TGoL 5
May 2001 ~ The Mansion
Cordelia:
Being back in Sunnydale, meeting with the Scooby gang to discuss the latest
threat to the world’s existence, gives me the weirdest feeling of déjà vu. But
it’s not just like I’ve been here before (and I have – more times than I care
to remember), it’s like I’ve regressed somehow, back to a part of my life I
thought I left behind two years ago. Living in LA and working with Angel has
changed me, almost beyond recognition. I’ve built a new life for myself,
reshaped my personality, found friends and a purpose, all totally unrelated to
how much money I have or whether or not I’m wearing designer shoes. I stopped
being the selfish, superficial Queen C who used to stalk the halls of Sunnydale
High looking out for people to insult, and I’ve become someone new, someone
less spiteful and more sensitive, someone I actually like a lot more.
But now, being back here, all the progress I’ve made doesn’t seem to matter a
damn. In the eyes of the people I left behind I’m still the same self-obsessed,
uncaring girl I was in High School, and they continue to treat me as such.
Xander appears intent on ridiculing me, coming up with some new sarcastic
comment – that only his silly, hanger-on of a girlfriend seems to find amusing
– every time I dare open my mouth. Willow’s manner merely borders on the edge
of politeness, the expression behind her eyes distracted, and Giles simply
brushes me aside. Used as I am to being a respected member of a team where my
ideas and opinions actually matter, I can’t help but get seriously pissed over
this blatant sidelining, and of course the more annoyed I get, the more caustic
my attitude becomes and I end up reinforcing the group’s view that I haven’t
changed at all.
It makes me so frustrated I want to scream.
“Hello! Vision Girl here, with some important information you might wanna
listen to!” I jump out of my chair, hands firmly planted on my hips. “Hey, can
any of you even hear me?”
“Woah, forget to take your medication today, did you Cordy?” Xander remarks
gleefully, while Spike raises a lazy eyebrow.
“Either that or her bra’s too tight and it’s cutting off the blood supply to
her brain.”
I treat them both to my most withering of glares. “If you don’t want our help
then I wish you’d just say so, because I for one would be glad to go back to LA
and forget I ever met any of you.”
“Really, Cordelia,” Giles removes his glasses and begins to polish them
nervously. “Getting upset about this won’t do anyone any good.”
I open my mouth to reply in a torrent of abuse, which I had planned to follow with
my grand exit from the room complete with obligatory door-slamming when Welsey
lays a placating hand on my arm.
“Cordelia, perhaps you should make allowances for the situation,” he whispers
urgently in my ear. “You can’t expect everyone’s manners to be perfect when
they’re this worried.”
I glance quickly over at him, taking in his own uncomfortable posture. Wesley
must be feeling as awkward as I am, I realise. After all, his reputation in
Sunnydale isn’t exactly glowing. He messed up over Faith, alienated Buffy with
his over-stuffed, anally-retentive, officious attitude and added to a bad first
impression by screaming like a girl at every possible opportunity. So, it can’t
exactly be easy for him to be here facing these people either, but he wants to
stick at it, because he knows it’s the right thing to do – that’s how much he’s
changed.
“Fine,” I mutter, sinking back into my chair. “But that still doesn’t give them
any right to be rude to Gunn and Fred,” I add pointedly, safe in the knowledge
that this complaint is a justified one –since the general introductions not a
single attempt at including the two strangers to the Sunnydale group has been
made. Obviously in my absence, the Scooby gang has moulded itself into an elite
clique (ironic for a group that contains an ex-demon, a Cockney vampire, a
retired librarian and two former high school geeks) that shuns anyone who
doesn’t belong.
Giles is first to pick up on the omission in politeness and sighs tiredly.
“Yes, indeed, you’re quite right. My apologies. We’re very grateful to have to
all here, of course. Aren’t we?”
He turns to the rest of the slayerettes for confirmation, and is rewarded with
a chorus of half-hearted agreements, ending in Spike’s mumbled ‘Whatever’. Gunn
nods briefly in appreciation and Fred smiles shyly, before tension-loaded
silence descends once again, the LA and Sunnydale factions glaring suspiciously
across the room at one another.
I really, really wish we hadn’t come. I see enough blood and death in LA,
without having to go on field trips to the local Hellmouth in order to
experience more. I had plans for this weekend – nice earthly, non-apocalypse-y
plans – but instead I find myself in this literal Hellhole trying to save the
life of someone I never really liked in the first place and haven’t even laid
eyes on for over a year. What do I even care what happens to her?
I don’t mean that. Not at all really. I do care about what happens to Buffy,
partly for her sake, but mostly for Angel’s. He once said that Buffy was a part
of him and I know that if anything happens to her then it’s going to destroy
Angel too. It’ll rip straight into the centre of him where he keeps all his
love and hope and faith that the future is something worth holding on for.
