"A Letter To Riley - Part Six"
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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������ Angel's face was cool between Buffy's palms, his lips tender and so loving that tears sprang to her eyes. How could she have gone without his kiss for so long? How could she not have realized the difference between the emotions she felt for Riley, however physically passionate they might be at times, and the soul-deep completion that only Angel could evoke? She breathed his name, and he gathered her closer.
������ God! Angel buried his face in her hair, whispering her name, planting kisses along the smooth column of her neck. He paused at the crescent-shaped scars left by his fangs, and kissed them tenderly. He heard the catch in her breathing and allowed himself the luxury of tonguing each individual puncture mark, remembering the rich, heady intoxication of her blood in his mouth. Buffy's shudder traveled through her entire body.
������ "God!" she whispered.
������ "How did you explain these to Riley?" Again he kissed the scars. A part of him mourned their necessity; another part of him rejoiced to know that every time Riley had made love to her, he'd seen his mark on her.
������ "I didn't." She touched her neck, smiling ruefully. "He never asked about them."
������ Angel pulled away a trifle. "Never?" He found that unbelievable. If he'd been in Riley's shoes, he'd sure as hell have wanted to know how the Slayer - not to mention his girlfriend - came to be bitten by a vampire.
������ Buffy hesitated. "I think . . . I think he assumed they were from the Master's bite. We were talking about it - the Master, I mean - and he . . . he touched them and said something about too bad you and Xander hadn't been faster on the scene."
������ He studied her face. "And you didn't correct him?"
������ "It was none of his business," Buffy said flatly. "That memory belongs to you and me. Riley has no part in it."
������ A shadow passed over Angel's face. "Why would you want to remember it?"
������ She caressed his cheek with the backs of her fingers. "Because it saved your life."
������ "But - the pain."
������ Her eyebrows rose a trifle. "What pain?"
������ Angel released her and rose to his feet. "Buffy, I came back here afterward, when I had to leave you in the hospital. I saw the table you kicked over when you were struggling to free yourself. I saw the metal urn you dented with your bare hand. You must have been in agony." He swallowed.
������ Buffy stared at him, her mouth open. "Agony? That's what you've thought all this time? My God, Angel, no! There was no agony involved. I've hurt myself worse than that shaving my legs!"
������ "What?" Angel asked, bewildered. He gestured vaguely. "But - the table - and, and the urn. And . . . I remember hearing you . . . making little whimpering, crying sounds - "
������ "Those weren't sounds of pain," Buffy told him, the color rising in her cheeks. Angel frowned. What in the world could she be saying? Buffy gave an impatient little sigh. "Angel, I was totally having an orgasm!"
������ Angel's jaw dropped. "Y-you - what?"
������ "I - had - an - orgasm," Buffy repeated clearly. Her cheeks were bright pink now, but she had recovered enough equilibrium to eye him with some amusement. "While you were feeding on me. Because you were feeding on me."
������ When Angel just stared at her, his mouth opening and closing like a guppy while he searched for words, she chuckled drily. "Based on your reaction I'd guess that's not something that's ever happened before."
������ He shook his head. Buffy looked thoughtful. "Hmm. I wonder what made it different. Maybe because I wasn't a victim - because I offered?" She looked at him questioningly. He shook his head again, indicating he had no idea.
������ "Hmm," she said again. "Well, it happened, for whatever reason. So you can cross it off your list of things to brood over." Her gaze turned very serious. "Angel, you have enough in your past to feel guilty about. Don't waste your energy on imaginary sins."
������ Angel nodded, still dumb with shock. Buffy snuggled against his chest, and his arms automatically came around to enfold her. After a minute he cleared his throat. "Buffy."
������ "Hmm?" Her eyes remained closed.
������ "You really had . . . an orgasm? Like when we made love?" He faltered, suddenly wondering if it was wise to bring that subject up right now. In the two hours since they'd arrived at the mansion, the night of her seventeenth birthday hadn't been one of the topics they'd discussed. His leaving Sunnydale; Buffy's almost grim determination to have a normal life, and her sorrow that in the process she'd deeply hurt a thoroughly nice, decent man; his experiences in L.A., including firing his new family; Buffy's fears about her mother's health and for her new sister - all this and more they'd talked about, bringing each other more up to date on their lives. What they hadn't yet addressed was the future. Or whether they even had one. Closing his eyes, Angel tightened his arms, holding his love even closer.
