Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1154
Genre: Angst
Series: The Coffee Shop
Summary: A discussion between friends.
Disclaimer: Joss, Mutant Enemy, etc, own Buffy and Angel.

Sunlight cast rainbow patches of light across the floor of the church, bathing the pews and the altar in glory. A young girl, perhaps six or seven, moved across the floor, casting white rose petals from a basket, and simpering at the friends and family that filled the pews of the church. Her cheeks dimpled as she posed for a shot, grey eyes sparkling under straight black bangs.

From the balcony above, two men in tuxedos watched her. Standing side by side, they could have been father and son. The light from the windows glinted off of the silvering hair of one Wesley Wyndham Price, and embellished Angel's hair like the wing of some exotic bird, all rainbow and darkness.

"She's beautiful, Wesley." Angel said, gazing down fondly at the girl. "A cherub given human form."

"She takes after her mother." Wesley replied proudly, straightening his tie. "Although, she's on her best behavior today. Gunn promised her she could see the faerie room next week. If he hadn't, she'd be bouncing off the walls."

"A perfect angel."

wesley chuckled appreciatively. "My little angel." he agreed.

"I don't want to see her in the family business." Angel said after a long pause. "None of your children, Wesley. This needs to be the last generation."

"She has the affinity." Wesley said ruefully. "It will be difficult keeping her away. It's hard enough, shielding her from my work."

"This business with Gunn and the faerie room can't happen again." Angel paused, then continued, "When she was three or four, it could have been forgotten as a fantasy, but at six, it's too close. She might remember it. This has to be the last time."

"And shall I shield her from Shakespeare? Forbid A Midsummer's Nights Dream to her?"

"Ground her in logic, Wesley." Angel said. "She'll grow up protected. Her ignorance will be no weakness when ten percent of the city is aware and in line."

Wesley made an agreeable noise in the back of his throat. The two stood in silence, watching the girl move up and down the aisle.

"Fourty years, and no children since Connor." Wesley said softly. "Who do you intend to inherit, should anything happen to you?"

"Hmm." Angel flexed his yellowing hands, and looked down at the claw-tipped finger that bore an elaborate ring. "I run the risk of reaching Heinrich's age. After all that's happened, O'Connor and Price has a certain reputation."

"There's still the risk. Rupert is in his dotage. And I doubt that young Harris will leave the Council to manage the business."

"Wouldn't want him to. Too much bad blood." Angel paused, then said "Xander's hardly young."

"He's the same age as..." Wesley stopped, and glanced at Angel.

"As Buffy." Angel said stolidly, eyes fixed on the stained-glass windows. "I won't collapse on hearing her name, Wes."

"Do you think she'll come?"

Angel looked down. A small contingent of Council members sat in a straight line. Willow Rosenberg, her red hair cast into glory by the light through the windows. Dawn Summers, elegant and beautiful even in her fifties, with no lines on her face. And a small herd of Slayers, keeping the vampire contingent on the balconies on their toes. If Angel turned his head and squinted, an emerald glow surrounded the contingent.

"She's been sighted hunting along the canals." he said finally. "But no, I don't think she'll come."

It should have been her in the room with her maids of honor fussing over her hair, and Wesley keeping him company. Too many years gone by, and too many fights. Too much of a similarity, and when he'd finally come to agree with her, she was too old and too bitter to want anything to do with him.

Once upon a time, he would have ridden to her rescue. But they'd gone through all their once upon a times, and all the fairytales, until the beautiful girl he'd fallen in love with was subsumed by the grim hunter that was Buffy Summers. Prime Slayer, the First. And Faith as Second, balancing comradeship and friendship every time they talked.

If he hadn't been too close to her, too much of a father, there might have been a possibility there. But her husband was lost to time and to the demons she hunted, and no man could compete with the memory of a father who had died a hero, protecting his children and his wife. And as brash as she still was, as angry as her younger self, he could see the assessment every time. The urge.

Just like Buffy. Given enough time, any Slayer would be fighting with the instinct. And he grew older and more twisted with every year.

Flexing his hands, he studied the claws that slid out. Fingernails had been there once. "The more I understand myself, the more of a monster she sees me as." he said. "I almost regret that we sent the invitation."

"The Council would have taken offense, no doubt." Wesley murmured.

"I'm sick of dancing to their hunts, Wesley. There was a reason I banned them from Los Angeles, especially after that family of Brakken."

Wesley winced, and nodded."That's quite true. But then, Ms. Rosenberg wouldn't have come."

At that, Angel smiled. "Willow's got the sense most of them lack." he commented. "I'm glad to see her. Hopefully I'll get a chance to talk to her."

Wesley nodded.

The stately sound of bells echoed through the church, summoning the guests who were not seated to take a seat. Below, Wesley's daughter turned, running pell-mell down the aisle to the back of the church, basket clutched to her chest.

"That's my cue, I'm afraid." Wesley smiled at Angel.

"Have fun, old man." Angel said fondly, and watched as Wesley descended the stairs to the main hall.

Seconds later, a dark shadow with platinum hair slinked up the same stairs. Bringing down the hood of his coat, Spike nodded to his Grandsire. "I checked on 'em, like you asked."

"And?"

"Demons in the canals, like we thought. Got a taste for human blood, like the passengers."

Another reason to thank the magic-workers in the company. The last thing they needed was to lose Fred and Wesley on their way to the honeymoon hotel. Spike continued on, "Slayer saw me."

"And?"

"And bloody well almost put a stake through me! Didn't even care to talk about old times!"

"Same as always." Angel said drily.

"Anyway. We sending them help?" Spike asked, rummaging in his hooded duster for a cigarette.

Angel turned, hands clasped behind his back. The faint smell of tobacco smoke drifted through the air as Spike lit his cigarette. Below, Fred was passing the pews, her eyes on Wesley, her face radiant. The organ was playing an old song as the best men and the maids of honor flanked the altar.

"No." he said finally. "We're not sending help."

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