A Double Heart for my Single One ch 10
It was hard to loose Faith. In fact, it was harder than it should have been.
It occurred to Buffy that she spent all her time training on how to fight, and none of it on how to get away. She’d have to address that to Giles later. Maybe she should start going on morning runs. She dodged back and forth, all the while hearing the “Wait up, B!” in the background. It wasn’t until she had nearly crossed the little wood that she managed to loose the younger Slayer. It was amongst a large pile of rocks and next to a rather jagged cliff, and if that wasn’t just the weirdest piece of geography she’d ever seen she didn’t know what was. Still, Faith was younger, more difficult, and Buffy managed to loose her before she’d completely winded herself, but just barely. Once she knew the other girl couldn’t track her she doubled back and headed toward home. She slipped into the house via her bedroom window where she grabbed the quilt off her bed and the toiletries out of the shower and then stuffed them into a bag. Then she left as silently as she entered and downstairs Joyce was none-the-wiser.
Half way to the mansion Buffy stopped by a drug store and stocked up on first aid supplies. The man at the counter looked at her oddly when she dropped enough first aid supplies on the counter to nearly outfit and emergency room but said nothing. Only in Sunnydale. When Buffy got to the mansion it was dark and silent. She turned on the lights in the living room, courtesy of one of the previous tenants, Spike maybe, he seemed to like modern amenities, and looked around. Then she stepped into the bedroom to find the bed empty and the panic that hit her in that moment was so fierce she actually felt dizzy. Had she released a monster on the world…again? Oh God. It passed quickly, though, when she heard a soft whimpering coming from the other side of the bed. She knew that sound.
Swallowing the lump rising in her throat Buffy walked around to take a look at Angel, and covered her mouth at what she saw: he was trembling violently and huddled against the wall in the space between the bed and the lamp stand. How could he even make himself that small? And there was that purring sound again.
“Oh, Angel.” At the sound of the soft tearful voice Angel’s head snapped up. Apparently he was awake. The look of complete shock and awe on his face made her lungs constrict and, it was too much, attempting to distract herself from the inevitably overwhelming sense of pain and guilt, she turned and walked into the other room where she’d left the cooler. It was still there and the blood was still in it. That meant Angel probably hadn’t moved the entire day. He must be so sore. This is your fault, Buffy. That thought only amplified as she realized there wasn’t much blood left and she hadn’t brought more. She hadn’t even thought to get him more. But she was his provider, and his protector, right now. She had to remember these things. Sighing she pushed her hands through her long hair, picked up the remaining two bags of blood, and returned to the room.
When she passed the threshold she saw that Angel had moved out a little from the wall, a look of complete panic on his face. Duh, stupid Buffy, should have told him where you were going. From his face he thought she’d left him and Buffy was suddenly reminded of those little kids at the day care who think that when their mom leaves in the morning she’s leaving forever. You know, the ones who howl the entire day. When he realized it was her he visibly relaxed, slumping against the side of the bed. “Buffy.” He said it with such hope, his eyes closing as fresh tears slipped down his face. Buffy choked on her own sob at the sight as she threw her supplies on the bed and sunk down in front of him.
“Oh, sweetie.” She rested her hand on the side of his face, and she didn’t miss the flinch when she first touched him, until he looked up at her, and then she slipped her arms around him as gently as she could and helped him to sit on the side of the bed. Once she’d touched his face she couldn’t seem to stop, and she brushed away his tears and touched his brow, his cheek, his ears. He turned his face into her touch but his heavy eyes never left her. “I-I’m sorry I left you. J-just now…that was stupid. And-and before-they wouldn’t let me come back.” Her voice was choked as she tried to explain to the ignorant vampire why she’d been gone. She glanced at his body and then quickly away. Most of his wounds had bled through the bandages, and she could still see his bones through the back of his hands. She’d have to redress…him, and she was painfully aware the blood she had wasn’t nearly enough. Breathe. One thing at a time. Breathe.
