Wait...What?

“Cordelia came in this morning,” Wesley informed Angel, in a low voice so as to not wake the sleeping girl. He had no idea why Dawn suddenly showed up in LA, but knew he wasn’t going to get anything out of Angel on the subject. Instead, Wes eyed his friend critically, noting that the vampire probably hadn’t moved from his position in his favorite chair since about four this morning when he stood from the book he was reading and announced he was going upstairs.  

Wes was hoping that his friend would at least attempt to sleep, but that didn’t seem to be the case. To coin a Cordelia phrase, Duh! He should have known better, Wes admitted. His friend was brooding, that much was clear no matter how vehemently Angel tried to deny it. Was it over Cordelia and the love spell? Had his vampiric friend really developed romantic feelings for Cordy? Or was it the fact that Wolfram & Hart was trying something completely new to rid Angel of his soul? Or the sudden appearance of Dawn and the inevitable thoughts of Buffy?  

“Oh?” Angel said the word, but made no attempt to do anything more.  

During the night, they’d tried to figure out – sans Cordelia – what spell had been cast on the couple; they already knew the answer as to who cast the spell – Wolfram & Hart. And even if Lorne’s dream hadn’t confirmed that, they’d all assumed it anyway. Wes was beginning to think the law firm needed a new project. Trying to bring forth Angelus was tired already. Besides, from everything Wes read, and his one brief acquaintance with the demon, Angelus didn’t really play well with others. He liked to be in charge, not bow like a lackey to the Senior Partners.  

“Yes, she told Fred that since you probably wouldn’t be showing your face before this afternoon, it was safe and her buried memories could stay buried. Apparently, she had things to finish that she hadn’t gotten too yesterday, what with…everything and all. And wanted to do it before leaving for, and I quote, ‘A company paid trip to anywhere but here,’ unquote”  

Angel nodded his unfocused gaze still on the bed in the other room where Dawn continued to sleep. Only listening with half an ear to what his friend was saying, Angel continued to think of the past few years, the mistakes he’d made, the joy he’d had, the friends he’d made…and lost. He had a lot to tell Buffy that was the majority of what he’d thought about during the long night and early morning hours. A lot about how he felt and why they should try to get back together despite the myriad obstacles before them; he desperately needed her if the past year was any indication.  

But there was still one thing that bothered him the most.  

Dawn said that it wasn’t sex that caused Angel to lose his soul and she was right. It was contentment, an end to the constant screams from Angelus’ victims. It was being in Buffy’s arms as she held him, accepted him. It was knowing that no matter what happened, she accepted him and that no matter what he’d done in his past, she would continue to do so.  

Perfect happiness wasn’t an orgasm, it was knowing that the woman he loved, loved him – all of him, Liam, Angelus, Angel – back. And knowing that that love would never change would never die.  

Therefore, if finding out that Buffy was dead shattered him, destroyed him to the point where even Angel didn’t know himself, then finding out she was alive should have mended everything. The moment those words were out of Cordelia’s mouth – “It’s Buffy, she’s alive!” Angel should have been gone, back to the aether, and Angelus should have been the one to greet Buffy in their cabin by the beach. The fact that it hadn’t happened, that Angel was still within his body and Angelus was a ferocious growl (he didn’t like Cordelia and certainly didn’t like that Angel wasn’t with Buffy because hey, vicariousness was the way to go, it seemed) in the back of his mind scared Angel.  

If he truly loved Buffy, still, then shouldn’t that have happened? Shouldn’t that moment of happiness Angel knew he experienced have been enough to rip him from his body? Oh, he’d spent the last months rationalizing why that had not happened: he was wary of the magicks Willow used to bring Buffy back, he was unbearably sad knowing that Buffy had been in heaven and that her so-called friends had pulled her from eternal contentment without a thought to where she was.  

The fact that he hadn’t known, undeniably, where Buffy resided in the afterlife until they met was beside the point. Angel knew that Buffy, the sole light of his life, was in heaven. Any place else was unthinkable. He was cautious, was another rational, cautious because he knew that believing too much in this miracle would get them all in a world of pain and hurt in the arms of Angelus.  

