Author's note:
Thanks to the best beta in the world, Kristi, for the help.
You DON'T suck rocks!
The Pearl.
Chapter two.
Angel stands stock still, the waves still bashing the shoreline, the moon still hanging high in the sky.
He's tried hard, for a very long time, to run as fast and as far as he can from the life he lead during his childhood and adolescence. So hard, in fact, that when it reared up and smacked him with a tiny blond girl, he looked straight at it and didn't even see it.
He should have known. He should know always who the current Slayer is. His father always drummed that into Xander and himself, even though he had never wanted the boys to follow him into the Watcher's academy. Too dangerous for his family, he had always said.
But they had to know. Had to always know what was going on. For their own safety and the safety of their town.
Plus, from an early age, Angel had always been fascinated by the dusty old tomes his father, Rupert, had brought home from the branch office.
He had been allowed to read them when he got a little older, and Rupert had taken Wesley and him a few times to the ridiculously large library the Cleveland branch of Watchers maintained for the home office in London.
A town situated on a Hellmouth has got to be watched. And so it was.
Rupert O'Connell was one of 20 Cleveland based Watchers, and he raised his sons with the hope that they wouldn't have to go into the family business. But he also wanted them aware of what was out there, and aware that humanity did have a protector.
"A girl?" Xander had mocked, and had been stunned when their father had smacked him across the face.
"Never discount the Slayer because she's female. It's a noble calling and a proud heritage. Don't forget it. She may save your sorry ass one day."
Xander had rubbed his face and nodded, and Angel had only stared at his father, surprise marking his features that Rupert would defend the idea of someone that they had never met, and probably never would.
A sound brings him out of his memories, and he blinks in surprise as Wesley comes running up to him, waving like a madman.
"Angel! Angel! Jesus, man, I thought you were dead. Been waiting for you in town for," Wes dips his head to look at his watch, "hours now."
Angel opens his mouth to apologize profusely to his friend, but as he does he gets a whiff of something not quite pleasant coming from Wesley.
"Huh. And you spent all that time waiting where? In a brothel?"
"No, no! I just spent some time checking out the local scene. You know, the best places with the prettiest girls. Speaking of, I've met some people, and they're waiting for us back at the Luna bar. I knew I'd find you out here. Come on! The prettiest girls, I'm telling you."
Angel's somber face sobers Wesley up some.
"I don't think so, Wes. I'm gonna walk a little more. I'll catch you later tonight, okay?"
Wesley shrugs, and pats his friend on the shoulder. "Well, your loss is my incredible gain. See you later. But come up to the Luna if you feel like it, okay?"
He's already running off as he spouts this last little bit back at Angel.
*
Angel lays in the uncomfortable flat bunk in the rooms he's sharing with Wes and two others in their Unit. Not every Officer gets lucky enough to get private quarters; so Angel just thanks his lucky stars and doesn't ask why.
The moon shines in his window, winking at him. He growls, and turns his back on it.
The Slayer. Here in Hawaii. Why hadn't he known? Maybe she's new. Has to be. The last slayer he had known of was a Madeline Prior, who lived in San Fransisco. He is saddened a bit at the thought that the only reason there's a new slayer is that the last one must be dead.
He wonders briefly what killed her, then squeezes his eyes shut as he puts the morbid thought out of his mind.
His whole upbringing had been one of two truths. The one truth that he was John O'Connell, an Irish American youth living in Cleveland with his homemaker mother and Librarian father.
The second truth that he was John O'Connell, son of one of the most respected Cleveland based members of the Watchers's Council, an ancient and deeply rooted organization that was as old as any one could remember. As long as there had been evil, there had been those who watched.
They had created the Slayer, after all.
Angel had never really understood the justness of it; after all, the original watchers had endowed power to a girl who had known nothing of the evils in the world, then as a gift, made her death the only way to pass on the power.
All a little bit wrong in his book. Take a normal, promising young woman, and oh by the way, you could be the chosen one, and did you know there were really such things as vampires? Horrible, really.
Thus, when he had finally reached adulthood, he had decided that the life was definitely not for him, and had taken a scholarship from a school as far away from Cleveland as possible. When Xander had joined the Army, he had been inspired and had decided to do his own military service.
