Wild Days

Buffy:

I swallow hard, forcing myself to once again look down at the nearly
unrecognisable mass that used to be Angel. He's so thin you can see each bone
under his translucent, paper-like skin, his lifeless eyes fallen deep inside the
sockets, the skin stretching over his sharp cheekbones. I bite my cheek not to
cry out in agony at the picture he presents us, but I still keep sinking the
towel into the bowel Willow brought me, and continue cleaning his body, or rather
his skeleton. I didn't think it was possible that a human body could starve like
this and still be alive. Well, not alive, but … I think you're getting my point.

When Connor told us he knew where Angel was, I expected a lot of things, but
nothing like that. Not to find him in the ocean, in a box he barely fit into.
When we opened it, I couldn't keep back the cry that tore from my throat, and I'm
still not quite clear of what I did then. I can only remember bits and pieces of
me pulling him from that box, gasping as soon as I touched him, and that I almost
obsessively tried to keep the others from touching him as well. Only after a
while I let Gunn convince me that we needed to move Angel before the sun came up.

The whole time Connor stayed in the background, but Willow told me his eyes never
left his father or what was left of him. I'm not sure how to feel about him right
now. A part of me knows he thought Angel killed Holtz, and that he grew up to
hate vampires, but the other - much larger - part says that I should just take
him and beat him up for what he's done.

What really shocks me is that I still care for Angel that way, and I'm still as
fiercely protective of him as I've ever been. I mean I could've let Fred do this,
this caring thing, she would've said yes in an instant, but it was out of the
question the moment Gunn opened the box on the beach. It never - not even once -
occurred to me that anyone but me would take care of him, and it seemed the same
for the others.

It's kind of overwhelming how natural I slipped back into the role of a caring
and concerned lover, something I haven't been to him for more than three years.
In the strictest sense even longer. But strangely it doesn't matter anymore, and
it feels so right doing this, and although I cringe inwardly each time I look at
him, a part of me is deliriously h abo about the closeness.

Once again I let my hand sink into the bowel of lukewarm water, then wring out
the towel before letting it glide over Angel's face, wincing when the
oversensitive skin breaks over his cheekbones. He on the other hand doesn't show
any kind of emotion. I wonder if he even knows I'm here. If he even feels that
someone is touching him. The only things tcomfcomfort me are - strangely enough -
the fact he's a vampire, which means as long as he isn't dust he's still there,
and that he survived Hell with his sanity still intact. I'm sure that means he's
going to survive this as well. But then I remind myself that his own son did this
to him, and I'm suddenly not so sure anymore.

I feel my hand starting to shake, and force myself to steady it. No way I'm going
to hurt him more, although I'm not sure it's even possible. Can wounds like these
heal, I wonder? Not the physical ones. I know with time and care they probably
will, but can you survive being betrayed by your own child?

"You need to feed him."

I stiffen at that, having been too involved in taking care of Angel to hear Spike
enter. "What do you want here? Did you come to enjoy the view?" I can hardly
stand having him near him as it is, but having him near Angel … that's more than
can bear.

"Shut up."

My head comes up in surprise hearing him snap at me. Not once since he came back
Spike has risen his voice. Granted, we haven't talked that much, but still. I'm
not sure what to think of it, but let it go. There's no use in fighting now.
Angel needs me. Spike isn't that important.

"Do you think I like seeing him like that," he asks, and for once doesn't avert
his eyes. "Half-way starved to death, only a shadow of himself. Think twice,
Slayer." He sighs, sits down at the other side of Angel's bed. "Look, I know this
isn't easy, it isn't for me either. But he still needs to be fed."

"I know," I reply, turning my gaze back at Angel, trying to be gentle with the
towel, now letting it glide over his bony chest. I want to cry seeing all the
ribs standing out where there used to be solid, beautiful muscles before. "I sent
Gunn to get some blood."

"Well, that's good then," he replies.

I expect him to get up and leave, but he hesitates, and I finally ask, "What?"

He shrugs, keeps his eyes directed at his lap, "Your blood would be better."

