Title: Protector
Author: Serendipity
Email: trekchic@usa.net
Distribution: Y'all know me. I say yes. Just ask beforehand so I know.
Disclaimer: the characters belong to Joss Whedon
Rating: PG-13 (language, violence and content)
Author's Notes: Oz doesn't exist...again (I'm SORRY!!!) and uhm..Oh, this is my take on what fourth season would be like for 'Buffy' and for the new series 'Angel'. (meaning, all of the previous seasons are fair game. I haven't seen Grad2 yet, though, so don't worry about that type of spoilage. Angel is in L.A.) Only difference: (big one) the Scooby Gang is still in high school. So, the events of season 3 took place their junior year. Oh, and lastly, for those who have read it and are wondering, this is totally unrelated to one of my other stories, When Stars Collide. :) Feedback is, as always, adored, highly appreciated, very motivational and always responded to.
Dedication: to everyone who's ever wanted to have something dedicated to them but never has, this story is wholeheartedly for you.

Gritting his teeth, Angel slammed the stake into one vampire’s chest while kicking another one aside.

Masked temporarily by the dusty explosion, he spun and ducked, narrowly missing the attack of a third, previously unseen vampire. Although fatigue gnawed at his muscles and a sharp steady pain shot up from the deep gash in his arm, he managed to fend off the two remaining attackers with a few expert kicks and punches. Unfortunately, judging from the distant growls his sensitive hearing had picked up, he was fairly certain that reinforcements were on their way.

< And who said L.A. was boring? > A vicious blow to the head sent him flying before he could come up with a coherent response. Groaning, Angel mananged to roll over just in time to avoid the sharp piece of wood that embedded itself in the soft earth right where his heart would have been. < And the fun just keeps on coming. >

Dragging himself to his feet, he managed to turn around just in time to see five other dark figures rushing his way. < Three months of patrolling and I get nothing. Why the warm reception now? > Snarling, he pulled himself up and braced for impact as two of the figures launched themselves at him. Knocked backwards into a tree, Angel managed to squeeze past one of his opponents, only to be caught in a headlock by the other. Wincing at the gash in his upper lip, he spit out the sweet coppery fluid that gushed into his mouth, threatening to choke him in his prone position.

“Well well well, if it isn’t my dearly departed sire Angel? Come to spread the love in the City of Angels? How bloody quaint.”

Angel’s dark brown eyes narrowed dangerously at the ground, “Spike…” he growled softly.

Clucking disapprovingly, the other man continued, “Now, here I am, miles away from Sunnyhell like I promised that blonde whore of a slayer, plotting world domination from the comfort and quiet of Los Angeles and who do I bump into yet AGAIN?”

His mind racing for a way out, Angel ignored the peroxide vampire’s musings.

“My absolute favorite wanker in the world, that’s who.” Walking past his captive, Spike reached down to yank a handful of dark hair upwards, “What’s the matter? She dump you? I tell you, Angel, women are so fickle.I wouldn't worry though, mate. I hear she was a bitch of a lay.”

Subtley testing the strength of the vampire holding him, Angel had to swallow down his frustration against the iron grip.

“I’ll have you know that your disasterous relationship with her nearly cost me my Dru.” Sharply pulling Angel’s head further, his voice became darker, “I don’t take kindly to that.”

As he gritted his teeth to block out the pain, Angel could do little more than raise an eyebrow.

Yawning, as if bored from the lack of reaction he was getting, Spike released his hair, “Anyway, no time for chitchat, mate. As much as I do enjoy this utter lack of conversation, it seems whenever we engage in witty banter, you manage to get away. No, I’m sick of this game and I’m even more sick of you. Besides, I owe that slayer big time.” Shrugging, he spun around, his black duster floating through the air, and threw the command casually over his shoulder, “Stake him, Gabriel.”

< NO! > As he struggled with the vampire holding him, Angel quickly realized that he would still be a fraction of a second too late to save himself, but even in these last split seconds of cognizant life, his body kicked into full-fledged survival mode.

