Okay, I was trying to write the next chapter of Destination, Unknown, but since I'd just watched Angel Season Five's Life Of The Party, this came out instead. I'm not sure if I'll turn this into a longer fic, but I can see it happening. It all depends on how well it's received, so let me know if you guys like it. I think that's it, so read and enjoy! Reviews are excellent, and would make me happy. This contains spoilers for season five, so if you haven't seen it, beware.

In the middle of that God forsaken lobby, everything came rushing to the surface. Angel was running an evil lawfirm; he knew he could handle that. It was for Connor, for a life he deserved and a life that his true father (was he even a true father? Could a child born of two vampires even HAVE true parents?) couldn't give him. It was worth it, and he would have done it a thousand times over.

But when he rigidly shook the hands of all the beings he would have impaled in an instant but a year prior, it didn't feel right; it felt even less right than usual. He couldn't get out just yet, that was certain - not if he wanted to live (or, unlive) to save another life. He was in the belly of the beast, and he was getting digested. The decorations that Lorne had gone to such lengths to arrange filled him with disgust and disdain for most of the people in the room who looked upon them with light hearted ease. This was how he was changing the world for the better; with fruit punch and party hats. Some champion. Maybe Spike WAS the one. While Angel had been in L.A. setting up his new office, Spike had been saving the world for the woman they both loved.

No, that wasn't right. Buffy had asked HIM to leave, not the other way around. But when had she done what he had asked simply because he requested it? Maybe he should have just stayed and fought. Everything had turned out fine for Spike, hadn't it?

That annoying voice of logic told him very loudly that no, it hadn't turned out fine for Spike, but the guilt and shame that clung to him still refused to be shaken off.

He should have stayed. But Buffy hadn't wanted him to stay. She had wanted Spike.

With a shade of incredulity, Angel realised that he was being petty. Well, that was new.

[ ]

Lorne could almost feel the pressure in his head cracking it from the inside out. Almost. Stil, he had to keep on truckin'. No one liked a cry baby, and the show had to go on. With these and a thousand more overused cliché's doing a very bad job of consoling or motivating him, he dragged Angel over to the most important people and began the introductions.

"Angel, this is Cyrus Vail." Angel stood completely still and Lorne elbowed him in the ribs. "Angel, say hello."

"Hello," said Angel, his voice smooth with steely undertones. Lorne had to hand it to him, he knew how to mark his territory. His people skills, however, left something to be desired.

"Try to play nice with this one," Lorne instructed, making his way over to a different group of demons that he was yet to mingle with.

[ ]

"I don't care Andrew, this isn't your mission. No! I'm not planning on staying for long anyway... Yes, I know you want to see what the fuss about Angel is. Well I really couldn't care less. I don't know! Google it or something. I'm sure there's something about him somewhere. Oh, really? Just WHO exactly is the one in L.A.? Look, I have to get this Slayer; Willow said sending you would get you hurt." Buffy pinched the bridge of her nose with her index finger and thumb, willing her frustration to subside. "Hey! One of the new Slayers speaks Klingon, I know what that means!" Buffy grinned when the other end of the phone was filled with nervous stuttering. "I'll check in later. Goodbye Andrew."

Buffy sighed. It was bad enough that she had to be here, she didn't need Andrew bugging her about Angel. This was business, she just wanted to do what she had to do and get back to Scotland. Even though she knew that she was here for a reason, she still felt a little awkward about being in Angel's city again. She fully expected him to send her away like she had months earlier, and she didn't like how vulnerable that made her feel. Giles had called ahead and told Angel that he would be sending someone to deal with the rogue Slayer, but that didn't ease her tension in the slightest. He didn't know that it was Buffy, and neither had Giles. Her Watcher had insisted that they send someone else, but she knew that this was what she had to do, and eventually he had conceded with his usual parting 'be careful'.

