Anam Cara
Part Two
By Gem
"Tell me again why we're doing this in a restaurant," Angel grumbled, pulling dark sweater over his head. As his head came through the hole, he continued his diatribe. "I mean, do we really want your father trying to stake me with a chair leg while half of Sunnydale is trying to eat?" Suddenly another horrifying thought struck him. "It's not an Italian place, is it? You know I have certain issues with...just tell me it's not Italian."
"Easy, big fella; I already told Dad you're allergic to garlic." Buffy turned from the mirror on the vanity table, forsaking her make-up rituals to reassure him. "And would you relax about the restaurant thing; it's no big deal. I thought it would be easier if we got Mom out in a public place to start the evening off calmly. Dad can see how unfair she is to you, and that will help when we get him back to Mom's house and break the news. I want him firmly on our side before he hears anything that might, umm, make him a little nervous."
"Like hearing his daughter's boyfriend is a two-hundred-year-old bloodsucking demon?" He was trying to keep his voice light, but he could tell from Buffy's wince that it was a losing battle.
"Yup, that would be a big part of it." She turned back to the mirror and continued to speak as she applied her eyeliner. "Of course I don't think he's going to be doing handsprings when he finds out all the little sidebars of my life story either, and when he hears that Mom knew and didn't tell him..."
Buffy twirled the pencil between her fingers as she contemplated the ensuing scene. It wasn't hard to imagine; similar dramas had been played out almost every night of the last few years of her parents' marriage.
"Let's just make sure we're back at the house by then; we so don't want to be in public for that rehashing of the 'she's my daughter too' argument. It's an oldie but a goodie from the divorced parents' songbook." She picked up her blush brush, and then put it down with a sigh; suddenly it hardly seemed worth the effort. All the colors in the Crayola 64-pack wouldn't make her visible once that portion of the evening started.
Angel was overcome with a wave of guilt. He'd been obsessed with his own visions of the night before him, and somehow lost sight of Buffy's concerns about the same. She was not only fighting for her life with him, but also her own independence from her parents. It was a fight he remembered all too clearly from his own youth, but he was determined her struggles would end on a more positive note.
Of course as long as Buffy didn't gut her parents, he reflected with grim amusement, it couldn't help but be at least slightly more positive.
"Sweetheart, I'm sorry." He swiftly crossed the room and rested his hands on her bare shoulders, gently massaging the knots he could feel beneath her skin. "I guess I'm a little wired now that it's time, but I know this isn't easy for you either. We'll get through it somehow, though, and I guarantee it will be in one piece."
Buffy leaned back into his hands, relishing the feel of his long cool fingers smoothing the tension from her muscles. Closing her eyes to concentrate on the sensations, she tipped her head back and offered her lips in an invitation he was only too happy to accept.
The upside-down kiss ended quickly, but Angel was not yet finished with his ministrations. His hands still coaxed the worries of the day from her neck, and then began moving down to offer similar comfort to her back. He nuzzled her hair with his cheek as Buffy arched her spine and twisted her head to capture his lips once more.
The ringing of the phone put an end to Angel's new career as a massage therapist in short order.
"Did I tell you we're not having one of these at the new house?" he grumbled as he reached for the cordless phone on the dresser. "No phone, no fax, no doorbell, nothing. When we close that door, we're on a desert island."
Buffy smiled as she slid her hand down his free arm. "Sounds great to me. When do we set sail?"
"As soon as the Inquisition is over," he promised, clicking the phone on. "Hello," he snapped into the mouthpiece, not really caring whom he might offend. "No, I don't want my carpets cleaned...yes, eventually, but not right this minute...I don't care if it's a free home trial...if you call again, you are going to become one of the stains on my rug. Good night!" He slammed the phone down on the dresser.
"Angel," Buffy said slowly, "have you been drinking Cordelia's espresso again?" She raised an eyebrow at him.
"What? No! Please." Suddenly the reason for her question became apparent. "I'm sorry; I don't mean to come unglued. But it's been like this all day. If it's not Giles on the phone about a translation, then it's Willow coming over to share a new spell, or Xander dropping in to..." he cocked his head, "What was his excuse again?"
"Pizza. He thought Willow said she was going to bring one with her."
