PART THREE
�����Buffy and Angel jerked apart. The car rolled to a stop a few feet away from a group of people on the sidewalk: Giles, Jenny, and Willow. Buffy and Cordelia got out of the car. Angel remained seated, heartily wishing he had worn something a little less revealing of physical . . . activity.
�����"Angel?" called Buffy, looking back in surprise. She stopped and headed back to the car. Hastily he got out on the street side, keeping the car between them. "I'll be there in a minute."
�����"What's wrong?" She walked around the back.
�����"Nothing's wrong." Casually - he hoped - Angel leaned against the car. Maybe if I sort of fold my arms and slouch . . . It was no use.
�����"Something's wrong," Buffy persisted, coming closer. She stopped.
�����"Oh." A myriad of emotions ran over her face. Surprise, embarrassment, gratification, and then, of course, amusement. Angel sighed in resignation. Why did girls always find this so funny?
�����Buffy got her voice under control. "We're waiting for Oz. Why don't you go scout out the area? Make sure the coast is clear."
�����Angel nodded and walked toward a cluster of trees that was really the only possible hiding place around. About ten yards away he stopped, his predicament forgotten in a sudden rush of adrenalin. Someone was in there. Before he could react, a figure stepped out of concealment. Angel relaxed.
�����"Xander." He walked on until he joined the young man.
�����"Angel."
�����"Is everything quiet?" Angel glanced around.
�����"As far as I can tell, but maybe you better check it out too. Your senses are keener than mine."
�����Angel gave him a wary look. "That almost sounded like a compliment."
�����Xander shrugged. "It's the truth, that's all." He looked straight at Angel, his eyes cool to match his voice. "I don't like you. You know that. But Buffy made it pretty clear today where things stand between you two, and I have to respect that. Just make sure you understand this: If you ever harm even one hair on her head, I'm coming after you. I'll find you, and then there'll be a hole in your chest big enough to drive a truck through. Got it?"
�����"I've got it," Angel answered quietly. "Are we through with this subject now?"
�����"Yeah. For now."
�����"Then maybe we should get back to the others. I think that's Oz driving up." Silently they rejoined the group, Angel wondering just what Buffy had said to bring about such a reaction.
�����The strategy was gone over one last time, then they moved. Xander's plan worked flawlessly; Angel didn't need to break into the building after all. Xander and Cordelia cajoled and bullied the guard into letting them into the munitions room on the grounds that it was "so sexy."
�����Once inside Xander drew on his soldier's memory and located the desired weapon in record time, hoisting it through the window to Angel who in turn carried it to Oz's van, where he and Willow anxiously waited. At least, Willow appeared anxious; Oz, as always, seemed unflappable.
�����"So, do you guys steal weapons from the army a lot?" Angel heard him ask. Willow's response: "Well, we don't have cable so we have to make our own fun," surprised a laugh out of him.
�����They drove down a side street where they picked up Xander and Cordy, then everyone reconvened at the library to load up on the more usual Slayer weaponry and head out to the factory to stop the Judge.
�����The factory was deserted; no flowers, no decorations. All the party preparations Buffy and Angel had seen earlier were gone, only fragments of leaves and paper streamers left behind to litter the floor. The group milled around, frustrated.
�����"Where would they have gone?" Adrenalin coursing through her veins; Buffy was ready to kick some vampire butt. "The judge needs bodies, right? They'll go someplace with people. Lots of people."
�����"The Bronze?" suggested Willow.
�����Xander negatived that. "It's closed tonight."
�����"There's not a lot of choices in Sunnydale," noted Cordelia. "It's not as if people are going to line up to get massacred."
�����"Uh, guys?" Oz, calm and cool. "If I were going to line up, I know where I'd go."
�����Concealed in the shadows, Spike sat in his wheelchair and listened. He wasn't worried. He knew his Dru and was confident she'd survive their plans.
�����Oz had guessed right. From his position on the central stairway at the Sunnydale Mall the Judge stared down at them, massive, powerful, and arrogant. Buffy had just shot him in the chest with an arrow - to get his attention, she quipped. Of course it had hurt him no more than a mosquito bite. He reached up and yanked it out, threw it down.
�����"You are a fool," he sneered. "No weapon forged can stop me."
�����"That was then," Buffy said. She raised the rocket launcher, switched it on. "This is now."
�����Around them hundreds of panicked shoppers fled, shouting and screaming. Dru, standing to one side of the Judge, took one look at the weapon on Buffy's shoulder and jumped over the stairs to the floor below. She obviously knew the damage it could do, and the foremost thought in her mind was to get the hell out of range. Landing hard, she whimpered and scrambled for safety, followed by her wigged-out lackeys. The Judge, created centuries before the invention of mass destruction weapons, didn't move.
