Title: And A Blonde Shall Lead Them Author: kindred Disclaimer: The characters from BtVS and AtS are the property of Joss Whedon. Rating: PG-13 Summary: A mysterious entity shakes things up at Wolfram and Hart, fashionable anarchy ensues. Oh, and don't judge a hero by her choice in footwear. 17. Try as she might, Buffy found it hard to relax at Angel's apartment. She hadn't really intended to end up at his place but he ran into her in the employee locker room when her eyes were reddened by emotion. There was some spontaneous situation spillage on her part and Angel offered hosting duties like a perfect gentleman. He had more than enough room at his place and Buffy gratefully accepted. "Thanks so much for letting me crash, Angel." Buffy perched on the edge of an expensive leather sofa. The room looked immaculate but felt emotionally chilly. Angel's surroundings suited him but weren't exactly inviting. As vulnerable as Buffy felt, the starkness of the room got under her skin and made her shiver. "I want you to think of this as your home, Buffy." Angel always knew the polite thing to say. "Are you sure? Maybe I should go to a hotel. I'm putting you out, I know I am." "Nonsense." Angel reassured her with an easy smile. Company would be nice for a change. "I've got DVDs," he stated with a nod to his extensive collection. "And microwave popcorn." "Really?" Buffy looked surprised. Angel wasn't a popcorn fan or a human food fan for that matter. Maybe he did have a social life. Buffy hoped so, for Angel's sake. "I had some of the guys over for the Stanley Cup finals," he explained. "They seemed to like it." Angel sauntered over to the sleek black sofa were Buffy sat. "Care for a beer?" "Okay," Buffy answered quickly and then reconsidered. She didn't have the greatest track record with booze but she wasn't a total novice anymore either. "One won't hurt," she decided. Perhaps a little wallowing would do her some good. "Excellent!" Angel rubbed his palms together with relish. "I've got some imported Bavarian specialties that I've been dying to share." He flared his eyebrows and promptly disappeared into the kitchen. "Go ahead and pick the movie." "Okay." Buffy approached the entertainment center. It was much bigger than Spike's little set and the movie choices were numerous and meticulously organized. What did she feel like? The titles flew past as she searched. Western, noir, samurai, musicals... Curiously, there were a lot of musicals. Mindless action films were fairly standard for a guy's repertoire but she hadn't anticipated Elvis and Gene Kelly alongside Vin Diesel and Bruce Lee. "Have you picked something?" Angel returned with two tall glasses of beer. Buffy looked up at him with a start. He held her beverage in invitation. It was opaque and black in color. That was beer? Her eyes dropped back to the movie in her hands. "You have 'Yentl'?" She hadn't meant to mention it but he returned to the room just as she came to it. Streisand was a surprise. "Hey, don't knock it. It's a good movie and I can prove it." There was a challenging twinkle in his eye as he set down her drink on the coffee table. "Um, no, that's okay." Buffy slid the case back to its original position. "I'll take your word for it." Angel stood looking down at Buffy. He'd predicted long ago that Spike would foul up any reunion and here was the proof. Buffy was in his apartment rifling through his movies. This was great. It had to be a sign they were meant to get back together. He felt a pleasant tingle ripple through his groin. "Angel?" "Hmm?" "Your pants are buzzing." "Oh!" Angel blinked back to reality and shoved his hand in his hip pocket. His cell phone was certainly agitated about something. A quick glance at the read out provoked an immediate response. "I need to make a call," he paused for dramatic effect. "It's Harmony." "Of course. Take all the time you need." Buffy understood perfectly well the demands of a heroic lifestyle. With an abrupt nod, Angel set down his beer and strode into the bedroom to call Harmony. Buffy quickly chose something escapist with car crashes, sweaty five o'clock shadow and an incomprehensible plot. She settled on the sofa and tried to get comfortable. Angel's place had a totally different feeling than Spike's. The furniture was shiny, ultra modern and save for a few curiously phallic chrome items, predominantly black. Diffused lighting spilled in somber