//Into the woods then out of the woods And home before dark! //

Buffy sank onto the bed and slowly gazed around. Unlike the rest of the house her room looked just the same. Not a thing had been touched; there was even a discarded shirt folded across the foot of her bed, right where she'd left it that last day. Except that obviously someone had come in at least occasionally to clean, because the floor and furniture were relatively free of lint and dust. But everything was in its accustomed place - the pictures on top of the dresser, a strange-looking seashell picked up on a trip to the beach when she was ten that also lay there, and many other treasured keepsakes - each item lay exactly where she remembered leaving it.

She stared ahead of her with dull eyes. Her mind was clear now. The shock and trauma of having to claw her way out of her grave had receded and she remembered not only the circumstances leading up to her death but what had come after. What she still wasn't sure of, though, was exactly *why* she'd been brought back. She shook her head a little; she didn't want to think about that now - or about how strangely Spike had acted a few minutes ago, wanting to bandage her hands and staring at her the way he had, almost with tenderness. Instead Buffy took a deep breath, then, before she lost her courage, grabbed the phone and dialed a number she knew as well as her own, although she'd never actually called it before. The clock-radio caught her eye. It was after three a.m.

"Angel Investigations."

Buffy's heart began to pound. She tried to speak but nothing came out.

"Hello?" He sounded tired.

"Angel," she managed to whisper, "it's ... it's me."

"I'm sorry, can you speak up? I can barely hear - " He broke off. There was dead silence, then - "Who is this?" he asked sharply.

"It's me," she said again, this time a little stronger.

"Buffy?" Now *his* voice fell to a whisper.

"Yeah." Buffy cleared her throat. "I'm, uh - I'm back." Silence. She hurried to fill it. "Uh, Willow and Tara and, well, everyone, worked a spell tonight to, to bring me back from ... to bring me back."

Another silence, a longer one. Then, "Are you all right?"

She knew what he meant. Are you really you, Buffy? This was deep, powerful magick that had been used to resurrect her, not something to trifle with. "I think so, but - " She suddenly couldn't go on, her throat choking with tears.

"I'm on my way."

The tears fell. How did he always know what she meant, what she needed? "Thank you," she whispered brokenly.

"Buffy?"

"Hmm?"

His voice grew soft, gentle. "Get some rest."

Buffy nodded, even though he couldn't see it. "I will." Then she set the phone down, crawled between the cool sheets, and sank into slumber so profound that not even the sound of Willow and Tara talking as they came up the stairs to go to bed, or the light on her face when Willow opened her door to check on her woke her.

When she opened her eyes again the sunshine for which Southern California was sometimes mistakenly famous bathed the room in its brightness. Buffy lay there for a minute marshaling her strength for the ordeal she knew lay ahead, then got up and headed for the bathroom. She needed another shampooing to wash away the feel and the smell of graveyard dirt that still clung to her hair. Afterward she went to her dresser, opened the drawer containing her jeans and surveyed the contents. No, she needed something ... dressier. She was back from the dead; that deserved a celebration. Her friends and Dawn would certainly think so at least. Going over to the closet she selected a long skirt and matching top, dressed, and headed down the stairs.

---

Angel sank heavily into the nearest chair, too stunned to think clearly. Buffy was alive. However it had been accomplished, whatever the consequences, she was back - and right now that was all that mattered. He rose to his feet, took the stairs three at a time, threw a few things into an overnight bag, scribbled a note that he taped to his bedroom door, then raced for his car.

---

"Mornin', English."

Wesley looked up as Gunn entered the lobby, his usual cheery self. "Good morning, Gunn. Did you sleep well?"

"Like a baby," Gunn answered. "You?"

"Thank you, yes, I spent a restful night."

"Cordy taking a day off?" asked Gunn, not seeing her. "Not that she hasn't earned one, what with boils and burns and everything."

"Yes, she has," answered Cordelia, coming into the lobby and slapping down the morning mail on the high counter top, "but she's a slave to duty, so - here I am! And, thanks to Angel, as good as new." She paused, sending her eyes around the lobby. "Speaking of our fearless ex-leader, where is he?"

"He's not down yet?" Gunn glanced at the upper landing and reached for the coffee pot.

"Angel appears to be having a bit of a lie-in this morning," replied Wesley. "Let him sleep."

"No way," Cordelia declared, marching up the stairs. "If I can be up and about at nine o'clock in the morning after everything that's happened, so can he." She disappeared into the corridor. A moment afterward a loud "Oh my God!" floated downstairs.

Gunn and Wesley abandoned their coffee and ran. They met Cordelia halfway down the stairs, waving a piece of paper at them. "Oh my God," she wailed. "We've got to do something!"

"What is it?" Gunn grabbed for the paper but couldn't catch it.

"He's gone!" Cordelia told them, her eyes wide with distress.

"What?" Wesley snatched the paper from her and read it. His jaw dropped. "My God."

"What?" demanded Gunn, out of patience. He took the note from Wesley's unresisting hand. "*What*?" He looked up. "He says that Buffy's alive and he's gone to see her. What does he mean?"

"It means he's bonkers." Cordelia made a dramatic gesture at her head. "Flipped his wig! Oh God, I should have known that holding in his grief like that would make him go crazy! He's totally lost it this time. Wes, we have to go after him!"

"Wait." Wesley started down the steps, his brow furrowed in thought.

"Wait?" Cordelia trotted after him. "What are we supposed to wait for, the men to come and put him in one of those white jackets with the really long sleeves? What are you doing?" - as he picked up the phone.

"I'm calling Giles," Wesley said, punching the appropriate button. After a moment - "That's very odd." He looked at the others, bewildered. "I got a recording saying that his number is no longer in service and referring me to the number for the Magic Box." He dialed again.

"Hello? Yes, may I speak with Mr. Giles, please." He listened. "He's *what*? Gone back to England?" Cordy gaped in surprise. "No," Wesley said testily, "I'm not deaf. I heard you perfectly well; I just don't believe it. No, I'm not calling you a liar. I assume you must be Anya?"

He listened. "Just a lucky guess; Giles told me a lot about you. Listen, is, uh, Willow there? Oh, my name is Wesley Wyndham-Price. I'm ... yes, that's right, the wimpy Watcher who replaced Giles after the Council fired him. I see you've heard about me, as well." His voice was dry.

Gunn stifled a grin and Cordelia gave a distinct snort. Wesley glared at them both before turning his attention back to the phone. "Hello, Willow? I'm glad I caught you. This is Wesley and I'm afraid I have something rather, well ... rather *odd* ... to tell you. Angel left L.A. sometime this morning, I'm not sure when. We just a few minutes ago found his note saying that he was going to Sunnydale because - well ... because he thinks Buffy's alive. I'm really afraid that he may be - "

Cordelia and Gunn saw his face grow pale as he listened for long minutes without speaking a word. Cordelia chewed at her bottom lip, all but vibrating with impatience to know what was being said. Gunn watched intently, puzzled and concerned but not as anxious as Cordelia, until Wesley finally uttered a faint, "I see. Well, when you see Angel would you ask him to give us a call sometime, just to let us know he's all right? Thank you."

Wesley hung up the phone and gazed at them, obviously dazed. "Angel was telling the truth. Buffy *is* alive. Willow and the others did a spell to bring her back to life."

"They can do that?" Gunn asked, stunned.

"Apparently so."

"Willow couldn't put a spell together to tie her own shoelaces!" Cordy protested. "And remember Amy the rat? How long has Willow been trying to find a way to make her human again? God, Wesley, Angel's going to get there and find ... Zombie-Buffy!"

"No," said Wesley. "Willow said that Buffy seems just fine. She was a little disoriented last night after she ... returned, but she slept for several hours then got up and made Dawn's lunch for school and - she seems fine."

They stared at one another.

"Well," Gunn said eventually. "If there's one thing I've learned in life, it's that nothing comes without a price."

"Right," said Cordelia "I only hope Angel isn't the one who ends up paying it." They resumed their tasks quietly, without further discussion.

---

"Bye!" Dawn waved cheerfully over her shoulder as she strode down the sidewalk, her brown hair swaying from side to side, gleaming in the morning sunshine.

Buffy watched her until she disappeared around the corner, then continued to stand there, rubbing her arms absently as she decided what to do. She knew now just why the Scoobies had brought her back, from things Willow and Tara had said that morning as they all congregated in the kitchen getting breakfast. It wasn't from selfish motives, simply because they'd missed her so much or because the Hellmouth was getting too scary. No, because she'd died in a "magical" way, similar to Angel's death during the Acathla affair (even though it turned out that he hadn't actually died) they'd been afraid that she too had been sucked into hell or at least into a hell-like dimension, especially since the portal had opened into Glory's home world which, based on the evidence Glory had presented, wasn't exactly Mayberry RFD.

Finding out how wrong they had been would crush them. So, she couldn't tell them. It was as simple as that. The last thing Dawn had said went through her mind. ("It'll be better now, now that they can see you being happy. That's all they want.") With a tiny, bitter smile she walked back into the house and puttered around for a while doing simple household chores, then located her purse and the car keys and drove off to the Magic Box.

When she entered the shop the gang was all there, replacing books that had tumbled off their shelves during the violence the night before. They turned to her with the bright yet uncertain looks she'd grown accustomed to since her return.

"Buffy, hey!" Willow greeted her.

"You get Dawn off the school okay?" Xander wanted to know. " ‘Cause I was thinking, if you need help picking her up - "

"It's okay; I've got it," Buffy told him, then paused. "Look, guys, there's this ...this thing. So I'm just going to say it." Willow's face clouded with apprehension. Buffy took a deep breath. "You brought me back. I was in ... I was in hell." The word seemed to stick in her teeth.

Horror and an "Oh God, I knew it!" look replaced the worry on Willow's expressive face. Buffy went on, "I can't remember much about it, but - I felt like the world had abandoned me there. Then, suddenly, you guys - did what you did."

"It was Willow. She knew what to do." Tara was anxious to give credit where it was due.

Buffy managed a smile of sorts. "Okay. So, *you* did that" - glancing briefly at Willow - "and the world came rushing back. So I just wanted to say thank you. You guys gave me the world again, and I can't tell you what it means to me. And I should have said that before."

"You're welcome." Willow smiled through wet eyes and came over to give her a hug.

Xander, who'd been visibly upset by her confirmation that she'd been in hell, said brokenly, "Welcome home, Buffy," and joined the embrace, his muscular arms wrapping around both her and Willow. Tara and Anya, not as close to her as the others, stayed where they were, but Buffy didn't have to look at them to know that they too wore mixed expressions; pity and dread for what she'd endured during the months she was dead, and happiness because they'd rescued her from that torment and she was back where she belonged, with her family and friends. Buffy closed her eyes, feeling suffocated.

