Despite the fact that he was in a position to be nothing more than a lazy, spoiled brat, Angel really made an effort to do something with his life. His family had money. A lot of money. And he could have simply slacked off if he wanted. But it wasn’t his style, never had been. So it really wasn’t that odd that he was up at six on a Saturday morning. The fact that he was headed toward the shelter to volunteer for the day, however, was odd.
Angel didn’t share his mother’s guilt over their socioeconomic position. Sure, they had a lot, but he worked hard. He’d pulled a 3.8 GPA all through college, even with a double major in art history and finance. He’d chosen to stay in L.A. for graduate school even though his GRE scores could have gotten him into any number of prestigious colleges. In addition to his studies, he worked as a teaching assistant for Professor Kerr. As a rule, he didn’t feel the need to give back to the community in some sort of penance for the fact that his parents had been successful. Or at least he usually didn’t. But he remembered how happy his mother had been last week when he helped out. Yeah. It was all for his mom.
Angel was still telling himself that as he slowed the car down to a creeping pace and rolled down the window. “Get in.”
Buffy turned toward him and gave him a look of irritation, but wordlessly walked around the car and climbed in. She was still wrapped, Angel noted, in his coat. He wasn’t sure what to think about that. As she clicked her seatbelt shut, Angel handed her a cup of coffee and a bag of donuts. “And don’t eat them all,” he warned. “I want one.”
She gobbled down the first one in seconds, moaning happily. They were still warm and the glaze was melting in her mouth. The scent of the freshly baked goods wafted across the car. Angel’s stomach rumbled loudly and she grinned in response, which made his mouth drop open.
He glanced over at her and was shocked to see her removing her seatbelt and sliding across the bench seat with her sticky fingers inside the bag of donuts. She tore off a little piece and pushed it into his mouth. Kneeling in the seat next to him, she alternated, feeding them each pieces of the donuts until they were gone. She licked the icing off of her fingers and seemed strangely happy. Groaning, she lay back in the seat with her head on his thigh and sighed.
Angel had slowed down, driving as slow as possible as she fed them, stunned by her utter delight in the paltry gift of donuts and coffee. It seemed suddenly incredibly sad that that was all it took to put a smile on her face.
He cupped her cheek, caressing her as she nuzzled his thigh and neither said a word. He wanted to say a lot of things. He wanted to ask her why she had chosen to be the way she was and why she didn’t change things, why she lived with her loser stepfather and why she put all those harmful drugs in her body, but he didn’t want to ruin the moment.
“We’re there,” he said quietly, turning off the car. Startled, Buffy sat up and looked around. The Hyperion, the black soul-sucking place of wasted weekends, stood hovering over them. The scowl immediately returned to her face as she got out of the car.
“Try not to take the door off the hinges,” Angel said when she slammed the door.
“Fuck off,” she spat, stomping toward the hotel. “It’s not like it means anything to you.”
“And you’re welcome,” he growled as he followed her into the lobby.
“Bite me,” she rejoined before turning her fury on Jenny, who stood looking composed as always, waiting patiently to give Buffy her instructions for the morning.
***
“Linds, find another assistant,” Angel said, watching both he and Buffy suspiciously.
Lindsey looked up, highly irritated and opened his mouth. Angel cut him off, staring at Buffy. “Let’s go,” he said, turning and leaving the room in which Buffy and Lindsey were painting.
In any other situation, Buffy would have mouthed off, but she wasn’t about to complain about having to spend time with Angel. Lindsey was some froo froo attorney working off a DUI by volunteering at the shelter. He was cute and exactly the kind of guy she would usually try and cozy up to, the kind that had lots of disposable income. But there was something about Lindsey, something that told her he didn’t like looking at her; that looking at her was too much like looking in a mirror. Wiping her hands off on a rag, she left the room.
She found Angel in the parking lot, climbing into one of the ratty old trucks that the shelter owned. She climbed into the cab. “What are we doing?”
“Going to pick up lumber,” he said.
