Part 11
He was ignoring her. Not, she told herself firmly, that it mattered. He’d accompanied her as a friend, nothing more, and she had only asked him because she hadn’t wanted to come on her own, anyway. And she enjoyed Spike’s attention. Spike who seemed attached to her side like a leech ever since he’d pulled her out to the dance floor. Not that she was listening to anything he was saying. Instead her attention kept wandering to Angel, who was standing with – she had to narrow her eyes for a moment to recognize the woman – Claire Halloway! Dammit, why on earth did it have to be Claire? She’d been Buffy’s Highschool nemesis, the self-declared Queen of Highschool, the girl who had beaten her year after year, except one, in the run for Homecoming Queen.
And now she was clinging to Angel like a climbing plant. And he even seemed to enjoy it, he smiled, laughed, accepted the drink she was handing him. He was laughing again. And now he even winked! Buffy felt her insides clench traitorously. She didn’t care, dammit! Angel was no more than a friend, if even that, there was no reason for her to feel something that was strangely close to jealousy.
Jealousy! Pah!
The only reason her gut was twisting heavily was simply because she’d always hated Claire Halloway. Or course that had to be the explanation. It had nothing at all to do with jealousy. Nothing.
Content with her own reasoning, she managed to tear her gaze away from the man who was supposed to be her companion for the evening, and turned to the one who had turned out to be, beaming at him brightly. “Spike, I’m rather thirsty. Would you mind getting me something cold and not too sweet?”
“Sure,” he replied with a wink, then disappeared in the crowd surrounding the beverages. She looked after him, the guy she had lusted after in Highschool, feeling absolutely nothing. He was a nice guy, witty, fun to be with, but he was also not tall enough, although he was still taller then she, he was too skinny, although she could also do with a few more pounds as Cordy had pointed out recently. And he was blond, although so far she’d preferred blondes to any other colouring in a man.
So far, yeah, but not anymore. Thanks to a certain someone she choose not to mention her whole world was hanging askew and she didn’t like it. Not one bit. Thanks to Angel no other man seemed tempting enough, not even the guy she’d been dreaming about all through her teenage years.
Disgusted with herself, and her own weakness, she turned only to come face to face with, “Willow!”
The redhead raised her brows and barely suppressed a grin, “How nice to see you again. Are you Buffy, by any chance? The friend I wanted to meet tonight, but who got lost with a certain bleached blond man who once was the star of her colourful teenage dreams?”
“I am so sorry,” Buffy put a hand on her friend’s arm and gave her a regretful look.
With a dismissive gesture, Willow put the other woman at ease, “Don’t worry. We’re going to see each other next weekend. But Liam seemed slightly … shall we say … disturbed at the way Spike has been monopolizing you.”
Her gaze travelling to the man in question, the blond snorted, “Yeah, sure. That’s why he’s been drooling over Claire all night.”
“So you do care?”
Whirling around, Buffy looked into the slightly amused face of the woman who’d been her friend for so long. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing,” Willow grinned, “Just that you did your best tonight to demonstrate how little you care for him. That’s not the way to get a man, you know.”
The blonde’s eyes narrowed instantly, “I don’t want to get him, as you put it. He’s a friend, nothing more.”
“He is?” the redhead’s brows rose again, “Strange, I got the very distinct impression that there is something between you. The way you two look at each other – especially if you’re sure the other isn’t noticing.”
“I am not looking at him that way!” Buffy said firmly. No way she did care for Angel that way. He was nice, granted, and sexy, sure. But that’s where it ended. Couldn’t Willow see that? “He is a friend.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that, and I’m wondering if it’s merely to convince yourself.”
Before Buffy was able to respond to that outrageous statement, Spike appeared again, hading her a glass. “Here, club soda with lemon. I hope that’s okay.”
“Fine, thanks,” she beamed at him, even more brightly than before. So maybe she was sexually attracted to Angel, okay, maybe even strongly, but that didn’t mean she was … God, this was ridiculous. She ignored Willow’s meaningful look, and sipped from her drink. Maybe it was going to help her to cool down. She felt so hot, she was already wondering if the room was overheated.
*****
“Sexual harassment?” Kathie stared at Wesley in shock, her eyes wide and disbelieving, he felt her hand tremble on his arm. What was she going to think of him now? She hadn’t said a lot about her past, but he’d gotten the distinct impression that somewhere a man had forced himself on this sweet, vulnerable woman and left deep scars in her soul. How was she going to react to such an accusation? Would she run in horror? Or merely retreat to a safe distance? Either way, he wasn’t sure he could stand it. To see her looking at him in disgust was more he was able to bear.
“Yes,” he nodded, patting the hand on his arm, “One of my students made an official complaint. The Powers have suspended me from my post as long as the case is not decided.”
Her hand fell from his arm, and he smiled sadly, having expected her to do exactly that. But he almost jumped out of his skin when she suddenly shouted, “How dare they?”
His head shot around, and he found himself staring at five feet four inches of enraged woman. Her eyes were shooting fire, and her hands were clenched into tight fists at her sides. “How dare they!” she repeated, her voice rising even more, “This is ridiculous. You would never do such a thing. Can’t they see that?”
Wesley was hardly able to believe what was happening right in front of him, and stuttered, “Y-you don’t think I … I mean …”
“Of course not,” she snorted. “This is so utterly ridiculous. You would never force yourself on a woman, much less one of your students.” Her voice lowered, her eyes softened, “I know you, Wes. And I trust you. Do you think I would if I thought you capable of such things?”
He was humbled beyond words by her trust, and was hardly able to speak, his throat so tight, he had to swallow over the lump that had formed there. “Kathie.” Her name was all that came out, and he didn’t know how it happened, but suddenly her arms were wrapped around his waist, and he felt her hot breath through the thin material of his shirt.
“Kathie,” he repeated, holding her tight. “You don’t know what this means to me. To see you believe in me.”
“Of course I believe in you. As I said,” her head came up, and a smile bloomed on her features, “I know you. And besides, I have a brother who happens to be a detective. You see, we’ll have this solved in now time.”
At that he couldn’t help himself. Before he could contemplate his next move, he was already kissing her.
*****
It was about ten p.m. when Angel found himself seriously wondering why he’d been stupid enough to go this darned Highschool reunion. Or rather why he’d given in. No, that wasn’t true. Given in would’ve required persuasion, right? But instead of making himself hard to get, he’d all but jumped into that car, thrilled by the idea that he could spend some hours at Buffy’s side.
What a joke.
Instead of feeling cheerful because he was with the woman of his dreams, he’d had to spend the last three hours watching her flirting with Spike, dancing with Spike, or just being near the annoying blond guy. If he’d be wearing a tie – like most of the other guys at the “party” – he’d yank it off and throw it on the ground in frustration. And if watching Buffy with Spike wasn’t enough, he’d been forced to endure the attentions of Claire Halloway, who – as he knew now – had been Buffy’s Highschool nemesis, and who obviously found it extremely amusing to hit on the guy who’d come with Buffy Summers.
At least he was safe from her now, Angel mused with an inward sigh. That was the good part. The bad part was that he was now standing with Willow, Tara, Buffy, and of course Spike, who didn’t seem to be able to make a step on his own. Angel looked at his hands, then at his rival’s throat, assessing how well the former would fit around the latter.
Hardly to believe his own train of thoughts, Angel took a deep breath. This was going too far, if he was keeping this up, he was going to snap tonight and do something stupid. Like maybe beating the other guy up. Not that he actually deserved it. If he was honest with himself, Angel had to admit that Spike had done nothing to deserve his wrath. Buffy was the one who had brought him, but he couldn’t be angry with her either. He liked to think it was because she was doing what she was doing unconsciously, but he had the feeling that being angry with her just wasn’t part of his software, as Fred would call it.
Admit it, Angel, he thought with not a little amount of resignation, you’re completely besotted with this woman. And after watching her tonight, he wasn’t so sure anymore if this was a good thing.
Damn, this had never happened to him before. There had been women in his life, but so far, Angel had always managed to keep control over his relationships, if you could call them that. Some of them had been extremely short-lived, although he didn’t do one-night-stands, always wanted to at least care for his partner, even if their connection didn’t last long. But with Buffy, so it seemed, he was swimming in an ocean, the shore nowhere in sight, and he was more than a little afraid of drowning. Because one thing he knew for certain, Buffy had the power to hurt him – badly, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to recover any time soon – if ever.
He was just trying to focus back on the conversation floating around him, trying not to be annoyed by another one of Spike’s flat jokes, when his cell phone rang. Four pairs of startled eyes turned towards him, and he gave them an apologetic glance, before he pulled it from his pocket, and flicked it open, “Yeah?”
“Angel, it’s me.”
“Kathie?” A sick feeling immediately settled in his stomach. His sister never called him. Never. Except in a case of emergency. “What happened? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” came her voice from the other end, but she sounded anything but. In fact she sounded distressed. “I’m so sorry to interrupt your evening with Buffy, but this isn’t about me. And I’m so … so angry, I had to call.”
Realizing that the others were trying to understand what was going on, he covered the mouthpiece for a second, “It’s my sister. I’m sorry, this seems to be urgent.” He turned away then, concentrating on his sister’s voice. “Now, tell me, Kat, what’s going on?” He listened intently as she explained the reason for her call, described Wesley’s situation. “I didn’t know,” she said finally, “when you would be home tonight, that’s the only reason I called. Wes is worried sick. We need to do something.”
He didn’t want to but he had to ask. “You are sure he is innocent?”
“Of course.”
“Alright, baby, I’ll try to leave here as soon as possible. Tell Wes, Gunn and I will be with him first thing tomorrow morning. Tell him, we’re going to take care of this. And do me a favour, please try to sleep. I know your care for Wes-“
“Yes, I do,” she said firmly, and he knew her well enough that she was really serious about the guy.
“Okay. Call him. Tell him what I told you. We will talk tomorrow. I’ll try to leave soon, but it’s a two hour drive, so I won’t be back before midnight.”
“Alright.” He heard the relief from the other end, and the rolling in his gut settled. “Thanks. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
With that he switched the phone off, and turned, locking his eyes with Buffy’s. She might have ignored him for the better part of the night, but he couldn’t let it matter right now. He would’ve loved to have found another way to get home, giving her the cold shoulder for a change. But this was too important, he’d just have to nurse his own hurt feeling.
“That was Kathie. She needs me to come home as soon as possible. She’s terribly upset because a friend is in trouble.” He didn’t say Wesley’s name but he saw the understanding dawn in Buffy’s eyes, and nodded, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to break this up, but this is important and I need to go. Now. Willow, Tara, I’m terribly sorry.”
“No problem,” the redhead gave him an understanding smile, “We understand.”
“Of course,” Tara added.
Buffy didn’t hesitate a second, snapping her purse from the near by table, “Then come. Will, Tara. We’ll see each other next weekend. Spike, it was good to see you again, and I’m sorry this has to end so abruptly, but you heard. This is an emergency.”
“Baby sister calling the big brother, huh? Yeah, of course the white knight has to ride to the rescue,” he said flippantly in an attempt to make another joke.
But Angel had had just about enough of the always witty, always chatty Mr. Stevens, whose real first name he still didn’t know. There had to be real name, he’d decided earlier. No mother in her right mind would call her son Spike.
He whirled around, nailing the other man with what he hoped would be a murderous gaze, and only Buffy’s warm hand on his chest prevented him from grabbing Spike at his throat. “Angel,” she said softly, but firmly. “Think about Kathie. And Spike,” her eyes were suddenly cool, her voice even icier, “this was uncalled for. You don’t know what this is about, so keep out of it. Angel,” she put her other hand on his arm, pulling him with her towards their coats, “let’s go.”
He followed her, but shot the other man a last warning glance before they left. He had the feeling it wasn’t the last he’d seen of Spike Stevens.
Part 12 --- rated R for sexual situations *g*
From the corner of her eye she saw glimpses of him whenever the moonlight fell over his features. His jaw was set, his eyes staring straight ahead, and there was nothing relaxed about his posture. In fact he was so tense, she was expecting him to crack at the merest touch.
