Angelus Unbound: Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own them. Mutant Enemy does. All hail Joss
Whedon.

Spoilers/Ships: This is AU. Angelus/Buffy.

Distribution: Sure, just let me know.

Feedback: Is always nice. darkrhiannon@aol.com

Rating: R for violence and sex.

Author's Note: This one has been Jossed into kingdom come by Calvary.
But you can still…enter my dream… -Rhi


Buffy was screaming.  Pain ripped through her body like a live thing,
tearing at her muscles and shredding nerves until she was certain
that she must go insane from the torment.  Warm softly lit clouds
gave way abruptly to cold dank dark and she screamed harder, moving
hands that felt as though they'd been flayed to pound against the
surface too close to her face.  She was trapped, confined, and
suffocating. She felt it, even as she drew breath to scream again in
hopeless, terrified agony.

Abruptly, she woke, sitting upright in bed and shrieking out loud for
a moment until realization dawned.  The Slayer moved from the bed to
the corner, huddling there, naked and trembling as the endorphin rush
from the dream slowly ebbed.  Only then did she begin to sob…tired,
hopeless, wrenching cries that shook her too-thin body in their grasp.

Angelus watched from the shadows by the window.  Buffy had never
before slept with a light on, even during his prior torment of her. 
He sensed dimly through the blood bond that he'd created between them
years ago that this was commonplace now for his Slayer.  Her tiny
body had never looked so frail and his demonic lust for her increased
ten-fold at the weakness implicit in her tears.  She was so lost, so
perfectly vulnerable to him.  Whatever had happened to her, she was
now his perfect victim, as she had never been before.

Her friends and family had always insulated her from his
manipulations before.  Unlike other Slayers, she had love and
companionship, even school, to distract her from him.  She had no
idea how much that had frustrated him in the past. No matter how he
had tormented her emotionally, she'd stayed strong.

But no longer.  She was alone.  Spike lay in her basement, too beaten
from Angelus's earlier castigation of him to come to her defense
now.  He watched her dress herself shakily, her hands trembling in
the aftermath of her dream.  He stared silently from outside the
window as she rubbed her knuckles obsessively, seemingly searching
her hands for something.  She clutched them to her, suddenly dashing
tears from her eyes and some aspect of the scene triggered a long
forgotten memory within him.  Something about Spike…yes, Spike
rising, hands crusted with dirt and bloody from ripping through the
pine box in which he'd been buried by Drusilla and then forgotten. 
He had rubbed his hands the same way.

She was dreaming of her resurrection, he realized.  That was the
nightmare that kept the lights on at all hours.  That was the thing
she feared most…the coffin.  Angelus smirked.  *I can work with
that,* he thought, and disappeared into the night.

*

Buffy dressed herself hastily and glanced around the room.  For a
moment she'd felt…no, that was impossible.  Angel was happily
ensconced in L.A., playing house with Cordelia, if the seer was to be
believed.  Buffy sadly acknowledged that it seemed to be the truth. 
There was no way he could be here in Sunnydale, and no way that he
would have come without calling after all this time.  She was
imagining things again.  Or The First was playing with her mind.  It
was always a possibility.  *Speaking of The First, Buffy, time for
another patrol to see what nastiness it's dreamed up for us
tonight.*  She left the house without eating, her stomach still in
upheaval from the dream.

Strolling through the dark cemeteries, Buffy found it easy to slip
into Slayer-mode.  She didn't question, didn't think, just watched
carefully, listened and extended that odd second sense that warned
her if vampires were nearby.  Two fledglings dusted under her stake
and she moved on to the next cemetery and the next, killing
efficiently and observing all around her for signs of The First.

It wasn't until she came to a deceptively calm clearing between
Restfield and Blessed Perpetuity cemeteries that she encountered
Harbingers, but they had apparently been waiting for her, for there
were nearly three dozen of them, all armed.  Buffy plunged quickly
into them, striking fiercely right and left, spinning, kicking, and
then flipping away to avoid their agile, but insufficient
counterstrikes.

They weren't bad fighters, but they weren't in her league.  She took
out over half of them in only minutes, then stood panting as the
remaining Bringers circled round her, moving to close ranks against
her.  Three moved to attack her and she countered two of the strokes
with ease, slicing open the Bringer's throat and midsection
respectively.  Her sword stuck for a moment when she hit the spine
and that was just enough for the third Bringer to lean forward and
strike with a particularly nasty pike.

