Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or situations. This story is for fun, not profit.

A/N: You will have to be familiar with events that took place on Angel to understand some of the stuff in the later chapters. Well, maybe you won't have to, but I think it would help. This story deals with some charged issues, namely race, but I really hope you won't take it as racist in any way because that is totally not my intention.

Buffy had only been in LA for two weeks and she was already getting restless. It seemed strange that less than a year ago she thought she'd die of boredom in Sunnydale, and now here she was back in LA wishing she were there. Although not wishing she was there at the same time, because after all, it wasn't the boredom that killed her. More like a distinct lack thereof.

She was eager to get out of Sunnydale after it happened and as usual, was eager to see her father. But things weren't how she remembered them. Her dad had sold the house she grew up in and moved to a really nice apartment. Too nice. She felt like she should ask permission to put her feet on the coffee table. And things with her dad were weird too. She couldn't remember what they were like before, but she was sure they couldn't have been like this. Strangers in the same house. If they had been like this before, she wouldn't have missed him so much, right?

But Buffy was adaptable. She figured if hanging out with her dad wasn't fun, she'd see her old friends. The few who hadn't totally ostracized her at least. But Ford had moved away and Pike wasn't exactly friends with her other friends so no one knew where he had gone. So she was stuck window shopping with Tiffani and Farrah everyday and heading out to the same lame club with Tiffani, Farrah, and their respective boyfriends almost every night.

She knew she should be grateful to the girls since they hadn't abandoned her when all her other friends had. But they just seemed so vapid. The funny thing was, Buffy had assumed that she would be at the bottom of the social totem pole upon her return, but she had somehow slipped back into her place as the leader of the trio. She couldn't help but think that they had just been waiting for someone to tell them what to do the whole time she was gone. Age certainly hadn't made them get over their follower ways. Case in point: back at Hemery, they had a tendency to turn their noses up at anyone who had dark skin for any other reason than a tanning bed, but now they both had (and they actually referred to them this way at one point) "urban" boyfriends. Apparently black boyfriends were all the rage. The ghettoer the better. Buffy wasn't sure, but she thought Farrah's was in a gang. She probably got extra cool points for that.

They offered to set her up with someone, but Buffy was pretty sure she wouldn't like their choice. The guy they described to her apparently put a waiter in the hospital for being rude to his last girlfriend, a story the girls seemed to find incredibly sexy, but it didn't do much for Buffy. It's not like the raw animal strength thing wasn't a turn-on. In fact that probably characterized her type perfectly, and she really should be looking for someone "her type" whose favourite food wasn't O neg, but she didn't think she could go for a guy who beat up waiters when her last crush only killed to rescue her from demons. She knew she shouldn't be holding out for Broody McBroodster, but other guys just didn't seem impressive anymore.

So that's how it came to be that she continued to be the fifth wheel on the nightly trips to "Juice," the worst club Buffy had ever been to. Well, not the worst exactly, just the one she felt most out of place in. Every time she and her friends walked in, they were greeted with stares as well as a few glares. The others were seemingly unaware of the reaction their white skin caused, but Buffy was smart enough to be embarrassed. They weren't the only white girls there; apparently not only were black boyfriends trendy for white girls, but white girlfriends were trendy for black guys. Buffy hated that all the people glaring at her probably lumped her in with people like that. She wished they could go somewhere she felt more comfortable, but she didn't know how to say that without sounding like a total racist. Besides, Tiffani's boyfriend knew the bouncer here. And unfortunately, her leader of the pack status wasn't in place when the boyfriends were around.

At least dancing was a good outlet for energy. She hadn't slayed anything in awhile and as much as she hated to admit it, she was starting to itch for it. Sure the guys in this place were a little grabby, but she could take care of herself. She supposed she shouldn't blame them anyway since most of the girls here who looked like her really wouldn't have minded a little groping between strangers. That particular night there was one guy who was really being a pain. He kept grabbing her ass and yelling something that she couldn't quite hear over the music but that sounded like it had to do with his "sack rock".

