Disclaimer: see chapter 1
DIMENSIONS: chapter 2 – Back to Sunnydale
A:
Buffy let the writing on the blackboard sweep over her, knowing that in any case Willow next to her was, as usual, taking clear and complete notes. Instead of listening to Professor Walsh on dual personality disorder, she was dreaming about the TA sitting attentively to one side of the podium; his gentle smile and his honest, open laugh. It was nice to hear a man laugh, she mused, especially in that generous, free way. Xander laughed, sure, but did Xander count as a man? And in any case Xander's laughs were always at least fifty percent sarcasm. Giles … Giles never laughed, only smiled. And Angel scarcely smiled, in Buffy's memory – and heaven knows she remembered so much; laughter was out for an ensouled vampire. Only the dreaded memory of Angelus held images of laughter and a lingering, lopsided smile full of charm and confidence and pure, undiluted evil.
Buffy pushed that thought away as soon as it had surfaced and turned her attention back to Riley. He was the perfect antidote to dark souvenirs, the very epitome of America, and it appeared he liked her. So, Buffy decided, with a little smile of her own, why not give it a go? She switched back to the lecture.
B:
"I'm loving Angel instead!" sang Buffy at the top of her voice. "And through it all, wherever it may take me, I know that life won't break me, whether I'm right or wrong …"
Angel laughed with her singing and the music blaring loud from the radio. They had the roof down on the black convertible, the sun shone high in the sky, and the miles to Sunnydale were disappearing fast. Behind his new sunglasses the world looked strange, new and glistening in the light. Driving this road at night had concealed from him the acres of dry fields burning in the harsh Californian sunshine, and it struck Angel just how far he had come since leaving the green rolling hillsides and the wild ocean of Ireland.
"Dollar for your thoughts," Buffy said, breaking off her mad singing.
"I thought it used to be a penny," Angel returned, overtaking a tractor. "I was just thinking how lucky I am. And, how hot it is."
"I told you to wear a T-shirt," she said.
"I don't own any T-shirts, not really," Angel pointed out. "I never had any need for them. Besides the fact that it's always colder at night, I just didn't feel heat. Or cold."
"Then we'll go shopping and buy you a whole new colourful wardrobe," Buffy suggested happily. "I bet you'd look wonderful in red."
"I wear red," Angel said.
"Dark red," Buffy replied, "and it doesn't count." And she was off on a list of the clothes she thought he should get. Angel listened with half his mind, but the easy chatter of the Slayer next to him was good. It made him feel really, thoroughly, alive.
They arrived in Sunnydale in mid-afternoon, and following Buffy's directions Angel drove first to the white house in Revello Drive, and parked outside it with a feeling of nervous anticipation, trailing a few metres behind her as she hurried to the door and opened it.
"Mom!" Buffy called, dropping her bag in the hall. Angel closed the door behind him silently.
"In the kitchen, honey," came Joyce Summers' reply, and taking hold of Angel's hand Buffy dragged him through. "What are you doing here?" Buffy's mother began, and broke off as she saw her daughter's companion. "Oh."
"Joyce," said Angel, hesitantly.
"Angel's human," Buffy threw in.
Joyce put down the bowl of cake mix she was stirring with a Slayer's vigour, and stared at Buffy.
"What?"
"Mom, I come walking in with Angel at three in the afternoon and you don't think it's odd?"
"I thought it was odd you came walking in with Angel, actually," said Joyce. Angel wanted desperately to fade out of the room and leave the two women to it, but Buffy still held his hand hard – slightly too strongly, as a matter of fact – and he was caught rabbit-like in the glare of a mother's eyes. "I thought you left her," the mother continued, accusingly.
"I did. But … things happened. Like Buffy said, I'm human now."
"He has a heartbeat and everything," Buffy added. "And the Oracles said it was permanent."
"The whats?" Joyce sat down on a kitchen stool, shaking her head. "Buffy, sweetheart …"
"Angel is human and Angel is staying," Buffy said, deadly serious now. "So you'll have to get used to it. You coped with the Slayer thing. This has to be easier."
Joyce put her head in her hands.
"I don't know. Given your relationship history, I'd venture no, Buffy. It's not going to be easier. But I know too you won't listen to a thing I say." She looked up at Angel. "I hope to God your information is correct, Angel, because whether my little girl is the Slayer or not, I don't want her hurt again."
"Neither do I," he replied in a low voice. "Believe me, Buffy is everything to me, and I would give my life for her. But I was told that this was final, that no more obstacles really stand in our way."
"Except mothers," said Joyce.
