Midnight Angel
The relentless, shrilling ring of his telephone greeted Angel when he walked back into his house. He sighed out loud at the intrusion. The last thing he wanted was to talk to anybody. There were too many things whirling around in his head to have a coherent conversation with whoever was calling. The visit to Giles’ house, and the resulting revelations, had left him emotionally wrung out. Even as a bystander, hearing about the murders, and then seeing Buffy, had torn at him.
He contemplated letting his machine answer the phone, checked the caller ID, and sighed again.
“Hey, Fred,” he greeted after picking up the receiver.
“Angel!” Fred returned, her voice mildly chiding. “I’ve been trying to call you all night!”
“Sorry,” he apologized. “I was out and just got home.”
“Out? It’s kind of late isn’t it?” she asked.
“I was...meeting some friends.” It wasn’t a lie. Precisely. He was with people who were sort of friends.
“You’re made some friends? That’s great, Angel! Tell me all about them!” his sister ordered.
Angel held back a chuckle. Fred would likely want to make sure he was hanging out with nice people. She loved to worry. So he told her the basics of what he knew about the group he’d been with. Willow and Spike were engaged and they owned an internet café in town, and Xander was a friend of theirs who worked in construction. They were a little younger than he was, but nice people. Thankfully, Fred accepted the descriptions.
“I’m glad you’re not sitting home all the time, or working too much,” Fred babbled happily.
“I don’t think there’s much chance of being bored around her,” Angel replied then hoped his sister missed the sarcasm in his voice. Better change the subject, he thought. “Your finals start soon, right?”
“Yeah,” she sighed out. “My first one is in two days.”
“Shouldn’t you be studying then,” he teased, all the while knowing his little sister was an obsessive studier.
“I’m taking a break,” she told him. “I’m afraid my brain’s going explode soon.”
“Wouldn’t want that to happen,” Angel said with a laugh.
“Anyways,” she continued. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. I better get back to my notes.”
“Okay. Good luck with your finals,” he told her then said his goodbyes.
After hanging up the phone, Angel simply stood in the center of his kitchen and wondered what he was supposed to do next. None of his plans for moving to the supposedly quiet, small town of Sunnydale had surrounded around becoming involved with a murder mystery and meeting a believed-dead woman. No, that really hadn’t been part of his plans. All he’d wanted was a peaceful, steady life after years of travel.
Well, he wasn’t exactly getting that, was he? So what was he supposed to do now? He’d heard the story of the murder of Giles family. He’d found out that Buffy was alive, being hidden in her house because her father, and the police, believed she’d killed her family. He knew it all now. It shouldn’t matter to him. None of it. But it did.
He remembered the way Buffy had stared at him up in her third floor prison. He remembered how sad and full of grief her eyes had looked. And he remembered how she had stared through the window, gazing out at a world she was no longer really a part of. There was a distinct urge in him to gather her close, hold her, and tell her everything would be all right. But he didn’t know if it would be, and that was a promise he couldn’t make.
What he needed, Angel told himself, was to stop thinking about this entire situation for a while. He was obsessing over it, and obsession was almost never good. Time for a break, or time for some work, actually. So grabbing a bottle of ice tea out of the refrigerator, Angel trekked through his house and into his office. He would go over some prints for the Chumash article. That would, hopefully, take his mind off...everything else.
~`~`~
The moon shone down on him from high overhead as Angel walked the beach almost two hours later. Work had held him for a while, then he’d managed to get some laundry started. He’d hoped sleep would follow, but he’d found himself restless, and after staring out the window for ten minutes, he’d walked out and onto the sand.
A few feet away, the waves slapped roughly at the beach. There must be a storm coming in soon, he thought, though the sky was still clear. It would probably rain the next day. He didn’t mind. It would be the weekend, and he wouldn’t have to go in to work so he could spend the whole day in his house. The perfect place to be on a rainy, stormy day.
He knew she was there before she stepped up beside him. Just like he’d unconsciously known she would come., and that he wanted to be there. To see her, to talk to her. He didn’t look at her, only continued to gaze at the dark ocean in front of him.
“It’s beautiful,” she said softly.
“Yeah,” he agreed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I like waking up and seeing it outside my windows every morning.”
“I like to come here most when the moon is full,” she told him then sat down, sliding off her sandals so she could bury her feet in the sand.
Angel glanced down at her, wondered if she wanted to be alone. She’d talked to him though. She hadn’t ignored him. So he eased himself down next to her, making sure to leave a generous two feet between them. He didn’t want to frighten her or make her feel threatened in anyway.
“I leave my windows open sometimes at night so I can hear the waves,” he relayed for lack of anything else to say.
She sighed, linked her arms around her raised knees. “Sometimes I think I could fall asleep out here. Then maybe...”
“Maybe what?” Angel prodded gently.
“Then maybe...maybe the nightmares wouldn’t come.”
What was he supposed to say to that? He supposed he should have said something soothing or pacifying, but there wasn’t anything he could say. There was nothing he could do to ease whatever pain she felt inside. So he said nothing and continued to watch the lapping of the waves under the pale light of the moon.
The beach was quiet except for the calming ocean sounds. There were no gulls squawking overhead, no chattering tourists or townspeople, no roaring of traffic, just the ocean. They were completely alone. And it never occurred to Angel to feel fear over the fact that he was alone with someone who had supposedly murdered three members of her family. Aside from his uncertainty at what to say to her, he felt comfortable.
Beside him, Buffy rested her chin on the tops of her knees and closed her eyes. She loved sitting or walking on the beach. It was one of the few places she didn’t feel trapped. Her rooms on the third floor of the house on the cliffs were well-furnished and entirely livable, but they were her prison. They were where her father had told her she had to stay. She thought more often than not that he would prefer she wasn’t there at all. She was his burden.
No one ever came to see her. The only person she ever saw was Giles. Everyone else had abandoned her. Or died. And all of it was her fault. She couldn’t blame anyone but herself. But she wondered...
“Why did you all come today? To the house?” she clarified, turning her head to rest her cheek on her knees.
Who was he, she wondered. She’d seen him around the pretty Victorian house recently. He wasn’t one to be easily missed with his tall height and strong build. Once, she’d watched him while he’d stood on his porch at night, taking pictures. The yearning to talk to him, to anyone, had almost driven her across the sand and up the steps to him. But her father had told her not to talk to anyone or let them see her. And he was a man, someone she didn't know. So she’d slipped back into the woods and up to her house, allowing her tears to fall freely the whole way.
And now here he was, sitting on the beach talking to her. Why? Why had he come to her this afternoon? Why had the others?
“Willow wanted to see you,” Angel answered, his voice quiet and non-threatening. “She’s missed her best friend for the last four years.”
“Four years? Is that how long it’s been?” She thought about it, shrugged her shoulders slightly. “It seems longer.”
Another thing he didn’t know how to respond to, Angel thought with an inner groan. “She wanted to see you,” he continued answering the original question. “When she found out you were alive she-.”
“Alive?” Buffy repeated in a whisper.
“Yeah, she...” he trailed off abruptly. Good God, he thought, did she not know what people thought? What had Giles told her? What did she know? He was floundering completely in the dark, he suddenly realized.
“Why wouldn’t she think I was alive?” she pushed hesitantly. For four years she’d lived in silence, alone. Ever since the night... That night. Ever since, nothing had been real, nothing had been right. She wanted to know why. Need to know why.
There was nothing for him to say but the truth. He could have lied, or hedged, but her sad, inquiring eyes stopped him. He couldn’t lie to her.
“After...,” he began, wondering if he was doing the right thing. “Well after, your father let everyone believe that you had died that...that because of what happened, you had killed yourself by jumping off the cliffs.” He saw the surprise and hurt in her eyes, hated himself for putting it there.
Buffy turned away, pressed her forehead to her knees. So that was why. Her father wished she was gone, wished she was dead. That was why he pushed her up onto the third floor of the house that had once been her home, why he kept her away from everybody. She was virtually as dead as the rest of her family.
“Maybe I should be dead,” she mumbled, so softly Angel almost didn’t hear her.
When she turned her face back to him, he could see the tears shimmering in her eyes. Slowly, one tumbled down, landing on her cheek where it glowed softly from the light of the mood. Angel didn’t have time to tell himself not to do it before his hand reached out and his fingers brushed away the solitary tear. His finger remained on her soft skin for a long moment as their eyes met, held.
“Don’t say that,” he whispered comfortingly, and carefully withdrew his hand though he ached to leave it there. “What about your father? Your friends? The second Willow found out you were alive, she went straight to your house to see you.”
“She did?” Buffy asked, staring at him as if trying to discern whether he was telling the truth.
“Yes, she did,” he confirmed. “And Spike, and Xander. They’ve missed you.”
“I-I thought,” she stuttered tearfully. “I thought they hated me, that the didn’t want to see me anymore.”
“That’s not true,” Angel disagreed and went with instinct by putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. When she didn’t flinch from the contact, he left it there. “You should talk to them sometime.”
“Maybe,” she responded uncertainly. Seeing them, talking to them, wasn’t something she was sure she could do. It had been so long, and so much had happened. Why would they want anything to do with her?
Angel saw the small frown mar her face, thought she was uncomfortable, and removed his hand from her shoulder. When the frown remained, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t even know your name,” she told him.
“Oh,” he released a small chuckle. “Angel. Angel O’Meara.”
“Angel,” Buffy repeated, giving him a small smile. “I like it.”
“Thanks.”
When he smiled back at her, she felt her heart thud in her chest and quickly looked away from him and toward the ocean. So long, the thought, it had been so long since she’d felt that flutter over a guy. And the last time...she shuddered, memories of that long ago day in the girl’s locker room flashing before her eyes.
“I should go,” she said quickly, and pushed herself off the sand.
“Okay,” Angel answered as he watched her pull on her sandals and begin to walk away. She was a few feet away when he said her name. He waited until she’d turned her head to look at him before speaking again. “If you want...sometime...you can come by my house. I’m usually home.”
He thought he saw the faintest curve of her lips, but when she said nothing, only walked away and slipped into the woods, he told himself he was wrong. He’d probably frightened her by being so forward. But she hadn’t seemed afraid. The whole time they’d sat talking, she’d seemed comfortable. Still, he shouldn’t have told her she could stop by his house. That had been a mistake, but he hadn’t really taken the time to think to much before he’d issued the invitation. Nothing he could do about it now.
Long after Buffy had left, Angel remained seated by the water’s edge, thinking about the time he’d spent with Buffy. His brow furrowed when he remembered how she hadn’t know that everyone believed her dead. Slightly irrational anger welled in him towards Giles. How could the man let his daughter, regardless of the circumstances, think that nobody wanted to see her?
What exactly did Buffy know, he wondered. What did she remember or know about the night of her family’s murders? Why did she think Giles kept her virtually locked in her rooms?
He couldn’t help the stirring of pity he felt for her. She’d been through so much, and it never seemed to end. A victim was all she was. A victim of rape, of harassment, of everybody else’s power. She’d done nothing wrong. Her life had changed one simple day when she’d gone to a swim meet to watch her crush, and she was still living in the nightmare of that day.
They’d cast her as a slut, as some crazy person. As a murderer. That last thought gave Angel pause. A murderer. Every ounce of logic in him told him she could no more have committed murder than he could. Despite what little he knew about her personally, or the little time he’d spent with her, he just couldn’t believe it. Which left him with one lasting question. Who really had killed her family?
A raindrop splashed on Angel’s cheek, dragging him from his thoughts. Looking up, he saw that the storm he’d predicted earlier was rolling in. Dark, suffocating clouds were easing their way across the sky. If he didn’t want to get drenched, he needed go back to his house. So he stood and brushed the sand off his pants. With a last look in the direction Buffy had gone, he crossed the sand and climbed onto his front porch.
He didn’t bother to switch the clothes he’d tossed into washer before he’d gone out into the dryer. They could wait until morning. He was exhausted. The day, or rather the night, had been utterly exhausting. All he wanted to do now was sleep, and hopefully peacefully.
The shirt he yanked off was tossed onto the floor heedlessly. His pants followed suit, leaving him in only a pair of boxers. He crossed to his dresser, placing his watch on top. Before he could turn to climb into his bed, he saw the glint of gold in the faint light of his room. He picked up the slim chain, its locket dangling down, and thought of Buffy. She remained in his mind even as he drifted off to sleep.
Author's Note: My apologies to everyone for taking so ridiculously long to get this chapter posted. It was unavoidable. As those of you who read my Livejournal know, my dog passed away 2 weeks ago. I'd had her for 13 years so it was incredibly difficult and completely killed my ability to write. I must also apologize for not replying to the feedback I got on the last chapter. My mind has just been elsewhere recently. But thank you to everyone who sent comments! They were much appreciated!
Anyway, here's a new chapter finally! I hope you all enjoy it!
~Isis FG
~`~`~
Four days passed in relative quiet for Angel. He went to work every day and did his job. At night, he came home, did a little more work, helped calm his sister down before one of her harder finals, and generally did nothing of interest. The contractors were almost done their work, so he’d started planning what he would need to do once the overhaul of the house was complete. In other words, his life had been down right boring. Why that bothered him, he couldn’t say.
Since the night they’d gone Giles’ house and seen Buffy, he’d not heard a word from Willow or Spike. He assumed it was because the redhead was still trying to recover from the shock. He’d seen how upset she’d been that night, and he didn’t blame her one bit. Nothing about this situation was simple. He had, however, seen Xander. The younger man had stopped by just the night before
They’d shared a few beers, talked some. If he wasn’t mistaken, Angel thought Xander seemed a bit lost by all that had happened. Again, he couldn’t blame the reaction. He also knew that Xander was still feeling guilt over not standing solidly by Buffy after the rape. That was something Xander would have to settle on his own. There was nothing Angel could do about it.
Also, in the past four days, Angel had not seen or spoken to Buffy, not since that night on the beach. He hadn’t returned to the beach at night since then. It hadn’t seemed right. He didn’t want to intrude. If that was her one spot where she found some modicum of peace, it wasn’t his right to take that away. So he’d stayed away, and she had yet to take up his invitation to visit his house.
He wanted to see her again, to talk to her again. He wanted to hear her voice, to see those little flutters of a smile form on her face. And he wanted to help her. Not for an instant, did he believe her guilty of multiple murders. Unfortunately, the police, and the public at large, did. Until the truth, whatever it was, came out about what had happened to her family, she would never be able to move on, to begin to live life again.
That, most of all, was what he wanted. To see her live life, see her really, truly smile. It was ludicrous to want such things for someone he hardly knew, but he did. The tragic story of her life had struck a chord in him, and now that he’d met her, spoken to her, his involvement had only grown stronger.
What was it about her, he wondered for the millionth time. She was beautiful, yes. He’d have to be dead not to be struck by her beauty, or to be drawn in by those sad green eyes. But it was more than that. He was awed by her inner strength. After all she’d been through, she was still existing. Maybe not thriving, but she’d not given up, not given in to the pain and torment. She was still trudging on. And he wanted to help her break the rest of the way free of the life that had boxed her in and cut her off from the world.
He had no idea how he was going to do that. But he would.
Sighing, Angel tossed the book he’d been trying to read onto the living room coffee table. He’d been trying to read the damn thing for the past hour and a half, but his mind kept wandering. And now it was nearing one in the morning. Luckily, he didn’t have to in to work until late the next day. One of the perks of his job. His hours were flexible.
Since he wasn’t getting anywhere with the current bestseller on his coffee table, Angel opted to head into the kitchen for a late night snack. He thought he still had half a sandwich in his fridge. He’d munch on that, try to read another chapter in the book, and then hopefully drag himself off to bed.
Just as he was nearing the kitchen, Angel heard the soft knock on his back door, and his steps faltered. As he entered the doorway, he stopped and stared. The heavy wooden door leading to the outside from the kitchen was open. The thin, screened door was closed, keeping the nighttime insects from getting into the house. And on the other side of the screen was Buffy.
She saw him enter the kitchen and stare. Unease rose within her as her hands clenched together at her waist, and her feet shifted nervously. The urge to run, to return to the solitary safety of her rooms was great. She worried she’d made a mistake coming. He’d told her she could come, but maybe he hadn’t meant it. Maybe he’d just been being nice and hoped she didn’t take him up on the offer. But she’d wanted to see him again. He’d been nice to talk to that night on the beach.
“I saw your lights on,” she finally said, talking through the screen that separated them.
The sound of her voice snapped Angel out of the mild daze he’d slipped into when he’d seen her at his door. “Do you want to come in?” he asked as he walked toward the door.
“I don’t want to bother you. I know it’s late,” she told him, her hands still clenching.
“No, it’s okay. I couldn’t sleep.” Angel crossed the rest of the way to the door and pushed it open slightly, letting her know she could come in.
Buffy pulled the door open the rest of the way and slowly entered the kitchen. She couldn’t stop herself from being nervous. She didn’t want to be an annoyance. The beach had seemed so lonely as she’d sat out on it, and when she’d seen his lights still on, she’d taken a chance.
The little voice inside her head told her that she shouldn’t be here, that she hardly knew this man whose kitchen she was standing in. Alone with. And he was so much bigger than she was. No, she thought to herself. She couldn’t allow herself to be afraid of every single person she came into contact with. Her father and friends knew Angel. That had to mean something. But then again, she’d known Cameron Walker for a long time before...well, before.
Angel couldn’t have missed the nervous, worrying fear on her face, in her eyes. It shown clearly. He didn’t know exactly what she was afraid of, there were so many things it could be, but he hated it. So he decided to be blunt, and hope to ease whatever the fears were.
“I won’t do anything to hurt you,” he promised, his voice gentle. “And I wouldn’t have invited you in if I didn’t want you to come it.”
A blush crept up her cheeks as she realized her feelings had been that transparent. “I’m sorry. It’s just...”
