Restless Hearts

Which was exactly the way she wanted it. She was a Ghost.

Anne Summers was her name. At least, it was the name she was known by in the highest levels of the Agency. The sum total of which would equal only five people. The Agency was more secret and concealed than the FBI, CIA, NSA and all of the Watcher’s Councils combined. And she was one of the Elite. Those who knew of her existence were the unlucky ones—the ones marked for annihilation.

In truth, her full name was Buffy Anne Summers. She stood a full five feet, three inches tall. Her hair was bleached blond and her eyes were a transient color that could change from emerald green to chocolate brown depending on her moods. And she was a Vampire Slayer. But nobody knew this. Not anymore. No, to them she was a chameleon. She could be whoever she wanted to be, whenever she wanted to be. That was why the Agency had recruited her. She’d been approached at the age of twenty because of her association in the Watcher’s Council records. It was the excuse she’d needed to escape. But there were stipulations.

Buffy had to make the conscious decision to simply disappear from her life as she knew it. She could not say good-bye to her loved ones. There would certainly be a period of time after her "disappearance" that she would be searched for, but her family and friends would eventually assume that she’d been killed. The state would declare her dead. Buffy Anne Summers would cease to be.

It was a tough decision. She didn’t want to leave her friends, her family, her Watcher. They meant so much to her and she’d lost so much already. Two years had passed since Angel had left her, but she’d never recovered. Her heart was no longer in her slaying duties. Sometimes she wished she really would die. And with her being a Slayer—an aging Slayer at that—the odds were that she’d get her wish sooner than expected. Her luck couldn’t hold out forever, as Spike so often reminded her. But the Agency gave her a chance for a new life. She didn’t have to be "Buffy, the Vampire Slayer".

So it was with a heavy heart, yet a knowledge that a new Slayer had already been called since Faith’s demise, that she accepted the position in the lower ranks of the Agency. The memory of that last night with her friends and her mother lay deeply embedded in her heart. Perhaps they’d known it was the last time they’d see her. Then again, she’d given no hints.

"So we’ll see you tomorrow at the beach?" Willow had asked as she followed Buffy up to her room.

"Yeah," Buffy’d told her, not daring to meet her eyes. She walked into her bedroom, the room that had been the place of so many memories for her over the past five years. A place she’d never see again.

"Hey, Buffy?" Willow asked hesitantly as she’d watched her friend go through the motions of preparing for bed.

"Hmmm? What’s up, Will?" Buffy asked when she turned to her friend. The witchy Willow who’d grown up so much since the day Buffy had first seen her.

Willow cocked her head. There was a sense of finality around Buffy that she just couldn’t grasp. "Oh, it’s n-nothing. I just...I mean...well. I’m glad you came here."

Buffy had laughed. "Home? Where else would I be?"

"No, I mean, I’m glad you came to Sunnydale. You and Xander are my best friends. I wouldn’t want it any other way." The red head had hugged her Slayer friend quickly and turned to walk out the door, throwing a "See you tomorrow" over her shoulder. It was the last time she ever saw Buffy.

It was now July of 2009. Seven years had passed since she’d joined the Agency. One by one the facts of her life were erased, creating a whole new, blank canvas for her life. Luckily—though not for some—life in the Agency was tenuous, and those that knew of her Slayer existence died shortly after she joined the team. Soon no one knew anything about her. She was the most enigmatic member of the Agency. That, coupled with her Slayer strength and ingenuity, enabled her to climb through the ranks easily. She was envied in her positions, but that didn’t bother her. Seniority was not what got you ahead in the Agency. To be in the Elite, you had to be the best. And Anne Summers was known to be the best.

The coldly beautiful woman now halted on the street corner, ever aware of everything that went on around her. She might seem aloof, but her ability to observe even the most minute discrepancy in her surroundings had saved her life numerous times. Anne slipped the card from her purse and checked the number, making sure it matched that of the building. But of course it did. Anne Summers didn’t make mistakes. She looked at the building. It was a modern high-rise, seventy-five stories high, with black marble and chrome decor. Quite sterile, yet nothing she hadn’t expected. Sunlight glinted off of the building’s reflective exterior as she walked inside. The doorman bowed as he gestured to her to enter and his gaze subtly roamed over her backside as she moved passed him. As soon as she immersed herself in the cold, technological world of the building, her Slayer sense went haywire. Oh yes. This was the right place.

She stepped onto the elevator with a confident air. She was surrounded by the bloodsucking creatures, but it didn’t bother her. This was a safe house for them and she wasn’t going to intrude. Not yet, anyway. She had other business at the moment.

She stepped off of the elevator on the seventy-fifth floor. A security desk was directly in front of her and she flashed her badge at the guard quickly. At a nod from the tall, muscular man she walked to the double glass doors leading into the open lobby. A very faint tremor passed through her as she neared the receptionist’s desk, but she tucked it away. Over the years she’d become a hard woman, untouched by emotion. This little foray into the past wasn’t going to undo all of her hard work.

Anne stepped up to the counter and flashed her badge again. "I’m looking for Doyle," she stated in an even, dispassionate voice.

The young girl turned towards the stranger and stared. The woman was so stunning that she couldn’t process the request. She mentally kicked herself for being so stupid. It was only her second day of work; she didn’t want to get fired.

Anne watched the girl with a small sense of sympathy. "Doyle," she repeated calmly.

"Oh! Yes! Mr. Doyle. Ummm, he’s in a meeting right now. Would you care to -" she stopped when the woman turned from her and made her way down the hall towards the three private offices. "Miss! Miss, you can’t go in there!" Fear passed through her as she stumbled after the woman. She moved so quickly; it was very hard to keep up with her. In fact, she found out she was too late when she saw the woman knocking on her boss’ door.

Anne hesitated. She really didn’t want to intrude. It could be dangerous. But she reached out with her senses and detected two heartbeats. She prayed momentarily that is wasn’t the female and opened the door without being invited in.

Doyle looked up as his office door swung open. The light from his wall of windows overlooking LA bathed the woman in a bright light as she stepped inside. He could see the secretary—Caroline—hovering just outside the door, fear written all over her features. Doyle stood up from behind his desk.

"’Sall right, Caroline. Ye may go back to yer post," he told her in his softly lilting brogue.

The girl nodded and scurried off, none too soon as Anne shut the door behind her. Doyle took in the woman’s appearance—how aloof and yet tantalizing she was—and nodded.

"You’re an -"

Anne held up her hand to stop his commentary. "Please, Mr. Doyle. It would be better for both of us if you would remain silent." She stepped forward and set her briefcase on the desk. With a snap of her wrists, it popped open revealing a large brown envelope nestled on top of her laptop computer. She set the envelope on the desk and closed her briefcase. "I believe what you seek is in there. If you need more, we’ll know. Don’t try to contact us. You won’t be able to." Her gaze swung around as she detected once again that extra heartbeat.

A small black haired girl was seated on the plush black leather sofa against the wall. She could only have been about five. Anne sent a disapproving glance to Doyle that was effective even behind the shades.

Doyle shrunk back. "Sh-she’s my partner’s daughter." He grinned indulgently. "Da light o’ his verra life, I tell ya."

If it was possible, Anne turned even colder at his words. "Oh really?"

Doyle nodded. "Yes. She’s here because he and my other partner, Ms. Chase, are workin’ in da library today. I remembered da...ya...well. I tried to get them outta da office, but downstairs was as far as they’d go."

"And you trust this girl not to tell her father about your business dealings?"

"She’s only five—" he began.

Anne shrugged in dismissal. "It’s not my life that hangs in the balance. The invitations are in the envelope." She hesitated for a moment before adding, "Bring both of your partners." With that she turned and walked out of the office.

Doyle looked at his "niece". "Well, wasna she jus’ peachy?"

The little girl giggled.

"Now, you’re not gonna be goin’ ta tell yer Da’, are ya, angel?"

