Midnight
"On the house," Lorne smiled, handing the Brachnarl demon a large colourfully decorated margarita. The demon raised its single eyebrow and grunted. "You're welcome," the Host returned.
Brad, as the demon liked to be called, sucked the fruit and the paper umbrella from the rim of the glass as he drained the alcohol, and licked his thick lips. Then he bit into the glass and devoured it, crunching methodically before swallowing. Lorne grimaced briefly, then set about making another one.
"So," he said, keeping his tone cheerful and friendly as he slid another glass across the bar, "these friends of yours …"
"Not friends, exactly," Brad said in a surprisingly falsetto voice that was at odds with his bulky frame. "We just … you know … have some things in common."
"Indeed," Lorne nodded, having witnessed the gore-fest that Brad's circle called lunch. He pushed the image from his mind. "Are they from around here?" he asked.
"Nah," Brad shook his head, causing the fleshy tendrils that grew in a line from ear to ear around the back of his head to undulate. Lorne tried not to stare. "They're from Reno, I think. They haven't been in town long. I think they got in some kind of scrape back there."
That wasn't what Lorne wanted to know: he was fishing for the otherworldly origin of Brad's acquaintances. He had licence to probe because he'd read Brad's aura after a tear-jerkingly beautiful rendition of "Seasons in the Sun" and had advised the demon that his new-found friends were trouble. Brad had suspected as much, and was keen to talk. Lorne had omitted to say that the 'friends' were not trouble for Brad.
"Do they have a name?" Lorne pressed, making another margarita as Brad crunched on his second. Maybe identifying the species would be a start.
"Tad, Bill, Joe …"
Lorne sighed. It was going to be a long night.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Saturday 1 am
Buffy opened her eyes, and gave herself several seconds to adjust to the gloom. She moved her hands over the covers and in front of her face, trying to establish whether or not she was really here. Noticing the distant hum of traffic, and the barely audible drone of an aeroplane, she sighed and accepted that she was not dreaming.
Sitting up in bed, she licked her lips and pulled a face at the strange taste in her mouth. She reached over and switched on the bedside lamp, and startled Willow who had been dozing in the chair next to the bed.
"Hey," Willow grinned, delighted to see her friend was alright. She gave her a careful hug. "How're you feeling?"
"Weird," Buffy admitted, reaching for the glass of water next to the lamp. "Tired, but not sleepy. I feel kind of heavy. And I have a really horrible …" She gulped the contents of the glass. "Horrible taste in my mouth," she finished, screwing up her face.
"Probably the antidote," Willow nodded. She reached over and gently grabbed Buffy's arm. The rash had disappeared. "It seems to have worked."
"Antidote?" Buffy repeated. "Someone poisoned me?"
Willow brought her friend up to date, filling in with their theories when actual details were missing.
"We don't know if it was deliberate or accidental," she said of the poison. "You had that rash …"
"I remember," Buffy shuddered, recalling the demon's dying spittle.
She told Willow about the fight, and the strange way that her opponent had died, and they agreed that it's body fluids must be poisonous to humans. Sharing a quiet 'eeeew', they moved on.
"Is everyone else okay?" Buffy asked. "Dawn?"
"Dawn's here – she came with Cordelia and Wesley and Fred. She's fine. Everything's fine."
Buffy smiled, relieved that her sister was safe, and looked forward to seeing her again. Then she saw Willow's averted eyes, and knew her friend was holding back.
"Willow?" she prompted.
Reluctantly, and forcing her friend to stay where she was, Willow told her as much as they knew about what had happened to Angel earlier that evening.
"Wes and Giles are researching," she finished, "and David Nabbitt's got his people working on the poison – they did a good job with yours, so they shouldn't have a problem."
"Researching what?" Buffy asked, confused. "I thought you said no-one saw or heard anything, and the knife was cleaned?"
"We know it couldn't have been demon or human," Willow reminded her. "The Sanctorium spell is still in place, and hey – humans – pretty easy to spot. So they're looking for … non-corporeal beings."
Buffy shook her head. Word association was never her strong point, and she knew Willow wasn't talking about the army.
"The invisible man?" she ventured.
"Kinda," Willow nodded.
