Rating: NC-17 overall (some entries as mild as a G)
Disclaimer: While I have taken the liberty of adding a few characters of my own creation, all of the original BtVS characters and their world belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and The WB. All are used without permission (I'll return them all unharmed) and no copyright infringement is intended (like most who post, I'm broke, so please don't sue).
Spoilers: This takes place post-season 4 (BtVS)/post-season 1 (Angel), so anything and everything through the very end of season 3 may be brought up.
Summary: It's the year 2047 and Aishling Rosenberg has recently discovered that her grandmother left behind a vast collection of letters, stories, research notes, etc.
Distribution: Angel of Mine and Willangel@onelist.com, but if you want it, it's yours, just let me know where it's going to be living.
Feedback: The people from the Willangel list have turned my into a feedback junky. I'll take any hit I can get. Like my Angel, I can even find some pleasure in the painful ones!
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It was turning into a very chilly night. It was, after all, the 27th of January, and even California knew cold weather, especially when you lived in a seaside town that was built on a Hellmouth. Hey, but what better way was there to pass part of a Friday night, than wandering about the city, looking for vampires to slay. As luck would have it, Buffy and Willow had only been patrolling for about thirty minutes when the baddie showed himself.
They had just entered the city park and were strolling down the path, chatting about the upcoming nuptials, and slowly working their way toward the playground, when he stepped out from behind a tree. The move was so reminiscent of one Angelus often used, that Buffy had to fight hard to suppress a shudder. He was an older vampire, wearing a human visage as he approached them at a leisurely pace. That is, until Buffy began her usual slayer banter.
"Gee, Willow," she deliberately spoke above normal conversational tone. "Don't you just love the way they put on a mask to hide their true face, but they never bother to do anything about that terrible smell?"
"Smell?" Willow asked, truly confused.
"Yah, the stench of stale blood!"
The vampire let loose with a vicious growl. Willow cringed inwardly, not from the sound the vampire made, but because of Buffy's reply. Willow knew Angel would take great offense to that statement. He never smelled like blood. Angel always smelled, well like Angel. Clean, his skin holding the scent of which ever soap he'd chosen that day, but with a nice, earthy undertone that was uniquely his. Willow loved the way he smelled. She couldn't imagine what he smelled like to Buffy, but it certainly could not be like blood, stale or otherwise. Gosh, even when he was evil, he never smelled like blood, and Willow had been close enough on one occasion to know that. That night, in the school hallway, Angelus had smelled different, the scent of his soap or his skin itself was sweet, almost cloyingly so. And there had been another smell, almost as strong but unknown to her then. Willow was older and wiser now. What she had smelled was his sexual arousal, the thrill he got from hurting her. But still, no smell of blood. Maybe Buffy was just trying to egg-on the vampire before them. . . and it was working!
"The only stink around here," he snarled, "is the rotten smell of a Slayer!"
"Well, since I know what you are, and you know what I am, what do you say we just get to then?" Buffy retorted. "I have wedding plans to make."
And with that said, Buffy began to move in for the kill. The vamp immediately fell into his game face and charged at her. Willow stepped back, out of fight zone, and watched as Buffy dispatched the vampire with both ease and grace. Her fighting style simply continued to improve with age. It was like watching some sort of twisted ballet. Willow always enjoyed having a front row seat, at least as long as there was no real chance that either of them might end up dead. No fear of that tonight. One-on-one, Buffy always won.
Dusting the ash from her hands, Buffy walked over to where Willow was standing and took hold of her friend's hand.
"Come on, Will. It's getting really cold out here. Let's head home. We'll look along the way for a fledge that you can dust with magic."
