Two weeks later...
Buffy paced her bedroom floor for what felt like the umpteenth time. There had to be something missing, she thought. Why? Why else would he have disappeared overnight? Especially after they made love?
Suddenly the worry hit her again. Was it me? Did I do something wrong? Was I bad for him?
Deep breaths, Buffy. Deep breaths. Take deep breaths, don't think for a minute.
All right Buffy, now, start thinking logically. It couldn't have been you...you didn't do anything. So, if he left for some reason, where would he go?
Sighing, she rubbed her temples. She was so frustrated and tired that thinking logically was not even...not possible. Looking towards the window, she shuddered.
Another night out. Another night of staking vamps, of pretending everything was normal, while wondering where he was, wondering if this would be the night he showed up. Was he even still Angel? Had he returned to his darker side?
Silently she couldn't help but wonder what she'd do if he had. She couldn't stake him and she knew it. And that left plenty of room for him to do damn well whatever he wished.
That scared her more than anything. Dying hadn't even come close. She would gladly die again hundreds of times, if only she didn't have to look into those eyes...and know that no matter what, she could not kill the enemy who mostly likely would kill her.
Or worse. She knew that there were things worse than death. And she knew that if he were ever brought back, the demon Angelus would take great pleasure in unleashing them on her and her friends. Of that she was sure.
Out of the corner of her eyes she glanced at her hand, once again seeing the claddagh ring. Her eyes wet with unbidden tears once more. Memories of when he had given her the ring overwhelmed her mind. Images, sounds, words, thoughts all rushed into her mind like a river after being let out of it's dam.
Angel...where are you, Angel? Why did you leave me? Won't you come back? Won't you?
I need you.
And so ended the scene that had played out over and over in her mind ever since that night. The night he'd disappeared...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A bed with a canopy. She had always wanted one of those. He remembered how one day she had been sitting on her bed, looking wistfully around the room, and how she had whispered that she wanted 'a bed with a pink canopy, and plenty of room to move around in.'
He had never been one to ignore her wishes. Even now, he was determined to give her all that she wanted...all she had to do was give him her mind, body, and soul.
He had gotten the bed with both of their ideals in mind...she had her fluffy pink blankets and long draping canopies...and he had his iron corner posts, and bars lining the head and footboards.
He shivered as he thought of what he was going to do with those bars. He had quite a few things he could... and would attach to them. One thing was for sure, that bed sure wasn't going to be used just for sleeping in.
He looked around the room, smiling. The room was filled, covered with his toys, all gifts for his lover. He couldn't wait see see her face as he gave her each one. Sometimes it would be painful, sometimes pleasureful. But they would all create memories and feelings for her to keep.
Of course, most of it would be pain. He had it all planned out. It was all so simple...a hard fast, relentless attack, against her mind, her body, her sexuality- everything that she valued. Everything that made her not his.
He'd make her watch her friends die. One by one. He'd make her beg for their lives, and he'd take pleasure in watching the desperate looks on each of their faces as they realized that the Slayer's begging would be either what saved or killed them. And even if it was good enough, he doubted that they would live... unless they were willing to become his. And if they did, he would treat them just as he did any other underling...
The same with the Slayer herself. He wouldn't take defiance from any of them. He never had been one to take bullshit, and he wouldn't start now.
His eyes darken to a deep yellow as he remembers a time long ago when a newborn childe dared to raise his hand against him. Flinches, remembering the crack that the younger vamp's hand had made against the side of his face. Remembering that it had actually hurt. But it was not what angered him so much as it was his childe's defiance.
Grins, as he remembered the delighted look on Drusilla's face as she kneeled beside the broken and battered body. She'd been so happy- it was the first warm blood she'd had since the night before. And it seemed to him that for some reason, she always took a strange pleasure in feeding off the underlings. He had always liked to think that she was doing that just for him.
