destructo-girl.com

"Damage"

Author: Indie
Email: indiefic@hotmail.com

Angel lounged on the sofa as Willow showed Buffy around the roomy, loft apartment. It was located in a refurbished factory building. With the money as she made working for Angel, Willow could have afforded a posh little apartment in a more upscale neighborhood, but she preferred the urban blight. Rather than a nice, but tiny, apartment, here she could afford a sprawling open loft with plenty of room for magickal experiments. The walls were a bare, red brick and the floors were scarred hardwood. The apartment was divided into two sections, the first was the open kitchen/living room/workspace area with its twenty foot ceilings and windows that ran almost the entire expanse. There was a wall behind the kitchen area that separated the two bedrooms and the bathroom from the communal areas. It was a pretty nice place, considering its location.

The space was large and despite being well acquainted with sprawling homes, Buffy was impressed. Angel knew Buffy was initially skeptical of Willow due to the mere fact that she was his acquaintance. However, despite their mutual wariness, the two young women seemed to be making fast friends.

Angel knew that he and Willow were not likely associates. It would be difficult to find two people more different. They weren't friends. They weren't even friendly most of the time. But both of them were good at what they did, and they respected the same in the other.

As the two women wandered back into the living room area, he stood and faced them expectantly. They looked at each other and then back to him. "I think it will work," Willow said with a smile.

Angel let the barest hint of a grin play on his lips. "I'll get your bags," he said to Buffy.

She nodded and watched him leave, her attention transfixed on the door. There had to be six different locks on it. This was not going to be like living in her father's pool house. Turning, she looked at Willow and found her new roommate staring at her oddly.

"What was that?" Willow asked cautiously.

Buffy looked around nervously. "What?"

"What Roarke said to you," Willow replied. "That wasn't English. In fact it didn't even sound like a real language."

Buffy grinned sheepishly as she realized what had happened. "He said he was going to get my bags," she told Willow.

"He said that?" Willow parroted skeptically.

Buffy nodded.

"He said that in what?" Willow pressed.

Buffy shrugged. Great way to start off her relationship with her new roommate, by convincing her that she was a freak. "It's called ShadowTongue," Buffy replied awkwardly. "It's ... it's not really a language. It has no form." Buffy knew first hand how odd the language sounded to others. Once, her father had recorded her talking to Angel and later played it back. It was unintelligible. Her "words" were soft vowel sounds and little mewls. Angel's were something between a low growl and a purr. Together, they were a sound-byte from Wild Kingdom. It wasn't exactly the first impression Buffy wanted to make.

"ShadowTongue?" Willow said thoughtfully. "I thought that was just a myth."

Shrugging again, Buffy said, "Yeah, well, it's not. It took my father almost two years to figure out what it was. I mean, I can't speak it. Neither can Angel."

"Angel?"

Buffy sighed. She was tired, she really just wanted to go to bed for a week. She also didn't like the little reminders of how intertwined her life was with Angel's. Or of how not impersonal their relationship was. Her light conversation with Willow led her to believe that the Wicca's relationship with Angel was very much about business. Sadly, the same could not be said for hers. She didn't want Willow to get the wrong idea about things. "Roarke," she explained. "Angel is his ... family name."

Willow seemed to take it all in stride. She said, "So, you and ... Angel. Both of you speak ShadowTongue?"

Buffy nodded. "We can talk to each other with it, but only each other. It isn't a real language. If I'm looking at him, talking to him, I just speak. Unless I'm really concentrating on speaking English, it comes out ShadowTongue. According to my father, it's 'one of the most basic forms of language that has ever existed'. He says it's primal; communication without structure." She omitted the fact that all of Giles' research into the matter had been geared towards negating the phenomenon.

Willow looked at her with barely veiled curiosity. "I've read a few vague references to it," she said, "but I'll admit I never dreamed that it really existed."

Buffy shifted her weight on the balls of her feet. It made her feel strange when she had to explain things like this, despite the fact that Willow seemed to have a scholarly interest in the matter. Buffy had spent the last three years ignoring Angel and everything he entailed. If tonight were a true indication, that would no longer be an option.

Angel opened the door and Willow let the subject drop, tactfully retreating to her workspace in the corner of the large common area. After depositing the bags on the floor, Angel mutely reached into his wallet and carefully counted bills. After double-checking and obviously making a mental note, he folded the bills and handed them to Buffy. Cautiously, she took the money and started to put it in her pocket. "Count it," he said. She gave him a quizzical look and he explained, "Just to make sure we both agree on how much you will be repaying."

She frowned, but conceded that he had a point. Unfolding the bills, she counted them aloud. When she was done she cocked an eyebrow at him and he nodded. At least his bluntness about paying interest removed some of the awkwardness of being forced to borrow money. And it was a lot of money. Part of her was tempted to give some back, but since she had no reserves, she couldn't afford to do that. "Okay," she said, "now all I need to do is find a job."

"You've already got one," he replied blandly.

Her eyes narrowed as she met his gaze. "Where?" she asked.

"Caritas," he said, handing her a business card. "It's a club downtown. I own it. Go see Lorne, the manager, tomorrow and tell him I sent you. That's his card."

"A club?" Buffy asked warily.

"Yes," he said dryly. "Don't worry, it's not a strip club and unless you have some other skills I don't know about, it should work out fine."

Buffy didn't miss the double entendre as she glared at him. "Sounds great," she said dryly.

Angel smiled wickedly and left.

Willow handed the set of sheets to her new roommate. Buffy smiled sheepishly and set them on the bed in Willow's spare room. "Thanks again," she said. "I really mean that. I feel so lame barging in on you like this."

"It's no big," Willow assured her. She sighed and leaned back against the doorjamb, biting down on her bottom lip. "Did Roarke tell you anything about my situation?" she asked cautiously.

"Not much," Buffy admitted. "He just said that you needed a roommate."

Willow nodded. "I had a roommate, Tara," she explained cautiously. "I mean, we both lived here, but this really wasn't her room. We shared."

"Shared?" Buffy asked dumbly. Why would you share when there were two perfectly good beds? Her eyes widened slightly as she realized what Willow was saying. "Oh."

Willow laughed self-deprecatingly. "Yeah," she said, "we didn't want our parents to know. They would have freaked. Of course, things that seemed important then seem trivial now."

"Did you two have a falling out?" Buffy asked tentatively. She was truly concerned, but more than that, she didn't want to be stepping into the middle of a volatile situation.

"No," she said. "Tara and I were very much in love. She was ... " Willow trailed off and then coughed to clear her throat. "Tara was killed six months ago."

"Oh my god, Willow, I'm so sorry," Buffy said.

Willow shrugged, tears glistening in her eyes. "It took me a long time, but I'm finally starting to get over it. I mean, it still feels like I'm dying every day, but now I can actually get out of bed and go to class most days."

"Look," Buffy said, "if you need more time alone -"

"No," Willow said firmly. "I didn't mean to scare you off. I don't want to be the freaky basket case roommate. I just thought you should be aware of the whole situation. I'm actually really glad that you're here. It gets pretty lonely some days."

Buffy looked at Willow seriously. "I can't tell you how grateful I am," she said.

Willow smiled. "Me too."

Buffy stopped on the corner and looked around. Lorne told her the club was hard to find and he hadn't lied. She didn't see a sign of it. She was quickly tiring of this venture. It took Buffy almost an hour to walk to the appointed intersection from her apartment. She looked warily at the dirty alley and reconsidered her options. As far as job training went, she didn't have any. She couldn't type. She couldn't use a computer. Again, she had let her father take care of her rather than earning her own keep.

Her conversation with Lorne had been short, but he gave her an important heads-up. Caritas catered to all species. Buffy wasn't in the least bit shocked to learn that Angel had his fingers in the demon world as much as he did in the human - and he was an equally high roller in both.

Trudging down the alley, Buffy finally saw the entrance and carefully descended the grimy stairs. The interior of the club was dark and smelled like cigarettes. Apparently demon bars weren't forced to comply with the non-smoking regulations. Go figure. There was a skinny Hispanic guy working behind the bar, and he pointed her towards an office at the back of the club.

Buffy stopped in the doorway and stared at the brightly dressed demon. She had the notion that his yellow suit should clash with his lime green skin tone, but for some odd reason it didn't. Maybe the red horns tied it all together.

"Well, hello, Sugar Muffin," he crooned. "What can Lorne do for you, or to you, this fine afternoon?"

"Uh ... " Buffy stared at him blankly for several seconds. "Ang - er, uh, Liam Roarke sent me. I'm Buffy. I talked to you on the phone earlier." You know, when you completely failed to mention that you aren't human! she thought.

"Oh," he said, putting down the pen he was using to make notes in a ledger. "So you're the Slayer. No offense, Honey Bear, but I was expecting you to be ... well ... scarier. More with the lip hair and Eastern Block accent. But you're cute as a bug."

Buffy arched an eyebrow. "Can't say I'm sorry to disappoint," she said wryly.

Lorne smiled broadly, his expression oddly wistful. "Funny," he mused, "I figured that Tall Dark and Broody's perceptions were skewed. I mean, they almost always are. But your impression was right on. I should have recognized you sooner."

