Part 14

Angel ran both hands through his hair, dishevelling it in the process, while he waited for the door to open. When it didn’t he knocked again. He kept reminding himself that he was doing this for his sister, that he did it because she needed his help, or rather Wesley did, but looking into her eyes, he knew it was just the same. He might not be thrilled that she’d fallen in love with a man over 14 years her senior, but that didn’t mean he was too blind to see that her feelings for Wesley had finally pulled her out of her shell, and that the Englishman with his glasses and his shyness was probably the best that could happen to her.

And besides, work was good. Especially today, and especially for him. Angel was afraid if he had enough time to think he would do something totally emasculating and staggeringly horrifying … like drive to Buffy’s apartment … and make a complete fool of himself. And that for a woman who probably wished him to Hell.

“Hey.”

He had to blink at the girl the voice belonged to, or rather the young woman, who was standing in the doorway, a bathing robe slung around her body, a towel draped over her hair. So she’d been in the shower, he mused, forcing himself to smile. “Hey, back. I’m looking for Faith Marshall.”

“Faith?”

Uh-oh. Was there suspicion in her voice? Angel cleared his throat, “Yeah, I’m … uhm … a PI-“

“A Private Investigator?”

Angel forced himself not to grin at the breathy admiration in her eyes that had gone round. “Yeah,” he replied, letting another smile slip over his lips. The young woman in front of him was not more than twenty years old, about five-eight tall, and nicely rounded, and while he might have looked twice only weeks before, he didn’t feel anything. Nothing at all. Damn you, Buffy, he thought, for stealing my heart, then stomping on it at every opportunity.

“Are you working for her parents then?” the girl wanted to know.

He still didn’t know her name, he realised, but that could wait. “Is she there?” he asked his own question, avoiding answering hers.

She stepped back, inviting him in, the way he had expected her to do. All he knew was that she was Faith’s roommate in college. And that Faith would definitively not be in today. He’d made sure of that before he’d decided to take a look at her room, and her roommate. “Nice,” he commented, as soon as she closed the door behind him.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m sorry for … you know … the way I behaved when you were standing there, but I thought you were maybe an ex-boyfriend or so. And Faith instructed me not to let any of them in, not under any circumstances.” Her voice had dropped to a conspirational whisper, “You understand.”

He didn’t, at least not yet, but wasn’t about to let her know. “Yeah,” was all he replied, letting his gaze sweep over the two neatly made beds, the posters on the walls, the clothes hanging over the backs of chairs. It was a typical female dorm room, nothing special to it as far as he could see. He saw a coffee machine standing in one corner, a TV set in another. Two laptops sat on the two desks, and for a moment he wondered if Faith ever used hers for anything but games.

“Isn’t that awful?”

He turned and saw the girl looking at him, “Awful? Oh, yes,” he quickly caught himself, “It is … uh ..”

“Tess,” she laughed, a little bit embarrassed, “I’m Tess. Faith and I go way back. We were in high school together.”

“Oh?” Angel raised a brow. That part was interesting. “So you know her for a long time.”

“Like, forever,” Tess laughed again, clearly more at ease now. “She’s always been wild,” another laugh, “if you understand. But it’s not really a surprise with her parents ignoring her all the time.”

“They did?” He let his eyes sweep over what he thought was Faith’s desk, saw the picture of an elderly couple, probably said parents. The man’s dark hair was sprinkled with grey, while the woman was styled perfectly, not one of her undoubtedly dyed hairs in the wrong place. They were smiling, but there was no warmth in their expressions. “I suppose that happens now and then,” he added, thinking that he would’ve preferred a bit of ignorance from his father instead of his constant cruelty or his drunken excesses.

“She’s the typical rich girl,” Tess chatted on, sitting down on her bed, “Born with a silver spoon. She had everything, but nothing. Don’t understand me wrong. Her parents aren’t really bad. They never hurt her, not physically. Her mom’s actually quite nice, but always busy.”

So Faith Marshall was the neglected society princess. Could that make her lash out, not caring at whom? Could blaming Wesley be a way to get her parents’ attention? Certainly possible. But how could he prove it?

“She isn’t really a bad student,” Tess seemed to have warmed with the subject, not needing any encouragement now to tell all about her friend. “She’s actually very smart. Could be an A- or at least a B-student. But instead of studying there are guys, and guys, and guys. If you ask me it’s only to get back to her parents. And last year-“ she suddenly stopped herself, and Angel wondered what might have slipped from her lips. Last year? What?

“Yeah, I heard.” It was an audacious shot, but maybe it was his only chance. As soon as Faith was back, Tess would tell her about the PI and this game would be over.

Tess eyes grew round like saucers, “She told you? You know about Kevin?”

Angel shrugged, keeping his eyes on the picture of a girl in the arms of a boy he’d noticed between two books on the desk. The girl was tall and brunette, smiling, but with sadness clouding her dark eyes, while the boy was fair haired, and at least a foot taller than her. A college football player, Angel wondered?

“She told you about Kevin?” Tess was obviously still in awe. “Wow, I thought she’d never tell anyone. Expect me of course, but then, I’ve been there.”

“It was hard on her.” It was another blind shot, but he just had to risk it. And he almost made a scoring gesture with his arm, when he saw Tess nod from the corner of his eye.

“Yes, it was. I wouldn’t want to go through this. To fall in love with a guy, to get pregnant. Which, of course, wouldn’t be really bad. But then the guy just let you fall like a hot potato and because of your parents you have to get rid of the baby. And you have to go through all that alone.”

An abortion? Faith Marshall had had an abortion? That certainly was an interesting piece of news. Angel turned slowly, smiling at the young woman on the bed, “Not completely alone.”

She rewarded his comment with a smile on her own, “No, not completely,” she agreed. Tess was a nice girl, Angel thought, and at another time, at another place he might have been interested. She was pretty, not dumb, compassionate … but she was lacking in one very important field. She was *not* Buffy Summers.

