Title: Atonement, Part 8
Author: Neena (varscona_pal@yahoo.ca)
Overall rating: NC-17
Pairing: Giles/Angel
Summary: Angel returns to Sunnydale intent on saving Giles’ life and making amends, but discovers that his good intentions may bring about more suffering than either of them can handle.
Setting: Season four of BtVS, season one of AtS.
Warning: Slash and a little angst.
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, Kuzui, Fox, ME, Sandollar, etc. own the rights to the characters in this story, but I’m happy to live in their shadow.
Giles lay awake the rest of the night, restless thoughts chipping away at his peace of mind. It was his fault Angelus was back. If he’d only refused, if he’d put up more of a fight, Angel would never have lost his soul. And now he and everyone he cared about were in mortal danger. By the time the first golden rays of sunlight had chased away the shadows, Giles had resolved to meet with Angelus. And he would either rid the world of the vampire or die trying.
Xander finally woke up a couple of hours after sunrise with the scent of burning toast tickling his nose.
“Am I having a seizure?” he asked, rubbing the crustiness out of the corners of his eyes.
“No, it really is burnt toast,” replied Giles.
Xander sat up, saw that the bed Giles was supposed to be in was empty, then looked toward the kitchen where the voice had come from.
“Giles! What are you doing? You’re supposed to be in bed—Doctor’s orders.”
“I’m fine, Xander. No need to make a fuss.”
Xander padded barefoot into the kitchen and took a good, long look at his friend. “Jesus, Giles. Did you sleep at all last night? ‘Cause the bags under your eyes look like they brought along a matching set of carry-ons. Did you at least take your pills?”
“No. No more pills,” said Giles adamantly.
“You don’t have to be a hero about it—you’re in pain, I can see it in your eyes.”
“I can’t function on those pills—they dull my senses. I’d rather have the pain. Did you want a grapefruit with your toast?” he asked in a very lame attempt to change the subject.
“I’m the one who should be making breakfast. Now get in bed. No arguments—you shouldn’t be on your feet yet.”
Giles wanted to refuse, but he couldn’t come up with a plausible excuse. He couldn’t tell Xander that he’d rather burn that damned mattress and every memory stored inside it, than sleep in it again. But Xander was right—he was bone tired, his body thrumming with pain, and he needed to rest if he was to stand a chance against Angelus.
He let Xander lead him back to the bed, but once there, the memories of the previous night overwhelmed him. His knees gave out on him and he clung frantically to Xander, his whole body shaking.
“Giles? What’s wrong?” asked Xander, more than a little freaked by Giles’ sudden onset of jitters.
“I can’t, Xander. Not in that bed. I can’t…” Giles hated himself for choking on his words, for being so weak. He’d been through worse—Hell, he’d fought everything Sunnydale had thrown at him and more. But Angelus had burrowed deep under his skin, and the humiliation, more than the actual pain he’d caused, made it unbearable.
Xander stared at the bed as Giles attempted to regain his composure. What, he wondered, could have changed overnight to make him so skittish? It didn’t take long to put the pieces together—the spell must not have worked. Angelus had been here.
“You must think I’m an old fool,” said Giles, chastising himself, while at the same time trying to make light of the situation.
“Giles—God, no,” said Xander, helping him sit down on the couch, then taking a seat next to him. “He was here?” asked Xander when he thought Giles had recovered enough to speak.
Giles couldn’t get his voice to work any more than he could bring himself to meet Xander’s sympathetic gaze. He nodded once, realizing that he may very well have endangered Xander’s life with the admission.
“Did he…?” Xander didn’t know how to finish the sentence without making Giles more uncomfortable than he already was. Thankfully Giles seemed to understand what he meant and he shook his head in answer.
“Then what did he want?” asked Xander. “I mean, if he didn’t…you know…and we’re both still alive…then what?”
“I don’t know, Xander,” said Giles shakily. He found he simply couldn’t admit that he’d allowed Angelus to feed off him—even if he only did so to save Xander’s life. He thought if Xander didn’t know any more than he already did, there might still be a chance to keep his meeting with Angelus. There might still be a chance to redeem himself.
