MOONRIDGE
Four months later …
"Nice ride," Gwen said in an appreciative tone as she surveyed the black convertible parked in front of Moonridge Investigations.
Gwen had spoken to him from only a few feet away, but all of his attention was focused on the interior of the office … where Buffy was standing and speaking to Connor, Colleen, and Joshua.
I should have gone inside.
Buffy had said she wouldn't be long and asked him to keep the engine running, and so he trusted her judgment and stayed in the car. Still, he could not help but watch her through the window with a nervous eye.
I am never going to trust Joshua.
"Earth to Angel," Gwen said as she tapped on the windshield.
He snapped out of his reverie and rotated his eyes towards her. "I missed my old droptop," he replied with a shrug. "And I thought you were scheduled for patrol with Colleen last night … why are you here so early?"
"We're here late, not early," Gwen corrected him with a snort. "Tough night … two nests in the same apartment building."
He glanced Gwen over. Beneath the black leather pants and long-sleeved red top he could tell she'd put on weight. Her hair, which had been hacked short, had grown to near shoulder-length and been dyed a deep auburn. Most importantly, the electricity-dampening metal bracelets circling her wrists led him to believe that she might actual keep to her promise to only use her abilities when she was on the job.
I think she just might make it.
"You were careful out there, I hope," he said, though it was phrased as more of a question.
Gwen nodded. "I've been hanging back with the holy water guns and the lightning at the ready." She extended her hands and wiggled her fingers.
"Stick with that strategy," he informed her. "You have talents that we need, but healing fast and taking punches aren't among them."
She ran a hand through the locks of her hair and gazed at him with a puzzled expression. "You actually do care, don't you?"
He blinked in surprise. "Of course I do."
I would have left you in that cell if I didn't care.
She squinted up at the sun. "It's still weird seeing you out and about during the day."
"Yeah, it's weird for me, too," he replied as he fixed his eyes back on Buffy. Thankfully, she was walking back to the car and appeared done with her chat. He tapped on the steering wheel and tried to control his eagerness to turn onto the highway and leave Moonridge behind for a long while. They had said their goodbyes to the people in town who weren't heading to Dawn and Xander's wedding, the key to the storage unit where they'd left their belongings dangled from his key chain, and the trunk and backseat were filled with suitcases and duffel bags, almost all of which belonged to Buffy.
After the wedding, we are officially vagabonds.
He smiled at Buffy as she neared.
"Hey Gwen," Buffy said as she hesitated by the passenger side door. "Sounds like you guys had a rough time last night."
Gwen let out a tired sigh and nodded. "We did."
Buffy glanced at Gwen and said, "I'm kind of surprised you're still crashing at Giles's old house." Something caught in Buffy's throat as she spoke the name of her mentor, but she shook it off and continued, "Angel and I figured that would be temporary until you found your own apartment."
Gwen winced. "I have basically no credit record, only three or four months of work history in the past five years, and no landlord referrals. If you don't mind, I'll be staying there indefinitely."
"That's fine," Angel interjected. "Just so long as you aren't bothered by Connor and Colleen using it to spar and Joshua occupying the downstairs bedroom."
"Joshua is staying downstairs, right?" Buffy asked as she stared at Gwen with a knowing eye.
The slightest of blushes rose to Gwen's cheeks as she nodded. "He is."
Angel noticed that Buffy never asked the corollary question of Gwen: have you been staying upstairs? He decided that it wasn't his business.
Buffy swung the passenger door open, maneuvered her gray, baggy, tracksuit clad body into the seat, and closed the door behind her. She fixed Gwen with a steely look and said, "While Angel and I are gone, you make sure that you keep putting your hours in on the job."
Gwen raised a hand to the back of her neck, right where a thin white scar traced the spot where the Initiative had implanted a monitoring device, and replied, "Don't worry, I will."
"And don't get killed," Buffy reminded her.
"I'm absolutely on board with staying alive," Gwen replied. "Answering the phones when we're in the office and keeping behind the muscle when we're not is my game plan for the indefinite future." She narrowed her eyes in thought. "I'm not even sure how much I'm needed out there … you guys have seen Josh fight, right?"
Josh?
Angel stiffened in his seat and Buffy did not bother to hide a grimace as she replied, "Unfortunately, we have."
Connor and Colleen stepped out of the office and joined them, and as the crowd grew larger, Angel found himself increasingly ready to leave.
"We're hitting the road after a nap," Connor said between yawns. "See you there?"
"Absolutely," Angel confirmed with a nod.
"Nice convertible," Colleen said as she eyed the black car.
"The AngelMobile 2.0," Buffy said with a smirk.
Angel closed his eyes and settled his head back against the backrest. "I wish you guys wouldn't call it that."
. . . . . . . .
"I'm just saying," Colleen explained while Connor turned the key in the townhouse's front door, "that eventually … not today, not next week, but eventually … you're going to have to trust me to be alone with the people we're working with."
Connor swung the door open, shook his head, and replied, "I'm never going to trust you around them. Ever. One of them is a mutant arsonist and the other is … well, you know what Joshua is."
"Hey," Colleen said as she laid a hand on his arm, "a lot of us have pasts. Faith had a past. Angel has a past. We don't need to forget about what the two of them did, but we need to move beyond it if we're going to work together."
Connor ground his teeth as if he intended to argue, then finally he nodded. "Fine … but like you said, it's going to take me time. For now, you don't patrol without me."