They walked to Giles's, holding hands and strolling along. Angel remarked that the town felt completely different in the daylight, with the inhabitants out and about and enjoying themselves. No menace threatened the perfect, pretty streets, and he realised for the first time why people did stay on the Hellmouth with all its accompanying threats. In the sun the forecourt to Giles's apartment was pleasant, the fountain rippling a little tune to itself. Buffy beamed at him as she pushed open the door, but Angel could not smile. Despite the change, despite the heartbeat and the functioning lungs, he still remembered the night he had come here alone, forcing open the door with the weight of a dead body over his shoulders, and set up the accessories of a romantic evening – roses, wine, opera – to trap the gentle Watcher and rip open the hearts of all the little group. And he remembered too a more recent night when Giles was his only recourse from madness, and how Evil had haunted him in the form of Jenny Calendar. So now, entering the quiet apartment, Angel felt all the guilt he had supposedly been cleansed of weighing down on his shoulders once more.
The living room was full when they went in, and someone was saying, "Well, if she doesn't come back soon then what can we do?" But the noise disappeared as Buffy pulled Angel inside. Giles took off his glasses, and with a loud clunk Xander dropped the book he was holding on the floor.
"Look at that. If it ain't the great poof himself," said Spike, reclining in an armchair (to which his hands and legs were tied firmly).
"Buffy," Giles said, standing up. "Erm, Angel."
"Much less glowery," commented Anya from the sofa. "Like the sunshine look. Suits you."
Xander held up a hand. "Might I be the only one to say, uh – daylight?"
Buffy dragged a still-reluctant Angel to the chairs and started talking. At the end there was another long silence. Even Spike looked suitably impressed. After a minute Willow got up and hugged the Slayer, before turning to Angel and hugging him too. Then she blushed bright red and hurried back to her seat.
Giles broke the silence eventually, putting his glasses back on and flicking through a book with one hand.
"The, the Oracles," he began, "they are to be found in Los Angeles?"
"Doyle knew where they were," Angel said. "They're under the Post Office. Whether they're in LA or not I don't know."
"A – and they were a man and a woman?" checked Giles.
"In kind of Greek dress," confirmed Angel. "Oh, and body paint. At any rate it looked like paint. Blue and gold."
"Fascinating," murmured Giles, scribbling notes in the margin of the book. "Absolutely fascinating."
A:
Angel's fists thudded into the punching bag, denting it, cracking the leather with every rhythmical blow. Pale pink sweat poured off him, and his mind was a blur of memories and guilt and regret. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have possibly wanted to reverse the only thing he had ever wanted, to take it away from Buffy, to live with it himself?
The skin on his knuckles was bruised and bloody but he didn't feel the pain through the mist of thoughts, nor hear the step of Doyle as he watched from the doorway, one hand in a pocket, pity and puzzlement mixed on his face. Tears blended with the sweat on Angel's face, and finally he stopped pounding the bag and fell on to it, hugging it as though it was the blonde girl he had lost; perhaps forever.
B:
They watched the couple go out, hands entwined, and the door shut.
"Will someone please give me somethin' to eat!" Spike said. "You've been so bleedin' occupied with the great poof that you've clean forgotten me."
"Shut up," Giles said.
The others stared at each other, their minds all occupied with the revelation that had just swept them up. Willow had a little smile on her face, her romantic mind full of her friend's happiness. Xander was scowling and Anya was biting her nails and glaring at her boyfriend. Giles, flicking through books, still seemed a little dazed and preoccupied.
"Does this mean I can't call him Deadboy any more?" asked Xander eventually. He turned to Spike. "Fancy a new nickname?"
"Piss off. Call him Peaches from me. Bastard always got what he wanted. Never took any bloody care of his kids either. I'm hungry!"
"Get him some blood, will you, Willow?" asked Giles wearily. "Anything to shut him up."
Willow got up and went to the fridge, and whilst the microwave was humming leant on the counter. "Don't you think it's really romantic?" she said. "You know, that he was willing to lose his humanity for Buffy?" The microwave beeped and she retrieved the yellow mug of blood.
"Sweet ain't the word I'd use," said Spike, sipping the blood. "Ta, Red. Selfish I'd call it." Four pairs of eyes turned to the vampire. "Look at it this way," he continued, "there's masses of stuff we can do that you poor creatures can't … live forever and so on. Good deal being a demon, I'd say. You reckon that there's not even a bit of Angelus that's not goin' to miss that?"
"Hear hear," Anya cut in. "Well," she defended herself, in reply to Xander's look, "the eternal life part was pretty cool. Not to mention the inflicting nasty diseases on people. It was fun."
"Vengeance girl's right," Spike agreed. "Fun is the word. Now he's tied to the Slayer's apron strings. Lucky sod. Not."
A:
"Buffy, Buffy, Buffy," Forrest moaned. "For Christ's sake, man, can't you think of something else?"
Riley ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "She's stuck inside," he said, gesturing vaguely. "You know, she's so … alive, so funny and there's something I can't make out and I just want to tell her how I feel and be honest and I can't."
"Woah, slow down," his friend said. "Sentence structure disappearing is a sure sign of infatuation. Professor Walsh never tell you that?"
Riley clicked back the slide on the gun he was cleaning and squinted down the barrel.
"No," he replied, "she never did. But maybe it's true. Maybe it's true."
