~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Every sense jumped to red. Already jacked up on adrenaline one more vampire before bedtime would take the edge off nicely. Scanning the tombstones and burial vaults she spotted it. He was inky black against the mottled muted colors of the cemetery. If he was looking for a place to wait out the rising sun she knew a vault with a recent vacancy. The thought made her grin as she stalked him.
He turned finally sensing her or maybe fixing her position. Hey, she knew that vamp. "Angel?!"
"Christi."
"What're you doing in Sunnydale? Is there some catastrophe to be averted? Apocalypse?" She looked at him expectantly only to receive a blank stare in return. "Well I guess this explains why you didn't return my e-mail today."
"Been on the road."
"Well, cha."
She reminded him of Cordelia for a moment. "What, I can't pop by for an unexpected visit?" She raised an expressive eyebrow. "Okay, not really my style," he conceded.
"Understatement."
"Things are slow in LA," he said with a shrug, "Wesley and Gunn have forced me into vacation for a couple of weeks. Here I am."
Christina stared at him incredulously. "You're taking your vacation here? In Sunnyhell?"
"What?" Angel was shocked. Only one person ever used that word --
"Sunnyhell. You know, Sunnydale and the Hellmouth? I mean you could put 'Hellmouth' on the map and it wouldn't make a difference," she babbled on.
-- Spike.
"So, you know, freaky as it is its cool you're here." Angel was surprised when she threw her arms about him in a fierce but friendly hug. He returned it awkwardly. Now that the Teacher/Student aspect of their relationship had passed Christina had once again taken him into the confidences of a good friend. It was a confidence Angel had never been quite comfortable with. He'd been less comfortable the year he was without it.
Cheerily -- well as cheery as one could be in a cemetery -- she put her arm in Angel's and proceeded to lead him out. "So are you staying at Crawford Street?"
"The Mansion?" She nodded. "Yeah. Um, Chris, could you not mention to anyone that I'm here. Well maybe Bishop," her Watcher, "if you feel you have to. Just keep the news to a minimum if you would. I mean --"
"Angel I didn't know you could babble," she teased. "It's okay. You don't want Buffy and the gang to know you're here. Gotcha. Are you coming to Willow's Birthday Bash?" She looked up at him then their moving feet. "Guess not. Oh well."
For a moment, a long moment, there was silence. They stepped out of the necropolis and onto the glittery asphalt. Turning toward Crawford Street she asked, "so do you want to hear about the Scoobies now or later?"
§§§
". . .T is for Trade Wars, U is for Uriel," Christina said in a singsong. "V is for Vampire, W is for World Trade. X is for . . .is for . . .um," she said catching the newly undead's fist, "what starts with X?"
It looked at her dumbly. "Xylophone?"
"Haven't you been listening?" She punched him squarely in the nose. "Historical stuff! Just 'cause you're missing Prof. Sharpe's test doesn't mean some of us don't have to study! You suck!" Disgusted she staked him muttering, "Jocko meathead."
"Not anymore."
Christina stifled a gasp and rounded on Angel. "Don't do that! And 'Not anymore' what?"
"Suck." A sudden sneeze on her part emphasized his point. "Exactly."
"Okay Jokey, what're you doing here? Thought you were on vacation, doesn't that mean nix on the vampire hunting?"
He opened his mouth, an excuse already planned but shut it suddenly at a loss for words. "I'm bored," the ex-Scourge of Europe whined.
"So read a book!"
"It's not that simple."
"Cha it is."
"Does anyone you know have visions on a regular basis?" She shook her head. "Great, looks like it'll be a relaxing stay on the Hellmouth," he said clapping his hands together.
Christina shook her head. "What," Angel asked, "are you gonna ban me from patrol?"
"Nope, just done for the night."
"Aw man!"
Christina giggled at his purposely childish behavior. "If you're trying to win my sympathy you're doing a good job. You know there are still a few hours before dawn and my first class isn't till ten. There's a twenty-four hour coffee place near campus, wanna see how bad the sludge is this time of night? Or day?"
"Sure."
"Um, do you have honey?" she asked the waiter. He left to find some.
Angel made a face. "Hmm, um, coffee and honey. That's um, new and . . .interesting."
Christina slapped his hand on the scarred formica table. "Ow!" He pulled it back quickly. "I don't drink coffee, mudo crudoff," she rebuked.
"Must you abuse me so," he said in a way that made her laugh.
She'd missed this last year, there had been no room for this kind of easy banter in their relationship then. They'd slowly rebuilt their friendship over the past few months through e-mails, phone calls and occasional demon consultations. It had gone better than she'd thought.
The waiter brought back a small jar of honey. "So," Christina started, "tell me how's it been going avoiding nearly everyone you know in town?"
Angel gave her a nondescript answer that didn't require much of his attention. Instead he said flippant, unimportant things while she laughed and tried to get a straight answer. He liked watching her laugh. She did it so freely, so infectiously the vampire was able to forget, for a moment, who they were. It wrapped around him so easily . . .it was just nice hearing her laugh. He felt young.
Angel landed a punishing blow to Christina's midsection. Bent over double he swept her feet out from under her. She was only on her back for a moment before jumping up and forcing him back with several quick punches. Pushing the advantage she repaid Angel in kind, ruining his already tricky backward motion sending him sprawling. And herself with him.
Using his own ruined momentum Angel pulled her down wit him. Both vampire and slayer rolled his weight settling on her prone body. "Wanna quit?"
Christina smirked up at him. "Since when did you want to stop early?" she asked vaulting him up and off. On their feet they stared each other down. Some choice bruises would be blooming on various parts of their bodies in a few hours but Christina concentrated on the pain. It left no room for other thought -- emotions. What had started as a stress relieving bout of sparring had turned into a full blown fight with all its intricacies, possibilities, choreography and re-choreography yet without -- or despite -- its intimacies.
There was no loss of momentum only a reworking of strategy. Christina felt herself lifted of the ground and used her new found height to pummel Angel's chest, shoulders and head. When he didn't release her, only used his vampiric strength to crush the breath from her lungs, she used her last card.
"Ow!" Angel suddenly cried, dropping her and clutching his forehead.
