Lost 5

 Picking up the Pieces

                 Three weeks have passed. Twenty-one whole days of being back in Sunnydale and well, it hasn’t killed me yet, so that’s of the good, right? On the serious side it hasn’t all been as bad as I imagined it would be. Sunnydale definitely has its plus points, a certain dark-haired vampire by the name of Angel being one of them. There have been times, though, (too many to list actually) where I’ve honestly considered just hightailing it back to New York. I seem to have lost the ability to cope with stressful situations and every time a problem from my past crops up I am faced with an overwhelming and basic instinct to run. It’s like having claustrophobia. I just panic and I can’t breathe and all I want to do at that moment is escape, get out of there, to some anonymous place where there are no monsters in the night and nobody knows me.

                 But then I think of Angel. I think if I run now I’ll never see him again. I’ll never taste his lips on mine or feel his cool hands on my body. I’ll never hear his soothing voice or find comfort in his presence. So, I still run, but instead of running away I run to Angel. I dash into his comforting embrace, where I can lose the rest of the world and where nothing but him can touch me. Maybe this is still a weakness and I know I shouldn’t rely on him so much just to get me through each day. But I can’t help it – he is the one bright spot in my darkness and if I didn’t have him then I would have nothing.

                 No, that’s not true. There are a lot of other things and people in my life that I care about and many that care about me. It’s just that with them it’s all so difficult. It’s awkward and it’s silted and I don’t know what to say or do. Everything that used to come so easily to me – how to laugh, to talk, to relate to others – all those skills have disappeared during my year of isolation. Habits of avoidance and monosyllabic conversation have become ingrained in me and I’m finding them impossible to break. I feel like everyone is expecting something from me that I can’t deliver – everyone except Angel. It sounds twisted but I think I feel so comfortable with Angel because of how much he’s hurt me in the past. I know that neither of us are perfect and that we’re just muddling through life together. I can handle that, what I can’t handle is being set up on a pedestal and the ensuing pain every time I fall off.

                 I know I’m being hard on my friends and I know they have a right to be angry with me, Hell, I expect them to be angry with me. But I can’t give you their point of view or their feelings, all I can tell you is how I feel, and I feel lousy. I miss them. That’s the fundamental truth here. I miss being part of that group. I miss having friends and doing normal teenage girl things. I long for a time when the Bronze was more than just a pile of rubble and we’d go dancing together. Willow and I would discuss boys and Xander would look suitably horrified by all our comments. Then Giles would turn up to remind us all of some impending apocalypse and we’d work together as a team to banish the big bad and save the world. It was all so much fun then. Okay, maybe I didn’t enjoy it much at the time, but looking back it was a darn sight better than what I get up to nowadays.

                 We’ve spent the past couple of weeks on clean-up detail. I slay by night and clear wreckage by day. Slowly the town is getting back to normal. At the moment it looks like one giant building site, the bulldozers having already removed the worst of the debris, now the reconstruction is beginning. The official party line the authorities have decided upon is that the disaster in Sunnydale was caused by an earthquake. A very concentrated earthquake, restricted to a limited area, which all the seismologists in the region just happened not to notice. But then we’re back to the concept of people only seeing what they want to and even residents of the town who lived through the experience are buying the earthquake story, so who am I to argue with collective ignorance?

                 You know, I never saw Bruce again. I lost him somewhere in the crowds at the point when all I could think about was Angel. Mind you, he’s all I ever really think about, so saying that doesn’t really narrow down the time frame. But I did read the story Bruce wrote. It was published in the Los Angeles Times, page three. I felt rather proud when I saw it, almost as though I’d had a part in writing it myself – but then I was the inspiration for it. The whole article really touched me. Instead of all the over-dramatised front page exclusives about the ‘Earthquake Disaster’ or ‘Mass Carnage in Sleepy Suburbia’, which took every opportunity to throw death counts and injury statistics in the readers’ faces, it was a simple piece about how the event affected ordinary people’s lives. It spoke of the shock, the upset, the courage shown under pressure. I actually cried when I read it; his writing brought back the memories of those first few hours so vividly. In a way I’m sorry we never met again, because I would have liked to say thank you. It turns out I owe him more than I even realised at the time. He did me a favour I desperately required – he delivered me back home.