I swallow at that, instantly images racing through my mind, of Angel feeding off
me, of the most intense, most remarkable, most frightening, and most erotic
experience I ever had, and I feel myself blush. When I catch Spike grinning
slightly, I glare at him.

But his grin widens, "You're not the first human who went off being bitten by a
vamp, Buff," he says, suddenly serious again. "I saw the scar before. And I'll
never forget the way you freaked when I tried to bite you there."

I haven't forgotten either. I hit him so hard, he flew right through his crypt,
not caring that at that time he was … Shaking off the thoughts of a naked Spike
and a past I would give a lot to erase, I instead force myself to look into
Angel's lifeless eyes. They used to sparkle, I remember pain in them, remember
them darken in passion, most of all I remember his all too rare smiles, but I've
never seen them like this. Dull, lifeless, without any emotion at all. And Connor
has done this to him. On purpose.

"Believe me I had to restrain myself not to beat him up, too."

Spike has obviously seen the expression on my face, and for a moment I feel
ashamed, but quickly push it away. There is no reason to feel ashamed. Connor
has done this to Angel. The urge of beating the boy up is only natural.

And that's when my hand holding the towel stops on top of Angel's chest, and it's
suddenly hard to breathe. I haven't had such an urge to beat anyone up in a long
time. And certainly not for anyone. But I'd do it in a heartbeat for Angel. So
what does that say about me? And what does it mean? I'm not ready to deal with
the truth lying right in front of me, and quickly push my hand back into the
water bowel.

"You don't need to hide from me, Summers," Spike says with a side-glance at me
and I wonder if now his usual cockiness is going to reappear. But there's nothing
of it in his face which is dead serious.

"You don't know anything about me," I tell him, surprised that I feel a little
more comfortable in his presence. I'm not sure why or how it happened. Maybe it's
the honest concern I can see now in his suddenly human eyes. Maybe it's the way
he respected I needed distance, maybe because he somehow understands me in a way
only Angel could so far. Is it because he touched death, too? Or because he loved
me? Feeling uncomfortable at the thought once again, I look back at Angel and
lightly touch his brows with my fingertips.

"You're wrong, and you know it," Spike replies, looking at the vampire who has
sired his Sire. There was no love lost between them as far as I know, but I've
always sensed something between them. Something neither of them wanted to admit.
They were some kind of family once and I know it's something that's hard to
ignore. At some point I even thought Spike was jealous. Not because I loved
Angel, but because he loved me.

I wonder what Spike is feeling now, with a soul inside of him. He said he wanted
to beat Connor up. What does it mean? I wonder. "I know you, Summers. I know a
side of you nobody else ever saw." He pauses for a moment, then adds, "Well none
of your friends. I think he knew it as well." He nods at Angel's unmoving form,
and when I look over I watch with fascination that Spike has put his hand on
Angel's. "He might have been a sucker with his soul, but the guy's never been
stupid." He chuckles, "Nope. Stupid would've been my territory."

"Not really tempted to disagree," I say, and he chuckles again. "Will he … be
alright again," I finally voice the question I've been dreading ever since we
pulled Angel out of his wet grave. From that moment on I feared he might
disintegrate to dust right before my eyes. Or survive, but with his mind gone.

"As I said, he needs blood. And Slayer's blood … but yeah, he'll be okay, given
time and … rest." He awkwardly pats Angel's hand, then gets up and walks towards
the door.

"Spike?" I hear him stop, know that he's waiting for me to speak. "Could you …
keep the others out for an hour or so?" The old Spike would've made some cocky
comment, but this one doesn't, and I suddenly realise that I don't know him at
all. This one has a soul, this one is a person. Maybe if this is over I should
make the effort to find out who he is. I know I'm not going to fall in love with
him, but maybe it'll help to put some of my demons to rest.

I turn my head and look at him, and he gives me a slight understanding smile,
before he nods and leaves the room.

