Here it is, seven days later, as promised. I'm nursing a serious case of writers' block right now, so forgive me for the shorter-than-usual chapter – this is kind of a part two to the last chapter. Thank you so much everyone for commenting. As always, read and enjoy.
Buffy stuttered through several monosyllabic vowel sounds before she appeared to harden her resolve; her eyes bored into him and he could tell that she was doing her best not to emote. Her lips parted and a flicker of desperation danced across her features, leaving as quickly as it had appeared.
"Tell me who I am."
Angel could have turned her away, and some part of him – probably the one closest related to the broken nose and cheekbones he was sporting for the moment – seriously urged him to. However, he found himself unable to deny those golden flecked eyes, even when they looked at him the way they did; like they were trying very hard not to hit him again.
Silently stepping aside, he granted her access into his life; her and all the problems she carried.
Even the demon inside him told him that this wasn't going to end well, and that was saying something.
*
Fred and Cordelia sat on her bed as she quizzed Cordy about their very violent newcomer.
"So, why don't you like Buffy? Anne? Whatever her name is," she asked, "I mean, apart from the whole trying-to-kill-Angel thing."
"Her real name's Buffy, I don't know why she's changed her name. Well, I guess I do; if I had a name that stupid..."
"Please continue, Cordelia," Fred teased.
Cordy pretended to glower at her. "Anyway, she was the main Slayer back in Sunnydale. Little Miss Righteous and I never really got along –between the weirdness and the taste in clothing, there was no compatibility. Oh, and she and Angel redefined the word angst, I'll tell ya," Cordy sat up straighter and continued, "She's good at saving the world and stuff, but she's got a pretty solid record of ruining mine. First there was Xander Harris–"
"Who?" Fred queried.
Cordelia chuckled, "No one, but my point is that I don't think Angel Investigations will be able to handle Hurricane Buffy. Where ever she goes, destruction and brooding inevitably follow. Case in point," Cordy motioned to the open door visible down the hall in which Angel could be seen sitting in his chair with his hand clenched in a thoughtful position under his chin and stone-cold, pensive look on his face. If he weren't already a centuries-old animated corpse, Fred would have sworn he were dead.
Now for the thing that had really been pestering Fred; "Why do you think she lost her memory?"
Cordelia apparently had no more of an answer to that than she did. "I don't know, but I'm telling you, if I had suffered through half the haircuts she's had, I'd probably want to block everything out too."
Fred smiled, the question of Buffy's memory loss still plaguing her mind. She wondered if Angel and Gunn would let her run some tests.
Rapping sounded at the door and Angel started, racing down the stairs in what would – even for a vampire – be considered record time.
"Are you," Fred began cautiously, "Are you and Angel still –?"
Cordy smiled half-heartedly. "No. Like I said..." she shrugged, "Hurricane Buffy."
"Tell me who I am," Buffy's voice sounded from downstairs, the ambience amplifying her voice for those in the top corridors. Cordy's face remained unchanged, although Fred did notice her left eye twitching a little.
It was probably just her overactive imagination, but as the thunder raged a second later Fred could have sworn it boomed out two words:
Hurricane. Buffy.
*
Angel sat Buffy down in front of his desk, glad that he had been able to persuade Gunn to give them a moment so that she could ask her questions – and he, his – privately. Gunn had insisted that he and Buffy might get into a fight without another person present, but Buffy – who had allowed herself to be called that several times – had crossed her arms and told him flat out that she could take care of herself. Angel took solace in the fact that even with a five year gap in her memory, she remained as stubborn and independent as ever. Some traits were just too deeply ingrained.
"Okay. What do you want to know?" Angel began. Even with his social mannerisms now more tolerable he was still not used to having to start conversations with anyone he wasn't threatening.
Buffy's face looked tired and Angel could see a gaunt hopelessness dimly hidden underneath a thin veil of disguise. "I want you to tell me, and remember that I don't necessarily believe you, but I think it's important to have both sides of the story, and since you've apparently got a pretty detailed side of the story that I need to help me –"
Yep, the rambling was still there too.
After thirty seconds of inane babble he finally interrupted, "Look, how about you ask me questions and I answer them. It seems easier than me retelling everything," and it was probably less likely to get him hit again.
"Did you sire Drusilla, and by extension Spike?"
This wasn't a question he was expecting, but he still confirmed it with a blunt "Yes."
"Did you try to kill me and everyone I loved in my second year in Sunnydale?"
"Yes, but -"
"Did you give me this oh-so-special love bite?" asked Buffy, running her index finger across her neck.
"Yes, but -"
"What were we?"
Angel didn't know how to answer that – he didn't completely understand it. "... You were always human."
Buffy gave him a look that told him quite plainly that she not only wanted him dead, she thought he was a moron. "Not what am I. What were we? What were you to me? What did I mean?"
Seizing the opportunity, he sat forward on his elbows and Angel replied; "I'm not answering those questions unless you tell me who your Watcher is."
Buffy seemed taken aback by the attempt at negotiation. "No." Then, considering, "I'll tell you. But I've got to have your word," she paused, making it clear that she didn't trust 'his word', "as well as the word of everyone here that they won't be harmed, maimed, tortured or killed."
