Reunion

Cordelia hummed as she strolled in front of Wesley, clutching a small bundle of letters to her chest.

"Wesssleeeyy, when did you do apply to grad school," she taunted as she dangled the top envelope. Wesley frowned in bewilderment before snatching the letter out of her hand. Cordelia placed the rest of the mail beside the computer, sat down and grinned, waiting for his answer.

"Hey, Angel. Wesley got a letter from Cambridge." Angel looked at Wesley, then at Cordelia, but did not respond. "You know . . . the university."

"I'm more than familiar with Cambridge, Cordelia. However, Wesley's mail is not my business." He sat on the edge of the desk, leaned toward Cordelia and held out his hand, palm up. "Can I please have my business?"

She looked down at his hand, then pointed to the stack of envelopes. "For you just bills, no letters." When Angel picked up his mail, she turned back to Wesley. "So, Wes, who at Cambridge admits knowing you?"

"Cordelia, leave him alone and let him read his mail," Angel groaned as he flipped through the bundle. "This one’s for you."

"No, it says ‘resident’. That’s you. I’m ‘householder’. Wesley’s ‘occupant’."

Oblivious to their playful bantering, Wesley walked to the window and ran shaking fingers over the handwriting on the envelope. Seeing his trepidation, Cordelia suddenly stopped teasing and tugged on Angel’s sleeve. They both watched as Wesley took a deep breath and opened the envelope, pulling out and unfolding the off-white stationery.

"Good news?" Angel asked to pacify Cordelia's irrepressible curiosity as well as his own growing concern.

Wesley answered, his eyes never leaving the paper. "Dr. Wentworth is moving to Los Angeles to take up a rather prestigious appointment and would like to meet. Visiting family first, though."

"And why would this rather prestigious person want to meet with you?" Cordelia asked.

Wesley refolded the letter and put it in his breast pocket. "We were best friends."

"Were?" Angel asked.

Wesley answered with a slight, sad nod. "With our last names and all, we matriculated together, had the same tutes …" He noticed Cordelia’s bewildered expression. "We went to university together."

"Right. So, when does he arrive?" Cordelia asked.

Wesley paused and stared at her, momentarily confused by her assumption. "Lydia is most assuredly not a he. And she arrives just before the next term."

"Lydia? Go, Wes." Angel cast a disapproving grimace in Cordelia's direction, which she dutifully ignored. "Is this Lydia of yours on the Watchers’ Council?"

"No, she’s an paleographer specializing in late medieval religious tracts and incunabula." Wesley returned to absently gaze out the window. "It'll be nice to see her again," he said in a soft, barely audible whisper.

Angel frowned as he went over and filled two mugs with coffee. He held up the pot for Cordelia to see, but she shook her head. Wesley's strained nonchalance to the letter was puzzling him. Not that Wesley spoke much about his private life, but if he and this woman had been best friends since their first day at university, why hadn't he mentioned, or even hinted about her before now? What happened for him to be so hesitant about her arrival?

Cordelia interrupted Angel's thoughts. "Shouldn't you be excited or something? Angel's emoting more than you."

"I am excited, Cordelia. It's just…well… it has been a terribly long time." Wesley briefly looked toward Angel's direction. "Things have happened, changed."

"When did you see her last?" Angel asked, handing Wesley a cup of coffee and attempting to make eye contact. Wesley kept his eyes cast downward.

"Thank you." He frowned at the coffee. "Lydia accepted the position at Cambridge before I was assigned my duties in Sunnydale. She had to go back to Ireland for her youngest brother's wedding then –"

"She's Irish?" Cordelia smiled, as she fished for more information on Wesley’s friend.

"Funnily enough, yes. Old, established money. She has issues with it." Glancing at Angel, he quickly added, "Not Ireland, the money."

"Ooo, Irish and money. Next question. Does she have any more brothers?" Cordelia asked, gleefully rubbing her hands together. Angel choked on his coffee. "God, Angel. Drink much lately?"

