Flowers Bloom

Author Leena
Email ryme34123@yahoo.com
Distribution Hello Goodbye, anywhere else with permsission
Rating R,eventually NC 17
Summary This is basically canon that's been scrambled around a bit, and it's half Wishverse, half not, so I guess it's an AU. That's all I'll say
Pairing B/A
Disclaimer The characters aren't mine, and some of the plot was inspired by BtVS, obviously...

"Flowers Bloom
In desolate places"

Part 1

I have these small scars on the back of my neck. They’re right at the base, where my first large vertebra is. It starts the tip of my spine. Sometimes they itch and burn, and I scratch them. I still remember when I was ten and I got them, and how. They’re grid shaped claw marks, meticulously made as if someone were making a tic-tac-toe board. I always thought they were ugly, two horizontal parallel scars and two vertical ones. I always wanted someone to play tic-tac-toe on my nape when I was smaller, as if it were a fun game that I could play on my body. Now I just think they’re plain ugly.

These scars will never fade; they’re a constant reminder of my father and the way he treated me when I was little. The things that he submitted me to, the ways he would sacrifice me to get ahead in life. In short: these tiny grid-scars are a mark of my father’s mistrust and hate of me, his resentment of my birth. I sometimes trace them with my fingertips, and it reminds me of my home life. When I was ten, my father let demons take me away for a large sum of money. Luckily, the worst of it was only these deep gashes in the back of my neck, these geometrical patterns that will forever be embedded in my mind. I don’t remember much else other than the pain of the demons branding me with their claws, their ugly grins shoved in my face as I was held down. I shudder to think how they would have molded my mind, used me, if I had stayed there. Luckily someone busted the nest before I could be taken much further with them. Since then I haven’t seen my father. But that doesn’t mean the terror has stopped.

I work at a small bar on the corner of Zabluda Street. The street is gray and dismal, nothing worth writing home about. Everything in this town is gray and dismal, as if it will deter the vampires and demons from feeding. Or perhaps it’s because the demons overrun this place is why the place looks like it’s always raining. I have to deal with evil every day of my life, and because of the fascism that I live in I can’t fight back. Oh sure, I can defend myself. Somewhere over the years I’ve picked up unmatched fighting skills, but this place is still ruled by a demon ‘master’ and there would be no hope of living if I tried to fight them. So I merely serve them their beer and go on with life, being a faceless figure in a grimy town. I guess it would be called ‘the slums’ though everywhere is the slums these days.

Sometimes I hate this job, but at least I’m not completely alone. At least I’m supporting myself and I’m off the streets, unlike the five years between my tenth and fifteenth birthday. The only drawback here is that sometimes these demons think they can get away with things. They mistake my smallness for weakness and they get an ass kicking. Of course I get yelled at for stirring things up and fighting, but eventually the demon is the one who is kicked out. And they know they can’t fire me because there’s no other woman out there like me, as conceited as it sounds. I can take care of myself, and that’s rare these days. I’m also a hard worker. I suppose I work hard because there’s really nothing else to do, or to hope for. So I just work in hopes of getting somewhere, but of course, there’s nowhere really to go from here. I can’t change anything in this town, so like all the others.

Where’s all the family besides my father, you ask? Dead, long dead. Like I said, it’s rare that someone can actually take care of or defend themselves in these harsh times. My mother was poor, just like my father, and I feel a strange pity for her. She died when I was very young along with my sister. I don’t remember them very well, but perhaps they were the reason that my father stopped caring about me and was willing to sell me to any greasy demon that happened upon us. Maybe he stopped caring, or maybe he blamed me. All I know is that I’ve never known a sense of family, or even love very much. I don’t like it when people get too close to me, mentally or physically. I don’t like people touching me, and I’m guessing that’s because I wasn’t coddled much when I was a child. Why would anyone coddle me? We need cold strength and bitter resilience in these times, not cuddling and cherishment. So, I feel almost gratitude for my father making me so strong, despite his cruel ways of putting it forth. I can’t really blame him anymore; we all need to do what we can do. I just keep my head bowed as I walk to my tiny apartment and keep my best to blend in with the scenery. I know if I were taken to the leader of this town, death would be the penalty for starting something with a minion.

I’ve been having daydreams, fantasies really, of a better life. I don’t know how much better it would be were I to fight, or try to kill the leader of the demons that overpopulate this town. The thing is, about one out of every three in the population is something inhuman, so I have no idea how I’d get it regular again. It hasn’t been regular since before I was born, but sometimes I can just daydream that I have enough power to overcome the pain and the weakness of the humans in this town. That I can beat down the dominance of the dark side. But I see these as fallacies and nothing more, and I certainly never act on them. That would only intensify my pain, maybe even kill me. But sometimes I ask myself: would that really be so bad?

No one has come along to help me, and I’d rather not “fight the system” by myself. I couldn’t do it by myself. I need someone by my side. But I’ve come to accept something: I’m alone. With the exception of a few co-workers, there’s no one. And I’m not sure how much I’d want to pour my heart out or get close to someone; whom can you trust here?

I know I’m a little jaded for an almost-eighteen-year-old, but that doesn’t matter. Where I live makes the ‘adult’ factor completely obsolete. You don’t have a childhood here; you simply jump from infancy to adulthood, you’re forced to or else you die. I never had the fascinating teen years that I’ve read of in books about other, far away places. Plus, the whole “eighteen years equals adult” thing doesn’t work in this place. There are no rules, laws, regulations…not even among humans. We’re just lucky enough that most of us still have some decency not to go into a frenzy and kill each other into oblivion.

I’ve just finished my last shift for the night, and I’m tired and a little fuzzy. Though I’ve grown accustomed to the lewd comments from the demons that come in here, I still occasionally get a couple of shockers that make me shake with rage. But I have to quell that rage; Carsh needs me and I need this job. I’m not the only one on nightshift, but my boss has told me several times without actually saying it that I’m the most important one on nightshift. It’s close to three in the morning, I can almost smell the sun beginning to rise, and I’m getting ready to close up. Of course, this place never really closes, because demons are around the clock kind of creatures. But at least for a short time I can go home and fall into my stiff gray bed, into a restless sleep that will result in a dry, sticky mouth and dozens of nightmares. Who am I kidding; this whole place is a nightmare. A waking nightmare.

I don’t know exactly when I first saw him; I don’t really count time in this place anymore. I just look at whether or not the murky sun is casting a mellow glare on everything, or in its stead is the sallow moon. That’s the only time that matters anymore, anyway. The first thing that strikes me about him, as I’m cleaning the bar and preparing to go home, is his cleanliness. Only a few of us humans (me included) ever bother to keep such hygiene. The rest, I suppose, don’t think it necessary. The demons certainly don’t think that being clean is necessary, so I guess most humans followed in their wake. I still like to keep some kind of spark alive, so I don on clean clothes and bathe regularly. But I wear plain, gray clothes, unisex clothes, and I often pull my long hair back. I don’t divulge into feminine things; why should I? I have no one to please, unless I want a demon raping me in the corner of some dark alley.

But as I was saying – this guy is clean. He also wears nice clothing, not at all like the feeble clothing that’s everywhere else, or the heavy leather that some demons choose to wear. He’s wearing a leather jacket, and a clean white shirt, and his hair looks soft. His eyes look even softer, and they catch mine for a second before I flick them down to the counter I’m scrubbing. Why am I even paying attention this clean stranger? He just came in to get some blood, some meat, maybe even some beer. Maybe he’s even human. Maybe it’s just an illusion.

When I turn I can feel the heat of his eyes burning into the back of my neck, I can feel my scar turning red-hot. I want to touch it, but I don’t want to draw his attention further to me. I don’t know why he has his eyes on me particularly; maybe he took in the smallness of me and thought he could get a foot in the door sexually. As in force me. Well, if he tries any of that shit with me I’ll show him what forcing really is. I retract that thought. The look on his face isn’t one of malice, and he really is a beautiful man. He doesn’t look evil, but as I’ve come to learn, looks can be deceiving. I jump a little when I hear him sit down behind me and greet a demon. His voice matches his looks: sleek, beautiful, carved and deliberate.

“Excuse me,” he inquires softly behind me, and I slowly turn, not wanting to face those eyes. Something in the brilliance of them scares me; they shine with hope and something different, completely new. He won’t get far here, looking the way he does.

“Yes?” I say thinly.

“Can I get a cup of black coffee?” I stare at him. Is he crazy? I’m torn between laughing and throwing him out.

“I’m sorry, we don’t serve black coffee here. Or any kind of coffee really.” His eyes are so intense, staring into mine, that I have to look away. He’d burn me alive if I looked much longer. I try to smile but I’m finding it hard when I stare into his face. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen: perfection personified.

“Oh well, then,” he says quietly, his face breaking out into a half-smile. If possible, his face only draws me in more, and I think I’d faint if I saw a full-blown smile on that face. “What do you have?”

“Well…we’re not exactly a-a coffee place.” I can’ t believe I’m stuttering. I never stutter, more importantly I never stutter in this place. This place is dangerous, and I can’t show any signs of weakness. “Anything else, we probably have,” I say, returning his half smile. Except mine is more of a quarter-smile. I don’t do smiles; I haven’t for a long time. But a hint of one can be granted to this stranger.

