"Those were your wedding rings, weren’t they?"
"Huh?"
Riley had found Buffy on the roof, staring out at the morning-lit rooftops of LA. She wasn’t the only one up there: he’d spotted Giles and Faith, and he suspected there might be others, but everyone seemed to be keeping to their own private section of roof.
"The rings you and Angel sacrificed," Riley repeated. "They were your wedding rings, weren’t they?"
She opened her mouth to answer, but found she could only sigh, close it again, look back away across LA, and nod.
"What did you say?"
She looked back up at him sharply. "What?"
"You said something when you put it in. I saw your lips moving, but I couldn’t hear it."
"Nothing," she answered. "It was nothing. Nothing important, anyway." She couldn’t tell him. It would be needlessly cruel, and besides…
He wrapped his arm around her and rested his chin on the top of her head, looking out at the same vista she was. It made him a little claustrophobic. He’d grown up on a road where cars came by maybe three times a day, and gone to school in a town that was maybe a mile or two in each direction, and not one building was more than three stories tall. His time in Sunnydale had made him more accustomed to more crowded living conditions, but this endless landscape of artificial mountains was still overwhelming. The cacophony of traffic and the scum of garbage and litter on the streets just made it worse. He couldn’t really understand what comfort she derived from looking at it.
"I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t pretty sure it was important already," He said. "Please, Buffy. We promised: no more secrets."
She closed her eyes and heaved another deep sigh. "Forever, that’s the whole point," she answered.
"Beg pardon?"
"It’s what we said to each other, the night we gave each other those rings. We promised each other forever. Forever, that’s the whole point."
He could feel his heart cracking open in his chest. "Is that your decision, then?" He asked, forcing his voice to stay even. "Forever? That’s the whole point?"
…And besides, it might make him jump to conclusions.
"I haven’t made *any* decision yet," she said hotly, pushing him back and his arms away. "I don’t know if I *can*."
She turned on him. "How the hell am I *supposed* to decide?" She demanded. "It’s like asking me to decide between night and day. If you take away either, you only have half a life." She began pacing like a caged lioness. "You know, once upon a time, all I wanted was one normal boyfriend. I didn’t think I’d ever have even that, ‘cause slaying did so much damage to my social life. Instead I get two men—*two*!—who’ve given up everything for me. I don’t deserve something that wonderful even once—nobody does. How did I get it *twice*? How do I handle that? How do I tell one ‘thanks but no thanks’?"
"Lord, give me strength to endure my blessings," Riley said.
"What?"
"Something my mom used to say when we’d gotten all muddy or something like that where we hadn’t done anything *wrong*—we were just being a trial by being kids. Sounds like you have the same problem she did: too many blessings."
Buffy chuckled and leaned against the parapet around the edge of the roof, her tension momentarily broken. "Yeah, I’d say nine is a few too many ‘blessings’," she agreed. "But at least she had control over that. You two just kind of snuck up on me."
"Sorry," he apologized, a grin appearing on his face to give the lie to his words.
She shook her head and turned away, looking back out over the city. "I don’t know what I’m going to do, Riley." She said. "Angel and I went through hell together. Sometimes literally. We took turns saving each other’s lives, but then you and I do that, too. But we went through hard, terrible times, and we supported each other. We were there for each other. We got each other through."
"Except when ‘each other’ was the source of the problem," Riley observed.
Buffy looked back at him suspiciously for a moment. If the source of the comment had been Xander, she would have smacked him. But then, if the source of the comment had been Xander, it would have dripped with bitter sarcasm. Riley was just making a note. Finally, she nodded. "Right," she agreed. "We tried so hard to make it work, but in the end it was just too dangerous while the curse was in place. He had to leave. I tried to deny it at the time, but it was true. I could still kill my mother for going over my head about it, but it was true."
Then she looked away again, staring out at the sun reflecting off the skyscrapers. "Then we come to you. We’ve been through some hard times, too, but nothing that compares to some of the crap I went through with Angel. Instead," She paused and took a deep breath. "Instead, you’ve made me happy. He made me happy, too, but so often it was mixed in with the pain. You brought me out into the sunlight. You showed me what simple happiness could be like."
