Lost Together
By Chrislee
Rated R for language and sexual situations
Summary: Buffy and Angel walk a fine line between fantasy and reality. What if Angel and Buffy were normal people, leading normal lives? Would they be compelled to find each other? Totally a B/A fic.
Note: My first attempt at AU fic... with a twist. Again...who knows what the deal is with my muse. I'm just happy to be writing.
Dedication: This is 100% for Trammie, for her encouragement, insight, and commas! Thank you.
Feedback: sure- christie_mcdonal@hotmail.com
LOST TOGETHER
I
Just for a moment, Angel was struck with a feeling that he had seen the girl somewhere before. He stopped in the street, shifting his carrier bag from one hand to the other, and stared at her retreating form as it went down the street. What was it about her that touched a familiar cord in him, he wondered, as she disappeared around the corner.
A few more blocks and he would be at the hotel. He and his colleagues were just a few weeks away from the grand re-opening of the Hyperion. The stately old circa 1930's hotel had been in a bad state of disrepair when Angel had come upon it while looking for something to occupy his time. Being rich was one thing, being idle something completely different. Angel bought dilapidated hotels, mansions, and vintage properties, refurbished and then sold them.
A few more long strides and Angel was standing in front of the hotel's entrance. For some reason he couldn't explain, Angel had grown attached to this hotel. He didn't understand why this place should be more meaningful than any of the other buildings he had restored over the past ten years, but he'd felt at home here as soon as he'd entered the crumbling façade, stood in the once-grand lobby.
With a last, quick glance down the street, Angel entered.
**
Cordelia Chase had just enough time to assess her make-up in the mirror before her boss crossed the lobby and made his way behind the desk to where she was sitting choosing fabrics for the hotel's window treatments. Although she'd been in his employ for the past seven years, it mattered what he thought of her. Well, actually it was more than that. She was in love with him and although he had never spoken of it, Cordelia knew that he knew how she felt. Angel had never taken advantage of her feelings, nor ever once given her even the slightest hope that they might some day be anything more than professional colleagues.
She watched him as he moved through the sawhorses and power tools that littered the lobby. Watched as he stopped to speak to one or two construction workers. Watched as he stopped to point to the beautifully restored plaster work over the archway that led to the dining room. He was all grace, like a dancer; okay, maybe too big for a dancer, but graceful anyway. Cordelia ducked her head back to the fabric swatches, feeling the beginnings of a prickly blush crawl up her neck.
"Hey, Cordy," Angel said, as he swept into the makeshift office. "How's it going?"
"Great," Cordy said, arching a well-groomed eyebrow.
"Wes get back yet?"
"Nope."
Angel put his carrier bag down and picked up the stack of phone messages from the little basket on the corner of his desk. Rifling through them, he quickly organized them into little piles of "must call back immediately," "not vital, later," "social," and "who-in-the-heck-is-this."
"Who in the hell is Spike Williamson?" Angel asked Cordelia.
"Oh, yeah, that's the guy who's going to do the ceramic work in the bathrooms in the lobby. He comes highly recommended."
"Mmmm," Angel sighed under his breath.
"And Charles Gunn, who's he?"
"Dunno," Cordelia said, shaking her head.
The final pink slip of paper seemed to vibrate in Angel's hand. Buffy Summers . Buffy Summers. Why did that name sound so familiar?
"Buffy Summers ring a bell?" he asked his assistant.
"Nope, can't say that it does. But, you know, she's called several times...like five times. I didn't bother to put all the messages there, it seemed redundant. But you should call her, she seemed anxious."
Angel shrugged and stuffed the paper in the pocket of his leather pants.
"I got lunch," he said, pointing to the carrier bag. "Sandwiches and salad and I think there's some goopy dip thing in there, too."
"Great, thanks, Angel," Cordy said, turning away from him, and bending back over the sample books. "I'm hoping to get the fabric ordered today and that'll be one less thing to worry about. When is Mr. Giles going to be back in town?"
"I'm not sure, actually. Wes has, pretty much, been doing the communication thing with him so I was hoping he'd be around to give me the lowdown on when we could expect Rupert to be back in the country. I guess we'll know soon enough."
**
Angel took the pink paper out of his pocket and sat in a quiet corner of the hotel with his cell phone. He felt incredibly unnerved by the name on the paper. Somehow, though, Angel felt connected to the name and for Angel that was a very weird sensation.
A solitary man by nature, Angel had let very few people into his life. He knew he could pursue a relationship with Cordelia if he wanted to; truth was, he wasn't interested. Very few women interested him, although he'd had lots of opportunities. He knew he had the attributes that were attractive in a man: intelligence, wealth, looks. Angel wasn't sure why exactly, but he just had no desire.
But there was something about this name. Buffy Summers. He dialed the number.
**
Buffy Summers stepped out of the shower to the insistent ringing of her phone. She was inclined to let the machine pick it up; nothing worse than standing naked and wet, talking on the phone. But there was something about this call, she could feel it in her bones.
Grabbing an extra towel for her hair, Buffy reached for the phone on, what she was sure was, the last ring. "Hello," she said breathlessly.
"I'm looking for Buffy Summers," the voice on the other end said, and Buffy's heart stopped. She'd know that voice anywhere.
"This is Buffy."
"I don't think we know each other, but you called me and left me a message."
"Angel?" Buffy whispered.
Angel closed his eyes against the sound of the longing in her voice as she whispered his name. Who was this woman? And what did she want with him?
II
Angel said nothing. He wasn't sure he would have a voice to speak, even if he could think of something to say.
"Angel?" the woman called Buffy breathed into the phone.
Swallowing against the dryness in his throat, Angel said, "Do I know you?"
"It's the strangest thing," Buffy said, softly. "You don't actually know me. But, yes, you do."
"I'm sorry, but you're not making any sense. Look, I don't know what your game is...but I'm not playing," Angel said, hesitating only for a second before pressing the end button on his cell.
**
Wesley Wyndam-Price set his briefcase down on the overflowing desk and reached for the ringing phone.
"Yes," he said crisply into the receiver.
A female voice, quivering with tears, said, "May I speak with Angel, please?"
"I'm sorry, he's not here at the moment. I mean, I just walked in and while he may be around, he's not right here at the moment."
"Can you give me your address, please?" the woman asked tremulously.
Wes rattled off the address, said a polite goodbye and hung up just as Angel walked into the office.
"Oh, damn," Wesley muttered, "you just missed a call. Some teary woman."
"Don't want to talk to her," Angel said.
"Oh, well, then you probably don't want to hear that she asked for the address."
A soft expletive issued from Angel's tightly compressed lips. Wesley shrugged ineffectually and pulled a sheaf of official looking documents from his battered briefcase. "These are the last of the contracts. Giles has signed them all. Closing's in a fortnight."
Angel reached for the papers and scanned them quickly. "Everything's in order, then?"