“Just water then, if you please,” I turn away from him to get the water. It isn’t exactly clean, but it’s what we live off of here.

“Here ya go,” I say as I set down a large water. Usually we charge even for that, but I let him have it. It’s not as if people ask for water that often, anyway. They usually drink from the dirty canals and the rusty spouts that stick out of the walls in their house. I should know, I have one. I return to my scrubbing a little ways down the counter, trying to focus on the soap and the tough grime coming off, the demon stink coming out. Of course, that will never be possible, but at least it (kind of) gets my mind of this smiling person sitting a little ways down, casually and silently sipping his water.

“Hey,” he says suddenly, and I shiver a little.

“Yeah?” My tongue feels thick in my own mouth, and all my usual confidence and spark is gone.

“You doing anything later?”

“Excuse me?”

He smiles way too much; he definitely isn’t from around here. Though his smile always seems to be in the delicate blooming stage. It makes me weak. “It’s just, I’m new in this place and I need someone to show me around.”

“There’s not much to see,” I say honestly. I don’t want to be rude to him, but it’s true. “I think you can find your way just fine.”

“But I think I’d find my way better with you.”

“Well, you’re certainly more of a smooth talker than some of the past visitors I’ve had trying to pick me up,” I say sardonically. I don’t even know why he’d be interested in me; I stay as inconspicuous and androgynous as I can. If people…or demons, rather, think that I’m a female they’re more apt to force me to do things. And though I’m stronger than most, a whole pack of demons and one person doesn’t bode very well.

“Come on,” he goads.

“Thanks, but no thanks. You might, uh, want to go home as quick as you can when you get out of here. Some people might not appreciate what you’re wearing too much.” Or that look in your eyes, I silently add.

“I’m not that worried. I think I can hold my own.” Now I’m just taken aback.

“Oh really?”

“Why don’t you show me around, and I’ll show you that I’m not afraid of the dark. I don’t think you are either.” My hand wanders up to my scar in a blatant act of nervousness. How much does he know about me?

“So…you’re not going to leave me alone unless I show you the town, huh?”

“Nope,” he says teasingly. I could get used to his light-hearted demeanor. It certainly is different. And his face isn’t so bad, either. I could look at that for an eternity.

“Well, then I guess you’re on. My shift ends in about ten minutes,” I tell him, quickly stowing the rag below the bar. I glance at the clock, something I only do before I leave work and before I come. Ten minutes later he’s leaning coolly against the doorjamb of the old place, looking like something out of a magazine. Something that sticks out around here like a sore thumb. I almost feel like we should be holding hands and tra-la-laing down the street, but then I look out at the bleak city and I remember where I am. Something crumples inside of me a little, looking at the grease smeared clouds, the smog that permeates the dirty streets, and the loud poverty that seeps into everything. I sigh and droop a little as I fall into stride with him out into the night.

The scary thing is that he seems to know my way home. Maybe he’s just instinctual, but it seems like he knows a lot of things about me that he shouldn’t. I’d hate to have a stalker on my hands, and I’m not sure I’d be able to take him out with that angel-face. Large, dark, inhuman shapes wander around us, and I wonder whether they’re licking greedily at their chops at the sight of us, or whether they barely notice us.

I’m not sure if I want to reveal myself to him yet. I’ve lost confidence when it comes to social things; I’m often by myself. Plus, I don’t quite trust him. In fact, I don’t trust him at all, but I trust myself so I decide to give him a chance. My body is tense and almost in fighting stance, ready to take down him or anything else that’s attracted to his attire and decides that it wants to play.

As soon as we near my shabby apartment I feel strong arms on my back. Something spins me around and before I can gasp I’m pinned against a dark corner in an alley. “Angelus!” I hear a gravelly voice call, and my heart is thumping so hard, I’m almost physically rocking my whole body. I feel my stranger move against my cheek, and suddenly I realize that his hands are like steel bands and his fangs (fangs?) are scraping lightly against my neck. I’m too paralyzed to cry out, and somewhere nearby I can here heavy boots thumping on the muddy ground.

“Angelus!” I hear a group of vampires call a little ways behind where this vampire has me pinned. He turns without looking at me, but still presses me to the rough brick. I close my eyes.

“Go away!” He shouts in a rough voice, something that he’s never used before. “I’m in the middle of something, boys.” I hear distant laughter before his fangs return to my neck. His cool breath bathes my jugular, but he stays poised without striking. He slowly lets me go after the thumping of boots has faded into the night. I look up into his eyes, too paralyzed to scream and too shocked to move.

“What the fuck was that?” I finally spit, surprised that what seemed like such a gentle creature turns out to be a despicable demon, just like the rest of them.

“Wait, I didn’t mean to…Let me explain-”

“You led me on! Shut the fuck up!” I hiss. I don’t want to yell; yelling would only make me a siren at this time of night, when all the undead and inhuman are alive. I punch him hard in the face before turning on my heel to my apartment door. I don’t know why I didn’t kill him; I suppose I was too shocked. I have to sort things out. He didn’t kill me, that’s one thing I know.

“BUFFY!” He calls after me, his voice desperate and strained. I jump with the use of my name. I never told him my name. How does he know so much about me? “Good fucking riddance,” I mutter as I yank open my door and slam it shut, hurling the keys across the room. All I want to do is sleep; I don’t want to think about this nasty mess or the complications surrounding what just happened. Maybe if I pretend that nothing ever happened, it’ll all just disappear and I can continue monotony as usual.

Part 2

I wake up that night with someone’s hand pressed against my mouth. I’m actually surprised to see that it isn’t the vampire, but rather a different, older man. He’s wearing glasses and normal clothing, clean like the vampire’s. My scream is muffled into his calloused palm and I writhe and struggle but I’m still groggy so it’s only half-hearted.

“Buffy,” the man whispers in an English accent. “We must get out of here. Don’t scream, all right? I’m going to take you somewhere safe.” As soon as his hand leaves my mouth I try to scream but his reaction to danger is like lightning, and a cloth presses to my face instead of his hand. I fall into oblivion. The next thing I remember is waking blurrily to a white room. Too white, and clean. I have no idea where I am, but indistinct shapes of human people are surrounding me. I feel weak and my body is shaking with the ferocity of my nerves. I see a hazy shape that resembles the vampire and I scramble away. The surface that I had been lying on is white tile, and it’s slippery. I scoot back into a corner of the room, wanting the lightheadedness to go away.

“Buffy?” I hear a familiar voice call my name. It is the British man’s, but it seems as though he’s saying it in slow motion. I’ve been kidnapped, at least my mind can process that much. I’m probably going to be fucked, then drained, maybe tortured. And not necessarily in that order. If they are working with a vampire, no matter how human they seem, they’ve definitely stated where their alliance lies. I keep my head buried in my knees. The white of the walls is making my head hurt.

“Buffy,” a different, feminine voice says. I look up briefly at a redhead who touches my shoulder.

“Who the fuck are you people?” I suddenly shout. “Where am I?” I want to leap to my feet, but my body is too weak. My vision steadily comes into focus and I realize I’m in a fairly nondescript white room. It looks something like a hospital room, except in my town none of the hospitals look this pure. They’re rare and extremely dirty.

I look down at myself and see that I’m wearing a long nightshirt, a white that matches the rest of the walls. I finally observe the group of people that has taken me captive: there’s probably about eleven in all. Four girls and seven boys, maybe, my calculation could be a little off. The first thing that strikes me is how…well, normal they look. They’re not covered in filth and dressed in gray clothes; they’re dressed like normal people. It shocks me more than the fact that they’ve decided to kidnap me, and I wonder if I’m dreaming this.

“Buffy,” another British man says. How many of them are there? This one looks slightly younger, and is pretty good-looking. He’s not wearing a suit like the other one, but he certainly does look intelligent. I stare at him grimly, the fear slowly evaporating. “What?” I snap.

“Well, Rupert,” the young British guy says, “she certainly is feisty.”

“Yes, that’s why I had the need for the chloroform. She’s not very…docile.” So the old English guy is definitely ‘Giles’. Gotta keep that in mind. I have to escape this place at my first chance. I can’t stay with these people; I don’t know their intentions.

“Buffy, you’re going to be fine. My name is Wesley, and we’re here to take care of you.” I simply stare at him. I don’t have any words, and even if I did I’m not going to talk to my captors. I have no idea what the hell is going on, and I don’t want to know, I just want to get out of here.

“Why don’t you relax for a little bit, then Mr. Giles here will explain everything to you. It’s okay, don’t panic.”

“You expect me to relax?” I snort. He tries to touch my shoulder but I shove him away. That dirty vampire and Giles approach me, while Wesley and the others leave cautiously, as if I might leap out at them. I’m not crazy; I’m just disgruntled. I’m not the one who kidnapped someone else here. I mean, I know that’s not really a felony where I live anymore, but it doesn’t really matter.

