RATING: PG
DISCLAIMER: I don't own what you recognize.
NOTES: This is in response to a challenge Garnet issued in Feb, but I don't have the challengerequirements off the top of my head ... e-mail me for them, I'm too lazy right now. *g*
SUMMARY: Some horror happens, Angel's got a kid, la-di-da. Read it, damn it!*

Angel looked at the casket. It was powder blue, and he couldn’t help but smile despite himself - she never would have settled for being the same as everyone else.

“The inside is white,” a voice from behind him said, and he turned to see a familiar one-time redhead.

“Willow,” he murmured, embracing her. “How are you?”

“She’s wearing your leather jacket,” Willow continued, then gave him a small smile. “And to answer you’re question, I’m holding up. But what about you?”

“I-I can’t believe she’s gone,” Angel whispered brokenly. “I never had the chance to saygoodbye.”

“It was her time, Angel.” Willow brushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

“I can’t believe that,” he denied. “It’s ... impossible. She was so young. She was onlytwenty-three.”

“She was a Slayer, and that was her destiny. She knew it ... she wasn’t afraid to die.”

“She died alone, Willow.”

“In the end, everyone dies alone. But it was how she wanted it - quick and easy. Shedidn’t suffer. And Slaying didn’t end her life ... that was her greatest fear, you know. That she’d succumb to a vampire.”

Angel’s eyes flashed in the dark. “She was hit by another car,” he raged. “Someone ended her life prematurely because they couldn’t keep two hands on the wheel and heed a stoplight! And when I find out who it was, I’m going to make them pay.”

Willow put her hand on Angel’s arm. “It was dark, and the roads were slippery, and thetraffic lights weren’t working properly. It was a horrible accident, yes, but it wasfaultless.”

“Someone’s dead,” Angel hissed. “There’s always a fault.”

“You have to let it go,” Willow pleaded. “You can’t beat yourself up for what happened. She wouldn’t want that for you, Angel, she wouldn’t!”

“She didn’t know how much I loved her. I didn’t have the chance to tell her. I didn’t call. I didn’t write. I haven’t seen her in four damn years, Willow!”

Willow glanced at the other funeral guests, comforting each other under the starry nightsky. “Say goodbye,” she whispered.

Angel ran his hand over the glossy lid until he found the latch. He slowly opened it, his breath catching when he saw her.

She was so beautiful. Her hair and face had been made up beautifully, covering any trace of injury that was left. Just as Willow had said, she was laying against white satin - pure, just like she had been. Like she still was. The outfit was standard Buffy - a tank top, a skirt, boots, and the worn-in leather jacket.

Angel smiled when he saw that she had the cross he had given her around her neck. He held it in his hand gently, welcoming the burning sensation as he recalled the day he had given it to her.

The smoke that resulted from holding the cross was a vicious reminder of what he was -and what she was - and he dropped it quickly.

A tear ran down his cheek and fell onto her pale hand. He couldn’t help but notice how colorless her hands were in comparison to her face, which looked almost alive. He picked up her hand, sucking in an unnecessary breath when the usual warmth with which she had always touched him was not there. Instead, she was as cold as him. He traced the a pattern from her wrist across the top of her hand, well aware of the fact that there was no blood rushing through her veins as he remembered.

He hit something solid and glanced down. If his heart was beating, it would have stoppedat what he saw. She was wearing a Claddagh. *His* Claddagh.

The tears fell freely as Angel remembered the night he had given it to her, on the docks,when they had almost lost each other. And then that night, when he had been absolutely terrified to tell her how much he loved her, but had told her anyway. It was the most natural thing he had ever said, and the love they had shared that night had felt like the most natural thing in the world.

“Angel?”Angel turned around, not dropping Buffy’s hand, to see Willow again.

“Are ... are you almost ready to go? The drive back to Sunnydale is a few hours, and Idon’t know how far you’re parked.”

Angel nodded, turning back to Buffy. He was glad that Joyce had chosen to have her buried outside of Sunnydale boundaries, in a small, elite graveyard with a wrought iron gate and a beautiful garden. And he was eternally thankful that she had opted for a nighttime funeral. Although he was not formally invited, it was implied that the idea was so he could attend.

Angel took a deep breath, knowing that this was the last time he’d see Buffy for a long,long time. Possibly forever, because he had no doubt that while her soul would go to Heaven, his might not. He kissed the top of her hand, and then her Claddagh. Finally, he pressed his lips gently to hers, savoring the same cherry taste that was always her. With a final, loving look at her closed eyes, he stood up and shut the casket.

