“Uh…what?”

 “Cordelia’s baby.” Buffy specified, as if there were another baby around that they had been discussing. Angel shifted uncomfortably on the step, and Buffy recognized it for what it was: the sort of discomfort that preceded lying, especially male lying. “God, Angel, relax. Whose is it? I mean, what could possibly shock me? Is it Wes’…? Okay, actually, not sure I want to think of Wes like that at all. It’d be like thinking of Giles….Ugh. But anyway, how come she didn’t say anything? That’s a lot of stretch marks for Cordelia to deal with. Huh. Did he run off and leave her or something? It just seems so…different…for Cordelia.”

    “Oh, God.” Angel said. “Why are we talking about this again?”

    “Because you absolutely cannot talk about my personal life and my friends if I can’t do the same thing with your life and your friends.”

   “Yeah, but, Buffy, what if the same stuff doesn’t happen to me that happens to you?”

    “Well…” She said thoughtfully. “I guess you’re right. It’s not like you can date somebody who’s incredibly inappropriate that all your friends will disapprove of. But, you know, at least neither one of us has to worry about getting pregnant!”  Her face slowly changed as she watched his face freeze up. “Oh, God, Angel, I’m sorry. I really am. I just…” Her hands twisted together in her lap. “I’m so, so, sorry.” 

    The silence that followed wasn’t just uncomfortable, it was positively excruciating. I can’t talk to him any more, Buffy thought. I used to think I could, but could I?

    And Angel thought, I can’t tell her. She’ll never understand. “You know, it’s just that moment of perfect happiness that’s the curse.” He said quietly. “Imperfect happiness isn’t too bad.”  

     The words hung over them, twisting, changing, exploding.

    “Oh. Oh.”  Buffy stared at him. “Angel…” She swallowed over a lump in her throat.  The one constant in her life had been him, and the connection they’d had. The type of connection he couldn’t have with anybody else. She considered her next words carefully, and tried to think mature thoughts, and of course blurted out what she actually wanted to say. “Oh. Oh. You mean…You had sex?”

   “Do we have to discuss this?”  He did his uncomfortable shift again. “This is really hard for me.”

   She just stared at him in astonishment. He was uncomfortable talking about his love life? Before she could jump in, he said quietly, “I have to…I have to settle, Buffy. I don’t have the options you have.”

     She was still staring at him in that way he was now associating with unpleasant outbursts. She shook her head slightly, which made him even more nervous, but all she said was, “Were you always like this? Did I, like, just not notice because I was sixteen?” 

   Angel winced again. Good, she thought. You won’t talk to me, then I’m going to make you so uncomfortable you’ll have to talk to me. “Angel, have you been taking notes? Because we’re getting real close to the part where we basically just repeat everything we’ve ever said today over and over till I fall over from starvation and exhaustion.”

    “Park Place, baby, it’s all mine!”     

    Both of them stopped, startled, freezing in exactly the same pose, heads slightly lifted and turned, ears cocked to the sound of D’Hoffryn gloating. “Hah! I’ve always wanted Park Place! Tonight’s my night!”

    Angel choked and then burst out laughing, slapping his hand over his mouth to muffle the sound, and Buffy, after a shocked silence, smiled too, but more at Angel than at D’Hoffryn.  We used to do this, she thought. I remember this. What happened?

      “It’s nice that he’s so mature,” Angel said cautiously, bringing back a sharp memory of the Angel she had known.

   “Well, maybe that’s why he’s a vengeance demon.”

   “One Monopoly board away from demonic employment,” Angel said dryly. “You never know when…”

   “You know, now I’m curious as to what he was like when he was human.”

    “Monopoly?” Angel said.

    “Plus the whole wand thing,” Buffy pointed out.

     “And he was the demon who turned Anya?” Angel speculated. He shrugged. “Nerd, I’m guessing. But a thousand years ago? Nerd with really bad hygiene. And bad teeth.”

    Buffy sighed at that, her mind helpfully producing an all-too-vivid image of a snaggle-toothed, greasy character with gaping, picket fence teeth. The mental image faded, bit by bit, as she realized that Angel was watching her and she was watching back.  “Talk to me, Angel,” she said quietly. “I don’t want to dislike you.”

     “How about if I do that?” Spike drawled from the doorway. “See you a minute, Buffy?”

    Buffy glanced in frustration from Angel to Spike, her mouth opening and closing. Dammit, he was going to say something. I had him all softened up. Then another part of her brain asked, why should you have to soften him up? What was he hiding?

    “Be right back,” she said to Angel. She stepped inside the kitchen, where Spike grabbed her hand and pulled her behind the basement door. “This better be good,” she whispered. “I really need to find out what’s going on.”

    “Why? Why don’t you just call Cordelia and ask her?”

    “She hasn’t called me.” Buffy said stubbornly. “That means she’s really uncomfortable talking about it, which means it would be really uncomfortable for her if I just asked her about it.”

    “Because then she might ask how you found out in the first place.”

    “Well, why? I could just tell her you were in LA.”

    “Why was I in LA? You’re going to tell her that?”

   “No,” Buffy dropped her eyes, unsure where he was taking this. “It’s not like she’ll ask, anyway. So…this wouldn’t have anything to do with me talking to Angel, would it? I mean, he and I, talking…Are you jealous?”

    “Always,” Spike said, leaning in, grabbing her arms, and kissing her. Angel’s right out there, her mind protested, but her body abruptly recalled the morning spent in bed, the teasing car ride, and responded eagerly. Maybe he’d expected resistance; maybe he’d expected something else, but he pulled away and looked at her. She read that expression correctly: when had he ever been any good at concealing his feelings?

   “Jealous much?”

   “Too bloody right,” he muttered, leaning against the wall, sliding his hands all the way down her back to her behind, and grabbing. He pulled her against him, driving his tongue into her mouth, and his erection against her stomach. She jerked back with a gasp as voices entered the kitchen.

   “Look, what we need is strategy.” Wes said quietly.

   “Oh, why bother? He’ll win anyway. He sulks if he doesn’t. Eats all the best deserts in the fridge…He once ate a whole cheesecake that was supposed to be for Anya’s. …” The fridge door opened and closed, and there was a curious silence, during which they could hear Wes make a frustrated sound. “Why don’t you use the bottle opener?” Hallie said skeptically. Another silence, during which Hallie gasped. “I’m so sorry! I had no idea! How did you hurt your hand like that?!”

