The phone let out a final, shrill chirp as Angel pushed open the heavy glass doors of the Hyperion Hotel.
He'd heard the phone ringing as he drove up; vampire hearing was useful for such things. Or at least it was useful if you had any reason to expect phone calls. Any reason to look forward to them. Any reason to run for them. That pretty much left Angel out in the cold.
Again.
He sighed as he threw his coat over the checkout counter. It had, not surprisingly, been a long and lonely night. Wesley, Cordelia and Gunn were slowly coming around, but only with great reluctance. Every time one of them slipped and treated him as one of the gang again, it was followed by an immediate and chilling withdrawal. One step forward and two steps back.
Though his last caller had obviously hung up before leaving a message, Angel checked the answering machine from force of habit as he walked around behind the counter. He really wasn't in the mood for battling still more evil this night; one fire-breathing, sewer-dwelling demon was usually enough to call it a day. But ever since Kate's fateful call on the night they both tried to escape their respective worlds, he had held that little black machine in high regard. Each blink of that red light was a potential beacon to illuminate his destiny.
Or possibly a telemarketer...but he was willing to take his chances.
The light blinked once in the dimly lit hotel lobby, signifying one person (or demon) who had cared to leave a message. Expecting nothing more than a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for the timeshare of his choice, Angel pushed the "PLAY" button.
"Angel, hi. It's me."
He stopped dead in his tracks and spun around, staring at the little machine that captured and preserved his beloved's voice. Preserved it because he hadn't been here himself. Because he had been too busy trying to fulfill his destiny instead of living his dream. With a groan, Angel threw himself into the chair behind the counter to listen to the message he should have received in person.
"Are you there?" Buffy's voice continued, a little more hesitantly now. "If you are...could you pick up? Please." A brief moment of silence, and then her voice called out to him once more.
"I guess you're not there."
Angel growled in frustration at the lost-child timber in her voice.
"I just wanted...I wanted to talk with you about something...but I guess I should just leave a message. I mean I am leaving a message." A little laugh escaped her. "But you know what I mean. Something like, 'I'm in for the night; call me.' Or, 'Hey, long time no talk. Let's fix that.' Something nice and simple."
Angel could almost feel her breath rush across his face, so heavy was the sigh that followed her words.
"Except we never did simple, did we, so why start now? Maybe...maybe it will be easier this way."
He felt his gut clench in dread.
"I was talking to umm, someone, tonight, and it made me think of you. Okay, so most things make me think of you these days." She chuckled softly. "Who am I kidding? Most things always did. Anyway, I, umm, was thinking about you...and about me...about us sort of being an us and yet sort of not and, well, I decided I'm against it. Not being an us, I mean. Am I making any sense?"
She had paused, as though she had expected him to reply. Angel got to his feet and hesitantly approached the machine.
"You know what?" she said finally. "This is silly, me telling your machine all this stuff that I should be saying to you. I mean, Cordy is probably going to be the first one back and she'll play this message and spend the rest of the night telling you in great detail why you should just leave needy little Buffy needing. Could you just call me? Please? I'd really like to talk to you."
There was an audible click when she disconnected the call, just as Angel's pale hand reached out to touch the receiver.
She was gone.
* * * * *
His long fingers lingered on the machine, trying to absorb some sense of the vibrant personality behind those recorded words. She had called him, called out to him really, and he had failed her. Now she was waiting for him to reach out to her in return...and he was so very afraid.
When her mother died, he didn't choose to go see her; he just did. There was no reasoning behind it, no conscious thought at all beyond the timing of sunset. She needed him and he had to be there for her.
But tonight was different; he could hear it in her voice. It was the tone he used to hear when they had a fight and she wanted to make up but didn't know how to make the first move. Angel knew in his soul that tonight's call sprang not from sudden need, but the plain old everyday kind of loneliness they both struggled with. The constant ache of being apart and forging new lives with only half a heart and soul still present. He also knew calling her back wouldn't solve anything, not unless he was prepared to make some changes.
