Chapter 9: To Smolder

Author's Notes: This is pretty dark stuff. That's my warning! It's dark as heck.



Fred paused outside the door to Angel’s office and cocked her head to one side. Someone was sobbing like a baby on the other side of the door. Fearing that it was Buffy, or even worse, Nina, Fred knocked lightly and stuck her head into the room. It was neither. Harmony sat in one of the leather armchairs, nearly hysterical, while Angel stood at the windows, gazing down at the darkened city.

“Please, Angel!” Harmony implored. “Don’t kill him. Call him right now and tell him that it’s a suicide mission.”


Angel, who had his hands clasped behind him, said nothing.

Fred walked cautiously toward Harmony and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “What’s happened?”

Harmony blew her nose loudly and gripped Fred’s hand. “Please, Fred! Angel’s killing Spike. He could already be dead!”

“What?” Fred pulled her hand free and moved across the room, yanking Angel around to face her. She gasped when she saw him. There was hatred etched into his features. His jaw was set, eyes sunken, and the stench of Scotch filled the air around him. “What happened?”

Angel moved to the wet bar and grabbed a fresh bottle of liquor and drained it before tossing it against the wall. “Why don’t you ask Harmony?”

“I’m asking you.” Fred watched as he grabbed another bottle of Scotch from under the bar and she marched across the room, yanking it out of his hand. “Where have you sent Spike?”

“On a special mission.”

“Call him back right now.”

“His cellphone is out of service.”

“Angel-”

Harmony, who was now in a state of hysteria, cried out, “Why don’t you go kill Buffy? She was in on the sex, too!”

Fred’s mouth dropped open. “Buffy and Spike had sex? Again?”

“Oh, just about an hour ago,” Angel said, snatching the bottle away from Fred and opening it. “Isn’t that great?”

Harmony continued to sob, so Fred had shout her response. “So you’re killing Spike?”

“I’m not. If he happens to get killed tonight so be it.”

“Nooo!” Harmony wailed. She rushed across the room, flinging herself at Angel. “I’ll do anything. He’s my Blondie-bear!”

“It’s not right,” Fred told Angel, attempting to pull Harmony to her feet. After several attempts, she finally succeeded and held the frantic female vampire close. “You can’t send him to his death over something like this.”

“Watch me.”

“No,” Fred snapped. “You watch me!”

Going to his desk, she snatched up the phone. “I need you to track down Spike. Try his cellphone and if that doesn’t work, get the Shamans to locate him. The mission has been halted. Get him back here.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Harmony cried, rushing from the room hell-bent on helping in the search.

Angel glared at Fred. “I could override that.”

“You don’t want to try!”

“Fred-”

“Angel, he didn’t act alone! Maybe your real fight should be with her!”

Angel considered her words as he took several deep gulps from his bottle. Buffy knew that Spike loved her, wanted her. She abused that to get back at him, Angel, over Nina. He knew that in his gut. Just like he knew that he would choke the life out of her if he went to see her right now.

“Where is Spike?”

“He’s detained.”

“Call it off. If you do this then any chance you ever had with her will die right along beside him. We both know that.”

Angel stalked toward the door, but paused as he opened it. “He’s with Tanner and Jameson. Call them and tell them that they’re to keep him away from here for the next twenty-four hours, but they aren’t to harm him.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, don’t thank me, Fred.” His hand tightened on the doorknob and he closed his eyes. “Nothing will ever be the same after this.”



Buffy secured the robe that she had found in Spike’s bathroom around her waist and wandered back into the bedroom, pausing the stare at the bed. It was hard to wrap her head around the fact that she had had sex with Spike. *Spike*. Considering that she never thought she would see him again, it was still a shock to the system.

And it had been wonderful. Better than she had remembered.
She made her way around the room, picking up what remained of their clothing, straightening the bed, smoothing the comforter to erase the lines of their passion. Leaning against one of the four posters, she exhaled loudly. The laptop that sat on the desk in the sitting area caught her attention and she trudged across the room, lifting it and taking it back to the bed, where she reclined against the pillows.

Hitting the power button, Buffy waited patiently for it to boot as she replayed the conversations of the day. First, the exchange with Angel in the women’s bathroom and the entire argument with Spike. It was all stupid. Most of all, it made her feel cheap and unworthy of either of them.
She was thrilled that the wireless connection on the laptop did not require a password and within minutes she was checking her yahoo email. There were a couple of messages from Dawn, one to let her know she was sorry about their conversation and the other to tell her that she had heard from her dad and he’d been called away on business, but he hoped to make it back in time to see Buffy in Los Angeles. Faith had also sent her an email asking that Buffy recount her experience in Sunnydale with a paricularly nasty breed of demon that had been sighted in Europe.

