Leaves crunch and crackle underneath the feet of the children running home from school, and the brisk post Thanksgiving air whistles down the main street of town.

The vampire with a soul walks slowly along, dodging out of the way of the running kids. No sun today. Storm clouds rolling in. Thus, he's safe to walk the streets a little early.

He walks past an alley, wrinkling his nose at the rotting turkey smell. His ears prick suddenly, the scratching of a rat's paws distracting him.

He is half way down the alley before he realizes that's not who he is anymore. He shakes his head, then listlesly moves back to the street.

She tried to kill him. She had aimed a crossbow bolt at his heart. But in the end, she had shot wide, on purpose.

Their connection had been instant and intense, the attraction obvious. She had been intrigued by the cocky, self sure man who appeared at the right moments, always warning her of some evil to come.

When he had helped her fight off The Three, when he had gotten stuck in her house- oh, alright, when he had conciously stayed in her house, he knew he had been lost the second she had asked him the simplest of questions.

"Do you snore?"

And he had been truly glad that he could tell her he wasn't sure.

And she had told him that was good. It was good! Did she possibly have some kind of feelings for him?

She had brought him dinner that night, and had then gone ballistic after thinking he had read her diary. The fact that she made such a show about how the A didn't stand for Angel, that his eyes weren't penetrating, they were bulging, was enough to make him try to leave right then. Because when she had said those things, he had known, had known for sure she was feeling the same desire, the same want he was. But he couldn't leave. So he did what he had wanted to do since buying that cross necklace for her.

He had taken her in his arms and had kissed her. And by god, she had kissed him back. And then he had lost control, and the hungry, lonely demon came roaring up and had shown its face.

She had opened her succulant lips and screamed then. The noise had blasted its way down his ears, his throat, had wrapped itself around his guts, and had torn out his dead heart.

He had jumped out the window rather than explain his betrayal to her.

In the end, they had worked it out. Or so he thought.

She had approached him at The Bronze, when he had been content only to watch her with her friends. She had asked if he was okay, and then had agreed with him, in that this can't be anything, and had stood there, gazing at him with her huge reflective eyes, her battling feelings for him etched on her features.

She had kissed him. And he had kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her body, her hands sunk into his hair. The sizzling from the cross touching him he had ignored- the feel of her swept all that to the tiny portion of his brain where he locked all his pain away from the outside.

"See you around?" she had asked.

God, I hope so.

It's been a few days since he's seen her, and he's wondering what around actually had meant.

What little sun there had been has finally slipped below the horizon, and the last of the running kids has made it off the streets and into their homes for the night.

Angel is relieved; he can rest a little now, that the easy prey of his kind are safe behind solid wood doors.

He passes Weatherly Park, and decides on a whim to enter. He sits silently on one of the swings, rather delicately for such a large man.

He pushes himself back and forth with his feet, the little voice in his head telling him to go home, there's no vamp activity tonight- after all, there's a slayer in this town.

And yet, he doesn't budge from his spot on the swing. He tells his conscience that he's there to watch for weirdness; but in truth he's hoping she'll be by later.

So he sits, and waits, and toys with the buttons on his leather coat, the ends flapping with his motions.

He's staring at the sky when he senses something. Someone's coming. He's off the swing and on top of the roof of the gardner's shed faster than the human eye can track.

She almost strolls into the park, a little whistle on her lips, a small black backpack on her back, a cup of what smells like coffee in her hands.

Her blond hair is pulled back hastily into a messy bun at the nape of her neck. He finds his eyes are helplessly drawn to that spot, watching as she sits on the swing he's vacated, listening for the thump thump of her blood pulsing through her veins.

She swings back and forth, having set her drink and her bag down on the ground. The creaminess of her skin shines next to the darkness of her clothing; predators clothing. High spiked black boots, loose fitting cotton pants,a simple dark colored tank. He's pleasantly surprised that the only jewelry she's wearing, besides some small earrings, is the necklace he had given her.

"It's the most, wonderful time of the year," she suddenly bursts forth, her off tune pronouncement forcing a barking laugh from his mouth. He slaps a hand over it, hoping she hasn't heard him.

As luck would have it, she doesn't appear to have.

"la la la lalallalalaa, um, to be of good cheer…um, la la la la la la la, oh vampires, where are you?" she continues, a little quieter now.

"Hey there, princess," a voice issues from the darkness, and two men swagger towards Buffy, their demons in full view.

She stops swinging, her face a mask of shock and surprise. Angel tenses on the rooftop, ready to spring into action should she need him.

"Oh, my God," she says, her little girl voice quavering slightly. "What's wrong with your faces?"

They grin at one another, and walk closer to her. "Nothing, baby. Aren't we pretty?" vamp one laughs at vamp two. "But right now, our pretty teeth are a little out of practice, so step those fine legs this way, and let us have a midnight snack."

She stands, her face morphing as well. But not to the face of a demon.

To the face of The Slayer.

Suddenly the two toughs don't look so comfortable.

"You're right- nothing's wrong with your faces- except for the fact that they need about six million years worth of exfoliation," she says, and kicks her coffee at them, forcing them to dive apart from each other, to avoid flying hot mocha burns.

She hastily unzips her bag as they try to recover, and whips a stake out of the side pocket. The two vamps meet each other's eyes, shout "Slayer!" at the top of their lungs, and run as fast as they can away from her.

"Damn it! Why do they always run?" she grouses, and begins the chase.

Luckily for her, she doesn't have to run too far, as the two demons have decided to run right towards the gardners shed, and the waiting vampire atop it.

Angel leaps to the ground just as they pass the edge of the shed, and grabs the throat of the first one, his own demon coming out to play.

