"Damage"
Author: Indie
Email: indiefic@hotmail.com
MAY 1993
They almost made it to the huge staircase before they were spotted. Jenny tried to dart for it, but quickly saw the futility and skittered to a halt, her heels scraping on the highly polished wood floor. She pulled Buffy protectively behind her, shielding the little girl with her body. The young man stood in front of them, arms crossed over his chest in a position designed to make him appear more menacing. Jenny refused to be intimidated. Squaring her shoulders, she glared defiantly at her brother's handler.
"Angel is not taking visitors this morning," he said sharply. He was English, Buffy noted as she tried to peek around her stepmother. The man's voice had the same crisp edges as her father's though he was markedly younger.
"Wesley, get out of my way. I won't leave without seeing him," Jenny seethed. As always happened in times of stress, all of Jenny's fears and heartache morphed into a brittle rage. Angel was damn lucky he wasn't dead - yet. His actions were reprehensible, stupid and childish, and he might well be forced to pay for them with his life. It was all such a waste. All of that youth and potential squandered on vengeance and avarice. And if Angel didn't die on his own, Jenny would be tempted to throttle him with her bare hands for the mental anguish she endured on his behalf. Angel jeopardized her entire world with his actions. Not only his life hung in the balance, but hers as well. On the best of days, Jenny's husband Rupert Giles had a hard time ignoring her past. For Angel to throw their family secrets in Rupert's face like this was unforgivable. Not to mention the fact that Jenny was not only ignoring Rupert's wish that she stay away from Angel, but also bringing his eight-year-old daughter with her as an accomplice.
"I'm sorry, but you're going to have to leave or I will call the police," Wesley said firmly.
Jenny's hand clamped tighter around Buffy's wrist and the youngster knew that something was going to happen. Buffy felt power gathering. It seemed to tingle along her skin, squeezing her with invisible hands. There was pressure in her ears; the very atmosphere around them was clawing to get under their skin. Buffy's wrist, where it was clasped in Jenny's hand, felt like it was being pricked by a thousand tiny pins.
"I will see him," Jenny said, her voice weighty and thick with magicks.
Wesley stared at them blankly and then nodded like an automaton. Buffy instinctively knew that her stepmother's use of dark magicks would anger her father. She also knew that she would never betray Jenny's confidence. Buffy trotted behind as her stepmother quickly ascended the stairs. She often heard Jenny and her father argue about Angel and she was curious to see him for herself.
The heavy double doors were closed as they approached. Jenny muttered something under her breath, twisting mightily on the doorknob. There was a metallic grinding as the lock gave way. Taking a deep breath, Jenny pushed the doors open and walked inside.
In an involuntary reaction, Buffy pressed her hand over her nose and mouth. The action was useless in blocking out the stench of death that assailed her as they entered. Like the pressure she felt in her ears moments before, this smell was not rooted in the tangible realm. It was metaphysical and wrapped around her malignantly.
Jenny stood just inside the suite of rooms, adjusting her eyes to the near darkness as she steeled her resolve. Reluctantly she inched toward the massive bed that was the centerpiece to the cavernous main room. Jenny's hand was clasped firmly around Buffy's much smaller one, preventing the girl from hanging back in the plentiful shadows. Angel's bedroom was filled with an oppressive darkness. Heavy black drapes blocked the early morning sunlight from piercing the weighty gloom. The only illumination came from a scattering of candles and old oil lamps.
A sound drew Buffy's attention to the bed. It was enormous, the ebony glistening in the flickering light. The posters were adorned with intricate carvings of demons and assorted underworld creatures. The dancing light seemed to give them unearthly life. The bed was mounded high with dark covers, looking like a sea of blood beneath the vile creatures. Buffy was staring at the carvings so intently that she jumped when there was movement beneath the bedding. Several abortive movements later and the thing in the bed turned to face them.
Jenny sucked in a sharp breath and cursed fluidly in Gaelic, involuntarily bringing her free hand up to cross herself. The pale husk in the sea of black covers laughed, a violent, dry scrape of sound. It was meant to unnerve and scare. It achieved its goal with Jenny, who jumped. But Buffy was not frightened. The laughter tore at her heart, echoing inside of her mind. Tears welled in her eyes at the staggering depth of pain in the broken sound.
The creature was horrifying -- sunken, coal black eyes and unearthly white skin stretched over the skull like weathered rawhide. Jenny's hand shook as she crept closer to the bed. "What did you do?" she asked in an agonized whisper.
"What I had to," the creature rasped.
"You didn't have to," Jenny replied severely, her voice thick with tears.
"He murdered our mother," it replied. "Would you have preferred I let him live?"
Once again, Jenny cursed sharply in her native tongue. "Do not lie to me," she countered angrily in English. "Your vengeance was your own. You cared nothing for the bitch that bore us. You did this for power. You were unwilling to wait, to learn, to follow the rules. You stole Vocah's powers and now they're killing you, eating whatever is left of your humanity."
"Will you mourn me, Janna?" the creature asked in an empty, mocking tone.
"You bastard," Jenny spat. "Your own hunger for power will kill you, but you're not the only victim. I love you, you stupid son of a bitch." She made a choking sound as she fought to retain composure. "I know you think you're a man, Angel, but you're barely more than a boy. You deserve more of a life than this – this … freak show you've created out of your existence."
Jenny fell on her knees next to the bed. She released Buffy, burying her face in her hands as she wept. Buffy watched Jenny, but slowly her eyes wandered back to the creature in the bed. It watched Jenny, with a face expressionless as a wax figurine. But Buffy could sense something within it. Despair? Regret? It did not wish to cause Jenny pain; somehow Buffy knew that. But it would never be able to articulate that sentiment. The creature did not have words that encompassed emotions like forgiveness or love. It was helpless, caught up in a tangled web of pain, both physical and emotional.
Slowly Buffy approached the bed, her head cocked to the side. As she drew closer, she realized it was not a creature but human. Or at least it used to be human. He was a young man, not yet out of his teens but no longer a boy. Deathly thin, pale, gaunt, he was barely recognizable as human – and yet he was ... somewhat.
He was not entirely human but neither was he entirely Other. Buffy's expression softened at the realization. As long as she could remember, she thought she was the only One. But at that moment she was not alone. Buffy had always known she was different from the rest of humanity, although she could not pinpoint why. She had always felt isolated, set apart. But this wretched creature inhabited the same twilight world to which she belonged. Without fear, she reached out and touched his forehead. It wasn't cold as she had anticipated, but warm.
As she touched him, he shuddered uncontrollably. She felt something roll through him and sensed his pain ease. In the darkest recesses of his dying soul, his icy spirit responded to the warmth of hers. It was as if a tiny bit of kindling sparked to life at her touch. Their eyes met and he watched her mutely, his eyes full of wonder. Her fingers trailed lightly over his deathly pale face as he drew in a deep, ragged breath. Life seemed to flow back into him with that breath. The coldness in his eyes receded, replaced by more suffering than a single human soul was capable of bearing.
Buffy slowly grinned at him, pressing the pads of her fingers to the center of his forehead. She then pressed the fingers of her free hand over her own heart. "We are the same," she whispered with a smile.
He nodded, his face reflecting his simultaneous confusion and understanding. Slowly, they both became aware of Jenny's gaze. In tandem, they turned their eyes to her. Jenny's expression was one of confusion and wonder and more than a little fear. She wrapped her arms around Buffy's waist and drew the girl away from Angel into her own lap. Buffy went willingly, but her gaze stayed on Angel's face.
Jenny rocked her, trying to soothe herself more than Buffy. Jenny didn't understand what had happened, but she knew something weighty had lifted. The press of Death had receded.
"We need to go," she whispered, rising to her feet and pulling Buffy with her.
Outside on the front steps to Angel's enormous mansion in the harsh glare of the mid-morning sun, Jenny dropped to a crouch in front of her stepdaughter. "Are you all right?" she asked seriously, tucking a lock of Buffy's hair behind her ear.
"I'm fine," Buffy answered honestly, confused about Jenny's concern.
"You're certain, Buffy? Angel didn't ... hurt you when you touched him?" Her voice was taut, like she was barely managing to keep hysteria at bay. If anything happened to Buffy, Rupert would never forgive her. His relationship with Joyce was amicable, but if something happened to Buffy odds were high that Rupert could lose joint custody of his daughter.
Buffy didn't know how to put into words what had happened. Something transpired, but it hadn't been bad. "Angel didn't hurt me," she answered honestly.
Jenny sighed and her posture relaxed with relief.
"Why are you so worried?" Buffy asked with the innocence only children possess. "I thought you loved your brother."
