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What sound does a heart breaking make?	By : chilli Category: AtS/BtVS Crossovers > Slash - Male/Male > Angel(us)/Xander > Angel(us)/Xander Views: 24007 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy, Angel or Blade. I make no money from this.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
FANDOM: Buffy the Vampire Slayer/Angel the Series
TITLE: What sound does a heart breaking make?
AUTHOR: Willie J
EMAIL: wmj166@yahoo.com
ARCHIVE SITE(S): http://parrot.nearheralways.com/index.php; http://www.brain-insane.com/beyondcanon; http://www.adult-fanfiction.org
PAIRINGS: Wes/Spike, Angel/Xander
RATING: R (for language)
WORDCOUNT: 19,911
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any part of Buffy et all, nor Angel the Series.
FEEDBACK: Oh please send me feedback, privately or through the list
DISTRIBUTION: List Archives
SPOILERS: None
SUMMARY:
A/N: Those of Buffyverse are naturally Joss' creations, however, any and all other characters mentioned are my own.
BETA'D BY: James & Elaine (thank you)
Chapter 11
About three years later...
Spike stepped out of the bathroom with a careless disregard of his unclothed state. He moved with the sleek uncompromising grace of a hunting cat. Smooth, unconscious sensuality was in every step he took as he crossed into the connecting bedroom. Naked as the day he was born. At the doorway he paused, the icy hue of his blue eyes softening as he gazed at the dark-haired mortal still laying in bed. He pursed his lips, a look of profound love and pure lust gentling his chiseled features even more. Stepping softly, Spike paced quietly to the black rumpled sheets, and sat on the edge of the bed.
Icy blue eyes studied the sprawled body of his mortal lover with a puzzled stare. How 'n the bloody hell did this particular silly git always manage to get him all mucked up? How the hell did one gawky, White-hat wearing HUMAN manage to wind him around his pinkie? Who was the Big Bad around here, anyway? Apparently not HIM! When did he lose control in this fuckin' relationship? Better yet, did he ever have it?! Vampires like him weren't supposed ta get all mushy and...and...act like puling milksops, not unless they were nancy-boys like that flaming pouf Angel. But every time he looked at his lover, he felt like his insides were flowing out of him in one big ball of mushy love.
Damn creatures were just too bloody short-lived. Worming their way inta a bloke's life, making 'im care...then up and dying on ya! Left a fellow feeling all squishy and icky inside. Then wha'cha gonna do with all them feelings raging around inside ya? That just wasn't right! And it weren't fair! Especially not with a Master vampire like him.
Irritated at his maudlin thoughts, Spike poked the slumbering man ungently in the shoulder. “Hey you, get'cher self up...the boy's gonna be in L.A. in a couple hours and you know that prancing wanker Angel gonna get all huffy if we ain't there to greet his little precious boy.”
As drowsy blue eyes fluttered open, meeting his stormy gaze headon, Spike felt his irritated mood falling to the wayside. He could feel himself getting lost once again in the warm blue gaze that washed over him like sunlight. He didn't need to walk in the sun when he had those beautiful eyes watching him with all the power of that deadly orb. But far from catching fire like he would under the sun, he felt another fire surge to life under his quiet lover's gaze and he simply melted.
Wondering once again with astringent exasperation exactly why he was such a fuckin' nancy boy whenever Wesley looked at him like that. For that matter, what the hell did his dark-haired mate see in him?
He was a rude, nasty, snarky, evil bastard...and those were his good points.
“Do you know how blessed my life has been since I've met you?” Wesley said in a sleep husky voice as if reading his mind. The dark-haired man smiled slowly at the beckoning heat that kindled Spike's eyes to blue flames. “Before I met you, I was such a rule-bound fool. But you, you taught me that rules were made for breaking, luv. You taught me how to laugh through my tears, how to smile even though my heart was breaking. You showed me that love can survive, grow strong with time. You taught me how to be wily like a fox...you taught me how to be me. A stronger, unafraid to take risks, me.” And he raised himself up, pressing his lips against Spike's in a long, breathless kiss that involved lots of tongue action before he pulled back.
Wesley regarded his lover for a few seconds before his smile widened. “I think we got a few hours to spare before Xander gets here. That is, if we hurry.” And he gave Spike a slow, languid smile of pure seduction as he lay back down again.
Spike gave him a smirky grin of his own. Ah, well, guess we can afford a couple of speeding tickets, cause damn if I'm gonna hurry, was his lecherous thought. He eyed the long, loose-limbed body of his mate with hot, blazing eyes before pouncing on his chuckling lover. Laughter that quickly turned into breathless moans of passion. Then low, almost incoherent pleas fell from Wesley's lips.
Satisfied that he had regained some measure of control, Spike decided to further reduce Wesley to a panting, limp pile of damp, sweaty flesh. Hoping to prove his superiority. Though he was ruefully aware that he was just as 'whipped' as Angel was with Xander.
Gazing down into the passion flushed face of his lover, Spike abruptly decided that being 'whipped' wasn't such a bad thing after all.
The human frowned for a few seconds, but Spike only pulled Wesley closer for a lingering, biting kiss. And in a moment the dark-haired mortal was no longer able to focus on wondering what the hell just happened, or whether he gave a damn.
By the time Spike had finished nibbling on his neck, Wesley was entirely focused on riding the pure sensation streaming through him. He was no fool. Even after three months of being Spike's lover he knew there were places that the vampire posted 'No Trespassing' signs. Areas where shadowy pockets of darkness lurked within the deceptively lean and fluid body of his lover. All for his benefit, of that he was sure.
But he knew.
He saw.
Finally understanding his cocksure lover’s rough and tumble persona was, for the most part, pure bluster. That Spike was dangerous and deadly only a fool would disbelieve; but with those he cared about...that he loved...he was loving. Tender.
Devoted.
Just as he was.
To the way those powerful, cool hands felt on his back. To the way the full lips pressed against his throat, tasting him, loving him.
Spike slid his hands down Wesley's thighs, parting them and settling into the warm space provided. He felt such a wave of tenderness flood through him at the soft look on Wes' face that he flailed about mentally for balance. His hand dived through the dark mussed hair and dragged the human's head back to meet his intense stare. He could see the wild storm beginning to rage with primal force in the blueness of his lover's eyes. Washing away the calmness, the mask of self-assurance that Wesley held like a barrier between him and the world. Leaving only the Beast. A wild, primitive creature that craved his touch. His passion.
Him.
An animal that met him stroke for stroke. Passion for passion.
A beacon of light to his darkness.
“I need you.” Spike's eyes were blazing with raw, angry passion. He gripped Wesley's head tightly between his hands. “You don't know how soddin' bonkers it makes me to feel like this. For you. For anybody. I don't wanna feel like this. Not about another bloody human. Not again. But I can't stop it.” His voice was harsh, while his eyes reflected a painful, honest bewilderment. He crushed Wes' mouth beneath his even as he plunged deep into the human's body with little warning other than sketchily prepping the man. And stole Wesley's breath with the scorching kiss. He kissed him, licking and tasting and probing the honeyed warmth with erotic precision.
But Wesley tasted the terrified need and desperation in his lover's fierce onslaught. And this time, he gave himself willingly to the raging passion contained within Spike's cool body. Gave himself over to the desperate need even as he soothed the angry confusion that resided in the vampire.
Spike was wrong. So utterly and completely wrong. He understood the need. The desire. Because that same sense of uncontrollable desire, of want, raged deep within his soul.
With a hoarse cry, Wesley rocked upwards. A wanton act that allowed him to rock and rub himself against Spike's rockhard abdomen. He moaned deep in his throat at the lightening sensation that flared through him and pumped his hips again. And again. His next wild scream choked by Spike's lips coming down on his. A cool tongue slipped into his gasping mouth. Tangling with his with an impatient, cunning seduction even as a hard shaft lunged repeatedly into him. Destroying his body. Shattering his mind.
Rebuilding him with pleasure untold.
Spike groaned into the wet heat as his boy deliberately tightened those sweet arse muscles. So hot. So fuckin' incredibly hot. He chanted, unaware of the broken words dropping from his lips each time he thrust his length into the hot grasping channel.
“So tight.” His moan was lost between the moist, trembling lips he was drinking from with greedy enthusiasm. His world consisted simply of the sleek constricting channel that he was hammering. Color, scent...all gone. Only Wesley existed. His Wesley. His beautiful mate.
His.
Changing the angle of his thrusts, he was rewarded with a choked scream and a wildly bucking body. Bracing his hands on the bed, he felt Wes' legs climb his body and drop over his shoulders.
“So fuckin' good,” he murmured staring down into the dazed blue eyes. And all mine, he silently claimed. He dipped his head for another feverish kiss. A kiss that burned against his lips, it felt like he was fuckin' well dying all over again. It was so sharp and exquisite. He felt like he could see his soul shining brightly in Wes' blazing eyes. Touch it. Welcome it back into him.
He vamped out.
He put his hand on the flexing backside, squeezing and pulling Wesley deeper onto his plunging member. He lowered his head, nuzzled instinctively into the sleekly, arched throat of his mate. Wringing a whimpering cry of ecstasy from his human. At the full body shiver, he brushed his fangs delicately into the glistening throat. continued pistoning against the upturned buttocks. At odd intervals, pausing and changing once again the angle of his lunges. Each time, hitting the spangling prostate dead-on. To Wesley's endless gratification and pleasure.
Power and passion raged between them. He was powerful, able to crush the man beneath him with easy strength. But for all his power, it was tempered by a burgeoning love. A love he at last admitted was what he felt for Wesley. After Ethan had died several months ago, he had sworn that never again would he allow another human into his unlife. The damn things were too damn fragile. Always having to up and die on a bloke. Once he delivered some dumb mumbo-jumbo thing he had promised Ethan he would deliver to Wesley, he was gonna be through with humans. For good.
Growling, he bit into the offered throat viperish speed as he felt his release near. With a long drawn howl, Spike flooded the spasming passage with his cool, lifeless seed. His hips beat a spastic tattoo against Wes as he thrust into the dark-haired man with sensual abandon. Lunging deeper when his boy tightened around him with a near painful grip.
The human cried out and long, fat strings of cum dappled the flesh between their straining bodies. Adding greatly sweaty wetness that glided Wesley.
As he glided back and forth in the wet, milking glove Spike smirked with tired wickedness. Wesley was trying to pull the last traces of cum from his body.
They lay sprawled, damp and sated on the even more rumpled bed. The only sound in the room was the breathless gasps of one thoroughly conquered and well satisfied human. Though Spike’s pale chest never rose up and down, he felt very strongly the need to gasp like a long distance runner, after the right proper shaggin' his Wes put him through.
....though one thing was for certain, he didn't think he would ever be done with this particular human.
* * *
Faith smiled at the letter in her hands as she, Spike and Wesley sped toward L.A. He was finally coming home! After three years in England, Xander was finally coming home. She darted a quick, secretive look at the back of Wesley's head and smirked. Who knew her Watcher was such a screamer?!
Wesley tried to keep his shoulders squared, but he could feel them hunching a bit. His face reddened with embarrassment as he felt a pair of speculative, amused eyes resting on him. First thing he was going to do when they got back to Sunnydale was soundproof the bedroom of their house. His face turned even redder as he recalled all the things he had said...oh rot it all! All the things he had screamed. Which should be rightly excused as being said in the heat of the moment.
He slid a look at an oblivious Spike who was staring out the window. His face softened. For three years, he and Ethan corresponded. At first it was out of curiosity that he had opened the first letter, wondering what the dark magus had to say to him. He was tickled at the fumigating words the enraged older man spewed about Spike, the wild threats of staking the snarky vampire. He had spent over an hour reading and re-reading the letter, laughing himself silly each time over the melodramatic way Ethan described their lives in Yorkshire. He was also touched and flattered by the plea for help from the Chaos mage in figuring out how to cope with one insane lover and one crazy lover. And he briefly speculated on which one was which. They talked, if only through their letters, about almost everything. Except for Wesley's unresolved feelings about Spike.
