Chapter Text
“Oh, god,” Cordelia groaned at Angel’s side, flipping her hair irritably over her shoulder. “Who let the dyke in this party?”
Angel glanced across the room and spotted her instantly. Wearing her ever-present set of faded cargo pants and tank top, Buffy Summers was slumped next to a guy he didn’t know. The only reason he knew the little burnout at all because she was friends with Cordy in middle school, back before she had that slashing scar across her lips, back before she spent more time getting fucked and fucked up than she did eating a meal.
Angel glanced back at his sister and shrugged. “Fuck if I know,” he answered. Why should he care if the skinny little druggie was at the party? She could fuck half the room – and probably would – for some meth or smoke or maybe just the warm feeling of alcohol rushing over her and then she’d be passed out in one of the fraternity guys' rooms. Happened before. It would happen again.
“But it’s a college party,” Cordelia growled out. “She’s not in college. She didn’t even finish high school! Why should they let her in?”
“Cordy, I didn’t bring you to this party so you could bitch and moan about the guest list,” Angel said just loud enough for her to hear over the thumping beat.
“Fine,” she snapped, flashing a brilliant smile at a passing frat boy. She sauntered behind Angel as he weaved his way through the crowd, letting her fend for herself. She watched as three, no four, she corrected, little sluts stopped her brother to giggle and flirt with him as he wound his way around the frat house. He finally stopped inside the kitchen and staggered back a step as a flying female body wrapped around him. Angel turned with the brunette around his waist, laughing as she pressed against him.
“Faith, this is my little sister, Cordy,” Angel said, tugging playfully at Faith’s long dark locks. “Cordy, this is my favorite Beer Bitch, Faith.”
Faith grunted in Cordy’s general direction before she leaned in and was whispering in Angel’s ear and tightening her body against his. Angel laughed and walked her across the room, depositing her on the table by the keg, where she had stack of plastic cups and a marker ready for buyers.
“Later,” he said, allowing his eyes to sweep over her breasts, which spilled from a dangerously low cut black tank. “But for now I’ll take two,” he said, pulling out his fat money clip and tugging a ten spot from it. He leaned in close and kissed the side of her neck as he tucked the money into her tight jeans pocket.
“Surprised you’d bring little sister to a kegger, Angel,” Faith said laughing. “Aren’t you worried about her being molested?”
“Oh Cordy can take care of herself,” Angel chuckled, glancing at his sister as she held her part of the room at bay.
***
Angel made his way to his car at four AM wearily. He was a first year graduate student and far too fucking old for the kegger shit, but Cordy was determined to go. He knew what happened to freshman girls at frat parties. One minute they were prepared for anything and the next they were so fucked up they couldn’t see their own legs above their heads. Even a viper like Cordy would be in trouble in that sort of environment. He’d be damned if he’d let anyone take advantage of her.
So he took her to the one place that he knew he could tack a firm message onto the grapevine and let it fly through the lesser miscreants in Academia. Cordelia Chase was his little sister and he took the time to lower himself to attend a frat party just make sure she was safe. Angelus Chase was a legend at UCLA. He didn’t waste his time with keggers when he could have three women in his bed licking champagne off his balls instead. He knew that his presence at the party would do a great deal of good, but Faith’s flapping gums would do the rest. Angel grinned.
The frat, affectionately known as the “Alphas” throughout campus, was the only one on campus that allowed non-Greek women and men in their parties. They also had the most mixed group of students there. Everyone who didn’t belong somewhere else made their way to those parties and stuffed money in Faith’s waiting hands. She was known as the Alpha’s mascot and was rumored to have slept with the entire roster.
Angel chuckled at the thought. That simply wasn’t true. He knew for certain Faith’s selection of men was not limited or defined by the fraternity at all. She had only slept with half of them at any rate. The other half of her conquests were non-Greeks and townies. She hated sorority girls and fraternity boys as a rule, but the Alphas were the black sheep of Greek life. They actually were surprised when they were included in events.
He was half a block from his car when he heard a rustle behind him and turned to see the scrawny Summers girl huddled by the side of a darkened house. Angel looked around and strangely enough saw that she was completely alone.
“Buffy, right?” he said, pretending he wasn’t sure who she was. She was shivering in her tank top. It was a bit too chilly to be out without a sweater or jacket. “You need a lift home or something?”
