***

"I AM A GOLDEN GOD!" Angel screamed to the Heavens. He was standing on the roof of Aaron's house, arms outstretched, giggling a little at the ridiculousness of it all. Practically all of the partygoers were outside by the pool watching him.

"I AM A GOLDEN GOD!" He repeated.

"Angel! Angel!" Rosalie tried to get his attention. "Don't jump, OK?"

"And you can tell your magazine that my last words were..." He stretched his arms more, thinking of something to say.

"I'm on drugs!" His rapt audience shrieked with joy at his words.

"I think we should work on those last words!" Rosalie shouted up to him.

"Okay I got it. I got it. I got it. I got it. This is better. Last words: I dig music!" He shouted, truly inspired. His captive audience, however, didn't think much of it.

"I'M ON DRUGS!" He shouted again, and they went wild.

"Why don't you just come down?" Rosalie suggested. Angel shrugged matter-of-factly.

"OK." He turned to climb down the sensible way. Then, a voice from the crowd shouted.

"JUMP!" A mischievous grin, entirely incongruous on Angel, spread across his face.

He stopped, turned, ran and launched himself from the roof into the pool, full of cups and other party rubbish. When he didn't surface, ten or more kids jumped in, all shouting the same thing:

"I'll save you Angel!"

He sat, wrapped in a towel, now clad only in his black boxer shorts, drinking from a bottle of Jack Daniels. His hair was straggly, his face was bleary, but still the kids stood, agape, fascinated by him. Rosalie watched in awe. That was charisma. The sun had already begun to rise some time ago, and now the tour bus rumbled down the normally quiet residential street. Ripper came in to fetch the errant guitarist.

"Thanks for saving my life, man. I won't hold it against you." Angel said. Several different partygoers nodded.

"They've been calling for you like a bunch of little girls with skinned knees." Ripper murmured to him. Angel wasn't having any of it.

"No, the band is finished. This is my family now." He gestured grandly with the bottle at the people in the kitchen.

"Yeah!" Aaron's younger brother chimed in. "He can live in our basement."

"Definitely. It's all over. We'll just finish the tour, and then leave those ungrateful fools behind. And then we'll come back here, where you'll live." Ripper told Angel.

"I know what you're doing... and I like it." Angel said to Ripper, who pulled him to his feet. Rosalie gathered up Angel's wet clothes and his shoes, and followed Ripper as he pulled Angel out of the house to the bus. He pushed Angel up the steps onto the bus. He was confronted by the angry glares of Xander, Spike and the Band-Aids, and a worried look from Buffy, who had sat in the space next to his usual seat. He slumped down into it, suddenly feeling like a little kid in trouble with his mother.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, the evening is over! We hope you've enjoyed yourselves, and we'll See you again in 1975! Good evening!!" Ripper announced to the partiers in his important announcer's voice. He then jumped onto the bus and it rumbled away amid cheers and whooping from the kids at the party.

The mood on the bus, however, was decidedly more sombre. In fact, not one person spoke. A few appreciative glances were thrown in Rosalie's direction for looking after Angel. Spike glared sullenly out of the window, Little Willow beside him. Angel sat, staring blankly ahead through the bus windscreen. Ripper fiddled with the radio, finding the silence unbearable. The familiar opening bars of Imagine began, softly through the atmosphere on the bus.

Imagine there's no Heaven, it's easy if you try...

Lennon's voice cut straight through the atmosphere, not taking any prisoners. The stark, honest voice cut through to each person on the bus, making each feel small, insignificant and incredibly uncomfortable.

No Hell below us, above us only sky,

Rosalie watched each of them squirm. Then, Cordelia joined in with the voice.

Imagine all the people living for today,

Then, as the song continued, Spike, ever the showman, ever the singer, joined in.

Imagine there's no countries,

It isn't hard to do,

Nothing to kill or die for,

No religion too,

Imagine all the people

living life in peace...

Then, Xander and Anyanka. Then Ripper.

Imagine no possessions,

I wonder if you can,

No need for greed or hunger,

A brotherhood of man,

Imagine all the people

Sharing all the world...

