Buffy covered Emma's body with a small blanket and watched as she slept peacefully in her crib. As Emma continued to sleep, Buffy touched her soft, dark curly hair before she walked over to the window just in time to see the postman pull up to her mailbox. Stomach fluttering with anticipation, she watched as he placed a stack of envelopes in it. She cast a last glance at Emma before she headed down the stairs and out the front door.
She practically ran down the porch steps and toward her mailbox . Buffy stood and waited a few moments. A warm breeze blew around her, causing the leaves to rustle. She closed her eyes against the afternoon sun and continued to wait before she looked inside . The suspense was always maddening. Would there be a letter? Would there not be a letter? She sucked in a short breath, opened the small hatch door, and reached inside. She quickly flicked through the bills and solicitations until she found what she was looking for.
The letter had arrived nearly a month after he'd written it. Tearing the envelope open, Buffy poured over Angel's words. The tension in her shoulders ebbed when she read that he was safe. Thank God, Buffy thought .
Buffy knew this was something all military wives had to go through. It was part of the package. She just had no idea it would be this hard. The missed birthdays, the anniversaries, and the holidays were all starting to pile up. Each day Angel was gone became a void that was hard to fill. She had the support of her friends, but they all had their own lives. They reminded her that Angel would be home soon, but there was always this nagging voice in the back of her mind that questioned his safety.
iWhat if he didn't make it?/i
As she continued to read, Buffy slowly made her way up the porch stairs and into the silent house. She could almost hear his voice as she sat on the sofa and laughed at one of his stories. She was glad this letter was one of his more light-hearted reports.
The thought of losing Angel terrified Buffy. She'd already lost her mother from cancer her sophomore year of college. She barely spoke to her father, and the only family she had was her sister, Dawn. But Dawn was away at college in New York. For the hundredth time since Angel left for Iraq, she wished he was home safe and sound.
She would just have to hope for the best. Angel had been in the army ever since they graduated from high school. Buffy remembered the day he'd left for basic training. She hadn't been allowed to speak to him for thirteen weeks. After that, he'd been shipped off to some army base across the country until they allowed him to move closer to home. She was used to not seeing him for long stretches of time, but during the whole time, they hadn't been at war.
Buffy tried to be supportive. She had written countless letters and sent care packages to his unit. In her letters she was always chatty and upbeat. She knew it was important for her to keep a positive attitude. In his letters, Angel always had to be selective of what he said. A lot of what he did and saw everyday was considered classified. Either way, they still managed to send long detailed letters to one another. When she was done reading, Buffy hugged the letter to her chest as if she were hugging Angel.
She was lucky. She had a husband who bravely went out everyday and risked his life for his country. She was nothing but proud of him. He had come a long way from the moody senior with the chip on his shoulder when they first met. She had a beautiful daughter, and when Angel was done with his tour, they would be a family again.
Spike groaned the moment he heard the wake up call. The thing he hated most about army life besides all the sand and heat was having to get up at dawn. Before he joined the army, he had seldom gotten up a minute before noon. While most people had to be up for their nine-to-fives, he enjoyed sleeping in. It was one of the perks of being a freelance writer. He set his own schedule and worked his own hours. Most of the time he could be on the job while he sat in a bar watching whatever sports program was on with a bottle of beer off to the side.
That was how he met Drusilla. He'd been at a party for some old-money ponce in the Hamptons. She'd been there looking as bored as ever, surrounded by New York society and Euro trash elite. He'd been trying his luck with Cecily, one of New York's heiresses, and getting turned down horribly. The moment he caught eyes with Drusilla, he'd forgotten all about Cecily and all her glorious money and approached Drusilla. He still remembered her voice that first night. It had been mysterious and dark just like the rest of her. One minute they'd been enjoying cocktails and champagne at a beach house, and the next they were smoking cigarettes and sharing a bottle of tequila at a local pub. Things got a little fuzzy after that, but he would never forget what happened in the alley at the side of that pub.
He'd been feeling warm and drunk enough to be adventurous, but not drunk enough to do anything too stupid. When Dru pulled him into that dark alley, Spike had been more than game to do whatever it was she wanted him to do. After that, they had spent one amazing week shagging like rabbits in her guest room at that beach house. The week after that, she moved in with him in his Soho flat.
Spike threw his forearm over his eyes and mumbled a tirade of curses under his breath. He could see light reflecting behind his eyes and knew if he didn't get up soon there would be hell to pay. His mouth was dry and his tongue was heavy and thick from all the alcohol he'd consumed the night before. .
"Someone quit playing that sodding drum!" he said groggily.
Angel looked down at the man and almost felt bad for him. He knew Spike was going to have one hell of a hangover. "That isn't a drum. That's just your head pounding."
"Oh?" Spike peeked open an eye, and Angel came into focus.
"Here, drink this, it'll make you feel better. And take these, too." Angel handed Spike a glass of water and two white tablets.
Spike sat up in his bed and barely held it together as the world rocked back and forth twice before it steadied. He took the glass and shoved the pills in his mouth before he gulped the water down.
"What were they?" he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Just two Motrin. That should at least help you get up and get moving. We've got a drop today, 0800," Angel reminded him.
"Right, a drop. How could I forget?" Spike wiped a hand down his face before he sucked in a heavy breath and sighed. He was the wheelman on this mission, which meant he had to drive. Spike was pretty sure he was still drunk from the night before.
"Well, get a move on it. If you need more Motrin, just let me know," Angel said before moving away.
Angel had a few things he wanted to do before they had to leave. He hadn't slept well the night before.. . He was always nervous when they were about to go on a mission.
