Angel stepped into the bathroom and removed his shirt carefully, wincing only slightly at the pain in his ripped shoulder. The shirt was trashed and he tossed it without a glance into the can by the sink. Turning his neck as best as possible he strained to see the cut. Now was when a reflection would come in handy. Sighing, he bent down and opened the vanity door, removing cotton gauze and antiseptic. He didn’t need no stinkin’ stitches.
Soaking a cotton ball in the foul-smelling medicine he reached back, hissing as it bubbled, cleaning out the wound. Carefully as he could he wiped away the dried blood and bandaged it.
“Need some help with that?”
He practically jumped at the sound of her voice, whipping around to find Buffy leaning in the doorway to his bathroom. The shirt she was wearing was loose, off the shoulder, and perfectly revealed her neck and collarbone…and his mark. It practically called out to him, but he was used to that. Seeing his bite on her flesh had always stirred his blood.
“No…I got it,” he told her uneasily, turning once again to put away the medical supplies.
“Darn,” she said softly, giving him a coy grin. “And here I thought I’d get the chance to play nurse.”
He stilled momentarily, unsure he’d really heard that teasing tone in her voice or if he was imagining it. Shutting the cabinet door he turned toward her, leaning back against the vanity as she appraised him once again, her eyes blatantly roaming over his stomach, his arms, up to his eyes.
“Did you need something?” he asked her finally, suddenly very aware that he was half-naked.
She cocked an eyebrow flippantly. “I’ll say,” she whispered and turned, walking back into the outer room.
Taking a breath he followed her, looking around for a shirt, any shirt in close range, but there were none. She was seated on his bed and smiling at him saucily when he dared to look back at her. Something was off here. “Have a seat,” she invited, patting the crimson silk bedding at her side.
His blood jolted in his system as he leaned against his desk, folding and unfolding his arms uncomfortably. “I’ll stand,” he informed her.
Her lips pouted prettily and she eased back onto her elbows until she was practically lying on his bed, surrounded by billows of blood-red silk. “How’s the cut?”
“It’ll heal,” he told her stiffly.
“Good. Can’t have you out of commission for whatever’s…coming.” As she spoke her fingers toyed with one of the ties holding her shirt together, running up and down the flimsy material.
He swallowed, his eyes moving to the door for the briefest of seconds, then back to her.
“I shut it…the door, I mean. I’ve seen this all before,” she said, gesturing to his naked chest. “Doesn’t mean everyone in the whole damn place needs to get a look at the goods.”
Dear God…had she managed to get drunk in the ten minutes he’d been upstairs? “Are you okay?”
She laughed now and it sent shivers down his spine. “I’m just in a good mood. We have a lead now, right? On the big evil?”
“Yeah…I guess.”
“So it’s happy times. Plus…I figured you might want some help with that nasty cut. Why don’t you let me take a look at it?”
“I got it--”
“Angel,” she chastised gently. “Don’t be a baby. You can’t see back there.”
“It’s not like I’m going to get an infection,” he groused.
She raised an eyebrow pointedly. “Then why do you use Bactine? Come here.” Her tiny hand thumped down on the mattress and reluctantly he went to her.
When he’d sat next to her, a good few feet away, she grinned and scooted closer until the scent of her invaded his nostrils. “Do you want me to bandage it? The bleeding’s almost stopped but…” she whispered in his ear.
He jumped off the bed. “Okay, what’s going on with you?” he asked, whirling to face her.
“What are you talking about? I’m just trying to help.”
“Then what’s with the…the…lying on the bed…and the little looks you’re giving me? What’s the game?”
She smiled simply. “No game…”
“Then what? Don’t tell me I’m making this up in my head. I can smell it on you.”
Her eyebrow quirked. “Well, that’s something a girl just longs to hear.”
“Quit with the cute talk,” he snapped, frazzled. She smelled like…sex. Arousal. You couldn’t fake that, couldn’t make it up in your head.
“I can see you’re not in the mood to talk,” she pouted with a huff. “When you’ve calmed down a bit, I’ll be in my room.”
She sauntered across the room and opened the door, striding out into the hall even as he called out her name, baffled.
*~*~*
Cordelia Chase was not happy. She was tired, first and foremost, but more than that…she was confused. Since the spell had been thwarted her head was buzzing with a thousand things, all of them screaming for attention at the same time. So help her, if she got a vision now, on top of everything, she was going to kick some heavenly power ass.
Let the others research into the dead of night. She’d put in her hours and noticed she wasn’t the only one sneaking upstairs for a shower or forty winks. They’d gone out without her for a little while.
Taking a seat in one of the chairs in her room so pulled the headband from her shorn, and thanks to Clairol, much darker locks. So much had changed in three years. She wasn’t the girl she’d been stumbling into this town after high school graduation, alone and terrified, yet fully confident she was headed for stardom. Looking back on it now, running into Angel at that party had been a blessing. Not that, back then, she’d have ever let him know that.
But he’d known.
Angel…her friend.
Angel…her…lover?
God. On one level it sounds so right, her inner voice told her.
“Yeah, and on every other level it’s incredibly icky. Like kissing your brother,” she mused out loud, pacing her room. At least she’d gotten on incredible suite when Angel and Fred had moved her into the hotel. “Or worse, kissing your sister.”
Why is that worse?
“Because I’m a girl, and she’s a girl and…oh, shut up!”
You don’t have a sister.
“This is why I used to keep a journal. A written one,” she snapped to no one. “Much quieter.”
I’ll be good.
“Angel’s my friend. I love him. I do…”
But maybe not in that hubba-hubba way?
