. His tongue dueled with hers, hot and hard, his hands pressed her closer until she couldn’t breath anymore.

Buffy tore her mouth away and panted softly against his throat, her arms curled around his neck. Her breasts heaved against his strong chest as she tried to regain her breath. He was very good at convincing her to go with him in spite of her duties to her family--- their families. Now the vines would have to wait, her thoughts muddled.

“Angel,” Buffy crooned, kissing the hollow of his throat.

Angel squeezed her tighter to him, before bending his knees and scooping her up into his arms. She pealed with laughter, the sound gaily echoing in the rows upon rows of grapes. “You make it harder for me to walk,” he accused huskily, walking with her slowly down the row, away from the direction of both of their houses.

“I love you,” she sighed dreamily, rested her head in the curve of his shoulder, her fingers trailing over his biceps, to press warmly into his back.

They always seemed to fit, snuggly, securely, as if they were made for each other. They both loved the comfort and shelter the other brought to them. Buffy didn’t know what she’d do without him, her heart ached-- so full of love and rapture—full with him.

“I once wanted you,” Angel told her, settling down beneath the cypress tree at the end of their property on the far side of the fields. He sat her on his lap, pressing her down on him to give him the friction that he craved. “But that was yesterday,” he continued, running his palms up the sides of her breasts, his fingers tugging insistently on her nipples until they hardened painfully.

He kissed her neck once briefly and rested his chin on her shoulder, head tilted down to gaze intently on the subtle rise and fall of the tops of her pale creamy flesh. She tried to speak once but he shushed her by tilting her head back on his shoulder and capturing her mouth. When they broke free, he whispered, “I need you now, always. I love you Buffy Anne Summers. Will you marry me?”

“We’re already betrothed.” Buffy commented, her brow furrowing in puzzlement even as her heart leapt.

“I don’t want to marry you because of duty Buffy, I wanted to propose to you myself because I love you and couldn’t live a day without you brightening it up. You are my world Buffy, marry me.”

Tears choked her, and she nodded mutely, throwing herself into his embrace, peppering his face with kisses. “Yes! Yes! Oh Angel, I-” he drank down her words, his hands grabbed hers and they clung to each other under the shade of the tree. “Oh yes Angel…” she whispered huskily as he bent her over a gnarled root.

Time flew by as their breaths mingled in desperate kisses. Angel nibbled on her lower lip, growling softly into her answering purr. Her mind stayed blissfully blank of everything but the need to touch him, the need to be close to him. She ached for him as his hand rubbed circles on her tummy before stiffening slightly as his fingers brushed the apex of her thighs. As if drugged, Buffy opened her eyes, gasping softly for air as she caught his tempting hand and brought it to her lips.

“Buffy,” Angel groaned, resting his forehead against hers, trying to still his raging arousal, but it wasn’t possible with her as an aphrodisiac, lying beneath him all soft and warm.

“I want to, oh Angel how I want to share this act of love with you.” Buffy said tenderly, running fingers into the hair at his nape, scratching lightly at his skin there. “But I want to wait, to give myself to you on our wedding night.”

“I want you,” he moaned softly, unable to still his hips from thrusting forward at the thought of her being spread out before him, her golden hair spilling forth onto their pillow. “We’ll wait for the first time…”

“Even with part of us begging to continue what we started,” she sighed, kissing him tenderly in a soft tangle of tongues.

Angel pulled back, fixing her blouse and skirts, as he nodded in agreement. “And I’d wait forever for you.”

“And I you Angel…” she cried softly, her arms encircling his waist as he pulled out a Claddagh from his pocket. Her hazel eyes held his dark searching gaze as he slipped the ring over her knuckle, sliding it into place. At first he ran his thumb over the band and skin surrounding the silver ring, but then he lifted her hand to his lips, blessing it with a kiss.

“Today we are married Buffy,” he murmured, grasping her left hand with his, showing her his own ring, pointed inward on the middle finger. “We are married by our love---” he kissed her eyes closed “by our flesh---” he stole a chaste kiss from her swollen moist lips “and by our vows---” he held her hand tighter

“I will love you always Buffy, you are my soul mate.”

He sipped at her tears as her trembling voice broke over him. “You are my love, my husband, my mate and I will love you for longer than forever.” Angel kissed her again, soft and slow, drinking down her tears of joy, as emotions tore at both of their hearts. The sat together under the shade of the cypress tree until the sun went down, cuddling and kissing and whispering endearments to each other.

*****

Angel dreamt of food and apple pies and even the tastes of other pies he had once had a sweet tooth for. But then the nightmares set in blood and gore and screaming victims came, as if his demon was trying to tell him that he could eat like a human but was still a monster. He couldn’t get himself to wake and was fitfully forced back into dreamland, a small helpless whimper escaping from him.

*****

She was beautiful, sitting with him under the cypress tree. Her hair fell loosely down around her shoulders as she plucked another grape from the picnic basic she brought to share with him. Together they had fed each other bits of fruit and cheese and bread . He had brought the wine, a vintage from his first year making it beside his father and his godfather who happened to be his dad’s best friend.

It had been romantic, lying there beside her at the moon rose over the sky with shadows from the branches drifting across her features. Angel knew he had found a woman he could love forever in Cordelia. She was bright and strong, smart and beautiful, and best of all she loved him back. Told him so every chance she could.

He took her full flushed lips and kissed her with a gentle passion, before pulling reluctantly away. Angel felt eyes on them, and worried about an intruder. Suspiciously he glanced over his shoulder, placing all his weight on the palm lying flat in the grass. Not surprisingly he saw a flash of gold and knew it was that damn nuisance Buffy. She couldn’t take a hint, spent all her days fantasizing about them having some great love and was delusional enough to think he thought the same way about her.

“Angel?” Cordelia asked quietly, tucking her arm through his, leaning her head against his shoulder.

“Thought I heard someone,” he returned, absently brushing his lips over her knuckles. “Must be the wind telling me what sweet nothings to murmur to you so you won’t hit me if I steal another kiss.”

Cordelia laughed prettily, “I won’t yell thief if you try to steal one.”

“Good,” he growled, rolling over her to suckled her tongue into his mouth. Something was wrong, he thought distantly pulling away from her suddenly brittle lips.

Her skin was stiff and cooling, her eyes opened and glazed. She was dead… gone… his whole world crashing beneath his feet one moment from tasting her love on his tongue. One kiss from being man and wife, with her blood soaking him as he yelled full of sorrow and rage at the top of his lungs.

It was Buffy…

Buffy did this in her spiteful jealousy…

His beloved, his wife, his mate… gone from him because of a spiteful bitch who couldn’t stand the fact that he hadn’t wanted her. His body stilled in hatred, a wave of rage so intense he felt it physically ripping him apart. Angel felt like dying, there was nothing left to live for. He sobbed, clutching Cordelia’s cooling body to him, his face pressed against her still bosom as his tears fell into her cleavage. Overwhelming despair gripped his heart by going through his lungs. He couldn’t breath, couldn’t think, couldn’t…

The world was spinning out of control, leaving him dizzy in the street as he pitched forward, falling into cold arms that held him securely. His mind couldn’t function and he couldn’t, couldn’t…

Lifting his face from her breasts, he swallowed thickly tasting a wash of bitter blood sliding down his throat. The angel dressed in white was giving him the death he couldn’t take for himself.

“No matter what I’ll love you forever…” he vowed thickly. “No matter what she will pay for what she’s done.”

Life seemed to fall away as he dimly moved his mouth over the voluptuous breasts… Cordelia’s breasts, he thought distantly, hopefully before shutting his eyes tightly. But then he saw her face, his scream muffled against her chest as a carriage passed behind them down another street.

*****

“Angel! Angel! Wake up!” Buffy shouted shaking him awake at three in the afternoon.

“Cordy?” he asked blearily, rising up on his elbows blinking the grit from his eyes.

“No Master, its only me. Are you all right? You were growling like a rabid dog.” She looked down at him worriedly, her hair in disarray, a thin nightgown wrapped around her petite body.

“GET OUT!”

“What?” she asked timidly, reaching for a lock of his hair.

He slapped her hand away, his face contorted into a mask of hatred. “GET OUT OF HERE!” He roared, throwing the sheets off, prepared to forcibly remove her from his room.

He couldn’t stand her, didn’t want her filth near him.

“WHY ARE YOU STILL STANDING THERE YOU WHORE! GET OUT!

“Angel?” she cried tearfully, trying to sooth him.

His demon came forth, erupting along his face in a ripple of ridges and teeth. His eyes flashed yellow as he stood, with every intention of killing her as she had killed him. “Never address me as Angel, you genie bitch.”

“Mm-ma-Master?” Buffy trembled, stumbling back, crashing into the dresser. When Angel still kept walking towards her she screamed huskily and ran from the room, knocking her bottle to the floor in her haste to get away.

Oh God… she thought wildly, she had never seen such awful eyes on her beloved. She ran barefooted into the kitchen searching hurriedly for a knife, a weapon, her mind gripped in terror. She wasn’t thinking clearly as a soft ruthless chuckle rode along her skin, raising the fine hairs on the back of her neck.

“Come on Buff, surely you’d know it’d come to this. Besides I could easily wish the pain upon you, but that’s no fun. I want to tear you apart, wish you back together and go at it again. Can a genie die?”

“Please no, please! Master listen! You were dreaming! I didn’t do what ever it is you were---”

“Oh but you did,” Angel growled, coming closer menacingly.

“Did what? What did I do!” Buffy cried out frightened.

“Killed my love, killed me. Look at me Buffy! Look at what you’ve turned me into! Take a good look because you’re about to reap the benefits of your hated fit of jealousy.”

“No! No! I didn’t! Angel--- Master! Please let me explain.”

“I don’t want your lies!”

“I can’t lie to you remember? You wished it! Ask me anything and I’ll tell you! Don’t let the demon rule you, you’re stronger than that Angel! I know you!”

“No,” he said quietly, his vampiric features shifting back into his human visage. “You never did. Now return to your bottle. I’ll deal with you when I can think calmly.”

Angel walked back into the room, his toe bumping into the bottle lying on the floor. Grimly he capped the top on the perfume bottle and set it back on his dresser. He wasn’t going to get anymore sleep today because of the dreams. He had a lot to think about.