And that was where he hit the wall.
There was nothing more he wanted in the world than to be a part of Buffy's life; it was all he had wanted since the first day he saw her. But the situation, the problems that existed between them, had not changed with time. If anything, the time apart must make the problems stand out more sharply against the "normal" life she had been trying to build these past two years. He had walked away to give her a chance at that life; he had even given up his own life to prolong it. If he called her back tonight, after that phone call, it could undo all that he had worked so hard to secure for her.
And if he didn't call her back, it would destroy every bit of trust she'd ever had in him, or in love in general.
Angel picked up the receiver, berating himself for hesitating. He had to call her back; he had no choice. But there were other things he also didn't get to choose. For Buffy's sake he couldn't let this call sound like it would change things; he would stay strong if it killed him. Friends were all they could ever be; as lovers they were over. They had to be over.
He told himself that over and over as he dialed her number from memory, but the words flew right out of his head when he heard her sleepy voice at the other end of the line.
* * * * *
"Angel?"
'She sounds tired,' was his instant thought. A moment later he forced himself to relax and break out of worry-mode. Of course she was tired; she had left the message hours ago and probably fallen asleep waiting for him to call back.
'Deep breath, Angel,' he told himself. 'Even if you don't need it...you need it.'
"Buffy, yeah, it's me." He tried to sound casual. "I hope...I didn't wake you, did I?"
"Umm, actually...kind of. But it's okay," she quickly reassured him. "I was hoping you'd call tonight. I just got a little tired while I was waiting so I stretched out and then I guess I conked out. You know me and post-slayage naps."
She laughed self-consciously as Angel suppressed a groan. How was he supposed to focus on the impossibility of a future together when she reminded him of some of the sweetest moments of their shared past? He remembered all too well those naps after patrol, when she curled up so warmly against him, her golden head tucked under his chin and her soft breath blowing across his skin...
"Angel? Are you still there?"
He came back to the present with a start, realizing his silence had worried her.
"Yes, I'm still here," he said, unconsciously lowering his voice to the husky intimate tones she once told him sent shivers right down to her...he cleared his throat in a panic and tried again. "Sorry, I just...drifted for a minute. I'm back."
"Are you okay?" The worry in her voice said she was still far from satisfied with his answer. "You sound so...I don't know...sad."
Angel laughed softly; only Buffy would worry about whether he sounded happy or not. To the others it was much more clear-cut these days: evil or not evil. Happiness had nothing to do with it.
"I'm fine, Buffy," he insisted. "I just finished up work for the night and I guess I haven't quite come back to real time yet."
"Still in the zone, huh?"
"Something like that," Angel agreed with a smile.
She sounded more relaxed now, he noted with relief, definitely more herself. He could envision her scooching up on the bed, leaning against her plethora of pillows, twisting the blankets between her fingers while she talked. She was settling in for a good long chat, and so should he.
"Angel, I'm glad you called..."
"Me too." He threw himself backwards onto the sofa, reaching behind his head for a cushion to put beneath his head.
"But while I was waiting I realized that I don't want to do this over the phone," she continued reluctantly.
Angel sat up abruptly, the pillow in his hand suddenly skimming across the top of the coffee table and directly into a full glass of water. The glass shattered when it hit the tile floor, creating a sparkling pool of water mixed with jagged crystal shards creeping back towards the Oriental wool rug under the table.
Angel had eyes only for the black receiver in his hand.
"Do what?" he asked quickly, fear roughening his voice before he could regain control of it.
"I want...I need to talk to you. Really talk. Heart-to-heart sewer sort of talk," she explained. She spoke slowly, as though each word was being individually wrung from her memory. "I thought we could just talk over the phone and that would fix everything...but I need to see you. This is just too...unreal...all this faceless communication."
