Author's Note/Disclaimers: Buffy and Spike have been listed as the only characters because there are just SO MANY in this story. There are a lot of "B" romances going on here. A lot of friendship fluff too.

The story has been rated for later content. Not what is included in this prologue. There are instances of Child Abuse, Attempted Rape, Implied Rape, Violence and Sexual Situations in the forthcoming text. You. Have. Been. Warned.

I own nothing. All characters and locations belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, WB, UPN, Dark Horse? and co.

Prologue

The saying goes that when your enemy strikes you on the right cheek, you should turn the other to them. Let them strike that one too. It's a biblical saying, apparently. Buffy Summers was never religious, but she was well versed in being struck. Turning the other cheek wasn't really a choice when striking back was out of the cards. If one could strike back, well, then it would just be a fight. No one needs confrontation.

Buffy tried to enter her home as silently as possible. It was too early in the evening for her father to have retired to his room. She winced at the realization that it was just late enough for him to start worrying about her safety. If she turned back now, if she let go of the knob, there would be no arguments tonight. Walking away would be all too easy, but she could never do that to her father. He needed her company in their lonely flat. Buffy took a deep breath. She inhaled the memories of chipper cheerleaders and dance routines that kept her going. She held the breath close, and as turned the knob, she exhaled.

"What kind of time do you call this, Buffy?" Her father's voice rang out from the living room. His breath was steady and the television was blaring some sports news program. These were good signs.

Buffy tucked a long strand of blonde hair behind her ears. She thought of next week's game and the possibility of a girls' night out this weekend. Hanging up her coat, she gave her father the most innocent smile she could manage. "I told you there's cheer practice on Tuesdays, Daddy."

A muscle twitched below his eye. A tiny, near imperceptible sliver of a muscle. Another witness would never see it. The moment would come and go so swiftly. Buffy never missed it anymore. That muscle was the amber light warning that her only options involved moving with caution. She had made friends with that muscle, and treasured it with her life.

"Are you mad at me, Daddy?" Buffy softened her voice. "It's not too late for dinner. I can cook us something nice. Make your favorite cheesy, cheesy lasagna."

Hank Summers reclined on the couch. He spread his legs wide and grumbled under his breath. Buffy started breathing easier. She could fill her head with thoughts of the moment if she wanted to. Cooking dinner wouldn't take long, she'd take a muscle relaxing warm shower, do some of that traumatic math homework and then curl into her soft fluffy bed with Mr. Gordo.

"Get me a beer, will you?" Hank threw over his shoulder as she moved to the kitchen.

Buffy sighed. One beer. One beer was hardly a threat. She fetched him his beverage before settling into her temporary safe space. Lasagna was always difficult for Buffy. Even after five years, she had not grown accustomed to preparing it alone. In order to escape the memories of having a cooking partner by her side, she filled her head with more recent memories. That day's cheerleading practice.

Cook the noodles. Backspring. Drain in a colander. Pike basket. Boil the sauce. Two cartwheels and a front handspring. Oil the pan. Saucy merengue break. Get me another beer.

Buffy gritted her teeth. Two beers. Two beers meant hide the scotch. There were seven beers left in the fridge, more than enough to keep him happy. With any luck, there would be a sloppy monologue about her academic failures and he would black out. She returned to the kitchen with the sound of her own pulse deafening her. There was no time left to mentally rehearse her routine. She had to focus on counting the beers.

She served the dinner at a table that could no longer seat six people. Hank hid the dining chairs in the basement, far away from possible guests. This table now belonged to him and Buffy alone.

They sat in silence, which was probably the custom after four beers. Counting the one she gave him with dinner, there should only be three. Buffy wrinkled her nose in confusion and then straightened her face when she realized he must be watching her. If he didn't follow the rules of the beer count, how would she know when?

"Is everything okay, Daddy?" Buffy pushed the lasagna around in her plate. 'Did you drink before I got here?'

Hank looked up at his daughter beneath heavy lids. She tried to read his hazel-green eyes, eyes that were echoed on her own face. His expression was so forlorn, so lost. For a moment, his mask slipped away and her Daddy came back home. He was there for her cheer meets in grade school, he watched her win a tiara at only six years old, he held her hand when she met Alice for the first time. Then came the fire. A blaze that made his face so hot that the little muscle nearly tore itself out of it's prison of skin.

"Do you know what happens, Buffy, when you forget to make the coffee before you leave in the morning?" His fingers gripped the empty beer can set beside his plate. Three beers. Three beers meant breathe slowly. Four meant don't run. Five meant don't scream. Six meant scotch. Scotch meant…turn the other cheek.

"Daddy, is that your third beer?" Buffy held her breath when her pitch waivered for a moment. Her own breath, a traitor.

"Answer the fucking question, Buffy," Hank returned with menace and a sort of politeness. Even with ugly words, he wanted her to believe it was a request. His commands always sounded like subtle begging.

"You have to make it?" Buffy answered. She was so not prepared for a pop quiz.

"I don't make my own coffee, Buffy," Hank returned with a grimace. Still friendly in his tone. He laughed. "I don't make my own coffee, I go to work tired. I go to work tired, I can't do my job. I can't do my job, I lose. My god damned. Job!"

Buffy leapt to her feet before she could think. There would never be enough time to back away from the table, and now he was watching her too closely. "You can get a new job, Daddy. I'll help you. It'll be like, a bonding thing." Her own voice, a traitor. She was pleading with him now. There was no chance for him to hear the words. Hank hated the pleading.

