Chapter Twenty: Choices

By: Wynn

The midnight sky was a blur shooting past the speeding SUV, the black marred only by occasional globes of blinding white light, descending upon the velvety darkness from the curved streetlights high above the interstate. The passenger window was down, allowing the cool ocean breeze to whip into the car, tossing Buffy’s long golden hair around with wild abandon. She leaned her head out the window, drawing in the crisp winds, letting them flow over her, cooling her flushed skin. She was nervous and desperately trying to hide it.

Slipping back inside the car, Buffy rolled up the window and sat back against her seat. Her eyes darted to the side, covertly observing Spike from beneath her lashes. He had one hand slung over the steering wheel, casually guiding the car down the vacant highway, while the other was propped against the window, the tips of his fingers playing with the fraying edges of the fabric covering the roof. Snapping her gaze down to her lap, she trailed her fingers across her smooth grey seatbelt and said, “So. What did Angel say on the phone?”

“About what?”

About what. The voice in her head repeated the phrase over and over again until a multitude of little Buffy’s chirped the innocent words in a jarring melody of annoyance. About this. You and me going to L.A. Together. “About Lilah?”

“Oh. He was surprised she and the rest of the evil crew hadn’t set their sights on the Hellmouth before now.”

“He didn’t, uh, say anything else?”

“Not really.”

Buffy nodded, an absentminded shake of her head, as she gritted her teeth to stop the question she wanted to ask, needed to ask from escaping her lips.

“We weren’t on the phone very long, you know,” Spike continued, glancing at her as the car passed under a streetlight.

Buffy unclenched her jaw and forced a smile to appear on her face. “Yeah, I know. Just curious. Like a cat.” Oh god. Shoot me now. She turned her head back to the window and chewed on her lower lip. She watched the exit signs fly by, ticking off the rapidly disappearing miles, and estimated the time of arrival to L.A. What was she going to say to him, about her and Spike? Not that she cared about what Angel thought of how she was living her life; he had given up the privilege to comment upon it long ago. It was just that the trip would go a hell of a lot smoother if he didn’t revert into Angelus mode upon learning about the events of the last few years, especially the more… physical aspects of her relationship with Spike.

She ran a hand through her hair, pulling at the wind induced tangles, and shifted in her seat. She would just walk up to Angel, nice and slow, and state calmly-

“He already knows.”

Buffy blinked, a faint frown pulling at her lips. She looked at Spike and said, “What?”

His blue eyes staring straight ahead, glued to the road visible through the windshield, Spike said, “Angel knows. About us.”

Twisting in her seat so she could face Spike, Buffy leaned back against the passenger door and crossed her arms across her silk and lace black tank top. “You told him? Were you looking to be staked?”

“No. I was looking for help.”

“For help? What for… Oh. Help of the vampire with a soul variety.”

Spike nodded.

Drawing her legs underneath her, Buffy inspected the cuticles of her fingernails as she said, “So what did he say? When he found out?”

“Not much.” Spike shrugged. He pushed his fingers through his bi-colored hair and continued, “He didn’t believe me at first. That we had been… together. Then when he did, he wanted to kill me.”

“So why didn’t he?” Hazel eyes widening, Buffy looked up at Spike and said quickly, “Not that I want you dead o-or him to kill you. I meant, why didn’t he want to? He kicked Riley’s ass up and down Main Street. Well, I think Riley picked a fight with Angel first, so really, Angel was defending himself. But… Sorry, off topic. I figured Angel would freak out and stake you, not invite you to live in his hotel.”

“At first, he wanted to. Stake me, that is. He couldn’t though. Wasn’t physically up to it. Then he figured you’d get pissed if he interfered in your life again without you knowing about it. And there was the fact that I had a soul.” He glanced at her, his eyes hidden in shadow. Voice low, Spike said, “Did you not want him to know?”

Buffy shook her head. “I don’t care if he knows. I was thinking of how to tell him myself. I just don’t want to have to deal with any irrational overprotective-ness he might exhibit.” Among other things, including the intense scrutinizing of me and how I feel about you that I know will come as soon as I step into his hotel. “I get enough of the manly man protective vibe from Giles and Xander when it comes to you and our, um, relationship… friendship… thing.”

“They only want what’s best for you.”

Buffy arched an eyebrow. “Aren’t I supposed to decide what’s best for me?”

“Yes. They just want you to be safe and happy, that’s all.”

Straightening in her seat, Buffy gazed at Spike, her hazel eyes alight with confusion. “What’s the deal? Why are you all supportive of their disapproval over our friendship? Is this some way of telling me that you don’t want to be friends anymore?”

“No, that’s not-”

“Do you think it would be best for me if we weren’t friends?”

“Maybe.”

Mouth falling open in shock, Buffy stayed silent for a minute. She blinked a few times and shut her mouth with a snap, attempting to wrap her mind around the ‘maybe,’ around the possibility that he thought they shouldn’t be friends. Buffy closed her eyes, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips, the faint flames of fury beginning to ignite in her gut.

“Buffy-”

“Do you want to know what I think, Spike?” she asked softly, her voice a deadly murmur, as she opened her eyes. “I think you spent way too much time with Angel. You are not allowed to follow in his footsteps and decide I’m better off not having you in my life. You won’t walk away from me just because you think it’s what’s best. You do not get to make those kinds of decisions for me. I am a grown woman, not a child, and I am able to decide how I want to live my life and who I want to be a part of it. Now, if you don’t want to be involved in my life, then tell me straight out. I deserve that much.”

“You deserve more! More than friendship with something like me! You-”

“What is this about really?” She tilted her head to the side, peering through the darkness to look into his eyes. He was avoiding her gaze, staring out the windshield. “Because it’s not about me.”

Hand slamming against the steering wheel, Spike turned towards her, his voice wrought with emotion. “It is always about you! Being friends, or whatever the hell we are, is dangerous for you. You are risking more pain.”

She watched him, silently, taking in the curve of his shoulder, the whites of his knuckles as he gripped the steering wheel. He was trembling. From what, she wasn’t sure. Softly, she said, “Are you going to hurt me?”

“No. Never.” He drew in a deep shuddering breath and said, “But I might hurt someone else.” Spike turned his head and locked his tormented indigo eyes onto her calm hazel. “The chip. Doesn’t work anymore.”

A few moments passed before Buffy burst into laughter. She curled into a ball, body shaking with the force of her giggles. She tried to compose herself, but the absurdity of the reason for their conversation caused her to laugh harder. Her giggles died down after a few minutes, fading into the silence that stretched over his half of the automobile. Buffy slouched against the passenger door, shaking her head in disbelief. “This is all about the chip? I already know.”

“You know it doesn’t work on you. Now-”

“-it doesn’t work on anyone. I know.” She paused, pulling one leg close and setting her chin upon her knee. “You fought against the assassins. Against humans. Without the massive migraine attack. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“Without the chip, I’m dangerous.”

Buffy shook her head. “Without the chip, you’re just like everyone else. Free to make a choice. About what you want to do and what you want to become. That doesn’t make you dangerous. It makes you human.” She reached out, brushing his ash blonde curls off his face, the tips of her fingers threading through the silky strands. “I’m not afraid of the choice you’ll make. You wouldn’t have fought for your soul if all you wanted was to return to killing.”

One tear slid down his face, forging a brilliant, glistening, moonlit trail across the curve of his cheekbone. “The soul doesn’t mean I will never kill again. What if it isn’t enough to control the demon? What if… Buffy, if that happens, you’ll have to stake me. And I don’t want you to have to do that. Not after everything…”

“I won’t have to,” Buffy said. “A soul doesn’t mean you’ll automatically do the right thing or never make another mistake. It gives you the opportunity to do what you want. Whether that’s good or evil. But I think you’ve already made that choice.” She paused, trailing her fingers through the curled ends of his hair. A half-smile curved her lips as she said, “So cut the crap about how maybe we shouldn’t be friends. You say it again then I’ll have to stake you.”

“Buffy-”

“No. You made your choice and I made mine. You can’t-”

Spike grabbed her hand, stilling the exploration through the tips of his hair, and held it within his own. He turned his azure eyes on her, a wisp of a smile playing upon his lips. “Thank you.”

