TITLE: Strangers.

AUTHOR: Amanda Wallace

EMAIL: Talkative_alien_4000@yahoo.com

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing!!!

FEEDBACK: Any comments welcome!

SUMMARY:  Okay, set in an Alternate Universe, Buffy's just moved to New York, unaware of Vamps, her calling etc. She meets Angel. He's not a Vamp. but he's definitely something!

NOTES: You might think the characters aren't totally in character, but bear in mind Buffy isn't the Slayer yet, and Angel isn't a vamp, so he's gonna have a little sense of humour. And the whole point is that they *aren't* totally in character, or else they'd be nothing but 'woe is me's' 'lets sleep with spike' and other freaky things. And yes, it starts of in a weird place, but flash backs do exist, and they will be used later on to explain a couple of things.

DISTRIBUTION: Want. Take. Have. Just let me know where it's goin. (if anywhere, lol)

Buffy's gaze swept towards a corner, where, amidst the shadows stood a dark figure. She knew instinctively that it was her stranger, the man who had rescued her from the awkward scene earlier. She winced at the memory but forced a bright smile. The least she could do was go over and say hi, she reasoned calmly. It surprised her that he was stood alone, although she was far from oblivious to the heated gazes several females sent his way. Did he have someone waiting for him at home? A wife, perhaps?

As if acknowledging her presence, he quirked a dark eyebrow and a ghost of a smile played at the corner of his lips. Her breath caught and much to her dismay she found herself wondering what his full smile would do to her. Stealing much-needed confidence she rose from her seat and moved towards him, praying she didn't look as flustered as she felt.
  

"Hey," she said cheerfully, her eyes carefully avoiding his. If anything were going to betray her, it would be her eyes. Her friends used to tell her those eyes made her an open book, and since then she'd tried to hide much more of her emotions.
  

"Hey." The greeting wasn't exactly warm, but his expression was gentle, and his deep voice strangely
soothing.
  

"So. I just thought. you know, I'd come thank you again for this afternoon." She knew her cheeks were red; couldn't she play it cool? She'd certainly never had this problem with guys before, if anything she'd been told she was *too* cold.
  

"Don't mention it," he assured her swiftly.
  

"Right. Well, do you have a name? I mean, so far all I know is that. well, nothing really." She laughed weakly; silently praying the floor would just swallow her up.
  

"Angel." His eyes twinkled with faint amusement, as if waiting for her reaction.
  

"Angel? Is that your real name?" She couldn't help
it, but she immediately regretted it when his eyes darkened in response and his jaw set firmly.
  

"It's the name I go by."
  

His mood changed almost abruptly and a crooked grin was replacing the grim expression. "Can I get you adrink?"
  

Too bemused by his sudden warmth she found herself nodding, a small part of her registering just how much she felt like she was falling helplessly under a spell woven by this man. His hand gently resting on the crook of her arm he guided her towards a side bar, his body easing through the dense crowds gracefully and paving a path for her.
  

"Do you. do you come here often?" she found herself asking in attempt to start conversation after he'd offered her a seat.
  

"No," he told her bluntly. "I came because of you."
  

She blinked, trying to register exactly what that meant. "You followed me here?"
  

He quirked an eyebrow again and tilted his head, regarding her in amusement.
   

"How else would I have known you'd be here? I'm not a mind reader, Miss Summers."
  

Alarm found its way into her system when she realised he knew her name. She'd never told him that.
  

"Excuse me," she said tightly, moving to rise.
  

"Don't be alarmed," he murmured. "I won't hurt you."
  

"You know my name, you followed me here." her eyes narrowed, the dark man before her suddenly seeming so much larger, so much more a predator. "Stalking really isn't a good way to get a girl's attention."
  

"I have yours," he pointed out in amusement, and she found herself relaxing slightly. He was playing with her, teasing. What could he do to her in this crowded club? She was safe here and he was right, he intrigued her.
  

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice surprisingly calm.
  

He leant back against his chair, studying her intently for what felt like hours. It seemed he finally came to a decision, because that amused smile returned to his lips and he shrugged. "You're new here. In the City, I mean."
  

"Yes." She shifted uncomfortably. What was she doing? Why was she admitting to *that*? Why hadn't she told him she was living with friends or something? Why let him know she was very, very isolated?
  

"Where are you staying?" He asked keenly.
  

She straightened and stiffened. "You must think me a fool if you imagine I'm about to tell you."
  

He laughed softly, as if her response had pleased him. "Good, you have more sense then most."
  

"Meaning?" She demanded.
   

He continued to regard her with amusement. "Come now. You would have told me, perhaps, if I bought you a drink, pretended to be your friend, told you about myself?"
  

She shifted uncomfortably, unable to deny the ring of truth in his words. "Then it seems you went about things the wrong way."
   

"No no," he assured her with amusement. "I already know where you're staying."
   

She took a sharp intake of breath and found herself asking shakily for the second time, "What do you want?"
  

"I want to help you." He told her, suddenly extremely serious.
  

"Help me?" She echoed, feeling a sudden urge to laugh at the madness of this conversation. "Look, you helped me this afternoon, and I really am very grateful, but-"
  

"You'll need every friend you can get." He warned her darkly.
  

"Is that what you are? A friend?"
  

He shrugged. "If you'll let me be. I'm certainly not your enemy." He flashed her another smile and Buffy caught a glimmer of white teeth. Dam him!
   

"Don't you have a wife, or family to go home to?" She asked coolly.
   

"No," he replied flatly.
   

"Don't they live in New York?" She asked, finding herself sincerely curious. "My parents don't either,' she hastened to add in gentle coaxing.
  

He eyes left her for the first time that night, roaming the crowded dance floor carefully. "I don't have a family." He told her calmly, almost absentmindedly. "They're dead."
   

She blinked, instantly feeling awful for asking such a question and causing him pain. She *had* seen the brief flash of anguish, thought it had been swiftly and well concealed.
   

"Oh! I'm sorr-"
   

"Let's go some place else to talk," he said suddenly, his tone sharp and commanding, and Buffy knew this was an order, not a request.
   

Every rational part of her brain screamed against such an idea, but strangely enough she found herself agreeing, her heart unexplainably trusting the stranger before her. And he *was* a stranger, for all intent and purposes.
    

"Where are we going?" she asked warily, but he didn't give her the opportunity to ask any further questions because he was grabbing her hand, entwining it with his and pulling her towards the exit. By the time they emerged into the sooty night air Buffy found herself breathless.
   

"Angel, what's wrong?"
   

He spun around to look at her, and Buffy blinked at his expression. Was it the question or her use of his first name- not that he'd offered her his second- that caused an eager light to shine from his eyes?
  

"You felt it, didn't you?" he demanded.
  

"Felt it?" She echoed, not sure what *it* was supposed to be but instinctively knowing something was wrong.
  

"Come on," he urged anxiously, his body ushering hers onwards through the empty New York streets at an unrelenting, rapid pace, his whole body seemingly attuned to listening for something. What that something was, Buffy hadn't the faintest idea, and felt once again her wariness of this man rise to the surface.
   

He looked like a man from another world, another time. His charcoal black shirt and pants were as dark as his eyes and only the warmth of his fingers clenched around hers reminded her that he was real, that he wasn't a marble carving of a Greek God or something as equally powerful.
   

She frowned when she realised what she'd been thinking and for the first time was thankful of the blanket of darkness surrounding them, concealing her deep blush.
  

Suddenly he was pulling her swiftly into an alley at a sharp angle, one she wouldn't have even noticed existed had he not guided her into it, and minutes later she found herself stood before an old building. She didn't even want to hazard a guess at its stability.
   

As if reading her thoughts he grinned slightly and released her hand. "Don't worry, I'm sure it will remain standing for a few more months at least."
   

She returned his grin with a small, apprehensive smile of her own and followed him into the darkness of what she guessed to be his corridor. It struck her as more of a lair, if such things really existed, or perhaps the backdrop for a scary movie.
   

"You won't find any bodies in my closet, Miss Summers," he assured her as he moved them both into the lounge. "Feel free to check, but I generally stash them away in the basement."
   

Buffy smiled to herself at his humour beforebecoming serious. "What am I doing here?" She raised her head determinedly and met his eyes, suddenly experiencing a surge of exhilarating confidence.
   

'I told you, you'll need every help you can get, and there are several things you need to be aware of. I seem to be the one left to inform you.'
  

"Something tells me we're not talking about how to handle job interviews, or awkward Landlords."
  