Jenny frowned. "It's complicated sweetheart," she said. "I do love my brother, but he ... Angel has a lot of problems. He doesn't mean to be that way, but he has hurt a lot of people."
"Oh," Buffy said, not really understanding. "Well, he didn't hurt me."
Lips pursed together, Jenny studied her stepdaughter. "Buffy when you spoke to him ..." she trailed off.
"Yeah?" Buffy prompted.
"Sweetheart," Jenny said frowning, "you didn't speak to him in any language I've ever heard."
May 2003
"Given that you're the Slayer, I'm not worried about your safety. But it does make me wonder why you're out here," Angel said, his amusement clear. "I would have laid odds that wild dogs couldn't drag you away from a party."
Buffy spun around and felt her cheeks flame in embarrassment. She automatically curled in on herself, hunching her shoulders forward in a futile effort to disguise her ridiculously skimpy outfit. She didn't want Angel to think she had donned it for his benefit.
Of course, hunching completely destroyed the dress's lines. It had taken her two weeks to find the perfect dress for this party. It was well worth her time, too. The knee length black Donna Karen looked absolutely stunning with her Jimmy Choo stilettos and the gorgeous diamond Tiffany earrings. That bitch, Sunday, almost choked on her hors d'oeuvres when Buffy made her entrance. Sunday had shown up in some Todd Oldham knock-off that looked absolutely ridiculous in comparison to Buffy's elegant sophistication. Victory rarely tasted quite so sweet.
Emboldened by the memory of Sunday's hideous defeat, Buffy met Angel's gaze. The ever present wealth of bracelets she wore tinkled musically as she straightened her spine, her arms stiff at her sides. She hated the fact that he could make her feel like she was doing something scandalous when she wasn't. She was perfectly innocent. But still, she hadn't been aware that she was being followed. Of course, that was probably due to the fact that he was skulking around spying. As usual.
"What do you want?" she snapped in English, refusing to answer him in ShadowTongue. It annoyed her to no end that he insisted on reminding her of their bond.
Angel laughed in genuine delight, regarding her with no more distress than he would afford a hissing kitten. "I'm concerned about your safety," he mocked smoothly, switching to English to humor her and her prissy sensibilities. "I know how much of a tightass your father is." He smiled and it was more than a little wicked. "Giles is a powerful man. I'm not in a rush to piss him off. Yet." He winked and added, "And besides, we're family. We have to look out for each other."
With an impudent snort, Buffy turned and walked away, heading deeper into the sunken garden that ran along the back of Angel's enormous mansion. Just like everything else in Angel's world, the mansion was larger than life. With Angel's wealth, he could have afforded to have a home built anywhere, to any specifications. But a new home would have lacked the punch Angel desired. He liked to make a statement without having to open his mouth. Rather than commission his own construction, Angel paid an exorbitant amount for an existing property. Angel's mansion was built in 1924 by Frank Lloyd Wright and it was one of the most recognizable private residences in California, eclipsed only by William Randolph Hearst's San Simeon or possibly the Winchester Mystery House.
Buffy pressed her palm to one of the textured concrete blocks that composed the wall. It was hard to believe that Wright could make a material as cold and functional as concrete seem so warm and artistic. Angel and his house seemed to be a perfect fit at times.
"You're my stepmother's half-brother," Buffy stated blandly, without looking at him. "We aren't anything."
"Besides, the blonde," she said, turning and facing him as she pointed to her head, "is from a bottle. I'm not stupid enough to think anyone is safe with you."
Angel smiled and let her put several strides between them before he followed at a much more languid pace. Buffy glared at him over her shoulder. "Go away!" she huffed, acting every inch the princess.
"If you refuse to acknowledge our relationship," he said, "then I'm forced to exercise my rights as host. I can't risk you to wandering around alone."
She stopped walking and gaped at him incredulously. "Antique much?" she snarked. "Get with the program. It isn't the era of hoop skirts and fainting rooms. This is L.A. It's 2003. I don't need you to watch me you ... you ... perv." Her own eyes widened in shock at her words and she automatically clamped her hand over her mouth. Engaging Angel in a conversation about perversions was the last thing she wanted to do, regardless of how unintentional.
Angel cocked a speculative eyebrow as his lips curled into a crooked smile. "Perv?" he parroted with ill-disguised delight.
Buffy's blush increased and try as she might, she could not meet his gaze. But she did remove her hand from her mouth -- she didn't want to smear her lipstick. "You heard me," she replied with false bravado.
Angel nodded and slowly stalked towards her, his gait more akin to a jungle cat than the successful businessman charade he often employed. There was so much more to Angel than met the eye. Of course, Buffy had known this since she was eight. It was one of the reasons she now went out of her way to avoid him. Buffy was accustomed to getting her way. She handled men with ease, but she was too smart to try her luck with Angel. She instinctively knew that tangling with him would be a mistake. A lot of men pretended to be dangerous to impress people. Liam Roarke was the genuine artifact and though she always called him Angel, Buffy knew he was nothing of the sort. There was nothing angelic about Jenny's brother. He wasn't to be treated lightly or underestimated. But she also knew that to show weakness was to invite his notorious cruelty. Raising her head, she stuck her chin out defiantly and stared into the blackness of his irises.
Angel looked Buffy up and down, circling her at a little more than arm's length. It was a decidedly predatory move on his part, but the willful little blonde didn't cower as so many others had when in the same position. He knew she refused to give him the pleasure of tracking him with her gaze. Such a gesture would have been to admit fear. Buffy had a healthy respect for the danger Angel presented, but she was not afraid he would do her bodily harm.
Angel took great pleasure in Buffy's confidence in her safety. There were few people in the world who dared to turn their backs on him. The knowledge that Buffy, despite her protestations to the contrary, felt safe in his presence, meant more to him than he would ever admit. Of course, her behavior also illustrated a point. She could pretend to be the delicate flower all she wanted, but they both knew she was made of sterner stuff – whether she and her father would admit it or not.
"I assume you've heard the nasty rumors about my personal life," he said quietly.
"That one of your girlfriends is a porn star?" Buffy huffed, not bothering to camouflage her disgust. "It's common knowledge that you're a pig."
Angel watched her with shuttered eyes, and once again Buffy found herself forced to look away. "And what about you, child?" he asked in a biting tone. "Whom are you meeting out here in the dark?"
Buffy flinched involuntarily at his words. His barb stung, just as he had known it would. It was his favorite line of attack with her – to remind her that she was an untried girl while he was an adult. Why skitter around or pull punches when he could bring an adversary to their knees with one blow? He did not bluff.
"You are looking particularly scrumptious this evening," he said, his tone lighter. "I assume it must be a boy."
Buffy turned slowly and met his gaze. His face was unreadable, but as was often the case between them, she could sense his emotions and knew he was reining back. He knew he insulted her with his previous, stinging comment. The offhanded praise was as close to an apology as he could venture.
But Buffy didn't want his apology. She didn't want anything at all from him. She burned with humiliation at the certainty that Angel the snoop already knew about her trials with Ford. He was always digging in everybody's business. She didn't need anymore reminders about her personal life disasters, especially not from him. "Save the compliments for one of your trashy whores," she snapped. "I wasn't born yesterday."
Angel took no offense at her vitriol and his expression turned oddly speculative. "I know you weren't born yesterday," he said. "And you are definitely not naïve." He paused, smiling wolfishly, "but maybe you're not as grown up as you pretend to be, Buff?"
Lips pressed together, Buffy remained silent.
"Maybe one day I'll find out for myself," he said.
Buffy ignored his innuendo. She wasn't about to allow him to entertain himself at her expense. Despite recent regrettable events, Buffy was not accustomed to social ineptitude. She might not be the kind of sleazy woman whom Angel found attractive, but she most certainly was not someone to be discounted. Buffy Summers was accustomed to being queen of all she surveyed, be it her high school or any other social forum. She was not about to let the drama with Ford lull Angel into thinking that she would put up with his crap.
With a growl, she crossed her arms over her chest. It was much easier to fight with him than to flirt. If Angel wanted women, there were insipid throngs inside waiting to throw themselves at his feet. Buffy didn't want his favors and she sure as hell had more self-respect than to get involved with a jerk like him. Angel was an unpleasant, unavoidable fact of her life. They were forced to inhabit the same social circles and she did her best to endure him for Jenny's sake, but nothing more than that. "Leave," she commanded, her expression hard.
Giving her a cold, appraising glance from head to toe, he stepped forward, invading her personal space. His movement caused her to crane her head back sharply to meet his gaze. She saw a muscle in his jaw twitch as he ground his teeth together. "Careful, Slayer," he said, mocking the title as usual, "it isn't wise to upset me."