It’ll turn him back into that shell he became during the past year and there’s
no way I want to see that happen again. He’s my family and I’m here now for
him, helping him.
There’s another reason I want too stick this out too, a more personal one. The
vision. I remember it all in cold, horrifying clarity. The scent of the blood,
thick and cloying. The sharpness of the pain, digging like a knife into my
temples, leaving in its wake a void of complete hopelessness. The dark presence
of unspeakable evil like invisible fingers creeping round my throat and choking
me. The eerie sound of Spike’s howls as he faces an event so appalling it
drives even someone with his jaded perspective over the edge of despair.
So, whatever else is going on around me, whatever my personal feelings about
these people or this place, I know I have to put aside. Because, nobody – not a
single living creature on this earth – deserves to experience the kind of
suffering I saw in that vision. And if my being here can in any way help to
prevent it then I’m going to stay, right up until the bitter end. That’s who
the new Cordelia Chase is.
“Much as I’m enjoying the peace and quiet,” Spike belligerently interrupts the
standoff between our two opposing groups, jolting me from my train of thought.
“Shouldn’t you be discussing some sort of plan, rather than just sitting on
your arses and waiting the world go to Hell?”
I scowl in the vampire’s direction, annoyed that the one individual here I hate
the most is the only one to come up with a remotely sensible suggestion.
“Shouldn’t we wait until Buffy’s here to do that?” Willow suggests in a small
voice.
“Oh please,” I reply, rolling my eyes up towards the ceiling. “Like Buffy and
Angel are actually going to come downstairs anytime this millennium. We all
know what they’re like – every time they see each other they have a mountain of
existential crap to work through and it’s going to so much huger than usual now
that Angel’s soul is permanent.”
The minute the words slip carelessly from my mouth I regret them. It was supposed
to be a secret, wasn’t it? Oops.
Wesley flashes me a reproving look and I shrug in mock innocence, like I don’t
understand what I’ve done wrong. Maybe nobody noticed anyway, they’re all so
preoccupied at the moment.
“Angel’s soul is permanent?” Giles echoes incredulously.
Damn.
“But…how?” Willow is asking.
I wave away the question with a casual flick of my hand, trying to play down
the issue. “Oh, it was some big deep and meaningful deal. Something to do with
him gaining the inner strength to do battle with his demon. No big.”
“But that means Deadboy can do the wild thing again,” Xander points out
crudely, dragging the discussion, as he always manages to do, down to its
lowest point. All eyes are drawn irresistibly up towards the ceiling, above
which Angel and Buffy are doing God knows what.
“Now there’s a mental picture I really didn’t need,” Gunn remarks under
his breath.
“I always said that chit needed some sense fucking into her,” Spike leers.
“’Course I had intended being the one to do it…”
“Eww!” Dawn interjects loudly, voicing the thoughts of the entire group.
“That’s gross!”
“Yeah,” Xander agrees. “Do you think you could at least try to keep a lid on
those twisted fantasies of yours, Spike?”
The bleached blonde vampire slides a glance in the direction of Anya firmly
clamped to Xander’s side. “Speak for yourself, mate.”
I can’t help myself from smiling, my resolve to hate Spike for what he did to
Angel nearly two years ago slipping even further. I guess that means I’m not
the only one who’s changed recently.
Giles seems to suddenly snap back into parental mode, glaring at Spike and
Xander and starting with the fatherly fussing. “Perhaps you should be getting
some sleep, Dawn.”
Her face sets in a hard line, the first signs of a fully-fledged teenage
sulk-fest. “You’re sending me to bed? I don’t believe it – this is so unfair!
How much of a kid do you think I am? Just because you want to talk about sex!”
“That is not the reason,” Giles protests valiantly, shooting further annoyed
looks in Spike’s direction. “I just thought you might be needing some rest,
after all tomorrow does promise to be rather a monumental day.”
“Yeah, it’s when we’re all going to die!” Dawn snaps back.
“Dawnie!” Willow exclaims, shocked. “Don’t say things like that – nobody’s
going to die.”
“Why not?” Dawn asks bitterly. “After all, Mom died, didn’t she?”
Willow turns pale. “Oh God, Dawnie, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean…”
Dawn seems to withdraw even further into herself, her eyes turning dull. I feel
a sting of sympathy in my gut, for her and Buffy. They’ve been through so much
already, they don’t need to be facing this on the top of everything.
“It’s okay,” she murmurs vaguely. “I think I will go to bed after all.”
“Good,” Giles nods in approval. “Perhaps you could take Tara up with you too,
she could probably do with some sleep as well.”
Willow smiles weakly, turning towards the blonde woman seated next to her.
