Disclaimer et.al.: See Part One

All Roads Lead to Sunnydale
Part 2


Buffy yawned and stretched, enjoying the scent of the early morning breeze drifting in through her open windows. A glance at her clock radio assured her of a few more blissful minutes of lounging, and a tantalizing feeling of accomplishment gave her a nice warm glow. She just couldn't recall the reason for that glow in her first drowsy moments of consciousness.

Suddenly it came to her, propelling her bolt upright in the bed. Riley, she'd broken up with Riley. Why did that give her the old "job well done" feeling, when all it meant was that she was alone? Alone was a lifestyle choice she had promised herself never to try again. Anything was better than the single life. If she ever doubted that, all she had to do was look at her mom. In Joyce Summers' book, even a FrankenTed was better than celibacy.

Buffy groaned and threw the blankets over her head as she flopped back down on the bed. She had to call Riley, apologize to him, and see if she could make things right. He would forgive her, she was sure of it.

And when he did, everything would go back to the way it was last year, the little voice in her brain whispered as she reached from under the covers for the phone. Back to playing "the cheerleader and the quarterback go to college." Spordelia rides again.

Buffy's hand wavered over the phone.

"Buffy! Breakfast is ready!"

Joyce's voice echoing up the stairwell made Buffy's decision for her. She snatched her hand away from the phone and flung back the covers on the bed. Joyce always told her the world made much more sense after a good breakfast, and who was Buffy Summers to say her mother was wrong? Riley could wait; he would always be waiting for her, whether she wanted him to or not.

"Now where the hell did that come from?" she snapped at the trouble-making little voice inside her.

This time, there was no answer.

* * * * *

Buffy didn't really expect Riley to show up at her door offering a ride to school, but she was still a little surprised when eight a.m. arrived and he didn't. He usually was not so easy to get rid of.

Fortunately Xander had both classes and a car that morning, so Riley's uncharacteristic grudge holding didn't create a problem. Confusion perhaps, but not a problem.

She moved from class to class, determinedly focusing on her studies, and finding it surprisingly easy to push Riley back into a quiet corner of her mind for later processing. It wasn't until she saw Graham on the quad that she remembered her would-be ex-boyfriend and his strange absence from her day thus far.

"Buffy!" Graham called to her when he saw her. He hurried over to join her, a scowl marring his usually pleasant features. "Will you tell that slack-ass Finn to get back and police his stuff in our room? I am not going to spend the next semester tripping over his boxes just because lover-boy can't tear himself away from you long enough to finish unpacking."

Buffy shook her head, ruthlessly suppressing a twinge of alarm. "I don't know what you're talking about, Graham. I haven't seen Riley since last night. Early last night," she emphasized. "He followed me out on patrol but we had a…I mean, he had to quit early."

Graham scratched his head. "Well, I saw his car in the lot this morning, but he didn't make it back to the room. I tell you, I was half-expecting to wake up to find you there too this morning, but no you and no Riley. Where do you think he spent the night?"

Graham suddenly realized the implications of his question and smothered a grin. He had never liked Buffy, particularly after the fall of the Initiative, and this time it seemed that payback was going to be a bitch meeting a bitch.

"Sorry, that's a big 10 on the stump-Buffy meter," she replied as casually as possible. She could see the thoughts running through Graham's head, and she desperately hoped he was right. If Riley had found another bed and bed-partner last night, not only was he safe, but she also wouldn't have to feel this terrible guilt at the way she had behaved towards him.

On the down side she would be, once again, Buffy the Hideous Dateless Monster.

"Look, just let me know if he calls or anything," she said at last, in the face of Graham's no longer concealed smile. "It honestly doesn't matter if he…but this is Sunnydale, and when the weird come to party, someone usually doesn't make it home alive."

* * * * *

Buffy ditched her last class of the day and begged a ride from Xander over to Willie's Alibi Room. He wasn't too enthusiastic about spending his free afternoon visiting a demon hangout, but one look at Buffy's set face decided him.

The dimly lit bar was almost empty when Buffy and Xander strode in. Willie glanced up from the table he was cleaning off and grimaced, but common sense quickly compelled him to portray something more closely resembling enthusiasm.