He closed the space between them before she could readjust her tone. A sharp sting on her cheek told her she was too late, and that was not his third beer. She balled her fists and grounded her bare feet into the carpet. Running only ended in tripping and hair pulling. She turned her unmarked cheek towards him.

"Why would I want to bond with a little whore! You think I don't know where you run off to at night?"

She looked him in the eyes again. "Daddy I don't-" That one would bruise.

"Did I say you could fucking talk!" Saliva. And scotch.

Buffy kept her mouth shut. It took everything to resist wiping the spit from her cheek. At some point, between blunt fists and kicks to her abdomen, Hank would expect her to scream. He would be want it. Want her to ask for help. When he slammed her face against the sharp corner of the door frame, she would not let that yelp hiding at the back of her throat go. She was thinking of the door. He would grow tired of trying to make her fight back. When she proved to him that her silence could not be worn down, he would end the tirade the way it started.

Hank struck Buffy on her cheek with his free hand. The hand that gripped her by the collar of her cheerleading t-shirt released her with such force that the back of her head hit the wall. She met his eyes with five years of anger, a fire much smaller and much hotter than his own. For a moment, less than a second, she frightened him. A scotch-drenched glob of saliva caught her swollen eye, gluing it shut.

Buffy continued her silent protest until her father was nestled safely under layers of cotton comfort. She took the dishes away from the table and washed her efforts at peacemaking away. He hadn't even finished his dinner. She stifled hysterical laughter while the remainder of his favorite meal was preserved for another day.

She moved slowly and silently to the bedroom at the back of the flat. In the mist of a hot shower, she held her anger and resistance close. They were all she had left of herself tonight. She was a dragon, the steam was her roaring breath of fire bubbling under the surface. The shower was left on as she stepped out. The sounds of water assaulting the tile made a fair cover for open drawers and creaking closet doors. Her father had probably exhausted into a stupor by now, but she took no chances.

She pulled a duffel bag she had started packing months ago out of her closet. The time had come to finish the job. She knew hours ago. In the kitchen. Two beers. Her eyes had latched onto an expensive set of precision chef's knives. They were very good knives. Up until now, they were knives that only her mother had touched. If she stayed here, there would only be two living residents for a very short time. It could be anyone, really. Hank had an ex-boxer's body and Buffy, well, Buffy had some very good knives.

Buffy took her overstuffed duffel bag and three month's allowance with her as she crossed the threshold of that god forsaken door. There would be no note left behind. She had no apology to make, and he knew why she was leaving anyway. He could sit alone with his sorrow, remembering the two Summers women who would leave him alone in that house. Neither one leaving a goodbye behind.

"We got a scrambled and sunnyside with three sausages!" Buffy clipped her order write-up to the kitchen window.

"Got three sausages back here too, Anne!" The head cook gave her a slimy leer. The two busboys shared amused glances.

"Get some new material," Buffy grumbled before making her way to the juice pitchers. She returned to the table and smiled down at her favorite regular. "So Joyce, are you going to introduce me to your really British date?"

"Actually, Anne, this is my fiance." Joyce clasped hands with the mousy man sitting across from her.

"Look at you! All with the romance. No wonder I haven't seen you around lately," Buffy smiled at Joyce's fiance as he pushed up his wire-framed glasses. He was going to poke his eyes out with vision enhancers. "Are you going to have the wedding here?"

"Chickens on a raft! Adam and Eve on a log!"

"Damn it, Donny!" Buffy screamed at the cook. "That's not what I told you!"

"It's alright, Anne. We'll settle."

Buffy brought the couple their close-enough breakfasts, grateful that Joyce was going easy on her. It was first on a long list of reasons why she appreciated Joyce's presence. There were always far too many people pouring into the diner. None of them knew the menu, and Donny rarely got the orders right anyway. Buffy wanted to strike everything but coffee and pie off of the list. She could handle coffee and pie. She never neglected the coffee.

"So what's your name, Mr. Brit?" She asked as she handed him his eggs on toast.

"Hm? Oh. I- R-rupert. Rupert Giles." He gave his hand she shook it, casting an approving glance over to Joyce.

"Joyce Giles," she mused. "It could use some work."

"I like it." Joyce tried to hide her dreamy smile. "Rupert opened a little bookstore next to the gallery two months ago," she said. "It wasn't long before the gallery started missing me."

Two months? Could people fall in love in two months? Especially old people. Buffy only doubted it for a second. Joyce's smile reached her eyes and sneaked into her voice. She was most definitely in love. Buffy had never seen love light up someone that way. Every word was punctuated with the kind of glee that grown ups were definitely not supposed to have outside of their childhood memories. There were like children right at that moment, Joyce with the laughter and Giles with the blushing. Four months in this diner and no married couple had ever looked so happy. Her parents had never been this happy.

"Do you guys want some pie? On me. Consider it a wedding present."

Joyce and Rupert accepted their presents like any child on their birthday. She watched them from afar while serving a diner full of entitled and possibly inebriated college students. She never made it back to her favorite regular's table before she left, but on the table was enough money to cover the breakfast, the pies and Buffy's light bill. Beneath the tip was a job application for Giles & Co. Books. 'I pay well, and have considerably more polite customers.' read a little scribble at the bottom of the paper. Buffy hung up her apron, twice as happy that her shift was over.

