~*Know Who I Am*~

Author’s Note: This takes place right before “Suprise/Innocence.” I wasn’t totally sure on the date, so I guessed, according to when “Suprise” aired on TV. If I’m wrong, just ignore it . . . the dates in the story are only a reference point for the two time periods. Also, I only saw “Becoming” once, last May or whenever it was, and I didn’t even see the whole thing. I tried to watch it again in September but there were all sorts of problems and it didn’t happen :( If I have any details wrong, I’m sorry. It’s only a story though.
Lastly, I didn’t think they’d ever mentioned any details about Angel’s family on the show, so I made it all up. If I was wrong, once again, forgive me, and don’t sue! The quote is from (as it says) the City of Angels Sountrack. It may not make sense at first, but hopefully by the end you’ll know what it means. I just love that song and had to use it! I think that’s about it, except that I love comments and would appreciate any you have greatly . . . Email me. Now enough of me . . . on to the story . . .

“If everything’s made to be broken,
I just want her to know who I am.”–
“Iris” by The Goo Goo Dolls, City of Angels Soundtrack

The street was dark and deserted. And very quiet. The lady in the shadows waited, reveling in the silence, knowing it would soon be broken. Not by screams, as she wished, but by something perhaps rather more . . . enjoyable. Well, something more enjoyable than screaming was rather hard to find. But she’d settle for a few looks of horror and a night of revelry afterwards. Oh there would be blood tonight!

As she waited a door swung open and two men stumbled out, shouting, laughing and cursing. There was light and loud noise, and the woman smiled.

“You’re a cruel man!” one of them men shouted. They were both young. No more than twenty, certainly, and one was very handsome. It would be that one, of course. She didn’t like ugly boys. Besides, the other one was very drunk, and while his friend was still shouting at the bartender, he passed out in the streets. Well, that solved another problem for her.

The door to the tavern swung shut and the boy turned away in disgust. She stepped into the light of a street lantern, assuming a pose of innocence. Not total innocence–just in the things that mattered. In the things that would scare him. In only a few moments she would make sure nothing would ever scare him again.

He saw her. Of course he did. She had meant him to. He straightened himself and his clothes and walked over. Oh he was very young, but she liked young blood best. It was the sweetest, and young companions the most inventive. And this was certainly a beautiful young man. She had chosen well.

He began a polite inquiry into the nature of her business in a dark street. After all, she was dressed like a lady. He offered himself as an escort home, and to . . . while away the dark hours. Oh yes, she had chosen very well. They would while away the dark hours indeed. Looking away, the vampire Darla smiled. He had no idea what was coming.

“Hey guys, what’s up?” Buffy asked, walking into the library and plunking her backpack down on the table.

“Hey, it’s our local Slayer! Give it up for the Buff-meister!” Xander cried. Willow, a slim red-head of seventeen elbowed her best friend in the ribs.

“We were having an argument about whether Mrs. Dorrens is a witch, a zombie, or just weird,” Willow said. “I opted for witch.”

“It was a discussion!” Xander exclaimed. “Not an argument, just a friendly discussion. And I still say she’s obviously a zombie. Come on, Buffy, back me up here. I mean, does she seem LIVING to you?” Buffy considered her biology teacher, then shook her head.

“Sorry, I’m gonna have to go with Willow on this one,” Buffy admitted, taking a seat opposite them.

“You always go with Willow! Is this some sort of conspiracy?” Xander asked, slanting mock-suspicious looks at them. Buffy and Willow exchanged looks of fond exasperation. Then Buffy suddenly realized something and glanced around.

“Where’s Giles? He said he had something to tell me,” Buffy said, looking for the school librarian/Watcher. “I jost hope it’s not Spike and Dru up to something again.”

“Wow, this has got to be some kind of record. The G-man is NOT in the library!” Xander exclaimed.

“I haven’t seen him since this morning before school,” Willow said. “He was in the staff room with Ms. Calendar. You know, I think they’re really hitting it off.”

