Author's Note/Disclaimer: This part contains lyrics (designated by // marks) I had not originally intended to use (which is why they weren't included in the original disclaimer), from a song called "Wild Colonial Boy." The first written version (by John Renfro Davis) appeared in Australia in 1830, but the roots of the song go back considerably further in Irish history, and several versions have come into being over the centuries. This is a version carried to the United States by Irish immigrants.
Heal Me
Part 9By Gem
Conversation in the living room swiftly died when the first steps were heard on the staircase. Moving as one, all heads turned to face the archway, waiting expectantly for the feuding lovers to make their appearance.
Buffy could feel the measure of all those eyes as she walked into the silent room with Angel by her side. Had they heard any of the fight from down here? No, they couldn't have, she decided a moment later; Connor hadn't even truly woken up from the noise. But did they somehow know anyway? Had they guessed why Angel had been so angry, even though she had been clueless? Had they felt the same way about her death, and just never told her? She suddenly realized there were going to be a lot more painful conversations in her future, raking up things she had once thought best left unsaid.
'Group therapy much?' she thought with a wince.
"Hey," she said, pausing awkwardly in the archway. "When did you guys become Quakers? Or...please tell me we haven't been overrun by mime demons."
"We were hoping we could hear you fight if we were quiet," Cordelia said bluntly. "We wanted to know if we were going to need to step in and make you two act like grown-ups, or if you could finally figure it out for yourselves."
"Sounds to me like someone is volunteering for babysitting duty." Buffy tried to keep the edge out of her voice as she added, "For an actual baby this time."
Cordelia looked sharply at Angel. "Does that mean you're on your way to make up? Or you don't want us to hear the real fight?"
The vampire hesitated. "Is there any chance we could leave here without answering that question?"
"Surely you jest," Wesley interjected dryly. "We took our lives in our hands riding in that car with you tonight; do you really expect us to let you keep mum now that we're finally to the denouement?"
"It was worth a try," Angel sighed.
"Angel-cakes," Lorne began, pausing to stare politely at Buffy as she tried in vain to cover up her giggle. "We've all been through a lot together the past few years. Well, not exactly all of us all together, but close enough. I think a lot of it was thrown at us by the good old boys in blue-face in an attempt to get you two crazy kids back on the same path. So we have a vested interest in the outcome of this little soap-opera."
"Not to mention the whole 'who's going to live where and what are we going to do about the business' part of the deal," Cordelia added. "Not that we're trying to push one way or the other, you understand, but knowing would be a good start."
Angel glanced down at Buffy, silently asking her for her opinion. She pressed her hand over his on her waist, and answered for both of them.
"We can't give you exact where's or when's," the Slayer hedged, "because we're still hammering out the details. We're talking major construction zone here. But it will happen...it is happening," she admitted, turning her head to hold Angel's eyes fast with her own.
Willow smiled painfully. "One day at a time, right?"
Angel tore his gaze away from his lover, looking sharply at the witch. He saw not only the sad smile, but also a new kind of maturity in her brown eyes.
"It works that way for most things worth having," he agreed, offering a grave smile to reflect Willow's. "If it was easy, what would be the point?"
"That it wouldn't hurt?" Cordelia suggested practically. "I'm not knocking the school of hard knocks or anything, but given the choice, I'll move to Easy Street any day."
"And I want the house next door, Cordy," Gunn stated. "Some day I'd like to try having things work out instead of beatin' them into shape. Sounds..."
"Peaceful," Fred sighed, continuing her boyfriend's thought. "No more worries, no more problems..."
"No more demons," Wesley added, joining in the fantasy. A loud snort prompted him to add, "Present company excepted, of course."
"All I can say is: save me from the simple life," Lorne interjected firmly. "How would you know when you were awake living in this perfect little world of yours? Without the craziness that means life, all you have is..."
"Death," Buffy said flatly.
Dawn shivered at the thought. "Ugh. When you put it that way, no thanks."
"That goes double for me," her sister said lightly. Only Angel could feel the tight grip of her hand around his, signaling him the commitment behind her flippant words.
Cordelia's eyes narrowed; the happy couple seemed, well, happy. And this was a good thing, if indeed it was legit. If not, it was all-hands-on-deck time.
"So, here's my question," she said, working hard at sounding casual and offhand. "You guys supposedly spent the past week 'talking things through,' yet as soon as we get back here you have to hightail it upstairs to talk some more."
"Actually, that would be an observation, not a question," Buffy offered helpfully, trying to get Cordelia off the scent.
Her former rival, however, would not be so easily distracted. "Why does this smell like the beginning of an angst-a-thon to me?"
"Cordelia, what Buffy and I talked about is between us," Angel said firmly. "It's great that you all care, but we need to work things out for ourselves."
He met Cordelia's eyes, and was relieved by the reluctant understanding he found there. He could tell she was curious, and he knew that she cared. But the same maturity that was evident in Buffy and Willow had left its mark on Cordy as well. Angel might be the butt of a little good-natured teasing, but she would respect the boundaries.
"Oh sure," his best friend said airily. "I do all the work getting you two together again and I don't even get a little dirt out of the deal."
Given the occasional reminder, that is.
