Planning the perfect date had more in common to perfecting cement mix than one would feasibly imagine. Too much of something, and it's tacky -literally. Too little then it just looks sad and pathetic and flops around and comes to rest in a lowly puddle at your feet. Getting either wrong could end up with Xander sleeping on the couch, since Anya really liked his paychecks as well as her own. Not that he was complaining. Yeah, it was corny, but if she wanted the moon on a sparkly string, he'd go and build a rocket like he did with Willow when they were kids and see what he could do. It had been almost two weeks since he'd proposed, and while Buffy's absence weighed on them all, there was still this un-popable bubble of happiness in his heart, and it only seemed to get bigger when Anya was around.
He didn't want Anya to start thinking he was neglecting her or their relationship or anything; he wanted to stop that train of thought before it left the brain station. Ha, brain station! That's a good one. I'll have to tell that one to Buffy...Xander thought, then immediately stopped, almost setting the tablecloth on fire with his carelessness.
"Wow, I went a whole hour without thinking about my missing best friend," Xander muttered darkly. "Must be a record."
All his life, he never imagined he'd find another girl he'd be as close with as Willow, and while he had indeed had less-than-friendly (or rather, more than friendly) intentions to begin with, she truly was one if the most important people in his life. It was different with Buffy than it was with Willow: he'd grown up with her, and had therefore acclimated to his zany eccentricities. Buffy had met him when he was an awkward, scared, backbone-less dweeb. He'd been the human equivalent of a jellyfish, minus the stinging part. Buffy had seen all his was, and even with her L.A. background, she'd still thought he was worth knowing, and even with the slaying, even with going to college, that friendship had never gone away. Sure, it had been strained at times, but like a Venus Flytrap, it just wouldn't die. And now, now his life was moving in this crazy, exciting new direction, one he was so happy about, and he couldn't even share it with the people he loved most.
Straightening the candles, Xander made sure the silverware was super sparkly, the napkins matched up with the corners of the table, and that the roses were hanging at the right angle in their vase.
What am I missing?
"Oh, right! You need actual food for dinner!"
Jumping to the oven, Xander opened the door, realizing after a few seconds that his hands were burning since he hadn't grabbed an oven glove before pulling out the bubbling lasagna. "Ouchey, that's gonna leave a mark." Depositing the dish by the sink, he ran his hand under the tap, yelping at the cold water on the sensitive flesh. He was in the process of drying his hands when his fiancé breezed through the door, merrily waving some shopping bags around like she was that dude that had beheaded Medusa and was showing off her scaly head for all to see.
"Hey, babe, you'll never guess what I found at the mall today..." At the sight of Xander, dressed in a shirt that wasn't a colour of the rainbow -its true, navy blue isn't on there- with his hair brushed neatly and at the candles and the lasagna and the wine...
Anya dropped her bags, the ex Vengeance Demon planted her hands on her hips and demanded, "Xander Harris, are you breaking up with me?"
The man gaped, pain in his hands forgotten. "What? No! Why would you say that?"
"Because you have food that didn't come out of a take-out container, you brushed your hair and we're drinking wine like adults and you even went so far as to borrow the best table cloth from the Summers' -yeah, I noticed that, pal," she ticked off on her fingers, "so that all adds up to this being important, and the only thing I can think is you breaking up with me."
Crossing the room in a flash, Xander tilted her face towards him, staring into her brown eyes, eyes misting over with tears. "Ahn, I did this because we're engaged," he explained lovingly, wiping her tears away.
She pouted, perplexed. "But you already proposed."
"Yes I did," he conceded, "but what I mean was that I love you, I want to spend forever with you: I want to surprise you and make you happy. I thought that was obvious."
"Well, now it is," Anya huffed, resting her head on his chest. "I'm sorry," she murmured, "I just saw the candles and how much effort you went to and my mind went to the bad place first. Our lives...they don't really give you much cause for thinking good thought first."
He rubbed her back, fingers tangling in her hair. "I know they don't. Which is why we take the good when we can, to help us get through the bad moments."
"You're right. Your lasagna looks really nice, by the way. I'm impressed." She narrowed her eyes. "Who helped you?"
