"Wheel - If The Sky"

Author: Vatrixsta Cruden
Contact: trixieangelsomething@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: The song is courtesy of Ben E. King, but I prefer the late, great, John Lennon's version.

when the night has come
and the land is dark
and the moon is the only
light we'll see

He came home covered in demon goo to find Buffy sitting on their bedroom floor, clutching a tattered and torn Mr. Gordo against her bent knees, staring at nothing, a stream of silent tears weeping down her cheeks.

Unsurprisingly, the day had started out better.

Any day that started out waking up next to Buffy, he considered to be the best of his life; throw into the mix a =naked= Buffy, her back spooned to his front, her arms holding his as she slept in his loose embrace... well, that was damn near perfect

The only light in the room had come from the small patch of daylight that crept in beneath the secure curtains over the patio window. There was no danger from it, for the tiny shred of afternoon sunlight was several inches from the side of their bed.

Unhurried, at ease for the first time in years, Angel let his hands drift up and down her arms. He let his lips place the tiny, fleeting little kisses they'd longed to over the back of her neck, her shoulder blades, every patch of skin he could reach without removing his arms from around her. She made little humming noises of satisfaction in her sleep, and turned in his embrace. She slid a leg between both of his and wrapped her arms completely around his back, joining her fingers over his spine.

Her upturned face begged for attention, and he was unable to deny her anything of late, so he pressed a chaste kiss to her nose, which made it crinkle like a confused kitten. A soft chuckle built in his chest as she blinked her eyes open, glaring at him indignantly. Since Buffy had never been a graceful riser, this sight only caused his mirth to increase. The kitten metaphor continued as she pursed her lips, then pawed at her face with a single balled up fist.

Once that ritual was complete, her arms returned to their original position behind him, and she stared at him through half-open lids.

"If you think you're getting away with that sorry-excuse-for-a-good-morning-kiss, you've got another thing coming, Mister," she informed him in that sleep-roughened voice that made him long to tumble her into the sheets until they forgot their own names.

Setting that unattainable desire aside for the moment, he gathered her into his arms further, anchored his leg a bit more firmly over her hips, and pressed his lips to hers. Securing one hand at the base of her skull, he slid his tongue over her lips, coaxing them open. After a moment of token protest -- it had always been one of Buffy's favorite games to pretend she was mad at him -- she opened for him and moaned deeply as he stroked the inside of her mouth with his tongue.

Blunt teeth clashed together lightly as she brought one of her own hands to the back of his head, pressed it against his neck in the impossible effort to get closer.

Kissing like this was a lost art, one he'd engaged in far more as a boy than he ever had as a man. The girls in his village had been chaste until he'd discovered tavern whores. But every last one of them had appreciated being kissed as if they were the only girl on the planet.

The difference now, he mused, tilting his head to the side to get a taste of the corner of her mouth, was that to him, Buffy =was= the only girl on the planet. He was positive the distinction showed in the way he kissed her; the way her soft kitten tongue eagerly played with his; the way his mouth slip-slided curiously over her chin, before dutifully returning back to her lips.

He'd been about ten seconds from drifting back to sleep while he luxuriated in the perfect softness of her mouth when an obtrusive shriek had sent them leaping apart, both grabbing for bedclothes to maintain some level of dignity.

"Are you trying to get us all killed?!" Cordelia demanded, standing just inside the doorway with a tray in her hand.

"Cor," he sighed, "nothing happened." At least, not yet.

"Oh, yeah, the two of you naked in bed is =nothing=." Her voice dripped sarcasm.

"What's wrong?" Willow asked, skidding into the room, Wesley at her heels.

"We heard screaming," he added.

"Oh dear," Willow declared, getting a good look at an obviously naked Buffy and Angel.

"Have you no shame?" Cordelia asked them dramatically.

Angel couldn't help it. He laughed. From the way Buffy was vibrating beside him, he guessed she was having about as much luck as he was at containing her amusement. That suspicion was confirmed when she rolled back toward him on the bed and buried her face between his shoulder blades.

"I hardly think this is a laughing matter," Wesley declared stiffly.

"Hey, compadres, what's with the loud? I could hear Cordy from the -- Geeyah! Naked! Why with the . . . naked?"

"Shut up, Xander," Buffy sighed, wrapping the sheet around her as she stood. "Guys, nothing happened."

Angel snagged his robe from the foot of the bed and hastily tied it around his waist. Buffy pulled off a rather impressive maneuver with her own robe, letting the sheet drift down to the floor once she was covered. Angel assumed it was all that practice she got removing bras from beneath clothing.

"I will not shut up," Xander said once he'd found his voice again. "Or have you forgotten the murder spree Angel went on the last time you got groiny with one another?" He looked at Angel. "No offense."

"None taken," Angel said dryly.

"Not to mention you've got a double your pleasure, double our death rate thing going," Cordelia added. "Who would be able to stop BOTH of you if you went all evil? We were all like gibbering idiots -- the other SLAYER included -- when you guys strolled into the lobby before Buffy got all souled."

"Yeah, honestly not having a lot of faith in Faith," Xander agreed.

"How are the words 'nothing happened' failing to grasp your attention?" Buffy snapped.

"Buffy, you have to understand our point of view. And . . . and we just got you back. I couldn't stand losing you again." Willow looked ready to cry.

