Don't let the title fool you < G > "Buffy? Are you almost ready? Angel and Connor are here." Willow's voice echoed weirdly up the staircase and down the hall, but Buffy
had no trouble understanding her from the depths of her bedroom closet. The
Slayer abruptly pulled her head out of a garment bag and hurried to the
half-open door. "Just a second! I need to find something!" Buffy turned from the door and wandered to the center of the room,
thoughtfully tapping her chin. "I'm positive I wore that necklace the last time I wore that coat; it should
have been in the pocket. Where the heck did I put it?" No helpful suggestions issued from the aether; in one way an annoyance, but
also a comfort given her close proximity to a periodically active hellmouth.
Still, the lack of otherworldly assistance left her with a plunging neckline
on her blouse, and no dainty little dangling trinket to tease the right set
of eyes. "Okay," she sighed, "one more try for the dresser." The top drawer produced no results, just as it had neglected to do a
half-hour earlier when she last searched it. The second drawer was similarly
wasted, containing nothing more crucial than halter-tops. When her fingers
stretched to the back of the third drawer, however, they struck a solid metal
object wedged in the corner. None of her assorted jewelry boxes had ever
been metal; she couldn't imagine what she'd jammed into such an odd hiding
place. Buffy pulled it out, frowning as a memory teased at the edges of her
consciousness. Perching on the edge of her bed, she slowly opened the box,
wincing at the aroma that escaped.
Everyone makes one mistake
The garlic had long since shriveled into hardened husks, grown slightly moldy
where a tiny leak from one of the bottles of holy water had saturated a
clove. The large silver crucifix couldn't rust in the dampness, but its
customary soft glow had long since been covered in tarnish. Buffy stared at
the contents for one sick second before she slammed the box shut again and
dropped it on the nightstand. The room now stank from the fetid garlic; her
first clear thought was to get rid of that hideous odor. But even opening
all her windows couldn't clear away the rotted scent still lingering in her
brain. She thought she'd thrown the box out long ago, though not for the reasons she
now wanted it gone. It was her Spike-repellent, left over from those first
few nights of denial. She remembered hanging the garlic from the curtain
rods, drenching the carpet by the door and in front of the windows with holy
water, and huddling on her bed with a cross to protect her from Spike. As though anything could have protected her, when the darkness came from
inside her, and the vampire was just the punishment for her crimes. Looking back from just six short month's distance, she couldn't believe how
sick she'd truly been, and how long it took her to acknowledge it. She'd
been so angry back then, and so very ashamed of her anger, but the shame only
made her angrier, which made her still more ashamed...it never seemed to end.
One that's born of memories
So much rage and pain, even before Willow brought her back from heaven;
that's what had made jumping from the water tower so very easy. It was an
escape from the anger and the denial and all the other stages of grief Angel
had so carefully explained to her the night of her mother's funeral. She
didn't want to get past anger because that was only the first step, and once
she made it all the way through...her mother would be truly gone. Angel
would be truly gone. Giles would be truly gone. Buffy Summers...whoever she
used to be in her pre-heaven days...would be truly gone. She could admit it now; she'd hated her friends for bringing her back, and
she hated herself for hating them because she knew they did it out of love.
She hated her mother for dying and leaving her, and she hated herself because
she knew it was the last thing Joyce would have chosen to do. She hated Dawn
for burdening her with such responsibility at such a young age, and hated
herself for blaming an innocent who never asked to be trapped in the
nightmare world that was Sunnydale. She hated Angel and Giles for leaving
her, and hated herself because she knew they had to leave to give her a real
future as well as themselves. She had told Spike once...even convinced herself for a time...that she still
felt dead inside when she came back from the grave. The truth was that all
the impotent rage she'd felt from her mother's illness and death came welling
back the moment breath flowed through her body again, and circumstances after
her resurrection had fueled it daily. Her financial woes, her lack of
direction, Giles' abandonment, Willow's obsession with magick, Dawn's need
for attention and succor, Xander's happiness with Anya...it was all grist for
her mill. But then there was Spike.