�����"What does that do?" the Judge asked, eyeing it with real curiosity. He found out a moment later when the rocket impacted, blowing him to smithereens.
�����"My best present ever." Buffy handed the rocket launcher back to Xander with a smile.
�����"Knew you'd like it," he smirked.
�����"Do you think he's dead?" Willow came up beside Buffy.
�����"We can't be sure," she replied. "Keep the pieces separate until we can get them to the acid."
One hour later:
�����They looked down at the huge barrel, their eyes watering from the acrid fumes. The surface hissed and bubbled, seething with activity. Shapeless lumps of blue - skin? - and bits of - bone? - bobbed to the surface before dissolving.
�����"I'd say that disposes of the Judge once and for all, wouldn't you?" Jenny remarked.
�����"It's difficult to imagine anyone being able to put him back together now," Giles agreed. "How does one reassemble sludge?"
�����"Good riddance." That was Willow's determined contribution. Oz, standing next to her, nodded solemn agreement.
�����"Hasta la vista, baby." Xander gave his best Schwarzenegger imitation - which was pretty awful.
�����"Don't say that," Willow told him. "That means �til we meet again' or - well, something like that."
�����"Okay then, how about �adios, amigo'?" This time it was John Wayne he mangled
�����Cordelia remarked, "You were right, Buffy. That guy was mucho uglio. Was that skin he had, or scales?" She shuddered.
�����Angel and Buffy stood slightly apart from the others, making no effort to join in the round of comments. Buffy leaned back against Angel, felt his arm come around to hold her close against his wonderfully solid body.
�����"Is it really over?" she asked. Strange; all she felt was tired. Really, really tired.
�����"It's over," he said, and kissed her hair.
�����Giles overheard and came over to them. "Yes, it is. Well, except for Spike and Drusilla, of course."
�����Buffy made a face. "You had to remind me?"
�����"You're in no shape to do anything about them tonight," Giles told her sternly. "I want you to go home and get a good night's sleep for once. That's an order."
�����His half-smile told her exactly how seriously he expected her to take that last sentence, but for once Buffy had no desire to flout his authority. She knew his concern for her was very real, and she had to admit she had no desire to face anything more exciting tonight than her bed. Well, almost nothing.
�����"Don't worry," she assured him wearily. "That's exactly what I'm going to do."
�����Jenny drove her and Angel back to town. At Buffy's request she dropped them off two blocks from her house. They walked slowly through the moonless night, holding hands but saying nothing, content merely to have the danger past and to have this down time with each other.
�����At some point during the night's events Buffy had lost her beret; her hair shone silver in the moonlight and Angel thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. As they came to her house they stopped. The closest streetlight had burned out and they were shadowed by a tree in the front yard.
�����"Buffy, I was going to give you this last night, but what with the arm and the Judge and everything, well . . . " He pulled a small jeweler's box from his pocket. "The timing just didn't seem right."
�����He opened it, revealing a small silver ring. Buffy had never seen anything like it: two hands supporting a crowned heart between them.
�����"It's beautiful," she said, touched. For me? He got me a ring?
�����"It's a claddagh ring," he told her. "My people . . . before I was Changed . . . they would exchange this ring as a sign of devotion. The hands represent friendship; the coronet represents loyalty; and the heart . . . "
�����His voice grew husky. "You know what the heart means. If you wear it with the heart pointing toward you it means you belong to someone. Like this."
�����He showed her his hand. A ring exactly like hers encircled his third finger - with the heart pointing toward him. Buffy swallowed sudden tears. I was wrong; the rocket launcher isn't the best present ever.
�����"Put it on," he urged. She shook her head, whispered, "You put it on." She held out her hand. Angel took it in his own and carefully slid the ring down her finger, its heart pointing at her heart.
�����"I love you." He entwined his fingers in hers; the moonlight glinted off the two identical rings, now resting beside each other. Buffy's tears spilled over. Angel bent down.
�����"Happy birthday," he whispered. Then he kissed her, a slow, gentle kiss that entered her soul like warm honey and filled her with joy. Even after the kiss ended they remained in each other's arms for long moments.
����� "Angel," she whispered.
�����"Hmm?"
�����"I want to introduce you to my mother."
�����He pulled back to look at her. "You already did, last year. Remember?"
�����"Yes, but . . ." She glanced away for a second. "I don't want to hide you any more. Angel, there are so many things in my life that I have to keep secret from my mom, because of the Slayer thing. I don't want you to go on being one of them. I want to be able to tell her when I'm with you, instead of pretending to be with Willow."
