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His Angel

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Summary: While in Rome, Buffy finds herself being followed. (A Da Vinci Code xover)

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Literature > Religious > da Vinci Code, TheCousinMaryFR18915,45166514,6704 Jun 0623 May 07No

Her Pale Shadow

Disclaimers: Don’t own BTVS, don’t own the DVC
A/N: In this chapter I’m having Silas quote the Bible and using that in the story. If you think there’s any chance that that would offend you please choose another story. Of course, given this is a Da Vinci Code crossover, you probably can take it ;-)

His Angel
By: Cousin Mary

Buffy woke up tied to a chair. It was one of those metal pipe numbers and with rope so it wouldn’t be too hard to break out, but most likely she’d bend the chair legs and take a face plant before getting loose. Which wouldn’t matter life or death wise, but the floor didn’t look particularly clean, and there was a puddle of something stagnant in the middle of the room. And she so didn’t want that puddle anywhere near her clothes or hair.

She frowned and looked around the rest of her cell. And it was a cell, no doubt about that. Standard baddie lair material. Windowless with only one door. It had concrete floor, stained unpainted drywall and the classic, single bare light-bulb swinging overhead on a chain. Really, now it was just a matter of waiting for the vampires and/or mobster demon types to come in and try to get whatever information they wanted out of her. Then she’d break loose, make with the slaying and get back home in time for Dawn’s check-in call.

As if on cue the heavy door creaked open and several figures filed in. Not vamps, not demons… monks. Monks? Which made her remember, “Silas?”

“Will be fine,” The first robe clad man spoke with a calm grandfatherly voice. His robes were of a bit finer material than Silas tended to be. His crucifix was silver and gold. He was tall, on the heavy side with gray hair and a droopy jowly kind of face that would have put her at ease if it weren’t for the billyclub he was carrying.

The other two monks were younger, both dark haired and olive skinned. They were opening glaring at her. One stood there with his hands hidden by the long arms of his robe, the other was more worrisome. He was carrying a first-aid kit. And she wasn’t hurt…yet.

Of course, since they’d tied her with rope and obviously thought they’d be enough to take her so she still had the advantage. All she had to do was figure out what to do with it. She couldn’t slay humans, but she could knock them unconscious and get the heck out of there.

“Look,” She began, “I don’t know who you people think I am, but-“

The first blow came as a surprise. She’d thought they’d at least ask her a few questions before making with the violence. But there it was, the hardened plastic landed across the side of the face and stars of white pain exploded in her eyes. She tasted a bit of blood in her mouth but she was pretty sure nothing but skin was broken. She swallowed and turned her eyes back to the group.

“Miss Summers,” The first monk wiped the club on his robe, idly shining her blood away, “We know who and what you are.”

Buffy didn’t answer.

“What we want from you is what you’re protecting,” The leader of the evil monks rested the tip of the club on Buffy’s shoulder, then let it trail across her throat to her other shoulder, “Something that rightfully belongs to us.”

“Hey, my Gucci bags are mine and mine alone. You-“

The second blow to the face was echoed a moment later across her back. The door opening again went unnoticed as the blows rained down. The sound of a primal scream, however, caught the entire room by surprise.

It was Silas. Naked, covered in blood, he blew into the room like a storm and tore into the monks without pause. He had the would-be medic’s neck snapped before anyone reacted. The second monk with the hidden hands pulled back his sleeves to reveal two wicked looking knives. Silas knocked the blades away and threw him into the wall, following him down with a series of blows that ended with a wet splintering sound, then stillness.

Everything had happened so fast Buffy hadn’t had time to think, much less stop it. She tore away the ropes, flipping the chair in the process. She landed on her hands and knees on the floor as Silas turned his attention to the last man. The grandfatherly monk had drawn away to the far wall. He was staring at albino with wide, terrified eyes.

“Silas!” Buffy pulled the last of the ropes away and scrambled to her feet, “Silas, you have to stop.”