B:
Angel dropped his bag and looked around the gloom. He crossed to the wall and tried the light switch, and was rewarded by a twinkle from a dusty chandelier high up near the ceiling.
The building had an air of neglect, dust filling every corner, but when he twitched aside the heavy dustsheet the sofa looked in good enough condition. Angel began to methodically fold the sheets up and pile them in a corner, before going to the tiny kitchen corner and switching on the fridge. Time enough to stock it up later. He picked up his bag again and, pushing aside thick velvet curtains, went through to the bedroom and the bare mattress on the big wooden bed. And then the memories swept over him as he stared. Lying in that bed feverish, delirious, promising Buffy he'd never leave her; Buffy talking about mirrors and drawers; dreams that woke him sweating in the middle of the day; blood-stained sticky sheets and the muddle of pale limbs and dark hair and large, dark, mad eyes; the background noise of wheels relentlessly rolling, matches being struck endlessly.
He turned on his heel and left at a run.
Buffy was unpacking when someone knocked on the door, and she called out an invitation to enter without a second thought.
"Hey." She looked up. Riley. Oh god.
"Riley," she said, hanging up her flowered sundress. "Hi." She kicked her bag of weapons a little further into the cupboard and closed the door firmly. "Hi."
"You already said that," he smiled. He stood with one hand in his back pocket and one hand nervously massaging his shoulder. "You, erm, I, we noticed you weren't in class yesterday. You're not ill?"
"Ill?" Buffy laughed. "No, I was … I went to see my dad in LA. For, Thanksgiving. You had a nice Thanksgiving?"
"Yeah. Bit short. I had to get back," said Riley, and opened his mouth to continue when there was another knock on the door.
"Come in," said Buffy.
Angel closed the door behind him and leant on it.
"I can't stay there," he panted out. "I can't, Buffy, there's …" He stopped talking.
Riley looked at Angel. Angel looked at Riley. Then they both looked at Buffy and there was silence.
"Um," said the Slayer. "Er. Riley, this is Angel, Angel, Riley Finn. He's the TA for my psych class."
"TA?" Angel asked.
"Teaching Assistant," clarified Riley. "Are you a student? I don't think I've seen you around before."
Buffy moved in before they all got lost in tangled explanations. "Angel's an old friend who's just moving back into Sunnydale," she said, taking Riley's arm and moving him firmly out of the room. "Thanks for coming round, it's kinda nice to have someone looking after me," she went on. "See you around?"
She closed the door, leaving Agent Riley Finn of Iowa perplexed and confused in the corridor.
Inside the room Angel was sitting on Willow's bed holding his head in his hands.
"I saw him when I was here the other day," he said, looking up as Buffy came back in. "You were smiling at him."
"Oh, Angel." Buffy took his hand and sat down next to him. "He's … I thought I liked him, you know – someone to take me into the light? I've been trying to get over you. Riley's sweet and normal and a bit boring. He's not you. I like him. I love you." They kissed and then rested their heads against each other. "Why did you come?" Buffy asked eventually, moving away.
"The mansion. I thought I'd be all right, but I can't stay there. You know I bought the place for Spike and Drusilla and myself after … after Giles burnt the old factory down; and I liked it then. It was old, it reminded me of the days back in Europe. And when I came back … after Acathla, it was big and safe and I didn't dare leave it because I didn't know what would be waiting for me in the darkness. But now – there are too many memories. I'm going to sell it again, buy something else. A flat with big windows looking out over the sunrise."
She hugged him tight in her Slayer's arms.
"Where are you going to stay until?" She waved her arm. "You can stay here, but there's Willow …"
Angel smiled at her. "That's all right. I thought … do you think Giles would mind? I could help Spike-sitting. God knows I'm more used to him than anyone else."
* * *
"Erm," said Giles, a little later. "Erm, I, that is – I was going to ask Xander to take Spike for the weekend …"
"Take me!" Spike exclaimed. "I'm not a bloody hamster, Rupe. I'm a vampire. I'm evil."
"And chipped," pointed out Giles tersely. "You have very little choice in the matter, I'm afraid."
"Now you're making me sound like that damned mug of yours," complained Spike.
Angel nodded. "All right, I'll get a motel room. It's only until I have somewhere else."
"The mansion …"
"Too many memories," agreed Angel, for once meeting Giles's kind grey eyes. "May I ask …?"
"I have a visitor," Giles said, turning to put a book back on the shelf as he spoke. "A female visitor." Angel stood frozen. Spike watched the pair of them with amusement. Giles straightened up and turned back round again. "Jenny … I haven't forgotten her," he told Angel gently. "I loved her. Olivia is someone I've known since Oxford. We're friends; she knows a little about … about Watching and so on. I'm f – fond of her, though love is perhaps not the right word." He propped his glasses up on a notepad on the desk. "Now, especially now, you have to stop blaming yourself for things the demon did, Angel."
"But I can still remember," Angel said. "That's not going to change." He picked up his bag and escaped out of the door. Giles picked up the phone and dialled Xander's number, shaking his head sadly.
