He knew what was coming. He'd had plenty of warning, both from every source he had underground, and from Giles's phone call earlier that day.
Angel knew what was coming, but he didn't know if he could handle it. Tapping his long fingers on the desk and glancing at the clock for what seemed like the thousandth time, he wondered if he should just leave, just plain not be there when they came.
He didn't want to see Spike.
He stopped drumming his fingers abruptly, snagging his coat and starting for the door. It burst open before he could get any farther.
"Going somewhere, nancy?"
~~~
"We shouldn't tell her." Xander sat on the coffee table in front of Willow and clasped his hands loosely together between his knees.
Willow looked up from the spellbook she was reading, confusion clearly written on her features. "Umm… what happened to 'good thing, tell Buffy'?"
Xander wrinkled up his nose and plowed into explanation. "Well, okay, it's like this, see? We don't have any idea what's going on here, which is customary for me, but not for you, so take it from me, I'm the original know-nothing guy, and I know how this not knowing thing works." He paused in mid-rant to take a breath and remind himself where, exactly, he was going with the speech. "Anyway… if we don't know where he is or where he's headed, it's just cruel to tell her. We really don't know much more than she does."
Willow closed the book and considered Xander's words. "As much as I hate to say this, we should go ask Angel if he knows anything. You know, if he does, maybe we'll know enough to tell her."
"I thought you were all into the Angel-hatin' lately."
"I was, but you know me, I'm still dorky Willow who not only can't hold a grudge, but she'll do anything to learn new information." She stood up and smiled at her best friend.
Xander grinned and stood up as well, putting his arm around Willow and kissing the top of her head. "As long as you don't force me to sit with you in the library for hours on end, we're good to go."
~~~
It was odd, hearing the words come out in that halfbreed hybrid of Spike's and William's voices, the insult so old and the voice so melded. It and the sight of William, sandy, curly hair, bespectacled, unsure William, standing at his doorway made Angel stumble back.
He'd never once imagined that Spike would come back looking like the gentleman he'd once been.
Laramie peered around Spike, trying to hide his fascination with the phenomenon of a souled vampire, giving Angel a convenient distraction. "Who's that?" he asked, nodding toward Laramie.
"A friend," Spike said tersely. The less said to the poof, the better. "I just came for a bit of information, friend, not to play catch-up with you. In fact, I could care less what you've been up to."
"I could say the same," Angel said, tilting his head and trying to see farther into those blue eyes. It was undoubtedly a human standing in front of him; the scent of life was pouring off him in waves. There was, however, no sign of a soul.
"You did it," Angel said. "You sold your soul to come back and torment Buffy."
Laramie grabbed Spike and held him before he could lunge at Angel. "Don't," he said quietly into Spike's ear, flicking his pale eyes up to the tall vampire. "Don't charge him. You can't hurt him now, anyway."
Oh, but he can, Angel thought, seeing the determination in those cultured eyes, seeing not only Spike and William but an incredible amount of determination as well. "Too bad your so-called love for Buffy didn't die when you did," Angel said flatly, turning back to his desk.
"I can hardly help it if you're jealous," Spike said, but his voice was quiet now, with renewed patience. He could hardly expect Angel to help him find Buffy so easily. Would he help, in Angel's shoes?
He would have killed anyone looking for her, he thought.
"I need to know where she is, Angel. She's the only reason I came back." She's the only reason I am, Spike thought. The manners he'd been bred to forced themselves to the surface much as his demon had once upon a time. "Please."
"Hey, look, busy day in the offices of Angel Investigations. Hey, guys, whatever your trouble is, he's the guy to fix it. Angel, Angel, he's our man—" Xander's taunt as he walked through the door of Angel's office fell silent as the two men turned to face him. He narrowed his eyes as though trying to place them, tilted his head, then stepped back in shock, his eyes widening. "Holy crap!" he exclaimed, his voice squeaking. "It's you, only no—" he waved a hand around in the general vicinity of his head. "Bleachity-bleach-bleach."