She spent the night trying to recall every almost-accomplishment she could have pulled out of her high school existence. There was a voice in the back of her mind nagging and pulling, eating away at the confidence she managed to pick up in the diner. Her heart was sinking and fast. Joyce didn't even know her real age or...name.

It was impossible for her to pay up for this uncomfortable living space without revealing her identity. The landlord never seemed to care that his most recent tenant was seventeen, recently homeless, and at the time she moved in, unemployed. She suspected the diner manager, Mitch, only hired her to see her legs bare in the uniform. He was a pig, like almost all the other male employees, but he hired her before her seventeenth birthday and asked no questions. The last thing Buffy wanted was someone who would go digging into her past. So why was she writing this information down?

The walls of her humble abode were dangerously close to rotting away and leaving her stranded on a lumpy bed island in a sea of stained kitchen was small enough to wash dishes while pulling muffins out of the oven. For the first time in her life, Buffy had no closet. The initial Spartan charm was losing its effect and fast.

If Giles really did pay well, this rat hole she was calling home could become a chapter in the very distant past. She missed having a cozy kitchen, hot water, and properly stocked closet.

Landing the job was easy enough. All Giles really wanted was someone who could read, count money, and pay close attention to his customers' needs. Buffy had to wonder why some college student had not snatched the position away. It didn't pain her though; she was grateful the college kids missed out. She could work away the hours with some peace and quiet for once.

Buffy made a habit of disappearing behind the towering shelves when she wasn't needed at the counter. Giles didn't mind. He seemed to enjoy the company, and the opportunity to expose her to books she never knew she would enjoy. She managed to settle in for a few weeks before Joyce insisted on a meeting between the three of them. Nothing lasted forever for Buffy. She knew that. Still, she couldn't dispel the hope that Giles (and co.) would keep her for a while.

Buffy pushed open the door to Giles office only to be greeted by two guilty grown-up faces. It was the look her parents would get when they called a family meeting- that was all about her. Giles was perched on the corner of his desk, fervently cleaning his glasses. Joyce was smiling a little too much for comfort. It was the way her mother smiled when she told Buffy there would be no trip to Disneyland this year.

Joyce slid to the far side of the little office couch and gave the empty seat a pat. Buffy shut the door behind her. For a moment, she considered sprinting away, changing her name and starting another new life. She took her place next to Joyce and tried to read the two adults as they stayed silent.

"As riveting as all the quietness is, I was kind of expecting some talk."

"R-right, of course," Giles placed the frames back on their usual spot atop his nose bridge. "Er, Buffy, we need to discuss your current...living situation with you."

"That's little personal, isn't it?" Buffy tucked a length of hair behind one ear.

"Buffy, you're a minor. Shouldn't you be living with family? What are you doing about school?" Joyce place a warm hand on top of Buffy's. The comfort burned.

"I have no family," Buffy said. She couldn't find the strength to pull away from Joyce. "And I don't need one. See? Totally doing the independent thing."

"And what about school, Buffy?" Joyce wasn't pushing. Buffy wavered for a moment. Tears stung behind her eyes because she knew. She knew they had to make an effort to treat her like a child.

"Doing okay with it so far," Her resolve was faltering. Her own voice, a traitor.

"Joyce and I have been discussing possible a possible alternative for you, if you are willing."

This was new territory, adults considering her opinions when it came to her personal life. These adults, they were employers- friends even, but they were not her family. She didn't have a family anymore for a reason. Her life needed to be locked away from them, where only she could control it.

"Would you like to live with us Buffy?" The tone was unassuming and still too far from pushy. Joyce was being patient with her and it broke something inside.

For the first time since her mother stepped out the damned front door, every emotion she had felt spilled on the floor in front of her. Her eyes, her voice, her heaving lungs, all brutal traitors. The tears came without effort, and they kept coming. When Joyce wrapped her arms around traitorous shoulders, when Giles placed a hand on her arm, she knew there would be tears for days.

She was wrong. She cried for weeks. Buffy cried when she packed her bags and left the shabby apartment she had never grown to love. She cried when she settled into the guest bedroom that was hers, if she wanted it. When Giles helped her make an arrangement with the school principal regarding the classes she would need to catch up with, she was left with a post-cry migraine. Then it stopped, as it began, all at once.

"Buffy!" Cordelia Chase separated waves of tightly packed teenagers with little more than a signature click of stilettos. Love her or hate her, no one could deny that she knew how to part a crowd. She never looked back at a single disgruntled student.

"Cordy!" Buffy kept her game face on. High school was a battlefield of raw emotion. One wrong move could essentially ruin her life as she knew it. The best poker faces won the game. "Missed you after practice. Thought we had a mall date?"

"I know I'm the worst. But I come bearing good news!"

"Math has been cancelled. Forever."

"No such luck. I think I'd need a fairy godmother for that one. But," She wore the proud smile of someone who had done something very, very right.

"Are you gonna make me drag it out? Spill!" Buffy pushed Cordy's shoulder gently.

"Hey. No touchy the sweater. I'm taking it back to Saks this weekend."

"Cordy!"

"Okay, okay. Take a whole bottle of chill. I just got you a date with the second hottest boy on the football team." Cordy had every right to be proud. She'd done good. "Mister tall, dark and moody is your date to the movies this Friday."