"Yeah," Cordelia agreed, looking at Angel. "It would totally suck to have to stake you."

"Could we have a moment alone with Angel?" Wesley took Cordelia's arm, addressed his question to the other occupants of the room.

"That sounds like a good idea," Buffy declared. She sent Angel a reassuring glance, then grabbed Willow and Xander's hands. "Come on, we'll have breakfast."

"I brought breakfast," Cordelia grumbled. "I was trying to be nice."

"It was very nice," Angel assured her. He passed Buffy one of the two Baskin Robbins containers on the tray, smiling slightly when he opened the lid of the other. "Cinnamon?"

"Vanilla powder," Cordelia sniffed.

"Guys, it's no big, I swear."

Buffy, Willow and Xander had ducked into one of the nearby, vacant rooms. The carton of blood was clutched tightly in Buffy's hands, and she was trying very hard not to gulp the whole thing down right in front of her friends. They hadn't seemed disgusted at dinner the night before, but they'd had alcohol then.

"Look, we kinda figured you guys would hook up again," Xander began. "It's logical. We dealt. Then you started sleeping in the same bed. Again, not of the comforting nature, but we forebear."

"You keep saying 'we'," Buffy noted. "Just who is 'we'?"

"Me, Will, Giles . . . "

"You've =discussed= this?" Buffy asked, feeling irrational anger creep up.

"Of =course= we've discussed it!" Cordelia huffed. "I've been there every time you've went through a downward spiral, buddy, and the way you and Slay Gal are all over each other absolutely screams Repeat Performance."

Angel sighed and absent-mindedly took a sip from the cup she'd brought him, hoping that maybe if he ignored her, she'd go away.

"And don't bury your nose in a cup of blood and expect me to go away," she snapped.

"How the hell--" Angel snapped his mouth shut. No, he wouldn't ask how she knew him that well -- she might tell him, and he was pretty sure he didn't really want to know. "What happened before . . . neither one of us would ever let it happen again."

"Angel, it's not a question of either of you wanting it to happen," Wesley began hesitantly.

"It's more uncontrollable passion," Willow explained. "You used to tell me how Angel made you all gooey inside. Has that changed?"

"Of course not," Buffy answered sullenly. They had a point. She knew they did. It's what made this entire situation unbearable. Were she and Angel kidding themselves about being able to make this work? Were they just setting up the table for a big game of 'crush my heart beneath your boot' all over again?

"So you're gooey, he's gooey, and you get gooey together and everybody's having a really bad day," Xander summed up.

"It's not--" Buffy set her container down and began whipping her arms around in an effort to be heard better. "It's not that simple," she finally said. "We're... Angel and I are trying to--"

"--Build some kind of life together." Angel ran an irritated hand through his hair. "It's not easy. We both know that. But it's gotta be easier than trying to do this alone."

"Not to rain on your reunion parade, but neither of you are what I'd exactly call 'alone,'" Cordelia reminded him. "You have us, and Gunn, and Psycho Slayer, if she decides to stick around. And Ex-Cop Gal, if she ever gets back from that extended vacation she took."

"And Buffy has a rather loyal network of people who love her dearly," Wesley added. "Giles mentioned to me just the other day that he might have to consider going back to Sunnydale soon. He does have a business to run. Willow has college. Xander has a job. They can't remain here in limbo indefinitely, and I doubt Buffy's ready to lose them."

Angel looked down, unwilling to concede that particular point at the moment. Fear of losing Buffy was an ever-present sensation he'd grown accustomed to, like guilt and sorrow. They'd made a decision last night, one he knew she would stick to. This irrational fear was just that -- irrational. They weren't going to leave each other this time. How could they, when they were the only two beings on the planet capable of understanding one another? They were the same. That knowledge rocked Angel. He'd thought about it, of course, but at the moment, it became clear.

They were the same now. He and Buffy were =exactly= the same.

"Buff? Yo, Buff, we boring you here?"

"Huh?" Buffy shook her thoughts away. "Yeah. No. I mean, I'm listening."

"Where did you go?" Willow asked quietly.

"You know how it was for Angel and me back in Sunnydale," Buffy said quietly. "How we were so in love it hurt to look at us, and we were so different, and so doomed, that it hurt even more?"

"Yeah," Willow agreed, getting that glassy-eyed look. "Every time I saw you guys in the same room together, I always just wanted to grab Oz and hold him until I forgot that feeling it gave me to just look at you two."

"So much of what brought that massive pain on is gone," Buffy said passionately. "The curse is still there, only now it's a two-way street." He couldn't leave her for a better life now, because he'd just be abandoning her into the darkness. "We just need to be closer to each other, Will," Buffy whispered.

"But--"

"No buts, Xander," Willow interrupted, her gaze never leaving Buffy's. "You're being careful?"

"I swear," Buffy confirmed.

"And you're not--" Cordelia made a complicated gesture with her hands Angel didn't want to attempt to decipher -- better to just nod and hope that was acceptable.

"Of course not," Angel soothed. "We wouldn't . . . even if I were to be so stupid, Buffy is the one person in this world who knows better. What I put her through . . ."

"Hey, hey, I'm making sure you don't go evil, that isn't a license to brood," Cordelia interrupted, folding her arms over her chest. "I'm out of arguments. Wes?"

