Guest: Thank you! As always, Spike is a pleasure to write about. :D

ba2006: Here is the new part. Hope you like it. And thanks for another review!

Nat: Glad you liked it. Thanks!

PART SIX

His shirt smells like Spike's favorite whiskey brand; there's a hint of Faith's perfume underneath.

He's making a bad habit out of leaving town without taking care of the basics.

"Mr. Angel!"

It's Christina, looking excited at his entrance.

"Good evening," he says politely, hoping to reach the shower within the next minute. It's bad enough that he has to make a stop at the hotel before going to Buffy's.

No such luck.

A rapid spatter of clicks terminates whatever chat session the girl's been holding, and now he finds himself the object of her complete attention. "Well, hel-lo." She rises from the desk chair and leans on her elbows onto the counter. "I knew you wouldn't leave us just like that, despite what Ms. Summers said."

"There was a misunderstanding," he says, suddenly wary of the girl's body language.

Blue eyes run up and down his body, and the slow smile that parts her lips has no business being aimed at him. "I'm glad you're back."

"Um." The appreciation of three days ago has turned into batting eyelashes and thrust up cleavage. He considers turning on his heel and finding other accommodations, but he's not buying another set of clothes in less than a week. "My key, please?"

Christina reaches for it, but leaves the keychain dangling an inch away from her face. "I managed to get through to Dawn."

The non-sequitur hangs there.

So does his key.

"That's... nice."

"She says you're not her new guy," she says with a smirk. "In fact, she says you've never been one of her guys. Though she laughed hard when I suggested it." Her confusion at Dawn's reaction doesn't stop Christina from leaning even further toward him. She must have gotten close enough to catch a whiff, because her nose furrows at the same time her smile widens into a pleased arch. "You know how to party," she approves. "That lying Summers. She said you were a bore in that department."

He'll have to thank Dawn for trying to save him from her friend.

Forcing a smile, he closes his fingers on the dangling end of the keychain. "Now, what about –?" His rebuff skids to a halt as his brain catches up with her words. "You thought I was Dawn's boyfriend?"

"You're her type. Tall, dark-haired, and handsome. There's always a new one when she comes." Christina shrugs her shoulders. "Though she's stuck with Alexander the longest." She tugs back on the hostage key, intending to pull him closer, and pouts when he yanks it from her grasp. "I'm glad she didn't trade up." At his lack of reaction at the supposed compliment, she tries harder. "I mean, the guy can make her laugh. I'll give him that. But that eyepatch? Please. She can do much better." She adds another smile, which dies at his patent indifference. "Eh – you're not friends with Alexander, are you?"

Friends with Xander? Angel snorts at that notion.

"Then why are you being so stand-offish?"

He teeters between cruelty and honesty, and finally decides he doesn't know her enough to grant her either. "I'm staying for an hour only, miss." Even if the Hellmouth beneath this city is barely four years old, there has to be a place that will cater to his needs. "Have my bill ready by then."

The girl's mouth drops open, and her cheeks redden brightly.

Angel doesn't wait to find out whether her reaction comes out of embarrassment or anger. He calls for the elevator, and as he rides up to the fourth floor, he finds himself whistling a cheery tune.

No, he still doesn't know the details. But the truth can't be worse than believing that the girl who fought tooth and nail for a chance to have a serious, loving relationship has changed into someone who'd serial date her way through Portland.

For the first time in a week, he dares to hope that the Buffy he knew might still be around.

That will make it easier when he confronts her with a few truths she needs to hear.

When he next sees Buffy, his stern speech crashes laughing onto the floor, and Angel himself can't help but crack a smile.

Jean overalls that were obviously meant for someone a foot taller hang loose around her shoulders but tight at her abdomen. He glances down, and finds the legs rolled up so many times they're now thick stumps around her ankles. The outfit is completed by a ratty paint-streaked shirt underneath, matching smudges covering her bare arms, dust all over her ponytail, and a surprised 'oh' on her lips.

He can think of very few times when she's looked cuter.

"You're not the pizza guy."

"And you aren't Martha Stewart."

Buffy looks down at herself and quirks a grin. "Touché." Just then, a fleck of dust decides to drift its way down from her head. With a self-conscious wince, she raises her hand to pat at her hair. "How bad is it?"

He opts for total disclosure. "You look cute."

Her eyes narrow, but then she relaxes. "Still a terrible liar, I see."

Angel shrugs. "Not my fault if you don't believe me," he says, leaning a shoulder against the doorframe. "What happened? The furniture fought back?"

"Putting a crib together is worse than slaying sewer hydras," she sighs, giving up and loosening her hair to give it a slight shake. "Right when you think you've gotten it down, another head pops up and you have to start again."

"Hydras are irritating that way," Angel agrees, uncomfortably aware that he didn't know last year's infestation had gone beyond L.A. "You look like you can use an extra hand."

Buffy gives him a weary look. "Angel…."

She is holding the edge of the door for dear life. He stands outside with no idea what'll happen when he comes in.

