Angelus walked along the paths of the garden until he found Buffy and Drusilla sitting on a bench, the remains of breakfast around them. Narrowing his eyes, Angelus stopped before them, frowning down at Dru.
“What happened?”
“Daddy,” Dru began in that sing-song voice of hers that said she knew she’d done something bad and was already sorry, but didn’t get to finish her sentence.
Buffy stood up and wrapped her arm through Angelus', leading him further down the garden path. She knew that he’d take out his considerable temper on Drusilla when it wasn’t her fault. Also, Buffy found that whatever Angelus made her admit last night, letting her passions run free, let loose, she discovered a secret (abnormal, this couldn’t be right) enjoyment in torturing that vamp. And she wanted Angelus now.
“You’re going to need a few more kitchen staff, Angelus,” she said, stopping far enough away that she didn’t think Drusilla could hear them.
“Why didn’t you eat in the kitchens as I requested, lover?” He could feel his temper boiling, but something tingled underneath it. He hadn’t tried to see what Buffy was doing, through that strange mental connection they seemed to have, not since that once when she slammed the door in his face.
He’d wanted to, wanted to focus on his lover enough to do so; but he was enjoying his time with Spike, reminding the younger just who was in charge and what the consequences were for disobeying him. Plus, Spike had a fine time laughing at Buffy’s human friends, and Angelus wanted to hear about that, too – dungeon gossip was always interesting. Now he cursed himself for his lack of vigilance.
“It was a little dusty.” Buffy shrugged at his growl, feeling nothing so much as arousal at the sound. It was strange how just the other day she’d have feared that sound. Now it turned her on. Swallowing at the images from the night before, Buffy took a step closer to Angelus and said, “Someone tried to poison me. I took care of it.”
“How?” He gripped her arms, holding her a little away from him as he asked. Fear curled in his belly, skittered along his spine – fear for her, for her life even with all his precautions. He wanted her; he always wanted her – he wanted to reaffirm her life, to know she was alive and unharmed and safe with him. But first he wanted to know who wanted her dead.
“Some minion, Florence. She wasn’t very good at the covertness of the thing, plus I just knew.” Buffy frowned here, wondering again at how she did know that. “It was like my slayer sense tripled, and I knew that she was the threat.” Looking up at Angelus with large green eyes, she asked, nearly pleading with him to tell her the truth, to tell her something to dispel her growing panic that something was wrong with her, something was different.
“How did I know that? How did I know that she was a threat? There are like thousands of demons in this place, and I knew, Angelus I knew, that she was the one after me, that she was the one who wanted to kill me! Was it something…something you did to me?” Her voice had risen with every panicked word, her breathing coming in short pants, and her heart racing at the thought that something was wrong with her, but Buffy didn’t care. She was terrified that he’d done something to her, or that something about this place had changed her…made her into what he was.
The panic in her voice was real enough, and Angelus pulled her closer, needing to feel her against him, that she was okay, that she was unharmed. He wanted to assuage her fear, too, for a panicked Buffy was a sloppy one; he had no intentions of letting her get sloppy when the first threat was issued.
“No,” he growled, hands roaming her body so he could see for himself that she truly was all right. It didn’t ease the fear that clenched his insides. “I did nothing to you. You’re the slayer,” he insisted, wondering if it was more of her slayer side coming out, taking over now that the threat to her life had (lessened with her presence by his side as his lover and queen, as his mate) increased with so many demons nearby, or the leftover powers from Acathla manifesting themselves.
Either way, so long as she was safe he didn’t care; if it was her slayer heritage making itself known or if it was whatever Acathlan Powers she had, so long as it made her more aware of the danger she was in, as long as she was safer because of it, Angelus didn’t care.
He planned on discovering whoever else was behind this
attempted assassination and disposing of them, too. But that could wait for the
moment; wait until he knew Buffy was safe, until she was away from the threat to
her, and safe with in the dungeons with her loser friends, protected by the six
guards he planned on always keeping with her, and Drusilla. And Spike, if
he knew the younger vampire; Spike, despite his treachery, despite his loud
annoying mouth, knew that should anything happen to Buffy, the world would
literally burn to ash.
“Tell me what happened,” he demanded.
Buffy told him the shortened version, keeping his arms wrapped around her. She could block out the world this way, knowing that he’d never truly let anything happen to her. Despite his words (like I haven’t been there before), Buffy knew he’d never let harm come to her, that he’d protect her with his life (as Angel had before him) until the end of time…or she died, whichever came first.
