Where Memories Lead:
Safe Harbor
by Gem

Part Three

"I tell you, you miss one staff meeting," Whistler continued. "Seriously, who's the moron?"

The Slayerettes formed a semi-circle behind Buffy and Angel when they heard Whistler’s words. Only Giles knew precisely what was being discussed, but when one of them was in need of moral support, they all came running.

"I, sir," Giles said with a sniff, "am the moron. And who might you be?"

"Name’s Whistler," Angel said tensely, glancing quickly at Buffy. "He’s a demon, but a useful one. Usually."

"Hey, don’t blame me if you guys got the wrong info." Whistler waved his hands, symbolically pushing away any responsibility. "All I know is what I’ve been told. So where did you get the idea these kids are having a little Slayer?" He turned to look at Giles, meeting the Watcher’s eyes with genuine curiosity.

"A Slayer? You didn't tell me. You didn't tell any of us."

"Willow, not now. I'm sorry." Buffy concentrated fiercely on Whistler and Giles, forcing herself to ignore her best friend's hurt expression.

"The Pagamon Codex," Giles answered Whistler. "It is only the most complete listing of Slayer prophecy known to..."

"Man," Whistler interrupted. "I’ve heard of it. Actually, I think I know the prophecy you’re talking about too. ‘Mingling of blood and fate,’ am I right?"

"That’s the one." Buffy looked grim. Giles had let her read the remainder of the prophecy when Angel wasn’t around, so she would know what he would face after she was gone. It wasn’t a pretty picture.

"Well that explains why you've got two Watchers on call instead of one. Boy, the Council must really have their panties in a twist over this one. So why are you so sure this is right baby?"

"Come on," Angel protested. "How many Slayer-vampire couples do you think are out there?"

"As far as I know, you two are it. But that doesn’t mean this is the right kid. How do you know there won’t be a little sister in a few years? Hell, there may be two of them, or four. You two make rabbits look lazy. You could have enough for a basketball team by the time you’re done. Or maybe this is it."

"Will you quit it with the cryptic crap!" Buffy marched over to stand nose to nose with Whistler. "What do you know?" Her tone was low and controlled, but the warning was unmistakable.

Whistler held up in hands in mock surrender. "All I know is that this kid was meant to get you back together. Maybe she’s a Slayer, maybe she’s not. Maybe she’s not even a she. You don’t get to know that yet. You just have to take your chances and see what happens next. Of course I realize that’s an alien concept to you two, but you don’t have much choice this time."

"We take our chances all the time," Buffy protested. "That’s about all we do." She turned away from him and returned to Angel’s side.

"No," Whistler replied slowly, "you take chances when you fight, but when it comes to each other you spend all your time trying to twist Fate to fit your mood. And let me tell you, the Powers are kind of fed up with it. This is your last shot, so don’t blow it.

"I am so sick of hearing about the Powers," she fumed. "They mess up our lives all the time, and then pretend it’s all our fault."

"They’ve been trying to put you two together for centuries and you’re the ones who’ve screwed it up. They thought they finally had all the bugs worked out when I pulled Angel out of that New York gutter a few years ago. But no, you kids have to decide Fate is against you just because your friends and family are. So you break up and you get back together and you break up and you get back together, until you make a yo-yo look stable."

"How could they have been trying to put us together for centuries? Buffy was born less than two decades ago." Angel gestured to the birthday banner Xander and Anya had at last succeeded in hanging over the fireplace.

Whistler looked at it with interest. "Hey, happy birthday kid."

"Stuff it. What did you mean?" Buffy was rapidly losing her fragile hold on her temper. The last thing she needed on her wedding day was an evasive demon.

"Look, you really don’t need the back story. Let’s just start with the part where you met in this life. Love at first sight, blah, blah, blah, star-crossed lovers, the whole nine yards. Now, I will admit the Powers threw a few character tests at you which may have been...misinterpreted, and made you think you weren’t supposed to be together."

"You mean like Dead Boy turning psycho killer?" Xander wasn’t sure who this guy was, but he seemed to know an awful lot about Buffy and Angel’s history and it wasn’t making Buffy happy. If he continued down certain strands of history it wasn’t going to make Xander happy either.