*

I don't know when I consciously made the decision to do this. All I know tha
w
was long before Spike suggested it. Probably when we opened the box and instead
of Angel found a lifeless skeleton. He'd been starving for more than three months
thanks to his own son, so it wasn't really a riserise, still it shocked me to see
him like this. As soon as we came back to the Hyperion, Wesley and Giles
suggested to chain him to the bed, but I refused to agree, insisting that he
couldn't be dangerous in his current state. Besides I had him him after his
return from Hell, and no way could this get anywhere near as bad. Or so I hope.

All I know is that when we arrived here, my decision was already made. I know
Angel would be angry with me for even contemplating such an idea, but he is out
for the count, so I guess I have to make this decision without him. Plus I don't
really care if he likes it or not, he isn't the one to have to sit on this bed
and stare at the lifeless body of his … Which rises the question of what he is to
me.

A long time ago we were lovers. And we were in love. God, we were so much in love
none of us could think straight. I sometimes wonder if - hadn't we been blinded
by love - we'd have been more careful that fateful night, had tried to find out
if sex between Slayer and vampire was a good thing in the first place. But I had
been dreaming about doing it for a while then, and after almost getting killed by
the judge the moment seemed just right. Never in my life anything seemed more
right than taking the next step with Angel that night. And if it hadn't been for
him losing his soul I wouldn't have regretted it at all.

He was the most gentle, most thoughtful lover a girl can wish for her fist time,
making sure I was ready for him, whispering to me all the time, asking me - more
than once - if I was sure I wanted it, that I could say stop whenever I felt
uncomfortable. I know there aren't a lot of girls who can say that of their first
time with a boy. Granted, it didn't hurt that Angel had more than just a little
experience in that area, but I couldn't have cared less about it that night. He
made me come two times before he even attempted to get really serious, and there
was no pain, no uncomfortable burning, other girls told me about, with Angel. I
loved him completely, and everything was perfect.

That it turned to Hell afterwards was neither my nor his fault, none of us could
have known what would happen, that being with me would break his curse, and I
suddenly realise that sleeping with Darla hasn't done it to him. He obviously
slept with her, Connor is the living proof of it, and nothing has happened. I
know I shouldn't, with Angel still looking worse for wear, but I feel almost
giddy for a moment. Then I remind myself why I asked Spike to keep my friends
out, and slowly put the towel down. Softly I stroke the skin of Angel's face with
my fingertips.

"I know you wouldn't want me to do this," I whisper, reaching for the little
knife on the small table. "But I'm going to anyway." And then, without another
thought, I slit my wrist and hold it over his slightly parted lips.

Nothing happens for what seems like a long time, but then suddenly his face
changes. It's a slow and painful process, looking almost ridiculous with all the
weight and substance he's . Ev. Even his game-face doesn't look demonic anymore,
but he shows surprising strength when he finally latches on my wrist, sucking
weakly at first, but more stronger by the second, in the end greedily taking the
powerful nourishment without losing a second thought.

I close my eyes and let the sensations of this intimate act wash over me. It's
different from the first time when I forced his mouth down my neck, but he's even
weaker now, and I know this is the only way he can feed from me at all. Still I
can't stop the moan coming from my lips at the feeling of his lips on my skin, of
his teeth in my flesh, of the bond we've shared once before. I make a mental note
to ask Wesley about any consequences of such an act. I've always felt itchy ever
since Angel drank from me for the first time, and e the this second time will
intensify it. I could never stand any of my other lovers touching that special
spot.

Moaning again, I force myself to let sanity return. I can't let him take too
much, can't risk to let him weaken me to a point where there is no return. So I
put my free hand on Angel's forehead, then gently but firmly pull my other arm
away. I feel him struggle against the hold, know that in his unconscious state he
wants more of the liquid that's been denied to him for too long. "Shhh, it's
okay, Angel," I whisper, softly stroking his oversensitive skin, "There wil
m
more later. I promise."