"Oh, yes. He's very pleased, Angel. Very pleased, indeed." Wesley said, and Angel half smiled at the smugness in his voice. Wesley Wyndam-Price had been a real asset to his business. He was a man who noticed every detail and had a steel-trap mind when it came to remembering them. Sometimes Angel found him a little too tightly wound, but everyone had a cross to bear.
"So, who's the girl?"
Angel grimaced. He hated anyone asking him personal questions, but he knew that Wesley wasn't merely being nosey. He actually cared about his boss and would drop anything to help Angel out.
Angel took a breath. "Strange as it may seem, I don't know who she is," he paused. "And stranger still, somehow I do."
Wesley shook his head, clearly lost. "I don't get it."
"Join the club." Angel grabbed a pen and began to sign the documents Wesley had given him. They were just a few short days from walking away from this project, and handing the keys over to the new owner, Rupert Giles. Angel felt the need for a break and assumed that Cordelia and Wesley wouldn't say no to some paid R and R either. Still, he knew that despite feeling tired to the very core, he wouldn't rest. Instead, he'd send his co-workers off to some exotic resort and then begin his quest for the next mammoth project to fill his life with something meaningful to do.
"Shit."
"Pardon?" Wesley said.
Standing at the entrance of the hotel, just inside the huge double glass doors was the girl that Angel had seen on the street. Angel watched her double-check a piece of paper that she held in her hand, smooth a strand of incredible honey-coloured hair back into the loose knot at the back of her head, and fidget indecisively before taking a step down the shallow stairs that led into the lobby. And the whole time he watched her, Angel forgot to breathe.
**
"Excuse me."
Angel heard the voice from behind the corner where he stood like some thirteen year old acne riddled school boy, spying on the object of his deepest affection.
"May I help you?" Cordelia said, briskly.
"Hi. Yes, I was wondering if Angel might be here."
Ever efficient and extremely suspicious, Cordelia said, "Do you have an appointment, Miss...."
"Summers. Buffy Summers. I was speaking to Angel earlier today, actually."
Smooth, Angel thought, very smooth. They hadn't exchanged more than a few words and yet she'd made it seem like they had planned to meet. Angel felt a lick of curiousity creep up his spine. Running a hand through his hair, he stepped out from behind the wall, papers in hand, eyes on papers.
"Oh, Angel," Cordy said.
"Mmmm," Angel replied, without looking up from his faked interest in the document he was holding.
"This is Buffy Summers. She's here to see you."
No choice now. Angel had to release his eyes from the paper and look up at this woman with whom he'd had the brief, but oddly unsettling, phone call earlier.
He felt his heart constrict with indefinable longing. Oh My God. Oh My God. OhMyGod.
She was striking. Not beautiful, not stunning, but striking. Dressed in a plain skirt and white blouse with a silver cross at her throat, she was quite easily the most striking woman Angel had ever seen. He dragged his eyes up her body, in what seemed to him like slow motion, and caught her eyes with his own. Luminous. That was the word that came immediately to mind when he locked gazes with her. And more: forgiving, unwavering, sad.
"Miss Summers," he said in a voice that was barely above a whisper, a voice that snapped Cordelia's head to attention.
"Angel," came the whispered response. "May we talk?"
Angel opened the little half door that allowed Buffy to move from the lobby into the office. As she passed, the smells of summer, vanilla, and lavender wafted up to Angel and he felt a gasp rising in his throat. He swallowed hard.
"Let's go back here," he said, motioning to a small private room they sometimes used for meetings.
Buffy nodded. Cordelia shot Angel a look thatcould only be described as jealous curiousity. Angel cautioned Cordy with a look of his own and, with a hand placed at the small of her back, propelled Buffy towards the back room.
Closing the door, Angel turned to face her and waited.
III
Buffy's heart raced in her chest. Up close Angel was devastatingly handsome. Her eyes sped around the room, looking for something other than his chiseled cheeks, strong jaw and serious eyes to rest on. She shook her head. She had something to tell him and she couldn't be distracted by his looks. Not now. Not when she'd come so far.
"Look," she started, and faltered almost immediately to a stop. She scanned the room for a chair and spotted a straight back wooden thing that looked more like an instrument of torture than a comfortable place to sit. It would be better than crumpling to the floor, though, and she made her way toward it.
Seated, looking up at him, he seemed impossibly tall. The look on his face was difficult to read. Suspicion? Anger? Curiousity? Buffy couldn't be sure and she was afraid to look at him for too long, the tears were threatening behind her eyes as it was. She just needed to find a way to make the words leave her throat. And she needed to make sure that she chose the right words because she was fairly certain that she had just one chance to make him believe her.
**
The woman seemed nervous and now, sitting in that ridiculous chair, uncomfortable. As much as he'd like to ease her mind, Angel wasn't even remotely sure how he might accomplish that. Despite his reticence, Angel was fairly good with people. He usually knew just what to say to make them do exactly what he needed them to do: trust him, give him the job, spill their guts. But this one, this Buffy, was a puzzle. He couldn't figure her out. Nor could he stop staring at her.
He pulled up a matching straight back chair and sat opposite her, a few feet away. Not too close because the smell of her was intoxicating.
"I feel that there's something you want to tell me. Is there?" he said, quietly.
She lifted her eyes from her folded hands and nodded. "Need to tell you," Buffy clarified.
"I'm sorry that whatever it is, is so difficult. I'm trying to be patient, but I've got to tell you, I'm a bit under the wire here and don't have a lot of time for..."
She nodded again, clearing her throat.
"I'm sorry. I guess I didn't plan on this being so difficult. Usually I'm not so...so tight-lipped. Talking has never really been a problem for me. I should have had a plan B, you know, like a letter I wrote that would have it all laid out for you and I could just give you and walk away. But," she shrugged, "no plan B."
Angel smiled.
"And no walking away, either. When I tell you what I have to tell you, I won't be able to walk away. And if you believe me, Angel, neither will you."
The smile left Angel's face. Something about her words rung true. Like he had known them before they'd ever left her lips. A sudden sense that he'd had this conversation before ripped through him: physical déjà vu.
"Okay," he said.
"Okay," she repeated. "Okay. Have you ever been to a place called Sunnydale?"
Angel gave the question a few seconds consideration and then shook his head, no.
"It's a little burg a couple hours north of here. It's where I grew up, partly at least. It's a hell hole, little dump of a town with very few redeeming qualities," Buffy paused to smile at Angel. "Anyway. At the very end of high school, my graduation, our school blew up. No one can really remember why or even what happened. It's like we all got amnesia. I only remember two things. I set the explosive. And you were there."
"That's not possible, though. I've never been to Sunnydale. I couldn't even find it on a map."
"Bear with me, okay," Buffy said, softly.
Angel nodded.
"Before the explosion, before school ended I have very vague memories. I mean, I couldn't tell you if I passed or failed or the names of any of my teachers or if I dated anyone or played any sports or had any friends. It's like my mind is all fuzzy. Just beyond that fuzziness is a key to, well, a key to who I am and I've been looking for it for a long time. See, before it didn't really matter. I can't tell you exactly when that changed, but I think it has something to do with you."
"I'm sorry. I don't understand."
