The meal was set carefully, though that was secondary in her plan. Still, the sunlight fell softly over the picnic lunch, filtered through their favorite tree, sparkling the setting and adding to Buffy’s general glow. Blood-wine for Angelus, his favorite meat pies, and his sweet chocolate dessert – soaked in blood of course. 

Upon first meeting him, Buffy never would have guessed her vampire had a weakness for chocolates. It was endearing and Buffy couldn’t help teasing him about it; of course, she was no better, and now eyed the confection, the part she saved for herself sans blood, with envy. Later, she promised herself, that was for later. 

Pillows covered the ground, a soft wool blanket spread wide enough for both their meal and their bodies. She loved that, lying on the pillow covered ground, head resting against Angelus’ lap as he fed her or read to her. A vision of them doing that as her belly expanded popped into her mind and she pushed it hastily away before Angelus could understand it. 

He was suspicious enough as it was, unused to her keeping secrets from him and in a grumpy mood from the meeting she never rescued him from. 

‘I promise to make it all up to you, lover,’ Buffy assured him. Looking around the setup, she added as she caressed him through their link and letting him see the setting before her. ‘Lunch is ready whenever you are,’ she added with a mental lick of her lips, running her hands over breasts and stomach as added incentive. 

She felt his agreement, and smiled again as he abruptly closed the meeting, offering the use of his kitchens and citing personal business as a reason he could not join the local magistrates for the meal. They didn’t seem surprised, or at least didn’t voice anything about his abrupt departure. Then again, it was rather abrupt and maybe Angelus just didn’t care to hear it. 

Buffy was already laying on the pillows by the time he arrived, stretched out over the plush expanse, her deep purple gown spread out around her. She was idly eating some grapes, waiting for him to arrive. She’d made sure her guards were far enough away to ensure privacy and no interruptions and then she erected a privacy field; the only ones allowed in or out were the two of them. No need to be sloppy, was there? 

Angelus stopped as he finally laid eyes on her. She was so beautiful, seduction and innocence rolled into one package that was all his, only his. The bodice of her gown was formfitting, accenting her lush curves and rounded breasts to his hungry gaze and Angelus raked his eyes over her form. 

Mine.  

A predatory and possessive smile spread across his face as he walked closer to her. Several hours of listening to mindless drivel on things he had no care about in towns that needed to fend for themselves, and he was ready to kill someone. 

Making love to his wife was a much better option, and one he intended to do with vigor. 

Kneeling next to her, Angelus raised her slightly, kissing her slowly, thoroughly, exploring her depths and mapping well-known territories. His hands rest on either side of her face as he maneuvered over her, desperate and yet strangely holding back. Make it last, he chanted to himself, though why Angelus couldn’t have said. Savor every second. 

Maybe it was the setting, maybe it was the fact that even though they indulged in each other’s bodies thousands of times it never grew old; he never tired of her or her passion. 

Buffy sighed, wrapping her arms about his waist to bring him flush against her, delighting in his weight on her. His hand roamed her silk covered body, teasing a nipple through the material as his mouth moved slowly across her jaw, down to her neck. Sucking for a brief moment on the mark there, he growled at the spike in her arousal and clamped blunt teeth over the never really healed scar, grinning at her whimpers of need. 

And smirking in pure male satisfaction as she gasped his name aloud when she climaxed solely from that. 

Slowly he undressed her, loving how her body was revealed to him inch by beautiful inch underneath the gown she wore, worshiping her body from breast to belly to thighs and toes. No part did he leave untasted. As his tongue lazily swirled over her wet mound, Angelus wondered at the change in her scent, her taste. 

‘Magicks, love,’ he thought, putting to words his question. ‘Your skin tastes of magicks and something else.’ 

‘You,’ she responded and opened violet eyes to watch him; his own a beautiful golden-red that she now understood. ‘I taste of you, Angelus love.’ 

It was an honest answer and he accepted it as truth. Still, there was something she wasn’t telling him. He felt Buffy acknowledge this as he made his way back up her body, continuing to taste the altered and addicting flavor of her skin, but she didn’t elaborate. Merging his mouth again with hers, Angelus thrust home, merging their bodies as seamlessly as they did their very essences. 

