50 Miss Edith Tea Parties To Go…  

Whistling a jaunty tune, something he found himself doing more and more of in recent days, Angelus leaned against a large oak tree and watched his favorite childe hunt.  

He had plans for later, plans that included a visit to dear Buff (lover, mate, forever), but they could wait a little while. His childe pleased him greatly (beautiful evil), her loyalty, her dedication to him and him alone. Oh, the master vampire knew that she still wanted Spike, but couldn’t really bring himself to care about that. She could have Spike, Spike could have her; Angelus didn’t care.  

All he wanted from Drusilla, he had. A convenient fuck (not Buffy), unswerving loyalty (hiding something), and visions (forever, my love).  

Ah, the visions, he thought as she lured the man into her arms, those dark eyes of hers promising eternity if only he’d comply. And he did, Angelus saw, they always did. No one could resist his Dru. She was a pleasure to watch, a pleasure to see in action. But there was one crucial difference between his favored childe and his ultimate obsession.  

Buffy wasn’t allowed to see anyone else; whereas Drusilla could take whomever she wanted as a lover, so long as Angelus had her whenever he wanted. If Buffy so much as looked at another man the wrong way, she’d pay. As would that man.  

So far, plenty had looked at her and paid the price, but her looking had been only at him. She always seemed to know when he was there, always made sure to keep her friends closer together when she knew he lurked in the shadows. She’d barely spoken to another boy, though more than a few had tried, and lost their lives for that.  

It was a wonder, Angelus thought as Dru danced up to him, running her hands over his chest as she kissed his cheek in a child-like fashion – as a child would her daddy. There was a drop of blood in the corner of her lips and Angelus licked it off, savoring the abject fear from her victim. It was a wonder anyone dared to speak with Buffy.  

Speaking of Dear Buff, it was time to leave, time to see what his little slayer was up to. It’d been a couple of days since he’d actually made his presence known to her, preferring to watch from those vaulted shadows. She’d healed fine, he noted, after her bout with the flu or whatever it was she had, and was back to her full strength once more.  

(He’d held her through the night, watching over her as she slept. His arms wrapped about her body, his cooling her own heated one. He’d whispered words of love, or possession. Of forever. Had promised never to leave her, not like Angel had, not like others had. And he’d praised her, thanked her, loved her because she hadn’t left him. His mouth had traced hers, his fingers tightening on hers as he vowed to his love that nothing was going to separate them. Not now, not ever.)  

He also was pleased to see that she wore the ring he’d left her that night in the hospital.  

Not that he expected anything less, but one never knew with one’s slayer. It pleased him that Buffy was so feisty, even as that feistiness drove him to distraction. He wanted nothing more than to beat that spirit out of her, even as he adored it. She wore the ring on her right hand, but he’d change that soon enough; defiance was to be accepted only so far before he taught her a badly needed lesson in submission. But that was a lesson he wanted time and privacy for.  

“Old loves haunt the air,” Dru said with a smile for her sire. “They make new enemies and new plans.”  

“Really?” Angelus asked, not really paying attention as they neared the Bronze. He could already scent her in the air, and already felt his body respond to her. No doubt he’d have to pound Dru into the mattress later to take the edge off his lust, but right now, he didn’t want her anywhere near him.  

“Dru, run along home to Spike,” Angelus ordered, “I have a slayer to stalk.”  

“Daddy doesn’t see any but her,” Drusilla told the stars with a bright smile. “She shines brightest, and she likes her Dru enough to include her.” With another laugh, she went to find Spike. He was so lonely anymore; maybe she’d take him out hunting. Maybe she’d fuck him instead.  

Turning into the club without seeing if Dru followed his orders, Angelus slid into the shadows as if they were a part of him. After centuries of hunting from the shadows, they were, and he was as at home in them as he was in the middle of a lavish gala. No one saw the handsome vampire in the dimness of the club, but he wasn’t surprised about that. He was the hunter, the stalker, the predator, and all those in this building, with one conspicuous exception, were his prey.  

And there was that exception now.  