*****

Chapter 5: The Throne of Entropy

Buffy stood there looking down at his still form as he slept. She had never felt so frightened as she had last night. He would have killed her if he hadn’t calmed down. Genies were as immortal as the cage they lived in. Had she jumped into her bottle to escape him and he had shattered it she would have been trapped within a dimension worse than…

She shuddered, wrapping herself tighter within a warm shawl. She didn’t know actually and preferred to keep it that way. How to pacify him? He was sure to still be in a snit and with the demon lurking just beneath his control, waiting for a chance to break loose. She didn’t want to meet the demon, there was a reason why vampires and genies were immortal enemies. A reason she’d love not to witness first hand.

Angel groaned pitifully, twisting the sheets around him as he flopped onto his stomach. Worried, she moved closer to run a soothing hand down his back. He moaned softly, twisting his head away from her and into his pillow. He wasn’t normally a fitful sleeper, so something must be wrong, but Buffy feared waking him after what had happened before.

“Shh…” Buffy crooned, as she sat on the edge of the bed.

He was pale, and not in an undead creature of the night way, but a sickly way. He drew in ragged breaths. She murmured softly in Gaelic to him, comforting him with the gentle lyrical language of their native tongue. Assuring him that he would be fine and that everything was okay. As she rubbed her hands over his back, he seemed to grow more restless. Sweat broken out all over him and he got clammy and shaky.

What could be wrong? Vampires couldn’t get sick. And yet, he was. She massaged his back, every now and again raking her nails down his spine causing him to stir and arch a little into her touch.

Angel lurched suddenly off the bed and pitched face forward to the floor, barely catching himself on his arms.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” he moaned in disbelief, his head falling down, his chest heaving as his stomach roiled.

Buffy grabbed his shoulders, lifting him up slightly. “Come, Master.” She puffed, heaving him upwards a little more. “Let’s get you to the bathroom.”

He nodded mutely as he struggled to his feet, leaning heavily against her. She supported most of his weight in the trip across the room until they reached the door, then Angel shoved her away from him and made a dash inside.

Buffy rushed in after him, raking his hair from his face with her fingers as he vomited blood and pie. “It’s going to be alright, let it up. You’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Don’t fight it, Angel. Shhh,” she murmured, hugging him from behind.

Angel groaned, rested his heated face against the commode seat as Buffy tended to him. He listened to her as she whispered in Gaelic, allowing her to wipe his face with a damp cloth. He didn’t question what she did, was in fact grateful that she was being kind enough not to feign sleep in her bottle. His dark chocolate eyes watched her move easily in the confined room, turning on the shower taps with an added blink to get the water strong and hot. As she walked back and forth, Buffy caressed him lightly, absently: his shoulder with a light squeeze, her fingers against his scalp, her palm against his temple.

“Here,” she stated firmly handing him a toothbrush.

He brushed his teeth as she stepped around him, hampering his ability to rinse and spit when he needed to, causing him to lean far over her to miss getting her with the toothpaste.

Buffy unbuttoned his shirt, running her palms along the new expanse of skin releasing each button revealed. She did it lovingly without thought but to reassure herself that he was indeed all right. Tugging the shirttails out of his waistband, she pulled the garment off and dropped it on to the floor. His hair and back were sweaty, and his face looked a little pinched.

Her hands fluttered as she unsnapped the first button on his jeans. She released the zipper with a hiss, and mentally steeled herself for the emotional onslaught of memories and fantasies. She had never seen him naked, and wasn’t sure if she should now. Glancing up at him from beneath her lashes, she smiled nervously as the air between them sparked with tension.

“I can take it from here,” Angel said, his voice hard.

“Yes Master,” Buffy murmured, grateful for an escape.

*****

A short while later, when Angel reentered his bedroom, he felt much better. Steam drifted from the open bathroom door, as he sauntered back into his empty bedroom. He changed from the low-slung towel around his waist into a pair of black pants and a white tee. In the middle of towel-drying his hair, Buffy timidly knocked on the doorframe offering up her hand with a brush in it.

She came up behind him and took the damp towel from his hands, and sat him on the edge of the bed. She knelt behind him and ran the bristles through his hair.

His gut tightened and he gasped in an unnecessary breath of air at the intimate sensuality of the innocent act of brushing his hair. Buffy paused mid stroke, uncertain whether or not she had again angered him, but he nodded mutely, encouraging her to continue the gentle strokes through his damp hair. Angel sighed, leaning back into the firm caress of the bristles, as he pressed a hand to his stomach to keep it from trembling.

“Why did I throw up?” he asked her softly.

She didn’t look at him, bringing the brush through his hair again to buy a few seconds. “I should have thought to let you know that tasting food isn’t like being able to digest it. You’ve been living off of a liquid diet for so long that your body rejected the first solid food it came across. It’s against the natural order of entropy where all disorder is in fact leading to order. Changing your tastes without changing your metabolism--- oh Angel I’m so sorry,” she whispered contritely.

“Could I wish to be able to taste, eat, and digest food like a normal human being? Or am I stuck to tasting and throwing it all up?”

Her motions stilled as she considered his request and Angel turned to face her, carefully reading her distracted expression. Her gaze was vague and unfocused before slowly growing serious. Angel took that as a rise and fall of its ability to become an actuality. A crestfallen look hooded his eyes, and he hunched forward in an attempt to block this new pain.

“Yes…” Buffy murmured slowly, deliberately. “Yes I think I can, but be very specific just to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

“I wish to be able to eat and have my body react to solid and liquid foods that normal humans can eat and digest and not get sick doing it. I wish to not need to drink blood for nourishment and that real food could do that job.” Angel paused, than gave her a crooked wobbly grin. “Think that’s specific enough?”

“Its perfect,” she whispered, blinking immediately to grant him the wish. “Now I can make you soup and not feel bad about it.”

“I think you’re going to be the end of me. Food doesn’t even sound good right now, my stomach is upset.”

“Then I will make you tea,” Buffy said decisively, putting the brush down on the comforter on the bed.

She made a move to stand up and leave, but his hand snagged hers, preventing her from leaving. She looked down at his grip, and subtly pulled against it, but his fingers tightened insisting, with little tugs, that she needed to meet his eyes and she did. “Yes Master?” Buffy asked biting her lip.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she returned softly, pulling free to go make him tea and chicken noodle soup.

*****

Buffy trembled quietly in the kitchen. Angel had gotten sick only a few sparse times over the years that she had known him and him getting sick today had terrified her. She kept fighting the need to run into the bedroom and touch him just to double check that he was all right and not lying there moaning in pain.

“I am such an idiot!” she cursed under her breath, and threw some parsley into the soup.

If it hadn’t been for her stupid mistake of suggesting he wish for ‘taste’ he wouldn’t be in this mess. There was a reason vampires didn’t taste food. A damn good reason that she had forgotten or let she had let herself be oblivious to: food tasted awful to vampires because their immortal bodies couldn’t process it. She had been more concerned with his approval over her cooking skills than for his health.

“Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.” Buffy muttered, chopping pieces of chicken into bits before shoveling the whole of it into the soup.

Absently she turned the backburner on low, to let the whole thing simmer, and allow the soup to cool off a little bit. Buffy plunked down in one of the kitchen chairs. She drummed her fingers on the abused table top, randomly tapping out a little beat. There was nothing for her to do but wait, and Buffy hated waiting, but she couldn’t march back into the bedroom, not yet.

Sighing, Buffy blinked and conjured up a little orb. She smiled for the first time since Angel had gotten ill and quickly engaged herself into the orb. It would let her see into his life, past and present--- the future would be anyone’s guess.

As she looked into it, the clear glass fogged and a little picture projected from its depths. Angel was alone, working in the last rows of vines, pruning. Sweat stained his brow as the sun beat down on him. He was tired, and kept looking back towards the house where she had lived. When he did, Angel seemed to pause everything that he was doing just to smile and daydream a little bit. Then he’d go back to work.

Buffy smiled wanly, before tucking it away. Angel was in need of some serious coddling and tender loving care. Blinking the soup into a fine little red bowl, she floated it out of the kitchen as she left. She was halfway down the hall when she realized that she had forgotten to get a spoon. Small matter, as she blinked one into her palm.

She paused briefly at the door before knocking quietly and entering without hearing his permission. He was sitting up in bed with a leather bound book, idly skimming the pages with his index finger as he read. Buffy smiled again before scolding gently, “You shouldn’t be sitting up Master. It’s not productive for pampering.”

Angel looked up a little bit surprised. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I knocked.” Buffy murmured, indicating the door she’d just come through. “Must be bad if a vampire can’t hear a knock on a door. The only cure is to cut off his ears.”

“Cut off my ears?” he asked dryly, shutting the book and placed it on the nightstand.

“Oh yes, with ears such as yours its better to hide them. Especially if you can’t hear well with them.” She teased lightly, setting the bowl on the nightstand beside his book with a lowering flick of her lashes.

Buffy perched at the edge of the bed, and fluffed the pillows up behind him, making him lean forward to get them to hold him just so. At one point while she was adjusting a final pillow, she pulled back to study the effect and their lips were inches apart. A low sizzle burned in her stomach at the thought of his lips pressing against hers, their eyes locked, and she swallowed.

“You going to kiss it and make it all better?” he asked gruffly, his voice several octaves lower.

“Do you want me to?” Buffy asked not daring to hope it could be this easy to break the spell on him.

“You’re a very beautiful woman and I could use a kiss to take my mind off of almost heaving my innards from pie.”

“Oh,” she sighed, a disappointed look befalling her features.

“Oh?” Angel asked charmingly, “You don’t want to kiss me? I thought it was like your dream come true.”

“Please let’s just drop this. You’ve got soup to eat.”

“Maybe I’d rather devour your mouth. It is all pretty and heart shaped.”

“What you want, doesn’t come into play right now.” Buffy hissed, jerking the bowl of soup in front of her, and slapped the spoon in it to stir its contents up.

“What I want is always what matters.” Angel countered silkily. “And I want you to kiss me.”

“No you don’t,” Buffy said hastily, shoving the spoon of warm broth into his mouth.

Angel choked on the metal utensil, and grabbed her wrist to keep her from doing it again. He growled at her, his eyes flashing gold. “Don’t do that again.”

“No Master,” Buffy sighed, and made move to place the bowl back on the nightstand with her other hand when he detained her.

“I didn’t say I wanted you to leave, and I’m not apt to feed myself.”

“Then what do you suggest Master?” Buffy asked icily.

“I don’t know what you’re all bent out of shape about! You’d think you wouldn’t love to kiss me.” Angel tossed at her angrily.

“Maybe I don’t.” she bluffed.

