Disclaimer: All characters belong to Joss and his crew. I just play here.
Author's note: Mostly AU. Past fic. Angel is human. Buffy is still a slayer. And it goes from there.
Enjoy!
Feedback is always welcome…
Pearl Harbor, Hawaii.
July 18th, 1941.
Chapter one.
Angel steps off the boat with his fellow Officers. Is there any place more beautiful than this? Blue, blue sky, crystal clear ocean, green palm trees, and sparkling sand. Oahu itself shines like a brand new chandelier. He lets out a long whistle, his bag slung over his shoulder, and pushes his cap to the back of his head.
"Dang. Look at this place," he says, and his best friend and fellow Lieutenant, Wesley Windham-Pryce, claps him on the shoulder.
"What'd I tell you, O'Connnell? Like a picture postcard, huh?"
The two young men grin at each other like kids in a candy store.
"Men! Move it along! Debriefing in ten minutes!"
They snap to attention as their Captain, Ethan Rayne, passes them by. "Yes, Sir!" Wes replies, and Angel smirks at him after the Captain has gone on.
"Sycophant."
"Lazy bones."
"Brownnoser."
"Sloth."
"Kiss up."
"Hey! That's hitting below the belt," Wes complains, and Angel laughs as they walk down the deck to the port proper.
*
After a truly boring meeting with the five other officers in their command and the Captain, Angel and Wes stow their bags and small amount of personal things in their new quarters, a small split level house on the base.
"Come on, lets go see the town," Wes calls, and bursts out the front door, expecting his friend to be right behind him.
When he doesn't appear, Wes, sighing, heads back up the stairs.
"What are you doing?"
The other man turns his head at the sound of Wes' voice, and smiles at his friend.
"Admiring the view."
Wes joins him at the window, and looks out. "Yep. It's a beach. Woo hoo. Let's go! I wanna get a look see at the local watering holes."
"Wes, I'm from Cleveland. I haven't seen many beaches," Angel admonishes, and Wes relents. "I'll tell you what then, you go goggle at the beach, and I'll meet you in the center of Main street, say at, oh, 6:30 or so?"
"Sounds good."
As Wes bounds out of the house, Angel resumes his staring.
He cannot fully believe his luck.
Joining the Navy hadn't been his first choice. But considering his father did not want him following in the old man's footsteps, and considering the lack of funds the O'Connell family had, not many options had presented themselves. When Angel's older brother, Xander, had joined the Army a few years before Angel had graduated from College, Angel had made up his mind.
His family had been surprised and somewhat dismayed when he had announced he was applying for Officer's School, but they had taken it in stride. No one wanted either of the boys to follow in the father's business. Especially in Cleveland.
Angel had always been interested in travel, and was a quick learner. So after the requisite eight week basic training, he had completed Officer's School within the normal two months.
He was glad it only took a few days for him to get over his seasickness; studying on board ship wasn't easy when you spent most of your time heaving over the side.
He'd been almost too many places to count by the time he finally made full Lieutenant, and was proud to stand next to his friend Wesley, who had gone through Officer's School with him, and who had been with him aboard ship for the past four years, as they received their commissions. Missing his family, but anxious to be as far away from Cleveland as possible, Angel had happily accepted his new assignment. He had heard of Pearl Harbor, but had hardly any knowledge of the town or the Island of Oahu itself.
Newly a Lieutenant, accompanied by only one friend, Angel sailed halfway across the Pacific and into the most beautiful place he could have ever imagined.
*
The sand feels wonderful and so different under his feet. It was if he was walking on one of those tilt board rides like they had at the county fair every year. Each step goofed up his balance so that he has to pinwheel his arms ocassionally for balance. He's seen some beaches before, even walked on a few. But none like this.
The sun beginning to set looks like a ripe red apple in the sky. He stops to gaze at it, and doesn't take a breath until it finally sinks beneath the ocean, leaving behind a crimson smear that reminds Angel a little of paint on a sidewalk. Or a splash of blood. He shudders slightly, and shakes his head, chasing all thoughts of his father and home out of his mind.
He's so preoccupied with his memories and the difficult dune walking, that he doesn't notice the blond walking toward him until it's too late.
"Ooof!" she says, and they both crash land on their behinds in the sand.
"Oh, my god, miss, I'm so sorry," he sputters out, "I didn't even see you."
She cocks her eyebrow at him, and replies.
"That's obvious. What, have you never seen a sunset before?"
"Of course I have, it's just that I…" he trails off as he meets her gaze.
Shoulder length blond hair frames a face that is heart shaped, but all softness. Her green eyes sparkle in the wake of the passing sun, and her lips are naturally pink. A small blush creeps over her cheeks, and he can barely keep from prostrating himself at her feet.
The town of Pearl Harbor is beautiful, oh yes.
But now Angel knows he's found the real pearl.
"New in town, huh? All the newbies get that look," she says, and he has to wake himself from his dream of the two of them surrounded by laughing grandchildren.
