Fic: In Sunshine or In Shadow
I know that the majority of my flist aren't exactly about the B/A OTP, so I'm starting this with a "But wait! There's more!" This is a plotty little romp down the season 3 memory lane, complete with many of the faves. In order of appearance there's: Xander, Willow, Buffy, Angel, Cordelia (at a distance), Snyder, an OC, Faith, Wesley, Oz, and Giles. A perfect distraction from election angst.
Author: spiralleds
Title: In Sunshine or In Shadow
Setting: Following Enemies, Season 3.
Rating: PG13
Word Count: ~14,000
Written for: The 2008 IWRY_Marathon
A/N: In addition to being an IWRY story, this also incorporates a prompt from the It's the Writers, Stupid Ficathon. That prompt is at the end. Thank you to my betas, married_n_mich, mommanerd, and sunnyd_lite. They literally were doing their magic at the 11th hour. All errors are my own. All characters belong to Joss.
Summary: The pipes, the pipes are calling/ From glen to glen, and down the mountain side/ The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying/ 'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.
~.~.~.~
"It's as quiet as a tomb out here."
"Maybe, Xander, because we're in a cemetery?" suggested Willow.
"But it's a Sunnydale cemetery," said Xander, his eyes focused on the stake he was flipping and catching. "You know what I mean, right, Buff?"
She sighed. "Yeah. The dead are staying annoyingly dead."
"Annoying? It's good news. Good enough to give the all-clear, like, ten minutes ago. I can't believe we're not already in the Bronze drinking over-priced sodas," Xander said.
Buffy wasn't really in the mood for the Bronze, except she was. The thought that Angel might be there was equally thrilling and terrifying. But if she were honest with herself, she wasn't ready to see him. Problem was, she wasn’t exactly feeling explainy.
"Sure," she said, trying to sound excited. "Who's playing?"
"It’s not the Dingos. They're playing up by the college," Willow said with pride.
"That's great," Buffy replied. Her enthusiasm almost sounded real. She was glad Willow and Oz were working things out. At least one of them should be lucky in love.
~.~.~.~
Anywhere but here. That's where Angel needed to be. His one mantra for the last few days? Where would Buffy be? His one goal? Anywhere other than that place. Which made him a dull schoolboy with his first crush for standing in front of the Bronze.
Fighting his desire to stay and skulk, Angel moved past the club, past the pseudo-shabby portions of Sunnydale where it was nestled, past the graying whitewash of functioning warehouses, and on out to the abandoned, crumbling edges. It was hard to picture that there had ever been an industrial boom big enough in Sunnydale to demand so many buildings.
Maybe the industry was building the buildings, he imagined her saying, her sly quick wit masked by the girlish toss of her hair. No self-respecting Hellmouth would be complete without a tasteful backdrop of urban decay.
He shook his head, trying to clear it. He'd been foolish to think that putting a few miles between them would create distance. Short of leaving town, there was nowhere else to go.
It was seeing the vampire and the clutch of feathered kolainai docilely sharing alley space that pulled Angel from his self-indulgent reverie. Demons that lived on blood had no allowance for demons that prefer feasting on vampire blood. Why weren't they bent on killing each other? Short of peace on earth, goodwill toward all, there wasn't a good reason he could imagine.
Angel shadowed them from a good distance, wishing to hold the element of surprise. When he tripped on broken up concrete and banged against a metal access door with thump, he figured his attempt at stealth was lost. But the demons didn't even flinch, let alone glance back.
He drew closer, studying them. The kolainai bounced more than normal - and in a distinctive rhythm. He could see it as well in the vampire's movements - as if his swagger had turned to a sway.
There was a rustling behind him, and spinning round, he dropped into a crouch.
~.~.~.~
The thumping bass was loud enough to make the drink glasses shimmy and shake. Of course, the minute they stepped inside the Bronze, the set ended.
"You've been great!" shouted the vocalist. "We'll be back in ten!"
Buffy tried to look relaxed and not like a lovesick ex-girlfriend scanning the crowd for that certain guy. Given the way that Angel towered above the usual Bronze crowd, and that she wasn't seeing him anywhere, the butterflies in her stomach were just of the normal variety, not slayerish.
