Disclaimer: I don't own Buffy or Angel. The words of the bartender in some parts come from the song that fits the title (Straight Tequila Night) by John Anderson. http://www.elyrics.net/go/j/John_Anderson/Straight_Tequila_Night/
Distribution: http://www.geocities.com/hugablkisses
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: BA
Summary: sequel to She Only Smokes When She Drinks... one year later.
Thanks Goldy for the quick beta.

A pit of racing excitement burned through his veins, spiking hot tendrils of passionate acclaim. The world had died and been born again, new and fresh. Everything was different, it wasn't quite the same colors it had been before the sun had set tonight.

Everything was different, new, exciting, and waiting for him to grab a hold of with two fists…

Confidence brimmed in his belly like warm champagne, traveling throughout him, from the tips of his fingers to the bottoms of his soles. He wasn't going to let a little thing like fear turn him away again. He had a present for her, an early birthday present to be exact.

The lines on the highway raced beneath his car as he drove recklessly towards that sign of welcome. He was coming home. He took a deep breath, relishing the taste of the crisp air that filled his lungs. It was almost as if his heart was pounding in anticipation.

God it was good to be going home. It had been to long, and visits weren't the same done in shadows at safe distances. He'd almost breeched the distance a year ago on her thirty-fifth birthday.

He'd be an ass to say they needed another year to grow into the people they were suppose to come. No, they had already been those people long before now. He'd just been in denial all those years… oh Buffy…this was eighteen years too late.

"I'm coming home baby."

He hit the accelerator and sped on down the highway, the wind roaring through the open windows as he neared ninety miles an hour. This trip was taking too long.

He passed a truck on the right hand side of road, feeling the tension relax through his shoulders as he saw the sign indicating that Sunnydale was one mile. One mile never felt so long…

Not bothering with using the blinker, he swerved into the turn off lane and barreled along. Going ninety to the stoplight. Leaning on the horn, he roared through the red light, narrowly missing another car. It didn't faze him though, as he dangerously spun his car around a corner and cut the engine with a grinding noise.

His Angelmobile wasn't important. Buffy was…

He mounted the steps, pushing through the doors to the new management of the Bronze.

*****

"Been a long night hasn't it?" he asked conversationally of the woman sitting on the barstool opposite him. To give himself something to do he wiped the counter before them, and when that was done and he occupied

"Mind not lighting that?" she spoke finally. "It reminds me of somebody."

He pulled it from between his lips, and took his time putting it back in the box. "Okay, sure. Mind me asking who? He the one who always seems to put that sad look in your eyes?"

"Oh that's rich!" she crowed, a forced laugh ringing in the air. "No, no. That moron isn't the one, no, this look has been here for a long time."

"I know," he replied, bringing out a bottle of gin to pour themselves both a shot.

"No," she said with a wave of her hand over the glass. At his inquisitive look she murmured, "Just some lime and tequila."

That explains it, he thought, then joked, "Salt too?"

"Don't get smart," she tossed at him.

"Can't get smart over something I don't know." He entreated, leaving a well positioned opening for the blonde to slink through. What good was being a barman if women didn't confide in him? Where were the juicy secrets?

"Not telling you tonight Bernie, maybe another time," she croaked, her face contorting as she swallowed the sharp alcohol.

"That's what you always say," he accused, a mock frown lingering on his face.

"And I'll keep saying it. You don't want to know the truth, but I'll let you in on a secret." She leaned in conspiratorially, beckoning him closer with her index finger, as she leaned up off the stool over the counter.

He leaned in closer, and she kept motioning him forward. The soft musk of her perfume drifted up into his nose, as she put her lips to his ear. "What?"

"Men are jerks and should only be used for breeding."

He pulled away abruptly, blinking rapidly at her. "I take offense to that."

She chortled, waving her hand at the bottle lying lax in his. "I'll count the shots, leave the bottle."

"Not too many now you here?" and with that warning, he placed the bottle on the bar directly in front of her, before scurrying away.

He tended to a few other customers, when the doors opened revealing someone who looked familiar. Tall and imposing with the face of a woman's fantasies. Deliberately he avoided walking over to the man, keeping instead focused on the boring trout fishing conversation the two old timers were complaining about.

"Excuse me," said the man, who was now leaning all over his nicely polished bar.

With a sigh, he ambled over there, brusquely asking in an antagonizing grumble, "What do you want?"

"Tell me about the blonde."

He had a feeling he knew which blonde the man was asking about but he played obtuse. "Which blonde?"

"The one down there at the end," the man returned patiently, although his voice was strained.

It was with reluctance, he replied. "If you really wanna know, she comes here a lot. She just loves to hear the music and dance."

"Does she dance with anyone particular? Has a steady?"

How was he suppose to know that? Miss Blonde kept herself mysterious.

Pointing to the jute box he continued, "Thirteen is her favorite song, if you play it you might have a chance."

"What she drinking?"

Ah, a smart one.

"Tonight she's only sipping white wine; she's friendly and fun loving most of the time."

"No she isn't," the dark one growled, watching avidly as the blonde in question tossed back another shot of tequila before pouring herself another glass.

"Look buddy, I don't like the looks of you."

Intense dark eyes turned to stare at him, and he could almost swear he saw a flicker of gold. "I'm not going to hurt her."

"How am I to know that? I still don't know who hurt her before and I've known her for going on three years."

"Every night?" the man asked softly, sorrow bleeding into his gaze.

"You seemed concerned…" he paused, hoping to be filled in.

"I knew her once."

