43 Miss Edith Tea Parties To Go…  

It’d been two days since she left her house for anything other than slaying. The only reason she even bothered with that was because she was afraid someone else would die at her ex-lover’s hands.  

Unfortunately, in those two days, all she found was one Faryal Demon.  

Buffy didn’t understand why there were no demons out; wasn’t the point of the Hellmouth to attract the bad guys so she could slay them? Yet she barely had the newly risen to deal with, let alone any other demons to kill. With Angelus roaming around, making things less than easy for her, Buffy figured he’d be more than happy when all his little demon friends overran Sunnydale.  

“Why is that not the case?” She muttered as she walked down the street to her house.  

Then again, she thought, as she got ready for bed, if there were no others to challenge his power, then Angelus was the ruler of the Hellmouth. Disputed only by her, his ex-lover who couldn’t kill him. (You can’t kill me.) And people wondered why she was so depressed.

Still, if Angelus was this undisputed ruler, then why did he bother toying with her? If he had all the forces of Sunnydale at his disposal, it’d be a simple matter to overpower her and be done with it.  

So that probably wasn’t the case, Buffy figured as she took one last look out her window at the empty night. How safe was she here, really? There were ways to get to her; all Angelus had to do was burn her house, take her mother on Joyce’s way home from work late one night, or kidnap any one of her friends – or even those fellow students she was sworn to protect – and Buffy knew she’d do whatever was necessary to free them. But he hadn’t and that made Buffy more nervous than not.  

What was he playing at?  

Lying in her bed after another fruitless patrol, her mind finding no answers to her many questions, Buffy turned on her side, looking out the window into the night. The tree that grew near her window swayed gently in the breeze, hypnotizing her with its movements. Her eyes grew heavy though her mind was wide awake, still trying to understand the game Angelus was playing with her. She’d run herself ragged these last days, knowing that everything she did was in defense from something he did.  

She wasn’t on the attack; it was a joke to think so. She wasn’t fighting him; she was merely running from him.  

Because that was better than running to him. (You’re mine, lover, and you’ll be at my side soon enough.)  

Buffy hated the fact that he had such power over her, such control. Hated that whenever he said jump, she did, whether she wanted to or not. There were things she cursed herself for, still being attracted to the body (You think Angel and I are helpless slaves to passion?), still thinking that there was a chance Angel was returning to her (You know why I killed the Calendar woman, I know you do), still thinking that there was something of her love in the monster that wore his face (‘Had we but world enough and time, then this coyness, lady, were no crime’).  

Still wanting that monster, still loving him. (Helpless slaves to passion…hello lover…)  

It was hard for Buffy to differentiate between Angel and Angelus, hard to separate them, physically, though she knew the difference. Knew that Angel loved her, treated her as a princess, treasured her, wanted her forever, cared for her when she was injured, and fought by her side. Angelus was the opposite. He stalked her and taunted her, haunted her through dreams and gifts, he fought her, waged war on her friends in an attempt to get to her.  

(Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, Lady, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way To walk and pass our long love's day.) 

He sent her flowers and jewels, drawings and notes. He kept her safe when she was sick. He professed love and passion for her in so many different ways. 

Angelus was such an enigma to her that Buffy wasn’t sure she’d ever understand him.  

Tears leaked from her closed eyes, but Buffy never noticed. Her sleep was restless, haunted with things Angelus did, things she hadn’t stopped (Theresa, Ms. Calendar, Ben, Brad, Ryan), things yet to come (Soon, lover). Caught in those dreams and more, more where Angel berated her for not being stronger, she never noticed the vampire directly outside her window, having climbed the very tree she’d been watching not twenty minutes ago.  

Angelus leaned against the window of his slayer’s room. She tossed and turned, tangling the sheets around her lithe, delectable body. Tears stained her face and Angelus’ grin widened. Ah, his little slayer, so torn, in such grief and misery. He loved it.  

And then she turned back towards the window, opening her eyes as if she sensed him. “You already know,” Angelus said to her and knew she heard him even through the window. He let the smirk remain, locking eyes with her before jumping down and striding away.  

Everything was coming together perfectly.  

Tonight he had to cut short his visit with his sleeping beauty; there was a new demon in town he needed to take care of. There were advantages to ruling this little plot of land; one of those was sleeping less than peacefully behind him. Another was the energy that living here for so long imbued him with. He didn’t understand why no other vampire felt the power of the Hellmouth the way he did, but figured that if those energies were meant to be spread around like that, then his little doorway to hell would lose some of its appeal.  

