By Gem
Wesley Wyndham-Price strolled into the lobby of the Hyperion Hotel at peace with himself and the world at large. The world, of course, was populated by a combination of foolishly blind humans and the unspeakable demons who preyed upon them...but that was how a business such as Angel Investigations would grow and thrive: one unspeakable demon at a time.
His contentment was somewhat disturbed by the unexpected presence of the Host in the lobby. The former Watcher looked quickly to Angel for guidance...no, make that an explanation. Wesley was in charge now, and doing a very good job of it too.
Even Angel said so.
"We seem to have a guest." Wesley nodded courteously to the Host. "To what do we owe the honor?"
The Host smiled, forcing more optimism into his voice than he actually felt. "Angel-cakes will fill you in, Wesley, old man. I have a club to run...at least I hope I still do...if certain demons haven't destroyed it yet." He sniffed loudly as he marched up the steps towards the door.
"We're going to find it," Angel called after him in a half-hearted attempt at placation. "I'd just rather wait until there's two of us to..."
It was too late; the Host was gone, with a loud enough closure of the heavy glass door to make Angel fear for its continued existence. The vampire groaned and ran an agitated hand through his dark hair as he threw himself into a corner of the sofa. There were times he could make himself forget, for a few brief moments, the limitations of his eternal existence; Buffy had usually been at the heart of such moments. Then of course, some great evil would waltz into town and throw it in his face all over again.
"If my mathematics tutor were to be believed," Wesley said dryly, "there are two of us." He pointed to himself, "One," and then to Angel, "two. See how simple?"
"I didn't mean you, Wes." Angel answered without thinking, his weary mind still turning over possibilities for daytime reconnaissance. "I was thinking of Buffy."
"Yes, well that goes without saying, but..." Wesley looked startled. "What do you mean you were thinking of Buffy? In what capacity?"
"Savior of the universe; what else?" The Slayer sighed dramatically as she slowly descended the staircase. "Or is it co-savior this time, since it's not actually my big bad?" She grinned at the surprise on Wesley's face. "What's the matter, Wes? Saber-tooth demon got your tongue?"
"How's Dawn?" Angel hastily interjected. "Is everything okay?"
"As okay as it can be for someone who blew off a test. Giles is quizzing her instead, and then later Willow and Tara are going to take her to the mall. Assuming Giles gives her a clean bill of knowledge."
"Buffy. Here. Now. With an entourage." Wesley turned his startled gaze from the approaching slayer to the suddenly guilty-looking vampire in the lobby. "Isn't that quite the surprise?"
Angel drew a deep breath and prepared for battle number two of the day. Maybe it was a good thing he couldn't leave the hotel during the daytime, he reflected grimly; he seemed to get in enough trouble without even stirring from this couch.
"I asked Buffy to visit," the vampire explained with as much aplomb as he could muster. "Buffy, and her sister, and her friends. They are staying here...in my home," he finished with quiet emphasis.
"And you didn't feel this would have any impact on the rest of us? No, of course not; you never do."
Buffy took the last few steps at a quicker pace, anger propelling her swiftly across the lobby to face Wesley nose-to-nose.
"Hey," she snapped, "last time I checked, Angel didn't have a Watcher he had to report to. Or a housemother, for that matter. Since when is it your business who he has sleeping over?"
Wesley didn't bother to answer Buffy with words; he merely raised one scornful eyebrow. She flushed as his meaning penetrated, and forced her eyes away from the miserable Angel.
"Oh, okay, so you have a point," she stammered, "in a way. But also not...because this is not a 'sayonara soul' type of sleepover. I brought my little sister with me, for pete's sake. Do you really think I would bring her along if...well, you know what 'if' I'm talking about."
"Can we not get into this right now?" Angel asked impatiently. He pressed his fingertips into his aching forehead, wishing for just one easy conversation this day. "Buffy and her friends are staying. Period. The Host needs help killing a Drokken demon. Period."
"And I'm helping," Buffy chimed in. "Period." She smiled in relief; here, at last, was an area of safe conversation.
"Not period," Wesley snapped. "This is a case for Angel Investigations..."
"And lucky you; you have a ringer in town to lend a hand." She smirked at his discomfiture, though she was beginning to notice Angel was not sharing in her triumph. "Better yet, I can lend a fist."
"As I was saying," her former Watcher growled, "this case was brought to us to handle, and we will do so without any outside assistance from..."
