Home Before Dark - Part Seventeen
by Debbie Nockels
COPYRIGHT: October 2002
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters from BTVS or ANGEL. They're owned by Joss Whedon (who needs to treat them nicer), MutantEnemy, Kuzui, Sandollar, David Greenwalt, the WB, UPN, Fox, etc.
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Giles dumped the new stack on the table and sat down. He pulled off the top book and opened it, but his attention was fixed only partially on the worn, yellowed pages. Half his brain was occupied elsewhere - a portion of it speculating about the reasons behind Spike's unexpected departure, but most of it taken up with his telephone conversation with Miriam that morning.
How could he have been so blind? It had taken his old friend to point out to him the significance of Buffy's dream about Angel's epiphany. If Buffy had indeed been shown the exact details leading up to it - details of which she'd had no previous knowledge - then it was no mere dream she'd had, but a revelation of staggering implications. And, by extension, her other dreams that same night could no longer be easily dismissed as simply projections of her own personal desires. He needed to question Buffy about the dreams again, this time with greater attention to details.
He'd been scanning the pages before him almost absently, but suddenly a phrase caught his eye. "There are accounts of Mohra blood successfully curing not only physical ailments, but those of the mind as well." The entry continued onto the next page.
Giles went back to the beginning of the chapter and read to its end, then went over it one more time to be sure he hadn't missed anything important. "Tara, Willow, I think I may have found something." He briefly explained about Mohras and their blood, then slid the book across the table to them, holding it open with one hand. "Start with the third paragraph on the right."
The two young women read to the end and turned the page. After a moment Willow looked up. "This talks about Mohra blood curing someone with a mental disorder. Buffy isn't crazy, she just isn't all here."
"Not just any mental disorder," Giles corrected. "The young man in question was a psychopath, totally without conscience and unable to distinguish between right and wrong."
"Psychopathy might also be considered more of a psychic or even a spiritual illness than a mental one," said Tara thoughtfully, "and that describes Buffy's problem too. I mean, it sure isn't mental. Or physical."
Willow was frowning. "You told us Mohra blood is powerful, but can it fix something that was caused by magic?"
"I intend to find out." Giles stood up with a determined look. "Tara, why don't you continue to look for rituals that might help. Willow, please go through the rest of this book and see if there's anything else about Mohra blood. I'm going to get the Council Chronicles, see if they have anything to say on the subject."
He went into the office, where the girls heard him unlocking his private cabinet. A few minutes later he returned, bearing a massive tome. Setting it down on the table with a heavy thud, he stood with his hands spread over it and muttered something under his breath. A soft yet radiant blue light emanated from the heavy volume, then gradually faded until it was gone.
"What was that?" asked Tara, to Willow's relief. She was itching to know what Giles had done, but after the talking-to he'd given her earlier that morning she was afraid to show much curiosity about anything magical. As for the vague idea she'd woken up with, of doing a spell on Buffy to make her forget she'd been in heaven, well, that notion had vanished long before the lecture ended.
Giles opened the book and began turning pages. "Just a little spell to help my research go a faster. It will highlight the word �Mohra' every place it appears in this book. Ah!"
Craning their necks, the two girls saw the same blue glow, this time illuminating a single word in the middle of a page. Giles read the passage, then shook his head. "Nothing helpful here." He continued flipping the pages over, alert for the telltale glimmer.
"Cool," Tara commented, and closed the book she'd been looking through. She added it to the ragged stack on her right and pulled another musty volume from the pile to her left. Opening it, she began scanning its contents.
Willow looked down at the book Giles had turned over to her. There was still about two-thirds of it to go through. She hesitated, then said, tentatively, "Giles?"
"Hmm?"
"Uh, that �little spell' of yours would help with this book too." When he frowned, she added, "It would speed things along a bit, and didn't you say we need to find the answer soon, for Buffy's sake?"