Then Little Willow, then Buffy. Then, as the song swelled:

You may say I'm a dreamer,

but I'm not the only one,

Angel's voice had piped up. Every single person on the bus was singing now.

I hope some day you'll join us,

And the world will live as one.

They needed to hear Angel's voice joined them. In that moment, each apologised and each forgave. They were a band again. Buffy took Angel's hand and squeezed it reassuringly. He turned to look at her for the first time since getting on the bus and gave her a heartbreakingly sweet, apologetic smile.

The tour limped on from there, but Stillwater just got bigger and bigger. They managed to end on a high note in Philadelphia, but they parted ways uneasily. They would have to reunite soon to record, but it wasn't something that thrilled anyone in the band. They were all fed up and tired of being Stillwater. They couldn't stand each other anymore. Except, of course, Angel who loved Buffy, Buffy who loved Angel, Spike who thought he might like Buffy. Not that anyone would say anything. The band had enough troubles, they decided.

Then, to the delight of all involved except the record company, the album was postponed. They wouldn't start work on the album until January 1975 and it was only October 74 now. They had toured for two months and would now get nearly four months break from working at all. Angel of course was expected to come up with an album full of new songs. In the meantime, the record company would release an album of covers that they had recorded during their last sessions in New York. Ripper had convinced the record company that to force Stillwater into a studio now would end the band, and cut short a lucrative deal for the company. They bought the idea. The band were free of the band until January.

Buffy returned home to Sunnydale as she always tried to do when the band wasn't working. Her mother and sister Dawn, now thirteen years old lived in Buffy's childhood home in Sunnydale, California. It was your typical Californian small town, where everyone knew each other. Unfortunately for Buffy, now the big Rock Star, that wasn't always a good thing. Whenever she spoke to her mother, Joyce usually had a new "So sorry to hear about your daughter" story. It seemed that many in Sunnydale thought that Buffy was doing something wrong somehow by working hard and earning piles and piles of cash, which she gave almost entirely to her mother. Joyce Summers had been divorced from Buffy and Dawn's father Hank since 1968 and since had raised the two on her own. Buffy's money came in handy, but proud Joyce would never admit that. When people made snide comments about Buffy living the rock star existence, Joyce would always defend her daughter, no matter how much it hurt her to hear stories of Stillwater's wild parties. In fact, Joyce didn't always know where her daughter was, but Buffy was her daughter, and always came home. That was what mattered.

"Mom?" Buffy stumbled tiredly through the door, carrying her bags. The van parked outside the house held her drum kit, and the driver, one of the regular Stillwater roadies, by the name of Derek, got out and started unloading them.

"Buffy? Buffy!" Joyce's voice shrieked from upstairs somewhere. She flew down the stairs to where her daughter leaned against the doorframe, utterly exhausted. She wrapped her arms around the girl, who kissed her mother on the cheek.

"Hi Mom." She said, yawning.

"Hello Derek," Joyce called. "Coffee?"

"Thank you, ma'am, that would be great." He said, beads of sweat already forming on his brow.

"Come inside, Buffy! You must be utterly exhausted." Joyce said, calming herself down.

"Where's Dawn?" Buffy asked as Joyce led her into the living room and to the sofa.

"She's off at Mandy's house." Joyce told her.

"Oh. OK." Buffy shook off her fatigue for a moment. "How are you, Mom?"

"I'm good," Joyce smiled.

"And Dawn?"

"She's very good. She got an A for her English composition yesterday."

"That's great!"

"And Pat came round earlier. I told her you were going to be home sometime today." Joyce said. Buffy mustered a smile, but didn't mean it. Pat, her mother's best friend, annoyed Buffy with her perky, syrupy manner. But her mother liked her, and that was what mattered.

"I'm gonna take a bath." Buffy said, pulling herself up. "Then I'm going to sleep for a week. Or maybe two."

"Rough tour?"

"Believe me when I say Hell yeah." Buffy said. Her mother smiled sympathetically.

"Bye Del!" Buffy yelled out to Derek.

