"A Letter To Riley - Part Three"
by Debbie Nockels
(April 2001)
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters from BTVS or ANGEL. They're owned by Joss Whedon, MutantEnemy, Sandollar, Kuzui, the WB, Fox, etc.
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������ Not that "normal" had ever been a word that applied to their relationship, he reflected with a bitter smile. How could it? Still, however strained the relations between them, he didn't believe that Buffy would, now, deliberately hurt him again by sending him a love letter she'd written to the man who'd replaced him in her life. No, it had to be a mistake of some kind, another of Willow's spells gone wrong, probably.
������ Wonder what's in it? It sounded like her Soldier Boy's away on a trip somewhere. Is she telling him how much she misses him . . . how much she wishes he were there in her bed . . . how much she loves him? You could find out. She'd never know.
������ No! Angel set the papers down on a nearby table. The last thing he needed right now was another painful reminder of what he'd lost - what he'd walked away from. He turned toward the telephone, intending to call Buffy and let her know what had happened. Then he stopped, hit by the realization of just how awkward that conversation would be. Mentally he rehearsed what he'd say:
������ "Buffy. Hi, it's me - Angel. Listen, you know that letter you magically sent to Riley? Well, I guess something went wrong because it, well, it, uh, came to me instead. But don't worry, I didn't read more than the first line or two."
������ Right. She'll believe *that*, whispered a voice in his head.
������ Of course she will, Angel argued with himself. She believed me when I told her I hadn't read her diary.
������ That was when she still trusted you.
������ Angel flinched.
������ You know you're dying to know what's in it. Go on, read it . . . she'll never find out. Who knows? Maybe she's telling GI Joe to take a hike. You won't know unless you take a look. Go ahead. You know you want to. Open it. Read it. Read it.
������ Unable to resist the urge any longer, Angel went back to the table and picked up the letter again, wondering in a small corner of his mind why he was doing this.
������ " - Two weeks since I stood staring up into the night sky, yelling to you while the helicopter slowly climbed higher and higher with you inside."
������ Angel read on.
������ Some time later he realized he had returned to his chair and was once again staring into space. But this time his thoughts weren't of death and darkness and grim duty.
������ Buffy didn't love Riley.
������ That was the only clear thought in the spinning tangle of his mind. Riley had left her and she was upset about it - but she didn't love him. She loved . . . him. In spite of a year and a half of separation and hurt feelings and harsh words on both sides - she still loved him as much as he loved her.
������ Angel couldn't help himself; tears rose to his eyes. Knowing her feelings for him still held fast. . . . Joy swept through him like sparkling wine, tempered with an equal measure of grief - because nothing in their situation had changed. Buffy deserved sunlight and laughter and soft, warm rain. He, now more than ever, existed in darkness, surrounded by death and blood.
������ Something tugged at his memory. Frowning, he looked again at her letter.
������ "Maybe once I finally accept that normality and Buffy can't coexist, I'll be able to concentrate on becoming the best Slayer possible. And just maybe I'll live to see my twenty-sixth birthday."
������ The shock hit him like a slap in the face. How could he have forgotten the simple, basic fact of Slayer statistics? Seventy percent of the Chosen Ones died before their twentieth birthday. Eighty percent were dead by twenty-five. Only one Slayer in history had lived to see thirty - and she had died two months later.
������ Words spoken close to a century ago rang in his memory: "You know, mate, I think Slayers have a death wish. Well, stands to reason, doesn't it? I mean, day in, day out, that's what they see . . . what they do. They're all fascinated by it, maybe even a little bit in love with it."
������ Spike's words, spoken some months after he'd killed his first Slayer. At the time Angel had paid little attention to them. It was all he could do to maintain his precarious charade with Darla that despite having his soul he was once again part of their little "family"; he had no attention or energy to spare for anything outside of that. But now the words returned with deadly clarity, along with Spike's cocky, self-satisfied grin.
������ "Yes, I do believe I'm on to something, pet" - nuzzling Dru, who giggled and nuzzled him back. "All I have to do is figure out how to use it against one of them, and she's mine."
������ Angel felt another chill. Spike was a lot of things - rowdy, smug, rebellious, impertinent, foolhardy at times - but no one could call him stupid. Plus he possessed an amazing, at times downright uncanny, instinct about people. It was as though he could see into their minds and hearts. A Slayer death wish went a long way toward explaining why so many of them died at such a young age.