“It’s okay. I understand,” he assured her. “Do you, uh, want something to drink? We can go into the living and sit down.”
“Okay,” Buffy agreed and took the bottle of juice Angel offered her
He led her into the living room, glad that he’d taken the time to straighten up a bit earlier that evening. Buffy stood in the center of the room, taking in her surroundings. She couldn’t help but be curious about everything. For so long the only places she really saw were her rooms and the beach. So she began to wander the room, looking at everything. The pictures on top the mantle caught her attention quickly.
In the middle, was a photo of Angel and a young woman with long brown hair and a thin face. Both the woman and Angel were smiling brightly and one of his arms was around her shoulders. A little pang of jealousy snuck up and surprised Buffy. They were so casual, so comfortable with each other, she thought.
Angel stepped up beside Buffy, took the picture she was studying in his hands. “That’s my sister, Fred,” he told her.
Tilting her head upwards, Buffy looked up at Angel. “You have a sister?”
“Yeah,” he confirmed. “Well, actually, she’s my half sister, but we’re really close. She lives in Los Angeles.”
“I had a brother and a sister,” she said softly, a hint of tears in her voice as she cast her eyes away.
The pain in her words broke Angel’s heart. He knew what it was like to lose people you loved from the deaths of his father and step-mother, and he couldn’t imagine ever losing Fred. “You must miss them a lot,” he responded, reaching out and tucking her hair behind her ear. She didn’t answer, merely nodded her head slightly. “Oh,” he blurted out, suddenly remembering something. “I have something for you.”
He trotted out of the room, and grabbed a small plastic bag off the entryway table. He’d just picked it up after work today. Reentering the living room, he walked back to Buffy, handed her the little baggie.
Confused, she stared at him for a moment before gazing down at what he’d placed in her hand. Tears formed in her eyes when she saw what it was. “My locket,” she whispered and pulled it out of the bag before clutching it tightly in her hand.
“I found it on the beach,” Angel explained. “The clasp was broken. I took it to a jeweler and had the chain fixed.”
“I thought it was gone.” Her eyes were big and swimming with tears when she looked back up at Angel. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He smiled, thankful that he’d found something that was obviously important to her. “Here,” he took the locket out of her hand. “I’ll help you put it back on.”
“O-okay,” she stuttered her answer. He was being so nice to her. It wasn’t something she was used to. But she turned around anyway and lifted up her hair.
Angel unclasped the chain, draped it around her neck. Being so close, he could smell the scent of her shampoo. Something citrus-y. His fingers brushed the back of her neck, teasing him with the softness of her skin. Before he did something stupid, Angel quickly hooked the chain together and stepped back. If he’d stayed that close to her any longer, he would have done something monumentally dumbe, like kissing the curve of skin between her shoulder and neck. No, he definitely couldn’t do something like that.
In desperate need to distract himself, he picked up the bottle of juice she’d set down on the mantle and handed it to her. “It’s probably getting warm,” he said then retrieved his own drink from the coffee table.
“Oh, yeah,” Buffy mumbled, fighting off a shudder that had been threatening to overcome her the moment his fingers had skimmed her neck. God, she'd never felt quite so...fluttery...around a guy before. It was strange, but not in a bad way.
She took a sip of her juice and began to wander the room again, all the while wondering what his fingers would have felt like if they’d remained a little longer on her skin. She quickly pushed the foreign thoughts away, though. A trio of photographs on the wall drew her attention. She studied them for a minute, enjoying the beautiful landscapes portrayed.
“These are really pretty,” she commented, crouching a little to get a better look at the middle photo. “Where are they from?”
“Those I took in a rain forest in South America,” he relayed, taking a seat on the couch as he enjoyed seeing her in his space, looking at his things.
Turning, she gazed at him curiously. “You took them?”
“Yeah. I’m a photographer,” he told her. “Actually, I work for your father now at his magazine.”
A twinge clutched at her heart at the mention of her father, but she pushed it away. “Oh. I didn’t know that.”
“I just started a couple of weeks ago,” he corrected. “I used to travel all the time and I got tired of it”
“Is that why you moved here?” she asked as she walked over to the couch, sat down on the end opposite Angel, unconsciously putting as much space between them as possible.
“Pretty much. I wanted to have an actual house for once,” Angel explained, happy to see that she appeared to be relaxing some in his presence. It felt good, right, to sit in his living room and talk to her. He was going to hate himself in the morning, though, when he had to get up after less sleep than he was used to.
“Won’t you miss traveling to all those place though?” Buffy wondered, glancing at his rain forest photos.
“A little,” he said with a shrug. “But I’ve spent almost my whole entire life moving around, even when I was a kid.”
“Really?” Buffy curled herself up on the couch, content to listen to Angel talk. He had such a deep, soothing voice. And she wanted to learn more about him, who he is, what he liked, what he’d done. It’d been so long since she’d been able to have a real conversation.
Angel saw that she was genuinely interested in things about his life. She was tucked into the corner of the couch, watching him intently. It warmed him to see her relaxing inch by inch, muscle by muscle. So he continued to talk.
“My father was an archaeologist,” he began, and settled himself further into the couch. “When I was a kid, I spent most of my time at dig sites with him. Since we moved around a lot, I didn’t go to school much. I had tutors though.”
He maintained the conversation, telling about how he’d grown up. She asked about his birth mother and he told her he’d never met her. But he talked about the trip to Texas and how his father had met his step-mother, and then getting a little sister. He hesitantly told her about how Fred had come to live with him after her mother’s death, and how only a short year later they’d lost their father. It didn’t miss his notice that her eyes darted away when he talked about the deaths of both of them. All the while, though, she listened.
“You must have traveled to a lot of places,” she said after he’d gone through the last chapter of his life, when he was a photographer for National Geographic.
“I’ve been to every continent,” he answered, unable to smother the pride in the statement.
“What’s the coolest place you’ve been?” she asked as her head leaned back against the couch cushions.
“Probably Madagascar,” Angel mused. “Seeing the lemurs was pretty neat.”
“Lemurs?” Buffy repeated, slightly awed. “That must have been amazing.”
“It was,” Angel agreed whole-heartedly. It definitely had been one of his favorite trips. “Madagascar is the only place in the world to see them. Well, other than zoos.”
“Tell me about them,” she requested, tucking her knees up tighter underneath her while trying to stifle a yawn.
So he did. He revisited the trip in his mind, telling her about wandering through the forest, seeing the silly looking animals traipsing through the canopy, hearing their high squealing calls. And he talked about how in some villages the lemurs were virtually domesticated because their habitat had merged with the villages. They begged for food, leaped on his shoulder. He also told of the other problems facing the species other than habitat destruction. About how the isolation of family groups led to inbreeding that caused physical malformations. He’d seen more than one of the furry creatures missing eyes.
Buffy listened to it all, amused by the tale, and saddened by it as well. She wished she could see something like that. She wished she could go to Madagascar, go anywhere other than Sunnydale. But it was nice to hear him talk of his travels. And soon, his calming voice lulled her into sleep.
Angel saw her eyes drift shut, but kept talking softly. Even though he knew she was asleep, he moved on to the horrible trip to Antarctica where he’d frozen his ass off. Someday, he’d tell her again when she was awake.
After ten minutes, he trailed off, and simply watched her sleep. It wasn’t long after he’d stopped that Angel saw her expression change. The muscles in her face tensed, her hands clenched where they sat in her lap. A frown formed on her face as her body shifted restlessly. A nightmare, he thought. She’d told him she had them. He was just about to try to wake her up gently when her shout sounded through the quiet room.
“No!” Her eyes shot open and she pressed herself further into the corner of the couch. Wild eyes darted around the room, her heavy breaths making her chest heave.
Shifting over on the couch, Angel carefully took one of her hands, clasped it in his. “Shh, it’s okay. It was just a dream.”
She stared at him, her eyes slowly focusing, her breathing beginning to return to normal. “Angel?” she whispered, blinked at him.
“Yeah. You fell asleep,” he explained softly.
“I...I had a nightmare,” she said dejectedly, holding back a sob.
“It’s okay,” Angel repeated, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb.
“No.” She shook her head, squeezed her eyes shut. “The never go away,” she murmured sadly, a tear sneaking down her cheek.
More tears followed, and needing to do something, Angel pulled her close. When she didn’t fight him, he rested her head on his shoulder. Her choked sobs shook her body, but he did the best he could to sooth her. He stroked her back, murmured soothing words.
After a few minutes, her sobs calmed, and she sniffled loudly. “I’m sorry,” she said tiredly. “I didn’t mean to cry all over you.”
“I didn’t mind,” he answered honestly. “It must be hard,” he continued, referring to the nightmares.
She nodded, sighed heavily. All she wanted was to be able to sleep without being haunted in her dreams. It wasn’t until then that she fully realized that she was in Angel’s arms. She could feel his hand tracing up and down her spine. But she didn’t feel fear as she had often felt after the rape. There was nothing about Angel that made her feel fear. He made her feel like Buffy. Just Buffy. It was tempting to just stay there with his arm holding her to him.
“I should go home,” she finally said.
“Okay.” Angel slid his arm from around her back, took her hand. “I’ll walk with you.”
Buffy smiled at him, glad to have just a few more minutes of his time. Together, they left the house and headed down the beach and into the path through woods that led up onto the cliffs and her house.
Angel stood in the center of his living room and stared at his couch. He had to be nuts. And he’d told himself that a number of times since he’d gotten home from work. Temporary insanity, that’s what it was. It had to be. There was no other way to explain it.
Walking over to the couch, he stared down at the little black ball of fur. A kitten. Good grief, what had he been thinking? He didn’t know anything about taking care of animals. He’d never in his life had a pet before. It hadn’t been possible when he was traveling so much. He liked animals, and cats, just fine, but he didn’t know a thing about how to take care of it. So why in the world had he agreed to take it? Because he was a sucker, that’s why.
One of the copy editors had brought several kittens around the building today, saying they were free and that she needed to find a home for them. He’d been intent on saying no. He was sure of it. But then the young woman had thrust the sleeping kitten into his arms, and he’d been unable to hand it back. So now he had a kitten.
As if sensing its new master’s thoughts, the fuzzy ball of black fur lifted its head, stared at Angel, then rolled over on its side. Angel chuckled and bent down to scratch its belly. The kitten purred, batted at his arm, and Angel sighed. It really was cute.
“I guess you’re probably hungry,” he said to it, scooping it up and holding it against his chest.
Together, they walked into the kitchen where Angel had placed the bags from the pet store. He’d stopped there after work, knowing he’d need food, a litter box, some toys, and whatever else cats needed. When he’d left the store, his pocket had been quite a bit lighter, and he’d had several bags hanging from his arm. He told himself afterward that the kitten really had needed the catnip mouse, the balls with bells in them, the feather thing to chase around, and a really fluffy fleece bed. The kitten wouldn’t want for anything, that was for sure.
Angel began digging through the bags, looking for the cat food he knew he’d bought, all the while holding the kitten in the other hand. So occupied in his search, he almost didn’t hear the knock on back door. But he heard it, and without and turning around, he knew who was there. So he pulled his hand out of the bag he’d been searching, faced the door, and smiled.
Just as she’d done three nights before, Buffy stood on the other side, waiting with uncertainty in her eyes. He spared only a moment’s thought for the fact that it was only nine at night, just past sunset and not her normal time for her beach walks. That was something to think about later.
“Come in,” he told her, still smiling.
Buffy cautiously pulled open the screen door, and took a step into the kitchen. “I’m not bothering you, am I?” she asked.
“No, not at all. I was just-.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, interrupting him without a second thought. “What’s that?” Buffy pointed to the little wriggly ball of black fur held in Angel’s right hand against his chest.
“A kitten,” he answered, and turned his body slightly so that the kitten’s face could be seen by Buffy. Her eyes brightened, and the most genuine smile he’d ever seen on her appeared instantly. She cooed at the kitten, stroked its soft ears. The simple pleasure shown on her face made Angel instantly glad he’d taken the cat. He’d have taken five cats if it would make her happy.
“Wanna hold...,” Angel trailed off, frowned, as he suddenly realized he had no idea whether the kitten was male or female. He rolled it onto its belly, peered contemplatively. “Her. Wanna hold her?”
“Of course,” she answered, happily taking the kitten out of his hand and cuddling it against her cheek. When the kitten mewled near her ear, Buffy laughed and tickled its nose.
“I, uh, bought her some toys and stuff,” he stated, gesturing to the bag.
Buffy peered at the five bags curiously. “Did you buy enough?”
He shrugged, not wanting to admit he’d been a total sucker for a ball of fur. “Here,” he grabbed the bags, began setting on the floor. “You can help me go through all of it.”
Complying happily, Buffy dropped down to the floor, setting the kitten on her lap. Within moments, she was pulling packages out of the bag, and taking toys out of their wrappers. Each one she showed to the kitten, waggling a cat nip mouse in front of its nose or running the weird looking feather thing over its ears.
Angel watched, more than just a little bewildered. In the span of a few short minutes, the shy, nervous, fearful Buffy that he’d encountered previously had been replaced by a smiling and giggling young woman. The difference was night and day. It was just further proof to him that she had yet to be completely beaten. The real Buffy was still lurking inside, and in a carefree moment such as this, he was getting a chance to she her. It made him feel lucky. So he scooted closer and helped her empty out the bags.
Buffy held up one of the items, looked at it then looked at Angel. “Cute,” she chuckled, not bothering to hide her amusement at the lime green ceramic food dish with a grinning cartoon cat painted on the inside.
“It was either that,” Angel relayed solemnly, “Or the one spotted like a cow. I thought this one was more interesting.”
“I see your point,” she agreed and began opening a container of kitten food while Angel stood and went to the sink to wash the dish. “I hope you like seafood medley,” she said to the kitten.
After drying the dish, Angel sat back down and dumped the food into the bowl. They watched as the kitten, drawn by the smell, cautiously crept to the food. She circled the dish, bobbed her head then dared to take a nibble. Assured the food was good, the kitten dug in with a vengeance.
“She’s adorable, Angel,” Buffy said, her smile still brilliant, unguarded, and free of the past.
“Yeah, she is pretty cute,” he concurred though his eyes were solely directed at Buffy. She looked so happy, and over the simply pleasure of a kitten. He made a mental note to take the young copy editor one of those mocha drinks for foisting the animal on him.
“What are you going to name her,” she asked, reaching out to stroke the cat’s fluffy tale.
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.” He paused, considering, then said, “Why don’t you pick a name?”
“Me?” she replied, shocked. He wanted her to name his kitten. The very idea was almost baffling.
“You’d probably pick something better than I would,” he explained with a smile.
“Hmm...if you’re sure...,” she trailed off, uncertain.
Angel nodded, so Buffy turned her attention back to the kitten. She pursed her lips contemplatively as she studied the animal. It was pure black, not a stitch of any other color, except for the eyes. They were a bright, lively green. It was the solid black that struck her most, though. So dark, darker than the midnight sky she often found herself walking under.
“Shadow,” she finally decided on then looked to Angel to see his reaction. She hoped he liked it and didn’t laugh at her or think she was silly.
“I like it,” he replied swiftly. “It’s perfect.”
She smiled, almost shyly, at his seemingly pleased acceptance of the name. Not for the first time, she wondered why he was being so nice to her, and why she found herself so comfortable around him. It defied her past experiences. But she enjoyed sitting here with him. So she rejected all thoughts of asking him why for fear of annoying him or making him send her away.
They sat for another half hour, unpacking Shadow’s plethora of supplies and showing all the fun toys Angel had bought for her. Buffy’s laughter rang throughout the kitchen frequently. Angel couldn’t have been happier about the situation. The tiny black kitten seemed to have been just what she needed to help wipe away some of the dark cloud that constantly hung over her head, if even for only a little while. For a short time, they could both forget that things weren’t normal.
Shaking his head, Angel stared down at Shadow, who’d curled up in a ball and fallen asleep on one of the plastic shopping bags from the pet store. “I guess I wasted my money on the cushy cat bed,” he said in mock dismay. “That thing is nicer than my bed.”
“I’m sure she’d be happy to share it with you,” Buffy joked, her lips quirking as she tried to hold back a laugh.
“I think I’ll stick to my bed. I don’t think I’d fit on that one,” he replied and nodded to the circular bed. Both laughed at the silly idea of Angel curling up on the two foot circle of fleece.
While Angel went up to the attic to search through his boxes of things for a basket to put the cat’s things in, Buffy remained downstairs, playing some more with Shadow. When he returned, Angel, anxious to spend just a little more time with Buffy, offered her some dinner.
They sat at the kitchen table, eating turkey sandwiches and potato chips while watching the kitten bat a ball with a bell in it around the tiled floor. The mood was light, thoughts of murder, rape, and harassment far from either’s minds. But all too soon, the meal was over.
“I guess I should go back,” Buffy said reluctantly. She didn’t want to leave. Angel treated her like a normal person, and he was so nice and fun to be with. She didn’t want to leave him to go back to her third floor prison. But she had to.
Angel walked her to the screen door, stopped before opening it. He didn’t want her to go, didn’t want to face the prospect of the rest of the evening alone in his house. He’d been obsessed with her before even their first meeting when he'd only known the tragic circumstances of her life, and her supposed death. Now that he’d spent time with her, it seemed his obsession was steadily growing.
Just inside the door, they both stood unmoving, reluctant to part. Without thinking too much about it, Angel reached down, gently took one of her hands in his. “You’ll come back soon?” he asked softly.
Buffy stared down at her hand gripped in his much larger one. His fingers were warm and strong on hers. A dizzying feeling churned in her stomach, one she wasn’t entirely familiar with. She raised her eyes upwards, saw him watching her silently, intently.
“Yeah,” she whispered, unable to draw her gaze away from his.
Angel’s mind seemed to switch off. Any sense of logic or reason he had fled. Only one thing seemed to be able to permeate his brain. So slowly, ever so slowly, he lowered his head until his lips were a scant inch from hers. He hovered there for a moment before touching his mouth to hers.
