Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Spike: Right. She plays the—the triangle.

Buffy: Drums.

Spike: Drums, yeah. She's, uh, hell on the old skins, you know.

(Becoming, Part 2)

—

Buffy loved the energy of the Bronze right before a show.

The whole club seemed to vibrate with potential — the tinkle of glasses, the buzz of conversation, the bursts of laughter making their own kind of music. Her hands almost itched to feel the solid wood of her drumsticks, to show the crowd what she could do.

But first she needed to make a pitstop.

The guy behind the bar offered her a grin as she approached. “Ah,” he said loudly, “the Slayers are playing tonight.”

“Must be Tuesday,” Buffy said sardonically.

Xander the bartender knew very well that the Slayers had been playing the Bronze every Tuesday lately. It wasn’t a bad gig. The Bronze was pretty happening most nights of the week, and the Slayers were still making a name for themselves in the LA scene.

Another thing Xander knew well was Buffy’s drink order. He plunked the cold glass bottle down in front of her without her even asking.

“One mocha frappuccino for the lady,” he said, popping off the top with a flourish.

He’d started stocking coffee drinks behind the bar ever since he found out that Buffy wasn’t too big on booze. She preferred the sugar rush. And she suspected that Xander might be a little sweet on her.

He watched her with a smile as she picked up her drink and took a swig. “It’s cool you guys signed up for the Battle of the Bands,” he said. “I think you’ll smoke the competition.”

Buffy coughed, caught off guard. “We did what with the who?”

“Oh, did I get it wrong?” Xander’s forehead wrinkled. “I’m not always up on the quick take.”

“First I’m hearing of it,” Buffy said, trying to remember if any of the other members of the band had mentioned a battle.

“I’m sure I saw the Slayers on Giles’ list,” Xander said.

Giles, the owner of the Bronze, was a former rocker himself. There were pictures of him performing in a Sex Pistols wannabe band in the ’70s in the club’s tiny backstage area. Now he looked more like the type of guy who owned a tea cozy, whatever that was.

“What do we get?” Buffy asked.

“Huh?”

“If we choose to do musical battle, and we win, there’s gotta be a prize, right? Year’s supply of Turtle Wax?”

“More like a recording contract.”

Buffy’s mouth fell open. “Get out.”

“OK, yeah, that’s a longshot,” Xander admitted. “But all the A&R guys come, and it has been known to happen. And you do win free studio time and some cash.”

Buffy tilted her head appraisingly. “I like cash.”

“Don’t we all.”

“I’ll talk to the guys about it. We should sign up.”

“Sign up for what?” Faith slung her arm around Buffy’s shoulders and squeezed.

Buffy’s bandmate was dressed in her signature style — leather pants and a tank top that showed off her thorny black bicep tat. Her makeup was fierce, too. Faith was the master of the smoky eye. Buffy always felt a little too bright next to Faith, like maybe she was giving off a glare.

“Xander was telling me about the Battle of the Bands,” Buffy explained.

“Already taken care of,” Faith answered.

Buffy pulled away from her. “Without even asking the rest of us?”

“Sometimes I gotta make executive decisions. Didn’t want all the spots to go.”

“You’ve heard of a group text? Takes like five seconds.”

“If I ever send a group text, please punch me in the face repeatedly.”

Xander punctuated Faith’s statement by setting down her usual pregame tequila shots, alongside a salt shaker and a slice of lime. She tossed them all back quickly — bim bam boom. She winked at Xander as she finished, and he glanced guiltily at Buffy before skittering away down the bar.

“Why do guys always get so weird after you bang them?” Faith asked.

“You…banged Xander?” Buffy squeaked.

Faith shrugged. “He was the only one left after last call.”

Buffy dropped her eyes. She didn’t have a thing for Xander, but it was kind of nice for a guy to have a thing for her for once. Mostly they got distracted by Faith’s frontwoman exuberance. And her body. The only thing more rock solid than Faith’s confidence was her abs.

“Don’t look like that, B. It didn’t mean anything.”

“It never does,” Buffy muttered, but then she shrugged it off and lifted her chin. “We better get going.”

“Rock on,” Faith said sarcastically.

Willow and Oz were tuning up in the small backstage area, surrounded by a colorful collection of rock paraphernalia.

“Faith signed us up for Battle of the Bands,” Buffy announced.

Faith put on an exaggerated smile. “They’re cool with that. You guys are cool with that, right?”

Willow’s bass went silent. “You didn’t even ask us?” she said miffily.

“You would have said no?” Faith challenged.

Willow hesitated, fiddling with a string. “That’s not the point.”

“Oz?” Faith asked.

“I have to say, I’m pretty into consent as a concept,” he said slowly, and Willow shot him a sly smile.

Faith sighed. “So you want to back out or what?”

“Why don’t we put it to a vote?” Buffy said diplomatically. “All in favor of Battling, and potentially winning fame and fortune, raise your hand.”

She raised her own. Willow quickly followed. Oz pointed an index finger into the air. Faith rolled her eyes in exasperation, then grinned and grabbed her guitar. “We’re going to kick so much ass.”

They all got busy with their preshow routines for a few minutes, making sure everything was in order and they were ready to go onstage.

“How long of a set do we get?” Willow asked.

“For the Battle? I think three songs,” Faith said. “We’ll see how it goes tonight, but I’m thinking ‘Ready to Break’ is sounding great lately. And we have to do ‘Kicks.’ “

“Just for Kicks” was their most-requested song and the biggest crowd pleaser on their set list. It was basically Faith flirting with the listener on top of a killer bass line — and who could resist that? Buffy hadn’t come across anyone so far.

Faith didn’t immediately suggest a third song from their usual repertoire, and Buffy took the opening.

“Maybe we could add in something new,” she said. “I’ve been working on some—”

“No offense,” Faith interrupted, “but we really need to go with our strongest stuff if we want to win. Your songs are good, don’t get me wrong, but they’re not really Slayer material.”

It stung, even though Buffy knew it was true. The Slayers were building a reputation as a hard-charging, uptempo, edgy rock band. Buffy’s work was softer, more searching — kind of the opposite of in-your-face Faith. She couldn’t count on the band to perform songs that clashed with the lead singer’s style.

She nodded and turned away before Faith could catch the look on her face.

“You OK?” Willow asked, so quietly that it was more her big eyes that were speaking.

“Yeah, all good.” Buffy twirled her drumstick through her fingers — a nervous habit.

“Maybe we could try playing your stuff during practice this week,” Willow said placatingly.

“No, Faith’s right. She can’t sing my songs.”

“You could—”

“No way.” Buffy shook her head, grateful for Willow’s support but a little annoyed by the suggestion. “I’m pushing it even doing backup vocals. I can’t take lead.”

“You guys ready to play?” Faith asked sharply.

They were overdue on stage. A bit of irritation still smoldered inside her, but once Buffy was seated behind her kit and they smashed into the first song, all the bickering with Faith disappeared. The only thing she cared about was the rhythm. Adrenaline thrummed in her blood as the beat pounded in her chest, every downbeat and cymbal crash reminding her that she couldn’t slip up for even one second or she was toast.

Faith was the leader of the Slayers, but Buffy was the band’s beating heart.

By the time they left the stage — and a wildly cheering crowd — Buffy was sweaty and rubber-limbed and elated. Faith handed her a bottle of water from the bar and they both drank greedily.

“Fuck, I’m starving,” Faith said. “Isn’t it crazy how rocking out always makes you hungry and horny?”

But Buffy couldn’t answer, because she no longer possessed the power of speech. Faith’s loud comment had caught the attention of the guy standing behind her, who looked up and met Buffy’s eye with a wry expression.

And that guy just happened to have the most gorgeous face and hair and body that Buffy had ever seen.

Her cheeks heated up as their eyes held. She knew who he was, of course. Not his name, but she knew the most important thing about him. Mr. Tall, Dark and God-Like was the lead guitarist for the Whirlwind, another up-and-coming rock band trying to book the same clubs and shows that the Slayers were always jockeying for.

He was smiling at her, in a conspiratorial, did-she-really-just-say-that way. Buffy couldn’t help but smile back, and Faith caught the dreamy look on her face.

“What?” she said, whirling around. “Oh, hi, Angel.”

His name was Angel? That seemed almost too on the nose.

Faith’s voice sparkled with flirtation — the game was on. “You alone tonight?” she asked him.

Buffy’s shoulders slumped. Of course, Faith would swoop in on the one guy who had gotten her heart racing in the last…Buffy didn’t want to think about how long.

Angel seemed thrown off by Faith’s question, which was weird, because there was no way people weren’t hitting on him 24/7. “No,” he said after a beat, tilting his head toward the bar.