"Sorry, my, uh, vid-phone isn't working today," he mumbled in a feeble attempt at a joke, as his mind feverishly processed her comment. Exactly which sewer talk she was referring to? Could she know? Could she have somehow remembered, and now she wanted to confront him?
Or was that just shorthand for good-bye, in a language he had created?
"Lucky you," she admitted. "I'm a pretty scary sight right now. But I could, umm, take some of the 'boo' out of this fright wig I call my hair by the time you got here. If you could, umm, come here."
The tentative tone in her voice confused him. She didn't sound angry, or distant. She sounded, once again, the way she had on the answering machine. But if she was looking to mend fences, why couldn't the first moves be made over the phone?
And why was he still unable to understand women after over two-and-a-half centuries of practice?
Angel ran his hand through the dark spikes of his hair as he sifted through the mechanics of a sudden trip to Sunnydale.
"Buffy, it's not that I don't want to come there," he began reluctantly, "but it's daylight now...or almost. Can't you just give me a hint now and, you know, save the rest for a few hours after sundown?"
"Oh, the sun. I kind of forgot about that."
She sounded deflated, but not so much as Angel felt. Of course she hadn't factored in the sun; she was used to human boyfriends who could travel at any time. He was the freakish exception in her orderly world.
"I've been patrolling so much lately I kind of forgot it even existed," she continued, unaware of Angel's silent self-recriminations at the other end of the line. "I'm out all night keeping an eye out for Glory and her creepy little minions and, well, grocery shopping and stuff."
He could almost see the embarrassed flush steal across her cheeks. Buffy the Coupon Clipper; not exactly her usual image.
"I sleep during the day when Dawn is at school," she admitted softly. "I don't even know what sunlight looks like anymore. I guess I forgot I'm not the only one who's a night person."
"Come to LA," he heard himself saying, the words leaving his mouth the instant the idea was born.
"What?"
"Come to LA," he repeated, sounding more confident this time. This could work; he could make it work. "You're exhausted from looking out for Dawn all on your own, I know you must be stressed out from all the details of taking over the house and selling your mom's gallery, and it doesn't sound like you even have much time for school anymore. So come here for a few days...or a few weeks," he added quickly. "Whatever. I can't worry for you, but I can worry with you."
"But what about Dawn?" she challenged him. "I can't just leave her here with Glory on the loose. And I can't leave her behind; I just got back from a trip with Giles and with Mom gone now I can't keep going away..."
"Bring her with you," he said recklessly. "Bring Dawn, bring Giles, bring Willow...hell, bring Xander if you want. I own a hotel." He waved at the upper gallery, as though she was standing beside him to see the gesture. "I have the room."
There was a silence on the other end of the phone.
"Buffy," he said, "it's...it's okay if you don't want to." He suddenly regretted his impulsive words. She didn't need him managing her world anymore; she really never did. In his eagerness to help her, he had overstepped his bounds and it was no wonder she was having trouble telling him...
"Angel, it's not that," she said, breaking into his internal flagellation yet again. "Dawn has school. I mean I have school too, but it's not...well, you said it yourself: I'm not going much these days. I'm actually thinking about, umm, dropping out. Just for a semester or so," she added hastily. "But Dawn doesn't have that option. Her teachers get a little freaked if she's not in her seat when the bell rings, and I can't afford to get the scholastic PTBs freaked right now."
He didn't even feel the quick sigh of relief filter through his dead lungs; he was too busy trying to rework his plan.
"Can't you tell them you're taking her to see your dad? She just lost her mother...I mean your mother. Wouldn't the school understand that she needs a little family time?"
"But this would be time for me," she pointed out delicately.
"And the problem with that would be?" He didn't give her time to formulate an answer. "Buffy, you need...something. I'm not even sure what, since you won't tell me. But if I'm a part of it...please come here and let me help. Please."
He waited silently for her answer, fighting back the voice in his head that said this was a bad idea. He knew it was wrong to offer himself as some sort of savior to her when he was barely back from the edge himself, and the thought of Cordelia in her current mood mixing with Buffy in her fragile state...he shuddered at the image.