"Oh, right. Well, that one may actually have been legit, but the others..."
Buffy stood up quickly and wound her arms around him. "Funny, isn't it? We're so close to getting Cordy and Doyle trained to knock before they barge in, and then we come back here and it's time to send the rest of the gang to Obedience School."
"I'll pay for the choke chains."
She pretended not to hear his offer. "I didn't think it would get so out of hand when I called Will, but I guess it's finally dawned on them that this is it. I'm gone. To us it's exciting but they...well, they're feeling a little abandoned."
"And I'm the one who's kidnapping you," he concurred glumly.
"Let's call it a co-kidnapping," she compromised. "I'm a willing conspirator. More than willing. Enthusiastic even. But we can't expect them to feel the same way."
"No, I suppose not. I know if they tried to take you away from me...well, the imagery is a little...but hey, we probably shouldn't be going there right now." He smiled guiltily at her. "Maybe that's why I'm so edgy tonight. I know exactly how your mother feels about me being in your life, and now she's trying to get your father on her side. I don't want you to feel pulled between us all, but every day we're together makes me greedy for more. I couldn't stand..."
She didn't let him complete the thought; to her mind it wasn't worth giving air to. She swiftly rose to her toes and sealed her mouth to his, effectively diverting his attention.
"We want happy thoughts," she said a few minutes later, " only happy thoughts. You, me, our new house, lots of demons to kill...okay, well, that might not qualify as a bona fide happy thought in some universes, but it'll get me through summer reruns." She grinned at him, grateful to see a smile chase across his pale face before he leaned over to kiss her one last time.
"You're a nut, you know that, don't you?"
"And aren't you the lucky one for it," she agreed, reaching for her lipstick and a tissue to do a little damage control. That accomplished, she grabbed the shawl Angel had thoughtfully draped across the back of her chair and flashed him a relatively bright smile. "Okay, I'm as gorgeous as I'm going to get with butterflies doing the Macarena in my stomach. How about you?"
Angel slipped on his suit jacket, checking his pocket for keys and a wallet. Finding neither, he glanced wildly about the room until his eyes lit upon the objects, resting on the nightstand just inches from his left hand. He grinned sheepishly as he scooped them up.
"I'm doing great. Just great."
* * * * *
Angel's nerves improved only slightly on the drive to the restaurant. Watching Buffy as she played with the radio station and rummaged through the glove compartment for a breath mint made the world and his place in it start to shift back into perspective. But all too soon they were pulling up to the curb and it was time to face the lions. When he opened Buffy's door and offered her a hand, he didn't let it go.
"This is the easy part, right?" he muttered as they walked into the restaurant. "Dinner, a few drinks," he looked sharply at Buffy, "for us, not you."
She made a face at him as they passed the coatroom.
"A little meaningless small talk," he continued, "and then we're outta here." He sighed heavily and forced himself to let go of her hand. "And then the real fun begins."
They paused in the doorway of the dining room, searching for Hank or Joyce Summers.
"Oh, wait, there's Mom," Buffy waved half-heartedly towards a table by the fire. "No sign of Dad, though."
The light from a wall sconce reflected off of her hand as she waved, reminding Angel of another potential pitfall. "Buffy," he asked warily, "does your father know that we're not actually..." he glanced down at her left hand, fingers bare except for a small silver claddagh ring, "yet?"
Buffy flushed; Angel wasn't sure if it was due to embarrassment at her deception, or his own use of the word 'yet.' He was hoping it was the latter.
"Well," she said, dragging the word out to impossible lengths in her hesitation, "you've actually seen more of him than I have lately. What have you told him?"
Part of him wanted to tease her a bit, since she was the one who announced to her father that they were engaged, not to mention telling Kate that they were already married. But he remembered the catch in his throat when he heard Buffy call him her fiancé, and when he heard Kate call Buffy his wife. On the surface she had lied, but there was truth at the essence, and that truth deserved a return in kind.
"I've told him...that I love you very much."
Buffy slipped her arm under his jacket and around his waist, nestling in to the line of his body. "So do we make a run for it while we still can, or just pull out the guns and fire first?"
