Home Before Dark - Part Nine
by Debbie Nockels
COPYRIGHT: February 2002
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters from BTVS or ANGEL. They're owned by Joss Whedon (who needs to treat them nicer), MutantEnemy, Kuzui, Sandollar, David Greenwalt, the WB, UPN, Fox, etc.
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Someone tapped on Buffy's door. "Come in!" She wrapped the borrowed robe closer around her, just in case it was Angel. The door opened and Cordelia entered, a large black cosmetics bag in her hand.
"Hi. Fred said you were looking for eyeshadow. I have some here, also mascara, blush, eyeliner, lipstick - you name it." Going over to the bed she unzipped the bag and dumped the contents onto the bedspread. "Help yourself."
Buffy brightened. "Thanks!" She started opening containers and checking colors. "Fred didn't have much to choose from."
�Fred's not into makeup, really," Cordy agreed. "Well, like I said, help yourself." She made a move to leave.
"Wait. Would you get my zipper please?" Buffy untied the robe and slid it off her shoulders. Underneath she was wearing her new dress, only half zipped because she couldn't reach behind her to complete the job. Cordy came over and zipped it the rest of the way up. As Buffy pulled the robe back over her shoulders and retied it, she suddenly chuckled.
"What's funny?" Cordelia wanted to know.
"It's just that Angel was telling me this afternoon at the museum about how difficult fashionable women's clothing used to be to put on - you know, with all those tiny hooks or buttons up the back - dozens of them - and how they were a sign of status since only women who could afford personal maids wore them. Women without maids or husbands wore dresses that fastened in the front."
Cordelia chuckled. "Something tells me he was more concerned back then with how to unfasten them." She stopped. "Uh, sorry. I shouldn't have said that." f
"It's okay," Buffy told her, still smiling. "I thought the same thing. Angelus was quite popular with the ladies - before he ripped their throats out." She bent over the bed and selected several items. "Well, I better finish getting ready. Thanks a lot for bringing these, Cordy."
"Sure." The other girl hesitated. "Would you like help with your hair?" she blurted out. "I mean, you were planning to wear it up, right? You usually do when you go out - or, well, you used to anyway. And I'm pretty good at that kind of thing, plus I have some nice clips and hairpins . . . combs. You know, hair stuff."
"Thank you, I'd love some help" Buffy said. "Four hands are usually better than two when it comes to hair." Cordy flashed a smile and went out to get her hair accessories. Shaking her head, Buffy went into the bathroom to finish her makeup. This new Cordelia was taking a bit of getting used to.
"Well?" Angel pulled the cuffs of his jacket down. Wesley circled him slowly, lips pursed, a slight frown between his eyebrows and one hand stroking his chin judicially. Finally he gave a decisive nod. "You'll do."
"I'll do? That's the best you can say?" Angel looked down. "Maybe I should put on a different shirt."
Wesley laughed. "Angel, I was joking. You look great."
"Really?" Angel turned to his other two friends. He wasn't nervous about this dinner with Buffy, exactly, it was just . . . well, it had been a long time and he didn't want her to be disappointed with his appearance. The charcoal-gray cashmere jacket was a good match for the pants, even though they'd been bought separately, and the thin blue silk sweater complemented both. He sighed. Sometimes not throwing a reflection was an unmitigated nuisance, as now, when he longed to be able to judge for himself.
"You look sharp, man," Gunn seconded from the doorway, where he lounged against the frame with arms folded. "The girl's gonna flip, I guarantee you."
"Yeah," echoed Fred quietly, then rubbed her arms in a familiar nervous gesture. "Any girl would. I mean, Angel, you're just . . . gorgeous."
Angel gave a startled laugh. "I've been called a few things in my time, but that's a first!" Wesley sent Fred a quick, appraising look. "Angel, on't you need to get a move on? It's getting late."
"Yeah." Angel grabbed his wallet from the dresser top, checked over its contents, patted his pocket to make sure he had his keys, and threaded his way between Fred and Gunn. Emerging into the hallway, he tapped on Buffy's door. His friends followed him, but hung back a little.
Cordelia opened it. "Hi. Buffy's just getting - " She glanced over her shoulder. "Oh. She got it." The door opened wider and Buffy came out into the hall. For a moment Angel couldn't speak. Gunn let out a low whistle, Fred sighed with pleasure, and even Wesley murmured, "Lovely."