"With a grudge against Angel," Buffy added quietly, already imagining how difficult a foe that was going to be. She shook her head again, knowing that she'd need a lot more information before settling that particular score. "Where is he?" she asked.
Willow ticked her head at the adjoining door.
"In there," she said. "Tara's babysitting. We figured we'd take our turns together so we can … you know, sleep …" She faltered, not sure if Buffy wanted to hear about their sleeping pattern. "Gunn and Fred are gonna take over in an hour or so."
Buffy took her hand in hers.
"Thanks, Will," she said with affection. Ignoring her friend's protests, the Slayer climbed out of bed. "I'm okay," she insisted, pulling the red head by the hand towards the connecting door. "You two get some sleep – I'll sit with Angel til the others arrive."
Tara heard the door opening, and tiptoed across the room to meet them, smiling at Buffy as she slipped her hand into Willow's.
"All quiet," she reported, concern evident in her eyes.
Buffy nodded, and thanked her quietly. Then she hugged them both and sent them on their way. Closing the door noiselessly, she moved quickly to the bedside and looked down at Angel's sleeping form. Feeling suddenly weary, and a little cold, she carefully climbed onto the bed and lay down beside him, pulling the bedspread up from the edge to cover her body.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
9 am
Cordelia arrived for work feeling tired and a little grumpy. She was glad to be home, but hadn't slept well even though she'd had most of yesterday to catch up. After their arrival from Sunnydale yesterday morning, she and the others had spent some time together to catch up, but once she'd established that Angel and Buffy were okay, she'd given in to her boss's advice to take the day off.
She'd enjoyed a long soothing bath, and painted her nails, and spent the afternoon dozing between magazine articles before heading for bed early. But she'd dreamt vivid and disturbing dreams and had awoken feeling unrefreshed. Recognising them to be derived from her own thoughts and feelings, she grouched about them to Dennis while she got ready, but brushed them aside once she entered the Hyperion lobby and pasted on a bright smile. She was back in her own domain, with her own team, and the last week could finally be put behind them. She halted on the top step.
"What are you still doing here?" she asked before she could stop herself.
Giles looked up from the counter, where he'd been pouring over the a newspaper.
"Good morning," he returned sarcastically, raising his tea cup.
"Sorry, Giles," the young woman sighed, heading down the steps into the lobby. "Wasn't expecting you – I thought you'd be on your way back home by now." She looked around, but couldn't see anyone else. "Did they leave you behind?"
"We're all still here," Giles told her. "Everyone's asleep."
Cordelia hung up her bag and jacket, and joined him at the counter.
"I guess this week's been hard on everyone," she acknowledged, knowing how rough she felt, and seeing the fatigue in the Watcher's face. She nodded up at the first floor. "How are they doing?"
"Ah," Giles said, remembering that Cordelia was out of the loop since she'd been sent home early yesterday. As soon as he'd finished bringing her up to date about Buffy's recovery and the attack on Angel, Cordelia thumped him in the arm.
"Why didn't anyone call me?" she complained.
"We thought you needed the rest," Giles said, rubbing his aching muscle. "There was nothing you could do, anyway."
"Not the point," Cordelia huffed, her mood darkened again. "What did the research turn up?"
"Nothing," Giles admitted. "Wesley and I are of the opinion that it isn't poison, it's something to do with the metal of the blade, perhaps a silver derivative. It could be a simple allergic reaction. That Nabbitt chap has taken it …"
"Silver?" Cordelia echoed, paling. "That can kill vampires, can't it?"
"Sanctified silver, yes," the Watcher nodded, "but ordinary silver is quite harmless. As far as we know."
Cordelia gave a little smile of relief, then continued with her train of thought, which had been going over what Giles had told her.
"So we have a psycho ghost on our hands," Cordelia said, remembering her run-ins with Dennis's mother. "Did you perform an exorcism?"
Giles stared at her. She stared back. Finally he backed down with a sigh.
"It hadn't occurred to us," he confessed.
"Wes has the whole thing here somewhere," Cordelia shrugged. "Shouldn't take long to set up, it seemed quite straightforward last time. I'm surprised he didn't think of it himself."
Giles mumbled something about the dagger, and poison, and research, and other excuses for not seeing the obvious. Cordelia raised her eyebrows, and he fell quiet.