�����Angel had misgivings, she could tell, but he acquiesced. "All right. If you're sure that's what you really want. When did you want to tell her?"
�����The porch light came on. Joyce Summers opened the door. "Buffy? Are you out there?"
�����Buffy grinned faintly. "Well, no time like the present, I always say." She took him by the hand and they walked to the front door. "Mom, you remember Angel, don't you?"
�����Her mother looked uncertain, then her face cleared. "Of course. He tutored you in History last year. Nice to see you again, Angel. Won't you come in?"
�����Buffy's heels tapped briskly on the sidewalk. It was a cold, clear night, and she snuggled more deeply into her warm winter coat. Giles could scoff all he wanted about Sunnydale's winter � or, in his view, its lack of one - tonight was cold.
�����Her heart beat in rhythm with her steps as she thought of Angel's gift, waiting for her the day before when she got home from her after-school training session with Giles. Tired, sweat-soaked, and dreaming of a long, hot shower, she had stopped in surprise at the sight of a bouquet of flowers lying in front of the door, and was even more surprised to read the card and learn they were from Angel:
�����The warm glow that filled her then was with her still. The note could mean only one thing: that Angel had finally come to a decision about their relationship � more important, the right decision, for if he intended to suggest they slow down he wouldn't have invited her to his apartment.
�����The week since they defeated the Judge had been both awkward and tense. Their love, their need had grown so great that a look or a touch was all it took to ignite them both. Kissing had become torture - almost as unbearable as not kissing.
�����But always Angel had held back, out of fear that perhaps the gypsies' curse still remained unchanged, that the "fix" Jenny Calendar's great-aunt had worked on it hadn't succeeded. Fear that the act of making love, or rather the happiness achieved from it, would force his soul from his body, freeing the vampire demon within him. And no one knew better than Angel the evil that would release on the world.
�����Buffy paused in front of Angel's door. She raised her hand to knock but let it fall back to her side, suddenly nervous. Taking a deep breath she silently scolded herself, and knocked. It opened immediately, as if he had been standing there waiting for her arrival.
�����"Hey." Angel sounded uncertain, almost�shy. He swallowed.
�����"Hey." Her voice came out less assured than she would have liked. She cleared her throat and tried again. "May I come in?"
�����"What?" Angel only then seemed to realize that he was blocking the doorway, just standing there looking at her. "Of course. I'm sorry."
�����He stood aside to let her enter, followed her inside. "Let me take your coat." He helped her off with it, placing it across the back of couch.
�����Buffy felt Angel's eyes on her, and tugged nervously at her dress before turning around. She had tried on almost every outfit she owned before deciding on a simple dress of soft, dark-blue jersey shot through with silver threads. It had elbow-length sleeves and a scoop neckline that was low but not too low; the swing skirt stopped about two inches above her knees.
�����She had dresses that were much shorter or revealed more cleavage, but had decided on the less obvious style of this one. The jersey, though not tight-fitting, outlined every curve, clinging as she moved, and she had made sure the curves were there by not wearing a bra. Not that she could have worn one anyway, for the back of the dress was almost nonexistent, exposing her whole spine from the neck, where a single button held the dress together, down to the beginning swell of her hips.
�����The first time she had tried it on and realized that her nipples were clearly outlined, she had blushed bright pink. Tonight the realization brought satisfaction, and anticipation.
�����"Nice dress," was all Angel said, but she could hear his unspoken thoughts in the tone of his voice, and secretly she smiled.
�����Outwardly she kept her composure, turning to him with an oh-so-innocent look. "Thanks. It's new," was all she said.
�����"It's . . . nice," he repeated.
�����"You said that already," she said gently. Oh, she was enjoying this . . . this heady feeling of power, of being in control.
�����"Yes, I did, didn't I?" Angel seemed to regain some poise. He added, "Would you like something to drink? A glass of wine, maybe?"
�����"Well . . . " Buffy began, doubtfully. In her opinion wine was highly overrated, especially red wine. How something such a beautiful color could taste so nasty was beyond her comprehension.
�����"Try this," Angel said. He took up a long-stemmed glass and poured out a tiny amount of clear white wine � about two swallows' worth. "It's soft and light; I think you'll like it."
�����Buffy eyed it doubtfully, took a sip. "It's not bad," she said grudgingly, and slowly drank the rest.
�����Angel reached out for the glass; their hands met. It was if she had touched a live wire; a spark ran through her. Instantly she had trouble breathing. Looking at Angel, she read the same reaction in his face. She wet her lips, watching as his hands set the glass carefully to one side then returned to cup her face, urging her to look at him. His eyes probed hers.