Giles crouches down in front of me, and I turn my face away, staring at the white wall. The vampire stays his length; he knows that I won’t stand for him being in my immediate vicinity. If he touches me he’ll find his head twisted off with my bare hands. I won’t cower and whimper like they expect me to, I’ll snap and maybe hurt them just to escape.

“Buffy, we’re not here to hurt you, despite what you may think. We’re here to change the place that you live, the world.”

One word for him. “Bullshit.”

“I know you may not like this, but you can at least hear us out. We’ve developed an elaborate underground alliance of humans willing to fight the demons that run things above. We believe that there is a prophecy of a Slayer that says that we can change things.”

“What the hell is a ‘Slayer’? And what does that have to do with me?”

“You are the Slayer, Buffy. And without you, or your cooperation, we can’t carry out our plans.” I don’t care, Mr. Glasses. “You can’t possibly tell me that you’re happy with your life.”

“Well, I can tell you that I don’t give a shit, and to let me go. You were just expecting me to take all this in and say ‘sure, I’ll put myself and others at risk for some loopy delusion! What time should I get killed?’”

“No,” he said, his eyes becoming a little harder. “I know this is difficult for you, but you’re just going to have to accept it. You can’t run away from things.”

“And you can’t kidnap me,” I retort. My eyes flick to the vampire’s face. His eyes are burning holes into me, and I quickly avoid them. Why is he working with these people? He’s a demon! “Why do you put your faith into some shitty prophecy anyway? There was probably a prophecy that The Master wouldn’t come to power, and look where we all are now.”

“Buffy, if you’re not willing to do the right thing, we won’t keep you here but-”

“Damn straight you won’t!” I cut in. He glares at me.

“But,” he continues, “you will continue life as usual and mass chaos will rain on the world, probably killing you.”

“How do I know that you’re not just screwing with me?” I spit, and I’m met with another glare.

“Fine then, you will be released, and we’ll all die. And the alliance of humanity will have all been for naught. Have it your way.”

“Hey, it’s your fault you built this whole alliance on the shaky foundation of a prophecy,” I mutter, unconsciously scooting away from the man.

He sighs impatiently, obviously trying to calm himself. “Look, Buffy, I’m sorry that this was sprung on you, but the prophecy names a Slayer.”

“And how are you so sure that I am this damn ‘Slayer’?” I nearly scream. My frustration and confusion is reaching way beyond its limit.

“Because the prophecy describes you, and I’ve seen your unusual fighting skills. There’s no way that a girl of your stature could fight demons like that, and take the pain that you do without dying. There’s no one else out there like you.”

He’s caught me there, and he stuns me for a second. I don’t have an acidic quip for that comment and I look down at the floor instead, drawing my knees up to my chest. “Whatever,” I mutter.

“At least take some time to think about it, Buffy. I don’t want this to all be cast away simply because you can’t accept your fate.”

I almost feel like shouting at him again, but think better of it. It would get me nowhere, except him angrier and me more frustrated. “You certainly did spring this on me,” I whisper wonderingly, almost to myself. I’m lost in thought for some time after Giles leaves, and when I look up I’m startled that the vampire is still sitting there, on the table in the middle of the room.

“What?” I say wearily, “What is it?”

“You didn’t give me a chance to explain myself back there, Buffy.”

“Well, you don’t deserve one, vampire. You’re a filthy being, and even more so for being associated with them. I just can’t believe I didn’t feel you before you tried to fucking bite me.” My voice wasn’t raised, but I was back to the cynicism I had before.

“Look, I can understand why you don’t trust me-”

“Any of you. But most of all you.”

“Look, will you just give me a chance to explain?” His voice rises unexpectedly and it scares me a little. I’m suddenly reminded of just how helpless I am under the influence of these drugs, and given the incentive, how much he could snap my neck with ease. He immediately calms down, his impatience fluttering softly back to peacefulness. “I’m sorry for yelling at you, but I don’t appreciate being treated like an animal.”

“Why? Because humans aren’t treated like that every day of their lives? They aren’t tortured or raped, or maimed or brutalized? Excuse me for not wanting to trust a vampire, I guess I was just out of line.”

“Buffy, I have a soul,” he says calmly. “Yes, part of me is demon, but I’m not evil. I don’t like seeing humans treated the way they are any more than you do, but there’s not a lot we can do without your help. I have a conscience and a remorse for everything that I did for the hundred and fifty or so years that I was without a soul, and I would never hurt anything good. I want to see a better world just as much as you.” Sincerity rang through his voice, but the better part of my instinct wanted so bad to just stake him right here and now, take out the rage of my life upon him. But there wasn’t much else to do besides believe him, and he did have some pros about him. He didn’t kill me when his fangs were at my throat for one, and that had to take some control even for an ensouled vampire.

“Why should I trust or believe you, when I barely know you?” My voice is for once mature, not angry or catty, just an honest question. He takes it in stride.

“You really don’t have much else going for you, and you don’t trust any of the others either. We’re all very powerful, and we’re all driving toward the same cause.”

Something clicks inside of me as I look into his eyes. Other vampires hold an emptiness and coldness in their eyes, just as in their bodies. But he looks almost warm and human, despite his pale skin and room temperature touch. His eyes hold a glow that I’m attracted to, like a moth to a candle.

“Listen, if you’d only give us a chance…” he trails off deliberately. He knows that if he pushes it too far I will run out of here like a scared deer, and he will possibly end up with a stake in his chest.

“I just don’t understand what’s so special about me,” I mumble as he grabs my hand and hoists me up easily, guiding me gently out of the obscenely white room.

“Oh,” he smiles, “there’s a lot that’s special about you.” Again, I have the weak-kneed thing, and it’s not just from the drugs.

Part 3

I arrive to another place, somewhere that looks like a library or something. I’m assuming that this is all deep in the earth; there are no windows, it smells earthy, and underground is really the only place that they could hide. It isn’t cold, however, it’s actually fairly warm. I feel chills race up and down my spine as the vampire’s large fingers slide up my arm to guide me to the library-like place. Giles fits in well here, I can tell. I wonder just how large this place is, and if this small group is the only rebellion group, or if there are more. I realize that I’ve forgotten to ask the vampire his name, but before I can open my mouth, Giles starts the introductions, as if he’s read my mind. He points quickly to each person and says their name, and luckily my mind stows away the information quickly and efficiently. Well, maybe not so efficiently but at least it’s quickly.

“Buffy this is Willow, Tara, Cordelia, Fred, Gunn, Wesley, Xander, Oz, and finally Angel.” I pay special attention to the name at the end of the line, noting that the name goes with the face quite well and I tuck it in my memory securely. He gives me a smile that melts me as I look at him. I mouth his name to myself again, and I can see that he knows I’m memorizing each curve of each letter in my mind. I shake myself in embarrassment and focus my attention back on Giles.

“Hopefully this will all go smoothly and we will have no deaths. Well, at least not in this group anyway. I’ll warn you: this won’t be immediate. It will take months, perhaps even years of training Buffy before we can even hope to bring down the Master, but once we do we will be brought to power. Since we cut off all the demons’ source of power, we can hope to be dominant and restore order to this place.” Everyone nods glumly, and I only stand motionless. Everything is so new, and suddenly I’ve been placed in a precarious and pivotal position not only in these peoples’ lives, but in the world. It’s nerve-racking, to say the least. I’m usually blending in the background. And I can’t really side step my duties, not now.

“How about we get her some new clothes?” Piped in the one with the ‘C’ name. I can’t exactly remember it…it was something like-

“Cordelia, nice to meet you,” she says rather loudly. “We’re going to get you out of that sheet and into something that says ‘Hey I’m the Slayer, I’m going to kick your ass!’” I try to smile weakly as she pulls me out of the room, but all I can manage is a grimace. I look back at the others helplessly as I’m hauled from the room, only to be subjected to the horrors of Cordelia Chase for nearly three hours.

She cuts my hair, she works on my face, and there is a certain kind of gratitude I feel for her bringing back my femininity. I’m almost glad that I have a place where I don’t have to be discreet and a nobody for once; I can actually put my hair up different ways, and care about myself. I haven’t valued looks for so long, and Cordelia is my polar opposite, so in a strange way we both teach each other something. Well, at least as much as three hours can teach someone.

When I come back to the researching crew I almost laugh at the looks on their faces, and it feels good to have that kind of effect on someone. It’s been years, if ever, that I’ve felt so comfortable in my own skin. I’m clean and I feel good about myself, and I like the way that the men are staring at me. I glance at Angel shyly. I’m still not exactly comfortable with this, even if I feel good about it. Cordelia has a satisfied and smug look on her face, as if it’s just another day on the job. Well, I have to admit, to transform me like this; she possesses some kind of talent. And here I was starting to think she didn’t have a brain. I smile broadly at this thought and I catch Angel grinning back at me. His eyes definitely appreciate me, and I feel something flutter inside of me. I look away quickly and rub my scars. Cordelia had asked about them and I had been hesitant to explain. They came with a lot of emotional baggage and, well…they were ugly. Cordelia didn’t seem too put off by them though. The cute redhead in the corner of the room smiles and waves at me, while her blonde friend is burying herself in a spell book. Unused to all of this attention, I settle in a chair at the large table that spans the room, looking to Giles for help.