Buffy forced herself not to shiver at the cold menace of his words. She had pushed him too far. She stepped over the line of fearlessness and treaded into the territory of insult. It was a stupid mistake. Slowly, she let her eyes drop to the ground.
He accepted her mute acquiescence and most of the tension drained from his body. He was still standing very close. The arms crossed defiantly over her chest brushed against the front of his black silk shirt. Ever so slowly, he lifted his hand and ran a knuckle lightly over her exposed collarbone. Buffy's head jerked up and she took an involuntary step back. Her gaze searched his face, bewildered.
Expression softening, Angel stepped forward again. He opened his mouth to speak, but fell silent. There was an odd mixture of longing and anger on his features.
"Whom are you meeting, Buffy?" he asked again, his voice hard. "Some stupid, frail, little boy who can't possibly ..." his vision raked over her form, making her feel naked, "appreciate all you have to offer?"
This time, it was her jaw muscles that flexed. "It's none of your business," she said, her voice shaky with anger.
Angel lifted his hand and ever so gently trailed his fingertips along her jaw. "He won't last, Buffy," he said. "They never do. You can't pretend to be one of those insipid creatures they love. You're the Slayer."
Buffy twisted backwards, stumbling a few steps before she regained her balance. "Fuck you!" she spat, her chest heaving as she stared at him with unbridled rage. He loved to torment her about being a Slayer. It seemed to amuse him to infer that she was cursed with the same freaksome traits as he.
As if confronting a cornered, dangerous animal, Angel watched her closely. "Hate the game, Buffy, not the player. I didn't make the rules. If you would just accept what you are and – "
"I am done talking," Buffy said in a growling voice. "Stop toying with me and go play with your porn star."
He watched her for several moments more and then shrugged, taking a step backward. "I've never hurt you. I've never been threatened by your power," he said much more casually than the words would imply. "I have enough sins of my own, don't punish me for ones I didn't commit."
"Goodbye, Angel," she ground out, glaring at him.
Angel nodded, bowing his head in mock obedience. "As you wish, Buttercup," he said in ShadowTongue, "but when Humperdinck gets here, send him packing."
She continued to glower, not trusting herself to speak as he turned away. Was the implication that he was Westley to her Buttercup? Big fat chance. Though he could probably pull off a fairly believable Dread Pirate Roberts. She snorted. The whole idea was, like, completely laughable. It was just another one of Angel's little reminders of how interwoven their lives were. She spent the entire summer when she was ten making him watch "The Princess Bride" over and over. But then again, that was back when her father still allowed him in the house.
In the intervening years, things had changed so dramatically that Buffy wasn't even certain how she and Angel ended up enemies. So much happened when her mother got sick. The horrible men from the Watcher's Council showed up on her doorstep, shadowing her around Sunnydale. One night, one of them dragged her out and forced her to stake a vampire. It was one of the most gruesome experiences of her life. Between the horrors of her mother's illness, her own adolescence and her newfound role as Slayer, Buffy barely managed to maintain a grasp on her sanity.
When Joyce died, Buffy was truly afraid that she was broken in a way that would never heal. Her mother's death was so sudden, coming just when they thought she was on the road to recovery. The vulture-like Watchers stepped in and were making arrangements to have Buffy transferred to England when her father arrived. Before that night, Buffy had never imagined what a scary man her usually gentle father could be. He wasn't shocked by her status as a Slayer. It turned out that he was a Watcher himself – though no longer allied with the Council. Giles informed the Council in no uncertain terms that they best find another Slayer and he didn't care how they did it.
Before she knew what was happening, Buffy was in Los Angeles with her father and Jenny, under their protection. They didn't allow anyone near her; not friends, certainly not Angel. Buffy was lost, depressed, overwhelmed. The Council didn't give up. Buffy knew that she was putting her father and Jenny at risk simply by staying with them. Day in and day out, the phone rang, messengers appeared at the door, people accosted her whenever she left the house. She had a sacred duty, they said. People were dying, they assured her. All because she was ignoring her Calling.
Most mornings she would find newspaper clippings of the previous night's killings waiting for her on the front step. Sometimes it was worse. One day a particularly enterprising Council goon left a corpse for her. It was on the lawn, right where she would find it when she went out for her morning swim in the pool. She could still remember the sight perfectly. The vampire had torn the little boy's throat out. It was a fresh kill. The blood was still a bright, vivid red rather than an orangey brown. In the early morning light she could see the sun glinting off his exposed vertebrae. Buffy didn't even realize it was her screaming until her father gently clamped his hand over her mouth.
Buffy couldn't sleep, couldn't eat, couldn't sustain a coherent thought for more than a few moments. School was completely out of the question. Jenny ended up in the hospital because someone ran her car off the road. She wasn't badly hurt, but there was no doubt in Buffy's mind that it was all her fault. Everything was her fault.
One June night, before her freshmen year in high school, Buffy literally took matters into her own hands.
The following morning, all of the harassment disappeared as if it had never existed. When Buffy woke, there was another Slayer for the Council to shape and mold. She was free from her sacred duty and her father was more protective than ever. Rupert Giles never spoke of those dark days. They were swept under the rug.
Buffy was all too willing to go along with her father's delusion. Gone was the sullen, flighty creature she had been and in her place was Buffy Summers, ultimate California rich bitch. Now rather than worrying about life and death, she worried which shoes went best with her new outfit and who would be the best date to the Homecoming dance. She immersed herself in the insubstantial glitter, leaving behind the pain and horror of her former life. She used social status like a drug to numb away all of the crushing pain.
She abandoned everything that held any ties to her life as a Slayer. The Watcher's Council was never mentioned in the Giles home. Buffy pretended that vampires, demons and assorted other monsters were not real. She lived in denial so deep that she eventually began to think it was real. A big part of that denial had been cutting Angel out of her life entirely.
The scrape of a shoe on concrete pulled her out of her thoughts. Buffy was so caught up in her brooding that she almost forgot the entire reason she was sneaking around in the garden. Ford approached her, nearly blind in the dim light, calling her name softly as he crept down the stairs. Buffy glared at him.
"There you are," he said with more than a little relief, "damn, I didn't think I would ever find you out here in the dark."
Buffy remained silent, neither she nor Angel had a problem navigating in the dim light, but she wasn't about to bring that up. She needed to concentrate on the task at hand. "Why are we meeting out here?" she demanded sharply.
Ford shifted his weight nervously on the balls of his feet. "I need to talk to you," he said impatiently.
"And I already told you I don't want to talk," Buffy bit back.
"That's not true," he said, staring fiercely into her eyes. "You want to talk, otherwise you wouldn't have told me how to sneak into the party."
Buffy clenched her teeth together, but held her tongue. That much was true. Ford wasn't welcome at Angel's home and she had indeed given him the necessary information to sneak in. She was disgusted with herself for doing such a thing. She should have cut Ford off completely, let him think what he would. But she couldn't. She needed answers.
"Ford, we need to get out of here," Buffy said in a rough whisper.
"It will be fine," he said, smiling at her mischievously as he pulled her inside the room lined with bookcases.
Buffy tugged her wrist out of Ford's grip as he stealthily closed the door. Nervously, she looked around, her heart pounding in her chest. Her nerves had nothing to do with Ford. They were standing inside Angel's private study.
She had been in the room several times in the past, but never unescorted. She knew it was Angel's inner sanctum and she couldn't stop a warning shiver that crawled up her spine at the thought of what he would do if he caught them. "Ford, we can't be in here," she said firmly.
Sitting down defiantly in one of the plush leather chairs, Ford made himself comfortable. With a wicked grin, he held out his hand in invitation.
Buffy stared at him, dumbfounded by the depth of his ego. She shook her head and in blatant defiance of his wishes, wrapped her arms around her own waist. Buffy wanted answers, not a make-up make-out session.
Ford released a defeated sigh and his bravado waned measurably. As his pleasant mask relaxed, Buffy saw the strain on his features. Wearily, he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Several long moments passed before he once again met her gaze. "I messed up," he said seriously.
Buffy laughed sardonically. "Gee, ya think?" she snapped.
Ford's lips pursed into a thin line as he changed tactics. "Why did you dump me?" he demanded.
"Why did you get drunk at the Prom and tell Cordelia that I'm a frigid bitch who won't have sex with you?" she countered, barely managing to restrain a snarl.
Pushing himself out of the chair, Ford rose to pace around the room. His face was a reflection of anguish as he turned to look at her. "What else could I have done?" he demanded.