"Ow is right," Christina agreed mimicking his motions on the floor. "Matter of fact I'll see your Ow and raise you a Frelling Aahaahaah," she moaned.
Laughing, Angel helped her off the floor. "And what's that?"
"Think of a swear that you'd put in front of 'Ow' and that's pretty close. But, frell, was your head always that hard?"
"According to my da, harder. What about you? You're no feather bed either." Christina laughed. "So you ready to quit?" She nodded. "Feel better?"
Smiling softly, gratefully, she nodded again. "Thanks Angel. For everything. I mean you let me beat you up and you listened to all that stupid crap about Robert --"
"Don't say that."
"But it was!" she pressed. "I mean other than you and one other person no one even knew we've been out -- for months. It was stupid. It was crap. I should have known better."
"Did you have genuine affection for him?" She nodded. "Love usually don't know better Christi. I know its hard to believe but it does get better. And if it doesn't," he added, "I'm always available to get beat up."
Tears pricked her eyes while she repressed a wild urge to throw her arms around the tall vampire, bury her face in his neck and cry again. Christina knew if she started (again) there would be no end till dawn and so surpressed an equally wild urge to run until she collapsed.
For the third time she tried closing her eyes but something had disturbed her sleep during the night and her body would know no rest. False dawn was beginning to make its presence known through the blinds. Soon her alarm would go off. Blindly Christi reached for the LCD on her night stand to check the time and forestall its shrill wake-up call. Brushing past some papers she'd left on the little dresser she picked up the LCD and --
She hadn't left anything on the night stand except her personal chrono, necklace and. . . and that was it. Messy she might be but there was a method behind it yet. Raising herself on elbows she looked over the papers. Honest to goodness paper no less, not plaslets or plaspaper but wood pulp stuff. Old wood pulp stuff. Gingerly, she picked them up and examined them.
They were of her!
There were four, all her, all of them the same pose but each different in the details. In the first and uppermost she was curled into the side of a grand reptilian dragon, its long snout touching the tips of her curled fingers, eyes half lidded.
Pixies or fairies surrounded her in the second, their light illuminating her skin in odd places. The artist had drawn them looking down at her sleeping.
A lushly blooming was slipping from her fingers in the third. Her exposed shoulder and the triangle of her stomach were covered in petals as were the bed, pillows and her hair.
And lastly, for the fourth drawing -- what must have been the first -- the artist had just drawn her. Asleep on her right side with her back to him, he'd drawn her carefully done braid as it came lose with a strand or two caught in the curl of her fingers. He right arm was bent at the elbow, left resting on her stomach. An ankle had escaped the bedding while her left shoulder was peeking from her nightshirt.
Christina'd never seen something so beautiful and detailed done . . .of her. It had to have been done that night from the window. The artist had even drawn the graduate teddy bear on her chest and what would have been the exposed part of his "Snooza Cum Laude" slogan. Examining them carefully she found the artist's signature in the bottom corner of the last (first she absently corrected herself) sketch.
"Angel?" The vampire looked up from his book, a safe distance away from the streaming sunlight coming through the doorway, on the couch. "In here," he answered. The door swung closed alleviating the instantaneous combustion problem and allowing him to see his guest.
Christina ran lightly across the hall. Stepping behind the couch she threw her sun warmed skin around the vampire's neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you," she babbled. "You were actually listening when I was talking about dragons and whatnot and drawing to pass the time. Didn't think you were gonna draw me though."
"First, you're welcome," he said, his voice rumbling through her body. "Second, of course I listen to you. You think I don't?"
She shrugged. "Most people don't. I mean they do but not really."
Turning his head he said confidentially, "I have always listened to you and I always will."
"Thank you," she said smiling. "Hey, why'd you draw me? There's a town full of beautiful, if short-lived, people to use your precious paper and ink on."
"Why would I draw anyone else?"
"I'm pretty, Angel, but certainly not worthy of ink and paper immortalization."
He turned in her arms. "Who told you that?"
She shrugged again. "No one had to. It's just one of those things, you know?"
"Christina you are more than worthy of 'ink and pen immortalization' as you say. You're beautiful.."
Her smile called him a fool. "You're sweet for a dead guy. Anyway, thanks again. Gotta go. At this rate I'll be late for my eight o'clock anyway. See you at Bishops tonight."
As suddenly as she'd come she was gone.
"Don't touch that," Christina admonished, startling the vampire, "the petals are poisonous to men."
She had the annoying habit of touching him, caressing him, whenever she passed. He'd held himself apart for so long that he just didn't like . . It was just that tactile people were the antithesis of everything he'd become. They were the embodiment of everything Angelus had been. Unbidden he turned his head as she passed behind him running her hands across his shoulder blades.
"It's a souvenir from an encounter with a demoness. Bishop doesn't know I have it."
"When did this happen? I don't remember anything about a demoness with poison flowers."
Christina shrugged disturbing Angel's silk shirt. "A couple of months after I got here. She was a good friend until I found out how much of a man-hater she really was. I didn't tell anyone about it 'cause at the time it was a little devastating."
"You okay?"
"I'm fine. Just can't believe she thought it'd work on me." Tenderly she brushed her fingers over the ostentatious eternally purple and red bloom. She buried her nose in it, inhaling deeply. "Wow she was dumb."
Bishop looked up from his tomes pushing his glasses up by the bridge. "About time the two of you got here," the Englishman grumped. "What were you two doing, smelling the roses?"
Sliding into her seat Christina said with a smoothly straight face, "You could say that," and opened a book.
"Bishop," Angel approached the watcher while his charge was out of the room, "how is Christina managing?"
"As well as can be expected. Better actually: she's a very careful girl. You know," he said pausing in thought, "a demon broke her arm once. I'd never seen her so angry . . .or so good for that matter."
"Yeah, she told me about it. I heard the payback was brutal."
"Yes well," the Watcher took off his glasses, "she really doesn't like hospitals you know."
"Know what?" Christina returned from the bathroom.
"How much you dislike hospitals." She made a face and replied, "With a vengeance."
"Precisely."
"Um, wow, I haven't done this a long time so, uh, please forgive me for, um, everything." Sympathetic laughter came from the crowd. "Anyway enough about me, this shindig is all about a very special person, Willow.
