She made some interesting discoveries as she drove to the address listed on her driver’s license.

In this reality, her father had avoided a showdown with the Internal Revenue Service.  Cordelia was still an heiress living very extravagantly off daddy’s money.  The year following her high school graduation had been spent traveling the world indulging in hedonistic pursuits.  She was back in Sunnydale taking a semester off to recuperate before starting school at Columbia in the spring.  She lived in a lavish three bedroom townhouse in Sunnydale’s most exclusive gated community.  She was apparently unattached but never lacking male companionship and if her liquor cabinet was any indication, she might have a drinking problem.

Cordelia didn’t think her other self was very happy in spite of all the comforts.

She couldn’t fathom her new circumstances.  She’d changed so much in the year and a half spent living in Los Angeles, working with Wesley and Angel.  The opulence of her surroundings made her very nervous.  And lonely.  All this room for little ol’ her.  Creepy.

Cordelia locked up her townhouse after a short inspection.  She needed to make another McDonor’s run for Angel.  She had woken him several times during the day to feed and he went through all the blood they purchased the previous evening.  She also bought him new clothes since the ones he currently wore were nothing more than rags.

Arriving at the library just before sunset, Cordelia woke Angel to feed.  He seemed to have difficulty doing anything other than sleeping so she decided to save the change of clothes for when he had more strength.

When Angel awoke fully on Sunday evening, the library was in chaos.  Giles was embroiled in a tug-o-war with a Ms. Evelyn Crossgate, for Watcherly responsibility of the Slayer.

Buffy’s circumstances were complicated to say the least.

Shortly after being called, Buffy’s parents divorced and her mother relocated to Cleveland.  The Slayer’s first Watcher, Merrick, had been killed right before the move.  In light of the unexpected relocation, Evelyn Crossgate had been assigned to watch her temporarily.  Matters were further complicated when Joyce Summers died tragically from advanced, undiagnosed brain cancer.  Hank Summers, wanting to distance himself from his former life, signed legal guardianship of the then sixteen year old Buffy over to Crossgate.

The Watcher’s Council had never intended Crossgate act as Buffy’s permanent Watcher.  But given the fact that she had legal custody of Buffy, they claimed to be unable to force the issue.  Buffy had remained with Crossgate, a cold, strict disciplinarian.

Giles cringed at the thought of the emotional damage the child must have suffered from the series of events.  The loss of her Watcher, relocation to a strange city, the death of her mother, abandonment by her father and finally being left in the incompetent hands of Evelyn Crossgate.  Buffy had been failed by so many different people, it was easy to see why she was so distrustful.

Giles had met Crossgate once, and to use the vernacular, she ‘made his ass twitch’.  She was absolutely devoid of any human warmth.  He could only imagine the techniques used to ‘harden’ the Slayer against the world.

Giles kept most of the details of Buffy’s adolescence to himself, telling the White Hats only what was absolutely necessary.  The Slayer would undoubtedly resent any prying into her personal affairs, and reject the pity gained from said prying.  Ostensibly he wanted responsibility for the Slayer because the hellmouth needed constant attention.  That was true, but what he really wanted to do was provide the poor girl with a stable environment.

She was a warrior.

She was also a girl not yet twenty, whose emotional growth had been stunted years earlier.

Giles had the leverage to argue his case because Buffy no longer a minor under the care of Crossgate.  At this point, the decision would lie with the Watcher’s Council.  Buffy had already been placed on a plane for England.  She would remain there until the matter was resolved, hopefully within the month.  Giles and Crossgate would travel there as well, albeit for a much briefer period of time to argue their respective cases.

The Slayer was gone.  She was alone, in England, awaiting the outcome of a Council mediated power struggle that would change her life forever.

Angel was not happy.

Someone should have accompanied Buffy.  Instead, she was handed directions to the Watcher’s Council compound and a plane ticket.  It was assumed that she would arrive at the appointed time.  Given her demeanor, the arrangements probably hadn’t shocked Buffy.  She presumably took it in stride, ever the stoic warrior.