He saw Tess bite her lip, and instantly recognized the look in her eyes. “So,” she said slowly, “when this is over and you are done with this … case, do you think … you know.” She blushed prettily. Yes, he would have been seriously tempted. And maybe he should still take her on her offer, give in, spend some nice days with her, enjoy Tess’ company. But he couldn’t. All he could think of was a certain blond who’d treated him like dirt this morning. All he could see were her hazel eyes, stormy dark with passion, her mouth, so perfect and tempting.

“No,” he slowly shook his head, “I’m sorry, but I’m-“

“Involved,” she sighed dramatically, then shrugged. “Just my luck. All the nice ones are already taken.”

Taken, huh? He’d given a lot if he was, but unfortunately the one he wanted, didn’t seem to want him. At least not over a quick romp on the car and the ground. He’d been good enough for that. Angel wondered if she was crawling back to that boyfriend of hers tonight, pretending nothing had ever happened. God, he was a fool. A fool for falling for her. But damn, she was in his blood. And somehow he had to find a way to show her that this wasn’t as impossible as she thought.

*****

With a groan Buffy let her forehead fall against the computer screen, instantly pulling it backward when the heat radiating from it was uncomfortable on her already throbbing head. Sighing she rubbed the spot with her fingers, gritted her teeth. It was not the time to have a headache. Her boss was expecting the report first thing next morning and with Parker breathing down her neck she couldn’t afford to screw this up. The little slimy bastard would only too gladly take over. But only over her dead body, she vowed silently, trying to concentrate on the words. Never again would she let him win. Never again. She still wore the scars of that one time he didn’t even seem to remember, and she wasn’t eager to add new one, although she doubted that he still had the power to hurt her the way he once had. She wasn’t the naïve little virgin anymore, she’d once been.

The work she had to do wasn’t really difficult, she thought with an inward sigh. She had done it before. Often. The subject was familiar, the procedure as well, the only thing unfamiliar was she. She couldn’t remember ever having felt so distraught before. Not during work that is. When her step-father had died she’d been devastated, but her boss had given her time off. She could hardly go to him now and expect compassion because she couldn’t forget what had happened last night. Damn, she had to forget. Soon.

Forget. Right. Not likely. Try as she might, he was still there. She could still feel his hands on her body, sometimes rough, sometimes gentle, could feel his lips, like silk, his stubble scratching her skin following the path his lips took. And worst of all, he was still in her head. As soon as she closed her eyes, as she’d done before, images of Angel kept coming. His smile, his eyes, his graceful way of moving, the way he’d been holding her on the dance-floor, and she also remembered the hurt in his eyes before she’d turned away. She hadn’t been able to look at him again, afraid to see it again, afraid to break down and do … What exactly?

Kiss him and tell him she hadn’t meant it? But hadn’t she? No, she thought firmly. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, just wanted him to … what? God, she had never felt so confused and her insides were in turmoil.

So now what? Call him and tell him she was sorry? No way. If she did that, he would see it as an encouragement, and right now she couldn’t handle that. She’d been able to give him the cold shoulder during their ride back to his house, but without a doubt she knew that she wouldn’t be able to it again. Just being close to him made her body hum, made her senses go into overdrive. If he was near right now, she knew she’d grab him and …

God, she had to stop this. But hadn’t she tried to tell herself the same thing for the better part of the day, ever since she’d come awake in her car in the middle of nowhere, remembering what had happened the night before? And see what it brought her, she was sitting over an important project and all she could do was think of a man. No, not just a man. She was thinking of Angel. He was in her head, in her gut, in her heart, and on her skin. He was everywhere and obviously he was not going to go away.

Again her gaze flickered to the computer screen, the cursor blinking madly, waiting for her to continue, but nothing would come, her mind had shut down, solely focussed on a face with dark eyes, and a smile that knocked your socks clear off your feet.

When right that moment the door to her office opened without a knock, she didn’t have to look up to know who was entering.

“Hey, girlfriend, how’s it going?”

How was she going to pull this off, Buffy wondered quickly. How was she going to act normal around Cordelia, how was she going to pretend she was just peachy? Her secretary, and friend, had the senses of a bloodhound and could usually smell those things a mile against the wind. So far she’d been lucky. Cordy hadn’t been there in the morning, had taken some time off for a doctor’s appointment, and had no knowledge of the fact that her boss had been late. But there was no running anymore, and so the blond raised her head, hoping her eyes were cool and controlled. “Cordy. Just the person I was waiting for. I need this typed as soon as possible.”

She fished a small tape from her purse, tossed it towards the brunette who caught it easily in mid-air. “Sure. No prob.” Then after what seemed like a short inward discussion, Cordelia stuffed the tape into the pocket of her blue slacks, and instead of leaving she crossed the room and sat down opposite to Buffy. “So, how was your high school reunion?”

“Okay,” the blond replied with a shrug. “You know how that goes. A lot of ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ and stuff.”

“Did you have a date?”

That’s it, Buffy thought. Confession time. She should’ve known Cordy wouldn’t let her off with a simple explanation. “Yeah,” she replied, pretending to be busy scanning the text on the screen. The truth was she knew every word of it by now. It wasn’t really difficult with only three lines written so far.

“Well,” the brunette leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with excitement, “tell me!

Shifting uncomfortably on her chair, Buffy kept her eyes on the screen, “Angel,” she mumbled, but of course Cordy had understood well

“Angel?” the brunette’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “Who is Angel?

“I meant Liam,” Buffy said quickly, hating her slip. Maybe part of the problem was that she was always thinking of him as Angel. Maybe if she’d tried to see him as Liam she could be cooler about all this. Yeah. Sure. She almost laughed out loud at that. As if the name had anything to do with it.

“Liam?” Cordy stared at her for a moment, then her eyes lit up with a force that made Buffy wince, “Liam! You mean sexy, leather-jacket Liam? The guy who was so eager to get your address from me? Wow.” She sat back in her chair, truly impressed, “I bet that had them all gaping with envy. Go, Buffy.” She grinned broadly at her boss, and Buffy could see that there was only genuine pleasure in the other woman’s expression. In Cordy’s eyes Buffy had scored big time and the brunette was glad for her.

“Yeah, there was some head turning involved,” the blond admitted, remembering the looks some of her former classmates had given her. Judy at the reception had almost forgotten to close her mouth, and not to forget Claire who’d pawed Angel all over.

