Secrets and Lies
_____________________________________________________________WARNING: [PG-13] This story includes m/m themes of a non-explicit nature. If you do not wish to read this this type of material, please go back.
SPOILER ALERT: Contains spoilers for the Buffy episodes: 'Faith, Hope and Trick' and 'Beauty and the Beasts'.
DISCLAIMER: Joss Whedon, 20th Century Fox, Mutant Enemy, and/or the WB Television Network own these characters. I've just borrowed them for this story. No copyright infringement is intended or inferred.
TIMELINE: Set during the first few scenes of 'Beauty and the Beasts'.
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"I've just given him his feed," Willow announced cheerfully, as though she were talking about nothing more serious than looking after her pet fish.
Giles transferred the phone to his other hand and picked up his drink before he replied.
"He hasn't given you any trouble?"
"He's been quiet most of the time. I've been reading to him. 'Call of the Wild.'"
"Yes, er, very good. Well, do make sure that Xander -"
"Don't worry, Giles. Xander and I can take care of Oz."
Giles was worried; he couldn't help but worry. Xander and Willow being left in charge of a young werewolf was cause for concern, but that wasn't really the problem. That wasn't why he was so tense, so agitated. He wondered for a moment if the full moon was affecting him, then had to smile at the thought. He'd been spending too long with the teenagers.
Giles knew damn well what was wrong with him. At first, he'd let the problem go unresolved, and then it had been too late for anything but regrets. The emotional turmoil may have faded over the summer, but it had been stirred up by Buffy's return and her revelation of the events of that fateful day.
Giles put down his tea with a sigh, realising it was doing nothing to soothe his nerves. He glanced around his apartment for something to occupy his thoughts, but the last thing he wanted was another night cooped up there on his own. He wondered if a drive would calm him enough to let him enjoy a good night's sleep.
As he pulled up outside of the mansion Giles was swamped by conflicting emotions. He slumped behind the wheel, suddenly feeling old and tired. He wondered what he'd been thinking as he'd headed the car for Crawford Street. The building stood empty now, and there was nothing for him there. He'd worked hard to rebuild his shattered world, and if the pieces didn't quite fit into the old pattern, then that was only to be expected. Nothing could ever put his life back the way it had been all those months ago.
Giles felt the door give almost invitingly at his touch, but he wavered on the threshold. When he finally stepped inside the mansion, the night-time noises of the world outside seemed to die away. The air was heavy and still, brushing like velvet against his skin. As he drifted further in, it was like stepping back in time. Everything was the way he remembered it. Except that Acathla no longer dominated the room. He'd supervised the reburial of the demon, but not its removal from the mansion. The memories of the place had been too strong.
The furniture and ornaments were all exactly as they had been. In the moonlight, it seemed as though even the dust had been held at bay, perhaps daunted by his presence. Giles could feel that presence stalk him through the shadows, the way it tormented his sleep.
A noise, almost too faint to register, reached Giles' ears. He froze, the hair at the back of his neck prickling as his senses strained outwards into the gloom. He suddenly doubted the wisdom of coming here, alone and at night, to a place that was clearly not as empty as he had thought. The beating of his own heart and his carefully measured breathing were the only detectable signs of life. Which he knew was not the same as saying that he was alone.
Giles heard the noise again. This time it was distinct, if unrecognisable. He moved warily across the moonlit room and towards the shadowed alcove beyond the fireplace. Whatever had made the sound lay beyond the heavy curtain, in the next room. His brain tried to conjure up all sorts of terrible things on the other side of the partition, but his hand was steady as he pulled the fabric aside.
The room was deep in shadow, and Giles stumbled over the body lying in the entrance. He regained his balance, aware that there had been no reaction from the still form at his feet. Giles saw the pale gleam of flesh, and could tell by the outline that it was a man. He mistook the mark on one shoulder for dirt. Crouching down, he laid a hand on the man's arm. He was icy and trembling, and Giles was moved by his pitiful condition. Gently he turned the man over, rolling him onto his back and into the moonlight. Then Giles saw his face.
Giles gasped, the shock hitting him like a physical sensation. There was no mistaking those features, even in the dim light. He half reached for Angel, but something pulled him back. The survival instinct is strong and deep-seated. Giles remembered his torture at those hands. Angel may have gone into hell possessing his soul, but there was no way of knowing whether he had returned with it intact.
The attack that Giles feared never came. Violent tremors surged through Angel's body, but otherwise he didn't move. Giles looked into his face, wrung with pain, and couldn't believe that this was the demon rather than the man. Still he hesitated, not sure that he could trust his own judgement. Then a whimper escaped from Angel, and Giles knew that he had to help him.
"Angel?" he asked, kneeling down to gently shake one shoulder.
Angel's eyes were squeezed tightly shut, and his jaw clenched spasmodically.
"Angel, can you hear me?"
Giles could feel Angel trembling under his fingers, but not in the way he'd dreamt of. Angel's skin was colder than he had imagined, the dead flesh leaching the warmth from his hand.