Xander laughed, leading her to the table, pulling her chair out for her. "Would you believe it if I said Giles? That man can do stuff with cheese you wouldn't believe."
"Oh, I'd believe it. That man should know how to plan a romantic evening: he's been alive long enough."
Angel's vampire reflexes allowed him to catch the ceramic before it hit the ground, but not for him to mask the anger and frustration at Buffy's foolishness. The cup's handle hung from limp fingers, brown eyes boring into green.
"No. No, no, no and no. Did I mention no?" He practically roared, anger on a very tight leash. God, no one got him riled more than she did, could be so stubborn and infuriating and put herself in so much danger without even blinking, as if she didn't matter, as if his whole world wouldn't collapse and implode in on itself if something ever happened to her.
"Why the hell not? We aren't getting anywhere, Angel. People are dying, are being murdered. We need leads, and we need them now, and if Lindsey's got answers, this is the only way to get them."
True, but he would rather die than admit that.
"He is dangerous, Buffy," Angel insisted, raw and desperate and pleading as he only was with her. "He only cares about himself." And getting revenge on you, said a voice in the back of his head. Angel told the voice to shut up, since it wasn't doing anything useful.
"Like that matters," she dismissed him flippantly. "He's just a man, Angel. You make him sound like a monster."
No, the vampire thought, the only monster around here is me.
"I don't want you to do this," Angel ground out, although he knew he could argue until the end of time and she still wouldn't listen to a word he said.
"Well, I'm still going to. We're partners, Angel: I thought you'd be on my side." Hurt flashed in her eyes, and for a moment the vampire regretted the ferocity of his outburst, but at the same time he knew he'd say a lot worse if it kept her safe.
"I am on your side," he insisted, setting his mug down and taking a few tentative steps towards her. "Always. Which is why I don't want you to get hurt. We'll find another way."
But Buffy was not convinced. "Really?" she barked, a cruel smile curving her lips as she shook her head. "And who else is gonna die while we waste time 'finding another way'? Who else is going to die while we sit here twiddling our thumbs and eating popcorn?" She spat the last word as if it were the filthiest curse on earth.
It all, finally made sense.
There you are.
This is why you're doing this.
"Cassidy's death wasn't your fault."
"Save it for someone who believes you," Buffy thundered, making to walk past him, but he stopped her with a hand on her elbow. She whirled to face him, hair flying about in a circlet of gold, her chest slamming against his as her breathing sped in anger, face flushing.
"Take it from someone who knows" Angel warned heatedly, "from someone who's been at this a hell of a lot longer than you: there was nothing, nothing, you could have done differently to change what happened. All we can do now is move on and make sure it doesn't happen to anyone else, okay? And you're not gonna be doing yourself any favours by giving in to Lindsey."
"I'm not giving in, I'm getting in, and this is the only way."
"He's not nice, and he has zero respect for women." That wasn't quite true, but he knew what buttons of hers to push, feminism admittedly being one of them.
"So long as he's paying, he can call me Clarice Starling for all I care," Buffy retorted, pulling away and putting some much-needed distance between them.
"This is a bad idea."
She rolled her eyes contentiously. "You've said that already."
"Never hurts to repeat yourself."
"It does if what you're saying isn't helpful, like, at all."
Angel sighed. She had him. She had him, and to make matters worse, she was very well aware of that little fact. "You'll be careful?"
"Duh," Buffy said loudly. "Who do you take me for? As if I'd trust him just cause he wears a suit and his watch costs more than I'll make in the next two years. This is strictly business, it just so happened business now comes with cake and a side of fries. I haven't even said anything to him yet; he might have changed his mind."
"He hasn't," the vampire assured her. "I guarantee it."
Queue skeptically raised eyebrow. "Why?"
"Well, who wouldn't want to go to dinner with you?" he rasped, the words tumbling out of his mouth of their own volition without a single thought of input from his brain.
She smirked, taking the cup from his outstretched hand and placing it on the reception desk with a resounding clink that Angel seemed to feel in his entire body. "Careful, Brucie," Buffy breathed in his ear, "or someone might start to think you care about little ol' me."
