Title: Slayerface, Part 1-Beautiful
Author: Crimson
Email: shatter_mirrors@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: Sigh, if only they were mine... Buffy fans would be a lot happier. Or really, really, depressed, depending on my mood... (evil laugh.)
Summary: Buffy gets to be pathetic in an 'un-dead, I love you' sort of way.
Authors Notes: This is inspired by Creeds Wash Away the Years and a costume jewelry heart I was playing with at my aunts house while babysitting. I'm nearly finished the sequel, and after I do it as a trilogy, I have this huge, big, authors notes thing for you to read. (:

There's music drifting from one of the other rooms in this mansion. I can imagine what's going on down there, but I have no desire to join in Drusilla's festivities.

I'm alone in Angel's room, who's down at the party. The room's dark, but with my odd vampire vision I can see everything in the room perfectly and still tell how dark it is. A hunters vision, though I haven't done much hunting. Maybe that's why after two years of being dead I'm still not used it.

Everyone at the party is at least fifty years older then I am, not include the lackey's spooning out h'ors d'evors. I'd get picked on mercilessly if I go down there, especially since I where the face of a Slayer. I've lost a lot of respect since I was brought here, but I don't care and don't see the point in making everyone angrier by complaining. So I just wait here for Angel to come and get me.

There's a television on one of the dressers, partially covered by Angel's discarded clothing. I'm not turning it on, half because this place doesn't get cable and Sunnydale only gets four local channels, two of which are French, and half because I'm not sure whether or not I'm allowed to.

I'm sitting on the floor in the corner, knees to my chest. It's cold in here, and I've been in this room for a few hours, and my legs got cramped from standing. It's uncomfortable to sit like this in the dress I'm wearing, which Angel and Drusilla picked out for me. Drusilla hates me the most of anybody here, which she's proved on several occasions by trying to poison or strangle me in my sleep. Angel usually throws her out and beats her, which the crazed bitch doesn't seem to mind. The dress is made of soft and translucent white material, which is nearly completely cut down in the front to just past my navel, and when I walk it's long enough to trail behind me. I'm sure it looks beautiful, but it's a bitch to live in. I have rooms on rooms with closets full such gorgeous, elegant, ridiculous gowns.

Suddenly light is pouring into the room, as well as the classical music with an oddly demonic twist from the party downstairs. The sudden invasion of light is nearly blinding, but I blink and can see a broad figure standing in the doorway. Angel. I jump to my feet but don't say anything.

He's smiling, satisfied with something. He closes the door behind him but doesn't bother to turn on the light. He walks towards the bed in the center of the large room as if I'm not there, though I know he knows I'm here. I've only left once when he left me in his room, and since then he's locked the door anyway. But even if he hadn't, I wouldn't have left.

He's pulling his deep scarlet shirt over his head and then tosses it over the other side of the bed, it's single sheet in knots at the bottom of the bare mattress. "Hello, beautiful," he breathes, still not looking at me. I take it as my cue to step out of the corner, stepping over clothes and pens and knives in various stages of rust. Since Angel locks his door, none of the lower vampires who do the cleaning can get in here and tidy up this place.

"Angel," I smile. He flips his chain around straight and wraps a large arm around my waist gently. Always gently. At least at first. It never really lasts long.

He closes his cold mouth over mine, and the feeling is nearly electric as he traces his tongue along my lips. "You looked starved," he says softly, his lips against my face. "Have you hunted lately?" I know I look terrible, there are black bags around my eyes probably enhanced by the black eyeliner Drusilla's slaves loaded on me when I woke up this evening. I'm about to tell him Drusilla hasn't brought me anything in the past few days when he's kissing me again, gripping my head only slightly too firmly for comfort, but I don't pull away. It just feels so right, being in his arms.

