Poison
Author: Jo
Disclaimer: Not mine, alas.
Wordcount: Debatable
Setting: During ‘Fredless’,
following Angel and Buffy’s off-screen meeting after Buffy’s return from
Heaven.
Notes: Originally written for ba_rosebuds, but kept for IWRY 2010 as a back-up story in
case of need.
Thanks for picking up the baton
on IWRY, Dark Star. And thanks
to Chrislee for the years of hosting this wonderful B/A event, and to Leni
for starting it in the first place.
NB
Unusually, I have taken a verbatim scene from ‘Fredless’, and
interpolated into that framework what is going on in Angel’s head at the
time. So, some of this is mine,
and some of it is not. Angel’s
thoughts are in italics, and they’re my story.
**
Poison
He stands in the shadows,
listening to them talk, pouring poison over his love. He wants to kill
them, but he won’t. Not
today. They’re only speaking
the truth – more truth than they understand – but he won’t give them the
satisfaction of baring his wounds to them. And those wounds are ragged and raw. He doesn’t think they will ever
heal, because he knows that the demon will lick at them for ever more. The demon understands what will
make them better. So does
he. One more murder. One more way to be happy. One more way to lose his soul.
Fred says, “But you said he
loved her. And of course she's gonna love him back, because he's so strong
and handsome and he really listens when you talk. I – I mean, if you go for
that sort of thing, why wouldn't it work?”
Fred is biased, of course. But she’s lived with monsters for
years. She’s used to
them. She can’t see him as the
others do.
Cordy. “Let me break it down for you, Fred.”
Cordy steps away from the
reception counter and pretends to be Buffy. As if that could ever work...
Cordy. “Oh - Angel! I know that I'm a Slayer and you a vampire
- and it would be *impossible* for us to *be* together - *but!*”
Gunn laughs at Cordy's act.
Angel feels his fists clenching in anger. How dare he laugh?
How dare they do this?
He had truly reconciled himself
to Buffy’s death. He had vowed
to himself that he would work to make amends for his sins. He would atone until Judgement Day,
if necessary, throwing himself on the mercy of the Powers, giving himself
to them in eternal servitude, if he could earn a place with her in whatever
heaven she’d found. It had
given him a kind of peace to know that, although the two worlds kept them
apart, they could never be separated in thoughts and dreams. Perhaps
naively, he had imagined she might be looking down on him, like the Blessed
Damozel, waiting until he had earned forgiveness.
And then she had returned,
bringing with her all the old pain and temptations.
Buffy had been cold, when he got
to her, cold of body and of mind.
Cold of heart. But he
had reached out to her and touched her, and that ice had crumbled. She had fallen into his arms, and
she had wept, because she wanted him to stay with her forever, to help her
find her place again in this cold, cruel, loud, pugnacious world. To come back to Sunnydale with her
and to never again leave her alone.
Wes stands up. "But!"
Oh, how he had yearned to do as
she asked... But he’s
weak. He’d known where that
would lead.
Cordy turns to look at Wes, who
takes his glasses off and lays them to the side.
“My gypsy curse sometimes
prevents me from seeing the truth.
Oh, Buffy!”
The truth was that they were
only whole when they were together.
It was the thing that healed them of sorrow, gave them strength to
carry on. But... The curse,
the vengeance that the gypsies had wreaked... It would rip and tear and
claw at them, a monster, growing each day, drawing strength from them, even
as it inexorably poisoned the love that lay between them.
Cordy is simpering at Wes. She’s trying to be like Buffy. Never!
“Yes, Angel?”
Wes just doesn’t stop.
“Oh, I love you so much I almost
forgot to *brood!*”
Angel’s lip curls, at Wes for
the cruelty, and at himself for his weakness. They have no idea of the depth of his love, how it
consumes him as so many other obsessions have consumed him. The difference is that his love for
Buffy consumes the demon and strengthens the man, whereas his other
obsessions have fed the demon and obliterated the man. She makes him forget the monster
that he is, and that is why she is such a danger to him. And to herself.
Fred watches wide-eyed. Gunn is
laughing again. It’s Cordy’s
turn to scour the wounds now.
“And just because I sent you to
hell that one time doesn't mean that we can't just be friends.”
Buffy had told him that Earth
seemed like Hell to her, now, and she’d asked him whether he could ever
forgive her enough to walk with her here, and not to abandon her, as she
had left him to that terrible place.
She’d pleaded with him to stay by her side, as her true friend. He’d wept as he told her that he
hadn’t the strength.
They’ll never be friends. The ties that bind them are far
more primal than that. The
first time she saw him, he told her that he wasn’t her friend. He’d known, even then.
He watches expressionlessly as
Wes grabs hold of Cordy's wrist.