Buffy felt nothing at first as the tip penetrated her upper thigh. 
She snapped the haft of the pike with one blow and decapitated that
Bringer with another before burning pain flared in her leg and she
realized that she was hurt.  The others attacked then and she fought,
ignoring the pain radiating out from the wound.  She killed seven
more of them in the next minute, before yet another attack penetrated
her guard, this time from behind her.  The scimitar slid into her
side, missing all her vital organs, but increasing her blood loss
once it was wrenched from her flesh.  She killed that Bringer as
well, and five more besides, before retreating slightly to place her
back to a mausoleum and prevent any further attacks from behind.  She
took a moment to rip her shirt sleeves off and bind the leg wound,
hissing as she pulled the pike head from her thigh.  It hurt like
blazes, but she'd heal it in time, she knew, once her preternatural
healing kicked in.

Angelus watched from the inky shadows under the trees where no one
could discern him.  Buffy was fighting well, better than he'd ever
seen her, but she was outnumbered.  Even though she'd killed at least
twenty of the Bringers, another ten remained and they were unwounded,
unlike her.  Angelus could scent the ambrosial blood of his mate on
the air.  It called to him, pulling him into game face without his
volition and forcing him from the shadows.  He truly didn't know if
he wanted to help her or drink her.  The twin impulses beat within
him like a heartbeat in his undead chest.

He settled for helping her, not wanting her death to occur at any
hands but his own and knowing it likely that she might in fact die
tonight as she faced the Bringers in force.  He wondered where her
useless pack of friends was, then recalled that she'd sent them away
because of Spike's injuries.  He laughed at the irony, that his
punishment of Spike had left Buffy open to his own plans in such an
unforeseen way.  Then he waded joyfully into battle.

Buffy's will was flagging with her strength as she fought for her
life against the remaining Bringers.  They had pulled back from her,
seemingly content to parry her increasingly desperate attacks.  They
knew she was slowing, knew that she could not last forever against
them.  Their patience was inhuman and implacable.  Buffy shuddered,
looking at their eyeless, disfigured faces.  They were human and yet
not—repellant and alien to her.  She raised her sword and thrust at
one, quickly turning the feint into a disabling blow against the
Bringer behind her instead of the one she'd lunged at.

*Nine to go…might as well be a hundred,* Buffy thought.  She lunged,
feinted right and used a quick leg sweep to knock a Bringer off of
his feet and into her reach.  She quickly slit his throat, grimacing
at the searing pain radiating from her injured thigh because of the
move.  Suddenly she felt it again, that twinge of awareness that
she'd always associated with Angel.  She glanced quickly around, sure
it was a trick of The First, when suddenly five of the remaining
Bringers were brutally decapitated with a sword that she could not
help but recognize.

A tall black-clad figure stalked into view, and suddenly his face was
clear in the crystalline night air.  "Angel?" she spoke his name as
always with the upward, slightly disbelieving lilt that she could
never hide from him.  Angel, her Angel was here, helping her.

Buffy wheeled and struck quickly, her strength momentarily increased
just from the joy of having him fighting once again at her side. 
They made quick work of the remaining Bringers, their combined power
too much for the Harbingers of Evil.

Cleaning his blade on the robe of one of the fallen, Angel turned to
her, "Didja miss me?" he asked, his mouth quirking upward in his
trademark half-grin.

Buffy was speechless.  Miss him?  She'd missed him like she missed
heaven.  Without thinking, she flung herself into his arms,
stretching herself up his massive frame to press desperate kisses to
his beautiful mouth.

Angel surprised her, his usual reserve gone, as he kissed her back,
plundering her mouth for long minutes and only stopping when she
gasped for air.

"I'll take that as a `yes,'" he grinned, then frowned as he took in
her bruises and wounds.  "Buff…Buffy, you're hurt.  We need to get
you home."  He scooped her up in his arms and strode through the
shadows toward her house.

"Angel, how did you know I needed you?" Buffy asked plaintively, her
myriad wounds aching with extraordinary pain now that the battle was
over.

"I will always find you, Buffy," Angel almost growled, and she was
momentarily taken aback by the fierceness with which he held
her.  "You shouldn't have been out there fighting by yourself.  Where
is Giles?  What about Willow and Harris?" He sneered a bit on the
latter's name, but Buffy felt he had reason to dislike Xander.

