fanfiction by sienna

E-MAIL: [email protected]
DISCLAIMER: You know the drill.
RATING: PG....NC-17 eventually.
PAIRINGS: B/A first and foremost, A/D, a bit of B/S (probably).
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I pilfered a couple lines from 'Living Conditions'...and gee, only just realised the title similarities now. Much with the slowness here.
SYNOPSIS: Alternate universe -- Buffy meets Angel, Darla and Spike in a completely different set of (human) circumstances.

Margot: Thank you for your input in this part.
Lisa: This is for the disillusioned natives :) I'm still hanging on. By my fingernails.
Huge thank you's to everyone who sent feedback for the last part.

2.

Buffy couldn't say anything at first, too stunned by his question. He must have said, "When can you move on?" or "When can you moving?" But then, his grammar was working perfectly fine the last time she checked.

"Buffy?" Angel's voice penetrated the hazy cloud of panic, sounding concerned.

She sank down into her chair again. "Yeah, I'm still here. Sorry. I just wasn't expecting...that."

"I -- we -- want you to move in. I mean, if you want to."

Did she want to? Hell, yes. But what if it was a big honking disaster just waiting to happen? What if she was getting herself into something majorly bad, like when you didn't look before you dived into a shallow pool and you were left with a huge crack in your skull, or worse, paraplegia?

So maybe she couldn't become paraplegic from moving in with them, but the metaphor was there.

"I want," she said haltingly. But...

"Great," Angel said. "Then all we have to do is organise--"

"It's just..." she started hesitantly.

"What?" he asked

It's just *what*? It's just that I have this crazy attraction towards you and a fixation on your mouth? It's just that I don't think your girlfriend wants another female in the house? It's just that I've really got no idea what I'm doing in New York but I'm hoping inspiration will hit me over the head with a big flashing sign?

Like she could readily share any of *that* with him.

"Nothing," Buffy said finally. "I just... Actually, I'm still kind of undecided about whether or not I want to...you know. Move in."

"Oh." Angel didn't say anything for a moment. "No, that's okay. It's your decision, after all. The room will still be here while you make up your mind."

Buffy felt like she'd placed a damper on their plans. "I'm sorry about the undecided-ness. And thank you."

"No, thank you for turning up when you did," Angel countered.

"To see you in a towel?" she teased, wincing as soon as it left her mouth. Ugh. One second with the man and the inner slut was out, twirling her hair and batting her eyelashes with that come-fuck-me attitude. She rested her forehead on her palm and squeezed her eyes shut in denial.

She opened her eyes when Angel gave a low chuckle. "You got me. It was all part of my devious plan."

Goddammit, he was playing along with that stupid, sexy voice of his. That was against the rules. Why was everything against her the one time she needed something on her side?

Enough with the flirting. Get back to business. Busy-ness. To be with the busy.

"So are you..." Buffy began. "Are you *sure*?"

Angel smiled at the disbelief in her voice. "Yeah. We talked about it, and there were a couple of other people who wanted the room as well, but you got it hands down, in my opinion." His tone turned mock-suspicious. "Did you put something in our drinks?"

Buffy grinned. "Oops. Caught me." Her train of thought continued along the lines of punishment and general naughtiness and she slapped a hand over her eyes. She had to be stopped.

"So Spike was okay with it?" she asked, before adding, "And Darla?"

"Of course," Angel said immediately, though it seemed the slightest bit forced, a bit too quick. She frowned. "We all made the decision together."

Buffy was about to question him further but was startled when someone began pounding on her door, causing it to rattle unreliably. She froze as she heard muffled voices over the insistent pounding, unsure whether to ignore it or not.

"Buffy?" Angel asked when she remained silent. "Is something wrong?"

"It's okay," she said, more to herself than to him. "Someone's at the door."

"Why are you whispering?" he asked, his worry apparent.

There was raucous laughter on the other side of her door -- by the sound of it there were two men -- and she winced. "Who is it?" she called firmly, trying to keep the nervousness out of her voice. She knew how to take care of herself, but she wasn't as fearless as she liked to think. Particularly when they were two, and she was one. Alone.

"It's just me, baby. Open the door," one of them replied loudly, causing the other to laugh again. They were probably drunk, thinking it would be fun to pay a visit to the girl who lived alone. "Hey, BUFFY! Open the fucking door!" A new round of banging started.

Drunk men who knew her name. She was suddenly aware that her heart was racing in her chest, thudding, thudding, and she bit her lip hesitantly as she tried to think over the noise. They must have seen her in the building; she'd probably even passed them before without noticing.

Angel heard the shout through the receiver. "Who is that? Do you want me to come over?"

"No!" she answered quickly. "Just stay there. They'll go away soon."

There was a loud thud and her door shook. One of them had thrown himself against it, attempting to use his weight to force his way in. The phone lay loosely in her hand as she walked up to the door, anger -- and rising fear -- simmering within her. She peered through the peephole, just in time to see a dark-haired man fling himself against her door again. She took a step back as it shook once more and clenched a fist, digging neat fingernails into the flesh of her palm.

"If you ASSHOLES don't get the FUCK away from my door right NOW, I'm calling the cops!" Buffy hollered, her voice cracking on the last word. She grimaced, feeling breathless and weak. She was never weak.

There was one last bang as he slammed his hand against the door. "Fuck you," he bit out loudly, slurring. Then eerie silence, as if sound had been sucked out of the air. She waited almost a minute, feeling every muscle tense anxiously, pressing her ear tentatively to the wooden surface, until she remembered the phone in her hand.

"Angel?" she said quickly. "Are you still there?"

"Are you okay?" he asked immediately. "What the hell happened?"

"Nothing," Buffy said, managing to sound more assured than she felt. She stared at one clammy palm, trembling slightly. "Just a couple of guys hanging around. I'm fine. I think they're gone."

"I don't think you should be there alone," Angel said, worried. "I can come over--"

"Don't worry about it," she interrupted. She didn't want him to rescue her when she didn't need rescuing. They were gone.

For now, a warning voice added.

"--Or I can pick you up. You can stay here tonight, or if you know someone-- Spike, let *go*." There seemed to be a bit of a scuffle for the phone and Buffy couldn't help but smile.

"Buffy, you alive over there?" Spike asked brusquely. "You damn near gave Nancy Boy a heart attack.... Can't really say I minded that part, though. The man needs to be put out of his misery -- Yes, I'm talking about you, you arse."

"Won't happen again, I promise," she said, rolling her eyes at their bickering. "Nothing happened. Some guys tried to make trouble."

"Know who they are? We could give 'em a real good thrashing--"

"They were no one," Buffy insisted. "No thrashing required."

Somehow, Angel managed to get the phone back from Spike. "Sorry. I could only hold him off for so long. Fu--Spike, get off. Do you know anyone you can stay with?"

Buffy remembered that Willow had just gotten back from visiting her parents, probably exhausted and fast asleep. "No, but I'm really okay here. I don't think they're coming back."

"I'd feel better knowing you were safe," Angel said soberly.

"I'm safe," she said firmly.

"Maybe you should call the police anyway," he said uncertainly, having heard her earlier threat. "Just to be sure. It's better they know."

"Angel," she said exasperatedly. She didn't want any police involved. It was too much trouble over what was most likely nothing, and it would probably just provoke them further. She didn't want to make a big deal about what had happened. They had too much to drink. They were bored. The end.

She heard Darla's voice in the background, though her words were unintelligible from Buffy's side.

"Just *wait*, okay?" Angel said to her, irritated. "She's *not* fine."

"I *am* fine," Buffy insisted.

"What if I hang up and you get attacked?" Angel said sternly.

She smiled at his tone. "I won't."

"You might," he said.

"Then I'll kick their ass."

Angel sighed. "I'm serious."

"I have a baseball bat," Buffy lied, wishing she really did have one. It suddenly seemed like a very good idea. "It'll be my weapon of choice."

"I still don't like the idea of you being alone," he said anxiously. "With a piece of sporting equipment, no less."

