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Okay, there were five days…no, that was wrong. That was really wrong. A week? No, it was even longer than that. Probably nine days. Max? Something like that. It had to be something close to that. Maybe. Okay, okay, think…it was, what? A week before everything started? No. After that. It was after that. Yes, she was sure, it was after that. 

Mostly sure. 

Only a couple days before, yes, she was sure of that. It was only a couple days before everything turned into hell. And that was…how long ago? Hmm, there was three days after Angelus pulled the sword out of Acathla; that plus the two she clearly remembered equaled five. Five plus at least another ten?…maybe twelve? Stick with ten to be on the safe side. That equaled fifteen. Fifteen days. No, it was more than that.  

There was that dream time, too. The days or weeks, or months that she could barely remember as she struggled to cope with her dreams. The Slayer, the Demon, the First Watchers who made the First Slayer, who killed the First Demon even as she bonded with the Creature within her. How long was that? 

(She had a demon within her…and that terrified her on a level she refused to cope with. Repression was the only way to go, but it wasn’t working. She could feel the Demon, the Slayer, inside, and didn’t know how to deal. What to do. Who to talk to.) 

Buffy frantically tried to remember, but all she could think of was the terror of those nights, the sheer exhaustion as she struggled to make it through the days, dreams nipping at her heels. Angelus’ arms, solid and real around her. His words of comfort, his tender caress, his soft kiss.  

(I’m still within you. I’m still here. I’m waiting. You know what you have to do. You know what we have to become. What we were always meant to become. You know it as well as I do. She, the First, knew it, why can’t you accept it? Me? We’re one; we need to become one in order for you to survive…us to survive. We have to be, we are, we need.) 

But how long?  

“Dear God, how long has it been? How long have I been here? How long has this world been like this?” 

Heart pounding, hands shaking, Buffy collapsed on the bed. Her brain was frozen in terror, her blood screamed through her, calling out words that made no sense and feelings that collided with each other. Wrapped in her towel, hair damp from her shower, she curled on the soft sheets, and tried to think. 

(They smelled like them, like his strong masculine scent, like her, softly feminine and wanting. They smelled like them, passion and need…and maybe love.) 

“Our Father, Who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy Name…” she began, murmuring the prayer as she shook in fear. She made it through the prayer twice before her brain shut down, and then she just prayed. “Please God, please help me.” 

There was no one she could talk to, no one who would understand. She certainly couldn’t tell Angelus, that wouldn’t go over well at all. So who else was there? Drusilla? Hardly. Her dad…not in this lifetime. Her mom? She’d just forgiven her for pretty much everything that’d happened in the past couple of years, Buffy sharing this with her? It’d bring them right back to square one.  

Willow…yes, there was Willow! She could tell Willow! Her best friend, the one that maybe, would understand at least a little about this. They’d grown closer in the past…however the hell long it had been. She could tell her. Maybe she could figure something out, research something, or…something. 

“Oh, dear Lord, help me. I don’t know what to do. I’m scared and tired, and I, oh, God, help me. Please, please help me. Show me what to do, help me to help…myself, argh, that sounded awful,” she whispered, tears tracking down her cheeks, fear making all else irreverent. “Selfish and awful, but I don’t know what to do.” 

Allowing herself another few moments to cry, to feel sorry for herself, and to let it all out, Buffy wrapped herself in the sheet on their bed, letting Angelus’ reassuring scent comfort her. Just another minute, one more to calm herself, to breathe. She just needed to breathe. But she was already late.  

Sitting up, wiping her eyes quickly in case Drusilla or Angelus walked in, or her maid, hell, what was her name? “Serra,” she laughed. “Oh, I’m losing it.” Standing, she headed back to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face.  

“Deep breaths, Buffy. Deep breaths.” Breathing in and out slowly, trying to regulate her heart, calm her breathing, ease the pounding in her head, she tried again. 

“Fifteen days. Plus, conservatively speaking,” she said to her expression, “Probably another week or two, so figure fifteen plus fifteen. That’s thirty days, at least. Thirty days. A month. Over a month.” 

She’d been here over a month? Or just about…probably over, it was damned hard to keep track of time in this place. She’d been here more than a month, she knew that; probably closer to two, two and a half months. 

