Title: Baby Doll
Author Restive Nature
Disclaimers: I do not own any of the characters from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the Series. They belong to the almighty Joss and I just play with them for my own amusement before putting them away neatly.
Spoilers: Buffy Season Three "Amends"
Summary: A teenage girl with mysterious ties to Angel helps him with his Christmas Amends.
Chapter One
Merry Christmas Angel
"So, what did she give you?" Buffy asked, her curious nature piqued to an intense level. Angel stared at her for a moment before he recalled the package he’d accepted from Dylan. He’d set it on the coffee table when they’d returned to the mansion from their walk. Angel had set about carefully building up a fire, as the mansion was pretty chilly. Only when Buffy had shivered slightly did he realize that. Colder temperatures didn’t bother him, but Buffy was definitely a California sun girl.
"A package of some sort," he answered wryly. Buffy tilted her head at him.
"Ha, ha," she deadpanned. "I meant, what’s in the package?"
"Sorry," he shrugged gently, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "My x-ray vision seems not to be working." Buffy’s eyes widened, as mild irritation warred with her sense of humor.
"Okay," she muttered with a grin. "Something is definitely off. Angel just made with the funny."
"Sorry," he murmured again.
"No, it’s okay," she assured him quickly. "I kind of like it." Angel nodded. He turned his gaze back to the innocuous package on the coffee table. She stood, waiting for him to open it, her curiosity about to make her explode. "Angel, it’s just a bag, it’s not gonna bite." A wry smile twisted her features a moment. "At least I hope it won’t. Never can tell on a Hellmouth."
"I suppose," was his reply. Buffy sighed. Whatever had happened between Angelus and Dylan was obviously affecting Angel a great deal. To her relief, he finally sank to his knees and made to open the bag. Buffy sank down into the sofa, chewing apprehensively on her lower lip. The plastic bag rustled and Angel withdrew a large, flat, gaily wrapped present. A card slipped to the floor, but he didn’t notice.
The paper that the present was wrapped in drew his eye. All over the package were bucolic scenes of the Victorian era. He remembered well those times. He eyed each individual scene, absorbing them all until Buffy cleared her throat. He looked to where she sat and realized that she was pointing at the floor, at the card. That had dropped. Angel set the gift down and picked up the card. He fingered the edge, increasingly aware of his unease at the thought of what Dylan may have gifted him with. And at the same time, the rise of his girlfriend’s ire. With a sigh, he slid a finger under the sealed flap of the envelope and tore it open.
He slid out the card, obviously chosen to match the wrapping paper. The scene on the front depicted an old-fashioned sleigh ride through a snow filled forest. Angel flicked it open. The Greeting Card Company had imprinted the simple ‘Greetings of the Season’ on the cardstock. Underneath, Dylan had written ‘best wishes’ and had signed her name. Her full name. He’d never known before now. His gaze slid to the left, noticing that she’d written more.
‘Dear Angel,’ (he read) I know that you weren’t expecting to ever hear from me. And I understand that. The only reason I am giving you this gift is because the idea got in my mind and just wouldn’t give me any peace until I did something about it. I hope you like this. If you don’t, well, I doubt we’ll see each other, so it doesn’t really matter. D.’
Angel read, then re-read the missive. With careful, precise actions, he arranged the card in the center of the table. It looked slightly forlorn sitting there. As if one lone conscionable person had taken pity and given a card to the person no one cared for and barely remembered. It was a disquieting feeling and surprised Angel in its intensity. He rose up off his knees. He really didn’t like feeling pitied.
"Do you want something to drink?" he spoke rapidly. Buffy watched him,
suspicion replacing curiosity. With a grimace, she shook her head, the patted the seat next to her. Angel dropped into it, resigned. He was familiar with the look on her face. She was determined to make him share.