“I just knew,” she repeated, “I knew that the vamp was going to try something and reacted. She said that it was because she didn’t feel I was worthy to be with you, that I was human trash and a slayer, and that…and that you deserved someone else, someone better, someone who was worthy of you.
“Dru – and it was pretty gross – Dru ripped off her arm at that, and everyone else in the kitchen wanted to rip the rest of Flo to shreds. They…they didn’t want to kill me, they wanted to kill her. I finally got the bitch to admit that it was her sire, someone called Russell. Apparently he’s trying to either move up into a position of power, or he just really doesn’t like me.”
“And this Florence?” Angelus asked, already making plans for what he’d do to Russell Winters. And already planning on getting the rest of the story from Drusilla; his childe would tell him things Buffy couldn’t possibly know about the attack. Such as what the rest of the staff did while she was…interrogating…the now deceased Florence.
“Dead, I’m not sure dusted, but she’s definitely not coming back” The rest of the vamps in the room obviously did believe that she was their goddess, and when Buffy went to stake Flo, converged on the injured vampiress. Buffy hated to admit that seeing them defend her, that seeing them rip the vampire to shreds in her name made her feel…loved, worshiped (Angelus told her so, but she hadn’t really believed him), and protected.
It also sickened her, and she couldn’t eat in the kitchens, dragging Drusilla with her to the gardens. At least they were outside, and that was something; the air wasn’t as close and hot as Buffy thought, and the gardens, small though they were, offered a haven from the reality of her new life. The greenhouses were there, too, and Buffy realized that that was where her fresh fruit and vegetables came from. It was the first time Buffy had been outdoors since…since…since she’d failed and become one of the damned that now ruled this earth.
Without warning, Angelus hauled her against him, his mouth attacking hers and shocking her out of her mood, forcing her to forget her feelings of damnation and focus solely on him. He spun them around, holding her against the nearest tree and working her long dress up to bunch around her hips. She was alive and uninjured, and he’d take care of the others who would do her harm.
They’d be his first example to all who dared defy him.
Loosening his pants, Angelus thrust into Buffy’s willing
body, holding her just far enough away from the tree so as not to scrape her
delicious skin. Pounding into her with rapid strokes, he reaffirmed his claim on
her…and reaffirmed that she was indeed safe.
~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy opened her eyes and looked into Angelus’, noting the hidden tenderness
there that she was sure she wasn’t making up and the suppressed fear. Fear? Fear
for her? Yes, fear for her safety and she smiled, kissing him softly on the lips
and resting her head back on his shoulder. She didn’t want to analyze the safety
she felt in his arms, nor the contrast between what she knew she was supposed
to feel and what she did feel.
Her legs were still locked tightly around his waist, unwilling to move lest he exit her body; he felt so right within her, even after their orgasms, after showing her what her body was capable of, he felt so right. She didn’t want to lose that, no matter what came, no matter what happened. She didn’t want to lose what she had with him, what he made her feel, what he did to her, what he showed her.
Because if she ever lost that, then the whole reason for her staying would be gone – her friends would be endangered, her own life in jeopardy.
“Are you going to visit your friends today, love?” He asked, stepping away from the tree and gently setting Buffy on the ground. Smoothing down her dress, their hands linked together, Angelus watched her expectantly. Her eyes lighted up in surprise, pleased surprise, and he knew he was right in reminding her.
“Now,” she asked, trying to mask her enthusiasm and knowing she failed miserably. “Can I see them now?”
‘Why would she want to visit
people who belittle and scorn her?’
‘Who knows the mind of our goddess; but she did.’
‘Are you making this up, Uncle?’ His audience was skeptical.
‘Nope, this is the god’s honest truth.’
’God’s honest?’ He smirked, laughing at the irony of the words.
‘Well, sure. Angelus is our god, is he not? This is his truth. Now, are you
going to listen, or argue?’
“Of course,” he conceded, drawing her hand to his mouth and kissing the palm, tongue flicking along the sensitive skin. “Dru will accompany you,” he added, and smiled when Buffy frowned. She was already his.
“You’re not coming with me?”
She couldn’t help the pout that formed at that thought, at knowing that she’d be alone; she wanted him with her when she saw her friends and family again, wanted to know he was there with her when she faced them (their censure, their animosity, their hatred). But then maybe it was just as well that he wasn’t; if Buffy figured they’d be hostile to her, with Angelus there, she’d never be able to explain why she was doing what she was doing.