He picked up on her reference instantly. "Imagine that, Miss Kyle. Imagine that."
Buffy didn't like lawyers. In truth, she'd only ever encountered a few, back when her parents were getting divorced, but there was just something about them that rubbed her the wrong way. It could have been their faces, blank as bleached paper, the kind you used to print counterfeit money, or their greasy smiles that were just as fake.
Parked out front of the Wolfram and Hart office, she watched them crawling around the grounds like ants, or worker bees, mindless drones all from the same mould. Through the windshield, she caught the gaze of one, their eyes boring into hers.
"Make that more like Terminators," she grumbled, fingers tapping against the warm fabric of the steering wheel. It was now or never.
Wrenching the car door open, her heels clicked against the ground as she closed it behind her, missing the interior's safety as soon as she'd left it. Straightening the cream blazer and matching skirt she'd picked out, Buffy crossed the courtyard, getting a face-full of air conditioning as she entered the lobby. Eyes scanning the space, she spied a reception desk, making a beeline for it. Plastering her best 'I'm a helpless, brainless blonde cheerleader, so please help me' smile, she chirped to the woman who exuded heat-fueled boredom, "Hi, good morning. I was wondering if you'd be so kind as to direct me to Mr McDonald's office?"
Blue eyes blinked up at her from heavy lashes. "May I ask who you are?" She gave her a thorough once-over, mouth pinched tight in an unsavoury fashion as if Buffy's mere presence besmirched Wolfram and Hart's pristine image. Let her think what she wants: this is all to help Sam, she reminds herself.
"Tell him it's Miss Summers," Buffy purred, leaning in closely and tagging on in a almost conspiratorial whisper, "he'll be expecting me."
Reaching for the phone, the woman punched in a few numbers and she was soon saying into it in a monotone voice, "Mr McDonald, sir, there's a Miss Summers here to see you." A slight pause, then, "Alright, very well, I'll send her up." Slamming the receiver down with more force than was strictly necessary, she told Buffy, "Mr McDonald will see you now. Fifth floor second office." She gave her a dirty smile. "In case you didn't already know."
Lovely.
"Thanks, you've been such a big help," the officer snarked, sauntering away and proceeding to the bank of elevators. It sucked: just because she was attractive and wearing a dress and heels some people still came to their own conclusions -totally wrong ones! Jabbing the button for the fifth floor, Buffy used the short elevator ride to compose herself and stick her courage to the...well, sticky place. When the elevator let her out and she caught a glimpse of how his office took up seemingly half the floor, she amended, better make that the extra sticky place.
She didn't bother knocking -he knew she was on her way, obviously- and she kinda wished she had, if only to buy herself a few more seconds of peace. If Angel thought this guy was bad news, her hackles were certainly raised, but sometimes tangling with the bad was the only way for the good to prevail. Buffy just hoped she'd have a pair of scissors handy. Or that Angel was really good at untying knots.
"Your desk is pretty big, McDonald," Buffy commented wryly, giving him an sour-sweet glance. "Trying to overcompensate for something?"
Lindsay chuckled, low and seductive, or at least that was what he was aiming for: it fell well below the bar. "I can assure you, Miss Summers, I'm not. It's just one of the perks of being a dutiful, hard-workin' employee like myself."
"You must work pretty hard then," she mused, "and there's no need to be so formal, you did send me flowers after all: just call me Buffy."
The man smiled like the privilege of using her first name was a battle, and he'd won it. "Alright, Buffy, why don't you take a seat and tell me why you decided to grace me with your presence."
Buffy perched primly in the armchair across from his desk, the warm leather sticky against the back of her legs. She raised a taunting brow. "Isn't it obvious? I'm here to take you up on your offer, if that's what it was."
"It was," Lindsey agreed, coming around to lean against the rim of his desk, keeping a surprisingly gentleman-like distance between them. "I just wasn't expecting you to take it so easily: I was kinda looking forward to wearing you down."
Of course he was. "Well, I can walk out that door as easily as I walked in, if that's what you really want."