"I need a coffee," the brunette announced, heading for the machine. "I have a feeling this day is not going to be short. I knew I should have gone shopping."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Lorne shifted uncomfortably in his sleep. Vaguely aware that the pillow had solidified overnight, he carefully opened one eye and looked straight into a dozen undulating tendrils of pink hairy flesh. With a startled shout he jerked up and realised he'd fallen asleep at one of the tables around the stage in Caritas. Brad slumbered on in the chair next to him, oblivious, his face resting heavily on the tabletop, whistling softly through his nose as he breathed.
Clutching his head, Lorne shuffled to the telephone at the end of the bar, and dialled the Hyperion's number. He quickly passed on his information to Cordelia, then went in search of the Alka Seltzer.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
10am
Dawn sat between Fred and Gunn, halfway up the stairs, and watched the screaming spirit as it writhed and howled above the lobby. Cordelia, who sat on the other side of Fred, completed the audience. It was quite a show – flashing lights like little bolts of lightning illuminated horrible face-shaped clouds that swirled just below the chandelier – but the teenager wasn't afraid. Below the struggling spirit, Willow, Tara, Giles and Wesley stood inside a pentagram and chanted an exorcism spell.
Lorne had learned that the spirit responsible for attacking Angel had been conjured by Brad's uncouth associates, who themselves had been hired by an unnamed human who had apparently 'looked and smelt like a lawyer'. It had taken most of the night, and his entire supply of margarita glasses, to establish the spirit's nature and origin, and the key to its demise. Blessed with a memory for detail, he'd been able to shake off his hangover long enough to give Cordelia sufficient information to exorcise the spirit. They would have to deal with the contract on Angel some other time.
From within the pentagram, the two witches and two watchers raised there voices and shouted something in Latin. Dawn recognised the word but couldn't remember what it meant. With a final ear-shattering shriek, the spirit disappeared.
Dawn resisted the urge to applaud. Buffy would disapprove of her witnessing such things, so she'd be better off not drawing attention to herself.
"Man, I'm starving," Gunn announced, stretching up from the step he'd been sitting on. "Who's for doughnuts?"
Everyone agreed, and called out their favourite fillings. Cordelia quietly headed for the office, to make fresh coffee. Wesley leaned over the counter and watched her, while the others argued over the jelly to cream ratio.
"They'll be gone soon enough," he said quietly, knowing she shared his longing for peace and quiet. "Everything will be back to normal by tonight."
Cordelia turned to face him, her face sad but not self-pitying.
"No," she said with a resigned half-smile. "I don't think things will ever be the same again."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Buffy stretched her arms over her head, then turned onto her side and mewled softly. Her left arm dropped gently across Angel's chest, and he smiled, his head turned to one side to watch her as she slowly woke up beside him. As her eyes focused on his face, she returned the smile.
"Hey," she whispered.
"Hey," he answered, bringing his hand up to cover hers.
They lay there for several minutes, neither wanting to move or speak, just looking at each other. Finally, Buffy sighed.
"We should get up," she said reluctantly. "If you're feeling okay?"
"I feel okay," Angel replied. "How about you?"
"Okay too," the Slayer nodded.
Neither of them moved. They shared a conspirational smile, and moved closer together, Angel wrapping his arms protectively around her.
"Mmmm," Buffy sighed, "this is …"
"Nice," Angel supplied, as she whispered 'heaven'.
They looked at each other, and Angel could see the hope and uncertainty in her eyes. He smiled reassuringly, but she pulled away from him slightly and frowned.
"Sorry," she said, her voice heavy with regret. "I know we can't …I know we're not … it's just …"
Angel pulled her back into his embrace, and stroked her hair.
"We'll work something out," he promised her. "I'm not letting you go again."
"I think it was me that did the letting go," she said in a small voice, remembering the chaos of Graduation Day. She'd watched him turn and walk away into the smoke and out of her life.
"It doesn't matter," he said firmly. "We're in this together now."
Heart pounding, Buffy clung to him. Then she looked up again and searched his face, her eyes wide with realisation at what he'd said.
"So … so I'm still your girl?" she asked, her voice quiet but strong.
"Always," he told her with a tender smile. "Always."
~*~*~* Finis *~*~*~