Pretty Postcards From Hell 1

Pretty Postcards From Hell

Sequel To "Secure Yourself To Heaven"

By Lori Bush

~**~

Feedback: lwbush@charter.net or onlist is fine
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, etc. own Buffy. You know the routine.
Distribution: Let me know, 'kay? Any list it's sent to is cool.
Summary: The next Big Bad may just be a very familiar face…
Continuity: See "Secure Yourself" for the details. Angel has had his flirtation with Darla and the Dark Side and come back with his tail between his legs.

Pairing: B/X and G/W, probably A/C, since Shawn asked for it so nicely. (I expect that chocolate, young man!)
Rating: R
Author's notes: Many people asked for this, so I had to do it. Not only that, but I'm writing the "Angel" characters for the first time in this one. I so love Cordy now she's off in LA. If you haven't read the first story, you will be hopelessly lost and even a GPS won't help.

Dedicated: To all you wonderful people who kept me going while I was struggling with the last few parts of "Secure Yourself." I hope you like this one as much.

~**~

Xander Harris stretched himself in the chair, enjoying his coffee and the early morning sunshine. The day was new enough that there was dew clinging to the grass, and the birds were serenading him cheerily. The air was still cool, with little hint of the dry California heat that would blanket this very yard in a few hours. He'd adopted the habit of rising early, before the rest of the household, often, and taking his coffee outside to relax by the pool and enjoy it.

He was spoiled, no question. Rotten. He had the most wonderful house, a great job with the wonders of flexibility (since he was self-employed, for the most part), his best friends around all the time, and the woman he loved every night in his bed.

It had been several months since Willow had almost died. Several months since the last time Unity had been needed, although they'd called her up a few times since, just to be sure they still could. Unity was a single being, forged from the four best friends – Xander, Giles, Willow and Buffy – with superhuman strength and abilities. Since Unity stopped being simply the sum of her parts and began becoming a personality unto herself, they felt sometimes like she was the absent member of their team. So every now and then, they'd join themselves and see how she was doing. Even though her intellect was built on that of Rupert Giles, she apparently thought her own thoughts now even while she was Divided into the four Parts, and they were always amazed to hear what she had been considering while they were busy living their daily lives.

And what wonderful daily lives they lived, on the whole. Sure, Sunnydale was still Demon Central Station, with hot and cold running creepies all around, but they had it under control. As a part of Unity, Buffy had even more strength than she had ever had before, and Xander had begun to refer to their nightly patrols as visits to "Vamps 'R' Dust." Dawn was living the life of a normal teenaged girl (as normal as one living on the Hellmouth could be, anyway), Willow was acing school, and they had this awesome house. The house…

The Watcher's Council had been highly ashamed of the fact that one of their own had tried to destroy the hope for humanity that was the Unity. That Quentin Travers, assigned to merely monitor the Unity, had instead taken a large, sharp ceremonial knife and plunged it into the heart of one of her Parts. And that only the fact that Willow and her "Rupes" had found new and creative uses for the desk in the magic shop office, causing them to bind into a single soul, saved the redheaded witch from death. The Council showed their deep regret and repentant spirit in a way that beat the hell out of a Hallmark Card – they paid off the four members of Unity. Generously. No, make that obscenely.

Giles had paid off the mortgage on the Magic Box. Xander had paid off his truck. Buffy had quit the stupid temp job, and made sure her mother and sister would never want for anything again. Willow just smiled and invested online. And they'd gone together and bought the house of all their dreams.

Buffy, being the member of the team with the most free time these days, had located it. It was on the street where Cordelia used to live – the area of the town where People With Money lived. They'd had a few requirements in mind when they began looking. The house had to have at least four bedrooms, in order to be able to house the four of them and any visitors without difficulty. Since Giles and Willow and Buffy and Xander had become couples, they wanted two Master suites, leaving two guest rooms. They needed those two suites to be as far apart as physically possible, since neither couple was exactly the quietest, and they still enjoyed a bit of privacy for their romantic lives. It needed to have a basement they could convert into a gym for Buffy's training. This had been the place with all that – actually, it had *five* bedrooms. Xander surveyed the backyard, grinning. The pool and hot tub had been a bonus.

