Chapter XVI

“When did you first notice him?” Angel asked, looking at her worriedly.  They were standing inside the door, hanging up their jackets.

“I don’t really remember,” Buffy answered, exasperated.  She walked over to the fireplace with her back to him.  He’d been drilling her since they left the bar and had already asked that same question twice.  “It’s not like I check out the place when I go there,” she snapped.  A lot had gone on, first Riley, then Spike showing up.  She thought the whole evening was making Angel overreact.

Coming up behind her, he slid his arms around her waist, holding her close.  “I’m sorry, love,” he told her, as if reading her mind.  “I’m just trying to protect you,” he said tensely, unable to shake off his apprehension, “I know Spike.  I don't trust him."

Buffy, still vexed, broke away and turned to look at him.  “I can take care of myself,” she reminded him. “But what makes you think this is about me?”

“I saw the way he looked at you,” he almost shouted, remembering Spike's eyes riveted on her.  Running his fingers through his hair, he walked distractedly from the bookcases to where she stood near the fireplace and back again.  "I haven't seen him for a few years, but I doubt he's changed.  If anything he's worse."

"I wasn't around a few years ago, so it isn't about me.  He still holds what happened to Dru against you.  Cordelia told me that.  But it was so long ago," she protested.

"And that makes a difference?  It still affects me, doesn't it?" he asked in a harsh voice.

"Angel – " she said, starting towards him, but he turned away, distancing himself from her.

"You think just because a lot of time has passed it changes anything?" he said in a strained voice.  "What's different?  I'm older, Spike's older, but his sister never will be."

Buffy walked up behind him and laid a hand on his arm to turn him towards her.  He wouldn't move, wouldn't look at her, but stood like a statue, his face towards the wall.

"You think purging my sins by bringing them into the light makes them go away, Buffy?" he asked softly, his voice filled with pain.  Before she could even think of how to answer he said, "It doesn't.  Nothing ever will.  I let Dru die and Spike knows it as well as I do."

"Then you're both wrong even if neither of you can see it," she said to his back.  "I know just telling me what happened doesn't erase it, but it's a start towards dealing with it.  And after all you told me, horrible as it was, it didn't make me change my mind about you one bit."  Still he didn't move or respond.  She asked bluntly, "You think I'm the one who doesn't understand.  Have you ever thought just once that maybe it's you who doesn't?"

Even that seemed to have no effect, Buffy could feel the walls going up around him and felt helpless.  Pulling gently on his arm, she begged softly, "Please, Angel, don't keep me out."

He turned on her suddenly, looming over her, staring at her upturned face, then just as suddenly walked away.  “I knew this was going to happen,” he muttered half to himself as if he hadn't heard her plea.

“What?” she asked, trying to catch his arm again when he paced back towards her, “What do you think is happening?”

“That having you in my life … now it’s putting you in danger,” he said, looking down at her hand hooked over his arm.

“Just because Spike comes up and talks to you for a couple minutes, I’m in danger?” she asked him, trying to make him see he was blowing it out of proportion.

 “Yes,” he bit out, grasping both her arms, looking down at her, “that’s exactly it.”   Angel was losing what little patience he possessed.  He couldn’t make her understand how serious this was.  “I’ve told you before it wouldn’t work with us,” he said in frustration.  “This isn’t some fairytale.  Not every story has a happily ever after.”

She refused to get upset with the remark, “I’m not a child, Angel – I know that.  But we can’t live our lives in fear of what might or might not happen,” she tried to reason with him.

“And I can’t ignore it either.  Do you think I want anything to happen to you?” his fingers were digging into her arms as he shook her, “Do you think I could stand it?  That because of me you could be hurt or worse?”

“Of course not,” she told him, then asked candidly, “but you think staying away from me is the answer?”

Buffy felt the sigh shudder through him as he pulled her tightly against him, leaving him trembling.  He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in deeply.

“I can’t stay away from you any longer.  You’re everything to me,” was his muffled reply.

She felt relief wash through her, even knowing how troubled he was.  She had been frightened he might be thinking of leaving her again and she knew she couldn’t bear it.

Angel felt the tears on his shirt and drew back to look at her.  “All I ever seem to do,” he said sadly, “is make you cry.”

“No, now they're happy tears, not to be confused with the not-so-happy ones,” she feebly joked, raising her face to his.  “I was afraid you were talking about leaving me,” she confessed.  She watched him shake his head as he pulled her even closer.  “Besides,” she snuffled giving him a watery smile, “hearing you say I’m everything to you kinda hit a soft spot.  I’m not used to being anyone’s everything.”

“You only have to worry about being mine,” he softly reassured her.  He held her for long moments, his large hands gently running up and down her back, her head nestled beneath his chin.  He finally released her long enough to lead her to his chair before the fireplace and pull her into it with him.

"Buffy," he said gently as he wrapped his arms around her, "I don't want to argue with you.  But Spike is a very real danger.  He was very, very close to Dru.  When she was alive they were inseparable.  So when she died ..."  He sighed.  After a few moments he went on, "He's trouble and he scares me."

"So why now?  I mean, has he done something before?" she asked.