Buffy's lips twitched. "No dirt," she agreed pleasantly. "Also no clean. Just a whole lot of none of your business."
"And as part of that," Angel quickly added, "seriously, who wants to baby-sit tonight?" He glanced at the curtained living room windows. "Or for what's left of tonight until about the same time tomorrow night?"
"You're leaving? Without Connor? Overnight?" Gunn stared at the Slayer in amazement. "Damn, girl, what did you do to him up there?"
"We need time," Angel said quietly.
He hated the idea of leaving his son; he already missed him, before he had even walked out the door. But Connor required time and attention, an abundance of them, actually. And at the moment, so did his relationship with Buffy. In order to give each what was needed, some delegation was required.
"Hey, you know Uncle Lorne; always a lullaby at the ready."
"Great." Angel breathed a sigh of relief; at least he knew Connor would be in good hands.
Lorne started to move towards the stairs. "I'll just get the little nipper and we can...go to wherever we're supposed to go after Angel takes the car." He stopped in his tracks and turned back to face Connor's father. "Say, how is this going to work, Angel-face?"
"We can take my car," Buffy offered.
"Car seat," Angel said succinctly.
"Right." She nodded, unwillingly impressing Cordelia by her quick grasp of Angel's verbal shorthand. "It's in my car. We'll have to move it or take yours, so they can take Connor out if they need to." She patted Angel reassuringly on the chest. "To go for ice cream or something. Not hospitals."
"Ice cream?" Lorne said doubtfully. "At his age? Exactly how long were you kids planning on being gone?"
"And why do they get Connor?" Dawn burst out. "We were going to take care of him this week."
Angel winced at Dawn's aggrieved tone. He didn't want to hurt anyone, least of all Buffy's sister; it hadn't even occurred to him that she might perceive his friends as a threat to the status quo. From the look on Buffy's face, however, this was not an unexpected development.
"Dawn," Buffy said slowly, "it's not easy for Angel to leave Connor with anybody; it doesn't matter who. But Lorne usually looks after him, and it would probably be easier on Connor if he's with someone familiar."
"Except Lorne needs somewhere to stay," Angel reminded her. "In fact, so does everybody else, unless they're going back to LA tonight..."
"Not on the likely," Cordelia sniffed.
"Then we need room we don't have." Buffy grimaced at her suddenly tiny home. "We could put Lorne in my room with Connor...and someone could have the couch...but other than that we're talking hardwood floors. Emphasis on both hard and wood."
"What about the mansion?" Angel suggested, only to be hooted down by the Sunnydale residents, both past and present. "It's not that bad," he said defensively.
"Sweetie, yes it is," Buffy said gently.
"Look, Fred and I will stay in Buffy's room with Connor tonight; Lorne and Dawn can take over when the little guy wakes up." Cordelia glanced around the Summers' living room, mentally measuring and rearranging furniture. "And after we pick up all the broken glass, the guys can rough it down here for one night. That way we'll all be around to protect him," she finished, casting a knowing glance at Angel.
"That sounds great." Angel breathed a sigh of relief; the first compromise had been successfully negotiated. One down, six or seven million to go, he reminded himself. In the end, everything in life came down to a compromise. Adapt...or die.
* * * * *
"You're killing me. You are literally killing me; you know that, don't you?"
"I'm sorry, Mr. Sahjhan, but we can't ignore the fact that there's a new player in the game." Lilah tapped the open folder with one long, burgundy nail. "A ringer, no less."
"Impossible."
"Not a word we use around here, I'm afraid." There was a faint tinge of pity in her voice, or perhaps it was condescension; when it came to lawyers, Sahjhan could never be sure. "At any rate, it seems that Angel has reunited with his ex. You must have heard of her: the slayer?"
"Slayer?" Sahjhan asked blankly. There had been so many.
"Buffy Summers." Lilah spoke slowly and carefully, over-enunciating each syllable of the name for emphasis. "Rumor has it she's rather protective of Angel, at least when he's not soul-challenged. I imagine that concern would extend at least somewhat to his child."
Sahjhan's already wrinkled face creased even more as he frowned. "Angel is back with the Slayer? His Slayer? But that never happen...well, maybe the first...or was that the second?" He sighed loudly. "Juggling multiple time streams gets a little confusing sometimes. But I don't see why her being in the picture makes that much difference. Anyone can be manipulated."
"Slayers are unstable, to say the least." The attorney's lips twisted into a grim smile as she remembered Faith, and all the chaos that surrounded her brief connection with Wolfram & Hart. "Mixing one into this pot adds another layer of difficulty to an already unwieldy plan."
"My plan is foolproof!"
"You don't know these fools...and that's the major problem. You're already gambling on personalities and relationships you know very little about. And from our experience in dealing with Angel Investigations, you're betting on the wrong team."
"You're telling me Wolfram and Hart is afraid to take on Angel?" The demon's voice showed polite disbelief. "The same firm that brought a notorious vampire back from the dead for the sole purpose of bringing Angelus back into the fold, and you're afraid of this?" He waved a disparaging hand at the folder that contained the fruits of his labors.
