Disclaimer: I don't own the challenge; that belongs to Lee. Buffy and Angel and respective characters belong to Joss Whedon, and Ocean's Eleven belongs to Warner Bros.

Feedback: Please do.

Challenge: Basically, redo the basic plot of Ocean's Eleven with Buffy and Angel characters. Angel should take the place of Danny Ocean, and Connor as Linus Caldwell. The other characters are up to you.

Other Requirements:
Keep the running gag of the Rusty character always eating/drinking something.

All characters should be at the jobs they were in the movie (Frank a dealer in a casino, Basher in the middle of another heist, Rusty teaching movie stars how to play poker, Danny/Angel in jail, Livingston working freelance for the FBI, etc.)

Angel's Eleven

As he stepped into the security centre, Giles smiled slightly as he studied his new surroundings.

Despite himself, he had to approve of the set-up; even knowing that there were pinhole cameras in the room, he found it hard to actually see where they were even knowing what he knew. Despite that, however, the room was empty apart from a large table, which he placed his briefcase on as he adjusted the numbered combination locks, trying to ignore the presence of Parker Abrams beside him- quite frankly, this man just got on his nerves- and opened it, revealing five large, glittering emeralds set in the red velvet.

"They're very beautiful," the man in question said, as he looked curiously at Giles. "A gift?"

Giles just gave him a stare that made it clear he didn't regard this as Abrams' business. Shrugging it off, Abrams turned back to the suitcase and raised an eyebrow as he indicated them.

"Can you lift them out, please?" he asked. Nodding, Giles reached over and lifted the velvet tray out of the case, leaving Abrams and his men to examine the case's interior before Giles replaced the tray once more.

"Alright, Mr. Zerga," Abrams said, looking at him critically, "I acknowledge that the case does not contain any dangerous or illicit material, and I further agree to take custody of your case for a twenty-four hour period to store in our secured vault."

Giles smiled approvingly to himself; no matter what else happened, right now, whatever else happened to him, they had fulfilled his part of the con.

"While I cannot permit you to accompany the case to the vault..." Abrams continued.

"Why not?" Giles interjected, knowing that he needed to play his part in the con for the moment.

"Insurance, for one," Abrams said casually. "Security, another."

Then he narrowed his eyes as he looked at Giles. "And I don't trust you."

At that moment, the casino manager walked into the room, prompting Giles and Abrams to look up as he entered, before leaning in to whisper in his boss's ear.

"I put two plainclothes on Angelus," he said, his voice so low that, if Giles hadn't practiced his hearing in the past, he wouldn't have heard it. "He's at the keno bar now."

At that, Abrams turned back to look at Giles.

"Mr. Zerga, this is Mr. Walsh, my casino manager," he said, indicating the man in question. "If you will allow, he will arrange for your briefcase to be stored inside our vault while you watch on a security monitor."

There was a pause for a moment, as he stared at Giles, and then he spoke again. "Those are my terms; yes or no?"

For a moment, Giles and Abrams simply stared at each other, Giles determined to keep up the 'act' as long as was necessary, and then he smiled and nodded.

"You leave me no choice," he said casually, as he reached over to unlock the cuff from his wrist. Secretly, he was relieved; at least he could keep an eye on the case, which was far more than he'd been expecting to have the chance to do when the plan had first been thought up.

Meanwhile, outside the room, Connor stood at the door, dressed in a suit and glasses as he stared at the door that Giles and Abrams had just walked through, waiting for Abrams to appear as he tried to shake off his natural nerves at the situation.

"Deep breaths," Willow's voice said to him from the earpiece he wore in his right ear; the only means he had of maintaining contact with his others. "You'll do fine."

Connor smiled slightly despite himself.

"Thanks," he said to the woman on the other end of the line.

"No sweat, kid," Willow said, sounding like she was chuckling slightly herself. "You're like your dad; when push comes to shove, you're a rock in a tempest. You'll do fine."

