70 Miss Edith Tea
Parties to Go…
(I’m sorry. I’m
sorry I couldn’t kill him for you…for her…when I had the chance. I
wasn’t ready. But I think I finally am.)
She lied, when she spoke those words to Giles. She’d
lied.
“God, I’m so sorry. I tried,” she paused, let the
night replay itself in her mind. No, she hadn’t tried. “I’ll try
harder,” she whispered her prayer into the night. “I’m sorry, I’ll try
harder, I’ll try to kill him, I’ll try to stop him, I will. But…” the
truth hammered at her, just waiting to be set free. Once spoken, it could never
be taken back.
“I still love him,” Buffy said, her mind thinking of
Angel, her heart not seeing the difference. “I can’t help it, I try not to.
I know the difference, and yet…”
She wasn’t ready, not by a long shot.
She wasn’t ready to kill her lover, no matter what he’d
done to her (gifts, flowers, attentions)
or her friends and family (Don’t look at
my baby, boy). She wasn’t ready to kill the demon who wore her lover’s
face because of that final note he’d left her (of
all the notes and the presents). Wasn’t ready to face the demons Angelus
so effortlessly brought to the forefront. Wasn’t ready to deal with so many
things that at the moment, Buffy thought her brain would simple explode along
with her heart.
And she hated herself for that, hated that his words made
even a little sense to her, hated that those few sentences could explain to her
things she never wanted to understand.
Hated that she had even a modicum of understanding for the actions of a being
she helped bring back into play. She hated Angelus, but she hated herself more.
Hated herself for loving the evil that was her love, hated
herself for not being able to kill him even after the pain, misery, grief he’d
caused those around her. Buffy mourned Ms. Calendar’s death, but felt
unbearable guilt that some part of her, the part that was all Slayer, all
Vengeance, all Avenging Angel, thought the gypsy teacher deserved it.
In Buffy’s opinion, this made her a terrible person, a
horrible slayer, and a hideous friend. Because of Angelus’ words:
You
know why I killed the Calendar woman, lover, I know you do. She wanted to return
the soul and while I’m sure all those little friends of yours wouldn’t mind
having that weak-willed pansy back, I can’t allow that and you know it. It’s
survival of the fittest, baby, and I’m much stronger than any of them will
ever be. You are mine, my love, and always will be. Nothing and no one can take
you away from me. Look what happens when they try.
Always,
~A~
His words made a lot of sense to her. Made Buffy realize
that they did share more than she wanted, definitely more than she acknowledged.
Made her realize that now, more than ever, she had to focus, had to concentrate
on hunting and killing Angelus, because she didn’t want to understand him. (Lover,
enemy.) Buffy was afraid that if she did, even a little bit, even that
little bit, then her life would truly become his.
So Buffy sat in the cafeteria alone, pondering her food.
It wasn’t so much the food she pondered, as she had
absolutely no desire to eat it, but it gave her something to focus on, something
to stare blindly at. Something to focus her attention when her mind returned,
time and again, to the one multifaceted subject she’d give anything to avoid. (Roses
are for eternity.) No one approached her, and that was fine with the slayer.
Everyone sensed, somehow, that she needed to be left alone, and that the death
of Ms. Calendar hit her harder than anyone, with the glaring exception of the
librarian, Mr. Giles.
Abruptly standing and leaving her tray, Buffy grabbed a
yogurt cup and spoon and went to sit outside. The stifling air of the cafeteria
was too much, and she was certain the walls were closing in on her. She passed
Cordelia on the way and simply nodded to the other girl.
Cordelia, for her part, wondered if maybe it was for the
best if either Buffy left town, or she did. Because if Angelus was going around
killing Buffy’s friends, then Cordelia – who didn’t consider herself friendly
per se – didn’t want to be around. Then again, the brunette thought, Angelus
hadn’t really killed anyone but some fringe nobodies and a teacher he never
liked in the first place. Huh.
He hadn’t even killed Xander, and Cordelia knew Angel had
wanted to. (Don’t look at my baby, boy.)
Talk about your obsessions; Angel was rife with issues, and they all revolved
around Buffy.