Wesley walked past the desk to put his cup down. "Actually, three older brothers and a younger sister. The brothers are all married though, sorry."

"Oh, darn. Cousins?" Angel looked angrily at Cordelia and mouthed a "stop!"

"I don't know." Wesley turned around and leaned against the table. "I'll ask her when she gets here."

Cordelia frowned at Wesley's refusal to rise to the bait. "Tsk, I'm just teasing."

"I know," Wesley replied softly and stared into space.

"So, what does she look like? How will we know it's your Lydia?"

"Well, her eyes are dark green. That much I remember clearly. She's tall and always wears her hair pulled back. It's more or less brown." He paused for a second and stared ahead. "Come to think of it, …"

"Never mind, Wesley, we'll know her." Angel stood in front of Cordelia, hands on the desk, his face inches from hers. "And Cordelia will behave. Won't you?"

"At least I won't bite."

"Perhaps I should do some preliminary apartment hunting for her. Do we have a realtor's number?"

"Of course." Cordelia wrote a number on a pink message pad and handed him the slip of paper. "If you're apartment hunting for her, are you sure you're just good friends? Not hiding anything from us are you?"

"Just good friends, thank you." Wesley shook his head as he put the paper in his breast pocket with the letter. "Best to be forewarned: she really is a most peculiar creature."

-2-

Engrossed in her reading, Cordelia did not hear the door as it opened and a tall woman with shoulder length auburn hair walked in. Dressed in a charcoal gray skirt and lavender silk blouse, the skirt's matching jacket draped over her arm, the woman studied her surroundings as she quietly stepped over the threshold. Cordelia stood up to return her magazine to the end table, only then noticing the visitor.

"Whoa, you startled me. Can I help you?"

"I'm looking for Mr. Wyndham-Price."

"You must be Wesley's friend. We've been expecting you." Cordelia came from behind the desk to introduce herself, quickly taking in Lydia's appearance and making a mental note of the designers' labels on her jacket and briefcase. From the looks of things, David Nabbitt had financial competition. "I'm Cordelia Chase."

The woman put down her briefcase and shook Cordelia’s outstretched hand. "Lydia Wentworth. It's a pleasure to meet you. Is –"

"Just called. He was looking at an apartment for you and got stuck in traffic. But he'll be here soon. Have a seat. Would you like some coffee or tea while you wait?"

"Coffee would be splendid, thank you." Lydia sat in one of the chairs, placing her briefcase to her side.

"When did you arrive in LA?" Cordelia asked as she poured the coffee.

"About six hours ago. I had to deliver a parcel first."

"Sugar? Milk?"

"Milk, thank you."

Cordelia stood in front of Lydia, fidgeting for something to say during the silence which quickly grew to be overbearing. "Wesley thought you had brown hair, not Samantha Edgar-y. And he said you always wore it back."

"I do pull it back for work." She looked up and tried to think of an answer to ease the other woman’s obvious discomfort. "I sincerely doubt Wesley remembers my real hair color. Knowing him, he probably only remembers the time it was green."

Cordelia raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Green?"

"Yes, for Saint Patrick's Day, I think." Lydia laughed. "Wesley tried so hard to hide his shock and disapproval by claiming the green matched my eyes. It was actually much, much brighter. After that, I stuck to normal over-the-counter colors. But I experimented with almost all of them, except platinum."

Cordelia tried to picture the polished, elegant woman sitting in front of her with green hair – and with Wesley? She had imagined Wesley's friend to be reclusive and awkward, like Willow had been in high school. No wonder Wesley remembered Lydia’s eye color but seemed confused about her hair. "But you look so, well… you know, conservative."

"Me, conservative? Hmm, that’s a new one."

"So, I take it Wesley was normal when he was young?"

"Young?" Lydia shook her head. "No, Wesley was born with an old soul, quiet and reticent. Normal? Painfully so." Lydia put her cup down on the table. Softly she added, "But always a good friend."