He didn’t know which one of them sighed at that first touch. It could have been him, it could have been her. Or it could have been both of them.
The kiss was hesitant, gentle. They touched only at their mouths, and at the hand Angel still held in his. But it was the touch of lips that held precedence. Angel rubbed his lips lightly on hers, learning their soft, warm texture. He didn’t press, he didn’t force. Just savored.
Her response was slow to come, but he felt the tightened grip of her hand, the slight tilt of her head backwards to accommodate him. The silent encouragement had him raising his unfettered hand to the back of her neck, cupping the soft skin. It wasn’t until he heard the barely audible moan coming from Buffy that he realized what he was doing.
His brain clicked back into place with a resounding snap. It took all his self control not to jump away from her. Or to pull her closer. So he gently eased back, his eyes on her the entire time. He watched as her eyelids fluttered opened and she stared at him with a warm shyness that humbled him.
Giving her hand a light squeeze, he let go, took another step back. “I’ll see you soon,” he managed to say.
Buffy nodded, unable to find her voice to say anything. She backed up a step, bumped into the screen door. She forced herself to smile at him before quickly opening the door and dashing outside. It wasn’t until she was well away from the house that she let out the breath she hadn’t even known she’d been holding.
Her quick steps took her into the woods, where she abruptly stopped, leaned back against a tall tree. Her heart was pounding, and not from her rapid retreat from Angel’s house. It was the kiss. Angel had kissed her. He’d kissed her unlike she’d ever been kissed before in her life. Shocked and amazed, she raised her clenched hands, pressed them over her speeding heart.
Back inside the house, Angel hadn’t moved an inch. His eyes were still trained on the door Buffy had just fled from. He worried that he’d scared her. But she’d smiled at him before leaving. That had to be a good thing, right? He didn’t know. The last thing he’d planned on doing was kissing her. His desire had gotten the best of him.
Rubbing a hand over his face, Angel walked over to the counter, leaned back against it. What had be been thinking? Well, he hadn’t been thinking. But, God, all he’d been able to think about at that moment was kissing her. She’d looked so sweet, so wonderful, staring up at him with her green eyes. He hadn’t been able to resist. In the future, he’d have to learn how to. The yearning in his body would just have to be put on hold. Now was really not the time to be thinking about what she’d feel like under him, her silky skin pressing against him. No, he really, really shouldn’t be thinking things like that, especially give her past circumstances. His hormones would just have to take a very long, very cold shower.
Angel paced the kitchen, trying to put all thoughts of kissing Buffy out of his mind. Think about anything else, he told himself. Anything but Buffy’s soft, sweet mouth. He groaned, nearly gave in to the urge bang his head against a wall.
A crash coming from the direction of his office ceases Angel’s pacing. He frowned, his attention going on alert. After a second’s pause, he started toward his office, stopped. He remembered that he was in Sunnydale, and the things that had happened in this town previously. Warily, he glanced around the kitchen. He didn’t bother to wonder if he was overreacting as he grabbed the largest knife from the butcher’s block. There was nothing wrong with being cautious.
He walked with light footsteps down the hall and came to a halt just outside his office. The soft light of the floor lamp he’d left on shown through the doorway. Slowly, he poked his head forward. And laughed. There, sitting on top of his desk, was the kitten, her green eyes peering at him in what he suspected was amusement.
Angel approached the desk still chuckling. He wondered how the kitten had managed to get herself all the way up on his desk. Scooping Shadow up, he glanced around at his desk. It appeared as though she’d knocked a few things over during her little adventure. He righted the pencil holder, replaced the pencils. Some papers had been shuffled around too so he stacked them back in a pile. The folder on top caught his eye. It was the one he’d placed all the internet articles on the murders of Buffy’s family in.
The sight of the folder turned all of his thoughts away from kissing Buffy and shifted them to the puzzle of what had happened to her. He skirted his desk and sat down in his chair, placing the kitten in his lap. He realized at that moment that whatever his growing feelings for Buffy were, none of it mattered until her past was resolved.
Opening the folder, Angel spread the print-outs of the articles across his desk. He’d been doing some thinking about all he’d read, and all he’d been told by Willow, Spike, and Xander. And the more he thought about what he knew, the more he began to realize that there was quite a bit that didn’t make sense, that just didn’t fit.
Needing the distraction, and wanting to get all his thoughts out, he grabbed a pen and a notebook from one of the desk drawers. With Shadow curled up on his lap, he began jotting down his notes and ideas.
~`~`~
Buffy approached the back door of her house with a light heart and lighter steps. She still couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact that Angel had kissed her. It seemed so impossible, but oh, so wonderful at the same time. Her heart still felt like it was going to pound out of her chest.
She stopped after climbing up the four steps onto the deck at the back of the house. Her eyes closed and her smile beamed brightly as she breathed in the night air. Opening her eyes again, she started toward the door again, all the while her mind still racing. She hadn’t felt like this since...since...her steps stopped again.
Since before Cameron. Before the rape.
But it wasn’t that memory that halted her movement, or caused the smile to leave her face. It was the fact that for a few precious hours, she hadn’t even thought about it or all that had come afterwards. Those memories, those torments, were always at the forefront of her mind. They never left. But tonight they had. Tonight, while she’d sat with Angel on his kitchen floor, playing with his kitten, she’d forgotten. No, not forgotten, just not thought about it. She’d never forget.
The realization that she had gone for a few hours without thinking of it was almost like a heavy weight lifting off of her. She’d always lived with those memories, thought they’d always be there. But tonight they hadn’t been. She’d been able to exist without them. It was freeing, and it gave her hope that maybe someday they would only be there in the back of her mind. Maybe someday she’d be able to live again.
Feeling a resolve that she hadn’t felt in years, Buffy continued to the door, stepped quietly into the house. And found herself face to face with her father.
I must apologize again for the delay between chapters. Things seem to keep popping up that prevent me from keeping this fic on schedule. I wasn't feeling well for a few days, and then there was a sudden crisis with my family's remaining dog. Hopefully, I'll be able to get back to more frequent postings now. But anyway, sorry for the delay, and also I need to say thanks to everyone who sent feedback on the last chapter as I didn't get a chance to reply to emails. Your comments were much appreciated.
And lastly, my thoughts go out to all of you in London. I hope you and your loved ones are well.
~Isis FG
~`~`~
The happy mood Buffy had carried with her from her visit with Angel and his new kitten plummeted the moment she stepped into the kitchen of her house and saw her father seated at the table staring at her. One look at his face, the angry, accusing eyes, the tight, grim frown, and every ounce of happiness fled. All the pain, all the heartache, was back in an instant.
She wanted to run. She wanted to turn around and run, far away from the house, from the memories. From her father. She wanted to go back to Angel and his kitten and the pretty house on the beach.
Emotions boiled inside Buffy. This man was her father. She loved him unequivocally. He’d read her stories when she was a little girl, brought her ice cream when she was sick. He’d been a man she'd always adored.
As she stood there staring at him, though, a burning anger was building within her. For four years she’d lived in a daze and allowed him to keep her locked up on the third floor of the house like she was his greatest shame. It hadn’t mattered before. There had been no reason to let it matter. She had been too lost in the memories and the pain. But now...now things were different. Now there was Angel. And there were her friends. The ones who had believed her dead. Because of her father.
“Where have you been?” Giles demanded.
Instinct had her shrinking back against his harsh words. She started to cast her eyes downwards, to open her mouth to apologize, but she stopped herself. She was tired of all of this. Of caving to his demands, of living in a prison. No more, she told herself.
Standing tall, she met her father’s eyes. “I was out,” she answered.
The strong tone of her voice gave Giles pause. He wasn’t used to such firm words from Buffy. He wasn’t used to words from her period. She only very rarely spoke to him or answered his questions. “Out?” he repeated in disbelief.
“Yes,” Buffy replied, crossing her arms over her chest.
Giles stood, met her challenging eyes. “Haven’t I asked you not to leave the house?”
The gentle statement almost made Buffy falter. Almost. “Yes, you have,” she affirmed. “But I’m tired of staying here all the time.”
“You’re...,” Giles trailed off in obvious shock. For a moment he only stood there, gaping at Buffy. This wasn’t the girl he was used to, the one who had lived as a shell of herself for the past six years, since the rape. This woman reminded him of who Buffy had once been. Vibrant, independent, and strong. But he couldn’t let himself be sidetracked.
“Buffy,” he began as he walked over to stand in front of her. “It’s imperative that you stay in the house as much as possible. I have tried to overlook your jaunts to the beach in the middle of the night, but I cannot stand by and let you leave the house during the daytime.”
Her lips quivered and tears formed in her eyes as she stared up into her father’s eyes while he imposed his life sentence on her. She sucked in a breath, willed the tears not to fall. “Do you hate me that much?” she whispered.
“Hate you?” Giles repeated. “I don’t know-.”
Buffy cut him off as if she hadn’t heard him. “Are you that ashamed of me, of all that’s happened?”
Shocked was a mild word for what Giles was feeling. He’d had no idea that his daughter believed him to hate her or was ashamed of her. “No, Buffy. I don’t hate you,” he said softly, lovingly. “You are my daughter. I could never think ill of you.”
“Then why?” she pleaded, her voice quivering. “Why do you keep me trapped here?”
The heartbreaking appeal was like knife to his soul. Pulling his glasses off, Giles paced across the kitchen, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He’d long suspected that Buffy had no memory of the night Joyce, Dawn, and Owen had been murdered. Oh, she knew they had been killed, but he’d been given to believe that anything beyond that had been wiped from her mind. She didn’t remember what she’d done.
Long hours, days, he’d spent agonizing over how to handle it. She had already been so fragile because of the rape and the ensuing treatment by the town and its people. And she’d broken once, that night while her family sat watching a movie. He just hadn’t been able to push her, to ask her, about what had happened. So he’d said nothing. Nothing at all.
Not that it would have done any good, he supposed. For the last four years, his daughter had been virtually silent, saying very little him. Only a couple times had he dared to mention the deaths of his wife and other two children. And when he had, she’d never responded, going almost catatonic at the merest mention of that night. So he’d never pushed. And she’d never known why he kept her here in the house. A fault, maybe, if the action had led her to believe he was ashamed of her, or hated her. But now it appeared the time had come to reveal all. He only hoped she could handle it, though he doubted there was any way a person, let alone Buffy, could handle being told they’d killed their family.
Before he could form his response, Buffy spoke again. “Why did you let everyone believe that I was dead, that I’d killed myself?”
“How did you know that?” Giles asked, confused because she had no way of knowing such a fact.
“Angel told me,” she answered honestly.
“Angel?” Giles frowned, tried to figure out when his new employee could have told Buffy such a thing, and why. “You’ve spoken with Angel?”
“Yes. He...he’s nice to me,” she said quickly, averting her eyes. When she looked up, her eyes were again pleading. “Why, Daddy? Why did you do it?”
“Buffy,” he began with a sigh, hating what he was about to tell her. “I asked you to stay in the house because if anyone knew you were here, that you were alive, they would arrest you.” That was the short answer, he thought, and called himself a coward.
“Arrest me?” she repeated, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What for?”
“For murder,” Giles responded bluntly, then cursed himself as shocked horror filled Buffy’s eyes.
She opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her. Murder? She would be arrested for murder? It made no sense. Why would her father think that? Why would anyone think that? She hadn’t killed anybody. There was no possible...
Her thoughts trailed off as a new horror dawned on her. “No,” she gasped, stumbling back a step. She shook her head, trying to force the unfathomable thoughts from her mind. It couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t. But yet...as she looked up into her father’s eyes. She knew it was. She knew he believed it.
“Buffy,” Giles said softly, taking a step toward her. He wanted, needed, to comfort her, though his emotions were torn. She was his daughter, and he loved her, but the pain at losing his wife and Dawn and Owen, by her hand, threatened to overrule.
Seeing his advance, Buffy backed away from him, her eyes darting around the room in a silent plea for anything but the truth. “No,” she whispered again. And then again. “No.”
“Buffy, please,” he begged, taking another step in her direction.
Her only desperate thought was to escape, to get away from the accusation, the horrible truth, her father was pushing at her. She couldn’t stay in this room, in this house. She couldn’t look at him. As he took another step toward her, she bolted toward the door, dashing through it before Giles could even shout her name.
~`~`~
After an hour of reading through articles and jotting down notes, Angel tossed his pen down on his desk and reached up to rub his neck. He winced at the stiffness that had build from leaning over his work space, intent on the papers. He’d need to take a hot shower in hopes of erasing the protests of his muscles. Glancing at his watch, Angel groaned. It was getting late and he needed to get some sleep.
All of the articles he'd read and the notes he’d written were placed back into their folder before he stood from the desk and switched off the small lamp. He wondered idly where Shadow had wandered off to as she had abandoned him not long after he’d started working. He’d have to find her before he went to bed.
Strolling through the house toward the kitchen, Angel shut off unneeded lights and gazed around for the kitten. He’d yet to find her by the time he entered the kitchen. One look at the supplies he’d bought for his new pet, though, had him chuckling. There was Shadow, curled up on the fluffy bed he’d bought her. The thing completely dwarfed her in size, but she looked rather comfortable. He would have to take it up to his bedroom for her to sleep on.
Just as Angel was about to reach down and scoop the kitten up, he thought he heard a noise coming from the back porch. Frowning, he walked over to door and peered outside. Seeing nothing but darkness, he flipped on the porch light. Though the area was now lit, he still saw nothing. But he heard the noise again.
He debated for a moment the merits of walking outside after hearing a strange noise, but decided to check around anyway. The door creaked as he pushed it open, the noise sounding loudly through the mostly quiet night. His eyes darted around nervously as he took a few steps out onto the deck. And still he could not find the source of the noise, nor could he hear it anymore.
Probably just an animal, he told himself. There was likely plenty of wildlife in the area. It could have been a raccoon, a deer, or numerous other things. Or it could have been his imagination. Shaking his head, Angel figured he might as well forget about it and go take a shower before he went to sleep.
He turned, and stopped dead. The dim light kept him from seeing clearly, but he could make out the distinct shape of a person seated against the back wall of the house. Instinctively, Angel took a step back, wary of whoever was hiding in wait for him. In this town, you couldn’t be too sure of anything.
As he debated his options, though, he thought he could see long blonde hair streaming down around the person’s face. Buffy? He took several steps closer, just to be sure. Squinting, he gazed down at the still form. Her back was pressed against the wall, her knees pulled tightly up to her chest and her face hidden against her legs. The blonde hair was enough of a give away, but the clothes were the same as she had worn earlier.
Alarm registered first. Aside from the fact that she shouldn’t have been sitting there at all, she hadn’t moved even an inch in the few minutes he had been staring at her. Afraid that she was hurt, he quickly crouched down next to her and softly called her name.
No answer came, not even a flicker of movement. His worry leaped up several degrees. “Buffy,” he said again, and placed a hand on her shoulder. Her recognition of his presence came not in the raising of her head, or the sound of her voice, but the flinching of her body from the touch of his hand on her shoulder. Angel quickly removed his hand, not wanting to frighten her.
“Buffy? What’s wrong?” he asked, trying to hide the urgency in his voice and fighting the urge to touch her again.
Slowly, her head finally rose from her knees. She stared at him blankly, saying nothing. Even in the dim light, he could make out the sight of dried tears on her cheeks. It was the vacant look in her eyes that worried him more. Still, he scanned her body, checking for any signs that she may have been hurt. Seeing no blood or torn clothes, he tried to assure himself that she was physically fine.
“What’s wrong, baby? Why are you crying?” he asked quietly, holding her eyes with his.
She blinked, seemed to focus on his face. “Angel?” she whispered in a raspy voice. Before he could say or do anything, she burst into fresh tears.
Utterly terrified by her reaction, Angel did the only thing he could think to do. He pulled her into his arms, cradling her body gently against his. Her arms locked around his neck, pressing her tighter against him. He tried to soothe her with soft words, but her heavy sobs failed to lessen.
Sliding a hand under her knees, he stood with a minimal effort. With Buffy in his arms, he entered the house and strode to the living room. He considered placing her on the couch, but the death lock she had on his neck with her arms gave him pause. So instead, he took a seat himself, keeping her within the embrace of his arms.
His frantic mind searched for what to do, what to say, but nothing seemed right. He didn’t even know what had upset her. She was lost in the sea of her emotions. All he could do was try to comfort her as her body-shaking sobs echoed through him. Whatever had happened had to have hurt her tremendously to cause this reaction.
He didn’t know how long he’d sat there with her crying, her tears soaking his shirt. He did nothing, said nothing, just held her. Finally, her sobs began to taper off, changing to miserable sniffles, then pure silence. The tension in her body eased, and her breathing evened out. It took him only a second to realize she’d cried herself to sleep.
What now? Angel wondered. What in the world was he supposed to do with an upset young woman who had cried herself to sleep in his arms? He sighed and contemplated his options. There wasn’t much he could do, he quickly figured out. So he stood carefully, not wanting to wake her from the rest she probably needed.
Silently, Angel climbed the stairs to the second floor and strode down the hall to one of the guest bedrooms. It was sparsely furnished, so far. But there was a bed, covered with the brand new linens he’d recently ordered. Somehow, he managed to shift her in his arms without waking her and pull back the covers. He placed her gently on the bed and pulled the soft cotton comforter up over her body. All the while, she never stirred.
Standing beside the bed, he ran a hand through his hair, wondering what he was supposed to do next. He wasn’t used to this sort of thing. True, he had a sister, but Fred had never been apt to fits of crying. This was completely out of his realm. He didn’t know whether he should leave her alone to sleep, or if he should stay.
The choice was taken out of his hands when he heard the frantic knocking on the front door. His eyes quickly snapped back to Buffy, but it appeared as though not even the noise could wake her from her exhausted sleep. He spared her one more glance before rushing out of the room and down the stairs.
