“I’m fine,” she insisted as Drusilla fussed over her, hair, makeup, clothing. “Dru,” Buffy said, exasperated. “I’m fine. Really. A little tired, but otherwise perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”
“Daddy wants you at the ball tonight, mummy,” Dru said in that voice that was completely devoted to Angelus, and one that made Buffy cringe with incestuous thoughts. This whole daddy thing freaked her more than a little.
Still, Dru was devoted to her, too, and for that, Buffy was…grateful. At least there was someone here to talk to, even if Buffy normally didn’t. Telling Drusilla her deepest secrets didn’t seem right. Or normal. Or…much of anything else.
God, she missed Willow.
“Another one?” But Buffy didn’t wait for an answer, she already knew it. There was always something going on in this place. Something Angelus wanted her to attend, partly to show her off, partly to keep her out of trouble, she knew. Mostly, to keep her by his side. He had a real thing about that.
Sill, it was all part of her ‘she did everything willingly’ agreement. Despite one or two setbacks, Buffy wasn’t going to risk anyone’s life. No matter how they treated her, no matter what they said, the looks they gave her, she wasn’t going to risk their lives just because of hurt feelings.
As for Angelus…
Yes, she was learning her limits, and yes, things had changed…okay, more than a few things had changed.
Like the fact that Buffy now actively sought out Angelus. Not for sex, no she wasn’t ready for that. That required a self-confidence she didn’t possess. Before, with the boys in school, she knew where she stood, and knew where they did as well. They were boys, plain and simple, learning just as she was what it meant to be an adult.
Then there was Angel…
But she wasn’t thinking of him. The spear through her heart never went away, but when he was foremost in her mind, it felt as if she’d break apart. Between the guilt for causing him to lose his soul and the fact that he didn’t blame her when she so clearly blamed herself, sometimes it was too much for Buffy to take.
And thoughts of Angel inevitably led to thoughts of Angelus. And how she found herself reaching for him in bed. Looking for him when she and Dru were in the kitchens or walking the gardens.
It was the little things. To know he was there. He was the only one in this madhouse that had any kind of interest in her surviving, and she wanted to…she didn’t know. See him? Know he was there? Know he was safe?
It was all so confusing. Buffy had no idea what her feelings were: for Angelus, for this new world, or even for herself. Not anymore. She was confused, conflicted, and had no one to speak with. Not anymore. She couldn’t tell Willow or her mom, they were bitter captives in the basement. She couldn’t tell…Angel.
Who was gone. Because of her. Closing her eyes, Buffy thought back to the dream, the one solitary dream she had about him.
He was so handsome in the sunlight, so sexy with the soft, warm breeze ruffling his clothes, the golden light highlighting his hair, illuminating his skin. And his eyes, Buffy thought as she wandered into the bathroom, dodging Drusilla in an effort for some quality private time. Angel’s eyes held…so much.
Fear – for her, for her safety, for her sanity. Love – an unending supply of love even now. Even after she’d effectively killed him. Allowed the demon to take over his body, forced him into some nebulous aether, far away from the world he was a part of…far away from her love.
“Damn,” she muttered, looking at herself in the long mirror over the sink. That spear in her heart twisted, pulling one more piece of her soul.
“Ready, lover?”
The voice jolted her out of her musings, forcing the pity and resentment away. Buffy looked up, into the mirrors where only she was reflected. To see Angelus right behind her.
“Ah!” She shouted, startled by his reflection. Turning, she pointed an accusatory finger at him. “What are you doing in the mirror?”
Laughing, he caught her finger, sucking it into his mouth while his eyes promised her erotic delights she was just beginning to learn. “I’m the god of this world, lover,” he smirked, but didn’t let go of her hand. “If I want a reflection, I get one.”
Heart still pounding from shock, Buffy simply shook her head. “It’s freaky,” she mumbled, tugging her hand from his grasp. Scowling when he wouldn’t let go, she added in a snarky voice, “Why bother? Miss fixing your own hair?”
“Just,” he shrugged, “Something I like.”
“I bet.” But she let the subject drop. Turning back to her own reflection, Buffy admitted that Drusilla had done a fine job with her hair and makeup. As usual. It was disconcerting that someone who hadn’t had a reflection in over a hundred years could see in another what colors were needed where to enhance just enough…
“What’s this ball all about?” Buffy asked as she left the bathroom.
“There are hundreds of demons arriving daily,” he said, eyeing her with a critical air as they walked across the floor, her heels clacking along the stone. “They all require a greeting, the chance to meet us, to show off what they can do, what they can offer us.”