It was Lilah's turn to sigh. "Believe me, we at Wolfram & Hart would like nothing better than to grind Angel and his whole staff into tiny little dust motes, but we're not willing to risk our necks, if you'll pardon the expression, on a scheme that more than likely will not work. After the last time we tried to...interfere...with the child, my boss made it clear we're to treat Angel's child like one of his own. Better actually, since rumor has it Linwood...well, that's neither here nor there."
Sahjhan couldn't believe his amorphous ears; they really weren't going to help him. He just couldn't catch a break. First the gypsy curse designed to separate Angelus and Darla backfired, then repeated attempts to make the vampire despair and kill himself failed one by one. Even Holtz in all his implacable hatred must have somehow botched the job, vanishing from Sahjhan's internal radar. Wolfram & Hart had been his last hope, and now they too were deserting him in his hour of need.
It was like the world was out to get him or something. Or maybe it was just those rotten PTB's, the old busybodies.
"Maurie was right," he murmured in amazement. "I should have just dumped a soul in another vampire...someone close to Angelus, someone who knows the same people. That would have sent all their lousy 'the' vampire with a soul prophecies to a hell dimension in a handbasket." Sahjhan shook his head, sending tiny sparks of light floating outward in his wake. "But no, I had to have principles. I couldn't mess up the whole universe by rewriting prophecy after prophecy; one prophecy was my limit. Besides," he appealed to Lilah, "who in the world would think having two of those freaks around would be better than one?"
"I'm sure I don't know." Her tone was polite, but dismissive.
"You won't help me? That's your final decision?"
"I'm afraid so." The attorney's hand slipped beneath the lip of her desk to press a small button on the right-hand side. "But we appreciate you thinking of us for your demonic needs, and because we value your business so highly we really don't want to lose you to another firm."
The wall behind Lilah quickly slid open and a hand holding a large glazed jar was extended. Sahjhan didn't even have time to scream before a swirling cloud rose out of the Resikhian jar, twined around his incorporeal form and dragged him into the depths of his new and eternal home. A moment later the anonymous hand whisked the urn back into the recess behind the wall, leaving Lilah alone in her office once more.
"It was a pleasure doing business with you," she murmured, pushing Sahjhan's proposal out of the way in favor of her folder of take-out menus.
* * * * *
The baby lay quietly in his makeshift crib, and every parenting book Angel had read suggested he do nothing to disturb the status quo. Let sleeping babies lie; that was the maxim dictated by people who had infinitely more experience with childrearing than a two hundred plus year old vampire.
"Up we go; that's a good boy," Angel murmured, gently lifting Connor from the trunk. "Daddy just wants to say goodnight. Nothing to cry about."
"That's snoring, Angel. Your pride and joy snores."
Angel glanced quickly at the figure in the open doorway, feeling vaguely guilty at being caught breaking the rules he insisted everyone else adhere to.
"What are you doing up here, Lorne?"
Lorne slowly walked into Buffy's bedroom, glancing around with avid curiosity as he made his way over to the trunk by the window. His red-eyed gaze took in the cream and gold wallpaper, the white frilly curtains in the windows, the lace on the pillow shams, and one slightly impatient vampire in the middle of it all.
"Kind of hard to picture Mr. Maroon and Morose in a bright little room like this," the demon mused. "Nice for the baby and all, but you're more of an Autumn. This isn't exactly your usual palette.
"I see; you came up to offer decorating tips." He shifted Connor up to his shoulder. "Well, you might as well go back down and corner Buffy on that one. It's her room."
"Not for long, I'm guessing." Lorne smiled shrewdly. "Or maybe hers, but not only hers."
"We told you; we're still..."
"Talking things out," Lorne finished with a nod. "Heard that. Didn't buy it...but I have a slight advantage over the masses when it comes to knowing the difference between your nose growing and your..."
"Lorne!"
The demon quickly hurried over to help Angel soothe Connor, when the baby was startled into consciousness by his father's unexpected bark.
""I was just teasing, Angel-cakes." Lorne stepped around behind Angel to look into Connor's red face. "Take it easy, little guy; big daddy's got a short fuse when it comes to Mommy."
"Don't..." Angel stopped, unsure of what he was objecting to. "Don't jinx anything, okay?"
Lorne moved around to face Angel again. "Superstitious?" He raised an eyebrow at the concept.
Angel couldn't help a quiet laugh. "With what I've seen...with what I am...you really think I'm in a position to rule anything out?"
"True," Lorne sighed. "No wonder you don't keep salt at the hotel; you'd throw your arm out every time someone broke in and tossed the place. Which is to say every other day."
"I don't keep salt because I don't eat," Angel corrected him. "Not much, anyway. Besides, it's bad for you. Not me personally...maybe not even you...but a generic 'you'. Them."
Lorne held up his hand. "Humans. Yes, familiar with the concept."
Angel glanced down at Connor, moving the baby back to cradle him in his arms. "I know what it's going to take from here on out is hard work, not luck or Fate or even sacred destiny. But it can't hurt to be careful...just in case."
"You're going to make it, my friend." All traces of Lorne's earlier humor were gone, leaving only a sympathetic smile behind on the demon's face. "You've found your true path again, and you know enough to stick with it this time."
It was Angel's turn to smile. "With a little help from my friends, huh?"
