Rated NC17 Chapters 7 Pairing Angel/Buffy Reviews Be the first to review! View all stories by this author Write a review of this story Text only version Gods and Monsters by carlyinrome Last Updated: 20/11/2006 03:52:19

I am naked
Before you;
Look at me.
You came for me.
I pray to you.
You are in me . . .

You are my religion.
You are my religion.
I'm loving you;
You're loving me.
You are my religion.
You are my religion.
I'm touching you.
You're touching me . . .

You keep me real.
You lift me up.
Prayer soft,
I am in love.
Devotee of your immortal love.

You are my religion.

- Bif Naked, "Religion"

1. Divinity

If she hadn't been at a club, it probably wouldn't have happened. This particular club had a great dance floor, and a great DJ, and they made these great little pink cocktails to cool you off after dancing to the great DJ on the great dance floor . . . and Buffy may have had several. So many, in fact, that it was becoming difficult to see life as anything but . . . great.

"Modern day bacchanal."

Buffy turned to the rough voice behind her left shoulder. There was a grim-faced little man in a lumpy overcoat perched awkwardly on the stool beside her.

"Come?" she asked cautiously, dusting off one of her few Italian phrases.

"What I said, that was in English. So your response should be in English, particularly given the state of your Italian."

Buffy frowned. "Oh. So-huh?"

He gestured to the frenetic club bustling around them. "A bacchanal. A religious festival circa 200 B.C., held in honor of the god Bacchus. Drink, dance, and sex."

Buffy narrowed her eyes as best she could. "Is this a come on?"

The little man scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself."

Buffy frowned. "Then what-"

"You're the most radiant being in here, Buffy. This could be your bacchanal."

"This is a come on."

"Absolutely not. Let me buy you another drink."

He signaled the bartender and she accepted the crimson concoction warily, watching him over the rim as she took the first sip.

"Have you ever considered becoming a god?" he asked.

"All the time," she answered breezily. She fished the maraschino cherry out of her flamingo-pink drink and placed it, sticky-sweet and sensually smooth, onto her tongue.

"I can make you a god," he whispered.

Buffy closed her eyes just as her teeth closed down on the cherry's supple flesh, releasing a gush of unnatural sweetness into her waiting mouth. She felt flushed, with red, with sweat, and when she opened her eyes to the dazzling lights of the club, for a moment she saw it: bodies thrown away to ecstasy, worshipping pleasure, heady with common drugs and one another. She blinked, awed, and looked back to the strange little man beside her. She was shocked to see him changed too, no longer rumpled and graying but red-cheeked, glistening, huge and laughing.

"Whoa," she murmured. She reeled, overtaken with vertigo, and closed her eyes to recover. When she opened them again, the world was dark and her companion was small and hoary in his oversized overcoat again.

"I could be a god?" she asked, feeling around clumsily for her jacket. "Why not?"

What the hell, it was that kind of night. What was the worst that could happen?

†

Buffy woke in a strange room with the sun shining. Right in her face. She moaned and rolled out of its path to try and go back to sleep; it was then that her attention moved from Oh my God, sun in my face, why? to Crap. Strange hotel room. I didn't really go home with that little troll man, did I? She jumped out of bed and briefly gave herself the once over. She didn't feel violated. Maybe she'd just slept over and he'd been a perfect gentleman . . . yeah, right, that happened all the time.

But she felt fine. Her head didn't even hurt. Shouldn't she be hung over? And she was dressed still. That boded well.

There was noise coming from next door, and the connecting door was open; Buffy walked through, feeling not really great about it but taking it as her best bet. She wished she had a weapon. Yeah, a weapon would be really nice right now. A weapon, and, you know, not being in these kind-of-slutty leather pants, halter, and wobbly platform heels, and - oh yeah - not being here to begin with! That would be awesome.

The room next door looked a lot like the one she'd woken up in - really nice, for a hotel room, with creamy walls, picture windows, and a big bed - only backwards. The little troll guy from the club was sitting on the bed watching Italian television.

