He kept to the shadows; if the others, the creatures of the night, saw him, they would set upon him like starving wolves. It mattered not to the demons that he was one of them.
After a fashion.
Turning onto Crawford Street, Angel scanned both sides of the wide avenue, searching not for traffic, as if there would be any out after dark anyway, but for the spies of the Master.
Or, he supposed he should say the former Master's spies. After the Slayer had defeated the ancient vampire and destroyed his plan for the domination of Sunnydale, two of his favorite minions, Xander and Willow, had went underground to regroup. Despite the fact that Angel believed they weren't anywhere near the threat the Master had been, the young vampires were ambitious and bloodthirsty.
A dangerous combination.
The mansion looming high on the bluff was dark and ominous, a vestige of a grander time in the old Southern California town. As he skirted the overgrown vegetation and slipped through the hidden entrance into the garden, Angel wondered what kind of person had lived in this stone monstrosity. Somehow, he couldn't imagine anyone human ever having called this place home.
Taking an unnecessary breath, Angel walked into the huge main room of his makeshift home. The fire in the grate had burned down to embers and a chill wind whistled through the cavernous hall. Drawing his torn short closer, wincing when the fabric brushed over the burns on his chest, Angel stepped up to the massive hearth. Soon, he had the fire blazing again and its warmth began to chase the cold away.
It would be dawn soon and the vampires would once more be confined to their lairs, to await the coming night. It was a never-ending cycle, this siege on Sunnydale. Despite the efforts of the Watcher and his small band of allies, the town would soon fall. Just like other towns all over the world.
The Forces of Darkness were legion.
And, they were winning.
Rupert Giles awoke early, around nine, despite the consequential events of the previous night. After rubbing his tired blue eyes, he slipped on wire-framed glasses. As usual, he had slept in his clothes and was rumpled beyond repair. But that barely registered in his consciousness as he hurried downstairs.
Don't let her be gone! Don't let it have been a dream!
The faint sound of the television soothed his fear as he rounded the landing. That and the sight of a blonde head laying back against the sofa cushions.
"Oh! I-I'm glad that... that you are still here," he stuttered as he moved into the living room.
"Is that so? Well, don't get too comfy, Jeeves. I'm leaving."
Giles sat down on the edge of the sofa, looking at the teenager staring resolutely at the television. Watching the blank set of her face, he realized that she wasn't even watching the pictures on the screen. Her thoughts were turned inward.
"Miss Summers, I don't know how to thank you... "
She turned her head to look at him. Her eyes, nothing more than frigid chips of green ice, were empty. "How about by not? I don't need your thanks; it's what I do."
Sadness filled the librarian as he studied the young woman. Buffy Summers could've been pretty, beautiful even, despite the diagonal scar bisecting her full lips. Waist-length golden hair was scraped back into a utilitarian braid and her face was devoid of any makeup. Still dressed in her uniform of the night before, cargo pants and a gray tank top, she was thin and wiry, her lean musculature reminiscent of a coyote Giles had once seen on an early morning drive in the mountains.
She looked hungry.
"Can I fix you something to eat before you go? Or some tea perhaps?" Giles said as he rose to his feet.
"No."
"Miss Summers, you need to eat something. You need to keep your strength up... " Giles started to say.
The Slayer cut him off curtly. "All I need is to get back to Cleveland before Merrick comes looking for me. It's kind of a long walk to the airport, so if you could be persuaded to shut up long enough to give me a lift, great. If not, then let me know so I can get started."
Giles gaped at her, an irrational anger rising in his chest. "Now, look here, young lady! I don't understand where this attitude is coming from! I know, better than most, what it is you are going through, but I hardly think I deserve to be treated so disrespectfully!"
Buffy stared at him for a moment, then sighed. "I'm sorry, Mr. Giles, I was out of line. Merrick says my mouth is going to be the death of me, not the vampires. It's just... " she trailed off.
"Just what?"
She was struggling with herself, debating on whether to speak. "That vampire, you know, the dark-haired one that helped me last night?"
"That would be Angel."
"Angel? What a name for a vampire," she said, with a mirthless smirk.
Giles shrugged as he went into his tiny kitchen. He busied himself filling the teakettle and setting out two china teacups and saucers. "It's a diminutive for Angelus, his true name."
"He said something strange. He said that I was supposed to be his destiny."
Giles frowned. "His destiny?"
Buffy followed him to the kitchen and seated herself on one of the barstools. "Yeah. He said that he had come to Sunnydale and I was supposed to be here too and never showed up."
Giles thought back to his first meeting with Angel. He had approached him early in the fall of 1996, with rumors of a prophecy. The Master was going to use the Harvest, one of the times that vampires were at their most powerful, to attempt to break free of his supernatural prison. At that time, despite serious misgivings about placing his trust in a vampire and one known to have once been a cruel, vicious animal, he had been pleased with the information. Angel had told him, one evening while they were in the library at the high school, that the Slayer would come to Sunnydale soon and she would defeat the Master. It was written to be so.
But, the Slayer never showed up, Angel had been captured by the Master's minions and the Harvest had occurred right on schedule, releasing the vampire once known as Heinrich Joseph Nest onto an unsuspecting town.
And, so the end had begun.
"I-I'm not sure I understand his meaning, although he did say, some time ago, that you were destined to come to Sunnydale. Are you from Ohio?"
Buffy shook her head. "Nope. Los Angeles. My parents were going to get a divorce and they decided to work it out, for my sake." This last sentence she said with a roll of the eyes. "Dad moved us to Cleveland instead."
The teakettle was whistling and Giles reached over and picked it up. "I see. How... how do your parents feel about your being the Slayer?"
A flicker of pain so brief he almost missed it crossed her face. "They never knew. They're dead."
Another layer peeled back. "I'm so very sorry, Miss Summers. Was it vampires?"
"Yep."
"So, you live with Merrick?"
Buffy accepted the teacup from him and sipped from it, not bothering to add sugar or cream. "When he wants me to."
Confused by the strange answer, Giles started to comment, but was interrupted by the ring of the telephone. Excusing himself, he walked over to the sofa table and answered it.
"Hello? Oh, Oz, how's your arm?"
Buffy glanced back at the Watcher, taking another sip of the hot tea.
"Yes, yes, I see. We'll need to burn it, but that can be done by the light of day. Yes," he looked over his shoulder at the Slayer. "she's still here. No, she's going back to... I can't force... "
"Okay. Don't worry, Oz. I'll call you this afternoon. Goodbye."
When Giles had turned to face Buffy, she was watching him with an inscrutable expression. "That was Oz. You know, the red-haired young man you met last night."
"They think I should stay."
"Can you blame them? This town is under siege and we need some kind of hope."
Buffy set the teacup back on the bar and smiled very faintly. "You want my advice? Get the hell out of Sunnydale."
Giles shook his head. "Is it any better anywhere else?"
Her look was full of resignation.
"No."
Three weeks later...
The sky was beginning to lighten to gray on the eastern horizon, yet Giles still hadn't slept. Gulping his lukewarm tea, he glanced up at the mantel clock.
4:24. With a sigh, the Watcher closed the book he was researching, Ancient Vampire Clans in Eastern Europe. It was an excellent, if somewhat dry, volume and had proven to be invaluable in uncovering the vanquished Master's origins.
Draining his teacup, Giles rose from the sofa, stretching to relieve a kink in his lower back. A faint sound reached his ears. He paused, all senses on alert. Swiftly crossing to the kitchen, he set his cup down and picked up the loaded crossbow from the bar.
It was late, as far as vampires were concerned; much too close to sunrise for comfort. But one could never be too careful. The local vampires were crafty and he wouldn't put it past Xander or his crimson-haired mate, Willow, to plan an early morning ambush.
A second thump, slightly louder than the first, came from the other side of the front door. Cautiously, Giles moved to the door, his finger tightening on the trigger of the weapon in his hand. Just as he was reaching for the peephole cover, a sharp rap reverberated through the thick wood.
Jerking the peephole open, the librarian peered out. Surprise crossed his face and he quickly unlatched the door and opened it.
"Buffy!"
Looking tiny and exhausted, the Slayer smiled tentatively up at him. "Hey, Jeeves."
Before he could ask her in, she squeezed past him and entered the apartment. It was then that Giles noticed the battered leather duffel bag slung over her shoulder. With a confused smile, Giles shut the door and reset the locks.
"I-I must s-say, Miss Summers, I'm surprised to see you here. Is everything okay in Cleveland? Is Merrick okay?"
Buffy shrugged and set the duffel down by the door. "I s'pose. He was when I left anyway."
For an awkward moment, they stared at each other, until Buffy looked away. She seemed uneasy and nervous. "I... he... well, he drinks. A lot. And when he does, he's pretty... um... mean."
Giles was shocked. "I say, mean? Has he hurt you?"
Buffy shrugged, her face impassive. "I'm the Slayer, I can take it. Anyway, I wondered if maybe you could give me a place to stay for a little while. When he goes on a binge like this, it's best to just get out of his way."
"Of course! Dear Lord, Buffy, you should've called me! I could've come to the airport for you."
She flushed pink and Giles was struck by how truly lovely she really was. For a moment, he imagined what she must've been like before she found out that she was the Slayer. A pretty, golden child, dressed in colorful, trendy clothes and laughing with her friends.
What a sad, lonely life she had inherited.
"Um, well, I didn't have any money, except a little I was able to filch off of Merrick. When he misses it, he's going to be ticked," she said with a barren little laugh. "So, I hitched."
The Watcher was aghast. "Hitchhiked? My dear child, do you have any idea how dangerous that can be?"
"No more dangerous than vampires, I suppose. Look, I won't stay long. Just until Merrick sobers up."