"See you in New York, Buff!" He shouted back.

Buffy, fresh from a long hot bath slid under the covers of her bed. She yawned loudly, but couldn't get to sleep yet. Something was playing on her mind. She knew what it was- She missed Angel. Which was strange. Aside from many other things, this last tour had proved to her one shocking, undeniable thing- She was in love with Angel Flynn. She had felt so bad for him when Spike blamed him for the t-shirt fiasco, then the next morning when the bedraggled Angel stumbled onto the bus. She had felt so jealous when Cleo arrived, too. It was all unexpected, and slightly unwelcome. The last thing anyone needed was for her to fall in love with Angel. He was the great Guitar God with the great Singer girlfriend, why would he possibly be in love with Buffy?

Angel had gone home to his apartment in New York. There he went straight to sleep and didn't really surface for a week. After a week of sleeping, watching TV and eating whatever was delivered from the pizza place that day, he finally got up. He didn't have much choice- Cleo had called and she was on her way. There was no possible way that Cleo would accept Angel's current living habits, and so not only did he have to shop for real food, but he had to clean his apartment, which had gotten untidy when he was away, due mostly to his elder brother staying there while he was in New York. Clearly, Dominic Flynn didn't care much for cleaning, and after his slovenly week, Angel found himself with a rather large task. Then of course, he had to clean himself up, which he didn't mind so much- Angel could only go a week of slovenly habits before it irritated him.

"Hello, darling!" The voice called in its usual seductive way. Angel emerged from the kitchen to find Cleo standing there, guitar in hand, bag over her shoulder and a smile on her lips.

"Hey Cleo," He said, unenthused. She pouted.

"You're not going to be all moody like you were in San Francisco are you? Because I could do without that right now."

"Really?" Angel felt irritated. Didn't he have a right to feel however he wanted?

"Really. The fucking record company are on my back about the next fucking album." She said, punctuating nearly every word with a curse. That irritated him too, though he wasn't sure why. He watched silently as she dumped her long sheepskin coat on the sofa and put her guitar down on the coffee table, messing up the room he'd just cleaned. Then it hit him. He didn't care what she thought or what she did. He didn't care if she swore with the best of them. She hadn't changed, but he sure as Hell had. He was so utterly in love with Buffy he could barely see straight. Now, the thought of Cleo touching him at all made him nauseous. The thought of Cleo kissing him, and more, made his skin crawl. He wanted the blonde drummer, not the red-head singer.

"I want to break up." He announced suddenly, clumsily. So clumsily, in fact, that Cleo's first reaction was to laugh.

"What?"

"I don't want to be your boyfriend anymore. I want us to be ended. I want to be solo again." He said, trying to think of ways to make her understand.

"And you went crazy when, exactly?" She asked.

"Well, a couple of times," He said, thinking of Monterey. "But that's not the point. You deserve better than me."

"Is there someone else?" She asked coolly. He shook his head.

"But you want there to be someone else? You have someone in mind?" He nodded. How did she know?

"I fucking thought so." She said, picking up her coat. "I thought so in San Fran-fucking-Cisco, but I was fucking stupid enough to overlook the fact you preferred to sit and play your stupid guitar than pay me any attention." She shrugged her coat back on and picked up her guitar.

"You could've told me before I bothered coming to New York. I gave up a party at Keith Moon's house for this. I could've stayed in England and recorded. Oh well, it's all moot now, isn't it?" Angel nodded.

"I'm sorry Cleo."

"Yeah? Me too. At least now I can be Cleo the singer, not Cleo the girlfriend of Angel Flynn, who also sings." She said, not a hint of bitterness in her voice. She opened the door, but before going through it, turned to Angel with a smile.

"It was really great being your girlfriend," She told him sincerely.

"It was really great being your boyfriend." He replied just as sincerely. And it had been. But then there was Buffy. Cleo smiled again, then was gone out the door and out of Angel's life.

Buffy knew that within a day of her arrival home, Tom would come calling. And sure enough, early in the evening, she was awoken from her first decent sleep in months by the sound of the doorbell. Yawning and groaning, she lay still. She had no desire to see Tom at all, and now she'd been woken up by him.

