Part 8

Buffy liked a party as much as the next person but this was just too much. In the last hour only, at least a hundred people had already come over to have a conversation with the boss' very irritated daughter. Office parties suck. Everyone was so phony that Buffy was about to go completely out of her mind with misery. This was definitely migraine worthy.

She hung back by the couches, trying to reject attention. Maybe people would get the message and see she wasn't exactly in the mood to talk about life and "So, Buffy, what do you want to be when you grow up? Lawyer like your father?" And to make things even worse, Hank had apparently not been lying when he'd said he was happy about Buffy's pregnancy because the entire party knew about it. Flocks of women had come up and done their stupid gushing routine to her about how very happy they were to hear the exciting news. Buffy was sure it had nothing to do with the fact that her father controlled almost half of the Los Angeles' lawyers and their general income. She felt so cheated when people acted that way because of money; it was one of the most superficial things anyone could do.

"Are you having fun, Buffy?"

Buffy glanced up from her glass as Hank strolled over to her, full smile adorning his face. She managed to put one on as well, not wanting to crush him with the truth yet again. "Yeah. Great party."

"I'm glad," Hank said. "So, you've met a lot of people from my office?"

"Yep. I've met…yeah, a lot." Buffy was quite suddenly hit with an alarming realization. This was why all these adults were always trying to regain their youth: becoming a grown-up was all about being fake and stupid. OK, maybe Buffy was judging the entire adult population on just the people at this party but to some extent it was universally true. Not many of them knew how to be themselves, even though that was what they tell their kids is most important. It was definitely something to think about.

She had to get away from these people. They were so…grr. All they did was prance around in their expensive clothes, laughing like lunatics and stepping on everyone else's toes to reach their own goal. It was on the verge of ridiculous. Without the verge part.

"Wonderful. They were all so excited to meet you." Hank gave her a revering smile, happy she was attracting quite a crowd.

Buffy wondered sometimes if her father really was this oblivious to what was going on around him. Here he was, owner of the second largest company in the country, and he still thought that everyone was a saint until proven otherwise. Granted, it was good that he thought so highly of his employees but come on, open your eyes, Hanky.

"And, Buffy, you look absolutely lovely tonight." That's more like it.

Buffy shrugged a little but she was smiling. She had on a simple, but elegantly tasteful, black dress with a swooping neckline. One of her best traits was the way her skin always seemed to remain delicately tanned all year-round, and this dress' halter structure swept clean down her back, showing the bronze tone of the sun's reflection. A gentle curve showed mildly under the fabric of her abdomen, and Hank could see she was, in fact, glowing.

"Well, I better go mingle. You have fun, Buffy." Hank smiled again and left.

Buffy watched him go, her mind coursing with intermixed thoughts. A few days ago, she had aversely put the jacket back in the conference room, and when she'd gone in later, it was gone. She knew that Hank had come in and taken it but he said nothing to her about why she had it in the first place. It wasn't that she wasn't glad that he hadn't mentioned, but she wondered why he hadn't. No, she knew why: he didn't want to know why. Hank was content with thinking the best of people and didn't want to see faults. If he thought for a second that the reason Buffy had taken that jacket for any reason that wasn't to go get it dry cleaned (which wasn't exactly possible with leather) or to hang it in the closet, he would block the incident out of his mind and not think more of it. It bothered Buffy but… Well, she wasn't about to go tell him the reason.

She went into the kitchen, which was currently empty, and leaned tiredly on the counter. God, she had never been more confused. Her father had talked so often about the man who controlled his competition but had never mentioned any names. What a way to find out that her former history teacher was the "scary, evil, powerful," one who her father secretly feared. And he had been to her house. This house. Only days ago. Did he know she was here? She sincerely hoped the answer was no.

"Hi, Buffy. I was hoping I'd find you."

Buffy turned around to see: "Mr. Abrams."

The dark hared man laughed loudly. "Oh, Buffy, don't be ridiculous. Parker's just fine."

Buffy nodded curtly to him. Parker Abrams worked for her father and he was the one person that she wished Hank would just see for who he was. He was always coming on to any and every woman who breathes, and Buffy had repeatedly shot him down, though he never seemed to get the message from anyone. His favorite saying had to be 'Use 'em and lose 'em.' And he definitely did.

"So, Buffy, how are you?" he asked. Before she responded, he said, "You know, I've been thinking lately, and I've come to the conclusion that you should marry me. It can be big or small, whatever. I'll buy you a big house."

Buffy mouth had opened, preparing to laugh. It had closed, however, when the look on Parker's face told her he was completely serious. "Excuse me?"

"Don't looked so surprised. You and I both know you don't like me. But this time you need me."