“I’ll bet,” Cordy grinned wickedly. “So what happened after the official meeting. I mean … you were on your own with Liam. Yummy Liam, I may add. Did you jump his bones?”

No he jumped mine, but I didn’t mind at all. Buffy felt heat rising in her cheeks, and was glad she’d been so generous with make-up this morning, trying to cover the bags under her eyes, and the grey look of her skin after a night in a car. “And I would you tell this because…?” she asked, pretending to be extremely bored, hoping her friend might get the clue.

But of course this was Cordelia sitting across from her, and Mr. and Mrs. Chase hadn’t raised their daughter to be tactful. “Because I’m your friend. Because I’m the one who got you two together. So you owe me. Big time.”

“I didn’t jump his bones,” Buffy said slowly, almost choking at the lie. On the other hand it wasn’t really a lie. She hadn’t jumped his bones, at least not the first time. ((Ohgodohgodohgod.)) She could already feel the heat spreading through her body. Just the memory was enough to get her to a sizzling point.

“You didn’t?” Cordy’s voice was a mixture of disappointment and disbelief. “What are you? Dead? Or a nun? A guy like Liam - Buffy something is seriously wrong with you.”

“Cordy, the guy is seven years my junior,” Buffy finally voiced her greatest concern. Try as she might, she couldn’t get over the age difference. She didn’t really see it as a problem this very moment, but what about in ten years? He’d be 36, in prime of his life, and she would be 44, most likely have wrinkles and … other imperfections. Would he still love her then? Or would he be disgusted, regretting that he was committed to a woman so many years his senior? And what the *hell* was she thinking again? Hadn’t she just decided that a relationship with him was impossible?

“And that would be a problem, why exactly?” The brunette crossed her arms and tilted her head.

“Because it is,” Buffy replied stubbornly. Maybe if she was more like Cordy, just living for the now, enjoying each moment, not caring for tomorrow, it really wouldn’t be a problem, but unfortunately Buffy wasn’t cut that way. She always thought about tomorrow, always needed some kind of promise, something … Yeah, sure, a little voice in her head whispered. That’s why you slept with Angel, without a second thought tonight and without-

Her thoughts came to a screeching halt, her stomach dropping through the bottom.

OH GOD.

OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOD.

She swallowed. Hard. And swallowed again, all thoughts about older women and younger men fleeing her head. From the corner of her eye she saw Cordy uncrossing her arms, leaning forward, studying her boss curiously. No wonder, Buffy thought, she felt as if the ground had just been knocked away under her feet. As if the world was spinning around her.

God, she was the most stupid, irresponsible … She was thirty four years old, but that obviously didn’t save you from being an idiot. Mentally counting, her heart started to hammer. She’d never been eager to use the pill, and because Riley had always been so considerate, they’d agreed to use condoms. But Angel hadn’t used a condom. At least not to her knowledge. She couldn’t be sure about the first time, but she was very sure about the second. She’d been the one initiating it, had had her hands -

OH GOD.

She and Angel had had sex. Twice.

And without any protection.

Part 15

Black was definitely reflecting her mood, but maybe her mother would get suspicious. Joyce had a sixth sense where her daughter was concerned, maybe something all mothers had in common. Yellow would instantly rise her mother’s hackles. She never wore yellow, so why should she now. And red - hadn’t she read something about red being aggressive?

Buffy stared into her closet, annoyed with her own indecision. It was only a dinner with her mother, for heaven’s sake. Maybe she’d just take blue or green. A neutral colour. Yeah, light blue would be good. She grabbed the long sleeved dress, sighing slightly. She’d never particularly liked it, but for tonight it would do.

She stood staring into her mirror, hairbrush in hand. Down or up? Up was showing control, making her sophisticated, giving her the image of a cool business-woman. On the other hand she never wore her hair up out of the office. She sighed again, threw the brush onto her dressing table, moving from annoyance with herself to irritation.

Stepping into her black pumps, she sighed for the third time - deeply. He had taken over her thoughts, her feelings, her very life. It was physical, she told herself. She’d never thought herself to be such a physical woman - although she knew she could be passionate - yet since she’d known Angel, cool and reserved Buffy had to force herself to keep from moaning at the mere reminder of his touch. It was all she could do to keep her mind on work.

Usually she would say get the physical out of the way, so she could regain control of her mind and gain some perspective. The problem was, they had done the physical already, but instead of feeling sated and contend, the way it had been with the other men in her life, she craved more. And that - on top of her recent discovery that she’d been too eager to even think about protection - made her doubt her own sanity.

She reached for her wide leather belt and cinched it around her waist. It was a little late in her life to have such teenage thoughts over a man. And he was - after all - just a man. A man seven years her junior. She knew that many woman had physical relationships with younger men and relegated them to that compartment of their lives while functioning separately in their business lives. Perhaps that would be the answer to her problems - or it should have been. A strong friendship, a satisfactory physical relationship, with no ties. But somehow she knew, this wouldn’t work in Angel’s book. And, so she had to admit, not in hers either.

After a final glance in her mirror, Buffy nodded. At least she looked presentable. Today of all days her mother had decided to invite herself for dinner, no doubt trying to talk some reason into her again, no doubt trying to discuss Riley. But maybe it was just as well. Riley was a safe topic, something that might get her thoughts off Angel - if that was even possible.

When the doorbell rang, she took a last glance into the mirror, then left her bedroom, closing the door behind her. With a practiced daughter smile on her face, she opened the door, only to have the smile freezing on her lips, seeing the unexpected visitor standing there and grinning from ear to ear, holding a bucket of flowers.

“Hey, beautiful.” He took a step back, his blue eyes wandering up and down her body, taking in her clothes, the shoes, her stylish makeup. “And what a sight you are.” He made a slight bow, held the flowers out for her. “Seems I’ve chosen the right time to show up.

Maybe if she had expected him, Buffy might have accepted the present with a smile, but somehow she just couldn’t find it in her to act casual, or even pleased to see him. Instead, she took a deep breath not to kill him on the spot, but her voice was still like a bucket of cold water, when she said, “What the Hell are you doing here, Spike?”