Entering Willy’s and letting the door slam against the wall, Angelus briefly scanned the room, just long enough so that everyone knew he was there and not happy. Sauntering to the bar, he didn’t bother to give Willy his order, simply sat on a stood and waited for the owner/bartender to deliver his drink. Willy, ever the weak willed human, did so with all due haste.  

“Tell me,” Angelus said in a neutral voice with a smile that belied his interest.  

 “Yes sir,” Willy stammered, and looked around his bar. Most everyone knew Angelus and knew he owned both Hellmouth and Slayer. The out-of-towners needed reminding. Letting his eyes linger in a particularly dimmed corner of his establishment, Willy hoped Angelus understood what he signaled. He valued his life way too much for any other interpretation.  

“The rumor is,” the Twenties wanna-be gangster said, all appropriate fear in his voice, “That the leader of the Intersife Clan has come to town. It is bad for business, all that fighting, ya know what I mean?” Actually, Angelus was bad for Willy’s life, but the bartender did what he could to survive in these ever changing times.  

Angelus snorted in laughter. The Intersife Clan was a not very clever play on ‘internal strife’, which was what they caused. Among the demonic community, they were commonly, and degradingly, referred to as the Bickering Demons. By touching a being, they caused them to fight, usually uncontrollably, amongst their closest friends and family.  

All of which was good and fine, but if Angelus wasn’t the one controlling the fighting, then it wasn’t going to happen.  

“I hear,” Willy’s voice dropped even further, and he wondered if revealing this new information was going to get him killed. “That they’re also after the slayer; that they consider her tenure up and her head as a trophy.”  

Angelus growled at the bartender, and Willy took a hasty step back. “I’m sorry Angelus,” he said quickly. “I know how you feel about the slayer in danger,” actually, daylight was only now beginning to glimmer, but Willy had heard things about the master vampire and the slayer. “But I thought you should know.” He shook his head, “Bad for business.”  

Willy was right, Angelus agreed as he shot back the rest of his whisky, tinged ever so slightly with fresh human blood. Fighting on the Hellmouth was bad for business. Specifically his. With more fighting, that meant Buffy was out more, and therefore spending less time thinking of him, and more time putting herself in danger she certainly didn’t need to be in. Sometimes, he sighed, demons were just so dense: only Angelus put Buffy in danger. Everyone else was off limits.  

“Her head as a trophy?” Angelus demanded, watching as Willy paled. “Put the word out, Willy,” he continued in that smooth velvety voice of his that sent shivers of pure fear down Willy’s spine. “The slayer is mine. No one touches her, no one harms her, no one even looks at her. Understood?”  

“Ye-yes, Angelus, master,” Willy nodded.  

Standing, Angelus nodded to Willy as the human moved down the bar to fill another’s glass. Casually walking to the corner Willy indicated earlier, not bothering to pay for either the drink or the information, Angelus slid into the booth and smiled. It was far from a pleasant smile and the hint of fang didn’t hurt, either.  

“This is my town,” Angelus stated without preamble. “Leave.”  

The laugh echoed around the dimly lit, dingy bar; a loud grating sound that was meant to provoke one’s opponent. Unfortunately, for the demon, Angelus was a master at self-control. If he weren’t, Buffy would already be tied to his bed and awaiting his pleasure, friends-as-collateral be damned; it was the chase, after all, that he enjoyed, the game he played with his slayer.  

(If we had but world enough and time…)  

“No,” the larger green demon said, still laughing. Abruptly turning serious, he spat, “You’re weak, Angelus. Everyone knows how you let the slayer walk all over you, leaving you panting in her wake. This town needs a new leader, and I’m it.”  

Saying nothing else, Angelus stood, still grinning down at the demon. He was tall, Angelus gave him that. Muscled, too, and knew how to fight. All Intersife did, it was part of their youth training; from the moment they were old enough to do so, all Intersife offspring learned the art of the fight. If this truly were the leader of the clan, then he’d be the best fighter, the most vicious, the strongest. The Alpha-male.  

Angelus was better.  