Angel was not stoic, he was pissed.  Much to his delight, the Watcher, Giles, was as well.

Angel didn’t know much about Buffy’s current Watcher, given that Giles wasn’t real forthcoming with the information.  Angel discerned she must be rather unpleasant.  It was obvious from his limited contact with the Slayer that her icy demeanor was learned, not inherent.

The girl he remembered from that sunny Los Angeles afternoon on the steps of Hemery High wasn’t cold.  Angel had been around enough to know that, try as they might, people do not change their basic nature.  Someone had taken the light in Buffy and stomped it into oblivion.  Her Watcher was the most obvious culprit.

Angel tamped down an instinctive growl at the thought of Buffy being victimized in any way.  He knew he’d been short with her early Saturday morning, but it had all been a ruse.  He absolutely worshiped the ground the tiny little Slayer walked on.  When she’d startled him in the garden, he’d been weak, on the verge of a final death.  He hadn’t wanted to disgust her with his presence, but merely to die in peace, alone.

But Buffy hadn’t let him.  For whatever reason, she’d thrown all of his excuses aside and made it painfully clear that she was going to help him.  He had no idea what would have happened if Cordelia hadn’t intervened.  And now it appeared that he would eventually be helping the Slayer and the other White Hats.  Angel was determined to build a solid working relationship with the others before Buffy returned from England.

"How many gallons do you have left?  Do I need to make another run?" Cordelia asked, jolting Angel from his thoughts.

"Huh? Oh, no I have four left.  That should be plenty for a while," Angel responded.

He still hadn’t been able to figure out why Cordelia was so hell bent on seeing to his well being.  For a creature lacking any kind of compassionate contact in nearly a century it was unsettling.

"I brought you a bag o’ goodies," Cordelia continued, handing him a black duffle bag.

Angel opened the bag, it contained several changes of clothes, a new pair of shoes, a huge towel, soap, shampoo, a razor and a large bottle of hair gel.  He was confused, these things weren’t his.  He didn’t own anything.

"I can’t take this from you, ... miss," Angel responded nervously trying to return the bag.

"The name is Cordelia, let’s say it ‘Cor-del-li-a’ and I’m not taking that back.  It’s for you.  Besides do you have any idea how long it took me to find those damn Egyptian cotton shirts you like in Sunnydale?  You need this stuff and like pronto.  You smell like walking death.  Which I suppose you are, but that’s no reason to embrace it," Cordelia said staring expectantly at Angel.

"What?" Angel asked, slightly embarrassed.

"You need a shower, ASAP.  You’re attracting flies.  Come on, I’ll show you to the locker room."

Angel rather self consciously followed Cordelia out of the library.  She led him through the deserted school corridors to the men’s locker room.  When they reached the entrance she pulled an issue of US magazine out of her purse and sat on a nearby chair.

"Go on," she ordered looking at him.  "Just yell if you need anything."

Angel pushed his way through the swinging doors and into the empty room.  It reeked of humans.  Sweat, blood, hormones.  On the far wall, Angel found several private shower stalls.  The stalls were divided into a small changing room and adjoining shower, separated by a curtain.

He sat down wearily on the small bench in the changing room.  He felt better than he had in years, but he was still frighteningly weak.  The short walk to the locker room had been taxing.

Slowly, Angel began removing his clothes.  As they fell into a small heap on the floor, he looked at them intently.  They were disgusting, filthy, stained, torn.  He must smell ripe.  Odd it hadn’t bothered him.  He used to be so sensitive about personal hygiene.  Amazing what years of excruciating pain could make you forget.

Rising to his feet, Angel turned on the shower.  As the water reached the right temperature, he stepped underneath.  Absolute pleasure.  Small things like this made his unlife worth living.  The perfection of hot water sluicing over his cold skin.  It made him feel alive.