"Tonight there is not the time or the means to explain everything, but there is one thing I must make you realise now. You have a strength you're not even aware you posses, and until you realise this it will be of no use to you." He was stood staring at her so calmly, so casually that Buffy couldn't help but laugh slightly.
  

"I think you've got me mixed up with someone else."

She doubted he was on any medication, in fact he looked healthier and more in control of himself- and his life- then any other person she'd ever come across, but then there was always the possibility that this was all a dream.
   

Before she knew what was happening he was lunging towards her, his momentum carrying them both hard into the wall. Somehow she just *knew* what to do, without needing to stop and think, and her arm was moving with speed that startled her to block his attack.
   

They stood there frozen; his hard body pinning her tightly up against the wall and her breath quickly dissolved into shallow gasps, none of which having anything to do with the surprise attack and everything to do with his body pressed up against hers.
   

"You see, Miss Summers," he told her silkily, his chest unyielding, refusing to let her go unless she were to use force, "if you wished you could have me sprawled flat on the floor right this moment, a gun to my head, a blade to my neck, a spear through my heart."
   

His words echoed around her and all she could do was stare.
  

"But I'm a good judge of character, Buffy."
   

His use of her first name snapped her out of her trance and she jerked free from him.
  

"I trust you," he continued levelly, "Because you may not know who you are, but rest assured I do."

Buffy awoke feeling very disorientated, for a brief moment having no idea where she was. And then it all came sweeping back to her; her strangers help, his appearance at the club, his startling revelation that she did indeed posses a strength she hadn't been aware of.  She frowned upon remembering his insistence that she shouldn't return to her apartment so late at night, leading to her reluctant agreement to stay at his place. On the sofa.
   

The daybreak brought her no more answers then the night had, much to her disappointment. She'd tried to question him last night, but his jaw had only sharpened and his eyes hooded over, allowing no opportunity for her to search for any answers in their chocolate depths. In the end frustration and annoyance had over-ridden curiosity and she'd resigned to waiting for the new day before pushing him again. Oh, but she would push, she vowed to herself. She wanted answers, and she was going to get them. She hadn't stayed at his apartment for nothing.
   

The fact that she'd spent the night with him- in a figure of speech- was enough to send a hot blush to her cheeks, not that it was really a big deal, she repeated firmly. At least not for him, she suspected. The connection and attraction between them was undeniable, or at least on her part, but he had been the perfect gentleman, even if he hadn't given her his bed and offered to take the sofa himself. She reasoned she probably wouldn't want a stranger to have *her* bed, and that was really the only thing they were to each other: strangers. Even if he did keep dropping annoyingly cryptic hints that he knew more about her
then she did!
  

A small unbidden tingle rode up her spine as she recalled the closeness of his body as he had pinned her up against the wall, his lips so close to her skin she could have sworn she felt little puffs of breath. She had almost wanted him to kiss her. Almost. Common sense had at least won out in that department. An entanglement with a man was something she could do
without on her first week in a new city. Especially this man, she reminded herself, because she got the impression that if she were to fall, it would be a long, long way to the ground.
   

She was brought out of her reverie by the sound of a brief knock followed by the opening of the sitting room door, emitting a dark figure clad in much the same black attire as the night-before. Angel.
   

Suddenly extremely self-conscious of her rumpled outfit- the one she'd had no choice but to sleep in- she jumped up and hastily attempted to straighten out her hair and clothing. She wished there were mirrors around for her to check her appearance in, but it was a bit late now.
 

"'Are you hungry?"
  

She was caught off guard by his sudden question but nodded anyway, not sure what to say. She hadn't had many- or if she were to be honest *any*- experiences when it came to sharing morning breakfast with a man.
  

Angel, however, didn't seem to be at all uncomfortable with their situation. "Good. That makes two of us. I'll make us some breakfast. Tea? Coffee?"
  

"Coffee, please; black, no sugar."
  

Her request brought a slight smile to his lips and he nodded, motioning for her to follow him into the kitchen.
  

"You haven't an appointment to keep? No one you need to call to explain your absence last night?" Angel enquired lightly as he set about preparing everything, leaving Buffy with only one option. Sitting down at the table.
  

"No," she assured him, her voice containing a wistfulness Angel noticed immediately.
  

"It gets easier," he told her gently, and she smiled slightly in response.
  

"You don't really strike me as a person who likes a lot of people around."
  

"I don't." He agreed.
  

She bit her lip unconsciously. "If I'm intruding-"
  

'You're different."
  

Her heart leapt at his words but it sank just as quickly. He didn't mean anything by that, she reminded herself. He probably thinks you're just a stupid naïve person he's been burdened with. Although *he* had come to *her*.
   

"Eat."
   

A delicious selection of food was suddenly placed before her and her eyes widened. "You can cook!"
  

"Of course I can," he responded with dry amusement, "or I wouldn't have offered to make breakfast."
  

They ate in silence for a while; Buffy relieved to have an excuse not to broach the topic of needing answers. There was something very intimate and peaceful in eating breakfast with him that made her reluctant to break the atmosphere with questions. When at last all the food had been eaten she swallowed hard and readied herself from 'answer time'.
  

"Angel. I need answers. One minute I was just starting out in a new city, and next I find myself waking up in your. your apartment."
  

"It's not actually mine, it's a friend. He owed me a favour," Angel informed her.
  

"Oh. Then where do you live?"
  

He shrugged. "Around."
  

"Around? As in on the streets?" She couldn't help herself, although she really doubted he was homeless, not judging by his attire. Or his attitude.
  

"No." He smiled slightly, as if following her trail of thought. "I'm not homeless, but until I've explained certain things to you I didn't think it would be a good idea for you to see where I live."
  

She frowned slightly. He just calmly assumed she'd be seeing him again! "Excuse me, but-"
 

"You wanted answers," he continued, swiftly changing the topic before she had a chance to express her annoyance.
  

"Yes." She agreed, curiosity grudgingly allowing him to steer the conversation.
  

"You'll need an open mind," he warned her.
  

She shrugged. "Try me."
  

After a brief silence he nodded slightly in agreement. "Okay. Are you familiar with legends?"
  

She frowned. "Legends? What kinda legends?"
 

"Dark ones."
  

She laughed uneasily. "You mean ghouls and ghosts?"
  

Angel didn't smile at her attempted humour, instead his dark eyes fixed intently on her and he nodded curtly.  "Of sorts. Are you familiar with vampires?"
  

She choked on her coffee. "Vampires? You mean, blood sucking, Anne Rice type vampires? Right, okay. I get it. This is a weird joke, right? You're going to tell me they exist."
  

"You know they do."
  

"I know nothing!" she snapped, suddenly desperate to be anywhere but here. Was this man crazy?
  

"You felt it last night," Angel replied calmly.
  

"Don't tell me what I know or felt!" Buffy felt hysteria rising unexplainably. It was like being aware you're in a bad dream, but no matter how hard you try, waking up is just not an option. It was all craziness. And so was this man.
  

Angel sat back and turned to glance out side of the open widow. "Your reaction isn't quite what I had expected-"
  

"Of course it's not!" she snapped angrily. "I was such a fool yesterday, allowing you to bring me here. It's only natural you should assume I'd believe this lie-"
  

"You have nothing to fear from me," he assured her, his expression almost one of hurt.
  

"Oh, so I should just *trust* you?"
  

"I didn't say that either," he replied sharply. "Trust is a dangerous thing, not something to be treated or exercised lightly."
  

"Well thank you for the lecture, but rest assured I'm not planning to start trusting or believing you if you paid me one million-"
  

"I'm not offering you money," he snarled, and before she had a chance to blink he was rising from his chair and jerking her up, pulling her tightly against him. "I didn't ask to be the one to tell you all this; as you pointed out, I'm not a people person, Miss Summers, but I'm not about to shrink from my duty."
  

She stared at his hardened features for a long moment, the naked anger and frustration flashing in his eyes, an unexplainably she found herself relaxing slightly. There was something about him. She wouldn't have believed such ludicrous tales from anyone else, and she wasn't even sure if she believed *him*, but a part of her acknowledged the evidence written all over his face, almost like invisible scars and memories something inside of her couldn't help but be aware of.
 

"Why are you telling me all these." she fumbled over her choice of words, silently praying for him to release her.
  

"Tales?" He supplied mockingly as he stepped back from her.
  

"Yes," she said almost desperately. "Why?"
  

"Because you need to know," he replied simply.
  

He seemed to take pity on her then, because his eyes softened and he grasped her hand, pulling her towards the door. "Come on, I'll show you."
   