                 Sunnydale is home. That recently discovered truth is now deeply etched into my soul. No matter how difficult or depressing life here gets, it’s where I belong. I tried to run away from it and it followed me. I was chased every step of the way: duty, guilt, displacement, each hovered close behind me, peering over my shoulder. And all the time I was running – hiding – I felt that something was wrong – something separate to the emotional turmoil sending Angel to Hell had stirred in me. I felt wrong inside myself, like a sort of cognitive dissonance, whereby the person I was in my heart didn’t fit with the person whose life I was living each day. Now I’ve returned to Sunnydale that feeling has lessened, almost as if the two halves of me are coming together and I am living my destiny once more.

                 And it’s hard. It’s the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do – worse even than killing Angel, because that was a snap decision made in moment and once taken, irreversible. This choice is one that I have to remake every day. Each moment I must decide anew whether to stay and face my responsibilities or to run away, to cope or to curl up in a ball and just break down completely. That is not to say that I don’t break down sometimes, I do. There have been many nights in these past three weeks when it has all seemed too much for me to deal with and I have just collapsed into Angel’s arms, sobbing as he whispers comforting words in my ear. Then we would make long, languid, healing love and afterwards I would feel better for a while, until the next morning when I awake and I must endure my life once more.

                 But endure I do, because all the difficulty and the hurt just makes the rare good moments in my otherwise bleak existence that much sweeter. I used to take everything for granted. There were certain things in my life that I just assumed I would always have, like my Mom. She used to kiss me goodbye every morning before I went to school, a soft peck on the cheek during which I would feel her smooth powdered skin against mine and smell her delicate flowery perfume, and I hated it. I resented her for doing it. It was embarrassing, like she was being far too overprotective and treating me like a child. I suffered the kisses with a grimace and afterwards would roughly wipe imaginary lipstick marks away with the heel of my hand. Now, though, I’d give anything to have her treat me like her little girl again instead of some stranger, some long lost relative whom she cares about but isn’t really sure how to relate to.

                 Willow used to tell me everything. I knew all the details of her every conversation with Oz and exactly what her insecurities were about him and just life in general. And sometimes it would annoy me to hear these things. I would be mentally screaming at her just to get a grip and sort her relationship with Oz out, to have confidence in herself and her own judgement, instead of needing me to approve everything she did. But now she no longer confides in me. The first words out of her mouth are always to enquire over my welfare rather than to chat about hers. She is friendly and polite, but distant. My own best friend now too far away from me to reach. Xander used to tease me and Giles would lecture – now they do neither. They tiptoe around me like they’re afraid of upsetting me, or worse, like they’re just plain afraid of me.

                 Occasionally, though, I see glimpses of what life was like before. Giles will frown disapprovingly at the amount of time I spend with Angel, or Xander will make me the butt of one of his crass jokes. Willow will bite her lip in that shy, adorable way of hers and confess how much the situation in Sunnydale is upsetting her. Or Mom will get that evil parental glint in her eye, the one that comes right before she yells at me, and suddenly I feel a bit better. Each of these signs is a ray of hope indicating that things are returning to normal. There is a pinprick of light at the end of the tunnel and everyday it gets a little closer, a little brighter.

 So, I endure. Of course I endure, because the only things in life worth having are the one you have to put in the most work for. That lesson I learnt in the most painful way possible, so it’s also one I’m determined to adhere to. I won’t be running away again, no matter how tough things get. This time I’m here for the long haul.

* * * * *

                 “I can’t believe she would do that!” I complain loudly to Angel. We are on patrol in the section of town still awaiting clearing and redevelopment. This has become a favourite haunt for demons as it is largely deserted during both day and night, with most human activity being confined to either the centre of town where the building crews are working or South Sunnydale where row upon row of temporary, prefabricated housing has been erected.

                 “Faith just doesn’t work well with others.” Angel replies diplomatically.

                 “She seems to work well enough with you.” I cease my brisk walking pace and whirl round on him accusingly.

                 He looks surprised at first then a slight smile catches at his lips. “Are you jealous?” He asks, amusement tingeing his voice.

                 “No.” I reply in a totally unconvincing tone. The truth is I am jealous of Faith, not just because of the flirtatious attitude she takes with Angel (which, by the way, is really starting to tick me off), but because of the position she has in the slayerettes’ group. She is their centre, their focus, whereas I used to be. I’ve been relegated to the position of an outsider, someone whose help they ask for, rather than expect. It’s the same role as Angel plays – a trusted confidante and aid to the group, but never quite part of it. And I know it’s going to take time before things can return to how they were before, but I still can’t help hating the situation anyway.

