Oasis
The Summers house was a whirlwind of activity as Xander and Angel entered. Willow appeared to be in charge, and the moment the young man and the vampire entered, she pounced on them.
"There's a lasagna in the oven, and we have garlic bread that needs buttered and veggies that need chopped. Who wants to do what?"
Angel shed his coat. "If it's all the same to you, Xander, I'd just as soon stay away from the garlic."
"Fine by me," Xander shrugged.
Willow gestured toward the kitchen. "Get choppin'." Angel gave her a bit of a smile and obeyed. Before Xander could follow, Willow stopped him, giving him the Look. He instantly knew what it meant.
"I had to know, okay? It was either ask him or ask Cordy, and he scares me less."
Willow looked him up and down. "By your being here, I guess you survived the conversation. Xander—can you really picture Angel and Cordy?"
"Nope," he said, "and I'm pleased to say I don't have to."
His best friend shoved him toward the kitchen. "Get to buttering. We may need your help with the salad later, too."
Xander flexed. "I shall use my manly muscles to tear open the bag and laboriously pour it into a bowl."
"And put that ice cream in the freezer," Willow called after him.
The kitchen was full to bursting. Tara was checking on the lasagna, Angel was chopping vegetables (and being painfully artistic about it), Xander was slicing French bread while Willow mixed the garlic butter, Anya was ducking in and out as she set the table, Oz was fiddling with the stereo in the dining room, and Giles (who had actually prepared the lasagna) and Wesley were also periodically checking in to perform odd jobs and find candles, candleholders, napkins, the tablecloth, and wine.
"This kitchen has too many butts in it," complained Anya on one of her forays. Angel had to catch a plate before it hit the floor.
"I'll help," volunteered Cordelia, as she'd just come down after taking her shower. "What do you need?"
"Glasses!" shouted Anya over the din.
Giles suddenly noticed a little figure on the periphery. Dawn was looking in, her expressive face roiling with anger and pain. In another moment, she was gone. He had an idea of where.
He found her sitting on the back step, Buffy's shawl drawn tightly around her. Her whole body was tense as he sat down beside her.
"Why are they all acting like that?" Dawn demanded. "Buffy's dead. We just put her in the ground, and all of a sudden, they're all acting like everything's fine. What, did they just forget her?"
Giles looked at her compassionately, seeing the tears glittering in her eyes. "No, Dawn," he said. "We haven't forgotten."
"Then how can you all be acting like you have?" Dawn's voice broke. "I can't even smile, and all of them are laughing like nothing's wrong. Even Angel was smiling."
"And according to Cordelia, he had a 'power-freak' last night, if I remember her term correctly." The Watcher sighed, taking off his glasses. "Dawn, we all still feel Buffy's death. Look closely enough into the eyes of anyone here and you'll see the grief. It's just that . . . tonight, we're choosing to find some respite from it. It's an oasis of sorts. We're taking comfort in one another's presence and practicing being happy, if only for a night. It's safe, you see. No one here will wonder at an attack of tears among the laughter." He looked at the small figure beside him. "Is this making any sort of sense to you?"
Dawn was quiet for a long time. Then she nodded very seriously. "I guess it does." She looked up at him. "I'm not sure I can act normal, though."
Giles smiled at her, proud of her strength and awed by her fragility. "We shan't ask you to. Will you join us?" He held out a hand.
She took it, and he led her back inside, to the warmth and noise.
" 'Is there a bloody lighter for the candles,' he asked for the hundredth time?" Wesley was demanding.
Dawn went straight to the "miscellaneous" drawer every kitchen has and fetched one. Then she went into the dining room and lit the candles on the table herself as Anya hit the dimmer switch. The meal was assembled with some chaos, and they all took their seats.
Giles sat at the head of the table. To his right was Oz. Anya, Xander, and Willow made up the rest of his side, in that order. Tara sat at the foot of the table. To her right were Angel, Cordelia, Wesley, and finally, Dawn. Angel had a cup of coffee, but no plate.