"Show me?" she echoed faintly, a small part of her aware she must be crazy to follow him out of the apartment, although on the other hand, staying *inside* alone with him could potentially be much more dangerous.
  

"Show me what? Vampires?" She sneered slightly, her confidence returning in the face of the open air and sun. "I thought they couldn't come out in the light?"
  

"They can't," he replied through gritted teeth, and she knew she was pushing his tolerance. "But there are other kinds of daemons, ones which *can* abide the sun."
  

"Are you always like this?" She demanded, pushing aside for a moment the topic at hand. She'd deal with that- probably with hysterical laughter- later.
  

He halted and turned to face her with narrowed eyes. "Like what?"
  

She shrugged slightly. "Like *this*. Cold."
 

Angel chose not to answer her comment but he did relax slightly, the muscles on his face slackening in a faint, apologetic smile, and Buffy found herself realising he could probably succeed in charming the entire world if he chose to smile like that and laugh.
 

"I don't have much experience in," he paused, searching for the right words, "dealing with people."
  

A part of her was dying to ask just what he did have experience in dealing with, but she wasn't sure she really wanted the answer. No, she decided thoughtfully, he might like solitude, but she was certain he wasn't as clueless about people and human nature as he made out to be. His eyes were sharp and shrewd, and Buffy had no doubt his solitude was out of his own choice.
  

"Where are we going?" She questioned, trying to clear her thoughts.
  

"To see a friend of mine. I understand that this is hard to accept and I thought maybe it would be easier for you to have proof."
  

"Your friend's a daemon?" Buffy asked in disbelief.
  

Angel laughed mirthlessly. "Yes, but the good kind. There aren't many like him around."
  

"Is this friend the one who owns the apartment?"
 

"Do you ever stop asking questions?"
  

Buffy shrugged slightly. "Not when you drop this ridiculous bombshell on me. And I still don't see what it has to do with me, even if what you say is true."
  

"I'll explain why it's relevant to you later, first you need to believe me- and in order to do that you need to know what it is you're believing in."
  

"You're impossible," Buffy found herself muttering, only to have her irritation grow at the sight of the corners of Angel's lips tugging into an amused smile. "And I am *not* going to meet your friend until you explain what part I play in all this. We've both establish I seem to have." she shrugged uncomfortably, "unusual. strength. What's all that about?"
  

"I'll explain it all to you, but first I need to-"
  

"Yeah, I have to know other stuff, yada yada. But I am not-" she paused abruptly as something suddenly occurred to her. "What's your last name?"
  

Angel looked rather surprised at her sudden change of topic and Buffy realised he was probably beginning to think she was mentally unstable or something. Good, she decided rebelliously. Maybe then he'd get freaked out by *her* and leave. Not that he really seemed to be the type of guy who ran away from much, Buffy observed gloomily.
  

"People call me Angel." An echo of his answer the previous night in the night club, Buffy realised.
  

She recognised that sharpening of his jaw at once as a sign that he was once again on his guard, and it shook her when she realised just how susceptible she was to this man's attitudes. It wasn't as if she'd deliberately set out to observe and make notes or anything.
  

"You said your friend is a. good daemon," Buffy said slowly, more to herself then Angel. Getting her head around the idea of daemons was hard enough, but the concept of *good* ones? It sounded like something ridiculous out of a fairy tale or dream. "What does that make you?"
  

"If you're asking where I stand," he paused, his mouth suddenly setting in a grim line, his eyes flashing her a self-mocking glance, "then I fight against evil."
  

Buffy got the underlying message clearly. He might fight against evil, but it didn't make him good. And for some absurd reason she found herself wanting to say something in his defence.
  

The rest of their journey was made in tense silence, Buffy following Angel though streets that looked just as foreign to her as they had night before, her anxiety and wariness growing with every step and road crossing they took.
  

"We're almost there," the man beside her announced softly, and without thinking she halted abruptly, her hands moving to fold protectively around herself.
  

"No, dammit," She flared up suddenly before she had a chance to think twice. "You drop this bomb-shell on me, you ask- demand- me to believe you, and yet refuse to give me answers! I am not walking in there to see you 'friend' without being-"
  

"Armed? Prepared?" He finished softly, and when Buffy risked a glance at him she was startled to find herself facing not his anger, but instead his amusement and approval, his eyes sparkling in much the same manner that they had outside the night club, after he had asked her whether she could 'feel it' in the air.
  

"You're a fighter," he murmured softly, more to himself then the girl before him. "I had thought perhaps they had got it wrong. but now I am assured that they haven't."
  

"Who's *they*?" Buffy demanded in frustration, groaning and setting off after him as he continued towards what looked to be an office-cum-apartment without a second glance behind him.
  

"Come inside, Miss Summers, and no doubt all will be revealed."
   

Whatever Buffy had been expecting of Angel's 'friend', it had not been a perfectly normal looking guy. well, with the exception of his odd choice of clothes, and for the shortest of moments Buffy found herself wondering once again if this were a dream, or
a joke. And strangely enough she wasn't sure if she still wanted it to be either of those things.
  

She also found that her body would not move too far from Angel's, even after the funny clothed man had ushered them into what she couldn't decided to be an office or a living room- perhaps a combination of both- and asked if they wanted anything to drink.
   

"Just water," Buffy murmured warily, and wasn't surprised when Angel declined from having anything. She could almost believe the guy ran on mega batteries and nothing more.
   

As the man retreated into the kitchen Angel informed her in a low tone from his seat next to her that their host was called 'Whistler', and Buffy had to bite back the urge to ask where the hell *that* nickname had come from. At least she hoped it was a nickname.
   

She shuddered slightly but forced a calm, nonchalant expression onto her face upon his return. She was *not* about to let him know how freaked she was.
  

"So, this is her?" Whistler spoke up cheerfully, chuckling softly in amusement as he handed her a large glass of water.
    

Buffy did *not* like the silent, unreadable message his eyes sent to Angel.
  

"You know, I'd really appreciate it if you'd manage not to talk about me as if I'm not really here, if your intelligence can handle such a concept," Buffy quipped up with false sweetness, ignoring the warning look Angel shot her way. She also missed the look of amusement and reluctant admiration that gradually replaced it.
  

Whistler's scrutinizing gaze swivelled back to her from his place opposite on the sofa and his lips lifted at the corners into a small, amused grin that Buffy found annoyingly patronizing.
  

"They've decided you're to be her mentor," He continued casually, his words directed at Angel but his eyes still studying Buffy, an eyebrow quirking challengingly, daring her to call him on his use of
'her' again.
  

Buffy bit her lip to force back a nasty reply and glanced across at Angel just in time to see his head rear back as if someone had punched him.
  

"Her Watcher? Absolutely not," Angel hissed, his eyes narrowing angrily on Whistler.
  

Buffy blinked in surprise and opted to stay silent for the moment, dying to know what next would be said.
 

"The only other guy we've got as a possibility is a council guy." He paused for moment, staring at Angel significantly, as if that single sentence had said it all. "He's 60, going on 90." Whistler grimaced and glanced over at the blonde haired girl before them, now stood up with her hands on her hips, blue eyes flashing vividly. "You think he could honestly cope with her? She's a spitfire, if ever I saw one. You'll be perfect for each other."
  

Buffy's mouth fell open in stunned disbelief and anger. the nerve of him! She was in the midst of deciding between attacking him verbally or physically, possibly both, when the suddenly serious expression on his face halted her words.
  

"You're one of the best warriors out there, Angel, and you know it. You've got experience, skill," he paused, stretching out his finger and ticking them off one by one with his other hand like a check list. "You know the darkness as well as you know the light. if not better, perhaps. And she'll need someone like that to teach her. It's not going to be easy. She's going to have it harder then any of them before her. She'llneed you."
  

Whistler's eyes moved to lock with Buffy's then, and in those depths she found no traces of jest or teasing, only sympathy, and a deep sorrow she couldn't comprehend. Uncomfortably she shifted and turned to study Angel, unable to gauge his reaction either.
  

"Think it over." Whistler advised, "and I think I'll leave it to you to explain how ever much you deem necessary to Miss Spitfire."
   

Unexplainably Buffy didn't feel like protesting this time. The look on Angel's face. the sudden pale colouring beneath his light tan and the ghosts in his eyes shook her thoroughly. He looked as if he'd just been sentenced to death, or something he feared greatly.
   

