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14. Fool for love

The night was immovable. The typical quiet before the tempest.
Willow was spying the hardly noticeable changing of the darkness from her bedroom’s window. Strangely she wasn’t asking herself what Buffy was doing. She was thinking about the fact that the human eye couldn’t perceive the infinite changes that used to occur during the passage from dark to daylight.
And maybe it was even harder notice when the daylight began to turn into the dark…

Or understand that what you’ve always taken from granted was just an illusion. Darla broke the last residence furniture and then she sat on the floor; her hands were bleeding. She knew Faith wasn’t there. That lousy little bitch was probably with the bastard dirty old dear Mayor. But the rage that was torturing her wasn’t due to them…

He couldn’t know exactly where such a torment came from: maybe from the endless agony of his grandsire, or from the fact that Buffy was still downstairs taking care of him…or from the convulsions Drusilla was suffering from, whimpering and struggling, despite he was holding and cradling in his arms her since hours. It’s like I’m floating on a sea without shores, Spike told himself.

He was floating on a clammy and thick ocean; bitter molasses that forbade him to move, to think…and then, someone came…hot, nearly burning skin…Someone who was shaking him rudely, regardless to the waves of that clammy ocean…
Angelus opened his eyes, suddenly sober. Inside he was frightened, because he knew lucidity used to come when the end was approaching.
Buffy was in front of him: she gasped and her hair were messy. So she hadn’t been just a dream…A kind of ancestral instinct for survival invaded him: gasping, he pushed her away and he got out of bed, falling on his knees…the red hole the arrow had made was shining on his chest and it was surrounded by purple veins. He could feel it, the poison was winning, and it wanted he was aware of that…
With an immense effort he stood up and he stumbled until the fireplace. “Are you here to end what your companion started...?” he asked Buffy, holding on with his hands. The deadly poison had infected his back also, penetrating inside his tattoo. “Or are you here just to watch? Sit down then…it’s coming…”
She forced him to turn around and he was amazed by her expression. She was crying, like in that supposed dream he had made before, and he thought those tears were for him…she taken away her hair from her neck and then she nodded. “Do it. Bite me Angelus…My blood is the cure. I’ll save you”
The lucidity…that lucidity that announced him his death…maybe it was leaving him…
“What?”
Buffy smiled softly, an incoherent smile on her desperate face. “It’s logic…You taught me that: vampires and slayers are the same, because they’re bounded with the same power. Blood. Only the slayer’s blood can cure a vampire…” she came closer, offering her soft neck as it was a fruit. “It’s logic. It’s right”
Oh yeah…Angelus came closer instinctively...yeah, it was weird but logic… “I won’t stop…if I bite you I won’t stop…do you know that, right?”
Her little hands were brushing his chest, stopping sweetly on his wound. “I know”
“You’ll die…” he insisted weakly, without knowing why. The roars of the dark ocean were shouting in his ears…louder and louder…
“To die…” Once again he was amazed by the steadiness of her eyes.
“Every time you kiss me I wish I could die…every time you touch me…every time you’re inside me…” She looked at him, steady, sure. “I love you Angelus”
Finally she told him. And she had never been so sure of her words before. So sure of herself, like she turned on the true Buffy, the real one, only at that time. She was in love with him, yeah. Maybe it happened immediately, when she saw his old portrait for the first time. Or maybe it was due to his unique musk scent, mixed with other secret essences. Maybe it hadn’t occurred in a precise moment, but even before he arrived, during her lonely patrolling, she had flirted with the night, knowing that the darkness was bringing him in her life. And when Willow revealed her that the cure for The Killer of the Dead was her blood, well…this perfection almost moved her.
Angelus was faltering and he looked at her amazed. Buffy caught his face. “I love you, do you understand?” she cried, pulling him closer. “I love you and I’ll die to show you that!”
With a sense of relief, she felt that he turned under her hands. “Good boy…” she whispered him, sweet as a mother. “Good boy…like that…Close your eyes…Close your golden eyes…”
She led him until her neck and the pain was immediate, waited but unexpectedly intense. She felt his teeth slashing her skin, penetrating in her neck for all their length and she felt also her warm blood dripping from her shoulder. Everything lasted for a moment, because Angelus held her more strongly and he bate her deeper with a violent push…and all the pain was erased by something purer and more incomprehensible. Ecstasy. Even if it was a quite miserable word…
They fell down, the vampire and the slayer. Buffy looked for something to fix her eyes on, but she couldn’t see anything. All Buffy’s nerve terminations were focused on Angelus’ teeth and mouth, and there wasn’t space for anything else apart that switch of death and life between them. He was getting more and more strong, and now he was sucking her blood moving his head and growling like a predator that enjoyed his meal. That low and sensual sound, so catlike and animal, excited her too much. She opened her legs putting them around his pelvis; her nipples were firm and she hugged to him arching her body and her neck, putting her nails inside his nape…because she wanted to be taken completely, be dried…If that was the death, she wanted go on with it…go on…
…go on my love, go on…don’t stop…you’ve promised me, don’t stop…
That wasn’t just feeding. It wasn’t a way to cure neither. Angelus was sucking that full of life blonde little creature and it was like getting drunk, like feeling a constant, dazzling stream of adrenaline and pleasure…none of his countless victims had ever reacted such completely to his bite…with no one he had shivered….shivered with emotion…he sucked and sucked her, tasting her…Hoping that…that it never ended. That…
But the switch, the usual, very well known switch occurred, in time and unmerciful. Buffy’s hug stopped, her blood pressure slowed down. Angelus raised his head, rubbing his forehead against her temple, covered with cold sweat drops…her heart was stopping and her green eyes were glassy and misty, her lips were opened and waxen…
Kill her or turn her, the vampire thought, now, immediately, these are the only two possibilities…the only ones. The most reasonable ones…he looked at her under his body, pale, too pale: her hair were strewn over the floor, her face had a childish expression, but he could already see in it the woman she was…
The most reasonable…reasonable…
With a sudden move he went away from her and he stood up, strong and full of energy again. His desperate cry echoed in the mansion. “Spike! Damn! Spike!”

