Disclaimer: I will not claim to own anything of this story. Joss Whedon created the characters, Billie Letts wrote "Where the Heart Is", which this is based on.

Rating: This will be rated R! Sorry kiddies, but I like using inappropriate language.

Author's Notes: Back online, much to everyone's dismay. Hi from college, my lovelies. This is such a fucking weird experience, but I love every minute of it. But, as I promised, I would continue to post. I have a lot of time between classes, so if I am not socializing with my pals, or doing homework, I will be writing. Today's chappy is a short one. Just like the book, or movie, there will be an entirely different plot line involving everyone's favorite shit head (no, not Riley), Angel. In all reality, I adore Angel, but I am portraying him as Angelus, in case you didn't already realize that. So please read and enjoy, for that is what I live for. Kisses.

PS: Can you guess where I got Angel's last name? Pretty funny, huh? I am sooooo creative. ____________________________________________________________________________

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Chapter Four- Poetic Justice

Nearly 100 miles out of the hole he left Buffy in, the '75 Nova sounded its final sputter, and died along the highway.

In the blazing heat, Angel had to walk for two hours until he found a town with a garage.

He and the owner drove a tow truck back to the Nova, but almost as soon as the hood was lifted, the diagnosis was clear.

"Sorry kid, but your car's a piece of shit."

The guy did tow the car to town, so Angel wouldn't have to pile all of his stuff into the truck. And once they came back to the garage, the owner bought the Nova for parts.

He wasn't car-less for long. A pickup truck sat in a nearby driveway, so he quickly hot-wired it, and got the hell out of the town.

Around sunset, he had a craving for something hard to drink.

There was a bar outside of another town, and the bright neon lights advertising beer and pool games called to him, like a bug zapper drawing a fly closer to death.

Kind of poetic, seeming how Angel, later that night, would end up being that fly.

With the fifty buck he made off the car, Angel bought a few rounds of whisky and an insignificant, tiny bag of pot.

Choking down his fifth glass of the dark-colored liquor, he noticed the stool next to him move, and a young, gorgeous woman sit next to him.

"Buy me a drink?" Her request was heavily laced with seduction, and Angel couldn't help but feel himself melt as her long, silky brown hair swept past her shoulders when she turned to him.

"Sure, baby," he grinned a tad, then signaled the bartender for another drink.

"So," the girl asked as she choked down her drink, "You gotta name?"

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The girl was screaming his name later that night, in the front seat of the pickup.

He had bought her a few more rounds, then played a game of pool with her, all the while knowing how close he was to getting laid.

She had been coy when he off-handedly asked her if she wanted to go outside. But, she led the way out, and as soon as the two got into the stolen car, initiated the sex by giving him a (rather good) blowjob.

Now, they were doing all sorts of nasty shit, shit that Buffy wouldn't have imagined of doing. And the girl was good. Real good.

They were so engaged that they didn't notice the cop car pull into the parking lot, actually there to break up a fight. Nor did they see the cops recognize the truck that had been reported earlier as stolen.

But they did hear the cops knocking on the window.

"Sir, could you and the lady step out of the vehicle?"

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"Please explain to me how 'your' truck fits the exact description of the stolen vehicle reported earlier this afternoon, and how the license plates match?"

"Donno." Angel replied, trying hard not to look the cop in the eyes. They could tell he was lying.

"And that ounce of pot that we found in your back pocket?"

"It's . . ."

"One more thing," the cop interrupted, now turning his attention to the girl. She had been standing next to Angel the entire time, staring at the ground, silent. "Dawn, hon, I haven't seen you in six months. How's your mom?"

"Fine," she whispered, looking up. It was then that Angel noticed how young this woman looked.

"You had a birthday in June, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"So, that would make you . . ."

His heart began to do this weird flip, as if he were going to have a heart attack. But, when Dawn answered, all of the light from her young, blue eyes shinning through, Angel wanted that heart attack to come.

"Fourteen."