She didn't have a lot of experience with men being protective of her, in fact it usually was the opposite, but she was getting used to it. Maybe she even liked it a little, not that she could ever tell Connor that. If she did, he'd be ten times worse.
"For now," she agreed as she removed her hand from his arm. "Let's go inside."
They stepped in and surveyed the townhouse that they'd be occupying. The upstairs had potential to be converted into a combination lounge and music listening area, the downstairs most definitely needed to have the heavy black curtains replaced with something less gothic and claustrophobic, and it would be nice to not have to climb a flight of stairs to get home.
"You tired?" Connor asked as he eyed the hallway leading to the bedroom. They'd insisted that Angel and Buffy remove their bed so that they could buy a new one … sleeping on his father's bed would have just been too creepy.
Colleen smirked at him, shook her head, and replied, "Nope."
. . . . . . . .
"What a view," Buffy said as she gazed out the open patio doors and tried to stand still with her feet together and her arms extended to the side so that the harried looking seamstress kneeling behind her could pin a few quick adjustments to the knee-length, tight-fitting, light-purple taffeta gown that she was wearing. The high heeled sandals secured to her feet with straps that wound halfway up her calves were a matching shade of purple, and a cheery hairstylist had braided her hair into a series of intricate weaves that hugged her head. A small silver clasp decorated with a lavendar orchid secured her hair at the nape of her neck and a bracelet of thin wire lined with white orchids was wound around her left wrist.
"You've lost weight since I fitted you," the seamstress announced in an accusatory, chiding tone as she climbed to her feet and fixed Buffy with a baleful stare.
"Sorry?" Buffy said with an apologetic wince.
The silver-haired, matronly seamstress glanced at Dawn, then turned back to Buffy. "You are the older sister?"
Dawn, whose wedding gown was just beginning to be pulled up over the white satin of the bridal corset, garter belt, and stockings, stared with narrowed eyes and a wounded expression at the woman.
Danger! Danger!
"I think we're all good with my gown," Buffy reassured the seamstress. She put a hand on the woman's arm and ushered her towards the door that led out of the suite they'd converted into a makeshift dressing room. "Maybe check and see how Colleen and Willow are doing?"
The woman nodded, brushed Buffy's hand away, and proceeded out the door only after she'd grabbed the enormous rolling satchel that housed all of her sewing supplies. Once she'd left, Buffy turned to Dawn and mouthed sorry.
"Don't worry about it," Dawn said as the stylist assisting her helped secure the gown over her shoulders. "I know I look good."
She does.
"You do," Buffy assured her.
In deference to the fact that they would be walking on sand that afternoon, Dawn's gown lacked the traditional train, but the plunging lace neckline, exposed back, and flower-embroidered white silk represented familiar wedding styles that were sure to set any young woman's heart atwitter with jealousy.
The expensive wedding dress that Buffy didn't want to know the cost of paled in comparison, however, to the several carat rock glittering on the ring finger of Dawn's left hand.
Wow. That's an upgrade.
The bed was strewn with discarded clothes and unused flowers, the stylist's tools-of-the-trade, including make-up of every variety possible, occupied every squire inch of counter space, and the view of the blue-green ocean through the open patio doors was stunning. The cove Xander had, somehow, rented for the weekend hugged the Southern California coast. The white sands were lined with dark, reddish rock, the suites … more like opulent cottages, actually … were colored a variety of bright shades and had a rustic 1940s beach vibe to them, and the tables of the open air, glass-roofed restaurant perched directly on the sand had been covered in white tablecloths, gleaming silver cutlery, polished plates, and centerpieces of yet more purple and white orchids.
"Dawn, you look amazing," Willow squealed as she and Colleen, who were dressed identically to Buffy, entered the room with clasped hands and expressions of wow.
"Thank you," Dawn replied as she raised her hands and swirled in place. The gown truly was beautiful, Buffy decided. Somehow, despite the shoulder straps consisting of little more than scraps of lacy silk, the dress stayed in place while Dawn's long legs and white-heeled shoes peeked from beneath the fabric with every movement.
"Are you nervous?" Colleen asked as she reached up and fingered the orchid-decorated clip securing her hair.
"Don't touch!" the stylist barked from across the room. "I've already had to fix that twice."
Colleen yanked her hand away from her hair.
"A little nervous," Dawn replied. She turned to stare at Buffy. "That's normal, right?"
"Absolutely," Buffy assured her.
Dawn sighed and straightened her shoulders. "I almost can't believe this is really happening."
"Oh, this is real," Buffy replied.
"Buff, you and Angel are definitely staying until Monday morning, right?" Dawn asked with a nervous, hesitant expression.
"We are," Buffy assured her, "not that I expect to see much of you this weekend after tonight."
Everyone laughed, and just like that the tension in Dawn's face eased.
"Where are you and Angel heading first?" Dawn asked.
Buffy grinned, stared out patio doors, and her eyes had a faraway look as she considered the question. "First, we're heading up the coast of California and stopping at every vineyard with a tasting room. After we've sobered up, we'll spend some time in San Francisco … I've never been … and then we're zig zagging east until we reach the coast. Boston and New York for as long as we want, maybe the lighthouses in Maine, and then a flight to Europe. After that, who knows. A slow boat to China sounds pretty good."