I can still just hear the music rising through the floorboards as Angel pushes me down into the mattress and undoes his leather pants, kicking them onto the floor with the rest of his clothing. I smile, partially out of genuine anticipation but mostly out of witless horror I don't dare to show from what Angel might do.

He gets down on his hands and knees like a cat and crawls towards me, over me, wearing nothing but his boxers, his chain, and that teasing leer that always makes me shiver so I can't tell if my fear is melting or mounting. I let my eyes close as he kisses me again, pushing my head into the mattress.

Angel pulls the dress down over my shoulders, and the fragile material rips open slightly. Cold air rushes at my bare skin, and I try not to shiver. He leaves the gown in bunches at my hips, pushing my hair above my head. He slides a hand around my waist to my back, and I gasp as his fangs unexpectedly slide into my neck.

His hand rests for a moment at the side of my face, then rips the remainder of the gown from my body and tosses it over the edge of the bed. He's pulling his fangs from my neck again and lapping up any blood that's spilt down my skin. I'm starving. Truthfully, I think it's nearly been a week since I've fed, and it's getting to the point where I'm willing to attack anything that comes near me. And since somehow it was decided Dru was in charge of taking care of me, I don't eat much, and I haven't actually been outside in months, since Angel got tired of sharing me with the world. He's very possessive, and I'm one of the things he considers especially his. I can just barley remember a time I would have had a problem with that.

Someone downstairs is screaming. Spike probably decided it might be fun to have some live entertainment, which is a pity to miss, but I've got other things on my mind right now. Angel kisses me, and I can taste my own cold blood on his tongue. He pulled off his boxers while I was distracted, and is gripping my arm so that it bruises. For some reason, the tips of my fingers are freezing, like my circulation's been cut off - but I'm not sure if I have circulation. Christ, I'm never going to get used to this.

One hand on my face, the other along my side, Angel kisses the back of my ear, and slams his torso into me. I expected it, but wasn't prepared, and doubled forward. My teeth catch his skin, - I didn't even know I was in full face - and I can feel myself biting down. Blood rushes past my lips. Its cold, dead blood, but its still blood, and I'm so hungry...

But I have to pull away, because Angel warns me to stop by digging his fingers into my eye. The pain is blinding, and he doesn't seem to be stopping, though I'm not biting him anymore. There's still this lust for me to dig my fangs back into him, but I don't. He pulls away, and I can't close my eyes, like they're glued in that open position, staring at the yellowed ceiling and the, and the top of Angels hair.

He's not thinking anymore, I can tell by his movements. He's let passion take over, as it always done, and I can feel him crushing the bone in my neck as he grips it, trying to grind into me and rip the remaining blood from my neck.

I can feel the pulse in my neck through my fingertips, And I think my body's going numb. Angel moves his hands down my sides, I can feel some of the weight on my stomach relieve, and I can feel him part my legs, but that's all I can feel.

I can feel him close his mouth over me, and the fire seems to heat again, but everything's still numb. I can also feel his fingers digging into my hips, and my own jagged nails digging into my thigh, over scars that have barley had a chance to heal. I don't think he means to. To hurt me. He's just used to it... it's in his nature, and passion just sort of takes over. It would for me too, I suppose, if I had the strength to move. But I can't blame him for what's happening to me, whether it's his fault or not. There's cold blood dripping from the rips on my skin, and cold tears from my eyes. It stings. I want to stay awake, I really want to...


and I would be the one to hold you down
and kiss you so hard
and after I'd wipe away your tears
just close your eyes, dear...
Sarah Mclachlan, Possession


I can feel Angel pull his arms from around my waist, probably just waking up. I don't think I've actually gotten restful sleep in a while - last night was a first, and then only from sheer physical exhaustion. My right eye is sealed shut, and I don't quite have enough blood to make this dead body heal it quickly, nor to heal the gashes across my ribs and back or the broken bone in my neck. Angel must have continued after I blacked out.

