TITLE: 'Out of Africa' 9/?
AUTHOR: Pythia
E-MAIL: pythia@tiscali.co.uk
DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar Productions, Kuzui Enterprises, 20th Century Fox Television and the UPN Television Network. The story is written for the pleasure of the author and readers, and has no lucrative purpose whatsoever. Please do not reproduce this story anywhere without the author's consent.

POSTING NOTES: *.* is for emphasis. {.} denotes thought and [.] implies translation from another language.

She was alone. She was often alone, but he was never able to guarantee it. There was many a night he'd lurked in the shadows watching her, unwilling to make his presence known while she had company. Like last night, for instance. *Last* night he'd watched her walk into the cemetery and - seeing the man with her - had hastily stepped back into concealment. He knew her Watcher - her *real* Watcher that is, not the Council's second-string substitute - had acknowledged his reappearance in her life with begrudged reluctance, and he'd been loath to aggravate that situation, understanding only too well the animosity that he inspired in the man. If there was a way - *any* way - for him to make amends for the terrible, unforgivable deeds that his soulless self had committed, for the pain and the loss he had inflicted, then he would move heaven and earth to make it happen. But there was no way, no compensation he could offer, no apology he could present that could possibly make up for what he had done. He didn't expect forgiveness; that was more than he deserved, and he knew it. The best he could hope for was reluctant tolerance, a recognition that he *had* a place in Buffy's life - and that, once again, they served a common cause.

Truth was, he had a great deal of respect for Rupert Giles, for his dedication, for his commitment, for his strength of heart - and for his love for his Slayer, which burned in him like a sacred fire, protected by layers of propriety, and its true brilliance concealed from all but the most perceptive of eyes. It was a love that Angel envied in a way. His own was just as fierce, and just as strong - but it demanded more, *needed* more. Much more. The torch the Watcher carried was a sincere and selfless flame; it burned for its own sake, a gift for the soul that inspired it - and it asked for nothing in return.

Which is not to say that it *got* nothing. Far from it in fact. Buffy returned that dedication with a deep and abiding devotion that was so much a part of her that she barely noticed it most of the time. Like any child, confident in a parent's love, she accepted it, depended on it - and seemingly took it for granted. Angel knew better than that. Giles had filled a place in her heart she hadn't even known was empty - and she guarded it with determined loyalty and unswerving affection.

And *that* was why Angelus had taken such delight in tormenting and torturing him. Because knowing *he* suffered had meant *she* suffered, had felt every moment of his pain. Murdering Jenny Calendar had been an entertaining diversion, a means of preventing the threat she represented. Wrapping her up in the trappings of seductive promise, giving her - in death - to the man who'd loved her in life … *that* had been an exquisite attack, one aimed at Buffy's heart with confident cruelty.

It wasn't the worst thing that Angelus had ever done, but that wasn't the point. It was the reason that Angel burned inside, every time he and Giles came face to face.

And it was the reason that he was willing to step back, to let the Slayer and her Watcher share their time together without him. Only, last night, it had nearly cost the man his life …

"Buffy," he called softly as she walked past him, her eyes on the street ahead and her thoughts a long way away. She jumped and whirled to confront him, relaxing into a smile of greeting as she realised who he was.

"Angel." Her relief was almost tangible. She stepped into his arms and pulled him close - not with desire, but *need*. He returned the embrace with gentle consideration, offering her comfort and reassurance, letting her know he would be there for her - no matter what the problem might be.

"I was coming to find you," she said, recollecting her self with an effort and looking up at him with anxious eyes. "We think there may be trouble tonight."

"I'm up for trouble," he offered softly. "Is the lioness out hunting again?"

He'd caught a brief glimpse of the vampiress as she'd fled the scene of her crime, an exotic, dangerous creature, sleek and surefoot in the dark. He'd got a taste of her too - just a hint of her power, a taint that had lingered on her victim's skin.

"Her - or her cubs," Buffy affirmed worriedly. "Wesley thinks she's been recruiting; that there'll be some kind of attack … at the mall, or the Bronze perhaps. She's done it before."

That was bad - and it was good. If the Watchers were on the case, they'd have a chance to defeat the beast. The more they knew about her, the better. "Then they found out who she is? He and Giles tracked her down?"

She shivered, a sudden tremor that reached to her soul. "Not - exactly." Her expression was bleak - and told him more than he wanted to know.

"What's wrong?" he asked, pushing her away a little so that he could read what lay in her eyes. "Something's happened … what - ? *Rupert* …?" he breathed, a sudden sense of horror clenching his heart. She looked away with a wince of distress, confirming his guess and adding to his concern. "But - he was fine last night. Out of danger. Just needing rest."

