Chapter 8

In the dangerous predawn light of LA's murk, I found my way to the Hyperion, knowing every step as if each had been walked one hundred times without illumination or sight. The previously lighted window now was covered by full curtains with telling signs of age and faded ends that suggested an eternity of use, but he had not yet left.

I made no attempt to hide my presence as I broke in the rotted wood door for the second time in the last twenty-four hours, the concept of irony apparent only by the wry smile on the pale morning skin of my face. I heard the faint hopeful shuffling of the undead an instant after the fact, and attempted to ready myself for confrontation of any kind.

It took Angel less than a moment to reach the stairway, where he stayed, unbelieving. My breath caught and suddenly my pulse hummed in my ears and my body numbed and stung with the malaise inherent in lovers of withheld affection. In that time, my entire purpose was possessed instead with all consuming rueful ache.

He spoke first, not moving from his spot. "I can smell him on you…everywhere." His voice was soft, the words said in delicate sustained notes, "But it's old… tainted." He paused. "Because you didn't care."

"Does that surprise you?" I whispered the question, still trying to find my voice.

He shook his head and matched my tone. "No."

"Angel…" My breath was so unsteady that I could have drowned in the unseen thickness of longing. The gray dawn's light made my vision faultless and my yearning undeniably acute. "Angel…" I repeated, near desperate tears cutting into the corners of my eyes and distressing my speech. He understood and rushed gracefully to me, my body collapsing against his as despondent saline droplets stained my cheeks, stinging the tiny pores therein.

"Faith." He smoothed my hair comfortingly as he held me against him.

"God Angel…" My voice marred and cracking under its burden, "I'm so sorry." He nodded, understanding the slurred words of lamenting. "Stay with me…"

Cradling my head with unforced gentleness, he touched his mouth to mine. I swallowed and responded, poignant dewdrops still streaming under my closed lids. In the passionate embrace, I could taste the salt tears seeping into our kiss. Angel stopped for a moment to press his mouth to my eyelids and wipe away the teardrops as though they were delicate holy streams of blood from which my cheeks could not be blemished.

He carried me up, showing in his manner that as human as I was admitted to be, he was—in his advanced years—more mortal and affective than I could have conceived of in my own lifetime. We internally blasphemed the Cherubim and the sentry archangels that had kept us from the paradise of each other's arms and of each other's skin.

I should have known that consequences always befall those who enter the sacred groves of Eden.

Stay with me…

Darkness met me in my half-awakened state; it's presence in the room almost intrusive, and absolutely dominating. I peered with squinted eyes as they adjusted to the dim hue of the area whose only source of illumination was the thin, steady beam of early afternoon sunlight cutting like a golden thread through the obtrusive darkness. Vaguely, I made out Angel's sitting form and met his darkened, studying eyes with the contentment of afterglow, my skin still glossy from near-desiccated perspiration. It was odd, though, that his manner did not change to the shamefaced look of having been caught in the appallingly endearing act of watching a lover sleep, but instead the brown eyes stood steadfast in scrutiny.

"Angel?" I whispered, a little disturbed by the unwavering watch.

He made no attempt to answer, his silence unnerving me and dissipating my satisfied mood. When moments had passed without speech, I wrapped the smooth linen cloth of the sheets around my exposed form and approached his fully clothed body, gently touching his shoulder with hopes of response. I kissed his cheek, but he only eyed me with the unsettling, calculating look that had covered his picturesque features since my waking.

Still trying to withhold my anxiety as to the reason of his quiescence, I knelt down in front of him and kissed the hand that rested inactively on the chair's arm, rubbing my cheek against it delicately. "What's wrong Angel?" A quick insecurity passed in my voice as I muttered. "Are you regretful?"

A soft, rumbling chuckle came from deep within his chest and his hand found the side of my face. "Oh darling, anything but that." I was pleased for a moment to break his silence of concentration, but then the coldness of how his hand rested was realized against the softness of my countenance and my look of pleasure immediately faltered, quickly flashing my suspicion. It was truly unlucky for him to have noticed.

He smirked, something that once would have been a pleasant reward, but now displayed a silent warning. The careless hand fell away and a soft finger took its place, playing lightly with the hair at the side of my face with false delicacy. His voice mirrored my earlier tone with near mocking underlying each syllable, "Say what you're thinking Faith, you're always so stoic."

It was a whisper of a breath, a softness betraying the erratic palpitations of my heartbeat: "Angelus."

"Good girl," He said approvingly, lifting me with inhuman strength onto his lap and clasping me there, helpless. Keeping a firm and unyielding grasp on my sheet covered body, he trailed his face along my right shoulder, taking in a sharp, unnaturally long breath. "Always smelled like moist rose petals…" He mused, obviously recalling one of Angel's memories. "He was right."

"Angelus." My voice was not threatening, but desperate, as if I lacked control.

"No," He scolded, "A slayer should never beg." He forced my face to his direction, "You should never beg, Faith." As harsh as his grasp was, an outsider's guess would have been that his hold matched the same softness his features suggested, never upsetting his aberrant calm. "Ironic, don't you think Faith." He lulled the syllables of my name with a cruel pleasure, knowing the way Angel had murmured them, "That a vampire's true happiness would come in the form of two slayers." He took in another unusually long breath. "I mean, isn't that peculiar?"

"Not to me…"

"No…not to you." He let a small smile cross his face in genuine amusement. "I gotta tell you, Faith, you were a better deal than good ol' Buff." His voice lowered and his mouth moved to be right beside my ear. "You have it in you."

"No!" I struggled and got partial freedom, allowing me one strong backhand to his skull. He quickly restrained me again.

"No, you're a reformed little girl now, aren't you." He snarled, "All that goodness just pulsing through your veins, Lindsey screwed that evil full out of your little being, didn't he?" His demeanor finally turned back to a neutral calm, and I was left shuddering and whimpering from the force, all the minute hairs on my body tingling in the readiness of fear. He smiled again and moved his mouth to touch the paleness of my throat, "Let's see if I can't drain that newfound virtue out of you." I heard him change and through reflex elbowed him with a satisfying crunch and rolled to the floor (my sheet toga miraculously intact).

The morphed face of a monster held me motionless for a moment and then with realization, I backed away until I could feel the thin thread of sunlight warm my arm. Blinded by anger, most likely, he charged me, throwing me against the covered window with audible force.

"Please, Angel, don't…" I said, a rueful teardrop making a shimmering line on my cheek.

He chuckled and shook his head, "Come on, little girl, it's all in fun." His fangs marked my neck in an instant, and my left hand tore away the curtain in the same time, allowing the bright afternoon sun to consume what was, less than a sunrise ago, my lover.

A moment of immobility made me comprehend the act I had just committed. Instead of breath, my throat sounded with the clicking of my tongue against the dry roof my mouth, small gasping noises following. Becoming lightheaded, not from lack of oxygen, but from despair, I fell against the wall, unable to cry.

"Oh god," I whispered, dry heaves following recognition. My inability to vomit brought on the sobbing and the burning inside my skull. The pain jolted from my head to my lungs and I internally wished it could kill me.

The unseen ghost of what once was offered me two options. How easy would it be to point that jagged edge of glass into my abdomen and end the fight, the one I, alone, would surely lose? How difficult would it be for me to exist bravely?

I swallowed and stood, invoking all of my strength and tenacity, and approached the dust-sheltered telephone beside the naked bed. With every ounce of perseverance I had ever gathered, I took the receiver in hand and punched in the always-familiar numbers.

After several rings, the answer came: "Hello?"

I took in a deep breath, "Hi…Buffy."

~

Why, I have not another tear to shed...

~Titus Andronicus

THE END