fanfiction by sienna

E-MAIL: [email protected]
DISCLAIMER: You know the drill.
RATING: This part is PG so far.
PAIRINGS: B/A first and foremost, A/D, a tiny bit of B/S (probably).
SYNOPSIS: Alternate universe -- Buffy meets Angel, Darla and Spike in a completely different set of (human) circumstances.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This isn't the whole of Chapter 3, but it's pretty much the only decent-ish chunk I've managed to write that you'd understand. The bits marked -- Friday -- are Buffy's flashbacks to the night she went to Cygnet.

3.

++ Saturday, 9th March. 1pm.

"Why didn't you call the police? This is serious, Buffy," Willow said, concerned. She glanced at Oz for confirmation. "We're talking big crime kaplooey."

Oz agreed unflinchingly. "Can't argue with that."

"I don't know," Buffy said, wrapping her hands around her mocha. "I just didn't want to bring the three of them into it. They don't need that kind of trouble, especially from me."

"I think busting this guy is worth the trouble," Willow said. "But what happened after you went home with Spike?"

Buffy quickly shook her head. "Nothing. Nothing happened."

Xander looked confused. "Stop. Rewind. Two nothings usually cancel out to mean *something*. What happened between then and the part where you're moving in with them now?"

Buffy shrugged, pausing as she remembered the previous night. "Well...I went to their place and we talked. I was still shaken up after what happened and moving out was pretty much my best option. So yeah," she said simply, looking at her friends. "We worked things out."

-- Friday --

She made her way to the bathroom just as Angel was going into his room, and he touched her arm gently as they met.

"You're okay?" he asked.

"Everyone keeps asking me that," Buffy said, smiling wearily.

"We're worried about you," Angel said lightly, warmth in his eyes. They looked at each other for a moment, until he broke the silence. "Sorry about...just leaving the club like that...Darla--"

She raised a hand slightly to stop his apology. "Totally fine. I understand. I didn't even think about it."

"Oh. Good." He seemed undecided for a beat, then said, "Sleep well."

"'Night," she said softly, as he moved towards his room to find sheets and pillows for his camping trip on the sofa.

Buffy closed the bathroom door and her lips quirked into a smile when she saw three toothbrushes in three colours - red, green and blue. There was shaving cream and razors, lotions, hair gel, soaps. She wasn't used to seeing it all, already accustomed to living on her own, and before that, with her mother in Sunnydale.

She washed up and changed into the pyjamas Darla had lent her. The shirt reached mid-thigh (she had asked about the bottoms and Darla had replied curiously, "What bottoms?") and she smoothed her hands over the navy satin, not used to wearing someone else's clothes. Stepping out of the bathroom, Buffy let out a breath as she walked into the room Darla and Angel shared, suddenly feeling timid. Darla was already under the covers, and Buffy switched off the light.

"Thanks for letting me stay tonight," she said, climbing into the large bed carefully, as if she wanted to make the slightest impact possible.

Darla turned off the lamp on her bedside table. "It's fine. I'm sure you'll be able to go back home tomorrow," she said.

"Yeah," Buffy answered, trying to settle in. She wasn't used to the bed, or the sheets, or the pillows. Everything smelled different, the mattress felt different underneath her. It was a little awkward to be sleeping next to someone she barely knew. Even more awkward because it was Darla, and while they got along, Buffy wasn't completely comfortable in her presence.

"Well, good night," Darla mumbled, before turning over.

"Good night," Buffy echoed. She managed to discern her form in the darkness, before closing her eyes and making an attempt to sleep. This was decidedly weird. She didn't exactly expect to find herself in anyone's bed but her own at the end of the night, let alone Darla's. She yawned, too tired to appreciate the irony.

An hour later, her body was exhausted but she was more awake than ever. She had heard Spike enter the apartment and the sound of his door closing, briefly wondering where he had been so early in the morning. Darla's breathing had long turned rhythmic and deep, and she lay unmoving under the sheets.

After much debate, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment, slightly dizzy. Her head seemed full and aching, as if the blood was travelling sluggishly. She padded quietly down the hall and into the living room, feeling restless and craving a drink.

She saw Angel's shadowed form in the darkness and instinctively stopped for a second, before continuing to the kitchen when she was reassured he still slept soundly. She downed two glasses of water and replaced the glass before taking in the silent apartment with detached curiosity. It was so unfamiliar to her, obscured by the blues and greys of night; everything could only be seen on the surface. The details in the room probably had a thousand anecdotes behind them, but she only saw them for what they were -- mere details. Hardcover art books were propped up next to thick, worn fiction novels on the shelf, none of which she had heard of. There was a stack of magazines underneath the rich mahogany coffee table, attractive black and white photographs on the walls. The cluttered escritoire was timeworn and out of place in the modern apartment. She touched a pile of papers there, running her fingers over the veneer and colliding with a small velvet jewellery box that created a bump beneath the files. Her heart skipped a beat and she brushed a finger over the velvet.

Briefly glancing at Angel on the sofa, Buffy picked it up and eased open the lid. It contained a pair of dainty, diamond solitaire earrings set in gold, reflecting the dim moonlight seeping through the curtains. They were simple and elegant and undoubtedly expensive, and she wondered if Angel had chosen them himself.

Probably.

And they were probably a birthday present, because you always gave your lover a present even when she insisted she didn't want one.

"Darla?"

Buffy almost dropped the box at the sound of Angel's sleepy voice, snapping the lid shut and quickly placing it back on the desk.