Giles hesitated. "I did say that," he admitted. "Buffy has been missing part of her soul for almost three months now, and we've seen how even that short time has affected her. Very well, I'll do it. But only until we find our answer."
He raised his hands. Tara interrupted. "Giles. Can you add the word �resurrection' to the spell?"
Giles sighed. "Why not? In for a penny, in for a pound." He repeated the spell on the remaining books on the table, including the ones Tara had. The resulting blue glow made them squint; fortunately, it died down after a few seconds.
Willow riffled through the pages. "Wow, look at this! There must be dozens of blue words." She turned back to the front, searching for the first highlighted word. Giles started to remind her that he'd already gone through that part of the book, but decided it couldn't hurt to double-check. Instead he sat down again and opened Volume One of the Council Chronicles.
<><><><><><><><><>
Buffy stuffed the last remaining item into the cupboard, sighing with relief. There! That was finally done. Not that there had been a ton of stuff, not with the state her finances were in, but putting groceries away had never been one of her favorite chores - even when she was only assisting her mom. Now she was the mom, and there was no one to assist, Dawn being at school. Closing the cupboard door, she glanced at the time. Twelve-thirty. Damn, way too early to pay Angel a visit.
Or was it? Her face brightened. After all, it hadn't been that late when Angel left last night. He should have gotten to the mansion not long after midnight, so he'd have had plenty of time to sleep. Of course, that was assuming Angel had gone straight to the mansion after leaving her. For all she knew, he'd spent the remainder of the night patrolling or something and not gone to bed until sunrise, in which case he'd need to sleep all day.
Damn.
Sighing, Buffy started for the broom closet. The kitchen floor really needed cleaning, and the clothes basket upstairs was overflowing. She'd do a fast mopping job and start a load of laundry, then go back to the Magic Box and get in some training. THEN she'd head over to Angel's.
<><><><><><><><>
Giles read the passage, scarcely able to believe its content. His search for the highlighted words had brought him to an account of a battle with a Mohra demon. What really caught his attention was that the Mohra was fighting a vampire, one who obviously didn't know the key to killing its opponent. The information came from a retired Watcher who'd chanced upon the scene while wandering in the hills of Northern Italy back in 1892.
The battle was fierce, he read, but short in duration as these things go. The vampire was strong, but it was no match for the Mohra, who easily inflicted several serious wounds. But then, unexpectedly, the vampire leaped in close and with one vicious stroke slashed the Mohra's throat with a hunting knife. Green blood spurted everywhere, including on the vampire, as the Mohra slumped to the ground. I was not surprised to see the blood cure the vampire of its numerous injuries; however, I was considerably taken aback when it fell to its knees, emitting cries of pain.
To my astonishment, it then began breathing in loud gasps! Not merely the drawing in of air in order to speak, as any being must, but what seemed to be actual respiration. It clutched at its chest and gasped, "My heart!" (It spoke in Italian, of course, a language in which I am fluent, but for the sake of these Chronicles I have translated all vocalized words into English.)
I ventured out of concealment and walked up to it. So stunned was the creature by events, I was able to take its hand and put my fingers against its wrist. Even though forewarned by what I had witnessed, the feel of a pulse fluttering beneath warm skin still sent a shock of disbelief through me. Surreptitiously I drew my crucifix from my coat pocket and pressed it against the hand; there was no reaction. It was true then; the Mohra's blood had effected a cure no one had dreamed possible.
"Congratulations, sir," I said to him. "You are human once again." The man (for as such I must now refer to him) turned dazed eyes to my face.
"Human?" he croaked. "How?"
"The Mohra's blood," I told him. "It has curative properties. Apparently it considers vampirism as a condition in need of healing."
"I'm human?" he repeated. "I can breathe and taste food again?"
"And go to church and walk in the daylight," I confirmed. "Sir, you have been granted the miracle of a new life. It is now up to you to see that this wondrous gift is not wasted." I glanced over at the fallen demon, on which I had been keeping an eye. It was beginning to stir, for of course cutting its throat had not killed it. "However, I suggest you leave this vicinity at once. You did not kill the demon, merely rendered it 'hors de combat' for a while. It has healed itself and will soon regain consciousness."