"Meanwhile, I'll be settling into domestic life," Dawn replied with a somewhat glum expression.
"But first the honeymoon," Willow reminded her. "I can't spell Aitutaki, but it sounds amazing."
Dawn's eyes opened wide and she swiveled towards Willow. "I've been obsessively looking at photos online, and the lagoon is just beautiful. Giant clams, abandoned beaches, and the water is the most amazing shade of blue."
"You're assuming that you and Xander will ever leave the honeymoon penthouse," Colleen said with an arched eye and a smirk while she folded her arms across her chest.
Dawn's responsive blush at Colleen's comment, Buffy decided, was about the cutest thing she had ever seen.
"You're coming back, after, right sis?" Dawn asked. The question was voiced in a nonchalant, casual manner, but Buffy knew better.
She patted her sister's wrist and replied. "Of course. Eventually."
But not soon.
"You and Angel deserve it," Dawn said as Willow and Colleen joined them in staring out the open doors of the balcony.
Buffy glanced at Dawn and replied, "You and Xander deserve this, too."
. . . . . . . . .
"Think we should start getting dressed?" Xander asked Angel and Connor as they lounged on the padded seats of their cottage's balcony and sipped highball glasses filled with a rather expensive scotch that Xander had procured for the occasion.
"Naw," Connor said with a shrug as he glanced back at the tailored tuxedos hanging from a rack inside the room. They hadn't bothered to check, but they all assumed that the garments would fit.
Angel took a long sip of the scotch, reveled in the burnt, charred malt and hints of oak exploding against taste buds that were very much alive, and added, "When Oz gets here we'll get dressed."
"Sounds good," Xander said as he leaned back and stared at the ocean waves. "We've got time."
. . . . . . . . .
"Shouldn't you be with the guys?" Willow asked as she ducked into the multi-roomed cottage she and Oz had selected.
Oz gestured down at Ellie, who was cooing softly and crawling on hands and knees within her playpen towards a brightly colored stuffed animal. "The babysitter is running late." He looked over his wife's light-purple dress, strappy shoes, and intricately braided red hair with wide, appreciative eyes, and added, "You look absolutely stunning."
"Considering what Xander spent, I hope so," she muttered. Her eyes narrowed as she took in Oz's jeans and t-shirt. "Why aren't you dressed?"
"My tux is in Xander's room," he explained.
"Oh," she replied as she walked over to him. Being careful not to muss her makeup, she stood on the tiptoes of her heeled sandals and gave Oz a peck on the cheek. His gray and red hair had been freshly cut … closer than he liked, but exactly the length Willow preferred … and his beard had been neatly trimmed. Willow looked him over and felt her heart glow with affection.
"What?" Oz asked as he stared at her.
"I love you," Willow said.
"Oh, that," he replied with a wink.
Willow giggled, gave a fond shake of her head, and turned towards the wide bay windows that covered the far side of the room. The beach looked inviting, the sun was in the early stages of preparing to set, and the rows of white chairs and shaded pavilion sporting a wide pale canopy were all in place.
"I've been thinking," Oz said as he stared at the water. "I know you prefer not to move so far away, and it might be nice to live near the water."
Oh please, please, please …
Willow took Oz's hand, squeezed it, and in a breathless whisper asked, "You've changed your mind?" We're staying local?"
"Not too local," Oz corrected her, "we'd still be three or four hours from Moonridge …"
She nodded and replied, "But we'd be a lot closer than Oregon or Washington!"
He turned to look at her. "Fine, Will … we won't leave Southern California."
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
She inhaled a deep breath as a worry she'd been carrying around for months dissolved in her chest. After the First had been defeated, she'd found Oz and confessed to him everything that had happened, everything that she had done, and he had not been happy about some of it. In fact, her husband had been more unhappy with her about one thing in particular than she had ever seen him about anything. When she saw how much pain she had caused him, she knew that it would be a long time, maybe years, before she wouldn't feel the urge to acquiesce to whatever he wanted in an attempt to atone for what Giles had helped her do … even if that meant moving days away from where everyone else important to her lived.
But we're staying! Sort of!
He moved to hug her and she held out a warning hand to stop him in his tracks. "I don't want to sit in the makeup chair for another half hour," she explained in an apologetic tone, "and I'm pretty sure this dress is held together with baling wire and duct tape. You have no idea how long it took them to get me into this."
"It won't take me nearly as long to get you out of it," Oz replied.
He seldom spoke in such a coarse fashion, and it took a few moments for her husband's words to register. When they did, she could not help begin guffawing with laughter. "Not in front of our daughter," Willow managed to squeak between howls of mirth.
. . . . . . . . .
The portals shimmered into place just on time, as everyone expected, and guests who either couldn't, or wouldn't, arrive in a more conventional fashion stepped through the blue-white gateways decked in whatever finery their particular species or styling idiosyncracies required. Not everyone appeared via magical conveyance, however. Quite a few of the guests were of the human variety, and some … in particular a few apocalytes Dawn had met over the past months … had driven. Xander had assured Dawn a number of times that there was plenty of cottage space, and Willow had assured Dawn that she'd placed enough wards on everything to ensure privacy, quiet, and that guests of wildly divergent backgrounds wouldn't start quarreling with each other.