Buffy's jaw dropped as she stared at him. "I'm not sure," she said sarcastically, "but telling my biggest rival's best friend about our private life wasn't on the short list."
"God, you just don't understand," he said, turning away from her to resume his pacing.
"Try me," she said grimly.
He spun around to face her. "Do you have any idea what it's like for me? I'm dating the hottest girl in the entire fucking school and I can't even get to second base anymore!" he spat, his voice thick with frustration.
Buffy pursed her lips together tightly. Her chastity was a sore spot in their relationship to be sure. How many times had he tried to bully or guilt her into sex? She couldn't even remember. It was bad enough having to put up with it from him, but then to hear from third parties was simply too much. "You're a jerk," she said coldly.
Ford smiled. "So why are you so mad?" he asked. "It wouldn't bother you so much if you weren't ashamed of it."
"Ashamed?" Buffy repeated incredulously. "It's my body, Ford. I have every right to decide who I invite in."
Ford shrugged impudently. "If you were really so secure, it wouldn't bother you so much that other people know you're still a virgin," he pointed out.
Buffy flushed as she looked at her former boyfriend.
Ford stepped closer. "You're mad because you're embarrassed, Buffy. You know this is ridiculous," he said. "We've been dating for a year and a half and we still haven't had sex."
Exhaling sharply through her nose, Buffy turned and sat down in the chair Ford had recently vacated. She was an adult. It was her body. She had every right to be choosy about who she did or did not have sex with. Being her boyfriend didn't automatically entitle him to anything.
But moral high ground was cold comfort at the moment. Ford had a valid point. They were both eighteen, both adults - and it wasn't like their relationship was fly by night. Buffy had been pursued by countless guys, but none of them had been able to hold her attention for more than a week or two - until Ford. And as far as high school relationships went, theirs was one for the long haul. Ford wasn't simply trying to get into her pants, they were genuinely close friends - or at least they were once. Her continued rebuffs of his advances had strained more than just their physical relationship. Their seemingly indestructible camaraderie had crumbled under the weight of dissatisfaction. Ford was frustrated because Buffy wouldn't have sex with him and Buffy was frustrated because Ford refused to understand that she needed time. Not to mention the fact that Buffy's father violently disapproved of the relationship.
Buffy told Ford she simply needed time, but more and more she wasn't sure that was true. Buffy glanced at him. She wasn't a prude. Buffy didn't feel that it was morally wrong to have sex, for her it was a personal choice. She simply wanted ... something more. She had no idea what. There was some elusive element that prevented her from giving in to Ford. Her own life had been irrevocably impacted by her parents' casual attitudes towards sex. She had vowed long ago that she would demand more for herself and consequently for any potential child. She needed substance. She needed ... magick - as ironic as that was. She almost laughed aloud. She actually did have magic with Ford in the very literal sense.
A big part of what initially drew Buffy to Ford Rayne was that he came from an old Wiccan family. Even though she had pushed away everything having to do with her Slayer duties, Buffy couldn't quell her fascination with magick. Rupert Giles was staunchly opposed to magick of any sort, but Buffy had always been captivated by it. Ford taught her beautiful little spells that would light the way on a darkened path or chart out a map of the stars on the ceiling of her bedroom. They were definitely some interesting times. Everything had been new and exciting. She remembered making out with Ford for hours underneath those twinkling stars. She remembered the feel of his skin against hers, of the power tickling over her heated flesh. It had been a rush like no other. They fell into a pattern of magick and make-out. The magicks always gave a hell of a high that completely lent itself to sexual exploration.
But all exploration, magickal and sexual, had ended when her father found her spellbook and supplies in her room. Buffy was certain she hid it away as usual, but when he walked into her room, there it was in plain sight.
Rupert Giles' rage was exquisite. Buffy found herself grounded for two months, out of her father's sight only while at school - where he both dropped off and picked her up. She was forbidden to ever see Ford again. It was utterly humiliating and a horrible way to start off her senior year in high school. While her classmates were all making the most of the best times of their lives - driving their own cars, staying out all hours partying and making memories to last a lifetime - Buffy was sitting at home with her parents and two younger siblings doing her homework and filling out college applications.
When her house arrest finally ended - mostly thanks to Jenny's bullying - Buffy found that her relationship with Ford had cooled measurably. He immediately suggested that they try some new spells. While the offer was tempting, Buffy declined. She still saw no real harm in the magicks they had done, but the pain it caused her father wasn't worth it. He was the only parent she had left now. Ever since Rupert discovered she was working magicks, Buffy knew that some measure of her father's trust had been forever lost. That fact angered her, but it hurt even more intensely.
Much to Buffy's surprise, without the magicks, there wasn't much substance to her relationship with Ford. Whereas before his touches had set her aflame, now they seemed awkward and rushed. His kisses, which she would have once given anything to have, were now overly demanding and rough.
Ford no longer held the physical appeal he once had. The knowledge made her feel guilty. Ford waited for her while she was grounded. He made it obvious that he still wanted her as much as ever. Ford was a very popular guy. It would have been easy for him to abandon Buffy in search of more accessible companionship while she was grounded. But he hadn't. And when she was finally free again, she simply didn't want him with her former hunger. Ford was understanding at first, reassuring her that she simply needed time. But time didn't help. Buffy and Ford were two of the most popular people in school. On the outside, they still looked like the perfect couple, but on the inside, their relationship was disintegrating. The further Buffy withdrew, the more angry Ford became.
Buffy wasn't some fragile flower. She had no problem holding her ground when Ford got too pushy. She valued him as a friend and despite their troubles, she was loyal.
Of course, that was before he broadcast the state of their affairs to the entire school. When Cordy and Sunday had approached her with those knowing smiles and then snarkily congratulated Buffy on her chastity, she had been so shocked she hadn't said anything. For years, Cordelia and Sunday had been forced to play second fiddle to Buffy. Ford's big mouth provided them with the perfect ammunition they needed to assume her role as the most popular girl in school. In less than a week, the entire student body was looking at Buffy with knowing glances, laughing and whispering as she passed. Buffy had never felt so exposed in her entire life. It was absolutely humiliating.
Luckily, school was finally out for the summer and since she had graduated, Buffy would never have to go back again. But it didn't save her from having to see those same catty faces at almost every social function. And to top it off, Sunday and Cordy were both matriculating at USC in the fall - the same as Buffy. She had no doubt that word would be all over campus before Rush week finished. Something like that could doom her entire college social life. Buffy knew that a lot of college guys liked bad girls. How far was she going to get if they thought she was some sort of goody goody who was waiting on a marriage proposal before she would be willing to have some fun?
Buffy had no problem maintaining her convictions in the face of adversity - so long as it was worth it. Problem was, she was no longer certain that remaining a virgin was worth it.
What exactly was she waiting on? True love? Buffy laughed at the very idea. She might have been innocent in some respects, but she wasn't an idiot. By virtue of being one of the beautiful people, she was stripped of most of her illusions very early. She knew how ruthless life was and she didn't buy into the fairy tales. And it wasn't like she had Mr. Right waiting in the wings. Buffy was popular and pretty, she dated a lot of guys. None of them had interested her like Ford, despite his recent shortcomings. Was the fact that she was no longer infatuated actually that important? She had no desire to be a thirty-year-old virgin - which was exactly what was going to happen if she didn't modify her unrealistic standards somewhat. Maybe Ford was right, maybe this was ridiculous.
She looked up at Ford, who was emanating frustration. He was attractive with his dark hair and light brown eyes. He was tall and leanly muscled. He was on the verge of manhood, but she knew that even as he aged, he would retain his boyish features - the eternal Peter Pan. Yes, Ford was definitely cute. Even when he was pouting, which was what he was doing at the moment.
Looking at him, Buffy felt suddenly emboldened. What would that mercenary bitch, Sunday, do in this situation? She sure as hell wouldn't sit here and worry about love. In doing so, Buffy was handicapping herself. She wasn't about to endure four years under Sunday's thumb. College would be a fresh start and Buffy intended to start in the lead. Besides, she was a healthy, mature woman. Why not get it over with?
Filled with feminine power, she rose to her feet and slowly stalked over to her estranged boyfriend. Ford's expression changed as he watched her, morphing from irritation into wary interest. He didn't balk as she pressed her lips to his. With a sigh of pleasure he pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist. After long moments, he pulled back and looked at her. "Does this mean what I think it means?" he asked.
Buffy considered playing coy, but decided against it. "Yes," she said baldly.
Ford smiled wickedly. He looked at the beautiful Persian carpet on the floor and cocked a speculative eyebrow.
"No way," Buffy said firmly, sobered by his insinuation. "Not here. My car is outside, we can go somewhere."
