A/N: Okay guys, here's a little Christmas present for you. I know I've been gone a looooong time, and I so apologize for that, my muse has just not been happy with me. But now I'm back, and I hope you all enjoy this little gem I'm working on for you guys. You know what the best Christmas present of all is? Reviews! Leave 'em if you love me.

And thanks so my super wonderful beta Lady Mackenzie!

Chapter 1

Flashbulbs exploded in Buffy Summers' eyes as she and her two best friends exited their favorite, and the only, Sunnydale club, The Bronze. Buffy flashed the photographers a brilliant, mega-watt smile that had earned her the title of America's Sweetheart before ducking her head and hurrying Willow and Xander to her car.

They climbed into her tiny red Maserati Gran Turismo. The paparazzi swarmed around her car, pressing close to the glass and snapping pictures as she settled herself in. Willow sat in the passenger seat, cringing and shielding her eyes against the bright white flashes. Xander just grinned like a fool in the back seat.

"Buffy, how do you stand this?" Willow asked, grateful that the hounds shooting photos outside couldn't hear her. The blonde grinned at her best friend and shrugged, swiping on some lip gloss.

"It's worse if you try to hide. You let them snap some pictures and they go away. If you try to run, they'll follow. It's their job to get your face in a tabloid," she explained. Finally she turned the car on, smiling at the growl of the engine and rolled down the window.

"Buffy!"

"Buffy, over here!"

"Give us a wave, Buffy!"

Buffy obliged, giving them a little wave.

"Goodnight guys!" She called. She eased her car forward but the paparazzi didn't move. She frowned. "Okay guys, I've got a curfew to make, as do my friends, so can we move along?"

"Buffy, I don't think they're going to move," Willow whispered. Buffy rolled up the window and revved the engine, moving forward just a little more. The photographers still didn't move.

"They're usually so good about letting me go," Buffy whispered, looking around for an escape route. They pressed closer to the car until one tapped his fingers on the window, asking her to roll it down. Buffy obliged, rolling the window down just enough so that words could be heard.

"Buffy, what do you have to say about your boyfriend Tyler Monroe?" Willow gasped. Xander frowned.

"You're dating Tyler Monroe? How come I didn't know about this?" Xander pouted.

"No! Xander, I'm not dating him! Look, man, I'm not dating anyone right now. Could you guys let us through please?" Buffy asked nicely. Other photographers pushed in towards the car. Buffy rolled up the window.

"Okay guys, we're just gonna gun it, so hold on." Buffy revved the engine again and lurched forward. Several photographers jumped out of the way.

It took several minutes, but finally they broke free of the mob. Buffy gunned it down the street, fishtailing for a moment before righting the car.

"Wow, Buff, that's intense," Xander sighed, slumping back into the seat.

"I don't like it. I don't think I could possibly handle it like you do," Willow muttered. Buffy smiled at her childhood friends.

"I don't even know how they found out I was home," Buffy sighed. She'd snuck away from Los Angeles to her hometown of Sunnydale for some quiet time with her family and friends. She had a three week hiatus from her hit television show and had no films lined up for the first time in what felt like forever. She needed a break.

"Well, there are people in Sunnydale who aren't exactly known for keeping their mouths shut," Willow pointed out. Buffy nodded.

"So, what's the story with Tyler Monroe?" Xander asked, leaning forward between his two best girls again. Buffy groaned.

"I just shot a music video with Tyler. Someone caught us coming out of a dance rehearsal together and they snapped all sorts of pictures and then decided we were dating. I swear, I'm still single. You guys would be the first to know if I were with somebody."

Buffy dropped off Xander first and then Willow before heading back to her home. Two streets away, a dark black Excursion pulled up next to Buffy and she was once again assaulted by bright camera flashes. She flinched, surprised and the steering wheel jerked. Buffy gave a little yelp before she regained control. She sped up but the Excursion kept pace. She was reluctant to take her sports car much faster on a residential street, but the flashes were blinding her.

Buffy was seeing spots when she felt the car jump the curb. She screamed and tried to correct, but she jerked too hard and then jerked again. The car slammed to a stop as it smashed into a tree and Buffy was jerked forward. The last thing Buffy felt before she lost consciousness was the airbag slam into her chest.

*

By the time the cops arrived, the photographer was long gone. Buffy was carted to the hospital and regained consciousness in the ambulance. Her frantic mother met them at the emergency room.

Buffy was on the exam table when the photographer that had run her off the road snuck up on them.