Had he known that by doing so, he would end up smack in the middle of the Slayer's business again, he would have just stayed in Cleveland. Or gone anywhere else.
But then I wouldn't have met her.
Angel sighs as he turns onto his back, and places his hands behind his neck, staring up the ceiling. He's never felt anything like he had experienced tonight.
He's had girlfriends before, sure. But not one of them had made him feel like she had.
Alive. Strong. Potent. Wanted.
All in the space of about three hours.
And he had been so distracted by her, that he had completely forgotten about meeting Wesley. He's never been the irresponsible type.
But he thinks that for her, he could become that type.
Damn it! He shouldn't have let her run off like that. He should have told her he knew exactly what she was going through, and how hard it must be, and that he would help her any way he could, and please god can you be holding me again?
He has the resources and information of any good Watcher in training in his corner, and he knows what things go bump in the night.
First thing tomorrow, he's going to find her.
She said she was in nursing school, maybe an internship at the local hospital. He'll find her.
After his full day of duties and an exciting meeting of Officers. Again.
He closes his eyes finally, drifting off to the smell of lillies, and to the memory of her hazel eyes looking into his as she had leaned in to kiss him.
Pleasant dreams indeed.
*
July 19, 1941.
"Angel. Angel…Angel!"
"Wes, can you not see the earphones on my head? Do you not know what that implies?"
Wes cracks a smile at his frowning friend.
Angel relents, turning around in his swivel chair, his tie askew, uniform wrinkled from being sat in all day.
His cap sits on the ground next to his feet, and he pushes one ear of the phones off toward the back of his head.
"Do you see me here? Pencil and paper? Doing my job? Which, by the way, shouldn't you be showing greenhorns how to hold a rifle?"
"Lieutenant O'Connell, haven't you noticed it's past our shift time?" Wes says, pointing at the clock.
"Uh, now that you mention it, no, I hadn't," Angel says, and pulls the phone back onto his ear. "Give me a minute to finish up, I'll be outside shortly."
"Hurry it up, buddy. We're heading into town, and you have to come this time. I will not take no for an answer," Wes interrupts as Angel attempts to nix that idea in the bud.
Sighing, he agrees to one drink with Wes and some new 'friends.'
*
A half hour after Wes had disrupted his work, Angel decends the stairs outside the communications office, head pounding from listening to morse code and various radio exchanges all day. A beer actually sounds somewhat pleasant to him.
"Hey," he nudges Wesley in the arm, and the other man turns toward him.
"Could you be any slower?"
"Well, quit griping about it and lets go. You're just lucky the Officers Log meeting was postponed. Otherwise we'd be working a really full shift."
"Please, do not remind me."
*
The Luna bar is actually a nice joint. Situated on the edge of the beach, the sides are open to the night air, and nets and shells decorate the walls, which are a pretty solid dark wood.
Grasses line the roof, and the place is hopping, full of sevicemen and women, nurses, locals, and just about every drink combination you could imagine.
Angel and Wes slide into a booth half filled with two other young men, and one young woman, who Wes introduces as Kate Lockely.
Angel shakes her hand, but notices she has all eyes for Wes, who in turn is mooning back at her.
The two men are Charles Gunn, and strangely enough, Daniel Summers.
"Daniel Summers? Are you Buffy's brother?" Angel asks, excited. He doesn't have to look that hard for her after all.
"You mean Elizabeth? Yeah, I am. She's an…interesting kid sister. How do you know her?"
Angel hems and haws a bit, saying that he had met her the day before while exploring the beach.
"Oh, the beach. Damn, that girl can't get enough of the water. I'd bet she's wating for some mermaid to come up and rescue her," Charles laughs, but pulls a face when Daniel smacks him on the arm.
"Leave my sister and her habits out of it, okay? Besides, it's mer-man for a male, idiot."
Angel likes Daniel Summers a little bit better after that comment.
*
A couple of hours and more than a few beers later, Angel has gotten it out of Daniel that Buffy is the baby of the family, and the only girl. As Wes and Kate canoodle in the corner of the booth, Angel faces Daniel and tries not to sound like he's interrogating the other man.
"So, she's in nursing school? Where does she do her internship? She mentioned she had one starting soon," Angel asks innocently, hoping Daniel doesn't notice that Angel's hands are slightly shaking with excitement.