Never guessing the direction of Cordelia’s thoughts,
Buffy went to the far side of campus and sat on an unoccupied bench in the
shade. She didn’t notice the sewer grate a dozen yards behind her, nor did she
notice the willowy dark haired vampiress standing in the same shade as Buffy sat
in. No, the slayer’s thoughts were occupied with things like how she could
have stopped Angel from killing Ms. Calendar.
(I know you
understand why I did it.)
Ms. Calendar who was researching a way to restore Angel’s
soul, or was supposed to be doing so. Did his demon kill the teacher because
she’d found a way, or was it a preemptive strike? Buffy didn’t know and in
the end it didn’t matter. Jenny Calendar was dead at the hands of her demon
lover and Buffy did nothing to stop him. She couldn’t stop him.
Giles, she knew, blamed her even if he said nothing. Xander
blamed her, Buffy knew, because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. Willow said
nothing, simply lent her support in that Willow way. Oz seemed distant, as if he
were afraid to talk with her, but Buffy couldn’t think on that now. Cordelia,
well, she was Queen C; what more needed to be said to that? It hadn’t looked
as if the brunette forgave Xander, but the other girl still hung around them,
lending whatever help or support she could, for whatever reason she did.
As Buffy thought of all the ways she might, possibly, have
saved Theresa, Ms. Calendar, the guy from the only 24-hour store in Sunnydale,
the vampiress smiled to herself. Drusilla couldn’t help but want to see how
the slayer fared. The stars were bloody and moaned Buffy’s name in exquisite
torture and pleasure, but Dru needed to see for herself. And she was so glad she
did, as Buffy’s pain and anguish were so very tasty!
Her Angel would be pleased that the slayer’s thoughts
were on him, only on him.
“Buffy?”
Simultaneously Buffy’s head snapped up and Drusilla’s
eyes focused on the boy in front of her.
“Yeah?” Buffy
said, not really paying attention to the boy – Randy, Ricky, Robby? – before
her.
“Hi, I’m, uh,
I’m Ryan, we’re in the same history class,” the tall blonde said with a
nervous smile. “I, well, I, um…is this seat taken?”
Buffy looked at him
blankly for a moment before shaking her head no and moving to the side, making
room for the boy. Ryan sat down, his eyes darting from Buffy’s face to his
hands, which were playing nervously on his lap.
Drusilla watched
from the safety of the shade as the boy said something to the slayer, at first
the slayer didn’t respond, but then she laughed. It was a soft sound, just a
little chuckle, but it was something. Shame that, Dru was so enjoying the abject
misery. Wait until daddy heard about this, Dru thought as she carefully lifted
the sewer grate, dropping through the filthy hole.
Daddy would not be
pleased.
Buffy turned at a
sound behind her, but no one was there. Her senses were all out of whack, she
thought as she returned her partial attention to Ryan as the poor boy tried to
cheer her up. Surprised, Buffy realized that it was working. She smiled, and it
felt good. Oh, she wasn’t foolish enough to admit that she was ready to laugh
and joke again with her friends, but she felt lighter, if only for a few
moments.
“Thanks, Ryan,”
she said sincerely as the bell rang and the two rose to head to their next
class.
Smiling brightly at
her words, Ryan Watts stuttered a reply as the blonde beauty walked away.
Letting out a deep breath, the boy vowed to work up his courage today and ask
Buffy Summers out for coffee tonight at the Bronze.
Poor boy never got
the chance.
That very night, as
Ryan awaited Buffy at the Bronze, his death was already planned. Angelus had,
indeed, heard of how the boy talked with Buffy, Drusilla was very detailed on
that. He’d beaten his childe at first, angered that she took such a risk in
going out in the daytime, and to see the slayer, at that. The slayer was his (mine
to watch, mine to hunt, mine to taste, touch, feel, fuck-love-hate-live-kill),
no one else’s.
But then Dru told
him of her findings. And his rage grew.
How dare she,
Angelus seethed as he watched the nervous boy fidget in a chair, his eyes glued
to the door. How dare she talk with that boy? Didn’t she remember what
happened last time? His slayer needed another reminder, Angelus thought as he
stalked up to the boy. She needed to realize that he knew everything, whether in
the daylight or not, whether at school or someplace else.