"Buffy!" Joyce's voice called up all too soon. "Tom is here to see you!"

She groaned and buried her head into her pillow. There was no escape from this, short of climbing out of her bedroom window, and he'd see her anyway. She would have to get out of bed, get dressed, go down the stairs and pretend she was in love with Tom Ferry instead of Angel Flynn.

She emerged five minutes later after throwing some old clothes on. She managed to muster a smile for Tom. But immediately, he took her into his arms and planted a kiss, not particularly gently, on her lips. She closed her eyes, trying to accept it, but the face she saw wasn't Tom's. It was Angel's. She broke away from him right then. She looked at him with tired, but serious eyes.

"We need to talk." She pulled his hand and led him out onto the back porch.

"Ah, away from your mother." Tom said, thinking he understood. He didn't.

"No, I don't mean that. I really mean we need to talk." She sat down and motioned for him to do the same.

"You haven't found some rock musician instead of me, have you?" He asked, his voice dripping with disdain.

"No! Listen, it's not that. But I don't think... We're not in the same place anymore. We're not on the same page of the book. You've got your job and want to settle down. But I'm... I'm a rock musician."

"That's no excuse!"

"Excuse?" She exclaimed, anger rising. "It's not meant to be an excuse. I'm trying to explain..."

"That you'd rather spend your time taking drugs and having sex with anybody who takes your fancy." He said.

"No! I don't take drugs!" She said. It was true. She usually only drank at their parties.

"And I don't just sleep with anyone!"

"But you do sleep with someone."

"No! Stop twisting my words! I thought you'd understand!" She jumped up angrily. "I'll make this simple." She said. "I don't want to go out with you anymore. The end." She sighed. Tom stood up.

"You deserve someone who can make you happy." She said. "I can't do that."

"Sure you can."

"No, Tom, you don't understand. I don't want to. I don't want to be your girlfriend anymore. You have to accept that."

"It's that Angel guy, isn't it?"

"No! Why does everyone think that? He's just my friend." She said, sounding more believable than it actually was.

"Fine. Your loss Buffy." He said, smoothing down his suit. "Goodbye." He said shortly, before going back inside and out to the front door. She went inside and heard his car pull away. Then she went back to bed.

Angel and Buffy spent their holidays in similar ways. Both spent a great deal of time doing very little indeed. Touring took so much out of them that when not touring, it was hard to stimulate oneself into doing anything that required much exertion. Angel, as could be expected spent a great deal of time playing, writing and listening to music. He, after all, had an album to write. Buffy divided her time between spending time with her sister, who at thirteen was a live wire just discovering clothes and boys; and her mother. Buffy began spending afternoons at her mother's art gallery, learning about art. She too spent a lot of her time listening to music, hearing new ways of doing things. Particularly, Buffy listened to other drummers, and taugt herself new techniques and breaks and fills with the dedication levels she needed to be the Best. For a couple of days, Tom tried to call her, but once she told her mother the situation (leaving out her newly discovered love for her guitarist) Joyce told Tom in no uncertain terms to leave her daughter alone.

Then, Buffy decided to use some of her hard-earned money to take a holiday before having to go back to the slog of being in a band. She decided on London for the New Year. So, on the twenty-eighth of December, she bade a fond farewell to her mother and sister and got onto a plane to London, England.

Angel decided to use some of his hard-earned money to take a holiday before having to go back to the slog of being in a band. He decided on London for the New Year. So, on the twenty-eighth of December, he called Lennon to say 'bye' and got onto a plane to London, England.

London, England, 29th December 1974.

Buffy collapsed into a chair in her hotel room. She'd booked into the Ritz. Stillwater had stayed here when they toured England. Now, she sat completely still, utterly exhausted. It was much quieter than she remembered it being. Suddenly she missed Angel, Spike, Xander, Ripper and the Band-Aids more than she expected to. But right now, she was too tired to think. She'd been on a plane for so long and she wanted to sleep.