“Fuck off,” she slurred, her teeth chattering. “I can sit here if I want.”
“Sure, but it’s warm in the car instead of freezing your ass off here,” he offered, still trying to be polite instead of leaving her there like she deserved. “Come on,” he said, reaching out a hand to her.
Glaring, she rose to her feet herself and dusted off before huddling in the cold and following him quickly to his car. Angelus Chase wasn’t the kind of guy who would be seen with a girl like her. It wasn’t that he didn’t like trashy girls, he did, but he stayed away from druggies and abusers. Last thing he needed was some little junkie taking off with his shit.
Buffy slid into his car and curled up in his expensive leather seat. The car was just as cold as it was outside, but it was comfortable. Angel smelled really good just like he always did. His hands were steady as he started the car. She always watched his hands when she was around him. Of all the men she knew, he was the first she had a crush on. She always wondered what it would be like for him to touch her with those big, elegant hands.
She fought to clear her head as she grumbled directions to him. She didn’t want to go home. That’s why she was huddled on the side of the house, not that it was any of Angel’s business. She needed to stay out a little longer so Ethan was good and trashed when she got home. He would leave her alone if he was drunk enough.
She really thought she had it sealed for tonight. Graham was a good fuck. He never hit her, bought her drinks and usually let her stay all night in his big bed. He was warm and he never did anything she didn’t want him to do. He never tried to pass her off to his friends or tag team her. As far as guys went, he was a pretty good one. He didn’t do any drugs, which was his only downfall. She could handle being without though. She was good at being without a lot of things.
If it weren’t for his girlfriend dropping in, Buffy would have had a warm place to sleep all night without having to worry about anything. Stupid bitch, Amy Madison, stormed in like she owned Graham’s cock and started making a huge scene. It probably wouldn’t have been quite as big of a scene if the cock in question hadn’t been inside Buffy at the time. Before Buffy could even tell Amy to go fuck herself, Graham was telling Buffy to get dressed and leave.
Growling, she reached into her pocket and felt for money. She had about fifty-five cents, a cheap bic lighter and nothing else. She sighed, glancing out the window.
Startled, she gasped, “Keep going, pass it!”
She blew a breath and slumped back against the seat. Fucker nearly stopped right in front of her house like he was a goddamn valet. “Just pull around the corner,” she snapped.
“You could have told me you had some guy at home waiting before I stopped in front of your house,” Angel snapped back.
“My stepdad’s a little freaky, alright? I’m already going to get my ass beat over being drunk. If he sees you, it’ll be world war fucking three. Sorry to inconvenience you,” she growled. She stumbled from the car and stalked off without so much as a glance back in his direction.
***
The house was dark except for the television blaring in the living room. It reeked of cigarettes and booze as always. Buffy turned toward the stairs and tiptoed up three before Ethan roared out her name.
“Fuck,” she mumbled, heading back to the living room. He sat in the recliner with a beer in his hand and some woman Buffy didn’t know was passed out on the couch. Ethan shot her a feral grin.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he slurred. He gestured with his long neck bottle angrily. “If you’ve been out whoring around-“
“I just went over to Spike’s,” Buffy said, interrupting. “That’s all. We watched a movie, had some beers.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me,” Ethan shouted, pulling himself to his feet and storming toward her. “I give you a house to live in and take care of your worthless, whoring ass and you dare lie to me! Who were you out with?”
The woman on the couch turned over and groaned. “Stop yelling,” she croaked. Ethan turned to look back at the woman and was distracted by a bare leg kicking out from the blanket.
“I was with Spike,” Buffy repeated, backing toward the stairs again. “I’m not lying.”
Buffy turned and hurried up the stairs as the woman started to wake up. Another close call, she thought as she made it to her room and shut the door. She turned the lock she had installed herself and leaned against it. Thank gods for his newest lay. She saved the whole night.
Her bed was unmade and strewn with her things. She wasn’t neat, but she hadn’t left this mess. Ethan had been riffling through her stuff again. Probably looking for meth. She snorted. Like she was going to leave it lying around for him to find.
She shimmied out of her cargo pants and folded them neatly before setting them on the chair by the wall. She only had two pairs and had to take care of them the best she could. Clothes were a hard commodity to come by these days. A lot of things were.