The girl’s bright blue eyes twinkled as she shook her head. "No. Not if you buy me an ice cream."

Doyle laughed, the sound rich and full. "You take after yer father much too much, angel."

The little girl nodded with a big grin. "Everybody tells me that. I like it, ‘cause he’s so strong and pretty. He’s perfect an’ he’s my daddy."

Doyle smiled. "Yes, Myrna, that’s yer Da’ all right."

"So," Myrna said. "Can we go get ice cream now?" Just like her father, once she’d decided on something she stuck to it.

Doyle tucked the envelope into his desk and picked her up. "Sure. We’ll go right now. But remember, ya mustn’t tell him anyting about tha’ woman, ok?"

She wrapped her arms around his neck and smacked a loud kiss on his cheek.

"Yes, Uncle Doyle. I think I want Ben & Jerry’s. That’s Daddy’s favorite. And I wanna be just like him."

Anne listened in the doorway for a while before leaving the building. Her mind had shut down upon learning that he had a daughter. Fury rose in her, but she squelched it down. Emotions had no place in her life. She quickly exited the building by way of the stairs, careful to choose that back route so that if anyone was questioned about her they would be unable to identify exactly when she’d left or where she’d been.

The sun was setting when she stepped into the alley behind the building. There was an energy inside of the place that fairly thrummed with anticipation. It would be night soon. Time for all the worker bees to swarm the streets, searching for their prey. If she made it to her apartment in time, she could log in with the Agency and submit her report before changing and enjoying a night of slayage. Anne didn’t usually go longer than three nights without patrolling whatever area she was in, but she didn’t make it her duty to be a Slayer. It was no longer in her job description. However, if she happened to have a night off she was always open to kicking a little undead ass. It kept her fit and served as a great way to release stress. Stress that was usually caused by pieces of her past coming back into her life.

Her apartment building was only a few blocks away. It was a swanky place, not that she minded. She’d become accustomed to living "in style". The fact that her every whim was catered to by the Agency didn’t hurt. She rode the elevator up to her penthouse apartment. It was restricted under her instruction. One could only reach the penthouse by way of a code access number entered into the elevator’s computer program. She changed the number every morning, just for safety’s sake. When the doors opened into her large apartment, Anne stepped out and switched on the lights. The decor was classic at first glance—tapestries hung on the walls, oriental rugs covered portions of the shining black marble floor, Grecian pillars sectioned off the living area. A spiral staircase wound it’s way to an open balcony that overlooked the living area and led out to her terrace. There were three spare bedroom upstairs also, but Anne preferred to sleep downstairs as a way to make sure she would be aware of any intruders. The furniture downstairs consisted of many plush white leather pieces and a few exquisite mahogany carved end tables. Chandeliers graced the high ceilings and provided her light. But despite the rich surroundings, her time was not spent in the outer most part of the apartment.

She made her way down the columned hallway towards the kitchen. It was done completely in stainless steel to give off as much of a cold and sterile feeling as possible. She opened the fridge and took out a bottle of water before turning, without even bothering to eat anything. There was a hidden door in the wall of the kitchen that would have been unnoticeable to even the most observant visitor. She punched in another code on her microwave’s panel and the door slid open soundlessly. Before stepping inside she had to complete a retinal scan. Upon acceptance, the door to her inner sanctum unlocked and she walked inside, letting the doors close and lock behind her. The lights came on as soon as her feet touched the floor and she stepped up to her chair.

"Welcome," the wall unit computer system said as she sat down.

"Mmmm, and welcome to you too," she murmured as she took a sip of water. She watched the computer log into the Agency’s main frame and turned her attention to the ten screens on each side of the large monitor. Each screen held a different picture. Anne had planted an estimated hundred cameras in the various places she’d been and/or was investigating. With the push of a button she could quickly search for the sight she wanted and within seconds a clear view of the goings on could be seen and heard. She called up the picture of Doyle’s office and turned on the volume. It seemed as if no one was in at the moment, so she rewound until she watched herself leave the office. With a quiet interest she watched the discussion between Doyle and the young girl—Myrna was her name. The two left the office and she fast forwarded until she saw a slight movement in the darkened room. Her attention caught, she turned up the volume again.

"Doyle?" a man’s voice called out. "Myrna? Where are you two?"

Anne pulled out her little joystick that served as a remote control for the camera. As she turned its aim, she caught her breath. The figure was still so familiar to her barren heart. He hadn’t changed, though he wouldn’t have. His hair was still short and his frame was still large and fit. She almost smiled at the sight of the familiar leather jacket, but stopped herself just in time. Anne watched as he looked around the office, obviously searching for some kind of notice of where his partner and daughter had run to.

Her heart started beating double time when she saw him reach for the desk drawer. Shit! No, no, no, no, no! her mind chanted. Little thrills of apprehension traveled up her spine. He couldn’t find the envelope.

Angel opened his partner’s desk drawer. Sometimes Doyle left little notes in there to him when he didn’t want anyone to see them. There was no note; however, there was a large brown envelope stuffed into the cramped space. It never even crossed his mind that it might be personal, so he withdrew the thick package and sat down at the desk. He opened it and three smaller, more formal, envelopes fell out. Just as he was about to make a closer inspection, Doyle and Myrna waltzed in.

"Hey! Wha’ are ya -" Doyle stopped dead in his tracks as he saw his partner examining the envelope he’d had delivered earlier. "Oh, uhhh, no. Donnae look a’ that."

Angel glanced up, a suspicious look on his face. But he lost interest in the papers when he saw his beautiful little daughter hurtling at him at warp speed. He laughed as she catapulted herself onto his lap, and he wrapped his strong arms around her.

"Well, you little minx, what have you been up to?" He smiled and kissed her nose.

Myrna curled up against him. "Uncle Doyle took me to go get ice cream and then we went to see a movie."

Angel smiled indulgently. "Did you now? Didn’t I tell you not to distract Uncle Doyle from his work?"

His daughter’s little brows bunched up as she tried to sort out if she’d

done something wrong. "But, Uncle Doyle promised we would. He said if I

didn’t tell -"

"Oh, oh, oh, oh," Doyle interrupted quickly. "Have ya seen Little Miss Chase around? I needed ta debrief her."

"Debrief her indeed," Angel said, his tone dry.

Doyle coughed. "Ya know wha’ I mean, man. Did she take her early leave like usual?" He stepped forward and picked up the envelope along with its strewn contents.

Angel nodded as he easily lifted his exhausted child into his arms and stood up. "Yes. I sent her to get some info from the shop where the last attack happened. She all but jumped on the idea. Rodeo Drive," he stated as an answer and sighed.

"By the way," Doyle stopped him and held out one of the fancy, embossed invitations. "You, me and da doll, this Friday night. I need ta do a little investigatin’ into this Secret Society mumbo jumbo and I hear dis is the place to be. Wear a tux."

"Do you know how hard it’ll be to find a sitter so late?" Angel started in protest.

"Believe me. ‘Tis a place you’ll wanna be. This goes so much deeper than you can imagine, but I canna give ya more details. Please, just trust me on this one." He frowned at the thought that he’d said too much already. If that woman ever found out he’d opened his mouth to his partner, she’d kill him. He was half demon, but her type scared the bejeesus out of him.

Angel considered the request as he turned the envelope over in his hand. "Fine. Besides, I never turn down a chance to out dress you." He grinned and made his way to the door. "I’m out of here for now. I need to take this little minx," he nodded to the sleeping child in his arms, "home and put her to bed. Kate will probably be there by now and she can watch over her while I go out and patrol."

Doyle nodded. "See ya tomorrow, boss."

Anne watched as Angel carried his daughter out of his partner’s office. Kate. That could be the child’s mother. Were they married? Could Angel have children? She hadn’t thought so. Did it matter? No. She turned from the screen and logged into the Agency’s base. She quickly uploaded her account of Doyle’s business and signed off.

