Buffy had surprised herself by actually having fun in LA. There weren't any old friends to look up (the ones she hadn't staked avoided her like the plague now) but there were a lot of kids her age in her father's new neighborhood. It was the first chance she'd had in a really long time to just be a kid, to go to movies and go shopping and go to the beach and just hang out. She missed Willow and Giles and Xander and her mom, but she could handle it. Normalcy was nice. She could deal.
Her dad was cool too. Hank Summers was throwing himself into being an awesome father. He took a day off of work and they went to Magic Mountain, just the two of them. But the best times were when they just spent time together, father/daughter stuff. Buffy tried cooking for him, and the resulting call to the fire department meant that they ate out most evenings. But after a year of it being just her and her mom, she was happy to be spending time with her dad.
Then she felt someone watching her.
At first she thought it was just her imagination. Stress, post-traumatic Slaying disorder, bad juju, something, anything other than phantom eyes following her wherever she went. She felt it all the time, daylight and dark, so it wasn't a vampire, but she had learned that there were nasties that walked in the sunlight, too. She'd called Giles' apartment in London and had the phone ring endlessly, she wasn't about to bother Willow with this, Xander would likely find a way to rush out to LA and get himself in trouble, and she sure as hell wasn't going to go begging to Angel for help if he wouldn't even pick up the phone and talk to her.
And then her dad disappeared. Poof. She came back from Batman and Robin in time for them to go to the Barefoot Cafe for dinner, and found... nothing. No note, no struggle, an empty house that echoed with its lack of noise. Trusting instincts that she didn't even think to question, she didn't call the police or her mother.
She called Angel.
The phone was picked up two point three seconds after she told him she needed his help. "I'm here," he said simply.
Buffy closed her eyes, leaning back against the wall in the living room of her dad's condo. "Angel? My dad's missing. And I think someone's been following me."
There was a very, very long silence. Finally, Angel quietly said, "I'll be there."
Buffy hung up the phone, and just stood for a long moment, mind blank with worry and fear. The afternoon sunlight slid golden into the room, making the white-painted walls and chrome furniture glow as though lit from within. Fashion magazines were scattered on the low coffee table, and tapes littered the top of the big-screen TV. She'd only been at her dad's condo a couple weeks, and it looked as though a major disaster had hit it.
Wherever she went, chaos followed.
Angel couldn't be there for a least a few more hours. He had to wait for the sun to go down before he could even think about leaving. And it was high summer, days were long and nights were short. Buffy spent a few moments of distraction wondering how Angel would get to LA. Did he have a car? Would he take a bus? Hitch? Turn into a bat and fly?
"Whoa, Nellie," Buffy muttered to herself, catching her brain from the ever-more ridiculous loop it was whirling in. "Think." She had to figure out who--or what--had her dad. Then she had to figure out how to get him away. Then she had to figure out how to explain to him why he was kidnapped.
She focused on the last thought exclusively, refusing to consider that she might fail with the first two knotty problems. She resisted the urge to pick up the phone and try London again. Giles hadn't been there the five other times she called. Besides, what was she going to do? Demand that he come winging back ten thousand miles to hold her hand?
That's what she wanted to do. She'd never felt so alone in her life. The thought of her father in danger made her want to regress to about the mental age of two. When Darla had attacked her mother, she had exploded into rage. But this time, she didn't have an enemy to fight.
Yet.
The sun was nearly down before something set off Buffy's senses. Golden light had deepened to burnt orange, and her immediate feeling of panic had been replaced by a wearying dread. She almost didn't notice the whisper on the edge of her mind that someone... something was around. Her head came up suddenly, alert, the hunter and the hunted at once.
Being Buffy, she found a stake, stepped out into the postage-stamp sized backyard and demanded, "Who's there?"
"Someone who needs your help," a quiet voice said.
Buffy immediately whirled to face the direction the words had come from, body poised to attack, even as her mind proceeded the fact that it was a male voice and carried a accent that she didn't have the concentration to place right now.
"Please." A shadowy figure stepped into the dim remaining light of day. The man spread his hands in a gesture that indicated peace, showing that they were empty. "I need to speak with you."
"Who are you?" Buffy demanded, not relaxing her stance a smidgen.
"My name is Peter Waring. And I know what you are."
"What I am?" Buffy asked without much hope.
"The Slayer."
Australian. That's what his accent was. The totally unconnected thought popped into Buffy's brain. "You know, I thought the point of having a secret identity was that it was secret. You know, classified. Unknown."
He took another two steps closer to her, seemingly unafraid of her despite his claim that he knew what she was -- and what she was capable of. "I have," he said with distinct satisfaction, "been looking for you for eight years."
Buffy blinked. "Huh?"
"I need your help," he said again. "I've been searching for the Slayer. My home is in danger. I need you to save it."
Buffy dropped her hands from her fighting stance, although she still held the stake. "Excuse me?"
Eagerly, the man moved even closer to her. The wan light revealed a man in his mid to late fifties, with thick grey hair and dark eyes. "I live in a small town on the coast of New South Wales. About fifteen years ago, vampires descended on the town and began systematically destroying it. The people were their food supply, their slaves, their minions. When I realized what the monsters were, I studied what I could do to stop them. And discovered the existence of the Slayer."
She really, really needed Giles right now, Buffy decided. "Wait a minute. So you spent eight years trying to track down the Slayer? How?"
"News reports, mostly. Unexplained phenomenon, rashes of killings that ended with a young girl's appearance. I cannot tell you how many times I nearly found the Slayer in the past few years, only to have her be killed. But you... I knew that you would survive. I knew I would be able to find you."