“You,” she corrected as they walked down the long corridor she was all-too familiar with. The one with the guards, the carvings, the jeweled inlays in the few doors that bracketed the hallway. “They all want to impress you.”
“They want to impress me, yes, but they want to see you.” he agreed. “They want to know the slayer, their goddess. They want to see her for themselves, to know, first hand, whom they worship. They bring back stories of you to their clans, bragging on how they were lucky enough to gaze upon you, to see your beauty, your grace and elegance.”
“You just want to show off,” Buffy realized just before the doors. Donato stood there, face as impassive as always, waiting the order to open the heavy wood doors and allow the world to gaze upon their new rulers.
“Hmm,” he murmured noncommittally. “Ready, love?”
No, no she was not. She wasn’t ready. But then she had no choice, and that was something she’d long ago realized. Tired of feeling sorry for herself, tired of juggling so many things just to keep afloat, she nodded.
Raising her head high, she sent Angelus a smirk worthy of
him. “As always,” she agreed.
~~~~~~~~~~
He looked human. In fact, he felt it, too.
Which was odd. Humans in Angelus’ court? Buffy never would’ve thought that. Well except for Lilah and Lindsey, the mostly absentee lawyers from Wolfram & Hart – should she be worried that they weren’t there any longer? Or relieved? Eh, Buffy didn’t care. Besides, they’d probably sold their souls or something – it wouldn’t surprise her. And yet, the being/man before her seemed human enough.
“Oh, great goddess, most benevolent; you bless us with your presence.” He was saying. As he had been for the past…Buffy had no idea. Way too long – she’d tuned him out ages ago, though he’d trapped her, along with several others who seemed to adore her just as much. It was all too unnerving.
“Where are you from?” She asked, cutting in on his ramblings on her magnificence and so on and so forth, ditto, ditto, etcetera, etcetera…
”The Great Isle,” he said, beaming at her. Great, now he probably thought she was interested in what he was saying. Or who he was. Or something else that she wasn’t. Buffy really was turning into a callous goddess, wasn’t she…probably should work on that. Well, no time like the present.
“And where is that?” Polite, interested, Buffy offered him a small smile, focusing her eyes on his all-too-human appearance. Yup, he looked human, alright.
And now, he looked scandalized. In fact, Buffy wondered if she’d just committed some sort of gaffe that would get her in trouble. Quickly covering, she smiled brightly at him. For some reason – though it was gratifying – her smile usually shut whoever was talking up, and had them all but begging at her feet. More than a little odd, but gratifying…and effective.
“I’m sorry,” she apologized with a small shake of her head. “I’m,” she laughed, shrugged, and apologized again. “I’m so sorry! What was I thinking? The Great Isle,” nodding, she took another sip of champagne. She was going to need more than this glass to get her through the night. “But…to travel all this way. That’s such a distance!”
“Yes, yes,” he was nodding now, and his eyes once more shone with blind adoration. It gave her the chills. “Many miles of ocean,” he agreed. “But no distance is too far for you, my delightful and marvelous goddess.”
She’d have to find out where this Great Isle was, Buffy thought as he went on about her so-called glorious attributes. Whoever would’ve thought that hearing such compliments would be so boring? Still, if this human was from whatever this isle was, it probably went without saying she needed to know just where it was. If for no other reason than to satisfy her own curiosity.
And so the evening went on, with Buffy meeting more and more demons, nodding and trying to remember who they were. She needed a cheat sheet. A really long one. With mug shots so she could ID them by sight. She’d have to talk Dru into helping her…
“Tired, my love?” Angelus asked, hours after he’d dragged her to this soirée.
“Yes,” her hand flew to her eyes, rubbing then lightly, careful not to smudge her makeup. She didn’t want to look like one of the demons here. “But I don’t want to sleep.”
“I know,” he smiled, but there was real concern in his eyes. Something moved in Buffy, and she smiled back.
(‘You care,’ she accused him, triumphant. ‘It’s a simple matter to admit.’)
“Shall I keep you awake, then?” He murmured, taking her hand and trailing his lips along the back of it. “Make love to you until you’re so exhausted you can’t dream?”
The fact that he now used words such as ‘make love’ and ‘I’ll find out what this is, love’, that he knew what sleeping did to her, what the dreams did, and cared, only served to confuse her more. Wasn’t he supposed to be…mean? Crass and harsh, and deadly, just waiting to find fault with her and kill someone below? He wasn’t, oh, he threatened, and vowed to do just that, but…since her dreams began, at least, he’d changed.