“Giles?” Xander exclaimed. “The G-man with a girlfriend? Though Ms. Calendar, I could maybe see . . . I mean, she is a techno-pa-thing right? But doesn’t she have a thing for computers? She is the computer science teacher after all. And Giles hates computers!”

“But not their teachers,” Buffy said grinning. “I’ve seen the way Giles watches her. He has such a crush! It’s so cute!”

“Cute?” Xander broke in. “Cute?”

“What’s cute?” Giles asked, entering the library.

“I want you to know that I was on time,” Buffy announced. “Xander and Willow can vouch for me.”

“Actually Buff, you were a couple minutes late,” Willow said hesitantly. Buffy hissed at her. But Giles wasn’t paying attention.

“I’m sorry I’m late. I had some . . . business to attend to. But I still need to talk to all of you. There’s . . . there’s rather a strange phenomenon in town. I’m not quite sure what it is, but I believe it is some kind of . . . well, quantum vor–” Buffy never heard the rest of Giles’ sentence. Because there was a sudden blackness and then she was somewhere else.

“Excuse me, miss? Excuse me?” the young man repeated. Buffy blinked and went for a stake, then sighed with relief when she realized it was only Angel.

“Angel, what happened? Where are we?” she asked. The vampire-with-soul looked suprised and taken aback. He also looked very young all of a sudden.

“Only me mother calls me that. How do you know my name? Have we met?” Angel asked, with a very strong Irish brogue. At least, he looked like Angel. And he had Angel’s voice (except for the accent). What did he mean, his mother called him that? He had killed his mother, after he became a vampire. Besides, she’d be long dead by now. He was, after all, over two hundred and forty! And did they KNOW each other? They’d been dating for quite some time, and this wasn’t quite the reaction she usually got from him.

“What’s going on? Angel, what’s wrong? Where are we? And why are you dressed like that?” she asked, noticing his very strange looking clothes. They were like something out of a history book. And did he have a ponytail?

“I’m not quite sure what’s going on myself. You seem to know me, but I don’t know you. I . . . usually dress like this. Most people do. And unless ye’re my mother, the name’s Angelus,” Angel said, eyeing her askance. Buffy stiffened at the name and shivered. Angelus was the name he’d used before he had regained his soul. It was also the name he’d been born to.

“What year is this?” Buffy asked suddenly. He blinked again, watching her very strangely.

“The year o’ our Lord, seventeen fifty three,” he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Buffy felt herself go pale. Seventeen fifty three. Wasn’t that the year he . . . She couldn’t remember. Angel had never been too forward with information about his past. But the young man standing in front of her didn’t set off any of her vampire alarms, and even Angel-with-a-soul did that, though they were slightly altered. This man *felt* like anyone else. Any other human.

“Oh dear god,” Buffy murmured. What was going on? Had she somehow been transported back in time? But that was ridiculous. And why would she go to this year, to this place, to Angel? Or Angelus.

“Are you all right? That’s a stupid question. O’ course you’re not. I may be a bit better for ale, but I can tell that much. Let me escort you home. This is no place for a lady. Besides, ye’re half dressed. Take my cloak and cover yourself up,” Angel (or whoever he was) said, handing her his heavy wool coat. He always seemed to be giving her jackets, or the nearest thing to it. Buffy looked down at her perfectly acceptable clothes. Tall black boots, black miniskirt, dark red tank top and matching cardigan. She looked fine. In fact, she liked this outfit.

“I’m not half un-dr–” she began indignantly, but stopped, starting to feel so under his gaze. She accepted the cloak without another word and wrapped it around herself.

“Where do you live?” Angel asked. Buffy started and looked up at him.

“I’m . . . visiting. I’m not from around here,” she said, trying to think up some excuse for being there. Not that there was one, since she had no idea why she WAS there, or how she got there in the first place. Angel smiled at her last words, and she felt her insides melting as they always did when he smiled like that. Except that, for all the familiarity, it wasn’t the same smile. The Angel she knew always had an edge to everything he did–an edge to his laughter (which was rare enough), and an edge to his smiles. This man had nothing but good nature and amusement in his smile.