Spike was there, surrounded by a group of admirers. Everyone knew the Whirlwind frontman, with his bleached hair, his British accent and his long leather coat. He loved the spotlight and, though Buffy hated to admit it, the crowds loved him.

Buffy was at least gratified to see Faith’s eyes narrow at the sight of Spike. Her feud with him would take her attention away from Angel. Buffy didn’t really know why Faith hated Spike so much — a hookup gone bad? A hookup denied? Or just the fact that Spike got more credibility as a musician because he had a penis?

Faith smirked and waved. Spike jerked his chin and headed in their direction.

“Hope you’re not here to sign up for the Battle of the Bands,” Faith said in a syrupy tone when he reached them. “Because Giles’ list is already full.” She smiled like a cartoon cat with a mouse’s tail trapped under its paw.

But Spike just shrugged. “Signed up yesterday, luv.”

“Better be ready, then.” Faith put her hands on her hips. “We’re not called the Slayers for nothing.”

Spike chuckled. “Well, then. The Whirlwind’s yours for the reaping.” He downed the last of his drink as Faith looked frustrated. Clearly she was used to being able to rile Spike up.

Buffy figured enough time had passed that she could look back toward Angel without seeming overeager. But when she glanced in his direction, he was gone.

Figured.

At least she had Mr. Gordo waiting to cuddle at home.

Angel lifted yet another drink from the bar, wondering why in the hell he’d let Spike talk him into coming out to the Bronze. It wasn’t like him to listen to Spike about...well, anything. But then again, it wasn’t every day that you found out your girlfriend was cheating on you with your friend.

Especially when both of them were your bandmates, and the fallout could wreck not just your love life, but your career and your entire future.

He bolted the drink and slammed his glass on the bar, signaling for another.

The day before, they’d all been hyped up about the Battle of the Bands — with visions of hit singles and sold-out concerts dancing in their heads. By tomorrow, there might not be a band at all.

Angel’s stomach turned at the thought of having to see Darla and Penn again. After the way he’d caught them…

Right now, it didn’t matter that things with Darla had been rocky for a long time. She was important to him, and they’d had so many good times with the Whirlwind, and that had been enough.

Except, of course, that it hadn’t.

In one look at Darla’s face, Angel had seen everything. Darla didn’t love Penn. She was just...missing something. They were missing something.

Their relationship was over, and that was probably for the best, but it still hurt. And if he couldn’t get over that hurt fast, the Whirlwind was going to fall apart. The only choice was to suck it up and stick it out. But could he really do it?

The bartender set a drink in front of Angel. “Did you come for the show?” he asked. “Checking out the competition?”

Angel shook his head and sipped his drink.

“Giles is pretty psyched,” the bartender continued. “With the Slayers and the Whirlwind, this is shaping up to be the best Battle of the Bands in years.”

Angel swallowed to keep from answering, and he was grateful when the bartender’s attention was pulled away by another customer. He’d seen the guy around plenty of times, but Angel wasn’t really in the mood for small talk.

Angel hadn’t even been able to introduce himself to Faith’s bandmate, that stunning blonde drummer who had the most expressive face he’d ever seen. It was like she carried her heart right out in front of her for everyone to see.

From the look in her eyes, Angel thought that she also knew what it was like to feel out of place, even when surrounded by adoring fans. Even when surrounded by your closest friends.

She was gone now. He’d watched her leave from the bar, captivated by the glow of her hair bobbing like a golden flame through the semi-darkness. But he hadn’t moved from his seat.

“Can I get you anything else, man?” The bartender was back. Angel looked up at him, met his eyes for the first time that night. Or he tried to. But the bartender’s floppy black hair blurred, and the room swirled just a little.

“I’m gonna go,” Angel said, standing carefully. “Will you tell Spike I went home?”

“Of course.” He picked up Angel’s empty glass. “Do you need help getting there? I can tap screens with the best of them.”

Angel stared at him in bewilderment. Apparently, his brain was even mushier than he thought.

“You know, whatever rideshare app you’re using,” the guy explained. “I tap. Car appears.”

“I think I can handle it,” Angel said, restraining the urge to roll his eyes. He wasn’t that drunk.

He kept telling himself that as he lumbered under the streetlights toward home. It was too close to call a cab, and anyway the walk would do him good.

But halfway there, a thought occurred to him that sobered him up more quickly than any amount of night air. He couldn’t go home. He couldn’t face Darla. Not tonight. Not like this.

He rubbed a hand over his face. There was really only one place to go. Luckily, it wasn’t far away.

Her light was still on, which surprised him. But he was glad he wouldn’t have to add waking her out of a dead sleep to his list of sins. Showing up like this was bad enough. Even his knock was sheepish, if that was possible.

The door opened swiftly. “Ah, the king has been in his cups,” Drusilla said with a teasing smile. “My cards told me you’d be here tonight.”

One corner of Angel’s mouth lifted. “Then I guess I won’t say I’m sorry for showing up out of the blue.”

Dru laughed. “No apologies necessary, my Angel.” Then her expression drooped. “I heard what happened.”

Angel scoffed. “Didn’t see that one coming, huh?”

Dru pressed her mouth into a thin line, and Angel winced. He thought Dru’s affinity for the mystical was a little over the top, but he never teased her about it. When they were kids, he’d always stood up for her against the jerks who made fun of her.

“I did, actually,” Dru said, her voice sounding small. “Didn’t need the cards. But I didn’t want to believe it.”

Angel looked down at his shoes. “Me either.” He sighed, tilting his chin back up. “So what’s next?” he asked contritely.

Dru pursed her lips appraisingly. “Hmmm...I see sleep in your future,” she said, her eyes sparkling and then going wide with surprise. “And perhaps...someone new?”

The Slayer who wore her heart on her sleeve popped into Angel’s head, unbidden.

“Let’s just focus on the sleep part,” he said.

Buffy woke at the sound of the front door opening — Willow was home from spending the night at Oz’s. Buffy tried to slip back into sleep, squeezing her eyes shut to block out the light sneaking around her blinds.

Instead, she found herself listening to Willow getting breakfast. Cereal tinkled into a bowl; the coffee maker spluttered to life.

Buffy opened her eyes with a groan. She had a feeling it wouldn’t be long until Willow and Oz finally moved in together, and then she really would be alone with Mr. Gordo. It seemed silly to start preemptively missing her roommate, but she couldn’t help it. Willow had been her best friend for years, ever since her parents split up and she moved with her mom to the small town of Sunnydale.

The divorce had changed something in Buffy, made her quieter and maybe, if she was honest with herself, a little less shallow. That first summer in Sunnydale, she’d avoided the hard work of starting over in a new town where she knew no one by falling more in love with music.

But eventually, Buffy’s mom began hounding her to do something, anything, to get her out of the house sometimes, and Buffy signed up for guitar lessons, wanting to explore melody in addition to rhythm. And that was where she met Willow, who was rebelling against her parents’ insistence that she spend all her time on college-baiting extracurriculars.

Soon, they were spending hours together in Buffy’s room, trying to figure out new chords, playing old Sarah McLachlan songs, messing around with their own ideas. Buffy adored rocking out in the basement with the drum kit her guilty dad had gifted her during the divorce, but she also got a rush from tapping out simple rhythms on the body of her guitar as she played and sang.

Over the years, she’d grown to love songwriting, but Buffy knew the Slayers were her best chance to make music an actual career. Maybe someday she’d even be able to quit her waitressing gig. The one she would totally be late for if she didn’t get out of bed right now.

Willow was still in the kitchen when Buffy emerged from her room, dressed in the plain black uniform she wore to cover the lunch rush at one of the upscale places downtown where business types wined and dined clients.

“Morning,” Buffy said, grabbing a yogurt from the refrigerator.

“Morning,” Willow responded, looking up from her phone. “Sorry we left so fast last night. I was really tired. Did you have fun? Any cute guys around?” Willow wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Ever since Willow had started dating Oz, she’d been extra eager for Buffy to find someone, too.

“No one to write home about,” Buffy said, lying through her teeth. Angel was definitely worth writing about — sonnets, poems, love songs. But they hadn’t even exchanged two words, so he didn’t really qualify as morning-after gossip.

Still, she found herself thinking about a pair of warm brown eyes as she walked to work, carried along by the soundtrack of the street. The rhythm of footsteps on the pavement, the whoosh of a passing bus, the chirping of the birds started to coalesce into a new melody in her head.

Close your eyes
Just walk away
The face of an angel
Means hell to pay

Buffy laughed at herself. That sounded a lot like sour grapes, given that he clearly wasn’t interested in her. But having a guy — any guy — to think about was nice, especially if it got her writing. The lyrics were silly, but she’d keep refining them until she had something better. She wouldn’t give up.