“C’mon, it’s time for bed, Tara,” she pleads softly, receiving no response but
wide, blue eyes staring in unblinking confusion. “C’mon, honey,” she continues
desperately, tugging at Tara’s arm. “Aren’t you tired?”
It shocked me at first to find out that
this babbling girl with, the blank, empty stare is actually Willow’s lover, but
once the whole Glory-brainsucking-angle was explained, it gave me this sort of
sick feeling inside. Because it’s obvious from Willow’s abject misery alone how
much she loves this woman. It’s not just some New Age Wiccan thing she’s
dabbling in for the fun of it – Willow’s not like that. She’s conventional, shy
and the original rule-follower. But now little Willow Rosenberg, who never cut
a single class in her life, never turned a homework assignment in late, now
she’s taken this huge leap into an alternative lifestyle, solely for the sake
of this one other person. And if that isn’t love then I don’t know what is.
God, listen to me, getting all
sentimental over a pair of lesbians. I think that maybe it’s because I’m a
little jealous – not in the literal sense, of course, because there is no way
on earth I’m actually attracted to either Willow or Tara, two women
together like that is just beyond weird. But I want that feeling, to know what
it’s like to love someone so completely they become your whole world and you’d
do anything for them. Like Buffy and Angel. They’ve been through so much
together, their relationship has caused them and everyone around them so much
pain and suffering, you’d think that they’d have given up and moved on by now,
just decided that it’s not worth it.
But they haven’t. They keep endlessly
re-running the Angel and Buffy Show, keep spinning around in circles trying
desperately to ignore the feelings that are as strong for each other as when
they first got together. I don’t understand it, can’t appreciate why they are
constantly beating their heads against a brick wall, trying to love one another
when they know from bitter experience how impossible it is.
But then I’ve never felt that strength of
emotion. I’ve never met a person whose presence is that addictive to me. Never
been able to suddenly understand what all those cheesy romance novels and love
songs have been going on about all that time. Never fallen so deep into
someone’s kiss that I thought I couldn’t drag myself out again. And when I look
back at my romantic history, it’s pretty clear why.
First there was a string of dumb high
school boys, more interested in hanging off the arm of the most popular girl in
school than pursuing any kind of lasting relationship. Then there was Xander, cute
in his own painfully annoying way, but still possibly my worst lapse in
judgement ever, especially considering I still can’t recall the way that affair
ended without a twinge of hurt and embarrassment. Next came Doyle, the one guy
I probably could have truly fallen for if I’d been given the chance, but he
died before I could even realise it. And lastly there was my little fling in
Pylea, which I thought for a while could turn into something serious, but in
the end the circumstances weren’t right and I wasn’t anywhere near as
devastated as I should have been.
So, in summary, Cordelia Chase has never
been in love. Not even once. Thinking back to all the romances I’ve seen my
friends go through, the realisation suddenly makes me feel very lonely. I turn
slightly to glance at Wesley, distracting his attention from Willow and Tara
and catching a glimpse of understanding in his kind, brown eyes. We share a
small smile, and I look awkwardly away, feeling a light blush seeping into my
cheeks.
Dragging my attention back to the room, I
notice Willow still trying to persuade Tara up the stairs, with little to no
success. She appears close to tears, the weight of the past few days pressing
heavily in her shoulders, and surprisingly enough, it is Fred who comes to her
rescue.
“Why don’t I help?” She chirps brightly,
grabbing Tara’s hand and pulling the surprised girl in the direction of the
door. “You’re not too old for a bedtime story, are you?” She then turns her
attention on Dawn. “Because I know a good one about this girl who got trapped
in a dimension far, far away from home, until a big, strong, handsome vampire
came and rescued her…”
She continues her cheery monologue as she
shepherds both Dawn and a suddenly compliant Tara up the stairs to one of the bedrooms.
Once they are gone, the tension seems to seep out of Willow and she collapses
into a nearby chair, dropping her head in to her hands and sighing heavily. A
few seconds later, she looks up to speak, blinking back tears, her voice
shaking horribly.
“We need a plan.”
“Precisely,” Wesley nods in agreement.
“Though there are a few details of the situation I’d like to become clear upon
first…”
The next half hour is filled with long
and complex explanations from which the vague references to Glory the Hellbitch
gradually shape themselves into a coherent account of just how bad the
situation in Sunnydale actually is. Hardest to swallow is the revelation that
Dawn isn’t actually real, but is really some Key thing that Glory needs in
order to get back to her own dimension. I actually laugh when I hear it – of
course Dawn’s real, I remember her clearly, a little brunette girl with scruffy
hair and braces who used to follow Buffy around like she was the greatest
person who ever lived. But apparently I never even met her before today.
I learnt a long time ago, however, that
anything can happen on the Hellmouth, so before I can even get over the shock
there is already another more important matter to be discussed. My vision.
