Rating: NC-17 (overall)
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. The lyrics for "Black" are by the incomparable Sarah McLachlan. 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: All 3 seasons of BtVS.
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: You want it, it's yours, just let me know where it's going to be living. Feedback: A well nourished writer is a prolific writer, so if you want more, feed me.
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Archivist's Note: Ever the one for paying attention to details, my grandmother had attached a copy of Sarah McLachlan's "Solace" to the back of the little note book which held this entry. I myself hadn't heard the album in years, and so I played it, simply to get "in the mood," to get a better feel for the whole scene. I strongly recommend you do the same, if at all possible. Aish ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
01-29-2001 @ 2252
August 21, 1999. It's a date I shall remember always.
It was on that date that I talked to him for the first time. We didn't speak in passing. We weren't just making pleasantries. I had an honest to goodness conversation with Angel. And it had nothing to do with Buffy or the Hellmouth or prophesies, although we did discuss demons at length. Well, we talked about one particular demon, anyway. Him.
That in itself would have made the night memorable, but it was in fact, for me anyway, the lesser of two momentous events. For you see it was on that Saturday night, late in the summer of '99, that I touched Angel for the first time. I touched him the way a woman touches a man.
The evening had started off badly. Buffy and Oz were out of town. My parents, unfortunately, were not.
In a rare show of familial togetherness, we were dining out. My dad had made reservations at one of the nicest restaurants in Sunnydale and it promised to be a good night. I'd even dressed up for the occasion, pulling up my hair, carefully applying a little extra make-up and then donning a simple but elegant black silk dress I'd saved for all Summer.
We weren't even half-way through our soup and salad when my mother had to start in on my decision to move out of their house. It was bad enough, she'd said, that I'd thrown away every decent prospect for my future by turning down all of my outstanding college choices, opting instead to attend U.C. Sunnydale. But to think, she ranted on, that I was going to stay in this god forsaken town, and not stay at home, well she just couldn't comprehend that. Why was I staying at all then? Why hadn't I chosen to get out, to attend college elsewhere?
It was the same tired conversation we'd had at least once a week for months now. I was about to lie to her again, to offer her the same fabricated excuse that I'd been using ever since I had made up my mind to stay with Buffy, when suddenly my mother's words leapt out at me.
God forsaken. Those had been her exact words. This god forsaken town. All this time I'd thought my mother was just like almost every other adult in Sunnydale, completely oblivious to the evil all around them. Even after she'd tried to burn me at the stake for practicing witchcraft, my mother seemed to completely forgot all of the events which took place in this god forsaken town. I suddenly got the distinct impression that my mother knew a lot more than she let on. And for once in my life, I completely lost it!
Right there, in the middle of the best restaurant in that god forsaken town, I put all my cards out on the table. In a hushed, but no less vehement voice, I told my parents about everything, every single horrible thing that had occurred in that god forsaken town over the last three years. I spoke, non-stop for almost an hour. My parents never even opened their mouths in an attempt to stop me from rambling on or to try and deny any of what I told them. When I finally ran out of both wind and words, I looked up to see two people who could no longer hide the fact that they had always been very much aware of just what goes on in that god forsaken town.
Without speaking another word, I walked out.
I wanted to run to Buffy or to Oz. Not possible. Xander came to mind, but I knew he was out and about with Anya. They made an odd, well, whatever they were, it was odd.
No, I was all alone. And before I knew it I found myself heading toward the one place that I seemed to drift to when my mind or my heart was in turmoil. Angel's.
It was quite a distance from the restaurant to Crawford Street, but I wasn't in much of a hurry. That night, the streets of Sunnydale were peaceful and beautiful to look at.
It had been raining on and off for almost a week. Summer storms were rolling in off the Pacific. It would pour for an hour or so, then let up until the next band moved through. That usually took another three or four hours. The rain had stopped just as we'd reached the restaurant, so I was certain I'd make it to the mansion before it started to rain again.
Everywhere I looked the wet surfaces sparkled under the dim light of the street lamps. A brisk wind blew, but it was warm. It was a nice night for a walk. And I didn't really have much to fear in the way of vampires. Things had been very quiet all summer. Still, just to be safe, I cast a protection spell and a small glamour. I'd discovered that a glamour could not only create the illusion of beauty, but if carefully re-worded, it could be used to mask a number of things, like scent and sound. This allowed me to walk through the night without being a beacon to the vampires that hunted in the darkness.
I removed my shoes after just a few blocks. They were high heels and I feared I would either slip on some wet surface, fall and break my ass, or I'd ruin my new shoes. Or, most likely, both! By the time I got to Angel's my stockings would be ready for the fire place, but I wasn't about to hike my skirt in the middle of the street just to save them.
