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buffyfic2-digest     Wednesday, February 10 1999     Volume 01 : Number 003




----------------------------------------------------------------------

Date: Tue, 09 Feb 1999 23:01:17 -0600
From: Katie Malone <[e-mail]>
Subject: (buffyfic2) XOVER: Ceremonies of Innocence (06/14)

Chapter Four, Part 2

It was the boy she had glimpsed before.  Only, only his face was
contorted into a horrible parody of a human face.  The cold sneer
she saw there made her blood run cold and the fangs that brushed
his upper lip made Angel's earlier words hit home.

I'm a vampire...

Vampires were real, did indeed exist.  It was too much to take in
all at once.  And now was really not the time to deal with it.  Not
with every instinct in her body screaming at her to run.
Scrambling to her feet, she got not more than two steps before
something seized her by the hair and drug her back.

'Note ta self,' she thought weakly, 'cut my hair ASAP--provided I
get the chance.'

The feel of breath against her neck made her flesh ripple and she
couldn't help but cry out. Visions of really bad horror movies
danced through her head.  She was going to end up as the stupid,
helpless sheep who got slaughtered and there didn't seem to be a
damned thing she could do about it.

The hell there wasn't.  She struggled, kicking and lashing out with
feet and arms as hard as she could manage.  All that earned her was
a really smashing blow to the face.  Reeling, she felt herself
being pulled closer to a body that was unnaturally cold.  Then she
fell again, the grip on her hair loosened, then lost.  She rolled
away, scuttling as far into the shadows as she could.  Out of the
corner of her eye, she saw a black clad blur barrel into the
vampire.

Angel.

As the young vampire attempted to sink his fangs into Angel's arm,
her would be rescuer snapped his head back with a punch to the
creature's face that sent him backward.  On a human that move would
have killed or seriously injured a person.  The young vampire
simply shook his head, growling as he swung a blow towards Angel's
breadbasket.  Angel caught it but failed to see the switchblade the
vampire produced from seemingly nowhere.  It caught him across the
abdomen, causing him to double over.  The vampire then kicked him
into a wall.  There was a sickening thud as he slid to the floor.

"Angel," her voice was shrill.  'Oh, please dinna be dead,' she
prayed, 'not because of me.'

Apparently satisfied that he had vanquished his opponent, the
teenage vampire turned his attention back to her.  She wanted to
retch at the ravenous expression she read in his eyes.  She could
all but see herself with an apple in her mouth and spread out like
some kind of butchered ham. 'Great imagery,' she castigated
herself.  As he advanced on her, she fell into stance and delivered
a blow aimed at his neck--something she sincerely hoped would make
him have second thoughts about biting her own.  He caught her arm,
absorbing the blow as if it were nothing at all.  She winced as he
cruelly twisted her arm back with one hand, using the other to bare
her vulnerable neck.

'I am so dead,' she thought bleakly.

A low snarl of rage and pain caught the attention of both vampire
and human girl.  Angel was slowly rising from the floor, face
twisted into an animalistic sneer.  Wide-eyed, Cat scarcely noticed
the other vampire releasing her, backing away in obvious dread of
the dragon he had awakened.  All she could do was stare at Angel in
a mixture of horror and disbelief.

I'm a vampire.

More than that--he was a bloody angry vampire, she recognized.  So
did the other vampire.   He was moving cautiously, eyes glued to
Angel as he kept backpedaling.  Angel stalked him, obviously toying
with him as he made a few rapid darts and dodges towards him.  He
showed no signs of pain though Cat could see the blood continuing
to seep through his white shirt.  She made sure she was well out of
his path though couldn't help but trail him in concern as he backed
the other vampire further and further into the shadows of the
garage.

Suddenly, he launched himself at the teenage vampire with all the
grace of a panther.  For a second, he almost seemed to hang in mid-
air before he caught the other vampire, one hand closing around the
hand holding the switchblade.  She heard the crack of bones and a
howl as Angel wrenched his wrist.  There was a clattering.  The
switchblade, she guessed.
Cat watched as Angel reached one hand into the folds of his jacket
whilst holding the squirming vampire and producing a long, sharply
pointed stick.

A stake, she realized, remembering the legends surrounding
vampires.  And she had a pretty good notion of what he was going to
do with it.

He didn't disappoint her.  The stake rose and struck its target
swiftly.  A soft moan.  Then the vampire in Angel's grasp exploded
into dust.

Angel stood with his back to her for a long moment, then swayed in
obvious weakness.  She didn't question the emotion that sent her
bounding to catch him from falling.  Ducking under his arm, she
staggered trying to hold him up.  He tried to remove himself from
her grasp.  Cat held tight, commanding in irritation, "Stop that."

He subsided and she helped him lean back into a sitting position
against the wall.  Then she pulled at his jacket.  He caught her
hand, causing her to glance up.  Much to her relief, the
animalistic visage had disappeared, and he was human once more.
Correction, he looked human once more--they both knew he was more
than that.

He stared at her and she flinched at the coldness she read in his
dark eyes.  Then she squared her shoulders, "Ye're injured and
unless ye like bleeding all o'er the floor, ye'd better let me have
a look."

His jaw tightened, but he didn't say anything.  Nor did he release
his death-grip on her hand.  Instead, his eyes continued to bore
into hers.  The pain and self-loathing she read there made her feel
a wave of sympathy for him. Obviously, he didn't like his current
undead state and was uncomfortable about her having witnessed what
she just had.

"It doesna matter," she said quietly. And it didn't; what did
matter was that he had saved her life.

"Doesn't it?" There was more bitterness in those two words than in
anything she had ever heard.

"Not ta me," Cat shook her head.

"Then you're a fool."

Instead of being offended by that, she actually felt a small smile
spread across her face, "Aye, well.  'Tis no' the first time I've
been called such and I verra much doubt it will be the last."