"Don't you worry about that. Sit down and I'll fix us some tea." Giles hurried into the kitchen, trying for her sake to mask his fury and disappointment in his colleague.
"That's your cure for everything, isn't it? A cup of Earl Grey." Buffy sat down on the sofa and bent over to loosen the laces on her combat boots.
"Everything always looks better over a cup of tea. Plus, it helps me think."
Buffy sighed as she slipped her sore feet out of the boots. She had on her last pair of socks and they already had a hole in the heel. "How've things been since I was here last?"
"Not better, but no worse. The death of the Master threw the vampires into a bit of a tizzy, but there are two eager to take his place."
"The red-haired female? And her leather-clad beau?" Buffy asked as she padded over to the kitchen and climbed up on one of the barstools.
Giles poured hot water into the teapot. "Xander and Willow, yes. They, at one time, had been students at the high school. Nice children. A terrible shame."
"Were they taken during the Harvest?" Buffy asked.
"No. Well, it was around the same time, but after the Master rose. He took them himself."
"I see."
Giles watched as Buffy sipped her tea. She was already beginning to droop in exhaustion, her green eyes pain-filled and weary.
"I'm going upstairs to run you a hot bath. Then, I want you to get some sleep. We can talk later," Giles said.
"You don't have to do that... " she protested, her voice already fading to a whisper.
With fatherly concern, Giles placed his hand over hers. "I want to. It's about time someone took care of you properly."
With a grateful smile, Buffy nodded. "Thanks."
Giles was laying out two fluffy towels and a washcloth when Buffy walked into the tiny bathroom. She lugged her duffel bag behind her and dropped it on the floor. "This is really nice of you."
"It's no problem at all. Take all the time you need and you can have the bed. Try and get some sleep," Giles smiled kindly.
"Are you sure? Did you need it?"
"Not at all. I usually sleep on the couch anyway." Giles turned to leave the bathroom, but paused when Buffy lay a tiny hand on his forearm.
"Y-you don't have to. I-I know what's expected."
"I don't... what are you talking about?" Giles asked, confusion stamped on his features. Buffy glanced away, reddening.
"Merrick told me about Slayers and Watchers, how it's... normal to... you know... " Buffy looked up at him, weary resignation reflected in her eyes.
Giles realized what she was intimating and he felt a rage so intense, it threatened to overwhelm him. He grabbed Buffy's arms in his hands and shook her gently. "What are you saying? Has Merrick... has he been molesting you?"
Humiliation washed over Buffy's features and she began to tremble. "He said it was the way it was supposed to be. That I owed it to him in... in exchange... "
"Buffy, how old are you?"
She had the look of a cornered doe, all wide, fearful eyes and quivering lips. "Se-seventeen. I'll be eighteen in a month."
"How long has this been going on?"
Buffy licked her lips, suddenly shy. "Um... "
He gave her a shake. "How long?"
"Since just after my parents were killed. I was fifteen," she whispered.
"No more than a child. A confused, hurting child. That bloody bastard!" Giles snarled.
"He... um... he said it would make me a better Slayer," Buffy said as Giles let her go. She rubbed her upper arms.
"Well, maybe it was expected four hundred years ago! But, this is the bloody twentieth century! Not to mention, it is very much against the law!" Giles cried.
"I'm sorry... I shouldn't have said anything. I just thought maybe you might want me to... you know... reimburse you or something," Buffy whispered, her jade-green eyes swimming with unshed tears.
Giles softened, his heart torn by the young girl's vulnerability. "You're not paying me with your body, Buffy. I have too much respect for you to take advantage of you in such a way."
He could see the confusion on her face, her lack of self-esteem rushing to the fore. Reaching out, he dragged her into his arms and to his surprise, the Slayer burst into tears. Her sobs were harsh, shattering, and they rocked him to the core. Her life was difficult enough without an immoral man like Merrick taking advantage of her in such a violent way. The one thing he had learned as he had studied to be a Watcher was that the life of the Slayer was paramount to his own. They had a short lifespan, usually reaching only about nineteen or twenty years old.
A Slayer deserved their respect, not their abuse.
"Buffy, here now, dry your tears before you make yourself sick. Take your bath and when you feel better, we'll talk. Okay?"
She managed a shaky smile. "Okay. You should pat yourself on the back. No one ever sees this side of me."
"Then, I am honored."
"Thank you, Giles. You've been wonderful," Buffy said as he backed out of the bathroom. "I've needed a little wonderful."
He nodded briskly. "I'll freshen your tea and set it on the nightstand. After you sleep, we'll talk."
With a smile, she closed the door.
Giles' smile was replaced with cold rage. He spun on his heel and went back downstairs. It was time he had a talk with the Watcher Council.
He'd see to it that Merrick never stepped foot near Buffy Summers again.
It was late afternoon when Buffy awoke from a deep, surprisingly dreamless sleep. For the first time since she had become the Slayer, her subconscious had been free from the horrifying, sometimes prophetic, nightmares that plagued her slumber. Turning on her side, she looked around the unfamiliar bedroom. The small room, decorated in muted shades of tan and brown, was warmed considerably by the little bits and pieces of the Watcher's life scattered about. A photograph in an antique filigreed frame sat on the dresser. A small boy, flanked on either side by tall, stern-faced man and a beautiful, cold-eyed woman.
Buffy wondered if they were Giles' parents.
A tweed blazer thrown over a chairback, a stack of books as tall as a three-year old child, a forgotten teacup all gave Buffy valuable insight into the man who had offered his hospitality to her.
And refused her offer of repayment.
That surprised her. She knew that she wasn't as pretty as she used to be. It had been months, maybe years, since she had even painted her fingernails. And, the toll of being the Slayer had begun to show around her eyes. She was tired.
So, so tired.
Despite all that, Buffy knew she had a certain sexuality that attracted men, among other things, to her like flies to honey. Merrick had called her a bitch in heat one time, during one of his bad spells, as she had begun to think of them. He had hurt her pretty bad then and if it hadn't been for the fact that he was her Watcher and all she had in the world, she'd have killed him.
With a sigh, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and padded, naked, to the bathroom. She had no time for self-reflection.
She didn't deserve the luxury.
"We found five bodies last night, all adult, thank God. We took them to the school and dumped them in the incinerator," Oz said as he took a healthy bite of his ham and cheese sandwich.
Giles nodded in approval. He handed Larry a plate and then joined them at the table. "It sounds as if their activity is in a lull. If we could take out Xander and Willow, maybe we could throw them into turmoil."
"Xander and Willow. Are they really that powerful?"
The three men turned to look at Buffy as she came down the stairs. She was dressed in a pair of black leggings and a tiny black tank top. Combat boots and a black windbreaker completed her outfit. Her blonde hair was fastened into a braid that fell halfway down her back.
"Buffy, did you sleep well?"
She took a seat next to Larry, nodding at the two young men curtly. "Yeah, thanks. So, what's their story?"
Giles set a plate with a sandwich and potato chips in front of Buffy, along with a glass of milk. She smiled faintly in thanks. "Alexander Harris and Willow Rosenberg were students at Sunnydale, good kids, bright, well-liked. They were best friends."
"Willow was my girlfriend."
Buffy looked at Oz in surprise. He had spoken so matter-of-fact that she almost missed the flash of pain in his hazel eyes.
"So, Giles said they were taken after the Harvest. What happened?"
No one spoke for a moment. Giles stared down into his teacup, then cleared his throat. "They were aware, as just about everyone was, that there was more to Sunnydale than met the eye. They assisted me on occasion with research; Willow was quite adept with computers."
Larry picked up the thread. "They were at the Bronze one night when a friend of Xander's, Jesse, took off with a really good-looking girl. Turns out she wasn't a girl at all, but a vampire named Darla. Xander was pretty hot-headed and he took off to rescue Jesse.
"The Master changed Xander, then sent him for Willow. He took them under his wing and made them the animals they are now."
Buffy sipped her milk and nodded. "Animals. Animals can be put down."
Oz's head whipped up and he stared at the Slayer. "It wasn't their fault."
She glanced at him. "No, but that doesn't matter now, does it? The Xander and Willow you knew and loved are gone. All that's left are the demons wearing their faces. The sooner you get used to that, the easier it will be for you to let them go."
Larry was on his feet, his broad, football-player's physique dwarfing Buffy's tiny body. "Just who the hell are you to come in here and stir things up? We have it under control!"
She stood up slowly, her jade-green eyes flinty. "I've been fighting vampires since I was fifteen years old. I watched them kill two dozen of my friends when I lived in LA and I watched them kill my parents and set fire to my house less than a year later. I had to put a wooden stake in my mother's heart when I found her feeding off of a five-year-old girl."
She advanced on a stricken Larry. "Don't ever tell me that you have things under control, because you will never have things under control! All we can do is fight and hopefully take a few of them out before they finally kill us. And don't ever think for a moment that it's going to end differently because it isn't!"
Silence fell over the group and Buffy sat back down. Oz stared at her as Giles walked back into the kitchen.
"Why do you do it then? Why do you bother?" Oz asked.
Buffy's expression was bitter. "Because someone has to," she whispered.
"Because God has forsaken us."
A half-hour after sunset, a soft knock at the door sent Buffy into instant battle mode. Giles picked up the ever-present crossbow and Oz and Larry hefted hand-carved stakes. Gliding to the door on silent feet, Giles opened the peephole door.
He sighed in relief and opened the door, lowering the deadly weapon in his hands. "Angel. I've been worried about you. Please, come in."
The vampire stepped past the Watcher and found himself face-to-face with Buffy. She glared at him with barely-disguised loathing and she lifted her own crossbow to point with unerring accuracy at his heart. He stopped short, catching an unnecessary breath. A quiver of longing swept through him as he faced the girl he had loved since he had first laid eyes on her in LA.