None of it mattered.  

The simple fact was that in the instant Cordelia told him Buffy was alive, and goddess help him, Angel could even now feel the uninhibited joy that lanced through him as he raced from the gardens to the phone. Yes, he felt such an unbridled moment of pure happiness, Angel knew, he knew, his soul should have been gone from this body. But that hadn’t happened. The second he heard her voice he should have screamed in pain as his soul was tore from him; the moment he laid eyes on her Angelus should have been there to welcome her back to the world she’d left.  

It didn’t happen that way and Angel never confided in anyone his fears, never told them that he was deathly afraid that he no longer loved Buffy enough to lose his soul with her. That was inconceivable to him, Angel knew he loved the blonde slayer more than even his own life, but….Then again, that should have told him he still did love Buffy in that all consuming way, but Angel was too desperate to figure out why he was still there to truly dwell on it until now.  

Strangely enough, no one asked why he hadn’t experienced a moment of happiness at her resurrection, not even Buffy. Was that why she hadn’t pressed the issue of his leaving again? Because she had the same fears?  

And really, that was quite the catch 22 wasn’t it? Now he could be with her without worrying about the consequences, and yet how to explain that? ‘Oh, hey, Buffy, I love you, but it seems that I don’t love you enough to lose my soul. Wanna shag?’  

Of course, then there was the fact that Angel knew he still loved Buffy. He knew he did because the thought of her with another torn at him. The thought of living without her for another instant was intolerable even if Angel knew it still had to be so. And all this, this huge circle, this catch 22, all led him to stay away from her when he sensed she needed him. She needed his support and love; she needed only him after she returned.  

When Dawn showed up, his first thought, after all, was of Buffy. Well, granted, after that horrible spell was removed. Angel shuddered and willed himself not to think of it. (Repression, repression, repression, that was the key.) He ignored Angelus’ taunting laughter as well over the whole debacle. Repression, repression…  

Angel continued to stare at Dawn, ignoring Wesley and wondering what he was going to do next. That was when he felt it. That tingle that raced across his dead skin, sparking life within him that only one other could ever spark.  

“Buffy?” He didn’t realize he’d said her name aloud and Wes looked at him in confusion.  

“No, we were talking about Cordelia.” The former watcher said.  

Standing, Angel moved quietly to the door, careful not to wake Dawn. He never heard Wes’ words, didn’t realize that his friend was right behind him as he moved out the room and down the hall.  

The second he did, he knew he was right. Nothing else mattered in that moment, nothing but the driving need to see her again. She was here, the object of his desires and thoughts, right there as if conjured specifically for him from his musings. He knew she was, he felt it, which put to rest any absurd thoughts that he no longer loved her. If he didn’t love her anymore then he wouldn’t feel her, right? It made sense and the relief Angel felt at that observation was almost overwhelming.  

As he neared the stairs, Wesley right behind him, Angel heard Gunn shouting. “Hey, what’d you do to her?” And Fred ask in that timid voice of hers, “Did she have a vision?”  

Moving faster, Angel was halfway down the steps when he ground to a halt, too abrupt a stop to prevent him from stumbling the rest of the way into the lobby. Wes moved more cautiously, scanning the scene with a practiced eye and noting that in addition to the strange man holding Cordelia as if she were the most precious thing to him, was Buffy. Speak of the devil.  

“Nothing, man,” the Irish voice said and Angel thought he was going crazy. Was he in hell again? Hallucinating as the denizens of the underworld taunted him with images he knew would never come true? “She fainted and I caught her.”  

“Doyle…?” Angel hadn’t realized that he moved further into the room, closer to his mate and (once) dead friend. Actually, Angel hadn’t realized that he could move such was his shock.  

At the sound of the vampire’s voice, a hoarse croak that sounded hopefully painful, the group looked to him. Buffy took a step forward, whispering his name in that voice she always used, hope and love, need and anticipation, before moving back to Doyle’s side in a show of solidarity that wasn’t lost on the vampire. Gunn and Fred, who stood quietly beside her lover, stared in silence at their boss and Wesley took the whole thing in, equally silent.  