“Well then, let’s start the outline for the next few months. Buffy will spend time training, preferably with Angel. He has the power and the skills to match her as no one else can. She will train heavily, and will also be properly trained by Tara and Willow in magicks. She will learn the linguistics of battle, how to handle different weapons, and demonology. You will all participate in this with no hesitation, understood? You will all play your role in the plan and the ultimate fulfillment of the prophecy, so we can see the light of day again without being terrorized.” Everyone nods somberly. I don’t nod, merely stare pensively into space. I know that all eyes are on me.

****

Well, Angel is definitely a formidable opponent. I guess having a vampire around with a soul is good, because he relays to me what no one else knows: vampire tactics, their moves, their strength. He gives me his two-hundred-fifty year span of knowledge on different topics, he teaches me. And in turn I learn a little more about where he’s been and how he came to be here.

“So, how did you group up with these people?” I ask breathlessly, after our first training session. My tank top sticks to my uncomfortably, and as much as I want a shower, I have to have these questions answered about his mystery.

“I wandered alone for a hundred years, until I met Wesley and he persuaded me to change. After I got my soul I was a useless, crumbling husk of a person.” I want to tell him he’s not a person, but I’d rather not ruin his story.

“It’s changed my life, being with these people, fighting for a cause and searching for something to believe in. It’s changed my loneliness; it’s given me something to believe in. And now you, it’s given you hope too. You are our hope.” I smile weakly, taking a swig from my water.

“I don’t know about that. Prophecies are pretty shaky.”

“But you’re strong, Buffy, so strong.”

“So what about all this?” I say, wanting to change the subject. I gesture to our surroundings. “How did you afford all of this?”

“When you’re around for a long time you acquire a lot of money. And a lot of old friends,” he says cryptically, and I lean my head back on the padded gym wall behind me.

“Well, thanks for teaching me. I’m going to need it, it looks like. I’m probably going to die, but hey, it’s better than what I was doing before.”

“Don’t say that,” he tells me, almost angrily. “It’s not true. You’re special; you’re the Slayer. The Chosen One that the prophecies mentioned. Don’t even say that.”

I shake my head and close my eyes. “I need to take a shower,” I say, quickly dismissing emotion flowing from him. I don’t need to have a therapy session with a vampire. He has no idea what I’ve been through. What I’m going through now. Does he know how hard it is to swallow all of this? It’s a change, granted, but that doesn’t matter. It’s still dangerous death, putting myself on the line for people that I barely know. But I’ll come to know them better before the time comes to fight the Master, I’m sure.

The shower is hot, perfect temperature. All I could get in my flat was lukewarm, oily water. It never quite rinsed off as cleanly as I would have liked. But here, by some miracle, they have clear, clean running water. And it’s warm. Some people don’t know what they take for granted.

While I’m in the shower I start to feel self-conscious. It has been awhile since I’ve been around anyone, much less a male presence. The only real male presence I’ve been exposed to is my father, and he was an asshole. Suddenly I’m aware of my feminine appeal, and how much of it I don’t have. My slender body, the weight I’ve lost. Actually it was the weight I’d never gained in my adolescence. I find myself wondering why someone like Angel would ever like me. Why he would be attracted to someone like me? Does he even see Cordelia? God, she’s beautiful. My heart falls a little at this revelation of my lesser physical appearance. I shake off the temporary insecurity as I towel myself off. I shouldn’t even be wondering why a vampire would like me anyway, that’s disgusting. The undead, some creature of the night. Although he is beautiful, he’s not human, so I refuse to regard him as someone I could actually seemyself with.

I’ve never been with anyone. Sad, isn’t it? I’m almost eighteen, and I’ve never even held hands with a boy. I was too busy escaping from demons and trying to stay alive for any of that. I was educated in some places, but I’m not nearly as knowledgeable as I’m supposed to be. I’m not normal. But who is these days? I sit down on my bed in my towel and start brushing my hair.

I hear a slight knock at the door before a muffled, “Buffy?” I can tell it’s Angel’s voice and I wonder if anyone else actually wants to get to know me around here, or if he’s the only one brave enough. “Come in!” I say without thinking of my modesty. I don’t really have anything to hide anyway. I notice his eyes widen, and shift a little uncomfortably as he enters, but I make no move to cover myself.

“I just brought you some food,” he stumbles. “I thought you might be hungry.” My eyes rove over my bedroom for the first time since I had come here, and I take in the large canopy bed, the intricate carving of the wood, things that I’ve never seen before. It’s so elaborate that I have to suck in a breath. I’ll actually be sleeping here tonight. Then I smell the food and I feel my body start to almost convulse as my mouth waters. My eyes go down to the plate that Angel holds.

For the first time since I saw his beautiful face, a full-blown smile crosses it as he watches me start to eat ravenously. I know that I’m probably eating like an animal, but I’m so hungry and it’s been so long since I’ve eaten anything that remotely resembled food. Then I see that full smile on his face, his eyes lighting up at me and I want to pull him close to me. I want to kiss that smiling face, and I blush at these feelings. It’s like I’m a teenager again, someone crushing on a boy. Those are things that I’ve only heard about. I smile back as best I can through a mouthful of food, then keep eating until it’s gone.

“I can tell you were hungry,” he utters softly, as I set the plate on my nightstand and lean back. I look down and realize that I’m still only dressed in a towel, and my wet hair is clinging to me, but I’m too full and lazy to care. “Roll over,” he commands gently, and I comply. He gathers my wet hair in expert hands and a brush appears out of nowhere. The rhythmic strokes are caressing my scalp and it feels so good to just be taken care of. I’ve always taken care of myself or defended others, but now I’m being pampered, and it’s a nice change of pace.

“How long were you watching me?” I murmur languorously, as he starts separating my hair. I let out a little involuntary moan. “This feels so good.”

“I’m glad you like it,” he tells me. A hazy sleep is clouding over me now. “And to answer your question, I was watching you for months, observing you walk home, defend yourself and others. I watched you fight the demons.”

“You know, you guys are crazy for having these pipe dreams about a prophecy,” I remark, as I feel his hands tracing my neck delicately, finally encountering my scars. My body goes rigid as he touches them. I’m not used to anyone touching me, especially there. I suddenly want to scamper away and hide; I don’t want him touching my ugly body anymore. My eyes shoot open and all my contentment melts away. I can feel his skilled fingers moving over the thin grid lines, probably scrutinizing and assuming.

“How did you get these?” He asks. But it’s not probing, it’s not harsh, it’s quiet and gentle and Angel-esque.

“Demons, when I was ten,” I say tersely. I still don’t trust him, and I’ve never allowed anyone to touch those. “They’re ugly,” I mutter, trying to pull away, but he holds me still.

“And you escaped?”

“Yes. I was rescued, rather, but I still got away without getting killed.”

“I don’t think they’re ugly,” he says almost so quietly I can’t hear, “I think they’re a beautiful badge for the trials that you’ve had to suffer. Other children won’t have to go through this; it’ll all change with you.”

“Don’t be so sure about that.”

“Buffy-” He starts, but I cut him off.

“No, Angel. I still don’t trust any of you, or this prophecy, but I have nothing else to go home to, and this is at least something that can fill my life. That doesn’t mean that I don’t know I’m going to die when I confront the master. But at least it’s something to take away my life on the streets, you know?” He’s stung me by touching a vulnerable place and my autopilot is coming on, my reflex to lash out. His fingers are gone in an instant, and he’s standing near the door when I sit up.

“Buffy, you need to learn to trust someone.”

“I trust myself,” I say a little too harshly. He casts sad eyes my way before walking out of the room. I sigh and go to my bathroom to get dressed.

I feel guilt for the first time in a long time. I feel like I hurt him somehow, when he hasn’t shown me anything but kindness. He’s saved my life, taken care of me, as have the others. It’s only been a few days in this place, but I definitely haven’t seen a reason not to trust these people. But my instincts are still running too high and the number of people I’ve trusted in my life I can count on one hand. I want to trust Angel, I don’t want to hurt him, but at the same time I know that being trusting and vulnerable can get you killed. And prophecies? I need some concrete proof that I can change this place, not some ancient scroll.

I go to apologize to him, but stop just short of a room when I hear the low murmur of several voices. “She’s not trusting you?” Cordelia whispers harshly. “What is wrong with her? Jeez!”

“Cordelia, you have no idea what she’s gone through. You may have been born into this life but she hasn’t. She’s nothing like any of us; all she’s had to rely on was herself. She needs to be taken with caution,” I recognize Wesley’s voice. I turn away, looking down. I feel hurt; they’re talking about me like I’m some kind of animal. Angel probably thinks so as well. Just as I start forward to wander around, I encounter a young man with dark hair. He smiles warmly at me, it’s a goofy smile, but it’s nice.

“Hey, you must be Buffy, THE Slayer.”

I nod without saying anything.

“Man, no one ever said you were this cute,” he says and I blush a little. “So, you want the grand tour? I’m Xander, by the way.”

