We Happy Few: Taking the Night Off
by Sibling
Now that the head-rush of the day's events had worn off, the melancholia that had gripped Angel since losing Connor was returning. While waiting for Cordy to finish dressing, he found himself staring out into space, thinking about the son he would "meet" tomorrow, the future it seemed he was destined to have with his Seer, the mind-bending idea that, in a way, he had first "met" Buffy not in that alley in Sunnydale but on a London street a century before . . . everything.

Fred and Gunn had already left for their own night out on the town, and Xander and Anya had actually initiated a conference call to announce that they were doing the same. At first, Angel had wondered why they would even bother . . . until they offered to coordinate restaurants, so that all the couples who chose to go out could be sure of having a little privacy.

When he thought about it, that was actually a pretty nice thing for Xander to do, considering there was a time when the boy would've been perfectly willing to kill him . . . and maybe even vice versa.

Then again, a lot of that had been over Buffy . . . and that all seemed pretty pointless now, didn't it?

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he only noticed Cordelia when she waved her hand in front of his face. "Hey! Wakey-wakey!"

He grimaced, feeling ashamed and embarrassed. "Maybe this was a bad idea, Cordy. I'm not sure I'm gonna be . . . good company, tonight."

"Angel." Cordelia's tone would've been called angry by anyone who didn't know her; real anger from Cordelia Chase was much louder. "Don't do this to yourself. Look-" She dragged him over to a mirror and made him look into it.

He remembered what his reflection looked like, both from his years as a human and from his brief flirtation with reflectivity in Pylea. And even out in the wilderness with Fred, he hadn't looked nearly so haggard.

"See? Maybe a vampire can brood for days on end," Cordy scolded him, "but you're human now, and humans have to stop long enough to eat and sleep every now and then."

"Cordy . . . " he began to protest.

"Don't, Angel," she said, more gently this time. "You know I love Connor. I loved that little baby like he was my own son. In fact . . . there were times, when I was holding him, or spending time with just the two of you . . . when I wished with all my heart that he was mine. That I wasn't Aunt Cordy, but Mommy Cordy . . . "

That brought Angel right out of his brooding in half a second. It was one thing to say "I love you." It was quite another to say, "I want to be the mother of your child."

"I know that it's not the same, but I've been hurting too. I'm gonna regret for the rest of my life that I'll never get to see Connor take his first steps, or hear him say his first words, or any of that stuff.

"But Angel, you are going to get him back. And you heard Faith -- he's going to be a Champion like you, a son you can be proud of . . . Of course, if he really has to marry Dawn Summers, the human Mexican jumping bean, he'll be a totally looney Champion . . . "

The sudden non sequitur did what all the sympathy in the world couldn't. He let out a short bark of laughter, and she grinned as they both realized she'd gotten him, and gotten him good.

"There, that's better," she murmured. "Angel, you've had the hell-week of all hell-weeks, and we're on a two-week countdown for the end of the world. You owe yourself one night just for yourself, to recharge your batteries. Just relax and enjoy yourself . . . and while you're at it, you might as well enjoy the company of the glamorous Seer-cum-actress who's going to be hanging on your arm all night," she finished, with an upraised eyebrow and a half-smile.

"All right, all right . . . " He held up his hands and nodded in submission. "I'll try. Just for you, Cordy."

* * *

Buffy had had to work tonight, and of course Spike had tagged along, so Willow and Tara cooked dinner while talking to Dawn about their handfasting idea.

Dawn was confused by the concept at first. "When I read about it in fantasy books, it kinda sounded like getting engaged."

Willow looked over her shoulder and shook her head. "It's a lot more than that, Dawnie. When two people are handfasted, they are married. It just has . . . an expiration date, sorta. At the ceremony, the couple agrees on how long the handfasting will last -- the customary time is a year and a day. After that time passes, the couple is expected to have a formal wedding ceremony, or if they find they just aren't compatible, they go their seperate ways, hopefully with no hard feelings."

Remembering her parents' breakup, she wondered aloud, "But what if they have a kid? I mean, do they expect a little boy or girl to grow up with only one parent?"