Glancing down at their joined hands, Buffy smiled, the blush returning to her cheeks. She looked into his eyes and whispered, “You’re welcome.” She held his gaze for another moment before turning towards the window and watching the blurred night sky, her hand still curled within his own. Her free hand moved toward the door and twisted the small grey knob, lowering the passenger window, flooding the interior with the cool winds.

Angel is so going to freak out.

Her eyes flickered back to Spike. Then to their clasped hands.

Big time.

“Buffy?”

Tilting her head towards Spike, she said, “Yeah?”

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Spike said as he glanced at her from the corners of his eyes. “It’s about Angel. And his son Connor.”

What?!?
 

* * *

Chapter Twenty-One: Power Play

By: Wynn

Angel sat at his desk, fingers deftly flipping through random case files, his mind preoccupied on his soon-to-be arriving guests. Spike and Buffy. Buffy and Spike. The two of them. Together. Alone. Willingly.

Frowning slightly, Angel laid the manila folders on his desk and leaned back in his leather chair. He hadn’t heard from Spike since he had returned to Sunnydale. Faith had mentioned in their last phone conversation that Spike had been in contact with Buffy, but she had been typically indifferent and unusually hostile about all matters concerning the blonde Slayer. Had Buffy accepted Spike’s apology? Were they friends? Or could they barley hold a civil conversation? The latter seemed unlikely since Spike was accompanying her to L.A.

What if they were more than friends? Angel grimaced as a mental image of Buffy and Spike kissing invaded his consciousness. That wasn’t a sight he wanted to see. Ever. Angel hoped the two were able to work together without bickering or fighting or kissing or groping. He didn’t want to have to play babysitter to the two blondes. Being a father to an unruly, uncooperative, uncommunicative seventeen year old demon killer was stressful enough.

“Any word on our two wayward guests, Tall, Dark, and Broody One?”

Glancing at Lorne, Angel straightened in his chair and placed his elbows on his desk, supporting his chin with his clasped hands. “No. They should be here soon.”

“Good,” Lorne said as he sat in one of the two chairs opposite Angel. “I’m dying to meet these blondes from your past. Here’s hoping they’re more agreeable than the other blonde from your past.” Lorne shook his head. “Darla was full of surprises, though, to say the least. She’s a vampire, she’s human, then she’s a vampire again. And popping out the bundle of sweetness and light that is your son was the end all and be all of surprises.”

“Connor’s gotten a lot better since he came back.”

Lorne nodded solemnly. “Yes. That is if you consider ‘better’ evolving from moody silences and intense glaring to more moody silences and intense glaring.”

“At least he’s stopped trying to kill us.” Angel paused. “Well, except for that time right after you got back from Vegas. But Connor didn’t really mean it. He…” Off Lorne’s look, Angel sighed and rose out of his chair. Maneuvering past the dark wood desk, he left his office, moving into the hotel lobby. Fred sat before the agency computer, her dark glasses perched high on her nose, her face close to the screen.

“Found anything?” Angel asked as he peered over her shoulder at the computer.

Fred shook her head and looked at Angel. “No. There isn’t any connection between Lilah and Sunnydale in Wolfram and Hart’s files. A few mentions of the Hellmouth in connection to you but not anything else. If Lilah really wanted to take out your friends in Sunnydale, I doubt she’d be careless and leave traceable computer records.”

“Worth checking out just in case. Thanks, Fred.” Angel looked up from the computer, his dark gaze searching the empty lobby. “Gunn and Connor aren’t back yet?”

Fred slid off her stool and backed away from Angel and the computer. She stopped next to Lorne, glancing at him before briefly looking at Angel. “Um, Charles called a few minutes ago. They should be back soon. Any minute now.”

Angel glanced between Fred and Lorne. Neither looked at him. Angel sighed again and rubbed his fingers across his temples to stave off the teenage son induced migraine. “What happened now?”

Lorne shrugged. “Nothing, really. They had a slight disagreement… again.”

“What was it this time?”

The twin front doors to the hotel burst open. Gunn stormed into the lobby, covered from head to toe with grime and filth. His axe was broken, the end of the handle dangling, hanging by a few slivers of wood. “I don’t care if you’re John Wayne, Conan the Barbarian, and the Lone Ranger all in one, little man! You follow my orders!”

Connor slunk into the hotel, arms folded across his chest, one sleeve of his T-shirt torn and bloodied. “I had an opening. I took it.”

Throwing his axe to the floor, Gunn whirled, coming face to face with Connor. “No! What you did was deliberately disobey my order and my plan! Again. Which caused an all out brawl that could’ve gotten real ugly real quick if the rest of their crew had been there.”

Smirking, Connor said, “Didn’t know you were scared of fighting, Gunn.”

“Scared?” Gunn laughed as he shook his head slowly. A humorless smile crossed his face as he said, “I’ll show you scared.” He lunged at Connor, catching him in a vicious tackle. The two men sailed across the hotel lobby, crashing through the glass double doors leading to the hotel’s courtyard. They rolled down the stone steps, colliding with the patio’s massive granite fountain.

Angel, Fred, and Lorne stared at the broken doors. Shaking out of his shocked stupor, Lorne stepped next to Angel and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Glad to see the little hellspawn is reintegrating himself into the group and not trying to kill us anymore.”

Closing his eyes, Angel drew in a deep calming breath. Hundreds of years spent in hell, over a hundred years of living with Darla, Dru, and Spike simultaneously, three years of living and working with Cordelia. Incalculable hours spent brooding and honing his patience to precision so he could handle anything, anyone without breaking a sweat. And it was all shot to hell by his son in less than two months.

The mighty power of the teenage boy.

Angel set off across the lobby, stepping through the smashed glass doors into the courtyard. Gunn and Connor had taken the fight into the fountain. Through the shooting sprays of water and flying elbows, growls of pain and muttered curses, Angel saw Buffy and Spike. They stood near the street entrance to the courtyard, bags still in hand, shocked and amused expressions on their faces as they watched Connor and Gunn grapple in the leaf strewn, muddy water of the fountain.

Striding across the patio, Angel grasped the back of Gunn’s T-shirt and hauled him out of the water. He grunted as Gunn elbowed him in the stomach, his grip loosening enough for Gunn to wriggle free and launch himself at Connor again. Angel heard soft laughter; he looked at Spike, his brown eyes narrowing as he saw Spike quickly stifle his laughter and plaster a fake, innocent smile on his face. “Would you care to help me, William? Or do you want to make me really angry and remain standing there while they try to kill each other?”

Chuckling, Spike set his bag onto the stone tiles and moved towards the fountain. He grabbed Connor’s arm as Angel latched onto Gunn. The two vampires tore the irate men away from each other, dragging them to opposite ends of the courtyard.

Angel stumbled up the stone steps to the lobby, dragging a dripping wet Gunn behind him. He pushed the soaked man into the hotel and said, “Go inside and get cleaned up. I’ll talk to Connor. Again.”

“Whatever, man.” Without looking back, Gunn reentered the hotel, leaving puddles of muddy water trailing after him.

“Hey! What the-”

Angel spun, his dark eyes locking onto Connor and Spike. Connor had a stake clasped in his hand, which he brought down towards Spike’s chest. Sprinting across the courtyard, Angel skidded to a halt as the stake flew from Connor’s hand and the boy toppled to the ground, his face pressed into the cold stone tiles by a livid Buffy.

Connor wriggled beneath Buffy, attempting to throw her off him. “Let me go!”

“Uh uh, junior.” Buffy tightened her hold on the back of his neck and mashed his face harder into the ground. “Don’t even try moving unless you seriously want me to kick your ass.”

Angel took a few steps towards the pair. He flinched as Buffy dug her elbow into Connor’s neck. “Uh, Buffy?”

“What?”

“I think you can let him up now.”

Buffy shook her head. She glanced up at Angel, her hazel eyes flashing with anger. “Not until he apologizes to Spike and Gunn.” Connor squirmed again, prompting Buffy to smack him across the back of his head with her free hand.

