Disclaimer: I own nothing Buffy the Vampire Slayer related. Or Angel the Series related. It's all owned by Joss Whedon. (Ok, I know my disclaimers aren't really that exciting, but it's all I can do right now. I'm focusing my creative energy on my stories, not my disclaimers at this moment, so get over it.

Rating: R- not really exciting right now, but soon.

Summary: The truth may be expected, but lies are easier. What happens when lies and deception consume your life. Sequel to "Exit Stage Left".

Author's Notes: Howdy my chillens! So, after my long, creative hiatus, I'm back! While I thought and meditated, all these ideas came crashing in my head. All creative ideas! I want to thank all my readers for waiting. I know how much it sucks to wait for an author to post a new chapter. But, I am now distraction free. Also, I am taking a few classes this year that are so boring, I can write while I ignore the teacher. Sigh, here is a new chapter, at the insistence of a few people, to entertain one and all. Again, thank you for patiently waiting. Love Lily-bug.

PS: You all are awesome.









Chapter Seven- Backwards

"Angel?"

She blinked rapidly, hoping that the image in front of her was a hallucination, or a case of mistaken identity.

But, when she gazed back up at the figure in front of her, she knew there couldn't be any mistake.

The look of amazement on Angel's face melted away, and was replaced by a soft smile.

"Hey Buffy," he whispered, reaching his hand out to help Buffy up from the ground.

Reluctantly taking the offered hand, she allowed herself to be pulled up.

"I didn't think it was you. I mean, you see a girl alone in a cemetery and you hope . . ." he stopped short, only to smile at her.

Nervously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, Buffy refused to meet Angel's eyes. Suddenly, the 35-year-old woman felt sixteen again, reliving her past. It felt like her first year in Sunnydale, when she would run into Angel during patrol, have a few brief moments of bliss, and spent the rest of the evening with butterflies in her stomach . . .

He continued. " . . . I didn't know if you were still here. I went by your house . . ."

*Oh God, he didn't!*

" . . . And the person who answered it-"

*Please don't be Spike! Please don't be Spike!"

"-Was this young girl, about thirteen or something. Not something you expect."

*Thirteen year old girl? Who? Oh . . .*

"That was my old house," answered the woman, secretly relieved. "That little girl was Xander's daughter. He and Anya moved in when they got married."

Relief played openly on his face. "Oh." Both looked away, this conversation going nowhere.

"Um." She thought hard, trying to create a conversation that would relieve the uncomfortable tension that emitted between the two. "When did you get back?"

He backed away, aware of the emotions that played out on her face. "Tonight."

*Such a chatty man,* she sighed inwardly. Through a nonverbal agreement, the two began to walk.

"Why are you here?" she tried again.

"Apocalypse. Got a tip from an old friend," he sighed, remembering the meeting.

&&& Weeks Earlier &&&

"Angel, my pal. Long time no see."

Casually striding through his office door, Whistler threw his hat across the room.

"What's going on?" asked Angel, sitting up with agitation.

The demon smiled coyly. "Got some news for ya. Your girl's in trouble."

&&&&&&

"Whistler?" Buffy repeated, a smile growing as she recalled her mysterious friend.

His grin matched hers. "Showed up at my office, talking about these 'Horsemen of Sin' guys. Came to help out."

"Oh, the Horsemen," groaned Buffy, flopping down on a nearby bench. "Just heard about them today. The government's back in town, wanting to help out."

A small chuckle rumbled in his throat. No other words followed.

Joining her on the bench, Angel tried to calm his thoughts. There were so many things to ask her, but it might scare her away.

"How is everyone?"

Buffy swallowed hard. She had no idea what to tell him.

"Oh, you know, everyone's fine. Jobs, family, mortgage."

"How's Dawn?"

"Dawn's . . ." What to tell him? "Dawn's . . . fine." The lie cut through her like a knife.

Pausing, Angel noticed that Dawn was a touchy subject for Buffy. "Well, she's a good kid. She can handle anything that comes her way."

Silence followed, and Angel looked away. His gaze came to rest on her arms, left bare from her white tank top. "Where'd you get these?" he asked, carefully grazing his fingers across her tattoos.

"Hmm?" She joined where his eyes landed. The tattoos from her days as Phoenix. "Battle scars."

An eyebrow shot up. "Physical or emotional?"

"Is there a difference?"

Again, he laughed. "I guess not." His fingers were still on her arm, slowly tracing the ivy band that rapped around the skin. "What about you?"

Buffy swallowed hard. "Me?"