Turning to Willow, he took her hand in his - more for his support than her’s - and they wordlessly began to walk towards the rest of the group

.As they walked towards the parking lot, Angel vaguely heard Willow inform him that theywere going back to Joyce’s house. However, he was more focused on the young brunette clutching tightly to Joyce’s hand as they hurried towards a car.

*****

There were only two hours until sunrise by the time Angel pulled into the driveway of1630 Revello Drive. It had taken nearly four hours to reach the house, due to anunforeseen traffic accident.

A wave of sadness washed over him as he slipped in without needing invitation. The surroundings were the same as they had always been, and Angel couldn’t help but reminisce over the night so many years ago when Buffy had first invited him into herhouse, unbeknownst to her that he was a vampire.

He was shaken out of his reverie when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and found himself looking at Joyce Summers. She suddenly looked just like Buffy, same blond hair, same deep eyes, and he would have ran out of the house had Joyce not pulled him into another room.

“I’m really sorry about your loss,” he mumbled to her.

“Shhh,” she insisted, then motioned to a sleeping girl on the couch. The same girl that hadbeen holding Joyce’s hand at the funeral. “I want to introduce you to someone.” She motioned for Angel to stay where he was and then moved to kneel down in front of thecouch. Shaking the girl gently, she whispered something to her softly.

The girl rolled off the couch and into the arms of Joyce, who brought her over to Angel. “Angel ... I’d like you to meet Angela Isolde ... your daughter.”

“Daddy?” A smile graced the face of the small child.

Joyce nodded. “That’s your daddy,” she agreed, then turned to Angel. “She saw you at the funeral, she somehow ... knew you were her father.”

“I-I don’t -” “Have a daughter? Yes, you do. Her name is Angela, but she goes by Angie.”

“H-How old is she?”

“She’s three years old,” Joyce informed him, running a hand over Angie’s ponytail. “Areyou ready to meet your daddy?”

Angie nodded, nearly leaping into Angel’s arms. “Daddy,” she murmured, curling up against him.

Angel held the girl awkwardly, hissing to Joyce, “I haven’t ... *hadn’t* ... seen Buffy in four years.”

Joyce shrugged helplessly, then reached into her purse and pulled out a video tape. “I don’t know what it is ... but I think it’ll explain everything. You have full custody of her, Angel. She’s yours.”

Angel shook his head. “No, I can’t, I don’t know anything about kids, she’s not mine, I -”

“We go home, Daddy?” Angie suggested.

Joyce took Angie from Angel. Kneeling down to her size, she suggested, “Why don’t you say goodbye to Aunt Willow and Uncle Xander so I can talk to Daddy?”

Angie nodded, toddling into another room.

Joyce stood back up, looking at Angel. “I know she never told you, Angel. And I know you’re probably hurt. I don’t know her reasoning, I can’t explain what she did. But please,take care of her daughter. If not for Angie, then for Buffy. She loved you, Angel, and she wouldn’t want anyone else raising her daughter. Your daughter.”

At that moment, Angie ran back into the room as fast as she could, and when Angel looked into her hazel eyes, he was reminded of all the times he had looked into Buffy’s hazel eyes. The child was a huge reminder of her, and Angel didn’t even know what her personality was. As hard as it was going to be for him to deal with that ... there was also no way he could turn her down. She was Buffy’s, after all.

Joyce noted the look on Angel’s face with a small smile and handed him the video tape.“I’ll give you a call sometime, make sure everything is going all right. Do you have the number?”

Angel nodded numbly, clutching the tape in his hand.

“And Willow’s? And Xander’s?”

Angel nodded again, watching as Angie struggled to button her royal blue jacket. He knelt down to help her, noticing at the same time that her dark brown hair, pulled into pigtails,was the same shade as his.

“She’s yours,” Joyce murmured. “You’ll do fine.”

Angel couldn’t even find his voice to respond, so he settled for taking Angie’s hand and leading her towards the door. “I-I’ll call you if there’s problems ...”

“Please do,” Joyce agreed. “Goodbye, Angel. Bye, Angie.”

“Bye-bye, Gramma!” Angie wrapped her arms around Joyce’s leg. “Daddy call you!”

Joyce laughed. “I know, Sweetheart, I know.”

*****

Angel set the young child down on his bed, watching her chest move up and down as she inhaled and exhaled. He gently removed the rubber bands that were holding her hair and then pulled off her shoes. Determined that she would be comfortable - at least until he could get ahold of Cordelia - he exited the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

He put the video tape into the VCR and turned on the TV, settling back on the couch. Heknew that sleep would probably be best for him, but he had to see the tape right away. It was an uncontrollable desire he had, to hear her voice one more time, to deny that she was gone.