There was a final message from Giles. He had apparently sent it only moments before and Buffy clicked the link apprehensively. It was short, brief.

Buffy,

Please call me. I have tried your hotel for several hours and I am worried about you. The Immortal has been in touch with Dawn. Nothing serious. Just asking her if you were out of the country.

Giles

*****

She contemplated calling right then, but she wanted to have time to collect herself first. The mention of The Immortal had caused a ball of anxiety to begin building in her chest and she knew that she was losing her hold on the last of the serum in her system.

She was terrified.

Typing another address into the browser, she was transported to the demon database that Willow had been working on for months. She found the new information about The Immortal and began to read.

**


The knock on the door brought her out of her reverie. Setting aside the laptop, she glanced at the clock. Where had the time gone? It was almost midnight and visitors at midnight were seldom, if ever, good things. She glanced around the room for a weapon and settled on the long handled knife that was sticking carelessly out of her slaying bag. With it clutched securely behind her back, she moved to the door.


“Who is it?”


“Angel.”


She tossed the knife back into her bag and opened the door, gazing up at him. “Did something happen?”


To her surprise he brushed past her, shoving her roughly out of the way, and slammed the door behind him. “Angel?” She caught the stench of alcohol in the air and waved her hand. “You smell like a brewery. What the hell-”


He had her pinned against the wall before she could protest and pressed the entire length of his body against hers. “You let him touch you.”


It wasn’t a question. It was a statement and Buffy could tell by the look in his eyes that he knew the truth. “What’d you do? Have your spies watching me? Again? You deserved to find out if you did!”


She made an attempt to push him away, but he slammed her roughly back against the wall and tightened his grip on her arms. “You’re hurting me!” Buffy cried.


“Oh, you haven’t begun to hurt yet, Buffy.” With an angry swipe of his hands, he had untied the hotel bathrobe that dwarfed her petite frame and gazed down at her nudity. “Did you like it that much?” He moved his thumb over her erect nipples. “Can’t get him out of your system? Or maybe it’s the rough stuff that still turns you on.”


Buffy could hardly believe that this was happening. His thigh had moved between her legs, holding her a few inches off the floor and he had pinned both of her hands with his massive one. She could move him, should move him, but what would happen then? His anger was the strongest thing in the room and she had never seen him this way.


“You’re drunk!” His free hand moved between her legs and she gasped. “Angel, stop.”


“Shut up!” he growled, moving to the column of her throat. She felt the ridges on his forehead then and closed her eyes. He glanced at her face with yellowed eyes and whispered. “Don’t worry. By the time we’re done you’ll only bleed on the inside.”


She shoved him away from her and tried to yank her robe closed, but he caught her arms and then ripped the material from her body in one savage motion. Crying out in surprise, she made an attempt to grab the remains off the floor, and found herself pulled roughly against him. “Stop it!”


“Don’t!” He walked her backwards toward the bed. “Don’t you dare tell me no after what you did with him.”


She felt the edge of the bed behind her and stiffened, reminding him of the only thing that mattered. “Your soul.”


“Don’t worry,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t think happiness will be an issue here.”


The urge to explain, to offer him something to change his mind, burned beneath her skin. “I was lonely. I - I was so stunned that he was back and -”


“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” Angel shoved her so hard that when she hit the bed the breath left her body. He watched as her breasts bounced and her legs fell open. So inviting. So beautiful. So betraying. “How could you?”


She scrambled to her knees and grabbed a pillow, clutching it to her bosom to shield her nudity. “How could *you*? What the hell are you doing?”


“You fucked Spike!” he shouted. “Spike! Right under my nose!”


“So you want to one up him?”


“No.” Angel began to unbutton his shirt. “I want to remind you why you need a man and not a monster.”


Buffy stared up at his demon face, hating the way her body betrayed her and tingled with need. He planned to hurt her and she seriously doubted her ability to stop him. Because he was Angel. Because the one tiny speck of her heart that still belonged to him had not let her cover it in ice. And because she wanted to feel the pain. Needed to feel it. She wanted punishment for her sins.


She watched as he removed his shirt and tossed it across the room. Her breath caught in her throat as the tattoo on his shoulder rippled over the muscle there, undulating like a lover’s body.


When he turned and reached for her Buffy leaped off the edge of the bed, effectively putting it between them. She held the pillow against her and shook her head. “Angel, you’re drunk. I’m willing to let you walk out of here and pretend that this didn’t happen, okay? But you are about five seconds away from crossing a line.”


