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Edenscroft Manor in Devonshire,  England
Saint Patrick's Day afternoon

Ephraim served hot tea decorously, offering all the proper condiments before retreating promptly from the mixture of tension and anger in the room.  Angel and his guests remained quiet until the steward bowed politely and left,  shutting the the huge double doors behind him with a soft click.

“You've trapped Buffy."  Willow stared coldly back at Angel.  "You've warded this house and the grounds so that she could never get out of it."

Angel shrugged away the witch's accusation.  "The wards are there for protection," he declared quietly.

"Protection from what?" Buffy stared from Willow to Angel, trying to comprehend what was going on.  "Angel, the wards make it so that I can never make my way back to the front gates of the house!  I can't leave Edenscroft!  I can never reach gates.  The road just lengthens and I can never quite get there, the trees in the orchard grow deeper and I cant reach the wall."

Angel smiled.  "You can, baby, you've left with me.  We just went out last night," he reminded her.

Buffy swallowed.  "But what if I want to go out by myself?" she asked slowly.  "What if I want to go out with Willow today?"

"I don't want you going out unless I'm there to help protect you."  Angel shook his head as he spoke.

Buffy stared at Angel.  "I can protect myself, Angel."  *You know that!* The reproach hung, unspoken, in the atmosphere of the house's large cold "formal parlor."  It was by far more ornately decorated than the informal room where she and Angel had spent so many peaceful evenings toasting bread over a hot fire, talking, loving, and Ephraim brought Buffy cups of that wonderful freshly mulled cranberry juice.  With its stylised black marble fireplace carved on either side with a gryphon and a well-polished cedar display case for Angel's cherished collection of bladed weapons, the parlor lacked warmth and friendliness.

"I know you can, Buffy."  Angel smiled patiently.  "But you don't have to here. This is a place for us, a nest for us. A place where nothing bad can ever touch you."

Buffy turned to Willow.  The lovely red-head sat primly beside Wesley Wyndham-Pryce in an antique loveseat covered in burgundy brocade.  Her large green eyes were heavy with anxiety.

"Angel," Buffy finally said.  "You have to release the wards!  I can't leave Edenscroft unless you do!"

"But you don't want to and I don't want you to!" Angel declared.  "Admit it, nothing has ever been so good for us since we've been here!"

Buffy swallowed.  Angel looked edgy to her.  A hard lilt flavored some of his words, a harsh trace of Irish accent..  She wanted to go put her arms around him and kiss his face, love away the hardness.  She crossed the room halfway and stopped several feet away from Angel.

"Everything *has* been good, Angel."   Part of her agreed with everything he said.  Edenscroft was a beautiful place and it was safe and seperate from Buffy's regular world.  Nothing dark or violent or ugly happened at Edenscroft.  Only peace, beauty, comfort, and love happened.  Until now.

"What kind of ward did you use?"  Willow spoke coldly.  Angel didn't remember her being this cold to him even after they first met again when she'd restored his soul.  The vampire felt a brief intense pang of regret.  Willow had been a friend to him. She'd never given up hope of saving his soul so that he could be free and Buffy and he could be together.  It was a bizarre outcome that her efforts to create that result were successful and she didn't care for the consequences.

Angel met her eyes evenly, unblinking, and gave her the truth. "*Amor-Veritas,*" he replied. "Voluntary. *Eternium.*"

He smiled slyly as Willow's ivory skin paled until it looked like smooth skimmed milk.  Her large green eyes flared with outraged respect for his ability and his forethought.

In the back of Buffy's mind, Angelus's mocking remarks in her dream reminded her: *“Buffy! Buffy! Buffy! You’d better work on making me happier if you want any happiness for yourself...I didn’t know the bastard had it in him...All I can say is this is a really soulful love, Buffy!...You’ve gotta learn to get along better with me...I’m part of something you love. And if he’s not happy, I’m not happy...I’m selfish, too. Sometimes I want you all to myself...”

The Slayer felt her heart sink and ice glazed the inside of her stomach.  This wasn't Angelus standing before her and stubbornly declaring there was no need for her to leave his home without him.  This wasn't Angelus taking away her choice to stay with him or go home.  They were qualities and characteristics more pronounced in Angelus and Angelus would have probably taken more joy in shutting her up in a cage instead of a beautiful manor in England.  But this was still Angel, the love of her life, the only man she'd ever loved with everything she had.