“No, I have to take care of Russell,” he said, and his eyes darkened in anger at the name, at the reason he had to find and torture this vampire.
“Oh,” Buffy nodded. “Um…” Be careful (I know you’re this god), stay safe (but don’t leave me), come back to me (please, you have to come back to me). “Okay, then. I’ll see you in a couple of hours?”
Angelus nodded, and Buffy turned back to where Dru still waited. She walked slowly, reluctant to leave Angelus, but at the same time trying to figure out what she was going to say to her friends; trying to figure out how to make them see that what she was doing was for the best. For them and for her. She wasn’t fooled; Buffy knew they weren’t going to understand. She could accept that; it was enough to know they’d still live even if they didn’t realize all the whys.
Even if they hated her because of it.
It hurt, and she knew it was only going to get worse. Angel was right, though, and Buffy knew that, too. When he told her that she had to survive – for them as much as for herself – she believed him. She believed him because it was he who told her that; until that dream (pain) (love) (sorrow) (unending) (I love you, Angel) Buffy wouldn’t have believed anything could make her truly, fully (embrace) accept Angelus and all he (offered her as he did indeed worship at her feet) did.
At the thought of Angel, a pang went through her heart, but Buffy tried to move past that. She couldn’t afford to think about him anymore, no matter how she wanted to; Angelus would know and that would bring disaster down on all of them. He was insane in his jealously, and Buffy was rather surprised that Lindsey still lived.
Looking up, Buffy realized they were in front of the steel doors leading into the dungeon. On the other side of those doors were her friends, Giles, her mom…probably her dad. Taking a deep breath, Buffy nervously smoothed down her dress, hoping the creases from Angelus’ hands weren’t noticeable, and ran her hands through her hair, wondering if she looked like she’d just come from a tryst (Giles certainly was rubbing off on her) with her lover. With one last deep breath that did nothing for her courage, Buffy nodded to one of the six guards still following her.
Hoping she didn’t look like she’d just had really, really great sex, Buffy walked through the doors.
Everyone looked up when she entered, and Buffy froze again. But they breathed an audible sigh of relief, and Buffy tried to smile; it was difficult, but she managed. No tears (Angelus would know), no pleas to accept her (keep them alive, Angelus had a mercurial temper), no begging for understanding (their lives were in her hands, and hers in Angelus’; one wrong move (remember the rules, Buffy) and those before her were dead; she didn’t know what’d happen to her, then).
“Hi,” she said, and wished her voice was stronger. But she was nervous and that wasn’t to be. Drusilla walked in behind her, the heavy door closing behind them with a dull thud and of the six guards – and one constantly outside the door – three were within the room with her. It did nothing to put her friends at ease.
“You’re glowing,” Cordelia accused with narrowed eyes, saying the worst possible thing she could. “Why are you glowing?”
“Huh?” Buffy asked, stalling, and knew she was blushing. This wasn’t exactly how she wanted to start this visit off. “Dad?” She said instead and ignored Cordelia, hoping everyone else was, too. “You are here,” Buffy said, relieved and went to the cell he shared with her mom.
“Apparently, yes,” Hank Summers said with a peculiar look on his face as he grasped the hand Buffy held out to him through the bars. He kissed her cheek through the bars, drinking in the sight of his little girl. “But I’m still a little confused on the details.”
To that everyone groaned; they’d spent long hours going over everything with the clueless father and the equally clueless – but still in denial – mother, explaining everything to the best of their ability. It wasn’t as if secrecy mattered any more, and really, they had nothing better to do.
Buffy looked at her father, noted how her mother just
stared at her with reproach, and shrugged. She would not cry, she would not
break down; she would not show them how much this was killing her. All of it:
Angelus, the demons, the worshiping, this world she’d helped bring about, their
shunning. She’d be strong; Angel wanted her too, he needed her to. For
him, Buffy could do anything.
“They told you of my calling,” she asked and received a nod. “And Sunnydale, vampires, demons, and…all of it?”
“Yes, Buffy,” Hank said, “But I’m still having a hard time believing it all.” He looked at what his only daughter was wearing and frowned. “What are you wearing?”
“Ah…a dress?” That didn’t go over well, but Buffy had no other explanation for him. She couldn’t tell her father that while they were trapped in these cells she was being worshiped, her every need taken care of, her simplest wish seen to. Of course, they could pretty much figure that out for themselves, couldn’t they? “How’d you-” she was going to ask how he got here, where he’d been when Angelus’ minions captured him, but was interrupted.
