Author: Jill
Disclaimer: let me check ... nope, still don't own them. Sigh! Parts of this is taken from the Buffy-season-5 episode "No Place Like Home" and from the Angel-season-2-episode "Dear Boy".
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: B/A, B/R and the usual pairings from the show
Distribution: my site (http://www.never-ending-love.de), Land of Denial, if you have any of my stories, take it; anybody else tell me where it goes
Summary: Set after "No Place Like Home" and at the end of "Dear Boy". Angel
makes an unexpected discovery. This is set into cannon, in an attempt to make the
whole series more B/A-friendly. But don't expect too many smootchies! Spoilers: the whole B/A-cannon to be sure, follows loosely "Midnight Angel",
"Midnight Whispers", "Midnight Rainbow", and "Midnight Hour". You should probably
read it to understand this. And you should have seen season 5/2 or you won't know
what they're talking about.
Feedback: oh yes, please
Dedication: to my friend Patrick. You're the best!
It was a good thing the Hyperion hotel had a back entrance. And it was even
better that you didn't have to go through the hall to get to your room. Angel
felt exhausted, and talking to Wesley and Cordelia was the last thing he wanted
right now. Too many things were running wild in his mind.
Darla was back. Not a just a weird dream, but a living, breathing human being.
Not a vampire. A human. Gee, could his life get any weirder?
With a heartfelt, inward sigh he pushed the door to his room open only to stop
dead in his tracks. Maybe he was going insane already.
It couldn't be true.
Maybe he was still sleeping. Maybe the whole mess with Darla, the dead man, were
only part of it.
**Please, let it be true.**
But then she moved, moaned slightly, and Angel felt his groin tighten instantly.
No, this wasn't some wacky dream. This was real. God almighty, *she* was real.
Buffy was lying in the middle of his bed, facing him now, her long, blond hair a
dramatic slash across the pillow-case. She was sleeping deeply, the kind of
heavy, restorative sleep he rarely got these days, the kind she obviously needed
badly.
For a short moment he found himself wondering if he would maybe find this kind of
rest with her by his side, but immediately pushed that thought aside.
For a moment he considered drawing a chair close and simply watching her as he'd
done so many nights, a lifetime ago.
But then she shifted onto her stomach, sliding both arms free of the covers to
pillow her head, and he realised she was naked, and for the first time discovered
her clothes, her *soaked* wet clothes on the floor.
He couldn't stay. Not like this. Not with the painful arousal that simple glimpse
- bare arms, bare shoulders - had awakened inside of him. Not with the desire to
see more of her. Not with the need to touch her that was as strong as it had
always been. Not with the hunger for intimacy that had gone too long unsatisfied.
Even knowing he had to leave, he delayed. It had been a long time since he'd
allowed himself these particular emotions. Lately he'd just been empty. Before
that there had been a hope, a glimpse of a better future. But at the moment the
darkness threatened to consume him.
He had almost died when he had left Sunnydale, had left Buffy, and all the
shattered dreams he'd once allowed himself to entertain. But that was before
they'd known about the curse, and before reality had crushed down on them. Thanks
to Doyle, and Cordelia, and even to Wesley he had survived physically, but not
emotionally. Not spiritually.
He had almost forgotten how it felt to be aroused. To be aroused by her. No, not
true, he amended instantly. He was aroused all the time when he was around her.
But now, seeing her lying in his bed, the fulfillment of his secret fantasies,
all the suppressed feelings came rushing back. It was sweet and bitter. Full of
promise. Anticipation. Connection. God, he wanted that connection. If he could
make love to Buffy, now, he could feel alive again. He could want. For a time, at
least, he could give, receive and satisfy. He could prove that all the good
hadn't gone from his life, or rather un-life, that not only the negative had
remained.
Through intimacy with her he could once again become intimate with himself. He
could find hope - hope that, he was more than just a warrior, that there was
humanity in him. That maybe someday he could find it again. Maybe someday his
dreams would come true.
If he could make love to Buffy. The girl that had chased the shadows away, the
girl that haunted his dreams - at least when Darla didn't.