The first time Ethan mentioned it, the younger man had written a dignified but cool letter back informing the other that whatever feelings that he may or may not have had for Spike was, nor ever will be, ever of any concern of Ethan's. And should the magus have the discourtesy to persist, then he, meaning Wesley, would regretfully conclude their correspondence. Just like that, that was the end of Ethan mentioning the torch that the Watcher carried for Spike.
But that didn't mean that Ethan was inclined to take his none-too subtle hint to drop the subject. Blithely, the chaos magus continued corresponding with him as if everything was perfectly all right in the world. Ever so often, sliding in casual mentions of Spike. Dropping the odd little notes about the flattering comments the vampire had made about the Watcher. But every couple of months, the letters were spiced with blistering tirades about some annoying thing that either Spike or Dru had done.
However, it was Spike that had rang him up for help. Dru insisted on bringing the fully wolfed creature into their bed. Ethan naturally refused to have it in the bedroom with them. And the vampire was torn between quarreling lovers. While he didn't have a problem shaggin' the wolf, there was Ethan clearly not wanting him to lower himself with buggerin' an animal. But there was Dru being happy and wanting to share her puppy with them. Ethan all stubborn and haughty and disdainful. Dru growing more nonsensical and stubborn in her own way. They were at an impasse. Neither budging an inch from their stands.
It took a letter from Wes to the quarreling lovers to break the stalemate. With Ethan relaxing his stand, allowing Spike to join Dru's games; and Dru allowing the chaos mage the courtesy to stay apart.
Three years later after numerous pleading letters and e-mails Xander was coming home! Angel and Cordy were struggling to contain their joy, all too aware of the disbelieving looks Gunn kept giving them.
It had been the toughest thing Angel had ever done. After graduation, forcing Xander to go to England and to the newly reformed Watcher's Council. He had to continue learning about the power of the Protector there. Not here. Things were still pretty much shaken up around here, especially with the demons still hunting Xander. His precious boy would be safer there. Beside, his Xander needed to learn things. Things that he couldn't teach him. Now Xander was coming home. And he had surprises for them.
Doyle just smiled in understanding. He had heard enough about Xander to make a man sick. Listening to Cordy, the kid had to be ten feet tall and able to leap small buildings in a single bound. But this Xander kid made his princess happy, so that was good enough for him. Though it was a bit scary to see Angel smiling like that but he trusted the vampire. After all, if hadn't been for Angel calling for help when those sumavabitches tried to kill all the so-called 'half-breeds' probably him AND his family would have been toast.
Doyle shivered with mingled delight and terror recalling how thoroughly trashed those jacked up demon Nazi's had gotten when Angel's kindred had shown up.
The Head Scourge himself actually sneered and called that big vampire, Pascal, a half-breed! A fuckin' half-breed...and to his face, at that! Doyle shook his head in awed remembrance. He had forgotten just how extremely deadly vampires could be. Then again, he ain't never seen anyone that big move that fast.
One second, Tal'ne was sneering and the next his head was ripped off with a wet sound. For a few seconds there was this god almighty shocked silence. Everybody was gaping at Pascal like they just couldn't believe what he had just done. And he kept on standing there with Tal'ne's head dangling from one freakin' big, hand. Too bad them Scourges didn't get a clue that maybe they shoulda backed the fuck off. They attacked, but vampires came out of nowhere.
It was a beau-ti-ful sight!
He really shoulda put a $20 spot or somethin' on that fight, Doyle silently mourned. Then he cheered up, but hey, at least his family and all the other half-breeds escaped. Though one of vampires that helped died stopping the boom But more of the Scourgy demons died...which almost evened things out a bit.
Sneaking a look at his Princess, Doyle smiled. His aunts thought Cordy was just what he needed to straighten him out. With a fond look in his eyes, he agreed wholeheartedly with them.
“So, like who the hell is this Xander that got you all jazzed up and Angel...” Gunn paused searching frantically for a word to describe the disturbingly, creepy smile on his boss' face. “...happy,” he finished weakly at her inquiring look. Hell, in the year he had known Angel, he ain't never seen the dude so much as crack a smile. Homie had that 'lost my job, my girl and my crib and now I hafta live with momma' look down pat.
Now look at him...Gunn shivered before his shoulders straightened with grim determination. If Angel asked him one more time 'Wassssuupppp?' he was gonna pop'im in the mouth. There was only so much that a brotha could put up with, Gunn thought indignantly. And being asked 'Wassup' for the fifteenth time was just too much!
“Angel's mate...” Cordy smiled brightly. Eagerly she arranged her desk just so, wanting to impress Xander at how well she had taken to working for a living. Smugly certain that he would be absolutely dumbstruck at how she ran Angel’s office. Why do people complain all the time about how hard working for a living is?! It was a snap! Even Angel was amazed at how efficiently she ran his office.
Cordy frowned slightly. Well, he didn't exactly come right out and SAY it. But it was written all over his face every time he came out of his office and saw her sitting at her desk.
Working.
Filing.
Making sure her nails, hair and face looked immaculate. Daddy always said that you never got a second chance to make a first impression. And she intended to make sure that the first thing the clients saw when they walked through those doors were of her. Looking impossibly beautiful, groomed and totally bitchin'. Hopefully, they'll be so impressed that they won't notice what the boys were wearing.
Her face resumed its sunny expression. Not that she wasn't grateful for Angel taking her with him when he decided to settle in LA, but she did miss Faith and Wes.
“M...m...mate? Angel's gay? Since when? I thought him and that damn blonde copchick was knocking boots,” Gunn exclaimed in shock.
“Puh…leeze! She wished!” Cordy snorted contemptuously. Her eyes narrowed viciously. “Every time anything happens in this city that she THINKS is supernatural, Ms. SuperCop comes running here! HEL..LO! I mean, what...are we supposed to do HER work for her too?” She sneered as she gathered together papers relating to their latest case. Shoving them into a file, she casually handed the stack to Gunn. “Here…go file these under 'B'.”
Automatically Gunn took the folders. Once again wondering when he became her assistant. Not that she did anything but order people around. Then he blinked in confusion as he studied one of the files.
“Cordy, I thought Angel said they were Nestroumd demons.”
Cordy rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation. “They were bugs! So they go under 'B' for bugs! D’uh!” Then turning slightly away, she muttered softly under her breath, “How in the hell can I work as a secretary if people don't know how to file?”
Behind her back, Gunn raised the files as if to hit her before sighing and shaking his head.
Then at hearing a snicker, she turned and glared at the stairs at the blonde vampire descending them. “Spike, was it my imagination or did I hear Angel tell you that you're not supposed to be smokin' in here?”
The blonde gave her a cool dismissive look and blew a cloud of noxious smoke in her direction. “Pro'ly yer imagination, ya always was a daft bint,” he drawled derisively. Smirking at the black look she gave him. He loved getting the feisty little chit all riled up. She was one of the few that gave back as good as she got. Gunn coughed and turned around hastily to conceal his laughter. Cordy gave his shaking shoulders a suspicious glare but turned back around to her main target.
“Like he can't smell those funky things you like smoking?” Then Cordy's eyes hardened slightly as a familiar body slowly descended the staircase. Spike's eyes flashed warningly at the dark-haired girl and Cordy's lips tightened in annoyance before she looked away. No matter what Angel and Xander said to the contrary, she preferred not to have too many dealings with HER. Willow may have changed...but she didn't have to like her.
Spike glanced up at the redhead behind him, no trace of visible emotion in his cool blue eyes as he regarded the little witch. He knew she was hurting something fierce by the tight look around her eyes and mouth but other than that, Willow didn't give any other sign of pain.
“You alright, Red?” he asked coolly with an arch of his brow.
Willow gave him a tight smile, more of a grimace to be frank, but that was about all she could spare right now. And Spike nodded approvingly...he had trained her well to endure pain. The slightly-built girl took a deep breath and gritted her teeth. Swallowing against the torment that flared in her right leg, she took another limping step down. Then simply rested for a few minutes, waiting for the flare of pain to die down.
Just this morning, she had been woken out of a sound sleep by excruciating agony in her leg. Jamming a pillow into her mouth, she bit down hard and simply rode it out. Every fiber in her being screaming at the torturous pain. Carving the import of the glyphs into her soul and mind as well as her leg, she could see the flare of light as the mages and witches of the Shadow Council etched the next exercise in magic into her flesh. Pain altered her perception of where she was. In the darkness of her mind, she was in a darkened room, watching a blurry vision unfurl like a red lotus flower. The pain was overwhelming as she struggled to see the lesson that was unfolding for her. Because if she couldn't see it, the lesson would just repeat itself again and again. Until she finally was able to view it in its entirety. As Spike taught her, she endured the pain, controlled it. Used it to sharpen the image from beginning to end, glyphs and other symbols marched in a straight line.
Her fifth lesson plan was laid out in the theater of her mind. Words scrolled across the darkness, explaining what this glyph meant and what that symbol meant. Detailing with stark clarity the consequences should the spell be incorrectly cast. With a gasp of release, Willow felt the pain fade. Coming back to herself, and at the ache in her jaw, the redheaded witch tried to unclench her teeth from the pillow. Very much surprised that her jaw hadn't shattered under the stress.
It was believed that the disciplines of magical power should be grounded in something tangible, it weeded out the dabblers and the dilettantes from the ones desiring to learn the true principles of magic. Pain was a very valuable component in the lesson plan. Learning magic in this fashion was a commitment of a lifetime. Bringing home a very valuable lesson: There was always a price to pay for magic. This fact was burned indelibly into a novice witch's brain.
Once she practiced the spell, mentally only, and demonstrated that she understood the principles behind the lesson, glyphs were carved into her other leg. Someday, her body would resemble a proud monument to scarification. But right now, she hurt! Maybe she was too hasty in agreeing to the Protector's job offer.
Then glancing at the curl of derision on Cordy's lips, Willow stiffened her spine and brought everything that Spike had taught her, to bear on the pain. Submerging herself and tolerating it. And once again extremely surprised that she was able to stand, much less walk somewhat normally. It used to take her a full day to recover from Spike's worthy 'lessons'.
Spike glanced at the girl with narrowed eyes and a faint smile.
She'll do.
According to what Ethan and the Protector told him, it would take Red a real long time to even access a fraction of the power she used to have. Right now Willow probably couldn't even light a candle with her magic. Not that she didn't have the power in spades, but the girl wasn't crazy. 'Sides that collar around her neck prevented her from doing anything but simple spells. Them Shadow witches and such were grounding the bint in basic, elementary magic. Because until they were convinced she understood solid principles they weren't letting her go any further. Less chance of the little witch fuckin' up with her magic and screwing things around.
Spike shuddered, he could just see it now. Red getting all upset, trying to cast a spell and mucking it up to hell and back.
Xander stepped through the door of the Hyperion with a hesitant smile. A wary light pulsed softly in wide brown eyes as he regarded the group standing in what he presumed was the lobby. After all it had been a couple of years since he had set eyes on Cordy, Angel and Faith. And despite the numerous emails and almost unlimited phone calls that had bounced back and forth over the Atlantic he still felt a little nervous over their response.
While it appeared that none of them had changed, he could spot the subtle differences in Cordy, and especially in Faith. A change he regarded with narrowed eyed wonder as his eyes slid to the tall, young black guy she was subtly leaning towards. His astonishment deepening at the blush that crossed the formerly brash and worldly Slayer.
“Oh, cut that shit out! Get your ass over here and give me a fuckin’ hug!” Faith swiftly recovered her composure and gave Xander a mocking, teasing smile.
“Whew!” Xander said feelingly as he walked further into the hotel. “For a minute there I thought maybe the plane had jumped into an alternate dimension!” He hitched the straps on his shoulders higher as the mood was broken and his friends rushed him in a tidal wave of greetings.
Cordy, the first to reach him, abruptly pulled back. Her brows contracting in a frown, she stared over his shoulders at the two children following behind him, both with dark creamy complexions. Reminding her of milk, with just a hint of fine chocolate. She stared with amused eyes at one child in particular. All big, blue eyes. His eyes were so striking set against his darkened skin. With fat, rounded cheeks, a little bow mouth and a mop of tousled curls he formed a picture of a cherubic little angel. A beautiful four-foot high doll. Cordy hid a smile at the firm Ain’t-Nobody-Gonna-Separate-Me handgrip the boy had on the back of Xander’s pants and the suspicious look he was giving all of them.