She didn’t reply. She was shocked, however, when he pulled into a fast food place and asked her what she wanted. When the girl at the window handed them their food, Buffy quickly scarfed hers down. Chewing around a mouthful of food, she asked, “You know Lindsey?”
“I know him,” Angel grunted. “Our fathers are friends. We were pretty good friends once. Not so much anymore.”
“Why not?”
“It’s a long story,” Angel sighed. “The way he chooses to lead his life and the way I choose to lead mine doesn’t mesh.”
“Oh,” she said thoughtfully, stuffing more food in her mouth. She hadn’t had two significant meals like this in one day in so long that she was shocked when she realized her hands had stopped shaking. Hell, she felt almost healthy.
When Buffy finished her own food, she sipped her drink and casually stole Angel’s fries when she thought he wasn’t looking. Strangely, it struck him as amusing. He whistled a tune when he loaded the lumber, watching Buffy out of the corner of his eye.
A girl who looked almost ugly a week ago seemed more attractive to him this afternoon, drowning in the black leather of his jacket while she carried the lumber to the truck without complaint. Her braided blonde hair in the sunshine, her face flush with her exertions and a full stomach, made her look almost beautiful. He didn’t even notice the scar across her lips.
He did, however, notice a nasty bruise along the nape of her neck. Her thick braid went a long way towards obscuring it, but when she turned quickly, the braid would swing, revealing the large, unsightly welt. Angel tried to look without being too conspicuous. He couldn't be certain, but it looked a hell of a lot like someone had grabbed the back of her neck with a great deal of force. Angel couldn't help but remember that first night he took her home.
My stepdad’s a little freaky, alright? I’m already going to get my ass beat over being drunk. If he sees you, it’ll be world war fucking three.
At the time, Angel thought she was just being caustic, just being a bitch. But looking at the nasty bruise, he began to reevaluate his first impression. It sure as hell looked like someone had gotten a hold on her. Maybe it was her stepfather. He shook the thought off. For all he knew, it was some guy that she fucked for drugs and they both liked it rough. Maybe she forgot the safe word. That wouldn't shock him. Buffy Summers was known as the "up for anything" girl around town. But the more he tried to convince himself of that, the more he thought back to all the times his mom made him volunteer at the battered women's shelter when he was younger. He remembered the bleak, vacant look in the eyes of those women, in the eyes of their abused children. When Buffy thought no one was looking, she had that same expression. Angel cursed himself for not noticing sooner.
"Plans tonight?" Angel asked later as they were unloading the lumber at the shelter.
Buffy shrugged. "Heard there's a party over at the Outhouse."
Angel almost cringed. The Outhouse was aptly named. The place was a shithole. It was off campus in a very seedy part of town, a BYO place that was routinely shut down for having underage strippers and lots of drug traffic. A lot of the campus Greeks liked to go slumming there for kicks. It was a rough place. Angel would murder a dozen people before he allowed Cordy to go somewhere like that and the thought that Buffy would so casually consider going turned his blood cold.
Logically, he realized that he couldn’t stop her from going back there, just like he knew he couldn’t stop her stepfather from putting those bruises on her. He knew that if he thought of a way to keep her from that hell for one night, she’d probably just end up back there another night, but it just kept nagging at him for the rest of the day. Those blitzed fucks pawed at any chick they came across. Angel didn’t have any claim on Buffy, nor did he want to join in anything other than friendship with her. That didn’t change the funny feeling gnawing at his gut.
At the end of the day as he was driving her home, he looked casually over to where she was curled up in the seat. “I rented a couple of DVDs last week and I didn’t have time to watch them,” he said quietly, keeping his eyes on the road. “I was knocking around the idea of ordering a pizza and checking them out tonight.”
“Sounds cozy,” she muttered tiredly. She hadn’t sat down with a movie and a pizza that innocently since her mother had died. Anytime she ever saw a movie these days it was when she was with Spike and half out of her mind on whatever he supplied her with that night.
“I don’t really like watching movies by myself,” he added after a moment of silence. “Feel like vegging at my place for a little while?”