But no matter how many ways he tried to disguise it, this was the redemption he was truly seeking. He wanted to make amends to his victims, and he wanted to count for something in this world...because of Buffy. Because she made him want to be so much more than he ever thought he could be. And now maybe he could give some of that back to her, if she would let him.
If she would let him have that second chance.
"I need to call the school," she said slowly. "And tell Giles and the others. I'm not sure if they'll want to come or not...but maybe they should. Glory is getting too close. She kidnapped Tara tonight...that is last night. We got her back okay, but I couldn't face Willow if anything happened to Tara because of me."
"Baby, it's not your fault." Angel could hear the guilt in her voice; it was an old companion of his and he knew it all too well. "They're with you because they want to be. Because they love you and they believe in what you fight for. It's their choice."
"And if they choose not to be with me?" she asked tightly. "Does that mean they don't love...never mind. Forget I even...it was stupid; I know that."
Angel winced, trying to block the inadvertent image of pain in Buffy's hazel eyes that came to him as she posed the question. He suddenly envied Cordelia's visions, where only nameless strangers suffered.
"Buffy, please just come to LA," he begged. "You and I don't always get a choice in life...but I think this time we can sneak one past the censors."
There was an audible sniffle from the other end of the line.
"Promise?"
Angel tightened his grip on the receiver as he opened his eyes and looked around the room. He sat alone in a grandiose Art Deco hotel lobby, like one relic from another time left abandoned in another. Buffy had no place in this long-gone world; she was the future.
But no matter how hard he tried to fight it, no matter what he thought was best for her, she was his future.
"Promise," he answered hoarsely.
* * * * *
Buffy clung to the phone in her hand long after Angel said good-bye, unwilling to break the tenuous connection. He wanted her to come to him; instead of distancing himself he was actually inviting her into his new life. She could hardly believe it.
All right, so she had initiated the invitation in a way by calling him; that didn't make it feel any less miraculous. And once she and Angel could set things right between them, everything else would fall into place. She wasn't quite sure how, but she knew things began to fall apart when he left and she'd never been able to put it all right again since. Now though, together, they could fix everything: Dawn, Glory, school, the mounting bills, the lack of meaning in her life...all of it.
And all because of this wonderful, beautiful telephone.
A light tap on her door finally broke her concentration and she set the phone down on the nightstand as she called out, "Come in."
Dawn's head poked around the edge of the partially open door, her brown hair still rumpled from her pillow and her eyes blinking in the light beginning to stream through Buffy's window.
"Did I hear the phone ring a little while ago?" the younger girl asked. "Is everyone okay?"
Buffy could hear the thinly disguised panic in her sister's voice; Joyce's death had robbed Dawn of a child's illusion of a safe and orderly world. People died in Dawn's world now, good people who should have lived to grow old. Every phone call, every unexpected presence at the door could mean potential disaster.
"Dawn, it's fine; no one's hurt." Buffy threw back her covers and hurried over to the door, drawing the girl into the room and over to the bed. "It was Angel, calling me back. I'm sorry it woke you."
The Slayer gently pushed her sister onto the foot of the bed and sat down beside her, wrapping a sheltering arm around the younger girl. Dawn leaned into the embrace, resting her head on Buffy's shoulder.
"Angel called?" she asked curiously, smothering a yawn with her hand. "But I thought you and Riley were making up last night. Didn't he stay?"
"Uh no."
Buffy couldn't hold back a chuckle as she shook her head; she had a feeling that Riley had intended something very much like Dawn guessed, and he had been quite surprised to have his plans thwarted.
"Nope, Riley is gone for good this time, and with my blessing. We talked and we...well, we agreed not to make up."
It wasn't quite the truth, but it was as far as Buffy was willing to go. Even Slayers, whose lives belonged to the world, deserved a little bit of privacy now and then.