The Slayers were never going to play her songs, but that wasn’t going to stop her from writing them.

So when she passed her favorite coffee shop and saw a flyer in the window advertising an open mic night, Buffy decided to take it as a sign. She didn’t have the world’s greatest voice, but it wasn’t like they’d be charging for tickets. No one would demand their money back if she crashed and burned.

She went inside and signed up before she could change her mind. And ordered a mocha to go.

Angel sipped his late afternoon coffee, hoping it would help the pounding in his head. He’d slept away most of the day, but he was still regretting his decision to drink so much at the Bronze.

Then again, he’d probably have a headache right now even without the hangover.

All five members of the Whirlwind were gathered in their usual practice space. And all five of them looked like they would rather be anywhere else.

As Dru set up her keyboard and Spike tuned his guitar, Darla sidled up to Angel, wearing puppy dog eyes of apology. “Maybe we could go somewhere and talk?” she asked quietly.

“There’s nothing more to say,” Angel told her. “It’s over.”

He hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but he realized the room had gone completely quiet.

“Right, then,” Spike said awkwardly, breaking the silence. “Let’s get started.”

“We can’t just pretend like everything’s normal,” Penn protested. Angel hadn’t so much as glanced in his direction. He couldn’t.

“Maybe you should have thought of that earlier, mate,” Spike muttered, “and kept it in your bloody pants.”

“You know what? We don’t have to take this. C’mon, Darla.” Beneath the bluster, there was a desperate note in Penn’s voice.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Darla said flatly.

Penn made a sound of frustration. “You don’t give a shit about me, do you?” he asked bitterly. “This was always about him.”

For the first time, Angel met Penn’s eyes. He actually felt bad for the guy, despite his glare.

“I’m not going to be your pawn in some twisted chess game,” Penn said. “Fuck this. I quit.”

He grabbed his equipment and slammed the door behind him.

Without missing a beat, Darla marched over and took her seat behind the drum kit, clutching her sticks defiantly. “Some people just don’t understand what’s really important,” she said.

“Yeah,” Spike agreed, “and you’re one of them.”

Darla lifted her chin and ignored him. Spike turned to Angel. “What d’ya say? You up for this?”

Dru had been quietly fiddling with her crystal necklace, but she looked up then. Angel could feel the weight of her eyes on him as she waited for his answer.

A not-insignificant part of Angel wanted to turn around and storm out just like Penn. But he didn’t want to be responsible for breaking the band to pieces. And Penn quitting did make the prospect of sticking it out a bit more palatable.

“I’ll stay, as long as we can all be professional,” he said finally, giving Dru a reassuring nod. “I made a commitment, and I honor those.”

Darla scoffed slightly at his pointed tone.

“Got a problem?” Spike asked immediately.

“Not in the least.” Darla smirked. “Can we play now?”

“What about Penn?” Dru asked.

“We don’t need him,” Darla snapped.

Angel knew they did — they all knew that — but playing sounded a whole lot better than talking any more, so they let Darla count them off to start practice. The music blossomed, filling the space, and it was a relief at first, but it didn’t last long. Without Penn’s bass line, everything sounded wrong.

“Christ,” Spike said after a particularly empty run-through of what was usually one of their best songs. “We sound like a rubbishy garage band. We can’t do the Battle with no bass.”

“We’ll have to find a replacement,” Angel said.

“Only got a few weeks,” Spike countered.

“Still worth a try.”

“All right, but we can’t be too splashy about the search,” Spike said. “I don’t want the Slayers to know they’ve got the advantage. That leading lady of theirs is a real piece of work.”

“I can do it,” Dru piped up from her spot behind the keyboard. “I haven’t played the bass in some time, but I’m sure I can knock off the rust.”

“You can’t do that. You’re what makes us special,” Angel said, ignoring the huffy faces that both Spike and Darla turned his way.

“We only need to get our foot in the door,” Dru said. “They’ll laugh us off stage the way we sound now. We can add the sparkle back in later.”

Angel scowled but then nodded. It was a better plan than finding someone brand new to learn their songs in a few weeks.

Spike moved closer to Dru. “Are you sure you can handle that, pet?” he asked gently.

He only used that particular tone of voice with her. Even Angel could admit that Spike was devoted to Dru, though his spotlight-seeking ways caused conflict between them. Dru shied away from too much attention off stage.

“Of course she can handle it,” Darla snapped before Dru could answer. “Stop being such a misogynist, William.”

Spike bristled. He hated being called by anything but his nickname, which Angel thought had to do with the years he’d spent at a British boarding school. The only thing you could call him that was worse than William was “Pratt” — and not even Darla would go that far.

“Right,” Spike said. “Please do go on lecturing me from your very high ground of shagging the bassist and smashing up the band.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“Better an arse than a dirty little cheat.”

Angel couldn’t take it anymore. “I think we’re done for today,” he said, packing up his guitar. “Dru, let us know how it goes.”

He didn’t wait for an answer before he scooped up his case and burst out into the twilight, sucking in big lungfuls of air. He strode quickly down the block, trying to escape the reality that was descending on him. This was going to be his life now.

Spike and Darla bickering wasn’t new, but his private pain wasn’t usually the source of the sticks and stones they were throwing at each other. No matter who got hit, it hurt.

He wandered for a long time, not able to go home and not wanting to go back to Dru’s place just yet. When he got tired, he spotted a coffee shop across the street and was instantly hit with a wave of longing for a cup of tea, the kind his mother used to make for him. He missed his mom, and his little sister, and even his dad, now that they were living 5,000 miles away in Galway.

And he did feel calmer once he was sitting at one of the small, round tables inside, with a steaming mug in front of him. He could almost hear the lilting of his mother’s voice, telling him that it would all be OK, just as she’d done so many times in his childhood.

It was only after a few sips that Angel realized there was going to be live music at the coffee shop that night. There was a microphone and a stool and a blonde woman with a guitar hovering near them.

Angel’s heart jumped into his throat as he recognized her face.

“Welcome to another of our Hang Out and Let It All Hang Out open mic nights.” A shaggy barista wearing a flannel had taken the mic. “Hanging out with us first tonight is singer-songwriter Buffy Summers.”

Buffy. He finally had a name, at least. And she was playing acoustic? This wasn’t going to be typical Slayers stuff.

He leaned forward in his chair, his full attention on her. As the welcoming applause died away, she strummed a few hesitant chords, melancholy and searching. And then she began to sing.

Her voice was thin, and her technique was simple, but the melody was beautiful and the lyrics evocative. She sang about loneliness and love in a way that struck right down to the bottom of his soul and scraped it clean.

Angel was…the only word for it was enchanted.

Regret filled him when her 10 minutes were up. He wanted so much more of her. She’d changed his whole night into something magical.

He was gratified, then, to see her walking straight toward his table from the makeshift stage. But he was less thrilled when he took in her expression — as easily readable as it was the night before — and realized she was annoyed.

“Sorry,” Buffy said, “but if you came here to spy on the Slayers, this was a total waste of your time.”

Chapter Text

“What are you talking about?” Angel asked, sounding taken aback.

“I’m not here testing out new material for the Battle of the Bands, if that’s what you expected,” Buffy said. “Faith won’t ever play my songs.”

Angel half-chuckled incredulously. “I didn’t come here to spy on you. I had no idea there was even an open mic tonight.” He looked down pointedly at the mug in front of him.

“Oh,” Buffy said, embarrassment flooding through her. When she’d noticed Angel after her performance, she’d instantly translated the smile on his face to him somehow making fun of her. And she could only think of one reason why he’d be there.

It hadn’t occurred to her that maybe he came to the coffee shop for...some coffee.

He seemed to be fighting back a smile as he gestured to the chair across from him. She sank into it, feeling like it would be rude to refuse and also noticing the way the soft light brought out the glints of warmer brown in his dark hair.

“I guess the Battle of the Bands has everyone all edgy,” she said by way of apology.

Angel looked like he was about to contradict her, but he stopped himself. Instead, he said, “If you’re not happy with the Slayers, why don’t you break out on your own?”

Buffy laughed. “You act like you didn’t just hear me sing.”

“I thought you were great.”

The quiet sincerity in his voice secretly thrilled her, but Buffy scoffed. “I can write songs, but no one would ever pay to hear me sing them. And anyway, I’m not unhappy with the Slayers. I love the drums, I love the band, I love the rush. I guess I just hope that someday, someone will get that same rush playing my songs.”

“So you’re making a compromise to keep doing what you love. I get that.”