She still loved him, even though he'd done this.  Another voice--Faith, the rogue Slayer who'd been her friend brieffly--accused her: *I bet a part of you dug 'im even when he went bad.*

"What does that mean?"  She found the courage to ask her best friend.

Willow spoke softly.   “You went with him–of your own free will.  You entered this house at his invitation.  Willingly.  That activated the wards.” She sounded like the words would choke her.

“I didn’t know he’d planned to trap me here when I came with him!”  Buffy brushed one hand through her hair tiredly.  She had thought it was so sweet when Angel had first brought her to Edenscroft and faced her to ask her softly, “Do you want to come in with me, Buffy?”  It had seemed so courtly and old-worldly in its way.  She’d smiled to him, her heart on her lips, reached for his outstretched hand and he’d pulled her into his arms for a fierce hug.  “How was I supposed to know that?” she insisted.   She felt uneasy and a little angry with Willow's coolness.   Didn't she understand how serious the situation was?

“Once you accepted him, the wards were active,” Wesley told her.   He was dispassionate, like a doctor delivering bad news to a patient.   “They won't dissipate until Angel chooses to de-activate them.   Or until you die.”

Buffy hugged herself in her folded arms, not liking the finality in her former Watcher’s voice.   She strolled idly around the huge sitting-room and gazed blankly at the display of fabulous wealth around her:  the carved cathedral ceiling and the marble bust of Caesar Augustus on the piano, the Ming vase on a small decorative table covered with a brightly-patterned Indian shawl.   She’d always suspected Angel had more funds than he chose to reveal, but she’d never imagined he was this rich.   He’d told her casually one day that he hadn’t been to the house in years but his demonic caretaker, Ephraim, had looked out for everything since the 1860's after he’d made Drusilla.

Guilt gnawed at her conscience.   She wondered how many people had fallen victims to vampires while she was trapped in this veritable palace, her every whim catered to, the man of her dreams covering her naked body every night with all manners of pleasure in lovemaking while he whispered lovingly to her.

*”You are my soul.”*

“They’ll never stop working,” Willow declared sadly.   “Angel bound the ward for eternity--based upon--" Willow's face soured as though her words tasted bad.   "It's based upon your sincerity when you entered.  Your--desire to be with him.  Your love."

"Angel," Buffy whispered.

Angel felt his heart contract at the blankness in Buffy's face.   Her rich-coloured eyes filled with disappointment and betrayal from the one hand she never expected to deal it.  The vampire felt honest resentment stir within him.  He didn't want to hurt her.   Why couldn't she understand?  He had a duty to take care of her and he loved her.

Abruptly, he turned towards Wesley, sitting stiff as a poker beside Willow, his face a study of cautious censure.

"Tell her the rest of it," he ordered his old friend.

Wesley's censure darkened into honest anger.  He remained calm.  Although he'd never expected this day to come--a day when he and Angel would be on different sides--the former Watcher had learned a long time ago that expecting the unexpected was a healthy thing when one's chosen profession involved the supernatural.  For better or worse, the hand had been played out and Angel had the winning cards.  All of them had gambled on the one thing they absolutely believed in, that Angel and Buffy would always love each other.  He wondered what history would make of this, a vampire with a soul allied with the cause of good driven to an evil--or at least an amoral act--using the purest and most powerful emotional energy that existed.

Slowly, Wesley reached for his slim attache case and opened it.

“The Watcher's Council has agreed you've served actively long enough, Buffy, they approved your retirement earlier last month."  Buffy stopped pacing and turned her soft hazel eyes upon him.

“What?” she asked stupidly.

The Englishman could not quite meet her eyes squarely.  “The Watcher’s Council made arrangements to release Faith from prison when--when we first understood the nature of your connection to Angel.  "She is active Slayer at the Hellmouth.”

Buffy’s heart thumped into her stomach.  Since last Christmas Angel had made her the center of his life.  At first, it had been wonderful but Buffy had slowly come to realise that, while her heart and body clamored for her vampire lover, her mind was not as accepting of him as she had thought it would be.  Much as she had eaten up the faerie-tale wonder of this romantic interlude with her only love, Buffy had anticpated returning to her regular life, her duties as a Slayer, a job that truly fulfilled her, and the comfort of her friends and family. 