"I was, uh, approached by two people who think she's the most important person in the world. Personally I was honored. Willow's been so nice to be despite our, uh, differences of opinion since I moved to Sunnydale. She's sweet and kind and I think everyone will agree that's underneath fuzzy pink sweater exterior is a fire that draws everyone to her.
"So, Willow, not exactly from me to you but from the two-who-love-you-most to you this song.
"Oh, one more thing, Lorne, thanks for the prompters. I don't think I'll be needing them." The green skinned demon tipped his proverbial hat to the girl.
Taking that as his cue Oz strummed the opening cords. Stepping up to the mic: "You Look So Fine." She stepped back until she heard the aging redhead (currently green) play her cue. "You look so fine . . .I want to . . .break your heart and give you mine. You're taking me over. It's all the same . . .you've got me . . Tethered and chained. I hear your name . .and I'm fallin' over.
"I'm not like all of the other girls. I can't take it like the other girls. I won't share it like the other girls . . ."
Suddenly Christina was in the song. She was no longer aware of the liquid notes that poured from her lips or the expressive motions of her body. As with every other time she sang it was as if she had been singing forever and would sing forever. It had become her norm, a bubble of sound she could ignore.
There out front stood Willow in the arms of Tara. Everywhere she looked couples stood close and swayed to the music. Distinct faces were hard to see but some shapes were more familiar than others.
Giles and Bishop conversed over drinks at the bar, the Watchers giving her an appreciative nod now and again. Xander and Anya were in the back somewhere -- she knew their dark head anywhere -- probably necking. They were the horniest old couple she knew. She thought it was cute. Gunn and Wesley were avoiding the couple as was a tall brunette. Everyone seemed to know her, maybe one of the guys would be kind enough to make introductions later.
Closer to the stage Buffy lay back against Riley, his arms around her waist. Theirs was a story nearly as intricate and insider information Buffy's and Angel's.
Angel? He wasn't supposed to be here. He'd been avoiding the Scoobies for, what, a month now? She could only guess he was here to pay his respects to Willow. No one else knew he was there -- except maybe Oz and the Dingoes playing behind her.
Everyone seemed to only have eyes for that one person and Christina found herself wishing she could force herself to look anywhere but at the dark vampire. She found herself wishing that he didn't only have eyes for Buffy. But they were the true loves right? They were the ones destined to live in agony until either one died or he Shanshued. Why should it matter to her?"
Her heart went out to him as he watched in silent pain Riley and Buffy's unselfconscious embrace. He deserved more. Didn't everyone deserve a little grace and mercy?
But her thoughts were pulled away from the heart aching triangle back to the song. "You're taking me over . . .over and over. I'm falling over . . .over and over. You're taking me over --"
Oz picked up the refrain while she sang over him, "Drown in me one more time. Hide inside me tonight. Do what you want to do. Just pretend happy end. Let me know let it show. Ending with letting go. . ." And although she sang the song to Willow she wasn't sure the feelings behind them were for the redhead.
"Let's pretend happy end," she said drawing the word out as she sang the drive for the last time. The band continued to play behind her and she turned to admire their skill.
All gathered applauded the thoughtful gift, Willow most of all. She and the blond witch embraced as though it'd soon be illegal. Christina thought she saw her mouth, "That was beautiful," but couldn't be sure.
She'd moved off into the wings and was trying to figure out how to get off the stage. There would be no more wearing this dress until she had the slit in the back extended. Really it was far to long for such a short opening. Getting up had been so much easier. Next time she would plan these things.
"Need help?"
Christina looked up from her shoes and smiled. "Thanks Oz." With a strength belied by his age and slender build he lifted her off the stage and set her on the ground. Giggling she thanked him again. "No one's picked me up in a long time. An here I thought gentlemen were a dying breed."
"Nah, just reserved for special occasions. I wanted to thank you for doing this for me and Tara."
"What," she asked with mock obtuseness, "nearly rip my only semi-dressy dress getting off stage? Sure you guys are welcome, it was no problem."
Ignoring her childishness he went to heart of the matter. "I know you don't approve of us -- the three of us. We realize we go against everything you believe and I wanted you to know we really appreciate you singing for us."
"Just because I don't 'approve' as you say," she replied with equal seriousness, "doesn't mean I judge you guys. It's not my place to judge. Besides I really like you guys, if I were judging you all the time you wouldn't've even thought to ask."
Oz nodded in agreement.
"So we're in goodness?"
"Absolutely."
Christina'd forgotten what it was like being on-stage -- and how hard it was being offstage afterward. By the time she disentangled herself from well wishes Angel had gone. Disappointed somewhat she wended her way to Gunn and Wesley's table. The strange woman was sitting --
"Well done Ms. Singletary." She smiled at the aged "Rogue Demon Hunter."
"Yeah, that was tight," Gunn agreed. "Yo, you, um, never met Cordelia have you?"
The two men looked at each other skeptically having a conversation over the seated brunette's head. If she was reading the nearly-geriatric right Wesley was asking if this were a good idea. Gunn seemed to think it was ow or never. But, Wesley wondered, what of the possible consequences. Consequences, the thin set of the Black man's lips exclaimed, what if they didn't meet?
"Boys," Cordelia said standing and extending her hand. "By the time they're done we'll both old maids. It's nice to meet you."
Christina smiled, "You too." The leggy brunette shook her hand limply. It was the kind of handshake she detested because it made her feel as if the person were . . .squeamish about taking her hand. As if she were distasteful -- and she saw it was so in Cordelia's eyes.
She found herself withdrawing physically and mentally from the older woman. She used every skill she'd acquired as the daughter of the chief of the Politeness Police to extricate herself without being offensive. "I'll see you guys later. It was nice meeting you Cordelia. I have to go chat up Bishop and Wesley," and she was gone before anyone could protest.
Really she should talk to the Watchers. It was wrong to neglect them so especially when they'd saved her without trying.
"Hey beautiful," she turned, "great pipes. Why didn't you come down to Caritas while you were in LA? Deprived the good demons of the world your silky tones."
Christina flushed. "Thank you Lorne."