Later that night, the town of Sunnydale slept. The Slayer had patrolled and slept now with her head pillowed on her arm, dreaming of Angel. A mile away he had finally dozed off and images of Buffy filled his sleeping head. Giles and Olivia lay in each other's arms. And with a wisp of departing air, the voices of Sunnydale were whisked away and closed in a small wooden box.
Angel awoke with the dawn and got up to watch the sun rise from the window of his dingy little motel room. He washed, staring with the awe of a new day at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, and dressed for a summer's day. He picked up his keys and went out to get breakfast.
As he drove into Sunnydale, intending to have a leisurely meal on waffles and coffee in the sunlight, Angel noticed a few people hurrying past with tear-streaked faces, and one couple gesturing wildly at each other without saying anything. The whole town seemed deathly silent, more silent than even the darkest hours of the night. He began to realise something was wrong. The coffee shop, normally packed from morning to night, was closed, and Angel walked away from the sign with only one thing on his mind. Get Buffy.
He took the stairs in Stevenson Hall two at a time and arrived at the door of room 214 slightly breathless. Somebody ran past weeping silently, and he glanced round as the door opened.
"Buffy," he started to say. At least his mouth opened to say the words, but no sound came out. Buffy stared at him, and he looked back at her tousled head and sleep-filled eyes before she put out a hand and pulled him into the room.
Willow was sitting up in bed yawning, but she smiled when she saw Angel.
"Hi, Angel," her mouth said, and then she too stopped. The three of them stared at each other hopelessly.
They arrived at Giles's holding hands, the three of them in shock from the silent walk through the muted town. Buffy and Willow were wearing plastic message boards around their necks, and as Giles closed the door and hugged them both they took the boards off and laid them on a table. Angel's eyes had gone straight to the attractive woman leaning against the counter with a mug clutched in her hands, as always remembering times past.
Buffy touched his arm and looked at him concernedly, and for a second their eyes met.
You all right? hers said, as clear as if she had spoken the words, and he nodded and went to sit down on the sofa next to Anya. Xander banged urgently on the table to get everyone's attention and turned up the news.
"An attack of laryngitis," the newsreader said, "has overcome the town of Sunnydale this morning. Reports say that the whole population is affected and the area is under quarantine. Sufferers should remain inside and rest."
Buffy's eyebrows went up and she picked up her board and wrote furiously. Patrol. Tonight. And the group began researching.
Innumerable cups of tea and piles of books later, Xander closed his latest dusty volume with a bang that startled them all. He raised his eyebrows and spread his hands out expressively. Giles sighed visibly and took off his glasses, closing his own book slowly.
'Nothing?' he wrote on a piece of paper. Everyone shook their heads and one by one stood up, stretching and yawning. Buffy picked up her bag, ready to patrol, and kissed Angel goodbye with affection in her eyes. He held her hand and looked at her, asking her with his gaze will you be okay? She smiled back and answered with another gentle kiss. Of course, don't worry. I love you.
A:
Buffy had her hands in her pockets as she picked her way through the chaos on the main street. A water pipe was spurting into the air next to an abandoned car, and the few people out were all heading for the liquor store. Every night in Sunnydale meant something odd was up. The difference was, tonight everyone knew about it.
Across the street she could see Riley Finn break up a silent argument with calm, authoritative gestures, and despite her worries Buffy's face broke into a smile. It was good to see him. She was starting to feel things when she saw him. With a decisive step she crossed the street and joined him, their lips meeting to say all the things they could not say in words.
B:
Angel could not sleep. His mind full of Buffy out patrolling the night with no recourse to sarcasm or screams kept him turning over and over in the hard motel bed. Finally he sat up and switched on the bedside lamp and reached for his book, trying to distract his mind. But the words were blurred and his brain refused to translate the French into English.
He threw Germinal down with a curse and pushed the covers back, swinging his legs out of bed and standing up in a quick motion, before the dizziness in his head caught him and made him sit back down again. Slower, you idiot, he thought to himself. Human, remember? The thought made him laugh soundlessly. How could he have forgotten? He tried standing up again steadily, and walked across to the window to look out into the night that was now a strange and unknown domain. And jumped back in shock, twitching the curtain closed.
An hour later he held the picture out at arm's length, satisfied, and fell into bed and was asleep in a few minutes.
A and B:
Giles looked at the paper in one hand, and the picture in the other, and muttered a silent curse to himself before hurrying across to the bookshelf and extracting his old, battered copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales.
B:
No. The determination in her eyes was firm. You're not coming with me.
Angel raised his eyebrows and gestured. Why not?
Buffy picked up the transparency and stared at the image of a bleeding heart on it, her back turned to him, before turning around again and waving the picture in his direction. Heart. Yours.
Less likely if I'm with you, Angel tried to tell her. Buffy shook her head, and pointed at herself, miming staking something. Then she pointed at him and mimed a throat being cut. Angel decided to give in, and gathered her to him for a kiss. I won't lose you, he told her, willing the connection. I'm not going to lose you.