"This isn't a laughing matter," he snapped.

"Of course it's not.  But then neither is bleeding ta death," she
replied sarcastically, then paused.  'Can vampires bleed to
death?,' she wondered.  "Um, Angel?"

"What?"

"I would really appreciated ye letting my arm go.  I'm starting ta
lose feeling there." She wiggled the fingers of her captured arm at
him.

Surprise crossed his face.  Evidently, a few things had slipped his
mind.  She sighed in relief as he released her, a sensation of pins
and needles creeping up her arm as she massaged life back into it.

"Thanks.  Now, I am going ta take a look at that cut. One way or
another, whether ye like it or not. Should ye feel the urge to grip
something, I have a hand here ye can hold. All right?" Cat asked.

Angel regarded her silently.  "And what if I don't want you to."

"It would seem ta me, that there's not much ye can do to stop me at
the moment.  Being injured and all," the Tomorrow Person retorted,
"Dinna be difficult."

"I can stop you."

She froze at those words, the threat implicit in them.  Cat had no
problem recognizing the truth in those words.  Even weakened as he
obviously was, Angel could stop her--probably with a hell of a lot
more ease than he had dealt with the other vampire.  It was an
unsettling thought.

Finding her voice, Cat forced a hollow laugh, " 'Twould be a waste,
do ye not think?  Ye going ta all that trouble ta save me only
ta...ta ..."  She fumbled for the words.

Angel exhaled heavily, his dark head falling back to softly thud
against the wall.  "You don't give up, do you?"

"No.  Not on the important things," she replied honestly.

There was no reply to that.  Hesitantly, she turned back to his
injury, one hand hovering over his bloodied shirt uncertainly
before slipping a few of the lower buttons undone.  She darted her
eyes at him nervously.  His dark eyes were nearly black as they
stared the sputtering light above their heads.  'That's as good a
'go ahead' as I'm likely ta get,' she realized.

Lifting the now scarlet dyed cloth gently aside, Cat winced at the
depth and the size of the cut.  'This is bad,' she thought, running
the tip of her finger around the upper edge of the damaged flesh,
feeling the muscles of his abdomen ripple under her touch.

"Ye need a doctor," she said at length.

"I'm dead," Angel replied derisively, "Don't you think that might
be a little suspect?"

"Oh," she hadn't thought of that.  "Will it heal?"

"Eventually," he replied evenly.

"Eventually," she repeated.  So vampires could heal despite the
fact that they were supposed to be little more than animated
corpses.  Cat filed that fact away from future reference.  "Well,
in the meantime, we should probably get ye somewhere and bandaged
up.  Um, where exactly do ye live?"

"I can find my own way home," he protested, "It isn't necessary for
you to escort me."

"Oh, I think it is.  Ye can barely stand, much less walk ta
wherever it is ye live.  Ye could, of course, take a cab," she
admitted practically, "But then the blood would be hard ta explain,
do ye no' think?  So would passing out during the ride--could ye
imagine what would happen if the cab driver were ta take yer
pulse?"

She crossed her arms and leveled a knowing gaze at him.  Waiting.

His lips thinned in displeasure, but didn't dispute her words.  "I
can manage."

"For God's sake, Angel!," she lost her temper completely.  All the
fear of this evening came crashing back, fueling her anger, and it
was all she could do not to scream in his face. "This is no time
for a male ego.  Take help when it's offered.  Besides, it's not
likely I could harm ye, now could I?  Not when ye're three times as
strong as me."

"You'd be surprised," he replied with some irony, but she noticed
he was studying her.  He closed his eyes with a sigh, "Help me up."

"Angel--"  She was fully prepared to argue him down.

"Or were you planning on carrying me back home?" he cracked his
lids.

Cat blinked.  Oh.  Oh, she started, realizing that Angel had just
given in.  Before he could change his mind, she slid an arm around
him and carefully helped him to his feet.  He groaned and she felt
guilty.  He really didn't need to be walking right now.  Even if he
was a vampire, even if he would heal, it was still going to hurt
like hell for him to move around.  More than likely, he was going
to be very, very sore tomorrow.

She could save him that pain.  Casting a veiled glance at the wall
camera, she considered taking Angel outside, maybe finding
somewhere secluded, and teleporting them to his place.  It would
save him some pain and after so badly misjudging him, Cat was eager
to make amends.  However, there was one small problem: it wasn't
just her secret she would be giving away.  It would affect the
others as well.  As much as she might want to trust Angel, she had
no right making this decision without talking it over with them
first.  And then there was the fact that she would have to explain
about Angel.  That wasn't something she was sure she wanted to deal
with.  Or wanted to.  She had the distinct feeling that Adam would
not be pleased about revealing their secret to a vampire--not with
his strong aversion to any kind of violence.  And vampires ...
well, if vampires, if the legends held true, lived off death.  No,
Adam would not be pleased--she wasn't sure that she was all that
happy with this situation at the moment.  Vampires and Tomorrow
People--it seemed like a paradox.  Like life and death, matter and
anti-matter. Still, she felt that she could trust him and not
trusting her instincts had gotten her into this mess in the first
place.

She owed him that much.  Owed him more than that--she owed him her
life.

And she fully intended to start making up that debt as soon as
possible.

"So, Angel," Cat asked casually, "What sort of digs do vampires
have?  Anne Rice mansions or horror story crypts?"

To her delight, he rewarded her with a painful chuckle and a slight
smile.  'There that wasna so hard, now was it?' she thought.  'Not
quite as closed off as ye'd like to believe, are ye, Angel?'  Her
smile faded.  'Maybe 'tis something we both have in common.'

'Don't go there,' she warned herself.  It was not something she
could share.  Not something she felt anyone could understand.  Some
things were better left dead, she knew, and the past was one of
them.

