Document--Angelus
by Scribe

Things had been decidedly, er, active in Sunnydale the last few days. A very ruffled group of Scoobies had gathered in the high school library. Even the usually neat Giles was looking more rumpled than usual. He dropped a large, dusty book on the desk and looked around at the assembled teenagers--and vampire. Angel was here, too. Giles didn't exactly like that. His every instinct as a Watcher cried out against it, in fact, but he HAD helped them out before, and they could use all the help they could get now.

"I have identified the demon," he announced.

"Are you SURE it's a demon?" asked Buffy. "I mean, maybe it's just some sort of naturally occurring phase."

"While I know that rampant hormones are a part of growing up, I find it hard to believe that they could account for the sudden mass make out session in assembly."

Oz and Xander exchanged looks. "Youthful high sprits?" said Xander.

"Teenage hijinx?" offered Oz.

"Perhaps, but that would hardly account for the orgy in the Teacher's Lounge, nor that appalling incident involving Coach McNamara and Miss Teesdale under the table in the cafeteria."

Cordelia shuddered. "Luckily I had my shades. I might have been struck blind."

"We can be fairly certain that it IS a particular demon, and I must say that of all the obscure beings we've had toddle through this benighted town, this is one of the most obscure. Those who have encountered it were usually reluctant to set down their experiences."

"Not at all hard to understand, considering that they would probably qualify as porn," drawled Xander, sprawling in a chair.

"And considering that there might not have been very many left with the energy to write it," said Willow.

"If you'll allow me?" The Scooby's quieted again. "Thank you." Giles opened the book and adjusted his glasses. "This is an Amoresor demon. A most appropriate name, but I doubt if that is what it calls itself. I think that the recorded name was probably bestowed by its victims."

Xander spoke, "Blank looks all around. This is significant?"

"It's Latin, Xander," said Angel. "It means 'desire eater'." The Scooby's stared at him. He shrugged. "Don't look at me like that. They shoved Latin down your throat back in my day."

"In any case, Angel is quite right. This is a creature that feeds off the energy generated by *cough* sexual congress. It's pheromones and the chemicals in the oils on its skin are powerful aphrodisiacs."

"I don't know what's so bad about this," Xander protested. "In fact, it could very well be considered a public service."

"This is serious, Xander," said Giles severely. "The ones who are affected become overwhelmed by lust, driven to satisfy their urges. In fact, they suffer both physically and emotionally if they do NOT indulge."

"Same song, second verse, where's the bad?"

"The bad, Mister Harris, is in the fact that the demon does not affect EVERYONE in its vicinity. Some remain unmoved. The ones who ARE affect are helpless to resist their compulsion to seek relief--with the nearest available source." There was silence, and Giles nodded. "We've been lucky so far, but it could very quickly turn into the bad sort of nasty. Luckily this book DOES contain a recipe for a potion that will open a portal into the demon's home world. All we have to do is locate the demon and use the potion. The Amoresor will be sucked in, and the portal will close. It's jolly unlikely that the creature will be able to find its way back, especially to this particular area."

"Well, great!" said Buffy. "It'll be nice to not have to get all sweaty fighting one of the oogies for once."

"Um, perhaps." Giles sounded a bit sheepish.

"What?"

"Well, we WILL have to lure the creature to us. That could be most easily accomplished by one or more couples, er, necking rather passionately."

Xander sighed heavily, putting his arm around Cordelia. "It's a dirty job, but someone has to do it." She smacked him on the back of the head.

"We can worry about that later," said Willow. "Giles, will you have everything you need to make the potion?"

"I should. I gave it a quick glance, and it doesn't seem to be anything too rare. I should have everything in my private box in the chemistry lab."

They started for the chemistry lab, the Scooby's strung out behind Giles as they walked the dimly lit, quiet corridors. Any school at night is a slightly creepy place--something about a place that is usually so bright and bustling being empty, silent, and dark. Sunnydale High was definitely no exception, and the Scooby's unconsciously stayed to the center of the hall, away from the brightly lit classrooms.

The figure that stepped out of the classroom to their right was so unexpected that it garnered several gasps, and the little group skidded to a halt. They relaxed quickly, though, as this person was pretty much the opposite of intimidating.