The bar cleared out faster than anyone ever thought, even Guy, the resident Sloth Demon, moved quickly out of the way. Only Willy stayed, hiding behind his bar counter and taking bets. Hey, a man’s got to make a living, after all.  

“Wrong,” Angelus said and yanked the demon from his sitting position, throwing him out the still swinging door. Whoever the last one out was, it was nice of them to leave the door opened.

By the time the clan leader picked himself off the ground, crouching into a fighting position to meet his attacker, Angelus was there. Rage made his face change, his eyes turn golden, his voice snarl. It was, the vampire knew, partly because he touched the Intersife leader. But that anger could be worked through on the leader himself. All Angelus had to do was keep his mouth shut.  

That was the other part of their power. The fact that the bickering they produced usually was petty in nature, and had a way of causing the recipient to spout out all his innermost issues. Angelus was not about to let that happen, but needed to make clear that the town and most importantly the slayer were off limits.  

“She’s mine,” Angelus snarled as he smashed his fist into the Intersife’s face. “The slayer is mine, no one touches her, no one looks at her.” Rage, over Buffy’s continued refusal of him, over her wavering between giving into him as she wanted and listening to her stupid friends, her confused conscience, and her torn heart added to his general anger that anyone, anyone thought they could come to his town and simply takeover.  

It was laughable, but Angelus was in a fine rage and not really in the mood for laughing.  

More punches to the Intersife’s face, midsection, a sweep of his legs, causing the larger being to drop to the ground. Oh, the leader gave as good as he got, landing his own blows to Angelus. But the vampire had a lot on his side, the Hellmouth energies were one, but Buffy was another. Anger over his slayer, anger that anyone had the nerve to challenge him, anger that he had to take time away from watching Buffy to deal with this latest threat. A threat not just to his position of power, but to her, as well.  

“Really,” he told the assembled group. “How stupid are you? The message is already out; I rule the Hellmouth. It’s simple enough.”  

Blood trailed down his face, he cold feel the stickiness on his cheek and down his neck. His ribs ached and he knew his torso would be a mass of bruises later. None of which mattered at the moment, as he let loose on the Intersife leader; Angelus’ only goal was to kill the demon, and teach anyone else the same lesson.  

“Sunnydale is mine,” Angelus roared into the night. “The slayer is mine; no one touches her. I rule here; my word is absolute law. Understand?” The clan leader didn’t answer, but that was because Angelus was still pounding him against the ground. “Understand?” He bellowed.  

Angelus hadn’t realized Buffy followed him, too focused on taking care of the latest threat to her life to focus on much else. It was, admittedly, a rare thing to happen to the master vampire, but now he realized what that tingling sensation along his skin was. (I just know when you’re there, I can feel you.) Buffy’s presence. She stood a distance away from him, watching silently as he dropped the dead body of the demon onto the street.  

She didn’t say a word, simply waited as he walked closer to where she stood. The patrons from Willy’s who were slowly making their way back inside after the fight, paused at the entrance to watch the slayer and the vampire. It was a star-crossed romance even they appreciated, and if the slayer was occupied with her vampire, then she wasn’t out hunting them. It all worked.  

Guy felt tears prick his large brown eyes as he imagined the slayer tending the vampire’s wounds, praising Angelus for a job so well done. Taking care of her mate, flattering him with words on his fighting skills…and later on his sexual ones.  

He sniffled once or twice as he continued to watch from afar, cursing his lack of advanced hearing; he was sure the beautiful slayer was telling Angelus how strong and brave he was. It didn’t matter to Guy that the slayer was meant to kill the vampire, everyone in Sunnydale knew of their love.  

It was more interesting than the daytime television they often watched in Willy’s, and much more romantic.  

Just because Angelus was back didn’t mean things changed; look at the care he took to see to her safety, look at the demons he killed for her, look at the way he enticed the beautiful slayer with gifts.

It was lovely. Sighing one last time, the Sloth Demon walked back into Willy’s, deciding to drink a toast to Angelus and his slayer, and to their eternal love.  

“Come to give the victor his spoils, lover?” Angelus asked with a knowing grin. He refused to think on how all his aches disappeared in her presence.  

“Who was that?” Buffy asked instead. When she realized that Angelus was again outside her room, she decided to confront him. But he’d already left, and so, not questioning the impulse, she quickly dressed and followed him. Buffy was unprepared for the scene that greeted her upon arrival at Willy’s.  