"Buffy."
"Vampire." She turned and stared at Giles. "What's he doing here? Have you lost your mind, inviting a monster into your home?"
Angel carefully hid the hurt that accompanied her vicious words. He nodded politely at Oz and Larry and stepped out of the aim of the Slayer's weapon. "I didn't realize you were back in town."
Buffy followed his movements with distrustful eyes. "What's it to you? Are you gonna go tell your friends?"
Angel opened his mouth to reply, but Giles cut him off. "Enough, both of you! Buffy, put that down and let us explain."
Slowly, she conceded. She relaxed only slightly, but didn't relinquish her hold on the crossbow. Angel sat down and looked her direction nervously.
"Angel is a vampire, that is true, but a hundred years ago..." Giles started.
"1898," Angel offered.
"Yes, well, 1898, he killed a young Gypsy girl and her clan, in vengeance, restored his soul."
Buffy narrowed her eyes. "Restored his soul? So what kind of punishment is that? They should've just cut his head off."
Angel pushed down the anger that was beginning to rise in him. As if she sensed it, Buffy smiled mockingly.
Giles sighed, perplexed by the tension flowing between Slayer and vampire. Something wasn't quite right...
"Um, well, Angel was... had been... quite cruel in his day. His own conscience was to be his punishment."
Buffy laughed, contemptuously. "Well, sucks to be you. Or not!"
"As you know, Buffy, Angel suffered because he dared to help us in our quest to rid Sunnydale of its infestation. The Master tortured him mercilessly," Giles said, surprised at Buffy's cruelty.
"Too bad."
"He's been an enormous help to us," Larry broke in.
Buffy finally sighed. "Look, whatever. You can be friends with Satan himself if it makes you happy. Let's just get one thing straight; you stay out of my way, I stay out of yours. If I find evidence that you're double-crossing these people, I'll hurt you so bad you'll wish those Gypsies hadn't been quite so forgiving."
Green eyes locked with brown ones. Angel nodded, fury emanating from his stiffened body. "Whatever you want, Slayer."
She blinked as his gaze seemed to pierce into her very soul and, to her horror, she felt a wave of heat spread from her thighs, all the way to her face. Her cheeks turned rosy and Angel smiled, taunting her.
He wondered if he told her he could smell her involuntary arousal if she would try to stake him right here.
Surprisingly, the thought raised his spirits.
With an unladylike snort, Buffy turned and flounced into the kitchen. Angel frowned when he saw how she favored her left leg, giving her a tiny limp. A memory bloomed, unbidden.
Buffy, young and sweet, surrounded by three of her friends, bouncing down the steps of Hemery High School. The early afternoon sunlight had turned her waist-length hair into a platinum halo; her golden skin was flushed with health.
Only fifteen, she was teetering on the edge of womanhood, brimming with vibrancy and hidden sexuality. Angel, protected by the dark-painted windows on the old car, had watched her as she had said goodbye to her friends and sat on the steps.
That was when Merrick had approached her for the first time and informed her that she was the Slayer.
And stole her innocence from her.
Now, as he stared at the bitter, battle-weary seventeen-year-old, he felt a self-hatred that went deeper than any he had ever known. It was his kind that had destroyed the beautiful child Buffy Summers had been once upon a time. Vampires, demons, horrendous creatures that didn't deserve to exist in the same world she lived in.
If it took him until the end of time, he would protect her, fight beside her, help her rid the world of evil.
And, when the time came to die for her, he would gladly plunge a stake into his own heart.
Buffy looked up and met his eyes. Angel wanted to tear his gaze from hers, afraid she would see the depth to which his love for her flowed. But, their eyes locked and Buffy's mutinous expression faded into surprise.
Angel smiled, sadly, and turned away, leaving the Slayer to stare at his broad back in shock.
Buffy slipped into the kitchen, her mind whirling in confusion. She leaned against the wall and put a shaky hand to her forehead. To her own touch, she felt flushed and she struggled to control her rapid heartbeat.
She could still feel the heat of the vampire's gaze on her. His deep, black eyes had fastened on hers and conveyed an emotion she hadn't seen in years.
Love.
He looked at her with naked yearning; not lust, that she was familiar with, but a raw, hungry longing that filled her with a strange sense of betrayal. As if she had missed out on something important.
As if something that had been so right was now so very wrong.
Brushing angrily at the tears she felt sliding down her cheeks, Buffy picked up a glass sitting in the dish drainer and filled it with water from the tap. She gulped it down, hoping it would calm her.
She should have been feeling revulsion that an undead animal desired her, but visions of Angel's sad, handsome face filled her mind's eye and she couldn't control the wave of erotic heat that made her stomach do flip-flops.
Buffy took a deep breath, willing herself to relax.
"Buffy? Are you okay?"
When she looked up at Giles, the cold, impersonal mask was back in place. Setting the glass on the table, she smiled tightly. "I'm fine. I should go patrol, see if I can take out two or three or a dozen vamps."
"Yes, well, I-I will be heading to the library with Angel, so if you need me for anything, you can reach me there," Giles said.
Buffy slipped past him and picked her jacket off of the bar. "Great. What's Larry and Oz's plan?"
"They'll do neighborhood patrol, make sure everyone's observing curfew. Hopefully take out a couple of vampires themselves."
Buffy looked at the two young men, talking quietly to Angel. "Giles, are you sure you trust him?"
Giles followed her gaze. "Yes, I do. He's sacrificed a great deal to help us when he could've just left Sunnydale."
"You never told me why he believes I was destined to come here."
Giles shook his head. "I honestly don't know, Buffy. You'll need to ask Angel."
The vampire in question looked up at the sound of his name. Giles smiled and Buffy looked away, uncomfortable.
"Maybe I will," she whispered. "Maybe I will."
Daytime in Sunnydale was eerie, surreal. the nearly-empty streets and somber residents giving the town a diseased feel.
Nights were worse. The sultry, Southern California evening was as silent as the grave it had become. Not even the once-normal sounds of nocturnal animals broke the suffocating hush. To Buffy, as she walked close to the shadows of the abandoned and boarded-up shops bordering Main Street, it seemed as if Sunnydale existed within a vacuum. Even the air was afraid to move for fear of rousing the notice of the monsters creeping inside the shadows of the night.
Occasionally, a distant scream would pierce the gloom, followed by the maniacal laughter and hungry growls of the vampire marauders. Somewhere, music throbbed tonelessly, probably coming from the Bronze nightclub where she had found Angel chained in the basement.
Buffy was edgy. This town was giving her a serious wiggins and again she had the unnerving sensation that she somehow belonged here. But, not here, not in this Sunnydale. Deep within her subconscious, a picture of a far different Sunnydale formed; a quaint, tiny village, nestled between the ocean and the mountains. A successful, happy Sunnydale, one where the nights were only a little bit scary.
She shook off the feeling of déjà vu as she turned onto Bristol Avenue. Immediately, she pulled back into the deep shadow of an awning. A half-block away, a black convertible was stopped in the middle of the street, the headlights cutting through the gloom. Even from the distance, she could see the pack of vampires, maybe five or six of them, crouched over two sprawled bodies.
Buffy reached behind her and quietly slipped her crossbow off of her shoulder. With a swiftness born of experience, she loaded it and shifted it to battle-readiness. On silent feet, she ran the short distance to the car. So intent were the vamps on their feast, they never heard the tiny Slayer approach until she was practically on top of them.
Lifting the crossbow to her shoulder, Buffy fired the bolt, embedding it with precision in the nearest vampire's back. With a shocked groan, it exploded into copper-tinged dust. Before the pack could react to the assassin in their midst, Buffy had pulled a wicked stake out of her waistband and slammed it into the heart of a female vamp, just beginning to rise to confront her. She went without a sound.
"Bitch!" one of the animals screamed, leaping for Buffy with outstretched claws.
Buffy dropped to a crouch, swinging her right leg outward. It caught the vampire at the knees, bringing him crashing to the pavement. The other vamps snarled in fury as they grabbed for her.
The one on the ground grabbed Buffy's arm and jerked her down, his mouth wide open in anticipation. Buffy rolled into the motion, ending up in a straddle over his legs. In seconds, another pile of dust joined the first two. She continued the roll, leaping to her feet from an almost-horizontal position. Her upward momentum ended in a savage snap kick that nearly took the head off of one of the two remaining vamps.
They hung back, suddenly wary of the tiny blonde Slayer who had destroyed three of their comrades in less than a minute. "Slayer! You shouldn't have come here, you're being hunted by every vampire in the county," one snarled, his eyes glinting ferally in the dim light.
Buffy smiled with chilling hatred. "Let them hunt. If I can kill your pathetic Master, I can kill all of you."
They broke away from each other, fanning out on either side of her. Buffy kept her eye on the larger of the two, letting the smaller one circle her in a tightening trap. Just as her peripheral vision alerted her to the smaller vamp's impending attack, she launched her body in a spinning kick, the side of her combat boot catching the larger vamp in the nose. She smiled at the satisfying crunch of breaking bone.
With a howl of pain, he dropped to the ground, giving the smaller vamp the opening he thought he needed. Throwing his arms around Buffy's shoulders, he impaled himself on the stake she had thrust under her arm.
Buffy smiled down at the remaining vampire. "All alone now. What are you going to do?"
The odds had been reduced from five against one to one against one and he knew it was hopeless. Scrabbling to his feet, he managed to take a half-dozen steps. Buffy aimed and threw the stake in her hand.
And then she was alone on the dark Sunnydale street.
A quick check of the two victims showed them to be very dead. Buffy stared at them dispassionately. Tourists, from the looks of it. Rental car, map in the front seat, camera on the dashboard.