*****

“What the Hell are you doing here?”

Lindsey MacDonald stifled a grin, then pretending to ignore Faith’s outraged expression, he sauntered into her dorm room, letting his eyes sweep over the furniture, the pictures, taking in the whole atmosphere of the room. “It’s nice to see you too,” he replied without looking, aware that if looks could kill, he’d be cold in a flash.

“You have some nerve to show up here without invitation,” she hissed at him, and when he turned he saw her standing, hand still on doorknob, she was almost trembling with anger. “If I call my father, you’re out of a job in two minutes.”

He raised his brows, “Oh, is that so? Well, then go on,” he nodded at the phone on her desk, “call him.” When he saw her eyes widen, he shrugged, “There are funnier things than to represent a spoiled little girl who’s pissed off because a teacher has actually resisted her charms.”

The door shut with a loud bang, “You son of a-“

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Does a young lady use that kind of language?” he taunted, enjoying his view. She was dressed in tight denims, a green turtleneck, her hair loose and falling freely, her eyes sparkling with anger. She was simply beautiful. Lindsey felt his gut tighten. He’d been attracted to women before - he was healthy man after all, but none of them had ever left the kind of impression Faith had, even though she’d been lying in his face.

Beautiful brown eyes narrowed, “Who do you think you are, coming to my room and accusing me of-“

“Lying?” he asked, not trying to hide the grin now. “Yeah, that’s what I’d call it. You’ve been lying to me, to your parents, to this old honorable alma mater. And don’t even try to deny it. So, what I really want to know is, why?”

Her eyes narrowed another bit, becoming mere slits, but God, she was even more beautiful this way. What a woman, Lindsey thought, feeling his blood rush into his groin. She was pure fire, hot, sparkling, and he wondered if her passion was going to burn in the same way. It made him even more curious to find out why Faith Marshall was acting the way she did. He wasn’t blind. Besides the fact that she’d been lying, he had also seen how she’d looked at her father, and at her mother for that matter. For all their concerned attitude, Faith’s parents seemed to be more concerned about their name or what a scandal might do to the family business than what it had done to their daughter. And it seemed the young woman knew that as well.

“Why?” Faith raised her brows, crossed her arms, “How come you are interested? You’re a lawyer, right? Isn’t it enough for you to earn your money. My father’s going to pay, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worrying,” he replied easily. “I might not be a partner in my firm yet, but I know my bosses appreciate my work, and that won’t change. No, that’s not the reason I came. I want to know why someone like you, young, beautiful, intelligent, someone with a whole life ahead of her, is in need of such …,” he made a disgusted gesture with his hand, “nonsense.”

Something flickered through her eyes, but it was gone too soon for him to judge. “Intelligent, huh?” She laughed, a short, dismissive sound. “You think that? Didn’t you know that I flunked psychology last year? And English lit? I’m a dummy, lawyer. You’re mistaken if you think I’m something special.”

He wasn’t quite sure, why, but the way she said it, the way he saw pain come and go in her eyes, made him act in a way he hadn’t planned. He wasn’t even aware of the steps he’d taken towards her, and when his head lowered to hers it was already too late to change. He pressed his lips onto hers, for a short, lucid moment wondering if he could claim temporary insanity for his actions, but then he could feel nothing but her tempting lips, could hear nothing but the little moan that escaped her. And when her arms wrapped themselves around his neck, he wasn’t so sure anymore if coming here had been one of his wisest decisions.

“Well, Hell.” Spike’s grin didn’t slip, although he saw that Buffy was anything but happy about seeing him show up unexpectedly at her doorstep. “Won’t you invite me in?”

Buffy frowned, but then sighed inwardly. She could hardly send him away like some dog, could she? Well, maybe she could, but standing there, with this puppy dog look in his eyes, holding out the flowers for her, she didn’t have the heart for it. And he reminded her of all the high school fantasies she’d ever had, the fantasies Spike had been a big part of. “Alright, come in,” she invited, stepping back. “What are you doing in town?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I wanted to see you?”

She almost laughed out loud at the tone of his voice. He sounded like a little boy. “Well, excuse me if I get a little suspicious. I mean we don’t see each other for over fifteen years. And then all of a sudden I’m someone in your book? It’s a little hard to believe.” She finally took the flowers from him, then marched into the kitchen, to search for a vase.

He stopped in the doorway, leaned one shoulder against the frame, “Nice apartment. So why do you think you can’t be the only reason I came? You are a beautiful woman, very attractive, tempting.” His voice dropped to an intimate whisper, but while it might have sent shivers down her spine eighteen years ago, she now felt absolutely nothing. Nil, zero, zilch. All she could think was that his voice wasn’t as soft and velvety as another one that kept whispering to her in her dreams, that his eyes were a boring blue, instead of a warm, deep brown. God, she was pathetic!

Stuffing the flowers into the vase with more power than necessary, she added some water, then placed it on the table. “Thanks,” she said, remembering that she hadn’t said it before.

“You’re welcome.” He was still leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed now, he was watching her. “Okay,” he said finally, “I came because I met Dru. I … uh … well, we needed to discuss some business.”

“I see,” Buffy nodded, irritated at her own indifference at his reply. Why couldn’t she at least be disappointed that she hadn’t been the reason for his coming into town? Why couldn’t she feel a tiny little bit of … jealousy? But there was nothing. Plain nothing. She didn’t care why Spike had come into town. Or if he had met Dru. Or what he did at all. All her mind could think was that he fell short compared to another man, one she couldn’t stop thinking about. Would she have fantasised about Spike if Angel had been there during her high school years? She wondered. But then, Angel would have been nothing more than a kid, nine or ten years old, hardly swooning material for a girl.

Instantly sobered by that thought, she looked at her unexpected guest, “So you came to see Dru, and you thought it was a good idea to drop by while you were in town anyway?”

“Something like that,” he admitted, his grin a bit lopsided now. “I thought we had a good time that night, and so … well, I thought it couldn’t hurt to try. What do you think about a fancy dinner in a restaurant of your choice?” He gestured at her clothes, “You’re all dressed up anyway.”