Angel stood up quickly, moving between Wesley and Buffy. He fixed his dark eyes on the Englishman, pinning his friend to the spot with the intensity of his gaze.
"From friends," Angel finished quietly. "And isn't that what you keep saying friends are supposed to do? Be there for each other?"
Wesley pursed his lips as he debated the wisdom of continuing this line of discussion. Something about the dead calm he found in Angel's eyes warned him it would be futile.
And possibly hazardous.
"Touché," he said, in grudging surrender.
"I think this is where you get to say 'so there,' Angel...or do you want me to say it for you?" Buffy smiled uncertainly at her beloved, still sensing a confusing tension flowing between the two men.
"Why don't I just leave you two to talk while I get some work done," Wesley suggested with an icy smile. "If we have a new demon on the loose, I obviously need to do some reading up. A Drokken, I believe you said?" He turned and quickly exited the now silent lobby, leaving Buffy watching after him with her mouth half-open.
"So what kind of twelve-legged demon bug crawled up his...Angel, why didn't you tell him off?" The Slayer swung around to confront him. "How could you let him talk to you like that?"
"He's just...upset," Angel said vaguely. "It throws him off to have you here. I can understand the feeling."
"Angel, he was talking to you like he was, I don't know...your..."
"Boss," he suggested. The corners of his mouth turned upwards in a ghost of a smile. "He is, you know. Technically speaking."
Buffy was stunned. She took a few quick steps towards Angel, but something in the rigidity of his figure warned her off of any direct contact. Instead she opted to perch on the edge of the glass coffee table.
"When did all this happen?" she asked quietly, trying to push aside her hurt at being kept out of such a big part of his life. Again.
"It was a few months ago," he admitted. He sat down, very carefully, in the armchair next to her. "I went through a bad patch...I told you about that the last time we...the night I came to Sunnydale."
Buffy searched her memory for any and all of the things he'd said that night, but there was so little to draw from. He'd come to listen to her, to share her grief and help her express it. Somehow, despite her periodic questions, very little about his life, or problems, had come to light.
"Angel, you said things got rough," she protested, "but you never said anything about losing your business. I know I was pretty messed up that night, but I swear I would have remembered that."
"I wasn't there to talk about me, Buffy," he said gently. "And if it makes you feel any better, I didn't lose it. I just kind of...stopped caring...at least for a little while. But Wesley and Cordy and Gunn knew better, and they kept things going...kept the fight going...when the only one I was interested in fighting was myself."
"I wish I had known. Maybe I could have helped." Her shoulders twisted in a frustrated shrug. "I'm not sure how, but I could have tried."
"Eventually I came my senses and realized what I had done, but by then it didn't seem right to ask them to come back to work for me. And I didn't want to start over without them. So now I'm working for them...with them." He sighed, thinking of the past few lonely weeks. "Well, mostly for them, I guess."
She leaned forward, her embarrassment forgotten in the face of his obvious pain.
"But Angel, this is too important for you to stand back and let others take charge. I know you don't live on a hellmouth anymore, and so maybe the demons you run into aren't planning on sending the world on a one-way trip to parts below or anything like that. But I've picked up enough from eavesdropping on Giles when he talks to Wes; I know what you face is still big and evil and needs someone who understands big and evil from the inside out." She paused, and then held up one hand. "Wait; that didn't come out right."
He couldn't help his smile; he had always loved the way she spoke her mind, especially when it led her to utter truths her tender heart would have tempered.
"It's all right; I understand." His smile slipped away again, leaving an achingly familiar sadness in his eyes. "But this is the way it needs to be for now."
"No," Buffy retorted, firmly shaking her head. "You need to start taking some responsibility again. You can't just sit back and let them do it for you; it's not right."
He looked at her strangely, wondering if she could hear the incongruity of her words. Judging by the impatient expression he saw coming back at him, he thought not.
"What?" she snapped. "What's with the 'Buffy's speaking in tongues again' look?"
"It's just...you're telling me to take responsibility and...forget it; it's nothing." He shook his head, deciding this was one battle too many today.
"No; you obviously have a point to make, so start pointing." She snapped her back into a rigid line and crossed her arms over her chest, unconsciously shielding herself from any painful revelations.
"I just think it's odd that you think I'm being irresponsible when you've turned Dawn over to Giles and Willow for the rest of the day," he explained unwillingly. "You ran upstairs because you were afraid five minutes alone in a strange place would turn her into an arsonist...and then you leave her schoolwork to Giles, and the rest of her entertainment to Willow...if Giles says it's okay."