"She's here, isn't she?" asked Xander. "I don't even need to see her to know she's here. Holding court. Probably having her way with Touch 'em All Paul."
"Xander!" scolded Willow. "Cordelia's the harmed party, so if she's interested in another guy, that's her right."
"I doubt it's Paul." Buffy added. "He's not Cordelia's type - at least not for a couple more weeks. It's still the off season for baseball."
Looking closer, Buffy realized that Xander's green color wasn't the lights. Following his line of vision, she could just see the top of Cordy's head as three different guys - possibly college guys - were vying for her attention. Sometimes it still surprised her how hard Xander was taking it. For all the insults during and after their… relationship, he apparently cared for her deeply. Buffy caught Willow's eye.
"You know, I'm sorta tired," said Willow. "Maybe this was a bad idea.”
Xander nodded in agreement and she pulled the door open and returning back outside.
"And that," said Xander, taking a deep breath, "was the record for shortest Bronze stay for non-monster reasons. Sorry, girls."
Buffy gave him a sideways hug as they moved away. Relieved, yet feeling guilty for feeling relieved that she wasn't the one seeing Angel in Cordelia's - or anyone else's - orbit. The whole thing with Faith was still too raw, even if Angel was only playing along.
"Hey," said Willow, pointing toward a figure toward the end of the block. "Is that Principal Snyder? What's he doing out here?"
~.~.~.~
Angel fixed his gaze on the location of the noise. The leaves rustled again, though further down the brick wall. Upon closer inspection the source made itself known. It was a cat; a feral one from the looks of its matted fur and torn ear. It was padding quickly in the opposite direction of Angel’s quarry. No concern that it would tip off the demons he was shadowing.
Had been shadowing. They'd disappeared from view while he’d been distracted. Hearing a door bang, Angel pushed off the brick wall and moved with all the speed he possessed, hoping to catch a glimpse. What he saw was nothing but another collection of abandoned warehouses, some boarded up and others sporting a tic-tac-toe pattern of broken windows. Which building was it? Circling, he studied the look, the sound, the smells of each. One stood out - and it didn't even require his vampire senses - it wasn't chained shut.
The closer he got, the more his head ached. He pulled at his ears. Someone inside was playing pitches just on the edge of his hearing. That, he assumed, was what caused the building pressure to his head.
Crossing the street, he hid in the shadows of a torn and tumbled canvas awning. Here he could see without being seen. It also minimized the discomfort of the high pitched decibels. Granted, he couldn’t see the back of the building, but he'd noted that the loading dock doors were chained, so no one should be able to exit from there without making a commotion.
His impromptu stakeout was rewarded. The door opened and a short, bald-headed man exited. He looked benignly human, but then again, so did Angel. Pressing himself further into the shadows, Angel waited for the man - if that's what he was - to pass by. Under the street light the details of his face were visible. Wasn’t he the principal at Buffy's school? If so, what was he doing here? He could trail the little man, but he would be easy enough to find later.
Should he contact Buffy? He considered and then rejected the idea. What would he say? Demons that are sworn enemies were palling around? He'd seen her principal on the wrong side of town? They had enough on their plate with the Mayor and Faith. He'd investigate a bit further on his own. If there was something more to this, something worth violating Buffy’s request for space, then he would go to her.
As eager as he now was to get to the bottom of the mystery, he rejected the idea of walking in the main door. Too much rust and too little hinge oil. Above was a window with the glass knocked out - mostly. He gauged distance to the ledge. He could make the jump… he just wished he knew what he'd find on the other side.
~.~.~.~
"Then what did you say?" Willow asked, wrapping her arms around her cotton jammie bottoms and pulling her legs close.
Buffy plucked at the imaginary lint on her bedspread before meeting Willow's eyes. "Always," she whispered. And just like when she'd said it to Angel, her throat closed up and she couldn't have said more if her life depended on it.
"Oh, Buffy. We should have stopped for Chunky Monkey."
"Mom's brownies aren't bad comfort food."
"If I didn't already hate Faith, I'd so hate her now. Ooh! We could take turns wishing really awful things to happen to her. Would that help? Whatever you need. I'm there for you. Just name it."