"No, love, just insults and threats," Angel admitted.  "But tonight ... tonight he was different.  Just the way he looked at you," he repeated, "he scares me."

*****

They hadn’t gotten to sleep until long after they arrived home.  It had taken both of them, especially Angel, a long time to unwind and relax.  Even making love didn't dispel the sense of uneasiness Buffy knew was plaguing him.  It only made him cling to her more closely as if the tighter he held her the safer he could keep her from any harm that might befall her.

For all of his advance planning, Angel hadn’t had anything specific in mind for the weekend ... but Buffy did.  Late Saturday morning she woke to find two arms fastened firmly around her, her back pressed tightly and tenderly to the wall of warm flesh behind her.  Angel’s breath puffed softly into her hair where he was nuzzled.  Slowly and carefully disentangling the limbs that held her, she crept silently out of bed.  She looked down and couldn’t help but smile at the angelic face reposed in slumber.  Softly, she combed her fingers through the errant spikes of dark, silky hair, then traced his broad forehead.  Her fingers drifted down to the high cheekbones, then touched the tip of the long straight nose.  His straight dark brows were relaxed at the moment over eyes of deep chocolate brown that entranced her when open.  He was an angel, she thought, a badly bruised one, which made her love him all the more.  She couldn’t stop herself from bending down and leaving a tender kiss on his brow.

Rummaging in the drawer Angel had set aside for her, she donned her oldest clothes, a pair of faded denim short shorts and a tiny t-shirt, which revealed a slice of skin above the shorts.  She found her way to the kitchen and made coffee.  After grabbing a cupful, once it was done brewing, she armed herself with dust clothes, feathers and furniture polish.

She was surprised at how undusty the bookshelves were, as if they’d been recently cleaned.  She mused as she went about using the polish and cloth on the rest of the room that she could find much better things to occupy his time than books … cleaning or reading them.  She had just finished when she felt a very familiar pair of arms attack from behind.

“You weren’t there when I woke up,” Angel growled into the nape of her neck.  Then he stopped abruptly and tensed.

She knew his words had brought back the memory of the first night they made love and the morning after … how he'd left her there alone.  Buffy wasn’t the vengeful type and she thought Angel had suffered quite enough pain in his life.  She didn’t want to add any to it.  She turned within his grasp and whispered, “Sorry – am I forgiven?”

“Am I?” he whispered, his head still bowed.

In answer she raised his face to hers, her mouth closed over his, her tongue plunging past the lips that parted for it.  It was a long, deep kiss – one of comfort and assurance as much as love.   “Does that answer your question?” she asked when she finally pulled back.

He gave a soft, shy smile to the hazel eyes that held his and smiled back at her.  Dropping another kiss on the forehead of the beautiful face tilted towards his, he sighed.  He didn’t know how she had found him, but he’d never let her go.

When he finally raised his head and tore his eyes away from the delectable form in his arms, he glanced around the room, inhaling the scent of cleaning fluid.

“Buffy, I didn’t mean for you to spend the weekend with me as a maid,” he chided gently.

“Sorry,” she grinned, “you get the whole deal.  Maid, co-worker, love slave, all part of the total package.”

“Love slave?” he cocked an eyebrow.

“Why did I think that’s the only part you would hear?” she returned, laughing softly.  “But, cleaning first, slaving later.”

“If you’re the slave that would make me the master, right?” he asked, warming to her brightening mood.

“If you think that’s gonna get you out of doing what needs to be done around here, think again, big guy,” she teased, “You get to be master after the work is finished.  But, you are allowed to eat first.”

He chuckled as he let her lead him to the kitchen.  Her long, golden hair fell down her back in a cascade of curls.  He watched the sliver of skin widen between the shirt and shorts as she reached in the cupboard for a mug.  Keeping his mind on housework instead of Buffy was asking a lot.  Admiring the round, firm bottom wiggling in front of him, above slim, tanned legs, he couldn’t help but ask, “Tell me,” he wanted to know, “is that your maid or love slave outfit?”

“Guess it all depends on how you look at it,” she said, turning to catch his appreciative stare.  She shot one back, practically drooling over the way his own cutoff denims encased his lower torso and how the sleeveless t-shirt covering his chest defined every muscle bulging beneath it.  There had to be a law against looking that good in old clothes … any clothes.

It was hard to keep their eyes or minds on their tasks.  Somehow they did manage to get through all the rooms and leave an appearance of clean behind them.  But not without frequent pauses or all out stops, caught up much more in each other than the dust and dirt they were supposed to be fighting.  Angel didn’t think he’d ever look at housekeeping in the same light again.

Buffy found herself wondering more than once as she saw the light refracted off the diamond in her Claddagh ring, what it would be like being married, spending the rest of their lives like this.  Angel saw the coveted looks she gave to her left hand and his heart both ached and sang at the thought of her being his wife.

The bedroom was the last to be cleaned and where Angel lost the final battle.  Buffy was tucking the midnight blue satin sheets under the pillows and smoothing out the matching counterpane.  It was suddenly too much – he loved to see her hair fanned out against the dark, silky material.  Creeping up behind her, he spun her quickly around and slid onto the bed bringing her with him.  He arranged her hair gently on the pillow and looked down into brilliant green emeralds that sparkled with love and desire.