The black tuxes worn by Xander and his groomsmen featured purple orchids set within the buttonholes on their left lapel, the robed priestess of Hecate who had been instrumental in helping Willow repair her fractured psyche after she'd gone rogue and nearly destroyed the world presided over the ceremony, and the weather cooperated. The rays of the setting sun cast rippling crimson bands across the water and the band … who had been told that that they were playing at a themed wedding featuring the most accomplished cosplayers in the world … played the right songs at the right time.
Dawn's prediction that Buffy would be the first to cry had been right on the money.
Buffy whispered an apology while she tried to wipe tears from her face, Angel had lent her a handkerchief, and when Dawn and Xander said their I dos and kissed she lost it entirely and began blubbering like a fool. Her sister and Xander had been through so much, suffered so much, that the joy of seeing them together like this, in peace, was almost more than she could bear. Thankfully the cheering of the assembled guests and the sound of the music drowned out her sobs while Angel walked over and pulled her against his chest.
"You okay, sweetie?" Jill asked as she peeled herself away from the Groosalugg and walked over to Buffy. Jill hadn't worn white, at least, but the daring cut of her red dress and the straight-as-a-razor coiffing of her freshly dyed blonde hair had drawn plenty of eyes nonetheless.
Not trusting words, Buffy nodded and gratefully accepted a wad of tissue.
Jill patted her on the back, winked at Angel after looking him up and down, then bellowed at her fellow wife … who had taken advantage of her absence to attach herself to Groo's hip … to not forget who was getting the first dance. Others came to pay their respects and eventually, en masse, they all moved into the restaurant.
As Xander had expected, the open bar was immediately put to good use.
. . . . . . . . .
The speeches went as expected, although Angel's joke about there being no vampires in the Serengeti because they bless the rains down in Africa had been lost on most in attendance, and the menu offered selections palatable to both human and demon. As it would not have been easy to explain to a human chef why he was preparing still living gelatinous masses, the demon dishes had been catered.
In the corner of the room, the gift table sagged from the weight of the wrapped offerings. Many of the packages looked to be weapons of some sort, and Dawn had not been happy to see that, as her efforts to wean Xander off his penchant for collecting armaments had been unceasing over the past few months. One unwrapped gift set on the nearest corner of the table caught Buffy's eye, and she excused herself mid-course so that she could more closely examine a yellow pendant hung on a silver chain to which a succinct note inscribed with mystically glowing words had been attached.
Xander,
You'd best hope I don't change my mind
about waiving that marriage clause.
-Sweet
Unwanted memories of spilling her guts via song and magically choreographed dance routines flooded Buffy's mind, her skin went chalky white, and she crumpled the note into a ball and found a quiet place to hide the talisman until she could ask Willow the best way to safely discard it.
Nobody needs to remember any of that.
The dancing began immediately after dinner, and in comparison to the somber, delicate strains of music that had wafted during the ceremony, the selection of pop hits from the last thirty years had provoked a raucous amount of merriment.
When it came time for Dawn to mount the stage, turn around, and hurl the bouquet over her back, the resulting fracas resulted in a few bloody noses, at least one broken arm, and left two of the tables in splintered ruins.
In contrast, when Xander threw the garter belt … which he had slowly rolled down a red-faced Dawn's leg while the men in the crowd whooped and hollered … every male in attendance scampered off the dance floor while Connor, Oz, and a few volunteers shoved Angel forward. The garter belt hit him square in the face, he caught it out of sheer reflex, and with good cheer he allowed everyone a hearty laugh at his expense.
He shot an apologetic look at Buffy and then stared at her in confusion when he realized that she appeared to be the only person that wasn't amused in the slightest.
What's so funny?
. . . . . . . . .
Later … much later … when the moon had risen full in the sky and the stars were shining brightly above the shadowed cove, Dawn and Xander collapsed into chairs next to Buffy and Angel and used discarded napkins to wipe sweat away.
"I'm tired," Xander announced.
Dawn fixed him with a sharp eye.
"Not that tired," he assured her.
Dawn smiled and rubbed Xander's arm while Buffy and Angel chuckled.
Xander and Angel decided that their drinks had run low, so they excused themselves for a moment. Buffy shifted closer to Dawn, watched the dancing for a bit, then fixed her sister with an appraising stare. The champagne had flowed regularly from yellow bottles, a waiter had glided to their table and refilled Buffy's glass yet again, and while she enjoyed the sparkling, bubbling flavor, she couldn't help but notice that her sister was drinking from a bottle of water.
"So …" Buffy said as she gestured at Dawn's decidedly non-alcoholic beverage.
Dawn held the glass up, glanced at it for a moment in confusion, then gazed at Buffy and replied, "So … what?"
Buffy leaned forward, nearly toppled off her chair as the champagne hit her harder than she'd expected, and whispered, "I've been watching, and you haven't had a sip of booze all night." She cast her eyes downward at Dawn's stomach and her sister twisted in her chair when she realized what Buffy was staring at. "You and Xander get started early?"
Dawn looked panicky for a moment, then she seemed to remember that she was married, that they weren't preparing for an apocalypse, and that this was a good thing. "We did," she confessed.
Buffy clapped her hands together, squealed in a manner entirely unbefitting a woman of her age, and makeup be damned hugged Dawn close and pressed her head against hers. "Congratulations," she whispered, "I am so happy for you."
Dawn returned the hug and replied, "I would have liked to have waited until after the wedding, but I'm not young, and Xander is so old."
"Hey!" Xander protested as he paused, drink in hand, to stare at his wife with a look of feigned anger.
