Curses, Foiled Again!

For a week, straight, Angelus simply watched Buffy as she slept. 

During the day, they avoided each other, but at night, it was different. At night, he crept from his throne room, where he spent the majority of his time, into their rooms. His own sleep was disturbed – nonexistent – because she wasn’t there and he just wanted to watch her, even if it was as she tossed and turned in their bed. While he wasn’t sure if his presence soothed or agitated her, he did know that she knew he was there. She would sigh his name when he walked into the room, some part of her acknowledging that even now, when they were barely on speaking terms, she needed him with her. 

Occasionally, after that first week, he weakened, broke down from the indifferent façade he usually wore throughout the interminably long day and even longer nights. Climbing from his vigil in the chair he occupied and into their bed, he wrapped his arms around his beautiful wife. They both slept better this way, so used to sleeping in each other’s arms that to not do so was torture. Before Buffy stirred for her morning, Angelus forced himself awake, forced himself to leave their bed and the only body he wanted to ever feel again. 

They never talked about it afterwards, never really talked period, unless it involved their castle and kingdom. Buffy never told him that she knew he held her and how much it hurt – even more than his previous actions had – that he left in the mornings. It was better that way, true, and it was far from rational, but it still hurt. 

Buffy would still smile (it was forced), still laugh (it was weak and yet no one noticed – they kept quiet if they did), still do all the things her subjects expected of her (never would she allow anyone to know of the problems she and Angelus had). She would go with Angelus to their towns if their schedule demanded they do so together, but she refused to talk with him, refused to open herself, and as a result her bond, enough to feel him. It didn’t stop the feelings from rushing through her, but she tried. They never touched, and while there was some speculation, everyone was so used to the couple having silent conversations, that it really wasn’t dwelt upon. 

Cook noticed something, but Francisca was wise enough to say nothing. Never was she called upon to pack lunches for her master and mistress, though she did so anyway, knowing how quickly gossip could spread. She liked most of her staff and good help was so hard to find; if Angelus found out that anyone was talking about his relationship with his eternal, the dungeons would be full to overflowing in no time. So she packed picnic lunches and delivered them herself, sometimes to Buffy, sometimes to Angelus, always without a word. 

The same was with their dinners. Francisca acted as if she still received requests from Buffy for one of Angelus favorite meals and, again, delivered them personally to the solitary and quiet queen or the dark and angry king. 

Oz took to following his mistress whenever she left her rooms not trusting anyone else with her safety, knowing that she was vulnerable emotionally more so than physically now. The guards were well trained enough to say nothing, but he knew there was speculation among the ranks. He hadn’t forgiven Angelus for what Oz now knew the vampire had done to Buffy, doubted the time would come when he would, but he didn’t interfere. If Buffy wanted to talk with him, he’d listen, but until then, Oz was content to lend her his support, his presence, and his silence. 

He watched as Buffy rarely left her rooms, as she stood in front of the window that overlooked a far-off hill, a haunted sadness in her eyes that made Oz want to take back that day when everything crumbled around his friend. A part of him wondered if it were, somehow, better that she knew what Angelus was capable of, that, in knowing, she could somehow move past it and get over him. 

That part he firmly quelled when the rest of him looked into Buffy’s eyes. She loved the Ancient and nothing, not time nor distance nor even the actions of her mate himself, were going to change that. There was a reason, Oz could admit, why their bond was so strong: it was meant to be that way because their love was so strong. It started when Angelus spent years searching for Buffy, when he agreed to marry her rather than take her as simply another lover, when the couple preformed the ceremonies binding them together. It wouldn’t end just because of this. Though this was something the First doubted either were prepared for. 

He didn’t know what caused Angelus to snap and beat Buffy so badly, but he did know that whatever happened now, it was going to be harder than anything in the past eleven years. 

Gunn was a different story; he tried, at First, to get Angelus to tell him what happened. Tried to insist that it was for both his protection and Buffy’s, and that if he, Gunn, didn’t know what happened, then how was he to protect them? After two days Angelus finally yelled at Gunn that there was nothing for the First to know and that the only person Buffy needed protecting from was himself. 

Gunn, in shocked silence, nodded at his master, “Then I guess I better start.” Angelus said nothing to that and Gunn left the Ancient to his silence and isolation. 

So, as his primary duty was to Angelus, despite the pledge the Ancient made his First take regarding the protection of Buffy and his words to Angelus, Gunn dropped that line of questioning. After a long talk with Oz, the two Firsts decided to take care of their respective charges until the time came when they either reconciled whatever happened, or Angelus gave orders to the contrary. This was more because the two warriors were concerned for their charges than out of any real sense of danger. 

Gunn spent his nights standing just inside the elder vampire’s throne room, long after the sun set and any stragglers left. He spent the day watching the Ancient snap at everyone, when he was speaking at least, and stare in silence out the far window at a grassy knoll when he wasn’t speaking to anyone. 