Lorne pressed his hand to his chest, roughly where his heart would have been if he were human. "I was always more of a Wings fan myself; whatever do you mean?"
"I know what you did, Lorne. All the times you encouraged me to talk to Cordelia...all the stuff about how perfect we were for each other...I know it was a set-up." Angel gently rocked Connor back to sleep as he spoke. "You knew I loved Buffy all along, but you let me pretend I didn't until I was ready to face my feelings again."
"Everyone needs a safe place to hide now and then." Lorne shrugged off the vampire's thanks, though his cheeks took on a yellowish tinge as the blood rushed up to color his face. "You did the hard part; you took the leap."
Angel shrugged, using the gesture to bring Connor's small head up for a gentle kiss. "It wasn't actually hard, not once I saw her face again. I think that's why I left here in the first place; I couldn't look her in the eye and still pretend we would ever be over."
"You mean all we had to do was give you cab fare?" Lorne smacked his forehead with one green hand. "Boy, do I feel the fool."
"We?"
"Fred and I. And Groo, towards the end."
A quick frown chased across Angel's forehead. "Groo too? You didn't...that's not why he left, is it?"
"No, no," Lorne reassured him. "Groo knew it wasn't going to work for he and Cordy; he told me he was leaving. So I asked him if he'd grace us with a little parting gift."
"That was really nice of you all," Angel mumbled. How many people had taken part in this conspiracy to save him from his own stupidity?
"Obviously we should have just gotten the girl to LA, or you back here. I would have too, if I'd known you were such a big romantic marshmallow." He suddenly nodded his head and sighed. "Of course, the Manilow. It was right in front of me all the time."
Angel's eyes met Lorne's over Connor's head. "All kidding aside, Lorne; you were a good friend when I needed one the most, and I thank you." He gently laid Connor in the trunk. "We all thank you," he mumbled, suddenly embarrassed by his outpouring of emotion.
Lorne playfully punched the vampire's shoulder. "Ya big lug."
* * * * *
Cordelia swept another small pile of ceramic fragments into her small dustpan. It was the tenth, or perhaps the ten thousandth pile she had swept up since they began cleaning the living room, and suddenly she couldn't take it any more.
"That's it," she declared, standing up and tossing her dustpan onto the sofa. "I am officially done."
"Hey!" Gunn exclaimed. "I just got those cushions clean."
"And fluffed," Fred added loyally. She ran a hand down Gunn's arm. "He did a wonderful job on them."
"Well Gunn can fluff to his heart's content, assuming the rest of you aren't as weirded out by that idea as I am. But there are other things around here that need doing more and I'm going to do them."
"Such as?" Welsey asked suspiciously.
"Connor," she said quickly. "If they woke him up, he won't go back down unless he's sung to, and look who we sent to help Angel: Lorne." She slapped her hand to her side. "Could we have been any dumber?"
"Cordelia." That was all Wesley said, but his tone said volumes.
She paused, debating the wisdom of offering a straight answer. The old Cordelia wouldn't have bothered to compose a lie; let people object, as if she cared what they thought. She did care what these people thought, though; they were her friends, her real friends, and their good opinion mattered to her.
Unfortunately, so did their trust.
"I want to check on Angel. I know," she continued, holding up a hand to ward off comments, "I know. He's a big boy, Buffy is his problem...I mean business...we need to respect their privacy, blah, blah, blah. I'm not talking about that stuff."
Gunn glanced from Wesley to Fred, trying to see if he was the only one missing a few clues, but they looked just as confused as he.
"What are you talking about then?"
Cordelia gnawed on her lower lip. "I think we need to know what Buffy knows, because it may not be as much as she thinks she knows. And if it isn't, who really wants to be the one to spills the magick beans?"
* * * * *
"And if you want to get him to go down for a good long nap, put a spoonful of this rice cereal in with his formula." Buffy grinned as she pulled the small carton from the pantry shelf. "Angel was amazed by my 'instincts' when I figured that one out, but I think he's just forgotten an empty stomach can be almost as growly as a demon."
"You're really getting into this whole 'mom' thing, aren't you?" Willow took the carton from Buffy's hand, but she didn't look at it. Instead, she shifted it from hand to hand as she studiously avoided looking at her best friend. "I mean it's nice; it's just kind of...strange. In a nice way," she hastily added, daring a quick glance at Buffy.
"Try looking at it from this side of the diaper pail and see how the weirdness abounds," Buffy said ruefully. She sat down at the kitchen table, resting her chin on her hands. "But I'm going to make it work. We're going to make it work," she corrected herself. "I'm finally starting to get my life figured out. You know, what I want to be when I grow up; Angel and Connor are big parts of that. I just...wasn't really expecting the Connor part, not if I got the Angel part."
A faint smile darted across Willow's face. "I know what you mean. When Tara and I...well, we never talked babies; we're a little young for that. Not that I think you're too young," she said quickly, " but we...we were nowhere near ready, and even when we are...were...well, it would be a little more complicated than those health class filmstrips would have you believe."
Buffy saw the opportunity she'd been waiting for, though she was a little unsure of how her question would be received. "Speaking of Tara, have you, umm, given any more thought to telling her about tonight?"
