Sorry for slower updates, I've been taking finals and having computer
troubles, so I haven't had much time to write. Of course, reviews make the
process faster.
She awoke slowly, leisurely, and enjoyed every moment of it. The sun was just setting, and she spared a moment of amusement on her newly nocturnal habits. Lately, more and more needed to be done at night: checking contacts, researching new evils, recording data for future slayers, and basic patrolling. She went to bed later, and slept in much later. The rest of the hotel stayed quiet until she emerged downstairs, out of respect or fear of cranky morning slayer, she wasn't sure. She lifted herself from the bed with a groan, headed for the shower with a quick look to the glass doors leading out onto her balcony to survey her fabulous view of the sunset.
An hour later she was clean, dressed, and in a fairly good mood as she made her way to the staircase. The hotel was huge, and it was a little difficult for her blonde self to remember which way she was supposed to go sometimes. Which was probably why Angel had set her up with a room relatively close to the stairs. She looked around the lobby for the scoobies/fang gang/slayers. A few of Angel's crew, Willow's favorite, mousy Fred, and Gunn were sitting with Wesley on one of the couches. They called over their good mornings, and Gunn got up to answer the door as Buffy headed for breakfast A perk of waking up at night was that she was on the same schedule as the resident master chef. After being around for so long, Angel had become quite the culinary champion, even if his vamp taste buds couldn't fully appreciate his own genius. Unfortunately, he refused to cook for the entire household. But for her, on the other hand, he was more than happy to. She danced her way into the kitchen, now fully on her way to being in a very good mood. Sure enough, Angel stood at the stove, preparing whatever masterpiece he'd be presenting her with next.
"Morning, handsome." She strolled up to him, grinning back as he sent her an over the shoulder smile. "Something smells absolutely heavenly in here."
"Omelet, French toast, sausage, fresh orange juice." As he said the last, he handed the glass to her. She gave him a dubious look.
"You are so gonna make me fat."
"Never happen." He told her absently, flipping the omelet over. "I think Gunn's got a client out front. Why don't you go see what's up while I finish this?" She gave a snappy mock-salute.
"Yes, sir." She turned to go, then came to where he stood at the stove with his back to her and hugged his waist. "Thanks, Angel." He didn't reply, not to acknowledge the thanks nor to ask what it was being given for. She smiled a little and headed for the lobby. He was afraid, she knew, of what was to become of them. He knew she couldn't stay here forever. She had too much work to do, and she wasn't ready to be in a real relationship yet. As always, Angel was afraid to hope for the best. She ambled into the lobby, wearing what Xander affectionately called her 'charm-the-clients' smile. Anya would have called it the hello-please-give-me-your-money smile, but Anya was dead. Buffy's smile faltered for a split second, then she gathered her composure back around her like a warm fuzzy blanket and began her spiel. The potential client was a short man with a suitcase at his feet and a guitar leaning against his side.
"Welcome to Angel Investigations," At the sound of her voice, Gunn turned, allowing her a clear view of the newcomer. "How can we- oh my god." Her jaw dropped, and she froze. The man smiled vaguely, raising a hand in greeting.
"Hey Buffy. Heard I missed one hell of a party."
She awoke slowly, leisurely, and enjoyed every moment of it. The sun was just setting, and she spared a moment of amusement on her newly nocturnal habits. Lately, more and more needed to be done at night: checking contacts, researching new evils, recording data for future slayers, and basic patrolling. She went to bed later, and slept in much later. The rest of the hotel stayed quiet until she emerged downstairs, out of respect or fear of cranky morning slayer, she wasn't sure. She lifted herself from the bed with a groan, headed for the shower with a quick look to the glass doors leading out onto her balcony to survey her fabulous view of the sunset.
An hour later she was clean, dressed, and in a fairly good mood as she made her way to the staircase. The hotel was huge, and it was a little difficult for her blonde self to remember which way she was supposed to go sometimes. Which was probably why Angel had set her up with a room relatively close to the stairs. She looked around the lobby for the scoobies/fang gang/slayers. A few of Angel's crew, Willow's favorite, mousy Fred, and Gunn were sitting with Wesley on one of the couches. They called over their good mornings, and Gunn got up to answer the door as Buffy headed for breakfast A perk of waking up at night was that she was on the same schedule as the resident master chef. After being around for so long, Angel had become quite the culinary champion, even if his vamp taste buds couldn't fully appreciate his own genius. Unfortunately, he refused to cook for the entire household. But for her, on the other hand, he was more than happy to. She danced her way into the kitchen, now fully on her way to being in a very good mood. Sure enough, Angel stood at the stove, preparing whatever masterpiece he'd be presenting her with next.
"Morning, handsome." She strolled up to him, grinning back as he sent her an over the shoulder smile. "Something smells absolutely heavenly in here."
"Omelet, French toast, sausage, fresh orange juice." As he said the last, he handed the glass to her. She gave him a dubious look.
"You are so gonna make me fat."
"Never happen." He told her absently, flipping the omelet over. "I think Gunn's got a client out front. Why don't you go see what's up while I finish this?" She gave a snappy mock-salute.
"Yes, sir." She turned to go, then came to where he stood at the stove with his back to her and hugged his waist. "Thanks, Angel." He didn't reply, not to acknowledge the thanks nor to ask what it was being given for. She smiled a little and headed for the lobby. He was afraid, she knew, of what was to become of them. He knew she couldn't stay here forever. She had too much work to do, and she wasn't ready to be in a real relationship yet. As always, Angel was afraid to hope for the best. She ambled into the lobby, wearing what Xander affectionately called her 'charm-the-clients' smile. Anya would have called it the hello-please-give-me-your-money smile, but Anya was dead. Buffy's smile faltered for a split second, then she gathered her composure back around her like a warm fuzzy blanket and began her spiel. The potential client was a short man with a suitcase at his feet and a guitar leaning against his side.
"Welcome to Angel Investigations," At the sound of her voice, Gunn turned, allowing her a clear view of the newcomer. "How can we- oh my god." Her jaw dropped, and she froze. The man smiled vaguely, raising a hand in greeting.
"Hey Buffy. Heard I missed one hell of a party."