The Soulmate Series

The Games We Play With Knives

“Help yourself to sodas or chips or anything you want, Buffy.”

And with that, Willow is out the door, leaving Angel alone with his ex-lover. The ex-lover who doesn’t realize that she is the ex-lover. He’s furious with Willow, and he knows she can feel it, but a part of him can’t help but admire her deviousness. She’s angry with him herself and she has managed to make him pay for it in a very clever fashion. His girl is resourceful and intelligent, no question about it. And while this afternoon’s little stunt will undoubtedly necessitate bringing her to heel rather forcefully, he’s got no intention of breaking her. Irksome as it is, her spirit is something he loves and he doesn’t want it completely lost.

Speaking of losing things, he’s aware now that he’s lost something - his edge. First Cordelia, and now - at least he’s pretty sure - Xander have tumbled to his passion for Willow and in truth that is not a positive development. As irritating as the charade has become, it’s better if as few people as possible are aware of the change in the object of his affections, especially his one-time true love. How and why has he let things get so far out of hand?

Once again, he’s wondering if his conversation with Willow last night holds truths far beyond what was ostensibly said. He’s a demon. She’s human. And maybe that’s at the heart of what’s wrong.

Before he went to Hell, he felt himself degraded by the demon within him. He clung to his soul as if it was some shabby simulacrum of humanity, but deep down he considered himself beneath the humans he’d once fed on in the days before a gypsy curse turned his eternity upside down.

Not now.

Now, he has to admit, that he feels...to be completely honest with himself...elevated. Centuries of enduring punishment far beyond what any of the humans who were tortured alongside him could bear have given him a sense of superiority. And while he knows he will always feel above humanity now, he’s intelligent enough to realize that he’s allowed his arrogance to make him smug and complacent, to feel just a little too much smarter and more clever than the human beings who surround his love.

Time for some damage control. Time to prove that he really is as cagey as he’s been wont to believe.

He tunes back in to Buffy’s awkward, fumbling attempts to start a conversation.

“...and I understand that things have been kind of crazy lately, but...” She’s looking around, her eyes fixing on him, then looking away, as if she’s afraid of seeing what she most fears - the absence of his affection.

That nightmare won’t come true today. “I miss you, too.” He’s turning on the old puppy dog routine full blast now: pain-filled eyes, longing tone of voice, understanding what she’s thinking, finishing her sentences...the works. “I just...it’s just...”

“What, Angel?” The look in her eyes says it’s all having the desired effect. This is almost too easy. Not that he’s going to let that lull him into a false sense of security this time.

“You don’t know how hard this for me. Being around you. Loving you. Knowing that we can never have a life together. Knowing that we can never be happy...”

The look in Buffy’s eyes...it actually inspires some compassion rather than simply contempt. Her fervent need to believe in the grandeur and permanence of their love is almost heartbreaking. He feels for her. He’s not so completely inhuman as to be immune to the pathos of her situation. She’s a Slayer who longs for something more than just her sacred duty, but her life won’t likely be a long one. She needs to pack it all in now. She needs something powerful, as mythic as her role as the savior of humanity, to balance her brief existence, and she wants to believe she’s found it in him.

Then there’s the fact that the consummation of their relationship led to the return of Angelus. So many deaths, including the lover of her very own Watcher. It’s no wonder she clings to their passion as something profound. If it was only puppy love, than how can she bear what happened? For all that she’s the Chosen One, she’s also very human, with all the human frailties and foibles that make it impossible for her to see the big picture and to move on without a crippling burden of guilt.

It’s only a moment before she’s in his arms, her own wrapped around him so tight that it’s a blessing he has no need of oxygen.

“Angel, just knowing that you love me... You don’t know what it’s been like. All these weeks...thinking that you didn’t care...”

Her hair is soft as he strokes it, and he does feel a certain amount of nostalgia. Not enough to lessen his conviction that he and Willow are soulmates, but enough to make him want to design a way to end Buffy’s illusion of their ongoing relationship with the least amount of damage to her psyche.