"Well, if it isn't my favorite slayer," he said loudly, casting a meaningful glance at a couple of customers in the corner booth. He looked away quickly, trying not to draw any more suspicion to them. The hasty scrape of boot heels and the whoosh of the emergency door opening told him his warning had been both heard and understood.

"Relax, Willie," Buffy said dryly. "I'm not on patrol. I'm on a fact-finding mission and you're the man just full of interesting demon-related facts."

Willie backed up slowly towards the safety of the bar, never letting the tensed slayer out of his sight.

"Facts, huh? Are you looking for the average length of a Fyarl demon's horns or a vamp's drink of choice after the human blood is tapped out? I got those kind of facts right at my fingertips, so to speak." He smiled nervously as he pointed to the assorted bottles arrayed behind the bar.

Buffy slowly moved over to the bar and draped herself across it, leaning in uncomfortably close to Willie's face. Xander remained by the door, ready to grab Willie if he tried to escape. Assuming, of course, that the bits Buffy let past her were capable of independent motion.

"I'm looking for new players in town, Willie," she said very softly. "Something that hangs out in cemeteries and is very tidy with its captures. Doesn't leave even a gum wrapper behind. I think it took…" she paused for a moment. "It took a friend of mine last night," she said after careful deliberation.

Xander looked at her in alarm. She hadn't told him why they needed to go to Willie's, only that she needed a ride. He began to mentally review his friends, trying to recall when and where he had last seen each of them.

"Look, kid, they don't all check in with me," Willie stammered. "This isn't a hotel; it's a bar. If they don't feel the need to socialize, they don't come a calling."

"No," she agreed slowly, "but they never seem to work alone, and someone must have gotten thirsty."

Willie stared at her for a moment, estimating his chances of successfully lying to her, and the relative consequences when she inevitably found him out.

"Okay kid, there is a new guy setting up house," he said with a sigh. He held up a cautionary hand when he saw her open her mouth to speak. "This is all rumor, you understand. I haven't laid eyes on the big ugly yet, I've just heard talk. He's a Belos demon; used to be one of the Tarakan crowd, but he retired. He's in the assassination game just for giggles now. And word is…he's looking to spend some serious playtime with your old commando buddies."

* * * * *

Buffy hurried over to Willow's apartment, knowing her friend didn't have another class until the evening. She pounded impatiently on the door, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as she waited for a response.

My fault, my fault, the voice in her head whispered over and over. If he's in trouble it's all my fault.

Tara opened the apartment door slowly, frightened by the noise. She hesitantly poked her head between the door and the frame, and then pulled the door open wide when she realized Buffy was the source of the commotion.

"Buffy, come in." Tara smiled shyly and ushered Buffy in as she called out, "Willow, Buffy's here."

"Sorry for all the noise," Buffy apologized with a faint smile. "I just really need to talk to Will." She glanced anxiously around the living room. "My world is both topsy and turvy at the moment and I need a little of that Willow magic to make sense of it all."

"Did I hear someone mention magick?" Willow asked eagerly as she hurried in from the bedroom. "Don't tell me you want to put a 'please pass me' spell on one of your profs already," she teased.

Buffy sighed and threw herself into Tara's beanbag chair. "I wish it was that simple, Will. I'm not in a spell seeking mood; I just need you to talk me out of something that I know is the wrong thing to do but it's also the first thing I thought of and it really is the only thing to do with Giles being out of town although even if he were here I still think I'd need…" She paused, both to catch her breath and to gauge Willow's reaction thus far.

A blank stare was the best way she could think to describe her friend's expression.

"And you have no idea what I'm babbling about, do you?"

Willow shook her head sadly. "Not a clue, but I'll try to help anyway. Just tell me what I'm supposed to say." She sat down on the sofa and patted the seat next to her, silently urging Tara to stay with them.

Buffy scrambled her way out of the beanbag chair and began to pace. "Tell me I shouldn't be worried about Riley because he disappeared from the cemetery last night without a word and hasn't been seen since. Tell me I'm being paranoid to think that he was attacked by a demon because I left him unprotected." She stopped and faced Willow. "And tell me I'm completely crazy for thinking I need to ask Angel to help me find him before it's too late."

"Ooh bad idea, Buffy," Willow replied, shaking her head emphatically. "I can't argue about the paranoid thing, because this is Sunnydale and we know what kind of stuff can happen to someone alone in a cemetery at night. But Angel? I mean, asking your ex to help you find your boyfriend; isn't that kind of…" she hesitated, searching for a tactful way to express herself.