It wasn't. She could see it burning in his eyes, in the smirk that had been a permeant feature on his face the moment her heels had hit the carpet. Men like him got what they wanted, and would put up one heck of a fight to keep it if opposed.
"No, I'd very much enjoy the opportunity to take you out, Buffy. When we met at the station, I was...intrigued. It's not often I come across someone so passionate in my line of work, certainly not from someone as young as yourself."
Buffy cocked her head. "You say that like you mean it."
"I do mean it. Being a lawyer, having to view everything as black or white, right or wrong, lawful or illegal, it can dull you, sometimes. It's nice to see that there are people out there who still care."
"Well, if you feel that way, why don't you switch jobs?" she joked, but there was perhaps an underlying sincerity to her words. He seemed okay, and he had really big eyes, and his hair was all artfully tousled and he was actually taking an interest in her...but she couldn't trust him. Darn. Why did the gorgeous ones have to be so shady?
Lindsey chuckled ruefully, unbuttoning his jacket. "Can't, I'm afraid. Deal with the devil and all that. The company would have my head if I ever tried to leave."
"That's too bad: it's a rather nice head. Fits well on your shoulders."
"Yeah, I like it where it is, too." So..." he trailed off, a hopeful light shining in his eyes. "How about tomorrow at eight? I can pick you up from the precinct if you're workin' or you can meet me here?"
"I'll meet you here," Buffy told him, "it'd be a shame for your car to get egged by cops before we even got to dessert."
He bowed his head in mock gratitude. "Thank you for your consideration."
She flipped her hair over her shoulder with her best shallow smile. "If I'm known for anything, it's being considerate."
"My, Buffy, I'm sure there's plenty more to you than that, and I'm looking forward to findin' out just how much more."
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Wesley asked of the woman beside him, the chill of the morgue biting into his skin despite the oppressive heat raging outside only a little ways away.
Sam nodded her head, nudging her glasses up her nose. "I'm sure."
Wesley nodded to the M.E, who carefully lowered the sheet, revealing the body on the table, brown hair fanned out behind her head, a stark contrast to the shiny silver metal. It took mere seconds for tears to well up in Sam's eyes, and a few heartbeats after that they were slipping down her cheeks, yet her voice was remarkably calm as she declared, "Yes, that's her. That's Cassidy."
"Thank you."
He pulled the sheet back up, but it only made her cry harder. He led her from the room, sitting her on a bench by the front doors. Pulling her into his chest was instinct, as was the comforting hand he carded through her hair. "Shhh, it's alright," Wesley attempted to soothe her, "it's alright."
"No, it's not," she responded, voice thick with tears. "People are dead because of me. People I care about. My mom, and now Cassidy...she was my best friend, the first I had ever had. We only went to school together for two years, but we tried to keep in touch. I called her when I started dating Joey, told her how excited I was. She was so happy for me: she had her whole life ahead of her, wanted to be a paediatrician, help little kids in need. And now she'll never get to do that, all because she was my friend."
"It's not," Wesley argued fiercely, "none of this is your fault: the only person to blame is the one behind all this, not yourself. You couldn't have known, nor stopped it."
"Couldn't I? If I just locked myself away somewhere and waited for whoever this is to come find me, maybe I could make this all stop."
Wesley shook his head, chin bumping her crown of curls. "No, all that would do was leave you alone and defenseless, neither of which are a good idea on the best of days, but certainly not when there's some deranged killer after you. You did the right thing for coming to us and asking for help."
"You promise?"
He smiled sweetly. "I promise. When I say something, I mean it. Unless I was possessed when saying something. Or drunk. Or possessed while drunk, not that that has ever happened. Now, how about I take you back to the Hyperion and try and cheer you up?" Wesley offered. "I think Cordelia's got a stash of 90s rom-coms somewhere, not that she'd ever admit it to watching them when she should be doing paperwork, of course."
"Of course," Sam echoed, gripping his hand tightly in hers. "But you really don't have to. If you've got plans or whatever-"
"The only thing I plan on doing is keeping you company," he assured her. "Would you please just let me help? There's no need to be acting like a stiff upper-lipped Brit: that's my job."