"Yeah, well, believe it or not, that wasn’t unexpected." Whistler took a step back when he saw the fury on Buffy’s face.

"It was to us," she said tightly.

"I just mean we had to get Angel together with Acathla somehow, so he could do a little time in the big house. If you think he has guilt now, picture him without a few centuries of torture and penance."

"I don’t believe this. You knew exactly what was going to happen, from the moment you met me, and you let it." Angel stared at the man he thought he knew the man he asked to be his best man as thanks for introducing him to Buffy and thereby saving his life. "You let me hurt her, and kill people, so that you could set up some elaborate scenario to send me to hell, and then you made Buffy be the one to actually send me."

"I was helping you fulfill your destiny. A destiny you seem hell bent on avoiding, no pun intended. What’s with all this ‘leaving for her own good’ crap? You are the sappiest demon I have ever met, and let me tell you, I have met some doozies."

"You’re not getting an argument from me on that one," Buffy said.

"You’re not much more help, sweetie." He glared at her. "If he does something dumb like leave, you’re supposed to go after him. But you missed your cue, so they went to Plan B. You think the Gem of Amara just happened to turn up in Sunnydale? Guess again, toots. It should have wiped out the whole ‘can’t walk in the sunlight’ argument, but you blew it. You didn’t bring it yourself, so he thought you didn’t care and he destroyed it to remove the temptation of coming back to you. Fine, Plan C. A little demon brew to make you lose your inhibitions and you should go after him, right? But you didn’t!"

Whistler took a deep breath and regarded his captive audience. Buffy and Angel were staring at each other in shock as they each processed a whole new perspective on their convoluted history. Giles had withdrawn to quietly confer with Wesley in the corner, while the remainder of the Slayerettes sprawled on the sofas and the floor for story hour.

"And you!" he said sharply, turning to Angel. "We finally pry you out of the Bat Cave by scaring you, and we get her off her ass by making her mad. We bring you together and you get what you’ve always wanted: her and a pulse." He leaned forward and spoke very slowly. "It was supposed to be the end of the story! Happily ever after time, give or take a few hundred demons. But no. You give it up because you still can’t believe you won’t hurt her, and you want some sort of freaking guarantee of long life. Welcome back to the human race, pal it ain’t happening."

"Well, kiddos, this is the last chance. Somehow somebody figured you’d screw up the mortality gig, so they planned ahead. Even Martyr Man here wouldn't think it was better for you to be a single mom, especially in your line of work."

"So she's not a Slayer, or you just won't tell us?" Buffy asked slowly. "Or do you actually not know?"

"Yes," Whistler replied, but not until he backed up several steps. He neatly avoided Buffy's lunge by ducking behind Giles, who had rejoined the group. Whistler peeked over Giles' shoulder, but the look on Buffy's face, and Angel's, prevented him from exposing any more of himself.

"It's like I'm talking to myself," he said, visibly amazed. "Nobody gets to know this kind of stuff. Just because you're the Chosen One does not get you special privileges. You take your chances like the rest of humanity and deal with whatever comes up. Now can we do this birthday party stuff so we can get on with the wedding, and then the reception? I understand my friend Angel brought some very fine Scotch from LA, and I could really use a belt right about now."

Despite the rocky start, Buffy could not remember ever having a better birthday party. It was filled with good friends and lighthearted fun, and yet she couldn't wait for it to be over. It seemed to take forever for the hands on Angel's old carriage clock to wind themselves around to six, but at last it was time for everyone to start changing into their wedding clothes.

Joyce Summers arrived a few minutes later, full of apologies for missing the birthday party. She became much more tight-lipped when Giles asked her about her absent ex-husband.

"He's not coming," she replied shortly, and refused to elaborate. There was no need for anyone to know she'd been delayed by their marathon telephone argument, which somehow devolved to a raking up of every past sin for the last 20 years. Today her only daughter was getting married, to a man Joyce had always distrusted, and Hank Summers couldn't be bothered to show up. End of story.