Just then, Cordelia began to stir in Doyle’s arms and everyone’s attention swung back to her. “What the…?” She sat up, the past few moments a little blurred. Had she had a vision? She didn’t remember it if that was the case. Looking up into the face of the man whose arms were wrapped tightly around her, Cordelia smiled.  

Then screamed.

She started trembling and tried to speak, but wasn’t sure the words that left her mouth were coherent in any way, shape, or form. The thought that she was crazy was strong in her mind, but more, the thought that maybe miracles really did come true.  

“Doyle?! Wait, you, but you, and then you kissed me and there was light and then you were gone-” Sputtering her words out, Cordelia pushed at his arms until he released her and she stumbled a step or two backwards, hiding behind Buffy who she at least knew was alive. Now. Again. Whatever.  

“Wait, what?” Fred asked, now seriously confused. What happened to her nice little world of yesterday where Angel loved Cordy, and Cordy loved Angel and there were no spells and no obvious fright at an attractive man who continued to look at Cordelia lovingly. And who was the blonde?  

Angel swung his gaze back to Buffy as if she had the answers he sought. “Buffy?”  

Fred stared at the blonde she’d just been wondering over with a smidgen of jealously. Oh, so this was Buffy? She was…mildly pretty, in a blonde way. Then who was this Doyle? She read all the files Angel Investigations had and his name wasn’t listed in any case she’d looked at. Oh, wait, yes it was, from a couple of years ago. Allen Francis Doyle, half Bracchan demon, died while trying to save…wait, what? Died? Fred idly wondered if anyone stayed dead around here.  

Meanwhile, Cordelia was hyperventilating, having moved from behind Buffy who had moved closer to Doyle and was now leaning against the reception desk and staring at Doyle. Doyle, for his part, looked like he wanted to preserve this moment forever. She was chanting ‘Doyle’ over and over again like it was going to help in some way.  

Buffy turned to her new friend and smirked, “You’d think that after all she saw she’d be used to this kind of thing.”  

That snapped Cordelia out of her shock and she snapped her mouth closed. Doyle smiled and said, “Hi ya, Princess,” and braced himself when Cordelia threw herself across the few feet separating them and into his arms. A woman of many contradictions that was his princess.  

Buffy raised an eyebrow and turned back to Angel. He had a bemused expression on his face and took a step or two towards the embracing couple. Stopping next to Buffy, he looked at her, at a loss for words. Doyle was whispering to Cordelia and Angel didn’t want to intrude even if he could make out what they were saying. Vamp hearing and all. He desperately wanted to see his friend, talk with him, hug him hello just to see that he was alive, for real. But he didn’t.  

If anything Angel understood the scene before him. He understood seeing the one you loved after such a space of time, believing them dead. Angel knew Cordelia needed this time with Doyle and knew, however much he wanted his own time with his friend, his first true friend, that Doyle needed time with the woman he loved.  

“Buffy?” It was all he could utter and he tried to put all the confusion he felt over the situation plus all the love he still held for her into the one word. Maybe she had some answers.  

“He showed up in my living room early this morning, Angel,” Buffy admitted. “Just appeared there in a burst of light, naked and alive and claiming that he saw you just yesterday. He was anxious to return to LA, especially once the whole time thing was sorted out, so here we are.” She glanced at her watch and asked anxiously, “Can I use your phone? Dawn’s missing and Willow and Tara were double-checking with her friends when I left.”  

Angel nodded, still dazed then shook his head. “Buffy, wait.” When she looked back at him, he jerked his head in the direction of his rooms. “Dawn’s here, Buffy,” he raised his hands to ward off the explosion he saw coming. “She showed up last night and well, we were in the middle of something.” He ignored Gunn’s snort of amusement and Buffy’s raised eyebrow.  

“I’ll tell you later,” he promised, not looking forward to that one damn bit, “I was going to call you this morning but well,” he gestured to her as if saying, here you are.  