"You just wandered into the wrong town," Buffy whispered.
With a shake of her head, she turned and melted into the night, unaware of the avid vampire eyes that had followed her every move.
With a grin, the monster that had once called himself Scott Hope ran into the night, eager to tell Xander and Willow all that he had witnessed.
Scott ran the four blocks to the Bronze, slipping in the converted warehouse by the back entrance. It was still early, only an hour or two past sundown, so the nightclub was nearly deserted. An unearthly cry sent a shiver of delight through him and he paused near the cage hanging in the center of the main room.
A disheveled, bruised young woman, dressed in the filthy remnants of what had once been a sky-blue satin dress, shrank back from his avid glare. She sobbed, but was so dehydrated, not one tear fell from her eyes. Instead, she rocked back and forth, her hands clutching the bars of the iron cage suspended five or so feet from the floor.
"Look at you, girly! You're like a big dog! Or a monkey! Yeah, a monkey, a pet, all caged up with nowhere to go!" he cackled as he reached in and pinched her on the leg, hard.
Cordelia Chase screamed hoarsely, her throat raw from the hours of screaming she had been doing for the last month. She kicked out at Scott, catching his fingers against the bars. He howled in pain and morphed into his demon's face. He growled at her and flashed his gleaming incisors. Cordelia screamed again.
"What in the hell is going on out here?"
Scott leaped away from the cage, submissively bowing his head as Xander stalked into the room. "I was... I was just looking at the animal."
The next moment, Scott found himself on the floor, holding a hand to his bloody nose. He stared dazedly up at his sire. "I'm sorry. I... I didn't mean any harm."
With a snarl, Xander reached down and hauled the smaller vampire to his feet. "How many times do I have to tell you idiots don't play with the meat!"
Scott trembled as Xander shook him, the older vampire's yellow eyes blazing with the knowledge that he was the stronger creature. "My apologies, sir. It won't happen again."
"I should hope not." With a careless motion, Xander threw Scott to the side. Scott caught himself against the pool table.
"Xander, I have news."
Xander turned back to look at him, his face once more human. He quirked one eyebrow, a black slash in a death-pale face. "And what would that be?"
"The Slayer. She's back in town."
"Oooohh... that makes me very unhappy. It's all... unhappiness."
Both vampires turned to look at the speaker, Scott with trepidation, Xander with lust.
Once known as a shy, studious girl, Willow Rosenberg had been best friends with Xander Harris almost since birth. They knew each other as well as they knew themselves and were rarely parted from each other. Now, though, theirs was an unholy alliance, bound by blood and passion.
"Hey, baby, come here." Xander held out his hand and Willow glided forward and melted into his arms. The male pulled her leather-clad body against his and he kissed her roughly, a deep rumble issuing from his chest.
Scott watched them, waiting patiently for the two vampires to notice him again.
Willow pulled back first, her hazel eyes sliding to gaze at Scott. Shaking back her shoulder-length hair, she moved over to him, slowly. A faint smile played around her glossy lips. "So, when did you see the big, bad Slayer?"
"In front of the theater on Main. She took out Fritz' gang."
Xander stepped in front of Willow, his hair-trigger temper flaring again. "Fritz' gang? All of them?"
Scott nodded. "Yeah. They were feeding on two humans and they didn't hear her approach."
Willow slid a single hand, perfectly manicured with long, crimson nails, over Xander's chest. "And you didn't warn them? Bad, bad Scotty."
Scott faltered, his eyes going from Xander's livid gaze to Willow's knowing one. "Uh... I was... too far, too far for them to hear me without being in danger myself."
Willow's giggle was soft, tinged with the faintest hint of insanity. "Oh, we wouldn't want that, now would we? How very boring of you, Scott."
"And, Scott you know how my little Willow hates to be bored," Xander said conversationally.
Scott was too smart to miss the layer of steel under Xander's deceptively gentle voice. "I thought it would be more important for me to get word to you about the Slayer."
With a rattlesnake-swift strike, Xander reached out and snagged Scott by the throat. Scott gagged on his own blood as Xander's fingers punctured the skin, digging deep into his useless windpipe. "I already KNEW about the fucking Slayer cunt! You're less than worthless, you little shit!"
Scott clawed at Xander's hand, in pain and desperation. He could feel the muscles shredding under the brutal grip and blood poured from his mouth. He knew with sudden clarity that Xander was going to rip his head off with his bare hands.
And, deep within, a small part of him, a tiny remnant of the boy that had been Scott Hope, was glad.
Unfortunately, a fire-tressed witch had other ideas.
Willow lay a gentling hand on Xander's arm, instantly stilling his torture. "Give him to me, lover. I wanna play."
"With this shit-nosed prick? You have to be kidding," Xander growled, his eyes never leaving Scott's face.
"I haven't had anyone to play with since the Slayer stole Puppy from me. I miss Puppy," she hissed, her cold, empty gaze staring at Scott with hunger.
Scott remembered the vampire the Master had kept chained up in the basement, ever since the night of the Harvest. Willow had called Angel her Puppy and got her kicks by torturing him with every evil trick she could devise. The last thing Scott wanted was to become her new toy.
But, Xander grinned, ready to give his Willow whatever her dead heart desired. He let Scott go and watched as the vampire crumpled to the ground, clutching his torn neck. Idly, Xander lifted his hand, licking the scarlet liquid that coated his fingers. With a hungry snarl, Willow leaned forward and ran her tongue over his palm, sharing the bounty with her lover. Scott winced and, behind him, he could hear the caged beauty moan in fear. Her days were numbered and all Scott could wonder was if her end would be quicker than the end promised to him at Willow's very capable, very sadistic hands.
Somehow, he doubted it.
He smelled her long before she came into view.
Angel ducked behind a large tombstone, a pretentious monument to some long-dead scion of Sunnydale. Her scent, uniquely Buffy, was carried to him on an errant breeze. She was still several feet from him, with her back to the tombstone behind which he crouched. Another gust of wind, the harbinger of a faraway storm at sea, brought the scent of soap and sweat to his sensitive nostrils.
And adrenaline.
Peeking over the edge of the marble slab, Angel took in Buffy's flushed skin and rumpled jacket. She'd been fighting, recently, from the looks of it. Since she hadn't yet sensed his presence, Angel took the time to study the Slayer.
The Buffy Summers that Whistler had shown to him in Los Angeles during the spring of 1996 was gone, buried beneath layers of weary bitterness. The beautiful blonde teenager that had struggled with the newfound knowledge of her destiny had been replaced by a seventeen-year-old woman forced to grow up years too quickly.
Still beautiful, though, to Angel's eyes. Even with little makeup and her long hair pulled back into an unflattering braid, even with her knowing green gaze and the thin, faint scar slicing across her full lips, she was exquisite.
Angel shifted as she moved closer, her sharp stare skipping over his hiding place. He wasn't quite sure he wanted to let her know that he was following her, not sure yet how she would accept the fact that he didn't have any intention of hurting her.
Back at Giles', he hadn't missed her lack of self-esteem. Buffy covered it up well, substituting a thorough knowledge of vampires and battle strategy to replace the confidence she was missing in herself. But, Angel had watched as she studiously avoided any direct contact with himself or the other young men, Oz and Larry. She looked at Giles for confirmation of every word she spoke, not even aware she was doing it. He could see the growing respect in her eyes for the ex-Watcher and he wondered what Giles had done to gain the skittish Slayer's trust so easily.
Remembering the Buffy of old compared to the Buffy of today made Angel ache with sympathy for her. He wondered if she missed all of the things that young girls her age took for granted; late-night phone calls with friends, pretty clothes, movie dates, fashion magazines, dances...
Dances. Angel wanted to dance with her, hold her slender, powerful body in his arms and feel her melt into his strength, feel her give into the luxury of the moment. He wanted to press his face into her thick hair, feel it slip through his fingers. He wanted to bury his face into the heat of her neck, breathe in her scent and taste the honeyed texture of her skin.
He wanted to offer her comfort from her complicated, horrifying life.
He wanted to give her all of the love he had had for her since that day in March, 1996.
The day Buffy Anne Summers became the Slayer.
"Are you following me?"
Angel leaped to his feet so swiftly he bumped his head against an overhanging tree branch. He took a step backward, his hand coming up to rub the sore spot.
Buffy stared at him, an amused smirk on her face. "Are you okay?" she asked.
"I'm not following you!"
Angel could've sworn he saw a flicker of disappointment in her eyes and she looked down at the ground. Scuffing her foot in the brown weeds, she shrugged. "Well... good! Don't. I stake first and ask questions later."
Angel shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket. "Did you kill some vampires earlier? You look... mussed."
Buffy lifted a hand to her face, a self-conscious blush stealing over her features. "Oh! Um, yeah... over by the theater... five of them. Too late for their dinner though."
"Are they going to rise?" Angel asked as he fell into step beside her. He noticed just how tiny she really was; no more than five foot two or three, she didn't even reach his chin. She looked fragile, vulnerable, not the muscular little powerhouse that could take out five vampires in less than ten minutes.
"No. Just dead. I think they were tourists. Boy, did they take a wrong turn."
They walked through Rose Hill Cemetery in tense silence, both stealing looks at each other when the other wasn't watching. "I suppose I should double back and drag the bodies back to the school. Burn 'em," Buffy said as they stepped through the rusted iron gate and onto the sidewalk bordering Seventh Street.
"Don't bother, a clean-up crew comes through town every morning at daybreak. They'll take care of it. Did they have anything of value?"
Buffy gave him a strange look. "What do you do? Rob the dead?"
"I meant, anything that could be sent to family," Angel said patiently.
"Oh." Buffy looked down the street at the houses, many abandoned, many with large crosses nailed to the front doors and above the windows. "No. Well, I mean, I didn't look."