She was a vision. Her dress was short, ending a few inches above her knees, and fit snugly, with a halter top and a sweetheart neckline which revealed a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. The midnight-blue velvet draped sensuously over her body; the glittering silver threads that were sparsely woven throughout the fabric emphasized every plane and curve. Angel recognized the black pashmina draped over Buffy's arms as the one he'd given Cordelia for Christmas last year. He thought he'd also seen Cordelia with the tiny evening bag Buffy held in her hand.
All this he saw at a glance, before his attention was drawn elsewhere. Her hair was pulled back in a sort of modified French twist, from the top of which descended a cascade of blonde curls that bobbed with her every movement. Wavy strands also escaped from the �do here and there, delicately touching her face and neck. Gem-studded hairpins twinkled brightly at carefully placed intervals, but their glitter paled next to the hazel-green of her eyes. Softly shadowed, lightly outlined in a muted black, and fringed with long black lashes, they gazed out luminously. Faint color picked out her cheekbones, and her lips - he dropped his eyes to them - her lips were a delicate shade of rose that glistened in the artificial light, giving the illusion they were fuller than he knew them to be, but not hiding any of the beauty of their natural curves.
Angel cleared his throat. "You look beautiful." His voice was husky.
"Thank you," Buffy smiled. "You look pretty wonderful yourself." She gazed approvingly at him.
"Shall we go?" Moving aside, Angel held out his arm. With a soft "See you later" to everyone else, Buffy tucked her hand in the curve and together they descended the long staircase and crossed the lobby floor. "Have a good time," Wes called out from the top of the stairs as Angel opened the front door.
"Thank you, Mother," he returned, then followed Buffy outside and let the heavy door swing shut behind them. The ride to Mario's was mostly silent. Only a few remarks passed between them - comments on the traffic (unusually light for that time of evening), the popularity of the restaurant and how lucky they'd been to get in tonight (with a brief explanation as to his association with David Nabbit) and the weather (seasonably warm). Angel glanced at her. "Do you really think you need that shawl?"
"Restaurants can be cold sometimes," Buffy said equably, "and this dress doesn't provide much in the way of coverage."
Angel smiled, but kept his eyes on the traffic. "I noticed."
A few minutes later they arrived at their destination. A valet opened Buffy's door; another valet handed Angel a card with a number printed on it, and both young men wished them a good dinner. A third person stood guard at the tall, intricately-carved wooden doors, pulling one open as they approached.
"Good evening," he said warmly. "Welcome to Mario's. Please proceed to the end of the hallway, where Signor Rinaldi will assist you." Angel noticed the admiring glance he gave Buffy as she passed through. The door remained open a second or two longer than it should have while they walked down the thickly carpeted hall, then the attendant returned his attention to his duties.
Signor Rinaldi turned out to be an attractive man in perhaps his late fifties, with thick dark hair lightly streaked with gray, bright black eyes, and a moderate Italian accent. He greeted them with courteous dignity and inquired as to the name the reservation was under.
"Angel."
The maitre d' straightened up from the list without having checked it. "Ah, yes, Signor Angel, of course. Signor Nabbit spoke with me personally. We were delighted to be able to accommodate you and your lovely lady." Angel discreetly handed him a folded bill, which he as discreetly pocketed with a slight bow. His dark eyes flicked over their hands. "May I ask if this is a special occasion, perhaps an anniversary or a birthday?" Taking the menus from the hand of his assistant, he waved her back and personally escorted them to their table.
The dining room was as lovely as everything else they'd seen. Soft lights illuminated the area from behind frosted glass fixtures, both on the walls and on the ceiling. The tables were a comfortable distance away from each other, set with spotless white linens. Crystal vases with fresh-cut flowers decorated each one, along with a softly-colored glass candle-holder.
Angel smiled down at Buffy. "Neither of those, but yes, it is a special occasion. Very special."
"Ah." An understanding smile spread over Signor Rinaldi's face as he pulled out a chair for Buffy. "Signor Nabbit instructed me to convey his best wishes to you and that he hopes you will accept his gift of a bottle of champagne with your dinner."
Seating himself, Angel looked inquiringly at Buffy. "Champagne sounds wonderful," she replied, taking the opened menu proffered to her. A red-jacketed young man placed on their table a selection of breads and lit the candle; a red-jacketed girl came up with a glass pitcher of water so cold there were beads of condensation rolling down the sides. Ascertaining that they would prefer bottled, Signor Rinaldi sent her away again with a spate of Italian. She returned a moment later carrying an equally cold dark-blue bottle of what proved to be excellent-tasting water. Signor Rinaldi gave them another slight bow, hoped they would enjoy their dining experience, and finally left. At that point the wine steward, a young blonde woman in a white jacket, approached them to inquire whether they desired wine with their dinner. They declined.