“Your place?” she echoed, turning to look at him with her eyes wide. She couldn’t even imagine seeing the place where he lived, hanging out casually with Angel Chase like they were friends.
“Sure,” he said, moving his rearview mirror a notch just to have something to do. “Why not?”
“Sure,” she echoed quietly, gazing back out of the window. Her throat was suddenly very dry and her stomach was knotted up. It felt like some kind of strange sign that she would have three meals in one day, all with Angel, one in Angel’s home.
She was used to going home with guys and letting them have their way with her under the guise of partying or some other form of entertainment. Idly, she wondered if Angel would want her to fuck him. She would if he wanted. She was sure of that, even without the pizza, but she knew he probably wouldn’t even touch her. Girls like Buffy Summers didn’t get that lucky.
***
Angel left Buffy alone in his living room with more than a little trepidation. She was completely capable of stealing from him, he believed that wholeheartedly. But he had to take care of a few things in private. The first was a phone call to Doyle, canceling their plans for the evening, the second a call to Darla telling her that he was going to be out of town, so she didn't spontaneously decide to show up at his apartment. Angel didn't know why he felt the need to be nice to Buffy, but he didn't want it getting around that they were hanging out together. No one would believe that he was letting Buffy crash at his place without fucking her. That was simply what a guy of his class did with her, the only purpose she served. But Angel couldn't think of anything more distasteful than taking advantage of someone in her situation.
Buffy ate half the pizza, which made Angel feel better about his decision to invite her over. That good feeling was compounded when she asked him if he had anything to drink and he told her it was in the fridge. A minute later, she curled up on the far end of the couch with a soda rather than a beer. He deliberately left the decision up to her, wanting to see what she would do. Years ago, he wrote Buffy off as nothing more than a morally bankrupt druggie. That was when he started seeing her around campus parties. She couldn't have been anymore than fifteen or sixteen at the time and she already looked worn out. Every time he'd ever gotten a glimpse of her, she was blitzed out of her mind on alcohol or drugs, curled up with any warm body she could find.
But every time he'd seen her now, with the exception of that first night that he gave her a ride home, she'd been stone sober. And cold. And starving. And bruised. Weren't drugs the ultimate escapism? It looked like Buffy Summers had a whole lot to escape.
Buffy was snoring softly fifteen minutes into the second movie. She was curled up into a tiny little ball, huddling under his jacket. Frowning, Angel went and pulled an extra blanket out of the closet and draped it over her. He finished watching the movie, which was truly horrid. Buffy was out cold, drooling on the arm of his couch. Angel couldn't help but smile. Quietly, he cleaned up the pizza box and empty soda cans. For a minute, he toyed with the idea of kicking her out. But where would she go? Home so her bastard of a stepfather would beat the shit out of her and do god only knew what else? Or maybe hit an after hours party, get drugged up and go home with some stranger? No. She could sleep on his couch. And if Angel woke up to find everything in his living room missing, he would write her off without a second thought.
***
Angel wasn't a light sleeper. He had two different alarm clocks and a special ringer on his cell phone in order to get out of bed on time in the mornings. But something - maybe the knowledge that there was a convicted criminal sleeping in his living room - woke him. There were strange noises coming from the living room and soft cursing. It sounded like someone was attempting to be quiet and failing miserably.
That useless little whore, he swore to himself. After everything he did, she was trying to rob him blind. Cursing himself, Angel pulled on a pair of sweat pants and yanked open his bedroom door. He stopped short to find Buffy standing in the middle of his hallway, illuminated by the kitchen light. It wasn't the fact that she was standing there; it was the fact that she was standing there wearing nothing but his coat. And he did mean nothing. The coat wasn't buttoned and he could see the bare curve of her breast; catch a glimpse of the shadowed triangle between her legs. The thick braid she usually wore was undone. It was obvious she had brushed her hair out because it was a mass of silky blonde waves that fell almost to her waist. The golden tresses contrasted sharply with the black leather of his coat in a very appealing manner. She looked soft and sleep-rumpled.
He looked away shaking his head. "It's four in the morning," he said, his voice a rumbling growl, scratchy from sleep.
