TIMELINE: This is an AU fic set during the days and weeks following "Becoming II".
SUMMARY: Truth lies elsewhere.
AUTHOR'S NOTE (1): I wanted to explore a world where Buffy did not send Angel to Hell. It's not a pretty place. This story refers to events of season 2 (BtVS). The title translates as "There and Elsewhere".
AUTHOR'S NOTE (2): I tried and tried but I cannot get the formatting to work on ff.net. Done trying. If you want to see the correctly formatted version, it's available at my website (Yseult's Passion).
THANKS TO: Sharon and Dana who read endless drafts, Sofia for her astute comments, and Janet who rolled her eyes in all the right places. Ladies, it's been quite the journey.
DATE OF COMPLETION: 24 May 2003
DISCLAIMER: Maybe in my next life? Lyrics are from Enigma's "Mea Culpa". Translated by me.

PART I
Je n'ai plus rien. / I have nothing left.


He found her in the LA bus terminal. She was sitting on a hard plastic orange chair, a duffel bag between her feet, blonde hair hidden by the hood of her jacket. She sipped idly from a large McDonald's cup and stared at nothing. As he watched, she surreptitiously removed a stake from one of the many pockets in her overalls and slid it into her sleeve. Her eyes swept to the left, to the right, and finally locked on his. She didn't move or speak. There was no sign that she knew who he was (or who he had been) except for the patina of tears in her eyes.

He approached her slowly, lowered his bag to the floor, and, wincing, crouched before her. He scrutinized her face. Her eyes were old. There was no vitality in them. I did this. There were no words to tell her what he felt or why he was there, so he said nothing. They stared at each other until someone jostled him, and the gaze was broken.

He stood, picked up his bag, and waited for her to do the same. She inspected her shoes while she made her decision. LA equalled anonymity; that's why she had chosen the city as her haven. Beyond leaving Sunnydale that morning and forgetting her life as the Slayer, Buffy had not given any thought about how she would exist. Angel's appearance reminded her that she had nothing except $47.73 in her pocket. Her mother had disowned her. Her father was "unavailable". She was estranged from her friends and Watcher by circumstance and choice. She was alone.

Buffy followed Angel out of the building.

*****

They did not speak as he led her through a maze of alleys and streets. Angel searched for a safe and anonymous place to rest. It was late in the night before he settled on one of the "better" ones that catered to demons and humans.

The desk clerk openly leered at Buffy as Angel requested a room. "D'ya wanna single?" it pandered. Angel thought about this. With the exception of the passionate kisses and embrace at the mansion, they had not really been with each other since the James and Grace experience. Better make it two beds. "Ain't she kinda young?" The sweating purple demon had greasy brown fur. It scratched its belly through the misbuttoned shirt. "Looks like a virgin, too," the clerk continued with a sneer. Angel studied Buffy. She looks broken. "If yer willin' t' share, I'll let ya have the room fer half price. She a screamer?" The demon licked its distended lips in anticipation. That got Angel's attention. He reached across the counter, grabbed a fistful of grimy shirt, and easily hoisted the clerk.

"We'll take a double room. At no cost. Now." Angel threatened. Then he smirked through his fangs in case there was any doubt about the sincerity of the warning. The clerk vigorously nodded its head in agreement.

Angel released the trembling demon who scrambled to find some room keys. "Sure, no problem, mister. Whatever ya want," it babbled, dropping keys on the counter. "Room 28. Ya just need t' fill out…" Its voice died away as Angel glared. The demon backpedalled. "Know what? Yer fine."

Angel handed one key to Buffy. She turned it over wordlessly before stuffing it into a pocket. She followed him into the hallway and down the stairs to the room. He put the key in the lock and opened the door. He stepped aside to let her in. She brushed silently past him and placed her bag on one of the beds. Angel entered and closed the door behind him. He turned the deadbolt and slid the chain into its holder. As he rested his forehead against the door, he could hear the blood pulsing through her body. If I turn around, what will I see?

"Are you hungry? I can get some food." Something creaked. He pivoted and faced her. She sat cross-legged on the bed with her hands folded in her lap. She was staring into the mirror that reflected the room but not him.

"No. I'm fine." She took a steadying breath. "Really. I just want a shower. And then maybe some sleep." Angel shrugged out of his coat and placed it over the back of a chair. The movement forced a grimace across his face and a hiss past his lips. She heard it and turned her attention to him. "You should probably eat though. Can you… Is there someplace where you…" Her voice dissipated into the uneasy silence.

"Yeah," Angel answered as he moved towards her. Buffy scooted to the head of the bed. She's afraid. Of me? He backed away. "Why don't you take that shower while I'm gone." She nodded and watched him leave.

*****

What she wanted was a blistering hot shower to melt the pain in her soul. She turned the tap on full, but all she could feel was tepid water. At least the bathroom was clean. Buffy massaged the soap with numb fingers. The lather spilled over her hands as she washed the horrible day off her skin. She stood mutely under the sputtering spray until the water turned cold. Like him. She turned the shower off and drew back the curtain. A soft knock on the door startled her.

"It's me. I'm back." Angel's deep voice was muffled. Yes. You are.

"I'll be out in a minute," she called. She had brought her clothes into the bathroom. She slipped on her panties and then her pajamas, a tank top with shorts. She towel-dried her hair and peered into the mirror. She didn't look like the Slayer. She looked like a seventeen-year-old girl. That's all I ever was.

*****

Angel had not intended to be half-dressed when she exited the bathroom. He froze when he heard her surprised "Oh!" He was trying to clean the wound so it would heal faster. It was painful and awkward. Buffy tossed her dirty clothes on the floor and stepped silently to his side. She took the antiseptic and cotton balls from his hands and gently cleansed the wound. Wordlessly, she pressed a dressing over it and wrapped the gauze around his waist. She stood so close that her hair tickled his chin and brushed against his bare chest.

"Buffy." Angel tried to catch her hand in his but she stepped back and turned away.

"I'm really tired." Buffy addressed the wall. "I'm going to sleep." She slipped into her bed and turned off the bedside light. She lay on her back, hands laced together over her stomach, eyes closed.

You can't hide forever, Buffy. Angel picked up the bloodied cotton balls and took them into the bathroom with his toothbrush and a towel. He washed his face, stripped, and sponged off the rest of his body. He redressed in a pair of cotton drawstring pants and t-shirt. When he opened the door, he was greeted with darkness. Buffy's rhythmic breathing reached his ears.

He paused briefly at her bedside. "Good night, Buffy," he whispered. He climbed into his small bed and drew the flimsy sheets over his body. Sleep tight.