Unfortunately, the past had an unamusing way of coming back to
haunt you.

She should know better than anyone.

***

END CHAPTER FOUR


     Katie Malone
     [e-mail]

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 To unsubscribe to buffyfic2, send an email to "[e-mail]"
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------------------------------

Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 12:30:21 -0600
From: Katie Malone <[e-mail]>
Subject: (buffyfic2) XOVER: Ceremonies of Innocence (10/14)

Chapter Six, Part 2

He turned away from her, "Stop it."

"Why?" she continued, "If ye're still the man ye were then why will
ye no' do it?  I'm offering ye my life and if what ye have told me
is true, I doubt that yer old self would turn it down."

"You're not wrong," he replied.  No, Angelus would have reveled in
this girl's self-destructive tendencies, would have played with
her, and possibly, because of her powers, turned her.

"So do it," she touched his shoulders, "I'm willing--hell, I do owe
ye my life and what better way ta repay my debt?"

"You like playing with fire, don't you?"

"Maybe more than ye think," she replied cryptically, "Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Are ye going ta do it or not?  Could ye please hurry and make up
yer mind? My neck is really starting ta get a crick in it," Cat
replied tartly.

"No, thanks. I already ate," Angel replied sarcastically.  He felt
a surge of anger wash over him.  Didn't this girl understand how
dangerous a game she was playing?  It was all he could do to clamp
hold of the hunger rising in him.  The fight and his wound had
drained him more than he had anticipated.  And here was this young,
fresh woman offering her throat and the rich, copper river that ran
beneath it....

"I take it that's a no?" she asked coyly.

Taking her firmly by the upper arm, Angel ignored her sharp intake
of pain and surprise. He tugged her towards the door, his patience
worn at last. "That's it. Get. Out."

Cat shook free; rather Cat attempted to shake her arm free, but his
grip held firmly. "No, we're no done yet."

"Yes, Cat. We are."

"Angel," her voice held a warning in it, "Let me go right now."

"It's time for all good little girls to be in bed.  Oh and you,
too," he added as an afterthought.

"Let me go," she began pelting him with her free arm. "Angel, so
help me...."

"You'll what?" he smirked.  He had both the advantage of speed and
strength; they both knew it.  Angel had to admit he was interested
to hear just what she thought she could do to him.

Her nostrils flared.  "Ye may be stronger than me, Angel, but ye're
not the only one who can bite."

His eyebrows shot up in surprise.  "You wouldn't."

"Sure o' that, are ye?" she smiled coolly at him, a predatory flash
of teeth.

"You little vixen," he whispered.  Angel wasn't sure whether to be
amused or vexed.  After all, how often did he have to worry about
someone biting him?  The last time had been over two hundred and
forty odd years ago.

Of course, he had still been human then.  Unaware of the twists and
turns his life was going to take as he glimsped the sight of a
beautifully dressed stranger in a Galway alley.

People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. Why that
age old saying should suddenly occur to him, Angel didn't know.
What he did know was that this girl was playing with fire, and
that in the end fire always burned. She may have thought that she
was holding her own with him -- her wisecracks and her calm facade,
but the truth was she had no idea how close to a very dangerous edge
that she walked. Just because he felt remorse didn't mean he wasn't
dangerous. He was incredibly dangerous, and all the more so because
he knew there was forever the possibility that he might lose his soul again.

How had Willow so elegantly put it?

"Well, we just have to be sure that you aren't happy. I mean, that
you aren't happy happy, like romantic happy, like it's a drug. Happy's
a drug and you have to quit cold turkey."

Well, it was elegant for Willow at any rate.

"I guess I win," Cat smiled smugly, her words interrupting his
musings.

"This isn't a game where you win or lose--"

"Why don't ye just let it go, Angel? I'm no' yer enemy--"

In one swift fluid motion, he shifted his facial features and
swept her up, backing her against the wall. His words were a low, feral
growl, "But I could be yours. Anytime. Anywhere. Don't get cocky."

She stared back at him, unblinking, unwavering.  But he could feel
her heart rate pick up, the change in her scent at his action.  "So
we're back ta this, are we?" she asked flatly.

"Back to what?"

"Back ta ye trying ta frighten me because ye're so utterly wretched
and depraved.  I'm not impressed, Angel.  We both know ye're not
going ta bite me so I'd appreciate ye letting my feet touch the
floor again," she could have been carved out of stone for all the
reaction he was getting out of her.  She was good at hiding how she
felt, he would give her that, the best he'd seen in a while but she
couldn't disguise the tension in her muscles or the taste of fear
in her scent.

"Don't be so sure," Angel snarled.

A strange light entered those gray orbs and he felt her go slack in
his grasp.  "Then do it and be done with it, Angel," she said.

Consternation flashed through him.  He drew back a bit, "You must
have a death wish."

"Ye know, it's funny but I think I do," she shrugged carelessly or
rather tried to, "Some things never change, I guess ."

"What are you talking about?" Angel asked warily.

"I'm sorry, am I distracting ye?" she feigned chagrin at that, "Ye
were about ta kill me, remember?  Not having second thoughts, are
we?"

"This isn't funny," he said angrily.

"No, it isna," she was finally serious, voice cold.  The sudden
transformation startled him.  "Ye're a killer, Angel. I got that.
But ye're not a cold-blooded one.  And ye're certainly not the same
person who killed that gypsy girl.  If ye're so loathesome, if life
is so wretched then why do ye no' just spare yerself the agony and
end it all?"

"You have no idea--"

"What I'm talking about?  Aye, ye've said that several times.
Well, surprise, Angel--I do know what it's like ta hate yerself and
I know what it's like ta have a past yer no proud of," she suddenly
reached out and jerked him forward until their faces were just
centimeters apart.  Angel found himself transfixed by the sudden
fires burning in those gray eyes.  "Ye think ye're dangerous,
Angel?  Ye think ye have self-destructive tendencies.  Ye have no
idea."