Staying back from the fight, she nevertheless heard all Angelus and that ugly looking greenish demon said. It wasn’t hard. Angelus obviously intended for his voice to carry to the circle of demons standing around the fighting pair. The circle of demons who were betting on the outcome…Buffy had sighed, “Only in Sunnydale would they bet on this.”  

Confusion settled heavily on her shoulders as Angelus pounded home his message. He was actually protecting her, the slayer realized as her breathing stopped for a moment. Angelus was protecting her, and Buffy was at a loss to understand why.  

‘The slayer is mine,’ he’d said, repeatedly. ‘Mine.’  

Things were beginning to make sense, though why it’d taken her so long to figure out Buffy couldn’t have said. Was it because she didn’t know? Buffy had no idea what she truly fought, she was just beginning to realize. She knew good from bad, even if they were of the demon variety. But she didn’t really understand the intricacies of the community. She didn’t understand the particulars of Angelus and vampiric society.  

A slight inkling often clamored in the back of her mind, but Buffy ignored it, hoping to suppress it enough that she’d not have to deal with the fact that she couldn’t kill Angelus. (You can’t kill me. Give me time. You still love me…and to that, she had no reply.) Buffy couldn’t stop wanting him, loving him, and that the line between Angel and Angelus was just as blurred now that she’d met the demon as it was when she told Angel she loved him, all of him.  

And now he killed a demon. He’d done that for her. He’d killed that demon – goo and all – for her. Because Goo-Man was out to kill her. Looking at the group only now wandering back inside Willy’s, Buffy wondered if it was the first he’d killed…for her.  

Angelus killed him not because he wanted that pleasure, she was beginning to realize, but because he wanted her for himself. Alive, whole, healthy – why else leave her in the hospital when he had the chance to take her from there.  

(Sleep, my love, rest and get better.)  

Figuring he wanted her all for himself, from the many gifts he’d already given her, Buffy wondered. So many questions finally made sense. So many things she’d wondered about but couldn’t ask were finally beginning to make sense. Little things Giles hinted at, things Angelus taunted her with, niggling thoughts she herself had. Buffy wished they didn’t, for it was just one more understanding she had of (her) the demon (lover).  

“Intersife Clan leader,” he told her, still standing within arms reach but making no move to touch her. Why, Buffy wondered, why not touch her? He had in the past, that certainly never stopped him. And whoever this leader was, it was obvious Angelus considered him a big enough threat to take out himself.  

“You killed him for me,” she whispered, confused, torn, and looked the vampire in the eye, awe and understanding clear in hers.  

He did touch her then, much to the mutual romantic sighs of several watching patrons in Willy’s, Guy included. They couldn’t hear what the couple said, but body language was so very telling, they decided. And look, look how the slayer raised her hand to touch Angelus’ wounds. They sighed again at the resilient and independent slayer comforting the vicious and sadistic vampire, and Willy could only shake his head and pour them more to drink.  

It was, he admitted – but only to himself – sweet. But Willy had to wonder about the whole thing. And worry. That slayer, she was a great gal, he honestly liked her. What game was Angelus playing at?  

“Yes,” Angelus said as he pulled her closer (lover), “Yes, I did.”  

“Why?” Her hand rested on his shoulder though Buffy was unaware of actually doing that.  

“He was after you. Wanted to make a name for himself by killing the slayer.” Shrugging in a negligent way that contradicted the fierceness with which he spoke, the fire in his again-brown eyes, Angelus growled. “You’re mine, lover, and I don’t tend to share.”  

“But…” Buffy was so confused. She didn’t know why she was there, what she was asking, why she hadn’t tried to kill Angelus yet. Why she was listening to him, why she cared that he was hurt protecting her, why (lover), why (love), why (his)…mine.  

“I thought…don’t you want to…I mean. And then there’s the gifts, and,” shaking her head, Buffy gave up trying to understand. She was tired, so worn down by the constant presence of the man before her that she couldn’t think straight, let alone work something like this through in any coherent fashion.  

Her hand moved to the wound on his temple, fingers lightly touching the gash there. (When beauty fires the blood, how love exalts the mind! It was on one of the many notes he’d left her before she’d blocked his entrance to her home.)  