"Cruel," Tara said softly. She seemed as surprised by the word as either of her companions, but she did not retract or rephrase her opinion.

"I know, I know," Buffy groaned, throwing herself in the squashy chair once again. "I'm the horrible-est of horrible ex's for even thinking it, but I don't know of anyone else who can help. Riley wouldn't just wander off without a word."

My fault, my fault, the voice whispered again.

"But can't we help?" Willow gestured to Tara. "You know Tara and I will, and Xander too, and even Anya. We'll all help. We took care of Adam without Angel, or Riley for that matter."

"Would Angel even be willing to help?" Tara asked curiously. "It is kind of above and beyond the call."

"Oh, he'd help," Willow replied confidently. She looked sharply at Buffy. "He'd help even if it killed him, which it probably will, one way or another. Buffy this just isn't like you. It's so not fair to him."

Buffy closed her eyes for a moment, envisioning the look on Angel's face when he realized why she had come to find him. She knew the pain that would be there, because she would feel it every bit as deeply herself. She knew the rejection that would flash across his dark eyes, to take root in his gentle soul.

But she also knew Riley would die if she didn't help him, and that had to come first now. She owed it to him, that and more.

"I wish there was another way." She reluctantly opened her eyes and shook her head. "According to Willie, we're talking about a demon who thought the Tarakans were a little too much on the warm and fuzzy side. No offense, but I need more than a few spells and some nicely carved stakes this time. I need ripping limb from limb from tentacle type help."

Willow gulped, but she rallied quickly. Being a Slayer's friend is not for the faint of heart.

"What about Spike? He's almost as strong as Angel is and he really likes killing demons. Well, he likes killing period, but he doesn't mind if it's demons."

"I can't trust Spike with this, Will. We're talking about helping Riley. Not exactly number one on Spike's 'to do" list."

"And you think Angel is going to be doing the happy dance about it?" When Buffy didn't respond beyond a helpless shrug, Willow tried again.

"Buffy, you know I'm with you no matter what. One for all and all for…okay, so that was the Musketeers actually, but you know what I mean. I just think you're going to regret this. You should let us help you. Leave Angel alone."

It was the fair thing to do; Buffy knew that. She had asked Angel to stay out of her life, and pledged to stay out of his. She had help ready, willing and somewhat able. There was no reason she should disturb whatever semblance of peace Angel had achieved with an unquestionably selfish request that would only bring him pain.

"But…but will our help be enough to save Riley? Isn't that the most important question?"

Tara's quiet comment forced Buffy's attention back to her goal. She had to focus on Riley. Angel could protect himself; he was strong and immortal and he would always be there. He had to be. She could not imagine a world without him in it. But Riley was weak and human and he needed, no, he deserved her protection and care.

"Buffy, I know you must be worried sick about him, but that's no reason to put Angel's life on the line too. I can't believe you're even suggesting it." Willow tried to look into Buffy's eyes, but the Slayer determinedly avoided her gaze.

Willow was right; there was no reason, except that Angel was still the one she instinctively turned to in times of trouble. No matter how things had changed between them, no matter what they had said or done to each other, he was the one she would count on first, last and always.

And therein lay the chief source of her guilt.

"I'm going to LA, Will."

* * * * *

It was well after midnight when she reached Angel's apartment building. Hitchhiking hadn't been nearly as fast a mode of travel as she had expected, but she hated buses and driving was not an option. No one trusted her with a car anymore.

She thanked her latest Good Samaritan for the lift as she got out of his car and indulged in a small stretch before she turned to face the building…only to be confronted by a great yawning emptiness. She glanced at the street sign, guessing she was in the wrong place, but the sign was correct. She looked to the other side of the street, but the building wasn't there either.

Finally she forced herself to cross the road, coming to a stop at the edge of the desolate patch of pavement and earth where a building had once stood. In the flickering light of a faulty street lamp she caught a glimpse of bright yellow lying half-hidden in the dirt. She bent down to pick it up, running it through her hands to convince herself of its existence and solidity. It was police tape, the kind they put up at the site of disasters, natural or otherwise.

