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"Blood of his Blood" Part I
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BLOOD OF HIS BLOOD
Part I
Part II ¦ Part III
Written by: Jenny (JenBWK42)
Jenny's Disclaimer: "This is only a fanfic. "Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and the characters are property belonging to Warner Brothers, Mutant Enemy, Joss Whedon and whoever else may be considered a property owner of the show. I wrote this for fun only and I do not intend a breach of copyright by writing this fanfic. I simply had a thought for a story which grew into more thoughts. I own nothing, nada, zip, nil, zero, nor am I making any money, plain and simple."
Author's note: "This story is a sequel to my fanfic, "Catch Me If You Can", so the events herein will be easier to follow if that story is read first. Also note that this story is meant to take place after the episode "Amends".between the episodes 'Homecoming' and "Band Candy.'"
He dug his toes deeper into the white sand, it's warmth radiating upwards through his body. It felt good. He pressed his hands in hard then lifted them, letting the sand trickle like rough powder through his fingers, watching the grains fall like gold glitter. The heat caressed his skin like a long lost glove. No denying it, this was heaven, or something almost as good, he mused, watching the sun progressing on its daily trek towards the western horizon. But the pale shades of pink and orange,indicating impending sundown, disappointed him. The wash of colored streaks in the blue sky didn't matter. He would have to return home before dark. At least he should.
Lingering a while longer, watching pink turn crimson and orange dull amber, he found his eyes drooping, lulled by the soft sounds of the incoming tide, mirroring his new tranquillity. It had been too long...
A cool breeze brushed his chest. He opened his eyes. Strange that a breeze would suddenly... That thought was interrupted as his peripheral vision spied a figure approaching from far down the beach, appearing small in the distance. Like a mirage, the figure seemed to float just above the sand, almost unreal, as in a dream. He looked away a moment, noting the swirling patterns of crimson and amber, bleeding into the darkening blue of coming twilight. He'd better be heading home.
Grabbing the flask of water resting next to him, he brought it to his lips. The water tasted good. He took another, longer draught, quenching his thirst.
Reaching for his shirt, he again glimpsed the lone figure. It was closer, and definitely female. Hmm...he hadn't flirted with a woman since...
Oh well, another day, another time.
Turning east, he started to trudge up the dune. A glance over his shoulder showed a band of dark blue overtaking its brighter companions in the sky. A chance look to his left showed the woman still approaching. He raised the flask to his lips again, but tore his mouth away as the water stung his throat. "What the-? I guess they don't make water like they used to," he chuckled inwardly, though, truth be told, he found the sensation unsettling. Maybe it was his imagination, he thought, deciding to give it another try.
"Ahh!" he yelped as this latest draught sent searing pain sliding over his tongue, past his tonsils and once more down his throat.
Angrily throwing the bottle away to rest in the dune, he fought an urge to run.
"Silly," he chided himself. "Come on. This is-" His eyes widened as he realized some of the water had splashed on his legs, sending stinging rivulets down his shins. Red streaks, like burns, began to race up his legs.
"What the hell!" he exclaimed, breaking into a full run.
"Hell? Sounds about right," he heard a woman say just behind him.
Stopping, he whirled around. "Buffy," he said, relieved, "I'm glad to see you. I don't under-"
"Aw, you don't understand, Angel?" Buffy replied in a sardonic, mocking tone. "what's not to understand?"
Angel's features contorted in confusion, his eyes pleading. "What are you talking about?"
"Do I really have to spell it out for you?" she asked, her tone condescending, as if talking down to a child.
"Buffy, I-"
"It's simple. It's time to die, Angel."
Angel's stomach leaped and his mind raced, trying to match her words to her face, to her, Buffy...his Buffy. "No, you're wrong," he answered. What else could he say? His throat constricted with the effort as he spoke. "I'm not a vampire anymore. You know that, Buffy. Come on."
Buffy smiled. "You're trying to trick me again." She shook her head. "Won't work, lover. Not anymore."