"Very funny." He cocked a half-smile as he draped his arm around her shoulders, holding his love fast within his embrace.
"He thinks I'm kidding," she murmured to the air as they began to cross the room.
* * * * *
Joyce could feel every muscle in her body tense when she spotted her daughter and Angel standing in the doorway of the dining room. Even from this distance she could see that he had his arm around Buffy in an unmistakable gesture of solidarity. More than that: of possession. He was shouting to the world that her little girl belonged to him, as though she was a prize. No doubt to a vampire she was, but it was a gesture designed to set any loving mother's teeth on edge.
She focused on her objective: strength in numbers. When Hank learned the truth about his daughter's companion, he would be every bit as outraged as Joyce. No more of this "but he's not a bad guy, Joyce" and "he really seems to love her, Joyce" and, of course, her very favorite: "but she seems so happy, Joyce."
No more.
A smile, she needed a smile. Joyce panicked for a moment; she couldn't smile. What did she have to smile about? Her daughter was in love with the undead. An undead. Whatever. She had nothing whatsoever to smile about, and yet she must. She needed to project optimism and control, so that Angel would know he was facing an unstoppable force. She had managed to persuade him once to leave her daughter, using smiles and soft words. Tonight the words would not be as soft, but she must seem every bit as confident of herself. He had to know that she knew that…well, he had to know that she was right and he was wrong and he better leave before she found Buffy's secret stash of stakes and turned him into a just-add-water vampire.
It frightened her how easily that thought brought the smile that had previously eluded her.
* * * * *
"She's smiling," Angel muttered into Buffy's ear. "Why is she smiling?"
He wasn't really expecting an answer as he steered them both around a chair left in the aisle by a careless waiter. His lover, however, had a fairly good idea of her mother's thought processes.
"Umm, she thinks she's going to win?" Buffy glanced up at Angel, all traces of levity gone. "She's not, you know."
Angel drew a deep unnecessary breath. "I know."
"This is so funny," she marveled as they approached the table. "When we met my dad, I was the one who was jell-o and you were fine. I guess the foot's on the other...no, wait, reverse that."
"At the time you were barely speaking to him; it really didn't matter if he liked me," Angel explained. "Now you two are a family again, and you and I are a family and you and your mom are a family. I'm just not sure if you and I and he and she can make one family."
"Doesn't matter. The you and I part is the only part that counts."
"No, it's not."
She didn't have a chance to reply; they were at the table.
"Buffy, Angel." Joyce nodded regally at them from her chair. "You're a little early."
"Says the woman who's halfway done with her martini already." Buffy draped her shawl across the back of a chair and tried a slightly stiff smile on for size. "Is Dad here yet?"
"It's a vodka gimlet, actually; I didn't like the martini they brought me. And yes, he was here before me even. He and his date, imagine that." Joyce forced a soft laugh. "They went to check her coat or something, but they'll be right back."
"His date? I thought this was supposed to be a family dinner." Buffy made a face as Angel pulled out a chair for her.
"Yes, well..." Joyce's voice trailed off, not quite mentioning Angel's less than family status, but leaving her companions in no doubt as to her meaning.
Buffy flushed with annoyance, but Angel's hand was steady and cool against her back as she took her seat. It reminded her not only of the battle to be won, but the prize for victory.
"I just didn't know Dad was seeing anyone," she explained with grudging patience. When Angel sat down beside her, Buffy took his hand firmly in hers.
"Did you know?" she asked him quietly. It wasn't like Angel to keep secrets, at least not anymore.
He shrugged as he signaled a waiter to come over to take their drink orders. "No, this is the first I've heard of it. Must be someone new."
There was a brief awkward moment of silence. Angel reached back in his memory for the right phrase or question to use to break the ice, but Joyce had been right about one thing: even as a human he had never been a "dinner with the parents" type of guy.
"So, umm, I noticed you've traded in the SUV, Joyce. How do you like your new Cruiser?" It wasn't much of a conversational gambit, but if Joyce liked cars the way Hank did...
"It's fine."
...And yet there was always the chance she didn't, Angel realized an instant too late. Obviously a mutual passion for cars was not one of the things that brought Joyce and Hank together. Still, and despite the distinct chill in the air, he persevered.