“I shoulda known that right away. That’s all right. I’ll take you t’ me sister’s. She’s always taking in strays–begging your pardon miss–and she’s about your size, so you could borrow some o’ her clothes.”

“Um . . . thank you,” Buffy said, letting herself be led down the dark street. She didn’t remember him mentioning a sister. Of course, there were a lot of things Angel never mentioned about his former life. Buffy’s natural common sense and humor began to reassert itself then and she realized something she hadn’t thought of before.

“Do you offer to take all the girls you meet in dark streets home?” Buffy demanded, knowing she sounded like a jealous girlfriend. Well she was, in a way. Angel laughed.

“Not all of ‘em. Only the pretty ones,” he answered. Buffy found herself smiling, though she knew she should be annoyed. So Angel had been a lady’s man? Assuming this was really him and she really had been transported back in time somehow.

“I ought to be very angry at you, but you are doing me a good turn, so I won’t get mad,” she told him.

“Why should you be angry? ‘Twas a compliment,” he pointed out. Buffy didn’t know a way to respond that wouldn’t sound totally insane, so she kept her silence. “Besides,” he continued after a moment, “I dinna offer to take you my home, which would be a grave insult. I offered to take you to my sister’s house. She is married with two children. I think you shall be safe from my nefarious influence there.” Buffy smiled, thinking of what a *nefarious influence* Angel was compared to her own time. Now what was she thinking? Her own time? THE time. This couldn’t possible be real. It must be a dream. That was it, it was all a dream brought on by thinking about Angel too much. Which she probably did, but how could she help it? Whenever she thought of his lips on hers, his strong arms around her . . . and not only that, but she was in love with his smile and his habit of appearing at any moment and disappearing as quickly. She loved every feature of his face, she loved his hands and his eyes and especially his eyes . . .

Buffy sighed happily, content in her Angel dream. She loved him so much . . . He was the most beautiful person she had ever seen, had ever known. And he loved her. She knew he did, though he never said it. She had seen it in his eyes. He loved her.

“What is it?” the Angel beside her (who was her Angel and yet . . . not) asked. Buffy shook her head at the irony of the situation. Here she was daydreaming about the person he WOULD be in almost two and a half centuries?

“I’m in love,” she replied, unable to help herself. She cast a sidelong glance at him. He looked startled, then resigned. He steered her towards a relatively short bridge, then spoke again.

“All the pretty ones are always taken. So who’s the lucky man?” She couldn’t very well tell him *you.*

“I’ll tell you someday,” she said finally.

“Is that an invitation t’ get t’ know you better? I thought you were in love?” Angel asked, amused by the situation. He had probably been hoping to score, Buffy thought, though she couldn’t imagine Angel as a hormone crazed teen. He was so . . . adult.

“I am,” Buffy replied, “But that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.” By the look on his face boy-girl friendships weren’t extremely common in those days. Buffy sighed. “Forget I said anything.”

“No no!” he exclaimed. “It is an intriguin’ idea. You are . . . different.”

“Well I should think so!” Buffy exclaimed, then realized once again he wasn’t her Angel and he had no idea what she was talking ago. She blushed and said, “Thank you.” He was still watching her strangely, but there was a glint of amusement and something else in his eyes. Curiousity probably. After all, she was like nothing he’d probably ever seen.

“Here we are,” Angel announced a moment later. They had stopped in front of an old (well, Buffy supposed it probably wasn’t actually that old, but it was the kind of building that if she’d ever seen anything like it normally she would dub ancient) stone building. “Wait here,” he said, and stepped forward to knock on the door (which was wood).