“As a matter of fact, I’m dressed up because I’m having dinner with my mother.”

“With your mother?” he raised a brow at that. “Does sound like the evening of dreams.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her mouth. “She isn’t that bad,” she grinned at Spike who made a pained grimace.

“I remember,” he said after a moment, “Your parents were the keeping kind. There was this step-father of yours, the guy was actually pretty cool.”

“Yeah, he was,” she replied softly, feeling the familiar stab of pain. God, she missed Giles, right now maybe more than ever. He’d always been so understanding, always had an open ear for her problems. She wished she could ask him what to do. “He died some years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Spike said, and the compassion in his voice was genuine. “Your mother never remarried? I remember she was an attractive woman.”

“No, she didn’t,” Buffy shook her head, “Her relationship with Giles was very special. After my father and she split up … well, she was pretty hurt and … Giles was the best that ever happened to her. And to me for that matter.”

“And your … father?”

She shrugged, not particular about touching that sour spot in her life. “He calls sporadically. But most of the time I don’t know what he does, or with whom.”

“Sounds a lot like my old man.” Spike sighed, “There are parents out there who shouldn’t have any kids. When Dru and I first married I wanted a baby. She was against it. Looking back it was probably for the best. A kid would be torn apart between us now. Plus all the yelling.” He sighed again, more deeply this time, and Buffy wondered if his previous meeting with his ex-wife had been all that pleasant.

“Is she …,” she paused, not certain she even wanted to know, but asked anyway, “Is there a new man in her life?” It was strange though, talking with Spike as if they’d been closest friends. She’d once had a crush on him, but after high school she’d soon forgotten all about him.

“No,” he shook his head, ran a hand through his hair. “She’s all hung up on her career these days. Not that it seems to make her happy, but,” he shrugged, “If she wants it that way.

“Yeah,” Buffy nodded, reminded of another woman who’d once believed that a successful career was the most important thing in her life. That a man, a lover, was something you could have on the side, that didn’t intrude your feelings all the time. But that was before a guy in a leather jacket, and a half-smile that should be forbidden had entered her life and turned it upside down.

He was about to say something when the doorbell rang again. She shot him a quick apologetic smile then walked for the door, expecting her mother, her welcoming smile in place for the second time that night. But again it froze on her face. It wasn’t her mother leaning against the doorframe, a scowl on the forehead. And before she had time to say a word, Angel pushed past her, entering her apartment without waiting for an invitation.

“I know,” he growled, when he turned to face her, “you try your best to ignore me. At first I thought it was for the best to give you space, but you know what?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, didn’t give her time to come to terms with his unsettling presence, but went right on, “I’m done giving you space. You’re behaving like a scared little girl, running away all the time, and it’s time you stopped.”

Part 16

Joyce Summers-Giles brought her car to a stop in front of her daughter's apartment building. Shutting off the ignition she let out a weary sigh, resting both hands on the steering wheel, while the radio still blared some old song of the Beatles. God, how her husband had loved that music. When he was painting it had been a constant background noise, connected to him like her own daughter who had adored her step-father in a way that was painfully missing in her relationship with her real father.

Joyce sighed again, patting her hair with one hand, missing her late husband tonight more than ever. He'd had a way with Buffy, they had shared something special. Her stubborn daughter had always listened to Rupert, or had at least considered his point of view, while all her mother said seemed to make Buffy do the exact opposite. God, she could do with Rupert's calming influence tonight, although - she let out a little laughter - this probably wouldn't happen in the first place.

If Rupert was still alive, he would look at Joyce with his deep, knowing eyes, telling her without words that Buffy's life was exactly that, Buffy's life and that Joyce didn't have a say in it. That her daughter was old enough to make her own decisions, and that she, Joyce, should wait until Buffy came and asked for advice. Unfortunately Joyce simply wasn't made for standing by and waiting, she usually gave her opinion, wanted or not, and that - more often than not - led to heated arguments with the one person she loved most on the earth.

Not that Rupert and Buffy hadn't fought frequently, because they had. Nobody could be close to her daughter and not fight with her. Buffy could be the most mule-headed creature on this planet, but somehow their fights had been different to the ones that seemed the only way of communication between mother and daughter lately. She wasn't sure why, but these days whatever she said, Buffy was takingit the wrong way, while with Rupert, her daughter had at least realized he was always trying to do what was best for her.

Frowning at that, Joyce firmly forced those thoughts down, not willing to deal with them any longer. Her daughter was waiting for her, and the longer she had to wait, the stronger her defenses would be. And besides, Rupert didn't always know best. This was her daughter after all. Buffy was about to make the biggest mistake of her life, and Joyce wasn't going to stand by and let it happen. Buffy might hate her for her intervention, but maybe one day, when her daughter was a mother herself - although the chances of that ever happening were getting less by the day - she would understand why Joyce had to act the way she did.

With new determination spreading through her body, Joyce climbed out of the car, and after pressing the button on her key and hearing the car lock, she marched towards the house, hoping that her daughter would have a more open mind tonight than usual. Buffy could be so stubborn sometimes. Like now. Joyce would never understand what had brought on her daughter's latest behavior. Buffy had seemed happy and content in her relationship with Riley. And they were made for each other, both successful in their jobs, both good looking, both around the same age, with similar expectations for their lives and future. A match made in heaven.

And all of a sudden Buffy didn't seem to think so anymore.

So far all of Joyce's attempts to find out what had changed her daughter's mind had been in vain. Buffy didn't want to talk about it. It was her life, her decision. Period. They had even argued about it. Joyce felt almost ashamed for the way she'd yelled, but nothing had changed. Buffy insisted Riley wasn't for her, that a future with him was out of the question.

Joyce's first thought had been a fight between lovers, something that happened every day, but a phone call to Riley had proven her wrong. Buffy's ex-boyfriend insisted that he was still at a loss to understand what had caused their break-up. So the next logical reason was another man. But Buffy had insisted there was none, and Joyce had been tempted to believe her. It wasn't like Buffy to jump from one man to the next, but then Joyce wasn't born just yesterday, and she had lived long enough to know that anything was possible.

