Episode 5
Busted
"Buffy moved cautiously through the dark and dripping underground passageway, gripping a wooden stake, knowing she had to destroy the hideous creature before it destroyed her. The creature was close by; she could feel it.
"Eliot could feel
it, too. In the excruciating tension of
the moment, he had suspended, temporarily, the chewing of his Cheez-It. The
small damp orange square rested uneasily on his tongue."
—Dave
Barry
Big Trouble
Opening Note: It is a well known fact that sex sells. The only exception that comes to mind would have to be those nasty, Riley-Buffy rabid-weasel shagging scenes, which made one inclined to change the channel and watch XFL instead. Thankfully, this does not look like a problem we will be facing again, anytime soon. One can hope.
Anyway, back to the point of sex and it's ability to sell stuff. With that in consideration, that is where I chose to end the last one, and were I chose to begin this one. If you are one of those scary fundamentalist people, go do something that doesn't involve reading this story. Spare us both the trouble.
In conclusion, Joss Whedon, if you are gracing this lowly fan fic with your divine presence, I would like to say that you are God off all things cool and Buffy, except when you are killing off lovable characters and making Buffy and Riley have sex.
Thank you, and now for you're regularly scheduled fan fic:
Tranquil Vista Memorial Park:
Spike's Crypt
For Andrea Buffy Gellar, the recent realization that she was in love with Spike was something of a surprise. For the past few years she had operated under the conclusion that she would live a brief life, featuring slimy monsters and negative zero boyfriends. Never did she once think that she would fall in love with a vampire, but given her doppelganger's track record, it almost seemed that they had genetic disposition to fall for the undead.
Andrea never thought much about that anymore. All that mattered to her at the moment was that whenever they made love, nothing else existed beyond the knowledge that she was no longer alone. Unfortunately, she soon became aware that she was no longer alone in a very different sense.
Looking beyond themselves at the retreating figure, she said, "Oh, crap, not again."
The Bronze was definitely a cool place to hang out. Live music, dancing, decent food, and pool, if you liked to play it. It was about as casual as casual got. But tonight was not about casual, and so they were not at the Bronze.
Obsidian was not casual in any sense of the word. Nor was it in Sunnydale. If traffic was good—which it wasn't tonight—a trip from Sunnydale was forty five minutes one way. Tonight it was an hour and a half. But Cordelia didn't mind much, because they were going to a nice restaurant, and it gave them more time to play the game.
The PTB's had given Doyle a get out of being dead free pass, so he could play messenger boy. Normally, they'd just have wiped his memory of the great beyond, but because of the message that wasn't an option, so they fell back on Plan B: Threats. The Powers were kinda funny about mortals finding out the secrets of the universe's inner workings, and they were particularly funny about mortals finding out, then blabbing about it. Of course, there were crazies by the dozens that were raving about what the afterlife was like. The Powers just didn't want people in the know doing the babbling, so Doyle was ordered to keep is trap shut.
But Doyle was only human, or human enough, and the PTB's recognized that everyone makes mistakes. So, as Doyle once accidentally let slip, there was a loophole. If he gave away something small, and unintentionally, and he didn't do it too often, they would let it slide. A little bit. And that was only because they liked him.
Thus, the game. Cordelia was constantly prodding for details, trying to trick Doyle into letting something slide by, and Doyle tried to keep things from her. It was perhaps the only relationship in the world where keeping secrets actually drew a couple closer together.
"Did you see that episode of Crossing Over With John Edward last night?" They were stopped at a red light long enough to make an immortal impatient, but when concentrating on the game, Cordelia's tolerance was boundless.
Doyle's concentration was split between driving and Cordelia, so his patience was a little less boundless. "What's that?"
"Oh, I forgot. That show came on after." 'After' was sorter and less painful than 'after you died.' "It's this guy that says he can talk to dead people."
Green light. "What, like in The 6th Sense?" Cordelia had rented it so that they could watch it together. They had laughed the entire way through it.
"Yeah, only less scary," Cordelia said.
"Humm."
"It's weird. He can tell all this stuff about these dead people, that he couldn't possible know… Unless he actually can talk to dead people."