Angel finally arrived at his hotel much later than anticipated. His flight had been delayed, then he was diverted to Rome before managing to get a transfer to London. Pausing only to take off his coat and shoes, Angel headed straight for the bed in his suite. When he awoke some time later, he looked around his hotel room. Stillwater had stayed here at the Ritz when they were last in London. It was quieter now. Frankly, he'd been amazed that the hotel had let him back in. It was dark out now- he had slept away most of the day. He showered, changed into fresh clothes and headed down to the restaurant.

"Good evening, Mr Flynn." The hotel manager approached when Angel emerged from the lift.

"Hi." Angel managed, too hungry for small talk.

"Is everything to your satisfaction, sir?" Angel nodded before heading straight for the restaurant.

Buffy emerged about a minute and a half later, also refreshed.

"Miss Summers, good evening." The hotel manager smiled at the pretty blonde.

"Hello."

"Is everything to your satisfaction?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Mr. Flynn is already in the restaurant, Miss."

"Excuse me?" Buffy was confused now. What was this guy talking about?

"Mr. Flynn. A colleague of yours, I believe."

"Angel is here?"

"Yes, miss."

"I didn't even know that he was even in England." Buffy said, her heart already racing. Angel was here! She practically ran into the restaurant.

"There's no one sitting here, is there?" She asked, standing over Angel's table. He looked up and his eyes widened in surprise.

"Buffy?" His heart suddenly skipping beats all over the place.

"Hi. Weird coincidence, huh?"

"Yeah. Oh, sit down, please." He said. She grinned and sat opposite him.

"Got bored of sitting at home, huh?" She asked.

"Oh God, yeah."

"Didn't Cleo come to see you?" She asked.

"Sure she came. She just didn't stay."

"I think I speak for all of us when I say- Huh?"

"I broke up with her.

"Oh." Buffy feigned only slight interest. "Why?"

"We just... Grew apart. It was never as big as other people tried to make out.

"Oh."

"How about you? Aren't you spending New Year with what-his-name? The accountant with the suit?"

"Tom." She laughed. "And most accountants wear suits."

"Mine doesn't." Angel told her.

"Yes, but your accountant is Ripper." She reminded him.

"Oh yeah."

"And anyway, I broke up with him." Angel's heart leapt as an obstacle in his path to Buffy was removed.

"Oh. Why?" He said, also trying to feign mild interest and nothing more.

"He was boring." Angel laughed out loud at that.

"He really was." He agreed. "Not good enough for you."

Buffy blushed at the compliment.

"I don't know about that." She said, avoiding Angel's gaze.

They talked on through dinner, through dessert, through drinks and through arriving in Angel's suite.

"You have a nicer room than I do." Buffy commented, sinking into an overstuffed chair.

"The record company are paying the bill."

"How'd you swing that one?"

"I said that I needed time and space to write. They'll find a way to get the money back, I'm sure."

"Damn the man," Buffy said, laughing.

"Yeah. Damn the man." He echoed, sitting down beside her.

"We have to go back to the studio in a few weeks." He reminded her.

"I know."

"Do you hate being in the band?" He blurted out suddenly.

"No." She paused. "I don't like it much sometimes. But I definitely don't hate it. Fuck, I'm the drummer for one of the best bands in the world!" She exclaimed.

"Good."

"What made you ask that?" She sat up, staring at him with her big hazel eyes.

"I don't know. Maybe... I haven't seen you this happy for a long time."

"The last tour was hard." She said. How was she meant to tell him that she was so happy because she'd spent hours in his company, and his alone?

"It was." He agreed. He moved to the phone.

"How about some room service?"

"Cool." She agreed.

The next morning, Buffy awoke with a start. She sat up. Angel was standing only feet away from her, hair dripping wet, wearing only a pair of black jeans.

"Angel?" She asked, genuinely confused. Then, it dawned on her that this was his room and his bed she was lying in.

"Morning," He said, a smirk playing on his lips. "How's your head?"

"Pounding," She moaned.

"Drinking Brandy Alexanders like milkshakes will do that to a person." He said.

"What..."

"Happened? Nothing, Buffy." He said as if to a child as she tried to remember the night before.