"I'm twenty years old and I've lived enough ta fill up several of
yer lifetimes with regret," she continued in an intense voice, "Or
so I thought.  Of course, one's perspective changes a wee bit when
ye've actually put the knife to yer wrists and done the deed.
Something ye wouldna know about--ye dinna have the stones or the
real inclination.  Ye've just fooled yerself inta thinking ye
have."

There was a moment of silence as realization began to set it.
Angel found his hold on her loosening as he stared at her, at the
pain etched in her face.  The anger he had sensed in her was
draining to be replaced by a desolateness that struck him to feel.
Tears were welling in her eyes and he stepped back from her,
feeling his face morph back.  Cat, meanwhile was sliding to the
floor, miserably hiding her face behind a curtain of blood red
hair.  Angel hovered over her, unsure of what to do or how to
respond.  His mind was still reeling from what she had just
revealed to him...and that she had revealed it at all.

The idea of the self-prepossing girl ever trying to kill herself
was impossible to imagine, much less believe.   Yet there was
something about it that rang true.  It explained all the
uncertainty and doubt that he thought he had sensed below the
surface.  That haunted expression he had caught earlier and sorrow
that seemed so at odds with her almost blatant self-confidence.

Kneeling down beside her, he queried, "Cat? Are you--you all
right?"

There was a muffled sound.  Angel couldn't decide if it was a laugh
or a sob.  "All right?  I am so far from being all right, Angel,
that I don't even know what it is anymore."

He couldn't remember the last time he had felt this, well, this
helpless.  Reaching out one hand, he brushed some of that unruly
hair out her face.  She scooted out of his reach, muttering, "I
shouldna be doing this--hell, I shouldna even be here.  I'm sorry
ta bother ye, Angel."

"Cat."

She got to her feet, keeping distance between them and firmly not
looking at him, "I have ta go.  I--"

"Cat," he caught her upper arms.  Though it might be the best thing
in the world for her to leave, Angel found he just couldn't let her
leave like this.  He wasn't heartless enough to ignore the obvious
pain she was in.  Maybe if he had been, none of this would be
happening in the first place. "Stay."

She did look at him then, her gray eyes watery and huge, "Ye told
me ta leave, remember?" she tried to sound tart but it fell short
to his ears.

"And now, I'm telling you to stay."

"Angel, so far this evening, ye've ordered me ta leave ye alone,
no' ta look at ye while ye feed, ta go, ta stay, ta go again, and
now ta stay.  Will ye please make up yer bloody mind?  I'm starting
ta know how a dog feels."

"Sit," he began, pushing her towards one of the chairs, ignoring
the bite to her tone.

She rolled her eyes at him in soggy exasperation, "Woof!"

"Nice to see you haven't lost your sense of humor," Angel replied,
"Now, I am not going to let you go running off into the night so I
would appreciate it if you would...please...sit down."

She fell back into the seat he had cornered her in front of.  Angel
had to admit some degree of surprise and suspicion at that
concession.  It must have shown on his face for she protested, "I'm
no' always difficult, Angel."

No, only about ninety-nine percent of the time, I'm willing to bet.
But Angel didn't give voice to that thought.  She would seize upon
it, he knew, as a way to deflect the questions she obviously knew
were coming.  He would have, in her place.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked instead.

"No," she shook her head emphatically, "I dinna want ta talk about
it.  But...but I think I *need* ta."

***

TO BE CONTINUED


     Katie Malone
     [e-mail]

- -
 To unsubscribe to buffyfic2, send an email to "[e-mail]"
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------------------------------

Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 12:30:46 -0600
From: Katie Malone <[e-mail]>
Subject: (buffyfic2) XOVER: Ceremonies of Innocence (11/14)

Chapter Six, part 3

***

Cat leaned back into the chair stiffly, heart racing for reasons
that had nothing to do with fear of Angel.  No, while Angel had
tried to frighten her, the threat he presented was physical harm
but the fear her mind was supplying her with was emotional.
Rationally, she tried to tell herself that if anyone would judge
her, it wasn't likely that Angel of all people would.  Yeah, she
could tell herself that all she wanted.  It didn't make a
difference to the irrational, near hysterical portion of her that
was shouting at her to shut up and get out, that she had said too
much already.  Opening up only gets you hurt--it was a lesson that
she had learned a long time ago and one that was only in the
several months beginning to lessen.  But the process was a slow one
and she couldn't help but revert back to old habits.

But, she needed to talk. She had said as much to Angel, and in her
heart of  hearts she felt the truth of those words. In her life,
in her world there really was no one that she could talk to. The
others were wonderful, and she considered herself blessed to have
them in her life; but there were things that they simply could not,
would not understand. Darkness didn't seem to be part of their lives.
Despair and hopelessness were only words in a dictionary to them. With
the exception of Adam, she didn't think that the others could ever
comprehend the self-loathing and spirals of disgust that had affected
her life. And even Adam, as closed off as he was about his
past, shone like a beacon and piller of brightness. The world had
never crushed them, never loosed itself on them as it had her.

Angel knew darkness, he knew despair. He lived with it every single
day of his life -- unlife -- existence. He would understand, and he
would not judge. And most importantly, if she said the wrong thing,
if there was the possibility of shocking or disgusting him, she never
had to see him again. His was not a friendship that she needed and clung to
desperately. Cat could walk out of Angel's life and never look back; never
care.

For some reason, that thought only made her more miserable.

"Cat?" There was a gentleness to Angel's voice that was unexpected.
Looking  into his eyes, she saw the same mirrored there and she
sighed helplessly.  Once she went forward there was no going back,
but she was certain that not a woman alive had ever said no to those
eyes.  'And who am I ta break with tradition,' she thought with a sense
of bleak humor.