Willow let herself be pulled along. She was still thinking over the whole smell thing. Maybe the Slayer's senses were more sensitive, or just different. After all, Willow had been very close to Spike, too, and he hadn't smelled bad either. Well, a little, but that was from the cigarette smoke and the whiskey. Beneath that, Spike had smelled a little like cloves and was very musky, all warm and spicy. It was kind of nice. That thought gave Willow the wiggins. Nothing about Spike should feel nice! That wasn't a safe way of thinking. He was clever and manipulative. He would use any weakness he could find against her, if ever they met again, and Willow knew they would. Then there was Druscilla. When she entered a room, her fragrance was overpowering. She did smell like death, only not blood. She had the heady, hot-house flower smell that Willow always associated with funeral homes. It was sickeningly sweet and especially strong, like it was meant to mask that faint trace of decay which was sitting just below the surface.
"Earth to Willow, " Buffy drawled. "Are you still with me?"
"Buffy?" Willow's response was a question within a question.
Now
it was Buffy's turn to cringe because she knew what was coming. Willow
wanted to ask her a question. Over the past few months, Willow had started
asking a lot of questions, often strange questions. She seemed to latch
on to things that other people didn't notice or didn't really care to question
or to comment on. It often happened when Buffy made an off-handed remark
or let her mouth run while her mind was still trying to play catch-up.
It was almost always something that had to do with slaying or vampires.
Buffy knew that it probably had to do with her newly discovered calling.
Willow was, after all, going to be a Watcher. But Willow seemed to be especially
sensitive to the subject matter if it had anything at all to do with Angel
and that went a bit beyond her watcher duties. With an audible sigh, Buffy
stopped tugging on Willow and turned back to face her.
"Yah, Willow, what is it?" she asked reluctantly.
Willow sensed that Buffy was starting to get unnerved by her constant need to delve into areas that would normally be left alone, but she couldn't stop, not now, maybe not ever.
"Just ask your question, Will, or now it'll bug us both all night." Buffy tried to make herself sound as open to the idea as she possibly could. After taking a deep breath, Willow finally came out with it.
"What does Angel smell like to you? Does he smell like stale blood, too?" Willow's tone of voice reflected the pain she felt when she considered that such a thing might be true.
"Oh, gosh, Willow, *no*! Angel always smells wonderful. To me, the scent of his skin is like, um, well. . . Okay, close your eyes." And Willow did, then Buffy followed suit. "Now imagine a warm sunny day. Early summer. You're out in the middle of a beautiful meadow, full of wild flowers in bloom. And you're laying on your back in the center of a large white linen sheet, clean and crisp, right from the clothes-line, so it smells of fresh air and sunshine and the light fragrance left by the laundry detergent you used. Now roll over on your stomach and push your face into the sheet, down into the long soft grass and flowers that are crushed under it, and breath deep." Both woman inhaled deeply, pulling the January night air into their lungs, but so lost in their fantasy that they didn't even notice how cold the air really was. "Can you smell it, Will? The perfume from the sheet, the tangy grass and sweet flowers, the moist, rich earth? That's what Angel smells like to me."
"Oh, Buffy, *yes*. It is wonderful, and so close to what I smell." Both of them still stood in the middle of the park with their eyes closed. "What else?" Willow asked. "Do you "feel" anything when you smell him?"
"Yes, the soft warmth from the sun combined with the coolness of the sheet. It's such a strange sensation. I mean, he's cold to the touch and yet he radiates such warmth." Buffy opened her eyes then, the memories becoming too vivid, too painful.
"He's a walking, talking contradiction of, oh I don't know, everything, I guess," Buffy sighed.
Willow opened her eyes then and smiled sadly at Buffy.
"Sorry," she said. "Did I bring up bad memories?"
"No, nice ones, actually. They just sting a little, still. So, now it's your turn. What does Angel smell like to you?"
"Well, like you know, there's always the soap smell. And did you ever notice how the scent he picks seems to match the mood he's in?"
Buffy simply smiled and nodded her head, knowing just what Willow meant.
"And I smell earthy scents, too, only mine always smell sadder. Does that make sense? It's like the smell of the earth after the third or fourth day of a continuous spring rain. It's a gentle, warm rain. It's fragrance is so sweet and clean. It makes all the other spring scents seem fuller and richer, but at the same time, darker. It boarders on being depressing because it's rained for too long. It makes me long for the sun. No, it makes long to be able to bring him out into the sun."
