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Part Six
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Swoop. Slide. Twist. Thrust. Spin. Jump.

I'd woken early the next morning, my body unused to the lavish amounts of sleep I had the opportunity to revel in. Sleep was a luxury not often afforded on this Slayer, and now that I had the means, I found that not only did I not relish the sleep, but that I itched to get out of bed. I itched to move, to leap, to put my muscles to use until I was light-headed from exhaustion.

So, at not even 6am on a Sunday morning, I'd wandered into Angel's backyard, barely protected against the harsh winter, and begun to move in that way that came naturally to me. I fought an invisible enemy, danced with a phantom lover. I rolled, I leaped, I twisted, I twirled. My body contorted into positions befitting the most advanced level of Kama Sutra, and I loved it.

God, my talents were wasted on celibacy.

The music blasting through my phones was comforting and familiar - a mix tape Oz had made me, that I cherished on a level beyond musical appreciation; he'd gone to a lot of effort to personalise it, and it was made just for me. A gift from a real friend.

Oz and I had grown a lot closer upon his return from what I'd dubbed his 'spiritual roadtrip', as we were the only ones who were...alone. Apart from Wesley, but then, as an 'authority figure', he didn't much count, at the time. Willow had Tara, Angel had departed for destinations unknown, all the other relationships I could *possibly* invest myself in were doomed to failure, and so, as the solitary figures of the group, we'd drifted together, and had stayed that way.

Which is why he knew that putting 'New Kids on the Block' on my mix tape would make me laugh, as I had been, like many other young girls of the era, a fanatic, a fact which I had only admitted to 3 people. Ever. Angel, Willow, and Oz. The three people who probably knew me better than anybody, with the possible exception of my mother. Actually, I know that when he was around all the time, Angel knew me even better than Mom.

The song on the tape drifted away, replaced by a Placebo song that Oz had decided, seemingly by intuition, that I would love. He was right, and I sang along softly under my breath as I stretched and manipulated my liquid body. "No hesitation, no delay, you come on, just like Special K, just like I swallowed half my stash, and never, ever, wanna crash..."

As the day became brighter, and the world around me noticeably picked up its pace and began to really live again, I wondered if perhaps I should slow down, maybe stop, go inside, have some breakfast, rest. I wanted Samantha to think I was normal - I was desperate for her acceptance, for some strange reason- and most people don't do hardcore workouts early in the morning in virtual strangers' backyards.

Yes, it was probably a wise idea to stop.

Even so, it took me almost an hour to draw myself down from the frenzy I'd worked myself into.

****

By the time I walked back into Angel's kitchen, still singing softly along to the Walkman, my hosts were out of bed. Angel sat, fully clothed at the table, absently reading the paper. Samantha lounged beside him in a terry-towelling robe, cinched just loosely enough at the waist for me to see her pyjamas, a cute little boxer and tank set. Her legs were stretched out in front of her, a pair of the longest, brownest, most perfect limbs I'd ever seen. I was attacked by vicious images of those flawless legs wrapped around Angel's waist, of sweat and flesh and shared laughter while making love in the sunshine. I swallowed, and pushed the assault away, choosing instead to focus on the less malicious pain of their contented domesticity.

I know Angel sensed my arrival, saw it in the way he tensed slightly as I came through the door, but it was Samantha who first acknowledged my presence. She looked up and smiled warmly at me, waving. "Morning."

I slid the headphones off my ears, placing the Walkman on the counter.

"Good morning," I replied politely, wishing I could come up with something vaguely intelligent and witty to say. All those years of post-slayage punning, and I was lost. Awash in a sea of speechlessness.

"You're an early riser," Sam noted, and I nodded dumbly.

"Just a light workout," I said with a shrug.

Angel snorted in a rather guy-ish way, and it was almost surreal, how much he sounded like someone my age in that moment. Sam turned to look at him raising an eyebrow, "Got something to say, Mister?"

Angel looked up, his eyes moving from Sam to me and back before he spoke. "Buffy's idea of a light workout is vastly different to other people's."

"Fitness freak?" Samantha asked me, munching on a piece of toast.

"Job requirement," I responded automatically, "Need to stay healthy."

"Aren't you a secretary?"

"I do some...volunteer work...as well."

The doorbell rang, and Sam left the room to answer it. Resolutely, I turned away from Angel, going to the fridge and getting out a bottle of water. As I stood staring out the window, I thought I felt his eyes gazing hungrily at my back, but shook it off, knowing it was just wishful thinking.

It's not like he wanted me, or anything.