A Celtic Dance (Part 2) by Safarigirl
Convincing Joyce Summers to let her daughter go traipsing off to Ireland in the company of one rather unstable vampire had taken some time. In the end, it had required the combined weight of Giles' best British earnestness, Willow's assurance that she'd keep Buffy up-to-date on schoolwork, and Buffy's own promise to call every day and keep her stakes close at hand, to win her over. Once Angel pointed
out that his family had an extensive collection of early Celtic art that Joyce could use in her gallery, she even became somewhat enthusiastic about the whole affair. It was Joyce who suggested to Principal Snyder that Buffy ought to do a special paper on Irish culture, to make up for missing school.
Snyder had agreed readily. In fact, he seemed far too eager to get Buffy out of the school for a few weeks. Buffy shrugged mentally. If Principal Snyder was up to something, it could wait. For now she was (mostly) free.
She was waiting for Angel in the departures lounge at the airport. He'd given her the ticket and left, saying he still had arrangements to make. Buffy chewed her lip, and tried to count the time zones. It would be about 7 am in New York when they landed there. How would Angel avoid the daylight?
Her mom and friends had come to see her off. Willow, Oz in tow, had commandeered all the tourist information on Ireland she could find, and was now marking places of interest that she hoped Buffy
would get to see. Her mom and Giles were deep in conversation, though what they had to talk about, Buffy couldn't imagine.
Ever since that time they ate the doctored band candy, her Watcher and her mother had studiously avoided one another.
Xander, late as always, strode down the long concourse towards her. In a loose pastel shirt and baggy
jeans, he looked like Angel's direct opposite.
Xander's face was serious as he approached her.
"So, Buffy, you're going to Ireland?" He asked, just a little too casually.
Eyebrow raised, she replied, "Yeah."
"With Angel."
"Yeah."
"To his ancestral home, so to speak."
Xander stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his feet.
"Yes, Xander - do you have a point?"
"Do I have a point? Why yes, I believe I do: What are you thinking?"
He thrust one large thin hand through his curly black hair.
"In case you've forgotten, Angel's not exactly Mr. Reliable these days. And Ireland is a strange place. Who knows how it will affect him? What'll you do if you find that it's good ol' Angelus you're facing, on his home turf, instead of good ol' Dead Boy? You'll be all alone in a foreign country, and I won't be there to protect you."
Buffy carefully hid her smile. Xander, protect her? As if.
"I'm sure Angel will be fine, and we won't be there all that long anyway. We fly in, hit the ancestral homestead, put a cork in this portal thing and fly home. No sweat."
Xander, however, was now in full cry and could not be stopped.
"All I'm saying is watch yourself. Maybe I should come with you. After all, you know what they say about Irish men."
"No, what do they say about Irish men?" Angel asked.
He'd glided up behind Xander in that silent way of his, and now stood, arms crossed, waiting for the younger man to answer the question.
"That they're great to have beside you in a fight," Xander answered without missing a beat.
He gave Buffy a farewell hug.
"Take care. And if things get out of hand -" he shot a meaningful glance at Angel - "call me."
"Sure, Xand. Thanks. Take care yourself."
There was a flurry of farewells, with the Slayerettes promising to keep the Slayage happening in Sunnydale, and then Buffy turned to Angel.
"Where's your ticket? The plane is almost leaving."
He looked slightly embarrassed. "I'm not going on the plane with you."
"What?"
"I'm flying FedEx."
She thought about that for a second. "You're shipping yourself there?!?"
Her boyfriend shrugged. "Safest way for me to fly. They don't ask any awkward questions, either."
She rolled her eyes. "I don't believe it. How will I find you in Dublin?"
"I'll meet you at the car rental counter."
Less than 24 hours later, the Slayer found herself rolling through the lush green Irish countryside.
At least, she assumed it was lush and green. She really couldn't tell in the dark. Angel was
driving carefully along the narrow, stonewalled roads. Now and then he spoke, pointing out some
ancient ruin or battlefield that he thought she would find interesting. She rolled the window down
and inhaled the soft, damp air. It had an indescribable sweetness, thin and clear after the smog of
California.
They rolled into Galway town about midnight. Angel pulled up at Porter's Inn.
"I can't believe this place is still here," he remarked. "It was old when I was alive."
That brought Buffy up with a start. It was one thing to know Angel was over two hundred forty
years old, it was quite another to be confronted with such solid evidence of it. Porter's Inn was a
neat, snug fieldstone establishment, with a grey slate roof. A trim, forest green sign over the door
proudly proclaimed that the Inn was Est. 1605, whatever that meant. Slightly dazed, Buffy
followed Angel through the painted wooden door.
The landlord came forward to greet them. He was as trim and prosperous looking as his inn, and
Buffy couldn't help thinking that the man would have fit right into one of those Merchant and
Ivory period films. From a room off the tiny foyer, the lilting sound of fiddle music wafted through
the air.