Jerking her flush with his aroused body, Angelus looked into her eyes. Pressing his lips to hers, he easily coaxed a response from her, reveling in the heat and passion she buried inside. Her response was everything he hoped for and more. She opened her mouth to his, meeting his rising passion with her own. He could smell the desire and confusion on her, taste them in her kiss. The fluctuating needs between giving in fully to him, his needs, his passion, his offer, and what she believed to be the right path she should follow.  

Buffy’s hands tightened on his shoulders, and she whimpered in protest when he pulled away.  

“Let me clear it up for you, lover,” he smiled. Seductive, welcoming, comfortable. Loving. “You’re mine and I protect what’s mine. I want you, and I will have you, don’t ever think otherwise. Those gifts…?”  

She nodded and understanding brightened her eyes, still glazed from his kiss. “Those gifts are my mark on you, an exterior showing to any who look that Buffy the Slayer is Angelus’, and only mine.”  

“I’m not yours,” she protested heatedly, but didn’t pull back. Couldn’t pull back because she didn’t even think of it, and the feel of his body was good, so good against hers, the coolness, the hardness, the rightness of his body against hers.  

(Angel and I, she once told Willow, We fit together. It’s like he was just waiting for me to be born or something.)  

Angelus simply laughed and moved further away from Willy’s. He doubted anyone could hear their conversation, but didn’t want to take the chance. By leading a willing Buffy away from their prying eyes, it looked like he was merely moving her to a convenient bed. He hardened further at that thought, but pushed it away in favor of his long-term plan. He wanted to, oh, yes he wanted to; and he would he most definitely would, because he never denied himself.  

But that wasn’t part of the plan just yet. She’d come to him willingly this night, yes, but that was only the first step.  

The second was to willingly come to him in his bed. He’d have to wait for that, and he could. He was immortal, and it was only a matter of time before he found a way to make his feisty slayer immortal as well.  

“You’re not mine,” he mocked, “That’s why you keep my flowers until they’re wilted and dead.” He leaned in and kissed her, softly, gently. “That’s why you look at the drawings I do of you every night before you go to bed.” Those cool lips made their way down her throat. “That’s why you wear the jewelry I give to you.” A light nip at the base of her neck, quickly soothed by his cool tongue.  

Buffy shivered, her body bending into his, her arms tightening around him. Pressing her body close to Angelus’, Buffy wanted to beg for more. She’d had only that one night with Angel, and it was nowhere near enough to sate the fire that burned through her for her love. Angel. Angel was the one to quell that fire, even if only for a night. Not Angelus, not the demon currently holding her, not…him.  

“If I don’t,” Buffy scoffed realizing, suddenly, that she was entirely compliant in his arms, and that he was leading her to wherever he wanted. He’d done it so gently, arm around her, his hand so solicitous on her hands. But…she had so many questions, and didn’t really want to leave until they were all answered and…why wasn’t he killing her? “You have this habit of killing those close to me.”  

“Yes, yes,” Angelus dismissed, impatiently. “But they’re so very unimportant. Listen to yourself,” he laughed as they slowly made their way down the street, Buffy unaware she leaned into his side, his arm draped around her. “You’re angry with me over deaths of people you never really cared about before, love. Yet you haven’t thanked me for sparing the life of that pathetic loser, Harris.”  

Silent, Buffy just stared at him. Well, he had let Xander live even with unrestricted access to his house for those few days…but that was no excuse. He killed Theresa just to send her a message (Angel sends his love) and Jenny (Survival of the fittest, baby) because she was going to give Buffy her Angel back (You are mine, lover, and always will be. Nothing and no one can take you away from me. Look what happens when they try.) 

Buffy didn’t pay attention to where they were walking as she thought of the past weeks and everything that happened, and only noticed they arrived back at her house when Angelus pressed her back against the tree, his mouth again ravishing hers. There was no protest in her, and she hated herself for that. She kissed him back as though she were starved, and truthfully she was.  

Starved for contact with her lover, demon or angel. Starved for understanding, which Angelus seemed to provide her in abundance, though his methods left much to be desired.  

Liquid desire pooled low in her belly and flamed through her veins. Buffy wanted to give herself to him, wanted to give into the desire that pounded through her and just forget everything else. But she couldn’t, it wasn’t who she was.  

He pulled away again, and again Buffy cursed herself for her weakness in not doing so first. Weakness in not staking him when she had such opportunity (You can’t kill me, lover, and you won’t). For not being strong enough to kill him, no matter what he was really like behind the face she loved (Sleep, love, and rest. Get better).  