A light went on in the window a moment later and a woman–in her early twenties, Buffy would say–opened the door. Though they spoke in hushed voices Buffy caught a few choice words like *drunk,* and *again* from the woman, and *brought,* *found,* *street,* and *help* from Angel. The woman (his sister, Buffy assumed) spoke again, and finally Angel turned and signalled her forward. Buffy walked into the light, not sure what to do. Should she curtsey? Or shake hands? Apparently nothing was required though, for the woman (who looked disturbingly like Angel from up close), smiled warmly at her and told her to come in, she was welcome.

“Angelus here dinna give me a name,” the woman said with a strong Irish accent as she directed Buffy towards the fire. “I’m Sophia, for knowin’ me brother he probably dinna mention that either.”

“My name’s Buffy,” she said, looking around at the room. It was like a museum her mother had taken her to when she was little once . . . a historical museum, not like the art gallery Joyce ran, where there had been a whole eighteenth century house recreated. It had looked like this.

“Well, and our names are considered a little odd! Oh dinna look at me like that Angelus, I meant no offense, and she does not mind! Are you hungry?” Sophia asked.

“Not really, thanks,” Buffy said. She’d just eaten . . . whenever *just* was, and she felt too weirded out to chew and swallow anyway.

“So where are ye from?” Sophia asked, bustling around the room lighting lamps. Buffy watched Angel, who was standing beside the door, watching his sister with a fond smile. His sister . . . It was so strange to think of Angel with a family. To think of Angel as human.

“A long ways away,” Buffy replied automatically, thinking frantically. This was before the Revolution, wasn’t it? What year had that been anyway? People lived in America before that right? But California? Buffy didn’t think they’d gotten quite that far yet.

“We could sort of tell that,” Angel replied with a smile. Buffy blushed slightly, then took a deep breath, getting ready to lie. Sort of anyway.

“I’m from America . . . the, um, the colonies?” Buffy guessed, hoping that was the right word. To her relief Angel nodded understanding.

“They ARE different there. How did you come t’ Ireland?”

“It’s a long story,” Buffy began, hoping that it was as late as she thought it might be.

“I have time,” Angel said, to her depair. Sophia interupted though, clicking her tongue.

“It is too late to keep her up with questions! You can come by tommorrow and hear the whole tale, but I’m sure our guest is verra tired and would like t’ get t’ bed. I know I would,” Sophia reprimanded. Angel bowed his head to his sister’s request. He came forward and took Buffy’s hand, bowing gracefully over it, then kissed his sister’s cheek on the way out of the door.

“I will come back on the morrow,” he said before he left. Buffy watched him go, wondering if she would get to see him in the sunlight finally.

“Good bye,” she murmured as the door closed behind him. Sophia watched him for a moment with a fond expression on her face, then turned to Buffy.

“He’s a good boy, though incapable of work! Now, you must be tired truly. I have a guest bed where Angelus stays when he’s too drunk t’ get himself home–not that it happens much. My brother holds his liquor well,” she said, in an almost proud tone of voice. Angel drank? Regularly?

“I am sort of tired,” Buffy ventured. Sophia smiled.

“Follow me then. Angelus said you didn’t have clothes? Well, we’ll do somethin’ about that in the mornin’,” Sophia said, showing her through a small, cramped, dark hall into another room with a bed. Buffy shed Angel’s cloak, putting it on a chair, and Sophia regarded her with shock. “He was certainly truthful this time! We shall have to do somethin’ about that. I don’t know about America, but here in Galway, Ireland we dress decently! I’ll fetch you a shift for bed.” Sophia left Buffy-–still shaking her head over American indecency–in the small room, one lamp the only light. Buffy sank down to the bed and put her head in her hands. What was going on? She wanted to go home! Home . . . to her Angel, to Willow and Xander, and even to Giles and her mother.

Sophia came back a few moments later with a plain white nightgown for Buffy. The Slayer obediently put it in and climbed into bed (though Sophia looked at her strangely when she got straight into bed and asked in a strangled voice if she wasn’t going to say her prayers. Buffy got back out and knelt, trying to remember a prayer from when she’d been little. Eventually she just bowed her head for what seemed like the right amount of time and wished she were home. She said “Amen” out loud and got back into the bed). The bed itself was not very comfortable, being made of straw (or so it felt). She was continually being poked by something and she got the feeling there were bugs in the bed.