Buffy was disappointed, but not surprised by her mother's news. She was, however, surprised by Joyce's determination to be cheerful about this event she so dreaded. Her mother fussed over her dress and the flowers like the mothers in the movies, without one word about Angel or the horrible mistake she felt Buffy was making. If Buffy had more time, she might have questioned her mother about this mood swing, but before she knew it, it was seven o'clock.

Show time.

Her mother went down first, on Giles' arm. Cordelia and Anya had already taken their seats, leaving Buffy was left alone with

Willow."Thank you, Will." Buffy hugged her best friend tightly, feeling the threat of tears in the corners of her eyes. "I couldn't have gotten through the past few years without you."

Willow held her just as fiercely as she tried to remember the words to every protective spell she'd ever learned. "I love you, you know. I wouldn't put up with monsters for just anybody." She grabbed a tissue and dabbed at Buffy's eyes. "Stop crying," she scolded fondly.

Buffy laughed as she took the tissue. "I love you too. You're the best friend I've ever had. And I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the baby, you know, following in my footsteps. It was just too much to..."

"Buffy, it's okay. I was a little hurt, but I know you would have told me soon. There's been a lot going on lately, that's all."

"You can say that again."

Willow stepped back and proudly surveyed her. "You look beautiful. Angel is going to flip."

"I can't believe it's real." Buffy didn't say any more, but Willow could hear years of hope and dreams, and loss, in the short sentence. After all this time, Buffy and Angel were on the verge of getting exactly what they wanted, and it seemed impossible it would actually come true.

"Hey, sometimes things really do work out in the end." She gave Buffy one final hug, then straightened the short bridal train. "Karma owes you both big time, so I think you need to march down those stairs and start collecting."

"Will..."

Willow pointed to her chin. "Resolve face. March."

She vanished through the doorway and Buffy was alone for just a moment. She looked at herself in the mirror and thought of the way she had pictured her wedding day when she was a little girl. It wasn't supposed to be in a gothic mansion, or in January, or on a weeknight for that matter. Kids were supposed to be in the distant future, not on the agenda for the fall.

And the man she was meeting in front of the altar was not supposed to be so gentle, or loyal, or romantic. He wasn't supposed to be a fierce warrior, or quite such an accomplished lover, or such a scholar. He wasn't supposed to love her so much, or forgive her so much, or trust her with his life quite so completely. She was supposed to love him, but not with every fiber of her being, every breath that passed her lips, every beat of her heart.

And yet somehow, some way, here they both were. And she was keeping him waiting. She picked up her skirt and ran for the stairs.

Angel stood at the foot of the flower-draped staircase, waiting for the first glimpse of his bride. If he had any breath to lose, or a heartbeat to skip, the sight of Buffy in her wedding dress would have done it.

It was the palest pink imaginable, almost cream, which brought out the flush in her cheeks and brightened the gold in her flowing hair. A simple wreath of flowers adorned her head, reminding Angel of the girls in his youth on May Day. What truly awed him, though, was the look of pure happiness in her eyes. It resonated from her almost as strongly as his own joy.

She took his arm when she reached the bottom of the stairs. "Hey, I thought we were going to meet outside," she said softly.

He smiled, unable to believe she was really speaking to him. For all his sins, despite the many times and ways he had hurt her, she still gave herself to him without reservation. Nothing in his long life would ever humble him so much as this moment in time.

"Angel, are you okay?" Worry clouded her features as she released his arm to touch his cheek. "You look so strange."

He caught her hand in his and kissed her palm, then tucked it firmly into the crook of his arm. "I'm fine," he reassured her. "And I'm sorry I messed up the plans, but I just couldn't wait a minute longer to see you." He gazed silently at her for a moment longer. "You look...incredible," he whispered at last.

"You stand there in a tux and you think I look incredible?" Buffy shook her head as she laughed softly. "It really has been too long since you looked in a mirror."

"Your eyes are my mirror."

"Then they should tell you that you're beautiful too, inside and out. And they should show two people who are going to be together forever, in this life or the next, no matter how long it take to put things right." She still worried about him facing life without her, but all she could do was promise they would someday be reunited. She wasn't going to let the Powers That Be off the hook for that one.