Doyle shrugged and put on a turn signal. "He could just be reading their minds."
"But why would a telepath claim to be a necroscope? Wouldn't he just say he was a telepath?"
"Necroscope?"
"Someone who can speak to dead people," she said.
"Oh. Well, I don't know."
"Do you think he could be for real?"
Doyle turned into Obsidian's parking lot. "We're here," he said.
Cordelia smacked his arm lightly as he pulled up to the valet. "You're changing the subject."
"Hey, I didn't realize they had valet," Doyle said, changing the subject. "Just how expensive is this place?"
The doors were opened for them, and Cordelia stepped out like she'd been having car doors opened for her every day of her life. "Just how much do you love me?"
Doyle's dismount was somewhat less graceful. He walked around to join her at the entrance. A red carpet led to doors guarded by bouncers that could be models. "Cordy, that is not fair."
"OK, you tell me about the afterlife, and we can go somewhere else. And don't tell me that's it's full of dead people. Tell me something I don't know."
Doyle took her hand and led her inside. "It can't be that expensive."
It was that expensive. But he loved her that much and far more, so he dealt. The food was fantastic. Doyle had ordered frugally. Soup, the salad that came with it, and water. He was driving, so no beer. It was the biggest sacrifice of the night. Surprisingly, Cordelia ordered light too, and Doyle spent most of the meal trying to decide if it was because she didn't want to spend so much of his money, or she wasn't really hungry. He preferred the former, because he tended to assume the best of her.
"You know what's really weird? Ever since you came back, I haven't had a single vision." She tilted her head skyward, as if addressing the ceiling. "Not that I'm complaining." She looked back at Doyle.
He fidgeted. Ever since he'd come back and she'd slapped him, Doyle knew that he'd have to deal with the vision topic eventually. It was something they'd both been avoiding, and for too long. "Cordelia, I am so sorry I placed that burden on you. I remember how much I hated them, and I would never have deliberately inflicted them on you. I mean, I felt something, but I was about to die, and…" He stared off into space for a moment, as if there were some teleprompter that only he could see, giving him the right words to say. He shook his head and reached forward for her hand. "I'm sorry."
Cordelia took his hand in both of hers. "Doyle, they were painful, but they were never a burden. Those visions were like having a part of you still around, in me. They gave me a purpose in life I didn't have before. Now, with Angel human and all, I almost miss them—"
They screamed in unison. The force of the vision quite literally threw Cordelia back, and she fell backwards out of her chair. Unfortunately, Doyle was distracted by his own vision and holding on to Cordy, so he was pulled forward into his overpriced soup.
Several snotty waiters hurried over to help them to their feet and clean up the mess. Cordelia pushed them away and got up on her own power. She looked up at the ceiling again. "I said almost!"
"Are you to alright, miss?" Snotty Waiter Guy asked.
"Yes, I—" She looked at Doyle, who was wiping soup off his face and holding his head at the same time. "—we suffer from epilepsy. The seizures usually aren't this bad, though. Must have been something we ate…"
The head waiter, who was currently fretting over Doyle, perked up his ears at the last bit. A word flashed through his mind. This word was lawsuit. He rushed to Cordelia. "We are terribly sorry for this. You will not be charged for tonight's meal."
"Oh, that's not necessary," Cordelia replied instantly in a tone that said clearly the opposite.
The head waiter tracked down their check and tore it in half.
Doyle watched as Cordelia masterfully turned a nasty situation to their benefit, and was reminded of why he fell in love with her.
Valentine's Day was rapidly approaching. For the past few weeks, Angel had been looking forward to it with increasing dread. Partly it was the internal battle that had been raging inside him ever since he had become human: should he or should he not peruse a relationship with Buffy. Normally it would not have posed a problem. If Riley hadn't died, he could have vied against him for Buffy's affections guilt free, and Angel was fairly confident he would have won. But Riley had died, and things suddenly became complicated. Competing against someone who was alive was one thing, but competing against the Riley's memory seemed ignoble. A Valentine's Day alone, and in this kind of turmoil, would have sucked, not to mention that all of this would be magnified by memories of his actions one particular V-Day, when he was evil and had tried to kill Buffy. However, this was no longer the case. Angel knew now that even if Riley had been in the picture, Buffy would still choose him, and now that Valentine's was coming and he was finally dating Buffy, there were plans to be made. Something surprising, original, romantic, but not overdone.