“Here, Dawn’s here?” Torn between anger that her little sister had taken off in the first place and that Angel knew she was here and hadn’t called – despite his valid reasons, she was sure – and the fact that Dawn was obviously alive and safe, Buffy walked quickly to the stairs. “Where?”  

With one last glance at the still embracing couple – Angel wondered how long it was going to take Cordelia to start the questioning – he led Buffy to the second floor and his rooms. Quietly opening the outer door, he waved her closer, pointing to the bedroom door, which stood ajar. Dawn was still sleeping peacefully in his bed, wrapped in the blanket he’d thrown over her.  

For a moment, Buffy felt an unreasonable surge of jealously at her sister. Dawn was the one to sleep in Angel’s bed; her little sister was the one to breathe in his unique Angel-scent, his Angelness, when Buffy couldn’t, when she was forced to endure night after night without him. Without his comfort and love, without his cool embrace and loving touch. Her life sucked.  

Backing out of the room, Buffy leaned against the wall, shutting her eyes against the image of her baby sister in her once-lover’s bed and the accompanying jealously that refused to leave her even as she was awash in relief that her baby sister was safe. Angel closed the bedroom door and turned to her, suddenly at a loss for words despite his all night thinking (brooding) marathon. He had no idea how to begin what was sure to be a long drawn out and probably angsty conversation.  

How, exactly, did one go about confessing utter stupidity?  

Buffy let the events of the morning rush through her and wondered if she could persuade Angel to allow her the same luxury as her sister. Would he be willing to hold her as she slept? She’d had such a long day already and could feel the alcohol-induced headache returning. All the breath left her when Angel placed his hands on her shoulders, drawing her closer to him as if reading her mind.  

He held her there, a little uncertain at first, but then her head tucked under his chin where it belonged, her body molded to his, her arms around his waist. This, he thought, this was right, this was real, this was true.  

“Have you and Doyle been drinking?” He asked eventually as the silence played out between them.  

It was still semi-uncomfortable, there was a lot between them, but Buffy realized several things during her drinking binge with Doyle. And one was that Angel was the best thing to ever happen to her, despite the years and tears between them. 

“Yeah, on the way here,” Buffy said as she thought of Lost Souls once more. What a strange little place that was. “We found an opened bar before dawn this morning, don’t ask me where or how, and drank Irish Whisky and spilled our lives to each other in the oddest therapy I’ve ever had.”  

Angel chuckled at that, forcing the automatic Buffy shouldn’t drink thoughts away – she never had any luck with alcohol. He also held the jealously that Buffy could talk with his no longer dead friend and not himself at bay. If he had any say in it, they’d talk before she left to return Dawn to Sunnydale…before returning to him. If there was anything his all night thinking (brooding) marathon taught him, it was that the separation between them needed to end.  

“And was it as therapeutic as you hoped?”  

“Enlightening, I’d say. It was most definitely enlightening.” Which reminded her… “Speaking of,” Buffy said her voice accusing as she pulled almost out of his embrace. Almost but not quite; she was so comfortable there she couldn’t bear to move away completely. “Is there something you’d like to tell me?”  

“There’s a lot I want to tell you, Buffy,” Angel said honestly, his fingers running over her spine, tangling in her hair, making Buffy weak in the knees. “A lot that I’ve thought of over the past few hours that I want to share with you.”  

“Any of that have to do with being human for a day?”  
**********  
Angel stared at Buffy in shock as his mouth worked silently trying to find an answer for her. “What?”  

How on earth had she known about that? Doyle, of course. So, along with the myriad questions Angel had on Doyle’s resurrection, not to mention why Wolfram & Hart would want him to think he, Angel, loved Cordelia enough to lose his soul to her, plus the less mystical aspect of Dawn running away, Angel now had to deal with a day he’d hope to someday repeat. And this time not be forced to give it back.  

Buffy continued to look at him, her face unreadable, and her eyes holding a careful blankness that warned Angel of the impending tongue-lashing he was most likely about to receive. Ah, but she did have a talented tongue, when used certain – suddenly aching – parts of his anatomy.  