Buffy frowned. She wasn't doing a very good job of making him understand. In fact, if she had to give herself a grade for this rendition of her life she was afraid it would fall on the serious "F" side. Now that she had started, it became clear to her how important this was, how important he was.
"I'm not doing a very good job. Look. Have you ever looked at property on Crawford Street? I know you said you've never been to Sunnydale but..."
Angel stood up suddenly. "Crawford Street?" he said. "Wait a minute..." A knock at the door interrupted Angel's thought, and he moved to the door and yanked it open fiercely. "What?" A murmured voice on the other side and Angel's passionate, "Not now," before he came to sit opposite Buffy again. "I remember. A mansion. I looked at a big mansion on Crawford Street a while ago. I bought it. I didn't buy it?" Angel looked at Buffy for confirmation.
"I'm not sure if you bought it or not. I think you did, but I'm not 100% sure. See, it's all very complicated," Buffy said.
"So it would seem."
"You know that feeling that you've been somewhere before? Or, when you meet someone and you get this feeling that you know them, even though you've never met? For the past couple of years my life has been one moment after another of moments like that. I'm always just one step away from figuring it out, but I never quite get there. Then, all of a sudden, I started having these really weird dreams. Weird for a couple of reasons; tactile, like I was actually there and weird because sometimes I wasn't even asleep. I was awake," Buffy paused. "These dreams, or whatever they were, seemed to be in chapters. They weren't the same thing over and over the way some dreams are. They were logical. Say, like one dream would finish at a certain point and the next one would take off exactly where the last left off. It was creepy at first, but then I got sorta sucked into the story like it was a really good book only I was the main character."
"What were the dreams about?" Angel asked. "Can you remember?"
"Yes, I can remember. Every detail. I had some sort of supernatural power: strength and speed and stamina. I spent a lot of time with an English guy in a library. There were a few other people, too. And I spent a lot of time in graveyards."
"Graveyards?" Angel asked.
"I know," Buffy shook her head dismally. "The more I tell you the weirder it sounds." Buffy stood and walked to the room's only window, which looked down on a small courtyard. "I was a warrior. I fought demons." She hesitated, "I was a vampire slayer."
Now Angel did laugh. "A vampire slayer. You have got to be kidding me. I don't know what this is all about but, surely, you don't take me for a gullible fool." Angel was suddenly beside her at the window, his wide mouth pulled into a scowl.
Buffy tore her gaze away from the climbing roses that stretched across a sunny brick wall below her and forced herself to meet his angry gaze.
"Here are some things I know: You came from Ireland. You have no living family. You dated someone named Darla for a long time and the relationship ended badly. You've never used a last name. You are intensely private...."
Angel put up a hand to stop her. "Any private investigator worth his retainer could have gotten half that information off the goddamn Internet."
"True," Buffy conceded. " But then there's this...." Buffy reached up to the collar of her blouse and pulled it back to reveal a scar on her throat. Angel took a step forward and then, a step back. His mouth felt stuffed full of cotton and he knew two things with sudden certainty: this girl was telling the truth and he was responsible for the scar.
IV
At home, later that afternoon, Buffy felt as though she'd been run over by a Mack truck. After she'd shown Angel the scar, his already pale face had looked positively ashen. He'd begged off hearing any more of her story, citing business, and promised that they could meet for a late dinner that evening.
Buffy craved sleep. Pulling back the comforter she crawled into her bed wearily. That was one pain-in-the-ass thing about this `other life' she seemed to be living, her sleep patterns were all messed up.
For the few moments before sleep claimed her, Buffy thought about the disconcerting look on Angel's face when she'd shown him the scar on her neck. Buffy hadn't had very much experience with men, but she was quite sure that the look on Angel's face had been possessive.
**
Angel stood under the hot spray of the shower for a long time. Something was puzzling him and Angel hated to be stumped by anything. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that Buffy Summers was telling him the truth. It had been the scar that had cinched it for him. The very second Angel saw it he'd had an almost physical reaction to it. For an instant he was sure he could taste the coppery sweetness of blood in his mouth. He'd recognized the taste immediately and that begged the question: how in the hell did he know what blood tasted like?
**
Angel had chosen a quiet family-run Italian restaurant to meet Buffy. He arrived early and settled at a secluded table near the empty fireplace. Not even a desire to create ambience would have convinced Luigi, the restaurant's owner, to light a fire in this heat. The waiter offered Angel a cocktail, but he ordered a bottle of Pinto Grigio instead. The first cooling sip was a balm to Angel's rattled nerves.
Ten minutes later, the waiter arrived at the table with Buffy in tow. She looked radiant. Her hair hung loosely on bare shoulders. She wore no make-up save pale lipstick and mascara. Her halter-top revealed toned arms and midriff. Her Capri pants accentuated muscular thighs and a perfect bottom. Angel felt blind-sided. Suddenly the crotch of his pants felt too small. His palms itched.
"Thanks for agreeing to this, Angel," Buffy said quietly as she sat.
Angel nodded and gestured to the bottle of wine. "Would you like a glass?"
"Okay."
As Angel poured her wine, Buffy set her bag down beside her and glanced around the room. "Nice place," she said, before looking back at Angel, accepting the proffered wine and gratefully taking a sip.
"The food's excellent," Angel offered.
"Great."
That brought an end to the small talk and left the two in an uncomfortable silence. Buffy smiled gratefully at the waiter when he arrived with a small chalkboard, which served as the menu. As he described each item in glorious detail, Buffy felt her stomach rumble.
After taking their orders and refilling their wineglasses, the waiter left Buffy and Angel to stare at each other across the table.
"The scar. How did you...it was me, wasn't it?"
Buffy felt her eyes well with tears.
"Buffy," he said, placing a large warm hand over hers. "I believe you. I believe that we have a connection, and it's not just that I have obviously harmed you in some way."
"I don't think it was anything like that, actually," Buffy said, touching her oversized linen napkin to her eye to prevent the tears from escaping.
"Jesus," Angel said, squeezing her hand. "What is going on?"
Buffy shrugged helplessly. "I think that I made you...bite me...that you needed to bite me and I made you do it."
"Needed to bite you? What in the hell for?"
"Angel, what do you remember about your past?" Buffy said.
"What do you mean? I remember..." Angel stopped. Suddenly and inexplicably he remembered nothing.
"What you're feeling right now, Angel, I know how that feels. At first it was just little things, little jolts of recognition: places and people that suddenly seemed to fit or not fit at all in my life. Then, as these dreams started to get more...graphic...my `normal' life seemed to fall by the wayside, made less and less sense to me." Buffy stopped, and Angel gave her an encouraging nod. "I suddenly wasn't whom I'd been my whole life, this LA girl with friends and, well, a normal life. I was this other person who had the weight of the world on her shoulders. But it wasn't bad, not really. I had good friends, solid friends. And I had you."
"Me?" Angel whispered.