"Hey, Cordelia? Did you finally remember where you put that case file?" Angel stopped as he entered and saw their guest. "I'm sorry." He smiled warmly. "You must be Dr. Wentworth. I'm Angel."

Lydia stood up to shake his hand. As their hands came into contact Lydia started and looked into Angel's eyes. She hastily recovered her composure and took her hand from his. "Angel? Your enterprise I take it?" she said coldly, subjecting Angel's face to an intense inspection.

Angel furrowed his brow in confusion. "Yes. Wesley is my …"

"Hello, Lydia." Lydia disengaged her glare and spun around, breaking into a radiant smile.

"Wesley!"

"…associate," Angel finished.

Wesley scanned his friends' faces, bracing himself for the inevitable clash of his old life with the new. He knew Angel would sense the hesitancy in his actions, but more concerned that Lydia shouldn't, he smiled too quickly and approached her with open arms. Lydia walked into them eagerly and hugged her friend, choosing to ignore his unease. Engulfed in her embrace, Wesley closed his eyes and slowly but gladly returned the warmth. After a few moments, she backed up and held his face in her hands, recording the changes in his features. Wesley kept his hands on her waist and allowed her the close scrutiny.

"You stopped writing," she said softly but matter-of-factly.

"I…" Unable to find the words to explain, he sighed and added, "I’m sorry."

"I saw him, you know," Lydia whispered, knowing he'd understand.

Wesley nodded, then kissed her gently on the forehead. He turned her around, keeping his hand at the small of her back, and led her to meet his new friends. "You've undoubtedly met Cordelia. She's been quite keen to meet you." At their mutual smiles, he continued, "As has Angel." Lydia's back straightened and tension erased her smile. "Angel's my boss, Lydia."

"Yes, we introduced ourselves just before you came in." She linked her arm with Wesley's. "You know, I am absolutely famished. If you're all free, could I invite you to tea?"

"Oh that would be –" Angel glared at her, squinting, jaws clinched in a warning. "Wait, I just remembered we have …"

"An appointment with a client," Angel supplied.

"With a client," Cordelia echoed.

"But you go on and we'll fill you in later," Angel said, nodding to Wesley.

Lydia turned to Wesley. "Is that all right?"

"Indeed it is." He picked up her jacket and held it up for her to put on. "Do you still like Chinese?"

"Not when you cook it." Lydia slipped into the jacket. "Good evening, Cordelia. Angel. It was a privilege to meet you, finally." Lydia picked up her briefcase and went toward the door.

"Oi! I am a great cook. You said so yourself, on many an occasion." Wesley opened the door for her.

"That was only when bangers and mash was being served in College. Your version of Chinese is the lesser of two evils," Lydia retorted as he took her briefcase. Wesley glanced back into the room before he closed the door behind them.

Angel turned to Cordelia. "She seemed nice."

Cordelia shook her head. "No, I saw it, too. Why do you think she reacted like that? ‘It was a privilege to meet you, finally’? And Wesley, what's with him?"

"I have no idea."

-3-

"You have a really nice flat, Wesley. Are you sure I'm not putting you out?" Lydia turned away from the picture she was examining. "I can stay at a hotel. Be honest."

"Don't be ridiculous. I invited you, didn't I? Here's your coffee. Now, do be a good girl and sit down."

"Yes, Mr. Wyndham-Price, sir." Lydia sat down on the couch. "Do you remember the little Chinese restaurant across from Brown's? It was your favorite. That's where I got the food I told you I cooked to celebrate my appointment. Not quite as good as tonight's, though. Thank you, again."

"I seem to remember that it tasted suspiciously edible." At Lydia's exaggerated gasp, Wesley laughed and hugged her. "I missed you, Lydia. A lot."

Lydia took a deep breath as tears filled her eyes. After her trip home, he had simply stopped writing and all her letters had been returned unopened. No forwarding address, no explanation. "It hurt me deeply that you didn't write after I left. I couldn't fathom what I had done to offend you. And then I find out you just disappeared."