Wesley straightened. "Yes. Well. I have to say . . . I trust Angel." Angel felt his throat constrict -- it was the first time Wes had said that since that incredible stupidity with Darla. "He and Buffy have lived through things we ourselves most likely couldn't survive hearing about. They've survived death. I trust them to be able to survive life."

Angel had smiled at his friend. The smile only lasted for a second, though, because Cordelia had doubled over with a vision. With barely a minute to dress, Angel had gone flying down the halls, literally running into Buffy.

"Vision?" she'd asked with a little smile.

"A pregnant woman being attacked by a Puka demon down on Le Brea," he'd confirmed. "If I take the sewers, the sun should be down by the time I get there."

"Be safe," she'd said, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he hurried away.

That had been three hours and one rescued woman ago. He was almost afraid to ask what had turned the light-hearted girl he'd left this morning into the clearly depressed one he was now faced with.

Approaching her warily, Angel squatted down on the floor next to Buffy. He didn't try to touch her yet. That would come after he'd determined what happened.

"Buffy?"

No response.

"Sweetheart?"

Less response.

Sighing, determining there was no other way to bring her out of this, he reached out and gently took Mr. Gordo away. Buffy's head snapped around, and before he realized that she'd moved, she had him pinned on the ground, her body holding his down, her hands over his where they still clutched the little pink stuffed pig.

"The last person who took Mr. Gordo from me ended the encounter capable of fitting in a Zip-Loc bag," Buffy said menacingly.

"I believe you," Angel assured her honestly. "I promise, it's nothing personal with the pig. I was just trying to get a reaction."

"Congratulations," she muttered, snatching the pig back as she rolled off his body.

They both moved to sitting positions, though he noticed she scooted further away from him. He frowned, but didn't comment. Whatever was bothering her apparently went beyond melancholy thoughts of childhood toys, or even the vampires stupid enough to try and steal a memory.

"Giles brought it," Buffy mumbled. "He didn't tell anyone, but he went back to Sunnydale after the movie last night. He got back just after you left. He brought Mr. Gordo, and some of my clothes, and CDs and the little umbrella they gave me at Prom . . .Xander fixed it, you know, after this vampire bitch broke the handle my first week at college."

Angel didn't know what she wanted him to say, so he remained silent. He wanted to touch her, to gather her in his arms and rock her until all the pain went away, but he knew that wasn't an option. Not only did he firmly believe it wouldn't work, but he wasn't sure she'd let him touch her right now.

"He thought having all my stuff in my new home might make me feel better." Buffy laughed, but it was a brittle sound. "It did, too, for a minute. I mean, he was giving us his blessing by doing this. He was telling me it was okay for me to be with you."

As big, salty tears began trailing down her cheeks again, Angel had to dig his nails into his palms to keep from reaching for her. The way she held her body fairly screamed 'DON'T TOUCH ME, I MIGHT SHATTER.' It broke his heart (for the hundredth time in a month) to see her like this.

"Did I ever tell you why I loved Mr. Gordo so much?"

Angel shook his head. "No. You were more concerned with making sure everyone understood the unpleasant ramifications should any harm come to him."

She almost smiled, but the sob that caught in her throat prevented the expression from flourishing.

"I don't know where he =really= came from," she began, "but Dawn gave him to me. He was hers, and she was scared of thunderstorms, and one night she came into my room -- she couldn't have been more than three -- and it was raining so hard. Dad wasn't home and Mom had been sick. She climbed into my bed and asked me if I'd keep Mr. Gordo safe. I was nine, I had no idea what was ahead of me in life, and all I wanted was to protect her.

"Of course, while I'm reliving this touching moment, it occurs to me that Dawn never really existed and I could have won Mr. Gordo at some county fair when I was sixteen for all I know. Hell, maybe Mr. Gordo doesn't even really exist, but those monks thought it was such a sweet memory, they spun him into creation along with Dawn's N'Sync CDs and all her diaries.

"And then when =that= fun thought train pulled into the station, I started wondering whether it mattered if she was really my sister or not. I told her it didn't, that I loved her, that she =was= my sister, no matter what. But when I think about killing her . . . when I remember how scared she was . . . I killed my little sister, Angel, and she wasn't even real and I don't know what I feel worse about."

Cautiously, Angel moved closer to her until he could wrap an arm around her shoulders. She didn't pull away, and he tucked her against him, pressed a kiss against the side of her head.

"I wish I could say something to make you feel better," he said honestly. "I wish there were magic words to make everything right again."

"But there aren't," she snapped, abruptly pulling away from him as she jumped to her feet. "There never have been in my life."

Slowly, Angel rose to his feet. "You've had it rough," he agreed, wincing at his own words, momentarily thinking of Whistler. 'She's gonna have it tough, that Slayer.' The word 'understatement' surely must have been invented so it could be applied to Whistler's words.

"Rough," Buffy echoed hollowly. "Yeah. I've had it real =rough=, Angel. My whole world collapsed in on itself when I was fifteen. I lost =everything= that mattered to me. I got shoved down into a pit of darkness and the only advice anyone gave me was to poke at bad guys with a pointy stick. My father decided I wasn't worth it, you decided I wasn't worth it, I've made my friends' lives miserable and that was BEFORE I got turned into a bloodsucking fiend and murdered the people they loved."

