Chapter 4
The first thing to hit his senses was the stench of burning flesh. Pain was the second.
His eyes snapped open, his vision swimming momentarily. He swallowed hard, fighting down the nausea, as stars danced across liquid skies before settling down to become the dark heavens as he knew them. As his vision slowly cleared he caught a glimpse of a dark valley stretched far beneath him. He shifted, his eyes trying to focus on the city lights engulfed in the shadowy vale below.
A sudden bout of pain engulfed him, spreading like wild fire from his burning back. His body arched in a desperate attempt to escape, only to find itself unable. He twisted his head to the side, his jaw dropping in a silent scream as his eyes locked unto the bloodied, rusty nail protruding from the palm of his hand.
His body bucked uncontrollably, small moans and gasps escaping from his lips. He could feel wounds opening in his hands and feet, the scent of his own blood filtering through his crimson haze of pain.
His body finally slumped with defeat as he realized he was nailed where he was, only to arch again in a flash of burning pain. His mouth snapped open again in a failed attempt to scream, as he finally grasped he was nailed to a cross.
***
Buffy wiped the damp sweat off her brow, her hand coming back with brown flakes of dried blood. It's not like it wasn't expected, she reminded herself as she took into account the last several hours.
Angel hadn't stirred since Druscilla had touched him so Xander deemed it safe for Willow, Cordelia and him to leave. Too many non-Slayer people around an injured vampire is not of the good, he claimed as he ushered the girls out of the mansion. Besides, Buffy had heard him mutter, I don't think some of us are ready to see Angel in full-Monty. Oz had elected to stay claiming he had nothing against Monty.
Ten minutes later the convulsions started. Buffy swallowed hard at the memory of Angel's limbs flailing uncontrollably, knocking Giles off his feet in the process. Terrified that he would hurt himself she lunged at the wounded vampire, straddling his chest as she tried to grab hold of his hands.
That had only managed to send him into a wild frenzy. His features contorted with agony, mouth gaping in a silent scream. His body arched, sending her crashing to the floor.
Her fingers went for her brow again, she had landed badly, she recalled. That was probably when she had been hurt.
Finally between the three of them they had managed to restrain the vampire long enough for Giles to sedate him. Panting and exhausted, each tended quickly to their own injuries, in the end Oz was cradling his arm and Giles was sporting what was about to become a spectacular bruise below his cheek. Buffy herself felt something, which she suspected was not quite sweat, dripping down her face. They caught their breath for a moment, standing around the unconscious vampire.
"Grab a sponge and some bandages," Giles said shortly. Apparently their moment was up, "clean him up. If you see any deep wounds, tell me."
The teenagers nodded submissively, treating the injured was definitely adult turf. "Buffy, if this is too much for you..." Giles started, his features openly expressing his concern.
She shook her head stubbornly, "I'm fine. Let's worry about him for now," she said more roughly then she intended. The Watcher nodded and turned before she could witness the hurt spreading across his features.
As she began to clean her lover's wounded body, she had soon come to realize how much she had overestimated her own abilities. Each wound overlapped another, claw marks and bite marks ran across each other. Cuts so deep they revealed bone met with old scars that hadn't properly healed. She cleaned his body as gently as she could, rubbing away dirt and crusted blood, breathing hard to control the nausea that threatened to overtake her.
"Buffy..." Giles said as gently as he could.
"I'm fine!" She grated between clenched teeth. She went on cleaning and bandaging although every wound was an accusation, every scar screamed out blame. Guilt lanced though her body like a sword though her lover's gut. This is my fault, she thought, I did this to him. Tears rushed to her eyes mocking her attempt to blink them away, yet she went on bandaging burns and lacerations as if the mere act was a kind of penance.
"Buffy..."
She whirled towards her Watcher, her face a mask of agony, "I said I was fine, damn it!" She screamed, blinding tears flowing freely down her face.
"It's over," the Watcher said kindly. "We did everything we could, now he needs time to heal."