                 “Maybe a little bit.” I amend reluctantly.

                 Angel affectionately flicks a stray piece of hair off my face with his thumb. “Well, you’ve got nothing to worry about. At least not as far as I’m concerned, anyway.”

                 “I should hope not.” I tease him gently, standing up on my tiptoes for a brief kiss, deliciously sweet in its innocence. This is one of the things that amazes me most about Angel, that he can be so many different things to me all at once. He is by turns my fatherly protector, my best friend and confidante, my passionate lover. Our kisses are sometimes sexual, sometimes reassuring, other times just fun, but they’re always welcome. I link my arm with his and we continue walking.

                 “It just bothers me that Giles was so quick to agree with her, that’s all.” I continue with my diatribe about Faith. Ever since the new Slayer declined my help in taking out a vampire nest the previous evening I have not been able to remove the incident from my mind. Why wouldn’t Faith want my help? Surely two Slayers are better than just one? And what particularly galled me was Giles supporting the idea that I should be excluded from the mission. He covered it with some flimsy excuse that I should be out patrolling other areas, but I managed to catch his full meaning – he didn’t want me going.

                 “He’s just trying to protect you. He cares about you, he doesn’t want to encourage you to do anything before you’re ready for it.”

                 “You don’t think I’m ready for this?” I pounce upon Angel then immediately regret it. He hasn’t done anything to deserve my wrath, and the only reason I’m directing it towards him is because he’s a convenient target.

                 “Don’t twist my words, Buffy.” He admonishes me and we walk the next couple of steps in silence.

                 “I don’t see why Giles feels he has to protect me more than Faith,” I am unable to let the subject drop. “After all, I’m by far the more experienced Slayer here. I’ve got nearly two years on Faith.”

                 “Maybe Giles cares about you more than he cares about Faith.”

                 “Well then he’s got a pretty funny way of showing it.”

                 “Buffy,” Angel stops and grasps my shoulders in his strong grip. I am tiny beside him, his large body towering over me. Suddenly I feel so small and fragile – as if I would break easily in his arms – and yet so totally safe because I know he would never allow it. He always cradles me carefully, gently, like I’m his most precious possession.

                 “Are you really bothered by this?” He asks, gazing searchingly into my eyes. “Are you upset or just mad at Faith?”

                 I think about this for a while. Angel knows me so well. He realises that when I am truly troubled by something then I keep it to myself. I become quiet and withdrawn and if pressed I will deny anything is wrong, instead adopting a falsely cheerful demeanour. I am a master at bottling up issues, refusing to admit the problem even to myself sometimes. On the other hand when a minor issue irks me, I will moan and bitch for hours on end, refusing to let the subject drop until it is thoroughly exhausted and I have bored everyone in the vicinity to tears. This is what I’m doing now, obsessing over something unimportant, using the situation as a flimsy excuse to make myself centre of attention. The realisation is quite refreshing, however, because this is a very ‘Buffy’ thing to do. My old personality is gradually beginning to resurface and even despite its faults I am overwhelmingly glad.

                 “Faith, definitely mad at Faith.” I clarify. “Giles was just being his annoyingly overprotective self, I guess. But I just wish they would all begin to trust me again.”

                 “It’s only been three weeks,” Angel reminds me. “That’s hardly a very long time.”

                 “Yeah, maybe not to a 250-year old vampire.” I mock him. “But to those of us who live in the modern world, three weeks is like an eternity. There have been Hollywood marriages that have lasted less time than that.”

                 “But do you really want to judge your life by the standards set by celebrities?”

                 “Sure I do. I’m an American teenager, this is my cultural inheritance.”

                 During our teasing exchange we have edged nearer to one another and Angel’s lips are now hovering above mine. But before he can complete the kiss I feel his body go tense next to me. He freezes his movements and a split second later I get it too – the chilling sensation of hairs standing up on the back of my neck, a tightening in my gut, adrenaline beginning to rush into my system – the sign that danger is close. Angel and I turn simultaneously towards the threat we have sensed. Standing there in front of us, blocking the end of the alley we have entered, stand three vampires, their postures showing utter confidence and belligerence. They must be new in town as I can tell from their manner that they don’t recognise Angel and me as a master vampire and a Slayer, instead they think we are just another courting couple, easy prey for them.

                 “Looks like we got company,” I mutter to Angel then raise my voice to address the vamps. “Looking for some action boys, because if so then you’ve come to the right place.”

                 They exchange amused glances. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with, little girl.” The leader sneers at me.