Swallowing, Buffy closed her eyes. “A month,” she whispered, hands drifting down to her stomach. “But it can’t be. Impossible…inconceivable…not happening. It can’t happen, it’s against everything, it’s…” 

(‘Uh, maybe some day, in the future, when I’m done having a life, but...right now kids would be just a little too much to deal with.’ But there was a faint note of hope in her voice as she said that. Angel’s children…they’d be beautiful. ‘I wouldn’t know.’ And there was regret in his voice as he said that. His hand cupped her cheek, and Buffy already knew what his next words were going to be, even as they destroyed a dream that hadn’t even begun to blossom. ‘I don’t.... Well, you know, I, I can’t. For you, Buffy,’ he’d whispered against a tear she didn’t realize had fallen. ‘I wish I could.’ But she’d played it off. ‘Oh. That’s okay, um... I-I figured there were all sorts of things vampires couldn’t do. You know, like work for the telephone company, or volunteer for the Red Cross, or...have little vampires.’) 

“I think about the future, now,” she admitted to both her former lover and her reflection. “All I think about now is the future. And the past. And the present.” Her eyes were 
glued to her belly, hand splayed over the now bare skin, lighter than it used to be. Paler. “All I do is think and hope and wish for something that can never be.”
 
(‘Kick his ass,’ Xander had said. But what he hadn’t said was that Willow was trying to recurse Angel, was trying to give her best friend back her lover, was 
trying to prevent this, all this from happening. It hadn’t worked, and part of Buffy was absurdly glad it hadn’t, but Willow had tried, one more time, for her. 
And Xander had lied. He’d said nothing about the curse, nothing about Willow or the soul. And for that betrayal, some small part of her was glad, joyously 
glad, that he was with Drusilla, hopefully suffering. She refused to feel guilty for that, for him, anymore.)
 
Taking one last deep breath, she tasted the thick air, the heat and fire, the land as it now was. 
 
“And that’s all over, now. I can’t live in the past, and I can’t change a future that hasn’t happened yet. All I can do is work with what I have.” 
 
(‘You can’t change things, Buffy,’ Father Pat told her with a kind smile as his hand held hers in comfort and encouragement. ‘Things are as they are, and no 
amount of wishing or hoping or praying will change that. The future isn’t something you can see, not yet. But the present…’ he smiled here. ‘The present is 
something you can live. You can take hold of it and use it the way you wish to. You can fight and mold, and do whatever you will, because this is your life now. 
This is where the choices are made, where the decisions that will shape your future are created. This is where you have to decide.’)
 
“Thirty days. Closer to sixty. Dear God, help me,” she prayed. “Please don’t let this be what I think it is.”
 
Leaving the bathroom, the gold and marbled sanctuary, she reentered her bedroom to find, much to her unsurprise, Drusilla waiting for her. The dark-haired vampiress 
was still an enigma to her; kind and hovering, fey-like on more than one occasion, and totally devoted to Angelus. Even scarier, she was completely devoted to her, too. 
 
When Buffy was in danger in the kitchens her first days here, Drusilla had torn apart that vampiress, Florence or something, because she’d threatened Buffy. She held Buffy 
as the nightmares gripped her, soothing to the best of her ability, scared that something was going to happen to her that she, Dru, couldn’t control. She comforted and 
soothed, and often spouted totally weird things that had little to do with the conversation they were having. 
 
It was almost like she knew what Buffy wanted and tried to help her along the only way she knew how. Or could. Was she, too, afraid that if Angelus knew certain things – 
of course the damn man seemed to know everything anyway – he’d lose what little hold on his temper he had?
 
“My dear,” she said, moving with that grace Buffy so admired. “What has you so sad?”
 
“Nothing, Drusilla,” Buffy smiled, forcing her fears to the back of her mind. “Just…” she shook her head. “Nothing. Where’s Serra?”
 
“She’s pressing your clothes,” Dru said though her eyes still retained that sharp look, penetrating the depths of Buffy’s soul. She knew, with absolute certainty, that Drusilla 
couldn’t read her mind. Couldn’t explain her aura, know what was in her soul, or anything of the sort. And that, more than anything, relieved her. Angelus, on the other 
hand, could. 
 
He knew things he couldn’t possibly, and Buffy was deathly afraid that the connection that occasionally allowed them to ‘see’ each other when in other parts of the palace, 
also allowed him to see into her very soul. 

“Good,” Buffy said for lack of anything else to say. “Then help me put that dress on,” she nodded to the long black silk draped the back of the chair. “I think I’m already late.” 

“Angelus said he understood, that he knew the reason your home shook, and that he’d see you as soon as you arrived,” Drusilla smiled, her hand moving to brush a lock of damp hair off Buffy’s face. Shivering, she stared long and hard. “You’re more than you realize, my dear star.” 

“What does that mean?” she demanded. “Dru, what the hell does that mean?” 

“Shall I call for Serra?” Dru asked instead, and Buffy didn’t know if it was because she was done with her predictions, or didn’t want to explain.  