She looked so forlorn, standing on the balcony staring down at the masses, so out of place. Angelus simply scoffed; she was better than them, better than the blind followers whose lives she saved on a nightly basis. And they never knew, never appreciated her sacrifices. He’d change that for her, Angelus grinned as he moved around a pillar that momentarily blocked his view. He’d change her.  

The smile vanished as some high schooler approached his slayer.  

He couldn’t hear what the boy said over the pounding music, but he noted Buffy’s scent. It was unchanged Angelus smirked, while her potential date’s spiked with lust and nervousness. She was gesturing wildly now, and a faint scent of fear tinged her scent but nothing more, and the crestfallen look on the boy’s face was enough to ensure his death.  

Angelus didn’t care that Buffy rejected him, the boy wanted what was his, and the vampire didn’t share.  

He followed the rejected boy out of the club, the corner of his eye catching Willow talking with Buffy. He’d take care of the redhead later for he was sure she had something to do with the boy’s sudden bout of courage. Now was time for another reminder. A reminder of his presence, of his ultimate place in her life, his power and domination.  

(Of his lust, need, ((love)) want.)  

Without saying a word, Angelus tracked the boy across the alley, waiting until he was past the main street and away from the lights. He didn’t really have a plan, his mind filled with a buzz that said Buffy was his and any threats, demonic or lust-induced, needed to be taken care of, swiftly, and…painfully.  

Grabbing the boy by the neck and twisting him around to face him, Angelus slipped into his vampire face and growled to the clearly terrified boy. “You shouldn’t have touched what wasn’t yours, boy!”  

Clamping a hand over the boy’s mouth, Angelus changed his mind about killing him outright. He was tired of this, oh, not the killing, but the fact that Buffy clearly wasn’t getting the message. It was time to step up his plans.  

His patience was running thin, and the vampire wanted this last message to resonate loud and clear with the stubborn (beautiful) slayer. When he had her as his, Angelus vowed, his keen mind already planning everything out, she wouldn’t be so quick to forget. Not as she lay tied to his bed, his name the only thing she remembered.  

Dragging the boy back to the high school, he checked that Giles wasn’t in his office first, not that it would’ve made a difference; however, Angelus didn’t want the watcher dead just yet, bound and gagged would do. He negligently tossed the scared lad onto the middle of the floor, directly, if memory served, over the Hellmouth. Well, that was dramatic irony at its best, Angelus decided.  

The human body carried enough blood to sustain a vampire, should that vampire need it to, for days. Rarely did the vamp completely drain the human, preferring to let them die slowly from prolonged blood loss. There were exceptions, a newly risen needed more substance than most, a wounded vampire needed blood to heal, but a master vampire could last days, sometimes weeks without feeding.  

Ben’s body contained enough blood to write what Angelus wanted to and he did just that.  

Standing back to study his handiwork, Angelus toed the boy’s body slightly to the left, out of the way so as to give his message a clear line of sight, and left the library. There was no way Giles could clean all that up before Buffy saw it.  

‘Had we but world enough and time, then this coyness, lady, were no crime.’  

Buffy stared at the words silently as Oz and Xander dumped heavy buckets of cleaner on the floor. Cordelia stood far enough away that the fluid didn’t get on her shoes, mop in hand, Willow next to her with another mop. Whether Cordelia actually intended to use that mop or not Buffy didn’t know or care; she didn’t even notice the sympathetic looks Willow kept shooting her.  

Ben’s body was already removed, Giles and Xander hauling it into another part of the school so as to not arouse suspicion with the addition of the message.  

“With luck,” Giles said, “The authorities would think Ben’s death was just another statistic to add to their ‘dog attack’ incidents.”  

“Sunnydale must have the highest dog attack statistics in the world,” Xander muttered as he helped carry the body.  

He told her, Giles did, he told her of the poem.  

“It’s by Andrew Marvell, Buffy. ‘To His Coy Mistress.’” And he let Buffy read the rest of the poem, at her insistence.  Buffy felt her heart constrict over the words, words talking of eternity, of before time and afterwards.  

“An hundred years should go to praise  
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
Two hundred to adore each breast,
But thirty thousand to the rest;
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For, lady, you deserve this state,
Nor would I love at lower rate.”  