Wesley kissed the top of her head. "I truly am sorry."

Lydia tried desperately to get the tears to stop, wiping them away as quickly as they fell. "You rotten bugger, I had to contact people with whom I'd rather not associate in order to track you down."

"So, how did you find me? And when?"

"I went to Council headquarters earlier this year." Wesley’s brows creased in confusion. "Don't you remember? After you told me about the Council, we drove past the manor and you said 'Therein lies the world's hope for the future, and I am to be a part of it.'" Wesley smiled wryly at the memory and nodded. "Well, I went back. Told some Travers bloke that our daughter had been killed and the highly suspicious circumstances meant that you needed to be personally informed."

Wesley laughed. "How ever did you substantiate such a fabrication?" Suddenly he stopped laughing. "Wait. It is a fabrication, isn't it? You… before you left … we…"

Lydia snorted. "Of course, you twit. Seriously, Wesley! I cried, and since they're of the 'old boy's school', female tears reduce them to pond sludge. I gave him really gruesome details, you know, as in John Carpenter/Wes Craven gruesome. Plus, I had Mike do a mock-up of an obit from the local newspaper."

"Mike? How is he? Still In Dublin?"

"Three kids now. Wesley, you're evading. Why didn’t you write?"

Wesley focused on the coffee table rather than Lydia. "I couldn't. It was part of my assignment."

"But you failed to write your family as well. I told you –"

"I don’t want to talk about that. Please, Lydia. For now, just us."

Lydia curled her feet up under her. "Go on, then. Where did you go after I left?"

"I was given a rather serious assignment with the Slayer, and, well, it was always possible I wouldn't survive."

"Slayer? As in the 'vampire slayer' you blathered on and on about in Oxford? Hang about, the Slayer's always a girl, right?" Lydia's eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Cut it out. It was dangerous, not fun and games." He paused and looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Although I did go to a prom."

"Isn't a prom like a ball?" Lydia playfully smacked him on the arm while he tried to dodge the blows. "You pig, you never took me to a ball!" He grabbed on to her hand for safety's sake. "Seriously though, since they sent you to the Slayer, that means that the Council thought highly of you, correct?"

"I suppose," he answered with a shrug. "It was rough at first, but the worst was when both Slayers left Council. One had already had a run-in before I was assigned, but my charge went completely renegade. I continued to botch things up royally after that, so they dismissed me."

"Thank God."

Wesley's eyes opened wide in surprise as he let go of Lydia's hand. "What?!"

"You wouldn't have left if they hadn't. I hated how you changed after you joined them. You were a genuinely sweet person, but then you became a right royal, pompous prick. So, what happened after they fired you?"

He relaxed and closed his eyes. "I… ah… traveled a lot. Saw the world –"

"Wesley."

"Okay, don't laugh." He opened his eyes to judge her reaction. "I became a rogue demon hunter."

"Now, why would I laugh?"

"Well, Cordelia and Angel did and I knew them before the Council made me redundant. Long story." Wesley sighed. "Lydia, I’m indebted to Angel. He gave me a job when I needed it. Not suited for much else, I’m afraid."

"Did I say something?"

"No, but your body language in the office was tense and very much unlike how I remember you. What do you know?"

"What should I know?" Wesley lifted her chin, forcing her to look at him square in the eyes. "Fine. Wesley, do you trust Angel?"

"He’s my friend, Lydia. Tell me what you've heard about him and, since it's most likely erroneous, I'll correct you."

"Cor, listen to your tone." Lydia raised her arm and began to wave her hand. "'Excuse me, Mr. Wyndham-Price, sir, I have a question about vampires.' Right?" Wesley blinked, but did not answer. "Thought so. First, he’s bloody pale. Sorry, bad pun. But, honestly. This is California – land of surf, sand, and sunshine – and he looks like a snow sculpture. Next, his touch is barely room temperature. And don't forget where I hail from, so I've heard about Angelus the vampire. That is him, isn’t it?" Wesley nodded. "Then why are you with him?" She wagged her finger under his nose. "Wesley Wyndham-Price, don't make me worry about you."