She paused and looked down at the cars driving by. "He’s my husband, and I guess he has been since I was seventeen," She continued. "But he’s been gone. You’re my lover, and you’re the one who’s been here. Day or night, Riley? Which half of your life do you give up?"
Riley stood and watched her for a moment in silence, memories and recent experiences that had been percolating in his mind for hours finally coalesced.
"Neither," he said.
She looked back over her shoulder at him, a quizzical expression on her face.
He held out his hand to her. "I think I have an idea," he said. "Come on."
*
Angel opened the door of his apartment to Riley’s insistent knocking. He’d been taking a nap, and he was a little bit dazed. Vampires can move around in the daytime as long as they stay out of direct sunlight, but the instinct for them to sleep if there’s nothing that they *must* do is still strong. That being the case, he was too confused to even protest when Riley barged into his apartment, leading Buffy by the hand and saying "We need to talk."
"Uh, okay," Angel agreed in confusion as he closed the door.
Riley guided Buffy to a chair and then began to nervously pace the floor and crack his knuckles, clearly gathering his thoughts for something.
Angel sidled up to Buffy, keeping his eyes on the agitated young man the whole way. "What’s this all about?" He whispered.
"I’m not sure," she answered out of the corner of her mouth, keeping her own eyes on her boyfriend. "We were up on the roof, talking about our relationship, when he got an idea of some kind and dragged me down here."
"What were you talking *about*?" He asked.
Buffy sighed and dropped her eyes to her lap. "How I can’t decide between you," she admitted. They both deserved better than this. She wouldn’t blame them if they both said ‘Screw you, enough games’ and left her alone. "He’s my day. You’re my night. How do I choose?"
Angel laid a hand on her shoulder. She knew that she wouldn’t get the blame that she probably deserved from him—not yet, in any case—but she flinched anyway.
"Don’t worry," he said, turning the clasp into a pat. "We’ll think of something."
"I think I may have," Riley said, stopping in his pacing to turn and look at them. "Have either of you ever seen "Paint Your Wagon"?"
Angel nodded, but Buffy shook her head, each with identically blank looks of confusion on their faces.
"You have?" Angel asked, surprised.
"I played Pardner in high school," Riley replied.
"I’m surprised your town allowed a play like that to be shown in the *school*," Angel said.
"There *were* some complaints," Riley admitted.
"Um, excuse me," Buffy interrupted, raising her hand. "Could we get some Cliff’s Notes for the culturally illiterate, here?"
Both men started apologizing and explaining at the same time. They stopped, looked at each other, then Riley waved Angel forward. "You go ahead," he said.
Angel gave a nod and a loose salute, then continued: " "Paint Your Wagon" is a musical. First it was a play, then a movie with a young Clint Eastwood in it. It’s set in the California Gold Rush, and it actually captures the conditions pretty well—minus the violence and disease. It’s a comedy, after all. Anyway, the show centers around a grizzled old mountain man named Ben Rumson and his Pardner. Now, one of the problems in the mining camps was that there were no women. At all. The men were terribly lonely—"
"And horny," Buffy smirked.
"And horny," Angel agreed. "And the men also missed the work that women used to do for them back home: cooking, cleaning, etcetera."
"My heart just bleeds with sympathy for them," Buffy said, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"I can smell it from here," Angel grinned.
"So you can imagine what happened the day a Mormon arrived in the camp with both of his wives," Riley interrupted, his ‘teacher instinct’ refusing to allow the conversation to get off track.
"The show goes from a wholesome fifties musical to ‘The World’s Biggest Gangbang’?" Buffy guessed.
That brought him up short. He glanced at Angel as if to say ‘Was she like this when she was with you?’ But Angel just shrugged, grinning. "Not exactly," Riley said. "But the men are jealous to see a man with two of what they have none of, so they offer to buy one of them."