Buffy wasn’t quite sure what had caused this behavior, if he was simply concerned for his sister, and how she would deal with the news about Wesley, or if she was part of it, too. Now, back in her car, with more time to think than she cared for, she realized what a bitch she’d been tonight. After purposely ignoring his phone calls for more than a week, she’d used him as her date for the party, only to flirt with Spike the whole evening, showing Angel in the process she couldn’t care less for his company.
The problem was, she did care for his company. A lot more than it was good for the peace of her soul. Even without his constant phone-calls she wouldn’t have been able to ban him from her thoughts. Whenever she closed her eyes she saw his face, that outrageous grin, the deep knowledge in his dark orbs, his uneasiness in showing her his home, unsure how’d she react to it, and the way his eyes had followed her while she’d been studying his paintings.
They were another reason she hadn’t been able to forget about him. Having grown up around her step-father, her eyes had been schooled by one of the best, and she’d instantly seen the immense talent, the way Angel was able to express his feelings with colours and style. He claimed he wasn’t that good, but she knew he was wrong. If he would concentrate on art, he could become really famous. If others saw the things she’d seen, he would be a star in no time.
She was fascinated by the personality shining from the paintings, the devotion, she could see in each stroke of the brush, the way he was playing with colours and emotions was simply breathtaking. Even if she hadn’t seen the man behind them, she would’ve had a hard time forgetting about him.
As it was, the man himself was sitting beside her, tension still radiating from him, doing his best to ignore she was there at all. Finally she couldn’t stand it anymore, and asked, “Are you ever going to tell me why your sister called? Or are you going to punish me by pretending I’m not here.”
“You mean because I had such a good time tonight?” has asked right back, and although his voice was controlled, she could hear the anger in it.
She sighed, knowing that his accusation was only fair. She had been ignoring him all night after all. “I’m sorry. I know I behaved badly tonight. I … I don’t know what came over me … why I …” she sighed again, realising she was lying through her teeth. She knew very well why she had behaved like a bitch tonight, but she wouldn’t, couldn’t deal with it right now, and came back to her first subject, “So are you going to tell me? Only if you want, that is.”
He seemed to contemplate it for a moment, then she saw his shoulders relax slightly, before he said, “It was about Wes. It seems he’s been accused of sexual harassment by one of his female students.”
Buffy almost did a double take at that, “He, what? But … I can’t believe it.” She almost had to laugh, and she would’ve, hadn’t she already seen what an accusation like that could do to a person. Especially to a man as sensitive as Wesley. She didn’t know him very well, but from their evening she’d gotten the impression he genuinely cared for Kathie Sullivan, and that he wasn’t the kind of guy who forced himself on women.
“I can see why Kathie is concerned,” she said with a side-glace at Angel, “These kind of accusations can be quite serious.”
“Yes, she is, and I agree that it can be a serious offense,” he replied, relaxing another bit. “She cares a lot about him, and although I’m still not quite certain what to think of their … involvement … She hasn’t cared for a man that way since-.” He stopped abruptly, a frown appearing on his forehead for a moment. It was gone quickly and he went on, “Anyways. I didn’t want to separate from you friends.”
There was an emphasis on the word friends, Buffy noticed easily. “Spike and I go a long way back. I … had a thing for him in High school. Nothing ever came of it. He had a steady girlfriend then. She was older than me, beautiful, and very possessive. And he was totally in love with her. And besides, I already apologized for my behavior tonight. I am really sorry, I shouldn’t have ignored you the way I did. And just for the record, Spike and I are just friends.”
“Could have fooled me,” he muttered, but she’d heard it nevertheless.
“Okay, yeah, I might have gone a little overboard tonight,” she agreed, remembering the fluttering lashes, the bright smiles she’d given Spike. “But, Angel, the problem is-“
She never finished her sentence, because that very moment there was a loud noise, and then the car severed on the road. Buffy gripped the wheel tightly, trying to hold the car on track. She was an experienced driver, but even her experience didn’t prevent the car from slipping from the road into the bushes, where it came to an abrupt halt.
“Are you alright?”
She heard the concern in Angel’s voice as he tried to fee himself of the safety-belt. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. Just a bit shaken.” Which was a true understatement. She felt her insides flip, and her hands, still lying on the wheel, had started to tremble. “What was that?”
“A guess?” Angel reached for the door, pushed it open, “I’d say one of your tyres just ended its long and dutiful life.”
Her eyes widened, “You mean I have a flat?” Oh, no, please no. “A flat tyre.” They were on a Highway, in the middle of the night, in the middle of nowhere, and it wasn’t very likely another car would pass them any time soon. This was great. Just wonderful. Why on earth was this happening to her? And why tonight of all nights?
Angel nodded before climbing out, careful not to get caught in the bushes, “That’s exactly what I think.” After a moment he appeared at her door, pulling it open, “Yup,” he held out his hand for her, “The hind left is beyond saving.”
She stared at him, still trying to understand what he’d told her. She had a flat tyre. Which meant… ”Are you absolutely, undoubtedly sure?”
A small frown appeared on his forehead, as if he might question her hearing, or her sanity, or maybe both. “Okay, I admit I’m not exactly the expert on flat tyres. But see for yourself, this one,” he nodded at the one in question, “looks definitely flat to me.” He must have seen the colour rush from her face, because he hurried on, “Hey, that’s no reason to faint. I might not be an expert, but I have changed tyres now and then. We’ll have this little baby running again in now time.”
He turned and walked towards her trunk. He wouldn’t have guessed her to be the panicky type, but obviously he’d been wrong. He reached for the button to open the trunk, but before he even touched it, her voice stopped him cold. “That’s no use. There isn’t anything there.”
What the hell… “What do you mean, there isn’t anything there?” Despite her words he opened the trunk and was greeted by emptiness.
She could see the incredulity in his eyes, and smiled sheepishly. “Uhm … no spare tire, that is. I … uh … My sister moved about two weeks ago. I helped her and to have more space…”
“… you removed the spare tire,” he finished her sentence, running a hand through his hair, at the same time exhaling loudly, on an expletive. He didn’t use them regularly, but tonight might just be the time. This night certainly couldn’t get much worse. “Which means we’re stranded in this goddamn wilderness in the middle of the night.”
“It’s not the wilderness,” she argued, raising her chin at his hidden accusation. No way she was going to spend a whole night … endless hours … with Angel … in the confined space of a car. No way. Nuh-uh. Denial would never work in such close quarters. “We’re right beside an Highway. Someone will come … soon.” People did drive during the night. She and Angel did it. Certainly someone would come…
“Yeah, sure,” he shook his head, then chuckled slightly, although it didn’t exactly sound amused. “Get real, Buffy. The way I see it, we’re going to spend the night in your car, if we like it or not. Because I don’t see anyone coming to our rescue.”
“Well, we do have our cell phones,” she replied, already diving into the car to get hers. “We can call-“
“What? You’re going to keep the local sheriff or whoever is going to come from his well-earned sleep just because you forgot to put the spare back in your car?” He slightly tilted his head, “On a second thought, that’d be exactly what someone like you would do.”
“No, I’m not going to call the local sheriff. Never heard anything about roadside help, huh?” With that she punched some buttons on her cell, waited for the other party to answer. When nothing happened she tried it again, listened, then with a disgusted snort stuffed the phone back in her pocket. “Just my luck,” she muttered, “The line is out of order due to temporary technical problems.” She threw her hands in the air. “God, this can’t be happening. It’s a nightmare.”
“You act as if the world’s going to end.” Angel slightly shook his head.
“I just don’t care for a night in a car and … What did you mean by saying, someone like me?” she asked suddenly when she remembered his words from before. “Like me, what? What do you think I am?”
He held up his hands, “Forget it, alright? I’m not in the mood for this.” He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. Why in God’s name had he ever agreed to go with her tonight? He looked at her, standing in the moonlight, her party dress clinging to her womanly curves, her legs long and tempting. And he also saw her big, expressive eyes, clouded with a mixture of anger and worry, and her mouth, rich and full, and oh so tempting. And he knew only too well why he’d come with her. Damn his hormones. He’d never had problems controlling them before, but ever since Buffy’d appeared in his life, nothing seemed to be like it was anymore.
“You are not in the mood?” she shot back, her voice rising. “You insult me … or at least I think you did, and then you just end the discussion?”
“I don’t want to discuss it, okay?” he replied, trying to keep his voice down. “We will spend the night together in this car. Maybe we shouldn’t try to make it even more uncomfortable by fighting.” Remembering Kathie who was still waiting for him at home, he reached for his cell-phone.
Her eyes narrowed slightly at that, “Are you going to call for help now?”
Ignoring the sarcasm in her voice, he didn’t look up while punching the number, “No, as you said, the line doesn’t work. I’m going to give Kat a call. She needs to know where I am or she might worry.”
Suddenly feeling like an insensitive heel, Buffy quickly looked away, ran a hand through her long hair. Of course Angel was going to call Kathie. That was showing again what kind of guy he was. And why she’d liked him from the start. He would be perfect, if… Damn. Don’t go there. Especially not now. You’re going to spend the night with the man. Okay, so nothing’s going to happen, she thought, trying to ignore the little pang of disappointment, but still. He is right, we should try to get along tonight. But hey, she’d told him she was sorry, right?
She heard him talk to his sister, explain why he’d be delayed, then he laughed slightly. “Kathie sends you her best,” he told her. “She said it’s just my luck to strand with a flat tyre and to have to spend the night with a beautiful woman. She offered to come and get us, but I could convince her to stay with Wes. I think he needs her a lot more right now.”
“It’s my fault, remember,” she snapped, feeling her gut flutter at his words. Did he really think she was beautiful? Her mouth was suddenly dry and she had to clear her throat before she was able to continue, “Okay, then. Maybe we should … you know, talk about how we’re going to do this.”
He chuckled at that, “Not to repeat myself, but I can’t believe you never spend a night in a car. On the other hand, people like you-“
She was in his face before he could finish the sentence, “And here we go again. What the Hell do mean by that. People like me? What kind of person am I?”
God, she was adorable, with the fury darkening her eyes, the righteous anger sparkling in them. His pants suddenly felt too tight. Gunn was right. His friend had told him he needed to get laid. And he was right. Angel needed sex, a lot of it. But the problem was, he didn’t want to have it with just any woman. He wanted Buffy. Unfortunately she didn’t want him. He still couldn’t believe he’d been so wrong about her, she’d been so responsive during their kiss at his house, but tonight her actions couldn’t have been clearer had she hit them home with a slash-hammer.
She was still looking at him, a furious goddess in the pale light of the moon, her hair almost white, she had an eeriness about her that took his breath away. “Tell me,” she demanded.
All he wanted was to take her and kiss her senseless. “Look, I didn’t mean to-“
“No,” she put her hands at her hips, “You are not going to do it again. I want an answer, now.” This was a lot safer, than all the other feelings racing through her. He was standing close, too close, and even with his clothes rumpled from the car, and the weariness etched in his face, he was simply too damned attractive. Angel would at least help her to get her mind from straying. This way she could blame her anger for the furious beating of her heart. And besides, his accusations really infuriated her. She had an idea what they were about, and she didn’t like them one single bit.
God, she was beautiful. He tried to pay attention to her anger, tried to focus on her question, but it was in vain. All he could think about was the tempting woman in front of him, x-rated images flashing through his mind. How would she look, naked, bathed in moonlight, slick with sweat? Jesus, he was going to lose it.
He quickly turned away, but before he could even draw a calming breath, she grabbed his arm, pulled him back to her, forced him to look … and then it happened.
“You know what…” she started, but the words died on her lips. Their eyes locked and held. Buffy felt her mouth go dry, felt her voice clog in her throat, felt her knees go weak. The raw passion she saw in his eyes was like a shot of aphrodisiac.
Like a wildfire initiating from a single flame they were in each others arms. But this time it wasn’t the kind of kiss they’d shared in his house. There was nothing of the romantic tension, the heating passion. No, this was urgent, groping like teenagers their hands were seeking contact.