"Tall Dark and Broody?" Buffy asked warily.

Lorne shook his head and laughed somewhat nervously. A slip like that could cost him a lot more than his job. Just because he could live through a beheading didn't mean he liked them. "Never you mind about that, Sugar Plum," he said. "You've got loads of other stuff to worry your pretty little head about." He looked around the room and snatched a piece of paper off a bookcase. "Like this," he said, handing it to her.

Buffy looked at the piece of paper. "What is this?"

"A schedule," he said. "You need to look it over and fill in your section."

Buffy read down the roster. "What am I supposed to do?" she asked.

Lorne frowned at her. "Put your name down and fill in your hours."

"I thought I was going to be doing something ... easy," she said, confused.

Lorne blinked at her mutely. "The Big Guy told me I was supposed to have you fill out hours. He was quite adamant about you being one of the bouncers," Lorne replied.

"Bouncer?" Buffy squeaked. She quickly cleared her throat. "I ... uh, don't know about this," she said.

Lorne looked at her blankly for a moment, his lips pursed together. "He was very clear," he said. "He told me that you are the new bouncer and that I am supposed to help you any way I can."

"Bouncer," Buffy said again, trying the word on for size.

Buffy sat in her car - no scratch that, the company car - outside of her new apartment building. The wheels weren't flashy like her graduation present from her father. The 1993 Chevy Cavalier had definitely seen better days, but it was functional and it meant no more riding the bus. After she got the situation squared with Lorne, he gave her keys to the club and the car, a new cell phone - which was good because the current one was under her father's name - and a pager.

She was apparently going to be a bouncer not only for Caritas but also for Temple Flesh, Angel's very posh human-only club, which would be opening next week. Most of the bouncers would soon work at both venues depending on what was needed.

What the hell had she gotten herself into? Bouncer. She kept saying the word over and over and it still made her think of gigantic, sweaty men. How the hell was she supposed to be a bouncer? If she wasn't so grateful for the apartment, job and added amenities, Buffy would be tempted to go bounce Angel upside his head. The nerve of that man! No doubt he found it infinitely amusing to make her a heavy.

Buffy snorted as she got out of the car and headed for her apartment. Yes, when it came down to it, she could handle the job. As Angel loved to point out, she was a Slayer. As much as she always downplayed her strength, she was physically able to do what would be required. But it didn't mean she had to like it. Gods, that man! Why couldn't he have given her an office job? Or bartending? She saw Coyote Ugly. With her looks and attitude, she could clean up as a bartender. Hell, she would have even settled for waitressing. But no, leave it to Angel to make her a frickin' bouncer.

"Is there a reason she's not doing that?"

Gunn turned around, his expression sheepish as he eyed his employer. He was patting down a beefy looking Tholeyna demon. The demon was at least seven feet tall and weighed about four hundred pounds. It had a mouth full of inch long teeth. Several feet away, Buffy sat on a barstool, studying her bubble gum pink fingernails. "This is a joke, right?" Gunn asked.

"Tonight is Buffy's night on the door," Angel said in complete seriousness.

Gunn looked over the petite blonde, his face plastered with incredulity. Buffy's expression was completely innocent as she sat there in her knee length floral print skirt and light pink tanktop. Her flimsy heeled sandals and wealth of matching pink bracelets completed the outfit perfectly. Gunn glared at his employer. He didn't know what Roarke was playing at, but it wasn't funny. There was no way that little girl could do his job. "Man, you can't honestly expect her to - "

"I expect her to do her job," Angel snapped. "Just like I expect you to do yours. Or I'll expect you both to find new employment. You're supposed to be on patrol tonight, not here sniffing after your new co-workers." Gunn swallowed back his comment as Angel's attention turned to Buffy. "Come with me," he said ominously. He didn't wait to see if she followed as he headed for his office.

Angel's office was above Caritas and there were only two ways to access it. The easiest was the elevator in Lorne's office. The Anagogic demon was doing a real good job of looking busy as Angel strode through the office. "Wimp," Buffy muttered as she followed at a much less hurried clip.

"Crumbcake," Lorne whispered, never taking his eyes off the ledger, "sometimes people don't have to sing for me to get the picture. Might I just say, 'busted'."

"Bitch."

"Back atcha, Sweetheart," Lorne said, looking up long enough to give her an evil wink.

Buffy glared, but reluctantly followed Angel. They rode up to the second floor in complete silence and Angel exited the elevator first. She closed the iron gate and leaned back against it, staring around his spacious office which looked more like an apartment. She crossed her arms over her chest as she studied the pieces of art hanging on his walls. Anything to avoid looking at him.

"Let's just get one thing straight right now," he said. Buffy looked up and met his gaze. "I am not your father," Angel bit out.

Buffy snorted impudently. "Wow, there's a shocker," she said.

Angel snarled at her before snatching a sword off the wall and tossing it to her hilt first. Buffy caught it awkwardly, staring at it stupidly as she watched Angel grab its mate. As he advanced, she realized that he meant to attack her. Her blood felt like ice water. Her grasp on the sword faltered and she nearly dropped it.

Angel, still looking very angry, swung at her. He wasn't playing. Buffy froze for a split second before gracelessly throwing herself out of the way. Angel embedded the sword in the wall where she had been standing. He pulled on it fiercely, trying to work it free. Buffy scrambled to her feet frantically and retreated around the couch and into the middle of the room, her heart pounding in her ears.

Angel freed his sword and advanced on Buffy. She held her sword in front of her, trying to keep the couch between them. She was trembling, afraid. But it was also a hell of a rush. He faked to his left and then jumped over the couch, lunging for her. She raised her sword, blocking his blow and deflecting his momentum to the side. His momentum sent him tumbling over the desk and onto the floor, rolling into a bookcase.

"What the hell?"

Buffy and Angel both turned to see Lorne's head peeking through the elevator gate. Angel growled and heaved a massive bookend at the club manager. Lorne slammed the gate shut just before it impacted with his head, quickly retreating down to the first floor.

Angel got to his feet and advanced on Buffy. Their swords met in a loud metallic clang that vibrated painfully through Buffy's entire hand. He swung hard. His blows were strong enough to cause her to teeter on her high heels, but she managed to parry. As the fight went on, Buffy became more and more sure of herself. Rather than simply defending, she took the occasional offensive move. For innumerable minutes, they fought around his office, destroying everything.

As Angel swung back to get momentum for yet another crushing blow, Buffy made her move. Rather than attacking him with the blade, she swung with the sword's hilt, clipping him brutally on the temple.

The hit dazed him and he stared at her blankly for several seconds before dropping to his knees in front of her. He blinked slowly. Buffy stood there, watching him as she panted harshly in the now quiet room. Angel shook his head and lifted his hand to his temple. He drew his fingers back and looked at the blood stained digits.

"Match to the lady," he said with a wry grin.

Buffy continued to eye him warily as he rose to his feet. He hung his own sword on the wall and held out a hand for hers. With a reluctant huff, she gave it to him - as much as she would have enjoyed it, she refrained from doing so point first. "What the hell was that?" she demanded, her voice tight with anger.

"A lesson," Angel said blandly.

"A lesson?" Buffy parroted incredulously. "A lesson in what? That you're a dick?"

Frowning, Angel studied her seriously. "A lesson in your power," he said.

"My power? You tried to kill me to teach me about my power?" she gaped.

Angel smiled slowly. "I wouldn't have killed you," he said matter-of-factly. "But I would have given you a very serious scar to remember me by."

Buffy had no trouble believing him. "You're a psycho," she spat.

Angel shrugged, completely unconcerned by her assertions. "I needed to illustrate that despite your and your father's protestations, that you are not some helpless little girl. You are the Slayer."

Buffy's lips pursed together tightly. "I'm not the Slayer," she said.

"You are," he replied calmly. "If you were anything less, right now you would be the one bleeding, not me. You escaped unharmed because being a Slayer is not something that you can control. It is who you are. You can pretend to be incompetent, but your body knows the truth. You are a warrior."

Buffy watched him mutely, having no idea how to respond.

"Go home," Angel said dismissively as the cut at his temple began to throb painfully. "You're on the door tomorrow and you will do your job without assistance or you can go crawling back to your father."

Buffy sat in the bathtub staring at her hands. Aside from being pruned from too long in the water, they were flawless. Therein lay the problem. When she limped out of Caritas several hours earlier, her hands had been bruised. Now her hands and even the knee that was carpet burned were all healed.

She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, hugging herself tightly. Angel's attack should have left her scared, shaken, traumatized even. She should be calling the cops and pressing charges. But she wasn't. How could she explain to the police that the injuries faded after a couple of hours? She couldn't.

Even more disturbing, was the fact that she hadn't been afraid. On the contrary, she felt alive for the first time in as long as she could remember.

Shaking her head, she stood up and stepped out of the tub, lukewarm water running off her body in rivulets. She pulled the plug on the drain and wrapped herself in a towel. It was a borrowed towel. Buffy ran her fingers over the well worn fabric and was so thankful for Willow. Buffy didn't know what she would do without her new roommate's kindness. She felt like an urchin showing up on Willow's doorstep with no possessions except a duffel bag full of clothes and sentimental items. But Willow hadn't seemed to mind. She had a spare bedroom complete with furniture and enough general housekeeping supplies to share. Buffy fully intended to pay Willow back when she had some money, but that would be a while yet.

