“She’s high-strung, but she’s not crazy.”
Dr. Phillips turned serious brown eyes to the girl lying in the dingy hospital room. From behind tinted glass the room was even darker, despite the light coming from the small window by her bed, and it made the space seem that much more dismal. The girl was a slight thing, but certainly nothing to underestimate, that was for certain. Unfortunately, due to the psychological profiling she’d been given they hadn’t been able to keep her medicated as he’d have liked. Medicated girls were always more compliant. And compliant girls didn’t give him any trouble and had helped keep his record spotless for more than thirty years now.
“No, she isn’t,” he murmured agreement and glanced back at the man next to him. Dr. Min was a kind looking man, small in stature and slight in frame, but he was also the best in his field. It was a miracle they’d been able to retain him on staff as long as they had. “What do you recommend?”
Dr. Min consulted his chart. “I’ve done all I can,” he informed his colleague and Dr. Phillips tensed. “My only suggestion is to keep her under observation for a few more days. We need to be sure that she doesn’t attempt to hurt herself in her frustration, and we can’t have her harming the guards.”
Dr. Phillips almost visibly relaxed. “I agree. She’s a danger if we send her back to her cell right now. And Mr. Hammish prefers she stay here, as well.”
“Yes, well,” Dr. Min frowned. His opinion of the guard was about as high as that of the inmates. “We’ll keep her here for the next two days, and over the weekend. See how she’s doing on Monday. Until then, continue her meds as I’ve denoted and let me know if there’s any other change in her behavior or vitals.”
“Of course.” Dr. Phillip turned and opened the door, allowing the smaller man to exit the room. Casting an eye back to the despondent girl, he let out a shaky breath. She was staying put, under his watchful eye. This weekend would be plenty of time.
*~*~*
“The brown is nice,” Fred said helpfully, glancing from Cordelia’s image in the mirror to the woman standing next to her.
“It’s ‘Mink,’” Cordy told her, turning from side to side to view her entire head. The color appeared to have taken nicely, even if it was from Clairol and not her usual salon.
Fred blinked. “Oh…well, it’s nice. Very…um…furry.”
“The hair color. The name of the color is ‘mink,’” Fred was informed with annoyance. Cordelia fingered a strand of Fred’s long waves. “I can see you wouldn’t know what I’m talking about. But don’t worry, I hear mousy is in for fall.”
Fred stared at her, unsure how to respond. “Uh…How come you changed it?”
Cordelia threw the petite Texan a withering glance. “Did you see my hair? Do you see it now? It’s short. And for a few hours too many there, it was blonde. I’m not a big fan of the home-color treatment, but sometimes you have to take necessary, and severe, measures.” She turned back to the mirror and continued primping her short, now-dark locks.
“It’ll grow, I guess, but first thing tomorrow I’m calling Andre about getting me some extensions,” she sighed a moment later, then demanded, “Why in the hell did I color it blonde?”
Fred backed up a bit, unnerved at the changes in her mostly-sweet friend. “It was blonde when I met you.”
“And that was…a year ago you said?”
“Just over, but yeah. You came to Pylea and it was sorta…streaky then.”
“I had streaks?” Cordelia shrieked, her voice echoing loudly throughout the massive lobby. “No…no no no no no. I just can’t believe that I’d deliberately do this to myself.” She stormed out of the office and into the lobby, flopping on one of the oversized couches. Lying there despondently for a moment a new thought occurred to her. “Maybe I lost it in a battle.”
Fred followed her and Gunn sidled up to take a peek at Cordy’s new hair color. “What?” they asked simultaneously.
“You know…fighting a vampire or a demon or something. Maybe one of them had…had scissors…or a sword! And whoosh chop…Cordy’s hair gets an involuntary Felicity. That’s the only way to explain why I’d have done this. I had to.”
Gunn and Fred shared an amused glance. “Yeah…that must be it. Your hair was a casualty of war,” he smirked and took a seat on the couch again. “Who are these people we’re waiting on again? I’m starving.”