Buffy nodded. "At first, you weren't around very much and then you were around all the time, watching my back, listening to me and making me feel safe. Totally and completely safe. Somehow, I knew you existed. That sounds all hocus pocus-y, I know. But you were, like, the most important person in the world to me and I knew that I had to find you. Oddly, it wasn't that hard to track you down. I had your name and there aren't that many `Angels' around. When I heard your voice I knew. Actually, I saw you on the street earlier today and I knew. I just knew.
"So did I," Angel agreed. "I saw you today, too. In a funny way I knew...something. But why haven't I had these dreams. Why don't I have these memories?"
"I can't answer your questions, Angel," Buffy said, softly. "But I think I know someone who can."
The first course arrived, just as Angel was about to press Buffy for more information, and the smell was so tantalizing that, after refilling both their wineglasses, they dove into the food on their plates.
A few moments later, Angel leaned across his plate and said, "You said that you might know someone who could help us sort this out."
"Yes, I do. I mean, I don't know him personally, but he comes highly recommended. He's a seer. A mystic of some sort."
Angel grunted out a laugh. "I don't believe in that crap."
It was Buffy's turn to laugh. "Really? But you believe me?"
Angel smiled. "I guess you're right. So, what do we do?"
"We go to see him and he does some mogo thing and hopefully sorts this all out."
"Okay," Angel said.
"Okay."
The waiter cleared away their empty plates and arrived with their entrees. As they ate and finished their wine, Buffy tried to explain to Angel what the past few months of her life had been like. The more she spoke, the more at ease Angel felt. Or perhaps, he thought to himself, that's just the wine talking. Buffy's cheeks were flushed. Angel was, again, struck be her natural beauty.
After coffee, Angel offered to walk Buffy back to her hotel and it was just before she went into the building for the night, that she dropped one more bombshell.
"Can I ask you a personal question?"
"At this point, I can't see any reason why not," Angel said with a small smile.
"Do you have a tattoo?"
Angel sighed. "As a matter of fact, I do."
It was Buffy's turn to offer a small smile. "Like a griffin, but not."
"Simply put, yes."
The memory washed over her almost immediately: Angel's blood seeping through the white t-shirt. Her offer to patch him up. His broad, flawless back. The rush of heat to her face and crotch to see him standing there, shirtless, in the kitchen. The tattoo, an intricate pattern of lines and swirls. Her fingertips tingling with the need to trace it. The thought of him lying prone, while someone with a needle spoiled his skin with ink was almost more than she could bear...
"Buffy?" Angel's voice brought her back to the busy LA street.
"See you tomorrow, then," she said.
"Tomorrow," Angel said and turned to leave.
"Angel." Buffy's soft voice carried back down the steps, and stopped him in his tracks. He turned his head around to look at her, but said nothing.
"I think it'll be okay. In the end."
Angel nodded and headed back the way he'd come.
V
Cordelia Chase felt the need for something much stronger than coffee when she arrived at the Hyperion the next morning. Wesley was already there, poring over the documents that Angel had signed the previous day. A stickler for detail, he always triple-checked everything to be sure that every `I' was dotted and every `T' crossed. "Anal retentive," Cordelia thought as she sniffed the coffee in the pot.
"It's fresh, if that's what you're wondering," Wesley said, without looking up.
"Great," Cordelia said, pouring herself a cup. "Do anything interesting last night?"
"No. You?"
"Same old. What about Angel?"
Wesley stopped and looked up from the desk. He was well aware of Cordelia's feelings for their employer and he was also aware that Angel felt nothing, but fondness, for Cordelia. He wished that he could say something to make her get off this train to nowhere, but he knew it would be fruitless. A truthful answer to her question might, however, make her trip a little shorter.
"He had a dinner date, I believe."
"Date?" Cordelia managed to squeak out. "Angel went on a date?"
"Yes, I believe he did. With that woman who stopped by to see him yesterday afternoon. Remember?"
Cordelia nodded. How could she forget? The woman had been a glowing ball of light, floating towards Angel and causing a reaction in him that Cordelia had never seen.
"What are you up to today?" Wesley asked, gently.
"I'm...oh, I...paperwork mostly..."Cordelia said, turning away so Wesley wouldn't see the tears in her eyes.
But Wesley knew she was crying. He always did.
**
Angel stood in front of the mirror for a long time. Somehow the face staring back at him seemed like a stranger's, someone he recognized but didn't know intimately. He tried to recall details of his life, tried to reconcile himself to the fact that life as, he knew it, was about to change, but he wasn't sure where to start.
He shaved carefully, gelled his hair, slipped into a clean black linen shirt and sat on his bed, waiting.
**
Buffy was pulling her hair into a ponytail when the phone rang.
"You're Buffy Summers." The voice was full of an unusual mixture authority and laughter.
"Yes, I am."
"Well, this is Lorne. I'm the guy you most definitely want to see and, honey, I am so looking forward to meeting you and Angel."
Buffy laughed in spite of herself. "Okay. Where are you?"
Lorne gave directions, they agreed on a time and Buffy hung up the phone. One quick phone call later and she was out the door.
**
They met on the street. In the bright sunshine, Buffy looked to Angel like a cool drink of water: clean, unadorned, utterly refreshing.
"This is it, then. The secrets to our past unlocked?" Angel said, stepping aside so that Buffy could descend the stairs to the small door below street level.
Buffy paused in front of the door and looked back at Angel. "Are you scared?" she asked.
"No. And yes. Since we talked last night I've been trying to remember things about my life, things that I'm sure I knew yesterday. I can't seem to recall a single detail about who I am. Weird."
Buffy smiled sympathetically. "I suspect it's going to get even weirder," she said. She turned back to the door and knocked.
**
Lorne was the oddest-looking man Angel had ever seen. Tall, flamboyant, with reddish hair and sparkling blue eyes, he practically oozed intelligence and wit from his skin, which Angel thought had an oddly green glow.
"Sit. Sit," Lorne said enthusiastically. "Can I get you something? Coffee? Bloody Mary?"
"Thanks, no." Buffy said. Angel merely shook his head.
"Just want to get started. I know. The two of you must be in a state. Okay. This is how this works. I'm not a fortuneteller. I am not a magician or crackpot or really even a seer. I read the energy around a person, their auras. I can see things about people. There's a lot I already know about you," he said, leveling his gaze at Buffy. "You're out there with your feelings, heart on your sleeve, that kinda thing." He shifted his blue eyes to Angel. "You, babycakes, I'm less clear on. But that won't matter."
"What do you mean, it won't matter?" Buffy asked, before Angel had a chance to open his mouth.
"I know some things. You two are connected. Psychically. Emotionally. Your souls are...well, bound together."
"Bound together?" Angel said, feeling the same sense of disbelief rising in him as he had the previous day.
"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves," Lorne said. "If you wouldn't mind sitting facing each other, close but not touching, that would be very helpful.
"Buffy scooted her chair around to face Angel and gave him, what she hoped was, a reassuring smile.
"You don't really need to do anything, "Lorne said. "Just sit quietly and think about whatever."
In the quiet hush that fell in the room, Lorne cleared his throat and began.