Everyone suddenly wants to know what I saw and what it means, and as the images
and feelings flow back into my memory, I find myself reluctant to communicate
them to the others.
They’re all looking at me with a mixture
of fear and hope in their eyes, like they expect that despite the horror of
what I predicted earlier in it they’ll find some clue to how to defeat Glory.
But all I have to share is misery and pain. And evil. These people who are
sitting here now have already had to deal with so much and yet they have no
idea the extent of what’s coming to them next. I want to protect them from the
knowledge a little longer, but I know I can’t.
“There was a tear in the sky,” I begin
hesitantly, noticing Giles pull out a notebook and start writing furiously. “It
was a huge black rip with lightning coming out of it. Like a vortex of some
kind with pure evil inside of it,” I shudder as the memory floods over me, my
head starting to ache even just in recollection of the vision. “Then I saw
Dawn, she was frightened – terrified I guess – and covered in blood, dripping
all down her arms and off her fingertips…so much blood…
“And Buffy jumped up into the sky,
straight into the tear and I couldn’t see what happened to her…” I ramble on,
tripping over the words and slipping into virtual incoherency. But I can’t help
it, the images are so vivid in my head, I get lost in them, they become my
reality instead of the room around me.
“Faith was there too…mad…choking…can’t
breathe. Another guy too, with blonde hair and more blood, always blood. Angel
lost…can’t find her… Spike crying, howling, screaming, NOOOO!”
“I was not!” Spike’s voice slices
through my awareness as I feel my body crumple and sink to the floor, taken
over by the pictures flashing through my mind.
“Cordelia!” Wesley and Gunn rush immediately
to my side, strong hands supporting my head, and holding me down as my limbs
thrash uncontrollably.
//Buffy falling, falling,
falling…flying through the air like an angel, blonde hair trailing out behind.
Thud. She hits the ground, twisted, broken, eyes open and staring…//
“Buffy…BUFFY!” The name tears from my
lips in an involuntary scream, my voice not my own but a thousand others all
joined in agony.
“What about Buffy?” Giles asks fiercely,
yelling the question straight into my face. “What happens to her?”
“Mr Giles, please!” Wesley tries to push
him away from me. “Now isn’t the time!”
But the convulsions have already stopped,
leaving in their wake an aching exhaustion. I collapse limp, against Wesley, my
eyes fluttering gently open.
“I saw…” I choke out in a hoarse whisper.
“She jumped and then she fell – ”
//…spat out of the sky, tumbling over
and over…//
“I saw her die.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Buffy:
I have the vague sense that I’m drowning
as I clutch Angel tightly, as his arms slide around my waist and his head
nestles in my hair. I’ve been buoying just above the surface in these
overwhelming feelings of frustration and powerlessness, and sorrow and terror.
And now I’m going under, no longer even trying to stay above, and it feels so
good. So good to let myself go, and know that I can drown as long as I like,
because he’ll pull me out when I’m ready to return.
But the deepest recesses of my brain are
screaming at me that this is wrong. That I’m setting myself up for a fall once
again, because I know he’s going to leave. He’ll hold me for the rest of
tonight, but tomorrow will come, and even if he doesn’t leave tomorrow, he’ll
leave the day after. He’ll promise to stay as long as I need him, but he’ll
forget that promise because he always does.
I’m tired. I’m so, so tired. My insides
are filled with a sour, thick ache and my skin is bruised. Or is it my heart?
Are the dark stains on my arms from Glory killing me, or is it the heaviness
inside, the knowing I might lose Dawnie, I might lose everything? That
this could be it. Is this The Battle, the One Last Fight that every Slayer in
history has fought, the battle no Watcher could ever go into detail about in
their diaries because it hurt too much? The battle she fought on her own and
died on her own and all that was left was a cold marble headstone and a
scrapbook of memories that fade with time?
A choked sob wrenches from my throat, and
Angel holds me tighter, murmuring nonsense into my hair. I wrap him even harder
in my arms, because some part of me is saying if I hold him tight enough, I’ll
be safe and he won’t go.
Even though our history belies that. The
night we made love, I held him inside me, deep as he could be, I trembled and
moaned his name as tears fell from my eyes and I came so hard, I thought I was
dying. The most wonderful, perfect night of my life, the night that meant more
to me than anything is what took him away from me. What led to me
shoving a sword through his ribs and splitting him open, hearing the wet,
bloody swish as it pierced him, feeling the moment of resistance before it tore
through his sweet flesh, seeing his eyes widen in disbelief and confusion,
because the girl he knew, the girl he loved, the girl who gave herself to him
would never…
“God,” I whimper, the thought bringing
more tears to my eyes to flood my cheeks. I can’t do it again. What if I have
to kill Dawnie, the way I killed him? What if there’s another sword, another
swirling cloud of evil determined to take someone I love inside it, another set
of eyes opening and asking me ‘What’s happening, Buffy? Why did you stop loving
me? Why wasn’t it enough?’