It was in silence that Angel led her out of Whistler's apartment, his hand liked loosely through hers subconsciously, and Buffy was loath to point it out to him, even though their contact insisted on sending continuous jabs of lightening down her spine. He looked so deeply in thought she half feared he'd walk into the middle of the road without stopping, right into on-coming traffic, but shortly discovered she should have known better. Distracted he might have appeared to be, but his sensors were still alert and razor sharp, as Buffy realised when *he* was the one to yank *her* out of the way of a taxi swerving off the road and onto the pavement just in inches from them. Buffy winced, hoping the driver wasn't hurt, but Angel simply continued forward, not pausing once except to glance around warily.
   

"Come on," he murmured hastily, "there are creatures who know who you are, already."
  

Buffy shivered slightly at his words, wondering if he had been implying that that driving had not been an accident, but she forced her thoughts back further, refusing to get all panicky before he'd at least explained who she was. Suddenly the need for that knowledge seemed to grow in urgency, but for an entirely different reason then earlier.
  

She was startled when Angel stopped outside a parkland area and guided her inside, pausing to glance around before leading her over to a wooden, beautifully carved out bench, secluded but open enough to make sure a surprise attack was not a possibility.
   

"Are you going to explain things to me now?" She questioned finally, forcing her tone to sound light and easy. What ghosts he carried with him, she knew not, but a part of her buried deep inside acknowledged that she'd do anything in her power to help ease it. And demanding answers he seemed so uncertain he was the person to give to her was not the way to go about it.
    

"You're what's known as a Slayer," he began finally, his eyes gazing over their surroundings distantly, not really seeing anything right in front of him, but instead remembering something that felt so much more real.
  

"A Slayer," Buffy echoed softly to herself, as if trying it out for size.
  

"One girl is chosen and called after the previous." he paused before finishing carefully but honestly, "after the previous one dies."
   

"Okay," Buffy said slowly, "so what does a Slayer do?"
  

Angel laughed softly, allowing himself to see the small humor amidst such a serious discussion. "She
slays. She patrols and she fights; daemons, vampires, and anything else that the night creates."
  

Buffy stayed silent, playing absentmindedly with her hands and trying hopelessly to absorb everything he was telling her.
   

"She has a Watcher, a mentor. Someone who is supposed to guide her, and fight with her."
  

"And Whistler wants it to be you." Buffy stated quietly, her words holding no question within them.
  

"Right." Angel nodded grimly.
  

"And you don't want to," she swallowed hard, "you don't want to be my Watcher."
  

He turned pained eyes to meet hers, and shook his head helplessly. "Buffy, I'm. I'm not the right guy to do it. I'd fail you. Believe me, I would."
  

She pursed her lips, forcing back the feeling of hurt abandonment that threatened to overwhelm her. "Can I ask why?"
   

He shook his head slightly in frustration. "I can't. it's a long story, and not one I want to talk about."
  

"Fine. So lumber me with a guy going on 90. See if I care. I bet he wouldn't act so cryptic all the time."
  

"Buffy, it's not like that," he murmured softly. "Please, I don't-"
  

She stood shakily. "I really need some time to think, okay? To deal."
  

He frowned slightly. "Even in the daylight . I don't want you going off alone, not before I've taught you to fight properly. It's not safe. Your identity's not unknown anymore. They'll have seen you with me, they'll be able to feel your power."
  

Buffy sighed softly, realising he was unaware of the fact that he'd assumed *he'd* be the one to teach her to fight. What about this 90-year-old guy?
  

"Fine," she compromised, forcing herself to sound normal and cheerful. "I'll keep to the park. But no following me, understand?" She added firmly. "And I'll meet you back here in about an hour."
  

Dark eyes narrowed, and Buffy could tell his was battling with himself. "Fine," He agreed reluctantly, "but you either take this, or you don't go at all."
  

Buffy watched in amazement as he took out a well-concealed stake from inside his jacket pocket and offered it to her.
  

"It can kill more then vampires," he informed her with a crooked smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "If you come across trouble, run. And if that fails, plunge this through their heart."  He ignored Buffy's wince. "It's their life or yours. Always remember that. And not all daemons have scaly skin."
  

"I know," Buffy agreed wryly, an image of Whistler entering her head. "Some of them just dress funny."
 

Angel handed her the stake, and Buffy accepted in tentatively, feeling a small thrill mingled in with an unexplainable adrenaline rush at just how right and natural it felt to be holding it. Did she really have the ability to kill these guys? Angel seemed to think she did.
  

"One hour." He repeated sternly as she moved away, unable to see the crossing of her fingers or the saddened smile.
   

"Sure."

Buffy stood cautiously by the roadside as cars whizzed past at alarming speeds; her eyes fixed on the building opposite, a slight tinge of triumph surging through her veins at her success in reaching her apartment untroubled and unnoticed.
   

A glance at her watch informed her half an hour had past since her departure from Angel and she sighed inwardly with relief. He wouldn't be looking for her yet and he hadn't followed her- she'd been careful to make sure of that. She had time- just- to grab a change of clothes and some money, and then. Buffy sighed inwardly, unsure as to what then, adamant only in her decision that Angel was *not* going to find her. Not until she was ready.
   

She needed some alone time, and an hour in the same park as Angel did not constitute as such, whether it was safer or not. He'd find her, she had no delusions otherwise, but right now she had to deal. without him breathing down her neck. It crossed Buffy's mind that perhaps, subconsciously, this was also her way of offering him an out to a job and situation he clearly didn't want.
   

Forcing her attention onto the now cross-able road she set off determinedly, pushing her wounded thoughts aside. Once inside her apartment she changed hurriedly, donning a hat and long coat- not so odd for the winter month of November- and studied her reflection critically in the mirror for a moment, satisfied that her appearance and clothes created as nondescript effect as possible. Buffy smiled slightly to herself. He'd be looking for a white top and light pants. Not this. Definitely not this.
  

Scrambling to gather a fist full of notes, stuffing them in her pocket clumsily, she left, glancing left and right as she did so, half expecting to find Angel waiting for her in the corridor, hidden by the shadows.
  

Her confidence soared in the face of the weak sun and mass of bodies making their way along the sidewalk and, humming softly to herself and grinning, she allowed the crush of bodies to envelop and sweep her forwards, not knowing where the path she'd chosen would take her but equally determined not to shy away from it. She needed to find somewhere quiet and empty
to sit and think. And it had to be as far away from her apartment as possible.
  

Half an hour passed before her brisk walk slowed to an amble and her eyes began to seriously take in her surroundings, searching for someplace quiet to turn into. She found what she was looking for- a quite, almost deserted coffee shop- just one block on, and silently thanking whoever had built it, went inside.

  

How many minutes, hours, seconds, past as she sat with her cold coffee Buffy did not know, but when the last rays of light began to fade, and the moon put in her first appearance of the night Buffy forced herself to snap out of her troubled thoughts, which had grown in her confusion, not lessened.
   

Night would soon be replacing the day, and for the first time she found herself really considering the wisdom of her actions. There was absolutely no way she would be able to make it back to her apartment before night set in fully, and a shiver ran through her, unbidden, at the prospect of walking unfamiliar streets in the dark. A darkness she now knew a lot more about then she wished.
  

"You okay, miss?" A burley, friendly looking man, perhaps about fifty, enquired kindly as he approached her table, a note pad clutched loosely in hand. "Can I get you another coffee?"
  

Buffy forced a smile onto her features. "Thanks, but no. I've got to be going."
  

He glanced out at the setting sun. "Perhaps you'd better get a taxi, Miss. Ain't sensible to be wonderin' the streets so late, 'specially not for a lady."
  

Buffy forced down a mirthless laugh and instead shook her head. "I can take care of myself," she assured him firmly. At least I hope I can, she added silently.
   

"You wouldn't like a lift?" The man offered kindly.
  

Buffy stiffened slightly and sat up straighter, her hand moving to clasp her bag. "Thank you, but no." Struggling, she forced her tone to remain calm but firm. "I can manage. The coffee was great, though. How much do I owe you?"
 

The man scratched his head and frowned. "I don't rightly know, Ma'am," he admitted, and Buffy had the strangest suspicion he was stalling. "I've only just come on duty, you see. How many have you had?"
  

"Three." Buffy answered promptly, silently willing him to hurry up in his calculations. For every second that past the moon grew stronger, and the sun weaker.
   

"Perhaps I'd better check with the Boss-"
  

Impatiently Buffy stood and handed him a note. "This will cover it, keep the change, I've got to be going."
   