That pretend show of unhappiness might have been convincing if his eye had started to glow.
"Well, you are," Dawn pointed out as the corners of her mouth curled upwards into a smile.
"It's true," Angel added, "he is."
"You're one to talk," Xander muttered as he sat down at the table.
"How far along are you?" Buffy whispered to Dawn.
Dawn leaned close and murmured, "About fifteen weeks."
Buffy glanced again at Dawn's belly. "Are you guys going to wait to find out?"
Dawn immediately shook her head. "We have way too much decorating to do for that. It's a boy."
Buffy smiled and patted Dawn's knee.
"And another boy," Dawn added.
Buffy's hand froze on her sister's leg. "Twins? You're kidding me."
"I am not kidding you," Dawn said as she shook her head. Her eyes glittered just for a moment, likely with unhappy recollections, then her expression softened. "Apparently the fake memories of giving birth to twins wasn't good enough, so now I'm going to experience the real thing. The Powers That Be must have a sense of humor."
The next time I talk to Cordelia I am going to ask if she had anything to do with this, and if she did, it may be years before I stop screaming at her.
"Everything okay, babe?" Xander asked as he looked over and noticed Dawn and Buffy huddled in conversation.
Dawn waved off his concern. "Of course."
Xander stood and extended his hand. "Can I have this dance?"
"Why not?" Dawn replied as she stood. "You look like you might know what you're doing out there."
Dawn leaned over to give Buffy a quick kiss on the cheek, then she and Xander merged into the clamoring crowd and vanished onto the dance floor. Buffy watched them walk away and then turned back to Angel. He had discarded his cumberbund and bow tie, and there was a stain of some sort on the white of his shirt, but he looked good. All dark and mysterious and tall and muscled and good.
"Buffy, you doing alright?" Angel asked.
She nodded. "I just wish …"
No, this is a happy day.
"Never mind," she said with a shake of her head.
"I miss Giles, too," Angel said in a soft, comforting voice that almost reduced her to a crying fit.
"And Faith," Buffy added with a strangled sob. "And so many other people."
Angel scooted his chair next to hers and rested his hand over her shoulders. He didn't say anything, he just sat with her, and she reflected on the fact that they had been together enough years for him to know when she didn't want to talk.
They sat for a while, and Buffy was just about to rouse herself to yank Angel onto the dance floor when a flustered, rather unhappy looking Willow parted her way through the crowd and rushed to her side.
"Will …" Buffy said in a cautious, questioning manner, "is something wrong?"
Willow glanced up at the rock escarpment that separated the beach from the road and city beyond. "We've got some uninvited guests, Buffy, and they're asking for you. I spotted them when I was walking back to the room to check on Ellie and the babysitter."
I couldn't have one friggin' night off? For my sister's wedding? Really?
Buffy's muscles tensed and she stood from her chain in unison with Angel.
"Buff," Willow said in a warning tone, "you're not going to be happy when you see who it is."
Buffy set her jaw in a hard line, ignored the absurd realization that she was contemplating marching off to battle in a bridesmaid's dress and high heels, and asked, "Who is it, Will?"
. . . . . . . . .
"You have to be kidding me," Buffy asked with outstretched arms as she confronted the row of black sedans and dark-suited men who had parked along the side of the road that wound along the cliff's edge. "You weren't invited … in fact, you were the least invited amongst all the people who were not invited. Get lost before I sic my witch on you."
"Buff," Willow whispered as she tugged at Buffy's sleeve. "I promised Oz I wouldn't do that sort of thing without talking to him first. I promised."
"I'm bluffing," Buffy whispered back.
"What do you want?" Angel asked the assembled men.
Below them the music played, the lights of the restaurant beckoned, and Buffy desperately wanted to retreat back down the wooden steps that switchbacked to the beach. First, though, she'd have to deal with the several dozen Watchers that had arrived uninvited.
"Given all that transpired with Mr. Wells-Clarke, and considering the depth of your services to humanity these recent years, we intended to leave you alone, Ms. Summers," a gray-haired man announced as he stepped closer. He had a heavy accent, Scottish by the sound of it, and appeared not at all perturbed by the fact that Buffy could not have been more perturbed. "Circumstances, however, have changed."
"Let me say this as clearly as I can," Buffy announced. "This is my sister's wedding. You are not wanted here. Leave."
"We can't do that Ms. Summers," the gray-haired man said. "The traditions of our order, if they are to mean anything, require us to stay."
Buffy rubbed her eyes, shook her head, and asked, "Why can't you just leave me alone?"
"It isn't you that concerns us," the man said, and his dark-suited companions seemed to press in closer as he spoke the words. "A Potential … the first one since Ms. Rosenberg …"
"Mrs. Osbourne," Willow interrupted.
The man gave a deferential nod to Willow and continued, "The first Potential since Mrs. Osbourne used the Scythe has been located, and we intend to keep watch over and protect the child."
"I thought you guys had given up," Angel said. "No Potentials after all these years, but now there's one? That doesn't make sense."
An instant later, Buffy realized what had happened.
The water of Mimisbrunnr … I guess merging with my sixteen year old self did more than renew my interest in late 90s alt rock. That must also be why slayer dreams came back.