There was a small closet in the back of the room and she walked over to it, stripping as she made her way. Off came the heels, the silk stockings, the skirt and the jacket. She opened the closet door and was caught by her reflection in the mirror. Her back straightened and her hands roamed over her flat, firm stomach as she turned right and left. Not too bad, she thought. Though she was twenty-seven, her breasts were still full and pert with no signs of sagging. That was good. She turned more to the side and saw that her butt was still small and curved. And why shouldn’t it be? She kept herself in top condition. She had to admit she hadn’t changed much in nine years. Her body was still that of an eighteen year old’s. Another thought ran through her mind and she smiled. With a toss of her head at how absurd she was being, she reached into the small area and withdrew a black tank top and a pair of black leather pants. Nothing like slaying in style. She loosened her hair from it’s French twist and pulled it up into a simple pony tail. The watch and the jewelry came off, but the shades remained. They always remained. If you couldn’t see your opponent’s eyes, you couldn’t gauge their next move. When she was finished dressing, she stuck a few stakes in strategic places and picked up her old slaying bag.

Without a backwards glance she walked out of her apartment and went to seek out some of the nasty creatures of the night.

He stalked the night in an attempt to protect the innocent. It was his job. It had been his job for twelve years now. But he’d only been paid to do it for the last nine. He’d made a lucrative business of it too, with Doyle and Cordelia’s help. They now owned a large detective company based in Los Angeles’s most established underground safehouse. Not that it was underground. It was merely a place that was used as "home base" for many of the most influential and powerful—if not downright evil—vampires and demons in the world. Angel had come up with the idea seven years earlier, and his creation had quickly flourished. It was an easy way for him to make contacts and keep his eye on beings that might otherwise become a problem. In effect he’d become a Master vampire, in a completely new sense of the word—but the title held the same power, if not more.

The innocent meant more to him now, somehow. Perhaps it was because he was blessed to have a small, innocent daughter who thought he was the be-all, end-all of her world. Having someone look up to him so much caused Angel to examine his life in a much more direct manner. He found himself making all sorts of changes in his life, and not just those in accommodation for a family. His family. Angel hadn’t known what it would be like to have a family to call his own. People who looked to him for support and guidance and...love. It was his salvation. His only regret was that he had not opened his eyes sooner...but then, that was all in the past.

Angel paused as he hovered in the shadows. Across the street, another prostitute risked her life by stepping into a nameless john’s car. Two men fought drunkenly on the street corner, and Angel knew that by the end of the night, one of them would be dead. Children roamed the alleyways in search of a meaning that would never shed its light on them. An old woman approached him, beseeching a free hit. It was nights like these that Angel marveled at how sheltered he’d become. These people were the so-called "innocents" of his time. The thought sickened him. Was he too late, then? Maybe the demons of the night hadn’t taken them, but these people were stuck in a Hell that belonged only to them.

He straightened as he heard a soft scuffling sound coming from across the way. As a car passed, its headlights illuminated the oppressive darkness and he saw four figures attacking a small girl in the alley on the opposite side of the street. With his silent, predatory nature, Angel stealthily moved across the traffic ridden lanes and lost himself in the shadows once more. What he saw surprised him.

She slammed the tallest man into the wall, her hand tight around his throat, while her left leg struck out, knocking the man behind her off balance and kicking him to the ground. As she drew her leg back in she grabbed a stake from her boot and lodged it deeply in the standing vampire’s heart. With a twist, she spun around and slashed at the third vampire’s neck with a knife she’d gracefully extracted as she moved. In fact, every movement she made was fluid, yet calculated, he realized. She moved like a Slayer. Actually, she moved better than a Slayer. Slayers didn’t live long enough to become so adept.

Having dusted two, she dropped to her knees as the fourth vampire executed a silent spin kick intended to throw her backwards. In the blink of an eye, she’d smoothly brought her hand up and imbedded the stake in her opponent’s neck. Rising as she did so, the girl pulled the vampire to her and twisted it’s neck one hundred and eighty degrees before withdrawing the stake and plunging it into its heart. With a grim smile she turned to the last remaining vampire who’d been watching from it’s place on the cold, slimy ground. The air around her was crackling with electricity as she sauntered over to him and placed her booted foot over his chest, pressing downward.

"Wooden heels," Angel murmured to himself in appreciation of her creativity as he watched the vampire’s horrified look before it was reduced to ashes.

He’d never know if that was his downfall, but before Angel could fully grasp his situation, the girl had pulled him into the alley and he was on his back, her foot a steady pressure on his chest. As he gazed up at her, a small tingling sensation spread throughout his body, starting at the base of his spine. With the dying light of the street lamp flickering behind her, he saw the glint of her golden blond hair. His whole being tensed as he took her silhouette in. She was a mass of wary expectancy, ready to pounce at the smallest provocation. He couldn’t see her features in the darkness, but it wouldn’t have mattered. If her gaze wasn’t shuttered, it was at least hidden behind her glasses. She grasped the stake in her right hand, poised to kill him if he moved. But she stood still, the only movement of her body being the rise and fall of her chest as she stared down at him.

Angel didn’t know what it was, but he was as consumed with her as she seemed to be with him. However, as quickly as she’d taken him by surprise, she was gone. He stood up and ran out to the street, searching the street for her, but she was nowhere in sight. It was as if she’d...disappeared.

*****

Anne ducked into her building’s lobby and tried to slow her breathing. It had been much too close of a call for her tastes. Not that she’d expected to run into Angel. Yet, if she was truthful with herself, she’d admit the thought had crossed her mind. But only briefly, and she hadn’t wanted it to actually happen. Had she? It was dangerous, being near him. He could have recognized her. Or could he have? He thought she was dead, just like everyone else. Would he ever expect to see her again? No. Of course not. So she really had nothing to worry about. Well, she didn’t have anything to worry about anyway. She was an Elite. Those who got in her way were terminated. End of story.

Taking a deep, calming breath, Anne strode through the foyer and headed up the elevator. Once inside her domain, she collapsed onto one of the soft sofas stared up at the ceiling.

So he had a child. Most likely married. To a woman named Kate. He’d begun a detective agency with a demon named Doyle and the ex-May Queen, Cordelia Chase. The building he ran was a safe house to those of extreme ill repute. Yet she knew he did it only to keep an eye on the creatures who would otherwise destroy the world. They trusted him. All of these things she knew. But there was much more going on here than met the eye. And she’d been trained in uncovering secrets such as these.

He’d be at the party Friday night, she reminded herself. Doyle wanted to expose the Agency. He’d been taking every precaution to delve into the Elite. The thought made her smile. He’d never be able to infiltrate the highest ranks. She’d been purposefully sent to make sure he never succeeded. And now he was involving Angel and Cordelia. How stupid was he? Oh, he knew who she was. Anne knew he did. Knew he feared her. He probably didn’t even know why her presence, and that of those like her, affected him in such a way. Anne lifted her legs and unzipped her boots, pushing them off and letting them fall to the floor in a heap. She’d been patrolling for five hours when she’d stumbled upon the idiot vampires. Now it was almost sunrise and she was exhausted. Mentally calculating the hours of sleep she’d had in the past week, Anne decided to spend the day sleeping. That way, she would rise in the evening, do a little slaying, come back home and prepare for the party. She was scheduled to arrive at the Craven Mansion at five o’clock sharp, Friday evening. Curling up on the small sofa, Anne shut her eyes and released herself to the numbing oblivion.

*****

"Hi," she whispered softly, Myrna curled up in her lap, snoring lightly.

Angel smiled as he looked down at his daughter. "Couldn’t sleep?"

Kate shook her head. "Nope. Kept wanting to know when her Daddy would be home."

Angel pretended not to hear the steely core beneath her dulcet tones. "I’m here now, aren’t I?" he asked as he scooped the little girl up into his arms. She moaned softly and turned into him, her small arms wrapping around his neck in an unconscious welcome.

"Angel. You promised her you would read her bedtime story. This is the third night in a row you’ve broken that promise."