"Wait!" The man paused uncertainly, almost nervously. "Have another coffee. or a doughnut. Buffy, it ain't safe-"
  

Buffy's footsteps halted abruptly and a rush of familiar adrenaline washed over her. Slowly, deliberately, dangerously she turned around. "What did you call me?"
  

Immediately the man seemed to realise his mistake, because he took a tentative step forward and replied cautiously, "I said. er. I said-"
   

"I never told you my name." It was a soft murmur, directed more to herself then him. She tut-tutted softly, pretending to relax, before grasping his wrist in a lightening quick movement and reaching to check for a pulse. Relief flooded through her for the briefest of seconds when a steady, fast thud became apparent beneath her fingertips, before uncertainty began to set in. She turned wide, momentarily unguarded eyes to look up at the man in confusion.
   

"I'm human," He assured he hastily.
  

She took a deep breath before fixing hardened eyes on his. "I don't know how you know who I am," her voice was controlled and cold, "and neither do I care. Follow me, and you'll regret it." Her eyes issued a threat far worse then her words.
  

"You don't understand-"
  

Roughly Buffy released him. "I mean it."
  

And with that she was gone, the growing darkness swallowing her blonde hair and black coat, the door slamming shut behind her.
  

Hurriedly the man reached for the phone. "She's gone," He informed the recipient anxiously. "I tried to stall her, but she-" He trailed off silently, listening to the man on the other end issue a sharp order. "Very good, Sir. I'll put the word around."

Quickly Buffy crossed to the other side of the road and hurried onwards, her stake- or rather Angel's- tucked safely away in her jacket pocket. First on her list of priorities was to get back to her apartment, and as quickly as possible. For a while she was able to concentrate solely on navigating her way through the drab streets, silence reassuring her that no evil lurked near by, until a soft, barely audible cry rang out from somewhere within the darkness. Buffy halted, her survival instincts screaming out for her to continue forward, but a new instinct forcing her to stop. She cocked her head and listened, again hearing a faint cry, only louder this time, over to her left, emanating from a well-concealed alley she had yet to pass through.
  

"Oh well," She reasoned determinedly with a shrug, an flame of eager determination dancing in her blue eyes, her hair flipping over her shoulder and out of the way of her vision, "I've got to go down there anyway. It's not like I can just skip past it." Taking a deep breath her feet forced her body onwards and into the alleyway. *I'm not insane. I don't have a death wish. I'm not completely crazy. I don't need to seek mental help. I'm just. going to find out what's going on. And put a stop to it.*
   

"Looky who we have here. An after-course."
  

Buffy blinked and jerked around guardedly, searching to find an image to match the voice. She found it, after turning in a full circle, and for a moment she could only stare, motionless and horrified. Repulsed. It was a vampire that stood before her- her brain could register that much- but it's face. its face wasn't the image of exaggerated, almost humorous caricatures she'd seen in films and books. It was a disfigured mess, a dark and hungry predator, with amber eyes that Buffy could feel grasping and digging deep into her soul, willing her to fear, willing her to show her panic and let him revel in it.
  

"Slayer." Its voice was a hiss, deep and threatening, but in that moment something she'd only discovered she possessed merely hours ago came back to Buffy.
  

"That's right, I am. Thanks for the reminder. I'd almost forgotten."
  

And with a cold smile she yanked her stake out of its place in her pocket and thrust it forward swiftly into the creature stood before her, holding back no force or restraint in the process.
  

Wide, wild eyes upturned to look at her, before amusement replaced the swimming shock. "Close." It's mouth distorted into an ugly smile. "But no heart."
  

Buffy winced as he yanked out her stake without so much as a blink of an eye and growled softly.
  

"Opps. You can see how I managed to miss though,"

Buffy replied lightly, not even sure herself whether she was stalling or really just wanted to say something nasty to the vampire. "I mean, it's not exactly a working organ, is it? And hey, perhaps yours shrunk in your old age."
  

"Enough," The vampire cut her off, lunging forward with an eagerness that lacked calculation.
  

Buffy side stepped easily, surprised to find how simple it was to co-ordinate her movements, and just how much her body could rely solely on instinct for survival.
   

"You're not gonna give me my stake back, huh?"

Buffy asked off-handedly, allowing her eyes to leave her opponent for the briefest of seconds to sweep her surroundings, needing to find something. anything. The only thing she could think of was the wooden fence. and just as luck would have it the vampire was stood between herself and that.
    

Pretending to reach for her stake she leapt forward, feeling a surge of happy triumph when her opponent responded exactly as she had intended him to, grasping her coat by the lapels and swinging her further forwards, right into the fence.
  

A groan escaped her lips as she doubled over; one had clasping her stomach, the other reaching to yank off a rotten panel of wood from the fence.
  

"Prepare to die, Slayer."
  

A glance upwards found the vampire towering about her, possibly a metre separating them, if that. Buffy smiled sweetly.
  

"Then come and get me, honey."
  

She winced and bit back a further groan of pain the weight and full force of his body crashing down onto hers caused, but within seconds that weight was gone, a panel of wood placed securely into his heart without mistake this time.
  

Buffy continued to lie there on the cold ground, her breath coming in gasps, her eyes absorbing her empty, silent surroundings, and her mind repeatedly willing the pain in her abdomen to pass off. And gradually, when it diminished into a soft ache she forced herself onto her feet, staring at the ground unseeingly for countless moments. For what was there to see, other then a small, barely visible pile of dust? A dust no more visible to her now then the creature's body had been in life to any of the humans who walked the streets unaware. A fitting end,
somehow, Buffy decided grimly.
  

Looking up her vision met the exit to the alley, and exit that would take her back onto wide streets and the occasional brightly lit up building. And suddenly her fear, her anxiety, altered course. She no longer felt afraid for herself. She felt afraid for the couples ambling down the streets, laughing and joking with eyes that should be sweeping dark corners and shadows, not warmly lit shop windows and the lover hanging on their arm.
  

So this is what Angel has to deal with, she found herself realising. He has to deal with knowing, and not being able to warn everyone. He has to deal with just praying he'll be in the right place at the right time to save them in any way he can, just so long as they never know.
    

Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath she moved onwards into the lights, feeling predominately numb. Her body didn't even hurt anymore. A perk of being the Slayer? Or just the helpful aid of numb shock?
    

This time she didn't wince at every sound, or jump at every rustling wind. This time she just walked on, prepared but not panicked. Fifteen minutes and a lot of blocks later Buffy found herself stood at the entrance to the last alley she had to pass through in order to get back- unless she were planning to take a twenty minute detour, that was. And she simply stared ahead, knowing without needing to hear or see them that there were creatures waiting for her.
   

Silently cursing herself for not collecting her stake from her last encounter she moved forwards, hating feeling so weaponless, but determined none the less. There were no pieces of wood lying around here... but then again she knew where to find the
heart, this time.
   

She walked on slowly, her eyes sweeping for signs of the shadows she knew existed there, and almost felt relief when the first figure landed with a heavy thud behind her. At least now the not knowing part was over with.
 

Turning around slowly she straightened up, her mouth tightening into a thin, determined line.
  

"You know, ballet classes really would have worked in your advantage here." She told the woman before her, refusing to let herself once again be taken back by the repulsive sight she made.
 

The vampire blinked, as if taking a moment to let Buffy's words sink in, before grinning hungrily and rushing forwards. Buffy's fist came up easily to connect to the vampire's jaw, and it staggered back, confusion and surprise evident on its features. Clearly it didn't know who she was.
 

Buffy shrugged. Tough. Before she had a chance to advance and finish the vampire off, another figure emerged from the shadows, and with a sigh Buffy turned to face it.
 

"Ya know, I'm really tired, and I'm really pissed off-"
  

Her words died on her tongue, a sinking feeling of despair hitting her hard. Before her stood a vampire; her whole body screamed out with the knowledge. This was not a human, undoubtedly it wasn't. And yet it wore a human guise of big blue eyes and a soft, heart-shaped face, boy of perhaps eight. And Buffy could only stare, praying for some intervention, hoping desperately for anything that would take the decision of whether to kill it or not out of her hands. If only it would slip into it's demonic mask, just for a split second...
  

How long she stood there staring, Buffy didn't know, but it wasn't until cold, hard hands gripped her shoulders that her body kicked back into action, struggling and forcing her way out of the grasp of her capture.
   

Spinning around and stepping backwards her eyes widened at the amount of golden eyes fixated hungrily on her. How many were there? Ten? Twelve? Groaning, fully aware that this was *not* a good situation to be in, she took a further step back, searching around desperately for a weapon to use. Her eyes widened once again, then, when a figure in a dark black duster landed neatly in their midst, a stake in hand, dark eyes flashing.
  