������ He read Buffy's letter one more time, searching for any telltale hint of such an attitude. Certainly the general tone was one of sadness and regret, and there was more than a touch of bleakness in her mention of hoping she would see her twenty-sixth birthday, but he could detect nothing else. No morbid fascination with death or unconscious desire to experience it. No suicidal depression. Just grim acceptance and a dogged determination to turn her focus toward being the Slayer.
������ If he'd been a breather, he would have sighed with relief. As it was . . . Angel sank back down in the chair and forced himself to stop feeling and to start thinking.
������ Buffy's all right. She's sad right now, but that's to be expected, and even she admits that she'll get over it. Sooner or later. Going to Sunnydale not only wouldn't help her, it would probably just make things worse. She's accepted that we can't be together and is determined to make a new life for herself. I can't go barging in and upset that, not again, however much I want to see her. Besides, I can't leave L.A. while Darla and Dru are still at large. I've got to find them before they go on a real rampage. No, Buffy's strong; she'll be fine. I have to stay here; I have to.
������ Rising, Angel decisively folded the letter and replaced it in the envelope. Then he crossed over to the bureau, opened the top drawer and put the envelope inside. Closing the drawer again with a firm movement, he turned and left the room, sternly resisting the pull to read the letter one more time.
FOUR DAYS LATER
������ Angel walked into the Hyperion lobby and dropped his bag onto the marble floor with a muffled sigh of weariness. Another night of searching, another night of frustration and futility. He started over to the mini-fridge to get his dinner, but suddenly stopped, his head snapping to the right. "Who's here?"
������ "Long night?" A tall shadow detached itself from the even taller and darker shadow of a column. "You must really be tired. I would have thought you'd hear my heartbeat right away." A dark arm reached toward the wall, and suddenly the lobby was ablaze with light.
������ With incredulity Angel recognized the figure coming toward him. "What are you doing here?" He noticed the tazer the man carried. "Or is that obvious?"
������ Riley followed his gaze. "Oh, this?" He set the weapon on the counter. "Just a safety precaution. You never know what you might run across, do you?"
������ "No," Angel agreed evenly. "You might see almost anything in this town." The two men regarded each other for a long, tense moment - the tall, dark vampire and the slightly taller, lighter-haired soldier. Angel resumed his walk to the mini-fridge, passing Riley so closely their sleeves almost brushed, crowding his personal space in an instinctive power play. Riley didn't react, merely turned to keep him in view.
������ "Do you mind if I have a snack?" Angel asked. "I'm a little hungry, but if you're squeamish I can wait." He pulled out a bag of whole blood, waving it in front of his rival.
������ "Don't let me stop you," Riley said, with no expression on his face. And, to Angel's disappointment, he didn't even blink as the vampire downed the blood, following it with a drink of water from a bottle left behind when Cordy cleared out their stuff. He made a mental note to buy some more, then turned to his unexpected visitor.
������ "So if you're not here to kill me, why did you come?" he asked bluntly. "I thought you were off wiping out demons somewhere in Central America."
������ "How did you - " Riley looked puzzled. Then he went very still. "Did Buffy tell you I left?" Plain in his voice was the shock and betrayal he was feeling, thinking that Buffy would have called up her old boyfriend so quickly after his departure.
������ Angel shook his head. "No." It was true; she hadn't told him - not intentionally, at least. "I haven't spoken to Buffy since I was in Sunnydale last year." That was unequivocally true. "I - just found out. Pretty much by accident. Demons gossip too, you know, and the Hellmouth isn't that far from L.A.." Hoping that remark would mislead Riley and before the other man could question him any further, he quickly added, "You still haven't told me why you're here."
������ Riley glanced away. "To be honest, I'm not sure myself. I know why I told myself I was coming, but now I don't know if that was the real reason or just an excuse."
������ "So what was your maybe reason?" Leaning against the counter, Angel crossed his arms and regarded him steadily.
������ Riley's hands clenched and for a moment he didn't say anything. Then, taking a deep breath, he said, "A few days ago I got a letter from Buffy."
������ Angel felt a jolt. Riley had also received a letter? Could it be the same letter he'd received? Schooling his features, he said nothing, just waited.