"That damned well," she muttered. She turned to Angel and Willow. "That magical Norse water I drank," she explained, "it merged current me with sixteen year old me. She had been a slayer before I died the first time, before Willow activated the Potentials, before any of the horrendous shit that I've dealt with my entire life happened."
"That is what we surmised as well," the Watcher said with a nod. "An entirely unintended side effect, but one of a great benefit to the world."
Buffy could tell by Angel's expression that he remained unconvinced. He turned, glanced down at the cottages below, and said, "Xander rented this whole cove, and there's no child down there. Who are you talking about?"
There's one … oh no …
Willow's eyes went wide as the realization hit her, then they began to glisten beneath the moonlight. She wildly shook her head and grabbed Buffy's arm. "They don't mean Ellie, right? Buff, tell me that's not who they meant!"
Before Buffy could reply, the Watcher answered, "That is who we mean, Mrs. Osbourne." His words were kind … for a Watcher at least … but they also sounded very certain.
"There must be a mistake," Willow said in a near-scream. "There are billions of people in this world, why my daughter? Why?"
Buffy mentally added another item to the list of things she'd be discussing with Cordelia the next time they crossed paths.
She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but she realized she had absolutely no idea what to say to Willow. Thankfully, Angel appeared to keep a clearer head. "Willow," he reminded her, "even if Ellie is a Potential, and that's a big if, she would be just one of what … hundreds? And Buffy is still alive."
That's right, I'm still alive!
"We have only located one Potential," the Watcher said in a maddeningly calm voice. "We're not sure why … maybe the slayer line does not work like it used to, or perhaps others have simply not yet appeared, but thus far, there is only the one."
Willow's hands curled into fists, an energy began to thrum in the air, and Buffy threw herself on her friend, clutched her face in her hands, and whispered, "Will, don't do this. Not like this, not even to them. In a sick, twisted way, they're just messengers … besides, you just told me a few minutes ago that you promised Oz that you wouldn't go all magick-y-tornado-of-destruction without talking to him."
Willow's chest heaved, her face was ice-cold beneath Buffy's hands, and darkness crackled along the edges of her irises. Finally she took a deep breath, nodded, and the thrum vanished from the air. Willow reached up, grasped Buffy's hands, and pulled them from her face. She stepped away and faced the Watchers. "My daughter is not going to be grist for your vampire-fighting mill. If you want to keep her safe, fine, I'm on board with that, but do your safekeeping where we can't see you. I don't want you so much as talking to her … when she's old enough to talk, I mean."
"Leave Ellie alone," Buffy added in what she hoped was a suitably ominous tone, "or I'll turn Joshua Hallett loose." That seemed to get the Watcher's attention, as his dark gray eyes narrowed with worry. "If you think I have a grudge against you jackals, wait until you find out what he'd like to do."
The Watcher's eyes widened with concern, and then he gestured towards his men. Some of them vanished behind shadowed bushes, others climbed into cars, and after they'd all begun to move he turned back towards Buffy and Willow. "Terrible mistakes were made," he admitted, and Buffy blinked in surprise at hearing such a thing from a Watcher, "and I apologize for that. We will respect your wishes, Mrs. Osbourne, but we will be watching and working to keep your daughter safe." He smiled, but it was a grim, sad thing with no cheer behind it. "We had thought our purpose was drawing to a close, but apparently not. You do have my sympathy, and when you are ready, you will also have my help."
He climbed into the backseat of a waiting car and in short order the Watchers had vanished … from sight, at least.
. . . . . . . . .
"The Powers did this," Willow keened as they walked down the wooden steps, a not particularly pleasant task in high heeled sandals. "I know they did. Some sort of sick joke."
"They wouldn't do that," Buffy assured her.
Would they?
Angel cleared his throat, Buffy shot him a threatening look, and he wisely decided not to voice whatever he had intended to say. The entire way down the stairs Buffy and Angel reassured Willow that Ellie wasn't alone, that she had plenty of people who wanted nothing more than to protect her, and that besides … she might never become a slayer.
"More Potentials will show up," Buffy said with a confidence she didn't quite feel as she stepped off the final step and onto the blissfully soft sand. "And I've had it up to here with dying. I think instead I'll try growing old and gray."
Willow whirled toward her and said, "You'd better never die, Buff. I mean it. You take care of yourself." She grabbed Angel's arm and added, "You keep her alive!"
"I will," Angel assured Willow.
"I'll do my best, Will," Buffy reassured her. "And you know that Potentials are never called until they're teenagers … you've got lots of time."
"What am I going to tell Oz," Willow moaned. "What am I going to do?"
"Tell him tomorrow," Buffy replied. "Or after you get home. You two try to enjoy the rest of the weekend."
"When will it end, Buff?" Willow asked as she stared at the dark waves crashing upon the moonlit beach. "When will it be over?"
Buffy was surprised how easily the response came to her lips. "It ends when we can't fight anymore, Will, but not every night will be about good versus evil. Tonight isn't." The words weren't a comforting lie, they were the truth, and they were what Willow needed to hear.
Willow wiped her eyes and nodded. "Don't tell Dawn or Xander. Their wedding is supposed to be about them."
Buffy and Angel replied at the same time, "We won't."
. . . . . . . . .
They stayed outside reassuring Willow until Oz found her and led her back into the reception. Angel and Buffy watched through the glass of the restaurant windows until the two of them had vanished onto the dance floor, and then they lingered outside staring arm in arm at the dark, crashing waves of the ocean.