It was Sunnydale's new English teacher--Miss Scarlet Isabelle Mozelle. She was a pleasant looking, plump woman, she was probably somewhere in her mid-thirties, but she had the sort of round, smooth face that would not age readily. She regarded the little group with bright, lively blue eyes, smiling faintly. "Well, y'all are certainly having a late day of it."

Giles took a step toward her. The Scooby's noticed a sudden near courtliness in his manner. Xander muttered to Oz that he thought that the accent had suddenly become thicker. "Miss Mozelle, you shouldn't be here so late. Things... there's been a good bit of unrest lately."

She nodded. "And y'all are going to try to do something about it?" Shuffling of feet. No one was entirely sure HOW this woman, who had lived on the Hellmouth for less than a half-year, had managed to figure out that there was SOMETHING going on, and that a group of the students, and the school librarian, were fighting it. If they'd asked her directly, she would have told them--she paid attention, and worked on the Sherlockian theory that when all possible explanations had been ruled out, then the impossible was true.

"We're just going to do some extra curricular research," offered Buffy. Everyone stared at her. "What?"

"Does this have anything to do with why the pep squad molested the chess club?" asked Miss Mozelle.

"Yes," Giles admitted. "And I really wish that you hadn't stayed over, Miss Mozelle."

"I had to finish decorating my room for the Shakespeare unit, and will you please stop calling me that? I'm southern enough as it is. It isn't bad enough that my mother has to name me after the ultimate southern belle--when I hear myself called Miss Mozelle I feel like I should tuck a magnolia blossom behind my ear and chug a gallon of mint julep. Please, Rupert, call me Scribe. It's the most appropriate and least embarrassing nickname I've been given yet."

"Yes... Scribe." Giles lingered a fraction of a second over the name. Oz and Xander exchanged looks, eyebrows raised. "Look, we'll be a bit in the lab. Please, don't go wandering about the school, and wait for one of us to escort you to your car."

She cocked her head. "You think it's that hazardous?"

"I'd be much more comfortable."

"All right, then." She smiled, reached out, and tapped the middle button on Giles' shirt. "Far be it from me to make you uncomfortable." The Scooby's were treated to the very rare sight of Giles blushing.

Scribe turned quickly to go back into her room, and...

ran smack into something cool and solid, almost falling. Big, firm hands gripped her arms, supporting her, and she looked up into a handsome, pale face set with dark eyes. "Oh, Angel. I'm sorry. I didn't realize you were behind me."

He nodded. Vampires could be very good at fading into the background until they WANTED to be noticed. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine, aside from the normal embarrassment. I seem to be on about my tenth 'clumsy stage'." There was a pause. She could feel his thumbs stroking her arms, and fought back an urge to shiver. She knew what he was, just as she knew about the Hellmouth. Like many Americans she'd grown up with something of a fascination with vampires. Finding out that they actually existed had been disturbing, frightening, and a little bit intriguing. The others in the little demon-fighting group seemed to accept Angel, so she did, too. After all, he'd even saved members of the gang from his own vampiric family--Spike and Drusilla. She saw no reason not to trust him, till he proved untrustworthy. "I ought to get back to my work."

Angel blinked, as if suddenly snapping out of a distraction. "Yes. Just let me know when you're ready to go..."

"I'll walk her out," snapped Giles. "Come along--we're wasting time." He stalked off toward the lab, and the Scooby's followed in his wake. Angel brought up the rear again. Just before entering the lab he glanced back. She was still standing outside the classroom, watching the Scoobies. Their eyes met, and she looked down quickly, turning to go into the classroom.

Inside Giles had unlocked a cabinet and was setting ingredients out on one of the counters. "Lets see..." He ran a finger down the page of the book. "Ground mother of pearl, powdered unicorn horn, flame beetle carapice, sweet oil of oleander..." He muttered to himself as he set out the ingredients. Then his finger stopped moving, and he blinked.

The silence drew out. Finally Cordelia said, "What? Do we have to send someone to the nearest 7-Eleven for eye of newt or something?"

"No, I don't think this could be located there. Hopefully we'll be able to provide it ourselves."