Angel reached for supplies he’d brought into the shower.  The shampoo was first.  It took four washes before his grimy chocolate brown locks felt clean.  Then the soap, the lightly scented kind he’d always loved.  How had Cordelia known?  He kneaded the soap in his hands working up a lather and proceeded to wash every inch of himself starting with his face.  It was wonderful, the joy of being free, of hot water running over his body, of his hands leaving a silky trail on his now clean skin.

As Angel lathered up again, he washed carefully between his legs.  He winced, but could tell from the dull edge to the pain that Willow’s wounds would not be permanent.  He would heal, quickly now that he was feeding again.  He would be a fully functioning male by the time Buffy returned from England.

He pushed the thoughts away.  Functioning or not, it was doubtful that Buffy would want to be anywhere near him.  She was the Slayer.  He was one of the creatures that she had been born to destroy.

But still ... he longed for her.

Cordelia was outside, waiting for him ...  But he’d noticed she had one of those glossy fashion magazines with her that she could look through for hours without tiring.  He sighed and massaged the soap between his large hands once again, feeling his skin tingle with anticipation at the mere thought of what he was going to do.  He looked around nervously though he knew he was alone.  The entire locker room was deserted, and even if it wasn’t he was well hidden in the shower stall.  Gods, he hadn’t done anything like this since he’d been a young human.

Slowly, he ran his hand down his chest until he reached the coarse, wet hair at the apex of his thighs.  His flesh twitched beneath his hand.  He smiled.  He was definitely healing quickly.  Thoughts of Buffy filled his mind.  He could picture her perfectly, sweating hard from the fight, her tank top clinging damply to her flesh.  He could smell her, hot and aroused from the exertion.  Fluidly, his hand began to stroke the hardening flesh between his legs.

Buffy was magnificent.  The promise of beauty she had shown as a young girl was being realized in the woman she had become.  Her silky blonde hair, gods how Angel had longed to pull it from the strict confines of her braid and watch it cascade down her back.  The thought of her naked body covered only by her long tresses brought Angel to full tumescence and he panted harshly.

Leaning forward against the shower wall, he lathered his hands again.  He stroked himself in earnest, aided by the lingering slickness of the soap.

It had been so long since he was allowed the simple pleasure of climax.  Most of Willow’s methods of torture had been sexual in nature.  Very rarely had he been allowed any pleasure, and even then it would signal the beginning of even more deviant methods of abuse at her hands.  Willow had been a very talented sadist.  But there was no room in his thoughts for Willow this night.

Angel’s conjured yet another memory of Buffy.  When he had first seen her, her innocence was so appealing.  Sitting on the steps of Hemery, sucking on that red lollipop.  He’d been hard as a rock watching her work her tongue around that candy.  It had shamed him deeply to react to her in such a physical way, but he couldn’t help himself.  His intentions had been innocent, he merely wanted to help her any way he could.  But he couldn’t deny the fact that his body ached at the mere thought of her.

While waiting for her to arrive in Sunnydale, he had often indulged in forbidden fantasies where he taught her other uses for her mouth.  He imagined her joyfully trying to take as much of his cock into her mouth as she could.  He imagined her breathy little moans around his rigid flesh, her tiny little hands carefully caressing his sac.  The fact that he knew she would never actually do those things did not dull his enjoyment of the fantasy.

But she wasn’t a little girl anymore.  She’d aged so wonderfully, so gracefully in the years that he’d waited for her.  Buffy was a woman.  A woman with a body that made his mouth water with the desire to taste her.  She had a walk only a true predator could possess.  She knew every fiber of her body.  Each muscle, bone, tendon worked in perfect unison.  She was confident and forceful.  Gods what must she be like as a lover?

Angel caressed himself more roughly, his hand exerting more pressure around his rigid sex as he pumped it more urgently.  He stroked it from root to head, his thumb swirling around the creaming slit on every up stroke.  His breathing was ragged, his thighs trembling as his hips arched into his hand, his body going through instinctive motions, despite his lack of partner.

"Buffy," he whispered harshly.  With a silent cry, Angel came, cum spilling over his hand.  He rested against the wall for several more minutes, panting harshly.