Buffy’s hair spread around them, her dress long gone, as were his clothes. The pillows shifted under their combined weight as they moved together, passion and love binding them. Motivated by an impulse she couldn’t name, Buffy shifted her head, biting Angelus’ neck on the exact spot the mark he bore lay, drawing blood. She didn’t taste his blood often; it was something that, while they both enjoyed it, was highly and dangerously addicting. 

If tasted too often, the other quite simply couldn’t live without it. Buffy often wondered about the frequency with which Angelus tasted her, but so far, there were no adverse effects. Or they weren’t away from each other enough to notice them.

The move, the taste, caused Angelus to speed up, pounding into her with a recklessness he couldn’t control. His face shifted, eyes, though he couldn’t see them, red in response. Slipping his fangs into the soft skin of her neck, Angelus drank from her as she did from him. Together they shattered into orgasm, eyes locking as magicks swirled about them in a fantastic light show that was contained within the protective sphere. 

Rolling over and drawing her into the comfort of his arms, Angelus let his eyes drift close, filled with the scent, taste, and feel of Buffy. He couldn’t imagine his life getting better; his eternal beside him, a kingdom that ran smoothly (mostly) and profitably (definitely), enough enemies to torture and kill when the mood struck. Life was just about perfect. 

Shifting up on an elbow to look into his sinfully handsome face, Buffy caressed his cheek with both finger and bond-touch. It was an automatic gesture, one they’d long ago stopped trying to stifle. Kissing his lips softly, once, she pulled back and smiled at him. 

‘I have something to tell you, my love.’ When he opened his eyes, still passion glazed and heavy with the love he felt for her, and silently asked what, she opened every part of her to him, telling him with thoughts and feelings what she discovered only this morning. 

‘I’m with child.’ 

His reaction wasn’t exactly what she expected. 

For a moment, Angelus looked blank as if the words made no sense to him. And for an even briefer moment Buffy sensed absolute, pure joy in the news. Something ancient, male, and primitive moved through him, reflected in his eyes, a possessiveness that warmed her thoroughly. Which all crashed around her as he roughly pushed her off him, not caring that she hit the brick path, hard, a shocked and confused look on her face and stood, towering over her. 

“You’re what?” But he already knew the answer to that, already sensed it – and wondered, as Buffy had earlier, why he hadn’t before. He knew she was telling the truth, knew from her words, her scent, her thoughts and feelings, that she was, indeed, pregnant. 

The question wasn’t how, though maybe it should have been.

No, the question in Angelus’ mind was only who? 

Eyes, which only moments ago held warmth, love, and passion, were now cold, a frozen landscape of blood and hatred. His body was perfectly still as he stood naked before her, glaring down at her with something approaching aching loathing. Shocked, stunned, Buffy could do nothing more than stare in silence. 

This was going nothing as she’d planned. 

“Oh, were you hoping,” Angelus sneered as he caught that thought, “That I’d believe you? That I’d believe the child is mine, that by seducing me today you’d surprise me and try to pass off the spawn of some bastard – a soon to be dead bastard I should say – as my child?” He leaned down, crouching over her still shocked and unmoving form and laughed coldly, harshly, as if everything he’d believed in was gone and all that was left was hollow coldness. 

“News flash for you, darling; vampires can’t have children.” That coldness reflected in his voice, in his touch as he gripped her chin with a hand, hard enough to leave bruises. 

With that he rose, hands viselike around her elbows, taking her with him; Buffy was utterly unmoving, so shocked by his reaction she could do nothing more than stare in stupefied silence. For the first time since they’d met, he hit her. Rage such as he’d never felt before consumed him, betrayal slashed his veins and shredded his heart and everything was a blur. Anger overwhelmed him and blocked everything else out, everything. 

It started as a means to punish her, to take the sudden and consuming fury he felt at the realization that his wife, his love, his mate, his eternal, had cheated on him. 

Had betrayed him, had slept with another. 

It ended with him beating Buffy mercilessly.

She struggled, finally, as the first blow of his hand against her flesh registered, and tried to fight back, but the overwhelming wrath that enveloped him made him stronger, and the surprise of the attack seriously hampered Buffy’s attempts to defend herself, magickally and physically. She could feel dark, ugly bruises forming along her face and shoulders, fingerprints from where he held her on her upper arms, nail marks along her ribcage as his fingernails lengthened in his vampiric fury. 