                 “No,” I shake my head and whip a stake out of my pocket. “It’s you who doesn’t know.” I rush towards the group, already sensing Angel close behind me, his every move echoing mine. My heart rate soars and my breathing quickens as I take on the first vamp. I shoot my arms and legs out in a series of well practiced punched and kicks, whilst Angel performs his own perfectly choreographed and deadly dance with the demon to my right. Surprising my opponent with a swift roundhouse kick I take the opportunity to thrust my stake forward, catching him straight in the heart. The vampire bursts into a cloud of dust, which still clogs the air as a second vampire attacks me with a volley of blows to my upper body. A better fighter than his predecessor, he backs me up against the wall and with one desperate movement I use all my strength against him, flinging him forwards straight into the waiting arms of Angel, who after dusting his first adversary makes short work of this second.

                 I lean back against the wall to catch my breath, listening to the blood rushing past me ears and savouring the feeling of pure energy and power that always rushes through me after a fight. As the dust in the air clears I glimpse Angel, his body still held stiff in a warrior’s stance, his features hard and his movements feline and graceful.

                 “As much as Faith irritates me,” I say smiling. “She was right about one thing.”

                 Angel cocks his head to one side slightly, studying my expression. “What’s that?”

                 “Her theory about slaying – she once told me it made her hungry and horny.”

                 Angel grins, a sight made even more spectacular by its rarity, and he steps closer towards me. “Shall we go eat then?”

                 “Nah,” I lightly take hold of the lapels of his jacket. “Food can wait.”

                 I pull him to me, aggressively capturing his mouth with mine. We kiss each other hungrily, the adrenaline from the battle still fuelling our movements. I let my hands wonder over his body, reaching, probing, grasping clothes, flesh, skin, hair. Arching my back I press my breasts against him, rubbing my nipples against his chest, using tricks he has taught me to surrender my body entirely to him, utilising my every fibre and sinew to heighten our shared pleasure. Experience has taught me to become more comfortable with Angel during sex. I have lost some of my shy innocence, learning instead to take the lead occasionally. His unashamed worship of my body, the way he touches me with such reverence and such love, has given me the confidence to give back some of the attentions he lavishes on me.

                 I believe now that I am desirable to him, that I can inspire the same passion and fire in him as he immediately inspires in me. Our physical relationship is no longer overshadowed by Angelus’ initial cruel comments. They are forgotten, irrelevant, dismissed as never true in the first place – after all perfect happiness is a pretty awe-inspiring thing to produce in a guy. And in the end it doesn’t boil down to whether I’m good at sex or not. I don’t think there’s such a thing as a generically good lover (though if there were Angel would come pretty close – not that I have anything to compare him with, mind). Certainly there are people whose experience recommends them, their technique is practiced and their positioning smooth, but that’s not what makes for a great sexual experience. What it’s about is the two people, the chemistry they have with one another and the feelings they share. That’s what makes every touch exquisite and every kiss searing, not the scripted mechanics of the act. And, as far as I’m concerned, the chemistry Angel and I have is out of this world.

                 He pins me to the wall with a playful roughness, hard enough to send a thrill down my spine, yet still tender, loving, with no intention of ever hurting me. He pushes his hands up underneath my top, rolling one pert nipple at a time between his fingers as his mouth ravages my neck. My throat is a favourite spot for his ministrations and I suppose, given his history, I can understand why. I love to have him there too, licking, kissing, nipping, sometimes even scratching with the tips of his fangs but never daring to bite. He is my tamed beast, lips and teeth that once killed now acting as instruments of pleasure, and my darker side revels in the sensation.

                 His hands leave my breasts, and a moan of complaint issues from my lips following the loss of contact. I clutch his face in my hands and hold it close to mine, locking our mouths together. Our tongues duel and I dig my fingernails into his cheek, mixing pain with pleasure as I pull his body close to mine, aligning our forms and feeling him, already hard, pressing against my stomach. I entwine our legs; straddling one of his thighs, wishing we were skin-to-skin, not close enough, never close enough…

                 We pause, each of us breathing heavily into each other’s mouths, me out of necessity, Angel out of habit. Then I drop back away from him, leaning against the wall, submissive, my message clear. I’m yours. He slides my pants down over my hips, following them with my underwear. I stand perfectly still, waiting for him to take his action, the anticipation building in every cell of my body, my only movements the steady rise and fall of my chest. He rests one hand lightly on the top of my thigh, its coolness shocking against my overheated skin, the other he uses to tilt my chin up, tipping my lips towards his and gazing into my eyes, watching my pupils closely for the reflexive dilation he knows he will inspire in them. He deliberately takes his time, drawing out the agony, his own special form of torture. Then he dips slightly to plant a soft kiss on my lips, entering me smoothly with two of his fingers as he does so.

