She woke to his arm still tightly around her waist.
Throughout the night, he’d held her close, keeping her near him as he always did. Buffy didn’t mind, on the contrary, she was absurdly pleased that he did. That he didn’t turn away from her in sleep, that he didn’t let her go when his body was relaxed, his mind drifting in slumber. His body, cool and hard behind her, fit with hers perfectly, and she couldn’t help but wonder if that was done on purpose.
Had God created them for each other? Had He made them each for the other? Was it He who fitted them together with such perfection despite their height differences? Their basic differences? (Angel, the soul, or even who he was before…was that person created, born, just for her? Was he turned because of her? So that now, here and now, they could be together?)
Or was she being overly romantic, silly with her notions of things like this.
Still, it was always nice to wake with him beside her. To know that he wished to spend the night, that he wanted to be in their bed with her. Turning slightly, she studied him over her shoulder. It wasn’t a comfortable pose, but she didn’t want to disturb him any more than necessary.
He was handsome. Hard and cruel when needed, cold and unyielding when he wished his own way, but to her, for her…he was more. (Everything I’ve done, lover, I’ve done for you. And this is how you repay me.) Now, in sleep, his features were relaxed, softened even, and Buffy wondered if he always slept like this – though she doubted it – or if it was because of her, because he was with her, that he could and did relax. Much as, only with him, could she.
For her, he was strong and loving, gentle when she needed it, and forceful when she was being stubborn for stubborn’s sake alone. Then again, he wasn’t any better, Buffy thought as she watched him wake. The slow process of it as he shifted, opened his eyes and watched her for a moment before moving.
“Morning,” she whispered, smiling at him and turning to face him fully. Running a hand down his cheek, she leaned forward and kissed him, soft and sweet, letting herself be felt in that simple affection.
“Hmm, morning, lover,” he smiled back, tugging her against him so she laid sprawled across his chest, her hair long and wild over them. Questions beckoned in his eyes, but all Angelus said was, “How are you spending your morning?”
Laughing at the odd question, Buffy kissed him again. “I’m spending it with you. Right here in our bed.”
He stilled for a moment, watching her. Our bed. With him. And something within him shifted and warmed, accepting her words and actions. Fisting his hand in her hair, Angelus kissed her, hard, passionate, demanding. Relief, and love, and Buffy wondered what she’d said – what she’d done – to warrant such intense affection. When they made love, tasting each other in a way Buffy hadn’t ever done, and Angelus enjoyed all too much, it sparked something between them.
“Love you,” she whispered as she climaxed, legs and arms holding him close, nails scraping down his back, and this time he knew it was a conscious thought. That the words she spoke were meant to be spoken, meant to be heard.
“And I you, my darling,” he admitted as he followed her over the edge, fangs sinking into her arched neck as she willingly gave herself to him.
Long, long minutes later, when Buffy could think again, when she was aware of more than simply Angelus and the extraordinary things he could do to her body, she asked, “What were the words you spoke last night?”
“When you begged me to bite you?” And the cocky grin he sent her amused and aroused her, sending a pulse beating through her body that called for him.
“Yes,” she smiled, raising her head from his chest to look him in the eye. Fathomless eyes that needed her, beckoning her closer, deeper into his life, his world. Into himself.
Tracing the raised mark with long fingers, Angelus kissed the tender flesh, smirking in amusement when she shivered at the touch. “Marked you, love,” he admitted, seeing no reason not to tell her exactly what had passed between them. “I marked you as mine.”
“I’m already yours,” she said, confused. But there was a knowledge in her eyes that said she understood. Or maybe it was the thing within her (She/It/One/Slayer. We understand, we accept, we revel in this. We are yours, but you, my dark lover, are ours. No others, and we shall kill any who dare take you from us.) that did.
The look in his eyes quickened something within her as it flared to life with things she was only now beginning to understand. Angelus’ need for her was something she needed, too. It was what she wanted, what she needed. He loved and worshiped her, and she couldn’t hate him.
Not for being himself. Not for not being Angel. Not for hating the soul as much as she loved him.
What had changed her feelings?
Nothing.