A rush of affection for him made her lips curve up. “Oh, you get that, do you?”

“Yeah,” he said seriously. “Is that so surprising? In this business?”

Buffy considered. “Does that mean things aren’t all hunky-dory with the Whirlwind?”

“Depends,” he said, keeping his eyes trained on the napkin he was shredding. “Does your definition of hunky-dory include being in a band with your ex-girlfriend after she cheated on you with the bassist?”

He looked up at Buffy then, his eyes dark with hurt, and she had to resist the urge to run around the table and hug him.

“Ouch,” she said inadequately.

“Ouch,” Angel agreed. “And I’m the one who recruited him to join the band.”

Buffy winced. “Is that…I mean, is that really a compromise worth making? Doesn’t it hurt too much?”

He didn’t answer for a long time, and Buffy’s stomach did a slow somersault. “Sorry, that’s probably too personal,” she backtracked.

“No, it’s OK,” he said. “It’s...important for me to keep the band together. For the other people in it.”

Buffy raised one eyebrow. “You’re that devoted to Spike? Really?”

Angel chuckled. “God, no. Our keyboard player, Drusilla — we’ve been friends since we were kids. We met at music camp, stayed in touch. After we graduated, I convinced her to move here from London. Told her we could make it big.”

“And you don’t want to disappoint her?”

“Leaving the band…it would feel like I was abandoning our dream.” Angel shook himself, like he had just realized where he was and who he was talking to. “Sorry. You probably have places to be…”

“Not really,” Buffy said, wondering if he was trying to get rid of her. “But if you do…”

Angel looked at the time. “I probably should be going, actually.”

Buffy bobbed her head, discouraged but not wanting to show it. It had been a long time since she talked like this to anyone but Willow. Angel already felt like so much more than a stranger.

“But maybe we could meet up again soon?” he asked. “I’d love to hear more of your music.”

Buffy knew she was grinning like an idiot. “Hmm. Isn’t that like fraternizing with the enemy?”

Angel’s smile was small but warm. “Are you afraid of hanging out with me?”

“I don’t know. Do you bite?”

“I could,” he said, his voice low.

Buffy laughed but she was instantly flushed with heat. “Give me your phone,” she said, and she entered in her contact info when he handed it over obediently.

“Buffy the Slayer,” he said, reading the screen as she gave it back. “Very helpful.”

“Wouldn’t want you to forget which Buffy I am.”

“No chance of that,” he said.

Angel left the coffee shop feeling lighter than he had in weeks. It wasn’t like him to open up to someone so quickly, but between her music and her honesty, Buffy had made it somehow feel easy. As tough as it was to admit it, he’d needed to talk to someone who wasn’t involved in the whole mess.

Buffy had helped him so much without really knowing it, and he wished there was something he could do to help her in return. Her smile when he said he wanted to hear more of her music had made the whole world a brighter place.

But Angel’s good mood collapsed when he saw the light on in his apartment and remembered what lay ahead. He took a deep breath. Once more, unto the breach.

He knocked instead of using his key. Darla answered, and reached out to take his hand and draw him inside. “Angel,” she said. “You’re here.”

“Only to talk about the apartment,” he said, pulling his hand away.

“Won’t you just listen to me? I’m so sorry.”

“You mean, you’re sorry you got caught.”

Darla’s eyes narrowed a little, but she shook her head. “Penn didn’t mean anything to me.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“What do I need to do to get your attention, Angel? We used to have so much fun. Now you can hardly even look at me.”

“After what you’ve done—”

“No, I mean, before that,” Darla said, finally cracking through to something raw and real. “Even before.”

Angel couldn’t answer. He knew she was right. It had been over for a long time. If he was honest, even the pain of betrayal was more about the band and his plans than his heart.

“What happened to us? We used to be everything to each other. There’s gotta be some reason that—” She stopped. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

“No.” But Angel tripped a little getting the word out, and Darla pounced.

“There is! You’ve been cheating on me.”

“That’s not true. I just met—” He stopped himself. He couldn’t start thinking of Buffy as “someone else.” Not yet. They hadn’t even gone on a date. And he couldn’t bring something so fragile and precious out in front of Darla, just to let her crush it.

“Who is she?”

“I’m not talking about this. I’m here to talk about the apartment.”

“I’m keeping it,” Darla said crossly. “You can’t afford it on your own anyway.” She sniffed. “Hope Dru’s couch is comfortable.” She turned away from him, crossing her arms.

Angel rolled his eyes and walked into the bedroom, pulling a gym bag out of the closet and stuffing it with more of his clean clothes and other essentials. Darla walked in and flung herself down on the bed dramatically, but he ignored her.

“I’ll be back to pick up the rest of my stuff once I find a new place,” he said when he finished packing.

“Do you really want to do all that? You could just stay here.” She traced her fingertips over the comforter. “Nice soft bed. We could talk. We could...not talk,” she purred.

“Not talking sounds good to me,” he said. Then he turned on his heel and left.

When he got outside, he took out his phone, so he could let Dru know he was coming back. But instead, he scrolled through his contacts. There weren’t many, and the new one stood out: Buffy the Slayer. Just seeing her name made him smile.

He’d call her the next day.

“And then what did he say?” Willow’s expression was rapt as she bit into the piece of licorice she was holding.

“He said, ‘I could.’” Buffy raised her eyebrows dramatically and laughed as Willow squealed.

“So you like him? It seems like you like him. Do you like him?”

“Maybe. I mean, he’s not bad to look at,” Buffy said coyly.

“He’s into music. He likes your music. That gets him points, right?”

“At least a couple,” Buffy said, though her mind was screaming so. many. points. Unless, of course, he was just trying to score points with her so he could…score. But he’d seemed so sincere. “He’s got my number, so…”

“He’ll text. I’m sure he’ll text. Or maybe even call.”

“Do guys still do that?”

“Oz does.”

“Oz still has a flip phone.”

Willow shrugged. “I think it’s nice. And I never have to waste time analyzing emojis. You know, eggplants and—and peaches.”

“I don’t think those are the ones that really require in-depth scrutiny, Will.”

She smiled. “Anyway, I like the sound of his voice. Does Angel have a good voice?”

“Pretty dreamy,” Buffy confirmed. She’d liked the way his words had rumbled through her, and his intense expression while he talked. And his mouth, with those curving, luscious lips.

“You’re so smitten.”

“I am not.” Buffy tried to make her face neutral and mature. She was not going to get all wild about a guy she’d just met. That way led to madness, and sweaty palms.

“You’re a smitten kitten,” Willow rubbed it in. But then she bit her lip.

“What is it?”

“Oz heard a rumor tonight. About the Whirlwind. Apparently, their bassist quit.”

“And you’re thinking of taking the job?”

“What? No! I would never!” Willow said quickly, before she realized Buffy was teasing. “It just sounded like maybe things weren’t going so well for the band.”

“I think that’s an understatement.”

“So it’s true?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me. Angel said his ex cheated him with the bassist.”

Willow’s eyes went wide. “So that means…Angel’s on the rebound.”

“I guess...yeah,” Buffy said, deflating. She hadn’t really thought about it. She was too focused on whatever was blooming between them to think of his past.

Willow tried to rally. “I mean, that doesn’t mean you can’t see what happens. Just see where it goes.”

Buffy nodded, but all of a sudden, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to hear from him anymore. Maybe he was just looking for some fun to help him get over his ex. And while she couldn’t deny a part of her wanted to bang Angel like...well, a drum, she was already getting in too deep for a no-strings fling.

But she still snatched her phone up like a winning lottery ticket when she got a text from him the next day. She waited a few minutes before responding to his greeting with a nonchalant Hey. Her phone started to buzz right away.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Buffy? It’s Angel. From the coffee shop? I hope you don’t mind me calling.”

“Not at all. It’s better this way. I won’t have to judge you for your typos.”

Angel chuckled. “Exactly.”

“So… how are things going with the band?”

There was a silence on the other end of the line, and Buffy wished she hadn’t asked.

“About that,” Angel said finally. “I think it might be awhile before I can see you. I’m apartment hunting and we’re going to be practicing all the time—”

“That’s OK. I totally understand.” He was only calling to let her down easy. Disappointment crashed down hard. But better now than later. “Good luck with everything.”

“I was wondering if maybe I could keep calling you?” He sounded sincere, and a little unsure.

Buffy bit her lip, shifting from thoroughly discouraged to slightly wary. At least it made the fling scenario less likely. And she did want to get to know him better.

“Sure, that sounds OK,” she said. “Wow. Talking on the phone. How very 1997 of us.”

“What can I say? I’m an old-fashioned guy.”

Talking to Buffy quickly became the best part of Angel’s day.