������ Oblivious to his train of thought, Buffy frowned thoughtfully. "No, it wasn't the same. It was . . . I don't know if I can describe the difference. I felt it . . . everywhere . . . from my head to my toes . . . which isn't that different, really, from the usual kind, except it wasn't . . . uh . . . centered." She glanced up at him, tilting her head back. "If you take my meaning."
������ Angel did. He became lost in the memories her eyes shared with him. Buffy, beneath him, arms and legs wrapped tightly around him, her body convulsing . . . her gasps and whimpers testimony to the strength of her climax, as were the involuntary spasms of her inner core . . . deep, gripping spasms that drove him over the edge into his own orgasm . . . and into the ensuing sense of utter joy and peace that only unlocked the door for the nightmarish months that followed.
������ "Buffy," he whispered, his dead heart aching. Her fingers brushed his cheek. "Don't," she said softly, but firmly. "I can tell from your eyes what you're thinking. Angel, that was the most beautiful night of my life, in spite of what happened later. "
������ A second bittersweet memory rose to Angel's mind. The Day That Wasn't . . . the day he'd been human and for that brief time had known the freedom of making love with the woman he loved, free to experience that wondrous joy without fear.
������ The day only he remembered.
������ His smile was sad. "Now what's wrong?" Buffy whispered, chiding. He shook his head slightly. "I love you so much," was all he said before he kissed her again, cutting off any other questions she might have in mind to ask.
������ Another hour passed although it seemed like only minutes to them, lost as they were in the comfort of finally being in each other's arms again. Eyes closed, Buffy leaned against Angel, enfolded in his arms, her head pillowed on his firm chest, reveling in the strength of his embrace. They were sitting on the floor in front of the fireplace, having agreed with rueful glances that the bed would not be a good idea. Their situation was fraught with enough risk without deliberately seeking out more, and being in a bed together would definitely come under the category of Stupid And Obvious Temptations To Be Avoided. Buffy gave a long, contented sigh.
������ "What?" murmured Angel, kissing her head. He continued to stroke her long, glossy hair, marveling at its softness.
������ "This is so wonderful, Angel. Being here with you like this. It's . . . perfect."
������ "Almost," Angel corrected her quietly. But even though his heart had given a pang at her words, he smiled as he spoke, a soft, tender smile.
������ Buffy smiled too. "Okay, almost," she agreed, then tilted her head up. Their lips met, cool meeting warm, tenderly. Angel bent his head down and the kiss deepened. Buffy's arms came around his neck, and he tightened his embrace. God, it was heaven to kiss him again like this, to be here with him again, like this, their bodies pressed together as closely as possible in this position.
������ Not that she didn't wish they could be even closer. But, somewhat to her surprise, desire seemed to be taking a back seat right now to other, less volatile, emotions. Oh, the passion was there, all right, simmering as it always did when they were together, but it was below the surface, there to be savored as a good feeling but not threatening to overpower them as it had earlier, out on her lawn. They drew apart and gazed into each other's eyes.
������ "How are we going to do this?" Buffy murmured, stroking his cheek. "You do know that we can't just pretend all this never happened, don't you? That we have to make it work this time?"
������ Angel swallowed. "I want to, Buffy; you know how much I want it - "
������ "I'm not sure I do," she interrupted. "How much do you want it, Angel?" Her eyes betrayed a lurking insecurity that smote him, although he wasn't surprised by it. How could he be? He'd been the one to walk away from their relationship, after all, not she. Small wonder if Buffy harbored lingering doubts about his feelings.
������ "As much as you do," he answered instantly.
������ "Are you sure?" she asked, softly. " �Cause, you know, that's a whole lot of wanting."
������ "Yes," Angel whispered. He brushed his thumb across her lips, watched them quiver in response. "I want it every minute of every day and with every fibre of my being."
������ Buffy slowly nodded. "Yes. So what are we going to do about it?"