He looked deep into her eyes. "Shall we get started on that forever thing then?" he asked quietly.

"Please." She stood on tiptoe for one final kiss as a single woman, drew a deep breath, and took the first step towards happily ever after.

The ceremony had a strange dreamlike quality. When she thought about it later, all Buffy could remember clearly was the steady glow in Angel's eyes, the certainty in his voice as he repeated his vows, and the feel of her hand in his when he slid her wedding band on her finger. She knew her friends read a few poems, and she was sure the words Giles' friend spoke during the ceremony were beautiful, but all that mattered were the feelings she was receiving. After all the fights and tears and heartache, there was nothing but goodwill and loving wishes filling the old garden. It even radiated from some most unexpected sources. Beyond that, the details hardly mattered.

Buffy came back to herself when she felt Angel's arms slip around her and his mouth close over hers in a tender kiss. She clung to him, proud and humbled to have the right to do so.

"I love you," she whispered. Then she grinned and threw back her head to yell it for all to hear. "I love you!"

"No more whispering," he agreed with a smile and another kiss. "I love you." His voice was not quite in her decibel category, but there wasn't a guest who missed his declaration.

"Umm, guys," Willow said hesitantly, "could you finish this after the ceremony? You still need to walk back down the aisle." She resumed her spot on the makeshift altar to the accompaniment of Xander's "Hear, hear!"

After a brief blessing, and many congratulations, they took a last walk down the old garden path to the mansion. Buffy couldn't help remembering the Christmas morning that she and Angel had walked this same path back from the hilltop just beyond the garden walls. It had been snowing then and just before dawn, as opposed to this unusually balmy January night, but the same scent of miracles lingered in the air.

She was just about to step into the house when she felt Angel sweep her up in his arms.

"I know it's old fashioned," he said hastily, "and I know this won't actually be our home, but..." He looked anxiously at his bride, fearful of damaging a pride as fierce as his own.

She laid her hand lightly over his mouth. "Hush. I think it's sweet." She wound her arms around his neck as he crossed the threshold. "Definitely old fashioned, but sweet."

Before Angel could reply, Joyce followed them into the house. "Could I have a word with you two?" she asked quietly. She looked over her shoulder at the guests streaming in, then shook her head. "No, wait, I want to do this right."

"Uh oh." Buffy quickly shed her blissful glow as Angel set her on her feet. "Mom, do you really think this is the time..." she began.

"Honey, please," Joyce beseeched her, "trust me."

Angel and Buffy exchanged wary glances, but neither of them could summon the nerve to crush Joyce. At least, not yet.

When all the guests had assembled in the Great Hall, and the general stampede on the buffet table had begun, Joyce stood on a chair and tapped a crystal goblet with a fork to call for attention.

"Excuse me," she said loudly, "could I have just a moment, please? I was going to say something to my daughter, and my new son-in-law, in private, but I think I really want everyone to hear." She stepped down from the chair and approached Buffy and Angel, who stood in front of the fireplace.

"I haven't been very pleased with this relationship in the past," she began. "There were a lot of reasons, some of which I can't go into," she nodded at a few of her friends that had been invited, "but most of us know what they were."

Angel looked at the floor while Buffy held on to her temper with every bit of control she could muster. She gripped his hand with bruising strength, taking comfort in his cool steady presence by her side.

"I still think most of them are valid," Joyce continued in the face of her daughter's rage, "but one of them was...well, I was very wrong." She looked directly at Angel. "I once told you I knew you cared about my daughter. At the time, I thought that's all it was. I thought I was being generous phrasing it that way, actually. I was wrong." She glanced over her shoulder at her rapt audience. "The last few weeks I've been a bit of a monster. You can ask either of them they'll tell you how awful I've been." She faced Angel again, meeting his eyes without guilt or anger for the first time.

"The truth is, the night you told me you were getting married, I realized how much you love my daughter, and how much Buffy loves you. It's been right there in front of my nose for a few years now, but I chose not to see it because it complicated my baby's life. You're going to realize how very hard you'll fight to prevent that sort of stuff." She laughed ruefully. "But some things are meant to be. Fate, I guess. No matter what pulled you two apart, no matter who tried to come between you, the bond was always there. It made me mad as hell that night, but now I choose to be grateful for it."