"Don’t," he warned. "Don’t start right now, Kate."

"How can I not start? You know -"

Angel tucked his daughter into bed and glanced up at Kate, his deceptively calm voice cutting her off. "I don’t need you reminding me how awful of a Father I am, Kate. You think I like breaking her heart? I can’t help this, Kate. I have to go out there; I have no choice. Every minute that I’m not out there, another person could die."

"They’re dying despite your efforts, Angel."

Angel nodded tersely. "Then I guess I should just stop it altogether, right? No use saving anyone, if I can’t save everyone?"

Kate looked away guiltily.

He ran his fingers through his hair and led them out into the hallway. "Listen to me, Kate. One of these days, that may be Myrna out there. Do you think I can stand the thought of her being hurt in any way? I’ve got to stop as many of those monsters as I can.... I. Don’t. Have. A. Choice."

She looked up to Angel. "I don’t want her hurt, either. But dammit, Angel. When we entered into this relationship, you knew the circumstances. You took me in, and for that I’ll be forever grateful. But if you can’t handle this...tell me now, and Myrna and I will leave. Tell me, before she gets any more attached to you."

"I’m her Father," Angel said hoarsely.

Kate shook her head. "You may be her Daddy, but you’re not her Father. And I know you hate me reminding you of that, but..." she took a deep breath and looked around. "If you can’t take the responsibility, I understand. You were generous enough to be there for me when nobody else would. And you insisted we live together, for my protection and my child’s. And I can’t thank you enough. But I meant it when I said I don’t want her hurt. And that includes by you, Angel."

Angel stared down at her, a nerve in his jaw ticking. "Is this what this is really about? You’re afraid I’m going to hurt Myrna? I would die before I ever hurt her, and you know that. So all I can think is that this isn’t about her at all. It’s about you."

"I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Oh, I think you do. You keep bringing up our agreement, Kate. Well, what about your part? I made it perfectly clear that I want to take care of you both. I want you in my home, in my life. But I also told you that I can’t be in a true relationship. The type of relationship I’m increasingly suspecting that you want."

Kate rolled her eyes heavenward. "Angel, I distinctly remember our talk. You can’t be in a relationship. You can’t commit yourself to anyone, body, mind and soul. I remember."

"Doesn’t mean you have to like it," he said quietly. "I know this is hard on you, Kate. I know you’re not happy anymore. Not like in the beginning. And I’m sorry for that. But I can’t love like that. It’s not you. As much as I can commit my life to anyone, I have to you and to Myrna. And I won’t let you down; that’s one promise I will never break."

Kate looked up at him, tears pooling in her blue eyes. "I know. I know, Angel. You’re...a good man." Angel flinched at her words. "You are," she emphasized.

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "Go to bed. You’re tired. I’ll be up for a while." He turned to walk to the kitchen and paused. "By the way, I have a function to go to with Doyle and Cor on Friday. I know you have to work Friday night, but this shouldn’t take too long. Maybe you should call Alissa...?"

Kate nodded and smiled tiredly, "First thing in the morning." She turned and trudged back towards their bedroom.

"Goodnight."

She lifted her hand in a halfhearted wave and shut the door behind her.

Angel sat in his friend’s office, turning the formal invitation over and over in his hands. "So what’s this about, again?"

"I’ve explained it to ya three times now, man. Where’s yer brain?"

Angel flashed a wry smile and shrugged. "Definitely not here." He looked around the large office and sighed. "Kate and I had another argument last night," he told Doyle, subtly gauging his reaction.

"You thinkin’ it might not be fair?" Doyle asked.

Angel nodded. "It’s not. I can’t give her what she wants. I can’t love her the way she wants me to. But Myrna..." Angel smiled gently. "She’s my life. She’s the reason I fight—to make the world a little bit safer for her." He paused and look down at the invitation unseeingly. "After Buffy..." he whispered haltingly. "After Buffy...died, I didn’t know what I was fighting for anymore. I left her, hoping she’d have the life she deserved." Angel looked up to Doyle, his gaze beseeching the half-demon for an understanding and forgiveness that Doyle could not give. No matter how much his friend understood, the only person who could ease his troubled soul was long since dead. "And all for what? To let her die anonymously in the night? I keep thinking, if I’d been there.... If I’d been there, she wouldn’t have died. I could have protected her." Guilt shone from the very depths of his dark eyes. "I dream. I wonder what she looked like when she died. Did she put up a strong fight? Did she end it passively? What was she wearing? What were her last words? Did...did she still love me? And I’ll never know. I’ll never know anything, because I wasn’t there for her. I can’t even avenge her death because I can find no one who knows anything about it!" Angel stood up and began pacing violently around the office. "And I can’t let anything like that happen to Myrna. She’s so innocent. So bright and loving. So much like Buffy’s heart."

Doyle sighed deeply. "Ya canna keep doin’ this to yerself. Ya canna have stopped her from dyin’. ‘Twas her destiny, man."

Angel flexed his jaw and walked to the large window, looking out onto the darkened city, so bright with lights. "Was it?" he asked quietly.

"Oh, come now. She was a Slayer. She was a good Slayer. But she wasna invincible."

Angel shook his head and turned around, a perplexed look on his face as he changed the subject. "Have you heard of a Slayer being in town?"

"No. Last I heard, Niki was with Willow and Spike in Florence. Why?"

"No reason. I just.... When I was patrolling last night, I...errr...ran into a woman who knew a thing or two about vampire slaying."

Doyle grinned. "Ahhh, knocked ya offa yer feet, did she?"

Angel rolled his eyes. "Taken literally, yes." He shrugged lightly. "Was just wondering where a woman like her could pick something like that up."

"A ‘woman like her’?" Doyle queried, perching on the edge of his desk.

"Well," he prompted. "Aren’t ya gonna tell me abou’ dis vision?"

Angel was silent for a moment, contemplating the question. "I don’t know. There was...just something about her. Something very familiar. She..." he shook his head. "I couldn’t see her; the light was to her back. And, admittedly, I wasn’t in the best position at the time. But...she was...there was just.... I knew her. Yet I didn’t." He laughed nervously. "This may sound weird, but I’ve never felt anyone quite so cold as she.

It wasn’t her flesh; I didn’t even touch her. It was her -"

"Demeanor? Like an icy wind jus’ blowin’ o’er yer body?" At Angel’s shocked look, Doyle nodded. "Yea, man. I know what ya mean. No’ many like them. No’ in this world, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Angel asked suspiciously.

"N-nothing. So, have you told Delia she has ta work Friday night?"

"’Scuse me? I don’t think I heard that correctly," Cordelia said as she breezed into the office, smiling when Doyle jumped.

"Don’t worry," Angel assured her as he passed her his own invitation. "I’m sure you’ll find the time to attend. I’m also sure you’ll insist on taking the day off tomorrow to go shopping."

Her eyes lit up as she scanned the invite. "How classy is this?" she gushed. It wasn’t often she got to partake of the "swank" Angel’s "crowd" moved in. "And I’ll definitely be needing the day off tomorrow. Hair, nails, dress...." She slapped Doyle on the arm. "How could you two keep this from me? Do you have any idea how busy I’m going to be now?"

"Yer jus’ so cute when yer chaotic, Delia," Doyle told her with a roguish grin.

She frowned at him. "And how many times have I told you my name is not ‘Delia’? That’s just so common. Gives me the shivers. Well boys, you two play nice. I’m going to go call around and see if Laney can fit me in tomorrow. Ugh," she sighed as she turned around. "I swear. Know nothing about women. By the way, the notes on the Landon case are typed up and on your desk, Angel."

"You’re so efficient, Dee. It only took you a week." She glared at him over her shoulder and stalked out of the office. Angel laughed.

"Ya willna be comin’ inta the office tomorrow, will ya?"

Angel shook his head. "No. I’ll head straight over to the Craven Mansion. I thought I’d pick of Cordelia and meet you there. That way, you can see your contact and Cordy and I can do a little snooping of our own."