"I, uh, yes. Just got in today. I'm staying at the base."
"You in the Army?" she asks.
"Navy, actually," he answers, and she smiles. "One of my brothers- I mean my brother is in the Navy here as well. Daniel Summers? He's an Officer with the 33rd."
"Sorry, don't think I know him, Miss…Summers is it?" Oh, the goddess has a name.
"Yes, but call me Buffy," she says, and he quirks his head.
"That's an interesting name," he says, and she is quickly on the defensive, standing up right and brushing off the seat of her dress.
"It's a family nickname. My name's Elizabeth. But I don't like that. It's too long and doesn't fit me that well. What's your name?" she asks, crossing her arms in front of her chest. Angel regrets his comment instantly, and stands as well.
"It's John. John O'Connell. But no one's called me John since I was a little kid. Please call me Angel."
She bursts out a laugh, and he colors. "Talk about interesting. How'd you get that name?"
He sighs, the same way he does every time he has to explain the name. "My older brother Xander didn't want a kid brother to have to take care of. He called me little devil to my face, but didn't want my mother to know he was doing it, so he called me 'little angel' when she was around. It stuck," he finishes, shrugging his shoulders.
She smiles at him, and he almost swoons at the sight of it.
"Well, then, Angel O'Connell, I'm Buffy Summers. Pleased to bump into to you," she tells him, and reaches out her hand to shake his.
He puts his own out, and grasps hers.
In that moment, the passage of time as it had been and time as it was supposed to be is altered, and in the space of a second, two people who might never have met except by chance seal their fates, and destiny is fulfilled.
*
They've been talking for an hour or so, when Buffy asks him a question.
"So, you like what you see?"
"What?" Angel asks, giving her a panicked look.
"The town. The beach? You seem to be kind of star struck," she says, and he nods.
"It's beautiful," he tells her truthfully, and she agrees. "I've been here my whole life. Not sure if I could leave it if I wanted to," she states, and he glances sideways at her, hands stuffed in his pockets, the legs of his pants rolled up.
The waves crash against the shore, and he can think of no other place he'd rather be.
"I'm from Cleveland, so I don't get this kind of vista much," he says. "It's more of a corn field and cow kind of place. I have spent a lot of time in different ports, but nothing like this."
She laughs, and he smiles along with her. "Well, that's certainly different. But I've heard things about Cleveland, that there's more to it than meets the eye," she says, and he looks at her quizzically.
"What do you mean?"
"Well, you know, um, underground activity, some smuggling, that kind of stuff," she backpeddles. "Nothing too exciting. I know Chicago is really the hot bed of activity lately, and LA. But I've heard that Cleveland tends to draw, you know, interesting people to it."
Now it's his turn to laugh.
"Interesting, huh? Not unless you consider the city sherrif and new taxidermist 'interesting'. Not much happens there, really. One of the reasons I wanted to join the service. My older brother, that I mentioned before? He's in the Army. He's stationed in Germany right now. It's kind of his fault I joined up. All the traveling he was getting to do, I got kind of jealous. So here I am now."
She stops walking, and gestures at a nearby sand dune. "Shall we?"
He slips her arm through his, and executes a messy bow.
"After you, madam."
She giggles, and lets him help her sit.
He plants himself beside her, and their faces pass within inches of each other as he turns to sit.
A whiff of vanilla hits his nose, and he's reeling again. Not just from her physical proximity. Her sense of humor, her smarts, and the overall package is amazing. He's never met anyone like her. He wonders briefly if he can tell her the actual details of his upbringing, and then nixes the idea.
"I've been talking a lot about myself, Buffy Summers. Tell me about you," he says, drawing up his knees, and resting his forearms on them. The night breeze plays with his short, spiky brown hair, and the moon reflects in his dark eyes. She pulls up her own knees, and lays her head on her crossed arms.
"Hmmm. Kind of boring really. My mother is a school teacher, and my dad is a- was a pilot. I graduated from Lincoln High three years ago, and am talking courses at the community college. I wanna be the first girl in my family to get a degree," she says proudly, and he is struck once again by the force of her personality.
"What are you studying?"
"Nursing. It's an in demand field, what with the base being here and all. And I can get practical experience working an internship at the hospital," she answers, and he nods. "I'm kind of good at patching people up," she says, and Angel is surprised at the slight tone of sadness in her voice.
"Really? Why?"
She gazes at him, her eyes half closed and a sweet, sad smile on her lips. When she doesn't answer right away, he reaches out and touches her arm with his hand.
"Buffy? You okay?"
"Huh?" she asks sleepily. "Oh! Sorry, I kind of got, distracted for a minute," she says, a blush creeping up her neck.
Angel's not sure, but he thinks she might have been distracted by him. Oh, happy day.
"Why are you an expert at patching people up?" he asks gently.