Ford's expression took on a hard set. "Why not?" he asked angrily.
Deciding against starting a fight, Buffy wrapped her arms around his neck. "I know you hate him," she said, "but this isn't the time or the place for this fight."
Pouting again, Ford met her gaze. He looked around the room, filled with luxuries. Not so long ago, his own home looked much the same. Now, however, it was a very different story. Angel's private study was perfectly arranged, dark wood and leather, priceless pieces of art and ancient texts. It looked much like the study that Ethan, Ford's father, possessed before Liam Roarke crushed his business ventures beneath his heel. Ford wondered how many of Roarke's possessions had been purchased with the money that should have belonged to him - to his entire family.
As Ford's gaze fell on the sketch above the mantle, he shook with rage. It looked out of place against the rest of the artfully arranged pieces. It was a simple sketch. Beautiful because of its simplicity, but nothing ostentatious. Of course, if one took even the most introductory of art history classes, they would know it was a da Vinci. Ford knew that for all of his father's wealth, it could never have compared to Roarke's. The entire Rayne fortune was nothing more than a drop in the barrel for a man of that much wealth. Yet Roarke hadn't hesitated to ruin his father, to send their entire family into a downward spiral. For what? For nothing. He had done it because it amused him to crush another man so completely.
"Ford," Buffy said softly, pulling him to the door. "We have to go."
Angel ran his hand lightly over the back of the chair. Even with Darla's cloying perfume and her musky female scent clinging to him, he could smell Buffy. One of the perks of not being entirely human. He knew without a doubt that Buffy had been here with the careless little boy. He could also smell the lingering fragrance of her arousal. A rumbling growl disturbed the silence of the room. "Take care of this," Angel commanded without bothering to turn and face Wesley.
"Anything in particular?" Wesley asked evenly, well accustomed to being given such tasks.
As Angel raised his head, the cold rage in his eyes caused the seasoned lieutenant to shiver. "Decisive," he rasped with a hard smile, "I want Ford Rayne out of her life and I want it done tonight."
With a curt nod, Wesley was gone. Angel poured two fingers of brandy into a snifter and sat down in the chair, savoring the scent of Buffy even as it enraged him. How dare that idiot child paw at her. Pressing his eyes shut, Angel reined in his rage. Ford Rayne would be gone soon enough and the field would be clear.
Buffy was not going to slip through his fingers. She was born for him.
He had waited years for her, patiently biding his time as she grew into
a woman. He watched as her already impressive spirit bloomed into full power.
Rupert Giles did everything in his considerable power to keep them apart,
but that too would soon come to an end. The old man was blind to the hole
he was digging himself. Angel was not. He simply needed to be patient for
a while longer and everything would fall into place.
Out of habit, Buffy handed Ford the keys to her car. Though she was reluctant to let him take the power position of driver, she loathed driving. He took the keys, giving her a blinding smile as they slipped into the sporty little convertible. It was a graduation present from her father and Jenny. Given that they had been fighting since Prom, Ford hadn't had a chance to get behind the wheel. He tore out of the driveway, leaving unsightly black marks on the pavement.
Half an hour later, Buffy frowned as Ford pulled the car off the freeway and into the largely abandoned industrial district. Her father warned her often to stay away from this place. It was an area populated by the demonic underbelly of Los Angeles. Any number of creatures called it home, vampires, demons, trolls ... Dark Wiccans.
Buffy sighed as she sank deeper into her seat. She should have known. "Ford, what are we doing here?" she asked as he pulled the car to a stop in front of an old dog food factory.
He smiled brightly at her. "Just wait," he said. Before she could stop him, he was gone.
Several minutes later, Ford re-emerged, carrying something. She rubbed her temples with the pads of her fingers. Why had she thought tonight would be any different? She snorted in disgust. She didn't even care anymore. She just wanted this over. Maybe then life could get back to normal.
She didn't say anything as Ford slipped behind the wheel again and drove several blocks, parking in a patch of deep shadows under a bridge. Buffy looked around. "Do you really think it's a bright idea to sit in a parked car in this neighborhood?" she asked.
He waggled his eyebrows at her impudently. "I'm a Dark Sorcerer, we'll be fine," he said.
Buffy refrained from rolling her eyes at his comment. Ford Rayne was no Dark Sorcerer. The Dark part she bought. While Ford had kept most of their magickal dabblings fairly neutral, she knew that his tastes leaned towards the black arts. It was in his blood. The sorcerer, however, she knew was complete smoke. He played, nothing more. Ford didn't have the power to be a sorcerer like Ethan. Buffy decided that pointing this out would not be conducive to maintaining an intimate mood.
She watched as he unwrapped the package he had acquired at the factory. "What is it, Ford?" she asked.
"Don't worry," he said. "It's just a little something I picked up from Rack to get the ball rolling."
Buffy took a deep breath and crossed her arms over her chest. Rack was a local magick pusher and Buffy violently disliked him even though she had only met him a handful of times. Everything Rack touched was dirty. "I promised my father I wouldn't mess around with this stuff anymore," she said.
Ford ceased what he was doing and looked at her seriously. "Do you want this, Buffy?" he asked. "I mean us, tonight, you and me? I'm not an idiot. I know you're not here because of your undying love and lust for me."
Buffy looked away. Gently, Ford touched her chin with the tips of his fingers and made her meet his eyes. "So we're not soulmates," he said wryly. "But I do love you and regardless of the fact that you're unhappy with me, I know you care for me too. We're comfortable with each other. We know each other. We've messed around a lot in the past."
Buffy nodded, swallowing harshly. "Yeah," she said. She and Ford definitely were not soulmates. Gee, that was a fun night. Ford found this spell and suggested they try it. He thought it would be a romantic way to 'prove their love'. It wasn't. It was some serious magick. Buffy found out later that only a handful of people in the history of humanity actually have a true soulmate. They did the spell, pouring ritual sand over their bodies. Nothing at all happened to Ford. At first they thought the spell hadn't worked. But then an odd little geometric design appeared on Buffy's right hip. Buffy didn't know what it was. The design looked incomplete, like they were only getting part of the picture. It was a bit of a mood killer when Ford touched it and nothing happened. It was supposed to do something when her soulmate was near. Not that Buffy really believed in that. They probably just messed up the spell and now she was stuck with half of a stupid looking tattoo. Some day, she was going to have it removed.
"So our relationship isn't perfect," he said with a shrug. "But it's not awful. We're attracted to each other and we both know that magick makes it better. A lot better. Let your first time be something to remember."
Buffy pursed her lips together. He was right, of course. The magick did
make the physical a lot better. Her insides tightened at the mere thought
of how good it made things. So, they weren't lying to each other about the
situation, trying to make it into more than it was. They weren't pretending.
It was about sex. It was physical.
Hours later, the door to the small, grimy conference room opened and Lilah entered. Buffy held her gaze for a few scant seconds before dropping her eyes to the battered tabletop. After being arrested, she called her father, who in turn got Lilah on the case. That in itself was something of a feat. Lilah was one of the elite criminal lawyers in Los Angeles. Her monthly payment for covered parking at the corporate garage would cover most people's mortgages. Yet here she was standing in the doorway at four in the morning.
"My client has nothing to say, Detective Lockley," Lilah said in an almost bored manner. "Unless you plan to charge her with something tonight, we're both leaving."
"She isn't going to hide behind Daddy's money," Detective Lockley replied venomously. Buffy got the distinct impression that Detective Lockley had issue with the wealthier section of the population.
Lilah smiled mirthlessly. "If you had any evidence, you would have already charged her. "
"She will be charged as soon as we get the test results back," Lockley replied
This time Lilah laughed. "Right now, you have a baggie of powder which means nothing. Good night, Detective Lockley. You can be expecting a civil suit on behalf of my client filed against you and the rest of the Los Angeles Police Department."
Buffy winced, wishing she could take back this entire night. It was a futile wish and she knew it. If life had taught her anything, it was that there was no use bemoaning the past. Nothing could change it. Best to simply suck it up and move on. Easier said than done, of course. She was filthy, she felt like the stench of stale cigarettes, BO and urine that permeated the interrogation room had seeped into her very pores. Her designer dress was wrinkled and stained beyond repair, and the stilettos were killing her feet. Without having to be asked twice, she followed Lilah out of the room and then fell into step next to her, ignoring the throbbing pain in her feet.
"I didn't do anything illegal," Buffy said firmly.
"And what about the drugs they found on you? What happens when those tests come back?" Lilah asked blandly. Buffy had the distinct impression that Lilah didn't care at all if she were truly guilty or innocent.