He was tender, caring, loving even. He didn’t just kill someone because she fell asleep studying the way boring texts on Acathla. He didn’t beat her – as Buffy expected him to on more than one occasion, pleasurable sex she wasn’t acknowledging beside the point. He’d changed so much, Buffy wasn’t sure the other Angelus was the real demon. Maybe this one was. Maybe he hid it.
Maybe she was losing her mind.
But she didn’t want to sleep. She didn’t want the dreams to
find her. She didn’t want them to get her. Just once, just one night. She wanted
to sleep in her demon lover’s arms, knowing that he did, indeed, keep her safe.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Is that her, Uncle?” the young brown-furred demon asked in a stage whisper. He
looked at Buffy with large brown eyes, completely in awe of her. She was so
pretty in her long dark dress, her skin pale and goddess-like. Her hair shone
like the gold of his matriarch’s fur, but brighter, better, and he wanted to
touch it, just to see if it felt as soft and nice as it looked.
“Yes,” the boy’s uncle said with a smile. “I told you she was beautiful, did I not?” Guy, the Sloth Demon who rooted for Angelus and Buffy since the days before Sunnydale was swallowed by Angelus’ world, said.
“She looks sad,” the nephew said, lowering his voice now, as Angelus led Buffy closer to where they stood.
She did, but Guy wasn’t going to admit that. Especially not in front of so many demons who might not feel the same about the slayer as he did. They bowed to her, publicly acknowledging her as their new goddess, as their god’s mate, but there were many who wished her harm, who didn’t think a human – and a slayer at that – should be goddess, mate, queen.
“Maybe she’s just tired, Freddy,” he said instead. “She has a lot to do as our new goddess.”
“But Uncle,” Freddy began again, but cut himself off as Buffy walked by, smiled at him, and waved at his uncle. “Hello, Guy.”
Completely in awe now, Freddy turned to Guy. “She waved to you,” the words were dumbfounded. “Uncle, she waved to you! She said hi!”
“I told you I knew her,” Guy boasted, a light flush coloring his normal brown a pink shade. Buffy had waved at him, spoken to him…he was in shock.
“Wow,” Freddy nodded, clearly impressed. “Wow.”
~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy clung to Angelus, mouth hungry on his, hands working their way under his
silk shirt when he carried her into their room. Mindless in her need to escape,
to forget, she pressed closer, grinding against his hard cock, biting his lip
and drawing blood.
He growled, drew back to look at her. Her eyes were nearly completely silver, the color he now associated with intense emotions; her breath was coming in short pants, and her skin was flushed.
Dropping to his knees, Angelus laid her gently on the floor, and, with his new powers, placed a single pillow under her head, the softness going unnoticed by Buffy. She drew him down, mouth once more on his.
“Now, Angelus,” she whispered, wrapping her legs around his hips, unmindful of her dress, of the hard floor, of anything save her lover.
With barely a thought, chains molded themselves out of the marble floor, thick and sturdy, yet unbearably soft, as well. He didn’t want to hurt her, merely restrain her. He was in the mood for some pleasurable sex games – the kind that was interrupted the last time. Even if the memory of Buffy taking control of their coupling sent a ripple of pure pleasure through him. Hopefully, though he very much enjoyed it, she wouldn’t take control here, and he could indulge himself.
Stripping the dress from her, following the material’s progress down her body, Angelus took his time. Tasting her hidden secrets, the wet heat that called to him. Her breasts, high and firm, pushed over the tight confines of the corset she wore. Taking an appreciative moment to look at her, naked save for the corset, he vowed to give her more of those, just so he could see her as such. Beautiful, slender, breasts full and high over the material – erotic, sexy, and all his.
Reluctantly, he unfastened the ties that closed the corset, revealing the rest of her delectable body to his mouth.
The manacles wound themselves around her wrists, delicate metal on delicate skin, soft and cushioned. At first she didn’t notice, Angelus’ mouth was on hers, trailing down her neck to suck briefly on her pounding pulse point, fingers tugging on hardened nipples. It happened when she went to pull him closer, when she wanted him touching her, when she didn’t want to wait any longer to have him on her, in her, skin to skin, the pair of them moving hard and fast to a pinnacle on light and sound.
But she couldn’t move. Her eyes snapped open, a feral growl ripped from her lips, now pulled back in a snarl, and in a massive display of strength and rage, Buffy ripped the chains out of the ground, shattering the links, breaking free from the restraints.