“Oh…I took the liberty of ordering in some food for us,” Cordelia said casually, still finger-styling her hair. “Angel still keeps the corporate credit card in the same place. A phone call, a little American Express action, and…viola! Tai food, delivered in under thirty minutes.”
“Bonus,” Gunn agreed happily.
“He’ll never know,” she confided.
Fred took a seat next to Gunn and was pleased to note that this time he didn’t shift away from her. “This girl, that’s going to help us with the spell…”
“Willow,” Cordy said breezily. “She’s…a sweet thing. Whip-smart and last I saw a big fan of Kathy Lee Gifford’s line of clothing.”
“She’s a witch, though, right? She’s going to help you get your memories back?” Fred asked.
Gunn raised a hand in objection. “Yo…I’m still not too keen on the idea of some Harry Potter wannabe playin’ around with my head.”
Cordelia shrugged and let her head fall back on the couch cushion. “We’ll see how it goes when she gets here. If nothing else, Giles can do the spell. He’s usually pretty good with the magic. It’s the one thing he can manage without getting himself knocked unconscious.”
“Except that Mr. Giles won’t be here,” Wesley corrected her, walking in from the office.
“What? Why not?” Cordy’s head came up.
“He went back to England, to the Watcher’s Council. Apparently some time ago. I just got off the phone with an old school mate of mine who went on to the Council, and he confirmed what Buffy told Angel. Mr. Giles returned to England sometime early last year and has retained a position there with the Council.”
“He left Buffy?” Cordelia asked incredulously. “But…he’s like her Watcher and stuff!” She gasped. “Ooh…I smell story there.”
Wesley gave her a look of contempt. “I’m afraid not. It seems that early last year Mr. Giles decided that Buffy no longer needed a Watcher, that she had gone beyond anything he could teach her, and that he would be more useful back in London. Apparently he believed this would help her grow up.”
Cordelia snorted. “Buffy always could use a few lessons in mature.”
He ignored her and continued. “Yes, well…Cordelia. It seems that Buffy has been left to take care of her sister, Dawn, alone. Her mother passed away.”
Her eyes instantly saddened. “Oh…that’s horrible…poor Buffy, and Dawn! She’s only…what? Fourteen?”
Wesley nodded. “From what I can remember. I only met her a handful of times, same as with her mother.”
Cordelia was instantly apologetic. “Her mom was a really nice person. Way cooler than Buffy.” She sniffed, genuinely sorry. “And she had classy taste in art.” She reflected on the news for a moment before turning dark brown eyes to Wesley once again. “Wait…if Buffy’s mom died, why did Giles leave her? Wouldn’t she have needed him more then? That’s kinda harsh. He was practically her father.”
The ex-Watcher shook his head. “I don’t have the details, and I somehow doubt it will be a subject we get into when she and the others arrive.” His remark was pointed and Cordelia cocked an eyebrow but let the topic go.”
“What’s a Watcher?” Gunn asked hesitantly. “Or for that matter, what Council?”
Wesley turned to him. “The Watcher’s Council of Britain. I was a member there, briefly, and was sent to southern California to look after the Slayers.”
Gunn’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, you guys keep talking about these Slayers…that girl in the joint’s one of them, right?”
Wesley nodded. “Faith, yes…Buffy, who you will meet shortly, is also Slayer. Buffy was Called first, but through some extraordinary circumstances Faith was also Called.”
Cordelia wiped at a single tear caught in her lashes and cleared her throat. “Buffy’s always been more of the “look at me, look at me” kinda girl, so of course she had to go and break the rules.”
Wesley rolled his eyes and Gunn almost grinned, sure that ninety-percent of what Cordelia said had everything to do with spite. “Anyway,” Wesley continued, “The Slayers are girls…women…who are specially trained and who possess supernatural powers to fight and slay demons and vampires. The Council is the organization in charge of recruiting potential Slayers, training them, and aiding them in their fight against the dark side of things.”
When Cordelia snorted Wesley shot her an angry glare. “The Council did more screwing up than it did good.” She smirked at Gunn and Fred. “They let this psycho ex-Watcher come to Sunnydale once. She tried to kill us all. Almost fried Angel and Willow. And let’s not forget everything last year with Faith.”