A fierce growl escapes his lips, and vamp number one squeaks in fright, as the sound of Buffy tackling vamp two reaches his ears.

"Don't. mess. with. the. Slayer," Buffy grunts in between punches, then exclaims a loud "Ewwwwwww," as vamp number two dusts when she twists its head around in an arc, a la The Exorcist.

"What's your deal, man? We could have shared," vamp one whines, struggling as he's pinned against the wall of the shed with a wickedly sharp knife Angel has pulled from the inside of one of his boots.

"I don't share," Angel growls through deadly, shiny fangs, and jerks the knife out of the vamps shoulder, only to slice it cleanly through the struggling demon's neck.

Whoosh.

Two down, none to go.

He replaces the knife in his boot, turning to face Buffy.

He is shocked when she frowns at him, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"I don't need help, Angel. What, were you spying on me? Following me again? Is this some kind of game you're playing? You can see me, but I can't see you?"

"No, I- of course not," he stutters. "I was just, walking home, and saw theses guys ganging up on you. Sorry if the help wasn't wanted," he mumbles, turning to go.

"No, wait," she calls out, grabbing his arm in her hand. A little thrill races up his spine at the contact.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to jump all over you," she sighs. "And I appreciate the assist. I just don't want you to think I can't fend for myself. I'm the chosen one, sacred duty, blah blah. It's a little weird to have helpers."

He nods. "I would never think you can't handle yourself, Buffy," he says sincerely. "I just- I don't want anyone to hurt you. It was instinct." He shrugs.

A slow blush creeps up her neck. "Well, thanks. I could use some backup sometimes. I know Giles would feel better if I had someone watching my back."

She retreats to the swings, picking up her abandoned backpack, stuffing her stake inside. "Damn. That's the third coffee this week I've had to throw in some guys face."

He smiles, and she returns it.

"You going home now?" he asks.

"Yeah, trig homework is calling my name. And it's not saying, Buffy, you'll pass the pop quiz tomorrow with flying colors. Its saying, you will flunk miserably and be grounded til the end of time," she answers, slinging her bag on her shoulder. She looks at him suddenly. "Hey, you don't know anything about math, do you?"

He laughs a little. "No, they weren't teaching trigonometry when I went to school. But ask me about history- and I can definitely help you there."

She sighs. "Well, dang it. Now I guess I have to actually try to absorb the knowledge myself. Do you think learning by osmosis actually works?"

She heads toward the street, with him following.

"Um, probably not," he says.

"Well, it was worth a shot."

They walk in companionable silence, until they reach the edge of her driveway.

"This is my stop," she says, pointing at the large oak in front of her open window. The lights in the kitchen are still on, meaning her mother is probably still awake, waiting for her baby girl to come home from a 'study session with Willow.'

"Well, goodnight," he says, hesitating. She meets his eyes, and slowly sets her backpack down on the ground.

"Thanks again, Angel. For the help tonight. Maybe I'll see you out there tomorrow?" she asks, and he readily agrees, taking any excuse to see her.

He turns to go, and she takes a step towards him, reaching out to lay a hand on his leather clad shoulder.

He turns as she's about to touch him, and he takes her hands in his, the heat of her warming the coolness of him, her spirit and buoyancy making him giddy.

"I know what you said, I know what we both said. This can't ever be anything. But who says? Who says it has to be that way? Just us, right? I'm not a very reliable descision maker, and you, well, you haven't been dating for a while, right? I mean, who's to say we're the best when it comes to relationships? Maybe we can just, you know, hang out. Have coffee, go to a movie…" she trails off, her rant loosing steam. He smiles a half smile at her, and her heart flips in her chest. "Oh, who am I kidding," she mutters, her brows drawing together. "I'm the Slayer. You're a vampire. We're polar opposites. It'll never work. No matter how much we want it to…"

He can't stand her desperation and disappointment any more. He can't because he knows exactly how she feels. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her to him, their foreheads touching. She shivers lightly, and winds her arms around his neck.

She sighs against his cheek, and he frees one hand, tracing the bones of her face with a finger.

"Angel," she breathes, and the sound is more erotic and more beautiful than any word in any language he's ever heard. He touches his lips to hers, tentatively, not wanting to scare her with his desire.

She makes an unintelligible sound, kissing him back, her mouth sweet as berries against his own. He touches her lips questingly with his tongue, and she parts them for him, allowing him entrance eagerly.

He moves his head slightly, deepening their contact. She moans into his mouth, and he drags her closer, no space between their bodies.

"Buffy," he whispers, pulling away to let her breathe. He follows the line of her neck with his mouth, tasting her, her pulse pounding beneath his lips. His eyes flash golden for a moment, and he forces the demon down.

"Buffy? Is that you?"

She unwraps herself from him, and his body mourns the loss of her touch.

"Uh, yeah, mom, be right there."

"Okay, honey. Oh, call Willow. She has another history question for you."

"Okay, be right there," she calls back, smoothing her hair back into her bun.

She turns back to him, touching her lips unconciously. They feel swollen to her fingertips, but she doesn't care.

Angel gazes at her, a small grin on his face, a glazed look in his eyes.

"You better go," he says at last, neither one of them ready to part.

"Yeah," she says reluctantly. Gathering up her things, she mounts the stairs to her front porch.

"Angel," she says shyly, tucking a strand of loose blond hair behind her ear.

"Yes?" he asks.

"I'll see you tomorrow, right?"

He nods. "Count on it."

She grins then, too, and waggles her fingers at him before disappearing into her dark home.

He walks home then, his feet barely touching the ground.

This can't ever be anything.

Who says?