Xander sat up straighter. "I'm not donating any organs."

"Please. It's something any of you could easily spare, and it's for a good cause."

"Well, what IS is, Giles?" said Buffy.

"Well, you see, the recipe calls for three drops of virgin blood."

Silence. Finally Xander said, "Is that, like, blood from a virgin, or like a virgin Bloody Mary, no alcohol?"

"It is blood from someone who has never had intercourse. Someone. that means that it can be from a male or a female, but they," he read, "must never have known the carnal embrace of a man."

"Well, that lets YOU out, Harris," said Oz.

"Surely this won't be too hard to obtain." Giles looked toward the person who would seem like the most logical choice. "Willow?" Her eyes darted around. Oz slipped an arm around her waist and rested his chin on her shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "Right. Cordelia?" Xander and Cordelia exchanged looks. "Yes, well. Buffy?"

Buffy bit her lip. "Does it count when...?"

"Yes, it does." Giles looked at Angel. Angel smiled. Giles sighed. "Bloody hell. Couldn't you lot have waited for your senior prom, like most American teens? I don't suppose there are any younger brothers or sisters or cousins I'm unaware of?"

"We could try the mall," suggested Buffy.

"What are we going to do?" asked Cordelia snidely, "Tell them that it's some sort of advanced placement test?"