(You’re
mine, Buffy, mine to love, mine to hate. Didn’t you learn your lesson with
that first boy?)
“You’re waiting
for Buffy, right?” Angelus asked the boy and suppressed a smirk when he jumped
at the unexpected voice.
“Uh, y-yes,”
Ryan stuttered, completely unnerved by the presence before him. The tall man
looked familiar, but Ryan couldn’t place him.
Nodding as if he
suspected as much, which he did, Angelus glanced at the door. His little slayer
was close, but far enough away to give him time, yet. “She said something about running late and that she was
meeting someone at that café place downtown instead of here. I’m assuming she
meant you.”
Ryan brightened.
They hadn’t actually made plans, he and Buffy, but the man before him made
sense, in a way his foggy mind could only agree to. “Really?”
Shrugging his broad
shoulders again, Angelus smiled down at the boy. The shadows of the club hid the
glint in his eyes, the coldness of his expression. “I just agreed to pass the
message on, as I was going to be here, anyway.”
Right, like he was
some messenger boy, hardly. Ryan, however, never thought twice about it, never
realized that in Sunnydale one should never listen to strangers, and that when
it came to Buffy Summers, one should run as far and as fast away from her as
they could. It just wasn’t healthy to go near her anymore.
Angelus followed
the eager boy out of the club, and as Ryan rounded the corner that would take
him towards the café, snapped his neck. It was faster than Angelus would’ve
liked, but his anger was such that it needed instant satisfaction. Ryan Watts
provided that. And just in time, too, for Buffy was coming down the street.
Her friends were
there as well, and for a moment Angelus felt a resurgence of that jealous anger,
but now was not the time. Squashing it down, he waited until they passed before
making his presence known. The other four moved forward for a dozen paces while
Buffy hung back, recognizing that whatever alerted her to his presence was
ringing loudly.
“What do you
want?” She spat at him, not in the mood to be out from under her covers, let
alone as the fifth wheel in her group of friends on their way to a place she had
grown to detest. The Bronze reminded her of too many times with Angel, and to
many glimpses of Angelus. Plus, Angelus reminded her of the dismal failure she
was as a slayer and friend. Jenny Calendar’s face floated before Buffy and
made the slayer want to cry in shame.
Angelus flashed a
triumphant smile; she didn’t immediately attack, she didn’t try to kill him,
she didn’t call her worthless friends to ‘help’ her kill her lover. No,
all she did was ask him what he was doing. And she didn’t even realize she’d
done it, either.
“Just a friendly
warning, lover,” Angelus said with a smirk, his dark eyes looking deeply into
her green ones. She wore, he noted, all the jewelry he’d given her – then
again, she hadn’t a choice as they were all magickally enhanced. Still, it was
gratifying, and he knew she didn’t even try to remove them.
Her clothes would
have to go, they were entirely too revealing for his tastes. Oh, Angelus
didn’t mind her revealing whatever she wanted – or didn’t want – to him,
but anyone else was damned lucky to still retain their eyesight. It was another
lesson he’d have no trouble in teaching her.
However, if he
spent all his time killing or removing eyes from everyone who looked at her in
those delectable outfits, he wouldn’t have time to properly torment and court
her. It as a tough choice, but Angelus vowed to forbear.
“Whatever you
feel, baby, I cause.” He took a step closer and his smirk widened when Buffy
stepped back. He wanted to reach out to touch her, but restrained himself. Not
this time, but soon, oh, yes, definitely soon. “I am your sole source of
happiness, grief, passion, sadness, anger, and release. I am everything you
feel, everything you think, everything you want. Remember that, lover.”
He moved again,
lightening swift, catching her by the arms and crushing his lips to hers. Shock
and lust greeted him for a moment as Buffy returned the kiss. But then logic
intervened, and she struggled. Letting go of her arms with a low laugh, Angelus
kept her close for another moment.
“Remember, my
love. Only me.”
With that he left,
a swirl of leather pants and leather jacket and for a moment Buffy watched his
figure longingly, cursing herself all the while. But then her friends realized
she wasn’t with them and backtracked.