“He’s toying with you, isn’t he?” asked Xander. “If that’s the case then he’ll be back. Why didn’t Willow’s spell work? She said she’d Angelus-proofed the place.”
“Wouldn’t have worked if he was already here when she performed the spell,” said Giles. He’d been wondering the same thing, and he’d had most of the night to come up with the answer.
The little hairs on the nape of Xander’s neck stood on end. That meant the vampire had been in the apartment the whole time, watching them…waiting.
“Eeeughh!” said Xander with a shudder.
“My sentiments precisely,” said Giles, his emotions once again safely stowed away behind his British reserve.
Buffy sat, eyes glazed and staring off into space, as Professor Robson droned on and on about stuff that would invariably end up on the final exam. She couldn’t bring herself to care. She’d spent the whole night on the prowl, looking for Angelus, and had come up empty-handed. She didn’t know how she could face Giles if she didn’t have anything to show for her efforts.
When everyone started filing out of the classroom, and Buffy realized she hadn’t taken a single note, she decided to skip Psych. and make another sweep of Angelus’ favourite hideouts. If he were still in town, she would find him.
Buffy stopped by her dorm room and loaded up on stakes. She was thankful Willow had limped her way to classes today—she didn’t want to hear the ‘bring him in alive’ speech right now. What she had to do was difficult enough without everyone putting in their two cents. But she didn’t want Willow to worry about her, so she left a note.
Her search took her through most of the sewers and some of the lesser-known underground tunnels that ran under the town. She even badgered Willy the Snitch again to see if he’d heard anything since last night. She was getting nowhere, and the sun was getting low. She decided to make one last sweep of the ancient tunnels running under the cemetery before calling it quits.
It wasn’t long before she heard someone clear their throat behind her. Buffy spun around, stake at the ready and wasn’t at all surprised to see Angelus emerging from the shadows.
“Looking for me?” he asked, his arms crossed over his chest and a smug look on his face. “And it only took you…” he checked his watch, “twenty-two hours. Not bad. Not a record, mind you, but you get an A for effort.”
“You really love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” said Buffy, and then she lunged at him, full-force. Angelus easily deflected her attack and threw in an elbow to the ribs for good measure. Buffy recovered quickly and kicked his legs out from under him.
It was a tight space, and their fighting banged them into the walls so often and with such force that they were starting to crumble under the assault, threatening to bring the whole tunnel down on their heads.
Angelus caught Buffy by the throat and slammed her up against the wall so her feet were left dangling two feet above the ground. He pinned her hands above her head so that they were eye to eye in the cramped tunnel—finally up close and personal.
Angelus smiled darkly. “What’s wrong, Buffy? You’re not on your game. What’s got your feathers ruffled? Is it Giles? Is it me? Or, wait—maybe it’s me and Giles.” Buffy began to struggle in earnest, and he knew he’d hit a nerve. “Maybe you’re thinking you’re not so special anymore…I mean, if Giles could give Angel a happy… Gotta admit, love—even as reluctant and scared as he was, Rupert was a far better lay than you were.”
Buffy wiped the triumphant smirk off his face by slamming her knee up into his groin. Angelus crumpled to the ground with a pained laugh, and Buffy wasted no time; she grabbed the stake she’d dropped during the fight and took aim at Angelus’ exposed back.
Angelus twisted at the last second, his arm coming up to protect his ribcage, and the stake drove right through his forearm.
“Okay, so you’re not in a chatty mood,” said Angelus as he yanked the stake out of his arm.
“I’m really not,” she answered and kicked him soundly in the chest just as he was getting to his feet. The force of the blow drove him ten feet down the tunnel and smacked him right into one of the old wooden support beams. It snapped from the impact and a whole section of the tunnel caved in, separating the two of them with an impassable mound of debris.
Buffy coughed and choked on the dust that hung thick in the air. From the other side of the rock pile she heard the clumping sound of retreating footsteps. She’d lost this round.
Buffy reluctantly headed out the way she’d come in, rehearsing to herself what she would have to tell the others—what she would have to tell Giles.
