60 Miss Edith Tea Parties To Go…
“You’ll never
be rid of me,” he told her as she mourned not for Jenny Calendar, but for her
friend and mentor. “You’ll want me and you’ll love me until the day you
die.”
“I’ll kill you
long before that,” she’d said. But it was a lie. Every time she said that,
it was a lie.
Angelus had
laughed, but hadn’t moved closer to her, something Buffy found more than a
little odd. He’d always touched her during these exchanges, always held her,
always. Now, he simply stayed where he was, hands in his pockets, smirk on his
handsome face. And eyes blazing with lust and power. And it was that
inexplicableness that had her fighting the impulse to step closer to him.
It was the impulse, his power that scared her. Lust
she could deal with, but Buffy wasn’t sure about the power, where it came
from, what it was…how it affected her, how he
was affecting her.
“You keep saying
that, my love,” he’d whispered. “But I know what’s in your heart.”
Buffy woke then,
heart racing though she’d done nothing more than stand by Jenny’s grave, the
sun shining brightly down upon she and Angelus. He wasn’t there, not in her
room (Changed the locks), not even
outside her window (I’m always watching
you, lover, I always know where you are). She didn’t feel him there, and
then Buffy double checked by actually looking.
A strange sense of
loss flashed through her at that, settling deep within her. Buffy ignored it.
She couldn’t afford to acknowledge it, and yet…and yet some part of her
already had. She knew what it was…missing Angel. Angelus was Angel in many
ways, the way he watched her (stalked her),
the way her looked at her, and the way he acted. But when he looked at her,
really looked, his eyes were so very different.
They held something
Angel’s hadn’t. Buffy didn’t want to think on what that was, either. But
then there were a lot of things she didn’t want to think on, not since she’d
lost both her virginity and her innocence all in one night. Something of her was
lost when she’d woken not to an attentive lover, but to an empty bed and
Angelus’ cruel words.
Buffy sneezed and
forced her sore body out of bed. She couldn’t afford to stay there when
Angelus was out there, somewhere. Waiting for her. Waiting to kill someone
because of her.
~~~~~~~~~~
“You should be in
bed,” he whispered as he watched Buffy from several cemetery rows away.
He watched from the
cover of the trees as her pathetic friends tried to ‘help’ her out oblivious
to his presence, though he was sure his little slayer wasn’t. They were
useless, utterly useless. Well, to her. To him, they were the perfect specimens,
ready to be plucked and harvested in his game with the slayer.
Buffy was sick and
that could only be to his advantage, Angelus thought as she berated her friends
for endangering themselves. Really, they were only endangering her,
and the vampire snarled at the idea that anyone other than he could put his
slayer in danger. When they ‘helped’ it always got them into trouble,
causing Buffy to bail them out, and further endangering her.
That was totally
unacceptable to Angelus, and he planned on teaching them the error of their
ways.
“Buffy,” Willow
said with real concern that made Angelus snicker, “Come on, one night of rest
is not gonna kill you.”
Ah, the guilt, this
was what happened when she took the night off, and he was so glad to see she
remembered that. Angelus hated repeating lessons, even if he did receive immense
pleasure from them.
Scowling at her
friend, Buffy snapped, “No, but it might kill somebody else.”
Ah, that was his cue if ever he heard one!
“Aw, c’mon,” he said with a smile in his snarl, “Just one more.”
And he so wanted to
kill that loudmouthed bitch who belittled Buffy – which was his job – and
who was more useless than the dead Gypsy bitch. Cordelia had little to no use
for him and frankly, her death was below only that of her loser boyfriend’s.
As predicted, they
fought, Buffy pulling Angelus off Cordelia, a snarl reaching his ears and the
vampire could only rejoice at the jealously in her stance. Maybe he’d fuck
Cordelia just to make Buffy jealous; it’d serve his slayer right for making
him wait all this time. Angelus easily gained the upper hand, though he allowed
her to think otherwise, just for a moment. Victory was so much sweeter that way.
“Not feeling
well, lover?” He asked, and wondered how any of her friends could let her out
when she was like this.