“I think you’re lying to yourself,” he informed her quietly as if divulging in some secret no one else knew.

“Eat your soup.” Buffy told him desperately, but he kept leaning closer and closer determined to steal a kiss from her lips for a reason known only to himself.

He darted forward and kissed her cheek as Buffy looked away from Angel in distress. Angel tried to hold her chin still, but she jerked away from him and was off the bed faster than a blink of an eye. He sat there dumbly on the bed looking at where she was supposed to still be sitting confused and angered.

“Did you do something to me?” he asked harshly.

“N-no Master. I didn’t do anything to you.”

“Then why was I overcome by the urge to kiss you senseless to prove you wrong?” he demanded, cursing his vile body as traitor to his heart. “I still love Cordelia and I would never betray her memory, especially not with the one who killed her.”

“Angel! No! I didn’t!”

“Still you lie to yourself,” Angel murmured knowingly. “You probably justified it to yourself a thousand different ways, but you are her murderer. The one person in the world I would never want to kiss senseless… so you’re hiding something from me. A wish you granted to yourself to hold sway over me perhaps?”

“No An---”

“Master---” Angel corrected, once again drawing a line of authority. “Is that why you poisoned me? So that you could make a show of caring for me when all you’re really doing is looking out for your best interests? To make a fool out of me? A charlatan not worthy of my one true love? I would never betray Cordelia for the likes of your sour little mouth. You’re nothing to me but a means to an end Buffy, to serve me until I am tired of you. I will not stand for your scheming ways! You need to be taught a lesson Buffy!”

His eyes flashed golden, a sure sign of the demon within him rising to the surface along with his anger.

“There are things you don’t know of Angel! Master! I didn’t do what you’re accusing me of!” Buffy shouted, backing away from him fearfully. There was a reason why vampires and genies were enemies. Genies could withstand any amount of torture a demon meted out. Oh they would feel every ounce of agony, suffer beneath every measure of cruelty, but a vampire could torment them forever without lasting harm to the genie. Indeed one genie had suffered that very fate before Suleiman, master of all djinni had cast the spell to prevent demon-kind from laying hands upon a genie’s bottle.

Angel sat up, his aura dark and menacing, and unable to contain her rising fear, Buffy tossed the soup bowl at his head with a furious blink.

When the warm broth had momentarily blinded him, she ran, snatching up her bottle on the way out. She ran until she was far enough away to blink herself to safety.

*****

Chapter 6: The Genie’s Absence

Angel roared, and gave chase to his willful genie, following her path to the kitchen, but when he reached the small, enclosed area, he saw no movement; she was gone, leaving the dishes still on the stove, from a destroyed dinner he hadn’t eaten.

He didn’t know how to cook.

“Damn it Buffy! Get back here!” he yelled, pulling a chair out of from under the table and plopping down.

Angel stretched his long legs out in front of him and propped his feet up in the chair across from him. He was confident that she’d come back now that he had called her; she had to obey him, he was her Master. He would control his temper; he couldn’t let Buffy get the better of him, not as she almost had today. She wouldn’t pull the wool over his eyes; he wouldn’t let her.

A disturbing thought gave him pause.

If Buffy had used her magic to make him want to kiss her, why hadn’t she taken what she had won through guile and kept him under her influence? Why hadn’t she taken her kiss and make him forgo the vow that he had promised that night at Darla’s breast? It would have been irony at its best had she done that, but she hadn’t and it was that one thought that kept worming its way to the forefront of his mind. She hadn’t kissed him, in fact she seemed to have feared his kiss.

So what was he to think now?

And hadn’t he wished her unable to tell him anything but the truth any time he asked her a question? Was there a way she could get around his wishes and defy him? Had he left her a loop hole? Or was Buffy naturally devious? And where the fuck was she?

“Buffy! Come here, I‘m hungry!”

Angel stared helplessly at the stove and then at the refrigerator and grimaced. He was an Eighteenth century man, what the hell did he know about cooking? That was woman’s work…He really wasn’t going to enjoy this experience.

*****

“Anyanka I call on thee!” Buffy shouted breathlessly, stumbling to her knees in the dark stone chamber of the vengeance demons’ lair.

“Girl, you’ve got to get on your own two feet.” Anyanka spoke out saucily. “What’s your Master done now?”

“My Master happens to be him, the reason you came to me in the first place.”

Anyanka looked over her shoulder, then grabbed the genie by the shoulder and steered her quickly and quietly out of the main antechamber into the set of rooms that belonged to her. Buffy was forced onto a little cushion around a low circular table. A cup of herbal tea was set in front of her, and Buffy wrapped her hands around the warmth, but didn’t sip the tea.

“Angel is your Master?” Anyanka asked carefully, giving her a look, before drowning her tea in one gulp. “Damnit girl, what’s he done now and why aren’t you handling it with your powers? I’ve shown you, I’ve taught you how every wish can be turned back upon the wisher. You may be a servant but you are not without power. You are djinn, a genie. ”

“And I am forced to serve others’ wishes over my own,” Buffy replied. The pair sat quietly for a moment as that sunk in, and finally she added. “Besides he’s made wishes that prevent me from harming him and lying to him.”

“Oh damn, you are in trouble. If he’s hurt you, I can get revenge.”

Buffy shook her head and shrugged.

Anyanka wilted and then asked hopefully, “Well have you at least had sex with the vampire?”

“Anya!” Buffy shrieked, her eyes widening in shock, but quickly shook her head. “You know I can’t. He’d have to wish - he tried to kiss me.”

“That’s good, why didn’t you let him?”

“Because what if I’m not what he--- what if he’s not my--- Cordelia’s influence on him is still strong.” Buffy said miserably.

“Oh trolls. He’s a miserable prick? Want me to harm him for you?” Anyanka asked eagerly. She sighed, put up when the blond genie shook her head in denial. “Then why are you here?”

“Because I wanted to kiss him,” Buffy whispered, dropping her head into her hands as she let out a choked sob.

“Has it been that long?” Anya asked horrified. “Grab him, press your mouth to him, and stick your tongue out. If he doesn’t get the hint, you’re both pathetic.”

Buffy laughed through her clogged throat. She wiped her eyes, and chortled wildly, her breath hitching before releasing out another peal of giggles.

“It’s not that funny Buffy! If you’ve forgotten how to kiss a guy you need help! And the bet! I can’t lose it, you know what would happen if I do. There’s more at stake here than your lives. There’s mine.” Anya said her voice rising several octaves in panic.

“You shouldn’t have made that bet,” Buffy said biting her lip. She squeezed Anyanka’s hand as she stood, “Thank you for letting me burst in here, but I’d better get back. He’s burning the food he’s attempting to cook.”

“Can I come? I’d like to give him a piece of my mind and also see that vampire cook. I can’t picture it.” Anyanka asked, following Buffy back out into the antechamber.

“No, you’d better not. He’s got an awful temper.”

“One piece of advice,” Anyanka started, detaining the melancholy genie by touching her arm. “Don’t be afraid to break her hold on him.”

Buffy gripped Anya’s hand and said tearfully. “I don’t want him to be unhappy. I’d never want that for him.”

“Then you and I are very different.”

“I know. Thank you.”

“Good luck girl. Give him hell.” Anyanka waved her off.

Buffy slipped back across the ocean to land in New York City. She’d give herself another minute to think before doing anything rash, but then he cursed at her when he burned himself, and she blinked in a hurry to tend to his raw wound.

*****

Sacrilegious that’s what it was, Angel thought distractedly. It was completely unorthodox and wrong. A man should not have to cook for himself, period. That was a woman’s job; it was Buffy’s job. He smacked the oven mitt he had been lucky to own--- hell find--- onto the stove and watched it ignite.

“Damn! Damn! Damn!” he cursed, running to the sink with a glass to collect enough water to put the mitt out. Ignoring the slight singe of smoldering skin, he hastily dumped it on the mitt relieved that it stopped burning and that he didn’t need to breathe in the arid smoke.

How the hell was a vampire supposed to cook when fire could catch and never be put out on their flesh? It was originally thought just to be sunlight, but others had found out the hard way by going ‘oh look, pretty’ and touching it only to find themselves burning to death.

“Buffy! Help me, you ungrateful bitch!”

“Ungrateful?” a voice came from him casually, amused.

Angel whirled around to find her there standing in the doorframe. She looked as amused as she had sounded, and he was suddenly grateful that she was back. “You are the most kind, most wonderful woman on the earth.”

“You’re hungry huh?” Buffy smiled coyly. “Well if you like the meal I cook for you, I want a kiss.”

“Kiss?” Angel asked, wary.

“You offered this evening and its near dawn. So yeah, I want a kiss. I want your lips, and your tongue, and your embrace. I want a deep slow kiss. If, and only if, you like my meal.”

Angel looked at the smoking mitt, the burned grilled cheese, and the spilled milk running on the tile. The whole place was a disaster and he was tired, frustrated, and hungry. He caught her eye and asked, “At this point I could eat sand and it’d taste good. So who decides what truly counts as liking your meal?”

“Easy, I know you. You don’t give compliments lightly, and you make little moaning noises when you get a good bite of food that hit’s the spot.”

“So how I unconsciously react to eating your meal is what decides?” Angel asked incredulously.

Buffy gazed at him, biting her lip between her teeth., and added softly. “As long as it doesn’t betray your love to Cordelia.”

Angel watched her for signs that she was lying but couldn’t see any. He nodded his head in consent and she grinned, a small impish smile. Buffy blinked immediately and cleared the kitchen of his mess, before walking over to the fridge and disappearing behind the door. He eyed her backside, enjoying the round curve of her bottom before snapping himself out of the soft haze of impending lust.

The things she pulled out of his little cooling box were nothing short of amazing, and they certainly hadn’t been there when he had been rooting around in there. Angel gestured at the refrigerator when she closed it with her hip. Buffy walked over to the counter with a slight sway to her stride as she tossed over her shoulder.

“What Angel?”

“I don’t understand how you got that stuff.”

“Magic,” she said with certainty and a mischievous wink.

Buffy set everything on the counter and pulled bowls and mixing cups out of thin air. She put butter into dishes and melted them while adding ingredients into the bowls. Angel watched her with a new sense of wonder as Buffy tossed in items almost at will, into the multiple porcelain bowls on the stove. She washed shrimp under a water faucet but stopped suddenly and spun around.

“Angel?” she asked.

“What Buffy?”

