Don’t own or claim rights to Buffy the Vampire Slayer~~~~~
Angel had snuck back into Sunnydale, in-so-far as one can sneak while driving a classic American convertible. Cordy hadn’t had a vision so much as Wes had wanted a book that he knew Giles owned, and so Angel had volunteered to fetch it. Just, of course, out of the kindness of his heart. Cordy had simply rolled her eyes and gone back to her own unique brand of bookkeeping, leaving Angel to head for his car, all the while reminding himself it was probably a bad idea, what with Buffy and her new boyfriend, and all.
The trip to Sunnydale had been uneventful, and he had arrived at the Magic Box without delay. He had entered the store with his stereotypical swirl of coat-skirts, and glared around the room, noting those he knew and those he didn’t. Chief (only) amongst those he knew, and wished he didn’t, was Xander (giggle: Lavelle) Harris, sitting at the table, attempting to read something obviously so far beyond him it was ludicrous to watch the attempt.
He stalked straight past the human only to jerk to a stop, turn, and glare at him. He smelled something so far beyond the realms of possibility that magic had to have come into it somehow. “Harris,” he growled, uncaring of his descent to demon form, “what the fuck are you doing with my Childe?”
Xander’s eyes went wide. “Angel?” he asked, out of his seat, and backing away.
Angel grabbed Xander by the shirt-front and hauled him upwards. “I asked a question,” he sneered, only to drop the man when he was hit by something solid. He whirled to see his beautiful childe coming at him with a hard right. Even as he rocked back, he decided it was a powerful blow, but lacked science. “Just how low have you fallen, childe, that you need to consort with the likes of Harris?” he demanded. “Did you not know you could come to me? I would have helped you; anything to have prevented this
“You are not my Sire,” Spike hissed, eyes gold and fangs flashing. “You stopped being my Sire when you abandoned me to Darla’s oh-so-gentle hands, and you have no right to question who I take into my bed, just like I have no desire to question who you do.” He sniffed, and sneered. “Or not, as the case may be.”
“Angel,” Giles began sternly, “what the bloody hell is going on here?”
Angel looked around to see that the Watcher was armed with his trusty crossbow; he knew enough of the man to know that they weapon was cocked and ready to fire, and that Giles would have no compunction in dusting him, either. “Harris is sleeping with Spike,” he growled, delighted to share the pain.
Giles looked over to see the young man close his eyes and clench his jaw. He felt the crossbow sag in his hands, but couldn’t find any words to say.
Buffy surged forward. “I’ll kill him,” she cried, “he’s dust!”
“No!” Xander shouted, darting forward to block Buffy’s path. “He is my choice, and you don’t get to do that,” he decided.
“Xander?” Willow whispered.
Xander kept one hand on Buffy’s wrist, but looked around at his friends. “Yeah,” he whispered, “I’m with Spike.”
Buffy glared up at her friend, and twisted her hand out of his grip. She then looked at Spike, who was staring at Xander with a look of incredible sadness. “Your choice, huh?”
Xander looked back at Spike, and grinned. “My choice, Buff.”
Buffy recognised that grin from happier times with Cordelia, and sighed. She looked over to Tara, who looked like she’d received some sudden revelation, and at Dawn who was blushing, but also looked giddy with excitement for some strange reason. Willow was biting her lip, possibly considering the possibility of a spell, but Buffy knew that Spike wouldn’t do that: he’d never really liked magic, and had abandoned the one attempt at a love spell that she knew of.
When she turned around, Giles was walking back out of his office with a bottle of what she assumed was whiskey in his hand and some mugs in the other. He plonked the mugs down on the counter, and began roughly filling them with the whiskey. He handed one to Angel, and took the other before looking over to Xander. “Well, at least this one doesn’t have a soul to lose,” he muttered sourly.
Xander shrugged, folded his arms, and approached the counter nervously. “Well, I could go on about true love, and all that, but … don’t really think you want to hear about that.”
“No, I bloody don’t,” Giles agreed.
“We’re good together,” Xander offered.
“How long?” Giles asked, tossing back the rest of his glass.
“Um, a while now,” Xander blushed.
Giles frowned at the younger man, then scowled suddenly and poured another more than healthy shot. “Bloody hell,” he grunted. “Just stay out of my basement, you hear.”
Xander blushed brightly then glared at Spike when he sniggered. He then began to grin guiltily, the grin growing when Willow muttered, ‘The basement? Ew!’
“Wait,” Dawn began suddenly, eyes wide, “you didn’t actually hit yourself in the mouth, did you?”
Xander’s eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth to speak, but decided that discretion was the better part of valour, so raced out of the store, dragging Spike behind him.
“Don’t want to know,” Buffy said, forestalling any ‘helpful’ explanation her sister might have. “Have absolutely no need nor desire to ever
know what that’s all about.” She turned to Willow. “Shovel speech,” she nominated, pointing at the redhead.
“Not a problem,” Willow chirped, “though I may have to add something to it. Do you think props would be too much?”
“Go for it,” Buffy waved. “What about you, Angel? Do you have any special things you need to say to Xander?”
Angel scowled at the thought then brightened suddenly. “Only one thing really: Welcome to the family.”