“That might be a while,” Lorne said as he gingerly stepped through the demolished doors. He walked across the patio, a broad grin appearing on his face as he watched Buffy and Connor. “The word ‘sorry’ isn’t a part of the little whippersnapper’s vocab.”

Buffy shrugged. “I got time.”

Angel looked at Spike. He pointed to Buffy, silently prodding the blonde vampire into prying Buffy off of Connor. Spike glanced at Buffy then at Connor before settling his blue gaze on Angel again; he shrugged and walked around the Slayer and teenage demon killer, plopping into one of the wrought iron chairs circling the fountain. Scowling at Spike, Angel took another step forward and said, “Buffy-”

“No. These past few days have been a tad stressful and there is no way in hell I am going to put up with his attitude while I’m here. When he acts like a good little boy and says he’s sorry, I’ll let him up.”

Grin growing wider on his face, Lorne sat in the chair next to Spike as he said, “I like her.”

Spike smiled. “Me, too.”

“I’m Lorne.”

“Spike.”

Angel looked around the courtyard, taking in the glinting shards of glass from the smashed doors strewn across the patio tiles; his ex-girlfriend, the Vampire Slayer, straddling his son, the child of two vampires, holding him facedown on the concrete while she waited for an apology; his grand-Childe, the 130 year old pain in the ass souled vampire, chatting with the green skinned, red eyed, horned demon from another dimension who moonlighted as a Vegas lounge singer. Angel sighed, shook his head, and sat next to Lorne and Spike, waiting for his son to get a clue and apologize to the tiny blonde California girl who had taken him down in less than a second.
 

* * *

Five of the six members composing the Inner Circle sat in their assigned chairs surrounding the gleaming cherry table, all waiting for the sixth member to arrive. Never had a member been late to one of their clandestine meetings. It was not allowed. The man in charge detested anything that interrupted his schedules, so meeting times were strictly followed. The man was easier to deal with and their meetings were shorter when he was not irritated.

The man in charge glanced at his watch, eyes hardening as he realized she was twenty minutes late. Twenty. He shifted in his chair, his gaze darting to the man opposite him, taking in the other’s nonchalant slouch in his plush leather chair. The head of the Inner Circle frowned at the man’s subtle disrespectful demeanor; his behavior of late had become impossible to predict, making him potentially very dangerous to the man in charge. But that was not the man’s primary concern. Not when his second in command had gone rogue.

The heavy door at the end of the narrow hall slid open and the second in command of the Inner Circle strode into the lush meeting hall. Her stride was slow and confident, showing no signs of nervousness at her obvious tardiness. She approached the gleaming oak table, flashing the other members a carefree grin as she moved towards her chair.

“It is very gracious of you to bless us with your presence, Lilah,” the man in charge said as Lilah took her customary seat to his right. “Perhaps you may arrive on time at our next gathering.”

Lilah set her briefcase on the floor beside her. She smoothed a hand over her thick auburn hair and crossed her legs beneath the circular table. “Something suddenly came up that required my immediate attention.”

“Yes, well, would that something have anything to do with the assassins you sent after Buffy Summers and her cohorts?”

Lilah leaned back in her chair and casually crossed her arms across her chest. “No. It was Wolfram and Hart business. I’ve been so swamped ever since the Senior Partners promoted me to the head of Special Projects.”

The man smiled, a small cold grin twisting of his lips. “Apparently your business with the firm has not prevented you from implementing your own plan to eliminate the Slayers. Although you must not have devoted much time and energy to these assassins of yours, if their lack of success is any indication.”

Lilah shrugged. “They served their purpose. And they did more damage to Buffy, Faith, and the rest than your band of Larouse demons.”

“Did you give any consideration to the fact that they could be tracked back to you, leading the Slayer directly to us and severely interfering in our plans for the Hellmouth?”

Barely suppressing the urge to roll her eyes at the man’s obsession with secrecy, Lilah said, “I thought about it. The possibility of the gang in Sunnydale discovering my connection to the assassins doesn’t concern me. Any action taken by me against them will look like an assault from Wolfram and Hart itself, especially if they turn to Angel for help in learning all there is to know about little old me. Becoming involved with the Hellmouth will seem a natural extension from our dealings with Angel.” Lilah paused. Her gaze flickered around the table, pausing on each member, settling on the man to her right. She almost chuckled at his unconcerned posture and appearance. Dissension among the ranks. Returning her dark eyes to the man in charge, she said, “Plus, there isn’t any sort of record connecting me to all of you. When you approached me to join your Circle of six, you were very discreet. I doubt even the Senior Partners know about this. So your secret’s safe with me.”

Flushing with anger at her indifferent tone, the man straightened in his chair. His voice was flat and cold as he said, “These meetings shall remain secret. If they do not remain so, I’m afraid unfortunate consequences will occur.”

Lilah arched one eyebrow at the man’s threat. She leaned forward, setting her clasped hands on the dark wood table. “Any consequences would be unfortunate indeed. For me and for you. You see all I have to do is breathe one word to the Senior Partners and all of your little plans will vanish like a puff of smoke. One word. Hellmouth. Interest will be piqued, especially due to the Slayer’s connection to Angel, and action will be taken. And there is nothing you would be able to do to stop it. Nothing.” Lilah smiled again as she rose from her chair. Grasping the handle of her briefcase, she locked eyes with the man in charge and said, “I’m afraid I must be going. I have a meeting tomorrow with the Senior Partners I need to prepare for. If anything… important is discussed in the rest of this meeting, you can contact me through the usual channel.”

Lilah backed away from the table. She turned and walked towards the exit, hips swaying, shoulders pushed back, and chin held high. She grasped the smooth brass handle and opened the door, sauntering out of the meeting hall into the crisp night air.
 

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Two: Reunion

By: Wynn

The door creaked open, the scrape of the hinges stirring the man sprawled across the king sized bed. Angel peeked into the room, quirking one eyebrow at Spike, who laid facedown on the midnight black sheets, the top of his head and the soles of his feet sticking out from beneath the satin fabric. Moving into the room, Angel pushed the door shut with his elbow, readjusted his grip on the two mugs of warm blood clasped in his hands, and made his way across the dark bedroom. He set one steaming cup on the nightstand beside the still slumbering Spike and turned on a small lamp, filling the room with soft light. Angel pulled a wicker rocker from the corner of the room over to the bed and slowly sat onto the chair, a half grin appearing on his face as the wicker twisted and groaned, the sounds echoing throughout the bedroom and causing Spike to squirm some more. The ash blonde pried open one eye and scowled at Angel from beneath the black blanket.

“Morning, sunshine,” Angel said brightly. He took a sip from his mug, twisting the ceramic cup in his hand. He cocked his head to the side as he said, “Actually, I should say ‘Mid-afternoon, sunshine’ since it’s about 3pm, but that sounds weird, doesn’t it?”

Spike closed his eye at Angel’s grating cheeriness. “And a Master Vampire named ‘Angel’ is perfectly normal?” he asked as he reopened his eyes. Spike pushed himself into a sitting position and yawned, blinking his eyes blearily as he groped for his cup on the nightstand. He drained the crimson contents in one gulp, his eyes watering as the fiery liquid slid down his throat. Bringing the mug close to his nose, Spike sniffed. He drew back, blue eyes flashing with fury, and hurled the mug at Angel. “What the hell did you put in there, you wanker?!”

Dodging the flying cup, Angel shrugged innocently and said, “Just some cayenne pepper and a bit of hot sauce. Only one bottle. Maybe two. And a bit of vinegar for flavor. Lucky for you, we were all out of garlic or I would have thrown some of that in there too.”

Dragging a hand across his eyes, Spike wiped at the tears and said, “Are you still mad ‘cause I wouldn’t help you last night? It was your son that started everything. Not me.”

“You could have helped.”

Tilting his head to the side, Spike raised one eyebrow and said, “I did help. I pulled your kid out of the fountain and almost got staked for it.”

“You could have-”

“Exactly what could I have done, Peaches? Asked Buffy really nicely to please stop mashing your kid’s face into the ground?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think so. I already did your dirty work once last night. I wasn’t about to do it again.”