Angel’s lips raced over her face, as if there wasn’t enough time left to taste every inch of her, while he crushed her against him, her lips showing him the same frenzy need he felt deep inside. When their mouths finally met, they parted instantly so their tongues could meld, so they could deepen the kiss before it really began.
Angel lifted her from the ground, devouring her mouth again, her legs coming around his waist with a will of their own, and she moaned deep in her throat when she felt the cold surface of the car behind her, his hips grounding into her again, showing her the extent of his need, initiating the same in her. She felt the warmth between her legs, and suddenly didn’t care that it was betraying everything she’d so desperately tried herself to convince of. Right now, all she could feel, all that mattered, was the body close to her own, the head radiating from him, the arousal she could not only feel pressing against her thigh, but on every inch of his skin.
His shirt was ripped apart on his collar, but he didn’t care. He’d never find the buttons again, but he hadn’t liked it anyway. He’d only put it on so she’d be pleased with him, so she might very well be the one to rip it off him as well. Her hands on his bare skin felt like Heaven. God, her mouth tasted like honey, so sweet, and tempting, and hot, and the little noises she made were driving him crazy. There was a part of his brain that tried to remind him they were right beside a Highway, and he was close to making love to her on the hood of her own car, but he didn’t, couldn’t care. This was what he’d wanted from the moment he’d seen her on the party, and although he’d imagined their first time in a bed, slow, and lasting, after tonight nothing else was possible. The tension had built steadily, and it seemed only fair for it to erupt in an explosion of feelings.
And she couldn’t touch him fast enough, completely enough. She wanted to discover every inch of him at once. His powerful shoulders, his muscled back, the impossible hard wall of his chest. Her entire body was on fire, burning with need, pulsing with longing, pent up for years, or maybe forever, never sated by the right men, the throbbing between her legs now so acute it bordered on pain.
Angel caught her wrists with one hand, pinned them to the cold surface of the car, while the other was going to her back, opening her dress, pulled it off, before he started devouring her. His mouth was almost rough, hungry, his teeth slightly scraping her skin, where they were travelling down her neck, towards the valley between her breasts, remaining there for a moment, unclasping the front lock of her bra, then lower still, to her navel.
When his tongue delved inside, she arched from the car, the sweet torture he was inflicting on her almost too much to bear. Her legs came around him once again, and she tried to free her hands, wanted to touch him, wanted to open what he still kept hidden from her. But she shouldn’t have worried. Before she could finish the thought, she heard a zipper open, then heard him groan, “God, I can’t wait.”
“Then don’t,” she returned on a hiss, gritting her teeth against the ache between her legs. “Don’t wait,” she urged him again. “I want this. Now.”
And he didn’t need any other encouragement. When he slipped inside, it was so powerful, they both cried out at the final completion. And then they were rocking together, holding each other, taking and giving.
As they sank into oblivion, Angel knew without a doubt that he was lost. To her, to his feelings. It might be wrong, but there was no going back now, there was no way he could, and more importantly, would change it. And when he cried out her name, it was on a declaration of love.
Part 13
There was something eternally beautiful about a sunrise. The way the darkness slowly faded, giving way to the light, like death making room for a new life. And although no sunrise was like the other, there was also something familiar, the steady rising of hope, of light winning over darkness.
Angel usually loved the sunrise, loved to watch the day being born. He would take a deep breath, enjoy a steaming mug of coffee, the quietness of the early hour peaceful and promising at the same time. This morning however, he wasn’t able to pay attention to the spectacular way the sun rose behind the horizon, and peace simply wouldn’t come.
The realization that he was in fact in love with Buffy Summers had left him shaken and restless. He’d suspected it for a while, truth to be told, he’d suspected it right from the start, that she could be dangerous for the peace of his mind, but last night, while the waves of orgasm had swept over them, he’d known it for certain. Crying out her name at the peak of passion, he had done it from the depth of his soul, had known that he was lost, even though he’d heard the alarm bells ring in his head, even though he knew it left him open for hurt and pain. But nothing mattered, could matter, besides this burning fire inside, that left no room for anything else.
He hadn’t been able to sleep after they’d finally made it inside the car, after they’d satisfied their needs again, this time with her on top, her hair gleaming above him, her pale skin shining in the moonlight. It had been on the ground that second time, and Angel still felt the abrasions on his butt. At least they hadn’t done it on the hood of the car again. Jesus, on the hood of a car! He’d never lost control like that before. Nothing had mattered anymore, not the danger of being discovered and locked up for immoral behavior, not the strange location, the only thing that mattered was that he was finally able to fulfill his hunger, his need, and that Buffy had been doing the same.
She might deny it today, but yesterday night she’d wanted him as much as he wanted her, the second time on the ground initiated by her lips, her need for more. She’d instantly fallen asleep then, sprawled atop of him, and for a moment he’d considered staying like this, savoring the feeling of her so close to him for the rest of the night. But reason had finally won out, and he’d carried her inside, tried to make her comfortable in the backseat, her soft snores causing an ache deep inside his chest, a longing for her to be always near, always by his side.
It wasn’t going to happen, though. He was too much of a realist to believe that one – or two – quick romps in the wilderness – not that they it felt like this for him, but undoubtedly Buffy would see it that way - would change a single thing. At least not for her. For him it had changed everything. But he knew without doubt that she wouldn’t see it that way. Would she be embarrassed by her wanton behavior, he wondered? Not that he minded it, or that it had been wanton at all. She’d been magnificent, and he’d not been able to look away from her face, with passion darkening her eyes, her mouth opening in a silent cry, her features slack with satisfaction. She’d been so beautiful, he’d wanted to paint her, to preserve her like that, but knew that no painter, even if he was a master of art, could catch that beauty.
He’d slipped from the car an hour ago, suddenly needing the fresh air, only a morning could provide, but he didn’t admire the sunrise as usual, he just stood there, beside the car, his eyes closed, his thoughts racing. Ten minutes ago he’d managed to surface enough to alert the sheriff of their problem, and the man had promised to send the local mechanic with a spare tire. Maybe he should wake Buffy now, Angel thought, but the mechanic wouldn’t appear before eight, and as it was only seven now, he decided to let her sleep a while longer. And this wasn’t entirely unselfish. At least as long as she slept he could pretend she wouldn’t react the way he dreaded, at least for those few minutes his heart would still stay intact.
Closing his eyes, he raised his head to the sun, and thought about Buffy in his arms, with words of love on her lips.
*****
Her legs felt cramped. They sometimes did, especially after a restless sleep, with tossing and turning, or when Riley was lying in her bed, taking almost the whole space. He was a sound sleeper, but tall and broad, and her bed wasn’t made for men of his size. Well, that – of course – wasn’t entirely true, but it was another argument she had added to her long list why breaking up with the - according to her mother- ‘catch of the year’ had been a good thing. At least she would have her bed for her own from now on. Yes, that was definitely a good thing.
But in consequence it also meant that Riley couldn’t be the cause for her cramped legs. With a groan she rolled, stretching her aching extremities, only to come in contact with something hard and unyielding.
Hard and unyielding?
In her bed?
Her eyes shot open and she bolted upright, gasping as she found herself staring at the familiar interior of her car.
Where she had spent the night.
After having sex.
On the hood.
((Oh God!))
And on the ground.
((God. God. God.))
With Angel.
((Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.))
Her heart pounding wildly in her chest, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps, she frantically started searching for her shoes, found them underneath the front seat, her mind racing.
((God, what am I going to do?))
There was no denying it. She’d had sex with Angel, and not just sex, hot, wild, steamy, satisfying ((no don’t go there)) sex. More satisfying than she could remember ever having had before. ((Stop that!)) She closed her eyes, groaning inwardly at the images of her lying on the car, whimpering in pleasure, demanding more. God, it had been mind-blowing. She hadn’t known sex could be like that. It wasn’t like the stuff she remembered. With Parker, or Riley, or others. Not that there had been that many, but still. There was simply no comparison. When Cordy had told her about it, she had inwardly rolled her eyes, not believing one word. But now she knew. Knew it very well.
The problem was, mind-blowing or not, it didn’t change anything. Angel was still Angel, and he was still several years younger than her. Was it even possible a relationship between them could work? There wasn’t just their age, they were coming from completely different backgrounds too, leading different lives. She came from money, and from what she’d understood, Angel did not. She was a successful executive in her company, while Angel was struggling to get his business on its feet. Okay, they had art in common, and admittedly great sex, but could it be enough? And *what* the hell was she thinking anyway? A relationship? With Angel? There was no way they could have a relationship together.
And she didn’t even want to think about her mother’s reaction to this. To say Joyce would be shocked was putting it mildly. Not that she usually cared what her mother thought, but after the blow Buffy had delivered by dumping Riley, she wasn’t sure her mother was up for another *surprise*. And besides, she didn’t even want to have a relationship with Angel, right? Right! It was not only impossible, but madness. Sheer madness. She should be admitted to a mental institution for merely thinking it.
But maybe she could be excused this once. After a night like this she was probably entitled to think crazy thoughts. Like dating Angel. Living with Angel. Or at least having sex with him. Again.
Instantly she felt herself growing warm all over, her skin tingling at the mere thought of his lips touching it, of his clever hands finding all her sensitive spots, making her moan, and ...
She swallowed. Hard.
Closed her eyes. God, she had to get a grip on herself. She couldn’t let herself go on like this.
A motion beside the car had her looking around, and her eyes fell on a leather jacket outside the window. A very familiar leather jacket. The person who was wearing the jacket was leaning against the car, arms crossed in front of his chest, he didn’t seem to pay attention to what was happening inside the car.
Angel.
She felt her heart slamming against her ribcage – one time, hard - her mouth instantly dry again. God, this was ridiculous. She was thirty-four years old, for Goodness sake, not some hormonally driven teenager, with a crush for a good looking man. And Angel was a good looking man al right. More than that, he was definitely drooling material as Cordy would say. But she’d seen drooling material before, Hell even boring Riley was not bad looking guy as long as you didn’t know him any closer. And she’d known others.
Although Buffy wouldn’t call herself experienced, she wasn’t some fifteen year old virgin either. Some of the men she’d known had been probably even better looking than Angel. Face it, she told herself, there isn’t a rational explanation for what’s happening here. Something’s going on that’s beyond her control, in a way that excited a hidden part of her, but that mostly frightened her. In ways she wasn’t ready to admit. Not openly anyway. And not to Angel. Never, ever to Angel.
“Hey, man, that you with the flat?”
Buffy hadn’t even heard the truck coming, her mind occupied with images she couldn’t forget, and the man who had created them. The car that stopped behind hers was yellow with pink stripes and “Mickey’s” was written on its side in bold, flashy letters in neon green, and if she guessed right, this was a mechanic Angel had obviously called already.
“Yeah, that’s me,” she heard Angel reply, before he pushed himself off of the car, walked over to the truck and the man who was climbing down right this moment. He wore an overall with the same interesting combination of colors as the car, a Yankees’ baseball cap on his hat, his jaws busy with a red bubblegum.
“Nice,” the guy, probably Mickey, grinned and nodded at the flat tire. “Forgot the spare, huh?”
Buffy experienced a slight pang of guilt at the comment and took it as her clue to leave the car and join the two men. “It was my fault,” she said without greeting. “I removed the spare tire some weeks ago, and forgot to put it back in.” Forcing herself to look at Angel for a moment, she added, “Morning.”
“She forgot it, huh?,” the mechanic chuckled, winking at Angel. “Well,” he shifted his attention towards Buffy, gave her a once over that made her want to squirm, then turned back to Angel, “Wouldn’t actually call it a hardship, heh?” He winked again, “Nice ‘n cosy I’d say.”
Buffy felt herself blush and quickly had to look away, then stiffened when she felt Angel’s arm come around her shoulders. “My wife and I were on the way home when the car broke down.”
The mechanic’s head came up sharply, “Your wife?,” he asked, swallowing. “I … uh … didn’t mean to…,” he trailed off, and Buffy saw his eyes nervously shifting from Angel to the car and back. “I’ll change it now, if that’s okay with you.”
“Yeah, go on,” Angel nodded, pulling Buffy away, and leading her towards the bushes near by. “You okay?,” he asked. “I’m sorry for … you know.”