“Whose is it, whore?” Angelus demanded in a low roar that sent cold bolts through her. Still, as she struggled, as she cried out in pain and confusion, as she felt everything he did to her…he felt it, too. Every blow he landed on her he felt tenfold, every bruise that marred her perfect skin, bloomed an ugly mass on his pale body. Angelus never hated the bond before today, but somehow, as he hit Buffy and felt the punches himself, he did. Hated that he bound himself to a woman who deceived and betrayed him, hated that he trusted, that he loved, when he knew better. 

Hated himself for doing this even as he hated her for driving him to it. 

“Who did you sleep with, my little bitch?” He hit her again, reason so far gone that Angelus would never be able to remember the words he shouted at her, or the feelings of hate, revenge, disgust he forced through the bond that connected them for several happy years. 

He dropped her then, as if the feel of her burned him, disgusted at the sight of her. She was bleeding from various cuts and scrapes, several ribs were bruised along her side and back, he knew because he felt his own ache with hers, her lip was split and her right eye already swollen. Seething anger coursed through him; and yet he still loved her, still wanted her. 

No matter what he did, how much he hurt her…those feelings wouldn’t go away. 

“You are a disgusting whore,” he spat at her stunned crumpled form, doing his best, through his miasma of feelings, to close the bond between them. Angelus could feel her betrayal and almost laughed. He was the one betrayed. And yet she still tried to force the truth into him. 

Quickly dressing, Angelus turned and left, stepping through the magickal barrier that protected them from the outside world without a word, ignoring the sight of his beaten wife as she started to cry. The sound of her despair and her own anger pumped through to him; he ignored that, too. Just as he ignored the way his gut twisted at the haunting sounds and his heart ached at her tears. 

Stalking through the castle, he debated on whom to find first. Oz, as Buffy’s First, would most likely know who the father was, Gunn probably would as well. Unless, he thought suddenly and stopped near the Great Hall, Oz was the father. A fresh track of anger welled within him and he roared in crazed fury, slamming his hand into the wall. 

The pain of broken bones wasn’t enough to block anything out, it merely added to the situation. Not the sound of Buffy’s tears, not the anger and betrayal she felt towards him. Nor the love he could feel that consumed her as much as it did him. Angelus could hear it all, feel it all, and hated it. Hated both himself and her for it. 

It would be simple enough, Angelus tried to reason through that fog of emotion; as her First, Oz had access to her at all times of the day and night. They spent time together, childhood friends who shared so much through the years. Who told each other as much as Buffy shared with Angelus; granted, in a calmer state, Angelus knew that Buffy never broached the subject of their private life with the First, but at the moment he was anything but calm. That elusive feeling was definitely a thing of the past.

Not thinking clearly, let alone at all, Angelus whirled towards the practice fields and the Elfin First. It didn’t take him long to get there, anger making him move faster than even normal.

