Galway Square Mall
A crowd of people walked casually in and out of the stores holding shopping bags and lost in conversation.
Walking closely behind Cordelia, Angelus' brows pinched together with concern as his eyes darted around the large, echoing mall. Never in his life had he ever seen so many people in one place.
Angelus hardly noticed the strange looks from a group of teenage girls standing in line at the refreshment stand in the middle of the mall.
Eyes locked with a black Toyota Camry parked in the middle of the mall floor, Angelus stood on-guard, not entirely trusting of the strange and demonic piece of machinery.
"Angelus," Cordelia scoffed, realising that Angelus was no longer behind her. She walked over to him and grabbed him by his bell sleeve, "C'mon. It's just a car." Cordelia pulled him along.
"It's an unholy demon," Angelus grunted with a deepening frown.
His eyes widened reading the sign about the department store, Neiman Marcus.
"This," Cordelia faced him, "is the holy grail." She said with a smile. "Angelus, when I'm done with you… you're gonna need your sword to stop the swarm of women that'll flock around you." Cordelia laughed at herself wearing a tugging sinister smile and grabbed his hand.
Cordelia and the saleswoman stood in the background over Angelus' shoulder as he stood in front of the mirror.
Angelus eyed himself in the mirror. "I look ridiculous," he wore a blue two-piece tonal strolled regular-fit suit with a crisp white shirt. Angelus frown deepened the longer he stared at himself. "Look at me." He faced the women, "I can't wear t'is. T'is is not an outfit for a gentleman."
Tilting her head to the side, Cordelia narrowed her gaze over Angelus, "I thought you were a smuggler."
Angelus frowned, "It's a profession for... gentlemen."
Rolling her eyes, Cordelia stood, eying Angelus' attire. "Something is…" she crossed the dressing area towards him, "… not right." She faced the saleswoman. "What do you have in black?"
The saleswoman smiled.
Angelus walked out of the dressing room, feeling even more foolish. He stepped in front of the mirror and looked at the suit Cordelia insisted he'd try on.
"Well, the colour is right but the cut is…" Cordelia poked and prodded at Angelus' trousers as the saleswoman snapped her fingers to the tailor standing off the side.
The tailor directed Angelus to hold his arms out wide as he measured the length from Angelus' armpit to his hip.
"Hold it," Cordelia stood up tall and looked at the saleswoman. "This isn't him. Mr O'Connor is very… traditional. Do you have something that's… Euro avant-garde?"
The saleswoman thought for a moment, "I believe t'at we do."
"Good," Cordelia watched the saleswoman rush back towards the men section. She looked at Angelus in the mirror, "Third time's the charm."
Angelus eyed the fashion designer wearily.
Hoping to whoever was listening that this was the absolute last time he'd have to do this, Angelus walked out of the dressing room.
This time, Angelus felt good—confident as he stepped out of the dressing room.
He wore long black dress trousers with a button-down black shirt. His board shoulders, muscular arms, and chest filled out the coat he wore. The coat had a tall European style collar and hung long just past his bottom.
Cordelia looked up from the cellphone in her hand. Her dark brown eyes widened for a moment then an expression of attraction made her smirk. "Ooo, hello, salty goodness." She walked over to him and ran a hand over his shoulders. "What do you think?"
Angelus straightened his posture as he stared at himself in the mirror, "I t'ink I want my breeches."
Unleashing a megawatt smile, Cordelia rolled her eyes and turned to the saleswoman, "We'll take it." She turned back to Angelus, "You ready for the next thing?"
Angelus frowned, pinching his brows together, "Next t'ing?"
"Angelus," Cordelia stood behind him and peered over his shoulder to look at him into the mirror, "when was the last time you had a haircut?"
Angelus' eyes comically widen.
Murphy's Barbers
Walking down the street to the barber storefront, Cordelia held a disposable tray with two coffees. Her eyes were on the iPhone in her hand, trying to get a bit of work done while she was out with Angelus.
She had left him with the capable hands of the barber. Cordelia cursed herself for not taking a picture of Angelus' shocked expression when he met Clementine, an eccentric, multi-coloured haired barber.
Opening the front entrance door, Cordelia glanced up for a moment as she entered the barbershop when she saw Angelus turning to face her.
Cordelia nearly dropped the coffees to the ground. She had long forgotten about the email she had been vocally dictating.
"Oh my…" her mouth was left agape.
Angelus waited to hear Cordelia's vocal opinion on his new haircut.
The setting sun rays from the windows gave Angelus light brown highlights which clashed with its dark hue. His once long hair was cut short and spiked upward at the front and with a styling product.
His new haircut completed his modern but sophisticated look which would no doubt grab all female attention.
"What do ye t'ink?" Angelus asked, a bit nervous from Cordelia's lack of vocal reaction.