Despite himself, Connor couldn't help but feel a small sense of pride as Willow compared him to his father. Angel may have had problems at actually being there for him when he was growing up, but nobody could deny that he was very good at what he did…

Then the joviality vanished from Willow's tone as she spoke to him again. "Just don't screw up."

Rolling his eyes anxiously, Connor just continued to stare at the door before him, anxiously flexing his fingers on the briefcase he held clasped in his hands.

Up in the room, as Willow sat at her control panel, anxiously checking all the security feed she had access to as Oz and Wesley prepared for their roles in the plan- Wesley was already in his suit- there was a knock on the door.

"Room service!" a cheery voice called from the other side, prompting Willow to roll her eyes in frustration; no matter what happened, Faith and Gwen could never seem to take anything totally seriously.

Even as Wesley glanced through the peephole, he was already reaching over to open the door and usher in the two Raiden sisters, now dressed in waiters' outfits with the room service cart that they'd picked up earlier.

"Who ordered the penne?" Gwen said, grinning casually as she looked around at the others, scratching slightly at the hair that was now tightly bound around the back of her head.

Rolling her eyes, Willow raised her hand as casually as possible, trying to conceal her frustration with their unprofessional manner- she'd wanted to deal with professionals when she started working with Angel this time around- and simply nodded at Gwen placed the pasta in question in front of her. Even as Gwen did so, Faith had pulled off the tablecloth to reveal the false-lid cash cart underneath, looking curiously at Wesley for approval.

Nodding briefly in approval, Wesley turned to glance over at where Oz was standing, now dressed in the black skintight outfit that he used for his acrobatic training.

"Are you ready?" he asked, not surprised to receive only a nod from Oz; even when they'd worked together during those brief times when Angel and Buffy had joined forces after their break-up, before his encounter with Veruca, Oz had never been especially talkative. Even now, all he did was nod affirmatively as he walked over to slip himself casually into the empty cash cart, a slim oxygen tank all he had in the way of 'company' as Wesley turned to look at Faith and Gwen.

"Once again, when do you make the deposit?" he said, staring critically at the sisters as they shrugged off their black waiters' costumes in favor of red security guard blazers.

"Not until we get your signal," Gwen said, rolling her eyes slightly as she tightened her tie while looking at him.

"What do we look like, Wes?" Faith asked, looking with a small grin at the man she'd once tortured as she shrugged her jacket on. "A couple of peckerwood jackasses or something? We've got it under control; don't you trust us?"

Wesley, Willow and Oz didn't bother to answer; Willow just remained at the screens while Wesley turned back to look at Oz.

"How does it feel?" he asked the young man now squeezed into the container. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Oz said, nodding briefly in reply as he looked up at Wesley.

"Would you care for something to read?" the ex-librarian continued, his voice assuming a slightly teasing tone. "Magazine?"

From the tangle of limbs, a middle finger protruded from the container to show Wesley what he could do with the magazine in question.

Wesley wasn't even slightly offended; he knew that Oz's temper was sometimes strained when he was in these kind of positions, particularly given his occasional fear about getting injured because of his 'condition'.

Of course, when Faith had learned about it, she'd jokingly asked if Oz's problem was that he just wasn't 'getting any' (Out of earshot of the acrobat, of course; even at her worst, she'd never been that insensitive to people's feelings, and Oz's illness was a touchy subject even for those who'd known him practically since he was born).

"Very well," he said, nodding briefly at the former guitarist as he reached over to take a hold of the lid. "I'm counting down. Thirty minutes of breathing time starts..."

He shut the lid of the container just as he began to pronounce the 'N' of the word "…now."

As Faith placed the tablecloth back on it, the two sisters now fully dressed in their security costumes, Gwen leaned over to snag a quick spoonful of the penne on Willow's left before she walked out of the door with her sister.

"You get no tip!" Willow yelled after the sister in question, but allowing herself a small smile as she turned back to the monitors nevertheless.

In the room that was the official security centre of the Casino- Willow's room, of course, was the actual centre these days- the various technicians sat before their monitors, feet kicked up on the control panels as they studied the images on the screen. They barely even seemed to register Giles and Abrams entering the room with the casino manager, although, in all fairness, Abrams barely seemed to register them either.