She didn’t know why, knew that she should probably should be grateful for his simple way to stop the mechanic’s dirty remarks. The man had probably thought she was some cheap chick, and who could blame him. Her hair was certainly a mess, and the dress couldn’t look much better. Yet, somehow the Angel calling her his wife irked her a lot more than the mechanic’s dirty tongue. “Let go,” she hissed, wriggling away, and glaring up at him. “You probably thought it was fun, huh?”
He was clearly taken aback by her hostile behaviour, but right now she didn’t care, didn’t want to deal with the hurt she saw in his dark eyes. “Hey, I didn’t mean-,” he started, but she wouldn’t let him finish.
“No,” she held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it.” She couldn’t bear to be so close to him, not now, not after what – She quickly turned away, swallowed, “I just want this over. I need to go behind the bushes for a moment. He should be done soon,” she nodded towards the mechanic, “and then I want to go home. And forget that this all ever happened.” With that she stomped away, not daring to look back, but she could feel his eyes bore into her back all the way.
*****
“Dammit.“ With more force than necessary, Angel slammed the door shut behind him, wincing slightly when it rattled in its hinges. The same moment he heard a car start and drive away, and his shoulders slumped. Double damn.
Throwing his keys on the little desk near by, he shrugged out of his jacket, tossed it over the keys, only to find
Kathie watching him from the kitchen doorway. Great. Just what he needed right now. Interrogation and sisterly wise-crack, or even worse, compassion. Then he remembered that Kathie had troubles of her own, and instantly felt like a heel. The man his sister cared deeply about, was in big trouble, and it was certainly more serious than being treated like a little boy by the woman you’d made love to the night before. Twice.
“I say it didn’t go as planned.” Kathie’s brows climbed as she took in her brother’s rumpled clothes, the red-rimmed and weary eyes, the dishevelled hair.
“Yeah,” he frowned to himself, walking past her straight towards the coffee machine. He’d proposed they’d stop on the way for some breakfast, but Buffy’d ignored him, just driven on straight to his doorway, where she hadn’t said goodbye, or anything else for that matter. She’d just waited for him to climb out, then driven away without a backward glance.
He poured himself a cup of coffee his sister had made already – bless her soul – and cup in hand opened the fridge for something to eat.
“Sit down,” she ordered from behind, pushing him away. “You look ready to sleep on your feet. Want some bacon and eggs?”
“Sounds like heaven,” he managed to force a smile on his face, then slumped into the chair. After emptying half of his cup in one large gulp, and burning his tongue in the process, he straightened, “So, how is Wes?” Maybe concentrating on work would help him to forget about his own misery. He’d heard about that kind of waking up from friends, with the woman looking at you as if you were a bug, but not in his wildest dreams he’d ever thought it would happen to him, or that it would hurt so much.
Kathie shrugged without turning, “What do you think? He’s dancing on the tables.” Cracking the eggs with more force than necessary, she paused for a moment, took a deep breath, “He’s … miserable. I think mostly because someone can even think he would do such a thing. He was here until after midnight, and he kept repeating it time and again. The Dean and he have known each other for over five years. Yet, the guy suspended him without a blink. I tried to explain that Mr. Blackwell didn’t have a choice, that the rules say he has to act that way, but it still throws him.”
“Is that the reason you are here this morning?,” Angel asked, sipping again from the strong coffee. Thank God his sister made it like that, because he needed it, desperately. He felt bone weary this morning, and knew that deprivation of sleep was only a little part of the problem.
“I’m here because Wes doesn’t have a job right now,” she replied, mixing the egg with some milk and pepper, then pouring the mix into the pan. “And if he doesn’t have a job, I don’t have one either. I’m his part-time secretary, remember? And he doesn’t need one – at least not for the time being.”
He hated hearing the quiver in her voice, she couldn’t quite hide form him. Maybe someone else wouldn’t have noticed, but they were so close, he heard it instantly. She tried to be tough, had learned to be tough, but underneath she was still Kathie, his little baby-sister, the one who came running into his arms after Tommy Taylor had pushed her into the dirt with her new white dress on Sunday, knowing her father would probably hit her for it. Angel had managed to protect her then, she’d been only four, and his old man wasn’t big on hitting little girls – the only good side he’d ever been able to find in his father – but he’d rather have her beaten up that day, and been able to protect her later.
For a moment he closed his eyes, drew a long breath. No use in dwelling in things you couldn’t change anymore. Better focus on the things you can still change, “So this girl,” he said, feeling his belly grumble at the smell coming from the stove, “the student that accused Wes of harassing her? Who is she? What’s she like?”
“She’s in one of his classes,” Kathie added bacon to the eggs, then put two slices of toast on the grill, “Faith Marshall. She’s from a rich background, brunette, good looking, and knows exactly what she wants. She’s intelligent, but has never made any effort to get her grades up. She relies on dear Daddy to even the path for her.”
He sipped from his coffee again, frowned, “If she’s not interested in learning, how come she’s in college?”
“Didn’t you just listen? I said she had money. And her parents know the right people. The Mayor for one. And others.” She paused for a moment, filled his plate, then put it in front of him. “Besides, I’m sure although she sometimes likes to play dumb, she isn’t. She’s ...” She shrugged, “Who knows.”
“God, this smells like … thanks, honey,” he smiled at her, this time without effort, “So, this Faith,” he shoved some egg on the toast, then savored the taste. Maybe he’d survive this day after all – even if barely. “How old is she?”
“Twenty-two. She’s already failed the class twice – English literature, that is, and it seems her parents are getting fed up with her. They threatened to cut her monthly pay-check if she isn’t going to improve.”
“And you know all that, because …,” he asked, wondering if some of his PI business had rubbed off onto his little sister. Wesley had told her last night about the mess, and she was like a fountain of information this morning.
A smug smile appeared on her face, making her eyes sparkle, and Angel was stunned for a moment by her beauty. God, for a moment he hated Parker Abrams with a passion, for causing his sister eight years of anguish and unhappiness. She seemed a lot better these days, and if he liked it or not, Wesley seemed to be a big part of it, but she would never be the innocent girl he so much wanted her to be. She’d lost that part in one fateful night, thanks to the ignorance of her step-brother, and a father who hadn’t cared at all.
“Because I’m at least as clever as Faith.” Her voice pulled him back to the present, reminding him that she’d managed to pull herself out of the pits of Hell. Would she ever know how proud he was of her, he wondered, feeling his eyes moisten.
He quickly blinked, once, twice. There was no need to get all weepy now. She wouldn’t want his compassion anyway. She was fiercely proud of what she’d achieved, and rightfully so. “So what did you do? Hack into the computer?”
“As a matter of fact,” she grinned, when he groaned, “Hey, calm down. I didn’t do anything illegal. But after you called last night, I convinced Wes to go back to his office. So we spent two hours there at the very modern computer and I was able to read all the files the college has on Faith. I hardly know her, I’ve seen her once or twice in the office, when she was complaining about being treated unfairly. But that’s as far as our connections go, and I intend to keep it that way. She wouldn’t be a person I’d choose for a friend.”
“And you found all the information?”
She bit her lip, “Yeah … me and Fred. I called Gunn last night, after I called you. And he obviously informed your computer geek. And she instantly went to work. She’s a genius you know?”
“Yeah, some genius.” Angel sighed, thinking of their self-acclaimed secretary with the big glasses, and the big eyes. Another lost soul, he thought, sighing again. “Okay, so Fred found a bit more. Still, it doesn’t give us enough to nail her. I mean, I can see what she tried to do. Because Wes won’t help her get her parents off her back, she tries to dishonour him. But only because *I* understand that, it doesn’t mean anything.”
“But-“
“No buts.” He put a comforting hand on her arm, “Kat, just because we believe that he’s been shammed, doesn’t help. We need proof, hard proof. You just said her parents are rich, which means that very likely they’re going to fight for their daughter. If I’m not completely wrong, they’re going to hire some big-shot lawyer right this moment.”
*****
“Please, sit down Dr. and Mrs. Marshall, Faith. I can call you Faith?”
“Sure,” the brunette, dark-eyed college-student looked at the attractive man standing at his large oak desk, then sat down beside her parents. Her mother pulled a hanky from her purse, elegantly holding it under her eyes, careful not to destroy her makeup. She was sniffling and making little noises of distress, the way she’d done it ever since Faith had told her parents about that nasty professor who’d tried to get under her skirts.
Her father on the other hand sat ramrod straight, his chest puffed out, all importance, the power of old money and connections radiating from him. He hadn’t gotten weepy at all, but furious, the way Faith had expected it. It wasn’t that he really cared about her, Faith knew, but that someone had dared to touch something that belonged to him. Faith wasn’t his wife, just his daughter, but Frank Marshall still counted her as part of his property, like his desk, or his new expensive German car.
“So,” the lawyer, Mr. MacDonald, sat down in his big leather chair, folded his hands on his desk, then looked straight at her, “Faith. Why don’t you tell me what happened with that professor,” he paused for a moment, flipped through some pages, before he gazed up again “Wyndham-Pryce?”
She batted her lashes, then lowered her head, faking shame, “He … uh … tried to touch me,” she whispered, infusing her voice with just enough hoarseness to make it believable. “You know … at places.” For a moment she thought if that wasn’t painting it too thickly, but then pushed the thought away. Maybe the lawyer was as dumb as her parents, buying the untouched virgin act.
He didn’t. She saw it his eyes the moment they met hers. But for some reason, maybe because her parents were going to provide for his next car, or his next lover with the money he would get from them when this was over, he went along with it. “So he … uh … touched you, huh? And then?”
For her parents’ sake she gasped, and when she heard her mother moan, she knew she’d done the right thing, “I shoved him away of course. I would never let him go that far, I’m not that kind of girl.” She felt her mother’s hand patting her arm in a show of comfort, and went on, “But then he…,” she sniffed, let a tear roll from the corner of her eye, “he threatened me. He said I’d see it in my grades if I wasn’t going to give in.”
Mr. MacDonald’s eyes were sharp as razors when they bore into her. Faith felt like she was sliced open, and being studied on an Anatomy-table. One thing was for certain, that lawyer was out of her league, he wasn’t like her parents believing every word she said, or not listening at all like in her father’s case. Mr. MacDonald listened, all right. And he understood. “And that happened, when?,” he asked, his voice like silk, mantled with steel.
“Uh … two weeks ago,” she admitted, holding on to the story she’d already told the Dean. And her parents. She thought about the money she got each month from them – their pay off for not caring at all. Her mother might be weepy now, but that didn’t mean she would ever miss her Bridge-afternoon, just to do something as trivial as talking to her daughter, and her father thought that giving her some thousand dollars a month was enough to keep his bases covered. Her parents didn’t even care enough to notice that her grades had never been good, that they hadn’t been good for a long time. All they saw was that their 22 year old daughter still hadn’t finished college and that it was an embarrassment with their friends. And so, in Faith’s eyes, she’d earned that monthly pay-check, every damned cent of it.
“Two weeks ago,” the lawyer repeated, “And why didn’t you come out earlier with this, why did you wait all the time?”
Faith sniffed again, swallowed, then after a dramatic pause, and more sounds of distress from her mother, she looked at Mr. MacDonald, “Because … I … felt that … they would maybe think it was my fault, that I had done-“
“Nonsense,” her father thundered, clearly at the end of his patience. “An old bookish guy sees a young attractive girl and smells summer. That’s disgusting. And certainly not your fault. Nobody will blame you. We won’t.”
No they wouldn’t, Faith thought. Because that would mean caring in the first place. That sounded downright bitter, she realized, and pushed the hurt away. She was long past that stage. She was strong these days, and hard. Nothing would hurt her, she would keep her head up, no matter what. “Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered, fishing for a hanky in her pocket, batting her eyes. “That means everything.” God, she had become a first class liar, she thought.
She looked up and her eyes met Mr. MacDonald’s again. A muscle in his jaw twitched, she noticed, and his eyes were almost stormy grey now like the clouds on a rainy day, nothing was left of the blue she’d found so comforting when she’d stepped into the room . She felt herself shiver, because one thing she knew without a doubt. He wasn’t buying one word of what she was saying.