Buffy looked up at him and laid a hand on his forearm, the degraded muscles under his skin clenched as she did and Buffy removed her hand, swallowed down the bile in her throat. Smile. Remember to smile. “Hey, we’re going to get you some pants and then we’ll get you clean. Hair washed? Bath? How does that sound?” For a moment Angel just stared as he normally did, then he leaned close and nuzzled her cheek, his cool breath puffing softly on her neck.
“Buffy,” he whispered.
Getting the sweats back on him was easier than Buffy had anticipated. He was plaint, no longer fighting her, and though Buffy wasn’t sure whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, she’d take what she could get. He also seemed to be much more lucid today. Apparently the blood *had* helped at least some, and he took the other two bags of blood unheated. He watched her every moved, his eyes and head following her, and she got the impression that he was afraid that if he looked away, or blinked, she’d be gone. Several times he began to tremble and his eyes seemed to glaze over but when Buffy touched him, and spoke to him, it stopped. She promised herself that she would keep talking until she left.
That’s how they ended up walking through the back alleys of Sunnydale, a bag of toiletries and first aid supplies slung over one arm, and a half-clothed Angel clinging to the other. He jumped and growled at every sound, every bit of breeze, rustled leaf, or little demon hiding in the corner. And, despite her guilt making her decidedly more patient than usual Buffy was suitably annoyed by the time they reached the local YMCA.
“Here we are,” she said brightly, prying her arm away from Angel’s clinging hands, as she gripped the chains locking the outdoor pool and broke them. All this breaking and entering and she felt bad for a moment, but brushed it away, this was for a good cause. “Our very own bath.” She opened the gates and led Angel in. Angel reattached himself to her arm, though he had now averted his attention from her to the Olympic length swimming pool. In the pale light of the moon its glassy surface looked a silvery blue. Angel eyed it dubiously. Buffy almost laughed as they came to a halt beside the kiddy pool. A foot and a half of chlorinated fun.
Despite it being an outdoor pool and autumn the water was still warm, and it was something Buffy had bet on. The mansion was a no-go for now, but that was where outdoor water sources, like the lovely YMCA pool came in handy, it *was* California after all. Still, Angel treated the water as though it was poison, or acid perhaps, and Buffy wasn’t going to even let her thoughts wander to that possibility, until she slipped off her shoes and socks and stuck her feet in. Then he submitted to the stripping of the sweats and the sitting in the kiddy pool. He hissed as the chlorine soaked through the bandages and touched his skin, and Buffy felt guilty for that too, but there wasn’t really anything she could do, and something inside of her was beginning to feel a touch of numb, like a second shot of Novocain when the dentist drills too deep.
Rolling up the legs of her pants she sat behind him on the edge of the pool and rested her feet on his hips. Angel glanced up at her for a second before looking back down at the water in a kind of subdued awe and running his hands slowly over the surface. With a belated sigh she gathered the shampoo, conditioner, and soap to her along with a plastic cup and a soft wash cloth and, dipping her cup into the water, she began.
***
She was talking to him. Angel knew she was saying things. She kept saying things, always making the soft noises, noises that soothed. He wished that he could understand her, but anything beyond her name, and perhaps his name, were lost to him linguistically. He stiffened as he felt the cool water begin to trickle into his hair and down his scalp, but when no pain of any kind followed he relaxed back against her. Buffy. Touching her was better, even if it hurt. She was warm, and smelled of vanilla, and sweat, and something fresh and alive. He thought perhaps it started with a ‘g’ sound, but he couldn’t be sure. She poured more water over his head, and it trickled down his face and neck. He liked the smell of it and he wrinkled his nose as it ran in rivulets by his nostrils.