“Sure,” I say quietly. He talks a lot, I realize, and he has some quirky and ridiculous qualities that make me smile a couple of times. I come close to laughing, but I’m not quite in that stage yet. I’m not in that stage of happiness. I don’t know if I’ll ever be, but this man certainly makes my heart feel a little lighter. It takes nearly an hour before Xander leads me back to the library and I’m met with several pairs of eyes on me.

“Buffy,” Giles says quietly, “a training session is due with Angel, if you please.” I wonder if they’re all hurt that I don’t trust them, that I think they’re just sailing on pipedreams. I set my jaw. I’m definitely not apologizing. I’m already going with these people, despite their kidnapping me, so they’d just better get used to things and how I want them. If I’m the crucial person, then I don’t have to trust, I just have to do.

Angel looks at me, again his eyes are like twin flames barreling right through me and I shrink underneath his gaze. He wordlessly leaves, and I follow. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I don’t know how to apologize though; I’ve never done it before.

We go into our fighting stances on the mat and he looks at me again, this time looking at my form. He comes behind me and my body straightens out a little at his proximity. “Just relax,” he whispers and I begin to shake a little.

I try to speak, to tell him that I’m sorry for hurting him earlier, but he seems to know. He seems to feel the apology coming from my skin as his hands hover above it. I can’t see his face behind me, but I can feel something flowing from him. It’s only then I realize that he’s shirtless and I want to run and escape the feelings that I’m feeling, but I can’t, because he has me firmly within his grasp without even touching me.

When his chest presses into my back he can feel me trembling and he goes a little more slowly, because I’m like a scared animal. Not of his size or his strength, I could easily pin him to this mat. It’s something else. He brings his hands down my arms to my hands in a long sweeping stroke and he burns me. He sears through my skin, and I can almost smell the fire, the burning that he brings. His skin is so cool and tender and smooth against mine, but it burns. I realize that the burning is coming from the inside out, and I desperately want something, but I don’t know what it is.

“Stop keeping your body so tense,” he says, bending down to whisper in my ear. I stare at our fingers intertwined and I feel a curling in my stomach. His large hands have covered mine, and I don’t know how such a big man can be so gentle. How such a big demon can be so gentle. His arms are blanketing mine and he brings my arms up in a stance and starts going through some motions. I close my eyes and just try to feel the peace that I’ve been without for nearly my whole life. Surrounded by demons and death, I just need something comforting, something that I can know. But it’s so hard to let go. I’ve been conditioned to fear and mistrust for so long, and now I’m in the arms of a demon and he’s making me different. It’s enough to make me yell in fear. Generally I’m not afraid of anything, now I’m afraid of feelings.

“This is called Tai-Chi,” he says in that low voice. It’s right next to my ear and it makes my scar break out in goose bumps. My neck comes up to the middle of his chest and I wonder if he can feel the heat of the grid, pressing there. “It’s a relaxing exercise, it’ll help you prepare before our training sessions.” I close my eyes and release a shaky exhalation. I know he can feel it: my tension, and my want of doubt. Suddenly I want to cry for how stupid I feel, how stupid I am. I’ve wandered the streets for years, picking up bits of education, but I essentially know nothing. And I want him to teach me everything. But I don’t know how to tell him, and I don’t know how to ask him for reassurance of saving the world.

We go through the motions and I feel…somehow…closer. I don’t know why, but I do. Closer to him physically, of course, but there’s something different. He knows me, he knows me better than any of the rest of them. And this shocks me because it’s only been two days. Already he can see right through me, and I wonder if maybe he really is an angel.

Part 4

When we’re finished he smiles a little, not a full-fledged one, but a delicate budding one that makes me want to touch his face in wonder. I don’t though; I stay on a bench at the side of the room. “You’re getting better,” he says.

“How do you know? You’ve only fought with me twice.”

“I just know. Maybe it’s the Tai-Chi.”

“Angel, I-”

“No, don’t,” he shakes his head. “Don’t say it, Buffy. I know how you feel and you don’t have to say anything. You don’t owe me anything.”

“Yes I do,” I said gravely. “I owe all of you something, and I’m going to say this. I’m sorry.”

He looks down in shame, as if he doesn’t deserve my apology, and I see pain in his eyes. “Will you tell me about yourself?” I ask suddenly. “Anything. I want to know about you.”

“No you don’t. I brought death and destruction with my consort for one hundred and fifty years.”

“Your mate?” I inquire, provoking him into talking about it. I feel a little pang hit me at the revelation that he even had a mate, that there was someone that important in his life. For a hundred and fifty years.

“Not exactly. My sire, yes, but I didn’t actually consider her my mate. She considered me hers, though, I suppose. Everywhere we went, we left a trail of dead bodies.”

“But it wasn’t you,” I break in, “it was something else that inhabited your body.”

“Essentially me, just without a soul. It was my fault that I was changed that night…It was me who took that death gladly from the first pretty skirt that stepped in front of me. Then a hundred and fifty years later gypsies curse me, and suddenly I care. Not just about my life as a demon, but also all the little things that I took for granted a young man. The way I recklessly drank and disappointed my father in Ireland.”

“That’s where you’re from?”

“Yeah, Galway.”

“I’ve never been there, but I’ve heard…it’s beautiful.” I’m a little surprised at how comfortable I feel with him, how easily words flow out of my mouth like the lyrics from a song. “You can’t blame yourself all the time, Angel,” I say quietly after a little while. I’m slowly realizing that we can both teach each other something, something valuable. The ways of letting go of guilt and trust, and this is something that also scares me a little. That I’ve actually met someone like that. Also the fact that I’ve only known this person for two days and he already knows me better than anyone that has ever spoken to me. It’s unsettling.

“Just because it wasn’t me, doesn’t mean I don’t envision myself doing those deeds every single night when I sleep, how I slaughtered my own family, my little sister. How I sucked their life from them with a two hundred year old whore.”

“What was she like?”

“In one word? Experienced,” he says a little wryly. “Her name was Darla. I don’t know as much about her as I could have known, but my demon didn’t really care. He just wanted to have brutal sex and kill. They knew each other, but they never really got deep. Which, I guess, is expected of demons.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I say dryly.

“My demon has a very big reputation, though. It precedes him. That is why I was pretending to bite you in the alley. Those vampires would have probably killed me and raped you had they known about my soul, so instead I played the part of-”

“Angelus,” I whisper. He nods at me and I crane my neck boldly to look at him. “Are you expecting me to be afraid of you now?”

“A little,” he admits and I smile.

“I’ve seen much worse, so I’m not that worried. And you have your soul now. Is there any way that he could come back?”

“Angelus? I don’t think so. Giles and I have researched the curse heavily and tried to translate it and there doesn’t seem to be an indication that he would come back into this world.”

I suddenly lean forward and touch a necklace that hangs around his neck. My fingers briefly touch his chest and I want to snatch my hand away from the heat that blazes up my arm. But I simply gaze at an elaborate ring that hangs there, then slowly drag my eyes up to his. I realize that we’re mere inches away. My mind is screaming at me how wrong this is. “What’s this?” I say in a hushed tone.

“It’s a claddaugh ring,” he says with a light in his eyes. “It’s an old Irish ring of tradition. It was my mother’s. I don’t even know why I still have it, or where I got it, I just wear it to keep alive my heritage I guess.” I nod.

A couple weeks after getting to know everyone, I’m feeling mildly comfortable. Willow, the redhead, is among one of my favorite people of the group. She’s a great teacher of the elements of different magicks. I’m not necessarily studying to be a witch or a Wicca, but it’s all very interesting and the techniques of magick will give me an advantage in the battlefield should I encounter anything magickal. But, she informs me, she will be there right along side me when we take down the Master. I sense something more between her and the blonde-headed girl named Tara, but it seems to be loving and genuine, so I’m okay with it. I’m not one to discriminate these days; I’ve pretty much seen everything that can possibly happen on these dirty streets.

“So, what do you think of Angel?” She asks one day during a particularly slow lesson. All three of us know that we shouldn’t be talking gossip during a lesson, but I can tell she just can’t help herself. And I haven’t been in another female presence in so long I’m nearly dying. “Any sparkage?” I flush in embarrassment.

“Willow!” Tara admonishes quietly.

“What? It’s no wonder women would crawl to him on hands and knees, just look at him. Well, except for us that is,” she says with a small smile, and I permit one as well. “I’m just saying, Buffy spends all that time with him, training, there has to be something.”

“Not really,” I lie. There are sparks between us; there’s a whole damn fireworks show. Well, at least for me, and it’s completely new and I don’t know how to handle it. Of course, Angel has been safe and calm and completely platonic with me. I wonder sometimes if he feels the same heat that I do when we touch, when we talk. That’s when I feel that it’s silly that I even think about him like that, that I could even come up with a scenario where we were together romantically. It’s not just the training sessions and the time spent together either, it’s the way he knows things about me without saying. Hell, I could have been attracted to Oz or Xander or even Wesley had it just been the time that made me attracted. But Angel is understanding and knowledgeable, and painfully gentle. Everything I find out about him I like. Well, except for the parts about Angelus. But even those don’t ruffle me too much.