Angel leaned back in the wicker rocking chair and took another sip from his mug of blood. He remained silent for a few moments, staring down at the floor, his silent contemplation bordering on brooding, before looking at Spike, his eyes heavy with anxiety. “How did she take it?” he asked quietly.

“How did who take what?”

Angel sighed. “Buffy. How did she react about Connor?”

“How do you think she took it?” Spike shifted on the bed, straightening the ebony comforter that had twisted around his legs.

“Spike?”

“She was a little brassed off.” Spike grimaced at the extreme understatement. A little brassed off did not even begin to cover the range of emotions Buffy had exhibited upon learning about Connor. Most of the emotions concerned Angel and her intense desire to smack the brunette upside the head with a baseball bat. Spike looked at Angel and said, “She wasn’t pissed about you having the kid. Just about the fact that you made me tell her.”

“I didn’t make you tell her,” Angel protested. “I suggested you tell her so she wouldn’t be surprised when you two got here.”

Raising one eyebrow, Spike folded his arms across his chest and said, “You could’ve told her over the phone.”

Angel rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “It-it’s not the sort of revelation you make over the phone. It’s like you and your soul. You didn’t call Buffy up and tell her about your soul over the phone. You went to Sunnydale and told her yourself. In person.” Angel paused, his brown eyes closely inspecting Spike. “You did tell her right?”

“She knows. And I didn’t get you to tell her for me. I did it myself. Sort of.” Spike pushed the blanket off him and swung his legs onto the floor. He reached for his wrinkled black T-shirt as he said, “You were too much of a sissy to tell her yourself.”

Mouth dropping open in shock, Angel stood from the chair, huffing indignantly at the accusation of being scared of Buffy. “I was not a sissy. I didn’t think it would be appropriate to tell her over the phone. ‘Hey, Buff. How are you? Guess what? I have a teenage son. Yeah, he was born a year ago but he’s 17 now. Who’s the mother? Darla. Oh, you didn’t know Darla was alive? Well, she’s was but not anymore. See you in a few hours.’”

“How much longer do you plan on having this imaginary, one sided conversation with Buffy? I need to go brush my teeth and get rid of the blazing inferno that is my mouth.”

Ignoring Spike, Angel continued, “And there wouldn’t have been any opportunity to tell her myself in person when she got here. ‘Hey, Buffy. There’s something I need to tell you. Who is that? That’s my son Connor. Let’s go say hello.’”

Spike sighed as he pulled the cotton shirt over his head and smoothed the fabric across his stomach. “Who’re you trying to convince? Me or you? Look, you know Buffy reasonably well. Good enough to make a guess on how she’d react to the news that you have a kid with Darla. Why’re you in here bothering me about it?”

A pained look crossed Angel’s face. “Buffy wants to talk with me. And I’d rather not have the conversation with her mashing my face into the carpet.”

Smirking, Spike said, “It was only four hours. Well, really five ‘cause as soon as Buffy let the kid up he was stupid enough to pick a fight with her.” Spike shrugged and walked around the bed. He stopped in front of Angel and said, “I wouldn’t worry about any face mashing though. You don’t have any baseball bats, do you?”

“What?”

Spike shook his head as he grabbed Angel’s arm and drug the brunette towards the door. Nudging the door open with his foot, Spike shoved Angel out into the hall. “You’ll be fine. Just remember you’re bigger than her and older than her and possess a powerful demon inside you, but she can still kick your ass faster than you can say ‘Brood.’ Have fun now.” A wide grin crossed Spike’s face as he slammed the door on Angel, leaving the slightly shell shocked and nervous Master Vampire alone in the hall to prepare for his talk with Buffy.
 

* * *

Anya held the miniature camera before her. She twisted the tiny recording device in her hands, examining the delicate electronic equipment, experimentally tapping on the lens and poking at the buttons. She and Giles had discovered the camera earlier that morning, lodged high in the wall between the training room and the rest of the Magic Box. “When do you think it was put in?” Anya asked Giles as she set the camera onto the metal table situated in the center of the shop.

Giles turned away from the recently restored front window and walked over to the table. Picking up the camera, Giles said, “I’m not certain. Possibly when the construction workers rebuilt the loft. One of them could have been paid by Lilah Morgan to plant the camera.”

“We used Xander’s crew to rebuild the loft.” Anya snatched the camera from Giles and held it before her. She inspected the device for a few moments before returning the camera to the table. “Maybe they’re an evil construction crew. Maybe Xander’s not really in England. He could be working covertly with this Morgan woman to kill us all. Maybe he and Black Magic Willow are working together to do us in for foiling her attempts to blow up the world.”

Sighing in exasperation, Giles said, “Anya, I severely doubt Xander and Willow are working with the person or persons involved in the recent assassination attempts.”

Anya sat on one of the four stools surrounding the table and chewed thoughtfully on one fingernail. “And how do you know this coven woman you talked to this morning was really the woman you knew from the coven? Maybe it’s Lilah in disguise, and you invited her top two killing machines to town.”

“Anya-”

“I am only trying to preserve an open mind here and consider all of the possibilities.” Anya paused, face pinched in concentration as visions of potential traitors flew through her head. She straightened on her stool and said, “Hey, for all we know Emilia and her impressively large male friend are working with Lilah too.”

Giles stared at Anya for a few moments, mouth open in shock. He blinked a few times and removed his glasses, placing them on the table beside the camera. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sat on one of the stools and said, “That is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. Emilia wouldn’t-”

“I mean what do we know about her? Besides the fact that she’s an Elf.”

“How do you know she’s an Elf?”

Anya gave Giles a look. “It’s a little bit obvious, isn’t it? Shiny silver hair, big purple eyes… you think everyday ordinary humans look like that?”

“Well, no, but she’s not involved in this.”

Nodding, Anya clasped her hands and leaned across the table, bringing her face close to Giles. “And what sort of proof do you have to support your claim of her innocence?”

Giles crossed his arms across his chest. “I don’t need any proof. I know her. She’s not involved in this.”

“How do you know her exactly? As many details as you can recall of your history with this alleged conspirator will only help strengthen her claim of innocence. So… spill.”

Giles opened his mouth and drew in a deep breath, preparing to reveal the details of his history with Emilia. He glanced at Anya out of the corners of his eyes; she stared intently at him, her body tense with anticipation, eyes alight with curiosity. Giles paused, a small grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, before he said, “Exactly how late were you, Faith, and Dawn up last night working out this little… plan to learn more about Emilia and myself?”

Anya pushed away from the table, rising off her stool and crossing her arms across her chest. She tilted her chin in the air, an innocent, wounded look in her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. There is no plan. How could you think such a thing? All we’re- um, I mean, all I’m trying to do is look out for the safety of everyone involved in this- this…” Off of Giles’ look, Anya sighed and returned to her stool. “Crap. Ok, so maybe we talked a little about the best way to dig up the dirt on your relationship with the Elf. How could we not? It’s not everyday you have a gorgeous woman, a frickin Elf for crying out loud, that you have some sort of mysterious, possibly sexy, history with who suddenly pops back into your life, now is it? How can we not be curious?”

Giles smiled. “While I appreciate the interest you three have taken in my life, I think I will keep the details of it to myself.” Standing, he reached for his glasses and placed them in the pocket of his shirt. Giles grabbed the miniature camera and moved away from the table, walking towards the front door. “I’m going back to Buffy’s. Maybe Dawn can discover some sort of information regarding this device off of the computer.”

Scrambling off her stool, Anya followed him, slipping in front of him and blocking his path to the door. “Just one little detail. I tell you everything about my life, even the sweaty sex parts.”

“For which I am eternally grateful.”

“You can at least tell me how you two met,” Anya said, inching in front of Giles as he tried to maneuver around her.

“How who met?”

Anya spun, coming face to face with Xander. He stood in the open doorway, staring at Anya, curiosity shining from his dark brown eyes. His black hair had grown out a few inches and he had lost weight, his muscles lean and toned beneath his blue T-shirt. Anya stared at him, feeling the familiar twinge of butterflies in her stomach, a feeling not felt since before the wedding that wasn’t. Sucking in a shaky breath, Anya said, “How Giles and Emilia met. She’s an Elf he used to know during his Ripper days who has recently reappeared in his life.”