Buffy. He tried not to think that she might not be real, or that this might be a dream. He tried to focus on the feeling of her warmth against his back, of the water on his legs, of her hands and arms and voice. She touched him this time, and though he felt such shame that something so light would lay a hand on him yet he could not bring himself to make her stop. He relished the touch, soaked it up like food and water. It didn’t matter that his stomach still gnawed at him in hunger. *She* was here. Buffy. That was enough. Even still, when she opened the bottle and poured out a handful of chemical smelling goop he couldn’t help but flinch away. She was going to punish him for making her impure. A voice in his head told him it was the least that he deserved, but he could not quell the terror that rose. Then her hand was resting gently on his neck and turning him to face her. He didn’t resist her because he understood; he had no right. He had done…things, he couldn’t quite remember, but he knew, to her, and she could do whatever she wanted to him in turn.
“Hey. Hey,” she said gently, trying to make eye contact, “it’s ok. It’s not going to hurt you. Just shampoo. See?” She took his hand, that until then had been resting in the lukewarm water, and placed it on the goop and though he tried to wrench his hand away she would not let him. It took several minutes of blind panic before he realized that it didn’t hurt. The goop, which glittered slightly, didn’t hurt at all. She wasn’t going to punish him. He stopped the keening which had began and stared at her. What *was* she going to do? Very carefully , and watching him all the wile she reached up and rubbed the goop into his hair. “Just shampoo,” she said, though her voice had taken on that rougher quality he found it sometimes did, “not gonna hurt you.”
Angel began to relax again and she turned him so that his back was too her. Maybe she didn’t want to see his face? She was massaging his scalp and he could feel the grime and blood of the centuries beginning to slide out. It didn’t matter that the shampoo stung against the small abrasions in his skin, he was grateful at the thought that he might be clean, and it felt *so* good. Unknowingly he relaxed further against her, but when he realized how free he was being, that his head was practically resting in her lap, he tried to jerk away only to have her catch him. “It’s ok. You’re ok. You’re just fine,” she said, and pushed his head back down and continued her work.
Angel was lulled by her soft voice, and softer hands, tender treatment after lifetimes without it. At one point she had him dip under the water, he lay there blinking up at her for several minutes until a light touch on his forehead told him he should sit up again, and she re-lathered his hair, then she had him do it again. The white patches that had littered his body floated away, and she took more goop, it bubbled this time, and put it in a soft wet rag that she ran over his body. Angel was once again in shock. He knew where his body had been and she shouldn’t have been touching it, but she was. The cloth was so soft, still it hurt, but the pain didn’t matter anymore; most of his wounds had closed anyway. The thought that anyone would even lay a hand on him in anything other than violence was an absolute miracle, and he couldn’t help that his eyes closed or the soft purr that erupted from his chest. It was a miracle, nothing like this ever happened in Hell.
Apparently the sound of happy purring startled Angel as much as it startled Buffy because suddenly she was staring down into wide brown eyes. He turned his eyes to the trees, and then to the starry sky and the startled look depended. She had long since given up the idea that she wasn’t going to get wet, and so it had been no problem when Angel had slumped down and rested his head on her thigh, but now he turned around quickly, and because of the position they’d been in, her legs straddling his back, one of his broad shoulders caught her under her knee and sent her tumbling into the pool too.
The water was rather gross, a ten foot wide pink bubbly mass. Some of Angel’s injuries had opened again during washing, but at least they were clean. Buffy planned to redress them after she was done with the conditioner. Instead of rinsing him again she found herself sitting in the cooling water, staring at a shocked Angel. He looked from her to the trees, to the pool, to the sky, and back to her, blinking almost comically the entire time. He looked like someone who had just woken up. Had he fallen asleep? She hadn’t thought…but maybe. Then he was close to her, invading her space, looking her over. This time when their eyes met his were sparkling with question.
“…Buffy?”
At his look Buffy realized that he knew. He finally knew, and not in that won’t-remember-you-in-the-morning way that he had known, but in the real solid I-know-who-you-are know, and she burst into tears.
“Yes,” she said through her weeping, “yes. Me. Buffy. It’s Buffy.” His arms were around her then, thin and damaged as they were, and then he was crying into her chest, but it was a good crying, an elated crying. She didn’t know what exactly had triggered this revelation but she wouldn’t trade it for the world.
