Chapter Six

-Angel-

I'm in the basement of the office pummeling the punching bag down there. I spent most of the morning with Liv and a wedding planner. You know in my day, weddings were simple. You bought a claddagh, you gave it to the girl, she wore it heart pointing inwards, you consummated the marriage and that was it. Occasionally there was a priest that told you to put the ring on and consummate the marriage. We didn't have wedding planners, cake, invitations and three thousand dollar dresses. Liv let it slip how much her dress cost. I think she's getting back at me for not going to bed last night.

The intercom buzzes and I halt my assault on the punching bag. I bend at the waist and rest my hands on my knees. "Yeah?"

"There's a package from Fed Ex up here for you," Harmony's voice echoes through the room.

"Who's it from?"

"Uhm...the Wilshire Grand. Wait, isn't that where Buffy is staying?" Harmony asked.

"Yeah, I'll be up there to get it in a minute."

Honestly, it doesn't take me a minute. It takes me about thirty seconds because all of the sudden I'm conjuring up the worst possible reasons the Wilshire Grand would be sending me a package, for some reason the words 'personal effects' haunt me.

Harmony hands me the Fed Ex package and I lock myself in my office. I rip the package open with shaky hands and spill the contents out onto the desk. There's a container of Turtle Wax, a cheap watch and a note from Buffy.

I lied. I don't want to be left alone. Thought maybe we could have coffee tonight, or something. Willow swears it's still the non relationship drink of choice.

-Buffy

My laughter resounds through the office. The first time I actually met Buffy comes rushing back at me.

"I'm sorry that's incorrect but you do get this lovely watch and a year's supply of turtle wax. What I want is to be left alone!"

She had knocked me on my ass, a fall I never really recovered from, and I'd given her a cross. I wonder now if she's still got that cross, but probably not. I know from talking to Dawn and Willow that they didn't take much when they fled Sunnydale.

I pick up the phone and dial the number for the Wilshire Grand. After a few moments I'm connected to Buffy's room. She sounds out of breath when she answers the phone.

"Hey, Buffy." I'm ashamed to admit I worked on this delivery. I feel like an idiot every time I greet her and the only thing that comes out is her name.

"Angel."

I can hear her smile over the phone and I'm glad she didn't practice saying my name with any other sort of greeting.

"I got your package. Coffee would be nice. Any particular time?"

"Yeah? Uhm—I can meet you somewhere after sunset if you like. There used to be coffee shop on the beach called The Java Spot. I don't know if it's still there..." she trails off.

It takes me a few minutes, or rather Harmony a few minutes, to find out if the place still exists. It does.

"I can meet you there if you like," she says.

Buffy drives? A smile comes to my face when I remember how vehemently she used to protest that she and cars were "non-mixy things."

"Or I can pick you up at your hotel."

There's silence for a beat. "Okay, after sunset then," she says.

It's not until I hang up the phone that I remember I was supposed to have dinner with Liv and her parents.

-Buffy-

I think I've gone through every single piece of clothing I own. I'm wearing a jean skirt and a pale green, shimmery blouse. It makes my eyes look really green. I fiddle with my hair, trying to decide whether to put it up or leave it down. I crane my neck, catching sight of the scar, pale and raised against my skin. A shiver runs up my spine as I remember Angel sucking at that scar and growling "mine" yesterday. I pin my hair up.

There's a knock on my door and I panic. "Just a minute!" I yell. I spritz some vanilla perfume on, snag my shoes out of my suitcase and grab my necklace. It's the cross Angel gave me, one of the few things I took with me from Sunnydale. I throw open the door and the sight of Angel standing there makes me go weak kneed. He's wearing black slacks, a deep blue gray shirt and a black leather jacket.

I turn my back to him so I can catch my breath. I drape the cross around my neck and hold up the ends of the clasp. "Will you fasten this for me?"

His fingers brush my skin, sending cool shivers up and down my spine. It feels like he touches places deep inside of me, places that have never even been seen, maybe places I don't even know. He steps back; the absence of his touch leaves me gasping for breath. I take a deep breath and turn around.

Angel smiles at me and looks pointedly at my cross. "I didn't know you still had that."