Another person, this one a brown-haired, somewhat portly man wearing a black jacket, came to the table and asked if they would like a cocktail. Declining this also, they were then informed of the appetizer specials available that night, and left alone to consider the menu.
"Whew!" Buffy sat back in her chair. "I've never had so much attention in a restaurant. Is it because of David Nabbit?"
"I'm sure that's part of it." Angel was watching the activity around the room. "But look at all the attendants here - almost twice the number you'd find in most places. This is the way all good restaurants used to be - even the moderately-priced ones, for that matter."
"You mean, a hundred years ago?" Buffy teased. "I guess that's one of the perks of having a vampire boyfriend - learning about the trivia of other centuries." She received a wry chuckle in response. Just then the wine steward came up with a bottle of champagne. He showed it to Angel, who raised an eyebrow in surprised appreciation and nodded. During the uncorking process Angel told Buffy, "This is an excellent label. I haven't had it in years. I think you'll like it."
When she tasted the champagne, Buffy agreed wholeheartedly. She had to restrain herself from drinking it too quickly, knowing from experience that too much too fast would only result in a bad headache. Their waiter returned and took their order for appetizers, then quietly left.
Out of the blue Angel said, "Have I told you tonight how lovely you are?" His gaze was intent - and filled with warmth.
A faint blush colored her cheeks. "Thank you. You mentioned something about it earlier," she replied in as casual a tone as she could manage.
"Good. I wouldn't want you to think I hadn't noticed." Angel picked up his champabne flute and held it out. "To the most beautiful woman in the world."
Tears stung Buffy's eyes even as she smiled at his exaggeration. Taking up her own flute, she lightly touched it to Angel's. "And to the handsomest man in the world." For a moment out of time they gazed into each other's eyes, then they sipped their champagne.
"By the way," Angel said, setting his glass down, "I love the dress."
"Cordy found it," Buffy admitted, "at Lord & Taylor. It was on sale," she hastened to add.
Angel dismissed that with a slight gesture of his hand. "It's very becoming on you."
"Thank you." Buffy studied him. "That's a really nice outfit you've got on too. I love that sweater with the jacket, and apparently so does that woman two tables over."
Folowing the movement of her eyes, Angel involuntarily looked to his left just in time to see the dark-haired woman sitting there casually return her gaze to her companion, another woman.
"Someone you know?" inquired Buffy.
"No, never saw her before that I remember. Why do you say she liked my clothes?"
"Because she was totally checking you out," Buffy informed him, "which means she's a woman of great taste because you look really hot tonight. How come you never wore things like this when you were in Sunnydale?"
Angel focused on the last sentence, ignoring the part that came before. He chuckled. "I don't dress like this very often here either. In fact, I think this is only the second time I've worn these. Demon-fighting doesn't usually lend itself to fine clothes, as you know."
"You can say that again." Grimacing, Buffy twirled her glass gently, watching the champagne bubbles float up to the top. "Between demon blood and demon claws or teeth, I sometimes think I should just give up and buy all my clothes at Goodwill." Suddenly she grinned. "Remember our first date?"
"For coffee, at the Bronze. Of course I remember it. You were late."
"Because those vamps delayed me," she reminded him. "Anyway, you weren't exactly missing me, if you remember. Cordelia filled in for me very nicely."
"I was missing you," Angel corrected. He reached out and put his hand over hers where it loosely curled around the stem of her glass. "I kept watching the door, wondering where you were. Cordelia just plopped herself down at the table and started talking to me. You know that."
"Yeah, I know; you told me." Buffy made a rueful face. "I'll never forget it, though - showing up for our first date covered in vampire dust, my clothes torn, and hay sticking out of my hair. And then seeing Cordy there with you, looking like she stepped out of a fashion magazine, laughing and chatting." She sighed, then brightened. "And here we are again, out on another official date. And it only took us, what, four years to get here?" She laughed, but beneath the laughter lay sadness.
"At least this time there was no fight," said Angel lightly, releasing her hand and sitting back. "No dust or goo or straw."