“I wanted to tell you…but I couldn’t and it didn’t really seem appropriate, what with Riley and all, and then,” Angel still held her as he tried to justify his actions. Was there any justification? At the time, he’d thought so but now, confessing to her, holding her after so long, after so many things, Angel wasn’t so sure. “Then Doyle died and well, you were moving on and I, I was…”  

“It’s okay, Angel, I understand.” At his incredulous look, Buffy smiled and slipped her fingers into his hand, leading him slowly out of the room and back into the hallway. His hand felt so right in hers and it was so easy to slip back into old habits such as touching him like this.  

Barely five minutes had passed between them leaving and now, but Buffy had a feeling that Doyle was going to need her. Or maybe it was the way Cordelia was eerily silent. The slayer thought for sure that they’d hear her screeching explosion all the way in Cleveland.  

“Doyle explained to me everything you told him. I wish I could remember it, Angel,” she admitted wistfully. “And I wish you’d consulted me on it!” This was said fiercely and with a sharp jab to his ribs. As they descended the stairs to where Angel’s gang stood around Doyle and Cordelia, who looked as if she wanted to punch the Irishman, Buffy gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “We’ll talk about it more, trust me on that.”  

“I couldn’t tell you Buffy,” Angel told her quickly and quietly as they slowly approached the group. “If I did, I knew you’d talk me out of it and that would mean something would happen to you. I couldn’t let that happen, you know that.” He pulled her to a stop before they were close enough for the other’s to overhear their exchange. This wasn’t exactly the place he wanted to have this conversation, but since it had been brought up, now would have to do.  

“Being human meant that I couldn’t defend you like I could as a vampire. And I had to protect you, Buffy, I couldn’t go on not doing the one thing I know I was meant to do.”  

Buffy nodded, pushing aside her tears and her anger over the situation. They’d have plenty of time to discuss everything later. She’d make sure of that. Now was for other things. “I have to call home and let them know I found Dawn.”  

Angel nodded and led her to his office before returning to the still silent group. Eerily silent, actually, and he was growing more nervous by the moment.  

“Doyle.”  

Doyle looked up and smiled, skirting the still glaring Cordelia and crossing the small distance to his friend, clasping him in a tight embrace. Pulling back, the former seer said. “It’s good to see ya again, Angel. Even though it seems like only a few days, I’m told it’s been quite a few years.”  

Angel nodded, and resisted pulling Doyle back in his arms for another hug. Just to make sure his friend was well and truly alive. Really, after everything that happened to him in the past few years, Angel felt he could hardly be blamed for that.  

“How…? Do you remember anything?” Angel had so many questions, but had no idea how to ask any of them.  

“I remember punching you,” Doyle said with a sly grin as Gunn snickered. He’d only just met the younger man, but his sense of humor was something Doyle could appreciate. “Then kissing Cordelia,” Doyle looked back at the still silent woman in question as Buffy reentered the room, “Then pulling that machine apart,” he shuddered here in remembered pain. “Then waking up in Buffy’s living room.”  

“Naked,” Buffy added and grinned as everyone turned to look at her, Angel glaring at her revelation. “And covered with burns that healed almost instantly.”

Buffy eyed Cordelia carefully, noting the look on her face and carefully moved the few feet to where Angel stood. That look was well known and dangerous and Buffy didn’t want to be anywhere near when the other woman exploded. Buffy didn’t have to wait long, as soon as she was again by Angel’s side Cordelia opened her mouth.  

“You!” She said, pushing herself away from the counter to stalk towards Doyle. The effect was scarily convincing, definitely reminiscent of a younger Cordelia Chase whose sharp tongue and mostly stinging wit had everyone in Sunnydale High quivering in her wake. The click of her heels did nothing to detract from the effect, in fact the echo added to her performance.  

“You kissed me, and I thought it meant something! I thought you really meant those words, that love you spouted and what do I find?” She was right in his face now and all anyone could do was gape in amazement.  