Now, Angel had complete control over her.  She would never lack material goods and service, and she would never lack love.  Only freedom.

“I can’t stay here!”  Buffy insisted.  Her voice rose and she scowled at Willow.  “What the Hell is *wrong* with you people?  Get in gear and do serious research before some major ickiness ends up happening and I'm not able to stop it!  I have a job to do, I *can’t spend the rest of my life catering to Angel!* Even if I really wanted that, I'm the Slayer, I have a sacred duty!"  Buffy tapped her chest vigorously.  "Destiny Girl, remember?”

“Buffy,” Willow told her tremulously, her soft white hands trembling as she sipped a Lennox cup of darjeeling tea.  It was disturbing to see how agitated her friend was becoming.  “Angel is a part of you now.  He always was.  If you leave him he could revert to Angelus again.  Lose his soul.  And there'd be no way to get him back.”  Buffy’s eyes hardened into steel.  “I can't counteract my own magic. The only way you could free yourself of the wards would be--"

"To hate him?"  Buffy asked crudely.  *At this point, that might not be too hard!*

Willow shook her head.  “Hatred's only another side of the coin, an extremely passionate emotion," she explained.  To the witch's surprise, Buffy nodded her understanding.  "To be free of the wards you would have to feel nothing for Angel.  Just indifference, no love or hate."

*And that would break his heart.  He's obsessed, never loved anybody else in over 200 years and doesn't want to try.  And you've never loved anybody else and never wanted to.  Your fate is sealed.  If his heart is broken, if you ever stop loving him...*

Buffy’s eyes widened and terrified lightning struck her mind.  *I can’t stay here!  I can’t!  This cannot be my life!*

Wesley stared dispassionately at the petite blonde.  He had never really liked Buffy Summers when he had been her Watcher.  Probably because he'd been every bit as arrogant and self-important as she.  The qualities one hated in oneself were generally the characteristics one tended to loathe most in others.  Now, he felt a sincere wave of pity cover his thoughts.

*Poor Buffy,* he thought to himself. *You've spent over half your life being the center of attention in a dangerous game.  The weight of a Slayer's duty wasn't always late nights and gory darkness, some of it was very gratifying attention.  When all's said and done, being the center of attention would be hard to give up no matter what the attention was for.*

And Angel was desperate, understandably frighteningly so.  The vampire had loved the Slayer sincerely in the past, and he certainly loved her now.  But that love was shadowed by Angel's consuming desperation to perserve his own humanity.  That desperation had made him as ruthless as Angelus had ever been.  Every bit as dangerous.

I don't blame you for being afraid...

“There’s something else,” Wesley told her calmly.   He was cooly neutral.   “I’ve been exploring the relationship between you and Angel further–through your relationship with Spike.”

Buffy frowned at him.  “What d’you mean?” she sniffled.

“When Willow completed the resurrection spell to raise you from the dead, you and Spike were able to fight again.   Spike could strike you without his chip activating amd causing him pain.”   He waited patiently for the reminder to sink in.   Buffy nodded tiredly, smoothing the sides of her skirt.  “You’re no longer a true human in any sense of the word, Buffy.”

She nodded her aching head and made a negligent waving gesture at his comment.   “Tara explained it to me.  My cellular structure is slightly altered from a natural human and the chip recognises that.”

Wesley shook his head.  “It’s not true, Buffy.  Tara did not know your history.  You allowed Angel to feed upon you until you nearly died–it was only his quick action and blood transfusions that saved you.”

Buffy stared silently at the silver tea-tray on the coffee table in the middle of the room, waiting for Wesley to finish.  She felt whipped and hopeless.

“And you drank blood from Dracula before your death.”

“Not enough to turn a person!  He told me so.”  Buffy insisted.

“You’ve evolved, Buffy,” Wesley said with more of that frighteningly quiet patience.  “Something beyond human and certainly beyond Slayer.  Not into a vampire, though, I’m not sure what you actually are or if there’s even another like you in world history.   You’ve a Slayer’s genetics and traditionally Slayers are linked to demon origins in some studies.   You’ve been bitten, you’ve been fed, and you’ve been resurrected.  You’ve changed.  Your urges–” He looked away from her now, perhaps a little embarrassed for the woman who had once been his unwilling student.  “You hungered for Spike, sexually.  No matter how hard you tried to break it off, you were needy, desperate, for sex with him.  For intimacy.”