“Will you peel and clean the shrimp while I work on the rest of dinner?” Buffy asked, patting his arm as she walked passed him over to where a blender appeared out of nowhere.

“Umm…” Angel started, staring uncertainly at the pink shellfish.

“Thank you,” she murmured, giving him a nudge in the direction of the sink, before leaving him alone as she set about pealing a loaf of dried white bread apart and sticking it into a bowl. She blinked and a small whirlwind whipped up inside the bowl, ripping the hunks of bread to pieces and then smaller pieces until all that remained were crumbs.

Angel jumped slightly at the unexpected manifestation of her powers and Buffy laughed softly, at his skittishness before, with another blink, the small tornado ceased and she poured the breadcrumbs out. Angel gave her a bit of the shrimp he had cleaned, and watched her set them in the butter and pour the bread crumbs over. Satisfied at his small contribution, Angel peeled the shrimp faster than he had been doing it before. A fluffy pink bunny caught his eye and he pivoted slightly to figure out what it was. The newly conjured up over mitt was slipped over her hand as she opened the oven and stuck the first batch of shrimp in.

“What’s cooking?”

“Shrimp,” Buffy said saucily taking the mitt off, waiting for him to finish cleaning the rest of the shellfish.

“No, what is it we’re making?”

“Shrimp Dijon. You’ll love it.”

“Hmmm…” Angel murmured, finishing the last dozen shrimp and giving them to her.

He leaned against the counter, and watched Buffy; she cooked with the grace and ease of their mothers, and Angel smiled, enjoying watching her put the meal together. When she set the timer and had all the dishes of shrimp in the oven, Angel pulled her to the kitchen table and made her sit on one of the chairs.

“Now don’t move. I’ve got the drinks handled. You did a splendid job impressing the hell out of me. I have no idea what you did or how to copy the effects, but it was fun to watch.”

“Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Of course you could, I just peeled and washed a few shrimp.”

“It was a big help,” Buffy countered, taking the drink he handed her.

Angel clinked his glass of Merlot to hers, and asked softly, “What should we toast to?”

Buffy nibbled on her lip her eyes unfocused as she thought about it. Finally she tipped her glass to one side watching him through the liquid. “Wine.”

“A toast to wine?” he asked again to make sure of her word.

Buffy snapped her attention to him, her eyes clearing. “Toast? Oh a toast! Umm how about to a good meal?”

“To a good meal and a great chef,” Angel concurred, touching his glass to hers and swallowing deeply. “Now what were you saying about wine?”

Buffy blushed, busily setting the napkin in her lap before setting it on the table then shifted it a little to the left before placing it to the right of her glass of wine. “I- uh- I-” The timer dinged, announcing the first batch was ready for their consumption and she sprang forward, grabbing the fluffy pink bunny oven mitt and using it to help her pull out the dish.

Holding it aloft she walked over to the unset table and blinked again, presenting nice china and silverware and pristine cloth napkins. Buffy set the shrimp down in front of them and used another fork to stirred the cooked food around. Then she scooped out a heaping spoonful for Angel and then herself before she sat back down.

“And the wine?” Angel asked charmingly, in his most irritating fashion.

“Its just that even after all this time you still love wine. You pick good vintages and I was sitting here a moment ago searching out Ireland for our parents farm.”

“Is it still being used to grow grapes?” Angel asked curiously, digging his fork into a plump breaded shrimp.

The food was phenomenal, he thought moaning delightedly at the taste of the toasted bread crumbs. It was moist, buttery, sweet: scrumptious. He took another bite, and thought if this was the only dish he ate again, he’d die a happy man. Ironic, since he was dead and a vampire, but this was so much better than blood. Angel licked his lips, sipped quickly at the Merlot, barely tasting the bouquet, as he staved off his hunger with the meal presented before him.

Too soon he ran out of shrimp. Angel stared forlornly at the empty plate in front of him and then at the empty dish before he eyed Buffy’s remaining shrimp. Without noticing he was moving his fork over to stab one of the tender breaded shrimp when Buffy’s hand protected her meal as she laughed.

“I don’t think so mister. If you want more, just say so and I’ll pull out another batch.”

“You’re a wonderful genie,” Angel sighed happily watching her place an entire dish of shrimp in front of him, forgoing the means of civilized mannerisms with the extra plate.

“Don’t I know it, and yes the fields of our fathers are still tended to today by vintners.”

Angel nodded absently, taking care to clean up every crumb from his plate even after his original hunger had died down.

*****

The kitchen was cleaned, the meal over, and he owed her a kiss, Buffy thought tremulously.

They were standing near the doorway to the kitchen; Angel with his hands in his pockets and she, herself worrying her lower lip in an attempt not to jump him before he initiated the kiss.

Oh please oh please let this be it! The moment that she had been waiting for.

“So I guess I owe you a kiss,” he asked, a lopsided grin lifting the corner of his mouth as he rubbed his full belly lightly.

“Hmm-mm, you did your fair share of moaning with every delicious mouth watering bite. Add to the fact that you had three helpings.”

He had the decency to look sheepish. Angel’s eyes caught her teeth biting into the soft plump lower lip and he knew if he kissed her things would change. Would it be for the good? Gently, he cupped her shoulders and angled her to him, his head lowering to her sweetly parted lips.

She sighed his name, and he drank it down like a rare vintage of a forgotten banquet. His cool lips met her warm ones and felt them heat up under the direct sizzle of lust that sprang forth from the tender exploration.

Buffy wrapped her arms around him, rising on tip toe to meet him, opening her mouth wider, enticing his tongue to come and dance with hers. Tantalizing stroke after tantalizing stroke, they lost their selves in the kiss. A sweet passion built, as they parried and dueled back and forth.

Forgotten tendrils of desire danced along her nerves and she wondered if it was real desire managing to stir in her genderless body or only remembered desire, given life by her power.

Angel’s tongue plunged into her mouth, stealing her very breath. He mimicked in the kiss what he was already beginning to fantasize about and that was taking her to his bed and making love to her. His genie. The kiss became sloppy and wet as they lost their perfect coordination and reluctantly they both broke apart.

“Buffy,” Angel murmured, his hands cupping her face and tilting her chin upward, his thumbs brushing the soft rise of each cheek. He felt something in his heart hitch painfully and suddenly he let go.

Stepping back Angel looked up at Buffy with worry, his hand covering his heart his eyes nearly crossing in pain. What had he--- what was doing--- Buffy? “Cordelia?” He questioned fearfully, brokenly, before slumping to the floor.

Chapter 7: The Eighth Day

“Morning beautiful,” Angel murmured, brushing a lock of blonde hair from Buffy’s sleeping face. He nuzzled her cheek, licking her lips with his tongue, before kissing her awake. She whined softly even as she parted her lips further for his assault.

Buffy mewled, keeping her eyes firmly shut when he pulled away. She feigned sleep with a smile curving her lips as she stretched beneath the sheets and even gave a convincing yawn.

“Get up sleepy head,” Angel commanded affectionately.

“No,” Buffy said, shaking her head back and forth, closing her eyes tighter. “Sleepy.”

“Feeling unloved here,” Angel pouted, easing away from her.

Buffy lunged forward, grabbing him by around his neck and held on, peppering kisses to his jaw and cheeks, and finally to his soft parted lips. “I love you Angel, now shut up and lie down next to me.”

He laughed, and gave in to her not so subtle hints to bring him down next to her on the bed. They spooned together, with him at her back, lying quietly for the next few moments. Angel rubbed her arm, wrapping a leg over hers, pulling her more snugly against him. “Are you always this hard to wake up?”

Buffy grinned, pressing back against him. “Are you always this hard in the morning?”

“Hmm,” Angel moaned. “Will you always be next to me in bed from now on?”

She turned to face him and kissed him, giving an affirmative murmur. Angel kissed her back, deep and slow, having a difficult time suppressing the desire to flip them over and start making love to her. “Then yes, you can count on me being this hard every morning.”

“Oh Angel,” Buffy whispered, kissing him lightly on the mouth. “I love you and I can’t wait to be your wife.”

“Now none of that,” Angel admonished, pulling away while he held her elbows, ensuring she got up too. “You already are love, we’re just waiting for the preacher to confirm it.”

“Still, our parents. They might be lenient with us, but you shouldn’t be caught here. What are you doing today?” Buffy yawned, and attempted to fall back on the bed but Angel grabbed her quickly and pulled her to her feet.

“I’m going to go with Da and Lionel to work on our house.”

Buffy looked up and smiled delightedly. “Really you and our fathers?” She picked up her comb and ran it through her hair, only to have Angel take it from her and comb her tangled locks himself.

“I like doing this,” Angel said distracted by the golden tendrils.

“Angel what are you men working on today?” Buffy asked excitedly, spinning around quickly to watch him.

He looked down at her amused. “The kitchen and the master bedroom.”

“I’m so glad you had the roof done last week,” Buffy told him, as she started to braid her hair. “It’s going to rain soon and when it starts, it’s not going to stop. The house will be safe and warm and dry.”

Lionel called up the stairs for Buffy, and Angel started guiltily. “I snuck in through the window only to wake you up and leave, but I got side tracked by a beautiful girl who’s going to be my wife.”

“I’ll see you later today. Bring you something for your sweet tooth.” Buffy said kissing him as they walked back to the open window.

“I knew there was a reason that I love you,” he said smirking, kissing her quickly and ducking out through the curtains.

*****

Angel looked around him at the bloody cage. He was stuck here again, and didn’t know how to get out. His feet squished and slid against the floor and he grimaced. The last thing he remembered was Cordelia crying and sobbing all over him when he was on his way to the kitchen from the other side of the fields. Buffy hadn’t come with her sweet-tooth treat and water to keep him smiling as he worked on the house that they’d live in once they were married.

“LET ME OUT OF HERE!” Angel screamed, kicking the bloody bars and watched it fall down only to be rebuilt again. “BUFFY!” he lamented, collapsing in front of the bars, his knees and hands quickly soaked with the blood that comprised his prison.

Oh Lord, keep her safe. He grimaced, rage building in his chest, choking him as he looked at the woman on the other side of the bars.

He hated her more than he had ever hated anyone he’d ever known.

Cordelia, stood triumphantly on the other side of his cage, wearing the key to his freedom on a charm bracelet that jingled with gaudy little signs of romance, predominately hearts and cupids. She laughed inanely sounding like a cackling moron, but she kept the key from his reach.