He moved toward her warily. Treating her like a wild animal was the only course of action he had at the moment. In all honesty, she =was= a wild animal. She might have a soul in her body, but the demon was strong and about as vicious as they come. He knew the truth in that intimately.

"Buffy," he whispered softly, bringing a hand to her cheek. He tried to find better words, but there were none. There was =nothing= he could say to make this better for her. Instead, he opened his arms to her and hoped she'd take the invitation.

Her hands moved to his chest and she clawed at his sweater. She looked about thirty seconds away from total meltdown.

"I don't want to do this. I just . . .I just want to be human. I just want to be a girl again. I want to be the Slayer again. I'll never complain about not being normal ever again, I swear, I just want to be human again . . ." At least, that's what he thought she meant. Considering she was sobbing and gasping and her voice was muffled against his throat, he could only guess.

After a moment, she seemed to come back to herself, and she pushed him away roughly; turned toward the window that overlooked the dark Los Angeles night and wrapped her arms around her middle.

"Sweetheart?" he asked softly.

"Just go away," she ordered, steel surrounding her tears.

That floored him. Over the past two weeks, the one thing she hadn't done that he'd expected was try to push him away. With the exception of that first night, when she'd been terrified of his reaction, she'd held onto him tighter than he'd believed possible. Most of the reconnecting they'd done, so far as their personal relationship went, had been at her prodding.

"Buffy," he tried again.

"Angel, please. My whole life is crashing down around me -- as usual -- and I can't handle letting you make me feel better about it right now."

Something in her posture irked him. Her voice wasn't filled with simple sorrow any longer. There was something like defeat in the way she held her shoulders, and something akin to self-pity in her tone.

Against his better judgment, Angel started to get a little angry with her. On her behalf, as well as his own. Faith's words echoed in his mind. 'Angel, the King of Pain is the only one who gets this, right? Bullshit. You can't coddle her, Angel. You can't protect her from what she's done, and you of =all= people should know that.'

He did know that. Loving her, wanting to shield her from every ounce of pain that came her way, had corrupted that knowledge. He'd forgotten how hard it was to claw your way up the rocky slope of redemption when there was someone coddling and indulging your bouts of self-pity. Yes, he'd been right when he told Faith Buffy hadn't been near ready to face up to everything before.

But she was now. And if she didn't face it soon, if she didn't confront what she was, what her life must by necessity entail for the rest of her existence, the damage could be irreparable.

"You think I don't want it too, more than anything?" His words were quiet, uttered to the back of her head as she refused to look at him.

The words had been screaming in his brain from the moment that she'd begun her rant. While it might be best to approach this conversation from another angle, he felt gutted by her seeming total disregard for how deep she could cut him with her words. Buffy had always had the tendency to be self-involved. It wasn't something he scorned her for; it was merely a single layer to the woman he loved.

She spun around to face him, and he ignored the stricken look on her face. For her sake, he had to.

"Do you think there's not a day I don't wake up and wish I was groggy from sleeping too late? That I don't want to hear my bones creak as I head to the bathroom because I'm getting older? Do you honestly think that I don't spend at least twenty minutes out of the day trying to remember what food tastes like when you're alive?"

"Angel," she whispered.

"No," he said firmly. "Answer me. Do you think that you're the only one who feels this way?"

Numbly, she shook her head.

"Do you think I don't understand you?" he continued, relentless as he stalked toward her slowly. "Do you think I don't understand the things that you've done, the guilt that you feel, the emptiness you're doing battle with every second?"

Again, she shook her head, and managed a hoarse "No," in response.

"You're not the only one who can remember what your family tasted like. What their faces looked like before you killed them. The way they screamed . . ." He felt his own eyes water, and he tried to control it. This wasn't about him, but she =had= to understand . . .

"Angel, I'm sorry," she whimpered.

"I don't =want= you to be sorry," he shouted. "Not to me. You never have to be sorry to me."

"What am I supposed to do?!" she yelled back. "I've already apologized to them. What more can I say? They seem to forgive me, but my life is never going to be the same again! I'm never going to be like I was!"

"No, you're not," he agreed. "You'll never be like you were before."

Now, she looked like he'd hit her. There was more betrayal in her eyes than there had been after he had hit her when he'd been defending Faith. He tried to draw comfort from that memory. That had been the worst encounter they'd ever had with each other, and they'd survived it. They'd survived Sex, His Demon, Hell, Lack of Sex, Faith, Separation, Faith again, Soldier Boy, Her Demon, and more death than any one soul should have to face. They could survive anything with each other.

"Right." She laughed hollowly, and it looked to Angel as if the reality of her situation crystallized for her at that very moment. Was it possible she really hadn't let the truth of it all hit her until now? "Well, I guess this is good, right? The final Kiss of Death to all my hopes about being a normal girl. Man, and I thought I had it freaky before."

"Is this what you want?" he asked, changing gears.

"I think it's fairly safe to say that NONE of this is what I want," she snapped.