������ Riley continued, "In it she made some things pretty clear. For a long time I've felt that she doesn't love me and now - now I know it for sure." His eyes suddenly fixed on Angel's. "She loves you. She's never stopped loving you."
������ Angel was speechless. Riley Finn had come here to let him know that Buffy still loved him . . . to tell the ex-boyfriend of the woman he loved that he was no longer in the scene? Such generosity stunned Angel. He knew what it was costing the young man to admit such a thing, for his pain showed clearly in his honest face and in his eyes. It was the same anguish he himself had felt when he told Buffy she needed to find someone who could take her into the light and make love to her and give her children.
������ "So what are you going to do about it?"
������ "What?" Angel blinked, coming back to the present.
������ Riley took a step forward. "I said, �What are you going to do about it?'. Or don't you love her anymore?"
������ Angel just looked at him. Instinctively Riley leaned away from the bleakness in those dark eyes. "It doesn't matter," Angel said. "We can't be together, regardless of how we feel. The risk is too great."
������ "Bullshit."
������ That was the last thing Angel expected to hear. "What?"
������ "So you can't make with the big happy because you'll lose your soul. Is that all that matters to you - sex? Because I know it isn't for Buffy."
������ "You don't know anything about it, boy." Angel's voice was low and filled with danger, but Riley ignored the warning.
������ "I know enough," he asserted quietly. "I know that Buffy's miserable without you, no matter how well she covers it up. And looking around, I'd say the same goes for you too. I mean, look at this place. No lights on anywhere." He swept his fingertips over a bare spot on the counter top, then displayed the powder coating them. "Dust an inch thick." He nodded at the answering machine. "And just look at all those messages."
������ Before he could stop himself, Angel obeyed. The lighted display informed him that twenty-four messages were waiting to be played back. He couldn't remember the last time he'd checked it - a week ago at least.
������ Riley went on. "You fired your staff with no warning - "
������ Angel cut in swiftly. "How the hell do you know that?"
������ "I listened to some of your messages while I was waiting for you," Riley said evenly. "Don't worry, I saved them for you -in case you ever want to hear them. That Cordelia's got a pretty sharp tongue when she's angry, doesn't she? The things she had to say were . . . " He raised his eyebrows, shaking his head a little. "Well, let's just say I'm glad it's not me she's mad at."
������ He waited, but Angel had no reply. First, it was none of this outsider's business what his relations were with Cordelia and Wesley, and second . . . he didn't know what to say. His conscience had begun nagging him lately, telling him that he hadn't needed to be that cold in his dismissal of his friends, that he could at least have tried to explain that he was only trying to protect them. Mostly.
������ Riley shrugged. "Fine. Look, you think I want you and Buffy to get back together? Not hardly." His eyes were steely. "In fact, the idea makes me sick to my stomach. But I thought you deserved to know the truth. And now that you do, if you want to be stupid enough to throw away the love of a woman like Buffy, that's your business. I've said what I came to say, so goodbye."
������ He slung the tazer over one shoulder, then paused. He eyed Angel for a moment, as if turning words over in his mind, but finally shrugged again and turned to leave without saying anything more. He'd reached the front doors before Angel spoke.
������ "Finn."
������ Riley turned, waiting.
������ Angel hesitated. "Thank you." He took a few steps toward the young man. "I know what it took for you to do this. I . . . appreciate it."
������ "Then act on it," Riley answered harshly.
������ Angel shook his head. "I wish I could."
������ Riley surveyed him for a moment and shook his head in angry disgust. "I would give anything in the world to know that Buffy loved me," he said, his voice choked with frustration. "And you - the one she does love - you just turn your back on her!" Then, pushing open the glass door, he was gone without another word.
������ Angel made his weary way to his room, stopping to gulp down a second bag of blood. Once inside he went directly to the bureau, grabbed the letter and took it with him into the bathroom, reading it and absently undressing as he went, leaving a trail of discarded clothing behind. When he emerged from his shower, he made sure he was completely toweled dry before picking it up again. He didn't want any moisture falling on the pages and smearing the ink. The pale blue envelope, lying on the nightstand next to the bed, was the last thing he saw before finally falling asleep.
FIVE DAYS LATER
������ "Where's he going?" came a whisper from behind her shoulder. �Darla closed her eyes briefly, reflecting that Drusilla was the only person she�knew of who could turn a whisper into a whine. �Idly she wondered if the girl had always been this annoying or if it was the result of Angelus destroying her sanity before he Turned her.