"I see." The man nodded, his face still blank with shock. "Thank you, sir." He turned and stumbled off. Once he was out of sight I picked up a large stone from the ground, went over to the Mohra and quickly smashed the gem in its forehead. I then returned to the village where I was staying and sent a telegram to the Council, advising of my early return and using a coded phrase which informed them I had important information to impart.
*
Upon reviewing the preceding report of Malcolm Scott, Watcher Emeritus, and after much research and consultation, it is the consensus of this Council that the blood of the Mohra healed the vampire by either destroying the demon or somehow forcing it out of the body it occupied, which then allowed the resumption of life. At the insistence of several of our group, the Council has ordered that this person, Teodoro Rossignelli by name, be kept under secret observation to determine the effects of his miraculous restoration.
Giles skimmed over the next few paragraphs, which rehashed known facts about Mohra blood, discussed the implications of this discovery as it concerned their organization, and generally reinforced his opinion that most Council members were a pompous, long-winded, arrogant lot who'd wet their pants if ever they came face-to-face with a genuine vampire. Then his attention was caught again:
ADDENDUM: Only five months after the former vampire regained his humanity, he flouted the miracle God had granted him by committing suicide. Talks with his neighbors revealed only that Signor Rossignelli kept to himself, rarely joining in community social life. Indeed, he seldom spoke to anyone unless absolutely necessary. His priest, however, was able to provide more information. Father Aberto proved to be no untutored, naive village cleric, but rather a scholar of impressive attainments as well as a man of experience and wisdom. He would not, of course, reveal anything said to him in the confessional, but he had also had many personal conversations with the deceased, who had told him everything about his restoration to humanity, including the fact that he'd been a vampire for two years.
Fr. Aberto stated that the deceased suffered from increasing bouts of melancholia, during which he lay in his bed staring at the wall, often refusing even to eat, for days on end. Even when Sr. Rossignelli was not in a depressed condition, he seemed somehow removed from life. "Apathetic" was the word Fr. Aberto used. When asked what he thought ailed the deceased, he stated it was his personal and professional opinion that even though Sr. Rossignelli's humanity was returned, his soul was not. "When I looked into his eyes, I saw only emptiness," he said. This accords with the reports from our observer in the village, a sensitive, who in the beginning had believed the hollowness she sensed in Sr. Rossignelli to be temporary, the result of the trauma he'd undergone. However, as time passed she too came to the belief that the soul was lacking.
This tragic occurrence makes it obvious that it is not God's will that vampires should be cured of their condition, for if this were His desire surely He would have allowed the soul to be returned along with the life. This being the case, the Council decrees there will be no experiments with Mohra blood to return life to newly deceased victims, as some among us have suggested doing, to prevent them from becoming vampires, or at least to return them to their humanity at the first possible moment.
Giles stared at the page without seeing it, his mind working furiously. Was it possible that Mohra blood could "cure" vampirism? Well, obviously it was, if this account was true - and he had no reason to believe it wasn't. Had the blood somehow driven the demon out of the body or had it actually killed the demon? In either case, why had that enabled life to return to the body as if it had never been interrupted? Was it only on young vampires that it worked? Would older vampires - say, those over one hundred years of age - simply shrivel into dust?
"Giles?"
"Hmm?" he said absently, still thinking hard. Angel would surely want to know about this. Not to mention Buffy - wait a minute! That dream of Buffy's, the one where Angel killed a Mohra demon and later turned up, miraculously human again . . . could it be the Mohra's blood that did it? Except that Buffy hadn't known about the blood's properties until he told her, so how could she dream about something she knew nothing about?
Like Angel's epiphany?
"Giles?"
This time he looked up. "What?"
Tara was taken aback at his impatient tone. "Uh, y-you've been reading that same page for the last ten minutes." She nodded at the book before him. "I thought m-maybe you'd found something."