Doyle nodded in agreement. "Sounds fair."

"Yeah, well. I’m out for patrol now. Wish me luck. Wouldn’t wanna run into that girl again. She might not hesitate to stake me this time." With a chuckle, Angel slipped into his jacket and walked out of the office.

Doyle sat down at his desk and mulled over what Angel had revealed to him. This "girl" could only have been one person. The same woman who’d visited him yesterday. Their type didn’t roam around much and it was rare to find more than one in a setting. Of course, he didn’t know exactly what it was about her. About them. But he did know they could put the fear of God into the worst demon—with ease. They were like Slayers, but more. Their war didn’t stop at the supernatural. If he could just get into their Elite, he’d be able to understand more. What their goals were, their purpose. He didn’t like their secrecy, not one bit. And he intended to put an end to it. Their power was almost limitless, and he knew for a fact that the members of the legendary Elite were known to go bad, wreaking havoc at their own will. And still, they answered to no one.

With Angel and Cordelia at his side, Doyle knew he’d be able to usurp their reign. It was only time before all the secrets came tumbling out.

*****

"That’s not what I told you to do," Anne said calmly. She stood on the upstairs terrace at the Craven Mansion and overlooked the decorators and caterers setting up in the garden. "I told you to set up a camera in every room. Not in every other room. Not one on each floor. I want one in every room. No matter how small. And make sure they each have three hundred and sixty degree rotational abilities. I want to be able to watch Craven’s Auntie Mame take a piss if it seems even remotely important. Now go."

The security team scurried off to do her bidding and she turned back to watch the progress.

"I hear you want to tear down the wall between the dining room and the kitchen, just so you can set up your equipment," Darien Craven teased as he walked up behind her.

"If I wanted to tear down a wall, it’d be gone by now, Mr. Craven," Anne told him without inflection.

Darien cleared his throat. "Yes. Well. I understand you’ve got everything under control? There’s no way this man you’re investigating will...learn anything of use, is there?"

Anne turned to him, her eyes regarding him coolly behind her shades. "I don’t make mistakes, Mr. Craven."

"Oh, uhhh...of course you don’t. That’s not what I meant to imply -"

"Please, I have no time for your implications. If Doyle finds out anything tonight, it will be that all doors are closed to him. He’ll spend so much time running around that it’ll be months before he realizes he’s chasing his own ass."

Darien nodded, finally sobering to his own hard demeanor. "I trust your judgment, Agent Summers. And I trust that you’ll do everything in your power to make sure this night runs smoothly. If not...."

"Are you threatening me?"

Darien shrugged. "It matters not. But I will hold you responsible if things do not go according to plan. And we both know the ramifications that failure brings."

"I’d be careful with your words, Mr. Craven. I don’t take kindly to orders. Let me put you at ease. If Doyle gets close enough to feel the heat, I will personally put an end to it." She turned back to the garden and watched her own secret team merge with the workers below. "Permanently."

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" Cordelia asked as she sat in the back of their plush limo. Her fingers trailed over the supple black interior and she grinned.

"Only every time I let you use my credit cards," Angel murmured wryly. "You look nice," he complemented her. She was the picture of elegance in a champagne coloured ballgown. The bodice had a very low decolletage, was trimmed in tiny hand sewn pearls and was boned, showing off her trim torso. It ended in a "V" over the full skirt that continued the intricate beadwork in a soft pattern of roses and scrolls. She reminded him of soft candlelight.

"Only nice?" Cordelia feigned hurt.

Angel grinned. "You look beautiful and you know it."

Cordelia bit her lip. "You think Doyle will like it? I mean, not that it matters. But it is his friend’s party. I wouldn’t want to...you know...."

His laughter drowned the rest of her statement out. "Yeah. Sure. He’ll love it on you." He rolled his eyes and muttered lowly, "And he’d love it even more off of you."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

"You look nice too. Very spiffy. You clean up well. It must be nice to know that you’ll actually fit in with everybody else tonight," she said, referring to his penchant of wearing black. Her eyes roamed over his large form, carefully critiquing his outfit. She’d taken the liberty of buying him his own tux while she was out, choosing a Hugo Boss, single breasted, black with a black silk vest and diamond and onyx studs. The white of his shirt was pristine against the solid, inky black of his tux. He looked dangerously sexy, and if it hadn’t been for her underlying affection for Doyle, she might have tried her hand at him. He was gorgeous. Not for the first time, Cordelia saw what Buffy had seen in him.

"Thank you."

"Was Kate upset when you left?"

"Hmmm? What do you mean?"

Cordelia shrugged daintily and looked at him. "I figured she’d be pissed that you were getting to go out without her. If you hadn’t noticed, girlfriend is a little possessive."

Angel shook his head. "No, she had to work tonight. Alissa’s baby-sitting.

Besides, I told her I wouldn’t be out long."

"And she believed that?"

"I meant it, Cordy," he told her admonishingly.

"Angel, you just don’t get it, do you? You’re a nice enough guy. A little long in the tooth, but hey...understandable. I’m sure you WANT to be there for her. You MEAN to be there for her. But...you just can’t help staying away. It’s like, your subconscious knows she’s not the one for you. But she’s sooo...needy and desperate and...skanky -"

"Cordelia!"

"I know. I know. You’ve committed your entire long life to her for as long as she lives. Yeah, don’t you ever feel guilty about that, Angel?" Her eyes widened at the hurt look in his dark gaze. "Oh, Angel. I didn’t mean it that way. We knew why you couldn’t...couldn’t stay with Buffy. That’s not what I meant. I didn’t mean to imply you were betraying her...."

"I’m not, Cordelia. Buffy is the only woman I’ve ever loved. Will ever love. But Kate needs me. And so does Myrna. And I’m not going to let them down. Myrna needs a father. I’m willing to be that. I love her as if she were my own."

"And I suppose you’d just take in any stray off the streets? Wait, don’t answer that. You would."

The limo stopped and Angel took a deep breath. "We’re here," he told her unnecessarily. The chauffeur opened the door and Angel stepped out, holding his hand out for Cordelia. "My lady?" he entreated her teasingly.

"Much obliged, my lord," she replied coquettishly. They turned to the large home and stared up at the massive mansion alight with the glow of the party.

"Ooohhh..." Cordelia sighed appreciatively.

"Here goes nothing," Angel muttered as they strolled up the walkway.

*****

"...Target has been spotted. He’s entering the garden by way of the left side entrance. Subject is wearing..."

Anne turned down the volume on her earpiece and strolled along the balcony, her gaze watching the party below. The garden was lit with numerous strands of white twinkle lights, lending a romantic aura to the expansive gardens. Guests were pooling around the food, mingling, dancing, and making contacts.

All in all, it seemed to be a successful event. And it was still early. Her hands rested lightly on the stone railing as she watched Doyle maneuver his way through the crowds. He wasn’t exactly a man who stood out above all other men, but she was looking for him, and with her observational skills, he was easy to spot. She admitted grudgingly that there was a slightly debonair feel about the half-demon. She was almost sorry that she was the one who had to ultimately undermine his investigation. In another life, perhaps she would have been working with him, instead of against him.

Anne turned from the sight and looked into the ballroom from the large, arched glass windows behind her. The chandeliers sparkled gaily, drowning the large room in their bright candlelight. The orchestra was set up in the far corner of the room and men and women glided across the dance floor with easy grace. It was almost hard to believe such sinister roots laid at the bottom of such beauty. She walked to the top of the steps the led down into the garden and looked around once more. Doyle was chatting with a pretty woman, though Anne could tell he was on his guard.

"Sam, in ten minutes I want you to interrupt Mr. Doyle and lead him to my office. Ten minutes. No more, no less," she said quietly.

"Yes, ma’am."