Thoughts of money brought Buffy back to her current predicament. She was still angry with her father. But more and more, she was angry with herself. As much as she loathed to admit it, Angel had a real point. For far too long, Buffy had allowed herself to be taken care of, to be coddled. For so long, she let others do what she could have - and should have - done for herself.

The logical remedy to this seemed to be to make it on her own. Of course, to do that she needed two things: a job and money. She had both, compliments of Angel. It burned her to be indebted to him for anything, but no matter how many ways she looked at it, she didn't have a choice.

Or maybe she didn't want a choice. Buffy cringed at the thought, but admitted to herself that there was more than a grain of truth in it. Angel with all of his inherent problems still had something that she couldn't find anywhere else. Angel expected her to perform to the fullest extent of her potential. He believed in her. Oh, sure, it wasn't the after school special sort of believing in someone. He wasn't about pep talks or selfless concern. She didn't doubt for one second that he had an angle on this somewhere - she just couldn't figure out what it was. Angel never did anything for the benefit of anyone but himself. Selfishness was his modus operandi.

But evil machinations aside, he still took her seriously. Far more seriously than anyone else had ever taken her. He wanted her to give it her all - and not just Buffy Summers' all, the Slayer's all.

Buffy used her palm to swipe a path across the steam-covered mirror. She studied her reflection. She didn't look any different. Same long blonde hair. Same muddled hazel eyes. Same nose. But inside ... inside she felt different. The impromptu duel with Angel sparked something inside of her, something she spent the last three years forgetting. Just like she ignored Angel for the last three years. He was tied to this - to her dark side, to whatever it was that made her a Slayer. When she shunned her Slayer-self, she shunned him by definition.

Ever since that initial meeting ten years ago, there was an inexplicable bond between her and Angel. It wasn't something out of a sappy novel. It wasn't romantic or mythic or even enjoyable. It was terrifying. ShadowTongue was just one of many physical manifestations of their connection. Having a bond with Angel was not a happy circumstance. Angel was dangerous and Buffy had no desire to be tied to him.

She thought she had severed that bond three years ago. Tonight showed pretty strong evidence to the contrary. She hadn't stopped being a Slayer anymore than she had stopped being Buffy. The fact that another had been Called didn't mean that she ceased to be what she was. For the last three years she had been denying a part of herself. And tonight for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, she felt whole.

She met her own eyes in the mirror, shaken by the weight of her revelation. Everything seemed to click into place. She was Buffy, but she was still the Slayer. She couldn't stop being either of those things.

When Angel arrived at Caritas the following night, Buffy was manning the door alone. She was dressed conservatively in a pair of tight fitting brown pants and a long sleeved black shirt with a deep V-neck. The outfit managed to be attractive and functional at the same time. Rather than going to his office as usual, he took a corner table and watched her. He remained mute as Lorne joined him, both pairs of eyes fixated on the Slayer.

She was still charming as hell. To most of the patrons, she flashed a gleaming smile and flirted. They seemed to think it was cute that a waifish little girl was working the door. Some of them even tipped her. Angel made a mental note to pay a visit to an overly handsy little beatnik wannabe named Parker later in the week.

Angel caught Lorne's eye and realized his club's manager was watching him over the rim of his Sea Breeze. "What?" he barked.

Lorne shrugged, looking back at Buffy. "Nothing, Peaches," he said, "you're just sparking hotter than Eddie Murphy after a Sunset Boulevard transvestite."

Angel grumbled but let Lorne's comment slide. He knew that this was not his style. He rarely mingled with Caritas' clientele, much less brooded in a dark corner, staring at one of his own employees. People were bound to think it odd. Angel had never much cared what people thought, but he found he didn't appreciate Lorne's mental speculations. "Don't you have a job to be doing?" he barked.

"I am doing it," Lorne answered evenly.

"Really?" Angel bit out. "Doesn't look like it from here."

Lorne smiled tightly. "My job is to offer advice," he said. "Even to those who don't want it."

"Advice?" Angel drawled contemptuously. "You think your advice has something to do with me?"

Lorne looked pointedly at the door. "I knew enough to warn Gunn to keep his hands to himself," he said.

Angel's gaze narrowed menacingly. "Did Gunn say anything to you about her?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice.

Shaking his head, Lorne answered, "Definite 'no' to that one, Crumpet. But I can tell he likes her. Hell, everyone likes her. The girl is beautiful and a regular firecracker in the personality department. Quite a step up from your usual fare."

"Buffy is off limits."

Lorne took a deep breath. "I know," he said. "And trust me when I tell you that I don't need a direct line to the Powers That Be to pick up on that little gem."

Their conversation was cut short by a scuffle at the door. Two drunk human guys were trying to get inside and Buffy wasn't going to let them. Angel forced himself to sit in his chair while she worked. It wouldn't serve to remind her that she was the Slayer by rescuing her. He watched as she tried to flirt and charm.

It worked for a little while, but when the men realized she didn't intend to admit them, they became more forceful. One of them tried to push her away and Buffy caught his wrist. She didn't hurt him, she simply applied enough pressure to let him know that she wasn't kidding and that if push came to shove, he'd be on his ass in the alley. Reluctantly, the duo retreated.

Lorne whistled under his breath. "She did a damn good job," he said. "Groo would have caused a couple hundred dollars worth of damage before proving his point."

Angel merely nodded, though his face shone with pride.

Hesitant to break Angel's obvious basking, Lorne took a deep breath before he said, "Boss, you know, I've sort of picked up on a little tidbit that might interest you."

Frowning, Angel turned his attention to Lorne. "What?" he said impatiently.

"You," Lorne said carefully, "and the firecracker over there."

Angel sat up straighter in his chair. "What about Buffy and myself?" he asked in icy tones.

Lorne swallowed audibly. "It's just ... I don't know. I mean, I'm not crystal clear on this one, but you plus the Slayer." He shook his head. "It doesn't look good."

"Doesn't look good for who?"

"You."

Angel's dark expression made Lorne regret opening his mouth. "Explain."

Lorne shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. "I could be wrong. I mean, I've never actually read either of you. It's just this sort of ... psychic wake. It happens with big players on the ethereal plane. Most people are a match in a dark room. Powerhouses like you and the Slayer over there ... you guys are like sunrise on a clear morning. I get residual readings without even trying."

"Residual readings that tell you what, exactly?"

"That something's got to break," Lorne said seriously. "You two are fire and ice. You can't be around each other without something big changing. The only way to avoid that is to avoid each other."

Angel's expression gave nothing away, but Lorne had the sinking feeling that Angel would disregard his advice.

Jenny abruptly stood up from the table, her expression strained as she watched Buffy walk into the deli. The bright mid-morning sun made her pale blonde locks shimmer and Jenny sighed in relief at the realization that Buffy obviously wasn't living on the streets. Stopping in front of her stepmother, Buffy was hesitant until Jenny's face cracked into a smile and she wrapped Buffy in a crushing hug. Buffy hugged her back, letting herself admit for the first time in over a week how much she missed her family.

Pulling back, Jenny motioned for Buffy to sit and then did the same. They looked at each other a bit uncomfortably Jenny wringing her hands. "You look well," Jenny said.

Buffy nodded, unable to meet her stepmother's eyes. She knew what Jenny wasn't saying. She knew that her parents had been worried to death about her for the last week. She knew they had no idea where she was staying or what she was doing. "I'm fine," she said quietly. "I have an apartment and a job."

Jenny's shock was clear. She opened her mouth and then shut it again. "An apartment," she said. "I was ... well, your father and I both were hoping that you would be coming home today."

Shaking her head, Buffy pursed her lips together. "I can't," she said.

A waiter appeared to take their orders and they both opted for beverages only. When he was gone, Jenny continued. "Your father knows that he was harsh, Buffy - "

"I'm not a child," she said firmly. For the first time, she said it without sounding petulant. Her assertion was flat, dull, a boring fact of life. And it was real.

Jenny nodded slowly. "Indeed," she replied, folding her napkin to keep her hands busy.

Buffy took a deep breath and said, "I can't go home, Jenny. I don't belong there anymore. I need to be on my own, to live my own life, find my own way."

The expression on Jenny's face was an odd mix of admiration, regret and pain. "Your father- "

"Won't understand," Buffy finished. She nodded. "I know," she said, "but it doesn't make it untrue. He can't see me as an adult. I know a lot of that is my fault, but it has to change."

They sat in strained silence as the waiter left their drinks. Buffy took a sip of the overly sweet tea. Slowly, she reached into her purse and dug out a small yellow sticky note and handed it to Jenny. "It's my new cell phone," she said.

Jenny stared blankly at the paper, her face reflecting her hurt. "You don't trust us enough to tell us where you live or where you work?"

Buffy flushed. "It's not that I don't trust you," she said hastily. "It's just ... I have to have this to myself - for a while."

Swallowing thickly, Jenny nodded. "Just remember," she said, "you always have a home."