"It's hard to believe," Angel murmured. "A Potential, after all this time."
Buffy looked up at him and frowned. "She's not a Potential, she's Willow and Oz's daughter. That's the only way I want to think of Ellie."
"Sure, I get that," Angel replied.
They stood for a while longer, and finally Buffy spoke the words that she'd been mulling over for months but had been too afraid to voice. "Angel," she said in a quiet, serious tone while she tried to fight through the champagne haze and shock of the last few minutes, "when we get back from wherever we end up, I want to make some changes."
He cocked his head to the side and did not take his gaze off the ocean. "Is an open-ended trip around the world not enough of a change?"
"That won't last forever," she reminded him as she leaned against his side in an effort to ease the pain in her aching feet. "At some point, we'll get tired of seeing new things and want to settle down, maybe even with each other."
"Funny," he replied in a droll, dry voice. He glanced down at her legs and gestured at her shoes. "You can take those off, you know."
"Maybe later," she replied. "Right now we're talking. Serious stuff."
His dark eyes glittered as he stared at her.
"I've been thinking," she said with slow, measured words, "that when we get back, I don't want to just fall into the same old routines. I remember when the world seemed full of possibilities, and then it got narrower and narrower, and suddenly I found myself trapped into doing the exact same things over and over again."
"I don't want to go back to the way things were, either," Angel said with a chuckle as he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "For one thing, being a cursed vampire really isn't as much fun as novelists and screenwriters might make it sound."
They both laughed at that for a while.
"Really, though," she continued after the moment of levity had died down, "I know we've had our share of problems … big, huge problems … but I'm alive, you're alive … you're alive, Angel … and we've got a chance for a fresh start. If and when we're done traveling, I think I'd go crazy if we just went back into that townhouse and tacked a patrol schedule on the wall."
"I think I would, too," he said, and a sense of relief coursed over her when she heard him agree. "And I don't just mean changing jobs or where we live, I'm talking about us, too, Buffy." Now it was his turn to sound hesitant as he spoke. "I know certain things about our relationship were never important to you before, but really, Buffy, I think it's time that you and I should …"
She released her grip on his hand, waved her arms, and hurriedly croaked, "Not now! Not like this! And most especially not at my sister's wedding!" She fixed him a shocked expression. "As ancient as you are, how do you not know that?"
"I thought you wanted to talk," he said in a defensive tone.
She shook her head and began guiding him back towards the restaurant. "We've talked, I've heard that you are, in principle, ready to make some big changes, and that's good enough for now. For the rest of the night, let's just drink and dance and try to forget everything."
"I don't dance," he reminded her.
"Then kiss me a bunch until a slow song comes on that you can just sort of shuffle to while you hold me."
"That'll work," Angel replied as they stepped inside.
. . . . . . . . .
Maybe half the guests had shuffled, slithered, or glided off to their cottages by the time the band finally transitioned to sappy, slow, emotional ballads.
"You'll stay in touch, right?" Willow asked with a nervous expression as she and Oz glided across the dance floor.
Dawn interjected mid-dance with Xander, "Of course they will." Buffy couldn't help but notice that Dawn had kicked off her heels, an act that she intended to imitate the second the song was over.
"Honey, let them enjoy their vacation," Xander urged.
"Xander's right," Colleen said as Connor, who was about as skilled at dancing as his father, fumbled her through a clumsy spin. "Turn off your phones and don't check your email."
Willow's eyes widened and she stared at Buffy with a pleading expression.
"We'll be reachable," Buffy assured Willow while she clung to Angel and felt the heat of his body through the purple fabric of her dress. "If an apocalypse comes, text me." Willow shot her an appreciative nod and relaxed into Oz's arms.
She and Angel rotated into a slow spin, and Buffy half-closed her eyes and pressed herself more firmly against his chest.
I wonder if this is the last time we'll all be together like this.
The instant the thought crossed her mind, she regretted it, but like a seed pod it had taken root in her thoughts and extended its tendrils deep into the fear centers of her brain. She stared at Dawn, at Xander, at Willow … at all of them … and tried to fix them in her mind just as they were. None of them were getting any younger, and all too often when they were together it was in response to something distinctly unpleasant.
She'd knew that she'd miss them while they were gone. She'd miss them every day, but she had seen the way her younger self had looked at her and had come to a realization. Buffy Summers had allowed herself to get too ground down by sorrow, too overwhelmed by grim responsibility, and she couldn't let it happen again. She wouldn't let it happen again.
It might, at times, be a working vacation, but it was going to be a vacation.
The music was growing softer, the stars were shining through the glass roof of the restaurant, and she had a feeling that very soon they would all stumble their separate ways to the cottages waiting for them. "I love you," she whispered to Angel.
"I love you, too," he whispered back.
She closed her eyes pressed her head against his chest. He felt so warm.
. . . . . . . . .
THE POWERS THAT BE
There was man standing in the living room of her very private, very exclusive, very personal mental construct, and Cordelia didn't like that one bit. After all, the last few visitors had been incarnations of the First.
"Nobody should be here," she called out. "Who are you?"
A thin, pale man with wavy brown hair, piercing blue eyes, high cheekbones, and an Irish accent that was almost too stereotypically Irish replied, "You've forgotten me already, is that how it is?" He smiled at her and continued, "No mercy for the ol' ego, eh, Cordy?"
It can't be.