We continue the small talk until Wesley enters the library, and we immediately go back to the studying. It feels good to do normal, human, feminine, silly things. I’ve had enough maturity to last me an eternity, and I enjoy gossip and mistakes. Yes, I actually enjoy mistakes. I know that when it comes down to the wire with the Master I can’t afford to screw up. And yes, now I’ll even admit that after a few months, I’ve come to believe all the things that they believe. They enflamed hope inside of me, and the ember won’t die as long as they talk about it like they do.

Days pass faster, yet somehow slower. The time is drawing nearer and my strength grows with each session with Angel, with my lessons with Giles and Wesley. I grow closer to the people that surround me, even goofy Xander. And though I don’t notice it, I begin to change. The constant frown that marred my face before has transformed to a look of determination. I’m no longer so dark and jaded. I guess I go back to an almost regular eighteen year old. Well, almost eighteen-year-old. My birthday is in a week. I haven’t told anyone here yet. It’s been a long time since I’ve ever celebrated that day. I never really saw what there was to celebrate when I was growing up; a day to get older and closer to my death, another year of suffering through the hell that was earth. The hell that had broken out on earth. But here I feel like I could actually have a party with these people. Actually experience a good, fun, lighthearted time without having to worry about being demon food.

Part 5

I’m reading a book assigned by Wesley, Wuthering Heights. I’ve never heard of it, but apparently it’s this great romance novel. It’s okay so far. I’ve never been a great reader and some of the old English is a little hard to understand, but other than that I find some parts amusing. Catherine, Heathcliff, and their wild antics. Also their unrestrained romance I find fascinating, and my mind quickly wanders to a certain Angel.

Said Angel appears in my doorway as soon as my thoughts drift to him, as if he knows every nuance of what I’m thinking. Again, a little scary, and a little not which is also scary. He smiles at me and comes to sit on the edge of my bed. I want to cover up my legs; I’m only in tiny shorts. I feel exposed around him when I’m like this, so unlike the first time when I was in my towel. I set down my book and quirk an eyebrow in his direction.

“Yes?”

“I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“Oh.”

There’s an awkward silence that settles in, and I want to pull him in my bed with me and rest my head on his chest while he reads Wuthering Heights to me. This thought almost makes me laugh hysterically.

“Wuthering Heights,” he points out, as he nods in the direction of the book lying open on the bed.

“Yep. Kind of interesting, but also a little demented.”

“I’d have to agree there,” he replies, bobbing his head.

“Are you sure you didn’t want to ask me something?” I ask him, studying his profile intensely.

“No,” he runs a hand through his hair, a blatantly nervous gesture. After a few seconds he starts to stutter. “So…you…you’re birthday is in a week, right?”

I flatten myself against the headboard. “Okay,” I say with an uptight chuckle, “I’m beginning to think I have a secret stalker here. I accepted the thought that you watched me behind my back and led me on to kidnap me, but this is getting a little too weird for me. And you guys wonder why I don’t trust you.” I wince at the use of the present tense, and I see hurt flash in his eyes for a second before a look of confidence returns. That sturdiness that he always possesses.

“I had to read up on your file a little. We dug around in the process of learning about you, and we knew some things about you. I never stalked you, Buffy.”

“I’m know, I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little tense because my birthday is coming up. It’s just – well, I never really celebrated it that much. As in, ever. My father…he never cared that much. I was four when my mother and sister died, so I don’t really have any birthday memories. Most of them were just another day, another year of living in a painful world.”

“But I’d like to do something nice for you, Buffy. For your birthday. It’s your eighteenth, doesn’t that hold some special quality?”

“Not where I come from,” I say sarcastically. “I’m just not used…to all this attention, I guess. You guys are always doing stuff for me, and I don’t really know why. Why do you want to celebrate my birthday?”

“Maybe I like you,” he says in a low voice. His eyes are suddenly heated, or at least they look that way.

I sigh a little and hold my gaze on him, leaning back into the pillowed headboard. I want to kiss him so bad right now I think it will kill me. But I can’t, I remind myself. It’ll never work between us, and we can’t complicate things by working together and having kisses. Luckily he makes the first move. I feared I’d never get a kiss.

He leans gently over and I close my eyes in anticipation. I’ve never kissed anyone or anything, especially not a boy. His lips are so soft, just as I’d imagined them. No, not just as I’d imagined, they’re more. It’s a soft and sweet close-mouthed kiss, as if he knows that I’ve never kissed anyone, and he wants to take it slowly. I however, want to take it faster and I’m desperately trying to get closer to him, practically pulling him on top of me. He breaks off with harsh breaths that he doesn’t need, and I look away, also panting.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes hoarsely. “I’m so sorry.” He gets up immediately off of me and rushes out of the room and all I can wonder is what I’ve done wrong.

It must have been me; I’m thinking a couple of hours later. I’m such a crappy and stupid kisser. It was a nice kiss, at least for me, but in return I must have had a sticky mouth and a disgusting technique. I’m trying to focus on my book but the more I read the more the letters look like a bunch of little stick figures in a comic. I keep going over the moment in my head, what I did to disappoint him, and how good and right it felt to have his form wrapped around mine. The way he looks simply doesn’t do justice to the way he feels.

Xander lightly knocks and tells me dinner is ready and I swallow harshly. I know that Angel doesn’t eat regular food, but he’ll probably be there and he’ll pin me with his harsh gaze. He’ll tell everyone over the table what a horrible kisser I was, and how I couldn’t kiss a rock. I shake off these ridiculous thoughts and follow Xander to the small dining room.

Angel isn’t there when I go in, and I try my best to regain my composure around the others. I certainly don’t want them to know what transpired between Angel and I. And how he rushed off as soon as his lips touched mine. Does my breath stink? I don’t think so; I brush my teeth religiously, almost freakishly so. I think about the taste of his mouth as I sit down in front of the food. It’s like the best food in the world, the sweetest candy, the mintiest mint. God, I’m so cheesy. I think these people have definitely dulled down my wit. I was wittier when I was depressed and being chased by demons.

“Where’s Angel?” I ask Oz cautiously as he plops down beside me. He doesn’t say very much, he’s a taciturn type like Angel, but I find a strange peace that comes from him. We haven’t shared many words, but I don’t feel any malice from him.

“I don’t know, I think he said he didn’t feel well,” is all he says. I should have known better than to ask for vital information from Oz. But I won’t push. I nod and dig into my food, despite how sick I feel. I’ve actually gained about ten pounds since I’ve been here, and it feels good not to be such a waif of a girl anymore. Well, I’m still waif-like but at least not so much.

When I settle into bed that night I feel an emptiness. I know that I just ruined something that was very dear to me; Angel held one of the dearest friendships that I’ve ever experienced. Of course, we’re all very close since we only see each other and no one else, but there’s some kind of connection between Angel and me. At least there was. At least…I thought so. Maybe Angel didn’t feel it, but he had been the one to kiss me. I’m so confused, so torn, that I can’t sleep no matter how hard I try. But somehow I slide into fitful dreams anyway.

A large hand on my shoulder awakens me, and my body jolts. My Slayer senses come to the fore. I almost instinctively strike out at the large form until my bleary eyes recognize it as Angel.

“Angel,” I sigh sleepily, as I roll over onto my back. I see the sheets are madly twisted around my body, and I try to untangle them so I can sit up. “What’re you doing here?” I murmur, rubbing my face in the darkness.

“I just wanted to apologize,” he whispers, perching on the side of my bed. “For leaving like that.”

“And for kissing me, right?” I continue.

“No, never,” he swears quietly, and in the dim light of my room his face looks so beautiful. I reach out and touch it softly, remembering the perfect haven of his mouth. I trace it gently with my fingertips. I glance over at the low-lit lamp before my eyes return to search over the plains of his face.

“Why did you leave?” I say, and my body gives a little involuntary shudder.

“I’m sorry. I just didn’t-didn’t want to ruin anything. You don’t know how special you are, Buffy. To me. And you don’t need complication in your life at this point, especially with a vampire. You need to focus.”

“Can’t I have both?” I plead.

“You don’t need this,” he remarks, gesturing to himself, “me, muddling up things that you feel.”

“Why can’t I decide?” I demand suddenly, flinging the covers off of me. “I l-liked it when you kissed me, Angel. I’ve never kissed anyone before in my life. Hell, I’ve never even had anyone really touch me my whole life. It takes a long time to open up to people for me; it’s hard. But I trust you, and I know you. And I know it’s only been a couple of months, but you…you make me feel like a real person, instead of just another blurry figure in this gray world.”

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, bringing his hand up to my face. He touches it in awe, much like I had done just moments before. I look down in a haze of blush.

“No, I’m not. I’m inexperienced and stupid.”

“No, don’t say that. You tasted like honey, Buffy.” My blush heightens at his declaration. I’m glad it’s dark for a moment before I realize he can probably feel my blush through the extra heat coming from my skin. He taught me that vampires can sense heat waves from humans, and their scent. “You smell…” he trails off, looking at me in this way like he loves me, and something makes a small movement in the pit of my stomach. “But you taste even better.” I could have been mistaken; I’m sleepy and it’s dim in my room. Maybe he’s just looking at me hungrily, and I mistake it for love. But then he pulls my body to his and I get a closer look at his face, and he’s in awe just as I am. I wonder how I could have found someone who understands me so completely, so soon. How could I have possibly fallen in love with a vampire? It’s incomprehensible even to me, and I don’t even know if I am in love with him yet, but I know that what I feel for him is indescribable. Even in my own mind I can’t comprehend how I could feel for him, or what I feel coming from him.