“No,” she sighed. “Just…just help me fix my hair.” 

He knew why the house shook? No, that’s not what Drusilla had said. Home, she’d said. Angelus knew why your home shook. Did that choice of wording mean something? Or was she attaching meaning she wanted to something totally innocuous? Home. House. Was the difference she wanted there, or was it only her dreams?

She hadn’t noticed anything shake, however, had there been an earthquake or something? Was there something happening now that everything was in place to cause the house to shake? A prophecy – oh, she hated those – an alignment of the stars? Something with the Hellmouth?  

But Drusilla wasn’t saying. 

Twenty minutes later, she was ready. Her hair was curled around her face and brushed her back in gentle waves, makeup light and haunting as she looked at her highlighted eyes. Her mouth was barely painted, just a faint shimmer of color so as not to detract from the impact of her eyes. Yes, haunted was the right word, she decided as she took in the rest of her body. The black silk clung to her, as did nearly everything in her closet, with its long clinging sleeves and plunging neckline, it also left her back nearly bare.  

A long strand of diamonds trailed down her back, sparkling against her spine and making her feel…decadent. With a shiver of anticipation she couldn’t suppress, Buffy glanced over herself once more, slipped on her heeled, diamond-studded shoes, and headed for the door. 

She planned on seducing Angelus tonight, though she wasn’t exactly sure how to go about such a thing. But that wasn’t what had her tied in nerves. 

(Was she pregnant? No, it was impossible, and she knew it. So then what the hell was wrong with her? Was she dying? Was that it? Was there something so wrong with her that she was dying? Was this her punishment for not stopping Angelus…but then wouldn’t the Powers or Fate or even God Himself force her to live for all eternity with that knowledge? So what the hell was wrong with her?) 

No, what had her so anxious was the fact that she wanted to. She wanted him, wanted to seduce him. That she was forcing her own fears, her friends’ censure, her family’s criticism away from her life, and making it her own. This was her life now; this was what she endured…only she didn’t.  

No she didn’t endure this, not at all. 

She enjoyed it, she liked it…She liked Angelus. And she was desperately, desperately afraid that she was falling in love with him. 

(I don’t want you to see me like this. Oh…I didn’t even notice.) 

And that was what scared her to her very core. Because if she loved the demon, if she truly loved him, then what had she felt for the soul? Were they one in the same? Or were they different, and if that was the case, then how could she? She loved Angel with everything in her. But Angelus…he brought out something in her that made her want more.  

With Angel, she wanted everything but knew she couldn’t have it all. Partly because he was still healing from his past, and partly because she didn’t know how to grab what she wanted.  

Now, as she walked down the guard-lined hall, Drusilla behind her, two of her personal guards behind the vampiress, two in front of her, Buffy couldn’t help but wonder if it was the demon that caused her to feel this way, or if it was their changed circumstances.  

(He couldn’t live in her world; she couldn’t live in his. This was the only way to make anything between them work.)  

And if they were the same, if Angel and Angelus were truly one and the same, then…how? How were they the same? And how were her feelings for them different or similar? 

Pushing everything to the back of her mind, she donned her goddess role. Deep breaths to relax her muscles, clear her mind, and ready herself for the coming Act. This wasn’t a place to falter in that. 

Walking into the dining hall, she immediately spotted Angelus and caught his eyes. Watching the lust flare in them, the brown darkening to black, she smiled, watched as he followed her progress further into the room, waiting as she looked around her. Capturing the eyes of several demons in the room, her smile changed to a smirk as she watched them watching her.  

Jealously was prevalent in the air, enveloping the room in a thick haze that rivaled the heavy atmosphere. They were jealous of her, that Buffy knew. Jealous of her role, of her place in Angelus’ life and his bed. Jealous of her powers and her lineage. Lineage? Where did that come from? Lineage, what lineage? 

Turning to Lord B’wanna, as he silently came up beside her, Buffy forced her mouth to soften back into a smile. “My Lord,” she inclined her head as he took her hand. “It’s such a pleasure to see you again in so…” she paused amusement in her eyes as she looked at him and they both remembered Angelus’ lesson. “Relaxing circumstances. I trust the representatives from Wolfram & Hart gave you no trouble?” 

“My goddess,” he smiled back, kissing the back of her hand. “It is indeed a pleasure. The humans were suitably subdued and quick to distance themselves from Richard Wilkins’ plan.” He paused, watched her carefully, not out of malice, but concern. “I had heard of your illness…I trust all is well?” 

Buffy’s eyes flashed, but she quickly suppressed her anger. She knew that B’wanna only worried for her, nothing more. He wouldn’t pry and would, most likely, dismember any who did. “It was nothing,” she assured him. “Now tell me, how is the migration coming?” 

