Title: Lover Lay Down

Rating PG-13

Summary: Five or six years post NFA. Angel falls back into old habits. B/A

A/N Written for dream_watcher for the Btvs_Santa community on LJ

 

            The air was thick, languid. She stepped onto the wide, wrap around porch, carrying a cold glass of iced tea and leaned against the railing. She was dressed only in a white tank top and pink bikini panties. The yellow bug light created a golden glow behind her. She twisted her hair up off the back of her neck, the humidity making the strands of gold cling to her skin. She sighed in contentment and placed the cold glass against the nape of her neck.

 

            He watched from the shadows of the low hanging Weeping Willow trees. He knew she would stand there at the railing a moment longer and then go to the porch swing. She’d stretch out the length of the swing, open a book, sip at her iced tea and rock in the swing until the early morning hours cooled the house down enough for her to sleep.

 

            He knew her patterns as well as he knew his own. Once she’d gone back inside the house, she would go into the bedroom, turn on the swamp cooler in the window and climb into bed. Only then would he creep closer, crouch underneath her window sill in the 4 o’ clock bushes, lean against the house and listen to her heartbeat, her breathing, the steady pulse of her blood through her veins.  He would sit there, reveling in his symphony until the last moment. As the sky turned pink he would disappear into the swampy woods to a small cottage with the windows boarded up.

 

 

*

 

            She woke with a yawn, stretched and crawled out of bed. A cool shower chased the drowsiness away. During the heart of the Louisiana summer, she didn’t heat up anything. She ate salads, fruit, raw veggies, cheese, cold pastas and ice cream. She took cool showers and ran fans throughout her house. Given her chosen profession, she might have fared better living someplace cold, like Canada.  She enjoyed living by the lake and she found, surprisingly, that she loved the south. People here didn’t ask too many questions about her past. They were friendly, accommodating, she loved their accents and they had sweet tea.

 

            She also loved the complete lack of vampires, demons and other assorted creatures of the night. In a year, she hadn’t seen a single demon. She’d made it through a May without an apocalypse and she’d had a Christmas where the only ghost had been the ghosts of her past.

 

 She loved her house, a rambling four bedroom that was older than she was.  It had no central air conditioning, only swamps coolers and fans.  There was a porch that wrapped all the way around the house. It sat on three acres of forest land right next to the lake. She even had a dock with no boat. There was an old ice cellar where she kept her forge. The heat was manageable down there.

 

            “In any case, I don’t die of heat stroke,” she mused and grabbed up the battle axe she was currently working on. She took it out on the back porch where the whetstone wheel sat.  She was the premiere medieval weapons expert in the United States; she also made some of the finest collectors’ weapons available.

 

            He watched her from the deep shadows of the trees surrounding her house.  He watched as she ran the blade of the axe over the whetstone until it was honed to a sharp edge. She placed the axe to the side, glanced around to insure that no one had wandered near her house, stripped off and dived naked into the lake.  He watched as she surfaced a mythical mermaid. He didn’t realize he was moving toward her until the sun sizzled his skin. He leapt back into the dark protection the trees offered. He crouched and stepped backwards until he was sure he was safe from the sun and her eyes. He knew this was his place in her life, watching, protecting, always in the darkness while she drank in the sun.

 

           

*

 

 

            The vampire exploded into dust. A well placed kick to the solar plexus sent another vampire three feet across the small cemetery. A headstone shattered under its body. Plunge, stake and there was just dust mixed with the rubble of marble. The third vampire took him by surprise, driving into him with a tackle that would make any linebacker envious. The air he held in his lungs was crushed out with a whoosh. The crypt he was driven into cracked under the impact.  He scrabbled with the vampire for a moment, trading punches before he drove the stake upward into the vampire’s heart.

 

            Once all the vampires were gone, he shook his head like a great dog, shrugged his shoulders, readjusting the leather coat he wore.  He made a last patrol through the cemetery, through the little town and back out to her house.  He took up his position crouched in the trees, watching her, guarding over her and make sure her normal life stayed normal.