Angel mulled over his options as he pulled out the keys to his apartment out of his duster pocket. As he did so, other thoughts popped into his mind. There hadn't been any visions ever since he had become human. Was this because there were never going to be anymore visions? Were they on their own? That was a big reason they had moved the business to Sunnydale. With the Hellmouth, there was plenty to do and less chance of "screwing up," as the Powers had put it. But without the visions to guide them, they hadn't really done a whole lot except assist the Scooby Gang. Was he already screwing up without realizing it? On the other hand, the Powers may just have been laying off to give him a chance to acclimate to being human. He doubted the last part. It was just too considerate of them.
Then there was Anne. She was hiding something and he had no earthly idea what it could be. Sure, she was keeping the details of her past a well guarded secret, but there was something else. Angel was half tempted to investigate, but there was something very wrong about spying on someone who was kind of a friend. Which was another thing that bothered him. Anne was Buffy in many important ways. He could usually understand Buffy's motivations, and sometimes he could almost fathom what she was thinking, but Anne was completely different. He'd gone out of his way to be nice to her, but she always seemed put off by it. He had not clue what the alternate Angel had said or done to her, but whatever it was, she was pissed off about it.
He was so lost in thought that he practically stepped on Spike before he noticed him. The vampire had been sitting on his doorstep, bouncing a superball off the wall.
"What are you doing here?"
Spike stared at him from the floor, not bothering to stand. "I wanted to talk to you, mate."
"Spike, how many centuries is it going to take for you to get it that I am not your mate?"
"A little over one. I won't do it again."
Angel didn't believe him, but he let it slide. "What do you want?"
He began to throw the ball again, as if to avoid looking at Angel while he talked. "As you just thoughtfully illustrated, we've known each other longer than anyone else we know."
Angel thought about that for a moment, and realized dismally that it was true. Darla and Drusilla were dead. They were each other's oldest living acquaintance. He sighed. "So?"
Spike caught the ball and held it. "We're both on the good side of the Force. Neither of us are trying to kill each other. I say we tone down the hostilities."
"Oh, God," Angel groaned. He unlocked his door, stepped over Spike, and went inside.
Spike stood up and stared at him across the threshold. "Look, m—Angel, I'm not asking for a friend—"
"Well that's good."
"—but, as much as I hate to admit it, we have more in common that we like to admit," he finished. Spike seemed to examine the invisible force keeping him outside. "This conversation would be less awkward if I were inside."
Angel smiled from his side of the barrier. "You know, this is an advantage I've never really experienced before. By the time I first found out about the existence of vampires, I was one. This is the first time it's ever come up since my transformation." He put his hand through the doorway, waved it around and pulled it back into the apartment. "After two hundred years of being on the other side, this is really… cool."
"Well, I'm glad for you. Can I come in now?"
Angel made a big deal of mulling it over. "Humm… No."
"Look, you mindless prat, I remember a time when you were just full of useful advise on how to be evil. Now all that's pretty much useless to me. You're better at this whole being good thing and I could use the help."
Angel couldn't have been more surprised if Spike had revealed a long hidden crush on Giles. "You want me to give you tips on how to be a good guy?"
"Something like that. It's more like… OK, you know that Anne and I are friends, right?" Spike mentally crossed his fingers that Angel would interpret 'friends' by its denotation, and not read further into it.
"I'm aware that you two hang out," Angel replied cautiously.
"After that interview with the Council, I'm a little concerned about her."
Angel nodded. "I hear that."
"So I figure, Anne's not Buffy, but she's similar in a lot of ways. You're practically a Buffy expert. I was wondering about you insights into the situation."
"You're concerned about your friend."
Spike shrugged.
"She must be some friend for you to come to me for help."
"She's the only one I've got," he said. "I really think that deserves an invitation. Besides, it's not as if I can hurt you."
"Yes, but you could come back one day and rob me blind or vandalize the place."