Wesley grabbed her finger and smiled. "Make you worry? Please! No one makes you do anything. God knows, I tried several times. Okay, let me get us some sherry and I'll explain. It's all rather reminiscent of a Victorian gothic. Your favorite, non-illuminated material if I recall correctly. Or would you prefer brandy?"

-4-

Lydia had taken the week since Wesley explained about Angel and the curse to plan what she was going to say. Now she stood in the doorway to his office, watching as Angel sat at his desk, hunched over and engrossed in a book she estimated to be from the turn of the nineteenth century at the latest. He kept furrowing his brow as he frowned and turned the pages. Whatever he was searching for, it was definitely eluding him.

"Angel, may I come in?"

Startled, Angel looked up from his book. He glanced around the room nervously, then scooted his chair back and stood up. "Dr. Wentworth. Of course, please. I didn't hear you come in. I was reading."

"Yes, I noticed. My name's Lydia, by the way. Dr. Wentworth is my eldest brother."

Angel moved to the side of his desk. "Wesley's not here. He and Cordelia went to check on something for a case."

Lydia nodded. "We all had lunch together. Actually, I came to speak to you."

Angel extended his hand to offer her a nearby chair. Lydia's eyes followed the direction of his hand then boomeranged back to his face. "I know who you are."

"Excuse me?"

"You've lost your accent. It's been a long time since you've been home though, hasn't it?" Lydia went to investigate the books in the bookcase. She bent down to examine one more closely, pulled it off the shelf and opened it. She kept her back to Angel as she thumbed through the yellowed and worn pages. "You know, about two kilometers from my parents' house are the remains of a village. Not an uncommon sight in Ireland, given its long settlement history. But this village is special – it's haunted. When I was little, we thought it great sport to cycle to the ruins and dare someone to stay there until dark. My brothers left my sister and me behind once. Mary swears to this day that she heard a banshee."

Angel leaned against his desk. "Dr. Wentworth… Lydia, –"

She spun around. "Children are still threatened with a visit from you. 'Behave or Angelus will come for you.' Our very own Dracula."

Angel looked at the book in her hand and then raised his eyes to her face. "That was a long time ago."

"Mmm."

"Things have changed. I've…" At her unbelieving glare, Angel dropped his line of argument. "Does Wesley know?"

"That I know about you?" Angel nodded. Lydia continued, "Oh, yes, immediately. He's intuitive that way. Although, he does not know that I'm here now and I'd prefer to keep it thus." Lydia put the book down and went to stand in front of Angel. "Look, I do not trust you, but Wesley does. Therefore, for his sake if no other reason, I will make a valiant attempt to change my position on this matter. However, I am apologizing in advance if I am unable to overcome generations of acculturated fear and loathing. I thought I should make that explicit from the onset."

"I understand," Angel said to Lydia's withdrawing figure.

-5-

Angel glanced up at the knock on his office door. "Wesley. Something wrong?"

Wesley entered the office and closed the door. He looked at Angel behind his desk, then took a seat. "Angel, about Lydia."

Angel had been waiting for this conversation since Lydia's visit the week before. The two old friends had been spending a lot of time together and Wesley's reticence had changed to a genuine happiness that she was here. Angel knew, and understood, why Lydia didn't like him but he didn't want to stand between them. Now Wesley sat in front of him, uncomfortable about something, hesitant yet eager to discuss whatever it was. "She seems nice."

Wesley stood up and began to pace the room. Angel leaned back in his chair and waited for him to continue. "She is, but she can be unabashedly blunt at times."