"Giles is better at the school stuff, okay? You know that's not my specialty." She turned her head away, gazing blankly up the stairs as she continued to protest. "And she likes spending time with Tara and Willow, so I don't see what the big ditching deal is there. I just wanted to spend some time alone with you, if you must know." The heat from her glare when she turned back to face him could have warmed Angel for the next century. "That is why I came here, if you remember."
Her words struck deep into his already bruised conscience. Even though he'd known how badly she wanted to talk with him about the two of them, he'd unconsciously sought ways to avoid that very conversation out of his own fears for the future.
"Uncle," he exclaimed, raising both hands in the air in surrender. "You're right; you said we needed to talk, and we have nothing else on the agenda until dark. Let's talk." He glanced around the lobby and up the staircase to the second-floor balcony. "But not out here. I don't know why but this place is like Grand Central today."
"Umm, could it be the seven extra people you've got wandering through it?" she teased. "Why don't we go up to your room?" She saw the flare of desire shoot through his eyes, followed by a crushing regret. "Or maybe not," she added sadly.
Angel shook his head, suppressing any qualms he had along with any expectations. "No, it's fine. We won't be disturbed, and it's not like anything is going to happen." He looked at her steadily, trying to show the resolve his head knew was right even as his heart raged against it. "We know nothing can."
Buffy forced herself to get to her feet, matching his strength of will with her own. "Right. That's impossible, and we both know the impossible never happens, not even to us."
* * * * *
"Nope, not possible." Spike shook his bleached blond head firmly, pushing away the evidence of his senses. "You're a vampire, luv. We don't do the go forth and multiply part of the equation; we're strictly divide and conquer."
Darla smiled thinly as she leaned against the pillar by the rear entrance to Spike's crypt. She'd never given the matter much, or rather any, thought before, but somehow she'd assumed aching feet were a symptom of late pregnancy. Obviously she was as naïve about that as she was about the need for birth control after death.
"Spike. Dear, silly, smart-ass Spike." Her face morphed into the demon's visage, allowing her to bare her fangs. "Believe your ears, Spike, not the decayed collection of cells you call a brain. Believe the hunger this little life is stirring in you as its blood cells multiply." She smoothed a hand over her abdomen, smirking as Spike's eyes followed her lazy strokes.
"But how?" he almost whined. He tore his hungry gaze away from her stomach and stared plaintively into her yellow eyes.
She shrugged and shifted her weight to the other foot. Trust Spike not to remember to offer a lady a chair, let alone a pregnant lady. Maybe this hadn't been such a bright idea for a detour after all.
"Damned if I know. And I'm not going to stick it out long enough to ask the little brat either." Her smile was even colder now, though the demon's image had receded. "Just as soon as I rub Buffy's flat little nose in Angel's bad behavior, I'm off to the nearest witch doctor who can give me back my girlish figure." She cocked her head to the side, pondering her options. "Do you think they have any working through Planned Parenthood? I saw a pamphlet in my hotel room and..."
"Buffy?" Spike interrupted her. "If it's her you're looking for, why come here?"
Darla pushed herself off of the pillar and strolled across the crypt towards Spike on the sofa.
"Because I'm just barely showing," she purred, "and I don't want to waste a lot of time fending off her feeble attempts at fat jokes. I want her to know that I'm carrying Angel's baby; I don't want her to be in any doubt whatsoever about what it is and where it came from."
Spike leaned back into the corner of the sofa, feigning indifference even as his mind feverishly spun fantasy after fantasy of the Slayer's potential encounter with Darla...and Angel's subsequent encounter with a stake. It was enough to make him drool, but he had no intention of giving the show away to the likes of Darla.
"Still not seeing the why of here, pet."
"Ooh, aren't we the valley vamp these days," she cooed. "I guess you have been spending a bit of time with our Miss Buffy; you've forgotten how to talk, William." She placed her hands on the back of the sofa, one on either side of his head, and leaned in, giving him a generous glance down the front of her straining blouse. "I wonder what else you've forgotten."
"I'd say more than you'll ever know...but you were the professional."
She hissed in annoyance and jerked back, spinning around to throw herself petulantly in the other corner of the sofa.
"She won't believe her eyes...and she won't believe me," Darla grumbled. "But she will believe you."