And like this, reality came crushing down. As if he'd burned himself he pulled
his already outstretched arm away again. He closed his eyes for a moment, then
cursed when he suddenly heard someone knocking at his door, then Cordelia's
voice, "It's us."
Slightly shaking his head, Angel turned and headed for the door, to find his two
friends, one with her hands behind her back, the other with his hands in his
pockets, standing there.
"We didn't see you all day," Cordelia started, giving him a tight smile, "We were
just wondering if everything was, you know, copacetic."
Angel sighed inwardly, "I didn't go bad, Cordelia."
"I was never worried about that, boss," she replied, trying to smile brightly,
and Angel could see something passing behind her back into Wesley's hands. "Of
course Mr. Fussy Pants," she added, "here always imagines the worst."
"What?," Wesley stuttered, lifting up a tranquillizer pistol. "I didn't ... I
never..."
"Is there anything else?," Angel asked, slowly getting annoyed with their
attitude. The same moment Buffy moaned again on the bed, and seeing Cordelia
craning her neck to get a glimpse of his room, the vampire stepped forward.
"Nope," the former cheerleader said, trying to stand on her toes. But Angel's
broad form was blocking her view quite effectively. "Can't think of a thing."
Relieved Angel wanted to close his door, when Wesley spoke up again, "Angel - be
careful."
"What do you mean?," the vampire asked.
"Well, it's just - with Darla back, in league with Wolfram & Hart there are a lot
of forces arrayed against you. - There's going to be trouble."
That forced a laugh from Angel, but it wasn't a happy sound, "Yeah. There's gonna
be a lot of trouble - and I say bring it on." Then with a last curt nod, he shut
the door into his friends' faces.
Rubbing both hands over his face, he turned back to the bed, where Buffy started
to stir. He smiled when he saw her blink against the brightness of the light and
then her eyes focussed on him, and she blushed slightly. "Angel," she said, her
voice holding the little breathless flutter it always seemed to hold whenever she
said his name.
"Hi," his mouth moved into his half-smile, and he nodded at the clothes on the
floor. "Got wet?"
"Uh-huh," she replied, blushing slightly, one of her hands clutching the sheet
against her breasts. "Water hose, I didn't pay attention," she explained.
"I see." With a last glance at her he walked over to his drawer and pulled out
one of his dress shirts and a pair of sweatpants, then tossed them onto the bed.
"I won't turn around. Just slip in," he told her, not quite able to keep the
smile out of his voice.
She grinned slightly, but grabbed the clothes and pulled them on, "There, all
safe. Thanks for giving me privacy," she said, and smiled when he turned towards
her.
He raised a brow at her, then sat down on his favourite chair. Leaning his elbows
on his thighs, he gave her a long, studying look, "What brings you here? More
problems with Riley?"
She let out a short, harsh laugh, "Riley? I really wish all my problems were so
simple," she said, startling him, the way she said it. He straightened in his
chair and she went on, "Yeah. There are problems with Riley. He's ... not a happy
camper these days. But that's pretty much what I saw coming already. Nothing new
there. His inferiority complex grows and some day it's going to blow right up
into my face." She laughed again, stood up from the bed and began to pace.
"And if that's not bad enough, my sister," she stopped briefly, shook her head,
"my sister," she emphasised the words, by nodding her head twice, "has to rub it
into his face." Stopping her pacing again, she sighed, and looked at Angel. "But
that's not ... the reason I needed to talk to you."
"It's not?," he asked, oddly relieved that Riley wouldn't be the center of their
conversation again. And somehow he couldn't shake off the feeling that the
ex-commando and the slayer might be history soon. "Then what did you come to talk
about?"
"Angel, what do you remember about Dawn?," she asked suddenly.
Not quite understanding her question he looked at her quizzically, "What do you
mean? She's your sister. I liked ... like ... her a lot. She could be a pain in
the ass, especially when she was-"
"But that's just it," Buffy interrupted him. "That's all fake," her voice became
shrill, almost hysterical, "Everything's fake, all your memories, all my ...,"
her voice broke, but she forced herself to go on, "Nothing is real. Dawn isn't
... Angel," she looked him straight in the eye. "Dawn isn't my younger sister.
Until two months ago, she didn't even exist."
"They?"