"We don't do that here. I don't do that. Not anymore."
"Your body count begs to differ," she rebuked, adding, "And so does my arm."
"I'm sorry about your arm," Angel mutterered ruefully.
"It was worth it," she retorted. Even without her memory, she knew where to hit so it hurt.
"Well," Angel said angrily, reacting to her comment, "You either take the deal or you can leave. Who's your Watcher?"
"Fine," the Slayer huffed, "You seem to have cared for me in the past, but don't forget that the only knowledge I have of you is the maimed bodies etched into my mind. I have no qualms in killing you."
"And I have no qualms in charging you rent," Angel rebutted. Did he just make a joke? He didn't feel like joking. He felt like going out and killing every demon he could find. Something to channel the pain and rage flowing through him in that moment. That, or just going to sleep for a really. Long. Time.
Buffy's face softened – he swore she was about to laugh, but her face clouded over again and her mask was back. She looked at him coldly. "I never said I was staying."
"Aren't you?"
Buffy almost felt guilty. Something deep inside told her that this vampire had genuinely cared for her, and it wasn't out of the realm of possibility that she had cared for him too. That kind of gentleness when faced with a death threat didn't bloom from unrequited love or passing affection.
Love?! The Slayer chided herself. She was letting her mind get carried away. Whenever she was faced with any new ideas about her old life, her mind seemed to spring to the most ridiculous thing it could think of.
If possible, Buffy became even more aggravated due to her mind considering that she could ever love a vampire, even one that let her stay in his hotel.
Buffy had been staring at her lap for a whole minute. Angel cleared his throat loudly to recapture her attention – something that he'd never had to do before. Sufficiently focused, Angel repeated his terms.
"Who's your Watcher, Buffy?"
"Anne."
Angel glared at her, "You wanted to know who you are? Well, I'm telling you. You're Buffy."
No response was giving to that. Finally Buffy met his gaze, "Lilah Morgan."
Angel was not overly surprised, "She's your Watcher?"
"Yes," from the look on Angelus' face, she felt the need to reiterate, "No harm is to come to her."
Angel reluctantly nodded and extended his hand to shake. Buffy once again looked taken aback, warily placing her comparatively tiny hand in his and shaking. He wondered if she felt the shock of electricity that he did when they touched. Her face suggested that she didn't.
Physical attraction to a vampire? Physical attraction to The Scourge of Europe? She had to have been the worst Slayer in the entire history of Slayerdom.
"Now you answer me," Buffy demanded.
"Answer you what?" Angel asked confusedly.
"What were we?" She folded her arms as if to protect herself from whatever horrific answer he would give.
"Do you want the abbreviated version?"
"That depends, am I going to lose another five years of my life?" she replied, almost tauntingly.
"No. Three at the most," he assured her.
"Well, alright then," she settled, moving to place her head in her hands on his desk but instantly recoiling because of their proximity.
"I loved you," he played it on the safe side and used the past tense. Neither his mind nor Buffy were stable enough to deal with the very likely possibility of his perpetual and unstoppable love. "And you loved me too."
Buffy wanted to snort and say 'Pfft, not likely', but something in the mans' – vampires' earnest expression stopped her.
"We were together for three years–"
"Wait–" she interrupted with obvious confusion, "You were only in Sunnydale for two years."
Angel felt his anger bubbling to the surface. Not killing Lilah Morgan was going to be very arduous. "I came to Sunnydale the same time you did."
Angel could see a little of His Buffy shining through, her endearing child-like curiosity sparkling at the surface. "Why?"
Angel shrugged, "To help you."
"Why?"
Angel grinned, "You needed it."
Buffy grumbled. "Bet I didn't."
"Anyway, this is where it gets sort of confusing. As you know, I have a soul," Angel didn't miss Buffys' look of scepticism, "The soul was given to me to ensure that I suffered for all that I had done as Angelus," seeing Buffy begin to ask why, he explained, "It was given to me by the Romani after I killed a favourite of their clan. If the curse is broken I lose my soul. The second year in Sunnydale, I lost my soul. I tried to destroy everything you loved and send the world to Hell. My soul was restored, but the only way for the portal to close to save the world was my blood. You sent me to Hell. I was brought back a few months later by a great evil. You and I tried to..." Angel didn't like explaining everything they'd gone through in a five minute summary, "It didn't work. I left. I came here."
"Boy, I sound like the life of the party."
His chest aching as he remembered their relationship, Angel quickly became desperate to get Buffy out of his sight. Once she was better, she'd recovered, gotten her memory back, she could leave L.A.
"Anne?" A voice called from outside. "You okay in there?"
Oh yeah, Angel remembered, Gunn.
"I'm good!" Buffy called back in a much more chipper tone as she pushed away from Angels' desk. "Well, I'm pretty much done here. Thanks for the trip down memory lane," she said with sincerity.
"You can stay in the room at the very end of the hall; it's empty and the bed's pretty comfortable," Angel told her.
Buffy looked back in confusion, "Uh, I think I'll just stay in Gunn's room."
"Oh."
Yes, he was going to go insane.
Thanks for reading. If you liked, feel free to let me know via review. Really. :D