"And manners too?" He whistled bringing a smile to her lips. Motioning her to a small round table he ordered them drinks, non alcoholic for her, and went on. "You know," he said in confidential tones, "I could see right through your soul and that's without the mojo from The Powers That Be." She smiled again, a guarded secretive one with soft gray steel doors over her eyes. "Oh don't do that, Honey, I'm not going to pry. I see. So it's going to be like that."
Lorne sighed dramatically. "Look, it's as obvious as the horns on m head how you feel. I'm not gonna drag it outta you. On the other hand there were some things I saw, that They let me see, that I thought you might want to know."
"Thanks Lorne," she said taking her drink in hand, prepared to leave, "but you know this is the precise reason I never stepped foot into Caritas."
"Yes," he drawled, "I heard all about you 'I don't believe in magic!' screaming fit. Also heard the witches couldn't get a spell to work right for at least an hour after you left the Magic Box." Christina shrugged. "Princess, look, I'm not trying to get you to believe anything or want you to say something that makes me no exist or -- horrors of horrors -- sends me back to Pylea. You should hear me out," he said putting a surprisingly smooth hand o hers, "honestly."
They watched as she left before everyone else, the Seer and the Soul Reader, intent on doing at least one sweep before bedtime.
"You saw it too, didn't you, when she sang."
"Yeah," he reluctantly agreed. "But she's such a sweet girl."
She snorted. "Sure . . .now. I tried to warn him."
It was his turn to snort. "And look where that got you."
"Oh, so you think you did better warning her."
"You didn't see the look in her eyes. She'll do everything in her power to keep it from happening," he said with an assurance she wanted to share.
The stood for a little while looking at the long since closed door, each coming to a different conclusion.
I hope he's right, she thought.
She's a little you to be creating some world endage, were his.
"Angel, d'you mind if I crash here? I'm too exhausted to move."
"Chris," he warned.
"Okay, how about this: if you can walk me home then I'll go 'cause, honestly, I don't think I can get up."
"Unless you want to trek through the sewers, that's a no."
"Why?"
"Full sunlight."
"Ooh." She paused, their exchange tiring her. "Okay, okay, how about . . .how about this: I'll call a cab -- I think I can reach my cell phone without using most of my body. You . . . you . . . You," she lost her train of thought yawning. "Um, you can just help me into the car."
"Nuh uh, still haven't worked out that whole me turning into particulate matter problem."
Her gaze darkened but since she was turned away from him Angel neither noticed nor cared. " 'Kay, I'll call a cab, you walk me to the door then come back here and call Bish so he can drag me out of the back seat."
"Bishop's away until tomorrow morning."
"Weekend conference, right." There was a longer pause as she not only regrouped but caught her exhausted breath. "Oookay, how 'bout I crash here?"
"Chris."
"Fine," she said turning to face him, "if you can kick me out I'll go."
"You know I can't move."
"Thank you Angel, I'd love to spend the day here."
He groaned. She felt the bed shift slightly beneath them. "It's not like we're doing anything wrong. Just look at us. Even if we were both naked and not in our sweat drenched clothes it wouldn't matter 'cause we can only see our faces. Perfect ten."
Much as he didn't want to admit it, she was right. They'd stumbled into the mansion after what seemed a fight with every vampire in Sunnydale. When Christina'd asked to lay down for a moment or two he'd generously offered his bed. Half numb with exhaustion and a recent bag of blood -- he'd forgone niceties in the face of hunger -- he hadn't realized she was still there until he collapsed on the carmine coverlet and nearly bumping heads. Together they'd managed to lose their jackets and toe off their shoes but not much else, sprawled diagonally across the bed.
"Besides you take up more of the bed than I do."
It was after 2 p.m. when she left. It was sometime after 12 when she'd sufficiently recovered to turn on her stomach carefully and study the sleeping vampire. She couldn't help but think if only he'd turn his head a little but more they'd be kissing. Bodies at opposite corners of the bed yet still close enough to kiss but that brought back memories of a fatal night nearly a year ago. Reflexively her fingers sought out the pewter cat and bright silver cross around her neck -- cat from her mother years ago, cross from Angel on her last birthday. Somewhere between 12:45 and 1:30 she was recovered enough to skip home if she so wished, instead she drank in the dark vampire. It was so rare that Christina had such free license to simply study a person. It was a her secret hobby that even unnerved her mother and so she'd made covert staring an art.
Around 1:30 the guilt settled in until, sometime after 2 p.m., she quietly slipped off the deep red coverlet, gathered up her jacket, discarded shoes and nearly forgotten bag and stealthily left the Crawford Street Mansion unwilling to disturb its master.
Opening his eyes Angel had been happy to indulge her as he'd indulged himself from 9 to 12 visually -- having recovered once the blood made a few circuits through his veins -- and mapping her scent in all its fine nuances and intricacies from 12 to 2.
"You know, every time we go out patrolling you have a bottle in your hand."
"That's 'cause it's the only item left over from my late lunches at school."
"Why not throw it away?"
"Does it bother you?"
"Just curious about why you carry a half-empty, or an empty one like tonight, bottle with you all the time. Seems a little, uh, irrelevant."
Angel sensed her shift the bottle from right to left hand readying herself for a punch. Easily he caught her clenched fist --
"Ow!"
-- but was unprepared when she tapped him hard on the jaw with the bottle.
"If you had been icktified I would have broken it on you."
Rubbing his jaw his "Thanks" didn't have much gratitude.
"What can I say, you taught me well."
Studying the packet of honey -- no jar this time -- Christina said, "You should come out tomorrow night. It's Halloween. Sanji -- I told you about Sanji right? -- is playing for these kitschy rich people and she got RSVP for anyone who wants to come. It'll be fun and you won't even have to dress up. You can play a minor aristocrat --"
"Playing what? What playing?"
She looked up from the honey packet, her eyes a little too wide from surprise. She figured he was tuning her out waiting for his coffee. "Uh, the couple Sanji's playing for are heavy into RPG. You know, role playing games?"
"I know."
