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A Celtic Dance by Safarigirl



Angel bounded out of bed. The silken sheets slipped, unheeded, to his feet. He stood, muscles tense, trying to remember what had awakened him. Outside, thunder rumbled. Unusual for Sunnydale, but not what had dragged him wide-eyed from his dreams.

He walked to the shaded window, bare chest glistening in a blue-white flash of lightning. The first soft patter of rain on the roof rapidly gave way to a steady drumming that would echo through the empty mansion all day. His vampiric senses told him it was noon, but the rain told him to take a walk. When it stormed like this, he could dare to roam the daytime. He was restless - a walk would do him good.

As he shrugged the black duster over his cashmere sweater, he felt it again. The tattoo. It was burning into his shoulder, and it was the pain that had woken him. Every last line and detail traced a fiery trail in his flesh, warning him, calling him. Faintly, he could hear an eagle's scream. In two hundred and twenty five years, he hadn't received the Call of the Guardian. He'd almost forgotten he even had the tattoo, and now here it was, drawing him back to a place he'd left forever. Ireland. Home.

He grabbed a black umbrella - very British, Giles would have approved - and headed downtown. It was time to visit a travel agent.

Buffy, Willow, and Xander slumped in various postures of boredom as Giles rattled on.

"So you see, the Kitomer demon has the head of many faces and inhabits high areas, while the Gul Dat prefer to live in packs near a steady source of food. Here you have..."

Buffy was daydreaming. She and Angel were in New Orleans at Mardi Gras, partying hearty. In her mind's ear, she heard him laugh with delight as they jumped for strands of bright plastic beads and danced in the streets. Giles' droning - why had he insisted on a slide show of the Universe's Least Wanted? - blended with the steady beat of rain on the library skylight. It formed a soothing background to her thoughts as she drifted into dreamland.

She woke with a jerk when a cold hand grabbed her shoulder. Still half-dreaming, her Slayer reflexes pulled her upright, back, into a fighting stance. Except she tripped over her chair and fell on her butt. Now, she was definitely awake.

Angel leaned over her, a faint almost-smile playing about his lips. She could hear Xander cracking up, somewhere behind her.

"Didn't mean to startle you, Buff," her vampire boyfriend said, holding out a hand. She ignored it and scrambled to her feet, glaring at him.

"Well, you did." She turned her glare on Xander, who immediately tried to stifle his laughter. For good measure, she glared at Willow and Giles, too. Caught napping. Major embarrassment. Then she realized the time.

"So. What brings you out at such an early hour, Angel?" She blew a strand of blonde hair from one eye, trying to pretend that having your vampire-with-a-soul man visit you at school during your free period was an everyday occurrence.

He shrugged. "The rain. I couldn't sleep, so I took a walk. It's safe enough." He leaned closer, lowered his voice. "I need to talk to you."

Buffy blinked. "Now? What is it?"

Angel glanced at the Slayerettes, as he only now realized their presence. "It's.... personal. But important."

She could see the quizzical expression on Giles' face. Xander had quirked one eyebrow way up, and Willow - of course - vocalized the question.

"Personal? But I thought you didn't...I mean... the only..."

Buffy and Angel turned identical, please-butt-out expressions on her. She stepped back a pace.

"I'll shut up now," she announced.

Buffy crossed her arms. She was more than a bit wigged by Angel being out in broad daylight. Okay, make that very cloudy, rainy, dark daylight, but still....

"So," she said to Angel. "Personal. How personal?"

He had the grace to look embarrassed as she raised one suspicious eyebrow at him.

"It's family business." How much should he tell her? "My family business."

If she was surprised before, now her jaw practically bounced off the polished floor. Willow let out a squawk of astonishment.

"You killed your family," Xander pointed out.

"I'm aware of that," Angel replied evenly.

Giles cleared his throat.

"If it's really important, I suppose you could use my office," he volunteered.

"Maybe we'd better. Buffy?" Angel gestured for her to precede him. Just then the bell rang for next class.

"Crap. Angel, I'm sorry, but I have a major test in English next and I can't be late. Can we talk later?" Buffy was gathering her books as she spoke.

"Sure. My place?" Angel tried to keep his voice casual.

"Maybe. I gotta patrol early though. Mom wants me to help her at the gallery."

"I'll find you."