columns against the walls. Buffy hoped Angel wasn't aiming for a post modernist funeral home vibe but he'd hit it right on the nose. The leather sofa was a little too squeaky to be comfortable. Buffy would have liked a fuzzy afghan to curl up in and wallow but Angel wasn't the fuzzy afghan type. Spike wasn't the fuzzy afghan type either but, inexplicably, he had one. Spike had draped it over her the night before as she slept on his sofa. Angel didn't hold the patent on hospitality. Spike was also a thoughtful host. Buffy's thoughts inevitably wandered back toward Spike. No. No Spike pining. Spike was being a total jerk about this whole thing. She was a modern woman perfectly capable of making her own decisions. Cave man may work when her hormones were bursting but in the clear light of day Spike's brand of 'me Tarzan, you Buffy' wasn't going to make her budge. They needed a little breathing room. Buffy stared at the television. She hardly noticed when Angel returned to the room. "Well, that's another crisis averted," he sounded a note of triumph to catch her attention. Buffy looked up. "There's a crisis?" "Well, not really, but there could have been." Angel emphasized the possibility. He was on-call guy, available twenty-four hours a day at Harmony's convenience. "You never know. Things are always humming at Wolfram and Hart." Angel picked up his glass and sat down next to her. Buffy took her first swig of the dark liquid. The thick texture surprised her and made her cough. "Are you okay?" Angel sprang to action and patted her back gently. "Is it supposed to taste like that?" Buffy was never going to be a beer connoisseur. "I've got American if you'd prefer." She shook her head. "It's just different. Kinda musky." She took another tentative swallow and stared blankly at the movie. The television screen filled with frantic images of simulated sex while a cheesy power ballad wailed on the soundtrack. "Are you sure?" Angel looked at her with those eyes; those deep, dark Angel eyes, full of empathy and concern. It was too much for her. The dam was bound to burst sooner or later. "Oh, Angel," Buffy blubbered in misery and buried her face in his chest. Angel set down his beer, leaned back into the squeaky comfort of the leather cushion and automatically put his arms around her. This was an interesting development. Reconciliation appeared imminent, complete with orchestrated musical accompaniment. "Oh, Buffy," Angel's tone edged a fraction past purely supportive. "What am I going to do, Angel? What if I've ruined it with Spike?" Her lips trembled with piteous agony. Wait a minute. Spike? She needed consolation over Spike? "Huh?" Buffy's thoughts raced off her tongue. "He was so wonderful..." She paused at the recollection of their romantic reunion. "And then, right out of the blue, he was such a jerk. What did he expect? Giving me orders...telling me what to do..." "Don't upset yourself," Angel spoke gently. "You're better off without him." "No, I'm not!" Buffy yelped. "I'm misera...buh-huh huhl..." Huge tears cascaded down her cheeks. She couldn't help it. Her mouth contorted with paralyzing pain. Angel held her tighter. It felt so right holding her. She needed his help and guidance and Angel was prepared to offer all he could. "Spike's an idiot," he declared in a sharp voice. It was liberating at last to be able to say that to Buffy. She seemed open to the suggestion too. Her eyes widened with what looked like agreement. "And you know what he told me? To quit my job." "What?" "Can you believe that?" Nothing Spike said shocked Angel anymore. "Oh, you don't want to be doing that." Buffy's eyes flashed with defiance. "Yeah, no kidding. Not 'cause he says so." "I always knew Spike was a maniac but that's beyond selfish. Wolfram and Hart has an amazing benefits package and he knows it." "Spike doesn't care about that!" Buffy blurted between anguished sobs. "Don't I deserve...a dentist?" A bubble of mucus formed in her left nostril. Angel grabbed a box of tissues just as it looked like Buffy was ready to blow her nose on his fitted dress shirt. She blew her misery into a plush, three-ply tissue with moisture infusion instead. "It's head games." Angel declared, tightening his jaw in condemnation. "Spike's favorite past time." Spike was even more unhinged than Angel suspected. What kind of a fiend would stand in the way of that magnificent dental coverage? Buffy