"What about kitchen knives?" she suggested.

"Buffy--"

"I'm hanging up now, Angel," she interrupted. "Good night."

He let out a breath. "Okay. Okay. I'll talk to you later. If anything happens..."

"You'll be the first to know. Then the cops," Buffy promised. "I'll call you when I figure things out about moving."

"Of course. Anytime."

"Angel?" she said quickly, before he could hang up. "Thanks again. For everything."

"Don't thank me," he said, softening. "Just move in."

Well, gee, what girl could resist that tempting offer? She sighed as they ended the call. That girl would have to be her. The last thing she wanted to do was jump into things, then regret it later.

Shallow pool. Cracked head.

Contrary to what she had told Angel, she was still shaken up from the unexpected visit. Before going to bed, she double checked the locks on her door and windows. She became uncomfortably aware of how quiet the apartment was and turned the TV on at a low volume, curling up under the covers with a mound of pillows.

Buffy laid silently in the darkness, blinking at the ceiling that she was certain was there. She couldn't see on either side of her due to the pillow fort. She sighed tiredly. False sense of security, but she cuddled Mr Gordo tightly nonetheless.

-----

++ Monday, 4th March

Buffy arrived at Revello early the next day, just as she had promised, and found Willow already getting the store prepared with Giles. She'd been hesitant opening her front door that morning, imagining that the same men were lying in wait for her to come out. They weren't, of course, and she was able to marginalise the incident much more easily now that it was day.

"Morning," she said loudly, alerting them to her presence as she took off her coat. "You won't believe what happened last night."

Willow frowned. "Something bad?"

"Two guys started attacking my door," Buffy said, moving behind the counter. "I think they were drunk."

"Are you okay?" Willow asked, worried, checking her over. Buffy brushed her off.

"I'm fine." She was starting to feel like a broken record. A rather tired broken record who hadn't gotten much sleep during the night.

Her friend shook her head. "You really need to get out of there."

Buffy sighed. "I know." She tied an apron around her waist. "Angel called me last night. He said they wanted me to move in."

Willow's eyes widened. "You got it? What am I saying? Of *course*, you got it. This is great!" she said, hugging her friend. "Talk about timing, huh?" When Buffy didn't seem to share her excitement, she pulled back uncertainly. "This isn't great?"

"It is," Buffy said, forcing a smile. "I'm just not sure yet."

Willow looked confused. "I thought you *loved* the apartment? And you said they were all nice."

"I do," she answered earnestly. "They are. I've been thinking about it -- a lot -- and it just might not be the best idea, that's all."

"Why?" Willow asked with a frown. "It seems almost perfect."

They ceased their conversation when an elderly man entered to order a flat white and Buffy occupied herself with her work. The caf� was fairly active during breakfast and Jane, who worked part-time, was absent. Knowing her, Buffy guessed that she had probably partied a little too hard the night before.

Speaking of partying...

"Want to come clubbing with me on Friday night?" Buffy asked Willow when she went to the counter for some change. She wouldn't feel so anxious about going to Cygnet for the first time with Spike, Darla and Angel if she knew her best friend would be there with her. She couldn't help but feel a little wary about what she was going to find there. It made her miss the familiarity of the Bronze even more.

"Clubbing?" Willow asked curiously.

"Spike works at this club called Cygnet, and he wants me to see the place. They should all be there. You can meet them," Buffy said, warming to the idea.

"Sorry, can't," Willow said reluctantly. "I promised Xander I'd help him make a romantic dinner for Anya."

"What did he do this time?" Buffy asked knowingly. It seemed like he was constantly slipping up and saying the wrong thing, which usually really wasn't his fault; Anya just seemed to insist on taking things the wrong way.

Willow grinned conspiratorially. "He's going to propose."

Buffy gasped. "You're kidding."

The redhead shook her head. "He just seemed too nervous this time. He was all twitchy and 'This has to be the perfectest' and stuff. So I twisted his arm a little and made him confess."

Buffy struggled to think of something to say. "Wow."

Good to know she still had the power of speech.

The idea of Xander getting married was too bizarre. It didn't seem right, like they should still be living with their parents and worrying about homework. Not doing homework, of course, because thinking about it was enough strain. But marriage? The fact that she could physically fall pregnant was mind-boggling enough, and she'd known that for years.

She treaded carefully with her next question. "Are you okay with it?"

Willow had told her that she had been in love with Xander throughout their high school years, even after she had met Oz. They'd, apparently, shared a brief dalliance that was never fully resolved. Buffy was surprised they had managed to stay the best of friends in spite of it.

"You know what? I really am," Willow said with a small smile. "I'm happy about it and I'm glad he's happy with her. Anya's not my most favourite person in the world, but she's...honest, I guess. You need honest friends."

"You're not even the tiniest bit jealous?" Buffy asked, rather impressed.

"Maybe the tiniest," Willow conceded. "But it's nothing."

Buffy shook her head. "If Scott told me he was getting married, I'd be a bit weird about it."

"I thought you said it was a mutual break up thing," Willow said.

"It was," Buffy acknowledged. "But I'd still be weird."

"That's because you don't have an Oz," Willow bantered with a happy grin.

"Damn," Buffy said, shaking her head. "I need to get me one of those. If you could set up a factory and sell packaged Ozs, you'd make a fortune. They could come with bonus hair dye and nail polish."

Willow giggled. "I think Oz would have an identity crisis."

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Oz? Nah. He's way too cool. He'd say 'huh'."

"Or 'whoa'," Willow agreed.

"But then the Ozs would probably take over and start selling Willows to each other on the black market," Buffy said seriously.

"Aww, that's sweet," Willow beamed.

"Creepy," Buffy said.

Willow nodded. "Let's stop."

"So how were your parents?" Buffy asked with a smile, changing the subject.

Her friend gave her a long-suffering look, one that said, 'Let's not go there. Ever.' "I refuse to believe that I'm the product of a union between those two."

Buffy grimaced. "*Really* bad image."

Willow realised what she meant and blanched. "Ugh. Wiping mental slate - now." She looked up when she saw a familiar customer walk in, a devious quality in her eye. "Look who's here."

Riley had become something of a regular during lunch time and it was pretty much a given that he was Buffy's customer. Willow constantly teased her that it wasn't the food that kept bringing him back.

"Don't start," Buffy warned before going to his table. He usually sat by the window, and he usually ordered the house burger and coke. He looked up as she approached and she smiled. "Hey, Riley."

"Buffy, how are you?" he asked, his tone friendly.

"I'm good," she said. "The usual?"

Riley briefly looked over the menu. "Sure."

She nodded, jotting it down. "Coke?"

"Yep," he said, giving her the menu.

"It should be ready soon," Buffy said, like she always did. After a hundred lunches, they had fallen into something of a routine. She practically had the script memorised.

Willow laughed when she returned. "What?" Buffy glared.

"Nothing," she said, pursing her lips in a effort to look serious. "Watching you two every week just starts getting funny, that's all."

Buffy shook her head. "You are so weird."

"I watched him eat once," Willow said. "It's not that he ate strangely or anything, but watching someone eat when they don't know you're watching can be kinda funny."

"You watched Riley eat?" Buffy asked disbelievingly.

Willow blushed. "Just once. It was amusing," she said, attempting to defend her actions. "Did you know he wipes his mouth a lot? Maybe he had a bad experience."

"Don't tell me any more. What if I started dating him or something?" she said, only half-serious. She barely knew Riley, only managing to discover over the weeks that he was a TA at NYU and liked basketball. Which made sense, because he was about eight feet tall. She liked that he was usually sitting down when they talked.

"Dating whom?" Giles asked absently as he checked the orders.

"Certainly not a customer," Buffy said innocently, suppressing a smile.

"Good. Nice to hear." He frowned. "And Buffy? Please refrain from dating the customers."

"Don't you think watching people eat is funny?" Willow asked him.

Giles gave her an odd look. "Right. Well, I-I'll be over there," he said, gesturing vaguely towards the kitchen and disappearing.