"I dinna know where ta begin," she said at last.

"Wherever it hurts the least."

That earned him a bitter laugh, "That's tough.  Maybe the hardest
thing of all--trying ta find a spot that doesna hurt.  It would be
easier if I didna care but..." she trailed off, shrugging.

"I know the feeling." Their eyes met and Cat had that feeling of
connection to him once more.

She forced herself to glance away.

"I was in a car accident when I was eleven," she began softly, "Got
banged up pretty badly but I survived.  My mother...well, she wasna
that lucky."

Oh, God.  Why was it even now her mind could take her back with
such agonizing clarity to that day?  If he had asked, she could
have told him what the weather was like, the hour they had left,
how it felt when their car had skidded off that slippery road and
straight into that rock face.  She could still hear the shrill wail
of crushing metal, her mother's screams ringing in her ears, and
the jolting disorientation of that first teleportation.  Cat had
read that often victims of accidents could only recall the events
in bits and flashes.

She only wished she had been that lucky.

"Mother died and father," she paused, staring fiercely at her feet
as if she could dam all the feelings roiling inside her, "and
father could not forget.  Or forgive."

A sharp intake of breath.  "He blamed you?" Angel asked slowly.

"Who better?  I lived and she died.  There was nothing that could
be done ta change that but he could make me wish it had been me
rather than her every day for the rest o' my life.  And that's
exactly what he did."

"I started playing my suicide games just months after coming home
from the hospital.  I remember being scared ta death the first time
I ever put a knife ta one of my wrists. Really frightened but it
got easier with each passing day."

Cat pushed up her sleeves to show him the chunky, multi-stoned
scarab bracelet on her right wrist.  "I've worn this since around
that time, it was my way of hiding what I was doing.  I didna have
the courage or the desperation then ta slash my self deeply.  All I
was doing was giving myself surface wounds--always pulling back and
stopping myself before I went too far.  All in all, it was rather
pathetic."

"So what changed things?" Angel's face was damnably blank.  It made
her uneasy not to be able to read him, to gauge his reactions--that
was how she had gotten by so long.  She had learned to read other
people and adapted herself accordingly, always one step ahead.

Not this time.

A rueful smile twisted her mouth, "My uncle Connor.  He came and
swept me back ta New York with him for nearly a year.  He saved me.
And he damned me."

"He loved me, ye see. I sometimes think if I hadna known that love,
if I had just slowly forgotten what it was like ta have someone
care and look out for me the way he did.  If I had forgotten what a
family was supposed ta be like then maybe things wouldna have
turned out as they did."

"Do you hate him for that?"

She shook her head, "I canna hate Conner and believe me, I tried.
I was a little hellion back then and I tried every way I could
devise ta make him angry in the hopes that he would stop caring
about me.  Because I didna deserve it.  'Twas my fault that my
mother was dead.  I had learned my lesson well, had it worn inta
me."

"But Conner, he's verra stubborn.  Probably the most stubborn man
I've ever met.  I pushed and he pushed back.  He didna give up, not
once.  He made me love him for trying, for caring enough ta try and
save me.  I started ta trust again, ta open up.  And then Father
came ta New York; he wanted me back with him.  Where I belonged,"
her mouth grimaced at that.

"I remember begging and pleading with Conner not ta let him take
me," Cat sighed at the memory, "And I dinna think I remember ever
seeing Conner so helpless before or since.  I wasna verra kind ta
him, I'm afraid.  There was nothing he could do; my father had
legal rights ta me and if he wanted me, then he could damn well
have me.  But then....then all I could see was the betrayal."

Cat closed her eyes at the memories of Conner's entreaties and her
own bitter words.  'I hate ye.  I hope ye die.  I hope I ne'er see
ye again.'  Angry words, the words of a lost child but still
cutting words.  They had never spoken of that night when those
viperative words had been exchanged but Cat was fairly certain
Conner remembered them.  She would never be able to assuage her own
guilt at hurting him thusly, guilt that didn't even begin until she
was over the Atlantic again, sobbing her heart out for her uncle
and fearing that she had caused him him to hate her.

"I love Conner," she said quietly, "He's more dear ta me than any
flesh and blood father could be but sometimes...sometimes I'm so
angry at him still.  For so many reasons.  For caring, for not
being able ta save me--"

"For making you realize what you were missing?" Angel interjected.

She glanced at him sharply then nodded.  "Yes.  Maybe for that most
of all."

"When we returned ta Scotland--I think that I thought perhaps
things would change.  I wanted so badly for things ta be different
between us.  I would have given him the world for just one kind
word, just one.  But it never came.  The hope that he actually
wanted me died within a week of our return.  He didna want me, not
really.  He wanted me for appearances, he wanted me ta be his good,
obediant little daughter.  And so I did the only thing in my power
I could do: I rebelled."

"If he wanted a proper daughter then I would be the worst, most
useless creature on the face of the planet. I would ruin my life ta
get even with him though at the time I didna see it as such.  And
that's exactly what I set out ta do.  I let my grades go, cut
school, and when I was there, I began hanging with the sort of
people I knew he couldn't stand.  People I had no business being
with," she admitted regretfully, "only I was too blinded ta see
it."

Angel was studying her detatchedly; she was grateful for that.  Now
that she was actually talking, the words were coming out in a gush.
However, she had the feeling that one wrong look from him would
probably shut her up and she would never get through this.  And she
did want to get through this, much more than she had ever realized.
It was painful, it was like tearing open a barely scabbed wound but
it was the most agonizingly dear sense of freedom she had ever
experienced.

"The suicide games started up again.  I was still only inflicting
superficial wounds on myself.  Mostly because I was angry and
damned if I was going ta roll over and die for my father's
satisfaction."