She nodded imperceptibly to the security officer disguised as a doorman and slipped inside of the mansion. Another man, an actual servant, held his arm out for her as he led her down the elaborate staircase into the ballroom. Anne smiled at him and turned, her gaze wandering around the room. She exchanged pleasantries with the guests as she sauntered out of the room, leaving unnoticed through the servant’s door. Using the back stairs, she proceeded to the small third floor library which was doubling as her office for the time being. She entered the room quietly and turned on the lights, checking to make sure everything was in place. She sat down behind the desk with only moments to spare before Doyle walked in.

"Good evening," she murmured as he sat down across from her.

Doyle nodded and unbuttoned his tuxedo jacket as he sat, his gaze caught by how beautiful she was when not hiding behind some sort of shield. Her eyes were a subtle blue-green mix set off by the hue of her dress. But something was different. Her hair. Her hair was piled atop of her head in an artful array of curls that was both wanton and innocent. But it was the color that attracted his attention. Gone were the smooth blond locks, to be replaced with a deep, rich chestnut color whose natural gold and copper highlights glinted in the dim light. The darkness suited her, he thought silently. Added to her cold air.

Anne leaned forward and rested her elbows on the desk, quite aware of his inspection. "Are you quite finished?" she asked quietly.

"Oh, of course. Must have forgotten my manners. Ya look quite a beauty, Miss...?"

Anne smiled slightly and leaned back. "Why don’t you tell me what you came here to find, Mr. Doyle?"

Doyle acknowledged her resistance and looked at her. "Why don’t ya tell me what I came here ta look fer? Ya seem ta know so much abou’ me otherwise. An’ the name’s Doyle."

"Well, Doyle. I’m afraid I must inform you that you’re not going to find what you’re looking for. We both know why."

"I will. I’m here, ain’t I? Why would ya help me, get me here, if ‘twas all fer nothing?"

"It was agreed that you should be here, Doyle." Anne stood up and motioned for him to join her at the large window that looked down on the garden. "See those people out there? Every one of them has a stake in this game. They look so innocent, don’t they? But they’re not. Any one of them would gladly kill you. Any one of them would gladly stick the knife into their partner’s back. It’s not you, Doyle. But you were meant to see this. There is no way in Hell that you’re going to infiltrate the ranks."

"An’ what about you, lass? Would ya kill me if ya had the chance?"

Anne gazed out of the window. "I do have the chance, Doyle. I’ll always have the chance. You’ll do good to remember that. See, the difference between those people down there and me...is that I have no real stake in this game. Whichever way it goes..." she shrugged, "doesn’t really matter to me. I’m in this for me and no one else. I’m the best at what I do, Doyle. I don’t make mistakes. I don’t regret my choices." She turned to him and walked towards the hall. "However, if you expect me to stand by and watch just because you decide to play with my Agency, you’re in for the surprise of your life. The minute you get to close, you’re dead. And I’ll make sure of that personally." Closing the door behind her, she left him to his own devices in Craven’s library.

Doyle looked down on the party, his eyes absently searching for his partners. He raised a hand and slid it inside the pocket of his tuxedo jacket. Slipping out the paper, he looked down:

*You have five minutes. The security team makes a sweep every fifteen. Use

it well.*

Doyle strode to the desk and began his hasty search.

Anne merged with the party guests and walked over to the bar, her throat parched. "Champagne," she said.

"Yes, Madame." The tall bartender poured the bubbly liquid into an ornate crystal flute and handed it to her. "Would the Madame care for anything else?" he asked.

She took a small sip and smiled at him. "It’s a splendid party, isn’t it?"

"Yes, Madame."

Anne nodded and looked around, her suspicious nature taking hold of her despite the fact that she’d accomplished what she’d come to do. "Do you know if Mr. Craven has a library?"

"I hear he has one of the finest, though there are small ones on each floor."

She nodded. "I wonder if he has ‘Veiled Lady and the Third Floor Flat’," she murmured before chuckling. "Never mind. Craven doesn’t seem to be the type to enjoy a good Agatha Christie novel."

"No, Madame, he doesn’t," the bartender said.

"Well, I should be going. I do so hope someone brought a camera. It would be such a waste if none of this was caught."

"I agree, Madame."

Anne nodded to the bartender and strolled out into the gardens.

Seeing that the traffic at the bar had ceased for a moment, the bartender turned and pressed the small button on the side of his cufflink. "Summers wants the camera in the third floor library sent directly to her after the party. Repeat, no interference. Directly to Agent Summers." It took no longer than ten seconds for him to send the message out to his fellow teammates who worked for Anne, and Anne alone. They would disconnect the camera before Craven’s innocuous security team was able to blink. All the while pretending to straighten his shirt, the agent turned back to the counter and smiled, again in the role of bartender. "May I get something for the Madame?"

"Are we having fun, yet?" Angel asked as he leaned down to scoop up yet another glass of champagne. He’d lost count of how much alcohol he’d consumed, but felt sure that his fascination with the bubbles was a sign that he was over doing it.

Cordelia noticed too, and plucked the champagne flute from his hand. "Enough, Angel. Maybe you wanna drown in your depression, but not while I’m here. You’ll make me look bad." She laid her hand on his forearm and led him onto the dance floor.

"Look! Here comes Doyle!" Angel murmured in a ludicrously loud stage whisper.

Cordelia shot him a dirty look and turned around in time to see the half-demon approach them. "Doyle. You look positively...." Taking a look at his crumpled tux and mussed hair, Cordelia scrunched up her nose. "What the hell happened to you?"

"Had ta find a small hiding place while our host’s minions took a look-see in his library. Wasna the most comfortable position I’ve e’er been in, I can tell ya that."

Angel raised his gaze to the chandeliers high above their heads. The ceiling spun a bit as he inspected the pulsing glow of the firelight. Taking an unnecessary, yet stabilizing, breath, Angel tilted his head back down and watched the people move along the inner balcony. They were so pretty. So many colours. Bright. As he watched, his senses pricked and even the slightest tinkle of crystal became a loud roar in his ears. The noise in the ballroom was deafening and his body seemed to be on fire. Angel stumbled forward and grabbed hold of Cordelia, mindless of his friends’ shocked stares. His eyes searched the crowd above until his gaze landed on one person. One dress, really. It was a dark, shimmery, sapphire blue that seemed full of silver sparkles when the light hit it just right. It clung to the woman’s every curve, rather resembling one long tube top that stretched over her body, her full breasts, her tiny waist, her slender legs, and flared out gracefully at her feet. He couldn’t see her face, but he knew that body. Knew the way she moved. Angel’s grip tightened on Cordy’s arm and she flinched, punching him ineffectively in the arm.

"That’s her," he whispered reverently.

"Her who, you big oaf? Let me go," Cordelia mumbled as she tried to struggled against him inconspicuously. Without warning, he let her go and Cordelia fell backwards into Doyle’s arms.

"That’s the woman from the other night," he said, turning to Doyle. "I’ve got to go find her. There’s something strangely familiar about her."

Doyle opened his mouth to warn Angel about the woman, but his friend was already gone. Cordelia shivered lightly at the feel of his arms around her, but pushed away from him, pretending to straighten her immaculate hair. Doyle looked at her, taking in her appearance. Boy, was she a stunner. And the glazed look in her eyes, the flush in her cheeks, the rise and fall of her chest beneath the constraining bodice of her gown...all merely added to the tempting little picture she presented. He held out his hand, a twinkle in his blue eyes. "Wanna dance?"

*****

Anne stood in Darien Craven’s private gallery, her back to the door as she studied a small painting. She’d seen the place, off limits as it was, as a safe haven from those who would wish her harm. Those prying eyes that never ceased. And yet, she was instantly aware the moment her sanctuary became her prison.

Angel silently shut the door behind himself and let his gaze wander over the back of her. He’d been wrong. Her hair was not blond, but a dark chestnut that flamed with copper and gold. Had he made a mistake then? He could have sworn she had blond hair. But no. There was no mistaking the feeling she inspired in him. He was like a moth to her flame. She enticed and repulsed him at the same time. She was both perfect and...unnatural. She didn’t belong. Not that he was one to talk.