Fred and Gunn exchanged worried glances. “Why do I get the feeling ya’ll aren’t telling us even the barest of details?” he asked.
“Because they’re not,” Angel’s voice came from the stairs as he descended to the lobby. Reaching the ground floor he crossed the lobby to the office and heated himself a mug of blood before returning to his friends.
“You changed,” Cordelia observed from the couch. “Hey…and…” she rose and stalked to him, inspecting him closely. “You showered, too.”
He shrugged uncomfortably under her scrutiny and took a sip from the coffee mug. “Your hair looks good. I like the dark,” he told her.
“Of course it does, but don’t change the subject,” she glared, eyes narrow. “Are you wearing aftershave?”
Gunn grinned. “Wanted to look good for the ex-honey, is that it?”
Angel let out a weak laugh. “Heh…no. I just…it was time for a shower,” he mumbled lamely.
Now Gunn crowed. “She must be quite the honey to get you all worked up there, vampire! Haven’t seen you like this even once!”
Angel glared as Cordelia huffed in annoyance. “She’s…” he began.
“…here,” came a voice from the front door. Everyone turned to find Buffy standing at the top of the steps that would take her down to the floor of the sunken lobby.
Buffy. Buffy was here. Angel’s thought process was completely wiped out in the five seconds it took him to realize that she was standing a mere twenty feet from him…blonde hair flowing down her back, light blue top clinging to the curves of her upper body…and *gulp*…tight black pants molding themselves to her lower. Then there was the wary look in her eyes and he wondered desperately how much she’d heard.
“Bad time?” she asked, trying desperately to maintain the appearance of someone completely at ease with five sets of eyes on her.
She shrugged it off and took the steps quickly. “Bad time?” she repeated, coming to his side.
Wesley rolled his eyes again at the completely buffonish nature of the people around him. “No, Buffy, not a bad time at all. Please, come in. I thought…” he looked around her to the front door. “Weren’t you bringing your sister…and the others?”
She nodded. “They’re in the car. I wanted to make sure we were in the right place, and,” she said, turning to Angel, “that the offer for the rooms still stood before we unloaded. We didn’t exactly pack light.”
He cleared his throat, trying not to think how pretty her eyes were, such a nice combination of sea-green and stormy-blue, and nodded dumbly. “Uh…yeah…they’re…rooms…big rooms…”
“Oh my lord,” Cordelia moaned, sweeping in and rescuing her boss. “Excuse him while he masters the English language. The rooms are upstairs. I can show you.”
Buffy’s gaze shifted from Angel to Cordelia. “Thanks, Cor…it’s nice to see you.”
“Yeah…you too,” Cordelia replied with mock-enthusiasm. “Really good.”
“I’ll just…be back in a sec,” Buffy told them warily and headed back up the steps to the front door, disappearing through it into the night.
“If that’s how you treat all your old friends, can’t say as I blame them for never visiting,” Gunn quipped.
“I…that’s Buffy,” Angel stammered, then turned away with what might have been a growl. He would get a hold of himself. Now. “I’m going to see if they need help with their bags,” he informed his staff and took the stairs two at a time.
The foursome left behind shared a mutual look. “So…that’s Buffy, huh?” Fred asked cheerfully. “She’s so little.”
“That’s the Slayer,” Wesley informed her. “Trust me, her size should not give you cause to underestimate her abilities. I assure you, the Slayer is a fine-tuned warrior.”
“Blah, blah, blah,” Cordelia snarked. “But yes…that’s our little Buffy. And in a moment you’ll get to meet the other losers who took up way too much of my time in high school.”
“If you hated these folks, why’d you hang with ‘em?” Gunn wanted to know.
Cordy gave an imposed-upon sigh accompanied by a weary roll of her eyes. “That, my dear Charles, is a question for the ages.”
“She didn’t seem so bad,” Fred countered. “She’s…pretty. I like her hair.”
“Great butt,” Gunn put in appreciatively.
“What happened to Angel…when she walked in,” Fred began cautiously. “Does that happen every time?”