A plan begins to form. It comes together with surprising speed. “Of course I care.” The words are soft and filled with the anguish of self-denial. Buffy is gazing up into his face now and he’s giving her everything she’s looking for even as he’s taking it all away. “That’s the reason I’ve stayed away from you. Tried to put some distance between us. You deserve so much more than what I can offer you.”

He can see the tears shining in her eyes. “Angel, I’m happy with whatever you can give me. It’s enough just...just to be with you.”

His expression is now that of the wise man with centuries of life experience behind him and he shakes his head knowingly. “I know you think that now. But we’re taking too much of a risk. You know what it’s like when we’re together, when we’re alone.” Her cheeks colour slightly and it’s obvious she knows what he means. Good. It helps. “What happens when you don’t want to stop and neither do I? What happens when Angelus is let loose on the world again? Do you honestly think that you and the others will live long enough to restore my soul again?”

Willow isn’t mentioned by name, and he can see a something in Buffy’s eyes that lets him know what a wise move that careful bit of semantic legerdemain was. It’s so much more effective than a discussion and denial of Faith’s contention that he and Willow are having an affair could ever be. Things are going exactly as he would wish. But once again, he reminds himself not to get cocky. He’s already seen the results of that.

He’s just very lucky that Xander and Cordelia are highly unlikely to share their suspicions about Angel’s feelings with Buffy. And that now, even if they do, chances are, she won’t believe a word. She’ll believe instead in the feel of his arms around her, and the agony in his voice.

Moments pass, but they bring no reply to his question, not that he had expected an answer. He can tell she wants to contradict him, to come up with some reason why he’s wrong, but she can’t. Not even Buffy can find a way for them to live happily ever after.

“You know I’m right, Buffy. You know that we can’t be together, no matter how much we want to be.” He continues to hold her close, murmuring unintelligibly in her ear as she cries softly.

After a little while, she begins to compose herself. Their embrace ends and she sits down on the hideous couch. Time to drop the bombshell, the solution to all difficulties, the idea Angel can’t believe has only just occurred to him today. “I’m leaving Sunnydale.”

Leaping to her feet once more, her arms are around him again, fresh tears in her eyes. “Why? Angel, you can’t! What about the Mayor?” The “what about me?” isn’t spoken, but Angel hears it all the same.

“I’m staying to stop the Ascension, Buffy. I would never abandon you now. But when it’s done, once we’ve won,” he gives her a confident, yet wistful, half-smile, “I’ll go. I have to. Deep down, you know we can’t go on like this. Seeing each other, never being able to touch, never having what we once did. You know I’m doing the right thing, the right thing for both of us. You won’t move on as long as I’m around and...you deserve to go off to college, to live a full life. You have a chance at that now, at leaving here yourself and exploring the world beyond the Hellmouth. I love you too much to keep you from that.”

It’s funny, while the parts about loving her are entirely false, he really does mean much of what he’s saying. For all he’s looked down on her these past months, he still possesses enough regard for Buffy to genuinely wish her well and desire the best for her. She’s the finest Slayer he’s ever seen and that alone merits a certain level of respect. Right now, with her neutralized as an obstacle to his relationship with Willow, he can almost consider her a friend.

Of course, he still has to deal with her morbid desire to cling to what could never have lasted under any circumstances.

“I can’t lose you.” Her voice is choked with sobs and he keeps holding her. Admittedly, he’s growing a bit weary of all this, but he tamps those feelings down. His distance and superiority have nearly cost him his objective and it’s high time he got back to the business of being the cunning demon he’s been telling himself he is. Part of that is continuing to bring psychology into play, which won’t work if he allows his boredom and irritation to overtake him.

Besides, if he’s honest and objective about all of this, it’s more his fault than Buffy’s. He, after all, was part and parcel of this relationship and was as eager for it as she was. At one time, her passion for him meant more to Angel than anything else in the world. It’s his to deal with now that he no longer loves or desires her.