Willow was sitting cross-legged on the couch when Buffy walked in, still feeling off kilter from her meeting with Jenny. "Hey," Willow said with a smile.

"Hey," Buffy replied. She liked Willow, but she didn't really know her very well. Most of their interaction tended to be of this nature.

Willow laughed at the awkward situation and set her book down. "I need to run out and get some magick supplies, you want to get some fresh air?"

Buffy started to decline and then stopped. She didn't want to impose upon Willow, but yes, she did want to go. She had always been fascinated by magick. Plus, she could get her mind off her estranged family. "Sure," she said.

The crowded little shop was in a strip mall, sandwiched between a dry cleaner and a taco place. Buffy smiled to herself at how mundane it seemed. The store was filled floor to ceiling with shelves packed with magick supplies. Narrow isles ran the length of the store. Buffy eyed the clerk who was half asleep behind the counter and whispered to Willow, "Aren't they afraid of shoplifters?"

Willow shook her head. "You can't take any of the items out of here without first removing the enchantment. Plus, you know, it's bad karma."

Buffy nodded, and went about her browsing. There were lots of books, mortars and pestles, and a case full of dried herbs took up one entire wall. Mixed in with the more mundane were the occasional startling items such as wicked looking knives, dried monkey's paws and highly polished runes. Buffy walked down the rows with her hands buried in her pockets, nosing along the shelves, her eyes the size of a child's in a candy store.

Buffy startled as she noticed a particular stone. It wasn't very large, maybe an inch by two inches, roughly rectangular. It appeared to be onyx, though Buffy wasn't entirely certain. It could have been obsidian. Carved into the front of the stone was a rough tribal pattern of a big cat, a panther or possibly a jaguar. She stared at the stone intently, startling when Willow spoke so close to her ear.

"Wow," Willow said in a breathy voice, her eyes locked on the stone, "I never thought I would see a real one of these."

Buffy tore her gaze from the stone long enough to look at her roommate. "What is it?" she asked.

"A Nottis stone," Willow said in an awed tone that indicated that Buffy should find some meaning in the words.

Frowning, Buffy asked, "What's it for?"

Willow smiled. "I thought you were a Slayer," she said.

Buffy shrugged, blushing slightly. "You might say I'm seriously lacking on the formal education part of the whole Slayer experience."

Willow picked the stone off the shelf and held it out to Buffy. Obediently, she allowed Willow to place the stone on the palm of her hand. "What does it feel like?" Willow asked.

Buffy balled her fist around the stone. "Warm," she said.

Smiling, Willow replied giddily, "It likes you." At Buffy's wary expression, Willow explained, "Nottis stones are one of the few reactive relics. They are either warm or cold depending on whether they are in harmony or discord with the person holding them. Traditionally only Slayers can harmonize with them, and then only Slayers with an affinity for the totem animal."

Buffy rolled the stone over in her fingers, looking at the outline of the large predator.

"This is a rare piece," Willow explained. "I'm shocked that they have one here. I thought the Council had them all locked up in England. Nottis stones are made from quartz, any type. They're usually white or rose quartz, but this one seems to be onyx. They bear the mark of a particular Slayer's totem animal."

"Totem animal?" Buffy repeated, one eyebrow raised in question.

"Totem animals are largely symbolic," Willow explained. "They're a sort of mascot for the Slayer. It's rumored that some Slayers actually had an affinity with their totem animals, but I've never seen any documented accounts. Also, for whatever reason, Slayers were typically associated with birds. This is the first feline totem I've ever heard of, much less seen."

With a smile, Willow shrugged and left to resume her shopping. Buffy turned the Nottis stone over again, biting down on her bottom lip as she stared at it. The weight felt perfect in her palm. She studied the rugged outline of the large cat. Buffy never considered herself a cat person, but she couldn't deny that the stone seemed to pull at something inside of her. Her gaze traced the outline of the big cat, noting its sleek, deadly lines. Its power seemed to radiate from the stone. It reminded her of something ...

"Angel," she whispered.

Buffy jumped as she realized what she had said. She dropped the stone and it landed noiselessly on the dull beige carpet. Quickly Buffy bent over, picking up the stone and placing it on the shelf. She hurriedly walked down the isle, not daring to look back.

It took Buffy nearly twenty minutes on the ride home to broach the subject with Willow, but taking a deep breath, she asked, "How do you know so much about Slayers?"

Willow looked over at her roommate and smiled. "You noticed that, huh?" she asked, then laughed lightly. "I know about Slayers from Faith, but I'm trying to reserve judgment. I figure they can't all be that skanky."

"Faith?" Buffy asked. She thought it was the name of the current Slayer, but she wasn't certain.

"She was Called about two and a half years ago, and she's a mess," Willow said, her distaste evident.

"Why are you working with the Slayer?" Buffy asked. "I thought they were lone wolves."

Willow shrugged. "I think they generally fly solo. Most of the time Faith acts like she's a one-woman army. But she isn't. We all work for Roarke. Without him, even Faith would be out on her leather-clad bottom. Me; Faith; her Watcher, Wesley; Gunn; Groo; and an assortment of odd demons - we're all on Roarke's payroll."

"You work for Angel?" Buffy gasped in astonishment.

Willow shrugged, a wry expression on her face as she studied the freeway traffic. "Trust me, it wasn't something I ever planned on. Roarke's reputation precedes him and it's not good. He pursued me for months and I always told him no. But then I saw him work and it was just so ... guh. Spiritual almost. Once I got past my violent personal dislike for him, I realized he's actually not that bad of a guy. I mean, sure he has his issues and I want no part of them, but in terms of the amount of real good he does, he's pretty amazing. And for sheer power, no magick worker I've ever seen - good or bad - can touch him."

"Angel good?" Buffy choked out.

Willow nodded reluctantly, a sheepish grin on her lips. "I know. It shocked me too. He's very covert about it. I don't doubt that his behavior serves to further his own agenda, but he polices the demonic underworld in L.A. He keeps things under control. I'm sure his reasons aren't completely altruistic, but the end result is that he makes the city a better place for everyone."

Buffy leaned back in her seat, staring blankly at the flowing traffic. Angel was a good guy? She really couldn't wrap her mind around the concept. Okay, so she knew somewhere deep inside that he wasn't really rotten to the core. But he was definitely rough around the edges. And he most certainly did what was best for himself. But apparently somewhere along the line, he decided that making L.A. a safer place served his purposes. Good guy by default. Very interesting.

Buffy stared at the large metal box sitting on the table in Lorne's office. It was a slow night, things wouldn't pick up until later in the evening. To entertain herself in the interim, she was escorting a young man up to Angel's office rather than having one of Lorne's flunkies do it. The box set her Slayer senses to tingling, though she didn't know why. She gave it a wide berth as she headed towards the elevator.

Before she could flip the controls, the elevator descended and Angel, Lorne and Willow exited. Lorne was frowning as he made a beeline for his desk, but Angel and Willow were engrossed in some terribly serious conversation.

Buffy cleared her throat loudly and Angel glanced at her, letting her know that he'd been aware of her presence the entire time. Buffy frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. "He says he has an appointment with you," she said dryly, nodding to the young man at her side.

"Oz," Angel said in greeting.

"Roarke," Oz replied evenly. He turned his attention to the box. "This it?" he asked.

Angel smiled, stepping closer to the box. Willow hung back, watching her mentor. "One magickally crafted Trojan Horse Box of Gavrok at your service," Angel said.

Oz walked up to the box, solemnly putting his hands on it. He took a deep breath before turning to look at Angel once more. "You sure this is gonna work?" he asked, his face set in hard lines.

"You mean are the fake bugs going to be enough to cramp Wilkins' plans?" Angel asked with a smirk.

Straightening up, Oz turned to face him, his posture absolutely rigid. "I mean is your little magick trick really going to be enough to thwart an ascension," he ground out.

Buffy didn't know who Oz was, but she could see the strain on his features. Stress seemed to seep out of his pores. Oz was a desperate man.

"This will stop him," Angel said seriously, his perfectly black eyes glittering.

Oz took a deep breath, looking once again at the box. "This doesn't and everyone's gonna be in a world of hurt, not just Sunnydale," he said.

"It will work," Angel bit out.

Oz finally nodded, picking up the box with an ease that was more than human. "You'll get your tribute next week," Oz said, "provided we're still around."

"I'll look forward to receiving it," Angel replied evenly.

Buffy watched Oz leave and turned to face Angel. "Sunnydale?" she said. It being her former hometown, she was understandably curious.

Angel nodded. "Mayor Wilkins is planning to turn himself into a demon," Angel said with a smirk. "How very amateur. Anyway, the Sunnydale White Hats came to me for help."

"And will your gravel box do the job?"

Frowning at her obvious disregard for the proper names of mystical relics, Angel said, "It's more than sufficient to take care of one annoying immortal. My latest masterpiece would be able to take Wilkins out of the game even if he had already transfigured. They don't have anything to worry about."

"Sir?" Wesley's voice was slightly higher than usual, betraying his unease with the situation. Angel growled low in his throat and turned to face Wesley. The Watcher was slightly pale, sweat beaded on his upper lip. The hammer in his hands shook with the force of his trembling. "Sir, what should we do with him?"

