* * * * *

Part 3

Angel watched Buffy wend her way across the dance floor, her back arrow-straight and head held high, as though she was marching into battle. And in a sense she might be. For all that Angel believed in the sincerity of Xander's invitation, he knew that starting over with the Scoobies would be no easy matter. If, indeed, starting over was what they were doing.

Or should be doing.

He almost hadn't accepted Xander's invitation; Cordelia, of all people, had to push him into it. He had been so lonely for Buffy all this time in LA, but he tried to make a new life for himself, as she had done here in Sunnydale; he wanted her to be proud of him. When she died he thought that life was over, along with hers; he believed the grief and the guilt would surely kill him. But they didn't, and somehow that made it worse.

Finally he had started to come to terms with it all...and then she walked into his office. Alive and well, and oh so beautiful; he hadn't believed his eyes at first. But when she hesitantly put her arms around him and pressed her warm lips to his cheek, he knew it was real.

And he knew it would begin all over again, if he let it.

Watching her walk away, thinking of the many times (too many times) one or the other of them had kept on walking, he couldn't escape the potential of that word 'if.' He just wasn't sure if the potential was for great joy...or total disaster.

* * * * *

"So, how do you like your gift so far?" Xander asked Buffy with a grin and a wink. "I was going to wrap him up, but it's tough to find black leather wrapping paper on short notice."

"You should have tried that store over on Reber Street," Anya suggested absently, the larger portion of her mind still occupied with the impermanence of shrimp. "You know the one I mean."

"This gift," Buffy emphasized, after raising an eyebrow at the blushing Xander, "is wonderful. So wonderful, in fact, that I kind of want to enjoy him by myself." She saw the lightning flash of hurt in her old friend's eyes and quickly added, "For just a little while, Xand. I know he can't stay long. I mean, he has a business to run and I have school starting up again and...our usual thousand things that get in the way."

She started to throw her hands in the air in defeat, but turned the gesture into a shrug instead. The time for railing against Fate was over, at least when it came to her love life. Fate would do what it had to do...and so would she.

"But he's here now and I want to talk to him," Buffy made herself say calmly. "I need to talk to him. And I need to do it where we can be quiet and think about what we're saying. Which is to say, not here."

Xander was silent for a moment, also trying to be quiet and think about what he needed to say. "I do understand, Buffy," he said at last. "I even kind of figured you guys would want some time alone. It's just...well, I kind of lied before."

He winced, waiting for any potential Slayerly displays of temper. Seeing only slight suspicion, however, he plunged ahead.

"It's about the birthday party thing. We, umm, kind of planned one for you at home. Your home. Tonight, after this party." He backed up a few steps and held up his hands defensively, seeing the sparks start to light in her eyes.

"It's just the old gang, I swear." The pitch of his voice rose from both nervousness and breathlessness as he hurried to explain before she could object. "I know Dawn isn't here right now, but we figured, I mean Willow and I figured...and Giles too, actually, that since Angel was going to be here, and Wes, and we thought Cordy, that maybe we could try for a nice quiet pre-birthday celebration."

"Pre-birthday? As in 'we love you so much we couldn't wait two more weeks for cake'?"

"Well..." he drawled, "Who knows? Maybe the bad-birthday mojo comes from celebrating it on the right day. You know, celebrating that you actually were born on that day. We're more like celebrating the fact that you will be born, on a certain future day of a...previous year."

She stared at him. "That is the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

Xander shrugged and sighed in defeat. "Yeah, well, the logic part was Willow's department. I was in charge of refreshments."

Buffy silently counted to ten. She had specifically asked them not to give her a party, and they had done it anyway. Which meant she had reason to be annoyed, but it also meant she had friends who loved her...and probably a three-day supply of junk food taking up most of her dining room table.

"Fine," she said, after proving her mathematical skills not once but twice. "I'll tell Angel that we can talk the next time he can put off the forces of darkness long enough to drive two hours to see me." She punched a fist in the air in mock enthusiasm. "Tonight we party."

Xander reached out and gave her an impulsive hug. "Buff, I swear it won't be that bad. Go, dance with the man a few times. Convince him to try that weird English beer Giles made the bartender stock for tonight."

"No one else will drink it," Anya confided. "Not even Wesley."

"In an hour or so this party will break up," Xander continued, after making a shushing gesture at Anya. "You guys can take a nice long walk back to your house when it's over, and talk on the way. By the time you get there, we'll be all set up for your party."

"Okay," Buffy grumbled, her tone at odds with the slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I suppose I can think of worse ways to kill an hour than dancing with Angel."