“You can’t break out sweety,” she’d taunt every time he managed to break the cage and leave its confines only to find himself standing right back inside. “You’re mine. I paid good money for you to love me and so you shall.”

Angel felt sick. He had felt so ever since the first time he had heard her saccharine voice taunt him with those words. Something was happening that he wasn’t aware of, something he couldn’t stop. The sickness stayed with him; he could feel his beloved hurting and knew it was connected to Cordelia but he couldn’t tell anyone.

“YOU HARLOT! LET ME OUT OF HERE!” he roared. He kicked the cage bars down again and lunged at her, but once again he was pulled back by magic into the bloody cage.

“Buffy,” he moaned, curling up in a corner and sobbing brokenly.

*****

“Cordelia,” Angel said, surprised to find the obnoxious noble girl crying softly in the middle of the vine row.

“Oh Angel, it’s you,” Cordelia choked, lunging into his arms, burying her face in his shirt, making it damp with fat tears. “I’m desperate.”

“What’s wrong?” Angel asked, peeling the clinging female from him distastefully. He looked up at the house, and wished fervently that he had gone down another row. He was hungry, but he couldn’t just leave the girl.

“My father! He says I have to marry this awful wretched man!” she wailed.

“Is he rich?” Angel asked, knowing that was primarily Miss Chase’s concern.

“I’m his son’s age! And I’m marrying the old widower!”

“Have you talked to your father about this?” Angel muttered, mildly concerned, but still darting another longing look at the house, unable to see the front door, but he could see the low overhang.

“You’re not even paying attention to me!” Cordelia whined, sobbing louder, hitting him on the shoulders with tightly clenched fists.

“It isn’t my concern Miss Chase, you should take it up with your father.”

“But if you married me,” Miss Chase said halting her tears long enough grabbed his shirt and make her case. “I’m sure father would be thrilled. You own a winery and its well known in Ireland, you’re bouquets are the best, your vintages are to die for and you’re my age! Father wouldn’t say no to you.”

“Woah,” Angel stated outraged. He disengaged himself from Cordelia’s clutches and took a step back. He shook his head and kept walking, keeping his back to the house. “I’m a married man.”

“You’re not married yet!” Cordelia cried out, stomping her foot.

“I am, I’m in love with Buffy, I’ve been off the market for years. I’m not going to marry you. Talk to your father about your concerns Miss Chase, I’m sure he’ll see reason.”

“You wretch! You bastard! You cad! Unhand me!”

“What the hell?” Angel asked confused, his face clearly showing it.

“I’m going to make you pay,” Cordelia hissed, ripping her reticule open and pulled out a bottle of perfume. She started spraying it aggressively into his face, and Angel coughed, waving his hand furiously in front of him. He closed his eyes in an attempt to keep them from burning.

“Angel?”

He heard Buffy call, and turned to where she was coming from. He was about to open his eyes, when twin sets of dagger-like nails bit into his back. Gasping in pain, he whirled around to stare angrily down at the Miss Chase, who was smiling triumphantly up at him.

“Angel?”

He heard Buffy call again, and tried to look over his shoulder but found he didn’t have the will.

“You can’t go to her,” Cordelia taunted, “You’re mine now.”

Hers. That sounded nice.

“Angel?” Buffy said, entering the head of the row.

Cordelia smiled, and he followed suit. She had a pretty smile, but tears had stained her cheeks. He thought she looked upset. Angel touched the dried tracks and frowned. She had been upset because her father was marrying her off to an old man. He couldn’t have her cry, he’d offer to marry her himself.

“Oh that whore,” Cordelia muttered callously.

“Who?” Angel asked, not wanting Cordy to be in such a woman’s company. She was too delicate.

“That Buffy! I hate her!” Cordelia hissed, tugging Angel after her as she tried to get them away from the persistent blonde who kept calling his name.

Anyone Cordy hated he hated too. “Who’s Buffy? So I know not to associate with her.”

Cordelia looked up at him and her grin widened so far, he felt blessed to be in the line of sight of her radiance and that her smile was directed at him. “She’s that blonde down there. Buffy thinks you love her, but you don’t. The girl is so irritating, always trying to break us apart, but you won‘t let her will you sweety? You love me don’t you?”

Angel smirked, “Of course I love you, how could I not? You’re rich, pretty, smart, and interesting.”

“Oh I like this.”

“Angel?” Buffy said, catching up to them. She held a glass of water in one hand and a fork and slice of pie in the other. Leaning up on tiptoe she tried to give him a kiss, but Angel jerked away frowning at her. “Angel?” she asked confused, looking at him and then Cordelia and back at him.

“Cordelia and I are getting married.”

*****

Angel stared in shock as the bars began to disintegrate, the magic was breaking apart, and as it did he was swamped in memories he didn’t know…Things that could not have happened…but they felt real… his heart was rebelling against them, but his mind didn’t seemed surprised.

His soul trembled as he witnessed himself turning from Buffy for the first time to use Cordelia as a way to hurt her. He recognized the hurt in her hazel eyes, and cringed when the water and pie fell to the ground as she raced away, her skirts flying as she hurried back to her mother’s house.

By the end of the week he was in Cordelia’s complete control. He didn’t seek out Buffy to get her to explain her weird behavior, which he now knew wasn’t strange because she was acting like a woman who had her heart and soul torn from her.

Tears slid down his cheeks as he gasped on the floor of the cage, trying to curl up defensively against the memories of kissing Cordelia and saying sweet nothings to her. Being considerate and idiotic, going around buying her gifts and bringing her flowers.

The whole first month, Buffy never gave up, she kept following them around, her eyes wide with hurt.

At the end of the first month he had proposed again to Cordelia under the same cypress tree he had proposed to Buffy. He and Cordy had had sex then--- she hadn’t been a virgin--- and at the end of that cold time together neither had he. He wailed at that, he and Buffy had been planning to save themselves for their wedding night.

The whole of next month Buffy avoided them like a plague, and now he knew why.

She had seen them together.

When he had proposed to Buffy, they had made love to each other without the act, but when he had proposed to Cordelia, they had gone right at it… Angel wondered if Buffy had thought the reason that she had lost him was because she hadn’t given herself to him…

“Buffy,” he whispered in agony, rolling over trying to hide from the memories of her hard expression.

*****

Angel woke with a start, his eyes wide, to stare up into the anxious face of Buffy. His head pounded at the infusion of light, and he squeezed his eyes shut again.

He ached thinking about what he’d dreamt of… and trying to decipher the blur of images was causing a pounding to reverberate behind his eyes. His throat was dry as he tried to talk.

“What--” Angel coughed, sitting up despite the agony clamoring inside his skull. “What was that?”

Buffy looked down at him anxiously, her hands gripping his elbows and helped him down the hall to his room. Her kiss hadn’t broken the spell, she thought sadly, her eyes welling up with tears as she tucked him into bed…

She wasn’t his soul mate as she had thought all along.

She wasn’t anything to him, her Angel.

Had she been surely, surely Cordelia’s love spell wouldn’t have worked on him quite so easily? He would have fought against it heart and soul! No. Angel had succumbed to Cordelia’s blatant wiles all too easily and… and… and that only meant one thing.

Angel never had been hers.

*****

Chapter 8: The Deciphering of Falsehoods

Angel tossed and turned that night, confronted by a faceless woman who wore a gaudy bracelet that chimed discordantly as she cackled deviously about how it wasn’t that easy to get away. He faced memories and images, unable to figure out which were real and which were not.

Sometimes it was Buffy and himself racing around the vineyard. At eight, playing tag; at twelve, stealing grapes from the vines to eat; at fourteen sharing chaste kisses while their mothers were knitting in the other room; and at sixteen considerably less-than-chaste kisses in the distillery, beside the fermenting wine.

And then there were times when it was Cordelia that he was with as he escorted her around the town, far away from the countryside vineyard. Holding her elbow as they walked up the steps to the town charity ball; kissing her in the gardens of her father’s home before he bade goodnight and walked back home; taking her out for a picnic in the town square as they chatted happily about the wedding to come and made comments on the passerby.

There in his mind was another set of memories of his relationship with his parents disintegrating with every passing day hurtling towards his wedding to his buxom bride. His mother staring at him teary eyed before picking her things up and leaving his presence in silent rebuke; his father who was much more outspoken raging at his son for being callous and cold hearted and threatening more than once to disown him.

Angel jerked awake covered in sweat, his hair matted to his temples. He stared quietly at the faceted bottle and felt a stirring tide of resentment curled in his belly. How dare she make him question his love for Cordelia with her tricks. Buffy was nothing to him, he was almost sure of that.

Climbing out of the bed, he strode over to the bathroom and opened the door roughly before slamming it shut behind him. If one set of tender loving moments was real, then the other was fake. Both couldn’t be true, and Angel had a feeling of which set was the falsehood.

*****

Buffy curled into the pillows around her, and cried silently throughout the night. Of all the cruelties she had faced at the hands of the two of her five-- no six-- masters she had never suffered so as she had tonight. To be beaten for refusing to grant wishes that would harm the happiness of others, to be forced to parade around naked in front of the men for entertainment like some dock whore, Buffy had never felt so humiliated, furious, or grieved.

Angel had hurt her tonight without even knowing it… he had taken her last hope and broke it apart.

Even now she hated herself for fearing for what might happen to him because she had tried to break the spell. It had been her intent when she had pressed her lips to his---

A loud thudded noise jolted her out of reflection, and startled she looked outward through the purple panes. Standing silently, she crossed to the edge and looked out trying to make sense of the darkened shapes that she saw. A wavering light drifted over the colors of glass, shining Buffy in different shades of purple as it flickered over her.

She sighed heavily and returned to lay on the chaise, swiping angrily at the tears that hadn’t abated. She wouldn’t cry over that vampire, she wouldn’t. Buffy sobbed even harder, covering her face into the pillows, and let her dreams shatter. This nightmare would never end.

Hadn’t he wished upon her an eternity of unhappiness?

Who was she to think that everything could be solved with a kiss?

Buffy’s looked around, her eyes red, as she bit hard enough on her lip to draw blood, and placed a quivering hand to her jumpy stomach, her nerves wracked in pain and raw to the touch.

*****

“That man looks like a horse,” Angel murmured dryly, watching the old man with horse teeth walk by on his way into the bank.

“But he’s rich,” Cordelia countered, addressing another envelope before looking up at the retreating man’s back. A worried expression hovered on her face, “Do you think we should invite him to the wedding?”

“Absolutely not!” Angel rebuffed, taking the envelopes that she had addressed to seal with the stamp of his line.