The silence was always heavy, but Gunn made no move to break it. He saw what Buffy looked like that day Oz called him to help guard her door, knew that somehow Angelus had been responsible for her beaten state. From his position, however, it looked like his master was angry enough with himself over the confrontation without her recriminations. Gunn was not, however, about to tell his Queen that. So he stood in silence, following Angelus when he eventually left the ever-colder room he sequestered himself in to their rooms. 

And stood in equal silence with Oz outside that room throughout whatever remained of the night. In the morning, he followed Angelus, freshly showered, impeccably dressed, and more tired than the previous night, back to the throne room and that damnable chair. While the couple slept, he and Oz did as well knowing that, despite that one scene to the contrary, Angelus would never let anyone else harm Buffy and would, in fact, cut his own arm off before he did so again. 

Self-recriminations like that didn’t help with what had already transpired, however. 

Gunn watched as his master listened half-heartedly to his ministers and councilmen, as he watched the sun make its way slowly through the sky, as the chair next to him remained empty. The First often caught Angelus staring at that empty chair and wondered what it would take for Buffy to fill it again. Time was one thing, but there were duties to be seen to that required them both. 

William nodded to the First as he stalked into the throne room, over two weeks after what he dubbed ‘The Incident.’ He glared at his sire, who didn’t even bother to turn around at his entrance, and wondered why none of them listened to the vision Drusilla prophesized so long ago. Then again, none of them knew the reason for Angelus’ sudden bout of insanity, either. Plus, Dru’s vision still didn’t make sense, even now when they dreaded the worst: that her prophecy was coming true. 

Buffy was no better; she refused to speak with Drusilla or Darla, refused William’s invitations for an outing, and, according to Oz, refused to basically leave her rooms. She was standoffish on the best of days, rude when they tried to speak with her about anything relating to Angelus, and silent the rest of the time. 

‘By the gods,’ William thought as he watched Angelus ignore him, ‘She has her own issues over all of this. Combined with his, it’s enough to make a vampire want to behead himself.’ 

“What happened?” The younger vampire asked without preamble. Even with all of them squelching any rumors that popped up over the last weeks, people were beginning to talk.  

Angelus continued to stare out the window in silence, not bothering to answer his childe. William sighed and moved closer to the Ancient, careful to keep out of arm’s reach. He knew how fast Angelus was, but hoped his own sense of self-preservation kicked in before something drastic happened. 

“Damn it, Angelus, tell me or don’t,” he added in frustration. “But do something about whatever the situation is, because people are starting to talk. There are rumors going around that you and Buffy are planning to somehow break your bond, even though we both know that’s impossible, that you’re disavowing her as your eternal, again, impossible, that she’s planning to overthrow you and install herself as Ancient and annex the kingdom as part of the Elfin Lands. Hell,” William argued, “There’s also a story that one or the both of you are in league with the Watcher’s from the mortal realms!” 

Angelus snorted at that last comment but continued to say nothing else. William wanted, to repeatedly bang his head against the nearest wall. Or push Angelus out the window. Both held appeal. 

With nothing better to do than listen to Drusilla’s moans of pain and predictions of doom in the arms of one or more of the priestesses, argue with Nicholaus, Drusu, and Theophilus about what had or not happened or sit in silence with Oz and Gunn as they, too, tried – fruitfully – to figure out what happened, William pressed on. At this point a severe beating would at least tell him Angelus was still somewhere inside the being before him. 

“Is Buffy leaving you for another?” No response but a tightening of Angelus’ jaw. “Is she taking over your kingdom, turning you over to the Watcher’s, feeding you to the Dragons?” Nothing there, either. “Are you,” and here was trickier, “Leaving her? Going to see any…place…else?” 

Well, it was part of Dru’s vision, and while William still couldn’t see that happening, he hadn’t envisioned this, either. Damn him anyway. Angelus said nothing, merely continued to stare out the window in silence. William, seriously wanting to push him out said window, waited. And waited, and finally, just as he was turning to leave, Angelus spoke. The Ancient’s words were not reassuring.  

“I hurt her.” 

William waited again, hoping Angelus would elaborate, but nothing more was forthcoming. Heaving a great sigh, he turned and left the room, nodding again to Gunn on his way out. Well, that hadn’t gone at all as he’d planned.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Where’s Darla?” William asked as the group gathered in the hall, voices low so as not to alert Buffy to their presence. 

Oz refused to leave his post by her side, except at night when Angelus was with her; no, that didn’t make sense, as Oz knew it was Angelus who hurt his mistress in the first place. Whatever happened between then, Buffy was still calmest when he was there; no screaming in pain as she slept, no crying herself to sleep, and no restless pacing throughout the night. While it didn’t make sense that Oz left her with the being he trusted least in this world, the First knew that Buffy was possibly safest with him.  

The logic was more than a little skewed, granted, but it was true. 

So they were meeting outside her door. Gunn wasn’t there, either, guarding Angelus as he and Oz agreed, but William had no doubt the Elfin First would tell his counterpart what they discussed here. Theophilus and Drusu stood by quietly, guarding either end of the hallway for uninvited guests. 

