One month later. . .

It was close to dawn when Buffy let herself into Giles' apartment with the key he'd had made for her. The sky was overcast and heavy with the threat of bad weather. Even as Buffy shut and locked the door behind her, large droplets of rain began to spatter on the concrete sidewalk.

The librarian had left a light on in the kitchen for her and Buffy felt a warm glow of affection for the man who had taken her into his home, no questions asked, no strings attached. For the past two years, Buffy had become accustomed to having to fend off the lecherous advances of the man sworn to train and assist her. Merrick had used the death of Buffy's parents to exploit her and take her virginity in a moment of drunken rage.

He had molested her the very night of her parents' murder at the hands of a pack of vampires. Still too unsure of her own strength as the Slayer and nearly comatose with grief, Buffy had been easily overpowered by the much larger Watcher. Before and after the rape, he had beaten her until she had simply ceased to fight back, letting him use her until he had finally blacked out. Buffy had then crawled into the bathroom and locked herself in, eventually falling into an exhausted sleep on the cold tile floor.

So had begun two years of relentless abuse, not only physical and sexual, but emotional as well. Barely civil to her when he was sober, Merrick used every opportunity to call her filthy names and tell her how utterly worthless she was, not only as a Slayer, but as a human being. He reminded her on a daily basis that, because of her, his life had been forever ruined.

Buffy's self-esteem plummeted and she began to believe every word he said to her. The memories of her past life, spent as the beautiful, happy daughter of Hank and Joyce Summers, memories of being a cheerleader, Homecoming princess, talented figure skater, all began to fade into the past.

She tried to never think of the past for fear she would just want to curl up and die of the anguish she had never been able to express.

With a sigh, Buffy walked into the kitchen and put the teakettle on the gas stove and turned on the flame. Turning to the sink, she took a glass out of the drainer and filled it with water. While waiting for the kettle to heat, she walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. She had finally talked Giles into reclaiming his bedroom, while she slept on the couch. She made the argument that she would be keeping different hours than he and if she stayed downstairs, she wouldn't disturb his sleep. Grudgingly, the Englishman agreed, promising her that he would start looking for a bigger place, somewhere they could both be comfortable.

Buffy's respect for the man had grown by leaps and bounds after that conversation. Instead of resenting her presence, Rupert Giles had eagerly welcomed her into his life. He had opened up his home and his heart to her, doing everything he could to make her feel secure.

For the first time in a very long time, Buffy Summers began to feel content.

As she undressed and slipped on one of Giles' pajama shirts, the teakettle began to whistle. Padding barefoot into the kitchen, Buffy fixed a cup of tea, amused at how quickly his habits were becoming her own. Carefully balancing the cup in one hand, she opened the cabinet above the sink. She removed two chocolate-chip cookies from a package purchased with her in mind on Giles' last trip to the store.

Sinking down onto the couch, Buffy took a sip of her steaming tea before sitting the cup down on the end table. Pulling a blanket over her bare legs, she proceeded to unbraid her hair, letting the thick mass fall down her back. As she lay her head back on the cushions, her thoughts drifted to the other man complicating her life.

Angel.

While a part of her rebelled against the notion of a vampire with a soul, restored by Gypsies no less, Buffy found herself falling into the easy comfort he offered. His presence was a constant source of tranquillity in her hectic life. He was always there, sometimes with her, sometimes shadowing her every move.

Instead of creeping her out, Buffy found it extraordinarily gratifying. She felt safe when he was around, secure in the knowledge that he was watching her back, always.

And, he made her feel pretty again.

Even at her filthiest, his dark eyes would shine with appreciation, a tiny, crooked smile lighting his face. A smile he only had for her. And, when he would touch her, never deliberately, only an accidental brushing of shoulders or the barest touch of fingertips along the back of her hand, Buffy felt breathless, on fire as her face would flame in embarrassment.

But, he would only smile at her and whisper something amusing to divert her attention from the rising passion between them.

Buffy told herself that she had no intentions of falling in love with the handsome vampire, but she had a sneaking suspicion that it was too late.

As she fell asleep, her dreams were of Angel.

"Good afternoon, sleepy head. What time did you get in last night?" Giles asked as Buffy sat up and yawned. The Slayer glanced up at the mantel clock, surprised to see that it was going on one o'clock.

"Almost morning, four or so." Wrapping the quilt around her shoulders, Buffy got up and joined Giles in the kitchen. Leaning back against the counter, she watched as the librarian made a pot of tea. She didn't have the patience to make tea the old-fashioned way, with loose tea in a china teapot, she was a Lipton teabag kind of girl, but it was soothing to watch him go through the ritual.

"How many did you get last night?" he asked as he placed the teapot and matching cups on a silver tray along with cream and sugar.

Buffy sighed and pulled the quilt closer. "Would you believe none? It was a quiet night. Even Angel said. . . "

"You saw Angel?"

"Yeah, he patrolled with me for a few hours. He thought it seemed kind of dead, too." Buffy grinned suddenly, an uncharacteristic act that lit up her whole face. "No pun intended."

Giles smiled, pleased with her obvious happiness. "You seem to be getting along better with Angel. I haven't had that irresistible urge to put you in separate corners lately."

To his surprise, Buffy blushed and she looked away. The Watcher could've sworn that her green eyes turned dreamy. "He's. . . not so bad. . . for a blood-sucking monster," she said.

It had been a very long time since Rupert Giles had been anything close to being in love, but he still recognized the signs. Angel was a very handsome man and Buffy, although wise beyond her years, was an impressionable young woman.

Despite her physical strength and demon-hunting prowess, Buffy was severely lacking in self-respect. Her image of herself was damaged, practically beyond repair, due to the treatment she had suffered at Merrick's hands. Giles did all he could to praise her and tell her how wonderful she was, even though the disbelief in her eyes was painful to behold.

He had hoped a friendship with the lonely vampire would pull her out of her shell and, from the looks of the girlish flush tinting her cheeks, it was working.

He just prayed that her tender heart, locked up behind a callous armor of sarcasm, would not be broken in the end.