TITLE: The Deal.

AUTHOR: Kelly Rowe

DISCLAIMER: Buffy, Angel and the gang belong to the evil Joss and I only own the characters I make up. In a perfect world however I would own all of them, Buffy and Angel wouldn't have broken up and Riley would never have existed.

RATING: PG

SPOILERS: Long Ago Series. General BTVS, ATS

TIMELINE: Ten years after the long ago series.

DISTRIBUTION: You want you can have it, just tell me where you put it.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: You may want to read the long ago series first just so this one makes some sense. I am planning on re-writing it later, I just had more of an idea what I wanted to do with this series and when inspiration strikes...

The apartment that was set beneath the office's of Angel Investigations had seen better days, even though it's long ago gloomy and dank facade had been scrubbed away by a spanking new coat of sun drenched yellow paint, virtually-new furnishings and some well placed (and cheap) studio art. It had seen fights (numerous), friends (few) and lovers (even less), but some how - and regrettably for it's sole dweller - still retained some of *him*.

For the past several years Hope Summers-McKellen had dedicated her life to ignoring the fact that her father existed. Ever since he had found her and her mother practically a decade prior, her life had, on the face of it, gone from bad to worse. She had unexpectedly gone from being alone with her mother to having an interloper there all day, every day - most unpleasant of all, there was all of a sudden more of him.

During her senior year she had gained triplet brothers (all minuscule clones), they had made studying, slaying and being a teenager hell. She assumed she could have muddled through it, if that had been all but it was not. Her parents lavished attention on the newborn brats and she felt as though she ceased to continue living as anything but a free baby-sitter/slayer.

The solitary thing that had gotten her through those days - and these ones - was her best friend Nick (AKA Nicholas Alan Chase Doyle). He had listened to her rant, helped her slay and baby-sit and under no circumstances asked for something in return. So it was simply fair that sporadically she return the act of kindness, like now.

The two of them were drinking chai lattes from the Starbucks on the corner and sitting on her dilapidated old black leather couch (the only thing of her father's she'd kept), as she listened to him go on and on about the birthday dinner that he knew his parents would as usual be planning. He of course had no verification that this was happening, only the postulation that because they had done it every year they would prolong the convention. Regrettably he was accurate, she had received her invitation earlier on that day, in a phone call from Queen C herself.

As she was using every ploy in her inadequate book to quieten Nick down when the phone rang. Figuring it was either her mother or Doyle checking in from his stakeout of their most recent client, she hastily excused herself and answered. To her astonishment it was neither, but instead it was the Watcher's Council. They had under no circumstances contacted her personally before, all slaying stuff had every time gone through her mother and she couldn't comprehend why they would want to talk to her now.

Half an hour later she at long last got off of the phone and just sat there, trying to grasp what had just come about. A deal! They had offered her an arrangement - and astoundingly it was satisfactory one. With very diminutive effort on her own part (just a straightforward modification of locality - a transitory at that) she could free herself of her slaying responsibility.

"Hope?"

Shaking herself out of her reverie, she made her way back into the living room to where Nick was good-naturedly waiting. She resumed her place next to him and took a swallow of the currently bitter beverage, causing herself to blanch in revulsion.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"Don't make me hurt you," Nick ground out apprehensively. "Whatever just happened has knocked you off kilter."

Sighing she told him about her bizarre tête-à-tête with Jacob Tanner-Hollingsworth (the current head of the Council) and what they had offered her. "Does it sound absolutely outlandish?"

"A little too good to be true..." Nick added vigilantly. "Maybe you should discuss it with your mom?"

"I guess..."

Mere hours later on she found herself standing outside her parents spacious suburban residence, one she had certainly not in reality had the satisfaction (or discontentment) to live in. The undersized apartment had served as home until she had graduated from high school, that was when they moved out and left her there. Bitterness at a snail's pace uncurled in her stomach and bile rose up her throat as she conjured up the oh-so wonderful life her parents were living out with their younger offspring - one that infrequently (if ever) incorporated her.

Sighing she headed up the footpath to the front door and rang the doorbell, not feeling at all comfortable enough to use the key that her mother had given her just after they had moved into there. As she waited for an answer she wondered just how she had let herself get talked into this, she was after all a grown woman and had been making her own decisions for a long time. The answer she came up with was it was all Nick's fault and she would find a way to have her retribution.