Just when she knew she could endure no more the bells over the door chimed. Angel came in, his coat held over his head to shield him from the deadly sunlight. That it had only been partly effective was obvious from the smoke rising from his clothing. Willow and Xander broke the hug, stepping back, and she could breathe again. Angel let the coat drop, his eyes fixed on Buffy as if on a vision.

"Angel!" Willow exclaimed. "Wesley called a little while ago and said you were coming here. But how did you know? That she was back, I mean. Did you - did you *sense* that Buffy was alive again, or something?"

"I called him," Buffy said simply. Willow looked crestfallen at this prosaic explanation of her romantic imaginings. Buffy walked over to Angel, then stopped to gauge his reaction to her presence. "Buffy," he whispered, and suddenly she was in his arms, her head against his solid chest. He held her tightly, whispering her name over and over. She was enveloped in his love, and the ache deep inside her was comforted. For a while at least.

"Well, I, uh, guess we'll leave you two alone," Xander said.

"Right." That was Tara, with Willow's "Yeah" chiming in an instant later.

Buffy heard their departing footsteps and whispers, Anya's especially - "Are you sure it's all right to leave them alone? I mean, what if they, you know, and he loses his soul?" Xander's reply was inaudible because it coincided with the closing of the door. When finally she raised her head again they were alone.

She looked up into the brown eyes that had haunted her dreams for so long. "I thought you'd be here sooner," she murmured. Instantly she regretted it; she didn't want to sound accusatory "I'm sorry; I didn't mean that the way it probably sounded. It's just ... I wanted to see you."

"I ran out of gas," Angel said, simply, "an hour out of L.A. It took me forever to find a gas station that was open, then I had to walk back to my car. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Buffy told him. "You're here now."

"Buffy - " Angel choked and his eyes filled with tears. She reached up and brushed away the moisture from his cheeks. "Don't cry," she whispered. "I'm here and I'm fine."

"I was watching through the window," he said. "I heard what you told them, that you were in hell."

"You did?" No wonder his clothes were smoldering! Buffy wavered for just an instant. She'd already decided that she couldn't tell Angel the truth either, for it would hurt him just as much as the others, but oh, it was so tempting to just blurt it out. No, she reminded herself, he has enough to deal with in his life; he doesn't need this burden too. "Yeah, but I don't really want to talk about it right now. Maybe later, okay?"

"You weren't in hell, Buffy," he said, much to her shock. "You were lying."

"What?" She tried to laugh. "Why would I lie about it?"

"You haven't been anywhere near hell," Angel stated. "There's no hell-stench about you, and believe me, I'd know."

Buffy allowed Angel to lead her to the large reading table at one end of the store. He pulled out a chair for her and sat down next to her, turning their chairs so they were facing each other. "Besides, I know you, Buffy, and everything about you screamed that you weren't telling the truth. I don't know why Willow and Xander couldn't see it."

"Probably because they didn't want to," Buffy whispered. "They were so sure I'd been trapped in some sort of hellish dimension, like you were."

"Because magick was involved," he nodded, understanding her allusion, "not to mention a gateway into another dimension, just like there was with Acathla."

"I had to lie, Angel. I couldn't hurt them by telling them the truth ," Buffy continued, tears springing to her eyes.

"Where were you, Buffy?" Angel whispered, his eyes telling her that he was afraid he already knew.

"I was happy. I don't know where it was, but I was happy ... at peace. I knew that everyone I cared about was all right. I knew it." Angel's already pale face grew even whiter as she talked, and his eyes showed his anguish. "Time didn't mean anything. Nothing had form, but I was - still me. You know?"

She glanced at Angel, who nodded, then continued, "And I was warm, and I was loved. And I was finished. Complete. I don't understand theology, or dimensions - or any of it, really ... but I think I was in heaven." She swallowed. "And now I'm not. I was torn out of there ... pulled out, by my friends ... and everything here is hard, and bright, and violent."

Her voice quivered. Angel took one of her hands in his own and gently kissed the still raw knuckles as she went on. "Everything I touch, everything I feel ..." She couldn't go on, just allowed the tears to fall freely and tried to keep from actually sobbing.

" *This* is hell," Angel said, his voice rough. "Right here. It's not home anymore, it's ... just a place where demons roam the streets and you're expected to fight them when simply getting through the next moment, and the next one, and then the one after that, takes all your strength. Because you keep remembering what you've lost ... and all the time you're crying inside because you're here instead of there."

Buffy could only nod, but then she caught herself and shook her head. "Not all the time, Angel. Not right now." Leaning forward she held his wet gaze. "When I'm with you, it's not as bad."

"Buffy," he murmured, kissing her hand again. "Remember I told you after your mother's funeral that I could stay as long as you wanted me to?" She nodded. "That's even more true now."

"I'm even needier now," she whispered, blinking fast trying to keep her eyes tear-free.

"I can handle it," he answered, just as he had that horrible, wonderful night. Except that she remembered that he hadn't been able to handle it. Within seconds their gentle, comforting kiss had blazed into passion, and Angel had been forced to pull away from her. Seeing her doubt, Angel cupped her chin in his hand. "Trust me," he said quietly.

"Always," Buffy whispered as their lips met. The kiss was soft and gentle, and lasted less than fifteen seconds, but the sweetness of it pierced her to the core, opening the door to other emotions she'd been suppressing for long hours, and that proved more than she could handle. Buffy burst into sobs.

Angel pulled her onto his lap and cradled her tenderly, while she poured out her heartache and anger and sense of loss. "Let it out," he murmured. "Don't hold back." At long last she was cried out and simply lay like a limp rag in Angel's arms, sniffling occasionally and feeling very weak and fragile. There was another emotion too.

"I feel peaceful," she whispered. "Like I did - there." She craned her neck to look up at Angel.

"Thank you," he said, and meant it with all his heart.

Buffy managed a wavering smile. She stroked his cheek. "Thank *you* for coming here, Angel."

"Always." Then he kissed her again, and it was just as wonderful and soft and comforting as the first one had been, filling her with warmth and love. She melted against him, relishing the feel of his strong arms supporting her and his lips caressing hers. They kissed over and over again, gently, lovingly - and needy though Buffy was, she was able to curtail the stronger emotions begging to be allowed to rise, and concentrate on the kiss itself and on being with Angel again.

"Bloody hell!" It was Spike, of course. Buffy sighed and sat up.

"What's *he* doing here?" This came simultaneously from both Spike and Angel, each glaring at the other with unconcealed animosity. She sighed again.

"Angel's here because I called him last night. Spike's here because - " She paused. "Why are you here, Spike? For that matter, how did you get here? It's still daylight out." She did a double-take, glancing at the windows. "Isn't it?" To her relief, it was. She hadn't been lost for hours in Angel's arms after all. However, it wasn't particularly bright. Sure enough -

"Sky's overcast, i'nnit? As for why I'm here - " Spike dropped his insolent tone and manner. "I was worried about you, Buffy. It's not every day someone comes back from the dead, you know - well, not and still be human, anyway. I wanted to make sure you were all right." His eyes seemed even bluer than usual as they searched her face, and they held the same expression she'd seen there the night before, an intent, yearning look.

She believed him, though reluctantly. Angel, on the other hand, snorted. Buffy put her hand on his arm. "Angel, there are things you don't know about Spike."

"If you mean the chip in his head, Giles told Wesley about it a long time ago," Angel said. "That hasn't changed his nature, Buffy; it only makes it more difficult for him to act on it."

"Fat lot you know about it, Gel Boy!" Spike retorted. "While you've been playing the hero in L.A. I've been helping the Slayer and her friends keep this town safe. Not to mention keeping Dawn out of Glory's hands." He preened a little as Angel stared at him.

"We couldn't have done it without Spike's help," Buffy told Angel softly. He wanted to remonstrate with her, but she gave a small shake of her head, telling him without words that now wasn't the time, and he gave in. Buffy looked at Spike. "Was there something specific you wanted, Spike? ‘Cause you interrupted kind of a special moment here, you know."

She expected one of the peroxide vampire's trademark smart-ass comebacks, but to her surprise a flash of some strong feeling swept over his face and he looked away. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I noticed. Sorry." And with that he simply turned on his heel and stalked out, his leather duster swaying with the breeze of his going.

Angel turned to Buffy, open-mouthed. "Who was that? Because I know it wasn't Spike! Do you have another robot around here?"

"No," she sighed. "It's Spike. At least, it's the new and supposedly improved Spike. He - he thinks he's - " She stopped, not only embarrassed to admit Spike's feelings about her but also feeling, oddly, that she would be betraying him if she did so. Nonsense, she scoffed to herself. Everyone knows about him being "in love" with me - why should it be a secret from Angel? She started again. "He's - attracted to me."

"Attracted to you!" Angel stared at her. "You mean he says he loves you? Is that it?" When she nodded, he shook his head. "Buffy, that's not possible. He may be obsessed with you but there's no way a vampire can truly love - " Then *he* stopped, and a strange look crossed his face.

"Angel?"

He shook his head a little, as if to clear it. "Much as I hate to admit it," he said reluctantly, "it's possible that Spike's - feelings - for you might be ... real."

Buffy wrinkled her nose. "What makes you think that? Not his relationship with Drusilla, I hope."

"Definitely not that, no." Angel smiled a little, then grew serious again. "Although it does prove that he's capable of harboring strong emotion for an extended time. No, that wasn't it. Did I ever tell you about James and Elizabeth, two vampires that Darla and I traveled with for a while in the eighteenth century?"

Buffy shook her head. So Angel told her as much as he knew of the story of the two vampires who were so devoted to one another that they'd stayed together for over two centuries. He also told her about their deaths, how he'd killed Elizabeth, not realizing who she was (although that wouldn't have made any diffrence), and how James, out of grief, had traded his immortality for a finite time of invulnerability so he could kill Angel in retaliation. Which he almost succeeded in doing before the spell ran out and he turned to dust.

"Before James died he told me that I don't know what love is - that I didn't really love you. Because if I did, I wouldn't have been able to go on because your death would have killed everything in me." Angel's eyes were shadowed, his voice lowered to a whisper.

"Sounds to me like this James read way too many romantic novels," Buffy said softly. Then she cupped his chin, forcing him to look at her. "Angel, dying is easy. Before I jumped from Glory's tower I told Dawn that the hardest thing in the world is to keep living when someone you love is taken from you. But I told her she had to live, for me, to honor my memory."

The expression on Angel's face made her pause. "What?"