Buffy smoothed the soft velvet. "No, thank goodness; I would hate to ruin this dress." She paused. "It's funny. I thought it would feel strange . . . awkward . . . having this date with you. I mean, it's been over two years, for one thing, and it's not something we've had much experience at, for another. Well, not with each other. But it doesn't feel awkward at all. In fact, it feels . . . really natural. Does it feel that way to you?"
"Like we've never been apart," Angel said softly. He thought that over. "No, that's not it. It's that the years apart don't matter - not really. Sure, there's a lot we need to find out about each other, things we've done, ways in which we've changed. . . but it's as if we never stopped being together, not down deep where it counts." He gave a rather embarrassed laugh. "Doesn't make much sense, I know."
"Yes, it does." This time it was Buffy who joined their hands across the table. "It makes perfect sense. That's exactly the way I've been feeling, like you've been away on a trip and have now come back and I'm waiting to hear all about it. You know, like did you have a good time, what sights did you see? That kind of thing. Which is kind of weird because just a couple of days ago I was thinking how much you'd changed and wondering just how deep those changes went and if there were other differences I hadn't seen yet."
Her eyes shone earnestly. "But then I came here with you, to L.A., and we fought together just like we used to, and . . . suddenly none of that mattered. Because you're still you, and you still love me and I love you. And that's what's really important."
"Yes." Angel raised her hand to his lips. The candle light danced in his dark eyes, and his lips were cool. Buffy felt her heart clench. It was probably just as well that their appetizers were brought to the table at that moment.
The rest of the evening was spent in playing catch-up. Over dinner, Angel heard for the first time the details of why Riley left. As they lingered over their dessert - and linger they did - Buffy learned about more of Wolfram & Hart's devious schemes and how they had affected Angel and the others. By the time they returned to the Hyperion it was almost ten-thirty.
"It's such a lovely night, let's walk in the garden," suggested Angel. Buffy assented and they went out onto the terrace. The moon was high and the annual santa ana wind was scudding the clouds across the sky.
"We can see the stars," murmured Buffy.
"The wind blew the smog away," Angel replied. They gazed a while longer before descending into the garden, strolling hand-in-hand along the smooth stone pathway that meandered through the bushes and flower beds, which decades ago had been one of the Hyperion's premier attractions. Most of the plants were dead now, but a few hardy varieties of shrubs had managed to survive the years of neglect, although they were hugely overgrown. They stopped in amazement before a flower bed teeming with marigolds, zinnias, asters, and several others Buffy couldn't put a name to. Of course, since it was dark out, most of the flowers were closed and little could be seen of their colors.
"I think Fred's been doing a little gardening on the sly," Angel commented. "She mentioned once that she's always liked growing flowers."
Buffy admired them. "She's done a good job. I bet this is beautiful in the daytime when they're all opened out."
"Some beauty can't be dimmed, even by the night." Angel's voice was husky. When Buffy look up in surprise at his intensity, she found he wasn't looking at the flowers. The moonlight that was silvering his fair skin also turned his eyes into dark fathomless pools, and they were trained on her face. Her heart skipped a beat. Swallowing, she came a step closer.
Angel whispered her name. Then she was in his arms and he was kissing her, long and slow and sweet, and his lips were cool and his arms strong and tender and his kisses burned all the way down to her toes. How long they stood there she never knew, only that she wished she could stay like that forever. No demons, no slaying, no friends who mustn't learn what they'd done in bringing her back, just Angel and her, locked in a loving embrace, lost to the world.
Finally they broke off the kiss, but they remained in each other's arms for a long time, Buffy resting her face against Angel's unmoving chest, her arms clasped around his waist, his arms holding her close, neither of them speaking, just holding each other, refusing to think of the parting that lay ahead.
At long last they straightened and drew back. Still without speaking they made their way back to the hotel and up the stairs. In front of Buffy's door they paused. Angel took her hands, his thumbs caressing them. "See you in the morning." Moving forward he leaned over and kissed her, softly.
Buffy swallowed. "Good night." Opening her door she went inside, still feeling the touch of his lips on hers.
<><><><><><><><><>
"I really enjoyed yesterday," Buffy said to Angel. They were in the lobby of the Hyperion. It was about nine o'clock in the morning. She attempted a smile. "Even the sewer part of it."
"I hope that wasn't the most enjoyable part of it," Angel tried to joke.
This time the smile made it to her lips, however briefly. "Definitely not."
Silence fell. "How did you sleep last night?" he finally asked. "Any more dreams?"