"I had to laugh when I first saw those cars. Not because they're funny or anything," he added quickly when he saw Joyce's lips tighten. "They're just kind of old-fashioned looking; it surprised me. I mean, I used to have a car just like that back in the..." his voice dwindled away for a moment before he gathered the strength to finish his ill-advised comment. "Back in the forties," he finally said, flashing an apologetic look at the wincing Buffy.
If anything, Joyce's expression became even cooler.
"So did my grandfather."
Angel was saved from further foot swallowing by Hank's return.
"Well, good evening everybody." Hank kissed Buffy's cheek and shook Angel's hand as he came around the table. "Sorry I stepped away; I just needed to take care of something." He slid into his seat next to Joyce and beamed at one and all.
"Or someone," Buffy corrected him dryly. "Mom told us you brought a date." She glanced over her shoulder. "Where is she?"
"She needed to make a brief stop in the, umm, well, I think she wanted to fix her make-up or something. Make a good impression and all."
"So how did you two meet?" Buffy asked, struggling to act normally. She really didn't relish Joyce shooting verbal daggers in front of a complete stranger, but there seemed to be no escape from the situation. Maybe it would at least draw some of the heat away from Angel.
"Listen, this evening is about you and Angel. No talk about my love life." Hank nervously cleared his throat. "Not that there's much to tell anyway. I just met her a few weeks ago. That conference I went to in New Orleans; do you remember me mentioning that? She was staying at the same pension and we...well, I wouldn't have even brought her tonight, but she got all dressed up for a family dinner and then I guess her family had to back out. I felt bad."
Angel shot a quick look at Buffy, gauging the state of her temper. She seemed more exasperated than truly angry, which relieved him immensely. There would be enough issues to deal with in the next few hours without the addition of hurt feelings over Daddy's new girlfriend.
"Well, I'm sure she appreciates you inviting her," Angel said smoothly. Truth be told, he was rather relieved to be sharing the spotlight as the outsider at a family picnic.
"I just hope I'm not inviting her into anything too personal," Hank joked. "I'm assuming this urgent need for a family conference has to do with setting a wedding date."
Buffy immediately pounded her choking mother on the back as Hank stood up and waved to someone approaching from behind.
"Here she is."
Angel gave Buffy's hand an extra squeeze.
"Did you start the party without me?" asked a voice from behind them.
Buffy and Angel both froze in the act of turning around in their seats. The voice was lilting and musical, and in the past it was usually followed by the sound of screams.
As she came around the table, Drusilla beamed at them.
* * * * *
Hank rested his arm around Drusilla's waist. "Drusilla dear, I want you to meet...Buffy, what's wrong?"
Buffy was halfway out of her seat before she realized she couldn't attack her nemesis in the middle of a restaurant. Even if the crowd of diners hadn't been an issue, the solid bulk of Angel's body provided a substantial obstacle, suddenly positioned as he was between she and Dru.
Sometimes it bothered her that Angel could read her thoughts before she even finished the sentences.
"Umm, nothing Dad," Buffy managed to choke out. She clutched Angel's arm with a deadly grip, though she wasn't sure if it was for the sake of her hold on reality, or his.
"Angel love, I had no idea." Dru slipped away from Hank to move closer to her sire. Her smile was innocent and charming, as long as one didn't attempt to look too deeply into the black pools of her eyes.
"You two know each other?" Hank hoped his voice didn't sound as suddenly deflated as his ego. This was a most unexpected, and none-too-welcome turn of events.
Dru glanced quickly over her shoulder, lightly brushing Angel's face with the swinging tips of her long dark hair. "Angel is my brother, dear one. The one I told you about."
"Drusilla," Angel acknowledged her gravely.
He didn't trust himself to say more, and he could only hope his face was as impassive as he tried to make his voice, in the teeth of her familial fictions.
Hank's face cleared in an instant. "Your brother? Well that's great, just great! I had no idea that Angel was..." he looked quickly at Angel, "though come to think of it, you did mention you had a sister. Is Drusilla the one that nicknamed you Angel?"
"No," Angel snarled before he could help himself. The swift mocking smile that danced across Dru's lips forced him to control his temper. "That was my little sister Kathy." He paused. "She died a long time ago."