Giles hurriedly searched the room, and gathered up a bundle of clothing. Pulling out a pair of trousers he stopped, suddenly feeling ridiculous. He looked down at Angel, shuddering and vulnerable. He knew very well that the vampire couldn't be suffering from the cold, but covering him up would be as much for his own sake as for Angel's. So he manoeuvred the unresisting form into the trousers. A blanket snatched from the bed went round Angel's upper body, then Giles stepped back. Angel still hadn't moved, and Giles didn't think that he was even conscious. You didn't have to be a Watcher to know where at least part of his problem lay.
"I don't know if you can understand me. I'm going to get you some blood. I'll be back soon."
He pulled the curtain shut behind him as he hurried out.
Giles re-entered the mansion carrying a covered container, and moved cautiously to the bedroom. As he reached for the curtain, he heard bare feet rushing across the floor and for a moment he flinched. No angry demon came hurtling through the curtain as Giles drew it back. Instead, he found Angel crouched in a corner, apprehensive and straining back as though trying to push himself through the wall.
"I'm not going to hurt you, Angel." Giles' voice was carefully modulated, a calming tone that might be used on a frightened child. "I've brought you some blood. Are you going to come over here for it?"
Angel darted a glance at the container Giles was holding. Giles couldn't tell if this was in response to his words, or to the sight and smell of the blood. Angel's head dropped again, although his body remained tense.
"All right, I'll bring it over to you."
Giles walked slowly towards Angel, the container of blood held in front of him. The other man shifted nervously, unsettled by Giles' approach although he avoided looking at him. Finally, Giles was too close to be ignored. Angel's head jerked up, his eyes cold and feral. He snarled, his lips pulling back to bare his teeth. Then he subsided, the outburst ending as quickly as it had begun. Giles bent over him, holding out the blood he was carrying. Angel lashed out, but his body moved too slowly. Giles avoided the clumsy blow, and Angel overbalanced. He hit the floor, going limp as the fight left him. He made no protest as Giles raised him to a sitting position and brought the container to his lips. Angel choked on the first mouthful of blood. Then instinct took over and he began to drink.
Angel didn't relax in Giles' grip as much as he forgot to struggle, all his attention being taken up by feeding. He gulped hungrily, taking hold of the container and tipping it back until rivulets of blood ran down his chin. Giles released his hold and eased away from the vampire. Angel almost managed to finish before his body was again wracked with pain. The container fell from his shaking hands, spilling the remainder of the blood. Giles had to look away as Angel lowered his trembling body to the floor and lapped up the precious fluid.
A sudden panic enveloped Giles, and he knew that he had to get out of that place. He wanted to believe that the vampire's lashing out had been nothing more sinister than defensive reflex; but the old, familiar ache of longing had lodged in his bones, driving out his objectivity. He needed to think, and to do that he had to put some distance between himself and Angel. In the past, that had helped to alleviate the unwanted feelings. Now he tried to call on his training. He knew that whatever Angel's return signified he was going to need a level head to get himself and the others through it.
In the meantime, Giles had to decide what to do with the vampire. Angel was a huddled mass asleep in the corner, his body overwhelmed by the unaccustomed nourishment. Giles checked his watch. It was late, and the sun would soon be up. That alone would ensure that Angel didn't stray. It also meant that Giles didn't have long to decide what he was going to tell the others.
As he stood in his apartment watching the dawn he was no nearer an answer. He turned away from the window, and walked over to the chains that he'd looked out earlier. His mind was hazy, refusing to focus on the problem at hand. It didn't help that he was exhausted. He climbed the stairs and got back into bed, craving the sleep that had so far eluded him. This time as he settled down, he felt himself begin to drift. As his eyes closed, he saw Angel in his mind's eye, wretched with pain and fear, then cornered and lashing out. His thoughts wandered, a childhood memory jarring loose.
One summer there'd been a flurry of excitement when Michael Robinson's neighbour got a dog, a big brute of a dog. The boys had watched it from Michael's garden, daring each other to go into the yard where it was chained. The others had soon lost interest, but Giles and Michael had discovered something about the animal that held their attention. Its owner hurt it. Time after time they peered through knot holes in the fence as the man beat it. It had been disturbing to see such a strong creature retreat into sullen apathy. It had still snapped and snarled, but its spirit had been broken. By the end, they hadn't thought it capable of hurting anyone.
In the morning, one thought jolted the librarian awake - Angel was back. A mocking smile settled uneasily on his face, and he chided himself, "Be careful what you wish for ..."
He turned on the radio and busied himself with breakfast. The news report came on while he was munching his toast. It took a few moments for the contents of the report to sink in.
"...to have been killed in the early hours. Initial reports indicate that the body was badly mutilated, leading to rumours that it was the work of a wild animal. The police are refusing to comment until a post mortem has been carried out, although they are advising people to stay away from the woods. Local residents may remember the wild dogs that caused some concern last spring when they tragically killed Robert Flutie, principal of Sunnydale High."
The announcer continued, but Giles didn't hear him. His food sat forgotten, his tea growing cold, as once again his world crumbled around him. This time it was his fault. He'd let the monster kill again. He'd known what Angel was capable of, but he'd reacted with his heart instead of his head.
With a sick feeling, the childhood memory of the dog returned to him. By the time he'd reported its owner to the RSPCA, it had been too late. The animal had turned on its rescuers, and he'd had to watch as they took it away to be destroyed. Now he was going to have to do he same thing with the man he might have loved.
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Slash fiction