The pale monk didn’t seem to hear her. He scooped up one of the fallen blades and sneered at older man. One step, then another, his arm came up with the knife.

“No!” Buffy lunged forward and pulled Silas away. They landed in a heap on the floor with the monk’s blood slicked skin slipping past Buffy’s hands. “You can’t! He’s human, you can’t kill humans!”

Silas froze, staring at her with little expression. There were gashes in his back that trickled hot blood down over his colorless chest and on to Buffy beneath him. His free hand came up to brush the rapidly darkening bruises on her cheek and chin. His eyes met hers, “They have no right to touch you.”

The older monk was creeping out of the room. Silas didn’t seem to notice and Buffy let him go. She wasn’t sure she could stop her pale shadow from killing him if he didn’t get out now. Silently she thought over what had happened. Her mind was reeling. Sure she’d been taken captive before but by humans was a new twist. And what she protected? What did she have that monks… Oh God. Dawn.

Her eyes widened, “I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to protect her.”

He was laying half on her, his weight pinning her to the ground. His hand was still up, hovering just off her face. The sound of his breathing changed.

“We have to go,” Buffy gently pushed him away. As she left the room he followed closely.

She tried not to think about what he’d done. Of the two bodies they’d left in her cell. Silas had been in a similar cell down the hall from her and they stopped for him to retrieve his blood soaked robes. It was only then she notice the raw scars around each of his thighs, wounds that would have taken much longer than one day to cause. She took another glance at his ravaged back and asked if he needed to go to the doctor. He just shook his head.


They made their way out of the half-abandoned building they’d been held in and took the side streets back to her flat. Of course it’d been ransacked. Buffy carefully tip-toed through the papers and broken bits of furniture that lay scattered across her carpet. They’d opened every drawer and cabinet. Slit open the cushions on the couch and even up-turned the fish tank. It was a mess, almost everything was ruined, but there was a bright side. The monks obviously didn’t know that the Key wasn’t something you could fit in a shoe box. They didn’t know what it was a her. Dawn was safe… more or less.

“Who were they?” Silas finally asked in his deep breathy way. He was limping after her as she went through what was left of her belongings. He hadn’t really looked at any of the items that were strewn everywhere, he either kept his head down or watched her. It wasn’t until she was sitting on her bedroom floor picking through which clothes had managed to stay non-ripped that he asked.

Buffy hesitated, she wasn’t sure what to do. Sure she’d been okay with letting her pale shadow follow her for the past months but to trust him with this? On the other hand, if she didn’t say it was Dawn… And he was a monk, maybe he’d actually know something about who she was facing, “I’m not sure. I – I’m supposed to be protecting something.”

As she paused, Silas slipped closer to her. His hand came up as if to touch her shoulder, but he let it drop. Then he was once again on his knees beside her, though with her sitting on the floor he was slightly above her. “You were trusted with a holy relic?”

Buffy bit back a smile. Oh Dawn would –so- love being called a relic, “Something like that.”

Silas nodded solemnly, “Do you know which Order challenges you so?”

“Well, it was the Order of Dagon that started it all,” Buffy frowned, “But I thought they were all supposed to be dead.”

Silas’s eyes widened and then shut tightly, “Tulerunt Philisthim arcam Dei et intulerunt eam in templum Dagon et statuerunt eam iuxta Dagon.”

“Hey, hey,” Buffy sighed, Silas was practically trembling. She reached out and touched his arm, “Silas? No Latin okay? I’m barely picking up Italian and I live here.”

The monk’s pale eyes cracked and his mouth dropped open a little. He knelt there staring at her with that same stillness that almost made her question whether he was real or not. Sometimes he looked like a marble statue that just happened to breathe occasionally.

“And the Philistines took the Ark of God, and brought it into the temple of Dagon, and set it by Dagon,” Silas recited, “First Book of Kings.”

“Huh?” Buffy shook her head, “Oh! No, not the Ark! So not Indiana Jones here. Something else. Something kinda worse.” She chewed her bottom lip, “It really needs to be kept out of the wrong hands.”

