The situation wasn’t terrible. It wasn’t great either, but it could definitely be worse. Angel took a deep breath, nailing in the last bit of framing so he could hang the new door to Buffy’s bedroom. He wanted to keep a positive attitude about this whole situation, but mostly he was just frustrated. Living with Buffy – no, scratch that - being roommates with Buffy would be an exercise in torture. Being near her every day, seeing her freshly showered in the morning, sleep rumpled at night, sacked out in front of the TV ... and never being able to touch her.
He was a masochist. He’d come to this realization. Because despite knowing that it was going to be hell, he still signed up for it. Next week he’d be moving in to the small bedroom between Buffy’s room and the master bedroom that Oz and Willow would be sharing. Doyle would get the basement. It was ridiculous. Buffy was right, his lease had been up. But he had more than enough money to live on his own. The only reason he was going to be roommates with Buffy was so that he could be close to her. Close enough to make sure Lindsey kept his distance.
Growling under his breath, Angel lifted the door into position. It was awkward. He knew he should have asked for help, but he didn’t want anyone seeing what he was doing until it was finished.
He and Buffy were on good terms. They hung out a lot. They palled around. They were ... friends. He liked being friends with Buffy. He had always genuinely enjoyed her company. She had a unique wit and charming humor. Her driving fire was enchanting. But as much as he enjoyed being her friend, he wanted more – needed more. And not just sex. Of course he missed sex. He missed sex a lot. He’d been missing it ever since Buffy moved out. He’d come close a few times, wanting so badly to drown his pain in someone, anyone, that he went prowling for company. But even when the warm bodies were ones that he had many times before found release with, he couldn’t do it. Darla was so similar to Buffy and so completely different all at the same time that it did nothing but confuse him even more. Gwen was just ... well, she wasn’t Buffy. After that, he quit trying, deciding it would be better to spare both himself and his would-be partner the misery.
“That’s...just.... that’s ... wow,” Buffy said, startling Angel out of his thoughts.
He smiled, testing the door, making sure it swung freely on the hinges.
“Angel,” she said softly, “I know that these kinds of doors are fairly common on houses, but aren’t they usually at the front door?”
Angel stared at the steel case door. It had a dead bolt and a peephole. He had been thinking about this for a long time and knew that everyone would balk at his innocent plan to keep Buffy safe from intruders, both wild and domestic. He turned and grinned sheepishly at her.
“Generally,” he agreed, nodding. Reaching in his pocket, he produced a shiny key and put it in her hand. “Now you can lock the door and no one will be able to sneak up on you. No splintered doorframe. This one is stronger than the last one.”
Eyeing him warily, she looked down at the key in her hand and then back to the door. “Don’t these usually come with a spare key?”
“Sure, I have the spare in case you get locked out,” he mumbled, pretending to test by swinging it as he peered at the hinges.
“Angel…” Buffy warned quietly. “I want the key.”
”Oh and look,” Angel said, striding into her room and skirting the boxes so he could reach the window. He gestured outside once she came closer. “I trimmed the tree so no one could climb into your window.”
“Oh god,” Buffy groaned, looking over at her butchered tree. It looked like it had a run in with the Texas Chainsaw Massacre. She was probably going to have a gardener come out and treat the branches he hacked off so the whole damn thing didn’t die. “Angel, have you lost your mind?” she demanded.
“No baby, I’m just thinking of you,” Angel said looking down at the prickly bushes he planted on the ground level so it would be more difficult to scale to the porch roof. From the tone in her voice, it wouldn’t be a good idea to mention those. He had been up since 6 AM that morning planting them. Maybe she wouldn’t even notice. They weren’t exactly pretty but they did lend a sort of wild beauty if you didn’t look too closely. “I want you to feel safe in your own house,” he said, kissing her forehead. “It’s important.”
“Alright,” she sighed, “but I want that key.”
“Someone has to have a spare,” he said, moving quickly toward the newly installed steel case door. “Damn, look at the time. I’d better meet up with Gunn to move my stuff if I’m going to get that done today.”
“Angel, I want the key,” she growled, stomping after him. “Willow can have the spare.”
“Sorry baby,” he called out as he tramped down the stairs. “We can talk about it later!”
Angel hurried out of the house and into his car. He started it just as Buffy made it to the door, scowling after him. He waved cheerfully and pulled out. If he hurried, he could make it to the hardware store and have a copy made before he met up with Gunn at his place. He’d be damned if he went to all that trouble only to lock himself out of her room.
***
It was later that night when Buffy was curled up in bed that she glanced at her new door. Unbidden, tears shimmered in her eyes. She blinked them away quickly, sniffling loudly. Damn him. Angel still knew exactly how to break through all of her carefully erected barriers to find that one vulnerable spot she didn’t even know she still had.
The fact that he still wanted to protect her, that he went to all the trouble of making sure she felt safe in her own home – even now that Ethan was dead, made her heart ache. She was still mad at him, still unbelievably wounded by his actions. But she couldn't deny that she still loved him, that she wanted nothing more than to believe he truly had changed.