She took a few steps closer to the couple, until she was close enough to kiss an astonished Angel on the cheek. "You're a fighter, just like she is. Use that strength to tell off anyone who tries to say you're not made for each other. Even me."

"Thank you, Joyce," Angel replied in a low voice. He returned her kiss, the stepped back to give Buffy room to hug her mother.

"I love you, Mom," she said fervently, squeezing her mother tightly. When she released Joyce, she took Angel's hand again and pulled him out on the ‘dance floor’. She slipped her arms around his neck, but he gently pushed them away.

"Wait, there’s something I want to say too." He looked around at their guests, who paused once more on the point of getting food to do homage to romance. "I’m sorry," he apologized, "but this day isn’t ever going to happen again, so I’m not going to waste it."

"Bloody hell!" Spike glared at his sire. He had only attended this little shindig because of the free booze, and because Harmony, whose carnal favors he hoped to regain, wanted to go. Now he was going to have to pay for his pleasures before he even received them.

"Spike!" Angel snapped. Spike grimaced, but made a locking gesture over his mouth. Sensing the outburst was at an end, for now, Angel returned his attention to his bride.

"There's a sonnet I'd like to recite, from a collection that means something special to the both of us."

"Because thou hast the power and own'st the grace
To look through and behind this mask of me
(Against which, years have beat thus blanchingly
With their rains,) and behold my soul's true face,
The dim and weary witness of life's race, -
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,
Through that same soul's..."

Angel paused to clear the huskiness from his voice. When he resumed, Buffy’s voice kept pace with his.

"Through that same soul's distracting lethargy,
The patient angel waiting for a place
In the new Heavens, - because nor sin nor woe
Nor God's infliction, nor death's neighborhood,
Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,
Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed, -
Nothing repels thee...Dearest, teach me so
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good!"

"That was beautiful, Angel." Buffy couldn't help smiling at the surprise on Angel's face. "What? You knew I read the book," she teased.

"Read, yes," he agreed. "Memorized, no." Once again, he marveled at how he could know someone like the insides of his own heart, and still be amazed by her.

"Great bleedin' poof," Spike grumbled. He glanced at Harmony by his side. "I suppose you’ll be wanting all of that romantic mumbo jumbo now too?"

She didn’t answer him with words, only the gentle tilt of her head and the flutter of eyelashes.

Spike grinned evilly. "There once was a man from Nantucket..."

Giles knocked over the dessert tray in his haste to silence Spike. Buffy ignored the resulting confusion and nodded to Xander to start the music. This time, when she held her arms up to Angel, he pulled her in tightly and didn't let go.

Xander and Spike began to fight over who got to pick the CDs to be played, leaving Oz to actually control the music. Buffy looked over at one point and sighed happily at the sight of Oz in deep, and apparently friendly, conversation with Willow.

Cordelia tried to teach Wesley to dance "like a normal person," while Giles alternated between his Wiccan Justice of the Peace friend and Joyce.

Harmony gossiped with Jonathan, who was utterly unaware of her pulseless condition and thus thrilled to be noticed by one of the "cool crowd." Angel made a mental note to caution the boy before he left the party, lest Harmony make him quite literally cool.

Whistler and Willie tried to one-up each other with their favorite demon stories over Angel’s twelve-year-old scotch, until Anya drank them both under the table and bested every tale.

Buffy had hoped for a final word with Giles, and her chance came when he cut in on she and Angel during a slow dance.

"I suppose this is my cue to dance with the mother of the bride." Angel looked over at Joyce, chatting with a few relatives in front of the fire. "Fortunately, I think I stand a better chance of coming out of it alive than we used to believe." He kissed Buffy's hand in parting, then left her to Giles.

"May I?" Giles held out his arms.

"I'd be delighted, kind sir," she said with a curtsy.

Giles was a better dancer than Buffy had supposed. For a minute or two they just danced quietly, while Giles arranged his thoughts.

"You look...very lovely tonight, Buffy," he said at last. "And very happy."