“Oh, God, nonononono!” A shudder runs
through me, and I want to scream at the horrible image painting itself behind
my eyes. My baby sister, bleeding and broken, eyes open and not seeing,
Glory doused in a cloud of green energy, throwing back her head and laughing so
hard it’s like sobs. The word comes apart and Dawn reaches out her hands for
me, and I knock them away and stare at her unfeelingly, and I kill her. I shed
her blood. I watch as her body hits the ground with a wet slap, and I don’t
feel a thing, because Buffy is gone and only the Slayer is left.
“Buffy, Buffy, love, shhhh,” he whispers.
“Everything’s fine, I promise, you’re okay, you’re safe…”
“Don’t you see that nothing’s fine? Don’t
you see that I CAN’T do this?”
“You can do this, Buffy,” he
responds instantly. I didn’t even know I said it out loud. “I know your world
is spinning beneath you, but you’re strong and wonderful, and I know you
can do this.”
I look up at him suddenly, knowing how
terrible I must look. My skin is red and splotched, my hair stringy and
spilling from its tight ponytail at the back of my head. But he stares at me so
tenderly, wipes the tears from my eyes with the pad of his thumb, and suddenly
I start to feel.
Feel something I thought was shattered in
my heart start to knit back together. Feel a part of me that I thought had died
jump to life. Feel the sudden rush of desire that shoots straight between my
legs and makes my thighs start to ache in that familiar way. And it’s good,
it’s good to feel something besides pain and heartbreak and gut wrenching
misery. Something that aches in a good way.
So I give in. I have to.
I lean up and press my lips to his,
hungrily, searchingly, demanding entrance into his mouth with my insistent
tongue. He responds immediately, parting his lips and drawing me into his
mouth, his fingers on my back digging into my spine and crushing me against
him. He tastes the same as I suck on his bottom lip and trace his teeth and
tongue with my own.
It isn’t like the kiss we shared over my
mother’s grave in the cemetery. That was sweet and gentle and full of
bittersweet remembrances. But this…this is the start of something bigger. It’s
the same kind of kiss that started the night I gave myself to him, and marked
the beginning of him starting to drift away from me. I know where this kiss
will take us, but it hasn’t sunk in yet. Because I haven’t allowed it to sink
in yet, because I don’t want to think about it.
After he left, I used to dream about him.
About his body blanketing mine. He’d wrap his arms tightly around me, so tight
it would hurt, but it was a good pain, because he was causing it. He’d devour
my lips with his and I’d open for him, I’d squeeze his hips between my thighs
and we would be one again. Just Angel and me, touching, feeling, exploring,
flesh slipping and sliding, limbs coiling, tongues duelling until I would never
be able to tell where he ended and I began.
And I’d awake from those dreams, my body
screaming for his, between my legs open and soaking and sore, flush with heat
and desire. That summer I was so hot, hot for him, like a constant fever. A
sickness brought on by Angel deprivation. I wanted him more than anything, needed
him. Needed his cool body to soothe the fire inside me.
Then, gradually, so slowly I didn’t even notice
it happening, that fire died. A part of me died when he turned away and melted
into the smoke, and now instead of being hot, I’m cold. Shivering with chill
and afraid I’ll never get warm again.
I want to stay like this, in his arms,
and let the fire rise again, to burn so much with love for him that it makes me
feel strong and alive. But I don’t know if it works like that. Can he cool me
when I’m hot and warm me when I shiver? Can he wipe my tears and hold my hand,
drink me deeply then walk away, and have it all still be worth it? Can he even
out the hurts with gentle affections?
I don’t know. I can’t tell. Because now
he’s not mine anymore and I can’t be sure of anything. Angel left and Mommy
died and my foundation fell apart, destroying my core belief that the world was
something beautiful, something worth saving. I haven’t felt anything in so, so
long - no love, no hope, no happiness - just pain and the growing ache in my
stomach and emptiness.
And I’m scared. Scared that if I
surrender fully to this kiss, that if I stay in the safety of his arms, nothing
will change. He’ll fill me, but then he’ll withdraw and only the emptiness will
be left. I’ll have lost the last chance I had to get back to being the Buffy I
once was.
I’m so afraid to test this magic, because
if it’s gone, I’ll be left with nothing. Not even the tattered remains of a
long lost dream.
He groans into my mouth and I hear it
with my heart, feel it down to my stomach, rumbling deep inside of me. His
hands move from my back to clutch my arms and forcibly drag me off him. “Stop,”
he pants. “Buffy, we can’t - ”
“I don’t care,” I reply, diving
into him mouth first again. “I don’t care.” I pin him to the ground and
straddle him once more, smothering his face with hard, fierce, angry kisses. Am
I hurting him? Is this love or is this an attack?