"And just what makes you think that?"
Darla smiled again, her good humor fully restored by the hopeful note in Spike's voice. It was so funny that all it took to make a man do what you want was a little stroke to the ego.
It certainly was a less time-consuming area to massage than others she had used over the centuries.
"I've talked to Drusilla, of course. She told me all about you and the Slayer...and what you wished there was to tell about you and the Slayer. You've got the little fool convinced you can be trusted; you even picked her over Dru. She'll believe you."
Spike laid his hand over his dead heart. "I'm touched by your faith...truly I am. Happens, though, that the Slayer isn't here right now. She and the rest of her band of merry menaces to demonic society took off this morning." He snapped his fingers. "You just missed them."
"I don't believe it." Darla's eyes narrowed as she peered at his blandly smiling face. "You're trying to protect her, aren't you?"
Spike snorted. "Not bloody likely. Think I wouldn't enjoy seeing her get her comeuppance for preferring that..." He shook his head. "Never mind. She's not here, and all the wishing in the world won't bring her back sooner."
Darla stood up quickly, staggering slightly as she adjusted to her ever-changing center of gravity.
"Show me. Take me to her house and show me she's not there."
"Go yourself." He pointed to the rear entrance to the crypt. "Straight back through the sewers the way you came in, then take a left at the black and red can marked 'bio-hazard.' Leads right into the Slayer's cellar after a block or so." He slapped a hand to his head, pretending embarrassment. "What am I thinking? You couldn't get in by yourself for a look-see anyway, now could you?"
"Oh, I wouldn't be too sure of that. I was invited in once, and while she might be bright enough to ward off the undead, I hardly think she'd take precautions against a pile of ashes."
"What makes you think she thinks you're still dead?"
Darla smiled complacently as she ran a hand down her side and across her stomach.
"Angel isn't dead either."
Spike grinned as he once again pictured the Slayer's face when confronted with the proof that Angel had been unfaithful. Forget that they were no longer together; forget Dudley Do-Buffy and their year-and-a-half long "relationship." Angel was the one who walked; therefore he was supposed to be the one pining away for what he'd lost.
"You mean he's not dead yet, luv."
* * * * *
"This is taking too long, Merk. I'm starting to think she's gone someplace further away than the mall."
Glory rapidly paced the length of the hallway and back, alternately checking the kitchen door and the front door for signs of a returning slayer. So far, and much to the detriment of Merk's nerves, there had been no such signs.
"Perhaps we should leave and come back at another time, oh divine one. Surely it would be more imposing if we were to," the little monk waved his arms broadly, "surge into the room and take it over than," he dropped his arms and clasped his hands in front of him, "be waiting here on her couch."
The hellgod gazed narrowly at her minion, dimly sensing a criticism for her battle tactics in his mild suggestion. Dimmer still was the memory that her battle tactics had initially been his idea.
"I have a better idea," she announced. "Just burn it down."
"Magnificence?" Merk murmured, cocking his head to the side as he puzzled out her war plans. "Burn...what?"
"This!" She swept her arm in front of her, gesturing to the living room. "All of it. Burn it. We'll make the live news at six." She let out a short cackle. "That ought to smoke her out, don't you think?"
Merk pretended not to notice her laugh had turned into an inelegant, and decidedly un-godlike, snort.
"Most assuredly, your Gloryelegance." He nodded so vigorously the stray hairs on his head waved in the resulting breeze. "But, oh beatific being, what shall we do with the human?"
Glory's eyes followed his to the creature by the fireplace. The creature was sitting up now, huddled on the hearth with his arms wrapped around his knees as he quietly sang snatches of songs to himself. The hellgod's lip curled in disdain at the waste of space the creature's existence created on this puny planet.
"Do?" she asked curiously, turning back to Merk. "Why should we do anything?"
"But the fire..."
"Will do it for us," she finished impatiently. "Now can we get a move on here? I've never tried starting a fire with something as primitive as match, but the tin-eared soldier's brain didn't pack enough charge to get the lightning bolts up and running." She scowled at Merk, already sure of the response before she said, "And I'm guessing somebody else forgot to pack the flamethrowers."
Merk's face fell in shame. "Apologies, oh hallowed one," he whispered.
"It's true what they say. You just can't get good help these days."
* * * * *
"So this is your room," Buffy mused, running a gentle hand along the face of the tall wooden dresser. "It's nice."