For a moment, his
hand grazed her body, fingering both bracelet and necklace. Angelus saw the
recognition in her eyes, and smiled broadly. “Good girl,” he murmured,
laughing at the flash of temper in Buffy’s eyes.
Illness or not, she
was still fiery, his woman.
If her friends were
really worried, they’d have found a better way to keep her at him, than to
confront her in a cemetery when she was already out of her house.
Honestly, friendship was so overrated. If he had his way, and Angelus intended
to have that way, soon, Buffy wouldn’t ever leave his bed, sick or not.
Cursing himself as
he realized that his thoughts of naked Buffy (mine to fuck, mine to taste,
mine, mine, mine) were distracting him from the one still fighting him,
despite her illness, Angelus taunted, “You know, you being off your game’s
kinda takin’ the fun out of all this.”
He punched her
face, pulling the punch as he did so, just to prove that she was entirely too
weak to be out here. Grinning as she stumbled backwards, and resisting the
temptation to catch her before she fell, he laughed. “Nope, still fun!”
Would fighting with Buffy ever lose this magickal high? Doubtful. Still, it was
much better when he wasn’t worried for her.
And then, too low
for her friends, who were just standing around doing nothing, to hear, “Let me
take care of you, lover. You won’t ever have to worry about this again.”
Buffy locked eyes
with him, and Angelus saw the temptation there. But then her friends intervened,
and she reverted back to the girl who needed her friend’s approval. Not the
woman he knew her to be.
Did the whelp
actually think that a few crosses were going to scare him away? Angelus almost
laughed, but changed his mind.
Buffy wasn’t
looking so well and any moment he had a feeling those friends were going to rush
her to the hospital. They damn well better! Plus, she’d be much more
accessible there, and he planned to further his courtship of her in private.
Though, if it were just the two of them and those damn friends hadn’t come
along, Angelus would’ve had her already in his bed, nursing her back to health
just so he could break her (love her, care
for her, guard her) once more.
“We’ll have to
do this again sometime.” He said as he left, watching to see that those
worthless friends did something right and brought her to medical help.
It was one thing to
take Buffy alone, but when he didn’t have any backup to take the friends as
hostages, alive of course, it wasn’t worth it. If they weren’t his
prisoners, then Buffy would have that pathetic hope she could somehow escape.
But with them as his captives, that hope, like so many others, would be
squashed.
~~~~~~~~~~
‘It was a bad flu year,’ he shrugged. ‘What can I say; it was just one of
those things.’
‘But why would her friends let her leave the house, and then follow her to
tell her not to leave her house?’
‘Because they’re stupid? I don’t know what you want to hear, but there’s
not much I can say on that. They always looked up to her as if she were this
all-knowing protector who didn’t need to rest, didn’t need sleep, or
companionship, or love. And she certainly didn’t get sick. So when she did,
they blew it off until she fainted before them.’
‘But didn’t he do anything about it? I mean, as a vampire, he’d have known
she was sick, you just said so yourself, Uncle. So why didn’t he do anything
to help her?’
He paused before answering. ‘It’s a long twisted story, my boy, and one that
won’t make sense until I’m finished.’ Maybe not even then, but he didn’t
say so. ‘Angelus he…well, let’s just say that he did care for her, but not
in front of everyone.’
‘But-’
‘Stop asking so many questions,’ he ordered. ‘And let me finish the
story.’
~~~~~~~~~~
“Finally, they
did something right,” Angelus muttered as he stood inside the Sunnydale
Hospital.
When he wanted to,
Angelus could make himself invisible to the human eye – and most vampire eyes
as well. So he waited, in plain view of everyone in the hospital as the doctors
worked on Buffy.
The human mind was
often weak, wanting to see only what it wanted to, not what was truly there. It
was part of the reason police had so much trouble taking accurate witness
statements from crime scenes; everyone saw something different. They saw what
they wanted to see, or what they’d seen in a recently viewed movie with
similar happenings, most often not what truly happened. So when Buffy was
wheeled down the corridor, with her friends and her oblivious mother trudging by
her side…
Only the slayer saw
the vampire.