“Speaking with the queen,” Nicholaus confirmed with a nod towards the door, “Though I don’t know how helpful that’ll be, considering all other attempts to communicate with either her or the Ancient have been worthless. Still, we should hurry, incase the Queen realizes we’re here.” 

Oz nodded, but offered the group their one hope to find out what was wrong with the couple. “I received a letter from Buffy’s brother’s wife today. Tara is an Aura-Reader and a Healer; she taught me the Healing Magicks. Somehow she knew that things weren’t right with Buffy and Angelus and wrote to say she’d be arriving within the next two weeks.” 

No one said anything and Oz added with a small shrug. “If anyone can understand what happened, or get either of the two to open up, it’s her.” 

Drusilla smiled, the first one in days, but then began to quietly wail. “Strong and true, she’ll be helpful to Dru; weak and strong, too much and he’ll be gone. Meant to be, all of it, he and she; betrayal in our midst, broken with jealousy’s kiss.”

“I think,” William said slowly, “That things are about to get much worse…”
~~~~~~~~~~
Darla wasn’t one to let a little thing like privacy stop her. 

She – and the rest of Buffy’s friends – wanted answers and she was willing to do just about anything to get them. Yes, even if she had to badger to get her way. Still, over the years, she and Buffy had grown closer and while Darla admitted that there was still a healthy dose of jealously within her over Buffy’s relationship with Angelus, and a healthy dose of possessiveness towards her childe, she was practical. No matter what this little tiff was about, there wasn’t anything Darla could think of that would drive the couple apart long enough for Darla to have another chance. 

It had taken a week for her to come to that conclusion and another two days for her to resign herself to speaking with Buffy about the situation.  

Now that she was within the Queen’s chambers, watching the elf before her stare out the window, Darla had nothing to say. What had possessed her to do this again? Some twisted need to be a ‘friend’ to the elf? Some perverted thing that haunted her, that taunted her with the knowledge that Buffy was the only being in Darla’s existence to ever truly accept her? Even Angelus never accepted her in all the years they were together, sporadic as that relationship was; he used her body, manipulated whatever connections she had, and tossed her away like a fledgling. 

It was sad irony that Darla still wanted Angelus. 

“I’m sure it’s fixable,” Darla said and wondered where those incredibly stupid words came from. Buffy didn’t turn or acknowledge the vampiress in any way. “The two of you are bonded, even before that, there was something between you.” Still nothing and Darla was running out of comforting things to say.

She was so bad at this kind of thing. 

“He loves you,” she finally tried, suddenly wondering why she couldn’t sense anything about Buffy, not her scent, her presence, nothing. Was she somehow shielding herself form Darla, or was it from the castle in general? And Angelus, now that she thought about it, she couldn’t sense anything about him, either; did it have something to do with their bond? Or with their fight? 

“I know.” 

That was all Buffy said, and she still hadn’t turned from the window, tracing random patterns on the stone still. Darla waited a little longer before turning to leave, nodding to Oz on her way out, knowing that whatever had transpired between the group, while she’d unsuccessfully tried to talk with Buffy, William would relate to her. And she didn’t know, maybe William had had better luck with Angelus.  

Maybe they should just lock the couple in the dungeons and wait until they sorted their own difference out.
~~~~~~~~~~
She could feel herself weakening. 

Since the day Angelus came to apologize to her, Buffy had held onto her anger, helpless rage, gut-wrenching agony and betrayal with everything she was. Her husband, the man she’d pledged everything to, for a literal eternity, had hurt her in the worst way imaginable. He hadn’t trusted her. He hadn’t believed her, hadn’t believed in her. He’d thought that she was the betrayer and that her being pregnant with his child was somehow wrong, somehow her fault and that the child was not his. 

A day later he’d come to apologize, but how could she forgive something like that? He’d taken everything they’d built over the last ten years and destroyed it in less than five minutes. Trust, love, hope, everything was gone, crushed in his hands as those hands beat her mercilessly. She’d vowed then never to allow him near her again. It was a vow made in the heat of the moment and one she had every intention of keeping…in that moment. 

Buffy never thought of the child they’d conceived, never thought that Angelus had as much right to the babe as she did. The elf had thought only of the fact that Angelus had betrayed her, beat her, accused her of horrible things, and that was something that Buffy could not forgive. He’d apologized, admitted his wrongdoing and asked forgiveness. 

And then he’d slept in their bed, holding her tightly to him as, in sleep, their bond reinforced itself through no participation on their part. He held her and she allowed it, knowing that she wasn’t strong enough to stay away from the only thing she needed in her exceptionally long life. They never talked, but Buffy could feel what he was feeling, knew, even before he apologized, that he was remorseful, sick with shame over what he’d done to her. 

The babe, Buffy could tell, knew her father, knew his touch, his voice, even scarcely weeks old as it was. When Angelus held her, Buffy could feel the child within her womb relax in peace. Was she being irrational? Was the fact that he’d jumped to conclusions so easily part of the reason she refused to even sup with him? He was wrong, there was no denying that, but he’d admitted as much. 