“Queen C is on a tear,” Wesley said in a staged whisper as he settled in to watch. Whenever her wrath wasn’t directed at him, Cordelia was always amusing to observe.  

“You gave me those visions! You…you knew! You knew that was what’d happen and you gave me these brain breaking visions!” Her finger kept poking the Irishman in the chest; said Irishman took it all with a silly grin on his face. “You could have warned me! But no, you just jumped across to that stupid machine and did the whole noble thing. What were you thinking?”  

She paused for breath and Doyle jumped in. “I was thinking to save you, Delia. That ‘stupid machine’ would have killed you and all the others in the area. I couldn’t let you die…”  

Cordelia looked at him in shock, all her scathing words deserting her in an instant. She wasn’t mad, really, but overjoyed at Doyle’s apparent resurrection. Well, that and the small fact that maybe with his resurrection she wouldn’t have the visions any longer. Okay, so she was mad, he died, sacrificed himself as only heroes were suppose to and left her alone with Mr. Broody-pants himself, one more item on the Brood List to rival all lists.  

Still, Cordelia had missed him and was more than happy to see him again. Even if he was a contrary Irishman with a penchant for too much alcohol and stupid heroics.  

The group was partly amazed at the stunned silence currently emanating from Cordelia at this latest revelation and wondered how long it would last this time. Buffy slipped her hand into Angel’s, squeezing it. She knew what Doyle was talking about because it was why she jumped from that tower for Dawn. Why she was willing to face the First Evil for Angel, why Angel had given up that day they’d both been human. For the one they loved.  

“Oh, great, nobility,” Cordelia whispered, but you could hear the tears there. “Why did you have to be the hero, Doyle?” 

Gently gathering the woman before him in his arms, Doyle whispered, “Because I couldn’t let you die, because I realized why Angel did what he did, why he gave back that day as a human; to protect the one he loved.”  

Completely breaking down, Cordelia Chase did something she’d only ever done twice before, once when Doyle died, and once when Buffy did a year and a half later. She cried. Cried in the presence of others, not caring that her makeup was ruined, that they could see her weaknesses, and that they were all looking at her. She cried in the arms of the only man she’d ever really let herself become close to, though he never knew it.  

Fred looked on in silence, frantically revising all her previous conceptions about the people she thought she knew. Angel didn’t love Cordelia, not with the way he acted with that slayer girl. Cordelia, the woman Fred never imagined ever cried, sobbed like a baby in the arms of a man recently returned from the dead. And how exactly does that happen? It was so frequent that the former slave wondered if just anyone could do it, or you needed a special subject.  

Like Buffy, she was the slayer, and the world needed a slayer. Fred frowned, wasn’t there another one? Still, and Doyle…well, he was the one to give the visions to Cordelia, so maybe he was brought back from the dead to…take them back? No, no that didn’t make sense, plus there was that whole Darla thing Gunn and Cordy told her about, and Darla was a mean vampire, so there’d be no reason to bring her back from the dead, right?  

So then, what were the criteria? And, Fred wondered as Doyle led Cordelia into Angel’s office, closing the door behind them, how had her world turned so violently within the last day?  

“Um, so he’s back from the dead, too?” She asked, her curiosity burning for satisfaction. “Is this a common thing with you people?”  

“I thought you said he was half demon,” Gunn said, as they all ignored Fred’s question. Not out of meanness or spite, but because the obvious answer was…yes.  

“Yeah, Bracchan demon,” Angel said, his eyes still glued to the closed door even as his hand gripped Buffy’s in an effort not to interrupt his friends’ reunion. Was it unreasonable to want time with Doyle, too?  

“Is that like the vamp thing then,” Gunn continued over a yawn, “Where he can hide it?”  

“Something like that,” Angel agreed, pulling his eyes from the office. He didn’t want to listen to their conversation, but he very much wanted time with Doyle. The Irishman was his friend, too.  

“Did he say anything, Buffy,” Wesley asked in full Watcher mode, “About what happened to him? Where he’d been during the two years he was, ah…?”  