Buffy clenched her hand into a fist, crumpling the police tape as she tried to deny what it meant. Information, she needed information. A whole building didn't just disappear without someone knowing how. There was a perfectly reasonable, non-catastrophic, explanation for all this.

And the ashes mixed in with the dirt were pure coincidence.

Buffy looked frantically up and down the street for signs of life, but there were none. The tenants in the office buildings had long since gone home, and the homeless who called this street theirs by night had not yet arrived. At last Buffy remembered seeing an all-night coffee shop back about two blocks. They were local; they would know the scoop. At the very least they would have a phone book so she could locate Cordelia. If anyone would be able to cast a refreshing dose of sanity into this madness, it would be Cordy. Buffy took off at a dead run, trying to stay one step ahead of her deepest fears.

* * * * *

Cordelia buried her head under her pillow, trying to drown out the pounding on her door. When the noise did not abate, she grabbed a second pillow, but still the banging resounded through her skull.

"Dennis!" she yelled, heaving the pillows across the room. "Whoever it is, go do the Caspar thing and get rid of them. I need my rest!"

There was a momentary silence, then the pounding resumed.

Cordelia furiously threw herself out of her bed and grabbed for a robe. The lights conveniently switched on as she made her way though her apartment to the door, giving her one more cause to glare at the empty air around her.

"Oh, so you are up; you're just afraid to answer the door," she grumbled. "Who is it; Virginia Woolf?" She swerved to avoid a carelessly placed bearing wall and stumbled into the living room.

"Cordelia, open up!" a voice pleaded from the other side of the front door.

She pulled open the door, not believing her eyes when she saw Buffy leaning against the doorframe.

"Well, now I know why Dennis wasn't any help," Cordelia said slowly. "He only plays Amityville Horror house on the men in my life. But why you're here in the middle of the night is still a stumper."

Buffy brushed past her as she walked into the apartment. She spun around to face the stunned Cordelia, not wasting any time on useless pleasantries.

"Where is he? How is he? Is he…okay?" Her voice broke just slightly on the last word; she'd had too many visions of ways he could be not okay on the long cab ride over to Cordelia's.

"How is who?" Cordelia asked, brushing her hair back from her eyes as she stared at Buffy. She hadn't seen the Slayer so distraught since…"Oh, how is Angel. Of course. Umm, fine, I guess. I can't raise him on the cell phone but he probably let the battery run down again. But I'm sure he'll be back in time to take me to David Nabbit's party on Friday or he is going to be one sorry little vamp…hey!" Cordelia was physically jerked into full consciousness by Buffy's hands on the lapels of her robe.

"I saw his apartment," Buffy said through clenched teeth. A vision of it flashed through her mind, fueled by the story she'd heard at the coffee shop where she'd gone for information. "A bomb took it out, Cordelia. There was nothing left, not even rubble."

"Wake me up in the middle of the night and tell me something I don't know." Cordelia scowled at Buffy, until she noticed the dried tears on the Slayer's face. "Oh, wait! You didn't know. Well, now that I think of it, why would you?" She pushed Buffy's hands off her robe and smiled; mystery solved. "Anyway, the bomb didn't take it all out. The wrecking crew did some too."

"Why didn't anyone tell me? I got there and I saw…there was nothing there but police tape and…ashes…and the waitress at the coffee shop said there was a bomb and…are you sure he's okay?" She frantically searched Cordelia's face for any signs of evasiveness.

"Look, he's fine, last I knew. I mean I'm sure he still is. Staying in a cheap motel, but fine." Cordelia curled up on the couch and gestured for Buffy to take a seat as well, but the Slayer was still too wired to settle down. Cordelia sighed and tried to think of calming things to say to the pacing lioness in her den.

"He wasn't even there when it blew," she explained. "He was coming back from visiting me in the hospital. Wesley was there alone, but Angel went in and rescued him. We're all good; thanks for asking," she finished pointedly.

Buffy stopped pacing and gazed at her blankly for a moment. "What? Oh, I'm sorry, I'm glad no one else was hurt, but it's just…when I saw and when I heard I thought…" she flung herself into a chair and covered her face with her hands. "It's been a really bad day," she mumbled through her fingers.

"So you decided to share your pain with me. How special," Cordelia said acidly. "Look Buffy, I don't know why you were looking for Angel at this hour anyway, and I really don't care. He's not here, so darn!" She snapped her fingers and grimaced in assumed sympathy. "I guess you'll have to postpone your little mental S&M games for another visit and go back home to the Sergeant of Sigma Chi. Have a nice trip!" She walked over to the door and began opening it.