                 I gasp involuntarily, but he swallows it, maintaining an easy rhythm with his hand, teasing at my clitoris with his thumb. Soon I am squirming beneath him as he brings his head down to bite at my nipples through my top and his fingers keep up their steady movements into my centre. He pushes me closer and closer towards my edge and I want him to stop before I fall over it completely and straight into oblivion. I need to maintain control, I need to remain grounded. God, I need him, inside me.

                 “Angel…Angel,” I breathe heavily. “Please…”

                 He responds to my request, giving his fingers one last deep thrust, punctuated by clamping down with blunt teeth on my breast, then pulling out of me and shifting his hands up to my hips. I kick of my pants and underwear, simultaneously fumbling to free his erection. He lifts me up a couple of inches, so that my hips are slightly higher than his and I wrap my legs around his waist, sliding him into me as I do so. He pushes me back against the wall, supporting me there with strong arms as he plunges in and out of me, building up a delicious friction at the juncture of our bodies. I feel the rough brickwork scraping against my skin as we move together, but I don’t care – every sensation that I experience at this moment adds only to my arousal. This time I let myself go, my climax precipitating his as we cry out for one another. I cling tightly to him as the heat that emanates from my core slowly fades and dissipates throughout my body, leaving only a dull throbbing and a satisfied calmness in its wake.

* * * * *

                                Angel and I head back towards the mansion hand in hand and it’s all I can do not to embellish my walk with a childlike skip. This is one of the good moments I talked about, one of the occasions that I treasure where suddenly everything seems to be working out. There is just Angel and me, and the night sky, and the wonderful intimacy that stretches between two people after they have made love. I smile even as I think about it. Sex. With Angel. Up against a wall. It sounds like something I would never contemplate doing, but I couldn’t help myself. Where Angel is concerned it’s always feel first, think later. And it seems that whatever I do in bed (or out of it, for that matter) with Angel I don’t feel embarrassed or ashamed afterwards – just happy.

                 I think our sex life can be considered adventurous, though again I must make the point that I have nothing else to compare it to. But from what I hear and what I read, normal couples aren’t usually overcome with lust in corners of dark alleys, or in the shower, or on the kitchen table, or underneath the oak tree in the garden, or patrolling in the cemetery… But then I guess we’re not exactly a normal couple. I find myself wondering, would it be like this with any other guy, or is it just Angel that inspires these sorts of feelings in me? When I slept with him on the night of my seventeenth birthday it was because I was afraid that I’d never feel the way I felt about Angel for anyone else. Now I’ve spent a year apart from him and in that whole time not a single person stirred any fraction of the love or attraction I have in me for Angel. And I’m pretty sure that there’s no way I could ever let anybody else into my heart as completely as I’ve let him in. Furthermore, I feel certain in myself that no one else apart from him belongs there. But the sex – that’s something totally different.

                 When I’m with Angel like that I am filled with a sense of wild abandon. I don’t stop to rationalise, I just know that I want him, that I need him. My body responds to his in ways I didn’t think possible. And all this passion comes from a place deep inside of me; the core of my being, which I had barely even realised existed before I met him. So, it leaves me to question whether there isn’t something greater between Angel and me than just two people in love. Maybe it is the Slayer in me that responds to the vampire in him. And I’m not talking about Angel’s demon here, but about his feral grace, his powerful body, and his enhanced senses. He knows when I’m aroused and I can sense it in him too. We are two supernatural creatures, both belonging to the night, whose bodies work in perfect synchrony to one another – it’s like when we fight or spar, we can anticipate each other’s movements. There are so many layers and dynamics to our relationship; sex is just one of them.

                 Angel’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “It’s been pretty quiet tonight, don’t you think.”

                 I raise my eyebrows. “You call that quiet? Boy, I’m not sure I want to hear your definition of a busy night.”

                He chuckles softly, a low rumble that reverberates through his chest. “I was actually referring to the demon activity,” he clarifies. “Three vampires in one night isn’t exactly all that many, judging by the counts we’ve been getting recently.”