“I’ll always love you, Buffy. But you know that what I’ve said...you have to see that this will never work. It’s too dangerous. For the world...and for you.” He almost pats himself on the back for the choice of emphasis, but strokes her cheek instead, gazing longingly into her eyes. “If Angelus were to return...you know he wouldn’t play games this time. He’d kill you first and then go after everyone else: Giles, your friends, your mother. And no one would be able to stop him.”

There’s no answer, just the feel of tears soaking his shirt and the soft snuffling noise of Buffy crying against his chest. She gets it. And he’s going to get away with it.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He speaks as if his words are raw and painful on his tongue, his voice gone raspy and quiet.

“I know.” Buffy’s voice is close to a whisper. In a moment, she disentangles herself from their embrace and paces uncomfortably. “I...I guess I ought to go.”

He reaches out to her, then lets his arm fall back to his side, awkwardness and uncertainty radiating from every movement he makes. “I’ll see you at the library tonight. Willow found some stuff out about the Ascension and...”

“Yeah.” Buffy can’t wait to get away. She is obviously distraught. “Tell Xander that I...” She’s about to leave, but then stands for a moment at the front door - waiting for his answer to her fragmented statement, and not wanting to believe that this really is the end, though he can see she knows that it is.

“Yeah. I’ll do that.” He pauses for a second or two as her hand reaches for the doorknob. “Buffy, I...”

She looks back over her shoulder, eyes full of tears. “Me, too.” And with that final poignant look, she’s gone, swallowed up by the last hour of sunlight.

Good riddance. He allows his feelings of annoyance to wash over him at last. Holding them back in favour of empathy was tough sledding, but at least it was worth it.

Willow owes him a debt of gratitude as well. He’s found a way for them to leave town together with no one being the wiser. After all, she’ll be expected to depart for one of the myriad top flight universities who have all but begged her to attend, and he’s now expected to simply disappear once the Mayor has been dispatched to the Hell from whence Angel came. A perfect cover for the two of them to head off to start a new life. She can even keep in touch with her friends with no fear of reproach from them. They never have to know.

Of course, all of this depends on his winning Willow over within a rather short space of time.

But maybe not. All he really has to do is make her see that the nature of their bond necessitates them staying in close proximity. After all, it would behoove her to keep tabs on him, ensure that he’s doing nothing to jeopardize his unlife or his soul. Who knows what might happen to her should either be lost? And of course the same holds true for him. Certainly, there is less demonic activity away from Sunnydale, but that hardly means there are no demons at all. Add to that the fact that Willow is doubtless well-known in the otherworldly community for her activities on Team Buffy, and it makes sense that she’ll need a certain amount of protection regardless of where she wants to go. Yes, no matter what she feels about the situation, she has to realize that they can’t be separated.

Even if she doesn’t, however, it means little. No matter where she goes, he’ll follow, and there’s really nothing she can do about it. Still, more than anything he hopes that she’ll see, if not the truth, at least reason.

Speaking of Willow...he decides to concentrate on their bond. Who knows what Xander might be saying to upset her?

There’s no sadness or disturbance. No, instead, all he feels from her is happiness - the kind of happiness he’d give anything for her to feel in his presence. She’s giving this to Xander, not to him, and his mood quickly darkens. He knows she can feel it, because he feels her own mood go correspondingly grey. As much as he loathes himself for it, he can’t help but enjoy the bursting of her bubble. He’s jealous and he makes no bones about that. It’s not to be tolerated that she feels so much ebullience without him being a part of it.

He heads back up the stairs to Willow’s room. It’s likely that she and her annoying friend will return soon and if he has to see Xander Harris before getting his temper under control, there’s no telling just what foolish bit of violence might result. That would not stand him in good stead with Willow.

Her bedroom. He breathes in her scent and it serves to calm him. It doesn’t negate the jealousy, but it does diminish it to a manageable level and that’s what’s important. He’s reminded of the fact that Willow is his, and she’s his in ways that she could never be with anyone else. Her friendship with Xander is no threat to him, no threat at all. And besides, the boy is too busy screwing that ridiculous and impertinent girlfriend of his to have any intentions other than his pallid version of friendship towards Willow.