Angel chuckled at the polite tone in her voice; he could tell she wasn't nearly as impressed by the 'inner sanctum' as she had been by the lobby downstairs.
"It's a little bare...I mean under-furnished," he hastily corrected himself. "But I'm actually not in here much anymore, so I don't really notice it." He glanced around, suddenly seeing the expanse of unadorned walls surrounding the few isolated pieces of necessary furniture. "At least I didn't."
Buffy paused and turned to him, suddenly worried that she'd offended him. "No, Angel, I mean it. Meant it. It's really nice. Nice and big. And you have windows, and a balcony...that is a balcony behind the French doors, right?" At his nod, she continued, "And you put your bed on a frame again instead of...not that I was particularly looking at where...not that I would look..."
"Buffy," he said, just loudly enough to be heard over her embarrassed mumblings, "it's okay. This is...a little awkward. For both of us."
She flashed him a grateful smile. "It is, isn't it? Kind of like old times." The smile slipped from her face. "Too bad it can't be more like old-old times instead."
There was no easy answer to that. Instead, Angel waved to the single armchair in the corner, carefully placed between the floor lamp and a window ledge.
"Why don't you sit down?"
As Buffy curled up in the armchair, Angel balanced uneasily on the edge of the bed facing her. He would have preferred to take another seat, but he hadn't gotten around to buying another chair for the room yet. Until today, he'd never needed one.
"I, uh, I'm sorry it took so long for us to get here," Buffy said, her face flushing with the inadequacy of her words. As though 'sorry' began to cover her earlier frustration. "First Dawn needed something, then Willow, then Anya...and just try to get Giles to go anywhere in under two hours. He's worse than my..."
Silence.
"Than your mom," Angel said softly, filling in the words that had fallen off into the gulf of memories. "It's still hard for you to talk about her; I know. But anything you want to say...I'm right here, Buffy." He leaned forward, capturing one of her warm hands in his own.
She shook her head, blinking back the involuntary tears that dimmed her eyes. "I didn't come here to talk about Mom. We can...we probably will...but later. I want to talk about us now."
Angel looked down at her hand, so small inside his, yet holding on to him so strongly. Where did she get that strength, he wondered. When there was so much reason to give up, how did she find it within herself to keep holding on?
"What about us?" he asked, keeping his voice carefully steady.
"The fact that there still is an 'us' to talk about." She smiled at him as his head slowly rose and his eyes met hers. "I know you left to give me a chance at a...I believe the popular phrase is 'a normal life.' I also think you left to keep yourself from going crazy after three years of trying to fit in to what you thought should be my normal life."
A small, rueful smile tugged at his lips. "If you think I was going crazy then, you should have seen me when I first got to LA. Thinking about spending the rest of eternity never seeing your face again...that was my quickest route to a padded room." He glanced around the room. "I'm just a slow decorator, that's all."
"No, you're strong," she countered him, her soft voice tinged with unwilling pride. He had done so much, done so well, all without her. Did he even need her anymore? Did he ever? "Stronger than you'll ever give yourself credit for. You made something of yourself...by yourself."
"I had help," he said, thinking of Doyle and Cordelia, and now Wesley and Gunn.
She shook her head firmly, pushing aside her injured ego, and her insecurities, for his sake. "No. Nobody can make you become somebody; it's a choice you make every day, and you have to do the dirty work on your own. I'm, umm, starting to learn that one again myself."
"You were always somebody, Buffy. Don't be so hard on yourself for being young and wanting to have fun."
"I wanted you more," she said bluntly. "But when I couldn't have you, I settled for those other things. And for a while I thought they would be enough...but they're not. They never will be."
Dammit, he knew this was going to happen. He knew the moment he invited her to come here...no, the moment he picked up that phone...he knew that she was looking for more than he could offer her. All he wanted to do was take her in his arms and never let go, but he couldn't even hold her hand without getting them into trouble.
"Buffy," he asked quietly, holding her eyes steadily with his own, "what did you think was going to happen here today?"
"Honestly?"
He nodded, regretfully letting go of her now-chilled hand.
Buffy sighed, both at the question and at the loss of his touch. "I thought...no, make that I knew...I knew that you were going to be stubborn and self-sacrificing and, grr, old, about all this. But I also know that I'm more stubborn."
"Old?" He didn't even bother with the other two; they were familiar charges. But to be called 'old'...that hurt.
