A/N: With Adverse Reaction complete, it's time for me to start posting a new story. Again, everything for this fic has already been written. Just to let you all know, it's a short story, less than ten parts, in fact. Also, just to set the scene, this is an alternative rendition of the episode "I Only Have Eyes for You," showing how one small alternation could have completely shifted the rest of the show that season (season two in case anyone has forgotten). Thanks and, hopefully, you'll all enjoy the tale. ~Charlynn~
He didn't like to use the word hunt when thinking about his actions towards the slayer. Hunting implied killing, and, frankly, he just wasn't ready to end their little lover's spat yet. However, he had no qualms about the other aspects of the sport, for he certainly relished the idea of eventually mounting and stuffing the perky blonde… just not in the traditional sense. And, yes, eventually, he'd get rid of her. There were only so many stalemates that his reputation and ego could take, but, for now, she was safe… well, as safe as any human could be when being pursued, stalked, and haunted by a master vampire.
The cavalry was out tonight with her. He could smell their distinctive stench hovering pungently around the school. They – her watcher and friends – reeked of fear and apprehension but, naively, not for their own well being. Rather, they were concerned for the slayer, and it pissed him off that she was out there fighting some other bad and not focusing all her attention upon him. Although it wasn't what he had planned for that evening, plans, even his, were meant to be broken, and taking the time to teach good old Buff a lesson on respecting her better… well, that certainly fit the bill.
As the dense swarm of bees parted for him to pass through, Angelus found himself curious as to just what exactly the slayer was facing inside the high school. Not that he was afraid or anything. No, certainly not that, but he wanted to use the other supernatural elements to his advantage. Normally, he didn't play well with others, but, for Buffy, he'd make an exception.
Thanks to his oh so invigorating date with the gypsy slut weeks before, he knew his way around the building well. The halls were silent, though; his lover giving him no audible clue as to her location. However, he could smell her – that rich, undeniable, intoxicating scent that only Buffy possessed. The aroma of her blood could call him to her from anywhere, no matter how much distance separated them, and, as for her other scents – her adrenaline, her strength, her currently dormant but still always present tang of arousal, he relished in those as well.
She was standing by a trophy case when he first spotted her. With her back to him, he just watched the blonde bitch for several undisclosed moments, observing her for any weaknesses, anticipating their inevitable confrontation to come. But she was unaware of his presence, absorbed, no doubt, by her latest save the world or, at least, save Sunnydale mission, and that just wouldn't do at all.
"Fun fact about wasps," he prefaced, taunted, teased, gaining the slayer's attention and announcing his presence at the same time. Visibly, he could see Buff tense as her entire being adjusted to his nearness. It was delicious how attuned she was to him. Smirking, he continued, "they have no taste for the undead. Not that a sting would do me any damage, it's just… tonight's special. I wanted to look my best for you."
But something was off; something wasn't right. She still had yet to turn around and face him, and her actions, her movements, they seemed hesitant, weakened, distracted. He knew that she wasn't broken yet. After all, really, in comparison to others from the past, he had barely yet begun to truly play with her, but the woman before him was not his slayer. In fact, she was someone he barely recognized.
When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, tempered, a mere whisper on the still night air. "You're the only one… the only person I can talk to."
Now, this just wasn't right. Yeah, he wanted her obsessed with him - her only thoughts to be about him, all her desires, even if they disgusted her and made a mockery of her calling, to be towards him, all of her feelings to be wrapped up in him, but this was too soon and… too easy. Her sudden shift made him nervous, but he refused to show that he was caught off guard, so, instead, he just ridiculed her. When everything else fails, go for what comes natural, right? "Gosh, Buff, that's really pathetic."
Twisting around so that he could finally see her face, he realized the slayer was close to tears… and he hadn't really said anything yet. "You can't make me disappear just because you say it's over."
"Actually," he warned, stepping closer to her, savoring the idea she had just planted in his demented mind. In her present weakened state, it would be so simple to kidnap the slayer, to take her back to the mansion and keep her for his own personal… pet. She could be his favored snack, his personal sex slave, the puppet of which he sadistically controlled her manacled strings. Talk about Christmas and his birthday all tossed into one fine, nubile package. "I can. In fact…"
As her wide, vulnerable eyes stared up at him, her love and desperation screaming from every held back tear and whimper, Angelus felt a waver pass through him. It wasn't anything overt. In fact, it was rather subtle, but, just the same, he knew that he wasn't alone any more inside of his body. Something else, someone else was controlling what he said, what he did, and, although he was cognizant of both his surroundings and his actions, he no longer had the power to manipulate them.
Just as the sensation shuddered through him, he saw Buffy experience the same thing, as though one presence was fleeing her form while another one entered. When she spoke again, her voice was different, just as desperate but not nearly as emotional. It was like she was attempting to placate someone, sooth someone, sooth him. "I just want you to be able to have some kind of normal life. We can never have that. Don't you see?"
Inside, he wanted to laugh, he wanted to snicker at the absurdity of the words fleeing so convincingly from the slayer's mouth, but he knew that it was no longer the slayer doing the talking. She was a pawn in this little game they were involved in, just like he was. Still, though, of all the sick, disgusting displays for a master vampire to be subjected to, he was stuck being possessed by a fucking teenage boy. Even as a human, he had not been so pathetic.
"I don't give a damn about a normal life! I'm going crazy not seeing you." He paused briefly, the spirit controlling him taking an unnecessary breath for the undead body he was occupying. "I think about you every minute."