He looked over his shoulder, "Then you'll have to wait to talk to her. Its one of those nights. She rarely gets them anymore."

"Thank you," the guy mumbled, easing away from the bar with a glint in his eyes.

"But don't ask her on a straight tequila night! She'll start thinking about him, then she's ready to fight!" he warned in spite of himself. "Blames her broken heart on every man in sight-- on a straight tequila night."

The familiar stranger turned around, there was another flash of gold in his eyes before it was gone. He laid a fifty on the counter top and started to leave again.

If he walked over to the blonde now he'd be chewed out. "Wait! Here's a glass of chablis and some quarters in change… maybe you can turn her love life around."

"Why are you helping?"

"I can't stand that look in her eyes, and if you succeed, then she won't need the salt or the lime anymore to shoot that old memory down."

The tall man nodded, taking the offerings handed to him, stalking away quickly.

A brotherly tide of concern made him add, "Just remember her heart's on the mend, if you ever come back to see her again."

From his spot at the bar he watched as the `old friend' sat down on the seat next to her. She was washing down another sour memory with another shot. The bottle was getting empty, maybe he shouldn't have left it there for her to count her drinks. He knew she'd lie to him.

Damn. Be good to her slub, or you're going to have to answer to me.

****

"Not interested," she murmured, sucking on the lime quickly.

Not turning to the dark hovering figure, she unsteadily poured her seventh drink.

A cool hand stopped her, and she felt unreasonably angry. How dare this guy stop her from drowning Angel's memories? She was a big girl, let her fucking do what she pleased.-- and she pleased to have another shot.

"Drinking normally allows you to remember, so if you're trying to forget him you're going about it the wrong way."

Oh God… oh God no…

She whipped around to face him, her blond hair flying around her face. She was struck dumb by two deep chocolate eyes glaring down at her angrily. He grabbed the bottle from the counter to keep it out of her, and she felt an accompanying flash of red.

"Why are you here? After 18 years why are you finally meeting me face to face?" she demanded.

"I had an early birthday present to give to you, but it's obvious you're in no state to receive it."

"Fuck you."

"Later." Angel said, grabbing her arm to whisk her away.

She didn't fight him like she probably should have, God knows he's hurt her before, but some sadistic part wanted to stay here despite the knowledge of the pain to come.

"Are you an alcoholic?" he demanded, his face contorting in disgust, his eyes flashing amber as he stared at her.

"I'm not dependent upon my drink if that's what you mean. Serve you right if I was though; half the time I go there now I barely get down half a glass of white wine before leaving."

"Could have fooled me with the way you were tossing those shots back. What the hell's happened to you?" Angel raged, striding and yanking her along roughly behind him.

"Might be abandonment issues," she huffed, tugging at the arm he was holding. "Besides I only get rip roaring drunk when I feel that you're around."

"Damn it," he growled, letting her go. Facing her he grabbed her shoulders, "You're not going to make this easy are you?"

"Why the next morning you're gone anyway, so why should I care about your feelings. Besides alcohol numbs the pain. I thought you weren't coming back after that last time you almost breeched your walls. Why don't you just leave?"

"I'm not going Buffy! I-oh-God-damn-it!" Angel shouted, steering her into the passenger side of his sleek black car.

"Why are you here Angel? To make my life miserable?"

"No," Angel grunted, jerking the car into gear before smashing the pedals in an attempt to get out of there fast.

"Why oh why then?"

Angel didn't answer her as he drove them to her house, but when he passed the turned off and kept driving onto Crawferd St. she pressed him again, "We're not going there."

"Too bad."

"You're grumpy," she murmured.

"I'm fighting myself," he returned.

"From doing what? Leaving?"

He swung the car to the side of the road, and unbuckled his seatbelt, before clutching her head in his hands. A heady feeling swept through her as his lips descended on her, sipping from her parted lips, tasting her mouth. She copied him, tracing her tongue along his teeth, dueling roughly with his tongue, suckling it deeper into her mouth.

When she was sufficiently winded, he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. His hands petted her, his mouth peppered kisses all over her face as he breathed, "I love you and I'm going to prove it, and keep on proving it until you say it back."

Angel bit down on the scar he made, drawing the roughened flesh into his mouth. His fingers trailed over her breast, fingering the puckered nipple. She gasped, arching into him, hungering for his touch.

"Angel," she mewled, as she crested a small wave of pleasure.

"You're going to learn to love and trust me again Buffy, because I'm not leaving…"

He pulled her shirt over her head, before brushing the tender peaks with his cool lips. Drawing one into his mouth, he suckled gently, urging her legs apart with his hand. She cursed the divider in the front seat, she cursed her sluggish mind.

She pushed him away, nibbling nervously on her lower lip. "What about the curse?"

"Taken care of Buffy, all I ever said before was an excuse."

"I know," she trembled.

"We had to learn to survive without each other, but I want to live, not survive anymore… I don't want to go home to an empty bed Buffy. I want to go home to you. You are my home."

"You're staying?"

"How's forever?" he murmured, slipping her Claddagh over the knuckle of her ring finger on her left hand.

"Take me home Angel," she breathed, her gaze softening with love.

"You are home," he returned, shifting the car back into gear.

"Always, but the car isn't a comfortable place to start a reunion."

"You're telling me," he grinned, shifting covertly to relieve the growing pressure in his pants.

****

Don't ask her on a straight tequila night; she'll start thinking about him, and she's ready to fight. Blames her broken heart on every man in sight-- on a straight tequila night.

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