"Angel, obviously something happened with Dylan that has you upset," she began. She didn’t point out that she was upset as well as myriad potential images ran through her mind. "You know, I’ll understand if something happened between you and her." She bit her lip. "I mean her and… him." She rubbed a distracted hand over her brow. "You know what I mean." He did, but shook his head.
"I know what you mean," he leaned back, watching her contemplatively. "But nothing ever happened." He saw her visibly relax and realized that she believed his demon capable of doing something along that nature. And in that same moment realized anew that at another time, Angelus would have done precisely that. But both he and his demon were obsessed with Buffy. Angelus desired to punish Buffy for being such an important part of the soul that it fought to repress. And hurting Buffy was self-punishment in another form. Knowing that on some level Angel would be aware of her pain, was ample reason for Angelus to torment her. It was punishment for the soul for daring to invade what the demon felt was its rightful possession.
"Really nothing?" her voice was hopeful.
"Well, I talked to her occasionally," he shrugged, wincing inwardly. It was more like snarling, when Angelus had deigned to speak to her.
"So why are you wiggging over the gift?" Buffy asked astutely. Angel smirked easily at her in his own style.
"Because I don’t understand why," he answered truthfully. "I mean, with the last she saw of me…" he trailed off suggestively. Buffy thought for a moment before nodding.
"Maybe it’s booby trapped," she exclaimed. She leaned forward, her fingers itching to rip the paper off and prove herself right or wrong. But then she sat back. "When she knew you, did she call you Angel?"
"No," he thought back, sifting through the few memories that had to do with the girl. "She never spoke my name. Except once." He looked at his girlfriend, resigned. "She knew I was Angelus."
"But this morning, she called you Angel," Buffy mentioned. They were silent, bot digesting this. "She knew that you have your soul."
"I guess."
"Wow," Buffy murmured. "We finally manage to find someone in Sunnydale aside from the gang who doesn’t automatically suppress things or shrug them off." She shuddered at the thought. That was definitely not of the normal. In a town with Vampires, various demons and the mystical force of the Hellmouth, selective memory was the hallmark of sanity retention.
"It would have taken a lot to repress that stuff last year," Angel noted with discomfort.
"You know, all I remember about Dylan was that she had to repeat senior year because she missed a lot of school," Buffy mused. She didn’t notice her boyfriend’s sharp look. Her face brightened a moment. "You know, I think she even beat me in the "missed classes" event of academic aptitude." Angel could suppress the chuckle that rumbled from him at her use of big words. And her surprise when she realized that her usage was essentially correct. "So," she drawled.
"So?"
"You’re not gonna open the gift, huh?" she grinned.
"I will," Angel protested. "I just think-!"
"Argh!" Buffy growled suddenly. "Sometimes Angel, you think too much."
"I have a lot of time on my hands," he agreed.
"All right," Buffy seemed to come to a decision. She planted her feet on the floor and pushed off the sofa. "No more thinking today." She pulled on her coat and tossed him his. "Come on, snow angel!"
"What?" he stared at his jacket, then at her.
"Snow angel," she smiled, knowing he was misinterpreting her.
"I know." He still looked puzzled, glancing out the window. It was frosted over from the cold. Buffy rolled her eyes and hurried out the door. Angel threw a glance at the fire, making sure it was banked properly before following her. She was in the courtyard, lying in the snow when he emerged. Her face was aglow with childish delight and impish mischief. She held up an arm and obligingly helped her up. She moved carefully to avoid disrupting the image she had made.
"See?" she giggled, pointing at the ground. "Snow angel."
Angel tilted his head, as if contemplating a great work of art. He’d caught on. The image evoked memories of his human days, playing similarly in cold weather as a boy. He knew Buffy was watching for a reaction from him. "No," he finally spoke. "I’d say that’s definitely a snow Buffy." She laughed again. The purity of the sound lifted some of the gloom that had fallen over him earlier. And seeing her reaction, Angel promised himself that he would keep it at bay for as long as possible. He wanted to make the day worthwhile for both of them.