Slowly, the world righted itself again and Angel lathered up and washed himself clean of his emission.  His unnecessary breathing slowed as a sense of melancholy descended.  Buffy abhorred his very existence, and rightly so.  She was a Slayer, he was a vampire.  There was no way around those facts.

He longed for her, longed to give her comfort, to worship her as his own personal goddess.  But it was all just a fantasy.  It could never come to pass.  Buffy undoubtedly took lovers, but he would never be one of them.

Angel knew a lot about predators, having been a highly successful one for several hundred years.  The adrenaline high after the hunt was overwhelming, Buffy would have had to find release somewhere, with someone.  Angel only hoped that her partners had been considerate, had let her know how absolutely desirable she was.  He hoped they had all treated the gift she gave them with the proper reverence.

Fully recovered, Angel turned off the shower and toweled off.  The clothes Cordelia purchased were exactly what he would have picked out for himself.  The sizes were currently a bit big, but he knew once he filled out again they would fit perfectly.  How could she have known?  Angel threw his former rags into the trash as he exited the locker room.

Giles’ trip to England was shorter than he had expected.  The part of the mediations he was allowed to speak at lasted the better part of only one afternoon.  The next morning, he was on a plane back to California.

Giles and Evelyn Crossgate presented their respective grievances on the same day.  Crossgate in the morning, Giles in the afternoon.  Both Watchers were denied contact with the Slayer.  Giles caught a few glimpses of Crossgate in the halls of the large administrative building.  She was exactly as he had remembered.

Crossgate wasn’t unattractive, but her rather plain face had a pinched look.  Impeccably dressed, head to toe in a dark gray wool suit, she didn’t have a hint of color anywhere.  Her long dark hair was pinned into a strict style at the base of her skull.  She wore dark rimmed glasses.  Her only ornamentation was a small silver cross hanging around her neck.  Her walk was stiff, her body rigid.  She arduously avoided physical contact with all people.  Her speech was clipped, her vocabulary precise, not a hint of excess to be found.

The ideal guardian for an impressionable and wounded young girl?  Gods what had the Council done?  They should have removed Buffy, legality be damned.  The Council often worked with disregard for governmentally sanctioned law.  They simply hadn’t cared enough to bother.

Giles returned to Sunnydale confident that the Slayer would follow shortly.  He began making preparations based on that assumption.

The main concern was where she would reside.  Living in a one room apartment himself, Giles could not reasonably offer her a place to stay.  Oz was already living on the couch of a bandmate.  Larry lived with his elderly grandmother.  Giles wasn’t about to let the Slayer live in some roach motel.  She needed a stable environment and that included a permanent place to call home.

"I’ve been thinking about getting my own place, but the Slayer didn’t seem like she’d be too into cohabitating with the opposite sex," Oz offered.

It was early Thursday evening, the first week of January.  The White Hats, plus Angel and Cordelia, were seated around the large table in the middle of the library.

"Really?" Larry asked.  "I didn’t get the gay vibe off of her at all, and I think I would catch it."

Giving the former football star a withering look, Giles explained,  "I don’t think Oz was insinuating the Slayer is a lesbian, Larry.  It just seemed that she is not very comfortable around men."

"This is gong to work out well," Larry laughed.  "Has anybody noticed that all the remaining Sunnydale white hats are men?"

"Hello?" Cordelia interjected loudly.

"Pardon me?" Giles asked.

"Larry just said that all the Sunnydale white hats are men and I’m asking what the hell am I then.  Last time I looked I was more woman than any of you could handle," Cordelia fumed.

"I ... uh, I guess we just hadn’t considered you an, er, permanent member of the group, Miss Chase," Giles offered.

"It’s Cordelia.  And what?  You think I spent my nights hunting for vampires because it’s good for my abs?  I do just as much around here as the rest of you.  I’d damn well better be included as part of the group."

"Well, this changes thing a bit," Giles noted optimistically.  "Would you object to Buffy staying with you?"