Without saying anything, despite the group’s effort to talk to her, Buffy left the library and headed, strangely enough, to class. Angelus, who’d been standing in the back stacks of the library, a position Drusilla occupied not long ago, smiled. 

“At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may,
And now, like amorous birds of prey,
Rather at once our time devour
Than languish in this slow-chapt power.
Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Thorough the iron gates of life:”

He whispered, tracking her through the halls. Buffy knew he was there, Angelus had no doubt of that. But what could she do – it was the middle of the day, the halls were crowded with students and teachers, and she was entirely too distraught to fight him.  

She was so emotional, his slayer, her expressions so open for him, only for him. And ah, the look on her face, it was priceless.  

Horror, shock, grief; she was so easy to read, so lovely in her distress and pain. And then, the panicle moment when she realized the entire scene. The boy, the message, the poem, the meaning.  

Priceless, simply priceless.  

He saw her safely to class, watched as she avoided everyone, and ignored everything around her. Returning to the library, he moved quickly and quietly through the stacks, and went to leave through the detested sewers when he heard Giles tell Willow and Xander of the attempted shooting the previous night. It’d apparently happened before Angelus arrived, and involved two students and a now missing gun.  

Angelus would have to see if Dru knew anything about this, the vampire thought as he quietly made his way through the back entrance. She’d said something last night about a haunting, could this be it?  

She was still awake when Angelus retuned, attending to Spike, the worthless gimp. If it weren’t for that strange warning Dru’d given him weeks ago about needing Spike, Angelus really would’ve killed the annoying bastard.  

“Dru, what did you mean last night,” he asked as he dismissed several minions from the charred factory. He’d already scouted out another residence; all that was needed was nightfall.  

“My Angel,” Dru said with a dreamy smile, leaving Spike and moving to Angelus. “She’s close, so close, it wants her, needs her.”  

Taking her by the shoulders, Angelus demanded, “Does this have anything to do with the shooting last night?”  

“Shooting?” Spike asked, joining the conversation almost against his will. “Someone shot the slayer?” He grinned, giddy. Was this, then, what he’d wished for for weeks now? Was this what he needed to bring his family back together? Angelus was obsessed over this slayer in a way that was unnatural and unhealthy. He was neglecting his family and his responsibilities as Master.  

“Cool,” Spike laughed.  

“No,” Angelus snapped, looking over his shoulder at the wheelchair bound Spike. “Not the slayer.” (Not Buffy, never Buffy. Has left me, won’t leave me, can’t leave me.)  

“Damn shame that,” Spike groused. “It’d save us a lot of aggravation if she was just dead, but I guess that’d ruin your fun with her. Of course, that’d ruin the fun she has in kicking your ass.”  

Angelus didn’t say anything to Spike, roaring instead and kicking the wheelchair out of his way as he stormed from the room. That was not in his plan, Angelus raged, Buffy was his and no one got to shoot her, no one else killed her…but did he really want her dead?  

No, no he didn’t. He didn’t want her dead, dead was no fun. A dead Buffy couldn’t cry, she couldn’t mourn, she couldn’t fight. A dead Buffy meant as little to him as an alive Spike. But an alive Buffy…now there lay endless possibilities.  

An alive Buffy teamed with emotion, she exuded it with every move she made, the pain and anger, the sorrow and loss, the detachment she felt more and more now from her friends and family. An alive Buffy wanted him, and Angelus intended to have her.  

(I love you. Thank you, love. Stay with me.)  

No, Angelus didn’t want her dead. He just wanted her.  

Frankly, he hadn’t thought further ahead than wanting her and getting her, having her. He’d tried to convince himself that he’d tire of her and that once he had her, once he broke her, he’d no longer want her. Some part of him knew that to be a lie, knew that breaking Buffy was harder than any challenge he’d ever had, and that even in the breaking, he’d still want her, afterwards, when she was molded to his needs, then, then what?  

Then he’d still want her, because Angelus didn’t fully believe that he’d ever truly break Buffy.  

So he never really looked that far into the future, to the afterwards. He never really thought of a life without her, couldn’t honestly imagine a life with her not there, somehow. Whether willingly, or chained and tortured.  