“Uhm, Xan…don’t wanna scare you or anything but did you know you have a little boy growing out of your leg?” Then her eyes widened at the loud squall that came from the figure in the babysack on Xander’s back. “And another one growing out of your back!”
Then coltishly slender pre-teen stepped forward to stand at Xander’s side. Like the little boy she was equally beautiful. Her darkened skin called attention to a riveting pair of blue eyes set like jewels on her face. Dark hair, done in a multitude of exotic braids cascaded down her back. Cordy sighed in disgusted admiration, damn was she getting old?
With a lift of her chin, the young girl met their bemused eyes challengingly. “My name’s Dawn. Me and Xander is friends,” she announced with a fine show of bravado in her accented voice. She glared around as if anybody that dared to dispute her claim of friendship with Xander was going to get a good thumping.
Then her eyes widened, a look of pure delight suffusing her cafe-au-lait.
“SPIKE!” She took off like a shot at the familiar pale face of her buddy.
“Poppet…” Spike drawled out with a slight smile of affection. He easily caught her slight body in his arms, raising her high enough so her long legs could wrap securely around his mid-section. And when another, smaller figure cannonballed into his legs, he easily one-handedly hauled Connor into a secure position against his side. He growled slightly at the pout Lil’bit gave at his attentions. He ignored the rest of the commotion as he reacquainted himself with his ‘kids’.
“That, as you might have guessed, is Dawn and the other limpet attached to Spike is Connor,” Xander said wryly at the engrossed trio talking about everything and anything. Once again, marveling at Spike’s patience with the two kids and seemingly attentive expression the vampire wore whenever one of the children spoke. Especially the five-year-old Connor. When he got excited, the boy had a tendency to jumble his words up into unrecognizable words.
“And…?” Faith raised a brow inquiringly. Even Wesley looked interested in wanting to know where the children came from.
“And what?” Xander looked around in puzzlement, then his expression cleared at the demanding cry from the baby. “Oh! These are Lydia Thompson’s kids. You guys remember me telling you about her...” and he lowered his voice to a whisper, “...passing away eight months ago. Their father thought it would be best to leave them in London, where things are familiar, you know, give them time to grieve, before bringing them back to America. I’ve sorta been taking care of them whenever he had to go away on business. And since I was coming back, he asked if I could escort them back. He’s coming to pick them up in about three or four days. That bundle of maniac energy over with Spike is Connor and this here,” he aimed a thumb at the slumbering baby in the knapsack, “is Michael.”
Angel relaxed from a tension he wasn't aware he had been feeling. While he KNEW the child wasn't Xander's he couldn't help but wonder what was or had been Xander’s relationship to the child. When he made Xander leave to learn more about being the Protector, to be introduced to the now re-formed Shadow Council, he had made it perfectly clear that if Xander met someone, someone that he felt a connection to, that it was perfectly alright for his young lover to ‘experiment’. He nearly ground his teeth into powder at that bald-faced lie.
But at the quick jealous gleam that lit Xander’s eyes, and the angry demand about whether Angel would have the same rights he made to soothe his angry lover. Explaining why he made the offer. That most humans went through several lovers before finding the one that they wanted to commit themselves to for, hopefully, the rest of their lives. He had to smile at the sulky stubborn look that instantly appeared on Xander’s face. He wasn’t surprised at the airy, “Oh, we don't have to worry about THAT!”
Then hardly daring to look, for fear of what he would see, Xander finally looked at Angel with what he assumed was confident nonchalance. He wasn’t to know that his gaze reflected all the anxious and nervous uncertainty he felt.
Angel smiled warmly at his handsome lover. The old philosophers surely must have been talking about Xander when they said the eyes were the windows to the soul. His Xander had a pair of truly the most beautiful, clear eyes he had every seen. Everything the boy felt was reflected in that wide-eyed gaze.
“Hey…” Xander said shyly once the others had fell back to give them some privacy. He peeked at Angel with a sweet, hesitant smile.
“Hey yourself,” Angel whispered back, still smiling at his lover. His eyes searching the beloved face, marveling at the changes two years had made in Xander's physical makeup. While he was still as youthful as the others, but like Cordy and Willow, there was a dark, haunted knowledge in his eyes. A kindred look of jadedness existed in all of Sunnydale residents, he abruptly realized. A look that clearly said, “We know for a fact that the fearful creatures of the night don’t just exist as fairytales.”
They exist as a reality for those that could see them, and a deadly certainty for those that refused to see.
Once again Angel found himself comparing the lightheartedness and coyness found in Cordy and Faith as opposed to the grimness that seemed to want to take up permanent residence on Gunn’s face. He slowly came to the conclusion that Cordy, and for that matter all of the surviving residents of Sunnydale, learned to find a balance in their lives against the darkness. Or go mad.
Xander slowly began smiling at the warm glow of love that softened the shadowed, honey-colored eyes of his mate. Feeling uncomfortable at the longing that filled him, the irritation of wanting everybody AWAY he ducked his head to re-gather his composure. A slight aggrieved expression on his face as he wondered how it was possible that Angel could reduce him to a stuttering, gawky teenager. Heck, who was the one that mediated the truce between those two warring clans of Antock demons, he thought indignantly.
~“Me....”~ was the Protector's calm reply.
Xander paused in his angry thoughts. His momentum lost at the unexpected rejoiner. Then figuratively hitching up his pants, he shot back, ~“Yeah, but I helped!”~
The Protector regarded him coolly. ~“Injecting your particular brand of humor in the deliberations was, as I said before, absolutely UNNECESSARY. Considering that it almost led to open warfare, I believe my point was strongly reinforced.”~
~“Yeah, but at least it got them talking!”~ Xander insisted mulishly.
~“Yelling, screaming and brandishing sharp weapons should, under no circumstance, be considered TALKING,” ~ the Protector stated dryly.
Knowing he was losing the argument, Xander hurriedly backed off.
Dawn blinked as she caught sight of Willow standing hesitantly on the sidelines. The young girl released her grip on Spike to greet the solemn faced witch with her own tentative smile.
There was a time when she used to be curious about the tension behind the older girl and everybody else. So being blithely unconcerned by the sheer immorality of spying on others conversation, she set out to learn all she could. After all, what if Willow was some kinda mass murder? She had a duty to protect her mother, father and little brother. Having talked herself into ‘protecting’ her family, she had shamelessly eavesdropped. What she had found out was so shocking and horrifying that she had instinctively drew away from Spike, hardly able to reconcile the Spike that teased her and jollied her out of her bad moods with the Spike that was doing such awful things to Willow. Not knowing what to do or how to react, she tried her best to avoid him. Flinching away from him for fear that he would turn on her.
What made it so bad was the uneasy knowledge that the adults knew what was going on, but none of them were doing anything to stop him. Which meant that they were condoning what Spike was doing, but WHY? She knew that they would be very cross with her if they found out that SHE knew. But how could she keep silent? Should she go to the police? The Watchers? What?
Troubled by indecision, she fell silent. Had it not been for the nightmare two days later after her discovery, perhaps she would have gone on being scared and angry at him. In addition to possibly getting the entire Society into a lot of trouble as well. Waking up screaming, her father came running and held her. Comforting her until the shudders left her. This time when he demanded answers, it all spilled out between blubbering sobs. What Spike was doing to Miss Willow.
She was halfway expecting her father to laugh and tell her what a silly goose she was being. But she was shocked when he began explaining what was going on. Through she had a sneaking suspicion that what he told her was the carefully edited version that was suitable for her tender years. Like she was a baby!
But that night her father quietly explained the Why of what Spike was doing and that this was something Willow had consented to. He had left the decision in her hands, as to whether she could accept the cruel, vicious Spike as well as the teasing, older brother Spike.
While initially it was difficult, it became easier once she stopped trying to separate the two sides of him. He was still the same Spike that made her laugh and giggle, that told bloodthirsty tales of gore and revenge. The comforting presence that she curled up against when watching scary movies, though he did ruin them with his mocking comments at the best, scariest parts.
Coming out of her reverie, Dawn regarded the fragile looking witch. “Hello Miss Willow,” she said with a half-smile of greeting.
“Hello Dawn,” Willow said gravely, her eyes calm as she watched the slender young girl. “How did you enjoy your flight over?”
“Oh, it was okay…” Dawn replied absently, her attention drawn to the slight hitch in Willow’s step. Her head tilted to the side as she regarded the older girl. “New lesson?” she guessed with a frown.
“Yeah,” Willow said with a fleeting grimace. Then carefully she wiped all visible traces of pain from her face at the sound of Xander calling her name. Turning she met his eyes with cool composure, stiffening slightly against the look of compassion in his soft brown eyes. But mentally she sighed and shook her head in dismay. How on earth did he expect to be any type of Protector if he continuously worried about her? It was a weakness that she was positive would be his downfall.
And the Protector’s.
However, she shuddered as cool whiteness stole across Xander's warm brown eyes. In fear, she instinctively dropped her own. While she was sure that Xander would not try to hurt her any further, she was most definitely not going to challenge the good will of the Protector. Because she was quite certain that it had none. Especially not when it came to looking after the interest of its' chosen representative.
In her stringent efforts to avoid the Protector's eyes and attention, she missed the quiet entrance of two more members of Xander's party. But at a choked gasp, she brought her eyes up swiftly. Her eyes, along with the rest of the Hyperion and Sunnydalers widening in sheer disbelief.
Buffy.
Giles.
Willow's mouth closed with an audible snap, her lips pressed in a bloodless line to prevent any words of criticism from escaping her tight mouth. But her eyes spoke volumes. An encyclopedia of words reflecting her unvoiced opinion of bringing those two here of all places.
Giles’ mouth curved upwards in a twisted smile of cold mockery at the little witch. Idiot child! He mentally sneered, all too aware of her scathing look of contempt and reproach. He ignored the shocked looks on the other's faces with cool aplomb. Despite anyone's objections, he was quite aware that Xander would be eminently qualified to talk them into accepting their presence.
Dropping his luggage, he swiftly pinched Buffy before her foolishness brought down the collar's wrath on them. Whatever one did, both were equally punished. “Be silent, you silly child!” he hissed viciously to her when she turned a sullen scowl on him.
You would have thought after almost two years of incarceration something would have curbed the silly chit's unfortunate tendency to speak before thinking, he thought with angry irritation. For a brief moment, malicious amusement glittered in his eyes at the thought of witnessing his erstwhile charge beaten and humbled by her fellow inmates.
Giles looked around the lobby of the hotel and sniffed, his lip curving upwards in a slight unamused smile at the furious looks he and Buffy were the recipients of. With grudging admiration he thought Angel was finally doing something right as benefit the vampire's Master status. His eyes rested briefly on Xander's tensed figure before sliding away with apparent unconcern. Judging by Angel's rigid posture and frozen look, the boy was fiercely arguing with the vampire to allow he and Buffy to stay at the hotel. He had no doubts as who would win the intense argument going on. That disreputable boy could perhaps argue the sea into turning purple. After a while you grew numb and agreed. Anything to still the boy's incessant flapping tongue. He had no doubt as to whose idea it was to garner his and Buffy's release from imprisonment. Left to Ethan's rather unrelenting hatred, he had been expecting to be roasting over an open fire. As always wondering how he could have been so bloody wrong about someone.
Giles fell into a slight brooding reverie as he waited to be shown to his room. While life in prison was certainly no prize, what with the too frequent beatings he endured from his fellow inmates, at least he was assured that he needn't worry over the fear of being raped at the hands of some of the more massive brutes.
Convinced that rescue was imminent, he choose to distance himself from the unsavory individuals within the prison confines. Treating those about him with haughty disdain. Which, in hindsight, was perhaps not the best idea.
