It was the same time, the very next night

Thanks for the reviews, people. I'm going to try and update as much as possible, but I'm going away on Friday for a week… I'll try and get up to Chapter 4 before I go, if coursework permits.

Thank you reviewers (that means you: fuer grissa ost drauka, uskohakuchan, and ConstantReader77). I actually love you guys.

Chapter Three: A Grave Situation

It was the same time, the very next night. Considerably colder, and with the sun far longer gone than it had been the night before. Winter was racing in. Buffy was sitting awkwardly on a wall, in almost exactly the same place that she and Angel had met the night before. She'd been waiting only a few minutes, but they had dragged into what felt like hours, the sky darkening and the street quietening every second.

She shivered slightly as a particularly biting breeze swirled the leaves around her feet, clutching her coat closer around her, and staring the length of the street up and down once more. She began to worry, tapping her feet as her teeth chattered. Where is he? He said to meet me here… am I late? He's going to teach me, he said he'd teach me…

Her thoughts were interrupted by the dog across the street. It began to whine, pitifully. She looked up at it. It was backing against the fence which it had been chained to, scrabbling to get inside, away from whatever it was which caused it so much fear. Staring at it, Buffy lost focus on her surroundings, her newly improved senses focusing entirely on the dog. Suddenly she felt a cold hand on her shoulder, and she leapt up, screaming.

"What the – oh, right." She saw who it was and quickly tried to compose herself, annoyed that she was so jumpy – she was a superior being now, after all, nothing should be able to scare her. Except him. Angel was staring at her with a slightly amused expression on his face. "Do you get off on scaring people?"

"Actually yes," he replied, without changing his expression. She wondered if he was trying to make a joke. "Let's go," he said, and she felt a tingle of electricity as he helped her up from the wall, his hand clasping hers. He had cold hands, but it wasn't an unpleasant feeling. He felt strong. "We have a lot to get done."

She wasn't sure exactly where they were going, but she felt an overwhelming sense of trust for this stranger. Maybe it's because he's so completely gorgeous, she mused, or maybe it's because… no one else can teach me why I have this power. It's because I'm special. Right? He showed no sign of knowing what she was thinking, but stopped abruptly at the iron gate of what Buffy knew was a graveyard. She felt a sudden chill, as though something inside knew what she was and was… waiting. She stopped walking and tugged Angel back. He looked quizzical for a moment, before grinning again.

"Are you joking?" Buffy eyed Angel with a look she knew made guys (at least, guys her age) falter. Graveyards are creepy at the best of times, but at NIGHT? Angel smirked, leaning against the gate. He looked completely at home standing there, his skin illuminated in the moonlight, and his clothes camouflaged in the dark.

"Think of it like learning to swim. You learn best if you're thrown in at the deep end." He swept inside and she followed. Somehow, when she was with him she felt none of the superiority she had begun to feel at school. He was like her – sleek, powerful. A predator.

The graveyard was eerily quiet and still, the slight breeze outside completely dropping as Buffy stepped through the gate. She heard a crunching sound beneath her feet and jumped slightly, blushing when she realised it was only leaves.

"What are we doing here?" She scampered up to Angel, whispering, as though she was afraid that something was listening.

Something was listening. A whole lot of somethings. The things beneath the ground were growing steadily more agitated, but they were small little things, they wouldn't come out. They knew what they were up against, and it wasn't just her they feared.

"You're new at this," said Angel, "and there are things which can feel that. Use it." Buffy cringed when his voice cut through the air so loudly. It felt disrespectful. But she could see that he didn't care about the bodies in the graves… or the people they had been before they were buried there.

"Why are you helping me?" she asked, suddenly worried. He looked at her, unblinking. God he was beautiful. She felt as though she could look at him forever, and maybe that would be enough, and she wouldn't want any more. Unlikely.

"Maybe I like you." Something shone inside her all of a sudden – it was better than any of the dumb guys at school saying she was hot, better than any approval she got from her little clique. Better than double chocolate chip cookies.

"You d-do?" She felt very small, standing there, but happy suddenly, as though everything was sort of… coming together. Making sense for the first time in a very long while. This is someone who understands what I'm going through, he knows how to help me and he's going to and he likes me –

"Or maybe I brought you here to kill you." Suddenly her stomach dropped. That made sense, of course. Here they were, alone, at night. Oh God, how stupid. What a stupid little girl thinking that this guy actually liked her. She felt utterly powerless all of a sudden, and began to back away, choking. I'm really going to die this time. I can't do anything about it, I'm weak, I'm pathetic, I'm… nothing.

He walked over to her, and she found herself completely frozen. Here she was, she had thought herself so great, so invincible, and now she was just prey. He took her shoulders – quite gently, but not without purpose, and leaned in towards her.

"Kidding," he whispered in her ear, so quietly that if she had not been so close to him it would have seemed like the wind. She relaxed a little, but her heart was thumping violently against her chest.