Angel had no time to reply as a stake appeared in Buffy's hand, his cry of protest carried away on the night wind as the simple thrust to his chest sunk the stake through his heart. How fitting, he had time to think, as he reached futilely towards her, watching (as if fate wanted his agony to progress in slow motion) his fingertips, then his hands, his arms, his feet and legs, and finally his body, slowly disintegrate into dust.
Hovering on the breeze, he looked at the night sky, the half-sun just hanging above the waterline, as though laughing at him. Then,
Darkness.
Nothing.
Except for Buffy's smiling face girded by the stars in the black sky...
Angel sat up on the couch with a start.
Cynthia Willson grinned as she watched Angel rise, shirtless, from the couch. She pulled herself back into the shadow of the barely living vine, giving herself enough leeway to peer through a space between the boards covering the broken windows, pushing her long, dark hair away from her eyes.
"Having bad dreams again, soul-boy?" she murmured to herself as Angel reached groggily for a shirt. "Oh, darn, I was enjoying the floor show," she giggled with mock disappointment. [I may not like you, but you are certainly good looking], she thought bitterly. "The root of all my troubles," she added out loud, her thoughts turning to chaos as she remembered...
For the hundredth time in slo-mo playback she saw her sister, Lori, walking down a deserted street out by the Bronze, the tall, darkly handsome man lying in pain on the cold asphalt. Then Lori saying something to him. The man, rising slowly, turning and burying his head into Lori's neck. Lori falling to the ground. And the smile, that awful, beautiful smile. Angelus' smile. Then the images would start all over again.
Cynthia winced. Then she remembered the rest...
It seemed like yesterday: the bliss of capturing her sister's killer. Angel had deserved to die, yet she had been bent on serving up his soul once again. That was a mistake. Yet, it would have worked if not for the interfering little bitch, Buffy Summers. How ironic that if she had left Buffy out of it, the plan might have worked. Angel would have regained his soul, making Buffy a happy woman. Instead, Angel had escaped. She knew now that she should have taken down the slayer first and not played games. Finding an Orb of Thessala and getting Ethan Rayne to help her restore her own soul after she lured Angel into turning her into a vampire was the easy part. With the benefit of hindsight, she realized she probably shouldn't have done that; it's not everyday one willfully gets oneself turned into a vampire. But she had seen it as the only way to worm herself into the rank and file run by Angel and Spike. It was fun for a while, she had to admit. But when her plan went wrong and Angel proved oh so unwilling to have his soul restored and Ms. Summers showed such tenacious determination...well, suffice it to say, it had been a stupid idea. How fascinating, the lengths to which the slayer went to in order to find out if Angel had really been kidnapped. What was with that? "Pretty sick," Cynthia murmured aloud.
Well, all that was neither here nor there. The fact was, all those months ago Angel got away, Buffy got away, and she had been screwed. Eating dead rats had lost its appeal months ago. Being a vampire with a soul was a hard business. She could almost sympathize with Angel. Almost. After all, she had never killed a human being, while only God knew how many lost lives Angel had to account for.
Cynthia glanced through the gaps in the boarded up window again. She couldn't bring herself to smile this time, even as Angel leaned forward, arms bent on knees, his head cradled wearily in his hands. But the source of his ache didn't matter. This is what she had wanted to do herself: to snuff out his pleasure, to make him feel guilt for having killed her sister. In short, she had wanted to restore his soul herself. But that pleasure had been taken from her.
Did he even remember? She suppressed the impulse to go in the living room to ask him that very question. Did he remember how Lori had asked if he was okay as he lay face forward in the grime of that alley behind the Bronze? Did he remember turning around and--Cynthia shuddered--sinking his teeth into her? And all she could do was watch from the shadows, paralyzed with fear.
It had taken her awhile to get the backstory, but get it she did, the crux of the matter being Buffy Summers' involvement with Angelus. [Stupid child], Cynthia thought. What had she been thinking? Of course, in all fairness, her friend Jenny Calendar played a role by not telling Angel and Buffy about the possible consequences of loving each other. But Jenny was dead. Angel had seen to that. And she had seen him kill Jenny. Witness to his crimes once again.