And still, he felt Buffy’s tears. And his own, deep within him, cried to be let out.
~~~~~~~~~~
Weakly Buffy lifted her head. Everything hurt, emotionally as well as physically, and her one thought was simple. 

Keep this a secret. 

It was no one’s business what happened here, there was, of course, a problem with that. She was too weak, too emotionally drained to call on her scattered magicks. The barrier remained. It would be until she consciously took the magickal field down, so no one could see her, but she couldn’t stay in the gardens forever. Even if she didn’t want to return to the rooms she shared with Angelus. 

Calling on whatever strength remained, on all her pride, Buffy cupped her hands and whispered a small enchantment. The air between her hands glowed brightly for a moment, scattering colored tendrils every which way, before focusing on the face of her childhood friend and First. She whispered his name through swollen lips, and told him her location, saying only that she needed his help, but careful not to let the charm become visual as well as audio.

He gave a short reply, which Buffy didn’t hear, and she closed the connection, confident her friend would be there soon. Not sure if she passed out or Oz was faster than she ever gave him credit for, the First was soon before her, crouching next to her, expressionless. 

“Milady, Buffy, what happened?” His gentle hands moved along her body, taking her hands, protectively curled around her unharmed abdomen, into his. “Buffy, who did this to you?” 

“Help me up, Oz,” she said and groaned in pain as he did so. Buffy refused to think on anything but protecting her child and returning to her rooms unseen. She knew that Angelus hadn’t harmed the babe, knew that, whether consciously or not, he had done nothing to the area that held their child.

“Buffy, tell me, please, what happened?” Fear and anger clashed within the First and Oz wondered if his mistress and friend were always to be harmed when he was elsewhere. Waiting as she struggled to catch her breath, Oz took a moment to look around. 

Pillows were cast aside in wild array, the remnants of an uneaten meal scattered along the path, and Buffy was most decidedly naked. Blinking suddenly wide eyes as he realized this last, Oz hastily grabbed the blanket from the ground, flinging whatever food remained on the mantle into the bushes, and wrapped it around her. He silently blessed the fact it was big enough he could do so without forcing her to move.

Where was Angelus? Oz didn’t think that he missed the hulking vampire, so he wasn’t here. And there was a barrier surrounding the area, Oz thought now; he’d crossed through it on his mad dash to Buffy. The only reason he was able to pass, the First realized, was because he was Buffy’s First, therefore automatically excluded from such things when it came to her safety. If she weren’t in danger, he wouldn’t be able to pass through, same as anyone else. But because she was, he had. 

“Just get me inside, Oz,” Buffy whispered finally, interrupting his thoughts. Oz was grateful for that, he didn’t like where his thoughts were leading him. “And make sure no one, and I mean NO ONE, sees.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Hunt. Capture. Torture. Maim. Eviscerate. Kill. 

Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. Kill. KILL. 

Nothing made sense to Angelus as he stalked towards Gunn as his own First, taking one look at Angelus, dismissed training for the day. Nothing. Quickly scanning the field, not seeing Oz anywhere, Angelus whirled around and started back towards the castle. If the First wasn’t here, he was there. With Buffy. 

Snarling, his face not yet shifted back from his vampiric features, Angelus didn’t even see Darla until she grabbed his arm. He growled at her and she took a step back. His eyes were red, face rippling with something she’d never seen before and she wondered what strange magicks were at work. Vampire eyes were never red, and their magicks were limited in the extreme, so what in the Lands…?

“Angelus, childe, what’s wrong?” She was genuinely worried for him, having never seen him this way before. Cold, calculating, yes, angry in a ruthless kind of way, again yes. But this? This was more; uncontrolled, angry, his body was shaking but she didn’t think he noticed. She also didn’t think he noticed the myriad bruises that adorned his body – where had those come from? His hands clenched and unclenched rapidly and a constant rumble vibrated from his chest. 

“Where’s Oz?” He spat out, not really seeing Darla, Buffy’s image superimposed over everything. 

“Oz? I don’t know,” then worried, Darla asked in a rush, “Has something happened to Buffy?” 

The roar broke free and Angelus pushed his sire away from him, not noticing when she fell to the ground in a pile of material. Continuing on his way to find Oz, he had an unguarded moment from Buffy. His fist slammed into a sapling, snapping it in half with his anger.

Oz was with Buffy. 

Moving faster now, but with the same grace he always exuded while hunting, Angelus turned towards their rooms.
~~~~~~~~~~
Darla remained on the ground for long minutes, stunned.

What in all of the Underworld was that? 

She was just picking herself up when Gunn rushed up to her. “Have you seen Angelus?” He asked distracted. 

“Yeah,” Darla murmured, still confused as to what happened. “He was looking for Oz. I think there’s something wrong, Gunn, he looked crazed.” 

Gunn stared at her, briefly noting the changes in both attitude and poise, before blinking. “Oz? He was looking for Oz?” At her nod, he wondered, “Has something happened to Buffy?” 

“I don’t know, but I’ve never felt such uncontrolled anger from him.” 