Buffy shivered at the deep sable gaze that looked into her soul.  There wasn’t a part of her that didn’t feel him inside her.  He would always be a part of her.  She wondered, not for the first time, if he hadn’t always been there deep down.  She reached up, opening her small arms and felt the same shiver run through him as he let her draw him down over her.  How could it be, she wondered, that she could love him so much and still keep loving him more?

“Now …” he murmured, “exactly what does a love slave do?”

“Guess that would depend on her master,” was her tempting reply.

"Would it mean making my wishes come true?" he asked softly.  When she nodded, he shook his head and answered her confused expression, "You already have."  He grinned at the brilliant smile she gave him before hungrily fastening his lips over hers.  He kissed her breathless before finally pulling back to look at her again.  "But I can think of a few more," he told her with that crooked half smile that made her heart beat faster.

As he started removing her shirt, she caught his hand and whispered in a sensuous voice, "Let me ... master."

He chuckled and flopped down beside her saying, "I wish you would take off your clothes, then mine."

"As you wish," she said impishly.  Buffy loved his playful light-heartedness and deep down thrilled at the thought that she was the one who elicited that response in him.  She made a show out of pulling the little t-shirt up slowly, raising her arms to lift it over her head.  Watching the heat increase in her lover's eyes, she peeled the shorts down inch by painfully slow inch as the bulge beneath his own shorts grew.  As she finally skimmed the silk panties down her legs, flicking them off her foot, she felt a large hand grasp her around the waist, pulling her down on the bed.

Angel rolled over on top of her once more, grinning happily, as she giggled, "You're making it hard to follow your commands."

"No," he replied as he slipped his hips between her thighs and pressed his arousal firmly against her curls, "You're making it hard."

She laughed out loud then, answering him with a roll of her own hips into his, making him groan.  Reaching up she tugged at his shirt and he helped her pull it over his head.  Then she wiggled her hand down between them.  Instead of trying to unbutton his shorts, she cupped her hand around his telltale need and started stroking him.

"Buffy ..." he managed to groan as he hardened and swelled even more, straining against the rough denim fabric.

Taking pity on him she forced him back as she undid the button and unzipped his shorts.  She pulled them down as he lifted his hips to speed her along.  His sex springing up, finally freed of its restraint, bobbed invitingly towards her.  But as she reached out to grasp it, he suddenly slid her underneath him, easily capturing both of her hands in one of his, holding them over her head.  Her puckish smile melted away when she lifted her eyes to his face.  She felt a rush of wetness as his gaze swept over her like a living flame of lust, burning through her, straight to her core.

"I can't wait," he whispered fervently, his control dissolving in an instant, feeling an overwhelming need to lose himself in her.  "I need to be inside you ... now."  Taking only a moment to sift his fingers through the downy hair and feel how ready she was for him, he waited no longer to slide his aching member into her lush, searing hot channel.

She cooed as he filled her, giving herself over to the lovely feeling of him thrusting deeper and deeper.  Buffy lifted her legs around his waist, drawing him even closer, her hips moving in time with his as he kept pumping into her faster and harder.

"I love you," he whispered hoarsely without breaking their rhythm.  He couldn't slow down, couldn't have stopped if his life depended on it.  Angel was surrounded by her sleek, silken walls, lost in the grey-green mist of her loving gaze.  He heard her soft cries of pleasure, felt her small hands as they tightened in his.  Releasing her hands, he slid his under her back, drawing her closer.  He felt her arms go around him, fingernails digging into his shoulders and back as she writhed against him.

"Angel," she gasped, "please."

His large hands slid down as he repositioned her hips, driving his length against her most intimate flesh until he felt her walls ripple and contract around him.  He bent his head, searching for her mouth, needing to feel her lips on his.  She moaned into his mouth as he kissed her deeply.  His movements becoming more and more frantic, he plunged into her very depths, touching her womb, until he felt his own release as it washed through him and spilled into her.

Lying over her, his arms trembled as he tried to move off, knowing he was too heavy, but she would have none of it.  She held him there, her arms holding him tight against her.  After long moments just holding each other, she allowed him to shift his weight to his arms as he raised himself up on his elbows and looked down at her.  "Sorry," he said in a soft, lilting tone, "I just couldn't help myself, watching my slave unwrapping herself for me."

Buffy gave him a luxurious smile and whispered silkily, "Your wish was my command."

Does this mean you're no longer under my command?" he asked with a lazy grin, catching tendrils of spun gold, wrapping them around his fingers, gently tugging them.

"I'd call this pretty much under, Angel," she chuckled, wiggling beneath him.

"Ah," he said, "then I command you to stay right where you are.  There are a few other things I'd like to wish for, starting with this," and leaned down to give her another breath-stealing kiss.

A very long while later they remade the bed and took a shower together.  Buffy had already made wearing one of Angel’s shirts a habit, one with which he found no fault.  There was something so adorable about her swimming in its depths that it tugged at his heart.

They had a late supper and when they finished, they washed and dried the dishes together and put them away.  Angel reached for the box of matches on the mantle and lit the kindling under the logs he had already laid out.  Falling back against the leather cushions of the chair, he stretched out in it.  Buffy took the hand he held out, letting him draw her down next to him.  He reflected on how lonely he had really been all those evenings alone in his chair – and how lonely he would always be without her beside him in it.