DIMENSIONS: chapter 2 – Back to Sunnydale
A:
Buffy let the writing on the blackboard sweep over her, knowing that in any case Willow next to her was, as usual, taking clear and complete notes. Instead of listening to Professor Walsh on dual personality disorder, she was dreaming about the TA sitting attentively to one side of the podium; his gentle smile and his honest, open laugh. It was nice to hear a man laugh, she mused, especially in that generous, free way. Xander laughed, sure, but did Xander count as a man? And in any case Xander's laughs were always at least fifty percent sarcasm. Giles … Giles never laughed, only smiled. And Angel scarcely smiled, in Buffy's memory – and heaven knows she remembered so much; laughter was out for an ensouled vampire. Only the dreaded memory of Angelus held images of laughter and a lingering, lopsided smile full of charm and confidence and pure, undiluted evil.
Buffy pushed that thought away as soon as it had surfaced and turned her attention back to Riley. He was the perfect antidote to dark souvenirs, the very epitome of America, and it appeared he liked her. So, Buffy decided, with a little smile of her own, why not give it a go? She switched back to the lecture.
B:
"I'm loving Angel instead!" sang Buffy at the top of her voice. "And through it all, wherever it may take me, I know that life won't break me, whether I'm right or wrong …"
Angel laughed with her singing and the music blaring loud from the radio. They had the roof down on the black convertible, the sun shone high in the sky, and the miles to Sunnydale were disappearing fast. Behind his new sunglasses the world looked strange, new and glistening in the light. Driving this road at night had concealed from him the acres of dry fields burning in the harsh Californian sunshine, and it struck Angel just how far he had come since leaving the green rolling hillsides and the wild ocean of Ireland.
"Dollar for your thoughts," Buffy said, breaking off her mad singing.
"I thought it used to be a penny," Angel returned, overtaking a tractor. "I was just thinking how lucky I am. And, how hot it is."
"I told you to wear a T-shirt," she said.
"I don't own any T-shirts, not really," Angel pointed out. "I never had any need for them. Besides the fact that it's always colder at night, I just didn't feel heat. Or cold."
"Then we'll go shopping and buy you a whole new colourful wardrobe," Buffy suggested happily. "I bet you'd look wonderful in red."
"I wear red," Angel said.
"Dark red," Buffy replied, "and it doesn't count." And she was off on a list of the clothes she thought he should get. Angel listened with half his mind, but the easy chatter of the Slayer next to him was good. It made him feel really, thoroughly, alive.
They arrived in Sunnydale in mid-afternoon, and following Buffy's directions Angel drove first to the white house in Revello Drive, and parked outside it with a feeling of nervous anticipation, trailing a few metres behind her as she hurried to the door and opened it.
"Mom!" Buffy called, dropping her bag in the hall. Angel closed the door behind him silently.
"In the kitchen, honey," came Joyce Summers' reply, and taking hold of Angel's hand Buffy dragged him through. "What are you doing here?" Buffy's mother began, and broke off as she saw her daughter's companion. "Oh."
"Joyce," said Angel, hesitantly.
"Angel's human," Buffy threw in.
Joyce put down the bowl of cake mix she was stirring with a Slayer's vigour, and stared at Buffy.
"What?"
"Mom, I come walking in with Angel at three in the afternoon and you don't think it's odd?"
"I thought it was odd you came walking in with Angel, actually," said Joyce. Angel wanted desperately to fade out of the room and leave the two women to it, but Buffy still held his hand hard – slightly too strongly, as a matter of fact – and he was caught rabbit-like in the glare of a mother's eyes. "I thought you left her," the mother continued, accusingly.
"I did. But … things happened. Like Buffy said, I'm human now."
"He has a heartbeat and everything," Buffy added. "And the Oracles said it was permanent."
"The whats?" Joyce sat down on a kitchen stool, shaking her head. "Buffy, sweetheart …"
"Angel is human and Angel is staying," Buffy said, deadly serious now. "So you'll have to get used to it. You coped with the Slayer thing. This has to be easier."
Joyce put her head in her hands.
"I don't know. Given your relationship history, I'd venture no, Buffy. It's not going to be easier. But I know too you won't listen to a thing I say." She looked up at Angel. "I hope to God your information is correct, Angel, because whether my little girl is the Slayer or not, I don't want her hurt again."
"Neither do I," he replied in a low voice. "Believe me, Buffy is everything to me, and I would give my life for her. But I was told that this was final, that no more obstacles really stand in our way."
"Except mothers," said Joyce.