"Nothing," Buffy said. "They're not drugs. They're harmless. It's powdered Rodomian Bloodroot."
Lilah smirked. "This case is in the bag," she said, her mood lightening.
Buffy had almost fallen asleep by the time Lilah finally vacated her father's study. Luckily, their meeting had given Buffy time for a quick shower in the pool house where she lived. She was now dressed more comfortably in an old Lakers t-shirt and a worn pair of jeans. Still, the shower was no substitute for sleep.
Bleary eyed, her head pounding, Buffy stepped inside her father's office. She avoided meeting his piercing glare. Sitting on his desk was the remainder of her possessions, the same ones that the cops had confiscated and then returned when she was released. Minus the vial of bloodroot, of course. She gave a fleeting thought to how much Ford had paid for the rare item. No doubt he would be in debt to Rack for quite some time. Her backpack was unzipped to reveal a Krentavian Orb and a ritual N'Ke'Dve dagger. Buffy sank into one of the chairs opposite her father's desk.
"Harmless," Rupert Giles said tautly.
Buffy winced, her vision fixed on the floor.
"Lilah is an exceptional lawyer," Giles continued, "but she is only a lawyer."
"Meaning what?" Buffy asked.
"Don't play coy with me," Giles snapped. "These items may not be on the Los Angeles Police Department's list of contraband materials, but they damn sure are not harmless. You, of all people, should know that."
Buffy hung her head, choosing to maintain her silence. Rupert was completely unreasonable on the subject of magicks. He insisted on treating her like an idiot child where they were concerned. He acted as if she didn't have a brain in her head. And where was Ford? Her stay at the cop shop was cut short due to her father's political influence, but Ford no longer had such backing. She still had her cell phone. He hadn't called or paged which meant he was probably still in police custody. She was more than a little irritated with Ford at the moment, but she still had no desire to see him suffer unduly. She wouldn't put it past her father to try and use some of his political clout to have Ford held longer than necessary.
"Buffy," Giles whispered, "I know that you know the difference between right and wrong. So I must confess, I do not understand what you were doing tonight."
Buffy's self-loathing was in full force. The quiet desperation in her father's voice, the knowledge that she had let him down was almost too much to bear. She felt like she had buried a dagger in his back, betraying his trust like this - again.
But at the same time, she was angry. Why did he have to act like she was going to turn into a minion for the forces of evil with the least bit of provocation? She was a Slayer, goddammit, whether he wanted to admit that or not. Theoretically she was one of the most powerful supernatural beings alive, but he treated it like being a Slayer was a job she could pursue or leave at will. Buffy straightened up in her chair. She was strong enough to handle a little dark magick. She didn't need to be lorded over like a five-year-old.
"These items," he continued, exasperated, "they are powerful tools for the Dark Arts. In the wrong hands ... even in the right hands, without the proper precautions they are exceedingly dangerous."
The pleading quality of his voice, the utter despair, cut her to the heart. Her father was so important to her and right now, he did not trust her. He was being unreasonable, but she knew it was because he wanted to protect her. She swallowed harshly, hating herself for what she was about to say.
"They're not mine," Buffy whispered.
"What?" Giles asked, afraid he had misheard her.
Looking up, Buffy met his gaze. "They aren't mine," she repeated. "I was with Ford. They belong to him. The cops showed up and since they were in my car, I got the blame."
Giles looked at her, his expression deathly serious. "These items are not yours?" he asked.
She shook her head slowly. She knew that he needed to think that she had merely been led astray. To her eternal shame, she let him think that.
Giles stared at his daughter, wanting desperately to believe her. "I understand," he said. "Ford Rayne is a bad influence. You're a good girl. Go to bed, Buffy. We'll finish this conversation tomorrow."
Buffy woke to the sound of soft knocking on her bedroom door. She blinked quickly. Judging from the light, it was late afternoon. She rolled over onto her stomach, reaching for her cell. No new calls. Apparently Ford didn't want to talk to her. She sighed heavily, the migraine was gone, but she was in no mood for visitors, especially the kind who would enter the pool house and head up to her bedroom without an invitation. She smacked her lips distastefully. She needed another shower and a change of clothes. She had collapsed onto her bed fully dressed. "Go away," she grouched.
Hearing the door open, she buried her head under the pillow. The bed shifted as Jenny sat down at the foot. Lightly, she touched Buffy's leg. "Are you all right?" she asked quietly.
"No," Buffy replied ruefully. She was disgusted with herself for being utterly spineless.
"I won't pretend to understand all of the specifics of last night," Jenny said. "But I'm sure you had your reasons."
Buffy was reminded of how much she adored her stepmother. Her parents' brief affair ended long before Buffy was born. Rupert Giles found true love and married Jenny when Buffy was a toddler, living in Sunnydale with her mother, Joyce. Buffy had spent every summer with Jenny and her dad in Los Angeles and enjoyed it immensely. Life was comfortable and sedate, filled with predictable happenings and love.
After the turbulent times of her Calling or her mother's death, Buffy had been lost. Alone, either of those events would have been overwhelming, but together they almost crippled Buffy permanently. During those dark days Jenny was a great source of support and love. She was indispensable as Buffy adjusted to a new existence.
Sitting up in bed, Buffy scooted back so she was leaning against the headboard. She rubbed her eyes wearily. "I didn't do anything wrong," she said.
"Of course not," Jenny replied, as if it should be painfully obvious to everyone.
Buffy smiled and looked at her stepmother. Jenny was beautiful, her dark hair pulled back in a flattering style. You would never know by looking at her that she had two small children. There was nothing frayed or frazzled about her appearance. Buffy knew from experience what a feat this was. Twenty minutes alone with her two stepsiblings, Dawn and Xander, was enough to drive anyone insane, but Jenny had an unflappable calm.
"Is Dad mad?" Buffy asked.
"Rupert is upset," Jenny conceded, "but he'll get over it. You may be his child, but you're not a child. Being an adult means making decisions, even if some of them don't have positive consequences."
Buffy nodded, looking out the window at the quickly fading light. Jenny had left a good deal unsaid. It was no secret that she did not share her husband's views about what was and was not appropriate for Buffy. Jenny felt that Rupert was smothering the girl with all of his "protection", denying her the opportunity to know the Slayer side of herself. But Jenny lost that argument long ago.
"About last night ..." Jenny began.
"I don't want to talk about it," Buffy said wearily. "I didn't do anything illegal. The cops picked me up because they thought I had drugs. They'll test the stuff and see that it's harmless. I have nothing to hide. Dad may not have approved of my actions, but they weren't wrong."
Jenny took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I will admit that Rupert tends to get a bit overzealous where magicks are concerned," she said. There was more than a little bitterness in Jenny's voice and Buffy knew why. When Jenny married Rupert, she abandoned her family magick. Buffy knew it hadn't been an easy decision. The magicks had been passed down from one generation to the next for centuries. But ultimately Jenny was forced into a decision and love won out. Buffy had never been given a similar choice about being the Slayer.
"Those items can be dangerous, "Jenny continued. "As I said, I'm sure you had your reasons, but I seriously suspect that it has a lot to do with Ford Rayne ... Buffy, your father and I discussed it and we have never trusted him or his family. We were thrilled when you two stopped seeing each other this spring. But now -"
"You and Dad are discussing my love life?" Buffy asked quietly, stiffening her spine. Her face betrayed her incredulity.
With a chastising look, Jenny said, "Of course we are concerned about your love life, Buffy. You are our daughter. We worry. We're concerned that he's not good for you."
Buffy pursed her lips into a thin line as she glared at her stepmother. "I see," she said. "You and Dad think that I'm incapable of deciding who is and is not good for me."
"That is not what I said," Jenny replied, becoming slightly ruffled. "If you were involved with any other boy, it wouldn't be an issue, but in light of what happened with Ethan ... Buffy, Ford isn't in a good mental place right now. He has a lot of anger and pain. We are concerned that he is not well intentioned. Given my connection to Angel, Rupert and I are worried that Ford may be trying to use you -"
It was too much for Buffy to take. For far too long, Rupert and Jenny had treated her like a child - and she had gladly let them. She thought it was easier than letting them see the unvarnished truth of the adult into which she was growing. But it wasn't easier. It was harder. And every lie she told them, every untruth she let them believe made her into more of a caricature of herself. She couldn't do it. Not anymore. She couldn't keep hiding behind the "good girl led astray" ruse. It was time they saw her as an adult, capable of making her own decisions. She didn't need to be protected. "Ford isn't using me," Buffy interrupted her voice calm, but leaving no room for argument, "I'm using him."