She wiped the tears from her eyes with an impatient hand. "Oh," she said sheepishly as she glanced down. Angel was wrapped up in clean bandages from head to toe, an IV unit full of blood had been attached to his arm.
"Go home, Buffy. Get some sleep."
She looked up with surprise to meet her Watcher's determined gray eyes, "what? No, I can't do that," she pleaded, almost begged. "He needs me to be with him."
"He needs blood and care, both of which I can supply," Giles said as gently as he could, but she could hear the steely note that had crept into his voice. He was done arguing with her. "Take Oz home and get some sleep."
"Giles, I..."
"That's enough, Buffy." The steely note rang hard this time, "you're worn out and exhausted and frankly no good to anyone this way. Go home, you can come back tomorrow."
The Slayer nodded, defeated. On the way out she gave her Watcher one last pleading look, "he's not in any pain, is he Giles? You've drugged him enough?"
He smiled at her reassuringly as he settled himself in for the night, "with the amount I've given him he's dreaming of little pink elephants floating through purple fields. Trust me he's fine."
Buffy smiled back as she tried to figure out exactly what that meant.
The ride home with Oz was quiet, each teen lost in thought. Although he dismissed his injury as nothing, she couldn't miss the way he favored his right arm. She grimaced, that was her fault too in a way.
As he pulled up to her driveway she thanked him, hoping he understood how much his help meant to her.
"Buffy, Angel's a vampire," he said quietly as she was about to get out of his van.
She peered at him in confusion, "this I know," she replied hesitantly. Was he trying to say that Angel didn't deserve her care because of what he was? She fervently hoped not. Beating up her best friend's boyfriend was not high on her to-do list.
"What I mean is," the quiet boy said thoughtfully, "he'll heal. That's what vampires do - they live forever and they heal. When you look at his wounds you keep thinking he's human, you got to remember he's not."
She gave him the brightest smile she possibly could, she knew there was a reason she liked him. "Thanks, Oz," she murmured, pouring her heart into those two words. Of course Angel would heal. She felt as though a great weight had been lifted off her shoulders, even the Sunnydale night seemed to be a more inviting place. Almost smiling she walked home thinking of pink elephants and purple fields.
***
Angel slumped on his restraints, the nails tearing into his skin and the cross slowly burning his back. The pain had become a foggy haze now as he gave in to it, let it carry him away in defeat. Before, he still thought he could fight it, had tried screaming against the atrocities being committed against his body. Not even that small salvation had been allowed. His time in hell had stolen away his ability to cry out in pain, to let the world know of his misery.
He had broken down at that point, focusing on the need to shout out his agony. It would be all right then, his mind reasoned irrationally, already lost in a world all it's own, if he could just scream everything would be all right. But he couldn't and it had finally defeated him.
He hung from the nails, his chin resting against his chest. He stared with unseeing eyes at the city spread below him. Dark night skies became a soft, warm glow where electric lights kissed the heavens. He watched uncaring, from his cliff above the vale, the city of the living as he hung crucified above them. Somewhere, in a dark corner of his mind he knew he recognized the city. Even the night sky with its ever-changing stars looked familiar, but that didn't matter. Nothing mattered except screaming.
"I should have stayed and helped," Willow fretted as she examined Oz's bruise for the third time that morning.
Buffy smiled and shook her head, "you would have just gotten yourself hurt too. Besides, we managed." She felt surprisingly refreshed that morning. After two hours worth of sleep and a slightly disturbing Walt Disney type dream of little pink elephants, she felt she could take on the world.
"Hey," Cordelia said, "did you know there was an earthquake last night?" They stared at her, "nothing big, but it was around the time we did our little hell opening thing."
"Speaking of which, how's our personal hell-spawn doing?" Xander asked gruffly.