                 I shrug nonchalantly. This all sounds far too much like Giles-speak to me. “So, we finally started scaring some of the demons off – it was about time this town passed back to its human population.”

                 Angel shakes his head. “No, there’s something else going on. I haven’t heard any whispers in the demon community about a mass exodus out of town and even with two Slayers, we certainly haven’t killed enough vampires to significantly reduce their numbers.”

                 “So, what are you thinking then?” I suddenly begin to take him seriously. When Angel gets a feeling about something then he’s usually right.

                 “Maybe that they’re planning something – laying low in order to keep a low profile. Or…”

                 “Or what?” I prompt him.

                 “Or that something else is killing them.”

                 “Something else or someone else?” I ask, because in Sunnydale that little distinction can really make all the difference.

                 “I don’t know.” He replies in a thoughtful tone. “I guess I just get edgy when it’s too peaceful.”

                 He has barely got the words out of his mouth when the ear shattering sound of a gunshot echoes through the night. We exchange a brief glance before each automatically sprinting in the direction of the loud report. I throw a slight grin in the direction of Angel running beside me.

                 “How edgy are you feeling right about now?”

* * * * *

                 We round the corner into a side street and are confronted by the sight of two very ugly, green demons leaning over what could only be their intended victim. I rapidly locate the small dagger I carry about my person, unsheathing it and attacking one of the demons. Angel doesn’t bother with a weapon – his bare hands are deadly enough. We fall easily into out fighting pattern, our movements almost mirroring each other as we execute the rehearsed routines. My opponent had already been wounded by a gunshot and it doesn’t take long for me to finish the job. The sound of a sickening snap to my left indicates that Angel has also disposed of his demon – always a neck man, he is now expert ay breaking them as well as biting them. The threat dealt with, I turn to the victim, thinking first of his welfare and then freezing as I recognise the face.

                 “Riley?”

                 His mouth drops open as he identifies me too. “Buffy Summers.” He chokes out. “What? How?”

                 The radio on his belt crackles and he speaks into it. “Request for back-up withdrawn. The hostiles have been neutralised. I repeat, the hostiles have been neutralised.” These last words are tinged with amazement as he looks up again into my face and glances also over at Angel.

                 “What are you still doing here?” I ask sharply. “I thought the army left town a week ago.”

                 During the clean-up process I became quite well acquainted with the soldiers who patrolled the streets of our town – we all did. The army were seen as Sunnydale’s saviours. They reconnected the water supplies, the electricity, provided food and shelter, in short made the place liveable in again. The troops were all known by name and would receive friendly greetings wherever they went. And when they finally declared their work done, that the townsfolk could manage things on their own from here, their cavalcade left down the main street to the tune of whistles and cheers and shouted ‘thank yous’.

                Riley Finn, however, was not quite as infamous as most of the soldiers. He was clearly a favourite with the officers and was often seen deep in conference with them. I got to know him only from our encounters on the first day he arrived and because of his apparent infatuation with me since then. After apologising for yelling at him, I found Riley to be my constant shadow, always popping up where I was, constantly inviting me to help with the various missions he was working on. At first I thought it harmless – he seemed like an all right kind of guy. He was possibly a little dim and slightly too cowed by authority for my liking, but he was always polite and kind and Giles encouraged our friendship because of the advantageous position it put me in with the army. And keen as I was to impress Giles I did my best to make nice with Riley.

                After a while, though, his attitude began to irritate me. He was always there, chattering on inanely as we worked side-by-side. Within two days of knowing him I’d heard his whole life story – how he grew up on a farm in Iowa, what inspired him to join the army, how deeply the death of his favourite grandmother had affected him… Even if I had been single and receptive to his limited charms, this would have been a major turn-off. I like some mystery in my guys – a history shrouded in intrigue and the impression that the things he reveals to you are closely guarded secrets, meant for your ears only. Needless to say, Riley’s attentions began to disturb me slightly, especially when it became clear it was more than just friendship he was after. And I was grateful to have seen the back of him when the last of the troops left five days ago.

                 He shifts slightly and winces in obvious pain. “They did – a special operations group stayed behind, though, to deal with the-” He breaks off suddenly, reason overtaking his automatic response to a question uttered with authority. “You killed them.” He offers it almost as an accusation. “You took down a three hundred pound demon in less than a minute.”

                 I self-consciously wipe the blade of my dagger on my sleeve, the blood from it leaving a lurid yellow stain. This hardly bothers me anymore – high dry cleaning bills are just another downside of being the Slayer. “You already wounded it,” I shrug. “No biggie.”