"Cordelia said the same thing, that I wasn't betraying you by continuing my life without you - I was honoring your memory."

"She was right," Buffy replied, though she spared a moment to wonder that Queen C, of all people, would have said anything that compassionate and understanding. "Angel, you're doing good things in L.A. No way would I want my death to interfere with that."

Or my life, flickered through her mind, but she quickly pushed the thought away.

"It was so hard," Angel whispered, his eyes filling. "Sometimes I thought I'd die too, just from missing you so much."

"But you didn't," said Buffy gently.

"No. I didn't." He uttered the words as if he were admitting to a mortal sin.

"Good." She kissed him on the lips. "Angel, if you died, part of me would die too. But I wouldn't give up. And I expect you to do the same."

They kissed again, with more fervor than before. Buffy wound her arms around Angel's neck, and he held her close, so close that her breasts were mashed painfully against his chest. She ran her fingers through his thick hair and rained kisses on his face and neck, wrenching a soft groan from him, then felt his lips on her neck, his tongue caressing the scar from his bite, and it was her turn to moan.

Then they drew apart, gazing into each other's eyes. Buffy's heart was pounding and her breathing was erratic. "This is the ‘handling it' part, isn't it?"

"Yes." Angel's face had a touch of color in it, evidence that passion was running high, but his voice was relatively calm.

"Yeah." Buffy cleared her throat. "So ... what were we talking about?"

Angel had to think, which wasn't easy with Buffy still perched on his lap, so temptingly close. "Uh ... Spike. I think."

"Spike. Right. So, you think that because James and Elizabeth seemed really to be in love, Spike might be too? With me?" She made an involuntary grimace. "Like I don't have enough problems! Now I have to worry about hurting Spike's feelings."

Angel pursed his lips but didn't say anything. He didn't have to; his face said it for him.

---

"Buffy, is Angel there?" It was Cordelia, sounding panicked.

"Hold on." She handed the phone to Angel. "Cordy, and she's way upset."

"What's wrong, Cordy?" he said into the receiver.

Cordy? thought Buffy, as she watched his face go from concerned to steely-angered. (I don't remember him ever calling her "Cordy" before; it was always "Cordelia.") A pang went through her. It had already become obvious in just the few days he'd been there that Angel had changed, much more than she'd realized from their brief encounters over the last two years. Wesley, Gunn and Cordelia had truly become Angel's family, just as Willow, Giles and Xander were, for her. Just how close are they? she wondered, not for the first time, pouring the detergent into the dishwasher.

"Fred's there too?" Angel exclaimed. "Oh, no! Is she all right?"

(And who the hell is Fred?) Buffy closed the dishwasher door and started the cycle, listening to Angel's side of the conversation.

"Did you tell them I'm out of town? Okay - Cordelia, stop swearing and listen. I'm going to call Caritas and talk to the leader - Rondel, is that his name? - and tell him I'll be there as soon as I can. In the meantime I need you to go to this address." He recited it to her. "You need to get the sisters to lift the sanctorum spell on Caritas. Sisters, I said. Three of them. Tell them it's for me. Yes, I know them. Yes, they should remember me. Sanctorum spell, yes. And, Cordy? Stay away from Caritas; don't go back there. It won't do any good and it'll just give me one more person to worry about. Please?" His voice softened. "Thank you. I'll be careful; I promise." He broke the connection and stood there, deep in thought.

"Trouble?" asked Buffy with a wry smile.

"Big time," Angel said grimly, dialing again. "Gunn's old gang have apparently decided their mission is to rid L.A. of all demons, regardless of whether they're evil or not. They've taken Wesley and Gunn hostage at a demon karaoke bar - Hello? Rondel? This is Angel. I understand you're pointing guns at friends of mine."

He listened. "I'm in Sunnydale. It'll take me about two hours to get there - traffic permitting. I'm leaving now. And, Rondel" - Buffy shivered at the look on his face - "be sure you understand that if anything happens to Wesley, or Gunn, or Fred - or Lorne, for that matter - I'm holding you *personally* responsible."

Angel clicked off the phone and turned to Buffy. "I'm sorry, but this is an emergency, Buffy. I have to go - "

"Of course you do," she said briskly, starting for the stairs. "But let's get some weapons first. We don't have much time."

"Buffy, these aren't demons - " he began, then skidded to a stop. "We?"

"I'm going with you, of course," Buffy said over her shoulder. "Come on, Angel, we can talk in the car."

He followed her into her bedroom, stood watching as she went to her big trunk and started pulling out weapons. "Buffy - "

"You're wasting time," she informed him, holding out a crossbow. "Here. This works on people too, you know. Only as a last resort," she added at his incredulous look. " Dawn!" she called out, and a moment later her sister appeared in the doorway.

"Yeah?" Dawn's eyes widened. "What's going on? Did you guys find a nest or something?"

"I'm going to L.A. with Angel," Buffy told her. She closed the trunk and hoisted another crossbow over her shoulder. "Wesley and Cordelia have been taken hostage in a demon bar." She glanced over at the clock-radio. "Willow and Tara should be back in a few minutes with the ice cream; you'll be okay til then. I'll call you later on, after everything's taken care of."

"Buffy," Dawn said, obviously frightened. "Be careful."

Buffy gave her a quick hug and smoothed her hair. "Don't worry. I didn't come back from the dead just to be gunned down by some trigger-happy demon hunters! I'll be fine."

"I'll see to that," Angel promised Dawn, then turned to Buffy. "We have to go." He'd given up on trying to persuade her to stay in Sunnydale. Years of experience with Buffy had taught him that when she had the bit between her teeth, nothing could dissuade her from her planned course of action. He spotted a roll of duct tape on the desk and grabbed it.

"What's that for?" Dawn wanted to know.

"In case we have to tie anybody up," Buffy answered for him. "Good thinking, Angel." She followed him outside to his car. "You do have gas, right?" she asked as he started the engine. She pulled the shoulder harness across her body and fastened it.

Angel glanced at the gauge. The needle hovered just above Empty. "Uh, not much, no. I forgot I only put four gallons in." He slanted her a sheepish, sidewise look. "Thanks for reminding me."

"You're worried," she excused his memory lapse. She waited until they'd found a gas station, filled up the tank, and gotten back on the road before asking, "So tell me about this bar - Caritas? It sounds, well, weird. I mean - demons and karaoke? Kinda hard to wrap my mind around that whole concept."

"Sounds funny, I know, but they really love karaoke," Angel said, smiling a little. "Caritas is run by Lorne, a - being - from another dimension. He can read people's souls when they sing. Caritas is a sanctuary, a place where demons can come and have a few drinks, sing if they want to, and just relax, without fear. There's a spell on the place that prohibits demon violence."

"But not human violence," Buffy said after a second.

Angel set his jaw. "No. Lorne didn't figure on that ever happening, I guess. Not many humans even know about Caritas."

"Who's Fred?" Buffy blurted out.

Angel glanced over at her, the strobe-like flash of oncoming headlights highlighting the planes of his face. His surprise was obvious. "Fred? Why do you ask?"

"You just - seemed so worried about her," Buffy said lamely. "When you found out she was one of the hostages."

The worry lines deepened on Angel's face. "I am worried about her. Fred's very fragile still, emotionally. I told you about Pylea, remember? The alternate dimension Cordy got sucked into?"

"Yeah. They made Cordelia their queen or something."

"Yes. Well, Fred was there too. She'd gotten pulled in through a portal five years ago. In Pylea all humans are slaves. Fred was too, but she managed to escape her owner early on and became a fugitive, hiding in the caves. She helped us rescue Cordy and we brought her back with us when we returned. She - hasn't made the adjustment well. She's been hiding in her room most of the time since she got back, afraid to leave it. Cordy thought a night at Caritas would be fun - she promised Fred that she'd be safe there."

The pain in his voice matched the expression on his face. "Poor kid," he continued. "Buffy, she's so ... shy and scared and, and lost. She trusted Cordy. And now - "

" - this happened," finished Buffy.

Angel nodded. "I'm afraid of what this might do to her."

"Angel, she may may be a little lost right now. But anyone who could survive five years of slavery and being a fugitive in an alternate dimension has got to be tough, deep down inside where it counts. She'll be okay," Buffy said, putting her hand on his knee. "But first let's get her out of there, safely. Then you can worry about damage control." The coolness of his skin came through his trousers, and his muscles were solid beneath her palm.

He nodded again, sighing. "Yeah, you're right. So let me give you an idea of the players here, and we can plan our strategy."

Buffy heard about Gunn and his old group of vampire hunters, about Gunn's sister Alannah and that he'd been forced to stake her after she'd been Turned. He told her about the sudden rise in demon deaths in the past few weeks, most of the victims proving to be harmless, peace-abiding types.

"It seems that Gunn's old gang has acquired a new member, some gung-ho type from Florida named Gio who's got them all pumped about killing demons. *All* demons. They stormed into Caritas about an hour ago, armed to the teeth, and shot some demons who tried to escape."

Buffy shook her head. "Sad. Don't they know that not all demons are bad?" Suddenly she stifled a yawn, almost hypnotized by the white lines flashing at her out of the darkness.

"I think it's more that they just don't care." Angel glanced at her. "Why don't you take a nap? I'll wake you when we're close and we can discuss our strategy."

Another yawn almost split her jaw. "Sounds good," she agreed, her eyes closing even as she spoke. In a moment she was fast asleep. The next thing she was aware of was a voice.

"Cordy?" It was Angel, on his cell phone; the car was stopped. "I'm here. No, not yet. Give me about fifteen minutes to look around, then tell the ladies they can start. Yes. I will, don't worry. ‘Bye." He clicked off.

Buffy sat up and looked around. All she could see was what looked like warehouses; nothing even remotely resembled a nightclub. "Where is it?"

Angel opened his door and got out; she followed suit. He nodded to his left. "It's in the next street over, about halfway down the block. We're behind it. We'll check out the area, see what sentries they've set, then make our plans."

"Right." Buffy went around to the back of the car. "Angel, the trunk? Need to get our weapons, don't we?"

Angel hesitated. "I'm not going to carry one, Buffy, and I'd rather you didn't either. If they see we're armed they're liable to shoot first and talk later."

Buffy considered this, absently chewing her lip as she thought. "That's a good point, but don't forget there are also demons in there. Once they realize the spell is lifted they're liable to want revenge, and I would certainly like to have something besides my Slayer strength to rely on in that case."

"Good point," conceded Angel. "How about we hide the weapons somewhere close by, like the alley, where we can get to them in a hurry if need be?"