No, not to deny. She was definitely gone, he had seen that as well as anyone ...

Angel was snapped back to reality when the tape flickered and someone came into view.Buffy.

Her hair was a darker blond than when he had left her, pulled into a messy bun, and shewasn’t wearing a mini-skirt or platforms like she always had, merely jeans and a blue sweater.

“Uh ... hey,” she murmured. “Well ... this is strange. I don’t really know what to say ...and I sort of feel like I’m talking to myself. Probably because I am, but ...” she trailed off, shaking her head. “Uh ... I ...” She stopped when a little girl ran into the room and crawled onto her lap. Angel recognized her as Angie.

“Who?” Angie asked, looking up at her mother.

“I’m talking to a friend of mine, baby. You’re going to meet him someday. Someday soon.” Buffy stroked her daughter’s hair lovingly. “Can you wave to the camera, love?”

Angie smiled broadly, her tiny white teeth sparkling. She had child-star written all over her face as she waved. “Hi!” she called, obviously carefree.

“That’s so wonderful!” Buffy murmured, her eyes focused solely on her daughter, as though she had completely forgotten about the camera. That was what Angel loved about her - that she could because so wrapped up in those who loved her that everything else just fell away. He watched, with tears in his eyes, as she pressed a kiss to Angie’s cheek.“I love you, Angie.”

“I love you, Mommy.”

Buffy ran a single painted nail across her daughter’s rosy cheek. “I need a little time tomyself, Angie-girl. Can you go play in your room?”

“I want picture too,” Angie pouted, giving her mother a puppy-dog face.

“Oh Sweetie ...” Buffy laughed lightly and stood up, walking off camera, and then returning with a disposable camera in her hand. “Why don’t you go to your room and takes ome pictures? Aiko is going to come play with you this afternoon.”

Angie’s smile spread to her ears, and she gave her mother a hug. “Thank you,” she said ina little-girl voice, running off.

Buffy turned back to the camera, and Angel could see the tears glittering in her eyes.“Well,” she murmured, her voice now caught on sobs. “I guess you can see I’m crying.I’m not sad, Angel, I’m happy. I’m crying because I’m happy. Angie makes me happy.”

She paused, running her hand through her hair, looking down at her jeans and then back up. “I know I’m not going to be around much longer, Angel, I can feel it in my bones. I’mnot scared. I’m not scared to die. I know how it works, I’ve been prepared for a long time. Slayer’s don’t live long, I’ve always known that. That was why when we talked about my getting pregnant, it was never an issue. I’m so thankful for Angie, though. Did you see her? Did you really look at her? She looks like you.”

Tears began to fall silently down Angel’s face. God, he loved that woman so much. She was so brave and selfless and loving ...

“I don’t really know - I don’t really know how she was conceived,” Buffy choked out, blinking quickly, and her mascara began to run. She wiped at it quickly, only managing to smear it across her cheeks. “But I know she’s yours. Have you ever just had a gut instinct, Angel, that you know something, you really KNOW it? That’s what life with Angie has always been like. And I think ... I think you know. How she was conceived, when, where,why. It’s scary, not knowing, not having that memory - but I know she’s yours. And Iknow you’d never hurt me, and I know she’s a baby made from love.”

Angel had never been more thankful that he didn’t need to breath than he was at that moment. The lost day. The day that never was. It hadn’t been totally erased, even if Buffy’s memory had, Angie had came of it, he knew without a doubt. It all made sense now, everything added up, and Angel felt his heart burst with love for his late lover, and then constrict with pain over the loss of her. He hadn’t told her he loved her. He hadn’t told her ...

Buffy sniffled and then laughed. “Wow, I’m just a big mess, aren’t I? But you love me anyway, right?” She asked the screen teasingly, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. She quickly grew somber, though, her hands falling to her lap. “It hasn’t been easy with Angie, but I love her. And I love you. I always have. From the moment I knocked you down in the alley till the day I die, I’ll love you. Beyond that. You were always my life, even when you were being so God damned noble and leaving me, you were my life.”

She pulled something out of her pocket, and when she turned it towards the camera,Angel realized it was the Claddagh he had given her. “I got it back. Yeah, I managed to get it back ...” She looked down and slipped it onto her ring finger of her left hand, heart pointing in. “I always wanted to be your wife. I know what the Claddaghs mean, even ifthat wasn’t how you meant it, I still hold out hope that it was. After all, you wouldn’t make me an illegitimate mother, now would you?”

Angel shut his eyes tightly, and then opened them again, still staring at her image on the screen. She never ceased to amaze him. Even in her darkest hour, she was able to joke around.