So, with Angel in full guilt mode now, there were only two things she could possibly do, and do them she would: one, remind Angel about her sister and two, kill Buffy with Angel as a witness. How was that for revenge? The old adage an eye for an eye had it's place.
Cynthia glanced again at Angel. "Nighty night, Angelus. I'll be seeing you."
Picking her way around the debris on the patio, Cynthia shook her head as a stray thought tugged at her mind, like a gnat, annoying but fleeting, insignificant really, something Angelus had said to her in the midst of their showdown so long ago: "This is you with a soul?" he had whispered in her ear. "I'm truly in awe because you seem rather soulless." Then he had laughed.
Tucking the memory back where it belonged, in a dark, quiet place for later examination--or not--Cynthia strolled down the path to her car.
Angel shook his head, leaned back and stared into the fire, Buffy's face superimposed in his vision over the flames, like a wraith. That was the dream still talking, he well knew. He didn't really think of her that way. A wraith portended death. She was life itself to him. But he was still a bit angry with her, deep down, for cutting the thread. Spike had been right. What had he called it? Love's bitch. They couldn't be 'just friends' and Buffy had possessed the courage to admit it. He could only admire her for having more strength than he did. And their experience after the First Evil had tried to destroy him only bolstered the truth of Spike's words. God, Spike of all people was right. How he hated that.
Love and hate, such a fine line. No, he didn't hate her. Never. But this dream, like the others he had endured since she left him after Spike's rather torturous visit, was a metaphor. His heart had ached and ached and ached. She might as well have staked him. But how could he think that now? He couldn't. They had made up. She had stayed with him after their encounter with the First Evil. Implored him to stay alive. Held his hand. Told him he could still do good and make amends.
Make amends. Two very loaded words. How could he even begin...
Needing a distraction, Angel peeled off the shirt he had just donned and began the first tai chi motion...
"So, where do you and Angel stand now?" Willow asked Buffy as they walked down the school hallway.
"Love's bitches, still, I guess. I hate how Spike was right about us, though."
"Definitely gotta hate that guy," Willow said, her voice wavering a bit.
Buffy detected the slight tremor. "Are you okay, Wil?"
Willow set her mouth with determination. "I'm fine. It still seems like yesterday, though. It was, just, you know, kinda scary. No, wait, I'll admit it, go all the way and say it was *really* scary. I thought he was going to kill us."
"I'm sorry." Buffy paused.
"What are you thinking about?"
"About you and Oz," Buffy half-lied. "How is that going?"
Willow grinned. "Going. Really going."
Buffy smiled. "I'm glad. Have you, uh, seen-? Oops, speak of the devil," Buffy interrupted herself, nodding subtly to her right as Xander approached from the connecting hall. "Hey, Xander," Buffy greeted him as he looked their way.
"Hey," he returned the greeting. "Uh-oh, Cordelia, ten o'clock."
Buffy and Willow looked in that direction. Cordelia favored them with a large smile as she walked by, her hand placed in the crook of the quarterback's arm, chatting away happily.
Willow returned her gaze to Xander. "You know, it's not her fault."
Xander. "So, how many times are you going to remind of that?"
"I didn't mean-"
"I'm sorry, Wil," Xander said, looking abashed. "Um, I gotta go. English test. Oh, there's were-boy approaching. I'm off."
Xander nodded to Oz as they passed each other. Oz stopped and put an arm around Willow.
"So, how'd the test go?" Willow asked.
"It went," Oz answered.
"Hey guys, I'll see you later," Buffy said, catching onto the look in Oz's eyes that said 'I want to be alone with Willow'. "I want to see Giles. He just returned from another retreat at the druidic site thingy."
Willow and Oz nodded distractedly. Buffy made a quiet retreat.
"Hello, Buffy," Giles greeted her as he opened the door to his apartment.
"Hey, Giles..." she paused on the threshold, considering the sight before her. "Wow, that's a look," she said, suppressing a grin as she noted the beginnings of a beard and the uncharacteristic attire of a dirty plaid shirt and khaki pants. "it's...rugged."