She stared at the floor, wrapping the coat more tightly around her body. "I was trying not to wake you up," she said shortly. "I just wanted to do a load of laundry."
Angel didn't even know what to say to that. Yeah, she had to work at the shelter tomorrow and she obviously wasn't planning to go home. She needed clean clothes. He supposed it wasn't any big deal if she wanted to use the small, stacked washer and dryer in his hall closet. He shrugged. "The detergent and stuff is under the sink," he said before turning around and heading back to bed.
***
Buffy waited, standing still in the hallway until he was safely in his room and then let out the breath she had been holding. She tiptoed to the kitchen and leaned against the counter for a second, holding the coat around her body. Seeing Angel in the middle of the night, bare-chested and rumpled from sleep was an amazing sight. He was a god, just like she always knew he was and she couldn’t help but notice the way his dark eyes raked her body. What would he have done if she had slipped off the coat and offered herself to him?
Shaking her head, she found the laundry detergent and fabric softener under the sink. She hefted them out and noted that they were almost full and name brand. What a luxury to have them there, being able to use the exact amount suggested instead of halving it so it would last longer.
Angel didn’t know how fortunate he was to have everything he wanted at the tips of his beautiful fingers. She knew he felt sorry for her and was fairly certain he didn’t even like her. He thought she was a druggie whore just like everyone else. The sad part about it was that it was true. She was a useless tramp who traded her body for anything to make the aching pain of life go away. That knowledge was the only thing that kept her from giving her body to him. She knew he wouldn’t take it and it made her feel sick. The only man she would ever love thought she was a whore.
She went back to the couch and curled up under the blanket he had given her, waiting for the washing cycle to end. Everything smelled like him. It made her want to hold her breath, just to keep him inside. She was so nervous that she would mess something up, that she would make him mad and he’d kick her out or not bring her back.
She dozed off but woke a little later and changed the laundry, only to find that Angel had left a load of clothes in the dryer. Almost giddily, she reached in and pulled out his clothes like a little girl in a candy store. The load was mostly t-shirts and boxers, but she folded them all carefully, placing them in neat little piles. She couldn’t help but note that everything looked almost new. Nothing was torn or frayed. It was nothing like her limited wardrobe.
When she was finished folding his laundry, she put her clothes in the dryer. She looked around guiltily before snagging a pair of his black silk boxers and a white t-shirt. Still struggling to be as quiet as possible, she went into the bathroom and showered, reveling in using his shampoo and drying her body off with his thick, fluffy towels.
She finger combed her hair still wearing his burgundy towel. She remembered how her mother always kept fresh towels stacked in the linen closet and how she put them in the ragbag for cleaning day whenever they started to fray. She missed having something as simple as fresh towels at her disposal. Now she washed them and horded one or two in her dresser like stolen booty so Ethan couldn’t use them.
She slipped into his boxers and t-shirt. The t-shirt fell almost to her knees, covering the boxers completely. She felt safe in them, completely covered for the first time in a long time. As she snuck back out to the couch and snuggled back under the blanket, she knew she would keep them if he didn’t take them away.
***
They weren't supposed to be at the shelter until eight, but Angel was up at six. Buffy's clothes were still tumbling in the dryer, but there were only a few minutes left before the buzzer would sound. Angel decided against waking her up, figuring the dryer would take care of it.
He glanced out into the living room, noticing one bare leg peeking out. She wasn't completely covered by the blanket and he rolled his eyes and sighed as he realized that she had commandeered a pair of his boxers and a t-shirt. At least her thievery was completely out in the open. If he wanted, he knew he could demand the items back, but he also knew that he wouldn't. Taking something in plain view seemed to be Buffy's way of asking. She could never voice any desires, but she took what she wanted, giving him the opportunity to take it back.
He was frowning as he closed the bathroom door. Buffy was Cordy's age. Angel had vague memories of the girls playing together as small children. He thought about how over-protective he was of his sister, of the life she lived. Cordy got anything she wanted - within reason. Clothes, food, a car, a loving family - all of it was given to Cordelia without a thought. Buffy didn't have any of those things. And more than that, it seemed completely beyond her to figure out how to go about getting them - save trading her body. It was so damn heartbreaking.
