I must apologize again for the delay between chapters. Things seem to keep popping up that prevent me from keeping this fic on schedule. I wasn't feeling well for a few days, and then there was a sudden crisis with my family's remaining dog. Hopefully, I'll be able to get back to more frequent postings now. But anyway, sorry for the delay, and also I need to say thanks to everyone who sent feedback on the last chapter as I didn't get a chance to reply to emails. Your comments were much appreciated.

And lastly, my thoughts go out to all of you in London. I hope you and your loved ones are well.

Isis FG

Chapter 14

The happy mood Buffy had carried with her from her visit with Angel and his new kitten plummeted the moment she stepped into the kitchen of her house and saw her father seated at the table staring at her. One look at his face, the angry, accusing eyes, the tight, grim frown, and every ounce of happiness fled. All the pain, all the heartache, was back in an instant.

She wanted to run. She wanted to turn around and run, far away from the house, from the memories. From her father. She wanted to go back to Angel and his kitten and the pretty house on the beach.

Emotions boiled inside Buffy. This man was her father. She loved him unequivocally. He'd read her stories when she was a little girl, brought her ice cream when she was sick. He'd been a man she'd always adored.

As she stood there staring at him, though, a burning anger was building within her. For four years she'd lived in a daze and allowed him to keep her locked up on the third floor of the house like she was his greatest shame. It hadn't mattered before. There had been no reason to let it matter. She had been too lost in the memories and the pain. But now...now things were different. Now there was Angel. And there were her friends. The ones who had believed her dead. Because of her father.

"Where have you been?" Giles demanded.

Instinct had her shrinking back against his harsh words. She started to cast her eyes downwards, to open her mouth to apologize, but she stopped herself. She was tired of all of this. Of caving to his demands, of living in a prison. No more, she told herself.

Standing tall, she met her father's eyes. "I was out," she answered.

The strong tone of her voice gave Giles pause. He wasn't used to such firm words from Buffy. He wasn't used to words from her period. She only very rarely spoke to him or answered his questions. "Out?" he repeated in disbelief.

"Yes," Buffy replied, crossing her arms over her chest.

Giles stood, met her challenging eyes. "Haven't I asked you not to leave the house?"

The gentle statement almost made Buffy falter. Almost. "Yes, you have," she affirmed. "But I'm tired of staying here all the time."

"You're...," Giles trailed off in obvious shock. For a moment he only stood there, gaping at Buffy. This wasn't the girl he was used to, the one who had lived as a shell of herself for the past six years, since the rape. This woman reminded him of who Buffy had once been. Vibrant, independent, and strong. But he couldn't let himself be sidetracked.

"Buffy," he began as he walked over to stand in front of her. "It's imperative that you stay in the house as much as possible. I have tried to overlook your jaunts to the beach in the middle of the night, but I cannot stand by and let you leave the house during the daytime."

Her lips quivered and tears formed in her eyes as she stared up into her father's eyes while he imposed his life sentence on her. She sucked in a breath, willed the tears not to fall. "Do you hate me that much?" she whispered.

"Hate you?" Giles repeated. "I don't know-."

Buffy cut him off as if she hadn't heard him. "Are you that ashamed of me, of all that's happened?"

Shocked was a mild word for what Giles was feeling. He'd had no idea that his daughter believed him to hate her or was ashamed of her. "No, Buffy. I don't hate you," he said softly, lovingly. "You are my daughter. I could never think ill of you."

"Then why?" she pleaded, her voice quivering. "Why do you keep me trapped here?"

The heartbreaking appeal was like knife to his soul. Pulling his glasses off, Giles paced across the kitchen, rubbing a hand over his eyes. He'd long suspected that Buffy had no memory of the night Joyce, Dawn, and Owen had been murdered. Oh, she knew they had been killed, but he'd been given to believe that anything beyond that had been wiped from her mind. She didn't remember what she'd done.