“So you are banging your undead boyfriend, aren’t you?” Xander said, earning him a hiss from Spike. The fact that the tortured vampire was the one to reproach Xander was not lost on any of them.
“Xander,” Buffy started but her mother, of all people, interrupted her.
“Is he right, Buffy?” Joyce asked, hating every second of this. “Is he right, are you still sleeping with that-that…that monster?”
This time all three guards, Drusilla, and Spike hissed at the humans, and Buffy wondered if her being their ‘goddess’ was really enough to protect her family from harm. Apparently, even Spike felt the need to defend Angelus; no her world wasn’t wacky.
Looking around, Buffy wanted to cry again; she was so alone even in the midst of all her friends. Cordelia looked down at her nails with a frown, but Buffy knew she listened with interest. Oz said nothing, taking everything in and not judging, for which Buffy was most grateful; Willow looked torn but remained quiet as well, securely wrapped in Oz’s arms. Or as much as they could manage through the heavy bars; Buffy wondered if she could talk to Angelus and see if they could share a…cell.
Buffy frowned at her redheaded friend. There was something different about her, stronger, angrier, and Buffy didn’t know what that something was. What happened to Willow to make her change so much in the few days since Sunnydale wasn’t the center of hell? Willow’s power buffeted her, and Buffy knew she wasn’t the only one to change in the last days.
Hank listened and wondered, Joyce frowned at her daughter, Xander turned his back on her, literally, and Buffy closed her eyes at that. She had to make them see, she had to make them understand. But with the guards in here, with Drusilla here, she couldn’t. She didn’t want to tell them of her dream of Angel – Drusilla would most certainly report that back to Angelus, and he’d be far from happy, most likely harming one of her friends. And then her.
Giles, Buffy thought, looking at her watcher. Giles would understand, he’d know what she had to do, he always knew, and he always understood. Taking a step forward, Buffy stopped when she saw his eyes. They were cold, flat, set in a battered face that she knew, Buffy knew, came from Angelus’ torture before awakening Acathla.
Giles wouldn’t understand, he couldn’t. Not anymore.
“I’m doing,” Buffy said slowly, “What I have to.”
“You are fucking him,” Xander shouted, and Buffy flinched at his cruel words (Fuck me; I want you to fuck me).
“Xander,” Buffy gasped, “Stop it! You don’t understand!”
“Oh, I think I do,” he spat at her, turning back around to face her. “I think we all do. You’re fucking your undead boyfriend, living the life of luxury with your nice dresses, your freedom, your little minions, while we’re down here in this dungeon, the half starving prisoners of a sadistic madman.”
“Xander,” and this was from Oz who was looking not at Xander but at the guards and Drusilla, “I think you better shut up.”
“No, I don’t think so,” Xander was on a roll now, and everything he’d wanted to say for the last months, hell the last year, burst forth. “I get it now, I get that you don’t care about us, that you don’t care what happens to us. You only want your vampire, and the rest of us can rot in this dungeon!”
The guards moved forward, pikes aimed at various parts of Xander’s body, Drusilla growled at the boy, Spike shook his head and wished he, too, could rip the annoying child limb from limb. At least it’d shut him up. Besides, the little twerp wasn’t allowed to fling verbal insults at Angelus – that was for family and only family to do. Spike was still family, and even though Angelus had him locked down here, that hadn’t changed.
God. Her eyes closed in pain; well, she knew what to expect. As much as she loved them, she knew them as well, if not better, than Angel. And yet even he had known enough to prepare her for the pain ahead. Had there ever been a moment in her life when she hadn’t been second-guessed or criticized? And the truth was, she couldn’t even blame them for their pain and anger; wasn’t she still in denial in so many ways? But that was a luxury neither she nor they could afford anymore.
This was the reality now, and the wake up call was one that could not be ignored.
“Xander,” Buffy said in a strong voice that rang throughout the cell and caused everyone to stop. She could not let any harm come to her friend, no matter what he said about her. The guards, Buffy knew, would probably not seriously harm Xander, they had their orders; but Buffy was unwilling to take that chance. “Shut up!”
Everyone looked at her, but Buffy ignored them. Still speaking in a strong voice, still standing as if she truly believed she was the goddess most of the inhabitants of this world believed her to be, Buffy took one step towards Xander’s cell. She waited until she knew she had his attention, until she had everyone's undivided attention.