"What are you talking about? I came here for help, Cordelia, nothing else."

Cordelia's hand dropped from the doorknob as she turned to stare at Buffy with icy disdain. "Yeah, uh huh, and last spring you just came because you were so worried about him." Cordelia took a few steps towards the Slayer, waving her hands dramatically as she spoke. "He was a wreck when you left, Buffy. I don't want to be picking little tiny bits of that soul of his off the carpeting anymore, so I'd appreciate it if you leave before he gets back into town. Go ask the boys of Kappa Kappa Death to help you. Aren't they your hunting buddies now?"

She gestured to the partially open door, but Buffy didn't seem inclined to cooperate. Not without getting what she came for, anyway.

"Where is he, Cordy? You know he would want you to tell me." Buffy's voice dropped to a pleading whisper. "I'm not the enemy, Cordelia."

"That is a matter of opinion," Cordelia replied loftily. "I admit you may have saved my life a few times, Buffy. Of course I probably wouldn't have been in danger at all if it weren't for you, so that's only worth maybe half a point. And I know you've saved the world, yadda, yadda, yadda, but again you were usually the one the bad guys were after anyway." She mimicked weighing objects in an invisible scale. "So bottom line? Angel is family; you're not. I'm more concerned about what you'll do to him than about the boogey man after you."

That remark stung. For a moment, Buffy wondered if Angel felt the same way about Cordelia. Once upon a time, Buffy had been all the family he needed or wanted.

"We made with the nice, Cor. All is forgiven, forgotten, whatever." She had to move on; Riley was depending on her. "I know he wouldn't mind me coming to him for help." Buffy crossed her fingers behind her back as she spoke.

"Only you get to do the forgetting, Buffy," Cordelia replied cryptically. "And as for the forgiving, he was the one who went to you, even though you deserved every word Wesley told me he said. And you have no idea how hard I tried to keep him from coming after you. I knew it would lead to no good, and I was right, as usual." She threw up her hands, at a loss to understand why a man as bright as Angel would know so little of the world around him.

"Cordelia, this is a matter of life and death," Buffy said urgently. "You've lived on the hellmouth; you know that's not just a plug for tourism. Remember the Order of Taraka? I have a renegade one in town. I need Angel. Now. Where is he?"

Cordelia eyed Buffy sourly, weighing the desperation in the Slayer's eyes against the inevitable desolation in Angel's eyes when she dropped him yet again. She wanted to put Buffy out on the street right now, before Angel got sucked into another whirlpool of brood-inducing angst. Unfortunately, she now served a higher power, and she knew that sometimes professional considerations outranked personal ones.

"All right," she sighed grudgingly. "He's about two hours north of here on a stakeout with a guy named Gunn. They're trying to catch a human, who is, coincidentally, trying to form his own little Tarakan fraternity." She shrugged. "Guess they're in season."

* * * * *

Buffy found herself pounding on yet another strange door a few hours later. Once again, her thumb had provided her a means of transportation, but not a quick one. She gazed at the dark sky above her, estimating dawn to be scarcely more than an hour away now. Angel should be in the motel room, if he had any sense of self-preservation.

A door opened slightly, but it was not the one to Angel's room. The door next to his was answered by a strange young black man who seemed as surprised to see her as she was to see him. Somehow she knew this was Gunn, even though she'd assumed he would be older. This man was actually more of a boy; too young and groggy, in her opinion, to offer much protection or assistance to Angel.

Gunn rubbed his head as he tried to push the fog from his brain. Strangers usually meant trouble, from his experience, but this girl looked about as dangerous as a house cat. Of course, so did a vamp until the teeth came out.

"Is this Angel's room?" she asked hesitantly, nodding at the closed door in front of her. "If it is, you're probably Gunn." She stepped over to talk to him face to face.

"Umm, yeah, on both counts," he said slowly. "Which puts you two up on me. Who might you be?"

He did not invite her in to his room yet; he was still trying to assess body temperature and pulse from a safe distance. He flipped the wall switch next to the door and stared at her neck.