"Isn't honey weird," she said, getting totally off subject. "People used to know it was a good antiseptic then they forgot then they translate the Ancient Egyptian medical scrolls and learn that putting honey on wounds to keep them from getting infected really does work, unlike hairs of dog and spit of hippo. I think they used to put it in lipstick. Ancient or modern I'm not sure." She squeezed a golden drop onto her finger and smeared it on her lips. Laughing she asked, "Can you imagine? You're more likely to catch small flying insects than men with these lips."
But it was those lips to which Angel's eyes were riveted. She couldn't know what she was doing, how evocative her action and the thousand free associations his mind made with "honey" and "lips." With visuals.
Suddenly aware of the sexual tension she'd inadvertently created. Christina licked the gooey stuff with small hesitant strokes.
Inwardly groaning his mind added darting little pink tongues to the movie clips playing behind his eyes.
"So uh, if you go you have to go in character." Maybe going back to her plans for tomorrow night would fix things. "We, me and Sanji, figured if you were a, um, minor aristocrat the higher ups would be too full of themselves to bother you and those lower in the pecking order wouldn't, uh, be too, uh, afraid to approach you. And you wouldn't have to do more than raid your wardrobe to dress the part."
Angel was surprised when his voice came out steadily, normally. "What are you going as?"
Her grin was mischievous. "Hopefully your bodyguard. If not I'll be free for hire."
"Why not go as aristocracy yourself?"
"I've already played a couple of times. They'll all know me as my original character and I was too nervous my first time to try something really new."
"What would you have been if you weren't a bodyguard-for-hire?"
Did that mean he was going to come? "Uh, probably a scholar or scribe. Everybody needs a scribe."
"I see." And he did along with some things he was certain she hadn't wanted him to.
She stood in the kitchen bent over the sink swearing without swearing in her way. After all, she'd gotten the soap in that spot why couldn't she get it out? At this rate she was going to be late and not only did she hate being late but Sanji was bound to be on time if not early. Oy!
To her surprise she felt strong hands kneading her scalp right there. No one had washed her hair with such care in years. She loved having her hair washed. It was the best part of getting her hair professionally done but this was . . .this was different.
She giggled.
"Something funny down there?"
"That tickled. I'm very ticklish."
"I don't seem to remember you being ticklish during out training."
"That's because mmm," she moaned closing her eyes against the pleasure before going on, "that's because when you deal with kids you learn how not to react."
"Ah."
"This is great," she hissed.
"You're welcome."
It was also intimate, his body over heres pressing water-warmed fingers into her hair. Neither saw any reason to mention that. Eyes closed against the simple but delicious pleasure, without think, she pushed back against his hands -- and his body.
This wasn't exactly what he'd intended and for the life or death of him he couldn't figure out why he'd touched her. He wasn't sure why he'd come to The Mansion at all. She'd asked Angel for its use so she could change for the party with the understanding that he'd be out all night doing . . .something.
"All done," she said gruffly, releasing her. Releasing them.
Why couldn't she change at Bishop's? The English and their sense of propriety was not helping him tonight. A book, a book of poetry; he could read, preferably something depressing. Wasn't Sylvia Plath the morbid one?
"Hey Angel, guess what?" She barreled on, "I had a dream the other night and you were in it. Do you want to hear about it?" she called from one of the many rooms off the main chamber. "Probably not but her goes:
"So, we were on a bus -- not a transport but one of those buses my gram used to tell me about -- in New York," she dropped "City" in the way of a native, "riding along Central Park. Right so, we were sprawled across this long seat dressed in white. The white only matters," she popped and said in a quieter tone, "the white only matters 'cause it was glowing in the sunlight," before going back to change and yell once more. "That and it was Fall and who wears white after Labor Day?" Angel was struck by the Cordelianess of her statement. "I don't know, maybe it was cream or off-white.
"So anyway, people were staring at us and when I wondered why you said something sappy and charming like 'They've never seen such a handsome couple before,' or something. I giggled and hit you then retorted that people weren't as enlightened as they think they are. So what if you had your arm around me," she popped out again, "that doesn't mean anything, right?
"I'm almost done by the way. Just think, soon you'll have your house to yourself," she said with a whimsical look. "Okay, where was I? Right! Lying on you lying on a long seat on a bus during the day in Manhattan with people staring at our supposed strangeness. So then I'm at Mom's house and we decide to go-- You know the rest of my dream has no more you reference except one short pop-up at the mall. So I'm thinkin' you don't wanna hear anymore."
Angel looked up from the book he wasn't reading more than happy to agree. Instead he was caught off guard. It wasn't she who should be doing the body guarding but have one of her own.
The high neck of a mandarin collar helped correct her usually less than perfect posture. It was wine Angel noted somewhere between the near invisible frog clasps that followed her collar bone down the left side of her body and a thin gold necklace. Princess seams gave her added shape and made his eyes want to climb back up to . . . He'd learned something of fashion from Darla and more still after turning Druscilla. Between Buffy and Cordelia his education in styles, colors and cuts was complete. All three were well met.
Christina took a step forward, the better for him to see. There was a gentle, inexplicable tinkle as she walked but the vampire spied only the necklace and a gold band around her arm. It was a two piece number, the skirt riding low on her hips exposing a sliver of cinnamon-chocolate skin beneath the sateen A-line shirt. It was very long, the skirt that is was very long, and slit halfway up her thigh. Down, Angel commanded his eyes only to encounter her arched feet encased in darker scarlet shoes. It took him a moment to realize they only consisted of a toe and a sliver of a back, that the only thing keeping them on her feet was a band around her ankle.
"You like?" She asked.
He liked.
The oft-unused doorbell rang. She quickly slipped out of her shoes -- apparently they were unbuckled -- and ran past him in stockinged feet. "That's probably Sanji." The tinkle followed her as did Angel's eyes -- to her bare back covered by a cascade of gold fringe bouncing and dancing as she moved. His brain was momentarily frozen as he tried to figure out just how the top managed to stay put and what it would feel like to have his hand trapped between her warm back and the cool metal.
Christina ran lightly past him swooping down to pick up her neglected shoes. (Was that the line of her panties?) Sanji followed at a much more dignified pace in equally dark colors of black and wine. (Had they been black?) She sat. Leather against leather creaked loudly. "I thought they --"
"I'll be out in a nano, Sanji," Christina called interrupting Angel.