Spike glared for a moment. "Then I guess you'll have to trust me."
Angel considered his options. "Come in."
At least he was insured.
"I would offer you something to drink, but I don't like you that much," Angel said.
Spike ignored the comment and examined his surroundings. The apartment was very open. To the left of the door was the kitchen which was partially enclosed by a couple of walls. Beyond the kitchen was the apartment's only completely enclosed room, accessed by double doors, which Spike assumed was the bedroom. The main room was vaulted, the back wall covered almost completely with east-facing windows. A crescent moon was shining through now, but in several hours the whole apartment would be flooded with sunlight. Spike glanced at Angel, who was now lounging on one of a pair of leather sofas. Spike suspected correctly that those windows were the main reason Angel chose this apartment. For a second, Spike found himself envying the lucky bloke.
The main room was spacious. The right hand wall was covered in a built-in bookshelf, which was fully stocked with leather bound tomes. Where the bookshelf ended, a metal spiral staircase led up to a loft. The center of the room was empty except for the afore mentioned sofas and a coffee table between them. Spike's eyes flicked back across the room to Angel, when he caught something out of the corner of his eye. It was darkly colored, explaining why he didn't immediately see it. The furball was black with white splotches, much like a cow. Spike looked at Angel in shock.
"You have a furby?"
Angel rolled his eyes. Could this night get any worse? On second thought, Angel decided that, yes, it most certainly could. "It was a misguided Christmas gift from Cordy, so I can't get rid of it. I eventually had to take out the batteries just to shut the damn thing up."
Spike smiled. "So the big, bad Angelus—the scourge of Europe—has a electronic pet. Hell, this'd make great blackmail material. Word of this gets out, it'll ruin your tough, he-man image."
"William, shut up and sit down."
Angel gestured to the sofa across from him, and Spike sat. Out of wise ass remarks for the moment, Spike contented himself with staring at his host. There was a laborious silence, which Angel eventually broke.
"What Anne told this Talbot person a few hours ago, how much do you think she's hiding?"
"I know as much as you do. She doesn't probe about my past, and I return the favor."
"Has… has she ever said anything about the me from her universe?"
"Nope. The only thing she's ever said about you is that she thinks you're an idiot and she doesn't understand what Buffy sees in you." Spike wisely didn't add any remarks about agreeing with her, but he certainly thought about it.
Angel furrowed his brow. "That's nothing I haven't figured out already."
Spike decided to push his luck. "When did you know?"
"Know what?"
"That you loved her."
Spike expected Angel to come back with some scathing response, but to his surprise, he answered the question. "About thirty seconds after I first saw her." Over the course of their conversation, Angel had taken a key off his key ring, and was now turning it over and over in his hand. Spike recognized the gesture. It was something Angel often did when talking to someone he didn't particularly like. It gave the impression that he wasn't giving the conversation all of his attention, when the exact opposite was true. It was the closest thing to a nervous habit that Angel had.
"I never figured you for someone that believed in love at first sight."
He continued to rotate the key between his hands. "Up until a few years ago, I didn't." He fixed his gaze firmly on the key. "When did you know?"
There was a moment of blind panic. Angel was on to them. Spike was screwed. "What do you mean?"
"You followed Buffy to LA. Now I know from experience that vampires, to varying degrees, have a psychic connection to their sire, but I know for a fact that your connection to Drusilla was not nearly strong enough for you to sense she was in LA. That means you went after Buffy."
So he knew about Buffy, and not Anne. Spike wasn't sure which was worse. Oh hell, no sense denying it. "I made an educated guess. Once I got to town, I headed for this demon karaoke bar. Since the demon knew who you were, I don't think I need to explain further."
"What song?"
"My Way. The Sex Pistols. And to answer your question, I don't know when exactly it happened, but one night I woke up and realized that I was in love with her."
Angel looked up from the key, which was now immobile in his hand.
"I suppose this is the part where you get pissed off and kill me," Spike finished.
"No." Angel put the key down next to the others. "But if I ever hear about you putting the moves on her, I will." He was suddenly reminded of Riley. "And if tomorrow or the next, something unfortunate accident were to kill me, and you move in on Buffy, I will come back and haunt you. I will haunt you in a way that makes the ghosts in Poltergeist look like Casper."