Buffy shrugged, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know when it’s going to happen. I don’t know how. Take good care of her, mo ceadsearc,” she smiled sweetly, her cheeks blushing at her attempt of Gaelic.

Mo ceadsearc. My sweetheart.

“Her name is Angela Isolde Summers ... she turned three on August sixth. Take good care of her, Angel. Love her like I do.”

“Mommy ... Mommy!” shrieking was heard in the background, and Buffy stood up, calling back reassuringly that she was on her way. She walked off the screen, looking back briefly to place two fingers over her heart and mouth ‘love you’. The screen turned snowy for a minute and then faded into a blue, serene silence.

*****

Angie was surprisingly loving towards Angel, allowing him to hold her and bathe her and feed her. She rarely mentioned her mother, and when she did it was almost without thought. Though Angel was prepared for any nightmares she might have, none came ...until her fourth birthday. And on that night, nothing could have prepared Angel for theterror that filled his daughter.

*****

“Did you have a happy birthday, mo ceadsearc?” Angel questioned, using a phrase that had become commonplace in the two-person household.

“Yes, Daddy.” Angie snuggled under the covers and allowed her father to tuck her in under her Winnie-the-Pooh comforter, her stuffed polar bear, Mimi, securely at her side.

“You’re a big girl now,” Angel murmured, and what he said next would forever leave him wondering if he triggered the horror that filled his daughter that night. “Your mother would be so proud.”

If Angel’s words registered with her, Angie didn’t show it, closing her eyes with a smile on her face. Angel leaned over and kissed her lightly on each cheek, as he did every night,then stroked back her hair and flipped out of the light, moving silently from her room.

In the kitchen, he heated a cup of blood - he never ate in front of her - and began mixing the ingredients for cranberry muffins, which Angie adored. The house was eerily quiet,with Angie sound asleep down the hall and the traffic surprisingly silent outside. He quickly finished making the batter and began to spoon it into the muffin tins when an uncomfortable feeling washed over him. Pausing in his work, he hurried to Angie’s room,but found her sound asleep. Not wanting to wake Cordelia and assuming Doyle would call if there was trouble, he finished the muffins and slid the tray in the oven, trying to brush off the feeling that just wouldn’t leave him alone.

Fifteen minutes later, the nervousness was still with him, as he paced the kitchen, waiting for the timer to go off. He was just about to call Cordelia and make sure everything was okay when the feelings intensified and his vampire hearing detected Angie moving around in her bed, something she rarely did. Forgetting all about the muffins, he hurried to herroom, but before he could reach her, she sat straight up in bed and let out a blood-curdlingscream.

“MOMMY!!!!!!!!!!!”

Angel’s still blood turned to ice as he ran into Angie’s room, kneeling at her side. “Shh, Angie, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

It was as though she couldn’t hear him, staring straight ahead, her eyes glazed, tears covering her cheeks, screaming louder than Angel thought possible. “MOMMY!MOMMY! HELP HER! HELP MY MOMMY!”

Horror gripped at Angel. Nightmares he was prepared for, but this ... this was like nothing he had ever seen.

Angie clutched the covers to her tightly, rocking back and forth, the shrieks non-stop.“HELP HER! HELP MY MOMMY! MOOOOOOMMMMMMYYYYYYY!!!”

Angel didn’t know what to do, so he grabbed her up from under the covers and shook her- not hard, but enough to shake her out of her current state. She immediately stopped screaming and turned to look at him, her eyes overflowing with tears. “Daddy,” she whispered softly, and collapsed in his arms, crying unabashedly.

Angel had to blink back tears himself - he wanted to cry and let loose, but now was not the time, not with his daughter already so upset. “Shhh, baby, shhh. Tell me what happened.”

“I saw it,” she cried, choking on her tears, sounding older than her years. “She died, she died, she died ... the man killed her, the evil man, he killed her, he killed her.”

“What evil man?” Angel asked, gripping his daughter’s small arms tightly.“The one in the car. He was asleep and he killed her, he killed her! It was dark, it rained,she was coming home and he killed her, he killed her,” she repeated, almost in a daze. “She felt pain, lots of pain, and she said ‘I love you, Angela, I love you, Angel’. And she couldn’t breathe and she was un-un-unconcious and she died!”

The torment Angie was being put through was not something Angel would wish onanyone. It was bad enough that she had lost her mother, but to see it all happen in her nightmares?

Smoke wafted up the stairs, and Angel realized the muffins were burning.

Her eyes taking on that same, trace-like state again, Angie whispered, “It looked like that.The car looked like that.” She pointed a single finger at the smoke filling the room.