***FLASHBACK***
After three rather messily, gruesome deaths by an invisible assailant, all in front of witnesses, easily convinced the general populace that one Rupert Giles' arse was to be left strictly alone. However, those of a more scientific bent found that his protection extended only to rape. The rest of his body was fair game. A fact that was gleefully taken advantage of. If they couldn't have his arse, then they would turn to the next best thing...beating the living hell out of him.
So he endured. Silently. Stolidly. Wrapping the ragged bits of pride about him as if to armor him against the slings and arrows of his fellow inmates empty, rapacious eyes. Gathering his pride and solitude as weapons. One aging warrior valiantly defending the broken-down remnants of a once mighty castle.
His efforts were futile, of course. For with hard brutish fists, vicious shoes and clever little weapons they lay siege to his fortress of solitude. Nights. Days. They all ran together within his mind. Time and time again, he was attacked. Different members of prison cliques wanted him, or better yet, they didn't want the others to have him. But only on their terms.
What they couldn't do by rape, they chose to do by assault. They wanted him broken and controlled.
Under the unrelenting attacks, his body grew weaker. Frailer. But inside, buried deep within, lay rigorous training methods he endured to become a Watcher. .
Once again, he was called upon to endure. His mind grew fiercer and tougher. Colder. He was determined to survive. There was so much seething rage that it gave him strength not to give in. To ride out the attacks with pretend weakness. He played the cowering, spineless fool with sullen ease. All he needed was time. And they bought his cowardly act. For with with sadistic relish, he was allowed time to heal. Giving his body time to grow as strong as his will.
He began surreptitiously observing them, his attackers as they swaggered about, playing King of the Hill. Always in danger of being toppled off their precarious throne.
Left temporarily to his own devices, he used his talents as a Watcher to do what he was trained. He watched. He had assumed what held these uncouth men together was strength and necessity. Yet beneath the men's rough exterior and harsh, brutish ways, there was also affection. Caring. Respect.
Friendship.
A fact he was very much loath to see.
As unwillingly he was to see, that he again choose solitude rather than drop to their barbaric level. This time, he wound up in the infirmary. His recovery was a slow, painful process and he was attended by a quiet, serenely composed old man.
A lifer.
One frustrating day, as he lay stewing over the sorry state of his life, the old man spoke.
“Ya know, you remind me of an emperor the way you carry yourself. All prideful and dignified,” the old man said quietly as he swept the room.
Giles cast a cold, imperious eye at the man. Secretly he was thrilled to be compared to an emperor. He sniffed haughtily, disdaining to reply.
“Yeah, like that emperor with no clothes on,” continued the sweeper. His voice still low and soft.
The bedridden man gaped in shock, his face tightening in futile rage as his fists clenched.
The old man stopped his motions, finally looking at Giles. He nodded slowly as if confirming something that only he could see. “I've been here for a very long time. Ya see, the keepers kinda trust me. 'Sides, they know that there's no place for me to go.” He waited silently to see if Giles would respond, but the younger man pursed his lips and angrily looked away.
“I saw your file in the Warden's office,” the man continued softly. He came closer. “I got curious, which is strange, since I normally don't. Get curious, I mean. But I did. And I did some checking on you. I have lots of friends on the outside, you see,” he said almost apologetically. “On the outside you seemed to have it all. Friends, people that looked up to you, children that actually listened to you. Something that's kinda miraculous from what people tell me.” The man laughed hoarsely as if to share the joke.
But Giles still refused to look at the man. He stared stonily at the blank wall.
“So, what happened? What's your side of the story?” the man asked, his voice soft and mild. Giles tightened his lips over the words that wanted to spew from his lips. He gritted his teeth, struggling with his temper and the knot of rage that threatened to steal his breath.
The old man waited, then shrugged. “Oh, well, I just thought you might like to tell your side,” he said and turned away.
“It wasn't my fault!” The words burst from his lips.
“Hmmm...?” Slowly the old man turned to face the furious younger man.
“It wasn't my fault...” the impulsive words shot out from his mouth again. Spitefully, he decided to go for broke and tell the man about Slayers and the Council. Justifying it in his mind that since he wasn't a Watcher, he no longer was bound by their strictures. “Just because I wanted my Slayer to be a better Slayer than Faith, I get punished!” Encouraged by the quiet patience in the old man's eyes, the story spilled eagerly from Giles lips. His version of events, of course.
Throughout his recuperation, he had the company of the old man. To whom he confided almost every detail of Sunnydale life. Demons and all. He dwelt forcefully on the many injustices he received, on how hard he tried to help Xander and the others. And what was the thanks he received? Imprisonment.
He droned on with angry rhetoric to the man who listened without reproach. Merely injecting an idle remark or comment into the words that spewed from the younger man's lips. With careless ease, Giles allowed the mild queries to slid past, and if pressed he would swiftly change the subject. And unconcerned, the man would let him.
When he was released, he wondered if he would see his listener again. To his pleased surprise, the old man was the prison librarian. Often stopping by his cell with the book cart and spending time with him. Listening to his angry comments with an noncommittal expression.
To add to his pleasure, he found that the prisoners viewed the old man as sacrosanct. As a byproduct of the old man's company, he discovered he was seemingly offlimits to the masses.
Gathering his courage, Giles approached a group of his fellow inmates. He only wanted to know the man's name. Every time he asked the man, all he would receive in return was a gentle smile and a request to call him 'Old Man'.
“Uhm...er...I say, excuse me but could you tell me the name of the Book Cart Librarian?”
One of the men raised a brow. “Ya mean da old man? Cuz, dat's his name. Ol' Man. Leastwise, dat's the o'ly one I ever hear n'body call 'im.”
Giles ran the man's words through his internal linguistic translator. He nodded silently to himself before turning about. Giles paused in mid-step, slowly he turned around and quietly thanked the man. Leaving swiftly, he didn't see the astonishment on the men's faces at his courteous words.
It was only when a new inmate arrived and attacked him, did he finally understand what Old Man's had been trying to tell him. Teach him.
That afternoon, seeing that brutish man rushing at him. A twisted sneer on that red, congested face. Then Old Man stepped solemnly into the man's path and was carelessly knocked to the ground. There was a crack and a cry of pain. And sharp, abrupt hush fell over the prison yard. A silence pregnant with awful terrible violence.
Unconcerned about his would-be attacker, Giles fell to his knees beside the stricken man. His hands trembled, fluttered in the air over the fragile body, unsure where to help. He didn't see the other prisoners roughly grab hold of the other man and throw him to the ground. His attention was focused on the faded blue eyes of Old Man.
“Why...?” he breathed gently. He could have defeated his attacker. Either that or wound up in the infirmary. Better that, than seeing Old Man broken....
His chest beginning to hurt at the sight of bright streaks of blood on the thin, withered lips.
...and dying
“Run...” was whispered.
Giles blinked. “What...?” Then he looked around, suddenly aware of a growling sound coming from behind him. All about him, the prisoners and guardsmen in the yard bore looks of bestial fury. Various gangs were gathered into their own individual cliques, as something seemed to snap within the men.
He looked back down to Old Man. “What's happening...?” And over in the far corner, screaming began as old feuds and grudges overrode the truces forged in the hard cement walls.
“You...always...wanted....” the old man paused, gathering his remaining strength, “...to know...my name. It's Cain...” the man sighed out with his final breath as shattering, unbelievable truth in the fading light of his eyes.
Giles carefully stood up, his mind numb under the shattering truth. Slowly he backed away. As far away as he could get.
Cain. Brother-killer. Murderer. Immortal. Cursed to live. And die. Over and over again.
Giles looked around frantically for someplace to escape. But to his horror all he could see was knots of men, brawling with almost inhuman ferocity. All around him, prisoners and guardsmen alike were attacking each other. Roars of animalistic fury resounded in the yard.
All he could hear was the screaming. An strident din of so many voices that all the screams became part of an vast endless undulating outcry. And just below the wave of noise, he could hear the unmistakably sound of flesh on flesh contact. Fists and feet were flying, pulled back and connecting with brutal efficiency against soft, vulnerable flesh.
And he stood, temporarily forgotten amid the chaos around him. Friendless. Alone. No ally to ward his back or front.
When one turned towards him, he saw nothing but death and madness. His death reflected in those madden eyes.
He ran. Ran as fast as his trembling legs could carry him. Away from them. Away from HIM. Huddled in a corner of his cell, his hands pressed to his ears in a futile effort to block out the noise, he listened to the screaming. And prayed that they wouldn't come for him.
After that, he learned. And eventually wound up gaining his own little coterie of men about him. Something that the already more tenured cliques took great exception, and viewed his swift rise within the walls of the prison as a threat.
He never once thought to use the dubious parting 'gift' that Ethan had sent him. Not because he thought it would fail spectacularly. On the contrary, there was no doubt in his mind that it would work, far too well! He had no illusions about Ethan's cold hatred to even consider using the amulet for help. Prison was bad, but it was survivable. Ethan's magic more than likely would not allow him any chance of survival.
But that afternoon, seeing those brutish men rushing into the shower. Tossing aside his allies like so many match sticks. All he could hear was the screaming. There was so much yelling and furious outcries as fists and feet were used with brutal efficiency against naked vulnerable flesh. The water was soon running red with blood. Sickening cracks resounded loudly in the room as heads collided with walls. And he fled. Clutched the amulet and screamed desperately for Ethan's help. Hoping and praying that once he was gone, that they would at least leave his people alone.
Clutching the amulet Ethan had given him, he screamed for help. With nothing left to bargain with, he had traded his self for the men that had shown him how to be a 'stand up' man. Giving himself over into Ethan's keeping, he prayed for some shred of mercy.
*****End Flashback***.
Giles came out of his dark introspective mood with a slight start and focused on the disgustingly cheerful look on Xander's face.
“C'mon, Angel said you can stay!”
When Giles grabbed his meager belongings and followed after the eagerly, chattering young man as they trailed after a bemused looking Black man who was on escort duty.
Entering the room assigned to him, Giles unpacked his sparse clothing and resumed his dark thoughts. He snorted softly in amused wonder. His men. Oh, yes, he could just see the look of cold contempt on their disturbingly hard faces. The only reason why he became the default leader was because they didn't have anyone else stupid enough to put themselves forward.
But they did, in truth, look upon him as a leader. Mainly because he was no man's meat.
Oh to be sure, he was not their friend and more than likely would never be their 'buddy' or 'pal' or any one of those obnoxious words Americans liked to toss about. But he was smart. He was a thinker. And that, sometimes, was far more deadly and dangerous than even brute strength. So they watched him with cool, neutral eyes. Watched him get beaten down. Again and again. But they also saw him get up. And they judged him calmly, coldly with clear seeing eyes. There was no hidden agenda behind their request. Just a simple quid pro quo. They would run interference for him; he would think for them.
Naturally he got rid of them right quick. He was a Giles after all. He may be reduced to…this wretched life. But he had the pride of a long line of forebears to uphold the dignity of.
However, as it was quietly pointed out, he was in prison. So where was the pride and dignity in that?
Angered by their words, he sent them packing. Yet there was something about these ruffians that made him abruptly reconsider their offer. That, and a sincere desire not to be beaten to a bloody pulp again.
Somewhere along the line he began to actually care about the men under his dubious command. He struggled harder to protect them. To use what limited skills he had to keep them safe from predation of others. He was no Ethan or Angel, or even Faith with their supernatural strength and magic. Tales of demons and other esoteric evils didn't make them blink and regard him with wonder and fear. But what he did have was his wits. And he used his wits to the utmost to help them survive the prison jungle. That was something they found impressive.
And in surrender, he found strength.
Acceptance.
Himself.
They didn't give a tuppence that he had been a Watcher; they most certainly didn't give a rat's arse that his last name was Giles and that he could trace his family history back for four hundred years. What they felt was important, and he wholeheartedly agreed with them, was avoiding by a clever application of diplomacy and shrewd intelligence and anything else that came to mind, all attacks by the various warring gangs that permeated the prison.
What he gave in knowledge, they gave back strength of arms and protection.
Quid pro quo.