Buffy agreed. They got the crossbows from the trunk, then side by side they ran across the dark street and made their stealthy way down the alley from one shadowed building to another, until they could see their goal, the back entrance to Caritas. In the doorway stood a sentry, the first one they'd seen. He was smoking a cigarette; the tip glowed bright red for an instant as he drew on it.

"I'll go check out the front," Angel whispered. "You stay here." Even as she nodded in agreement, he melted into the shadows, silent as a cat. It was only because she was watching that Buffy saw him run across the alley; the sentry didn't notice anything. In less than two minutes Angel was back. "There's only one out front," he said quietly. "Why don't you take care of this one here?"

"What're you going to do?" she whispered back.

"I'll go in the front door." He shrugged. "They're expecting me, after all. Then we'll just have to play it by ear. If there's any way to get people out of there unobserved, I'm counting on you to do it."

"Right." Buffy touched his face. "Be careful."

Angel kissed her. "You too. Hurry, the spell will be cutting off soon. Leave the crossbows here. You can come back for them after you get this guy out of the way. Here." He pulled the duct tape out of his pocket. "Use this."

Buffy nodded, set down her crossbow and took the tape from him. "Okay. Give me a couple of minutes." She took a deep breath, then ran quietly, putting several buildings between her and Angel before emerging into the alley, staggering as she came into view. The sentry turned to face her, which meant his back was to Angel.

"‘My boyfriend's back,' " crooned Buffy, off-key, as she stumbled toward the armed man. " ‘And yer gonna be'n trouble, Hey la la la something. . . .' Hey there, big guy." She waved drunkenly at the sentry, seeing the shadow that was Angel slip across the alley behind him. He had moved several doors up from Caritas, so the front lookout wouldn't wonder why the back door guard hadn't spotted him.

"What are you doing here?" the sentry asked her. "This isn't a safe place to be, you know. You should go home."

Damn. She'd been hoping he'd try to take advantage of an obviously drunk, "helpless" woman, which would give her another reason to knock him out. "Lost m'way," she slurred her words, continuing to draw closer, staggering. "This i'n't Spring Street, where'm I?" She was in front of him now. Squinting, she peered at the lettering on the wall beside him.

"Ca - REE - tas," she said slowly, deliberately pronouncing it wrong. "Ooh, a Mexc'n place! I lo-o-ve Mexc'n food. Are they open?" She made a move toward the door, then swung around, hitting the guard square in the solar plexus with all her strength. With a sound like air escaping a balloon he folded up and fell to the ground. Quickly she tore off a strip of the duct tape and placed it over his mouth, gagging him, then bound his hands behind him before moving on to do the same with this legs. She bent over him, made sure he was still breathing, grabbed his jacket and dragged him inside the club.

Luckily there wasn't anyone else standing guard just inside the door. Buffy saw a door marked "Cleaning Supplies" and hauled the still unconscious man into the room, wrinkling her nose at the strong smell of disinfectant that hung in the air, and left him there. She ran outside to retrieve the crossbows then cautiously walked down the corridor to where the action was. It wasn't hard to find; all she had to do was follow her ears.

She hadn't seen any other guards, and now she found out why. They were all inside the nightclub proper, focused on Angel, their guns and crossbows pointing at him - well, the ones that weren't aimed at Wesley, who had his arm protectively around a young woman she assumed must be Fred, or at the various demons in the room. None of the hostages were close enough for her to lead them out unnoticed. Buffy took a quick survey, counting ten armed men. That wasn't good. So, she needed to even the odds a bit.

"Prove to everyone here that this *thing* ain't no friend to you," she heard someone say. A young black man standing in front of Angel - Gunn? wondered Buffy - took the stake being proferred to him. A grey-faced demon alone at a table was rocking, moaning softly, "We're going to die, we're going to die!"

Wesley stepped forward. "This is madness! Angel has a soul!"

"He's a vampire," said another man, this one armed with a crossbow. Buffy disliked him on sight, based on his arrogant sneer and general demeanor of being on a pleasure trip.

"With a soul!" Wesley persisted.

"Whatever." The man shrugged disdainfully. "You think that makes him the same as us?"

"No," stated Wesley, with emphasis. "It makes him *better*. Better than you anyway. When he did his pleasure killing he had no soul. You can make no such claim."

The man who had handed the stake to Gunn said to him, "Well? What's it gonna be?" Gunn looked down at the stake in his hand, hesitating.

"Here, Charles, let me make it easy for you." Angel morphed into his game face. "Take a look. This is what I am. Deal with it or don't. But make a damn choice."

That's my cue, Buffy decided. Backing out of sight, she hid the crossbows behind some boxes in the hallway, then tried to catch the attention of the guy closest to her. "Psst!" When he looked over his shoulder, frowning, she called out, in as deep a tone as she could manage, but quietly, "Hey, man, I need help back here!"

The young man hesitated, glancing back at the "show," then turned and walked in her direction, holding his gun ready. "What's the prob, bro?" he called, softly. Buffy hid in another room until he passed, then crept out and hit him with both hands on the back of his head. He fell like a stone. Luckily his gun made a minimum of noise when it hit the ground. Buffy dragged him off to join his comrade, frantically using the duct tape to silence and secure him, then scurried back to her watching post.

"You don't know anything," Gunn was saying. The stake now lay on the ground at his feet, where he'd apparently dropped it. "You think I won't kill him because he's my friend? That ain't why." He took a step closer to Angel, who was back in human visage, his eyes fixed on the vampire. "Truth is, he can never be my friend, on account of what he is. Not his fault, really. Just the way it worked out."

"He ain't your friend!" the man next to Gunn cried out, his face twisting with disbelief.

Isn't that what he just said? Buffy wondered.

"*I* am!" the man continued. "Are you gonna choose *that* over me?"

"Looks like it," Gunn said calmly. "It's about the mission, Rondell. He's got it. You don't anymore."

The sneering man now spoke again. "Oh. So, you think just because you're letting that monster live you got the mission, huh? Well, far as I can see, a monster-lover ain't no better than a damn monster - and I kill monsters. That's what I do. So, anybody wants to walk outa here tonight, they gonna have to show me! Come on!" He strutted over in front of the group of humans huddled together. "Step on up and do what your *friend* here wouldn't - kill the vampire. Then you can leave this place. Otherwise, stay and burn with the rest of ‘em."

He held up the crossbow invitingly. "Who wants to live?"

Buffy acted. She sauntered out into the room. Instantly several weapons swung in her direction, including the crossbow. "Where'd you come from?" the arrogant man asked. For once his sneer wasn't in evidence.

Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Back there." She indicated the hallway behind her with her head. "I was hiding."

"Why didn't my men find you?" Rondell demanded, pushing forward.

She shrugged. "Maybe they didn't look in the right place." She looked from one to another. "Don't you want to know *who* I am?"

The arrogant man's eyes narrowed. For once his sneer wasn't in evidence. "So who are you?" The crossbow moved higher, pointing at her heart now.

Buffy folded her arms. "I'm the Slayer " - holding her breath that they'd heard of Slayers. She didn't dare risk a look at Angel, who must be wondering what the hell she was doing.

There was a moment of silence. Buffy moved further into the room. "The Slayer?" Rondell finally said. "You mean - *the* Slayer? The one who kills vampires?"

The arrogant man snorted. "Come on, man! That's just a myth."

"Far from it," Wesley spoke up. " ‘Into every generation a child is born, one girl with the strength and ability to hunt vampires and destroy them. She is the Chosen One, the Slayer.' Buffy is this generation's Slayer." He looked at her, full of emotion. "Hello, Buffy. It's - it's damn good to see you again."

"Good to see you too, Wes," smiled Buffy, raising a brow at his uncharacteristic swearing. "It's been a long time."

The arrogant man interrupted. "Fine. You're the Slayer. That doesn't explain what you're doing here."

"I wondered when somebody was going to get around to asking that."

Just then there was a bright flash of light, startling everyone. Angel glanced up at the ceiling. "Thank you, ladies." Then he caught Buffy's eye. She relaxed a bit. The spell had been canceled, which meant Angel could fight. Of course, so could all the other demons, which was a mixed blessing to say the least.

She continued as though there'd been no interruption. "I've been standing back there listening to everything, and there's one thing I don't understand." She looked at Rondell. "You say you're friends of Gunn's, is that right?"

"We *were* his friends," Rondell answered bitterly, "before he began hanging with vampires ‘stead of with us."

"How long have you known him?" Buffy cocked her head.

"Two years, maybe," was the answer.

"But now, all of a sudden, you don't trust him anymore. Why?"

Rondell stared at her as if she were crazy. "Because he turned his back on us, that's why. He'd rather be with demons than with his friends!"

"Really? Why is that?" Buffy looked around at the blank faces. "Did you ever ask him *why* he's now working with a vampire? *Why* he comes to a bar that's mostly for demons? Why he doesn't just shoot them on sight? I've been listening to all these accusations you've been making, but not one of you has asked Gunn what made him change his attitude."

"Can't be for no good reason, can it?" called out another member of the gang. Several others nodded their agreement.

"I don't know," replied Buffy, shrugging. "Why don't you ask *him*?"

"*I* know why he's doin' it," Gio cut in. "I said it before, that's why he let his sister get bit. He wants to become one of ‘em." He cast a knowing look at Gunn.

"Yeah, you said that before and I still don't understand it. Become a vampire? Man, why in hell would I want that?" asked Gunn, looking at him with puzzlement. "Never to go out in the sun again. Drinking blood, not able to enjoy a chocolate shake ... or tacos ... or beer. What kinda life'd that be?" He shook his head.

Gio snorted. "You gotta be kiddin' me. What kinda *life*? It'd be a life of *power*, man!" His eyes glowed. "You'd live forever. You'd have the strength of ten men! You gonna try and tell me you haven't dreamed about being able to send your enemies flyin' across the street with nothin' more than a shove? Or tearing the head off some smart-mouthed cop that's hasslin' you for standin' outside a store with your friends? You tellin' me you ain't thought of all that? Man, bullets'd go through you like butter, and they wouldn't even hurt ya!"

"Well, that's a lie!" Wesley exclaimed, as Angel said, "That isn't so." Gunn shook his head and said, "Ain't true, man. I've seen Angel get hit by bullets, and axes and knives and other things, and I'm tellin' you, maybe those things don't kill vampires but that doesn't mean they don't feel ‘em." He turned his head. "Ain't that right, Angel?"

"Getting shot, or stabbed, or slashed, hurts, just like it does for you," said Angel flatly. "The injury isn't as serious and we heal faster, that's all."

"Uh-huh." Gio made a contemptuous sound, obviously not believing a word.