Or was she weak for thinking of at least trying to forgive Angelus? Buffy didn’t know, but as the weeks drug by, it was getting harder and harder to stay away from him. Her body craved him; their bond sought him out even when forcibly blocked. In sleep she knew she turned to him as his arms wrapped securely around her, holding her safely as Buffy once believed. But those arms, those hands had hurt her terribly and the elfin queen wasn’t sure she was strong enough to forget that. 

Could she forgive him? Yes. Could she trust him again? No.
~~~~~~~~~~
Weeks turned into almost two months, Kynan’s wife Tara arrived to try to soothe the tension between Buffy and her husband. But it was obvious to most that there was something wrong in the royal marriage. Said royal couple, however, still carried enough love, respect, and fear, for those rumors to be kept quiet. Angelus’ temper was well known when it came to matters of his wife, and even if they weren’t getting along, as those rumors suggested, no one was willing to take the chance on saying anything about her. 

Publicly they stood together, never wavering in their stance, but privately things weren’t falling apart. They were shattered beyond recognition.
**********
Tara, wife to Kynan the heir to the Elfin Lands, arrived earlier than expected. 

And a good thing, too. The moment Oz met her in the courtyard the First escorted her to Buffy’s chambers, not bothering with much in the way of a greeting. Considering they were of the same clan and Tara taught him all he knew about Elfin healing, that told the woman all she needed to know. 

Her friend and sister was in pain. 

Tara was not an exceptionally tall woman, but she carried herself with a grace that belied her height. Her bronzed skin held a paler tone to it, evidence of her skills as a healer and aura reader. Dark blonde hair was pulled away from her face into a loose bun at the nape of her neck and her soft blue eyes were compassionate as they spotted the broken queen. 

She had no idea what happened to Buffy, where Angelus was, or what caused the initial fight that had Oz send for her, but Tara didn’t care. She’d find out soon enough and, when she did, she’d work on getting them to talk once more. Now, staring at the queen as the queen stared out the window, the joint sensation of Buffy and her husband called to Tara. They were both in pain, and both still deeply in love with neither knowing how to fix whatever went wrong between them. 

Yes, they were still as bonded as ever, Tara could see that clearly, but in this moment, as she crossed to where Buffy stood, Tara wasn’t sure how either was going to survive this. Bonded pairs weren’t meant to be separated. 

Resting her hand on the queen, Tara immediately pulled back in painful shock. Buffy was only half elf, but her mother’s people held long-dormant magicks in their bloodline, giving Buffy a strength and power few in the elfin world ever experienced. But that shouldn’t have been enough to harm Tara in any way – it never had before. 

The child growing within Buffy was another matter entirely. Now noticing the third distinct aura surrounding the silent elf, something that had been obscured from Tara by the sheer strength of Buffy and Angelus’ bond, Tara couldn’t help the smile that formed. A child by a vampire and an elf, how extraordinary! 

Gathering Buffy to her once more, something she’d done numerous times when they were children, Tara pulled her friend into her arms and spoke not to her, but to the babe. 

“You’re going to be the start of something wonderful and new, little one.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Again staring out the window overlooking the grassy knoll they ridden across countless times, Buffy wondered if she her pride was worth spending the rest of her existence mated and bonded with someone she never talked to. 

Tara sat by the writing desk, penning a letter to Kynan and Rupert about Buffy, leaving out the more strained parts of her relationship with Angelus, but Buffy didn’t acknowledge her sister and friend. Tara didn’t mind, in fact she thought that Buffy’s long bouts of thinking were probably for the best. She had to work through this herself and then speak with Angelus; nothing anyone did could change the basic facts that this was between them. 

In the week since Tara arrived, she had a chance to speak with Angelus only once, as part of his duties in greeting her. She’d made the most of it and noted the spark of hungry hope that flashed in his eyes when Tara said how much Buffy still loved him. His whispered, “I love her,” brought a smile to Tara’s face and lifted her spirits considerably.

Where love was, she reasoned, hope blossomed. 

Buffy continued to look out her window, from her position on their bed, deep in thought. She’d gambled everything she was, everything she had on the fact that she could eventually get Angelus to love her and trust her as she did him. For a while, Buffy thought he loved her as much as she did him, trusted her, knew beyond a doubt that she would never betray him or hurt him. What they had with each other, in each other, was indestructible, real, true…mutual. And then to find out that in the space of moments how naive she’d been, how wrong as he beat and raged at her for something she’d never done, much less even considered. He doubted her so easily, so quickly, so completely, despite later attempts to apologize. 

No, she couldn’t give in. But the reasons why were becoming harder and harder to remember. Angelus was as always; with the notable exception of their lack of communication – of any kind. He held her possessively throughout the night, Buffy reminded herself, never trying to use either their bond or their need for one another to force her acceptance of him. 

She could understand his despair, his mistrust; he was a being that trusted no one, yet, to some degree, he’d made her believe she was different. Buffy thought he trusted her implicitly, loved her without measure or question. Still, for all those softer emotions, he showed her, dealing with the reactions in a being like her husband, a being unused to love and trust was difficult at best, even after years of seeming acceptance. Those emotions were probably so anathema to him that he didn’t know what to do with them, how to deal with them when everything he’d given her was seemingly thrown back in his face. 

Was what they had was all one sided and he never loved her? Buffy didn’t know. 

In fact, if what she was feeling was right – and Buffy knew it was – the shame he felt at his treatment of her was enough to still any intimacy for the foreseeable future. Oh, he still wanted her; she’d woken numerous times to his caresses, his kisses, the physical evidence of his need for her pressing into her softness and heat. But always, the moment she became consciously aware of it, he backed off, as if it triggered something within him as well, reminding him that making love to his wife was all but forbidden. 

As Buffy sat on their bed, running her hand over the pillow, which cushioned his head earlier this morning, she wondered if she could forgive him. Pride was a poor substitute when it came to the warmth and comfort she craved with Angelus, yet it was all that remained it seemed. And if she couldn’t forgive, if her pride was too strong, how she was going to survive.

How was their child?
~~~~~~~~~~
Staring out the window, at the same knoll Buffy looked at with a heavy heart, Angelus wondered when his punishment would be enough for her. 