"So," Sanji said with her husky accented voice, "you're not going?"
Right, he wasn't going. He looked Sanji up and down quickly; a child compared to him and yet she seemed immeasurably more comfortable in whatever situation she found herself than Angel. Something like Oz, he thought. "I am. Going." He felt himself push out of the wing chair. "And I thought they banned leather in California."
"Vintage. Anything can be outside the law if it is old enough," she said in away that made him think she knew he was a vampire.
Christina rode with Angel as they followed Sanji making two more pick ups.
The party was being held in a warehouse but once inside it was easy to forget. Sanji and Christina checked their jacket and wrap -- a long swath of cloth matching her shoes shot through with shimmering black threads -- and parted ways. Christina and Angel entered together. The vampire was struck with the uniqueness of his companion's -- bodyguard he reminded himself. Men and women alike shimmered, shifted and blinded. "I feel underdressed," Angel murmured in Christina's ear.
With a smile she replied, "Don't worry, you're not. You've just declared yourself of a certain caste."
"What about you?"
"My colors mark my house and the band indicates my caste. It also shows that I'm taken," she said mischievously.
"How's that?" his lips brushed against her ear as he was suddenly jostled by the crowds. They weren't even all the way inside . . .
Without warning Christina's arm shot out into the crowd. The young man grasped tightly about the wrist struggled and grumbled until he noticed who held him. "I'm sorry Lady, I didn't know-" he stammered.
"Do you see him, Sir?" It was then that he became aware of Angel and his obviously higher status. He ignored Christina and began directing his apologies to the vampire. "You may go now," she declared seeing his nod.
The man's obsequious Thank You's were lost as Christina continued her example. "Did you notice his arm band?"
Angel nodded. "It didn't have an ornate pin holding it together --"
"I actually don't need it. It shows that I'm 'taken' and he's 'for sale'."
"-- and his was wider than yours."
"He's of a lower caste, specifically a slave. You can also tell the slaves because they're dressed in pale colors. Guardians like me wear their House's colors, usually just one or two, usually dark and always with the thin armbands. Soldiers wear whatever colors their state dictates. Mercenaries are harder to spot. They look like Guards but they display their kills like assassins."
"Assassins?" They were jostled into a corner.
"Yeah, assassins. They display successful kills with a red bead on a cuff-and-stud earring. The ostentatious displays are from merchant classes. Aristocrats look more like you: muted colors, mostly dark, some colors and more expensive fabrics for the higher ups."
"Let me guess, Old Money." Christina nodded. Still being led by the crowd a staircase came into view. "Where's Nami and Jessi?"
"Bathroom. You ready? They're going to announce us."
"Ready for what? I thought this was supposed to be fun."
"Exactly, do you think you can handle fun?"
They were halfway down the stairs and Angel had no answer. Christina laughed.
Angel was more than happy when Nami dragged the girls on the crowded dance floor. Somehow being surrounded by a gaggle of eighteen to twenty-somethings didn't appeal as much as an Irish coffee. The music was loud and pounding and throbbing in its intensity and Angel couldn't keep his eyes from them. Christina had been reluctant to go onto the floor but she was gyrating along with the rest of them. Rachel turned out to be a surprising dance-aholic. Christina , a girls whose name escaped Angel and Edwin -- one of Sanji's band mates -- made their way to the table. "Do you know what's in this glass?" he asked.
"Water," Angel answered easily. The many bodies and perfumes and foods blunted his nose but he'd kept an eye, out of habit, on the comings and goings of the table.
The boy downed the last of the cup before sashaying back on the dance floor. "Is he . . .?"
Christi laughed. "Oh yeah, Edwin's so gay. So, you gonna come dance or what?"
His raised eyebrow, usually so effective, refused to dissuade her. "Come on, Angel," she said tugging at his hand. "If you don't get up and boogie with me I'm gonna sit down with you. Know what'll happen then: First Eddy's gonna sit down then Rachel to keep me company then Sanji will come over to talk to Eddy. You know where that leads, don't you?" He did. The picture she was painting was oh-so-vivid. "Before you know it you'll have a table full of people, only five of whom you know, talking and shouting and singing along to the music and you'll only have yourself to blame."
Angel dragged Christi onto the dance floor. "Wow, that was easier than I thought."
"Have I ever mentioned I don't know how to dance?"
She snorted, "This isn't dancing it's synchronized gyrating. Just move with the crowd. Think of it as a great big Follow the Leader." Angel's face said he was not amused.
They soon found themselves surrounded by a bevy of young people they knew -- or so Angel hoped. Who's the big guy?!" someone shouted over the music.
"His name's Angel," Edwin shouted back. "Isn't he a hottie?"
"I think Christina's already claimed him."
"Rubbin' up on Jessi? Nuh uh." They both laughed. Angel groaned. "He's just playing third wheel."
"No wonder people think we're all lesbians. Why can't you be more bi- than straight?"
About there Angel tuned out of the conversation and wended his way through the crowd to their table. "Oops, excuse me," he apologized as eh tripped over a lightly muscled man.
Christina materialized catching him a death grip, the tip of the ornate pin at his throat. "Chris! What do you think you're doing? Let him go!"
"He was trying to kill you, Sir."
"I think you're taking this role--"
A second older, much more aristocratic man appeared. "Indeed, Patrick was. Points to you, Guardian," he said making notes on a handheld. "You may release him now. What did you say your name was?"
Patrick, a slave Angel noticed, spoke up, "The lord did not notice my attempt."
The nameless aristocrat smiled once more. "You have done well for yourself, Lord Aurelius. You have quite the Guardian."
"That I do. Until we meet again m'lord?" They were gone. Angel grabbed Christina's arm. "What the f--!" Deep breath. "What was that?"
She shrugged. "Tests, challenges. You passed one and I passed one. RPG, remember?" She slithered from his grasp and back onto the floor.
From the bar Angel noticed Sanji and her band playing another set. As always Christina was somewhere in his direct line of sight. She'd danced with Edwin and Rachel, sometimes with Keisha but mostly with Nami. Nami who seemed to attract men eve as she pushed them away -- physically. That seemed to make them more determined. He should have been amused. He wasn't.