"So you and Angel made up instead? But I thought you guys couldn't...you know...the big couldn't?"
Dawn turned bright red as she tried to come up with a way to ask her question without being forced to imagine the action. With Riley she could just say 'sex,' because Buffy never seemed to have much of a hang-up about it with him. But Angel...Dawn could still remember all the conversations with Willow that she had interrupted, the ones where Buffy was trying to describe what she and Angel could do, or had done. No matter how hard she tried, Buffy could never seem to find the right words. Things always seemed to be so much more complicated with Angel.
"We...well we still can't," Buffy stammered, blushing almost as much as Dawn. "But that's not important." She gritted her teeth, recalling Riley's words last night. "It's not, no matter what some people think. Anyway, I don't know if we're actually technically getting back together. But I needed to talk with him about some things last night, and he wasn't home so I left a message, and then by the time he called back I realized...umm, how would you feel about going to LA for a few weeks? Days." she corrected herself hastily. "Or maybe weeks. I don't...I'm not sure yet. So, how would you feel?"
"But I have school. And you have school. And there's this whole big Glory thing which...well, I guess that part of it would be kind of cool to leave behind," Dawn admitted. "But what about the others? What about Xander? And Tara and Willow? And Giles; doesn't he need you here to keep things quiet on the home front?"
"They can come with us," Buffy answered brightly. She gave Dawn's shoulders a quick squeeze and got to her feet, ready for the next step. "Angel owns a hotel now, so he has lots of room. And he has lots of weapons too, so we'll be well armed. And I can train with him, so I'll be in top form when we figure out how to take Glory down."
"That sounds good," Dawn said doubtfully, a small frown creasing her brow. "But what about Spike? He can help you train here, but I don't think Angel will like it if we bring him along."
"Spike is a big boy; he can take care of himself," Buffy answered swiftly.
"But he helps us," Dawn protested. "And you know he only does it because he lov..."
Dawn was prevented from finishing her argument by a small tanned hand firmly applied to her mouth.
"We don't use the "L" word when mentioning Spike," the Slayer said, exhibiting what she thought was remarkable calm, given the provocation. "You're confusing one four-letter-word with another; a chip doesn't equal a soul, and without that he's just a temporarily disabled bad guy. Love is...he's not capable of it, Dawnie."
Dawn pushed Buffy's hand away and stuck out her tongue at her sister.
"He's a temporarily homicidally-challenged guy," the teen grumbled. "If you're going to insult him, at least be polite about it."
Buffy cocked her head and stared in disbelief at the younger girl. "Do you even know how dumb that...never mind."
She drew a deep breath as she ran unsteady hands through her hair. Her mother had always said parenting was all about picking battles...or at least that what it sounded like Joyce had been muttering under her breath. Buffy resolved to have a nice long talk with Dawn later, to straighten out any lingering misconceptions about vampires and love. Or maybe she should ask Angel to do it; he could explain vampires better than anyone, even Giles.
Of course this was assuming she let Angel out of her sight long enough to say more than a quick hello to anyone for the next few days.
Hmm, maybe Giles would be a better choice after all, she mused, a small smile teasing at the corners of her mouth.
"Buffy? Earth to Buffy."
Buffy came back to that earth with a jolt as Dawn's waving fingertips brushed her nose.
"Glory already tried to get information out of Spike," the Slayer answered calmly. "She couldn't do it...and I can't see even Glory being crazy enough to subject herself to Spike twice unless there was something in it for her. I don't really think she'll bother him again, if he even decides to stay in Sunnydale after we're gone."
"After you're gone, you mean."
"Whatever. The point is, he's not my problem. You...well, you're not a problem of course, but you're the one I need to think about." Buffy moved around to the foot of her bed and opened up her Slayer trunk, pulling out the weapons she no longer needed to hide under the false bottom. "I want you to be safe and I think you will be in LA."
"So we're going for me?"