“I love it here,” she told his chest as her fingers crept under the shirt covering it.  Almost shyly she added, “I feel like I belong here.”  She felt his warm breath in her hair as he exhaled, his muscles relaxing beneath her touch.

He sighed deeply, she never ceased to amaze him.  He felt exactly the same way but it made his heart swell to hear her say she did too.  “Embedded deep within she lies, in true love’s sweet forever ties,” he quoted softly.  She craned her neck up to peek at him and he smiled softly back down on her.  “You do belong here,” he assured her, stroking her back, letting her small hands work their magic on him as she slid them further under the fabric.

She was content to trace lazy lingering lines of love over his chest and abs.  Her touch wasn’t meant to arouse as much as comfort.  After lying there for a long time watching the flames bend and dance Angel gently shifted her so he could look into her face.

 “I never thought I’d have anyone in my life,” he said, reaching up his hand, smoothing the hair back from the side of her face.  “I never looked, never even thought about it.”  His fingers kept sliding through her hair; she could feel his love right down to the tips of them.  “I never expected you … you found me somehow,” he said wonderingly.

Buffy remained silent, keeping her eyes on his face, her hand still soothing a path over his skin.  Angel wasn’t one to start a conversation and she knew it was difficult for him, so she waited, giving him time.

“I still don’t think I’m the one you deserve,” he said placing his thumb over her lips before she could protest.  “But I want to be.  I-I don’t know how, but I want to be.  There are things I’ve never told anyone else, but you need to know.  I want you to know.”

“Angel, I know …” she started to tell him.

He stopped her by kissing her softly, then held her eyes with his and told her, “Buffy, I’ve never let anyone into my life, I’ve never known how.  You’re the only one I want in it now.  I promised you I’d try and I don’t want to screw it up.  So, I’m trying …” he trailed off.

“’Kay,” she said simply, leaning back, but still watching his face.

He settled his arms around her, trying to think of how to tell her.  “What I told Riley last night was true.  When he left his post I went looking for him, several times.  I kept checking the radio, but only got static.  He was a new recruit, it was his first training exercise.  I was responsible for him.”  His eyes became unfocused as he recalled what happened that night.  “I knew it was going to storm.  You can smell it before it comes.  You can feel it,” he shivered.

She hugged herself against him to lend him her warmth and he unconsciously tightened his hold on her.

“The wind started to pick up, bending the tree branches, and I could hear the thunder rumbling before I saw the lightening.  I knew it was coming.  Then the rain began falling … hard.  It was like the sky split open and it all poured down at once,” he said, remembering.  “The flash blinded me.  Thunder cracked and shook the ground.  It must have hit very near to where I was standing.  The next strike hit a tree right beside me ... just like the first time.  I felt the heat, smelled the wood burning and I was there all over again.”

Buffy could feel the trembling he didn’t seem to be aware of, his eyes turning dark with memories.

“The next thing I remember was lying on the ground looking up through the trees and she was there beside me.  I could hear her whispering, but her lips didn’t move.  I tried to keep her warm, to keep the rain off her.  Her hand was cold … so cold and her eyes they were just staring …”

“Angel,” Buffy whispered to him softly.

He turned his head slightly at the sound of her voice and she could see him coming back to the present, his mind still caught in the past.  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back.  “After that I couldn’t stop dreaming about it, especially when it stormed,” he said bitterly.  “I took all the drugs they gave me, but she never would leave me alone.  All the nightmares I had as a child that I thought were gone.  They weren’t.”

She had no words, so she said nothing.  She simply held him, her hand still trailing over his chest, her other slipping up to the nape of his neck, fingers curling in his short, dark hair.

He looked down at her, a faint smile touched his lips, his hand finding her cheek once more.  “From the first day I met you, I dreamt about you,” he confided softly, his thumb running over the fine bones.

Buffy was so surprised she could only keep her eyes fixed on his as he went on.

“You made the nightmares go away.  I-I didn’t know if I loved you.  I didn’t know what love was or maybe I would have realized that’s what I felt for you.”

She laid her head against his shoulder nuzzling her face against his throat.

He finally drew her back a little with a desperately wretched look.  “The first night we made love,” talking so low she could barely hear him, “I knew then that I loved you.”  His face darkened, “Then the storm came … and the lightening.  It brought it all back.  I was there on the cold ground … the tree branches creaking above.  But it wasn’t Dru beside me … it was you I saw lying there.  Your eyes were open …  You were so still and cold.  It was so real.  I was so afraid.  Your hand was in mine, but it felt cold and hard …  I was terrified I’d killed you.  Then I saw your hand move … and I woke up.  You were curled up in my arms and you felt so close, so warm.  You were alive.  You weren’t dead.  You were all right.”

She twisted up and wrapped both arms around his neck and drew him closer.

“I-I wanted to stay there with you so badly that night.  I wanted you to hold me.  You’re the only one who ever made the cold go away.  I didn’t want to leave you.  But I couldn’t … I didn’t want to hurt you.  I never meant to hurt you,” Angel told her.

