PART FIVE
Angel waited patiently through what little remained of the night. Tired though he was, he resisted closing his eyes. After all, he'd be sleeping soon enough once the sun rose. He wanted to be awake, to savor these few hours. From time to time he glanced down at the girl sleeping soundly in his arms. His courageous, exhausted, darling Slayer. How he loved her, had loved her from the very beginning when Whistler first showed her to him as she learned of her Slayer destiny.
(You touched me so deeply, even then. I watched you chatting with your friends at school, saw you Called, and I loved you. I knew the hardship and danger you would face as the Slayer, and wanted to protect you. Did Giles ever tell you how few Slayers live to see even their eighteenth birthday? I was determined you would be one of them, and so I decided to help you. How could I have guessed that you would love me too?)
How hard he had fought against that love, knowing the difficulties it would bring to both their lives. At first he'd tried to keep his distance, to stay aloof . . . only to fail miserably. Then he'd decided that he could handle it, that he could see her, be with her and help her, and still maintain control. That too failed as each such encounter only wound him more tightly in love's coils, until a night without her presence became a night of misery. He grew envious of her friends, of the time she spent with them; jealous that they could see her during the warmth of daylight, while his time with her was confined to a few hours of cold shadows. In particular he'd been jealous of the boy, Xander, whom he knew felt more for Buffy than just friendship.
Angel grimaced wryly. If truth be told, he still felt occasional twinges of jealousy when Xander was around. The lad's constant barbed zings at him didn't help. But Xander had proven himself a good friend to Buffy many times over, and he knew Buffy valued his friendship as she did that of the girl, Willow.
Willow. Angel smiled as he considered her. Sweet little Willow. Shy yet capable of amazing gutsiness. Intelligent. Mature. Computer whiz-kid. Everybody's favorite kid sister - except when it came to Oz. Oz, who amazingly had seen past the shy, girl-next-door exterior to the real person, and liked what he saw. Willow had bloomed since meeting Oz, and Angel hoped their relationship would grow. Anyone who could see a vampire dusted before his eyes and take it in stride was a friend – or boyfriend – worth having.
Buffy stirred, muttered something unintelligible. Her breathing quickened and her eyebrows knit together. She whimpered; one leg jerked beneath the sheet. Bad dream. Angel ran his hand soothingly down the arm resting across his chest. "Shhh," he whispered. "It's okay, you're safe. Rest."
He kissed the top of her head, crooning softly, and Buffy grew quiet. With a deep sigh she relaxed once more into slumber. He lifted her limp hand and kissed her fingers, marveling as he always did that her slender body could hold such incredible physical strength.
His thoughts returned to the events of the past twenty-four hours. What a kaleidoscope of events: Buffy's dream. Learning Drusilla and Spike were both alive. The Judge. And something of at least equal importance, Jenny Calendar's startling disclosure. (Thank God she and Giles came when they did. If they'd been even ten minutes later - well, maybe twenty - they would have been too late. Buffy and I would have made love. We were so close to it. And then - )
He shuddered. Then he would have become a demon again, perhaps the most evil vampire to walk in recent history. The Master may have been the oldest vampire in existence but Angel knew that if the gypsy curse hadn't changed everything, sooner or later he would have challenged the Master for supremacy. Probably not for another century or so, but eventually. (And I really believe I would have won.)
He must have fallen asleep in spite of himself, for he found himself waking with a start. Angel felt a difference in the atmosphere. He glanced at the window. Yes, the dark wasn't as thick as it had been. Only animals were as sensitive to the onset of dawn as vampires; it was a built-in early warning factor.
(It'll be daylight soon; I need to wake Buffy - but not yet. Let her sleep awhile longer.) The day would come soon enough, with more dangers and undoubtedly more surprises for them all. Hopefully the surprises would be pleasant ones but he wasn't holding his breath on it - so to speak.
He thought about Jenny Calendar - or Janna Kalend, to give her her Romany name. She seemed to have faith in her great-aunt, faith that the old woman could deliver on her promise to alter the curse so he and Buffy could love without releasing his resident demon. Please God she was right. Angel tightened his hold on Buffy, moved his cheek caressingly over her hair.
"This feels so good," she murmured.
"I thought you were still asleep." He kissed the top of her head. She moved a little, craning her neck to look in his face. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes shadowed with fatigue, but their expression, calm and happy, more than made up for it. She smiled.
"I still like seeing you first thing in the morning."
"And I like seeing you," he said softly.
Her eyes examined his face with concern. "Did you get any rest?"
"A little, but mostly I was too busy enjoying having you here with me."
"I love you," she whispered.