As soon as Angel opened the door, Giles pushed passed him, nearly knocking Angel into the wall.
“Is Buffy here?” the older man demanded loudly.
Angel nearly groaned out loud. This night was just getting worse by the minute. It was suddenly obvious, though, that whatever had sent Buffy to his back porch in tears had something to do with her father. Otherwise, Giles would not be pounding on his door in the middle of the night.
“Yes, she’s here,” Angel answered reluctantly. He was tempted to tell his boss she wasn’t, but it would have been too cruel to leave him worrying about her whereabouts.
“Oh thank God,” Giles breathed out heavily, his body slumping. “Where is she?”
“Upstairs. Sleeping,” he clarified at Giles’ sharp look. “She was upset about something. What happened?”
“Damnit!” Giles cursed violently. “This is all my fault!”
Angel backed away from the agitated man. He’d never seen Giles so animated before. “What’s going on?” he asked again.
Wearily, Giles removed his glasses, rubbed at his eyes. When he looked back at Angel, his eyes were tired and guilty. “I was worried, earlier today, when I realized she’d left the house,” he began to explain. “When she returned, I was harsh with her. I just...,” he sighed, closed his eyes for a moment. “It’s dangerous for her to be out, and I jumped at her about it. But I...”
“You what?” Angel prodded.
“I never told her why,” Giles blurted out.
“You never....I’m not quite sure I’m understanding you,” Angel stated slowly, trying to piece together what he was being told.
Giles paced around the room for a minute before answering. Finally, he faced Angel again. “As I long suspected, and Buffy confirmed tonight, she has no memory of what happened...that night. She only knew that her mother and siblings where dead.”
“Good God!” Angel exclaimed harshly. “She didn’t know she was held responsible?”
“No,” Giles affirmed.
“And now she knows,” Angel concluded, shaking his head. It all made sense now. If he’d have found out he was blamed for killing his family, he’d have fallen apart to. It was a wonder she didn’t do something drastic. But instead, she’d come to him. He’d think about that fact later.
“Yes, now she knows,” Giles repeated. “We got into a...well, an argument. She wanted to know why I wouldn’t let her leave. I shouldn’t have told her or thought of a better way to do it. I just didn’t know what to say to her.”
Angel leaned back against the door, a multitude of thoughts running through his head. This was just one huge mess, and somehow he was now right in the damn middle of it. Murders, ghosts, corrupt politicians. It was unreal. If he was smart, he’d get the hell away from all of it. But he couldn’t. Not when Buffy was upstairs, lulled to sleep by her own tears. Not when Buffy was part of his life.
“She would have found out sooner or later,” Angel relented, knowing it wouldn’t ease any of Giles’ inner pain.
“I know,” Giles agreed. “But I should have handled it better. I’ve been looking for her everywhere after she ran out of the house. I was about to give up when I remembered she’d told me she was with you this afternoon.”
The slightly accusing look Giles tossed at him had Angel nearly groaning. Apparently, his boss wasn’t quite happy that his troubled young daughter was spending time at his house. “She’s come by a few times,” Angel said vaguely.
“Yes, well...,” Giles trailed off, his eyes gazing up the stairs to where Angel had said Buffy was.
“She’ll be fine for tonight,” Angel assured him. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”
Giles hesitated. Common sense warred with the need to keep his daughter safe. He knew Angel would protect her, though. So he relented and said his goodbyes, asking Angel to keep him informed and making sure he understand how imperative it was that no one know about Buffy.
The warning was unneeded, but Angel took it in stride. He knew Giles was just worried. He would have been too if he’d been in Giles’ situation.
Once he was alone again, Angel thought for only a minute before picking up the phone. It was time to take the offensive. It was time to help Buffy.
Standing in the middle of his living room, gazing at the three half-asleep faces of Willow, Spike, and Xander, Angel couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty. It was, after all, nearly three in the morning. He hadn’t considered the time when he had called them. The only thing that had been on his mind was doing something about this entire mess. He couldn’t stand to see Buffy being hurt by it all. And it was time for something to be done about it.
Buffy deserved to be free of all these accusations and the shame. She hadn’t done anything wrong. He was as sure of that as anything in his life. She was an innocent who had been caught up in a tragic mess that was not in the least her fault. Angel only hoped that he would be able to help her. In order to do that, he had to get the ball rolling, and he had a good idea how to do that.
“No offense, man,” Xander said, then yawned loudly. “But are you going to just stand there or are you going to tell us why exactly we're here in the dead of night.”
Angel paced across the room and then back to where he’d been standing. “It’s about Buffy.”
“Buffy?” Willow stated sharply, her body poising to leap in case her friend needed help. “What’s wrong? Is she okay?”
“She’s...been better,” he settled on saying. “She’s upstairs asleep.”
“Upstairs?” Spike questioned, one eyebrow raised.
“It’s not like that,” Angel quickly defended himself, though his heart gave a hard thump. He wouldn’t exactly mind if it was like that. “She had a...well, a fight, I guess, with Giles and came here. She fell asleep so I put her in the guest room.”
“She fought with Giles?” Willow repeated, a little perplexed. From what Giles had said, they barely spoke. But more... “Why would she come here?”
Fidgeting minutely, Angel wondered what he should say to them. They didn’t know about his meetings with Buffy. Maybe he shouldn’t tell them about those. In the end, he decided the truth was the best. There’d been too many lies already.
“Buffy has been coming to visit me once in a while,” he finally said. “I saw her on the beach one night and we talked. Since then, she’s come by once in a while, and we just...talk.”
Spike saw the faint blush creep up Angel’s face and wondered if ‘talking’ was all that had gone on. He contemplated questioning Angel about it, but opted not to. Angel seemed like a good guy, and if he was helping Buffy in any way then he would keep his mouth shut. For now.
“She talked to you?” Willow asked, hurt radiating from her voice. Buffy hadn’t said a word to her that day they had gone to the house.
“Yeah,” Angel answered, then realized why Willow seemed offended. “She talked to me because until recently, she’d thought you...all or you...had abandoned her. All she knew was that none of her friends talked to her or came to see her anymore.”
“All she knew?” Spike leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stared intensely at Angel. “What do you mean that’s all she knew?”
Angel sighed, rubbed his forehead. “It seems that Giles didn’t tell her anything. She didn’t know what the people believed about the murders, about her, or what Giles had caused people to think.”
Willow gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Xander sank back on the couch, muttering under his breath while Spike jumped up to pace around the room. Angel understood what they were feeling. He’d felt the same way.
“Man, that’s just...that sucks,” Xander mumbled.
“Thank you for stating the obvious,” Spike snapped at him.
“Don’t you two start,” Willow ordered, glaring at both of them. Both acquiesced guiltily. Turning back to Angel, Willow asked, “She didn’t know about any of what’s been going on?”
“No,” he replied, taking a seat on one of the remaining chairs in the living room. “She knew about Mrs. Giles and Owen and Dawn, but not that it had been deemed a murder/suicide.”
“And she found out tonight,” Spike assumed.
“Yeah,” Angel confirmed with a sigh. “She was here for a little while, and I guess when she went home, she and Giles got into an argument. I don’t know all the details, but apparently Buffy wanted to know why Giles kept her locked up in the house all the time.”
“So Giles told her? Just like that?” Willow continued for Angel. At Angel’s nod, she shook her head, her anger clear. “God, poor Buffy.”
“No wonder she was upset,” Xander mumbled, hurting for his friend and wishing there was something, anything, that he could do for her.
“What did she say to you afterwards?” Spike wanted to know.
“Nothing,” Angel replied. “I was getting ready to go to bed and I thought I heard something outside so I went to check. She was sitting on the back porch crying. I have no idea how long she’d been there,” he told them, then explained how she’d said nothing to him, only continued to cry and how he’d then taken her upstairs after she’d fallen asleep.
“Giles should have told her everything before,” Willow stated firmly.
“How?” Spike questioned her. At Willow’s glare, he shrugged and said, “I’m not saying he was right to keep quiet, but what was he supposed to say to her? You killed your family so I made them think you’d killed yourself as well and then kept you holed up in your house?”
“I guess he thought saying nothing was the lesser of the two evils,” Xander interjected, his voice tired and slow.
“It doesn’t really matter,” Angel interrupted the discussion. “Now she knows, and obviously she’s upset about it.”
“Which is why you called us,” Spike filled in, assuming that was the reason.
“Sort of,” Angel corrected, pausing before he laid out his full reason.
“I want to prove Buffy is innocent.”
Silence followed. None of the three friends had expected his affirmation. And to say that they were shocked would have been an understatement. Spike stared at Angel curiously, wondering what was in it for Angel. Willow and Xander merely frowned, wondering how in the world they would be able to do something like prove Buffy’s innocence.
“I don’t mean to be rude, Angel, but have you been drinking?” Spike asked, only half-joking.
“No,” Angel denied. “I’m completely serious.”
“But how?” Xander blurted out. “We’re not cops or anything, and the real cops did an investigation and blamed Buffy.”
“By real cops, I assume you mean the ones here in Sunnydale?” Angel questioned and continued without waiting for an answer. “The ones whose chief is the father of Buffy’s rapist and who have already proved to be swayed by power and probably money?”
“Good point,” Xander conceded.
“I’m guessing you have something in mind?” Spike asked Angel.
“Sort of,” he answered and picked up the folder he’d set down on the coffee table before everyone had arrived. He set it on his lap, but didn’t yet open it. “I’ve got a connection in law enforcement, someone outside Sunnydale. I think I could convince him to take a look at the case.”
Willow thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. “You can’t do that, Angel,” she disagreed vehemently. “If you told them she was alive they would arrest her regardless. And what if she is still found guilty? We can’t let her go to jail.”
Picking up the folder again, Angel tapped on his leg. “I don’t plan on him finding out she’s alive. At least not until he has seen the evidence and he tells me what he thinks.”
“What? You’re just going to ask him to take a look at some random case?” Spike questioned doubtfully.
“I haven’t figured out yet how I’ll bring it up to him,” Angel responded, still trying to work that one out in his head. “But I can almost guarantee that once he reads everything, he’ll agree that something isn’t right.”
“Not that I’m disagreeing with you,” Xander spoke up. “But what makes you think that?”
“Because the facts don’t add up at all,” Angel said simply.
“What are you talking about?” Willow wondered, her brow furrowing in confusion.
Opening the folder, Angel gazed down at his notes. He was silent for a moment, then explained. “When you and Spike first told me everything, I had a hard time believing Buffy could have killed her family. And then after meeting her and talking to her the few times she has visited, it seemed even more impossible. But I read over everything available, and now I’m positive. The few facts that I came across make it almost obvious that she couldn’t have done it.”
Angel waited for someone to say something, but his audience was silent. He looked up to see them all staring at him intently, waiting for him to go on. Willow was the only one who showed any outward sign of emotion with her hands clenching and unclenching in her lap. Spike appeared to be thinking mutely while Xander gazed at Angel with a frown on his face.
Since they were waiting for his explanation, he obliged. “Okay, first off, there’s Buffy herself. You three probably knew her the best then, and none of you thought she’d done it, right?” he asked for confirmation. All three nodded in one form or another.
“I never thought she did it, but...,” Xander trailed off, not sure if he should finish saying what was on his mind.
“Yeah,” Angel nodded in agreement. “At the time, she wasn’t quite-“ He searched for the right word, and winced at the only one he could come up with. “Stable. But taking into account her emotional problems, that still didn’t make her likely to be violent.”
He looked straight at Willow and Spike whose attention he had fully. “You told me about that incident when you guys went out once, the one where she supposedly attacked some guys without provocation.”
“But they were Cameron’s friends, and Buffy had said they were the ones attacking her,” Willow interjected.
“Exactly,” Angel agreed completely. “So that can’t really be counted. Other than that, was Buffy ever violent?”
“No!” Spike denied hotly and glared at Angel. “And it’s bloody stupid of you to even ask.
“Sorry.” Angel held up his hands in supplication. “I’m just trying to lay all the facts out first.”
“Sorry,” grumbled Spike, knowing he’d jumped the gun a bit.
Angel nodded his acceptance of the apology and shifted back to the original topic. “So it’s safe to say Buffy had her problems, understandable ones at that, but she wasn’t violent. That says a lot. It makes it much harder to believe that one night she just up and stabbed her family while watching movies and eating ice cream.”
“There’s no previous behavior to lead to it,” Willow concluded and then added some of her own thoughts. “Especially towards her family. They meant the world to her. She would never have hurt them.”
“Yeah,” Xander seconded.
Spike settled back on the couch, pulling Willow closer to him and eyed Angel steadily. “What else have you got, mate? I can tell you’re not done yet.”
Taking out one of his pages of notes, Angel set it on his lap, tapped his fingers on the sheet. “There’s not a lot of details about the murders in the newspaper articles I could find, but enough that two things stood out to me.”
“All three bodies were found in the same room of the house,” he began reciting the first of his theories. “The family room where they had been watching TV. Does anything strike you as strange about that?”
All three thought about his question. Xander scratched his chin, Willow narrowed eyes and Spike tapped his hand on his knee. But none appeared to come up with anything. Angel gave them another few seconds before giving his reasoning.
“They weren’t all killed at the same exact moment, for obvious logistical reasons. So how did Buffy, a fairly petite, single person, manage to kill the three of them without at least one of them getting away?” he posed for his listeners.
Willow gaped at him while Spike muttered “Bloody hell,” under his breath, then said more loudly, “You’re damn right.”
“There’s no way she could have killed all three of them like that. They would have all just had to stand there and let her,” Xander said in one of his rare insightful outbursts.
“And that makes no sense,” Angel replied in agreement. “You’d have to think that at least one of them would have been able to get out of the room. But none of them did. They were all found where they'd originally been, as if, like Xander said, they'd just stood there and let Buffy attack them, doing absolutely nothing at all to defend themselves.”
“I don’t understand,” Willow said quietly, her face pensive. The others looked at her oddly. “Oh, not that. I get what you’re saying. But shouldn’t the police have realized this? Why didn’t they take that into account?”
“And that,” Angel responded, “Is the sixty-four thousand dollar question.” Angel could see the wheels turning in Spike’s head, but he held him off from saying anything yet. “Let me throw this out there, too.”
He took another sheet of paper out of the folder, one he’d written more notes on. “Dawn and Owen were killed with fatal wounds, the throat and heart. They both died fairly quickly. That’s not the case with Joyce.”
“Her wrists were slit,” Willow cut in, and a light began to dawn in her eyes about where Angel was heading.
“Which is not necessary a fatal injury,” Angel continued on. “It can be, but it’s not incapacitating. So how did she manage to die from that? There’s no mention of any other injuries, like being knocked out, that would have hindered her or aided her death. So logically, she should have been able to do something, like call for an ambulance, to save herself. She didn't though. She just supposedly laid there on the ground and let herself bleed to death”
“I never thought about that before,” whispered Willow softly, hating herself for never coming to the conclusions Angel had. If she had, maybe she could have helped Buffy.
“I read a lot of crime novels,” Angel said by way of explanation of how he’d picked out the conflicting details. “It’s possible there’s a way to justify how Joyce died of her wounds without getting away, but there’s no way to tell without more information on the crime scene. And that,” he turned to Willow and posed, “is how I’m hoping you can help.”
“Me?” Willow squeaked.
“Yeah. You’re good with computers right?” he asked her.
“Well, yeah. Sort of,” she answered shyly.
Angel nodded, tucked his notes back into the folder. “I was hoping you could try breaking into the police department’s computer files and retrieve anything related to Buffy. The more information I have to take to my friend, the better chance we have of clearing Buffy.”
Before Willow could respond, a noise caught the group’s attention. Each and every pair of eyes whipped toward the doorway. Standing half in the shadows was Buffy. Angel could see enough of her face to be able to detect the tears streaking down her cheek. He mentally cursed himself for not being more careful knowing she was in the house. Before he could stand and go to her, she stepped into the room.
Eavesdropping had been wrong. Buffy knew it was. It had seemed impossible to do otherwise, though. She’d woken up alone in a strange, darkened room on the second floor of what she was guessing was Angel’s house. So after some debate, she’d decided to find Angel.
The previous few hours were little more than a blur in her mind. She remembered going home and then....well, she’d never forget what her father had said to her, told her. But after that, things were kind of hazy. She knew somehow she had ended up back at Angel’s. And she had a vague memory of him calling her name. It wasn’t clear, but she figured Angel must have taken inside and put her in the bed she had woken up in.
Embarrassment had flushed her cheeks when she realized that. What must he think of her? He would probably just think she was crazy like everyone else did. She had to talk to him, though. She’d told herself she would find him and apologize for falling apart and imposing on him. And then...she didn’t know what she would do after that. Going home was what she had to do. But she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to face her father, her house, and her third floor prison. Maybe, just maybe, she could ask Angel if she could stay here for a little while.
With that thought in mind, Buffy had wondered around the second floor in search of Angel. It was late, and she figured he would probably be asleep, but when she had searched every room, and come across what looked like his bedroom, she had yet to find him. Thinking that he must been on the first floor, she had descended the sturdy mahogany stairs intent on finding him.
The moment she'd reached the last stair, she had heard the hushed voices coming from the direction of the living room. At least she had thought it was the living room. She had only been inside the house a few times though. Regardless, the sound of voices had been unmistakable.
Racked with indecision, Buffy had contemplated going back upstairs, or on second thought, leaving. The sudden worry had popped into her head that maybe Angel had a girlfriend and he was in the other room with her. Her hand had gripped the banister in a death clutch at the very idea of Angel being with some woman. She hadn’t wanted to think about that, or why it bothered her so.
Instead she had crept toward to doorway through which the voices were coming. They grew louder, but still hard to hear. So she had inched closer, pressing herself against the wall, all the while chastising herself for invading Angel’s privacy.