Joyce glanced from Drusilla to Angel in abject confusion. "Your sister? But how is that possible?" And why did the girl's name sound so familiar to her?
"We'll do the family tree later, Mom." Turning to Dru, the Slayer all but growled, "What are you doing here?"
Buffy instantly felt the muscles in Angel's arm cord beneath her fingertips, reminding her that antagonizing Drusilla in a restaurant full of innocent people was liable to end in the diners becoming the entrée.
"We thought you were in Spain," she continued in a slightly less menacing tone.
"I was, but I missed my family." Dru turned to Hank, her peculiarly sweet smile at full wattage. "Are we going to sit down?"
"Oh, of course." Hank pulled out a chair for her, seating Dru between himself and Joyce. He sat down next to Angel, glancing from his daughter's companion to his own. "Well, I can certainly see the family resemblance."
Angel was visibly startled. "I don't think I..."
"The dark hair, the eyes, the pale skin," Hank elaborated, gesturing from one marbled cheek to the other. "Even the cold hands," he joked, swiftly caressing one of Drusilla's hands as it lay on the table next to his own. "The only thing that doesn't match is the accents."
Buffy winced as she took in the similarities her father pointed out. She had never noticed how much they looked alike; she was only grateful that Dru was not yet another entry in Angel's little blondes book. There were already too many of those for comfort.
"Angel is from Ireland," Dru said limpidly. "He was raised there by his mother."
Angel had a brief flash of memory. Silk pressing down on his face, held there by slabs of oak. Clods of freshly turned earth raining down on him as he forced open the lid of his prison. Air rushing into his lungs, drawn there by greedy but unnecessary gasps. And waiting at the end of the journey was Darla, coolly amused by his struggles, yet heatedly impatient for his arrival.
Drusilla was not lying; his mother had indeed raised him, from the grave if nothing else.
"I was raised in London by my father," she continued, flashing an impish grin at Angel.
"So you're not completely brother and sister? I mean you're half or step or something?" Hank frowned as he worked out the logistics. "Actually, if your mother wasn't her mother and Drusilla's father wasn't..."
"We're half," Angel replied heavily as he pulled Buffy's chair back into place for her.
"I still don't understand." Joyce's voice was a little louder this time, and more insistent. Whoever this girl was, and it was clear Buffy and Angel knew even if Hank did not, she could not be Angel's sister.
"Angel really didn't get along with Drusilla's, umm, father," Buffy interjected hastily. She slipped into her chair and pulled Angel's cold, still hand into her own warm ones, squeezing it tightly. "They had nothing in common, nothing at all. So he didn't see much of Dru until a few years ago."
"Daddy and I were very close." Her tone was soft, but steady, with none of the familiar singsong quality Buffy had come to associate with her mad rival. "It broke my heart when he died. I would give anything to bring him back."
"That's never going to happen," Buffy said flatly. Vivid images suddenly rose in her head, demonstrating how she could easily prevent such an occurrence. Most of them involved Dru and various types of wood, some of it in the form of torches.
Really big torches.
"Buffy!" Joyce was pulled from her own confused ruminations by her daughter's rudeness. This girl might be lying about her family, but it in no way excused how far beyond the bounds of civility her daughter had wandered. "That was a very unkind thing to say."
"Mom, you don't..." she started to protest, before remembering her mother had never met Drusilla face to face before. "Never mind." Buffy dropped her head for a moment in discouragement before meeting Dru's eyes. "I'm sure you miss your 'father'," she said through gritted teeth, "but sooner or later you have to move on."
"And I am," Dru said stoutly, "with the help of kind new friends." She patted Hank's arm fondly.
Angel resumed his seat, trying not to watch as Drusilla's platonic patting became more demonstrative. If he didn't see it, he wouldn't have to stop it.
Yet.
The waiter at last made his appearance, pen and paper poised to serve. "Can I get anyone a drink to start with?"
"God yes," Angel groaned before he could help himself.
"Nothing for me, thank you ever so much." Dru smiled sweetly at the waiter. "I'm sure they don't carry bottles of my favorite."
"You're not getting anything on tap, that's for sure," Buffy muttered under her breath.