Speak of the devil - or at least the moron - and he will appear. Willow and Xander have returned. He can tell Willow’s wondering why the house is silent and the living room is empty even before he hears her call out to her erstwhile guests.

“Buffy? Angel?”

Angel plasters a bland smile on his face and heads back down to the living room. “Hi guys. Buffy’s gone.” He turns to address Xander. “She said to tell you she’ll be at the library for the meeting.” Of course Xander looks at him with suspicion. Stupid boy. Does he honestly believe that Buffy’s drained corpse is lying on the floor in the kitchen?

Suddenly, though, Xander is distracted and checks his watch. “Will, I’m supposed to meet Cordelia after...I mean I’m supposed to meet her and...” He seems worried and a bit flustered. Obviously, he has no idea that Angel’s aware he has a newly working class girlfriend. With neither member of that duo of dullards in his good graces at present, there’s something pleasant in having this bit of embarrassing knowledge. And Xander heightens his desire to make vengeful use of it with his next words. “Are you gonna be okay? Here with Deadboy and all?”

Willow hugs him as Angel suppresses a growl. “I’ll be fine, Xan. See you at the library in a little while, okay? I wouldn’t want you to be late to meet Cordelia.” She lets go and Xander makes ready to leave. He looks as though he’s about to make some unspeakably lame dig at Angel, but a glare from Willow stops him.

Angel’s heart wants to soar. But he’s cautious in his euphoria. Her motivation may be the affection he so desperately hopes it to be, or it may be something else entirely, so he clips the wings on his heart and waits for Xander to leave so he can get the lay of the land.

Surprisingly, when the door closes behind the retreating figure of the last unwelcome interloper, it’s Willow who’s first to ask a question. “Why did Buffy leave?” Her tone is accusatory and her hands are on her hips. She reminds him of nothing so much as a kitten hissing as it stands its ground against a Rottweiler. She’s adorable like this and he has to stifle a chuckle.

Or maybe not. He allows himself a small display of mirth after all. It doesn’t do much to soften her expression, but then, he didn’t really expect her to welcome his amusement. On the other hand, he’s realistic enough about his love to know that nothing was going to better her frame of mind, so it was just as well that he reacted with some honesty.

He shrugs, smart enough to hold back the cat-that-swallowed-the-canary grin which longs to break over his face. Now is not the time to share his latest news...or to give her the evidence from which to deduce that there are secrets he’ll be keeping from her, secrets he’s pretty well certain he can keep, at least for a short while. Given the fact that he intends to stay here at Willow’s to ensure her safety, and with the gang’s attentions fixed on the Mayor, he stands a decent chance of keeping Buffy and Willow from having any truly private and personal conversation for some time, and that gives Angel the opportunity to make some headway in Willow’s affections before she learns of his plans for the two of them.

“Well?” She’s not accepting his noncommital gesture as an answer.

“She still thinks there’s a future for us and it’s distracting her from the task at hand. I just tried to keep her focused on the Ascension, that’s all.” Close enough to the truth to be easy to remember. Far enough away to forestall Willow figuring things out.

“Oh.” Toneless and unexpectedly terse.

He’s not sure quite what she’s feeling right now, there’s a mixture of contrasting elements, and pulling apart the various strands would be distracting at a time when he ought to pay attention to what’s going on.

She changes the subject. “I’m gonna go print out some of those message board posts so I can take them with me to show to Giles.”

“Good idea.” Angel follows her recent lead and offers the fewest possible words.

He can feel as well as hear her sigh as he follows her up the stairs. It’s obvious she hoped he’d wait for her in the living room. As much as he loves her, he’s starting to find her resistance almost as annoying as he finds Buffy or Xander or Cordelia.