“...can’t really be counted. Other than that, was Buffy ever violent?” she had suddenly heard clearly enough to make her jolt to a stop.
She had known it was Angel that had spoken, she recognized his voice. Just as she had recognized Spike's resounding ‘no’ that had followed. They were talking about her – Angel, Spike...and possibly others. But why? Needing to know, to understand, Buffy had gotten as close to the doorway as possible, and had listened to each and every word they said.
Emotions had whirled inside her when she realized what they were talking about. A bone deep hurt had settled inside her at the memory of the deaths her mother, brother, and sister. And then confusion, fear, and anger when she thought about that night, what had happened afterwards, and what her father had told her just hours before.
Everyone thought she had killed her family. A murderer. They thought she was a murderer. But...but...she shook her head, forcing the thoughts away and focused back on the conversation going on in the other room. The conversation about her, about her family.
She’d had to fight back a gasp when it had become clear that discussion wasn’t just about her family’s deaths, but her role in it, or rather, the role Angel seemed to be saying she couldn’t have had. Tears welled in her eyes. Angel thought she was innocent. He believed in her and he hardly knew her.
How she had ended up moving to stand in the doorway, Buffy wasn’t quite sure, but suddenly she was there, and everybody in the room was staring at her. She was vaguely aware that Spike, Willow, and Xander were seated on the couch and chair, but her eyes were on Angel. Her heart was pounding, her hands shaking at her sides.
Stepping closer to him, she said, “I didn’t kill them.” It was a statement. And maybe a question.
“No, you didn’t,” Angel replied softly. He didn’t have one hundred percent proof of that, but he was as sure of it as he was of anything. There was just no possible way Buffy could have killed her family. The facts supported that belief, but it was his gut that told him it was truth.
A single tear trickled down Buffy’s cheek and her shoulders slumped. Just having Angel’s support and belief in her loosened something inside her. Ever since the argument with her father earlier, dread had pooled in her stomach and swirled inside her head. Now it was gone. Almost.
Angel stood, lifting his hand to knuckle away the tear that clung to her soft cheek. He frowned slightly at her. “You didn’t think you did, did you?”
Buffy tilted her head, averted her eyes. She didn’t want to admit to him that after her father’s harsh words, she had wondered if she could have done what everyone believed her guilty of. If Angel knew she had entertained the thought, he would certainly reconsider his position on her innocence. No, she couldn’t tell him. But he wasn’t going to let the subject drop.
“Buffy,” he pressed, and used his hand to lift her chin. “You don’t have to hide anything from me.”
Staring into Angel’s deep brown eyes, Buffy knew he meant it. A few feet away, Willow, Spike and Xander watched the interaction with varying degrees of interest. If any of them had been asked, they would have said neither Buffy or Angel were aware of their presences at the moment. They were conscious of only each other.
“I didn’t know,” Buffy finally whispered. “Before...before tonight, I just knew they were dead. And then...,” she trailed off and took a deep breath. “After he told me about everything, I didn’t know what to think.
Angel frowned again. That wasn’t exactly the answer he had expected. How could she not know if she had committed murder? That was kind of a big deal. She should have known what happened.
He reached down and took one of her hands. “Here,” he said and lightly tugged her toward the chair he had been sitting in. “Sit down.”
Obliging, Buffy sat in the chair. Her eyes wandered toward the couch and she became fully cognizant once again of the fact that Angel wasn’t the only one in the room. She quickly looked away as fear of what they thought of her filled her mind. Did they think she was a murderer like everyone else? She tried to tell herself they wouldn’t. They had been her best friends, but still...then she remembered the conversation she had heard between them and Angel.
Willow solved the problem by speaking up for herself and the others. “Buffy, we know you didn’t do it. We always knew.”
She let out a heavy breath, but still kept her eyes trained on her hands. They said she hadn’t done it – Angel said she hadn’t done it, but there was still a niggling doubt in her mind. How did she know if she had killed her mother, her sister and her brother? The answer was simple: she didn’t know.
Angel dragged a stool over in front of the chair and sat. He glanced at group seated on the other side of the room, his concern for Buffy obvious. Despite the fact that they had voiced their support, it was Buffy who seemed to have her doubts. And that was hard for him to understand.
For a long, silent minute, Angel contemplated what he should say to her. He wanted to erase whatever was causing her disbelief. But what could he say? Several avenues circled in his head, but none seemed viable. Instead, he settled for the one question that he felt needed to be asked.
“Buffy,” he began, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “Why don’t you tell us what you remember about that night? Maybe it would help us to understand it better.”
No answer came for several long seconds. Angel was beginning to think that Buffy had either not heard the question, or had no intention of answering. But, finally, after a few nervous twitches of her clenched hands, Buffy spoke.
“I don’t,” she paused, cleared her throat. “I don’t really remember much.”
Angel patted her knee gently in reassurance. “Just tell us anything you can remember.”
“Okay,” she nodded, still twisting her fingers together. “We...we were all in the family room – Mom, Dawn, Owen and me. It was movie night. Once a week we would all watch a couple of movies together,” she clarified for Angel’s sake. “Dawn and Owen were arguing over what movie we were going to watch first...”
Buffy’s eyes glazed over slightly as her mind drifted back to that fateful night.
“Come on, Owen!” Dawn whined and playfully slapped at her brother’s arm. “We watched your movie first last week!”
“So?” Owen replied with a grunt and pushed his annoying little sister’s hand away.
“You’re not being fair!” She crossed her arms over her chest, sticking her lower lip out in an exaggerated pout.
“Don’t be a baby,” he chided and rolled his eyes. “My movie is better anyway.”
“Is not!” Dawn disagreed. “Mine is sooo much better, and we’re watching it first!”
“No, we’re watching mine first,” Buffy interjected with a smirk. When both of her siblings opened their mouths to disagree, she added, “I’m the oldest, so I get to pick.”
“That’s so not fair,” Dawn whined and eyed Buffy in annoyance.
“Your point?” Buffy asked, rising off the sofa to pop her tape into the VCR.
“Ugh,” Owen groaned. “A chick flick.”
Buffy ignored his complaint and pushed her tape into the VCR. She turned, faced her glaring brother. “For your information-.”
“I can see we’re starting off as usual,” Joyce interrupted, walking into the room with a tray in her hands. She shook her head at her children. They could never agree on anything.
“Ooooh! Ice cream!” Dawn cheered happily while snagging a bowl off the tray her mother carried. She looked down at the bowl and frowned. “Mint chocolate chip? Who picked that?”
Joyce glanced at the bowls full of green mint ice cream speckled with brown chocolate chips. Her brow furrowed for a moment in consideration. “I think it must have been your father.”
Dawn opened her mouth to reply, but Buffy cut her off. “Where is Dad anyway?”
Setting the tray down on the coffee table, Joyce took a bowl for herself and plopped down onto one of the cushioned chairs in front of the television. “He should be here soon,” she answered, checked her watch and saw that it was a little past five p.m.
“He’s usually home by now,” Owen said over a mouth full of ice cream.
“It’s Friday, he probably got caught in traffic,” Joyce assumed while spooning up her own dessert. “He would have called if he was going to be late. I’m sure he won’t mind if we start the first movie, though.”
Buffy set down her spoon and grabbed the remote control. She pressed play, then tossed the remote down beside her on the couch. After a few moments, the open credits began to roll by.
“You picked The Matrix? Cool!” Owen contentedly settled down to watch one of his favorite action movies.
“Hey, Keanu’s cute,” Buffy said as Dawn giggled next to her on the couch.
Joyce bit back a chuckle, all the while feeling a bit of relief at Buffy’s carefree attitude. Her daughter was doing better. She smiled a bit more these days, even if she mostly refused to go outside of the house except for her walks on the beach. Soon, maybe things would return to normal. Shaking off her thoughts of the past, Joyce settled down to watch the movie with her family, and hoped her husband would get home soon. She missed him every day when he went off to work.
Angel listened attentively, trying to pick up anything in Buffy’s story that seemed out of place, but so far, it sounded as though the night had started off normal, harmless. There was nothing to indicate that Buffy had spiraled into a rage, as the reports had vacantly accused. From her description, she’d been happy that night, or at least happier than she’d been in the past. Her relating of the beginning of that night only reinforced Angel’s belief that Buffy just could not have done it.
“What happened after that?” he asked, needing to hear the rest in order to be able to do anything to help her.
Buffy frowned, her eyes squinted beneath her lowered brow. She thought back on that night, tried to push the memories forward. But all she came up with was a big blank space. There was just nothing immediately after they had sat down to start watching the movie.
“Buffy?” Angel prodded gently.
“I-I don’t know,” she confessed, looking up at him with scared eyes. “I can’t remember.”
“That’s okay,” he assured her even though it made things difficult. “Tell me what you do remember.”
A shudder worked its way through Buffy. She tried to avoid thinking about this part of that night as much as possible. The images were too much to bear. So, over the years, she had forced them out of her mind. But during sleep, they haunted her in dreams tinted red with blood.
“I...I...” She shuddered again, and gratefully grabbed onto Angel’s hand when he offered it to her. “I was sitting on the couch. J-just sitting there. On...on the TV, the credits of the movie were showing...and-and I thought that was strange. I started to – to get up...and I saw...I saw.” Buffy choked back a sob, pressed a hand to her mouth.
She could clearly remember her eyes landing on Dawn, a few feet away from where she’d been sitting, her body – her bloodied, lifeless body – hanging off the couch. Sheer horror had had her stumbling away from the couch, nearly tripping over Owen’s prone form. And then, as she’d struggled toward the door, there had been her mother.
“They were just there,” she continued in a shattered whisper. “I-I think I screamed. I don’t r-remember anything after that, except,” she paused, probing deeper into her mind. “I think Daddy carried me somewhere. I’m not sure.”
“You don’t remember anything between when the movie started and the end of it?” Angel asked for clarification. That’s weird, he said to himself. Almost two hours of time where her memory was blank.
“No,” Buffy despaired. There was nothing she remembered from that time period. And that was what scared her.
Angel heard the absolute anguish in her voice and somehow recognized it was from more than just her lack of memory. “What is it, Buffy?”
“What if...,” she hesitated, afraid to say her fear out loud. “What if I did it? What if I...I killed them and blocked it out?” There, she’d said it, said what had been circling around her mind since running from her father’s house. She could have done it. She could have killed the people who meant the most to her and then blocked it out. It was possible. It had happened to people before.
“No!” Angel refuted defiantly. “Listen to me, Buffy. You didn’t do anything wrong!”
“But then why can’t I remember?” she asked pleadingly, wishing she could believe him.
Willow stood up, moved toward Buffy. She knelt down in front of her friend, looked her directly in the eyes. “Angel’s right,” she said in agreement. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Buffy.”
Before Buffy could deny or question the statement, Angel interrupted. “Let us explain then you’ll understand.”
He hesitated as Buffy stared up at him expectantly. Yes, he had reasons, valid reasons, as to why he believed in her innocence, but he worried about saying them out loud to her. He didn’t know if she would be able to handle frank talk about her family’s murders. The things he had discussed with the others weren’t exactly PG rated. Yet, he knew if she were to understand and to believe in herself, he would have to give her the full explanation.
So he did. As gently as possible, he relayed what he had talked about with Willow, Xander and Spike. He explained about how unlikely it was that one person, her, could have killed all three people without one getting away, or even being injured. And more so, he mentioned the suspect circumstances of her mother’s cause of death.
All the while, Buffy listened stoically. She flinched at the description of how her mother died, but otherwise, she only listened. When Angel finished, she gazed up at him with tear-laden eyes and said, “I don’t understand. Why would anyone kill them? They never hurt anyone.”
Angel didn’t respond. He had his suspicions. Buffy looked to Willow, but she too was silent. When her eyes met Xander’s, he quickly looked away. And suddenly she knew what no one was willing to say.
“It was because of me,” she whispered. “You think they were killed because of me, because of the ra-...because of what Cameron did to me.”
There was no easy way to respond to the statement Buffy made, that the rape had led to her family members' deaths, Angel realized. All through his research on the events of four years ago, there was only one conclusion he'd been able to come to. The police had missed some key information, clues that changed everything. So either they were really incompetent, or they'd done it on purpose. He was betting on the latter considering the fact that Cameron Walker's father was police chief, and the police chief's best friend was Mayor Richard Wilkins, a man he'd been told was rotten to the core.
That line of thinking took Angel down another road. Someone had killed three of the Giles family. Who else had a motive other than Cameron Walker's family, and his family's friends, to take revenge on Buffy. No one. By the things Willow had told him, the Walkers, and their entourage, had been quite vicious to Buffy after the rape. Would they have possibly gone so far as to commit murder to get back at her? Considering that the blame got laid on Buffy's head, yes. It was a perfect way to ruin her.
If his suppositions were correct, then, Cameron’s father, and others, had arranged the murder of Buffy’s family. But that didn’t mean any of it was her fault, and that was what he, along with Spike, Willow, and Xander, had to get her to understand. How he was going to do that, Angel didn’t have a clue.
When no on dared to refute her claim, Buffy slumped back in the chair. She’d killed her family just as if she’d used the knife on them. No one had to tell her that. The facts were staring her right in the face. “This is all my fault,” she said brokenly.
Angel’s head jerked up and he stared at her hard as he forcefully disagreed with her. “No, Buffy. This was anything but your fault.”
“But if I-.”
“No,” Angel cut her off abruptly. “It was not your fault,” he repeated.
Willow, still kneeling in front of the chair, took one of Buffy’s hands to draw her attention. “What did you do wrong to make what happened your fault?” she asked simply.
The question gave Buffy pause. What had she done wrong? “I...I accused Cameron of...of raping me.” That was, after all, what had started everything.
“Accused?” Willow repeated, disheartened by the defeat she heard in Buffy’s voice. “He raped you, Buffy. Cameron Walker raped you. He’s the one to blame for all this. Him, his father, and all his cronies.”
“But-.” Again, Buffy was interrupted.
“There’s no buts about it,” Willow stated emphatically. She looked directly at Buffy. “Did Cameron rape you?” Buffy nodded her head yes, unable to say it aloud. “Did you go to the police and tell them the truth about what happened?” Willow then asked.
“You know I did,” she answered softly.
“Then you did nothing wrong!” Willow squeezed Buffy’s hand, forced her to raise her eyes. “You were the victim, Buffy. And the police were supposed to help you. You can’t be blamed for their corruption and what they did afterwards.”
A few tears slipped out of Buffy’s eyes, her lower lip quivered as she fought the urge to break down and cry. In her heart, she knew they were right. All she’d done was tell the truth about what had happened in the locker room the day of her seventeenth birthday. But still...
“If I hadn’t said anything, none of this would have happened,” she said, voicing the one thought in her mind.
Spike, who’d stood and walked over to her chair, ran a gentle hand down her hair. “None of us could have predicted what happened, Buffy,” he told her, keeping his hand on her shoulder. “The police are supposed to help people and punish the bloody bastards who do things like what Cameron did to you. You couldn’t have known what would happen.”
“No, you couldn’t have known what would happen,” Angel agreed, speaking up after having allowed Buffy’s friends to add their support. “But we’re not going to let them get away with what they did,” he finished defiantly.
“What-what do you mean?” Buffy asked.
For a brief moment, Angel hesitated. What was he getting himself involved in, he wondered? This wasn’t one of the crime novels he loved to read. This was real life. And the people he was getting ready to go up against were not good people. They’d covered up a rape, and likely had paid someone – since doing it themselves would be above them – to murder three people. He had to be insane to get involved.
Looking up into Buffy’s sad eyes, Angel knew he was insane. He would do anything he could to help her. In the short time he had been in Sunnydale, and the even shorter time that he had known Buffy personally, she had worked her way under his skin without even knowing it. And he wasn’t ready to admit it yet, but she had also worked her way into his heart.
“I’ve got a friend who works for FBI here in California. I think I can get him to take a look at case...everything from the rape to the murders,” he broke out of his thoughts and told Buffy. The expected alarm on her face didn’t come unexpected. “Don’t worry,” he assured her. “He’s a good guy. I trust him, and I don’t have any intention of telling him that you are really alive until I know he believes you are innocent.”
Seeing her reluctance, Spike squeezed her shoulder. “It’s the right thing to do, Buffy.”
“I agree,” Xander chimed in as he stood and walked over to Buffy. He gave Willow a look and a slight jerk of his head, silently asking her to move. She complied and Xander looked at both Angel and Spike, also asking them to give him some space. They obeyed.
Xander took Angel’s seat on the stool and took a deep breath. “First off, Buff, I want to apologize to you,” he began. “I wasn’t a good friend to you. I should have stuck by you after the rape, and I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Xander,” Buffy said with a slight sniffle as she took his hand. “I know things were hard for you. I always understood that.”
“It doesn’t matter. I should have stuck by you,” he repeated firmly. “But I’ll be there this time. This all has to stop, Buff. They need to pay for what they’ve done to you, and who knows what they could do to some other innocent victim.”
She wanted to cry. She wanted to throw her arms around Xander and hug him. Yes, it had hurt years ago when he’d backed away after the rape. But she hadn’t lied when she said she’d understood. His future had been on the line. And in the end, it hadn’t mattered. He had lost a chance at a college scholarship by getting kicked off the swim team because of his association with her. Another thing the rape had ruined.
But were they right? Should Angel talk to his friend? Part of her wanted to scream out ‘no!’ and run back to her attic rooms and hide. That part of her didn’t want to deal with any of it. And what would happen if something went wrong? What if she was arrested and put in jail like her father believed she would? What if Cameron’s father found out she was alive and did something else to her? Or worse, to her father, her friends? Or Angel. She couldn’t bear anything more happening to them because of her.
There was another part of her, though, that wanted them to pay for all they had done to her. Cameron had gotten away with violating her, and later tormenting her with his friends. And if Angel was right, his father and his father’s friends, including Mayor Wilkins, had murdered her family. Could she let them get away with that?