He didn’t doubt he deserved it, didn’t doubt that his actions, reckless and ill-thought out as they were, had seriously damaged their relationship, that that trust he’d so lauded was more or less shot to Hades, but he’d apologized. She was, Angelus thought, the first being he’d ever apologized to. That had to count for something, didn’t it? 

He’d gone to her every night, not with the intention of seducing her, but with the hope that she’d find it within her to forgive his one slip – large though it was – and for them to start the rebuilding process. He never realized, until it was gone, how much he needed her strength and understanding, her support, simple acceptance, and most of all, love. How he needed everything within her, everything she was with a jealously that consumed him. Not because it made him better, for he didn’t care about that, but because he was complete when she was with him. 

The simple fact was, Angelus realized as he watched her throughout the interminable weeks since their fight, that the very life and heart had been sucked out of his wife. Angelus knew this and it was more than he could bear, because Angelus also knew that he’d done it; he destroyed something infinitely precious and it seemed as if nothing he did could repair what was lost. Buffy was so distant he couldn’t reach her mentally, physically, or emotionally, because she was so traumatized from his betrayal. 

Tara’s presence had soothed the roughened edges between the pair, but they still hadn’t really talked, and that was something they desperately needed to do. Still, Angelus was grateful to the healer for her presence and support of Buffy. He knew his wife occasionally talked with her sister and while jealously over that ate at him, Angelus was glad she was speaking to someone about this. He just wished it were he. 

Two months had passed and still, she barely uttered a word to him. Pride he understood, it was, after all, the reason for his heated reaction to her news. Well, pride and uncontrollable rage. News he still didn’t fully accept, and reasons on how it’d happened she’d never explained to this day. Pride was a formidable obstacle, yes, but something that he was confident he’d use to his advantage. So far, it hadn’t worked. His own pride flared and he thought that he’d give his wife one more chance. 

Before reality broke through his increasingly desperate haze and Angelus realized that he’d give her a thousand, thousand chances because that was the nature of his love for her. Even though his reaction to the news of her pregnancy was far from ideal, he’d realized, on his own, that he was wrong. That there was no other in her life, in her bed, and that, despite millennia of evidence to the contrary; he was the father of a child…of Buffy’s child. 

Again, something moved through him even as he tried to block it out, a heady feeling that he created something no other vampire ever had. But doubt still plagued him, for it was a known fact that vampires could not produce children. In short, it was a vicious cycle of doubt and hope that prevented Angelus from fully embracing the idea that Buffy was pregnant with his child. His.

Turning from the window, the Ancient strode purposely from the room and towards Buffy. He knew she rarely left their rooms unless needed for an official function, claiming fatigue as a reason for her continued absence from public life. He was sure no one would guess the reason for her ‘illness’ but it didn’t matter. Buffy’s pregnancy would soon be common knowledge, sooner rather than later if her magicks continued to grow the way they were. It seemed he was the only one not affected by those magicks and could think that the only reason for that was his bond with her.

Before this, she was one of the, if not the most powerful Elf in all the Lands. Now, she was twice that. Was it a sign that her (their) child was going to be as powerful? Or was this common for pregnant elves? Angelus didn’t know, and the one source of his information wasn’t on speaking terms with him. Maybe he’d ask Tara later, she was an elf, had three children and was a strong healer. 

Opening the doors that led to their rooms, he carefully closed them and simply watched her. The sun was shinning brightly through the window, casting a golden halo around her body, a shimmering light that made her look untouchable, ethereal. Swallowing, Angelus moved a few steps towards her, stopping just out of arms’ reach. While he desperately wanted, needed to touch her, he didn’t trust himself to say what he wanted to first if she was in his arms. 