"I know." Wesley stopped in mid-stride and looked over at Angel. "I mean –"

Wesley sighed. "She was here and told you not to tell me." At Angel's nod, his temper flared. "I knew it. Silly cow! She can be so bloody pigheaded!" he yelled, unaware of Angel's surprised reaction to the unusual outburst. "Angel, if she said anything to of–"

"Wesley, Lydia came to the office a week ago. She made it very clear she knew about Angelus and how she feels about vampires, but she didn't offend me. Not at all."

Wesley calmed down and returned to the chair. "She sensed it from the beginning, Angel. I don't know how, but she did. I explained your rather unique situation. I thought she understood."

"I think she's trying to."

"I imagine she is at that. She'll make a valiant attempt, for my sake, if no other reason."

Angel smiled at the similarity in their wording. "She's a good friend to have in your corner."

Wesley took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "She always was in my corner. Even when others who should have been weren't."

Angel peeked into the other room as Cordelia went to answer the phone. When he returned to focus on the conversation, Wesley had put his glasses back on but was staring at the floor. "I hated having to keep things from her. I used to be able to tell her anything." He chuckled. "And I did, sometimes too much. I even told her about the Council."

"What's the problem, then? You're both here now and can talk things out."

"We've begun to do that. I just don't want this to –"

Cordelia came into the room. "Hey guys. That was Lydia." She turned to Wesley. "You didn't say you found her a place two weeks ago. Anyway, we're invited to dinner at her new apartment on Tuesday. I accepted for all of us."

"Cordelia, I think it best that I not go."

Wesley looked at him. "Angel, Lydia would be terribly hurt. Entertaining is a family obligation in which she has never enjoyed participating. When she does extend an invitation, it's heartfelt. And as you said, she's trying."

"Right, good. Since Angel's driving. I just hope you found her a nice place, Wesley."

"I just hope she orders in," Wesley groaned.

-6-

Cordelia stepped into the apartment and walked around, stopping to look out of the picture window. "Oh, wow! This is…wow. Isn't it, Angel?"

"Yes, it's wow, Cordelia. Very nice, Lydia." Angel awkwardly handed her a bottle of wine.

"Thank you. Wesley's in the kitchen getting drinks and critiquing my cooking. Would you like a tour?" Cordelia nodded excitedly. "Right then, this should give Wesley enough time to figure out the corkscrew. If you would follow me, please. To our right, we have the hallway. …"

Angel started to follow the women, but was drawn to a large photograph hanging over the mantel. The right half of the captured scene was dominated by a stone manor house, surrounded by manicured gardens in the front and pastures – complete with grazing sheep – to the rear. A thatched cottage, almost overwhelmed by its own garden, joined the masonry fence to the left of the main property. Another fractionally smaller farmhouse took up the upper western quarter of the photo and was separated from the first farm by a creek, which tumbled on its way to the village in the lower corner. Centered in the frame, an electric dairy truck stood frozen on the way home from its morning deliveries.

Wesley entered the dining room in an effort to call everyone in for dinner, but stopped and quietly observed Angel’s reactions to the panorama. Lost in thought, Angel didn't notice him or hear Lydia and Cordelia return.

"Are you all right, Angel?"

Angel turned around. "I'm fine, Cordelia. I'm sorry I missed the tour. Did you take this photograph, Lydia?"

"Me? Heavens, no. My brother Mike is a photographic journalist. This is one of his favorites. It's an aerial of where we grew up."

Cordelia moved to examine the photograph more closely. "So, where’s your house?"

Lydia smiled at Wesley before answering. She pointed to the stone manor in the right half of the photo and then drew a circle around the surrounding land. "That's our farmhouse."

"Farmhouse? She calls that a farmhouse. I could so live in a house with manicured gardens. Do you have servants?"

Lydia laughed. "No. But the groundskeeper and his wife live in the cottage."

"Angel, they have a groundskeeper." He nodded perfunctorily at Cordelia's amazement.