"Angel!" Buffy breathed a sigh of relief, right before crumpling to the floor, the sound of a heavy object smashing against her skull and the cry of her name from the man in the black dusters lips the last sounds to be heard before all hell broke loose and the Slayer faded into unconsciousness.

Blue eyes struggled open to survey the four blank walls and high ceiling surrounding her, everything oddly dim and just slightly out of focus. Forcing her neck to angle sideways, her mind was slow to take in the drawn black curtains her eyes rested upon next, clearly the source for the darkness encasing the room.
 

Slowly, tentatively, Buffy tried to sit up, awareness that she was tucked neatly into what felt like a bed with a bundle of pillows behind her slowly dawning, but her body refused to obey her silent commands. Her bones felt like heavy lead weights and her head as though all the components of her brain had been knocked out and were now bouncing around freely inside her skull, hurting like hell.
   

"Lie still," A deep voice ordered from somewhere near the door, and through her pain Buffy recognised it.
  

"Angel?" Her voice sounded weak and raspy even to her own ears.
  

"Lie still," he instructed again, finally coming close enough to her so that he was within Buffy's line of vision. Anxious eyes were quick to take in his bruised left cheek and absorb that the right bore a sharp, nasty looking cut down the side reaching all the way to his jaw line, and she had to fight not to cry out in anxiety and protest at the injuries he bore. Injuries inflicted from protecting her, she remembered quite suddenly, her mind now jolted back to life.
   

"Are- are you okay?" She managed to get out, her eyes now searching out and locking with his. She didn't even want to have to think about what other, currently concealed injuries he might have sustained.
   

"I'm fine," he assured her gently, moving to sit beside her on the bed. "It looks worse then it is. You, however, are going to be bedridden for today at least-"
  

Buffy opened her mouth to protest, only to shut it at the silencing look Angel shot her way.
  

"Had you not been the Slayer." A distinct shudder coursed through him. "Your time in bed would be a hell of a lot longer, if you'd have managed to survive at all."
  

"Are you angry?" She queried tentatively, wincing until she realised it hurt to move the muscles in her face.
  

"I was." Angel replied evenly, a flash of something sweeping to the surface of dark eyes. "Very."
  

"I didn't mean to- I mean," She bit her lip. "I went to this coffee bar, but there was this waiter who knew who I was, and I-"
  

"That waiter," Angel cut in dryly, a small smile just barely concealed, "happens to be a very good friend of mine, whom I asked to look out for you and keep you there until I could reach you."
  

His revelation almost had her shooting up in bed, until strong hands about her shoulders forced her back down.
  

"But why? Why didn't he tell me he worked for you?"
  

"Would you have departed in any less of a hurry?" His tone was cynical.
  

"I suppose not." Buffy admitted softly, her eyes reverting to study the white walls again.
  

"From now on, we hunt together." Angel stated firmly. "*After* I've trained you to fight."
  

A small, unexplainable feeling of satisfied contentment began to seep through Buffy, and Angel's eyes narrowed suspiciously at her happy smile. Quickly she forced it back. For now she was too exhausted and relieved to push him on exactly what he had meant by his statement, happy to believe in everything it inadvertently promised rather then question it and have those promises retracted.
  

"I've got to go out for a while," He informed her, the wary look still hovering as a shadow in his eyes. "Whistler-"
 

Forgetting that her body was going to kill her for it, she shot up suddenly. "Where am I?"
  

"At Whistler's." he answered soothingly, his large hands busy urging her back down again. "His place was closest and one of the least likely places they'll think to look for you at."
  

She tried to suppress a shiver and smiled weakly instead. "Hey, a girl should get visitors when she's ill in bed."
  

Angel let the comment sail by as if he'd never even heard it. The way he was staring at her suddenly.
  

"You're going to be feeling better in a couple of hours, like new, if you will." The faintly mocking tone was back, the curious expression fading. "But be warned when I advise you not to get out of bed. You'll hate yourself for it in the morning."
  

Buffy could well believe it. She'd never known her body to be so traitorous, although arguably she'd never put it through a ringer quite like this one before. She rolled her eyes.
 

"Right. Fine. I'll just ring my bell like psychiatric patients do and Whistler will-" Blue eyes widened as her flow of words halted briefly. "I don't have one, do I? A bell, I mean-"
  

"No." Angel allowed a soft chuckled to escape. "Just yell. I'm sure you're capable of doing *that*." And before she could throw a pillow at his retreating backside he was gone with a smile lurking at corners of his mouth and a soft click of a shutting door.
  

He infuriated her beyond belief. He also did a damn sight more, she acknowledged crossly to herself. So he'd saved her life. That didn't mean his instructions had to be the be all and end all to everything. It wasn't like he couldn't be disobeyed. Still, she didn't relish the prospect of forcing her body out of bed.
  

Relishing that prospect came two hours later. Two hours of starting at the ceiling and walls alternatively, trying to sleep, and simultaneously trying desperately to block out the sound of Whistler's tuneless humming from the room next door. Didn't the guy know he was tone deaf? Buffy supposed not, and then immediately felt guilty for her thoughts. She was his guest, after all.
  

Inquisitive eyes drifted once more to the ancient desk fitted into the corner opposite her. Two hours had given her more then enough time to stare pensively at each and every object the room had on show, and for the first time an idea that the desk may contain a book, or possibly a magazine struck her.
  

Eloquent shoulders shrugged before wincing at the stab of pain. It was worth a try, if only in the name of retaining her sanity, and so slowly she eased herself out of bed and, after a careful course, sank gratefully onto the chair beside the desk. Hand's moved with deft speed to try the doors to the tiny compartments, suddenly eager to finish her search without being caught, and a relieved smile crossed her features when the first opened with no resistance and several papers fluttered out.
   

Pushing back the nagging sensation of guilt her eyes swept across the aged document and old-fashioned scrawl, with no intention of really *reading* them, just glancing to satisfy a curiosity.
  

But even the best laid plans can be sent adrift, and all intentions of merely skimming the document deserted Buffy as she absorbed the contents of the first few lines, the words seeping into her like a darkness, fine brows drawing together in confusion and interest.

~~'It's funny, really, the things a mind can remember, things you're not conscious of at the time but that never leave you afterwards. Like the silence behind the screams, things you shut your mind and ears to because you just can't deal with them, and know as sure as hell that you won't be able to later if you let them in to haunt.
  

You want an account? You want the contents of my memories poured onto paper to study like an old artifice or science equation that contains a hidden solution? I'll warn you now: mine won't.
 

Where shall I start? The place I was taken to? It was dark, and dank, and hollow. I remember that emptiness more then anything. More then the screams, even. A room inhabited by soulless creatures, pouring out malice and anger and death. what else could it be but empty and paralyzing? A pointless thing to plague me, really.'~~
 

Buffy's frown grew as the flow of words suddenly ended, the page torn and ripped half way down, the contents of it's brother- it's other half-, separated. Lost? Destroyed? Hurriedly she scrambled to flick through the remaining documents scattered across the desk, determined to find the second half of the message, to find answers to questions she did not understand. Who had written this?
  

Her hands stilled as her search revealed another document baring the same scrawled handwriting. Not the other half to the first sheet, Buffy realised in frustration, but it was something. Shooting a quick glance at the door behind her, she allowed the account to absorb her attention once again.

 ~~You know what they did then, and the choice I made.
 

You know I went to her, prepared to tell her, to lure her- the Council will have informed you of that much. But I bet you didn't know I found her painting her nails, humming softly to herself in tune to a song only she could hear. The expression on her face as she heard me enter. it was of an unchecked love and innocence so pure she seemed to me then, more then ever, to be almost a child still. She was never like the others, my Slayer. She was different, she was alive, and *real* and true.
   

Four years, Whistler. Four years she fought them all, and for four years she retained that beautiful, heart-wrenching core of untainted goodness. Have you ever had a hook wretched all the way from your abdomen to your heart? That's what it felt like, in the moment of my betrayal, my only consolation being my vow.
   

My vow that if they did not kill me then I would.'~~
 

The account ended as abruptly as the first one, but Buffy didn't notice. Her mind was spinning, her eyes and hands darting to find any further messages from the man with the scrawling handwriting.
   

She halted abruptly. Man? The account had revealed to her nothing of the hand that had written it, and yet she knew. It was as if this person had been writing to *her*, as if they had created the account for her soul and heart to read. Someone had poured out their soul, and her's had connected with it.
  