"I love you." Strange, how easily the words came now when before they had been so difficult to speak. A barrier had been crossed and he knew there would be no returning. Buffy raised up on her elbow and leaned over to kiss him. Her lips were soft and warm, but after a few seconds she pulled away. "Sorry; I forgot about the deadly morning breath. Strong men have been known to turn pale and flee in horror from it."
"I didn't notice anything," he told her, which was true. "As long as it's not garlic breath . . . " He let his words trail off, gave her a whimsical half-smile.
"Angel!" she exclaimed. "You made a joke!" Her delighted grin lit up her face. Angel couldn't resist; he caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers.
"It's been known to happen on rare occasions," he deadpanned. He gazed into her eyes, gently tugged her head down and kissed her again.
"I better go," she sighed when they stopped.
"Yes," he agreed. "You have to change and go to school."
"And you have to sleep," she said, then a startled look crossed her face. "I forgot! Miss Calendar's aunt is doing her curse reversal thing this morning." Worried, she sat up. "She said there might be side effects. Maybe you shouldn't be alone."
"I'll be fine," he told her firmly. "Don't worry about me."
"I do worry about you. I can't help it." She looked down at him.
"I know. It's the same with me. But it'll be all right, Buffy." He slid out of the bed, held out his hand to her, pulled her to him. "I'll be fine." They kissed, then, reluctantly, Buffy gathered up her discarded clothing and walked to the door.
"I'll come back this afternoon," she told him.
He nodded. "I'll be anxious to hear what you've found out."
One last kiss, and then she left. Angel watched her as she walked away.
(Buffy, colleen, take care. Don't let anything happen to you - I couldn't bear it.)
He went back into his apartment and closed the door. Once inside, he wandered restlessly from room to room, unable to settle. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it down, more for something to do than from actual thirst. Outside, the sky grew lighter and he pulled down the blackout shade before going over to the refrigerator to select his dinner. (Some selection. Let's see, shall I have lamb or beef tonight? Or how about pork?) Not that it made much difference; blood was pretty much blood. He grabbed a bag at random.
(I wonder when the old gypsy woman will start her spell? Will I know when she does? How will I know if it really works?) he wondered as he opened the plastic bag. Grimacing, he gulped the contents down. Refrigerated blood had the consistency of thin jelly. It kept him alive - or Undead, or whatever - but sure tasted awful. He'd have to pay a visit soon to the meat market for something fresher or the hunger would grow unbearable.
Without warning, white-hot pain stabbed him. He gasped and dropped the bag, staggered to the living room. The pain struck again; he doubled over, collapsed on the couch.
I think - it's begun, he thought. More pain, but not as sharp. A few minutes later, only twinges, then . . . no pain. He felt light-headed; the room swam in and out of his vision; his eyelids were leaden. The sunrise? It had never affected him like this before. (What's happening . . . .) His consciousness faded.
PART SIX
"Well, the bus depot was a total washout, and may I say what a lovely place to spend the night. What a vibrant cross-section of Americana!"
Buffy strode into the school library just in time Xander's disgusted remark. "Sorry, Xander," she told him. Turning to Giles: "Any ideas?"
"Not yet." Giles gestured with his glasses. "The others have only just got here. I haven't had a chance to tell them."
"Tell us what?" Xander didn't like the sound of that at all.
"Spike and Drusilla are alive. The Judge is active," Buffy briskly summed up.
"Wait a minute." Xander was indignant. "You mean my visit to the Sunnydale Abandon-Hope-All-Ye-Who-Enter-Here Depot was for nothing?" They ignored him.
"Buffy, what can you tell us about him?" Giles asked.
"Not much." Buffy hated to admit it. "I just kicked him and it was like a sudden fever. If he ever got his hands on me . . . "
"In time he won't even need to do that." Giles sounded tense. "Once he regains his strength he'll be able to reduce us all to charcoal with just a look."
"Also," Buffy added, trying to sound more chipper than she felt, "not the prettiest man in town."
"So how do we get rid of this guy?" Cordelia looked scared. Xander checked an impulse to go over to her. She would only gibe at him, maintaining their public image of two people who despised each other. Their secret smooching sessions remained just that - secret.
"I'll continue my research," Giles said heavily, "looking for a weak spot. The rest of you should get to your classes."
"I better go too." Jenny picked up her purse. "I'll go on the Net and search for anything on the Judge." Giles thanked her, and they all filed out.
"How was Angel this morning?" Jenny asked Buffy as they walked down the hall. "Rupert told me what happened last night. Sounds like you two had quite an adventure, fighting the Judge and Drusilla's men. I mean, vampires."