"Angel?" Lydia gently placed her hand on Angel's arm. Angel looked at her, then returned to the photograph as she directed his gaze to the upper corner of the photograph, to the right of where she had drawn the circle. There a small dirt path crossed a stone fence and ended abruptly at a set of ruined, stone buildings. "At the end of the right-of-way is the southwest corner of that village I mentioned to you."

"Excuse me, but am I the only one daring to eat?" Wesley asked. "I have been assured that it is edible. Palatable, I cannot guarantee."

"Wesley, you are such a prat. Remind me why we are still friends?" Lydia teased, watching Angel as he silently examined the archaeological remains.

"Because I know how you got into the Radcliffe Camera after closing, what you were doing there, and with whom," Wesley answered from the dining room.

"Oh, right. Oops. The follies of youth." Lydia winked conspiratorially at Angel as she led him to the dining room. "But we had fun, eh, Wesley?"

-7-

"Yes. Thank you."

"For what?" Lydia put soap powder in the dishwasher and closed the door.

"Including Angel. That meant a lot to me." Wesley turned the taps on to fill the sink. "Give me some steel wool for the pots. I might be able to salvage one or two."

Lydia opened the cupboard beneath the sink and threw a steel wool pad into the soapy water. "Why wouldn’t I include him? He is your friend, right?"

"He was very uncomfortable about coming here tonight."

"But he did accept the invitation and everything went well. He's okay, for someone technically past his use-by date." She opened a drawer and took out a dishtowel. "I showed him the corner."

"I noticed. Did he say anything to you?"

"Nothing, absolutely nothing. But you could tell he misses Ireland, poor sod." Wesley glimpsed at Lydia and smiled to himself. Lydia sighed. "You know, he really needs to get laid on a regular basis."

"Lydia!"

"Well, he does. You told me about the curse and all that demon prattle, but if he were alive, he would explode. Maybe he should take matters into his own hands."

"Change the subject, Lydia."

"Yeah, all right. What's with you and Cordelia?"

"Friends."

"Bollocks. I've heard that one before. So, do something. She's gorgeous."

"So are you."

"Yeah, but I fed you so you have to say that."

"No, Lydia, we're just friends."

"Good."

Wesley winced as he slowly caught the drift of the conversation. Fingers still in the soapy water, he leaned against the sink and hung his head. "Oh. dear. God."

"There's this woman, Elisabeth, who works with me. She’s absolutely lovely, brilliant and all. She'd be perfect for you."

"I was wondering how long it would take you."

"Oh come on. She's single, twenty-five, Masters from Stanford."

"No."

"Now, Wesley."

"I said no."

"Good. I told her you'd meet her for Sunday brunch at this really nice place near the university."

"Well, you’ll just have to speak to her –"

"Nah-uh."

"Why not?"

"Already told her you said you'd love to."

"I can't go."

"Why not?"

"I just found out that my daughter died under highly suspicious circumstances. I'm still grieving."

***********************

-8-

"Good evening, Angel."

Angel stood up. "Lydia. Sorry, lost in thought. Oh, about dinner, thanks again."

"It was my pleasure. You're quite the bookworm."

"Research, since Wesley took the night off."

"Oh, I know. He's on a date."

"A date?" Angel's eyes twinkled at the news.

"Why is that so surprising?" Angel shrugged. "I set him up with a colleague of mine from the university. He was very reluctant at first, mind you, but this is their third date. You mean he hasn't mentioned Elisabeth?"

Angel shook his head. "Not that I recall."

"Hmmm. Interesting. He won't stop talking about her around me. Makes me absolutely bilious."

"I was under the impression that you and Wesley were –"

"Oho no, no, no." Lydia put her hand to her mouth to stop the derisive snort that was rising to the surface. "We tried at the end of our third year of College but couldn't cope with both a relationship and our honors work at the time. Studies won. Then he turned terribly taciturn and aloof." Angel quirked his eyebrows as Lydia began to wander around the office, looking at the books again. "Sooo, one night I set out to find out why. I got him really pissed, took him to my room, seduced him and …" She turned around at an odd noise. " What?"