She struggled, his
poor weak darling, but to no avail. She was weak, and ah, it was perfect. She
was weak enough for him to make his move, weak enough for him to take her away
and begin the next stage of his plan. Drusilla, his lovely childe, was right; it
wasn’t in the breaking of the slayer that was enjoyable, it was in the
remolding. There was a tiny flaw in his theory, that he (loved) wanted Buffy the way she was, but that could be compensated
for.
Drusilla was
outside the hospital, awaiting his next order. And Angelus knew what that order
was.
Turning on his
heel, and moving silently and invisibly past the hospital staff who couldn’t
save his lover even if they knew what they truly faced, he made his way to where
Dru waited, several minions with her. He dispatched the minions to buy his
flowers, two dozen, and then turned to his prized childe.
“I want you to
keep an eye on the friends, that boy,” (kill, kill, kill), “In
particular; he’s staying to ‘guard’ the slayer.” (Mine, mine,
mine…) At least if Harris was
outside the room, no one could enter, no one could harm Buffy, no one could get
to her while Angelus wasn’t there to protect her.
Dru laughed, a
light tittering sound as her hand fluttered near Angelus’ cheek. “He’s in
love with her, my Angel,” she whispered to her sire. “And that blinds him to
all others. But her eyes shine for you alone, no matter what he may think
otherwise. He sees things that are not there, and hopes for things that can
never be.” She laughed again, “But he’ll soon be adrift, alone in a sea of
stars with none to guide him. And then he’ll be mine.”
Swiftly and
efficiently suppressing the rage that built within him at the thought of Harris,
Angelus waited for his minions to return with his purchased, er, stolen goods.
Once they did, he took one dozen of the flowers and entered the hospital as a
normal visitor, Dru waiting his return with the other dozen and his gift.
Step one, dupe the
guard.
As predicted,
Xander was waiting next to the closest elevators.
Really, Angelus
thought with a smile, did he think there was only one way to enter Buffy’s
room? Still, he’d let the boy think he could actually run him off, and then
visit his lover. With Xander outside guarding the door, Angelus could enter and
not have to worry about the boy’s interference.
Angelus wanted no
interruptions during his visit.
The fear coming off
the boy was beautiful. It was absolute nirvana, Angelus thought, breathing
deeply, as he remembered that same scent from days ago when he left the
mutilated corpse for the boy to find. And then he spoke, oh, Angelus wanted to
laugh when Harris spoke those fake bravado words.
“Buffy’s White
Knight,” the vampire said with a smirk, that ever-present rage swiftly
building again. He really did have anger management issues. (You’re in love with her. Aren’t you?)
“You still love
her,” and he leaned in closer, not to whisper the next words, though those
were sweet, but to savor the scent of fear. “It must just eat you up that I
got there first.” And last, and only, and the day Xander Harris had the chance
to go anywhere near his slayer, Angelus would turn into a warrior for the Light.
Fighting the
nervousness he felt the instant he spotted the tall vampire, Xander spat at the
beast he’d never liked. What did Buffy see in him, soul or no soul, anyway?
“You’re gonna die. And I’m gonna be there.”
Doubtful, but
he’d let the boy believe that, only because with him around, at least Buffy
had some (little) protection. Angelus
worried for his slayer, fighting all those forces of darkness with no help. But
then again, when she fought him, he wanted no one there.
Angelus slapped the
flowers against Xander’s chest, his smirk faltering, not because he believed
Xander’s words, but because he wondered just what gave the whelp the insolence
to talk to him that way, the vampire spat, “Tell her I stopped by.”
He gave Xander one
final look, a look that said the human’s days were numbered, and walked back
through the waiting room to the elevator, knowing that the boy would never tell
his slayer of the visit. Xander shuddered in relief, never noticing that Angelus
didn’t actually get into the elevator as he sighed in relief. The flowers sat
in the garbage where Xander dumped them, not realizing the significance of them.