Spike held up his hands. "Hey, I heard about what Phantom Denis did to the Riley demon. Besides, I've… moved on." He let out a small laugh. "Speaking of which, what did you think of the Riley-goat incident?"
Angel stared at Spike blankly.
"Hey, even if I told Buffy—which I'm not—but even if I did, she wouldn't believe anything I would say."
Angel was silent for a beat. "I thought is was pretty cool."
"Like I said, more in common that we like to admit."
Angel begrudgingly agreed.
By the time Angel was in bed, it was one in the morning. Somehow, getting sleep was easier when he was a vampire. Patrolling, unexpected Spike encounters, and other nocturnal activities that kept him up all night, plus keeping regular business hours, well, it didn't lead to eight hours of sleeping bliss. At least when he was a vampire, he had a good excuse for sleeping all day. Over the past month, he had gained a new respect for Buffy's ability to juggle school, slaying, and socializing. But the day was finally over, and sleep was at hand.
The knock was loud and insistent.
For a moment, Angel tried to delude himself into thinking it was noise from one of his neighbors, and for another moment he tried to pretend he wasn't home. The visitor would have none of it, so he rolled out of bed and threw on some clothes. After a short saunter to the door, he looked into the peep hole and groaned. He opened the door.
"Well, hey there. Boy, you look tired!" the Host observed cheerfully.
"You have a keen grasp of the obvious," Angel replied as he stepped back to let him in. "What are you doing here in the middle of the night?"
He didn't get an answer, because Doyle and Cordelia piled in after the demon.
Doyle was halfway through "Angel, we have a problem," when he noticed their demon buddy. He pointed to the Host. "Hey, that's the demon from our vision."
"Doyle, the Host. The Host, Doyle," Cordelia said, gesturing to match her words.
The Host squinted at Doyle for a moment then extended his hand warmly, and Doyle took it. "So this is the Doyle I've felt so much about." He turned to Cordelia. "Hey, looks like life's been treating you well since we last met. It's about time the two of you hooked up." Then it was Angel's turn. "So Angel, how's the human condition working out for you?"
Angel shut the door behind them and leaned against it. "Fabulous. So what's going on?"
The demon looked indignant. "What? Is it so far fetched that I came by to see how my friends are doing?"
"No, except for the fact that you were in a vision…" It was almost possible to see the light bulb go off in Angel's head. "Wait, who had the vision?"
"Both of us," Doyle replied.
"Simultaneously," Cordelia said.
"Yeah, those wacky Powers, they have a bizarre sense of humor."
" 'Bizzare?' Doyle, I think the word you're looking for is 'painful.' "
"Guys," Angel interjected, "what was the vision?"
"Oh." Cordelia looked at Doyle.
"You tell him, Princess."
"A vampire has entered our plane of existence through a portal in LA, near the Host's bar, and is heading this way. He looks like he's on a crush, kill, destroy." Cordelia thought for a moment. "Oh, and he kinda looks like Luke Perry," she added.
The Host nodded. "He came into the bar, and he even had a guitar with him. He did a number, and I tell you, that is the first time I've ever wanted to flat out lie to a customer about what I saw."
"What did you see?"
The demon got noticeably uncomfortable. "He wants to kill Buffy."
Insomnia. Sleep was coming no time soon to Buffy Summers. She turned over putting her back to the window. She briefly considered getting up and visiting Angel, then she remembered that he wouldn't be awake now. Even after all this time, she often forgot that he wasn't a vampire anymore. But now that the idea was in her head, she wanted him to be here badly. Anne was unnerving on multiple levels, and that interview hadn't made lessened that feeling. Buffy had tried to imagine what it would have been like to lose her entire family, and quickly gave up. She suddenly felt like pond scum, and she wasn't even sure why. Which made her want to talk to Angel even more, for nothing else than to get everything off her chest.