������ "Why isn't he looking for us?" Dru went on. �"He knows we're close by." �Frowning, Darla watched the dark figure on the street three stories below. �He walked past the building they were in without giving it even a glance, and kept going.
�
������ "I don't think he does know," Darla said slowly. �And that worried her. �Vampires always knew when other vampires were in the vicinity - not their exact location, but that they were somewhere around. �Angel gave no indication of sensing anything of the sort. He hadn't even discovered the bodies they'd left in the alley half a block away, though she'd seen him pass right by the entrance. �But then, he'd been acting strangely for several days now. �Not his usual intensely focused self. �He'd shown up late, if at all, at their kill scenes, and made only perfunctory searches for them before leaving the area. And as far as she could tell, he'd made no attempt to discover where they were staying during daylight hours.
������ She frowned again, wondering what was distracting him from his mission. �Had that pathetic trio of humans he'd fired somehow managed to get him involved in one of their cases?
������ Dru turned an uncomprehending face toward her. �"Of course he knows, Grandmum. �Daddy always knows when we're around . . . he feels us. �We're in his blood, like tiny little insects . . . creeping . . . and crawling." �She began swaying. "Dancing . . . in his blood. �He can't get away from us."
������ Darla looked impatiently at her companion. �How in the world had she been able to tolerate this loony for over a century? �Oh, yes, it was because Spike had been there to occupy most of Dru's attention. �Summoning her rapidly-dwindling reserves of patience yet again, she took Drusilla by the arm. �"Come on, Dru. �Angel must have something on his mind tonight, that's all. �Let's see where he's going."
������ Dru's glazed eyes focused on the other vampire, and lit up. �"Yess," she hissed, clapping her hands softly. �"We'll play Spies. �We'll follow the Angel Beast, we will. Follow him, quietly, secretly, flitting from shadow to shadow, silently on little cat feet." Suiting the actions to the words she slunk over to the door with dramatic, stealthy movements, then whirled in a circle, her dark hair flying around her head. �"And he'll never even know we're there! �Won't hear us, won't see us, won't know . . . ."
������ Heaving an exasperated sigh, Darla opened the door and shoved Drusilla through. They found Angel with no trouble - he'd stopped in the next block to pull something out of his jacket pocket and look at it under a streetlight. �Darla's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. �It was a stationery envelope, the kind letters were mailed in, the same one he'd been carrying around with him for days. �Sometimes he read the letter inside, sometimes he didn't. �This night he started to take out its contents, then paused and thrust it back into his pocket before resuming his way.
������ They followed him as he wandered through the night streets, averting one vampire attack on a teenage hooker and an attempted carjacking an hour later on a scared tourist who'd definitely taken a wrong turn. �The vampire he dusted; the human carjackers, all three of them, scattered after he grabbed their guns with lightning speed and threw their leader into a wall - on the other side of the street. �At frequent intervals he touched his pocket, as if to reassure himself that the envelope was still there. �It was several long, boring hours before Angel finally headed toward home. �Not, Darla noted, the new office of Angel Investigations, but the Hyperion. �So maybe he wasn't doing a job for his old team after all. �In that case. . . .
������ "I'm hungry," Dru complained as they watched the light in Angel's room go on. "Let's go to Chinatown. �I feel like having a Chinese tonight. �The Angel Beast is going to bed now; he won't be any more fun. �Let's go eat."
������ "Soon," Darla promised. �"I want to see what's in that letter he's been carrying around."
������ Dru tossed her head disdainfully. �"It's from her. �The Slayer."
������ "What?" Darla whirled on her. �"The letter's from Buffy? �How do you know?"
������ "The letter told me." �Dru sounded surprised. �"Can't you see it - the light whenever he touches the letter? �It glows, and so does his heart. �It's the love that connects them. Hers and his."
������ Darla glared at her. �"Let me get this straight. �The reason Angel's been so distracted lately is because of Buffy?" �Unconsciously her lips drew back from clenched teeth. �"That bitch!" she ground out. �"You'd think now that they're not together she'd finally leave him alone to lead his own life. �But no, even when they're a hundred miles apart she just can't stop interfering!"
������ "She's got her claws in his heart," Dru hissed, hooking her own fingers like claws. "Stuck tight, they are, and he can't get loose."