Spike smirked. "Hello, Harris," he said. Leaning over to see beyond Xander, the smirk softened into a smile. "'Lo, Red."
Willow stepped around and smiled at Spike with a complete lack of surprise. "Hello, William," she said, grinning cheesily.
"And hello, hired muscle," Xander said, sizing up Laramie. "You ever do any construction?"
"I beg your pardon?" Laramie's head was reeling. Why did all these people talk so bloody fast?
"He's a Watcher," Angel said, crossing his arms over his chest.
"How did you know that?" Laramie raised an eyebrow coolly.
"You smell like it," was the response he got.
"As much as I'm enjoying the reunion, kids, I came for one thing. Where's the Slayer?" It didn't sound right, didn't feel right coming off his lips, so he tried again. "Where's Buffy?"
"I thought you'd never ask," Willow said, stepping forward and shooting a glare at Angel. Keeping her eyes steadily on the souled vampire's eyes, she spoke to Spike. "I'll even draw you a map if you want it."
~~~
She'd gone to bed early. And why shouldn't she? She'd taught two classes the evening before, trained and patrolled with Kelly, and attempted to help Dawn study. On top of it all, what little sleep Buffy gotten had been riddled with dreams and visions that she had no way of interpreting.
Angel, weeping alone.
A large man in a white suit, followed by a skinny man in leather.
The two men she'd seen before, heads bent together.
Buffy herself, placing a candle in the window.
She awoke slowly, tossing and murmuring her way back into the world of wakefulness. Looking at the clock, she saw she'd slept for ten hours, something she hadn't let herself do in a long, long time. "Dawn?" she called out, kicking the sheet off her legs and brushing her tangled hair away from her face.
"In the kitchen," Dawn's voice carried through the small house.
Buffy waded through the piles of clothing that were still on her floor, her heart breaking just a little more as she looked at the empty half of the dresser, of the closet, of the bed.
Every time she awoke, she hoped she would find them full.
"Making breakfast?" Buffy asked on a yawn. The kitchen smelled… burnt. Dawn held a pancake turner in her hand and was looking woefully at the blackened mess in the pan in front of her. "Okay, let me rephrase," Buffy said, fanning the air in front of her with her hand. "Making cinders?"
Dawn slapped the turner into the pan, sending small black crumbs scattering over the counter. "I've been watching you guys make pancakes for, like, ever. Technically, I'm a billion years old. I've survived Apocalypses, plural, I'm in high school and taking college courses, but I can't make a stupid pancake? Unfair!" She crossed her arms in a huff and turned to her sister. "Sorry if I woke ya up." It was the first time since moving to Indiana that Dawn remembered being up before Buffy.
"Sorry I wasn't up to make breakfast," Buffy said in return. She looked at the clock, then around the kitchen. "But… we have cookies!"
Dawn giggled, spying the package of Oreos on the counter. "Cookies for breakfast?"
Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Just this once?" she asked hopefully. "It is Friday, after all."
Dawn all but bolted for the milk in the refrigerator. "Heck yeah!"
They'd gone through a sinful number of the sandwich cookies by the time Dawn needed to leave for school. Grabbing her bags, she leaned over to kiss Buffy on the cheek.
"Ow!" she said as Buffy grabbed her cheeks. "Buffy! What the heck are you doing?"
"Breathe," Buffy demanded, keeping her face close to her sister's. When Dawn complied, she nodded. "Okay."
"Psycho much?!"
Buffy tugged Dawn's ponytail and kept her voice completely serious. "Did you think I'd send you to school with telltale chocolate breath? No more social workers for me, thank you very much. Now go!" Dawn's laughter as she ran out the door was one of the sweetest sounds in the world. Buffy sat back, eyeing the pancake mess with a critical eye. It might be best, she thought, to just throw the whole pan away.
Brushing cookie crumbs off the front of her pajamas, she stood to clear the mess away. When she heard the door open and close, she rolled her eyes. "What'd you forget?" she called out, her eyes already scanning the room for Dawn's schoolbooks.
"You," the voice returned, and the world came to a halt.