Buffy could hear the fear still vibrating in his voice.  She kept on holding him, rocking him gently.  She had never felt so alone as the morning she had found him gone.  But hearing him, holding him, she felt his terror, his fear.

“Angel,” she said softly after his shoulders stilled from the emotions shuddering through him.  “I’m so sorry, I wish you could have told me, but I understand.  I know you’d never hurt me if you could help it.”  In his ear, she whispered,  “I love you.”

“I love you,” he whispered back, keeping his face pressed into her shoulder, holding her so tightly she couldn’t move.  They felt so right together, so safe in each other’s arms.

*****

Once more Buffy woke before Angel the next morning, slipping free of the muscular arm that held her gently against a warm, hard chest.  She pulled on another shirt she had stolen from her sleeping lover and padded to the kitchen to make coffee.  Steaming cup in hand, she wandered through the living room to the further side, surrounded by bookcases.  Her eyes roved over the rows and rows of Angel’s collection.

On the shelves in one corner, Buffy noticed the books were different from the rest.  Most of the volumes were slim, almost all were obviously worn from long and frequent use.  She knew these were his books of poetry.  She settled on the floor to look more closely at the titles.  He'd haltingly told her how much he loved poetry, as if she'd think it was strange.  She confessed she didn't know much about it, but wanted to learn.  He'd given her a shy nod at her unspoken acceptance of his avocation.  At her soft pleading, he had promised to read to her and she thought she would surprise him by choosing a book to share later.

What looked like a very large book near the bottom of the shelves caught her eye and curiosity teased her to pull it out.  It was a portfolio, the contents almost bursting out of it.  She set her cup of coffee to the side, then untied the strings and the large covers fell open, revealing page after page of artwork.  She gasped, her eyes wide with amazement at the face she saw in each and every image.  She kept picking up one after another, spreading them before her, her heart swelling and aching all at once.  Is this how he saw her?  This beautiful and perfect?  She saw his love for her drawn in every line, every shading, every tiny detail he had so carefully recorded.  The sheer number of pages took her breath away.

Buffy felt Angel behind her, looking down at her.  Her gaze moved from the drawings to his face as he kneeled down beside her.  She saw a mixture of trepidation and love in his eyes.  Without a word, she let the papers flutter to the floor as she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder.  “They’re beautiful, Angel.  But there are so many … When …?” she left the question hanging, finally lifting her face to his.

Angel sighed deeply then drew her so close that she could hear his heartbeat, “All those nights I couldn’t sleep – when I was thinking of you.”  Pulling back slightly giving her a crooked half smile, “Every night without you.”  Lightly tracing her cheek with a single finger, as if memorizing it for one of his drawings, he whispered softly, “They were all I had.”  His voice betraying a disconcerting undertone, “But they’re not even close to the real thing.”

“I wish I looked the way you see me,” she told him.

“You do,” he assured her and left no doubt of his belief in a kiss fashioned to convince her.  “But there’s so much more to you.  I want to see it all,” he said, putting his forehead against hers, “inside and out.  Every single thing there is to know.”

“Every single thing?  That could take a while, Angel,” she grinned up at him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he smiled back.

He helped her gather all the sheets together in the holder, then slide it back in its place.  They finally settled before the fire, entwined in each other’s arms, sipping coffee and talking softly.

She told him her middle name was Anne, that her birthday was in January.  Once upon a time –when she was small, she had wanted to be a famous ice skater.  He shyly told her about how he taught himself to draw, about his favorite poetry.  That his birthday was in September – in his favorite season – autumn.  He loved the slant of the sunlight and the vivid colors, the smell of leaves burning.  They found many things they both loved and had in common, listening to Billie Holiday, the color blue, steak with red wine, of being fascinated by old myths and legends.

Buffy realized she had never been with anyone else long enough for them to know those things about her … and the thought pleased her.  She loved that it was something she had only shared with Angel.  She knew Angel had never shared much of anything with anyone, that it was a new experience for both of them.

The phone rang breaking the soft, mellow mood they’d woven around one another.  She felt Angel become instantly alert at the voice greeting him.

“McDonald,” he acknowledged.

Buffy couldn’t hear the conversation, but could see a frown growing, creasing Angel’s forehead as he listened.

“I can be there in a half an hour,” he said into the phone.  When he hung up he looked down at Buffy’s questioning gaze.  “McDonald found someone who has some information on Spike, he’s meeting him in a little while,” he told her.

“Where do we have to meet him?” she asked, getting up from the chair to come stand beside him.

“We aren’t meeting him,” Angel said, giving her a long look, “I am.”  Before she could get a word out Angel stopped her by gently placing his hands on her shoulders.  “Please, Buffy,” he entreated her softly, “don’t argue with me.  I’ll only worry if you come.  I don’t know who this guy is and I don’t want him to see you.”

She wasn’t happy about it, but she was familiar with his look of stubborn determination.  “Then you can take me back to my apartment,” she told him.

His face fell at her words, “You aren't going to stay with me?” he asked sadly.

“Not if you aren’t going to be here,” she smiled up at him.  Seeing his disappointment she explained, “I need some more clothes anyway and I would like to get some money’s worth out of my rent.”