They told each other about their everyday life — Buffy’s waitressing job, his hunt for a new place, the grind of practices and gigs. He heard about Willow and Oz and Faith, and he told her more about his friendship with Dru. Just hearing Buffy’s voice pulled things out of him that he didn’t expect.

“When my dad got transferred and they moved to Ireland, I was...almost relieved,” he confessed one night, when Buffy called him late after a show. “My dad has never approved of this life for me. He thinks I’m wasting my time on music, that I need to get a real career.”

“That’s gotta be tough.”

“We just don’t talk about it now. I think he pretends I’m an accountant or something.” Angel smiled. “I do miss them, though. Especially my little sister.”

After that, he couldn’t resist sharing some of his favorite Kathy stories, and he was pleased when Buffy laughed. “How about you? Any siblings?”

“Nope. I’m a one and only,” she said. “My mom’s still in Sunnydale, so I see her pretty often.” She sighed. “I thought when I moved back to LA, that I’d see more of my dad, but he decided to run off to Spain with his secretary. Very classy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s OK. He’s not big on the music career either. He bought me a drum kit, but he never came to hear me play.”

After a few requests, Angel finally convinced Buffy to play her music for him again. One night, they actually chatted by video call so he could get a full performance.

“I would love to play some of your songs at our gigs,” he said when she’d finished.

Buffy laughed. “Yeah, right. The only thing weirder than Faith singing this would be Spike singing this.”

“No, not the Whirlwind. Um, Dru and I have a side act. We play weddings to make extra cash.”

“What? How have you not mentioned this?”

“Most people think it’s pretty cheesy,” Angel said sheepishly. “Especially when they hear what we play.”

“What do you play?” Buffy asked immediately.

“Uh, love songs mostly. Dru does an incredible version of Looks Like We Made It.”

“Barry Manilow? You’re kidding me.” Buffy giggled.

“See? This is why I haven’t mentioned this.”

“No, no,” Buffy said, biting back her grin, “I’m sure the Barry is very...romantic. And, hey, I can’t judge. I write love songs.”

Angel stared at her face on the screen, wishing he was really looking into her eyes. “Do you think it would be OK if I played some of them for Dru? I’m sure she’d love them.”

“Of course. I’ll send you anything you want.” Buffy’s upbeat tone still carried a hint of disbelief that he would be interested in sharing her songs.

But he was going to make her a believer.

Every time Angel’s name popped up on Buffy’s phone, a charge of excitement ran through her. But after two weeks of not seeing each other in person, she was starting to get a little frustrated. She loved talking to him, but now she wanted more. To see him. To...touch him.

When he called on the day after their video chat, she could hear a difference in his voice right away. He sounded excited — maybe even a little nervous.

“I finally found a place,” he said, and she gamely quizzed him on the details — neighborhood? Which floor? Laundry sitch?

They commiserated over laundromat mishaps and the etiquette of public dryers for a few minutes before Angel went quiet.

“You OK?” Buffy asked.

“Yeah...I was just wondering if you might want to come over for a little housewarming party.”

“You’re having a party?” The idea surprised her. Angel might be a guitar god on stage, but he’d never really struck her as the party type.

“A little one,” he said.

“How little?”

“Just you and me?” he said sweetly.

Buffy smiled hugely and she knew he’d be able to hear it in her voice. “Should I bring anything?”

“Your guitar.”

So a few days later, she was standing on his doorstep, guitar case in hand. The place seemed to suit him — the building was large and old-fashioned, with wrought iron gates and a carved stone fountain.

She swallowed hard when he opened the door. It wasn’t that she’d forgotten the chiseled lines of his face, or the muscles that swelled under his shirt. But she’d never had them right in front of her, now that they belonged to the Angel she knew, and not just some handsome stranger.

She wasn’t sure what to do. Would a hug be too much? Would a hug be too tame? Should she greet him with a kiss hello?

Before she could decide, the moment had passed and he was inviting her in, stepping back and out of hugging and/or kissing range.

Awkwardness settled over the room like snow. Buffy barely squeaked out a greeting, and she clung to the handle of her guitar case with white-knuckle intensity. She couldn’t quite square them — the Angel of the phone and this angel in her vision.

“Should I give you the tour?” Angel asked with a crooked smile, and Buffy huffed out a relieved laugh.

“Yes,” she said. “Please.” She put her guitar down and trailed him through the relatively small space like an eager puppy.

She scoped out living room and kitchen and bathroom in the space of a few steps. But the nervous knots in her stomach returned when Angel clicked on the lamp in his bedroom. His bed was neatly made, covered in a soft-looking red comforter. Books lined a set of shelves on either side.

Angel in his bedroom, right next to that inviting bed, bordered on overwhelming, and Buffy almost gasped when he turned off the light again.

“This is what sold me,” he said. “This, and the fact that I could afford it.”

The view from the large window over his bed quickly grabbed her attention — the city skyline glittering in the night, framed by dark palms.

“Beautiful,” she said, rubbing her arms as a shiver shimmered down her spine.

“Yeah,” he agreed. She flushed when she saw he was looking at her instead of the view.

“C’mon,” he said softly, tilting his head. “Let’s play.”

He grabbed an acoustic guitar from the rack in his room, which also held what looked like a Strat and a Gibson, though Buffy was too flustered to get geeky. She settled down a bit when she was strumming her own guitar on the couch and they were playing bits of songs they both knew.

As she suspected, Angel was as generous musically as he was in every other way. He really listened to her, improvising and harmonizing, and the tension drained away as they found a rhythm together.

But then Angel launched into something she recognized like her own name. He knew every chord, and he started to sing softly.

Hollow heart
Loved in the dark
That was never what you wanted
Starving smiles
Missed the mark
Living just like you were haunted
But all that’s changed now
Nothing’s the same now

It was her song. Buffy was breathless. From the look on his face, it was obvious that Angel was truly moved by what he was playing. He wasn’t just trying to build her up. The music was pouring out of him, pure and clear.

Listening to her own song from an outsider’s perspective, Buffy started to feel a bit like a fraud. She wrote about love, maybe even convincingly, but what did she really know about it? She’d had crushes, she’d dated, but she’d never experienced that big, life-changing love that she painted pictures of in words and melody.

But then Angel’s eyes met hers. He stopped singing, though his fingers kept picking out the notes, a fitting accompaniment to a feeling that shook her to her core.

This could be it. This could be everything.

When Angel let the last of the song die away, Buffy couldn’t speak. She stood abruptly, setting her guitar aside, feeling like she might have to run from the room.

“Buffy?” Angel stood up, too, his face intent.

She didn’t run. She reached up and cupped his cheek with a fierce tenderness. Their faces drifted toward each other — closer, closer — his eyes darting to her lips and back again. She was shaking now, her breath catching, and when at last their mouths met, Buffy wasn’t sure anything that had come before had ever really qualified as kissing. They might be inventing it, right there and then.

His mouth was sure and seductive, his hands on her eager, electric, exhilarating. He enfolded her easily, his height, his bulk blocking out the world. She was drowning in a sea of Angel and she never wanted to breathe again.

She had to, though, eventually, and that brought its own delights. She could see his eyes pooling with desire, she could gasp in the smell of his skin, she could take the time to trace his jawline with her fingertips.

But only for a moment, and then her lips sought his with fervor and she plunged back in. They kissed and kissed until her body was burning and she needed more, she needed…

Her arms twined around his neck, pulling him down to her more urgently, but he quickly straightened, her grip carrying her up with him. And oh—he was taking her higher, higher. His hands urged her on and she jumped up, wrapping her legs around his waist.

And with all of her pressed to all of him, she knew this was the way it should be. They fit. Like nothing else before, they fit, and she was smoldering down to her bones.

After crashing blindly in the direction of his bedroom, Angel got impatient and laid Buffy out on his dining room table like a feast, his body between her thighs, his lips on her throat, her hands in his hair.

He wanted nothing more than to devour her — he’d never felt this kind of hunger, and the very strength of it worried him. He didn’t want her to think he was rushing her.

“Buffy,” he gasped. “Maybe we should” — he kissed her mouth — “slow down.”

“Do you want to slow down?” she murmured. He looked deep into her eyes, hot and bright and green without a hint of caution.

He decided to be honest. “Not—not really.”

She laughed and her fingers found the top button of his shirt. “OK?” she asked, looking into his eyes, and he nodded, gulping air.

Her fingers fumbled as he peppered kisses all over her face, hovering over her, giving her access. When the last button was free, he stood up straight to strip it off and Buffy sat up, running her hands down his chest and abs.