The smile dropped from Buffy’s face. "I see. Slavery. How romantic. Tell me again how this applies to our situation?"
"Just hold on," Riley said, holding up his hands defensively. "We’re getting there." He glanced at Angel. "Keep talking, Big Man, you’re doing just fine."
Angel shrugged and did as he was told. "The husband pretty much agrees with you," He said to Buffy. "But the second wife, whose name is Elizabeth, is ready to be sold. Her husband and the first wife treat her like dirt—in the movie, they come riding into camp with her walking behind them, if that gives you an idea. She’s been especially discontent since her baby died a few weeks before—which the husband is kind enough to bring up in front of everyone. Of course, she still has to take care of the first wife’s baby."
"I guess I’d be ready to be sold off, too," Buffy admitted.
"So they start the auction," Angel continued. "Meanwhile, she’s off in a tent nursing the first wife’s baby. Ben happens to catch sight of her, and drunkenly offers to double whatever the last bid was."
"Which makes his bid $800 and some supplies," Riley said. "Astronomical for the time."
"So she brought in a good price," Buffy said, the acid-dripping sarcasm back. "What an honor."
"He acts more or less like you’d expect," Angel said. "From a man who hasn’t even seen a woman in months and had most of his experience with prostitutes. But before he tears off too many of her clothes for a ‘wholesome fifties musical’, she pulls a derringer on him and explains that she 1) will damn well be treated with some respect and 2) wants a cabin so she’ll have something when he moves on, as she knows he will."
"Strangely enough, this wins his admiration," Riley said.
"Not so strange," Angel disagreed. "The first time I met Buffy, she kicked me right to the ground."
"Hmph," Riley grunted in mock resentment. "We had to get a couple dates in before she’d do that to me."
Buffy said nothing. Her face—currently the color of Willow’s hair—said it all.
"So anyway," Angel continued. "He starts getting all jealous and possessive. After all, the rest of the men in the camp aren’t any less horny, and she’s the only woman for miles. To solve that problem, he leads an expedition to hijack six French prostitutes on the way to another camp."
"Now kidnapping. You know, for a comedy, there’s a lot of things in this show that aren’t funny."
"You could say the same thing about "Animal House" or "Revenge of the Nerds"," Riley said. "There’s a lot of things that wouldn’t be funny if they really happened—especially if they happened to you."
"*Any*way," Angel interrupted. "While he’s gone, Ben asks Pardner to look out for Elizabeth—he trusts her, but not the other miners. But while he’s gone, feelings grow between Pardner and Elizabeth. By the time Ben gets back, she loves them both and can’t choose between them. But they hit on a solution: this is California. Wild country. They make their own rules here. She’s just come from a marriage where a man had two wives, so why can’t she—" Angel’s eyes widened as understanding dawned, and Riley started to nod encouragingly. "Have…two…husbands." He paused, returning Riley’s expectant stare with one of disbelief. "You’re joking."
"Nope," Riley answered, shaking his head.
"Are you serious?" Buffy asked. She had the same disbelief on her face, but it was being rapidly replaced by dawning hope.
"Why not? Willow, Oz, and Tara are trying it."
"Those are special circumstances," Angel protested.
"And these aren’t?" Riley countered.
"It’s not the same," Angel said. "How would everyone react to something like that?"
"Which ‘everyone’ are you referring to?" Riley challenged. "Willow, Oz, and Tara, who are doing the same thing? Xander, who’s dating an ex-vengeance demon whose body count makes yours look paltry? Faith? Spike?"
Actually, the "everyone" that had been at the forefront of Angel’s mind was his (God’s wounds, teeth, and toenails!) Mother-in-law. "Look. Wait a second," he said, holding up his hands. "You’re trying to convince the wrong person, here. Buffy, what do you think?" He asked, turning to where she still sat in her chair.