As the group began argueing, Angel quietly slipped out the door and made his way back down the hallway.

~~~~*****~~~~~*****~~~~~*****~~~~~*****~~~~~*****~~~~~*****~~~~~*****~~~~~*****~~~~

Scribe stretched her arms up over her head, reaching for the strip of corkboard that ran above the blackboard. *Too damn HIGH above the blackboard. Did they design this classroom for teachers who were basketball coaches in their spare time?* She was already standing on the second step of a three step stepladder, and she was still several inches short of reaching her goal.

*Drat. They say not to stand on the top step, but if I don't I'll have to try to push the desk over here, then stand on it. This will only take a second.* She made sure that the thumbtack she intended to use to fasten the drawing of the Globe Theater to the cork was firmly in place, through the paper. She held it in her left hand, then braced her right hand against the chalk board and carefully eased up onto the top step.

She paused in a half-crouch, making sure that she had her balance, then slowly stood up, dragging her hand along the wall for support. So far, so good. Now she stretched her left hand up to seat the tack. Her thumb slipped. The tack slipped out of the paper and dropped, smacking her on the forehead. It didn't prick her, but it startled her enough to make her flinch, and that was all it took.

Her footing slipped, and suddenly she was pitching backward. There was a split second for her to hope that she wouldn't hit anything on the way down, and to pray that she didn't get anything more serious than possibly a broken arm or leg. But these tile floors were awful hard. Even though she was only about three feet off the floor, there was a good chance she'd break her neck when she landed.

She didn't land. Not on the floor, anyway. Instead of thudding to an unyeilding, cold surface, she was caught, strong arms going under her shoulders and thighs. She was caught and drawn close against a broad, cool body, one that staggered only a little at her impact.

Scribe found herself clutching frantically at the slick leather of her rescuer's jacket, gasping with the adrenaline that she suddenly didn't need. She wasn't surprised when she looked up at Angel. He said calmly, "Those things aren't designed to be used like that."

"I know. Talk about learning an object lesson. Thank you." He nodded. She waited a moment. "I'm lucky you just happened to come back by."

"Mm. It's not exactly a coincidence." He set her down, but took hold of her arm. "Miss Mozelle, can I ask you a favor? It's for the Scoobies."

"Of course. Is there something I can do to help?"

"There might be. I think there is, but I'm not entirely sure. Would you...?" He paused.

"Would I what?"

"Just..." He was reaching toward her. She stiffened slightly as his other hand settled on her shoulder. "Just stay still for a moment, and don't be afraid." She stood very still as he leaned toward her, closing his eyes. He took a deep breath. His face tightened in concentration, and he leaned closer still. He turned his head from side to side, sniffing delicately. Then he bent, bringing his face to within an inch of her bare throat. She froze, suddenly remembering what he was, and just how vulnerable she was at that moment.

She didn't see Angel open his eyes, didn't see the brief flicker of feral yellow that shot through the dark depth. When he stood up, he looked normal. "Come with me, please."

Now thoroughly confused, she allowed herself to be led back to the lab. She could hear the confusing gabble of several voices, not an unusual thing when the Scoobies were together, she reflected.

Buffy was saying, "Well, I think I still qualify, technically, so we can go ahead and try it with my blood, and..."

"We can't, Buffy!" said Giles sternly. "The unicorn horn would react very violently to less than pure blood, and..."

"That is SO archaic!" she protested.

"We are NOT debating the double standard and politically correct attitudes toward sexual activity, Buffy, we are trying to concoct a potion that was developed sometime before the middle ages, so the term archaic is not totally inappropriate, and what are you doing here?" All eyes turned toward Scribe and Angel. Giles stammered. "I... I don't mean that you're not welcome, that I don't want... that we don't want you here, but..."

"Angel seems to think that I can be of some help to y'all." More looks exchanged between the teenagers. Xander coughed. Oz poked him severly. "What?"

"Angel," Giles' voice was frosty. "This is in extremely bad taste, not to mention being almost criminally frivolous."

"I'm not trying to play some sort of joke. You people need a virgin--she qualifies."

Complete and utter silence. A pink tide slowly crept up the English teacher's face. Finally she said weakly, "Well, don't worry. The last I heard it wasn't contagious."

"Good heavens. You are...? I mean, you haven't...? At all?"

Scribe regarded the librarian with something approaching amusement. "I am, and I haven't, at all."

"Well, you've kinda..." Buffy waved her hands, "Um, you know..."

"I don't, but I'll spare you trying to put it into words that won't make us all want to sink through the floor. If it can by any definition be called having sex with another person, I haven't. Clear? Now, what the hell is this all about?" Pause. "Pardon my French."

Giles cleared his throat. "The potion that we need to settle this disturbance requires three drops of virgin blood, and it must be stirred by the hand of one who has never known the carnal embrace of man."

She nodded. "Well, I qualify, all right." She looked around at the teenagers. They looked everywhere but at her. "I decline further comment. This doesn't have to, like, be extracted from some internal organ?"

"Oh, no! It's just three ordinary drops of blood."

"Fine. How do we go about this?"

"Well, we'll need something sharp." Giles glanced around.

"There are disecting kits over there," Xander pointed. "They have little scalpels and picks in them."

"They've also been used on pickled fetal pigs, Xander. Ew," said Cordelia.

"I think I may have the solution." Oz turned up the hem of his shirt and unfastened a large safety pin. "Be prepared. Plus it can be used as an emergency guitar pic." He handed it over to Giles.