Angel shaved in the shower and was done in short order. When he opened the bathroom door, the bath towel secured around his hips, he saw Buffy lacing up her boots in the living room. She was once again dressed her own clothes, her hair in its customary severe braid. Angel quickly glanced at the top of the washer where she had stacked his clothes from the dryer. The t-shirt and boxers weren't in the pile. He did notice that the pocket on his leather jacket was bulging, no doubt from a folded up t-shirt and pair of boxers. He didn't even bother saying anything as he went to his room.
She wasn't in the living room when he finally left his room. Angel could hear rummaging noises coming from the kitchen and part of him wondered if this was it. Was this when Buffy would finally show her true colors and he'd catch her trying to steal something? Turning the corner, he found her in the midst of trying to climb up on his countertop.
He looked at her and she looked back at him. She frowned, dropping back down to the floor. "I can't reach the coffee filters," she snapped, pointing to the top shelf.
Angel rolled his eyes at her waspish good morning but easily plucked the filters down for her. "Do you need help?" he asked.
"No," she countered snottily. "I may not have graduated from high school, but I think I can figure out a goddamn coffee maker.
"Have at it," Angel said, leaving her to the coffee as he headed over to the fridge and began rummaging.
Buffy straightened her spine as she turned back to the coffee maker. She quickly resented her crabby statement. A fucking NASA scientist couldn't figure out this goddamn coffee maker. She opened the compartment and read the buttons trying to figure out what to do.
Angel let her struggle for five full minutes before he walked over and flipped open the top. He carefully inserted a coffee filter and then measured the correct amount of grounds. Then, in a move she never would have considered, he took the entire back half of the coffee maker off and filled it with water before replacing it and pushing the power button. She snorted in disgust. That wasn't intuitive at all.
Turning his head, Angel looked at her, his expression perfectly dry. "Took me two weeks to figure out how to use it," he said. He looked away before she could respond. "Well," he said, pulling the refrigerator open, "it appears we have cold pizza or … cold pizza."
***
Once at the shelter, Buffy and Angel parted ways without a word and began working. They didn’t even speak to each other until lunch when Angel found her, once again, helping a man. This time it wasn’t Lindsey though, it was Gunn. He was a former street kid who grew up and made his way out from the bottom. He owned a private investigation firm now that focused on the back street cases the cops normally didn’t care about and he volunteered his time a couple of times a month.
Angel liked him, but he didn’t like the way Gunn and Buffy were laughing jovially together when he walked into the room. The light in her eyes, the pep in her movements irritated him.
“Buffy,” he snapped as he leaned in the doorway. After a curt nod to Gunn, he continued, “Got to pick up some stuff from an old lady downtown. Let’s go.”
“See ya, Gunn,” Buffy said, still chuckling from his last joke, unperturbed by Angel’s obvious displeasure. She went out to where Angel was already starting the truck and he nearly peeled away from the curb before she managed to put on her seatbelt.
“Burgers or tacos?” he managed to grunt out as they headed toward downtown in the shelter’s rambling old truck. He hadn’t said a word since they left and she was beginning to wonder what he was so angry about.
“Burgers,” she said, her mouth watering already when she thought of all those fries she’d have to herself.
“We had burgers yesterday,” he growled, but pulled into the burger place down the street.
“Well, if you want fucking tacos,” she snapped back, “then why did you even ask?”
“I don’t want tacos,” he groused. The drive-thru line was long and he pouted most of the way through it.
“Wanna hear the joke Gunn told me?” she asked finally, still bubbling from laughter. Angel grunted in response, but she was so excited at the prospect of telling a joke that he began to lighten up as she carefully laid out the set up for it and when the punch line came, she fell into a infectious laughter that had him laughing too. She wiped tears from her eyes as she finished chuckling.