                 He gapes, fishlike, at me. “But…but, you were so fast, so strong… Where did you learn to fight like that?” His admiration is palpable and I cast a furtive glance over to Angel in order to gauge his expression. He is busy doing his impression of a shadow, blending into the night, his features unreadable. I know he is jealous, however, simply because I can sense the waves of it radiating from his body, in the same way as I can detect the love he also projects to me.

                 “You tend to pick up a few things when you live in Sunnydale,” I reply, deliberately not revealing anything more specific to Riley. Before I at least thought he was harmless, now I’m not even sure if he can be trusted. Good job the lessons in cryptic I learnt from Angel are starting to pay off. “It’s a dangerous place,” I continue. “But then you knew that already.”

                 “You want to know what I was doing out here, don’t you?” He struggles to his feet with me watching him warily.

                 “It had crossed my mind to ask.”

                 His jaw assumes a determined set. “Well, I can’t tell you that information – it’s classified army business.” He glances down at the radio on his belt, which is currently emitting bursts of interrupted static. A moment of uncertainty crosses his features then he decides to ignore the radio and concentrate on me. “Anyway, I could ask you the same question. What are you doing here?”

                 “Oh, I can’t tell you that.” I mock. “It’s classified too.” Our gazes lock and he shifts uncomfortably under my hard stare. The moment of tension stretches between us, broken only by Angel materialising suddenly at my elbow.

                 “Buffy,” he warns me in a soft voice. “Someone’s coming.”

                 I hear them only moments before I see them. Big army trucks barrelling round the corner at top speed. They screech to a halt about twenty-five yards away and a stream of soldiers pile out. Various shouts ring loudly through the night – these guys are making rather a lot of noise considering it’s supposed to be a covert operation – but one voice stands out above the rest, that of a young black man.

                 “Finn!” He calls. “You OK?” Then: “Shit! A hostile, let’s move boys!”

                 I feel Angel stiffen beside me. For a second I sense his indecision and then he runs, sprinting away at a supernatural speed I can’t even match, his stride length twice that mine could ever be. His black coat streams out briefly behind him, as he becomes a blur fading into the night. A quick glimpse at the soldiers swarming about, each armed with their own automatic weapons and I decide the best course of action is to follow him, knowing instinctively that he will head for home.

                 Ten blocks later I catch up with him. He leans casually against a wall, showing no sign that he has just executed a panicked flight. I double over, catching my breath before I speak.

                 “What was that about? Why run?”

                 He flashes me a sheepish smile. “Let’s just say it was my survival instincts kicking in.”

                 “What?” I ask, slightly confused. “You don’t think they would have hurt you, do you?”

                 His mouth tightens in a hard line. “I could smell their blood – hungry, eager for the kill, too young to behave rationally. They would have attacked first and asked questions later.”

                 “You think that they’re what’s been keeping the demon population down recently?”

                 Angel nods grimly. “Yes, and I think they’re more dangerous than we realise.”

* * * * *

                 “A bunch of burly young men in uniform?” Faith leers crudely. “Wish I’d been there – sounds fun.”

                 I give her a withering look before turning back to Giles. I had come straight to him with the news of the army’s continued presence in town. I wanted him to impressed at the information I had managed to glean about this group. This was just another of my planned ways to get back into his good graces – another way to try to be the perfect little Slayer for my former Watcher. It isn’t that Giles has been particularly hostile towards me ever since I returned, in fact the opposite is true – he has been the model of kindness and good manners towards me. He has professed his understanding of my actions and even accepted my renewed relationship with Angel, despite the personal traumas Angelus inflicted upon him. But I still get the feeling of distance from him, instead of the easy, almost paternal attitude he took towards me before, now he is polite and distant. The only time I get the impression he cares about me at all is when his over-protectiveness kicks in and he worries needlessly about actions I take slaying. Before I left this man was practically my father and in bringing this new knowledge to him I had hoped to rebuild some of that lost camaraderie.

                 But when I arrived at the library – still our allotted centre of command – I found the rest of the Scooby gang there and was forced to make my announcement in public. Now having given the outline of my story and realising how flimsy the revelation really is, I find myself regretting that I didn’t bring Angel along with me – his opinion carries a weight that mine has lost recently.

                 “They seemed pretty well up on Sunnydale’s little demon problem.” I announce defensively. “They recognised Angel as a vampire straight away and they were ready to attack him too.”