"Get out!" Buffy shrieked, snapping the curtain closed. She winced in pain as her cracked ribs screamed in protest of the quick movement. Joyce Summers called the doctor over while Buffy, who was near hysterical, tried to keep the paparazzi from snapping pictures of her bruised and broken.

"Doctor, we need security to make sure that the photographers are kept out of here," Joyce explained, trying to keep herself calm. She looked over the doctor's shoulder and saw the same photographer try to sneak a peek at Buffy's chart. "Hey!" The doctor turned around and started towards the man, but a tall, dark, handsome man got there first. He yanked the chart from the paparazzo's hands and closed his fingers around the man's shoulder.

"Name," he growled. The photographer winced as the man's grip tightened.

"Lindsay McDonald," the photographer squeaked. Buffy stomped out from behind the curtain, her hospital gown dwarfing her already tiny frame. She marched right up to the photographer and poked him in the chest.

"What the HELL were you trying to do?" Buffy shrieked. Joyce rushed to her side.

"Honey, maybe you should lower your voice. We don't need the entire hospital hearing about what happened, okay?" Joyce asked, whispering to Buffy and casting a nervous glance at the man who had Lindsay in a death grip.

"I don't care if the entire hospital knows that this asshole tried to kill me!" Buffy shouted.

"Honey…" Joyce cringed.

"Excuse me?" A police officer stepped up next to the group. Buffy turned her glare on him and arched an eyebrow.

"Yes?" she snapped.

"Ms. Summers, did I hear you say this is the man who ran you off the road?" Buffy nodded. The officer nodded, taking Lindsay by the arm.

"Come on, Mr. McDonald. I've got a few questions for you." The man that had been holding him pulled him close before releasing him to the police officer.

"Get out and don't let me catch you back here," he growled. Lindsay winced as the man's grip tightened before he let go and shoved him towards the cop.

Joyce turned to the man.

"Thank you," she said, holding out her hand. Up close, the man was devastatingly gorgeous. His cheekbones were high and his jaw was strong. His chocolate colored eyes were warm and soft.

"No problem, ma'am." He started to turn away, but Joyce stopped him.

"Wait! What's your name?"

"Angelus Roarke, ma'am. I'm a Private Investigator."

"Mr. Roarke, this is my daughter, Buffy Summers. I wonder…could you help us get her out of here without it turning into a media circus?" Joyce asked. Angelus arched an eyebrow.

"Why does the media care about your daughter?" He asked. Joyce blushed.

"My daughter is an actress, Mr. Roarke." Angelus nodded, seeming unaffected.

"I can help. I'll need to speak with Ms. Summers first, though." Joyce nodded and allowed Angelus to lead Buffy back behind the little curtain.

Buffy lost her breath when Angelus ducked into the small enclosure created by the curtain and waited for her to get settled. She felt blush rise in her cheeks and adjusted her gown.

"Ms. Summers, my name is Angelus Roarke, and I'm going to get you out of here." Angelus extended his hand and enfolded Buffy's tiny hand in his. Shocks went straight through him as he held her tiny, warm hand.

"Call me 'Buffy', please," Buffy breathed. For a long moment their eyes held and he continued to hold her hand.

"Buffy, how badly are you injured?"

"Three cracked ribs, a concussion, and some cuts and bruises," Buffy explained. Angelus nodded.

"I can drive you home in my car, which is parked in the garage. The back windows are tinted, so you can sit back there. Can we get out of the ER without a paparazzo noticing?"

"Sure."

"Great. As soon as you're discharged, I'll sneak you out of here."

*

The sneaking out was surprisingly easy. There were a few photographers waiting outside, but they never noticed Buffy and Angelus slip out the back. Buffy pointed him in the direction of her house.

"So, what are you doing in Sunnydale, Buffy?" Angelus asked as he navigated the streets.

"I'm from here. I've only lived in L.A. for a few years, since I was sixteen."

"You're what, nineteen now?"

"Yeah. Have you lived in Sunnydale long, Angelus?"

"Call me 'Angel', and no. I've lived here about two years. A friend of mine started a P.I. firm and couldn't handle the work load, so I came out to help him."

They pulled up to Buffy's house and she spotted several familiar photographers' cars. She groaned. Angel looked at the cars, his eyes narrowed.

"Okay, you want to keep the crash out of the media, right?" He asked.

"Yes, as much as possible."

"Okay. Then we put your hood up and keep your face down until we get inside. Get your keys out and have them ready so that we don't have to hang out longer than necessary." Buffy nodded, digging her keys out of her purse. Angel hopped out of the car and came around to her side, opening her door and holding her hand as she gingerly got out of the car.