Angel looked at the boy bound to the chair. The same boy who had groped Buffy in Caritas her first night on the job. Parker wasn't strictly evil - but he had trespassed on forbidden territory. Angel wanted to kill him, wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp with that hammer Wesley kept dropping. Of course, if Buffy found out ... Angel didn't finish the thought. While she had been annoyed with Parker's advances, Angel knew she wouldn't take kindly to him defending her honor with lethal force. But still, the idea appealed. The darkness inside of him yearned for the death, yearned to hear Parker's tortured screams. With every day that passed, the bloodlust within him grew stronger.

He pushed the thought away, shaking his head roughly. Angel's nose scrunched up as he looked at the puddle of urine under the boy's chair. "Let him go," he said to Wesley. "But if he's in Caritas again ... I won't be so forgiving."

Buffy stood nervously inside the elevator, staring out into Angel's office. In the last three weeks she had been working at Caritas, she'd managed to avoid Angel as much as possible. But she needed to see him again. She needed to have her schedule changed again and Lorne assured her for the billionth time that the only way for that to happen was by speaking directly to Angel. For the record, Buffy found it intensely annoying that the club's manager, Lorne, couldn't handle employee scheduling. When she mentioned that to Lorne, he had just smiled at her and then muttered something under his breath about Roarke.

"Yes," Angel said dryly, looking at her over the edge of his fax.

Buffy frowned before throwing back the elevator's gate and stepping into his office. She walked over to his desk and took a seat in one of the chairs, holding up the roster. "I need to talk to you about my schedule," she said.

Angel watched her for several drawn out moments. "What about it?"

Perching on the edge of the seat, Buffy bit down on her bottom lip as she looked at Angel. He watched her passively, waiting for her to speak. She took a deep breath. "I need you to change my schedule," she said.

Angel's eyes narrowed slightly in irritation. "You were in here last week telling me you wanted more hours," he said. "Or have you forgotten about the money you're supposed to be repaying me."

Buffy's cheeks burned in embarrassment. "Of course I haven't forgotten," she snipped. "You'll get your damn money. And I'm not asking you to change my hours, just the venue."

Steepling his fingers, Angel shook his head. "You're at Temple Flesh next week," he said with finality.

Grinding her teeth together, Buffy forced back her reply. She needed this job. "I can't work at Temple Flesh," she replied emphatically.

"You can," he said, "and you will."

She hated herself for putting up with his attitude, but she needed him to relent. What little social status she had left was dependent upon not being seen working as a bouncer at Temple Flesh. Angel's new club was bound to attract a lot of attention, and Buffy knew that Sunday and Cordelia would most certainly be there. She would never live down the humiliation of being spotted by them. "Please, Angel," she said quietly in ShadowTongue.

He scowled at her gentle request. If she had fought with him, he would have fought back, but her submission gave him pause. "What's in it for me?" he snapped.

Buffy was careful not to smile. Angel was decidedly a pain in the ass, but he was also a consummate businessman. As long as she could reason with him, she might just get her way. "A good Slayer," she said. Angel was quiet for a very long time, obviously waiting for her to elaborate. She did so with more than a little hesitation. "I know that you police the local demon world," she took a deep breath. "You're short handed around your clubs because Groo and Gun have been filling in for Faith, who can't seem to manage two consecutive days of patrolling a week. If you take me off the Temple Flesh rotation, I can pick up Faith's slack and you have your two bouncers back."

Angel shrugged. "A trained Slayer would definitely be a bonus, but you are not a trained Slayer, Buffy. You've never had a Watcher. You've never had any formal Council education at all."

Squaring her shoulders, Buffy replied, "Willow told me that Wesley is a Watcher. I can't imagine that he's so busy with Faith that he couldn't give me a few pointers."

Angel watched her through slitted eyes. "You would honestly be willing to train as a Slayer?" he asked.

Buffy nodded. "Yes."

He kept himself from smiling. This was exactly what he had wanted all along, but he never dared dream that Buffy would come to this conclusion without significant coercion. Apparently there was a great deal more natural instinct buried within her than her earlier actions seemed to indicate. "Fine," he said blandly, "I'll have Wesley contact you to set up a training schedule. As of today, you're no longer a bouncer. Getting you into shape as a Slayer will be a full time job."

Buffy groaned and slowly opened one eye to see Wesley standing over her, quarterstaff in hand. "Ow!" she said with a glare.

"Ms. Summers," he said haughtily, "if you would stop dropping your shoulder, you would likely stop landing on the floor."

With a growl, Buffy swept her quarterstaff in an arc, causing Wesley to land solidly on his behind on the practice mat next to her. She smiled as he grunted in discomfort. "That was entirely uncalled for," he huffed.

Buffy grinned unrepentantly as she hopped to her feet. She did, however, offer him a hand up. He accepted with a frown and they resumed their fighting stances. Wesley was covered in protective padding while Buffy wore a pair of black yoga pants and a dark gray sports bra. She had spent twelve hours a day for the last ten days practicing with Wesley, and even with her remarkable healing ability, she had the bumps and bruises to prove it. Despite his prudish English nature, Wesley was a decent fighter. She spent the first couple of days getting bruised by a variety of weaponry.

But she wasn't a Slayer for nothing. Her learning curve for martial arts and weapons training was great. For the last several days, she had been seriously putting Wesley through his paces. With any luck she would be able to start patrolling soon.

As she had learned, Angel's base of operations for his preternatural connections was a former hotel called the Hyperion. The large basement had been converted entirely to training space and it was where she spent the majority of her time. When they weren't training, Wesley made her take calls and file leads and tips. Buffy wasn't too excited about the secretary gig, but Wesley assured her that there was no way she was going to be allowed to patrol without a working knowledge of basic detective skills.

Wesley broke stance and experimentally prodded his wounded posterior. "I think perhaps we should call it a day," he said with a frown.

"Fine by me," Buffy said, hurrying to return her quarterstaff to the weapons cabinet.

"Not so fast," Wesley called after her, "you're on phones until midnight."

Buffy rolled her eyes and sighed. She arrived at the Hyperion at nine in the morning and it was shortly after five in the evening. Surely there had to be some law against having to spend fifteen hours at work on a Saturday. She turned and looked at Wesley, but his expression let her know that there was no point in trying to get out of it. Maybe knocking him on his butt hadn't been such a bright idea.

A quick shower later, Buffy sat at a stool by the front desk, legs swinging impatiently. Her elbows rested on the battered countertop and her chin was cradled in her upturned palms. Bo-ring. Gunn and Groo were both out on calls thanks to Faith being MIA yet again. In the week and a half at the Hyperion, Buffy had still not managed to catch a glimpse of her sister Slayer.

Buffy had read through Faith's file several times trying to find any sort of common bond that would explain how they both came to be Called. Her efforts were largely fruitless. There was nothing in their backgrounds that overlapped. Faith was born to a homeless teen mother in a rough Boston neighborhood. She was taken into state custody at the age of five and shuffled around from foster home to foster home until she ran away for good at fifteen. She was a high school dropout and her police record was longer than Buffy's arm.

Physically it was the same story. Faith was brunette, of average height and possessed a body built for sin. The "built for sin" part was actually in the notes of her file. Buffy wasn't good enough with the Angel Investigations staff's handwriting to know who had penned that particular phrase, but she intended to find out. For some reason she cared not to examine too closely, she hoped it was one of the guys and not Angel. The ironic part was that it was most likely Angel. It was totally his style, bawdy, visceral and unapologetic. It took no great stretch of the imagination to theorize that Faith was given a long leash because she had something going on with the boss. But Buffy didn't want to mull over that possibility. Simply thinking about it made her grouchy.

The long and the short of it was that Angel Investigations was hopelessly overworked and understaffed. No one seemed to know Faith's whereabouts. Buffy wasn't Kreskin, but she could read between these lines. Willow wasn't embellishing when she said Faith was a mess. For the staff to be willing to pull double duty to cover her absences - and not even bitch about it - she had to be a lot of trouble. Even if she was sleeping with Angel, you would think that someone would bother trying to track her down. Of course, if ol' Wes was as charming to Faith as he was to her, Buffy could understand the ducking out of work.

Not that Buffy could afford to duck out of work. She still owed Angel several hundred dollars. And as much as she was loath to admit, she liked training. Well, okay, she didn't like sitting at the front desk waiting for the phone to ring, but every now and then she got to kick Wesley's ass and that was decidedly enjoyable. It made her feel ... right - like she was finally doing what she was meant to be doing. Buffy had never realized how much was missing from her life until she started training as a Slayer.

The door opened and Buffy automatically grabbed a pen and paper before looking up. Her "polite" face disappeared into a wry grin as she saw who had entered. "My, my," she said, "I didn't know that you slummed down here."

Angel's grin was positively wicked as he replied, "Ionuin, I would never consider you slumming."

Buffy's cheeks flamed in embarrassment and she wondered what had caused her to bait him with her initial statement. It wasn't like her to play with Angel. Of course, their relationship had gone through several major changes recently. She still wasn't entirely sure what their dynamic was at the moment. They weren't Buttercup and Westley, but they weren't mortal enemies either.