She sniffled again, steeling her resolve as she stared up at her darkened bedroom ceiling. They were friends now. They were good at that. Maybe, sometime in the future they could be more, but right now had to keep him at arm's length.
She had to.
***
"You busy tonight?"
Buffy swiveled around to look at Angel. Damn, but he looked good. She was standing at the kitchen sink eating a bowl of cereal as she looked out at her back yard, still trying to convince herself that all of this really was hers. "Weh?" she asked, chewing around a mouthful of frosted mini-wheats.
Angel smiled. "I'm assuming that was a 'where'," he said cheekily. He shrugged at her glare. "Out," he said. "As friends. I have this thing I need to go to tonight and I really not in the mood to deal with any sort of romantic hassles."
Perversely, Buffy was both relieved and angry that he apparently was truly beginning to view her as 'just a friend'. Hiding her scowl, she swallowed her bite and turned toward the sink to rise out her bowl. Every time she went out somewhere with Angel it got harder and harder to stop herself from moving their relationship to the next level – or back to the previous level. Whatever.
Sighing, she turned around, “What time?”
“Look, you don’t have to go if you don’t want,” he said, lending against the doorjamb. “I just thought you might like to get out of the house for the evening.”
“You’re right,” she said, with a nod of her blonde head. “I do need to get out of the house. What time do you want to go?”
“How about 6:30?” he suggested.
“What should I wear?”
“Whatever you want,” he said, grinning as he raked his eyes over her t-shirt and boxers. “It should be pretty casual.”
He was getting so hard up over his ex-lover that even with her hair on top of her head in baggy clothes that showed absolutely nothing, she looked sexy. Idly, he wondered what she would do if he crossed the room and took her into his arms. Clearing his throat, he pulled himself out of his reverie, nodded at whatever Buffy had just said and walked out of the kitchen.
***
At six-thirty, Buffy walked out of her room and down the steps to find Angel strolling around the living room jingling his keys. She had chosen to wear jeans and a silk camisole since it had been warm at night lately. Now that she saw Angel looking delicious in black slacks and a maroon silk shirt, she suddenly felt underdressed.
“Should I change?” she asked, frowning.
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “You look beautiful. Ready?”
She followed him out of the house and climbed into his car, still feeling a bit unsure of her attire.
“Maybe if you stop being cryptic about where we’re going, I’ll feel better about my outfit,” she said after a few minutes of driving in silence. She used to have no problem at all with the fact that Angel didn’t often listen to the radio unless she turned it on and was fine with not talking as well. Tonight the silence seemed overwhelming.
“I’m not being cryptic,” he chuckled. “You never asked.”
“Angel,” she groaned, rolling her eyes, “where are we going?”
“Dinner with my parents,” he said calmly, flipping on his blinker as he neared the next corner. “We have a monthly thing if my father’s in town to catch up and I occasionally bring a date-“
“YOUR PARENTS?” she shouted, nearly sobbing with the news. “Angel, you didn’t tell me we were meeting your parents!”
“Actually, you’ve already met my mother,” he answered, pulling into a long circular drive in front of a mansion. Buffy’s mouth went dry as she stared at the monstrous structure. “And you know Cordy,” Angel continued. “You’ll just be meeting my father.”
“I’m wearing jeans,” she said, punching him on the shoulder. “How could you not fucking tell me we were having dinner with your parents and let me walk out of the house wearing jeans?”
“You look beautiful,” Angel said, frowning. “What’s the big deal?”
“Look at that house,” Buffy growled. “Cordelia’s going to look like she just walked off the pages of a fashion magazine and I’m wearing jeans.”
“My Dad’ll be wearing jeans too,” Angel offered weakly, hoping his father hadn’t had to work late that night. “It’s just a family meal.”
“Yeah,” she said, climbing out the car. “Whatever.”
***
Angel finally had to grab Buffy by the hand and pull her bodily through the house. She cowered behind him, so overwhelmed that she had finally stopped bitching and now looked more like a deer in the headlights. As he rounded a corner and entered the formal dining room, he heard a weak, “Oh gods.”
Personally, Angel didn’t see anything special about the room. But as he tried to view it from Buffy’s perspective, he felt a little bad. He could see how it was overwhelming to someone who wasn’t used to it. The room was decorated elaborately from the crystal chandelier to the priceless antique china dishes. He hadn’t lied to her. This wasn’t a special occasion. It was just a simple dinner with the family. But a simple dinner with the family probably was slightly different than what she was familiar with.
His mother glanced up as they drew closer. She smiled brightly at her son, but shock registered on her face as she glanced at Buffy. She hid it quickly though and said, “It’s very nice to see you, Buffy. Angel tells me you’re roommates.”
“Yeah,” Buffy managed to squeak. “There’s five of us all together sharing the house.”
“Living with four people when you could afford your own place,” Cordelia sneered, entering the room. Her new Prada heels clicked loudly on the highly polished parquet floor. “I thought Mom was the martyr in this family.”
Angel glared at his sister while his mother calmly looked at her daughter. “Cordelia, how your brother chooses to live his life is none of your concern,” she said firmly.