"Yes, old," she said firmly. "You have this idea that because you have a few centuries on me that you know what's best for me. That you have all the answers."
"I never said I have all the answers," he protested, "but I have seen just a little bit more of the world than you have, Buffy."
"But you're the one who said you'd never been in love before me. You're as much in the dark about this stuff as I am."
He nodded unwillingly. "That's true. But I do know what can happen when you pretend that the rest of the world doesn't matter, and only your own happiness counts."
"What happens?" she challenged. "Too much 'and they lived happily ever after'? Would that be so bad?"
"At the expense of the rest of the world? I think you, of all people, know the answer to that one." His tone was as gentle as he could make it; even after all this time he knew it still wounded her far more than he to be reminded of his time in hell.
"Will you forget, for just one second, about that stupid curse? I know it's there, okay; I'm not going to go wild and jump your bones and send the world to hell just to have a little love in the afternoon." She ran a hand through her long blonde hair, unconsciously tugging at the ends in her frustration. "But Willow is getting to be a pretty powerful witch; there's no telling what she can do if she sets her mind to it. And Tara's almost as good; she's just...quieter."
"Buffy..."
"And don't forget Dawn," she rushed on, not giving him time to interrupt. "Who knows what mystical energy she can summon once we get Glory off our backs?" Buffy shuddered, remembering her sister's abortive attempt to call Joyce back from the grave. "I'm not saying I want her to start taking Black Arts 101 or anything, but she's already shown some aptitude...and some interest."
"So we have your friends and your sister spend all their free time trying to spackle a loophole in a curse that I earned every syllable of?" His voice was bleak with disbelief. "Buffy, that's not right. And even if it was, you know that wasn't the whole problem."
"I know that was the tie-breaker," she countered, showing a flash of slayerly temper. "I know that's the only one we haven't outgrown or just proved wrong. I tried the normal life idea; it didn't work for me, and it never will. You tried to stay away from one and it found you anyway."
"You think my life is normal?" His tone rang with disbelief. "Which part? The working stiff who fights demons...or the demon who pays a mortgage?"
"You bought a house," she glanced around the room, "well, all right, a hotel. You built a business, made friends...you might have even gone on dates."
His eyes shifted uneasily at the last comment, feeling the intensity of her emotions behind the seemingly careless words.
"Not exactly," he murmured evasively.
It wasn't the answer she had been hoping for, but she decided to let it pass for the moment. She had managed to put him on the defensive, and every fighting instinct in her bloodline told her to press her advantage to the full.
"You wanted me to see what a normal life was like, and I do. I see yours." She slipped off of the chair and crouched in front of him, resting her hands on his knees for balance. "But it's not perfect, is it, Angel? You have almost everything you wanted me to have, and it's still missing one thing. The one thing you wouldn't let me have." She leaned in still closer, her head just below his chin and her wide hazel eyes focused on his dark ones. "It's missing us."
* * * * *
"Right this way, old dear...or should I call you 'little sister' now?" Spike gestured for Darla to precede him into the Summers' cellar. "Someday one of these wunderkind will notice there's a door behind the furnace, but until then I can..." he stuttered to a halt as Darla smoothly passed through the door and into the cellar. "I'll be damned; Slayer really didn't change the locks."
"Told you so." Darla flashed him an impish grin.
"Somebody's going to be in trouble," Spike sang softly as he followed Darla up the stairs. He suddenly couldn't wait to track Buffy down and present her with Darla and Darla's little dividend, courtesy of Soul Boy. Soul Boy, whose soul was apparently not troubled by forgetting to tell one ex that the other ex was once more undead and kicking.
That's when the sparks, and stakes, would begin to fly.
Of course, judging by the smell of kerosene wafting down the stairwell, sparks might not be such a good idea. Spike pushed past Darla at the top of the cellar steps and hurried towards the living room, staggering backwards and sideways when he encountered the rays of light pouring through the open front door.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, carefully kicking the door closed with the tip of his boot. "Who left the door open? Were these people raised in a barn or something?"
"Nothing quite so three-dimensional, actually," Glory said softly from the kitchen.
Spike spun around and stared, as did Darla from the top of the stairs.
"You again?" Glory said in surprise. "I thought you gave up playing with the Slayer."
"He's here with me," Darla said smoothly. "And you would be?" She paid no attention to the can of kerosene in Glory's hand, or the box of matches in Merk's; they might have been meeting at a cocktail party.