She got up and went to her closet. Between two Slayers, Angel, Spike, the Scoobies, and Angel Investigations, supernatural activity had been virtually non existent for the past month or so. If you were a bad guy in Sunnydale, well, sucks to be you. She'd be lucky to get two of them tonight, but a the very least the fresh air would do her good. Either that or aggravate her allergies. Buffy dressed grumpily. Plain blue jeans and a t-shirt for the Goth band Slayer. She didn't really listen to their music. In fact, she didn't even like their music, but wearing the shirt on patrol gave her a wonderful sense of irony.
She paused for a moment and stared down at the bottom of the closet. The floor was taken up with a laundry hamper, miscellaneous stuff, and a trunk. Unbeknownst to most, the trunk had a false bottom, a relic from the days when she had to hide her weapon stash from her mother. She still hid stuff there today, just not to conceal her identity. She knelt down and lifted the bottom of the trunk to expose a black leather jacket, neatly folded. She pulled it out and looked it over. Before she even knew the truth about what he was, Angel had given it to her. For months after, she'd worn it around like it was superglued to her body. The jacket had been delegated to the trunk a few million heartbreaks ago, and she'd avoided the false bottom ever since. Even Willow had no idea she still had the thing.
Buffy put it on, finding to her delight that it still smelled faintly like him. With a smile, she grabbed Mr. Pointy and headed for the window. Her hand was on the window sill when her spider sense began to tingle. She opened the window. Without looking outside, she said, "Whatchya doing out there?"
Angel climbed up into view. "I need to talk to you, but I didn't want to wake up the whole house… How did you know I was here?"
Buffy swung one leg out the window, then joined him in the tree. "I'm psychic. What's up?"
"I think you're in danger. Cordelia and Doyle had a vision, and the Host's in town. Both of them agree that there's this vampire that's out to kill you." Angel let himself fall from the tree, Buffy right behind him.
"Wow, I feel sixteen again," Buffy said.
"What?"
"Me escaping through the window, you giving me vague warnings about some mysterious bad that wants to kill me. It's like old times."
He smiled. "I'd apologize for coming so late, but I just found out and it looks like you were already heading out and… that's a nice jacket."
Buffy did a hair toss. "Oh, this old thing? I only wear it when I don't care what I look like. Anyway, I couldn't sleep and I figured I'd get some slaying in."
"Well, The Host is staying at my place tonight and he sings in his sleep. 'Creepy' just does not cover it. And given that there is something out there that's trying to kill you, maybe I should go with you. Not that I don't think you can handle yourself, but, you know, back up is always good."
Buffy mentally noted that Angel was particularly cute when he was doing his nervous babbling thing.
Tranquil Vista Memorial Park was closer, but neither of them particularly felt like running into Spike, so they went to Weatherly instead. It was smaller than Tranquil Vista, but it was newer, and that meant more fresh graves. Fresh graves meant fresh vampires. Fresh vampires meant stupid vampires, and stupid vampires were Buffy's favorite cannon fodder.
"So this vampire, what do we have on him?"
Angel shrugged and scanned the horizon for movement. "Not much. He came in through a portal, and he wants to hurt you."
"Story of my life."
Angel winced slightly at that. The question of his own mortality had never really worried him much. Two and a half centuries were a good run by any standards. However, Buffy was an entirely different matter. By Slayer standards, she should be getting the senior citizen discount at Sun Cinemas. The thought of his own death didn't bother him, but Buffy… It was not something they talked about, but the thought was always there, hanging in the air like a dark, portentous cloud. He didn't care how selfish it was, he hoped that he died before her. He wouldn't be able to live with the grief.
To make a long story short, Angel was brooding.
"Wow," Buffy said, breaking him from his trance, "it's the serious thought face. What's on your mind?"
" 'Ships, shoes, sealing wax, cabbages and kings, and why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings.' "
Buffy stared up at him. "Angel, I know you're well read, but I doubt you were brooding on Alice in Wonderland."
"Through the Looking Glass."
"Whatever. Come on, if you can't talk to me, who can—"
Timing is everything, which is why a figure burst through the nearby shrubs and attacked Buffy at that exact moment. Within seconds, Angel grabbed the figure around the waist and tossed it off of Buffy, allowing her to go for her stake.
"OK," she said, shaking herself off, "that was sneaky…"
It was Harmony.