“I will not be chained any longer,” she said in that guttural language as she glared at Angelus, red, blue, and silver swirling in a miasma in her expressive eyes. He wasn’t sure how it happened, but suddenly he was thrown across the room, large chunks of the marble floor following him, though none hit him. Was that Buffy’s doing? Or was it just blind, dumb luck that nothing had struck him?
Somehow, Angelus felt that it was her doing; she didn’t want to hurt him. Standing immediately, he took a step towards her, already realizing his mistake. He should have known from her reaction last time, when she broke the scarves, pounced on him and drove them both to unimaginable heights of pure bliss.
I won’t be chained, she’d said, though the voice wasn’t hers, the language unfamiliar. It was a flashback to her nightmares, chaining her to the earth.
“Buffy,” he said softly, looking at the primal creature – naked and glorious – before him.
She looked at him, hair flowing over naked shoulders and breasts, eyes sharp on his, head cocked as if trying, desperately, to understand him. Then, without another word, ran out of the room, still naked. She knocked over the guards at the door, not bothering to give them a second look, as she raced free, heading for the door that led out of their private wing.
With a roar that echoed through the palace, Buffy went on a rampage, killing everything she came across. The primal slayer within her (Slayer/demon/you/me/them/us. Us) taking over: demanding payback, demanding vengeance, demanding that She/They complete her/Their job – her calling – and destroy that which she was made to destroy.
For one stunned moment, Angelus stood at their door and stared. Highly aroused, he watched her sprint for the double wood doors, mangles still on her wrists, but free. She was definitely free. And for a moment of that time he stood there, he wondered – would he ever tame his spirited slayer? Would he ever have her on her knees, at his feet, catering to his every command, his every wish, his every need and want?
And then the moment was over, and he was racing after her. Somehow, even with his speed, his reflexes, super-enhanced with his ascension to god, he was too slow. The Slayer within was PrimalSpeed, she was PrimalMotion, graceful reflexes, unending power.
“Dru!” He shouted, following the path of destruction. It wound around his palace – their palace – dead bodies littered the hallways and rooms. Some looked on in abject fear, cowering in the corner where Buffy had let them live – some bruised, some bloody and broken, some barely alive amongst the carnage.
Not bothering to stop and see the full impact of his lover’s rampage, Angelus continued on, bare feet pounding on the cool stones, naked chest gleaming in the red haze as he followed her. Down the corridor, up a flight of stairs, and down two more. Drusilla appeared at his side, hair wild and tangled as he’d never seen her before, eyes large and frightened.
“Daddy?”
“Buffy,” he said to her unasked question.
“She’s scared,” Dru whispered as they circled the palace, finding death and destruction everywhere. But Angelus wasn’t listening. His one focus was Buffy, his one goal to find her. He didn’t care that she killed a swath of demons, he didn’t care that there were several Acathlan natives dead or dying in the path he followed to get to her.
All he cared about was her. Following her scent, scared, ancient, Buffy. Holding her as she vented, raged, screamed. He didn’t care what she did, he just wanted her in his arms.
Time had no meaning as he ran through his new home, following Buffy’s all too quick demon-killing spree. How she managed to kill so many and still remain ahead of him, was something Angelus would never know, but she did.
“Dru,” he ordered, “Go to the dungeons, look for her there.” The path diverged, and while Angelus knew he’d been this way before, he wasn’t taking chances. To the right lay the hallway to the dungeons and her friends and family – in the condition she was in now, Angelus wasn’t sure what Buffy would do. Kill them? Free them? Either way, he wasn’t taking the chance.
Dead or alive, he cared little for those below. And while they still held their uses in his ultimate plan of bringing Buffy to his side, he was, though he wasn’t ever going to admit it aloud, worried.
If they died by her hand, she’d never forgive herself. And he’d lose her. Angelus knew her well enough to know that much – if Buffy was the cause of their deaths, then instead of quickening her descent into darkness, as his true mate, it would cause her to go mad. And he’d lose her forever.
He turned, not waiting for Drusilla’s assent, and headed back to their rooms. Slowing as he approached their private wing, Angelus was almost relieved to see Buffy’s handpicked guards standing exactly where he’d positioned them. Looking alive and straight ahead, guarding their most precious charge.
“Milord,” one rumbled, but did not look at Angelus.
Narrowing his eyes to menacing slits, he wondered why that was. Because they allowed Buffy to escape in the first place? No, even he hadn’t been able to catch her, merely follow her as she sped with inhuman speed through the palace.