Buffy did not go to sleep for a long time.

Buffy was *properly* dressed when Angel came back the next day. Sophia had woken her early that morning and given her a rather plain dress to put on. Buffy had gotten tangled in the layers of petticoats, and Sophia had ended up dressing her like a child. Buffy had blushed when asked what she’d done the rest of her life. *Well, not wearing clothes like these would be a start,* she thought. *You try walking in heels and a miniskirt!* She refrained from saying anything though, merely blushed. Let Sophia think she was used to maids or something . . . It was better than having her think that Buffy was crazy.

Buffy was busy trying to feed Sophia’s younger child, a little boy who liked very much to spit things out–onto Buffy’s face–when Angel arrived. It was almost noon (at least, she thought so. Her watch wasn’t on the right time and there weren’t any clocks in the house) and Angel’s brother-in-law, Breandán had been at work (he was a fisherman, as Buffy gathered many of the men around were), for hours. Buffy had gained from Sophia that Angel had a job at the the docks and helped at the local inn, but that he usually chose to ignore both. Buffy couldn’t imagine Angel as a slacker.

“Top o’ the mornin’ to you all,” Angel greeted them, coming in without knocking. He scooped Fiona (the older girl) into his arms and rubbed the Daniel’s hair. He greeted Buffy with a smile and a nod, and turned to call for Sophia, who was in the next room.

“There ye’re Angelus! I’ve been waitin’ for you all mornin’, and hoping you wouldna come,” Sophia greeted her brother.

“I’m wounded to the heart that me own sister doesna want me,” Angel said melodramatically, clutching at his breast. Buffy tried not to giggle, not sure what to think of this Angel who was so different, and yet totally the same. It was obviously him . . . but the Angel she knew rarely joked, never shirked duties, and was usually brooding rather than laughing.

“I want ye to be at work, but you’re here so we best make the most of it. Fiona, go fetch us some vegetables from the garden,” Sophia ordered. Fiona, who was five and the only blond one in the family, wriggled out of her uncle’s hold, the ran out the back door to the garden. Sophia turned to Buffy.

“I’m sorry about Daniel. He isna usually so messy,” she said, dipping a cloth in the water bucket by the door and brining it over. Buffy accepted it gladly to wipe herself off with. Daniel was very cute, and usually Buffy liked babies, but enough was enough! She stood up to let Sophia wipe the little boy off and pick him up from his wooden high chair.

“It’s all right,” Buffy replied, not sure what to do now, with Angel there.

“Come, sit down. Ye have yet to tell me your story,” Angel reminded her, beckoning her to the large table in the middle of the room. Buffy felt a brief moment of panic. What was she going to tell him?

“I . . . um . . . well, I–” Buffy almost welcomed the sudden blackness that hit her.

“–tex,” Giles finished. Buffy blinked and tried to breath. She was in the library. Right where she had left off. But what had happened to Angel and Sophia and Ireland?

“What’s a quantum vortex?” Xander asked.

“It’s a very rare phenomenon that–” Giles was cut off by Cordelia’s entrance. She smiled, savoring the attention, then saw Buffy.

“Are you like, all right, Buffy? You look like, hideous much! No insult, of course,” Cordelia said, eyeing the Slayer. Buffy shook her head vehemently.

“None taken, and no I am not okay! I was here, and then I wasn’t. I was there, but now I’m back and no time passed and I–” Xander interupted her in the middle of her frantic explanation.

“Could you go just a tad bit slower?” he asked.

“Take deep breaths,” Willow instructed.

“Like, don’t hyperventilate,” Cordelia put in. Xander cast her a poisonous glance, which she returned, before Giles began talking.

“What exactly happened?” Giles asked. Buffy did as Willow had said and began taking long, deep breaths.