Willow nodded, dropping into the seat next to Buffy at the table. "I not only thought, I almost did. I called her and asked her if I could come over tonight and talk."
"Will, that's great!"
She leaned over and gave her friend a quick, fierce hug, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. She and Angel had so much to look forward to, she actually felt a little guilty when she thought of all Willow had lost. It didn't help to remember that most of it had been lost while Buffy was too wrapped up in her own misery to notice. But all that was over now, she reminded herself, or at least on it's way to over.
"You'll see; when she knows exactly what went down, she'll understand that you had no choice."
"I'm not so sure about that," Willow answered unhappily, "but it's really not an issue tonight. I called her back and cancelled."
"But why?" Buffy pulled back and stared at her friend in dismay.
"When you guys were upstairs talking, we were doing some talking down here too. Cordy really wanted to come up and 'help' you guys..."
"Angel swears she means well."
"I think she does," Willow said unexpectedly. "Or maybe I have to, because as much as she wanted to fix everything for you guys, I wanted to even more. I think the only thing holding me back was Cordy; I didn't want to sound like her." This time her smile went the distance. "Kind of an old habit, you know?"
"But I don't get what that has to do with not talking to Tara." Even if Buffy still hadn't been a little sensitive on the subject, there were more important things to discuss than Cordelia Chase.
"I wanted her to tell me who was right: Angel or her. And I wanted her to tell me whether it was safe for me to use magick again or not. I...wanted her to tell me if I was a normal person or I was going to end up some control freak who tries to tell everyone else how they should live their lives, like my mother." Willow raised her hands helplessly then let them drift back down to her lap. "I wanted her to tell me who I am...but that's not fair. And if I don't know who I am, how can I ask her to love me?"
"She does love you, Will," Buffy insisted, taking one of Willow's hands in her own.
"I know, but why? Who am I that she should love me?"
"Willow," Buffy started to protest.
"I don't mean that to sound like I'm way down on myself; it's just that I really don't know who I am anymore." Willow frowned, searching for the right words to explain ideas still very new to her. "All my life, until I met you, I was just a geek, and I was okay with that. But when I started doing magick to help you, suddenly I was a witch. Then I fell in love with Tara and that made me a lesbian. And when I went overboard with the magick, I was an addict and then a recovering addict. They're..." she sighed, "they're all labels, Buffy. Nice neat little words to stamp on my forehead so everyone else knows who I am and what I believe. Except I don't know any of that stuff yet. Do you...do you know what I mean?"
"You're talking to the Slayer, remember? Not only do I get a title, with a 'the' in front of it no less, I get centuries of tradition and about sixty stuffy English guys telling me who and what I am. Trust me; I can relate." She paused for an instant, considering her words and the truth behind them. "I guess I really can relate. I don't know if Angel and I would have been able to fix things between us a few years ago...or even a few months ago. There was so much I needed to figure out on my own."
"Exactly. It's not that I'm trying to hide what I did from Tara, but I'm not sure how much it really matters in the grand scheme of things."
"You really think there is a 'grand scheme of things' out there? Like a great big road map?" Buffy pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. "With, of course, a nasty wrinkle through the part that says 'Buffy Summers'."
"Hey, none of that talk, Miss I-Just-Got-Everything-I've-Ever-Wanted!" Willow cried, gently swatting at her best friend's arm. "All you need now is a job and you'll find one soon. A really, really good one this time."
Buffy smiled, though there was a measure of apprehension in her eyes. "Actually I already have one; they called while you were in the shower. I start Monday."
* * * * *
Gavin Park was working late, trying to untangle yet another mess left by his predecessor in Special Projects, Lindsey McDonald. It seemed McDonald had possessed a certain genius for leaving client records in a tangle, obviously hoping to secure his position with the firm by being the only who could unravel them. He had met his match, however, in Gavin.
Before any further legal wizardry could be performed though, Gavin needed food. Lunch with Linwood had been productive, and definitely something to be savored when holding it over Lilah's head, but it had been a very long time ago.
Thinking of Lilah reminded the hungry attorney of the folder of menus he had seen in her office just yesterday. She couldn't possibly be working this late, he mused, glancing at his watch. It seemed the perfect time to pop into her office and have a look at that folder...and perhaps a few more while he was in the neighborhood.
He was almost to her door when he spotted them: two demons he knew to be Lilah's lackeys. They were coming out of the private office behind her private office, carrying something large and vase-like. Gavin ducked his head down so they couldn't recognize him and quickly revised his plans for the evening. If these two slackers were working late, it was only because Lilah was doing something she didn't want anyone to know about. Something he was now in the unique position to discover and then confront her with, possibly in front of Linwood.
Could life get any sweeter than this?
* * * * *
// There was a wild colonial boy, Jack Duggan was his name.
He was born and bred in Ireland, in a place called Castlemaine.
He was his father's only son, his mother's pride and joy
And dearly did his parents love that Wild Colonial Boy
At the early age of sixteen years he left his native home
And to Australia's sunny shore he was inclined to roam
He robbed the rich, he helped the poor, he shot James McAvoy
A terror to Australia was... //
"It's no use," Angel broke off with a sigh. "The third song is definitely not the charm."