Without another word, they started for the castle proper.
~~~~~~~~~~
Drusilla screamed in agony and collapsed to the ground, William at her side in a second. 

“Love, Dru, what’s wrong?” He asked, frantic as his hands roamed over her, looking for injuries of any kind. 

“Angelus, oh, William, it’s begun.” She was shaking now, eyes filled with pain not her own and tears, “It’s too late, too late,” she whispered just loud enough for him to hear. “He’s gone, he’ll leave now, leave her, them. He’s leaving.” 

Not knowing what else to do, William held her close in the middle of the courtyard, rocking her as she whimpered and trembled in his arms. Eventually someone sent for the High Priestess, knowing Drusilla was important to the woman. When Cora and Lir, the Head Seer, arrived nearly an hour after Drusilla collapsed, they, too, were in tears. 

William had moved Drusilla into their rooms, still holding his consort in his arms as she continued to cry and shiver. He had no idea what was wrong with her, and that scared him more than anything. Her words made no sense, too late for what? 

“It’s too late,” Lir said as she pulled Drusilla into her arms, the younger vampiress going willingly from William’s. “It’s come to pass, and we’re too late.” 

Still looking on with confusion, William finally began to understand. Years ago, Drusilla said something about Angelus not being able to protect Buffy. He scoffed at the idea then, knowing the Ancient well enough to know he’d never leave his wife and eternal. Maybe he should have paid more attention, William thought now; maybe he should have listened to Dru more then, because now it seemed as if it were all coming to pass. 

Placing a reassuring hand on Dru, he looked to Cora and Lir. “Watch over her,” he said and went to find Angelus. Failing that, Buffy, Gunn, or Oz. 

He hoped it wasn’t too late.
**********
“Oz,” the Ancient said in a low menacing voice as the door crashed open. 

He wasn’t surprised to see the elf there, tending his wife as she lay on the bed, wrapped only in the blanket from their lunch. Naked, she was naked underneath that blanket and Angelus turned his angry red eyes to her guard, all his suspicions seemingly confirmed. 

“So it is yours,” he growled, stalking towards the bed. He spared a glance at his wife, regret and shame that he had done that to her, marked her beautiful skin in his anger, lanced through him, but Angelus buried it deeply inside him, blocking that grief from her. Instead, he let all the anger and hate he felt pour through to her, some sadistic part of him enjoying the look on her face as she felt all his seething emotions. 

Both ignored Oz and his confused look. His? His what?

“Trust, baby,” Angelus all but purred to his wife, eyes locking with her First as the vampire closed the heavy door to their rooms. No one else needed to know what went on here. “Remember that? It was all about trust. Then again, you can’t trust a whore.” 

So shocked was he at Angelus’ words, Oz barely had time to defend against the attack. Training kicked in almost immediately and he barely blocked Angelus first strike. What was the Ancient talking about? Oz wondered, briefly, but then focused all his attention on the vampire attacking him. He’d never had to fight Angelus, never thought he’d need to. This was something Oz was completely unprepared for and he damn well knew he didn’t like it. 

The elf had a sinking suspicion he was going to lose. 

Neither saw Buffy struggle to kneel up on the bed, her ribs protesting at the movement, cuts opening once more, leaving trickles of blood across her bronzed skin. She still lay wrapped in the blanket that held their combined scents, their love and passion. Priestess, was that less than an hour ago? But did her best to ignore it; she needed to be strong, needed to bury whatever hurt and anguish she felt over this and concentrate, even when all she really wanted was to curl in a small ball and weep. 

Breathing deeply, she called on whatever magicks hadn’t deserted her as she drifted in a current of shock and despair, emotional pain and betrayal. 

Hair swirling about her with a wind only she felt, Buffy forcibly separated her husband and her First. And just in time, her First was no match for the fury of an Ancient scorned and Angelus was trying to bare-handedly rend Oz limb from limb. 

“Stop it,” she commanded, looking as proud and regal as she could, considering she was visibly beaten and emotionally destroyed. 

Angelus stood from where he fell against the stonewall, glaring at his wife. He, too, held himself still and tall, energy beating around him as their bond transferred her magicks to him and back again, an almost visible line drawn between them. Obviously neither their magicks nor their bond realized that by staying open, by staying connected, it was making the situation worse, not better. 

A thousand thoughts, feelings, words flooded Angelus’ mind, but he locked them away. Meeting Buffy’s eyes once more, staring through the swollen eye that he, himself, caused, Angelus remained silent. He wanted to kill her, wanted to beat and rape and hurt her physically and mentally, as she had him. He wanted to murder Oz with his own two hands, wanted to know who the father of Buffy’s child was, if it wasn’t Oz, and murder him, too. Cleave him in two, tear him limb from limb over and over again until this furious tempo stopped beating within him. 