...to be continued
By Chrislee
Rated R for language and sexual situations
Summary: Buffy and Angel walk a fine line between fantasy and reality. What if Angel and Buffy were normal people, leading normal lives? Would they be compelled to find each other? Totally a B/A fic.
Note: My first attempt at AU fic... with a twist. Again...who knows what the deal is with my muse. I'm just happy to be writing.
Dedication: This is 100% for Trammie, for her encouragement, insight, and commas! Thank you.
Feedback: sure- christie_mcdonal@hotmail.com
LOST TOGETHER
I
Just for a moment, Angel was struck with a feeling that he had seen the girl somewhere before. He stopped in the street, shifting his carrier bag from one hand to the other, and stared at her retreating form as it went down the street. What was it about her that touched a familiar cord in him, he wondered, as she disappeared around the corner.
A few more blocks and he would be at the hotel. He and his colleagues were just a few weeks away from the grand re-opening of the Hyperion. The stately old circa 1930's hotel had been in a bad state of disrepair when Angel had come upon it while looking for something to occupy his time. Being rich was one thing, being idle something completely different. Angel bought dilapidated hotels, mansions, and vintage properties, refurbished and then sold them.
A few more long strides and Angel was standing in front of the hotel's entrance. For some reason he couldn't explain, Angel had grown attached to this hotel. He didn't understand why this place should be more meaningful than any of the other buildings he had restored over the past ten years, but he'd felt at home here as soon as he'd entered the crumbling façade, stood in the once-grand lobby.
With a last, quick glance down the street, Angel entered.
**
Cordelia Chase had just enough time to assess her make-up in the mirror before her boss crossed the lobby and made his way behind the desk to where she was sitting choosing fabrics for the hotel's window treatments. Although she'd been in his employ for the past seven years, it mattered what he thought of her. Well, actually it was more than that. She was in love with him and although he had never spoken of it, Cordelia knew that he knew how she felt. Angel had never taken advantage of her feelings, nor ever once given her even the slightest hope that they might some day be anything more than professional colleagues.
She watched him as he moved through the sawhorses and power tools that littered the lobby. Watched as he stopped to speak to one or two construction workers. Watched as he stopped to point to the beautifully restored plaster work over the archway that led to the dining room. He was all grace, like a dancer; okay, maybe too big for a dancer, but graceful anyway. Cordelia ducked her head back to the fabric swatches, feeling the beginnings of a prickly blush crawl up her neck.
"Hey, Cordy," Angel said, as he swept into the makeshift office. "How's it going?"
"Great," Cordy said, arching a well-groomed eyebrow.
"Wes get back yet?"
"Nope."
Angel put his carrier bag down and picked up the stack of phone messages from the little basket on the corner of his desk. Rifling through them, he quickly organized them into little piles of "must call back immediately," "not vital, later," "social," and "who-in-the-heck-is-this."
"Who in the hell is Spike Williamson?" Angel asked Cordelia.
"Oh, yeah, that's the guy who's going to do the ceramic work in the bathrooms in the lobby. He comes highly recommended."
"Mmmm," Angel sighed under his breath.
"And Charles Gunn, who's he?"
"Dunno," Cordelia said, shaking her head.
The final pink slip of paper seemed to vibrate in Angel's hand. Buffy Summers . Buffy Summers. Why did that name sound so familiar?
"Buffy Summers ring a bell?" he asked his assistant.
"Nope, can't say that it does. But, you know, she's called several times...like five times. I didn't bother to put all the messages there, it seemed redundant. But you should call her, she seemed anxious."
Angel shrugged and stuffed the paper in the pocket of his leather pants.
"I got lunch," he said, pointing to the carrier bag. "Sandwiches and salad and I think there's some goopy dip thing in there, too."
"Great, thanks, Angel," Cordy said, turning away from him, and bending back over the sample books. "I'm hoping to get the fabric ordered today and that'll be one less thing to worry about. When is Mr. Giles going to be back in town?"
"I'm not sure, actually. Wes has, pretty much, been doing the communication thing with him so I was hoping he'd be around to give me the lowdown on when we could expect Rupert to be back in the country. I guess we'll know soon enough."
**
Angel took the pink paper out of his pocket and sat in a quiet corner of the hotel with his cell phone. He felt incredibly unnerved by the name on the paper. Somehow, though, Angel felt connected to the name and for Angel that was a very weird sensation.
A solitary man by nature, Angel had let very few people into his life. He knew he could pursue a relationship with Cordelia if he wanted to; truth was, he wasn't interested. Very few women interested him, although he'd had lots of opportunities. He knew he had the attributes that were attractive in a man: intelligence, wealth, looks. Angel wasn't sure why exactly, but he just had no desire.
But there was something about this name. Buffy Summers. He dialed the number.
**
Buffy Summers stepped out of the shower to the insistent ringing of her phone. She was inclined to let the machine pick it up; nothing worse than standing naked and wet, talking on the phone. But there was something about this call, she could feel it in her bones.
Grabbing an extra towel for her hair, Buffy reached for the phone on, what she was sure was, the last ring. "Hello," she said breathlessly.
"I'm looking for Buffy Summers," the voice on the other end said, and Buffy's heart stopped. She'd know that voice anywhere.
"This is Buffy."
"I don't think we know each other, but you called me and left me a message."
"Angel?" Buffy whispered.
Angel closed his eyes against the sound of the longing in her voice as she whispered his name. Who was this woman? And what did she want with him?
II
Angel said nothing. He wasn't sure he would have a voice to speak, even if he could think of something to say.
"Angel?" the woman called Buffy breathed into the phone.
Swallowing against the dryness in his throat, Angel said, "Do I know you?"
"It's the strangest thing," Buffy said, softly. "You don't actually know me. But, yes, you do."
"I'm sorry, but you're not making any sense. Look, I don't know what your game is...but I'm not playing," Angel said, hesitating only for a second before pressing the end button on his cell.
**
Wesley Wyndam-Price set his briefcase down on the overflowing desk and reached for the ringing phone.
"Yes," he said crisply into the receiver.
A female voice, quivering with tears, said, "May I speak with Angel, please?"
"I'm sorry, he's not here at the moment. I mean, I just walked in and while he may be around, he's not right here at the moment."
"Can you give me your address, please?" the woman asked tremulously.
Wes rattled off the address, said a polite goodbye and hung up just as Angel walked into the office.
"Oh, damn," Wesley muttered, "you just missed a call. Some teary woman."
"Don't want to talk to her," Angel said.
"Oh, well, then you probably don't want to hear that she asked for the address."
A soft expletive issued from Angel's tightly compressed lips. Wesley shrugged ineffectually and pulled a sheaf of official looking documents from his battered briefcase. "These are the last of the contracts. Giles has signed them all. Closing's in a fortnight."
Angel reached for the papers and scanned them quickly. "Everything's in order, then?"
"Oh, yes. He's very pleased, Angel. Very pleased, indeed." Wesley said, and Angel half smiled at the smugness in his voice. Wesley Wyndam-Price had been a real asset to his business. He was a man who noticed every detail and had a steel-trap mind when it came to remembering them. Sometimes Angel found him a little too tightly wound, but everyone had a cross to bear.