Angel jerked in the shower, hitting his head on the spout; a loud expletive exploded from him. Damn memory, he thought while at the same time he wondered why he had been so cruel to the man with the ugly face. He wasn’t shallow, or at least he didn’t recall being shallow, it was a reason why he had loved Cordelia so, because she didn’t base her opinions on looks. After all, hadn’t she offered even after he rudely dismissed the guy to invite him to the wedding?

Adjusting the knobs of his shower, Angel put the water to blast on full and when a cold trickle crept down his neck he growled and shut the faucets off. He grabbed a towel and cursorily dried himself off before storming out into the bedroom to pick up the bottle. He shook it madly, growling hostilely down into its opened top.

“My water isn’t hot and the pressure is as weak as a baby’s grip.”

“That’s none of my concern,” Buffy said coolly, springing forth from the bottle with a blast of purple smoke that sent Angel into a coughing fit.

Angel gaped at her, then jerked her forward as he shifting into his vampire visage. “It sure as hell is, I wished it.”

“Only for one time,” she countered in a quiet deadly voice.

“What’s got your panties all in a bunch now?” Angel demanded, pushing her back into the dresser. “Seriously, you got your kiss, and then you knocked me out. I should be angry at you and demanding answers.”

Buffy gave him a considering look, before tilting her chin aggressively. “Then why don’t you?”

“Okay! First why don’t you tell me why you were under the impression that I ever loved you?” he growled, his hand gripping the edge of the dresser so tight his knuckles lost any dormant blood in them to appear ghastly white.

“Because you and I were engaged,” Buffy replied calmly, crossing her arms over her chest so she didn’t feel so exposed to his withering gaze.

“Liar,” Angel hissed, his fingers breaking through the wood. He cursed roundly at her and the piece of furniture, bringing his wounded hand to his mouth to tear out the splinter.

“Be careful, you might accidentally splinter yourself into a pile of ashes with your temper. I can’t tell you lies, you wished me not to, remember?”

“Ha ha,” he muttered derisively, “What a wonderful sense of humor you have, but as you’ve so kindly reminded me with the shower instance is that your wishes leave much to be desired.”

“Got to be specific,” she said shrugging.

Angel glared at her and asked coldly, “Then why in God’s name if I was engaged to you as you say, would I go off with Cordelia just like that!” He snapped his fingers to prove his point.

“You sure are a thick blockhead. I’m a genie, you’re a vampire, the logical conclusion is that supernatural shit exists. Why the hell not magic? And why not Cordelia using some of it?”

Angel didn’t like her attitude. He backed her into a wall as he wondered aloud cruelly. “So if you and I were engaged,” he paused long enough to let her know he didn’t believe her, “and if I loved you so much why could a little bit of magic break us up?”

His tone was wounding and she bit her lip hard at the pain of it, but then proudly tilted her chin up. “Maybe you didn’t love me like I thought you did,” she said her lower lip trembling, and her blood seeping out from the wound her teeth had reopened.

“You think?” he muttered dryly, eyeing the droplet of blood beading near her teeth. He watched as she licked away the drop, and mentally groaned. It seemed she changed back the part about him desiring human food as well, cause her blood smelled awfully good.

“It wasn’t apparent to me back then,” Buffy said defensively, pushing at his bare chest, and skirting around him into the open part of the room.

“Let’s just say duh to that. You killed Cordelia because you thought that I loved you beyond anything in the world? You’re certain our engagement, if we had one, wasn’t arranged? You are a spiteful brat and I don’t see how I’d want anything to do with you!”

“Well you can go sit in a tree and hand crap out all day long! But you kissed me first!”

Angel’s nose quivered, she was digging her nails against the soft flesh of her palm, leaving little crescents of blood seeping into the self inflicted wounds. He growled menacingly, hunger flooding his senses. “You’ve got a sour mouth, I doubt any male in his right mind would let it stay open to give him grief. You’re one of those women dying to be a quintessential housewife! The type of woman all freedom loving men avoid!”

“Shows how smart you are then,” Buffy stated tartly, flouncing over the bed. “You searched me out this second time.”

“Has your time spent as a genie forced you to do anything that you didn’t want to do?” Angel asked sitting on the top of the set of drawers, determined to see if at least she’d at least been punished. He had justice to seek.

“It's humiliated me,” she replied evasively, looking away from him, suddenly feeling the lash of the whip on her flesh again as well as that deep throbbing cut on her temple from where Terali--- a female owner--- had beaten her for not killing her cheating husband.

Buffy heard him draw a deep intake of breath, and glanced nervously up through her lashes. His fists were clenched tightly, his face stoic, but she saw a twirl of gold in his brown eyes.

“Obviously not enough,” Angel stated, slipping in and out of game face from the delicious aroma of power coming from her blood.

“Or enough to make me bitter. Remember you wished upon me not one ounce of happiness, so I have known none.”

“You killed my only source of happiness!” Angel roared furiously, shoving the dresser into the wall so hard that it shattered, leaving a gaping wound in the plaster. He glowered at his slave, a red haze shifting in front of his eyes.

“You make me rejoice in the little things,” he murmured softly, holding his hands cupped in front him closed gently so as not to hurt the creature trapped inside.

“What things?” Buffy breathed, sitting up eagerly to peer into the cavern of his large hands.

Angel laughed, scooting away from the bark of the cypress tree and opened his cupped palms. A butterfly flittered upward, staggered in the wind, its course altered long enough to brush Buffy’s cheek as she laughed in delight before it flew away.

“You love butterflies now?” she asked, crawling over to him getting her skirts stained with dirt and grass as she leaned over to kiss him softly.

“I saw beauty only in the grapes, and cursed nature for the bugs, but butterflies help the grapes.”

“Plus they’re pretty,” Buffy added, looking over her shoulder for the insect.

He grazed her cheek with his lips, catching her earlobe between his teeth and whispered. “Not as pretty as you.”

“---You’re happiness was pretty shallow!” Buffy yelled, finishing her spiel on the subject. “One woman wasn’t enough, so you got two!”

“No,” Angel denied softly, “Cordelia was enough.”

“You bastard!” she shrieked, hurtling off the bed to attack him.

But she knew nothing of fighting, and Angel ensnared her easily within his predatory embrace. She struggled against his hard chest, trying to break free of his hold. Buffy hit him on the shoulders, tossing her head side to side to keep out of the way of his face and his gleaming fangs. Angel gripped her hands tighter within his own, and yanked her high against him.

He was aroused from the sent of her blood, and he knew that he had to have a taste or he’d go mad. Gripping her hair tightly around a closed fist, he yanked her neck to the side, and licked the column of her neck. “I wonder what you taste like,” Angel purred, sinking his fangs in to draw her blood down his throat in deep, greedy gulps.

He drained her of her immortal life source quickly, effortlessly, his hunger left unsatisfied even as he swallowed more of her down. The power of her blood suffused him, his eyes hooded with growing passion as the ambrosia of her blood hit him like a rare aphrodisiac straight to his blood stream.

Buffy’s struggles weakened, and finally she wavered clutching at him to remain upright, allowing him to take what little of her blood was left. She had no will to fight him; she only prayed that she would die from his kiss, and never awake.

The loss of blood left her weak, her knees threatened to give out. Angel looked down at her, the hunger in his eyes gone, but he looked curiously blank faced, and suddenly he sagged against her as the power of her blood knocked him unconscious.

They fell to the floor, his weight knocking the air from her lungs, as he covered her from head to toe under his body. Buffy struggled weakly to push him off, but found darkness beckoning to her on the edge of her vision, and she too was swallowed up into unconsciousness.

*****

Angel was nervous, waiting at the altar for the woman of his dreams. He tugged on his shirt, and straightened his cravat, when a hand rested briefly on his shoulder. He turned to see his father there looking down at him. There was something in his eyes, something that looked sad and dead, but Angel brushed it off. Today was a happy day, for he was getting married.

“You know, I had always planned on the happy day when you would wed, but I never thought you’d marry this girl. I don’t understand you Angel, how you could hurt Buffy like you’re doing.”

“Buffy is none of my concern.” Angel said tightly, checking his pockets for the Claddagh rings.

“She’s mine though,” Joe said harshly. “She’s like my own daughter, and she has loved you.”

“Whether she loves me or not,” Angel started hotly, “Doesn’t fit into today. I am marrying the woman I love more than life and we’re going to be happy together whether or not you give us your blessing.”

“I think you’re making the biggest mistake of your life, you could still walk away from this. Look what that woman‘s done to you!”

“I’m not,” he growled tersely interrupting yet another of his father‘s lectures. Annoyed at his father, he said defiantly, “Even if I wanted to, I couldn't jilt Cordelia like that.”

His father stared at him, his eyes gray and hard. “Why not? You did it to Buffy?”

Angel opened his mouth to reply, but just then the music started, and he looked up, a forced smile in place. His smile became genuine when he saw his bride walk down the isle toward him on her father’s arm. The other doors of the church banged open, disrupting the ceremony as Buffy came flying in. A wild look in her eyes, as she clutched Cordelia’s bottle of perfume to her chest.

“Stop you trollop!” Buffy shrieked, “You little fake! You stole him from me with the use of foul magic! One sniff of your perfume and the next female a male sees, he falls in love with. Angel what you’re feeling isn’t real!”

“You little slut,” Cordelia shouted, throwing her veil off of her head as she marched down the row of people. “You’ve ruined my wedding and you’ve stolen my things. I’ll have you arrested!”

Angel looked at Buffy itching to be the one to throw her out of the church, but knew his bride didn’t need any more mess on her hands. He distinctly heard his father muttered, “Atta girl.” And had the urge to pop him one. How dare Buffy ruin Cordelia’s plans for the ceremony and how dare his father be on the little tramp’s side.

“Stand back Cordelia or I’ll show everyone your scheming ways.”

“You’ve got a bottle of perfume Buffy,” Cordy laughed, “And a church full of people thinking you’re insane. You are the schemer trying to wreck my wedding to Angel.”

Undaunted, Buffy pressed on, butting her will against Cordy’s. “You’ve always wanted Angel, didn’t you?” she accused, walking to the pulpit even as Cordelia stomped toward her. “But he didn’t notice you, he only thought of me and that made you angry so you thought to get back at him, at me. Did you know there was a cure?” Buffy said sweetly.