They walked to Giles's, holding hands and strolling along. Angel remarked that the town felt completely different in the daylight, with the inhabitants out and about and enjoying themselves. No menace threatened the perfect, pretty streets, and he realised for the first time why people did stay on the Hellmouth with all its accompanying threats. In the sun the forecourt to Giles's apartment was pleasant, the fountain rippling a little tune to itself. Buffy beamed at him as she pushed open the door, but Angel could not smile. Despite the change, despite the heartbeat and the functioning lungs, he still remembered the night he had come here alone, forcing open the door with the weight of a dead body over his shoulders, and set up the accessories of a romantic evening – roses, wine, opera – to trap the gentle Watcher and rip open the hearts of all the little group. And he remembered too a more recent night when Giles was his only recourse from madness, and how Evil had haunted him in the form of Jenny Calendar. So now, entering the quiet apartment, Angel felt all the guilt he had supposedly been cleansed of weighing down on his shoulders once more.
The living room was full when they went in, and someone was saying, "Well, if she doesn't come back soon then what can we do?" But the noise disappeared as Buffy pulled Angel inside. Giles took off his glasses, and with a loud clunk Xander dropped the book he was holding on the floor.
"Look at that. If it ain't the great poof himself," said Spike, reclining in an armchair (to which his hands and legs were tied firmly).
"Buffy," Giles said, standing up. "Erm, Angel."
"Much less glowery," commented Anya from the sofa. "Like the sunshine look. Suits you."
Xander held up a hand. "Might I be the only one to say, uh – daylight?"
Buffy dragged a still-reluctant Angel to the chairs and started talking. At the end there was another long silence. Even Spike looked suitably impressed. After a minute Willow got up and hugged the Slayer, before turning to Angel and hugging him too. Then she blushed bright red and hurried back to her seat.
Giles broke the silence eventually, putting his glasses back on and flicking through a book with one hand.
"The, the Oracles," he began, "they are to be found in Los Angeles?"
"Doyle knew where they were," Angel said. "They're under the Post Office. Whether they're in LA or not I don't know."
"A – and they were a man and a woman?" checked Giles.
"In kind of Greek dress," confirmed Angel. "Oh, and body paint. At any rate it looked like paint. Blue and gold."
"Fascinating," murmured Giles, scribbling notes in the margin of the book. "Absolutely fascinating."
A:
Angel's fists thudded into the punching bag, denting it, cracking the leather with every rhythmical blow. Pale pink sweat poured off him, and his mind was a blur of memories and guilt and regret. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have possibly wanted to reverse the only thing he had ever wanted, to take it away from Buffy, to live with it himself?
The skin on his knuckles was bruised and bloody but he didn't feel the pain through the mist of thoughts, nor hear the step of Doyle as he watched from the doorway, one hand in a pocket, pity and puzzlement mixed on his face. Tears blended with the sweat on Angel's face, and finally he stopped pounding the bag and fell on to it, hugging it as though it was the blonde girl he had lost; perhaps forever.
B:
They watched the couple go out, hands entwined, and the door shut.
"Will someone please give me somethin' to eat!" Spike said. "You've been so bleedin' occupied with the great poof that you've clean forgotten me."
"Shut up," Giles said.
The others stared at each other, their minds all occupied with the revelation that had just swept them up. Willow had a little smile on her face, her romantic mind full of her friend's happiness. Xander was scowling and Anya was biting her nails and glaring at her boyfriend. Giles, flicking through books, still seemed a little dazed and preoccupied.
"Does this mean I can't call him Deadboy any more?" asked Xander eventually. He turned to Spike. "Fancy a new nickname?"
"Piss off. Call him Peaches from me. Bastard always got what he wanted. Never took any bloody care of his kids either. I'm hungry!"
"Get him some blood, will you, Willow?" asked Giles wearily. "Anything to shut him up."
Willow got up and went to the fridge, and whilst the microwave was humming leant on the counter. "Don't you think it's really romantic?" she said. "You know, that he was willing to lose his humanity for Buffy?" The microwave beeped and she retrieved the yellow mug of blood.
"Sweet ain't the word I'd use," said Spike, sipping the blood. "Ta, Red. Selfish I'd call it." Four pairs of eyes turned to the vampire. "Look at it this way," he continued, "there's masses of stuff we can do that you poor creatures can't … live forever and so on. Good deal being a demon, I'd say. You reckon that there's not even a bit of Angelus that's not goin' to miss that?"
"Hear hear," Anya cut in. "Well," she defended herself, in reply to Xander's look, "the eternal life part was pretty cool. Not to mention the inflicting nasty diseases on people. It was fun."
"Vengeance girl's right," Spike agreed. "Fun is the word. Now he's tied to the Slayer's apron strings. Lucky sod. Not."
A:
"Buffy, Buffy, Buffy," Forrest moaned. "For Christ's sake, man, can't you think of something else?"
Riley ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "She's stuck inside," he said, gesturing vaguely. "You know, she's so … alive, so funny and there's something I can't make out and I just want to tell her how I feel and be honest and I can't."
"Woah, slow down," his friend said. "Sentence structure disappearing is a sure sign of infatuation. Professor Walsh never tell you that?"
Riley clicked back the slide on the gun he was cleaning and squinted down the barrel.
"No," he replied, "she never did. But maybe it's true. Maybe it's true."
B:
Angel dropped his bag and looked around the gloom. He crossed to the wall and tried the light switch, and was rewarded by a twinkle from a dusty chandelier high up near the ceiling.