Buffy walked up to him. "Wow. I can tell you've been thinking about this - a lot," she said, as though impressed. The young man smirked a little. Her brows drew together in a puzzled frown. "I wonder why." His smile faded, eyes narrowing.

The horned, green-skinned man - demon - Buffy had noticed standing against the bar stepped forward. "He's been thinking about it for a long time," he said quietly. "That's why he had to leave Florida. How could you do that to her? She trusted you."

Gio swung around. "I told you to shut your mouth," he said viciously, leveling the crossbow at the creature. "I ain't gonna say it again."

Gunn immediately stepped in front of the green-skinned demon, shielding him from the weapon. Gio laughed. "You think that's gonna save him? You want to die with your demon friend, that's just fine by me."

Buffy yanked the crossbow out of his hand. In a flash, the bolt was touching his throat. She stared him in the eye. "You know, I'd kind of like to hear what he has to say. Especially since you seem so anxious to shut him up."

"Yes," Wesley said, also coming forward. "So would I. Lorne, please continue."

Rondell and some of the others stirred uneasily, but didn't interfere. Lorne maneuvered around Gunn and confronted Gio, who glared at him angrily. "Her name was ... Linetta. She was his cousin, and she was fourteen when she died." Gio's eyes widened.

"What happened to her?" asked Buffy, watching Gio intently.

"Vampires," Lorne said. "They were being chased. When they started closing in he deliberately threw Linetta to them. He thought that the vampires would concentrate on her and he'd be able to escape, which turned out to be correct. But they didn't kill her, did they?" His red eyes glowed fiercely. "No, they Turned her, and three nights later she came tapping on your bedroom window, wanting revenge. You see, she'd trusted you, Gio, and you betrayed her."

Sweat broke out on Gio's forehead. "Shut up!" he said hoarsely. "It's a lie!"

Lorne ignored him. "She offered to Turn you into a vampire too, fed you a line about how powerful and invincible that would make you. That sounded real good to you, didn't it? Right out of your dreams, in fact. So you invited her in and let her bite you. You didn't know your father was in the hallway and had heard every word. You know, you're really lucky he staked her when he did - ‘cause somehow I don't think she would have kept her word to you. What do you think, Angel-cakes?"

Angel shrugged. "I doubt it. Why would she reward the one responsible for her death by giving him unlife? No, she'd have drained him dry, then gone on to everyone else in the house." There was pain in his voice, and Buffy spared a quick glance in his direction, knowing he was remembering the slaughter of his own family.

"Reward?" Rondell repeated, incredulously.

"She would have thought of it that way," Angel told him. "Remember, her soul was gone by that time. the demon had control of her body, and it would have wanted vengeance for her betrayal."

"It was an accident!" Gio hissed, his eyes darting to Rondell's face. "We were running and she fell. They were all over her before I could do anything. If I'd stopped ... tried to help her ... they'd've gotten me too!"

"No," said Lorne flatly. "She fell, but she was only a couple of feet behind you. You had time to help her up - but you made the deliberate choice not to. You forget, I saw your memories ... your soul."

"What're you talkin' about?" demanded Rondell, confronting the green-skinned being.

"Lorne is anagogic," Wesley explained. "He can see people's souls, especially when they sing, the way this - person - did a while back, before he shot up the karaoke machine." The look he gave Gio held distaste. "And he can read their immediate futures."

"And yours isn't looking too hot, compadre," Lorne said, picking up the narrative. "Because right now a lot of these fine people are finally beginning to think again. They're remembering all that Gunn did for them when he was their leader; how he protected them and helped them - and not just by killing vampires. He took them in, gave them shelter and schooling... helped them find jobs."

There was shuffling of feet, and quiet mutterings. Weapons were lowered. Lorne continued, "They're remembering that they've only known you for a few weeks, and that almost the first thing you did was try to tarnish Gunn's reputation. And now - way overdue in my estimation, but, hey, better late than never, I guess - they're asking themselves why."

"Seems to me there's a whole lotta questions shoulda been asked, that weren't," Gunn said quietly, but with emphasis, looking at Rondell. "Remember the demon you killed in the sewer a couple of days ago? The one that was drinking a soda? Did you have any idea what *kind* of demon it was before you hacked it to pieces?"

Absolute silence. "It was a Yarnbie," Wesley said. "They're balancing demons, completely nonviolent - as were Samuel Larch and four others that you killed."

"Don't forget Merl," Angel put in grimly.

"I wasn't," Wesley replied. "Merl was our snitch. He'd given us several leads in the past that helped us hunt down those who were truly evil."

"Merl," said one of the gang, a tall man with long dreadlocks tied at the back of his neck. "Short dude, bald, really ugly, whiny voice? Snivelled a lot?"

"That's him," said Angel and Gunn together. "Not a winning personality, I grant you," Wesley admitted, "but hardly a threat to anyone either. All Merl wanted was to be left alone, and he was happy to return the favor."

Just then Gio made a grab for the crossbow, surprising Buffy. He'd been standing so quietly, seemingly subdued, that she'd relaxed her vigilance, and he took advantage of it. Giving her a shove that sent her reeling into Lorne, almost knocking him off his feet, Gio aimed the bolt at his target.

"Angel!" shrieked Buffy. Desperately she kicked upward and managed to hit the crossbow just as he shot it. As everyone ducked, the bow went flying and the bolt missed Angel, burying itself high in the wall above the bar. Buffy followed it up with a right uppercross, and Gio went staggering back several feet. "You really shouldn't have done that," she snarled, advancing on him, fists clenched. "Before I was just disgusted with you, but now I'm pissed!"

One of the armed men took a step in her direction, beginning to raise his gun. Angel caught the gun by the muzzle, yanking it from his grasp, and "No," came simultaneously from Gunn and Rondell. The young man hesitated, caught their gazes - and stepped back again. Angel held out his weapon. The man looked from Angel to the gun, then back at Angel, then slowly took the gun and resumed watching the room, still alert but no longer threatening.

Gio recovered from the shock of this slip of a girl packing such a powerful punch. "Why do you care what happens to him?" he taunted Buffy. "I thought you were supposed to kill vampires, not protect them!"

"You haven't learned anything, have you?" Ducking his vicious swing at her, Buffy hit him again, followed it up with a kick to the ribs. Gio fell across a table, scattering glasses and napkins. He staggered for a moment before he regained his feet and rushed her, his face twisted with rage. She neatly sidestepped his charge, kicking his feet out from under him as he passed, and he thudded to the floor with an impact that knocked his breath out.

Buffy stood over him as he lay gasping for air like a stranded fish. "Angel's different, which is something you really ought to try to remember. Oh, and keep this in mind as well - anyone who tries to hurt my lover has me to deal with too."

Every head in the room swivelled from the furious Slayer toward Angel, mostly with shock and disbelief, but there were three exceptions to this. Gunn's and Wesley's looks held startled inquiry, but Fred's was one of sadness and she quickly averted her eyes to gaze at the floor. Angel came out of his own shock, gave Wes and Gunn a reassuring shake of his head and walked over to Buffy. He put his hand on her shoulder as Gio slowly got to his feet, hunched over and still wheezing, but glaring at the Slayer. "I think he got the message, Buffy." She was trembling beneath his hand.

"He almost shot you." Buffy was finding it difficult to talk, shaking as she was with the aftermath of panic and rage.

Angel turned her toward him. "But he didn't. I'm fine - thanks to you." He planted a quick kiss on her forehead and Buffy managed a smile. "Good," she whispered. A sound behind her made her whirl around, but it was only Gio moving to the center of the floor.

"You guys are pathetic!" he panted, one hand pressed against his stomach. His furious gaze swept the gang. "Listening to lying demons and traitors! I'm done with you people. I don't even know why I came out to this coast. L.A. sucks; I'm goin' back to Florida. You're just lucky I don't have my old crew here, is all I can say." He backed into the gray demon that had been moaning they were going to die, turned, and kicked it contemptuously. Then he whirled around and pointed at Angel. "And you! I'd drag your butt out onto the beach for a little sunshine and toast your - "

Behind him the gray demon's head had suddenly, and silently, split, the skin hanging down limply on either side as an enormous insect-like figure surged from the husk and towered above the ranting man. Before anyone could do more than gasp, the figure bent down and snapped off Gio's head. Instantly Rondell and several others shot off their weapons, hitting the demon right in the chest. It fell with a loud thud, only seconds after Gio's limp body dropped. Blood spurted from the stump of the neck, spraying the floor and furniture with bright red before diminishing to a thick trickle. A few seconds later that too stopped.

Fred gasped and turned away from the sight, hiding her face in her hands. Wesley rushed to her side and held her comfortingly, Gunn right behind him. Angel made a move as if to go over also, but checked himself. Buffy smiled at him and made a little shooing motion with her hands. "Go on. She needs her friends right now."

"I will," said Angel, "but first I need to call Cordelia and get the spell put up again." He dialed as he was speaking.

"Good idea," Buffy agreed, looking around at the several extremely angry demons left in the club. Rondell and his group were also noticing this, and reacting by displaying their weapons but not, Buffy was pleased to notice, with any overtly hostile acts.

"Cordy," Angel said into the phone. "It's over and we're all fine. Would you ask the ladies to please renew the spell? Tell them I'll come by in a few days to thank them personally. Fred's a little upset right now but I think she'll be okay. Yeah, we'll see you back at the hotel."

He clicked off and went over to Fred and the others. "How ya doin'?" Buffy heard him say. The young woman gave him a rather tremulous smile; Buffy had to admit that she was - not pretty exactly, but - cute maybe. There was something very appealing about her. She watched a moment longer, then felt someone come up beside her. It was Lorne.

"You've got nothing to worry about, you know," he said softly. She glanced over at him; he too was watching Angel. "He's grown a lot since you two parted. He's learned how to open up to people and let them into his heart and into his life - and it hasn't always been easy. But it's a good thing."

"I know," Buffy replied. "Before, he was always so alone ... except when we were together."

Lorne turned his red eyes on her, cocking his head to one side. "And you kind of liked it that way, didn't you?" His voice was understanding. "Hey, who wouldn't be happy, having someone who was so completely devoted to you that he hardly even noticed other people? You didn't have to worry about losing him to someone else."

Buffy looked away, but she couldn't deny it. It *had* been warming to know that in his long, long existence Angel had never loved anyone but her, and to feel that she would never lose that love. Which was one reason his rejection of her and his departure from Sunnydale had sent her into such a tailspin that for months afterward she'd hardly known what she was doing.

The Host continued, "But you know yourself that the situation back then wasn't healthy. The word for it is ‘obsession,' and that's never good in the long run. Angel made a giant step toward reclaiming his humanity when he left the Hellmouth, and you, even though it almost killed him to do it."