You're not the one You're not the one
He didn't try to ease her suffering; he encouraged it. He fanned the flames
of her anger, feeding it as it fed him. Without a soul he couldn't begin to
understand her guilt, and he had zero interest in helping her deal with it,
so instead he helped her dig the deepest, darkest well she could lower
herself into. And he made it all seem so easy. As usual, her breaking point had come with Angel. Her beautiful Brooding
Guy, who should have understood. Who did understand, too well, and who
wouldn't let her sink into the same self-pity and despair where he had once
found shelter. She saw him once, shortly after she came back, and his
newfound optimism sent her scurrying for the nearest dark corner. She was
mad, dammit, and she had a right to be. Just because she wouldn't have let
him get away with such behavior was no reason for him to try and lift her out
of herself. But still, there was Spike.
Something never meant to be
* * * * * Once all the windows were opened wide to welcome the cleansing night air,
Buffy sat down on the bed again and reached out to stroke the cool metal edge
of the box. It wasn't easy looking back on those months, remembering all the
pain and confusion. For a long time she had kidded herself that Spike had
been the answer to the problem...or at least to a problem. It had taken
Anya, of all people, to make her see the so-called relationship for its true
value. In her offhanded, too-blunt way, the former demon had reacted calmly to the
revelation that Spike and Buffy were lovers. Even the news that Buffy was no
longer precisely human didn't seem to faze her; in fact, it clarified
everything. "Well then of course she's going to have sex with Spike now," Anya had said,
rolling her eyes at the innocence of her companions. "He can kill her." Her words hit Buffy like a slap in the face. At first the Slayer tried
vehemently to deny the truth of them; she hadn't known Spike could hurt her
when she first kissed him, even if she had known by the time she started
having sex with him. And she wanted to live now; she really did. She didn't
have a death wish, no matter what Anya, or Spike for that matter, thought. But as hard as tried to deny Anya's words, Buffy could not escape them.
Everywhere she went she carried them with her, echoing mockingly in the back
of her skull. She hadn't known Spike could hurt her; it was true. But
everyone he touched died; he'd carried death like flowers for over a century.
Even if he couldn't kill her himself, he could lead her unerringly into
harm's way, and sooner or later he would lose interest in helping her get
out. It was an almost perfect plan. Later, when he showed her how little her remaining humanity stacked up
against his chip, it moved right up to perfect. Anya's observation, bless her tactless heart, had been a much-needed dash of
cold water, in so many senses of the phrase. The next time Spike came
sniffing around, Buffy told him playtime was at an end and walked away. The
next time she'd tried adding a few punches to reinforce the message, but that
only seemed to excite him, and thus revolted her. So she went back to
ignoring him, freezing him out, whatever it took to get the message across.
Eventually it seemed to work, although there had been a temporary setback
when Angel came back on the scene. Those who try and get away
It hadn't been easy for Buffy either when Angel came back, especially since
he had Darla's child in tow. But their time apart had taught them both
something about the demon Angel carried within him. Everyone has their inner
demons, be they literal or figurative; the trick was to love yourself and
others despite them. Loving each other had never been a problem for Buffy
and Angel, so the battle had already been half-won the moment he walked in
her front door again. Angel. Her sweet, strong, and strangely lighthearted Angel. "Buffy?" Her no-longer-patiently-waiting-downstairs Angel. No, there he stood,
waiting in her doorway instead of her living room...watching her watch the
box. "Angel!" Buffy pushed the metal box into the garbage can under her nightstand and got
to her feet with fluid grace. "I thought you were waiting downstairs." She
glanced past Angel's shoulder into the hallway as she drew him further into
the room. "Where's my favorite fella?" He pulled his hand free from her warm clasp and struck it against his chest,
feigning pain at the blow. "Now that hurts. I thought I was your favorite
guy." Buffy shook her head as she rose on the toes of her high-heeled shoes to
brush a kiss across his lips. "Nope; Connor is my favorite guy. You're just
my favorite. Period." He slipped his arms around her waist and held her close, letting his senses
absorb the scent, the warmth, the feel of her, after two long weeks of
deprivation. "Mmm, that should make me feel better...so why is it I suddenly feel like a
hermaphrodite?" "Easy, lover," she answered with a grin. "I know what side of the fence you
sit on; that's all that counts." Angel dipped his head down to nuzzle her earlobe, whispering softly to her