He's leaving. Angel's gotten up and is pulling some clothes out of the drawers and putting them on, then sits on the edge of his bed and pushes dirty hair out of my face. I think my roots are growing in, since I haven't been able to die it with any or Spikes peroxide in several months. The length of it now is dirty white, making the roots seem black. Seeing the bone white hair in front of my face makes me feel even more dead, and I smile up at my love weakly, though it hurts my jaw slightly to do so. "You need to feed," he says softly, looking at me like he's almost sorry for what he's done. Almost. "I'll leave the door open so Dru can get you some food, and some clothing." He's whispering, but even the sweet low sound stings my ears a bit. He caresses the side of my cheek lovingly before stepping out the door.

I'm tired, but I don't want to close my eyes because there's still this tiny human piece of me that thinks it's never going to wake up again. So I force this corpse to sit up straight and look around the room through one eye, which still blurs my view slightly red. I kick away one scrap of cloth I recognize as the gown I was wearing the night before, ripped beyond repair. One fun thing about being dead- it's not really frowned apron to run through the house naked looking for something to where, but at the moment I'm not in the mood. I think somehow I'm getting sick, like Drusilla is - underneath the horror and pain of what Angel has done, and will probably continue to do, I'm happy to still have his attention. And as sick as it is, I still love him - him touching me seems just good enough, and is probably the only reason I haven't died from the hunger or what his touching is doing to my body.

I know Dru isn't going to bring me any clothing, or any food, and that her and most of the vampire's here won't go out until the moon fairly high in the sky, while Angel usually goes out just before sunset, when the are still humans on the streets. I wrap the sheet, which was kicked to the floor around myself, slightly disgusted to see a small smear of my blood across it. I push open the door and step out into the dark hallway, the cross the hall to the next room. My joints ache; I can practically feel them crack under my skin, which has become even more translucent from hunger.

This room is much the same as Angels, with the furniture arranged slightly differently, and being obviously unoccupied. The blinds have been left open, so I'm going to have to creep around them to the closet, where some of my clothes are stored. I don't even make it that far, before I collapse on the bed. Unlike Angel's, this one has a coverlet.

I can't stop the tears that are forming in the corners of my eyes, and it actually hurts to cry. Isn't crying supposed to wash the pain away? It never does, I suppose. I'm not quite sure why I'm crying. I'm not even really sad about it, but I've gone through the same routine so many times it's become a ritual. I curl my arms around my chest, holding them tight by gripping my own shoulders, wrapping the coarse sheet uncomfortably around me, pinching my skin.

Someone's sitting next to me, but I know its Spike and don't bother to look up as his familiar hand snakes across my thigh, brushing gouges of my own nails, which sting as he touches them. Those wounds, even on a mortal should have at least closed now. "Slayer," he says, like seeing my suffering is a trump for him, even if he hasn't done the damage himself. Where once he called me Slayer as a name, now it's an insult. I want to gouge his eyes out.

"Fuck off, Spike," I murmur. It's hard to speak, because of the bone in my neck, and it's painful to take in a breath to breathe the words. He's not moving his hand away from my thigh -I've never been sure if he acts this way because he actually wants me, or if it's just to silently show up his sire. If Angel knew.... As I've mentioned, he's very possessive of me.

He just leers. "And so, how's Peaches' little whore this morning? Still broken?" I glare at him, but he just laughs and blows a plume of cigarette smoke in my face.

"I'm fine," I hear myself croak.

"It's a mystery to me," he muses out loud, " Why you put up with this. I've seen Slayers turned before, but none of them as pathetic as you, pet. Maybe you're just as crazy as Drusilla." He chuckles, then, thinking, his face turns serious, and maybe even sympathetic. "Your not crazy, though, are you?" I turn my face to the wall. "Your actually in love with him, still." He spits the word 'love' out like it has a bitter taste, though his voice is still sympathetic. Hypocritical asshole. Spike is in love with Drusilla, but somehow that's allowed, and whatever is between Angel and I isn't. He doesn't know how to be truly sympathetic, with anyone. I hate him. I wish he'd take his hands off of me. "And I suppose he's in love with you, too, he just has a really fucked up way of showing it." Spike is smiling as if this is very interesting to him, and though it's true, I know he's doing just to mock me. I'm shaking with impotent anger, but he's pretending not to notice.