Launching his shoulder into the vampire’s solar plexus, he had just managed to loosen his captor’s hold when he heard the tell-tale woosh of a stake rapidly descending just over his head. Pausing to squeeze his eyes shut, Angel tried to think of a prayer to say before dying just in case there was, by any possible miracle, a chance to save himself from eternal damnation. Perhaps he could think of one that would barter his sentence down to just a few centuries of burning in hell instead…

At the last possible second, as the hairs on his neck rose with anticipation of the impending blow, the stake from above changed direction and clattered harmlessly to the side, bouncing a few feet away into the grass. Pushing back a wave of shock in order to mull it over at a more convenient time, Angel took this opportunity to complete his escape. Before he could even turn around, though, several clouds of dust erupted around him as the vampires who had attacked started to disappear in record time. It wasn’t until he’d gotten a chance to retrieve the fallen stake and pinpoint the source of the chaos swirling around him that he was able to totally rule out divine intervention.

He watched in awe as a figure clad in black bounded through the space around him, leaving destruction in her wake. At least he * thought * it was a girl. With her slighter figure and long, graceful limbs, he doubted his savior was male. In fact, if it wasn’t for the smaller build, Angel would have sworn that this girl was Buffy in disguise, judging strictly from her speed and accuracy.

Covered in black cloth from head to toe, he couldn’t really tell who she was either way. Nothing stuck out, not even to his well trained eyes. Every strand of hair had been tucked away under the full-length outfit. Even her eyes were covered by a thin black veil.

Her startled yelp of pain jolted him out of his revelry and he ran towards her just as Spike tore the stake out of her hand, his arm wrapped tightly around her neck.

“Alright, princess, and who the hell do you think you are?” Reaching forward, he grasped for her headgear but her body suddenly glowed a bright white. Almost immediately, it was his turn to howl in agony. Quickly, Spike whipped his arm off of her neck and backed away in anger, “You want to see magic, you bloody wench? I’ve got some of the blackest magic you’ll ever see.” His eyes glowed a bright yellow.

“You want a fight? Fight me.” Angel’s voice rumbled from behind.

Spinning, Spike found himself directly between Angel and this newcomer, alone, and distinctly outnumbered. His companions could be accounted for by numbering the piles of dust around him. Slowly, the yellow light in his eyes faded to be replaced by an arrogant smirk. “Watch your back, luv,” he spat softly. And with that, he retreated into the night.

“Are you alrig-,” Angel started only to find himself staring at the rapidly retreating back of the girl who had saved him, “No! Wait!” he called, running after her.

Chasing her for a few blocks, after running between alleys and long, winding streets, he finally managed to catch up with her only to find himself in front of his own apartment.

“Wh-who are you?” he managed to stammer after a few moments of awed silence.

“It’s almost dawn. Get inside. Don’t patrol alone anymore. Not safe.” Came the hissed response.

Although he could swear that there was something vaguely familiar about her-perhaps it was her scent-she was gone before he could even respond. Erupting into a fiery mass of sparkles, she vanished into thin air.

Staring into the darkness for a few moments he slowly shook his head. < Nope, not boring. Not boring at all. >

Two hours later, Willow Rosenberg awoke from a trance-like state with a start. She found herself sitting in front of her mirror in her bedroom, dressed in her pale lavender nightgown.

Facing her tired reflection, she gingerly ran her fingers through her hair to sooth the messy red strands that stuck out angrily from all sides. Flinching slightly, she looked down at her palm, only to find it torn and blistered.

Trembling, Willow turned slowly and glanced at her alarm clock, trying to hold back her gasp of horror as she gazed at the red numbers proclaiming the time.

One week.

Seven nights.

Each night, she had woken up to find herself in the exact same position at the exact same time.

Each night, she had been plagued by only the vaguest memories of where she’d been or what she’d done.

Each night, she’d prayed that the few scraps of memories she retained were really just dreams.

Her eyes filled with tears as she rose quietly so as not to disturb her parents. Clutching her injured hand, she slowly made her way into the bathroom.

She bit back the painful sobs that rose in the back of her throat as her salty tears splashed down upon the raw blistered skin of her palm.

She now had proof.

This was no dream.

Outside, a lone man stood inconspicuously across the street, staring up at a teenage girl’s window.

Lighting another cigar, he calmly dragged on it while tugging the worn fedora on his head further down over his eyes.

He waited until her light went out and the sun had risen fully into the sky before he walked away, whistling softly into the retreating darkness.




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