Heat suffused her face, even her eyelids as Buffy recalled some of the things she’d done with Spike when she didn’t even like him.  She’d been so ashamed and angry with herself and with him although, in his own selfish, soulless way, Spike had tried to do right by her.  And he’d become her friend.  Angel growled softly, offended by the reminder that the woman he loved had been with another besides himself.

“It’s Angel you want–need,” the lithe rugged Englishman continued relentlessly.  “Spike was as close as you could get to Angel–he carries his blood.  You made the most of it, then learned to do without it.  But you’ve never been happy, have you?  Not until you met Angel again, last Christmas?”

Buffy took a long shuddering breath and the tears finally spilled over her face to trail down her cheeks.

“Make your peace with this life, Buffy,” Wesley advised her.  “If getting to know Angel has disappointed you in some ways, learn to bridge those differences.  He’s all you’ve got, and you’re all he’s got.  Without each other, you’ll always be incomplete.  And I do mean always.  Your body is not degenerating or ageing.  The blood analysis and DNA readings I've secured are showing a growth level and regeneration capacity in you that exceeds even human childhood growth patterns.  You may very well live forever–or at least as long as Angel does.  If you turn away from him you will always be hungry, wanting whatever you could get that was closest to him.  Spike or even Connor...”

*But how!* she wanted to wail.  *How can I trust, how can I believe, how can I have faith, when so many people have let me down in the end?*

“The only thing that has ever really mattered to Angel was you, Buffy.  You were already joined in all the ways a vampire could be joined to a mortal mate.  You made love, you fed him.  You had a bond.”  Wesley spoke quietly and set his teacup on the table.

“No!”  Buffy insisted.  She looked all around the room for a door to open, a light to flash, an answer that would surely come if she just waited.  Her mind reeled at the implications of Wesley's words.

“Even when his son was taken from him, it didn’t break his heart because there was always that corner of hope–that you and he would be together again.  One day.”

“No!”  *I don’t accept that!  I cannot accept that!  My whole life cannot be about Angel!  I cannot be the soul source of all his happiness!  How could ANYONE live up to that?*

“I’m afraid it’s true,” Wesley fiddled with the smooth seam of the upholstered arm of the loveseat, tracing it with a finger.  “If you remain with Angel, as his wife and consort, Angelus may never show himself again.  In a way,”  Wesley hated himself for adding this but honesty forced him to admit it, "Angel has been protecting both of you by keeping you here."

“NO!”  Buffy lunged for the loveseat with incredible speed.  Willow’s large eyes widened and she raised her hands defensively as Buffy laid hands on her and hurled her roughly across the room.  “I WON’T stay here!  I don’ t WANT to stay here!” she screamed as the red-head struck the piano and fell.

Willow rolled onto her side and began to sit up to face Buffy.   Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth and her fair skin faded to a cheesy pallor.  Groaning softly, she began to climb to her feet.

Buffy savagely kicked Willow’s supporting leg from under her and the woman fell again, groaning her friend’s name.

“This is NOT my destiny!”  Buffy’s face was a rictus of pain and rage.  She flushed red and tears streamed down her cheeks.  She knelt astride the prone body of her friend and yanked her head up by her elegantly groomed auburn hair.  “You HAVE to fix it!  Get me OUT!”  She delivered an open-handed slap against the girl’s cheek.  The ugly sound of flesh cracking cruelly against flesh hard enough to snap the girl's delicate cheekbone seemed to echo in Buffy's throbbing eardrums.  “You created this problem, goddammit Willow, FIX IT!!!” she sobbed hysterically.

“Buffy.”  Willow said calmly behind her back.

Startled, Buffy turned away from the body she was attacking.  Her eyes widened and her jaw sagged as she met Willow’s large green eyes staring down at her, horrified condemnation in them.  Willow  stood in the open doorway to the room that led out into the main hall of the manor house, her lips smooth and unblemished, every hair in place. 

Buffy looked back down on the floor in front of her.  There was only empty space.  Wesley had risen from his seat and was staring down at her angrily.