"You don't actually enjoy it, though, do you?" He slides his hand towards the inside of my thigh as he leans forward to whisper in my ear. "I would treat you better, luv," he promises. Fucking Liar. While he may not be as characteristically cruel as Angel, Spike doesn't love me. He'd break me just out of spite and revenge towards the girl whose face I wear.

I'm going to ignore what he's said. "Get your hands of me," I say stiffly. If Angel where here, he wouldn't touch me. He wouldn't dare. Spike chuckles and mockingly pulls the scratchy sheet up over my legs, finally leaving me alone.


And when you cry I'll be right there
Telling you you were never anything less than beautiful
So don't you worry
I'm your angel standing by
Jewel, Angel Standing By


I'm down in the gardens, now. There are fledglings recovering it from the damage of the party. I'm now dressed in not much more then two strategically places triangles of white silk, tied over one shoulder and my waist. They always dress me in white. It makes me feel naked and detached from all the rest of them, who wear yards of crimson velvet and black leather. I imagine I look like a dead angel. I'm so hungry I could pass out.

Drusilla, who is supposed to be feeding me, is sitting cross-legged between jasmine vines in the soil, playing with a small silver heart on a leather cord. Swinging it back and forth, it tinkles like a wind chime. She's completely captivated, twining the cord through her fingers. It's a beautiful sound, but after hours and hours, the thing is making my teeth grind and my head split.

"Stop it," I hiss at her. She looks up only long enough to sneer in my direction before continuing. Of course she wouldn't listen to me. I want to push my fist through her ribs and rip her dead heart out. She'd probably laugh at me if I tried.

While Drusilla's totally engrossed in the singing heart pendant,, Spike is totally engrossed in her. As disgusted as I am with his idea that his love for her, a crazy woman who will never be able to return his affection, is more justified then a love between a dead Slayer and her violently sadistic vampire, I'm just glad Spike's attention is focused on something other then me.

I can hear the door opening behind me, and heavy steps taking the short flight of stairs two at a time. Angel's home from hunting. Spike will probably take Drusilla out later, as if the crazy bitch couldn't go on her own. She's still bitter that Angel doesn't take her out anymore. He doesn't have the patience to hunt with anyone anymore, not even me.

His arms wrap slowly around my bare waist from behind me. My bones are still sore but it seems I've healed a little, anyway, so they don't seem to crush under his weight. He kisses my hair. "Hello, beautiful," he's whispering. Spike still calls me Slayer, but Angel calls me beautiful no matter how staved or dirty I get. Angel releases me and lays on his back along the ledge of the garden.

Drusilla's started to hum along with the heart, not an easy feat with a sound that no more then a light tinkle, but she manages. Her humming is probably the most disturbing sound I have every heard in my life or death, second only to her cackle-like laugh.

"Cut it out, Dru," Angel drawls. She obediently drops the heart into the dirt, smiling innocently. "Have you fed Buffy yet, Dru?" The name, my name, sounds alien. It's been a long time since I've heard my real name.

Drusilla giggles, crawling on her hands and knees towards her sire. "No. Ugly child doesn't deserve to be fed." Her gaze flickers to me for a moment with disgust. "You never should have made her." She tracing Angel's hairline with a manicured nail, not seeming to notice the partially hidden annoyance on his face.

"Feed her," Angel replies dryly.

"No."

The movement is sudden, but everyone in this room was expecting it. Angel catches her wrist and backhands her hard across the face. I can hear her jaw snap and see the skin split, and she's smiling as her head hits the dirt.