"I'm Buffy," she said confidently. When he still looked blankly at her, her smile began to waver. "I'm a…a friend of Angel's. And Wesley and Cordelia too. I'm guessing Angel isn't back yet. Can I come in for a minute?"

His quick eyes caught the briefest flicker of motion in the vein running beneath an old scar on her throat. He stepped back and waved her in.

"Yeah, come on in till he gets back." Gunn peered out into the parking lot before he closed and locked the door. "Should be any time now."

Buffy sighed as she tossed her backpack on the bed that did not appear to be in use. "Figures. He never did have any sense of time," she grumbled good-naturedly.

"So you're a friend of Angel's," he speculated. "Not too many of those around." He sat down on the other bed and pulled his T-shirt on over his head. "Course a lot of them do seem to be ladies," he said suggestively when his head re-emerged.

"I'll bet," she replied dryly. "You're his friend too, though. Or is there something you're not telling me?" She sat down next to her backpack and began playing with one of the straps.

"I'm not a friend," he said quickly. He got to his feet and reached for his duffel bag at the foot of the bed. "This is strictly business. Sometimes I need a hand, sometimes he does. No one is ever going to say I'm friends with a…" he stopped, suddenly unsure of how much she knew.

"Vampire," she finished with a sad smile, when she realized he was not going to use the word.

"So you do know. Man, that guy can't beat them off with a stick or fangs." Gunn shook his head. "Is it the coat or what?"

Buffy grinned and opened her mouth to reply when she heard a knock on the door behind her. She spun around, Gunn suddenly a dim memory.

* * * * *

Angel couldn't believe his eyes.

He'd spent a long, boring night watching a would-be assassination ringleader doing nothing to perfect his craft, and all he wanted to do now was climb into bed and try to forget the meaning of the word "immortal."

When he reached his door he put the key in the lock, and then he stopped. He felt a shiver in his human soul that only bore one explanation, but it wasn't possible. He felt the doorknob; still locked. He wasn't sure what made him look to Gunn's closed door, but before he could stop himself he was knocking on it.

Gunn opened the door a moment later and made some comment as he stepped back to let Angel enter, but Angel couldn't hear him. All he could do was look at her.

She was sitting on one of the beds, looking tired and slightly rumpled, but always beautiful in his eyes. There was a hesitant smile on her face, as though she was glad to see him, but unsure of her welcome. He drank in the sight of her, matching details against his memory, storing them up for the long and solitary nights ahead.

"Angel," he heard her say softly, placing just the tiniest lilt in his name that no one else could.

"Buffy," he breathed, still not quite believing this was real.

"And I'm Gunn, so now we all know who's who," came a voice from the distance.

Angel shook his head and glanced from his beloved to his companion for the requisite explanation. He had a feeling it was going to be a doozy.

Buffy stood up, but made no move to approach Angel. She eyed him warily, still obviously not assured of his goodwill.

"I'm sorry to bother you," she said slowly. "I know you're working. I just need…I need some help, back home." She glanced at Gunn. "It's kind of personal, but I really need you to come back with me."

"And on that note," Gunn said swiftly, "I'm out of here. Umm, Buffy, right? Hey, it's been real, but I'm thinking you'll spill on why you're here a whole lot faster if I'm just a memory." Gunn grabbed his bag and brushed past Angel on his way to the door. Angel stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Where are you going?"

Buffy waved her hand, trying to attract Angel's attention. "I think I need to, well, freshen up and do the girly stuff. You know." She vanished into the bathroom, leaving Gunn to face Angel alone.

"First, since the phones in this lousy motel don't work worth a damn, I'm gonna drive two hours back to LA to wake up Wesley. Then he and I will take turns watching the world's most boring bad guy while you help America's sweetheart there. Have fun, man." Gunn opened the door, then turned back with his hand outstretched. "Keys to the Batmobile. Don't make me rely on stereotypes and hotwire it."

Angel grinned unwillingly as he fished the keys from the pocket of his leather duster. "Will you and Wes be okay here together?" He quirked an eyebrow at his young companion. "Remember, you break him; you bought him."

"Hey, you just worry about your own ass. Make sure you steal a blanket to keep from going poof in her backseat on the drive. She may have left the car vac in the Porsche."

"Very funny. She's not like that."