Cordy sank onto her bed. “I don’t know,” she said softly. “I didn’t really get a good chance to think about it before I was whisked off to Fantasyland for the incredibly dull. I mean…how could it be? Me and Angel?”
He’s pretty hot, the voice admitted.
“He’s…well, yeah. He’s up there. A little bleak in the fashion department, but…”
You care about him.
“Of course I do. He’s my best friend.”
And then there’s Buffy.
“Don’t remind me,” she groused.
When you were under the spell, she’s all Angel could think about. You even helped him try and set things straight.
“I know.”
I mean, that was natural, right? Given the time-frame and everything?
“I know.”
You were on her side there, for a bit…telling him to slow down, not to mess her head up just because three years ago he would have gladly walked into fire for her.
“I know.”
But now you’re wondering.
“Wondering what?”
Wondering if it stirred up feelings…made Angel question if he’s really in a bind over you or if it’s always been about Buffy.
And there it was. How was she ever going to know that what she felt for Angel was really real…or vice-versa…when Buffy was forever in their path? And Groo…he was gone, without a goodbye.
Angel was her best friend, true. And she’d been through more with him than anyone in the world. Working in close quarters does things to a person…look at Doyle. He was a fixer-upper if she’d ever seen one, and yet…
But Doyle was gone, Groo was gone…and Angel was here.
Cursing herself, the world, and most especially Buffy and Angel, she turned over into her pillow and screamed.
*~*~*
Water streamed over Buffy’s back and she let out a delicious sigh. Baths were so over-rated. Standing under the powerful mist she moved the rotating head until the water pulsed against her back, a fabulous massage to her sore Slayer muscles. With half their team abandoning their posts in favor of food, showers and sleep, she’d decided to do the same, not having done much of the three in the last twenty-four hours.
Plus, here she could think.
Alone.
For the first time since they’d arrived in LA she had a minute to herself to work out whatever it was that was going on.
Faith was safe…even if she kept disappearing up to her room or wherever it was she went to be away from the others. Not that Buffy could blame her. The welcoming party had pretty much consisted of Angel and Xander, and Buffy hadn’t made it a point to talk to the girl one on one since she’d be rescued.
“I’m getting to it,” she muttered as she soaped up her hair, closing her eyes under the hot spray.
It’s not like she didn’t have anything going on. Spike was still a prisoner of Wolfram and Hart. And the longer he was a prisoner, the more she worried that his status would change from inmate to willing partner. He was a risk, no doubt about it, no matter what she tried to convince herself of otherwise. But she couldn’t leave him. Not to die, not to make a rash decision to get back at her or whatever vendetta was on his list today. Not one that could end the world.
With girls dying all over the world and pending apocalypse on the menu, that should have been enough.
But no. As always when he was involved, it was Angel who was weighing most heavily on her mind.
Back working together for a day and she was acting like an idiot teenager, pining for his attentions. But that’s what happened when they were together…it was why they couldn’t be in the same city any more, wasn’t it? It used to be, anyway. They had a connection, and she wouldn’t deny it, not for anything.
Having him back…back the way she remembered him being even as he stood in the smoke and turned to leave her for good…it was almost too much. Too much pain, too much heartache, too much love. She’d buried that good and deep long ago. Push it down, block it away, just like everything else. She was the Slayer. Some emotions might be assets, but others were dangerous and more painful than any physical injury she’d sustained.
Loving Angel was like that.
But did she? Still love him?
Her eyes popped open and she rinsed her hair and repeated the lather for a second time. Well…of course she loved him. He was her first big romance, her first lover. That would never change.
But it had been so long. Three years. How could love last that long when you’re not with someone? When you didn’t see them everyday, when you didn’t even talk to them for the better part of a year?
“I sent him to hell for a hundred years and he came back loving me,” she muttered as she ducked to rinse again. Reaching for the conditioner she pulled it through her hair and knotted the tresses up with a clip, going next for the loofah and her favorite bath gel. A hundred years and he came back loving me. I couldn’t wait three months before I moved on to someone who’s now a homosexual.
Sighing with disgust she scrubbed at her slick body until her skin was red.
When he’d kissed her, though…Angel, not Scott…
She leaned against the shower wall. It was like every time they’d kissed. She’d never forgotten what it was like to be with him…to be adored, no, worshipped like that. Angel had a way of making her feel like the only woman in the world. It had been the same this time…and again, almost, in the hall earlier. There was still attraction there.
Attraction wasn’t always enough, though. Hadn’t Spike proven that?
She wouldn’t make Angel another Spike…he wouldn’t be an escape, a mistake. She owed him more than that.
Remembering the shower, and the loofah, she resumed her bath and rinsed her hair, stepping out of the tub to wrap herself in a giant bath sheet. Cracking the door just a bit to vent the room she wiped off the mirror and began running a comb through her hair.
Her mind just wouldn’t leave that kiss in the hallway, damn it. It had been…on fire. Passionate. Sizzling, even. And it made her weak in the knees even now, to have been held in the arms of someone who didn’t want anything from her, who only wanted to love her.
“No, no no!” she muttered, throwing the comb into the sink and burying her head in her hands. That was three years ago to him. Back when things between us were still fresh. We hadn’t been apart that long, we hadn’t gotten over each other yet.
Frustrated she opened the door and stomped out into the bedroom.
“I—Oh, god…Buffy…” Angel stammered, mouth open as he stared at her.
He was standing in the middle of her room.
She was wearing a towel. And only a towel. And dripping all over the floor.