And Buffy was annoyed. "What are you doing? Do you have some kind of death wish? Go pester Spike."
She didn't seem to understand, her words coming out in a dizzying stream. "Look, I'm not a vampire. I'm Lilah Morgan. I was at the office one day, and then I was somewhere else, in this body, and I didn't know where I was, and I didn't know who I was, but I heard that Angel was here and… God, I need your help—"
Harmony's body crumpled into a pile of dust. Buffy turned back to Angel, brushing off the remnants of the vampire from her jacket.
"Uh, Buffy, I think she was telling the truth. I knew someone in LA with that name."
"Ohmigod! I didn't realize! I didn't mean to… Was that a person?!"
Angel tried not to laugh. "God no! She was a bad guy."
Buffy gave him a puzzled look.
"A lawyer," he elaborated.
"Oh." She thought on that for half a moment. "Well, OK then."
"So Lilah Morgan was in Harmony's body? And Harmony is… was a vampire?" Just when Cordelia thought the universe couldn't hold anymore weird surprises for her, the universe came out and surprised her.
"She got bit at graduation," Buffy explained.
Angel had been leaning against his desk next to Buffy. Now he stood and began to pace. "I can't think of any other explanation. Even if Harmony knew Lilah, why would she come up with that story?"
Doyle nodded in agreement. "Yeah, no one's dumb enough to think that'd fly."
"That's only because you've never met Harm," Cordelia said listlessly.
"I thought she was your friend," Doyle said in a tone that made it more of a question.
"I hung with her because she was rich, she could dress, and I was shallow. Doesn't make her any brighter."
Angel held up his hand to stop the conversation. "Body switching is a low priority right now." He turned to the demon. "So when this vampire sang, what did you see?"
The Host was more interested in his coffee than Angel's question. "Do you guys have anything besides bean juice?"
"We've got root beer," Wesley said.
"That sounds good."
Wesley tossed him a can across the room and the Host caught it deftly. He put it on a nearby pile of papers to let the carbonation settle down and answered the question. "He's from Earth, just not this one. He knows Buffy, and wants her dead. That's about it."
"That's it? No name?" Buffy asked. "You just looked at me and knew I was the Slayer. He sang and that's all you got?"
"Hey, sister, this isn't a science. You have an open personality. He didn't. I guessing he was a musician of some sort, because he was very comfortable on stage. Unlike Angel—who has what borders on a social phobia—singing didn't embarrass him, so he didn't reveal much."
"You said that you wanted to lie to this vampire," Angel said. "What exactly did you tell him?"
"That if I were him, I'd stay away from the Slayer. It's good advise, and it's true." He frowned. "But I don't think he listened to me."
"Great."
Doyle checked his watch, then stood, grabbing a manila folder on his way to the door. "Guys, I've got to go out and deliver this. I won't be gone long."
"Deliver what?" Angel asked.
Doyle gave an absent shrug as he pushed open the door. "Can't say. Client confidentiality." Then he was gone.
Angel whirled on Cordelia. "Client confidentiality? I was under the impression that his clients were my clients."
"This client specifically requested that you not know of their business. I wouldn't sweat it, though. You're gonna find out eventually."
"Cordelia—"
"So how 'bout that vampire!" the Host interrupted, bringing Angel's attention away from unwanted areas. Cordelia flashed the demon a grateful look. She wasn't sure how much he'd been able to sense, but she was thankful all the same.
Several Hours Later...
Wesley took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes with his index finger and thumb. "OK, the main problem I see with the time travel scenario is that, why now? If he's someone from the future, why would he attack now, when we have two, coming on there Slayers in town, in addition to everyone else. Why not go back further and kill her before she was called, like as a child?"
Angel had been twiddling with one of their business cards with the quasi-lobster-butterfly-angel scribble. Now he looked up, appearing for all the world to have just been hit over the head with Newton's apple. "Host?"
The demon grunted from behind his fifth root beer.
"You said he was from a different Earth. Did you sense which Buffy he wanted to kill?"
The Host's eyes widened. "There's more than one?"
As the idea began to take form in everyone's mind, Angel gave voice to it. "This guy didn't move backwards in time, he moved sideways."