 

            She stepped out onto her porch. She was talking on the phone. He could hear every word.

 

            “No, Will, I’m fine. I just…I got that feeling again.” She paused, listening to Willow on the other end of the line. She nodded. “No, it’s not a bad feeling…it’s…okay this is going to sound kind of off my rocker, but I’m not. At least I don’t think I am.  It feels like home…like Sunnydale used to so many years ago.”

 

            He backed further away, afraid she’d identify that feeling even more. After all these years, he still felt her long before he saw her. His survival instincts screamed “Slayer! Run! Hide! Fight!” His soul screamed “lover, mate. Closer, need, want.”

 

            “Okay, Will. I’ll be fine, maybe I’m just settling into this place. Maybe this is just where I’m supposed to be right now.  I mean maybe it feels like home, because it is home.” She paused again, smiled. “Okay, give everyone my love and I’ll talk to you in a few days. Oh, tell Giles I’m sending him a present.” Buffy hung up the phone. She placed it on the railing around the porch, walked over to the porch swing and sat down, sending it rocking with one foot.

 

            “Home, huh? I kind of like the sound of that.” She reached out, trailed her fingers across the clapboard of the old house.  “What do you think old house? Could you be home?”

 

            Tears pricked his eyes as he watched and listened. It had cost him everything, but he’d finally given her the thing she’d wanted since the day he’d seen her sitting on the steps in front of her school. He spent every night making sure of it, slaying her demons, guarding her normal life.

 

*

 

            She was putting the finishing touch on a sword, a heart with a B inside of it that went on every weapon she made, when she realized it. A barrage of emotions boiled inside of her, a barrage that left her in tears on the cellar floor.  She gathered herself after a moment, swiped at her face and climbed the stairs to her backyard. She closed her eyes, following the thread of –that- feeling, turning in a circle and walking to the edge of the trees. She opened her eyes and sighed softly. If she went through with this, there would be no turning back, maybe that’s why she’d avoided identifying this feeling for so long. Her life was about to be blown into a million pieces, a life she’d just begun to put together.  On the surface, it looked like she had choices. There was only one choice in this matter. She was only capable of making one choice.

 

            “Angel.”

 

            He bit back the response that was so automatic. After he struggled for a moment, he gave in, saying her name under his breath, much too quietly for her to hear.

 

            “Angel, you can come on out. I know you’re there.”

 

            He’d heard about thrall, he’d even seen it in practice a time or two. Slayers didn’t have the thrall ability, apparently soul mates did.  He stepped from the shadows, the moonlight touching him. She smiled at the sight of him, tears glossing her green eyes. His pale skin glowed in the moonlight. His dark clothes made a striking contrast.  She shook her head. He was a fallen angel in every sense of the word.

 

            “You’re beautiful,” she whispered, falling under the same thrall Angel had.

 

            He was amazed into silence. He took a deep breath, holding the scent of her close. He told himself he’d forgotten what it felt like to take in the same air that she breathed, to be close enough to touch her. He remembered though, his dreams remembered her.

 

            “I dream in skin scented memories,” he whispered, reaching out the graze his fingertips across her cheek.  He closed his eyes, afraid this was one his dreams in which he woke in tears.

 

            “Angel, open your eyes.”

 

            He did and found her eyes searching his own. She shook her head again in disbelief.  “Why are you here?”

 

            He paused, not for lack of answers but because he had too many answers. “Because you’re here,” he finally settled for one.

 

            She sighed and turned toward the lake, wrapping her arms around her waist. She downed her head. “But –why- are you here?”

 

            He stepped towards her, but maintained distance. His next answer was heavy with things unspoken. “I don’t have any where else to go.”

 

            That surprised her; she spun on her heel and fixed him in place with a bewildered look. “Ha-have you been here since I moved in?”

 

            “Almost.”

 

            She nodded and turned back to the lake, looking up at the full circle of moon. “You’re why this felt like home.”