"No," Cordelia said quietly. "I have plenty of room.  Do you think she’ll go for it?"

Cordelia still felt incredibly guilty for Buffy’s situation.  The Slayer’s life, in her world, had been full of it’s share of suck, literally, but nothing near the degree her current life possessed.

"I imagine Buffy will see it as charity and therefore be upset.  However, I don’t really see that she has any choice in the matter.  One very rarely gets what one wants out of life, I’m sure Buffy has learned that lesson well," Giles finished.

"Great!  I’ll start getting the place ready for a roommate," Cordelia said pushing her chair back from the table.

"Where are you going?"  Angel asked nervously.

It had been two weeks since his arrival and despite this almost constant exposure to the White Hats, he knew they were uneasy with his presence.  Without Cordelia to act as an intermediary, the effect was magnified.

"Shopping," Cordelia offered cheerily.  "I have a new roommate and I need to get some little things like, extra keys, furniture, ..."  Cordelia’s voice faded as she walked down the hall out of earshot.

"I guess that’s settled," Giles observed.  "Perhaps we should call it a night."

Everyone agreed, Larry and Oz left, leaving Giles and Angel alone.  The Watcher shuffled papers nervously, trying to get the nerve to speak to the ever unreadable vampire.

"Angel, " he said, clearing his throat, "I was wondering if you could possibly provide me with a description of your history.  Cordelia explained a bit of your, er, situation when you first arrived but I was hoping you could elaborate."

"Of course," Angel answered quietly.  He had been waiting for this moment, and was mildly surprised it took so long to arrive.

"You are a vampire ... in possession of a human soul?" Giles queried.

"Yes."

"And you’re two and a half centuries in age?" he continued.

"I was turned in 1753 in Galway, Ireland."

"At that point you retained your soul?"

With a heavy sigh, Angel replied, "No."

For several moments, Angel stared at his intertwined fingers on the table.  A long moment later, he raised his gaze to Giles’.

"If you were to look, you would find I was one of the most vicious creatures to ever blight the face of the Earth."  Angel he stated calmly.

The Watcher didn’t flinch.  Angel suspected that he had already done his research.

Continuing, he said, "I was known as Angelus, the Scourge of Europe.  For a century and a half I offered an ugly death to everyone I met, and I did it with a song in my heart."

"And the soul?" Giles ventured.

"Was a punishment.  In 1898 I tortured and killed a young gypsy girl for amusement.  Her clan cursed me with a soul.  You have no idea what it’s like to have done the things I’ve done ... and to care."

"So for more than a century you have been championing the cause of good?" Giles asked.

"No," Angel answered with quick, brutal honesty.

Giles’ brow furrowed.

"For ninety-eight years I wandered in misery and confusion.  I was an indigent, living off vermin in the gutters of many cities.  I tried several times to survive in the human world, but the attempts invariably met with failure.  The Powers That Be offered me another chance, the opportunity to ‘be someone’."  He took a deep breath.  "All I know is the Slayer is my destiny.  I was put on this earth so I could be here, now, to protect her."

Angel took another deep breath, blinking back tears.  How long has it been since he conversed at such length?  A century at least.  Not since before his soul had been returned.  He hadn’t meant to be quite so blunt, but it was necessary.  Giles would be responsible for the Slayer.  If he wanted to get near her, Giles’ trust was imperative.

The Watcher looked intently at Angel’s bowed head.  He had done his research, most of it while visiting England.  With the Council’s vast resources he had uncovered mountains of heinous crimes buried in Angel’s past.  He also discovered the vampire had been a solitary and peaceable being for the last century.

Giles initially had great reservations about allowing Angel to remain in Sunnydale.  However, in light of his extreme candor and apparent sincerity, Giles relented.  He rose from his chair and walked around the table to stand next to Angel.

Angel looked solemnly at Giles’ proffered hand.  He grasped it firmly.

"Welcome to Sunnydale, Angel.  We’re glad to have you."

The End

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