Cordelia lashed out, raking her nails down Buffy’s face. Blood welled in the marks, as Buffy handed the perfume bottle to Joseph, Angel's father who'd approached her eagerly, wanting as much as she to settle this mess things had become. She faced Cordy again lashed out to punch her when her hand was caught by Angel’s larger one.

“You will not hurt my bride on our wedding day.” He whispered furious, pushing Buffy down the steps.

Buffy yelped, her foot twisting at the ankle and she crashed to the floor. Agony reverberated in her foot and she forced herself to a sitting position. Joseph was at her side, glaring up at Angel while subtly checking for damage.

With eyes flashing green, Buffy grabbed Joseph’s shoulder and pulled herself to a standing position, unbalanced and vulnerable against a man she had known all her life. She pulled off an odd little necklace, and waved it at Angel. “This is for forgetting about our love; for sleeping with this woman;” ---Buffy threw her hand out with the scroll to indicate Cordelia--- “for allowing her to hurt me; and finally for putting her before your soul mate when you hurt me. I wish on the power of Anyanka that you’d see this tramp for the cold hearted bitch that she is Angel!”

A cackling fit of glee came from the woman with scales---who had looked like a nice young lady only a moment ago--- in the first row. She rose from her seat and turned to Buffy eyes laughing coldly as she bowed. “It is done!”

A flash of blinding light erupted from the demoness Anyanka touching the edges of the confines of the church before spilling out into the day and flittering away. A strangled scream came from Cordelia, as she writhed on the spot from which she stood. Angel rushed over to her, but it was too late; she collapsed to the floor. Angel roared in sorrow as he grappled for his beloved, sinking to the floor beside her.

Cordelia’s heart appeared, still and cold with a faint sheen of ice on it in Buffy’s palm.

Buffy looked down at the icy heart, horrified. Her eyes flashed to the cold brown ones staring up at her. Angel let loose an awful bark of laughter, ending with him wheezing and choking over the still form of his bride. Glancing up at her, he growled, “You thought you won? Cordelia told me about you! She was right! You killed the only person who ever made me happy. She was my soul mate!” he choked, crying wretchedly as if it was his heart being held by Buffy and squeezed viciously. “Look what your vindictive jealousy has done!”

A man parted from the shadows, wrapped in a long dark cloak. He lifted the hood, and stared at Angel, his eyes sadden with quiet rage. “Anyanka you’ve done it again. You think that the woman scorned is always right, but you’re wrong. You’ve made another human suffer sorrow.”

“He deserved it,” Anyanka spat, sweeping her hand at the pathetic creature. “And you know nothing about this Rafeeliky, having that woman ripped from him is nothing but a good thing.”

“It isn’t! Do you see how he’s sobbed as if the all the world’s happiness was ripped from him?”

Angel stared at the bickering demons, and clutched Cordelia tighter to his chest, unmindful of her blood, staining him from the open wound on her chest. He’d make Buffy pay and pay a thousand times more. “I wish upon you, an eternity of putting others before you. To lose what joy you have and live this hell of your making forever!”

“We shall see won’t we?” Rafeeliky said and smiled coolly at Anyanka before he bowed, indicating he had done his subject’s bidding.

“No Rafeeliky!” Anyanka cried out, reaching for Buffy whose arms and legs had been banded with golden clamps.

“Angel!” Buffy cried out, feeling an awful magic pulling her apart before smashing her together again.

Joseph pulled Buffy into his embrace, trying to block the demon’s curse. Anya touched Buffy’s face, getting the young girl to focus on her. “Think of this as a blessing girl. Her hold on him can be broken by the kiss of his soul mate.”

Anyanka turned on Rafeeliky and declared a challenge. “If whichever sex, we sided with, suffered the true betrayal can be proven, the loser must right the wrongs committed here and then become the other’s servant for a hundred years.”

Rafeeliky laughed uproariously. “Deal my ex-fiancée, but you will see as it was with us, it was the woman who did the betraying.”

“Be strong,” Anya ordered the sobbing blonde, “Remember what he’s done to you. Prove me right, hurry now before the wish is in full effect!” Anya demanded, her eyes hard as she cast another look at the demon behind her. "Use the necklace to contact me."

Buffy looked at the demon who had come to her aid, and clutched the necklace she had been given harder. Joseph held her tightly, protectively, even as the magic lashed at him trying to pry him away. She knew once his hold on her was broken, the curse Angel had wished upon her would bloom into effect immediately.

Defeated, she stared morosely at Anya and whispered, “What if I’m not his soul mate? The spell she used made sure that the one affected would remain loyal to she whom he saw first. A single kiss from another woman could cause him a lifelong suffering of unhappiness.”

Buffy pulled Joe’s arms apart, despite his fervor to hang on. She heard him scream in terror, before she turned toward Angel, and his mother wept hysterically from the pew… she felt herself tugged away, her consciousness splintered into a thousand agonizing pieces.

“The life of a genie.” She heard the male demon say in a pleased tone.

Her senses were swamped… everything was too bright… too loud… too bitter… too harsh… but she clearly heard the female say, “The one who tries to break the spell can bring on the lifelong unhappiness clause.”

Her heart stopped, her eyes closed and she died a mortal woman.

Only to wake trapped inside an empty bottle of perfume, the very bottle her father had once commissioned for her, as an immortal genie, adrift in the middle of the ocean. She slipped off her Claddagh ring--- no longer heart pointed inward and dropped it to the glass floor of her prison --- it was then that she wept for him. A love that she had lost.

Chapter 9: The Heart’s Repentance

Angel felt adrift … his mind shocked from the incessant flood of memories that crowded his mind. His heart ached. Her blood was on his tongue. He could only think of one thing: Buffy. His wept bitterly, and he tried to curl in on himself, but felt gentle hands attempting to make him lie flat.

He raged against the injustice of it all, and tried to knock the persistent hands back; Angel didn’t want to leave the memories even as they tore at him. He was a demon, a monster, a vampire--- unworthy of his one true love whom he had victimized first.

He couldn’t breathe, his silent, breaking heart lodged tightly in his throat, as bloody salty tears coursed down his face.

“Buffy!” he called mournfully, his voice cracking.

A thousand lives spilled at his hands, a million hurts inflicted; his heart swelled bursting its confines as the memories hurtled to the present and as he faced a hatred he shouldn’t have harbored, a rage so brutal in its quest for vengeance it had seen nothing too horrific for a woman who hadn’t deserved it…

He couldn’t think. He was numb. He tried to reject everything even as he was forced to accept it all. Memories that weren’t his, became his. Everything lay at his feet shouting up blame for the crimes he hadn’t committed. A face illuminated by a soft light, gazed down at him was achingly familiar.

“Buffy,” he whimpered, unable to face her.

“Shh… Angel,” she said softly, her eyes filled with unshed tears as she realized what had happened. The kiss the spell had referred to wasn’t that of true love’s kiss, but that of a vampire’s immortal kiss: a thing too impossible to comprehend as genies and vampires were racial enemies.

“Oh God! Buffy!” Angel cried out, wrapping his arms around her neck burying his face in the veil of her golden hair.

An tentative joy crept into her heart… he had loved her… he had!

She pressed kisses to his face, caresses so soft they felt like butterfly wings dancing upon his skin. Angel didn’t understand how she could be in his arms, after all that he had done. He didn’t deserve her, and he shouldn’t be forgiven, but he sought them both.

“I’m sorry… so sorry… sorry, sorry, sorry… Buffy…” he chanted, saying her name like a prayer, his lips brushing against her soft warm neck with every word.

“My Angel,” Buffy murmured softly, wrapping her arms around him as he sat up clutching her to his hard chest.

“Forgive me,” Angel whispered, rubbing his nose against the side of hers, craving contact with her.

Buffy rocked them, shoving bitter memories of times better left forgotten and soothed him with her fingers twining in the soft short hair at the base of his neck. “Always,” she cried, bringing lips together in a bittersweet chaste kiss.

Angel deepened the kiss, tasting her tears, holding them on his tongue before swallowing every salty trace of sorrow into himself. He would carry her pain, from his unfaithfulness in his heart forever; he had abandoned her love. “Forgive me,” he whispered against her lips, kissing them open and slipped his tongue inside to warm against her own.

“Buffy,” he sighed, opening his eyes to look down at her deep hazel ones. “Buffy, Buffy…” he gasped, clutching her to him as he found his place in the world again--- by her side. “I love you.”

“I know,” Buffy whispered, leaning in to give a nip to his neck wit her blunt teeth. “Your true heart has been set free from its prison.”

“Do you,” Angel started, licking his suddenly dry lips, rubbing his damp palms against his thighs, his eyes worried. “Do you still love me?”

“Angel,” Buffy murmured, her heart breaking. She could never love another, not even after what had transpired. She would forget them, and love him as unselfishly as the day they had first met and she told him with a closed throat as her vision swam. “I’ve never stopped loving you. I love you with all my heart.”

He sagged against her relieved. He crushed her to him and stood up and then walked them to the bedroom. She clung to him as he laid them down on the bed, settling her beneath him. He met her halfway in a sweetly tender kiss, before it deepened with burning passion. She arched into him, running her hands through his hair, her nails scrapping gently on his scalp before trailing ghost shivers down his neck and back.

Angel kissed her until her lips were swollen and she gasped for air against his mouth. He pressed his lips against her jaw, and trailed them down her throat, licking her pulse point, before delving into the valley between her breasts. He nuzzled the line of the light green top, grabbing the fabric between his teeth and pulling it down, exposing her breasts to his lust filled gaze.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, rejoicing in her flesh. Their eyes met as he spoke in Gaelic to her, rubbing the pad of his thumb over her pebbled nipple. Angel bent his head and drew her pert nipples into his mouth suckling on them one at a time as his hands traced patterns over her skin making it tingle and jump beneath his touch.

“I need you,” Buffy moaned, undulating her hips against his steely thigh, her nails digging into his butt to shift him closer to her. She craved him, needed to devour him, to fill up her aching heart so that it overflowed with his promises of forever. “I’ve missed you Angel,” she cried out, her head falling back against the pillows restlessly.

“You’ve been missed,” he groaned, tilting his pelvis down to rub against her. He had been trapped entirely too long within an enclosed heart, unable to shower her with the love she so deserved, and now he had awoken from his imprisonment to find he caused her nothing but pain… he couldn’t bear it. He would spend an eternity to prove to her he could be the man that she had once loved…

“I couldn’t think of anyone but you.” He stopped lapping at the creamy flesh of her breast to look up, his eyes filled with grief. “I felt your pain, and wanted to go to you, but I couldn’t. I tried a thousand times to leave my prison, to reach out to you, but I couldn’t escape.”