"Hey," Buffy said from the doorway.

He looked over at her. "Look who's awake."

She felt immensely uncomfortable, and wrapped her arms around herself. Memory check. She'd left the club, and they'd gotten into his - fairly nice; color her shocked, although if he could make her a god, then he could probably afford German engineering - car, and then . . . nothing. Blank, blank, blank. Bad. Very, very bad.

"How long have I been asleep?" she asked, not moving from her spot in the double doorway.

"A little over a month," he said, and looked back at the television. "Do you watch this? La Fattoria? They put all these rich people on a farm and make them do chores and things-"

"Yeah, Green Acres is the place to be." No comprehension dawned on his face and she frowned. "You don't dip into pop culture much, do you?"

"Not really, no."

She stepped into the room far enough to take the remote off the nightstand; she switched off the television so that he wouldn't be distracted from the issue at hand.

"What do you mean, I've been asleep for a month? That's a coma."

"That's a matter of opinion."

"You're playing with me. Tell me what happened."

He smiled. "I fulfilled your potential."

Buffy took another few steps towards him. "If you don't cut the cryptic really soon, I'm going to fulfill your-well, I'm going to hurt you. A lot."

"I made you a god. Just like I said I would."

Buffy stopped her progression.

"I'm a god," she said dully, her brow rising.

"That's right."

She broke into an ironic smile. "Of course! You didn't bring me back to your place to do dirty things to me while I was passed out; you did it to make me a god. Well, honest mistake; my apologies."

He was still smiling his unshakable smile; Buffy wanted to beat it off his face.

"What is a god?"

Buffy started to answer before she realized it was a rhetorical question; she snapped her mouth shut and bore the soliloquy with her arms crossed over her chest.

"A being of power. A being that is loved, worshipped . . . and feared. Are you not all these things?"

"I'm not worshipped," she mumbled, but she kind of liked the sound of it. She was powerful. And loved. And feared. To tell the truth, she was kind of awesome . . .

"Aren't you?" the little man asked encouragingly, rising from the bed and sidling up to her. "Don't the young new Slayers hold you in a special, revered regard, the oldest, most accomplished Slayer in history? And what about your lovers? Certainly you've been worshipped there-"

Buffy blushed. "That's none of your business."

She thought immediately, before she could help herself, of Angel bowing his head over her body, pressing kisses to her throat and chest like leaving offerings at an altar, looking up at her from his knees. Her name a litany on his tongue, her hair curled around his fingers like rosary beads. I love you I love you I love you blessmeforIhavesinned . . .

She blushed some more. "It's really none of your business."

The little man nailed her with a knowing look. "I believe I've made my point, though."

"Yeah, okay," Buffy relented. "You sold the theory. But you didn't sell me. Prove to me that I'm a god and not a date rape victim."

His snake smile widened. "You prove it."

She blinked. "Huh?"

"You're a god; you have power now. Power of influence, power of will. Make something happen."

"Like . . . a wish?"

"You're not a genie. You're not a fairy. You're not Barbara Eden in that little belly-baring number-"

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "I thought you weren't into pop culture."

"That one I liked. But my point is, you can't just wish for something to happen, or bob your head, and expect the world to change. You have to will it."

Buffy wrinkled her brow. "I don't get it."

He sighed. "You want something to happen? You have to want it to happen. You have to urge it to happen with all your mental might."

"Okay. I get it, kind of."

The little man looked very relieved. "Good. Want to give it a go?"

"Sure. What should I do?"

He smiled and gestured broadly. "Whatever you want. You're a god."

Buffy thought for a long moment. Then she closed her eyes and concentrated with all her might; she envisioned what she wanted in her head, a perfect, Technicolor, surround-sound picture.

She opened her eyes.

"You wished for clothes?" the little man asked skeptically.

Buffy grinned. "It worked!"

"Of course it worked; you're a god and that wasn't exactly moving the earth. You willed yourself new clothes?"