Giles hesitated, then smiled apologetically at the young woman. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. No, I'm afraid I let myself get sidetracked, that's all. This is an interesting item, but it isn't anything that will help Buffy." Unless of course it gave her hope that she could be with Angel without fear of him losing his soul. He noted down the page number, then resolutely turned his attention back to his research.
<><><><><><><><><>
Buffy pulled up in front of the mansion and parked. Before getting out of the car, which Giles had reluctantly loaned her, she sat for a moment, debating. It was three-thirty. Should she or shouldn't she go inside? Aside from the fact that she might disturb his sleep, was she tempting fate by being alone with him in such a private setting? Especially after what had happened last night? A tiny shiver of warmth went through her at the memory.
No! She and Angel were both mature adults. They were in control of their hormones, not the other way around. Setting her jaw, she got out of the car, marched up to the front door, and knocked.
No answer.
She knocked again, and waited. Still no answer. She tried the door. It wasn't locked, so she walked inside. "Angel?" she called softly.
Silence.
Buffy hesitated, then went over to the bedroom, opening the door carefully and slipping inside as soon as there was enough of a gap to allow it. The room was dark, of course, but she was able to discern the figure of Angel lying in the bed
Damn. He was still sleeping. A sudden yawn took her by surprise. That training session had really tired her out. She yawned again. Without really thinking about it, she went over to the bed, pulled off her shoes, and lay down beside him.
Angel stirred. "Buffy?"
"Shh," she whispered. "Go back to sleep; everything's fine."
He mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "okay" then turned toward her and pulled her against him, all without opening his eyes. Buffy snuggled even closer, draped an arm across his waist, and drifted off into sleep with her nose mashed against his chest.
(Alone, you are dead.)
Buffy opened her eyes with the words echoing in her head, only to see Angel sitting on the side of the bed, gazing down at her. The memory vanished as he smiled. "Hey, sleepyhead."
She stretched, yawning. "Hi." She noticed that he'd turned on the bedside lamp; she also saw that he was fully dressed. "What time is it?"
"Almost five." Going over to the window he pulled the curtains apart, revealing a dark-blue sky.
"Already? Guess I was more tired than I realized." She yawned again, then patted the area beside her. "Lie down for a minute?" Angel came back to the bed and settled himself beside her; she nestled against him, her head on his shoulder.
"Where's Dawn?"
"With Giles," Buffy murmured. "I'll pick her up on my way home. How come you got dressed?"
She felt the rumble in his chest as he chuckled. "You know why."
"Yep." Craning her head to look at him, she said, "Because otherwise you would have been helpless to resist me and I could have had my way with you."
"You know it," he agreed. He lowered his head and kissed her. Buffy savored the warmth that filled her at the touch of his lips. He shifted position, turning slightly toward her, his arm tightening around her; his free hand cupped the side of her head.
She sighed as the kiss ended. "That was nice."
Angel caressed her cheek. "It was." She rested her head on his shoulder again and for a few minutes they just lay there silently holding each other, content. "Has Giles found anything?" he finally asked, stroking her hair.
"That feels good," she murmured. "Giles thinks he has a lead."
"Already?" He was surprised.
She nodded. "Mm-hm. He's checking on the possibility of using Mohra blood." Angel's hand froze in mid-stroke.
"Mohra blood?"
"Uh-huh, like the one you killed that time." She glanced up. "Did you know their blood heals thing like wounds and disease?"
Angel moistened his lips. "Does it?"
"Yes." She snuggled against him again. "Giles even found an account of it curing someone of a mental illness, so he's investigating further."
"That sounds promising. What made him think of it in the first place?" Angel forced himself to relax, but her next words brought the tension back.
"Oh, I had that dream about the Mohra again last night, the one I had in L.A., and I told him about it." One hand idly caressed his chest.
Angel cleared his throat. "It was the same dream?"