Jenny gave a startled look to her stepdaughter. She frowned. "Buffy, I seriously doubt that you are capable of using Ford -"
"Because I'm such a good little girl?" Buffy asked baldly. "I was going to have sex with him, Jenny. He suggested the magicks, but I agreed. If the cops hadn't shown up, we would have gotten high on Dark Magicks and then screwed in my car."
Jenny stared blankly at her stepdaughter. "Well," she said, and then looked away.
Buffy watched her deal with the implications of what she had just said. To her credit, Jenny seemed spun, but recovered quickly. When her eyes once again met Buffy's, there was something in them, a sort of understanding. Buffy felt like for the first time that Jenny was seeing her for who she really was.
Jenny smiled gently. "I suppose we have tried to keep you our little girl," she said ruefully. "I'm sorry if you felt that we expected you to be a particular type of person."
"You're not disappointed?" Buffy asked, bracing herself for the answer.
Jenny looked straight into her eyes and said, "You are an amazing young woman, Buffy, and I will love you no matter what. But you don't need your father and me trying to run your life. You need to live it yourself." Her lips pursed together and she added, "I trust you, Buffy, and I hope that you learn to trust yourself, to realize how much you are worth. Self-respect is something easily lost and very difficult to get back."
Chagrinned, Buffy nodded, but slowly a smile crept over her features. Jenny held up a finger of caution. "Not so fast," she said. "I speak only for myself. Your father still wants to talk to you."
Buffy's smile faded. They both knew that Rupert would not take the news well. Boldly, she stood up. She needed to have a very serious conversation with her father. It wasn't going to be easy, but the longer she let this situation continue, the harder it would be. With a little reluctance, she put one foot in front of the other. All too soon, she was inside the main house and headed for her father's study. She paused outside the doors to collect herself. She had no intention of backing down, but it didn't make her anxious to fight with her father. She knew he only wanted to protect her.
Buffy took a deep breath, resting her forehead against the doors to her father's study. Yes, she had gladly jumped into her new superficial existence. She allowed her father to treat her like a helpless little girl because it was so much easier than being responsible for her own actions - or her own inaction.
But like it or not, Buffy knew she was a Slayer. No, not the Slayer, but still a Slayer. Of course, the girl they found to replace her only lasted a few months on the job. The one after her was doing better, but still, her days were numbered. Buffy knew she was being a coward by allowing them to fight in her place, but up until now she had been too weak to do anything else. But more and more, the guilt was preying on her conscience.
Maybe it was her father's insistence that she couldn't handle magicks - hell maybe it was Angel's insistence on calling her "Slayer", but Buffy knew that something had to change. She couldn't continue to hide behind her father, to shirk her responsibility.
When Buffy entered the room, Giles was seated at his desk studying one of his myriad dusty, old tomes. He looked up and slowly removed his glasses as he gestured towards a chair. Buffy shook her head, preferring to stand. Rupert shrugged and leaned back in his chair, studying his daughter.
"Jenny has advised me against issuing rash edicts," he said dryly.
Buffy nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me," she said.
Giles frowned severely. "Do not take that flip tone with me," he admonished.
Buffy looked at him from beneath her lashes. "Yes, sir," she mumbled.
Somewhat placated, Giles took a deep breath. "I trust you, Buffy," he said seriously. "I know we discussed it last night, but frankly, I am beside myself about your behavior. Those artifacts are extremely powerful tools for the Dark Arts. I definitely understand the lure of darkness, but I also trust you to make the right decision."
Buffy shifted uncomfortably in her chair.
"On the matter of Ford Rayne, however," Giles said dryly. "I will not defer to your judgment. In you, I have complete faith. I would not trust him any farther than I could throw him. I do not want you to see that boy again."
Buffy met her father's gaze. This was not going to be enjoyable. "I know that you are worried about me," she said. "But I am an adult."
Giles bristled visibly at her tone. "An adult who is living under my roof," he noted harshly.
Buffy recoiled as if he had slapped her. Her expression was hard as she said, "Under your thumb, you mean."
Giles studied his daughter's defiant countenance for long moments. "You are an adult," he said with absolute seriousness, "but you are still living in my house, eating my food, driving the car I gave you. This is your home, but there are limits. I will not condone your meddling with Dark Arts. And you will not, under any circumstances, see Ford again. These are my rules."
Buffy looked at the hard set of her father's features, at the rigid line of his spine. She knew him well. She knew that there was no chance of him relenting. When Rupert Giles made up his mind, there was no changing it. But she couldn't live with his rules. Not any more. He was right, it was his home, his money and he was free to place whatever stipulations he felt necessary over those domains. But she also realized that she could no longer live with his law ... or him. "Fine," she said plainly, "then I'll leave."
"And go where?" Giles demanded. "You don't have any money of your own. You don't have an apartment. You don't have a job."
Buffy looked at her father and sadness threatened to overwhelm her. She knew that he only wanted to protect her, but it did not keep the collar from chafing. She was an adult and he refused to see her as such. "I love you," she said. "But I can't be your little girl forever. I am an adult. I have to make my own decisions, even if they aren't always the right ones. I'm not proud of my actions last night, but I do defend my right to make that mistake."
Giles stared at her incredulously, realizing for the first time that she truly did intend to leave. While he heard her words and could mentally understand her reasoning, in his heart it made no sense. She was not merely growing up, she was rejecting him, rejecting everything that he had done for her. "You're not going anywhere," he said.
Buffy shrugged. "You can't stop me," she said. "I'm leaving."
In a panic, Giles yelled, "I'm your father, Buffy. I'm your source of food and shelter. I'm paying for your schooling. You cannot survive without me. You will go to your room."
Buffy stared at him as if he were a stranger. He was honestly trying to treat her like a child. Did he not have any more faith than that in her? She was unable to speak as she looked at him. Turning on her heel, she walked blindly out of his office.
Buffy was numb as she returned to the pool house, tears streaming freely down her cheeks, clouding her vision. Luckily, she knew the way well enough that it wasn't a problem despite the fact that it was now dark and she couldn't really see through her tears. Once again, this was her fault. Three years ago, she was too weak to deal with life. She let him step in and take care of things for her, take care of everything. Now, he was so used to doing for her that he truly thought she was incapable. His lack of confidence hurt and angered her, but more than that, it shamed her. He thought she was incapable because for far too long she had let him believe that.
Her numbness melted into a mixture of determination and anger. She would show her father just how capable she was of running her own life. Hurriedly, she threw things into two large duffel bags, mindless of the sobs issuing from her throat and the tears on her cheeks. Clothes, pictures, her mother's jewelry, stuffed animals; all of it got piled in a formless heap. The bags were so full she could barely get them zipped, but somehow she managed, throwing them over her shoulders. She exited her little bungalow, locking the door behind herself as she carefully skirted around the pool. The main house's patio doors were open and she slipped inside as gracefully as her cargo would allow. It was quiet and as stealthily as possible, she headed for the front door. As her father had so eloquently pointed out, the car was his, so she couldn't take it. She pulled her keys out of her pocket and threw them on an end table. She wouldn't be coming back. She didn't need her keys.
Blindly, she tore open the door and rushed headlong down the steps. Immediately, she crashed into someone and her momentum sent her tumbling down the steps to land in a pile on the sidewalk. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Buffy said frantically. Wonderful way to start her brand new life. She brushed the hair out of her eyes, glancing up at her victim.
Her anxiety vanished as if it had never existed while her face settled into a frown. "Oh, it's you," she said dryly, thoroughly disgusted with herself for apologizing. She wiped self-consciously at her wet cheeks with the back of her hands. She had no desire for him - of all people - to see her crying.
Angel looked down at the heap of tangled limbs and duffel bags in the middle of the sidewalk. He knew better than to offer the hellcat a hand up. "It's wonderful to see you as well," he replied with an amused smirk.
With a growl, Buffy rose unassisted to her feet and brushed off her clothes. "My father is home, just so you know," she snapped. "He cancelled his business trip." Liam Roarke was one of Rupert Giles' least favorite people on the planet. Giles tolerated him because the arrogant young mogul was his beloved wife's half-brother. But there was no love lost between the two men and more often than not, there were open hostilities.
Angel watched Buffy gather up the overstuffed bags, trying to balance them without much success. He sighed. "Ionuin," he asked with more than a little amusement, "where are you going?"
Buffy turned to glare at him. Angel and Jenny often had conversations in Gaelic, but Buffy never managed to learn a word of the language. She had no idea what his pet name for her meant, but she knew it couldn't be flattering. He had been calling her "Ionuin" for years. She was fairly certain it meant "monkey" or "pest" or "flat-chested wench."
