"Hello?"
"Giles! It's Buffy, I need to talk to you."
"Buffy… It's two-thirty in the morning…"
"Yeah, she does that."
"Angel?" Buffy thought she could hear him cleaning his glasses, but it could have been her imagination. She stifled a snort, picturing him sleeping in them, all out of sorts and tangled in his hair.
"I'm sorry Giles, but we're not sure if the vampires I killed tonight are going to retaliate or not. They had some… interesting toys." Buffy had to admit to herself that the call could've probably waited, but Giles was right. She always went to him when she needed help with something.
Giles groaned. That time she was sure she heard his glasses clicking together. "So… you are in Los Angeles then, I take it? That explains why I couldn't get an answer at your flat. I've been calling you for days, Buffy. You had me quite concerned."
"I'm sorry Giles," she repeated. "I haven't been in Cleveland since Thursday morning."
"You could have called me, Giles." Angel cut in.
"I'm sorry, Angel." Giles rubbed his eyes. "As far as I knew, you and Buffy still weren't speaking much. She hadn't mentioned a trip." he paused, wondering for a moment. "Was this a… planned excursion?"
Sensing the implication, Buffy blushed, praying Spike couldn't hear the speakerphone call from the kitchen. "No, I came down to help him with some vampires. We ran into them tonight, the head-honcho guy had this… thing," she continued quickly, hearing Giles's slight sigh at the word 'thing'. 'Such a waste of time' he'd always called it. "This blue crystal-thing on a string. He could hear our thoughts Giles, he almost had me off my game enough to miss my shot at him."
"While that's very interesting, I'm sure it could have waited until a… brighter hour."
She blushed again. "Well, since I have you…"
"No, since I have you, we need to talk, Buffy. It's about Willow."
"Is she okay?" Angel's voice was layered with concern; he was actually quite fond of Willow. Xander never really took to him, but Willow had kept the peace on his behalf at most of their meetings.
"Willow has been having blackouts, migraine headaches… She's been finding herself locked in rooms, wandering hallways, not knowing how she got there. We tried a spell three days ago, and there was residual energy from another magick-user. We couldn't quite pinpoint the purpose or the exact nature of the spells being used, but she's definitely being targeted." Giles tone was stern. "Your friends need you, Buffy. I think it's time you join us."
Angel tapped his fingers. "I could have her on the W&H jet by noon tomorrow, if you'd like."
Buffy shot him a glare. She knew why he was so keen to get her out of the city. If Willow needs me, though… "I'd take it. If you want me to, Giles."
Slightly surprised at the lack of resistance, Giles breathed out deeply, relieved at the weight off his mind. "All right, keep me well-informed of the details, I will arrange the rest with Angel. After I've gotten some rest, that is."
Recognizing her dismissal, Buffy quietly bid Giles goodnight, and ducked out of the room to join Spike in the kitchen. She could hear him swearing; something wasn't going well.
Angel took Giles off speakerphone, but waited until he could hear conversation between her and Spike pick up to speak. "It's just me."
"What were you thinking, inviting her to Los Angeles?" Giles sounded almost angry, but Angel knew it was out of a desire to protect his prior charge. "How are you going to keep her from finding out?"
"She did, Giles. She knows."
Giles swore vehemently, to his considerable surprise.
"I couldn't leave her there, Giles. She was driving herself crazy, all alone in a strange city." Angel sighed. "I tried to put her up at a hotel, but she showed up at my apartment. Next thing I know, she and Captain Peroxide were right back where they started. Except on my living room floor."
Giles whistled softly. That can't have gone well.
"What do you expect me to do now?" Giles had been Angel's one confidant, the one person in Buffy's life he was able to talk to about Spike's return, secure in the knowledge that Giles wanted them kept apart as much as he did. He genuinely hoped the other man had some trick up his sleeve that could save him from his current situation, anything.