Buffy stopped counting stakes long enough to look up at Dawn. "Yes. For you...and for me." She laid the stakes on the bed and dove in for her favorite knife, hoping to hide her face in the depths of the trunk.
"Because you miss Angel again now that Riley's gone?"
Buffy stiffened and slowly withdrew from her hiding place. "I always missed him, Dawnie."
"But you never said anything about it. You've hardly mentioned him at all since he left."
Buffy pushed down the lump that rose in her throat as she tried to answer Dawn's question the best way she knew how.
"How often do we talk about Mom?"
"Oh."
Dawn's face fell, swiftly pulling Buffy to her feet and sending her to her younger sister's side. She held the girl close, one hand stroking Dawn's long, sleep-tumbled hair as she soothed her.
"Shh; I'm sorry, sweetie. I just meant that I missed him so much I couldn't talk about him...kind of like we both feel about Mom." She pulled back; brushing away the single tear she saw sliding down Dawn's cheek. "I tried not to miss him; I even pretended not to. But I've always missed him. And now...I'm tired of missing him, and tired of trying not to and tired of pretending I don't. And I...I have this feeling. This feeling that things are coming to a head."
She saw the fear flare up in her sister's eyes and cursed herself for her careless words; Dawn was in no shape to deal with anyone's premonitions but her own.
"It's not a Slayerly feeling or anything, and it may just be nothing," Buffy said quickly, shooting for maximum damage control. "In fact it's probably just because of Mom."
"But Mom didn't like Angel," Dawn pointed out, honest to a fault, if not precisely tactful.
Buffy grimaced, trying to put the bad memories behind her. She and her mother would never resolve their Angel differences now, and it was useless to speculate if they ever would have had Joyce lived the long life they all believed she would.
"That's not what I mean," Buffy answered with some difficulty. "I just meant that Mom dying so suddenly...it reminded me of how time gets away from you. And how things you always meant to do, you suddenly realize you've never done because you were always going to do them later, when you had the time. I don't want things to be that way with Angel and I."
Recalled to her purpose, Buffy gave her sister one final hug and returned to her trunk.
"So we're going to LA."
"Yes, we're going to LA." Buffy beamed at her sister. "You, me, and whoever else wants to tag along."
"Except Glory," Dawn said quickly.
Buffy drew a sword from the depths of her trunk and held it up high, watching the way the early morning sun gleamed on the polished metal.
"You know, I'd almost like to see her try," the Slayer murmured speculatively.
* * * * *
"She's starting to make me angry, Merk. Why won't she just cooperate?"
Glory stomped her new red leather shoe on the floor, shattering the 4-inch heel with the force of her rage. The little monk by her side scuttled back a few paces to get out of range and pretended to deliberate the question.
"She is stubborn, your Gloryificence," he murmured, bowing low as he offered his humble opinion. "Nothing but a stubborn child. She has yet to see the wisdom, the eternal rightness of obeying the edicts of she who is..."
"Yeah, yeah," Glory interrupted him, waving a careless hand that caught the monk under the chin as he rose. "I know Barbie the Vampire Slayer is stubborn, but the important thing is that I just...don't...care."
A stomp with the surviving heel signaled the end of yet another Italian designer's chance at immortality, and possibly mortality, as Glory eyed her ruined shoes with a sour expression. She bent over and yanked them off her feet; hurling them into the fireplace with such vehemence that one bounced back out and hit Merk squarely on the forehead.
"She has my Key," Glory continued, oblivious to the monk's quiet moan of pain. "Or at least she knows where it is. She has no right to be stubborn about that. It's not her Key."
"This is the essence of truth, your Gloryopulence." Merk wiped the blood from his eyes and tried again to assuage his mistress's distress. "The Key belongs to no one but she who..."