"Doesn't matter. As far as family is concerned, they'll probably never know what happened. Not much gets out about Sunnydale."
Buffy leaned back against the fence, wrapping her hands around the vine-covered bars. "Why is that? Why doesn't everyone leave?"
Angel sighed, tilting his head back to look at the sky. Earlier in the evening the stars had been out, but a cloud cover was moving in, bringing the promise of rain. The vampire hoped so; inclement weather tended to keep the monsters in their lairs. "Before the Master escaped his prison, this town was... quaint. A lovely, seaside community, full of artists and writers. Very picturesque. I think the people of Sunnydale, those that have elected to stay, to fight the demons, do so because they have hope that, one day, everything will be like it was."
Buffy snorted. "They're stupid. They should get out while they can. From the little I've seen, this town is a lost cause. If I was in charge, I'd just set the whole damned place on fire and let the vamp bastards burn."
She glanced at Angel and shrugged. "Sorry, no offense."
"No offense taken."
"Why do you stay?"
Angel frowned, wondering how much he should reveal to her. He looked at her, her face cast into the shadows by the trees overhead.
"I was waiting for you."
He turned and walked away, towards the high school. He could hear the soft clomp of Buffy's combat boots as she ran to catch up. He waited for her to say something sarcastic or biting.
But, the expected ridicule never came. Buffy fell into step with him and they walked silently down the dark sidewalk.
It was close to dawn when Buffy let herself into Giles' apartment with the key he'd had made for her. The sky was overcast and heavy with the threat of bad weather. Even as Buffy shut and locked the door behind her, large droplets of rain began to spatter on the concrete sidewalk.
The librarian had left a light on in the kitchen for her and Buffy felt a warm glow of affection for the man who had taken her into his home, no questions asked, no strings attached. For the past two years, Buffy had become accustomed to having to fend off the lecherous advances of the man sworn to train and assist her. Merrick had used the death of Buffy's parents to exploit her and take her virginity in a moment of drunken rage.
He had molested her the very night of her parents' murder at the hands of a pack of vampires. Still too unsure of her own strength as the Slayer and nearly comatose with grief, Buffy had been easily overpowered by the much larger Watcher. Before and after the rape, he had beaten her until she had simply ceased to fight back, letting him use her until he had finally blacked out. Buffy had then crawled into the bathroom and locked herself in, eventually falling into an exhausted sleep on the cold tile floor.
So had begun two years of relentless abuse, not only physical and sexual, but emotional as well. Barely civil to her when he was sober, Merrick used every opportunity to call her filthy names and tell her how utterly worthless she was, not only as a Slayer, but as a human being. He reminded her on a daily basis that, because of her, his life had been forever ruined.
Buffy's self-esteem plummeted and she began to believe every word he said to her. The memories of her past life, spent as the beautiful, happy daughter of Hank and Joyce Summers, memories of being a cheerleader, Homecoming princess, talented figure skater, all began to fade into the past.
She tried to never think of the past for fear she would just want to curl up and die of the anguish she had never been able to express.
With a sigh, Buffy walked into the kitchen and put the teakettle on the gas stove and turned on the flame. Turning to the sink, she took a glass out of the drainer and filled it with water. While waiting for the kettle to heat, she walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. She had finally talked Giles into reclaiming his bedroom, while she slept on the couch. She made the argument that she would be keeping different hours than he and if she stayed downstairs, she wouldn't disturb his sleep. Grudgingly, the Englishman agreed, promising her that he would start looking for a bigger place, somewhere they could both be comfortable.
Buffy's respect for the man had grown by leaps and bounds after that conversation. Instead of resenting her presence, Rupert Giles had eagerly welcomed her into his life. He had opened up his home and his heart to her, doing everything he could to make her feel secure.
For the first time in a very long time, Buffy Summers began to feel content.
As she undressed and slipped on one of Giles' pajama shirts, the teakettle began to whistle. Padding barefoot into the kitchen, Buffy fixed a cup of tea, amused at how quickly his habits were becoming her own. Carefully balancing the cup in one hand, she opened the cabinet above the sink. She removed two chocolate-chip cookies from a package purchased with her in mind on Giles' last trip to the store.
Sinking down onto the couch, Buffy took a sip of her steaming tea before sitting the cup down on the end table. Pulling a blanket over her bare legs, she proceeded to unbraid her hair, letting the thick mass fall down her back. As she lay her head back on the cushions, her thoughts drifted to the other man complicating her life.
Angel.
While a part of her rebelled against the notion of a vampire with a soul, restored by Gypsies no less, Buffy found herself falling into the easy comfort he offered. His presence was a constant source of tranquillity in her hectic life. He was always there, sometimes with her, sometimes shadowing her every move.
Instead of creeping her out, Buffy found it extraordinarily gratifying. She felt safe when he was around, secure in the knowledge that he was watching her back, always.
And, he made her feel pretty again.
Even at her filthiest, his dark eyes would shine with appreciation, a tiny, crooked smile lighting his face. A smile he only had for her. And, when he would touch her, never deliberately, only an accidental brushing of shoulders or the barest touch of fingertips along the back of her hand, Buffy felt breathless, on fire as her face would flame in embarrassment.
But, he would only smile at her and whisper something amusing to divert her attention from the rising passion between them.
Buffy told herself that she had no intentions of falling in love with the handsome vampire, but she had a sneaking suspicion that it was too late.
As she fell asleep, her dreams were of Angel.
"Good afternoon, sleepy head. What time did you get in last night?" Giles asked as Buffy sat up and yawned. The Slayer glanced up at the mantel clock, surprised to see that it was going on one o'clock.
"Almost morning, four or so." Wrapping the quilt around her shoulders, Buffy got up and joined Giles in the kitchen. Leaning back against the counter, she watched as the librarian made a pot of tea. She didn't have the patience to make tea the old-fashioned way, with loose tea in a china teapot, she was a Lipton teabag kind of girl, but it was soothing to watch him go through the ritual.
"How many did you get last night?" he asked as he placed the teapot and matching cups on a silver tray along with cream and sugar.
Buffy sighed and pulled the quilt closer. "Would you believe none? It was a quiet night. Even Angel said... "
"You saw Angel?"
"Yeah, he patrolled with me for a few hours. He thought it seemed kind of dead, too." Buffy grinned suddenly, an uncharacteristic act that lit up her whole face. "No pun intended."
Giles smiled, pleased with her obvious happiness. "You seem to be getting along better with Angel. I haven't had that irresistible urge to put you in separate corners lately."
To his surprise, Buffy blushed and she looked away. The Watcher could've sworn that her green eyes turned dreamy. "He's... not so bad... for a blood-sucking monster," she said.
It had been a very long time since Rupert Giles had been anything close to being in love, but he still recognized the signs. Angel was a very handsome man and Buffy, although wise beyond her years, was an impressionable young woman.
Despite her physical strength and demon-hunting prowess, Buffy was severely lacking in self-respect. Her image of herself was damaged, practically beyond repair, due to the treatment she had suffered at Merrick's hands. Giles did all he could to praise her and tell her how wonderful she was, even though the disbelief in her eyes was painful to behold.
He had hoped a friendship with the lonely vampire would pull her out of her shell and, from the looks of the girlish flush tinting her cheeks, it was working.
He just prayed that her tender heart, locked up behind a callous armor of sarcasm, would not be broken in the end.
Cordelia Chase rarely slept anymore.
And when she did, it was for never more than fifteen or twenty minutes at a time. If it wasn't her own fear keeping her awake, it was the teasing and taunting she suffered at the whim of her vampire captors.
For the hundredth time in as many minutes, she wondered why they hadn't killed her yet.
And for the hundredth time, she wished they would just get it over with.
"Bored... now... "
Willow's mischievous whisper sent a chill of helpless dread through Cordelia. She sank back to the far wall of the cage, her hands gripping the bars. She watched in breathless terror as the flame-haired vampire strolled over to her, an impudent smile curving her crimson lips.
"How's Kitten today? Are you hungry, Kitten? Want some milk?" Willow said, trailing one hand over the steel bars. Hazel eyes, completely devoid of humanity, bored into Cordelia's terrified brown ones.
Cordelia was past feeling the relentless hunger that gnawed at her insides and she wasn't about to beg her demon jailers for a single morsel.
She'd die of starvation first.
If she was lucky.
"Awww, Kitten doesn't wanna play. You're no fun at all."
Cordelia squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the tears prickling her eyelids. She rocked back and forth, trying to block out the sound of the vampire's voice. She was going to go mad if she had to listen...
The scrape of a key in the lock made the teenager look up. Willow was pulling open the door, an avid gleam in her eyes. Cordelia moaned.
"Come on, Kitten, let's play."
"No, no please no... " Cordelia groaned, trying vainly to push herself into the corner. She felt clawed hands behind her, shoving her towards the vampire. Losing her balance, she fell forward.
Willow reached out and grabbed a handful of Cordelia's long hair, tangling her fingers in the greasy strands. With a jerk of her arm, the vampire pulled Cordelia out of the cage.
With a scream, Cordelia fell five feet to the floor, twisting her ankle as her numb legs hit the ground. She fell to her knees, only to be pulled up again by the hair. She screamed again as Willow twisted her hand sharply, nearly pulling out a clump of her dark hair.
"Meow for me, Kitten," Willow said, shaking Cordelia's head.
"Oh, God... "
"Oops, wrong answer. No God here. Meow, cat."
"No... "
With a suddenness that took Cordelia by surprise, Willow punched her in the face. Blood spurted from her nose, splashing Willow's fingers and her victim's tattered clothing. "Meow, bitch."