She was appreciative when the door at long last opened and it was her mother standing there and not *him*. "Hope?"

"Surprise!" she replied.

She was unexpectedly pulled into a vigorous hug, "Come inside."

"I need to talk to you about something."

"Oh God, you're pregnant! I knew we should have never let that Nick anywhere..."

"NO!" she yelled. "No way. I am so *not* pregnant."

As Hope took her coat off and hung it up, her mother waited with irritation. "Then what?"

"Is *dad* home? It will be easier to tell you both at once."

"Sure, he's in the living room. Go right on in and I'll join you in a minute."

"Oh and mom..."

"Yes," Buffy replied.

"For the record - Nick and I have *never* been more than friends."

Ten minutes later Buffy when entered the cream painted living room she saw the accustomed behaviour was going on - Angel sat in the dark brown leather recliner he had claimed as his own and Hope sat as faraway as was feasible from him on the matching couch. The silence was virtually deafening and the friction so chunky it could be effortlessly cut by the bluntest of knives. Looking at them both she could distinguish more than the physical similarities between them, they had exceptionally similar personalities, so much so that it had put them at odds years earlier and neither one had the people skills to repair the harm.

She sat down sandwiched between them (her standard location) and noticed how the pressure of the situation had lessened. Trying not to roll her eyes in dissatisfaction, she spoke, "So what did you want to discuss?"

"Tell us what's going on. I've been going nuts for the last ten or so minutes," Angel commanded cantankerously. He was perturbed - as constantly - by the lack of interaction concerning himself and Hope, they'd never in actuality been familiar and he knew that it was predominantly his own fault, but he just didn't know how to fix it.

Glaring openly at her father, Hope began her explanation. "A couple of hours ago I received a phone call from the Watcher's Council..."

"What?" Buffy yelled. "The arrangement is all communication comes through me. Who knows what those assholes are planning..."

"What did those monsters want?" Angel replied bitterly, blaming them for a lot of misery in both his wife and daughter's lives. That earned him a shut up or else look from Buffy.

"Mom! D-dad! If you're finished, then I might carry on..."

"Sorry."

"Humph."

"Tanner-Hollingsworth had an attention-grabbing proposition for me. If I were to move to Sunnydale for a year and observe on the *current* slayer and her watcher, then they will relinquish any responsibility that I may owe them for all of infinity."

"Wow," was Buffy's reaction.

Angel's was unequivocally different, "You can't be genuinely considering this. It's a trap - with them it's always a trap. I *forbid* it!"

"Oh hell," Buffy muttered as she waited for the flare-up.

"You *what*?"

Angel gritted his teeth, "I *forbid* you from doing this idiotic thing."

"You are so not telling me what I can or cannot do," she answered back bit by bit, attempting to restrain her temper. "I am old enough to make my own decisions. I *don't* need your permission for anything."

"Listen..."

Buffy cut them both off, knowing what was coming, having seen the two them go at it more than once. "Stop it now! Hope - you will go home and Angel - you will go to bed and tomorrow we will discuss this as calm, *rational* adults. Do you hear me?"

"Yeah."

"Only if she goes *straight* home," angel disputed obdurately.

"If I want to, I will go to a bar and pick up the first guy who looks..."

"Hope!"

She knew her mother's tone of voice and knew someone was going to get their butt kicked, preferring it not to be her, she shut up. "Fine, I'll go *straight* home."

Arriving back at her place, she threw her coat onto the nearest chair and headed into the kitchen to grab the bottle of Vodka she had hidden from her best friend's father and her business partner. Surprisingly it was still there since Doyle tended to find her hiding places. Sitting down at her brand new kitchen table (replaced after accidentally overhearing a story about the use her parents had put the old one up to) and was about to open the bottle when she saw a scrap of paper on the table. Reading it she realised it was simply a reminder from Doyle about Nick's birthday dinner the next night.