Swallowing, Buffy said in a small voice, "Are you saying that we shouldn't get back together? I mean, I know that nothing's really changed with his curse and everything, but - "

The anagogic demon laughed out loud. "Sweetie, I feel sorry for anyone who tries to keep you two apart! You said that nothing has changed, but that's not true. He's changed, and so have you. Death has that effect on people sometimes - and so does life. No, you're not the people you were two years ago. What you need to find now is an acceptable compromise." He cocked his head, red eyes boring into hers. "But I see that you know that already."

"Yeah," she admitted. "I do."

Lorne nodded, then chucked her gently under the chin. "Keep a stiff upper," he said. "You've got some tough times ahead."

"What else is new?" muttered Buffy.

"But you're still first in his heart," he assured her. "And that will never change, not in the foreseeable future anyway."

"Thanks." Buffy smiled for the first time in a while. Just then Angel approached, with Fred in tow, and the Host melted away. "Buffy, I want you to meet Fred. Fred, this is - "

"Buffy," interrupted the young woman, flashing a quick, somehow brittle smile. "I know." She thrust out her hand and when Buffy took it, gave hers a hearty shake. "Hi. It's good to meet you. I've heard - well, not a *lot* about you, which has been kind of frustrating at times, but I've heard your name quite a bit, lately. And, and during the summer too. I mean, well, with Angel going off to a monastery and being gone for so long when we'd only just gotten back home, I was, you know, curious, and so Cordelia and Wesley told me about you - some. And - and, wow, it was just great watching you whale away at Mr. Sneery."

She realized she was still pumping Buffy's hand, dropped it and smiled nervously. "Sorry. When I said Mr. Sneery I meant that Gio person, I just called him Mr. Sneery to myself because all he did was sneer at everyone that wasn't him. He was really obnoxious, you know? I mean, mouthing off all the time about how evil vampires are and I just kept wanting to *shout* at him that Angel isn't like that! I mean, he rescued me from slavery and everything, and brought me home and ... and I guess maybe just I'll stop babblin' now." She subsided, looking abashed.

Somewhat dazed, Buffy tried to cope with the flood of words. "Uh, hi! It's good to finally meet you too, Fred. Angel's told me a little bit about you, but I'm looking forward to getting to know you better."

"You are?" Fred couldn't seem to imagine why. "Well ... thanks! I'm, I'm nobody special, though."

"You're very special," Angel told her firmly. "Isn't she, Wesley?"

"Absolutely," Wesley agreed. "Damn straight," Gunn contributed.

"Um, thanks." Fred began nervously combing her fingers through her long hair and dropped her gaze back to the floor.

"Shall we all get back to the hotel?" Angel asked. "Cordelia's waiting for us, and you know how she gets if she's kept waiting."

"Right," Gunn said. "I'll, uh, catch you up in a bit. I need to go talk wit' my guys." He looked at the doorway, where the last of his old group was filing through.

"I'll go with you," Wesley said, earning a surprised look from Gunn. "There's something I have to speak to you about. After you're through with your . . . guys, of course." They walked out together.

"Uh - " Fred began backing away with awkward, uncertain movements. "I'll just go ... look for the ladies' room and meet y'all outside, okay?" She bumped into a table. "Oh! Oops. Uh ... I'll see you in a few minutes." Still chattering away, she disappeared around a corner.

"So that's Fred," Buffy commented.

"Yeah." A tiny, indulgent smile curled Angel's lips.

"I see why you like her so much. She's very ... likeable." Buffy smiled too. "Where's she from? I mean, her accent - is she Southern?"

"Texas. You like her?" Angel's smile grew broader, tinged with relief. "That's great! I was hoping you two would hit it off."

"I bet you were." Buffy cocked a knowing eyebrow at him. "Were you afraid I'd be jealous?"

"A little," he admitted. "You're not, are you?" He looked anxiously at her.

"I was at first," she admitted in turn. "But not now."

"Good, because there's no reason for it." Angel smiled at her, that engaging little half-smile that always melted her heart.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you to - " The word ended as they came together. Fred, coming out of the restroom shortly afterward, saw them entwined and stood watching for a minute before sadly going outside.

"Hey, hey, hey!" The Host's voice finally broke them apart. "None of that here, kids. Go find yourselves a hotel or something!" He ushered them out then firmly closed the door behind them. The warm night air washed over them as they stood in the entrance. Buffy became aware of voices. A voice, rather. Wesley's.

"If you ever withhold information or attempt to subvert me again, I will fire you. I can't have any one member of the team compromising the safety of the group, no matter who it is. If you do it again you will be dismissed, bag and baggage, out of a job, onto the street." With those words Wesley left Gunn standing there and got into a taxi - with Fred, Buffy noticed.

"Wesley *has* changed," she commented, rather stunned. "A lot."

"Like I told you," Angel agreed. "He's shaping up to be a fine leader for our group."

Buffy nodded thoughtfully. She'd been more than slightly dubious when Angel had told her of the change in leadership for Angel Investigations, based on her memories of Wesley when he'd been her Watcher; but after what she'd observed tonight she was closer to believing in him. The old Wesley would never have confronted Gunn like that, with quiet, stern authority rather than pompous blustering. However, there was something she just didn't understand.

"Angel, why did you ... step down as the leader?" she asked. He shot her a hesitant look. "I refuse to believe it was because you thought you weren't a good one. I know you too well for that. You and I both know that Wesley, however well he's coming along, can't begin to compete with your centuries of experience."

Angel was quiet for a moment. "No, you're right. But after my epiphany last spring I realized I needed to understand better how humans ... operate, I guess is the word I want. I needed to understand what moves them, what motivates them."

Buffy frowned. "I always thought you understood people pretty well."

"Only from a predator's point of view," he said evenly. "I needed to experience it from the other side, Buffy."

"As a victim?" One eyebrow arched incredulously.

He smiled faintly. "No, not as a victim, but as someone who wasn't in authority. Buffy, before Darla Turned me, when I was just Liam, I never felt in control of my life. My father had financial, if not legal, control over me, I had no money of my own, and the society we moved in exerted an incredible amount of influence. I wanted to draw but artists were looked down upon - unless of course you were a genius, in which case you were respectfully tolerated, but no one really understood you. And I simply didn't have the strength of character to stand up for myself, so ... I drank and wenched and drank some more, hoping to sink into oblivion. Well, I sank into vampire existence instead, and the first thing I did as a vampire was try to seize control of my unlife - by killing my entire family and as many of my neighbors as I could.

"That was why I refused to accept the Master, and why Darla and I started our own 'family' - if you want to call it that - by siring Dru and Spike. *We* wanted to be the ones in control."

"So, after your epiphany," Buffy supplied slowly, thinking it through, "you wanted to reconnect to your humanity. And you thought the way to do that was by relinquishing authority of your own company."

"One of the ways," corrected Angel. "Yes."

Buffy nodded thoughtfully. This was a new side to Angel - another new side - and it was forcing her to readjust her thinking about him - again. Lost in thought she started toward Angel's car, but stopped when she realized he wasn't coming with her. Rather, he went over to Gunn, who was staring into space, apparently deep in his own thoughts.

"So, now you're gonna get on me about all those things I said to you in there," Gunn said, a little defensively, Buffy thought.

"No," replied Angel.

"You understand I had to stall, had to keep it going." Although not all that close physically, the two men were looking each other in the eye.

"Yeah. I get that," Angel nodded.

"Doesn't mean I *meant* any of it," Gunn declared.

Angel gave a quick shake of his head. "No, you meant all of it, but that's okay."

Okay? Buffy wondered. How can it possibly be okay? This is someone he thought of as a friend, and that person just told him he can't be a friend because of what Angel is, even though he admits that isn't Angel's fault.

Gunn's chin tilted upward, just a trifle - another indication of his defensiveness. "I can't help the way I feel, man. That's just the way it is. Doesn't mean I don't wanna work with you. Doesn't even mean that I don't like you." For the first time he displayed signs of uncertainty. "Maybe some day, I don't know."

"I don't know either," Angel said, "but I've got time." He started to walk back to Buffy, but stopped and turned around at Gunn's call.

"Hey! No matter what else, I think I proved that you can trust me when I could have killed you and I didn't." There was just a hint of pleading in Gunn's voice.

"No," Angel told him gravely. "You'll prove that I can trust you when the day comes that you *have* to kill me - and you do." He went to Buffy and together they walked to his car. Gunn watched them silently then turned and headed for an old pickup truck parked a few doors down from the club.

"Did you mean that?" Buffy asked Angel a few minutes later. "What you said to Gunn?" He didn't have to ask her which thing she meant; he knew. "Every word."

Buffy was quiet for several minutes, letting the streets and lights pass by without really seeing them. Finally she asked, "Have Cordy and Wes agreed to - to do that?"

"A long time ago," he answered, "and they promised me again after what happened last year." He hesitated, giving her a quick, sidewise glance. He'd told her the highlights - or should it be lowlights - of his descent into darkness the previous year, with one glaring exception. "Buffy, there's, there's something I need to talk to you about."

"Yes?"

"Not now," he added quickly. "Later, when I don't have to concentrate on traffic."

"Okay," Buffy said quietly. Silence descended again. She turned her head, gazing out the side window. She was pretty sure she knew what Angel was going to say, that they shouldn't see each other again. The few days they'd spent together must have proved more difficult than he'd anticipated. Why else would his thoughts be running on the possibility of becoming evil Angelus again, as was indicated by what he'd just said to Gunn? And maybe it wasn't fair to him to try to maintain a relationship. After all, it wasn't *her* soul that was at risk, was it?

Tears came to her eyes but she blinked them back. No, her soul was safe enough; it was her heart that was in danger - of being broken again. But if he really admitted that it was simply too hard for him to be around her, then for his sake they needed to part. Again. She blinked hard, driving back more involuntary tears. She could do this - for Angel's sake she could be strong. She could.

Then suddenly Lorne's words came to her: "I feel sorry for anyone who tries to keep you two apart." And, "What you need to find now is an acceptable compromise." Strength flowed back into her veins, and determination. There had to be a way, and by God, they were going to find it!

---

A short time later Angel pulled up in front of a large - a very large - building. When he got out Buffy did too, wondering why they were stopping there. "What is this place?" she asked, admiring the grand structure. "Oh, is this where those sisters live, the ones that cast the spell? I thought you were going to wait a few days before going to see them."

Angel smiled. "No, this is where I live." Chuckling out loud at her surprise, he led her to the huge glass doors and flung them open with a flourish. "Welcome to the Hyperion Hotel - and Angel Investigations."