"She *did* something to him." Buffy's words were tight. "A spell or - *something*. I don't know what. But he's - he's - " She struggled for the words, wrestling with anger and more than a hint of fear. "He's *really* sick. There've been fits - convulsions. Stuff like that. I think - I think you were right. She didn't want to kill him. She wanted him - crippled. Unable to help me. To make us both suffer … Oh *God*," she gulped, fighting for self control. "I can't lose him, Angel. I *can't*."

He pulled her back into his embrace, wishing he could do more to reassure her. It would be so easy to say 'you won't' with confident certainty - but there *was* no certainty, and he wouldn't lie to her, no matter how much she might need him to. A Slayer put her life on the line every time she went into battle - and while the Watcher that guided her was *supposed* to stay back on the sidelines, most of them didn't, and many of them had paid the ultimate price as a result. The role they played made them an inevitable target - which was something they all knew and accepted, the day they took the Watcher's oath.

"Giles is stronger than he looks," he said, offering what little he *could* be sure of. "He won't give up without a fight - and neither will you. We just have to find a way to deal with *her*, that's all. You're not alone in this, Buffy. You have me - and your friends, and that new, would-be Watcher of yours …"

"He's not my Watcher." Her denial was a determined one. After it, her expression softened and she sighed wearily. "But he is *a* Watcher - and he's doing his best. You're right. We have to take the fight to *her*. Find a way …" She broke off, stepping away from him to stare out into the night. "We found some clues. Wesley's working on them. And while he does - how about you and I hunting the huntress?"

He smiled, recognising the way she'd contained her grief, used it to armour herself and strengthen her resolve. "Sound's good to me. Any idea where to start?"

They started at the mall. Late night shoppers barely gave them a second glance as they strolled through the atriums and along the shop lined walkways of Sunnydale's foremost retail centre. There were other couples meandering past the fountains, window shopping or sharing a frozen yogurt from the stand. Gaggles of high school kids were hanging round the food courts, the video store and the games arcade, and some of the college students were holding an impromptu jam session in the music store. But no vampires. Not even the ordinary, common or garden kind.

>From the mall they moved on to the cinema complex, checking out the bustle of the reception area and watching as eager movie goers streamed in to watch the latest Hollywood blockbuster. Angel bought Buffy an ice cream from the 'scoop and stack' stand in the foyer, and they used it as an excuse to lurk for a while, trying for small talk and keeping their senses alert for the first sign of trouble. In any other circumstances, it would have been fun. Angel even contemplated asking Buffy if she'd like to come back once everything had been dealt with. It would be - pleasant - to take her to the movies again, to sit with her in the warmth and the dark of a movie theatre watching the shadows and light of the silver screen play out in front of them. She could eat popcorn and freezer mints, and he could… {could *what*, exactly?} he wondered.

Be with her, that's what. Which was exactly what he was doing now, escorting her on the kind of date that only a vampire and a Slayer could have. A night out, hunting. There'd been a time when he'd have been the hunter that she hunted - but now he was on her side, helping her in her duties, there to watch her back …

His mental turn of phrase gave him cause to wince a little. Buffy's obvious distraction was only partly due to the need to be vigilant. There was a piece of her focussed somewhere else entirely, holding vigil beside a hospital bed, pinned there by a mixture of guilt and fear and anxious love. Angel had nothing but sympathy for that concern, but he feared that it would do just what the vampiress *wanted* it to do - weaken Buffy's resolve and affect her concentration. A troubled Slayer - one thrown off balance and preoccupied by external concerns - would struggle to fight an enemy as powerful and as cunning as this one appeared to be.

She caught him looking at her and smiled before hastily returning her attention to her ice cream. He smiled back, suddenly wondering what he was worrying about. This was *Buffy* - who, beset by all the torment Angelus could devise, had still found the strength to send him to hell. And had done it with love.

"What?" she asked, seeing the look which had crossed his face, and he dipped his head, unwilling to meet her eyes.

"I was just - thinking," he said. "Feeling sorry for Lilithu."

"*Sorry*," she reacted with a hint of disbelief. "The bitch is going down, Angel. As soon we know what she's up to, what she's done. There's no place in Sunnydale she can hide from me."

"That's what I mean. She has no *idea* how strong you are. How strong you can be."

Buffy poked at the remnant of her ice cream, grimacing a little as she considered what that actually meant. "I don't always feel strong," she admitted slowly. "Sometimes saving the world is hard work. But she was the one that made this personal. Nobody," she announced determinedly, "and I mean *nobody*, savages *my* Watcher under *my* nose and gets away with it."

"That's my girl," Angel grinned. "We done here?"

"I think so." She pushed the now empty dish away. "Let's go check out the Bronze."

NEXT