   “Well,” Wes said modestly. “I used to be a rogue demon hunter…” The voices receded, and Spike grabbed Buffy’s hand and pulled her down the basement steps. Oh, God, this is so bad, she thought. He turned around at the foot of the stairs, his face tight and intense, and she half-jumped, half-collided with him, wrapping her arms around his neck, her leg around his waist, and her tongue around his. He kissed her back hungrily, feverishly, reaching down and lifting her, pulling her other leg around his waist. She gasped into his mouth, half-laughing, half-groaning, as everything combined in exactly the right spot. He reeled across the basement floor with her, bumping her butt on the washing machine. Oh, God, this is so good, she thought, as he wrapped his arms all the way around and pulled her against him. “Oh, God, I can’t.” She whispered. “There’s no time. They’re right upstairs.”

    “We’ve had this conversation before, haven’t we?” Spike muttered against her mouth, but she was wavering and he saw it. He pulled one of her hands from his hair and fitted it to his crotch, watching her watch him as she did what she’d wanted to in the car. She molded her hand to his erection, and explored him through his jeans, unabashedly rubbing and stroking him, while his eyes squeezed shut and she wished it was skin rather than fabric. “Oh, God.” she whispered, finally.  He pulled her off the machine, slipping his hand down her belly, down into her jeans, ignoring her gasp and her flinch as he found sensitive flesh. She tensed against him, grabbing his wrist, whether to stop or encourage him, he didn’t know. What he did know was that she kissed him greedily, moving against him in rhythm with his fingers. Reluctantly, he withdrew his fingers from her, guiding and coaxing her till she was facing away from him. He found the zipper of her jeans, and she stiffened, but he buried his face in her neck, muttering because he couldn’t help himself, “God, I want you.”  Instead of resisting, she arched against him in response. He pulled her jeans down a few inches, just enough, and felt her shudder and gasp.  “Shh…” He whispered. His hands shook as he fumbled with his belt and zipper, freeing his cock. “Shhh..” He repeated again, slipping one hand down her belly, between her legs, finding her wet and soft. He slipped inside her, wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her hair. She shoved back against him, moving with him, covering his arm around her body with her own.  He couldn’t kiss her mouth, but he kissed her neck instead, moving slowly, pulling out and thrusting back inside her with a gasp.

    “Oh, God,” she whispered. “Oh, God.” She could hear the creak of the house upstairs, the sound of footsteps on the floorboards. None of it registered much at all as she absorbed the new sensations, the feel of it. He didn’t have to move hardly at all.  He was pressed against her back, one arm wrapped tightly around her, bracing himself on the top of the machine on his elbow, while his free hand roamed to all sorts of places. Her jeans were only lowered just below her buttocks, and he’d done little more than open his fly. What would this be like naked? She thought. She reached back with one hand, feeling his face twist as he sucked in air between kisses. Not exactly kisses, either; he was devouring her neck and back with his mouth, which didn’t seem the same as mere kissing.  She could feel the muscles in her legs trembling as she got closer, the muscles quivering as he surged inside her, starting to move faster and faster, the two of them moving like one thing. Beast with two backs, she thought suddenly, remembering something he’d tossed at her once.

     “Buffy?” Wes called.

     Spike’s eyes jerked open, and Buffy froze. Both of them held their breath, as there was a pause in the kitchen, then footsteps moving toward the porch. Angel, Buffy thought. Spike gasped in her ear, and she went rigid.  The kitchen door opened. “She was just talking to Spike.” Angel said. There was an eloquent silence .The footsteps came closer, and now there were more of them. “Fuck!” Spike muttered breathlessly. Then, with a low groan, he eased out of her, jerking his pants up. Before he zipped himself up, though, he straightened her up, pulling her jeans up. She was in a daze, so lost she could do little more than tug at the waistband of her jeans. He did it for her, wincing as she flinched. Just enough time for a kiss on the tip of her nose, then, grimacing, he tended to himself, zipping up with exquisite care. By that time, Buffy had recovered enough to step in front of him to hide the suspicious state of his jeans, just as Wes followed by Angel tiptoed down the stairs. At the sight of them, Wes stopped, dropping his eyes. Behind him,
Angel stepped down stiffly, hands jammed in his coat pockets.

   “Uh…? Excuse me. “

   “Yeah.” Angel said sarcastically. “Excuse us.”  His lips were so tight with anger they were little than a dash.

 “That’s okay, mate.” Spike said, attempting a nonchalant lean against the washing machine, and missing it entirely. He fumbled, and Buffy shifted in her place, to make sure she was still standing in front of him.

   “Knock it off.” Buffy said tightly. “What’s wrong…?”

    “Well, there’s no champagne, and I don’t think Angel really should drive…” Angel’s scowl tightened even further at that, and Buffy thought uneasily, He looks like Angelus when he looks that mad.

    Spike and Buffy both stared at him for a moment, then turned to look at each other. “Champagne.” Spike said thoughtfully.

    “Ordinarily, I’d go myself…” Wes said apologetically. “It’s just that D’Hoffryn is being rather…”

   “Oh, no.” Spike said.

   “No.” Buffy said vaguely. “No problem.”  Wes turned eagerly and ran up the stairs, but Angel remained. Buffy cleared her throat. “I said,  ‘no problem.’”

   Angel glared at them both, and then, with a completely unnecessary swish of his coat, stalked up the stairs.

   Spike materialized against her and Buffy sagged back against him. He grabbed her arms and muttered in her ear, “Car. Us. Naked. Okay? Just hold on.”

    “Oh, sure.” She whispered sarcastically. “Thanks.” He pulled her against him, pressing his crotch against her, and she quivered.

    Going up the stairs was absolute torture, and it was compounded by the fact that he had to grab his duster and shrug it on to hide his condition. It was with some interest that he watched her very carefully place each foot, one at a time, in front of each other. In the kitchen, she started to turn toward the back porch, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the front of the house. That was when he noticed that his own walk left something to be desired in the normality area; he walked like a man who’d had a sudden amputation. Which was pretty much what it felt like.

   After an eternity, they reached the living room doorway, where three startled faces looked up at the interruption.  Wes stared up at them for a moment, and then looked down. “Beer.” Spike said by way of explanation.

    “Champagne, too.” Buffy pointed out.

    With that, they marched to the door, calmly opened it, and with Spike gesturing Buffy out the door grandly, they stepped out on the porch. For a moment, with Spike ushering Buffy out the door, he looked like a weird only-in-Sunnydale game show host, directing weird flourishes at the prizes. Then Spike carefully shut the door, and they both took deep breaths, and dashed off across the lawn. Spike yanked open the door and Buffy practically dived in, only to be followed by Spike, landing directly on top of her, and hitting every spot on her body that was far too sensitive already. He crawled up her body and found her mouth with his own.  

   The next-door neighbors clicked their porch light on.