"Well, there isn't anything we really can do. She'll be an unfocused mess if we split them up now. We might as well just allow Spike to come along, at least then we can supervise somewhat."
"You're joking." Angel struggled to keep his voice low. "Giles, supervising them is exactly my problem. I can't watch this anymore."
"At the very least, you'll be sharing that arduous duty now." Giles yawned. "I really must get some sleep, please call me back after eight, and update me as to when you'll need me at the airstrip. I'll be seeing you soon."
Wanting to put his fist through his own wall, Angel settled for hanging up forcefully. He could hear them again, already climbing into bed in the next room, despite the early hour. Cursing them all, he quickly grabbed a coat, stepping outside for a long, long walk.
The next morning was brisk and cold, thankfully cloud-covered, not a ray of sunshine in sight. Free from his usual restrictions, Spike was borderline cheerful. Neither Buffy nor Angel quite knew what to think when he disappeared in the morning, returning with three coffees, and a breakfast sandwich for Buffy. The gesture was sweet, even as Spike mischievously slid Angel's credit card back to him as he placed the black coffee in front of him. Buffy had filled him in the night before, and he was grateful to Angel for extending the invitation to him, as he had early that morning.
Angel was able to secure the jet for much earlier than estimated, so the three of them packed in a hurry. Not having done much unpacking in the first place, and Spike not having many essentials, they were mostly waiting on Angel. Buffy tried some light-hearted teasing on the subject, without much response. She tried not to take it personally; she knew this was hard on him.
The group spoke very little at all until they were waved to their seats by the co-pilot, a tall, elegant woman with cropped black hair. Having little else to do, Buffy and Spike settled down comfortably for a nap, while Angel made various calls to his contacts, inside and outside the firm. Buffy's encounter with the vampire group had likely decimated them, but they clearly had resources beyond the normal array, and Angel was determined to see security near-doubled in his absence.
Six hours into their eleven hour flight, Spike was getting restless, searching the cabin for anything of interest.
"Found something of yours." he grinned, flinging a bag labeled 'Bite-Sized Nuts' at Angel's lap.
Angel was too tightly wound to keep his cool, and snarled, jumping at Spike, who cleanly dodged him, laughing mockingly. Buffy quickly jumped between them, startling them both with a high-pitched battle cry.
"Act. Your. Age." She gritted her teeth, one hand on each of their chests, and threw them forcefully into the nearest seats. Glaring, she paced in front of them. "This flight is not even halfway over. If we are all going to make it to London alive," she paused, shaking her head at her own choice of words. "...Somewhat, anyway, then you two have got to figure out how to get along. At the very least, pretend to, or so-help-me-God, I will throw one or both of you through a window."
"Sorry, Buffy." Angel hung his head, in genuine shame.
Spike smirked, kicking up the foot-rest for his seat. "I like it when you get all bossy, pet. Save some for later, will you?"
Resisting the urge to kick him against the cabin wall, Buffy took a deep breath. Her eyes caught the liquor cart, just visible behind a curtain in the corner storage area.
"How about a drink?" Or twelve.
Two hours later, Buffy shook her head incredulously, watching Spike and Angel joking jovially about the tiny bottles of whiskey as if they'd never fought in their lives. I will never understand boys. Shrugging, she downed another mini bottle of vodka and shuddered. She'd never quite gotten the allure of straight shots until right then; sometimes, you just need that little burn. Her companions however didn't seem to feel any burning at all, sucking down the little drinks as if they were gulping water. Then again, they probably don't have any feeling left in their throats. There were easily thirty plastic bottles littering the cabin floor.
Buffy hadn't quite kept pace with them, thanks to their heightened tolerance for alcohol, but she knew she was far more inebriated than she'd ever been. She could feel the plane tilting back and forth, her mind drifting happily in a satisfying fog. Spike was the only thing that looked solid to her, and she smiled at him. He met her eyes and smiled back, but when he moved to stand up, the last solid thing in her field of view beginning to move, she was overtaken by intense nausea. Concerned, but fighting grins, both men rushed to help a swaying Buffy to the little plane bathroom. Knowing she wouldn't take it well in her state, Spike bit his lip so hard to keep himself from teasing her that he tasted his own blood.