"No, I mean is this how you want to spend the rest of eternity?" He stared her down. "Because if it is, you're right, we should get a jump on it now."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Wallowing in self-pity. I spent roughly a hundred years bemoaning the unfairness of my existence. You wanna go another hundred with me? I won't be able to give you a real good brood through some of it, because I'll have to venture out and save some of the people in Cordelia's visions. You remember those people, don't you? The ones you were chosen to protect?"

"Stop it," she mumbled.

"Why? So you can sink into a pit of depression? I've been there, Buffy. I've done that. I've filled my quota for the year. You've been putting on a great show for the past two weeks. You even had me fooled, and I thought I was the one person you couldn't lie to." In reality, he hadn't been fooled -- he'd been in denial. He found himself rather uncomfortably shoved into Cordy, Wes and Gunn's shoes. Were these the same thoughts they'd entertained when he'd begun to spiral out of control? Had they convinced themselves he'd be all right if they just left him alone, let him work out his inner demons by himself?

"Gee, you're really the Poster Boy for Mental Stability too, aren't you, Angel?" she countered. He ignored the sneer in her voice, and focused on the fire in her eyes. That fire gave him hope. "You and your three month binge with 'I don't give a crap,' culminating with =Darla=," she spat the other woman's name, "in your bed. In OUR bed. God, do you know how much it creeps me out to be sleeping in the bed you nailed her on?"

"If you want a new bed, by all means, there's a twenty-four hour furniture store a few blocks from here. Let's go get a new bed."

"Okay," she agreed, folding her arms over her chest.

Angel came up short for a moment. "Okay?" he parroted dumbly.

"You want me to accept my life and my existence. You want me to stop with the self-pity and . . . and you're right. I should. Well, my life is going to be with you. And I'm not going to spend another day in that bed when I know you were with her on it."

"Okay," he repeated again. "I'll . . . I'll get my coat."

"We only have a couple of hours," she called over her shoulder, her voice dispassionate as she headed into the bathroom. "Come here."

He followed her and nearly jumped when she threw a wet washcloth at his face.

"No mirrors, but if I look half as puffy as you do . . . well, no need to draw even more attention to ourselves than necessary," she mumbled.

Wiping his face quickly, he moved toward her and took the second washcloth from her hands. Gently, he pressed it to her cheek, then her closed eyelids, reverently erasing all evidence of tears from her face. With a smile, she returned the favor, finishing the inadequate job he'd started on his own face.

"We had a fight," he said quietly. Way to state the obvious, he thought irritably.

"Yeah," Buffy said, her voice equally subdued. "Gotta say, though, if that's as bad as it gets, an eternity of someone caring about me as much as you do doesn't seem that scary."

"I don't think that's as bad as it's going to get," Angel said softly. Buffy looked up at him, and he hated the fear he saw in her eyes. "Somehow, I doubt that even scratched the surface."

"Can't I have even a tiny little =shred= of denial to cling to?" Buffy groused as she took his hand.

Pulling her along, he shook his head. "Sorry. The sooner you start living in the real world, the sooner you'll see it's not as bad as you think."

"A likely story," she muttered as they headed for the door, hand in hand.

"Why do we only have two hours?" Angel asked as he shut the door behind them.

"'Cause Giles wants a tribal council about how I got my soul back. Any theories you'd like to share with the class?"

Angel grimaced. "One or two."

no, I won't be afraid
no, I won't be afraid
just as long as you stand
stand by me

"What's the rule about sitting in a dark room all alone?"

Xander smirked at Cordelia. "Ah, you forget. There's no Psycho Buffy on the loose anymore, so the 'bring a buddy' rule is null and void."

"I'm not talking about Angel's rule, dorkus," she assured him, moving to sit beside him on his bed. "I'm talking about my No Brooding Zone policy."

"I'm in my own room," Xander defended. "How can you make a policy in my room?"

"Because I'm Vision Girl," Cordelia said like it should mean something to him.

Shaking his head, Xander tsk'd at her. "That only works with Angel."

"Oh, you think so," she said, and something about her tone made Xander sit up straighter.

He regarded her warily for a moment. "What?"

"Just that we have no idea what kind of freakish Carrie-like powers I might have now. The visions might just be the tip of the iceberg that sank the Titanic."

"Jack and Rose had it easy," Xander muttered.

Cordelia looked like she wanted to laugh. "God, do you remember when we all went to see Titanic together?"

"Unfortunately, it's a memory I've been unable to burn from my brain no matter how many flaming torches I've used."

"I think it's the only time -- with the exception of the Prom, and that just ended up majorly depressing for Buffy and Angel -- that we all went out together just to have fun."

"Yeah, but remember while we were walking through the parking lot--

"I know, I know, a bunch of the mayor's vamps jumped out at us. But they were no match for the combined Vampire Death Squad of Buffy, Faith and Angel."

"Remember when Jack died and Oz cried? Still didn't make an expression, but he cried."

"Willow was blubbering all over him," Cordelia recalled. "Angel and Buffy just looked sad the entire time."

"I kept thinking about how much I missed you," Xander confessed.

"Xander," Cordelia murmured, genuinely surprised. They NEVER talked about their breakup unless they were sniping at each other.

"It was nice, having you hang with us even though we weren't together. It kinda proved you really cared about the group."

"Of course I cared," Cordelia said hotly. "You guys . . . you were my friends. I didn't deserve you, and I certainly didn't appreciate you, but you were the best friends I'd ever had. I just didn't fit in there."