He had answers now. And while he wasn’t very happy with the scheme that had brought him back from hell, he’d learned something else. He was important. Some part of him had worth. He had love from Buffy. And he had acceptance. It was a strange feeling. To know that the powers of good fought for him to be as he was. It was punishing, living with the guilt of not only his demon’s past misdeeds, but also his own personal sins. Before he’d been turned, his life had been full of sin. It had been a fruitless attempt at rebellion against the imagined constriction on his life. And yet, at the same time, the behavior he’d displayed had also been expected of him. By his family, his friends and by the society he lived in.
When his soul had been returned to him, he’d become painfully aware of those transgressions as well. And that was part of his guilt. Because, even though the deeds he’d performed were a spectrum apart, sin was sin. And he was unable to separate man from demon because of this. So no matter how many people said that Angelus was the monster, Angel the man, in his soul, he knew better. But now, the importance of what he was trying to be was coming to light. As Whistler had illustrated those many years ago, Angel was going to be someone to be counted upon.
So he allowed Buffy to lead him about town. She wanted to play, re-capture some of the innocence that had been unfairly stripped from their lives. They stopped once briefly, so that Buffy could call her mother and assure her and Faith that she was well. And that she would be home in time for dinner. She also promised her sister Slayer that she would explain all. After that, they visited the park where Buffy occasionally slayed.
It was a wonder to Angel to see it brimming full of life. Children played en masse. Parents enjoyed steaming cups of thermos heated coffee. Some parents even joined in their offspring’s play, freed from the daily grind the centered their lives on. Teenagers, those that weren’t still preoccupied with that they’d received, were wandering about with their friends. No doubt, they were discussing said gifts. Buffy chose an unoccupied picnic table and brushed the puffy, glittering snow from it. They both sat and watched more of the joyous antics before them.
"So, tell me about Dylan," Buffy broke the interlude, her words pouring from her in a rush.
"What about her?" Angel asked warily.
"I don’t know, anything," Buffy shrugged, unable to meet his eyes. She was, if she were honest with herself, more than slightly jealous that this woman knew a part of Angel that she didn’t. For so long, it had been her and Angel against the world. And she could handle the terrible threesome of Angelus, Spike and Drusilla. They had been together long before she’d been born. But now Dylan was somehow thrown into the mix and had come out of it alive and unscathed. It was puzzling and Buffy despised puzzles. She sighed. "I guess it doesn’t matter."
"She liked to take pictures," Angel recalled, a small smile playing on his lips. Buffy’s head jerked up. She studied his face, before apparently deciding that the revelation wasn’t a bad one.
"What else?"
"Let’s see, she’s left-handed," his brow furrowed as he tried to recall what, if anything Angelus had noticed about the teen. "She was very quiet. Oh, and she liked Chinese food."
"That’s it?" Buffy was astonished. "Boy, you really were serious when you said you barely knew her."
"No," Angel agreed. "She certainly didn’t loom large in my mind."
"So, how did you meet her?" she moved on to the next logical question. Angel grimaced. Another bad memory was all she could surmise. "You know what, never mind. There are a lot more fun things we could be doing right now than talking about another woman." Angel’s eyes lit up at the teasing tone in her voice.
"Things?" he whispered, as his head descended towards her. She tilted her head back to see his eyes. She made one small, squeaking protest as his cool lips brushed over hers.
Many hours, kisses and companionable silences later, Buffy realized the time and with one more kiss, said her good-byes. Angel watched her hurry off, a little ache in his chest. She was off to the part of her life that would never accommodate him. He watched until she was out of sight, then pushed up off the bench they’d been sitting on. The park was nearly empty, save for some teenagers. It was going to be dark again soon, as in evening, and most people in the town knew that their homes were the safest place to be, even on Christmas. So with a sigh, Angel began to trudge back to the mansion, wishing desperately that he had someone waiting for him to come home to.
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