Just as they all started to dig into the food, Spike walked into the house. He went straight to the kitchen and poured himself a cup about three-quarters full of coffee. To that he added a heaping scoop of cocoa mix and topped it off with half and half and a generous dollop of whipped cream. He and his mocha joined the rest in the dining room, perching on a chair on the periphery.
Willow had been noticing something all evening, tipped off by Tara's question the day before: Angel's eyes had followed her lover wherever Tara had gone, a slightly puzzled expression on his face. He was still doing it, in fact. As soon as the requisite compliments about the food were out of the way and everyone was busy enjoying it, Willow decided to just flat-out ask.
"Angel, is it just my imagination, or do you keep looking at Tara?" The vampire's eyes widened almost comically as everyone at the table suddenly looked at him. Tara blushed deeply. "Seriously, you've been looking at Tara all night. Is there some reason—I mean, besides the obvious?"
Angel shook his head in a puzzled way, looking at Tara again. "I feel like I've seen your face before, Tara. It's like it's on the tip of my brain every time I look at you, but I can't figure out for the life of me who you remind me of."
"I'm sure we've never met," said Tara. "I know I'd remember."
"No, that's not it," Angel murmured, still pensive. "I don't think . . ."
At that moment, Tara turned her head toward Willow, and one of her earrings flashed in the candlelight. Suddenly, Angel's hand shot out and his fingers caught the silver dangle. His eyes were intense, examining the earring. Tara went from looking confused to looking petrified. The whole table had given up any pretense of doing anything except watching this exchange.
"These earrings," Angel said. "Where did you get them?"
"F-family heirlooms?" Tara sounded just as petrified as she looked.
Angel was still looking intently at the earring in his fingers. "Camille," he said suddenly. "Camille Robichaux."
At that, Tara's head snapped back around toward Angel, her eyes widening. "C-Camille? How did you know her?"
"Who was Camille?" asked Willow. She really hadn't expected her innocent question to yield something like this.
"My great-gr-grandmother." Tara's stutter had reappeared, a sure sign of either agitation or excitement. Willow couldn't tell which.
Angel's face softened into a smile. "That explains it. You look so much like her—I can't believe I didn't put it together before."
"You knew Tara's great-grandmother?" asked Xander. "Whoa."
"I think I'd like to second that 'whoa,'" agreed Willow.
"How did you know her?" asked Tara. "Please."
Angel looked slightly uncomfortable at everyone's eyes being on him, but he kept his focus on Tara as he began his story. "I don't remember exactly what year it was—somewhere around 1920 is where I'd ballpark it. I was in Louisiana at the time. Don't remember exactly where, I was just trying to avoid the local vampire populace.
"One night, I was walking down a country road when I saw a horse-drawn wagon being attacked by vampires. Now, at the time, I'd been ensouled for about twenty years, give or take, but I hadn't really gotten the hang of altruism. But when I heard a child scream, I decided to help.
"I don't recall the specifics of the fight, but I know I managed to take out three, maybe four of the vampires before getting knocked out. I kind of expected that to be it, and the thought honestly didn't bother me that much. It was a shock to me when I came to inside a house, with someone tending my wounds."
"What did she look like? Camille?" Tara's attention was focused so completely upon Angel that Willow had the feeling the whole room had disappeared for her.
"A lot like you," said Angel. "Same face shape, same eyes, same mouth. Her hair was a shade lighter than yours, and I don't remember the color of her eyes, and I think she was taller—in fact, I'm sure of it now that I think about it—but otherwise, you look very much like her. She wore those earrings constantly, which is why I finally figured out who you remind me of. I remember at the time thinking she was the most beautiful creature I'd ever seen."
The gentle sincerity with which Angel spoke added extra weight to the compliment. Tara smiled. "Please go on."