Softening her look of surprise and attraction, Cordelia laid a hand on his upper arm and said, "Buffy doesn't know what's coming to her."
Angelus smirked hoping to God that Buffy won't be revolted by his new appearance.
Next Morning
Mrs Wyndam-Pryce's Bed & Breakfast
"We gotta go people!" Doyle clapped his hands together rushing his wife and Angelus out the door in order to meet their flight time. "Time is of t'a essence!"
Cordelia rolled her eyes as she walked out of the bed and breakfast while Angelus escorted Mrs Wyndam-Pryce with her arm around his elbow towards the front door. "Now, Angelus," Mrs Wyndam-Pryce began, "don't let her slip through yer fingers again, aye?"
"Aye," Angelus smiled kindly at the woman. In a traditional gentleman fashion, Angelus took her hand and bowed, "T'ank ye, Mrs Wyndam-Pryce for ye kindness of yer heart. Ye helped me and ye didn't 'ave to."
"Oh, no need to t'ank me. We're practically family." Mrs Wyndam-Pryce cupped Angelus' cheek with her hand and smiled tenderly, "Go find her and never let her go."
Angelus took her hand that was on his cheek and brought it to his mouth, brushing his lips over her knuckles. He tossed her a final smirk before letting go of her hand and turning away heading to the car parked in the street.
London, England
The Bronze
Walking into the empty nightclub that was getting ready to open later that evening. The heels of Buffy's pumps echoed against the concrete industrial walls of the club.
Coming back from lunch and on her way to the museum, Buffy was decked out in her work attire. She wore a black Delfina high-waisted pencil skirt with a long bell-sleeve white Tanelis silk blouse and a black Fleurette midi-length topcoat with the two-button front. Her long golden blonde hair fell over her shoulders and down her back in loose style curly waves.
Carrying a large wooden crate filled with hard liquor, Spike lifted his gaze to see his estranged wife standing in the middle of the dance floor in search of someone.
Placing the crate down on the bar counter, Spike walked over to her, stuffing his hands into his front black jean pockets.
"Hello, Buffy," he said quietly.
Buffy whirled around to him. Her eyes were wide as if she wasn't expecting him. She relaxed visibly and tossed him a twitting half-smile, "Hey."
They stood awkwardly in a tilting silence for what felt like hours.
Spike cleared his throat and asked, "What, uh, can I do you for? I wasn't expectin' to see you until we meet the… uh, lawyer."
"Yeah, I know, I'm sorry to just drop by unannounced…"
Spike smiled, "Never be sorry."
Feeling the familiar sensation of butterflies fluttering in the pit of her belly, Buffy smiled girlishly though she felt incredibly out of place.
"—I just wanted to remind—" "—I've been thinking—"
They spoke at the same time.
Blushing and turning their gaze away as an attempt to cover their embarrassed smiles.
Spike looked at her and felt his heartbeat speed up as he drank in her natural beauty. Even in the club's dim light, she could always light up an entire room. Spike sighed heavily and looked up at the ceiling in frustration, "God, this is hard."
"Yeah," Buffy quietly agreed.
"Why brings you to this fine establishment that you paid for?" Spike tried to lightly joke. He mentally applauded himself for getting her softly laugh.
Buffy looked at him, "I just wanted to remind you that you're picking up Liam from school today and he's staying at your place tonight."
"You came all this way just to tell me that? Why not a phone call? Would've saved you the trip," Spike saw straight through her facade and felt quite amused by it.
Blushing, Buffy began to backtrack herself as she shifted with slight embarrassment. "I was getting lunch and the, uh, club was on my way."
Spike knew the route from the museum to the townhouse and he knew it was very much out of her way. Deciding not to push the subject any further, Spike nodded and kept his thoughts to himself.
Another moment of awkward silence passed over them.
Holding her hands together, Buffy began to take a step back, "Okay, well, I've reminded you, so, uh, I guess, I'm just gonna go."
Buffy began to turn away when Spike's voice forced her to pause mid-step.
"Does it hurt?"
Buffy slowly faced him. She didn't need for him to explain to her what he meant by that, she knew perfectly well. It hurt. She did miss Spike but it's knowing that she failed hurt the most. She failed her son for not keeping the family together. She failed Spike for hurting him and keeping him trapped in an empty marriage. She failed herself for not being able to move on and be everything Spike needed her to be.
"Yeah," she quietly replied.
Spike swallowed and nodded, "Thanks."
"You're welcome," Buffy turned away and walked across the dance floor, exiting the nightclub. She paused for a hesitant moment almost nearly walking into Drusilla. The softness of Buffy's green eyes grew hard and piercing as she stared at the woman that was sleeping with her husband. Buffy cocked her chin upwards, strutting out of the nightclub exuding confidence and sex appeal.
Galway Airport
Flight 290
Fastening the seatbelt across his lap, Angelus sat by the window. He tossed his eyes curiously around the plane's cabin.