"I sent them away.  The house wasn't safe for them anymore.  The
First got in somehow and hurt Spike…" her voice trailed off as she
said his childe's name.  She so didn't want to discuss Spike with
Angel.  She'd hurt Angel enough with her cruel words about not
trusting him years ago when Riley had seemed like the golden boy who
might lead her into the light.  The boy Angel had insisted she
belonged with.  She didn't want to hurt him like that ever again.

"I'll take you to the mansion instead.  It's a little dusty, but not
too bad," he said decisively.

He moved through the shadows with the lithe grace of a big jungle
cat, his pace smooth and deceptively fast.  They arrived at the
mansion in mere minutes.  Buffy's head ached terribly and her sight
was swimming in and out of focus from the blood loss she'd
sustained.  She sighed when Angel carried her into the familiar halls
of his mansion.  So many memories, good and bad, imbued the walls
there with almost tangible emotions.  Angel whipped a dust cover off
a couch with one hand, then gently laid her on its cushions.  Buffy
winced at the pressure on her leg and the thought of staining his
furniture.

"I'll bleed on it, Angel, no, let me up," she half-groaned as she
tried vainly to pull herself from the couch.  Angel pressed her back
into it none-too-gently with one massive hand on her chest.

"Rest, Buffy," he ordered.   I'll get some bandages."  He strode from
the room and she was left in the gloom to await his return.

Angelus returned to find Buffy asleep on the couch.  She'd not even
had enough energy to move, she simply lay sprawled where he'd left
her.  He pulled her shirt, already slashed into near rags, from her
supine form and tossed it away.  The wound in her side was clean, the
strike had been straight and true.  He padded the wound with a
bandage and secured it carefully with tape.  No sense letting any
more of that delectable blood to escape.  He pulled the makeshift
bandage from her thigh, removed her pants and examined the wound,
trying not to salivate at the fresh blood welling there.  He bathed
the wound and dressed it, pressing hard and watching Buffy's face.

Buffy struggled to stay awake.  She was dazed.  Still exhausted from
too little sleep for far too long, still struggling not to cry at the
pain of her newest wounds…still straining under too many burdens for
her small shoulders to bear alone…she gazed into the deep brown eyes
of her only love and failed to notice that they were no longer warmed
by the soul that once fired them.

"Angel?  Is it really you?  Am I still dreaming?"

In response, his hands moved from her thigh to cup her face, thumbs
caressing the tired lines of her cheekbones.

"I'm really here, Buffy.  You should have called earlier.  I will
always come for you."  Angelus worked to keep his tone light, not
wanting his darker meaning to flavor his words to his mate.  He would
always come for her…and he would punish her for daring to turn to
others for solace.  Just the thought of Spike seeing her like this,
sleepy and needy, was enough to force a low growl of anger from him.

Buffy looked at him in surprise and he recognized his lapse.  "Buff-
y, I can't believe that you let this happen without calling me.  Why
didn't you ask for my help?"

Buffy glanced away from Angel, embarrassed and suddenly acutely aware
that she was practically naked before him in nothing but her tank top
and underwear.  She pulled back and blushed angling her body away. 
Her face flamed as she met his eyes, knowing he'd seen every inch of
her…again.  Somehow she was always at a disadvantage with Angel and
it wasn't just the 224 years of experience he had on her.  He always
seemed more together, more in control than she.

"I…um…when we talked..." her voice trailed off for a moment, then she
shook herself slightly and continued.  "After I…came back…you said,
you seemed…Cordelia called and she told me about you…I mean, you
two.  I…I didn't want to…intrude."  She blushed even harder and
stared at the floor.

Angelus grinned for a moment, before wiping the look from his face
and attempting the grave, serious, *boring,* look that he thought the
soul would adopt.  "Buffy, it's true that Cordy and I share something
special," he said and watched in pleasure as she flinched at his
words.  *What should I say?* he thought to himself.  *If I tell her
that she was just a crush, an immature flight of fancy and now Cordy
and I share a mature, real love…that would just crush her, I know. *

"Buffy," he said, as soulfully as a demon could attempt to
speak.  "After you began *fucking,* making love with a human…well…
humans, I knew that we could never be together again.  Especially
after you, well," he paused, gauging her reaction…this could be
tricky, "after you told me to get lost so you could be with him in
the light…when you said you trusted him, as you could never trust me,
well, naturally I turned to someone close to me.  Cordy has grown a
lot since she came to L.A.  She has visions now. She's suffered a
great deal and given up even more in order to help me with the
cause.  She's a truly amazing woman." 