"I wondered how she'd gotten me into her house, let alone stopped the vampires. It didn't take me long to figure that out—she was a very powerful witch. She wasn't afraid of me because she didn't have to be. One gesture from her and I couldn't move an inch. I'm not sure she'd really needed my help with the vampires. But I'd tried to help her and her daughter, and that was all that mattered, as far as she was concerned."
"Her daughter," Tara interrupted intently. "Emilie?"
Angel nodded. "Yes, that was her name. She was about three at the time, and very precocious. Completely unafraid of anything."
"My grandmother," Tara murmured. "How long did you know them?"
"Only a few days," Angel said, continuing his narrative. "Camille tended my wounds and even killed a chicken to feed me. She was definitely curious as to why a vampire would want to help her, but I couldn't explain effectively what had happened. You see, she spoke very little English and only Cajun French, which I found nearly incomprehensible. I stayed with her—she lived on a small farm—for a few days, helping her out where I could, and then I left. I wasn't exactly a people person back then."
"As opposed to now," commented Cordelia. Angel jostled her elbow with his.
"Emilie," mused Willow. "Tara, wasn't she . . ."
"The start of the family legend about demon blood in the women of my family," confirmed Tara. "Camille never told who Emilie's father was, and somehow, the rumor got started that Emilie had been sired by a demon."
Angel shook his head. "She wasn't."
Tara looked at him again. "She was . . ?"
"Human to the bone. I'd have smelled it if she'd had demon blood."
Multiple emotions shifted over Tara's face: relief at finally knowing for certain that the family legend was untrue, regret for the women of her family whose lives had been ruled by it, anger at those who had perpetuated it. When her eyes returned to Angel's face, they were moist. Impulsively, she set her broken hand over Angel's.
"Thank you, Angel. You can't know h-how much this means to me."
Angel squeezed her fingers gently. "I'm glad I met you, Tara. Your face brings back good memories. Camille's kindness stayed with me a long time. With her, for the first time, I started to feel—to understand—that maybe having a soul meant more than just pain."
"That is so cool," said Dawn quietly.
"It really is," agreed Willow, a little misty herself. "It's just amazing."
Tara was glowing. "It is. Since my mother died, I don't have anyone who knows family stories—or will tell them."
"How about I see how much I can remember and write it down for you?" suggested Angel.
"That would be wonderful!" Tara looked a bit embarrassed by her outburst. "I mean, if it's not too much trouble, of course."
"Actually, I think I'd like to do it. As I said, it's good memories."
The conversation passed on, then, to Oz. He was persuaded to tell them a little about his life on the road. It appeared the young werewolf had come to something of a rest in Oregon.
"Life's pretty good," he said. "I'm working at an electronics store during the day, and I've started playing with a band on the weekends. They're no Dingoes, but it's still fun. Started taking classes at Western Oregon, too."
"Still a wild man," said Xander.
"Chatty as ever, too," put in Cordelia.
Oz bestowed his best mellow look on them, and he and Angel shared a simpatico smile.
"Cordy," said Willow, "you have to tell them about Pylea."
"Oh, merciful heavens," murmured Wesley.
"What's a Pylea?" Xander wondered.
"It's a demon dimension," Wesley explained. "Giles, are you familiar with Caritas?"
"You mean the club?" asked Giles. Wesley nodded. "As a matter of fact, I am. Can't say I've ever sung there, but I have been inside."
"I've been there, too, a few years ago," said Spike. "Poncy Host told me to stay away from Sunnydale. Should've listened to him."
"What is it?" asked Willow.
"It's a demon karaoke bar," Wesley said.
"What will they think of next?" said Xander.
Wesley took a sip of his wine. "What's special about this particular place is the Host. He's anagogic; sing for him, and he can read your past, present, and future. He also happens to be a demon, but a neutral force. We've had to call upon his abilities from time to time."
"Singing karaoke?" Xander sat up. "You've gotta be kidding. Who sang what?"