"You seem to fit pretty well here," Xander noted.

Cordelia smiled. "Yeah. I think I belong with Angel."

Xander's face screwed up in extreme distaste. "Oh, please don't tell me--"

"What? Eww! Not like =that=. Jeez, you are such a dork."

"Hey, you're the one talking about how you =belong= with Angel--"

"He's my family," Cordelia said, stressing the word 'family'. "The same way Buffy and Willow are yours. Only I've never kissed Angel. Except that one time, but I hardly think that counts."

Xander stared at her for a moment. Then, he said seriously, "Never tell me."

"Deal." A sigh escaped her mouth. "So what are you doing up here?"

Matching her sigh, Xander reached under his pillow and pulled out a frilly pink scarf. "It was Anya's," he explained. "While Giles was in Sunnydale, I asked him to drop by my apartment and pick up a few things. He grabbed it by accident. I've been swimming in near suicidal depression ever since."

Biting her lip, Cordelia looked from Xander, to the scarf, then back again. "Giles is making us talk about Buffy's soul," she said helplessly.

Surprisingly, her comment seemed to perk Xander up a little, and he smiled at her. "Yeah, Will told me I'd better not be late. She's gotten really bossy lately."

"Wesley said the same thing this morning," Cordelia noted. "I think it makes her feel better to be in control of something, even if it is just us."

"When did you develop insight into other humans?" Xander asked, genuine amazement in his voice.

"When I started getting skull crushing visions that also come with the extra added bonus of letting me feel whatever the person in danger is feeling," she said simply.

"Well, the caring human being look -- it works for you."

"Thanks," she said shyly.

Xander almost had a coronary at the thought of Cordelia Chase being =shy=. "I guess Giles will probably also wanna talk about when we're all going back," he said, trying to change what was to him a very disturbing subject.

"Right. Sunnyhell. Because God forbid anyone move away from there."

"Actually, I've been thinking about it," Xander confessed. "There are just . . .too many memories everywhere. Of how it used to be with Buffy, of Anya . . . of everything."

"Just don't think that if you move here, you can horn in on all my dates with Gunn," she warned him.

Grinning, Xander slid closer to her on the bed. "Are we calling them dates now?"

Cordelia blew out an annoyed puff of air and stood, grabbing Xander's hand and pulling him with her. "Come on. Let's find others for you to annoy."

if the sky that we look upon
should tumble and fall
or the mountain should crumble
to the sea
I won't cry, I won't cry
no, I won't shed a tear
just as long as you stand
stand by me

"Where have you two been?"

Buffy grinned at the expression on Giles' face. He hated when anyone was late for a powwow.

"Buying a bed," she replied cheerfully.

"They're delivering it in the morning," Angel added.

"Okaaaaay," Xander said, "since everyone's here, can we get started?"

"Yes, well, I've been in contact with several of the patrons of Caritas, and the word on the street--"

"The word on the street?" Gunn interrupted, raising an eyebrow at Wesley.

The former Watcher glared back at him.

"At any rate," Giles interjected, "Wesley and I have worked out a number of theories--"

"When are you guys going back to Sunnydale?"

Everyone stared at Buffy. They were gathered in the lobby of the Hyperion, once again scattered around the floor. Angel and Buffy had taken a seat on the couch, and Xander and Willow were seated on what was once the check-in desk, letting their legs swing back and forth from where they hung over the counter. Giles and Wesley were standing in front of a chalkboard and Angel was silently curious to know where they'd obtained it. The board was blank. Spike and Faith were sitting on bean bag chairs Angel didn't remember buying, and Cordelia was leaning next to Gunn against the wall, near Willow and Xander.

"Gee, Buff, didn't realize you were in such a hurry to get rid of us," Xander said with cheerful sarcasm.

"I'm not," Buffy denied immediately. "It's just . . . I know you're going to leave eventually, and I . . . I don't know how I'm going to make it without you."

"Well . . ." Willow glanced at Xander and Giles. "I can't speak for anyone else, but you might not have to make it without me."

"Will?" Buffy asked, carefully controlled hope in her voice. Her hand, however, was squeezing Angel's hard enough to break normal human bones. Luckily he'd probably only have a slight bruise until he fed again.

"Giles called UCS for me, to tell them about Tara's death. The Dean said he'd inform Tara's family. Like they'd care," Willow muttered bitterly. "I talked to my parents last night and said I'd be taking a leave of absence for the rest of the semester. When school starts up next fall . . . Buffy, I was thinking of applying to UCLA."

"But Will," Buffy objected automatically, "Sunnydale is your home."

Willow smiled gently at her friend. "Buffy, I only stayed there instead of going to the billion other colleges I was accepted to because of you and the slaying."

Buffy stared down at the ground, her hold on Angel's hand tightening fractionally. She'd known that, of course, but to actually hear Willow say it . . .

"Yeah, and you know, Buff, I can pretty much practice my magnificent carpentry trade anywhere," Xander added. "And I couldn't let my best buds live in this big bad city all alone."

"What are we, chopped liver?" Cordelia asked haughtily. But her tone lacked any real venom. It was teasing, and Xander rolled with it.