In more than a century of non-life he had seen a huge quantity of absurd things. Really absurd ones. To begin with, he was forced to get out from his grave with his own hands.
It was rather impossible to surpass this one. Rather. Until that day, at least.
Until the day he was forced to help his grandsire to bring one of his victims to the hospital…
Spike lighted up his cigarette and a couple of patients that were walking up and down the squalid pale green corridor, looked at him in a really bad way. He just ignored them. He could really put out his fag on the forehead of the first bloke who dared to reproach him.
But he pushed it under his boot as soon as he saw Angelus coming next to a doctor. She was talking passionately to him and, bloody hell, Spike could understand her. With that badly buttoned up white shirt, the uncombed hair and a so sincere tense expression, Angelus looked perfectly like what he pretended to be. The older brother of Elisabeth O’Connor. A panic-stricken handsome guy.
Or he was playing better than De Niro or it was the first case of vampire occupied by a supernatural entity. Spike chose the second one. Because, bloody hell, there was something different in Angelus, in his tired way he walked towards him, in his so human way he was kneading his neck and rubbing his eyes…black and troubling eyes, yes, but…but…
“How’s Buffy?” he asked him.
“Fine. Being a slayer means that she is already ok. The doctor says that she’ll be discharged in an hour…” the other answered, sitting down on a little plastic couch against the wall, and smiling with…relief?
Spike looked at him, shocked. “Maybe you have that poison still in your veins. You’re the Scourge of Europe, do you remember? And you brought her to the hospital…have you got it? To the hospital…” his voice lowed down, skeptical.
“Stop repeating that like a parrot” Angelus replied, avoiding his eyes. “I’m not def…”
Spike bent in front of him. “No, you’re not def. And you’re not…you’re not yourself, fuck it. You don’t do this kind of things.”
Finally Angelus looked at him. “Yeah, I saved her…and you’re happy, don’t deny that”
Spike shut up and he clenched his teeth. Of course he was, damn.
Few hours before, when he found Buffy who looked like a corpse, so cold and pale, he wanted to kill his grandsire…then he felt surprised when Angelus took her in his arms forbidding him to come closer, holding her like a precious. A fast and peremptory order: “Take the car. Hurry up”. And an angry roar against Drusilla, who tried to protest softly.
Dru…he felt a bit guilty with her…he didn’t care about her reaction. He didn’t care about anything. Except rescue Buffy.
He admitted it. “Yes, it’s obvious I’m glad…But we’re not talking about that”
Angelus laughed, shaking his head. “Well, that’s clear…Let’s analyzing my contradictions. Ok. But let’s not talking about yours…”he looked so tired. “The day is coming…the car we’ve come here with, the one you stole downtown, it’s not good for us…call someone of our people and tell him to come here with a black window car. Then take Buffy home. Her mom should have been already gone, but be discreet”
“Wait…I take her home?” Spike stood up, confused. “Only me? And where are you going?”
“I’ve something to do” Angelus answered, crossing his arms; his dark eyes were fixing an empty space.
“Something to do? Like? Shopping under the sun?” Spike asked. No, it was too much, it was ridiculous. And he also told him to be discreet…! He stood in front of him, legs spread, hands on his hips, waiting for an explication.
“William” Nothing else. Only his real name, pronounced with measured, controlled and evident anger. Angelus didn’t call him by his name often, and not with that tone. If that happened, it meant that he should be really really annoyed.
The blonde vampire surrendered. “Ok. Ok, as you wish, my king” he took his mobile from his pocket and he went nervously to the toilet, to make the call- and probably to smoke a dozen of cigarettes- in peace. When he was near the corner, he turned around: Angelus was still sitting on the little plastic couch, in the same position.
Maybe the real poison is the Slayer’s blood, Spike thought.





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