"The monks," she told him, blinking tears away, steadying herself with a deep
breath. "I found a monk. Some ... creature ... a very strong girl, definitely not
human, had captured him. I freed him and he told me that ... that Dawn was the
Key. I have no idea what sort of key, what he really meant," she took another
deep breath, combed a hand through her hair, "but ... it seems that in order to
protect some magical energy, some monks created a human girl, Dawn. And then they
placed her where they thought her safe."
Hardly managing to speak, the shock sending shivers through his body, Angel
whispered, "With the slayer."
"Exactly," she confirmed. "They created memories. For all of us. At least that's
what I think, because Giles, Willow, everyone acts normal around her. As if they
know her all their life, or at least as long as they know her. Fake memories.
With this they made sure I had feelings for the girl, that I would protect her
with my life. Because do you know the worst part, I don't care if she's really my
sister or not. Because she feels like my little sister, and I want to kill
everyone who might dare harming her."
Still barely able to sort through all the confusion, Angel asked, "And Dawn?"
"Has no idea what's going on. Isn't that great. She's some key. Obviously that
weird girl is after her or something. And do you know what I did? I freaked. I
even attacked her," another harsh laugh tore from her throat and Angel's heart
clenched painfully for her. "My sister. And I attacked her."
"God, Buffy." He was right in front of her in a flash, and pulled her in his
arms, stroking her back, whispering to her, just holding her, protecting her.
Although he knew there was no way he would be able to protect her at all. But,
God, he wanted it. He wanted to be there for her, be at her side. Every day.
Always.
"Angel." Her voice was muffled against his shirt, and he felt the wetness coming
from her eyes, soaking it through. He didn't care. All he cared for was this tiny
woman, this fierce warrior, who was almost coming apart in his arms, weighted
down by all the responsibility that was thrown her way. "Angel," she said his
name again, pressing herself tight against him.
"Shhhh," he soothed, "It's okay, Buffy. Everything's going to be okay."
"I don't know, Angel," she said, finally raising her head from his chest, gazing
up at him. "I honestly don't know. My world is turned upside down, and I have not
the slightest idea how to deal with it." She pulled back, stepped away from him,
slightly embarrassed by her lack of self-control.
"You will," he promised, trying to convince himself as much as her, that it was
true. He wouldn't be able to deal if anything might happen to her. He had to
believe she was strong enough to deal with whatever came her way. To change the
subject, he asked, "How's your mom?"
Her gaze darkened instantly, and he knew that this was another of her problems.
"What is it?," he asked softly, tentatively touching her arm. "Buffy, talk to me.
There is nothing you can't tell me."
"Really?," she asked, her eyes holding only the slightest hint of a doubt. Then
she shrugged, "Not good. Seems the pills aren't really helping. At first I
thought there was some ... supernatural reason to her headaches, but then ... I
don't know what's wrong with her," she admitted finally, sitting down,
cross-legged, on the bed. "I'm afraid. She's my mommy. If anything is going to
happen-"
"Stop," Angel interrupted her sharply, and her gaze flew up to him. "Don't do
this, Buffy. Whatever happens. You will deal. But so far, you don't even know.
Don't make yourself sick by guessing. Even if it's something serious. Science is
so advanced these days, even if it's some disease. I'm sure there will be a
cure." He saw her smiling slightly, and not quite understanding, he asked,
"What?"
"You," she said softly. "How do you do that? I was totally freaking out when I
came here." She rolled her eyes, "Fell asleep nevertheless, seems I needed it,
but then you come and I feel ... hopeful again."
"I'm glad," he smiled and sat down too, watching her.
She was fidgeting with the hem of his shirt she was wearing, then suddenly looked
up, with a frown on her face. "Can I ... can I ask you something else?"
"Sure," he invited, leaning slightly forward. "Ask."
"Spike, uh ... he killed two slayers, right?"
Not quite able to follow her, he frowned, too, "Yeah. Why?"
"Last night, I found him in front of my house. He told me some idiotic story
about going from one part of the town to another, and just passing by accident,
but then I found ... cigarette butts. Ten at the least."
"What?," Angel asked, instantly alert.