Giles well remembered how he begged and pleaded with Xander, with Ethan…even with mad Dru for them to save his ‘men’. Even as he screamed the words, he cursed himself bitterly for giving them a means to his compliance. He saw the astonished look on Buffy's face fade into one of scorn before the daft girl dropped her eyes. But he knew his former charge all too well and he saw the sly look she cast Xander.
She would learn. He had no doubt that she would learn just who held the reins in this dog and pony show. That is, if Xander didn't kill her first.
Giles sighed as he sat on a dusty bed. He regarded the room with a jaundiced eye. Well, old boy, looks like this will be your new home for quite some time, he thought wryly.
“Well, it could be worse. I could be sharing a room with Buffy. No doubt a fate worse than death.” He chuckled harshly at his jest. Then a vision of Ethan's wasted body flowed across his mind. His mouth turned down at the vivid reminder of how deeply he had been hated. While undoubtedly flattering to know that after all these years you can provoke such intense and strong emotions in someone; however, one really needed to take a good long hard look at oneself. Especially when someone hates you with so much passion that they would willingly hasten their own death to bring about your downfall.
For that was what Ethan had done. The instant he had seen the almost unrecognizable figure, he knew that was what Ethan had done. Used his own death to retrieve him and Buffy as well as power the geas spell when he and the girl appeared in Yorkshire. Merely trading one cage for another. Though to be sure, while it was only a cold dungeon in some ancient moldy castle, it was still a cell. A prison.
The bloody fool had used deathmagic to lay a geas upon them. Forever yoking them to Xander's side until the soddin'’ fool released them. Giles’ lip curled upwards in a twisted smile, a cold vicious light of rage glittered brightly in his eyes. He knew what they wanted and he would be damned and twice damned before he crawled and licked that buggerin' child's boots!
Then he gasped abruptly, his hands flying to his throat as the black metallic collar tightened warningly about his neck. Equally sure in the room next door that Buffy was in the same straits as he. Giles worked frantically to still the anger in his mind and heart, struggling to cast aside the bitterness he felt towards Xander.
In her room, Buffy lay wheezing on the bed as her collar slowly loosened its grip around her throat. She growled softly, wishing she had Giles head in her hands so she could pound some sense into him. He was always yapping at her to stay calm, well he needed to follow his own damn advice. She ignored the slight redheaded girl that had entered her room and was watching her with hidden amusement in leaf-green eyes. Forgetting herself, Buffy entertained herself with a brief image of going Slayer on Willow’s wussy ass. Then her eyes widened and a speculative light grew in her eyes at the lack of pain. Well, well, well…Buffy smirked internally to herself.
People always underestimated her because she was small and blonde. But just because she chose not to act all brainiac and stuff didn’t mean she couldn’t figure out things by herself. It wasn’t like she needed Giles to do her thinking. It may take her awhile but eventually she would reach a Gilesidea.
All that time in prison, getting her ass kicked she had thought long and hard every time she landed in the infirmary. Broken arms, legs, ribs generally had a tendency to slow you down. Force you to THINK. The first couple of times all she could think about was revenge. Revenge against every last one of those stinking bastards that put her in fuckin’ prison. Sneering all the while at that little pussy, Xander. Cuz for sure she KNEW it was him that got everybody to back off from killing her. Allowing both her and Giles to live. Show them mercy, she remembered sneering. But as the months passed her fury settled to a molten burn, she began to think. Thought about WHY would Xander show them even the slightest bit of mercy. And she grew more uneasy at what point her thoughts kept circling around to, the conclusion she kept reaching despite herself.
Every time they turned around, there THEY were. Waiting for them. At every turn, her and Giles got their asses handed to them on a plate. Then caged. Locked and throw away the key caged. So why leave them alive? To learn the dubious error of their ways? Like that’ll happen!
The only reason she kept coming back to: So that they would know defeat. It simply wasn't enough to kill her and Giles. Oh no, they had to know they were utterly, thoroughly beaten.
Ground into the dirt. Useless. Nothing.
But which one of them came up with the idea? Spike and Dru were easily dismissed, they didn't care enough. Faith and Cordy were also eliminated, they were like her. Kill now, worry later. Impulsive they were and would have gone straight for the kill. Angel and Wesley, she was sure would have killed them with a coldness that would chill the bones.
Which left only Ethan, Xander and the Protector. And less slowly, she eliminated the Protector and thought even slower about Xander and Ethan, before carefully dismissing Ethan. While she didn’t have any doubts that he could have and would have killed her, but Giles he would have had a delightfully twisted, fiendish torture planned for him. Something like chestnuts roasting over an open fire.
Leaving only...Xander.
The joker. The jester. The donutboy.
Her attention was brought back to the present when Willow cleared her throat noisily.
“Something I can do for you Willow?” Buffy asked with pretended calm as she turned slowly around. Allowing Willow to see the jagged scar that ran up her cheek. Another inch and she would have lost her left eye in that particular fight.
Willow let her eyes rest deliberately on the vivid reminder of Buffy’s imprisonment before meeting her former friend’s eyes. And her eyes narrowed at the lack of response from Buffy.
“Don’t think just because Xander brought you here means he’s forgiven you,” Willow stated coldly, glaring at the distant expression on the blonde’s face. “He hasn’t, so don’t even think of trying to pretend that you’ve changed. I know you’re still the selfish little bitch you’ve always were!” The slight young woman’s words were charged with harsh animosity.
Buffy raised her brows in disbelief. Was Willow really that stupid?! Looking at the other girl, she realized that the redhead really was that dumb.
“Okay,” she replied mildly, but malicious amusement sparkled in her eyes.
Willow blinked rapidly. That wasn’t exactly the response she was expecting. She had a feeling like the floor was shifting under her feet.
“Fine,” she said, uncertain of her footing now. “Uhm, you know nobody wants you here, right? And we’re all keeping an eye on you, just in case,” she added warningly, scrambling to recover her lost ground.
“Well, we are not the only ones that the others will be keeping an eye on,” Giles coolly remarked from behind her. Willow spun around with a gasp, then turned. Keeping her body and attention on him as he limped calmly into the room.
Giles and Buffy shared twin looks of amusement before directing their attention back to Willow.
“She’s an idiot,” Buffy remarked idly to Giles as they stared at the discomforted witch.
“I know,” he replied comfortably. “God willing, she won’t breed and bestow her boundless stupidity on future generations.”
Willow blanched in shock, then her face darkened in rage. She took an angry step forward her mouth opening to spew furious words out.
“Shut. Up.” Giles stated quietly, growing suddenly weary with the little game he and Buffy were playing with the girl. The little twit never was much of a challenge. He paced forward haltingly. “Do you honestly think that anyone of them downstairs trust the likes of YOU?!” There was such venomous scorn in his voice, that her mouth worked helplessly.
“You stupid idiotic CHILD! Do you think that Xander has forgiven you?! Buffy and I stand a far better chance of getting back into his good graces long before you!” Giles snapped.
“B…b…but…” Willow stammered, her face drawn in shock. The vicious contempt on his face had her backing up in fear.
“Stow it! You think you’re so clever, don’t you dear girl?” Giles purred as he stood before her. He put his hands on the door on either side of her. “Well, my dear, you’re not quite clever enough. You see, while it may be true that Xander may have forgiven you, however, forgiveness and forgetfulness are two entirely separate event, I assure you. And he will NEVER forget that you, his oldest and dearest friend, betrayed him. Like me, like Buffy, like you… he’s giving us each a second chance. But if you go on thinking him weak, thinking him soft…you WILL make another mistake and he’ll cut you down with nary a pause in his step. This time you’ll know the full consequences of your actions and there’ll be no hesitation in his dealing with you.”
“So dream your pathetic little dreams of your dear, sweet Xander. Continue wearing the rose colored blinders when you look at him. Because I assure you, that Xander no longer exists. And when he kills you, I’m sure you’ll still have that sappy look on your face.” Giles breathed gently into the terrified girl's face. He gave her a snark-like smile before backing away.
Willow breathed raggedly, struggling to gather her control. She glared venomously at an unrepentant Buffy and Giles. “Xander loves me! And he’s forgiven me! He…he…wants me to stand right beside him! ” She shouted angrily to them.
Buffy shrugged lightly, her eyes rested on the furious red face of the other girl. “Makes it lots easier for him to kill you,” she remarked sagely with a thoughtful nod. “Anyways, I’m pretty sure that Giles already said that. That Xander’s forgiven you, I mean,” she retorted calmly.
Giles tsked, tsked and sighed with mock pity. “Still refusing to use your bloody eyes, aren’t you, my dear?” he smirked. “Let me guess, you thought that with Xander’s grooming you for such an important position within his little group it surely meant that things were coming up all sorts of roses between the two of you, correct? While I hate to burst your bubble...”
Giles paused in thought, then gave a wicked chuckle, “...actually I find I’m rather enjoying myself…Xander will kill you. Not the Protector...Xander. There will be no malice, just a matter of simple expediency. There is no room within that group for someone without a great deal of faith, backbone and commitment. They may argue, fight cheerfully amongst themselves but they have long since measured the true value of each others worth.” His words cut like the precision of a scalpel into Willow’s flinching face. “And you, my dear are sadly lacking one essential ingredient: trust.”
Unholy laughter was clearly visible in Buffy’s eyes as she pulled down the high collar of her shirt. She smiled evilly at the loud gasp from Willow, her smile widening when Willow paled alarmingly Giles opened his shirt as well.
All three were wearing similar collars.
“The thing is if we even so much as THINK about acting against that group's self-interest, these pretty little necklaces have an alarming tendency to inflict a great deal of pain on us. We hurt any one of them, we hurt. But you know what’s really funny? I can think about going Slayer on you, and I don’t feel a thing! Ain’t that a riot?!” Then Buffy’s face hardened, reflecting two years of her prison experience.
“So if you think you’re better than us, guess again missy! You and us, we're in the same fuckin’ boat! And if we don't learn how to bail, we're gonna drown.” Her peals of vicious, triumphant laughter followed the distraught young witch out of the room. Racing down the hall to get away from the horrible lies coming from Buffy. And she came to an abrupt stop at the sight of Xander and Angel exiting the baby’s room. She met Xander’s eyes and swallowed heavily as she finally looked….really LOOKED at him.
They were right, she thought shakily as she edged away from the shattering truth she saw in Xander’s eyes. All this time she thought she had regained his love and trust. But she hadn’t. Not by a longshot.
Willow fled to her room on weak limbs. Wondering what more would she have to do to get back into Xander’s good graces.
Xander looked puzzledly at Willow’s retreating form. He exchanged a puzzled look with Angel before shrugging and dismissing the girl from his mind. He headed back downstairs to dinner, leaning with remembered pleasure against Angel’s broader frame.
Buffy and Giles remained upstairs, not willing to push the group’s tolerance for their presence. Just in case it vanished abruptly without Xander around. Willow chose to consume dinner in her room as well.
Xander glanced delightedly around the noisy, laugh-filled table and sighed happily. He smothered his laughter at the wigged out look on Wes’ face at the embarrassingly probing questions from Dawn about his intentions towards Spike. His prospects. His method of living and providing for her vampire. His character. His choice of employment, what plans he had for the future.
At first Wes looked like he wanted to laugh, but that serious gleam in her eyes gave him pause.
Then Spike leaned over and whispered that his Poppet was trained by the best in the fine art of asking questions. The blonde vampire smiled with patently false, modest pride. With a hollow feeling, Wesley knew exactly who the vampire was referring to. Despite the endless entertainment value it was affording the others, he endeavored to answer the aggressively demanding child with some measure of composure. Struggling to get through this with his dignity intact.
After dinner and with discrete haste Angel hurriedly helped a bemused Xander settle the children into nearby bedrooms. Though, hopefully not too near, he thought with lustful alarm as he urged a now blushing Xander to the bedroom.
Closing the door and leaning against it, he regarded the lean young man with hot possessive eyes. His eyes traveled up and down the boy’s tall, lanky form with lustful intent. For a brief moment mourning the visible changes that time and experience had taken on his young lover. Changes that he had not been witness to. But all in all, he couldn’t help but approve. Before, Xander was a beautiful youth, teetering on the brink of true adulthood. But now….