   Spike groaned and swore, noting for the first time the passenger side door was still open. Reluctantly, he sat up, conscious of Buffy’s wince as he pulled away from her hands. Resentfully, she continued to lay flat on the seat, but gradually she pulled her arms up and crossed them. This did not bode well. “We do have to get beer or champagne or whatever the fuck-all it was.” He muttered. “C’mon, luv, up you get.” 

    They wrestled around one another on the front seat so that Spike could find himself behind the wheel. Buffy slammed the passenger side door shut, and he pulled out from the curb with far more screeching of tires than was strictly necessary. He had no idea where he was going. All he was aware of was Buffy sitting beside him, several miles away. “Buff?”

    She looked at him warily, entirely unsure of what her response should be. I used to be sixteen, she thought. Now I’m looking for a real dark parking spot so I can…”Hey!” She exclaimed.

    Following her eyes, he saw what she did; a dead-end street with only a construction site on it. He sighed in relief, pulling in and parking the car in the shadow of the construction crane. Even before the car stopped moving, she was sliding toward him, and by the time the motor had started to cool off, she was on his lap. They met at the mouth, Spike shrugging out of the coat, never once separating from her lips. She tugged at his shirt, which probably would have worked better if she’d once stopped kissing him, and watched what she was doing.  He was wiggling out of his coat, trying to shove it away and get his hands under her shirt when there was a shadow at the window, and a knock at the glass. Buffy jumped and Spike hissed through his teeth, turning to find himself confronted with a security guard. The guard looked both bored and pissed at the same time. Spike cranked the window down and glared.

   “Not here, folks.” He smirked. “Get a room instead of putting on a free..”
   Spike snarled at him and snapped into game face. The guard tossed his flashlight into the air and then all they saw was his retreating back, bobbing away above flashing shoe soles. Spike sighed and banged his head back against the headrest. “Right then.” He muttered, avoiding her eyes. Buffy slid to his side and he started the car, but he paused as she adjusted, stretching her legs over his lap, pulling herself closer with one arm hooked around his neck. She sucked at his ear, then worked her way down his neck. He could feel her smile into his neck as he shivered. She tickled the back of her neck with one hand, but the other was slipping down his chest, between his legs, gentle and insidious. A muscle jumped in his jaw as he wheeled the car around, but when she tightened her right hand and kissed the very line of his jaw he had to shake his head at the futility of it.  When he turned his head to her she was dreamy-eyed and flushed, too much not to kiss. The car swerved disastrously, and he pulled his eyes back to the road. He slid his arm around her waist, bringing her closer still, so that she was burning into his side, but she pulled his arm away, bringing his hand to her mouth. He almost drove off the road entirely as she toyed with his index finger, biting it lightly, then kissing it. A quick glance found her with a mischievous look on her face that changed to a sly stare when she met his eyes. She put his middle finger into her mouth and sucked on it delicately. 

    That was when he floored it. 

    The car bumped wildly down the street, screeching past a ragged gate and shuddering to a stop in front of his crypt. Buffy gave him an unreadable look, and then uncoiled herself from the car while it still jiggled with the momentum of its stopping. He was already in the crypt when he realized she wasn’t plastered to any part of his body any longer. He whipped around at the sound of the crypt door closing, and saw her, leaning back against the door, her face flushed. He stared at her, his entire focus narrowing in on her face, and then flashed across the floor to her, the door banging in the frame as he collided with her. In a good way, she thought, clutching at his shoulders. They were fumbling with each other’s clothes, trying to kiss and move at the same time. He ripped his belt free, undid his zipper, but in that tiny little time period she made a pathetic noise in her throat because his hands weren’t on her. He shoved against her even harder, not so much kissing her as he was devouring her. Her hands scrambled at his arms, his shoulders, fluttering from his hair to his face to around his neck, trying to find some place to alight.

    For one relatively calm moment while he tried to unzip her pants with shaking hands, one of her hands found his erection and he had to pull away. Nose to nose, an inch apart, she stared into his eyes as she leaned away, wriggled out of her shoes, then slithered her jeans down her legs. The frenzy melted away. He took her face into his hands. Tasting her mouth with long and thorough strokes, but it was still a bit too much for her. She had to pull back now and then, leaning the back of her head against the door while she gasped for air. She tightened her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and he reached down and picked her up.  They wiggled against each other, Buffy staring into Spike’s face, watching his face change as she moved against him, his cock sliding against her, maddening her.  That’s another face I like, she thought. Another one to remember. And then he slipped inside her, so deep she had time to gulp as gravity pulled her down on top of him.

  Oh, she thought. Oh. He grabbed the doorknob with one hand, moving against her, his face buried in her chest, her hands skittering in his hair as she shifted and moved, pulling his face up to kiss. Her thighs ached around his waist, his collarbone bumped into her face as she gasped into his shoulder. He burned inside her; she was going to catch fire, burst into flames…

     And then she did. Her breath stopped in her chest, her hands fisted around his neck, and every muscle went rigid as if shocked and then spasmed. Her climax brought on his own, and she got to watch him, his head sagging back, his eyes closing as if to hold off some sort of agony. Even while her own body moved against her control, she kissed him weakly, softly, as if there was nothing left in her veins. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder, and she cradled it with one arm, half glad he couldn’t see the expression on her face as she kissed his hair. All the blood in her body seemed to have been replaced by bubbles and the muscles in her legs had turned to rubber. He lifted his head, staring into her eyes as he held her around the waist while he wriggled out of her. Her legs slipped down his thighs, and her feet touched the ground, which seemed to be moving under her feet. Sighing, Spike leaned against her, nuzzling her neck and collarbone, but the romance was spoiled when he tickled her bottom.

   “Hey! Way to spoil the mood!” Buffy exclaimed. Of course what mood was appropriate for a up-against-the-door quickie with a vampire that left both of them half-naked and shaking….? Well, that was a stumper, and Spike was not helping. He slid down and kissed her belly, his hands cupping her bottom in such a way that she tried to wriggle away. “Stop…” He started putting his tongue into his kisses, turning her bellybutton into an erogenous zone she hadn’t been aware till now. “Oh, stop, stop…Knock it off…Stop…” He slipped lower. “Oh…”She sighed suddenly. “Don’t stop, don’t stop…” He smiled into her skin, and her knees simply buckled under her. Spike eased her to the ground, and took advantage, even though she was clutching his hair tight enough to pull it into a Mohawk. It was worth it, just to see the way she arched into his mouth when she came, just to hear her scream when it hit her. He pillowed his head on her thigh and waited for her to recuperate, admiring the topography of her body as she tried to catch her breath. Fine with him, more time to indulge in unabashed Buffy watching, especially seeing as how it provided him with a pleasant respite in the midst of Angel-enduring. He sighed.