And that had been her reason for a dinner with her daughter tonight. She wanted to find out what was going on, wanted to understand why her daughter had thrown a perfectly fine relationship away, and didn't show the slightest sign she would be willing to reconsider.

Well, she would find out tonight, she thought, lengthening her strides, pushing the door open with straightened shoulders and raised chin. She would find out, and then convince her daughter that she was a fool to let Riley go.

Her daughter might be stubborn sometimes. But Buffy wasn't a fool. Not by a long shot.

*****

Buffy stared at the man in front of her, trying her best to understand what was happening. She'd been planning a not so pleasant evening with her mother, and all of a sudden this was turning into some wacky soap opera. And Angel hadn't even noticed Spike so far. "What …", she finally managed, "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, wasn't it clear enough for you?" Angel stared right back, his posture aggressive and challenging at the same time. He knew he was acting irrational, but he was done standing back and waiting for her to accept that they were right for each other. He still wasn't quite sure what had brought this on, but now that he had decided to confront her, he wasn't about to back down again, even though he saw the silent plead in her eyes, the way they had widened in shock. "I said I'm through with waiting for you to come to terms with our relationship. I'm through giving you space."

Her initial surprise instantly giving way to anger, Buffy went very still. "What," she raised one brow, "are you talking about? A relationship? What kind of relationship?"

*Liar, liar*, a little voice inside her head was whispering. *You slept with him. You care for him. What would you call it? *

Buffy mercilessly ignored it, and crossed her hands in front of her chest, suddenly remembering her other guest, slightly ashamed that she was using Spike as a shield against the confusing emotions Angel was rousing inside of her. "By the way, you remember Spike, don't you?" She looked past Angel, directly at the bleached blond who was standing in the kitchen doorway.

She saw something flicker in the depth of Angel's dark orbs, before his whole body tensed and he slowly turned, "Spike?"

Angel felt something quiver deep inside of him, something he didn't want to accept, something dark, and ugly, and he instantly recognized it as jealousy. Not the light kind, the angry kind he'd experienced the night of the high school reunion. No. this time it was deeper, growling in his gut, twisting it, making it churn. And it was accompanied by anger, anger so deep and furious, he wasn't sure he was going to keep himself together. So she was playing dirty, was she? he thought.

When he finally faced the other man, leaning casually in the doorway, he knew his anger was irrational and certainly turned towards the wrong person. Spike stood, watching him a little warily, not quite certain himself what was going on, what game was about to be played.

Angel straightened his shoulders, narrowed his eyes, "Hello, Spike," he greeted the other man.

Buffy almost shivered at the ice in his voice, not quite sure if her last move had been her best. What if she'd judged Angel wrong, what if he went berserk and … but no, Angel wasn’t the type to do such a thing. Not that she really knew him well, but somehow she couldn’t imagine him trashing an apartment or beating up another person. It just didn’t fit.

"Liam." Spike inclined his head, a smile now playing around his lips. "Nice to meet you again," he said, but his voice was betraying his lightness, and again she was ashamed for the way she was playing those men, and all because of her own uncertainty. But as much as she hated it, she wasn't ready to change anything, either. She was feeling unsettled, her emotions so close to the surface, and all because of this man, this boy, really. This couldn't be real, this couldn't be happening, not to her, not to the most rational person she knew. Not to Buffy, who had planned her whole life. She couldn't accept it, and she wouldn't.

"I wish I could say that, too," Angel replied, and Buffy could see the rigid control he was trying to keep. "I see," he went on, and she realized he was looking at her again, "You lost no time finding a substitute. I wonder what your boyfriend will say to this?"

Boyfriend? A little confused, Buffy frowned at him, then suddenly remembered that he didn't even know about Riley and her splitting up, which, given the circumstances, she wasn't inclined to change. "Riley?” she raised her chin. "We don't have that kind of relationship. We're both very open, modern people."

Completely forgetting Spike's presence, Angel felt his body stiffen, not willing to believe what she was hinting at. "You mean… ", he had to take a breath. His determination was slowly fading in the face of her obvious indifference. Had he been so wrong about her? Could he have misjudged her? But no, he thought, thinking back at the way she'd cried out his name, the way she'd touched him, the way her eyes had clouded over. She couldn't have been faking that. And he simply refused to believe that Buffy was the kind of woman who could experience something that profound and just shake it off the next day. "You're lying," he said slowly, but firmly. "It's still the little scared girl talking here. The one who doesn't take risks, the one who admires her step-father for living out his fantasies, but is too scared to live up to them herself.”

He let his eyes wander and rest on the picture painted by Rupert Giles visible through the partially opened living-room door. It was a disturbing painting, showing a rainy day at the coast, a storm bending the trees, clouds hanging deep and heavy. The colors were dark, black, brown, gray, blue, a cold, dark, green - the scenery stormy and threatening. At least at first glance. But more closely looked at, there was such peace coming from it, such clarity, as if the artist was allowing you a glimpse into his soul. A man shaken by the experiences life dealt you, but who had finally found his home, his destination.

Angel looked back at Buffy, trying to imagine her mother. Did Mrs. Summers have the same eyes? Did she radiate the same energy, the same strength, paired with such intense vulnerability? The same vulnerability that Buffy was trying to hide by acting out, by seeming cool and tough? If yes, Angel couldn't blame him. How could a man meet such a woman, and not take a second look, and maybe a third? And if he did, how could he not get lost in her, how could he not give her his soul? Completely and forever.

The way it had happened to him.

"Hey, maybe I should leave now."

They'd both forgotten that Spike was still there, Angel realized when he saw Buffy's eyes widen in surprise, The air between them was too intense, to cracking to even notice any other presence. And it gave him hope.

"No, there is no reason to leave." Buffy tried to keep her voice cool and controlled, tried to keep herself together, although she was sure her knees were trembling underneath her dress. Thank god she had chosen one in full length, hiding the evidence of her turmoil. She had to gain control again, she thought desperately, feeling herself falling, feeling herself slipping. She wasn't going to let this man take control of her life, her actions. So she straightened her shoulders, her eyes blank, "He is the one intruding here," she said loud and clear, not able to look into Angel's eyes, afraid of the pain she might see there at her words, "I didn't invite him."