"I am," she replied. "Happy, I mean. I don't know about the other."

"Trust me," Giles assured her dryly. The music sped up and he suddenly grabbed her hand and spun her out onto the floor, then reeled her back in.

"Why Rupert Giles," she laughed as she collided with his chest, "you can even fast dance. Who'd have ever believed it?"

Giles suddenly sobered. There were things that needed to be said, and he could feel precious time slipping away.

"Who would have ever believed you and Angel would find your happy ending?"

"Me, most of the time." She still swayed to the music, but Buffy's mind was clearly focused on the conversation. "Or maybe I just always believed we needed to find it. It's the only way for either of us."

"I know that now. If at times I was less than sympathetic or supportive, please forgive..."

"There's nothing to forgive." She removed her hand from his shoulder and held it up in front of his face to halt his instinctive protest. "Giles, you've been great all through this. I know how hard it was for you to deal with Angel when he came back, but you did it for my sake, and that meant the world to me. And you were always there to talk to when I couldn't confide in anyone else." She paused, unsure of how he would react to what she really wanted to say. Finally, she took Whistler's advice to heart and made a leap of faith.

"You've been a terrific dad."

"Buffy, I...I am deeply touched," Giles stammered. "You have indeed become like a daughter to me as well, but I didn't realize...I'm touched," he repeated.

"And you didn't even have to pay for the wedding."

"Quite." He grinned wryly at her attempt at levity.

Giles felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned his head to see Angel standing patiently next to them.

"Excuse me, can I have my wife back now?" Angel grinned at Buffy as he took Giles' place. "God, I love saying that word. Wife."

"Good, because that one better become a staple in your vocabulary when your work involves rescuing damsels in distress. You know, 'I'm sorry, my wife doesn't let me date,' or 'I'm sorry, I don't think my wife would approve of where you're touching me.' Otherwise..."

"As if," he scoffed, then whisked her across the dance floor.

Buffy and Angel danced and talked, and danced and kissed, long after the music ended and the last guest had gone. Finally, when the first pale streaks of dawn shot into the sky, Buffy slid out of Angel's embrace and took him by the hand. With perfect silent communication, they moved as one to the stairs, and the bridal chamber that lay beyond.

Buffy woke up slowly, many hours later. She yawned and stretched, then snuggled deeper into the hollow of Angel's shoulder created just for her. It was, she drowsily reflected, the day after her birthday. She had no wounds to nurse, no lover to chase after, and no apocalypse on the five-day forecast to prevent. It was the most perfect day after her birthday she could imagine.

There was, however, one more thing she wanted to check in the interests of preserving this state of affairs. She reluctantly disentangled herself from her sleeping mate and padded over to the windows.

She smiled in quiet satisfaction as she touched the rough edge of a Velcro strip. It hadn't been easy to glue the strips so they wouldn't show along the length of the curtain. Finding the time to do it on her wedding day had also been a challenge, but she persevered. Even if they were leaving this place tonight, she wanted everything to be just right today.

"Hey," Angel called softly from the bed, "I thought the point was to wake up in each other's arms the morning after your birthday. I seem to be alone here." He slid over to the far edge of the bed and patted the empty space next to him.

"Don't worry. I'm coming back. I always will."

She made one final, infinitesimal adjustment to the curtains and hurried back to her impatient spouse. She knew the future awaited them on the other side of the glass. It might be scary sometimes, and they would have their share of difficulties in it. There would be laughter, and tears, and a lot of fights and a lot of making up. The past few years had taught them it couldn't be avoided or averted, so they would need to meet it head on and together.

But not quite yet.

When our two souls stand up erect and strong,
Face to face, silent, drawing nigh and nigher,
Until the lengthening wings break into fire
At either curved point, - what bitter wrong
Can the earth do to us, that we should not long
Be here contented? Think! In mounting higher,
The angels would press on us and aspire
To drop some golden orb of perfect song
Into our deep, dear silence. Let us stay
Rather on earth, Beloved, - where the unfit
Contrarious moods of men recoil away
And isolate pure spirits, and permit
A place to stand and love in for a day,
With darkness and the death-hour rounding it.

The End

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