   Buffy stared up at the ceiling, wondering where her bones had gone. How come the more they had sex, the more she wanted, and the better it got? Didn’t matter when, where, how, it was an addiction, except it didn’t make her feel bad. She couldn’t imagine lying comfortably, unabashedly naked with Riley, and not only not caring, but actually liking. There was an odd innocence to it, a complete absence of the guile she’d experienced with other men, where the goal had been to get some sort of control over her. Spike’s goal appeared to be to make her lose control as often and as enthusiastically as possible.

    Her eyes snapped open, looked at the ceiling, and then she raised her wrist with her watch on it before her eyes. She groaned, lifted her head, and glared at Spike, aiming a very girlfriend-style kick at him. “Hey!”

   “What?!”

   “That wasn’t quick. It was supposed to be quick, and it…Oh, my God.”

  “It was supposed to be quiet, too,” Spike pointed out, “But it seems that whoever was in charge of the quiet quickie division has been falling down on the job, too.” He stuck out his tongue at her, then turned it into a lascivious pout. When she sat up, he sat up as well, grabbing her legs and pulling her into his lap. Before she could do more than sulk at him, he leaned in and kissed her. She wrestled free, standing up and swaying, which he observed with a certain feeling of accomplishment. Then he got up himself, hampered slightly by the jeans around one ankle. Buffy was already pulling hers on, wincing as she did so. “What?” He asked.

   “These are so…”She turned slightly pink. “Skanky. Ew.”

    He pulled his own jeans up, buckling his belt, while Buffy grimly zipped hers up. “’Fraid it’s going to have to get a lot worse, though, pet.”

   “Why’s that?”

   He went and got one of his own beers from his fridge, opened it, and gestured at her reluctantly. “Angel.” He said. “He’ll…ah…know. What we’ve been doing.”

   “Know? You mean….Oh. Ew.” She eyed the beer. “What’s that for?”

  “Might be able to hide it.”

   She thought about it. Angel knowing that they’d rushed off to have a not-so-quick-quickie, or sitting in a puddle full of beer on the way home? Besides, Angel already knew about her and Spike, even though he evidently thought he could talk her out of it. Then she thought of the look he’d get on his face as the realization hit, which a day full of talking his ear off had not accomplished.

   She held out her hand for the beer, and Spike gave it to her. But he was rather startled when instead of pouring it on her jeans, she took a swig out of it, looked him straight in the eye, and then choked as the flavor of it hit. “Ah…gah.” Then she swallowed it.

   “Buff…He’ll be able to…” He left the sentence tactfully unfinished.

    “Well, he knows already.” She said grimly, trying another swig. “But he doesn’t think I should do someone, er, something that he doesn’t approve of. So maybe he’ll really know now.”

  The first thing they saw from down the block was Xander’s car, parked in front of the house.  “Great.” Spike muttered. “Maybe they’re just leaving.”

   “Hey!” she smacked him. “You like Anya.”

   “Well…”

   “You do….don’t you?”

   Spike shrugged and pulled over. Her smacking him would have carried slightly more weight if she hadn’t been sitting yet again half across his lap, one arm around his shoulder, and utterly unaware of it. “I guess.”

    “No honor amongst demons?”

    “She’s a former demon,” Spike pointed out. “I, however, have not let my membership lapse.”

    “I’d noticed.” He got out, reaching in the back for the bags, but by the time he’d gathered them up she was out of the car, looking at him over the top of the car for a moment.

    “Had you?” He eyed her as well. “Was it the excessive reliance on sunscreen that gave me away, you think? Or the aversion to Judeo-Christian religious symbols? Or maybe it was the, oh, I don’t know, sexual endurance level---“

   “Hey!” She hissed. “ We’re in public!”

   “So which is it?” He enquired evilly. “Public discussion or vampire discussion that’s got your knickers in a twist? Well, assuming you were wearing any?”

    “Public! Somebody might hear you!” She whispered, glancing around. “Dawn’s already asking about sex! I don’t want her to be reminded that it…exists. Or happens. Or whatever.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “Just have to resign myself to that one, okay? Like in ten years or so.”

     “Uh.” he muttered, suddenly sober. “Could always show ‘em the fangs, Slayer. That’ll keep the buggers away…from…her…Oh….” Off her glance, he shifted his eyes away, wondering what he’d done now. “Well,” he cleared his throat. “Cross that bridge when we get to it, won’t we? Dawn’s not nearly old enough to begin dating, is she? Nothing to worry about.”

    She gave him a look as he crossed around the front of the car, another Buffy look he simply couldn’t interpret. I can speak how many languages, but nobody’s ever yet deciphered Female, he thought to himself. Nevertheless, there was something companionable about their silence as they approached the house, even if both of them were bracing for something, him for Harris, and she for Angel.

    The Monopoly game was in full swing when they entered the living room, with Anya having enthusiastically entered the fray and laid waste to her opponents. Angel was sitting in aloof silence at one end of the couch, watching the players go at it, while Harris perched on the edge of a chair and from all appearances tried to rein Anya in. Hallie seemed to be doing little but moving her piece, giggling, and clutching at Wes’ arm. D’Hoffryn sat at the opposite end of the couch from Angel, staring twitching at Anya’s every play. As the two of them came in the front door, they all looked up, and Spike raised the bags from the liquor store, partly as explanation, partly as shield. “Beer. Wine. Champagne. Let’s medicate, shall we?” D’Hoffryn perked up instantly, raising a hand like an obedient schoolboy. “Oh…Heineken?” Spike freed one from the bag, and tossed it to him, and retreated to the kitchen, but not before catching the slow tightening of Angel’s face as a certain realization dawned. Angel’s eyes darted at Spike, then Buffy, and stayed on her. He stared at her, then slowly ran his eyes up and down her entire length, before looking her in the eye again, his jaw agape, his eyes wide and startled. For a moment, he looked so much like he had when she’d loved him that it hurt. Then it vanished, as his face twisted and he drew back an inch or two. It might as well have been a mile. She felt that as keenly as she’d felt it when she’d stabbed him.

    “Buffy?”

    She looked at him squarely. “Angel? Is there something you want to say?”

    They stared at each other, three feet and three years apart.

   His lips tightened, and he shook his head at her. It came across to her less as a negative answer than a total negation of her and everything she’d asked him. Unless I do what you want, you’re not going to be nice to me? She thought. Well, fine. Two can play at that game.   “Well, we’re back.” She said lightly. “I guess I’ll go take a shower, and then we can talk about Cordelia’s baby.”

     Wes’ jaw dropped, and he slowly closed his mouth, looking for a long moment at Angel, then back at Buffy. “Angel?” He asked.