�����"Buffy - have you changed your mind?" His voice, soft and husky and hesitant, touched something deep inside her. "If you have, it's all right. I'll understand � "
�����Buffy kissed the palm of his hand, kissed it again. Letting the tide of emotion rise she took his hand from her face, kissed the wrist, unfastened the cuff of his silk shirt and pushed it up his arm, trailing it with slow kisses.
�����Angel caught his breath audibly, and she looked up. His eyes darkened, their expression intent. He bent down and kissed her. Instantly she felt the difference. This kiss burned the bridges behind them; there would be no return. For a moment she wavered, and Angel drew back.
�����"Buffy?" he whispered. Querying. Making sure.
�����A wave of emotion swept through her. "I love you," she replied, and stood on tiptoe and captured his mouth, pressing against him. Angel's arms wrapped around her and held her close.
�����They kissed, and kissed again. Buffy unbuttoned his shirt and caressed the flat planes of his chest, then ran her hands over his back. She had never touched him that way before, and yet the feel of him was familiar � smooth, firm and cool. She felt the tiny tremors that shook him at her touch, and quivered in response.
�����Suddenly he lifted her in his arms and carried her to his bed, setting her down on the side of the mattress and kneeling on the floor in front of her. He kissed her throat and the crescent of chest exposed by her dress.
�����She gasped and arched toward him, catching his head with her hands and holding it to her. Their heads were on a level, and Buffy took advantage of it, running her hands though his thick hair, raining kisses on his face. He leaned closer and instinctively her knees parted. He moved between her legs, pulling her against him.
�����"Buffy." His voice was strangled, his breath hot against her throat. "I love you. I need you!" The sentence ended in a groan. Before she knew what was happening, Angel reached behind her, unfastened the button at her neck, and gently pushed the sleeves down her arms, causing the bodice to fall in a heap in her lap.
�����Taken by surprise, Buffy made a reflexive movement to cover herself, but Angel forestalled her.
����� "You are so beautiful," he whispered before he leaned down and kissed the hollow between her breasts. Then his head moved to one side, and she felt the touch of his lips on her breast. His tongue caressed, his lips pulled, and Buffy cried out loud in response to the incredible sensation. He moved to her other breast, and repeated his actions, then raised his head and kissed her on the mouth.
����� Buffy moaned and kissed him feverishly. Still kissing him, she pushed him away from her, kept pushing until several inches divided them, though their lips remained locked. Then she fell to her knees and spread the edges of his shirt, pushing it back over his shoulders. It slithered down his arms, landing in a silky pool on the floor. She wrapped her arms around his neck and shivered at the sensation of his bare chest against her breasts.
����� Angel pressed her to him. He let out a deep sigh. "You feel . . ." The words became entangled with a groan. Her response � "So do you!" � carried even less coherence, but it didn't matter. They remained kneeling on the floor, holding each other close. Buffy kissed his shoulders, his chest; Angel's hands ran caressingly over her back.
����� Buffy. So small, so fragile. How I love you. Angel kissed the satin skin of her shoulder, shuddered at the touch of her lips leaving a trail of kisses across his torso that burned into his very soul. He threw his head back and felt her mouth on his throat, wrenching a groan from him. A tide of passion swept through him and with horror he felt himself changing. His features twisted and morphed into his game face.
����� No! Not now!
����� With an inarticulate cry he jerked away, only to feel her hand on his face, caressing his vampiric features just as she had done that evening at the ice rink following their first battle with the Order of Taraka.
����� "It's okay, Angel. Don't worry." She pulled his head down and pressed her lips to the thick ridge of his brow, his cheek. "It's all right," she breathed just before kissing him full on his vampire's mouth.
����� A voice swam in his memory: Darla's silky, derisive voice, mocking the idea of him having a relationship with a human: "What did you think? Did you think she would understand? That she'd look at your face � your true face - and give you a kiss on your true mouth? That she'd love who you really are?"
����� Sudden joy made his senses swim. Yes! She will. She does! He kissed Buffy with love and with gratitude, and felt his features return to normal.
����� Time slowed to a crawl. How they ended up on the bed, or even when, Angel never remembered. He only knew the heat of her body along his, the satin softness of her skin under his hands, the intoxication of her shy touch as she explored his body. And foremost in his mind was the thought that he must be careful, must be gentle with her, must . . . not . . . hurt . . . her. . . . Oh, God!
����� She arched off the bed, crying out his name. "Buffy," he managed to choke out before his body clenched impossibly tight then exploded in ecstasy. Long moments later, when awareness returned, he realized he had to be crushing her with his weight. He rose up on his elbows, saw the tears in her eyes and knew them for tears of happiness � just as his own were.