“All right. I’m okay now. I was in here, and Giles came in and he was in the middle of saying something about a quantum thing, but right in the middle of the word I was suddenly NOT here anymore. I was in a dark street. And Angel was there,” Buffy said, trying to sort things out in her mind as she went. Xander’s grip on her shoulder tightened as she said the vampire’s name. He had never really liked–and certainly not trusted–Angel, even if he did have a soul.

“What was he doing there? And where were you?” Xander asked.

“This is going to sound insane. I wasn’t in this time. I mean, it was seventeen fifty something. And Angel wasn’t a vampire. Not even with a soul. He was human. I didn’t get any weird feelings from him, plus I saw him the next day in the daytime. Anyway, he was very gentlemanly and he offered to take me home, but I said I was visiting and I didn’t have anywhere to stay, so he took me to his sister Sophia’s house. She was really nice, but they kept saying I wasn’t decently dressed!

“I slept there, and she made me wear corsets, and feed this two year old, and then Angel–only it wasn’t really him, and he kept saying his name was Angelus, and only his mother called him Angel–asked how I got to Ireland (which is where they said we were. Something-way, Ireland). I was trying to think of something to say (I told them I was from America last night . . . the night before I mean) when I was suddenly here again and Giles was still talking. What happened?” Buffy demanded, appealing to her Watcher. Giles looked troubled, and did not answer for a moment, so Buffy repeated her question pointedly. He looked startled for a moment, then nodded.

“It was the quantum vortex, I believe. As I was going to say, it s a rare occurence that makes time unstable in the area it’s in. And there’s one in Sunnydale right now. It appears that you have been . . . well . . . sucked in to the vortex. From what I have found out about it, it fixes on one person, finds something in their thoughts and takes them to another time and place that has a lot to do with that thought.”

“So since Buffy’s thinking about Angel a lot, it took her to him,” Willow hazarded. Giles nodded.

“I think that’s it. You might not want to discuss this with him though,” Giles advised.

“Why not? I mean, it’s not going to happen again, is it?” Buffy asked.

“It might. I’m not sure. If it does, you must be sure to be very careful what you do. Everything you do in that time will affect this time. If you were forced to kill Angel in that time . . . which, luckily, you will not have to do, as it seems to be before he became a vampire, then you might forget him altogether when you return to the future. He would never exist for you,” Giles warned. Buffy blinked at that horrible thought and was VERY glad her thoughts of Angel had taken her to a good time in his life.

“Ooh,” Cordelia said, “That would be such a bummer. Angel’s like, so nice.” Buffy didn’t even glance at the other girl, her gaze still fixed on Giles.

“What if he recognized me from then? I mean, I gave him my real name and everything,” Buffy said, thinking of another possibility.

“That could happen, but I think it is doubtful, because if he did recognize you, you would probably know. It would be part of this reality. It has been quite some time after all. I suspect he does not remember the faces or names of many people from that time. He probably tries not to, since he did kill his whole family and most of his friends after he was made into a vampire.” Buffy shivered, thinking of Angel killing Sophia and her children.

“Giles, do you remember what year he became a vampire? I don’t really like to ask him . . . he doesn’t like to talk about the past, but I need to know. If I’m in that time when he’s attacked by Darla, I could stop it. I could keep him from becoming a vampire,” Buffy said, realizing what she said as she said it. But if Angel was never a vampire–

“Then he would live a normal life and die. You’d never meet him,” Willow said. Xander tactfully suppressed any hope in his expression, but Buffy could tell it was there anyway. Well, she knew Xander didn’t like Angel. But the thought of never meeting him at all? Buffy shivered again.

“Well, I’ll just face that as it comes. I probably won’t even have a chance to kill Darla anyway,” Buffy said calmly, though inside she was frantic. “Hopefully I’ll stay firmly in the present from now on.” But what about the Angel that she didn’t know? The one who laughed and teased and had a family? Now that she had met him she found herself wanting to know him. Wanting to know who the man she loved had been before pain had touched his life. But somehow, all Buffy could think of was Sophia, lying dead on the ground, her blood drained from her by her own brother.