She lay back in bed and closed her eyes. She always thought of the same thing when she was laying in bed at night – her mother. Seven years ago when Joyce died suddenly of an aneurism, the world turned upside down and never bothered to right itself. Before, in the days when she was allowed to be a child, Buffy’s life was filled with warmth and happiness. The house was clean and sober, the closets were filled with clothes and the refrigerator with food. She never had to worry about money or being safe or when she was going to have her next meal. Joyce Rayne made the world a pretty place.
Ethan and Joyce had only been married for six months when she died. They had still been in their honeymoon phase and were extremely happy. After the funeral, Ethan opened his first beer in front of Buffy and as far as she knew, he hadn’t been sober since.
A rustle at the window caused Buffy to jerk in that direction but relaxed to see Spike climbing inside. As usual, his movements were graceful and near silent, so as not to attract Ethan's attention. She didn’t bother to cover up even though she just wore a tank top and panties. Plopping down on his side next to her, he handed her the cigarette he was smoking.
“Ethan’s on a fucking rampage,” she said, exhaling and handing the butt back to him. “I told him I’d been with you all night.”
He trailed his fingers over her belly, pushing up the material of her shirt. “Come on, ducks,” he crooned, pulling her more closely to his side. “You’re not going to turn me away, are you?”
“You gotta go,” she mumbled. “If he finds you here, he’ll know I lied - not that he doesn’t already suspect you aren’t gay.”
“He’s bangin’ his newest barfly,” Spike muttered, his hand venturing into more dangerous territory. “Saw him through the window. He’ll be busy for a while.”
Buffy closed her eyes, letting her hands fall to her side. It wasn’t worth arguing with Spike. As much as he covered for her, as much as he took care of her, she owed him. “You got anything on you?” she asked, longing for oblivion.
Spike dug around in his jacket pocket and tossed a mostly empty prescription bottle onto the bed. “Oxy,” he said. “Little rich boy, Percy, traded them to me for blow when he couldn't come up with cash. Knew you liked it.”
The crushed up narcotic took effect so very quickly and Buffy was falling back into a soft, blissful haze. She murmured incoherently as Spike blanketed her body with his own.
Buffy turned her head, staring out the window. She tried to remember the exact timbre of Angel’s voice, the subtle scent of his cologne. She tried to pretend that it was his beautiful hands roaming across her body, his lips latched onto her nipple. She tried to make herself believe that it was the man she loved she was with and not a man she owed.
***
“Ghhnrrrmph,” Angel mumbled incoherently into the phone.
“Angel, is that you?”
Shit! Angel groaned, rolling over onto his back. “Hi, Mom,” he croaked into the phone. Dammit, it was Sunday morning. He knew better than to answer the phone on Sunday morning.
Angel blinked, trying to get his eyes to focus as his mother attempted to guilt him into helping with the soup kitchen. His mother was big time into charity work and was always attempting to coerce rest of the family into helping out. She felt a strong sense of obligation to give back to the community, especially since she and her husband were so well off. The rest of the family didn’t share her sentiments and usually went out of their way to avoid her cajoling.
“Mom, I’m busy today,” he said, interrupting. “I have a couple of projects that I need to work on for Professor Kerr.”
“Do you really have projects, or are you trying to get out of giving back to the less fortunate?” his mother asked, her voice tight with censure.
“I have projects,” he said, feeling only mildly guilty since they technically weren’t due for another month.
“Well, fine then,” his mother said with a sigh, “I guess that I’ll just do it all by myself. I mean, I hurt my ankle again last week, but I guess if I ice it enough tonight it should be fine – “
“I’ll come!” Angel snapped, knowing he was being manipulated within an inch of his life. “I’ll be there in thirty minutes.” He hung up the phone and could almost hear his mother smiling over the line.
***
In its heyday, the Hyperion had been a very swank little hotel. Today, after years of sitting vacant and then years of painstakingly slow restoration, it was now open for business as a homeless shelter and soup kitchen.
Angel frowned as he walked down the entryway steps. He nodded at Jenny, one of the shelter’s administrators, on his way to the kitchen where his mother was undoubtedly directing traffic. Nights were getting chilly so the shelter was experiencing its seasonal upswing, meaning more work for everyone.
