AN: Thank you to everyone who sent feedback on the prologue! I realize a lot of you had questions or were a little confused after reading the prologue, but hopefully some of them will be answered in Chapter 1...though not all. The prologue was really a glimpse into the past. You'll get a better idea of what the story is about after this chapter, but it will be a few chapters yet until it all makes sense.


Part 1


Angel was not in a good mood. His day had started out bright and early with a call of a drunk and disorderly in a department store where he'd been tackled by a hulk of a man who reeked of whiskey and was raving about the evils of what slurred out as 'tart clothes'. The day had then progressed on to a call about a nuisance dog. On that one, he'd found the nuisance dog was a neighbors minuscule poodle. The person who'd made the call, a woman of about fifty with dyed flaming red hair, had ranted and raved at him for a half hour about the 'vicious dog', and then had proceeded to hit on him for another fifteen minutes. He was just glad to have gotten out of there without her tearing off his clothes.

Then, to round out his day, he'd had to deal with two hours worth of paperwork, the bane of a cop's existence. Now, he found himself in the station's break room, choking down what laughingly passed for coffee. There was still one more hour to go before he could sign-off and head to his apartment for some well-needed quiet time. He just hoped no emergencies came up to add another few hours to his shift.

Rolling his stiff shoulders, the blame of which fell on the drunk ex-football player, he turned and looked out the wide windows onto the streets of Los Angeles. The city was a bustle of movement and noise. He still remembered the quiet, sedate pace of life in Sunnydale even though he'd only spent ten months there, and he'd now been in Los Angeles for over to four years. The sharp contrast between the two places was unmistakable. He hadn't minded the slower tempo of his time on the Sunnydale PD. His memories of working there were mostly good. Still, some things were best forgotten. And his time in Sunnydale was one of those things.

Angel frowned at his train of thought. Four years, he said to himself. Four years and it still grated on him. She still grated on him. She was one of those things best forgotten. But he couldn't ever quite seem to accomplish that. After all this time, she was still there in the back of his mind. Like a splinter, he thought derisively, one of those nasty ones that just wouldn't come out once it had embedded itself under your skin. Yes, that description fit her perfectly.

They'd been together only six months, and still she'd gotten under his skin. What had started out as a blazing passion had changed into something different, something deeper. Oh, the passion had still been there, burning brightly, but somewhere along the line he'd found that he genuinely liked her and cared for her. She'd been witty, fun to be around, and interesting to talk to. And just as he'd begun to realize what that something deeper he'd been feeling for her was, he'd found out that she'd been surrounded by lies. Nothing about her had been what he'd been led to believe. Just smoke and mirrors. That's all she'd been.

So he'd left Sunnydale, and her, behind. He'd had no choice really. She, and her lies, could have destroyed him. Pure luck had gotten him out before he'd lost his job, or worse. He didn't feel particularly lucky about any of it. But none of it mattered now. That part of his life was over.

Swallowing the last gulp of the lukewarm coffee, Angel crumpled up the cup and tossed it in the trash can just as he heard a female voice bellowing out his name. He turned to see his partner, Faith Aronson, stride into the room. His eyes rolled, as they usually did, at her annoying habit of calling him 'Angie'. He knew she did it just to get a rise out of him, so he refrained from commenting.

"I think the whole station heard you shouting for me, Faith," he told her, all the while wondering how she managed to walk so quickly in jeans that didn't appear to leave much room for movement. He was male enough to appreciate her curvy body, along with the rest of her, but he'd never felt a sexual attraction to her. She was hispartner, and a damn good one, as well as his friend, nothing more.

"Well, if you had answered me, I wouldn't have had to shout," she shot back, her tone serious.

Angel caught the urgency in her voice and realized he wouldn't be getting off his shift on time. "What's up?"

"Friend of mine just called," Faith began, grabbing Angel by the arm and pulling him out of the break room as she continued to explain. "She came home and found her apartment broken into and busted up."

"Great," he groaned dejectedly. No, he definitely wouldn't be getting home soon.

"Bitch later," Faith ordered, yanking hard on his arm. "Move now."


"Swanky place," Angel muttered as Faith pulled up with a screech of tires in front of a battered looking brick building.

Faith got out of the car and eyed the building as Angel walked around to stand beside her. "Once you see the inside, you'll be reevaluating, pal. The inside was completely redone about three years ago. It's got these really great lofts with high ceilings and hardwood floors."

"They should have saved on the hardwood and fixed up the outside," he pointed out, glancing distastefully at some graffiti on one corner of the building.

Shrugging, Faith walked up toward the front door. "It adds character."

"There's no lock on the main door?" Angel asked when his partner simply opened it and walked in.

"No, which explains how someone would have been able to easily get inside the building," she strode over to a refurbished cargo elevator and pulled open the gates.

Angel said nothing as Faith pushed the button for the fourth floor. He was exhausted and his shoulder was really beginning to ache from its contact with a linoleum floor earlier that day. All he wanted was to go home, grab a beer, and flop on his couch. But first he had to deal with Faith's friend and the burglar-friendly building she lived in.