������ A wave of pain engulfed Angel. "We can't be together, Buffy. You know it's too dangerous."
������ "Not all of the time, no," Buffy agreed, though she swallowed hard as she said it. "But I refuse to go on the way we have been, Angel, never seeing each other, not even talking on the phone. I won't do it anymore. I can't." Her chin set with determination.
������ "No," whispered Angel. "Neither can I." And knew his words for nothing less than the plain, unvarnished truth. He could no more go back to his bleak existence without her in Los Angeles than he could . . . deliberately walk into the sunlight now. In fact, greeting the sunrise would be the easier of the two. His body would survive returning to L.A. and never seeing her again; his heart and soul wouldn't. Without her he would become a mere fighting machine . . . cold . . . emotionless.
������ "So we see each other as often as we can," Buffy continued, then bit her lip. "As often as we safely can."
������ "Yes." Angel gathered her close again, his heart aching with mingled grief and happiness.
������ "I love you," Buffy whispered against his chest.
������ "I love you."
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������ "Hello?" Brisk. Businesslike.
������ "Hi."
������ Instantly her voice grew warm. "Hi." Angel could visualize the smile lighting up Buffy's face; it would exactly match the one on his. "How'd it go?" she asked.
������ He settled himself more comfortably in the chair and sighed. "As well as I could expect, I guess. They didn't actually stake me, so I suppose that should count as a positive sign. We're moving the office back to the Hyperion tomorrow."
������ "Just give them time, Angel," Buffy said sympathetically. "You can't rush this."
������ "I know." Angel was silent a moment. "Considering I've been around for over two hundred and fifty years, shouldn't I understand people better by now and not get myself into situations like this?"
������ "Angel, have you already forgotten? Darla, compulsion magic - any of this ringing a bell? You weren't in complete control. Not to mention that you spent most of those two hundred and fifty years not caring diddly about people's feelings," she reminded him. "At least not in a good way. You have to give yourself time too; it's not something you can learn overnight. Just ask Anya."
������ He chuckled wryly. "I guess - " The door to his office flew open, crashing against the wall, revealing Wesley lending support to a sheet-white Cordelia. Angel sprang to his feet. "Cordelia! What's wrong?"
������ "Vision," Wesley said crisply. "She wouldn't tell me anything about it, just insisted we come here."
������ "Here, sit down." The two men helped the shaky young woman to Angel's chair. "Has she taken one of her pain pills yet?"
������ "She can speak for herself!" snapped Cordelia. "Yes, I took one and it should be working soon. I hope." Faint sounds issued from the telephone Angel had dropped on the desk at their sudden appearance.
������ "Excuse me a second." Angel picked up the receiver. "Buffy, I'll call you back. Cordelia's had a vision - "
������ "Wait!" It was Cordelia, talking through clenched teeth. "That's Buffy?"
������ "Yeah." She held out her hand. Angel looked nonplussed at Wesley, who just shrugged and shook his head, indicating he didn't know what was going on. "Hold on, Buffy," Angel said into the receiver and started to hand the phone to Cordy.
������ "On second thought," gritted Cordelia, dropping her head in her hands and resting her elbows on the desk, "put her on the speaker phone. This concerns both of you."
������ "Buffy too?" Wesley instantly asked. Cordelia just glared at him and waited until Angel pushed the Speaker button and replaced the receiver.
������ "Buffy, are you still there?" Angel asked, raising his voice a trifle. "Can you hear me?"
������ "Yeah," came Buffy's voice over the speaker. "What's going on? And why does it sound like I'm in a tunnel all of a sudden?"
������ "You're on the speaker phone," Angel told her. "Wesley and Cordelia are here. Cordelia wants you to hear whatever it is she's going to tell us about her vision."
������ "Hi, Cordelia. Is there another big ugly in Sunnydale? I hope it's nothing to do with the Chumash again. That situation's just too morally confusing."
������ "Just shut up and listen, okay?" snapped Cordelia. "The damn PTB sent me this damn vision and I'm going to damn well pass it on like I'm supposed to, however much I hate it!"