“Have I mentioned how much I’ve missed you?” he whispered huskily as he moved away from the door and prowled towards his mate.
Xander felt his cheeks burning even hotter at the scintillating look in Angel’s eyes. That gleam of excitement in Angel’s glowing orbs was stirring up a lot of interesting tingles down below.
And as much as this moment being one he had been dying for for almost two years, longing for…he panicked.
“Boy, was that a long flight!” he exclaimed with nervous cheer. His eyes darting everywhere in the room but the crestfallen expression that flickered over Angel’s face. “And what with the kids…” he shook his head sorrowfully. “Boy, am I glad that I ain’t got any! Not that I wouldn’t love to have a couple of the anklebiters,” he hastily assured Angel, “But…I dunno. Connor is a little sly devil, and Dawn…that girl gotta argue with you about everything. And the baby, he’s even worse. For a little guy that can’t even walk or talk yet, he sure does manage to get his way all the time. Ooooh, that reminds me, I gotta call their father and let ‘im know that we got here okay. I know he said I could call him tomorrow, but I say why put off till tomorrow what you can do today? Though sometimes, that putting off stuff really works better when you put it off tomorrow or the next day instead of doing it today. Cuz sometimes you have things you like…” and becoming aware of the flummoxed look on Angel’s face, Xander finally managed to corral his runaway mouth.
Angel blinked rapidly, coming out from his figurative umbrella as the deluge of words trickled to a halt. He wondered what caused the rapid-fire words to sprout from the boy’s mouth. Then he stopped wondering as he finally saw the overriding FEAR glinting brightly in the wide staring eyes. A frown slowly formed on his face as he carefully stepped closer to his trembling young mate.
“Xander, are you…are you scared? Of me?!” His voice rose in astonished fear of his own.
The young man looked shocked. “Scared of you?! Hell no!” Xander insisted firmly with a vigorous shake of his head.
“Then what’s the…I mean…you…you’re acting like you’ve never…” Angel began to say with quiet frustration as he stared at the boy…the man. Then his eyes widened slightly at the discomforted look that flashed on Xander’s face and the way the younger man studied the far wall with fascinated interest.
Angel regarded his human thoughtfully. Then picking his words carefully he asked, “Xander, did you make any ‘friends’ while you were in London?”
The young man instantly looked up, his face wreathed in a wide, amusing smile. “Yep, made lots of friends! I mean, they weren’t Cordy and Faith but hell, we still had a blast! Jerome even managed to get us tossed out of one of those pubs over there!”
Xander had to chuckle remembering the blank look of astonishment on Miranda’s face. The rich British debutante had NEVER been ejected from anywhere! None of the St. John’s had ever been asked to leave, no matter how badly they behaved. Usually people were clamoring for any St. John siblings’ attention and presence. A fact that the willowy blond girl and her brothers took shrewd advantage of. Inviting him, Jerome, Michael, Megan and Tessa along with them to any party or high falutin’ social event going on in the vicinity of London proper.
“Yes, but did you enjoy the company of any of your ‘friends’?” Angel asked with strained patience.
Xander looked at him blankly, “Well yeah!” Then his eyes narrowed as he thought he grasped what A was was talking about. “While I don't like speaking ill of the dead, actually I do especially if the dead is Spike, I wanna say that if Spike hadna got pissed at all the Watchers for watching him all suspiciously like and poured a couple bottles of Jack Daniels into the punch bowl at Mrs. Taylor-Niesmith's to, as he called it, 'liven up things' everything would have been fine. Old Mr. Bradford and Mr. St. Ives wouldna tried to get into a fistfight in their wheelchairs. Or...or...Jessica Talbot wouldna found out that her fiancé was gay. Though personally I kinda think she shoulda had a little bit of a clue considering he was trying to stick his tongue down her brother's throat. You know that daft girl actually tried to blame her brother!” Xander exclaimed indignantly, then brooded at the sheer unfairness of having them blame him for Spike's bad behavior.
He thought some more about the events in London. His eyes widened with a gasp as he looked nervously at his blank-faced mate. “And just so you know, that fire that started in Lord Neville’s house wasn't our fault! As a matter of fact, me and Tessa were the ones that called everyone's attention to the fact that one of the rooms seemed smoky and considering that it wasn't the Smoking Room we thought they would be grateful!” He exclaimed self-righteously.
His eyes narrowed worriedly as yet another thought took shape in his mind. He licked his lips anxiously as he stared at Angel. “Oh and about Malcolm DeCarolis car, I can explain everything! You see, me and Megan and a couple of the gang were driving along, minding our own business you know, when out of nowhere this great big Morndan demon jumps out of the trees. Miranda was driving cause, ya see cuz I hadn't gotten used to driving on the other side of the road. When Megan yelled, Miranda slammed on the brakes. That gave Megan time to throw a spell at it, but it jumped in the air and …” he trailed off and winced as the numb look settled over Angel’s face.
“Let me guess, Malcolm DeCarolis’ car was right behind it,” Angel said dryly.
“Oh, no,” Xander hastily assured his lover. “That’s not how his car got damaged. When it jumped in the air, Megan’s spell hit a tree instead. The demon jumped in the air, not the car, cuz cars are not known for jumping. Unless they have a ramp, of course,” he added as an afterthought.
“And the tree hit Malcolm’s car?” Angel forcefully stuck to the topic as he hazarded a guess on how the car was damaged. His confusion deepening at the quick head shake from Xander.
“Uh uh, see, then Miranda threw a spell and managed to deflect the tree away from Malcolm's car. But her aim was off and the tree crashed into the fence and the horses got spooked and jumped the fence.”
“So, Malcolm crashed into one of the horses?” Angel stated, pleased to have figured out what happened.
“Nah, he had already stopped his car by then,” Xander said, then giving Angel an annoyed glance, he added pointedly, “And if you could stop interrupting me, I can tell you how his car got messed up.”
He continued rapidly before Angel had a chance to interject a comment. “Anyway, the demon jumped out of the trees at Jerome, I started shooting at it with my crossbow,” he glared at his lover who had his mouth opened to say something. “But missed and hit another tree, Malcolm got out and was attacking it with his sword while Miranda was going at it with a couple of fire spells. So we worked together and killed it. And you know that those types of demons explode when they die, right? Megan cast a shield over us, but we forgot about the cars. And that’s how Malcolm got his car messed up, cause the demon blood was like eating away at it!” Xander exclaimed triumphantly.
“Who knew that that particular demon's blood acts like acid on fiberglass? Nobody said anything! And you know what else?! We didn’t even get to go on our picnic!” Xander huffed out in an aggrieved tone.
Angel regarded the sulking face of his lover first in astonished wonder, then amusement. Soft chuckles spilled from his lips, growing in strength at the look of mingled anger and confusion in Xander’s eyes. Every time he looked at the boy, it set off fresh chortles of helpless laughter, forcing him to eventually collapse on the bed, holding his aching sides.
Xander regarded his laughing mate with a hesitant smile. Laughter, laughing is good right? He thought to himself anxiously. And he wondered guiltily if he should tell Angel about accidentally shooting Miranda’s father in the butt with an arrow. Eyeing the laughing vampire he decided to wait to share that piece of information. After all, it wasn’t like Mr. St. John was mad at him anymore; he just had to be careful with any weapons around Mr. St. John. The older man was very, VERY clear about that. Xander thought carefully about the way Mr. St. John's right eye would twitch, then decided that obviously it was a pre-existing condition. It had nothing to do with him.
Angel finally got his laughter under control and pulled his precious funny boy down onto the bed with him. “Xander, what I was actually talking about was…” he broke off as he looked into the young man’s puzzled eyes. “You remember that conversation we had before you left? Do you remember what I said? That I wouldn’t have a problem with you developing a… a ‘friendship’ with someone else while over in England?” He held up a hand sharply when Xander opened his mouth. “And I’m talking about a sexual relationship, Xander, not merely being friends with someone.”
Xander gazed deeply into Angel’s eyes with a slightly sad expression. “I remember, but to tell you the truth…I…I really didn’t have much time for anything like that. Not that anyone would be interested in me,” he said with such a miserable expression at his lack of sexual encounters that only a highly suspicious bastard would ever doubt him.
Fondly Angel regarded the downcast face and cursed himself for being such a suspicious bastard. “So all those letters and emails about having a good time and meeting people was a load of bunk, huh? That creepy guy that you said was hitting on you was just a figment of your imagination, hmmm? It must be a coincidence that his name is also Jerome Stevens, who happens to be quite a good friend of yours now.” Angel’s voice was dryer than the Sahara Desert.
Xander froze as he frantically tried to recall what he had written in the early days in an effort to convince Angel to let him come back home. Did he really say that about Jerome? Dammit, you friggin’ idiot if you’re gonna lie at least keep it simple, he yelled furiously to himself.
“Uhm, yeah?” he said half-heartedly with a tentative smile. A smile that wilted at the sardonic look Angel gave him. He huffed in exasperation. “Fine! Look you, I found what I wanted in a lover when I found you and I’m keeping you! And if you got somebody else sharing your bed, then you better get rid of them quick! There ain’t gonna be nobody but me in your bed and nobody but you in my bed! So there! I don’t wanna ‘nother lover! So deal with THAT, Mister!” He said aggressively. A pugnacious look of determination on his face.
For a reply, Angel tumbled them back on the bed and rolled so Xander wound up on top. “Yes SIR, Mr. Harris, SIR!” He smirked at the annoyed look that settled on his boy’s face.
“Hey, I’m not joking,” Xander complained, though his eyes revealed his doubts. Reflecting all his hidden uncertainties in the chocolaty depths.
“I know,” Angel soothed his lover with great solemnity. But Xander still frowned, suspecting mockery. “So why didn’t you take a lover? I wouldn’t have minded,” he assured Xander quietly. Though a small voice was insistently chanting ‘Liar, liar, pants on fire!' He ignored the mental voice, preferring to focus on Xander’s still face.
The young man slowly raised his eyes from his intent study of Angel’s chest. Meeting the whisky-colored eyes he said softly, “But I would.”
He dropped his eyes again, squirming restlessly at the warm glow that lit Angel’s eyes within. His cheeks reddening at revealing a part of him that he thought he had gradually gotten rid of since he had left Angel’s side.
Gee, I'm such a pathetic wuss! he sneered to himself. A bit angry that after everything he had accomplished away from the girls and Angel, one look from Angel reduced him once again to that needy teenager he thought he had left behind.
Then his eyes widened at the stirring he felt in Angel’s crotch and his eyes darted up to the arousing gleam in a pair of amber eyes. “Kinda funny thing with me,” Angel said lightly, “I sorta found myself a one-man man.” And he pulled Xander’s head down for their first kiss in almost two years. Both of them groaning at the hot rush that swept through them at the initial contact between their lips. Breaking apart, they regarded each other with wide, aroused eyes.
Angel’s eyes dropped to Xander’s lush full lips, his eyes becoming a hungry glittering gold. “Have I mentioned yet that you have the most beautiful pair of lips?” He said huskily, an undertone of rapacious anticipation in his voice.
Xander squeaked softly as they suddenly rolled with him landing on the bottom this time. His eyes widening at the hugely aroused male that settled over him and he pressed his hands against Angel’s chest, stopping the vampire from kissing him. At the puzzled look in the whisky colored eyes, Xander grinned nervously.
“Angel, what's the big rush? We got the rest of our lives and I haven't even taken a shower yet, and believe you me I must smell funkier than a men's locker room. Whewee! There were some really stinky people on the plane, then to struggled with our luggage to the hotel, even though you did offer to have someone come pick us up, I wanted to give the kids a little taste of L.A. Not that I know much about...” then his nervous babble of words slid to a stumbling halt at the understanding look that settled in Angel's eyes.