If she had slapped him, she couldn't have hurt him the way her words had. Angel felt himself reeling back as if from a blow, then breathing deeply, managed to instantly pull himself together. Well, what had he expected, anyway? She had made it perfectly clear before that for her a relationship between them could never work. That she wasn't going to give in, wasn't going to see what beauty they could create together.

With great difficulty he managed to turn his head to look at her, and in that very moment, in that fraction of a second, he suddenly understood. Understood as clearly as if she'd had laid it out in front of him in bold letters. Something had happened to her. Someone - a man - had hurt her. Had hurt in a way she wasn't able to forget, in a way that had scarred her so deeply, he thought he could reach out and feel the pain. And he was also sure, that if she'd let him, he would touch the scars, would soothe them, would make them heal with love, a love she seemed to determined to push away.

A rage he'd never felt before suddenly filled him, threatened to consume him, against the man who had done this to her. Some man had turned this beautiful, breathtaking woman into a frightened little girl who didn't seem to trust anyone, least of all herself, and who had decided to refuse love, because it was safer. Because that way, she wasn't going to get hurt again. If the man had been around -right now - Angel was sure he'd spent the rest of his days in a high-security prison for murder one. He had always hated violence, had tried to fight against it, still carrying the scars of his early childhood, but in this split of a second it didn't matter. All he wanted was to erase this guy in a futile attempt to carry out justice, but knowing at the same time that it wouldn't change anything for Buffy. The only thing able to help her was love. Love he was willing to give. Love she was so determined to reject.

"No, you didn't invite me," he said finally, feeling a sudden calm, although her eyes had shut down, not showing any of the pain and torture he'd only gotten a glimpse of before, "but I'm still staying. We're going to talk, and if you don't want to talk, you're at least going to listen."

"I so need to go now," Spike pushed himself off of the doorway, holding up his hands as he passed the couple on his way to the exit door. "No need to see me out. I know the way." He reached for the door-handle, then stopped in the process, his eyes finding Angel's face. "There's nothing between us, man. We're nothing but - acquaintances. I was feeling low tonight, had a meeting with my ex. Thought I could use some cheering up. So don't give her a hard time."

"This has nothing to do with you," Angel replied, his eyes not wavering from Buffy's gaze, starting to like the other man without wanting to. "But thanks, nevertheless."

"I'd say have a nice evening, but ...", Spike trailed off, chuckling slightly to himself. "See you." He didn't expect an answer and didn't get one. God, he thought, shaking his head, why did love have to be so complicated all the time?Why couldn't people just fall in love, be happy and stay that way? Instantly his thoughts traveled to a certain raven-haired woman, remembering the girl she'd once been, the girl he'd been in love with so deeply, he couldn't think straight. When had this stopped? When had they lost what had seemed so precious, so right? God, he was maudlin tonight. Maybe he should just find a bottle of old Scotch and drown himself.

With a last chuckle he opened the door - and froze. Instead of an empty hallway he was greeted by the face of a woman so much alike another, and a pair of eyes that were looking at him curiously, before she spoke, "So you are the reason my daughter dumped her boyfriend. I should have known. You've always been bad news Spike."

“Mrs. Summers,” Spike inclined his head in a matter of greeting, then gave the older woman his best smile, the one he had practiced as a boy to charm Dru’s parents all those years ago. It had worked then, and he could only hope it would work now. “How nice to meet you. Believe me when I tell you, I have nothing to do with the troubles between your daughter and her boyfriend. And I’ll be gone anyway - I was just on my way out.” And then, without contemplating his next move, he wriggled past her, and with a last glance at Buffy he left, although a part of him wanted to stay and watch the drama unfold.

*

“So,” Joyce closed the door behind the blond man, “This was an interesting-“ Her words died on her lips when she turned and saw her daughter standing in the middle of the hallway facing a strange dark-haired man, Joyce had never seen before. But there was something in the way they looked at each other, his dark orbs intense and serious, Buffy’s defensive, with a touch of anger, and - to Joyce’s utter surprise - something close to fear. But it wasn’t fear of this man, it was something different, something that made Joyce tremble down to the core.

Neither of them looked up, didn’t give a sign they had acknowledged her presence, just continued staring at each other, until the man spoke.

“You dumped your boyfriend?” His voice was low, and a little bit dangerous. “Interesting piece of news you so comfortably avoided to share with me.”

Buffy’s chin jutted out in defiance, “I can’t see why this is any of your business. I can’t see where this concerns you.”

Joyce felt her gut clench almost painfully at the tension in the air, at the strange waves she was getting from her daughter. “Hi,” she said, “I’m Joyce Summers, Buffy’s mother.”

She could have well kept the words to herself, because neither the man nor her daughter were reacting.

“It concerns me all right,” he said, not touching her, just continuing to look at her with those serious eyes, Joyce found herself drawn to. “It concerns me because I care for you, because -,” she saw him pause, as if considering his next words, then he pushed ahead, “I love you.

“No.” Buffy’s denial came quickly, her voice firm.

“Don’t tell me what I feel,” he retorted, “I know you don’t want to hear this, don’t want to concern yourself with this, but it’s true nevertheless. I love you.”

“No,” she said again, shaking her head emphatically. “You believe you love me, but it’s different. I know it is.”

“No, it isn’t,” he shot back, and Joyce saw he was clenching his fists. Could it be he was a violent person, she wondered. He was a tall man, strong, well-muscled. What would she do if- But no, she told herself instantly. Nobody who could look at her daughter like this, would hurt her. How could her daughter insist of him lying when his love for her was written clearly in his eyes.

Love?

Suddenly feeling shell-shocked, Joyce found herself rooted in place, breathing suddenly difficult.

Love?

This man had claimed loving her daughter, and she didn’t even know his name, hadn’t seen him ever before.

“Buffy,” he said, “I love you. It’s true. Stop denying what’s right in front of your eyes.”

“In front of my eyes?” she echoed, shaking her head again, “This … this is madness. You’re deluding yourself in some kind of fantasy, and-“

“I’m not deluding myself,” he replied, his voice softening, “but you are. Buffy, why are you so determined to believe that I’m not in love with you? And more importantly, why are you trying to tell yourself you aren’t? Why are you trying to push me away? What are you afraid of?”