"The guys are out on calls and Wes is getting friendly with the BenGay," Buffy noted blandly, choosing to ignore his cheeky comment.

Angel nodded and walked behind the desk to study the large wipe board where all current cases were cataloged. Gunn and Groo definitely had their hands full. It would be a real help once Buffy was up to speed. "Quiet as usual, I see," he said sardonically.

Buffy frowned. The backlog went on for weeks and showed no signs of tapering off. Of course, if they weren't so woefully understaffed it wouldn't be such an issue. Angel most definitely was not a pushover. He was one of the most relentless taskmasters in the entire history of pain-in-the-ass bosses. Buffy couldn't help but entertain her earlier uncomfortable thoughts. "Why do you keep Faith around?" she blurted out.

Turning slowly, Angel looked Buffy up and down, his expression guarded. Buffy fidgeted nervously on the chair. Why did she have to ask him that? She wanted to pound her forehead onto the counter, but she forced herself to meet his gaze.

"The schedule of your fellow employees is not your concern," he said with finality.

"Evasive much?" she snarked before she could stop herself.

In spite of himself, Angel let the barest hint of a smile slip as he looked at her grumpy countenance. "Why do you want to know?" he asked, stepping closer.

Buffy sputtered incoherently for a few moments before finding a convincing argument. "Because I'm sick of sitting here babysitting the phones," she said. "It's Saturday night. I have a life, you know."

"Oh really?" he drawled unpleasantly. "Is there a hot date that you're missing?"

His snide statement did everything possible to rile her and Buffy nearly growled. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes," she snapped. It wasn't true, of course. She did have a social engagement, but the word hot didn't really figure into it. Buffy was so busy with work and training and starting her new life that she most certainly didn't have time for a budding romance.

Angel's face shuttered, but Buffy had the definite impression that he was very unhappy. The realization only irritated her further. He had yet to make any sort of explanation about Faith. He didn't have any right to be worried about her personal life. "You never answered me," Buffy said, sticking her chin out defiantly. "Why do you keep Faith around? It doesn't really seem your style to retain dead weight."

"A Slayer," he drawled, "even an insufficiently motivated one, is never dead weight." His expression softened and the barest hint of a grin curved his lips. He took several steps, so they were less than a foot apart. Leaning in conspiratorially, he added softly, "And don't worry, Ionuin, you're the only Slayer on the A.I. payroll with me wrapped around her little finger." He winked lasciviously before turning on his heel and walking away.

Buffy stared blankly at his back as he headed for the door. Her mind tried to make sense of what he said. Wrapped around her finger? Angel? She wasn't sure if she should be insulted. Had he been making fun of her? There was no way he was serious. But his mood hadn't been teasing either, at least not the caustic way he usually teased. It was more akin to I-like-you teasing. Like little boys pulling little girls' hair on the playground.

Buffy swallowed audibly as she dropped her vision to the countertop and tried to doodle on her notepad. She was so confused it was beginning to make her head hurt. And she still had to see Ford later tonight. She groaned aloud.

"You look good," Ford said with a genuine smile. He looked around the dim interior of the tiny shop. Given its proximity to the unsavory part of town, he wasn't expecting to see anyone they knew, but it never hurt to check. Speaking sotto voce despite the lack of familiar faces, he said, "Sunday has some story going around about you getting a botched nose job."

Buffy frowned, concentrating on tearing open the woefully inadequate sugar packets and pouring them one after another into her steaming mug. She had always been a night owl, but functioning well at two in the morning was facilitated considerably by large amounts of sugar and caffeine. "I've been busy," she replied.

Ford slid into the booth and drummed his fingers nervously on the scarred tabletop. Buffy looked at him in obvious annoyance and he stopped. "What exactly are you sugaring to death over there, Summers?" he asked. "Cocoa?"

"Coffee," she replied wryly. "We're in a coffee shop. Appreciate the symmetry."

Ford frowned. "You don't like coffee," he said. Not, he noted, that her beverage necessarily had much in common with coffee. From where he stood, it looked equal parts coffee, milk and sugar.

"I've gotten used to it," she replied blandly. "It's all Angel stocks at the office. Cheap bastard."

Ford was very quiet. Buffy knew she should feel guilty for casually dropping the name of Ford's most hated enemy. But she didn't. Ford had no compunctions earlier about mentioning Sunday. And at the moment, Buffy was not in the mood to contemplate her withering social status.

"You, uh ... ," he trailed off, "spending a lot of time with Roarke lately?"

She shrugged. "Depends," she said. "I work for him. Sometimes he's around, sometimes he's not."

"You work for Roarke?" Ford asked incredulously.

Buffy looked at him seriously. "After our fun little interlude with the cops, I had a major falling out with my father," she explained. "I left home. That's why I haven't been around lately, not because I had a bad plastic surgeon. I'm out on my own and Angel took pity on me and gave me a job."

"Oh," Ford said lamely. "I didn't know."

"I know you didn't know," Buffy bit out. "You never even called to check up on me after the cops picked us up."

Ford shifted uneasily in his seat. "I just ... I figured you'd be fine. I mean, it's not like your dad was going to let you go to jail."

Shaking her head in disgust, Buffy said, "So that makes everything okay? I got busted for your stuff and you're completely absolved of guilt because I have a rich father?"

Ford smiled coldly. "You know as well as I do that money talks."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't know anything about that anymore," she said.

"I bet."

Buffy glared at her former boyfriend, unable to conjure any pleasant memories that would remind her why she had ever given him the time of day. "You can be angry and bitter all you want," she said, "but don't you dare use that tone with me. I'm sorry that you think Angel is responsible for destroying your family, but there's nothing I can do about that. I don't have daddy looking out for me anymore. I have an apartment and a piece of shit car and two jobs."

Ford was quiet as he looked at her. And he did look at her, seriously, for the first time since he had arrived. It was more than a month since he last saw her and he could tell now that she had changed. She didn't look hard ... but somehow he knew she wasn't the bubble headed blonde he used to adore. There was a somber note to her that he had never before noticed. She was thinner, more muscled and the dark circles under her eyes were testament to sleepless nights.

He laughed sadly to himself. "No matter how much I want things to stay the same, they always change," he said.

In spite of her foul mood, Buffy smiled weakly in return. "We're not the prom king and queen anymore," she added.

He shook his head. "It was brutal trying to get back on my feet after my dad lost everything, but somehow it seems harder for me to imagine you not being one of the inner circle."

Buffy shrugged. "I'm not sure I'm used to it either," she admitted grudgingly.

"You were always such a princess," he said. "Queen B of all the rich bitches at school. It's strange to think of you not being a part of that anymore."

Cocking an eyebrow, Buffy said, "I don't know that I'm ready to give up the crown just yet."

Ford smiled. "You never could let Sunday win."

Buffy laughed. He was right. But her laughter died away leaving something much more vulnerable. "I don't know, Ford," she said. "I don't know if I can even compete with her and Cordelia anymore. It used to be so effortless, but now ... "

He snorted. "You're still you, Buffy."

"Maybe," she said without conviction. "But who I am is changing. My world used to be so steady, so one dimensional and now ... I'm afraid I don't know how to be that girl anymore."

Ford took a deep breath and let it out. "What are you doing for Roarke?" he asked, trying not to choke on the name.

Buffy smiled wryly. "I'm a Slayer," she said.

Laughing, Ford said, "No, really. What are you doing?"

"I'm a Slayer," she repeated.

Ford looked at her and realized she was being serious. He whistled through his teeth. Being well acquainted with magicks and sorcery, he knew exactly what a Slayer was. "A Slayer, wow," he said. "I never knew."

Buffy looked nonplussed. "Yeah, well, I wasn't exactly comfortable with it," she said. "But it beats the hell out of working fast food."

"And Roarke gets a Slayer on his payroll," Ford replied sardonically. "How convenient."

"Two, actually."

"Huh?"

"Two Slayers," Buffy said. "I'm not the only one. We both work for Angel."

He smiled mirthlessly. "How nice."

"I'm not asking you to like it," she said. "I'm just telling you how it is."

"Touché," he conceded. "I guess that explains the recent identity crisis."

She nodded, taking a sip of the sweet, warm liquid. "I'm getting pretty good at being a Slayer," she said. "But I think my rich bitch game is suffering as a result."

"Aw, Summers," he said, "you'll always be a bitch to me."

Buffy smiled wryly at him and he winked in return.

Buffy groaned, looking over at her roommate as they walked up the street to the Hyperion. It was late and traffic had dwindled. Without the passing headlights to illuminate their path, they walked through the shadows between the wells of light under the streetlamps. "Not that I'm trying to ditch you, Will - because I'm not - but this is getting so old. When is Wes going to let me patrol by myself?"

Willow frowned sympathetically. "Buffy, it's not like Wesley's trying to punish you. He just wants you to, you know, be safe is all."

"I'm safe," Buffy groused. "I'm so safe I should be playing for the Dodgers."

"It won't be forever," Willow offered.

"Forever, such an interesting concept."