Alternately, he wanted to wrap his arms around Buffy’s middle just to be close to her once more and demand to know why she’d done this. Had it been because she wanted someone else other than him? Or was it because she wanted a child? 

He never knew she wanted children, it wasn’t something they’d every discussed. He would have given her anything, everything, even if he couldn’t physically give it to her; he would have found some orphan someplace for her to raise if she wanted a baby so badly. 

But for her to have an affair? For her to purposely deceive him, to get pregnant and then try to pass the bastard off as his? 

Without saying any of the things Buffy saw hidden deep behind his eyes, Angelus walked out of their rooms. He never looked back, though his purposeful stride did falter when he heard as well as felt a strangled sob from Buffy. 

Darla and Gunn were racing around the corner, clearly upset over something. Angelus ignored them, brushing past the pair on his way…somewhere. Away. That was all he wanted, he couldn’t bear to be near his traitorous, beautiful wife a moment longer. Longing and love clashed with hatred and heartbreaking betrayal and he wasn’t sure he could deal with those emotions any more. 

Darla motioned Gunn ahead and followed Angelus. She could tell crazed anger continued to flow from him, but was still unsure of the reason. 

“Angelus, wait!” She called and placed a hand on his rigid arm, trying to halt him. Magicks such as she never felt before jumped from him, singeing her hand and Darla jerked the offended fingers back before they could do more than slightly smoke. “What happened?” And even she wasn’t sure if she was referring to his tirade earlier, or the magicks that burnt her just now. 

Looking at his Sire but not really seeing her, Buffy’s image was everywhere and he couldn’t make her go away, Angelus said nothing. Away, leave, now, now, now… 

He shoved passed her, not bothering to see her crash into the wall, and went to the throne room, secure in the knowledge that no one would dare bother him there. He needed to confirm, without a doubt, who the father of that child was so he could kill the other man. Who else was near Buffy enough? The list was long, but filled with vampires, none of whom, like him, could conceive. 

Another growl escaped his mouth at the thought. Someone’s hands other than his on his Buffy, someone else bringing her pleasure, feeling her convulse around him, watching her when in her passion, so beautiful, so stunning. Desperately wanting his thoughts to be on anything else but that, Angelus roared in anger when they refused to comply and, standing, stalked to the ministers table in the far corner and upended it, hurling the heavy piece as if it weighed nothing. 

It crashed against the far end of the wall but did nothing to alleviate his anger. Stalking to the door, he was about to open it, intent once more on seeking the being who dared touch what was his, only to find the heavy wood pushed open and Buffy standing there. 

Magnificent, she was so very magnificent in her anger. Even beaten, as she was now, her swollen eye already lessening, the other bruises on her face also lighting, dressed in a loose gown that hid everything from her neck down, she looked glorious. And he wanted her; Angelus hated, her and himself, for that. 

“Come back to pawn off your bastard again, lover?” His voice dripped sarcasm, malice, hate. And, if one listened close enough and knew what to hear, heartbreak, love. Buffy heard, but didn’t care. He was the one to betray and she wasn’t going to soon forget that. 

“I will continue,” Buffy began, holding herself as straight as she could. Part of her desperately wanted to fall to her knees and beg, plead with him to believe her, to love her once more. Another, and for the moment stronger, part seethed with rejection. This was the man who swore he loved her? Showed her, held her, worshipped her, yet under it all, did not trust her? If it took the rest of their eternity together, Buffy vowed, in this moment of heated anger, that he would never again breech the newly erected walls surrounding her heart. 

“To see to my duties as Queen of this kingdom,” she finished in a cool voice, letting none of her emotions seep through. Unfortunately, their bond still wasn’t cooperating and pulsed as strongly as ever. She ignored, as he did, with great difficulty, anything to do with that. “I will stand beside you in any official capacity required. I will never,” she added, fire flashing beneath that ice, “let you touch my body again. It’s obvious you don’t trust me enough to do so.” 

Stalking forward, Angelus ran the back of his hand along her bruised cheek, in direct challenge of her words, smiling coldly when she flinched. “No, lover?” The word was vile now, a mockery of all they once were. “I am king here; I am the Ancient, I rule everything in this land. You, my dear, are in this land. And will do as I say.” 

A cold scornful laughter escaped her lips. “I thought I knew you, Angelus,” she said with absolutely no emotion coloring her voice, her eyes dead as she caught his wrist with her delicate hand, holding it away from her cheek. “But you’re nothing but a bully who doesn’t trust no matter what he says.” 