    “Never mind, Wes.”

    “But…Angel….”

    “I’ll deal with it, Wes.”

     “Well, it doesn’t look like….” Wes said slowly, but Angel turned around and looked at him, and he suddenly remembered what he’d felt early, staring down a drunken Angel in his office. He dropped his gaze, and everyone in the room suddenly found it difficult to know where to look. Hallie’s bright and perky face softened into concern, and she gave his arm a gentle squeeze, completely different from the rather clutchy grip she’d had on it all evening. When he glanced up at her, she met his eyes firmly and gave him a little nod. He found his voice: “I have pictures.” He said helpfully.

      “What?” Xander asked. Even D’Hoffryn tore his attention away from the game.

    “Oh, I have pictures.” Wes said with forced cheer, pulling out his wallet. “He’s such a remarkable baby, really.” He flipped open his wallet to show the credit card compartment, which turned out to be completely filled with pictures of Cordelia, a young black man none of them recognized, a slender girl who again was unknown, and a chubby-faced infant who couldn’t have been more than a month or two old. “See? That’s Connor.” He passed the wallet around. D’Hoffryn was the first one to take it, his face scrunching up at he looked at the infant. “Aw.” He muttered.

    “God, looks like someone’s had an influence on the poor girl,” Spike said, rejoining the group. “I didn’t have her pegged for the Irish name type of thing. More like a Justin or a whatever’s trendy type of name.”  Angel winced, but Spike was working his way through the bodies around the living room and missed it.  He flopped down into the chair and looked around. Angel stood immobile, hands jammed in his pockets, and Spike raked him with a skeptical glance. “What’s the matter, sweetness? You act like a minister with dirty pictures stashed somewhere. Or a blonde who’s afraid somebody’s gonna find the peroxide.” Angel made a disgusted sound, which made Spike laugh outright. “Better watch it, Grandpa. That’s an old man’s noise.” He turned in his seat to look at the other vampire, now truly amused. “Is that it? You don’t approve of Cordelia’s kid, do you?  Does it soften the blow, disapproving of something you can’t have? Or do?”

     Angel took a swift step forward, but Buffy, lingering in the doorway, cleared her throat quietly. “My house.” She said quietly. Xander recognized it as the tone she’d once used on Quentin Travers. “You shouldn’t be worried about each other. You should be worried about me.”

    She stood there and stared Angel down, till bit by bit the tension in his body relaxed and he slumped. Then she turned and walked up the stairs. At the landing, she stepped inside her room and then slammed the door, just because she had to slam something. What she wasn’t expecting was the yelp from the bathroom.

   “Uh, hello…?”

   “Oh, is that you?” came a familiar voice. There was the sound of water sloshing, then the door creaked open and Lorne peeked through. He was wearing a shower cap. “Uh..be just a moment more.” He disappeared and the door almost shut, but there was a squeak, and Lorne reappeared, plucked a yellow rubber ducky from between the door and the jamb, and vanished. She flopped down on the bed. There’s a demon in my bathroom, she thought. Maybe it’s the Sunnydale version of ‘How Much is That Doggy in the Window?’   It occurred to her that at the moment, the humans in the house were outnumbered by demons, and this was scarcely the first time. Normal? Here? This is normal? Being human in Sunnydale is like being….a virgin  in a whorehouse. Rare and not likely to stay in that condition..

    She stared up at the ceiling, half-listening for fighting noises downstairs. Nothing. Were Spike and Angel behaving? Or were they just afraid of her?  She smiled at the ceiling. Not a half-bad thought, actually. At the very least it would make them behave.

   She stared up at the water spot in the plaster, and tried to remember normality. All that came to her were vague pastels, memories of crushes, fashions, and gossip. Angel. I’m too old to be twenty-one. Oddly enough, with Spike, she felt not her age, or her vulnerability, but her potential. She looked forward. With Angel, she struggled to remember. Loving him had been the last gasp of the teenager she had desperately wanted to be----the cheerleader with the boyfriend who should have been a football captain. In real life, it was very likely what he’d been.

   Football player. She shook her head at herself. What had Spike said?

   What had he been?

   She rolled over on her side, punching the pillow into a comfy shape. Of course, vampires were nothing like the humans they’d been. Angel didn’t act like a football player, he acted like the dad of a football player, somebody who’d probably peaked in school, and then gone downhill from there. It was funny how she’d never really seen some of these tendencies at sixteen, but who could, the way Angel had mysteriously swooped in and out, disappearing before she could complete a sentence, much less ask a question? Whereas, of course, with Spike, he was always around, always talking….

   “So what were you like when you were human?”

  Spike was a perfect example; geeky git as a human….

  …a walking rebellion as a vampire.

    She sat up abruptly.

   He’d thought of himself as a poet; the others had thought of him as a git, at least according to Spike. Angel hadn’t disagreed with that assessment at all; she’d seen it herself. They act like two brothers, the older one picking on the younger one, if the older one was an athlete, and the younger one was a geek…What was the name of that football player who died, and whose nerd of a brother tried to make him a girlfriend?

    The bathroom door opened, and Lorne stepped out, fully dressed, if damp, and toweling his hair vigorously.  He surfaced from the towel with a rapturous smile on his face. “Honey, I feel like a whole new demon. What a palatial bathroom that is. I’m envious. And nice shampoo, too.” He paused, studying her. “What’s going on, sweetheart? You look like you just got hit over the head.”

     “Do you think Angel’s like a football player?”

    “I…What?”

    “He acts like a football player.  He acts like a guy who used to be a football player. He acts like a former football player who’s going bald and selling used cars and---” Inspiration struck.  ”----fussing about his hair. He acts like he’s middle aged all of a sudden.”

    “Well.” Lorne said carefully. “Sweetie, I can’t reveal anything, but Angel’s going through some changes.”

  “Why? What changes? Middle age?”

   “Long story, darling, and not something I can really tell you.”

  “How come?”

   “Professional ethics and all that.”

  “Yeah, but you’re a demon.”

   “We have ethics.”

   “What are they?”

   “We’re sort of like the AMA. Can’t reveal stuff, you know. Maybe like a priest.”

  “Why, are you celibate?”

   “Not by choice, sweetie, not by choice.” He gave her a sly look. “Unlike you.”