"It's none of your damn business," Buffy hissed in ShadowTongue, far too upset to concentrate on speaking English. But she was on the verge of tears again. She really didn't need to be mocked by Angel while she was trying to make a hasty retreat to ... to where? Buffy had no idea where she was going.
Her father was right, she had no money, no car, no apartment. She had mooched off of him for years. She didn't even know if she would have a dorm room in the fall since he was paying for her education as well. For all of her popularity and status, she didn't have a damn thing that was her own. Most people had years to work on their independence, but she was trying to cram it all into one grand gesture.
It was too much. Buffy dropped her bags and clapped her hands over her mouth as she started sobbing. She was disgusted with herself for breaking down in front of Angel, but helpless to stop it.
Wordlessly, Angel picked up both of her bags and headed down the walk to the circular drive in front of Giles' enormous house. With a small chirp, the trunk to his BMW clicked open and he deposited the bags inside.
Buffy gulped a frantic breath of air as her crying subsided in the wake of her growing confusion. She stared at Angel as he mutely opened the passenger side door and stood waiting - obviously for her.
Not knowing what else to do, she self-consciously walked down the sidewalk, and after several tense heartbeats and sniffles, climbed into his car. She sat, staring out the windshield, bewildered, as Angel walked around and slid behind the wheel. He flipped the ignition and the engine roared to life. As he shifted the car into drive, he turned his head and said, "Seatbelt."
Angel had been bodysnatched, that was the only explanation. Buffy clicked her seatbelt into place. Satisfied, Angel drove down the driveway and out into the residential street headed towards the freeway entrance.
Buffy was in a tight spot. She needed whatever help she could get. For that reason, she would be willing to overlook the fact that Angel had obviously been lobotomized earlier in the day. But if you had a lobotomy, could you still drive? Well, she couldn't prove the brain segmentation, but Angel was acting weird. Even for him. That was saying something, especially given how well she knew him. Angel had been a part of her life since she was eight years old. Up until she was fifteen, they had actually been friends - in so much as you could be friends with someone ten years older than yourself. And who - by the way - did that? What twenty-year-old man would sit through eighty-five viewings of "The Princess Bride" with a ten-year-old girl? Perv. Oh, he'd never done anything out of line. At the time, Buffy had adored him for it. Now she just found it creepy.
After Buffy's "accident", her father became absolutely dictatorial on the subject of Angel. He was no longer welcome in their home. At least not while her dad was there. Angel and Jenny weren't particularly close, but as each other's only living relatives, they both felt the need to maintain contact. Angel visited only when his brother-in-law was away. Buffy was sure that suited his sneaky nature just fine.
Jenny rarely spoke of her past beyond the fact that she had been born and largely raised in Ireland. All Buffy knew was that Jenny and Angel had the same mother, but different fathers. Jenny and Angel's mother was a gypsy. Jenny seemed to harbor more than a few bitter feelings towards the woman. After becoming pregnant as the result of an extramarital affair, their mother divorced Jenny's father and embarked on a nomadic lifestyle that carried her two children across the globe for years on end.
Jenny was thirteen when her mother was murdered somewhere in Asia. She and four-year-old Angel were returned to Jenny's father. It was nearly a year later when they learned that Angel's father was aware of his son - and wanted him. As it turned out, Angel's father, Linwood Roarke, was very wealthy and had no other children. He was aging and at war with his family. He apparently decided that a bastard child was better than leaving his fortune to his estranged siblings and their families. Having no other recourse, Jenny's father reluctantly handed over the little boy.
By the time Jenny saw her brother again, Angel was unrecognizable. Gone was the gentle little boy, replaced by a man as cold and calculating as his father had been - and even more wealthy. The one good thing Rupert Giles had to say about his brother-in-law was that he knew Angel didn't remain in contact with Jenny because he needed money. Angel's fortune eclipsed Giles' many times over. Any relationship he chose to maintain with Jenny was not for monetary gain.
But Angel's wealth wasn't measured only in financial terms. He was also a very powerful practitioner of the Dark Arts. Buffy couldn't look at him without remembering the price he paid for his power. Angel was a twilight creature, similar to a Slayer. He had willfully absorbed a great deal of dark magicks in his quest for power. The magicks were not sufficient to turn him into a creature of darkness, but he was no longer entirely human. Buffy remembered when Angel almost died. She remembered the pathetic, wasted creature he had been the morning Jenny pushed past Wesley and forced her way into his private rooms.
Angel scared Buffy, but not for the reasons he scared so many people. She shivered at the idea of what could drive a young man to sacrifice so much of himself for vengeance. Angel was beautiful and wealthy and powerful. That was enough to make most of the world turn a blind eye to his less desirable qualities.
But Buffy wasn't blinded. She saw how he was different from humanity. His eyes were black and lifeless as a reptile. It didn't escape her notice that he intensely disliked direct sunlight. She also noticed his grip was always a little too firm, betraying a strength that was decidedly preternatural. She didn't miss all the little ways he was set apart from humanity - because though she tried to ignore it, she was set apart too, albeit in different ways.
As the car merged onto the freeway, Buffy cleared her throat. "Where are we going?" she asked.
"I'm taking you to a friend," Angel said casually, not bothering to look at her.
"Who ... where?" Buffy asked, her head beginning to pound from stress and confusion.
Turning his head, Angel looked at her dispassionately. "You're running away from home, right?" he asked coolly. "One of your stuffed animals was poking out of a bag. Given that you're not twelve and headed for a sleep-over, I'm guessing that means you're leaving permanently." Angel knew the stuffed animal in question was named Mr. Gordo, but he wasn't going to say that. The more disinterested Buffy thought he was at the moment, the better.
"I'm not running away," Buffy said defiantly. "I'm leaving home. I'm an adult. I don't have to run."
Angel smirked. "So you weren't running when you almost knocked me down the steps."
Buffy said nothing, staring mutely at the road. Angel couldn't help but smile at the sight. She was so gloriously beautiful when she was angry. He loved her feisty, defiant nature. Buffy spoke her mind and stood her ground, bowing for no one. Well, at least not for him. Angel knew that the Buffy he saw was not the same one with which the rest of the world was acquainted. Her irritation with him never allowed her to maintain the vacuous façade she donned for so many other people. He found that bare honesty incredibly charming.
Buffy had no idea how absolutely attractive he found her - had always found her. Angel had waited years for Buffy to be old enough to pursue. He had always known he would eventually have her. It was fated. Tonight was proof enough of that. He stopped by on a fluke to speak with Janna and Buffy stumbled into him before he even reached the front door. Some things were simply meant to happen. There was no arguing with the destiny. It was one of the few lessons he remembered from his mother.
"I'm also guessing," Angel continued, "that you don't have anywhere to go. I can't imagine you begging for a place to stay from any of the social vultures you hang out with, though I'm sure they would love the gossip. And I know my sister would never forgive me if I let you sleep on the streets."
Buffy flinched at his words. No doubt Cordelia and Sunday would love to let her stay at their houses, provided they could be the ones to break the news of her recent incarceration and subsequent homelessness. No, she couldn't do that. But she did have her limits. "So you're going to give me to someone?" she balked. "No thanks. Just drop me off somewhere."
Angel rolled his eyes. "Let's dispense with the melodrama, shall we," he said wryly. "I am not dropping you somewhere in L.A. Janna would kill me. Secondly, I am not giving you to anyone. This isn't white slavery for gods' sake. An associate of mine needs a roommate. You'll like Willow. She doesn't think very highly of me as a human being. She also goes to UCLA and is a damn fine Wicca."
Much to her irritation, Buffy's interest was piqued. In spite of, or maybe because of, her recent fight with her father, the Wiccan arts seemed even more appealing. Buffy knew a large part of her father's aversion to Angel was based solely on the fact that he was very knowledgeable in the area of dark magicks. Plus, Buffy was intrigued to discover what kind of people Angel kept as associates. She couldn't imagine him being platonic with a woman.
But regardless of how much she wanted to start her own life, there were a few problems with Angel's plan. "I ... I don't have any money," Buffy said in a rush, embarrassed.
Angel looked at her impassively. "Are you going to get a job?" he asked.
"Yes," Buffy said.
"Fine," he replied blandly. "Then I'll lend you money and you pay me back. With interest, of course. I'm not running a charity."
Buffy narrowed her gaze, looking him up and down. Try as she might, she could discern no ulterior motive in his words. She had no idea why he was being so helpful, but she was also clueless as to what he could possibly stand to gain. She couldn't give him the benefit of the doubt, Angel never did anything without a reason. However, at the moment, she couldn't afford much skepticism.