He’d done that, too, and then
he’d swept Buffy into his arms, and taken her to the motel bed, laying her
gently down, and he’d lain there with her, holding her tightly.
Cordy sighs, “Oh!”
Wes’s reply sounds heartfelt.
“Or possibly more.”
He’d told Buffy he wanted to
make love to her. He always
wanted to make love to her. If
he stayed with her, they would fall.
And they’d both wept together.
And even as he held her, his hands explored her, gently, tenderly,
as though she might break. As
though he might break, and he’d really thought that he might.
Cordy’s mockery continues. “Gasp! No! We mustn't.”
He’d seen something in Buffy’s
eyes when she told him they mustn’t, something colder than her heart,
something older, wiser, more calculating. More poisonous.
Wes pulls Cordy close.
He’d ignored that other thing
and pulled Buffy close to him, his need for her throbbing in his head and
his groin. And in his heart.
Wes. “Kiss me.”
“Kiss me,” he’d demanded, and he
didn’t mean the kiss of a friend.
But she’d turned her head away, and said something that shocked and
thrilled him, something that haunted him even now, here in the shadows.
Cordy. “Bite me!”
That older, colder thing had
flashed in Buffy’s eyes again, and she’d bent her neck to him.
“If I can’t have you as I am,
then I want you to bite me.”
He’d let go of her, pushing her
away, and she’d broken down again, clinging to him, pleading with him. If a person’s soul escaped the
vampire, as he had told her, then why shouldn’t they let their souls run
free together, leaving the unwanted flesh behind. Or, at worst, she would be something that he could be
with.
And he’d wanted to. He’d wanted to so desperately that
his blood was on fire with it.
His fangs grazed against the sensual silk of her skin, the tip of
his tongue searching out the throbbing life source beneath. It was unbearably wonderful.
And the demon had said
‘Yessss.’ The demon had wanted
it as much as he did, sweetening the poison of temptation with promises.
The weakling, selfish man in him
had tried to rationalise.
Buffy was a Slayer. No
one had turned a Slayer before.
Perhaps it would be different.
He had a soul. Perhaps
that, too, would make it different.
Perhaps it could work.
And the knowledge of what he had done would surely prevent perfect
happiness, while allowing both of them to have enough joy in each
other. Perhaps they would continue
to love. His fangs had pressed
closer...
He fights off his demon face as
Wes bends Cordy back over his arm, pretending to sink his fangs into her
neck, and the acid of truth etches this reflection into the mirror of his
soul.
He can’t bear to remember any
more. Not now. He’ll relive it again and again,
and he still wants to drink, but please, not now, when he hurts so much and
the demon is screaming for their blood.
He is a poison to all those
around him, even the woman he loves.
He should have been taken, that Christmas morning in Sunnydale...
He steps forward out of the
shadows, careful that it’s his human face they see.
“How about you both bite me.”
Perhaps he should see how they
deal with being a vampire...
Fred jumps up.
“You're back!”
Cordy and Wes see him and
quickly scurry apart, looking guilty.
“How'd it go?” Gunn asks.
He tells them all that he’s
prepared to say, to punish himself, rather than to enlighten them.
“I think those two pretty much
summed it up. To be honest - I really don't want to talk about it.”
Cordy tugs her mini skirt back
into place.
“But... ah, Angel - we're your
friends.”
She gives him a big, false,
friendly smile.
“And, and it – it's not healthy
to repress stuff like this.
You – you need to share your – pain, express those feelings of grief
and longing or... The curiosity is gonna kill me!”
He can almost taste her blood on
his tongue, mingled with the memory of Buffy’s blood. He wants to roar at her, but he
tightens his control, his voice quiet.
“Oh, no. Wouldn't want that.”
Fred jumps to his defence, and
he loves her for it.
“Personally, I don't care at all
what happened."
Cordy snipes back at her.
“Shut up, Fred.”
The blood taste/memory grows
stronger, and suddenly he knows what he needs. A small thing, but with huge memories. And it might take away the taste of
poison and of blood. He tells
them.
“Actually, you know what I need
right now? Ice cream.”
He looks at Fred, his champion.
“You want to get some ice
cream?”
Can he bear to eat cookie dough
fudge mint chip? Can he bear
not to?
Fred replies with a grin, “I
like ice cream!”
She walks over to him and they
walk out of the Hyperion together.
He can hear Cordy in the distance.
“Now we'll never, ever know.”
He tosses the words back over
his shoulder, as the door closes behind them.
“That's right.”
The End
September 2010
Author’s Notes
1 The
Blessed Damozel
A poem and a painting by Dante
Gabriel Rossetti, about lovers separated by death.
http://www.liverpoolmuseums.org.uk/ladylever/collections/damozel.asp
| Fiction Search | Home
Page | Back |
|