She loved now as she always had. Demon, soul, Angel, Angelus. It didn’t matter, she loved and she needed, and only now did Buffy truly understand the full power of that. The power of love and acceptance. The power that lay between them.
“You’re thinking of him,” Angelus growled, fingers tightening on her arms, and he shook her slightly.
“What?” she asked, confused. Who was she thinking of? But then she understood, then she realized what he meant. “No,” she sighed, soothing him with words and tender touches. “I’m not thinking of Angel, or,” she admitted. “I wasn’t in the way you think I was.”
He snarled at her, eyes fiery and angry, but Buffy ignored that, calm in her feelings, serene in her wording, and confident in herself. “Why do you think I wanted you to bite me?” He didn’t answer. “Why don’t you ask me, then,” she suggested softly.
For a long moment he said nothing, then, just when she thought for sure everything she’d realized was false, he asked, “Why did you beg me to mark you?”
“Because I wanted you to,” she told him simply. “I wanted you to bite me. I wanted to feel your fangs in my neck, to feel you drink down my blood as I screamed your name. Drusilla said-”
“When,” he demanded, “did Drusilla say this?”
Laughing, she sat up, dragging the sheet with her as she watched him. “I don’t know; you don’t have a calendar here, Mr. I-created-an-entire-world-and-can’t-keep-track-of-time. A while ago, during the nightmares, I think. We were here, eating – or I was eating, and she was watching to make sure I did.” She gave him a sour look at that, and tugged the sheet out of his reach when he tried to tear it from her. “Did you threaten her or something? If I didn’t eat all my fruits and vegetables, she’d join Spike?”
It had been something very much like that, but Angelus didn’t say so as his hands tangled with hers, warm to cool, and the sheet dropped slightly. His silence had her smiling, however, as if she could read him just as easily as he could her.
“She said,” Buffy continued, “that the act of biting one’s lover is erotic and sensual; the height of vampiric passion. And in doing so you exchange a piece of you with the other. I wanted a piece of you.”
“Me,” he demanded, “or Angel?”
(‘You’re the same, don’t you see that? I can’t separate you no matter how well I know the differences between soul and demon. To me you’re my lover, my love. My heart. I love you just as I loved Angel,’ and she was crying now, trying to explain something she wasn’t sure there were words for. ‘Without one, I wouldn’t have the other; without the soul, the demon and I never would have met. Would you even have bothered with me? No,’ she answered for him. ‘Because you’d have been with Darla halfway across the planet, and I wouldn’t have ever known you. Either of you.’ She walked closer, touched his cheek, kissed his lips tenderly. ‘Both of you.’)
“You,” Buffy smiled. “I know who you are, Angelus. I know who I’m making love with. I know who’s in my bed. And I know who I wanted a part of. You.”
Yes, that was love in his eyes, Buffy thought, and wondered how she felt about that. But then wasn’t that what she wanted? His love? Yes, and now, as she kissed him, as she let him worship her body with hands and mouth, whispered words of devotion in the language of his past, words she wasn’t sure she wanted to know how she understood, Buffy realized something else, too.
She needed him as much as she said. As much as he needed her. And there was nothing in this world, new or old, that was going to tear him away from her.
“You’re mine,” she whispered, breath hot against his ear, blunt teeth scraping down his neck. “I don’t share. I don’t let go.”
“Mine,” he echoed, fangs once more tasting her sweet blood, love and desire, a deep-seated need for acceptance by those she called friend, and, above all else, truth. Buffy spoke the truth, and Angelus knew that. Knew it in her scent, in her eyes, in her heart.
It wasn’t that he could read her emotions; though that was a handy skill he wouldn’t trade. No, it was more than that. It was present in her blood, as the sweet nectar gave up its secrets to him. But there was still a part of herself she held, that she closed off.
Was it Angel? Her love for him, her desire for him? Or was it something else? Something to do with the quakes of earlier, the emotion she had that thundered through the palace immediately before she joined him at the banquet. He wanted to know about that, too, but didn’t ask.
There’d be time enough for that…world enough, and time.
~~~~~~~~~~
Buffy entered the dungeons, calm, serene, and ready.
