Apology: Yes, I know, this was supposed to end in 3 parts, but bite me Angelus, it looks like being a part or two longer.
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"Hello, Angel."
I hate the name.
"Don't CALL me that!"
The answer is whiplash smart, and she recoils from the intensity. After a surreptitious glance to check for cuts, she straightens up and glares at me.
"What do YOU want here?"
"Gee, Cordelia. Are you a blonde underneath all that hair? Clairol must be doing really good business these days. I want the Slayer, dammit, so let me in."
"Not bloody likely." She crosses her arms on her chest and gives me frown that would melt the balls off Michelangelo's David. I have to admire the pose and the way it highlights her not inconsiderable assets. Very Wonder bra.
An ominous rumble of thunder accompanies her words, lending even more drama to the occasion.
"Very nice view love, but I would like to get inside and see my girl, so why don't you ask me in?"
She fakes a laugh. "By the way, Angel, this is my house. What makes you think Buffy's here? We're not exactly on sleepover terms, you know. Try Willow."
I snort disgustedly, and the thunder chooses to echo me, only about twenty times louder. That bit of dramatic irony I could have done without.
"Please, Cordelia, I can smell her blood three blocks away in Los Angeles smog. To put it bluntly, your car reeks. Your house reeks."
"What, you can smell her on me?"
"Nah. You stink."
Outraged gasp and she's about to whirl in and slam the door in my face. No, dammit, Angelus, me boy, this is NOT the time to alienate the bimbo. Think, man, think fast...
Adopting the puppy dog look and my best heartbroken tone, I plead.
"Please, Cor, let me in. I have to know how badly she was hurt... you can't imagine what I'm going through right now."
She stops, hand on the doorframe.
"You know she was hurt?"
I can't help another snort. This babe is dimb, I mean dumb. Slayer's blood is something all vampires want to taste at least once in their un-life. There are only two ways of obtaining it. One, by fighting her, the other, by fucking her.
"Honey, vampires from all over Sunny dale are making a beeline for your house, and I don't think it's the garage sale."
She glances fearfully all around, and darts in.
SLAM!
Oh, brilliant, Angelus me boyo, abso-fucking-lutely brilliant.
Thunder.
Shut up, you.
Fat drops of rain splatter onto the DeSoto, making a tinny noise, and a particularly large bullet hits my nose. Great, great, just great. I jump onto the porch for shelter and start banging the door in.
"Cordelia!" I have to shout to be heard over the ever-increasing roar of the wind.
"Cordelia! Dammit, let me in to see her! I want to see my girl!"
She opens the door again. I halt my hand in mid-punch. Even though I really, really want to hurt her, its really not going to get me an invite inside, is it. Also, I really, really don't want to get in the way of that pointy wooden thing she's waving under my nose like smelling salts.
"If you even dent the finish, I will stake you myself."
"Ok, ok. Backing off, already. Point taken." Or not taken. It all depends on how you look at it.
I try reason.
"Cordelia. Please, let me see Buffy. I have to know that she's not too badly hurt. Please, you know she and I... we have a history."
"Uh-huh. History about covers it. I'm not as dumb as you seem to think I am."
Damn. No, you're obviously not. Ok, let's try again.
"Cordelia, I know that you saw her and me that day - "
She blushes and I know I have her.
"Did that look like the actions of a couple who are history?"
She has to think. Then her face lights up.
"No. But I still don't think you're any good for her, so ciao, meow."
"CORDELIA!"
She does the Wonder bra thing again. "Give me one good reason why I should let you see her. One good reason for Buffy, that is. I couldn't care less whether you died of worry or not, in fact, I'd be happier if you did."
Uh-oh.
"Can't think of any, can you? Good bye."
And this time the slamming door narrowly misses my nose.
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For the second time this evening, I'm leaning on the door to catch my breath.
God, I was so scared. So bloody scared. I've never ever put the anti-vampire guard on my door to the test. But what do you know, ladies and gentlemen, 101% Angel proof. Guaranteed tried and tested.
I don't care what he says he's not getting in to see her.
I still don't know who was responsible for that - upstairs, but I can think of only one vampire Buffy would have even allowed that close.
Well, the mess on the carpet still needs to be picked up. The holy water will soak in and dry up soon, and the bottle goes - here, so that the next time I go out I will remember to refill it. The family Bible... now where do we put it again?
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The Chase residence is a lot taller than Casa Summers. Luckily, they have a trellis, and lots of windowsills above it.
The night's exertions have wearied me and the rain soaking my clothes is no help. I have to discard the trench coat but secure the flowers between my teeth. What Romeo ever visited his Juliet without the flowers?
Damn, these walls are steep. But lots of cracks for good footholds. I follow the blood trail to a window - damn, it's only half open. But at least, it has a covering and I can sort of crouch on the ledge and shelter from the heavenly flood.
Peering in, I can see the embryonically curled figure of my Slayer, my beautiful little Buffy toy. I do hope she's not broken yet.
I wanted to finish the job on my own.
A gust of wind brings out blood scent, and even diluted by the torrent, it tantalizes enough for me to inhale deeply and feel the fire warming my dead lungs.
Aaaaah...
That's the beauty of Slayer blood. It can revive, if only for a moment, the cold heart of the un-dead. And for a few small seconds of remembered life, we would kill.
On the bed, the body stirs.
On the grass, the body stirs. The figure in her arms is motionless.
"Don't you think that's enough, Dru?" Spike asks worriedly.
When the Slayer refused to respond to any of our little games, I tried to rejuvenate her by smashing her head into the wall. Hey, pain works for me.