Long hours, days, he'd spent agonizing over how to handle it. She had already been so fragile because of the rape and the ensuing treatment by the town and its people. And she'd broken once, that night while her family sat watching a movie. He just hadn't been able to push her, to ask her, about what had happened. So he'd said nothing. Nothing at all.

Not that it would have done any good, he supposed. For the last four years, his daughter had been virtually silent, saying very little him. Only a couple times had he dared to mention the deaths of his wife and other two children. And when he had, she'd never responded, going almost catatonic at the merest mention of that night. So he'd never pushed. And she'd never known why he kept her here in the house. A fault, maybe, if the action had led her to believe he was ashamed of her, or hated her. But now it appeared the time had come to reveal all. He only hoped she could handle it, though he doubted there was any way a person, let alone Buffy, could handle being told they'd killed their family.

Before he could form his response, Buffy spoke again. "Why did you let everyone believe that I was dead, that I'd killed myself?"

"How did you know that?" Giles asked, confused because she had no way of knowing such a fact.

"Angel told me," she answered honestly.

"Angel?" Giles frowned, tried to figure out when his new employee could have told Buffy such a thing, and why. "You've spoken with Angel?"

"Yes. He...he's nice to me," she said quickly, averting her eyes. When she looked up, her eyes were again pleading. "Why, Daddy? Why did you do it?"

"Buffy," he began with a sigh, hating what he was about to tell her. "I asked you to stay in the house because if anyone knew you were here, that you were alive, they would arrest you." That was the short answer, he thought, and called himself a coward.

"Arrest me?" she repeated, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What for?"

"For murder," Giles responded bluntly, then cursed himself as shocked horror filled Buffy's eyes.

She opened her mouth to speak, but words failed her. Murder? She would be arrested for murder? It made no sense. Why would her father think that? Why would anyone think that? She hadn't killed anybody. There was no possible...

Her thoughts trailed off as a new horror dawned on her. "No," she gasped, stumbling back a step. She shook her head, trying to force the unfathomable thoughts from her mind. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't. But yet...as she looked up into her father's eyes. She knew it was. She knew he believed it.

"Buffy," Giles said softly, taking a step toward her. He wanted, needed, to comfort her, though his emotions were torn. She was his daughter, and he loved her, but the pain at losing his wife and Dawn and Owen, by her hand, threatened to overrule.

Seeing his advance, Buffy backed away from him, her eyes darting around the room in a silent plea for anything but the truth. "No," she whispered again. And then again. "No."

"Buffy, please," he begged, taking another step in her direction.

Her only desperate thought was to escape, to get away from the accusation, the horrible truth, her father was pushing at her. She couldn't stay in this room, in this house. She couldn't look at him. As he took another step toward her, she bolted toward the door, dashing through it before Giles could even shout her name.

After an hour of reading through articles and jotting down notes, Angel tossed his pen down on his desk and reached up to rub his neck. He winced at the stiffness that had build from leaning over his work space, intent on the papers. He'd need to take a hot shower in hopes of erasing the protests of his muscles. Glancing at his watch, Angel groaned. It was getting late and he needed to get some sleep.

All of the articles he'd read and the notes he'd written were placed back into their folder before he stood from the desk and switched off the small lamp. He wondered idly where Shadow had wandered off to as she had abandoned him not long after he'd started working. He'd have to find her before he went to bed.

Strolling through the house toward the kitchen, Angel shut off unneeded lights and gazed around for the kitten. He'd yet to find her by the time he entered the kitchen. One look at the supplies he'd bought for his new pet, though, had him chuckling. There was Shadow, curled up on the fluffy bed he'd bought her. The thing completely dwarfed her in size, but she looked rather comfortable. He would have to take it up to his bedroom for her to sleep on.

Just as Angel was about to reach down and scoop the kitten up, he thought he heard a noise coming from the back porch. Frowning, he walked over to door and peered outside. Seeing nothing but darkness, he flipped on the porch light. Though the area was now lit, he still saw nothing. But he heard the noise again.