The closer I got to Crawford Street, the more anxious I became. I simply wanted to get inside the house and find some peace for my addled brain and heavy heart. Discovering that my parents knew all about the horrors of Sunnydale had left me feeling bruised and betrayed.
I wanted to sit in the courtyard garden I'd tended all summer. I wanted to breath in the sweet smell of the rain and the earth and the night blooming flower's that grew there.
I'd been sneaking up to the house at least two or three times a week. When I'd first started going there, the little garden had been overgrown with weeds and the jasmine had been allowed to run rampant over all the other plants and flowers. It had taken me almost two weeks to cut it all back and to plant a large assortment of other night-bloomers. It only seemed fitting to do so. It was, after all, still Angel's home. You see, as I had suspected, he'd not put the property up for sale. After a few carefully worded E-mail transmissions back and forth to the firm that was managing the property in Angel's absence, I was able to obtain, not only permission to enter the mansion, but my own set of keys, as well. I was quite sure that Angel himself was the one that approved my request.
If I didn't find comfort in the garden, I could always set about doing some of the chores I'd created for myself. I'd taken it upon myself to become the unofficial caretaker. I could loose myself for hours while I dusted and scrubbed and scoured. The place was just as clean as Angel had left it. Perhaps even cleaner.
Then
physically exhausted, mind numbed, I could fall into his bed and sleep.
It was a shame almost all of his scent was gone now. It had been washed
out of the sheets and aired out of the covers. But I could still smell
it, just a hint of it, if I buried my face deep enough into his pillows.
I had to force myself not to break into an all out run as the mansion came
into view.
As I drew nearer, the sound of music, carried on the wind, reached my ears. The closer I got, the louder it became. It was coming from inside the building. I did start to run then.
I ran around the side of the building, planning to enter through the garden. The music was pulling me along. I knew it. It was one of my own CD's playing. Or at least part of it. The CD player had obviously been set to loop because the same song kept playing over again. It was Sarah McLachlan's "Black" and it just screamed "Angel".
I was practically flying as I navigated the last turn and started down the steps into the garden. I stopped short when I caught site of him.
I stood motionless for the longest time, trying to catch my breath and figure out just what he was doing. Not a single lamp had been lit in the house. No fire burned on the hearth. Just the music blaring.
*As the walls are closing in And the colors fade to black And my eyes are falling fast and deep into me And I follow the tracks that lead me down And I never follow what's right And they wonder sometimes when they see all the sadness and pain the truth brings to light. . . *
Still, even without any light from inside, I could see him. There was a break in the clouds, and the moon, though it was five days from full, cast more than enough light down upon the us. Angel was laying on the wet stone floor of the garden. Clad in nothing more than a dark pair of pants, he was laying on his belly and was so still that, at first, I thought he was sleeping. But then, with the speed of a practiced hunter, his hand shot out and caught hold of something in shadows. I couldn't see his prize from where I stood, but whatever it was, he brought it in toward himself.
I crept further down the stairs, making my way around the curve so that I would have a better view. If a very large part of me had not been so intrigued, so fascinated by this creature, what I saw would have made me turn and flee.
*'Cause I can't see no reason What is blind cannot see 'Cause I want what is pleasin' All I take should be free What I rob from the innocent ones What I'd steal from the womb. . . *
Angelus.
The demon was completely unhidden and toying with a rat. He held it captive within a circle he'd created with his arms. Even at this distance I could feel the power coming off of him in waves. And the pain and the loneliness. And the cruelty.
*If I cried me a river of all my confessions Would I drown in my shallow regret. . . *
He'd let the rat run just so far, far enough for the stupid animal to think it was home free, then he'd lash out at it, piercing its flesh with one razor sharp claw. The poor thing would squeal in pain and ran off in the opposite direction, only to meet the same fate. Angel did it again, and again, and again.
*As the walls are closing in And the colors fade to black And the night is falling fast and deep into the sea And in darkness all that I can see The frightened and the weak are forced to cling to mistakes they know nothing of at mercy are the meek. . . *
The game didn't end until the rat could scarcely move anymore. In a combination of movements that are best described as simply being fluid, Angel stood abruptly and brought the bloody rat to his lips. He did nothing to disguise the nauseating sucking sounds he made as he drained the vermin. But they only last for a few seconds. Then, sounding very much like a petulant child, he let out a growl and flung the lifeless rat across the garden. I heard it hit the wall with a sickening little thud.
"God, Angelus, didn't your sire teach you any table manners?"