“I’d rather you stayed here,” he said, although he didn’t look quite as forlorn as he had the moment before.  “We could stop by later to get your clothes,” he suggested.

“Angel,” she said, laying a hand on his chest, “I just want to go there while you’re gone.  You can drop me off, then pick me up when you’re done.  I wasn’t planning on staying.  What difference does it make if I’m here or there?” she asked sensibly.

He still didn’t like the idea, but he had no rebuttal to her logic.  “I won’t be gone long,” he promised her.  “As soon as McDonald and I are done, I’ll be right there to get you.”

“You worry too much,” she chuckled softly. “You know that?”

Angel tried not to show how concerned he was.  He knew she was probably right, but he had a bad feeling in his gut that wouldn’t go away.  He knew it didn’t matter which place she stayed while he was gone, he just didn’t like her being anywhere without him.  Realistically he was aware he couldn’t be with her every moment, but the thought did nothing to calm him.

On the short drive to Buffy’s they heard on the radio that yet another storm was predicted for that evening.  According to the weatherman, it would be worse than all the storms that had preceded it.  The voice on the radio warned that people should stay off the streets if at all possible.  The announcement only made Angel feel even more anxious about not staying with Buffy, intensifying his nagging feeling of unease.  She could see the concern etch even deeper lines around the frown he wore.  The storms didn’t hold the same sway over Angel as they used to, but that didn’t mean they still didn’t have an effect on him.

“I want to be home with you when the storm breaks,” he said, not realizing it was to soothe himself more than her, “hearing the rain on the outside while we’re warm and dry on the inside.”

Once they were inside her apartment, he instructed her to keep the door locked, not to let anyone in.  He told her he would call her on the phone when he was done, so she would know it was him when it came time to pick her up.  Buffy nodded without replying.  She thought he was overreacting … again, but knew there was no point in telling him that.

*****

Angel hadn’t been wrong worrying about Spike.  His instincts had been right on target.  In spite of how upset Angel had been and his warnings to her, it was Buffy who didn’t realize how dangerous Spike could be.

Spike had been camped out just barely in view of Angel’s house for hours, make that days.  He had only allowed himself to leave his self-appointed post when he had no choice, always looking at the driveway upon his return to make sure Angelus' black convertible was there.  It was now Sunday afternoon.  Spike desperately held onto the thought that the girl had to go home, at least for work clothes or something she needed sometime.  She’d been shacked up in that house with Angelus ever since Friday night.  Emphasis on ‘shacked up’, he thought bitterly.

Buffy had made it clear she had no interest in Riley, which was no surprise to Spike.  The big cowboy had more brawn than brains, no appreciation for the finer things in a woman.  Spike had wondered though if there wasn’t something between her and the dark-haired senior agent, McDonald.  They had spent more than one Friday night seemingly cozied up together, leaning into each other in deep conversation.  He hadn’t cared much about either man.  Spike knew it was only a matter of time before he introduced himself to Buffy, in one way or another.  But when he had walked into the bar to see her sitting in Angelus’ lap, being held by him so publicly and possessively, Spike felt like someone had punched him, knocking the air right out of him.

He had been looking for a way to get even with Angelus, but he had never imagined the little blonde in the picture at all.  As far as Spike knew Angelus had turned into a wuss even where women were concerned, if the small amount of information he had been able to scavenge could be believed.  But there Liam Angelus sat big as life, with one of the most adorable creatures Spike could ever remember seeing, clinging to him.  The sight revolted him.  The price Spike wanted to exact from Angelus went up through the ceiling just seeing her touching him.  The fuck didn’t deserve to be alive, didn’t deserve to have a life at all, especially one that included the beautiful little number Spike himself had been having wet dreams about for weeks.  He realized now that his Friday night visits these intervening months had become more about watching Buffy than finding a weakness in Angelus.  Only his increasing need to cause Liam Angelus the same kind of pain he felt had kept him from seeking her out ... until now.

Spike's estimation of the tempting blonde went down several points as he wondered how any woman could want to be with that poor excuse of a man.  He gave her the benefit of a doubt, maybe Angelus’ looks had gotten in the way of her judgement.  Angelus being all dark and broody might be attractive to some women.  But Spike would make sure Buffy knew what lay behind Angelus’ mask to show what a miserable piece of humanity he really was.

His skin crawled at the thought of taking Buffy after she’d been with Angelus.  He didn’t care for the other man's scraps.  But it didn’t stop him from wanting her.  He’d been salivating at the sight of her far too long.  And what better way to get to Angelus than for him to see her having sex with someone else, especially Spike himself?  What a wonderful way to torture the man he hated.  Yes, that idea appealed to him through and through.  He’d never known Angelus to have much to do with any woman for more than a one night stand.  He could tell in a glance she was much more than that to him.  If Liam Angelus loved Buffy one-tenth as much as Spike had cared for his sister Dru, Spike was determined Angelus would suffer, would be as devastated, as he had been when she died.  He had let her death go unavenged far too long.

One of his brief trips away from his birds-eye view of Angelus’ house had been to his own place to pick up some things he thought he might need.  He had already planned where he would go and what he would do, all he had needed were a few items to help him accomplish all he had in mind.