����� "Are you all right?" he asked her softly, just to be sure.
����� "You know I am." Buffy urged his head down and kissed him. With a sigh he rolled over onto his side, and she snuggled close. "Ewww!" She pulled away with a grimace.
����� "What's wrong?" He was alarmed.
����� "I think I just found that wet spot I've always heard about." She looked down at the sheet with an expression of distaste.
����� Accustomed as he was to her openness about things that in his day wouldn't even have been whispered aloud, Angel found himself embarrassed. He got up and went into the bathroom, returned with a towel and spread it on the sheet. "There."
����� He saw Buffy staring at him and realized he was nude. He started to apologize but was interrupted.
����� "God, you're gorgeous." The look in her eyes was unmistakable, and to his surprise he felt himself responding to it. It's too soon . . . I was never able to . . . not this fast. His thoughts quickly grew even more chaotic when Buffy slid over, took him in her hand and began stroking him.
����� He hardened with a speed that astonished him. Buffy drew him onto the bed. On the verge of entering her, he hesitated, afraid of hurting her, that it was too soon. She seemed to read his mind.
����� "You won't hurt me," she whispered. He watched her face carefully, ready to pull out if necessary, but aside from a slight wince at his first entry it became obvious pain was not a factor. He intended to go slowly, gently, but within minutes his good intentions were abandoned in the frenzy of their lovemaking. The bed creaked an accompaniment as they rolled and scooted across it, hands groping, mouths kissing.
����� Buffy's shudder of orgasm preceded his by only a few seconds. Afterward, they lay exhausted, Buffy curled up next to him, her arm across his chest. She yawned, hugely.
����� "Is it always this exhausting?"
����� Angel smiled, kissed her forehead. "Not always. Sometimes it can be quite . . . bracing."
����� Buffy yawned again. "You'll have to teach me that one later." Within seconds she was asleep. Angel watched her for several minutes before deciding he too needed to rest. He kissed her on the forehead again.
����� Sleep well, mavourneen.
����� Buffy slowly regained awareness. For just a moment she was confused, then memory rushed in. Angel. Apartment. Last night. She reached over, but Angel wasn't in the bed next to her. Sitting up, she looked around. There was enough moonlight that she could make out the shadowy outlines of the furniture � but no Angel.
����� "Angel?"
����� "I'm here." He came into the room, carrying something in his hand. She saw with disappointment that he had put on a pair of sweatpants. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I just went to get some water." He offered her a glass.
����� "Thanks. You didn't wake me. At least, I don't think you did. I just . . . woke up." She tried to hide a yawn, not very successfully. "What time is it?" She drank some of the water, handed the glass back to him.
����� "About two, I think." Angel set the glass on the dresser. "Buffy, what about your mother? Won't she be worried?"
����� "Trying to get rid of me?" she asked, raising a brow.
����� He chuckled and lay down beside her. "You know that's not it. I just don't want you to get in any trouble."
����� Buffy made herself comfortable, snuggling up close. "Mom's in L.A. Some big art exhibit. She won't be home until Sunday."
����� "Sunday?" She heard the smile in his voice. "And how do you plan to fill those long, empty hours until she gets back?"
����� Buffy smiled smugly. "Somehow I don't think that will be a problem." She patted the waistband of his pants. "Do you really need to have these on?"
����� "With you around, apparently so," he told her, then ducked in mock fear as she pretended to threaten him with her fist.
����� Hours later, shortly before dawn, Buffy prepared to leave. "Why don't you come over to my house tonight?" she asked Angel as they stood outside his building, kissing goodbye. He agreed, and they kissed again. And again. Finally they broke apart.
����� "I wish I didn't have to go," Buffy murmured.
����� "I know," Angel agreed. "But I won't be very good company for the next seven or eight hours."
����� "No." Buffy sighed. They kissed again. At last Buffy pushed herself away and said, determinedly, "All right, I'm going. See Buffy go."
����� With only one more kiss for the road, she turned and walked away, Angel watching her as long as she was in sight before returning to his apartment. Neither of them saw the slender figure hidden in the shadows across the street, a figure that watched them in silence until they went their separate ways. Only after Angel had shut the door of his apartment behind him did Drusilla step out of concealment.
����� "You two think you've got things the way you want them, don't you?" Even in a hiss her accent came through strong and clear. "Think you can steal my Angel and get away with it. Think you can go panting after that Slayer slut, killing your own kind, and not pay. Think again, pets. It won't be next week, maybe not even next month. But when my Spike is well again, then there'll be a showdown."
����� Then, with a worried glance at the sky, which showed the first light of false dawn, she ran for their new lair.