"You scared Giles away," Buffy grinned.

"He'll be back," Willow said confidently.

Lunch time seemed to have officially started and both were kept busy getting orders, serving food and assisting customers. Buffy almost lost it when a tall, sharply dressed woman insisted that her salad didn't have enough dressing, then too much dressing, and then the latt� was too bland, too fat, too strong. Then she ordered ice tea and finally stalked away in her gleaming black pumps.

Okay, maybe *walked*. Whatever.

Willow went back behind the counter to help Buffy make sandwiches and stole a carrot to munch on. She handed Buffy a warmed bagel, who handed it to a businessman. As he left the cafe, she saw another man enter, simply holding a slim black case.

"Holy fuck," Buffy said suddenly, grasping Willow's wrist.

Willow looked at her, startled. "What?" then, "Don't swear."

Buffy turned around, ducking slightly behind the cappuccino machine, and hissed, "Angel just walked in!"

Her friend looked around eagerly, spotting a tall, striking man with dark hair and clothes walking in their direction. "That's *Angel*?! *Towel* Angel?!"

Buffy shot her a death look, muttering, "Loud enough?" through clenched teeth. She turned around again and busied herself with cleaning the counter, wiping off stray chocolate flavouring.

Willow attempted to act normal and overcompensated by whistling random notes, while glancing at Buffy out of the corner of her eye. They both looked up at the same time as Angel stopped in front of them.

// Real subtle, Buff. //

He gave Buffy a sly smile, and she couldn't help but stare. "Don't I know you from somewhere?"

She froze, stricken, then caught herself. What the hell was wrong with her? This was Angel. She had talked to Angel before. In fact, he'd even called her. So there.

"That's one of the worst lines ever," she admonished with a smile, forcing herself to act like a normal human being and not the hysterical, nervous dork bursting to be free. "Hey. What are you doing here?"

Angel shrugged easily. "I wanted to see how you were. I mean, after last night." He paused, then added, "And I wasn't doing anything today, so I thought I'd drop by. I haven't been here in a while." He decided not to mention that he'd stopped by her apartment first, prepared for the worst.

Buffy didn't hear most of what he said, too distracted by the thoughts bombarding her one after the other.

// He came to see me. What does he think he's *doing*? God, he looks good. How's my hair? I *love* his hair. Were his shoulders that broad last time? He wants me to move in with him! Go Buffy! //

"I'm great," she answered with a weak smile. "Those guys didn't come back."

"I'm glad," Angel said warmly, clearly relieved. "You must have scared them off."

"Uh huh," she said, flailing inside. "You know me, freakish at heart." She yanked Willow towards her. "This is Willow."

Angel looked amused. "Hi, Willow."

The redhead giggled a little. "Hi."

Okay, so Willow wasn't helping.

Buffy pushed all her thoughts down into her stomach -- so she could regurgitate them later on. "So... Are you gonna order something?" she asked, keeping her voice light.

"I'll have a..." Angel scanned the menu board on the wall behind them. "Mochaccino, please."

"Good choice," Willow nodded.

"I think someone's having a little trouble with those crime fiction books," Buffy said pointedly to Willow as she prepared Angel's mocha.

"Yeah," Willow said, edging away. "Those uh, crime fiction books are pretty tough. Considering we don't ha-- Yeah. Tough." She made a hasty escape, but not before shooting Buffy an encouraging grin.

"She's my best friend," Buffy explained to Angel.

"She seems nice," he said, watching Buffy go through the motions.

"You should find a seat," she said, trying to concentrate on anything but the man in front of her. "I can bring this over."

"It's okay," Angel said, staying put. "What time do you get off?"

Buffy almost dropped the mug she was filling, feeling her hand weaken. "Five," she said, swallowing.

"Are you teaching a class today?" he asked.

She shook her head, sprinkling chocolate on top of the cream on top of the mocha. In the mug. "Only Tuesday and Wednesday. How come you aren't doing anything today?" Buffy asked, handing him his mocha.

"I'm in between exhibitions. I'm still working on a few projects," Angel said, grabbing two sachets of sugar.

"Slacker," she said, pretending to glare. He only chuckled, getting out his wallet. She shook her head. "This one's on me."

"I'm paying," he insisted.

"Pay next time," Buffy compromised. "Now shoo. I've got hungry customers."

Angel gave her another one of his big smiles before seating himself at the same window table Riley had occupied before. She spotted Willow talking to Mr Burger-and-Coke himself, and it was obvious that he had been there for a couple of hours, staying to peruse the books.

Buffy gazed at Angel for a moment before pulling herself together and giving a friendly smile to her next customer. Willow joined her fifteen minutes later.

"Place is pretty busy today," Buffy commented as she added cream to a Vienna coffee.

"It's probably your happy vibe," Willow joked.

Buffy gave her a look. "I do not have a happy vibe."

"You're all glowy and smiley," her friend observed.

"It's probably all the steam from the coffees I've been making," Buffy reasoned.

"Steam makes you smiley?" Willow asked, quirking an eyebrow. She handed Buffy a bowl of strawberries.

"So what if it does?" Buffy said, glancing up every now and then to see where a new customer sat. "It's smiley steam."

They worked in companionable silence until Willow abruptly stopped what she was doing and said, "I *totally* get it now."

"What?" Buffy asked, looking up as she poured the strawberries into a blender.

"*Angel*," Willow said, as if it were obvious. "Moving out. The happy vibe. You really like him."

Buffy didn't respond, snapping down the lid of the blender more forcefully than necessary. Willow watched, both amused and concerned.

"Stop abusing the blender," she said, pulling it away from further harm. "He's a hottie."

"The blender?" Buffy smirked, concentrating on laying slices of tomato neatly on a foccacia.

"Angel," Willow said, rolling her eyes. "Beyond hottie, even," she pressed.

"I know," Buffy said.

"And it was really sweet how he was worried about you," her friend commented.

"I *know*," Buffy repeated, a little exasperated.

"So. You like him," Willow said, stating her original point.

"Of course, I like him," Buffy said, as if it were common sense. "What's not to like? And he has a girlfriend, remember? Darla? The gorgeous woman who could be the ambassador for bed sheet chic?"

"So?" Willow said.

"'So?'" Buffy echoed incredulously. "So they're living together. That's like, indicative of heavy commitment."

"And now *you* might be living together. What about that?" Willow said pointedly.

Buffy shook her head. "That's different. They're practically married. They might as well be married." She struggled for words. "He's *married*!"

"Except for the whole no-wedding-no-ring thing," Willow said dryly. "Well, duh. Then of course, he's married."

"They've got little happy snaps of each other all over the place," Buffy said emphatically. "There's a naked drawing of Darla that Angel says isn't Darla but I bet it *is* Darla because, you know, why *wouldn't* you stick a naked drawing of your girlfriend on your living room wall?"

"Are you broken?" Willow asked worriedly, raising an eyebrow. "And Angel thinks you're great. I can tell."

"He doesn't think I'm 'great', he thinks I'm nice. There's a difference," Buffy said. She sighed, untying her apron. She realised that she wasn't actually going anywhere and retied the apron with a frown. "I can handle that, though. I'm not trying to steal him away or anything."

"What, you're just going to drool after him until whatever point in time you run out of drool?" Willow asked.

"In short?" Buffy said earnestly. "Yes."

"That could be years," Willow determined.

"Yes, and by then, I'll probably have enough drool to power a small country!" Buffy said, throwing up her hands. "Either way, I'm not gonna win, so I may as well just live with it."

"Live with the fact that you like Angel and he might very well like you back, but you're not gonna do anything about it because he has a girlfriend?" Willow said, unimpressed.

"Yep," Buffy said abruptly, not looking at her. She really didn't want to talk about Angel, or her very distinct lack of Angel. "And didn't you have those Willow-morals just five minutes ago?"

Her friend shrugged slowly. "There's nothing wrong with finding someone better," Willow said carefully.

"You can't just assume that," Buffy argued. "They've probably been together since they were in diapers, for all we know."

Willow snorted. "Fine."