Buffy's dread was growing, a knot in the pit of her stomach. "And why should I help you?" she asked flatly.
"Aside from the fact that it is your fate and your duty... the fact that I have your father." His voice was preternaturally calm, absolute -- and implacable. And moonlight revealed a gleam of madness in his eyes.
Rage almost blinded her for a few moments. With extreme effort, she pushed it down, pushed it away, reaching for the coldness that enveloped her whenever she fought. "Did it occur to you to ask if I would help you?"
"I couldn't take the chance. I had to be sure," he said fiercely. "Do you understand? My home, my family, my friends have died, are dying. You must come with me."
"Oh, must I? Well, gee, I don't feel terribly much like helping someone who attacks *my* family, you know? So how about you let him go, leave town, and I'll pretend that we never had this conversation, okay?"
Waring simply looked at her. "You'd ignore your duty?" he asked, aghast.
"It's not my duty to go running around the world slaying vampires. And it sure as hell is not my *duty* to be blackmailed into helping save whole towns." Buffy was almost shaking with fury -- and with fear. She could deal with vampires whose agenda was pretty much suck 'em and drop 'em. But a madman who held her father's life in his hands...
Waring's face smoothed from its perplexed look. "You're angry. I understand," he said soothingly. "But you will understand, if you think on it, why I felt I had to do as I did. I will speak with you tomorrow. Good night."
Buffy moved fast, but he slipped through her fingers like a ghost, disappearing into the shadowy dusk, as elusive as the monsters he wanted her to kill.
********
There was a definite fray in the threads of the carpet by the time the clock chimed midnight. Buffy couldn't sit still, couldn't stop herself from pacing back and forth. Nerves nibbled on her stomach, and her head ached from worry and thought.
"Have to think clearly," she said aloud, needing the comfort of her own voice, the semblance of company. Instead, it just made her feel more alone. There was no one in the world but her. No one to turn to. "Damnit, when he comes back tomorrow, I have to somehow make him tell me where Dad is, I...."
For the second time that night her attention was drawn by the sense of someone's approach. She retrieved the stake that had never been far from her hand. If it was Waring, then she didn't need it to hurt him. But she couldn't forget that it had been in LA that she had encountered vampires for the first time. It would be Waring's luck for the Slayer to get herself killed from carelessness just after he found her. And wouldn't *that* just make his kooky self thrilled?
She made herself wait, made herself be silent and listen. Footsteps in the night, soft, furtive... hesitant? They stopped right outside of the front door.
In one quick move, Buffy yanked the door open and brought the stake down in a threatening dive that could easily change into a fatal one.
Angel raised his hands and took one step back. "Hey, you asked me to come down."
"Oh." Blowing a wisp of hair away from her eyes, Buffy lowered her arm. "Sorry. I'm... on edge. A bit." She turned around, stepping back through the door, dropping the stake on a small table. "I've had a freaky night. I -- are you coming in or what?" she finally asked impatiently.
Angel remained on the threshold. He propped one hand on the doorjamb, tilting his head to look at her, a stare that Buffy mentally compared to a CAT scan. "You have to invite me in, remember?" he said finally.
"Oh. Right. Uh, what do I say?"
"'Come in' would work."
"Come in. Please." She shut the door behind him, throwing the deadbolt automatically. ~Okay, now what? I can't exactly offer him a drink. Well, I could, but that would really be a sucky idea...~
"What's the matter?" Angel had been prowling the apartment, but turned at her slight groan.
"Sorry. Really bad mental pun. I -- um. Oh, hell." She sank down on the couch and put her head in her hands.
She sensed him moving, coming nearer. "Buffy." Angel's tone on her name made her look up, made her not even care anymore that tears were streaking down her face. "You asked me here to help you. I want to help. Tell me what's going on."
"Right." She scrubbed her face briefly. "It's... my dad." Her voice hitched slightly before she caught it. "After I called you tonight, I had a visitor. This guy... Peter Waring. He's from Australia. He said that vampires were destroying his town. He wants me to go down there and rescue the town. And he kidnapped my dad to make sure I would."
After a moment, Angel said slowly, "Somehow, I thought it would be vampires who had done this."
"So did I. It's easier that way. That someone -- an ordinary someone, a non-demon someone -- could do this... I don't know. It freaks me out." She took a deep breath. "I don't think this guy's completely there. He's definitely whacked. And he's got my dad." The thought had her squeezing her eyes shut again.
"What do you want me to do?" The words were simple, honest, and to the point.
For the first time, Buffy smiled. Watery and trembling, but a honest smile. "What you're good at. Get me info. This Waring guy is going to be back here tomorrow night. I'll stall him somehow. How are you at skulking?"
His half-hitch of a smile matched hers. "It's one of my greatest talents."
"Good." She nodded and said it again. "Good. Okay." She got to her feet, began pacing again, thinking out loud. "We need to find you a place to sleep. My dad's room has heavy drapes. If we put up something else to block the windows, you should be all right--"
Angel put out his hand, caught her arm on one of her frantic passes. "Buffy..."
Her face fell. "Oh, God. He's got my dad. That madman has my dad," she whispered. The pain was shattering. Bad enough that her mother had nearly died at Darla's hands, that she had nearly become nothing more than a plaything in a power struggle she should never have been touched by. Now her dad... her dad...
Before she broke, though, she found comfort. Angel's arms were around her tightly, and she held on for dear life. ~Not alone. I'm not alone. So good to not be alone in this...~
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