He gazed over at the French doors that opened from Willow and Giles' suite out to the pool, knowing that there was an identical set behind him from his and Buffy's room. Turning his head slightly, he could see in through the huge plate glass window to the elegantly decorated living room – Buffy and Willow's handiwork, not his. Why the hell did they want a grand piano? None of them could play more than "Chopsticks." His gaze wandered across the neatly manicured lawn – along with carpentry, it seemed he had a talent for landscaping. He spent hours in the yard, on days he wasn't working, trimming and planting, and reaping the benefits afterwards with Buffy's appreciation for "sweaty Xander." For the first time in his life, he had a nice tan.

Xander shook his head. He must be dreaming. Sometime soon, he'd wake up, and find out what he'd always known in the past. Anything that was too good to be true wasn't. Maybe he just needed someone to pinch him, let him know it was all real.

"Ow!"

*It's real, doofus. Come back to bed.*

*Why is it you pinch yourself, but it only hurts *me* enough to bruise? You always come away spotless.* He could sense Buffy's lascivious grin through their mental connection.

*Like I said, come back to bed. I'll let you check for marks…*

Coffee forgotten, he slid back through the French doors, and locked them behind himself as he went in.

~**~

"Come now, Mr. Travers, it's time for your medicine." The private nurse spoke in a singsong voice, like to a little child. "There. That's very good." She turned to her employer, sitting silently in the corner. "I'll be back in four hours, unless you need me for anything else?" The elderly man shook his head.

"I'll page you if anything comes up," he dismissed her with a wave of his hand. Once she was safely out of the room, he turned to his protégé and smiled. "A good day today, Quentin?"

"I think so," the other man answered a bit thickly. "I can think clearer than yesterday, anyway. That damned medicine…" he began to whine.

"…Keeps you from hurting yourself and others. We may be able to adjust the dosage downward a bit more. You've been doing very well this week." A combination of textbook paranoia and clinical depression had turned the once powerful Watcher into a dangerously underhanded criminal mind. Only strong medicine kept him docile enough to walk freely. Before the complete diagnosis was in, he'd gotten loose in the Council chambers, and the Watcher from Ireland, Eileen McDougal, had to be rushed to surgery, and retired with full pay afterward. They finally let Travers out of the straightjacket two months ago, and were still fine-tuning the drugs.

The madness crept into his eyes for a moment. "What's the latest on Unity?" the former Watcher asked, almost salivating. He had an obsession of mammoth proportions with the supernatural being.

"They've been surprisingly quiet," the older man answered. "I still haven't figured out how to get cameras into that new house of theirs, but I do know everything that goes on outside, and believe me when I say that watching the Harris boy trim the shrubs is beyond mind-numbing." Ernst Heinrich stood and walked to the desk, picking up a piece of paper. "However, if the plan I told you about works as it should, things could be picking up shortly." He smiled evilly.

Every man, it has been said, has his price. Heinrich, the eldest of the Watchers, had watched Unity with growing dread since her inception. First, she undermined the institution of the Slayer, being as she was made partly from the current one. The existence of a Watcher, Rupert Giles, in the Parts of Unity rendered the Watcher's Council basically invalid in her management. Her powers were nearly unstoppable, and he feared what could happen if evil took hold in her heart. He'd already watched the fall of one Slayer, Faith, and seen the damage she could do. Multiply her strength and cunning, and who knew what could be unleashed?

So when the opportunity came to send Travers and Dr. Andrea Fairhope to monitor and find ways to control the Unity, he'd been the strongest proponent on the Council. He'd signed without question invoices for any materials Quentin had requested, and fed the other Watcher's growing paranoia with his own. He feared Unity, and wouldn't weep to see her destroyed. But Ernst remained in the shadows of it all, unwilling to risk his own position of power if something should go wrong.

And go wrong, it had. Travers had let madness overtake reason, and hadn't properly indoctrinated Dr. Fairhope before he lost it, leaving gaping holes in his plan through which the entire operation fell. Heinrich had maintained his plausible deniability, taking on Quentin Travers' care upon his return to England under the guise of a Senior Watcher's responsibility. His discrete enquiries for a doctor that was willing to stretch the Hippocratic Oath to suit his needs had, however, drawn the attention of another group.

They'd promised they could control Unity – that killing her would be a waste. They had "uses" for her. It could never be traced back to him, and it would reinvigorate the Watcher's Council, since they would be needed even more once Unity was turned to this group's purposes. A newer, stronger, better-controlled Slayer would be needed. The Council would have purpose again.