"He was fine. Tired." Buffy glanced over at her, feeling a confusing jumble of emotion. Anger because the lovely young teacher had deceived them in the first place; gratitude because she had come over to what Buffy thought of as their side and was trying to help Angel. "Miss Calendar, when was your great-aunt going to start the thing - the ritual or whatever it is?"
"She probably began it right at daybreak."
"So about an hour ago. Not long after I left." Buffy looked worried.
Jenny tried to reassure her. "It should be over by now, Buffy. Auntie said it wouldn't take long. I really don't think you need to worry about Angel. He'll be fine."
"Something wrong with Dead Boy?" It was Xander, of course, giving forth with one of his usual zings. Buffy had never been in less of a mood to put up with it.
"No," she said shortly, then needing to vent her worry and frustration somehow, added maliciously, "He was just fine when we kissed goodbye this morning." She was sorry the moment she said it, and the hurt that flashed across Xander's face only made her feel worse. Before she could apologize, however, Xander turned on his heel and walked away. Willow touched her arm.
"He'll get over it, Buffy. Besides, he deserved it," she said seriously. "Angel's done a lot, helping you save the world and all. Xander needs to remember that." Then she leaned closer to Buffy. Her voice lowered suggestively. "So, you were with Angel all night after you left here?"
Buffy had to smile. "Yes, but not the way you're thinking. We got trapped there by some of Drusilla's vamps and couldn't leave."
"And?" Willow prodded. Jenny nodded goodbye as she turned into her classroom. Buffy and Willow plodded on.
"And - nothing." Buffy sighed tiredly. "There's a lot going on that you don't know about, Will, and there's just no time to fill you in right now. Maybe at lunch, okay?" Willow agreed and they parted ways, going to their separate classes.
Angel groaned. He tried to raise his aching head and immediately retched as nausea rushed in. Rolling over he spewed his recent meal onto the floor, feeling better the moment his stomach was empty. Gingerly he sat up, then as his head began to clear, stood up.
So far, so good. His first few steps were stumbling and slow, but he persisted and soon regained strength. Not full strength but that, he figured, was partly because it was daytime and partly because he was exhausted and needed to rest. But first he needed to clean up that mess on the floor, which he did, though the sight of the regurgitated blood was almost enough to start him retching again.
Afterward he stood, undecided. He needed to feed; the hunger in him was growing stronger by the minute. He could stave it off for the time being with what sat in his refrigerator, unappetizing though it might be, but he needed a pick-me-up. Walking over to the phone he dialed a number.
"Sam, it's Angel. I need a delivery, today. Yeah, the usual. Five o'clock? Thanks." He hung up the phone, devoured the contents of two plastic bags, and flung himself onto his bed. At once he sank into sleep so deep it was close to a coma.
Two-forty-five. Classes were over for the day, thank God. "What have you got, Giles?" Buffy demanded the moment the library doors swung behind her. She threw her purse down and perched on the big table while the others - Willow, Xander, Cordelia - fanned around her. Xander was still avoiding her, she noticed with regret.
"Nothing, I'm afraid." Giles looked and sounded defeated. He rubbed his temples. "Absolutely nothing."
"Me neither." Jenny had just entered. She looked as hopeless as Giles. "Zip. Nada. Nothing."
"No weapon forged by man . . . " Willow murmured despairingly.
"It took an army to kill him, yada, yada," finished Buffy. "Look, there's got to be a way!"
"There is!" enthused Cordelia. "All we need is an army." Everyone looked at her.
"Yeah, well, we don't have an army," Xander said sarcastically. He stopped, stunned by the recollection that suddenly popped into his mind. "Whoa. Whoa. I think I'm having a thought here. Yeah." He took a step forward. "Yeah. That's definitely a thought. And now I'm having a plan." He looked at his friends, excited.
"I've got a plan!"
"Well, may we hear it, please?" Giles enquired with strained patience.
Xander explained, and as they listened wary glances became excited ones. One hour later the group disbanded, confident they knew the strategy and, for the first time, hopeful that they - and the world - might survive.
Willow came over to Buffy. "Are you going to see Angel now?"
"Yeah." Buffy slung her bag over her shoulder. "I want to check on him, make sure he's all right."
Jenny approached. "Do you mind if I go with you?" In response to Buffy's look, she added, "I have an interest in this too, remember?"
Buffy remembered. "Okay."
"I hope everything's all right," Willow said softly. "I mean, I hope everything's all right." She gave Buffy one of her meaningful looks.
"Thanks. Me too," Buffy told her. (You have no idea how much I hope so.)
"My car's here; I'll drive you," Jenny offered. Ten minutes later they pulled up in front of Angel's building.