“I don’t get paid enough for this shit!”
Angel stopped and turned around to see a waifish young woman yelling at Jenny, her hair and clothes plastered to her body. Angel cringed. The woman was skinny verging on skeletal and he could see her visibly shivering.
“You’re right,” Jenny said, obviously unconcerned. “You don’t get paid at all because you’re here working off community service hours. Now go upstairs and ask Fred for some dry clothes and then get back to work. Next time, turn the water main off before you try and repair the plumbing.”
“This is bullshit,” the young woman cursed under her breath, turning toward Fred’s office. Angel stopped. It was Buffy. When she saw him standing there, she rolled her eyes to ceiling and groaned, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“My mother is on the board of directors for this shelter,” he said, nodding at the kitchen where Jenny had just headed. “I volunteer when I get conned into it.”
“Volunteer?” she choked, bubbling with sarcastic laughter. “Whatever. Go hold down a chair. I gotta get out of these wet clothes.” She headed for the stairs, stepping around him.
Angel watched her climb up the steps. She was soaking wet and with the clothes sticking to her slight frame, he realized just how skinny she was. He shook his head. She was so drugged up; it was eating her body away. She looked like she was starving to death.
***
By the end of the day when Buffy’s hours were over, she was starving. But then, she’d been hungry for days. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had some real food. Two days? Three? The drugs made it hazy, eased the ache of the loneliness and the hunger, but now she’d been sober all day working off the Minor in Possession she’d been charged with the year before.
She thought longingly of the soup and sandwiches at the shelter she was leaving behind. She cursed inwardly. Screw that. She wasn’t about to let anyone know how desperate she was for a warm meal. Besides, she should be happy she had a home and that she wasn’t sharing one of the Hyperion’s rooms with some stranger.
Shivering, she crossed her arms over her chest. She had put on her own clothes again rather than wear the hand-me-downs home that Fred had given her. Her clothes were still damp though and it was making for a colder walk.
When Angel’s sleek black car pulled up beside her in the parking lot, she stopped and faced him, putting her hands on her hips. “Do I look like a lost fucking puppy to you?” she snapped when he rolled down the window.
“No, you look like you’re freezing in those wet clothes. Hop in. I’ll take you home.”
“I can take care of myself,” she said, but still climbed inside. “I don’t need you treating me like a fucking kid.”
He nodded and said nothing, noticing how she scooted to the edge of the seat so she was closer to the heat vent. Angel, on the other hand, was burning up. The car had to be ninety-five degrees by now but she seemed to be glowing just from the warmth, so he left it.
A mile from the shelter, he pulled over at the coffee shop and hopped out, naively leaving the keys in the car behind him. Stupid, she thought, shaking her head. She could get an apartment and a year’s supply of shit on this car and he leaves the keys in it. Course, she would never steal a car for drugs. Even if she did, she wouldn’t steal from Angel.
Mentally cursing herself, she closed her eyes. She was not going to make herself believe he actually gave a shit about her. He was a nice, rich guy, feeling charitable after a day of hell at the Hyperion. That’s all.
When he came back in, he handed her a large Styrofoam cup. She looked at his hand as if he had sprouted extra fingers. Reluctantly, she took it from him and he tossed a paper bag in her lap. A peek inside had her groaning with delight. Three chocolate brownies waiting to be devoured sat in the bottom of the bag.
“Oh gods, that’s so fucking good,” she groaned around a mouthful of brownie. She didn’t bother to ask him if he had bought one of them for himself but gobbled down all three as fast as she could, washing it down with the best hot chocolate she had ever had.
“It’s what fifteen miles from your house to the Hyperion?” he asked quietly, trying to sound casual as she sipped the rest of her cocoa.
“About that,” she grunted. She risked a glance at him and looked away again. She was still trying to figure out how a day of working and sweating alongside her made him look no less gorgeous than he had when he walked in that morning.
“And you walk every day in that?” he asked.
“Yeah, so?” she said, glaring over at him. “My Benz is in the shop and I hate dragging the Rolls out just to toot around town.”
“You go every Saturday and Sunday?”
“Every fucking weekend for the next three months.”