When Xander told Willow about Angelus’ visit with Giles, she seriously wigged. She blamed herself, saying that she should have checked Giles’ place first before doing the spell. Xander pointed out that if she had, Angelus would have killed her and gotten to Giles anyway, but that did little to assuage her guilt.
She came over right after she hung up with Xander, and she re-performed the de-invite. She brought along Buffy’s note, hoping that the news that she was still on the hunt would help. But, not surprisingly perhaps, the news didn’t go far in cheering them up. Willow couldn’t help worrying at how quiet and calm Giles was.
“Has he been like this the whole time?” she asked Xander when they were alone in the kitchen preparing lunch.
Xander nodded; “He hasn’t slept since Angelus left. He won’t eat, he won’t take his pills. We have to do something.”
“I only wish I could get my hands on an orb,” said Willow.
“Please, Will, this isn’t the time for dirty talk,” said Xander.
“Xander…”
“I know—just trying to lighten the mood a little.”
“I can’t wait another two days—I need an orb now,” said Willow, pacing around in Giles’ tiny kitchen. Her eyes suddenly lit up and she turned them on Xander. “How do you feel about a little B and E?”
“Bert and Ernie?”
“Breaking and entering,” she said with a playful slap on his arm. “The Rosemont Retirement Home bought a bunch of the orbs to use as table decorations.”
“You want me to rob an old folks’ home?” he asked, momentarily shocked. “I’m oddly okay with that.”
“I’d go myself, but I’m still all Limp-Along Cassidy.”
“It’s okay, I’m all over it. But we can’t leave Giles alone right now.”
“No problem—I think I can handle a little Watcher watching,” she said with a smile.
Giles made no protest when Xander took off on his ‘quest for orbs’, as he called it. It suited his purposes fine. He sat patiently, listening to Willow’s unending banter, nodding occasionally when it was necessary, all the while marking the sun’s progression through the sky.
“Uh…Willow,” he said, stopping her in mid-babble. The sky outside was steadily growing darker, and it was time for him to make his move. “I’ve…uh…changed my mind. I think I’d like to have one of my pills. Would you mind?”
Willow perked up, happy to be able to do something productive. “Sure, I’ll get them. ‘Course I’ll get them. Where are they?”
“That’s the thing—they’re upstairs on my bedside table. I know it’s an imposition…”
“Don’t be silly,” said Willow.
As she slowly hobbled over to the staircase, Giles added: “Or, they might be on my dresser.”
As soon as she was out of sight, Giles got off the couch, grabbed his crutches and hurried out the door as quickly and as quietly as he could. The pain and the light-headedness only served to spur him on.
“Giles? Giles, I can’t find your pills. Are you sure they’re up here?” asked Willow. “Giles?” The apartment was as quiet as the grave—actually, quieter than most of the graves in Sunnydale. “Giles?” she asked again, and again she received no answer. She kept calling to him as she struggled down the stairs, growing more anxious with every step.
A quick glance around the living room yielded no results, so Willow peeked her head out the door just in time to catch sight of the Citroën pulling away from the curb.
“Giles?” she said to the empty apartment, realizing that she’d been duped.
Driving with his right foot in a cast was difficult and probably about as dangerous as his meeting with Angelus would be. Giles used his left foot for the brakes and one of his crutches to push on the gas pedal. It was slow going, but the plus side was that he was concentrating too hard on his driving to worry about what lay ahead.
What should have been a ten minute drive took nearly a half hour, and when he arrived he took a few extra minutes just sitting in the car, trying to get up the nerve to go in there.
Under the shadows of the mansion, he climbed awkwardly out of the car and opened the trunk. His leather valise was pushed to the back of the trunk and he pulled it closer, rummaging through it for his crossbow and arrows. He also pocketed a stake, although he knew if it came down to a close-up, one-on-one battle, he didn’t stand a chance. Not that his chances were so hot to begin with, he thought grimly.
As he expected, Angelus had left the door open for him. His hopes of launching a surprise attack curled up and died. He had one shot at this. If he missed with the crossbow, he wouldn’t live to regret the mistake.