She turned away from Xander and Anya, intent on returning to Angel before she was forced to start beating off female party guests trying to latch on to him. She'd seen some of Xander's cousins...and they looked like bleeders to her. But she had only taken a few steps before a question crept into her mind, forcing her to retrace her path back to the guests of honor.

"Umm, Xand? One teensy little point; just, you know, for clarification. Did Angel know about this birthday party?"

"Are you serious?" Anya replied carelessly before her intended could speak for himself. "We could barely get him to come to the engagement party; Cordelia said there was no way he'd come if he knew about the birthday."

Xander glanced nervously at Buffy's suddenly frozen face. "I don't think Anya meant that quite the way it sounded, Buff. He wanted to come and see you; he really did. I think he was just nervous. And we figured with it being your birthday and all...I mean, I can't believe I'm saying this, but he got burned that birthday too, Buffy." He took her stiff hand in his own and squeezed tightly. "Give the guy a chance. You're not the only one with scars, you know."

* * * * *

Angel met Buffy at the edge of the dance floor.

"Did you make our excuses?" he asked quickly, confused by the remote look in her eyes. "Were they mad?"

"No," she mumbled. "I mean yes, I tried, and no they weren't mad. But they don't want us to go."

She gave him a twisted smile, suddenly unsure of how he really felt about leaving the party with her. Maybe this was for the best as far as he was concerned; maybe she had misread things, and he was just interested in getting away from a crowd of people, not in being alone with her.

"I...I don't want to offend them," Angel said hesitantly. "I appreciate them inviting me, especially Xander. And if you want to stay..." he deliberately paused, thinking perhaps this was the out she'd been searching for. Maybe he had misread the signals he thought she'd been sending him; it wouldn't be the first time.

"I think it would be best," Buffy answered, biting her lip. "They want to do a little, umm, party for me at the house afterwards. You know, for my birthday." She shrugged, desperately trying to project nonchalance in the face of an extremely...chalant situation.

Angel waited patiently for the other shoe, the one that was suddenly making her so nervous.

Cautiously encouraged by his lack of flight, Buffy continued, "Xander suggested that we stay for a while and then walk back to the house for the party. That way we could still talk in private. If you, umm, still want to, that is. I mean I don't want to keep you."

"Buffy, I came to see you," he protested, forcing back the little voice in his head that was urging restraint. "I want to spend some time with you again. And if that means spending another hour here, then that's fine. Whatever you want."

"And then we'll walk, I mean talk," she said slowly, a little confidence returning to her attitude. He had come, to see her; and he was staying, to see her. There might be something to this whole non-birthday-birthday idea after all.

* * * * *

"So you really think they're okay?" Willow turned anxiously to Tara, seated beside her on a sofa in the corner of the club. "I kind of had my doubts about all this when Xander came up with the idea. I mean, Xander, fixing Buffy up with Angel; that just has to spell trouble...or maybe demonic possession." She smiled brightly, almost relieved by the thought. "I think we could handle demonic possession, though...do you think that's what it is?"

"I think maybe he just wants Buffy to be happy."

Willow looked puzzled by her lover's answer. "Well sure, we all do."

"And sometimes that happiness means hanging on tight to things, and sometimes...it means letting go," Tara continued softly.

Willow looked away. "And where's the crystal ball to tell you what time this is?"

Tara squeezed Willow's hand as it rested on her lap. "I know you're worried...you're a good friend and good friends worry. But I think...I mean I know...I mean Buffy is a big girl now, and she needs to start taking care of herself again." She drew a deep breath and risked direct eye contact. "We have other things we need to think about."

Willow could almost feel the great black cloud of the future swooping over them. This was Sunnydale, where only the demons got to live happily ever after...on the flesh of everyone else.

"You're right," she agreed nervously. "We have to decide when to sing our song."

"Willow..."

Tara tried to keep the desperation from her voice, but she was so confused. She had always relied on Willow to keep her centered, but lately her beloved had become an unlikely means of support.

"We could do it while everyone is still here," Willow rushed on, pretending not to hear Tara's protest. "But it doesn't exactly sound like a normal song; the lyrics are pretty spellish. I think Xander might have some trouble explaining it to the guys he works with. "

"Xander has trouble explaining us to the guys he works with," Tara commented dryly, her attention momentarily diverted.

Willow could feel the tension ease fractionally and mentally patted herself on the back. She and Tara were successfully discussing the future. Granted it was the very, very near future, as in the next two hours...but it still counted.