She was about to really let him have it, figuring four attempts at diffusing the situation politely was enough when a tall guy, who had just walked into the club a few minutes before, put his hand on Mr. Grabby's shoulders and pulled him away. Mr. Grabby looked really pissed off for a moment but he backed down when he saw who it was. They spoke for a minute; then Mr. Grabby stalked off.

Obviously Buffy hadn't needed the guy's help, but he didn't know that so she figured she should thank him anyway. He was at the bar now, so she made her way off the dance floor and approached him.

"Listen, I just wanted to say thanks for helping me out with that guy."

"Yeah, well, hopefully that'll teach you that this ain't a good place for you."

She wasn't sure what she had expected. Maybe a "No problem," or a "You're welcome" or a "Can I buy you a drink?" It was her experience that men weren't very often rude to her when she was wearing a skirt this short.

"What's that supposed to mean?" She didn't know why she was picking a fight. It's not like she disagreed with him.

"It means that this is a dangerous neighbourhood, especially for someone who thinks they can just come and hook up with the nearest brother 'cause it said to in Cosmo. It means there're a lotta scarier things in this part of town than Leon over there," he said, nodding towards Mr. Grabby. "It means that little blonde girls need to have enough sense to stay outta trouble 'cause I got enough people who need my help right here."

"Excuse me? I didn't ask for your help. In fact, I can handle Leon, not to mention things a lot scarier than you and your pathetic saviour complex self can even imagine. God, I don't need to stay here and take this. I'm leaving." She flipped her hair and walked over to the door angrily. Just as she was about to leave, she walked back and quickly said "but not because you told me to."

As she was walking away for the second time, she felt his hand on her arm. "Wait," he said.

"If you don't take your hand off my arm in the next three seconds, I'll have to take it off yours."

He had the good sense to pull back, but he kept following her. "Look, I'd better walk you to your car. If it hasn't been stolen already at least."

"First of all, I don't have a car. Second, I really don't need you to walk me there."

"Yes you do. And if you don't have a car, how were you planning to get home? Something tells me you don't live in walking distance."

"I came with my friends, but they like to stay really late, so sometimes I take a cab home. And no I don't."

"A cab? Before you can even get to a phone, you'll be dead. Or worse. So yes you do." By this time they were out by the pay phone Buffy usually used.

"Oh my God, what is your deal? I told you I'd be fine. And you don't even like me, so why do even care if I end up dead?"

"It's not about whether I like you. You were dumb enough to come out here by yourself at night, and now whether I like you or not, I've got to look out for you."

"That's very chivalrous and all, but I assure you, I won't blame you if I die. I absolve you of all responsibility. There, are you happy?"

"It doesn't work that way," he said, more softly now and she caught herself meeting his eyes.

"Yeah. I know." Boy, did she ever. She wanted to ask him if he'd die to save the world, but thought that would be more than a little petty, not mention the fact that it would make her look kind of insane.

Suddenly the hair on the back of her neck pricked up. There was someone behind her. Someone trying not to be heard. She slowly reached for the stake in her purse. She was about to tell the guy to get back in the club when she heard the figure behind her lunge. She spun around and kicked him in the gut. If she had been alone she would have staked him immediately, but she needed to get the guy out of the way first. She turned around, shocked to see him holding his own with two of his own vampires. He obviously wasn't as fast as her, but he was strong and seemed to know what he was doing. In fact, was that a…stake?

Buffy was pulled out of her reverie by the vamp yanking her hair back and attempting to sink his fangs into her neck. She used his body to do a back flip over him and quickly staked him from behind. As he dissolved into dust, she didn't waste a minute, running over and dispatching of one of the vamps beating on the guy. Before she could get the third one, the guy had staked him.

As the dust settled around them, the two stared at each other. "How did you—" they both started.

"Do you maybe want to go somewhere and talk?" he asked. "There's a diner down the street…"

"Yeah, a little talking might be in order." They headed off in the direction he indicated. "By the way, I'm Buffy Summers," she said, offering her hand.

"Charles Gunn," he replied, shaking it firmly.