Desperado
Pairing: Buffy/Angel PG13 Post NFA and Chosen Prompt: Written for the Lyric Wheel Disclaimer: Not mine, all
belongs to Joss. Summary: No fairytale ending:
the world is harsh and cruel and post apocalyptic. Thanks to my good friend and
mentor Jo. * Desperado
“The look is new. You’ve gone
all desperado.” He kept silent, watching her. “So, Desperado, why don’t you
come to your senses? Is that all you’ve become? Is it all about the hunt?” Well, damn! “That’s rich, coming
from you.” Her eyes were like flint. “Oh,
you’re a hard one.” He found he cared. “I’m not…I
mean, I don’t…sorry.” “I know that you’ve got your
reasons.” Her eyes flicked to his companion. “Things that are pleasing you
can hurt you.” That was going too far. His
new-found care evaporated. “No pleasing going on here right now.” Her hair bounced with the lift
of her chin. “And we all know how that ends.” He counted to three, decided he
needed another ten and turned his back on her. Crossed his arms and glared at
the wall. “Go.” His shoulder blades itched long
after her footsteps faded away. A tentative hand touched his elbow. He
glanced at the woman at his side. Collette looked the worse for wear. Her
clothes had seen better days and a week’s worth of grime had hidden the
pretty freckles scattered across her face. Her hair hung dark and lank.
Judging by the comment earlier, he knew he looked no better. It had been a
while since either of them had had the luxury of a bath. He turned and
offered her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry,” he said. Collette wore a worried frown.
“This woman, is she your enemy?” “No. It’s complicated.” And it
was. Angel didn’t have the energy to explain further. “Perhaps it would be
better if you went with them.” They had wanted to take her away, and she had
fought and screamed and bitten them until they let her stay with him. Collette got that desperate look
in her eyes. Like the one she had been wearing when he had happened across
her. She clutched at his hand. “Please don’t make me. I want to
stay with you.” And that was the problem. He led
her over to the small bed standing against the wall and sat down with her. “They won’t hurt you, Collette.
They’re good people.” “But they hurt you.” “Because of what I am. They
think I’ve hurt you.” Her eyes travelled from him to
the door and back again. “No. No. I’ll tell them no. I’ll tell them you saved
me.” She had saved him, too, in a
way. Saving her was what he did. Looking after him was what she did. Collette
was damaged goods. She had her way of dealing with her trauma. He had his own
methods of dealing with his. He changed the subject.
“Wouldn’t you like a bath? Clean clothes?” She shook her head. “Not unless
they let you too.” The sound of footsteps announced
that they had company. A young lady, a slayer, Angel felt, carrying a tray.
The girl was curious, he could see that. She slid the tray through the
opening in the cell’s bars, her eyes on Angel the entire time. “I’ve brought you some food.”
Her English was thick with an accent. German, he thought. Gently, he nudged Collette off
the cot. She snatched up the apple and the sandwiches. Clutching the food to
her chest, with her other hand she captured the bottled water. “What about his food?” she
demanded. The tray was now bare. “Blood isn’t something we
normally have lying about,” the slayer answered, her eyes unwavering on his. “You must have a supply for your
wounded,” Collette countered, brave on his account. A sardonic twist of the lips.
“We’re all out.” Her eyes left his to focus on the other woman for a moment.
“Besides, I hear he carries his own supply.” Collette ducked her head and
scurried away back to the bed. Angel had moved over to the farther corner,
giving her space to lay out her meal. The smell of egg permeated the air: the
sandwich unwrapped. She ate quickly. She was famished. The slayer had Angel back in her
sights. “I hear that you and Buffy were once lovers.” Her gaze raked his
form. “I can see the appeal. But the dead factor is a real turn off. I also
know that you guys can put people under a spell. Is that what you did? Was
Buffy under your thrall? It must have worn off because she doesn’t even like
you now.” Her eyes moved to take in the
barred window. “How do I know this? That way is east.” The slayer left them,
then, the twist of her lips triumphant. “The sun, Angel!” Collette
cried, looking up, worried that her guardian angel would be dust in the
morning. “Won’t burn me. The cell is
larger than the window. There’ll be plenty of room in shadow.” “We could hang something up
against the pane,” she said, imagining Angel curled up unable to move, in a
corner of the room. He smiled. She was always
thinking of him. “My coat has a few too many holes in it these days. I’ll be
fine.” She thumped the bed. “What about
the mattress?” “It’s for you to sleep on. Now
finish your meal.” Collette looked at the apple.