"How could I forget the shrieking harpy put on this earth to make my life a mortal hell?" he said, smiling sweetly at Cordelia.

Cordelia merely stuck her tongue out at him; Gunn casually -- if casually meant really obviously and possessively -- slung an arm over her shoulder.

Next, Buffy's gaze strayed to Giles. The smile he gave her nearly made her forget how depressed she'd been crying over Mr. Gordo earlier.

"The shop does quite well in Sunnydale," he commented, "and from what I've observed of Los Angeles' paranormal activity since we've been here, I can only assume business would fairly triple in a larger environment. Besides . . . as your Watcher, whatever the current circumstances you find yourself in, my place is with you."

Buffy's heart flipped over in her chest.

"And I can help you get settled before school starts," Willow chimed in.

"Don't forget Wood Boy," Xander added, then paused as everyone looked at him oddly. "Oh, please! Get your filthy minds out of the gutter! I meant that I'm good at molding wood with my hands . . . you know what, I give up, I don't care how you're looking at me."

"As fascinating as this discussion is," Wesley interrupted, "I believe we have matters of more urgency."

"Wes is right, but first, just so I'm totally clear -- you're all staying?" Buffy's eyes were hopeful as she glanced at her family.

"I'm staying," Spike said, a bit too eagerly.

Buffy scowled at him. "I wasn't asking you."

Willow looked from Xander, to Giles, then back again, and spoke for the three of them: "We're staying." She glanced at Angel, a little shy now. "Think you can put up with us awhile longer, at least until we find places of our own?"

"Stay as long as you like," Angel assured her, bringing Buffy's palm to his mouth for a kiss. They exchanged a loving glance, and he silently reminded her that everything was going to be all right now.

"Now that this matter is settled, kindly direct your attention to the board," Wesley instructed. Giles flipped the chalkboard over to reveal a series of scenarios written in bright white chalk.

"Wesley and I spent several hours this evening working out a list of likely suspects involved in cursing Buffy," Giles informed them.

"Is that Harm's name I see in the upper left hand corner?" Spike asked, the expression on his face a cross between horror and amusement.

"We can't very well rule her out simply because she . . ." Giles trailed off.

"Lacks the intellect of a horny fruit fly?" Spike offered.

Wesley ignored Spike's outburst. "Using simple deductive reasoning, we have been able to narrow the list to five likely candidates. Given motive, means, and opportunity, we are reasonably sure that--"

"Angel thinks those evil lawyers cursed me," Buffy interjected. The wind seemed to go out of Wesley's sails as he looked at her. Buffy smiled. "We talked about it while we were shopping for beds. I think we were bouncing on a California King when he mentioned it."

"It seems the most plausible explanation," Angel added. "Especially after the way you taunted Lindsey," he added, looking pointedly at Buffy.

Buffy frowned. "Sure, bring up my evil bitchiness."

"Well, seeing as Angel has plucked out of thin air the conclusion it took Giles and I three exhaustive hours to reach, I suppose the meeting is adjourned," Wesley grumbled.

"Hey, no hard feelings, English," Gunn consoled. "You two did a bang up job with the board."

"Yeah, the drawings are wicked accurate," Faith added.

"It's like a wheel," Willow declared.

Wesley frowned, and looked from her to the board and back again. "Actually, it's more of a graph--"

Willow waved him off. "No, not the board -- us. I was just thinking about all of us sitting here, after everything we've been through, and how we're talking about starting up fresh in a new place, but with all of us, still . . ." She looked around the room, gesturing excitedly. "We're cycling back again. Gathering together to fight the forces of darkness. We Wiccans believe in circles, and that's what this is -- a big old wheely circle."

"You mean how big bad evil keeps getting way up in Buffy and Angel's faces, and they keep knocking it back to hell where it belongs?" Cordelia asked.

"That, sure, but also . . . us." Willow gestured to everyone present. "We're -- we're a circle. It breaks, and we . . ." Her eyes filled with tears for a moment. "We lose sections, but it always grows back again. Like the spokes of a wheel."

"Spokes don't grow back," Cordelia insisted.

"Metaphorical spokes do!" Willow snapped.

"It's a neat metaphor, Will," Buffy assured her best friend. They shared a smile. "I don't think I would have survived this long without you guys."

"I know I wouldn't have," Angel agreed, sending Cordelia a comforting smile.

"And the meeting is not adjourned," Giles piped up.

"Why the bleedin' hell not?" Spike snapped. "Survivor's on and I think they're going to eat the little one tonight."

"They don't eat people on Survivor," Faith said, looking at Spike like he was nuts.

"What would you know about it? You've been locked up like a canary for the past year," Spike sneered.

"Enough," Giles said firmly. He hadn't raised his voice, yet everyone in the room -- even Spike -- reacted to the authority in it. "There's still a rather pivotal detail that I believe has escaped everyone's attention."

"Angel broods too much?" Cordelia offered.

"Cordy's an evil minion of hell?" Xander added.

"William the Bloody needs to get his ass kicked?" Faith cooed sweetly.

Giles' gaze was planted firmly on Buffy. "We don't know =why= Wolfram and Hart cursed Buffy with her soul."

Angel winced. "Yeah, about that . . ."

Buffy narrowed her eyes at him. "You're squirming. You never squirm."