    She shrugged, embarrassed. He shook his head at the ceiling as if appealing either to a deity or the plaster for help. “Sweetie, on the one hand, it’s nice to see someone taking my advice. But you know what? I don’t get to offer advice like that a lot of the time. You know why?” He looked down, gathering his thoughts. “Love is rare, and most people don’t get to find it. So they don’t ask me for advice about dealing with it. They ask me for advice about coping with not having it. Or poor shadows of it.  They ask me advice about finding it. They use substitutes, they find close facsimiles, they fall in love or they tell themselves they fell in love, they love somebody who doesn’t love them back… but they’re not in the position you’re in. Somebody loves you. Doesn’t make any sense at all. But run with it, sweetie. Life is short, especially if you’re the Slayer. Get all the chocolate cake and nookie you can.”  Buffy blushed bright red, and he slapped one arm around her shoulders and gave her a hug that so reminded her of Joyce that she blinked for a second, whipped between a memory and wish. God, I wish Mom was alive. I could ask her about Spike.

    “There’s no real dilemma here, is there?” Lorne asked. “Not a big talker are you?  I think, you just damn the torpedoes and full speed a head.” He squeezed her again. “Angel, well, Angel….”

    “How long have you known him?”

    Lorne thought about it. “I tend to measure time in terms of demons fought, drinks drunk, clubs destroyed, diapers changed…”

    “That’s the dilemma.” Buffy sighed. “Cordelia’s baby.”

    That took a moment to sink in. “Cordelia’s…what?”

    “Her baby.”

    “Her baby?” Lorne pulled away to look at her. “Who told you it was Cordelia’s baby?”

    “Well, Spike saw her in LA, and…”

    “What did Angel say about that?”

    “Well, we got interrupted last time. I don’t think he likes talking about it.”

    “How did you get interrupted?”

    “Spike.”

   “Ah. How fortunate.” He rubbed his chin, obviously thinking, and Buffy stood up. “You know what? Go take a shower, it helps. I have to go do something.”

    “Huh?” Buffy frowned at him, puzzled by the sudden change into Mr. Decisive Demon, but the siren song of the shower called to her. She shrugged it off and went to prepare for the next round. Nothing like being all shower fresh when you argue.

   Behind her, Lorne sat on the bed, and stared at her as the bathroom door clicked shut. “Yes, how fortunate. For Angel.”

     Gotta stop having sex in the tub if that’s all I’m going to think about later, Buffy thought. It just seemed a terrible hardship to soap her own hair and scrub her own back, to slosh around with no sleek male body to fit against and melt into. Kissing him under the stream of water, feeling his body warm to hers with the temperature of the water, slipping and sliding against his skin. It wasn’t even sexual, that feeling, well----until it had turned into sex----it was more like a whole body sigh, as every muscle relaxed, every cell exhaled its tension.  The way his head tilted back slightly when she did anything to him, his lips parting, his eyes drifting half shut….

   Great. That was helpful.

   She soaped resentfully, sighing periodically, but no one came to her rescue. After a moment it occurred to her that Lorne might very well be still in her bedroom, and God only knows how he was interpreting her sighs and mutters. She scrubbed between her toes and replayed Angel’s look as he’d looked at her, reality dawning over his face, shock setting in….

   The question was, how much reality?

    Maybe it was just being around Spike, who habitually blurted out whatever thought was in his head at the time, no matter where he was or what he was doing. Example: “I knew it. Only thing better than killing a Slayer would be f----“ But at least she knew exactly what was going on. Not like he was going to go all broody or anything on her.

She smiled at the thought. Spike’s version of brooding would probably be to throw things and swear all the time instead of just now and then.

    Her smile faded. It wasn’t just that Spike blurted out whatever was on his feverish brain, no matter what; it was that she was surrounded by people who didn’t quite do the same. Willow? There was a huge chunk of missing there. Xander? Between the Dancing Demon and his refusal to acknowledge what Spike had done over the summer, she didn’t know where she stood with him. Giles? Gone.

     And now Angel.

     What was wrong there?

     It wasn’t that he said anything that seemed false. It was just that what he said seemed so…incomplete.  She’d been expecting something else to come out of his mouth, some other shoe to drop, and it hadn’t happened.

    What could it be?

    Did Cordelia get impregnated by a demon?

    Well, okay, bad, but who cared?  After all, this was California, they made birth announcements for just about every pairing. Why not interspecies?

     Okay, maybe it was something worse. Cordelia got impregnated by an actor? Again, ugh, but so what?

    Musician?

    Mucous demon?

    Who cared? Why hadn’t she called? Why hadn’t she written?

    She stared down at the water, scrubbing between her toes, thinking, It’s so much more fun when Spike does that. Crap.

    Had something bad happened to Cordelia?

   Again, she had to dismiss the idea. There was no hint of that in Angel’s speech, his demeanor, his attitude.

   He just doesn’t want to talk to me.

     He sat on the bed for a moment, listening to her moving around in the bathroom, starting the water, getting out towels. Then he got up and padded in his bare feet to the stairs and silently glided down them till he was standing motionless in the hall outside the living room, watching the Monopoly game. Angel stiffly sat on one end of the couch, cheek in one hand, the picture of slowly-stewing irritation, while Spike sprawled cheerfully in the chair across from him, sipping nonchalantly from a beer and breaking out occasionally into a grin of pure malice. He was practically bouncing in his seat with sadistic delight.

    Wes and Hallie huddled on one side of the coffee table while D’Hoffryn intently scanned the board from the head of the table and cast sullen looks at Anya, who appeared to have taken over on behalf of both herself and Xander. Xander was paying more attention to the TV than to the game, glancing over his shoulder now and then at Anya’s exclamations and muttering, “That’s nice, sweetie.”

   Lorne leaned in the doorway. I used to have a club, he thought. I used to have a club. I used to be somebody. Now I change diapers for somebody. It wasn’t so much the diapers he minded, it was the fact that Connor didn’t seem to have the same effect on Angel as he did on himself and Wes. Hell, Wes was carting around pictures of the little rug rat. Given the opportunity, he himself could natter on happily about the little brat for quite some time, but it bugged him that Angel…wasn’t. Might not be my kid, might not be my ex….but how could you be so proud of the kid and not talk about him with the love of you life? Didn’t he trust her? Why was he lying to her? 

   “So, Angel…” He said. “I guess you and Buffy have been having some interesting conversations.”

    Angel looked up at him, and a slow moment passed, ticking by, as everyone else ignored them. “Well…Yeah.”

   “Cause, of course, you’ve been discussing Cordelia’s baby and all. God only knows that’s a subject you want to just go on and on about.”

   Angel’s eyes sharpened suddenly, and Lorne found himself confronted with a face he didn’t recognize, but Xander did: Angelus. He glanced up from the game, casually looked from demon to vampire, then back at the television. There was a moment’s delay while his brain caught up with his eyes, before his body recognized what his eyes had seen, and he froze in his place. Then he turned and looked carefully at Angel. He glanced up at Lorne, too.