"Enough!" The goddess slashed her hand in the air, narrowly missing the back of the little monk's neck as she stormed past him. "All this fawning is suddenly giving me a headache. I'm going to go lie down for a few minutes and then you can send me a few mortals to drain; that will make me feel better. And later we'll pay little Miss Mule a visit and see if we can't teach her about the dangers of playing hide-and-seek with somebody else's toys."
She took a few more steps towards her bedroom; the monk's tensed shoulders relaxed. Then the rustle of silk in motion ceased from behind him, and he snapped back to attention.
"Gloryopulence? Are you trying to say I'm getting fat?"
The little demon winced.
"Gloryscendency?" he offered timidly.
* * * * *
"So you want us all to pack up our stuff, walk out on our jobs and run to Angel for help? And this would be a good idea in what universe?"
Xander leaned back against the counter and turned his head to address Giles, standing behind him at the cash register.
"Say I'm not the crazy one here, G-man," he begged. "This just cannot be a doable plan."
"I didn't say you had to come, Xander; I said you could...and probably should." Buffy started to pace again, as she had been doing almost non-stop from the moment she walked in the door of the Magic Box. "Glory has already tried to brain-suck Tara; the fact that she didn't was mostly luck and good timing."
"And very poor leadership skills," Anya added. "A truly efficient manager of any operation would have assigned the tasks to her underlings beforehand, to maximize their time and to..." She sputtered off into momentary silence when she noticed Willow's glare. "Well all I'm saying is that she had more than enough time and she still didn't get the job done. She lacks managerial potential."
"You know how it is, An," Xander said. "Good help is so hard to find these days."
"Indeed," Giles murmured.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Anya flared. "Are you trying one of your obscure British insults on me again because you think I don't understand what you're really trying to say? Because let me tell you something; I was around when they invented that whole dry English wit mythos and after a few hundred years it starts to get a little moldy around the edges."
"Anya..." Giles began.
"Can we please get back to business?" Buffy hastily interjected. "Dawn and I are leaving in about a half-hour; just as soon as the principal's office opens and I can call her in sick. Oh and, umm, swing by Spike's crypt so Dawn can say good-bye." She shrugged her shoulders; one battle lost but the war was far from over. "Now I'm sorry I dragged you all in here at the crack of, well, dawn, to spring this on you...and I'm sorry I can't give you more time to prepare. But I need to get to LA."
She looked away, unable to meet their eyes as she edged around the truth. Some things needed to remain private until more was settled...if anything could ever be settled, that is. She and Angel weren't exactly "settling" sort of people.
"I mean there are things I need to do there and I need to do them now," was all she said aloud, continuing to herself 'before I lose my nerve.'
"So what you're saying is that you're going with or without us?" Willow asked. Her mouth tightened in anger...until she felt Tara's hand on her arm and put herself in Buffy's place.
The Slayer nodded briskly. "I think it would probably be safer with."
"She's right, you know." Anya seemed as surprised as anyone at her comment, but she rallied quickly and continued to defend her position. "Glory could come for any of us, trying to find out where Buffy went. And without Buffy here to defend us...which of course we wouldn't need if she was here since we wouldn't know where she had gone because she wouldn't have gone..."
"Anya," Xander whined, "Six a.m. No coffee shops open. Please get to the point before my head explodes."
"We're sitting ducks. Is that pointy enough for you, Xander?"
"Depends on the ducktail."
"Buffy," Giles said, sparing only the briefest of glares for Xander, "it's not that we don't appreciate your situation...and, of course, your concern for Dawn. But it is not so easy for most people to just pick up and walk away for a few weeks. I can close up the shop...I will close up the shop. I am your Watcher and my place is with you. But Xander has a job; Willow and Tara have classes. Dawn, most of all, has classes. How long do you envision this strategic retreat lasting?"
Buffy had a sneaking suspicion the answer "forever" would not go over well with her Watcher. Nor was it, she was forced to admit, exactly practical. Giles was right; the world would go on whether she and Angel found their happily-ever-after or not, and sooner or later they would have to join in.