His brown eyes cutting from Anya to Giles, Xander said, “An Elf? As in one of Santa’s Elves?”

Giles sighed again and shook his head. “No, not as in Santa’s Elves. She’s one of an ancient race of powerful beings. Elves are the opposite of most demons. They are pure light a-and energy, creative and healing forces, although a few have been known to create chaos and destruction. There are very rare and mostly reside in solitude.” Giles smiled. “Except Emilia. She’s always lived among humans.”

“So she’s like Galadriel from Lord of the Rings. Except for the living with people part.”

“Who… Oh!” Anya said, the proverbial light bulb going off above her head. “That’s the movie with the little people with the funny feet and the gold ring that makes everyone invisible.”

Xander nodded. A soft smile curved his lips as he said, “Yeah. I didn’t think you’d, um, remember the movie.”

Anya shrugged, turning her head to the side to avoid Xander’s gaze. She smoothed a hand over her hair as she said, “You took me to watch it four times. It’s a little hard to forget.”

“Yeah…”

“Yeah…”

Glancing between the Xander and Anya, Giles cleared his throat, interrupting the uncomfortable silence that stretched between them. He said to Xander, “I didn’t expect the coven to send you back so soon. Where is Willow?”

“She’s at the apartment, finishing up a meditation exercise. The Hellmouth vibe has her a little on edge. Along with whatever nasty caused you to call us in Jolly Old England.” Xander glanced down at Giles’ hands, his brown eyes locking onto the small camera. “Taking up photography? Or are you planning on becoming a Peeping Tom?”

“The camera was used to spy on us. Specifically on Buffy and Faith. We found it here in the shop.”

“In the shop?” Xander looked at Anya and Giles, shock and confusion spreading across his face.

“A lot has happened since you went to England, Xander,” Giles said. “Perhaps it would be best if we went to your apartment so I could tell both you and Willow what has occurred.” As Xander nodded his ascent, Giles turned to Anya and said, “Would you go and check on Dawn and try to discover something about this camera? Also, see if there is a message from Buffy and Spike.”

“Yeah.” Anya took the camera from Giles and moved towards the open front door, her eyes briefly locking with Xander’s. Maneuvering around him, she stepped through the door onto the sidewalk and disappeared down the sunlit street.

Xander watched her walk away, drawing in a deep breath and dragging a hand through his hair. His eyes widened as his brain finally processed Giles’ request. “Buffy and Spike? Spike is back and with Buffy? Alone?”

Giles flashed the younger man a tight smile. “As I said before, a lot has happened in Sunnydale while you have been gone.” Placing a hand on Xander’s shoulder, Giles gently nudged him out the door and onto the sidewalk. He closed and locked the door behind him as he said quietly, “A whole hell of a lot has happened.”
 

* * *

“Hi, Angel. Thanks for stopping by… No. Angel, thanks for coming over to… one of the rooms in your hotel. ‘Cause the rooms are so far away from each other and you had to walk twelve miles through snow uphill both ways to get here. Yeah, real smooth, Buffy. Ok, once more with feeling, but no singing because that was beyond creepy… Anyway, Angel, the reason I asked you to come and talk is that I wanted to apologize for last night. Connor is your son and I had no right to sit on him for five hours in the middle of your courtyard… oh god.”

Buffy stopped pacing and sat on the edge of the bed. Gnawing on her bottom lip, she looked around the room, hazel eyes flickering from her small bag of clothes and larger bag of weapons at the foot of the bed, to the door, then to the oak dresser residing along the far well, before flitting back to the door. She ran her hands through her golden tresses and stood, resuming her nervous pacing of the large bedroom.

“Angel. Hi! How have you been? Busy raising a charmer of a son… That’s good, Buffy. Insult the kid. Ok… How have I been? I’ve been fine. My best friend tried to kill me and destroy the world, Faith and I tried to kill each other again, I was attacked by a group of icky pus demons and bunch of nasty men, an evil lawyer from L.A. is out to kill me, and I think I’m having more than friendly feelings towards your recently souled grand-Childe. I’m just peachy.”

Maybe honesty wasn’t the best policy in this conversation. Buffy didn’t want to incite a dust-o-thon by having a heart to heart with Angel about Spike. “Just apologize for bitch slapping his son, yell at him for not telling me about Connor himself, and suddenly become a deaf mute with no capacity for communication whatsoever. Especially about blue eyed vampires named Spike.” A light knock on the door caused Buffy to freeze. She stared wide-eyed at the door for a few seconds before forcing her body to cross the room and grasp the handle. She twisted the knob, pulled the door open, and plastered a smile on her face as Angel came into view.

“Hey, Angel.”

“Buffy.”
 

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Three: Reunion Part 2

By: Wynn

“Angel.”

“Buffy.”

Silence.

Buffy shifted from one foot to the other, her eyes darting around the hall, down to the floor, then up towards the ceiling, studiously avoiding Angel. She mentally kicked herself for her nervousness and brought forth another strained smile. “Do you, uh, want to come in? Or we can talk right here in the, um, hallway?”

Angel shook his head. “We can talk in your room. That is if you want to.”

“That’s fine with me.” Buffy turned from the door and crossed the bedroom, sitting gingerly upon the suddenly too small full sized bed. She mentally cursed the hotel’s interior decorator for not adding another chair to the room. The closer Angel got to her, the more likely it was that he would see what she didn’t want him to see and that would be of the bad. She watched Angel move into the room, leaving the door open, his hands clasped behind him, dark gaze roaming around the room.

“Looking for something?”

Brown eyes snapping towards Buffy, Angel quickly said, “No. No. I haven’t been in this room in a long time. I’d, uh, forgotten what it looked like.”

“Right.” Buffy squirmed on the bed, desperately trying to think of the best way to broach the subject of Connor, when the absurdity of the situation dawned on her. Why was she stressing over the ‘best’ way to talk to Angel about his brat of a kid, who attacked both her and Spike last night, in addition to fighting with Gunn, as well as Angel’s extreme lack in judgment in having Spike tell her about the little hellion one hour before arriving in Los Angeles? Angel was the one who should be nervous. Not her. Standing, Buffy slipped into battle mode, placing her hands upon her hips and raising her chin a couple of inches into the air. “I asked you to come and talk because I wanted to apologize for my actions concerning Connor last night-”

“Buffy-”

“However, I have now decided that you should be the one to apologize to me.”

Angel blinked. “What?”

“You heard me. Unless old age has finally caught up with you and dulled your hearing. Do you need me to repeat it?”

Glowering at Buffy, Angel said, “No, I heard you just fine. And I was going to apologize for not telling you about Connor myself, but suddenly I don’t feel like it.” He turned and started to walk away from Buffy. As he approached the door, Angel spun and stalked back towards her. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to tell you about Connor in the first place. I knew you would overreact.”

“Overreact?” Buffy shook her head as she took a few steps towards Angel. “I was shocked, yeah, and angry that you didn’t have enough respect for me to tell me myself. But I did not overreact.”

“What do you call this then?”

“Being legitimately angry.”

“Why are you angry?” Angel began to pace the small bedroom, his brown eyes occasionally darting towards Buffy. “So I didn’t tell you about Connor. I’m sorry. There wasn’t any time. Spike said you wanted to get here as soon as possible, and I didn’t want to fight with you over the phone about this. So I asked Spike to tell you, out of my respect for you, so you would know who the hell this kid was when you got here.” Angel slumped down onto the bed, shoulders hunched, and cradled his head in his hands.

Watching Angel out of the corners of her eyes, Buffy felt her righteous indignation dissipate. Sighing, she moved over to the bed and sat down next to Angel. “I’m sorry I smacked Connor around last night,” she said quietly.

Angel looked at her, a half smile curving his lips. “Don’t be sorry. He deserved it. I probably would have done more than sit on him if you had actually let him up.”

“Does he pick fights with your crew often?”