"Fine." They didn't speak for a moment, until Buffy started up again, attempting an indifferent tone. "Besides, after a while, I'll probably get over him."

"Probably," Willow said unconvincingly. "But how long is that gonna take? A month? A year? Never? You're not going to know how things would have turned out and that's going to bother you."

"No, because I already *know* how things will turn out," Buffy said. "Look, to them, I'm just some girl who wants to move in."

"So you are going to move in?" Willow questioned.

Buffy shrugged her shoulders uncertainly. "No. Maybe. I don't know yet. But since I know nothing will happen, that's enough reason to move in as any -- right?"

"Even if nothing happens, you'll still be attracted to him," Willow said forcefully. It annoyed her that Willow knew her so well. Or that she was pointing out the very things she was trying to deny.

"What does it matter, anyway?" Buffy asked frustratedly. "And aren't you supposed to be pushing the taken men away? Isn't that a rule or something?"

Willow sighed, putting down the plate of food she was about to serve. "I'm just worried, that's all."

"So *now* you're worried?" Buffy huffed, as if it were her fault all along for not bringing her doubts up sooner.

"Well, yeah," Willow said frankly. "I don't want you to be sad if something happens, and I don't want this to end badly for you."

Buffy softened slightly, knowing her friend was only concerned for her. "I'm not gonna let anything bad happen," she said firmly. "I mean, I want this to work out for me, too."

That was all, really. She just wanted things to work out well -- she wanted the apartment, she wanted to keep working at Revello, and she wanted to think that Angel was really ugly and really mean to her.

"Okay," Willow acquiesced after a moment, exhaling deeply. "Thus endeth the lecture, by the way. I trust you."

"Thank god," Buffy breathed, giving her a smile. "You're tough."

"I learned from the best," Willow said. "Thank Sheila and Ira Rosenberg."

"I learnt that the best way to solve things is to get a divorce," Buffy said dryly. Lunch had ended and the cafe was less than half full, allowing them to slow down and relax a little. "I'm gonna go talk to Angel. It feels weird pretending he's not here." Willow quirked an eyebrow, obviously thinking about the conversation they just had.

"I'm being *polite*," Buffy insisted. "He came to talk to me." Geez, did her every move suddenly have an ulterior motive, now?

"He's been watching you," Willow observed. Buffy shot her a look, clearly not wanting to hear any more on the subject. "I'm just saying."

"You think *Riley* has a thing for me. I think it's safe to say your judgement is majorly impaired," Buffy said, then grinned to show she wasn't serious.

Willow just shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, wiping down the counter. "Fine. Don't believe me."

"I don't, but if it would satisfy your bizarre interest in my love life, I have several naked men waiting for me at home," Buffy said. "In fact, they're probably rubbing oil on each other as we speak."

Willow smirked. "What? In your collection of porn videos?" Buffy threw a dish towel at her in mock-outrage, and Willow threw it back with a laugh. "Okay, okay." She sighed dramatically. "I guess I'll have to go obsess about someone else's love life. Where's Giles?"

Buffy pulled a disgusted expression and they both grinned. "You better serve that plate," she reminded Willow. "I won't be long."

She eyed Angel and noticed he was sketching on a pad of paper he had brought, his mug empty. She was touched that he had gone out of his way to inquire about her well-being, a person who was virtually a stranger to him, and decided with certainty that Darla was a damn lucky woman. As Buffy approached, she watched as he carefully tore the page off, scrunching it up into a ball in his hand.

"What were you drawing?" she asked, sitting down across from him and propping her chin up with her hand.

Angel shook his head. "Nothing. I couldn't get it right, anyway." He cleared his throat. "Shouldn't you be working?"

She shrugged. "I'm not busy at the moment. Am I bothering you?"

"Not at all," he said quickly, moving his pad of paper off to the side.

"Do you want another one?" Buffy asked, gesturing at his mug.

"I'm fine." Angel smiled. "Are you allowed to have one?"

She felt warmth in her cheeks and decided not to reply. "Are you sure you don't want something to eat?"

"Are you sure you're okay?" Angel asked instead. Then he smiled. "We just asked three questions in a row without getting a single answer."

"I'm very okay," Buffy reassured him, finally replying. "I admit, those guys made me a little jittery, but they didn't do anything to me. So stop worrying."

"They made you jittery. That's something," Angel pointed out.

She glared. "Stop it."

Angel met her eyes defiantly for a moment, before his gaze slid away. "Fine," he said reluctantly.

"Thank you," Buffy said, pretending to be exasperated. She paused. "Can I see your drawing now?"

"What drawing?" Angel asked, feigning innocence.

"The one in your hand," Buffy said and made a grab for it, only managing to grasp his hand for a second before he pulled away with a laugh.

"You're not getting it," he declared. She pouted and he shook his head obstinately. "That lip isn't gonna work, either."

"Can I guess?" she asked, attempting to coax him.

"Nope," Angel said, putting the paper ball in his pocket. "Anyone ever tell you that you're a persistent woman?"

Buffy gave him a sly smile and lifted her eyebrows coyly. "Only when I want something badly enough."

It was one of those really stupid, unimportant things that probably should have gone unnoticed -- if, perhaps, he was someone other than Angel -- but it was the first time she could remember anyone ever calling her a woman. She was so used to being a girl. She was young, but she wasn't naive or inexperienced. Still. Her girl-type days seemed far from over.

And gah. There was that uncontrollable flirting again. Damn it to heck.

Riley caught her attention as he neared the exit and he gave her a warm smile. "See you later, Buffy."

She returned it with a small wave, glad for a distraction. "Bye, Riley."

"Friend of yours?" Angel asked after a contemplative moment, seeming as if he wanted to say something else.

Buffy shrugged. "He comes in for lunch," she said simply. They sat in awkward silence for a minute, until she said, "So. How is...everyone?"

Angel gave her a half-smile, as if he knew she was just trying to fill the quiet. "Everyone's good. Darla's birthday is coming up. Spike has been driving her nuts about it."

She chuckled. "Are you throwing a party?"

"No," Angel said, shaking his head. "She hates celebrating her birthday, so no presents and no cake."

"Those two things are supposed to make you feel better about having a birthday," Buffy pointed out. She saw Giles watching her with an arched eyebrow, looking fairly unimpressed with her in a way only he could. "I better get back to work."

"Of course," he said. "I should probably go, too. Thanks for the coffee."

Buffy nodded as Angel gathered his things and stood. She was grateful that he hadn't mentioned the apartment, still unsure as to what she was going to tell him. After being so enthusiastic about the idea, it was hard to suddenly turn around and convince everyone that she didn't want it after all. Moreover, it was hard to convince herself.

It was like denying yourself chocolate after a really shitty day, then turning on the TV and seeing that Simpson's episode where Homer daydreams about the 'Land of Chocolate', and thinking that the chocolate dog he just bit into looked damn tasty for a cartoon chocolate dog.

The apartment was the chocolate dog. And Angel was the Land of Chocolate.

"And Buffy?" He turned, stopping in the doorway. She blinked and looked at him, startled out of thoughts of Angel and chocolate sauce. "Spike told me to tell you to be at Cygnet by nine on Friday."

Buffy narrowed her eyes a little, slightly put off at being told what to do. "I'll be there by ten."

He smirked, catching on. "I'll let him know."

-----

Her door was ambushed once more that week, and the attacker was alone this time, sounding angrier and more insistent as he kicked and pounded at the door. Buffy had sat on the floor against her couch, a knife grasped tightly in her hand as he fought to get in. She forced herself not to think about what he would do if he succeeded, surprised that her door had managed to stay in one piece regardless.

"Little girl! What are you waiting for, huh?" His words were slurred and full of rage. "DON'T PLAY WITH ME!"

Buffy had stopped shouting insults at him, and the threat of police had ceased to deter him. After a good half hour, he'd finally left, threatening to come back for her. She heard other people on her floor yelling for him to shut up and keep it down, but he only shouted even louder. He wanted a reaction from her and she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of one.