"I just…I'm sorry…the idea of Wesley…drunk and…" Angel rubbed his face with his hands in a desperate attempt to keep from laughing.

"What? He does have rather annoyingly high morals, but he has his melting point. Everyone does. Anyway, he told me all about the friggin' Watchers' Council that night."

Angel leaned against the desk, trying to regain his composure. "Ahem, Lydia. Why the visit?"

"I wanted to thank you."

"For?"

"Wesley."

"I don't understand."

"He told me why he stopped writing. Sunnydale. Getting fired from that damned Council. How you gave him a job when he came here, despite what you felt."

"He's a very capable person."

"He doesn’t always think so."

"No. No, he doesn't."

Lydia moved to the back of the desk and looked through the book Angel had been reading. "Wesley was an absolutely brilliant student. Firsts all the way, never anything less. Such a patient and talented tutor with the freshers. You know, I finished my DPhil because he helped me with some of the more obscure texts. But he always doubted his abilities, deeply and painfully, even when events should have demonstrated otherwise." Lydia sighed. "It's a long story."

"I know about his father." Angel kept his gaze forward as Lydia circled the desk.

"Yes, I heard about the Ethros demon and that, er, boy." Lydia stood in front of him. "Angel, you know some of the story, but only some. At any rate, you have encouraged him to regain a self-confidence that few have been privileged to see. That only happens with friendship, patience, and respect."

"But I –"

"Just accept the compliment." She looked at him and laughed. "Nod and accept it gracefully."

Angel smiled and nodded.

"There's a good chap. That wasn't so hard, now was it? And look, I overcame that indoctrinated bigotry after all. Bully for us." Lydia sat next to Angel and suddenly giggled. "I hope he scores tonight. He's been wound up tighter than a spring lately. Oh, sorry. I know about the curse, so that was a tad insensitive."

"No, it's fine." Angel cleared his throat. "I just wasn't expecting you to be so blunt."

"About Wesley? Ha, it’s nothing compared to what we say about you." At Angel's worried expression, she laughed again. "Crikey, you are uptight, aren't you? Angel, I told you before, Wesley has only the utmost admiration and respect for you. But you should hear what he said about, oh, what was her name?"

"Buffy?"

"Huh? Oh no, not the Slayer. Someone else. But he did tell me that when you and the Slayer did your cucumba-rhumba your world literally turned inside out." Lydia grinned mischievously, then pasted a look of mock concern on her face. "Sorry, are you choking? Do your boots need a polish? Is the light too bright?"

Angel frowned. "I'm just wondering how I got the impression your behavior was a bit more refined. This is a bit of a shock."

"HA! This is refined. You should hear my brothers talk, and one of them is an internationally respected oncologist." Lydia put her hand on his arm and straightened her posture. Suddenly, her accent softened, the lilt disappeared and her voice took on a deeper, haughty tone. "Would you prefer I revert to my public persona? That's the one you and Cordelia first experienced. She thinks I'm terribly conservative, you know."

"Don't you like Cordelia?"

Lydia smiled brightly and went back to her normal speaking voice. "Oh heavens, yes. She reminds me of my brother Mike’s wife and I absolutely adore her."

Angel shook his head. "Lydia?"

"Right, you have research to do and evil to vanquish. Look, I actually came not only to thank you, but to also offer you help if and when you need it. Wesley claims I have a microchip instead of a brain and archaic religious texts like the one on your desk are right up my alley."

"Thank you. I’ll keep that in mind."

Much to Angel’s surprise, Lydia kissed him on the cheek. As she was leaving the office, she suddenly turned around and grinned. "Oh, Angel. One more thing?"

"Yes?"

"You really should ask Wesley about his daughter." She closed the door and left Angel to consider her last statement.

Angel's head snapped up. "What do you mean, daughter? Wesley has a daughter? Lydia, wait!"