Buffy hesitated. Last time Angel had gotten upset when she told him about the part in her dream where he was human. How would he react on hearing that she'd dreamed they'd spent a whole day and night making love? It would only remind him yet again of the limitations forced on their relationship. He might even think it proved that she was missing the sex - which of course she was, but if being able to see Angel the way they'd been doing since her return meant never having sex again, so be it. Celibacy was a small price to pay for the joy of being with him again.
"Buffy?" Angel looked down at her.
"Yes, it was the same one," she hastily replied.
Angel was still gazing at her. "But?" When she didn't answer he said, "Come on, I can tell there's something else. What is it?"
Buffy heaved a sigh. "It'll only upset you, Angel."
"Maybe it will," he replied, "but knowing there's something you're afraid to tell me is upsetting me more."
"Not afraid," she objected, moving back so she could see his face too. "I mean, it's not like there was a prophecy or an omen of doom or anything important in it. It's just that the dream didn't end in the same place this time. There was more to it and I was pretty sure you'd get upset about the new part, that's all."
Angel braced himself. "Well, I'm forewarned now, so you can go ahead and tell me about it."
She sighed again. "All right. You remember the first time the dream ended with you being human and us kissing on the beach?"
"I remember," he said softly, recalling the wind ruffling his hair and the warmth of the sun on his back as they kissed. He could almost smell the brine, hear the crashing of the waves.
"Well, last night in the dream, after that we went back to your old apartment and we . . . made love." Anxiously Buffy watched his face.
Since he'd halfway been expecting this, Angel was able to control his reaction. He nodded. "Of course."
" �Of course'?" She eyed him keenly. "You mean it doesn't bother you?"
He smiled faintly. "It seems the natural conclusion to my turning human. I mean, isn't that what we would do? I know it's what I would want, at least - to find you and make love to you all night long." If he closed his eyes he could still feel the touch of her tongue, licking the dripped ice cream off his chest.
Buffy's smile was lopsided. "Yeah, me too." Their eyes met for a wistful moment; then, determinedly, she brightened. "And since you're going to find a way out of that stupid loophole in your curse, next time I have that dream I'm taking notes!"
He managed to join in with her chuckle, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his heart that told him it was only a matter of time before she remembered everything. No. It was impossible; the day had been turned back. She wasn't remembering - at least, she didn't know she was remembering. She thought it was simply a wonderful, wishful dream created by their own longings - and that was the way it would remain.
And yet - would it be so terrible if she did know the truth? Well, yes, right now it definitely would be bad if only because of the state she was in. But maybe later . . . after Giles had found the way to get all her soul back . . . maybe then she'd be strong enough to handle the truth. If he could summon up the courage to tell her.
"Alone, you are dead." she murmured.
Angel started, he couldn't help himself; but he quickly turned the movement into a stretch. "I'm sorry, what was that you said? I didn't quite catch it."
The faint, puzzled line between Buffy's eyebrows smoothed out. She answered, "It was something in the dream last night; I just remembered it. There was a voice saying, �Together you are strong; alone, you are dead.' "
"Whose voice was it?" asked Angel.
"Nobody's that I recognized," Buffy shrugged, adding, "It didn't seem to have any connection with the dream, other than emphasizing that we should be together - " She gave him a little squeeze, which he returned, " - so maybe it's just something I read in a book or heard in a movie or . . . something like that."
Angel made a noncommital sound, then asked her, "I hate to mention this, but don't you need to get going? Dawn's waiting for you."
"Yeah, unfortunately," she sighed. Damn, she hated to leave. The only time she felt even halfway normal was when she was with Angel. "Are you coming with me?" she asked hopefully as she sat up and moved to the side of the bed to look for her shoes.
"I'll catch up with you later," he told her. "I need to check in with Wesley, see what's happening at home. At the office," he instantly amended.
Buffy hadn't missed his slip of the tongue, but she smiled at him. "Of course." Of course he considered L.A. to be his home; he'd been living there for three years. "I'll see you later, then."