"Ahh, now there's the catch," Tara said with a smile. "If a handfasted couple has a child, the handfasting automatically becomes permanent. It's sort of assumed that if you bring a life into the world, you've made a committment -- to the child and to each other."

"And . . . what happens if you're not sure when the time runs out? I mean, can you keep getting handfasted again and again?"

Tara grimaced. "Well, handfasting itself isn't done much these days . . . but I guess you could. Eventually, though, I think the couple would have to make some kind of commitment, or it would look funny."

"Oh, okay. I was just . . . " She broke off. "I mean, I've never even seen this Connor kid, and he's probably all Neandertall-dark-and-broody like Angel, but what if, somehow, we're as right for each other as you two, or Buffy and Spike?"

"Then you get married and make beautiful music together, Sunrise," said Lorne from the doorway. Dawn grinned over at him; for a friend of Angel's, he was pretty cool. He'd let her talk his ear off for just hours while the couples had been having their private talks upstairs, and not complained a bit. And even if she wasn't ready to sing for him, he had a fabulous voice, and no problems about showing it off . . . if she didn't already have her mind occupied by Connor-thoughts, she was pretty sure she'd be getting a few belly-rumblins from Lorne, green skin and horns or not.

"Hey, Lorne, spaghetti and meatballs good for you?" Tara asked.

"Just dandy, as long as you don't put any cheese in the sauce. Pyleans are all terribly lactose-intolerant, I'm sorry to say."

"Gotcha. No cheese in sauce. Good thing we didn't go with chicken parmegian."

"So, Tara . . . " Dawn began with a sly grin. "When are the two of you getting handfasted?"

Tara blushed fiercely and turned back to the stove. Willow glanced at her lover with a fond smile, and said, "As soon as possible. Tomorrow, even, if we have time before Angel's son is supposed to make his big entrance."

Dawn frowned. "Too bad you guys can't have a kid and make it permanent."

Willow shrugged. "I've been researching the options. Other states allow same-sex marriages . . . I think there's something where we could get a marriage license in England if we go there on vacation and stay there at least twenty-one days. We just don't have the time to go through all the legal red tape right now."

"But you're sure Tara has the time to become a priestess?"

Willow grinned broadly before answering, "Uh-huh. We already called and checked with the local covens. They could actually use another priestess in the area -- Allison Mackey's getting her Master's this spring, and she's probably going to move back East to be closer to her family."

"And the Powers strike again," murmured Lorne.

"You think that's really what's happening?" asked Tara.

"I can't say for sure, Tara-ra-boom-di-yay; I read auras, not Tarot cards . . . but on this level, there's no such thing as coincidence. Besides, I told you you were a natural mother. This just means you'll have lots more boo-boos to kiss and make better."

Completely flustered, Tara almost dropped the spoon she was using to stir the pasta sauce.

"As much as I like saying nice things about Tara, I think we'd better find another topic," said Willow with a grin. "Gotta give my baby's blushing muscles a chance to rest."

* * *

Angel looked doubtfully at his glass of Cabernet wine. Back when he was human, he hadn't thought of wine as something to be enjoyed with a meal; it was just a slower way to get drunk than the Jameson Irish whiskey he'd preferred.

"Trust me, Angel," Cordelia urged him. "Just as long as you don't do something stupid, like drink half the bottle before our main course arrives, it'll go well with the dinner we ordered."

Then her brow crinkled. "Oh . . . now that you're human, should I . . . do you want me to call you Liam?"

He looked up sharply. "No -- please don't. Names are important. Why do you think so many vampires change their names when they're turned?"

He drank from his wineglass -- and choked a little at the forgotten burn of alcohol on human taste buds. His next sip was much more judicious. "I was a drunken sot, a rake, and a thief -- a disappointment to my father and a disgrace to my whole family. I never felt any real desire to do good . . . until I knew what evil really was.

"And even . . . " He paused, and took a breath. "Even if 'I,' the human soul you're talking to right now, didn't actually do the things that Angelus the demon did, I'm responsible for what he did. He was created out of me; Angelus is only the dark side of my soul, magnified by a demon's bloodlust, and with no human compassion to hold him back.