Carefully she re-read both letters. Slayer? There had been a Slayer involved? She turned over the remaining documents slowly, searching more thoroughly this time, her eyes narrowing when a faded photo fell from amongst the stack.
   

Flipping on a lamp switch to make out the faded black and white image, Buffy blinked in surprise at her discovery. The image was of a beautiful young woman smiling sweetly at the camera, a compelling mixture of intoxicating innocence and secretsconcealed behind playful eyes.
 

Flipping the photo over, Buffy's eyes widened further at the inscription on the back, written neatly and with obvious care;

~~ 'For my love, who against his insistence will always be my Angel,
       

Darla.' ~~
 

Seeing Angel's name between the old fashioned scrawl jerked Buffy back to life instantaneously. Angel? *Her* Angel? Buffy shook her head; a soft trembling gradually finding it's way into her system, an unwelcome feeling very much akin to dismay settling in her stomach. Was this woman's love meant for *her* Angel?
   

Buffy's mind worked furiously back over events. Angel was the name he went by, he had told her, but not his birth name. So was Angel the name Darla had given him? How?
  

Reason was slower still to take residence, a thousand questions still tumbling around. Of course the reference couldn't be about Angel. This photo was decades old, centuries, even, judging from the flowing dress and garments the girl wore. That would make Angel 200 years old, at least. Absurd.
  

"You died in there, Slayer?" a curious voice called out, and Buffy stilled.
  

"I'm fine," she called back seconds later, forcing back the tremor from her voice. "I'm just getting out of bed, I'll be out in a minute."
  

Hurriedly she scrapped the papers into a bundle and thrust them back into compartment, save for the picture. She had the oddest instinct that those accounts and that picture were linked. She picked it up again slowly, a finger making its way to trace the outline of the girl- Darla. She felt as if she'd already met her, already knew her. Or already knew *of* her, which was completely ridiculous.
  

Sighing and standing rather abruptly, the aching of her body now pushed firmly to the back of her mind, she made her way to the door, the photo tucked securely into her pocket.
   

She found her host lounging on the sofa, and she forced her brightest smile.
  

"I'm going to take a walk." She announced firmly, just stopping short of saying 'to clear my head', and waited for Whistler to argue, to order her to obey Angel's instructions.
  

"Hey, I ain't gonna argue, kid." His eyes twinkled as they met hers, and Buffy had the strangest suspicion he knew exactly what she'd been thinking. "Last time I argued with a Slayer I ended up in hospital for a month. Just make sure you're back before Angel is. He could probably do me just as much damage."
  

"He's not human, is he?" Her voice sounded odd even to her own ears. "Not all daemons have scaly skin." She whispered that last phrase, in repetition of Angel's cautioning in the park, uncaring that Whistler hadn't really heard her.
  

He paused for a careful moment, his eyes back on the blank TV screen. "Not in every sense of the word. Sure, he breaths, he does the whole sun light gig, when necessity calls for it," he paused to add thoughtfully, "although the guy could definitely do with more of a tan," before collecting his thoughts again with a more serious note. "His choice of path has defined who he is now, and sometimes centuries of fighting aren't easy to step aside from."
  

Buffy blinked, not understanding in the least. *Centuries?!*
  

"We all have a power inside of us, kid. A strength to chose right or wrong, to choose to live or die, to fight or give up, to push ourselves for an eternity or find relief in defeat and acceptance. Like I said, Angel's chosen to fight, and it ain't always an easy course to alter. And some pledges just can't be retracted."
  

Buffy remained silent, absorbing Whistler's words, not knowing how to reply. Pledge?
  

"So," Suddenly his tone was bewilderingly cheerful, "you feel like watching a movie? 'Dracula's' supposed to be showing in 10 minutes."
  

Buffy winced. Watching vampires on *TV* as well as reality? Well sure, if you were into masochism. "Thanks, I'll stick to my walk." And, not wanting to provide Whistler with the chance to reconsider his lack of protests, she practically ran out of the apartment and onto the New York streets, the breeze and hordes of people refreshingly normal and comforting. Free.

As swimming colors and blurs gradually grew into focus, Buffy decided she was dreaming. Or possibly hallucinating. A persistent thump rang through her head, the slightest tilt sent the entire room toppling, and the fuzzy image of oddly assorted weapons laid out before her were just a little too close for comfort.
  

Clenching her eyes shut Buffy concentrated on urging feeling back into the rest of her body, and gradually it returned, in wave after wave of pain and nausea, icy chills seeping slowly into her skin. Reopening her eyes, the fuzziness and dull urge to fall back asleep defeated, she groaned aloud, the full impact of her situation hitting home. Heavy metal manacles encased her wrists and ankles, cold and cutting, and her struggle to sit up lasted an eternity, the floor hard and painful beneath her.
   

A loud clapping resounded around the room and with a painful twist Buffy turned to seek out the source of the noise, completely unprepared for the sight that greeted her.
  

"Slayer, I'm pleased to meet you at last. I hope you're not too uncomfortable?"
  

Buffy blinked and continued to stare at the young woman who descended the staircase gracefully, her smile sweet and her step purposeful. She finally drew up a foot in front of Buffy, her eyes searching, roving, over her captive.
    

"Mmm, not quite what I expected." That smile appeared again, and Buffy realised she'd misjudged it. It wasn't sweet. it was malicious. Cat-like, almost.
  

"Darla?" She managed to croak out, wincing at the blood her tongue tasted. Just how hard had she been hit?
  

For a second bewilderment showed itself of the other woman's face, before a mask erased it. "You know who I am?" She smiled again, a smile of pleasure. "Then we shan't need to bother with introductions."
  

"How?" Buffy's mind whirling again, a wild laughter bubbling in her throat. "What am I doing here?"
  

Darla rolled her eyes and shot a rather disparaging look. "I would thought that was rather obvious. My boys were most efficient," she assured Buffy, "I didn't want you *dead*. Just. a little concussed, perhaps."
  

Buffy bit back a groan. She remembered, then. Remembered the attack, remembered struggling, remembered the sharp prick of punctured skin and the swimming darkness that had followed. "What did you give me?"
  

"Oh, just a little something I picked up over the years." Soft laughter rang out. "You played your part perfectly, Buffy."
  

"My part?" Buffy eyed the array of weapons warily.
  

"Bait. It's fitting, really."
  

"Fitting? Look, clearly one of us is deluded, and it isn't me." Buffy ground out, her eyes flickering with fire, her strength and will for battle returning ten-fold as her body battled the remains of the drugs from her system. "I don't know what the hell-"
  

"Hasn't my Angel explained it all to you?" She made a 'tut tut' sound, her voice a purr. "Naughty boy."
  

Alarm found it's way into Buffy's system at the sound of Angel's name. "He hasn't told me everything," she replied cautiously, unwilling to give away precisely how little she knew. Knowledge was everything, she was beginning to realise.
  

A dreamy look swept across Darla's face, her lips curving slightly into a real smile. It still gave Buffy the creeps. "What would you like to know, Slayer?"
  

Perhaps why you aren't locked away in a mental asylum, for starters? Buffy retorted silently. Aloud she said, "Maybe how I'm going to get out of here?"
  

Darla laughed. "You remind me of myself, when I was human." She frowned. "I was just like you, but I learnt, eventually. Don't let it take you too long, Slayer."
  

"You were a slayer?" Buffy asked with a feigned lack of interest.
  

Darla's eyes widened in surprise. "He hasn't told you much at all, has he? Yes, I was a Slayer, in another time, another life." A bitter flame flickered in the blue depths of her eyes, and something inside of Buffy turned in incomprehensible recognition, understanding. Slayer to Slayer.
  

"I was good. The best." Her eyes locked with Buffy's. "They probably fear you, already." She smiled wistfully. "They feared me, did you know that? They controlled me, I fought for them. but still they feared me." She laughed hollowly. "Humanity is a weak race, Slayer, but a blackened one. They'll willingly kill you off, if you get too strong. Did you know that? The Council will want you dead, one day, and you won't be able to stop it. So sure of your role, Slayer? So sure which side you're fighting for?"
  

Buffy opened her mouth to speak but no words would form. Inside a thousand emotions and a thousand reactions struggled for the upper hand, black and white boundaries merging to form a grey. Understanding, anger, a hidden awareness that these words were designed to paint a picture of lies.
 