Of course, Giles correctly assumed that the fact that the two men seemed partly asleep and were some way from the door also played its part in their lack of response to his entrance.

"This," the manager said, indicating the room around him with an overly dramatic wave of his hand, "is our security center, where we oversee all gaming in the casino as well as our vault. You'll be able to monitor your briefcase from here."

Giles only nodded briefly at that statement, trying to contain the part of him that felt like laughing when they referred to this place as their 'security centre'. The moment they wanted to, the others could feed false information to this room and nobody would realize it until it was too late…

Glancing at the security men, the manager coughed politely, and the men immediately leapt to their feet, looking awkwardly at the manager. Abrams glanced briefly at his watch, and Giles seized his chance to get rid of his main pain in the neck.

"Don't let me keep you," he said, looking politely at the man whose life he was about to ruin.

"Mr. Zerga," Abrams replied, nodding back at Giles in an equally feigned polite manner before he walked away.

In the room, Wesley and Willow glanced briefly at each other as they saw Abrams leave the casino, and smiled.

"Connor," Wesley said, activating the secure line to Connor's earpiece. "You're up; good luck."

Back in the casino, Connor nodded slightly, checked his glasses one more time, and took the few moments necessary to get his breathing under control before Abrams appeared from the doors before him, just as his assistant arrived with the portfolio. As soon as his target had turned toward the restaurant, Connor walked up to stand beside him, handing him the fake card that Wesley and Gunn had managed to piece together as he prepared to introduce himself.

"Mr. Abrams?" he said, looking politely at the man who was now dating the woman who could have, once upon a team, been Connor's biological stepmother (And he knew that phrase made no sense on almost every level; he couldn't come up with a better term right now for what Buffy's relationship to him would have been if she'd married his father).

"Yes?" Abrams said, looking at him with a face that suggested he was trying to decide whether he should scrap Connor off his shoe or give him the key to the penthouse suite.

Connor nodded politely and handed him the fake card that Wesley and Gunn had managed to piece together as he prepared to introduce himself.

"Sheldon Wills," he said casually, grateful that they'd at least given him a name that sounded good; if they'd just stuck him something like 'John Smith', he'd have walked out of this before they'd even started. "Nevada Gaming Commission. Could I have two minutes of your time?"

Abrams sighed slightly in frustration, evidently annoyed at having even more delays to occupy his time, but shook it off as he turned to look at Connor.

"Of course," he said, in an even voice. "Anything for the NGC."

From his table in the restaurant, Angel watched as Abrams escorted Connor towards the blackjack tables, allowing himself a small smile of approval at the manner in which Connor was conducting himself. Everything was under control, Connor was refusing to allow the other man to dominate the situation without making it obvious that he was in charge, and, in a matter of moments, they'd have the opportunity they needed to get the last piece of the puzzle.

Glancing behind himself once more, Angle chuckled to himself as he saw the plainclothes men turn away in a foolish attempt to act incognito- mountains were more inconspicuous than these guys- but his grin faded into a more serious expression as he saw the woman coming around the corner towards the restaurant.

It was Buffy.

Here goes nothing, Angel thought to himself as he jumped to his feet, barely remembering to throw a tip on the bar as he walked away from his seat after swallowing the last of his drink.

Time to implement the more… improvised part of the plan.

As they approached the Pit Boss's station, Connor was already telling Abrams the 'cover story' they'd concocted to explain his presence here.

"It only came to our attention this morning, Mr. Abrams," he explained, trying to sound apologetic for the 'mistake' as he indicated the table where Gunn was currently working. "Apparently he has a record longer than my arm."

"If he is who you say he is…" Abrams said, looking at Connor briefly with an expression that made it clear that things would not go well if Gunn was not who Connor said he was, and then hailed a pit boss. "Charlie; call over Ramon Escalante."