After returning from work on Friday, she spent the better part of an hour colouring the ends of her hair red -- mostly at the onset of boredom -- and then enjoyed a long, hot shower, relieved that the week was finally over. Wiping the steam from the mirror, Buffy noticed that she had slight bags under her eyes from lack of sleep, mostly due to the man who demanded to be let in and managed to keep her awake during the night, despite his absence. She covered them up with make up, adding smoky eyeshadow and heavy eyeliner.

She found a filmy, black backless top which she had only worn once before, to the Bronze. When Willow had seen it at the back of her closet, she'd laughed and told Buffy that she had bought a rather expensive handkerchief.

"Wanna borrow it?" Buffy had grinned.

Willow had exaggerated a horrified expression. "Can you imagine *me* wearing this? Way, way too much naughty skin showing. I'll stick with my fuzzy Willow sweaters."

Digging around in her closet some more, Buffy took out her leather pants with a grin. "Oh baby, I've missed you," she said, smoothing out slight folds. She hadn't had the opportunity to wear them in months.

She was planning to have a good time. A great time, in fact. She also hoped to discuss the apartment with Angel, Darla and Spike. Buffy knew it was in her best interest to find an apartment without an Angel type person in it -- or at least, without a Darla type person in the picture as well -- because as much as she loved the apartment, Willow was right. She'd either try to make something with Angel, or get gone.

And since the former wasn't even remotely an option, staying away completely seemed like the way to go.

But....maybe that third and slightly more appealing option shouldn't be ruled out -- move into a great apartment and try not to make anything at all. With anyone. Honestly, how hard could that possibly be? She could do it with her eyes closed.

Yeah. She could do it bound and gagged to a chair, as well.

She couldn't do that to herself, though. The well was better left untapped, untouched. She had to move on and find something new, because living with them could only end badly. She knew it, she knew it from the way she reacted when Angel was around, the way Darla gazed at her with distrust, and from the way Spike looked like he wanted to take a good bite out of her. There was just too much going on beneath the surface.

By ten o'clock, she was standing on the footpath outside Cygnet, listening to the slow, thumping bass of the music coming from inside the club. Around her, people were smoking and drinking, preferring the cool night air to the crowded club, and she stepped inside to escape the stench of cigarette smoke. The first thing she noticed was the size of the place. It was about three times bigger than the Bronze, and more importantly, patroned by an older crowd. Otherwise it was much like home -- there was an upper floor that overlooked the bottom, while another flight of stairs to her left led to a catwalk for anyone willing to showcase their talents at dancing. She noticed a group of girls there, drunken and laughing and swivelling their hips.

Buffy easily spotted the bar and made her way over, mumbling apologies as she squeezed through the crush of people who were waiting for drinks. She made it to the front and was met with a grinning Spike, who put two shots of something in front of her before she could speak. She looked at him, then down at the three-layered drinks.

"They're B-52s," he said. "Quaff 'em."

"What's in them?" she asked dubiously as she picked one up, almost needing to shout over the people around her.

Spike gave her an impatient look, leaning over so she could hear him. "Nothin'. Kahlua, Marnier, Baileys. The ladies like Baileys, don't they?"

It sounded harmless enough so she threw them back successively in a single gulp, feeling her throat immediately become warm from the liqueurs. It left a kind of yummy orange chocolate aftertaste, which she wasn't expecting.

"Knew you'd like it," he said, surprising her when he jumped over the bar to her side.

"Aren't you working?" Buffy asked as he led her away by the hand, pulling her through the crowd. She made mumbled 'excuse me's to the people as they pushed passed.

"Got someone to cover for me," Spike answered. "Told you I'd show you around, didn't I?"

There was a live band playing, a sexy trip-hop act that often performed there. Buffy found herself pulled up against Spike's chest and easily surrendered to the throbbing beat of the music, putting her arms around his neck. She missed dancing in the dark; she missed soaking up the unrestrained atmosphere, and slipped back comfortably into those familiar feelings of freedom. Tonight was about fun. She promised.

They danced to three more songs, laughing and grinding, until Buffy told him breathlessly that she needed a drink.

"There they are," Spike said, and Buffy's eyes were drawn to the table where Angel and Darla were sipping drinks. He guided her towards them, a hand on her hip, and ordered another shot for her.

"I meant water," she said with a look, but he only smirked in response. There was one other chair at the table and Spike dropped himself into it, dragging Buffy onto his lap even though there were several available chairs from other tables.

Buffy allowed it but not without an expression of mixed amusement and irritation, and smiled at the couple before them. "Hey."

"Hey," Darla echoed. Angel only barely smiled at her, finishing a shot of whiskey, and Buffy wondered at his uncharacteristic aloofness. "Having fun?" the older woman asked.

Buffy gave her a nod. "Great place. I love the music."

A girl served them two B-52s and bottle of vodka. Spike tipped her, winking with his usual cockiness, and earned a sly smile in return. She gave Buffy a once over, ticking over her with critical eyes.

"Meow," Buffy said when she'd left, slinging an arm around Spike's neck. "A groupie of yours?"

He grinned but said nothing, putting the bottle of vodka to his lips for a long swallow. She turned to Darla and Angel.

"I kinda wanted to talk about the apartment--"

"Bollocks," Spike interrupted, slamming the bottle back on the table. "Not talking about it. We've been talking about it and talking about it and I don't want to hear another word."

So how much, exactly, had they been talking about it? Buffy wondered. Angel's eyes were fixed on something behind her, probably the crowd of dancers, and Darla's expression gave away nothing.

"Okay," Buffy conceded. "But later, though." She gazed at the last B-52 left on the table. "That isn't mine, is it?"

"'Course, it is," Spike said, pushing it towards her. Buffy considered it warily for a moment, knowing she'd had three already, then knocked it back quickly after promising it would be her last, feeling slightly flushed.

"My new favourite drink," she said with a sheepish smile. Darla toasted her before polishing off her Manhattan.

"Champagne tastes better on the skin," she disagreed.

Buffy shook her head, remembering a wine-tasting trip she'd reluctantly taken with her mother. Getting tipsy with her was actually a good bonding experience. "Sauternes. Sweeter."

Spike quirked an eyebrow. "I'm getting kind of turned on." Both women scowled and he rested his chin on Buffy's shoulder with a shameless grin. Angel looked at him darkly and Spike only shot him a brazen 'Try me' look.

"You guys gonna dance?" Buffy asked Darla and Angel, missing the silent exchange.

"Maybe later," Angel replied, the first words he had said to her all evening. Progress, at least.

"You two go ahead," Darla said with a coy smile, leaning into him and smoothing a hand over his chest. "We'll be right here."

Buffy grimaced inwardly, sliding her gaze away. This table was decidedly not fun. She stood quickly, feeling restless, and pulled Spike up from his seat. "Come dance with me again."

He followed her willingly as he admired her bare back. "Not about to refuse." "Shut up."

"You offered, pet."

Buffy put her arms loosely around his neck and looked at Spike with weary amusement. "Just shut up."

They danced on the edge of the crowd, and Buffy pretended that Angel and Darla couldn't see them from where they were sitting, that they hadn't agreed to come and were gone. Far away. Darla's strapless red top was striking amidst the dark crowd, which made it harder to tell herself that they weren't there. But Spike was there to take her attention away from them and she rubbed up against him with the driving beat.

Buffy turned neatly and pressed her back against his chest, feeling like his eyes were a little too dark, a little too dangerous, and the slight uneasiness began to seep away.

Spike held her hips as they moved in tempting circles, wondering fleetingly how she'd managed to squeeze into those tight leather pants. She raised her arm around his neck and leaned her head back against his shoulder, moving to the beat of the music. He slid a hand over her exposed midriff to pull her closer and she acquiesced, chuckling and moving his hand away when he inadvertently tickled her sides.

Spike had thought she was sweet during dinner, but now he sensed that it was only one side of the spectrum. The beat changed, slowed, and the music became lush and more intimate, if that were possible. Spike leaned down and bit her bare shoulder playfully so that she laughed, pushing him off and turning around to wrap her arms around his neck again.