"So, who's the girl?"
Angel grimaced. He hated anyone asking him personal questions, but he knew that Wesley wasn't merely being nosey. He actually cared about his boss and would drop anything to help Angel out.
Angel took a breath. "Strange as it may seem, I don't know who she is," he paused. "And stranger still, somehow I do."
Wesley shook his head, clearly lost. "I don't get it."
"Join the club." Angel grabbed a pen and began to sign the documents Wesley had given him. They were just a few short days from walking away from this project, and handing the keys over to the new owner, Rupert Giles. Angel felt the need for a break and assumed that Cordelia and Wesley wouldn't say no to some paid R and R either. Still, he knew that despite feeling tired to the very core, he wouldn't rest. Instead, he'd send his co-workers off to some exotic resort and then begin his quest for the next mammoth project to fill his life with something meaningful to do.
"Shit."
"Pardon?" Wesley said.
Standing at the entrance of the hotel, just inside the huge double glass doors was the girl that Angel had seen on the street. Angel watched her double-check a piece of paper that she held in her hand, smooth a strand of incredible honey-coloured hair back into the loose knot at the back of her head, and fidget indecisively before taking a step down the shallow stairs that led into the lobby. And the whole time he watched her, Angel forgot to breathe.
**
"Excuse me."
Angel heard the voice from behind the corner where he stood like some thirteen year old acne riddled school boy, spying on the object of his deepest affection.
"May I help you?" Cordelia said, briskly.
"Hi. Yes, I was wondering if Angel might be here."
Ever efficient and extremely suspicious, Cordelia said, "Do you have an appointment, Miss...."
"Summers. Buffy Summers. I was speaking to Angel earlier today, actually."
Smooth, Angel thought, very smooth. They hadn't exchanged more than a few words and yet she'd made it seem like they had planned to meet. Angel felt a lick of curiousity creep up his spine. Running a hand through his hair, he stepped out from behind the wall, papers in hand, eyes on papers.
"Oh, Angel," Cordy said.
"Mmmm," Angel replied, without looking up from his faked interest in the document he was holding.
"This is Buffy Summers. She's here to see you."
No choice now. Angel had to release his eyes from the paper and look up at this woman with whom he'd had the brief, but oddly unsettling, phone call earlier.
He felt his heart constrict with indefinable longing. Oh My God. Oh My God. OhMyGod.
She was striking. Not beautiful, not stunning, but striking. Dressed in a plain skirt and white blouse with a silver cross at her throat, she was quite easily the most striking woman Angel had ever seen. He dragged his eyes up her body, in what seemed to him like slow motion, and caught her eyes with his own. Luminous. That was the word that came immediately to mind when he locked gazes with her. And more: forgiving, unwavering, sad.
"Miss Summers," he said in a voice that was barely above a whisper, a voice that snapped Cordelia's head to attention.
"Angel," came the whispered response. "May we talk?"
Angel opened the little half door that allowed Buffy to move from the lobby into the office. As she passed, the smells of summer, vanilla, and lavender wafted up to Angel and he felt a gasp rising in his throat. He swallowed hard.
"Let's go back here," he said, motioning to a small private room they sometimes used for meetings.
Buffy nodded. Cordelia shot Angel a look thatcould only be described as jealous curiousity. Angel cautioned Cordy with a look of his own and, with a hand placed at the small of her back, propelled Buffy towards the back room.
Closing the door, Angel turned to face her and waited.
III
Buffy's heart raced in her chest. Up close Angel was devastatingly handsome. Her eyes sped around the room, looking for something other than his chiseled cheeks, strong jaw and serious eyes to rest on. She shook her head. She had something to tell him and she couldn't be distracted by his looks. Not now. Not when she'd come so far.
"Look," she started, and faltered almost immediately to a stop. She scanned the room for a chair and spotted a straight back wooden thing that looked more like an instrument of torture than a comfortable place to sit. It would be better than crumpling to the floor, though, and she made her way toward it.
Seated, looking up at him, he seemed impossibly tall. The look on his face was difficult to read. Suspicion? Anger? Curiousity? Buffy couldn't be sure and she was afraid to look at him for too long, the tears were threatening behind her eyes as it was. She just needed to find a way to make the words leave her throat. And she needed to make sure that she chose the right words because she was fairly certain that she had just one chance to make him believe her.
**
The woman seemed nervous and now, sitting in that ridiculous chair, uncomfortable. As much as he'd like to ease her mind, Angel wasn't even remotely sure how he might accomplish that. Despite his reticence, Angel was fairly good with people. He usually knew just what to say to make them do exactly what he needed them to do: trust him, give him the job, spill their guts. But this one, this Buffy, was a puzzle. He couldn't figure her out. Nor could he stop staring at her.
He pulled up a matching straight back chair and sat opposite her, a few feet away. Not too close because the smell of her was intoxicating.
"I feel that there's something you want to tell me. Is there?" he said, quietly.
She lifted her eyes from her folded hands and nodded. "Need to tell you," Buffy clarified.
"I'm sorry that whatever it is, is so difficult. I'm trying to be patient, but I've got to tell you, I'm a bit under the wire here and don't have a lot of time for..."
She nodded again, clearing her throat.
"I'm sorry. I guess I didn't plan on this being so difficult. Usually I'm not so...so tight-lipped. Talking has never really been a problem for me. I should have had a plan B, you know, like a letter I wrote that would have it all laid out for you and I could just give you and walk away. But," she shrugged, "no plan B."
Angel smiled.
"And no walking away, either. When I tell you what I have to tell you, I won't be able to walk away. And if you believe me, Angel, neither will you."
The smile left Angel's face. Something about her words rung true. Like he had known them before they'd ever left her lips. A sudden sense that he'd had this conversation before ripped through him: physical déjà vu.
"Okay," he said.
"Okay," she repeated. "Okay. Have you ever been to a place called Sunnydale?"
Angel gave the question a few seconds consideration and then shook his head, no.
"It's a little burg a couple hours north of here. It's where I grew up, partly at least. It's a hell hole, little dump of a town with very few redeeming qualities," Buffy paused to smile at Angel. "Anyway. At the very end of high school, my graduation, our school blew up. No one can really remember why or even what happened. It's like we all got amnesia. I only remember two things. I set the explosive. And you were there."
"That's not possible, though. I've never been to Sunnydale. I couldn't even find it on a map."
"Bear with me, okay," Buffy said, softly.
Angel nodded.
"Before the explosion, before school ended I have very vague memories. I mean, I couldn't tell you if I passed or failed or the names of any of my teachers or if I dated anyone or played any sports or had any friends. It's like my mind is all fuzzy. Just beyond that fuzziness is a key to, well, a key to who I am and I've been looking for it for a long time. See, before it didn't really matter. I can't tell you exactly when that changed, but I think it has something to do with you."
"I'm sorry. I don't understand."