"How did you do it? Tell me your secrets."

"I told him to ask you out because you obviously want him and he almost pounced at the chance," Cordy stopped walking and tilted her head to the side. "I swear, he almost smiled."

He did that. Angel smiled more than anyone seemed to realize.

Since the first day she stepped on campus, Buffy felt magnetically drawn to Angel. There was something she hated about it. He would stand in the hallway, all broody and mysterious, never approaching her. He would smile right before breaking eye contact and go wherever he was needed, giving her just enough to want more. They made googly eyes while she was at cheer practice, even though football season was over and he really didn't to be there. He and his friends would find some way to train on the field. He made sure he was there all sweaty and panting while she interpreted her dance moves in the sexiest way possible.

Sure they said "hello" to each other as they passed in the halls. It was hard not to engage one another when they had so many friends in common. They only ever had one conversation by the time Cordy arranged a convenient double date, and it involved the shelf life of cafeteria jello. He smiled then too.

"Buffy, you can't wear that," Cordelia nearly tore an ivory camisole from Buffy's hands. This was the trouble with asking Cordy for fashion advice. She had a habit of making it her fashion duty. "Even with a cardigan, this thing is practically see-through." She shoved a black mini-dress into Buffy's hands.

"Cordy isn't this a little-"

"Skanky?"

"No. Slinky. I was gonna say slinky." Buffy held the dress up against her body and walked to the mirror. The material nearly slipped through her fingers. It would be a miracle if Rupert let her out of the house wearing it, and Joyce wouldn't like it too much either."Are you sure about this one?"

"Buffy. Sexy, but not too sexy, remember?" Cordelia plucked a jacket and flats from Buffy's closet. How soon Buffy forgot that she didn't know have of what was in there. Nearly everything had be chosen by Cordelia or Joyce. The dress was one of Cordy's though, she could tell by how grown-up it felt. "This one'll drive him crazy. Even covered up."

Buffy shuddered. "Don't want him crazy. Just…"

"Want him?"

"Shut up." But she couldn't deny it. Slipping into her little black totally-not-a-first-date dress, she couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have someone slip it off of her for the first time; and that maybe she wouldn't mind it being Angel.

If the dress affected Angel at all, Buffy never saw it. When he and Doyle came to pick up the girls, he didn't say a word about Buffy's outfit. His eyes didn't even linger over the shape of her. They were locked on her own. Big brown eyes staring down at her with an almost constrained softness, like he was holding his vulnerability back. He smiled.

"Buffy," It was surprising how quickly she could forget that Angel towered over her. He was generally larger, standing at near six feet with his strong arms and washboard abs- the ones she was disappointed to not see through his shirt at the moment- not to mention those big hands. She didn't even know what she would do with hands like his, but she knew she loved looking at them.

"Angel," Buffy replied with a smile.

"Well don't you two start all the chatter before we get to the car," Doyle said. Even if Buffy and Angel had been talking, Cordelia would have drowned them out within seconds. She pounced on the opportunity to share every detail of the day's gossip with Doyle.

After a few minutes of not really listening to Cordelia's somewhat one-sided conversation, Buffy felt Angel slide his hand across the seat that separated them. She was glad Doyle was there to absorb Cordy's obsessive speech. It left her more time to silently melt into Angel's deep brown eyes while wrapping her hand around his. They stepped out of the car like that, hand in hand.

When Angel insisted on buying Buffy's ticket and refreshments (a gesture that got an approving nod from Cordelia), their hands were still intertwined. They only broke apart to move towards their seats and even then, Angel's hand found Buffy's within moments after sitting down. He wasn't saying much, Angel never did, but the constant hand holding seemed like a very good sign to Buffy. Even if it did leave her hands a little clammy at the end of the night.

Not one of the four paid attention to the movie. It was a formulaic chick-flick anyway. Girl meets guy in a cute way, girl and guy fight for an hour, some misunderstanding keeps them apart, then they sort it all out and live happily ever after. It wasn't as if Doyle and Cordelia were missing out on a cinematic masterpiece while they attacked each other's faces. Still, that left Buffy to bounce her puns off of Angel instead of her friend. He was...surprisingly responsive. Angel was no comedic genius, to be sure, but he seemed genuinely excited to be her audience. Whenever she managed to pull away from the screen (sure the comedy was dull and predictable, but that only made it better for Buffy), she would see him staring down at her with such reverence and awe that all she could do was turn red and return to the screen.

No one had ever looked at Buffy like that, like she was the biggest present under the Christmas tree or the grand prize in a treasure hunt. There was nothing in the world that could make her melt the way his look was at this moment. She was a puddle of Buffy. For a moment she thought she could break the silence between them with a carefully thought out cultural reference, but Angel was prolonging her nervous silence with touches. His hand was moving up her arm, her shoulder, her neck, until finally he was caressing her cheek, and Puddle Buffy drained into the seat. It didn't last long, though. Angel moved his hand slowly back down to her own and kept it there for the remainder of the night.

They walked back to the car linked together. At some point during the drive, Angel managed to slip his arm around Buffy and pull her close. He had a tight grip, she noticed, it felt like he was claiming her with his embrace. Cordelia ranted for the fifteen minutes it took to drop her home about the utter dullness of the movie (and what was with that wedding dress at the end? Ew.). Buffy was surprised to hear Cordy had caught the ending at all.