"Need you?" Buffy repeated numbly, not truly understanding what he was saying.

"Yes," Parker confirmed. "You're seventeen. You're knocked-up. Am I the only one who sees you're utterly and totally screwed for the rest of your natural life? 'Cause you are." He took a step closer to her, and she backed away a little. "I think we could make a workable deal. We get married. You pop out the kid; my name goes on its birth certificate. You raise it, and I never divorce you. Now, I'm not prohibited from sleeping with other women but if you don't like it, I won't do it in our bed. Or you can just have your own room. We'll come across like any other couple with a child. It'll be perfect."

"Parker…what are you talking about? How…? What…? I don't…"

Parker patted her arm knowingly. "I understand, you're flustered. You're thrown. I get it. But don't worry, we don't have to pretend to love each other. But think, Buffy, really think. You're alone. Completely alone. You need me. You know why? Because I want you. Well, not so much you as your father's money. It's a win-win situation: my name goes on his will, we're both guaranteed enough money for our entire lifetime, and you're allowed to get out of being the girl who got pregnant."

Buffy abruptly jerked away. "I am not flustered. I am disgusted. How… What gives you the right to say this to me? How dare you even suggest that?"

Parker laughed a little. "Because I'm right. Buffy, nobody wants you. OK? Your mom doesn't, your friends don't, your dad's just too nice to admit that he's disgusted, and whoever knocked you up sure as hell doesn't care."

Buffy mouth opened and shut, her brain rapidly shutting down in a mixture of shock and denial. She stumbled back, her head shaking slowly.

Parker took this to his advantage and stepped towards her again. "Yes, Buffy, you know I'm right. You need me because nobody wants you. You don't even know the guy you screwed that did this to you! You're cureless. You won't last a day in the real word because no one wants you." He smiled, an atrocious expression sliding onto his face. "Deal with it. No one wants-"

Parker was suddenly shoved back, slamming into the wall of the kitchen, causing various pots to clang angrily in response. Too stunned to move, he merely looked up, bewildered how someone so tiny could muster so much strength. That was when he realized she didn't. He came face to face with a man who was seething with anger and seemed to be ten feet tall. Before even getting the chance to stand he was yanked up and crammed into the wall yet again, this time with a hundred times more force. He fought for breath and was rewarded with another thrust. Two fists pressed firmly to his windpipe, blocking any chance of oxygen. Parker felt his knees buckle under him as he sunk back as far as he could, trying lamely to escape his attacker's iron grip. His eyes began to flutter back in their sockets, and he vaguely heard himself slip further.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" The voice held so much venom and hate that even if he'd been able to, Parker wouldn't have dared say anything. He was suddenly pushed back and released, sending him doubled over in a fit of coughing and gasping for much needed air.

No sooner had breath been gained, he was pulled up again. "Who the hell do you think you are?!"

"I was just trying to help," Parker wheezed. "She's needs to hear the truth! She can't take care of herself without anyone. She's just another slut whose father happens to be loaded!"

Dark brown eyes flashed and narrowed, turning almost jet black in an instant. "You did not…you did not just say that." Parker's only reply was to shrink back again and to most likely wet his pants. His cowardliness seemed to upset the other man even more, and he was soon thrust against the poor wall for the third time. But this time there was fist meeting eye and head crashing into wall. Hard. Parker stumbled off balance as he was struck.

Buffy watched in terror, still leaning against a wall for support. Parker was a lot smaller than he was, and she knew he would be crushed if this kept going. She struggled to her stand on her feet without falling over, hastily regaining her balance. As another punch was thrown, she opened her mouth and said something. Her voice, though, was so quiet and hesitant that not even she could hear it. So she said it again.

"Angel."

Parker, still being held by his shirt, peeked out of his shell when he felt himself still. His attacker had turned his head, and he was looking at Buffy. And she was looking at him.

There was a tense lull that settled upon them. Their eyes never wavered from one another's. They were locked and none of the willpower either possessed could make them tear apart. It amazed Buffy how she began virtually paralyzed when he looked at her. His eyes would cast themselves on hers and she wouldn't be capable of moving. Or think. Or move. Or think. He trapped her in his soul and she was completely unable to stop his allure. Not that she had ever wanted to, but sometimes it was dangerous to be caught up in him. From the day they'd met, she knew that she was in love with him (though she had sworn refusal to admit it to herself). She knew that what they "had" would be magical and no one could ever come between them. Then again, so did the three hundred other girls at their school and nothing could tell them otherwise. Each was thoroughly convinced that she and Angel were soul mates and yet…yet he chose her: Buffy. Well, it wasn't like he was looking; it was somewhat like…like she found him. Was it just coincidence that she had been the girl he had practically given a concussion when they first met? Of all those hundreds of bodies he could have collided with, he collided with her.