She held a hand to her mouth, realized she was fluttering like a teenager, and lowered it to her side. "I know you're not Doyle," she said with slow, cautious words as she maneuvered around the couch separating them. "They told me I wasn't allowed to see you."
"You weren't allowed before," he confirmed with a nod, "but now you are." The smile intensified and his blue eyes twinkled.
"If you're really Allen Francis Doyle," Cordelia said as her hands balled into nervous, twitching fists, "say our rates are low."
He laughed for a moment, then in a somber, serious tone, replied, "Our rats are low."
Thank you, thank you, thank you!
She rushed over, wrapped her arms around him, and pressed her head against his neck. "I had hoped," she gushed, "I had hoped for so long, but they said it wouldn't be safe for me, that I needed to transition, and … and … you have no idea how much I've missed you."
"I've missed you, too," he said as he pried himself free and looked at her. "And I did ask about you, too, Cordy, I really did, but they told me … well, they didn't say it out loud, but the Powers have a way of discouraging you without saying anything at all … that I shouldn't …"
She waved off whatever he was about to say. "I get it, they do the same thing to me." She held on to his hands and realized that she wasn't sure when, or if, she'd ever be able to convince herself to release them. "How are you here now, considering that we were supposed to leave behind earthly attachments, and all that?"
He shrugged and smiled in that goofy, adorable way that she remembered. "Maybe they made an exception. You must have done a really good job."
She slowly shook her head, tightened her grip on his hands, and said the first thing that came to mind. "Will you kiss me already?"
He moved closer, her heart thrummed a steady rhythm in her chest, and he murmured, "I wanted to right off, but I didn't want to presume."
"Presume!" she near-shouted. "Please, presume away!"
The kiss went on for a very long time, and it occurred to Cordelia at some point during the passion of the moment that she hadn't been kissed in decades. Or held. Or done any of a number of things that had once been so important to her.
When they finally broke off the kiss, in a breathless murmur Cordelia asked, "How long can you stay?"
"I'm not sure," he replied. "The work never ends, evil never sleeps, and all that, but everyone is entitled to a holiday. I think this may be a very long holiday."
Cordelia's responsive giggle pealed through the heavens like a bell.
Doyle glanced down for a moment, fixed her with an appreciative gaze, and said, "Nice shoes."
She flinched in surprise, then stared at her feet. The hideous yellow-brown snakeskin loafers she'd been wearing had been replaced by sensible, and comfortable, pumps that actually matched the cream-colored dress she was wearing.
My shoes … they're finally right.
She glanced at the corner of the room, said thank you, and a bright white light briefly flickered in response.
"Maybe we could go see everyone?" she asked Doyle as she made a vague gesture in the direction where she imagined her reality existed. "Dawn and Xander are getting married. You haven't met them, but Angel will be there, and you can finally say hello to Buffy."
Doyle's eyes looked pained for a moment, then he shook his head. "I think there are many places the Powers would be fine with us going," he said with gentle words and delicate phrasing, "but that isn't one of them."
I had so wanted to see Dawn's wedding, and not through some mystical lens I conjured up.
She reached up to wipe away the tears forming at the corner of her eyes. "They'll never let me visit any of them again, will they?"
Doyle pulled her close and she let her tears drop onto the shoulders of his olive green shirt. "Not while they're alive, no," he informed her. "The Powers are thinking you need some downtime … you drew outside the lines quite a bit on this one."
"I tend to do that," she whispered, and it was difficult to speak without sobbing.
"That's one of the things I love about you."
She closed her eyes and let a peace settle over her as Doyle held her close. As she did so, she realized how odd it had been that he'd arrived without her sensing it, without her even knowing that anything was amiss.
Wait a minute …
She reached out, for lack of a better term, with her powers, her feelings, whatever you wanted to call them, and there was nothing. Nothing at all. After so many years of her consciousness expanding in any direction she wished, to be confined to a human body again was extraordinarily strange, and oddly enough, liberating.
The white light in the corner blinked again, and she and Doyle turned towards it.
"Cordy," Doyle said after a few seconds had passed, "I think you're just going to be you for the time being. Seems like the bosses really want you in relaxation mode for the indefinite future"
She held his hand and said, "I don't mind just being human for a while … I don't mind it at all."
Then they were kissing again, and this round of kissing went on even longer, and somehow in the midst of it she found herself with her back pressed against the wall while she tried to pull Doyle's shirt over his head.
"Cordy," he said, and she reluctantly stopped trying to undress him. "You seem different."
"Better?" she asked with a questioning smile.
He laughed and waggled a finger at her. "That's a trap."
"I've missed you so much," she said, and it was hard not to sob. "I have really, really missed you."
"I've missed you, too," Doyle replied, and he seemed somewhat confused as he spoke. "But let's not go overboard here, Cordy, it's only been …" His words trailed off and his eyes grew unfocused. "Wait a moment, how long have I been gone?"
Her words tumbled out in a rush as she replied, "That doesn't matter. What matters is that you're here, I'm here, and nothing is going to interrupt the getting-to-know-each-other process that we never got to experience when we actually were alive."
Doyle stared off into space and appeared to be considering her words very carefully. Finally, he looked at her and asked, "I've been dead a long time, haven't I?"
"Let's go make some drinks, get out of these clothes, and talk about literally anything else," she replied with a forced smile.
He smiled at her and said, "I'd like that."