Still, he let his feelings flow to her, as he always did when near her. Words came hard to the vampire, oh, not words of love, Angelus had gotten used to those. But these words of guilt, sorrow, and remorse. He could have easily killed her, possibly her (their) child, when all he’d ever wanted was to worship her. He’d never wanted to harm her… 

“Are you ever going to talk to me again?” 

For long moments she didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge his presence though he knew she knew he was there the moment he left his throne room. Then she rolled over, sitting up on their bed, looking more beautiful than he’d ever seen her. Her skin glowed, emitting a soft light that literally shinned out from her womb and encased her in its effervescence beauty. 

“What is it you wish me to say?” 

“I don’t know,” Angelus admitted, moving another step closer, crouching at the edge of the bed, and giving into the urge to run his fingers along her cheek. “I only know that the longer I’m away from you the more it hurts. I love you and I don’t know what else to do or say. I’ve apologized, Buffy, something I’ve never done to or for another being, ever. I know you weren’t with anyone else. I know that I reacted…badly, that I let my jealously cloud reason and let it guide my instinct.” 

Buffy stiffened but said nothing more. “You are the most precious thing to me in any Land, in any life, and I would kill for you. I’d die for you. But I can’t let you go. It’s not in my nature and it’s not in my love. You belong to me; you have since the first time I saw you. We’re bonded, mated, joined, but even if we weren’t you’d still be mine.” 

“If that’s the case, then you should know me. Know that I’d never do anything to hurt you, never betray you, never ever, cheat on you with another.” She didn’t stop his fingers from continuously running over her cheek, jaw, throat, but neither did she encourage him. 

“But you took all that and threw it away.” It seemed that pride was going to win, Buffy thought, even as she tried to temper it, tried to say how much she still loved him, how much she wanted him, how much she needed him. How much she wanted to begin the healing process before this rend in their loves completely tore them apart. “How can I trust you again after that?” 

Not having an answer, knowing only that she was rejecting him again, Angelus snapped. She was his, damn it. HIS! He’d given her more than any other, more than he thought he had and yet she still rejected him. Brushed aside his remorse, his apologies, his utter pain over the way he’d treated her as if he were doing nothing more than talking to himself. 

Yanking her towards him, out of the bed and standing in one fluid motion, his face morphing with the strength of his rage, Angelus laughed and it was an empty cold sound. “It is not I who threw it away, Buffy.” Just as quickly as he pulled her to him, he pushed her away, not bothering to watch her stumbled against the bed before storming out. 

Collapsing against the hard cold floor, Buffy wondered if she did the right thing. And was filled with a clear certainty that she had not. Oh, she wasn’t in the wrong, but healing couldn’t begin if both sides weren’t amenable to it. Angelus clearly was. Buffy wanted to, but seemed she could not say the words to start that process. 