"Uh-huh," she confirmed, biting her lower lip. "You were right. He seems kind of
obsessed with me. And ... it's creepy. I mean, he's evil, right? He's a vampire,
an evil vampire. With a chip, granted, but still evil. What the hell is going on
with that guy?"
Feeling suddenly too restless to sit, not liking the images that flashed through
his mind, Angel stood again and began to pace. Then, realising, it wouldn't do
any good, he stopped and looked at her. "Buffy," he began, releasing a breath he
had been holding for a while. "Spike is ... he's ... complicated. His obsession
with slayers is ... bordering on ... well, it's not healthy."
He saw her giving him a "duh"-look, and shot her a glare. "I know, you think you
know him. But you don't. Not even the slightest bit. Spike is ... twisted. I
travelled a long time with him, and although I have to admit that he was feeling
some kind of twisted, protective love towards Dru, and that he might not be your
average vampire, he's still extremely violent, unpredictable and evil to the
core. Be careful with him."
"I am."
"I mean it, Buffy," he said, coming closer, "He's more than just obsessed with
slayers."
She suddenly tilted her head, looked at him with a strange expression in her
eyes, "You look tired," she said, studying his features. "And that's rather
strange, considering that you're a vampire. Can vampires be tired?"
"Believe me, they can," he replied, not liking the turn of this conversation.
"And I am tired. But it's nothing. I'm just having a heavy case-load at the
moment, and," he shook his head, "well, a lot is going on."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, "That's strange, because just yesterday Cordy was
telling Willow that you might soon need to close the business because you were
chasing away all the possible clients."
"I'm not-," he started to deny, then sighed. "There's a lot going on. It's not
... strictly business."
"Tell me," she urged softly.
Tell me. Just like this. Tell her? But how? How could he tell her what was
driving him these days? He might have a soul for a some hundred odd years, but
the demon was still part of his being. A part he would never be able to deny, a
part that was raging inside of him, taunting him, mocking him, torturing him. How
was he going to explain things, he didn't even quite understand himself? This
craving for Darla, the constant flashbacks. How could she, who was good and pure,
understand, that he held a core of evil inside of him? Every hour, every minute,
every day.
"Darla is back," he said finally, and nodded when he heard her gasp.
"Wh- what? B-but you ... you staked her. I was there-"
"Yeah. I was there too. But she's still back. And human."
"Human?" It was an incredulous outcry. "Oh my God!"
"Yeah," he agreed. "Only that it has nothing to do with God, but with a law firm
who used some magic to bring her back and ...," he ran a hand through his hair,
"Buffy, can't we just change the subject. I don't want to talk about this, her,
at the moment."
"Oh," she stared at him for a moment, then threw her hands in the air, "But
that's just so typical for you. Don't do this, don't bury everything inside of
you. Angel," she stood, walked over to where he was staying, put a hand on his
arm, "This sounds dangerous. You need to be careful."
"Everyone seems to tell me that these days," he muttered, then, looking at her,
he said, "I will. I promise."
"I have another idea," she said suddenly, "Let me deal with her. I'm the slayer,
I deal with those things every day."
"No." His voice was sharp, and she snatched his arm from her hand. "She's my
responsibility. I'm going to deal with her."
"Angel-"
"No," he said again, his voice holding a hidden warning. "Don't even try to fight
my fights."
"Your fights?," she asked, raising a brow. "Well, let me tell you something. This
is Darla, we're talking about. It's not just some fight. It's your sire. You were
with her for over hundred years." Her voice was rising now, "You fucked the bitch
more times you can even count. It's as personal as it can get."
"I was a demon when I was travelling with Darla," he insisted, his voice rising
as well, his eyes flashing angrily. "You have no idea what happened between us.
Keep out of it."
"Hey, she tried to kill my mom. And me, if you might remind that. And all this
because she didn't want to lose her favourite boy-toy to some school-girl. I know
her."
"No, you don't," he snapped. "Buffy, keep out of this," he warned, barely keeping
his eyes from turning amber for a moment. He was angry now, furious. He didn't
want her involved in this. Didn't want his past to affect her. Didn't want her in
danger because he'd screwed up one night in a dirty alley in Galway, had given
in to empty promises of eternal life and pleasure. This was his own fight. Yes,
it was personal, and that meant, he wouldn't involve anyone. Not his friends, and
certainly not the woman he loved.