"But, I guess it was okay. Gerard Butler is still total eye candy so whatevs," Cordy said as she stepped from the car. Doyle held the door open and followed her to the porch.

"So, Buffy," Angel was giving her that look again. That heart-meltingly reverent look. "Am I allowed to ask you out again?"

"Mm, no," Buffy said coyly. Angel's fingers twitched against her shoulder for a moment. "I've already decided we're going out again, so it would be redundant."

"Is that right?" Angel was trying to keep his voice steady, but Buffy caught the wave of amusement underneath.

"Yup. Next week you're gonna take me to see an action flick. No more rom-coms. And," Buffy turned to face him. She met his eyes for the first time and had to keep herself from falling into them. "You're going to get me a large popcorn this time."

"Good to know," Angel's jaw ticked slightly. Buffy hoped that was a sign of restrained laughter. Even as she was implying their second date, her heart had been hammering. She was so scared she had made an utter fool of herself. But Angel played along happily.

When Doyle got back to the car, Buffy's bag was vibrating wildly. She pulled out her cell to see a new text message from Cordy. "Get that 1st kiss!" it read and Buffy had to lock the phone before Angel could catch a glimpse. Doyle pulled up to her house a few minutes later and turned to face the back seat with a smile.

"M'lady, I do believe this is your stop," He said. He turned to Angel. "'Snot polite t'let a lady walk around in the dark alone."

Buffy's eyes widened. Doyle and Cordelia had spent an awful lot of time on Cordy's porch. Buffy had just assumed they were kissing the whole time. Could they have been planning something?

"Out tha' door, oh broodin' one."

"Bye, Doyle," Buffy said, willing herself not to blush. Angel did as he was told and followed Buffy to her front door. They stood together in an uncomfortable silence after Buffy unlocked the door. "This is where I get off-I mean. I-I just meant, like, my house. This is my place of residence where I live and now I'm rambling and- mmph!"

Angel had crashed his lips into hers before she could think to protest. One of his hands was wrapped around her waist and the other tangled in her hair. It was just enough to keep her pressed against him as she melted into his warm lips. She was Puddle Buffy again, except now it was so much worse. She gave him a slight push when his tongue started to roam the corners of her lips. He looked more than a little hurt at the separation.

"I-I don't think...not quite in Tongue Territory yet. I just got to Kiss Country," Buffy winced. Not only had she confessed her embarrassing secret of being a kiss virgin, but she gave second base the worst nickname it could ever receive. "Babbling Buffy should say bye now."

Angel gave her another kiss on the cheek and waited until she was inside to walk back to Doyle's car. Buffy had to reconstitute herself from being a massive puddle by the door in order to make her way to the bedroom. She could barely answer Joyce's simple questioning about the night without gushing about Angel's perfect hands and perfect smile and perfect kiss.

Angel had seemed so perfect. Buffy looked up at the fluorescent lights, wondering if they could blind her if she stared long enough. Really, they could only blind her left eye. Her right eye was already too puckered to see out of. She rummaged through the memories of their first date, their second, their third, the long list of perfect kisses, the day he asked her to be his, and months of perfect moments, but nothing showed a warning sign. None that she could recognize anyway. She remembered warning signs. She remember muscle twitches and too-polite voices and counting the beers. What happened with Angel, that came all at once.

She had been cradled in his arms for well over an hour. Her muscles were aching in new ways that weren't terrible, but definitely not welcome. His finger were tracing patterns in her back, and he was feathering her forehead with soft kisses. She wondered how she ended up here, naked and tangled in the limbs of her perfect boyfriend. It had barely been a week since they made it to third base (Heavy Petting-ville) and yet here she was, naked and aching in his basement bedroom. All because his parents were gone for a few days.

Well, that had been alright, hadn't it? It was ample opportunity to cross the finish line. Neither one of them would get a chance like that for a long time. Angel had made it so lovely too, with scented candles and a full body massage (she still smelled like vanilla oil). He'd given her the warmest kisses and the softest touches. Her first time hadn't been bad at all, not by a long shot. Okay, she didn't exactly want to cross the finish line tonight. But she had given in specifically to make him happy. Why wasn't he happy?

"Mmm, what time is it?" Her eyes fluttered open against her will. She scratched his chest lightly.

He turned to face his bedside clock. "Only seven-thirty. You've got time."

"Mm-mm. Wish I did. Really wish. But Joyce expects me back early tonight. She says I've been breaking curfew a little too much lately," she sighed and began to sit up.

He pulled her back down to him and locked an arm around her waist. "Stay, Buffy. Stay the night."

"I can't," She said, using both arms to push herself off of his chest. He held her tighter, stroking her arms. But the strokes were too rough, and his other arm was bruising her waist. "Angel. Angel, you're hurting me."

That was it. She had tried to leave. She should have just stayed, then. Given him what he wanted. Turned the other cheek. Sure, she would have gotten severely grounded for staying out all night, but there would be no angry welts all over, no broken arm, no right-eye blindness. Buffy sighed. She could have given him everything he wanted tonight, maybe even again tomorrow night. But what would happen a week from now? A month? A year? Would he calm down, or was this destined?

"You're my girl, Buffy," His eyes were desperate and pleading and angry and raw. There was a steady line of blood dripping down his face. The broken lamp turned the basement into an obstacle course of ceramic fragments. And that had been her doing.