It had been two months, two agonizing months of waiting for…something. Neither knew what, but they knew they needed it. There were gaping holes in their chests that desperately needed to be filled. Whatever little thing inside them controlled their pain, finally decided to lighten up and give them a break. They felt assuaged and yet at the same time, hit with a ton of bricks, knocking the wind out of their lungs.

Parker's shirt was released with a measured fluency that showed Angel trying to control his emotions for everything that was happening; he dropped his hands to his side, his eyes now downcast to the floor. Parker took a calculating step away from him, not daring to speak or wipe of his bleeding nose. He looked quickly between the two other people, silently studying their suddenly rigid manner. Now that everything had stilled (for the moment) he recognized the taller man as the owner of that company in New York. Maybe this was how he managed to win everything he wanted to: he could just intimidate them with his mere presence or beat them up until they surrendered him a victory.

And as Buffy Summers stood there, looking so shaken that he almost wanted to provide some semblance of comfort, Parker knew what was going on. His mouth unconsciously dropped open and his fearful eyes widened in sudden understanding.

"Oh my God…" he said, his voice hoarse from a dry throat and shock. They glanced up at him, careful to avoid each other's eyes. Parker looked between them, his head moving sharply from one face to another. "I…I don't believe it… Oh my…" He took a step back, as if he was trying to absorb much too much information at one time.

Parker, realizing almost exactly what was going on, gave a tiny, semi-hysterical laugh. Casting one final glance towards each of them, he turned and stumbled out of the kitchen.

If silence could be deafening, it would have been. Buffy had wrapped her arms tightly around her middle, protecting herself from the sudden burst of cold that seemed to have entered the room where they stood. Angel had shoved his sore hands deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched, bracing himself for whatever was going to happen next. Because with Buffy, you never really knew.

As the strain grew so thick that she could practically feel it weighing her body down, Buffy tried to search her mind for something she could say that wouldn't make her sound stupid or broken or just plain pathetic. Nothing. God she hated tension. To say you could cut it with a knife would be a blatant understatement, one that she wished to ignore.

"H-how was your trip?" she asked, not allowing herself to look at him.

Angel's eyes darted briefly to her face before resuming their downcast position. "It was…it was fine. Productive."

"That's good." Buffy nodded rapidly, fidgeting with her hands, trying to quell her need to run away and block the unwanted incident permanently from her mind.

Angel, though extremely agitated, glanced up a little, his gaze resting on Buffy's mid-section. Up until this moment he had thought he would be able to contain what he was feeling until he finally got to go home and drink himself to oblivion. But now, as his dark eyes glued itself to the soft arch under her dress, and he didn't think he would ever be able to hide the true agony that coursed through his being. He was swiftly letting his guard down, revealing the broken man he was slowly deteriorating into.

Buffy felt her abdomen burn when he fixed his stare on it. Angel, big, strong, you-can't-hurt-me Angel, looked so crushed that she felt her breath hitch and her throat tighten. Faltering slightly, she had to take a breath, which was supposed to compose her, yet only seemed to make her eyes prickle with more unshed tears.

A phone sounded abruptly, interrupting the anguished thoughts that raced through both their minds.

"H-hello?" Angel said into the small cell he'd pulled quickly from his jacket. "Oh…Sure…No, I know where it is…Yes…That's fine…Yeah, tell them I'll be right over…Well, tell him not to…Yeah, OK…I'm fine…No, I am…Darla, I'm fine…Sure…I will. Bye." He snapped the flip shut and shoved it back into his pocket.

The way his body tensed alerted Buffy to the fact that he was going to say something to her. She braced herself, knowing that this was the end. The end of…everything.

"I, um, have to go now," Angel said finally, causing her to flinch at the awkwardness overwhelming his tone. "Tell your…tell your father thank you. For the party."

Buffy said nothing in response, though she felt a single tear slid down her face before dropping mutely to the floor. Her eyes stung in a way she had never known before. Her throat refused to loosen and allow her to breathe properly. Though her head was down, Angel could see the drop fall. His heart shattered.

Without another word, he turned and, pausing only once, left. Left her.

As Buffy's blurry eyes traveled around the kitchen, she felt more tears fall. The room looked the same as always. There was no sign of a fight; no indication of two people's emotion running in turmoil. It was the same old kitchen with no object disturbed. The sight made Buffy want to scream. But instead, she just let the salty water, which seemed to come directly from her heart, stream down her cheeks, pouring out what was left of the wall protecting her from the world.