"That is sad. Does it feel cold?"
"Not really. I mean, of course Angel's skin feels cold against my own, but there's so much warmth to be found in his embrace. And I usually find the cool touch of his fingers to be so soothing. His hugs are the best, aren't they?"
"They sure are," Buffy replied wistfully.
"I am sorry," Willow said. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just needed to know that what you said about the blood didn't apply to Angel."
Buffy made that face which she always made just before she was about to say something she knew she really didn't want to say but which had to be said. It's a scruntched-up nose, grimmace sort of thing, and it was a dead giveaway that whatever was to follow wouldn't be pleasant. Definitely not a poker face. But it let Willow prepare for what was to come. Buffy could never hold back on Willow, no matter how painful the truth might be.
"But it does, Will. I do smell the blood when I'm near him. I think it's a Slayer thing."
Buffy looked as though she was ashamed to admit that. Willow looked shocked. After what Buffy had just told her, it didn't make sense.
"Do you mean when he was Angelus?" Willow asked hopefully.
Buffy just shook her head and then lead Willow over to a bench. After they both sat down, she tried to explain it to Willow.
"No, I'm sure I smelled it all the time, I just didn't recognize the scent for what it is. It's very subtle, compared to almost all of the other vampires I've had the unpleasure of smelling. The borrowed blood in them is always the first thing I smell. On Angel, it's not all offensive. It's actually a bit erotic." Buffy shook her head to push that train of thought aside. "It wasn't until he came back from, well, when he came back, that I realized just what the underlying scent was. For the first few weeks he wasn't quite himself, you know? He had no inhibitions and would feed in front of me. The scent is stronger right after he feeds, and he certainly wasn't bathing himself or brushing his teeth then. He wasn't in his right mind. He was still lost in his pain and wild. I had to keep him chained- up just so that he, and the surrounding population, would be safe. There was no way I could get close enough to do those things for him, so the odor would linger, on his breath and his skin. But while the smell was more noticeable, it still wasn't foul. I thought, at first, that it was because the blood he consumes is not "fresh", you know? It's usually animal blood or human blood that's been processed. I thought maybe that's what made the difference. But he wore his game face so often during that time, it made me think a lot about Angelus. He certain consumed his fair share of fresh human blood, but it still never smelled any different in him. His overall fragrance was different; the soaps Angelus used were much sweeter and spicier than anything Angel ever picked. Kind of a nauseating mix. God, and he always smelled like sex. Sometimes it was arousing, like he hard-on he just couldn't control and it was meant for me. Other times, he smelled like he'd just left some whore's bed. I think it all depended on just how he wanted to play me that night. Did he want to hurt me with pleasure or pain? Anyway, I realized then, Angel or Angelus, soul or no soul, even if it wasn't a rancid fragrance, I did smell the blood in him, just like the rest of them."
"He is vampire, just like the rest of them," Willow commented softly.
"No, he's not like the rest of them. Even without his soul, he was different. Smarter, crueler, wickedly passionate, the dark side of everything he is with a soul. Maleficence perfected. A diabolic god."
"You still loved him." Willow was stunned by what she'd just heard Buffy say. The feelings she'd had for Angelus where easy to recognize in the words she'd spoken and there was such passion in her voice.
Buffy shrugged, trying to pass it off as less than what it was.
"Loved him, hated him, it was all there, constantly assaulting me. It hurt so much, Will. I wanted Angel back so badly. And yet, Angelus drove me in a way no one else ever had, or has since, not Ian, not even Angel. One moment I felt so alive and then the next I wanted nothing more than to die. I just wanted all the pain to end. But it didn't."
"I'm sorry, Buffy, if I'd only been able to restore his soul sooner. Or maybe, even, if I'd failed the second time around . . ."
"No, Will, what you did for him is wonderful. I know Angel battles with his inner demons, but I know that he wouldn't want to live without his soul."
"You
can't honestly believe that?" Willow asked, amazed that Buffy could be
so out of touch with what Angel really felt.
