Chapter 10

As soon as Doyle, Angel, and Cordelia arrived back at the offices of Angel Investigations, the owner of the building found himself being dragged upstairs by his oldest friend. *Well, oldest as in longest time of knowing, not as in actual years.* Suddenly he was gently shoved toward a chair, and forced to face the other man.

"All right," Doyle said, "spill!"

"I have no idea what the hell you're talking about." Angel feigned complete innocence, though he knew very well what his friend meant.

"I know you know what I'm talking about. But just to make absolutely sure, I'll clarify. That girl, your new client, Buffy Finn."

"What about her?"

"You like her. I know it, you know it, hell, I think even Cordy knows it. So tell me all the details. You know: why? When? How? How much? Stuff like that." Angel opened his mouth, but Doyle knew it wasn't to answer his questions. "And don't you dare give me any bullshit about how you have work to do. The only client you have right now is Buffy, and we are discussing her right now, so technically, you are working."

Angel silently admitted defeat. "Fine, I'll talk." There was a tiny squeal outside, but Doyle checked and reported that nothing was there. He then signaled to his detective friend to continue. "It might be awhile, there are some things I need to think about before I know how to express them." There was a creak outside, but Doyle said it was probably the house settling. So Angel began his mini-story.

"She walked into the room and I thought to myself that she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I was dumbstruck for a moment. I felt my heart speed up a bit, and my breathing got a little harder to, well, do. I shook myself out of it and listened to her talk about how her husband had been killed and she wanted me to solve it. Actually the words that came out of her mouth sounded kind of...well, sexual. She kept saying things that sounded really bad, but she meant them in a totally different way than they came out." He smiled slightly at the memory of her exact words. "Then, I asked her basic questions. Nothing too much happened there. But all of a sudden, I asked her to dinner. I tried to cover it by saying it was to ask more questions, and I think she bought it. But I didn't even know that was what I was going to say until I said it. Nothing much really happened after that until I showed her to the door. We touched, and it felt like I had touched a firecracker. These sparks just flew up and down my arm, and I could almost feel the heat radiating from our touch. Then I found out that she was in the hospital and I totally freaked out. Doyle, man, I think I'm in love with her." There was a definite thump outside the room following this response.

Faith made quick work of the punching bag she had chosen to take her emotions out on. She imagined the black swinging sack had several different faces: Richard Wilkins, Mark Summers, Eric Hallind, Colin Brusche, and Shawn Nettle [A/N: all of these characters will be explained later on in the story. For now, just read their names, and accept the fact that she's angry at them]. The hitting her hands were doing kept getting more and more forceful, until suddenly, something inside her snapped. She ran out of the gym and through the streets of Sunnydale, until she reached the Finns' house. She yanked out her spare key, and raced upstairs to the spare bedroom where she sometimes stayed. Knowing that no one would be home for several hours, Faith finally allowed herself to collapse on the bed and sob her eyes out.

Buffy and Dawn helped the customers wanting to buy the art displayed in the gallery, and they led tours of the permanent works displayed there, all day. Finally, around five o'clock, both were exhausted and no one was there, so they decided to close for the day. Normally The Dawn of Great Art stayed open until seven, sometimes as late as nine or ten, but it had been a rough day, and the two sisters decided to give themselves a break. They locked up and began the long trek home. Buffy still wasn't comfortable driving since the last one to touch the car had been her late husband. They started towards the house where their mother lived when they realized that Giles and Joyce probably wanted to be alone. So they switched directions and headed towards the empty Finn house.

Buffy went upstairs to change into more comfortable clothes. After arriving at the gallery late that morning, she had taken off her bloodstained clothes and put on the spare shirt she kept at her office, the same shirt which now felt very restricting, and Buffy wanted to be comfortable. As she was rummaging through her closest, she heard a faint sniffle. It sounded like it was coming from the guest room.

Downstairs, Dawn heard the ceiling above her creak gently as her sister searched for something more relaxing to wear. Suddenly the creaking footsteps moved. Dawn had been in the house so many times that she recognized the direction the sounds were moving in. So she headed upstairs, and though Buffy was not in direct sight, Dawn followed her into the guest room. The sight they saw when they reached the doorway was shocking.

Angel glanced at Doyle to see him looking slightly amused, yet at the same time concerned. The towering PI decided to address his statement and his friend's reaction to it after he discovered what had made the noise. He swiftly got out of the chair and walked across the room to the door. He reached for the knob and pulled. On the ground of the hallway sat a shocked looking Cordelia. Right next to her was a chair. Angel realized that she had been listening the entire time, and that Doyle had known. He glared at her furiously, and she had the sense to look sorry. They stayed that way for several minutes until she finally got off the floor and he allowed her to enter the room. She sat in a more comfortable chair while both he and Doyle stood, all three thinking quietly to themselves. Finally Angel looked at Cordy with a question in his eyes, and she sighed but began to talk.

"Doyle told you at the beginning of your conversation that he suspected that I knew you like Buffy. I suspected that he knew, and so I followed you both up here, with a chair." At his look, she answered, "I figured that you would take a while to explain. I wanted to be comfortable. Anyways, the noises you heard while you were talking were made by me. When Doyle came to check, he saw me and for some reason he didn't tell you that I was there. Which, by the way, I now thank you for. But that doesn't really matter. What I want to know is...are you really in love with Buffy?"