I’m cradled in his arms, and it’s so perfect it almost hurts. For the first time in my whole life, I feel synonymous with someone else, and I feel free. And I know that I won’t have this feeling again until I take down the Master and restore the world to it’s rightful order. I ponder how I could possibly identify so much with something I’m supposed to kill. It’s weird, the way the world works, and also the way it doesn’t.

We just stay like that, I halfway in his lap. I realize that I could stare at him for hours, and never get tired. But eventually I do, and he leans against the headboard and whispers things into my hair that I can’t hear. I’m falling fast now, into different things in different ways. I try to think clearly, but when I’m sleepy and within his embrace, it’s hard to concentrate on anything else. So I smile drowsily up to him, begging for another sip of that ambrosial mouth, but it doesn’t come. Instead I get a lone cool finger trailing delicately across my face before I sleep.

Part 6

When I wake I’m still there in his embrace, and he’s fully clothed. I smile at how awkward he looks, lying there with all of his clothes on. But his face is stunning, the picture of peace and contentment, and I burrow myself deeper into him, as if he’s an escape. He is an escape. I try to move from him to lock the door so someone nosy won’t happen upon us, but his arms are like metal. They don’t hurt, but they’re firm. I let out a little squeal. He sleeps like the dead, literally. But, despite how I thought I would feel, seeing him lying there and not breathing, he still moves and keeps himself curled around me. I desperately want to close the door; if anyone finds out what’s transpiring I could be due for some heavy lecturing.

“Angel,” I whisper near his face. I have an idea to kiss him awake, but I don’t know how he’d feel about that. I don’t know if normal couples do that, or how he’d react to that. I say his name softly again and his eyes slowly open. He gives me a smile and suddenly I hug him to me. Every time he smiles at me I want to squeeze him until we become one person.

“I’m awake, Buffy.” My head is spinning with the dizziness of having his body pressed to mine. It’s perfectly shaped. He presses a kiss to my lips and I rest my forehead on his neck.

“I wanted to close the door.”

“Why, are you ashamed of me?” There’s a teasing hint to his voice and I feel like drowning in him forever, losing myself in him. How I could have ever thought he was a filthy demon is beyond me.

“No,” I say in a muffled tone. “I just don’t feel like a lecture, especially when we don’t even know what this is.”

“Don’t you?” He says with a frown, pulling me away and looking into my eyes. I can see that I just made a major mistake.

“A-Angel, please,” I stutter, “I’d rather not fight. I’m just being honest. I’ll be eighteen in a week and I’ve never even held hands with a boy. Just give me some time to sort out my feelings.”

“I’m not going to be with you unless you’re sure, Buffy.”

I sit up and it’s my turn to frown. “What do you mean ‘be with me’? As in date?”

“Well, not really. We can’t really date, considering we’re in the confines of an underground hiding spot. But, I do mean something more.”

“I do want this with you, I-I do. I just need some time by myself. I’m not used to telling people things, or being close…”

“Do you trust me, Buffy?” He’s not angry; he just seems concerned, heavily. He understands me, that’s all good and well, but sometimes it seems like he gets frustrated with the way I am. I guess I can understand; as I’ve come to learn over the months, I’m a difficult person to live with.

“You know I do,” I tell him, but somehow it’s like my words can’t be sincere enough. “I’m sorry, Angel. This is the first time I’ve felt this way. I’ve never felt like this for anyone else.”

“You’ve never been with anyone else.” I can detect just a little anger creeping into his voice and his eyes are narrowed.

“I-I know,” I try to save myself desperately. “But this is different. You know me Angel, I-”

“Look, if you don’t know what this is, or what you want it to be, maybe we should just leave it at training partners.” I don’t know where this is coming from, all this sudden anger. I question if he was serious about me being ashamed of being with him.

I only look at him, with my mouth open. I can’t possibly reply to that, and he gets out of my bed and leaves wordlessly, not giving a reason or explanation for anything. How am I supposed to deal with this? Is this like what other teenagers go through, confusing and desperate feelings? Somehow, I can sense that this is different than a regular teenage romance. I know what I feel for him, I just don’t know how to convey it well. I know what I want, but it’s like it’s in a different language and I can’t put into words what I’m feeling. But I know it’s there. Then on top of that, my focus on saving the streets of Sunnydale. “Sunnydale my ass,” I mutter, as I climb out of bed to get dressed.

Anger is the easiest way to deal with my emotions. Anger is clean and there are no sticky complications. You don’t have to think; you just have to be angry. So I become angry with Angel. I’m not hurt and vulnerable, I slip back into my old countenance, the one I had before I came down here, the one I had when I was alone. When my daily training session comes with Angel, I know that I can’t avoid him. There are only nine other people down here with us, it’s not as if we were above ground and I can flee. I suppose I could run away, but I know that it would do more harm than good. I don’t do Tai Chi in his embrace with the fire trails up my spine this time; this time I simply get into fighting stance with a snarl on my face. His expression is one of indifference; it’s neither hurt nor resentment.

I fight him with something that really isn’t hate, because how could I ever hate him? I just put all my pent up frustration into my blows, and the indifference in his face doesn’t match his fighting skills at all. He fights back just as hard, and we are definitely formidable opponents to each other; we compliment each other.

When we’re finished I don’t say anything and neither does he, I simply sneer in his direction. It’s so easy to hate; like I said, you don’t have to think. I don’t know why he’s so angry with my anyway, but I know that it was something wrong with me. Why was I so stupid? Why couldn’t I just voice my feelings without feeling weak? He’s not weak by any means, and he’d always told me how he felt.

That day I feel drained with Giles and Wesley. Their accents were grating on me and I’m about to go and snap all their pencils in half and rip up all those history books. I can’t concentrate, and all I want is to be held. I’ve never wanted to be touched or held, and suddenly it’s a necessity. Maybe I should tell him that I love him, maybe that would help. I’m probably going to die anyway, so I might as well live my life to the fullest until I take on the Master. There’s nothing left to lose at this point, so I have to tell him something, beg for his forgiveness. Life is too short for petty arguments, especially my life. Everyone keeps telling me that I’ll defeat t aster, but the odds in reality are frightening.

Later in the day, I find him sitting and reading a French novel, and I sit down shyly next to him, not sure how I should proceed. Finally he looks at me with those eyes and I want to crawl into him and tell him my life story and plead with him to make it better. I want to explain to him everything.

“Yes?” He says numbly.

“I’m sorry.” My voice is dull and it rings emptily. “I’m sorry for being such a-a bitch.” I can’t believe my throat is tightening. I’ve never cried in my life. Maybe that’s not odd in these strained times, but for these people it must seem miraculous. Oh I’m sure I’ve cried some times, when I was a young toddler and a baby, but ever since I can remember I’ve never cried, especially not in front of anyone. I know the telltale signs of crying, the tight and itchy throat, and the watery eyes. Now I’m feeling them, in front of Angel.

He stares off for a second before putting the book down and looking at me full on. “You’re not a bitch, Buffy,” he says solemnly.

“But I can understand why you hate me. I’m being difficult…and I’m sorry, it’s just that I’m so used to-”

“No,” he cuts in, and the anger is gone from his eyes. “I don’t hate you. It was my fault, my temporary insanity. I’m sorry. You’re new to this and I’ve been doing it for two and a half centuries, I should know how to handle it better than I did. Sometimes I just don’t think you’re there with me, Buffy, and I need you to be sure about this. I don’t want you to be focused on me instead of saving the world, when all we’re doing is playing games. Sometimes I feel like I understand you, but you never cry with me, you never laugh with me.”

“It’s hard,” I tell him hoarsely. “I just don’t like to be weak. I feel like the second I let down my guard, the rug will be pulled out from under me.” I sit down beside him, distancing myself from him a little. “I have to be strong, Angel, you don’t understand.”

“I do,” he soothes, his hand snaking out to catch mine. “I know you’re not used to this; you’ve only been here for three months, no one is expecting much from you Buffy. I just want you to show me who you are. We can worry about the fighting tactics and the major battle soon, just deal with the little stuff at first.” His fingers are warm but cool, and they wrap themselves around mine with affection.

I make the move, which is surprising, even for me. I don’t know what I’m doing, I just move on instinct. It’s what I want, and I can tell it’s what he wants too. I crawl into his lap and situate myself there. He’s the real first person that I’ve ever known. He treats me like a human being, and so much more. I rest my head on his shoulder.

“Do you think that I’ve gotten better at Slaying?”

“A thousand times,” he remarks fiercely. “Since you first came here and since we’ve been sparring almost every day, you’ve grown in ways you can’t even begin to imagine, both personally and physically.”

“In only three months?” I ask in a small voice.

“In a day.”