Willow thanked the Goddess she had developed enough control over her formidable magical abilities to cast an illusion of herself for Buffy to turn on rather than do something that might have injured Buffy herself.  Still, she felt cold terror knotting her stomach at the sight of Buffy physically beating her–an illusion she believed to be her, anyway–and threatening her.   In a way, it was every bit as awful as if Buffy had actually struck her personally.  Tears stung her eyes and she swallowed hard to force them back.  Intellectually, Willow understood what had happened.  Buffy was not angry only at her, her reaction was stress and rage and she turned against Willow because it was easier to blame Willow for the choices that had set the dance for everything that had happened.

Willow felt her stomach wrench with years of hurt feelings and frustrated efforts to do right by Buffy Summers.  When had Buffy ever been satisfied with anything?  she wondered resentfully.  No matter the circumstances, it seemed the Slayer was determined never to be happy with her lot.  Once, she had hated being the Slayer and Angel was all she had wanted. She'd resented Willow for ressurecting her from the dead because she hadn't wanted to leave Heaven.  *No matter what I do, what choice I make, I can never do right by you!* Willow felt like screaming.  *And this is NOT my fault!  I did NOT tell you to come here with Angel!  That was your choice!*

“I'm sorry I couldn't do better for you, I tried my best.” Willow heard herself say.  "There's nothing else I can do.  The rest of it is up to you and Angel."  She sobbed, covering her mouth with one hand. 

“Willow–“ Buffy began in a small voice. 

The witch turned on her heel and left without looking back.  Buffy pressed her lips together and her eyes swam with tears.  A coughing little sob escaped her body and her heart ached while slimy sickening shame coated her mind like virulent fungus.  She glanced up at Wesley, tears reflecting in her eyes like liquid crystal. 

“Good luck.”  Wesley exited quietly.  A moment later, Buffy heard Ephraim showing Wes and Willow out.  She sobbed loudly, bitterly, and threw herself against the loveseat her friends had just vacated.

It was only mere seconds before Angel came to her, took her soothingly in his strong arms and crooned softly to her in Gaelic and English while he lavished kisses on her face and stroked her long hair.   Angrily she tried to fight him off.   She snarled at him, shoved him away at first but her heart lurched at the thought of rejecting Angel and she clung to him, let him draw her into his arms.

"How could you?" she sobbed reproachfully into his chest.  "Why wouldn't you tell me before?  You know I love you!"

*Why do you do this, Angel?  Treating me like a child, like I have no right or say in any of this...Just like when you broke up with me before...*

"Baby, this isn't about love.  It's not that simple.".  Angel cradled her shuddering body closely to his and nuzzled her tenderly, softly kissing her wet face.  "Every little bit of me wants every little bit of you and I couldn't take the risk that you might say no.  This isn't about my loving you, Buffy.  This is about our survival."

Buffy nodded against the broad firm comfort of Angel's chest.  She felt his anxiety and very real care as his large fingers stroked and petted her silken hair.  He didn't want her to suffer; Buffy knew that.  He had betrayed her to make their dream--their cherished dream--come true.

*And I can't kill him!  I can't do it again!*

Blind instinct drove the hurt woman to the very being who'd hurt her for comfort and Angel did not fail her.  He shushed and petted and crooned and loved her gently, lavishing kisses on the top of her head.  Soon, her sobs faded into hiccoughing little noises and then, more tired, she sank into much-needed sleep, her moist cheek pressed against his chest, one hand curled in his shirt.

"Sir?"  The steward stood calmly in the doorway, carrying a tray with Buffy's mulled cranberry juice on it.  Angel could only imagine what the demon felt from the wild emotions so recently let loose in the house.  If he thought less of Angel for his actions it didn't show.

Angel glanced up tiredly at Ephraim.  For once he felt every bit of his near 3 centuries of age.  "Just put it on the table, please," he said. "She doesn't want it just now--"  Angel's voice died away and he felt his eyes moisten.

You're mine at last, baby.  All mine.  Not exactly the way we wanted but still...

The servant, a born professional, silently set the tray on the nearby table and placed a neatly folded green linen napkin beside the steaming cup.  He turned back to face Angel and bowed stiffly.  Then he spoke.

"It's love, sir.  It's not perfect.  Then again, it never is.  Good afternoon, sir."  The steward turned and walked quietly out of the room, shutting the double doors firmly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Repeat the Sounding Joy" Part Eight

"Repeat the Sounding Joy" Contents...

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