"Cool. See ya." Buffy practically ran out the door. Angel wanted to talk to her about his family. Way weird. He usually didn't talk about his past at all. He had sought her out in the middle of the day to talk about it now. What that meant, she didn't want to think about.

The double doors slammed shut behind the Slayer and her two faithful sidekicks. Giles was left alone, his slide show forgotten, staring at Buffy's vampire boyfriend. Angel pulled a wooden chair out, turned it around, and straddled it, crossing his arms on the back. It looked like he was settling in for a long stay.

"What can I do for you, Angel?" Giles certainly didn't feel like doing anything for his erstwhile tormentor. British politeness could be a curse, he reflected wryly.

The vampire shook his head. "This family thing. I need help with it, Giles."

Giles paused, not quite believing his ears. Angel wanted him to play understanding father figure? The irony was too rich.

"I beg your pardon?"

The vampire lifted pain-filled dark eyes to him. He shifted uncomfortably in the chair, not sure if he should ask this of Giles. He probably shouldn't. Oh well.

"What do you know about the Sidhe?" Angel asked.



Buffy ducked under yet another low-hanging bush and sighed, as yet another shower of droplets from the wet leaves spattered down her neck. What was that, the tenth one in twenty minutes? An icy trickle had formed on her nape and was now snaking its way down to her waist, where her sweat had cooled and dampened her cotton shirt. Yuck.

Why didn't vamps stay in when it rained? At least it was easier to catch them in wet weather. When every footstep splashed and every shrub rustled wetly with the least disturbance, it was hard to for them to sneak up on her. It was also, she reflected, as she tried to wiggle between two cedar hedges without getting her new cargo pants too wet, much harder for her to sneak up on them. Which is probably why Angel found her so easily.

He loomed out from behind a tree trunk dead ahead, startling her. Her Slayer reflexes, as always, reacted before she did and Angel found himself staring at the pointed end of a stake for a few seconds. He didn't move, and as her brain registered her identity, she relaxed.

"Is that how you greet all your boyfriends?" He asked. It was the closest to teasing she'd ever heard from him.

"What? Oh, the stake." Sheepishly, she shoved it into a pocket.

"Sorry, you startled me again."

"Sorry about today," He replied. "It was kind of important, though."

"Yeah, you said. What gives?"

He stared out across the park for a few seconds. He still wasn't sure, after all this time, how much of himself he should reveal to her. They'd been through many things together, she knew him better than anyone he'd met in his long existence, and yet he was always careful. How much of his past could she accept before her heart turned away from him?

"Earth to Angel? Hello?"

Angel semi-smiled down into her blue eyes. She was so beautiful in the darkness, his Buffy. So wonderful, wise beyond her years. How to tell her? He shook his head. Jumping in with both feet was as good a way as any.

"The tattoo on my shoulder is a family... crest, I guess you could say," he began, voice dry. "It's Celtic, goes back to the days when St. Patrick came to Ireland. Every male of my blood has worn it for countless generations." He glanced at her, looked away again.

"I'm the last one to wear it, the last one who ever will wear it. I can't continue the bloodline, of course."

"Why is that important?" She ached for him, with him.

Before they had made love, and he had lost his soul because of it, she had dared to dream of maybe having his kids, had pictured him as a father. Brainsick, she knew it. What her head understood, though, her heart would never accept.

"Because the tattoo is a symbol of our sacred trust. The Sidhe - the Faerie, some people call them - were evil beings that over ran Ireland before St. Patrick drove them out. When they were banished into the Other dimensions, my forebears were entrusted with guarding the portal that held them there. After I became Angelus, Darla convinced me to let the Sidhe loose on the earth. So I killed my immediate family and tried to break the wards on the portal. Before I could succeed, distant cousins of mine, alerted by the Call of the Guardian, arrived in time to stop me. I left Ireland then, and vowed never to return." His head hung low, his shoulders were hunched. "Now I have to go back."

"Why now? What's changed?"

"This morning, as I slept, the tattoo burned into my shoulder. I thought I heard the scream of an eagle. It's known as the Call of the Guardian, and it only comes to the next of the blood when the old Guardian dies."

All at once, Buffy understood. "Like being Chosen."

Angel nodded. "If it's called me, that means the last of my blood have died out. The portal will slowly slip open if it's left unguarded, and the Sidhe will wreak havoc across the world. But I can't be the Guardian. I have no one to pass the duty on to. So I have to go to Ireland and find some way of sealing the portal forever."