"So we probably shouldn't do it now then," she agreed with a sigh of relief. "I'm thinking we should wait until it's just the gang. You know, when we're all back at Buffy's later."

Tara looked at her steadily. "All right," she agreed evenly, "later sounds good. But not too much later. Please."

Willow knew they weren't talking about the song anymore, and the knot in her stomach re-solidified with a vengeance.

* * * * *

Eventually the party guests began to thin out, as the hour grew late and babysitters grew expensive. Buffy and Angel tried to blend into the general exodus in order to slip out unobserved, but Anya's loud wishes of a romantic, yet speedy, walk put an end to that idea. It was with many pairs of concerned eyes following them that they made good their escape.

"Well, that was fun," Buffy said sarcastically as Angel firmly closed the door behind them.

"It was a nice party," Angel answered mildly. "You should be proud."

After a brief internal struggle, Angel held out his hand with the intention of taking Buffy's, but she was too consumed by her own war of nerves to see it. By the time she realized his hand was extended, Angel had rethought the gesture and turned it into a sweeping motion, designed to offer her the lead in their stroll. With a sigh, she stepped off of the curb and began to head for Revello Drive.

"It was a nice party," she agreed, "but I just wish we hadn't been the floor show."

"I'm sorry," he apologized instantly, the old familiar guilt rising like a tide within him. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

She stopped at once and turned to face him. Without thinking, one hand rose to clutch the sleeve of his leather duster.

"Angel, no," she said swiftly. "I didn't mean it like that. I am so glad that you came; I'm so glad that they'd have to invent a new sub-species of glad just to describe the particular version of it that I am. But I wish it...I mean you and I...us...didn't attract that kind of attention." Her hand fluttered back down to her side. "I just wanted things to be nice and..."

"Normal," he finished heavily, fixing his dark eyes upon her upturned face.

"No," she snapped, and then let out a gusty sigh. "I mean yes, but not the way you mean. I don't even know what the word means anymore; I don't think I ever did." Buffy shook her head to clear it, trying to verbalize thoughts still being born. "One thing I do know is that I'd like it if my life wasn't the focus of all my friends' every waking moment. Moments. Whatever. Anyway, I want to be...unobtrusive...at least for a little while."

He smiled involuntarily, his hand rising to fleetingly caress her cheek. "Never gonna happen," he said softly.

She drew a ragged breath; it was amazing what the slightest brush of his skin against hers could do to a girl's nervous system.

"I also know that I really am happy you came here tonight," she murmured, staring deep into his eyes. As though pulled by an invisible string, she took a step forward, and then another, until the lapel of his coat brushed against her upper arm. "I wasn't expecting it at all, but now that it happened, I can't imagine...I can't imagine what it would have been like without you."

"I can't imagine either," he confessed, life without her the furthest thing from his mind at the moment.

A blast of sound from behind them scattered Angel's thoughts as the door to The Bronze swung open and more party guests appeared on the street.

"I guess we should start back," he said quickly, automatically taking Buffy by the elbow as he turned to face the street. "We, uh, don't want to give them even more to talk about by being late, do we?"

In his heart, Angel was almost hoping she would say to hell with what their friends thought, but his brain forced him to acknowledge an equally strong feeling of relief when she began to walk with him. He had never counted strength of will among his own strengths, and the distraction created by the scent of her perfume wafting through the night air was doing nothing to change his opinion of himself.

"I'm, umm, really sorry Cordy couldn't come with you," Buffy stammered, mentally flailing for something to banish the strained silence suddenly enveloping them. "We had kind of a nice talk when I saw you in LA."

Angel smiled as his fingers firmly gripped the inside of Buffy's elbow through her coat. Even this small contact was enough to make him a little giddy.

"She felt bad about it, hard though that is to believe." Even in the uneven moonlight he could see the skeptical look on Buffy's face; it made him laugh. "Seriously, she did. But she felt a little awkward about it...and she really did have an audition coming up. She figured it wasn't the right time to wallow in strong emotions."

"Xander still gets her that worked up?" Buffy raised an eyebrow. "If that's true, why did she let him get away?"

She regretted the words the instant they left her mouth, but there was no calling them back. She waited in silent dread for Angel's response.

"Maybe emotion isn't always the best guide," he said softly, staring straight ahead at the dimly lit pavement. "Especially strong ones. And, uh, anyway," he continued, trying in vain to shake off the chains of the past, "I'm not sure it was Xander she was afraid to see. It's hard for her to see her folks now; they're not exactly close. To be honest, I don't think they ever were."