Giles entered the foyer and leaned his crutches up against the wall. He couldn’t afford the added encumbrance, no matter how hard it was to stand without them. He stood listening for a moment, but all he heard was the creaking sounds of the old house settling.
He entered the great room cautiously, crossbow at the ready, dragging his bad foot with every step and cursing the noises it made. There was a fire roaring in the fireplace and candles lit on practically every flat surface, but no sign of Angelus. Giles did a slow turn, straining his eyes to see into all the dark corners.
“Good. You came alone,” said Angelus from directly behind him.
Giles spun around as best he could and shot his arrow. But he had no time to aim, and the shot went wide, the arrow embedding itself into Angelus’ arm.
“I wish people would stop poking me with these things,” said Angelus, and he plucked the arrow out of his arm and drove it right through Giles’ biceps. Giles let out an involuntary howl of pain and dropped the crossbow.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” asked Angelus.
Giles gritted his teeth and glowered at him, his hand clasping his arm where the long shaft of wood protruded. He’d lost, and he knew it. Angelus slid up next to him and patted him down, tossing his spare arrows into the fireplace.
Angelus paused when he felt the bulge in Giles’ jacket. “Is that a stake in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” he said with a self-indulgent laugh. “I’ve always wanted to say that.” Angelus dug the stake out of Giles’ pocket and looked at it with disappointment. “Nope. Just a stake.”
Giles knew this was his last chance. Before Angelus could toss the stake into the fire, he grabbed hold of the vampire’s wrist and twisted it so the stake was pointed at his chest. With a desperate shout, Giles drew on every ounce of strength he had and tried to plunge the stake into Angelus’ heart. But in his weakened state the attempt was futile.
Angelus easily overpowered him, throwing him hard onto the cold, tile floor. The stake skittered across the tiles, beyond reach, and Giles, winded and drained of strength, lay there helplessly as Angelus circled above him like a large, leather-clad vulture.
“I did as you asked,” said Giles. “I came alone. This ends with me.”
“No, Rupert, it begins with you.”
“You said you only wanted me,” said Giles. “You have me. A deal’s a deal.”
“You’re right. We had a deal, and I intend to honour it. I promise I won’t lay a finger on any of your friends,” said Angelus with a cold twinkle in his eye. “I’ll leave them for you.” Angelus crouched down and ran a finger over the bandage on Giles’ neck.
“No,” said Giles, his eyes widening with apprehension as he tried pulling himself across the floor away from the vampire.
“It’s a good deal, Rupert. Think of it—you’ll never get old, never have to deal with death and disease. All the pain you feel right now will be gone. Not just the physical stuff—you’re arm and your leg will be good as new, of course, but that’s nothing compared to the freedom of having no soul. There’s no guilt, Rupe. No remorse, no shame. Living on this planet is so much easier when there’s no pesky conscience dragging you down.”
“Never,” said Giles. His mouth had gone bone dry, but he forced himself to speak. “You can’t make me drink your blood—you can’t turn me against my will. I’d rather die.”
“No offence, Rupert, but you’re talking out your ass. You have no idea what it’s like to be turned. Trust me—you’ll drink when the time comes.”
Angelus swooped down on him, straddling him to keep him from squirming away. “You can fight it, if you want,” said Angelus. “Hell, it’ll probably be more fun if you do—but it’s gonna happen one way or the other. You decide.”
As decisions went, this one was a no-brainer. If those were his only options, then he knew he had to fight to his last breath. He bucked hard, twisting his body under Angelus’ weight so he was facedown on the floor. Then, drawing on reserves he didn’t know he had, he clawed his way across the tile floor to where the wooden stake lay forgotten.
He nearly made it, too, but Angelus had only been toying with him. As his fingers stretched out to grasp the stake, Angelus dragged him back. Giles struggled valiantly against the steely grip of the vampire, but in the end he found himself lying prone in Angelus’ arms.
“Angelus, please…”he begged. But the vampire’s eyes were cold and dead. Merciless.