When Giles had given Buffy a different address for Angel than the one he had lived in during his first year, she had naturally assumed that he had moved on to better things than the small (yet quaint) office she had seen during her brief visits (neither of which she recalled with any relish). When he had told her that Angel was running Wolfram and Hart, she had informed him that he must have been mistaken, because Angel would never do that. With all the things that even she had read about the firm, she knew that the money and the novelty would never suck in Angel, of all people. Her words to her friends had been, 'It just isn't an Angel-y thing to do'.

When Giles had given her enough evidence to prove what he had been telling her, she had accepted that she was wrong and apologised for several unpleasant names she had called her Watcher, but remained silently adamant that Angel had some secret incentive for taking up the head position there.

As she stood outside of the massive office building, some part of her told her to continue believing that. This was Angel she was thinking about; he just wasn't the type to take a shiny office job with an inscribed pen and Armani suit. He lived for ninety years on the blood of rodents, for God's sake!

'Who are you really arguing with?' a part of her wanted to know. No one else was around, it was true, and she already had enough facts to make what she believed would be an informed decision. There was only one thing left; she needed to see him. With practised control, Buffy stepped into the building and tried to fend off the clouds of doubt that the most logical part of her mind was casting over her first love.

[ ]

"This... This 's cer-aaazy," Fred giggled, fully inebriated. "I so am - I am so, with the drinks, um..." She clicked her fingers. "Drunk! Is what Fred is."

Wesley giggled more girlishly than she had, a few employees casting them amused glances. "Me too," he whispered conspiratorially. "So what d'you wanna do?" he asked, trying to hold his laughter at bay long enough to look serious. "Because this is like, our night off. We could do ANYTHING. We could... go to Europe."

"Why... Would we Europe? We go Europe?" Fred replied, her low alcohol tolerance making a trial of forming coherent sentences.

Wesley bit down on his fist to stop the fresh peals of giggles. "Because we... can!"

Equally amused, loud laughter burst from Fred. "I think I know what I wanna do," she said, placing her hand over his and looking expectantly.

Wesley returned her look with one of understanding, entwining their fingers. "THUMB WAR!"

"One, three, two... four, I declare a... Hey, whozat?" Fred asked, pointing. "Ih'sa fight!"

"'S'not how y'play the game, Fred. I'll show you." Wesley snorted, smug.

"No," Fred disagreed, drawing his attention to some commotion over by the door. "Ih'sa fight, Wesley!"

"S... So it is." Wesley hiccupped, then stumbled over to the source of the noise while Fred headed in the opposite direction to use the bathroom. "'Scuse... me?"

"WESLEY?"

Wesley squinted, recognising the voice. "Buffy?"

Although she was covered by a demon larger than herself, Wesley could now - even in his stupor - make out the blonde locks of his former ward.

"Hey. Little help?"

Before Wesley could attempt (and presumably fail) to resolve the debacle, security personnel had stepped in. The two of them pried the demon off of Buffy and pulled the small, blonde girl to the side. Their faces betrayed very little disbelief, and Wesley assumed that they had long ago learned not to judge by appearances. A good move, too, because the very agitated Slayer seemed to be itching to continue her beating of the demon that had skulked off and Wesley could not discern. They requested her access card and she grudgingly handed it to them.

"Wesley, hi," began Buffy in a very businesslike manner, as though she had not been pulverising one of his clients not half a minute ago. She deposited her access card once again when it was handed back to her mid-greeting. "Party?"

Wesley was determined to be serious, but the point of the matter was that he was still very drunk. "It uh... Yes." Before the two could engage in what would have undoubtedly been a very muddled conversation, the security personnel that had released Buffy approached her.

"Miss?" the first guard said, making no physical contact. He was obviously wary of receiving the same punishment as the demon they had pried off of her; the small blonde being comparatively unscathed. This surprised Wesley, for they had willingly manhandled much more threatening-looking demons. "The sir you were... talking to, informs us that you assaulted him."