"My tall, dark and...dark...friend, dare I suggest it might be the selection that's unsettling the little tyke? Don't you know any songs that don't involve death or pain or painful death?" Lorne shook his head. "Where do you find these things? 'One-Hundred-and-One Songs to Slit Your Wrists By'?"
"They're Irish," Angel said, a faint growl coloring his voice. "What do you suggest? A nice little song about hanging his crib from a rotting tree branch during a hurricane?"
"Mercy, no. I'm all for the non-standard fare, but how about something with a touch more sparkle? How does Marvin Gaye strike your fancy?"
"Marvin Ga..."
"Mmm," Lorne interrupted, "maybe you're right. Serious father issues going on there; definitely bad karma." He tapped one ruby nail to his lower lip. "I know; how about..."
"That's okay," Angel said hastily. "I think we're past the point where even Elvis could save us."
"Elvis," Lorne snorted.
"Connor's not going back down," Angel continued, ignoring Lorne's protest, "not without another bottle." He shifted the baby from his shoulder and began gently swinging him back and forth in the cradle of his arms. "Lorne, could you..."
"Sure thing, Daddy-o." Lorne stood up immediately and headed for the door. "I'll go put in an order with the lady of the house and be back up in a jiffy." He frowned and paused in the doorway. "Say, what is a 'jiffy' anyway? And who decided it was something really small?"
Angel raised an eyebrow at him. "The king of kye-rumption is wondering where new words come from? Could you just get the bottle first and find the dictionary later?"
Lorne sighed dramatically. "Try to show an interest in someone's culture and this is the thanks you get." He patted Cordelia on the shoulder as he swept past her in the doorway. "Careful, Goldilocks; papa bear is growling down the house for lack of a bottle that's just right."
"Connor's not hungry." Cordelia stepped quickly into the room, reaching out her arms for her honorary nephew. "He needs someone to sing him to sleep." She looked pointedly at Angel. "Someone who sings well."
"He likes my voice," Angel protested, though he handed Connor over without hesitation.
"Yeah, him and about 10 cats that live in the alley behind the hotel. I'm sure they must all be female."
"First Lorne comes up to critique the bedroom wallpaper, and now you're giving unsolicited musical reviews. What's next? Wes offering safe driving tips?"
"Says the man who pioneered warp drive in Pontiacs?" Cordelia's tone was mild, however, as it usually was when she was cuddling Connor. "Actually I just wanted to see you alone for a minute, sort of to get our stories straight."
"What stories?"
"You've been with Buffy for a week, just talking." She paused. "Or so you say."
"Cordelia."
"And now you're going off to do some more. I can't help it if I wonder exactly how much sharing is going on in these gabfests."
He turned his head away and restlessly shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "We told you; we want to keep things private."
She moved one hand from under Connor's back to wave away his protest. "That's not what I meant. There's things that I know that Buffy might not know, or you might not know that I know but that doesn't mean I don't know..." she reached up and tapped her cheek with the flat of her palm. "Sorry; Fred moment there."
Angel looked at her with some suspicion. "What do you think you know that I don't think that you...it's contagious." He blew an impatient sigh through his teeth. "What are you talking about, Cordelia?"
"Can you say 'shansu'?"
"Oh that."
"Oh that?" she mimicked him incredulously. "As in the moment you've been waiting for since before you even knew you were going to get it? Did it slip your mind or can't it swim upstream against the raging hormones?"
"You know it's funny but it doesn't seem to matter as much now. Not that I'd turn it down," he quickly added, hoping to avoid inspiring the PTB's to new heights of mischief. "But I really only wanted it for..."
"For Buffy," Cordelia finished for him. "And my next line would be 'Duh!' But that still brings us no closer to an actual answer to my question."
He drew in a deep, self-satisfied breath; even the tumult of this evening could not long disturb the harmony the past week had created in his soul. "I don't want any secrets between us, so I am going to tell her it's a possibility. A remote possibility. I was planning to tell her tonight actually." He paused. "When we're alone."
She pretended not to notice his pointed glance at the door. "Good, because you just know Wesley cannot keep a secret."
"Was that the big moral dilemma? Keeping my maybe-shansu from Buffy?"
She wanted to get straight to it, and with anyone else she would have; it was the Cordelia Chase trademark. Angel, however, required a bit more finesse, and a little thing called tact.
"Well, that and...she is up to speed on Darla and the whole 'oops-I-did-It-again' thing that created your little tax deduction, right?"
Angel nodded, his smile dimming slightly at the mention of his sire. "Buffy knows all about Darla and Connor."
"Just tell me you didn't tell her about that stupid idea you had about you and me." She tried to make it sound like a plea, but it came out as more of a command. "You know, the thing I specifically asked you...no, I actually told you not to tell her. "
Angel studied his shoes with an intensity he had formerly reserved for contemplation of his dark past.
"I had to," he mumbled. "She kept asking why I was here and I couldn't lie to her."
"Of course you couldn't," she sighed. "And of course I had to turn down one of the few guys out there who actually can't lie to a woman. Not well, anyway."
"Isn't that supposed to be a good thing?"