And every now and again she danced with Jessi: pulsating, careening, grinding that drew eyes. Slow, sensuous synchronized gyrating that made him half rise from his stool -- they parted. Nami or Edwin took her place and Angel sat as the intensity slid to its normally elevated plateau.
A slave bearing shoes that resembled Chris-- "You. What are you doing with those shoes?"
The man quickly dipped his head and averted his eyes. "I was told to stand watch over them until the lady Guardian has want of them."
"By whom?"
"My master on behalf of m'lady."
Angel's eyes flicked from the man to the dance floor and back. "Come closer." His hand shot out to grab the slave in case he disobeyed. There was no resistance. Brushing aside his longish hair Angel found what he was looking for. "You are not a slave," he stated.
The man looked up and quickly down again. "Not normally, lord."
"You're Marcel's man." He nodded. "She's dancing with Marcel?" Angel wasn't sure whether he was shocked or angry. "Go," he muttered.
Angel was behind Marcel before he knew he'd made a decision. "Lord Varsellum, a word with my guardian please."
The ancient -- by mortal standards -- vampire turned. "Lord Aurelius. I'd heard you were in the area. You have a wonderful little Guardian here. We were just talking weren't we, m'dear."
"Yes, we were. I believe we had come to the part where you graciously bowed to my lord and left, yes?" There was danger in her eyes.
Something more base clouded Marcel's. "Indeed. Until tomorrow night."
Angel had taken his place before she could get so much as a nod of acknowledgment in. "What do you think you're doing? Don't you know who that is?"
"Dancing like I've been doing all night. And of course I know who that is. His line's only a millennia younger than yours. Hey!" Angel pulled her off the dance floor to their table. With a growl he sent Marcel's servant scurrying. "What was that about?"
"This isn't some great big role playing game, Christina. Don't think your so hot that you can flirt with danger and not get burned."
"You know what Angel?" She stood knocking over a glass, "I'm tired of being everyone's Good Girl and Little Miss Goody Two Shoes. Marcel and I have been playing a game of cat and mouse since I stepped foot off the plane. And you know what, sometimes it's fun. For both of us. The only difference was tonight there was no game. It's over. No more hunted, no more hunting for either of us 'cause we've been both. Tomorrow we end it.
"And you know what else? Yay! Yay! I'm happy. I am happy.
"Why is it it takes my enemy to make me happy? He's not even my nemesis but he's a challenge. It almost hurts to kill him! Why is that, Angel? Do you know? I mean, this shadow of a relationship I've had with a-- with a demon has been more fulfilling than a lot of the real ones with my friends. More fulfilling than Robert.
"I am not a 2D drawing! I want kindness, I want gentleness, I want niceness but I want passion too! I want the darkness and the cold fire, I want . . . I want . . ." She was shuddering with the force of her admission and those things she still couldn't give voice to.
Angel stood. Her hands were clenched at her side to stop their shaking. Her heart was beating like a trip hammer even as her blood pressure rose. "Christina," he put his hands on her shoulders and never finished.
The moment he touched her it was as if she'd been released. In a moment he found himself crushed to her body, deep in an incendiary kiss. It was all there -- her words given form. Her body was soft and pliant but her fingers and lips and tongue were insistent, demanding, unforgiving. This was the kiss he wouldn't have thought to give or receive from her. Without warning she spun them so that Angel's back was to the floor. They fell into the cushioned couch running against the wall. The was anger and need and vengeance and hunger. This was--
As suddenly as it had begun it was over. "Excuse me." Christina deftly slid from under Angel's body and melted into the crowd.
"Oh God, Keisha, Rachel, tell me I didn't not just do what I think I did." Even under the strobing lights her blush was easy to spot.
"Oh my God! Christina," Edwin sidled up to them, "I didn't know you had it in you girl. Talk about your perfect tens." Her blush deepened.
"That was intense," Sanji commented as she passed.
"Good grief, did everyone see?" One by one her friends nodded. Christina buried her face in Rachel's shoulder, the better to hide from their knowing grins.
Keisha tapped her on the shoulder. "That was some kiss-back. I didn't know Angel had it in him."
"I don't think he did either," Christina answered remembering how she had maneuvered him. "He's never going to speak to me again."
"It can't be that bad."
Jessi materialized, drink in hand. "You too?"
Confused she asked, "Me too, what? I was going to ask if you wanted to dance."
"Absolutely. Perfect ten."
Angel was stunned. Where had that come from, he wondered touching his lips. Any longer and he would have spontaneously combust. For now he would make due with temporary paralysis.
When he came out of his torpor she was no where to be seen. For all appearances he seemed calm but his eyes frantically searched through the glitter and shine crown for a scarlet and black shadow. Rachel . . .that boy . . .Keisha . . . The crowd parted. She was in his direct line of sight.
Christina and Jessi were locked in a fast paced dance. She took the lead, bending and dipping Christina and setting the tempo for their dance. Angel rose, intent this time on joining them. They were, once again, obscured by the shifting crowd. Angel was not deterred. Barely polite, he pushed past slave, merchant, 'crat and more until they were merely a blur of bodies around him; his eyes refused to acknowledge them anymore.
And they were before him. And Jessi was dipping Christina in a roll as the music changed. And his gryphon was revealed under the long gold fringe cascade, not down her back but in floating in the air, on the small of her back.
"Angel's behind you, Chris."
She turned from Jessi's pale arms. "Angel." He pulled her flush against his body. "Angel?" Nimbly he turned her without losing physical contact.
Angel hadn't lied when he said he couldn't dance. Nor would he have been lying if he said he could. Angelus hated his souled self precisely for that reason and Angel suspected she knew the truth -- that they were the same man, not two sharing one body. She knew because she could accept, could reconcile the monster and the man.
"You know don't you," he murmured one hand splayed across the other teasing her arm draped up his shoulder and around his neck. "You know," the air needed to speak licked her ear.
What did she know?
Their movements were tight and predatory. Angel tilted them backward thrusting her breasts upward and out invitingly. He growled menacingly at all takers. Undulating beneath her they moved seamlessly as if they were one flesh. Slowly his hands traveled down -- from elbow to breast, from stomach to peeking underwear.