"Gee, you're rather protective of her," she mocked, "Or can you hardly wait to
get back into her pants again?"
Something inside of him snapped then, "That's none of your damned business," he
snapped. "You have no right for some jealous fit. You are sleeping with Riley day
in and day out. You told me, you didn't even love him, but still you can't send
him away. Or are you that sex-addicted these days that you don't even care who's
above you. Here's a proposition for you. Why don't you send Riley away and take
Spike for a change. I'm sure he'd be gladly accommodate whatever urge you have."
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to punch himself for it.
What devil was riding him, to make him say such horrible, hateful things, he
wondered? Involuntarily Darla's image flickered through his mind, and he had his
answer.
Buffy looked at him, her eyes round and wounded, shock radiating from them.
Suddenly she blinked, then whirled around and grabbed her clothes from the
ground, and without another glance at him, ran from the room, and slammed the
door shut.
Angel stared at the closed door, breathing heavily, still not able to believe
what he'd done. Running a hand through his hair, over his face, he came back to
his senses and took after her.
She was almost out of the front door, when he was able to catch up with her.
Grabbing her arm, he held her back, "Buffy," her name only a pleading on his
lips.
She didn't turn. But she didn't have to for him to feel the rigidness in her
body, the anger radiating from her, the hurt. "Let me go." She tried to pull her
arm away.
"I'm sorry," he said softly, still not letting her go.
Taking a deep breath, she turned finally, and the pain and hurt in her eyes would
have made his heart stop, had it still been beating. "Me too," she replied, and
he realised she wasn't meaning the same he did. "You didn't want to talk to me,
so," she shrugged, "I won't ask again."
"I'm sorry, Buffy," he repeated, pulling his hand away, "We're friends, but there
are things...," he trailed off, shook his head miserably.
"Friends, sure," she replied, her voice flat and hollow.
"We both know that things have changed. We're not lovers anymore," he laughed
unhappily, "can't be lovers anymore. You have a life, and my life ... is here."
"What you're saying," she replied, not daring to look at him, too afraid she
might start to cry and humiliate herself, "is that we can talk to each other, but
I should stay the hell out of your affairs, huh? Is that it?"
"Yeah," he said, then instantly amended, "No. I mean. Of course it's okay to
care, to ask, but we need to respect the other's privacy."
"Privacy, huh? Well, seems you're digging deep into mine. I've opened up to you,
told you everything about Riley, about Dawn and the Monks, my mom," her voice
broke for a moment, but she took a deep breath, and forced herself to go on, "But
the moment it comes to you, it's a completely different story. Then it's like
stay out of my business and-"
"That's not true," he interrupted. "I told you about Darla, didn't I. That she is
back. Human."
"Yeah, you did. But on your terms. The moment I tried to dig deeper, to hear the
whole story, you block me out. The moment, I was only marginally criticising you,
you took a step back."
Taking a step closer to her, Angel looked at her intently, "Buffy, I have no idea
how to make you even marginally understand what this is about."
"So you rather choose to not even try? Very brave. You're such a great friend,"
she mocked, but there was pain in her voice, and it tore him apart.
"Buffy, please," he said, wanting to touch her, but not daring it. "You don't-"
"-understand. I know."
"That's not-"
"Save it," she interrupted, suddenly feeling tired, and not interested anymore.
He would never let her in. Why even try it? "I'm not interested. You know what?"
She shrugged, "Seems Spike was on the money, right from the start. We were living
an illusion the last weeks. We'll never be friends, Angel." She laughed. A
hollow, empty sound, so sad, it made Angel's heart clench. "You're still not over
the idea that I'm some innocent school-girl. Newsflash. I'm the slayer. I've seen
every possible evil around. I'm not some fragile little girl, you need to
protect. You never knew me, Angel." She laughed again, then looked down at
herself, his clothes she was still wearing and the wet bundle in her hands. "I'm
going to send the clothes back to you. Don't even bother to show up." With that
she turned, and slipped through the door.
Angel just stood there and stared at the spot where she'd been standing only a
second ago, her scent still lingering in the air. He had never felt older in his
whole life.
END
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