"She started this week, actually. At the base hospital. You can probably see her there during the day, come to think of it," Daniel muses, and Angel smiles brightly. That was easy.
"What's the interest, pal? You trying to hit on my baby sis?"
Uh oh. Just the reaction Angel had not wanted.
"Oh, well, uh…she just seemed…uh really nice…and I don't really know anyone else here…uh and she's…"
Daniel laughs and punches Angel's shoulder, the force behind it powered by several large Mai Tais.
"Don't worry about it, O'Connell. Just trying to be a protective brother. She doesn't have too many people to do that for her anymore," he trails off, and becomes quiet.
Angel nods. "She told me about your father and Micah."
Daniel whistles, and replies. "Hmmm. She must really like you. She doesn't tell anyone about that. The whole family is still in shock about it. Losing the golden child was a huge blow to the Summers clan, let me tell you," he slurs, and Angel wonders if Daniel isn't a bit bitter about it.
"Wonder why she told you," Daniel continues. "Weird. Hey! Did I tell you that she's not home much nights? Takes care of some family's children up in the ritzy part of town. So if you're gonna catch her, you should look for her at the hospital."
"I will, thanks," Angel says.
"You guys want another round? I'm buying," Charles breaks in, and then insists everyone call him 'Gunn' because he thinks it sounds more manly than 'Charles.'
"Sure, 'Gunn,'" yells Daniel, and Wes and Kate raise their hands as well.
Angel takes this as an opportunity to slide from the booth, and stands, grabbing his service cap and plopping it back on his head.
"Aw, Angel, where you going?" Wes complains, and Angel flips a hand at him.
"Thanks for the beer guys. I've gotta hit the hay. Early morning tomorrow."
They all grumble at him, but say goodnight, and he walks slightly unsteadily from the bar and onto the sand covered parking lot.
He's very glad that they hadn't driven; he apparently can't hold his drink like he used to be able to.
He decides that a walk on the beach would be nice to clear the alcohol from his head.
He wanders aimlessly up the shore, chucking shells into the water and thinking.
He wonders exactly how much Buffy's family knows about her calling; and he wonders if he should tell her he knows. And how he knows.
He reaches the edge of the beach where they had sat the night previous, and where the vampire had come out of nowhere and ruined the best moment of his life.
He sits heavily in the sand, and rests his chin in his hand, dreaming of her. He even thinks he smells her vanilla scent about him, and he smiles slightly, eyes closed, imagining her there.
"What are you doing?" a soft voice interrupts his thoughts.
"Gah!" he yells, and scrambles to his feet, hand frantically grasping for the revolver that he wears at his waist.
She's standing there, her sandals in her hand, hair pulled back in a ponytail, loose white cotton pants flapping about her legs in the breeze.
"Whoa. Sorry, you startled me," he gasps out, clutching his chest, willing his triphammering heart to slow down.
"I can see that," she quirks, and he manages a small grin back.
"For a military guy, you're pretty jumpy."
"For a nurse, you're pretty stealthy," he quips back at her.
"For such a big, handsome man, you scare easy."
"For a tiny, beautiful girl, you sure are strong."
Her expression sobers then, and he regrets saying it. But only a little. He's got to tell her sooner or later about his past. Especially if he wants to have a future with her.
"You noticed, huh? I was kind of hoping you hadn't," she frowns, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
"Oh, and that dust last night? Big pineapple processing plant up the road. Blows out dust all the time."
He stares at her, not sure he wants to burst her denial bubble.
"And the…sharp, pointy stick in my hand?" she adds. "I carry it all the time. For protection. It can be dangerous around here at night."
"Yeah, especially on the beach, with a 'big, handsome man' at your side," he says.
She looks out at the ocean, the wind whipping her ponytail back in her face.
"There are some things, Angel. Some things you should know about this place. And some things that go on in the world that, if you told people about them, they would laugh in your face, if not downright call you crazy. I know this sounds weird, but believe me, you're better off not hanging around with me."
He strides toward her, stopping a few inches in front of her face.
"I would never be better for not knowing you," he tells her, tilting her chin up and forcing her to look in his eyes. "I know we met yesterday. I know it's a stupid cliché. But there's something about you. Something that feels right. I spent the whole day today trying to figure out what was 'off' about me. And then when I saw you, I realized what it was."