All they're missing is a nosy neighbor and they would be exactly where they started.

Except Angel's had enough of repeating his mistakes.

"I'm helping you." The confident statement makes Buffy's stance change from guarded to tense. Angel makes sure to look the picture of relaxation, spooking her is not part of the plan. "Unless you give me a good reason not to," he adds, aiming for reasoning her into his new idea. "Actually, make it an excellent one."

Buffy's eyes narrow. "What about, I've been doing fine all this time. And I really don't need-"

"I don't doubt that," he cuts her off. If they continue down that route, they'll end up in different cities, with him mulling over and over their conversation, one more time – maybe for a last time. He cannot keep coming where she doesn't want him, but she called him, and that means something. "I also know for a fact that you do better with a team around you. I was there in Sunnydale, remember?" He smiles. "I was the boyfriend they didn't approve of."

She doesn't smile back. "Things change, Angel."

"Not everything."

"But enough," she asserts, her eyes speaking of old pain. "Stop trying to force things."

"I just want to come in, have a chat."

Buffy rubs at a paint stain on her wrist, avoiding his eyes. "I have a nursery to finish. I'm sorry."

Not for the first time, he wonders why not even Willow and Xander have been allowed to join her. When he asked, Buffy said it was so news of her temporary disadvantage in the battle field couldn't leak any further. Angel nodded and let her change the subject; but now he wonders, is that the real reason?

In the years that followed his departure from Sunnydale, he has never been able to picture Buffy without her best friends at her side. He remembers them as the impenetrable wall he couldn't break at his worst, the one that closed around her after his return from hell.

He cannot conceive of Willow or Xander letting her down.

Buffy, apparently, believes otherwise.

"You always detested the idea of a Slayer working alone." He thinks it ironic that Faith, who once followed no law but her own, now works alongside others while Buffy, who enjoyed her friends' support, now is glaring up at him, fighting the idea of somebody's assistance. But… Faith is not a Slayer anymore, is she? "Faith says everybody expected the spell to transfer the Slayer's strength to her, since you…" Had died. "…since she was the last one called."

Buffy's lips turn downwards. "She wasn't happy that day."

"She's gotten over it."

"I figured." Her chuckle is bitter. "I sent a training dummy after I found out about the wedding."

"Elopement," Angel corrects automatically. It's a long-standing issue between him and Faith, though she claims it was Connor who pushed for it. Also – is he the only one who's been completely out of touch with Buffy? "She says you weren't happy at the result, either."

One of her hands moves down to settle on top of her belly, and Angel wonders when that turned into an attempt to comfort herself. "It was a tough day for everybody."

Their conversation comes to a halt as the elevator doors ding open and the smell of tomato sauce wafts into the hallway. The teenager carrying a huge pizza box brightens when he discovers them by the door. "Ms. Summers!" He hurries to them, the grin on his face receding when he notices how close together they stand. Buffy must be a favorite client.

Buffy's expression melts into a grin, as her hand reaches into her front pocket. She frowns, and pats the pockets at her sides and behind. "Aw, damn. I forgot the money." The smile turns into an embarrassed one, and she rushes back into the apartment. "Just a moment, Nicky!"

'Nicky' doesn't seem happy at the boyish nickname, but recovers quickly when he feels Angel's eyes on him. "Er… hi."

"Hello." His experience with hormonal teenagers in this city has not been pleasant so far, but this boy reminds him more of an overgrown, awed puppy than a Casanova wannabe. "She orders those often?"

"Not often enough," Nicky sighs, staring after Buffy. He must have sensed Angel's darkening glower, because he jumps back and almost loses his grip on the box. "I mean, not anymore. No! I mean…." The boy seems to shrink where he stands. "Don't tell her?"

Angel doubts he needs to tell Buffy anything. She was younger than this kid when she figured out that he liked her more than a fellow fighter should like another. She would have pegged Nicky down the first time the boy gave her a dreamy smile. "Don't worry. Buffy doesn't need to know everything."

Buffy comes back to the door, a wad of bills in her hand. "Buffy doesn't need to know what?" she questions while handing over the money.

Nicky looks like a deer caught in highlights.

"That there's not one ounce of real cheese in a pizza," Angel intervenes smoothly, taking the box and leaving the boy free to make his escape. "You should take better care of your health." He flicks a pointed glance down her body. "Especially now."

"Excuse me?"

"Um. Ms. Summers?" Nicky stares between Buffy's narrowed eyes and Angel's unyielding stance, and takes a long step backward, rushing away from the scene as fast as his legs can take him. "See you later, ma'am!" he shouts from the stairwell doorstep, not even waiting for the elevator.

"Angel," Buffy grits out.

Angel waves the pizza box before her, and smirks. "Meet my hostage."

Buffy glares and scowls but, when he doesn't give in, she turns on her heel and stalks in. "Whatever."

The door stays open. There is no mystical barrier keeping him out.

That gives him hope.

TBC...