"Those were terrible days. My new 'friends' had gotten me started
on drinking and parties.  I'd come in at 4 a.m. if I came in at
all, usually completely sloshed and there would be Dad, ready for a
knockdown fight about my behavior," she ran a hand over her cheek
self-consciously in memory, "Sometimes quite literally.  The
tension was so bad in the house that I didna always come home.
Once I slept in a Edinburgh alley way just ta avoid him.  Really
stupid things like that."

"Things had been boiling ta a head for a long while when the final
straw fell.  It was at one of those parties I used ta like so well.
A bunch of us all sitting around in a condemned house, getting
sloshed on alcohol when someone brought out a stash of acid."

She buried her face in her hands, feeling herself transported back
to that dingy room.  Hearing slurred voices and seeing the
cigarette, sometimes marijuana smoke floating above her head.  Now,
her out of control behavior gave her a rush of shame but things had
been different then.  She had been different.  It was why she was
able to differentiate between Angel before and after the gypsy
curse.  Because she understood quite intimately what it meant to be
someone else.

"I had never tried anything harder than alcohol before.  Always
turned drugs down when they were offered before but that day I'd an
exceptionally nasty argument with my father.  My grades were on the
skids and my teachers had started making a few phone calls.  We
argued, he slapped me, and I left the house in a rage.  All I
wanted was an escape, from him, from myself, from life.  So," she
swallowed, "so I took the acid when it was passed around.  My first
and only experience with drugs."

"I dinna remember much about the rest of the night except a sort of
fuzzy feeling.  But I do remember the next morning when I woke up
next ta one the guys from the party,"  Her voice caught though she
tried to make it sound light, "My first time and I dinna even
remember it."

Cat happened to glance at Angel as she said those words.  The
vampire actually paled, if a vampire could do such a thing, and
cringed in his seat.  She felt his reaction as if he had acutally
slapped her.  Her neck tingled as she felt the blood rush to her
face in humiliation.  'What the hell am I doing telling him this?'
she thought furiously.  'God only knows what he must be thinking of
me.'

"Cat?" Angel queried, interrupting her bleak musings.  He seemed
concerned though it was probably just a good face for her benefit.
Underneath, he was probably recoiling in disgust at what she had
told him.

"Ye probably are thinking that I'm quite the little slut," she said
without rancor.  All the hurt his reaction had caused, she
squelched.  'Did ye really expect him ta understand?  Vampire or
no', he's still a person and people canna help but judge.  It's why
ye never even talked with Conner about this--because for all that
he's an Immortal, for all that he's lived for over five hundred
years, there are still some things that even he couldn't
understand.  Or abide with.'  He thought so well of her, cared about
her as if she were his own child.  If he knew what she was telling
Angel, it would wound him deeply.  Angel was...well, she wasn't
sure how to classify him yet--friend, passing aquaintance, complete
stranger? Maybe intimate stranger?  'That sounds like some cheesy
potboiler romance novel,' she rolled her eyes.  'I am so sick of
labels.'  "And I canna say that I blame ye much, Angel.  It was
wrong of me ta burden ye with this and I apologize."

"Catriona," Angel replied quite firmly, "I am thinking nothing of
the kind."

"Oh really?"  She asked skeptically, "And what was that look of
yers about a minute ago?"

TO BE CONTINUED


     Katie Malone
     [e-mail]

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------------------------------

Date: Wed, 10 Feb 1999 12:29:56 -0600
From: Katie Malone <[e-mail]>
Subject: (buffyfic2) XOVER: Ceremonies of Innocence (09/14)

Chapter Six

Angel stared down at the phone he had just hung up.  His mind was
already playing and replaying his conversation with Giles.

'Who is this person?  What exactly have you told her?'

He had expected that.  It was only natural that Giles would be
curious about Cat.  It was his job to worry about things like that.
What wasn't natural was his own reaction to the questions.  He
hadn't expected to be so defensive.  No, he had been more than just
defensive, he had been plain rude.

'Did you even try to convince her that what she saw might have been
a trick of light?  Or hysteria?'

'Cat's not like other people...'

Now why had he said that?  Though it was true she wasn't, why was
he so reluctant to tell Giles about the young woman and her special
abilities?

Maybe it was because Angel didn't know enough yet about the young
woman and those abilities. While it was true that she might be
under the influence of the hellmouth, and Angel was finding that
more and more difficult to believe by the moment, it was also possible
that she was exactly what she appeared to be. And that was simply a
psychic; a strong psychic, but a psychic never the less.

Why not? Drusilla had had her gifts long before he found her and
embraced her. She had not been living on a hellmouth, but rather
her talent had been born and innate. It followed her through life,
making her family ostrasize her and making it so much easier to push her in
the directions that led to her insanity.

Angel pushed back the thoughts of the mad vampire created
by his hand and his blood. Those thoughts were dark thoughts
that would send him along paths he would rather not travel at
that moment. Besides, he had Cat to worry about. He had to find
out *what* she was.

"Are ye ready ta talk ta me now?" The young woman's voice startled
Angel.

'Speak of the devil,' Angel mused, then erased the thought. Devils
were something best not spoken of or thought of on a hellmouth.

"How long have you been standing there?" he asked.

She shrugged.  "Not long," she hedged.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to determine just how much of the
truth she was telling.  It did no good trying to read her face--she
was purposefully giving him an innocently sweet smile.  And her
mind--well, all he could pick up was a surface scan really.  Just a
few fleeting impressions of feeling.  She was agitated and trying
to hide it.  Curious, too.  Maybe a little afraid.  None of it
surprised him very much except for the degree of agitation he was
sensing in her.  It belied her serene demeanor; she was hiding
something and wasn't comfortable about hiding it.  Interesting.