As Angel registered them - in separate rooms, Buffy was relieved to note - she couldn't suppress
a tiny thrill of excitement. This was where her boyfriend had taken the first horrible steps on his
road to hell, but it was also his childhood home. She was suddenly eager to explore the town, to
find out all she could about Angel and his people.
Something Angel said had caught the landlord's attention.
"Are ye a de Burgo now? You wouldn't be related to the lot what built the castle, would ye now?
Ye have the look of the Burkes on ye, young man."
Angel shifted from foot to foot under the landlord's measuring stare. It wasn't possible for
vampires to blush, Buffy knew, but if her boyfriend could have, he would have been lobster-red at
that moment. Finally he nodded. The landlord smiled in satisfaction.
"Ah, sure I thought so. In fact," he leaned closer to the vampire, "ye have an uncanny
resemblance to ould Lord de Burgo's son. Poor lad, he died mysteriously just before the entire
family was murdered in their beds one night. That was the end of the main bloodline. Some
distant cousins of the lord, Burkes they were, took over his duties and the castle soon after."
Buffy's spine prickled. Could this information help them with the portal?
"How long ago was this?"
"Eh? Oh now ye're askin', miss. It must have been near two hundred forty years ago. A bad
business it was. Galway was never the same again."
Angel cringed even further into the collar of his leather jacket. Buffy felt as if someone had hit
her in the back of the head with a plank. The landlord was talking about Angel's death as if it
were yesterday! She took a deep breath and smiled nervously at the man.
"Wow. Two hundred years ago. You really know your history."
The landlord made a "don't mind me" gesture. "Not at all. Everyone in Galway knows the history
of the Burkes, or the de Burgos as they used to be called. They were one of the fourteen tribes
of Galway, once." For a moment his cheerful good humour was replaced by an air of infinite
sadness.
"None of them left, now. The last Burke living in the castle was a crusty bachelor. No woman
could get near him, and he with that big castle to look after. He died a few days ago. Choked on
a chicken bone. Sad, terrible sad. He was all right, for an oul' crank." As swiftly as it came, the
landlord's melancholy vanished. He picked up Buffy's suitcase.
"But here I am blithering on, and the two of you dropping out your standing with tiredness! I don't
know where me manners are. I'll show ye to your rooms."
Late as it was, Buffy felt restless after the long flight. When she finished unpacking, she sat on
the bed in the little white room she'd been given, and wondered if she should patrol here.
She was about to ask Angel if he felt up for it, when the vamp knocked on her door.
"May I come in?"
"Sure." She smiled up at the dead man she loved. "I was just thinking of stretching my legs for a
bit. Wanna come?"
"Why not?" He held his pale hand out to her. She took it, and they headed out into the Galway
night.
As they slowly explored the old city, Angel kept up a running commentary of the places he'd
been and the things he'd done here, as boy, man, and vampire. Buffy listened and watched his
profile in the moonlight. His pale face seemed to change as they walked, seemed more relaxed
and more sad at the same time. She stopped thinking of him as out-of-place, the way he was in
Sunnydale. Once, he had been of this place, and the very earth beneath their feet seemed to
recognize and accept him as her own.
They stood by the harbour wall and stared across the moonlit bay at the Claddagh. Angel waved
his arm in a wide sweep that encompassed the whole scene.
"Well, this is where I'm from, Buff. What d'ye think of it, now?" It was strangely important to him
that she like the city. Almost as if her approval of it would mean she approved of him, too, Angel
thought. He hadn't known until now that he needed her approval as well as her love.
She leaned her arms on the stone and absorbed the tranquil loveliness of white moon on blue
water, with whitewashed cottages like huge clamshells glowing on the opposite shore, and
thought about it.
"I think you really are a part of this place. It's in you," she said, gazing over her pink-clad shoulder
at him.
He shook his head. "It was, and I was, but now I'm just local history. You heard the landlord
tonight."
"Yeah." She frowned. "It gave me a wiggins. How come he knew so much about you?"
Angel shook his head. "Get used to it. Everybody who lives here know everything about
everybody else, back to the furthest generation. It's how they live."
She snorted. "Nosy, much? What if someone recognizes you?"
He put reassuring hands on her shoulders. "They'll just put it down to a family resemblance. I'll
tell then I'm a cousin from America. Don't worry about it."
She leaned into his arms as he continued, "Someone wrote a novel about the way we get into
everybody's business, once. It's called The Valley of the Squinting Windows. Good book,
actually."
She chuckled. "Cool title, anyway. So when do we go do this portal thing?"
He sighed. How he wished they could just enjoy the moment! "I'll call Giles tomorrow. He's
working out the exact timing. It'll be soon, though."
Buffy shivered in his arms. She wasn't sure she wanted to do this job at all. It would have been
nice, she thought, if Angel and I could have just come here for fun. We've never really had a
holiday together. Something Hellmouthy always pops up.
| Part 3 |
Back to Fanfic main |