Here in this room, after so many years, Anne was a bundle of nerves. The unflappable, aloof, dispassionate Anne Summers was on the verge of breaking. And she did not like that feeling one bit. It made her feel caged in. Vulnerable. Escape was necessary.

"I’m sorry. This room is closed to the public," she informed him quietly.

"I’m not just any public," he replied smoothly.

Anne crossed her arms over her chest, her fingers absently rubbing over the bare skin of her shoulders. "Mr. Craven would be displeased to find you here."

"And you get the special privileges because...?" His gaze followed the movement of her fingers intently, almost able to feel the warm, satiny skin.

"Because I’m special?"

"I’d think you’d be more polite to a man you almost killed two nights ago," he smiled as he teased.

Anne didn’t bother denying it. She just wanted to get out. "Is that what you are? A man?"

Angel tensed at her words. "Yes."

"How very...normal...of you," she remarked with no small trace of bitterness. She bit her lower lip gently and turned her head slightly to the side. "Look. You’re not supposed to be here. Why don’t you just leave?"

Angel chuckled at her lack of subtlety. "Not without finding out a little more about the woman who swept me off of my feet." He regarded her small frame for a moment, that tingling sensation returning as he caught the barest glimpse of her profile. "You’re pretty young, aren’t you?" he asked suspiciously.

"Older than I look," she muttered.

"Know the feeling." He took a step forward and noticed how she seemed to turn into herself, as if shying away from his presence. "I’m not going to hurt you," Angel told her gently. "What’s your name?"

"Anne," she told him, kicking herself mentally the entire time.

"That’s a pretty name."

"It’s a common name."

"Why do I think you like it that way?"

"Probably because I do," she said.

"Well, Anne, I think there’s only one thing left to do -"

"Leave?"

Angel laughed. "Not quite. I’d like to see this girl who knows so much and reveals so little."

"Oh, I think you might regret those words," she murmured, her fingers twisting at the stake in her hands. Those who got in her way were terminated. End of story. She couldn’t let herself become distracted and weak. He would kill everything she had become.

"Somehow, I can’t believe that’s true." Angel reached out his hand and rested it lightly on her shoulder. Her skin was as smooth as silk, and just as warm as he’d imagined it. And at the mere touch of his skin against hers, a gut-wrenching realization took hold. It started as an icy fire in the pit of his stomach and worked its way up slowly, fighting his own denial. "No," he whispered harshly.

Anne stared straight ahead, his obvious torment tearing rents into her frozen heart. She closed her eyes to the pain and took a deep, decisive breath. "Yes," she said as she turned to fully face him. She clasped her hands behind her back as she stared up at him emotionlessly while he let his gaze roam over her.

"Buffy?" he queried dubiously, as if afraid to believe it was her. She was the same as he’d ever remembered her. Beyond compare. Beautiful, without a doubt. Her lips were glossy and full, parted slightly in a forbidden, forgotten invitation. Her nose was small and pert, sloping gently at the end. But her eyes, her wide, stunning, transient eyes...they told of the change within. Whereas he’d always seen the warmth and love brimming inside her heart, they were now cold and empty, a beautiful crystalline blue. Those eyes now flickered with an emotion undetermined, and Angel vaguely heard her speak to him.

"I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. For everything...Angel," she whispered as she lifted her hand and struck him harshly. There was a surprised look on his face for a brief moment before he crumpled into a pile at her feet. The stake fell free from her other hand and she bent down, wrapping her arms around his large body as she lifted him up and dragged him to the small sofa against the far wall. Eventually Doyle and Cordelia would start searching for him. He’d be out for a while, but of course he’d sustain no major injuries. He was a vampire, after all, and she’d only knocked him out.

Gathering her things, Anne walked briskly to the door. She turned the handle and then looked back over her shoulder. He looked so peaceful. Almost as if he was sleeping. The past nine years seemed to drift away, and once more she was Buffy and he was Angel and they were soulmates.

In another lifetime. Stepping out into the hall, she closed the door behind her with a soft click and made her departure from the gala still going in full swing. There was nothing left for her there.

"It was HER," Angel said for the hundredth time since they’d left the party two hours earlier. The trio was situated in Angel’s office where they’d gone instead of bringing him home. There was no way they were going to let him face Kate in the condition he was in.

Cordelia shot Doyle a concerned look and knelt down in front of Angel. She lifted his hands gently in her own and peered up at him. "Angel, honey," she said softly. "I know what you think you saw. But Buffy’s been dead for almost ten years now."

"Was she a...a....?" Doyle started to ask.

"No," Angel said decisively. "I saw her. I saw Buffy. And no, she wasn’t a vampire."

"Angel," Cordelia tried again. "Even you have to admit that you were a

little...out of sorts. Maybe the lighting was bad. Maybe you just thought -"

"No. I. Know. What. I. Saw."

She sighed and stood up, resuming her pacing.

"Maybe he’s tellin’ the truth," Doyle said musingly. "Course, we havena a motive, a reason why Buffy would e’er do somethin’ like this, but I s’pose it’s possible."

"No. It’s not. Buffy wouldn’t do something like that. I mean. She’s not one who would...abandon...everyone...in a...time...of...need.... Okay. So, there was that one time. But why? I just don’t get it. Why...how...could she just let everyone think she was dead for a decade and then just come back?"

"Maybe she didn’t plan to," Angel said dully.

"Didn’t plan to what? Didn’t plan to play dead? Didn’t plan to come back?"

"Both. Either."

Cordelia spun around to face her boss, ready to chew him out, but the words died on her lips. He didn’t even look like Angel anymore. His eyes, so expressive and intense, were now dull and dead, with no light of their own. His shoulders were slumped forward in defeat, so unlike the powerful vampire he’d been only hours before. He just seemed so...dead. "Look," she said softly. "We should at least figure out if this really was her. No. I know what you said you saw. I just think we owe it the same investigation we give everything. And...if she really is...Buffy...then we’ve got to figure out how to tell the Gang. Not to mention Giles and Joyce."

"Delia...think about that. This could rip them apart."

"That’s something she should have thought of beforehand," Angel muttered.

Cordelia felt her own heart breaking as she gazed at Angel. This couldn’t be happening. Angel had been one of her best friends since she’d left Sunnydale. He’d taken her in and let her work for him. He’d even saved her life more times than she could count. And through it all, it had been his love for Buffy that kept him going. After she’d died, Angel had placed her memory on the altar of his mind; his heart had become a shrine to the woman he’d loved more than life. And now that memory was being ripped away from him. Everything he’d believed in was now being doubted. It was killing him. Angel was Cordelia’s strength and Buffy was his. As long as Angel was around, Cordelia felt safe. And now her safety was being threatened. Not to mention the immortal love she’d also believed in, held onto dearly. "I still think we should find the facts before we cast aspersions on her memory," she said.

Angel shrugged. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. And yet, here he was, left in confusion. Half of him wanted to jump for joy, to dance around the office and sing out loud. She was ALIVE! There was hope. She wasn’t dead and there was...this part of his heart that was experiencing pure, unadulterated joy. And the other half was quickly filling with anger and a sense of betrayal. How could she do something like this? Did she have no heart? All of the pain and anguish and guilt he’d felt.... All for nothing? Her family and friends left with no one. Had they meant nothing to her? Had he meant nothing to her? So what else was there...?

"Myrna!" he gasped and stood up. "I’ve got to go," he said as he grabbed his jacket and stalked towards the door.

"Where do you think you’re going?" Cordelia asked. "You’re in no shape to drive."

"I’m fine, Cordy. I have to go home now. I promised Kate I’d be home early and it’s already late. She’ll be worrying. I...have to go."

Cordelia and Doyle watched as their friend and employer walked out of the office. He was like a machine.