“But Mom – “ Cordelia started, gaping at the injustice.
“None of your concern,” she repeated flatly.
With a huff, Cordelia pulled out a chair and sat down in it. Angel urged Buffy to do the same. When they were both seated, Buffy reached over and dug her fingers into Angel’s thigh as hard as she could. He grunted softly, but managed to maintain his smile as he firmly peeled her claws out of his flesh and made small talk with his mother.
“Kathleen, what the hell is that smell?” a voice bellowed loud enough to make Buffy jump in start. She swiveled in her chair to see a very large man filling the doorway. He stepped through easily, scowling at his wife. “It smells like rotting fish, lass.”
“Honey, it’s the new dish the cook is working on,” Kathleen reminded him gently. “Be quiet or you’ll hurt her feelings.”
“What about my feelings?” he groused. “She’s stunk up the entire house!”
Angel and Cordelia grinned at each other and then at Buffy who was quietly giggling. She was somewhere between fear and awe of the huge man who was whining like a child over having to eat fish.
“Jake honestly,” Angel’s mother said, shaking her head, “you’ll like the meal and if you don’t, you’ll pretend.”
“Hi sweetheart,” Jake grunted, kissing the top of Cordelia’s head in passing, before continuing with his argument. “Baby, I won’t pretend if it tastes like shit,” Jake said. “We pay her to make edible food!”
“Shhh,” Kathleen reminded him. His booming voice carried all over the neighborhood. She was certain the cook was already crying her little eyes out. The girl was half the time convinced someone or other in the household hated her and was preparing to quit. Jake’s shouting about rotting fish would be enough to send her into hysterics.
Jake settled at the end of the table and only then did he notice the little blonde visitor. “Angel, who’s your little friend?”
“Buffy Summers,” Angel said, squeezing her hand under the table. “Buffy, this is my father, Jake.”
“Hi Mr. Chase,” she said timidly. She already liked him. He didn’t seem to match his dainty, lush surroundings. In fact, he looked like a carpenter and, true to Angel’s promise, he was wearing jeans.
“Well don’t whisper at me and it’s Jake. Mr. Chase is a bricklayer in Dublin,” Jake grunted, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “So, you’re the lass who has my son by the balls, eh?”
“Jake!” Kathleen blustered at her husband and then looked at her son in shock. Angel crossed his arms over his chest as well and leaned back in his chair. He had absolutely nothing to say.
“Your son is an asshole,” Buffy countered without thinking. Snapping her mouth shut, she spared a glance over at Cordy, who was studying her nails. She appeared to care less about the whole affair.
Angel’s father hooted in laughter in response. “That he is, little one,” he chuckled. “Now where’s the roadkill that new cook is making? The sooner I choke it down, the sooner we can order a pizza.”
***
Buffy was actually chuckling quietly to herself as Angel drove them back to the house. While the first few minutes had been absolutely mortifying, after Jake showed up, dinner was actually a lot of fun. Despite all of Jake’s squalling, dinner had been very, very good. Cordelia was her usual catty self, but Angel’s parents hadn’t seemed to mind her being there at all. It made Buffy feel welcome and warm in a very unusual way.
“I hope you didn’t have too horrible of a time,” Angel said quietly, his eyes focused on the road.
“It was good,” Buffy said with a smile. “I like your dad.”
Angel chuckled. “You’re the first girl I’ve ever brought home that said that. Most of the time he terrifies them.”
Buffy ignored the irritation his words caused. She didn’t want to think about Angel taking other girls home to ‘meet the parents’. “He’s a marshmallow,” Buffy said. It was obvious that Jake Chase adored his family. It was also obvious that he had a lot of darkness in his past. Buffy could identify with that. It made her feel like less of a freak.
When they arrived back at the house, Buffy yawned and mumbled something about an early aerobics class that Willow had convinced her to take. “Nite,” Angel said softly, watching her walk up the stairs.
Her door latched with a soft click and he sighed, frowning. He wandered into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of beer. Doyle found him fifteen minutes later sitting on the front steps staring out at nothing.
“Ya look like someone ran over your puppy,” Doyle said, sinking onto the step next to Angel.
Angel grunted, not looking at him.
“Buffy still not lettin’ ya back in, eh?”
“We’re friends,” Angel said acridly.
“Friends is somethin at least,” Doyle noted. “And you’re more than friends. You’re roommates.”
“It’s not working,” Angel said. “She’s never going to forgive me.”
Doyle sighed. “So I guess you best get on with your life then,” he said. Angel’s head snapped to him and he glared. Doyle smiled. “Look, man. If Buffy says she just wants to be friends, then maybe you should be friends.”
“That’s the worst piece of advice I’ve ever heard,” Angel bit out.
“You’re missin’ the point,” Doyle continued. “Buffy has no problem being your friend because she knows that you’re still pinin’ over her like some lovesick pup. Maybe you should give her a little competition.”
“Like date someone else?”
“Now yer catchin’ on, genius,” Doyle said. “And since you’re such great friends, why don’t you suggest something friendly. Like a double date.”
***
TBC
on to part 11