"No, thank goodness," she replied. "I could do without dreams of that kind for a while. Not that I'm not grateful I had these - well, the ones about your epiphany anyway - but they're kind of draining, you know?"
"I imagine so." Another silence followed. Then - "Are you sure you'll be okay?" Angel asked her softly. "I can go with you if you want me to and if you can wait until the sun sets." The glass doors of the Hyperion gleamed brightly in the morning sun, and he was careful to stay away from direct contact with the light streaming through them. In an uncustomary display of tact and consideration, none of the others were around; they were quite alone.
Buffy's eyes stung. Of course she wanted him to come home with her - and never leave. Or, barring that, she wanted to stay in Los Angeles, with him. But she knew better, and managed a tiny smile. "No, you need to stay here. After all, you have a business to run."
"The business will do fine without me for a little while longer." His hands caressed her shoulders. "Wesley and Gunn are extremely capable, as you know, and so is Cordelia and even Fred - well, she will be, I'm sure. In time."
"I know," she nodded. "But I need to start figuring out how to live my life again. I need to - I don't know - learn how to be an adult, I guess. Dawn's depending on me and Willow said something on the phone this morning about a leaking pipe in the basement and that Xander was going to bring over a plumber friend of his to give an estimate. Guess I'm going to find out why Mom always spent so much time going over our finances."
His heart ached for her. She was so brave, this young woman he'd loved almost at first sight, and it was so soon after the stress of her resurrection - less than a week. He knew a part of her still mourned the loss of the peace she'd known during her brief death, still longed to return to it, but she wasn't dwelling on it. Instead, she was preparing to face what they both knew would be difficult times ahead just as she'd always done, with determination if not enthusiasm.
"If you need me, just call. I'll be there in a flash."
"In a flash, huh?" Again the faint smile appeared. "Is teleportation a vampire ability you forgot to tell me about?"
"No, but driving at 100 miles an hour is," Angel said lightly. He was trying to keep the moment from becoming too painful, but another heavy silence descended despite his effort, a silence that was broken by the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle outside. Wesley had arrived. Angel suddenly wrapped Buffy in his embrace. "Call me when you get home, okay? So I know you got there safely."
"I will," she whispered, holding onto him tightly. Just then the hotel doors opened. Reluctantly they looked up. Wesley strode inside, wearing a black leather jacket, black helmet under one arm and the pink one Angel had once worn dangling by its strap from his hand.
"Buffy, I'm ready whenever you are." Wesley's eyes flickered over their faces. "I'll . . . just be waiting outside. Uh, there's no rush. You have over an hour before your bus leaves and the station is only fifteen minutes away."
She nodded, fighting back tears. "Thanks, Wes." He nodded and quietly exited. Buffy took a deep breath. "Well . . . guess it's time."
"Yeah." Angel's throat felt tight. "You have money, right - for food and stuff?" He'd used his credit card to purchase her ticket over the telephone. Buffy nodded again. "Yeah. Don't worry about me, Angel. I'll be fine."
"I know," he said huskily. "I just - " He stopped. There was no point in going there; neither one of them wanted her to leave, but they both knew she had to. "I'll see you Friday night if nothing comes up to keep me here."
"I know." She took another shaky breath. "Let's get this over with, okay? I can't stand much more." Angel leaned down and they kissed, long and deeply. When they finally parted, Buffy couldn't speak. They shared one more look before she backed away and retrieved her bag from the floor where she'd set it, hoisting it over one shoulder. "See you Friday," she whispered, then turned and walked away.
"Friday," repeated Angel. He watched her go through the doors into the bright, deadly sunshine where he couldn't follow . . . couldn't even get close enough to watch Wesley helping her on with her helmet and instructing her in proper passenger behavior. Involuntarily his hands clenched. In a few minutes he heard the bike start up and then the receding sputter as it took her away from him.
Suddenly a hand clapped him gently on the shoulder. "She's gone, huh?" asked Gunn sympathetically.
"Yes."
Gunn nodded. "I'm sorry; wish she could've stayed longer. That's one special girl you've got there, man. I like her."
"Yes, she is," said Angel quietly. "Very special." He forced himself to turn away from the empty entrance. "So . . . is anything going on?" They began walking toward the office.
"Not unless you count filing as something," Gunn replied. "Fred was �helping' by instructing Cordy in correct alphabetizing methods - until Cordy threw her out."
"I did not �throw her out,' " that young woman corrected, coming out with a sheaf of papers in her hand. "I merely suggested that she should go through this morning's paper to see if there was anything that might be of interest to us professionally."