Cool wetness on her chin . . . he had licked her. Suddenly she was facing him. Angel found an intensity equal to his own in her eyes. His left hand traveled the length of her exposed back behind the waterfall of gold. When he began circling the painted gryphon with delicate, delicate fingertips he knew it had stopped being a dance. This was seduction. Gently he wedged a leg between hers and dipped his fingers past the line of her skirt still rocking forward and back with the music. She tensed a moment, this side of Angel utterly unexpected but when he did no more than guide and caress her through the sensuous movements she gave in. Even when his lips descended to the exposed portion of her neck, hungry lips and tongue and teeth; gave into the hardness beneath her and the rhythm he set. Angel dipped her -- dipped them both, one flesh -- once, twice pushing her out and pulling her out, giving her what she hadn't known she needed.
She was his junkie.
Angel turned her back to him once more, bending over her, engulfing her with his body, covering and taking her into himself. When they pulled out the song was done. He was gone.
"Are you hot? I'm hot. Is anyone else about to melt?"
Nami handed Edwin a glass of ice water -- heavy on the ice. Se fished out a cube and swept it across her forehead. "Is that legal?"
"If it's not, someone call the cops Eddy, how long's that song?" Jessi asked.
"Exactly 4 minutes and 46 seconds."
Both women let out a breathy, Wow. "One of us should go get her off the floor. I don't think 'I Will Survive' is doing much for the helpfulness."
They leaned against the bar watching a dazed Christina wander off the floor simultaneously sipping heir ice waters. "We really should save her," Nami said. Jessi and Edwin agreed but who was going to save them?
"Guess that means he's off limits."
"Oooh yeah. Emphasis on 'oh,' double on 'yeah'."
Water. She desperately needed water. Christina felt as if he'd sucked her dry. She could still feel the possessive way he'd held her, his hands sliding, gliding over her breast, the way his fingers rested on the gryphon's tail feathers just below her low-slung skirt, his hips, his thigh between her own. Her body still moved with him.
Maybe she could convince Sanji to drop her off home. She'd get her clothes from the Mansion tomorrow. She'd deal with it all tomorrow. But first, water.
Her shoes dangled in one hand and a glass of what could have been liquid gold so long as it was cold was outstretched in the other. Christina handed it back to him, empty. "Take me home, Angel."
She waited for him outside the coat-check shoes and purse in hand. She'd tried wearing them without the strap . . . Angel draped the heavy scarlet-black velvet and satin wrap about her shoulders. Christina followed him up the stairs and out to the waiting car. The cold air stopped her a moment but she was quickly in the care and they were gone.
The rain started soon after.
Christina looked out her window into it. Angel watched the road. Their fingertips lay laced on the armrest.
It was a downpour by the time they came to rest on Crawford Street.
"All this stuff's vintage you know. To think these shoes have lasted nearly 30 years in perfect condition only to be ruined by rain!" Christina yelled as they made a dash for the door.
"I'm a lot older than those shoes and I think I've held up pretty well." Angel captured her in his arms under the portico.
"Indeed you have, sir, but I won't if we stay out here much longer."
They burst through the doors amidst laughter and wind and rain.
"Bishop."
Christina turned. "What are you doing here? Is something wrong? Are the Scoobies okay?" She walked shakily down the steps as the Black Watcher strode quickly from the fire he'd built to meet them. "Is Mom okay?"
"I'm sorry, Christina."
"What? What?!"
"Your grandfather died a few hours ago. Your mother called. I'm so sorry."
Her face drained of all expression. "Oh."
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah. I'm okay. He was really sick, you know?"
"I know sweetheart, your mother told me."
"It's just that --" Bishop pulled her into his arms as a sob escaped her.
Angel came up behind her and put a comforting hand on her back. The skin beneath his hand prickled.
("We're not really cold. Because we have no heartbeat we're always about room temperature, kind of like your sheets. I can be warmer but you'll always be warmer."
"Oh, I get it. I'll to have to add it to my journal")
"Why don't you change out of your costume and lay down unless you want to go back to Bishop's," he suggested.
Christina decided to stay. They watched her disappear down a hall.
"They were very close. Her grandparents moved back to South Carolina a year after Christina and her mother moved out to Manhattan."
Bishop turned to the vampire, "She lived with them? With her grandparents?"
"For most of her life. God, this must be awful for her." Angel ran a hand through his hair and remembered he was wet. "Can I get you something, Bishop? Tea? I don't have much in the way of food but it's adequate."
"Tea would be nice, thank you." Angel put the kettle on to boil. "Should I go check on her?"
"Don't worry. I'll do it. Forgot to give her a towel anyway."
Angel knocked on the door. "Chris? Chris can I come in? He knocked again. "Christina are you all right in there?" No answer. "Hope your decent 'cause I'm coming in." Lightening crashed outside as he turned the knob. The lights flickered. Half in and half out the threshold he called to Bishop, "Are you all right out there?"
"Quite all right. The wiring seems to be hol-" The lights went out. "Bloody hell. Never mind."
Sure that the Watcher could take care of himself and pointedly ignoring the crash only half covered by thunder and entered the room. "Christi?" Directly across the room the French doors stood open letting in the rain. Nothing Moved in the shadows.
Angel leapt over the bed in his way heedless of the gold that glittered in the dark or her top next to it. She was shivering in the rain, standing before the winter dead fountain.
"Bishop! Get a towel, a blanket, anything. She was outside."
"In the rain?"
"She's freezing." Christina couldn't stand on her own and her teeth were chattering so hard he couldn't understand what she was trying to say. Or even if she was trying to say something.
Bishop returned and draped a long thick towel around her shoulders. With his help, Angel maneuvered her in front of the fire.
"W-w-war, w-w-warm."
"What are you trying to say, Tina," he used her family nickname.
The fire crackled and they were quiet except for the one-track murmuring of the Slayer into Angel's skin. She clung to his clothes with cold cramped fingers.
"So warm. Y-you're so w-w-warm Angel. You're so warm. S-so warm," over and over and over and over and over . . .