While the others chatted around him during breakfast in the mess hall, Angel sat quietly and ate. Everyone was used to his brooding by now and left him alone. They understood that he had a family at home, and many of them had wives and children, too, but they all tried to make the best of their circumstances. While they played cards and drank, Angel spent most of his time sitting in a quiet corner somewhere reading or writing.
"Sittin' there brooding about it won't make it better," Doyle said as he sat next to his friend.
"I'm not brooding."
"You're brooding. What's buggin' you?"
Angel shook his head and continued to eat. "I just have this feeling. It's probably nothing. But it won't go away. I'm going to talk to Lieutenant. Giles and ask if I can make a call."
"You're calling Buffy?"
"If I can."
"Sounds like a good deal, mate. But you better get going. We'll be leaving soon. And I need a drink."
Angel shook his head and watched Doyle take off in search of alcohol. After dumping the remains of his breakfast, he made his way to the lieutenant's table.
From across the mess hall, Spike watched as Angel and Lt. Giles talked quietly with one another. He figured he was probably ratting him out for getting sloshed the night before. Spike glared at them from across the room and wished he could hear what they were saying. After a few minutes Angel walked away. Spike waited for the older man to walk over to him and say something. When nothing happened, he allowed his shoulders to relax and let out a breath. iMaybe the git isn't that bad after all,/i Spike thought .
He and Angel hadn't really given each other a chance, Spike realized. They were two alpha males and there was only room for one leader in the pack. Spike didn't like Angel because he was too cautious. Their job was to blow shit up, and most of the time he was too busy worrying about enemy casualties. On the other hand, Spike was a lot more reckless. He liked to think of himself as Clark Kent, mild mannered writer by day and well, that wasn't a such a good analogy. But he'd always been a risk taker.
Spike thought about the night before when he'd gotten tanked over Drusilla. Angel had pretty much tucked him in his bed. Spike figured he owed him one. They probably would never see eye to eye about anything, but at least they could try and get along. Spike decided he'd stop challenging him so much and follow his orders if they weren't too stupid.
Spike sat behind the wheel of the truck. Even with his aviator shades on, the sun was too bright and stung his eyes. His head felt like stuffed cotton and even after four cups of coffee and Motrin, he still felt like hell. "I wish they'd bloody hurry up," Spike said as he looked through the side view mirror. The truck was still being secured with their transport.
"How's the head?" asked Angel as he appeared at the window.. He wasn't sure how much Spike had to drink the other night, but he was fairly certain that the man was still drunk.
"How do you think? Like I have a thrash band playing up there."
"Need more Motrin?"
"No. What I need is a beer," he said, thinking of the aged old remedy for a hangover. Spike squinted against the sun and wiped his brow. He should have been used to the sand and the heat by now, but today it felt worse. The sun reflected off the desert sand like glass. He could see the heat shimmer in the air and knew it was well over a hundred degrees out. The heat always seemed to make everyone crazy, especially the natives. He just wanted to make the drop and nurse his hangover while he licked his wounds.
"I'll drive if you want. I know how it is."
Spike eyed Angel and contemplated taking him up on the offer. He thought about having to drive while his stomach lurched back and forth. The prospect didn't seem too appealing.
"Yeah, I think that would be best," Spike said. The switch took less than five minutes. "So what did you and old Rupert talk about this morning?" Spike Broke the silence.
"Nothing. I didn't tell him you were drunk if that's what you're fishing for."
Spike tried to hide the smirk that tilted the corner of his lips. "I wouldn't care if you did." He tapped his fingers on the dash, beating a soft tattoo. "Well?"
"Well what?"
"What iwere/i you talking about?"
"I wanted to make a call to my wife."
"Oh," Spike said nodding. He stared out the window during the awkward silence that followed, but couldn't help his next question. "Did you get to talk to her?"
"No. it went straight to voice mail, but I left her a message."
"Well, I'm sure that'll make her day."
Angel nodded his head, but didn't say any more. Spike took that as his cue that the conversation was over. Angel wasn't the verbose type. Spike thought he should have asked to sit in the back with the rest of the unit, but he figured maybe the silence was a blessing. His head was still pounding, and he wasn't up for the loud banter that usually went on in the back.
As they drove along, Spike struggled to keep his eyes open. He wanted nothing more than to shut out the heat and the engine noise with sleep. Instead, he kept his eyes sharp. Behind the sand dunes, he knew death could be waiting for them.
"How long have you been married?" Spike asked to break the quiet.
Without taking his eyes off the road, Angel answered, "Since we graduated from high school."
"Nice. Me and Dru, we've been on and off for years."
Angel nodded his head. "How did you meet?" he asked finally.
"At a shindig in the Hamptons. Ever heard of Wesley Wyndam-Pryce?"
"The hotel guy?"
"The one and the same. The Hamptons. I should have known it would never last."
"Maybe you'll work it out."
Spike shrugged his shoulders. "Maybe, who knows? She always comes back when she gets tired or bored with whoever it is she's decided to shack up with."
Angel glanced over at Spike from the corner of his eyes. He wanted to ask why he put up with it, but decided it was none of his business. He trained his eyes back on the road again and continued to drive carefully .
The row of road spikes were camouflaged. By the time Angel saw them, it was too late. He heard the loud bursting noises of all four tires before. Angel gripped the steering wheel and tried desperately to gain control over the vehicle. In the back, he could hear the surprised sounds from his men and the crashing of supplies as the truck whipped wildly on the road. Angel barely registered what was happening as the truck hit a huge bump and took flight briefly. He could feel the weightlessness in his stomach as they sailed along. It felt like hours, but it was only mere seconds before the truck crashed to the ground with such force that dirt and sand exploded into the air. Angel shut his eyes just as the truck burst into flames.