"Oh."

He was going to leave her, walk out of her life. At that moment, it didn't matter to her that the leaving wasn't of his choosing. Destiny was a bitch, and Buffy wanted to beat the crap out of it. She couldn't even ask Angel for the comfort of a goodbye kiss anymore. She smiled, blinking away tears.

"Well, you gotta do what you gotta do, Angel."

She started to walk away from him.

He ran after her. "Where are you going?"

Shaking her head, Buffy stopped under an oak tree. Why did he have to make this difficult? Casual, be casual.

"I'm patrolling, remember? I still have a few sweeps to do downtown."

Confused, he stopped short and stared at her. "But we were talking."

"Hate to break it to you, but other vamps don't stop feeding just cause you want to have a mushy farewell scene with me, Angel."

His entire posture asked that timeless male question: Huh? Obviously Buffy was having a different conversation from him. She continued, trying to be cool.

"I mean, it's ok. You're leaving. You have this family thing, and I have this Slayer thing, and you have to move to Ireland, and that's that. No big."

She shrugged, but her voice was wavering. "You have your destiny, I have mine, and never the twain shall meet, so, good-"

"Buffy! Buffy, did I say I was leaving you? I was going to-"

"-luck in Ireland, send me some postcards, that's be nice -"

"-ask you if you'd come with me."

"-and maybe a letter or phone ca- What?" She blinked.

She'd been so busy pretending not to care, she'd missed his offer. She mentally reviewed the conversation. Her eyes went wide.

"Ireland?"she squeaked. "You want me to- I mean, we'll both - I can't! I have Slaying! And school! My mom will kill me! Giles will kill me!"

He hushed her panic with a soft finger on her trembling lips.

"I spoke to Giles. He agrees that you should come with me. The portal has to be sealed. The Sidhe delight in chaos and despair. They'll turn the world upside down. He'll help us convince your mother."

His eyes were pleading.

"Buffy, I can't do this alone. The ritual to seal the portal - I need a helper, and that helper has to be..."

Angel paused. His voice was soft.

"Has to be the woman I truly love."

He could hear her heart beat faster as she considered his words. He fought the urge to draw her to him, to press his cool lips to her warm ones. Tensely, he waited for her reply. Buffy stood very still, willing her body to behave itself. His cool finger rested lightly against her lips, and she wanted nothing more than to open her mouth and take it inside, to nibble softly on the fleshy tip... Her lips parted.

Angel could read her intent, knew he should step away. Desire held him spellbound. He watched her pink mouth open to caress his finger, to taste him...

A snarling roar echoed through the night. Arms like iron bands clamped around Buffy, yanking her away from Angel. He shouted her name and lunged for the intruder, face in full vampire mode. Angel's momentum knocked her and her assailant to the ground, and she rolled out of his grasp. Bouncing to her feet, she pulled the stake from her pocket, ready for a heart shot. Angel was thrown back about six feet and Buffy finally got a clear view of the attacker. Just another vamp. Before the thing could get to its feet, she jumped on its chest and dusted it.

Groaning, Angel clambered to his feet. He'd clobbered his head on a tree trunk. One of the joys of being undead - you could take just about any licking and keep on ticking, but you felt every last bump the same as if you were alive. Except that you were usually conscious through the whole thing.

Buffy rushed to help him up. He waved away her assistance.

Good thing that guy came along," he observed.

Their eyes met; this was old territory for them by now. They simply could not give in to the temptation to hold each other, to caress and cuddle...

Buffy's mouth felt like sandpaper. "Yeah. Good thing."

A tense silence descended upon them. Angel cleared his throat. This was going to take every ounce of Irish charm and luck he had left. He drew the airline ticket from his pocket.

"So, me dear," he asked, using his best brogue. "Will ye not come to the old sod with me, now?"

She gave him a look that told him exactly how unbelievably cheesy he was acting. Too late to stop now, he thought. He semi-smiled at her, a saddened version of his old devilish Irish grin.

"Sure, and it's the grand fun we'll be havin' in Galway. What d'ye say?"

He was rewarded with a punch on the arm. "Ok, you nitwit, I'll go. But only if you promise to leave that fake Irish accent behind."

He gave her an injured look. "What fake accent?"



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