Buffy didn’t know what to do. Willow, Spike and Xander thought she should fight back. Angel thought she should fight back. She trusted them, and Angel, didn’t she?
Yes, she did.
“Okay, what do we do?”
~`~`~
The sun was just beginning to crest on the horizon when Buffy finally made it back upstairs to Angel’s guest room. She eyed the bed, smiling slightly at the sight of Shadow, the kitten, curled up in a ball on one of the pillows, but wondering if she would be able to sleep if she lay down. She didn’t think she would. Her mind was too busy sorting through everything that had happened earlier, with her father, with her friends, and with Angel.
In less than twenty-four hours, she had been kissed by Angel – something she still had trouble grasping. She’d argued with her father and found out the horrible truth about why he kept her virtually locked inside the house that had once been her home. That alone would have been enough to overwhelm a person. But then she’d returned to Angel’s house, and he’d taken her in, given her a bed to sleep on. To top it all off, she had interrupted a conversation between Angel and her friends where they had thrust their support at her and squelched all the doubts she had about the night her family had been killed. Almost.
Buffy eased herself down on the edge of the bed and reached out to pet the kitten as she thought about it all. In the four years that had passed since the murders, she had never even had the slightest inclination that her father believed she had killed them. Her hand trembled on the kitten at the thought. It hurt to know that her father could think she had killed three people who meant everything to her. But she supposed she couldn’t really blame him for accepting her guilt under the circumstances. She had her own doubts about that night.
If only there wasn't a big blank spot in her memory about what had happened after they’d all sat down to watch the movie. It scared her that she didn’t remember. As long as there was an empty whole in her memory, she would wonder about what really happened, and if she’d had any part in it. But she believed what Angel had explained to her about the things he’d learned from reading the articles. His reasoning made sense about why she was innocent. She was just having a hard time completely convincing herself that she wasn’t a murderer, or at least some sort of unknowing accomplice.
“Buffy?”
Startled, Buffy nearly leapt off the bed. Pressing a hand to her now pounding heart, she turned and saw Angel standing in the doorway to the room.
“Sorry. I didn’t meant to scare you,” he apologized and took another step into the room.
“That’s okay,” she replied and gave him a small smile.
“I, umm...here’s some clothes you can sleep in.” Angel thrust a bundle at her and then shoved his hands in his pockets. He didn’t know why he was suddenly nervous, but he was.
Buffy took the clothes, touched that he would think of such a mundane thing. Unfolding them, Buffy looked at the items. He’d brought her a t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts with a drawstring. She looked down at her own clothes, grateful that she wouldn’t have to sleep in them.
“There’s, uh, a bathroom down at the end of the hall where you can change,” he told her and nodded in the direction.
“Thanks.” She grasped the clothes in her hands against her chest and stood. “I’ll be right back.”
Angel watched as she shuffled out of the room. It was just dawning on him that Buffy was staying at his house. Buffy, who he’d kissed just hours earlier. Buffy, who he wouldn’t mind kissing again. He quickly shoved that idea out of his head. Thinking about kissing Buffy was completely inappropriate given the situation. Knowing that didn’t stop him from wanting to do it.
The soft footsteps warned Angel that Buffy was on her way back to the room. Needing to be doing something, he wandered over to the window and looked out at the lightening sky. It would be morning soon, and he hadn’t even had an hour’s worth of sleep. He silently thanked his old job for getting him used to working on little sleep.
He turned when he heard Buffy moving about in the room. She’d set her clothes down on top of the dresser and was now wearing his clothes. The sight made his heart thump wildly in his chest. His t-shirt was huge on her, the neck hanging almost off one shoulder. It likely would have hung to her knees, but she had tied it in a knot on her left hip. The shorts, though, did drape to her knees. If they hadn’t had a drawstring, he had no doubt the wouldn’t have stayed up. For some reason, the look was incredibly sexy. And again he told himself thoughts like that were completely inappropriate.
“I have to go in to work for a little while today, but I shouldn’t be gone too long,” he finally said in order to distract himself from lascivious thoughts of Buffy in his clothes.
“Okay,” she mumbled, suddenly feeling a bit uncomfortable. “I, um...thanks for letting me stay here. I’ll try not to be a pain.”
“Buffy.” Angel walked over and untwined her hands which had been twisting together in front of her. He held them lightly while he spoke. “It’s not a problem at all. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want.”
She breathed a sigh of relief and smiled up at him. “Thanks.”
“And you’re free to have anything in the kitchen or watch the TV or whatever. I’ve got a few movies you can watch, or there are a bunch of books if you like to read. Just don’t go...,” he paused, unsure of how to say the next thing without upsetting her or making her angry.
Reading his mind, Buffy gave a slight nod of her head. “Don’t go outside, right?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s okay. I understand,” she replied. She wouldn’t admit it, but she really didn’t want to go outside. Not here in Sunnydale where everyone thought she was crazy, and a murderer. And dead.
“Well, I um...I guess I’ll let you get to sleep,” Angel stated as he released Buffy’s hands and started toward the door.
The loss of contact slapped at Buffy the moment he let go of her. His touch felt so natural. She hadn’t wanted him to let go. But more, she didn’t want to be alone right now. “Angel?” He stopped, glanced at her. She said nothing for several seconds, unsure of what she wanted to ask, but finally went for it. “Would you...would you stay with me until I fall asleep?”
The softly spoken plea trickled down spine and set his nerves on edge, but he couldn’t deny her. “Sure.” He slipped off his shoes and approached the bed, wondering how they were going to work this.
Seeing no other choice, since there weren’t yet any chairs in the room, he sat down on the bed with his back leaning against the oak headboard. Not the most comfortable position, but it would do. Buffy hesitated for a moment. Did she really want to get into a bed with a man she hardly knew? She nibbled on her lower lip. This was Angel, though. He was kind to her. He didn't think she was crazy or a killer. She didn't think he would do anything to hurt her, so she too climbed onto the bed.
“Thanks,” she responded gratefully, trying not to think about the fact that she was in a bed with Angel. It was...strange. But not all that uncomfortable. For the most part.
Angel was silent as she lay down on her side, pulling the blankets up around her chest. The moment she’d settled herself in, a wave of exhaustion hit Buffy. It looked as though she would be able to sleep even though she’d thought she wouldn’t. Blinking her eyes to fight off sleep, she tilted her head and looked up at the man who’d offered her more than just a place to stay.
“Angel?” she asked quietly.
“Yeah?” He shifted to look down at her blonde head nestled on the pillow covered in a soft green pillowcase.
“Why are you doing this?” she questioned, needing to know the answer.
He frowned, uncertain of her meaning. “Doing what?”
“Helping me,” she clarified, then added, “Being nice to me.”
It was a simple question, Angel thought. Too bad he didn’t have a simple response. He wasn’t sure he even had a complete answer. Ever since the first time he’d seen her walking on the beach at midnight he’d been drawn to her. There was no way to explain why, when he didn’t quite know himself. Even so, he needed to give her some kind of answer.
“Because you’re a good person, Buffy, and I want to help you.” Angel winced. Lame answer, but it was the best he could come up with without sounding like an idiot.
He wasn’t sure if the answer was what she wanted to hear because she said nothing. So he watched as her eyes drifted closed. A minute passed in silence and he thought she’d fallen asleep, but then he heard her say his name again in a sleepy whisper.
“Hmm?”
“Thank you,” she said, her voice muffled by the pillow and sleepiness.
He smiled and settled back against the headboard. “You’re welcome.”
Angel stayed awake as the sun continued to rise in the sky. It would have been useless to try to get any sleep now, not when he had to get up to go to work in another hour or so. Plus, if he had fallen asleep, he didn’t have his alarm clock to wake him up. So instead, he sat on the bed next to Buffy, watching the sun inch across the room toward the bed.
He couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she looked in the early morning sun. Her golden hair was spread out across the pillow, shining brightly under the sunlight. Her left hand was curled up near her head, shifting occasionally as she slept. The room was quiet except for the light sound of her breathing. She didn’t snore. Angel tucked that little fact inside his head.
Only a half hour or so had passed when a slight whimper from Buffy caught his attention. Gazing down at her, his muscles tensed. Her previously serene face was now marred with a furrowed brow and quivering lower lip. She whimpered again and her body twitched. The hand on the pillow clenched, grasping at the green pillowcase.
Should he wake her up? Or should he let the dream – nightmare? – run its course? He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to wake her up unless he had to, so he shifted closer to her and as gently as possible pried her clenched hand off the pillowcase. The motion never woke her.
Angel held her hand against his chest, lightly trailing his thumb across her knuckles. The contact seemed to work because within minutes the tension left her body. Her breathing returned to normal and her fingers loosened. He uncurled them further and laid her palm flat against his chest, all the while never stopping the soothing caress of his thumb on the back of her hand.
For the rest of the time he was there, she slept peacefully.
Sunlight was streaming all the way across the bed by the time Buffy woke up several hours later. Disorientation set in first. The room and the bed were unfamiliar. It only took a moment, though, for her memories of the night before to resurface. She was at Angel’s house, sleeping in Angel’s guestroom. And she was currently in the bed that she had fallen asleep next to Angel early that morning.
Before she could stop herself, Buffy whipped her head around to look at the other side of the bed, hoping, but knowing she wouldn’t, find Angel there. He had told her he needed to go to work today. As expected, the bed was empty. Or almost.
Lying on the pillow next to her was a single sheet of paper, as well as a cluster of what looked like wildflowers. Buffy couldn’t stop the smile that formed at seeing them. Angel had left her flowers. She sat up quickly and scooped them up in her hands, lifting them to her face so she could inhale their fresh scent. The sigh she emitted would have embarrassed her if anyone had been in the room with her.
She held the flowers in front of her for a long minute, all but cooing over the gesture. They were only wildflowers, but they were beautiful, coming in a range of colors and blooms. Finally, Buffy lowered them to her lap and picked up the accompanying note. The sight of Angel’s flowing script made her smile again as she read the letter.
Buffy,
I hope you slept well. I didn’t want to wake you when I left.
Don’t hesitate to use anything in the house. There’s plenty of food in the kitchen if you get hungry.
I should be home by 4. I’ll stop and pick up a pizza for dinner.
Angel
The mere mention of food made her stomach growl. She couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was only one in the afternoon. Way too early to wait for the dinner Angel promised to bring with him. She’d have to take him up on his offer to raid the kitchen.
Still holding the note and the flowers, Buffy climbed out of the big, comfortable bed and padded out of the room. The moment she walked through the doorway and into the hallway, a black ball of fur lept at her feet, causing her to shriek, then burst out laughing. The kitten stopped batting at her toes long enough to look at her as though she were not quite sane.
“Hello, Shadow,” she greeted the kitten, bending down to scratch her ears. The kitten purred loudly and brushed against Buffy’s ankle. “Are you hungry, too?” she asked. Shadow cocked her as if to say yes, so Buffy picked her up.
Now carrying the kitten, the flowers, and the note, Buffy descended the stairs and walked through the house. It wasn’t until she reached the kitchen that she realized she felt totally at ease in Angel’s home. Strange, she thought. She hadn’t felt comfortable anywhere since...since a long time ago.
As she searched through the cabinets for cat food, Buffy considered the thought. Why did she feel so comfortable here? She supposed it was because everything about Angel’s house was positive. She had no bad memories of the place, unlike the house she shared with her father. Everything here was light and fresh. She rather liked it.
But, she quickly amended, it wouldn’t do to get used to it. This was Angel’s house. Not hers. She was only a guest. That reminder didn’t stop her from wondering, though, what it would be like to live here. With Angel.
A blush crept up her cheeks at the intimate connotation of her imagination. What in the world was she thinking? She had no business thinking fantasies like that. Angel was just...a friend. He was only helping her clear her name and get her life back on track. That was all he was doing. She didn't even really want to consider anything beyond that.
The memory of the kiss they’d shared rose in her mind. That hadn’t exactly been a friendly thing, had it? It hadn’t seemed like a strictly platonic gesture at the time. It had seemed like...everything. But what did it mean to Angel? Why had he done it? Maybe he had only been trying to be nice to her because he felt sorry for her. She hoped that wasn’t the reason. Then again, maybe it was better if that was the case. She could handle something like a platonic kiss between friends. Anything else...Buffy shuddered, dark memories surging to the surface.
A loud meow shook Buffy out of her thoughts, making her realize she’d found the cat food, but gotten so sidetracked thinking about Angel she’d forgotten to pour some into the kitten’s bowl. She’d simply been standing there at the counter, cat food in hand, mind wandering. Good thing no one was around to see her act like a fool.
Walking over to the silly porcelain bowls Angel had bought, she poured some of the special kitten formula dry food for Shadow. As soon as she moved away, the kitten happily crouched and starting munching away.
After replacing the cat food, Buffy’s stomach growled again, reminding her of her own hunger. She strode over the refrigerator and poked around inside. There was some leftover fried chicken in a bowl that looked appetizing, but she worried that it would make her too full and then she wouldn’t be hungry when Angel came back with the pizza.
She put the bowl covered with plastic wrap back on the shelf and looked around for something else. In the dairy drawer, she found some packaged cheese. If Angel had any crackers to go with the cheese, it would make a good snack. Grabbing the block of cheddar, along with a can of diet cola, Buffy closed the fridge and set her selection on the counter.
A short search later, she’d found some cracked wheat crackers and had seated herself at the kitchen table. She was just about to slice off a piece of cheddar when a knock sounded on the front door. Her hand froze mid-cut, panic seizing her instantly.
Who in the world would be knocking on Angel’s door in the middle of the day? It didn’t matter who, though. Nobody could know that she was here – or that she was alive for that matter. Luckily, whoever was at the door couldn’t see into the kitchen where she was. She hoped they went away quickly.
The knock came again, increasing her worry. To be on the safe side, she quietly stood from the table and inched her way over toward the pantry. She could hide there if necessary. She had reached the slatted doors when yet another knock sounded. Whoever it was didn’t seem to be going away. Would they try to come in? Peek in the windows?
As Buffy was about to slip into the pantry, she heard familiar voice call out.
“It’s Willow!”
Buffy slumped against the wall in relief, and let out a heavy sigh. It was only Willow, someone who knew she was live and didn’t believe she was a murderer. And actually, she wouldn’t mind seeing Willow. Ever since things had changed, she hadn’t had a chance to really talk to her friend.
Even though she knew it was Willow at the door, Buffy was still cautious as she approached. She took care to peek out the curtained side windows just to be safe. The flash of red hair assured her that it was indeed Willow. Still, when she opened the door, she made certain to stand behind it so that she couldn’t be seen from the outside.
Willow scooted in, allowing Buffy to close the door quickly. For several drawn out seconds, the two could only stare at each other, feeling an awkwardness between them. Buffy’s eyes darted around the foyer while Willow shifted nervously on her feet. Neither knew what to say to the other.
Finally, Willow grabbed at the duffel bag hanging off her shoulder and held it out to Buffy. “I...um...I brought you some clothes.” At Buffy’s questioning look, she elaborated, “Giles...he...um...I got a key from him and got some of your stuff.” What she didn’t say was that she’d seen where Buffy had spent the last few years. It wasn’t bad. It just looked...lonely.
“Oh...thanks.” Buffy’s eyes flicked down to her current attire. She pulled at the t-shirt still knotted at her hip. “These are Angel’s. They’re kinda big.”
“Well, Angel’s a big guy,” Willow replied. The two friends burst out laughing at the silly comment, and suddenly, the awkwardness was gone.
“Yeah, he is,” Buffy agreed, flushing a bit as she thought of Angel’s large body near hers on the bed the night before. Willow noticed the slight scarlet tint to Buffy’s cheeks, but said nothing.
Sighing, Willow looked at Buffy, struck suddenly by the fact that her best friend was really alive and in her life again. “It’s so good to have you back, Buffy.”
“I missed you, too,” she answered with a small sniffle.
Willow stepped forward, wanting to hug Buffy, but hesitated. “Do you mind?” she asked.
Buffy shook her head. “No.”
They embraced, and both were soon crying, releasing years of pent up emotions. It was Willow who finally pulled back, but kept her hands on Buffy’s arms, afraid to let go. “Oh, Buffy. I wish I’d known...I could have done something...been there for you.”
Smiling sadly, Buffy swiped at her wet cheeks. “It’s okay. You’re here now.”
“Yes, I am,” Willow said definitively. “And I always will be.”
Accepting the reinforcement, Buffy nodded her head, but said nothing in response. She didn’t want to talk about her past right now. All she wanted was to spend some time with her best friend. She had missed so much. “I was just about to have a snack. Do you want some?”
“Sure,” Willow answered with a smile and followed Buffy into the kitchen.
Once in the kitchen, Buffy went to the refrigerator and pulled out a can of the same soda she’d gotten for herself and held it up to Willow. “Is this okay?”
“Yeah, that’s fine,” Willow replied, taking a seat on a chair at the table.
Following suit, Buffy sat down and handed Willow the can. She pulled out some more crackers, placing them between them on the table. As Willow raised her hand to open the can of diet cola, a shiny glint off her hand caught Buffy’s eye. Shocked, she grabbed at Willow’s hand, staring at the medium sized emerald surrounded by little diamonds set in a gold band.
“Is this...,” she mumbled, looking up at Willow who was blushing slightly.
“Uh huh,” Willow responded shyly.
“You’re engaged?!” shrieked Buffy, yanking on her hand to get a better look.
“Spike and I are getting married next month,” Willow told her even though Buffy hadn’t yet asked.
Buffy’s mouth dropped open. Spike and Willow? Engaged? Getting married? It was almost too much to fathom. She knew they’d been friends in high school. They had all been friends. But there had never been anything romantic between the two. Willow had been seriously dating...
“What about Oz?” Buffy blurted out.