"He may still be asleep," Buffy said after her knock went unanswered. She knocked again then tried the knob. Much to her concern, the door opened. "He didn't lock it. He always locks it." She was worried. " Angel?" They went a little way inside.
"Angel?" Still no reply.
"The bedroom?" Jenny suggested.
Buffy nodded, went into that room. Angel lay motionless on the bed, still in the clothes he'd had on last night. "Angel." He didn't move. She went over to him, touched his shoulder. "Hey, sleepyhead."
No response. Panic began to spread. "Angel, wake up!" She shook him, and finally his eyes opened. "Buffy?" he said faintly.
"Yeah." She wilted in relief. "I was worried. You wouldn't wake up."
"Sorry." Angel pulled himself more upright, leaned back against the wall. He blinked, obviously still not fully awake. "I'm okay, just a little tired." He rubbed his hand over his face and blinked again, seemed to be slightly more alert. "Hey, how are you feeling?" He looked at her.
Buffy sat down. She was still shaky from the moment when she'd thought Angel was dead. Really dead, not just Undead. "I'm okay. Tired." She gave a resigned shrug and managed a real smile. Angel returned it.
"You look tired," he agreed.
Buffy rolled her eyes. "Great. I must really look like roadkill."
"You look beautiful," he told her. His hands came up and cradled her face. They kissed. Buffy relaxed and smiled at him again.
"Excuse me." The sound of someone calling from the next room. Angel looked suddenly alert. "Who's there?" He let go of Buffy and started to get off the bed.
"It's just Miss Calendar," Buffy said hastily, as Jenny herself appeared in the doorway.
"It's just me," she said. "I wanted to see how you were doing."
"I had kind of a rough morning," he admitted. "But I feel better now." He looked at Buffy, who hadn't moved. "Are you going to let me get up?" he asked her teasingly.
"I haven't decided yet," she teased back. "I kind of like you right where you are."
"Do ye now?" A faint Irish lilt sounded in his voice, the first Buffy had ever heard.
She was entranced, thinking of the young man he had once been, so long ago. She tried to answer him in kind. "Indeed, and I do, begorra." She made a face. "Well, that stank."
Angel burst into laughter, full-throated laughter she had never before heard from him.
"Begorra?" he gasped. "Where did you pick that up?"
She laughed too. "I don't know. It was just something I remembered from some old movie."
Still chuckling, Angel put his forehead against hers. "Ah, begorra, but I love you, mavourneen."
Buffy frowned, pulled back. "You called me that last night. Who's Maureen?"
"Ma-vour-neen," Angel enunciated slowly. "It means ‘my darling.' "
She was taken aback. "Oh." Angel's dark eyes looked at her with such light, such love. Never had he been so open with his emotions. "You're . . . different, Angel. There's something new in you, I'm not sure what it is."
"It's hope," he told her, simply.
Jenny cleared her throat. "So the new spell has succeeded?"
"I don't know." Angel looked at her. "How will I be able to tell?"
Jenny hesitated. "Yliana - my great-aunt - said the proof would be in the pudding."
"Pudding?" Buffy was totally lost. "What pudding?"
Angel continued to look at Jenny. "In other words . . . we won't know until it's put to the test."
Jenny took a step forward. "Angel, my aunt is very wise, very gifted. I would trust her with my life."
"I have," he reminded her bluntly.
"I know. She won't let you down."
"Good." Buffy got up from the bed, all business now. "Angel, we need to bring you up to date. Xander came up with a plan to eliminate the Judge."
"Xander?" Angel looked incredulous.
Buffy grinned. "Hard to believe, isn't it? But remember last Halloween, his gig as Soldier Boy?"
She was referring to the night when a spell cast by a costume shop owner turned everyone into the beings their costumes represented. The streets had overflowed with real goblins, ghouls, witches . . . every kind of monster imaginable. Willow had turned into a real ghost; Xander, dressed in combat fatigues, became the Ultimate Soldier, and his military skills had helped save their lives.
Buffy hated remembering that night, for she herself had worn the fancy dress of an eighteenth century noblewoman under the mistaken notion that it would impress Angel. What it had done instead was almost get her killed, for that was what she had turned into: a dainty, helpless, clinging-vine who shrieked and cowered at the slightest hint of danger. Luckily Giles had tracked down the shop owner, an old university friend, and broken the spell - just in time for Buffy to come back to herself and beat the daylights out of Spike, who was about to sink his fangs into her neck.
Angel broke into her reverie. "I remember, but what about it?"
"Well, he remembers what he knew then."
Angel looked confused.
"I mean, he still has those memories, the soldier's memories."
Angel got it then. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. "What's his plan?"
