What I Did On My Summer Vacation: Part 1: Buffy's Story
by Elizabeth Ann Lewis
It all felt reassuringly normal. She and Willow shared one of the small, high tables at the Bronze, watching Xander do his impression of an epileptic fit on the dance floor. The music was loud and the place was packed. It was Sunday night. Next morning, Hank Summers would be picking Buffy up and taking her to LA, making this night at the Bronze something of a going-away party.

"Did you talk to Cordelia before she left?" Willow asked, taking a sip of her soda.

Buffy shrugged slightly. "No, not really. She was really hyped on going to study fashion in Paris for the summer. And... well, I don't think she wanted to talk to me. I'm willing to admit that she is not the lowest slime of the universe for the sole reason that she saved your life. But I don't know if I want to be buds with her, you know?"

"I don't know. She was pretty cool that night. She bit one of the vampires, you know."

Buffy blinked. "She what? Didn't you get that the wrong way round?"

Willow grinned, although the memory of that night still made her look a bit haunted. "Nope. She bit one of them. It was cool."

The two girls were silent for a moment. "He's watching me again, isn't he?" Buffy asked finally.

Willow let out a long, slow breath. "I wondered if you had noticed. You haven't talked since that night?"

Idly, Buffy stirred her drink. "No. He disappeared into the dawn... well, the pre-dawn. And since I still don't know where he lives...."

"...and Xander won't tell..." both girls chorused.

"...then I'm stuck waiting for him to approach me again," Buffy concluded. Suddenly determined, she slid off the high stool.

Willow smiled. "So much for waiting?"

"Hey, you know me, seize the moment. Live life, 'cause tomorrow you just might bite the big one. Ooo, bad pun. Didn't mean it. I'm babbling, aren't I? Why am I so nervous?"

"'Cause you're in love. It happens." Willow kept smiling, but it turned a little misty.

Buffy took two steps forward and gave Willow a big hug. "If I don't see you before my dad shows up, have a ton of fun with your... um, computers. I'll write. A lot." Then, squaring her shoulders with determination under the black leather jacket that was way too hot for a California June night, she headed for the shadowed corner where she had felt a pair of laser-intense dark eyes on her.

She half-expected him to slide away before she reached him. If he didn't want her to see him, she wouldn't see him. But he remained where he was, leaning up against the back wall, light and shadow chasing across his face with the flickering lights.

"Hey," she greeted him.

"How are you feeling?" The question was low-voiced and uninflected. He didn't move, didn't reach out to her. Just watched her out of those eyes, a gaze that was almost like a physical touch.

"Alive, thanks to you. And Xander."

Angel shrugged slightly, the first indication that he was made of flesh rather than stone. "Xander saved your life. I couldn't do anything for you."

"You found me," Buffy countered. "I'd say you and Xander pretty much split the honors where my life is concerned. You know," she said diffidently, not meeting his eyes, "I've heard somewhere that if you save a person's life, that person belongs to you."

Angel suddenly pushed up from the wall, turning to walk away. "I'll give it back to you, then. Go live it."

"Hey." Buffy caught his arm as he passed her. "What is *up* with you?" she asked furiously. "You just totally booked after that night. Why did you go?"

Without turning to face her, Angel shook his head. "I thought we agreed that this was never meant to be."

"But that was... before." Buffy swallowed, suddenly at a loss for words.

"Before what?"

"Before... the Master died. Before the Hellmouth closed. Just... before."

Slowly, Angel turned to face her. "And you think that changes things?"

"Doesn't it?" she asked in a very small, fragile voice.

Angel looked down for a moment. When his eyes met hers again, his were no longer deep and soulful. They were yellow and gleaming with a barely-restrained hunger. He crowded her back against the wall, his arms bars on either side of her head. "Look at me! This is what I am, remember?"

Buffy turned her face away. "Quit it!"

"No. Listen to me. *Nothing has changed.* The Master is dead. The one who made me is dead. But I am still a vampire. You're still the Slayer. We are enemies."

"I trust you."

Angel pulled away as though burned. After a long moment, he faced her again. He looked like a normal, mortal guy, maybe a little older than she was, but not enough for anyone to say anything. "Maybe I don't trust myself," he said, his voice raw.

Buffy really, really wanted to touch him then, but she kept her hands to herself. Okay, he needed time. Good thing that's what she could give him. "I just wanted to tell you... I'm leaving town for a bit. I'm going to LA for three months, to spend the summer with my dad."

The throbbing wail of a guitar was the only sound for a few moments. "I... think that's a good thing," Angel said finally.

"Giles said you had a phone. I want the number. I want to talk to you."

"That's not a good idea." Only someone watching him as closely as Buffy would have seen his eyelids flinch in reaction.

"I don't care that it's not a good idea," Buffy said passionately. "You won't let me see you. Fine, your choice, although I don't get it. But I want to talk to you. Angel... I need you." Her voice broke slightly. "Please."

Angel closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, Buffy couldn't read him. She was sure he was going to turn her down, until he asked, "Got a pencil?"

********

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Beeeeeeeeeep.

"Hey, you there? Hello? I don't know why I'm surprised. I mean, you've got a phone, you obviously have an answering machine too. Okay, I suppose it was a little too much for me to expect that you'd actually answer the phone. Duh, huh? Anyway, having a wonderful time, wish you were here. I mean that. The 'wish you were here' part. I was going to ask you to come to LA with me that night in the Bronze, but you were so totally freaked on the idea of even giving me your number that I figured you wouldn't be that hyped to come with me. Yikes, answering machine message from hell. I hate these things, I can't stop talking when I get one. I, uh... I miss you. Call me. My dad's number is area code 310, 825-3401."

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Beeeeeeeeeep.

"Had a lovely time today. Went shopping, and got this killer bikini. It's silvery and my dad is going to wig when he sees it. Saw The Lost World. Talk about people who need to grow some brains. I could have just slain that dino pronto and gotten it over with... I wish you'd pick up. I know you're there. Angel? Talk to me please."

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Beeeeeeeeeep.

"Okay, obviously, pestering you into giving me your phone number was a bad idea. It's testosterone poisoning, right? Anything you get forced into doing is bad. But I'm not going to apologize. You're just going to have to deal with the fact that I'm calling you. A lot. My dad wants to know who I'm talking to. Of course, he doesn't realize I'm talking to a stupid machine, he just thinks I'm dominating the conversation. So speak up some, will you? Later.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Beeeeeeeeeep.

"Angel? Call me, please. I'm in trouble, and I need your help."


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