She already knew what was going to happen, and she didn’t need whatever freaky demon powers she and Angelus shared to figure that out. (I have demon in me. The Slayer demon. Acathla’s demon. I’m no longer human, though I know I am. And what if…? What if I am pregnant? What if I do carry Angelus’ child? What will the child be like, what will it look like? Human? Will it need blood to feed, will it have a soul? It didn’t matter, I’ll love it anyway. It’s a part of him. Angel. Angelus. It doesn’t matter. The child, this hypothetical child, will be a part of him. And I’ll love it just as I love the father.)
Ignoring everyone else for the moment, she headed straight for her father. The one person down here who didn’t scorn her, who didn’t berate her for being less than they thought she should be. For not being strong enough, brave enough to kill her lover. Her love. Her heart. She couldn’t do it then, and knew she’d never be able to do it now.
And that had little to do with the fact that Angelus controlled just about everything. Including the power. What she felt flowing through her was strong, it was formidable, but she wasn’t sure what it’d be like against her lover.
“Hi, dad,” she said, kissing his cheek through the bars.
“Buffy,” he squeezed her hand and drew her a little away from Joyce. “How are you?”
“Fine,” she shrugged, then smiled at him and Hank was once more surprised to see the difference between her real smile and the one she showed the others. “Things are good, if that’s what you mean.”
Joyce had joined them, carefully watching father and daughter with a jealously she couldn’t completely hide. “Buffy,” she said, touching her daughter’s arm, but saying nothing else.
“Mom,” and Hank noticed the smile change, dim. She could forgive, he thought as he watched mother and daughter exchange pleasantries, but she could not completely forget.
Moving away, she turned to Cordelia. “Prince Bret’lc wants to see you again, Cordy,” she said softly to the brunette. “He still wants you as part of his harem.”
“Yes,” Cordelia waved that away. “I know all this. Why isn’t he here?”
“I wanted to make sure you knew what you were getting yourself into. The Prince has many concubines, over a hundred from what…I’m told,” Buffy said, not admitting that it her information was from Drusilla. “Are you sure you want to be another of them?”
“Buffy,” Cordelia said in a fierce whisper. “Let’s get this straight. I don’t want to be here, and I don’t want to be grateful to you. But I am here, and I am grateful. Without you, I’d be dead already – though if you hadn’t screwed Angel like a couple of lust bunnies,” she continued, off tangent, “then none of this would’ve ever happened.”
“Cordy,” Buffy said with thinly veiled anger, “get to the point.”
“The point is that because of my…association with you,” she admitted in that grudgingly appreciative voice she long ago perfected, “I’m not dead. And for that, I’m grateful. But I don’t want to be here,” she looked around in distaste, glaring at Giles as he sat on the cot. There was barely any privacy in this dump.
“I want to be out there, and I want that Prince.”
“He won’t marry you,” Buffy warned.
“Pft,” she again waved her hand in the air. “I don’t care about that – what’s the point of marriage any more, anyway?”
Buffy nodded, turned to move away. “I’ll let him know he can visit you as soon as he chooses – and,” she added, smiling, “I’ll make sure you’re showered, pampered, and dressed appropriately.”
Cordelia smiled, this time truly grateful; a true smile that Buffy swore she’d never seen. “Thanks. Buffy…” the slayer turned back and waited. “What’s he like? He’s a demon, so…what I mean...”
“He’s kind,” Buffy said slowly, thinking back to the few times she’d met the Prince. Looking at Cordelia once more, she tried to think what else she knew of Bret’lc.
“To you, maybe,” Cordelia interrupted. “You’re this,” she made her infamous air quotes, “Goddess.”
“Cordy,” Buffy warned, but continued. “You know he’s tall, slender, long black hair that falls to his waist, red eyes that are common, I’m told,” again from Drusilla, “in the male nobility of his species. He seems to treat his people well; he’s respectful to both of us, and intelligent and reliable. And loyal, definitely loyal; he’s from a warrior clan that was loyal to Angelus before he was a god.”
“Can you find me something on his species?” she asked. “Habits, likes, dislikes, language? A handbook or pamphlet, or whatever?”