Part 14
Angel ran both hands through his hair, disheveling it in the process, while he waited for the door to open. When it didn’t he knocked again. He kept reminding himself that he was doing this for his sister, that he did it because she needed his help, or rather Wesley did, but looking into her eyes, he knew it was just the same. He might not be thrilled that she’d fallen in love with a man over 14 years her senior, but that didn’t mean he was too blind to see that her feelings for Wesley had finally pulled her out of her shell, and that the Englishman with his glasses and his shyness was probably the best that could happen to her.
And besides, work was good. Especially today, and especially for him. Angel was afraid if he had enough time to think he would do something totally emasculating and staggeringly horrifying … like drive to Buffy’s apartment … and make a complete fool of himself. And that for a woman who probably wished him to Hell.
“Hey.”
He had to blink at the girl the voice belonged to, or rather the young woman, who was standing in the doorway, a bathing robe slung around her body, a towel draped over her hair. So she’d been in the shower, he mused, forcing himself to smile. “Hey, back. I’m looking for Faith Marshall.”
“Faith?”
Uh-oh. Was there suspicion in her voice? Angel cleared his throat, “Yeah, I’m … uhm … a PI-“
“A Private Investigator?”
Angel forced himself not to grin at the breathy admiration in her eyes that had gone round. “Yeah,” he replied, letting another smile slip over his lips. The young woman in front of him was not more than twenty years old, about five-eight tall, and nicely rounded, and while he might have looked twice only weeks before, he didn’t feel anything. Nothing at all. Damn you, Buffy, he thought, for stealing my heart, then stomping on it at every opportunity.
“Are you working for her parents then?,” the girl wanted to know.
He still didn’t know her name, he realised, but that could wait. “Is she there?,” he asked his own question, avoiding answering hers.
She stepped back, inviting him in, the way he had expected her to do. All he knew was that she was Faith’s roommate in college. And that Faith would definitively not be in today. He’d made sure of that before he’d decided to take a look at her room, and her roommate. “Nice,” he commented, as soon as she closed the door behind him.
“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m sorry for … you know … the way I behaved when you were standing there, but I thought you were maybe an ex-boyfriend or so. And Faith instructed me not to let any of them in, not under any circumstances.” Her voice had dropped to a conspirational whisper, “You understand.”
He didn’t, at least not yet, but wasn’t about to let her know. “Yeah,” was all he replied, letting his gaze sweep over the two neatly made beds, the posters on the walls, the clothes hanging over the backs of chairs. It was a typical female dorm room, nothing special to it as far as he could see. He saw a coffee machine standing in one corner, a TV set in another. Two laptops sat on the two desks, and for a moment he wondered if Faith ever used hers for anything but games.
“Isn’t that awful?”
He turned and saw the girl looking at him, “Awful? Oh, yes,” he quickly caught himself, “It is … uh ..”
“Tess,” she laughed, a little bit embarrassed, “I’m Tess. Faith and I go way back. We were in high school together.”
“Oh?,” Angel raised a brow. That part was interesting. “So you know her for a long time.”
“Like, forever,” Tess laughed again, clearly more at ease now. “She’s always been wild,” another laugh, “if you understand. But it’s not really a surprise with her parents ignoring her all the time.”
“They did?” He let his eyes sweep over what he thought was Faith’s desk, saw the picture of an elderly couple, probably said parents. The man’s dark hair was sprinkled with grey, while the woman was styled perfectly, not one of her undoubtedly dyed hairs in the wrong place. They were smiling, but there was no warmth in their expressions. “I suppose that happens now and then,” he added, thinking that he would’ve preferred a bit of ignorance from his father instead of his constant cruelty or his drunken excesses.
“She’s the typical rich girl,” Tess chatted on, sitting down on her bed, “Born with a silver spoon. She had everything, but nothing. Don’t understand me wrong. Her parents aren’t really bad. They never hurt her, not physically. Her mom’s actually quite nice, but always busy.”
So Faith Marshall was the neglected society princess. Could that make her lash out, not caring at whom? Could blaming Wesley be a way to get her parents’ attention? Certainly possible. But how could he prove it?
“She isn’t really a bad student,” Tess seemed to have warmed with the subject, not needing any encouragement now to tell all about her friend. “She’s actually very smart. Could be an A- or at least a B-student. But instead of studying there are guys, and guys, and guys. If you ask me it’s only to get back to her parents. And last year-“ she suddenly stopped herself, and Angel wondered what might have slipped from her lips. Last year? What?
“Yeah, I heard.” It was an audacious shot, but maybe it was his only chance. As soon as Faith was back, Tess would tell her about the PI and this game would be over.
Tess eyes grew round like saucers, “She told you? You know about Kevin?”
Angel shrugged, keeping his eyes on the picture of a girl in the arms of a boy he’d noticed between two books on the desk. The girl was tall and brunette, smiling, but with sadness clouding her dark eyes, while the boy was fair haired, and at least a foot taller than her. A college football player, Angel wondered?
“She told you about Kevin?,” Tess was obviously still in awe. “Wow, I thought she’d never tell anyone. Expect me of course, but then, I’ve been there.”
“It was hard on her.” It was another blind shot, but he just had to risk it. And he almost made a scoring gesture with his arm, when he saw Tess nod from the corner of his eye.
“Yes, it was. I wouldn’t want to go through this. To fall in love with a guy, to get pregnant. Which, of course, wouldn’t be really bad. But then the guy just let you fall like a hot potato and because of your parents you have to get rid of the baby. And you have to go through all that alone.”
An abortion? Faith Marshall had had an abortion? That certainly was an interesting piece of news. Angel turned slowly, smiling at the young woman on the bed, “Not completely alone.”
She rewarded his comment with a smile on her own, “No, not completely,” she agreed. Tess was a nice girl, Angel thought, and at another time, at another place he might have been interested. She was pretty, not dumb, compassionate … but she was lacking in one very important field. She was *not* Buffy Summers.
He saw Tess bite her lip, and instantly recognized the look in her eyes. “So,” she said slowly, “when this is over and you are done with this … case, do you think … you know.” She blushed prettily. Yes, he would have been seriously tempted. And maybe he should still take her on her offer, give in, spend some nice days with her, enjoy Tess’ company. But he couldn’t. All he could think of was a certain blond who’d treated him like dirt this morning. All he could see were her hazel eyes, stormy dark with passion, her mouth, so perfect and tempting.
“No,” he slowly shook his head, “I’m sorry, but I’m-“
“Involved,” she sighed dramatically, then shrugged. “Just my luck. All the nice ones are already taken.”
Taken, huh? He’d given a lot if he was, but unfortunately the one he wanted, didn’t seem to want him. At least not over a quick romp on the car and the ground. He’d been good enough for that. Angel wondered if she was crawling back to that boyfriend of hers tonight, pretending nothing had ever happened. God, he was a fool. A fool for falling for her. But damn, she was in his blood. And somehow he had to find a way to show her that this wasn’t as impossible as she thought.
*****
With a groan Buffy let her forehead fall against the computer screen, instantly pulling it backward when the heat radiating from it was uncomfortable on her already throbbing head. Sighing she rubbed the spot with her fingers, gritted her teeth. It was not the time to have a headache. Her boss was expecting the report first thing next morning and with Parker breathing down her neck she couldn’t afford to screw this up. The little slimy bastard would only too gladly take over. But only over her dead body, she vowed silently, trying to concentrate on the words. Never again would she let him win. Never again. She still wore the scars of that one time he didn’t even seem to remember, and she wasn’t eager to add new one, although she doubted that he still had the power to hurt her the way he once had. She wasn’t the naïve little virgin anymore, she’d once been.
The work she had to do wasn’t really difficult, she thought with an inward sigh. She had done it before. Often. The subject was familiar, the procedure as well, the only thing unfamiliar was she. She couldn’t remember ever having felt so distraught before. Not during work that is. When her step-father had died she’d been devastated, but her boss had given her time off. She could hardly go to him now and expect compassion because she couldn’t forget what had happened last night. Damn, she had to forget. Soon.
Forget. Right. Not likely. Try as she might, he was still there. She could still feel his hands on her body, sometimes rough, sometimes gentle, could feel his lips, like silk, his stubble scratching her skin following the path his lips took. And worst of all, he was still in her head. As soon as she closed her eyes, as she’d done before, images of Angel kept coming. His smile, his eyes, his graceful way of moving, the way he’d been holding her on the dance-floor, and she also remembered the hurt in his eyes before she’d turned away. She hadn’t been able to look at him again, afraid to see it again, afraid to break down and do … What exactly?
Kiss him and tell him she hadn’t meant it? But hadn’t she? No, she thought firmly. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, just wanted him to … what? God, she had never felt so confused and her insides were in turmoil.
So now what? Call him and tell him she was sorry? No way. If she did that, he would see it as an encouragement, and right now she couldn’t handle that. She’d been able to give him the cold shoulder during their ride back to his house, but without a doubt she knew that she wouldn’t be able to it again. Just being close to him made her body hum, made her senses go into overdrive. If he was near right now, she knew she’d grab him and …
God, she had to stop this. But hadn’t she tried to tell herself the same thing for the better part of the day, ever since she’d come awake in her car in the middle of nowhere, remembering what had happened the night before? And see what it brought her, she was sitting over an important project and all she could do was think of a man. No, not just a man. She was thinking of Angel. He was in her head, in her gut, in her heart, and on her skin. He was everywhere and obviously he was not going to go away.
Again her gaze flickered to the computer screen, the cursor blinking madly, waiting for her to continue, but nothing would come, her mind had shut down, solely focussed on a face with dark eyes, and a smile that knocked your socks clear off your feet.
When right that moment the door to her office opened without a knock, she didn’t have to look up to know who was entering.
“Hey, girlfriend, how’s it going?”
How was she going to pull this off, Buffy wondered quickly. How was she going to act normal around Cordelia, how was she going to pretend she was just peachy? Her secretary, and friend, had the senses of a bloodhound and could usually smell those things a mile against the wind. So far she’d been lucky. Cordy hadn’t been there in the morning, had taken some time off for a doctor’s appointment, and had no knowledge of the fact that her boss had been late. But there was no running anymore, and so the blond raised her head, hoping her eyes were cool and controlled. “Cordy. Just the person I was waiting for. I need this typed as soon as possible.”
She fished a small tape from her purse, tossed it towards the brunette who caught it easily in mid-air. “Sure. No prob.” Then after what seemed like a short inward discussion, Cordelia stuffed the tape into the pocket of her blue slacks, and instead of leaving she crossed the room and sat down opposite to Buffy. “So, how was your high school reunion?”
“Okay,” the blond replied with a shrug. “You know how that goes. A lot of ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ and stuff.”
“Did you have a date?”
That’s it, Buffy thought. Confession time. She should’ve known Cordy wouldn’t let her off with a simple explanation. “Yeah,” she replied, pretending to be busy scanning the text on the screen. The truth was she knew every word of it by now. It wasn’t really difficult with only three lines written so far.
“Well,” the brunette leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with excitement, “tell me!”
Shifting uncomfortably on her chair, Buffy kept her eyes on the screen, “Angel,” she mumbled, but of course Cordy had understood well.
“Angel?,” the brunette’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “Who is Angel?”
“I meant Liam,” Buffy said quickly, hating her slip. Maybe part of the problem was that she was always thinking of him as Angel. Maybe if she’d tried to see him as Liam she could be cooler about all this. Yeah. Sure. She almost laughed out loud at that. As if the name had anything to do with it.
“Liam?,” Cordy stared at her for a moment, then her eyes lit up with a force that made Buffy wince, “Liam! You mean sexy, leather-jacket Liam? The guy who was so eager to get your address from me? Wow.” She sat back in her chair, truly impressed, “I bet that had them all gaping with envy. Go, Buffy.” She grinned broadly at her boss, and Buffy could see that there was only genuine pleasure in the other woman’s expression. In Cordy’s eyes Buffy had scored big time and the brunette was glad for her.