"Perfect. I'll just prepare the other ingredients." Giles quickly and efficiently measured the dry ingredients into a mortar, poured in the oil a drop at a time, and stirred it vigorously with the pestle. A viscious, nasty smelling brown goo resulted. "Oh, dear. That doesn't look right, but I've followed the directions carefully. Perhaps the final ingredient will turn the trick."

He opened the safety pin, lit a bunsen burner, and ran the point through the flames. "Scribe, if you would?" She stepped forward. Giles took her wrist, and she stuck out her pointer finger. "Look, I'm sorry about this."

"I used to do counted cross stitch, Rupert. It won't be any worse than what I've done to myself."

The entire gang tensed up, and Giles made a short, sharp jab. Scribe drew in a hissing breath, wincing. Giles stroked her finger, from base to tip. A tiny red speck swelled there, growing till it was a fat, shimmering glode of crimson. She held her finger over the little bowl, and turned it over. The drop elongated slightly, then pulled free and plopped into the goo. She squeezed her finger again and another plump drop fell. It had gotten very quiet in the room.

Cordelia whispered, "Maybe she was... exaggerating a little?"

Scribe gave her a scornfull look, and squeezed her finger again. Another drop fell into the mortar. There was a small flash, and a tinkling sound. The scent of violets filled the room, and the mixture in the bowl shimmered, then turned a pastel blue. She gave it a quick stir, and it faded to pure white.

"Ah. Yes. I do believe that's done it. One of you fetch me a container. A glass one. I'll need to use this a bit like a Molotov cocktail, I think. Smash it as close to the demon's feet as possible."

Willow and Buffy started searching through the cabinet for a suitable container while Cordelia began to help Giles replace the ingredients. Xander and Oz were whispering together about the heretofore believed mythical beings--post adolescent virgins.

Scribe had stepped back a bit from the counter, and found herself standing next to Angel. "Well, that was unusual. I never thought that my maiden state could actually be benificial." He cocked an eyebrow at her, and she shrugged. "It doesn't even guarantee a good reputation these days."

"You're still bleeding," he pointed out. She looked at her finger. The sting had stopped. Now it only ached a little. Sure enough, there was another bead of blood gathering on her fingertip. "I could get you a tissue."

"No need. Nature provided first aid for stuck fingers." She lifted her finger, opening her mouth, prepared to suck the aching digit. But she stopped suddenly. Angel had tensed. She noticed that he was watching her closely. Of course. He survived on cow and pig blood these days, declining to feed off humans now that he had his soul. It nourished him, but Scribe supposed that it must me like living on a diet of cold, unseasoned oarmeal--it might keep you alive, but it wasn't healthy, and it wasn't pleasant. She extended her hand toward him, offering it silently.

Angel stared at the proferred hand. He stared on the quiivering, bubble of blood, then looked back at the face of the woman who was offering it to him. There was no teasing there. There was only friendliness, gentleness. *She knows what it's like,* he thought, surprised. *She realizes, at least a little, how hard it is for me to abstain. She's offering it because she believes it will be good for me, help me.*

He looked down at the blood droplet again. His nostrils flared, and again he drank in the scent of the woman--all the subtle aromas that were the things she used, the things she wore, or ate, or drank, and the infinitely richer, finer scents that were just her alone. Weaving through it all was the scent that he'd recognized in the hallway, the one that had drawn him back to her. The scent of physical purity. It was rumored that a virgin's blood was the sweetest. Angel believed that, though the knowledge was like a dark weight on his soul. Angelus would attest to it with relish.

Slowly Angel took hold of her wrist, lifting her hand. He bent his head, shutting his eyes and opening his mouth. Scribe shuddered slightly as she felt the cool, velvet touch of Angel's tongue. He lapped her fingertip, then paused, eyes closed, lips resting against her skin. After a moment his lips parted and he slipped her fingertip into his mouth, sucking softly.

Scribe stared, wide-eyed, unsure. "Angel?" she said softly. His grip tightened a fraction on her wrist, but that was his only response. Her voice rose a little. "Angel?"

Giles turned around. The metal jar he'd been holding clattered to the floor. "ANGEL!"

Angel's head jerked back. He looked up into the startled face of the woman beside him and quickly let go of her wrist stepping away. "It's all right, Giles."

"It goddamn well ISN'T all right!" He rounded on Scribe, his fear and worry making him angry. "Damn it, woman, don't you know what you're doing?" She blinked at him, and the anger drained away as swiftly as it had come. "No, of course you don't. You don't know how dangerous that little game is. But you..." he glared at Angel. "You have no excuse." Angel nodded, not trying to deny it. He knew. He had just allowed himself a moment of weakness. That was dangerous, for everyone.

Giles stepped close to Angel. His voice was very low. "You won't touch her again. Do you understand? You won't go near her, not unless all of us are here. And even then..."

"I understand."

Giles stared at him hard. Finally he nodded. "Come along, Scribe. I'll walk you to your car."

"Oh. Yes. I'll just need to get my purse from my room."

"I'll take you there."

"Yes." She glanced around at the Scoobies. "Good night. You all take care. Don't take any chances with this... whatever it is."

There was a chorus of asssurances. Perhaps Scribe's eyes flicked one more time toward the tall, dark vampire, but she gave no special farewells as Giles escorted her out of the room.

"Whoa, Giles suddenly turned into Mr. Protective," marvelled Xander.

"Definitely a bit more than the usual Mr. Manners he usually is around the rest of the female staff," Oz agreed.

Xander lifted his chin toward Angel, who was staring at the empty doorway. "Hey, Deadboy. What's virgin blood taste like?

Angel didn't turn, didn't look around. "Sweet," he murmured. "Very, very sweet."