What chain of events had she started? What could she do to stop them?
~~~~~~~~~~
Storming through the castle, his own churning emotions blocking out Buffy’s feelings of panic and repentance over the way she treated him, Angelus didn’t see Darla following him. 

Darla, for her part, wondered if she was doing the right thing and hey, she’d tried, right? After all, it’d been months and still the couple had yet to speak to one another. Months, even with a bond that let the other know of each and every emotion they were feeling, everyone trying to get them to speak to one another, Tara coming from the Elfin Lands to help or visit or whatever. Seeing her favorite childe thunder down the hallway, mindless of who saw him, the vampiress wondered if the bond between them had somehow been broken. 

Not much was known about mating bonds, the details usually too private to allow for study, let alone common knowledge. Darla had never heard of one being broken, except in death, but would the bonded couple really let it out that they were no longer in such constant contact? Despite her words to Buffy weeks ago, Darla hoped it was true. 

For she saw a way, finally, finally, to get her Angelus back. 

Some part of her balked at the idea, Buffy was her friend and one did not fuck your friend’s husband, marital problems or not. Not only that, but Angelus clearly wanted nothing to do with her, Darla, wanted only his little elf; but two months of forced celibacy? Angelus wasn’t made for that and Darla was going to see that it came to an end. 

When it came right down to it, Darla was weak, always had been and nothing could change that. She had simple needs, food, shelter, companionship…and Angelus. And she usually got what she wanted. Except when it came to Angelus, and now, that was all about to change. She’d have him, too, again, and to Hades with the bond, the marriage, the elf, and any dignity the vampiress had when it came to all those things. So Darla was compelled to push forward, to seduce the Ancient at his lowest, and to win him away from Buffy in spite of whatever her feelings towards the elf were. 

Following him (and consequently Gunn) back to the throne room, she ignored Gunn’s startled look and motioned the First to stand guard outside the doors. Giving her a suspicious look, something about this new situation didn’t look right to him, Gunn nonetheless did as he was bade. He hoped that Darla could somehow talk some sense into the Ancient. 

Darla had other plans. And really, one should always follow one’s instincts, especially if one is a First. 

As soon as the door closed behind her, she pounced. Literally and figuratively. 

“Angelus, childe,” she purred as she approached his throne, walking slowly and carefully. No use him killing her before she had a chance to win him back. He sat still and silent, looking at some spot on the ground with an intensity that concerned her. “Tell me what’s going on.” Darla ran her nails down his cheek, scratching just enough to bring a thin line of blood to the surface. 

Leaning over when he said nothing, did nothing to so much as acknowledge her presence, Darla licked the blood away before moving her lips to his. “Tell me,” she whispered, “Tell me and I’ll make it better.” 

Still he said nothing, not moving one muscle, ass till as the dead. Undaunted, Darla unbuttoned his shirt, nails again scraping his toned chest, mouth working its way down his neck, blunt teeth clamping over his dead artery even as she tilted her neck in a show of submission. “I can make everything better,” she promised as she went to work on his pants. 

Lost in a sea of anger and confusion, dead to anything outside himself, Angelus barely realized what was going on. He’d lost Buffy. That was the one thing he knew for a fact; everything else was a jumble of meaningless nothing that crashed upon him like the waves of an ocean. And in the middle of all that chaos, his one thought continued to plague him. 

He’d lost Buffy.

Barely realizing what Darla was doing, he turned dead, unfocused eyes to his sire and tried to concentrate on her, on what she was saying and doing. She was smiling, and there was a triumphant edge to it, her hands were wandering over him, this he knew, but didn’t care, he couldn’t really feel them anyway. None of it mattered, not any more. Nothing did. Everything he’d had, everything he’d ever wanted, the only being he’d ever wanted, was lost to him. Possibly – probably – forever.

What difference did the rest of the world make? Who cared what happened now, it was worthless, useless, and Angelus didn’t care. 

So, at his lowest point in his entire existence, when there was nothing left to lose, when he’d lost it all, his wife, his eternal, his world, he didn’t care what Darla did. Didn’t care that she was even in the room with him, all Angelus could think of was that he no longer had Buffy; rage built someplace within him, but it was far off, not really strong enough to break through the reinforced wall surrounding him. Hell, he didn’t even care enough about anything else to concentrate, to look past his own pain and torture, to really understand what Darla was doing. 

And Darla did it well. Seducing him with whispered words that were lost in the sea of confusion and hopelessness, caressing his body to arousal, ignoring the dead eyes that stared, unblinking, at her; no, they stared through her, not really seeing her but probably that stupid elf he married. No matter, Darla made sure she got what she always wanted. Him. 

What did it matter that he was mostly unresponsive, the most important part of him was and she was happy with that. What did it matter he never focused on her, she was the one with him, the one about to straddle him and ride him to orgasm. She, not the elf, was the one to be with him in his time of need. Yes, she was the one. 

But all Angelus saw was Buffy. Buffy floated before him, Buffy whispered words to him, Buffy was there because Buffy was always there. All he thought of was her long golden hair as it spilled around them, her bright green eyes as they flashed with love and passion, her bronzed arms as they pulled him closer. Her soft warm hands as they worked their own magick on him, her sweet smile as she teased him, her heavy passion-filled looks as she drew him into her body. 

And Buffy, still curled against the floor where Angelus left her, closed her eyes against the bombardment of images. Their bond opened fully and everything Angelus felt, she did. Too confused herself, too caught up in the feelings of them together even if it was only in his mind, it took her a while to realize what she was seeing. Because Angelus’ mind’s eye saw her, felt her, she thought she was as well. Thought she was seeing a dream/fantasy/wish/hope. Because he saw her wrapped around him, felt it, felt her, she did as well. Too caught up in the images, tears still falling from tightly closed eyes, Buffy didn’t realize at first. 

Until she felt a sharp jolt go through her, as if someone had just clamped their teeth around her neck. But that wasn’t what Angelus was thinking, feeling, and she knew, caught up in his feelings as she was, that she hadn’t, either. So what the…? 