Shifting in her seat, Willow let the hand that Buffy had let go of drop to her lap. Her anger with her former boyfriend was long past, and they still kept in touch as friends, but she hated to talk about it. This was Buffy though, her best friend.
“We broke up about three years ago,” Willow relayed, slicing off a piece of the cheddar cheese as a way to add some distraction.
“Oh, Willow,” Buffy said, leaning forward. “What happened?”
Willow shrugged, took a bite of her cracker with cheese, chewed slowly. She swallowed, then sighed loudly. “Well, you know his band was getting popular after high school,” she began, and Buffy nodded. “They started touring places within an hour or two driving's distance with this band Shy. One weekend I decided I would go up to Pasadena where they were playing and surprise him since he’d been gone a few weeks. It was fairly early in the morning, and I didn’t want to wake him so I convinced the manager of the motel to give me a key. When I went in, Oz was in bed with this chick Veruca, the totally skanky lead singer of Shy.”
“No way! Oz would never have cheated on you!” Buffy refuted, completely surprised that he would do that to Willow. Oz had always been so loyal to her.
“I didn’t think so either,” she agreed, shrugging again. “But they were in bed naked. I left before Oz could explain. But he followed me back to Sunnydale. He said it had been a one time thing. They’d gotten drunk and accidentally slept together.” At Buffy’s snort, Willow nodded. “Yeah. I don’t doubt that’s what happened, but what was to stop it from happening again with her? Or some groupie? I couldn’t stand the idea of him being all over the place with women throwing themselves at him while I was here in Sunnydale, so I broke up with him.”
“Wow.” Buffy was almost speechless. She couldn’t believe what had happened. Willow and Oz had seemed so perfect together. And she never, never would have imagined Oz cheating on her best friend. “I’m so sorry, Willow.”
“It’s okay.” Patting Buffy’s hand, Willow gave a small smile. “It hurt for a long time, but I got over it. I still talk to Oz. We’ve managed to still be friends.”
“That’s good.” Still, Buffy thought, that didn’t explain... “How did you end up with Spike?”
Willow laughed, took a sip of her soda. “It’s strange, I know. I never would have thought we’d end up together either,” she said, still chuckling. “But he was there for me after everything with Oz. Neither of us really had many friends here so we did stuff together. Then he came up with this crazy idea about starting a business as partners.”
“A business? Spike wanted to start a business?” The very idea seemed ludicrous to Buffy. He’d been such a bad boy in high school, always getting in trouble for something. Of course, as his friend, she’d known most of it was just an act. Deep down, he was a good guy. Even so, Spike as a business owner was way too strange.
“Yeah, I thought he was joking at first,” Willow said what Buffy was thinking. “But he was serious. When I asked him why, he said he didn’t want to be a loser all his life like people thought he was.”
“Spike’s not a loser,” Buffy strongly disagreed.
“I told him that too, but he wanted to have something to stand on, to make him somebody.” She bit into another cracker, lifted her shoulders restlessly. “I didn’t think starting a business was such a good idea, at least not here with...everything that’d happened. But the more he talked about it, the better it sounded. I had some money that my grandmother left me after she died, and Spike had saved working at that motorcycle garage,” she explained, referring to where Spike had had a job since he was sixteen.
“So you started a business?” Buffy asked incredulously.
“Yup.” Willow nodded, knowing it sounded odd. “We opened up an internet coffee shop. It was the only thing that made sense here.”
“Wow.” Buffy shook her head in disbelief. Not only were Willow and Spike engaged to be married, they also owned a shop together. How strange.
“The first few months were rough,” Willow went on. “We didn’t have the best reputations because of...,” she trailed off.
“Because of me,” Buffy filled in what Willow hadn’t said. “I’m sorry.”
“No, Buffy. Don’t be sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Willow stated vehemently, taking one of Buffy’s hands. “YOU were the one wronged. And I don’t regret being your friend. Neither does Spike.”
“Oh Willow.” Buffy choked back a sniffle, but when Willow pulled her into a hug, she let the tears flow.
The two remained locked in an embrace, shedding tears for all the time they’d lost, and all that had happened in the past. Four years may have passed since the last time they’d been able to spend any real time together, but to them it didn’t matter. They’d been friends since childhood. That kind of connection couldn’t be severed because of all that had passed in the intervening years.
Over the next two hours, they talked about Willow’s life, her relationship with Spike, and her business. Buffy was eager to hear about all that she had missed. If she felt a sense of loss in her heart over the fact that she had lost so much time, she held it inside. And if she felt any anger at her father for keeping her existence a secret for four years, she fought it back. She didn’t want her reunion with her best friend tainted. Which was why she avoided any talk about her own past.
Willow noticed the direction of the conversation, the fact that everything had been about her, but she let it be. True, she did want to talk to Buffy about the four years she’d been gone. Presumed dead. But she didn’t want to push. Buffy would talk about it when she was ready. All that mattered now was that Buffy was back. And she was damned sure it was going stay that way. She was not going to let anything else happen to Buffy.
They had just started talking about Willow’s family when suddenly the redhead jumped and looked down at her feet where she’d felt something brush against her. Gazing up at her from the floor out of a pair of vivid green eyes was a little black furball. “Oh! How cute!” She bent down and picked up the kitten. “I didn’t know Angel had a cat!”
“He just got her,” Buffy told her, reaching over to scratch Shadow’s head with a smile. “Angel let me name her.”
Something in the tone of Buffy’s voice made Willow look up at her friend curiously. She was about to speak when the sound of the front door opening and closing interrupted. The noise made Buffy flinch, a worried look crossing her face. But the sound of Angel calling Buffy’s name erased the expression. More food for thought, Willow reflected.
“We’re in the kitchen!” Buffy called back.
Within seconds, Angel appeared in the doorway. He stopped as he entered, giving a wide smile when he saw Buffy. Willow watched with great interest as Buffy smiled back at Angel, virtually forgetting Willow was there for a moment.
“I brought pizza,” he said, holding out the rectangular box, then finally noticed the other person in the room. “Oh, hi Willow.”
“Hey, Angel,” she greeted him, still watching the byplay.
“Do you want to stay for pizza?” he asked Willow, setting the box on the table.
“Sure,” she accepted eagerly, though her desire to stay had nothing to do with eating, and more to do with wanting to observe they way her two friends were acting around each other..
“Cool,” he replied. “I’m just going to go up and change. Be right back.”
Willow waited until Angel had left the room and she could hear his footsteps on the stairs before turning back to Buffy and asking, “So...what’s up with you and Angel?”
The question caught Buffy completely by surprise. What’s up with you and Angel? She whipped her head around and stared at her friend. The redhead, for her part, was staring right back at Buffy, waiting for an answer. The problem, though, was that Buffy didn’t have an answer, or even a smidgen of an answer. Or even a clue as to why Willow would ask such a thing.
“What are you talking about?” Buffy asked warily.
Willow raised one slim, red eyebrow and leaned on the table. “I think it was a fairly straight forward question.”
“But...I...but...,” Buffy sputtered.
“Oh come on, Buffy,” Willow butted in. “I’ve seen the way your look at him, act around him, and he’s the same way.”
“You’re imaging things,” denied Buffy.
That was a flat-out lie, Buffy knew. There did seem to be something between her and Angel. At least from her end. Angel was the sweetest guy she’d ever met. He’d done so much for her for no reason other than he was nice. He believed in her when very few other people did. What was there not to like about him? And it didn’t hurt that he was drop-dead gorgeous.
“I don’t think I am,” Willow chirped.
The attraction between the two was quite obvious to Willow. When Angel had walked into the room moments earlier, Buffy had all but melted in her chair at the sight of him. And Angel, well, stared at Buffy as if he could have eaten her alive. Buffy could deny it all she wanted, but Willow knew there was something there.
What Willow didn’t know, was whether this attraction between them was a good thing, or a bad thing. Buffy had been through so much in her life already. She didn’t want to see her friend get hurt again. But Angel wouldn’t hurt her, would he? No, she didn’t think so. At least not intentionally. Maybe getting involved with Angel would be good for Buffy. It was something to think about. And maybe she’d talk to Spike about it, see what he thought.
“He’s definitely a hottie,” Willow stated mildly, and easily saw the blush creep up Buffy’s cheeks. Uh huh, and Buffy claimed there wasn’t any interest. Whatever.
Thankfully for Buffy, Angel’s footsteps coming back down the stairs kept Willow from pushing any further. “I better get some plates for the pizza,” she said and practically jumped out of her chair.
Still, Willow watched the two of them. And when Angel entered the room and smiled when he saw Buffy moving around the kitchen as if it were her own, she had even further proof that the interest went both ways. But for now, she would let it go.
The group soon settled in to eat the pizza Angel had brought home with him. Conversation was casual, focusing on none of the trouble’s that surrounded them. Buffy couldn’t have found the event any more pleasant.
For a long four years, her life had been spent mostly alone. She’d done nothing, and had nobody. Well, her father had been there, but the situation between them had been anything but normal. And even if it had been, having her father around was nothing like spending an evening with her friends.
She’d missed Willow terribly while Giles had had her secluded in the attic apartment of their house. After her family had been...killed...and her friends had vanished out of her life, she’d thought they wanted nothing more to do with her. Not that Buffy could have blamed them if that was the case. Her friendship with Willow, Spike and Xander had led to so much trouble for them. If the murders had been the last straw for them and they’d backed away, she would have had to accept it.
Now, though, Buffy knew the truth. They hadn’t abandoned her. Because of a lie her father had perpetrated, they had believed her dead. The thought angered her, but she wasn’t yet ready to face what he had done. What mattered was that she knew now why they hadn’t been around for four years. And what was even more important, Buffy knew that they still believed in her, that they were still her friends. It made her grateful to have such special people in her life.
All too soon for Buffy, dinner was over and Willow had to get home before Spike began to worry about her. She walked Willow to the door, holding her friend’s hand tightly. In the foyer, Willow turned and hugged Buffy, holding on slightly longer than normal.
“I’m so glad you came to see me today,” Buffy told her.
“Me too,” Willow agreed. “I promise to come by often.”
Angel, who had followed them out of the kitchen, leaned against the railing of the staircase. “You’re welcome to come by anytime,” he said to Willow. “Spike and Xander, too.”
“Thanks, Angel.” Willow paused, chewed hesitantly on her lower lip. With a sigh, she decided to spit out what was on her mind. “I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but I started trying to get the information about...everything...from the Sunnydale PD’s computer files.”
Instantly alert, Angel took a step toward Willow. They needed this information if they were to help clear Buffy’s name. “Did you find anything?”
“I didn’t have time to try much,” Willow answered. “I just started poking around to get an idea of the security and encryption. I don’t think I’ll have much trouble getting into their files, though.”
“That’s good,” Angel said with a nod. “You’ll let me know when you have something? I don’t want to call my friend until we have all we can possibly get.”
“I will. I’m going to work on it tomorrow,” assured Willow as she glanced down at her watch. “Oh! I better go before Spike freaks. Thanks for dinner!”
~`~`~
From the doorway leading into the living room, Angel watched as Buffy sat on the floor and played with Shadow. She was laughing and smiling, swishing the kitten’s feather toy around. It warmed his heart to see her doing something so normal. If he didn’t know about her past, he would have thought she was just a regular girl. Which, really, she was. She had just been through hell.
The difference in Buffy in only a short period of time was amazing. When he had first seen her at Giles’ house, she’d been silent and non-responsive. Not surprising, Angel thought. She had been kept secluded for four long years. But since the secret Giles had kept since the murders had been revealed, Buffy had come out of her shell. There were still shadows cast over her, but he could see some of her old glory being recaptured. It made him wonder what she had been like before everything had happened, before the rape.
When she looked up and smiled at him, Angel felt the increasingly familiar pounding of his heart. Her smile was so beautiful. And he loved seeing it, loved that she smiled at him. What would have happened, he wondered, if he had met her years before?
“Hey,” Buffy greeted him.
“Hey,” he returned. “Shadow seems to be having a good time.”
“Yeah,” she grinned, lifting the feather toy up in the air which made the kitten raise up on her hind legs to reach it.
“So...umm,” Angel fumbled slightly. “I thought maybe...that we could watch a movie or something.”
“That sounds like-.” Fun, she had meant to say, but a knock at the door cut her off.
Angel frowned. He wasn’t expecting anyone. And with Buffy staying with him, he had to be careful. “I’ll see who it is. Stay in here, okay?” he asked.
Buffy nodded her head and Angel walked out into the foyer. A peek out the side window made him groan. It was Giles. He knew Buffy’s father had every right to stop by to see how his daughter was doing, but he knew it wouldn’t be easy for her. It would certainly wipe the simple smile off her face. Unfortunately, Angel knew that Giles needed to know what was going on so he had to let the man in.
“Good evening, Angel,” Giles greeted. “I was, um, hoping I may speak with Buffy.”
Instinct warred with what was right. Angel wanted to tell the man to go away. Buffy had been having such a nice evening, but that would certainly end with a visit from her father. He couldn't tell Giles to go away, though. So he nodded his head and led the older man into the living room where Buffy was waiting.
“Buffy?” Angel said as he entered the room. “Your father is here.” As expected, the smile left her face instantly, and she said nothing in response.
“Buffy, how are you?” Giles asked, walking up to her.
“Fine,” she answered tightly, her whole body tense.
“Good, good.” Giles nodded, shifted nervously. “I was, umm, hoping that you would be ready to come home.”
Home. That one word meant almost nothing to Buffy. Her father's house wasn't home. It had stopped being home the night she'd awoken to find her family murdered. It had stopped being home four years earlier when her father had tucked her away in the attic apartment, telling her she couldn't leave. At one time, that house had been her home, the place where she'd run wild with her siblings and grown from a child to a young woman. But it wasn't home anymore. It would never be home again.
“No, I'm not,” she told him firmly. “I'm going to stay here at Angel's.” The second the words were out of her mouth, Buffy looked uneasily at Angel, realizing what she'd said. What if he didn't want her to stay here? But his smile assured her that she was welcome.
“Oh.” Giles frowned, glanced from his daughter to Angel. “Are you sure that is wise, Buffy, given the circumstances?”
She hadn't forgotten her circumstances, but her father's statement brought them to the forefront of her mind. Seeing Giles standing there, expecting her to just follow along and return to her cell made anger boil within her. Anger at everything. The feeling was relatively new to Buffy. For so long she had just taken everything, sat back while her life fell apart around her. Well, she was damn tired of being a victim. The last week or so, since her friends and Angel had shown up in her attic rooms, had shown her what her life could be like: normal. She could visit with her friends, have actual conversations, watch a movie, play with a kitten. She could just be Buffy. There was no way she could go back to living in the solitary bubble her father had, inadvertently or not, placed her in.
“My circumstances?” she parroted, standing to face her father directly. “You mean the fact that you think that I...that I...” she stumbled over her words, hardly able to say them aloud. “That I killed Mom and Dawn and Owen?”
The night before, she'd had a hard time accepting everything, what her father believed, the blank spots in her memory, her friends and Angel's belief in her innocence. But now that it had all had time to sink in, she knew...she ~knew~ - despite her empty memory of that night – that she could not have killed her family. They meant everything to her; she loved them. There was just no way she could have killed them. She may not know what really happened, but she knew that her friends were right, she just couldn't have done it.
“How could think I killed them,” she whispered, near tears.
“Buffy,” Giles said with a sigh. He'd had a long time to deal with this, a long time to face everything that had happened. Buffy hadn't. “I know it is difficult to understand or accept what-.”
“NO!” Buffy all but shouted at him. “I did not do it!”
At this point, Angel decided it would be best if he stepped in. He didn't want the situation between Giles and Buffy to get any worse than it already was. “She's right, Giles. She didn't kill them.”
“But...but...,” Giles stuttered, completely not expecting Angel's support of Buffy's innocence. “I don't understand. I found her that night. I saw the note,” he went on, referring to the note that Buffy had supposedly left after killing her family.
“I've been looking over all of the information I could find on the crime scene, and there's no way Buffy could have done it.” Angel left out the fact that from the beginning, from the first time he had heard the story from Willow and Spike, he had not been able to imagine Buffy killing her family. He didn't think Giles would understand that.
“But the police...they investigated,” Giles pointed out.
An unexpected laugh erupted from Buffy at the very idea of the Sunnydale police investigating something to do with her honestly. Ever since she had accused the police chief's son of raping her, she had become public enemy number one. It was by no way a stretch of the imagination to believe they would falsify information to make her guilty of not one, but three murders.
Angel didn't respond to Giles comment about the police, nor Buffy's sardonic laughter. Instead, he walked over to the book shelf and picked up the file he had placed there the night before. He approached Giles, handed him the papers. “This is everything I have put together.”
Taking the folder hesitantly, wondering what in the world could be inside, Giles barely held back from glaring at Angel. What kinds of thoughts was this man, his new employee and the person he was reluctantly entrusting the safety of his daughter to, putting into Buffy's head? Four long years of believing his daughter guilty could not just be pushed aside on a single person's say so. He'd seen the note, seen Buffy. He'd lived with the reality since then. Still, he opened the folder and began reading the pages with Angel's notes written on them.
A minute passed, then two, as Giles read over the papers. Angel could see the man's face grow pale even in the dim light of the room. Giles was obviously beginning to understand the full implications of all that Angel had found out.
The sheets fluttered to the floor unheeded after Giles had finished. He sank down into the nearest chair and yanked his glasses off. His head fell into his hands as he tried to fight off a thousand pulsing emotions. The truth was clear as day now, the very harsh truth that contradicted everything he had believed.
“Dear Lord,” he mumbled into his hands. Slowly, he raised his head and looked at Buffy who was standing very still a few feet away. “Buffy...I...I am so sorry. I...I don't know what to say.”