“Just about every single day. Mostly he fights with Gunn and Lorne. He hasn’t started in on me yet because he still feels bad for dumping me in a box in the middle of the ocean.” Angel paused, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to be a parent to a teenager.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m right there with you in the land of not knowing. I’m supposed to be all discipline-y with Dawn, say ‘Go brush your teeth’ and ‘Do your homework.’ Most of the time she just gives me the patented Summers eye roll and ignores me.”

“At least she’s not trying to kill your friends.”

“No. Not yet anyway.” Shaking her head to clear it of the unwanted images of a bloodthirsty, murderous Dawn, Buffy said, “Why do you let him stay if he’s such a pest?”

Angel shrugged. “He’s my son. I can’t turn him away. Plus, he doesn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“So.” Off of Angel’s incredulous look, Buffy continued, “Obviously Connor doesn’t respect you or your friends enough to deserve to live here. He’s 17. It’s time he grows up or gets out.”

“Buffy, you don’t understand. He had a hard life. He-”

“And who hasn’t had a hard life? That’s no excuse for his current behavior. You can’t take your problems out on other people. It… it took me a long time to learn that.” Buffy stopped. A sheepish grin appeared on her face. “And here I go again trying to tell you how to live your life. Sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s nice to have someone who understands.” He was quiet for a moment as he stared at her. He said quietly, “You look good. Better than before.”

Pushing off of the bed, Buffy walked across the room and hefted her weapons bag into her hand. “Yeah, well, the last time we talked I was in bad shape.” She tossed the bag onto the bed; her fingers trailed across the zipper as she said, “It took a long time to feel better… took a long time to feel anything. I made a lot of mistakes and pretty much tried to kill every single one of my friends.”

Angel smiled. “Who hasn’t done that before?” He stood and walked towards Buffy. He tilted her chin in the air and looked down into her eyes. “The important thing is that you realized you were hurting and angry and depressed, and you realized you wanted to change. That you didn’t want to feel like that anymore. That’s not an easy thing to do, believe me I know.”

“Thanks,” Buffy said softly. She grasped the bag, unzipping it, and removed her crossbow. She set the weapon on the bed and pawed through the wooden stakes and steel knives for the accompanying arrows as she said, “So what happened between you and Wesley? Faith mentioned something about a disagreement and him possibly working with this Lilah chick.”

“Possibly. They’re… involved.”

Buffy’s eyebrows shot up towards her hairline. “Wesley is sleeping with her? Wesley Wyndam-Pryce is having sex with someone?” Buffy shuddered. “That is just too disturbing for words. Do you think he might be working with her? Giving her information about us?”

Angel shrugged. “He might. Wes has changed since you saw him last. He hates me and everyone working with me, but I don’t think he’d take revenge on us by going after you.”

“If he’s not working with her, maybe he’ll help us gain access to her, help us find out whether or not she’s involved with the attacks.”

“I doubt he would, but if you want to try, go ahead.” Angel paused. He glanced down at the bag of weapons then locked eyes with Buffy. “But there is another way.”
 

* * *

He hunched over the bar, heavy eyes staring down into the amber liquid swirling within the small shot glass. He didn’t see the bar. He didn’t see the hard liquor. He only saw the fierce yellow eyes… He only saw Eyghon.

Rupert Giles sighed. He slipped off the bar stool and moved towards the dark, murky corner of the pub. He slid into the booth, setting his glass onto the table before him, and laid his head upon the table. He could still hear the screams, the demonic wail of Eyghon, the panicked cries of him and his mates as Randall lost control… no, as they lost control of the powerful menacing demon, the last gasping sobbing breath of Randall as the demon took control. Permanently.

Randall was dead and it was all his fault.

They hadn’t wanted this to happen. They just wanted to have fun. Go wild. Let go of responsibilities and destiny and say “Screw you” to Fate.

Instead he, Ethan, Philip, Deidre, Thomas, and Randall had delved into something more sinister than fun, more dangerous than a simple game. And it had cost them more than they bargained for, more than they could have ever imagined.

“You look like shit.”

Lifting his head off the table, Giles watched the petite woman sit down on the vacant, opposite side of the booth. Her hair was long and streaked every color of the rainbow. Bright red and purple juxtaposed with cool green, blue, and silver. She reached up and removed her large black sunglasses, revealing vibrant violet eyes.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Miss,” Giles said, throwing back his shot. “But bugger off. Don’t want company.”

“And what do you want? To sit in your dark corner in this hellhole of a bar and drown all of your troubles in foul piss tasting liquor?”

“That’s about right.” Giles reached for his glass again, knocking it over. He watched it roll off the table and crash onto the floor, crumbling into thousands of brittle shards. “Bloody hell.”

“Come on,” she said as she stood, covering her eyes with her sunglasses. She grasped his hand and pulled him from the booth, throwing his arm around her shoulder as he wobbled unsteadily on his feet. “Let’s get out of here.”

She led him to the door, nudging it open, and pulled him into the damp night air. A fine mist of rain fell onto the London alleyway, the cracked concrete slick with water and dotted with garbage. Giles stumbled, gagging as the mixture of liquors raged in his stomach. Tearing his arm off of the woman beside him, he fell to his knees, throwing up the alcohol in the middle of the alley. Wiping his mouth off on his T-shirt, he felt her pull him to his feet again, a short disgusted snort coming forth as she wrapped her arm around him again.

“You smell like a pile of rubbish.”

“Thanks.” He slowly turned his head, his bleary, blood shot eyes looking at her. “My name is Rupert.”

She smiled. “Hello, Rupert. I’m Emilia.”
 

** *

More than twenty years had passed since Emilia first walked into his life, dragging his drunken, sorry ass out of the bar, out of the pit of depression and self-loathing he had fell into. As they walked out of the alley, Giles hadn’t questioned her as to where they were going or wondered why this gorgeous woman was interested in him. He was sucked into the delicate tenor of her voice, the brilliant lavender of her eyes, and her crazy Crayola streaked hair. He followed her without protest, knowing instinctively that she was what he needed.

Knocking on Emilia’s door, Giles shoved his hands in the pockets of his brown jacket and waited. His grey eyes traveled across her small pots of flowers, each ceramic container bursting with every color of the rainbow and beyond. A small smile tugged on the corners of his lips at the sight of her vast array of flora. He remembered her flat in London had been filled to the brim with all sorts of plants and flowers.
 

** *

“What’s with all the plants?” Giles asked as Emilia let him into her apartment. A crystal vase of lilies resided on a tall, narrow table beside the door. Along the hallway stretching from the front door to the interior of the apartment, small glass vases brimming with flower arrangements hung from a long iron bar.

“They’re pretty. And they smell good.” She delicately wrinkled her nose as she yanked on Giles’ jean jacket, pulling the soiled garment off of him. “Although I doubt they’ll be enough to cancel out your wondrously horrid smell. How long have you been drinking today?”

Giles frowned, trying to clear his head of the liquor induced fog. When had he started drinking… “What time is it now?”

“About two in the morning.”

“Started about two in the afternoon. So about twelve hours.”

“Lovely. I’ve brought a royal lush back to my place.” She pushed Giles down the hall, small hands guiding him around the corner, stopping him before an open door. He grimaced as she reached inside the dark room and flicked on the lights. Bright white light flooded the pale blue bathroom. Maneuvering around Giles, Emilia entered the bathroom and opened the door to the tiny closet. She pulled out a cream colored towel and wash cloth, setting them on the toilet. Turning back to Giles, she looked him over, a faint smirk crossing her lips. “Now, can you muster enough coordination to undress yourself? Or should I finish what I started and take it all off?”

Giles crossed his arms over his chest and tried his best to scowl at her. “I can undress myself perfectly well, thank you.”

Shrugging, Emilia stepped towards Giles, moving closer and closer until she was a hair’s breadth away. Tilting her face upwards, she locked eyes with Giles and said, “Too bad. It would’ve been more fun my way.” She flashed him an impish grin and slipped out of the bathroom into the hall. “There’s soap and shampoo in the shower. They’re non-girly scented, too. I’ll leave fresh clothes outside the door.”