Wordlessly, he walked around the bed and stood before her. “Like that?” he whispered.


Taking a deep breath, Buffy attempted to sidestep him. He yanked the pillow from her grip and shoved her toward the bed. She crashed against it, her thigh hitting hard against the footboard as she toppled to the floor. Crying out in pain, she gripped her leg and turned to stare at him. “Angel, what the fuck is wrong with you?!” she cried, attempting to stand.


His open palm caught her cheek, spinning her head. She tumbled against the mattress and sank to her knees. The urge to fight him disappeared. If he wanted to kill her she would roll over and expose her throat. The thought of dying naked at her lover’s hand caused her to laugh, but the sound was high pitched, foreign and then it was gone. Replaced by raw agony she had never experienced.


Angel was about to wrench her to her feet when he heard the sob escape her. He stilled his movements and leaned over her, brushing her hair away from her face. He was stunned to see the tears staining the reddened cheek he had hit. Without thinking, he kissed her temple, the offended cheek, and the anger that had propelled him began to dissipate. Seeing her like this was sobering. “Buffy?”

“It hurts,” she whispered, her voice trembling with more than just pain. The tears had shocked her more than him. And now that they started, she didn’t know if they’d ever stop. She buried her face in the covers and let them come and come they did. She cried for everything, for everyone.


“Oh god. I’m sorry. Buffy, I’m so sorry.”


The sobs came from somewhere deep inside of her. Someplace that had been dormant for too long. She wrapped her arms around herself, curling inward.


Angel saw her flying into hysteria and he gathered her into his arms. He placed her gently on the bed, pulling her against him.

Part of her registered the soothing words he whispered, the apologies, the promises that it would be okay, but she was unable to stop the tidal wave of emotion that ran through her, drowning out the hatred and darkness that had been suffocating her for weeks.


All the demons that she had buried beneath the surface ripped from their graves and emerged in tears; hot tears that scorched her face, scorched his chest. Just as she battled one emotion another crashed into her, burying her in her own pain. It was more than she could handle. She wanted to run. She wanted to die.


Angel was devastated by his actions. He had set out to break her, to punish her, but he hadn’t realized that it would be soul wrenching for him to see the finished product. “Shhhh, it’s okay.”


“Don’t hate me,” she choked after what felt like an eternity. “Please don’t hate me.”


“I don’t hate you. You know that.”

“You should,” she cried, leaning her face into his palm.

“Shhh.” He rubbed her cheek, frowning when he saw the bruising. “I’m sorry I hit you. Buffy, you know that I - I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

He stared at her, drinking in her sadness. “You’re even beautiful when you cry.”

“I had a lot of practice.”

“Are you okay?”

Shaking her head, Buffy drew the back of her hand across her eyes, attempting to remove the tears that still fell. “I don’t think I’ll ever be okay.”

“Buffy-” Angel wanted to make it right. He wanted to make her see how wonderful it could be now. He stared at her parted lips, at the curve of her neck, the swell of her breast, and captured her mouth with his, searing her with a kiss that left her breathless. His hands tangled in her hair, tilting her head to grant him access. Slowly, he pushed her back against the pillows and covered her body with his, never breaking the kiss. “I want you so much.”

Buffy trembled as he slid his hand down her stomach and brushed over the hair at the apex of her thighs. He silenced her protest with another kiss and she felt herself relaxing against his touch. Sliding her legs apart, she gave him silent permission to continue. He pulled back, gazing down at her as he slipped his fingers into her. His thumb worked a steady pattern on her clit, which had begun to throb, and he put his mouth to her ear. “Don’t cry.”

She moved her hand to his, stilling his movements. Her body ached in protest, but she shook her head. “We can’t.”

“We can,” he told her, giving her a soft kiss. “I’ll explain later. Trust me.”

He began to massage her aching body again and she closed her eyes. He brushed several soft kisses over her eyelids, all the while whispering that it would be okay, begging her not to cry. When his mouth replaced his hand all the tension in her body was forgotten and she wrapped her fingers in his hair, urging him, pushing up against him.

She came quickly and arched off the bed. He met her halfway, kissing her as he laid her back against the sheets. When he came into her, she was ready. There was a small twinge of pain, as her body accomodated his size, but that was quickly replaced with more pleasure than she could ever remember.

Angel gazed down at her, at her cloudy eyes, at the sated look on her face. She was his. Their eyes met and held as he sped up, driving himself toward completion. He could feel her beginning to clench him and knew that it was almost over. She came again and a second later he followed her, surrendering to the need that had been racing through him from the moment she had come to Los Angeles. Spent, he collapsed on top of her, his face buried in her throat, where he listened to the sweet rush of blood in her veins.