"Ye said that there were things ye needed ta tell me," she crossed
her arms, "For my own protection, ye said."

"Are you thirsty?" Angel asked mildly.  He felt the flash of
impatience and bewilderment that statement engendered.  "Can I get
you anything?"

"Yes."

"What?"  Angel padded towards the kitchen.  He opened the
refrigerator and peered in it theatrically.  A rather silly thing
to do since there wasn't much there to look at.

"How about some straight answers?" she snapped, "I've a real thirst
for that."

"Why are you so upset?"  Angel leaned against the fridge.

"Oh, I dinna know--maybe because I was almost dinner tonight!  And
I'd like ta know why ye people are following me?  What do I have a
sign on me that says, 'Eat me! I'm delicious!'?"

Angel blanched.  Her face showed instant contrition.  "I'm sorry,"
she bit her lip, "That was uncalled for."

"No, it was true," Angel replied slowly.

"Which part? The sign or the uncalled for?"

Angel gave a slight and frustrated shake of his head. This was not
going to be easy. She was not going to make this easy. Then again, why
should she? She was right. She had been attacked by a vampire and
he knew that before today she hadn't even believed that vampires
existed. Her entire world had been turned inside out and upside down
- -- and all because she tried to read his mind in a mall food court.
Because he had let her get too close to him. He had known better, only
he had ignored his common sense and now they were both paying for it.
But it wasn't fair that she was paying the price for his mistake.

The karmic wheel turned and once again deposited another fun
situation in his lap.  Joy.  Angel wondered how many more of these
moments it would take before he had even begun to balance the
scales for the wrong he had done as Angelus.

"Cat, let's sit down."

She shook her head at once. "No. I dinna like ta sit down. That's
when ye get the really bad news."

Well, Angel mused, she was certainly right on that count. What he
had to tell her might be really bad news -- but it was also the sort of
news that might just save her life.  If he could get her to listen to him
long enough to understand that.

"Cat, please."

He watched, surprised as some of the fight seemed to go out of her.
"Okay, I'll sit. But it doesna mean that I like it."

Yes, but sitting was at least a start in the right direction.

Angel followed her back to the living area, noticing the tenseness
with which she held herself. She was still wary, only now she was
trying to hide it under a veil of belligerence. It wasn't working
and they both knew it.  She flopped down in the easy chair, staring
up at him with blatant expectation as he eased down into
a sitting position.  He winced at the sitch in his side.

"How's the cut?" she asked, straightening in obvious concern.

"A little tender but I'll heal.  That was quick thinking on your
part--getting the blood and all," Angel grimaced at the thought of
earlier.  Not only had she been attacked but she had been subjected
to watching him wig out over a bottle of blood.  No wonder she
was being so rebellious.

"Well, take it easy, okay?  Ye're not Superman, ye ken," she
chastised.

He wasn't sure whether to tread carefully or just get
everything out on the table at once.  With some thought, he decided
option one might be the wiser course of action.

"You're a psychic," Angel began.

"I 'ave a friend that would say, Been there, done that, bought the
the t-shirt. Can we get on with it, please?"

Angel felt his own ire begin to rise. "All right then.  Your powers
make you about as invisible as a nuclear reactor to me and my kind.
You couldn't broadcast more clearly if you try."

Silence.  Cat stared at him, then lowered her gaze to watch her
fingers trace patterns on the arm of her chair.  Angel frowned, but
continued, "We live off of blood, yes.  But we also live off the
emotions from our victims. Psychic as well as physical vampires, if
you want to get technical.  It gives us a rush, sustains us.
That's why vamps like to play with their victims before they feed,
to get the blood stirring, to get that emotional outlet charged.
Psychics are an even better source of nourishment than most."

"So basically I have the life expectancy of a bug?" she said at
last, voice small.

Angel suddenly felt tired. "Not if you're careful."

"Careful?" she echoed.  There was a secret pain in those gray eyes
that made her seem positively ancient, a knowledge of...something
that set her apart. Almost as if she were carrying a burden she
could barely mange.  It chilled him to see it.  He had seen it
before.

In Buffy.

But then the Slayer had good reason for that.  It had been worn
into her.  Every night, her life was on the line, kill or be
killed.  Always knowing that one night she would walk out of her
home and she might not come back.  It had been hard enough for
Angel to bear that but for Buffy...  He marveled at her strength,
her courage.  And he worried for her because she carried that
burden alone and was not inclined to let anyone ease the weight of
it for her.  Not even him.  Not anymore, at least.

There had been a time once though, a time that was now dead, killed
by Angelus, where that had not been the case.  His former self
would have been pleased to know that of all the damage Angel could
not right, this was the one that hurt the most.  Hurt both of them.
In a perverse way, he supposed, it was Angelus' final triumph, his
legacy to Angel.

It was, partly, why he had left Sunnydale.  Seeing that haunted
look grow year by year and knowing that he was part of the reason
for it had been unbearable.  Unbearable because they had crossed a
line in which he could no longer help her assuage that pain.
Knowing that as much as she loved him, trusted him, there would
always be a part of her that was closed to him.

He had journey thousands of miles only to find it again--this time
in the face of the young Scottish woman across from him.

It was completely unexpected.  Unnerving.

"I'm sorry," Angel managed.  He looked away, staring at his hands
and cursing himself as a coward for doing so.

"Why?" she asked quietly, "It isn't yer fault.  I owe ye my life."

"But I am like them," he replied bitterly.

"No," she said sharply, "Ye're nothing like them!"

"How would you know?" he retorted, "You know nothing about me or
what I've done."

Cat slid out of her chair to the floor, catching his hand, "I know
that you're good.  Kind."

"Good? Kind?" he laughed.  She flinched at the mocking sound in it.
"This isn't some fairy tale.  I'm not the woodsman come to save you
from the Big Bad Wolf--I'm one of the wolves."