"My dad. My brothers. They were always getting hurt. My dad and one of brothers, Micah, were pilots. And always breaking or banging into something. Especially their own skin or limbs," she continues, smirking at the memory. "My dad was a great pilot. My brother was following in his footsteps. I really miss them," she whispers, and the sheen of tears is evident in her eyes.
Angel decides to risk it, and tentatively takes her hand in his own. He is rewarded with a flash of white teeth and a squeeze.
He is blissfully aware that she doesn't let go.
"If you want, you can tell me about it," he urges, and she stares out at the ocean, still holding his hand.
"It's not that complicated. They were repairing a private plane at the air strip on the north side of the island, and a spark got blown from a welding torch into the open gas tank. Supposedly they both died instantly. No pain." She shrugs a little, and swipes a hand under her eyes.
"Boy, that's weird," she laughs shakily, and he slides a little closer to her on the sand. "What is?"
"I haven't talked to anyone about the accident since it happened. No one outside the family, anyway. But I- I don't get it, Angel. I feel like I've know you my whole life- I know that sounds stupid," she says angrily.
"No, no, Buffy, it doesn't," he tells her earnestly, tugging on her hand and cautiously touching her cheek with his fingertips. "I've been fighting with myself since the moment I met you. I've never known anyone like you. I feel, drawn to you somehow, I don't know why- I just know that we should know each other. It would be wrong if we didn't," he continues, and as he says it, he realizes in his soul that it's true. She's a part of him now, whether she wants to be or not.
"It's like I never knew anyone, or anything of any importance or relevance until I met you," he whispers. A tear trembles on the edge of her lashes, and he softly wipes it away with the pad of his thumb.
"Oh, I…oh," she stutters out, and shuts her eyes, bringing her hand up and pressing his hand to her cheek. "I know. I feel it too, and I don't get it. But I don't care," she says desperately, "all I know is what I feel inside, and what I feel is you. You feel right. You resonate," she trails off, and he's a mix of emotions at her words, swept away by desire, overwhelmed by tenderness, and slightly confused at the speed of which he has fallen in love with this girl he's known, at the most, for three hours.
"Can I…can I kiss you?" he asks quietly, knowing he might spontaneously combust if she says no.
"If you don't, I may have to kill you here," she says, her voice hoarse with want.
He laughs briefly, then sobers as her green eyes meet his brown ones. She leans in toward him, rising up to her knees to reach his face. He twines his arms around her back, and she licks her lips nervously, reaching out to put her own arms around his neck.
"I don't understand this, Buffy," he tells her candidly, "but this is right. This is fate. And you resonate in me, too," he rumbles, and she shivers in his arms at the sound.
He touches his nose to hers, and keeps his eyes open as long as he can before their lips meet.
People always talk about fireworks, bells ringing, choirs of birds singing when you kiss your true love.
This kiss surpasses all those things.
She moans softly against his mouth, and he whimpers as his tounge slides in and meets hers. A smoldering like liquid fire ignites every single one of his nerve endings, and burns him up, leaving only a trembling shell, living only for the touch of this amazing creature on his skin.
He nips at her bottom lip, running his tounge inside it, and she gasps slightly, grabbing at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer. His hands run lightly up and down her back, then settle on her hips, rocking her against him possesively.
He places little kisses all over her face, her eyelids, her cheeks, the corners of her mouth, before moving to the column of her throat.
She giggles drunkenly as he laves his way to her clavicle, and threads her fingers in his hair as he plants wet, open mouthed kisses on her shoulder.
He's never kissed any girl like this. Not like he would starve without her mouth on his. Not like he would perish without her hands on his skin.
She pulls his head to hers, and kisses the tip of his nose, his eyebrows, and then the middle of his upper lip.
Before he can draw her to his mouth again, she drops her lips to his neck and nuzzles him there.
"Guh," he stutters out, and she pushes him backward, laying across him as the sand cushions his fall.
Her fingers twine with his, and they splay their arms out, making unconscious angels in the soft grainy gound as their lips meet again.
A low growling sound reaches his ears, and at first he thinks it's his own voice. Then he realizes it's not as Buffy stiffens above him.
"Wha?" he gasps as she's off him before he can even finish the question.
Several grunting and puching noises come from the direction she has run in, and he sits up, his head still buzzing from their intimacy.
He squints at the sight in front of him, and thows his arms up over his face as a final "oof!" is heard, and a fine cloud of dust coats him from head to foot.
He lowers his arms, and stands, facing Buffy, who is wide eyed, her trembling hand covering her mouth. Wrapped in her small fingers is a sharp wooden stake.
"Oh. God," she says, and can't help the tears from falling. "I'm sorry, Angel, I'm really sorry," she gets out, before dropping the stake.
"Buffy, wait, I…" he starts, reaching out his hand.
She's gone, a flash of white dress and blond hair in the moonlight.
His arm drops to his side, and he stares after her in shock and dismay.
He can only form three words, and he speaks them to an empty beach, and to the roaring waves at his back.
"She's the Slayer."
TBC.