He felt her body shaking under him and propped himself up so he could look down at her. She was crying again, covering her face with her hand. “It’s okay, baby.”

“No, it’s not.” Buffy was stunned. She pushed him to the side and sat up, disbelief coursing through her. “Not only am I a basket case ... I’m a slut!”

“What?” Angel sat up behind her, putting a hand on her shoulder.

She leapt from the bed and tried to gather the torn robe around her. Angel watched her for several seconds, then stood, handing her his shirt. She yanked it from his hands and shoved her arms into it, pulling it tightly around her. “This isn’t happening.”

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay!” she yelled. “I’ve had sex with both of you in the span of what? Four hours? Six? Oh my god.”

“No, Buffy. You had sex with Spike. You made love with me.”

“That was not making love! That was you male posturing all over me.”

“What?” Angel shouted.

“You hit me!”

“I apologized!”

“You hit her!?” Spike suddenly shouted from the doorway. He glaced at Angel’s nude body, sneered, and yanked his coat off. “Cover yourself before I laugh myself to life.”

"You were going to kill me, Angel." He tossed his coat at Angel, who caught it, then Spike threw a punch into Angel’s jaw that sent the dark haired vampire flying into the end table. “Did you hit her like that, mate?”


“Spike!” Buffy shouted, but it was too late. The fight was on. For what seemed like ages she tried to pull them apart, tried to intervene, but they were hell bent on destroying each other. The name calling was vulgar, the punches were meant to kill, and when Angel had pushed her aside for the last time, Buffy calmly made her way to her Slayer bag. She extracted a water gun, not the most high tech of her equipment, but she took aim on the two dueling vampires and pulled the trigger.

Angel and Spike both howled in pain as a burst of Holy Water hit them. They separated and turned to glare at Buffy, who glanced sadly from one to the other. “I’d say that got your attention.”

Spike stared at her, dwarfed inside Angel’s shirt. “You were right. You are a slut,” he shouted as he yanked off his own shirt, patting at his smoking ribcage.

Buffy swallowed hard, losing the battle with another bout of tears. Angel had pulled his pants on and his glare was rivaling Spike’s in intensity. He, too, was smoking, and the Holy Water had left his chest and sides mottled with cruel blisters.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I don’t know what else to say.”

“Why don’t you get the hell out of my sight!” Spike yelled. “Both of you!”

Buffy put the water gun on the nearest table and walked slowly into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her. Both vampires could hear the water running, could hear her muffled sobs. But neither moved toward the sound.

Spike angrily tossed his shirt onto the bed. “Get out of my house,” he told Angel as he crossed the room and yanked open his closet.

“It’s technically mine. And you’ve got exactly one hour to get your shit out of it.”

Spike tugged a black shirt off of a clothes hanger and pulled it over his head. “And would Buffy be considered my shit? After all, I had her trembling in my bed long before you came along.”

“I had to finish the job for you, Spike.” Angel gave him a menacing smile. “How does that make you feel?”

“Probably the same way it makes you feel to know that my name had barely died on her lips before your little fella came poking around.” Arching his scarred eyebrow, Spike cocked his head. “I bet she didn’t even feel you.”

Angel started across the room towards Spike, but Fred entered behind her, looking extremely pale and fatigued. “You both have to stop,” Fred said calmly. “The Immortal is here. In Los Angeles. The Seers told me that his minions have killed two hotel workers where Buffy was staying. It’s only a matter of time before he figures out where she is. The Shamans say that the we’re protected here, but I don’t know how strong they’ll be when the time comes. They’re exhausted already.”

“Buffy!” Spike shouted.

“I heard,” Buffy replied, opening the door. She didn’t make eye contact with anyone. She had put the clothing on that she had worn earlier in the day and she crossed the room, picking up a pair of boots. As she slipped them on and pulled her pants over them, she added, “I need to see the weapon’s supply and I need to find some place that is hallowed. Also? Do you have any scrying tools?”

“Scrying?” Spike asked.

“No time to explain,” she replied, still not looking at anyone. Kneeling, she pulled several small containers from her bag and stuffed them into her pocket. She dug through the contents until she found a tan pouch that hung from a length of chain, which she put around her neck and clasped. Exhaling, she stood and nodded her head. “I’m ready.”

“What is that?” Fred asked, indicating the necklace.

“Something Tara gave me before she died.” Buffy fingered the length of chain, delicately caressing the leather pouch. “It’s for protection.” She finally looked up, her eyes swollen and red from the tears. “I’ll need all the help I can get.”