He finally saw the two of them leave the house, snickering as he watched Angelus help her into his car.  Letting them pull out into the street and nearly disappear in traffic, he started his car to follow them.  He stayed back as far as he dared without losing sight of the convertible.  He had expected them to go to Buffy’s place, but was surprised to see Angelus come back out a few moments later and drive off.  Spike checked the contents of the seat next to him quickly.  Time would be on his side for only so long, he wasn't going to waste it.

*****

As soon as Angelus was out of sight, Spike moved his car up to the walk.  Hoping the towel in his pocket wasn’t noticeable, he made sure he kept a normal pace and manner as he approached the entry door to Buffy’s apartment building.  He kept his eyes open without turning his head, but saw no one before he reached the door.  He was a competent cat burglar and although he would have preferred the cover of night, he was adept at triggering the lock silently and quickly.  He found his way to Buffy’s door, checking the number against the name next to the doorbell outside.  He tapped on the door quietly and prepared his surprise.

Buffy hadn’t even had time to get to her bedroom before she heard the knock on the door.  Thinking Angel must have forgotten something, she never paused, but ran to the door, threw the bolt and opened it.  “Angel,” she said without even seeing who was there.

Spike leaned into the doorway as she opened it, holding the towel.  As soon as he saw her face he covered it with the cloth and caught hold of her before she could move.  He pushed her into the room and closed the door.  She struggled for a few short seconds, trying to kick him, then pull away from him, but too late, falling into his arms unconscious.

Spike patted himself on the back and silently thanked one of his recent girlfriends.  She was a vet’s assistant and had invited him to wait for her one night where she worked.  He had taken advantage of the situation when she had gone to freshen up for her date.  Seeing a small bottle of chloroform someone had neglected to put away, he helped himself to it.  He hadn’t known how handy it would be.

It was still daylight, but Spike didn’t dare wait for night to come.  He knew Angelus probably wouldn’t be gone for any great length of time.  He had no choice other than scooping Buffy up and taking her to his car.  He had to take the chance that no one would be around to notice them leaving.  He didn’t even bother to look around her apartment, but lifted her into his arms and closed the door behind them.  He got to the entry door and had just shifted Buffy to free up one hand when the door opened in front of him.

Staring into the face of what must be one of Buffy’s neighbors, Spike used the mix of surprise and panic he knew must be on his face to answer the look of suspicion he saw on the short, bald-headed man before him.  He had thought for a moment it was Angel coming back.

“My friend just fainted,” he said in what he hoped sounded like a worried voice.  “I’m new around here, could you tell me where the hospital is?”

The man looked closely at Buffy, even touched her cheek, but finally told Spike, “It’s right down the street,” he said pointing, “go two blocks and make a left, you’ll see the signs for it.”   He brought his eyes back to Buffy’s face once more and asked, “Are you sure she just fainted?  What happened exactly?”

Spike pretended to be upset, “I don’t know!  One minute she was fine, the next she fell over on the couch.  I have to get her to a doctor!  If anyone comes, tell them where we are,” he said, trying to sound convincing.

“Yes, of course,” the older man promised, “I’ll do that.”

Spike carefully lowered Buffy into the back seat of his car, knowing the neighbor was watching every move he made.  He waved back at him as he got into his seat, then drove off in the direction the man had indicated.

*****

Lindsey saw Angelus’ car pull up a ways down the street and strolled towards it slowly.  The two met and spoke briefly before entering the bar a few doors down.

It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the dim interior of the rundown dive.  Lindsey didn’t look around, but headed towards the back corner hidden in shadows with Angelus close behind him.

“Merle,” Lindsey said with a twisted smile, “I brought a friend with me, hope you don’t mind.”

The small man in the loud shirt seemed to shrink back into the booth as he gazed up at Angelus’ formidable breadth and height.  “You didn’t say anything about company,” he sniped with false bravado.

“Maybe we could find a quieter spot so you could get to know me better,” Angel told him in a soft, dangerous tone.

“No, no,” the thin, pale-looking wretch replied, “I just got my drink,” as if the glass he was holding would save him.

McDonald sat down across from him while Angel made a show of folding himself down into the booth right next to Merle.  Merle looked even more uncomfortable as he half-turned, glancing back and forth between the two faces staring at him.

“So, what can you tell us about your friend Spike?” Lindsey questioned him.

“Pah, he’s no friend,” Merle shook his head,  “the guy would rob you as soon as look at you.”

“Is that what he’s been doing?” McDonald prodded him.

“Pretty much,” Merle agreed, “when he’s not busy trying to get up whatever skirt is walking by.  He thinks he’s hot stuff with that peroxided hair and leather duster,” he said curling his lip in derision.

“What’s he been up to lately?” Angel wanted to know.

“These drinks get pretty expensive, ya know,” Merle muttered as he drained the glass he’d been holding so desperately.  Despite a healthy fear of the rather large man beside him, Merle was determined to make them pay for their information.

Angel grabbed the glass out of Merle’s hand, “Drinking isn’t good for you,” he warned in a low voice.

*****

Spike knew exactly where he was going, but made sure he didn’t drive too fast getting there.  He wasn’t about to give the police or anyone else any opportunity to spoil his plans.  His father used to go to an old cabin years before with friends of his to ‘rough it’ and had always taken Spike along.