His hands tangle in my hair, and I
realize with a jolt that it doesn’t matter, because I need this either way. He
kisses back for another moment, and it hurts, his teeth scrape my lip and I
whimper. “Buffy,” he says quietly, his mouth covering mine once more. “Not like
this. Don’t make it like this.”
I roll off him, all the anger and rage
suddenly burned out of me, and I curl against his side. “I’m sorry,” I whisper,
and he slides his arm around me, drawing me nearer.
He says my name again, and there’s
despair in the way it comes from his throat and rolls off his tongue. Did I put
it there? Do I even out his hurts or do I just bring him more? “Buffy,
no. Don’t be sorry. If you knew how much I wanted to…”
“The curse,” I respond. His brow
wrinkles.
“I want to be with you,” he says softly,
almost as though I didn’t speak. “I want to take you in my arms and never let
you out, I want to make love to you until the sun comes up. But I don’t want to
do it when you’re like this, when you’re scared and vulnerable. I won’t take
advantage of you. I’m not Spike,” he says disgustedly, and the sound of
his voice makes me giggle, a motion I wasn’t sure I remembered, that feels
strange on my tongue, but a good strange. Sweet like his kisses and bubbly like
champagne.
“I wouldn’t let Spike get close enough to
begin to take advantage,” I assure him, reaching for his hand. Then I roll on
my side and face him, turning his exact phrasing over in my mind. I want to
make love to you until the sun comes up…I won’t take advantage of you…
“You make it sound as though we
could…” I let the question dangle into the air, and he picks up on it, turning
to face me.
“We…we can.”
I feel the blood drain from my face.
“Angel?”
He traces a gentle line down my cheek,
his dark eyes burning into me, like cigarettes, like the core of a flame. “The
curse is…it’s there, but it’s not. Some things have happened lately…both good
and bad, and I finally understand. I finally get it, that it’s my choice what
happens. If I don’t want to let go…then I don’t.”
I get the feeling that there’s more to
the explanation, but I don’t care. I just don’t care. I reach out and tighten
my arms around his back. “Do you want me?” I whisper.
He groans again. “Buffy, I - ”
“Just answer. Do you want me?”
He hesitates, then answers quietly,
intensely. “More than anything.”
“Then nothing else matters.” He goes to
protest, and I raise a finger to his lips. “I’m a big girl, Angel. I’m twenty
years old. I’m capable of thinking rationally. Kind of.” He smiles at that, and
I continue. “I need you. I’ve always…like this. And if we can, if we both want
to, then…please.” My voice falls to a whisper as I end. “Just give me tonight.”
Angel stares into my eyes for a long,
long time. I can see his resolve melting. Then he finally reaches for me,
rolling me onto my back and sliding his hands under my white sweater. “I’ll
give you whatever you need…” he breathes in my ear. Then he lowers his lips to
my neck, I tangle my hands in his hair, and my tears finally stop. My face
doesn’t sting and nothing hurts anymore, the pain is floating away on a dreamy
bubble.
Am I still his? Is he still mine? Yes…and
no. For tonight, for right now, we are, and it’s all that matters. Every other
problem is on another planet as our lips meet. They’re forgotten, and for a
while, they’re not important anymore.
I whimper as his mouth finds the side of
my neck and his tongue searches for his mark, the scar that announces I belong
to him and I always will. He licks it delicately and my cells scream to life,
flaring with heat, responding enthusiastically to his touch. Suddenly, I’m on
fire again. His mouth is cool and familiar and it’s bringing me back from that
edge, warming me gradually.
I run my hands beneath his soft shirt,
dancing them down the length of his spine and relearning him, tracing his
muscles and tilting my head back to his passionate kisses. He rises off me
briefly, and I take the opportunity to lift the smooth fabric over his head and
toss it into the corner. “Angel…” I breathe, his name the only word I can find
now. He’s so beautiful, so pale and sculpted and every inch of him familiar
from one night of twined limbs and sweat and countless others of erotic,
Technicolor dreams.
I lean forward and close my mouth around
his nipple, gently nibbling, revelling in how right this feels – his
taste, his skin, the quiet sighs coming from his perfect mouth. His eyes close,
and his hands are under my shirt again, removing my bra and pulling my sweater
off slowly. He strokes my hair tenderly, then tightens his arms around me and
lowers me to the ground once more, sliding his body over mine and reclaiming my
lips with his own.
I gasp as we come skin to skin fully, my
breasts pressed against him, his hips between my thighs just as I dreamed. This
is a dream, isn’t it? Because Angel’s here, making love to me slowly,
softly, smiling down at me…if this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up.
