The Quiet Month
653 Words
The truce felt strange. Like the quiet before a storm nobody knew was coming. For the first week, Angel jumped at every phone ring. He watched his friends too closely. But nothing happened. No demon attacks. No legal tricks. No marked vampires.
Wolfram & Hart was keeping its word.
Angel didn’t trust it. He spent his days training, researching, patrolling the city alone. He stopped small crimes—a mugging, a break-in. Normal evil. It felt almost boring.
His team, however, used the time.
Cordelia got her real estate license. “A backup plan!” she said, studying flashcards. “Demon vision insurance.”
Wesley started writing a book. “A Field Guide to Urban Spectral Phenomena.” He said it could help people.
Gunn started a community defense class in his old neighborhood. Teaching people how to spot strange things and when to run.
They were building lives. Angel watched them. He was happy for them. And it made the cold spot of his shame feel warmer. This was why he fought. So they could have normal things.
Halfway through the month, a case came that was perfect for the truce. A small one. A ghost in the city library. It was messing up the computer system and scaring the night guard.
“I’ll handle it,” Wesley said, excited. “A classic non-corporeal manifestation. I have a new theory about digital hauntings.”
“I’ll go with,” Gunn said. “Keep the books from falling on his head.”
Angel nodded. “Okay. Call if it’s something bigger.”
He watched them go. He felt useless. But he also felt proud. They didn’t need him for this.
That night, as he patrolled alone, he felt a familiar pull. Not from magic. From memory. He found himself outside an old apartment building. Buffy’s friend, Willow, had given him the address weeks ago, in case of an emergency. This was where Buffy’s mother, Joyce, lived now. Buffy was visiting for the weekend.
He stood in the shadows across the street. He saw the warm light in a window. A silhouette moved past. He couldn’t see who it was. But he could feel her. Buffy. Her presence was like a campfire in his cold night.
He wanted to cross the street. To ring the bell. To see her face.
He didn’t move. The truce with Wolfram & Hart was for a month. But his own truce with Buffy was forever. *Stay away. Keep her safe.*
The cold spot inside him ached. Not from the heart. From the loneliness. Holland Manners’ offer whispered in his mind. *No more pain. No more loneliness.*
He turned and walked away. The offer was a lie. The pain was the price. He had to pay it.
At the library, Wesley and Gunn found the ghost. It was a librarian who had died fifty years ago. She was haunting the new computer catalog because she hated how noisy it was.
“It’s not proper!” the ghost wailed, making monitors flicker. “The silence is gone!”
Wesley didn’t use a spell. He talked to her. He promised they would create a “Silent Study Room” in her honor. He got the head librarian on the phone right then and made the deal.
The ghost, pleased, faded away with a happy sigh.
Gunn looked at Wesley, impressed. “You talked down a ghost.”
“Empathy is a tool as well,” Wesley said, smiling. “Sometimes the problem isn’t evil. It’s just sadness.”
They reported back to Angel. He listened, and for the first time in weeks, he smiled a real smile. “Good work.”
The team was getting stronger. Smarter. Maybe, Angel thought, that was the real purpose of the truce. Not to tempt him, but to make his team realize they didn’t need him. To break them apart.
He wouldn’t let that happen.
- Writer