Buffy reached through the bars, relieved to see her not-really-friend friend sensible about this. Not at all as she was with that frat boy…whatever his name was. This planet had changed everyone, and Cordelia was no exception. “I’ll have it sent down this afternoon,” she promised, squeezing Cordy’s hand. When the brunette squeezed back, Buffy knew she was scared, despite her bravado.
“Willow, hey,” she said, crossing the floor to her best friend’s cage.
“Where’s Xander?”
Blinking at the demand, Buffy motioned for Donato to bring her chair over. Sitting next to the cage, Willow leaning against the bars, she said, “He’s with Dru. You know that.”
Casting a sidelong glance at Whistler, Willow nodded. “Alive? Safe? Healthy?”
“Do you know what he did?” Buffy demanded, angry now. “Do you know the boy you defend so readily?” Without waiting for a reply, she answered her own question. “He betrayed the both of us, Willow. He lied about what you were doing, lied to me – he never said you were recursing Angel. He said that you’d said to kick his ass.”
“Hey!” Willow was indignant now, standing upright and scowling. “I never said that!” But the object of her ire wasn’t there, so she looked back at Buffy. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I…well, I don’t know what to say. This whole thing,” and she looked lost and young, and the Willow Buffy had first become friends with – another lifetime ago.
“Will,” Buffy smiled, “it’s okay. Xander…he lied to both of us.” There was a pause, as both tried to think of something to fill the void between them, then Buffy said, “How’s Oz?”
Currently asleep, Oz never stirred when Willow reached through the cage to where his cot, moved closer to hers, rested. Stroking his hair, long and wild, she smiled. “Scared. Or maybe I am. He’s the wolf now more than the moon says he should be,” Willow admitted.
“Everything’s changed, Will,” Buffy said quietly, noticing that Spike stood at the opposite end of his own cage and wondered if he was giving her privacy, or something else. “This new world has…changed everything. And everyone. It’s harsher out there now, it’s…” she looked up, staring out the window as if she could see the landscape beyond.
“It’s as if the planet has reverted, accepted its past demonic heritage.”
“Buffy, what are you talking about?” Then, glancing at Oz, she nodded. “It changes those who aren’t human,” she realized. “It makes them more of the demon they are within.”
“Yes and no,” Buffy agreed, returning her attention to her friend. “With Oz, it makes the Wolf unpredictable. But there are ways to control that. There’s a pack out there, in the land beyond the palace, that – I think – is Oz’s Clan. He can join them, if he wants, and try to master the beast inside.”
(It lies in all of us…sleeping, waiting. And though unwanted, it stirs, raises its head and howls. The beast within all of us is always there, baby. It’s always waiting for its chance to break free of the chains placed on it by a society that doesn’t understand what it is. With Oz, he fights it. Hides from it. Until he can embrace that which he already is, he’ll never be free.)
“He’s becoming more…primal,” Willow admitted in a barely there whisper Buffy had to strain to hear. “It’s almost as if the earth is changing him, influencing him or something.”
“It changed all of us. Even you, Will,” Buffy said. “Your eyes…your power. I can feel it through the door,” she tilted her head to the side, indicating the heavy construct that prevented everyone from leaving and entering. “What happened to you?”
“It was the curse,” she admitted. “Angel’s curse. When it didn’t work, when it…backfired, I guess. Something happened. I don’t know what, but it was like everything that was building, all that power, it needed someplace to go.”
“And it went into you.” Willow nodded, and Buffy sighed. She didn’t know how to fix this.
Cordelia she could – give her a day with Serra’s spa-like hands, and she’d never know she’d been trapped in the dungeons for months. Her parents, well, there were deeper problems there. Giles – he didn’t trust her, didn’t want to, not any more. Whistler? He was going to die, sooner or later, Buffy had a feeling Angelus was going to tire of him and simply kill the destiny demon. Whatever his reason’s for keeping him alive in the first place.
Spike, her eyes slanted sideways at the blonde vampire who didn’t look at her, though Buffy knew he was aware of as much as she wanted him to be aware of. He didn’t hear their conversation, she was certain of that, though how she wasn’t so certain of.