Ever.
He’s hard, so hard against me, and I
wriggle closer to him, wanting more. I grind my heat slowly against him and he
lets out a moan, pressing even closer as his tongue invades my mouth again. And
I’m burning, my face is flushing and my skin is hot.
Suddenly, he moves off me, and I cry out
pathetically, reaching for him once more. But my worries are for nothing as he
bends and scoops me into his arms, carrying me to the bed and kicking the
dustsheet down with his foot. He lowers me softly onto the firm mattress, then
sinks beside me, turning on his side and running a hand down over my still
clothed hip. “I want to make love to you in a proper bed,” he whispers, kissing
the sides of my neck again. “Not on the floor. I want you to be
soft…safe…comfortable…”
Oh, Angel, Angel, you could make love to
me over a bed of nails if you wanted, just as long as you never stopped
touching me I’d be soft and safe and comfortable…
He rolls me onto my back, trailing fiery
kisses over my collarbone and down to my breasts. He takes a small eternity to
gently press his kisses across the fleshy mounds before his tongue darts out
and sweeps across my right nipple. He latches onto it and suckles gently, and I
cry out, stroking his hair and praying he never stops, ever, because it feels
so good…
I writhe beneath him as he shifts and
gives the same attentions to my left breast. I need to touch him, I need him to
feel what I’m feeling…I drag my hands over his chest and reach down, hurriedly
unsnapping his pants and reaching my hand inside.
His erection is heavy between my palms,
and he lets out a choked gasp against my flesh as I curl my fingers around him
and begin to slide down, then up, then back down. I wrap my legs around his
waist and slide my feet over the backs of his legs, kicking the pants that are
bunched around his ankles to the ground.
“Buffy…oh, God, Buffy, that feels
so…ahhhhhh,” he moans. A smile breaks onto my face, the first time I think I’ve
smiled in…I don’t know how long it’s been, but it feels good, because it’s an
Angelsmile. It’s there because he’s in my hands and I’m making him happy and
he’ll still be here when its over.
“Feels so…what?” I purr in his ear. “Is
it good? Do you like it?”
“God, yes,” he rasps, his hands speeding
down my sides and over my hips, ripping my own pants off quickly and wrenching
my panties down. And suddenly, I’m not the one in control anymore, because his
fingers are inside me, cool against my dripping heat and bringing me nearly to
orgasm at the barest touch.
“Angel!” I cry, still trying to keep my
voice low, because after all, there are other people in the house and
Lord knows I wouldn’t want to hear the sounds of Xander and Anya going
at it. But the rest of me could care less, because my body is burning and I
want to scream his name as loudly as I can. I tighten my fingers further around
him and increase my pace rapidly, timing it to his own soft strokes between my
legs.
“S-stop,” he manages, still moving his
fingers inside me as I rock desperately against his hand. “I’m going to…Buffy,
not yet, please, I need to be inside you,” he pleads, and my body throbs hard
at his words.
Reluctantly, but not too reluctantly,
because what’s coming next will be better, I withdraw my hand and manoeuvre his
Calvins down his waist. And then I open for him, so wide, and his erection is
between my thighs and my legs are around his waist and with one smooth, deep
thrust, he’s buried inside me, all the way to the hilt.
We freeze and stare at each other for
breathless moments, caught in how this feels. This is what is meant to be
happening, Angel and me, me and Angel, locked together in all the forever I
could ask for. He brushes a lock of hair out of my eyes and kisses my forehead,
the same way he did on that first night.
When he begins to move, I move with him,
raising my hips from the bed to match his thrusts and bring him as deep inside
me as I can.
…and his arms wrap around me tightly, so tight
it hurts but its a good pain because he’s causing it…
…and he’s devouring my lips with his own
and I’m holding his hips between my thighs…
…and our limbs are coiling and our
tongues are duelling and I can’t tell where he ends and I begin…
And when we reach that peak, when we fall
from the sky together, his name rips from my throat and I’m screaming and
wailing and calling his name, and he’s bellowing mine in return and it’s good,
it’s wonderful, it’s Angel inside me and part of me. It’s Angel coming inside
me and spilling his cool flood deep into me. It’s me clenching around him and
tears falling from my face onto the pillows because I’m happy, I’m so, so
happy, and his own tears sprinkle my face like breathless kisses.
When he collapses on top of me, we’re
sweating and gently glued together, warm and entwined together. He stays inside
me and nuzzles his face into the tender space between my neck and shoulders,
and he murmurs, “I love you. I love you so much…”
I kiss the top of his head, feeling him
throb one last time inside me, but still holding him in, because I never want
him far from me again. “I love you,” I whisper back.
Tangled in each other’s arms, we drift
into sleep and I don’t dream.