“Yeah, there was some head turning involved,” the blond admitted, remembering the looks some of her former classmates had given her. Judy at the reception had almost forgotten to close her mouth, and not to forget Claire who’d pawed Angel all over.
“I’ll bet,” Cordy grinned wickedly. “So what happened after the official meeting. I mean … you were on your own with Liam. Yummy Liam, I may add. Did you jump his bones?”
No he jumped mine, but I didn’t mind at all. Buffy felt heat rising in her cheeks, and was glad she’d been so generous with make-up this morning, trying to cover the bags under her eyes, and the grey look of her skin after a night in a car. “And I would you tell this because…?” she asked, pretending to be extremely bored, hoping her friend might get the clue.
But of course this was Cordelia sitting across from her, and Mr. and Mrs. Chase hadn’t raised their daughter to be tactful. “Because I’m your friend. Because I’m the one who got you two together. So you owe me. Big time.”
“I didn’t jump his bones,” Buffy said slowly, almost choking at the lie. On the other hand it wasn’t really a lie. She hadn’t jumped his bones, at least not the first time. ((Ohgodohgodohgod.)) She could already feel the heat spreading through her body. Just the memory was enough to get her to a sizzling point.
“You didn’t?” Cordy’s voice was a mixture of disappointment and disbelief. “What are you? Dead? Or a nun? A guy like Liam – Buffy something is seriously wrong with you.”
“Cordy, the guy is seven years my junior,” Buffy finally voiced her greatest concern. Try as she might, she couldn’t get over the age difference. She didn’t really see it as a problem this very moment, but what about in ten years? He’d be 36, in prime of his life, and she would be 44, most likely have wrinkles and … other imperfections. Would he still love her then? Or would he be disgusted, regretting that he was committed to a woman so many years his senior? And what the *hell* was she thinking again? Hadn’t she just decided that a relationship with him was impossible?
“And that would be a problem, why exactly?” The brunette crossed her arms and tilted her head.
“Because it is,” Buffy replied stubbornly. Maybe if she was more like Cordy, just living for the now, enjoying each moment, not caring for tomorrow, it really wouldn’t be a problem, but unfortunately Buffy wasn’t cut that way. She always thought about tomorrow, always needed some kind of promise, something … Yeah, sure, a little voice in her head whispered. That’s why you slept with Angel, without a second thought tonight and without-
Her thoughts came to a screeching halt, her stomach dropping through the bottom.
OH GOD.
OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOD.
She swallowed. Hard. And swallowed again, all thoughts about older women and younger men fleeing her head. From the corner of her eye she saw Cordy uncrossing her arms, leaning forward, studying her boss curiously. No wonder, Buffy thought, she felt as if the ground had just been knocked away under her feet. As if the world was spinning around her.
God, she was the most stupid, irresponsible … She was thirty four years old, but that obviously didn’t save you from being an idiot. Mentally counting, her heart started to hammer. She’d never been eager to use the pill, and because Riley had always been so considerate, they’d agreed to use condoms. But Angel hadn’t used a condom. At least not to her knowledge. She couldn’t be sure about the first time, but she was very sure about the second. She’d been the one initiating it, had had her hands –
OH GOD.
She and Angel had had sex. Twice.
And without any protection.
Part 15
Black was definitely reflecting her mood, but maybe her mother would get suspicious. Joyce had a sixth sense where her daughter was concerned, maybe something all mothers had in common. Yellow would instantly rise her mother’s hackles. She never wore yellow, so why should she now. And red – hadn’t she read something about red being aggressive?
Buffy stared into her closet, annoyed with her own indecision. It was only a dinner with her mother, for heaven’s sake. Maybe she’d just take blue or green. A neutral colour. Yeah, light blue would be good. She grabbed the long sleeved dress, sighing slightly. She’d never particularly liked it, but for tonight it would do.
She stood staring into her mirror, hairbrush in hand. Down or up? Up was showing control, making her sophisticated, giving her the image of a cool business-woman. On the other hand she never wore her hair up out of the office. She sighed again, threw the brush onto her dressing table, moving from annoyance with herself to irritation.
Stepping into her black pumps, she sighed for the third time – deeply. He had taken over her thoughts, her feelings, her very life. It was physical, she told herself. She’d never thought herself to be such a physical woman – although she knew she could be passionate – yet since she’d known Angel, cool and reserved Buffy had to force herself to keep from moaning at the mere reminder of his touch. It was all she could do to keep her mind on work.
Usually she would say get the physical out of the way, so she could regain control of her mind and gain some perspective. The problem was, they had done the physical already, but instead of feeling sated and contend, the way it had been with the other men in her life, she craved more. And that – on top of her recent discovery that she’d been too eager to even think about protection – made her doubt her own sanity.
She reached for her wide leather belt and cinched it around her waist. It was a little late in her life to have such teenage thoughts over a man. And he was – after all – just a man. A man seven years her junior. She knew that many woman had physical relationships with younger men and relegated them to that compartment of their lives while functioning separately in their business lives. Perhaps that would be the answer to her problems – or it should have been. A strong friendship, a satisfactory physical relationship, with no ties. But somehow she knew, this wouldn’t work in Angel’s book. And, so she had to admit, not in hers either.
After a final glance in her mirror, Buffy nodded. At least she looked presentable. Today of all days her mother had decided to invite herself for dinner, no doubt trying to talk some reason into her again, no doubt trying to discuss Riley. But maybe it was just as well. Riley was a safe topic, something that might get her thoughts off Angel – if that was even possible.
When the doorbell rang, she took a last glance into the mirror, then left her bedroom, closing the door behind her. With a practiced daughter smile on her face, she opened the door, only to have the smile freezing on her lips, seeing the unexpected visitor standing there and grinning from ear to ear, holding a bucket of flowers.
“Hey, beautiful.” He took a step back, his blue eyes wandering up and down her body, taking in her clothes, the shoes, her stylish makeup. “And what a sight you are.” He made a slight bow, held the flowers out for her. “Seems I’ve chosen the right time to show up.”
Maybe if she had expected him, Buffy might have accepted the present with a smile, but somehow she just couldn’t find it in her to act casual, or even pleased to see him. Instead, she took a deep breath not to kill him on the spot, but her voice was still like a bucket of cold water, when she said, “What the Hell are you doing here, Spike?”
*****
“What the Hell are you doing here?”
Lindsey MacDonald stifled a grin, then pretending to ignore Faith’s outraged expression, he sauntered into her dorm room, letting his eyes sweep over the furniture, the pictures, taking in the whole atmosphere of the room. “It’s nice to see you too,” he replied without looking, aware that if looks could kill, he’d be cold in a flash.
“You have some nerve to show up here without invitation,” she hissed at him, and when he turned he saw her standing, hand still on doorknob, she was almost trembling with anger. “If I call my father, you’re out of a job in two minutes.”
He raised his brows, “Oh, is that so? Well, then go on,” he nodded at the phone on her desk, “call him.” When he saw her eyes widen, he shrugged, “There are funnier things than to represent a spoiled little girl who’s pissed off because a teacher has actually resisted her charms.”
The door shut with a loud bang, “You son of a-“
“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Does a young lady use that kind of language?” he taunted, enjoying his view. She was dressed in tight denims, a green turtleneck, her hair loose and falling freely, her eyes sparkling with anger. She was simply beautiful. Lindsey felt his gut tighten. He’d been attracted to women before – he was healthy man after all, but none of them had ever left the kind of impression Faith had, even though she’d been lying in his face.
Beautiful brown eyes narrowed, “Who do you think you are, coming to my room and accusing me of-“
“Lying?” he asked, not trying to hide the grin now. “Yeah, that’s what I’d call it. You’ve been lying to me, to your parents, to this old honorable alma mater. And don’t even try to deny it. So, what I really want to know is, why?”
Her eyes narrowed another bit, becoming mere slits, but God, she was even more beautiful this way. What a woman, Lindsey thought, feeling his blood rush into his groin. She was pure fire, hot, sparkling, and he wondered if her passion was going to burn in the same way. It made him even more curious to find out why Faith Marshall was acting the way she did. He wasn’t blind. Besides the fact that she’d been lying, he had also seen how she’d looked at her father, and at her mother for that matter. For all their concerned attitude, Faith’s parents seemed to be more concerned about their name or what a scandal might do to the family business than what it had done to their daughter. And it seemed the young woman knew that as well.
“Why?” Faith raised her brows, crossed her arms, “How come you are interested? You’re a lawyer, right? Isn’t it enough for you to earn your money. My father’s going to pay, don’t worry.”
“I’m not worrying,” he replied easily. “I might not be a partner in my firm yet, but I know my bosses appreciate my work, and that won’t change. No, that’s not the reason I came. I want to know why someone like you, young, beautiful, intelligent, someone with a whole life ahead of her, is in need of such …,” he made a disgusted gesture with his hand, “nonsense.”
Something flickered through her eyes, but it was gone too soon for him to judge. “Intelligent, huh?” She laughed, a short, dismissive sound. “You think that? Didn’t you know that I flunked psychology last year? And English lit? I’m a dummy, lawyer. You’re mistaken if you think I’m something special.”
He wasn’t quite sure, why, but the way she said it, the way he saw pain come and go in her eyes, made him act in a way he hadn’t planned. He wasn’t even aware of the steps he’d taken towards her, and when his head lowered to hers it was already too late to change. He pressed his lips onto hers, for a short, lucid moment wondering if he could claim temporary insanity for his actions, but then he could feel nothing but her tempting lips, could hear nothing but the little moan that escaped her. And when her arms wrapped themselves around his neck, he wasn’t so sure anymore if coming here had been one of his wisest decisions.
*****
“Well, Hell.” Spike’s grin didn’t slip, although he saw that Buffy was anything but happy about seeing him show up unexpectedly at her doorstep. “Won’t you invite me in?”
Buffy frowned, but then sighed inwardly. She could hardly send him away like some dog, could she? Well, maybe she could, but standing there, with this puppy dog look in his eyes, holding out the flowers for her, she didn’t have the heart for it. And he reminded her of all the high school fantasies she’d ever had, the fantasies Spike had been a big part of. “Alright, come in,” she invited, stepping back. “What are you doing in town?”
“Would you believe me if I told you I wanted to see you?”
She almost laughed out loud at the tone of his voice. He sounded like a little boy. “Well, excuse me if I get a little suspicious. I mean we don’t see each other for over fifteen years. And then all of a sudden I’m someone in your book? It’s a little hard to believe.” She finally took the flowers from him, then marched into the kitchen, to search for a vase.
He stopped in the doorway, leaned one shoulder against the frame, “Nice apartment. So why do you think you can’t be the only reason I came? You are a beautiful woman, very attractive, tempting.” His voice dropped to an intimate whisper, but while it might have sent shivers down her spine eighteen years ago, she now felt absolutely nothing. Nil, zero, zilch. All she could think was that his voice wasn’t as soft and velvety as another one that kept whispering to her in her dreams, that his eyes were a boring blue, instead of a warm, deep brown. God, she was pathetic!
Stuffing the flowers into the vase with more power than necessary, she added some water, then placed it on the table. “Thanks,” she said, remembering that she hadn’t said it before.
“You’re welcome.” He was still leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed now, he was watching her. “Okay,” he said finally, “I came because I met Dru. I … uh … well, we needed to discuss some business.”
“I see,” Buffy nodded, irritated at her own indifference at his reply. Why couldn’t she at least be disappointed that she hadn’t been the reason for his coming into town? Why couldn’t she feel a tiny little bit of … jealousy? But there was nothing. Plain nothing. She didn’t care why Spike had come into town. Or if he had met Dru. Or what he did at all. All her mind could think was that he fell short compared to another man, one she couldn’t stop thinking about. Would she have fantasised about Spike if Angel had been there during her high school years? She wondered. But then, Angel would have been nothing more than a kid, nine or ten years old, hardly swooning material for a girl.
Instantly sobered by that thought, she looked at her unexpected guest, “So you came to see Dru, and you thought it was a good idea to drop by while you were in town anyway?”