"Uh...sorry. I didn't mean to wake you," she said quickly in a half whisper. She bumped into the corner of the couch and mouthed a curse, rubbing her hip.

"Buffy?" Angel said, more awake now as he recognised her voice. It was most definitely not Darla, as an apology very rarely found its way out of her mouth. He sat up, running a hand through his hair. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she answered, feeling foolish standing in the middle of the room. Or more precisely, behind the couch opposite him, because she was suddenly mindful of her bared legs. "I-I couldn't sleep."

"What time is it?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I...I don't know. Four, maybe," she guessed. "You should go back to sleep." Buffy yanked on the shirt and stepped away from the sofa, deciding to calmly walk back to the bedroom as if she were perfectly oblivious to the fact that he had eyes.

"Come here."

She stopped at his voice, disconcerted. Was she supposed to... What did he want?

"I can sleep here instead," she started hesitantly. "I mean, it's your room, I'm fine with the sofa."

"Come here," Angel said again, his tone soft as he held out a hand.

Buffy regarded him carefully for a moment, before stepping forward a few paces. He let his hand fall near his leg.

"Why can't you sleep?" he asked, shifting over on the sofa slightly, indicating that she could sit. She faltered again, before sitting guardedly on the edge of the cushions, ineffectually covering her thighs with her hands. She tried to ignore the tightness in the air.

"Thinking too much, I guess. I can't switch off," she said, not without a little frustration. Frustrated in more ways than one, she decided, eyeing his bare chest in the darkness. Didn't the man own a shirt? And would it really hurt to wear one when she was around?

Then again, covering up would probably be a crime.

...God, did she just think that?

"Your apartment isn't safe," Angel said pensively. "If that guy keeps coming around, it's better that you're not there."

Buffy fiddled with the corner of his quilt. "I know."

"You sure you don't know him?" he asked.

She nodded. "I'm sure. He must've seen my mail or something. He knows my name. He probably lives in the building."

"You know you're always welcome here," Angel said, looking at her in the darkness. "Especially now."

--

"And after you talked?" Willow prompted.

Buffy forced another careless shrug. "That's about it. I went to bed." She was suddenly buoyed, switching topics. "Hey, forget that, I mean, you guys are getting *married*."

"We were thinking about a Fall wedding," Anya said wistfully, happy that the attention was back to her engagement. When they arrived, she had thrust her hand towards them so they could properly ogle the brilliant diamond ring on her finger. "And my dress will be gorgeous, of course."

Xander patted her hand. "Only the best for my girl. Within a certain monetary limit."

His fiancee turned to him in objection. "But this is my wedding! It has to be the most wonderful day of our lives! That means vast amounts of money have to be spent on beautiful things."

"Yes, but Ahn, we also have to be able to eat," Xander pointed out.

Anya opened her mouth to retort but Willow quickly interrupted. "What about an engagement party? Something cozy, something fun?" she prompted.

"We'll hold a party in the apartment. You're all invited!" Anya said brightly, pleased with herself. Xander took her hand with a silly grin, and Buffy couldn't help but feel a swell of happiness for them. She loved that they were so in love, that they had managed to make it work for so long and still glow with a shiny couple-y new-ness. It must have been nice.

"I'll bring music," Oz offered. "And balloons."

"Your new friends are welcome as well," Anya informed Buffy.

She blinked, caught up in her own thoughts. "Huh?"

"The ones who are letting you live in their apartment," Anya replied impatiently.

"Oh. Thanks," Buffy said, giving her a hasty smile. "I'll let them know."

Willow grinned slyly. "You were totally staring at Angel's chest when we picked you up this morning."

Completely unprepared for this remark, Buffy's lower jaw fell open. "I was not!" she protested indignantly.

Oz nodded. "You were."

"Who's Angel again?" Xander asked with a confused frown.

"The one she's been drooling over," Willow supplied.

"I was not staring. At all," Buffy tried to defend herself, flustered. She felt their eyes on her. "Maybe a *little*. It...It was right there. What was I supposed to do? I think he has an aversion to shirts."

Willow smirked good-naturedly. "Oh, you love it."

Buffy couldn't keep the smile off her face and blushed, looking at the small packets of sugar supplied by the small cafe they sat in. "I have eyes," she said innocently. Willow lifted her eyebrows suggestively.

"Enough!" Buffy finally exclaimed as her friends watched her, amused. "No more apartment talk. I'm sick of it and I haven't even moved in yet. And no more Angel talk," she warned Willow. "Ever."

"Yes, I want to talk about our wedding," Anya insisted with impatience, annoyed that the topic was continually demoted in favour of something as trivial as Buffy's little apartment. "It's much more important right now. Xander, tell them."

"Uh..." Xander looked around uncertainly at Anya's outburst, unsure of whose side he was supposed to be on.

"She's right," Buffy said, sitting up straighter in her seat and resting folded arms on the table. "This is about the two of you. The two of you who are not me," she added pointedly.

Anya smiled, appeased. "I think we should have a small, private wedding. Maybe we could have two weddings; one for my family and one for Xander's family. That way, they'll never have to meet," she said optimistically.

Willow and Buffy raised their eyebrows. Xander forced out a laugh and Anya looked at him quizzically.

"The non-confrontational technique," Oz said, putting a french fry in his mouth. "I get you."

-- to be continued...

--> Living Space vignette
<-- part 2
<-- fiction

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