Buffy blanched, visibly paling under the watcher’s questions but mutely shook her head. She wasn’t ready to share anything Doyle told her for one, but deeper, she didn’t want to think about death, hers, his, anyone’s, or their coming back from that death. Doyle hadn’t remembered where he’d been, not like Buffy had. For his sake, the slayer hoped that it hadn’t been heaven, that he hadn’t been ripped from the peace she’d known there.  

“Ah, no,” she whispered, clutching Angel’s hand like a lifeline.  

“Wes,” Angel said to his friend, his dark gaze piercing the human. “I think that those questions are for Doyle, and only if he wants to answer them.”  

Wesley, immediately realizing what he’d done, nodded. He opened his mouth to apologize to the still pale and shaking slayer, now wrapped in Angel’s strong arms, but couldn’t force the words to leave his mouth. How did one go about apologizing to a woman he’d only wanted to help? One he’d failed miserably but now wanted to find some common ground with?  

This, obviously, wasn’t the way to go about it. Angel never said anything about Buffy’s resurrection, then again, the way he and Cordelia mocked their relationship, Wes couldn’t blame the vampire. He’d assumed, like her friends, that she’d been sucked into Glory’s hell dimension. Giles never said anything about it, too torn over the death of his slayer, his daughter, to discuss it and Wesley couldn’t blame the older man.  

In the moments they stood there, Buffy’s shaking gradually subsiding under Angel’s loving embrace; Wesley wondered how he could have possibly been so blind. So wrong. Buffy wasn’t in hell, she hadn’t been sucked into Glory’s hell dimension. She’d been in heaven, where she belonged, where slayers go because what greater force for good was there?  

Oh, he’d been a blind thoughtless fool! Wesley scolded himself as Buffy turned back to the group, only the faintest hint in her eyes betraying the depth of pain she felt. And now he’d allowed his brain to run away, to ask stupid questions he should know better than to ask. And still he had no way to apologize to her.  

Drawing a deep breath, Buffy said, more to Angel than the rest of his friends, “I called Willow and Tara.” She wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, but she also wasn’t sure she could actually face them, not after breaking down in front of them. A quick look at Wesley showed her that he understood what he’d done, what he’d said with his unintentional words but couldn’t find a way to apologize to her. That was fine with Buffy, so long as he realized it.  

“They’ll be here around four or so,” she continued with a quick smile at her former watcher, “Assuming Xander gets out of work on time. When I talked to her, Tara mentioned something about a strange dream she had about Doyle.” Apparently, the blonde witch had fallen asleep while waiting to re-call Dawn’s friends, not that Buffy blamed her; she was exhausted, too.  

Angel traced the deep circles under her eyes with a gentle thumb and Buffy thought she’d break down again. She was exhausted, mentally and physically. Between the thing with Spike she’d – thankfully – broken off weeks ago (what had she been thinking?), then this whole Dawn rebellion thing, the slayer wasn’t sure she was cut out to be anything more than that, the slayer. Buffy wasn’t so good at the juggling act.  

“Why don’t you guys go home, or crash in the spare rooms upstairs. It’s been a long night,” Angel said, turning to his friends but not releasing Buffy. “And I think we need to rest before researching anymore.”  

His carefully worded order wasn’t lost on the men, and Gunn nodded. “I’ll stay here; it’ll be easier than heading home again.” He didn’t add, though it was obvious, that he wanted to be on hand for any further excitement. These past hours, he admitted, were better than anything that happened since Angel kicked Darla out of town.  

Wes nodded his agreement as well. “I think I’ll take my guest room, Angel, as most of my research materials are in,” he jerked his head in the direction of the still closed office door. “I’ll take whatever is in my office and see you in a few hours.”  

But Fred, caught up in yet another mystery and wondering if they were connected, asked, “Do you think Doyle’s return has anything to do with the spell that made you and Cordelia think you were in love?”  

Buffy felt her world spin as she turned towards Angel. “Wait…love? What?”

Now I Remember Why I Don't Like You

To Coin A Sunnydale Phrase: Duh! Index        Christine's Page        Home