He debated for a moment the merits of walking outside after hearing a strange noise, but decided to check around anyway. The door creaked as he pushed it open, the noise sounding loudly through the mostly quiet night. His eyes darted around nervously as he took a few steps out onto the deck. And still he could not find the source of the noise, nor could he hear it anymore.

Probably just an animal, he told himself. There was likely plenty of wildlife in the area. It could have been a raccoon, a deer, or numerous other things. Or it could have been his imagination. Shaking his head, Angel figured he might as well forget about it and go take a shower before he went to sleep.

He turned, and stopped dead. The dim light kept him from seeing clearly, but he could make out the distinct shape of a person seated against the back wall of the house. Instinctively, Angel took a step back, wary of whoever was hiding in wait for him. In this town, you couldn't be too sure of anything.

As he debated his options, though, he thought he could see long blonde hair streaming down around the person's face. Buffy? He took several steps closer, just to be sure. Squinting, he gazed down at the still form. Her back was pressed against the wall, her knees pulled tightly up to her chest and her face hidden against her legs. The blonde hair was enough of a give away, but the clothes were the same as she had worn earlier.

Alarm registered first. Aside from the fact that she shouldn't have been sitting there at all, she hadn't moved even an inch in the few minutes he had been staring at her. Afraid that she was hurt, he quickly crouched down next to her and softly called her name.

No answer came, not even a flicker of movement. His worry leaped up several degrees. "Buffy," he said again, and placed a hand on her shoulder. Her recognition of his presence came not in the raising of her head, or the sound of her voice, but the flinching of her body from the touch of his hand on her shoulder. Angel quickly removed his hand, not wanting to frighten her.

"Buffy? What's wrong?" he asked, trying to hide the urgency in his voice and fighting the urge to touch her again.

Slowly, her head finally rose from her knees. She stared at him blankly, saying nothing. Even in the dim light, he could make out the sight of dried tears on her cheeks. It was the vacant look in her eyes that worried him more. Still, he scanned her body, checking for any signs that she may have been hurt. Seeing no blood or torn clothes, he tried to assure himself that she was physically fine.

"What's wrong, baby? Why are you crying?" he asked quietly, holding her eyes with his.

She blinked, seemed to focus on his face. "Angel?" she whispered in a raspy voice. Before he could say or do anything, she burst into fresh tears.

Utterly terrified by her reaction, Angel did the only thing he could think to do. He pulled her into his arms, cradling her body gently against his. Her arms locked around his neck, pressing her tighter against him. He tried to soothe her with soft words, but her heavy sobs failed to lessen.

Sliding a hand under her knees, he stood with a minimal effort. With Buffy in his arms, he entered the house and strode to the living room. He considered placing her on the couch, but the death lock she had on his neck with her arms gave him pause. So instead, he took a seat himself, keeping her within the embrace of his arms.

His frantic mind searched for what to do, what to say, but nothing seemed right. He didn't even know what had upset her. She was lost in the sea of her emotions. All he could do was try to comfort her as her body-shaking sobs echoed through him. Whatever had happened had to have hurt her tremendously to cause this reaction.

He didn't know how long he'd sat there with her crying, her tears soaking his shirt. He did nothing, said nothing, just held her. Finally, her sobs began to taper off, changing to miserable sniffles, then pure silence. The tension in her body eased, and her breathing evened out. It took him only a second to realize she'd cried herself to sleep.

What now? Angel wondered. What in the world was he supposed to do with an upset young woman who had cried herself to sleep in his arms? He sighed and contemplated his options. There wasn't much he could do, he quickly figured out. So he stood carefully, not wanting to wake her from the rest she probably needed.

Silently, Angel climbed the stairs to the second floor and strode down the hall to one of the guest bedrooms. It was sparsely furnished, so far. But there was a bed, covered with the brand new linens he'd recently ordered. Somehow, he managed to shift her in his arms without waking her and pull back the covers. He placed her gently on the bed and pulled the soft cotton comforter up over her body. All the while, she never stirred.

Standing beside the bed, he ran a hand through his hair, wondering what he was supposed to do next. He wasn't used to this sort of thing. True, he had a sister, but Fred had never been apt to fits of crying. This was completely out of his realm. He didn't know whether he should leave her alone to sleep, or if he should stay.