Buffy and Willow both came to an abrupt stop, staring at the man who had materialized in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Uh ... " Buffy droned, staring at the stranger. He was tall with shoulder length dark hair and piercing blue eyes. His skin was so pale he seemed to glow in the dim light. Demon. He was definitely a demon. She should be finding a stake. But he was kinda hot.

The man frowned. "You humans are such odd creatures," he mused, smiling just enough to flash fang. The rest of his face remained perfectly human.

Buffy pulled the stake out of her pocket, falling back in a fighting stance.

The man chuckled and then seemed to catch himself, sobering his expression. He inclined his head in a slight bow. "Ah yes," he said, "the Slayer. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dracula."

Buffy blinked several times. She and Willow looked at each other. "Get out!" Buffy exclaimed with a smile.

"Well, um," Willow stammered, "can I get you anything? Uh, coffee, soda, maybe something more ... viscous?"

Dracula smiled. It was almost a leer. His gaze lingered on her neck. "Are you offering?" he asked with his lilting accent. Under the harsh lights of the Hyperion's lobby, his mystique should have faded. He should have looked like a dork in a cape with too much white makeup and a bad euro-trash accent. But he didn't.

"Offering ... " she repeated rather dreamily. Willow shook her head vigorously, stepping backwards several paces. "No thrall!" she chided. "Bad vampire!" Turning on her heel, she grabbed Buffy's wrist and tried to make a beeline for Wes' office. Buffy didn't budge. "Come on," Willow hissed.

Shaking her head, Buffy extricated herself from Willow's grip. "Go ahead," she said firmly. "I'm a Slayer. It makes me immune."

Willow didn't look convinced, but she couldn't really force Buffy to do anything. With a huff, she turned back to the office.

Buffy smiled, watching her roommate leave and then turned her attention back to Dracula. He accepted her perusal without comment, a small half-smile playing on his lips. "You do not fear me," he noted.

"I'm a Slayer," she replied with bravado.

"So you are," he mused, his expression becoming less casual and more predatory. He took several steps toward her. She had to crane her neck back to meet his gaze. "You are magnificent," he said, looking her over.

She blushed, but couldn't look away. "I bet you say that to all the Slayers," she replied awkwardly.

"Pull back your hair," he commanded gently.

"Look," she said, "if you think you can just waft in here with your music video hair and ..." she trailed off, looking at him blankly. Her hand moved up to brush her hair back from her neck.

He moved in even closer, his fingers barely touching her jaw. "I have searched the world over for a creature like you, a creature whose darkness could rival my own."

"You even think of touching her with your darkness and I promise you that your flashy gypsy tricks won't stop you from fitting neatly in a doggie bag. Permanently."

Dracula turned quickly, all of his attention focused on Angel. He released Buffy from his thrall so abruptly that she staggered. Angel strode down the stairs and clamped a hand around her upper arm, steadying her as he pulled her behind him.

"She," Angel growled, nodding toward the still dazed Buffy, "is off limits."

"My most humble apologies," Dracula said, bowing. "I did not know she was spoken for."

"Now you do," Angel countered darkly. "And you will be on your best behavior around all of my employees."

Dracula smiled tightly. "Understood," he said.

Behind Angel, Buffy blinked quickly, trying to clear out her head.

"I do business out of Caritas," Angel said tersely, "not the Hyperion. If you wish to see me, you will contact me there."

Dracula nodded, obviously displeased with his treatment, but he held his tongue. After a short bow, he turned and left the Hyperion.

Angel swiveled around, facing Buffy. "What the hell were you doing?" he demanded.

She stared at him blankly for a moment and then frowned. "What do you mean, what was I doing? I was talking to him."

Angel's teeth ground together. "He's a vampire. You're a Slayer. You two don't chat."

"Oh come on," Buffy scoffed, "he's Dracula! He's like bigger than Tom Cruise."

"He's a fruity gypsy vampire," Angel bit out. "One who had you under his thrall."

"Thrall?"

"Subversion of free will," Angel explained tightly. "He could have compelled you to do anything."

"Vampires don't have ... mind powers," Buffy said unconvincingly.

"He's a gypsy," Angel corrected. "He has a lot of tricks that other vampires lack."

"You're a gypsy," Buffy pointed out.

"So?"

"So maybe I shouldn't talk to you," she offered petulantly. "Maybe you have thrall."

Angel rolled his eyes. "Please," he derided. "I don't need thrall to get women into bed."

Buffy glowered. She didn't want to think about Angel sleeping around. She decided to change the subject. "Well, if he's so dangerous, why was he looking for you anyway?"

"He's dangerous to you," Angel qualified, "not me. He needs my help. Apparently some upstart vamp is trying to take over his territories and he wants to put an end to it."

"So why's he asking you?" Buffy pressed. "Getting rid of a vamp is more my line of work. And don't even think about lending me out."

"First off, it would be hard for you to work for him considering that I'm not letting you go anywhere near him again." He continued quickly before Buffy had a chance to voice her outrage at his heavy handed comment, "And secondly, he doesn't want Spike dusted. He wants to make an example of him."

Buffy was quiet for a moment, considering him. "An example?"

"Oh, Ionuin, use a little imagination," he said silkily. "There are a lot of existences more unpleasant than death."

"You are so broken," Buffy said with disgust.

He smiled crookedly. "And yet you love me anyway," he said with a wink, turning and heading for the door before she could respond.

The doors had already closed by the time Buffy half-heartedly yelled "Jerk!" She watched the doors, but did not follow. "And I don't love you," she muttered under her breath, more out of habit than any actual vehemence. Her mood completely soured, she headed for Wesley's office. The remaining week before she could patrol was going to be a long one.

"Very good, Ms. Summers!"

Buffy was breathing hard, staring at the quickly dissipating cloud of ash. Ash that had been a vampire. Ash that had been a vampire very recently. Like three seconds ago recently.

"I rule!" Buffy said, punching one fist towards the sky in a very respectable imitation of Lester Burnham. She had only been actively patrolling for two weeks and already it felt like an extension of her being. It was like walking or talking. The love of the hunt was in her veins. She was a force of nature.

Wesley's expression was markedly more reserved. "Let's not get too smug," he said.

Buffy rolled her eyes. That man had the entire British flag stuck up his ass. But she didn't care. This was a good day. She was finally patrolling, finally using her Slayerness for something positive. And she felt amazing. She was alive, truly alive. Even Wesley couldn't ruin that high.

Buffy bounced up the stairs to Angel's private study and pounded once on the door before pushing it open. She stopped just inside the threshold, staring at Angel and the woman. Her natural high disappeared in an instant. It took her several moments to find her tongue. "Hello," Buffy managed to say to the interloper. No one would have confused it for a warm greeting.

The woman twisted in her chair to look at Buffy and turned to Angel who sat behind his desk, face perfectly placid. "Mr. Roarke?" she asked hesitantly, her grip tightening on the pencil in her hand.

"Fred, this is Buffy Summers. She works for me. Buffy, this is Winifred Burkle. She works for me." Angel smiled at his deliberate evasiveness.

Buffy looked at the young woman seated in the chair across from Angel. The stack of folders on her lap indicated that this was definitely business and not a social call, but Buffy couldn't quell the irrational anger that burned inside. "And people think I'm skinny," she muttered. Fred was dressed conservatively in a long dark skirt and a plain blouse. Her hair was pulled back and she wore a pair of decidedly boring glasses. She looked like a school marm. She looked harmless. But what on earth was she doing alone with Angel in his house?

For a moment, Buffy reconsidered her own outfit. The pink spaghetti strap tanktop and black pants were fine, especially with the matching bracelets, but the black stocking cap with rhinestones that spelled out "bomb" was playful. At the moment, she had no desire to seem playful. Nonplussed, Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and fixed Angel with an expectant look.

"Is there something you need, Ionuin?" he asked lightly.

"I need to talk to you," she bit out in ShadowTongue, glaring at Fred. "Alone."

Angel smiled, slowly turning to face the woman in the chair. "Fred, would you please wait outside," he said. "We'll finish working on the documents as soon as I have a word with Ms. Summers."

Buffy did an admirable job of glaring a hole in Fred's back as she dutifully went to wait in the hall. "Who's she?" Buffy demanded.

Angel grinned broadly. "You're in a mood tonight," he said, leaning back in his chair and lacing his fingers together over his chest. "What do you want?"

"No, really," Buffy pressed, "you're not getting out of this one. Who is she? Is she a new Slayer? Do you just keep collecting them? I get it, you have ten Slayers but I'm the only one that actually has to work. The others just lounge around your mansion eating bonbons and sucking your toes with their bodies built for sin - "

Angel lifted a hand to silence her tirade. "Winifred Burkle is my new assistant," he said. "Wesley had filled that function, but since he's been spending so much of his time with you, I had to hire someone else."

Buffy took a deep breath and her anger sputtered out. She blushed. "Oh," she said.

"Now, are you going to tell me why you showed up at my house with your designer panties in a wad?"

Frowning, Buffy said, "Never mind. It's stupid. I can't believe I even came over here."

She started to walk away, but before she made it to the door, Angel grabbed her wrist, gently so as not to damage any of her bracelets. "Buffy," he said in ShadowTongue.