“Just remember, Buffy, I own this town. I own you because I want you. You’re mine, little slayer, mine to do with as I please. You’re mine, and you love it. I kill for you, I hunt for you. I am for you. But you, my love, are mine. Body, heart, and soul. And,” he leaned closer to the silent slayer, lips pressed to hers for a bare second. “You know it. And you love it.”  

With that he was gone, leaving Buffy alone against the tree that led to her bedroom, and one she always thought of as leading Angel to her. What was happening, she wondered as the first tears tracked down her face. Why was she allowing this? Slowly and quietly climbing the tree to her opened window, she shed her clothes and wearily crawled into bed, naked. She just didn’t have the energy to dress in her pajamas.  

Angelus was…courting her. But she knew that, just couldn’t admit it. And Giles, Giles knew but said nothing to her, always skirting the issue whenever things like this came up. But wasn’t that why she never told him of the flowers that even now decorated the surfaces of her room? Why she never said anything about the jewelry Angelus gave her, why she never told her watcher or friends about the visits, the drawings.  

The courtship?  

They wouldn’t understand, because she hadn’t. But Giles had. Giles knew and said nothing, he knew what Angelus was doing but didn’t bother to inform his slayer, the object of Angelus’ affections.  

A tingle started low in her belly and spread as Buffy thought more about that. Angelus affections. Angel and Angelus. Of being courted by the most vicious vampire ever, the one who ruled, as he proved this night, Sunnydale. Who commanded the forces and loyalty of the Hellmouth, and who made it clear this night as he showed everyone at Willy’s that he had the slayer as well.  

Buffy was his, Angelus said, and his alone.  

The tears started again. Oh, God, yes, she wanted to be his. But couldn’t; there was no way she could. No way she’d be able to give up everything she believed in, everything she knew, for him. She couldn’t, he was evil and made no excuses for that. But she wanted to, a small part of her so very much wanted to. Wanted to know the peace that was not fighting, wanted to be taken care of by him, wanted to be back in the safety and comfort of his arms.  

That night Buffy cried herself to sleep, once more sobbing over the choices she made in her life, and those that her life didn’t allow her a choice in. She wanted to curse her destiny, but realized that if she wasn’t the slayer, then she’d never have met Angel or his alter ego. She wanted to curse the gypsies, but realized that if they hadn’t cursed Angelus with a soul, she’d never have met Angel.  

So she cried herself to sleep, never realizing that her lover watched over her from outside her window, still barred from her house. She never realized that her mother entered her room and sat with her until the sun rose, wondering how she could help her child.  

Upon waking, Buffy found two fiery red roses twined together laying on her windowsill. She knew who they were from; there was never a question of that. And now, with so many colors and roses already sent to her, she knew what they signified as well.  

Unity. Marriage. Forever.  

Her hand rose with the joined flowers and Buffy sniffed their delicate scent. A soft smile played on her face, and her eyes closed for a brief moment as the meaning of the flowers washed over her. There was no note, there didn’t need to be, no piece of jewelry, no drawing. Only the flowers. And the memory of the previous night.  

Angel gave her a ring, settled it on her left hand and promised to love her forever. Angelus gave her a ring, similar to Angel’s, and vowed, promised, and threatened to her that forever.  Glancing down at her right hand, Buffy was somehow not at all surprised to see that the ring was no longer there. No, the claddagh was snug on her left hand, ring finger, ruby heart pointing inwards.  

That was his message for the night, written right there for her to see and understand. Words weren’t needed.  

Stepping away from the window, Buffy placed the flowers into the small vase she had – another gift from Angelus – and added water before going to shower.  

She didn’t think about her reaction, or lack thereof. She didn’t think of the meaning of the flowers or the moving of the ring. She couldn’t, because then her world wouldn’t make sense, and Buffy would be forced to realize everything she finally understood the previous night.  

Angelus was courting her as his wife (mate) and lover. He wanted her despite the horrible words he’d spat at her the morning after her (beautiful, single) night with Angel. He protected her from demons and sent her flowers. He watched over her and made sure she was safe throughout the night. He kept his crazy childe away from her and the wheelchair bound psycho as well.  

If Buffy truly let herself think about it, she’d realize that Angelus was in love with her.

Part 7        Part 9

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