Ernst liked to tell himself that that was the deciding factor – the integrity of the Council. But he couldn't really deny that the fifty million dollars certainly kept him from reconsidering when he finally threw his lot in with Wolfram and Hart.

~**~

It had stopped being comment-worthy long ago when one of the couples would emerge from their respective bedroom flushed and dreamy-eyed, so Willow and Giles paid the other two little notice when they came out a couple hours later.

"Damned Water Company," Giles was fuming. "I can't stand coffee in the morning." He went over to the faucet, trying it in frustration.

"Same result as five seconds ago, Rupes," Willow observed with a grin from behind her mug. "Some of us are just thankful that Xander made the coffee early enough that the water was still on." She winked at the other two. "He's such a fiend without his tea."

"Yeah," Xander pitched in. "We just tried to take a shower, ourselves. No luck." He and Buffy grinned in spite of his disappointed tone. Then his smile widened. "We're gonna go in the pool, instead." He gestured to their bathing suits.

"After we eat," Buffy reminded him, digging in the cabinets and emerging with a box of Life cereal. "We do have milk, don't we?"

"Yes, we have bloody milk, just no *water,*" the former Watcher said icily.

"Come on, my big angry bear, let's go to the Magic Box. Maybe the water will be on there," Willow said sympathetically, taking her lover by the hand. "See you guys later," she waved as they went out the garage door.

Xander retrieved two bowls from the cabinet by the sink. "He does have a temper, sometimes, doesn't he?"

Buffy set out the milk and poured her cereal, nodding. "It's a good thing Willow is so easy-going. She handles him well. And he doesn't get like that very often."

Her boyfriend took a big spoonful of crunchy sweet goodness, and was still chomping when he spoke. "Since we didn't get a shower together, can we go skinny-dipping?" he asked hopefully.

The Slayer slapped his arm. "No, no way! And don't talk with your mouth full."

~**~

Angel awakened to the sound of someone *leaning* on his doorbell. "All right – keep your pants on," he yelled sleepily, pulling a shirt on, but not bothering to cover his boxers. "I'm on my way!" Yanking the door wide open, he stared at the figure that had disturbed his sleep. He was still struggling with the whole sunlight and working with day-dwellers issue, and hadn't established a regular sleep schedule yet. At this rate, he never would. "Cordelia?" He glanced over his shoulder at the clock on the mantle. "What are you doing here at seven in the morning?"

She stumbled in, pale and troubled. "An early wakeup call from the Vision Express," the girl explained, rubbing her head. "Got any aspirin?" The vampire hurried to his bathroom, pulling out a bottle he kept on hand for this very woman. In reflection, he realized that Cordy was dressed in rumpled clothing, as if she had thrown on the first thing that she'd laid her hands on, instead of looking to-die-for put together, as she usually did. He went and filled a glass with water.

"Thanks." She looked at him with red-rimmed eyes, and his heart went out to her once more. These visions were taxing, he knew, but had rarely come on her at random times of the day or night – most of the trouble he and his friends fought had the decency to keep the same hours they did. Without preamble, she launched her tale. "Sunnydale – big evil. Trouble for Xander, Giles, Willow and Buffy. Dark – very dark." She was gasping, clearly disturbed by the danger to her ex (and his as well), pouring out the story in chunks of nouns without verbs interspersed.

Angel grabbed her shoulders, shaking her slightly. "Slow down, Cor. We'll go, but I need more details. Sit down, breathe, and tell me everything you saw."

After she finally gave him every detail she could dredge up, he picked up the phone and punched in a number. "Wes? Yeah, sorry to wake you. Pack and get over here as fast as you can – I need you to go with Cordelia to Sunnydale. I'll join you guys later." A few minutes pause on Angel's end of the line. "Uhm, yeah, you still are," Angel said sheepishly. Then, "No, no reason, I guess." He was sounding less sure of himself by the minute. Cordelia grabbed the phone out of his hand.

"Wes, vision – bad. Gotta go now. No time for testosterone battles, so get over it, and get here, pronto." She listened only for a moment. "Good. See you soon." Hanging up the phone, she dusted off her hands, a bit of the normal Cordelia confidence back in her posture. "When are you two going to accept that *neither* of you call the shots?" Looking at her watch, she sighed. "So much to pack, so little time. Back soon."