"There are two apartments on her floor," Faith explained, ignoring the annoyance she could feel radiating from Angel. "One of them is empty. The guy moved out like two weeks ago and no one's moved in yet."

"So it was unlikely anyone saw someone breaking in," he concluded.

"Right," she agreed as the elevator came to a stop with a metallic thud.

The hallway they stepped into was brightly lit with overhead fluorescent lights. The stark white walls almost glowed under the harsh illumination. The area was clean, though, Angel noted. And the carpet was unstained, moderately expensive looking. It was too bad, he thought, that the owner hadn't chosen a softer color for the walls instead of the plain white.

He followed Faith down the hall until she came to a stop in front of a plain wooden door. At first glance he could tell someone had broken in. There were scratches on the paint on the door and adjoining wall as if someone had pried at the door with a crowbar. No deadbolt, he also noted. This place was a B&E guy's dream, Angel thought with a snort of derision. Faith's friend obviously didn't think too much about her safety.

Faith pounded on the door and shouted, "Yo, B! Open up!"

Sighing, Angel leaned against the wall to the right of the door and rubbed at the headache beginning to build in his temples. He winced when she pounded louder on the door. Only a moment later, he heard the slide of a security chain being removed followed by the click of the simple lock on the door knob.

"I heard you the first time, Faith," a voice spoke as the door opened.

A shiver ran down Angel's spine. He knew that voice. There was absolutely no mistaking who that voice belonged to. It took all of his self control to hold back a disgusted laugh, and the vicious urge to back down the hallway and get as far away as possible from whom that voice belonged to. Of all the luck, he thought silently.

"Well, if you had answered the door on the first knock," Faith shot back having no idea what was running through her partner's head.

"That's not knocking where I come from, Faith. That'spounding," the voice rebutted.

"Whatever," Faith snorted, and suddenly her face went serious. "What happened, B?"

As Faith's friend was still standing inside the apartment, he couldn't yet see her. He could still get the hell away before she saw him, he told himself. Just as he was considering the pros and cons of running, Faith grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. Too late, he thought with a sigh.

"This is my partner-"

"Angel," Faith's friend gasped in shock.

He could only stare at her. She looked so...different, was all he could think. Her hair was a rich honey blonde that flowed in light waves passed her shoulders. Gone were the hot pink streaks. The heavy makeup he'd always seen her in was replaced by lighter colors that were barely noticeable. Also gone were the leather pants and minuscule tank tops. She was wearing a breezy sun dress in pale blue with white flowers on it. He wondered if he'd have even recognized her if he'd passed her on the street. She looked nothing liked the woman he remembered.

"Lizzie," he responded flatly.

"Lizzie?" Faith repeated in confusion.

"Old nickname," B mumbled after moment, unable to tear her eyes away from Angel, or to fight off the heavy feelings of guilt rising within her at seeing him after so many years.

"Oh, huh. I like Buffy better," Faith stated lightly. "So you two know each other? Well, that makes things simpler," she continued on, pushing her way into the apartment, completely missing the undercurrents between her two friends.

"Yeah, we know each other," Angel muttered, hating himself for the aching desire building in his gut as he stared at the woman who'd caused him so much trouble. "So its Buffy now, is it?" he bit out harshly.

"I-I...," Buffy stuttered, thrown off more by Angel's appearance than by having her apartment broken into.

Before she could speak again, Faith's voice broke through their anger-laden conversation. "Damn, B. This wasn't just a robbery. Who the fuck did you piss off?"

Angel spared a furious glare at Lizzie before pushing past her and entering the apartment. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the destruction inside. Faith was right. It didn't appear to be a simple robbery. The place was torn to pieces.

In the middle of what he assumed was the living room was a navy blue couch with long slices in it, white stuffing spilling drunkenly from each slash. A coffee table was tipped on its side, the glass top shattered beside it. The TV had a large hole in the screen. Books were scattered across the floor where they'd been tossed off of a now empty bookshelf. And that was just the start of it. Everywhere he looked something was destroyed.

"Christ," he mumbled as he stepped up next to Faith.

"That sums it up," she agreed before turning to Buffy. It was then that she noticed her friend's unease and utterly colorless face. "B? You all right? You're not gonna pass out or anything are you?"

"I...I need some water," she answered and quickly dashed out of the room.

Faith turned and stared at Angel with lowered brows. His eyes were glaring in the direction Buffy had gone. "What the hell's going on?"

"Nothing," Angel snapped before striding across the room to pretend he was studying the results of the break-in.

Shaking her head in confusion, Faith weighed her options. Seeing Buffy as the lesser of two evils, she went after her friend with every intention of getting an explanation. She found her friend standing in front of the sink with her hands gripping the counter so hard her knuckles were white. "B?" she questioned hesitantly.

"God, Faith," Buffy whispered as she turned to her friend. "That's him."