"He's going to break into the armory and steal a rocket launcher. That baby should disassemble the Judge, don't you think? Then later we can dispose of the pieces." She frowned. "Somehow."
"Acid."
"Huh?"
He looked at her. "Drop the pieces in acid. See if they dissolve. If they do we can stop worrying about someone finding them and reassembling the Judge again."
"Ewww." Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Good idea, but . . . ewww. Besides, where would we get that much acid?"
"There's that chemical plant about five miles out of town," Jenny suggested.
Angel nodded at her. "Good idea. Ill check it out as soon as it gets dark."
"No," Buffy interrupted. "Willow can do that, with me. Xander needs you at the armory, Angel. You'll probably have to do the breaking in."
Angel hesitated, then nodded. Clearly he wasn't thrilled about working with Xander, but clearly he was also willing to do whatever it took to get the job done. "What time is it?" he asked suddenly.
Buffy looked at her watch. "About a quarter to five. Why?"
"Nothing. I'm just expecting a . . . delivery."
Buffy knew evasion when she heard it. She eyed him speculatively. Avoiding her gaze, Angel stood up. He leaned against the wall, obviously dizzy. Buffy forgot speculation. "Angel?"
He shook his head a little, took a deep breath, carefully stood away from the wall and took another step. "I'm all right. Just a little . . . dizzy. Got up too fast, I guess."
She might have believed him if just then he hadn't had to grab at the wall again. She went over to him. "Here, lean on me." She ducked under his arm, but the first step he took caused her to stagger and almost fall.
"I'm too heavy." Angel tried to take his arm from around her shoulders, but she hung on fiercely. "No, you're not. I just wasn't ready."
Jenny moved around to Angel's other side. "Let me help." She offered her arm as support and slowly they made it to the living room. Angel dropped onto the couch, exhaled loudly. "I guess I'm weaker than I realized." He looked at Buffy, worried. "If I can't get more strength back you may not be able to count on me tonight."
Buffy nodded slowly. "That could be a problem. Tell you what, I'll check back in a couple of hours and see how you're doing. Miss Calendar, would you mind waiting outside for me? I need to talk to Angel alone for a minute."
She waited until the slender young woman had left, then faced Angel. "You're hungry, aren't you? That's why you're so weak - you need to feed." He didn't have to say anything; she knew she was right by the look on his face. "Angel, how can I get you what you need?"
"Buffy, don't - " he protested faintly, but she rushed on. "You're too weak to go anywhere; tell me what to do. Where can I go?"
"Buffy." He took her hand, but refused to look at her. "It's taken care of."
She looked at him for a moment, then made the connection. "The delivery you're
expecting?" He nodded, eyes still averted. Just then someone knocked on the door.
"I'll get it," she said.
"No!" Angel struggled to get up. Buffy put her hand on his shoulder. "Stay here," she told him gently. "I'll get it." She went to the door, talked briefly to the man there, and a minute later came back to Angel, carrying a large paper bag that made a clinking noise when she set it down on the floor at his feet.
"Here." Buffy knew he didn't want her to stay, so she added, "I'll be back in a couple of hours." Bending down she kissed him, then walked outside to where Jenny waited.
PART SEVEN
Angel waited until he was sure Buffy had left before opening the bag. Inside were three quart jars of fresh animal blood, still warm though cooling fast. He grabbed one, wrenched off the lid and avidly gulped down the contents. The second jar emptied just as fast. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this ravenous. Well, yes, he could. It was the evening Whistler had found him hunting rats to stay alive. The evening he had first seen Buffy.
Buffy. He cringed in shame that she had even seen, much less recognized, his need, and marveled at the miracle of her love, that enabled her not to shrink from the demands of his vampiric nature. Already he could feel the healing effects of his meal. He eyed the third jar. He had taken more than he usually allotted for one feeding. But his physical weakness was undeniable, as was the fact that he was needed tonight - and needed at full strength.
Slowly he reached down and picked up the jar. He hated to do this, knowing that ingesting this much fresh blood at one sitting would only make it that much harder to go back to the refrigerated kind. His vampiric side would rebel against it all the more fiercely for having tasted this banquet. He began drinking, more slowly this time. (I might as well be as civilized as possible about it.)
Two hours later, showered and changed, teeth vigorously brushed and the minty taste of Scope in his mouth, Angel waited for Buffy. A knock sounded. Right on time, he thought fondly and opened the door. It was, of course, Buffy. She had changed into something better fitted for tonight's expected activities. She wore black: black spandex leggings; black pullover sweater, and black boots. A black beret covered her blonde hair.