 

 

            They stood outside in silence for a little while then she turned and walked back to the house. He followed her in quiet agreement.  She paused just over the threshold. “Angel, come in,” she said over her shoulder.

 

            He swallowed hard, knowing this was a decision he could never take back. This was going to change his existence and hers irrevocably.  He stepped through the doorway, that invisible barrier taken away with her words, her wish, her command. 

 

            She was in the kitchen making tea. She put sugar and milk on the table. She kept her back to him as the water boiled. He stood in the corner of the room, drawing into himself as much as possible.  

 

            Buffy made the tea meticulously, knowing that when she was finished there would be no more excuses not to talk to Angel.  She put the tea pot on the table, got down two mugs and sat down. She indicated the chair across from her. Angel sat down hesitantly.

 

            “I’m sorry,” he said.

 

            She nodded and then furrowed her brow. “What for?”

 

            “You weren’t supposed to know I was here. I’ve been…I didn’t want you to know.”

 

            “You’ve been what?” She prodded.

 

            He shook his head. “Lurking.”

 

            She grinned. “I’ve heard you do that.”

 

            He chuckled. “I’ve been known to.”

 

            She stirred milk and sugar into her tea. “So many things have changed, Angel.”

 

            He reached across the table and closed his hand around hers. “And some things haven’t.”

 

            Her heart leapt and with that one leap remembered how broken he had made it, how it had never fully recovered. It seemed to lie still in her breast after that.  “Yeah, some things haven’t. You’re still a vampire…and I’m not a slayer anymore. I’m a weapons expert.”

 

            He pulled his hand from hers, properly chastened. “Do you want me to leave?”

 

            “I-” she stopped. She knew she should tell him to leave before she began to believe the things that could never be.  “No, and yes…”

 

            “Buffy,” he savored her name for a moment before speaking again. “I’m tired of trying to guess what’s best for you. You’re going to have to tell me what you want.”

 

            She looked up, her eyes gone hard. “Now you’re tired of guessing what’s best for me?  You couldn’t have grown tired of it before you left me? God, you have the most amazing timing, Angel, really.”

 

            He flinched at her words. He had expected it only because Buffy dealt with her emotions by lashing out. “Buffy…”

 

            She buried her head in her hands.  “I don’t know how to deal with this, Angel. I know how to watch you walk away. I know all the things to say and do to drive you away.  You’ve never let me have a choice in staying or leaving. Now you show up after I haven’t seen you in five years and you –ask- me if I want you to leave. You tell me you’ve gotten tired of making decisions for me, for us. What am I supposed to say? Jolly good thing, Angel? Tally ho? Whatever the hell that means.”

 

            He stood up and turned to walk out of the kitchen.  She used slayer speed she’d almost forgotten she possessed to reach him, wrap her fingers around his wrist. “Please. Don’t. Go.” It was barely a whisper, but it didn’t matter because it was her eyes that did the pleading, her trembling bottom lip that begged him to stay.

 

            She let go of his wrist abruptly. She crossed the kitchen again in two long strides. She rested her forehead against the window.  “What do we do now, Angel? Do we pick up where we left off with me writhing on the floor in orgasm while you drain me? Or do we start somewhere new?”

 

            Angel went still at her words. He remembered that night in grain sharp detail. The colors of that night were saturated in his memory, the tastes, smells, feelings larger than any single event in his existence. It was a lifetime before he took a breath, before he spoke.

 

            “Let’s start brand new. Let’s forget for a little while that I’m a vampire and that you’re not a slayer anymore. “

 

            Buffy shook her head. Her hand strayed unconsciously to the curve of her neck where his scar lay. “I don’t know if we can, Angel. We’ve got an eternity of history. How do you forget an eternity?”

 

            “One heartbeat at a time.”