    “Well, who wouldn’t be fond of that kid?” Angel chuckled. His sudden smile looked more like a grimace than a smile, the sort of thing a man might do during acute intestinal distress.

    “Yeah, who wouldn’t?” Lorne asked quietly. “Because evidently, one way or another, his father doesn’t care to own up.”

     And Xander watched as the tense smile was whisked off Angel’s face as if it had been slapped off.  His hands turned cold, and his face felt hot. “So…Cordelia had a kid?” He interjected weakly. “ Cordelia as a single mom. Can’t imagine she’d do that. Isn’t it kind of bad for the…” He gulped as Angel turned to him, that tight, white face bringing back all too many memories.  “…..complexion?” He finished breathlessly. Angelus, crowding against him in a hallway, while his best friend struggled to keep breathing.  Was it unfair of him to still blame Angel for…well…..everything? If he had helped them instead of, well, everybody else….Maybe you just didn’t get credit with the Powers That Be for helping your friends.   A sudden thought hit him. He never came back after the funeral.  Looking at him now, he was seventeen again, and it wasn’t a good seventeen, either.

    “Oh, pregnancy isn’t bad for the complexion.” Anya said helpfully. “It’s actually quite beneficial.”

     Spike had glanced up as the tension mounted, his wide grin slowly ebbing to a smile, then fading entirely away. Wes, likewise, had leaned away from the game, and was steadily regarding Angel. Hallie kept her eyes fixed on her hand, laid next to Wes’ on the carpet. 

     “Good to know.” Xander said, nodding vigorously, his eyes fixed on Angel’s face. “Good to know. I’ll be taking notes.”

   “No, you won’t, sweetie.” Anya said absently, hopping a piece several squares and seizing on a property that made D’Hoffryn’s face pucker up with tension. “Your handwriting is awful, but you make up for it by doing lots and lots of----“

   “Anya!”

   “Oh, yes.” Anya looked up, finding all faces turned to her. “It’s okay, Xander, see? I didn’t make any sort of sexual reference. Isn’t that good?”

   “That’s wonderful, sweetie. I’m so proud of you.” He leaned forward and pecked her on the lips.

   “Why are your lips so cold?” Anya enquired. “Are you afraid I’m playing for money?”

   “No, sweetie, if you did, we’d be able to buy a house.”

   “Hey!” Anya said suddenly, turning to the other players. “Could we play for money?”

   A ring of skeptical faces suddenly surrounded her, like petals on a flower. “Anyanka,” Hallie chided.  “Is that all you think of, money?”

    “Oh, no!” Anya corrected brightly. “The rest of the time, it’s Xander!”

    Xander turned suddenly to her, all the fear washing out of his system.  “Anya…”

    “What?” She whispered, worried by the look on his face. He was so serious all of a sudden, his eyes full of something that she couldn’t interpret. “What did I say wrong?”

  He cupped her shoulder with one hand, stroking her comfortingly. “Absolutely nothing, sweetie. Absolutely nothing.” 

 “Which is nice.” Lorne said. “Because it does kind of bring us back to the motif of the evening, which is sort of similar. Let’s talk.”

    “Already tried that.” Buffy said from the stairs. “Didn’t work. So what do you want to talk about?”

    Lorne regarded her steadily. “Oh, this, that, stuff. Here’s an idea. How saying nothing sometimes can be worse than lying. Point, counterpoint.”

    Spike yawned. “Are you getting all philosophical? Because I could use a nap.”

    “Yeah.” Angel muttered. “I’ll bet you’re tired.”

    “Would you?” Spike leaned forward, his legs relaxing, falling slightly further open. “Because that would be kind of ignorant of you, wouldn’t it? Not that you’d really…know.”  He relaxed further, sinking deeper into the cushions of the chair, His hand sliding down his chest and pausing at his belt buckle.

    “Hey!” Buffy snapped.

    “Sorry, luv.” Spike glanced at her, abashed. “Didn’t mean it quite that way.”

     “I still can’t believe it.” Angel said. “You and…”

     “Well, I know what you mean.” Buffy said. “After all, he’s still here.”

     Heads snapped up around the table. “Uh….” Xander asked, then swallowed. “What did I miss?”

    “Nothing.” Anya sighed. “They’re just going to talk and talk and talk, and then they won’t even say what’s pissing them off.”

    “And nobody will get revenge.” D’Hoffryn muttered sadly. “And then they’ll probably start talking again.”

     “No, we’re done talking.” Buffy said quietly. “Because you’re not talking to me, Angel. I can tell you’re….you’re not exactly lying but you’re not telling the truth.” Her glance fell on Xander, suddenly, and her face softened. “And I’m used to being around friends who at least try to tell me the truth.”

   “Oh, we can?” Anya said. “Because that top…” She paused regretfully. “It’s just so the wrong…”Xander poked her and she frowned. “Hey! She said…”

    “No, it’s okay.” Buffy said. “You know, I did some thinking in the shower. “ Spike cocked his head at her, consideringly. Damn. Knew I was missing something. “And I just kind of came to the conclusion that you don’t want to talk to me, Angel. You just don’t. And I want to know why.” 

    Angel glanced scornfully at Spike for a second, no longer, as if the younger vampire weren’t worth more attention. “You know why.”

     “No, I really don’t.”

    “Him.” Angel spat out. “Him and his chip. I trust him about as far as I trust that chip.”

    To Buffy’s surprise, Spike didn’t get mad at all. He simply looked disappointed and rather disgusted.  “Yeah, because souls are so trustworthy.” 

     “How would you know?” Angel spat. “All you have is a piece of plastic.”

     Spike stared into his eyes. Again, his reaction was not the one Buffy expected.  “You’re forgetting, mate.” Spike said. “I have a lot more than that. ”

     The two vampires stared at one another, and Buffy felt the most curious shiver of depression slither up her spine. There went my childhood, she thought, and the way I used to feel about him.

     “Yeah.” Angel said quietly. “How long before the chip fails?”

     “There’s something you’re missing, Angel.” Buffy said quietly. “It’s not the chip you have to trust, it’s me. If he really wanted to be all Big Bad, he’d have minions doing his work for him. I mean, if you really want something, you really do find a way to get it done.” She looked around the room, to find all the faces turned up to her, running the gamut from Xander’s rapt expression to Wes’ distracted glance. Lorne buffed his nails on his shirt, assessed the result, and gave her a firm little nod without missing a beat.  “If I trust Spike, then you should, too. When somebody almost lays down their life for my sister, for me, and…well…..doesn’t insult my friends nearly as much as he could have, I think that means something. So either you trust me, or you don’t. That’s fine. But don’t pretend there’s anything left between us if it’s only when you feel like it.” 