Ha! He just made it
through an encounter with Angelus, sans Buffy, and lived to tell the tale! Ha!
That vampire had nothing on Xander…
Laughing aloud at Xander’s complacency, Angelus took the second dozen flowers
from Dru with a kiss and left her to watch the boy and his girlfriend. Walking
slowly past the preening boy, all his powers of illusion to the fore, Angelus
entered Buffy’s room. The antiseptic covering death was strong in his
nostrils, but he ignored that. Setting the calla lilies on her right, Angelus
sat on her left side, taking her hand in his.
She no longer wore
the claddagh ring Angel gave her, no longer wore the symbol that she was the (soul’s
demon’s) vampire’s, but she wore the bracelet, the necklace, the anklet,
the belly chain still. Angelus chuckled as he thought of the hospital staff and
how they must have tried to take her jewelry off her. Did she fight them, he
wondered, or had she been too sick to do so? Having very little understanding of
human illnesses, though he had studied the body in depth and in intimate detail,
Angelus wasn’t sure what to really do for her.
He did note that
her body was burning up with fever, her scent all wrong in her sickness. And
Angelus hated that, hated that she was sick and he couldn’t help her, hated
that he wanted to nurse her back to health and didn’t know how to.
The vampire had no
idea what to do for her, no idea how to treat her and realized, with a snarl,
that he needed to leave her there. Slayer’s healed abnormally fast, but for
Buffy to get this sick, she was really worn down. Angelus’ smile returned even
as he worried for her (my lover, my love); that meant he was getting to
her.
He wondered,
sometimes when he saw her laughing that strained laugh with her friends, he
wondered just how strong-willed she was, how much more she could resist him. It
was, admittedly, one of the many things that attracted him to her.
Now he knew. She
couldn’t and she wasn’t. (Soon, my love…)
Buffy stirred,
something alerting her to the presence at her side. It broke her out of the long
forgotten nightmare of her past, the very first time she couldn’t save anyone,
couldn’t save those nearest to her, her cousin. Opening blurry eyes, she
smiled at the man beside her. “Angel,” she whispered, squeezing his cool
hand in hers, bringing it to her heated cheek.
Something told her
that her statement was wrong, but Buffy couldn’t understand what that voice
was saying, so tired was she. But the scowl on Angel’s face was something she
didn’t expect. Turning away from the look, confused, tired, achy, she noticed
the flowers by her side. Forgetting the anger she’d glimpsed moments ago,
Buffy turned back to the vampire (lover, friend, enemy, protector) with a
smile.
“Flowers?” She
said, her voice low and scratchy. “You brought me flowers? That’s so nice of
you.”
Nice? He was never
nice, Angelus thought but said nothing to that. She was obviously delusional, or
she would’ve realized whom she was talking to. “Yeah, baby,” he said
instead, “Calla Lilies. They symbolize delicacy, yours, and modesty. And,”
he lowered his voice and leaned closer to the slayer, “Feminine beauty, baby, all
your feminine beauty, my love.”
Something clicked
in Buffy’s eyes – Angelus saw it – but she said nothing. Instead she
smiled, content to wallow in this fantasy (hope)
for a bit longer before being pulled into the real world where nothing was as
she wished, and the softly speaking lover before her was really out to kill her (love
her protect her need her want her). Raising her hand to touch his cheek,
Buffy let it linger a minute, tracing the angles of his beloved countenance, and
pulling his head down to meet hers.
She pressed her
lips to his, enjoying the coolness of his caress, the contrast to her burning
body. Still, something within her clamored to be heard, but Buffy ignored it.
This was a dream, after all, so what difference did it make? So Buffy let Angel (Angelus)
deepen the kiss, opening her mouth to accept his tongue, loving the feel of his
kisses, loving the suppressed passion that was so inherent in them.
“Thank you,
love,” she murmured instead when Angelus released her lips. Buffy released his
head, letting her hand slowly stroke his face as she fell back asleep, Angelus
still leaning over her. A sick slayer, he intoned, was a boring slayer. Not
believing that for a second, he nonetheless stretched out at Buffy’s side,
gathered her carefully in his arms, and watched her sleep.