Before Cordelia could open her mouth, Wesley broke in. “The Slayer, Buffy…and Angel have a rather tumultuous past. One that I will not go into detail about,” he said, shooting Cordelia a warning glare that caused her to shut her open mouth, “except to say that they were once very much in love, and that love resulted in a lot of pain…for everyone around them, but most especially for themselves.”
Fred cast a worried eye to the door. “I get that… I mean, when he found out she was dead he left the country for like, four months. He was devastated. And then when he found out she was back, he took off to be with her without even saying goodbye…” Her eyes met Wesley’s. “But if they loved each other, why’d they break up?”
“Wait…what?” Cordelia turned to Fred quizzically. “Buffy died? Again?”
Before anyone could answer her the door opened again and the booming voice of Xander Harris could be heard. “Holy schnikies!” he cried. “When did Angel become Hugh Hefner?”
“Oh…joy,” Cordelia groaned. “Xander.”
“You dated him, my dear,” Wesley reminded her with a slight amount of glee.
Gunn’s eyebrows went up. “So we’ve got a Cordy-ex in the mix, too, eh? Dead people, ex-flames…Oh, this is going to be one fun little slumber party, isn’t it?”
Cordelia elbowed him in the side and took a few steps forward as Willow and Dawn, laden with bags, wandered into the lobby. “Dawnie,” Cordelia cried, “you pack like me!”
“Hey Cordelia,” Dawn called, setting down some of her bags. She’d always been awed by the older girl, even though Cordelia and her sister hadn’t gotten along in the conventional sense. “Oh, I love your hair!”
Cordelia grinned and fluffed her cropped ‘do. “Yeah? Thanks! Just…something I’m trying!”
Gunn and Fred rolled their eyes and stepped forward to make introductions.
*~*~*
Buffy was hefting the last of her bags out of the trunk, trying to ignore the fact that Angel was just…well…staring at her. Finally she looked up at him. “What? Do I have something on my face?”
He glanced away, embarrassed. “No…I…” How could he possibly explain to her that she looked exactly the same as he remembered...but somehow completely different at the same time? Her hair was still long, he could tell despite the fact that she had it pulled back, but she’d lost weight. Gone were the curves she’d once had. She was strong, he could see that, but wiry now where once before she’d been supple. Her face was hardened in a way he didn’t remember it ever having been, and not just due to the loss of weight. Gone was the little girl, the high school graduate, the college freshman he last remembered seeing, and standing in front of him was a woman.
“Sorry,” he managed to get out, swallowing his fear and pride and moving to her, taking her bags. “I guess I was just…it’s been a long coupla days.”
She nodded, giving him a half-smile. “I’m sure.” Closing the trunk she picked up two more bags off the street and turned back to him. “This is okay? Really?” she asked, waving a hand to the hotel.
“You staying here?”
She nodded again.
“Yeah…” he mumbled, then caught himself. “Yes, Buffy. It is. Completely,” he assured her, pleased that he once again sounded in control. “I’m glad you’re here.”
She regarded him carefully. “Good…okay, then. It’s good to see you, Angel.”
Now he smiled. “You look good.”
She shrugged as they headed to the front door. “I could use some more sleep—dreamless sleep—but otherwise, I’m fine.” She looked over at him. “How are you doing? With the memory thing?”
He jerked a shoulder. “It’s…well, completely aggravating,” he admitted with a grin.
“I’m sure. What’s the last thing you remember?”
He paused briefly, pretending to juggle a bag. Shanshu. “Ah…right after the Faith thing…I guess,” he lied. “Some other unimportant stuff, mostly with this law firm that’s trying to drive me crazy.”
She remembered. “Faith…right. That was a while ago. Funny, huh? That’s what you remember last and that’s kinda why I’m here…for her?” The reached the front door and he opened it for her automatically.
“Ironic,” he agreed and they walked inside.
The group was rather somber and awkward introductions were made all around, thanks in large part to Wesley’s diplomacy.
“What would you like to do first?” Wesley asked the group in general.
Buffy gave him a wry smile and took charge. “Normally I say point me to Barney’s, but this time I think we’ll have to forgo the shopping spree for some black ops.”