Unfortunately, the little bitch fainted on us. Lost a good ten minutes trying to revive her. Dru poked and pinched and cut, I even tried the Sleeping Beauty trick - what, you never knew what the fairytale method actually was, before the translated edition? Let's just say that necrophilia is NOT my favourite sport, never was, so gave that up in a hurry.
Spike even ran his chair over her a few times, but it was like she was dead.
Which got me worrying that maybe she would soon be, that even that shallow breathing of hers would fail soon. And everyone knows live Slayer blood is the best.
Being the sire, I went first.
While Dru had her share, I considered letting her survive tonight. After all, the other Slayer was in the Caribbean, or somewhere sunny thereabouts. And Buffy's blood had this tang to it, a certain piquant flavour that remains unsurpassed among my chosen vintages.
On the other hand, I really want to destroy her. Ah, decisions, decisions.
A sudden seizing pain cramps my gut and it takes all my strength to stand upright and unaffected. What the -
A look over at the Pieta on the lawn shows me that the Slayer's blood isn't affecting anyone else the same way.
Dru cradles the Slayer reverently in her arms, crooning blasphemy in between gently sipping at the hollow in her throat. The wound in the jugular has become quite prominent and even Slayer healing is unable to slow the trickle of red that oozes onto Drusilla's hand, urging her to frenzied sucking.
Well, at least someone's having fun. And she's been the only one all evening. Though I'm normally quite the exhibitionist, my little performance earlier didn't do much for anyone except Dru, the little voyeur. Spike is still a prude in certain matters, even after all this time.
Again the nausea rises, hot and heavy, blood in my gorge threatening to choke me. I gag, as silently as possible, then go behind the gazebo to vomit what I must.
A vampire hurling Slayer blood. NOT a very inspiring bedtime story for the fledglings. Must remember to keep it secret from them.
Tearing into her body, the trust in her eyes scoring at my flesh until her violation becomes my own and I resort to increased brutality to help me drown out the smell and taste of her pain...
I didn't think I had anything else left to throw up. Apparently, I do.
Feeling considerably thinner and still as nauseous, I return to the tableau on the lawn. None of the participants have moved yet.
It occurs to me that Dru's been taking a lot of time with this Slayer. Spike thinks the same, and demands his share.
Sighing, Dru lifts the burden in her arms and stands. Walking over to him, she places it tenderly in his lap and he raises it to his mouth. A disgusted swallow later, the body is on the grass.
"Its stale, pet!" he whines.
What?
Does he mean -
An empty pit has opened inside my stomach and I am falling, free falling in an endless, nauseating journey to the far side of hell.
What the fuck? I check myself. I am the demon Angelus. I live on top of Hell! What could be worse than -
Losing the Slayer?
Dru clucks her tongue reprovingly. "Naughty boy. Mustn't play with his dinner."
"I'm telling you she's dead, love. You know I don't drink dead stuff, Dru. And I was hungry!"
Suddenly I want to kill these two, just to shut them up. Can't they see I'm trying to think? Trying to understand what it was that he just said? She's dead? The Slayer can't be dead - not yet.
"Dru!" His voice actually goes up in a little boy wheedle.
Benevolently she gives him a wrist and he falls on it with all the sex-crazed abandon he must have been hoarding ever since the accident.
As for me, I lift my Slayer and leave them.
The blood roaring in my ears is disconcerting and I take a while to realize why.
It's not the demon roaring. It's a dying angel, ranting, screaming, tearing my insides apart in his frenzy to be heard. And his tears are falling from my eyes.
Almighty - what have I done?
NO!
With a start, I realise that I am trembling on a ledge outside the Chase mansion, soaked in rainwater and covered in petals from the white lilies I have brought as a gift for the girl lying inside.
A gift? To deck her funeral bed, possibly. But a gift? No.
Shaking my head furiously, I deny the thought of that moment, deny the memory of cutting my wrist with my teeth and letting the blood fall onto the Slayer's lips in the hopes that she would come back to prevent it being shed. And if that doesn't work, maybe I could just die of exsanguination ...Forget the howling at the moon in demented loss, forget the pain and rage that led me to sweat my own blood and lie writhing in agony, torn between grief and a battle fought between two spirits for this vessel.
It didn't happen. I never cried over her body.
Never to laugh again, never to join with me again, taken, taken from me before -
And the demon joining in, trying to drown out the wailing with his own mad chorus.
Free now, free to hunt and kill, her blood on my hands, so warm and satisfying, if she were alive again, I'd kill her again for the pleasure of it -
No. No. I never did. I never did.
I did not crawl back to the mansion in the vain hope of killing every vampire there in a sort of blood sacrifice to appease the wrath of whatever Being might be listening, hoping to bargain their - our deaths for her life. I did not fight every single fledgling there and I was NOT thrown out by manic Dru "for being Mummy's bad boy", exiled until I came to my senses.
I did not come here to find out how my mortal enemy fares. I did not come here to offer my life to her in meagre payment for the wrong I did her. I am not here to die for her healing, if that's what it takes.
I came to kill her, to finish a job half done. When I returned to where I had placed the corpse - not to die with her, not that, but to make sure she was properly dead - and found her missing, and a blood trail proving she was still alive, I swore to hunt her down and kill her tonight. I did not want to find her and ask that she kill me. Not that. Never that.
I can live with who I am. I am proud of who I am.
And I am not going mad.
I am not going mad.
~ End.
Rating: Still NC-17. Still a nasty story about the dark side of B/A(us)
Disclaimer: Buffy, Angelus, Spike and Dru were fermented from the brewery that is Joss Whedon.
ie: not mine, but if anyone wants to get them for me *hopeful grin*
Note: The title can be defined as 'a sketch in black and white.'