“Something like that,” he admitted, his grin a bit lopsided now. “I thought we had a good time that night, and so … well, I thought it couldn’t hurt to try. What do you think about a fancy dinner in a restaurant of your choice?” He gestured at her clothes, “You’re all dressed up anyway.”
“As a matter of fact, I’m dressed up because I’m having dinner with my mother.”
“With your mother?,” he raised a brow at that. “Does sound like the evening of dreams.”
She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her mouth. “She isn’t that bad,” she grinned at Spike who made a pained grimace.
“I remember,” he said after a moment, “Your parents were the keeping kind. There was this step-father of yours, the guy was actually pretty cool.”
“Yeah, he was,” she replied softly, feeling the familiar stab of pain. God, she missed Giles, right now maybe more than ever. He’d always been so understanding, always had an open ear for her problems. She wished she could ask him what to do. “He died some years ago.”
“I’m sorry,” Spike said, and the compassion in his voice was genuine. “Your mother never remarried? I remember she was an attractive woman.”
“No, she didn’t,” Buffy shook her head, “Her relationship with Giles was very special. After my father and she split up … well, she was pretty hurt and … Giles was the best that ever happened to her. And to me for that matter.”
“And your … father?”
She shrugged, not particular about touching that sour spot in her life. “He calls sporadically. But most of the time I don’t know what he does, or with whom.”
“Sounds a lot like my old man.” Spike sighed, “There are parents out there who shouldn’t have any kids. When Dru and I first married I wanted a baby. She was against it. Looking back it was probably for the best. A kid would be torn apart between us now. Plus all the yelling.” He sighed again, more deeply this time, and Buffy wondered if his previous meeting with his ex-wife had been all that pleasant.
“Is she …,” she paused, not certain she even wanted to know, but asked anyway, “Is there a new man in her life?” It was strange though, talking with Spike as if they’d been closest friends. She’d once had a crush on him, but after high school she’d soon forgotten all about him.
“No,” he shook his head, ran a hand through his hair. “She’s all hung up on her career these days. Not that it seems to make her happy, but,” he shrugged, “If she wants it that way.”
“Yeah,” Buffy nodded, reminded of another woman who’d once believed that a successful career was the most important thing in her life. That a man, a lover, was something you could have on the side, that didn’t intrude your feelings all the time. But that was before a guy in a leather jacket, and a half-smile that should be forbidden had entered her life and turned it upside down.
He was about to say something when the doorbell rang again. She shot him a quick apologetic smile then walked for the door, expecting her mother, her welcoming smile in place for the second time that night. But again it froze on her face. It wasn’t her mother leaning against the doorframe, a scowl on the forehead. And before she had time to say a word, Angel pushed past her, entering her apartment without waiting for an invitation.
“I know,” he growled, when he turned to face her, “you try your best to ignore me. At first I thought it was for the best to give you space, but you know what?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, didn’t give her time to come to terms with his unsettling presence, but went right on, “I’m done giving you space. You’re behaving like a scared little girl, running away all the time, and it’s time you stopped.”
Part 16
Joyce Summers-Giles brought her car to a stop in front of her daughter's apartment building. Shutting off the ignition she let out a weary sigh, resting both hands on the steering wheel, while the radio still blared some old song of the Beatles. God, how her husband had loved that music. When he was painting it had been a constant background noise, connected to him like her own daughter who had adored her step-father in a way that was painfully missing in her relationship with her real father.
Joyce sighed again, patting her hair with one hand, missing her late husband tonight more than ever. He'd had a way with Buffy, they had shared something special. Her stubborn daughter had always listened to Rupert, or had at least considered his point of view, while all her mother said seemed to make Buffy do the exact opposite. God, she could do with Rupert's calming influence tonight, although - she let out a little laughter - this probably wouldn't happen in the first place.
If Rupert was still alive, he would look at Joyce with his deep, knowing eyes, telling her without words that Buffy's life was exactly that, Buffy's life and that Joyce didn't have a say in it. That her daughter was old enough to make her own decisions, and that she, Joyce, should wait until Buffy came and asked for advice. Unfortunately Joyce simply wasn't made for standing by and waiting, she usually gave her opinion, wanted or not, and that - more often than not - led to heated arguments with the one person she loved most on the earth.
Not that Rupert and Buffy hadn't fought frequently, because they had. Nobody could be close to her daughter and not fight with her. Buffy could be the most mule-headed creature on this planet, but somehow their fights had been different to the ones that seemed the only way of communication between mother and daughter lately. She wasn't sure why, but these days whatever she said, Buffy was takingit the wrong way, while with Rupert, her daughter had at least realized he was always trying to do what was best for her.
Frowning at that, Joyce firmly forced those thoughts down, not willing to deal with them any longer. Her daughter was waiting for her, and the longer she had to wait, the stronger her defenses would be. And besides, Rupert didn't always know best. This was her daughter after all. Buffy was about to make the biggest mistake of her life, and Joyce wasn't going to stand by and let it happen. Buffy might hate her for her intervention, but maybe one day, when her daughter was a mother herself - although the chances of that ever happening were getting less by the day - she would understand why Joyce had to act the way she did.
With new determination spreading through her body, Joyce climbed out of the car, and after pressing the button on her key and hearing the car lock, she marched towards the house, hoping that her daughter would have a more open mind tonight than usual. Buffy could be so stubborn sometimes. Like now. Joyce would never understand what had brought on her daughter's latest behavior. Buffy had seemed happy and content in her relationship with Riley. And they were made for each other, both successful in their jobs, both good looking, both around the same age, with similar expectations for their lives and future. A match made in heaven.
And all of a sudden Buffy didn't seem to think so anymore.
So far all of Joyce's attempts to find out what had changed her daughter's mind had been in vain. Buffy didn't want to talk about it. It was her life, her decision. Period. They had even argued about it. Joyce felt almost ashamed for the way she'd yelled, but nothing had changed. Buffy insisted Riley wasn't for her, that a future with him was out of the question.
Joyce's first thought had been a fight between lovers, something that happened every day, but a phone call to Riley had proven her wrong. Buffy's ex-boyfriend insisted that he was still at a loss to understand what had caused their break-up. So the next logical reason was another man. But Buffy had insisted there was none, and Joyce had been tempted to believe her. It wasn't like Buffy to jump from one man to the next, but then Joyce wasn't born just yesterday, and she had lived long enough to know that anything was possible.
And that had been her reason for a dinner with her daughter tonight. She wanted to find out what was going on, wanted to understand why her daughter had thrown a perfectly fine relationship away, and didn't show the slightest sign she would be willing to reconsider.
Well, she would find out tonight, she thought, lengthening her strides, pushing the door open with straightened shoulders and raised chin. She would find out, and then convince her daughter that she was a fool to let Riley go.
Her daughter might be stubborn sometimes. But Buffy wasn't a fool. Not by a long shot.
*****
Buffy stared at the man in front of her, trying her best to understand what was happening. She'd been planning a not so pleasant evening with her mother, and all of a sudden this was turning into some wacky soap opera. And Angel hadn't even noticed Spike so far. "What …", she finally managed, "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, wasn't it clear enough for you?" Angel stared right back, his posture aggressive and challenging at the same time. He knew he was acting irrational, but he was done standing back and waiting for her to accept that they were right for each other. He still wasn't quite sure what had brought this on, but now that he had decided to confront her, he wasn't about to back down again, even though he saw the silent plead in her eyes, the way they had widened in shock. "I said I'm through with waiting for you to come to terms with our relationship. I'm through giving you space."
Her initial surprise instantly giving way to anger, Buffy went very still. "What," she raised one brow, "are you talking about? A relationship? What kind of relationship?"
*Liar, liar*, a little voice inside her head was whispering. *You slept with him. You care for him. What would you call it? *
Buffy mercilessly ignored it, and crossed her hands in front of her chest, suddenly remembering her other guest, slightly ashamed that she was using Spike as a shield against the confusing emotions Angel was rousing inside of her. "By the way, you remember Spike, don't you?" She looked past Angel, directly at the bleached blond who was standing in the kitchen doorway.
She saw something flicker in the depth of Angel's dark orbs, before his whole body tensed and he slowly turned, "Spike?"
Angel felt something quiver deep inside of him, something he didn't want to accept, something dark, and ugly, and he instantly recognized it as jealousy. Not the light kind, the angry kind he'd experienced the night of the high school reunion. No. this time it was deeper, growling in his gut, twisting it, making it churn. And it was accompanied by anger, anger so deep and furious, he wasn't sure he was going to keep himself together. So she was playing dirty, was she?, he thought.
When he finally faced the other man, leaning casually in the doorway, he knew his anger was irrational and certainly turned towards the wrong person. Spike stood, watching him a little warily, not quite certain himself what was going on, what game was about to be played.
Angel straightened his shoulders, narrowed his eyes, "Hello, Spike," he greeted the other man.
Buffy almost shivered at the ice in his voice, not quite sure if her last move had been her best. What if she'd judged Angel wrong, what if he went berserk and … but no, Angel wasn't the type to do such a thing. Not that she really knew him well, but somehow she couldn't imagine him trashing an apartment or beating up another person. It just didn't fit.
"Liam." Spike inclined his head, a smile now playing around his lips. "Nice to meet you again," he said, but his voice was betraying his lightness, and again she was ashamed for the way she was playing those men, and all because of her own uncertainty. But as much as she hated it, she wasn't ready to change anything, either. She was feeling unsettled, her emotions so close to the surface, and all because of this man, this boy, really. This couldn't be real, this couldn't be happening, not to her, not to the most rational person she knew. Not to Buffy, who had planned her whole life. She couldn't accept it, and she wouldn't.
"I wish I could say that, too," Angel replied, and Buffy could see the rigid control he was trying to keep. "I see," he went on, and she realized he was looking at her again, "You lost no time finding a substitute. I wonder what your boyfriend will say to this?"
Boyfriend? A little confused, Buffy frowned at him, then suddenly remembered that he didn't even know about Riley and her splitting up, which, given the circumstances, she wasn't inclined to change. "Riley?" she raised her chin. "We don't have that kind of relationship. We're both very open, modern people."
Completely forgetting Spike's presence, Angel felt his body stiffen, not willing to believe what she was hinting at. "You mean… ", he had to take a breath. His determination was slowly fading in the face of her obvious indifference. Had he been so wrong about her? Could he have misjudged her? But no, he thought, thinking back at the way she'd cried out his name, the way she'd touched him, the way her eyes had clouded over. She couldn't have been faking that. And he simply refused to believe that Buffy was the kind of woman who could experience something that profound and just shake it off the next day. "You're lying," he said slowly, but firmly. "It's still the little scared girl talking here. The one who doesn't take risks, the one who admires her step-father for living out his fantasies, but is too scared to live up to them herself."
He let his eyes wander and rest on the picture painted by Rupert Giles visible through the partially opened living-room door. It was a disturbing painting, showing a rainy day at the coast, a storm bending the trees, clouds hanging deep and heavy. The colors were dark, black, brown, gray, blue, a cold, dark, green - the scenery stormy and threatening. At least at first glance. But more closely looked at, there was such peace coming from it, such clarity, as if the artist was allowing you a glimpse into his soul. A man shaken by the experiences life dealt you, but who had finally found his home, his destination.
Angel looked back at Buffy, trying to imagine her mother. Did Mrs. Summers have the same eyes? Did she radiate the same energy, the same strength, paired with such intense vulnerability? The same vulnerability that Buffy was trying to hide by acting out, by seeming cool and tough? If yes, Angel couldn't blame him. How could a man meet such a woman, and not take a second look, and maybe a third? And if he did, how could he not get lost in her, how could he not give her his soul? Completely and forever.
The way it had happened to him.
"Hey, maybe I should leave now."
They'd both forgotten that Spike was still there, Angel realized when he saw Buffy's eyes widen in surprise, The air between them was too intense, to cracking to even notice any other presence. And it gave him hope.
"No, there is no reason to leave." Buffy tried to keep her voice cool and controlled, tried to keep herself together, although she was sure her knees were trembling underneath her dress. Thank god she had chosen one in full length, hiding the evidence of her turmoil. She had to gain control again, she thought desperately, feeling herself falling, feeling herself slipping. She wasn't going to let this man take control of her life, her actions. So she straightened her shoulders, her eyes blank, "He is the one intruding here," she said loud and clear, not able to look into Angel's eyes, afraid of the pain she might see there at her words, "I didn't invite him."