Buffy brought her fingers to his lips to keep him from saying more as she sat up and kissed away his pain, and along with that her own. “I love you Angel.”

The look in his eyes softened, the pain retreating from his thoughts as he worshipped her. A titillating brush of his lips over her left breast, above her beating heart and he murmured… “My heart, my love…” a single kiss to her lips and he whispered… “My senses, my passion…” a wondrous touch to her belly, before drifting lower, under the waistband of her harem pants… “My happiness, my mate…”

Buffy gasped, arched into his touch even as she stilled his wandering fingers as they slid close to her sex-less flesh. “Angel… Angel I can’t.”

He stopped, looking hurt and confused as he withdrew his hand and sat back to watch her. “I see,” he said slowly, pained.

“No--- Angel it’s--- it’s not that. I want too,” she hurried desperately, her voice tinged with despair. “---but when I became a genie I lost…I can’t make love. I am genderless. Neither male nor female. I have no sex. Desire can burn in my veins, but I have no – there is no way to appease my hunger. I’m not a real woman anymore.”

Her wide luminous eyes filled with tears, as she turned her head away from him, trying to hide the falling trails into the pillow. A stifled sob, escaped her throat as Angel touched her reverently, she didn’t want to meet the pitying look he had to have on his face.

“Buffy,” Angel spoke quietly, rubbing his hands along her arms, his voice sorrowful. “Oh Buffy, I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” she gasped, bringing the pillow with her as he turned her to face him. She couldn’t let him see her face to see that part of her still blamed him for the loss of such pleasure from a mate and the hope for a future family.

He laughed mirthlessly at her self-conscious act, and pulled the pillow from her as gently as possible. “Not my fault? It is my fault, all of it. I’ve hurt you so much, took so much away from you. What’s immortal life worth to you? It doesn’t give you anything but pain, does it?”

“No,” she sobbed shuddering, attempting to hide her face in his shoulder, but he wouldn’t let her.

Angel held her face cradled between his palms as he wiped away her tears, “Even now you know pain. Even now when we’re back together, you know pain because I wished it upon you. How could you love me Buffy? How? I don’t love myself… and I don’t know how to fix it, to make it better, to give you pleasure… How Buffy? How can I make you happy?”

Buffy’s smile was watery when she kissed his frown, coaxing his mouth open as she attempted to make him smile and look down at her again with the look that told her the only thing that kept him from being buried deep inside her was the clothes they had on, not the fact of her freakishly sexless body. “You make me happy,” she whispered, “but can I make you happy?”

“Don’t think that,” he demanded harshly, bruising her lips as he crushed her beneath him trying to drown her maudlin thoughts with passion. “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted or needed.”

“I was,” she denied against his lips, but he swallowed her words not letting it make sound.

“Always,” he murmured, bringing the lip she always bit between his own teeth and nibbled there, his chocolate eyes watching her for rejection of that truth and found none. Angel spooned her back, throwing a leg over her own as he wrapped her tightly into his embrace. “We’ll make it work Buffy.”

Angel started to fall asleep around dawn, hugging her as he was, a sleepy murmur leaving his throat as she turned in his embrace to face him. He opened his eyes once, before they started to drift shut again, his hand curled around hers and brought it to his heart. “My soul mate,” he said sleepily, nuzzling his nose to her hair, not seeing the tears that slipped from her open eyes.

*****

Angel was hungry, and desperate for something sweet at that. He looked at where Lionel and Joseph worked tirelessly on the fireplace in the kitchen and shook his head. They were laughing about something he or Buffy had done when they’d been younger and infinitely cuter.

“I’m going to go up to the house and grab a slice of apple pie,” he told them distractedly as he set down his tools for working on the cupboards.

Both men grinned knowingly at him and made comments that had him ducking out faster from the house. In the sunshine, he smiled brightly and headed off down a row of grapes down to the house. He couldn’t wait to see Buffy and kiss her hello. He wondered if she had sugar and flour all over her as usual or if she’d just finished cleaning up and was pulling the pie from the oven. Either way Angel was sure of retaining a sweet… a kiss or a kiss and a slice of pie.

Nice odds if he was a gambling man.

The house loomed into view, and Angel sprinted up the last few steps, hurrying to the welcoming comfort of shade the low overhang offered. The doors to the house creaked open, as he walked inside calling out a greeting.

“Hello Mrs. Summers, Mum.”

They looked up at him with warm smiles in place and made idle chit chat to him for a few minutes before returning to their knitting and quilting as he set off for the kitchen. Angel paused in the doorway, eyeing his bride to be and knew that he had to be the luckiest man on earth.

“You look gorgeous,” Angel growled softly, swooping in behind her to encircle her around the waist and swing her in a circle as she squealed in delight, greeting him with a soft assault on his lips when he set her down. “Have I told you how much I love you today?” he breathed against her lips as they parted.

“Only a time or two,” Buffy murmured coyly, turning from him to retrieve the apple pie she’d baked.

Angel tilted his head to the side to eye her luscious curves covered demurely by her skirts. He couldn’t wait to see those curves in just her chemise, or even without that… he groaned, taking a seat quickly at the table so he’d keep his hands off her and to himself. He didn’t want to put them in an awkward position should their mothers wander in for pie as well.

“I should tell you at least a dozen times or more,” Angel purred, taking a deep whiff of the sweet aroma from the hot treat that Buffy set before him on the table. “That’s smells delicious.”

Buffy grinned, cutting up a slice for both of them, and two more for their mothers. “I’m sure your sweet tooth will agree. How about I head off our moms with this and be right back?”

She didn’t wait for an answer as she hurriedly left the room only to return a short time later to laugh at him. “Already ate your slice and now you’re starting on mine?” Buffy teased, sliding into her chair with grace.

Angel nodded, smiling through a bite of apple and crust and placed the fork--- with a morsel of pie on it--- to her mouth tempting her to eat from it. Buffy flashed a smile and seductively wrapped her lips around the bite of pie, before drawing it off the end of the fork into her mouth.

She moaned appreciatively of the sweet dessert, before opening her eyes. “Tastes good.”

Leaning over the table Angel licked the corner of her mouth to wipe away a bit of cinnamon apple. “Hmm you bet,” he told her huskily sitting down again.

“Did you hear the latest gossip?” Buffy asked, breaking off another bite with the fork, this time feeding Angel.

He shook his head slightly, swallowing the dessert, and cocked his head attentively.

“It seems that Mr. Chase paired Cordelia off with that old widower, Mr. Johnson, and they’re heading off to Madrid for the wedding today, before honeymooning in the south of France and northern Italy.”

“Hmm, this is good pie,” Angel said bringing the subject to something more entertaining as he set another bite of flaky crust and spice apples on her tongue.

*****

“You did a good thing,” Anyanka stated in a sugary voice. “Took Cordelia out of the picture quite nicely so she couldn’t sink her claws into Angel.”

She walked over to Rafeeliky, who was chained up in a corner of her quarters wearing leather wrist bonds, a spiked cock ring, and a studded leather collar. Anya gazed over her ex-fiancée’s well-trimmed body and grinned up lustily.

“I thought the deal was to be the other’s slave.” Rafeeliky growled, struggling against the chains binding him to the wall.

“Yes,” Anya said shamelessly, a lust filled smile tracing her lips. “I’m making you my love slave.”

“You’re still the one who betrayed us Anyanka,” Rafeeliky groaned, as she tugged on the leather ring around his cock, giving him a rush of pain laced with pleasure. He hardened quickly, his eyes growing darker with a deep-seated passion that he held in check normally around this vixen.

“Hmm,” she murmured, licking his pebbled nipple, before biting it with her teeth. “I guess I’m going to have to prove you wrong.”

She jerked his head up and crushed his lips with hers, while playing with her breasts, lifting them in her hands as she settled him between her thighs. “And I’ve got a hundred years to do it too.”

“Demoness,” he moaned, trusting his tongue deeper into her mouth, arching upward into her slick warmth.

“I’m going to have sex with you now,” Anyanka husked, yanking the chains off the ring so he could touch her aching breasts.

*****

Epilogue: The Cypress Tree

“We should call her Ciara,” Buffy murmured, leaning her head back against Angel’s shoulder.

The sun was setting on their little vineyard, long shadows stretching out from the horizon to meet them where they sat idly underneath the cypress tree. Angel cradled her more snugly between his thighs, dropping his gaze to her swollen belly. He ran a palm over her distended stomach, biting her shoulder lightly as he smiled in joy and pride.

“She’ll look just like her mother. Golden and sunny.”

“Or willowy, and dark, like her father.”

He kissed her neck reverently, protectively covering their child from the creeping shadows. Seven seasons had passed from the day that they had married here under this tree with their parents as witnesses to the priest’s words that bound them as man and wife. They made love a thousand times, each time like the first, allowing him to explore her ever changing body.

The pregnancy made her even more beautiful to him, and he showed her that when she first started to grow shy from the changes her body made. Angel’s hands drifted upward, cupping her swollen tender breasts, flicking his thumbs over her distended nipples, delighting in her sharp moan.

“Angel,” Buffy breathed, wrapping her hands over his, her eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure roared in her veins.

He licked her neck, shifting his nose under her ear to smell her sweet scent. Angel purred contentedly into her ear, “What if our baby’s a boy? What do we name him then?”

“Liam,” she whispered, her hands falling away from his to rest on his hard thighs. “So he’ll always be protective and caring.”

“Or Riain, for king of all he sees… our vineyard.” Angel continued softly, pressing his erection into her bottom.

“We’ll debate this later,” Buffy added, tenderly cupping him in her hand, as she arched her head backward to angle in for another kiss.

Angel gave her one, slowly exploring every nuance of her mouth as she reciprocated, outlining all the facets of his own. His right hand caressed her rounded tummy through her skirts. He needed her with everything in him, encircling her with his arms--- Angel stood silently, Buffy’s arms twined around his neck, as he licked her lips, and dueled with her darting tongue.

“Let’s go inside my love,” he moaned against her mouth, “I want to make love to you.”

“Sure you’re not going inside because of that batch of dumplings I made are you?” she teased lightly, resting her head against his shoulder, a smile lingering on her lips.

Angel laughed, shaking his head in denial. “I know you complain about my sweet tooth eating us out of the desserts you make, but the only thing sweet I want right now is my wife.”

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