Once Buffy's stomach had ceased to fight her, her eyelids began to. Spike and Angel lowered her into her seat gently, reclining it slowly so as not to disturb her; she had already fallen asleep. Angel watched with narrowed eyes as Spike tenderly pushed the strands of dark-blonde hair away from her face, but felt his eyes soften as he saw Buffy lean into the touch, smiling in her sleep.
"Silly human." Spike kissed her cheek gently. Angel felt himself staring, but couldn't bring himself to look away. In over a hundred years, he had never seen a look like that in the other man's eyes.
He actually loves her. Marveling to himself, Angel finally felt something beyond jealousy: peace, even relief. Buffy was safe, loved, cared for, even if it wasn't with him.
Noticing him, Spike felt a momentary rise of defensive instincts, but they faded quickly. He couldn't quite pinpoint the emotions playing across Angel's face, but nothing in his demeanor suggested any threat. Quite the opposite, if anything.
"I think we can do this." Angel spoke slowly, carefully.
"Do what, exactly?"
"Be there for her, both of us. As a team. Or, if not a team, then cooperating."
Spike searched his face, checking for any signs of subterfuge, seeing nothing but resigned truth. "You sure about that? We've never been mates, especially when there's a bird involved. And this is no ordinary bird."
Angel smiled weakly. "I think we should try."
"I would do anything for her- and I know you would too." he added quickly, seeing the rise begin. "But we've been through hell and back, Angel, both of us, fighting each other all the while. This isn't going to be easy."
"It wasn't all bad." Angel's voice took on a mischievous quality Spike hadn't heard since Angelus. "Remember Berlin, 1896?"
"Disgusting city." Spike coughed as if choking on the memory. "But, those girls."
"The dancers?" Angel grinned.
Spike dramatically mimed a swoon, getting a laugh out of Angel. They reminisced for nearly an hour, each of them watching Buffy, but keeping the conversation away from the topic of her to avoid spoiling their moment of truce.
Finally, Spike sighed. "You're right."
"I'm right?"
Spike kicked him hard. "Yes, you wanker, you're right. We'll be fine."
"Aw, William the Gentleman."
"It's SPIKE, Angelus." This time it was Angel's turn to kick him, but Spike was expecting it, and leapt backwards just in time.
Still chortling, Angel gripped his shoulder. "You're like the annoying kid brother I never had. Did I ever tell you that?"
Spike was no longer listening. Buffy was sitting up slowly, rubbing her forehead and moaning loudly.
"Lie down love, we've got a few hours yet," he crooned softly. She seemed to ignore him, but didn't speak, just continued her efforts to sit up comfortably.
As if on cue, the co-pilot stepped in, smiling at them warmly. "Three hours to London! Are we all sitting comfortably?"
Spike looked over at Angel, using Buffy's seat to hide the rather graphic hand gestures he was making. Angel ignored him, but blushed slightly; he got the idea. Spike was trying to wingman for him. Spike, of all people…
The co-pilot was still smiling expectantly, almost hopefully, at Angel. She really was quite beautiful, her olive skin and short, dark hair perfectly emphasizing her large sea-colored eyes.
"Do you have a ginger ale, actually?"
She smiled, and ducked behind a curtain, returning with the drink. As Angel stood to collect it from her, her eyes appraised his large body with clear appreciation. She leaned in closer, making it clear this was a personal offer. "Anything else, you know where to find me."
Passing the ginger ale to Spike, Angel rolled his eyes at the increasingly vulgar jokes, both silent and verbal, from his younger companion. Truth be told, Angel was used to such attention, but as he watched the couple wistfully, he knew he'd rather be getting it from someone else.