������ �We're listening," Angel assured her, wondering what the hell was going on. He'd never seen Cordelia in such a state over a vision. Frantic, yes. Repulsed and disgusted, yes. Hurting, yes, and not just from the physical pain involved for her. But never this angry, bitter resentment. He glanced at Wesley, who looked equally puzzled. There was not a sound from Buffy, who must be just as stunned as they were.
������ Cordy's steely eyes nailed Angel. She took a deep breath. "Angel, the vision involved you and Buffy. I saw the two of you, together."
������ Angel waited. After a moment, when nothing more seemed forthcoming, he said, "Where were we? In Sunnydale?"
������ "The place isn't important," Cordelia retorted. "What matters is that the two of you were together. In the �moaning and writhing together naked in bed' definition of the word."
������ It took a second for her meaning to penetrate. Angel straightened. "That isn't going to happen."
������ "No," Buffy seconded, with perceptible sadness.
������ Cordelia laughed shortly. "Oh, yes, it is. I haven't finished telling you everything." Angel exchanged a worried and confused glance with Wesley as she continued. "I saw this really weird-looking woman. She was wearing a strange robe or something - Greek, I think, or maybe Roman. She had long black hair all piled up on her head in ringlets, and her skin was all golden with these bizarre blue symbols everywhere. On her skin, I mean."
������ "One of the Oracles came to you in your vision?" Angel stared at her. So did Wesley.
������ "Is that who it was? She's kind of an arrogant bitch, isn't she?" Cordelia remembered that she was angry at Angel and resumed her biting tone. "Anyway, she gave me a message for you."
������ Taking a deep breath, she recited, �Tell the Warrior the Higher Beings have realized that he cannot fight effectively alone, that he is only half of their weapon and without the other half he is useless to Them. Therefore They have anchored his soul to his body. As long as the Warrior exists, his soul is safe. He and his Soulmate, the Slayer, are now free to unite, without fear.' Then I saw you two, together, which I hope never to see again, and now I've given you the message."
������ Again Cordelia's angry brown glare raked over Angel, who was frozen in place. His mouth opened but nothing came out. It was Wesley who finally broke the silence. "You mean, the happiness clause - "
������ Cordelia made a sweeping gesture with her hand. "Zip. Nada. Gone with the wind."
������ Buffy's voice came over the air. "Angel? I - did I hear right? Did Cordelia say your soul is - safe? Angel?"
������ "Er, Buffy? Angel's not here," Wesley answered her, staring at the swaying office door. "I think you're going to have a visitor before long."
������ "Wesley?" she asked urgently. "What's going on? Is what Cordelia said even possible? Who is this Oracle person?"
������ "The Oracles were seers in ancient times," he replied. "Also in not so ancient times, like right now. There are two of them and they're direct links to the Powers That Be. Angel has had dealings with them before."
������ "So . . . it could be true?"
������ "It is true!" Cordelia snapped. "All my visions are true, I'll have you know. And let me just add that I really don't appreciate having my head explode just so you and your vampire honey can get groiny with each other. The next time the Powers want to play Cupid they can find someone else to deliver the damn message!"
������ "Cordelia!" Wesley began in protest, but Buffy cut him off. "Cordy, when did Angel begin to act strange? Because of Darla, I mean?"
������ Cordelia shrugged, remembered that Buffy couldn't see the gesture, and shrugged again. "I don't know. Several months ago. He started sleeping a lot, like all the time. Guess those dreams he was having about her were pretty hot stuff." Her voice was tart, and a little bit sly. "Did he happen to tell you about those dreams?"
������ "Yes, he did," Buffy replied evenly. "Did he tell you that Darla's dead?"
������ Wesley looked up, startled, and Cordelia stopped massaging her temples. "What?" they chorused in unison. Wesley added, "When did that happen? And how?"
������ "Four nights ago, here in Sunnydale."
������ "Angel was in Sunnydale?" Wesley raised an eyebrow. Cordelia just pursed her lips.
������ "You didn't even know that?" Buffy said, surprised. "What did you guys talk about today? I thought he was going to bring you up to date on everything." Wesley was spared having to answer because she went on without pause. "Darla came here to kill me. Angel followed her and killed her - again."