She turned to leave. His arm shooting out, Giles grabbed her hand and turned her back towards him. “Why’re you helping me?” he asked quietly. “You don’t even know me.”

“Yes, I do.” Emilia lifted her hand and brushed a lock of his hair away from his face. “I know exactly who you are, Rupert Giles, and that is why I’m helping you.” She smiled, a tender curving of her lips, as she backed away from him into the hallway. Grasping the doorknob, she slowly shut the door behind her.
 

** *

Giles was pulled from his reverie as the front door opened and Emilia stepped onto the tiny porch. She stared at him for a moment, silent, contemplative, a small grin appearing on her face. Moving back inside the house, she glanced over her shoulder and said, “Are you coming inside? Or did you come only to look at my flowers?”

“They are very nice flowers.” Giles crossed the threshold, his hand grasping the door and closing it. “However, I did come to see you.”

“Good.”
 

* * *

“You want to what?”

Dark eyes flickering towards Gunn, Angel repeated, “I want to break into Lilah’s office at Wolfram and Hart.”

Angel and Buffy had gathered everyone for a meeting in the hotel’s sitting room to discuss his idea for investigating Lilah’s involvement in the recent attacks in Sunnydale. Fred, Gunn, and Lorne sat on one sofa while Buffy and Spike sat on the other. Connor stood in the corner of the room, alternating between scowling at Buffy and glaring at Gunn.

Angel continued, “If there’s any sort of concrete connection between Lilah and Sunnydale it will either be in her office at the firm or at her apartment. Wolfram and Hart has better security, so she’s probably got it stashed there.” He looked around the room as he said, “Buffy, Spike, and I will break into her office and search for hard evidence. Gunn and Connor will wait in the car, keeping the car running in case we need to get out of there fast and providing extra muscle if we’re attacked.”

Shaking his head, Gunn pushed off of the couch and moved towards Angel. “Uh uh, man. I am not working with him.”

Sighing, Angel looked at Fred and Lorne. They both shook their heads. Closing his eyes briefly, Angel said, “I need someone to drive the car. Connor doesn’t know how.”

“I’ll do it.”

Angel froze. He slowly turned towards the front door, his body trembling with shock, with hope, with dread that this was all a dream and when he opened his eyes, she wouldn’t really be there. Drawing in a deep, shaky breath, he opened his eyes and saw her leaning against the wall, one eyebrow delicately arched on her face. “Cordelia?”
 

* * *

Chapter Twenty-Four: Extreme Measures

By: Wynn

“Cordelia?” Angel took a few halting steps forward, his entire being focused on the brunette vision before him. Her hair had returned to its lustrous long brown, hanging in soft waves down her back. She wore a pair of black pants and a plunging white satin shirt; a black opal necklace adorned her neck. A broad smile appeared on Cordelia’s face as she moved into the room, slowly approaching him. “You… you…”

“Eloquent as always,” she said. The breathless waver in her voice and the wide grin on her face belied the sarcasm inherent in her words.

He smiled, feeling his body begin to tremble again as the realization that Cordelia was standing before him resounded within his soul. He lifted a shaky hand, brushing the tips of his fingers against her cheek, a whisper of a caress that sent tremors through her body. “You’re really here.”

“Well, duh,” she said. “You can’t get rid of me that easy, Angel. Someone needs to save you from your brooding.”

A half-sob, half-laugh escaped his lips. He closed the distance between himself and Cordelia, dragging her into a fierce, possessive hug. She threw her arms around his neck, and they remained entwined in each other’s arms, relieved and exhilarated to be reunited, oblivious to the six people gaping at them from across the room.

Angel pulled back slightly to look into her eyes. “I thought… I thought you would be gone forever.”

“Me, too. Time passed… I don’t know how long exactly. It runs differently there. Slower, yet faster. But still mind numbingly boring. Like the ‘would rather be at the dentist’s office having a root canal’ type of boring.” One corner of her mouth quirked up in amusement. “I think the Powers finally got tired of me nagging them. They’ve got an entire universe to run, so they’re not exactly familiar with the whole concept of soul sucking boredom. I mean, I only got to help one person. The rest of the extremely long time was spent gazing at the ‘magnificence and wonderment inherent in the universe.’ Whatever.”

Angel laughed. He touched his forehead against Cordelia’s as he said, “I should have known the Powers would be no match for you.”

“Well, they brought me back here because of the nagging and the upcoming big evil thing that I’m supposed to help fight against. You know the usual.”

“I don’t mean to butt into the loving reunion, cupcakes,” Lorne said as he cautiously approached the brunette duo. “But some of us other than Angel would like to show a little love to the returning Cordy.”

Cordelia locked eyes with Lorne. She pulled away from Angel, flashing him a bright smile, and walked over to Lorne, hugging him tightly. “Missed you, too,” she whispered.

Angel watched them embrace. He winced as an excited squeal pierced the air. Fred pushed off the couch and launched across the room, nudging Lorne out of the way and hugging Cordelia. “Oh my god! I’m so glad you’re back! We all missed you so much! Everything has been different since you left and I missed having you around. What was it like where you were? Did you actually meet the Powers that Be? Were they nice?”

A slightly startled look on her face, Cordelia gently patted Fred on the back. She slipped out of the excited girl’s embrace and said, “I missed you too, Fred.”

“Glad you’re back,” Gunn said as he threw an arm around Cordelia’s shoulders. “Things were getting dull here without you.”

“Not too dull though,” Cordelia said as she stepped away from Gunn, her dark eyes locked on Connor. He stood in the corner of the room, hidden in the shadows, his face turned down to the floor, occasionally rising up and stealing glances at her. Arching an eyebrow, Cordelia walked across the room towards Connor. “What? No hug? Just because you’re ‘The Destroyer’ doesn’t mean you’re not obligated to give me a hug. Or do I need to sit on you for five hours and wait for a hug?” An amused smirk crossed her face as she glanced over at Buffy and Spike. She snickered at the looks of shock on their faces and returned her gaze to Connor. “I’m waiting.”

Connor looked around, taking in the various levels of amusement plastered across the faces of the seven people throughout the room. Frowning slightly, he pushed off the wall and walked to Cordelia. He awkwardly wrapped one arm around her, leaning as far away from the brunette as possible, as he said quietly, “Welcome, back.”

“Thank you,” she said as she ruffled his hair, delighting in the murderous scowl that appeared on his face. “Deal with it and expect more displays of mushiness in the future, Ok. No more uncivilized cave child for you, got it?”

Shrugging, Connor said as he returned to the corner of the room, “Sure. Whatever.”

Cordelia turned and looked at Buffy and Spike. She quirked an eyebrow at Spike’s darker, curlier hair. “Nice hair.” Gaze darting from Spike to Buffy, she said, “So… who’s trying to kill you now?”
 

* * *

Giles stepped out of the bathroom, his hair still dripping wet, a bundle of dirty, alcohol drenched clothes in hand. He was dressed in a pair of dark blue cotton pants and a light grey T-shirt, courtesy of Emilia. He wondered if they were her boyfriend’s clothes. Frowning at the thought, he moved down the hall towards the kitchen. He saw Emilia standing before the stove, a tea kettle on one of the burners beginning to whistle; two mugs sat on a round white table in the corner of the kitchen. She turned and smiled at him as he entered the room.

“Feeling better, I hope. You can set the clothes in the corner. I’ll throw them in the laundry in a moment.”

Nodding slightly, Giles placed the clothes off to the side and pulled one chair out from beneath the table. He sat down as Emilia brought over the steaming kettle, pouring water into both mugs. “Thank you for the clothes. Are they your, um, boyfriend’s o-or husband’s?”

Emilia laughed. “I don’t have a boyfriend or husband, so you can rest easy now. Or maybe not, now that you know you’re all alone inside this flat with me with no one to come and rescue you.” She returned the kettle to the stove top, still chuckling, and opened a nearby cabinet, pulling out a square container. Reaching into the metal container, she pulled out a small cloth satchel, tugged on the slender thread holding the satchel closed, and dumped the contents into Giles’s mug. She handed him a spoon and indicated for him to stir.