"Certainly, Mr. Abrams," the man said, nodding as he walked off to the table. As the two of them stood there, waiting patiently, Abrams opened the portfolio, glanced at a piece of paper containing a selection of numbers, skimmed his eyes over it, and then placed it in his pocket.

Up in the room, Willow and Wesley stared anxiously at the monitors showing the current location of Abrams and Connor, Willow's eyes fixed on the screen showing Abrams' back as he read the paper.

"Did you make it out?" Wesley asked.

"His head blocked the last two numbers," Willow groaned, shaking her head as she activated her microphone to Connor once again. "We missed it, Brood-Junior. You've got to grab the combination yourself."

Despite his attempts to stay calm, Connor couldn't help but curl his lip slightly in distaste at Willow's new nickname for him- unlike his father, he did not spend ages brooding over his criminal past; hell, unlike Angel, he didn't really have anything to be 'guilty' for beyond petty theft- prompting a curious glance and a question from Abrams, now looking at his associate with a slightly suspicious air.

"You new at the commission?" he asked, as though simply making polite conversation.

Connor shrugged. "I've been there about two years," he said in an offhand manner.

"I know Hal Lindley over there," Abrams responded, turning to look at Connor critically as he spoke. "You work with him at all?"

For a moment, Connor paused, his mind racing to remember the information Wesley had drummed into him about the NGC before he came down here, and then he just politely shook his head.

"Not since he died last year," he answered, his tone even, taking care not to slip any sign of relief when Abrams left it alone, the two of them standing in silence until the pit boss returned with Gunn beside him.

"Mr. Escalante," Abrams said, practically oozing casualness; nobody could guess that he was addressing a man whom he'd just heard was a wanted criminal. "Would you come with us, please?"

"What's this about?" Gunn said, feigning ignorance; only Connor noticed the brief wink the other man gave him as praise for his current acting job.

"I think it's better if we talked off the floor," Abrams said, as he turned around to lead Gunn towards a back door, Connor alongside his colleague in their current heist.

As they passed an elevator, Connor and Gunn took great care not to watch as Faith and Gwen, now dressed in their security guard costumes, walked out of the elevator in question, pushing out the false-lid cash cart containing Oz before them. True, they had to leave a pile of dishes and a tablecloth in the lift behind them, to say nothing of the waiter uniforms, but by the time anyone realsied what that meant, it would be too late.

Meanwhile, in a restaurant, a maitre d' scoured his reservation list, before glancing up to see David Nabbit approaching in the company of a couple of beautiful young women (Secretly, Nabbit was uncomfortable about this whole thing- he wasn't the type of guy to walk around with a bunch of hot women- but he'd been told that he needed to provide a decent alibi, and this was the only way to guarantee he'd attract attention).

"Good evening, Mr. Nabbit," the maitre d' said politely.

"Good evening, Marcel," Nabbit replied, with as cool a formality as he could manage under the circumstances. "These lovely women and I would like a table; we'd just appreciate the chance to spend time somewhere quiet before the fight."

"Of course," the maitre d' said, nodding as he studied the list before him briefly before looking back up. "I can put you at 19 in just a couple minutes."

"Quick as you can," Nabbit said politely, as the maitre d' turned to look at his next customer, who, Nabbit noted without trying to be conspicuous, was Buffy.

Naturally, as the curator of the casino's art museum- not to mention the current 'girlfriend' of Parker Abrams, the owner of this place- she merited a table instantly.

"Good evening, Miss Summers," the man said, smiling broadly at her as he waved one hand. "Right this way..."

Even as Nabbit watched her pass him by towards the table, he was suddenly jolted to the side as a man in a familiar long leather coat brushed by him.

Angel? Nabbit asked himself, staring in confusion as his former 'boss' walked past him purposefully. But why…?

Glancing behind himself, Nabbit's eyes widened slightly as he saw two large men standing just outside the main entrance to the restaurant, their eyes fixed on Angel's back as he approached Buffy's table.

Oh dear… Nabbit thought to himself, as the maitre d' returned to show him to his table. This doesn't look good…

Just as Buffy began to sit down at her table, determined to just relax and enjoy a meal while waiting for Abrams to show up, she glanced up and saw Angel striding towards her, a purposeful expression on his face.