“Hey, Buff, where
were you?”
Looking at Xander
with unbearable sadness in her eyes, Buffy shook her head. “Let’s get
inside, okay?”
Everyone agreed,
sensing her mood as they were so obvious now, and moved to comply. Then Oz
stopped, sniffing the air. He growled, and it was a hungry and territorial
growl. Whatever the wolf inside him was or was not, it grew louder with each
passing day. Oz thought that he could control it, thought that all it took was
control and that cage. He was beginning to think he was wrong, and that scared
him nearly as much as the scent of meat excited him.
“Someone’s dead
over there,” he said and jerked his head to the left.
(Hunger,
life. It was consuming him, feeding him, growing. He wanted more, he needed
more. More, all, more, more, moremoremore.)
That was when Buffy realized what Angelus meant. (Failure.) His words, which she shrugged off as some crazy attempt
to torment her, had a deeper meaning. (Disappointment.)
Ryan Watts, the boy from earlier today who cheered her up, lay dead in the
alleyway, his neck snapped, his hand turned up beseechingly, his eye wide open
in terror. (Her fault.)
How did he know?
Buffy wondered as Willow and Cordelia went inside the Bronze to call the police.
How had Angelus known she’d spoken to the boy, someone she hadn’t even
noticed before today? (Whatever you feel,
baby, I cause. I am your sole source of happiness, grief, passion, sadness,
anger, and release. I am everything you feel, everything you think, everything
you want. Remember that, lover.)
How had he known?
Buffy’s shoulders
sagged as the weight of another death balanced itself on her shoulders. She
couldn’t take many more; she was about to break under the stress and guilt as
it was. The slayer nodded to her friends, later, after the police had gone and
after everyone gravitated into the relative safety of the Bronze. She wasn’t
about to stay there, not when Angelus was out there. Then again, he’d already
had his daily dosage of Torment Buffy, and she doubted he’d be back for more.
So Buffy went home,
crawled into bed, and lay there, hoping that for once, her dreams would offer
solace, rather than the usual death and blood. Or, infinitely worse, the ones
where she really did give into Angelus.
Submitted to his
needs, his (her) passion. Let him take
her, let him fuck her, let him do what he wanted to and with her. Where she
enjoyed every moment of it, where she craved it. Where she wanted Angelus just
as much as he wanted her. Where she loved him.
From outside her
window, where Angelus sat, his back against the wall, a satisfied smirk on his
face, he waited. And was not disappointed when she sobbed Angel’s name in
grief and need. It would be his name, however, that she shouted in
ecstasy and completion.
~~~~~~~~~~
Oz sighed as he
watched Willow’s door close. He waited another moment as the light went out
before pulling away.
He drove to his
house, ignoring the scents that plagued his conscious and subconscious. The
young couple kissing on the sidewalk, the smell of their arousal and need. The
smell of cooking meet coming from a neighbor’s house, the scent of trash
littering the sidewalk. The dead animal on the street. The rotting corpses in
the cemetery. Parking his van in the driveway, Oz wearily opened the door and
got out.
He didn’t even
pause when he scented another in his yard. He knew the smell, knew the man…the
vampire who awaited him.
“It’s only a
matter of time,” Angelus said as he stood silently in the middle of the lawn.
The vampire made no move to go closer to the werewolf; he didn’t need to. His
quiet voice floated clearly to the preternatural creature that tried, so hard,
to pass as completely human. It wasn’t working, despite the effort Oz put into
it, and both vampire and wolf knew that.
“Time for
what,” Oz asked even though he didn’t want to.
“Time before the
darkness within you takes over. A matter of time before you realize that you
aren’t this,” Angelus’ hand swept out to indicate the cute little suburban
neighborhood and all its trappings. “And that this isn’t what you need or
want. It’s what others impose on you to make their lives easier; conformity is
easier only for outsiders, never for creatures like us who thrive on freedom in
its every form.”
“This is what I
want,” Oz said in a strained voice as he turned to face the vampire. But
Angelus was gone. Opening his front door, Oz repeated more stridently, unsure
whom it was he was trying to convince.
“This is what I want.”
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