"I don't know for sure," Angel began, "but I have an idea."

"Please, do tell," Giles invited.

"For the past few months, that firm has done nothing but try to drive me out of my mind. It worked for awhile, but thanks to an epiphany, I pulled out of a serious downward spiral at the last minute." Angel ran a hand through his hair and avoided looking at Buffy. "I think -- due in part to a comment Buffy made to Lindsey while we were both soulless -- that Wolfram and Hart gave Buffy her soul back to push me over the edge."

"Hold on," Buffy interrupted, sounding peeved. "They're just using me to drive you wacko?" She made a scoffing noise. "I tell ya, what ever happened to the good old days, when tormenting a Slayer was an end unto itself?"

"Those glory days are gone," Xander agreed. "In today's fast paced society, it's all about getting a twofer."

"In that case, I hope your suspicions are correct, Angel," Wesley said.

Angel frowned. "Why?"

"Because we have ample ability to fight another attack on your sanity from Wolfram and Hart," he explained gently. "It's any other front they might choose that worries me."

"Okay, we're not going to get any further on this tonight, right?" Buffy asked, already pulling Angel to his feet with her.

"No," Giles agreed. "In fact, I'd dare say without determining a way to get some inside information on Wolfram and Hart, we're fighting blind."

"Well, since you've had experience with being blind, you get to be in charge, Giles," Buffy announced cheerily. "Angel and I have to go burn a mattress. And some sheets."

Faith hooted, causing everyone to turn toward her. "Burning mattress," she said as though they should get it.

Spike did, and he grinned. "Think their delicate sensibilities are up for it, pet?"

"Up for what?" Willow asked nervously.

It was Xander who finally answered with an enthusiastic shout:

"Bonfire on the roof!"

"So glad you could join us again, Mr. McDonald," the guy who'd taken over for Holland Manners greeted. "And it only took you an hour after we called to arrive. It's good to know where your priorities lie."

Lindsey ignored the sneer in the man's voice. He'd been contemplating all the files he'd received on the Watcher's Council, Buffy Summers, and the long and tangled history between vampires, Slayers, and the Council that no one -- least of all the Council -- wanted anyone to be aware of.

While he definitely didn't want to admit it, after becoming immersed in the tale of a young Slayer who'd lived nearly four hundred years ago, Lindsey was beginning to suspect that itching feeling he'd been ignoring was his conscience.

His gaze was drawn to a dark corner in the boardroom. Something was definitely off about the energy there. Before he could contemplate it much longer, his curiosity was satisfied and he shuddered as her voice echoed through the room.

"I was visiting the seaside. Strawberries and suntans under the moonlight. Nasty brutes had to come and spoil all my fun. They brought me back here to play with Daddy. He doesn't like to play with me anymore. Don't they see?"

The chair spun, and Lindsey swallowed. Darla had been a vicious, beautiful predator, but when he'd looked into her eyes, he'd always seen . . . something. Whenever he looked into Drusilla's eyes, the emptiness scared him shitless. Crazy people were terrifying; there wasn't a word for what a crazy, psychotic =vampire= was.

He'd put this into motion. Back when Buffy had asked him to, he'd cast the die to locate Drusilla for her, to have her brought back. He'd never followed up on it, but it didn't surprise him that someone else at the firm had.

Every time Lindsey considered going to Angel, to his little band of merry men with what he knew, his prosthetic hand felt a little too heavy and the rage burned bright and hot. Staring into Drusilla's empty black eyes, his fake hand felt lighter than it had in ages.

"Drusilla," the other lawyer in the room began, "my name's Philip Strickland. I'm an associate of Mr. McDonald's--"

"Eyes like the sea," Drusilla declared, staring a hole into Lindsey's forehead. "Oh, you're the one, aren't you?" A mad laugh erupted from her mouth. "Isn't it delicious? You've been invited to the party, but it's lost in the mail."

"Buffy Summers was turned recently," Lindsey began. He felt like he had to talk, that if he didn't, he'd be swallowed up into her emptiness.

Drusilla frowned. "I felt it. Oh, she was a bad girl. Daddy would have punished her 'til she screamed for how bad she was." A little of her emptiness was filled with the profound sorrow of a lost child. "Except Daddy never punishes us anymore. He left us, he comes back, but it's never for always anymore."

"Buffy and Angel both have souls," Lindsey began, but her insane laughter brought him up short.

"Little sprites whispered to me about her goodness," Drusilla mumbled, rolling her head against the back of the chair she sat in. "They said she couldn't ever be without it, not like my Angel. His goodness I could rip away with a single slash." She made a clawing motion with her hand. "The little girl with all the power gives it back to him. Take it away, give it back, take it away, give it back . . . makes my skull ache."

"Wolfram and Hart have come into possession of a very ancient magic," Strickland declared.

Lindsey frowned. "I wasn't made aware of that."

"Perhaps if you paid more attention to your work," Strickland snapped. He turned back to Drusilla. "It's a spell that only an extremely powerful witch -- or someone with your particular sight -- can cast." He moved closer to her, but not =too= close, Lindsey noted with a sneer.

"It'll bring your Daddy back to you. Forever."

and darling, darling
stand by me
oh, stand by me
stand by me
stand by me
whenever you're in trouble,
won't you stand by me

The End

<< back