Camping with his father seemed like something that happened to someone else now.  Maybe, he mused darkly, it was.  Back then he had been close to his father, he had idolized him.  He had done everything he could to make Daniel Holtz proud of him and his father was.  But not now, not for a long time.  Even while he tried to deny it to himself, Spike wondered why he still cared so much.  Seeing that file in his father's office had brought it all back to him, but that wasn't what had bothered him the most.  What finally broke him, made him hate Liam Angelus with a burning fury was that even after all the time Spike had been gone he hadn't found a file with his name on it ... only Angel's.

It was Angel's fault Dru was dead, not his father's and not Spike's.  Just because he hadn't been with Dru like he was supposed to be that day, it wasn't his fault, it wasn't.  His father had asked him to watch over her, but Spike had always done that, except for those few moments.  And he would have been there if he hadn't stopped to talk for that one second.  Would things have been different later if he hadn't told his father he wasn't there?  He shook the thoughts away and concentrated on his plans.

Spike had no idea who owned the cabin or if anyone would be there, but thought at this time of year it was probably locked up for the season.  He released an evil chuckle as he listened to the weather report on the radio about the heavy storm warnings.  It couldn't have been more perfect than if he ordered it.  Buffy stirred, mumbling Angel's name, making Spike jerk the nondescript sedan off the road.  Not everything in the world revolved around Liam Angelus.  Carelessly pouring more liquid on the towel he had doused her with earlier, he gave her another few whiffs of the fumes before she woke up.  Looking at her lying there, he was tempted to take her right there by the side of the road.  But there wasn’t time, not with what he intended for her later.  That and the thought of the look on Angelus’ face when he found them together.  He wanted everything to be perfect for the performance he had in mind for Angelus’ benefit and speed right now was of the essence.  Spike knew it would take Angelus one short visit before he was on his way to the rescue.  He would get his pound of flesh out of Buffy Summers and with a captive audience.  ‘Captive’ being the key word.

He made one stop at a roadside phone to leave a message.  The rain started as he turned the car off the main road into the woods.  It wasn’t a long drive to the cabin, which he found without too much difficulty.  He pried the padlock off the door of the ramshackle building.  Dragging Buffy from the back of the car, roughly swinging her over his shoulder, he entered the single room dwelling.  He dropped her none too gently on the small cot in the corner.  He knew it would be a while before she came around.  After he brought in the few items he had left in his trunk, he sat in the chair next to the small wooden table in the center of the single room cabin.

After setting everything up to his liking, Spike paced around the small area getting more irritated and frustrated by the minute.  He was glad he thought to bring the whiskey along to keep him company.  He’d never seen the cabin his sister had spent some of her last hours in, but he imagined it wasn’t much different than the one he was in now.  It had to be a cabin though, he wanted the surroundings to be just right when Angelus finally arrived.  The liquid burning down his throat helped ease the ache that always settled in his heart when he thought of Dru.  He took a few more swigs, longer ones, as his eyes roamed over the walls of the room and the simple cot in the corner where he had left Buffy.  It wasn't Buffy he saw lying there.  Instead it was a scared little girl with long blonde hair and huge blue eyes staring at him and whispering.

He rammed his fist against the rickety table and squeezed his eyes shut.  This wasn’t working out as he had planned.  He’d wanted to set the stage for Angelus.  Spike hadn’t expected any of this to have an effect on him.  But all he could see and hear was his little sister, she was crying for him, whispering his name.  He couldn’t hear all she was saying, he didn’t want to hear her.  He kept his eyes closed and put his fingers in his ears.  When that didn’t work, as the images and sounds continued to torment him, he tried to drown them in more whiskey.

*****

The little information Angel and Lindsey could get out of Merle wasn’t that helpful.  It didn’t matter to Angel why Spike had been gone or how long.  He was only interested in what Spike was up to and where he was now.  Merle hadn’t known much of anything.  Only that the dyed blonde stole and schmoozed his way through most everything.  Spike was penny ante for the most part, a little more dangerous when he gathered a few others around him.  He had somehow managed to stay out of jail, only just.  His last endeavor to avoid getting caught is what had kept him away until now.

Angel was sorry he’d wasted his time on the snitch, but knew it was something he had to check out.  His only thought was to get Buffy and go home.  He thanked Lindsey for the work and time he’d invested before the agent left.  He stayed behind to call Buffy to let her know he was on his way.  When she didn’t pick up by the third ring he felt the frisson of fear run down his spine.  He let it ring a few more times praying she was just too busy to answer right away.  But the chill feeling of foreboding that had never gone away since he first laid eyes on Spike moved up through his chest, tightening it with alarm and panic.

He got to her apartment just after dark, automatically taking in the dark windows in the failing light.  He quickened his steps once he unlocked the entry door with the duplicate set of keys Buffy had given him a few days earlier.  He knocked on her door, but inserted the key in the lock without waiting.  He flung the door open, striding through the living room, looking in the kitchen as he passed, then throwing back both the bathroom and bedroom doors.

“Buffy!” Knowing even as he shouted her name that she was gone.

[end chapter 16]

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