"I'm not Liam anymore, just like I'm not Angelus. I'm Angel. At first . . . that was just a name I made up for myself." In fact, he'd made it up on the spur of the moment, when Buffy had asked him his name in that crypt. "But it's come to mean something -- to me, and to others. Humans used to flee in terror when someone whispered the name of Angelus . . . now it's the demons that run, when they hear the name Angel."

Cordelia snorted. "I think that glass of wine is fleeing, right to your head."

Angel chuckled. "Sorry. That did sound a little pretentious, didn't it?"

"Yeah. And my visions used to give me a bit of a headache." Cordelia frowned suddenly, and her brow furrowed. "Hey . . . major inconsistency here. Back on my birthday, when I was unconscious, and Skip was telling me about my visions, he said I wasn't supposed to get them, that it was an accident. But everything that's going on now makes it seem like you and me were always supposed to be together as we are: the Hero and the Vision Girl."

Angel frowned. "Well, either the Powers are making this up as they go along, and just telling us it's all planned -- which I wouldn't rule out, by the way -- or that whole episode at your birthday was a setup . . . a test. Faith said that many of the crises I've faced over the past couple years, including the day I became human, were tests, designed to find out whether I was worthy of becoming human again."

Cordy's eyes widened. Suddenly, she slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Oooh! I can't believe it!"

"What?" Angel asked, instantly tense and ready for action. "Vision?"

She gave him a confused look, then chuckled and shook her head. "Nope. I just figured out a piece of that test. Skip made a big deal about telling me Doyle shouldn't have been able to pass his visions to me, that it only happened because . . . " She looked down, and bit her lip before continuing. "Because he loved me. And . . . I took them back from you the same way he gave them to me -- by kissing you. And when I did it, Angel, you were totally out of it -- you didn't even know who I was. So either Skip was totally lying his ass off . . . "

"Or maybe you could only take the visions back because you loved me," Angel concluded.

"And the PTBs wanted me to know that!" She threw her hands up in frustration, startling the waiter who was just then serving their bouillabaisse. "God! For once, they were actually trying to meddle in my life in a good way, and I totally missed the message! I must've been having a blonde moment," she growled.

Angel took the opening. "Actually, Cordy . . . I always liked your hair long and dark. I could never understand why American girls are so hung up on lightening their hair."

Cordy gave him a disgusted look. "Excuse me, but which one of us got seduced and turned by an evil blonde vampire? And by the way, if you think Buffy's a natural blonde, I've got a used car to sell you." She shrugged, and she dipped her spoon into the soup and took a taste. "Guys just like blondes, I guess."

Okay, like it or not, the can of worms has been opened. Time to deal with it. "Buffy's blonde hair was just about the last thing I noticed about her. What attracted me to her, and to you, Cordy, is what's on the inside."

She made a face, and he didn't think it was the soup -- which was delicious.

"You know what I mean, Cordy. You're as compassionate and loving as anyone I know. You just used to hide it under all that prom-queen, rich-girl attitude in high school. It took coming to L.A. and getting the visions to find out who you really were."

She grimaced, and reluctantly nodded. "That was the other part of the birthday test. Even if seeing what the visions did to you hadn't broken my heart, I could tell that my life was incomplete in that world. Maybe I'll get rich and famous someday, or maybe I won't, but the visions and the demon-fighting are part of who I am. And I don't have to change my name to know that!" she finished with a raised eyebrow.

"You don't call yourself 'Queen C' anymore, do you?"

She frowned at him, grumbled, "Point taken," and went back to her soup.

* * *

He was sitting in a motel room, wondering what to do next, when someone knocked on the door.

When he opened it, he got a pair of surprises. "I know you! You were there on Graduation Day. And . . . I know you too, I guess. But . . . didn't Buffy say you'd gone bad?"

"Look who's talking, Mr. Levinson. Now, you ready to start making things right, or do I need to go through what Wes here calls the Jacob Marley routine?"

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