Buffy walked inside, amused at his extravagant manner. She stopped, gazing around the huge lobby. "Wow. This is - incredible. You really live here?"

"He really does." Cordellia detached herself from the group standing at the long marble counter and came toward them. "Hi, Buffy."

"Cordelia?" Buffy's jaw dropped. She hardly recognized the tall young woman standing before her. It wasn't just the added maturity in her face and manner, it was - "Your hair! When did you cut it?"

Cordelia smiled. "Last spring. You like?" She turned her head from side to side for Buffy to inspect.

"I - I don't really know," Buffy said honestly. "I wasn't expecting it. You look so, uh, different with it short." Older, she'd been going to say but fortunately caught the word back in time, since it was doubtful Cordelia would appreciate it. "It makes you look more serious," she added. "More ... I don't know ... grown up, I guess." Oops, maybe that wasn't the best word to use, either.

"Not like a cheerleader, you mean?" To Buffy's relief, Cordy chuckled. "Hey, that's fine by me. At least you noticed it was different right away - my hair, I mean - unlike some others I could name." She cast a scathing glance at the men, who looked sheepish.

Gunn nodded at Buffy. "Hi. We weren't actually introduced before. You're Buffy, the Slayer, and I'm Gunn."

Buffy smiled. "I know. Nice to meet you." Gunn's stare was making her uncomfortable; it held both wariness and intense curiosity, and she knew that the others must have told him about her resurrection. She looked away. Fred gave her a shy little wave and smile, and she nodded and smiled in return.

Wesley came toward her. "Buffy, thank you for your help tonight. I know I said this earlier, but I can't tell you how good it is to see you again." Without waiting for Buffy to respond he continued, "How are you? I mean, how are you coping with ... well, with everything? It must have been quite traumatic, being brought back to life." Behind his glasses his gaze was searching, which reminded Buffy that, like Giles, he too was a Watcher - or had been - and he too understood how powerful and dangerous the magics used to resurrect her must have been.

"I'm dealing," was all she said, a familiar sensation creeping over her. She'd experienced it often since her return, a feeling not only of fatigue but also of detachment, as if she were watching a television show (one that she wasn't really interested in, at that), rather than actually being involved in whatever events were taking place. It was a disquieting feeling, and Buffy hoped it would soon vanish. Maybe she just needed to get more rest; she still had trouble sleeping through the night.

Angel looked at her quickly, seemed to sense something. Giving Wesley a warning glance, he took her hand. "You're tired, and no wonder. Let me show you to your room." He paused. "I'm sorry, I should have asked you if you wanted anything to eat."

Buffy shook her head. "No, thanks. I'm not hungry."

One of Angel's eyebrows twitched upward slightly, just enough to let her know that he didn't believe her. "Are you sure? Dinner was a long time ago." Before she could reply -

"I don't know about anyone else, but my stomach is trying to change places with my backbone," Cordy declared. "I'm going to nuke some Orville Redenbacher and if anyone wants to share, you're welcome to it. Some of it." Flashing a quick grin, she went into a small room at one side. A moment later Buffy heard the rustling sound of cellophane being torn and then a musical beep, followed by the low hum of a microwave in action. Before long the delicious aroma of buttery popcorn drifted out into the lobby.

Wesley cleared his throat. "Ah, I think I'll give Cordelia a hand with that." Gunn casually straightened up. "I'll help you." The two men disappeared into the same room Cordy had gone into.

"You go on up to your room, Buffy," Fred said, a quick, nervous smile flitting across her face. "I'll bring you up a bowl in a few minutes, if, if that's okay with you. You do look tired," she added solicitously.

"I am tired." Buffy smiled. "Just a small bowl, then. Thank you, Fred."

"It's no trouble - I mean, I'm happy to do it." Even as she was speaking the young woman started backing toward the popcorn room, as Buffy was beginning to think of it.

"Come on, I'll take you to your room." Still holding her hand, Angel led her up the grand, curving staircase and down a long hallway with elegant but faded wallpaper and an equally faded rug, finally opening the door to a room almost at the end of the corridor. "Is this okay?" he asked, switching on the light.

Buffy stepped inside. The room was somewhat larger than most hotel rooms she'd seen - not that she'd been in that many - and, like the corridor outside, the wallpaper and drapes looked rather old and faded. The bed was full-sized, in a frame of light-colored wood that matched the few pieces of furniture. A brass lamp sat on a table in the corner and a large picture hung on one wall; a landscape of some kind, she thought vaguely. A door to one side opened into what she assumed was a bathroom.

"It's fine." She was still having a hard time connecting with the real world, and it was an effort to make the words sound as if she meant them.

Angel looked anxious. "You're sure? I know it isn't anything fancy - we don't have the money to fix things up right - but the bed should be comfortable. " He went over and pressed down on the bare mattress, presumably to demonstrate how comfortable it was. "Well, as soon as I get some sheets on it, it will be. Sorry; we don't usually have overnight guests. Just a minute."

He was out the door before she could say anything, reappearing a minute later burdened with neatly folded sheets and a cheerful blue and white comforter. He dumped them on the seat of a chair. "Here we are. Just give me a minute to get the bed made."

Buffy forced herself to walk over to help, and together they made the bed. Something in the simple, homely act of smoothing sheets and tucking corners proved so soothing that by the time they were finished she was beginning to feel almost normal again. Angel insisted on getting her another pillow, though she tried to tell him that one was enough. "There!" He gave the pillows one more plumping and stepped back, surveying the neat bed. "Nothing fancy, as I said, but I think you'll sleep well."

"Angel, it's fine," Buffy said gently. "It's more than fine. You don't need to fuss about me."

His smile was rueful. "I know. I just ... wish I could offer you the best. Silk and lace instead of cotton."

Buffy smiled too. "Not necessary tonight. I'm so wiped I could probably sleep on the floor, the way you did in my bedroom that time we fought the Three."

"You remember that?" He seemed surprised.

"Of course." She wondered how he could think otherwise. "How could I forget? The next night we kissed for the first time."

"And I vamped out," Angel said, rather sadly. "I scared you."

Buffy went over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Only because I wasn't expecting it, Angel. What I remember most is the kiss, not the vamp-face."

"I remember it too," Angel murmured softly, tilting her chin up. His mouth descended on hers and Buffy lost herself in their kiss. His lips were cool and soft, his embrace tender, and Buffy felt grounded in reality once again.

"Ah! Found you!" They looked up to see Fred rocking to a halt in the open doorway, a small green bowl clutched in both hands, a triumphant grin fading from her lips. Her eyes widened. "I - God, I'm so sorry," she stammered. "I - I didn't mean to interrupt, really! I was just bringing the popcorn like I said I would. See?" She held out the bowl for their inspection, looking anxiously from one to the other.

Angel walked over and took it from her. "It's all right, Fred; we don't mind. Thank you." He turned to hand the bowl to Buffy, flashing her a look she had no trouble reading. He wanted her help in reassuring the fragile young woman.

"Thanks for bringing the popcorn all the way up here." Buffy smiled and said jokingly, "I'm not used to people waiting on me like this."

Fred visibly relaxed. "It really was no trouble. I mean, my room is just down the hall so it's on the way." She gestured vaguely to her left. "Well, kind of, anyway; it's on the other side of the stairs. Well ... I guess I'll say goodnight to you then, Buffy. Sleep tight and don't let the bedbugs bite!" She looked sheepish. "Um, that's what my mama always used to say to me when I was little, but it's kind of silly, I guess, because there's no bedbugs here, are there? Not that we had them in our house either, I don't mean that, it's ... it's just an old saying, I guess." Her hands began twisting nervously together.

Buffy nodded, pretending not to notice the other woman's agitation. "My mom used to sing ‘Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star' to me every night when I was a little girl. Then she'd kiss me on the forehead and say, ‘Sweet dreams, Buffy. I'll see you in the morning.' "

Fred smiled back. "That's nice. I like that. Sounds like you have a great mom too."

A pang went through Buffy and she felt her smile slipping a little. "Yeah."

"Well, goodnight again." With an awkward little wave of one hand, Fred left.

"I'm sorry," Angel said to Buffy, softly. "I guess we never told her about your mother."

"It's okay." Not wanting to talk about it anymore, Buffy looked down at the popcorn and took a handful of the fluffy kernels. It did taste good, but after a couple of bites she set the bowl on a nearby nightstand. "Will Cordy be upset if I don't eat it all? ‘Cause I'm really not hungry."

"She'll be fine. Don't eat it if you don't want to." Angel looked at her hesitantly, as if wanting to say more, and Buffy knew what was coming. She braced herself. "Are you too tired to talk right now?" he asked her. "Because if you are it can wait until morning."

"No, let's do it now. I hate things hanging over my head. Besides, who knows if there'll even be a tomorrow?" She managed a light tone, went over and sat down on the bed. Angel followed, settling beside her, though not too closely.

"True." He sat a moment in silence, figuring out how to begin. He knew that what he was about to say would hurt Buffy, and there was no way to soften the blow. In fact, trying to soften the facts might make it seem as if he were evading responsibility for his actions. "You know about the dark time I went through last year and how I finally had an epiphany - but I didn't tell you how it came about. Not the dark time, the epiphany."

Buffy blinked in surprise. This wasn't what she'd expected to hear. Rearranging her thoughts, she said, "Uh, no, you didn't." She waited expectantly, then when he said nothing, prompted, "So you want to tell me now?"

Angel said grimly, "Want to tell you? No. But ... I have to."

His tone sent a shiver of unease down her back. "Why do you have to? Why is it so important that I know?"

Angel's face was tight, closed in. "Because you deserve to know exactly what I turned into then, how low I sank. You need to know what I did, and I don't want you to hear about it from ... from anyone else."

Buffy's heart skipped a beat. "Was it worse than locking the Wolfram & Hart people in the wine cellar?" she asked, keeping her voice even with an effort. He'd told her about that only a couple of days before, and she'd tried not to show how much it had disturbed her to hear that Angel, with his soul intact, had been capable of such a cold-blooded, ruthless action. It was terrifyingly reminiscent of the things he'd done during the months when he'd lost his soul ... after her seventeenth birthday ... after they'd made love and her world fell apart.

Angel glanced at her and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly, in a grim smile with absolutely no humor in it. "I didn't kill any more people, if that's what you mean."

With a mental sigh of relief Buffy put her hand over his where it lay on his thigh. "Tell me," she said softly.

Angel shut his eyes. Taking a breath, he opened them and looked straight at her. "I had sex with Darla," he said starkly.