Angel focused his attention back on the road, letting her savor her hot chocolate in peace. He’d been shocked when he saw her earlier that morning, though in retrospect, he wasn’t sure why. The shelter had a lot of people volunteering for them to work off community service hours. It wasn’t exactly a shock that a loser like Buffy Summers was a criminal.
Angel had helped his mom like he promised, but instead of bolting as soon as the meals were being served like he usually did he stuck around. His mother had been so unabashedly delighted that he couldn’t help but be a bit embarrassed. Maybe he should help out more. Angel spent most of the day helping with minor repair work; dry wall patching here, carpet replacement there. The fact that he’d ended up spending most of the day shadowing Buffy was a coincidence. Mere coincidence.
He frowned to himself. Okay, so he’d kept an eye on Buffy most of the day. He just wanted to make sure she was on the up and up. Or at least that’s what he told himself. That’s how he noticed that she hadn’t eaten anything all day. A reasonable explanation would have been that she was on some drug that killed her appetite. It made sense. And that was initially what he thought. But then when they had been setting up tables and chairs in the converted ballroom that was now a dining room he noticed the longing gazes she gave the rather bland food the shelter was serving. Angel had forgone lunch himself because the food grossed him out, but Buffy had looked at it like it was manna from heaven. But she hadn’t eaten, even when people tried to push her into it. She shrugged off their offers with her usual caustic replies. Buffy Summers seemed determined to make sure that no one tried more than once to reach out to her.
Angel half expected her to throw the hot chocolate and brownies in his face. Hell, in truth, he expected her to steal his car. But she hadn’t. And she had practically inhaled the food. Why she would accept help from him when she wouldn’t from anyone else was beyond him. He glanced over at her. Her shivering had finally stopped, but her tanktop was woefully inadequate for early Fall.
This time, he cruised past her house and stopped around the corner without being told. As the car came to a stop, Buffy didn’t immediately hop out. She looked toward her house, dread written on her face. Sighing, she reached for the handle.
On impulse, Angel reached into the back seat and grabbed his jacket. “Here,” he said, handing it to her.
She looked at him warily for a moment and then shrugged, throwing on the jacket, which was much too large for her. She left the car without so much as a thank you.
Angel watched her trudging steps down the sidewalk for several moments before he pulled away. Buffy Summers was a fascinating contradiction in terms. But not fascinating in any sort of sexual way, Angel quickly assured himself. She was intriguing in a school project sort of way. Yeah. That was it. And he most certainly hadn’t noticed that despite her emaciated frame, she still had a pair of the nicest tits he’d ever seen.
***
Buffy finally heard Angel pull away and she wrapped the jacket tighter around her body. It was huge, hanging almost to her knees. It made her feel safe. Buffy burrowed into the coat, inhaling deeply. It smelled like Angel.
Ethan’s car was gone and the house looked empty. As glad as she was that there was no one there to bug her, she couldn’t stand the thought of being alone. Wrapping Angel’s jacket protectively around her, with her belly full and warmth around her, she headed down the street and back around the corner.
It was only a mile to Spike’s house and Buffy was soon slipping through door to his seedy little basement apartment. He was lying on the couch looking dazed out of his mind as he flipped through the channels.
“Buffy,” he said after a moment, noticing her arrival only after she carefully hung up Angel’s jacket and curled up at the end of the couch. “Glad you stopped by,” Spike said, holding out his arms to her, “been thinking about you.”
She crawled up and straddled his lap, smiling down at him. She liked Spike. He was the only guy in the world who treated her like a person – a person with tits and ass that he always wanted to fondle, but a person nonetheless. Grinning, he pulled a little baggie out of his pocket and shook it, grinning.
“Want some candy, little girl?” he asked. She rubbed her crotch against his and smiled back. He groaned like the easy sell he was and handed it over, already tugging at her shirt.
“Spike…” Buffy started, pulling back slightly. She looked at the bag to Spike and back again. She liked to think of him as her friend with benefits, not as one of her suppliers. She liked to think he was her safe haven, her escape from the rest of the world, not the guy she fucked for drugs.
“Quickie,” he suggested with a wink as if she didn’t owe him, “and then we can watch ‘The Princess Bride.’ I rented it just for you.”
Caving, she smiled happily and opened the bag. She was right the first time. Spike was her friend.
***
TBC