"Him? What do you mean 'him'? That's Angel, my part-." She broke off quickly at the look of abject misery on Buffy's face. There was only one person she knew of that put that look in Buffy's eyes. "Oh! Fuck. You mean Angel is..."

"Yeah, he's the one I messed up royally with," Buffy confirmed, running a shaky hand through her hair.

"Damn," Faith replied. "I can't believe my partner is THAT guy. You never told me his name."

"And you always called your partner Angie, and you told me his real name was Liam, I think," Buffy stated, her eyes nervously darting to the doorway leading to the living room.

"Yeah. He never goes by Liam, though." She sighed and leaned a hip on the table tucked into one corner of the kitchen. "Man, this blows. I can get rid of him if you want."

"No. No," Buffy repeated, more strongly the second time. "I can handle it. Just give me a minute."

"Sure. I'll go start looking through the rest of the apartment." Faith gave one last look at Buffy, feeling her loyalties torn in two. Angel was her partner and good friend. But Buffy was her best friend. How the hell was she supposed to handle this?

She had to force herself not to stomp when she reentered the living room where Angel was picking through the rubble. "Find any clues, Sherlock?" she asked in a bright cheeriness she wasn't feeling.

Angel looked up and narrowed his eyes at the expression on Faith's face. He knew without asking that she was now aware of more than just a little of his history with her friend. Groaning, he rubbed at his aching head, before rising out of his crouch. "Nothing so far, but I haven't made it out of the living room."

"Well, there are two bedrooms back there, and – oh shit!" she cursed loudly, and before Angel could blink, she was dashing up the stairs to the lofted second level. More out of curiosity than real worry, he followed.

At the top of the stairs, he could do nothing but stare. The large, open area was, besides being a destroyed mess, full of artist's tools. Paints and brushes, jars and bottles littered the floor. An easel was tipped on its side, bright paint was splashed over it. Several canvases were shredded and tossed around on the floor. Lizzie – Buffy, he corrected himself – was a painter? Just one more thing she'd never bothered to clue him on, he laughed to himself.

Out of the corner of her eye, Faith saw Buffy appear at the top of the stairs. She could see the raw pain in Buffy's eyes over the destruction in this room. "God, Buffy. All your work."

Stepping into the room, Buffy forced herself to look at her studio. Almost everything there was a total loss. She kicked at a tube of paint on the floor, avoiding looking at Angel at all costs. "I got lucky," she said in tired acceptance.

"Lucky? This doesn't look very lucky to me," Faith disagreed, waving an arm at the room.

"I had all my canvases for the show taken over to the gallery yesterday. I consider that lucky," she explained with a shrug. "If they'd been here..."

"Yeah, gotcha," Faith conceded. "I'll go with lucky then."

Buffy walked over to a torn canvas lying face down on the floor in the corner. She picked it up and studied what was left of the image. "This was the only one I'd had left to finish for the show."

The desolation in her voice was like a kick to Angel's gut. He didn't want to feel sorry for her. It was hard for him to believe she deserved it. But even he wasn't that cruel. Whatever the painting had been obviously had meant a lot to her. It was beyond him to not feel sorry for her loss.

Dropping the canvas to the ground, Buffy wiped her clammy hands on her dress. "Look, just...do whatever you have to do here. I'll get out of your way." She hurried down the stairs and away from the ruins of her studio, and the man that made her heart ache with a pain so deep it hurt.


Two hours later, Faith and Angel were back in Faith's car pulling away from Buffy's apartment building. They'd done a quick run through of the apartment before calling in a team to do a more thorough workover. After searching through the utter destruction, they hadn't found any clues. And confirming Faith's suspicion, nothing appeared to be missing. Everything of Buffy's had simply been torn to pieces. Robbery obviously hadn't been the motive. Faith hadn't wanted to leave her friend alone when someone seemed to have it in for her, but Buffy had all but pushed her out the door. Maybe she'd go back after dropping Angel off back at the station. She didn't like leaving her friend alone after all that had happened. And she didn't just mean the unexpected run-in Buffy had had with a guy from her past.

"So," Angel broke the silence in the car. "You know Lizzie – Buffy – or whatever the hell she's calling herself these days." It was an accusation more than a question.

"Yeah." Faith eyed him warily. "I know her."

"Better watch your back," he uttered sarcastically.

Faith gripped the steering wheel hard before whipping the car over to the side of the road, ignoring the blaring horn coming from the car behind her. "Look," she began, shifting to face Angel. "I know some messy shit happened between you two."

"You don't know the half of it," Angel cut in.

"You're wrong," she corrected sharply. "I know all of it. But that doesn't matter. What happened was four years ago. You're both my friends now. Don't put me in the middle of it."

"Hey, you want to be friends with a lying bitch, it's not my problem," Angel said with a humorless laugh.

"Don't push it, Angie," she shot back then whipped the car back onto the road. "Maybe you should give her a chance to explain sometime," she added before the car lapsed into silence once again.


TBC!