"It's so weird to hear you talk about her like that," Buffy marveled. "You seem to know her so well now, and to hear her talk, you're her best friend. Don't get me wrong," she added quickly. "I think it's nice. It's just...weird."

"For me too," he confessed with a small smile. "It's not what I was expecting when I ran into her in LA. Back then I was thinking, 'Hey, I actually know someone at this party.' Now I actually know her."

A thin trickle of jealousy began to thread through Buffy's veins.

"So I guess you guys are really close, aren't you?"

She didn't dare to look at him, thinking her face would give her away. In truth it was her evasiveness that struck the familiar chord with her former boyfriend.

"Yeah, we are," Angel agreed carefully. "It's almost like having a sister again." He paused, realizing the truth of his words. "I've missed that."

Buffy smiled as she heard an unmistakable, and reassuring, honesty in his voice. "Sisters can be pain sometimes, but you do miss them when they're not there."

"So where is Dawn tonight?" Angel asked, trying to get the conversation back on safer ground. "She wasn't at the party, was she?"

Buffy looked at him in astonishment. "That's right; I forgot you don't remember her like the rest of us. I still don't understand why the monks left you out of the pool."

He tried for a casual shrug, hoping he sounded less hurt than he had felt when she first told him about Dawn. "I wasn't in your life at the time; I'm guessing they didn't think I ever would be again. Why bother?"

"It wasn't for them to decide," she flared.

"Buffy, I didn't mean to..."

"No, it's me; I'm sorry," she said hastily. "And maybe I should be grateful you didn't know, and that I knew you didn't know. At least it helps to explain why my dad didn't come rushing back to get Dawnie after Mom died. He thought he had one daughter, who was old enough to take care of herself."

"You were only twenty," Angel retorted, anger roughening his tone. "He should have been here."

'I should have been here,' was his silent echo.

"I had you," she responded softly, seeming to hear his troubled thoughts. "The night I needed you the most, you were here."

"I'm not so sure about that," he mumbled, not daring to meet her eyes.

"I am," Buffy said firmly. "You always are. And not just for me." She cast about for a way to make him see his worth as she did. "Cordelia told me about what you did for her in the pie plate dimension."

"Pylea," he corrected her with a faint smile. "And I wasn't alone."

Buffy nodded slowly as yet another uncomfortable memory seeped under her protective armor. "That's true. You had Wes with you, and your friend Gunn and that Lorne guy and...umm, Fred. That is her name, right? Fred?"

She glanced at him sideways, trying to catch the first expression that crossed his face at her mention of the name.

"That's her name," he agreed smoothly.

He was back to being his old, cryptic self, she noted crossly. Well, two could play at the stealth game.

"How is she doing, by the way? She seemed a little, umm, colorful, when I saw her a few months ago. Is she feeling any more...pastel now?"

"She's doing a lot better." Angel's chin rose as he unconsciously straightened his back; Fred's progress gave him a certain amount of justifiable pride. "She's back at her old job, and she's even got an apartment of her own."

"That's great." Buffy was not feigning enthusiasm; this was truly good news in her book. "So she's moved out, and she's probably not helping out with your caseload anymore...you know, if she's working fulltime. I guess you don't see much of her at all then?"

"Oh she's still around," he answered casually. "It's still a little hard for her to make friends, after all she's been through. Not many people can understand."

"Yeah, I know how that goes," she murmured.

"She just needs time," he said softly, as much for Buffy's sake as the absent Fred's.

"And you."

He shook his head emphatically. "No, not anymore. I think I needed her more than she ever needed me."

It wasn't what Buffy wanted to hear.

"She was broken, Buffy; and so was I. Helping her put me back together." Angel grinned crookedly. "More or less."

"Then I'm glad you found each other."

That was honest, she told herself. Give or take a little seething jealousy.

"Fred gave me a chance to put something right," he continued, doggedly trying to set things straight. "I wanted to help her, not just because she's a nice person, and not just because that's what I do. She...well, it sounds kind of crazy, and you may be the only person who would understand this, but...in some small way she reminds me of Dru. Only a little more stable...and a lot less homicidal."

"So helping Fred pick up all of her marbles..." Buffy said, nodding to show her understanding.

"...makes up in some small way for scattering Dru's," Angel finished with a sigh. "It probably sounds dumb, but...."

"Angel, no," she said swiftly, everlastingly grateful he couldn't see the crimson stain now flooding her cheeks. "I think it's great that you want to...fix...things. And actually yeah, I can see a certain resemblance, right where that frontal lobe used to be. I just thought...well, you can probably guess what I thought when I saw her living at the hotel, and hanging all over you, and you not seeming to mind."