Buffy peered at him sharply, her friend's mixed concern and hate almost bounced off his voice. She shrugged, "I don't know. Other than turning him into the first vampire-mummy in existence there wasn't much else we could do. We bandaged him up, Xander," she added pointedly as she noted her friend's confused expression.
"He's a vampire, Buffy," Oz reminded her softly.
"He'll heal," she replied with almost mantra-like conviction.
Something was happening. There was a slight difference in the night, an insignificant change in the air that came just before the birth of something new. It had even managed to finally seep through his tortured mind.
He looked up, his head swaying slightly, his eyes narrowing in an attempt to understand the change. Then it hit him - the skies were no longer an inky black. A steely gray cloak had engulfed the heavens with the subtlety of predawn. The air turned cooler, sweeter as the unfulfilled promise of a new day became a reality.
He gasped with understanding as tears of hope filled his eyes. After all this time, all this pain, he would see the sun rise and then he would die.
"He's crying," Buffy whispered, horror smeared across her delicate features, "Giles, he's crying!"
Giles glanced up, the previous night had taken its toll on the unflappable Watcher. His blood shot eyes and the day old bristles created an image of a middle-aged hooligan. Combined with the mussed hair and the bruise that had developed into an interesting shade of purple there was very little reminder of yesterday's stuffy librarian. "Buffy, it's probably just a reaction to the morpheme." He murmured, trying to comfort his agitated Slayer. "I promise you, he can't feel a thing."
She shook her head stubbornly, blond locks flying, "then why is he crying?" She demanded, "Angel never cries." Not even when a sword had buried itself in his body with the force of his lover's hand.
The Watcher finally rose, his body stiff from an uncomfortable night. He examined the tears running down the ravaged face. Hurt, you bastard! His mind demanded, writhe in agony forever for what you did! He sighed in a failed attempt to banish the unclean thought. "I'll up the dose, Buffy," he finally said. Sometimes he really hated his job.
The Slayer nodded her consent as she visibly relaxed. "Giles," she started hesitantly, "I just wanted to thank you. I know how hard this must be for you and..."
"I'm not doing this for you," he said gruffly. His back was to her as his hands worked over her lover's still form, but the tension in his shoulderswas evidence enough of his distress. "Or for him," he added after a time, "I'm doing this because other people shouldn't have to suffer for our mistakes."
She nodded, fully aware that he couldn't see her. He blamed himself, she realized, for the way he had treated Jenny. For denying her his knowledge as she searched for Angel's cure. She sighed, the mansion's air had suddenly become stale, almost oppressive. She felt as though she could hardly breathe. "I'd better go out and patrol," she muttered lamely. "Cirta's minions, they're probably still out there."
She turned to leave, not even sure that the man she had come to love as a father even heard her. "Be careful, Buffy," he whispered when she was already out the door. She tried to smile, but her expression was more of a grimace at the thought of Giles tending to the man he hated most in the world.
She hunted the night like the predator she was, silent and deadly. Her eyes scanned the dark familiar streets, watching, waiting for her prey. It was her own personal bloodlust, the good kind, Giles had once told her. But she wasn't so sure. When the need to kill rose in her, the overwhelming desire to see her enemies' blood flow, she could be as merciless as any demon she had ever come across. They say us vampire's are ruthless, but that's nothing compared to what someone without a personal demon can do. She shuddered at the memory of Spike's words, sometimes she felt she was no better then the demons she slew.
A sound caught her attention, nothing more then a leaf crackling in the night, but it was enough to call on the huntress' instincts. She ducked into an ally, her feet soundless on the pavement as she dropped into a fighter's crouch within a shadowy pool of darkness.
The purposeful sound of boots against the pavement was unmistakable now, the sound too quiet and sinister to belong to an innocent. She smiled as her body tensed, waiting to pounce. Someone was going to die tonight, the knowledge burned in her blood making her heart beat faster with excitement.
She leaped and rolled as she felt herself knocking into something hard. She landed on her feet, her small fists raising seemingly out of their own will to ready themselves for the next attack.
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