The guard swallowed. “Our Lady is inside your rooms,” he admitted.
And that was when Angelus realized that they weren’t scared because they’d failed – that was unpreventable; whatever snapped within Buffy, it was as much his fault as it was the original watchers as they forced the demon to blend with a human child. No, they were scared because they’d seen her naked, in her full glory.
Angelus almost laughed, but couldn’t find the will to. That was what they worried about? He’d have to give them something else, then, if that was what they worried over.
Entering the room, he stood just inside the doorways, watching her. She was laying on their bed, one of his shirts wrapped around her, asleep, his pillow clutched closely to her as if it were him. Peaceful, quiet, looking like an angel of mercy rather than a fallen angel of death.
Moving quietly across the room, he didn’t realize Donato eased the doors closed behind him, allowing them the privacy they needed even in their private wing. Sitting next to her, Angelus brushed a lock of hair off her sweaty face. Her breathing was even, as if she’d never left the room, her body relaxed in sleep, not the tense coil ready to spring. Only her complexion – flushed from exertion – betrayed her previous activities.
“Wake up, love,” he whispered, gently waking her. He eased down beside her, stretching along her body so he was the first thing she saw when she woke.
Opening eyes heavy with sleep and exhaustion, Buffy looked at him; watched as he studied her intently, puzzled at the look he gave her. The look in her eyes those few moments was soft, caring, accepting. But then he watched as realization returned, watched her eyes widen in shock, in fear, watched as her body tightened with apprehension.
“What happened?”
“You don’t remember?” he asked, hand brushing down her side, soft, gentle.
“Yes,” she admitted, closing her eyes and nodding. “I remember. I…there were demons. And I…I…” she swallowed, shaking now.
“What do you remember first?” He gathered her into his arms, holding her tightly to him. Calming her with soft hands and whispered words of comfort.
“It was the dream,” she admitted, crying openly now, shaking against him, terrified. “I…it was the nightmares. I just remembered being chained down, forced down to do their bidding. They wouldn’t let me go, and it was…I was…”
“Shh,” Angelus comforted. “It’s okay now. I’m here. What else do you remember?”
The door opened quietly, and Drusilla slipped in, but neither noticed. She glided across the floor, sitting at the side of the bed, not eavesdropping, per se, but worried. Scared. She needed to know Buffy was okay, that she wasn’t going to leave them, that nothing was going to take her away from them.
The vampiress felt Angelus’ cool hand brush the top of her head, in comfort and acknowledgement, and relaxed. She was welcomed here.
“What’s happening to me?” Buffy demanded, tears marking silver tracks down her cheeks. “Why is this happening? First the other night, with you, and now this! Why? Why is this happening? What is happening?”
“You killed a path of demons around the palace,” Angelus told her.
“I don’t care about that,” she admitted, then paused. “It’s what,” she said slowly, pulling back to look at him. “I was trying to do. Why? Why now? Why was it so imperative that I do it now?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, pulling her back to him.
“You,” she realized, jerking away again, trembling now not with fear over the unknown, but over what could have been. “I could have killed you. I could have killed you just as easily as them. I could have-”
“No,” he cut her off. “Don’t think like that. Buffy, stop it. Listen to me, love.” When she quieted, still trembling, tears still falling from her once more green eyes, he continued. Brushing the tears off her cheeks, he said, “You couldn’t have hurt me, love.”
“I could have,” she insisted, “This thing inside me screams for that. It wants to destroy everything. Every single demon on this planet. Even,” her voice dropped so he strained to hear her. “Even you.”
Clutching him closer, burying her face in the crock of his neck, Buffy admitted, “What’s happening to me…it’s like something inside was asleep, and now it’s wide awake. It’s always pushing me.”
“How, baby?” His voice was a gentle rumble along her skin.
Leaning into him, rubbing her face against his opened shirt, she whispered it, half afraid and horrified to say it out loud. “It’s like I remember doing things instinctively. Like I know what I can and can’t do, even though I know I’ve never done that before. Can’t do it, yet I can…it’s like something is taking me apart and putting me back together again. Stronger, faster, able to do things I’m dreaming about; and it should be of the good. But what if it’s not?”
Still holding her close, Angelus smiled. He was terrified for her, still, and yet now was an excellent chance for him to guide her into becoming the being she needed to become. For him, for herself. The partner, the equal he knew she could be.