He forbore from mentioning one of his previous visits to Sunnydale, when Buffy had exhibited a similarly casual attitude to Riley's constant presence.

"You thought you'd been replaced," he said simply.

She hung her head; it wasn't always easy talking to someone who could see through her so clearly, right down to the dark little secret places of her soul that she could barely face herself.

"I guess I kind of did. I...I always used to be the one you turned to when you hurt, and suddenly it was Cordy and Fred and...I felt like I had no place in your life."

"Buffy, when you died, I didn't even want a life." Angel couldn't keep the shock from coloring his voice; he thought she knew. "For the first few nights, more than that really, I thought maybe it was time to...make you laugh at my pain," he trailed off in confusion. "I'm so glad my thoughts of suicide amuse you."

Buffy lifted her head and covered her mouth, trying to hide her inadvertent smile. "Angel, I'm sorry; it's not that. Really it's not. It's just...you said I died."

"You did."

"I know," she said urgently. "I know that, and you know that, and so does everyone else, but you and I are the only ones who'll admit what really happened. They say I was 'gone' or 'away' or, and this is my favorite in the close but no carcinogens category: 'hanging at the Restfield.' Like it was a club or something."

Angel was frightened by the desolation in her voice, even as she tried to joke her way off of the subject. It was as though one minute she was here with him in mind as well as body, and the next moment she was adrift in dark waters while he watched helplessly from the shore.

"People are afraid of the word, Buffy," he said gently. "It lets in demons even you can't conquer."

"Even Anya won't say I was dead," Buffy complained. "She almost did once, but Willow stepped on her foot so hard she broke her little toe. Anya's toe, I mean. Anyway, you're the only one who'll say the truth. You know what's real." She watched the shifting patterns of moonlight on the road before them. "I envy that."

"It wasn't easy," he protested. "I made myself do it, and I choked on the word every time. It's a lot simpler now, with you standing here beside me...looking so alive." He stopped walking and turned to face her fully.

* * * * *

Part 4

"Can you see them?" Anya pushed Willow out of the way and took the witch's place at the living room window. Holding the curtain wide, for all to see, she announced, "They're out at the far end of the lawn. I think he's about to kiss her...no, wait, I think they saw me."

"Then don't you want to back away from the window, hon?" Xander asked gently. "You know, so it doesn't look quite so much like we're spying."

"But I want to know when they're coming in," she explained simply, making no move to close the drape. "How else will we know when it's appropriate to yell 'surprise!'?"

"We'll just have to wing it," Xander soothed her. He crossed over to the window and gently pulled her away towards the dining room. "And speaking of wings, who wants some?"

"I must say Xander is being rather a good sport about all this," Wesley commented under his breath to Giles. "I realize this little reunion was at his instigation, but...it is still quite surprising."

"He's matured a great deal since you left Sunnydale, Wesley. They all have." Giles glanced around the living room, surveying his assembled 'children' as they amiably squabbled over the party treats. "It has been a privilege to be some small part of the process these past six years. I'm..." He took off his glasses and absentmindedly rubbed them clean. "I'm going to miss them all. Very much."

"So you are definitely going home?"

Home. Giles had to smile at the concept. Where was home now? Was it the land where he had grown to manhood, or this small suburb of hell where he had truly grown up?

"They don't need me anymore; not really," he said instead, resolutely resuming both glasses and a brave front. "They think they do, but I'm afraid I've become...superfluous. And I must say I don't particularly enjoy the feeling."

"Willow tells me there is a young lady involved as well," Wesley commented carefully. "Olivia was the name mentioned, I believe."

"Yes, well, there is that too." A dull red glow suffused Giles' cheeks. "She's a...a most unique woman. It's not easy finding someone who can deal with demands of our line of work, especially if they weren't brought up in it."

Wesley glanced at the curtains, now fully covering the front window. "That's very true."

"I consider myself quite fortunate."

The bright flash of Willow's red hair caught Wesley's eyes as he turned back to face Giles. It was much shorter of course, and not nearly so curly...but close counted as much in memories as horseshoes.

"You are quite fortunate indeed," he agreed softly.

* * * * *

"Angel, we're here," Buffy protested faintly, feeling his hands come to rest on her arms.

"You said that to me earlier," he reminded her gravely. "You're here, again if not still, and I'm here too. That's the truth."

It wasn't the direction she thought his mind was turning, but perhaps that was for the best. Her mind seemed to be doing enough spinning for the two of them.