"The 'look', as you so politely call it, will be gone in short order," Giles replied, laughing softly. "What can I do for you?" He ushered her in.
"I just came by to tell you something. Something has-"
Giles' eyes narrowed. "What happened?"
Buffy rolled her eyes. "How did you know I was going to say something has 'happened'?"
Giles merely looked at her.
"Okay, yes, something happened. I was in another one of Angel's dreams."
"Good heavens," Giles mumbled as he placed himself carefully in a chair. "All right, tell me."
"It's been a rush, Matthew, but I must depart," Cynthia said casually as she shoved the other vampire against a tree and kissed him so hard his head ricocheted ever so slightly off of the bark when she released him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Matthew exclaimed, rubbing the back of his head. "And what's with letting the slayer go? She was right there"- he jerked his head towards a nearby tomb, partially concealed by a large evergreen tree.
Cynthia arched her body against his and ran her hand up his side. "I'm hurt, Matthew. I thought we were engaged in something more important." She nipped his ear, drawing blood. He shuddered. "I don't care about Faith," she whispered into the same ear. "She's of no consequence. She didn't even see us."
Matthew pushed her away a bit. "What we were, um, engaged in is not nearly as important as sacking the slayer. Mr. Trick better not get word of this."
"Oh, hush," Cynthia purred, drawing his hands over her hips, up her back, around her shoulders and back down over her chest.
He swallowed hard. "Cynthia," he said, a low growl emanating from his lips. He grinned despite his better judgement. He was mad at her, after all.
"Yes, Matthew?" she cooed, pressing her body closer. "Matthew," she said again, brushing her lips against his cheek. "Matt-" she smothered her words with another kiss, laughing as Matthew responded fervently...laughing harder as his eyes opened wide before he turned to dust.
Cynthia pulled away from the tree and dug the stake out from the bark, as it had embedded slightly when she pushed it into Matthew. Nice to know that vampires' hormonal drive was good for something. Stepping away, she slapped the dust off of her black leather pants. "At least his last thought was a happy one," she murmured, straight-faced. "The slayer won't be so lucky. Oops, that reminds me. A little errand." Cynthia looked thoughtfully at her jacket pocket and pulled a piece of blue paper out.
[What was I thinking? That I'd run into Buffy?] Angel chided himself for investing his emotions in false hopes. Four hours of walking a beat around the cemetery and around the town had produced nothing but a mild headache and much heartache. What would he have said anyway if they'd run into each other? "Hey, Buffy, sorry. It's just a coincidence I'm prowling around the cemetery on your patrol hours." [God, it's pathetic] Angel thought as he slowly ascended the hill to the mansion. Granted, they'd made up, more or less, but still, he really shouldn't be around her so much.
Reaching the front door and opening it, he glided across the living room and walked into the garden, sipping at the slurpee-sized container of blood he had swiped from the butcher. He grimaced at the taste. It wasn't fresh. Now that he was better, he promised himself he would make a run to the hospital for some donor blood. But, grateful for the distraction of the simple act of feeding himself--as close to bliss as he ever got lately--he almost missed the object attached to the right of the broken window. Almost.
As he downed the sour pig's blood--quickly so he wouldn't have to notice the taste--his eyes fell upon a light blue piece of paper hanging on a dead vine branch. "Buffy," he murmured, setting the container on a bench, eagerly striding over to the note. Who else could it be from?
Carefully pulling the delicate sheet off the vine and away from the snagging tendrils, Angel broke the seal and began to read. There wasn't much, but it made his heart sing:
I've missed you since Christmas Eve. Meet me in the alley by Ethan's old shop. 11:30. I have a surprise. -Buffy
11:30? That seemed late for her these days, but tomorrow would be Friday. Maybe she didn't care if she stayed up late then. He smiled. He read the note again and his eyes fell on her signature. He frowned. This wasn't her writing.
Quickly folding the letter and placing it in his pocket, Angel dashed into the house and ran out the door, leaving his meal to grow even more stale.
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