"Hey," they chorused in duet. Buffy looked him over and smiled. "Two minds in the same gutter, I see." Angel too had dressed entirely in black; in his case a black one-piece jumpsuit. "You look ready for trouble."
"If trouble comes, I'll be ready," he agreed. He motioned for her to come in but she shook her head.
"If you're ready we better go." He was, so they did. "You're feeling better," Buffy observed.
"Yes." He hesitated then said, with difficulty, "Thank you."
"You'd have done the same for me." Angel couldn't deny it. They walked toward a car parked at the curb. He recognized it as Cordelia's, and sure enough, that young woman stood at the driver's side. She whistled softly as they
approached. "Look at you!" Her eyes ran over Angel, frankly appreciative. "Good enough to nibble on!"
Angel saw Buffy clench her jaw and hastened to defuse the situation. "Thank you, Cordelia. You look - " Too late, he saw her outfit. "Uh, you look - "
"Trashy," she contributed. "I know. It's part of Xander's plan for tonight."
"Why?" he asked, totally at a loss.
She shrugged. "You're asking me?" Opening the door, Cordelia got inside and looked in the rearview mirror, checking her makeup. Angel opened the back door for Buffy, and they slid in. Cordelia turned to look at them. "I'm just the wheels for this outfit. No one has bothered to fill me in on the plan I'm supposed to be a part of." She flounced back around, turned the key, and off they roared, CD blaring something Angel couldn't identify.
"That's because Xander hasn't filled us in on it either." Buffy's voice was tart. Angel squeezed her hand, then put his arm around her shoulders. She stayed tense for a moment, then relaxed and leaned against him.
"You do, you know." He had to bend down to hear her.
"I do what?"
"Look good enough to nibble on." Her glance at him was coquettish. He tilted her chin up and kissed her. "So do you." They kissed again, then again, more deeply. Angel pulled Buffy onto his lap, cradled her in his arms. Cordelia, catching sight of them in the mirror, rolled her eyes, but a moment later watched them furtively . . . and wistfully.
"We're here, guys. Better untangle yourselves."
Buffy and Angel jerked apart. The car rolled to a stop a few feet away from a group of people on the sidewalk: Giles, Jenny, and Willow. Buffy and Cordelia got out of the car. Angel remained seated, heartily wishing he had worn something a little less revealing of physical . . . activity.
"Angel?" called Buffy, looking back in surprise. She stopped and headed back to the car. Hastily he got out on the street side, keeping the car between them. "I'll be there in a minute."
"What's wrong?" She walked around the back.
"Nothing's wrong." Casually - he hoped - Angel leaned against the car. (Maybe if I sort of fold my arms and slouch . . . ) It was no use.
"Something's wrong," Buffy persisted, coming closer. She stopped.
"Oh." A myriad of emotions ran over her face. Surprise, embarrassment, gratification, and then, of course, amusement. Angel sighed in resignation. Why did girls always find this so funny?
Buffy got her voice under control. "We're waiting for Oz. Why don't you go scout out the area? Make sure the coast is clear." Angel nodded and walked toward a cluster of trees that was really the only possible hiding place around. About ten yards away he stopped, his predicament forgotten in a sudden rush of adrenalin. Someone was in there. Before he could react, a figure stepped out of concealment. Angel relaxed.
"Xander." He walked on until he joined the young man.
"Angel."
"Is everything quiet?" Angel glanced around.
"As far as I can tell, but maybe you better check it out too. Your senses are keener than mine."
Angel gave him a wary look. "That almost sounded like a compliment."
Xander shrugged. "It's the truth, that's all." He looked straight at Angel, his eyes cool to match his voice. "I don't like you. You know that. But Buffy made it pretty clear today where things stand between you two, and I have to respect that. Just make sure you understand this: If you ever harm even one hair on her head, I'm coming after you. I'll find you, and then there'll be a hole in your chest big enough to drive a truck through. Got it?"
"I've got it," Angel answered quietly. "Are we through with this subject now?"
"Yeah. For now."
"Then maybe we should get back to the others. I think that's Oz driving up." Silently they rejoined the group, Angel wondering just what Buffy had said to bring about such a reaction.
The strategy was gone over one last time, then they moved. Xander's plan worked flawlessly; Angel didn't need to break into the building after all. Xander and Cordelia cajoled and bullied the guard into letting them into the munitions room on the grounds that it was "so sexy."
Once inside Xander drew on his soldier's memory and located the desired weapon in record time, hoisting it through the window to Angel who in turn carried it to Oz's van, where he and Willow anxiously waited. At least, Willow appeared anxious; Oz, as always, seemed unflappable. "So, do you guys steal weapons from the army a lot?" Angel heard him ask. Willow's response: "Well, we don't have cable so we have to make our own fun," surprised a laugh out of him.