                 “And Deadboy just ran away from them? Well, it’s good to know that his 250 years of combat experience has taught him excellent skills in the area of fleeing.” Xander quips.

                 “They didn’t look like they would have responded very well to reason.” I shoot back at him.

                 “But you didn’t stay to talk?” Giles asks diplomatically.

                 I shake my head. “I managed to ask Riley a few questions, but he just said it was a classified project they were working on.”

                 “Well, personally, I don’t see what the problem is.” Wesley interjects. “If these people are working to rid the town of demons then surely they are on our side.”

                 “It’s not quite as simple as that,” I argue. “We don’t know what else their agenda is or who’s controlling them. Angel was worried that they might present a threat in the future.”

                 Wesley frowns. “As much as I respect Angel’s…abilities, I’m afraid his judgement may be a little coloured in this area, owing to his particular, um, status.”

                 “You mean because he’s a vampire,” I accuse. “Angel is capable of worrying about people other than himself, you know.”

                 “I’m sure Wesley didn’t mean that.” Willow speaks up, her voice soft and her expression conciliatory.

                 I sigh, seeing her point. There is no need for be to be so emotional on the subject – it’s just that facing the whole group like this has put me on the defensive. I relax my tense posture slightly, and merely content myself with a glare at Wesley.

                 “Well, thank you for informing us of this Buffy,” Giles says formally. “I recommend that we all keep an eye out for this group and refrain from trusting them until we’ve been able to find out a lot more about them. Is everyone in agreement?”

                 There are nods all round and the meeting begins to break up. People trickle gradually out of the door, but I do not move, instead staying seated at the table, studying its polished oak surface intently. Giles is just gathering up his various books when he notices me there and shoots me a curious look.

                 “Aren’t you going with the others, Buffy?” He asks.

                 I shake my head sadly. “No. They probably wouldn’t want me there, anyway.”

                 “Don’t be silly,” he says. “Of course they would, they are still your friends, after all.”

                 I look over at him, feeling utterly lost. “Are they?”

                 He comes and sits down beside me. “Buffy, I know you feel bad about what’s happened, but believe me when I say that everyone has forgiven you already.”

                 “That can’t be true,” I reply. “If they’ve forgiven me, then why don’t they treat me the same way as they used to? Why can’t things go back to the way they were? I just want my life back – that’s all.”

                 Giles sighs loudly. “Maybe you should tell them that.”

                 I look at him strangely. “What do you mean?”

                 “You were so quick to relinquish your life before, that the people in it are left wondering if you ever cared about it at all. Your friends worry that they didn’t matter to you.”

                 “But I left because they did matter – more than anything.” I protest.

                 “Then that’s what you have to tell them.”

                 A long silence stretches between us as I process Giles’ words. Can it be that simple that all I have to do is tell my friends that I miss them and I love them, then everything will be mended between us? I sneak a glimpse at Giles; he is turned away from me, a strange expression on his face. He is such a wonderful person and I hurt him so much.

                 “I’m sorry.” I tell him softly, tears welling in my eyes.

                 “For what?” He asks gently.

                 “For everything. For Angelus and for Jenny, for leaving like that and never calling, for letting you down-”

                 “You didn’t let me down.” He interrupts.

                 “Of course I did,” I answer, confused. “I should have been stronger, I should have been able to cope with it all. I just ran away from my responsibilities instead of facing them all. I should have been here when the Hellmouth opened. I’m the Slayer, I’m supposed to help people instead of hurting them.”

                 “Buffy,” he admonishes me. “I once told you that you would never receive my judgement, only my support. Maybe you could have handled the situation more sensibly, but to be frank I am amazed that you managed to handle it at all. You are an exceptionally strong young woman and I am proud to have called myself your Watcher. You haven’t let anyone down, you just did what you felt was the only thing possible at the time.”

                 “Thank you.” I whisper through the tears that are streaming down my cheeks.

                 “That’s quite alright.” He replies awkwardly and I swear he is blushing.

                 “Giles,” I venture timidly. “Can I ask you something?”

                 “Certainly.” He removes his glasses and starts to polish them in his handkerchief, a gesture so familiar it breaks my heart to see it again.

                 “Will you be my Watcher again? I mean, I never really meant to get you fired in the first place and I would be honoured if you’d take me back…”

                 He smiles broadly then takes me in a warm hug. “Of course I will, Buffy,” he murmurs. “Of course I will.”

CHAPTER SIX