"It is the truth," she explained, "but it's not the whole truth. They won't admit what was real, and how am I supposed to...it's just so frustrating." She pulled away from him and turned to look back at her house. "Someone's at the window," she said absently.

"Buffy..."

"We should go in."

Angel stood behind her, hands resting on her shoulders as he pulled her back against him. He fought the urge to slip his arms around her waist and hold her fast, knowing this was not the time or place. He settled for rubbing his hands briskly along the length of her arms, trying to restore the warmth being stolen from her by the January night.

"You wanted to talk about something you'd been thinking," he said. "All we've done is talk about me."

She shrugged under his hands. "I think about you, you know," she said lightly.

"But that wasn't what you needed to say."

"They're waiting for us."

"I don't care," he insisted. "Please just tell me what's wrong. I think I'm getting a sense of it, but...I need some more clues, Buffy. Or maybe just a straight answer."

"Later," she said swiftly, turning back to face him.

"But the party..."

"Will eventually end," she finished for him, leaving no room for doubt. "It's not that late yet either, so there will still be hours of darkness left. I mean I know you have to get back to LA..."

"I do," he said regretfully.

"But we can still have some time to talk...time alone...and then you can get back before sunrise. It's winter, after all; even the sun sleeps in these days."

He wanted to say yes. There was something inside of her, something dark and hurting, and he needed to help her exorcise it. This wasn't just some nameless innocent victim in need of rescue; this was Buffy. Her life was his, and her problems likewise, no matter what universal horrors tried to tear them apart.

There was, however, a slight problem.

"I came with Wesley," he replied. "I drove."

"One car," she said slowly, continuing the thought.

He nodded his head, wishing there was another answer. "It's not fair to make him wait while we...and anyway, what would we do with him?"

"I suppose leaving him on the back porch with a bone is out of the question?"

"It's probably for the best. It's...safer." He tried to look as though he believed safety was a desirable quality in life.

She sighed. "Foiled again."

Angel's mouth twisted in the old crooked smile, the one that still had the power to break her heart.

"Curses," he reminded her bleakly.

* * * * *

"They're horrible. Horrible and nasty and...evil!"

"What's evil?" Buffy asked as she and Angel walked in the front door. They paused in the archway between the living room and hallway, waiting expectantly for a report the latest power play by the forces of darkness.

"Children's songs," Willow answered with a grin. "Anya's scared of them."

"I'm not scared," Anya protested, "But I think they're horrible. All cradles falling out of trees and drowning spiders and that poor little pig going to market, where you just know he's going to end up as a breakfast meat and meanwhile his brother is sitting at home eating the family cow and..."

"I don't think that last one is actually a song, An," Xander interrupted. "And Itsy Bitsy went Betty Ford when the sun came out. He was fine."

"Sure, until he went up that stupid spout again," she retorted. "You're missing the point. The songs, the poems, the stories; they're all just scare tactics." She glanced quickly at Xander before adding defensively, "Of course, I'm an adult so they don't scare me. I'm just...concerned."

"So you're saying 'Wheels on the Bus' is a scare tactic?" Willow asked doubtfully.

Anya nodded vigorously. "Can you think of a better statement on the futility of life? I've heard that song; it's all 'going round and round,' like that's a good thing. But does anyone ever actually make it off that bus? No, they're all trapped, endlessly circling some nameless town. It could even be Sunnydale; you don't know."

She leaned back in her chair, point made.

"How did this come up, anyway?" Buffy threw herself into the wingback armchair as Angel leaned against the side.

"Anya wants to have a baby," Tara explained quietly. "Willow said she bet Dawn would help with the babysitting and..."

"And it seems Dawn has already been catching Anya up on modern childhood," Xander continued, shivering at his own host of memories. "You know; summer camp and braces and..."

"And school concerts," Wesley finished. "They seem to be quite a hotbed of controversy, at least as far as Anya is concerned."

Angel had been listening quietly, still trying to recover his composure from the abbreviated talk with Buffy. He had wanted so badly to take her in his arms and hold her until the pain in her eyes had vanished from memory, but even if he had the power he didn't have the right. Now as the discussion centered on children, he was reminded of yet more that he stood apart from.

"Umm, Anya," he said with difficulty, "if you'd like something a little less violent to sing to your children, I think I still remember some of the ones my mother used to sing to my brothers and sisters. They were," Angel smiled softly, "kind of pretty. I could, uh, teach you. If you'd like."

Anya cocked her head to the side and eyed him doubtfully. "When did you die again?"