“Maybe it’s teaching you your past,” he offered, remembering what Rupert told him, and what Acathla insinuated. “Maybe this is what you were, what happened, what created the Slayer. Something within you is trying to tell you something, baby. Something you need to listen to. Learn from, even.”
“What if, when this is finished,” she asked, voice trembling. “What if there’s nothing of me left?” She looked up at him, tears in her eyes, on the brink of adulthood, womanhood. Yet so scared of taking that last step.
“Do you really believe that’s possible?” he demanded. “It’s not in you, baby, to surrender. Do you think I don’t know – even now – the little rebellions you wage against me? Even now, when I hold all the cards, you still refuse to surrender. Perhaps whatever is happening...this is a lesson you have to learn a little sooner than you would have had I not changed this mud-ball planet. Perhaps it’s something that you needed to learn before, now long overdue. Being who and what you are is a great responsibility; the loneliness of that can be frustrating, heartbreaking.”
He paused, kissed her softly on the forehead. He was about to delve into dangerous territory, and yet it was the only way. “Soulboy did you no favors by protecting you like he did; letting you hold on to your illusions of life and ‘normalcy’.”
She turned her head, tried to look away. But he cupped her face gently, forcing her to look at him and hear the truth of what he was saying. “Never turn away from me, Buffy,” he scolded, but there was no real heat in his words.
“They would have turned on you, love, and you know that. Punished you sooner or later, baby, for what and who you are, and what you can do. What you always do that they can’t. No amount of holding back or hiding or denying yourself is going to make those little parasites down below love you any more. The moment you took charge, the moment you became who you are, they’d have turned on you.”
Another tear escaped, but Buffy said nothing. “Nor will sacrificing yourself for them help them to understand what you are, because they can’t. They never will. They have no frame of reference. We each have to seek our own path – they only followed yours. You can’t be their purpose, love. They can’t find their redemption or self worth within your destiny.”
He stroked her cheek, and, for a moment, his gentleness and willingness to speak about her family and friends without the rage and disdain always present almost convinced her. Her angel is back…or maybe, maybe she wasn’t the only one on a journey of change.
“You should be my enemy,” he admitted. “There is a part of me that is always at war with my desire, my longing for you. Screaming out to destroy, to annihilate you because...because nature has dictated you are my nemesis. But I can’t. I can’t, because when all else is stripped away, at the very core of my being, I trust you. Even I…even those that are your enemy…know beyond a doubt you would be the last one to sell out your allies, or even those foes you made a pact of allegiance with.”
“Yes,” Buffy agreed. But shook her head. “I can’t desert them.”
Still in that soft and understanding voice, his body relaxed against hers, molding her to him, Angelus continued. “This wouldn’t be the first time they’ve judge and condemned you, my love. Never once considering the price you pay for their peace of mind, the cost, so they can cling to their illusions of safety a little while longer.”
Closing her eyes, Buffy thought back to the times they were so quick to judge. Angel, her death, when she had a plan and they refused to follow it because…because why? She was the slayer, she knew what needed to be done, and yet they never really listened. Always had to add their opinions, always looked not to her, but to Giles for reassurance and agreement. When they always assumed the worst.
But it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter, any of it. She would do what she needed to do now, and if she enjoyed Angelus...his body, his comfort, even his company...then so be it. They had no say, not any longer. And if they condemned her, then Buffy would just have to live with it. She did once – twice – before. With Angel (my sweet Angel) and then when Angelus returned.
She could do it again. Why? Because it needed to be done. Because they needed to be saved. Because she needed them to live. If their deaths were on her hands, then she wouldn’t be able to live with that.
“Now,” Angelus continued, watching the play of emotions on her face. “Just like they have to learn to live in this new world, you have to learn that being less than who you are, what you are, and the woman you are destined to be, would have only been delayed. Delayed you from seeing the truth for a little while, only, and you would still have been just as alone. The difference, lover, is that unlike Angel, baby, I will protect you from them. From smothering the life, the passion, and the fire out of you. But I won’t accept less than your everything...”
He paused, tightened his hold on her. Reaching down to tug the sheet over her shaking body, Angelus wondered if she was chilled from shock, or something else. Something that was said here tonight.
“And now, apparently, this thing, as you call it, within you won’t allow you to be any less than what you are. It wants you to be that which you were meant to be. It doesn’t want you to hide any longer, baby. It doesn’t want you to be something you aren’t, it wants you to be, just as I do,” he said, looking at her with a fierce possessive look.
“What you were meant to be.”
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