OK; that's it, Buffy thought to herself, as she stood up and strode angrily towards her ex.

"Angel: No," she said simply, as she stopped in front of him, trying not to think too much about the fact that she was significantly shorter than he was.

"I'll just be a moment," he replied, staring casually back at her.

"I'm having you thrown out of here," Buffy retorted, as she started to walk past him, only to have him grab her arm. Angrily, she wheeled around and stared at him angrily.

"You're up to something, Angel," Buffy stated, glaring at him critically as she "What?"

Angel opened his mouth to speak, but Buffy raised a finger and interrupted his attempt. "And don't say you came here for me. You're pulling a job, aren't you?"

"Buffy..." Angel began again, looking at her patiently.

"Well, know this," Buffy said, glaring at her ex with a gaze that could have melted steel. "No matter what it is, you won't win me back. I-"

"Buffy," Angel said, looking at her with an attempt at a neutral expression on his face, "I just came to say good-bye."

Buffy froze mid-sentence, leaving her only capable of staring in shock at him.

Well… shock mixed in with sadness.

For a moment, she just stared at him, unsure of what to say, until she finally managed to get the words out of her mouth.

"Oh…" she said, as she stared at him. "Then… goodbye… I guess."

"Goodbye," Angel replied softly. He leaned forward slightly, stopping to make sure it was all right that he did this, and, relieved beyond words that she didn't recoil from him, gently kissed her cheek before stepping back, his expression neutral once again.

"Be good," he said simply, his eyes soft and tender with the love he'd always felt for her from the moment he'd first seen her picture on her files, all those years ago…

Then he turned around and headed for the door behind him.

As Angel walked out of the restaurant, his traditional leather duster flapping slightly behind him as he walked, Buffy could only stare after him as he left her life once again.

Even knowing that he'd done it before, and that she'd actually wanted him to leave this time around, didn't make it any easier for her to see him leave.

Reaching up to gently touch her cheek where he'd kissed her, Buffy could only whisper her next words.

"Goodbye, Angel," she said softly.

Even after all he'd put her through, there were tears in her eyes at the thought that she may never see Liam Angelus again.

No sooner had he walked out the door of the restaurant, just as he was starting to wonder if he'd made a mistake in the previous moment- what if she noticed it early?- Angel found himself walking directly into what looked like the offspring of a human and a rhinoceros, an equally bulky man standing beside him and both looking like they'd be perfectly happy to batter him.

"Mr. Angelus," one of the men said to him, his expression immobile behind his glasses baring the slight satisfied smile. "Mr. Abrams would like to see you."

For a moment, Angel thought about seeing what he could do about fighting them- he hated the idea of just giving in without a fight under any circumstances, and it had been a while since he got a chance to practice his moves- but took a quick look at the men and thought better of it. Even if he had actually wanted to get away, these men were too big for him to handle on his

"I thought he might," he said, sighing in a resigned manner as the two goons placed their hands on his shoulders and escorted him away. He vaguely registered David Nabbit looking at him in concern, but dismissed it from his mind; Nabbit had only bankrolled them with pre-drawn, unmarked cash, so he didn't have anything to worry about even if things did go pear-shaped on them at the last minute (And where did that phrase come from anyway?)

Here we go, Angel mused, as he was frog-marched through the door to the 'back alleys' of the casino. The pieces are in play.

All he could do now was wait to see if they continued to work in his favour.

Up on the balcony overlooking the restaurant, a tall brunette smiled broadly as Angel was escorted away. She knew that this was only a temporary measure, of course- her inside contact did make it clear that this was only some elaborate scheme on Angel's part for reasons she couldn't be sure of- but, still, seeing him be escorted away like that was rather sweet.

And soon, it'll be happening to him all over again, Lilah smiled, as she watched Angel pass through the door to the back alleyways of the casino.

Plus, of course, once that was done, she'd once again be back with a surprisingly good lay in the form of a certain ex-librarian…