If she had slapped him, she couldn't have hurt him the way her words had. Angel felt himself reeling back as if from a blow, then breathing deeply, managed to instantly pull himself together. Well, what had he expected, anyway? She had made it perfectly clear before that for her a relationship between them could never work. That she wasn't going to give in, wasn't going to see what beauty they could create together.
With great difficulty he managed to turn his head to look at her, and in that very moment, in that fraction of a second, he suddenly understood. Understood as clearly as if she'd had laid it out in front of him in bold letters. Something had happened to her. Someone - a man - had hurt her. Had hurt in a way she wasn't able to forget, in a way that had scarred her so deeply, he thought he could reach out and feel the pain. And he was also sure, that if she'd let him, he would touch the scars, would soothe them, would make them heal with love, a love she seemed to determined to push away.
A rage he'd never felt before suddenly filled him, threatened to consume him, against the man who had done this to her. Some man had turned this beautiful, breathtaking woman into a frightened little girl who didn't seem to trust anyone, least of all herself, and who had decided to refuse love, because it was safer. Because that way, she wasn't going to get hurt again. If the man had been around -right now - Angel was sure he'd spent the rest of his days in a high-security prison for murder one. He had always hated violence, had tried to fight against it, still carrying the scars of his early childhood, but in this split of a second it didn't matter. All he wanted was to erase this guy in a futile attempt to carry out justice, but knowing at the same time that it wouldn't change anything for Buffy. The only thing able to help her was love. Love he was willing to give. Love she was so determined to reject.
"No, you didn't invite me," he said finally, feeling a sudden calm, although her eyes had shut down, not showing any of the pain and torture he'd only gotten a glimpse of before, "but I'm still staying. We're going to talk, and if you don't want to talk, you're at least going to listen."
"I so need to go now," Spike pushed himself off of the doorway, holding up his hands as he passed the couple on his way to the exit door. "No need to see me out. I know the way." He reached for the door-handle, then stopped in the process, his eyes finding Angel's face. "There's nothing between us, man. We're nothing but - acquaintances. I was feeling low tonight, had a meeting with my ex. Thought I could use some cheering up. So don't give her a hard time."
"This has nothing to do with you," Angel replied, his eyes not wavering from Buffy's gaze, starting to like the other man without wanting to. "But thanks, nevertheless."
"I'd say have a nice evening, but ...", Spike trailed off, chuckling slightly to himself. "See you." He didn't expect an answer and didn't get one. God, he thought, shaking his head, why did love have to be so complicated all the time?Why couldn't people just fall in love, be happy and stay that way? Instantly his thoughts traveled to a certain raven-haired woman, remembering the girl she'd once been, the girl he'd been in love with so deeply, he couldn't think straight. When had this stopped? When had they lost what had seemed so precious, so right? God, he was maudlin tonight. Maybe he should just find a bottle of old Scotch and drown himself.
With a last chuckle he opened the door - and froze. Instead of an empty hallway he was greeted by the face of a woman so much alike another, and a pair of eyes that were looking at him curiously, before she spoke, "So you are the reason my daughter dumped her boyfriend. I should have known. You've always been bad news Spike."
"Mrs. Summers," Spike inclined his head in a matter of greeting, then gave the older woman his best smile, the one he had practiced as a boy to charm Dru's parents all those years ago. It had worked then, and he could only hope it would work now. "How nice to meet you. Believe me when I tell you, I have nothing to do with the troubles between your daughter and her boyfriend. And I'll be gone anyway - I was just on my way out." And then, without contemplating his next move, he wriggled past her, and with a last glance at Buffy he left, although a part of him wanted to stay and watch the drama unfold.
*
"So," Joyce closed the door behind the blond man, "This was an interesting-" Her words died on her lips when she turned and saw her daughter standing in the middle of the hallway facing a strange dark-haired man, Joyce had never seen before. But there was something in the way they looked at each other, his dark orbs intense and serious, Buffy's defensive, with a touch of anger, and - to Joyce's utter surprise - something close to fear. But it wasn't fear of this man, it was something different, something that made Joyce tremble down to the core.
Neither of them looked up, didn't give a sign they had acknowledged her presence, just continued staring at each other, until the man spoke.
"You dumped your boyfriend?" His voice was low, and a little bit dangerous. "Interesting piece of news you so comfortably avoided to share with me."
Buffy's chin jutted out in defiance, "I can't see why this is any of your business. I can't see where this concerns you."
Joyce felt her gut clench almost painfully at the tension in the air, at the strange waves she was getting from her daughter. "Hi," she said, "I'm Joyce Summers, Buffy's mother."
She could have well kept the words to herself, because neither the man nor her daughter were reacting.
"It concerns me all right," he said, not touching her, just continuing to look at her with those serious eyes, Joyce found herself drawn to. "It concerns me because I care for you, because -," she saw him pause, as if considering his next words, then he pushed ahead, "I love you."
"No." Buffy's denial came quickly, her voice firm.
"Don't tell me what I feel," he retorted, "I know you don't want to hear this, don't want to concern yourself with this, but it's true nevertheless. I love you."
"No," she said again, shaking her head emphatically. "You believe you love me, but it's different. I know it is."
"No, it isn't," he shot back, and Joyce saw he was clenching his fists. Could it be he was a violent person, she wondered. He was a tall man, strong, well-muscled. What would she do if- But no, she told herself instantly. Nobody who could look at her daughter like this, would hurt her. How could her daughter insist of him lying when his love for her was written clearly in his eyes.
Love?
Suddenly feeling shell-shocked, Joyce found herself rooted in place, breathing suddenly difficult.
Love?
This man had claimed loving her daughter, and she didn't even know his name, hadn't seen him ever before.
"Buffy," he said, "I love you. It's true. Stop denying what's right in front of your eyes."
"In front of my eyes?," she echoed, shaking her head again, "This … this is madness. You're deluding yourself in some kind of fantasy, and-"
"I'm not deluding myself," he replied, his voice softening, "but you are. Buffy, why are you so determined to believe that I'm not in love with you? And more importantly, why are you trying to tell yourself you aren't? Why are you trying to push me away? What are you afraid of?"
Joyce saw her daughter step back, then stop, pressing a hand to her mouth for a moment, pulling it away the next, "In love with you?," she asked, her voice unnaturally high. "Why can't you just accept that not all women are falling down at your feet. That there is a thirty-four year old woman who isn't head over heels for your twenty-six year old body?"
Twenty-six? The guy was only twenty-six? Joyce continued to stare at the pair.
"Why are you always bringing up my age?," he asked, his voice even softer than before, and Joyce found herself hanging at each of his words. There was something about him, something that moved her deeply. Maybe it was in the way he looked at her daughter, maybe it was the way he talked to her, as if he knew her inside out. "You are using our age difference like a shield. But that's nonsense. It's seven years, and do you know how many couples are seven years apart? So stop bringing this up all the time. Why don't you stop hiding yourself behind this, and start telling me the real reason you're shying away from your feelings."
"My feelings?" she echoed, "You don't know anything about my feelings."
"That's where you're wrong," he said instantly, reaching out as if to touch her, then pulling his hand back. Maybe it was for the best, Joyce thought. Her daughter was so rigid, the merest touch might break her. "You're scared, and don't try to deny it. You're afraid I'm going to hurt you, and you're scared to let yourself trust me, because someone has betrayed your trust before, someone has hurt you deeply."
"No," Buffy said again, but now her voice was a mere whisper, tears welling up in her eyes. "Please don't do this," she pleaded brokenly, "I … I can't do this."
Finally he held out his hand, palm up, "Won't you trust me? Whoever it was, can't you see I'm not him?"
Buffy took another step back, her eyes wide and like those of a scared animal pushed into a corner with no way out. "I can't," she whispered, "Don't you understand, I can't. This … th-this is …," she stopped, shook her head, biting her lower lip, "Please, go."
"No," he said softly, but firmly. "I'm not going. I'm not going to watch you doing this to yourself. I'm not going to let you draw back behind your safe wall, away from love and happiness."
"I am happy," she almost cried out, defensively crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Why can't you accept that and just leave?" Joyce heard a stifled sob on the last word, and almost reached out to touch her daughter, but something held her back, told her she couldn't let her protective mother-instincts run free.
"You are happy?," he echoed her question gently. "Then why don't you look that way, Buffy? To me you look anything but." Again he held out his hand for her. "I love you, Buffy, and I want you to trust me. I can't promise never to hurt you, but I will never do it deliberately. I know this guy - whoever it was - hurt you. But do you want him to win? You're cutting yourself off from happiness, always afraid, always taking a step back, and all because of him? Do you really want that?"
Joyce was still standing in the spot she'd been standing all the time, not able to move, not able to say anything, almost feeling like an intruder into something intensely private, even though she was Buffy's mother.
She saw her daughter hesitate, saw her pressing her arms close to her chest, saw her close her eyes, then slowly shake her head, and she wanted to push her into the arms of the man was holding them open for her, but knew she couldn't do it, although she felt her heart breaking at the scene before her. Not just for her daughter's pain, even though that alone was enough to cause it, but also for herself, for what she has missed in her daughter's life that seeing Buffy like this was coming to her as some kind of a shock. What had happened in her daughter's life that she was behaving that way? Couldn't she see the young man was serious? That his eyes were shining with the kind of love every woman dreamt of. What had happened to the child she'd once carried in her womb that made her afraid and shy of affection?
Joyce wanted to scream with the pain she felt at the mere thought. They had once been so close and then, one summer while Buffy had still been at college everything had changed. Buffy had refused to come home one summer, and Rupert had gone to see her, then returned without her, serious and somehow withdrawn, not offering any explanations for their daughter's absence, had dismissed Joyce whenever she'd brought up the subject.
Guessing deep inside that something terrible had happened, she hadn't - like a good mother would have done - tried to find out what exactly had been going on, had instead chosen the easier path. Her daughter was alive, wasn't she? And Buffy had even talked to her on the phone where it was so much easier to pretend her cheerfulness wasn't as forces as it sounded.
God, what kind of a mother did that make her? Confronted with the question she wanted to do what she always did, wanted to turn and run, to take cover, but how could she in the face of Buffy's pain and the love and determination of a young man she barely knew but who seemed to know so much more about the daughter she loved with all her heart.
She tentatively reached out, touching her daughter's shiny, blond hair, felt her heart breaking a little bit more when Buffy flinched.
But she clenched her teeth against the pain that was almost physical, she would not run away this time, would face the fact that she had let her daughter pull away from her, that she had done nothing to prevent it, that she now barely knew how to comfort this young woman who seemed to be torn apart in front of her eyes.
She was facing the worst a mother had to, failing her daughter, by looking away, by trying to pretend things were fine.
She looked up at the man whose name she still didn't know, saw the pain in his eyes at her daughter's rejection and with shame had to admit that she didn't have the slightest idea how to help them. Riley was forgotten, all the things she had intended to say, all the rational things, so well thought out. Who wanted to hear them anyway now? Her daughter was hurting, and it was as if she, Joyce, was living through the whole pain with her.
Joyce saw Angel take a slow, deep breath, saw his hand fall away in surrender, his shoulders slumped. Then without a word, and one last look at Buffy, he walked towards the door, intending to leave, intending to do what Buffy had wanted from him, giving her the space she obviously needed, although they all knew it was a lie, a lie spoken to protect, a lie born from old pain that still seemed fresh on a tortured soul.
Wanting to do something, but not knowing why, Joyce looked frantically back and forth between her daughter and the dark-haired man with the serious eyes, watching him step closer to the door and away from Buffy, away from the woman he so obviously loved, but who wouldn't let him close to prove it.
Joyce knew it was probably the wrong thing to do, but she was about to make him stop when Buffy suddenly drew a shuddering breath, her whole body trembling with the effort, before she whispered brokenly, "Don't go. Angel. Please, don't go."
TBC...
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