Her stance was regal, her head held high, eyes glowing with a combination of her normal hazel, and the red and blue of her new Acathlan Powers. She would not let anyone bow her, beat her, or defeat her. She would not let even her friends see her weak, know of her vulnerability, her failings; that would lead to her breaking, and for her sake as well as theirs, Buffy could not. She would not.
“You don’t understand, and I’m not going to explain it to you,” she said in a clear voice. “I’m not,” she repeated in a hiss when Xander looked like he was about to protest, “Going to explain it to you. It’s none of your damn business if I’m fucking Angelus or not. All you need to know, all you need to concern yourself with, is that I would never let anything happen to you. Everything that’s within my power to do, I will. I am doing. You’re safe here; no one can hurt you down here.”
Xander snorted but didn’t comment. Giles did. “Buffy, what is going on up there?”
Buffy turned sad eyes to her Watcher, her mentor, but her stance didn’t waiver. “A lot, Giles, but don’t worry about it.” She’d protect them from all of it, if she did so with her last breath. “You’re all safe down here,” she glanced at Spike and smirked, “Well, not all of you.” Then at Whistler, and she scowled, “And what are you still doing here, Mr. I’m more cryptic than a codebook?”
Whistler shrugged. “It’s a long story.”
“It always is, try the ten second version.” Buffy folded her arms over her chest and waited. Her eyes hadn’t lost their swirl of colors, her shoulders were pulled back, her head still held high; this was the demon who hadn’t helped her when she was forced to make the worst decision of her life. There was no sympathy in her for him.
“Your lover decided to close off all portals leading to and from this dimension. I’m trapped here.” Whistler hated admitting that, but if it went towards getting the slayer on his side, then he’d say anything, do anything, to make it so. “Unless he…decides to reopen them.”
Buffy didn’t need to hear that first part; she didn’t care about the second part. She had hoped that there was some way that this world could be changed; some way that maybe the new slayer could get help, could find a way off this hell planet. Find something to do, some way, off this hell dimension. Buffy had hoped that maybe…maybe…
“A lot of things have changed,” Buffy finally admitted with a small shrug, dropping her arms to her sides. And she wasn’t talking just about this world. “A lot of people are trapped here.”
“But not you,” Whistler said, and Buffy wondered if there was a deeper meaning there she wasn’t getting. Something more than the dig she knew the demon was aiming in her direction. Ah, if only Whistler knew that she was so far beyond anything he could say.
“No,” Buffy said slowly, taking a step backwards from the cages. She didn’t realize she was distancing herself both physically and mentally from them, from her only link to her past, to her previous life.
She saw Drusilla move to Spike’s cage, growling softly at the vampire within. Buffy couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but knew she could if she wanted to. Buffy chose not to; someone should have some privacy even if it couldn’t be her. Drusilla’s hand moved between the bars to trace Spike’s bruised face, the younger vampire leaning into his lover’s touch. The affection there was visible for all to see, and Buffy was envious that they could have that, that they could express that.
“Buffy,” her dad said, capturing her attention away from the nasty little man in the corner, from the lovers. “How are you?”
For a moment, Buffy just looked at her father, trying to comprehend what he meant. It hadn’t really been that long since things changed, but to her, it felt like forever. And in that forever, only her dad had bothered to ask her that; hell, even before Angelus changed the world (changed it just for her), no one had asked her that. For him to do so, for someone who wasn’t there for the whole saga…Buffy felt tears well in her eyes. Tears she quickly suppressed.
“I’m fine, daddy,” she whispered, then stronger, “I’m good.”
“Yes,” Xander snarled, “We see that. You certainly are good as Angelus’-” Buffy shot him a look that cut him off.
“Don’t finish that sentence, Xander.” But he refused to listen, and opened his mouth to finish his sentence anyway, oblivious to the danger he was in. Orders or not, the guards weren’t going to let a puny human insult their goddess, and definitely not their god and Master.
“Oh, do be quiet, Xander” Giles sighed, tired. “You’re certainly not helping.”
“Buffy,” Willow called, and the slayer gratefully turned her attention from Xander. “Why are you…with him?”
Buffy looked at Willow, confused. “What do you mean?”
Wasn’t it obvious to them? If she was with Angelus, then Angelus’ attention wasn’t focused on them but on her. They were safe, they were alive; they weren’t being tortured, starved, hunted, or killed. Surely, they realized this. But no, Angel had warned her, hadn’t he? He’d warned her that they wouldn’t understand…that they wouldn’t accept.