Cordelia prayed for something, anything, to end this nightmare. "M-m-me-e-e-owww... "
"Again."
Willow made her meow for many interminable minutes. Cordelia had begun to cry, her voice cracking painfully as she struggled to make the sound over her sobs. The vampire was shaking her by the hair, her face awash in sadistic pleasure.
Coughing on the blood dripping down the back of her nose and into her throat, Cordelia collapsed at Willow's feet, her sobs shaking her emaciated frame.
Letting her go, Willow raised her fingers to her mouth, idly licking away the droplets of blood that marred her slender white hands. "Mmmm, you taste good, Kitten."
Cordelia curled into a ball, her face pressed against the cool concrete floor.
Crouching on the floor by the girl's head, Willow peered at her with all the curiosity of a scientist studying some new form of life. "You cry a lot. How about we give you a reason to cry?"
Once again with savage speed, Willow reached out and grabbed a handful of the blue satin rags of Cordelia's dress. She ripped the fabric away, leaving the young woman completely nude.
Cordelia shivered in incoherent fear, trying vainly to cover her body with her hands. Willow laughed and grabbed her wrists, twisting her arms behind her back so that Cordelia's breasts were prominently displayed. She leaned forward, her lips only centimeters from the girl's ear.
"How many vampires do you count?" she whispered gleefully.
Cordelia wanted to die from humiliation. Every eye in the room was on her. Murmurs of lewd appreciation reached her ears. "T-t-ten... "
"Ten. Ten very horny vampires." Rising, Willow pushed Cordelia into the center of the room. "Let's play a game, Kitten. How many fucks will it take until you bleed. I say five. What do you say, Kitten?"
Cordelia could only stare at her in horror, Willow's words only dimly comprehended. Only when the vampires advanced on her, their clawed hands grasping her arms, spreading her thighs, did the true nature of Willow's game sink in.
Her screams echoed throughout the nightclub, joined by Willow's demonic laughter.
Overnight, a gale had blown in from the Pacific and Sunnydale was getting torrential rainfall. Only just after midnight, Buffy was considering packing it in and going home. The weather was so nasty even the vamps were staying indoors. Not that it would have done them any good to go hunting; what was the point when your food supply was locked tight in their houses?
After making a final pass through Sunnydale's largest cemetery, Restfield, Buffy gave up. She was soaked, cold and hungry, and ready for a hot bath and bed. Slinging her favorite crossbow over her shoulder, she headed back towards town.
A sharp bolt of lightning lit up the sky and Buffy flinched, waiting for the answering crash of thunder.
She never heard it as a heavy blow to the back of her head sent her sprawling to the pavement. With a Slayer's speed and stability, she was back on her feet, only to be driven back down to her knees by another strike to the temple. Blackness encroached on the edges of her awareness and she struggled to stay conscious.
Raising a hand to her temple, she felt the sticky heat of her oozing wound. Pain shot through her skull as clawed hands grabbed her by the back of her jacket and jerked her up. Buffy met the golden eyes of the triumphant vampire towering over her. He grinned and leaned in towards her, fangs bared in hunger.
In the next moment, a shimmering cloud of reddish dust marked his discontinued existence and through a haze of blood and pain, Buffy saw Angel's welcome figure, a sharpened stake in his hand.
"Angel... "
With a groan, Buffy fell forward in a dead faint.
Warm.
Felt good.
Stretching slowly, Buffy sighed at the sensation of satin sliding against her skin.
Her bare skin.
Her green eyes flying open, Buffy sat straight up, wincing as a wave of dizziness nearly sent her back into unconsciousness. The sheets, sensuous black satin, slid to her waist, leaving Buffy with the realization that she was completely naked.
Gasping at the remnants of pain, the Slayer gingerly touched the cut on her temple, finding it almost healed. She tugged the sheets back up over her breasts and looked around the dimly-lit room.
She was sitting in the middle of a huge four-poster bed, the black satin sheets and vermilion velvet comforter in a tangled mass around her long, pale legs. A large armoire stood against one wall, a doorway beside it opening into a small bathroom. An overstuffed armchair was pulled near the bed, a book lying open on it, a light blanket thrown over the arm.
Turning to look at the small nightstand beside the bed, Buffy saw a crystal pitcher of water and a glass, along with a bottle of Advil. Reaching over, she poured water into the glass and took two of the painkillers.
The memories of the night before began to come back. The vampire ambushing her and hitting her; his fangs gleaming as he moved in for the kill; the cloud of ash that marked a vampire's death; Angel catching her as she fell.
It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that she was in Angel's home, in his bed and that he had put her there.
Buffy blushed crimson as she realized that it must have been the vampire who had undressed her and put her into bed.
Her anger flared and she intended to find the depraved monster and give him a piece of her mind.
Then maybe the business end of her stake.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Buffy stood up.
Promptly, she fell to her knees as her vision split double and the room swam before her eyes. Gasping in pain, Buffy crawled back up on the bed and pulled the sheets up around her shoulders. She lay back against the pillows, on her side, closing her eyes tightly as she willed away the pain.
"I'm going to kill him," she muttered to herself, as she curled into a ball, swallowing against the nausea that threatened to empty her stomach. "Stupid vampire. How dare he!"
She fumed silently, appalled and embarrassed that he had seen her naked and even more irate that she actually cared about what he thought. Rolling over onto her back, Buffy stared up at the ceiling, blinking back tears. She hated this weakness! She hated caring and being cared for. It messed everything up, it made her powerless and it scared her. It was almost easier to have someone like Merrick in her life, at least she had no expectations of love or affection from him, nor did he expect it in return. He was happy as long as she let him fuck her once in a while and keep her distance from him the rest of the time.
Turning back onto her side, Buffy choked back a sob. She tried never to think of her parents, ever, but it was times like this, when she was alone or feeling vulnerable, that memories of her life with them came back to haunt her.
Scenes of birthday parties and Christmas, shopping expeditions and school recitals played through her mind and Buffy shook with the effort to hold them at bay. Sometimes she just wanted to give in to the madness that remembering promised.
She wanted to forget she was ever a happy young girl named Buffy Summers.
Burying her face into cool black satin, Buffy wept bitterly.
Angel heard Buffy's weeping long before he reached the bedroom. Concerned, he quietly opened the door and looked in.
The sight that greeted him made him quiver with desire.
The Slayer was curled in the middle of the huge bed, the bedclothes vibrant against her ivory skin. Her legs, bare nearly to the hip, were tangled in a prison of ebony silk and the sheets had slipped to uncover a fair portion of her back. Her hair, still in its braid, was a pale rope against the dark fabric.
One hand, slender and trembling, was pressed to her eyes, struggling to hold back the tears. Angel fel her pain and wanted only to take her in his arms and soothe the hurting little girl. He moved closer to the bed, whispering softly.
"Buffy? Are you okay?"
At first, Angel wasn't sure she had heard him, but the hand slowly moved and he was greeted with the burning fury of her glassy, emerald gaze.
Sitting up swiftly, Buffy grabbed the nearest thing her hand touched and threw it. Angel ducked the as the crystal goblet sailed through the air, its contents splashing him. The glass hit the wall and exploded into pieces.
"You filthy bastard!" Buffy screamed. She started to get out of the bed only to remember she was completely naked. Jerking the velvet comforter around her nude body, she took a couple of steps and lurched violently to the side, as her head refused to cooperate.
She caught herself against the armchair, one hand pressing to her temple. "Oh! Goddamnit... how dare you?"
Angel stepped forward cautiously. She was injured, but still the Slayer and a pissed-off one at that. "Buffy, you were hit pretty hard; you should get back in bed," he said, his handsome face creased with worry.
She doubled over for a moment, but glared up at him. "Oh, I just bet you'd like that! Get the Slayer in bed! Take advantage when she's hurt!"
"That's not why I brought you here... "
"You've been sniffing after me for weeks now! I'm not stupid, you know!" Buffy yelled as she slowly sank to her knees. Angel rushed forward to help her, but the young woman held him off with a vicious look.
"Buffy, I-I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable. It wasn't my intention," Angel said softly as he knelt in front of her, only an arm's length away.
Laying her head against the arm of the chair, Buffy sighed and looked at the vampire with world-weary eyes. "Isn't it what you want? Just a chance to fuck the Slayer?"
"No."
The disbelief in her eyes spoke volumes.
Angel sighed and looked down at his hands, large and pale. Hands that had ended the lives of a thousand innocents and more. Hands that ached to touch the distrustful girl in front of him.
He wasn't going to gain her trust by lying to her.
"I'm not going to lie to you and say that I'm not attracted to you, because I am. Very, very much." He paused as Buffy frowned. "But, I also want to take care of you. Watch over you."
Buffy snorted. "I don't need anyone to watch over me. Least of all a vampire. I can take care of myself."
She tried to pull herself to her feet, but sank back down as Angel reached out and laid a stilling hand on her arm. She looked at him peevishly.
The vampire only smiled at her. "Buffy, it isn't the Slayer that needs protecting. It's the little girl inside her."
"I don’t know what you mean... "
"Don’t you? Why were you crying, just now? When was the last time someone held you in their arms and let you grieve?"
Buffy turned her head away, pain filling her heart with swift brutality. Angel didn't miss the quivering of her chin as she struggled to hold back her tears and failing miserably.
"When was the last time someone told you they were proud of you? Kissed you and bought you pretty things?" Angel continued, creeping closer to her. Buffy's face was wet with tears and she swallowed convulsively.
"Stop it... " she whispered.
"When was the last time someone told you how beautiful you are?"
Buffy lashed out at him, catching him with a glancing blow to the cheek. Angel rocked back from the force, significant considering that it wasn't even a full Slayer punch. He had a brief vision of the damage she could do at her full strength.