"I don't know exactly," she murmured, studying her chipped nail polish for the second time in the past 12 hours. "I thought if we had a chance to regroup, maybe we could figure out a way to beat Glory. All of us working together; just like the old days."
She saw Giles' raised eyebrow, and his inadvertent glance in Xander's direction. Unhappily, she was forced to admit her Watcher was right in this as well; the old days had contained as much competition as cooperation, and Xander had been a chief source of the trouble. Judging by the look on her friend's face, he might not be over the urge.
"What I want to know," Xander said slowly, "is where Riley fits into all this?" He looked curiously at Buffy. "I mean I know I'm not the big guy's favorite fella, so what must he think about having Riley as a houseguest?"
"He's not going to have Riley," Buffy answered evenly. "The subject never even came up."
"But he's here, Buff. And Glory knows he's one of us. He could be in danger too."
"I'll...track him down," she said in frustration. "Or I'll try to before we have to go. I'll tell him we're all getting out of Dodge and he should too. Alone. Or at least not with us." She looked sternly at Xander. "Not with me."
"So, Riley comes looking for a second chance and you go running back to Angel. Color me surprised."
"Enough, Xander," Buffy snapped. "I hope you come with us, because even as annoying as you are right now, I don't want you to die. But if you come you will be civil to Angel and you will lay off the 'yay Riley' riff...or I will tell Anya about your relationship with Cordelia in vivid...painful...detail. And then I will lock you in a room with the two of them until there are only little bitty Xander pieces on the floor for them to step on. Which they will, and you know it."
Xander glanced uneasily at Anya, who was hanging over the counter absorbing every word with a frighteningly avid expression.
"And that noise you hear would be my heart resuming beating," he said faintly. "Which it will do very quietly, along with the rest of my body parts, for the next few days while we visit our good old pal Angel."
Buffy drew a deep breath and smiled in obvious satisfaction.
"That's the spirit, Xander. One for all and all for..."
"Los Angeles," he concluded.
* * * * *
The maid tapped on the door, putting her ear to the wood to listen for sounds of life. It was getting late and she wanted to finish with the rooms at this end of the hall before lunch. This guest, however, was a notoriously late sleeper, and she didn't react well to being wakened.
A muffled groan filtered through the door after the maid's next knock, leading to an inevitable, if unpleasant, conclusion. The lazy beast was still in bed, and hotel rules forbade the housekeeping staff from forcing any guest out just to clean the room. Hospitality was the name of the game, especially to those who didn't have to rearrange their own schedules to accommodate anyone. The room would now have to be done after lunch...assuming the beast was ready to rise and shine before sundown today.
* * * * *
Inside the darkened room, Darla rolled over in the bed, bumping into the cold body lying next to her. She grimaced as she took in the waxen skin and blank staring eyes; another body to dispose of...and in her delicate condition. This was the final straw; from now on, she was swearing off take-out.
Or maybe just staying in hotels; they always got so fussy about finding dead bodies in the rooms.
She had thought he would make her feel better, if only for a little while; she had even toyed with the idea of turning him and keeping him around as a pretty plaything until her plans came to fruition.
Then she got her plaything into bed and discovered his...shortcomings.
She hadn't really expected him to be another Angelus; even with immortality on her side she couldn't expect one of those to pop up more than once. There were, however, certain standards to be maintained and this pathetic specimen simply wasn't up to the job.
So, after a long day's nap, and a quick stop for dinner, she would have to make time to get rid of this useless husk of humanity before she could get to the fun part of the evening.
Darla ran her hand slowly over her abdomen, for once relishing the slight swelling she encountered. This ridiculous business wouldn't go on for much longer, but she was going to take full advantage while she could.
When life hands you a lemon, make someone else's day sour; that was Darla's motto. She couldn't wait to see the look on the little cheerleader's face when she was confronted with proof of her true love's roving eye...and other body parts.
Some days the afterlife was just too good to be true.
* * * * *
To Be Continued