Red and delicious it was. “You’re hungry,” she said before
taking a bite. Head down, chewing, Collette
held out her arm. Her flesh was a miasma of twisted scars. From wrist to
shoulder a story of abuse and depravity. And because of that appalling
landscape Angel was held prisoner, Collette, too, loyal beyond belief. Only
Buffy’s name had deterred the stake. His eyes slid away from
temptation. “I’m good.” Her arm flopped down as if
strings were cut. Her smile, though, was warm when her head came up. “Tomorrow, maybe.” The apple disappeared, core and
all, masticated and swallowed with relish. When Collette had to use the
toilet, Angel averted his eyes. Even if she didn’t mind the lack of privacy,
Angel did. He lay on the floor, near the bed, his back to the rest of the room.
After a while, Collette’s face peered at him from the bed. “We can share.” “It’s okay, Collette. I’ve slept
on worse. Go to sleep.” “Goodnight, then.” He listened to her breathing
slow. She had been exhausted, he could tell. He lay there, thinking on their
situation, thinking on the woman he had given his heart to. The lights went
out. He lay in the dark, staring at the wall. A body was pressed up against
his back and a heavier weight lay across his shoulder, arm, and hip when he
woke. Warm air blew gently against the skin of his neck. The steady thump of
Collette’s heart, reverberating in the cage of her ribs, beat against his
silent one. To Angel, if he closed his eyes, he could imagine for a moment
the heartbeat belonged to him. Carefully, he moved onto his
back and lifted the corner of the mattress his friend had laid across him.
The sun had begun its journey and the cell was beginning to take shape in its
rosy glow. As he had known, he was safe where he was. The window was small.
The deadly rays could be avoided for an hour or two. By then the sun would be
high enough not to be a danger. An ache settled in his chest. Collette had
covered him with the mattress, forgoing comfort for his safety. He had been
aware of her stealthy movements and had played possum, pretending to be
asleep. It had been a long time since anyone had done him a kindness. Quietly, he climbed to his feet,
deposited the mattress onto the bed, and gently placed Collette there. She
woke, her eyes wide, afraid, until she saw his face. She grinned, sat upright and
patted the space beside her. “You’re not burning up.” He smiled and sat beside her,
grateful to be up off the hard floor. “Thank you,” he said. “The mattress was lumpy,
anyway.” It was her way of shrugging off
her good deed and his thanks. He knew that she thought she didn’t deserve to
be thanked. It was she that was grateful. After all, he had saved her.
Anything she could do for him she would. He wondered who was saving who. And
he also wondered what the day would bring. Before long the sound of running
footsteps could be heard. Buffy arrived, out of breath, furious, with another
woman in tow. Buffy put the key in the lock. “Why the hell are they still in
here, Isobella?” she growled as she opened the door. “I’m sorry,” she
apologised to the two of them. “I told Sigrid to let you out and take you
both to the guest rooms last night. She has a problem with vam…me. I would
never…” She gestured at the window and the sun streaming through it. Isobella
handed Buffy the blanket she was carrying. “Here!” She shook the cloth out.