His voice drops to a husky whisper, his eyes lighting with passion.
"You weren't with me."
She stares back at him, her own eyes filled with a longing she doesn't quite understand. But she does understand one thing.
She can't bear to hurt this man. And if he learns anything about her, he can only end up hurt.
"Angel, I…damn it," she says softly, and drags him to her.
The kiss starts as one of almost anger, their lips meeting harshly, pulling at each other with bruising force.
He wraps his arms around her back, and she twines her fingers in his hair, eliciting a brief moan from him.
They maul each other, as if they can't breathe if they're not touching skin on skin.
Angel runs a hand down her bare arm, and she shudders, goose bumps raising on her white flesh.
"God, you feel…" she murmurs against his neck, and he nibbles on her ear, his hands dropping a little farther down her back.
She runs a questing finger down his throat, following the line of bone across his chest, then to the top button of his shirt, stopping there.
A deep rumbly noise issues from his mouth; she giggles, and, emboldened, starts unbuttoning his shirt.
The suddenly lack of wooden stake pressed against her back stops her cold.
"What are doing?" she asks, her hand fluttering to the waistband of her pants.
Angel holds up the stake, and raises his eyebrows.
"Protection from the pineapple plant?" he says, and she opens her mouth to answer, but only little sounds make their way out, because she's at a loss for words.
"Buffy, I need to tell you something," he starts, and she nods mutely.
*
They sit side by side on the sand, hands gently clasped, eyes staring at nothing. Finally he speaks.
"Buffy?"
She looks at him.
"What do you think?"
She cocks her head to one side before answering.
"Well, that would explain why you weren't so shocked at my strength," she says. "and it might also explain the draw we have to each other. Watchers and Slayers have always worked together. Maybe it's in the genes or something." She dips her head down, releasing his hand, and begins to play with the folds of her pants.
"Maybe. But aside from that, I'm not so sure that's all it is. From the moment I saw you, I knew I wanted you. The fact that you're the Slayer took me by complete surprise. I haven't been in touch with home in a while; the last Slayer I knew of was in San Fransisco."
Her head jerks up at his words. "You knew the one before me? What was she like?"
He shakes his head quickly. "I didn't know her. I knew of her. My father's friend, Alan Sharpton, was her Watcher. We didn't hear much from him while she was on active duty. Plus by that time, I was at sea, and heard from my family very infrequently."
"Oh," she states, and it's clear from her tone that she's disappointed. He's sorry he doesn't have any more information for her, and vows to try and find out the next chance he gets.
"Speaking of Watchers," she says, "Mine will be killing me shortly if I don't finish my patrol."
She stands, brushing her hand across the seat of her pants.
He stands with her.
"Look, Buffy. I've spent the last ten years or so trying to get away from the life my father led. He never wanted us to follow in the family business. He let us in, protected us, showed us what really went bump in the night. There's no way now I could ever live a normal life. I can't. But I never wanted to actively participate, either," he sighs, and her face crumbles slightly.
"Sorry if I dragged you back in," she says shortly. "I'll just be going now."
"No, wait," he says and jogs to catch up to her. The misery evident on her face makes his heart ache.
"My point is, that I never wanted to get involved- until now. Reading the books, seeing the library, knowing the names of the Slayers, getting to know the Watchers and their families; it was great at first. Like being a member of some exclusive secret club. But when your friends start dying…" he trails off, and she nods slowly.
"I understand. Believe me, I do," she says, and laughs mirthlessly. "I've kept it a secret from my family for 5 years now. It's incredibly hard. They think my Watcher is my tutor. It's a wonder my mother hasn't ever asked why I've had to have a tutor for this long…she probably thinks I'm in love with him."
A surge of jealousy winds through Angel's body, and he tries to push it down. "What's his name? Maybe I've heard of him."
"I doubt it. He's from England."
"Humor me."
"Quentin Travers."
Angel shakes his head. "You're right. I haven't."
She pulls away from him again, and begins the short walk to the road.
"There are only a few cemetaries here on the island, but they are active. I better go," she says, then hesitates. "Angel?"
"Yes?" he answers, wanting to crush her to him at the lost little girl quality of her voice.
"Walk with me?"
His teeth flash white in the dark, and he nods.
"Anywhere."
TBC.