“Sleep,”
Angelus said as he lay beside her, not questioning his need to do so (sick
mate), nor the need to see her well in this place before taking her.
“Sleep, my love, and I promise to wait until you’re better.”
He pressed a soft kiss to her sweaty temple, brushing back
the hair that clung to her face. “Mo grá,” he whispered in Gaelic, “Eòl
fág mé. Tú mo cheannsa, agus mo gnothuch lig tú téigh. Mo gnothuch
saineolas lig tú téigh.”
(My love. Don’t
leave me. You’re mine, and I won’t let you go. I don’t know how to let you
go.)
Closing his eyes, Angelus sung her an old song his mother used to sing to Kathy.
He hadn’t thought of it in ages, but unbidden, the words came once more to
him. His soft voice floated in the dim hospital room; “Ah! my love! Leif me not! Leif me not! Leif me not! Ah! my love, leif me
not, Thus mine alone!”
When the sun
threatened to spill into the room and Angelus knew her annoyingly always-there
friends would enter soon, he left, but not before giving her one more gift.
The ring was wrapped in a piece of parchment, another drawing of the two of
them, this time with Buffy smiling eagerly, happily at him as she kissed his
waiting mouth. The entire scene was one of happiness and surrender, of Buffy
finally realizing that she was his and accepting that meant more pleasure than
she recognized. The ring, a duplicate of the claddagh Angel gave her for her
birthday, held a deep ruby in its center, in place of the heart.
Clichéd, possibly,
but Angelus couldn’t resist the irony of the symbolism.
One last kiss to
her parted lips, one last savoring of her heat and smile, the one she
unconsciously gave when she felt his lips on hers. Angelus let his hand rest on
her heated forehead, vowing to return that night to watch over her again. Harris
or not, it didn’t matter, Buffy was his and he was going to protect her with
everything in him.
Making sure the
wrapped ring was securely clasped in her hand, Angelus left.
“Angel?” But
there was no one there. Not even Angelus.
Buffy stared at the
ring for a long while when she awoke realizing his absence, debating what to do.
The beautiful white flowers he left for her, the flowers some nurse already put
into water, though when, Buffy didn’t know. She didn’t dare toss them,
having visions of one of her friends being killed, or some innocent nurse, just
as that poor dog was. But she couldn’t exactly explain them, either.
So she ignored them
and hoped no one else noticed. She drifted back to sleep with the ring clasped
in one hand and the drawing in the other.
(Sleep,
my love, he’d said to her. I’ll always be here, waiting. Sleep, my love,
he’d said to her. I’ll always take care of you.)
Waking when the
doctor entered the room, Buffy listened to the woman’s words with only half an
ear as she thought of the flowers and the ring. She couldn’t let anyone see
them, that would be beyond bad. But she couldn’t throw them away, either. And
if she didn’t wear the ring, Angelus would know, she thought with (longing)
(trepidation) a look to the flowers.
Slipping the ring
onto her finger, she wondered that Angelus hadn’t put it on himself. Briefly
admiring her right hand as her friends pushed her out of the hospital; she
wondered what he’d say when he caught her wearing it on the wrong hand.
And how it was no
one noticed the many pieces of jewelry she now wore.
Why should thy cheek
be pale,
Shaded with sorrow’s veil?
Why should’st thou grieve me?
I will never, never leave thee.
‘Mid my deepest sadness,
‘Mid my gayest gladness,
I am thine, believe me;
I will never, never leave thee.
Life’s storms may rudely blow,
Laying hope and pleasure low:
I’d ne’er deceive thee;
I could never, never leave thee.
Ne’er till my cheek grow pale,
And my heart pulses fail,
And my last breath grieve thee.
Can I ever, ever leave thee!
‘I’ll Never Leave Thee’ by Lesley Nelson-Burns
http://www.contemplator.com/scotland/neverleave.html
Translation: My own, and probably wrong. But the words are from here: http://www.freelang.net/dictionary/irish_gaelic.html
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