Meanwhile, Spike has gotten up, and is rushing at Angel. Anger and vampirism contort his face. I scream Angel's name, and his head whips around as he sits up to face Spike, seemingly surprised that the younger vampire would attack his grandsire.

It's just hit me- they planned this. While Angels back is turned to hold off Spike, time slows don as Drusilla lets out a cackle and pulls out a burnt-tipped steak from it's hiding place in the dirt, gleefully holding it out in front of her. Angel has a dumbfounded look on his face as rather then hit him, Spike shoves him back into the extended steak. His eyes go wide with pain as the steak misses and pushes into his spine. His confusion melts into anger as he reaches out to grab Spike, but Drusilla's quicker. She yanks out the steak and shoves it easily through his shoulder blade into his heart. Angel looks to me one last time, anger, confusion, longing and... regret crossing his features before those features crumble to dust.

Time has stopped all together. Drusilla is hyper, gleefully, not realizing she's killed her obsession, and he won't come back. She'll probably never realize it, and that probably how Spike got her to work with him. Spike looks proud with himself; eyes turned from the frozen rain of dust to his love. He knows but is in denial that she isn't now, nor will ever be, capable of returning his love. Everything, in this second, is perfectly clear to me. They set my Angel up and murdered him right in front of me.

Time seems to jump ahead a second. My mouth is open, but doesn't appear to make a sound. All I can see is Spike wincing, and Drusilla clasping her hands over her ears in agony. I can feel a bomb go off inside my head, and feel cold blood dribble from my ear. All I can think is a slight jumble of thoughts - how hungry I am, that my brain has melted, Angel is dead and they planned it. The world turns red, then black, and I don't think anything at all.


What revenges of spirit conjured this temptous rage?
Created you a monster
broken by the rules of love? you do what you have to do
but i have the sense to recognize
that i don't know how to let you go
Sarah McLachlan, Do What You Have to Do


I can feel my eyes flutter open, one of them quite painfully. The scab around my eye prevents me from seeing the whole picture. The room is spinning, and it seems my body is spinning in the opposite direction, away from me. My head is enlarged, and it feels as if the only part of me that was left alive is now dead, dust all over the floor.

The room is just starting to settle. I'm fairly sure I'm in the same bedroom Spike found me in earlier. I can feel that my wrist and ankles are in wide, rusted shackles, but the thought doesn't seem to matter compared to my other thoughts.

Angels gone. I can't believe they did that - that Drusilla would actually go against him or that Spike would actually carry out a plan. I suppose he got tired of Angel ruling him... I feel like my insides are melting into a pit.

I raise my head slightly, and even the small movement sends pain through my body. I think I hit my head when I passed out. I can smell my own dead blood, but it could be from when I burst my eardrum. As my conscious thoughts come back to me, and the red begins to clear from my vision, I can feel one of Spike's brainless hoisting me up by the hair. I'm tired to fight her. The chains that bind my feet together are just long enough to walk along with her so she isn't dragging me.

She's leading me down to the garden. Drusilla laughs as I enter, swinging the bloody heart again. I think my eardrums will burst if she doesn't stop. "Morning, beautiful," she mocks. "How nice; you're awake. I'd hoped you'd died." She's sneering, and she jerks the cord so the heart swings at my face as I walk past.

The vampiress leads me to Spike, who is standing on Angel's ashes. He's probably been dancing on them. I want to spit at him, but I don't think I have any spit left. I wonder if my soul's up in heaven with Angels? I wonder if it has been all along? The first time my soul has crossed my mind.

Spike is actually glowing. Evilly, mind you. I hate him, but I can't look at him, can't take my eyes off the ashes I'm standing on, can't look him in the eyes and defy him. My mascara is running down my face, I can taste it on my lips. I've been crying and I didn't know it. He runs his cold hand along my side, claiming me. I want to tell him to get his fucking hands off me. I don't dare.