Buffy returned Willow's knitted brow intensity with a smile. Albeit a watery smile, but it was still a smile; Willow could work magic without even working magic.
"What?" Willow asked, touching her face. "Did I get chocolate frosting on me?"
Buffy scooted around until they were side by side, hugging her friend tight. "You're the best."
~.~.~.~
Now that he was inside, the noise sounded more like music, perhaps a flute. Angel crept along the catwalk, following the odd tune until he could see the tune-maker. It was a female playing a pipe, maybe a recorder. By her pinked flesh, dark curls, and general shape, she was likely human. She smelled human, but he'd need to get a lot closer before he could determine what she was and what she could do.
Where were the demons? He'd been sure this was the building. While there was the requisite abandoned machinery around the edges, there really weren't places to hide a clutch of kolainai.
At first glance, given the way the floor was undulating around the woman, Angel thought that a portal was opening between dimensions. Taking a closer look, he realized that the undulation was an illusion. It was dozens of rats. They couldn't be… As he studied their movements, he realized it was true. They were dancing to her melody.
Mid-tune, she stopped. The rats also stopped, and then scattered into the shadows. He hadn't anticipated her sharp gaze as she turned and looked directly at him.
"What are you doing up in the catwalks, vampire? You're not quite like the others, are you? Let's see how different you really are."
She brought the recorder back to her lips, playing the tune. Then shifting it slightly, she moved it into a minor key. The hairs of his neck stood on end. Time to get out of here. He moved quickly, no longer needing to keep quiet, but before he could escape, the tune changed again, becoming more mournful.
And instead of heading for the window, he found himself climbing down the ladder, in complete contradiction to what he wanted to do. Resisting only made him move like Frankenstein’s monster, but he couldn't stop. He continued forward, step by halting step. Up close she still looked quite human, with the odd characteristic of one blue eye and one brown one.
"What's your name?"
"Angel." The word came free without his permission.
"Hello, Angel. You can call me Piper."
~.~.~.~
Regaining consciousness was a curious thing. Having been on the giving end of knocking people unconscious, he knew how difficult it was to realize you were waking up until it was too late to play possum. Even so, Angel held himself still, listening for that woman… Piper? Is that what she called herself before mystically dropping him cold? A smell made his nose to twitch. Since when did his nose ‘twitch’? Easing his eyes open, Angel looked himself over. His leather coat had been exchanged for a fur one. How had that she done this?
Piper was crouched over him, a deep-set frown easing from her face. "Good. You're awake. Had me worried. My tunes don't normally knock demons out that long." Reaching out a hand, she stroked the top of his head. "Then again, I don't find them turning a demon into a cat either. I wonder-"
What? She couldn't be serious. Angel kipped to his feet - only to find himself on all fours. Looking down, he realized they weren't feet but black paws. No. Just no.
Whatever you did, undo it! At least that's what he meant to say. What emerged was a guttural yowl punctuated with a hiss. And pre-empting his question of whether it could get worse, she was smirking at him. There was no way he was giving her the time of day if that was her attitude. He turned his back to her, tail high and stalked off.
Or at least that was his intention until she scooped him up, one hand on the scruff of his neck and the other under his front legs. She studied his face. "Are you angry, puss? Now that's just weird. What were you?"
~.~.~.~
"Oh, look, yet another alley with nothing but couples macking out in a normal, non-vampire-y snack ways," muttered Buffy, resisting the urge to tell them to get a room.
Night two of the most mind-numbing patrol. Willow and Xander weren’t even along to provide distraction. Not even a corner-of-her-eye sighting of Angel.
Buffy sighed. It was of the good, really, that every thing was this quiet. Was it due to the impending ascension of the Mayor or was it the demon grapevine in action? She could imagine Willie passing along the word. Psst. You didn't hear it from me, but the Slayer and Angel are 'on a break' and she's gunning for action, boys. Best to lay low for a while.
Heaven help Faith if she showed her face any time soon. Having someone to spend her hate on was handy - plus she totally deserved it. But seeing Angel's dark side in living Technicolor… She couldn't keep up the fiction that he and Angelus were totally separate. Angelus was in there all the time. She'd hated everything about him, all the terrible things he did. But she loved Angel. Did she love him enough to love all of him?