"Well, I'd hate to steal your job," Sam teased him lightly. "Alright, I cave. Entertain me, Mr Wyndham-Price."
"With pleasure."
It was a quarter to seven the next day, the sun making the last of it's descent towards the horizon, bathing the living room of Buffy's apartment in pinks and golds, but the blonde was far too distracted to appreciate the beauty: she was, literally, up to her elbows in her measly wardrobe, trying to decided to wear to this 'Non-Date/Interrogation Match' thing with Lindsey. While she had always had an eye for taste, had enjoyed countless shopping sprees with Cecelia, at one point she felt like she was actually living at the mall, they were there so much- fashion hadn't held much interest since her death. Besides, with a job like hers, what was the point of wearing something fancy if a) it was just going to get ruined and b) no one would actually see her wearing it under her uniform. In her down time, she was usually just here, so no big occasions to dress up.
The dress she'd bought the other day was...fine, until she realized that despite saying it was her size on the label, was actually too tight and she practically had to rip the seams to get it off. Buffy was screwed. She knew it, and so did her wardrobe. There was only one thing for it. Reaching for her cellphone, she dialed the number for the Hyperion, grateful when the call was picked up after a few short rings.
"Angel Investigations, we help the helpless, what can we do for you?" Cordelia answered sweetly, her fake-sunshine voice instantly grating. Buffy liked the real Cordelia much more.
"Hi, Cordelia, it's Buffy," the blonde answered, twisting the phone cord around her finger anxiously, "listen I'm having a bit of an emergency and could really use your help."
"What kind of emergency?"
"Who's having an emergency?" Buffy overheard Angel asking in the background, and Cordelia's responding grumble, "I'll know in five seconds..."
"A fashion emergency," she supplied, nestling the phone into the crook of her shoulder and simultaneously moving around hangers.
"Ohh, my favourite! Finally, I am in my element. Hang on a sec..." The brunette's voice quieted -she'd obviously pulled the receiver away- as she yelled, "Go away Angel! I'm helping Buffy, so quit with the hovering!" Then, at a louder pitch, "Sorry about that. So, what do you need?"
"You know what I'm doing tonight?" Buffy asked, examining a red top before tossing it into the 'Possibly' pile.
"Yeah, Wining and Fine Dining with Wolfram & Hart's Biggest Jerk; it's why Angel's been acting like a stepped-on cat all afternoon. Having trouble on picking an outfit?"
Ignoring the tidbit about Angel, she admitted, "Hopelessly. I'm not much of a Shop 'Til You Drop kinda girl these days."
Cordelia sounded thoughtful as she mused, "Well, you always had really good taste." She seemed to mentally back-track before blurting, "When you've come here. To the hotel. The clothes you've had on. Totally style queen, is what I'm saying." The other woman cleared her throat before demanding, "What have you got so far?"
"I've got two and a half options: knee-length navy halter dress, white cardigan with pink dress and one lone red top."
"White would look good with your hair, but then you have to worry about stains. The navy could work, but only of he's not wearing blue -you don't want to look like you coordinated with him- have you got a black skirt to go with that top?"
"I think so: let me check." After digging around for a few seconds, Buffy emerged triumphantly with the garment. "Found it!"
Cordelia asked, "You got any black combat boots? They'll be more comfortable than heels, especially if he gets too handsy and you have to kick him where the sun don't shine, if you get what I'm saying."
The blonde grinned wickedly, though of course Cordelia couldn't see it. "I like the way you think, Chase." Buffy got out the boots, slipping them on and twirling in front of the built-in mirror of her closet.
"I feel like such a badass," she giggled, running a brush quickly through her curls.
"You are a badass," Cordelia assured her earnestly. "You're Buffy: Warrior Princess." After a beat of silence, she reminded her seriously, "You'll give us a call if you need anything, right?"
"Of course. But I'll be just fine."
"Buffy?"
"Yeah."