 

*

 

            The music pounded through her body.  The red silk dress slid against her skin. A smile curved her lips when she felt a cool hand against the exposed small of her back. She turned, face upturned so that her green eyes met his brown ones.  He gestured toward the bar and she nodded. Her knees went weak at the feel of his hand at her back, guiding her through the crowd. She loved that, that he could make her knees weak with an innocent touch.

 

            The bar was a little quieter, away from the pulse of the dance floor. He ordered a Guinness. She ordered a Cherry Vodka Sour.

 

            “It must have hurt,” he said with a grin.

 

            She laughed, taking her cue from him. “Hurt?”

 

            “When you fell from Heaven.”

 

            She laughed again and turned serious. “It was the fall getting there that hurt.”

 

            “I’m Angel.” He stuck his hand out for her to shake.

 

            She looked at him, confused for a moment and then nodded. She guessed he’d meant it when he said they were going to start new. “I’m Buffy.”

 

 

            She’d lost count of the number of drinks she’d had.  Right now she swayed on the dance floor, content to have Angel’s arms around her waist.  She held onto the lapels of his leather jacket with both hands and leaned into him, letting him take on her weight.

 

            “Vampire metabolism, not fair you can have so many more drinks than me,” she pouted.

 

            He placed a finger on her lips. “Shhh, we’re not saying the v word tonight.”

 

            She wrinkled her nose. “I forgot,” she giggled.

 

            He kissed the top of her head. “I’d better get you home.”

 

            She pouted. “I wanna stay and play.”

 

            Despite her protests, he guided her out of the club. Their hotel was close by, one reason he’d chosen the nightclub. He half carried a drunk Buffy back to the hotel.  He took her key out of the tiny silver bag she carried. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her lips to his cool skin.

 

            “Don’t people sometimes go to each others rooms the first night they meet?”

 

            “Buffy…”

 

            “Angel, please, for one night can we just admit that we need each other? I know we’ve got issues; we’ll deal with those issues. Tonight, I just need you.”

 

            She tugged his head down and tiptoed, her lips searching for his. Her mouth found his, her body pressed against his. His hands slid up her bare back, pulling her closer. He nibbled at her bottom lip, sucking greedily at her mouth.  Her skin was hot against his, warming him from the outside in.

 

            He fumbled with the electronic keycard as Buffy nipped at his neck. He growled low in his throat and cursed in Gaelic. Buffy took the keycard from him and opened the door. He kicked it shut as he carried her through.  She pushed the leather jacket off his shoulders, letting it fall heavy to the floor. He stopped her then, held her at arms length.  She pouted, made a whimpering noise and writhed, trying to get closer to him. He smiled, traced the curve of her neck, her shoulder, sliding her dress off.

 

            “Shhh, we’ve got all night. Let me look at you. I’ve had this dream too many times to rush its coming true.”

 

*

 

            His chest was cool against her cheek. The silence sounded like home to her. She realized it didn’t matter if she lived in Sunnydale, California, Rome, Italy or Forked Lake, Louisiana, this was home. She took a deep breath and released it in a sigh.  Angel kissed the top of her head.

 

            “What’s wrong?”

 

            “Nothing and that’s the problem,” she said.

 

            “Buffy, my soul is okay.”

 

            “It got bound?” She asked.

 

            It was his turn to sigh. “No, but knowing that if I reach that pinnacle of perfect happiness it will cost me you…it’s enough to keep my soul.”

 

            She nodded. The wide-eyed little girl in her mourned for the moment of perfect happiness Angel would never have. The practical woman she had become knew things were better this way and almost perfect happiness was close enough. It was the practical woman in her that forced her to speak up. “So…issues…”

 

            The silent hung between them like a heavy curtain. Angel was the first to draw it aside. “I know you had other boyfriends, human boyfriends and not in the past few years…you know what it can be like now to have a normal life and you know I will never be a part of that. You can’t have picnics in the sun with me, Buffy and that’s just a representation of a dozen other things you can’t have with me.”