They drove down a side street where they picked up Xander and Cordy, then everyone reconvened at the library to load up on the more usual Slayer weaponry and head out to the factory to stop the Judge.
The factory was deserted; no flowers, no decorations. All the party preparations Buffy and Angel had seen earlier were gone, only fragments of leaves and paper streamers left behind to litter the floor The group milled around, frustrated. "Where would they have gone?" Adrenalin coursing through her veins; Buffy was ready to kick some vampire butt. "The judge needs bodies, right? They'll go someplace with people. Lots of people."
"The Bronze?" suggested Willow.
Xander negatived that. "It's closed tonight."
"There's not a lot of choices in Sunnydale," noted Cordelia. "It's not as if people are going to line up to get massacred."
"Uh, guys?" Oz, calm and cool. "If I were going to line up, I know where I'd go."
Concealed in the shadows, Spike sat in his wheelchair and listened. He wasn't worried. He knew his Dru and was confident she'd survive their plans.
Oz had guessed right. From his position on the stairway at the Sunnydale Mall the Judge stared down at them, powerful and arrogant. Buffy had just shot him in the chest with an arrow - to get his attention, she quipped. Of course it had hurt him no more than a mosquito bite. He reached up and yanked it out, threw it down. "You are a fool," he sneered. "No weapon forged can stop me."
"That was then," Buffy said. She raised the rocket launcher, switched it on. "This is now."
Around them hundreds of panicked shoppers fled, shouting and screaming. Dru, standing to one side of the Judge, took one look at the weapon on Buffy's shoulder and jumped over the stairs to the floor below. She obviously knew the damage it could do, and the foremost thought in her mind was getting the hell out of range. Landing hard, she whimpered and scrambled for safety, followed by her wigged-out lackeys. The Judge, created centuries before the invention of mass destruction weapons, didn't move.
"What does that do?" the Judge asked, eyeing it with real curiosity. He found out a moment later when the rocket impacted, blowing him to smithereens.
"My best present ever." She handed the rocket launcher back to Xander with a smile.
"Knew you'd like it," he smirked.
"Do you think he's dead?" Willow came up beside Buffy.
"We can't be sure," she replied. "Keep the pieces separate until we can get them to the acid."
ONE HOUR LATER
They looked down at the huge barrel. The surface hissed and bubbled, seething with activity. Shapeless lumps of blue - skin? - and bits of - bone? - bobbed to the surface before dissolving.
"I'd say that disposes of the Judge once and for all, wouldn't you?" Jenny remarked.
"It's difficult to imagine anyone being able to put him back together now," Giles agreed. "How does one reassemble sludge?"
"Good riddance." That was Willow's determined contribution. Oz, standing next to her, nodded solemn agreement.
"Hasta la vista, baby." Xander gave his best Schwarzenegger imitation - which wasn't very good.
"Don't say that," Willow told him. "That means ‘ til we meet again' or - well, something like that."
"Okay then, how about ‘adios, amigo'?" This time it was John Wayne he mangled
Cordelia remarked, "You were right, Buffy. That guy was mucho uglio. Was that skin he had, or scales?" She shuddered.
Angel and Buffy stood slightly apart from the others, making no effort to join in the round of comments. Buffy leaned back against Angel, felt his arm come around to hold her close against his wonderfully solid body. "Is it really over?" she asked. Strange; all she felt was tired. Really, really tired.
"It's over," he said, and kissed her hair.
Giles overheard and came over to them. "Yes, it is. Well, except for Spike and Drusilla, of course."
Buffy made a face. "You had to remind me?"
"You're in no shape to do anything about them tonight," Giles told her. "I want you to go home and get a good night's sleep for once. That's an order." His half-smile told her exactly how seriously he expected her to take that last sentence, but for once Buffy had no desire to flout his authority. She knew his concern for her was very real, and she had to admit she had no desire to face anything more exciting tonight than her bed. Well, almost nothing.
"Don't worry," she assured him wearily. "That's exactly what I'm going to do."
Jenny drove her and Angel back to town. At Buffy's request she dropped them off two blocks from her house. They walked slowly through the moonless night, holding hands but saying nothing, content merely to have the danger past and to have this down time with each other. At some point during the night's events Buffy had lost her beret; her hair shone silver in the moonlight and Angel thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. As they came to her house they stopped. The closest streetlight had burned out and they were shadowed by a tree in the front yard.
"Buffy, I was going to give you this last night, but what with the arm and the Judge and everything, well . . . " He pulled a small jeweler's box from his pocket. "The timing just didn't seem right." He opened it, revealing a small silver ring. Buffy had never seen anything like it: two hands supporting a crowned heart between them.