"Yeah, you. What's been going on with you?"

*Well Angel, I ran away from home after Dawn was killed, lived under a new identity for six years, then came back to save the world, and managed to fall in love with your Childe (who's now a human) and have a little girl. Yeah, Buffy, just go ahead and tell him that!*

She . . . she couldn't do it. The last time she saw Angel was right after she was brought back from heaven. Almost fourteen years ago. The young woman that ran to him wasn't around anymore. He couldn't possibly know what she had seen, or experienced, in the last few years.

"Oh, you know . . ." More lies. More lies to hide her truth.

"Any new adventures?"

Buffy laughed lightly. "Every single day."

"Any new . . ." he paused, unsure of if he wanted the truth, "Boyfriends."

*Not so much new.*

"Nope."

"Oh."

Turning her head away, she avoided the small look of hope that sparked in his eyes. It was obvious that he still felt something for her.

Opening his mouth to say something, Angel was interrupted by a beeping sound. Buffy recognized the sound. The alarm on her watch. 1 o'clock in the morning. Time to head home.

"Angel, I'm sorry. I have to go." Standing, she felt her nerves begin to cool down.

But he stood with her. "I'll walk you home."

Spinning around quickly, she held her hands up. "No, you don't have to," she blurted out, "I mean . . . you know, the whole superhero thing. I'll be fine."

Angel must have been aware of her nervousness, because he nodded. Unsure of whether to shake hands or hug, Buffy gave him a smile before walking away.

He called at her when she was about fifteen yards away.

"Can I see you sometime?"

Her brain screamed at her. *Tell him NO!* But she felt herself walking back to him, taking the pen he produced, and writing her address on his palm.

"Bye Angel." Handing him back his pen, she exited the cemetery quickly.

Not before she heard him answer back.

"Love you Buffy."



A growl erupted from deep inside her belly, causing Willow to open her eyes. She turned to stare at the alarm clock that rested on her nightstand.

1: 32 AM.

"No," she moaned, not wanting to get out of bed. But another growl from her stomach answered back.

Sighing, Willow pushed the sheet down, and swung her legs over the edge.

Tara felt the motion and turned to her. "Wha's going on," she whispered, heavy sleep still in her eyes.

Willow grinned, placing her pink bunny slippers on her bare feet. "Snack time."

Nodding, Tara turned back, half asleep.

Without many incidents, she went into the kitchen. After munching down a few slices of turkey and some Oreo's, Willow headed back down the hall.

But a light coming from the spare bedroom stopped her.

She opened the door. Sitting beside a pile of open spell books was Laila, grazing through the text.

Her small head came up, knowing at once that she was busted. "Hey Mommers," she greeted, already closing the book in front of her.

"What did your Mommy and I tell you about being in here alone?" asked the redhead, feeling empowering surges of the good mother.

"Not to do it?"

"Yep."

Giving her sheepish look of apology, the eight-year-old began to set the large books back in their places on the large shelves. After a few moments, Willow joined to help.

"Why were you doing this honey?" A grade school-er searching through advanced spell books was a worrying concept.

Shrugging, Laila shelved a spell index. "Something told me to."

A pause. "Something?" Willow asked, but at once she remembered. *Her vision.* "Did something happen today?"

Nodding, the curls of her red hair bouncing, Laila continued. "Some voice inside told me to be careful. I was scared, but I was with Aunt Buffy, so I didn't say nothing."

A stab of sorrow hit the mother. *Only eight, and she's got ties with the Powers That Be. It's just wrong.*

She heard her daughter go on. "The stuff you and Mommy teach me is so . . . boring and easy. I know I can do more! I have to!"

Hiding a smile on her face, Willow left the room, much to Laila's surprise, only to return seconds later, keys in hand.

"Let's see what we can do," began the woman, opening the closet door. She produced a good-sized portable safe. Using the key to unlock it, Willow brought out several large, and old, volumes.

"What are those?" the girl breathed out in amazement.

"Very special books." Handing a few to her daughter, Willow sat next to her.

She read the title of the first book. " 'Black Arts'?" Laila looked up with fear. "Mommy said black magic is bad!"

Willow chuckled at the display of innocence. "Black magic is only bad if you can't control it," she answered, briefly recalling her dreadful magic- bender days. *No, I'm older and wiser now, and I can control it!*

"Really?" Her blue eyes peaked up.

"Really really." Grinning, Willow set the young girl on her lap, and opened the first book. "Have you ever seen a snake breathe fire?"

"No."

"Well, you will."