Buffy skipped happily to the bathroom so she could see herself in the mirror. It had worked! Her rumpled, slightly-less-than-demure club clothes were gone; she had a new - designer, how kick was that? - outfit that fully covered her. Yay!

"I can't believe that worked!" she said happily, preening in the mirror, as the little man's reflection joined hers.

"I still can't believe that, with incredible new power, you wished for a sundress."

Buffy shrugged him off. "My other outfit was kind of slutty, plus, the sleeping in it for weeks on end thing? Ew." She studied her reflection in the mirror. "Look, my hair looks all fresh, too! No split ends or anything! This is awesome!"

He sighed. "Has anyone ever called you vexing before?"

She tossed her hair to watch it move in the reflection. "All the time. Why?"

"No reason. Do you believe me now?"

She turned to him. Oh yeah, he was convincing her that she was a god now . . .

"Oh yeah, I totally forgot about that! This is so cool." She paused, studied his diminutive personage. "Are you a god, too? Cuz, you know, you could use some moisturizing-"

He frowned. "It doesn't really seem that important after the first thousand years."

Buffy's eyes widened. "Oh my God. Am I immortal?"

"Comes with the territory."

"That's-I don't know if I want to be immortal! You should have told me this before."

"You didn't ask."

"I was drunk! You took advantage of me!"

He shot her a look. She frowned.

"Well, okay," she said. "I guess immortality isn't the biggest suck. Can I be killed?"

"Yeah. But it takes a lot."

"Like . . . a silver bullet a lot, or-"

"No. Like, the Slayer healing thing?"

"Yeah?"

"Child's play."

She grinned. "Cool."

"You're stronger now, too. I think you'll have fun with this."

"Me too. Especially with the wishing thing-"

"It's not wishing," he insisted. "It's willing. And there are some restrictions."

She frowned. "Restrictions? Like, I'll get a time out if I-"

"No, like things it's physically impossible to do, so don't blow your brain out trying."

"Oh."

"You can mostly do little stuff; new clothes, make someone fall in love with you, change the weather, that kind of thing."

Buffy grinned. "I can change the weather?"

"Don't do it too much or people will get . . . spooked. But yeah, you can."

"That is so cool."

"You can't do big stuff, like-oh, say, moving a continent or raising the dead. Definitely no dead raising."

She nodded. "Yeah, already learned that lesson. But thanks for the tip."

"Any time."

"Really any time? Are you, like, my life coach?"

He frowned. "No. In fact, princess, our time together's pretty much over; I'm about to get off."

He collected his coat and headed for the door.

"Now? But I just . . . I just started! I don't know how to-but . . . but what do I do?"

He leveled a significant look at her. "Whatever you want."

He opened the door and started into the hallway. Buffy followed him.

"What do I do if I need help?"

"Whistle," he said dully.

"No, really-"

He sighed. "Just-you know how you willed those clothes on?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well, will me to be there. Concentrate really hard on my name, and I'll hear you, and I'll come if I can."

Buffy's bottom lip plumped into a pout. "I don't know your name."

"You can call me Dione. All right? Now go out and make your mark on the world, kid. Have some fun."

He left her standing in the hallway, incredibly powerful and all alone, hugging herself like an abandoned child.

†

After Buffy got over the oh, poor me aspect of everything, she realized that she'd been gone for over a month and that everyone, including Dawn, probably thought she was dead. She panicked, then forced herself to calm down, then panicked again, then went to the hotel telephone and called Dawn's dorm room. No answer. Dawn's cell phone. No answer.

Panicked again, Buffy ran out of the hotel and into the street on her way to Dawn's dorm before she realized there was probably an easier way. She ducked into an alleyway and closed her eyes.

Dawn, she thought. I want to be where Dawn is.

She concentrated on this thought, rolled it over and over in her head like a rosary bead, until finally she saw it: Dawn's laughing face, the bright sun, the great stone faces of the buildings on the lush, Italian campus she didn't have to pay for because Dawn was bright enough for scholarships out the wazoo. And then, as soon as she saw it, there was a tug somewhere below her navel and all the breath went out of her, she couldn't breathe; she felt herself being pulled below the undertow, only too fast and too hard, the jerk of a shark, but for miles.