He emphasized the last word and smirked inwardly as Buffy dropped her
eyes, knowing that she couldn't help compare her now-skinny body and
practically flat breasts with the voluptuous brunette.  She didn't
need to know that Cordy's overblown beauty and copious charms were
nothing compared to her own fire and beauty.

Buffy hunched her shoulders at Angel's comment.  Cordy had always
been gorgeous, and Buffy was sure that the former cheerleader looked
even better now.  Gazing at her own meager breasts, Buffy wondered
for a moment when she had gotten so thin.  She used to be…rounder. 
She just didn't have the energy…or money…to keep up her looks.  It
all seemed pointless since she'd come back from the dead anyway.  She
wore the clothes that hadn't been thrown away, borrowed from Dawn if
she needed something to wear to work at school, and put on the
revolting polyester uniforms of the DMP and tried not to think about
how she looked any more.

"I'm glad that you have her, Angel," she said quietly, trying with
all her might to truly be glad for him.  He deserved happiness, or as
close to happiness as he could get.  From Cordy's last phone call, it
certainly sounded as if he'd found it.  He had Cordy to be mother to
his son…his teenaged son!  He had the life that he'd left her to
find.  And she had the freak show that he'd left Sunnydale to get
away from.  Still, Buffy loved him enough to want him to find peace
and if Cordy did it for him, then she was grateful.  Jealous, but
grateful.

Angelus smiled.  This was going perfectly.  She tried so hard to be
noble, the sanctimonious little bitch.  In fact, she was seething
about Cordy…he could tell.

"You should sleep now, Buff-y," he said, trying to look concerned and
remote at the same time.  "The First is sure to have more planned for
us, and you'll need your strength to deal with it."  He paced to the
fire and built a quick blaze, glad now that the soul had kept the
place well stocked with firewood.  "I'll go get you a blanket,
Buffy.  Stay here."

He paced quickly away from her, as if he couldn't wait to be out of
her sight, and Buffy bit back a sob.  He was here out of duty, that
was clear, here to save the world and then go back to his life in
LA.  A life, he'd told her before, that didn't include her.

Buffy stuffed her fist against her mouth to hold in the cries welling
up within her soul at the thought of Angel with Cordy, with anyone
else.  What she'd had with Spike had been nothing but empty, violent
sex.  Wild desperate passion without love, at least on her side.  She
loved Angel, still, with all her heart and soul.  She would love him
until the day she died.  Forever.

Angel strode back in with blankets and enveloped her tiny form in
them before striding away again toward the kitchen.  She heard
glasses rattle and water running and he came back with a large glass
of water and two pills.  "Take these, Buffy," he said, handing them
to her.  "They'll help dull the pain and let you rest until your body
heals itself."

Buffy nodded, grateful that she could sleep and escape all of this,
even if her sleep was plagued with nightmares.  "Can you leave the
fire burning, please?" she asked in a tremulous voice.  "I…I don't
like the dark so much these days."

"Sure, Buffy.  You know I would do anything for you," Angel replied.

Buffy drifted off to sleep, sad but satisfied that at least she'd
have Angel to help her in the fight against The First.  He might not
be hers anymore, but he was a fierce and powerful fighter.  Together,
perhaps they could think of something that would overwhelm The First
once and for all.

Angelus watched with avid eyes until he judged that Buffy was
sleeping too soundly under the influence of the pills to notice what
he was doing.  Quickly, he retrieved the coffin he'd stolen and moved
it close to the fire.  He opened it carefully, undoing the catches. 
It wouldn't do to break the thing…wouldn't do at all.  He pulled the
moldering remains of some poor soul out and tossed them into the
fire, where they combusted immediately.

The interior satin lining had half-rotted with the slimy residue left
from the decayed corpse saturating the bottom of the coffin's
interior.  Carefully unwrapping the blankets from the sleeping
Slayer, Angelus slid her tank and underwear off of her delicate
form.  Lust filled him at the sight, but he restrained himself. 
There would be time for that later.  Right now, it was time for
Buffy's nightmares to come horribly true.

He laid her in the fetid coffin, checked the air holes he'd drilled
and crossed her arms over her chest,chortling to himself as he did
so.  He smoothed her golden hair carefully on the rotten satin pillow
and took one last look at his sleeping beauty before he closed the
lid of the coffin and locked it.

Now all he had to do was wait until she woke.

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