"Hi," she said with a small smile. She was feeling more relaxed; from the dancing or the drinks, she wasn't sure. Mostly likely a combination of both.

"Got any more moves on you?" he said suggestively. He slid a finger down her spine and she shivered.

"A few," Buffy said vaguely, giving away nothing.

"Care to test drive them?" Spike asked with a grin.

Buffy gave him a look. "I'm going to pretend you never said anything."

He ignored her and tugged gently at the ties on the back of her top. "You have these easy access clothes..." He lifted an eyebrow.

She shook her head. "You always do that."

"What?" he said. Their bodies were still moving in tandem, her legs on the outside of one of his.

"Manage to piss me off," Buffy replied.

Spike leered. "S'all part of my charm, love."

"And you're arrogant as hell," she remarked with a sigh. "I don't know why I put up with you."

"You like me," he said smugly.

"*Please*," Buffy scoffed, starting to laugh. His expression didn't change and she faltered with a petulant frown. "It's just a phase, believe me," she assured him sharply. Spike just smirked and pulled her closer.

They finished the song in silence amongst a sea of couples, and Buffy felt strangely out of place, like they were impostors. Then again, she doubted half the people there were in serious relationships and it became more like they were dancing in a masquerade ball, only they didn't need masks to hide behind. She caught sight of Angel and Darla dancing a short distance away, pressed closely together, and it must have been so normal for them, while she was still one of those pretending.

"You think they'll ever get married?" she asked, remembering her conversation with Willow. She surmised that they had been together for a long time, and marriage seemed like the next logical step. Her thoughts drifted to Xander and Anya briefly, and she wondered whether she'd be seeing a happy Xander, or a sad one.

Spike followed the direction of her gaze and looked behind him to see Angel and Darla a few metres away. "Neither of them are quite the marrying types," he answered dryly, as if the knowledge was apparent. "But bugger if I know. Don't really see Darla playing the blushing bride. In a church, no less."

"How about Elvis and a night in Vegas?" Buffy joked.

He grinned. "Not without the honeymoon suite and vibrating bed."

"Of course," she agreed. "It isn't a bed if it doesn't vibrate."

Angel suddenly looked at her over Darla's head and Buffy offered a small smile, which he returned after a moment. So he was in there after all.

Another song ended and she pulled away. "Where's the bathroom?"

Spike pointed to a door at the back of the club. "I'll be around here."

Buffy nodded and made her way to the bathroom, finding it mostly empty, to her surprise. She fixed her hair and touched up her lipstick, pausing when she noticed a girl standing beside her, watching with her arms crossed.

"Did you want something?" Buffy asked, turning towards the busty blonde.

"Spike is mine. So keep your stupid hands off my man," she said firmly. Buffy raised an eyebrow. This had to be a joke.

"Sure," Buffy said, moving to leave. "Whatever."

"Try something and you'll be so sorry you ever messed with me," the blonde called as Buffy escaped the bathroom. What was this? Spike Central?

She bumped into a tall figure, who steadied her immediately. "I'm sorry. Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," Buffy answered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear with an embarrassed smile. "Sorry about that. Weird people in the bathroom."

"Ah. Right," he said knowingly, clearly just playing along. "We tend to avoid them."

"I wouldn't go into the ladies," Buffy cautioned him with mock-seriousness.

"Wasn't planning on it," he replied with an easy smile. She liked his smile, and as it turned out, she liked the rest of him too. He was good-looking, with dark hair and eyes, and he seemed to be around her age. "But I'll take the warning to heart. I'm Parker Abrams," he introduced himself.

"Buffy Summers," she said, shaking his hand.

"So Buffy Summers, are you, uh...here with anyone?" he asked tentatively, his eyes travelling over the club. She smiled, finding his hesitation endearing.

"Not really. Just some people," Buffy replied. "I haven't actually been here before, so it's pretty new."

"I'm usually here on Fridays," Parker said. "Good music. Good people, if you excuse the ones loitering in the bathrooms."

"I'm getting that," Buffy said with a grin. She felt a hand on her back and turned to see Spike standing next to her, eyeing Parker distastefully.

"Was wondering where you'd got to," he said. Buffy gestured at Parker.

"I'm making friends. I kinda ran Parker over." She smiled at him apologetically.

The same blonde who had accosted Buffy in the bathroom sidled up to Spike and pressed against him, looping her arms through his. "Baby, come and dance with me."

He gave her a withering glare. "Harmony, what did I tell you last time?"

She pulled him towards the dance floor forcefully, a teasing glint in her eye. "I wasn't listening. Were my clothes on...or off?" Harmony successfully led a reluctant Spike away, shooting Buffy a pathetically triumphant smirk over her shoulder. Buffy couldn't help but equate her with an intriguing variation of teen flick bad girl.

She and Parker watched the couple with something akin to disbelief, and she shook her head. "Sorry about that. I don't really know either of them, I swear," she said.

"They're interesting," Parker offered. He looked sheepish. "I kinda have to be over there," he gestured towards the tables, "some people are waiting--"

Buffy immediately felt foolish for taking his time when he wanted to be elsewhere. "No, that's okay. Sorry about holding you up."

"That's not what I meant," Parker said with a smile. "I'll get rid of them if I have to. Can I...maybe see you again later?"

She tried to keep the grin off her face and played it cool. A girl liked to be chased, after all. "Yeah, sure. I'll be around."

He gave her a pleased smile. "Then I'll see you."

She nodded and watched him leave, then headed back to the table. Angel and Darla were already there and the blonde smiled at her in a girly, conspiratorial way. Buffy sat down, a little surprised to see it coming from her.

"What was that all about?" Darla asked, indicating Parker. Buffy hadn't realised they had been watching. "He seemed cute."

Somehow, the way she said it reminded Buffy of her mother.

She shrugged. "I don't know. Just random adorableness, I think," Buffy said with a little smile.

"Or not so random..." Darla hinted.

"I might see him later," Buffy admitted, attempting to be casual, but Darla just smiled knowingly. Angel said nothing, listening to them silently.

"So you managed to lose Spike?" Darla asked, sipping her margarita.

"He found a big-breasted airhead," Buffy said, pretending to be insulted. "Or she found him. I found Mr Cutie Patootie."

"One big scavenger hunt," Darla said with a grin. "That sounds typical of Spike."

"He knows a lot of scary women," Buffy observed.

"You're not wrong," Darla said. She raised an eyebrow. "It looked like Harmony from here."

Buffy shrugged nonchalantly. "I think he mentioned it." Her gaze flicked from Darla to Angel then back. "I wanted to thank you for offering me the room."

Darla's pleasant mien didn't waver and Buffy cattily wondered if it was stuck that way. "You're welcome."

She smiled faintly, choosing her words carefully. "But I...I've given it a lot of thought and I think I might have to pass on the offer. Not that I don't love the apartment," she added quickly, feeling guilty and kicking herself for giving up the opportunity. "And I know I came to you first and I realise that this is probably a major hassle for you now and all of you have been really great--"

"Then why not?" Angel interrupted curiously.

Buffy winced inwardly, wondering how to answer his question without being....truthful. To her surprise, it was Darla who saved her.

"Honey, if Buffy doesn't want to move in then that's her decision," Darla answered for her, taking his hand. She turned to her. "Buffy, we completely understand. I know the apartment doesn't come cheap and you're burdened with two jobs already. I'm sure you'll find a place more...for you."

"Right," Buffy agreed weakly. "Exactly." She looked at Angel, who was turning his shot of whiskey in little circles. A drink. She needed a drink... She stood abruptly. "I'm just going over to the bar. I need some...alcohol."

He looked up. "I'll go with you." Darla opened her mouth to say something but stopped, watching them stand at the same time. Angel leaned over and kissed her once, smirking. "Keep out of trouble." Darla just smirked back.

Buffy knew, then, how much she really didn't know either of them. Angel had pretty much mastered the mixed signals game and she couldn't quite keep up.