Joyce saw her daughter step back, then stop, pressing a hand to her mouth for a moment, pulling it away the next, “In love with you?” she asked, her voice unnaturally high. “Why can’t you just accept that not all women are falling down at your feet. That there is a thirty-four year old woman who isn’t head over heels for your twenty-six year old body?”

Twenty-six? The guy was only twenty-six? Joyce continued to stare at the pair.

“Why are you always bringing up my age?” he asked, his voice even softer than before, and Joyce found herself hanging at each of his words. There was something about him, something that moved her deeply. Maybe it was in the way he looked at her daughter, maybe it was the way he talked to her, as if he knew her inside out. “You are using our age difference like a shield. But that’s nonsense. It’s seven years, and do you know how many couples are seven years apart? So stop bringing this up all the time. Why don’t you stop hiding yourself behind this, and start telling me the real reason you’re shying away from your feelings.”

“My feelings?” she echoed, “You don’t know anything about my feelings.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said instantly, reaching out as if to touch her, then pulling his hand back. Maybe it was for the best, Joyce thought. Her daughter was so rigid, the merest touch might break her. “You’re scared, and don’t try to deny it. You’re afraid I’m going to hurt you, and you’re scared to let yourself trust me, because someone has betrayed your trust before, someone has hurt you deeply.”

“No,” Buffy said again, but now her voice was a mere whisper, tears welling up in her eyes. “Please don’t do this,” she pleaded brokenly, “I … I can’t do this.”

Finally he held out his hand, palm up, “Won’t you trust me? Whoever it was, can’t you see I’m not him?”

Buffy took another step back, her eyes wide and like those of a scared animal pushed into a corner with no way out. “I can’t,” she whispered, “Don’t you understand, I can’t. This … th-this is …,” she stopped, shook her head, biting her lower lip, “Please, go.”

“No,” he said softly, but firmly. “I’m not going. I’m not going to watch you doing this to yourself. I’m not going to let you draw back behind your safe wall, away from love and happiness.”

“I am happy,” she almost cried out, defensively crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Why can’t you accept that and just leave?” Joyce heard a stifled sob on the last word, and almost reached out to touch her daughter, but something held her back, told her she couldn’t let her protective mother-instincts run free.

“You are happy?” he echoed her question gently. “Then why don’t you look that way, Buffy? To me you look anything but.” Again he held out his hand for her. “I love you, Buffy, and I want you to trust me. I can’t promise never to hurt you, but I will never do it deliberately. I know this guy - whoever it was - hurt you. But do you want him to win? You’re cutting yourself off from happiness, always afraid, always taking a step back, and all because of him? Do you really want that?”

Joyce was still standing in the spot she’d been standing all the time, not able to move, not able to say anything, almost feeling like an intruder into something intensely private, even though she was Buffy’s mother.

She saw her daughter hesitate, saw her pressing her arms close to her chest, saw her close her eyes, then slowly shake her head, and she wanted to push her into the arms of the man was holding them open for her, but knew she couldn’t do it, although she felt her heart breaking at the scene before her. Not just for her daughter’s pain, even though that alone was enough to cause it, but also for herself, for what she has missed in her daughter’s life that seeing Buffy like this was coming to her as some kind of a shock. What had happened in her daughter’s life that she was behaving that way? Couldn’t she see the young man was serious? That his eyes were shining with the kind of love every woman dreamt of. What had happened to the child she’d once carried in her womb that made her afraid and shy of affection?

Joyce wanted to scream with the pain she felt at the mere thought. They had once been so close and then, one summer while Buffy had still been at college everything had changed. Buffy had refused to come home one summer, and Rupert had gone to see her, then returned without her, serious and somehow withdrawn, not offering any explanations for their daughter’s absence, had dismissed Joyce whenever she’d brought up the subject.

Guessing deep inside that something terrible had happened, she hadn’t - like a good mother would have done - tried to find out what exactly had been going on, had instead chosen the easier path. Her daughter was alive, wasn’t she? And Buffy had even talked to her on the phone where it was so much easier to pretend her cheerfulness wasn’t as forces as it sounded.

God, what kind of a mother did that make her? Confronted with the question she wanted to do what she always did, wanted to turn and run, to take cover, but how could she in the face of Buffy’s pain and the love and determination of a young man she barely knew but who seemed to know so much more about the daughter she loved with all her heart.

She tentatively reached out, touching her daughter’s shiny, blond hair, felt her heart breaking a little bit more when Buffy flinched.

But she clenched her teeth against the pain that was almost physical, she would not run away this time, would face the fact that she had let her daughter pull away from her, that she had done nothing to prevent it, that she now barely knew how to comfort this young woman who seemed to be torn apart in front of her eyes.

She was facing the worst a mother had to, failing her daughter, by looking away, by trying to pretend things were fine.

She looked up at the man whose name she still didn’t know, saw the pain in his eyes at her daughter’s rejection and with shame had to admit that she didn’t have the slightest idea how to help them. Riley was forgotten, all the things she had intended to say, all the rational things, so well thought out. Who wanted to hear them anyway now? Her daughter was hurting, and it was as if she, Joyce, was living through the whole pain with her.

Joyce saw Angel take a slow, deep breath, saw his hand fall away in surrender, his shoulders slumped. Then without a word, and one last look at Buffy, he walked towards the door, intending to leave, intending to do what Buffy had wanted from him, giving her the space she obviously needed, although they all knew it was a lie, a lie spoken to protect, a lie born from old pain that still seemed fresh on a tortured soul.

Wanting to do something, but not knowing why, Joyce looked frantically back and forth between her daughter and the dark-haired man with the serious eyes, watching him step closer to the door and away from Buffy, away from the woman he so obviously loved, but who wouldn’t let him close to prove it.

Joyce knew it was probably the wrong thing to do, but she was about to make him stop when Buffy suddenly drew a shuddering breath, her whole body trembling with the effort, before she whispered brokenly, “Don’t go. Angel. Please, don’t go.”

Go to Part 17