When they finally pulled away the water in the kiddy pool was cold.
“Well,” Buffy said, wiping at her tear dampened eyes, “we better finish. They’ll send out a search party for me soon.”
Angel gave her a dazzling smile. “Buffy,” he said.
She conditioned his hair and helped him out of the pool, drying him off with a towel she found at the lifeguard’s station-she’d have to remember towels next time too. Then she reapplied aloe and antibiotic cream to the wounds and re-bandaged them, finally she helped him back into the sweats, studiously avoiding *that* area. If Angel noticed her avoidance he didn’t acknowledge it.
If he’d been attached to her before he was a leach now, he seemed filled with a need to touch her. On the way back he touched her hair, her shoulders and back, played with her fingers, and she could feel his gaze burning into her. She continued to talk, “I met this guy, Scott, he was pretty great, but it didn’t work out. Oh, and Giles and my mom are in cahoots now…” but if she turned to look at him he would let go and look away. It was odd, but Buffy--Buffy didn’t know if she could blame him--if he could remember what he did at all…She pushed the thoughts out of her head. He couldn’t remember and he needed her.
At the mansion she helped him lay down on the bare mattress again, and wrapped him in her quilt. He stared at her adoringly and whispered her name.
“I have to go, but I’m going to be back tomorrow night. I’ll have food, er, blood, and other…stuff. I’ll get you everything you need.” She met his eyes. “You just need to stay here. Sleep and stuff. Please, don’t go out. Just say, and I’ll be back, ok? I promise.” She touched his face lightly and he leaned into the touch, then Buffy turned and left.
It was luck, really, that she found the vamp on the way home, and even luckier that he was attacking that sorority girl. Well, lucky for Buffy, and kind of lucky for the girl, not for the vamp. She kicked him off the screaming student and went to stake him but he got a good strike against her cheek bone, ouch, and then another against her ribs. It was too late to be doing this. With an angry huff she flipped the creature and dusted him. Rubbing her bruised face she turned back to the victim; she was crying and she’d been bitten, but nothing to plan a funeral about. Buffy helped her stand and walked with her to the emergency room entrance. By that time the other girl was thanking her profusely.
“It’s nothing,” Buffy said, pushing her toward the emergency room door, “just don’t go out so late, or so alone, again, ok?” The girl nodded. For some reason Buffy didn’t believe her. Only in Sunnydale. It wasn’t until she was walking home that she realized that she was covered in blood. Bingo.
Buffy threw open the doors to the library, startling everyone who had been sitting around obviously waiting for her.
“Buffy, where were-”
“Got him!” she announced, breathing like she’d just been in a fight, or like she’d just run from the Sunnydale emergency room to the library.
Giles eyes widened, and then narrowed. Buffy wondered if he bought it. “Buffy, you really should call us before you take off after some unknown creature. It could have killed you.”
Buffy scoffed. “But it didn’t. Plus, been there, done that.”
“Buffy,” Giles said.
“That must have been one fast bastard,” Faith added. “Go, B.”
Buffy smiled, feeling only somewhat guilty for lying through her teeth.
“Alright, Giles, sorry. Next time I’ll try and let you guys know. Ok?”
Giles sighed and nodded and Willow and Xander, who had been asleep on one another until Buffy’s dramatic entrance, began to sluggishly gather up their things in order to head home.
Faith was already out the door. “Later!” she called.
“Anyway,” Buffy added, “It was big, and brown, and looked kind of like sticks, or something, but I’m tired now. Talk to you in the morning. Bye!”
Buffy took off, sparing Oz a short smile before she was gone. For several minutes after everyone had vacated Oz continued to lean against the check out desk, looking for all the world like the cool and nonchalant guy he was. He sniffed the air, and then sniffed it again, and frowned. That was odd. Kneeling down he swiped up a drop of blood that had fallen from Buffy, tasted it lightly, and his frown deepened. That was very very odd.