Buffy frowned. She wasn't doing a very good job of making him understand. In fact, if she had to give herself a grade for this rendition of her life she was afraid it would fall on the serious "F" side. Now that she had started, it became clear to her how important this was, how important he was.
"I'm not doing a very good job. Look. Have you ever looked at property on Crawford Street? I know you said you've never been to Sunnydale but..."
Angel stood up suddenly. "Crawford Street?" he said. "Wait a minute..." A knock at the door interrupted Angel's thought, and he moved to the door and yanked it open fiercely. "What?" A murmured voice on the other side and Angel's passionate, "Not now," before he came to sit opposite Buffy again. "I remember. A mansion. I looked at a big mansion on Crawford Street a while ago. I bought it. I didn't buy it?" Angel looked at Buffy for confirmation.
"I'm not sure if you bought it or not. I think you did, but I'm not 100% sure. See, it's all very complicated," Buffy said.
"So it would seem."
"You know that feeling that you've been somewhere before? Or, when you meet someone and you get this feeling that you know them, even though you've never met? For the past couple of years my life has been one moment after another of moments like that. I'm always just one step away from figuring it out, but I never quite get there. Then, all of a sudden, I started having these really weird dreams. Weird for a couple of reasons; tactile, like I was actually there and weird because sometimes I wasn't even asleep. I was awake," Buffy paused. "These dreams, or whatever they were, seemed to be in chapters. They weren't the same thing over and over the way some dreams are. They were logical. Say, like one dream would finish at a certain point and the next one would take off exactly where the last left off. It was creepy at first, but then I got sorta sucked into the story like it was a really good book only I was the main character."
"What were the dreams about?" Angel asked. "Can you remember?"
"Yes, I can remember. Every detail. I had some sort of supernatural power: strength and speed and stamina. I spent a lot of time with an English guy in a library. There were a few other people, too. And I spent a lot of time in graveyards."
"Graveyards?" Angel asked.
"I know," Buffy shook her head dismally. "The more I tell you the weirder it sounds." Buffy stood and walked to the room's only window, which looked down on a small courtyard. "I was a warrior. I fought demons." She hesitated, "I was a vampire slayer."
Now Angel did laugh. "A vampire slayer. You have got to be kidding me. I don't know what this is all about but, surely, you don't take me for a gullible fool." Angel was suddenly beside her at the window, his wide mouth pulled into a scowl.
Buffy tore her gaze away from the climbing roses that stretched across a sunny brick wall below her and forced herself to meet his angry gaze.
"Here are some things I know: You came from Ireland. You have no living family. You dated someone named Darla for a long time and the relationship ended badly. You've never used a last name. You are intensely private...."
Angel put up a hand to stop her. "Any private investigator worth his retainer could have gotten half that information off the goddamn Internet."
"True," Buffy conceded. " But then there's this...." Buffy reached up to the collar of her blouse and pulled it back to reveal a scar on her throat. Angel took a step forward and then, a step back. His mouth felt stuffed full of cotton and he knew two things with sudden certainty: this girl was telling the truth and he was responsible for the scar.
IV
At home, later that afternoon, Buffy felt as though she'd been run over by a Mack truck. After she'd shown Angel the scar, his already pale face had looked positively ashen. He'd begged off hearing any more of her story, citing business, and promised that they could meet for a late dinner that evening.
Buffy craved sleep. Pulling back the comforter she crawled into her bed wearily. That was one pain-in-the-ass thing about this `other life' she seemed to be living, her sleep patterns were all messed up.
For the few moments before sleep claimed her, Buffy thought about the disconcerting look on Angel's face when she'd shown him the scar on her neck. Buffy hadn't had very much experience with men, but she was quite sure that the look on Angel's face had been possessive.
**
Angel stood under the hot spray of the shower for a long time. Something was puzzling him and Angel hated to be stumped by anything. There was no longer any doubt in his mind that Buffy Summers was telling him the truth. It had been the scar that had cinched it for him. The very second Angel saw it he'd had an almost physical reaction to it. For an instant he was sure he could taste the coppery sweetness of blood in his mouth. He'd recognized the taste immediately and that begged the question: how in the hell did he know what blood tasted like?
**
Angel had chosen a quiet family-run Italian restaurant to meet Buffy. He arrived early and settled at a secluded table near the empty fireplace. Not even a desire to create ambience would have convinced Luigi, the restaurant's owner, to light a fire in this heat. The waiter offered Angel a cocktail, but he ordered a bottle of Pinto Grigio instead. The first cooling sip was a balm to Angel's rattled nerves.
Ten minutes later, the waiter arrived at the table with Buffy in tow. She looked radiant. Her hair hung loosely on bare shoulders. She wore no make-up save pale lipstick and mascara. Her halter-top revealed toned arms and midriff. Her Capri pants accentuated muscular thighs and a perfect bottom. Angel felt blind-sided. Suddenly the crotch of his pants felt too small. His palms itched.
"Thanks for agreeing to this, Angel," Buffy said quietly as she sat.
Angel nodded and gestured to the bottle of wine. "Would you like a glass?"
"Okay."
As Angel poured her wine, Buffy set her bag down beside her and glanced around the room. "Nice place," she said, before looking back at Angel, accepting the proffered wine and gratefully taking a sip.
"The food's excellent," Angel offered.
"Great."
That brought an end to the small talk and left the two in an uncomfortable silence. Buffy smiled gratefully at the waiter when he arrived with a small chalkboard, which served as the menu. As he described each item in glorious detail, Buffy felt her stomach rumble.
After taking their orders and refilling their wineglasses, the waiter left Buffy and Angel to stare at each other across the table.
"The scar. How did you...it was me, wasn't it?"
Buffy felt her eyes well with tears.
"Buffy," he said, placing a large warm hand over hers. "I believe you. I believe that we have a connection, and it's not just that I have obviously harmed you in some way."
"I don't think it was anything like that, actually," Buffy said, touching her oversized linen napkin to her eye to prevent the tears from escaping.
"Jesus," Angel said, squeezing her hand. "What is going on?"
Buffy shrugged helplessly. "I think that I made you...bite me...that you needed to bite me and I made you do it."
"Needed to bite you? What in the hell for?"
"Angel, what do you remember about your past?" Buffy said.
"What do you mean? I remember..." Angel stopped. Suddenly and inexplicably he remembered nothing.
"What you're feeling right now, Angel, I know how that feels. At first it was just little things, little jolts of recognition: places and people that suddenly seemed to fit or not fit at all in my life. Then, as these dreams started to get more...graphic...my `normal' life seemed to fall by the wayside, made less and less sense to me." Buffy stopped, and Angel gave her an encouraging nod. "I suddenly wasn't whom I'd been my whole life, this LA girl with friends and, well, a normal life. I was this other person who had the weight of the world on her shoulders. But it wasn't bad, not really. I had good friends, solid friends. And I had you."
"Me?" Angel whispered.