Her touch was a contradiction — soothing and setting him ablaze all at once. He relished the sensation of her hands smoothing over his shoulders, down his arms. He pressed closer, her legs moving farther apart to accommodate him and he was hit with the need to unwrap her, to find all the treasures she had in store.

Angel reached down to tug off her shirt, admiring the shape of her, the swell of her breasts and the dip of her waist, his hunger surging back. He leaned down to taste her, the salty, perfumed flavor of her skin, and she lay down slowly, holding on to his neck for balance.

Layer after layer melted away, and then he was lost — to lips and tongues and hands, moans and pants and sighs.

The most beautiful instrument, the most beautiful music he’d ever played.

The sunlight woke Buffy early. The room wasn’t familiar, but she didn’t have even a moment of panic. She just felt safe. Her blurry vision came into focus on Angel’s face, alight with the morning glow, beautiful, and so peaceful, and perfect.

They’d slept in a tangle, sheets and pillows and limbs, and Buffy couldn’t move without waking Angel, so she didn’t. She watched the light caress him instead. They hadn’t closed the curtains the night before — too taken by the moonlight sweeping over the sheets, over their skin.

Unfortunately, as the minutes stretched on, the more aware Buffy became that the arm she had tucked beneath them was tingling. When she couldn’t take it anymore, she started to gently pull away.

“Ow,” Angel said before he even opened his eyes, but he was smiling. “Buffy?”

“My arm fell asleep,” she said guiltily. “Sorry.”

She untangled them carefully and Angel stretched before rubbing his neck. Buffy obviously wasn’t the only one who had gotten a little cramped. She opened and closed her fist, hoping to get the feeling in her arm to go back to normal.

Angel slid his hand up and down her skin. “Any better?”

“Getting there.”

He squeezed her bicep gently. “Nice guns.”

Buffy grinned. “If you’ve seen the Slayers play, you know what I can do with a stick.”

Angel laughed, a soft rich sound that Buffy thought she’d like to hear every morning. “Did you sleep OK?”

Buffy burrowed down into the pillow, snuggling into the covers. “Like a dream,” she said luxuriously. “We don’t have to get up, do we?”

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” he answered, his lips close to her ear.

“Good.” She turned her head and kissed him, worrying only for a moment about the threat of morning breath. A trail of fire flashed from her lips to her toes in an instant and she rolled to get closer, deepening the kiss.

With a rush of static buzzing in her ears, it took longer than it should have for Buffy to realize the sharp rapping sound she heard was real.

Someone was knocking on the door.

Chapter Text

Buffy started to pull away at the sound of the knocking, but Angel chased her lips. “They’ll go away,” he whispered.

But the pounding only got louder.

“They’re going to wake up the whole building first,” Buffy said with a smile. “Your new neighbors are gonna hate you.”

Angel sighed theatrically. “Fine.” One more kiss, and then he got out of bed, pulling on the pants he left on the floor, feeling like a slightly different person than the one who took them off. He’d found something with Buffy that he’d never known before.

The knocks boomed out again. “I’m coming,” he muttered under his breath. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to tame the mess, and closed the door behind him, since Buffy was still in the buff.

He couldn’t imagine who would be at his door this early. Maybe there had been some kind of problem with his rent or a utility bill. His family was overseas, and his few friends were mostly musicians who tended not to get out of bed before noon unless they had to.

He definitely wasn’t expecting to see Darla.

Especially not a tear-stained, red-eyed Darla, who launched herself at him as soon as the door was open.

“Oh, Angel,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest.

“What is it?” he asked, concerned. “What happened?”

She lifted her face up, her eyes imploring. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all night.”

“I was busy. Please tell me what’s going on.”

She swallowed, hesitating. “It’s just—you moving in here. It just made me realize how wrong this is. We shouldn’t be apart. I hate sleeping without you.”

A black cloud descended around Angel. Nothing was wrong. Darla just couldn’t handle being ignored. He hadn’t even told her where he was moving, though it probably wouldn’t have been too hard for her to wheedle it out of Dru or Spike.

He took her arms firmly and pulled them away from his body. “This is not a good time.”

“Of course it is. Right now is the best time for you to realize this is a mistake.”

Angel gritted his teeth. “Please leave. Now.”

A sound came from the bedroom and his eyes darted automatically in that direction. Darla picked up the hint, and her face contorted with anger. But before she could say anything, Buffy cracked open the door, dressed in yesterday’s clothes.

“Everything OK, Angel?” she asked quietly.

“Everything’s fine,” he said. “This is Darla, and she was just leaving.”

Darla laughed. “Oh my god,” she said. “You—you play with the Slayers.” She turned to Angel. “You went out and found yourself another little blonde drummer to screw? How original.”

Angel turned in time to see Buffy’s face go white.

“You’re not over me,” Darla said triumphantly. “Not even close.”

Angel glared at her. “That’s not true—”

“I should go,” Buffy said.

“No,” Angel protested, panic fluttering through his gut. “Please. Darla doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

Darla laughed again, her expression smug. “Whatever you say, my dear boy.”

Angel ignored her, crossing a few steps to where Buffy was gathering her guitar and purse from the living room. He touched her arm. “Buffy, please,” he said softly. “Don’t listen to her. Last night was—”

“Not now,” Buffy said. “I need to…” And then she was gone, pushing past Darla and out into the hallway.

“Don’t worry,” Darla called after her. “I’m sure it was almost as good as the real thing.”

Angel shoved his feet into his shoes and grabbed a shirt from the bedroom.

“I’m done,” he growled at Darla. “It’s over. All of it.”

Then he brushed past her and down the hall after Buffy. This was the last straw. There was no way that he and Darla could work together after this.

He finally made it down all the stairs to the ground floor and burst out into the bright sunshine of another Southern California day — just in time to see a flash of blonde hair disappearing into the backseat of a car.

“Buffy!” he yelled fruitlessly. He’d left his phone upstairs — he hadn’t so much as glanced at it since Buffy first showed up at his doorstep. So he had no way to call or text her now. All he could do was watch the car drive farther and farther away.

Buffy opened the door of her apartment wearily, feeling like she’d aged a hundred years in an hour. She had barely put her guitar case on the floor before she heard Willow chirping cheerfully.

“You’re home! You’re home from spending the night at Angel’s place! You spent the night at Angel’s place!”

Buffy walked slowly into the living room and flopped down on the couch.

“Tell me everything!” Willow said brightly, undeterred.

Buffy closed her eyes.

“Tired, huh?” Willow’s voice turned knowing. “He wore you out?”

Buffy sighed.

“Hey, Buff?” Willow said softly, sounding concerned now. “You gonna tell me what happened?”

Buffy opened one eye, then the other. “The most obvious and predictable thing.”

“Well, I know you did it. You did do it, right?”

“We did,” Buffy said in a tiny voice, staring at the ceiling.

“And it was...bad?”

“No, it was great. Fireworks, even. Out-of-the-park home run. Top of the Pops, quadruple platinum, you get the picture.”

“So why do you look so glum?”

“Because you called it, Will. He was on the rebound, and I got bounced.”

Willow flopped back on the couch, too. “He’s still hung up on her?”

“According to her.”

“Darla?” Willow sat back up quickly. “You talked to her?”

“She showed up at his place this morning, crying and saying he…” Buffy stopped, unable to lay bare the awful truth.

“Listen, I don’t really know Darla. But from what I’ve heard lately, she’s not-great news. I don’t know if you should just believe what she says.”

Buffy shook her head. “It wasn’t so much what she said, really. It’s who she is.”

“What do you mean? Who is she?”

“Me.”

“What?” Willow’s face wrinkled up. “She’s nothing like you.”

“She’s not, oh, exactly my height and blonde and a drummer in a rock band?”

“No, she is, but that doesn’t mean…. Oh.” Willow looked crestfallen. “So you’re saying…”

“It’s all feeling pretty Vertigo. Especially the part with the dizziness and the nausea.”

Willow was quiet for a while, and Buffy let the sadness sink into her like weight.

“What did Angel say?” Willow asked eventually.

“Not much. I left pretty fast.”

“So maybe he’ll have an explanation.”

“Maybe,” Buffy echoed weakly.

But when the calls from Angel started coming in, she couldn’t bring herself to pick up.

He had made it clear from the beginning that keeping the band together was important to him. For Dru, and for his dreams. And Darla was part of the Whirlwind, which meant she would still be in his life, in any life they tried to build together. Any time Buffy went to one of his gigs, Darla would be there — always Buffy’s competition, in the Battle of the Bands and in Angel’s heart.

All the heartache and the second-guessing didn’t seem worth it. It wasn’t what she imagined from the big, soul-shaking love that she thought she’d been so close to in Angel’s apartment.