The boyish grin and hopeful tone he turned on her should have melted the steeliest of hearts, but Cordelia could only groan at his masculine innocence.
"Only if I get enough of a head start."
"Are you really all that concerned about her knowing, Cordy? I'd be the one she'd be mad at and she's not. Confused maybe...but not mad."
"Color me flattered." She broke off and stared down at Connor's small dark head resting against her shoulder. It was time to stop dancing around and get to the real issue, before Connor went into full wail mode and Buffy came running. "No, I guess I can deal with that. My question is, can Buffy deal with your little Black Friday Redux, or is she not going to get the chance to?"
"I don't...I don't know what you're talking about," Angel stammered, despite his crawling suspicion that he knew exactly what she was talking about.
"Yeah, well, I do know. A couple of years ago you took away the life Buffy always wanted and gave it back edited for television. Now are you going to tell her about it, or do I have to spend the rest of my life hoping I don't let anything slip that will give her grounds to strangle me or stake you?"
* * * * *
"I can't believe you got a job...I mean another job. And so fast; you're really starting Monday?" Willow leaned forward, all dark thoughts of her own future forgotten in the face of Buffy's good news. "What kind of job? Is it good money? Not that it matters, of course, except in the strictly financial sense, but...oh." A not-too pleasant prospect crossed her mind. "Where is it? Here or...LA?"
"Here," Buffy said firmly. "Right near Hellmouth Central, actually." She rested her hands on the back of a kitchen chair, focusing on her clenched fingers rather than Willow's concerned face. "I'm, umm, going to be working for the new battered women's shelter they just finished building a few blocks from the old high school."
"That's great. Wonderful even." Willow tried to sound enthusiastic; she wanted to sound enthusiastic. Somehow, though, the overall effect was closer to puzzled. "I mean it's important work, and you are awfully good at helping people so you should be good at...whatever you're going to be doing."
"I believe the word used was 'dogsbody'." Buffy shuddered, raising her head to meet Willow's eyes. "Not a word I personally would use lightly around a mystical convergence, especially with all the flying Scooby references. But not everyone has my unique perspective on life." She frowned. "I guess that's why they call it 'unique,' huh?"
"So what exactly will you be doing? Teaching them self-defense?"
Suddenly the job sounded fairly logical to Willow, verging on the obvious. At least it did until Buffy shook her head.
"Umm, maybe a little on the side, but only really basic stuff. The director likes the idea in theory; you know, as a confidence builder. But the goal is to get these women away from the violence, not take the chance of amping it up."
"So you'll be..." Willow let her voice trail off, hoping for enlightenment.
"I'll be helping set things up and get families moved in from the old shelter at first, then I'll fill in wherever they need me. Ordering supplies, answering phones, basic maintenance...though I did warn them I'm not much of a plumber." Her quick grin faltered when Willow didn't answer with one of her own. "I know it doesn't sound like much at first, but Willow, when they heard I had been taking some psychology courses, and that I wanted to go back to school, they offered to help."
Buffy began to pace, too excited to stay still any longer. "If I take sociology courses as well...and some business management classes probably wouldn't hurt...they'll hire me when I get my degree. I mean they'll hire me as a counselor. In the meantime, they'll help me pay for my classes. Isn't that great?"
"Super. It's just, well..." Willow scrambled for an appropriate, yet tactful, description. "It's unexpected, I guess. Like the 'mom' stuff, you know? I mean I never thought of you working with...well, you're so strong and you...you don't let anybody get away with messing with you, so it's hard to see what you'd have in common with...not that you can't imagine, but..."
Buffy stopped pacing and looked quietly at Willow. "You mean because I don't have to worry about any guy...any human guy, at least...getting the best of me physically, I wouldn't understand the women there?"
She tried not to be hurt by Willow's surprise; she'd thought much the same things about herself until a few months ago. Even then, her mind initially rejected the idea; she was the Slayer, not a 'victim.' It had taken her a long time to realize she could be both.
"Well, no," Willow answered slowly, "but...kind of yes. It's just so different from who you've always been I don't even know how you...how did you think of it?"
In one way the question made sense, but the fact that it did drove home to Buffy how little she and Willow had shared during those first dark months after her return from the afterlife. It was her fault as much as Willow's, but that knowledge did little to remove the sting.
"Angel and I have been doing a lot of talking this week, and I've had some major thoughts all by myself the past few months." Buffy almost laughed when she heard the words coming out of her mouth; as though 'major' began to cover the territory her mind had roamed. "When I went to see Dawn's social worker today and I saw the job listing, it finally all sort of jelled. This is what I need to make something good of the whole Spike mess."
"The Spike..."
"I'm sorry, Buffy," Fred said softly as she pushed open the kitchen door. "Lorne said that Angel said Connor needs a bottle to get back to sleep. Cordelia said what he really needs is a decent lullaby...Connor, of course; Angel is a little old for lullabies." She giggled nervously as she tucked a strand of long brown hair behind her ear. "Actually he's very old for lullabies...but I guess you already knew that. I mean of course you do, because if anyone knows about vampires...other than Angel, that is...it would be a vampire slayer, right?"
"So you came to get Connor a bottle?" Buffy prompted.
Fred shrugged apologetically. "I can't sing."