She pushed herself away from the table and entered the undersized living room before falling down onto the settee and opening the bottle. Downing just about a quarter of the bottle in a solitary swig, she brooded. The one way she considered herself like her father was the astounding capacity to brood the week away without break. She had some crucial thinking to do, but as an alternative she was choosing to drown her feelings and herself in the oblivious miasma of alcohol - a favourite of the world at large.

Slowly she glided into sleep, dreaming of things long-ago and regrettably - a side effect of being a slayer - things forthcoming. Thoughts became a mishmash as she slipped deeper and deeper and thankfully the visions in due course went blank and dreamlessly - for once - she slept.

The next morning dawned dazzling and timely, but Hope did not awaken. In fact it was just about twelve noon when she was awoken out of her Vodka provoked catnap by her so-called best friend. She unhurriedly opened her eyes and endeavoured to focus on Nick's adorable, steadfast face; it took a few goes but in due course it came into focus - if remaining somewhat blurred still.

"Mornin' gorgeous."

"Mornin' Birthday Boy."

She saw him pick something up off of the floor, it took a instant to comprehend it was the empty bottle from the night before. "Have my party without me?"

"More like blocking my father's malevolence out."

"I take it that the *talk* didn't go well..."

Hope shook her head and instantaneously wished she hadn't. "Does it ever?"

"And so you channelled my dad?"

"Well it seems to work for him."

Nick laughed, "Not after my mom catches him."

The phone just kept on ringing and ringing. Hope knew she ought to answer it, but she in actuality did not feel like talking to her parents right now. All she wanted to do was focus on the most recent case she'd been designated and mull over what she would get Nick for his birthday, when she at long last took her lunch hour. She did not want to deal with an further fight with her father, even though she had the nagging inkling that if she ignored them for much longer one or both of them would saunter down to the office.

By the time her lunch break rolled around, Hope was delighted that she could break away from the office and the under no circumstances incessant ringing. She was also relieved she had never given her parents her cell phone number - it was strictly for business and conversations with Nick - or she'd be trapped with the sound of it going off every two minutes. As she passed by the store windows she deliberated over what to get Nick, for example she knew that clothes were by no means appreciated - he had his father's dress sense - and he already owned basically every piece of technological crap that came out.

She in due course found something, but was hesitant as to if he'd like it or shrewdly return it. Wrapping it was no challenge because she simply bought a gift bag and dumped it in there. Returning to work she found the office empty and a note from Doyle saying he'd left early on to help Cordelia and that he'd see her later - a post script added that he would appreciate it if she would distract Nick until eight.

When Nick returned she gave him superfluous work - malicious person that she was - and in due course when six rolled around she dragged him out of the door. It was their accustomed birthday practice, a latte at Starbucks, a drink at Caritas - added after they both reached the legal drinking age -, a walk in the park and then back to his parents for the *surprise* dinner.

She arrived at the Doyle household dead on time and as always Nick was discomfited by all of the kerfuffle. He had told Hope on more than one instance that he wished he could spend his birthday quietly - without any fuss. Sorry to say for him, his mother was the Queen of the Party. Every instance that came up she used as an pretext to throw a party - birthdays, graduations, deaths - it did not matter what as long as she could put her hallmark on it.

The party/dinner was more or less halfway over before her parents managed to back her into a corner in the Doyle's undersized den. Hope all of a sudden wished she'd had the prudence to stick to Nick's side for the duration of the torture fest. She did not want to answer questions or thrash out options with herself, let alone her parents, but once again - as it always was with them - she had no choice.

"Couldn't you even wait until the party was over?" she rounded on her parents, she had always found that taking the offensive pissed her father off. "I mean it is your Godson's birthday..."

As she had anticipated her father jumped in first. "*You* didn't answer your phone!"

"Didn't feel like it."

"You said we were going to talk about your..."

Hope living dangerously, "And we will. Just not on Nicky's birthday."

"I wouldn't care if it was Christmas. We will discuss this!" Angel seethed dangerously.

Buffy stepped between them, she did so with the regrettable expertise that if she did not arbitrate there was going to be one hell of a fight start. "Hope's right. It is Nick's Birthday..."

"Buffy..."

"Don't Buffy me," she poked her husband in the chest. "We will drop it for now and pick it up tomorrow morning."

"Fine, we'll be there bright and early.

End Part