I move forward and kiss him, shyly. His mouth tastes like something I’ve never tasted before; it’s completely new. But it’s fragrant and beautiful and I begin to kiss more voraciously. I urgently pull him closer, kissing with such fervor that I’m forced pull away, panting. I’ve never experienced such a feeling before; it’s like letting a piece of myself go within him. He’s panting too, but he doesn’t need to. I lean into him again, and we don’t say anything.

Part 7

Things are quiet and a little monotonous now, but not as much as before, when I was up on the streets. I have good company, and of course, Angel. The thing that I don’t understand is why he won’t touch me, though. He’ll kiss me, and it will get heated after awhile, but it goes no further than that, he won’t allow it to. I’m too shy to ask him why, and it’s been four months since we even started kissing. I would have thought after a little over half a year of living here he would do more than kiss me. Maybe he’s scared, I don’t know. Maybe I’m scared too.

I’m craving the air more these days, and I know that there’s an entrance and an exit to this place somewhere, but I don’t know where it is. I haven’t explored the full extent to my living space. The night that I contemplate escaping just to see the moon again I fall into a fitful sleep. It’s some of the harshest nightmares that I’ve ever experienced, and that’s saying a lot. Nightmares about my own death, and my face-off with the Master. It scares me so much that I wake up shaking, despite the warmth of my room. I sit up against the headboard. I never thought that death would scare me so much. There’s so much blood and gore and death in these dreams, but I’m confused. I’ve been exposed to some of the most horrible visions of gore my whole life, and yet these dreams seem to have more effect on me than my reality ever could.

I try to hold in the tears that I’m feeling as I rock myself against the headboard, until I hear a movement from across the room. Vampires aren’t as stealthy for a Slayer, I guess, because I see him creeping through my open door, looking at my shadowed form. I’m huddled weakly, and I’m trembling and near tears. I remember something that Giles once told me about Slayer dreams, something about how they’re prophetic or maybe more realistic than the average dream.

“Buffy,” He whispers loudly, as he stalks closer to my bed.

“I’m here,” I say hoarsely. This is the second time that I’ve come close to crying in the past few months. I can’t help but thinking that however much this place is strengthening me physically, it’s also weakening me mentally.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and I know that he knows the answer to that question.

I sit there, unsure of what to tell him. If I tell him the truth, it’ll open the floodgates and if I say a lie, he’ll know it. So I simply sit there while he slides in closer to me and puts his arms around me.

“I-I was dreaming about the Master,” I say unsteadily, and he shushes me softly, stroking his hands through my hair. It feels so good that I claw at his shirt in an attempt to get closer. I touch my own lip wonderingly, feeling it tremble.

“It’s okay to cry, Buffy. I’m not going to judge you.”

“Crying is weak,” I say almost a little too harshly. “Crying gets you killed.” He sees right through my façade.

“Crying opens gates for other strengths. There’s nothing wrong with it. I’ve cried countless times in my guilt, and my grief.” The thought of him crying for deeds that he hasn’t even done makes my heart ache unbearably and a little wetness does slip out. Just a tear though, it’s all I’ll allow. He cradles me closer and kisses my forehead, his lips are soothing in a cool way, and that’s when I break down.

I sob so hard that I think my insides will fall apart, and I just realize that I’ve made the biggest mistake of my life by letting it all out like this. I don’t need complications when the time is so near that I can taste it. The dreams are coming now, and somehow I can feel it as a sign that I will face the Master within the year, maybe a little afterwards.

He strokes my hair and cradles my head in his palm and holds my head to his chest, so that my tears soak his shirt. There’s so many of them, it’s almost as if I’m crying for all the times that I’ve never cried throughout my life. For all my grief and pain that I’ve never had any family. That I’ve never been loved. Then I stumble upon this amazing creature who understands my pain, my utter loneliness. And he doesn’t judge, because he knows how it feels.

He holds me through my tears for the rest of the night, whispering soothing words against my cheek and kissing my tear trails until I fall asleep again. Somehow I feel relieved, like a great pressure from my stomach has just been released into the atmosphere.

We haven’t told anyone about us, and in spite of our understanding of each other, sometimes I feel like we just don’t communicate enough. I want to ask him about the kissing issues, and whether or not we should tell the others about how we’re “involved”. I feel so adult saying that word, but it’s the only way to explain the situation we’re in. No, I take that back. There really are no words to describe what position we’re in, how synchronistic we are. We fight like dancers, but no one ever watches. I’ve only just recently tried to step outside myself and see the way we spar, how beautiful it could look through another person’s eyes.

I crave that now, just as much as I crave seeing the sunlight again, how murky it is, or just seeing grass again. I guess the first steps to growing are taking the first steps, or so Angel tells me. So that’s what I’m doing, becoming assertive. Another thing that Giles has taught me will help me in the “Ultimate Fight”. The death-fight, in other words.

I approach him, and this time he’s reading up on his demonology. There really isn’t much to do down here besides that. Occasionally he’ll go up into the town because he’s respected up there and no one suspects he has a soul. He’s the only one that’s capable though. I sit down next to him in his chair and it’s a tight fit, but I’m just small enough to squeeze in. In fact, I’m kind of laying half on top of him and half between the cushion and the armrest.

“Angel,” I say in a hushed voice. He glances up and smiles at me from the book.

“Yeah?”

“I need to talk to you about something.” Idly my fingers trace the silk of his sleeve. I am a shy person when I’m around him, because of the new feelings. I’m also shy about the night I cried in his arms, and we never talk much about that either. But if I’m going to make this work, then I’m going to have to start digging up dirt and exposing truths. I’ve at least learned that much through my philosophical talks with Wesley.

I stare at his face and move until we’re inches apart, glad that there’s no one else in the room. “How come you won’t go any farther with me?” I whisper, and lick my lips in anticipation of his answer. In notice his intense (almost black) brown eyes flick to my lips before coming back up to face my eyes.

“Excuse me?” He says, with something like bewilderment.

“I mean, when we kiss…” I trial off, and in a second all the confidence that I’d previously had flees. “Why won’t you touch me?”

“Buffy, it’s a little early to be talking about that…you don’t really know what you’re doing, what you’re getting into.”

“I know, Angel. I know about sex and I know how it works. Just because I’ve never had a personal relationship with a boy, doesn’t mean that I haven’t been around men and I’m not educated about that. In fact, if anything, that’s the area I’m most educated in. I grew up in a filthy area of a doubly filthy town.”

If he had circulation I would say that he almost blushes. “I’m older than you,” he says with a suddenly serious countenance. “A lot older. Even when I was changed I was almost twenty-seven years old. You’re not sure what you’re doing, and we’ve only known each other for not even a year. You need some time to think before you get in over your head.”

“But I know what I want,” I almost whine. “And my life is short. It’ll be so short, Angel, the end is coming soon. I’m not asking for full on sex here, okay?”

For the first time, he casts his eyes away from mine, unable to look at me when I mention the word ‘sex’. I continue on, brazen and a little irritated with him for not facing facts. “Listen, I’m not a stupid girl. All I want is some physical affection from you, that’s all I’m asking for. I’ve lived with the same people down here for almost a year, away from sunlight and normal air, and I can’t even get physical touch. It’s like I’ve been fucking quarantined.”

“Buffy, don’t get angry,” he murmurs. “It’s not that I don’t want to touch you, I just don’t want to go too fast. I also don’t want you involved with something that-” could never be, I want to finish for him. I knew what he was going to say.

“Something that what?” I ask him anyway. I want to hear him say it. I’m sick of miscommunication. “Tell me, Angel,” I demand. “No more bullshitting, or beating around the bush, or not facing feelings. We’re going to tell the truth to each other, ourselves, and everyone else here. I’m actually surprised that we’ve been able to hide our relationship for this long!” My voice is rising and he places a thumb over my lips and makes that soft ‘shhhh’.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been openly honest, Buffy,” he admits quietly, after the fire in my veins has subsided. “I’m just a little scared. You shouldn’t be involved with me…I don’t deserve you. And that is the truth. You should wait for someone else.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” I tell him angrily. “And besides, in case you haven’t noticed, I don’t have a lot of time. I haven’t heard that whole prophecy, but I’m probably going to die when I confront the Master, okay? I’ve heard Giles and Wesley whispering, so I know that there’s something going on that they haven’t told me. And it’s not hard to figure out, even for a dumbass like me.” Now it’s his turn to get angry.

“You are not a dumbass Buffy, stop belittling yourself like that. You’re a strong, intelligent, beautiful woman who has had to endure so much pain in her life; I don’t know how you survived it growing up. You’re also not going to die, because I believe in you, and I know what you’re capable of, and the Master will not kill my Slayer.” I notice the words coming out of his mouth, but make no move to interrupt. He doesn’t seem to notice the possessive pronoun that he’s used. He hugs me almost desperately to him then. “I’m sorry that you think you’re going to die, but you’re not,” he growls. I can feel the vibrations from his chest purring in my ear. “If you only believed in yourself and saw half of what I see in you, you would just know.”

“How do you know?” I mumble into his shoulder.

“Because I can see you for who you are, and what you’ll be. And from now on, we’re only sharing the open and honest truth, no more hiding okay?”

PART 2

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