"This isn’t good. Doyle, what are we going to do? Wh-what if he really did see Buffy?" Tears pooled in her dark eyes as she looked to him helplessly. "It’ll kill him," she whispered as he drew her into a comforting embrace.

"It’ll kill him."

*****

Anne stood outside the apartment door and ran her fingers through her loose blond hair. It felt so good to be rid of that itchy wig. She raised her hand and knocked lightly, knowing who’d be answering the door.

"Hello?" the young girl said as she cracked the door open.

"Hi," Anne smiled. "Alissa, right? I’m Anne; I live right down the hall. I was just on the phone with Kate and she asked me to come tell you that she won’t be home for a few more hours and that she doesn’t know when Angel will be getting back. He had to go to a party tonight and all. She said she was sorry that they were both running late."

"Oh, it’s no problem."

Anne nodded. "I’m sure it isn’t. Myrna is just a perfect angel, is she not? Well, I brought this up to Kate, and she agreed if, it’s all right with you and I’m pretty sure you have class in the morning and you probably need your sleep, but I’d be willing to keep an eye on Myrna if you wanted to go."

Alissa bit her lip, unsure of what to do. Anne smiled knowingly. "I know this must seem odd. Really. If you want to call her, it’s okay with me. I just remembered Kate telling me that you had early classes, and I remember what that was like."

Alissa smiled. "I really do have to be up early. You live right down the hall?" she asked. At Anne’s nod she relented. "Well, I guess it’d be okay. You look trustworthy enough." They both laughed and Alissa opened the door, letting Anne in.

"Oh. Kate also asked me to pay you, just so you don’t have to wait. Plus, I’m always around, so she can pay me back more easily."

"Thanks," Alissa said sincerely. She gathered her books up and turned to the older woman. "By the way, do you know where Mr. Angel was going tonight?" Her eyes narrowed slightly, waiting for an answer.

Anne pretended not to notice. "Well, Kate told me he had a business party to attend with his partners. Down at the Craven Mansion, I hear. Sounded like a pretty swanky evening," she chuckled. "I know Kate was upset she’d be unable to attend."

Alissa nodded, satisfied. "Well, Myrna’s asleep. She’ll probably stay that way until her parents get home. It was nice meeting you."

Anne nodded and shut the door behind the girl. "So glad I kept that ‘girl-next-door’ look." She locked up and looked over the apartment. It was cozy. Very family-like. Very...normal. Oh, how she’d grown to hate that word.

She walked to the small mantle, her fingertips trailing lightly over the many frames. There were numerous photographs of a woman with blond hair. Anne assumed that would be Kate. In some, she was holding a small baby girl. There were others, more recent ones, in which the little girl was alone. Anne had to admit she was very pretty. No doubt her smile was all for her Father. Her Father.

Anne closed her eyes and turned away from the family gallery, content to continue her tour elsewhere. She walked through the rooms, her gaze wandering over every single detail. It was a home. She couldn’t blame him, not really, but the sight still killed a part inside of her. A part that she’d supposed was long since dead. Funny how these things had a way of coming back to haunt you. She opened the last door a crack and peeked in. It was a very feminine room, sweet and innocent. And the little girl lying in bed only added to the heavenly picture. This was Kate’s daughter. Angel’s daughter. The light of his life, as Doyle had told her. Just as she turned to close the door, Anne heard the little girl speak.

"Where’s ‘Lissa?" she asked groggily.

Anne smiled slightly and slowly walked into the room. "She had to leave because she had an early class to go to in the morning. She needed her sleep, too."

"Who are you? Where’re my Mommy and Daddy?"

"They’re not home yet. I’m Anne," she said as she stepped up to the side of the bed.

"You’re pretty."

Anne bit her lower lip. "So are you."

"Thank you. Do you know my Mommy and Daddy?"

Anne nodded. "I know your Daddy. He used to be a very good friend of mine. A long time ago."

Myrna’s eyes widened. "Really? What was he like back then?"

Anne sat down on the edge of the bed and laughed softly. "A lot like he is now. Tall, dark, handsome. Overall, perfect."

Myrna nodded. "He is. And he loves me bunches." She giggled shyly and burrowed under her covers. "That’s what he tells me."

"I’m sure he does," Anne said softly. "I can’t see why he wouldn’t."

"Do you have a daughter?" Myrna asked.

"No," she whispered. "I don’t have any children."

"Oh. I’m sorry. Why not?"

"I don’t know why not. I guess I just...I don’t know."

Myrna nodded wisely.

"Why don’t you go back to sleep now? I’m sure your Mommy and Daddy will be home soon. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay."

"You’re nice," Myrna said, patting Anne’s hand. She snuggled into her bed and closed her eyes, the soft sound of little snores soon coming from her.

Anne stood up and left the room, her heart heavy as she walked into the living room. Right as the door opened.

Angel shut the door behind him and shrugged his jacket off. As he went to lay it over the back of the chair, he stopped.

They stared at each other for a long moment, the electricity between them threatening to cause some sort of fire. Then, the strength seemed to flow out of Angel’s body and he collapsed onto the nearby chair, muttering, "I guess that answers that."

Anne slowly followed his lead, sitting on the sofa across from him.

"What are you doing here? How did you get in? Where’s Alissa? And Kate? And...Myrna? I swear, if you hurt one -"

"C’mon, Angel. I think you know me a little bit better than that," she cut in.

"No. I don’t. I thought I knew you. I did know Buffy. I don’t know you. So why don’t you tell me, who are you?"

"I told you," she answered him. "I’m Anne."

"Anne," he scoffed. Angel shook his head. "I don’t believe any of this is happening."

"Believe it," she told him dispassionately.

"What if I don’t want to?" he shot back.

"Then that’s just a little too bad. And a little too late. If your friend hadn’t been snooping around in my business, you wouldn’t have even known I was alive."

"So this is all Doyle’s fault now?"

"It’s nobody’s ‘fault’, Angel. Things are the way they are. You can’t change that. If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that."

"Why are you here?" he asked tiredly.

"For you. Despite the years of absence, I know how your mind works. Don’t fool yourself, I could have disappeared again and you would never have known the truth. And it would have driven you crazy. So here I am. It answers your question."

"I doesn’t even begin to answer my questions."

"And what are they, pray tell?"

"Why?"

Anne stared at him. "Why not?"

Angel rolled his eyes and stood up. "Get out."

"But I’m serious." She watched as he paced to the mantle, his eyes never focusing on her. "Why not? Why not do what I did? What I’ve done? There was nothing left for me there. And so I found a way to escape. At least I have a purpose now."

"You let your friends...your family...think you were dead. For nine years now."

"That’s not what upsets you," she said calmly. "What upsets you is the fact that I let you think I was dead."

"You’re damn right it does," he growled. "You had a purpose. You were the Slayer."

"’Were’ being the operative word in that sentence. I was a tool, Angel. Merely one in a long line of Slayers who came and saw and yet never truly conquered. No. I didn’t have a purpose. You wanted me to be normal, Angel. How could I ever be normal when I had that hanging over my head?"

"And now? What are you now?"

Anne laughed hollowly. "Certainly not normal. But you know that, don’t you? What am I, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you. I’m the goddamn best. That’s what I am."

"You turned your back on the people who cared about you."

"Well, you know all about that, don’t you, Angel?"

Angel turned to look at her, a furious light in his eyes. "Excuse me? Look around, Buffy. Sorry—Anne. I live up to my responsibilities. I take care of those who need me." He turned his back on her, agony ripping through his body. He was torn between hating her and loving her and he longed to sweep her up in his arms. It was true, what they said. You could only truly hate someone you truly loved. And now...the quiet tension was overwhelming. He fought the urge to look at her.

"That’s right," Anne said softly, her voice breaking the silence. "You only turned your back on me."

Angel raised his head at her bitter words, loathing the guilt that rose unbidden in him. He turned slowly towards her. "I never turned...."

But she was gone.

More to Come……