The building had an air of neglect, dust filling every corner, but when he twitched aside the heavy dustsheet the sofa looked in good enough condition. Angel began to methodically fold the sheets up and pile them in a corner, before going to the tiny kitchen corner and switching on the fridge. Time enough to stock it up later. He picked up his bag again and, pushing aside thick velvet curtains, went through to the bedroom and the bare mattress on the big wooden bed. And then the memories swept over him as he stared. Lying in that bed feverish, delirious, promising Buffy he'd never leave her; Buffy talking about mirrors and drawers; dreams that woke him sweating in the middle of the day; blood-stained sticky sheets and the muddle of pale limbs and dark hair and large, dark, mad eyes; the background noise of wheels relentlessly rolling, matches being struck endlessly.
He turned on his heel and left at a run.
Buffy was unpacking when someone knocked on the door, and she called out an invitation to enter without a second thought.
"Hey." She looked up. Riley. Oh god.
"Riley," she said, hanging up her flowered sundress. "Hi." She kicked her bag of weapons a little further into the cupboard and closed the door firmly. "Hi."
"You already said that," he smiled. He stood with one hand in his back pocket and one hand nervously massaging his shoulder. "You, erm, I, we noticed you weren't in class yesterday. You're not ill?"
"Ill?" Buffy laughed. "No, I was … I went to see my dad in LA. For, Thanksgiving. You had a nice Thanksgiving?"
"Yeah. Bit short. I had to get back," said Riley, and opened his mouth to continue when there was another knock on the door.
"Come in," said Buffy.
Angel closed the door behind him and leant on it.
"I can't stay there," he panted out. "I can't, Buffy, there's …" He stopped talking.
Riley looked at Angel. Angel looked at Riley. Then they both looked at Buffy and there was silence.
"Um," said the Slayer. "Er. Riley, this is Angel, Angel, Riley Finn. He's the TA for my psych class."
"TA?" Angel asked.
"Teaching Assistant," clarified Riley. "Are you a student? I don't think I've seen you around before."
Buffy moved in before they all got lost in tangled explanations. "Angel's an old friend who's just moving back into Sunnydale," she said, taking Riley's arm and moving him firmly out of the room. "Thanks for coming round, it's kinda nice to have someone looking after me," she went on. "See you around?"
She closed the door, leaving Agent Riley Finn of Iowa perplexed and confused in the corridor.
Inside the room Angel was sitting on Willow's bed holding his head in his hands.
"I saw him when I was here the other day," he said, looking up as Buffy came back in. "You were smiling at him."
"Oh, Angel." Buffy took his hand and sat down next to him. "He's … I thought I liked him, you know – someone to take me into the light? I've been trying to get over you. Riley's sweet and normal and a bit boring. He's not you. I like him. I love you." They kissed and then rested their heads against each other. "Why did you come?" Buffy asked eventually, moving away.
"The mansion. I thought I'd be all right, but I can't stay there. You know I bought the place for Spike and Drusilla and myself after … after Giles burnt the old factory down; and I liked it then. It was old, it reminded me of the days back in Europe. And when I came back … after Acathla, it was big and safe and I didn't dare leave it because I didn't know what would be waiting for me in the darkness. But now – there are too many memories. I'm going to sell it again, buy something else. A flat with big windows looking out over the sunrise."
She hugged him tight in her Slayer's arms.
"Where are you going to stay until?" She waved her arm. "You can stay here, but there's Willow …"
Angel smiled at her. "That's all right. I thought … do you think Giles would mind? I could help Spike-sitting. God knows I'm more used to him than anyone else."
* * *
"Erm," said Giles, a little later. "Erm, I, that is – I was going to ask Xander to take Spike for the weekend …"
"Take me!" Spike exclaimed. "I'm not a bloody hamster, Rupe. I'm a vampire. I'm evil."
"And chipped," pointed out Giles tersely. "You have very little choice in the matter, I'm afraid."
"Now you're making me sound like that damned mug of yours," complained Spike.
Angel nodded. "All right, I'll get a motel room. It's only until I have somewhere else."
"The mansion …"
"Too many memories," agreed Angel, for once meeting Giles's kind grey eyes. "May I ask …?"
"I have a visitor," Giles said, turning to put a book back on the shelf as he spoke. "A female visitor." Angel stood frozen. Spike watched the pair of them with amusement. Giles straightened up and turned back round again. "Jenny … I haven't forgotten her," he told Angel gently. "I loved her. Olivia is someone I've known since Oxford. We're friends; she knows a little about … about Watching and so on. I'm f – fond of her, though love is perhaps not the right word." He propped his glasses up on a notepad on the desk. "Now, especially now, you have to stop blaming yourself for things the demon did, Angel."
"But I can still remember," Angel said. "That's not going to change." He picked up his bag and escaped out of the door. Giles picked up the phone and dialled Xander's number, shaking his head sadly.