"Yes. Angel, I'm your girl," She said in her most patient voice before she took a step to the basement stairs. "And I'll be your girl tomorrow and the next day. Just let me go."

Of course he didn't let her go. Angel had sworn to Buffy never to let her go and she had the promise ring to prove it. An antique, sterling silver claddagh ring sit wrapped around her right ring finger. Buffy peeled the thing off and stared at it. She could see into the past with this ring. She could remember all those little moments with a clarity she didn't usually possess. The perfect moments, not the painful ones.

"Are you alright, Buffy?" Joyce asked as she returned with a Diet Coke.

Buffy couldn't help it. She really did try. But alright was the furthest word from her mind at the moment. It was sitting in a far away heap along with "good", "happy", "pleased" and "perfect". She burst out laughing, her injured ribs straining in protest.

"I'm sorry," Joyce said. She popped the can open and stuck a straw in, placing it in Buffy's working hand.

"How did I get here Joyce?" Buffy hated hospitals. When she was healing from her father's tirades, she never stepped near one. Not once. They smelled like antiseptic and there were always people crying nearby.

"You don't remember?" Buffy wondered why Joyce looked so puzzled. Should she remember? Probably. She remembered everything else. She thought she could remember everything else. But there had been a pretty heavy hit-WHAM!- and then Buffy was waking up to white lights. "Angel brought you. He said you two were attacked. He looks a mess but he's only worried about you."

"Right," Buffy said. "Me...I want to see him. Alone."

Joyce nodded and headed to the door.

"And Joyce? Tell Giles I'm alright."

Perfect. For a moment she forgot he was pure evil because he stepped in and was so perfect. His big puppy dog eyes welling up with tears. She wanted to cradle him against her chest and tell him no, she was alright. She could even move some of her right arm's fingers. He wasn't perfect at all, she remembered. It was a slow memory. Buffy felt like she was swimming through gelatin to get away from his stupid, perfect face. She was supposed to be angry.

She was only...crushed. Buffy felt something cool and small in her broken hand. She threw it at him with a vengeance and received a perfect bulls-eye for her effort. The ring had knocked him straight in the eye. She didn't wince as her arm stung under its cast.

"We were attacked, huh?"

"Buffy, I-"

"Don't. Just get out."

He left. He just left. He had fought her so hard to stay by her side only to leave like a kicked puppy. Buffy couldn't decide if she was angry or grateful that he didn't even try. Either way, she wouldn't cry over it. She wouldn't waste tears on him.

Buffy never told Joyce that Angel stopped being perfect that night. She pretended the breakup was her fault. So help her, part of her truly believed it was. How couldn't it be? She was supposed to be so experienced and aware of the hurt. No one was supposed to slip past the abuse radar. As far as Joyce knew, Angel never did. Since Joyce didn't know, Giles never found out. Buffy knew Joyce would call the cops if she heard and Giles, he wouldn't. She wasn't sure which option scared her more. So she kept it quiet, left school before the last few weeks were through, and hoped Angel got the help he needed.

Giles helped her with exams and papers over those last weeks. She didn't officially drop out. She took a sick leave, which was easy to do since she had recently been in the hospital with some pretty severe injuries. Cordelia brought her homework down to the bookstore and shared any and all updates regarding Buffy rumors. Angel didn't say too much about the mystery muggers. It didn't surprise Buffy that he wasn't trying to take credit. Angel liked to brood and live in his misery, he was probably wrapped up in guilt over their fight. Cordelia tried to ask why exactly they broke it off, but Buffy couldn't think of a good straight answer. Nothing really satisfied Cordy's curiosity.

"I just can't look at him anymore, okay?" Buffy practically screamed at her best friend one lonely afternoon.

"Okay, take the stick out of your butt!" Cordy yelled right back. "I was only asking because he misses you. It's depressing, really."

"Yeah, well, I don't miss him." It was a lie. Buffy missed Angel every second of every day. Even two months after "The Incident", she thought about her Angel. The perfect one. The one who introduced her to his father with a great big smile on his face, the one who didn't make fun of her for tearing up during 'All Dogs Go To Heaven', the one who would never, ever. Her Angel would never, so hers wasn't real. Still, she missed him.

"Ooh! Does that mean we're in moving on territory?"

"Rebound Land?" Buffy joked as she reorganized the show display window to show off the summer bestsellers.

"No girl is an island! Especially in this summer heat."

"I don't know, Cordy, maybe I'm not relationship-girl."

"Neither am I! Look how it turned out with Doyle," said Cordelia. By "turned out" she meant the way they were intense makeout buddies for about a month until they decided to go their separate ways and kiss other people.

"So I should have a kissing friend? I'm not really the kissing friend type either," Buffy said. She really did want someone to hold every night and share gifts with during the holidays. Buffy couldn't deny wanting someone who would be hers, but wouldn't own her. "No. I...want a boyfriend."

"Then we should totally get you one! I bet tons of cute guys come into this place," Cordelia took a look around, rethinking her statement. "Okay some cute guys maybe come here."

"It's mostly college kids and middle aged women." Buffy had definitely been working at Giles and Co. long enough to understand the clientele. Half were college students who had the store suggested by their schools (Giles always insisted on stocking several copies of books no one but students read) and women who poured in from Joyce's gallery or the clothing stores that neighbored them.