"Daddy punished you well didn't he?" She had cooed as she looked up at him, waiting. She knew better than to drink without asking. Pleased that she had waited, Angelus nodded and then watched as she thirstfully drank from the still warm blood.
Never again had any of his vamps dared to disobey him. One had even confessed to Angelus a good twenty years later that the image of his friend's multilated body still haunted his dreams. Angelus had been so pleased that he had let the vamp go and picked another one for his bedtime romp. Even now, imagining the other vampire twitching in his sleep, quivering and shaking, was intricately pleasing, even though the memory was years old.
He let his thoughts return to the present. Buffy would soon be his and once she was, she would never dare to be as wild as his other underlings. He wouldn't give her the chance. The day she raised a hand against him would be the day he let all the other vamps watch as he tore her ass up with his belt. And then maybe they'd get some of her too.
If he had his way, she would be his totally willing slave. She would perform for him without questions, without answers. She would be fully aware that her very existance would be for him. Her will, emotions and body all would be his. She would tremble in his sight. And she'd remember it all. He wouldn't allow her to block it out, or become like Dru.
He wanted her to feel the pain, so that he could savor it, feed on it, drink from it. Her pain was exquisite. He couldn't understand why Angel had always wanted to make her pain go away. Silly soul-boy, with all those stupid notions of his.
He shook himself. "It's time." He murmured softly, going to the closet. Pulling on his long black duster, he stuffed a tranquilizer syringe in one pocket, and hid a pair of handcuffs and ropes in the other. They were well hidden. He reached up and grabbed his belt, threading it through the loops on his pants, and buckling it. The light bounced off the ornate "A" in all directions.
To the table he went, picking up his phone. Auto dial, then... ring ring ring ring Sighing, he wondered if she'd ever pick up. ri- "Hello?"
"Buffy?" He asked softly, allowing his voice to revert back to Angel's. "Is that you?"
"Angel?! Oh my god, I've missed you sooo much." She gasped. He grinned as she went on. "Where've you been?"
"I can't tell you...something bad happened. I can't come back. Not for long."
"Where are you?" She choked out. "Maybe I can help you."
"I can't tell you. They'll find me."
"Who?" She demanded. "Who is it?"
"I can't say! Listen, Buffy, I want you to come to the west side of the park in an hour. Meet me there. Okay, sweet? One hour." Take it or leave it, He thought. No, DON'T leave it.
"But-" She was cut off by the click of the phone. Damn him, hang up before she was finished. Oh well. She'd have to go see him. She grabbed her slaying bag, put on her boots, and crawled out the window.
****
He watched her step into the park and felt his breath hitch. God, two weeks without her had done more to him than he'd realized. The sweet scent of her blood and sweat flooded his senses as she came ever closer. He drank in the sight of her body, dressed in her leather jacket, cashmere sweater, jeans and boots. Her hair framed her face in what looked to be a hurriedly made fringe. Still, she looked very beauttiful and sexy.
"Angel?" She called softly. He cringed at the name, but said nothing.
"Over here." He waved to her. She ran over and right into his arms, breaking down into a sob.
"Oh Angel..I thought you'd left me. I thought maybe you hated me...was I bad for you? Was that it?" She was rambling and she didn't care.
"No...shhhh...you were the best thing that ever happened to me." He whispered, holding her close. She smiled a little, sending a tingle through his body.
"Are you gonna come back, Angel?" She looked up, as he wiped a tear from her face.
"I can't, baby. It's a long story." He held her face between his hands, then dropped one and moved it into his pocket, grabbing the syringe. "But you can come with me."
"But...I'm the Slayer!" She protested. "I have to...to slay!"
He grinned and, and in one quick motion, had the needle in her neck and emptied. As he slipped it back in his pocket, he held her as she fell limp in his arms, fighting the drug's immobilizing effects. "Not anymore, lover. You're mine now."
Her limp lips couldn't form the words, but her eyes said it all. Angelus? She felt him pull her hands back and lock them tightly with the handcuffs. Then she blacked out...