Something close to a sigh comes from his mouth and the struggling ceases. I let
go of him for a moment, reach for a tape I've been carrying in my pocket, then
wrap it around my wrist, knowing that the others will see it and know what
happened, but I couldn't care less. I see Angel's eyes flicker underneath the
lids and I wonder what he's thinking right now. I hope he's having happy dreams,
but fear they are nightmares. wit without thinking twice, I stretch myself out
next to him on the bed, wrap my arms around his bony form and only moments later
I'm asleep.

*

I wake up from a commotion in front of the door, and I can hear Spike shout,
"You're not going in there." Giles voice replies something unintelligible, and
then it's Spike again, "Because I promised her."

"As if she would even talk to you," Xander says when he's opening the door,
instantly freezing at the picture I know he must see before him. Angel, only
wearing half of his clothes, and me, more or less wrapped around him, not looking
a lot better. Well, actually I am looking a lot better, but my clothes are dirty
and wrinkled and my hair has to be a mess, plus I'm probably pale from the
recent blood-loss. "And doesn't it look cosy in here," he tries to joke, but it's
merely sarcastic, and there's no humor in his eyes, just a suspicious glint I've
seen before, and it's always connected to Angel and I.

"Buffy," Giles steps into the room, pushing Xander out of the way in the process.
"Never ever try to put yourself in my path again," he warns Spike, before he
closes the door right into the vampire's face. "Are you alright?" From one moment
to the other he's changed from annoyed to concerned, and my head spins at the
sudden change of mood. Or maybe it's just the blood-loss taking its toll, I'm not
sure.

I slowly rise my upper body from the bed, careful not to hurt or disturb Angel in
the process. A quick glance at him convinces me that he's looking a little
healthier now **Slayer-blood, yay.**, before looking at my friends. "Yes," I nod
slowly, my head once again starting to spin. Definitely the blood-loss, but I'm
sure it'll be alright soon. I didn't let Angel take that much anyway. "Yes, I'm
fine."

"What about Angel?" he inquires and it warms me to see honest concern in my
watcher's eyes. I know ever since Angelus killed Jenny and tortured him, Giles
has had his problems with being around Angel. It has gotten better, but I'm glad
he doesn't show any of it now, and I know it's for my sake.

"He's … better, too."

"That's good." He nods, then holds out something to me and I can see it's a paper
bag, undoubtedly containing blood for the vampire.

"Thanks," I take the bag from him, place it on the nightstand.

"We came …," Giles clears his throat, looks at Xander for a moment, "to help you.
You know - to feed him."

"Oh," my eyes flicker to Xander, then back to Giles, "That's … that's good of
you. But I think I can manage."

"Are you sure?" my watcher wants to know, stepping closer. "He looks even worse
without his shirt on. Even though that barely resembles one anymore."

"I know," I reply, "But he's going to be better soon. I can feel it."

"Connor is waiting out there," Giles tells me, his eyes serious, "he hasn't left
the spot ever since we brought Angel in. Gunn and Fred are not talking to him,
and we're … well, frankly none of us know him enough to know what to say. But he
seems … confused … and scared."

Even though I want to hurt Connor - bad, I know Angel wouldn't want it. So I
force myself to look at Giles, "Maybe you could help me to … put some new clothes
on him," I point at the shirt Fred has put on the table in the corner. "Then he …
could come in."

"Of course," Giles says, walking over to get Angel's new clothing, while Xander
still stands near the door, hasn't moved or spoken since he came in.

"Xander could you-," I want to ask, but before I can finish my sentence, he is
beside me, roughly grabbing my left arm.

"What I want to know is, what is this?" There is anger in his eyes, and a kind of
disgust I have rarely seen before. The last time was when he found out I was
sleeping with Spike.

"What do you think?" I toss back flippantly, not finding the strength to fight
with him. I pull my arm away and take the shirt from Giles who has joined us
again, "Thanks," I give him a quick smile, before trying to get the remains of
Angel's old shirt away from underneath without hurting him. Without looking up, I
answer Xander's question, "You already know what it means. So why do you even
bother to ask?"

"Oh, this is just perfect," Xander spits, "Again I want to remind everyone that I
voted to chain him to the wall. Isn't it enough that he put you in the hospital
once before."