"Try and have a little fun," Cordelia suggested, the smile evident in her voice. "Lindsey may be a total idiot, but he's got great hair and he can spell the phrase 'Gourmet Meal,' let alone pay for it."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Dinner with Buffy Anne Summers, forgotten Slayer and current L.A.P.D Officer was...strange. Mostly, because Lindsey actually found that he enjoyed himself, which was more than he could say for any of the actual dinners he'd had of late. She laughed at his jokes on the car ride from his office, offered up bits about herself and didn't act bored when he went into some minor specifics about his job, was sweet and smart and more honest and real than he was used to. The woman hadn't made one remark about his hand, had barely glanced at it in fact, although it was incredibly obvious. And she looked really, really pretty, the chandelier in the Italian restaurant he'd taken to hitting her face just right, igniting her golden hair and making her green eyes sparkle. Let's not best around the bush: Buffy Summers was gorgeous.
Angel sure knew how to pick 'em.
There was a part, admittedly, that felt bad for her, bad for the fact that Glory had taken her memories, her identity, had stripped her of herself and made her into something new and different. Not that he didn't like the woman sitting in front of him...but if course Lindsey still wondered if he would have had such a good time with the real Buffy Summers, Super Slayer and all that jazz. He hoped so.
"Is it scary, being a cop?" Lindsey now asked her as he took a sip of his wine, grinning at her over the rim. "I'd imagine it being scary, gunfights and car chases and explosions and all."
Buffy shook her head, laughter dancing around the corners of her mouth. "It's no more scary than being a lawyer and standing up in a courtroom, I'm sure. And it's not nearly as exciting as it looks on TV, at least in my experience as an officer. The most exciting thing I did was crawl through the Dumpsters of the City of Angles, but I did help find a key piece of evidence."
"Hey, that's something," he pointed out with a generous smile.
"It is. But no need to act so surprised, Lindsey: I know you've been keeping tabs on the investigation. On me."
Oh, she was good. But he couldn't resist goading her, just a little. "And what, sweetheart, gave you that impression?" he drawled, smirking when her eyes flashed with irritation.
"Because you're good at your job, you said so yourself, and a good lawyer always knows who's fingers are in what pie, especially if it's a big ol' serial murder pie."
Was she buttering him up? He felt like she was buttering him up. And damn him, he liked it. "It takes three murders for a case to be deemed serial, two and it could be considered just a copycat," Lindsey reminded her smugly.
Buffy leaned forward, fingers playing with the stem of her wine glass. "Touché, Linds. I see there's actually a brain under all that hair gel, colour me shocked."
"I guarantee you, darlin', that's there's more of a brain under here than there is under that foreheaded mop of hair your P.I. friend is sportin' these days." Did he sound petty? He totally was.
She raised a brow, taking a bite of her penne. "Ohh, and the green demon rears his big, ugly head. I was wondering how long it would take for you to mention Angel. If you're curious, you actually lasted longer than I expected: points to you."
"I'm glad I could exceed your expectations, Buffy, for I'd hate for you to get bored."
She set down her fork, surveying him bluntly. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"
He waved a hand. "Go right ahead."
"Did you ask me out a) Because you wanted to shake me for information, b) To piss of Angel, or c) You actually had some genuine interest in me?"
Yeah, wasn't she a gem?
"Why can't it be all three?" he inquired honestly, waiting with bated breath for her reaction. Shockingly, she just laughed, downing the rest of her wine as she snapped, "Well, now I feel so special."
"You should. I don't usually take obstacles out to dinners so expensive."
"Is that what I am?" Buffy murmured, and if Lindsey didn't know better he'd say she almost looked hurt. "Just an obstacle foe you to get out of the way foe your bosses?"
Lindsey warned, "You will be if you keep causin' trouble."
She shook her head sadly. "I'm just doing my job."
"And so am I," he argued, reaching for her hand. Buffy let him take it. "You seem like a really good person, Buffy: too good to be caught up in this. So, take my advice, and get on the next plane out to some vacation island and don't come back for...a while. Isn't your best option."
"That's not who I am. Never has been, never will be."
It seemed the Slayer spirit still burned bright. Why couldn't he ever just like a normal girl, eh? Why did he always have to get so involved.