"That's so not true," Willow confided in Buffy. "He believes it's truly a curse. He's a demon, Buffy. He is Angelus. Always. It's the presence of his soul that forces him to behave morally, that makes him the Angel we all love. And while you're correct in you belief that he could never willingly do anything that would cause him to loose his soul, if it were taken from him, he'd survive, just as he did for centuries before without it. He lives with so much darkness, darkness he's created for himself, not just the darkness of night or the evil he helps to eradicate. And what about the pain he lives with everyday? Do you really think it's all just from the guilt he feels for the bad things he's done? Did it ever occur to you that he's moved past a lot of that guilt? I think he paid for most of his sins, with interest, during his time in Hell. But with the guilt gone, I think what plagues him the most now is the humanity he feels when he's cursed with his soul. Angel's trying so hard to come to grips with just what he is now. He knows he's a demon. He can't ever be human again, but he has the emotions of one and a big part of him still longs to be a simple man. That's got to hurt. The demon sure hates it, sees it as a weakness. And he remembers all too well what it's like to live without a soul. It was a much easier existence for a demon, such as himself. But now he once again loves with the heart of a human. Look at how much he loves you. The demon can't understand how he can love like that and is repulsed by the thought of being loved. The other part of him wants to be loved so badly but has a hard time believing that anyone could possibly love him since he is what he is, a vampire. He knows in his heart that you love him, but he believes that your love is conditional, that it's contingent on the presence of his soul and the suppression of his vampire nature. No soul, no Buffy love. Show too much of his true color, and you'll bolt. Is he so wrong? If you could be together, could you learn to love him unconditionally? We all seem to think that the restoration of his soul is some sort of a gift. Can you see why he thinks it's a curse?"
Buffy stared at Willow for a long time in silent wide-eyed wonder. How had Willow become such an expert on Angel? And how had she failed to grasp any of this on her own?
"Am I really that blind, Will? How could I not have known?"
"Because Angel didn't want you to know. He hides it from you."
"But, why?"
"For the same reasons he's never told you about his past, even after you'd dealt with his alter-ego. He loves you and he's afraid of you. I just told you that his heart fears that you'll reject him if you know too many truths."
"What else?" Buffy knew Willow was holding something back.
"You're a Slayer, Buffy. The demon always fears you."
"But I'd never -"
Willow cut her off with words that were harsh, but which were spoken gently.
"Wouldn't you? Buffy he has all of the memories of every moment you've ever spent together. The demon knows that you could do it if you had to. He knows how close you came to slaying him just before his soul was restored."
"He also knows, all too well, just what I still did to him, anyway." Tears where now falling from Buffy's eyes, freezing cold and wet on her cheeks, just like Angel's always were.
"You did your duty, you did what you had to do to save the world. Angel understands and accepts that. Would you believe that he accused me of having impeccable timing? He claims that if I'd been just moment longer in restoring his soul, you would finished him and then his blood could not have been used to seal the vortex."
"He's right. I never thought about that before."
Willow decided it was time to move past this conversation. She had already revealed too much and had hurt Buffy, which she'd never intended to do when she asked her stupid question about the smells. So, her next words were spoken with just the right mixture of seriousness and mockery.
"Yah, Angelus would have been dust and we would all have been sucked into Hell anyway. How fucking ironic would that have been?"
"Willow," Buffy gasped, making a dash for the exit that was being offered to her. "You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"Honey, you'd be amazed to learn just who this mouth has kissed!"
"Why do I think that I'm better off not knowing? Let's go home, now, pu- leeze! I'm afraid my ass will get frozen to this bench if we sit here much longer!"
"I am so with you. And I think I can see a couple of big mugs of hot chocolate at home that have our names on them!"
"Oh, God, that sounds so good. Nothing comforts like chocolate!"
So, Willow and Buffy rose from the bench, looped their arms into one another's, and began to make their way out of the park. They walked in companionable silence until they were about a block away from their apartment. Then Buffy couldn't help but ask the question which had been forefront in her mind most of the way home.
"Hey Will, when did it start?," she asked. "When did you and Angel get so close?"
End
Entry Fourteen