* * * * *
Summers, party of five, was a quiet table. Periodically Hank would try to start a conversation, but responses were generally monosyllabic and monotone. He thought at least Drusilla could be sparked into animation, but she merely smiled at his efforts and toyed with her food. Eventually even Hank the eternal optimist had to admit defeat, and lapsed into silence. The only sounds they heard came from other diners, and the clicking of silverware against the plates.
Suddenly Drusilla's clear voice penetrated the oppressive stillness.
"Angel, love, won't you please dance with me?"
"Excuse me?" The steak knife slipped from Buffy's suddenly nerveless fingers, arcing through the air over the table.
Without even thinking about it, Angel stretched out a long arm and caught the knife as it flew past him. Buffy flashed him a grateful smile, which quickly died when she realized the utensil's trajectory had placed Drusilla as an end point...and the handle of the knife was wooden.
Hank whistled, releasing the breath he'd been holding. "That was quite a catch," he said shakily.
Angel shrugged, not daring to meet Buffy's eyes. "It was nothing."
"I want Angel to dance with me," Drusilla reiterated stubbornly, seemingly oblivious to her near miss with a powdered future.
Buffy snatched the knife back from Angel and placed it on the table with exaggerated care. Her fingers lingered on the handle. "I don't think this is really the time for dancing, Drusilla. Some of us are still eating."
Drusilla pouted and tugged at Angel's sleeve. "Your father is still eating, but I'm done, and Angel is sitting here all in a lump, not eating a bite."
"My appetite is a little off," Angel mumbled, grimacing slightly as he pushed his plate away.
"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle anorexic?" Buffy asked, her voice dripping with saccharine. She gestured at Drusilla's nearly full plate. "You hardly touched your own steak. Not tartare enough for you?"
"I'm too excited to sit still and eat. All of us here together, it's everything I imagined it would be. Except that Angel is all grumbly." She pushed her chair out and stood up, dragging at Angel's arm again. "I think he needs some fun."
"I think he needs some peace and quiet," Buffy said succinctly. She abandoned her steak knife to wind her arms around Angel's other arm, leaning solidly into his shoulder.
Angel sighed heavily and pushed his chair back, raising Buffy's hand to his lips for a kiss before he stood up. "And I think the only way he's going to get it is by giving the lady a dance." He looked sharply at Drusilla. "One dance," he repeated firmly.
She clapped her hands and squealed in delight. "Oh goody; a dance, a dance. I do so love to dance."
"Angel..." Buffy's voice trailed off as she worriedly looked up at her lover.
Angel leaned down and rested his hand gently on her shoulder as he spoke softly in her ear. "We need to know why." He said no more, but he could tell by the unhappy look in Buffy's eyes that she understood him too well.
"Be careful," she mouthed at him, not daring to say the words out loud for fear of what they could inspire in Drusilla.
"Always," he whispered back, and they both knew there was more to the promise than safety.
* * * * *
Drusilla slid easily into Angel's arms once they reached the dance floor. He was disturbed by how familiar it felt to be holding her, after all these years. After a few minutes of silent dancing, however, he realized a significant difference from the Dru of old. This Dru actually stayed in his arms, instead of spinning wildly across the room, laughing and singing...and killing every human within reach.
"I can't believe you're so calm, Dru," he said dryly. "I always knew a lot of the New Age moonchild chatter was just for show, but I had no idea how much. You really are quite the little actress."
Drusilla scowled at him as she swayed to the music. "You're not being very nice to me, Angel. And after I came all this way just to see you and my new mummy."
"Oops, careful there." Angel waved a scolding finger at her. "You can't very well pull off whatever it is you're trying to pull off if you start the little girl routine again. Spike might have fallen for it hook, line and sinker, but you look a little too close to Buffy's age for Hank to feel comfortable with it."
She tossed her head defiantly. "Men love to feel protective of a woman. It makes them feel all manly." She waited for approval of her witticism, but Angel was not so obliging.
"There's protective and then there's pedophile."
"It always worked on you," she said shrewdly, "or does Daddy not remember that far back?"
"I remember. I remember it got real old real fast. Why do you think I encouraged you to make a little playmate of your own?"