Forcing herself to focus, to look past the miasma of Buffy-feelings Angelus had, she saw Darla. Snapping her eyes open, Buffy growled, pushing herself off the cold floor and moving with the intensity of a storm, stalked to the throne room. Unrestrained magicks whipped around her, causing the ethereal plane to shake with the force of her anger, other magick users trembled under the unintentional onslaught of her wrath and wondered, not knowing from where such things were coming, if the end of the world truly was nigh. 

Her intent was pure, unadulterated murder. It was as simple as that. 

Angelus was having sex with Darla. His sire, her supposed friend. 

Throwing open the doors, ignoring Gunn as she did so, eyes violet with lust and rage, she stormed to where the would-be lovers were and grabbed Darla. Throwing her clear across the room without the aid of magick, Buffy turned cold eyes towards her husband. So great was her ire, so blind, that she didn’t see Angelus snap out of his daze, a small part of him already knowing what had happened. Didn’t see his arousal deflate as reality crashed his fantasy of her, not Darla, and as he hastily redid his pants, focusing on the vision – the truth – before him. 

“Is this your chosen method of showing remorse?” She demanded, uncontrolled magicks whipping through the air. “Is this how you profess your sorrow, how you tell me you love me and only me?” 

“Buffy?” Angelus asked, confused, wondering, as everything crashed through that chaotic barrier that once so nicely kept everything at bay, how he’d managed to find himself in this position. And how he’d allowed it, heartbroken trance or not. 

Sucking in a deep breath, pulling her numbed pain close to her, Buffy said in a quiet voice filled with all the dignity she could muster. She was right not to let go of her pride; this was what happened, wasn’t it? But so caught up in her own righteous anger, she never realized the facts of the matter, never realized that Angelus was the innocent. 

“This is why you would have known had I betrayed you, Angelus, as you have me this day.” 

Tears threatened even as she fought a losing battle against them. Her voice cracked but her face showed nothing but bitter hatred, cold indifference, that righteous anger she criticized Angelus for weeks ago. All these years, how could she have ever thought that he’d loved her? He’d run straight to the arms of his sire when Buffy refused to take him back with open arms after he’d beat her, threatened their child, broke her trust, and betrayed her love. 

In spite of her numbness, Buffy could not control their bond. Couldn’t prevent everything she was feeling from moving from her to him, his feelings from moving from him to her, in unending waves of acidic emotion. Coupled with his own self-hatred, Angelus wanted to break; he wasn’t allowed to, however, because Buffy wasn’t finished. His own pride flared to the fore and the painstaking process of rebuilding walls that kept him cool and collected for years before he’d even met Buffy started with her next words. 

“You would have known if I’d been with another, as I did now, that you were fucking another.” Unable to hold back any longer, silent tears slid down her face emphasizing the sheer depth of her pain but her voice was strong as she continued. “How sweetly you professed your remorse just now, how eloquently you wanted forgiveness, how you proclaimed your love for me, my darling,” her voice was harsh on the endearment and Buffy was quick to continue before she broke completely. 

“And how quickly you cast me aside to assuage your lust with another, scarce moments after confessing all this to me. I am nothing if not a quick learner, lover, so keep your slut Angelus, because without trust there is no love and it’s painfully obvious to me you have no need of a woman who would love and trust you without limits as I have these years. And I have no need of a man who cannot give me what I offer in return. But you will remember, Angelus; your betrayal will not be as casually forgotten as you may wish.” 

Turning to her so-called friend, staring at her with deepening purple eyes, hair streaming behind her in a magickal wind, Buffy pointed to Darla. The vampiress was silent, a gleam of victorious rage lighting her blue eyes but she knew better than to say anything. Some small part of her wailed in misery over the loss of a friendship she’d come to enjoy, but Darla wasn’t about to let that get in the way of her and Angelus finally being together once more. That annoying part of her asked, as Buffy advanced another menacing step closer, what use having Angelus was when Darla had nothing else she’d come to need over the years. 

“May your betrayal, your dishonesty, your jealously,” Buffy spat at her, “And covetous need be open for all to see. All who may desire you will never want you; only that which failed you this night may redeem you.” 

So saying, a vicious bolt of pure white light struck out from Buffy’s hand and surrounded Darla who screamed in agony as the light hit her. Before their eyes, the vampiress changed, becoming a shriveled husk of a being, a true corpse. All the hatred, envy, disloyalty that burned within Darla was suddenly open for all to see for a mere instant before she once again resembled that which she always had to the couple. Only the shred of decency that keened in sorrow saved her from truly becoming a shameful, worthless being for all to see. 

Turning to Angelus, who glanced at his sire with nothing so much as disinterest before turning his smoldering gaze back to her, Buffy smirked. Despite feeling she got from Angelus, Buffy was already pulling back from him, more than she already was. Never again, she vowed, never again would any being, least of all the one before her, be allowed close enough to harm her. Never again. 

“Every time you look at her, every time you want her, remember me and how you threw my love and trust away for the charms of a cheap whore. My words will come back to haunt you when you least expect them, Angelus.” Turning one last time to Darla, Buffy added. “As you have marked me this day with betrayal, so shall you carry mine; you will never forget it.” 

Angelus watched as Buffy cursed Darla and didn’t care. He watched as she spat hurtful words at him and knew he deserved them. But when Buffy finally turned to leave, he knew it was forever. He stood then, shirt still hanging open, the defeated look glazing his eyes and tried to approach Buffy. How to explain…? Was there even an explanation? He beat her for less, could he expect less from her? 

Tears still marring her beautiful face, a hollow broken look in her cold eyes, Buffy turned to him one last time. “It’s finished, Angelus. You now have what you desire the most, someone who’ll never stray from your side, nor be desired by another again.” Her eyes flicked to the seething, but quiet, Darla. “You both have what you deserve.” 

As she stormed out the way she came, Angelus knew he’d just lost something infinitely precious. With that loss, one that he knew was permanent, he realized he couldn’t stay here any longer. With nothing left for him, what was the point? 

Angelus wasn’t one to run from something, and this wasn’t exactly what that was. No, it was more a regrouping. Something he desperately needed if he was going to live in the same castle as Buffy, rule beside her forever, and never again have her. He needed time to remember that he was the Ancient, that he was in charge, that he was the master here. 

That he wasn’t completely dead inside.

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