"Why are you like this?" She pushed him away from her, suddenly angry. How dare he treat her like this? She was Buffy Summers, and no one said things like that to her, made fun of her, was mean to her, ever. She could feel the anger building inside of her, surging forward – and she punched him, completely full on the face. He staggered back for a moment, before suddenly grinning. She drew back her arm to hit him again, but he reached out and grabbed her hand so fast she didn't see him move.

He flipped her around so her back was against him, and she squirmed to get away. Surprising even herself, she managed to wrench his arms apart and push him backwards. She was panting by now, but he looked completely unfazed. Suddenly he was up – moving like a cat, almost like fluid, and before her brain had time to register anything – like that she was being pushed backwards so fast it was unreal, the air rushing past her ears, or the sudden sharpness in her back as she came to a stop about a millisecond after she had started moving – she had her back to a tree, and Angel was holding her arms back.

"Don't play games with me," she said, trying to keep that warning sound to her voice. The 'don't mess with me' sound that worked with people who were normal but certainly not for him. He was truly extraordinary.

"Games?" He was so close; she should have felt his breath on her face. But she didn't – there was nothing.

"What are you? Please tell me the truth." She knew the tone of voice she wanted. It was the one she used to get what she wanted. It worked on her parents, it worked on teachers, and it usually worked on guys. But not Angel, he just kept standing there, not even loosening his grip on her.

"You can't imagine what I am." That wasn't the answer she expected, but she couldn't see anything dishonest in his eyes. "I'll tell you," he continued, "in time I'll tell you everything. But right now there are things coming up, out of the ground." She snorted disbelievingly. "I'll show you. Come on." He let go of her arms, taking her hand instead and dragging her further into the graveyard. They passed dozens of graves, until finally Angel stopped opposite one.

It looked very new; the stone was gleaming and someone had laid a fresh bouquet of flowers beneath it. The name was just visible over the top.

"Clarissa Walker," read Buffy, yanking her hand out of Angel's grip and rubbing it. "I don't see what this has to do with me, or anything else for that matter. Or why I'm still here after that." She jerked her head towards the area where they'd fought earlier.

"You trust me," said Angel, his eyes still fixed on the headstone, "you can't help it." As annoying as Buffy found that, it was true. And she also knew that, even if he didn't say it, he knew that part of her had enjoyed having him so close to her, feeling what it was like to be at his mercy. In some perverse way, that lack of power made her feel more powerful. When she learnt to use her new strength, she knew that they could be equals. Perhaps she'd even be the stronger one.

She stayed silent, unable to think of a good comeback, and joined him in staring at the headstone. She felt a vague sense of anticipation; despite not knowing what exactly it was that they were waiting for. After what felt like ages, soil began to move in front of the bouquet.

"What is that?" She backed away, but Angel caught her again and she winced slightly, her hand still feeling slightly achy.

"Just wait," he half-whispered, excitement creeping into his voice, "it's coming."

Soil continued to shift, the turf cracking and crumbling away. A hand broke out and Buffy screamed, but stayed rooted to the spot. The hand was pulling and pushing at the dirt, scrabbling around with blistered knuckles and bloody fingernails. It was followed by an arm, then another hand breaking out from the ground, until a whole body was pulling itself up from the earth. It was a girl, bleach-blonde, and obviously quite pretty before she died. But when she saw Buffy her face suddenly shifted. Just like the thing Buffy had fought before, she had gleaming yellow eyes and a ridged, protruding forehead.

And fangs.

"Clarissa Walker, is that you?" Buffy didn't expect the girl to reply, and she didn't. She staggered towards Buffy, mud falling from her hair, the dress she'd been buried in, her feet as she lifted them. Angel took something from his coat pocket and threw it to Buffy. Catching it, she realised it was a wooden stake.

"In the heart. Otherwise it won't work." On Angel's words, Clarissa turned round to face him.

"Hey wait, aren't you the one who – ah!" Clarissa had a moment to look down at the stake protruding through the front of her chest, before she exploded into dust. What was left of her shimmered and fell away, revealing Buffy standing with the stake still outstretched.

"What was she saying to you?" Buffy was curious, and almost wished she hadn't killed Clarissa so quickly. But she had felt, at the time, that when the enemy's back is turned is the best time to strike. It may not have been very fair, but at least it had worked.

"I have no idea," replied Angel offhandedly, brushing dust from his sleeves. Buffy had the feeling that he wasn't telling the truth. About a lot of things. She felt like running, like she had learnt her lesson for tonight. And yet her feet refused to move.

"So what was she?" She already knew the answer, and Angel only confirmed it.

"Vampire."

"So… I kill vampires." She was, if possible, more confused than ever.

"Only if you want to. You could always use your power for other things." He was looking at her pointedly, but she had no idea what to say.

"Like what? Stopping shoplifters?"

"No. Like getting what you want." She still had no idea what he meant, and he sighed slightly and continued. "You're not just a human anymore. You're so much better than that now. You saw what you just did – what you're capable of. You can do anything you want. To anyone you want."

A slow smile grew on Buffy's face. And it wasn't a very nice one. If she had seen it, she might have said it looked like Angel's.

"Anything I want…"

END

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