He closed his mind to the sudden reminder that her little playmate had once been a person, a live human being, whose death he solicited not even for something as necessary as blood, but just for his own peace of mind. Drusilla's childlike behavior had rapidly worn out his limited patience, and Darla's.
A knowing smile crept across her lips. "I think it was because we made Darla just a teensy bit too jealous. You were afraid of getting staked in your sleep."
"Why are you here, Dru?" he asked abruptly. "Spike's gone; he already sailed to Spain looking for you." Angel tipped his head back and contemplated the ceiling as he mused. "But chasing after him isn't your style anyway. You'd want him to do the legwork. And I can't believe you gave up Pamplona for a trip down memory lane with me."
"But Spain was so boring," she complained, a frown marring the smooth landscape of her pale brow. "All those noisy humans speaking with those funny accents; it made my head ache."
He smiled at Dru; a smile Buffy only let herself remember in her nightmares.
"Spill it, starshine, before Buffy gets completely fed up and comes after you with that steak knife she was fondling." He removed his hand from her back to run a finger down his lapel. "You know, I honestly don't mind getting a little dust on this coat if it's in a good cause."
"I missed having a daddy," she said with a pout. "Spike was a fun toy, but he was my little boy." Drusilla tilted her head at a coquettish angle and batted her eyelashes at him. "I need a father to protect me."
"Just what do you think I'm going to protect you from?" Angel was honestly amazed; he thought Dru had realized the change in his feelings was permanent. "And do I even need to mention the 'why' part?"
"Oh, I don't mean you." Bewildered innocence oozed from every pore. "Buffy has you wrapped round and round her little finger, like a snake around a tree branch. There's no room for me anymore."
"So what's the deal?" he insisted, as though he didn't already know. He had trained her; he knew how she thought, better than anyone, because he had taught her to think that way. Drusilla's next words confirmed his worst fears.
"There are other daddies out there, Angel. Good daddies, and not so good, and some are good to the last drop." She started to laugh, a slightly maniacal giggle, but quickly stopped when she saw the relief on Angel's face.
"You've been playing the basket case too long, Dru; you've started to buy into your own act. That's going to trip you up faster than I can."
He hoped, oh how he hoped, that was true.
"I can do anything; be anything," she said confidently. "My daddy once told me so."
He remembered that conversation well; how could he not? Her first kill. He had told her precisely what to do, and then watched as she proceeded to make a thorough hash of it. Still, he had told her that she showed great promise, and he was proud of her. On the inside he might have been laughing as hard as Darla, but stronger was the perverse desire to succeed where his own father had failed. His child would grow to meet his every expectation, simply because he did the polar opposite of his father.
Meet them she did, and then some. And if he didn't watch his step now, she might prove herself all over again.
"Leave him alone, Dru."
"What do you mean, pet?" Innocence was once again the weapon of choice.
"I know how the game works, Dru. Hell, I taught you the game. Leave Hank alone."
"I see all these pretty circles of words spinning out of your mouth, just like smoke rings." She twirled her finger in the air, higher and higher, laughing softly the whole time. "Up, up and away."
Angel gritted his teeth and tried again, speaking very slowly and clearly this time. "Hank is not your father, and I won't let you use him as an appetizer, so leave him alone."
"Tit for tat, Angel." A beatific smile lit up her face. "Buffy took my daddy, and now I shall have hers in return." She gently patted his shoulder to show all was now right with the world.
"This isn't a warning, Dru; it's a promise. There is no room for negotiation this time, and there will be no mercy."
"But Angel love, why would you say that?" Drusilla cocked her head and stared at him, seemingly puzzled. "I'm not going to hurt your little Slayer, just her father. You always used to say fathers were only fit as Sunday dinner, don't you remember?"
"That was a long time ago, and to put it mildly, things have changed."
"But fathers haven't." Her hand came to rest over his heart. "My poor Angel. So much guilt; I can feel it pulsing like blood through your veins. Do you really think saving Buffy's daddy from the big bad vampires will make your own father forgive you for killing him?"