“Ah, m'aingeal,” Angel whispered tenderly into the wide-eyed gaze of his precious heart. “Do you think I would rush you straightaway to our bed? Never giving ya time to grow accustom t'me again? Mo stoirin, you are my caidreach. While true enough no vows were said 'tween us, yet still you are forever the husband of my soul and the ciallach of my heart. And if you wish the time, never doubt that I will always be there, waiting for you. So I will move to another room and you remain here.” He rolled off the bed and turned and gave Xander a roguish smile of thrilling anticipation. “But that doesn't mean that I won't have fun trying to woo you back into my arms and bed.”
The dark haired youth felt the fires of passion flickering in his veins. “Do you...” he paused and bit his lips as he sat up in the bed.
Angel stopped, then turned to peer at the uncertain youth. “Do I what?”
“Do you have to leave? I mean, can’t we just...” Xander waved a hand expressively at the wide bed, his face coloring in embarrassment. “Nevermind, I'm just being stupid...” he muttered.
Angel studied the downbent head, then the bed before coming back to Xander. Kneeling, he peered into the boy's flushed face. “If you're asking if sleeping with you in my arms would be something I would like to do, then the answer is hell yeah.” Angel assured his lover softly and was rewarded with a wide smile of such sweetness that he just froze in place staring up into the rich, chocolate eyes.
Xander went still as well, caught up in the once familiar magic of Angel's eyes. Almost in a daze, he slid off the bed and he straddled the motionless figure. This time he took the initiative and framing Angel's face, he pressed their lips together. A thready moan of need rippled through him as Angel's mouth parted and a slick tongue coaxed his into the cool interior to play sensuous love games.
There they stayed for endless minutes...it all ran together in their minds. It could have been hours, days or years that they simply kissed. Only parting to allow the poor mortal boy to breathe before they resumed the heady delights of kissing. Re-familiarizing themselves with the taste of the other's mouth. Soft wanton sighs of ravenous satisfaction filled the room as Xander squirmed, rocked and writhed in Angel's laps. His motions becoming increasingly faster before Angel abruptly called a halt to their titillating foreplay.
“Stop!” the vampire gasped out, trying with limited success to stop himself from giving into the urge to sheathe himself in the warm body of his lover.
“Yeah, we'll stop when I've had enough,” Xander murmured, surveying Angel's passion swollen lips with hungry, possessive eyes. Abruptly he dived back down, deciding in the interest of scientific curiosity, more experimentation was needed to see if Angel's lips would swell even further with more applied kissage.
He was very much shocked to find his experimental subject was holding him off. Pulling back, Xander's face was set in a thunderous frown. “Angel, what's up with the lack of kissage? That's what people do when their loved ones,” and he poked himself in the chest, “Namely ME, come home from a long visit overseas!” Pleased at his cleverness, he attempted to kiss Angel again. Becoming seriously aggrieved at the major lack of lips on lips contact. In particular Angel’s lips on his lips.
“Xander, look it's been a long day for you. And I think you have the right idea for us to take things slow,” Angel said huskily with sensuous warmth in his eyes. “We've waited for over two years, what's a couple more days or even weeks?”
“I've changed my mind,” Xander replied with great dignity. “I want smooches! Lots and lots of smooches!” And tried once again to claim his fair share of kisses.
Angel chuckled even as he held his squirming, frustrated lover away from 'smooches'. “I know, and believe you me, I want smooches just as much as you,” he said feelingly. “But, we got time...nothing but time ahead of us. So why don't you go take a shower, and we can both go to bed. And tomorrow...” Angel broke off and wiggled his brows meaningfully.
Xander blinked. He drew back in amazement, Angel was dead serious! Okay, sure he was dead...but still, he was freakin' serious about no smooches for....Xander peered at the clock on the nightstand and with a loud gasp of horror he saw it was only 8 pm!
His face stricken, the young man levered himself away from his lover and collapsed on the bed. Whimpering his extreme distress at the lack of nookie.
Angel hid a smile of amusement at his human's dramatics. But Xander saw the gleam of laughter in the vampire's eyes before they were swiftly hooded. Mumbling to himself, the young man bounced off the bed and stormed over to his luggage. Quickly, extracting a pair of pajamas from one of the suitcases, Xander stalked into the bathroom still muttering darkly under his breath. Once the door was slammed shut, Angel fell on the bed and muffled his laughter into the pillows. How he missed his boy! Especially a sexually frustrated Xander.
A several minutes later he heard the water shut off. Moving with vampiric speed, he hurriedly disrobed and pulled on a pair of black silk pajamas of his on before hopping into bed. A minute later, the door was angrily pulled open. By the stiff set of his boy's shoulders, he knew Xander was still pissed. That and the evil glare the boy shot him though he was a bit taken aback by the sly look of cunning in those dark chocolaty eyes.
Xander nearly chuckled himself at the uneasy look that flashed in Angel's eyes. But with fiendish cleverness, he knew he couldn’t let his lover suspect his diabolical plan. Putting an innocent expression on his face, he crossed the the bed and slid carefully under the sheets. Ignoring Angel for the time being, he twisted and grabbed the clock, then set the alarm. Twisting back around, he gave a wary Angel a peck on the cheek before snuggling down with the sheets pulled up to his neck.
“I think you were right, Angel about waiting until tomorrow,” he murmured with a soft smile at his uncertain lover. “I admit, I am kinda bushed.”
Angel knew this was too good to be true. While two years was a long time, Xander was still Xander and he knew the boy was plotting something. And if he wasn’t now, then he would be.
“Xander, I know you're up to something,” he said calmly with a narrowed glance down at the cherubically innocent face.
“Moi? Up to something? Actually, I'm laying down, just in case you didn't notice,” the young man said with a crooked grin. Then Xander yawned hugely, muttering a sheepish, “Excuse me...” Long dark lashes fluttered tiredly as the long trip caught up with him. “Hit the lights, willya...” he murmured as he drifted off to sleep.
But Angel remained propped up on his elbow, still watching his slumbering lover suspiciously. He remained almost motionless for about 20 minutes before he was convinced the boy was fast asleep before laying down himself. Smirking, Angel linked his hands behind his head smugly satisfied that once he had put his foot down, Xander couldn't help but obey. Though still he was a bit worried because to tell the truth, neither Cordy, Xander or Faith were much good at obeying.
He stiffened at the slight movement at his side, his head turning swiftly to urge Xander back to sleep. To get the rest he knew the boy needed. But as he met the softly glowing white eyes, he relaxed.
“It's good to see you again,” the Protector stated solemnly. “Forgive me for not getting up, but I fear that this time the boy's exhaustion has caught up even with me.”
Angel smiled at the rueful note in the energy being's voice. “So, how was London? I think getting the truth about Xander's time in London would be like pulling teeth,” he said wryly. “Did he have fun?”
The Protector hesitated in replying.
“I take it that he had quite a lot of fun, didn't he? I kinda thought so,” Angel breathed heavily. He sighed.
The energy being shook it's head. “Yes, he did have what you would deem 'fun' after he finally became amenable as to why he needed to leave. I, moreso than Xander, understood your reasoning for forcing the boy to make this journey alone. You feared his dependence on you and your actions towards him. He is your mate, yet despite the fact that I am housed within his body, you look upon him as less than equal in the union between the two of you. By forcing him out of the safe comfortable nest that you were trying to weave around him, he has learned that he is strong and intelligent. He is more than capable of holding his own.”
Angel blinked in uneasy dismay, it was uncanny how well the usually unemotional creature read his innermost thoughts. Had Xander stayed, he more than likely would have wrapped the boy in cotton in an effort to keep him safe. Something he struggled constantly within himself NOT to do with Cordy and Gunn. However, with Xander it would have been far worse. By the time he was aware of what he was doing, he would have had the boy smothered. All in the most reasonable voice in the world he would have convinced the boy to stay behind...to be safe. Despite the fact that the Protector had enough power to nearly incinerate the city.
Xander would have eventually left him, to strike out on his own. Because how can you love someone yet not respect them?
The dark haired vampire sighed. “I know and I'm glad that he was very happy in London.”
“I did not say he was happy in London, I merely said that he finally learned how to have fun. Xander loves you. His idea of being happy and having fun is being with you. Teasing you, laughing with Cordelia Chase and Faith McDaniels and the rest of his friends. You, Wesley Wyndham-Price and the girls, and to a certain lesser degree, Willow are part of his soul. While yes, he did have fun, there was something missing that even I felt. Something was lacking in his laughter, in his soul. It wasn't until he set eyes on you, that I felt his spirit began to glow. You are as much a part of him as I am.” The Protector's voice was quietly solemn as it spoke.
Angel blinked back the tears from the rush of emotion that threatened to shred his stoic image. “Thanks...that means a lot.”
Then abruptly the energy being froze, its' eyes distant as it seemed to listen to something beyond a vampire's hearing. Angel froze as well, straining to hear what so alarmed the Protector.
Then it spoke in a quiet contemplative tone. “In my duties as Protector of this dimension, I have fought fierce and deadly creatures such as you would not believe. Loathsomely terrifyingly.
Terrifyingly, formidable adversaries that have struck fear into the hearts of man and demons alike. I have faced these vicious warriors oftentimes alone and have emerged victorious. I have witnessed births of nations, the death of cities and kingdoms. Brutal warlords, demons and humans, overrunning the world, committing atrocities that would turn your stomach. I have faced these such creatures and more,” it stated simply.
There was no boasting or arrogance in its tone. Just a statement of fact that it was indeed that powerful. Indeed, Angel would not have quibbled with it regarding its abilities, however, his attention was partially distracted by a thin wailing cry that finally reached his ears. But his eyes shot back to the Protector as it continued in a stern, unwavering voice. “I remember my job description with absolute clarity….and changing diapers was NOT on it!”
Then it vanished swiftly back into the depths of Xander's mind. Leaving Angel with two options, either wake Xander or try to figure out what was wrong with the baby. Though he almost changed his mind when he opened the door and a ripe smell hit his nose. But with a sigh, Angel stiffened his shoulders and forged into the room with a determined face.
His face screwed up in concentration, Angel unskillfully removed the dirty diaper from the now gurgling and kicking baby. Then holding the dirtied diaper by the tips of his forefinger and thumb, his arm extended stiffly in front of him, he dropped the soiled object in the garbage. Returning to the child, Angel cleaned Michael clumsily with a baby wipe from a packet left near the crib. Tossing that in the garbage, Angel regarded fresh clean diaper, then the baby with some confusion. Ignoring the beaming smile on the child's face, he grabbed the box of diapers, hoping for some instructions of how to put the thing on the kid.
Following the directions with excruciating care, he carefully slid the baby on the diaper. Glancing at the diagram, then the baby, he flipped the chortling child onto its' back again. Then blinking, he carefully pulled the baby's shirt from around its head where it had hiked up. Frowning, Angel glanced at the picture again before attempting to get the diaper on the child. However, the baby, thinking this was an amusing game, wiggled happily with spasmodic, gleeful movements.
Which incidentally, totally undid whatever progress Angel thought he was making. Then the vampire hit upon a fiendishly cunning idea...putting his hand on the baby's stomach and holding Michael still. THEN he should be able to fasten the tapes.
But he mentally mentioned himself not to use too much strength, don’t wanna squish the insides of the little nipper out like a jelly sandwich.
Smirking at his cleverness, Angel just barely managed to keep the baby centered on the diaper. As he was leaning over the baby, struggling to unstick the tab he failed to notice the tiny frown of concentration that settled on Michael's tiny face. But he did feel the effects as the child let go and a warm stream of pee arched and sprayed his face.
Instinctively he jerked back, his face screwed up in disgust. “Shi...” and he bit off the curse, belatedly remembering that one wasn't supposed to swear in front of children. However, at the sharp gurgling cry from the baby, he became aware his gameface had dropped down. Angel hastily slipped back into human guise to avoid frightening Michael any further. Then he froze as the child’s eyes got huge, and monstrous tears swam in the baby’s eyes before a whimper, then a soft wail erupted from the baby’s mouth.
Startled at the noise, Angel involuntarily slipped into demon mode. And the tears dried up and the baby chortled delightedly, reaching up with fat pudgy hands to grab at the vampire’s face.