Later that night, the town of Sunnydale slept. The Slayer had patrolled and slept now with her head pillowed on her arm, dreaming of Angel. A mile away he had finally dozed off and images of Buffy filled his sleeping head. Giles and Olivia lay in each other's arms. And with a wisp of departing air, the voices of Sunnydale were whisked away and closed in a small wooden box.
Angel awoke with the dawn and got up to watch the sun rise from the window of his dingy little motel room. He washed, staring with the awe of a new day at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, and dressed for a summer's day. He picked up his keys and went out to get breakfast.
As he drove into Sunnydale, intending to have a leisurely meal on waffles and coffee in the sunlight, Angel noticed a few people hurrying past with tear-streaked faces, and one couple gesturing wildly at each other without saying anything. The whole town seemed deathly silent, more silent than even the darkest hours of the night. He began to realise something was wrong. The coffee shop, normally packed from morning to night, was closed, and Angel walked away from the sign with only one thing on his mind. Get Buffy.
He took the stairs in Stevenson Hall two at a time and arrived at the door of room 214 slightly breathless. Somebody ran past weeping silently, and he glanced round as the door opened.
"Buffy," he started to say. At least his mouth opened to say the words, but no sound came out. Buffy stared at him, and he looked back at her tousled head and sleep-filled eyes before she put out a hand and pulled him into the room.
Willow was sitting up in bed yawning, but she smiled when she saw Angel.
"Hi, Angel," her mouth said, and then she too stopped. The three of them stared at each other hopelessly.
They arrived at Giles's holding hands, the three of them in shock from the silent walk through the muted town. Buffy and Willow were wearing plastic message boards around their necks, and as Giles closed the door and hugged them both they took the boards off and laid them on a table. Angel's eyes had gone straight to the attractive woman leaning against the counter with a mug clutched in her hands, as always remembering times past.
Buffy touched his arm and looked at him concernedly, and for a second their eyes met.
You all right? hers said, as clear as if she had spoken the words, and he nodded and went to sit down on the sofa next to Anya. Xander banged urgently on the table to get everyone's attention and turned up the news.
"An attack of laryngitis," the newsreader said, "has overcome the town of Sunnydale this morning. Reports say that the whole population is affected and the area is under quarantine. Sufferers should remain inside and rest."
Buffy's eyebrows went up and she picked up her board and wrote furiously. Patrol. Tonight. And the group began researching.
Innumerable cups of tea and piles of books later, Xander closed his latest dusty volume with a bang that startled them all. He raised his eyebrows and spread his hands out expressively. Giles sighed visibly and took off his glasses, closing his own book slowly.
'Nothing?' he wrote on a piece of paper. Everyone shook their heads and one by one stood up, stretching and yawning. Buffy picked up her bag, ready to patrol, and kissed Angel goodbye with affection in her eyes. He held her hand and looked at her, asking her with his gaze will you be okay? She smiled back and answered with another gentle kiss. Of course, don't worry. I love you.
A:
Buffy had her hands in her pockets as she picked her way through the chaos on the main street. A water pipe was spurting into the air next to an abandoned car, and the few people out were all heading for the liquor store. Every night in Sunnydale meant something odd was up. The difference was, tonight everyone knew about it.
Across the street she could see Riley Finn break up a silent argument with calm, authoritative gestures, and despite her worries Buffy's face broke into a smile. It was good to see him. She was starting to feel things when she saw him. With a decisive step she crossed the street and joined him, their lips meeting to say all the things they could not say in words.
B:
Angel could not sleep. His mind full of Buffy out patrolling the night with no recourse to sarcasm or screams kept him turning over and over in the hard motel bed. Finally he sat up and switched on the bedside lamp and reached for his book, trying to distract his mind. But the words were blurred and his brain refused to translate the French into English.
He threw Germinal down with a curse and pushed the covers back, swinging his legs out of bed and standing up in a quick motion, before the dizziness in his head caught him and made him sit back down again. Slower, you idiot, he thought to himself. Human, remember? The thought made him laugh soundlessly. How could he have forgotten? He tried standing up again steadily, and walked across to the window to look out into the night that was now a strange and unknown domain. And jumped back in shock, twitching the curtain closed.
An hour later he held the picture out at arm's length, satisfied, and fell into bed and was asleep in a few minutes.
A and B:
Giles looked at the paper in one hand, and the picture in the other, and muttered a silent curse to himself before hurrying across to the bookshelf and extracting his old, battered copy of Grimm's Fairy Tales.
B:
No. The determination in her eyes was firm. You're not coming with me.
Angel raised his eyebrows and gestured. Why not?
Buffy picked up the transparency and stared at the image of a bleeding heart on it, her back turned to him, before turning around again and waving the picture in his direction. Heart. Yours.
Less likely if I'm with you, Angel tried to tell her. Buffy shook her head, and pointed at herself, miming staking something. Then she pointed at him and mimed a throat being cut. Angel decided to give in, and gathered her to him for a kiss. I won't lose you, he told her, willing the connection. I'm not going to lose you.