He stared at her, his anger bleeding through the cool exterior he adapted. Undaunted, Buffy continued. Her heart may be broken, she was on the verge of breaking into hysterical tears, but she was determined to have the last word here. “I know, despite recent actions to the contrary, that you are not stupid, Angelus. You know the truth. Why do you refuse to admit it?” 

He said nothing eyes still a burning red, face still that of the vampire he was. He wanted, Angelus found, to hit her again. To beat her until she admitted who the blasted father was so he could kill the unfortunate creature. Several times. He wanted to see her crawl and beg and plead with him until he forgave her for this. 

He wanted to know where they had gone wrong and how it happened in such a short amount of time. Silence stretched before them, long moments where things needed to be said but couldn’t be. 

In a swish of skirts, Buffy left. 

With a hiss of anger, he slammed his already bloody hand into the wall next to the closed doors, still not registering the pain. He stalked back to his throne and sat, spending the rest of the day and most of the night there, trying not to think, not to sleep, not to be lulled into the obviously false security of the bond. 

Through the haze of anger and duplicity, Angelus tried to think calmly. It wasn’t working. All he could imagine was Buffy’s bronzed body wrapped around someone else, her beautiful golden hair enclosing her and her, damned to Hades and back, lover in a private cocoon. Buffy screaming out someone else’s name, making those breathless erotic sounds as she climaxed. 

Shaking off the renewed fires of lust and anger, and doing his best to continue to block Buffy from their bond, Angelus tried once more to think rationally. It still wasn’t working, but he was nothing if not determined. Damn the bitch for reducing him to this! 

Potential fathers: Oz, one of her minion elfin guards, or perhaps someone from her brother’s entourage when he visited recently? All vampires were ruled out, as they couldn’t procreate the same as he. A Hunter, perhaps? A mindless encounter with a traveler during one of the festivals or celebrations? 

Didn’t matter, he’d eviscerate them all.

Each and every male that came within glancing distance was going to be dead at the Ancient’s hand if he had anything to say about it. Vampire, Elf, Hunter, Human, Angelus didn’t care; they were all dead. 

The sun peaked over the horizon, as if hesitant to see what lay before this new day. Still Angelus had yet to move. His thoughts continued to chase each other in ever more complicated circles of mazes and labyrinths, hatred over Buffy’s infidelity combined with images of their past years together. 

He was forcibly trying to find a way either out of the tangled web that were his thoughts, or the center where everything made sense when something occurred to him. By now, the sun was well above the midday sky but Angelus hadn’t noticed. No one, as he suspected, entered the room, or bothered to walk within the same hallway. Buffy, he could feel despite his nearly desperate attempts to feel nothing from her, was still in their rooms, laying in bed as her bruises continued to fade, naturally and magickally. 

How did Buffy supposedly cheat? 

He was never far away from her or gone for even short periods of time, for that matter, for her to get pregnant by another. She was never left alone; it’s nearly impossible to have that many in a secret and it stay a secret. Their mental bond: how could he possibly believe that she could screw some random lover, orgasm for him, and Angelus not feel it? Her scent was always the same: uniquely Buffy and their combined love. If another male had been near her body, he would have smelt the interloper. 

Angelus could admit to a great many things but he was not, as Buffy pointed out, stupid. Or was he? Obviously, he was something below the intelligent level he always held himself at, if he could think that Buffy had been with another since they married.  Logic inescapably took over at that point and he cursed himself a fool. 

Now he really needed to kill something to get rid of these feelings of foolishness and stupidity that inexplicitly took him over at Buffy’s announcement. He forced himself to calm, and for the next hour refrained from killing everyone and focused instead on the meditation techniques he’d learned long ago. As the sun began its hasty descent, sure that this had been the longest day it had ever brightened, Angelus rose from his throne and stalked quickly to their rooms. 

Oz and Gunn stood guard on either side of the door but refused to acknowledge him as he quietly opened the wooden entrance. Angelus thought, for a moment as he walked down the hall, that they were going to move to intercept him; they obviously thought otherwise, because by the time he stood between them, they were back to their stoic selves.  They stood straight and stared directly ahead, not giving any indication that he was even there; they knew as well as he did, that to challenge Angelus was foolhardy and dangerous.

Dismissing them, what did he care what they thought anyway, Angelus quietly opened the door. He was somewhat surprised to find trepidation crawling down his spine, but pushed open the door and walked through, closing it just as quietly behind him. 