"You couldn't make it back to your room." He said, smiling.

"You think this is funny!" She accused him.

"No, Buffy. I think this is hilarious." She threw a pillow at him, but he dodged easily.

"You can do better than that." He mocked.

"What time is it?"

"Nearly midday."

"Really?"

"Yeah." She scrambled out of the bed, becoming caught up in the sheets.

"What are you doing, trying to keep me prisoner?" She said, irritated.

"If I wanted to do that, I'd use more than just sheets." Angel smirked again.

"You're laughing at me!"

"You're pretty funny." He said. At that, she paused and fell back onto the bed, giving up. Angel threw his shirt on and approached.

"Drink this." He handed her a glass of water he had beside the bed.

"Fine." She drank it down, tasting the aspirin in the water.

"Thank you." She managed, even though she was royally pissed off at him for laughing at her. Then, he untangled the sheets for her. She slid off the bed and stood.

"I'll see you later, maybe." She said. Then, she bolted from the room.

Angel collapsed back onto his bed and sighed heavily. She was so utterly beautiful and so close and he couldn't have her. Clearly, she didn't want him, either. Every glare she sent his way was like a shot to his heart. Well, if he couldn't have her, he'd just have to settle for being near her. It was, he mused, better than nothing. He fell asleep almost straight away. Sleeping on the couch hadn't been an entirely successful venture.

Buffy closed the door of her room softly. The aspirins Angel gave her were beginning to work, but she felt exhausted anyway. Then, the thought hit her- Why didn't he want her? She sure as Hell wanted him. Her heart pounded faster every time she saw him and that morning, she realised that, headache or not, she wanted to wake up like that every morning. Buffy sighed sadly. Angel clearly wasn't interested in her. Sure, they were friends- good friends- but nothing more to him. It wasn't fair. The one person she had ever really loved didn't love her back.

Tramps was always the place to be in London and never more so than on big nights like New Years Eve. The drink flowed while the music and laughter were so loud that they spilled out into the street. Mick & Bianca would be there, maybe David & Angie, other assorted Rolling Stones, Clapton, members of the Faces, Keith Moon and maybe another Who member or two. Maybe a couple of the Led Zeppelin guys. Maybe Roxy Music's Bryan Ferry. Marianne Faithfull might be there. It would irritate the Hell out of Bianca Jagger, but it would be funny. Of course, there would be other assorted celebrities of stage, screen, radio and TV. Maybe even a couple of sports stars like George Best. Tonight- December 31st 1974, the two prettiest members of Stillwater would be there too. Angel dressed up in his trademark leather trousers coupled with a deep purple silk shirt. As always, his long dark hair fell in his eyes and he looked every inch the rock star he was. He knocked on Buffy's door and nearly passed out. If he looked every inch the rock star, Buffy looked every inch the ingenue. Her short black dress showed how willowy she was and her long blonde hair had been piled loosely atop her head. Angel's breath caught in his throat. He forced himself to speak.

"Hi. You ready to go?" He asked, unable to tear his gaze away from the vision in front of him.

"Sure." She smiled brightly. She closed the door and took the arm he offered. They began walking down the hall.

"You look beautiful, by the way." He said in a much more casual voice than he felt.

"Thanks. So do you." She smiled that dazzling smile again, and Angel's heart was warmed. But then his heart sank. She would be the centre of every man in Tramps' attention. This could be a long night.

The club was already packed to the rafters when they arrived. But everybody moved aside for this golden couple. The girls ogled Angel, the boys ogled Buffy and some of the patrons ogled both. They did make a stunning duo- the dark and brooding Angel and the beautiful sunny blonde on his arm.

"Hey man!" Voices called to them. They were ushered to a table where the Jaggers were sat with several other people- Buffy's old crush Bryan Ferry included, Amanda Lear, and Rod Stewart of the Faces with his usual interchangeable blonde girlfriends.

"Hey, it's Angel Flynn!" Mick Jagger exclaimed. Then, he turned his well-practiced eye on Buffy.