I don't turn around, keep my hands busy with Angel's shirt, to prevent my fist
from landing in Xander's face, and speak, my voice tightly controlled, "He never
put me in a hospital."

"I don't want to question your motives," Giles says gently, trying to be the
voice of reason, "I can see that … there might have been a necessity then, and I
can see that Angel isn't a threat right now, but have you forgotten what happened
when-"

"I haven't forgotten anything," I grit out between clenched teeth. How can he
even think I could've forgotten that night? "Angel was dying. And I forced him to
drink from me. I had to beat him up before he gave in. And afterwards he rushed
me to the hospital to save my life."

"Oh, jeez," Xanderns rns away, his skin pale, "this is even sicker than I
thought."

"Buffy," Giles walks to the other side of the bed, looking down at me, "Have you
any idea how extremely irresponsible that was? What if something had happened to
you? We were about to fight the mayor."

"I know that," I reply trying to get Angel into a sitting position, his lifeless
body not making the task any easier. "But I'm not going to discuss any of my
choices with you. It's done. I survived and Angel did, too. We defeated the
mayor, and compared to all the other stuff we faced since then, this was a piece
of cake."

I finally manage to get Angel's right arm into the shirt, and Giles suddenly
remembers that he promised to help. He sits down on the other side, holding Angel
up while I slip the silken material over his papery skin. "Alright-," he starts,
but Xander interrupts him sharply.

"Alright?" he echoes disbelievingly, "So suddenly it's alright that she lets her
demon lover suck her blood. She broke up with Riley because he did the same."

Slowly, keeping my temper in check, I close the last button in front, then gently
- with Giles' help - put Angel back into the cushions, before standing up,
turning and facing Xander. "What Riley did has nothing to do with this. Riley let
whores suck his blood because he was too uncertain to deal with someone who was
stronger than him. Because he felt I didn't let him in, that I didn't need him.
I'm not denying that he was right on one or two points, but that doesn't give you
any right to accuse me. Angel was dying the first time, and this time I wasn't in
any danger. Besides it is my blood and what I do with it isn't any of your
business. So keep out of my life, and instead try to get your own back on track."

"Oh because you are such a great one to deal with yours," Xander gets right back
into my face. "At least I never let a soulless demon fuck my brains out."

"I don't think-," Giles tries to interfere, but none of us listens.

"Well, obviously the vampire in question can't have been all that bad, because at
the first chance your ex-girlfriend did the same."

At that Xander doesn't know what to say, he simply stares at me, his breathing
ragged, his eyes dark and filled with pain. I suddenly hate myself for hurting
him, but he's started the whole thing after all. Still I hate that we were so
spiteful to each other, and I reach out, wanting to touch him. Instantly he steps
back, evading my touch. Then with a last look of disgust at me, and at the
vampire on the bed he leaves the room.

"Well," Giles clears his throat beside me. I know he wants to say something, but
I know also that he has no idea what. So in typical Giles-fashion he pulls his
glasses from his nose, starting to rub them frantically.

"Giles, I'm-"

He puts his glasses back on, holds up a hand, "Buffy, you don't need to explain
anything to me. Besides I already knew about you and Spike, and although I think
it was certainly unwise, I know also that I'm in no position to judge you for
it." He takes a deep breath, warmth coming back into his eyes, "Do you want me to
help you feed him now?"

I need a moment to understand what he's saying, but then I shake my head, "No. I
think," a bit sheepishly I hold up my taped wrist, "he can do without it for the
moment. But I'd be grateful - later."

"Any time you need me," he says with a smile. "So, do you think, Connor could
come in now?"

I feel drained and tired, and all I want is to curl up with Angel again, but I
also know that his son - although he was the one who put him into this state, or
maybe because - needs to see him. He's done wrong, but he's only sixteen. And he
must be a wreck right now. So I nod, and try a smile of my own, "Sure. Send him
in. I'll call you when I need you later."

He looks at me for a long moment, before he leaves the room.