But this? Willow’s new power? Buffy was at a loss. Maybe she’d ask Giles, she thought, but when she looked at her watcher. He was staring hard at the ground, doing his best not to look at her. No, she’d ask Angelus.
“I’ll see what I can find out,” Buffy promised her friend. “Angelus probably knows.”
“Angelus?” and the anger, criticism, disgust in Willow’s voice was clear, she made no attempt to hide it.
“Ask yourself, Willow,” Buffy said, looking at her with the silver eyes of her own power. “Ask yourself those hard questions you’ve been avoiding all this time. Will you continue to deny what’s staring you in the face? Or would you grab what life’s allowed you? Grab it with both hands and live?”
Willow remained silent, but her dark eyes focused on Oz, now.
“Part of that living is with Angelus,” Buffy whispered. “With,” she told her friend, “the man I love regardless of what he is or isn’t. Or even, how we have to live. Isn’t that,” she prodded, “how you feel about Oz?”
Nodding, Willow returned her gaze to Buffy. “Do you regret loving Angel? Or Angelus? Even after everything that’s happened, Buffy, would you change one thing if you knew it meant that, in doing so, you’d never have Angel or Angelus in your life? Or would you,” she gripped the bars, earnest in her questions, desperate for answers she could provide to her own life.
“Would you deal with the hand life and fate dealt? Would you deal and live the best you could?”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing now? Right now,” she said, standing, “every day. Living the hand,” and her own flittered over her belly, but not long enough to draw attention to the motion. “Fate dealt me the best I can? Living the best I can, the only way I can, and still keep everyone I love safe…even Angel.”
“Angel? Or Angelus?”
“They’re the same to me. I love them.”
For a long moment, Willow watched her, and Buffy wondered if this was her opportunity to voice her fears. To say that she was desperately afraid she was pregnant, pregnant with Angelus’ child in a way she didn’t understand. It was impossible, and yet that was what she suspected.
The damn demon within her, the one that whispered to her constantly, was suspiciously silent on this subject, and Buffy wanted to throttle it.
“I understand,” Willow finally nodded. “I think I really do.”
Smiling, Buffy nodded for Donato to take the chair away. “Do you really wish to be with Oz in the same cage?”
Puzzled, Willow nodded. “How did you know that?”
Laughing, the blonde dismissed it. But how had she? “It’s obvious, Will.”
“Yes,” she nodded again, hand gentle on Oz’s shoulder. “Yes we want to share a cage.”
“Okay, then,” Buffy nodded, and suddenly the bars between Willow and Oz’s cage were gone, disappeared as if they were never there.
“Hey!” Spike said, jealous. “That’s not fair.”
“Don’t pout, Spike,” Buffy grinned. “Or I’ll tell Dru to stay away.”
He scowled at her, but said nothing more.
Watching Willow kneel beside Oz’s cot, she moved the two pieces of furniture closer, wondering in an abstract way she didn’t want to really think on, how she did that. “I’ll see you all tomorrow,” she said, walking towards the door.
Without looking back, she knew Oz was waking, confused. That Giles desperately wanted to know how she’d done that. That her parents were worried for her. That Spike was jealous. Her grin widened at this last, but she said nothing as the door clanged closed behind her.
But it was Whistler’s silence that worried her the most. What was he thinking? What was he plotting? It was something; she’d stake her life on that. But what could he possibly think to accomplish in his cage?
Walking up the stairs, Buffy dismissed the annoying demon from her mind and focused on Angelus. He was speaking with Drusilla and Bret’lc – probably about Cordelia. Turning in their direction, mindful of her skirts, Buffy wondered if she could talk him into playing hooky with her.
Into maybe dancing with her, though they had no club. Maybe a private room, there were hundreds of them in this place; one had to be suitable for music. She was in the mood for dancing, for taking out her frustrations and stress to a pounding, heavy beat. And she wanted Angelus with her.
She doubted it’d be difficult to convince him to join her.
~~~~~~~~~~
Three days later, after two days of pampering, grooming, and reading up on
everything Buffy could find on Prince Bret’lc, the Prince himself visited
Cordelia. With Angelus’ blessing – amused as it was – they walked in the gardens
reserved for Buffy.
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