Slipping easily – maybe too easily a part of her thought, which she promptly ignored – into her role as mistress to all here, Buffy listened to B’wanna’s explanation of his plan. The rest of Acathla’s home world was currently emigrating to Earth, and, while they’d prepared for this eventuality for millennia, it was still slow going. And many didn’t want to leave their home. 

“No,” she shook her head. “Don’t force them. It’s their home, and it’s hard to leave something you consider that.” Tilting her head to the side, she waited a beat. He seemed receptive to her ideas, listened rather than just politely nodded, so she continued. 

“When you have a home,” she confided, “it’s something that’s yours. A place you go to when you’re scared or tired, or just want to be alone. It’s where you have all your memories, and where you want to share more with those you care for.” 

“Yes, my goddess,” B’wanna agreed with a smile that didn’t reveal his rows of pointed teeth. He was always careful not to show her that, and Buffy figured it was part of the respect she garnered as his goddess. To show his teeth, to bare them at her, was a sign of aggression. “You are right. A home, while merely a physical place, allows one to build a sense of self.” 

“Exactly, milord,” Buffy nodded. “And while…” she stopped, unwilling to share her feelings on home. And what it meant to her. And what she now considered her home. (Angelus said he understood, that he knew the reason your home shook…) (Angelus. Angel…Angelus. Her home was with him.) “We have a saying here, or used to. ‘There’s no place like home’.” 

“But this world is their new home,” he insisted. “When My Lord Acathla opened his mouth and breathed, he transformed this world. Our world is dead. For millennia before it was dying, and now that this one is a thriving place for us, we no longer have need of the old one.” 

“Old yes, but still their life.” Buffy agreed as dinner was announced and Angelus silently appeared by her side. “Remember,” she finished as she took Angelus’ hand. “It’s what they know; some accept change, some fight against it. Life is only what you make it, milord.” 

B’wanna bowed as Angelus led Buffy away, watching his goddess and thinking on her words. She’d changed, even in the short time he’d known her. Yes, she’d changed. She was stronger now, filled with purpose and determination. And life. Yes, he smiled, that was it; she was filled with life. Despite their misgivings over Angelus taking the slayer as Mate, B’wanna now realized that it was the right choice.  

For all of them. 

“Enjoying yourself, my love?” Angelus asked as he led her into the dinning hall.  

“Lord B’wanna and I were discussing the rest of the Acathlan people. Some refuse to leave their world.” 

“Their world is dying,” he shrugged as he pulled out her chair at the head of the table. “They either come here, or they die with it. It’s as simple that.” He dropped a kiss to her shoulder. 

“No, Angelus,” she insisted. “It’s not. To rule effectively, you must encourage all your people to do what is right, not merely what is convenient or known. But,” she smiled, “we’ll discuss this later.” 

With a glint in his eye that told her he was looking forward to doing just that, he crossed the hall to the other end of the table, taking his place opposite her. Smiling at him from across the table, she raised her wine goblet and toasted him.  