* * * * *
"Well, this is nice." Joyce smiled at her daughter and her ex-husband as they stared at their significant others on the dance floor. "The three of us having a quiet dinner together. And in a restaurant too, so no dishes to worry about." She only wished she hadn't had that second gimlet to settle her nerves; then there would be no headache to worry about either.
Buffy dragged her attention away from Angel long enough to cock an eyebrow at her mother. "I'll give you the dishes part, Mom," she said carefully, "but there are actually five of us here tonight."
Hank forced himself to stop gawking at his date, a woman who looked a little too comfortable dancing with her own brother. "Honey, I think your mom is just glad the three of us can sit at the same table without arguing. It's been awhile."
"I'm not going to touch the you and her arguing stuff, Dad, but part of why Mom and I are fighting is because she says things like that. Things that exclude Angel."
Before Joyce could form a reply, Hank jumped in again. "Well, I think we should take advantage of this little intermission to discuss why we're all here tonight, or at least give me a hint. I've pretty much decided wedding plans are not on the agenda, but I'm not sure what is."
"Where did you get this wedding idea anyway?" Joyce quickly shifted her focus from her distracted daughter to her clueless ex-husband. "They're not engaged, or if they are no one has bothered to tell me."
"But I thought..." Hank's forehead wrinkled as he turned to Buffy. "Honey, didn't you tell me that you and Angel were engaged?"
Buffy had no answer for her father; actually she hadn't even heard the question. She had returned her attention to the dance floor just in time to see Angel flinch, as though from a blow, and now he was standing frozen in the center of the crowded floor. Buffy knew Drusilla hadn't struck him; she would have seen that. It could only be words the vampire was using to inflict wounds.
For Angel, words could be the most brutal of weapons.
Buffy abruptly pushed back her chair and seized her father's hand. "Come on, Dad; I feel a sudden urge to dance."
* * * * *
Hank stumbled slightly as his daughter spun a bit too enthusiastically across the parquet floor. He was under no illusions about her true purpose in asking him to dance; he just wished she would be a little less determined in her pursuit of her goal.
"Honey, we're making a scene here," he whispered, pulling her closer even as she strained to back them across the floor. "Calm down and try to look like we're actually dancing."
Miraculously, Buffy seemed to hear, and even understand him. She stopped her insistent tugging at his shoulder and tried to relax in his arms.
"Sorry, Dad." An anxious smile flashed across her face. "I'm just a little antsy."
"About Angel dancing with his own sister?"
"There's more to it than that, Dad. I know you like her and everything..." Buffy tried hard to repress her instinctive shudder at the thought, "but there's things you don't know. Big things you don't know."
"I can tell she upsets you," Hank answered carefully. "I wouldn't have sprung her on you like this if I'd known, but I'm not sorry I've gotten to know her."
"Oh, Dad..."
"Buffy, the way you see her, and the way her brother sees her, is completely different from the way I see her."
"You have no idea," she grumbled.
"And while I'm willing to listen to your side of the story," he continued sternly, "I expect you to respect my choices in life, the same way you want me to respect yours." He glanced pointedly at Angel, who was almost within reach.
"This is so not the same thing," she protested. "Comparing Angel and Dru is like comparing apples and...alligators."
"Buffy Anne..."
"Hank," Drusilla purred a moment later, preventing him from completing the dreaded 'I remember three names and you're out' parental gambit. "Dear sweet Hank, have you come to rescue me from this dull boy?"
Without waiting for a reply, Drusilla stepped away from Angel and sidled over to Hank, holding out her arms. Buffy glared at her, and then turned her attentions to her shaken boyfriend.
"Angel, are you okay?" she asked softly, slipping into his unresisting arms. "What did she say to you?"
Those same long arms tightened ferociously about her for an instant before reluctantly allowing her room to breathe.
"I'm fine; it's nothing," he answered hoarsely, not meeting her eyes.
She reached up and pressed her palm to the side of his averted face, applying gentle pressure until he looked at her. "Would that be an actual nothing, or a 'we'll talk about it when we're alone' nothing?"
He sighed and kissed her forehead. "When we're alone," he promised wearily.
Buffy glanced over at her father and Drusilla, now cozily intertwined a few feet away. "Of course, 'alone' may be a relative term right now," she muttered. "And I do mean relative."
* * * * *
To Be Continued