Buffy crossed her arms and scowled at them. "Did the 'sir' you were talking to also tell you about the comments he made? Technically, he asked me to do half of those things."

The guards looked unimpressed. "We'll still have to escort you out of the building, at our clients' request."

Buffy shot Wesley a pleading look. "Wait a... Minute," he interrupted, wagging his finger at them with little co-ordination. "Sh-she's a friend."

The taller of the two guards – the one who had been doing all the talking, surveyed Wesley grimly. He was quite obviously in no state to be the judge of anything, especially not the presence of a possible psychotic who was much stronger than she looked. Still; drunk or not, he was still their superior, making the guard much more patient than they would have been in any other situation.

"I think we should check with the boss first." The quieter guard was reminiscent of the days when 'checking with the boss' meant introducing the offending party to the sharp side of his sword, but the nostalgia he felt was not strong enough that he would go against his orders. Obligingly, he wrapped his fingers around the girl and her surprisingly solid muscles.

"Hey!" Buffy exclaimed and tore her arm away from the guard, who stepped back and anticipated her blows, which did not come. "Hands off!"

The guard grunted, but did not attempt to grab her again. Buffy moved forward, satisfied. "Okay, take me to your leader," she said, intoning her voice to sound slightly odd. The guards, who hadn't watched a movie for a very long time, failed to grasp her reference. "Fine." She sighed, sorry her wit had been wasted. "Let's go CEO."

The guards glanced at each other, and then the still incapacitated Wesley. "Do you know where he is?" the tall man asked.

[ ]

A small crowd had gathered when a fight had broken out, but when it had been cut short the conglomerate promptly dispersed. Wesley and Fred aside, no one of importance had noticed it and the party was back in full swing with the troublemaking Slayer all but forgotten in the corner.

"You take that way," the taller guard, who had introduced himself to Wesley as John (a name Wesley suspected was fake) pointed towards the elevator and directed the guard towards the left side of the party. He took the right side himself, scouring the area for their boss. The guard prayed that this was resolved soon, because his favourite song had begun to play.

[ ]

"This is our head of the Entertainment department, Lorne," John introduced when they had failed to find Angel several minutes later. "He reads you when you sing."

"I'm gettin' a pretty good vibe from here," the green demon said with a welcoming grin, shaking Buffy's hand. Although he was strange looking and overly eccentric, nothing about Lorne told Buffy to reach for the stake tucked in her belt (or the back up in her growingly uncomfortable knee high boots), and she allowed him to kiss her on the cheek. "What's she in the Principals' office for?"

John pointed to a disgruntled client bordering on the dance floor, nursing a swollen purple eye. Whether or not the purple was inflicted or his natural colour Buffy couldn't tell, but the swelling put her in a much better mood.

Lorne whistled. "Wow, good job Princess. What'd you do? Smack him over the head with a desk? You're lucky he's only an employee, not a party guest."

Buffy sheepishly lifted her moderately pink fist indicatively. "Just introduced him to a few friends. I'm here about a rogue Slayer?"

"Ah. You must be a Slayer yourself, huh? Either that, or I've seriously underestimated the human race." Lorne examined Buffy closely; so closely that she almost took a step back, nervous under his intimidating observation. What she didn't realise was that Lorne was trying to place her face. "Angel! That's how I know you. You're in Angel!"

"I'm w… what?" Buffy stammered, wondering if the demon was not so sane after all.

Lorne laughed and brushed the comment aside. "I mean, I saw you when I read him. That's how I knew your cute little mug. Wanna gimme a tune, sugarplum?"

"Uh… Okay," she replied hesitantly. She wondered if Andrew was better suited for this. She didn't doubt that he would have busted out some sort of cheesy song and gotten right down to business, and now here she was; stricken by stage fright. "I… Wild horses… Couldn't drag me away," she sang, smiling as memories flooded her and surprised that the song had floated into her head. "Wi-ild horses, couldn't drag me away."