‘Until later then,’ she promised and wondered if he heard her.
~~~~~~~~~~
After dinner, as Buffy made her way through the tedious task of playing nice to a bunch of demons, she wondered at this new her.  

Sipping her wine as she listened to the human from before prattle on about…something, Buffy watched Angelus move about the room. She really needed to pay more attention to those talking to her; one day she was going to miss something important. Still, the human – what the hell was his name? – talked about an island and statues.  

She was fairly sure she’d heard this before and had questioned him on it. Great Isle, maybe? She’d have to double check, and look it up – that’s what it was. She was going to see just what this Great Isle was and how the hell they knew about and worshipped Acathla long before Angelus was even born.  

But then the dreams started, and Buffy hadn’t ever learned what he was talking about. It sounded familiar, but in that way so many school things usually did when she was taking the test. And failing it.  

“...a grand dedication,” he promised. “Worthy of you, my glorious and most esteemed goddess, and our most esteemed god.” 

“If you wish, my dear sir,” she agreed, only partly knowing what she was agreeing to, “then you have my blessing.” 

Bowing away, the human murmured his sincere thanks and good wishes.  

Angelus appeared behind her, though she didn’t know how she knew that. “I really need to pay more attention to what these people are telling me,” she admitted, and smiled when he chuckled. 

His cool hands wrapped around her arms, pulling her against him. Melting against him, she leaned her head on his chest. He kissed the top of her head, a hand slowly moving up to comb through her hair. “Are you enjoying yourself, my love?” 

“No, but I get it. I understand that it’s necessary. But man,” she turned to face him. “I’m bored.” 

Laughing again, he tilted her head up to kiss her. It was a light, soft kiss, but a branding one nonetheless. It was clear to all who saw that kiss that the beautiful slayer, the blonde goddess who stood to the side, but spoke with all the deadly calmness and intellect, that she was his. More importantly, Angelus was hers. 

His weakness. His only weakness. 

“What had you so distressed earlier, lover?” he asked, still holding her. 

“Nothing,” she waved off, offering another smile. “It was nothing.” 

His eyes narrowed but he didn’t comment. How, Buffy wondered, did he know she was lying? And what did he think was wrong? He didn’t know, no, he couldn’t.  

“Daddy,” Drusilla said, gliding up to them. “Mummy,” she smiled, doing that weird hand thing around Buffy’s face where she barely touched her, but gave the impression of reading something. It freaked Buffy out. “You look so pretty, so very bright and shinny.” 

“Ah, thanks, Dru,” Buffy said with a grin. She had no idea what Dru meant, but rarely did.  

“Daddy,” Dru leaned against him for a moment, looking up at him with pleading eyes. “Lord Bret’lc requests a meeting with you. He wishes to ask after,” her voice lowered and she glanced around the room. “The dark haired one.” 

“Dark haired one?” Angelus repeated, confused as he continued to caress Buffy’s arms, his entire being centered on her. 

“In the dungeons.” 

“Xander?” But he wasn’t in the dungeons, not anymore – he was in Dru’s rooms, awaiting whatever entertainment his childe deemed suitable. 

Buffy snorted in laughter – she’d done the same thing, but the look on Angelus’ face was priceless. Plus, she didn’t want to think on Xander. His lies, his hatred.  

“Cordelia,” she corrected, trying not to laugh out loud, trying to force the hurt away. “She means he wants Cordelia.” 

“Oh,” Angelus shook his head and looked oddly relieved. “What about her?” 

“He wants her,” Buffy said, nodding Drusilla away to retrieve the demon prince. “Wants to make her part of his harem. He asked a while ago,” she frowned. “Just how long have we been here, anyway? We need a calendar or something…. Cordy turned him down, flat,” she continued with her original subject. “But I think she’s changed her mind, and wants to get out of the dungeons.” 

“What on earth does he want that loudmouthed bitch for?” Angelus demanded, threading his fingers with hers and tugging her against him. He didn’t care who saw, or what they witnessed when he and his lover were together. All he cared about was that they knew it. Each and every one of those present – and all of them not – knew that Buffy was his. 

“Who knows?” she shrugged. “But she wants it.” Was she sure of that? Yes, but did Cordelia really understand what she was getting herself into? She’d have to speak with her, make sure she understood that getting out of the dungeons at any price might not be worth what she had to pay for her freedom. 

“Well then,” he smirked. “Who am I not to give the infamous Cordelia Chase what she wants.” 

“Angelus,” Buffy paused. “Stall…” at his look, she shrugged. He didn’t outright disagree, and that was something. “Just for a little while. I want to…well, I want to make sure that this is what she really wants.”

 “And if it is? You can’t make her decisions, love. It isn’t your place.” 

“No,” she agreed. “No, it isn’t.” 

Because if she made their decisions, then she’d be no better than they were when it came to her life. No better than Xander when he criticized and reprimanded her over her relationship with Angel. Angelus. Both. No, she wouldn’t try to sway Cordelia’s decision over this. But she would make sure the other woman knew what she was getting into. As soon as Buffy figured that out herself. 

“How much longer are we going to be here?” Looking up at him, allowing the desire to shine clear in her eyes, she was unaware that they glowed silver, her emotions coloring everything about her in a way that showed her lover what she wanted. And she wanted him. 

“Desperate to leave already, lover?” But his own eyes gave him away. He wanted her, too, and her promising herself to him, with her initiating things between them, his passion flared even more hotly. 

“Always,” she laughed. “But then there are more pleasurable things we could be doing,” she leaned closer, bring her lips against his. “Don’t you agree…lover?” 

“Yes,” he whispered, kissing her with all the passion he felt for her. When she responded, when she opened herself to him completely, and before everyone in the room, he knew he had her. 

Had her body, her heart, her soul, mayhap even her love. And that, the love he desperately needed from her, what he desired the most from her, gave him pause. But no, she wasn’t faking it; this wasn’t a ruse to free Xander, nothing of the sort.  

“Come back with me,” she said, breath coming quickly. She knew every damn demon in the place could smell her arousal, and while that embarrassed her, she didn’t care. Angelus was hers. “And let me show you.” 

He willingly followed her.

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