Buffy slipped her stake into her boot. Maybe it was time for that overdue French study session she'd been promising Willow. After she stopped by the mansion.
~.~.~.~
Snyder glanced at his watch. If they didn't come back for him soon, he wouldn’t be at campus to catch the kids sneaking in late. Mondays were particularly good pickings.
He glanced at his watch again, then pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his palms. It was never a good sign when they began sweating. The Mayor would be delighted to hear about this opportunity. How could he not? So what was taking so long?
The door opened and a dark-haired girl entered with the two assistants in her wake. He might not be the most observant man, but their fear of her was evident.
"Principal Snyder," said the girl.
He stood up, extending his hand and hoping it was dry. She looked familiar. Young enough to be one of his high school students, but she wasn't. He might detest the majority of his charges, but he knew their faces and names. He hated the feeling of knowing he should know who she was. "Hello, Miss… Have we met before?"
She smiled in a way that made him feel stupid. "The Mayor isn't interested."
Snyder dropped his hand and his jaw. "What? But this would remove the much of the problematic element of Sunnydale. He's always had a desire to remove the… vermin."
He smiled, pleased at his discretion via pun. The girl did not appear to be amused. He wasn't sure what reaction would make her pleased.
Turning to the two assistants, she asked, "I did say the Mayor isn't interested, didn't I?"
"Yes, Miss Lehane."
Without turning back to him, she moved toward the door.
"But!" Given the way the assistants' eyes widened, Snyder wished he'd kept his mouth shut.
Turning back, she asked, "But what?"
"But she's already started. I assured her that the Mayor's office would support this."
She grinned and Snyder felt like a piece of raw meat in the lion cage.
"You did? I wonder if that would change the Mayor's mind on how to resolve this problem."
She nearly skipped out of the room and Snyder dropped back into the chair. Hell. He did know her. She was in the cafeteria with the Mayor. The one with the knife.
Glancing behind him, one of the assistants drew closer, whispering. "If I were you, I'd undo it. Before Miss Lehane undoes you." He scurried off after her.
~.~.~.~
TGIM. Being eager for the bell to ring, announcing first period was just wrong. Then again she couldn't remember a weekend dragging like this one had. Used to be they provided extra time with Angel. And now?
"Hey, Buffy," said Willow, joining her on the school yard bench. "You're here early. More training with Wesley?"
She nodded. "I talked him into some staff training - the Robin Hood kind. He's hopeless about the other."
"You talked him into it? On a Monday? Are you… I'd ask if you were feeling okay, but um… yeah." Willow leaned toward her, their shoulders touching. "How are you?"
Buffy studied the ants on the cement below the bench. Their anthill had been scuffed out, and they were scurrying in every direction. "I'm feeling full of ief."
Willow turned her face toward Buffy, her eyebrows raised in question.
"You know, the various iefs," Buffy replied. "Grief, relief, thief."
"You're feeling thiefy?"
She shrugged. "It seemed like there should be three things."
"How about belief? You and Angel, you'll work this out. I know it, Buffy."
"I wish I was so sure." She didn't include the fact that she'd stopped by his place last night. Or perhaps staked out his place might be more accurate. She'd congregated a whole page of verbs and he never showed. She hoped he was a Sunnydale. A safely alone somewhere.
~.~.~.~
It was reconnaissance, that's why he stayed. Not because he had to. Unless he included being in a cat harness, clipped to a wall hook. Not to mention he'd continue to be a cat if he got out of the warehouse. Add in that he and Buffy were on a break of an undefined length and purpose; there was no one to notice he was missing and come to break him out. Alright, he was a prisoner.
He'd seen any number of demons stumble in, entranced, only to be transformed into rats. Not to mention the rats that came in already in rat form, albeit smaller than their demon rat cousins. They were covering more and more of the floor. Soon the perch she'd placed him on would be surrounded by rats and demon rodents. In either form, there was no love lost between he and the rest of the demon community. He resisted the urge to flinch, but as if it had a mind of its own, his tail snapped back and forth. Patience. He just needed to be patient until he had a chance to pounce.