Because I’m not afraid of anything
anymore. I think the world might be worth saving after all.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When I wake up a few hours later, the
space between my legs is sore. In a good way. I yawn, and look up to find him
looking down at me, a little content smile playing across his face. “Morning,”
he breathes, kissing the top of my head.
I give him a funny look. “It’s still
night. I think.” He laughs and cuddles me closer.
“Morning is a few hours off,” he admits.
“I love you.”
Another smile blossoms on my face, so
bright it hurts. “I love you back,” I tell him. “And thank you. For…for
everything.” I grin. “Mind bending orgasm included.”
Angel laughs again and I think I could
sing. “You’re welcome.” He pauses, stroking my bare shoulder softly. “Are
you…do you think you’re all right?”
“I think I’m better than I’ve ever been,”
I assure him, turning and kissing his collarbone. If I could freeze time, this
is where I would spend the rest of my life. In Angel’s arms, safe and happy and
warm and suddenly confident again. I let out a happy sigh. “It’s
perfect,” I whisper, and he tightens his grip around me.
The air around us is so still, so silent,
I think everyone else must be sleeping. My belly rumbles with hunger, and Angel
looks down at me, concerned. “Buffy?” he asks.
I stretch out. “Kinda hungry,” I say by
way of response. “It’s…it’s been a while since food.”
“Want me to bring you something?” He
moves as if to get up, and I push him back down once more.
“Don’t move,” I tell him. “Stay.” I
snuggle back up to his side, still reluctant to let him get even two inches
away from me.
“Gladly,” he responds, pulling me back
into his arms. There can’t really be anything evil in the world, can there? Not
when Angel’s holding me like this. I close my eyes again, ready to drift off to
sleep once more.
I’m nearly there when I hear a loud,
angry pounding coming from downstairs. I jerk out of Angel’s arms immediately,
feeling terror rush through my veins, and my heart starts to beat frantically,
thumping so hard against my ribs, it actually hurts.
Oh God
Glory – she found us – where’s Dawn – Oh God, oh God!
If my little sister gets killed because I
was making love to Angel instead of protecting her…But that doesn’t matter
right now. There’ll be time for regrets far later.
We leap out of bed as one, shimmying back
into our clothes faster than I would have thought possible, and vault down the
stairs, taking them two at a time.
The rest of the gang is up already, on
their feet, and I’m proud to see how prepared they look, though they’ve clearly
just been awakened. Willow’s hands are out in front of her, crackling with
shimmering white light and Giles douses the floor in some kind of herb
concoction. Xander and Gunn are hefting battle axes, Gunn’s axe looking
suspiciously like it’s made from hubcaps, but pointy enough to get it done.
Cordelia and Anya flank either side of the door, crossbows bravely raised while
Spike and Wesley have Dawn pressed in between them, ready to vault out the back
exit in a moment’s notice. Fred is huddled in the corner, trying to keep Tara
calm and away from Willow while she chants.
Willow turns her gaze to me, the pounding
growing louder with every minute. “We’re ready, Buffy,” she says, her voice
strong and mature, the ball of light in her hands growing larger with every
passing minute.
I nod. Angel squeezes my shoulder once,
then moves to the other side of the room assuming a standard battle stance.
“Open the door.” We’re fighting on my terms this time. I won’t let her
break in and try and terrify us all.
“Buffy!” Dawn cries out, looking at me
desperately. I turn and manage to muster a smile, and blow her a kiss. “Spike,
get her out of here the second Glory steps in,” I call. He meets my eyes
for a minute, and I see the fierce determination in them. It’s oddly
reassuring. He won’t let anything happen to her. I know.
Willow nods to the door and it flies
open. I tense my muscles, preparing to launch my attack, the quivering in my
stomach replaced by sudden determination and confidence. She’s not going to
win. I’ll die before I let her get to Dawnie. Better yet, she’ll die
before she gets to Dawnie. There are thirteen of us here, a number Willow keeps
telling me is magickally significant, and I believe it with my whole heart. And
between the strength in Spike’s gaze, the firm set of Wesley’s jaw, between
Cordelia’s fingers pulled tautly around the trigger and Willow’s narrowed eyes,
I can feel something inside me rising and swelling with confidence at this
moment.
We’ll make it. We’ll kick her hellbitch
ass.
A body stumbles through the door, then
spins and leaps to its feet. Our intruder shakes her hair back from her face -
dark brown, not curly and blonde - and my suddenly, my insides fall, screaming
like I’ve just dropped from the sharpest peak of Space Mountain. Because this
is the worst possible time I can think to have this confrontation.
Cordelia’s crossbow clatters to the ground, and Xander lets out a strangled
gasp.
She lifts her head and grins at me,
sensing my discomfort and almost seeming to enjoy it. “Hey, B,” Faith says
casually. “What’s shakin’?”