Angel was trying to sink into the floor. Cordelia's smile was only getting brighter. Both she and Wesley were looking at Angel, apparently wondering how much leverage they could get from this. He glared back.
"No one tells," he stated.
Cordelia decided not to take him at his word. "Angel sang mmnph." The last word was muffled as Angel's hand clamped over her mouth. She made an outraged noise. Angel focused on Wesley
"You're not telling, either," the vampire said as Cordelia lectured him through his hand.
Wesley folded his hands coolly. "It strikes me that I'm in a position to extort here."
Angel gave a dangerous chuckle. "Really? What if I were to tell them all what you were muttering about in your sleep when you took a nap on the lobby couch a month ago?"
Wesley turned very white, then very red. "You wouldn't!"
"I would."
Cordelia yanked Angel's hand away from her mouth. "What is this? You've had blackmail material on Wesley for a month and didn't tell me about it?"
"This is quality stuff," Angel told her.
"How good?"
"If I wanted to, I could make Wesley demonstrate the Dance of Joy for everyone here."
Wesley squawked. Cordelia instantly switched sides. "Do it!"
Wesley glared at them. "Might I remind you two that I'm in a position to fire the both of you?"
The Seer's eyes widened. "Ooh, now there's an original threat!"
"Better check your credit balance before you make threats like that to Cordy, Wes." Angel took a sip of his coffee.
"Okay, not that this hasn't been fun and all," interrupted Willow, "but Pylea?"
"Precisely. To get back on the point," continued Wesley, "Pylea is the home dimension of the Caritas Host. Cordelia managed to get sucked into it through a portal—and then proceeded to work her way up from slave to princess before we heroes could even come charging to the rescue."
Cordelia looked fairly smug about that. All three of them took turns telling the story (and critiquing each others' storytelling). When they got to the part about the Groosalugg, Wesley and Angel tag-teamed giving Cordelia a hard time. They concluded the story with a flourish, and then the baton was passed to the Scooby Gang.
A little hesitantly at first, because Buffy had been involved, but finally with enthusiasm matching that of their L.A. counterparts, they told about how Willow and Anya had accidentally released Anya's troll ex-boyfriend from his crystal. Even Spike joined into the telling. As that story wrapped up, another began. And so it went.
". . . He sounds like that ogre that got loose in Melrose. That was a mess . . ."
". . . Oh! And remember Buffy having to clean all those grindylows out of Lake Wilkins? I swear that lake is cursed or something . . ."
". . . We had an infestation of saltwater grindylows off of Malibu Beach. Nasty buggers. Bigger than your freshwater variety, too . . ."
". . . Hey, remember when Harmony kidnapped Dawn? Harmony and her minions, if you can imagine that . . ."
". . . We had a problem with Saka demons in L.A., too. Wesley, it turns out, is allergic to them. He had purple blotches all over his face for a week . . ."
". . . the thing exploded and covered all of us with this orange slime that dyed everything we were wearing, right down to the underwear . . ."
". . . and then there was the time Angel got locked in a meat locker and spent hours trying to get free—and he had his cell phone the entire time!"
". . . When Gachnar finally manifested, he was like six inches tall, and Xander was all 'Who's a widdle fear demon?' He was kinda cute, actually. Buffy squashed 'im . . ."
". . . Landok. Picture, if you will, a green-skinned Klingon . . ."
". . . There were two of me, and each side thought the other was the evil one. Tell me it gets weirder than that . . ."
There finally came a moment of silence as they all looked around at each other. Two vampires, one with a soul, the other with a chip. Two witches. A thousand-year-old ex-demon. A Seeress with a direct link to the Powers That Be. A former Watcher. A current Watcher. An ordinary young man with an extraordinary life. A werewolf. A girl who was never born. All brought together because of one exceptional young woman.
Giles raised his wineglass. "Here's to Buffy."
"To Buffy," the others echoed. Wineglasses, water glasses, and ceramic mugs all clinked together as they drank to the Slayer.