She sat there, staring at her hands, a look of stunned wonder and hope growing on her face. When she looked up at them, there were tears shimmering in her eyes, but a blazing smile spreading across her face. She didn’t deserve this. She knew she didn’t. Did anyone? Ever since her father left, she’d been convinced that something about her drove men away. Angel’s departure, necessary as it had been, and Parker’s game-playing, hadn’t helped. She generally blamed her Slayerness. Not only did it make her keep secrets and have a weird schedule, but how many guys want a girlfriend who can kick their butt at, well, everything? But she’d always wondered if there was something else, something inherently wrong with *her*, that drove them off.
Apparently not.
Never, in her wildest girlhood dreams of knights and princes on white horses and rock stars, had she dared to imagine that she would ever be loved so much.
"Do you really think we can do it?" She asked, her voice charged with hope. "Do you really think we can make it work?"
Riley and Angel looked at each other.
Riley’s expression was that of everyone who’s ever made an outrageous suggestion and suddenly found that suggestion much closer to implementation than he ever though it would really get: excitement, hope, uncertainty, and more than a little fear.
Angel’s face was unsure and confused. He was used to sudden violence, but in any other area of his unlife, he was unaccustomed to snap judgments and swift action. It was something that made participation in the shooting-star life of Buffy Summers a challenge for him.
In fact, he probably came off as indecisive to the humans around him as they carried him along in the riptide of their lives. That wasn’t the case, really. It was just that, with forever stretched before him, he could take time to contemplate and consider decisions carefully…
Okay, so maybe he was a *little* indecisive.
Both of them were thinking the same thing: can I spend my life, not just with Buffy, but with this man?
They hadn’t started off on the right foot. There was no question of that. Sure, Angel had beaten up an entire Initiative squad, but the poor dupes hadn’t known any better but to attack anything that wasn’t on the same evolutionary tree as them. Riley might have, but he’d been primed by Xander to expect the worst. Both men, spontaneously and separately, decided to have a little talk with Xander about that. Angel, remembering other situations where Xander had given other people the worst possible impression of him—Thanksgiving of the same year, his introduction to Faith—decided that it would be a *long* talk, but decided to forebear punching him in the face, out of gratitude for the previous morning’s rescue.
Both of them were embarrassed to remember the macho pissing match in Buffy’s dorm room that had followed.
That was their history, before this nightmare had begun. One fight. But even in that fight, they had developed a certain measure of admiration for each other, once they’d stopped being furious: Angel had won the fight, but only barely. He’d defeated an entire initiative squad, which earned Riley’s regard, but this one human had nearly taken him. And this was when Riley’s super-strength had mostly faded. Sure, he had used weapons. But that’s what humans *do* when confronted with demons. That’s how humans *survive*.
Since then, since the last few days of hell had begun, they’d found a great deal to like and admire in each other, despite their initial inclination not to. They worked well together.
What was more, Angel had noticed that, several times in the past few days alone, Buffy’s well-being had required both of them. Riley, who wasn’t used to the workings of destiny and the Powers, didn’t necessarily see anything in that. But Angel wondered if it was a message…
Angel realized that the moment had stretched into an uncomfortable silence, and that both humans were staring at him. Then he realized why: it was Riley’s idea, so he was in favor of it by default. Buffy had already expressed her excitement. That left him.
"We can try," he said softly.
If this was a TV show or a movie, that would have been the moment that there was a commercial or a cut to another scene. Instead, the three of them were left standing or sitting around the room, looking at each other as the uncomfortable silence stretched on.
Finally, Angel did something that he didn’t often do. He broke the ice. "So," he said. "Does this make me ‘Ben’?"
Buffy giggled.
"Well, you *are* her husband," Riley chuckled.
"But what does that make you?" Angel asked. " ‘Cause son, you ain’t no Clint Eastwood."
"You know," Buffy said, cutting off Riley’s retort about being a real farmer and not just playing one on TV. "We’re going to need a bigger bed." She looked at her two hulking lovers and put a hand to her mouth to smother a giggle. "A much bigger bed," she said in a voice choked with laughter.
With that, the tension snapped like an overtuned guitar string, and it took them nearly five minutes to stop laughing.