Lindsey retracted his hand, defeat weighing heavily on his chest. "I was afraid you'd say that." He soon brightened. "How do you feel about chocolate?"
In the end, the only further information Buffy managed to get Lindsey to divulge -over a slice of what was quite possibly the best triple chocolate layer cake to ever grace her mouth- was that the firm's 'Senior Partners' had taken a 'special interest' in the case and getting Lindsey and the woman he co-ran his department with, Lilah Morgan, running ragged to cater to their every whim, and that they were incredibly powerful.
In return, Lindsey turned to her imploringly as she stepped out of the restaurant and slung her purse over her shoulder and practically begged, "Please, you gotta give me somethin' to tell my bosses, the smallest thing to get them off my back for a while. I can't help you if I've got 'em breathing down my neck, can I? Just one thing, Buffy. That's all I'm asking."
Like a house of cards caught up in a tornado, she caved. "Me and Angel were planning on re-interviewing the man who found the first victim, Samantha's mother. The knife I found, it was weird, almost ceremonial. You know, cult-y ritual stuff? Analysis should be finished in the next couple of days, but I don't think they'll have much luck. Angel's had his team helping Sam, and seeing why Cassidy was here in L.A."
"None of that is gonna take their eyes off of you," Lindsey reminded her cautiously, and Buffy easily deflected with a joking quip, "Who would want to take their eyes off of me?" but it didn't sound convincing, even to herself.
"What about any of your other cases? Can't you make a big show of workin' on them instead?"
Buffy scoffed, shaking her head wryly. "I don't have any other cases, Lindsey: I'm not even supposed to be working this one, yet I just can't seem to help myself. Hey, at least I got a free dinner out of it."
Lindsey chuckled, pulling his keys from his pocket. "At least there's that," he echoed. Then he offered, "Do you want me to drive you to the Hyperion?" He raised a brow off her incredulous face. "What, you didn't think I knew you'd be haring off to tell Angel everything I told you? At least this way I can save you a couple bucks off your phone bill."
She rolled her eyes, but didn't protest when he opened the door for her. "Aren't you a gentlemen."
He placed a hand over his heart indignantly. "How dare you! I was raised to always respect a lady, and I always do just that."
It was a short ride to the hotel, and soon the familiar edifice came into view. Buffy was just about to open the gate when she stopped, half turning towards Lindsey, and called, "Linds?"
The lawyer stopped, hands loose and easy at his side. "Yeah, darlin'?"
"I think you're a good guy, under all this stuff you have to pretend to be. I think you've got more honesty and compassion in you than you realize."
"What makes you say that?" he asked of her.
She smiled. "The fact you warned me at all. And let me get an extra slice of chocolate cake."
"Well, ain't you easy to please?"
"No," Buffy looked at him seriously, "I'm not."
In that moment, if she'd looked back, she would have seen the gratitude plainly etched into his features. If she'd looked back, she would have noticed he didn't leave until she'd opened the lobby doors. If she'd looked back, she would have noticed him creeping closer to those doors, and his star-bright smile when she said to the broody vampire glowering, "You were wrong."
He'd been wrong, too.
Author's Note: Hello, everybody! It's me! I'm back. I fell out of working on this story for a while, but I'm doing my best to change that. I've been working on my first major The Vampire Diaries fic, 'Nothing Goes As Planned,' if you're interested in checking that out. It's Elejah, BTW. So, what did you think? Did you like it? Did you think Buffy was too easily swayed by Lindsey? Is Lindsey going to have a redemption arc? Especially when he finds out about Dawn, since we know he's a softy when it comes to family? Spoiler: Yes, he is!
Anyways, thank you so much for sticking with me, and I really hope you enjoyed this update. Just a heads up for you: in the next chapter, Angel's gonna take Buffy to Caritas to meet Lorne. Any thoughts on how he's gonna explain that one?
Until we meet again!
All my love, Temperance Cain.
PS: The stiff upper lip Brit joke? Done at my expense, since I am in fact an English gal. I don't condone the stereotype, just to clarify. Brucie and Miss Kyle: Batman and Catwoman reference.