"Me neither," Lorne said, raising a single finger to stop her singing, but seeming satisfied. "As much as I'd love to stay for the whole show, the intermission happens to be there for a reason. We've got a lot to do, and not enough time to do it. I'd be more specific, but I need to get back to our little shindig." Lorne led her towards a meeting room and waved his hand in the direction of the seat, which she took. "Hope you're in the mood for Angel-pie," he mumbled. The girl, although incredibly interesting, had the worst timing Lorne had ever seen. Actually, he scratched that; Slayers had the worst timing he had ever seen.

[ ]

Angel had been pleasant; even Lorne had said that he was impressed, but when he saw one of his less heartbeat-oriented employees tried to slip blood into the punch, Angel handed him over to security and made his way upstairs to his apartment and some quality thinking time. He had even managed to escape Eve's presence, not caring much for her compliments on his handling of the Archduke Sebassis.

Unexpectedly, the elevator button lit up to show that it was on the rise, jerking him from his reverie. Seconds later, the button dinged and Lorne exited it, looking even tenser than he had before.

"I was about to get back down there," Angel lied, blindly reaching for the closest item to him. "I was just coming up here for…" he glanced down and saw what he had picked up. "A sock. One of my socks had a hole in it."

It was obvious that Lorne didn't believe him, and he didn't look impressed. "Sure it did, Angelcakes. You got someone waiting for you downstairs, something about a rogue Slayer. Try to be quick, we need you out on the dance floor."

This grabbed Angels' attention immediately; Giles wasn't supposed to send someone for days. He wondered who it was – probably a new Watcher. Had Giles gathered new Watchers yet? No, he dismissed; they'd need strength… Unless of course they assumed that Angel would be enough. He did run Wolfram and Hart; firepower wasn't actually a problem. Wait, dance floor?

"Pretty bad timing, huh?" he said, not feeling particularly sorry that he would miss out on a chance to embarrass himself.

Lorne grimaced in agreement. "Somethin' like that."

[ ]

Buffy, against all of her instincts, did what the green demon told her to and sat in the chair. She fully intended to stay where she was until Angel appeared to usher her out of his hotel and his city, when a grey horned demon with multiple followers and a cloak began screaming. Wesley had tried to diffuse the situation, but in his drunken state was of little good and managed to anger him further.

The Slayer decided that this was her kind of party, and made her way onto the dance floor. She manoeuvred through the conga line and ignored the annoyed grunts as she pushed people aside. Facing the demon, whom everyone else was gawking at wordlessly, she said, "What's the sitch?"

The demon didn't seem to take kindly to being asked this. "The nerve! The raw nerve! To lay a hand on one of mine!"

Buffy became more aware of her periphery than she had been before, and as such spotted the weapons being pointed in her direction. "Lower your weapons. These are innocents." Her voice faltered on the word; mostly because she didn't believe it, but partly because as soon as she said it the closest one drew closer.

"Artode was murdered. I imagine we were to be next. And still you tell me to lower my weapons?" Buffy looked at him with confusion. She honestly had no idea who Artode was, or why he was dead. Then again, if he went around pointing guns at everyone he met, she could guess. "These darts are poisoned. They are strong enough to kill a human in a heartbeat. Less. Fetch me Angel, I've no use for you. I came here out of courtesy, and yet you have the hide to challenge the Archduke Sebassis?!"

Buffy crossed her arms. She had no idea why she hadn't just backed away. She wouldn't mourn if these demons were killed, and from what she had heard it would probably benefit the world more if all of the people in the room died. Still, she held her ground. "Someone get Angel!" she yelled to the room, keeping her eyes locked on those of the Archduke. "Listen, we didn't try to kill you."

"In there!" a human employee yelled, pointing to the Angel's office. Buffy and Archduke Sebassis simultaneously barged through the doors, met with Angel and Lorne. She didn't need her Slayer senses to know that all Hell was about to break loose.