<><><><><><><><>
Angel paused outside the door of the Magic Box, marshalling his thoughts, and his conversation with Wesley had given him plenty to think about. The sky was almost completely dark now, with only a faint glimmer of light on the horizon. Opening the door, he went inside.
At the tinkle of the bell, Giles looked up. "Angel, I'm glad you're here. I'd like to talk with you if you have some time." He came out from behind the counter. There was only one customer in the shop; a young man bending over a display case of crystals.
"That's why I'm here," Angel replied. "I wanted to have a talk with you too." He came further into the store, nodding a hello to Anya, who was cleaning fingerprints off the counter top.
"Oh?" Giles looked sharply at him. "Is everything all right?"
"Everything's fine," Angel assured him, aware of listening ears.
"Good. Let's go in my office. Anya can handle things out here, can't you?" He smiled at the ex-demon.
"Of course I can," she sniffed, rubbing vigorously. "I handled them while you were home in England, didn't I?" She scowled, presumably at a stubborn smudge.
"You did indeed," he replied, not having missed her emphasis on the word �home.' "And you did a wonderful job too."
"I did?" A pleased smile swept over Anya's face before she could stop it. Hastily she frowned. "I mean, of course I did."
"Exactly." Escaping, Giles followed Angel into his office and closed the door behind them.
"Anya seems a little . . . touchy today," Angel observed, settling in the extra chair. He looked around the tiny room. Books, papers, and more books seemed to be the decorating motif. Then he caught sight of a photograph on the desk. It showed Buffy, Willow, Xander, Oz, and Cordelia in front of the high school.
A pang went through him. They all looked so young, so . . . happy. Buffy especially. Only three years had passed since that photo was taken, but how much had happened in that short time. His leaving . . . Joyce's death . . . finding out her sister was the Key to other dimensions . . . fighting a hellgod . . . dying to save Dawn and the world (again), and then being returned to life, losing part of her soul in the process. . . .
"That's par for the course with Anya, I'm afraid," sighed Giles. "She's worried that I want to take over the shop again."
It took Angel a moment to turn his thoughts back. "Aren't you?"
Giles shook his head. "My arrangement with her was that I would be a silent partner. Now that I'm back I just won't be silent, that's all; the partnership is still in effect."
"Oh." hadn't realized that Giles' return to England after Buffy's death was meant to be permanent. He'd been such an important part of Buffy's life for so long, it was hard to imagine Sunnydale without him. It just felt . . . wrong.
Giles changed the subject. "I talked to Wesley this afternoon."
"I know; he told me." Which was why he'd come to the shop first instead of going straight to Buffy's house.
"Good." Giles sat down. "Then you know that I asked his opinion about using Mohra blood to help Buffy. He's going to check some sources of his own, but I faxed him the information we found today and he agrees that it looks quite promising."
"I agree, but I'm glad you're not rushing into anything," said Angel. "There's already been too much charging ahead without checking all the facts."
"Much too much," Giles agreed grimly. "I'm still researching - or rather, Tara and Willow are - whether anything like this has happened before, and if so, how it was rectified. If it was, of course." He paused. "Did Wesley tell you the other thing we discussed?"
"Yes; that's really why I stopped by. I'd like to see that item in the chronicles." Angel smiled apologetically. "It isn't that I don't trust you; I just need to read it for myself."
"Of course. I was expecting you would." Giles pushed a large tome toward him. "At the bookmark."
Angel read the account of the Mohra/vampire battle, with particular attention to the Council's conclusions about the non-return of the soul. When he finished he was silent for a moment. "Remarkable," he finally said.
"Yes, I thought you might be interested." Smiling, Giles closed the book. "Have you ever heard of anything like this happening?"
"Only once," he replied slowly.
"A different incident?" Giles leaned forward eagerly, eyes alert. "When and where did it happen?"
Angel took a deep breath. "Two years ago. In Los Angeles."
END OF PART 17
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