Staring up at the ceiling, reminding himself to show Dru and, yes, Spike their new house when he woke, Angelus drifted to sleep, still fully clothed. And wondering how it was he’d entangle himself so fully in Buffy that he couldn’t get out. ~~~~~~~~~~  
48 Miss Edith Tea Parties To Go…  

Drusilla laughed, but at first, neither vampire knew if it was at them or something only she saw. It happened a lot, Dru was often in her own world, even if she was a vicious and ruthless killer. Her sanity was shattered, but occasionally those shards shone brightly through, revealing lucid moments almost as scary as her insane ones.  

“There’s a gate!” She said, as she rolled onto her back on the ground, the laughter not abating. “It’s opening!” 

Angelus watched in fascination as she rolled to her knees, swaying back and forth. He so loved it when the visions took her, his beautiful creation. 

“It’s black,” she warned as she looked to her stars, wondering if they’d be mad the gate wanted to eclipse their brightest. “It wants her.” 

Crawling up behind her, Angelus wrapped his arms about her even as he looked to Spike for the inevitable jealously that hardened the younger vampire’s features. “Wants who?” 

Drusilla swayed in her sire’s arms, wondering if this was the beautiful blackness she’d first seen, the wonderful misery she’d anticipated. But no, this was something else, something evil that wanted her daddy and her star. 

“The Slayer, it’s time, Angel.” Dru stood, still swaying in Angelus’ suddenly stiff arms. “She’s ready for you now, she’s…dancing,” Dru said as she began to dance, “Dancing with death.” 

Death? Buffy was in trouble? Angelus panicked – he couldn’t allow that. He wouldn’t allow anything to happen to her, not like that. Death wasn’t in his plans, hadn’t he just realized that? Not her death, never hers. He couldn’t live without her, hadn’t these last weeks proved that? 

Spike snorted, “Big deal. He won’t do anything. Our man Angel here likes to talk but he’s not much for action. All hat and no cattle.” 

Growling at the insubordinate childe, Angelus grabbed Dru’s waist, pulling her flush against him, just to piss Spike off even more. He really was too easy. Plus, Angelus didn’t want to let on just how alarmed he was over this latest twist in Buffy’s fate. 

“I don’t know about that,” he said with a grin, a plan already forming in his mind. Maybe this really was the end, oh, not as Spike obviously thought, but the end of the game he and Buff’d been playing since his return. Time to cash out and collect his greatest prize. 

“I think this whole Slayer thing has run its course.” Ready to refocus on the next stage, ready to take and take what is mine and let the world suffer. “I’m ready to focus my energy…elsewhere.” 

Like on taming the slayer, instead of courting her. Like on teaching the slayer her lessons from the comfort of his bed, instead of killing – not that that wasn’t fun – anyone who spoke with her. Like taking her friends and ensuring her cooperation. 

Spike snorted, “Really?” 

“Oh, yeah!” Angelus agreed, pushing just the buttons he knew would drive Spike crazy while his mind envisioned the fun and the pleasure to be had with his love. “What, with you being Special Needs Boy, I figure I should stick close to home. You and Dru can always use another pair of hands.” Hmm, maybe he should get that irritating Harris boy as a slave, wouldn’t that be nice payback… 

It wasn’t hard to figure out where she went, there were only four places in Sunnydale Buffy dared set foot in, besides the twelve cemeteries. His second choice, the high school, proved correct. Getting past the wasps wasn’t difficult, either; they’d parted for him as if expecting his entrance. Ah, the Fates were working with him for once.  

And there she was: his beautiful slayer, his finest obsession. Sorry, Dru, Angelus thought, but you have nothing on Buffy. (My beautiful lover.)  

“I wanted to look my best for you,” he said and only smirked wider when she said the words he’d longed to hear. 

“You’re the only one. The only person I can talk to.” 

Perfect, pathetic, but absolutely perfect. “Gosh, Buff. That’s really pathetic,” he said aloud, but inside he was rejoicing. Things were going so perfectly, so smoothly, what could possibly go wrong? He really should’ve known better than to ask. 