It was why Angelus had changed the world; it was why he let his rage and jealously overtake him, and why he changed the world to fit what he wanted. He wanted her, but because Buffy was the slayer, they couldn’t ever truly work. So he made a world where they could.
Again something moved through Buffy, something warm and soft, passionate and out of control. Something that was Angel and Angelus, that was what they both felt for her, that was what they both wanted. Something that Buffy recognized as Angelus as well as her precious Angel.
“Why are you with Angelus?” Willow’s voice dropped a notch, and Buffy stepped closer. Not to hear her friend, for her hearing was already excellent, but because Willow seemed to want privacy, which was fine with Buffy.
“Why?” Buffy whispered, and looked at her friend, betrayed that she, of all people, could ask her that. “What do you mean, why?”
“You’re sleeping with him, living up there with him,” her eyes drifted to the ceiling in envy and hope, “While we’re all down here. We’re prisoners, we can’t leave, we can’t do anything but sit in these cells all day long and wait for Angelus to torture us like he’s doing to Spike.”
“Angelus won’t hurt you, Will,” Buffy whispered. Oz looked at her askance but didn’t dispute her. Willow did.
“How do you know that? What makes you think that? And you never answered my question. Why?” Her voice was rising steadily but the redhead didn’t care. “Why aren’t you trying to help us escape, why aren’t you trying to get out yourself? Why aren’t you trying to kill him?”
A ragged laugh escaped, painful and harsh despite her best efforts, making everyone in the dungeon step back. Even with the bars between them and the small blonde, they were afraid of her. Buffy stepped forward staring at her friend with hollow eyes.
“Where have you been?” She demanded. “For months I fought Angelus, for months I tried to kill him doing my duty to God and man. I left you all, what, three, four days ago? I left you to, once again – as you so kindly urged me – kick his ass. I tried. I tried to drive a sword through his body despite the pain to me; despite knowing if I succeeded I would loose Angel forever. But still I tried… I failed.” Her hand clenched as she drew a calming breath.
“I can’t,” Buffy said, and this time it was loud enough for everyone to hear. Her tone brooked no argument, it tolerated no resistance. “I can’t help you commit suicide,” she paused, swallowed and looked at the guards who seemed overly interested in her conversation, at Drusilla who stared at her with those knowledgeable eyes, at Spike who was so bruised and beaten but who still threatened Xander, along with the other vampires in the room, for Xander’s slights against Angelus.
Her face smoothed out, the pain and anguish disappearing behind the implacable mask that had become second nature since she became the slayer. “Hate me if you must, but believe me as if your lives depend upon it. Because they do. Angelus is a god with all the power and divinity that that implies. He cannot …be defeated. There is no escape because there is nowhere to escape to, even if you could.”
She turned walking back the way she came, deliberately ignoring the question of killing him; honestly, she wasn’t sure she could face the truth about that one yet. What she did now might very well make them hate her, but she was learning she could live with a lot of things she didn’t think she could before.
“I won’t leave, I don’t want to.” And that was the entire truth; Buffy didn’t want to leave for so many reasons. But the most important one among them was, if she did, everyone died. Still, they didn’t know that, and the honesty of her words rang throughout the room.
The silence that descended in the dungeon was thick and heavy, weighing on Buffy so she’d thought she’d collapse under the weight. Eventually she swallowed, turning back to face them, she smiled. Buffy ignored their hostile looks, ignored the vamps at her back, ignored everything but keeping them in the dark about her true relationship with Angelus and his true purpose towards them…and her. Angelus had indeed played all his cards well, laying down a royal straight flush to her mere three of a kind.
“You’re all safe here,” Buffy repeated, and hoped that this time they actually listened to her. “And I’ll visit you every day. But I’m not leaving him.”
Drusilla floated to her side then, lightly stroking her arm. “We must go, my bright star.”
Buffy want to protest; she wanted more time, she wanted privacy so she could tell her friends, her parents, exactly what happened. She wanted Giles to tell her what to do, that everything (lie to me) would be okay. But, like Angel, not even Giles could stand between her and her fate any longer.
Instead, she nodded to Dru, said her goodbyes, and promised to return soon. Walking out the doors, hearing them clang closed behind her, Buffy resolved to find some way to let them know that she had to stay here. She owed them the truth, or as close a facsimile of it as they could handle. They had to believe her that this was for them, not (I love you Angel) (I want you to fuck me, I accept all of you (love me) and I want you to show me, I want you to fuck me) for her, not what she’d have chosen for herself.
World Enough and Time index Christine's Page Home