������ "Like hell he can't!" �Darla spun around and stalked off. �Dru ran after her. "Grandmum, where are we going?" she panted.
������ Darla didn't stop. �"To Sunnydale, to see a certain ex-cheerleader!"
<><><><><><><><><>
������ "What are you doing here?" �Angel tightened his choke hold on the man's throat. He'd left the Hyperion shortly after sunset to go pick up some bottled water. �Upon his return thirty minutes later, he'd discovered an intruder going through his belongings. �He loosened his arm a trifle, to allow speech.
������ "I'm snooping," Lindsey gasped. �"What does it look like?"
������ "And just what were you hoping to find, hmm?"
������ "Nothing." �Angel's arm tightened again. �Lindsey clawed at it futilely. �"Anything!" he choked out. �The arm eased a bit. �"I was just looking to see what was here."
������ Angel yanked him around to face him, speaking softly. �"You have a death wish or something? �I thought you were smarter than to walk into a vampire's lair. �Especially this vampire."
������ "I didn't think you'd be here. �Figured you'd be miles away by now." �Regaining some composure, the handsome young lawyer ran a finger inside his collar to loosen it and adjusted his shirt. �"How come you're not? �Aren't you at all concerned?"
������ "About what?" �Angel feigned boredom. �He knew this was the surest way to goad Lindsey.
������ The young attorney looked at him with surprise. �Suddenly he smiled, a pleased, malicious sort of grin that made Angel immediately wary. �"You don't know, do you? Well, I don't know what happened between you two last night, Darla wouldn't tell me, but I've never seen her in the state she was in. �I've seen her angry and sad and . . ."
������ Lindsey searched for the word. " . . .playful, but this ice-cold fury and determination, that's something new."
������ "What are you talking about? �I didn't even see Darla last night." �Angel still pretended to be uninterested, but Lindsey's description sent a chill down his spine. �He was familiar with that particular mood of Darla's, and it boded ill for someone.
������ "Really," Lindsey mused. �"You didn't see her, huh? �Well, for whatever reason, Darla's gone gunning for your girlfriend."
������ "My what?" �Angel blinked, confused thoughts of Cordelia flashing through his mind. �Surely they didn't think. . . . �"What girlfriend?"
������ Lindsey raised a sardonic eyebrow. �"How many do you have? �I'm talking about what's her name. �The Slayer - Muffy?" �A second later he crashed hard into the wall, his shirt bunched in Angel's fists.
������ Angel's eyes flashed dangerously. ��"What about Buffy?" �He shoved Lindsey again, banging his head painfully. �"Talk, Lindsey, and talk fast!"
������ With those yellow eyes blazing into his, Lindsey couldn't get the words out fast enough. �"Darla left last night to go kill her." �The next moment he was flung across the room as Angel fairly flew out the door, pausing only long enough to grab his cell phone on his way out.
������ Lindsey slowly got to his feet, wincing from his bruises. �He smiled and said to the empty doorway, "You'll never make it in time." �He surveyed the room. �"Well. �Since he's gone, might as well continue my search."
������ As the car squealed away from the curb, Angel dialed Giles' number on the phone. Cursing the traffic, he wove in and out among the slower cars to the accompaniment of blared car horns and shouted imprecations.
������ "Hello?"
������ "Giles, it's Angel. �You've got to warn Buffy that Darla's in town, and she's out for blood!"
������ "Angel? �What's that? �I don't understa - did you say Darla?" �Giles' voice was understandably confused. �And startled.
������ "Yes, I said Darla. �As in my sire whom I killed four years ago. �Look, I'm in my car on the cell phone and there's a hell of a lot of traffic so I don't want to try to explain it right now. �Stay in your own lane, you idiot!" �Slamming an elbow down on his car horn, he startled back into its lane an inattentive Ford Escort that had started to drift over right in front of him.
������ "Sorry, Giles, I can't stay on; there's a bunch of maniacs on the road tonight. �Just trust me. �Darla's back, she's in Sunnydale right now, and she wants revenge!"
������ "I - er - " Giles' voice faded. �"Very well, I'll call Buffy. �I trust you're on your way here to explain everything?" �The combination of exasperation and dryness came through loud and clear.
������ "As quickly as the damn traffic will let me," Angel assured him grimly. �"Oh, and Giles - I think Drusilla might be with her."