 

            “I like picnics in the sun, Angel. I like kids, white picket fences and perfect two story houses.  I know the closest I’ll ever get to any of those things with you are moonlight strolls. I don’t know if there are enough moonlight strolls in this lifetime to make me not want those things, but…I do know that there aren’t enough picnics in the sun in all eternity to make me not want you.”

 

            He hadn’t expected an answer like that. He’d expected the same eighteen year old girl who had stood in the sewers swearing she’d never change, she couldn’t change.  He chuffed softly.

 

            “What?” She asked.

 

            He shook his head. “I hadn’t expected you to admit that you wanted kids or picnics in the sun.”

 

            She smiled sadly. “Every single dream I have of you, you’re in the sunlight. I’d give anything to know if that’s how you really look in the sun. I’d give almost anything to see you with a sunburn, or holding a green eyed baby.  But, I –will- give everything to spend the rest of my life with you, regardless of what that means.”

 

            He twined his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. “When I look at you I see a sixteen year old goddess sitting on some steps, her entire life about to change. I guess I still expect you to be that sixteen year old girl inside.”

 

            She grinned at him. “Did you miss the whole baking speech I gave you a few years ago in Sunnydale?”

 

            “No, but that doesn’t mean I understood it,” he confessed.

 

            “I had to find out who I was.”

 

            “And did you?”

 

            She took a deep breath. “I think so. I finally found a place where the demons don’t hunt me. I’ve learned what it’s like to be just Buffy.”

 

            He winced. He was going to have to tell her at some point that he’d been killing the demons for her. Eventually she’d find out and it was better that she find out now. Buffy had never appreciated information withheld. “About that…I…” he took a deep breath. “Forked Lake has vampires and demons. I’ve been killing them so you wouldn’t have to.”

 

            She was still for a moment, then she sat up, pulling the sheet with her and clutching it to her chest. She stared at him, mouth agape.  He sat up, reached out to her. “Buffy.”

 

            She punched him, hard enough to knock him back against the headboard. Her face was twisted with anger.  “How could you?”

 

            “I wanted you to have normal.” He probed at his jaw with careful fingers.  Buffy never pulled her punches when they fought.

 

            “So for the last year you’ve lied to me. You’ve let me think that I could have this normal life without darkness and demons. You know…how could you?” Her voice was thick with tears, her eyes shone in the meager light.

 

            “I’m sorry. I told you I never had any intention of you ever finding out.”

 

            “And how does that make it okay? You’d still be lying to me!” She yelled. She snatched the blanket off the bed, stood up and wrapped it around herself. Buffy crossed the room to the window.  She pulled the drapes open, knowing it was still dark outside. She leaned her forehead and bare shoulder against the cool pane of glass.  She tried to swallow the tears. She’d spent entirely too much time crying in front of Angel.  He wrapped the sheet around his waist and crept up behind her, careful not to get too close, but making sure she knew he was there if she needed him.

 

            She sighed and the window dewed with the warmth of her breath. “There are dozens of slayers all over the world now. Why can’t they just leave me alone?”

 

            “You’re the one that got away, the fish that was *this* big. Willow can make every girl in the world a slayer. You’ll still be The Slayer,” Angel answered.

 

            She quietly drew a heart in the moisture on the glass. She placed a small B and A inside of it.  “I guess I’ve known that all along. I knew it in Rome, France, Spain, England, San Diego and Miami. I don’t know why I thought a little backwater town in Louisiana would be any different.”

 

            “If I could change it-” he started.

 

            “I know and sometimes I don’t think I’d want you to. It’s who I am. I like to pretend it’s not…I told you a long time ago I couldn’t change. I’ve found out that’s true in all aspects of me, not just who I love. “

 

            He took a cautious step closer. “Am I forgiven?”

 

            She turned, leaning back against the window.  “On one condition.”

 

            He nodded, waiting for the condition.

 

            “Demon slaying is a family activity. You know how some people have movie nights, we can have demon slaying nights, of course that doesn’t mean you get out of the movie nights.”

 

            He chuckled, pulling her into his arms. “Of course.”