*****

The next morning, Angie didn’t remember the incident of the night before, thought it wasburned in Angel’s mind. She awoke at her usual time, ate the inside of a burned muffin,downed her cup of milk in three gulps, and went about playing with her dolls.

Cautiously, Angel sat down beside her, taking a doll in one hand. “What’s this one’s name?”

Angie looked up quickly, her hazel eyes wide. “That’s Willow.”

Angel chuckled, setting down the dark-haired doll and scooping up another one. “Whatabout this one?”

“That’s Cordelia.”

Angel picked up a third doll, a green-eyed, blond one. “What about her?”

Angie didn’t even look up from brushing the hair of the Willow-doll. “That’s Buffy.”

Angel bit his lip sharply but said nothing.

*****

The nightmares never happened again, and Angel never mentioned Buffy except when Angie asked, and even then he was careful about what he said and how it was phrased. Angie developed a love for art, history, and tae twon do, along with a deep hatred for school. She had the popular-snob looks all throughout school, but the friendly, class-president persona. When Cordelia and Doyle became parents to Meara and Bridget,their twins, Angie was twelve years old. As they grew up, she cared for them regularly.When Willow gave birth to Jake, a preemie with Down’s Syndrome, Angie held him andc radled him. When he entered school, she stood up for him against teasing he received and helped him understand what he had a hard time comprehending.

Basically, her life was a happy one. It was as if the horrors of her first few years had never taken place, she didn’t seem to have any residual emotional scars. Eventually, Angel was granted the humanity he so longed for, and Angie was the one there to celebrate it withhim.

They had the ultimate father-daughter relationship, one so revered, one so longed for by others. Each vowed to never take it for granted.

*****

“You’re doing great, mo ceadsearc,” Angel whispered, clutching his daughter’s hand tightly. Miguel, her tall, dark, Latino husband, was clutching her other hand, whispering Spanish terms of endearment.

Angie struggled to laugh, biting through an ice cube as she rode out a contraction. “I’ve got the -” she stopped, gasping, “- Best of both worlds. Words of love in - ah!” She choked on her words, trying not to scream, “Many languages,” she finished, gritting her teeth and pushing through another contraction.

Just like her mother, Angel realized, smiling to himself. Always joking.

The doctor rushed back into the room at that moment and quickly checked Angie’s process. “Well, Angie, you’re almost there. We’re going to take you into delivery in a minute.” She looked from Angel to Miguel, “Do you want them both there?” she questioned doubtfully.

Angie’s answer was automatic. “Yes.”

The doctor nodded, and with the help of several other doctors, moved her to the delivery room, followed by Angel and Miguel, now donning scrubs.

The process was more painful than Angie ever could have imagined, especially since she had opted for a natural, drug-free childbirth. She wasn’t sure how her mother had managed it, but she was determined to do the same.

“You’re doing very good,” her doctor told her, professional but smiling. “I can see the baby’s head.”

Angie smiled as best she could, looking from her father to her husband and then gripping their hands tightly as a bitter wave of pain coursed through her.

“You can do it, you’re almost there, one more push ...”

“C’mon, babe, I love you,” Miguel whispered, leaning his head close to his wife.

“I’m so proud of you ...” Angel trailed off, not dropping her hand. This was like nothing he had ever seen before, and frankly, it was a bit frightening.

“Give me one big push, Angie, and you’ll have your firstborn.”

Though the pain was nearly unbearable, the prospect was something Angie so longed for -and NOW - that she did exactly as the doctor commanded, though her tired, bleeding body protested. Biting down on her lip until blood trickled out, she pushed hard, and the baby practically slid into the doctor’s hands.

“Congratulations, Angie. You have a little girl.” She handed the umbilical cord scissors to Miguel to do the honors, which he did with pride.

“You’re amazing, Angie,” Miguel murmured, kissing her on the forehead.

Angel watched as the doctor cleaned the shrieking baby off, wrapped her in a blanket, and placed her in her mother’s arms. “Congratulations, ceadsearc. I love you.”

As Angie held the baby tightly, she immediately calmed down, and Angie smiled tiredly.“We chose a name, Dad.”

Angel’s lips curved into a smile. “Really? What did you choose?”

“Elizabeth Arella. Arella means Angel, and we’re going to call her Buffy.”

Angel closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, he stared directly at hisdaughter. “That’s beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely. “If she were alive ...” He trailed off,“If she were alive, she’d be as proud of you as I am now. I just know it.” He shut his eyes again, trying uselessly to hold back the tears, and leaned down, first kissing his daughter and then his granddaughter. “Elizabeth Arella,” he marveled, “Welcome to our world.”

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