Silence prevails as they enter her bedroom and she sits back down at her computer. A few clicks and the printer has whirred to life, spitting out sheets of paper filled with the latest scuttlebutt on the Mayor’s antics. Angel can’t help but be impressed. From the printing press to this. How many changes has he lived to see, how many wondrous things invented and then made obsolete by the next great innovation, how much glorious progress and transformation? Why did he ever consider eternity a curse?

That brings up a point he hasn’t considered too closely, however, at least not since the night he was forced to dispatch Spike: Willow’s mortality. Has this bond affected her life span? Or will she age and die at a normal human rate? Turning her is out of the question, so what will he do if the latter is the case? While forty or fifty years together is an eternity to most mortals, to a vampire, eternity is nothing less than...well...eternity. How could he bear to watch her wither and die in what, to him, is the blink of an eye?

Well, there will be time enough to ponder that matter later. Once again, he turns his attentions to what’s going on now.

Willow sets to gathering the papers she’s printed and starts to put them into her bag, along with her laptop. The sun, however, has yet to set. By Angel’s internal clock, he reckons there’s a few minutes at least until it’s safe for them to travel. The darkness of her bedroom seems to have confused Willow a bit, or perhaps she’s under the mistaken impression that she’s heading off without him. That’s not going to happen.

“So, what did you and Xander talk about?” Striking up a conversation as a distraction seems a good, non-confrontational way to keep her here until sunset.

“Nothing.” She’s sullen and monosyllabic, disconcertingly out of character. There’s nothing to be done for it but to cut straight to the heart of the matter and save his curiosity about her conversation with Xander to be satisfied later.

“Willow, I know you were hoping that, by leaving Buffy and I alone together, things were going to magically go back to what they were, but it’s not going to happen.”

Her eyes well up slightly and she looks at him like a child who’s now certain there really is no Santa Claus, not that it’s a truly apt metaphor in the case of a Jewish girl like Willow, but still...

Going off on a mental tangent, he thinks about who she is for a moment. A girl who cherishes familiarity, who, for all her eagerness to learn, craves predictability and constancy. Maybe that’s part of this. Maybe her aversion isn’t to him, but to what his love for her and the idea of returning it represents: the complete overthrow of the established order; the utter disruption of the comfortable roles and patterns she is so attached to because they are what she’s come to know and accept and grown accustomed to centering her life around; the descent of the neat, tidy world she has tried so desperately to create for herself into upheaval and disarray.

He softens his tone and tries to approach her from that angle. “I know you don’t understand.. I know that, to you, only a short time passed between when I was sent to Hell and when I returned, but believe me, even if we didn’t have this bond, even if I didn’t love you the way I do, Buffy and I could never go back to what we were. Too much has happened, too much has changed.”

Her response is a non sequitur and far from what he expected. Soft and vacant, the words almost lost in the waves of guilt and self-loathing he can feel inside her. “I can’t believe...I’m so selfish. I wanted my best friend to get back together with a rapist.” She is sitting on the bed now, staring at nothing, her eyes unfocused and her limbs heavy with the pain she’s feeling, a pain that has more than its counterpart in Angel, who feels as if he’s been dealt a hammer-blow.

Will she ever get past that distorted belief, that disordered perception which has stood fast against destiny from the very beginning? He’s overcome with emotional fatigue, too worn down by her insistence on hating him for being something he’s never been to even muster up a fraction of the fury that usually rises within him unbidden at the first sound of that terrible word.

The sun could not have picked a more opportune time to set. Surprisingly, he’s looking forward to the quiet of their walk to the school and the distraction of strategizing which awaits him there.

“It’s sundown. We should head to the library.” Willow doesn’t answer, but he can feel the profound relief within her at not paying for her words. That evidence of her fear of him is painful, too, though he himself chose to foster it in his campaign to bring her to her senses.

She picks up her bag and they head downstairs and out the door - two silent strangers walking side by side. For the first time since his liberation from Hell, Angel is almost without hope. He can do nothing but struggle to keep Willow from sensing his weakness as he endeavors to regain his faith in their destiny.

Tbc...