I look down at the floor and back up at Angel shyly. "We knew before we cratered Sunnydale that we probably weren't coming back, so we each packed one bag a piece with the things we couldn't bear to leave behind."

He reaches out to glide his fingers along the edge of the cross. He winces slightly, his fingertips smoke. I remember the kiss, the one he told me about months later, the one he let me burn him with my cross just to have. Maybe being this close to touching me is worth burning. I hold my breath and will myself not to fall into his arms.

"Ready to go then?" He asks withdrawing his hand, touching the still smoking fingertips together.

I nod. We walk down the hallway, carefully keeping our hands to ourselves. I smile at the sight of Angel's car. It's this big, old black convertible. It looks exactly like something Angel would drive. He opens the car door for me, ever the gentleman.

I was afraid the drive to the coffee house would be uncomfortable. We're not exactly chatterboxes. I guess I'd just forgotten how comfortable silence is between Angel and me. We aren't silent the whole time either. He tells me a little about his life now, carefully avoiding the subject of his fiancée. He seems almost happy, or at least at peace with his life. Why shouldn't he be? He'll be human in about a week and a half. He'll be married to a woman he loves a couple of days after that.

The coffee house is the perfect place. We walk outside and sit at an isolated table on the beach.

"What would you like?" Angel asks.

I consider it a moment. I'm in the mood for something decadent. "Carmel Macchiato."

Angel nods and disappears to the coffee bar. He comes back a moment later with two huge, steaming mugs of Carmel Macchiato. I'd almost forgotten that he did that. In Sunnydale, he always ordered whatever I got at the Espresso Pump, which is kind of sweet when you think about it. He can't actually taste the coffee.

We settle back into comfy chairs, hands wrapped around coffee mugs. The night air is cool and the hot coffee is a delicious contrast. I shiver. I'd forgotten that the ocean breeze can make a warm night bitingly cool.

"You're cold," he says.

I bite my bottom lip, remembering another time he said that to me. He stands up, removes his jacket and drapes it around my shoulders. I don't protest. I gather the folds of Angel's jacket around me and wonder how someone with a room temperature body can make me flash so hot.

"Thanks," I murmur.

Angel gives me his little half grin, it's almost nostalgic and I wonder if he remembers too. "It looks better on you."

My heart is in my throat. He remembers.

"Tell me about your fiancée," I say, shattering the moment because if I don't I'm going to do something we'll both regret, like kiss him.

Angel gets tense and puts his coffee on the table. He sits back in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. He clears his throat.

"She's-her name is Liv. She-she was attacked by vampires three and a half years ago. I-I got there before they hurt her badly."

I smile. "Damsel in distress?"

Angel shrugs. "It kind of comes with the territory."

"Helping the helpless," I say.

He nods.

"So, what else?" I need to know what my competition is if I'm going to get him back.

Angel shrugs. "We've got a lot in common."

"She's a two hundred and fifty year old vampire too?" I tease.

Angel chuckles and shakes his head. "No. She likes literature. She's-was a literature major in college."

Great, my competition is a brain that can dish Shakespeare and poetry with Angel. This isn't looking good.

Angel changes the subject to the current demonic activity in Los Angeles. Apparently there are a couple of gangs in the middle of a turf war. Angel and Company are keeping an eye on them to make sure innocents don't get caught in the crossfire.

"You know we could use a slayer on the team, if you wanted a job."

I arch an eyebrow at Angel. "I stopped being a slayer five years ago. I haven't even trained since then."

"Buffy, being a slayer is what you are. It's as much a part of you as your blonde hair and your green eyes. I guess you could live the rest of your life ignoring that, but you'll have to spend the rest of your life running from your family and friends too. Do you really want to do that?"

I glare at him. No fair playing that card. "I'm completely out of shape, out of practice," I argue.

"I've got a state of the art training room in the basement of my building. I'd be willing to help you get back into practice, if you're interested."

I purse my lips and ponder his offer. Memories of Angel and me sparring, of Angel teaching me Tai Chi flash through my mind. I can't pass up a chance to train with him, to be that close, to be allowed to touch and feel. I sigh. I know I'm setting myself up for a massive heart break and yet I can't seem to care. "I'll drop by around ten tomorrow?"