He glanced at the cup, a mixture of curiosity and hesitation on his face. “Um, what did you put in there?”

“It’s my own very special cure for potential hangovers. And if you’ve been drinking for twelve hours, something tells me you’re going to need all the cures you can get.” She sighed as he remained still, lightly grasping the silver spoon in his hand. “Oh, come on. Do you think I’m going to try to poison you? That I’m some serial killer that invites poor, drunken men back to my flat to sober them up, only to off them with a poisoned cuppa?”

“Well, no,” Giles protested. He frowned again as Emilia snatched the spoon from his hand, plunging it into his cup of water and stirring the contents briskly. Placing the spoon on the counter top, Emilia lifted his glass and took a drink.

“Satisfied?”

“Yes,” he said testily as he snatched the cup out of her hands.

“A bit paranoid, aren’t you?” Emilia reached into the container once more and removed a tea bag, dunking it into her own mug of hot water.

“I’m not paranoid. Just careful.”

“Careful? Why?”

“I…” Giles trailed off, pain flashing in his light grey eyes as Randall’s scream of horror rang in his ears. “Nothing. I-I have to go.” He stood, knocking over the chair, and scrambled out of the kitchen. He ran for the front door, yanking his coat off the rack hanging off the back of the door. He started as he felt Emilia’s hand touch his shoulder. “Uh… thank you for the-the… Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, handing him his shoes.

Giles opened the door and moved into the hall. He glanced once over his shoulder, locking eyes with her, anguish screaming from the slump of his shoulders and faint lines around his eyes and mouth, before disappearing down the dark street, the image of her, of her wild hair, of her slender frame, and of her wide, concerned, violet eyes searing into his brain.
 

** *

Leaning forward, Giles lightly laid a kiss on Emilia’s cheek, the soft scent of lavender clinging to her pale skin, invading his senses, and bringing forth remembrances of her unique blend of earth and spices from the past. “Hello.”

“Hi.” She reached around him and gently closed the front door. Leaning back, she looked into his eyes and said, “Would you like something to drink?”

“No, thank you. I can’t stay long. I have to get to Dawn before nightfall.”

“How is Dawn?” Emilia asked as she and Giles moved from the hall into her living room. A wide picture window let in the red and gold rays of the sunset, highlighting the rich earth tones decorating the room. A brick fireplace resided opposite the picture window; on the mantle, between a set of circular oil lamps, was an intricately interwoven silver sculpture. Plush throw rugs lay haphazard across the hardwood floor. A pale wood artist’s easel sat before the wide window, a pad of blank cream colored paper and set of pencils beside the easel. Emilia sat on one of the mahogany sofas that circled a low cream coffee table in the center of the room.

“Good,” Giles said as he sat beside her. “She is the same, but her wrist will heal in time. Anya has healed completely from her chest wound, and Faith and Buffy are recovering from their injuries also.”

“And what about Clem? How is he?”

“Much better. Your medicines helped a lot.”

“Good. I’d hoped they would. Did Buffy and Spike make it to Los Angeles safely?”

“Yes. She called and left a message earlier this morning.”

Emilia was quiet as she watched Giles, taking in the worry etched across his face. “She’s a bright girl, Rupert. She will be alright. You’ve trained her well.”

Smiling softly, Giles said, “I know. I still worry.”

“She has Spike. He won’t let anything happen to her.”

A faint grimace crossed Giles’ face. “You’re so certain he’ll protect her?”

“You’re so certain he won’t?” Emilia shifted on the sofa, drawing her legs beneath her, straightening her gold linen skirt. She leaned her head on the back of the couch and looked at Giles. “I wondered if you had ever completed your studies at the Watcher’s Academy. And now here you are with not one but two Slayers.”

“Much to the chagrin of the Watcher’s Council.”

“What do you mean by that? You’ve helped keep Buffy alive for the past six years or so, and you’re helping Faith overcome her troubles. I would think the Council would be indebted to you for helping these girls.”

“Yes,” Giles murmured. “One would think that, but the Council sees these girls as tools to be used in whatever way they wish. They don’t care about their well being or state of mind. They only care that Buffy and Faith carry out their orders and follow procedure and all that rot. Which they rarely do.”

“And I’m sure you encourage this disobedience to the Council’s authority.”

“Sometimes.”

“Glad to know that you haven’t gone completely on the straight and narrow.” Emilia paused. She grasped Giles hand and said, “They are lucky to have you in their lives, to have you care more about them than their supposed destinies.”

“I wouldn’t be in their lives if it wasn’t for you.”

Emilia shook her head, a small smile curving her lips. “Nonsense. You would have found your way eventually. All I did was give you a little nudge of encouragement.”

Giles smirked at her understatement of the impact she had had on his life. “A little nudge?”

Laughing, Emilia said, “Ok, so it was more like a massive kick in the ass. I only did what was necessary. Sometimes extreme measures are needed to make one realize what one needs and wants.”
 

* * *

The alley beside Mossino’s was quiet and still. A faint light shone from the dojo’s inner office, spilling out through the glass panes of the office door into the rest of the building, highlighting the man standing before the front door. Faith squinted. The man matched Buffy’s description of Tyler. He pulled out a key from the pocket of his satchel and locked the front door, looking once around the darkened street before walking away from the building.

Faith watched until he disappeared around the corner then fished the small brass key out of the pocket of her black jeans. Buffy had given Faith the key to Mossino’s before leaving for L.A.; it would gain them access to the outer parts of the dojo, but Faith, Anya, and Xander would have to find some way of breaking into Tyler’s office to search for more videotapes. Grasping the key in her hand, Faith stepped from the shadows of the alley and moved to the door, glancing in each direction as she slid the key into the lock and turned. She opened the door and stepped inside the cool building, holding the door open for Xander and Anya.

“Remind me again why you’re here, Xander?” Anya said as she shut the door behind her. Faith tossed her the key, and Anya relocked the front door, pocketing the key as she waited for Xander to reply.

Xander sighed. He glanced over his shoulder at Anya and said, “To make sure this goes smoothly. Giles may be all trusting of Faith, but I’m not. I want to make sure we find this tape thing so Buffy can kick this guy’s ass. And the last time you went looking for information, Anya, you got into a bar fight.”

“I didn’t start it. All I did-”

“Could you two wait until we’re done with the B and E before fighting?” Faith said, irritation flickering across her dark features. “I don’t want to go back to jail ‘cause someone heard you two bickering at each other.” She turned away from Xander and Anya and looked around the building, spotting the main mirror-lined room. Over her shoulder she said, “Anya, you and Xander find a way to get into this guy’s office and look for more tapes. I’ll look for the camera in here.”

“Who put you in charge of this little adventure? More importantly, who put you in charge of me?”

Rolling her eyes, Faith turned and looked at Xander. She said simply, “Giles. Have a problem with it, go talk to him. Now you can either go with Anya and look for the tapes or come with me and look for the camera.”

Xander looked from Anya, who stood before the office door inspecting the lock, to Faith, who glared at him from the entrance to the main room. He sighed as he turned and walked towards Anya and the office.

Suppressing another eye roll, Faith moved into the main room. She reached into the back pocket of her pants and removed a slim flashlight. Turning it on, she directed the narrow beam of light around the room. To her right, a set of blue training mats were lined up in front of the wall of windows, and a training dummy sat in the center of the room. She directed the light at the ceiling, slowly dragging it across the pale surface, looking for the tiny surveillance camera. Faith took a few steps further into the room, pausing as the light flashed across the tall trophy case against the far wall. “All too easy,” she murmured, her boots thudding across the carpeted floor as she moved to the wooden case. Halfway across the room, the fluorescent lights flickered on. Blinking to clear her vision, Faith tensed as she heard a deep voice speak behind her.

“Who the hell are you and what the fuck are you doing in my dojo?”

Switching off the flashlight, Faith returned it to her back pocket. She crossed her arms across her chest and turned around, a wicked smirk curving her ruby lips. Tyler stood in the threshold between the main room and entrance hall, blocking her only escape route, a slim curved dagger clasped lightly in his hand.
 

* * *

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