*'Cause I can't see no reason What is blind cannot see 'Cause I want what is pleasin' All I take should be free What I rob from the innocent ones What I'd steal from the womb. . . *
The words had just shot from my lips. I hadn't even known they were coming! My own hand came up and slapped itself across my gaping mouth.
Angel turned toward me then, his yellow eyes round with surprise. There were little bits of wet leaves and twigs plastered to his chest and belly. There was blood on his lips as he gasped at the sight of me. But I'll give him this much, he had the courage not to try and immediately hide behind his human visage as the Angel of old would have done.
*If I cried me a river of all my confessions Would I drown in my shallow regret. . . *
"Willow." He just barely whispered my name, but I could still hear the fear in his voice.
I let my hand fall away from my mouth and then inwardly I shrugged. What the hell? In for a penny, in for a pound.
"Brood much, demon?" I asked before turning and making my way slowly down the rest of the steps.
I began to meander about the small garden. Touching a leaf here, spilling the raindrops it held. Stopping to smell the flowers there. I could feel Angel becoming annoyed with me and I didn't much care. Perhaps my actions were just a bit too reminiscent of Drusilla's.
*If I cried me a river of all my confessions Would I drown in my shallow regret. . . *
"Nice song," I quipped, as it played itself out and started to replay once again.
"Willow." This time his voice held a warning.
I looked over at him then. The demon still stood before me, but there was a hint of pride in his stance now. He'd wiped the blood from his mouth. He glared at me defiantly. I saw his hands, balled into tight fists at his sides, but I had no fear of him. He was waging his own inner war, not preparing to pounce on me. And, goddess help me, he was gorgeous. He was barefooted. From high on his hips hung a finely cut pair of black slacks that did little to hide the beautiful curve of his ass. Naked from the waist up. Perfectly defined abs and pecs, wet from laying on the ground, and glistening in the moonlight. Oh what I wouldn't give to run my hands across that chest and down that belly. I bet I could make him growl again, deep in his throat this time, if I were to scrape my nails over his nipples. I wonder what they taste like...
"Yes?" I asked, sounding as innocent as I possibly could while, even as I spoke, I could feel my panties getting wet.
"What are you doing here?" he ground out from between clenched teeth. Or should I say fangs?
I shrugged nonchalantly and resumed my walk threw the garden.
"I suppose I could ask you the same question," I replied as I walked behind him. I passed so close that I put my hand out and ran my fingertips across his shoulders as I moved by. I saw him shudder. Did he crave my touch or did he find it to be repulsive?
"This is my home," he hissed.
I paused then and looked him straight in the eye.
"That, my dear Angelus, is what we would refer to as a technicality. After all, of late, I spend a lot more time here than you do."
He looked shocked once again. Why? Because I'd had the nerve to look the demon in the eye and talk back? I was a bit disappointed. I thought he knew me a little bit better than that. Angel had seen me riled before. He'd witnessed me turning my wrath on both Giles and him when they'd pushed Buffy the wrong way. But he also knew, first-hand, the fear I had for the demon. He assumed that since he was wearing his true face, I would fear him. So typical. . .
"Put your other face on, Angelus," I said to him as I turned back to my flowers. I gave him a moment or two to comply with my demand. By then I'd made my way back to the wall where Angel had tossed the rat. There, at the base of the wall, was a good sized pile of fury little carcasses. He must have been playing his sadistic games for quite some time before I arrived on the scene.
"And I was going to call the exterminator next week. Guess you've saved me the trouble." Yah, I was definitely being a wise-ass now. (Memo to self: Thank Xander for lessons in smart-mouthed banter.)
I looked back over my shoulder at Angel. His brown eyes stared at me. I could see fear, and shame, amazement, and, yes, even a bit of laughter, all mixed up in there.
"Are you any different on the inside because you look different on the outside?" I asked.
He broke eye contact, and looked down at the ground before shaking his head.
"No." His reply seemed to catch in his throat and came out sounding very ragged.
"When you were without your soul, I feared you more when you looked like this. You are so very beautiful when you're in your human form. It's easy for me to be fooled. At least when demon is on the surface, I can't forget just what it is I'm dealing with."
Angel's head shot back up and he looked as though I'd just slapped him.
"I'm sorry," I whispered. I couldn't take back what I'd said. I wasn't trying to be mean. I just wanted to honest with him. Brutally honest, if need be.
I cautiously stepped back over to where he stood. I could see tears beginning to well-up in his eyes.
"I'm not Buffy. I don't ever wish that you were human. And you can't ever again try to forget or to deny what you are now. Look what that did to all of us."
My hand went out and I gently cupped the side of his face, as the first tear slid down his cheek.
"I just want to love you for what you are."
And as our tears began to fall, so did the rain.
End
Entry Nineteen