Reluctantly, she turned around, trying not to let on how much his predator fast movements disturbed her. Gently, she tugged her wrist out of his grip. "Okay," she huffed, not meeting his eyes, "it's my parents."

Angel's expression betrayed the fact that he had been hoping for something more salacious. "What about them?"

"They want me over for dinner tomorrow night," she said.

"And?"

Buffy studied the toes of her shoes intently. Finally she let out a great sigh. "And it's the first time I've been home since I moved out and I wondered if I could borrow a different car from you to drive over there," she admitted.

"You don't like the piece you're driving now?" he asked deadpan, knowing full well that she hated it.

"No, it's not that," she stuttered. "It's just ... I don't ... I mean I don't want them to worry. I just know my dad. He'll see the company car and he'll freak and he'll ask me how many miles it has and if it has airbags and what sort of consumer reports ratings it got and - "

"Yes."

"and he'll want to make sure that I wear my seatbelt and he'll probably look into getting one of those little black box things for cars and he'll find out how I really drive and before you know it, I'll be in one of those defensive driving classes and ..." Buffy fell silent and looked at Angel. "Did you say yes?" she asked.

"Yes."

"Oh," she said.

Angel walked over to his desk and rummaged around. He tossed her a set of keys and said, "You can borrow the Audi."

She pursed her lips together and smiled her sweetest little girl smile. "I really like the Beamer," she said quietly.

Angel frowned. "You can borrow the Audi," he repeated.

Buffy smiled genuinely. "Thank you, Angel," she said in ShadowTongue.

"You're welcome, Ionuin," he replied in their language.

"You're too pale. You look like death warmed over."

"Rupert!"

Buffy rolled her eyes at her father's comment and took a sip of her water while Jenny admonished him. Dinner was strained to say the least. Even her two younger siblings were keeping quiet, which was quite a feat for them. Buffy agreed to attend a family meal with the understanding that she wouldn't be given the third degree. Her father had been amazingly well behaved until dessert was served.

"No, Jenny, I will not be silenced like a child," Rupert huffed, his feathers obviously ruffled. "Buffy looks pale."

Setting down her water glass, Buffy fixed her father with a wry expression. "I am pale," she admitted. "Don't get out in the sun much anymore. For the last couple of weeks, Wes had me training by nine in the morning and working phones until midnight. Though I suppose that will change. I mean I can't really keep training at nine if he expects me to patrol all night too. I need to talk to him about that."

Buffy's moment of evil glee was cut short by the expression on her father's face. She had wanted to torture him just the tiniest little bit, but the look of abject terror that darkened his features at the mention of her patrolling made her regret her words.

"P-patrolling?" he sputtered, his own complexion now far chalkier than Buffy's.

Buffy's expression was contrite. "Yes," she admitted, fighting to keep her voice from quavering. "I'm a Slayer. I've been avoiding that responsibility for three years and it's about time for me to start pulling my own weight."

Giles pasty pallor was replaced by vibrant red as he stood up, sending his chair skittering backwards on the parquet floor of the formal dining room. "Pulling your own weight?" he raged, trembling with the force of his anger. "Is that what this new Watcher is telling you? That you're not pulling your own weight?"

"Rupert, please," Jenny said, laying a gentle hand on his arm. "I don't think that's what Buffy meant."

He shook off her grip, his eyes glittering with outrage. "You weren't taking your status as a Slayer seriously enough, is that it?" he seethed. "Because I am pretty goddamned sure that when I found my daughter unconscious in a pool of her own blood that the whole damned situation was quite serious!" He shook his head in disbelief before throwing down his napkin and stalking from the room.

Jenny, Buffy, Xander and Dawn sat there in absolute silence. Far down the hallway, they heard the door to Giles' study slam shut.

"I never should have come," Buffy said tensely, her voice thick with tears.

"No, Buffy," Jenny said firmly. "This is your home. Rupert is upset, but you have to understand that his anger is not with you. It's with the situation."

Buffy looked at her stepmother incredulously. "Could have fooled me," she said.

"Ah yes," Buffy heard Wesley saying as she pushed open the doors of the Hyperion, "Ms. Summers would be happy to assist you."

Buffy's head snapped up at mention of her name and she saw Wesley standing with a man and woman in their mid-forties. They were both obviously upset. Buffy nodded. "Let me take care of a few things, I'll just be a sec," she said.

She hadn't planned on working. She wasn't even on the rotation at Angel Investigations tonight, but after her fight with her father, she really needed to get her mind off things. She had been planning to work out, but Wes was overbooked as usual. Not that she really cared, anything was better than sitting around rehashing the evening's events. She jogged to the locker room and changed out of her 'meeting the parents' outfit and into her regular Slaying outfit of worn jeans, a white tank, and a flannel button-up.

Five minutes later, she escorted the couple, Bob and Kathy Newton, into Wesley's office and shut the door. She took a seat in Wes's chair. "So, how can Angel Investigations help you this evening?" she asked.

"It's our - " the woman began before breaking down into tears.

The man did his best to comfort his near hysterical wife, but his efforts were largely useless. "It's our daughter," he said, "Cassie. She's missing. The police say we can't do anything until she's been gone for at least forty-eight hours, but we can't just sit here. This isn't like Cassie. She doesn't just take off. She's a good girl."

Tears pricked Buffy's eyes as she watched the man before her. He was barely holding together, so worried about his missing child that he was trembling all over. He was merely a father who wished to protect his little girl. Just like Rupert Giles. "Okay," Buffy said, "I need some basic information. How old is Cassie? When was the last time you saw her? Does she have any usual hangouts? Do you have a current picture of her?"

Buffy took notes as Mr. Newton answered all of her questions. The look of unbridled anguish on his face as he removed his daughter's school picture from his wallet had tears streaming down Buffy's cheeks.

"Don't worry Mr. and Mrs. Newton," she promised. "I'll find your daughter and bring her home safe."

"What the hell is goin' on?" Gunn asked as he killed the truck's engine and joined Buffy, Groo and Wesley on the sidewalk.

Buffy handed each of them a photocopy of the picture she took from Mr. Newton. "Her name is Cassie," she said. "She's fifteen, blonde, about five, three. She was last seen on this corner. As we all know, this is prime hunting territory for a local baddie named Mr. Trick. We have to assume that he or one of his boys nabbed Cassie."

Gunn shook his head in disbelief. "You've got to be kiddin' me," he said. "You pulled me off of my case to come all the way down here and help you?"

Shocked by his gruff demeanor, Buffy sputtered, "Uh, yeah."

Gunn wadded up the paper, his face hard. "This is bullshit. You may be the Slayer, but let me tell you girl, I've been doin' the work of a Slayer for the last eighteen months. I've been the one bustin' my ass night after night while you were goin' to the prom and bein' a cheerleader and shit. Nuh uh. I am not dropping everything to answer your call like some damn dog." He turned, reaching for the handle to the truck's door.

Buffy recoiled almost as if he had hit her. Gunn had always been so nice, so supportive. His outburst was completely unexpected.

"Gunn," Wesley said, pressing his hand against the truck's door so it could not be opened. "I don't believe that Buffy was trying to overstep her bounds. It's merely that with this case, time is of the essence."

"Step off, English," Gunn bit out. "You think time isn't important to the Lincolns? You think they won't mind if I take a night off from lookin' for the ghoul that killed their aunt? You think they'll think this is more important?"

"Gunn-" Wes began.

"No don't, Wesley," Buffy interrupted, her voice hard. "Don't make excuses for me. Don't try to explain anything to him."

Gunn, Groo and Wesley all turned to face Buffy who was now obviously angry. Her jaw was set, her fisted hands rested on her hips in a fighting stance. "You don't need to understand anything, Charles," she said, her voice rife with condescension. "You may have been filling in for Faith, but trust me, you're not a Slayer. You're a grunt and when I say jump you better damn sure ask me how high."

There was absolute silence from all of the males. Even at her most productive, Faith had never imbued the essence of a Slayer to this extent. She had never commanded respect the way Buffy did now.

Gunn swallowed harshly and nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he said with a sly grin.

Wesley's face broke into a grin too, though his was of obvious pride. Buffy did not doubt that he felt himself completely responsible for her transformation. While she couldn't discount how much he helped her, she couldn't give him all the credit. She wasn't exactly sure what had come over her, she only knew that she had to find Cassie Newton. For whatever reason, it was deathly important to her.

Buffy picked up the wadded paper Gunn dropped and handed it to him. "Her name is Cassie," she said. "We have to find her. Mr. Trick's bad news. Slick. It will take all of us to track him and find Cassie."

Gunn studied the photograph. "How long she been missin'?"

"Since last night."

"B, you know the odds aren't good," Gunn said quietly.

Buffy's teeth ground together. "Her parents say she's a fighter," she said. "We'll find her."

"Buffy - " Gunn said gently, reaching for her.

She backpedaled, glaring at him. "We will find her," she repeated clearly. She held up her cell phone. "You all know the drill, if you find anything you call into the office and Willow will page everyone out to your location. Don't play hero on this one. I need everyone to be safe."

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

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