And then it was over, in a second. Buffy blinked and the sun was shining on her face, and the world was green with leaves dripping from twisted trees, and she turned from the trees and a wall of old, old stone to see her little sister's eyes widen like she was seeing a ghost.

"Buffy?" she asked, her voice thin. The girl, who looked more grown up every day, Buffy could see changes just in the weeks since she'd last seen her, stood up and left her friends, came toward her sister. "Buffy, is that you?"

Buffy took Dawn in her arms before she could help herself. "Yeah. Yeah, it's me."

Dawn pushed her away. Her eyes were angry; her jaw was tight.

"Where have you been? We thought you were-" Her voice caught, and Buffy's heart ached.

"I'm sorry," Buffy said, and she was. God, she was. "It's a really long, really weird story-and I'll tell you the whole thing, right now if you want. Is there someplace we can talk?"

†

Buffy wondered if she should be worried by how easily Dawn accepted her story. She'd hardly accepted it that easily.

"Well, obviously it would be that," Dawn said breezily, murdering a gelato. "Either you were dead, or you ran off to elope, or you got turned into a god."

Buffy eyed her slyly, sipping her aranciata. "I can't tell whether you're making fun of me."

"No, totally not."

"So you've heard of this happening before."

"No, never."

Buffy sighed. "I thought it was . . . you know, insane, and then I saw I could do stuff. And then that made it kind of more real."

Dawn perked, grinning like she was twelve instead of - oh, god, almost twenty . . . well, in a year and a half, but still, how terrifying was that?

"What kind of stuff?"

Buffy played with her straw. "God stuff."

Dawn rolled her eyes. "Well, duh, Buffy. Tell me about your cool new god stuff!"

Buffy felt a smile tugging at her lips in response to her sister's enthusiasm. "Like . . . powers."

"Yeah? What kind of powers?"

Buffy thought maybe an illustration would be better than a hypothetical at this juncture. Dawn's gelato suddenly regenerated itself.

The girl grinned.

"That is awesome. How did you do that?"

"I dunno. I just . . . I just kind of-you know, want it to happen, and it does."

"That is so cool. What else can you do?"

"Well, I found you, and then I was . . . there. Where you were, just like that." She frowned. "But . . . I don't really know. I don't know what I can do." Buffy studied her sister seriously. "You've really never heard of anything like this before?"

"Nope. But we tend to study demons, not deities."

The recently anointed deity sighed. "True." She ruminated unhappily for a moment, then decided to change tacks. "I'm so sorry for leaving you, Dawnie. I wouldn't have, but I was-"

"Incapacitated. You said. Forget about it; I can take care of-"

"Yourself," Buffy finished dryly. "I know. But I still worry."

"And I worry, too," Dawn said. "About you. And I knew you'd be really cranky at me in the event that you weren't dead, so Xander came up to stay with me. He's been worried about you too, by the way, and since he came all the way up here from Africa to worry about you, you'll probably have some 'splain' to do when we get home."

Buffy smiled.

†

Buffy hugged Xander before she even spoke. He looked shocked to see her, but he managed to look relieved before she started explaining. Then he looked shocked again.

"I see," he said lamely when she'd finished.

"About that," she said, grinning, holding his hands in hers. "There's been something . . . well, I have these god powers now, and there's something . . . well, there's something you really deserve, that I-well . . ."

She couldn't finish talking, so she just did it.

Xander looked a lot more shocked and was absolutely speechless as he removed his eye patch.

"Buffy," he whispered finally. "What happened to you?"

She laughed and hugged him.

†

The three of them cooked dinner in the apartment Buffy really didn't feel weeks gone from. It felt like home even with a yawning absence and a shuffle of family members, and she ate and listened to Dawn talk about boys and school and Xander talk about girls and Africa, and it was almost like nothing had changed. Except after dinner, while Xander did the dishes and Dawn cleaned up the table, she had to call Giles and Willow and a whole long list of other people that she loved and tell them that she wasn't dead.