������ "Wonderful," came the resigned answer. �"All right, we'll see you later. �Er, come to my apartment. �You remember where it is?"
������ "Sure. ��Bye." �Angel pressed the End Talk button and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat but within easy reach, just in case Giles needed to call him back about something. �Then he turned his attention to the noisy, barely crawling traffic, which seemed to be peopled with either suicidal or homicidal drivers tonight.
������ More than two hours passed before he slid his car into an opening at the curb outside Giles' apartment building. Stepping out, he took a moment to work the kinks out of his neck and lower back, then walked over to the door and rang the bell.
������ Giles opened it. "Angel, you made it; I was beginning to worry. Come in. The traffic was bad?"
������ "A nightmare." Angel stepped inside. "Where's Buffy?"
������ "I'm here." Buffy came out from the kitchen, a glass of soda in her hand. She was dressed in her usual pants and sweater combination, and Angel was spellbound at the sight of her. God, she was as beautiful as ever . . . but changed. Older, sadder, her eyes revealing a weary maturity far beyond her actual years. He swallowed.
������ "Hey." His voice came out in a whisper.
������ Her lips curved in the faintest of smiles. "Hey. How are you?"
������ "I've . . . been better. You?" The moment was awkward, but not as much as he'd feared. Time seemed to flow backward, and this could have been any one of dozens of such meetings between them.
������ "Same here."
������ Giles interrupted, or they might have stood there for an hour, simply staring at one other. "As fascinating as this exchange is, do you think we might get to the point of your visit, Angel? And do have a seat." He gestured toward the living room.
������ With huge effort Angel tore his gaze away from Buffy's. "Yes, of course. Thank you." He allowed Giles to take his coat, then sat down in a chair. Buffy and Giles took the couch. Having offered refreshments and been politely refused, Giles cleared his throat and said, "Now. You said that Darla's back? I think that would be a very good place to start."
������ Angel gathered his thoughts. "There's this law firm, Wolfram & Hart. They have their fingers in most of the demonic activity around town, as well as just ordinary, human evil. In fact, I'm willing to bet that the firm was founded by demons. Anyway, close to a year ago they brought Darla back from the dead."
������ "But . . . she was dust!" Buffy raised a puzzled face. "How can you bring back dust?"
������ "With magic," Angel and Giles stated simultaneously. Giles added, "There are several rituals for raising the dead, actually, but most of them result in ghosts or zombies. I've never heard of any of them being used to raise a vampire, however."
������ "She didn't come back as a vampire," Angel told them, all his pain and guilt returning with the memory. "She was human. And she was dying - from the same heart condition that was killing her when the Master Turned her four hundred years ago."
������ "The Master was her sire?" exclaimed Giles. "I had no idea." He looked fascinated by this tidbit of vampiric history. Buffy sent him a patient look, then said, "But now she's a vampire again?"
������ Angel nodded. "Yeah."
������ "Who Turned her this time?" she asked, then stopped, with a strange look at Angel. "Angel, it wasn't . . . you?"
������ "No," he said quickly. "She . . . wanted me to, begged me to, but I couldn't. Wouldn't." He closed his eyes briefly. "So Lindsey MacDonald, a partner with Wolfram & Hart, brought Dru in to do the job."
������ "So that's how Drusilla entered the picture again," Giles muttered.
������ Angel went on to relate the entire Darla saga, leaving out only the specifics of how she'd invaded his dreams. He wasn't comfortable sharing such intimate details with Giles . . . and certainly not with Buffy. Looking at her now, at her haunting eyes only a few feet away, he couldn't understand the impact those dreams had had on him. He and Darla had always been extremely abandoned as lovers, and the sex between them mind-blowing, but he'd withstood its lack without that much difficulty. Until last fall, when suddenly it was all he could think about. All he dreamed about.
������ Then, unconsciously, he frowned. For the first time it occurred to him to wonder how Darla had accomplished that feat. How had she entered his dreams and made them so vivid? Not since the First Evil had forced him to dream of Buffy - to dream with Buffy - had he experienced such a depth of realism. Every time he'd woken from dreaming of Darla, he could still feel her touch lingering on his body - physically feel it. How had she done that?
������ "Angel?"
������ He looked up, startled. Giles and Buffy were both looking at him quizzically. "What?"
������ "Where were you?" Buffy asked. "You didn't hear a word we were saying."