But this was it; he was going to take her away from all this, he was going to get her out of Sunnydale and away from her friends, away from her calling. Away from anything that took her away from him. To feel her skin against his, to listen to her breathing every night and all day long. To know that she wasn’t in danger when he couldn’t be there, that she wasn’t needlessly wasting her life… 

“You can’t make me disappear,” Buffy said to him, only partly aware she was saying these things, and only partly aware of just how eerily her words, words not her own, echoed her life. “Just because you say it’s over.” 

“Actually,” Angelus grinned as he moved closer to her, “I can.” Oh, yes, he could, he could make her disappear from the face of the earth, and no one would ever find her. They’d know it was him, know he had something to do with it, but they’d still never be able to find either of them. For Buffy was his and now, now, he was about to claim her. 

Love is forever, she remembered shouting at him, though Buffy would never have said those words to Angelus. But it was true, wasn’t it? (Love is forever. Our love…Angel.)  

You thought I stopped loving you. But I never did. I loved you with my last breath. Angelus remembered saying those words to Buffy, but cringed all the same. He didn’t love her, he was incapable of love. He knew that, and yet found he didn’t want to stop the forced words, the declaration of love. (Don’t leave me, my love.)  

“Shhh... No more tears.” (Don’t cry my darling love.)  

The kiss was real, real between two lovers who had one night together, between the predator and the prey. Real between Buffy and Angelus as they continued to kiss even after whatever entities inhabited their bodies left them with only themselves. Gently, they broke off their kiss and opened their eyes, staring into eyes that held all the secrets of the other. 

“Angel,” Buffy said, hope, love, longing in that one syllable. 

She knew it wasn’t really him, wasn’t her lost love returned to her, but that didn’t matter. Buffy said his name, knowing full well who it was in her arms. It was the demon, not the soul, Angelus not Angel, and yet they kissed the same, tasted the same, felt the same. And her confused heart wanted them the same. Her arousal spiked as he held her in his arms for that interminable minute between her whisper and…the next moment. 

The next moment when he growled at her, pushing her away with betrayal, Buffy wondered just what went on behind those impenetrable eyes. He saw the knowledge in her eyes; saw the separation between him and that soul that she’d longed to see. And yet she murmured the name the soul took, murmured the name of the one nemesis Angelus had in this life. 

So, he pushed her back, leaving the room as quickly as he could, leaving Buffy there in shock.  

He tried to explain away his actions, tried to justify his feelings by denying those feelings. But he couldn’t. He wanted (loved) the slayer, he wanted (loved) Buffy. And she thwarted him at every turn. 

“What do you know about it?” He questioned, but he thought he knew the answer to that. After all, Spike and Dru managed to stay together for over a hundred years. “I’m the one who was friggin’ violated. You didn’t have this thing in you.” 

(He gave her everything, and still she betrayed him. The soul, it was always the soul. What did that miserable whelp have that Angelus didn’t?)  

“Let’s get outta here. I need a real vile kill before sunup to wipe this crap out of my system.” 

But could he? Could he wipe all he felt, actually felt for Buffy out of his system?
~~~~~~~~~~  
Drusilla hummed as Angelus stalked his prey.  

“Ba-ba black sheep, have you any blood? Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full; one for my daddy, one for the world, one for the bright star that sings me to sleep.”  

He was angry, Her Angel, angry not over the possession, but over the revelation. He was angry because he now saw what she did; saw the bright star-lit path the slayer was taking him down. But more and better things were to come, and it was only a matter of time before they came, making the star burn bright with darkness, bright with shadows.  

Her Angel, Dru sighed as he dragged her back to the mansion, was so conflicted. Poor daddy, Dru thought, he didn’t know what to do, what to feel. He needed her, needed the slayer (enemy, friend), but didn’t want to, was afraid to. He wanted her more, the vampiress pouted, than he wanted his Dru. But no, that wasn’t true, the stars whispered as they winked out with the approaching dawn.  

Dru would always hold a special place, they said, but a new dawn was coming and the slayer was the sunlight and moonlight all in one. The starlight to Angelus’ reign. Letting her sire use her for his pleasure, Dru smiled the entire time, enjoying herself as he clawed her (too cold) body, even when he kicked her out of his bed.  

Let the dawn rise.

Part 6        Part 8

World Enough and Time index        Christine's Page        Home