Jumping to her feet, Buffy pulled the heavy comforter around her and stalked off. "Leave me the fuck alone!"
Angel turned to watch her and his eyes fell on the fragments of glass that littered the floor. He jumped to his feet and reached out for her, but not before Buffy stomped on the razor-sharp shards.
She screamed and stumbled back. Angel caught her up in his arms as she tried to regain her balance. Swiftly, he carried her into the bathroom, kicking the partially-open door out of the way. Placing the now-sobbing Slayer on the edge of the sink, Angel knelt on the floor and picked up her left foot.
The scent of her blood, as intoxicating as the finest wine, washed over him and he fought against the lure of the demon within. Turning her foot so he could see the bottom, he winced.
In four or five places, shards of glass had penetrated the soft skin. Blood oozed around the cuts and dripped over his fingers. He closed his eyes and forced himself to ignore the hunger that swelled in his belly.
When he looked back up at Buffy, she was staring at him through a haze of tears. "It hurts."
"I know, baby. Let me get some tweezers and we'll get them out."
Angel stood up and leaned over so that he could reach the medicine cabinet. Buffy found herself pressed against him, her knees jutting against his muscular thighs. She trembled as his arm brushed her bare shoulder. Unbidden, a wave of heat spread from her belly down to her toes.
After gathering a couple of towels, a pair of tweezers and some antiseptic, Angel began gently removing the fragments of glass from Buffy's feet. On second glance, it wasn't as bad as it had originally looked. One foot had several shallow cuts and the other had a few scratches that were already healing. By morning, they would just be shadows.
"This may sting a little... " Angel said as he dabbed the antiseptic on the cuts. Aside from a quick jerk of her legs, she endured it in silence.
"There. All better." Angel stood up and smiled at Buffy. She was looking at him with an unreadable expression.
"Let's put you back to bed."
Without protest, Buffy let him gather her back in his arms and carry her back into the bedroom. She sat on the edge of the bed and watched as he walked over to the armoire and took something out of it. He came back and handed her a white silk shirt.
"I thought you might like something to put on. Your clothes were wet and muddy," he said as Buffy wordlessly took the shirt from him.
"I'll clean up the glass. You go ahead and get some sleep."
When Angel returned a few minutes later with a broom and dustpan, Buffy had changed into the shirt and was once more under the covers. The vampire quickly scooped up the glass and made sure that no dangerous fragments remained on the hardwood floor.
"Angel?"
Angel turned and looked at the Slayer. She had propped herself up on one elbow and was staring at him, her uncertainty evident. She had unbraided her hair and the golden mass fell in silky waves to her waist. She looked angelic.
"You need to sleep, Buffy."
"Do you really think I'm pretty?"
The words, spoken so hesitantly, so innocently, cut straight through to his unbeating heart. Angel walked over to the bed and sat down. Gently, he smoothed a strand of hair away from her face. Looking deep into her eyes, he could see the doubt and humiliation in their emerald depths.
"Buffy, you're the most beautiful woman I've ever known. The day I saw you for the first time, you were standing outside of your high school in LA and I know that not even one of Heaven's angels could surpass what I saw in you that day."
Her eyes widening, Buffy shook her head in confusion. "LA? I don't understand."
Angel took Buffy's hand and held it sandwiched between his own, dwarfing her tiny fingers. "When I said you were my destiny, what I meant was... I was approached by a demon, a good demon, named Whistler. It was spring of 1996. I was living in New York, if that's what you want to call it. I was existing, barely."
Shifting as Buffy sat up, Angel moved closer to her, their legs touching through the covers. The little blonde listened intently.
"Whistler said he had something to show me. So, we ended up in LA, in a beat-up old car with the windows blacked out. In front of your Hemery High. Waiting for you."
"1996. In March. I was there the day Merrick came to you and told you that you were the Slayer."
Buffy was speechless with shock. This man, this vampire, had known of her for the past three years. "But, why?"
"I wanted to help you, be there for you. Whistler said that you would be moving with your mother to Sunnydale. Soon, within the year," Angel looked down at their hands. Buffy had entwined her fingers with his and she was lightly rubbing his fingers with the other.
He smiled to himself. If she only knew what her innocent touch was doing to him, she would probably stake his sorry ass.
"But, it never happened. We moved to Cleveland."
"Yes. That day, when I saw you in the sunlight, so happy, so in love with life, that's when I first found you beautiful," Angel whispered. "That's when I fell in love with you."
He felt her hand clench around his and he looked down at the floor, unable to meet her eyes.
"I'm not that girl anymore, Angel. I'm not... I don't look the same... "
His head snapped up and saw the pain in Buffy's eyes. She blushed and raised a hand to her mouth, hiding the faint scar. He took her hand and pulled it away.
"Never hide yourself from me! You are beautiful, if anything even more so. It's your heart that I love, Buffy. Even if I don't deserve it."
Any objections Buffy might've had over Angel's affections faded into nothingness as he gazed at her with his fathomless black eyes, the look on his face full of hope and longing. Rising to her knees, the sheets falling away from her body, Buffy fell into his open arms.
Angel wrapped his arms around Buffy's slender body, clad only in the thinnest of silk. The heat of her body scalded his soul and he buried his face into the soft curve of her neck. His hands came up to slip into her hair, letting the heavy waves spill through his fingers.
He sighed in utter contentment.
Scott narrowed his eyes as Willow unlocked his cage. She was dressed sexier than usual; skin-tight emerald velvet clung to her slim curves and dipped low in front, baring her small breasts nearly to the nipples. He glared at her in a combination of fear and lust.
"Scotty, Scotty, Scotty... you've been a very bad vampire," Willow said dreamily, her head cocked to one side, a wicked-looking whip in her hand. "What do we do to bad vampires?"
He trembled as she came closer, close enough that he could smell the blood from her recent kill, still staining her lips. She flicked the whip, catching Scott on the cheek, not breaking the skin, but leaving behind a red mark.
Willow was very good at torturing her pets.
"Please, Mistress, I'm sorry! I had no idea that the Slayer would be able to destroy them all! I-I was frightened," he pleaded, his eyes fastened firmly on the toes of Willow's thigh-high leather boots.
"I know you were, Scott. And I forgive you for being scared of the Slayer. Although I don't know why, she doesn't impress me." Willow sighed and reached out to pull on Scott's chains. "She just isn't very nice."
"You should kill her, Mistress. Kill her and bathe in her blood!" Scott said, a grin crossing his vampire's face. The erotic image of his sire, her pale body dripping with the crimson wine of the Slayer, flashed through his mind. He was beginning to become very aroused and he chanced a look up at Willow.
The vampire was watching him, a sly look in her hazel eyes. She pointedly stared down at his lap, where his erection was beginning to show. "You'd like that, wouldn't you, Scotty? I bet you'd like to taste the Slayer. Imagine the feel of her blood on your tongue, the sweet taste of it as it slides down your throat."
Kneeling beside him, Willow tossed the whip away, her needs taking a more carnal path. She caressed him through his jeans, then deftly unzipped them.
As she wrapped her fingers around his straining cock, Scott sighed blissfully. And when she dipped her head to take him in her cold mouth, he knew that whatever punishment his sire decided to mete out to him would be worth every second if he could experience her talented tongue and fingers.
He strained against his bonds, wishing he could touch her, but all thought fled as Willow began to eagerly suck him, her bright head bobbing up and down on his cock.
Scott gave himself up to the pleasure.
He didn't see the figure lurking in the shadows outside the cage.
Xander's eyes glowed yellow as he watched his mate pleasure the younger vampire. Keeping his fury in check, he melted back into the shadows. They would pay, he thought to himself.
Willow would pay for her treachery.
"Vincent!"
The vampire scrambled up from his makeshift bed to answer Xander's summons. "Y-yes, sir?"
Xander stalked back and forth, his demon's face creased in thought. "The Slayer... "
"What about her?"
"She's taking too fucking long to die!" Xander snarled, kicking the recently-deceased body of an elderly woman out of his way. In a rage, he rounded on Vincent and smacked him on the side of the head. "Can't you people clean up after yourselves? You lazy sons of bitches!"
Two minions darted forward and pulled the corpse from the room. Xander ignored them, his rage finding a new target.
Cordelia didn't even have the strength to move out of his way when Xander stomped over to her and grabbed a handful of her hair. After her rape by several of the minion vamps, they hadn't bothered to lock her up again; a chain around her neck kept her secure.
Hauling her up by the hair, Xander shook the skeletal figure. "So, Cordy, I'll bet you're regretting having turned me down when I asked you to go to the Spring Fling with me, oh, when was it? 1997?"
Shaking her so hard a clump of her once-lustrous sable hair came loose in his hand, Xander leaned closer, his eyes glowing feral yellow. Cordelia gave no indication she even heard him or felt the pain he inflicted. She lay limp in his grasp, a dead weight.
Her apathy only enraged him further. Pulling back his fist, Xander punched her. Bone cracked like a gunshot and blood, thick and profuse, spilled over his hand. A fragment of bone, a white splinter in a sea of crimson, jutted from the bridge of her nose.
She never even flinched.
Looking over his shoulder at Vincent, he grinned. "She's so far gone, she doesn't even feel pain anymore. Stupid bitch."
The smell of her blood was overwhelming. With a howl, Xander lunged forward and sank his teeth into Cordelia's throat, tearing into her flesh like a rabid beast.
The agony of it roused the girl, but only momentarily. She struggled in his arms, her hands coming up to weakly push at his chest. Xander lifted his head and stared down at her, his mouth smeared with blood and bits of flesh.
"You wanna live forever, Cordy?"
Her lips parted, as if to answer him, but blood poured from her mouth. Her eyes, wide-open and as blank as glass, gazed back at him.