“At least we can wear black, it’s slimming,” Dawn chimed in.
“I guess…let’s get us settled in our rooms and then we can figure out the next step. Have you been able to find out anything more on Faith or Spike?” Buffy asked, eyeing Wesley, Cordelia and Angel in turn.
“Faith’s still alive and in prison, at least according to the source I used. I’m going to run over there and make some personal inquiries as soon as visiting hours begin,” Angel told her, relieved to be talking shop.
“Good,” she nodded. “And Spike?”
Wesley fielded this question. “Only that he is still being held by the lawyers at Wolfram and Hart. I haven’t, thus far, been able to locate his exact whereabouts but from what I can ascertain he hasn’t left the city.” He took off his glasses and rubbed at tired eyes. “I don’t expect they’ll move him. If their agenda is what I think it is, they have no reason. But I do fear that they’ll attempt to come after you…all of you…”
“Why?” Willow asked, concerned. “They don’t even know about us, do they?”
Wesley pushed his glasses back onto his face. “The minute you walked in to the hotel I’m sure they alerted a squad to watch us. They have associates in Sunnydale, though keeping an eye on the Slayer hasn’t been a priority for the firm, as far as I know. Their main objective, as far as any of us are concerned, has been Angel.”
“How do you know all this?” Xander asked and Wesley blinked uneasily.
“I have my sources,” was all the ex-Watcher would say. “I suggest we follow Buffy’s proposition and let you all go to your rooms for a few minutes, get something to eat and the like. We can reconvene in a few minutes.”
The Sunnydale group looked grateful and Angel led them up the stairs to the four rooms he had set up. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to bunk together or not…” he told them as they walked down the hall. “There are four rooms ready.”
“I can room with Xander,” Willow offered with a permissive nod from her friend. “If Dawn wants to stay with Buffy.”
“Can I have my own room?” Dawn asked excitedly. “I promise not to trash it.”
Angel glanced at Buffy for the go-ahead “She can have one next to me, if that’s okay,” the Slayer told him.
He nodded and opened a set of double doors for Xander and Willow, leaving them to unpack before moving down the hall and unlocking a door for Dawn, who breezed inside the room giddily. “Are there maids? Room service? Pay-per-view?”
“No,” Buffy and Angel intoned together.
Dawn shrugged and turned, taking a flying leap onto the bed Angel had made up only a few hours earlier. He winced as the headboard banged against the wall with a crash and hurried down the hall.
Buffy hid a smile and followed him to her own room. He opened the door for her, as well, and flipped on the light switch. “Nice,” she said appreciatively, taking a look around. The bed was covered in a rich burgundy comforter, thick and snuggly-looking, and the walls were done in a gold pattern that offset the bedding nicely.
“No mini-bar, but I brought a TV up for you guys,” he told her, pointing to the small television set.
“Thanks…it’s fine. Don’t plan to spend much time here anyway.” She hefted one of her two suitcases up onto the bed and he placed the third on a luggage rack for her. Buffy immediately went to it and unzipped the bag, pulling out an assortment of weapons.
Angel admired the dagger she carelessly tossed on the queen-sized bed. “That’s new…isn’t it?” he asked, suddenly unsure.
She smiled at his hesitation, knowing his memory-loss was making him uncertain. “Yes, it’s new. Just got it a few weeks ago. Fits great in this pair of boots I happened to pick up on the same shopping trip.”
“Boots you just had to have so you could store the dagger,” he guessed with a playful smile.
Now she grinned. “Of course. I haven’t changed that much.”
His eyes turned serious as he stared at her. “I wouldn’t say that,” he murmured.
She stiffened a bit under his scrutiny and turned back to the suitcase before her. “I—I’m just going to change, then we can get going…I’d like to see Faith, too, if you don’t mind a tag-a-long.”
His eyes swept up over her body, unabashedly, and rested on her face. “Of course not. Take your time…I’ll just be downstairs.”
“Okay,” she said faintly.
Angel turned and headed to the double-doors, swinging the right one wide to allow him to pass through. “Let me know if you need anything.”
Gripping a clean shirt in her hands she nodded mutely and he exited the room.
