Disclaimer: Neither the Buffyverse nor the Batman Canon, belong to me.

Authors Notes: This is an AU. The ways in which this universe differs from the Buffy verse are self evident, and explained in the text (I hope). Please Review.

The Month: September

The Day: 12th

The Year: 1250

The City: Gotham

The Character: Angel

It used to bother me. The fear in human eyes. Their small trembling arms. The noticeable step back, as they moved closer to there own kind. Their sweat would make me nauseous. But it was the fact that they had every right to be scared that perturbed me more.

After all I was a vampire. I had the fangs to prove it, and incredibly morbid facial morphing abilities. Super strength, and senses to match. No death by sunlight for me though. Dr Harold had fixed that. In a way. It could no longer kill me, but it revealed my true self. The teeth I hid behind the million are smile, my face a mask. The only physical reminder of the past life I lived over 500 years ago, as a playboy. The person I whose face I could trace smooth in till I vamped out, but a face I could never see again in the mirror. Thank goodness, I showed up on film. Otherwise it would have been hard for the paparazzi to snap pictures of me. Pictures that helped reaffirm my image, Gothom wide as the playboy I now only pretended to be.

Now I used the fear, the sweat, the trembling, all to my advantage. After all there were many people I showed my true face to. Most had seen me in the tabloids a thousand times, but they would never associate the smiling Angel Wayne with Gothams greatest rumor. The city's dark knight, Batman. The men who I showed my true face to; made even more gruesome by the half mask of Batman, were criminals. I struck fear into even the darkest heart. Wear light could not go fear could still thrive. And I gloried in it.

The original Batman and my mentor, Bruce Wayne, made it abundantly clear that I naturally had the abilities he had spend his whole life working for. Brute strength, heightened senses, and most of all the ability to strike fear into the heart of men. That is why he had adopted the cowl, and the cape. I had no need for such things. He taught me to use it to my advantage. And I grew to love the reactions, not just to the mask but to what was underneath it. My features morphed, my fangs at the ready.

I was the answer to Bruce's every prayer, a heir to carry on his legacy. To protect his city for the foreseeable future. I would never grow old, never grow tired. In turn for me granting his only wish, he fulfilled my only dream. He managed with the help of Harold to find a way to kill all the vampires, except for me his soul filled heir apparent.

So I had now been Batman for more than 100 years. I had been Angel Wayne for only 5. Before that I had been a myriad of characters, some famous some inconspicuous, all the while carrying on my true job. To free the city of crime. To bring justice to our streets.

And now as I stepped out into the dark, in my cashmere suite and wool tie, I smiled at the crowd. Waved at the faces. A beautiful brunette at my side. Her name I couldn't recall, but she answered to sweet heart, which was good enough. I'm sure The Gotham Times would tell me tomorrow. If I wanted to know.

We went in though the front doors into the huge ballroom. I was glad to get away from the flashing lights only to be bombarded by flashing smiles, and too much flesh. In my day there was such a thing as discretion. And fabric, that magically transformed even the most innocent body parts, Wrists for example into objects of fantasy. I didn't even notice, my date led me to a table where we set down across from Martin Fox my money manager, and the famous film star Caroline Kyle.

"I have to go to the washroom," I whispered in her ear. My date misinterpreted the tone in my voice as being sexy.

"I can join you if you want"

" No, thanks." When she looked disappointed, and rubbed my upper thigh, I had to capitulate. After all I am a male vampire.

"Later" I whispered in her ear. She sent me a smile, as I marched off, in the general directions of the washrooms. Not that I was going there. I was here not to pee nor to eat or dance, but to solve the almost hundred-year-old mystery of my best friends death.

I took a left, quickly scaled the stairs, and than turned and started counting the doors I passed. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5,6,7,8,9, and there it was door number 10. I shouldn't have even bothered counting, because door 10 was obviously and distinctively different than the doors that came before. To my trained eye at least, it was heavily protected. You so much as touch this door, with a finger (even the nail) or a strand of hair, and the door through its use of FeelYou2 technology would know exactly who you were and if you were not on it's list of 'safe' people, the alarm would go off. It also had a rather expensive (even for a mansion) key pad lock. I slipped on a pair of rather large gloved and pressed there electronic finger tips against the key pad and after a moments pause for thought, the door swung open revealing the lush office of Alexander Luthor. An enemy in every way. I long suspected his grandfather or his great uncle, of killing Dick Grayson (who I had always called Gray), but I never knew which. So both went unpunished.

It was only recently a Time New article that I had discovered this new piece of evidence. Alexander Luthor, the subject of the cover article was photographed. In his office. In this office. And right next to him on a table was book. Even in an office as opulent as this one, it looked out of place. It was made ancient and leather with distinct Gold latticework on the corners. It was a large book, although it was actually more of a box than a book. Gray used it to hide his most treasured possessions. His mother's necklace, the entire secret ever-changing password's for the bat cave, notes on his life, etc. I didn't know what was in it now. But now I had it in my hands, so I would soon know. Hopefully it would offer up some clues but even if it didn't I would be happy just to have it. To remember Gray by. I grabbed the box.

I left the office. The door would not close behind me; it was an unexpected side effect of frying its internal sensors. I had to get out of here now, before Alexander discovered the theft.

I ran, out the front door, looking sick, and extremely pale. I slid into my waiting Limo and slammed the door behind me.

"Where is your date" Giles asked from the front, his chauffeurs hat slightly askew, as he turned towards me.

"Just drive. I can call her later and explain. I had to get out of there quickly. The door wouldn't close after I fried the electronics"

"Oh" Giles said, speeding up.

"Exactly" I fumble around the corners of the book looking for the unlocking mechanism, and with a slight hissing sound the book sprung open. Luthor had apparently never managed to unlock the box, because inside the contents were the same as I remembered. The necklace, the notes, the passwords, and now right on top a narrow envelope addressed to me.

TBC

Next Chapter: Buffy, and the unexpected. . . . .