"Anya!" Willow said sharply. "Asking a person when they died is...well, I guess you don't get a chance to ask many people, but I think it probably still ranks right up there on the rude-much scale with asking when they were born."

The former demon looked surprised. "I just wanted to know what language the songs would be in," she explained. "Someone told me he's Irish, and depending on how long ago he died, they might be in Gaelic."

"1753," Angel answered quietly, a small smile still playing at the corners of his mouth. "So don't worry, they'd be in English."

"Well that's good. My Gaelic is very rusty, and I'm not sure I'd know what I was singing."

Buffy was stealing glances at Angel's face, watching the way the light played across his cheekbones and glinted on the fine points of his dark hair. The conversation washed over her largely unnoticed, until a chance comment of Angel's penetrated her consciousness.

"Brothers and sisters?" She looked curiously at him. "I thought you just had a little sister."

Angel shook his head, the smile falling from his face. "I was the oldest of seven," he answered steadily. "Four boys and three girls. But there were accidents...and disease. Medical science wasn't exactly a science in those days." He looked down at his folded hands, remembering the long-lost faces of his family. "Five of them died before they reached school age. And then Kathy was born. We took such good care of her, all of us. We didn't want to lose her too. But then..." He laughed, a sharp unhappy sound. "Well, you know what happened then."

"Hey," Buffy said swiftly, "if you don't want to talk about this..."

He squeezed the hand that she had laid on his arm. "And then there was only me," he continued stoically. "But I still remember them." He paused, recalling what had set off this confession. "The songs I mean. Along with...everything else."

There was a brief moment of awkward silence, as some eyes sought out Angel's and others shied away in embarrassment.

"Well, hey; good to know I can still kill a party," the vampire said, forcing a chuckle. "The Angel of Death of the Party."

Willow was the first to recover. "I think what we need is a song," she said brightly.

Wesley raised an eyebrow at her. "Not 'Wheels on the Bus,' I trust."

Willow glanced quickly at Tara, silently urging her girlfriend to help her out. Tara gulped, but plunged in to the rescue.

"No, I think what Willow means is...that is what she's trying to say is...we, umm, have a gift. For Xander. And Anya. It's a song."

Xander's face immediately brightened. "You actually got Willow to agree to sing in public, Tara? You really do work magic, don't you?"

Willow beaned him with a throw pillow as she got to her feet. "I'm not singing, silly. Well, just backup maybe. I wrote the song, the words part of it, and Tara and Giles put it to music."

"I'm touched. Seriously." Xander smiled and tugged on Willow's hand as she passed by him, giving it a quick squeeze.

"So you didn't get us the bread machine?" Anya asked.

"This is a good luck spell, set to music," Willow explained patiently. "With all the demonic activity in Sunnydale we thought a few extra professional 'best wishes' might come in handy." She saw the guarded pleasure on Anya's face and added, "We can still get you the bread machine as a wedding present."

"We don't need a bread machine," Xander said firmly. "My girl deserves nothing less than store-bought bread, the kind that has enough preservatives to get it through an apocalypse. We all know how hungry the end of the world can make you."

"Enough talk of worlds ending," Buffy ordered. "I want music."

The chairs were hastily pulled into a semi-circle, and cushions thrown on the floor for those who preferred to stretch out. Xander flipped off a few lights to add atmosphere, while Angel and Buffy fetched two kitchen chairs for the musicians. Tara sat down on one of the chairs and tuned her guitar as Willow tried in vain to persuade Giles to sing with them.

"No, Willow; I simply can't," he gently demurred. "Not only is the gift supposed to be from just you two, I truly believe it might weaken the magic to lend my voice. I've cast a few spells in my time," he added modestly, "but nothing on the level at which you two now function."

Willow tried a final pout, but Giles remained firm.

"I'm sorry, Willow."

"Oh, all right," she sighed. "But remember this when you're covering your ears to block out my lovely voice."

"You'll do splendidly." He patted her hand reassuringly, and then pushed her towards the empty chair awaiting her next to Tara.

Showtime.

A hush fell over the guests when the first notes spilled out from beneath Tara's fingertips, accompanied by Willow's frail soprano.

They sang about the future, a future meant to be safe and happy and long, despite the ever-present hellmouth. They wished for good friendships to remain strong in the face of despair and separation and foolish choices. They entreated the blessings of the Goddess on the heads of those who dared to attempt a happy ending in lives otherwise populated by demons, hellgods and evil wearing the face of humanity.

The witches' words spun around the room, drawing the occupants ever closer, as a strange force shimmered and grew in the darkened corners of the room. Grey tendrils of mist took shape, slithering just beyond the borders of sight. Twining. Circling. Enclosing.