In the back of his mind, Angelus recognized the fact that maybe he wasn't so different from the boy taking over his form. While the practically still pubescent little twit was obsessed with whomever it was possessing Buff's body, he himself was obsessed with the tight little package before him as well. However, instead of tearful proclamations of love and devotion, he simply preferred mental torture and the occasional arousing fist fight. However, it still pissed him off that he was being pulled into something he didn't give a rat's ass about. And if anyone ever found out about this little stunt… Well, then, he'd just have to kill them first and worry about his reputation later.
Startling him slightly, though his poltergeist seemed prepared and pleased by the touch, Buffy placed her palm against his cheek, caressing him in a comforting, tender manner. "I know," she sympathized. Before he could even adjust to her touch, she was already pulling away from him. "But it's over," she practically sobbed, turning around to flee. "It has to be," she added as she ran off in the direction he himself had just emerged from minutes before.
Suddenly, he – the spirit within him – was furious. Chasing after the slayer, he bellowed, "come back here! We're not finished!" Grabbing her by the arm, he spun her around to confront her. "You don't care anymore, is that it?"
Buffy was sobbing. The demon inside of him rejoiced… even if it wasn't the cause of the bitch's misery, and the poltergeist simply hoped the blonde's tears were an opening, a weakness it could exploit to its advantage. "It doesn't matter; it doesn't matter what I feel."
"Then tell me you don't love me," he demanded harshly, roughly, desperately. Screaming, the master vampire ordered, "say it!"
Still crying yet attempting to be as composed, as unfeeling as possible given the situation, Buffy asked, "is that what you need to hear? Will that help?" Without waiting for a response, she added softly, "I don't." When those words escaped past her trembling lips, he didn't step away. Rather, his only reaction was a harsh, frantic swallow. Even softer the second time, the possessed slayer repeated, "I don't. Now let me go." And, with that, she tried to walk away.
"No." At first, his tone was filled with denial, but, quickly, it was reanimated with the anger he had felt just moments before. "A person doesn't just wake up and stop loving somebody!" Before she could react, Angelus found himself reaching for a gun he didn't even know he had. Cocking the weapon, he calmly stated, "love is forever."
Inside, his demon was screaming. Sure, he didn't like some other spirit controlling his body, but if it brought more suffering to the slayer, he would have been happy to play along. But a gun? A fucking gun?! That was escalating things way too quickly. He had plans, damn it – evil, torturous, cruelly vindictive plans, and nowhere in them did it include giving the stupid bitch an easy out by murdering her with a piece of fucking metal. But he couldn't get through to the poltergeist. It was solely in charge, and it had no intentions of backing down. In fact, its brief moment of coolness rapidly vanished only to be replaced by the heated talons of bitter despondency once again.
"I'm not afraid to use it," he warned the blonde across from him. "I swear!" With a domineering streak of jealousy, he warned, "if I can't be with you…"
"Oh my god," Buffy breathed out, fully frightened for her life at that point. At least, the spirit within her had the good sense to turn and run, but Angelus knew his own controlling spirit wouldn't allow it to be over that easily.
"Don't walk away from me, bitch!" Stalking after her, the soles of his boots slapping against the cold, impersonal tile of the high school floor, he gave chase. Running after her, he yelled, "stop it, stop it," only to come to a stop himself once they both found themselves outside on the balcony, the possessed slayer several paces away right up against the railing.
"All right," she agreed, breathing heavily. As she started to turn around, Buffy said, "just," as if attempting to placate the youth controlling his body even if only for a few seconds. With her arms raised out in front of her, she looked timid and beseeching. "You know you don't want to do this," she warned once they were facing each other again. "Let's both… just calm down." Holding out her hand, she told him, "now, give me the gun."
"Don't, don't do that, damn it," he warned, the pitch of his voice rising with the amount of tension, panic, and anguish choking him. Waving the gun around chaotically in his hand, a haunted Angelus screamed, "don't talk to me like I'm some stupid…"
And, just like that, the gun went off, and the spell was broken.
It had been an accident. He had certainly not wanted the slayer shot, and the fucking idiot that had control over his body, in that moment, hadn't intended upon firing the weapon either, but that didn't mean that there wasn't a bullet lodged within his lover, and it certainly didn't mean that the blossom of blood wasn't growing ever wider over her black shirt and leather coat. Before he could react, the master vampire watched as the blonde across from him tumbled backwards in shock over the balcony's railing, somersaulting to the ground below. Sickeningly, he heard her body smack excruciatingly against the concrete steps, her slayer strengthened bones no match for gravity, cement, and brick.
Without thought, he ran to edge, used his hands to push off, and jumped down to the sidewalk, landing as gracefully as a cat. The tantalizing scent of his lover's blood hung heavily in the air, tempting him, but he pushed aside his thirst, his hunger for her and focused upon the task at hand. Yes, he wanted her to die, and, yes, it would be painful, but it certainly wasn't going to be at the hand of some love sick teenage ghost. And it would be slow, and agonizing, and something Angelus could savor for centuries to come. Not like this.
Picking the slayer's broken and battered body up easily in his arms, he ran from the school. He could physically feel her life expelling rapidly from her body, and he knew that he would have to act fast if he wanted her to live for him to torture her another day. And he was going to need help, too, more help than a hospital could provide him with and darker help than her watcher would be prepared to offer. There was only one person he could think of in Sunnydale who was powerful enough to do what he wanted done, and he knew that the spell caster was degraded enough to find plenty of sick, perverse pleasure out of the situation in order to assist him.
With Buff held tightly in his arms, he kicked at the man's door, refusing to let go of the slayer long enough to knock. As the entry swung open, he observed the many emotions that displayed themselves upon the man's face. First, there was shock, then slight trepidation, but, finally, and it was that emotion that Angelus was depending upon, there was greedy anticipation.
"Well, now," Ethan Rayne murmured, chuckling softly to himself and grinning smugly. "This is certainly a welcome surprise."