through the curtain of her slowly growing hair. "So, are you going to tell me what was in that box you were studying so
intently...or am I going to have to coax it out of you?" So very not the romantic murmurings she was looking for, even if the coaxing
part did have potential. "I'll trade you," she compromised. "I tell you about the box if you tell me
where your son is. Deal?" She pulled back within the welcome confines of Angel's arms to watch his
response, even as she mentally composed her part of the bargain. "He's with Willow and Dawn; they grabbed him from me the minute I got in the
door." Angel shook his head, laughing at the memory. "Anyone would have
thought they were the anxious parents and I was the teenage baby-sitter." "Well, they better hand him over for a few minutes before we leave," Buffy
warned. "Otherwise they'll have to deal with the wrath of a mama slayer
and...oops." She bit her lip, peering up at him through her swiftly lowered
lashes. "Did I say that out loud?" "Yeah, you did." Angel raised his hand to stroke the curve of her flushed
cheek. "I kind of liked it." She smiled and drew a steadying breath of air; one more delicate area of
reconciliation to put behind them. "Felt pretty good from this end too," she admitted. He kissed her, very gently and sweetly, but with a promise of more to come
later. When he drew back, strictly in deference to her need for air, Buffy
thought any lingering awkwardness between them was done. "So, what about that box?" And the awkwardness returned, in all its prickly glory. She knew Angel knew
about she and Spike; she had been honest from the beginning because Spike
wasn't worth lying about. But honesty lost some of its merit when faced with
the prospect of a romantic dinner for two...that had been postponed three
times due to random demonic possessions and world-threatening supernatural
catastrophes. There was only so much honesty you could expect from one very
frustrated super-hero, Buffy told herself, at least before dessert. "That old thing?" She tried to project as much innocence as she could
muster; knowing even her best acting never seemed to fool Angel for long.
"That was just some vampire-repellent. You know, garlic and holy water and
all that sort of stuff. It was spoiled, so I tossed it." She shrugged it off
as a non-event. "I think I'm a little beyond needing props these days." Angel frowned and sniffed the air. "Now that you mention it...is that rancid
garlic I'm smelling?" "Well, that and the perfume you bought me last month...but considering the
little line on your forehead, I'm hoping it's mostly the garlic." She
reached up and smoothed the line between his eyes with her fingertips,
earning her a smile and another quick kiss. "Sorry," he said, "it's just that garlic isn't exactly what I'd call a
turn-on, and with it being rotted...you know, I'm not actually sure if that
makes it better or worse." Buffy sighed melodramatically as she slipped out of his arms and leaned down
to pick up her jacket from the foot of the bed. "Now that is the only real problem I see with loving a vampire...no Italian
food." Angel helped her on with the jacket, leaving his arm draped around her
shoulders as they made their way to the stairs. "If I buy you some really good Greek food to make up for it," he said
suddenly, "will you tell me why you saved that box of moldy garlic?" She stumbled slightly on the step and looked up at him in confusion. "What's the big with the box?" she asked with a worried frown. "I found it;
I tossed it; end of story." He shook his head, somehow managing to look serious even though the smile
never left his lips. "There's more to it than that; I can tell." He could, too; that was the best, and sometimes the most inconvenient part of
their relationship. Buffy knew he wouldn't make a scene about it, but he
would keep throwing out periodic questions until he was certain the air was
clear between them. No more protecting each other from the truth, that was
the pledge. Even if the truth was seldom plain, and almost never simple. She could tell him this particular truth right now, and it would still be
okay; she had no doubt of that. But Angel deserved a past-free repast, just
this once, and so did she. "Uncle," she sighed. "But can it wait till after dinner? It's really not
worth letting the grape leaves get cold over." Connor's squawk of delight when he saw Buffy overrode the sound of Angel's
laugh as he agreed to the delay. The Slayer smiled her thanks to her lover
and pressed a kiss to his cheek before she hurried down the last few steps to
retrieve the baby from his "aunties."
"Hi sweetheart," she cooed, nuzzling the tip of Connor's nose with her own.
"Did you miss me?" "He did," Angel asserted, joining her at the foot of the stairs. "Almost as
much as I did." "Always the smooth talker," Willow said. "Good to know we can count on some
things." "I'm assuming I can count on you." Angel switched from lover to parent in
the space of heartbeat, fixing a stern eye on Willow before drawing Dawn in
as well. "Are you sure you're going to be okay here alone with him?" "Angel," Buffy sighed, "relax. Honestly, we go through this every time."