    Angel jumped to his feet. “Buffy…You’re going to tell me that you…trust Spike more than me?”

    “He’s been here, Angel. You haven’t even tried to be here.”

    “Buffy…” Angel ran his hands through his hair, something that made Spike open his mouth. Buffy could practically see the remark form on his tongue, and shot him a look that made him sigh and sink back in his chair. “I can’t trust him. I can’t. I’ve known him since…”

   Spike frowned suddenly.  “You don’t know nothin’, mate, nothin’ at all about me.” Putting his beer carefully aside, he stood up, as casually as if he intended to stretch. “Don’t give me this crap about you knowin’ me at all. I haven’t seen you in a hundred years—well, except for that little relapse----but I have heard about you. What you did to Dru. What you were doin’ with Darla. Or is it only you that’s allowed to…?” Angel snarled at that, and lunged forward, but Buffy was faster, snapping between them.

   “Darla?” Buffy asked.

   “Nothing.” Angel said. “Nothing.”

   Buffy stared into his face, seeing more desperation than anger. “Why can’t you believe me?” She asked.

   In answer, Angel just jerked his chin at Spike, who was simply standing there, his arms crossed. “I know him, Buffy, and I’ve known him longer than you, no matter how you count it.” 

    Buffy thought about it for a minute, then answered. “Well, he’s known you a lot longer than I have. Should I listen to him about you?”

   Xander grinned to himself and swiftly stifled it behind his hand.  “Especially seeing as how it’s always been Angel trying to end the world, and ah, Spike…” Xander stopped so abruptly he made a choking sound. “Oh, God, I almost said something nice about Spike. Oh, God. Oh, God.” Anya patted him on the back efficiently, but her eyes never left the little scene going on in front of her. 

   Spike’s glance in Xander’s direction was oddly consoling. “Know how you feel, Harris. Almost had the urge to say somethin’ about you which wasn’t entirely derogatory, but I laid down and it went away.”

    “I don’t even care what it is you’re not telling me any more, Angel.” Buffy heaved a great sigh and turned and walked away, to stand in the doorway.  With her back to him, her head bowed, and her arms crossed, she continued, “I mean, I know it’s something about Connor, and I don’t think he’s Cordelia’s baby or anything, and I know you’re probably trying to protect him, but I really don’t understand why. And you won’t tell me. And you won’t listen to me, either.” She turned and looked at him. Everyone was still, even Spike, who had jammed his hands in his pockets. “I don’t want it to end like this, Angel, I really don’t. I’ve lost too many people who I loved. The way you feel about somebody never goes away, does it?  Not even when they do.” Her throat closed, and her eyes filled, so that she had to look down again, to study her blurry socks. She looked up and saw her life, perfectly posed before her. Her past, her present, her future.  The past love of Angel, the present and perhaps future of Spike, and the constancy of Xander.  Even Wes and Hallie were woven into the fabric there, Wes part of her past, and part of Angel’s present, and Hallie from both Spike’s life and Anya’s. Why did they have to be of separate phases? Why couldn’t they all be like this, all the time, no ruptures, no separations? Why did it have to end?

    She looked at Angel. “Choose, Angel.”

    “Buffy, I can’t.”

    “Then give me a good reason.”

     All he did was turn and glare at Spike. For a moment she had an idea she knew what it felt like to get staked, because that look just seemed to shoot through her. “I can’t, Buffy. Not with Connor’s life.”

    “Connor’s life?” Buffy exploded. “ What about my life? Because you sure seem to like popping in when it suits you. I mean…. What, did you adopt him or something? Is that it? He’s not Cordelia’s, he’s not Wes’, is he yours?”

  Angel blanched, his jaw dropping open, flinching back away from her.  It was Buffy’s turn to stare in disbelief at him, throwing her hands up in the air. She shook her head at his reaction, but it took a moment to sink in. “He is yours? How? Is that all? You didn’t….You couldn’t even…send a card?” She spread her hands, bewildered. “God…You….adopted a kid? Why?”  D’Hoffryn, still holding the baby pictures, glanced at them again, then at Angel, shrugged, and raised his hand. Everyone looked at him, and he hunched with embarrassment. “He’s, ah, he’s a really cute baby.”

   Angel ran his hand through his hair, momentarily pleased, then shrank, at the circle of disapproving faces.

   Spike gave a short bark of laughter at that. As they both turned and glared at him, he covered his mouth and cleared his throat. “Sorry, but…how Los Angeles of you. Isn’t adoption the big thing now? No stretch marks and all. Actually, that way I could believe it was Cordelia’s…” He coughed again as everybody glared at him. “Well, makes more sense than Granddad here adopting a human. He is human, isn’t he? It’s not like you were ever a good father anyway…What next?” He enquired cheekily. “Hair transplants? Yoga?”

    Xander raised his hand. “Uh…You do realize, this makes my family look normal.” Everybody stared at him. “Sorry. But that’s never happened before.” Anya beamed at him.

    Wes had been staring at the game board silently for quite some time, face flushed, almost embarrassed-looking. He bit his lower lip and looked up, his eyes firm and his mouth set. “Angel,” he said quietly. “You can’t keep doing this.”

   “It’s none of your business, Wes.”

   “Well, it’s not business, is it? We’re not talking about work, are we? Because if we were, I could discuss how I came to be your employer.”

   “What would that prove, Wes?”

   “Nothing, really, except that you’ve made some terrible mistakes, Angel.” Angel’s eyes bored into Wes’, but the slender Englishman didn’t blink. He raise his chin defiantly, and took a deep breath. “It’s not as if I don’t understand what a terrible strain this is upon all of us. But this…. ”

   Buffy thought about it for a minute, then tried to interrupt. “Oh, Wes….” I just called a Watcher by his nickname, she thought.

    “Please, Buffy, let me finish.” He smiled slightly at her, and nodded graciously in acknowledgement. It was so Watcher-like she had to smile herself. Once a Watcher, always a Watcher, she thought. He turned to Angel again. “The things we do, the things we see, take a terrible toll on us all. But…this really doesn’t have anything with Spike’s chip. Well, it might, but then we’d have to ask about your soul, too. Isn’t your soul supposed to accomplish the same thing as Spike’s chip?”

    Angel stared at him ferociously, and after a moment, Spike slipped unobtrusively between him and Buffy, sought her eyes briefly, and then turned to face the older vampire. Angel didn’t say anything, though, and the silence was so complete that they could hear the clock ticking in the hallway. Xander let out an explosive breath, then gulped another one in and held it.

     “It should.” Buffy said quietly.

    “Then why didn’t it?” Wes asked quietly.

Continued...