"I have Angel to thank for my release," Darla continued before Buffy could respond. "Oh, it was painful. The transformation always is. He betrayed me." A cruel smile curled Darla's lips. "He sacrificed me to save his family... He gave me an address, he lead me there," her voice dropped to a whisper sub-consciously, "and he watched them place a stake through my heart, drain me of my blood." She laughed loudly. "He turned and ran. He thought I'd died. Dear Boy. He never dreamed I'd drink from them. Never dreamed I'd accept the new life they offered me."
  

"No!" Buffy's protest rang out passionately, forcefully, her lips pressed so tightly together a white band had formed around them, her skin pale, hands clenched hard enough to draw blood. "No."
  

"Yes," Darla murmured softly. "And you, sweet Slayer, are the bait. My Angel will be scourging the streets even as we speak. Surely you don't think he'll turn his back on you? He's sworn himself to you." She laughed again. "*Watcher*. Watcher to a Slayer after betraying the last one."
  

"Then how do you know he won't just desert me?" Buffy challenged, grasping desperately at straws. Desert me; oh please don't find me, she begged silently. Not you, Angel. What ever she say's, I don't believe it. Not you, Angel.
  

"You're his project. His second chance. He's changed, my Angel." She frowned with obvious displeasure. "He's almost a stranger." This comment was made to the air, the night, but not to Buffy. Most definitely not intended for Buffy.
   

Buffy bit back the urge to scream at the helplessness her situation left her in. "Angel won't know I'm here. He'll think-"
   

"Of course he will," Darla murmured soothingly, her eyes sparkling with self-assurance. "This is where he was taken all those years, this is where he sacrificed me. My boy will know. He can feel me, he always can. Why do you think he shuns away? He loves me. He needs me, and he hates himself for it. I think he's suffered enough." She licked her lips with anticipation. "I'm giving him a second chance."
  

And suddenly it all fell into place. The letters. Angel had written them. Buffy's world turned upside for endless moments, her whole being struggling to take Angel's betrayal in. But his family. it had been for his family, and suddenly her heart knew real sadness. Sadness for a loss of her own that she didn't understand, sadness for Angel, sadness for a human Darla.
   

She raised her eyes to meet the woman before her. Fury replaced the sadness. Fury that this woman was planning to hurt Angel. Fury at her belief that Angel still loved her.
   

"He doesn't want a second chance."
  

"He loves me," Darla replied with amusement.
  

"Right." Buffy rolled her eyes, pretending bravado. "That's why he let you die. He feels nothing but guilt and sorrow for the death of who you used to be."
  

For a second a flicker of uncertainty reached Darla's eyes, and Buffy ploughed on, encouraged. "And for the record? He told me everything." She shrugged flippantly. "I wanted to hear what you had to say about it, but I already knew. And let me tell you he feels nothing but guilt. Love?" It was her turn to laugh. A forced laugh, but a laugh none the less. "He still remembers. you were painting your nails, weren't you? He told me he saw you as a child-"
  

"SHUT UP!" Leaping forward sharp nails connected with Buffy's cheek, lashing across it harshly, leaving a trail of blood. Buffy forced a mask of impartiality, refusing to reveal any pain.
  

Suddenly Darla was calm again, her tongue snaking out to taste the blood on her fingertips. "Mmm." She smiled docilely. "He needs me. He still wears the name I gave him."
  

Buffy felt as if she'd drawn blood again; all the blood from her heart.
  

"He will watch you die, and he will love me for it." And with that softly spoken promise she was gone, the malice of her words remaining almost tangibly in the air.
  

Buffy struggled to her feet and began to work on releasing her chains from the wall, her fury and anxiety for Angel's safety driving her endlessly.

A loud crash resounded from somewhere above Buffy and she stilled instantly, hoping against hope that it wasn't Angel. She glanced down at her wrists and the trail of blood that led down her arms and pooled onto the stone floor. She bit back a groan of frustration and pain at the sight.
  

"No success, Slayer?"
   

Buffy's head shot up fiercely, her body trembling with fury and distaste as Darla descended the flight of stairs once again, an old-fashioned white gown flowing behind her, surrounding her. Buffy resisted the urge to be sick, just.
  

"White's not really your colour."
  

"My Angel's arrived," She informed Buffy with smug satisfaction. "And if I'm not mistaken he's probably just about finished staking the minions above."
  

"You sound pleased about that," Buffy muttered, and Darla merely shrugged.
  

"They were incapable fools anyway. There are few who can get the better of my Angel."
  

Buffy studied the other woman warily. "So you're not worried about the small factor of him killing you?"
  

Darla merely laughed again and bent to reach for one of the weapons laid out on the floor, picking out a sharp looking blade.
  

She smiled maliciously. "Just tilt your head back a little."
  

Buffy stared in disbelief. "*Tilt my head back*?!"
  

Darla sighed loudly. "You have to make it difficult, don't you?" and before Buffy could blink Darla was behind her, yanking her hair back painfully and placing the knife against her throat, the cool metal promising death against her skin.
   

Buffy shut her eyes and took as deep a breath as she dared, forcing back a rising panic. Her eyes slowly opened again in time to see Angel crashing through the door, his shirt in tatters, his trousers slashed and his face wild with an emotion Buffy couldn't identify. Panic? Fear? Perhaps both?
  

All three occupants of the room stilled, each having a different reason for their paralysis. Angel's eyes flew from Buffy to Darla before landing finally on the knife, his throat working convulsively.
  

"Darla." His voice was oddly weary, tired.
  

Buffy's heart began to increase its pace, fear gradually climbing.
  

"What took you so long?" Darla reprimanded gently, her voice honey-coated and playful.
  

Buffy watched as something within Angel hardened. "This has nothing to do with Buffy. Let her go, she's not-"
  

"This has everything to do with the Slayer, my Angel. I used to be the Slayer. Do you remember that, dear boy?"
  

Angel flinched visibly. "Darla-" His voice had a strangled sound for a moment before he stopped abruptly. "Hurt her and I promise that you will not walk out of this alive." His tone had taken on a silken, deadly quality.
  

Darla laughed softly. "But I'm not alive, Angel darling. You killed me, remember?"
   

Buffy watched silently as Angel's hands clenched into fists by his side. "Darla-"
   

"There's a goblet over on the table over there," Darla jerked her head to the right, the pressure of the knife increasing against Buffy's throat. "Drink it."
  

It seemed to Buffy as she watched the following moments that everything took on a dream like quality, complete with that lack of reality sensation. She watched as Angel took the glass, watched as he studied the contents with a carefully impassive face, and then raised it to his lips. Buffy wanted to cry out in protest but no sound would come out. Slowly he raised his head to look between the two women, his jaw hard and his eyes cold, ready, before he drank the liquid down with one smooth action.
  

Immediately the blade was removed from Buffy's throat, but she remained immobile, frozen, as she watched Angel sway and clutch hold of the table, his eyes blinking furiously, his hands trembling along with the rest of his body. And when his eyes finally met hers she knew what it was he had drunk. Darla's blood. Darla.
   

Suddenly life was injected back into Buffy's system, but the opportunity to reach Darla had passed, and it was with helpless despair that she watched Darla glide towards Angel and place her hands upon him.
  

"Now, dear boy, we shall be together again." She turned her head to look at Buffy with the smile of a satisfied kitten, her hands trailing languidly through Angel's midnight hair as the two women's eyes met. "Didn't I tell you, Slayer? It's inevitable,
irreversible. He's tasted my blood, and soon I shall taste his. There's no turning back now, Slayer."
  

Buffy wasn't listening. She was too busy trying desperately to get Angel to look at her, get him to fight. He was just standing there. holding Darla. Buffy bit back a choke. Not her Angel.
   

"He just can't kill me," Darla turned to Angel with a tender smile, "can you? You need me."
  

Buffy felt her heart lurch as Darla bent her head towards Angel's neck, a soft smile still gracing her lips. And then Buffy met Angel's eyes, dark chocolate eyes reflecting endless depths of pain.
  

Buffy opened her mouth, but before the words came a cloud of dust exploded in front of Angel, and Darla was gone. Gone. Buffy could only stare, and soundlessly Angel made his way to her, taking her hand in his and placing it around the chains. Together, without needing instructions, they pulled, and Buffy's chains were freed.
   

Simultaneously they raised their heads to meet each other's gaze, and softly, her voice barely above a whisper, Buffy declared, "Let's get you out of here."
  

Hand in hand the slayer and her Angel made their way through the rubble and the corridors until the night air greeted them with welcoming familiarity and serenity. Buffy's head was a mass of questions, but with Angel beside her, alive and safe, she figured they could wait for... oh, about an hour or so.

The End