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The murmur of voices pulled Buffy awake. Blinking, she yawned and forced her eyes open.
She sighed. She’d been at Angel’s for two days, and today was the day she’d promised her mother that she’d be home. Even though she *did* want to be home again, she would miss the peacefulness of his apartment. She would especially miss being with him. Curling up next to him in his chair while he read, feeling his arms around her as she fell asleep, watching *him* sleep.
Suddenly Buffy remembered what had woken her. Frowning slightly, she strained her ears to the outer room. She recognized Angel’s voice, but he was talking so low that she couldn’t make out the words. The other voice was low also, and although it sounded familiar, she couldn’t quite place it.
She sat up, swinging her legs off the bed. Pausing for a moment, she glanced around the floor. “Clothes. Yes. Clothes would be a good idea,” she muttered to herself. Grabbing the first thing that she touched, which happened to be a shirt of Angel’s, she put it on and buttoned it. It hung just above her knees. Deciding that it covered enough, she pushed past the curtain that sectioned off the little alcove.
And promptly stopped in her tracks. Angel had pulled his foot stool slightly away from the chair and was sitting there. Across from him, comfortably ensconced in the armchair, was the demon Whistler.
He turned to face her. Feeling suddenly cold, Buffy wrapped her arms around herself. She felt like if she let go, she would fall to pieces on the floor. The last time she’d seen Whistler, he’d told her that she had to destroy Angel. She still didn’t know whose side he was on, if anybody’s. And deep inside her, there was this irrational fear that his presence meant that Angel would go away again.
She took a deep breath. “Did you come to take him away from me again?” she asked, her voice shaking ever so slightly.
One corner of Whistler’s mouth turned up in a half-smile. “No, kid,” he said gently. “I don’t think that I could, even if I tried.” He paused. “Even if I wanted to.”
Buffy let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Every muscle in her body relaxed, and she felt herself smiling back at him. She walked over and sank to the floor by Angel’s feet, tucking her legs underneath her and leaning her head against his knee. She felt Angel bend down to kiss the top of her head, and twisted her neck around so that the kiss landed on her mouth instead.
She heard Whistler chuckling. “You were right, Angel. She *is* prettier than the last Slayer.”
Buffy pulled away from Angel and raised her eyebrows at him. “And when exactly did you say *that*?”
Angel gave her a slightly guilty look. “We-ell, actually.......”
Whistler glanced from one to the other. “Angel, I said you were supposed to be a *cryptic* guy, not a completely silent guy. *Tell* the kid things every once in a while - you know, with*out* making her give you the third degree?”
Angel glared at him. “I was going to. I just never got around to it.” >{?Buffy was looking back and forth from one to the other, resembling a spectator at a tennis match. “Whoa. Wait a second. Still needing back story here? What are you two talking about? What does this have to do with me being prettier than the last Slayer?” She turned to Whistler and gave him a look that would have made a hardened criminal cringe. “And when and why did you *tell* him he was supposed to be a cryptic guy?”
Angel sighed. “I was living in Manhattan about two years ago.”
“ ‘Living’ is a stretch. ‘Scrabbling for an existence like a bum on the streets’ comes a lot closer to the truth,” Whistler put in.
Angel gave him a withering look. “Could you let me tell the story?” Whistler put up his hands in a ‘peace’ gesture. “Thank you.” He turned back to Buffy. “Anyway, I was living on the streets, and one night this strange guy in strange clothes with a Brooklyn accent comes up to me and offers me the chance to be somebody. I had no clue what he was talking about.” He was staring off into space, reliving the memory as he spoke. “He showed me you. You were waiting for your boyfriend to get out of football practice, and your first Watcher showed up.” He looked down at Buffy. She, too, was lost in the past, experiencing the moment as if for the first time. “I...” He swallowed hard. “I was in the graveyard that night. And I was outside your house when you got home afterward. I watched you through the window.”
Buffy looked up at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She smiled. “I guess you really are my guardian angel, then, aren’t you?” He nodded slowly, the a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Whistler cleared his throat. “Well, kids, I hate to interrupt this touching moment, but I really just stopped by to make sure that everything was back on track.” He stood up and headed for the door. Opening it, he turned back and grinned at them. “I’ll be in touch. Don’t get yourselves killed.”
And he was gone.