������ "Sorry," he told them. "I - got sidetracked by something."
������ "Something pertinent to this situation?" asked Giles, leaning forward with eager interest.
������ "Uh, no, I can't see how it would be. Sorry. What were you saying?" Sternly Angel forced his attention back to the problem at hand.
������ "I was asking why Darla chose now to take her revenge on Buffy," Giles said. "She's been back for quite some time and been a vampire again for several months. Why choose this particular time? Did something happen that caused her to, er, turn her thoughts to Buffy?"
������ Frowning, Angel shook his head slowly. "Not that I know of, no. I mean, a couple of weeks ago I set her and Dru on fire, but - "
������ "You did what?" Buffy exclaimed. Giles looked at him sharply, eyes narrowed.
������ Angel opened his mouth, then closed it. He got up and paced around the room. Finally, not looking at them, he said, "I told you I hadn't been doing too well lately. That's an understatement. This thing with Darla has pretty much taken over my whole life. Cordelia and Wesley were right - I've been obsessed with her and with Wolfram & Hart, and - I, I let the demon rise. Only a little bit," he hastened to add.
������ "Why?" asked Giles, quietly. Buffy was speechless.
������ "Because I knew I couldn't kill her. Not yet. Every time I looked at her all I could see was her human self resting in my arms, dying but finally accepting her fate, finally at peace. And then . . . then the door flies open and Dru comes gliding in and Lindsey's thugs hold Darla so she can't escape and - "
������ He couldn't go on. Giles seemed to be searching for something to say. Buffy got up and went over to Angel. "And you blame yourself for what happened." Her voice was soft. "Why?"
������ Angel turned to her. "I should have been able to stop them. But - it was right after the trials, and I was . . . so tired . . . and . . . they had electric prods . . . and I, I couldn't." His voice cracked.
������ "Like tazers." Buffy grimaced. "That seems to be the popular weapon these days. So they zapped you, several times probably, and you couldn't move. Explain to me how you could have stopped them."
������ Angel ran a hand over his hair. "I should have heard them coming. I should have guessed what Lindsey was planning. I knew how obsessed he was with Darla - he's in love with her." Once more Angel began pacing, his hands moving with tense gestures. "I should have known he'd do anything to keep her alive - I mean - you know what I mean."
������ "Yes." Giles also stood up. "You mean that you should have been able to foresee everything that was going to happen, and prevented it. Angel, you're only human - " He looked disconcerted. "Er, that is, you're a vampire of course, but my point is that you're not a seer or a prophet, nor are you omniscient. You did the best you could, and that's all anyone can ask, even of one's self."
������ Buffy put out her hand when Angel passed close to her in his wandering, and caught him gently by the arm, stopping his agitated progress. "Angel, why does it upset you so much that you weren't able to save Darla?"
������ Angel stared down at her with troubled eyes. "Because . . . we were the same. For hundreds of years she was evil incarnate, as I was, and then suddenly she had her soul again, just as I did. I wanted to help her adjust to it . . . help her when the memories became too much. I didn't want her to have to deal with all of the pain alone, the way - " He stopped.
������ "The way you had to?" suggested Buffy. Angel nodded. Buffy regarded him thoughtfully for a long moment. "You thought that by saving Darla, the person who made you a vampire, you would also be saving yourself. Like you would somehow be making up for becoming a vampire in the first place."
������ Wearily, Angel rubbed his temples, shaking his head in confusion. "I don't know. I guess - yeah - something like that, maybe. I just - I knew I had to save her, and then when I couldn't, when I failed, I had to stop her. Any way I could."
������ Giles had also been studying him, his gaze searching. Suddenly he turned away. "Angel, there's something I want to try." He went into another room, where they heard the sound of a drawer opening and closing. When he returned he was holding a large wooden box - cedar, Angel thought - which he set on the coffee table. It opened to display a jumble of magical talismans, orbs, and other objects, scraps of papers, and small bags redolent with herbs.
������ "What are you doing?" Buffy looked over the items doubtfully.
������ Giles began lifting out different herbs. "Angel, you admit that your actions lately have been uncharacteristic . . . obsessive even, am I right?"
������ "Yes."
������ "Very well then." He shook several different herbs into a small stone bowl, and started grinding the contents into a fine powder. "Have you considered that you might be under a spell?"
On To Part Four