"Are you going to go home soon?" Dawn asked Xander once Buffy had finished her oh-so-creepy task.

The three of them settled on the balcony, watching the sky get black, and Xander and Buffy had wine and Dawn complained about not being old enough, even though oh my God, that is so American, in Italy she was totally old enough to drink. Buffy wasn't feeling good anymore, even though everyone she'd talked to had been overjoyed to hear her voice.

"I'll probably head back in a couple days, yeah," Xander said, watching the night get inky, narrowing both eyes in an attempt to pick out stars as they appeared. He had twenty-twenty vision again. "Unless you ladies need me here for anything."

"I've really liked having you here, but I think we'll be fine," Dawn said. "Right, Buffy?"

Buffy was sitting on the cool deck of the balcony, staring at the red tide of her wine. It felt warm in her chest and cheeks, but she didn't feel warm anywhere else. She felt leaden, difficult, like an object.

"Yeah," she said, forcing her plastic mouth to form the gummy, human words. "We'll be fine, Xand. You should get back to your Slayer and your African women. We'll be fine."

It was Xander's ears, not his sharp eyes, that picked up that his friend might not be telling the truth, but he looked anyway.

"You get a hold of everyone today, Buff?" he asked in lieu of asking how she was.

"Yeah, I think so," she said numbly. "Willow, Giles, you're pretty much told, Faith, Ang-" She stopped, a chill rising through her body. "I forgot to call Angel."

She looked to Dawn. "Has he-I mean, he hasn't . . . he hasn't called or anything, right? And have you . . . would he have heard all the way over there, have the demons of Rome been getting wise and why have the two of you gotten all Tin Man-y?"

Xander looked into the dark sea of his wine like he was scrying for answers in there, and Dawn studied her fingernails intently. Immediately, Buffy felt warm and human again as an inferno of fear burned through her like a burst of backfire exploding through a building.

"What happened?" she asked quietly, coming to her feet.

She hadn't meant to ask quietly. She'd meant to demand, but her voice had been lost in the fire.

"There was-there was a . . . a thing . . . a couple weeks ago . . . right about the same time you disappeared. A battle," Dawn said quietly, her hands folding in her lap. Her head bowed, her long hair falling obscuring her face, she looked like a little girl again. "We thought-at first we thought that maybe you'd gone to LA to . . . to help him. But the timing was a little off; the thing in LA started a couple days before you disappeared, although it was . . . it was later that we started to hear about it; we didn't hear about it until you'd been gone a few days, but . . . but we were sure . . . we were sure you would have told us-" Dawn's big eyes implored her sister. "You would have, wouldn't you; you wouldn't have just run off?"

"Of course not, Dawnie," Buffy reassured her, forcing her voice to be calm and soothing, even though her insides were screaming for release, for an answer.

"A bunch of people died, and it took out, like, a whole city block," Xander filled in. "It was on the news, even here."

"It was Angel?"

Xander's face was grim. "Wolfram and Hart wasn't near the main site of the damage, but they got taken out, too, so we're all thinking yeah. And we tried to contact him, and we haven't been able to get anything. From him or any of his people. Faith went out there and combed the wreckage the first couple days after, but she didn't find anything-"

Buffy could hear Dawn saying something about how that didn't mean anything, about how he could still be alive, and then the girl's voice faded into a blur. She should be listening. She was the big sister, and maybe Dawn needed to be comforted, but she couldn't. There was nothing but the pain in her chest and the noise in her head, the insistent refrain: He's dead, he's dead, he'sdeadhe'sdeadHE'SDEAD

Buffy didn't realize she was falling until she felt the cool deck of the balcony again, until she felt the cool tiles slick under her palms and face, slick with her tears. Somewhere, she heard Dawn cry out, felt Xander's strong arms curling around her to bring her up from her knees, but it was all periphery.

He's dead.

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