“It is said the Ark could destroy nations with plagues and fire,” Silas watched her, his eyes flashing red with the light from the setting sun slanting through the windows.

The slayer sighed. It was moments like these where she realized how very strange her position as ‘the Chosen One’ really was. Silas would never understand it, but were their beliefs really that different? When it came down to it, the forces of good were mostly the same everywhere. It was just the poetry that got things confused, “Maybe, uh, kinda more of the Key?”

After a moment Silas nodded, “Revelations, ‘And alive, and was dead. And behold I am living for ever and ever and have the keys of death and of hell.”

“Uh, yeah, that’d probably be it,” Buffy had to look away. Too many prophecies had screwed with her life and she hated that there might be even more about her little sister.

“And I saw an angel coming down from heaven, having the Key of the bottomless pit,” Silas went on, rocking back to his heels and swaying slightly. His expression was as unreadable as ever, but his breathing was quick and shallow and he almost fainted when Buffy grabbed his arm.

She climbed to her feet and pulled Silas up with her, “Come on, we should get going.”

“As you say,” He moved towards the door, head down.

“Wait,” Buffy shook her head, “We’ve got to clean your wounds and get you something to wear, you know, something not covered in blood.”

He stood there, a statue once again. Still and unfathomable.

“I think we’ve got some of Xander’s stuff somewhere,” She moved off to look, but not before directing him to the shower.

She managed to find an outfit that would probably work, but there was a reason Xander had left them. They were kinda on the tacky side, and really, when Andrew made comments about your clothes it was time to stuff them in a box and forget about them. Buffy had at least found a pair of half-way decent khakis and some boots that would work. Though the poor man got to choose from a powder blue ‘Built to Spill’ concert tee with fairy wings on the back, or a pink Mr. Bubble tee that was really, really pink.

“Silas?” She knocked on the bathroom door. The shower had shut of a few minutes ago but he hadn’t come out. She held the bandages and creams in one hand and knocked again, “I should really dress some of those wound. We wouldn’t want them to get infected.”

She heard a click as the door was unlocked, but it didn’t open. She tried the handle and a billow of steam poured out, smelling of soap and something else, something male. It’d been awhile and he smelled really good. Buffy closed her eyes and shook her head. Bad Buffy, no thinking like that. She opened the door wider and took a step in.

Silas stood nude in the middle of the small bathroom. He’d obviously dried off, but the towel lay crumpled by the sink. He made no move to cover himself, just bent his head in that respectful way that annoyed her so much.

She drew a steadying breath, determined not to react. “We’ll do the legs first, sit up on the sink.”

He hesitated a moment, then moved to perch on the cool porcelain.

The wounds on his thighs circled all around. They had a pretty pattern to them, if you could find anything pretty in what had clearly been some sort of torture. She wanted to ask him about it, but at the same time she was afraid to. She poured disinfectant on piece of gauze and was as gentle as possible as she worked. He didn’t react other than to let out one tiny whimper when she hit a patch that was probably starting to become infected. She shot him an apologetic glance before going over it again.

That he was nude didn’t go unnoticed. It had been a long time since she’d been this close to an unclothed man. And Silas was pale perfection. Muscles gleamed under freshly bathed alabaster skin. There was a light sprinkling of translucent hair dotting his chest, a little more on his legs and arms. She avoided looking, but there too.

She rolled the bandages over his thighs and he had to shift to allow it. He was reacting to her, she could see him from the corner of her eye. She could smell him past the steam and felt a little light headed.

“Signorina,” He breathed as if in pain.

Her eyes met his and she froze. The extra bandages fell to the floor, “Silas.”

And she kissed him. She couldn’t help it. He was just so close, so warm and perfect. He didn’t react at first. His hands clutching, white knuckled, the edge of the sink. But as he felt her tongue sweep against his lips he opened to her. His hands came up to pull her close. He was lost.

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FYI: The Latin and Quotes came from
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