~**~

"Are you sure this is the right address?" Cordelia asked Wesley for at least the fifth time. "I mean, it doesn't surprise me too much that Buffy doesn't live at home anymore, but I thought she'd be in college, at the dorms, not in a house somewhere. A house in my old neighborhood, no less. Maybe she's working as an au pair or something."

"Cordelia," the young Englishman answered patiently, "I do believe my glasses are up to standard, and I've read the slip correctly. Besides the fact that you checked it three times with Mrs. Summers. Why don't we try the bell?" Avoiding further discussion, he pressed the button by the door.

The intercom above the button crackled to life. "Yes?" It did sound like Buffy. The pair looked at the offending grillwork, then at each other.

"Urhm, yes," Wesley began formally, "Wesley Wyndham-Price and Cordelia Chase to see Miss Buffy Summers, please."

The grill responded with a squeal. "Wes! Cordy! I'll be right there!" They heard the pounding of footsteps behind the door, and it flew open, an excited Slyer appearing. "I haven't seen either of you in forever," she crowed, hugging them both. Wes blushed almost purple as he became painfully aware of how much naked Buffy flesh was pressed to his body due to the tiny bikini she was wearing. "Where are my manners? Come in," she offered, motioning to them. "Can I get you something to drink?"

They followed her down the hall, emerging in a bright, airy and enormous kitchen. "We have Coke, Sprite, juice, milk, water…oh, wait," she went over to the tap and tried it, with no results. "Bottled water," she corrected herself. "And I can make some fresh coffee if you want. Oh wait, can't. No water." She shrugged. "We have beer, too, but it's still kinda early."

"Buffy," Cordelia said impatiently, "We're not here to inventory your beverages. Although I will take a bottle of water, thanks." Wes glared at her, and she shrugged. "Anyway, we're here to warn you about something evil, that I think could put you in serious danger, and while I know you handle that kind of thing a lot, this seemed to rank right up there with some of the biggest of the Big Bads."

 Buffy held up a finger. "Unless you want to tell it twice, wait just a minute."

Cordelia was surprised when a door from outside swung open, revealing a tanned and shapely male body, damp swim shorts worn low on his hips. This must be Buffy's Sugar Daddy, the May Queen thought, and the Slayer certainly could have done worse, from what she could see. He was rubbing his hair dry, the towel obscuring his face. "Hey, baby," Buffy greeted him, confirming her view of the relationship, "Cordelia has news I thought you'd want to hear."

The former cheerleader held out her hand in introduction. "Nice to meet you, I'm…" she looked up into very familiar chocolate brown eyes, "Xander Harris?"

Xander grinned. "No, I think I am. Good to see you, Cor." Then he pulled her to him and wrapped her in a bear hug that clearly showed he no longer had guilty feelings about their relationship and how it had ended. Backing away, he held her at arms length. "I like the hair."

Touching her short blonde locks, Cordy was still stunned at who Buffy's apparent rich mystery lover was. "Xander?"

"I think we've covered that ground, Cordy. Big bad? Remember?" Apparently, Buffy's patience level hadn't grown any. The Slayer slid herself under Xander's arm, and looked at him as if he'd said something. "You're right," she responded out of the clear blue, "Giles and Willow should be here too. He's had time to have his tea by now, should I call, or just…?"

Xander kissed her nose. "Already done. They'll be here in about fifteen, since Willow cut class again today to be with him. So, Cordy, if you don't want to be constantly repeating yourself, can the story wait a few more minutes?"

For quite possibly the first time in her life, Cordelia Chase was speechless. Xander and Buffy apparently were lovers. One of them had come into money, or something. Buffy's words, and Xander's as well, had indicated that Willow, whom last Cordelia had heard had a *girlfriend,* now had some kind of a relationship with the stuffy old English librarian that would cause Miss Responsibility to cut classes. Perhaps the great evil she had foreseen was that all her former friends and acquaintances had been replaced by doubles from a parallel world. Hell, this could be Sunnydale's own "Invasion Of The Body Snatchers." Not to mention the hints of non-verbal communication that had been bandied about.

It was too much. She'd been wakened by visions of great evil. She'd seen these people, who she cared for almost as much as her friends in LA, being devoured by a Big Bad that gave her the willies, and with her job, Cordelia didn't get willies easily. The sick headache still hadn't completely eased. She'd had to pack in *twenty minutes* for God's sake!

The easiest thing to do was to shut down, and sort it out later. Wesley caught the fainting Cordelia before her head hit the marble kitchen floor.

~**~