~.~.~.~
"If you are going to continue to engage in the unorthodox behavior of assisting the Slayer, you need to hone your senses."
Buffy walked into the library just in time to catch what was hopefully the tail end of a Wesley teaching moment.
"Have a heightened sense of awareness," said Oz.
"Precisely."
She slipped over to stand with Giles, outside of Wesley's line of sight. She returned Giles' nod of acknowledgement with a smile. Apparently he was in a mood to let Wes do his Watcher impersonation for a while.
"Work smarter, not harder," added Willow.
Wesley beamed. "Yes. You've grasped the concept."
Xander raised his hand.
"Yes, Mr. Harris?"
He blanched. "Just Xander, thanks. After the last time my father crossed the threshold of the school, there's this whole post-traumatic thing kicks in whenever I think he's left the house."
"Well… I… Yes. Alright. You had a question?"
"I did? Oh yeah, I did. The whole specter of my father drove me right off track."
"And the question is…?" prompted Wesley.
"How?"
"How, what?" Wesley parroted back. The possibility that they were about to fall into a 'Who's on first' routine loomed large.
"How are we to 'hone our senses'?"
"Werewolf bite did it for me," said Oz. "You might not like the side effects, though."
Yeah, it was definitely too soon for Xander and Oz to be in the same room for too long. Buffy sat down at the table, adding another body between them.
"I'm sure Wesley had something, ah, slightly less dramatic in mind." Giles gave Wesley an expectant look.
Wesley's mouth dropped open like a stuttering Elmer Fudd when facing Bugs Bunny. But instead of stuttering, he took a deep breath, clasped his hands behind his back and said, "You start by noticing your surroundings. And you learn to notice by sharing observations. Xander, name something that was out of the ordinary today."
Xander gave him a look. "You do know this is the Hellmouth, where the unusual is the usual, right?"
"Continue."
"I saw a rat chasing a cat, which is contrary to nature, unless you're talking Tom and Jerry. Does that count?"
"What is the connection between the reversed animosity of a feline and murine, and eggnog?" asked Wesley.
"Eggnog? I was talking about the cartoon cat and mouse."
"Right."
Buffy doubted that he had any real idea of what Xander was referencing. Maybe watchers weren't allowed televisions. It would explain a lot. She should ask Giles about that sometime.
"Oz. What have you noticed?" asked Wesley, apparently determined to continue down this track.
"There was a substitute teacher in Mrs. Furness' class today."
"And that is unusual?"
"It's the second time I've taken Social Studies and the first time she's been gone."
"Interesting. And unexplained absence from a consistently present educator."
Oz considered the statement before adding, "There may be a flaw in the hypothesis. She's always there when I'm at class, but I'm not always in class."
"So what brought her to mind?" asked Wes in a strangled tone.
"Free association. There's always cat hair on her clothes."
"Oh," said Wesley, a bit dejected. "I thought we might be on to something; while it does not appear to have anything to do with the Mayor's goal of Ascension, there was a crime of some sort at the University museum last week and they hinted that there were missing artifacts. Bothersome they were so vague."
Willow opened her laptop. "If they haven't patched that hole in their program, I should be able to read the police report and find out what disappeared."
"Mr. Giles? Given that we're gathering a bit of a rat theme. Does the library hold a copy of Whitcomb's Animal Fetishes and Figures?"
Giles frowned. "Perhaps. Let me look."
Just when she thought she'd stayed under his radar, it happened. Wesley turned to her, asking, "And Ms. Summers is there anything you've-"
"Prof. Koppenberg had a grant for an exhibit titled Mysteries of History. It says that a she hasn't been seen since she received a shipment from Germany," said Willow. She frowned. "The missing item or items are on an inventory sheet that I can't access."
"More dead people and missing objects at the museum?" asked Oz. "You'd think they'd learn."
"There was a previous death?" asked Wesley, then amending, "Though we don’t know that for certain. The curator's status."
"Working there is more dangerous that being principal," said Xander, "'Wanted: Museum Curator. Must be into musty stuff and wacky danger. Short life expectancy required.' I wonder where they keep getting these guys. You'd think the Watcher's Council had that market cornered on the Hellmouth short list."