"It's beautiful," she said, touched. (For me? He got me a ring?)
"It's a claddagh ring," he told her. "My people . . . before I was Changed . . . they would exchange this ring as a sign of devotion. The hands represent friendship; the coronet represents loyalty; and the heart . . . " His voice grew husky. "You know what the heart means. If you wear it with the heart pointing toward you it means you belong to someone. Like this."
He showed her his hand. A ring exactly like hers encircled his third finger - with the heart pointing toward him. Buffy swallowed sudden tears. (I was wrong; the rocket launcher isn't the best present ever.)
"Put it on," he urged. She shook her head, whispered, "You put it on." She held out her hand. Angel took it in his own and carefully slid the ring down her finger, its heart pointing at her heart.
"I love you." He entwined his fingers in hers; the moonlight glinted off the two identical rings, now resting beside each other. Buffy's tears spilled over. Angel bent down.
"Happy birthday," he whispered. Then he kissed her, a slow, gentle kiss that entered her soul like warm honey and filled her with joy. Even after the kiss ended they remained in each other's arms for long moments.
"Angel," she whispered.
"Hmm?"
"I want to introduce you to my mother."
He pulled back to look at her. "You already have – last year. Remember?"
"Yes, but . . ." She glanced away for a second. "I don't want to hide you any more. Angel, there are so many things in my life that I have to keep secret from my mom, because of the Slayer thing. I don't want you to go on being one of them. I want to be able to tell her when I'm with you, instead of pretending to be with Willow."
Angel had misgivings, she could tell, but he acquiesced. "All right. If you're sure that's what you really want. When did you want to do this?"
The porch light came on. Joyce Summers opened the door. "Buffy? Are you out there?"
Buffy grinned faintly. "Well, no time like the present, I always say." She took him by the hand and they walked to the front door. "Mom, you remember Angel, don't you?"
Her mother looked uncertain, then her face cleared. "Of course. He tutored you in History last year. Nice to see you again, Angel. Won't you come in?"
PART EIGHT
Buffy slowly regained awareness. For just a moment she was confused, then memory rushed in. Angel. Apartment. Last night. She reached over, but Angel wasn't in the bed next to her. Sitting up, she looked around. There was enough moonlight that she could make out the shadowy outlines of the furniture – but no Angel.
"Angel?"
"I'm here." He came into the room, carrying something in his hand. She saw with disappointment that he had put on a pair of sweatpants. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I just went to get some water." He offered her a glass.
"Thanks. You didn't wake me. At least, I don't think you did. I just . . . woke up." She tried to hide a yawn, not very successfully. "What time is it?" She drank some of the water, handed the glass back to him.
"About two, I think." Angel set the glass on the dresser. "Buffy, what about your mother? Won't she be worried?"
"Trying to get rid of me?" she asked, raising a brow.
He chuckled and lay down beside her. "You know that's not it. I just don't want you to get in any trouble." Buffy made herself comfortable, snuggling up close.
"Mom's in L.A. Some big art exhibit. She won't be home until Sunday."
"Sunday?" She heard the smile in his voice. "And how do you plan to fill those long, empty hours until she gets back?"
Buffy smiled smugly. "Somehow I don't think that will be a problem." She patted the waistband of his pants. "Do you really need to have these on?"
"With you around, apparently so," he told her, then ducked in mock fear as she pretended to threaten him with her fist.
Hours later, shortly before dawn, Buffy prepared to leave. "Why don't you come over to my house tonight?" she asked Angel as they stood outside his building, kissing goodbye. He agreed, and they kissed again. And again. Finally they broke apart. "I wish I didn't have to go," Buffy murmured.
"I know," Angel agreed. "But I won't be very good company for the next seven or eight hours."
"No." Buffy sighed. They kissed again. At last Buffy pushed herself away and said, determinedly, "All right, I'm going. See Buffy go." With only one more kiss for the road, she turned and walked away, Angel watching her as long as she was in sight before returning to his apartment. Neither of them saw the slender figure hidden in the shadows across the street, a figure that watched them in silence until they went their separate ways. Only after Angel had shut the door of his apartment behind him did Drusilla step out of concealment.
"You two think you've got things the way you want them, don't you?" Even in a hiss her accent came through strong and clear. "Think you can steal my Angel and get away with it. Think you can go panting after that Slayer slut, killing your own kind, and not pay. Think again, pets. It won't be next week, maybe not even next month. But when my Spike is well again, then there'll be a showdown." Then, with a worried glance at the sky, which showed the first light of false dawn, she ran for their new lair.
THE END