She fiddled with the belt loops on her pants as they made their way to the bar, letting her eyes linger over the dancers, the band, the bar, and anywhere but Angel. She realised that he owned a pair of leather pants as well, and immediately shuttered those thoughts, knowing they would lead to bad places. How dare he? How dare he own leather pants and look that good in them? The nerve.

His fingers touched the bare skin on the small of her back as he guided her into the queue, interrupting her thoughts, and she clenched her fists, telling herself it was nothing, it felt like nothing.

There weren't as many people at the bar as before, but they still had to wait to be served. Buffy turned towards Angel as a girl squeezed passed her and she was pushed into him. She raised her eyebrows.

"A little crowded," she said lightly as he held her hip to steady her.

"Just a little," he said, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"So how are you?" Buffy asked casually, attempting to make conversation when silence seemed like the worst option. "I haven't seen you all night."

Angel shrugged. "Seems like you're having fun."

"Are you?" she questioned.

"You can't tell?" he said wryly.

"Of course, with the frowning, and the brooding, and the not talking," she said, suppressing a smile. She realised how much she missed talking to him, even though it had barely been a week.

Sheeaghhiii. She was pathetic. Lowest of the low. Pitiful, even. Staying away was a good thing. It was. Particularly for her mental health.

Angel let out a soft laugh, looking down. "I don't think I'm really in the mood for the noise and the...being here part. But the night might be looking up," he said, giving her a smile.

Buffy grinned and looped her arm through his. A fleeting vision of herself asking the ever-innocent 'Have you been working out?' flashed unwanted in her mind and she loosened her hold. When did her life cease to be her life and become such a bad soap opera? And damn, those arms were nice.

"I'll get you drunk. How about that?" she decided.

He gave her a half-smile. "Predictably, appealing. But I think I'll have to pass. Looks like I'll be driving home."

She rolled her eyes, pretending to be put out. "Responsible Guy now? It's more fun getting killed."

"Well, I think Frankie would be violently opposed to getting blood on her shiny leather seats," Angel said regretfully.

"Gee, so not morbid," Buffy teased, grinning to show she was joking.

"That didn't come out the way it was supposed to," Angel grimaced. "Besides, I was...innocently following your lead."

"Uh huh," she said dryly. They stood in silence and the line crept closer to the bar.

"You know," he began quietly, watching as her little fingers pulled on her belt loop once more. "I have to admit I'm disappointed."

Buffy sighed and nodded. "Yeah. Me too. I just..."

When she trailed off, unable to finish, he let it pass. "I understand."

She couldn't help but think that no, he really, really didn't.

"Maybe it's better this way," he said. So maybe he understood a little. But he probably wasn't understanding the same thing she was understanding. He was probably just saying it, but she couldn't help but feel a little crushed by his words.

They didn't speak, and Angel looked towards the crowd, watching Darla dance with a young man, her hips dipping with his provocatively.

"Jealous?" Buffy asked knowingly, getting his attention once more.

Angel gave her a small smile. "No." She just smirked in return. "I'm not," he said earnestly.

"You're supposed to...defend your...territory. Or something," Buffy insisted. She frowned at her own words.

"Fine," he said, easily giving up. "I'm jealous."

"Now you're just trying to placate me. If you're not jealous, then you're not jealous. I get it."

"No, you're right," Angel said grimly. "It's driving me crazy. I want to...break his arms...off. Pain. Carnage. No arms."

Buffy looked at him, unimpressed. "Now you're mocking me."

"Yes, I am."

She didn't answer for a moment, then shrugged. "If it were me, I'd be jealous, that's all."

A teasing smile curved his lips. "I don't think Darla swings your way."

Buffy pretended to be offended. "I happen to be one hell of a catch, thank you very much. That's her loss."

"I'll tell her that," Angel said with a grin. "She'll want to know who she's better off with."

They were almost at the front of the line and Buffy began to get impatient. She tried not to think about kissing him. Or having her lips anywhere near him.

"So... our pants match."

Did she actually say that?

"They do," Angel agreed, glancing down at her pants.

Yes, she did. She just said the stupidest four words in the world. Was there some sort of trophy, at least?

"So do you two actually want anything?" the bartender asked impatiently, raising an eyebrow expectantly after a few minutes of not noticing him. They turned at his voice and Buffy stared at the colourful assortment of bottles behind him. And was lost. The only thing she had thought of was 'drink'. Or more precisely, 'get away from the bad table *now*'. To her surprise, Angel stepped in.

"A Gin & Sin, two Copper Camels and a bottle of water," he answered, taking out a few bills from his wallet. When Buffy looked at him questioningly, he smiled. "You'll like it."

They waited as the bartender mixed their drinks and Buffy tried not to look at Angel, tapping her fingers absently on the bar. She failed miserably, of course, as her eyes darted toward him every few seconds. She was losing it. Really, really losing it.

"So I shouldn't mention Darla's birthday, right?" she asked, remembering their conversation at the caf�.

"Not to her face, no," Angel advised. "I doubt she thinks you know."

"And you'd be in the doghouse?" Buffy grinned.

"Probably. Here," Angel said, handing her two shot glasses while taking the other two drinks to carry back to their table. They sat across from each other and Angel put the bottle of water in front of her. "This is yours."

"Thanks," she said gratefully. She took a few swallows of the cool drink with relief. "So these Camels. If I don't like them, do I get to see you boogie on the dance floor?"

"You won't win," Angel said confidently.

"Hmph. I better see some quality gyrating." Buffy poured the liquid into her mouth, holding it there for a second before swallowing.

Angel smirked. "Told you."

She belatedly wrinkled her nose. "I hate it."

"Yeah, you look like you do," he said, pushing the other one towards her. "You know you want it."

"Wasn't I supposed to be getting *you* drunk?" she asked wryly, feeling herself become hot and sleepy. Her head felt light, woozy -- in a good way.

"Drink more water," Angel advised. "Did you eat much before you came here?"

"Yes, *mom*," she said, rolling her eyes. She took the other shot, but didn't drink it right away.

He finished his gin and sat back in his chair. "So are you going to find another place?"

Buffy sighed. "Yeah. I guess so. I can't stand my apartment -- that hasn't changed."

"That bad?" he asked.

"That bad," she confirmed. She needed to change the subject. "So how long have the three of you been living together?"

Angel had to think about it for a moment. "Two and half years, maybe." He grinned with a shake of his head. "Spike showed up one day and told us he was moving in. There really wasn't much choice in the matter."

"I'm not surprised," Buffy chuckled.

"Bloody hell," the subject of their conversation said exasperatedly, turning the chair backwards and straddling it. "You don't know how hard it is to get rid of that idiot."

"You again," Buffy mock-glared. He shot her a look as Angel smirked. She noticed traces of lipstick on Spike's lips and hid a smile. "You have a little..." she gestured at her lips.

He quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand. "Harmony made me," he complained.

"Did you tell her to look the other way while you ran?" Angel said.

"Close," Spike answered. "I told her to shut her eyes."

Buffy laughed. "I kinda feel sorry for her now."

Spike just shook his head. "You don't know her. She's got more brains between her legs than up here," Spike said, tapping his temple. Buffy raised an eyebrow.

"We all know that a girl's gotta be stupid to run after you, Spike," Darla said scornfully, approaching the table and catching the last part of their conversation. She looked flushed and slightly out of breath, a sheen of perspiration on her skin. She found Angel's lap and wrapped her arms around his neck, nibbling his ear in greeting.

Spike scowled. "Gee, Darla, that really hurt. Your barbs not quite in working order, eh? Must be all that booze."

"Well," Buffy said, clearing her throat when they glowered at each other. "We're a friendly bunch."

"I could drink you under the table," Darla scoffed, Buffy's comment going unnoticed.

Spike's eyes gleamed. "Speaking of which, we didn't quite celebrate your big 3-0. You deserve a birthday drink. On me, huh?"

"You're a bastard," Darla said resentfully.