Gunn grinned. "Right - you threw her out."
Cordelia pointedly didn't dignify that with a response. Instead she asked Angel, "Buffy get off all right?"
"A few minutes ago."
"Good." With that mild but somewhat ambiguous comment she turned to go back into the office, then turned around again. "Angel, when you have a moment I'd like to - "
Just then Fred came running down the stairs, brandishing a newspaper as she came. "Guys, look at this!" They waited until she'd reached them and spread the paper out on the counter. "Here." She pointed to an article.
Angel read it aloud. " �Police found the body of twenty-six-year-old Woodrow Raglan in a two-bedroom suite at the Elondria Hotel. An unnamed witness said it was as if his insides had just -� "
Gunn's voice joined his. " � - collapsed.' " His eyebrows furrowed. "You know, there was something else like that - maybe a week ago."
"There was?" Fred breathed excitedly.
Cordelia frowned. "Uh, may I just point out that no one is actually hiring us to look into this and that we should be doing more important things?"
"Like what?" retorted Gunn. "Filing? Followed by a little dusting maybe? Hang on a mo'." He hurried into the office, returning a moment later with an open file folder from which he fished out a clipping. "Here it is. Ten days ago, a body . . . found in another hotel room, under similar conditions. The maid said the body �looked like it just caved in.' "
"What do you think?" Angel said, taking the clipping from him and perusing it. "Spell, curse . . . serial demon?"
Gunn shrugged. "Tough to say, but I think it's worth a closer look."
"I'll say." Angel gave the clipping back to Gunn. "Cordelia, open up a case file. We have to get on this right away. I'll go get my jacket." He moved away in a hurry.
"Angel - " Cordelia began, then stopped as he ignored her and ran up the stairs. Frustrated, she turned to Gunn. "Will you tell me just what makes you think this might be a case for us?"
Gunn pointed to a line in that morning's newspaper article. "Collapsing insides?" He waved the clipping. "Caved-in body? That's a little weird, even for this town. Besides " - his voice softened and he cast a glance at the staircase - "Angel needs something to do right now and what else do we got going on?"
Cordelia sighed. "Right. At least it'll take his mind off Buffy for a few hours." Suddenly she gave Gunn an approving smile that transformed her face. "Good thinking." Starting to return to the office, she stopped suddenly. "Gunn - make sure he doesn't go barging out into the sun, okay? I think he's forgotten it's daylight outside."
<><><><><><><><><>
Buffy looked helplessly at the array of papers strewn all over the coffee table. "So you're telling me I'm broke?" She'd been home less than two hours and had been hit, first, with an enormous estimate for replacing the pipes in the basement, then with this news.
"Not yet," Willow said, looking serious, "but - "
Tara put in, "Money's definitely becoming an issue."
"As in your being almost out of it," came Xander's contribution. In a state of shock, Buffy leaned back against the cushions. As explanations about life insurance and hospital bills and houses eating up money broke out around her, she had a sudden urge to hop right back on the bus that had brought her home and go back to L.A. and the shelter of Angel's arms.
I can't do this, it's too much. Mom, why did you have to leave us? It took every remnant of control she had to remain in the room, especially during the bizarre conversation that ensued following Anya's suggestion that she charge for her slaying services.
Charge *who*? she wondered. ?Does Anya actually think the City Council would approve an appropriation for vampire slayage? What am I supposed to do, put the ashes in a Ziploc bag and collect a bounty? And what does Spiderman have to do with anything?
"Guys, enough!" she finally broke in. "I'll take care of this. I . . . just don't know how, yet." Catching sight of Dawn's worried expression, she smiled at her reassuringly. "Don't worry, Dawnie; everything will be fine."
Later, alone in her room, she stood at the window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass. Eyes closed, she remembered all the times Angel had been on the other side of that sill, perched on the roof below . . . how they'd talked and kissed . . . and kissed some more. Her longing for those days was an ache inside her entire body.
All I had to worry about then was slaying and not getting caught sneaking in and out of my room. Mom was alive and Angel was in Sunnydale, not two hours away. I had it good back then and didn't even know it.
Sighing, she moved away from the window and began unbuttoning her shirt. If she was going to try to persuade the bank to give her a loan, she better dress for the part, not in jeans and a cotton shirt that had seen better days. No, a skirt and suit jacket were definitely indicated here.
END OF PART NINE
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