The choice was taken out of his hands when he heard the frantic knocking on the front door. His eyes quickly snapped back to Buffy, but it appeared as though not even the noise could wake her from her exhausted sleep. He spared her one more glance before rushing out of the room and down the stairs.

As soon as Angel opened the door, Giles pushed passed him, nearly knocking Angel into the wall.

"Is Buffy here?" the older man demanded loudly.

Angel nearly groaned out loud. This night was just getting worse by the minute. It was suddenly obvious, though, that whatever had sent Buffy to his back porch in tears had something to do with her father. Otherwise, Giles would not be pounding on his door in the middle of the night.

"Yes, she's here," Angel answered reluctantly. He was tempted to tell his boss she wasn't, but it would have been too cruel to leave him worrying about her whereabouts.

"Oh thank God," Giles breathed out heavily, his body slumping. "Where is she?"

"Upstairs. Sleeping," he clarified at Giles' sharp look. "She was upset about something. What happened?"

"Damnit!" Giles cursed violently. "This is all my fault!"

Angel backed away from the agitated man. He'd never seen Giles so animated before. "What's going on?" he asked again.

Wearily, Giles removed his glasses, rubbed at his eyes. When he looked back at Angel, his eyes were tired and guilty. "I was worried, earlier today, when I realized she'd left the house," he began to explain. "When she returned, I was harsh with her. I just...," he sighed, closed his eyes for a moment. "It's dangerous for her to be out, and I jumped at her about it. But I..."

"You what?" Angel prodded.

"I never told her why," Giles blurted out.

"You never...I'm not quite sure I'm understanding you," Angel stated slowly, trying to piece together what he was being told.

Giles paced around the room for a minute before answering. Finally, he faced Angel again. "As I long suspected, and Buffy confirmed tonight, she has no memory of what happened...that night. She only knew that her mother and siblings where dead."

"Good God!" Angel exclaimed harshly. "She didn't know she was held responsible?"

"No," Giles affirmed.

"And now she knows," Angel concluded, shaking his head. It all made sense now. If he'd have found out he was blamed for killing his family, he'd have fallen apart to. It was a wonder she didn't do something drastic. But instead, she'd come to him. He'd think about that fact later.

"Yes, now she knows," Giles repeated. "We got into a...well, an argument. She wanted to know why I wouldn't let her leave. I shouldn't have told her or thought of a better way to do it. I just didn't know what to say to her."

Angel leaned back against the door, a multitude of thoughts running through his head. This was just one huge mess, and somehow he was now right in the damn middle of it. Murders, ghosts, corrupt politicians. It was unreal. If he was smart, he'd get the hell away from all of it. But he couldn't. Not when Buffy was upstairs, lulled to sleep by her own tears. Not when Buffy was part of his life.

"She would have found out sooner or later," Angel relented, knowing it wouldn't ease any of Giles' inner pain.

"I know," Giles agreed. "But I should have handled it better. I've been looking for her everywhere after she ran out of the house. I was about to give up when I remembered she'd told me she was with you this afternoon."

The slightly accusing look Giles tossed at him had Angel nearly groaning. Apparently, his boss wasn't quite happy that his troubled young daughter was spending time at his house. "She's come by a few times," Angel said vaguely.

"Yes, well...," Giles trailed off, his eyes gazing up the stairs to where Angel had said Buffy was.

"She'll be fine for tonight," Angel assured him. "I'll keep an eye on her."

Giles hesitated. Common sense warred with the need to keep his daughter safe. He knew Angel would protect her, though. So he relented and said his goodbyes, asking Angel to keep him informed and making sure he understand how imperative it was that no one know about Buffy.

The warning was unneeded, but Angel took it in stride. He knew Giles was just worried. He would have been too if he'd been in Giles' situation.

Once he was alone again, Angel thought for only a minute before picking up the phone. It was time to take the offensive. It was time to help Buffy.

TBC