Buffy nodded. "At first, you weren't around very much and then you were around all the time, watching my back, listening to me and making me feel safe. Totally and completely safe. Somehow, I knew you existed. That sounds all hocus pocus-y, I know. But you were, like, the most important person in the world to me and I knew that I had to find you. Oddly, it wasn't that hard to track you down. I had your name and there aren't that many `Angels' around. When I heard your voice I knew. Actually, I saw you on the street earlier today and I knew. I just knew.
"So did I," Angel agreed. "I saw you today, too. In a funny way I knew...something. But why haven't I had these dreams. Why don't I have these memories?"
"I can't answer your questions, Angel," Buffy said, softly. "But I think I know someone who can."
The first course arrived, just as Angel was about to press Buffy for more information, and the smell was so tantalizing that, after refilling both their wineglasses, they dove into the food on their plates.
A few moments later, Angel leaned across his plate and said, "You said that you might know someone who could help us sort this out."
"Yes, I do. I mean, I don't know him personally, but he comes highly recommended. He's a seer. A mystic of some sort."
Angel grunted out a laugh. "I don't believe in that crap."
It was Buffy's turn to laugh. "Really? But you believe me?"
Angel smiled. "I guess you're right. So, what do we do?"
"We go to see him and he does some mogo thing and hopefully sorts this all out."
"Okay," Angel said.
"Okay."
The waiter cleared away their empty plates and arrived with their entrees. As they ate and finished their wine, Buffy tried to explain to Angel what the past few months of her life had been like. The more she spoke, the more at ease Angel felt. Or perhaps, he thought to himself, that's just the wine talking. Buffy's cheeks were flushed. Angel was, again, struck be her natural beauty.
After coffee, Angel offered to walk Buffy back to her hotel and it was just before she went into the building for the night, that she dropped one more bombshell.
"Can I ask you a personal question?"
"At this point, I can't see any reason why not," Angel said with a small smile.
"Do you have a tattoo?"
Angel sighed. "As a matter of fact, I do."
It was Buffy's turn to offer a small smile. "Like a griffin, but not."
"Simply put, yes."
The memory washed over her almost immediately: Angel's blood seeping through the white t-shirt. Her offer to patch him up. His broad, flawless back. The rush of heat to her face and crotch to see him standing there, shirtless, in the kitchen. The tattoo, an intricate pattern of lines and swirls. Her fingertips tingling with the need to trace it. The thought of him lying prone, while someone with a needle spoiled his skin with ink was almost more than she could bear...
"Buffy?" Angel's voice brought her back to the busy LA street.
"See you tomorrow, then," she said.
"Tomorrow," Angel said and turned to leave.
"Angel." Buffy's soft voice carried back down the steps, and stopped him in his tracks. He turned his head around to look at her, but said nothing.
"I think it'll be okay. In the end."
Angel nodded and headed back the way he'd come.
V
Cordelia Chase felt the need for something much stronger than coffee when she arrived at the Hyperion the next morning. Wesley was already there, poring over the documents that Angel had signed the previous day. A stickler for detail, he always triple-checked everything to be sure that every `I' was dotted and every `T' crossed. "Anal retentive," Cordelia thought as she sniffed the coffee in the pot.
"It's fresh, if that's what you're wondering," Wesley said, without looking up.
"Great," Cordelia said, pouring herself a cup. "Do anything interesting last night?"
"No. You?"
"Same old. What about Angel?"
Wesley stopped and looked up from the desk. He was well aware of Cordelia's feelings for their employer and he was also aware that Angel felt nothing, but fondness, for Cordelia. He wished that he could say something to make her get off this train to nowhere, but he knew it would be fruitless. A truthful answer to her question might, however, make her trip a little shorter.
"He had a dinner date, I believe."
"Date?" Cordelia managed to squeak out. "Angel went on a date?"
"Yes, I believe he did. With that woman who stopped by to see him yesterday afternoon. Remember?"
Cordelia nodded. How could she forget? The woman had been a glowing ball of light, floating towards Angel and causing a reaction in him that Cordelia had never seen.
"What are you up to today?" Wesley asked, gently.
"I'm...oh, I...paperwork mostly..."Cordelia said, turning away so Wesley wouldn't see the tears in her eyes.
But Wesley knew she was crying. He always did.
**
Angel stood in front of the mirror for a long time. Somehow the face staring back at him seemed like a stranger's, someone he recognized but didn't know intimately. He tried to recall details of his life, tried to reconcile himself to the fact that life as, he knew it, was about to change, but he wasn't sure where to start.
He shaved carefully, gelled his hair, slipped into a clean black linen shirt and sat on his bed, waiting.
**
Buffy was pulling her hair into a ponytail when the phone rang.
"You're Buffy Summers." The voice was full of an unusual mixture authority and laughter.
"Yes, I am."
"Well, this is Lorne. I'm the guy you most definitely want to see and, honey, I am so looking forward to meeting you and Angel."
Buffy laughed in spite of herself. "Okay. Where are you?"
Lorne gave directions, they agreed on a time and Buffy hung up the phone. One quick phone call later and she was out the door.
**
They met on the street. In the bright sunshine, Buffy looked to Angel like a cool drink of water: clean, unadorned, utterly refreshing.
"This is it, then. The secrets to our past unlocked?" Angel said, stepping aside so that Buffy could descend the stairs to the small door below street level.
Buffy paused in front of the door and looked back at Angel. "Are you scared?" she asked.
"No. And yes. Since we talked last night I've been trying to remember things about my life, things that I'm sure I knew yesterday. I can't seem to recall a single detail about who I am. Weird."
Buffy smiled sympathetically. "I suspect it's going to get even weirder," she said. She turned back to the door and knocked.
**
Lorne was the oddest-looking man Angel had ever seen. Tall, flamboyant, with reddish hair and sparkling blue eyes, he practically oozed intelligence and wit from his skin, which Angel thought had an oddly green glow.
"Sit. Sit," Lorne said enthusiastically. "Can I get you something? Coffee? Bloody Mary?"
"Thanks, no." Buffy said. Angel merely shook his head.
"Just want to get started. I know. The two of you must be in a state. Okay. This is how this works. I'm not a fortuneteller. I am not a magician or crackpot or really even a seer. I read the energy around a person, their auras. I can see things about people. There's a lot I already know about you," he said, leveling his gaze at Buffy. "You're out there with your feelings, heart on your sleeve, that kinda thing." He shifted his blue eyes to Angel. "You, babycakes, I'm less clear on. But that won't matter."
"What do you mean, it won't matter?" Buffy asked, before Angel had a chance to open his mouth.
"I know some things. You two are connected. Psychically. Emotionally. Your souls are...well, bound together."
"Bound together?" Angel said, feeling the same sense of disbelief rising in him as he had the previous day.
"Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves," Lorne said. "If you wouldn't mind sitting facing each other, close but not touching, that would be very helpful.
"Buffy scooted her chair around to face Angel and gave him, what she hoped was, a reassuring smile.
"You don't really need to do anything, "Lorne said. "Just sit quietly and think about whatever."
In the quiet hush that fell in the room, Lorne cleared his throat and began.
...to be continued