Glory looked her up and down, using all her senses to get a feel for the woman...no, creature...who faced her so calmly.
"Glory," the hellgod finally answered. "And you're a vampire...with access to the Slayer's house. Another one." She put her free hand on her hip. "Is that how the little moron has survived all this time? She just turns her house over to you guys for parties?"
"I'm an old...friend of a friend," Darla answered. "I don't think Buffy knew I was still alive."
"You're not," Glory said bluntly. Her eyes narrowed and swung sharply down to Darla's abdomen. "So why am I sensing you've got a bun in the refrigerator?"
Darla patted her stomach complacently. "Just one of life's little mysteries, I guess."
"And you're here because?" Glory prompted. "I don't mean to rush you, but I was planning on burning the house down, and then I have an appointment with my manicurist. I can't be late for that; she's an holy terror when she's mad."
"I hear you." Darla nodded in complete sympathy. "And I really don't want to interrupt your arson, but we're looking for the Slayer."
"She's not here."
"Pretty much guessed that one from the fact she's letting you torch the place," Spike threw in dryly.
A moan from the living room caught his attention, but it took him a moment to recognize the huddled mass by the fireplace for what it was.
"Is that the boy wonder?" the vampire asked in wonder, slowly approaching the creature who used to be Riley Finn. "Did one of your brain sucks on him, did you? That must have been a quick nip."
"You ain't just whistlin' Dixie," Glory sighed.
Riley lifted his head and smiled at Spike, vaguely sensing something familiar about the being in front of him.
"Dogs are people too," the former commando confided, "when I paint my red door black."
Spike stared blankly at him for a moment. He had no love for Riley Finn, and even if he had been capable of compassion for the downtrodden, the man before him had trod him down but good, once upon an Initiative. But unlike Darla's little bombshell, which could all be laid at Angel's feet, Buffy could easily figure out a way that Riley's condition was actually Spike's fault. She'd never told him to look out for the bloke; he hadn't even known the ex was back in town. But that wouldn't matter too much to an enraged Slayer, not if Spike knew the breed.
"Perfect," the vampire grumbled. "Just bleedin' perfect."
"Who's that?" Darla asked, strolling across the room to stand by Spike. "Friend of yours?"
Spike snorted. "You know me too well for that, pet. No, he's the Slayer's boy-toy. Or was." He aimed a boot at Riley's hip, pulling back just before the foot connected, but the younger man didn't even flinch. "Now I think he's more of a cat toy."
"Yeah, and he's getting on my nerves with that off-key singing," Glory snapped. "So could you just let me burn the house down, and then we'll all be rid of him."
Darla turned quickly to Glory. "I enjoy a good death scream as much as the next girl, but do you mind if I do the honors?" She patted her abdomen again in subtle reminder. "I'm killing for two, you know."
Glory sighed and gestured to the human. "Fine, whatever. Just be quick about it. I really want to find the Slayer so I can get my Key back and get out of this boring little dimension. But in order to do that..." she swung the gasoline can in a small circle, "I have to send up a smoke signal."
"I'll just be a minute," Darla promised.
Spike was faced with an uncomfortable choice. If the commando died, by either Glory or Darla's hand, Buffy would be angry...and Spike would be her practice target. But to save him meant risking confrontation with either Glory or Darla himself, and over a man he'd gladly kill himself if he only could. It was your basic lose-lose situation.
If he could only figure out a way to stall for time. Just long enough for the Slayer to come back, or the hellmouth to open or the earth to swallow him whole...whatever came first.
"Maybe we ought to..." he began, hoping an ending to the sentence would occur to him once he got it rolling.
Darla morphed into her demonic visage before Spike could complete his thought. She advanced on Riley, impatiently awaiting his scream of terror. Instead, she received a happy smile...and an oustretched arm.
"What the hell is wrong with him?" she snarled, looking to Spike for answers.
Spike shrugged, not really wanting to go into the lengthy details. He had to plan a diversion, dammit; he didn't have time to talk.
"You can never tell with these human creatures," Glory offered helpfully. "Once they've given their brain, or what passes for a brain, over to me, what's left rattling around in the old noggin usually marches to its own tiny, weird little drummer. You start to kill them and sometimes they scream. Sometimes they recite the Declaration of Independence." She shrugged. "It's a toss-up."
"He's offering me his blood," Darla said accusingly. "That's not reciting the Declaration." She leaned down, staring at the proffered arm. "He's been bitten before. A lot."