"So he might be from Anne's universe," Buffy finished.
There was a moment of collective revelation and panic, ended by Wesley reaching for the phone and dialing the Slayer's number.
"God, it's so obvious," Buffy said to no one in particular. "Why didn't we think of it before?"
There was a uncomfortable moment of collective feeling stupid.
Wesley hung up, or rather, slammed the phone. "She's not answering."
"Maybe she's out patrolling?" Buffy said. "It's dark out."
"Is it her night to work at the Magic Box?" Wesley asked.
"It'd be closed by now, and I doubt she'd be there," said Buffy.
Angel had an awful thought. He went to the coat rack and grabbed his duster. "Wes, call there anyway and keep trying Anne's. When Cordy and Doyle get back, catch them up, and have them get Giles."
Angel didn't tell them where he was going. He did this for a few reasons. It built suspense, someone would ask him anyway (he was betting on Buffy), and, on his way out the door, he could hurriedly say something cryptic over his shoulder, which would look cool.
"Where are you going?" Buffy asked.
"To check with a friend," Angel said hurriedly on his way out the door.
Six minutes later...
Cordelia and Doyle had been successful in Operation Get Food. In between bites of her doughnut (Slayer = high metabolism = eats whatever she wants), Buffy told them everything they had missed. They accepted the upgrade from yellow to red alert, right up until the part about Angel's departure.
" 'Check with a friend?' " Cordelia repeated. "What's that supposed to mean, unless… they're not a Scooby…"
"… or they're Anne's friend," Doyle said.
Cordelia and Doyle made eye contact and telepathically shared an idea: @&#¥£Lπ%$!
"What's going on?" Buffy asked.
"Nothing," said Cordelia and Doyle.
Buffy was well aware that through years of language development, nothing in this context had evolved to mean something, but she was unable to question them further because they ran out on their mission to get Giles.
When Giles had heard about Wesley's copy of The Writings of Armashkhan, his first thought was insane jealousy. His second thought was that he must get on better terms with Wesley as soon a possible so he could borrow the book. Surprisingly, once the two of them put the unpleasantries of the past behind them, Giles found that they had many things in common, such as a strong dislike for the Council, poor relationships with their fathers, and a great love for really old books.
Within a week, Giles was able to take Armashkhan home, and he was reading it with delight when the phone rang.
"Hello," he said absently into the receiver, still half-reading.
"Giles!" Cordelia yelled from the other end of the line. "We have one, possibly two, potentially catastrophic problems on our hands. My assessment of the situation is that we're screwed."
Angel may have once been a soulless demon, but he did have standards. Even back when he was evil, Angel had never possessed any desire to live in a crypt, cave, abandoned warehouse, or any place that had any of the characteristics of Spike's lair. Lair was the only word for it, as it was ugly and Spike lived there.
He kicked in the door without a verbal warning. According to Buffy, it was kind of a tradition: when visiting Spike, ignore etiquette and just barge in. Angel decided to observe this tradition after Buffy told him that it annoyed Spike.
The room appeared empty, but Angel could hear a faint
noise, too faint for ordinary people to hear. Angel knew that some of the applications of his heightened senses where
downright creepy. His friends couldn't
help being a little unnerved whenever he smelled traces of blood yards away or
recognized someone by scent, so he found ways of hiding it. If someone else had been here, he'd have
come up with some other reason to explore the underground room. But he was alone, so he proceeded to check
the basement for Spike and holy cra—
Angel reentered the office and went straight to Buffy. "We need to talk," he said, then led her off to the back offices before any of the others could react. The first office was Angel's, and was identical to the other three, only his desk had significantly fewer knick knacks. He shut the door behind them, and a weight formed in Buffy's stomach. If something was upsetting him this much, Buffy almost didn't want to know what it was, although she suspected she already knew. Angel didn't sit down, so she didn't either, opting to watch him pace until he felt like talking.
Angel came to a complete stop. "Buffy, it looks like Spike and Anne have been secretly…" Fidget. "…dating."
A wave of relief. He wasn't going to tell her that Anne was dead. But…
Buffy frowned at him. "What?"
To Be Continued...