"O...kay," Buffy murmured.
"But I wanted to help."
"I'll warm up a bottle and we'll have the little prince down for the count in no time," Buffy promised, giving up comprehension as a lost cause. Angel had warned her about Fred's spiral thinking; she just hadn't believed him.
"I'm sorry I interrupted," Fred said quickly. "You two were talking; please go on. Unless it's something I shouldn't..."
"No, it's fine," Buffy reassured her. She removed a bottle from the refrigerator and put it in the pan of water she now kept on the stove at all times. "I was just explaining to Willow about my new job at a shelter for battered women."
"Oh that's wonderful." Fred pulled out a chair and sat down next to Willow, relishing the opportunity to get to know a new side of Angel through learning more about Buffy. "The library where I used to work did a story hour at our local shelter once a week, for all the kids whose moms were afraid to leave them at the library for the regular story hour." Her smile dimmed slightly. "I didn't really understand that...not deep down, you know...until I'd been in Pylea for a while. To be looking over your shoulder all the time, never sure how long you've got before some monster shows up and just drags you...it's, umm, really sort of hard to explain," she finished quietly.
"You kind of have to be there," Buffy agreed, her unseeing gaze drifting to the baby bottle on the stove.
Willow's head swiveled as she abandoned one riddle for another. "Buffy, I don't mean to make it seem like you've had an easy time or anything; I know that's not true. Not even close." She paused, searching yet again for the tactful path to enlightenment. "But what you went through with Spike...that was totally different than what you'll see in that shelter."
"Yes and no." Buffy shrugged uncomfortably and concentrated fiercely on the bottle and the pan, on anything but the look on her best friend's face. "If you mean that I was able to defend myself physically against him, well then yeah. Spike could hit me, but I could hit back just as hard, and I did...when he used his fists."
"I didn't mean to..." Fred began quickly, sensing she might have stumbled into an area too personal to be shared with a relative stranger. "Maybe I should leave, or..."
"When he used words," Buffy continued slowly over Fred's protest, "when he told me I was some sort of freak of nature and I'd never fit in again, or when he told me I was incomplete and inhuman and the only one who could ever understand or love me ever again would be him...I had no way to fight back. Not for a long time."
"I didn't...you never said what he said to you," Willow stammered. "Buffy, if you'd only told us, we could have helped."
"I couldn't; I was too afraid it was true. Actually I was sure it was true, and he knew that and he used it." She drew a shaky breath; it went against the slayer grain to expose her vulnerability to anyone, and Willow, more than most, had always believed devoutly in Buffy's strength. "I felt so...I don't know, dirty I guess, when I came back. Everything had been so clean and simple and just...good...where I was. And then I came back and everything around me was harsh and dirty and ugly, especially me."
Buffy forced herself to raise her head and look at Willow, even though she dreaded confronting the combination of guilt and pity she knew she would find in her best friend's eyes.
"I didn't feel like I was worth anyone loving me, and being with Spike made me sure of it. Kind of a do-it-yourself prophecy, I guess. The more I let him say and do to me, the more I felt like I deserved what he'd said and done the day before."
"But you got yourself out," Willow said desperately. "You didn't let him keep doing it."
She clung to that fact, holding it up against the memory of Buffy's face when she came down from Glory's tower after her resurrection. Seeing Buffy truly alive again had made Willow so happy, and so very proud of herself for pulling it off; she couldn't let herself see the still dead look in her best friend's eyes that night, or in the many days...weeks...months...that followed. It wasn't until just now, seeing the life and strength, and even the pain, that glowed in Buffy's eyes that Willow realized how terribly vulnerable Buffy's rebirth had left the slayer.
"Yeah, I did get out. Eventually. And so did every woman at that shelter." Buffy turned around and leaned against the stove, her fingers clutching tightly to the handle on the oven door. "Look, Willow, I'm not saying I know exactly how those women feel. There wasn't any paper, or kids, or money tying me to Spike, and as hard as he tried to separate me from you and Xander and Dawn, you were all still here waiting for me when I saw the light. I was lucky. But that doesn't mean I don't understand what it is to want to believe someone is hurting you out of love."
"That's not love, Buffy."
Willow's voice was small, as small as she felt. This was the kind of thing women were supposed to protect each other from, yet she had never even realized it was happening until it was over.
"I know. But if you feel like the lowest of the low, and someone agrees with you, but says he loves you anyway, it's hard to stop believing him. You don't want to stop believing him, because if he's such a loser and even he can't love you, you're worth even less than you thought."
The sound of a childish wail pierced the kitchen ceiling, breaking the silence Buffy's last words had produced.
"Gotta go," the Slayer said with no small relief. "I don't think the bottle's all that warm yet," she lifted it out of the pan and tested it against the palm of her hand, "nope; it's not. Guess he'll just have to rough it this time."
Fred held out her hand. "Do you want me to take it up so you can finish your talk...the one that I kind of interrupted?"
"No, that's okay." Buffy wiped the dripping bottle off with a kitchen towel and started for the door. "After her first shot at an inquisition didn't work, I'm betting Angel needs some serious rescuing from the wrath of Cordelia."
* * * * *
To Be Continued