“Well, whaddaya know,” Angel remarked softly to himself. He slipped back and forth between faces, laughing gently himself at each gurgling sound that came from the baby’s smiling toothless face. He blew raspberries on Michael’s fat belly to the delight of the child, constantly making gushing, baby talk with the little tot.
“Whose a liddle man? Yes, you are such an evil baby! Ooooh, you're just a little Angelus, aren't you?! Yes, you are...yes you are,” Angel cooed to the laughing child as he fastened the tapes on the diaper.
But he abruptly stilled at a soft sound outside the door, he slid deep into the shadows of the room. Unwilling to let anyone see him acting a fool around the baby.
Buffy shambled into the room, blinking sleepily as she shuffled to the makeshift crib. Yawning tiredly, she hoisted a whimpering Michael into her arms and with dragging steps, lurched to the cooler and bed. She yawned again as she extracted a bottle from the cooler and settled comfortably on the bed with Michael cradled in her arms.
“I still say somebody cheated on the coin flip,” she remarked to the oblivious baby, but her face was soft as she watched the child. Gently she stroked a soft, plump cheek. Now that she was alone with none of THEM watching her, she relaxed. Settling herself more comfortably on the bed, Buffy cleared her throat.
“Okay, now where were we? Oh yeah, when we last left our heroine, Princess Buffy of Sunnydale, her mother Queen Joyce had decided to extend her hand to the less fortunate surrounding countries by allowing one of their children to stay at the palace. It was supposed to be a prince but we got a princess instead.” Though she thought she was alone with Michael, still she lowered her voice to a thrilling whisper. “But the princess was EVIL. And only by using her superior intellect was Princess Buffy able to figure this out. Almost too late for Xander, her Court Jester. See due to his weak will power, he fell easily under Princess Ampata's dark enchantment.”
She glanced wisely down into Michael's fascinated eyes peering at her over his bottle. “That's the only way she could get him, because he was in love with Princess Buffy. All the men were in love with Princess Buffy, cuz she was just so beautiful, smart and kickin' it with the fashion sense,” she said smugly. “And just between me, you and the lamp, that boy had an itch that wouldn't stop. And you know, Princess Buffy sure as hell wasn't about to do any scratching.”
Angel, standing in the shadows, could hardly believe that this was the same bitter, angry looking girl that had walked into the hotel. Every line of Buffy's body expressed love, caring and tenderness towards the baby. Probably cause the boy couldn't see her true nature, his cynical side remarked sourly. But he remained quiet, observing Buffy with Michael. His eyes were narrowed in calculation and a cold, ruthless smile was on his lips as he observed the young girl with the baby.
Buffy returned to her story, unaware of her silent observer and the secret she had unwittingly revealed. “Anyway, Princess Buffy had to run desperately to save her Prime Minister, Giles. Racing into the room, she gasped as she saw the dark, evil Princess draining the very life from her Prime Minister. With one glance, she saw her Court Jester backed into a corner, paralyzed with terror. Yet though she had fear in her heart, Princess Buffy drew on all her courage and strength, and fought the evil, life-draining Princess. With amazing grace, she managed to defeat the evil princess. Thus, once again, the princess managed, despite overwhelming obstacles and the sheer cowardliness of the Court Jester, the lameness of the Prime Minister and Willow, the bumbling Court Magician, managed to save the day. And all before tea.”
Buffy smiled triumphantly down into the baby's wide eyes. Michael frowned as if he understood her words. One hand left it's deathgrip on the bottle and flailed about wildly. Then the chubby little fist connected and bopped her on the nose. The baby's frown vanished instantly and joy was expressed in every wiggle of his fat little body.
Angel silently cheered the lad on and hoped the baby would smack her again. Harder.
She laughed as she grabbed his hand and kissed it. “Oh, so you don't like that one, huh? Well, here's another one for you. Guess where it's set? Yup, that's right...in the kingdom of Sunnydale. In this story, Princess Buffy had a secret lover. Later on she finds out he's a faithless, lying bastard but that's another story. Anyway, into her kingdom comes another Princess. Her name was Princess Faith Iamaslut. A girl that Princess Buffy extends a warm welcome too. Later on, I'll tell you about how despite everything Buffy did for her, the girl wound up stabbing our heroine in the back. So, anyhow, Princess Faith runs to Summers' Castle and pleads for Princess Buffy's help. Word had gotten around about how brave and selfless the beautiful, blonde princess was. Faith was running from a dreaded enemy called...a Watcher.” Buffy looked slyly around as she whispered the word. She grinned when Michael took the bottle out of his mouth and babbled nonsensical words at her.
Then her expression grew dark. “After everything she had done for them, saved their lives so many times, they all turned on her. Her Court Jester, Xander; the Prime Minister, and even Willow, the Court Magician. See, they found out about her secret lover, Prince Angel. Just because he was from Demonvale, they automatically saw him as an enemy. But he wasn't, at least not yet. See he had an evil twin named Angelus that was all sorts of bad. Besides he had been kicked to the curb, thrown out of his own kingdom. Prince Angel, that is. But our selfless heroine found him and had been nursing him back to help. But that low-down, idiotic fool snake in the grass Xander found them and blabbed about...” and Buffy's words halted abruptly as the door clicked open. She looked up as the door opened gently, her face instantly shuttering at the sound, then relaxing when Dawn poked her head around.
“Hey, you’re supposed to be in bed,” she called softly to the dark-hair young girl. “If Xander catches you up, and in here with me, you are sooo gonna be in trouble with him and SPIKE,” she said warningly.
“Pull the other one,” Dawn scoffed lightly as she came further into the room. “Like I can’t handle either one of them! Besides, they haven't found out yet and they never will.” She grinned cheekily at the older girl.
Buffy hid a smile at the young girl’s boastful words. No doubt Dawnie could, the girl had a certain talent managing both men that it was almost ridiculous.
“Look sweetie you are a growing girl, and you need…” she began gently then stopped. Growing more aware, her eyes narrowed on an unnatural darkness in the corner. Her body tensed and she came to her feet in a swift, unconcerned rush. “Dawn, why don’t you take Michael back to your room,” she smoothly said. But there was a distant tone in her voice that made the younger girl frown uncertainly, now unsure of her welcome.
Confused, Dawn took her brother in her arms and opened her mouth to ask Why? But then she caught the cold look in Buffy’s eyes. Her arms tightened protectively as she closed her mouth and sidled towards the door. She came to an abrupt, wary halt when Xander's Angel stepped out of the shadows. There was something in his eyes that made her back away, even though he wasn't even looking at her.
She glanced uncertainly back and forth between the vampire and Buffy as the two stood frozen, staring at each other. Whatever was in the air was really making her feel all jittery and stuff. She couldn’t help let out a sigh of relief when the big, dark vampire slowly smiled before he silently ghosted out of the room. Uneasiness stirred in the young girl, for some reason she couldn't quite put her finger on, that smile Angel gave Buffy wasn't a 'smile'. It was the kinda smile Spike had when he was telling her those bloodthirsty stories.
“Buffy?”
“Leave it alone Dawn,” Buffy said tiredly, with an angry look deep in her eyes. “Just leave it alone and go back to bed.”
“But...”
“I said GO!” Buffy snapped harshly, her hands fisted at her sides. “Just give me Michael and go to bed!”
Dawn blinked at the coldness in Buffy’s voice and sighed. She recognized that glint in the girl's eyes and knew that the older girl was in one of her 'fits'. Silently she handed Michael back over to Buffy, knowing better than to argue. Whining and pouting got her just about anything from Spike and Xander. But Buffy and Willow would simply slap her down if she tried to pull it on them.
Casting one last look over her shoulder at the small figure, Dawn sighed once again before closing the door behind her.
Leaving Buffy alone. Her secret fondness for the children painfully exposed to Angel. And she didn't have any doubts that it was something he wouldn't hesitate to use.
Alone with the warning of Dawn’s mother echoing in her mind. She would never forget that cold deadly look that settled on the woman’s usually gentle features when she had gotten angry at her situation. She had grown unreasonably annoyed because every time she turned around Dawn was watching her. She had marched up to the girl, slapped her and called the girl a spoiled little brat. And grinned triumphantly. Hell, if she couldn’t hurt Xander it still felt satisfying to be the cause of the girl running away crying.
But her joy didn’t last long.
When Lydia had appeared in the drawing room, a length of cord pulled tightly in her hands, Buffy remembered sneering. Then she recalled just how hard the wall was when Lydia had knotted the rope in her hands and yanked tightly.
Calmly stating that she was a witch. Not a powerful witch. Not a mighty witch like Willow would become. But a hedgewitch.
The rope was swiftly knotted and yanked tightly again, and Buffy found herself hurled face first into the opposite wall. Her momentum stopped one inch before she was smashed into the wall.
A hedgewitch that cared deeply for her children….…knot….twist…yank.
The terrified former Slayer was flung the length of the room; her back slammed with sickening force into another wall. By this time, Spike, Xander and Jerod had come running to see what the commotion was about. Jerod, taking one look at his enraged wife, did an about face and hurried away. Spike and Xander blinked and raced after him. If Jerod was running, they figured they should too.
Lydia made it painfully clear just where their friendship for Xander ended and their parental responsibilities began. By the time Lydia had finished gently explaining what she felt was proper conduct for Buffy and what was decidedly NOT, the young woman required five stitches in the back of her head, fourteen in her arm, her ribs needed taping, her ankle required wrapping, three fingers needed splinting.
Just before she lost consciousness, she remembered gazing up in terror into the brown skinned woman’s icy black eyes and hearing, “Even in death, I will protect my children.”
After recovering, she treated the two children with extreme wary caution. Never rejecting the two mobile ones when they came near. But also not sending them away just in case they went crying to mommy. And somewhere along the line, she grew to care. They didn't know a thing about her. Connor and Dawn accepted her at face value. If she was nice to them, they didn't pester her so much. When Lydia abruptly fell sick after Michael was born, it was her that saw to their comfort. Her, Giles and Willow were the only ones left since Xander was trying to keep Ethan alive, and Jerod was running back and forth between the hospital and home. Struggling as if mere willpower would keep his wife alive.
Xander failed spectacularly. Buffy's lips curled up nastily remembering the blank, numb look the boy had on his face at the eerie twin howls that ripped from Dru's and Spike's throats.
Her lips slowly curved down as she recalled the numb look of shock when Jerod stumbled into the castle. It was Giles that pushed the kids into hers and Willow's arms and ordered them to their room. A backwards look showed the older man helping Jerod to his feet and leading him away.
*******
Groaning, Xander started swimming to consciousness, summoned by the steady beeping. Raising an arm, he slapped at the annoying sound and hit a firm hard chest. Blinking, he raised himself up on his elbows and peered at the figure in his bed. Then at the room. And a slow grin washed away the sleepiness from his mind.
12:01 am.
He cast a fond look at his slumbering lover and pulled the covers back carefully. His mouth becoming dry at the pale expanse of manmeat revealed to his hungry eyes. He figuratively licked his chops, MINE! All mine!
Angel woke up with a whoof as something landed on his chest. His demon guise falling over his features as he looked up, startled, into Xander’s grinning face.
“Xander, what the hell…? Do you know what time it is?!” Angel asked in astonishment.
“Yep!” Xander replied with a smug look of extreme satisfaction. “At the sound of the beep, it will be 12:03…BEEP!”
Angel grunted softly as the boy bounced eagerly on his chest. “Okay, then go back to sleep!”
“No can do, big guy! It’s tomorrow!”
Angel blinked rapidly, struggling to shift gears between wakefulness and sleepiness. “Yeah, and so….” Then his mind caught the impish gleam in his boy’s eyes.
“And tomorrow means…?” he said cautiously.
“Lots and lots of monkey sex!” Xander exclaimed excitedly. He pouted sulkily when Angel didn’t seem as enthused as he.
Angel cast a feigned thoughtful look at the clock. “Hmmm, whaddaya know, it IS tomorrow!” Xander gave a gurgle of laughter as they rolled over and his chortle of mirth was cut off by Angel’s descending mouth. All thoughts of laughter, of merriment was erased by the rising tide of passion between them.
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