"Whatever. Go find the dire in small town America. Maybe Susie got a hickey and you're the only one who can show her how to hide it from the Homecoming committee." He looked sharply at Angel, sensing there was more to the story than he wanted to know. "Or maybe I should go back with your girl to fight the big bad and leave you here with Wes."

"She's not my girl," Angel said reluctantly, staring at the little silver ring on his hand that had somehow survived hundreds of years in hell, only to draw him back to what sometimes seemed a greater one. He raised his head when the full measure of Gunn's words penetrated his consciousness. "And trust me, if Buffy's here asking for my help, it's bigger than you want to mess with. LA is a cakewalk compared to the hellmouth."

"The hell what?"

"Hellmouth," Buffy said from the bathroom doorway. "It's a never-ending source of entertainment. You should get one. Beats Disneyland with one tentacle tied around its back."

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Gunn regarded her uneasily for a moment before he returned his attention to Angel. "Okay, Plan A it is. I'll be back in a couple of hours," he promised as he slipped out the door.

There was a moment of silence in the wake of Gunn's departure. Angel turned around slowly to face Buffy, but he didn't know what to say. She had been so clear about maintaining the distance between them, and he had agreed it was for the best. Yet here she was, in his motel room. Here they both were, alone at last.

"Well, here we are, alone at last," she said in an unwitting echo of his thoughts. "Umm, Gunn seems like a nice guy, I guess. Not really a member of your fan club, but then you don't tend to score as well with the male demographic."

Angel opted for the direct approach. This reunion could not last for long; he knew that. There was no point wasting painful moments re-establishing bonds only destined to be severed.

"Why don't we go next door to my room and you can tell me why you're here, Buffy. What happened that's so urgent you had to come to me for help, of all people?"

He wanted to reach out and shake her for crashing into his world again, but he was afraid if he got any closer all he would do was pull her into his arms and never let go. Whatever she needed, he could not deny her. He might have learned to stand up for himself when she attacked him, but standing by her would always come first.

Buffy flinched at the helpless tone in his voice. She had been wrong, so wrong to come here. She was suddenly more afraid of him agreeing to help than turning her down. He worked so hard to build a life apart from hers, but she knew all she had to do was ask and he would give it up in an instant.

"I shouldn't have come," she said raggedly.

She snatched her backpack off the bed, but he blocked her exit when she tried to slide past him.

"Don't go," he said softly. "Tell me what's wrong."

She looked up into his painfully expressive eyes, the ones that always glowed when they rested on her. She had never truly seen a person's face "light up" until she met Angel, and it tore at her heart to see that same glow still shine beneath the layers of quiet pain.

"I thought I wanted to ask you for help, but I was wrong. I can't; it's not fair."

"Fair to whom?" The voice was still gentle and reassuring as he guided her out the door and into his room.

She stood in the center of the room, sneaking glances at all the pieces of Angel's new life, the one he was building without her. This should have been just a cold, impersonal motel room, but she could feel him everywhere. His scent was in the clothes spilling halfway out of a duffel bag laying on one of the twin beds, it was on the sheets of the other bed, it even emanated from deep within the book on the nightstand. He was all around her, invading her senses until she grew dizzy from the overload.

"It's not fair to you." She couldn't meet his eyes. "I didn't know who else could help me; I'm not sure anyone can. But it's not right for me to ask you to do this."

She wasn't sure which of them she was trying to convince. She knew he was her only chance, because together they were invincible. Without Angel, Riley was lost.

Almost as lost as she was without Angel.

"Buffy, if you need my help, then someone is in trouble, and it must be someone pretty important to you. The way we left things…well, it was better than it could have been, but I didn't really think I'd be seeing you again."

He didn't bother to say how that thought had torn at him, savaging his heart in both waking and sleeping hours. He had accepted the pain as his due, but nothing could assuage it until a chance encounter with an ancient prophecy spilled the faintest gleam of light into his uncertain future. It had become his only real hope of seeing her again.

"I wasn't so sure either," she confessed. "I hoped I would, but…I didn't really think so."

"So why now? Who's in trouble?"

Angel's dark eyes regarded her gently, the love in them a constant she could always draw strength from. He had looked at her just so, in the moments before she drove the sword into his belly and sent him to a realm of everlasting torture. This time it was she who had to close her eyes before the final blow.

"It's Riley," she said slowly. "I think he's been taken by demons and I need your help to get him back."


CONTINUE