Harmony looked up as a shadow fell over the piece of paper she was staring at, trying to work out if Angel would have time to deal with one more client before his lunch meeting with - “Oh! Wesley!”

“I think, in the office, you should make it Mr Wyndam-Pryce,” he said. “Just for the sake of appearances.”

Harmony’s eyes widened with hurt. “Well - O.K!” she chirped, trying to hide chagrin behind a cheery smile. Angela walked past, overheard Wesley and rolled her eyes behind his back, flashing Harmony a malicious smile. Harmony bit her lip. That bitch would spread this all over the office now.

“What can I do for you, uh, ‘Mr Wyndam-Pryce’?” she said, the lilt gone from her voice.

He put a mug down in front of her, carelessly enough to spill coffee over the work she’d been doing. “Sugar, Harmony. I don’t take it in my coffee and I never have. Is it asking too much for you to remember that? Or would it mean erasing another fact to make way for it in your brain?”

He turned away and took three steps before Harmony said quietly. “Do you miss Sunnydale? The school? I do.”

He paused and turned back to her. “I don’t -”

She met his eyes. “I was someone back then. Someone important.”

“You were the ring leader of a group of spoiled, brainless bimbos!”

“I ruled.” Her voice was flat. “When Cordelia dated Xander, I took over and she never quite got it back...but we were friends again. She told me stuff.”

“I’m sure you had many, uh, slumber parties, but if you’ll excuse me -”

Harmony smiled. “She told me all about you.”

“What?”

She nodded, her golden hair glinting. “You don’t talk about it much -ever- and it’s not as if I spent time in the library with the rest of Buffy’s little gang of losers, but we all knew you. Cordy raved about you. Said you were suave, sophisticated, classy...I suppose next to Xander anyone would look good. She changed her mind though. Oh, yes; I heard all about the kiss you had. She told me when I visited her that time. Said you kissed like you didn’t know what to do with your mouth.”

“Now wait just a moment!” Wesley looked around, smiling nervously at a group of lawyers who had glanced over in curiosity.

Harmony stood up and picked up the mug of coffee before walking around to Wesley. “I fought that day. I died fighting. I lost my chance to go to France, to meet someone special, to really work on my tan, you know? I lost a lot. I can’t - I can’t remember it all, but I know I wanted to help that day and I remember how much it hurt when he grabbed me, when I knew I wasn’t going to make it home...”

“I’m sorry, Harmony,” Wesley said softly.

“I could throw this coffee over you, Mr Wyndam-Pryce. I could make a big scene and walk out. But I won’t. You know why?”

Wesley looked hunted. “You like it here?” he said weakly.

“I would if I was given any appreciation, any hint that someone noticed all the hard work I do, but - no, that’s not it.”

She set the mug down carefully. “I won’t because Cordy wouldn’t like it. I visit her sometimes; tell her what’s going on. She’d be mad at me if I did that. You and she got pretty friendly, didn’t you?”

Wesley nodded slowly.

“So next time you visit her, you tell her we had a nice chat about the old days; she’ll like that.”

“Next time - ah, yes, yes, I’ll do that, Harmony.”

He turned away and her voice rang out, hard as steel.

“Wes? You forgot your coffee.”




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