and Spike were imploding at light speed. Granted, it was a little quicker than Angel had predicted but, really, it was all good. He made a good show of hiding his mounting delight. "I told him I made my own decisions," Buffy tried to regain control of her breathing. Anguish gave way to anger and with it, a focused clarity. "Yes, you do," Angel agreed. "You're an independent woman." "Yes I am. I don't need Spike or anyone to protect me." "No way! You're the slayer. You kick ass. I've seen it." "I am," she mumbled, her resolve wavering yet again. "I do. You have." Buffy took a deep breath and thought about her options. She'd come back to the states for Spike and unexpectedly ended up with a great job. She didn't want to lose her job but losing Spike wasn't an option either, not when they had just got back together. It was a horrible situation. Dream jobs didn't just pop out of thin air. Her thoughts lurched back and forth with abandon. "Maybe he just needs a little time to deal." At that first hint of capitulation, Angel's bias elbowed forward to take a stand. "He's stubborn, Buffy, to a fault and he can hold a grudge." "I...might have reacted badly." "Honestly? I think you did the right thing," Angel concluded. "Leaving like you did? It serves him right." The solemn cadence of his words hit her hard. "Do you think Spike would take that personally?" Buffy pondered what she knew of Spike's abandonment issues. She glanced again at the screen. The movie lovers ran hand in hand through the dark, rain soaked streets, sheltering for a moment in the ethereal glow of a mineral water machine. The hand holding reminded her of Spike. The punishing rain reminded her of Spike. The driving percussive music reminded her of Spike. The product placement reminded her of Spike. "Nah," Angel's lips pulsed with smugness. "Spike is a big boy. I think he'll survive." The sudden metallic screeching of car tires caught Buffy's attention. A car sailed across the screen in slow motion and exploded into a ball of fiery metal. The meaningless cinematic mayhem reminded her of Spike. Her tears returned. "He's not worth it, Buffy," Angel sensed an opportunity and went for it. "A clean break, that's the way to go. Think of your career because Spike certainly isn't." "But I love him." She loved him? Angel valiantly fought the urge to roll his eyes. He bit the lining of his cheek instead. "You love him?" "Of course I do." The truth shone in her teary eyes. "Buffy, think about this. He makes you miserable." Angel was prepared to speak the awful truth. Someone had to keep his wits about him and make Buffy see sense. She simply wasn't thinking straight. Breaking up was the best thing, the only thing. Their eyes met again. Momentous thoughts surged forward on both sides. Surely the weight of Angel's earnest declaration was hitting home. Buffy flexed her eyebrows and frowned. "No he doesn't." She grabbed another tissue and wiped her eyes clear of tears. "But you're breaking up with him." Angel looked perplexed. He followed the logic of the whole melt down closely and hadn't missed a thing. Spike was clearly standing in the way of Buffy's happiness; therefore, Spike was the problem to be eliminated. Yep, the equation worked out nicely when Spike was subtracted. Why then was it that Buffy's calming facial expression reflected something close to hope? Wasn't this the first meeting of the We Hate Spike Club? "What? Where did you get that idea?" Buffy stood up and stretched. Emotional purging always built up her appetite and Angel had mentioned microwave popcorn. She was hoping for extra buttery flavor. "How about some of that popcorn, hmm?" She wiggled her eyebrows at him and wandered into the kitchen. Angel sat on the sofa lost in thought. What about anger and outrage and retribution? Logically, this was a scene that should have ended with the villagers, namely, Buffy and Angel, grabbing their pitchforks and setting off to destroy Spike on the outskirts of town but Buffy didn't even sound upset anymore. From the sofa Angel could see her standing in the glow of the microwave, idly flipping through his latest edition of "L.A. Interiors" magazine and humming. If he had to label her disposition at this moment it would have to be perky. Yes, humming tipped the scales to the perky side. This was one of those moments when Angel had to admit that he didn't understand women. Not even a little bit. tbc...