"I don't believe we've met," He said to Buffy. Buffy the hardened, well travelled Band-Aid, begged to differ.

"Oh, I think we have, Michael." She said. "I used to be a Band-Aid."

"Buffy!" Mick recalled happily. Then, he noticed Bianca's cold glare.

"I remember." He said, calmer now. "Drinks?"

"Sure," Angel sat down, Buffy opposite him next to the still glaring Bianca Buffy turned and smiled at the beautiful Nicaraguan.

"Hi, I'm Buffy," She said.

"Really, and what do you do, exactly?" Bianca sneered.

"Oh, I'm the drummer for Stillwater." She said. Bianca, realising then that Buffy was no groupie, brightened immeasurably.

"How good for you."

"Thanks."

"You've met Mick before?" Bianca's real question, however, was clear to all.

"Yeah. I don't know him all that well, though." Buffy said, answering her real question just as clearly. Angel wanted to laugh out loud as Bianca worked so hard to mark her turf that she failed to notice her compulsively errant husband at the bar with another blonde girl.

As the New Years Party wore on and most people got steadily drunker, more people started dancing. Of course, always-cool Angel would rather die than actually dance, but Buffy on the other hand, was happy to dance the night away. And so she did. As the evening continued, it also became apparent that she had garnered the undivided attention of one Michael Phillip Jagger. He danced close to her all night and Angel felt jealously flaring up inside himself to the point where he just wanted to go over and rip Mick's grinning head from his shimmying body. But he sat tight, merely watching.

"Hello Angel." A silky voice cooed into his ear. He turned to see a blonde woman with a peroxide blonde crop of hair and traffic stopping red lipstick. Angela Bowie, wife of David.

"Oh. Hi." He said a little flatly, his eyes never leaving the blonde girl on the dance floor.

"I just loved your last album," Angie continued in her odd affected British accent, which always clashed with her real American accent.

"Thanks," He said dully. She slid into the seat beside him.

"How have you been, darling boy?" She asked. "I haven't seen you for simply ages."

"Yeah. The band's been real busy." Still Angel didn't take his eyes off Buffy.

"You look gorgeous, Buff." Mick said, dancing closer and closer, like some mating ritual involving his usual pose striking. Buffy wasn't really all that interested in the Rolling Stone frontman, but at some point in the evening, when she looked over and saw Angel with Angie Bowie, she decided to throw all caution and thought to the wind. As Mick strutted like a peacock, Buffy took on the role of the supposedly enraptured peahen. And they had an audience too- everyone in the club turned to watch Mick and Buffy. Everybody including Mrs. Jagger, who eventually tired of the spectacle, leapt to her feet, screamed a bit and then stormed out of the club. Bianca's outburst didn't deter Mick in the slightest, but it certainly deterred Buffy. She moved away from Mick and went up to the bar, where she found Mick's old time girlfriend Marianne Faithfull.

"He's a slut, darling," Marianne said in her husky English accent.

"I know. I was only dancing." Buffy said wryly.

"Bianca didn't think so. But she's still under the impression that she and Mick have a monogamous marriage." Marianne said, the laugh apparent in her voice. Then, nodding to someone across the room, she disappeared off in the direction of the ladies toilets. So instead, Buffy's attention then came to rest on Angel and Angie, who had draped herself over him. Buffy wasn't naive enough to wonder what Mr. Bowie thought about it- she'd seen him already, talking to a young blonde girl and a young dark man.

Angie was going on about something, Angel know, he just wasn't sure what. Maybe if he'd been paying attention to her? But his attention had been almost fully focused on Buffy- how after Bianca's scene, she had quickly extricated herself from Mick. Now he watched as she stood alone by the bar, suddenly at a loss. Without hesitation, Angel threw off Angie's arm and headed straight for the bar.

"Hey," He murmured to Buffy. She turned and immediately brightened.

"Hi! I thought you were Mick for a second."

"No. Just me."

That's a good thing. Mick's like a... Billy goat or something." She said. Angel laughed.

"And I saw you making friends with Mrs. David Bowie." She said. Angel grimaced.

"Angie? She was like a leech."