������ "Why on earth didn't he tell us?" Wesley wondered aloud.
������ "Gee, I don't know," Buffy mused. "Could it be because he didn't think you'd care?"
������ "Well, of course we care," he protested. "Now we can stop worrying that he'll go off the deep end again because of her."
������ "Oh, Giles already took care of that," Buffy said sweetly, "when he uncovered the spell Wolfram & Hart had put on Angel."
������ Silence, while Cordy and Wes stared at each other. Finally - "Spell?" asked Cordelia in a subdued voice. "What . . . kind of spell?"
������ "Giles said it was some kind of compulsion thing. It was tied to Darla in some way, because once she was dead the obsession just vanished."
������ "How did Mr. Giles know there was magic involved at all?" asked Wesley.
������ "He didn't at first," was Buffy's bland reply. "But when Angel told us what had been happening with Darla, he got suspicious because of the way Angel said he'd been acting, and tested him for magical influences. Angel lit up like a Christmas tree."
������ "Dear lord," Wesley muttered, sinking down onto a corner of the desk. He stared straight in front of him and his mouth stayed slightly open, giving him a half-witted appearance.
������ Buffy went on. "I thought it was kind of strange that Giles, who hasn't seen Angel in over a year, suspected what was happening, but you two, who practically lived with him, didn't."
������ "How were we supposed to know?" Cordelia sputtered. "It wasn't like Angel - " She stopped.
������ "It wasn't like Angel suddenly started acting weird?" Buffy inquired sweetly. "Like he started obsessing over a woman he'd killed four years ago, even before he knew she'd been brought back to life? He didn't start sleeping all the time, and ignore his mission? It wasn't like he suddenly shut the people he worked with out of his life, the people who'd become his new family?"
������ "We tried to talk to him," Cordelia asserted defiantly. "At least, Wesley did. Angel kept saying everything was fine. What were we supposed to do, tell him he was lying? That would have gone over big."
������ "Everything was fine?" Buffy's voice rose. "With the way he was acting, you believed that everything was fine? You just accepted that?"
������ "All right, Buffy," Wesley interposed. "We get the point. We should have persevered. We failed Angel, just when he needed us most. And worse, we've been blaming him, when we should have been asking his forgiveness."
������ Buffy's voice softened. "It was Angel's fault too, Wes. I'm not trying to say he was blameless. I mean, he didn't lose his soul again; this time he had some control over his actions. As you should know, he's always been inclined to just barge ahead once he decides on an action to take. Giles said the compulsion thingy merely strengthened his natural - what was the word he used? Bullheadedness."
������ "Why did he fire us?" Cordelia suddenly asked, her voice betraying the deep hurt she still felt over Angel's action.
������ "You didn't ask him?"
������ "No." Cordelia didn't add that they'd been too busy putting Angel "in his place" to make any inquiries at all about him or his state of being.
������ "Angel told me he fired you because he wanted to get you out of the line of fire." Then Buffy sighed and admitted, "And also because you kept distracting him from his hunt for Darla."
������ Again silence reigned. This time the two members of the Fang Gang avoided looking at each other, lost in their own troubled thoughts.
������ "Well, I guess I better go," Buffy said, "since I'm going to have a visitor soon. Cordy, thank you for telling us about the vision."
������ "You're welcome," Cordelia mumbled automatically, her mind obviously elsewhere.
������ Wesley roused himself. "Buffy, I - uh - congratulations on the good news. I'm very happy for you both. And - thank you."
������ "You're welcome. Good night." She hung up. Wesley punched the Speaker button, turning it off. "Well," he said.
������ "Well," echoed Cordelia. Absently she rubbed her forehead. Wesley noticed the gesture. "Is the headache still there? Do you want another pill?" he asked, concerned.
������ "No, it's better." She looked at him. "Wesley, Angel refused to talk about what was going on. You know he did. It's not like we could have forced him to tell us anything."
������ "No," said Wes somberly, "but we could have tried harder, Cordelia. We're supposed to be his friends - his family. We're supposed to help, and instead we criticized and complained and made no effort to understand what he was going through." He stood up. After a second, so did Cordelia. Silently they walked out of the office.
On To Part Seven