What wise, mad god made humans to laugh when they’re tense or afraid? All of them, Slayerettes and Angel Investigations, had spent so much of these last hellish days laughing like fools, and it had helped like nothing else could have.
"So," Buffy said when she finally regained control of herself. "We’re going to try."
"I guess that’s the plan," Riley said.
"Yes. Try." Angel agreed.
"Do you want to try now?" She asked.
That left them both a bit confused. What had they just agreed to, if not—
It hit them both at the same time, and their eyes widened in unison. "Oh."
"Try? Now? Uh—" Riley.
"Are you sure?" Angel.
Without another word, Buffy rose from her chair, walked across the room to Angel’s bed, sat on the edge, planted her feet wide apart, and held her arms out.
She was sure.
Suddenly, both of them understood what Buffy was doing: talk is cheap. This was the first test. Could they something even this simple—relatively speaking—together and make it work?
Time to find out.
They crossed the room and knelt in front of her, one on each side.
Buffy was afraid. Could they get through this without jealousy destroying everything that they had built out of pretty words? Besides—taking on two men at once. That was slut-work. That was something the skankiest ho in Sunnydale did at a victory party for the football team. Is that what she had come to? But then, she had done things with Riley that had had the potential to be almost as humiliating and degrading. Things that she had silently sworn to never do when she’d first found out about them. But with him, it had been okay. With him, things that could have been humiliating and degrading had been exciting and fun—no, not just fun, joyful.
So she opened her arms and opened her legs and surrendered to her men and trusted them to make this something joyful.
Then it began, and all thought dissolved into a swirl of sensation.
Kisses. Frantic kisses all over her face. Hungry kisses chewing at her neck, one pair of teeth blunt and unafraid to chew hungrily. The other pair needle-sharp, scraping delicately over the fragile skin. Kisses on the pale, soft, rounded tops of her breasts as her shirt was carefully unbuttoned and peeled open by two sets of hands. Long, hungry, greedy kisses, unwilling to leave her mouth empty for a moment. Two mouths waiting impatiently for their turn: one hot and moist, sweet-tasting, like root beer and apples. The other dry and cold, tasting of wine and a faint, distant, copper-salt tang.
Hands. Big, strong, thick-fingered hands. Hot, callused hands stroking across her now-bare stomach. Cool, smooth, dexterous hands sliding up her back to unhook her bra strap with practiced ease. Hot hand cupping a breast, stroking a thumb across her nipple. Cold hand sliding up one leather-clad leg, pressing into the throbbing need in her crotch, already feeling the heat that was bleeding through.
Gasp.
Hot hand cupping her bottom, pressing her hard against the cold hand, and the knowledge that they’re working together meets the sheer physical ecstasy and it *is* joyful and she sucks in her breath and she *knows* she’s going to have to cry out and—
Knock
Courtesy taken care of, at least in theory, Cordelia swung the door open. "Hey, Angel, you’d better *Oh, my God, I’m blind!*" She snapped her face away and covered her eyes with both hands.
Riley and Angel leaped back like Buffy had just burst into flames.
"Close the door!" Buffy shrieked as she pulled her shirt closed.
Angel was across the room and hustling Cordelia out the door before the words were all the way out of Buffy’s mouth.
*
Cordelia Chase was not accustomed to being hustled out of a room like that. With Angel’s speed thrown into the equation, it was a pretty dizzying experience.
She turned around, trying to get her bearings, and the door slammed in her face as she did so. Needless to say, she was not pleased. Once again, Buffy was at the absolute center of attention of not one but two of the three hottest men in the vicinity (and the third was sniffing around Faith. Damn Slayers!). She could easily learn to hate her all over again. No time for that right now, however.
"Look," she announced to the door, in a voice that was just below a shout. "I don’t *care* what you’re doing in there. Your freaky lifestyle choices are your own business. Just get dressed and get downstairs. There’s something you need to hear." She paused, considering what it would take to pry Angel out of a room once he’d scented Buffy in heat.
"Lindsey’s on the phone."
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