With a snicker, Xander raised his wrist to his mouth and bit hard. He held it to Cordelia's mouth.
Vincent, watching raptly, stepped forward. "Xander, you can't mean to make her one of us? She's little better than a vegetable the way it is!"
"Yeah, should be fun. I can torture her until the end of time and she'll never die," Xander said as his blood began to trickle into the dying girl's mouth. Within moments, she had latched on, sucking weakly at the sustaining fluid.
Cradling her in his arms with unusual tenderness, Xander sank to the floor. "Come on, whore, drink deep. By next morning, we'll be having all kinds of fun. Maybe I'll even feed you once in a while."
Cordelia Chase, long past feeling any emotion, any pain, stopped fighting and let Xander's blood flow down her throat. And when he once more bent his dark head to her neck and stole the rest of her life, she smiled.
She could rest and let go of the pain.
Finally, she could sleep.
Suddenly realizing the compromising position she was in, Buffy slid off of Angel's lap and out of his arms. She sat on the edge of the bed beside the vampire, her arms wrapped tightly around her abdomen. Desperately, Buffy tried to fight the feelings welling up inside; she didn't want to admit it, but for the first time in months, she felt safe. Cared for.
Loved.
Scooting farther away from Angel, Buffy tugged at the silk shirt, uncomfortably aware of how much of her figure it revealed. Despite the fact that the voluminous garment hung nearly to her knees and the cuffs were rolled three times, the thin, white silk clung jealously to the curves she normally kept hidden beneath shapeless, colorless clothing. "Um... I should probably be going home... " she whispered.
Angel watched the tiny Slayer, wanting to be amused by the sweet combination of girlish modesty and defiant sensuality. "You don't have to. In fact, it would be better if you stayed... " When Buffy looked up at him with a wary expression, the vampire held up his hands. "To rest and heal. I promise. You need to sleep, Buffy, you took quite a bump on the head."
"I'm fine." And, as if to prove it, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up.
She promptly squeaked in pain as her lacerated feet protested. Catching her around the waist, Angel lifted her back onto the bed. Tenderly, he lay her in the middle of the huge mattress. "Can't you behave for just a minute? Relax, you deserve it."
Angel tucked Buffy under the covers, pulling the satin sheets up to her chin. She was gazing up at him, a guarded look in her eyes. He smiled and reached down to smooth away a strand of golden hair. His fingers trailed over her cheek and he marveled at the heated softness of it, like sunwarmed velvet warmed.
"You are so lovely, Buffy. Don't ever forget that, okay?"
He turned away as her green eyes began to fill with tears. Reaching forward, he turned off the table lamp, then moved away.
Almost to the door, Angel heard Buffy's voice call out in the darkness, sounding so young and vulnerable.
"Angel?"
Pausing with his hand on the doorknob, the vampire turned to look at her, his night vision easily picking out her figure. "Yeah?"
"Why are you so nice to me? Why do you do this?"
"Because I love you. I always have."
Buffy waited until the door shut softly behind him before giving into the sobs choking her throat.
Angel pressed his forehead to the door, listening to Buffy cry herself to sleep, his own tears running unchecked down his face.
The day dawned overcast and drizzly and when Buffy awoke in Angel's bed, she found herself forgetting, for just a moment, that she wasn't at home in her own bed, the homey sounds of her mother doing housework or cooking breakfast just on the other side of the door.
Opening her eyes, Buffy pushed the painful memory into the deepest recesses of her mind.
To her surprise, she felt good, better than she had in a long time. She felt for the lump on the back of her head, only to find it had disappeared. Her feet still hurt a little, but, when she looked, she saw that the cuts had healed over nicely.
After using the bathroom and washing her tear-stained face, Buffy carefully opened the door into the hallway, listening for any sound that would give away Angel's presence. Hearing nothing, she followed the dim corridor into a large room. A fire burned merrily in the huge grate and she could see Angel laying on a couch facing the hearth, a light blanket draped over his legs. A book lay open on the floor beside his hand, obviously dropped there when he fell asleep.
Buffy crept closer, her eyes falling to the vampire's bare chest and stomach, as smooth and pale as alabaster. The faint shadows of the scars inflicted by the vampire Willow had finally faded, no longer marring the perfection. The Slayer could see that, from the position of the blanket, he was either naked or barely dressed. To her horror, a languid heat filled her belly, making her knees quiver and her heart pound.
He was beautiful.
And he wants me...she thought to herself.
Kneeling beside the couch, hardly daring to breathe for fear of waking him, she studied him, taking in the ebony sweep of his impossibly long eyelashes laying against his cheeks; his sculpted lips, softened in sleep.
He's a vampire, Summers! The thing that you spend your nights killing!
He lay so still, his sleep mimicking death; only the movement of his closed eyes betraying his life. Carefully, Buffy extended her hand, palm down, holding it centimeters above his chest. No heat radiated from his skin; only the stolen warmth from the fire.
He loves me...
Her gaze traveled from his face to his chest, skipping over the small, rose-colored nipples and moving farther down. A faint line of hair, black against his pale, flat stomach, traced a line beneath the blanket. She wanted to touch it, let it curl around her fingers. She wanted to touch him, feel for herself the cool silk of his skin.
Crazy...you are certifiably nuts...
"Did you sleep well ?"
With a startled gasp, Buffy pulled her hand away and looked up to find Angel gazing at her, an amused smile curving his lips. "Oh! Oh, God, I'm sorry...I was... I was just..." She felt her face flame as she was caught red-handed.
Completely mortified, Buffy jumped to her feet, wincing at the sharp little prickles of pain. "Um... I need to go...I was just going to tell you that... " she babbled as she started to back away. Angel raised up on one elbow and reached out for her hand.
"When are you going to let me kiss you?"
Buffy gaped at him. "K-kiss...me?"
He smiled, his eyes warm and drowsy. "I've been wanting to kiss you since the day you rescued me."
Buffy tried to pull away, but Angel tightened his grip. "I... you can't... it isn't..."
"Normal? Natural? Why don't we find out?"
"N-no... I don't think..." Buffy protested, tugging on her hand, but he held her fast.
With a single pull, Buffy found herself in Angel's arms. He gathered her close until he was eye level with her silk-covered stomach. He smiled up at her, a sly gleam reflected in his gaze.
Buffy gasped as he pressed his lips to her stomach, low down, near her navel. His large hands spanned her slender waist as he held her close.
Her clenched fists gathered handfuls of white silk, unknowingly drawing the shirt higher on her thighs. Her mind blanking as Angel's lips slid over the thin shield of fabric covering her torso, Buffy felt her knees tremble and start to give way. Feeling her weakness, Angel pulled her onto the sofa with him, straddling his lap, her firm thighs sandwiching his.
Bending her backwards so that he could reach her stomach, Angel smoothed the silk higher, baring her flushed skin to his gaze. Buffy tried to push him away, but her resolve was fading with every soft kiss, every tiny sweep of his tongue as he tasted her. Slowly, she lifted one hand from his shoulder to tentatively sink into his thick, dark hair.
Angel lifted his head to look up at the girl on his lap. Buffy's eyes were closed and the expression on her face was one of wonder. Lips parted, her breath coming in soft gasps, she arched into his touch, like a kitten eager for the affection of its master. His passion for her was raging and he wanted, more than anything, for her to feel the same way. He wanted to lavish her with kisses, fill his hands with her tender flesh.
He wanted her to love him as much as he loved her.
Buffy opened her eyes slowly as she felt Angel's fingers slip the buttons of her shirt open, his cool hands pushing the silk off her shoulders, leaving her completely exposed. Although embarrassed, she let him pull the shirt from her arms, dropping it on the floor beside the sofa. She was confused by the emotions rampaging through her; she didn't know what word to give to the fiery heat beginning to spread through her belly, making her damp and trembly. With the one hand still tangled in Angel's hair, she pulled his head back, her bewildered eyes searching his face for any sign of duplicity.
All she saw was lust, raw and hungry, reflected in his chocolate-brown gaze.
It terrified her.
Tearing herself out of his grasp, Buffy retrieved the shirt, frantically buttoning it over her nudity, her fingers clumsy. "I-I'm sorry! Really, I don't know what came over me... I d-don't, well, I never... you know... "
Angel rose to his feet, catching the blanket around his waist. Buffy stumbled back a step, catching her heel on the hearth steps. As he reached out to break her fall, she jerked back from him with a soft cry.
"No! No, please, don't... I-I just can't... I'm sorry!" With a last longing glance at the vampire, Buffy turned and ran back into the bedroom.
"Where are my damned clothes?" she muttered to herself. The grey cargo pants and black tank were nowhere to be found and she couldn't very well walk home barefooted and dressed in a white silk shirt that barely left anything to the imagination. She threw open the door to the armoire, but saw only Angel's neatly-folded clothes.
"Here. I rinsed out your things."
Buffy whirled around at the sound of Angel's voice. He was standing in the doorway, her tank and pants in one hand, black combat boots in the other. She glared at him. "You can put them on the bed and then get out."
Even as she said the words, her tone sharp and childish, she regretted them. Angel's eyes darkened, his mouth tightening in hurt. He walked over to the bed and lay the clothing on the rumpled bedding. Buffy flushed when he put her white cotton panties on top of the pile.
With neither a word nor glance, he left the room, shutting the door behind him. The tears that had become commonplace in Buffy's life ever since she had come to Sunnydale welled up in her eyes.
She despised her weakness, the endless craving for affection that ate at her dying soul. She wanted to feel nothing, be nothing, until it was time to die. She hadn't bargained on Rupert Giles and she sure as hell hadn't bargained on Angel.
With a shriek of rage, Buffy picked up one of her heavy boots and threw it at the door.