That was what she wanted. And she was going to hold out for it, no matter how long it took her to find it.

She deleted Angel’s messages, unheard and unread. He wouldn’t break up his band for someone he’d known just a few weeks — she wouldn’t even want him to — so she would make it easy on him.

That didn’t mean it was easy on her, though. The worst part of all of it was that she couldn’t even find solace in her music. Every song she’d written reminded her of Angel now, and when she tried to play them, the words choked in her throat and the chords tangled around her fingers.

So, as the days passed and the missed calls piled up, she threw herself back into the Slayers. They were going to win the Battle of the Bands. Buffy wasn’t going to be shown up by Darla this time. She practiced like a dervish, and she brought her full focus to every performance, relishing the way her problems fell away under the lights.

“Way to give ’em hell,” Faith said approvingly after their next show. “You’re on fire. You’re making me think we really have a shot at this thing.”

“You didn’t before?” Buffy said, surprised.

“I wasn’t sure the rest of you wanted it enough.”

“More than anything.”

Faith nodded, seeming impressed. Buffy was glad Faith didn’t question what was driving her newfound determination. The last thing she needed was for Faith to know she had slept with the enemy.

Even the posters in the Bronze were playing up the rivalry between the two bands. Advertisements for the Battle were everywhere, and while all the acts slated to perform were listed, the Slayers and the Whirlwind were featured in the biggest, fanciest font.

Buffy stared at the poster over Xander’s shoulder as he grabbed her a preshow mocha frappuccino on the Tuesday before the big competition. The Battle was all anyone could talk about.

“So, has the Whirlwind played here lately?” Buffy asked, trying to sound casual. She’d made up her mind, but if there was any chance that Darla was gone...

“They were here a couple nights ago,” Xander said, rubbing a rag over the wooden surface of the bar.

“Do they still have the same lineup?” Buffy clutched the bottle of cold coffee-chocolate goodness in her suddenly sweaty hands.

Xander tossed the rag into the sink. “Almost. They lost their bassist, so their keyboard player took over. She was rocking it.”

Buffy gulped back her disappointment. Still the four of them, then.

“That’s Drusilla, right?” she asked, still hoping to learn something that would make her feel better.

Xander nodded and then turned to start slicing lime wedges. “Giles says she has a better ear than their old bass player did. Says he hasn’t come across a talent like her in a long time. He thinks—” Xander cut himself off and glanced over his shoulder, looking embarrassed.

“He thinks they’re going to win the Battle of the Bands,” Buffy finished for him, her heart sinking into her stomach. That was the last nail in the coffin. The band was still together, and winning the competition would cement them like nothing else could.

“But what does Giles know?” Xander said encouragingly. “You guys’ll probably kick their asses.”

Buffy managed a thin smile before leaving the bar to get ready for their set.

The best part of drumming for the Slayers? Rocking out was comfort food.

“I hate to say this, Angel, but you’re rubbish.”

“What?” Angel turned his head in Dru’s direction as she stopped their rehearsal. They were running through songs for their next wedding gig.

She gave him a sympathetic look over her keyboard. “I know it’s rotten when you can’t even focus on Barry Manilow. Still thinking about Buffy?”

Angel shrugged. Of course he was. He hadn’t thought about anything else since he lost sight of her leaving his apartment. She wouldn’t return his calls or text messages. And when he showed up at the Bronze for the Slayers’ Tuesday night show — where he watched with longing as Buffy glowed like a summer’s day behind her drum kit — she’d managed to slip out the back before he could ask her to talk.

Chances were, he wouldn’t see her again until the Battle of the Bands — not exactly the perfect setting for an apology. Just thinking of the event made his blood start to boil. He’d hit his limit and then some with Darla, but he wasn’t completely rid of her yet.

The combined powers of Spike and Dru had convinced him not to break up the band this close to the competition. They were playing so well, even without Penn, and if Angel could hold it together for a few more days, they might walk away with the top prize. After that, they’d consider finding a new drummer, though Angel knew Darla would never go easily.

“I thought we were going to try some new songs tonight,” Dru said. “We’ve played our current sets till they’re worn through. And the cards say the time is ripe for discovery.”

Angel sighed and licked his lips. Trying not to think of Buffy wasn’t working, so maybe it was time to lean into it.

“There is something,” he said. He strummed the opening chords of one of his favorite Buffy songs.

“Ooh, I like that,” Dru said happily. “More, please. Are there words?”

Angel started to sing, closing his eyes and imagining Buffy there to hear him again. He put everything into the song — everything he wished was true, all the searing emotion that filled his chest when he pictured her beautiful face. Their night together had been the greatest of his life, and he couldn’t bear the thought that he might never be with her again.

When he reached the final chorus, he was startled when Dru joined in. He’d forgotten she was even in the room.

“Bravo,” she said when he finished. “That’s Buffy’s song?”

Angel looked at her sharply. “How did you—?”

“I have my ways.” She gave him a sphinxy smile. “Can we play it again?”

By the end of the night, it was Angel who was listening in awe. Dru had worked out a gorgeous arrangement for the keyboards and was imbuing the lyrics with the full haunting power of her ethereal voice.

They were playing Buffy’s song the way it was always meant to be performed, the way Buffy had longed to hear it.

“That’s amazing,” Angel said appreciatively.

“Are there more?” Dru’s face was as eager as a child’s on Christmas.

“You want to play Buffy’s stuff?”

“If her other songs are as good as this one, of course I do. Who wouldn’t?”

Angel felt almost as proud as if he had written the songs himself. He couldn’t wait to tell Buffy—

Except that he couldn’t tell Buffy. Buffy wasn’t speaking to him. Buffy wouldn’t know that she had finally found the musicians she was looking for — the ones who got a rush from playing the songs she’d written.

He couldn’t tell her. The only thing he could do was show her.

“You ready for this?” Oz asked. He looked concerned, in a way that would look completely unconcerned to those uninitiated in the ways of Oz.

“As I’ll ever be.” Buffy twirled one of her sticks through her fingers — a surefire tell that she was nervous, and clearly the prompt for Oz’s question.

After all the waiting and angst, the Battle of the Bands had finally arrived, and the Slayers were up next. All day, Buffy had been scanning the crowds, wanting and not wanting to see Angel’s face. She was still trying to convince herself that their overwhelming connection had existed only in her head. She must’ve colored over the real picture of Angel until she’d made him who she wanted him to be, instead of who he was.

“Hey, Buffy! Get over here!” Faith’s voice cut through the din. Buffy stopped twirling her drumstick and joined her bandmates.

“I’m not much for pep talks and shit, but we got this,” Faith said. “There is no doubt in my mind that we are the biggest, the baddest, the best fucking band those judges have ever heard. We’re going to slay. Of course we are. Because that’s what Slayers do. Got it, kids?”

“Aww, Faith, you really do care,” Willow said.

“Let’s just shut up and play, all right?”

Surprisingly, Buffy felt herself energized by Faith’s confidence. Maybe Giles was wrong. Maybe the Slayers still had a chance to blow everyone away. Maybe Buffy wasn’t going to end the day looking on with jealousy as Darla and Angel celebrated their win.

The crowd cheered when the Slayers took the stage, and the old familiar rush lit up Buffy’s veins. She couldn’t recognize anyone in the glare of the lights, but this was home to her. From the moment she clicked off the beat to their opening number, she knew they were going to have a very good night.

They played the best they’d ever played — Oz’s guitar licks singing, Willow’s bass line thumping, Buffy’s furious beat propelling them forward, and Faith’s voice rising above it all, weaving black magic over the whole club.

Buffy barely breathed through the set until she’d crashed her final cymbal, and then she practically screamed with joy as the crowd erupted in a roar of appreciation.

The Slayers had, indeed, slayed the Battle of the Bands.

Now all they could do was wait.

The Whirlwind was slated to be the last band to go on, probably because of how much they had impressed Giles recently. He was saving the best for last. Buffy headed bitterly for the bar as the mediocre indie pop act ahead of them in the program attempted to bop through their set.

“I need something stronger than caffeine tonight,” she told Xander.

“Nervous?” he asked. “You shouldn’t be. The Slayers brought the house down.”

Buffy smiled half-heartedly at him. “What do people drink at times like these? Shots? I should do a shot.”

Xander gave her an indulgent look. “One lemon drop, coming right up.” He poured vodka into a shot glass rimmed with sugar and put a wedge of lemon on top. Then he laughed at the face Buffy made as she drank it, chasing the booze with the citrus.

“Want another?”

“A thousand times no.” She started to dig in her pocket for some cash but Xander waved her off.

“On the house.”

“Thanks.” She gave him a real smile this time.