"No," she shook her head stubbornly, "I ken how ye feel ta me--
ye're different, Angel.  I didna feel any sense of remorse or guilt
from the other one."

"That's because I'm cursed."  He hadn't intended to tell her that
but it was clear he needed to adjust some of her perceptions before
they got her killed.  He couldn't let her walk around believing
that some vampires were good and others weren't.  As far as he
knew, he was the exception, not the rule.  And sometimes, he wasn't
even sure how much of an exception he was.

Her forehead creased in confusion.  "Cursed?"

"I was in Romania, almost a hundred years ago.  Travelling through
the countryside, killing whoever I could find," he kept his tone
conversational, almost light-hearted, "Came about an encampment of
gypsy and decided to have a little fun.  Played up being a lost,
wearily traveller to the hilt and got taken in for the night.  I
repaid their generosity by killing the daughter of the camp's
leader.  Pretty girl, very sweet and docile, though a little
simple-minded.  It was very easy to lure her to the edge of the
encampment and suck her dry."

Cat stared at him in unmitigated horror.  Angel felt it like a blow
and wanted to hide but instead forced himself to look her squarely
in the eye and continue.  He had to make her understand.

"Unfortunately, or should I say fortunately for me? she was the
favorite of her clan.  I ran as fast as I could but their curse
still found me."

"What sort o' curse?"

"They restored my soul," he replied flatly, "And nothing else they
could have done to me would have caused as much pain as this has.
I remember clearly the faces of each and every person I ever
betrayed, tortured, and killed."

"And ye care," Cat whispered.  There was pity in her voice now.

"I care." He agreed.

"Angel," she reached for him in obvious sympathy.  He pushed her
away, gliding to his feet and backing away from her.

"I'm dangerous, Cat.  More dangerous than anything you'll ever
meet.  You should stay away from me."

"No, Angel," she said firmly, getting to her feet, "I'm not afraid
o' ye.  Ye're good--I can feel that--"

He took her roughly by the arms, drawing her forward.  She pulled
back at his sudden nearness but he held tight.  "I killed my own
family, Cat," he whispered intensely, "I tortured the last set of
people who called me 'friend' and I killed one of them.  What makes
you think I won't do the same with you?"

"Because ye're trying to warn me off, " she lifted her chin in
defiance, "Are ye really afraid for me, Angel?  Or it is that ye're
are afraid of me?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I think ye're afraid because I'm getting too close ta yer little
secret and I'm not running screaming in terror.  Well, I'm sorry ta
throw off yer little pity party but I'm not going anywhere."

"Haven't you heard a word I've said?" Angel glowered at her.

"Aye, I have," Cat scowled just as darkly back at him, "Ye're an
evil wretched person.  Ye've done things in the past that yer
ashamed of.  And ye want me ta hate ye for that.  Is that it?"

Angel pushed her away from him in annoyance.  "You understand
nothing."

"Oh, I think I do.  If I understand ye correctly, ye lost yer soul
when ye became a vampire?  Which would imply that vampires dinna
have souls?  Is that right?"

"Yes."

She nodded at that, "Then I dinna why I should hate ye.  It wasna
ye who committed all those...terrible acts.  It was someone else.
Someone who ye used ta be."

Was it his imagination or did a shadow cross her face with that
last statement?  A sorrowing flash of understanding, as if she knew
exactly what she was saying. As if she had first hand experience
with it.  How could someone her age have any idea what she was
talking about, he denied it.  Or tried to even as he remembered
Buffy.

But Cat was not the Slayer.  Nor was she a vampire cursed with a
soul. He wasn't exactly sure who or what she was.  And he wasn't
exactly sure why he was putting up with this the way he was.  Since
the whole Sunnydale fiasco, he had avoided getting close to people,
had pushed all closeness away.

Until now.  And he couldn't figure out why now, with this person,
was different.

Something Whistler had once 'casually' observed a few weeks
previously came back to him.  'You ever think that sometimes
certain people are meant to meet?  That maybe Fate throws people
into our lives at the right place and the right time for a reason.
I mean, take the Slayer for instance.  Ever stop to wonder what her
life would have been like if she hadn't met up with Willow or
Xander or even, my tormented friend, you."

'A lot happier, I imagine," he had said in response to the last.

Whistler had merely shaken his head, replying, 'Certain people
touch us, they change us.  Help us see beyond ourselves.  You gave
Buffy strength, confidence, and more importantly, you gave her your
friendship and love.'

'That's nothing compared to the terror and heartbreak I put her
through.'

'That's where you're wrong, my dour amigo.  It was everything
because you gave it to her.  Because it changed the both of you.
You have to watch out for those people, Angel. The ones who help
your journey along.'

'What journey?'

'Of becoming.'

Becoming.  At the time, he had discounted the whole conversation as
nothing more than Whistler's cryptic ramblings.  But now... Now he
began to wonder just how much the demon/man actually knew--about
him, his future.  Had that whole conversation been a roundabout way
of telling him that someone new would be coming into his life?
Someone who he would have an impact on and vice versa?  The more he
thought about it, the more his head began to ache.  One day, he
promised, one day I am going to have a long talk with Whistler and
get a straight answer out of him.

'Never happen,' a small voice in his mind whispered.

"Someone I used to be?" He echoed, "Cat, you're trying to simplify
something that isn't simple at all."

"Isn't it?" Those gray eyes nailed him with their directness.

"No."

Angel studied her warily as she approached him once more.  The
jacket on her shoulders slid to the floor and she bared her neck.
"Then kill me.  I'll be willing ta bet that my blood's a good deal
richer than the bottled stuff.  Maybe it will even help ye heal
faster."


TO BE CONTINUED


     Katie Malone
     [e-mail]

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