"This is unfortunate," said Giles, returning from the stacks and flipping through an oversized book. "I have Whitcomb's Furies and Fairies, but Fetishes must be at my home."
Before that line of conversation could go somewhere Buffy did not want to think about, she interjected, saying, "Ooh! Maybe Indiana Jones will show up next."
"Ms. Summers, you are aware he is a fictional character."
"Yeah, well, that's what they said about vampires, witches, and Hansel and Gretel. Real, real, very much real."
Wesley sputtered. "Just because you were raised to believe that things which are real were not does not mean-"
Giles interrupted, trying a different tact. "If Indiana Jones were real, he'd be over 100 years old."
Buffy wrinkled her nose. "That's like two of you added together. Okay, maybe not Indiana Jones."
"I hardly-" said Giles.
"I'm only-"
Whatever age Wesley was going to admit to, he thought better of it. How old was he anyway?
"Buffy, did you have a chance to answer whether you've noticed anything out of the ordinary recently?"
So he'd caught that, huh? Buffy caught her lower lip in her teeth. This was starting to sound like something, which meant having to talk about Angel. Maybe she should wait to see what Giles' book said. What Angel had mentioned might be nothing. Of course every time she told herself she didn't need to share something, it turned out to be the one thing she should have shared.
"A while back Angel mentioned that the rats in town seemed unusually active," she blurted.
"How'd he work that gem into conversation?" asked Xander. "'By the way, honey, are you good and vaccinated? There might be an outbreak of bubonic plague. I've been noticing-"
"Xander!"
"What?"
"You know what," said Willow, trying to telegraph with a wide-eyed look the whole Angel thing.
Of course that had Giles ignoring the book before him and giving her a questioning look. Buffy pretending that his look was intended for whatever was on the page and not her. She knew she had to tell him something, but she just wasn't sure what was going on with Angel, even if she had initiated the break.
"When did he mention this?"
Thank heavens for task-oriented Wes. "It was before we went Redford and Newman on Faith."
"Pardon?"
"I believe she's referring to the actors from the movie, The Sting," said Giles, his eyes boring into her until she met them. "I do hope you're not equating yourselves with characters in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid."
So watchers did get to see movies, but then again, classic. Was he really worried she'd go kamikaze? She shook her head. "I would have picked Thelma and Louise if I were going for fiery, hopeless, star-crossed death imagery."
"How are you and Angel like the leads from The Sting?" inquired Wesley.
"Wait for it…" muttered Xander.
"Oh," said Wesley, the light bulb nearly bat-signal bright over his head, "as in the con we just played on her. So your conversation about the increase in the residential rodent activity was nearly a week ago, possibly longer?"
She did have to give Wesley credit for not losing the thread of the conversation amid all the extraneous.
~.~.~.~
"What?"
Piper's raised voice woke Angel. Slitting his eyes and flicking his ears forward, he took in the scene.
Her arms were stretched out, taking in the whole of the warehouse. "It's a little late for that, don't you think?"
"Well, I, ah…" The principal looked around nervously and stepped back toward the door.
Since Angel had last been awake - the urge to sleep was even stronger as a cat than as a vampire - the number of rats in the warehouse had increased significantly.
"The Mayor's reaction was not what I expected, given our previous conversations about the… sanitation needs of Sunnydale. He's always been quite fastidious about issues of hygiene."
Piper's eyes narrowed. "How convenient. Now that I've gathered so many, the Mayor is unwilling to pay my very reasonable fee."
"I… I…" The principal was wiping his hands up and down his pant legs until the fabric was clinging in a way that would have made him look like a gangster if not for the polyester.
"What am I supposed to do with them now?" she demanded.
He gulped. "Perhaps there's a private agency that might be interested?"
"In demons turned into rats?" she asked, her voice rising. "I'm just sure there's a market for them. I'll just open the phone book and find a lab that wants them for a control group!"
"Sounds like a great idea!" He dashed for the door, kicking rats out of the way until he could squeeze through the opening.
"I will not be treated this way!" she screamed at the slammed door. Her face revealed her desire to throw something, but the only items not bolted down were her pipe, the rats, and his little furry self. He shrank back on his ledge, not putting cruelty to animals past a woman who would engage in transmogrification.
Part 2