"Yeah, well, he got a bit of a taste for it," Spike admitted grudgingly. "Or got a taste for being tasted is more like it."
This wasn't much of a diversion, but maybe if he kept her chatting for a bit he could think of a way to stall for some time.
"The Slayer's pet was some vampire's bitch?"
"More like a paying customer." Spike sneered down at his fallen rival for Buffy's good graces. "Think he was working his way towards frequent flyer miles at the end there."
Darla's initial giggle turned into a full-fledged laugh. "Oh that is too precious. Now I just have to see her for a little girl talk."
"Good luck," Glory grumbled. "I've been here forever and I haven't seen so much as an over-processed hair on her head. I'm starting to wonder if even burning down the house will bring her out of hiding." She glared at Spike. "Assuming I ever get the chance to light the match, that is."
"Well, I don't want his blood if he's going to enjoy it. He's human; that's just...creepy." Darla waved her free meal away in disgust and focused on more important matters. "I can't believe she's really not here. I thought for sure Spike was lying to me."
"Would I do that to you?" Spike attempted a sincere smile. "Sis?"
Darla ignored him as she continued to ponder the problem. "Have you looked for her friends? Or her Watcher? He should know where she is." She glanced around the living room for a comfortable chair, finally settling on the sofa next to Merk as she continued to offer advice. "He wouldn't want to tell you of course...but that's half the fun."
"All gone." Glory turned her palms towards the ceiling. "My minions have been scouring the town for them while I cooled my heels here, but no soap."
Darla tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, so they've all run away together, leaving the ex and the wannabee behind." Her fangs gleamed in the light from the floor lamp as a delicious thought popped into her head. "There's only one place she could have gone. Los Angeles."
Glory frowned, torn between wanting to know more and having to admit she, in all her godlike omniscience, didn't already know it. Finally she gave in to the curiosity that existed alongside her less human traits.
"Why Los Angeles? If I were her, just taking off like this, I'd head to some place good like St. Croix."
"But she's so much more...pedestrian than you or I," the vampire purred, sparing the hellgod a pitying smile along with the soothing hint of flattery. "And so very predictable. If she's really in trouble, which of course you're making sure she is, then she'll head straight for the only one she thinks can save her." She shook her head. "Poor dear. He can't even save himself, let alone her."
"Then you know where we can find her?"
Darla's smile was genuine this time as the term 'we' drifted into the conversation.
"Oh, I know precisely where 'we' can find her." She cast a glance at the front window. "But I don't think we're going to be able to do it for a few more hours, though," she turned back to Glory, "unless your car has tinted windows?"
Glory snorted and shook her head. "I've been borrowing my...brother's...car since I've been in town. Little Benny likes the poor but humble image; his car barely has windows at all."
"Mmm, well that is a problem." The vampire lightly stroked her dead white cheek. "I have a very delicate complexion, you see." She sighed. "I guess we'll have to amuse ourselves in boring old Sunnydale until the sun sets."
Glory hefted the gas can in the air, waving it back and forth like a semaphore. "Should we see if the Slayer has any marshmallows?"
Spike swiftly inserted himself between Glory and Darla, reaching out with both hands to catch the swaying can. "Okay, Sparky, since some of us are a mite more flammable than your average hellkitten, you want to give the splashing a rest?" He nodded his head at the can he was fighting to take from her. "That's not your favorite brand of two dollar perfume in there."
"And the smell of that gas is making me nauseous," Darla whined. "I haven't thrown up in 400 years; I better not start now just because you want to build a campfire."
Glory snatched the can away from Spike, but after a momentary glare at Darla she reluctantly laid it to rest on the carpet. "Fine," she huffed, "it was just a suggestion. So how do you want to kill the time?"
Darla's gaze drifted around the small room, taking in all the careful homey touches that spoke volumes about the people who lived there. Family photographs on the mantel, an antique quilt over a quilt rack in the corner, abandoned schoolbooks left open on the coffee table.
"Well," she answered slowly, "just because we're not going to burn the place down around us doesn't mean we can't redecorate."
She stretched her hand out to pick up a small, obviously handmade, vase from the end table. Taking careful aim, she hurled it at the mantel just above Riley's head, beaming when the shattered fragments rained down upon his quivering form.
"And then, we send out for dinner," she mused. "I have a feeling we're going to need all our energy tonight."
* * * * *
To Be Continued