"Peaches, tell your wench to get off my back," Spike said, taking a swig of vodka. "It's barely one in the morning. Too early to deal with her rot." Angel only shot him a look in response.

"If you want to say something to me, then say it," Darla glared, slurring slightly.

"I wouldn't waste my breath," Spike retorted.

Buffy made up her mind and tugged him up from his seat, thinking it would probably be better to separate them. He didn't seem to play well with others. "Come on. It's a good song. You owe me another dance."

"I just got here," Spike protested. "I haven't recovered yet." Then he shrugged, propelling her forward. "Okay, let's go."

Buffy grinned at his utter lack of subtlety. "We'll be back."

"Take your time," Darla said, waving a dismissing hand and capturing Angel's lips with a predatory grin.

Buffy pulled Spike onto the dance floor as he gave a pathetic rendition of Darla's voice. "Take your time while I get fucked up the arse by my froofy boyfriend."

She raised an eyebrow. "You okay?" she asked dryly.

"That woman drives me up the bloody wall," Spike growled, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Now you know how I feel about you," Buffy said sweetly, giving him a bright smile.

"Right. You're a big help."

"You're welcome," she said. "So it doesn't take much to get you riled up."

Spike shook his head. "You haven't known Darla for as long as I have."

He started to say more -- a rant, most likely -- but Buffy stopped him, putting her fingers over his mouth. "Just stop talking."

"Why the--"

"No."

"Buf--"

"No."

He sighed in capitulation and she grinned, pleased that she had gotten her way. They danced through two songs before Spike interrupted their momentary reprieve. She conceded to herself that it was inevitable, considering, and it was a surprise he had lasted that long.

"These aren't slow songs," he said. They had been slow dancing, ignoring the beat of the music and replacing it with a comfortable rhythm of their own. "Think you've cooled down enough?" Buffy asked.

Spike smiled wickedly, obviously in better spirits. "Heated up, maybe."

"Ugh. I opened myself up for that one, didn't I?" She pushed his shoulder halfheartedly. "Stop making that sleaze-face."

Spike's expression dropped and for a moment Buffy thought she'd gotten her way again. "Bollocks." He ducked his head a little, peering cautiously around her.

She watched him, confused. "What are you doing?"

"Harmony's looking for me. Fuck." He pulled her back towards the tables but she wouldn't budge, laughing.

"I can't believe you're afraid of her," Buffy grinned, looking around for the girl.

"Buffy," Spike said impatiently. "Let's go. Now."

She rolled her eyes and let him pull her back by the hand. Darla and Angel looked up, and she scowled.

"Back already?' she asked Spike, annoyed. "I thought you'd have found some fool to rut with by now."

He just glared but didn't bother with a reply, and Buffy was starting to get a little peeved at Darla's comments as well. Then she wondered whether Darla had been indicating her. Then she decided to stop thinking so much. Spike was right. It was probably just the alcohol that was making her nasty.

She was feeling a little intoxicated herself, like she wasn't all there. Angel and Darla were kissing again, in between whatever they were saying, and Spike was talking to her about his motorcycle. She liked motorcycles, and listened attentively.

"Buffy?"

She frowned, wondering who had said it -- Angel? Spike? Was she losing track of time? -- then looked up to see Parker standing in front of her. She smiled brightly.

"Hey. Hi." Her table was quiet now.

He smiled back. "Hi." He held out a hand. "Would you like to dance?"

Buffy took it and stood, unable to wipe the pleased smile off her face. "Sure."

Parker brought her into the crowd and there was slight awkwardness about where arms would go and such, but it figured itself out. He held her gently as they danced and she sighed, resting her cheek against his chest. This was more like it. She liked the way he smelled, the feel of his arms, and the way he bent his head to be closer to her. What she liked even more was how much he was *not* Angel. He was Parker. A completely different person whom she was allowed to have lusty thoughts about. In fact, it was probably expected.

Buffy didn't know how long they danced, but it seemed like forever, and she wondered whether it was going to end at all. Time seemed irrelevant, and she thought she'd be quite happy if it really was forever.

Parker gave her a smile. "Having fun or falling asleep?"

She grinned. "Hey, I was having a pretty good dream."

He pretended to be serious. "Oh. Don't let me stop you, then."

Buffy found that he wasn't only good-looking, but intelligent and knew how to carry a conversation. She was pleasantly surprised. He told her he was a student, studying history, though he wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do afterwards.

"I can relate," Buffy said. "I kinda moved here not knowing what I wanted to do."

"That takes a lot of courage," Parker said warmly. "Starting fresh, in a new city. It must have been tough."

She shrugged. "At first, definitely. It took a while to get used to, but I made some good friends and found a job that I like."

"Well, I'm glad you're here," he said with certainty.

Buffy smiled. "Me too."

"Hate to break up the festivities, ladies," Spike said, appearing in front of them, "but Darla's about had enough and Angel's taking her home. I can bring you home, unless you want to stay longer..." he trailed off, looking at Buffy.

She held up Parker's wrist and looked at the time. It was almost two in the morning. It wasn't that late, but she didn't want to inconvenience Spike by staying later. She also didn't want to have to take a cab to her neighbourhood at that time of night.

"I should probably go," she said to Parker regretfully.

"I can bring you home, if you want," he offered. Buffy's eyes flickered from him to Spike, and the blonde raised his eyebrows.

"No, it's okay," she hesitated. She'd only just met Parker, and though she liked him, she wasn't going to let things get out of her control. "But thank you."

"Right," Spike said bluntly, taking her arm. "We should be off, then. 'Night, Sparky."

"Bye," Buffy managed to say before Spike moved off, and she had to walk quickly to catch up. "What's the rush?"

His motorcycle was parked nearby and he handed her a helmet before seating himself at the front. "Here, get on."

The scene was all too familiar to her. Except the last time, he had brown hair and his name was Pike. God, who was next? Mike?

Buffy shook her head with a wry smile. "Deja vu." She swung her leg over the seat and fitted herself against Spike's back. "Thanks for giving me a lift."

"No trouble. It's not safe out here, anyway," he said. He looked back at her with a leer. "You'll have to hold on a little tighter."

She just met his eyes evenly, suppressing a smile. "I've done this before."

Spike grinned. "Damn, and I thought I'd be the first here, too."

Buffy shook her head and swatted the back of his helmet. "You don't stop, do you?"

He didn't ask her where she lived, which led her to assume that Angel had given Spike the address, and handed her his jacket. Buffy took it gratefully, remembering that the wind would be chilly and her top was hardly appropriate. They sped down the streets and she laughed, grabbing onto him when he careened on the turns. She noticed that he never slowed down unless he had to, and the exhilaration got her heart pumping as they easily gunned passed other cars. They finally slowed on her street and he killed the engine in front of her building, the air suddenly quiet. Buffy sighed wistfully. She had to get one of those one day.

She gave him back the helmet and jacket and stood, glad that she had chosen to wear pants instead of a skirt. "Thanks," she said, grinning and flushed.

Spike just quirked a smile and got off as well. "I'll walk you."

"The elevator doesn't work," Buffy said. "Don't worry."

He nudged her towards the door. "S'fine. More reason why I should make sure you get up there okay."

Buffy shrugged. "I warned you." They climbed the flights of stairs together, nearing her floor. When they were halfway there, she suddenly hit him on the chest. "Race you." She took off with a laugh and he clambered up the steps behind her in close pursuit.

"Cheat," he puffed when she reached the top first.

They both stopped short when they found a man with stained clothes unconscious outside her door, cheap beer littering the floor around him and the unmistakable stink of urine in the air. Buffy recognised him as the man who had tried to get into her apartment a few days earlier, and from the scuffs on the wood, it looked like her door had taken yet another good beating.

Spike felt Buffy tense beside him and took her arm, pulling her away gently when he realised that it had to be the same man who threatened her before. "Come on, pet. You're staying with us tonight."

She didn't feel too inclined to argue, not particularly wanting to go through the whole ordeal again, and let him lead her back to his bike.

part 1 <-----> part 3
<-- fiction