"College boys!" Cordy clung to Buffy's arm so tightly that she nearly dropped a stack of As I Lay Dying, which honestly might have made her laugh. "Buffy, why didn't you tell me there were college guys!"

"Cordy, shh!" The store wasn't open yet, but Giles would have a massive cow (maybe a whole bull) if they disturbed his work in the office. "Yes. There are college boys. There are hot college boys with their big words and frat parties and...term papers."

Cordelia said nothing this time. She just stared. It was an unnerving and knowing stare that almost caused Buffy to break down about "The Incident" more than once. Almost.

"Okay! There's this one guy. He's almost twenty and he's really hot in this clean-cut kinda way and he's been dropping hints for an eternity."

"But?"

"Well, when I met him I was with Angel-"

"And now you're not!"

"But what am I going to do?" Buffy started to check the till, preparing herself for the beginning of a long shift. "Walk up to him and say 'Hi, Riley, you remember me? That girl who's too scared to tell you she's in high school but just brave enough to shoot you down even though you're super cute?' Because that always works so well."

"Well if you don't want Riley-"

Buffy's head shot up in response. For just a glimmer of a second, she gave Cordelia her most deadly of glares. She wouldn't. Would she? Buffy had no right to stake a claim. She barely even knew Riley and she had just turned down the idea of dating him. Besides, Cordelia had never seen Riley before. The only thing she could be attracted to was Buffy's vague description of him.

"Aha! You want him."

"I kinda sorta...really want him," Buffy confessed. She turned the sign to 'Open' and Cordelia started heading out the door.

"Then you'd better kinda sorta ask him out before I have to track him down and do it for you," Cordelia said. She turned back around to emphasize, "And I can do it too. Daddy has connections."

Buffy didn't see Riley for another week and a half, which meant she had to endure daily phone calls from Cordelia- all of them threatening to track the poor college student down. When he finally stepped in, it was with a book list for summer reading. He was taller than Buffy remembered, his light brown hair neatly cut and combed. Buffy couldn't help but think he looked like a square in a 1950's greaser movie. In a cute way. He was a cute square.

"Can I help you?" Buffy chirped, mentally kicking herself for being too perky.

"No, I think I-" When Riley looked up at her, she made a point of not breaking eye contact. He inhaled sharply, which Buffy prayed was a good sign, and continued. "Actually yeah. Psychology: Themes and Variations by-"

"You have to special order textbooks. We stock a lot of history and literature, but all the other stuff is pretty specific. We probably don't have that one," Buffy bit her lip. She was hoping Riley wouldn't just turn and head out the door. She had to take this into her own hands, like Cordelia would. "You could stay. Make the order."

"Great. Then I'd have an excuse to see you when the books come in," Riley said. He had certainly taken the opening she gave him.

"What?" Buffy chuckled nervously.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to- You probably have a boyfriend or-"

"No! No boyfriend. I'm boyfriend-free Buffy."

Riley and Buffy smiled at each other for a long time after that, until he finally made his order and walked back out the door. He promised to be back as soon as the books arrived. Buffy hoped it was soon. Like within the next hour.

What did she mean it would take an hour? The campus was less than thirty minutes from her house and Cordelia heard how desperate Buffy was. She did hear it, didn't she? It was in the way she repeated herself over and over. It was in the way she wouldn't let a response get past her without cutting it off at the root. It was in the way her voice betrayed her when she swore she wouldn't cry. He didn't even stay with her. That horrified look on his face almost made up for the way he left her, but it did not make up for him leaving her.

Even Angel had stayed.

"Well whad'ya espec' Buffy?" He slurred through his vehemence, throwing a red plastic cup at the wall. "I'ma man. I have nee's. I can't wai'ma whole life waiting feryu to be 'ready'." She wanted to rip his fingers right off. What was with the air quotes? Ready meant ready.

"I didn't say you had to wait forever, Riley," She gripped the bedside table. Her head was spinning and she could feel her pulse in her ears and fingers. Something wasn't right. Was she sweating? The sweating could be from the making out that she just halted.

Part of her really wanted to get back to that. Riley had really warm hands and they felt so very good before he started sliding up her skirt.

"Well then when, Buffy!" He grabbed her by the wrists and shook her. Was he crying? "S'bin two months, you know that? We kiss, we touch, we stop. Ev'ry time! I love you, Buffy. Can't you see that?"

"I- Riley, it's not that simple-" Was two months really such a long time? Joyce and Giles got engaged in two. She'd been with Angel twice as long and the 'L' word didn't come easy for either party. Maybe she did love Riley back, but he wasn't allowing her to figure it out.

"Why not? I could show you if you let me, Buffy. I can show you how much I love you."

If anyone ever asked, she would never have the answer for why she followed her boyfriend - her drunk boyfriend - into an empty bedroom in the middle of a huge frat party. She was feeling ill and she trusted him, drunk or not. There were no warning signs. He was her boyfriend and it wasn't supposed to happen like this. Not again. Things didn't work like this. There were no warnings! Buffy threw her phone at the wall.

She crumpled into a little ball at the head of the bed and held herself together lest her insides fall out. All of her pain and secrets would escape through the massive cavity Riley left in her chest. That place where her heart was supposed to be. That place where she had just started to pick up the pieces Angel shattered.

"Buffy?"

She didn't move. She had stopped moving minutes ago. Right after he slapped the tears right out of her. No more noise, no more fighting. Turn the other cheek.