Many people sat in the chairs fasting forward.
Angelus observed a boy about ten or eleven years old. He sat in his chair slumped and stared down at the cellphone in his hands. His ears were plugged with strange wires that were connected to the cellphone.
Shifting his attention from the boy to a woman across the aisle, Angelus watched her read a book. There was nothing particularly fascinating with the woman. Her skin dark and her hair styled in bountiful curls. Studying her profile, Angelus could tell that this woman was quite handsome and yet, she didn't hold a candle to his Buffy.
The sound of a large door closing startled Angelus where he sat.
The muffled rumble of the aeroplane engines began to roar.
"What was t'at?" Angelus white-knuckled the arms of the seat. He looked around nervously, wishing he was able to have his sword and pistol.
Doyle patted a hand over Angelus' knee, "Relax," he began, "it's just t'a engines startin' up."
"Engines?"
"Yeah," Doyle nodded. "T'a engines is what makes t'a plane, uh, move."
Angelus frowned biting more into the distraction as he desperately trying to control his fear. "How does it move?"
Demonstrating an aeroplane takes off with his hand, Doyle explained, "T'a plane will go really fast then until it flies."
"Fly?"
Doyle chuckled and pointed out the window, "See t'ose long t'ings?"
"Aye," Angelus replied, looking out the window to see the aeroplane's long wings.
"T'ere called wings. And under t'a wings are engines. All of t'a and t'a controller t'a Captain of t'a plane has will make t'a plane fly."
Angelus slowly processed Doyle's explanation, "How high will we be?"
"Over t'a clouds. Angelus," Doyle smiled, "ye're gonna be one step closer to God."
Looking at Doyle, Angelus' expression was weary. "T'at's one step closer to death."
Doyle chuckled and dropped his attention to the book on his lap, while Cordelia held out her hand t flag a flight attendant down to order a drink. "We should get him a drink." Doyle muttered to Cordelia sitting beside him in the aisle seat.
Angelus' hands tightened as the aeroplane began to back out of its slot and headed to the runway.
An Hour and a Half Later
London, England
British Museum
The black luxury car pulled into the parking lot not far from the main museum entrance.
Angelus was the first to exit out of the car. His stomach still felt queazy from the aeroplane ride, he wasn't sure how so many people could get into one of those aluminium birds for hours and hours when transportation by ship was just as suitable.
"Okay, Angelus," Cordelia stepped out of the car and wrapped her arms around Angelus' neck, hugging him tightly, "good luck." She shot him a wide infectious smile. "And don't forget to contact Marty at Neiman Marcus. He'll give you a killer deal on a whole new wardrobe—Better yet, tell Buffy and have her call me and I can explain it to her."
"T'ank ye, Cordelia," he brought her hand to his mouth and gently kissed her knuckles.
Doyle moved around the car, "Hey, hey! Get yer dirty hands off my wife." He teased with a laugh.
Angelus chuckled and held out his hand to his new Irish friend, "T'ank ye for everythin', Doyle. Yer very much like yer ancestor."
"Yeah? In what way?" Doyle's smile widened.
"He was always a good friend to me."
Moved by Angelus kind words, Doyle bashfully smiled and dug into his coat pocket taking out a small card. "Just follow the sidewalk to t'a main entrance. Read t'a signs all around and," he cleared his throat, "take t'is. It has t'a hotel name we're stayin' at." He pointed to the phone number hesitantly written down at the bottom. "T'at's my cell number, contact me in t'a case Buffy kicks ye out." He joked and slapped his hand over Angelus' upper arm. "If it all goes well, we'll see ye next time yer in Ireland."
Angelus smirked. He slipped the card into his coat pocket and said his final goodbyes.
Walking away from his new friends, Angelus did as Doyle said and followed the sidewalks—which had an abundance of visitors also walking beside him towards the main entrance of the museum.
His felt a twist in his chest and jolt of fluttering butterflies dancing in his stomach. At this moment, he felt never felt more terrified and excited in his entire life.
Suddenly all of his fearful questions streamed through his mind. What if Buffy didn't want him? What if she didn't love him anymore? What if she was married?
Of course, ye forgot 'bout t'at. God, ye're a fool. He scolded himself.
Internally fighting with himself, whether keep walking to the museum or turn away, Angelus froze where he stood. He looked down at his shiny black dress shoes trying to gather himself.
Rubbing a hand over his face, Angelus lifted his head to look up.
Opening his eyes, he felt his mouth drop slightly at the sight of the beautiful Greek revival inspired building. It had four vast winds, forty-three giant Greek temple style column, a triangular pediment, and enormous steps.
His heart nearly stopped in his chest knowing that somewhere inside of that mammoth building was the love of his life.
Giving himself a bit of self-encouragement, Angelus took the first few steps heading into the famous British Museum.