Buffy kept her head down and hurried along beside Angel, who used his large body to hide her from the camera flashes. He stood so close behind her as she unlocked the door that she could feel his chest brush against her.

Finally the door was unlocked and they were inside. Buffy slumped against the wall.

"Thank you so much, Angel," she sighed.

"No problem. Can you handle them from here on out?" Angel asked as Joyce came in from the living room.

"Yes, thank you," Joyce nodded. Angel reached into his wallet and pulled out his business card.

"If you need anything, Buffy, please call," Angel said softly, tucking the card into her purse. She smiled up at him.

"I will. Thank you again."

*

Angel sighed as he dropped himself into his favorite leather arm chair. The evening had gone from relatively run-of-the-mill to high intensity in half an instant. Normally, Angel would have scoffed at helping a celebrity run from something they had certainly asked for. He'd seen more starlets than he could count flaunting themselves for the paparazzi, but Buffy was different. She'd looked so small and fragile on that gurney, Angel had wanted to save her.

Of course, that was always his problem. He'd been wanting to save tiny little blondes his entire life, which was what had earned him the title of divorced bachelor at the tender age of twenty six.

Darla, his ex-wife, had been a pet project. She was being harassed by an ex boyfriend, terrorized. He'd been working as a cop. He'd been enamored with the sexy blonde the instant he saw her, and he married her six months after he put her boyfriend in jail. He'd taken their wedding vows seriously, working hard every day and coming home to his wife at night, refusing to go out and get rowdy with the guys, because he was married now. It wasn't right. Darla, however, had been fucking every man she could find. He came home early one day to find Darla sucking on his partner's cock.

That was the same day he'd quit the force and moved to Sunnydale to work as a P.I. with his best friend.

Now, he was enamored with another fragile blonde. This one he wouldn't let get the better of him. He wouldn't see her again. Not even if she called.

Nope. Not even if she called.

*

Buffy woke up the next morning tired and sore. She groaned and struggled to sit up, reaching for a glass of water and the pain killers that rested on her bedside table.

"Buffy?" Joyce asked, knocking softly as she opened the door.

"Yeah, Mom?"

"How are you feeling this morning, honey?"

"Okay, I guess," Buffy sighed. "Filming around these broken ribs is going to be a bitch."

"Buffy, please, language," Joyce frowned. "Giles called this morning, apparently the crash has gotten into the news."

Buffy groaned and buried her face in her hands. Rupert Giles, her manager, was not going to be happy with her. She reached for her cell phone.

As she dialed Giles, Buffy thought about how she was going to fix this. If it was even possible to fix it. The last thing she needed was to start stirring up tabloid stories.

"Rupert Giles."

"Hey Giles, its Buffy."

"Buffy! Thank God, are you all right?" Buffy smiled at his fatherly concern.

"I'm fine. A few cracked ribs and some cuts and stuff, but I'll be fine in a few days. How bad is it, Giles?" She heard Giles sigh and there was a pause. She heard the rustle of fabric and knew that Giles was cleaning his glasses. That meant it was bad.

"It will take work to spin it the way we want to. The way they're painting it right now is that you crashed after a night of hard partying."

"That's not true!"

"I know, Buffy. But they've got pictures of you coming from the club with Xander and Willow, and they have pictures of the crash site that same night. You said the police arrested Lindsay?"

"Yes."

"Well, we may be able to have the police release a statement about the crash, but if they don't, it doesn't matter that you weren't partying. The media wants a story, Buffy. They don't care if it's true or not," Giles explained.

"Okay, so what do I do?"

"It depends. We can wage an all out war on the paparazzi and finger them as the cause of your accident, or we can release a statement that says you swerved to avoid an animal and were in no way impaired as a result of partying and have the police do the same," Giles explained.

"The last thing I want to do is wage war on the media. Release the statement. But Giles, what are we going to do when I get back to L.A.? It's only going to get worse," Buffy groaned. Giles paused before answering.

"Buffy, I know you haven't wanted to resort to this, but don't you think it's time to invest in a bodyguard?"

Buffy stilled. She'd always insisted that being an actress didn't give her need for special protection. She hadn't had any stalkers, yet, and the paparazzi had given her space until now. She'd insisted on the most normalcy she could possibly keep once she became a celebrity. Would having a bodyguard take away her independence? Could she trust a bodyguard?

"Giles…I think I know just the person." Giles sputtered on the other end of the line, obviously taken aback. In truth, Buffy had surprised herself. But thinking about a trustworthy, capable bodyguard had brought one face and one face only to Buffy's mind…Angel.