“Hey, Buffy?”

“Yeah?”

“I think it’s all going to be OK. I can feel it.”

She nodded, but her chest squeezed in a way that felt decidedly not OK. She made her way to the back of the club as the time for the Whirlwind’s performance drew near, knowing she couldn’t handle a front-row seat for the heartbreak. She saw Willow scanning the crowd from near the front, but she ducked behind a pillar. She didn’t want anyone watching her reaction to the Whirlwind, even a sympathetic audience like her best friend.

The first sign that something was wrong came from a buzz running through the crowd. People were murmuring something Buffy couldn’t quite catch, and then Giles took the stage.

“Good evening, everyone. Thank you for joining me for another Battle of the Bands. I think it’s our best year yet. Don’t you?” The crowd cheered and Giles grinned. “Now I have a bit of bad news. The next band slated to go on tonight, the Whirlwind, have been forced to withdraw from the competition.” He paused so the audience could show their displeasure appropriately, and Buffy’s heart began to race like one of those cars in the Indy 500.

“But we do have a new act to replace them, and if you’re a fan of the Whirlwind, you’ll find the faces to be quite familiar. Enjoy!”

At first, Buffy could hear nothing but a rushing like the ocean in her ears as Angel and Drusilla took the stage and began to play. But as the music continued, it wrapped around and through her, pinning her in place. She knew the song they were playing, it was so damn familiar, but she couldn’t concentrate enough to make the connection. She was too busy looking at Angel’s face, so perfect under the lights and so dear to her, despite everything.

If the Whirlwind wasn’t performing, that had to mean they’d finally broken up. A swift pang of regret flashed through her. She should have taken Angel’s calls. After this, she would go to him and apologize.

She was in the middle of imagining their sweepingly cinematic makeup kiss when Dru began to sing. Buffy’s entire body went cold with shock.

Those were her words. Dru was singing her song.

Angel tried to find Buffy among the sea of faces, but it was impossible. He’d been a wreck all day, but the feeling he got playing Buffy’s music made him feel more sure than ever that he was doing the right thing.

When they finished the first song, Angel picked up the microphone. He wasn’t used to being the guy who talked to the audience, but he had something he needed to say.

“Thank you,” he said to quiet the clapping. “We know you’re probably disappointed that the Whirlwind isn’t playing tonight, but we’re hoping you’ll give us a chance. I’m Angel, and this is Drusilla, and we’re calling ourselves Amends.”

A smattering of applause and a few whistles punctuated his statement.

“All of the songs we’re playing tonight were written by a very special and talented songwriter, Buffy Summers. You might know her as the drummer for the Slayers.”

The clapping was louder this time, and he heard someone shouting Buffy’s name.

“Buffy, if you’re here, we’re sorry to surprise you, but we think everyone deserves a chance to hear your songs.”

On cue, Dru began playing their next number, and he joined in, relieved to be done with the public speaking portion of the evening. It wasn’t his strong suit, but it was the only way Buffy could possibly hear him.

Angel was glad that he and Dru had no chance of winning the competition — hell, they’d hardly had time to arrange and learn the songs — because all he could think about was Buffy. Whether she’d heard what he said. What she was thinking. Whether she could ever give him another chance.

When their last song was finished, he bolted from the stage, barely hearing the thunderous applause all around him. The crowd was thick, and he didn’t see Buffy anywhere. He tried to wade through, but too many people were trying to talk to him, to touch him, and he was stuck.

“You’re a sodding mess,” Spike said as he appeared at Angel’s side, waving off the well-wishers and shepherding Angel to a less crowded area of the club. “Should’ve let them eat you alive.”

“Thanks,” Angel said tersely. “Look, Spike, I’m sorry that things went down like this. But I couldn’t—”

“Save it.” Spike cut him off. “Without you, we’d’ve had to drop out anyway, and Giles would’ve charged us a pretty penny in fees.” He grinned. “And it was worth it to see Dru run circles around you. She was smashing, wasn’t she?”

“She was,” Angel agreed.

“Well. I think there’s a Slayer wants to see you,” Spike said, inclining his head forward in a way that made Angel turn around to look behind him.

Buffy stood there, looking up at him with an uncertain expression. “Can we talk?”

Angel nodded, not quite able to find words yet, and they stepped out of the stuffy club into the cooler air of the night.

“I can’t...I can’t believe you did that,” Buffy said softly.

Angel ducked his head down. “I know I should have asked you first, but you weren’t exactly returning my calls.” Buffy gave him a sheepish look. “I just hope those A&R guys were listening.”

Buffy’s smile was tender but pained. “But what about the Whirlwind?” she asked.

“I finally figured out that there are more important things than keeping the band together at all costs.” He held her gaze. “I have more than one dream that I want to hold on to.”

“Angel,” she breathed, reaching out to him. He took her hand, a thrill running up his arm and straight into his half-broken heart. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I should have heard you out. I just…I didn’t want it to be a competition.”

“I understand. But, Buffy, it was never a competition,” he said, squeezing her fingers. “Yes, you and Darla are similar on the surface, but as people, you couldn’t be more different. My feelings for you are…” He trailed off, a wave of emotion carrying the words away. He brought his hand up to caress her cheek.

“Hearing you play my songs...I don’t think I really understood before what I was writing about. What I was looking for,” Buffy said in a wobbly voice. “But now...”

And he couldn’t wait any longer after that. He tilted her face up and he kissed her. All the doubt and sadness he’d been feeling burned away in the heat of her mouth on his. Her arm slipped around his neck, her fingers sliding up into his hair and sending shivers of longing zinging through him. He held her tighter, closer, almost unable to believe that he was really kissing Buffy again. He was the luckiest bastard on God’s green earth.

“Uh, B? Could you stop sucking face for a sec and get in here? They’re about to announce the winner.”

Buffy broke the kiss at the sound of Faith’s voice. “Duty calls,” she said, in a voice that was both amused and regretful.

She led him back into the club, which was packed as everyone waited for the judges’ decision. The Slayers stood together in a tight clump of anticipation. Dru was not far away, standing off to the side with Spike, and she clapped her hands together happily when she spotted Buffy at Angel’s side. She nudged Spike, who just smirked.

Giles took the stage again, and Buffy squeezed Angel’s hand so tightly he almost winced. Buffy was surprisingly strong. He turned to watch her face, wanting to see her reaction to the Slayers’ big win. There was no question in his mind that they would be taking home the prize tonight.

“The winner of this competition will receive a healthy sum in cash to support their endeavors, as well as free recording time at the magnificent Lotus Studios,” Giles was saying. “Well, then, without further ado, the winner of the Bronze’s Battle of the Bands is…Amends!”

Chapter Text

Buffy leaned her chin on her hand and sighed happily at the scene in front of her.

Amends was playing the Bronze for an invite-only show to promote their new record, and Giles had gone all out. The usually empty main floor was dotted with round tables, a candle burned in the center of each, and the floor hardly seemed sticky at all.

On stage, Angel and Drusilla were playing a song Buffy had written — which wasn’t a surprise this time, because Buffy had written or co-written almost every song on the album. With Dru’s long dress and flowing hair, and Angel’s velvet blazer, they reminded Buffy of a new Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham. Minus the whole romantic thing, of course.

Buffy still couldn’t believe her luck. She had been sure that the Slayers were her best route to success, but here she was, being recognized for her songwriting for a band that actually had a record deal.

Not that she’d given up on the Slayers. She continued to play drums at gigs all over LA, and there was a chance they’d go on tour over the summer. Willow had done some savvy strategizing on social media, and she’d even gotten “Just for Kicks” featured on a popular streaming service’s weekly playlist.

Faith, Willow and Oz were all in the audience tonight, sipping drinks and celebrating Amends’ triumph. They raised their glasses to Buffy when she turned their way and waved.

She was sitting in the very front with Giles and Spike. She was surprised to find that Spike was actually growing on her. His ego had been bruised when the Whirlwind fell apart around him, but he’d been supportive of Dru, and he was trying to put together a new band. In the meantime, he’d sat in on a few shows as a guest vocalist with the Slayers.

If he couldn’t beat them, he could join them. And he and Faith could actually do a kick-ass duet when they put aside their differences.

No one had heard much from Darla since the Whirlwind’s demise, but Buffy knew now that she had nothing to fear anyway. It had never been a competition, and she’d learned that sometimes losing could be better than winning.

But Buffy’s favorite thing, as she sat and listened to Dru sing a song about love that she had written, was that she no longer felt like a fraud. She knew what she was talking about.

The love she had found with Angel was big, and soul-shaking, and everything she’d ever dreamed of.

And she’d never stop trying to put it into words.