Just as he knew she would be, Buffy still lay curled on their bed, looking small and lost as the wool blanket from their lunch yesterday engulfed her fragile body. This time, when his gut twisted at the sight of the damage he inflicted, he let the feelings wash through him. Slowly walking to where she lay, Angelus carefully, gently, probed their bond. Bruises, mental and physical, called to him and he was careful to sooth each one before moving to the next. 

Still in a state of sleep, Angelus watched as Buffy’s body healed almost before his eyes, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth as she felt him. Crossing the room, he knelt before her, ignoring the cold stone floor underneath him, the eyes of the Ancients laughing scornfully at him. With hands that threatened to tremble, he brushed the hair back from her face, smoothing the long locks behind her ear. Hesitantly he brushed his lips across her lips, and whispered her name. 

Angelus watched as her eyes fluttered open, the first thing registering on her sleep-fogged mind the fact that her husband was before her and the only feelings he emitted were of love and hope. Just as Buffy was about to smile at him, about to open her arms and welcome him into their bed, she remembered. 

In the next instant, her face shuttered, becoming as frozen as the Forbidden Mountains in the Beast Lands. Her hands reached for the edges of the blanket, wrapping it more securely around her again naked body, the dress of earlier hastily donned for that particular trip. The fact that she had purposely enfolded herself in his scent mattered little when faced with Angelus now. She said nothing, gave nothing of what she was feeling or thinking away as Angelus reverently moved the blanket away and placed his large hands over her unharmed belly. 

A soft white glow spread from where his hands rested through both Buffy and Angelus, encircling them for an all too brief moment. Smoothing his hands over her, Angelus wondered at the life growing in his wife. He still didn’t believe it was his, it was impossible for him to have children, but the facts added up to that one impossible fact.

“I love you, Buffy,” he whispered, the words coming out much more softly than he’d have liked. “And I’m…sorry that I hurt you so badly. I never…it was just a shock, something I’d never expected to hear and I reacted…badly.” 

“That’s an understatement, Angelus.” She didn’t move away from his hands, but her voice was cold enough to halt his movements. He only stopped for a moment, however, before gently rubbing the place that held her unborn child. His child? He wasn’t sure he believed that, but Angelus knew he wanted no harm to come to the babe. 

“I gave everything up for you, my family, my country, my home. I gave it up because I wanted you; I wanted to be with you, even if it was miles away from everything I’ve ever known. I came here because that was how it had to be; I bent my pride to acquiesce to your wishes because that was what you wanted. I gave you my heart, my loyalty, my very essence, and you’ve just betrayed me in the worst possible way. Sorry just isn’t going to work.” 

Meeting her gaze with his, letting his emotions play out between them, Angelus never removed his hands from her belly as he listened to her carefully controlled voice throughout her speech. A faint afterglow from the white light of earlier still shone around them, binding the three of them together. He still wasn’t entirely convinced this child was his, there were too many things against those odds, but he did realize that Buffy never betrayed him and never stopped loving him. The hows and whys could wait, at least for now. 

He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to take back the last day and a half, and didn’t know how to make things better with Buffy. Part of him insisted he needn’t, that he wasn’t the one at fault, but he successfully squashed that voice. Because the rest of him, the part that Buffy had always held in her hands close to her heart, insisted that he had to fix things. Because if he didn’t neither would survive the rift in their hearts. 

“I’ve never betrayed you, Angelus.” Buffy stated when he said nothing, merely continued to look at her and caress her stomach, the feelings flowing to her from their bond not the harsh emotions of yesterday, but hesitant ones that asked for guidance. If she were feeling fanciful, Buffy would have thought that he was somehow communing with their child, but, at the moment, she was too angry and confused to think on such things. And tired, by the Priestess, she was tired. 

Without another word, he moved to the edge of the bed, kicking off his boots and socks, not caring that he’d worn the same clothes for over a day. Wrapping his arms around Buffy, he settled against her, pulling her stiff body against his. She allowed him despite the vow of yesterday when she promised him she’d never allow him to touch her again. When she said that, Buffy hadn’t realized how hard it would be to keep that promise. Softly murmuring words of love and affection, trying to calm her, telling her over and over how sorry he was and that he’d fix everything if given the chance.

Somehow. 

Because Angelus knew that he just threw everything he’d learned about her over the years away in one mindless rage, not to mention beat her senseless endangering her and her baby. He hurt the one being in all the cosmos he’d never wanted to. And he had no idea how to fix that.

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