Entrapping.

For long minutes after the song had ended, there was dead silence in the Summers' living room. The future had been painted for them, in all its uncertain glory, and the power of that vision was frightening. The air itself seemed to shiver.

Buffy was the first to recover, though not without an effort. "Whoa, that was...that was quite the spell, Will," she said with a breathless laugh. "It was beautiful; really it was. I just wasn't expecting it to be quite so..."

"Powerful," Angel murmured uneasily. "It was very...powerful." He shook his head and refocused on the present. "But Buffy's right; it was beautiful. You're both, I mean all three," he added, nodding at Giles, "to be congratulated."

"Will, Tara, I don't know how to thank you guys." Xander awkwardly rose from the sofa cushions on the floor where he'd been lying and leaned over to hug both the witches. "That was a great gift."

"Xander said what I was going to," Anya jumped in. "But I was going to say it was much better than a bread machine. Not that it should stop you from considering that as a wedding present, of course."

"It was just lovely." Wesley beamed at them from his corner of the sofa. "You might want to consider this as a career choice. Not, perhaps, the actual singing," he qualified the statement, "but the business of turning spells into songs. There are a number of musically talented witches out there who, I'm sure, would appreciate the idea."

"It's hardly a new concept," Giles commented dryly. He was finding it difficult to shake off the strange lethargy he'd felt steal over him during the musical interlude, but a good debate usually proved a safe cure. "There are a multitude of what are today described as folk songs, that have their roots in witchcraft of the past. If you look at any of the Child Ballads..."

"Those aren't spells; they're old wives' tales, and political statements," Wesley protested. "Surely you're not saying 'Mary Hamilton' is a spell?"

"And 'Loch Lomond'?" Giles challenged. "The fairy references are quite clear..."

"Hey, guys! Enough." Buffy stood up and rested a hand on each hip, fingers nervously tapping against the bone. "You can talk about that later. Now we eat the pile of food I see smothering my dining room table."

Everyone looked strangely disconcerted at her suggestion.

"Actually, Buff, I really don't feel like food anymore." Xander seemed as puzzled by his instinctive answer as anyone; Alexander Lavelle Harris did not turn down food, not while the planets were still rotating around the sun.

"I'm kind of wiped, you know." Willow passed a fretful hand over her forehead, rousing a concerned glance from Tara. "But I feel bad; this was supposed to be a party for Buffy."

"It's fine, Will," the Slayer reassured her.

"Maybe we should just go home," Tara suggested, hastily stuffing her guitar in its case so she could put her arm around Willow's waist for support. "We can celebrate tomorrow, or maybe when Dawnie gets back from band camp."

"Home sounds good," Anya agreed. "And you didn't want a birthday party anyway, Buffy. Now you get your wish. Surprise!" She looked faintly pleased at having figured out a way to work the word in, but her pleasure was largely overshadowed by weariness.

"We have quite a drive ahead of us," Wesley said uneasily as he glanced at Angel. "I agree that the party seems to be breaking up, but perhaps we should get some coffee or something before we leave."

Even through his exhaustion, Giles could see the alarm that flitted through Buffy's eyes at the suggestion of Angel's departure. For a few hours she had enjoyed a brief respite from the worries that besieged her on a daily basis, and it was clear she was not yet ready to go back to everyday life. Since this was supposed to be a special occasion, for more reasons than one, Giles didn't see why she should have to.

"Wesley old man, why don't you come home with me?" Giles heard himself asking. "Buffy convinced me a contraption called a futon, which is utterly useless as a place to sit, but I'm told will function adequately as a bed. You can get a few hours sleep on that, and then tomorrow we can catch each other up on our recent research. Come sunset, you and Angel can head back to Los Angeles."

"And we can train," Buffy said, turning to Angel with a smile. "You can stay here...also on the couch...," she added loudly, for the benefit of their audience. "Then in the morning you can make me one of those big breakfasts that Cordelia bragged you're so famous for, and in the afternoon we can train. I haven't had a good workout in...years."

He smiled involuntarily at the surprise on her shining face. "Me either," he agreed. "It's tough to find someone as strong as I am who's not secretly trying to kill me. Sometimes they don't even keep it a secret. Kind of ruins the workout."

"So you'll stay?" she demanded.

It was an easy answer to give, and that was what made it so hard. He knew they were both in for a tough night, and an even longer recovery time because of it. Still, he argued with himself, there was only one reasonable answer.

"I'll stay."

* * * * *

Go to Part 5