When they reached the window and received their food, Buffy immediately stuffed a fry into her mouth, humming in happiness around it. “I love this shit,” she announced. She began doling out the burgers and fries from the greasy bag then snagged a fry from her own container and fed it to him.
It was the smallest thing in the world, but Angel was so touched he could barely swallow. He had never seen Buffy give up something that she thought was hers, unless, of course, it was her body. He chewed the fry, swallowing thickly. "Thanks," he said softly.
She smiled at him, not one of her nasty, snide smirks, but a real smile. "You're welcome," she replied before turning her attention back to her food.
***
The rest of the day passed without much incident. When it came time to leave, Angel found Buffy quietly waiting for him, leaning against the wall by the front door. As he stepped outside, she followed him to the car, climbing inside.
He automatically turned the car toward his apartment rather than her house. Buffy didn't seem to think this was anything out of the ordinary. Angel sat there in silence wondering if he had indeed gone completely insane. That was really the only option. He didn't do things like this. He didn't believe in the basic goodness of humanity, he didn't think people could change and he didn't feel it was his responsibility to help anyone other than himself or possibly his family members.
But yet, here he was. He cleared his throat. "I have to head up to campus," he said. "I got a call this afternoon. Professor Kerr, my boss, is presenting a paper at a conference in Chicago next week and the T.A. that was supposed to go got sick, so I'm up."
Buffy stiffened in her seat. She'd been waiting on this, knowing her good luck was bound to run out any second. She had to hand it to Angel; at least he managed to come up with some excuse, however lame it was. Most guys wouldn't bother. "No big," she said. "Just drop me at the edge of campus. Spike only lives a few miles from here. I can crash with him."
Spike. Angel suppressed a growl. He knew Spike. Everyone knew Spike. If you ever wanted anything, Spike was the guy to see. He was a piece of lowlife scum at least ten years older than Angel himself - too fucking old for Buffy. And Angel had no doubt what exactly would happen if Buffy went to Spike's place.
"Would you let me finish, please?" Angel said, glancing over at Buffy.
She nodded almost imperceptibly.
He reached in his pocket, removing a key he held out to Buffy. "It's to my apartment," he said. She immediately reached for it and he pulled the key away for a moment. "For you," he said, stressing the word. "I have to run up to campus now, but I'll be home in a few hours. You can stay or you can go, but if you stay, absolutely no company and no drugs."
Buffy was quiet, eyeing him warily. "And while you're gone next week?" she asked.
Angel took a deep breath. He was a sucker and he knew it. "You can stay if you want."
She swiped the key out of his hand. "Deal."
Angel handed Buffy a twenty-dollar bill with orders to have some food delivered before he dropped her off in front of his apartment building.
***
Buffy was floored; unable to believe Angel would trust her enough to let her stay at his place without him present. She felt like it was some kind of test, which should have pissed her off, but for some reason, it didn’t. As soon as she got inside the apartment, she dialed the sub place and had sandwiches delivered. She’d already eaten hers and watched half of some horrible made for TV movie before Angel finally returned home. His arms were loaded with files and he looked frazzled and irritated. Buffy decided to stay out of his way.
She curled up in the corner of the couch, pretending to be absorbed by the TV. In truth, she watched him pick at his sandwich between making phone calls, reading files and haphazardly throwing things in his suitcase.
“Night,” he called before shutting his bedroom door.
Buffy left the TV on, but all of her attention was focused on the light creeping out from under his bedroom door. “Thank you, Angel,” she whispered.
***
Still unbelievably tired, Buffy nevertheless rolled over onto her side and watched Angel hurry around the apartment, finishing up last minute packing. He was still trying to read those damn files while he juggled toiletries and socks. It wasn’t even five in the morning yet, but he’d told Buffy his flight was at eight.
Apparently convinced that he was done packing, Angel stopped and took a breath. He walked over to the couch where Buffy was watching him silently. He crouched down in front of her and held out a couple of folded twenty-dollar bills. “For food,” he said, frowning.
Buffy nodded, snatching the money away.
He shook his head, turning to grab his suitcase. “And be good,” he tacked on.
***
TBC
on to part 3