“It’s only a couple of steps, you’ll be fine.” He reached for the blanket
without a word. Collette shrank behind him and stared at the two women. “I know you, Angel, even if the
others don’t. They wanted to be sure that you weren’t a danger to them… to
us, you know what I mean.” He glanced in the direction of
the small camera on the ceiling just beyond the bars. He hadn’t expected
anything less. The slayers and their newly trained watchers had every reason
to be suspicious. Angel realised that Buffy was staring at him, waiting for
him to move. He turned, smiled at Collette,
and nodded towards the door. “We’re going to move to somewhere more
comfortable. Are you ready?” She reached out and touched the
blanket, her eyes huge with worry. “Be careful, please.” Without even producing a wisp of
smoke, Angel made it safely out of the cell, Collette right behind him. They
were shown up the stairs and along a corridor to a small room at the back of
the chateau. It looked to have been a servant’s quarters. And it was almost
as sparsely furnished as the dungeon they had left. Collette pointed out that
there was only one bed. “Your room is next door.” Collette shook her head. Buffy went on. “The bathroom is
two doors down. There’s towels and clothes for you in your room.” Collette looked down at her
tattered clothing. She could do with a bath. She knew she smelled. “Come with me?” she pleaded with
Angel. “Of course.” At Buffy’s look, he
added, “I’ll see her to the bathroom door.” When Angel got back to the room,
Buffy was sitting on the bed. She was stroking the material of the clothing
beside her. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a
change of clothes. These are for you.” “Thanks.” They shared a moment of awkward
silence. Buffy’s former ire seemed to have evaporated. Her voice now carried
that quality that Angel had always admired: commanding and soft, all rolled
up in one. “You’re welcome to stay as long
as you like.” “Only until Collette has settled
in.” She was surprised. “You’re
leaving her?” “She needs to be with others of
her kind.” Buffy’s mouth dropped open in
shock. “She’s a slayer?” “No. Human.” A look passed through her eyes.
Sadness? Pity? Angel didn’t know which. He hoped neither was directed at him.
She looked down at her hands, twisted her fingers together. “What I said…” “It doesn’t matter.” It came out
harsher than he intended. Buffy chose to change the
subject. “What happened to her?” “I found her in a larder.” Dead,
milky-white orbs staring out. Emaciated limbs, scarred and twisted at rest.
Blessed death. Buffy nodded. It was the only
answer besides the one put to her previously. “How long?” “Months.” “God!” Lips drawn in a tight line she
asked, “How many?” “A couple of dozen.” “Staked?” “Every one.” “Survivors?” “Two men. They went their own
way. Collette was unable to.” Buffy got to her feet and paced
the three steps to the wall. “How does one survive that? All
those mouths…” “She’s strong.” She spun around to stare at him.
“And she likes you.” He shrugged, his eyes never
leaving her face. She was coiled tight, like a spring. “She offered you her arm. Have
you…?” “Do you really want to know?” For a moment he thought Buffy
would insist. Then the tension in her eased. “I wouldn’t blame you if you
had. It’s not easy getting blood these days. People living in enclaves, not
trusting strangers. Animals behind walls. And what wildlife there is…” “I manage.” Changing tack again, she said,
“If you hadn’t saved Lily’s life you would be dust. It’s stake first these
days.” “I know.” Comprehension dawned. “Did you
wait till Lily was in trouble before you intervened?” “We were lurking.” “You put Collette in danger?” “She wouldn’t be left on her
own. I had no choice.” “You could stay here,” she
offered, the invitation in her eyes. He could drown in those eyes.
“No I couldn’t.” “Even desperados need a home.”
She attempted a smile. “Homes are overrated.” Reaching out, her hand touched
his. “Angel…” “If you have a book I could
read, I’d appreciate it.” He hadn’t wanted to hurt her,
but he had. The loss of her touch when she withdrew her hand was like a blow.
She stood there for a moment longer, her throat working as if she had
swallowed something unwholesome and it was choking her. She went past him, stood at the
door and said, “I’ll see what I can do about some blood.” Inhaled, exhaled,
and then, “It wasn’t your fault, Angel. It was inevitable. You put back the
apocalypse a few years only, and those years were precious. You gave us that
much.” And she was out of sight, her footsteps light and steady down the
hallway. “It wasn’t enough,” he whispered
to her fading presence. End.
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