Her father's anguish resonated deeply within Buffy. She wanted to go to him, to hug him, but she just couldn't do it. How was she supposed to push aside the last four years as if they never existed, as if he hadn't believer her a murderer and virtually locked her in a cell? She couldn't. The hurt was just too strong. So she remained where she was, silently watching her father from a distance.
Angel saw Buffy's indecision and hurt for her. He knew the two needed to talk. Eventually. But right now, it was too soon, emotions were too close to the surface, and Buffy wasn't yet ready to deal with Giles on that level. So he went with the next item of importance.
“This can't go on, Giles. Something needs to be done about the police and mayor here in Sunnydale,” he stated emphatically. Giles, however, was not listening.
“Don't you see!” Giles said, leaping out of his chair. “This is all the more reason to return home! If they find out you're alive, who knows what they will do to you!”
Buffy's mouth dropped open in shock. After all that he had learned, her father still wanted to banish her to her attic rooms. Her innocence didn't matter at all. “No,” she whispered brokenly, backing away from him.
A hand lightly grasped her should and Buffy looked up to find that Angel had come to stand next to her. His eyes were sympathetic and reassuring, helping her to push back the blinding fear that had arisen after her father's proclamation. She took a deep breath, stiffened her shoulders. “I'm not going back there, Daddy.”
“Buffy, please,” Giles implored. “It's not safe for you!”
“Am I just supposed to spend the rest of my life hiding on the top floor of our house?” she asked sadly.
“I'll...I'll send you to England, or Italy,” Giles posed desperately. Buffy had to see the danger in staying in a town where the police had all but framed her for murder. “You always wanted to travel!”
“You know that's not the answer, Giles,” Angel interrupted, his hand still resting lightly on Buffy's shoulder. “She'll never be free unless the truth, all of the truth, comes out, and those responsible are made to pay for what they've done.”
“Buffy, please,” Giles tried again. “You have to see what kind of danger you are in.”
He was right, Buffy knew that. She was in danger. What really happened the night her family was killed was still a mystery, but it was becoming clearer and cleared that the police had had some involvement. If they knew about her...she shuddered. She didn't want to think about what would happened then. But Angel was right as well. If she ever wanted to be free, to live her life again, she had to face it. All of it.
“I can't, Daddy,” she said softly, tiredly, and turned, walking out of the room without looking back.
Giles watched her leave, fighting the urge to grab her and race back home with her. His shoulders sank as he faced Angel once more. “I hope you know what you are doing.”
“I do,” Angel stated firmly. He proceeded to explain to Giles what he intended to do with the new information, how Willow was trying to access the police files, and about his friend with the FBI who he planned to enlist to help.
“I don't agree with this,” Giles said once Angel had finished.
“It's her choice,” Angel responded. “It's what she wants – needs – to do.”
Sighing loudly, Giles pivoted and began to exit the room. At the doorway, he paused and turned to Angel. “I'm trusting you to protect her, Angel.”
“I'll do whatever I can to keep her safe,” Angel assured him. And he would do anything and everything to make sure no harm came to Buffy.
He just hoped that would be enough.
Shortly after Giles left, Angel ascended the stairs to the second floor after not having found Buffy anywhere on the first floor. He could only hope that the visit with her father hadn't caused a setback. She had been doing so well, not perfect, but the vacant look that had been in her eyes the first time he'd met her was rarely present anymore. The unhappy world she had been living in for so long was finally beginning to release her, and Angel didn't want to see anything ruin that. But he supposed there wasn't anything more he could do to make things easier for her. He could only be there for her as she dealt with her past.
At the door to Buffy's room – the guest room – Angel was surprised to find Buffy sitting on the bed playing with Shadow. Her shoulders were still tense, but there were no other outward signs of distress. She seemed to be dealing better than he expected with the conversation with her father.
“Buffy?” he said softly. “Are you all right.”
She didn't answer immediately. Was she all right? Not exactly. But in the grand scheme of things, she was...okay.
“Yeah,” she answered with a shrug.
Angel entered the room and sat on the opposite side of the bed, reaching a hand out to scratch the kitten's head. “I'm sorry if what he said hurt.” That was lame, Angel told himself, but what else could he say?
“It's okay.” She shrugged again. Sitting back, she crossed her legs and looked up at Angel. “Honestly? It felt...sort of good to confront him and to stand up for myself. I don't know if that makes sense.
“I understand,” he assured her.
“It's just,” she began, pausing to think for a moment. “It's like for so long I've had no control over anything...”
“And tonight you took some of it back,” Angel filled in the rest.
“Yeah,” she agreed then sighed. “I understand why he wants me to keep hiding, but I just...can't do it any more.”
Angel could see that Buffy's thoughts were now directed inwards, towards what he could only guess was what she'd been through the past few years. He didn't want to force her to drudge up more bad memories, but he also knew it would probably help her to talk about everything. So he asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Simple question, Buffy thought, but could she talk about it? About all of it? She peered up at Angel through her lashes and considered. He already knew most of what had happened in her life, Buffy knew that, but could she be completely honest with him? For some reason, she knew she could. She knew Angel would listen. Maybe he wouldn't understand, but he would still listen.
Scrunching back against the headboard of the bed, Buffy wrapped her arms around her knees and took a deep breath. With that, she began. “I guess I had a lot of the same fantasies as most sixteen year old girls when it comes to guys. I'd dated occasionally, but nothing serious. I always thought that someday I'd meet Mr. Right and I'd just...know.” She laughed sadly and shook her head. “That probably sounds stupid.”
“Not at all,” Angel disagreed whole-heartedly. “Even though I'm a guy, I always hoped it would be that way for me.”
“Really?” Buffy inquired, surprised. She hadn't anticipated he would say that.
“There has to be some way of knowing you're...compatible with someone,” he furthered. He didn't add that he was beginning to realize that belief that a connection could exist between two people was in fact true. That would definitely scare her.
“I always hoped there was,” she reiterated. “I wanted whoever...” Buffy blushed and glanced away. “Whoever I slept with for the first time to be someone special. It's not like I was waiting for marriage or anything, but my mom had always told me that sex was supposed to mean something and that you should really care about the person you were with.”
“I think that's a very smart way to be,” Angel responded as he remembered his own misguided foray into sex when he was sixteen.
Buffy heard his words, but they barely registered. Her mind had already drifted back to that day, the day of her seventeenth birthday.
“I had a small crush on Cameron. It wasn't anything major, but I thought he was cute, and he'd always been pretty nice to me. Plus he was Faith's – my friend's – brother. That day...I-I was supposed to meet Spike in the library to help him with something, but I'd decided to stop by the pool to see some of Cam's swim meet. When I got there...Cam was sitting on the bench. He smiled at me and told me that he wasn't swimming that day because he'd pulled a stomach muscle or something.” Buffy's breath shuddered out heavily as she tried to fight off the fear and the pain. Even seven years later, it was still something that turned her blood cold.
“You don't have to tell me, Buffy,” Angel told her, hating to see her hurting like this.
But she continued on. “He asked me to go grab a soda with him from one of the machines out in the hallway, and I said sure. But...but when we p-passed the girls locker room, he grabbed my arm and pulled me inside.”
Buffy closed her eyes, a few tears slipping out from beneath her lashes. “After...after he laughed and told me that's what teases got. He-he acted like the whole thing was my fault.”
“Nothing you did caused his...actions,” Angel said in all seriousness. Inside, his heart was breaking over the violation of Buffy's body and soul. No one should have to go through something like that.
“I know. I think somewhere inside I always knew that,” Buffy answered, taking a few deep, cleansing breaths. “But it was like...he took something from me, something I can't ever get back.”
Scooting forward a little, Angel hesitantly, carefully, took one of Buffy's hands and felt utterly gratified when she didn't shy from his touch. “What happened that day wasn't sex, and it sure wasn't making love. Your body may have been...changed,” he continued delicately. “But you'll have a first time someday. You'll meet somebody special, and when the time is right, when the trust is there, you'll have the choice to give him something special, something you've never given to any other man before.”
“What if I never meet the right guy? Or what if...what if I'm never ready for...that,” she posed, her eyes staring down at a non-existent spot on the comforter.
“Only you will know if it's right. Your heart will tell you,” Angel affirmed, lightly squeezing her hand.
Buffy gave Angel a weak smile, wondering if he was right, hoping that he was. She laid her head on her upraised knees and stared out the window at the darkening sky. “The first few weeks after...I was in such a daze. I barely remember going to the hospital, or talking to the police. It's just one big blur. The first clear memory I have from after it,” she breathed in deeply and forced herself to say the word that always stuck in her throat. “From after the...rape...is the day I went back to school. I stayed home for two weeks, and that morning my mom drove me to school. I told her I didn't need her to walk me in. So she let me out and pulled away. The minute I got out of the car everyone was staring at me. I could hear them talking about me all the way into school. And when...when I got to me locker... someone had painted the word 'slut' on the front.” Her shoulders sagged and her eyes pressed closed tightly. “That's the first thing I really remember.”
Disgust and rage rose in Angel. How could people be so cruel? He wished there was something he could say to Buffy to make the pain and the memories go away. But he knew there was nothing. So he continued to listen, offering a shoulder for her to lean on.
“That night, an officer came to the house and told me that they wouldn't be pressing charges. He said...he said that there was no evidence to support that it was a sexual assault. And then he went on to tell me how wrong it was to falsely accuse someone of rape, and that I was lucky Cameron and his family weren't taking action against me.”
“Son of a bitch,” Angel mumbled, furious at the so-called police of this town.
“In some ways, all that was worse than the rape,” she started to explain. “Suddenly, I was the girl who cried rape. People who had been casual friends turned their backs on me and called me names. Even my teachers looked down at me. I couldn't go anywhere without someone saying something nasty to me.”
Using her free hand, Buffy swiped at the tears that had gathered on her cheeks. She wondered if she would ever be able to think about that period of her life without crying. It didn't seem like she ever would.
“Then there was all the stuff that Cam and his friends did. It got so bad that my parents pulled me out of school after my junior year. My mom home-schooled me my senior year,” she relayed.
That was something Angel hadn't heard before. Under the circumstances, he couldn't help but think that it had probably been the best thing for her. Without having to go to school every day, she could at least avoid some of the trouble. It was something she shouldn't have had to do, though.
“I stayed home most of the time. It was better that way. In the beginning, Xander and the others would come over, but being friends with me was causing him problems, so he stopped. And then Faith left town,” she told Angel, though he was already aware of Xander's situation. “Willow, Spike, and Oz were the only ones who kept coming over. They tried to get me to go out sometimes, but we mostly stayed at my house and watched movies or just hung out.”
“They're good friends,” Angel said needlessly.
“Yeah,” Buffy agreed with a small smile. “My father kept promising that we would move soon, but it wasn't that easy because of the magazine. He wanted to move us and the business up to LA, but there just wasn't any way to do it. And then...then it was too late.”
The room was silent for several minutes, the only sound was that of the timid purrs of Shadow at the foot of the bed. Angel wanted to say something, but what was there he could possibly say? He couldn't change the past. He couldn't make her forget any of it. He couldn't do a damn thing.
Finally, Buffy broke the quiet. “I thought my life couldn't get any worse than it had been. But nothing could have been worse than finding Mom and Owen and Dawn...like that.” She choked back a sob, willing herself not to cry again. “I didn't understand what had happened or what was going on. It was like...like some horrible nightmare I couldn't wake up from.”
“You were probably in shock,” Angel pointed out. He hoped it had just been shock, but he wouldn't have been surprised if her mind had just snapped for a while afterwards.
“I remember Daddy carrying me out of the family room and putting me somewhere, but it's all fuzzy. Then...” Buffy frowned and tried to push through the jumble of memories. “Then I'm in the attic, and there's a mattress on the floor.”
“Did Giles say anything to you about what was going on?” Angel questioned, wondering how her father had dealt with the situation.
“I...I don't know.” She shook her head in confusion. “All I knew was that Mom, Dawn, and Owen were gone. And then at some point I realized Willow, Spike and Oz weren't coming to see me anymore. I thought...I thought they'd finally had enough of it all.”
“So you just stayed up in the attic rooms?” he pushed a little further.
Buffy nodded her head slowly. “Daddy told me I needed to stay there all the time. I...I thought he hated me because of everything. And not being able to leave just...didn't matter for a while.”
“But then you started to sneak out,” Angel assumed, thinking of the supposed ghost sitings.
“I wanted to see the beach, and I just wanted to be anywhere but where I was,” she explained. “All I could think about there was what had happened. I couldn't sleep, and there wasn't really anything to do. So I would sneak out at night sometimes.”
She sighed and leaned her head back against the headboard. “It was so nice just to sit on the beach and watch the ocean. When Daddy figured out what I was doing, he got really angry and told me I couldn't leave the house, that it was very important. I just thought he was ashamed of me or something. So I would just go out late at night when I was sure there wouldn't be anyone around.”
“The last four years must have been very hard for you,” Angel said, unable to imagine even a small amount of what she'd gone through.
“I just wish I'd known everything,” Buffy answered, her eyes drifting to the window once again. “I wish he'd told me why he was keeping me there. How could he think I'd killed them, Angel? How could he let my friends think I was dead?”
“I'm not defending him” Angel began, trying to think of the best way to pose his thoughts. “But when it all happened, you're father was in shock and hurting. All he had to go by were the barest facts, and...”
“And they pointed at me,” she finished flatly. “But if he thought I'd...I'd killed them, why did he hide me? Why didn't he turn me in?”
“Because he loves you,” he stated emphatically. “No matter what you do, he will always love you, and the last thing he probably wanted was for you to go to jail, or worse. He was doing whatever he could to protect you.”
“I guess,” she replied eventually.
Angel could tell that Buffy was tiring, the conversation was wearing on her. He didn't want to push her any further. And really, he'd only initiated the conversation for her benefit. She needed to talk about what she'd been through. It seemed like she had run out of steam now, though. So Angel gave a slight tug on her hand and stood up from the bed. “Come on, it's late enough so why don't we go for a walk on the beach.”
Buffy allowed Angel to lead her out of the room and down the stairs, grateful that he'd seem her need for a distraction. Nothing helped free her mind like a quiet walk on the beach. And with Angel with her, it wouldn't seem as lonely this time.
~`~`~
They walked hand in hand on the beach for nearly an hour, only heading back when the breeze coming off the ocean got too chilly. There wasn't much talk between them, both simply enjoyed the lulling sound of the waves lapping at their feet. To Buffy, it was one of the most normal things she had done in longer than she could remember. She wished they could just keep walking and forget about everything else. But she was wearing a tank top, and her arms were freezing.
As they neared his house, Angel abruptly stopped and placed his body between Buffy and the structure. He squinted to get a better look at the house, all the while cursing himself for being so damn stupid. What the hell was he going to do now?
Beside him, Buffy was standing perfectly still, confused at Angel's actions. “What's wrong?”
“There's someone at the house,” he answered as quietly as possible.
The worry in Angel's voice caused Buffy body to stiffen and she gripped his hand tightly. “Who is it?”
“I can't tell.”
Taking a risk, Buffy poked her head slightly beyond Angel and stared in the direction of the house. As she saw what Angel had seen, a person sitting on the front porch stairs, she instantly relaxed. “It's Willow,” she told him with a relieved chuckle.
“Are you sure? He asked, still squinting.
“Yeah, no one has that color hair but Willow,” Buffy responded.
Angel wasn't so sure, but he trusted Buffy and allowed her to tug him the rest of the way down the beach. Soon, they were close enough to the house that Angel could tell Buffy was right. There was Willow sitting quietly on the stairs, watching them approach. He glanced down at his watch and wondered why the young woman was there at nearly midnight.
“Hey, Willow,” Buffy greeted her happily, glad to see her friend.
Willow spared a curious glance at Buffy and Angel's hands that were still locked together. Interesting, she thought, but pushed it aside for now. She wasn't here to talk about whatever was going on between the two of them. “Hey, guys,” she returned the greeting.
“Is everything okay?” Angel asked, worried at her presence this late at night.
“Yeah,” Willow nodded and stood from the stairs. “I can't stay, but I wanted to get these to you as soon as possible.” She held out a large envelope to Angel.
“What is it?” he inquired, taking the heavy envelope from her.
“It's all the stuff I printed out from the police department's files on...everything,” she forced out, her eyes flicking anxiously at Buffy.
“Oh,” Angel half-gasped, his gaze dropping to the envelope in his hands. “Anything, uh, interesting.
Realizing they were beating around the bush on her account, Buffy dropped Angel's hand, and stood tall, crossing her arms across her middle. “You don't have to protect me. I know what's on those papers.”
Angel instantly looked guilty while Willow averted her eyes and poked at the wooden stairs with the toe of her shoe. Reaching down to pick up her purse, Willow draped it over her shoulder before speaking again. “I've got to run, Spike's waiting for me at home. I'll stop by tomorrow and we can go through everything together.”
“Thanks, Willow,” Angel gave her a nod and stood back while Buffy and Willow said their goodbyes. After the redhead had left, Buffy tiredly walked back up the stairs and into the house with Angel trailing behind her.
Once inside, Angel dropping the envelope onto one of the small tables in the foyer. Buffy stared at him oddly. “Aren't you going to open it?” she wondered out loud.
“It can wait until tomorrow. There's nothing we can do with the information tonight anyway, and we're both tired,” he responded, already heading towards the staircase. “Come on, we better make sure Shadow hasn't gotten into trouble while we were out.”
After one last glance at the envelope, the one that contained the story of her life, Buffy followed along.
~`~`~
The next morning, Angel was up early and sitting at his desk. The papers that had been in the envelope were spread out across the smooth wood, telling Angel all he'd already known, but this time with facts instead of speculation. He skimmed them one last time before picking up the phone at his elbow.
“Gunn,” he said when his called was answered. “I'm going to be faxing you a file I want you to look over.”
~`~`~ TBC ~`~`~
Next: chapters 21 - 30
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