She shifted the baby in her arms to free one of her hands, patting Angel's
cheek as she spoke. "Willow knows one end of a baby from the other at least
as well as Cordy did when he was first born. And Dawn's protective spells
are first-class, so you know he'll be safe from any kamikaze demons too." Angel tried to smile, but the uneasiness in his dark eyes remained. "Those
spells...are you sure they're safe?" he asked hesitantly. "No offense, Dawn,
but if you forget to take one little thing into consideration when you cast
them, the spell can turn into a giant booby-trap." Dawn snorted. "And the newsflash there would be?" Buffy's pride was injured more than Dawn's, sensing as she did a slight to
her parenting skills hidden in Angel's objections. Instinctively the
Slayer's arms tightened around the baby resting on her breast. "Do you think I would let her keep doing them if I thought she couldn't
handle it? You can make a girl out of mystical energy, but you can't take
the mystical energy out of the girl." Buffy grimaced. "Trust me; I tried." "I did okay with your spell," Dawn archly reminded her almost-brother-in-law.
"At least from the sounds I hear coming from Buffy's bedroom when you visit,
I'm guessing I must have protected your soul pretty well." Angel developed a sudden, intense interest in studying the molding around the
living room archway. "Okay, well, you do have a...umm, Buffy, maybe we
should get going?" Buffy grinned, forgiving him his suspicion in the face of his adorable
embarrassment. Not that her own cheeks weren't a little warm when she handed
Connor over to Willow, but she felt she weathered Dawn's comments with just a
bit more savoir faire than Angel. Angel stepped out of the way to let Buffy precede him out the door, and
pulled it shut behind them. They both paused for a moment on the porch,
waiting for the click of the lock and the sound of Dawn's voice beginning the
protection spell. "It's good to be home," Angel said with a smile, slipping his arm around
Buffy's shoulders once more. "Took you long enough," she teased as she settled into his embrace. * * * * * From behind the trees at the edge of the lawn, sheltered in the darkness, a
solitary figure watched Buffy and Angel's progression down the path to the
convertible parked on the street. He heard their laughs drifting through the
night air; he saw the alignment of their bodies that allowed not a sliver of
moonlight to separate them. He saw all that should have been his. She had used him, just as Drusilla had, to while away the hours until Angelus
made his grand re-entrance. But every dog had his day, and sooner or later
that little bitch would realize just what she had tossed away, or he'd die in
the attempt. No, wait; that didn't work. 'Stupid, bloody Angelus,' Spike growled to himself. Didn't know a lick of
poetry before he got back that stupid soul and yet he could still throw a
spanner in a perfectly good metaphor to ensure he got the girl. Well this was the last time, Spike promised himself. Drusilla didn't count;
she'd belonged to Angelus long before he'd even met her. And for all her
promising bad girl behavior, Buffy was actually a little choirgirl deep down;
of course she'd fall for the soulful approach. But the next one...and with
an eternity to kill, he just knew there would be a next one...ah, now that
round would belong to little Spikey. The perfect payback for decades of
being made to feel the fool...and about damn time too. So there, Angelus.
You're not the one You're not the one Send feedback to Gem
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Disclaimer: Characters and setting so not my creation - all belong to Joss
and parent companies upon parent companies of Mutant Enemy. The lyrics used
in this story, and the title, are selections from a song called "The One," by
the Foo Fighters, of the "Orange County" soundtrack (NOT the radio edit).
Spoilers: Through "Gone"
Rating: Hmm, well, there's one questionable word, but I'm thinking these
days it counts as a PG-13.
Author's Note: Once upon a time I wrote a story called "Everything You Want"
because that song (by Vertical Horizon) instantly made me think of Buffy's
relationship with Riley. The song "The One" had a similar effect on me, only
this time it was Buffy and Spike. And yes, any similarities between the two
stories are purely intentional
And, as always, my thanks to my very patient beta-reader, Caroline.
One more time for old time's sake
One more time before the feeling fades
One more bruise you gave to me
One more test just how much can I take
But you're the only one
Who could make me feel like this
But you're the only one
Who could make me feel like shit
Everything you meant to me
Wake me when this punishment is done
From the one who gets away
Someone's always someone else's one.
But you're the only one
Who could make me feel like this
But you're the only one
Who could make me feel like shit