"Buffy what- Oh. Oh my god, Buffy, I'm so sorry," He said. He got off of her. He looked back at the mess he made and started to cry. "I didn't mean to. I'm sorry."

She didn't move. She needed him to see her stay still they way he asked - demanded. She turned to face him and met his wide green eyes with her own. "You showed me."

He ran.

Nothing anyone told her was going to make it right. No matter how many times Riley called to apologize the next day, no matter how many times Joyce let Buffy know she was here for her, she was empty now. Rent right down the middle by the first boy she ever gave her heart to and the first man she ever trusted to repair it. She was an idiot. So why was she sitting in this room, all alone with sweet and sensitive Parker Abrams? The poor boy deserved better than her. He didn't need someone broken and stupid.

"You're beautiful, Buffy," Parker said to her before placing a chaste kiss on her lips. "I want to see all of you."

"Every flaw?" Buffy thought. "Every stupid mistake?"

"I mean it. You're such a mystery, Buffy Summers."

He only believed that because she hadn't told him anything. He knew the basics, yes. Her name was Buffy Summers. She lived with Joyce and Rupert Giles, manager of the Sutherland Gallery and owner of Giles and Co. Books respectively. She liked ice cream and pug puppies and watching Japanese action films, with or without the subtitles. Parker didn't know anything real, anything wrong. So it must have been easy to look at Buffy and see golden perfection, instead of an angry drunken father, and two angry abusive ex-boyfriends.

Parker continued to kiss her. His kisses didn't melt her like Angel's or drown her like Riley's, but they were so sweet and soft. Even as his tongue began to dance with hers, it was a slow waltz. He lowered her on the bed with ease, stripping off her clothes as his lips moved to caress her jawline. She let him.

Buffy didn't react, she didn't fight or pull him in. She just let his sweet touches pass over her like a cool breeze. And when it was over, she fell asleep next to him, not at all bothered by the way his arm draped over her body as he slept on the other side of the bed.

When the morning came, she hated to admit it, but Buffy was surprised to find herself alone. Her newly adoptive parents were out for the weekend, gone to a neighboring city for some art thing she never quite understood. Buffy was supposed to be curled up in bed with a really nice guy she might never fall in love with, but would allow herself to be loved by. Okay, she would take a long time to open up to him. But she had started on the physical and he seemed to care about the emotional, so what gave? And why did she care?

She did care. She cared so much. This was supposed to be it. It wasn't a perfect love. They wouldn't live happily ever after. Still, Parker had promised to stay by her side and...know her. See all of her. Oh.

He spent weeks over the summer and at school talking to her. He spun tales about his father's death when he caught her crying in the halls about Hank. She regretted that now, crying over Hank. He had hurt her for so long and she still had found it in her to cry for him when he died. And for what? Where had that led her? Alone on a bed save for a note left on her pillow.

'That was fun. I'll see you. - P.'

It wasn't fun. It was so far from fun. Buffy had never, not once, had fun. Not with Parker, not with Angel and most certainly not with Riley.

"Give it to them once and they leave," Buffy thought. "Or go ape-crap crazy."

He wouldn't see her. It was hard enough to occasionally glimpse Angel around the corner. She quit cheer squad over him. But Parker? She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing that pathetic look on her face when she faced him in Econ. She picked up her phone and dialed the only person she wanted within a fifty foot radius of her right now.

The only person that made her feel like she might still have a heart.

"Joyce? Can you come home? I… I need you."

She told her everything. The minute Buffy was done recounting the list of sordid experiences, it wasn't long but she had a lot to say about them, she wondered why she hadn't spoken sooner. What had been the real purpose of hiding it? It could have been the fact that Joyce's patience and understanding only made the pain worse. If Buffy wasn't causing all of this then it was happening to her. And if it wasn't her fault, well, why did it keep happening?

Buffy Anne Summers was a blubbering heap on the floor when Rupert Giles came home. Joyce didn't tell him everything- Buffy begged her not to- but she said enough. Enough for Buffy to see that little muscle twitch in the space between his neck and clavicle. She jumped at the sight of it, forgetting for a moment that he wouldn't. Not to her.

"If that boy lay a hand on you-" Giles started. Parker didn't. The other boys. If that muscle could twitch because Parker made her cry, she didn't want him to know.

"Don't," Buffy said. After hours of bawling her eyes and mind out, she had found her voice again. "I don't want trouble, I just want…"

"Yes, Buffy?" Joyce tucked a lock of hair behind Buffy's ear and smiled. She was so warm. Buffy could hear her heart beating again. It was there. It was real.

"I can't face him. Or Angel. I can't go back. And I'm so sick of this city. I hate my old house and that diner and my school," Buffy gripped Joyce's arms as she weighed her next words. She was asking for everything. This was her last straw, her saving grace. "I want out."

"Buffy." Joyce held her tightly to her chest. Buffy's sobs came open and loud. Rupert was cleaning his glasses so hard Buffy thought they might shatter. He put them back where they belonged and crouched next to the huddled women. His reassuring pat did little to calm Buffy's nerves, but at least she knew he was there.

"Can we leave?" Buffy looked up at Joyce. For the first time she saw more than kindness and openness. She saw what she remembered seeing in the woman that left her so long ago. There was love. "Please? Mommy?"

To Be Continued...In Sunnydale.

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