"We both kinda struck out tonight, huh?" She said dryly.

"Everyone!" A voice called. "Only one minute until midnight! Find someone to kiss before it's too late!"

"Mick?" Angel asked Buffy.

"Angie?" Buffy asked Angel.

"Nah."

"No, I don't think so."

"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six!" The two exchanged questioning looks.

"Five! Four! Three!" They stepped closer to each other.

"Two!" Angel took Buffy's hands into his own.

"One!" Cheers erupted throughout the club.

"Happy New Year!" Everyone shouted at once as couples kissed. Angel's lips made contact with Buffy's, gentle, softly at first, then more impassioned.

It was everything a kiss should be- searing, passionate, enthusiastic, the kind of kiss that fills a person with warmth from the tips of their toes to the ends of each strand of hair. It was, in other words, everything Buffy imagined the perfect kiss to be. Only when most of the patrons of the club were at the end of the first verse of Auld Lang Syne did they part, their breath utterly taken away. Buffy shouldn't tear her eyes away from him. Her eyes widened as she realised what they had done.

Angel mistook her expression as one of shock and horror. He got the wrong end of the stick and began to beat about the bush with it.

"I'm... I'm sorry." He said, breaking away. Before she could recover, Angel was gone.

The next morning Buffy awoke to find herself lying in her own bed. As the memories of midnight came flooding back, she sighed unhappily. Then her feelings became decidedly more angry. Well, if Angel didn't want her, she wouldn't want him anymore. She paused. or at least she'd pretend not to. She was free of Tom now, she could do as she pleased. She was a rock star and that was serious currency. She intended to spend, spend, spend.

Angel got onto a plane the very next morning, deciding that he would put in some time with his family in Boston. Not too much time, he decided, but enough to stop his mother complaining about him never visiting. In fact, he enjoyed himself at home, finding himself at last the pride of his father. People from all over their neighbourhood came to see Angel, and he noted happily how his father reacted- as if his son were the greatest living musician. His mother of course, could always be counted on to swoon over her baby son. He found himself fed endlessly, he got his laundry done and his parents commiserated over his lack of a girlfriend to settle down with.

Buffy went back home to her mother and sister, and found herself having to fend off questions about her New Year. How was she meant to tell them that it was at once brilliant and wonderful while also being heart-wrenching? How was she meant to tell them that she had decided that, seeing as the one man she wanted clearly didn't want her, she had decided to play the field like a pro? So, she just smiled sweetly and said she'd had a good time.

Of course, the time came to return to New York to record the new Stillwater album. Angel had worked hard to come up with an album's worth of new songs, and so he was already exhausted intellectually and creatively when they started in the studio. Spike had broken up with his long time girlfriend from Back Home when she read about him and a particularly well-known model in the newspaper. So he was already of a foul disposition when he came into the studio. Xander was his usual affable self, but not unaffected by the band's complete hatred for each other.

"Where the Hell is Buffy?" Spike yelled. Angel shrugged, strumming his guitar softly. She was a full hour late in arriving to the studio today, and she'd been half an hour late the day before. The sound of laughter was clearly heard by all, then Buffy and a tall young man with long dark hair came crashing into the studio.

"Sorry I'm late!" She said loudly. "Todd made me late!"

"A full hour?" Angel asked acidly.

"Yeah." Buffy giggled. "I'm so very sorry."

"At least try and sound like you mean it," He shot back, anger rising inside him, though he wasn't sure why. Perhaps he was jealous. Perhaps he was annoyed at being kept waiting in a room with Spike for an hour. Buffy seemed to sense his anger and settled herself down behind the drum kit.

The album was recorded in record time, none of the band caring much for the damn thing. It was released to mild acclaim and huge commercial success, proof that the buying public would buy anything they thought was cool. There was no tour to accompany the album, however. Just two weeks after it was released in April, Spike found himself hospitalised with pneumonia, and the tour was cancelled. It was decided that they would wait until late 1975 until they got back together to record yet another album, giving Spike time to recover and the whole band enough time apart to dissolve some of the simmering resentment.

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