At first she didn't react, solely from sheer disbelief. Angel had slept with the resurrected Darla? He'd had sex with his Sire, the same vampire he'd once killed in order to save her, Buffy's, life? This time, instead of staking Darla he'd slept with her, and it had turned his life around? Instinctively she lifted her hand from Angel's.

"Having sex with Darla gave you an epiphany?" she asked numbly. He nodded and then the pain began. It filled her chest, making it hurt to breathe. She didn't know if she'd be able to bear the answer, but she had to know. "How?" Her voice was barely audible. A sharper pain shot through her hands; looking down she realized they were clenched so hard that her fingernails had cut into her palms. Forcing them open, she clasped her hands together instead.

"I'd reached rock bottom," Angel said tersely, staring in front of him. "I'd just learned - or thought I had learned - that all the good I'd tried to do, all the people I'd helped since leaving Sunnydale, didn't matter, that all of it was worth nothing because no matter how many good things people do, evil will always triumph in the end - because it's everywhere, in every person, every soul.

"I came home and Darla was in my room. I was numb. I wanted to feel something - anything - besides the freezing emptiness of my hollow existence. So . . . " His voice trailed away.

"I see." Buffy got up and wandered aimlessly around the room. "That must have been some ... session ... you two had." Angel's gaze shot from the carpet to her face. "Well, you did tell me that Darla used to be a prostitute, way back when. I guess some skills stay with you no matter how many centuries have passed."

Angel looked at her closely. "Are you thinking that I enjoyed it?" He shook his head. "I didn't. Buffy, that night wasn't about enjoyment or even about sex, it was about losing myself ... forgetting. Afterward, I woke up in pain. Darla thought I was losing my soul again." He gave a short, contemptuous laugh. "She'd actually believed she could give me a moment of perfect happiness."

Some of Buffy's pain eased. "You mean she didn't?"

This time it was Angel who reached out. His hand settled gently on top of her clenched fingers. "There is no way I could ever lose my soul with Darla, Buffy. I don't love her; I never have. The only woman I've ever loved is you. After what I've just told you, I wouldn't blame you if you never trust me again, but that's one thing you must believe. It's the one shining truth of my life: I love you. I will always love you."

His dark eyes shone with earnestness, and Buffy believed him. Mechanically she nodded, but she was too much in shock from what he'd told her, her mind blank, and she simply couldn't think of anything to say. A moment passed in silence. Angel's face fell; slowly he withdrew his hand. "I guess you want to be alone now." He stood up. "If you need anything, my room is the corner one at the end of this corridor." When she still didn't say anything, his face grew even bleaker. He turned to leave.

"Angel!"

Angel slowly faced her, his expression hovering somewhere between hope and fear. She still had no clue what to say; she only knew that she couldn't let him leave like this, believing she didn't want to be around him.

"I love you too." The words came without her conscious volition, but once uttered she knew their rightness. Of course she loved Angel; she always had, and nothing could change that; not his turning into Angelus four years ago; not his leaving a year later because he was convinced it was better for her; not even this. Knowing he'd had sex with Darla hurt, God yes, it hurt, but it hadn't altered the way she felt about him. It was important he know that right now.

Angel's tight expression relaxed a trifle. "Thank you." Then he left, shutting the door behind him, and Buffy was alone with her thoughts. After a moment she stood up and went into the bathroom, intending to take a long, hot shower (maybe it would clear her head), but discovered there were no towels. She sighed and thought about going in search of one, but she really didn't feel like wandering around the hotel. Then she thought of asking Angel, but instantly dismissed the idea. She needed a little more time before she was ready to see him again; time in which to figure out where they went from here. Earlier that night she'd been determined they would have some kind of relationship, even if it was a long distance one. Now - although she knew beyond doubt that she still loved Angel, his revelation about Darla had stunned her, left her confused. She needed to think things through.

There was a knock at the bedroom door. "Buffy?" The voice sounded familiar.

Buffy opened it. As she'd thought, it was Cordelia, loaded down with various items. The former cheerleader smiled apologetically. "Sorry to disturb you, but I thought Angel might have forgotten a few things for your comfort - like soap and towels and shampoo. And something to sleep in. I keep a couple of nightgowns here, just in case."

Buffy smiled and moved aside so she could enter. "You were right about the towels, at least. I hadn't checked for soap."

"I see he found you some sheets," Cordy remarked, glancing at the bed. "Oh, and pillows, that's good." She nodded down at the load in her arms, and Buffy lifted off the top item - a light blue nightgown that looked and felt like silk. Maybe it was.

Buffy felt obliged to defend Angel. "I'm sure he would have remembered about the towels, but we started ... talking ... and he just forgot." She laid the nightgown out on top of the bed and followed Cordy into the bathroom.

"Mmm-hmm." Cordelia set her burden down on the vanity top. Pulling out a set of towels, she began draping them over the brass bars set in the walls for that purpose. For lack of anything better to do Buffy checked the shower. Pulling her head out again she said to Cordy, "You were right; no soap."

Cordelia was already opening a box of Dove. She handed the pristine white bar to Buffy, tossing the empty box in the tiny wastebasket next to the toilet. "So, should I read anything into the fact that Angel noticed there were no sheets on the bed, but not that you didn't have any soap or towels?"

She sounded rather tense. Buffy raised an eyebrow. "Only that the bed is bigger and more noticeable." She set the soap in the little niche in the shower wall, along with the shampoo and conditioner Cordy held out next.

"Mmm-hmm." It was the same noncommital sound Cordelia had made before, this time accompanied by an enigmatic glance at her.

Buffy folded her arms and faced her. "Cordy, why don't you just come out with whatever it is you're wanting to say, instead of making with the cryptic noises?"

Cordelia fiddled a while longer with the towels, making sure the ends were hanging evenly. Finally she looked up. "We went through a really bad time last year with Angel."

"I know; he told me."

One dark, elegant eyebrow rose slightly. "He did? Did he also tell you that he locked a bunch of people in a basement with Darla and Drusilla - deliberately - knowing they'd be slaughtered, which they were?"

"Yes."

"And that he fired us all?"

"He told me." It was obvious that Cordelia still felt bitter about that - or maybe, Buffy amended, "bitter" wasn't the word. "Hurt" seemed to be more appropriate, given her tone of voice and the look on her face. "So what's your point, Cordy?" she asked patiently.

Cordy rubbed her arms. "My point is that things were just getting back to normal, with us being able to trust him again; then we learned about your death and Angel became all Mr. I-Want-To-Be-Alone-To-Mourn-In-the-Dark guy."

She held up a hand to forestall Buffy's quick response. "Which I don't blame him for. No one did; we all understood how devastated he was. He buried himself in a Sri Lankan monastary for three months and when he finally came home, even though it was obvious he was still grieving, he was more like the old Angel again. He'd even thought to bring gifts for all of us. And then - you called, and he went racing off to Sunnydale without a second thought."

"And?" prompted Buffy, still trying to figure out where Cordelia's real concern lay. Was she worried about Angel or only about how his emotional state might affect them all?

Taking a deep breath, Cordelia said, "And it's obvious, just from the couple of telephone conversations I've had with Angel and then seeing him tonight, that you two have been connecting again, emotionally. And nothing good ever comes from that."

The blunt statement took Buffy aback. Finally she said, "I'm sorry you feel that way. I know you don't care about me, but as Angel's friend I would have thought you'd want him to be happy. Not that happy," she hastened to add, as Cordelia's eyebrow went up again. "But a - a medium kind of happiness."

"I do," Cordelia asserted, "but you have to admit that your past history doesn't inspire much confidence in that kind of relationship. When you and Angel were together he was either flying high and totally absorbed by his love for you, or all moody and suffering. There wasn't much in-between stuff happening."

Buffy couldn't argue with that, and said so. "But that was then. We've been apart for two years, Cordy, and we've both changed. I think this time we could make it work." Wryly she reflected on the irony of the situation. Here she was arguing in favor of beginning another relationship with Angel, when she herself was uncertain about it.

Cordelia's expression could only be described as skeptical. "So when Angel came out of your room just now, that wasn't his I'm-Hurting-But-Refusing-To-Show-It face I saw? You two didn't have an argument or something equally depressing?"

Buffy bit back the retort that it was none of her business. Instead she leaned against the sink and returned Cordelia's gaze. "I'm a little confused. Are you afraid that being with me will make Angel too happy and he'll turn evil again, or that it'll make him unhappy and he'll go all dark and broody again? Which is it?"

"Either. Both." Cordy sighed and ran her hand through her hair. "I only know that the thought of you and Angel together gives me a huge wiggins. You can't imagine how it was around here last spring; what it was like to have him walk in the door and act like ... like a total stranger."

"I think I can," Buffy reminded her. "At least this time around he wasn't trying to kill you."

"No, he just treated us as if we hadn't worked together for over a year. . . like we hadn't been almost a family." Cordelia looked away, but not before Buffy saw the telltale sheen of tears in her eyes. "Anyway, I just wanted to ask you to be careful. We don't want to go through all that again. We can't."

"Neither can Angel," Buffy said with meaning. Cordelia looked at her blankly. "I know he treated you badly, Cordy, and he didn't even have the plea of losing his soul to excuse it, but did you ever think about what was happening to Angel that could make him change like that? I mean, really stop and think that maybe whatever he was experiencing was so powerful that he was helpless to ignore it, and that's why his behavior changed so radically? That maybe the reason he fired you and Wes and Gunn was because he couldn't spare the energy to argue with you; that it took all his strength to keep from being totally consumed by whatever Darla and the lawyers had cooked up for him?"

Buffy advanced a step toward the other woman. "Or, and here's a novel thought: maybe another reason he fired all of you was because he was trying to keep his friends out of the line of attack. Maybe he hoped that if you were out of his life the evil forces he was battling wouldn't bother with you, that they'd ignore you. Did you ever think of that?"

It was obvious from Cordelia's expression that she hadn't. It was also apparent that she didn't think much of the idea. Her lip curled. "That sounds real noble and all, but excuse me if I say I really doubt it. After he came back, when he apologized for everything, he didn't say one word about trying to protect us. What he did say was that he shouldn't have allowed his obsession with Darla and W&H to go as far as it did. If he'd really fired us for our own safety, don't you think he would have told us that - tried to explain?"

Buffy shrugged. Suddenly exhaustion swept over her like a blanket. The mirror over the vanity reflected their images, and she hoped it was just the dim lighting that made her look so pale and washed-out; but she was afraid it was only too accurate. "I don't know; would he? Remember, this is Angel we're talking about, who blames himself for all the evil Angelus did, even though it was the demon who was in control of his body, not him. He still blames himself because he wasn't aware of the loophole in his curse, even though there's no way he could have known about it. He shoulders the responsibility for just about everything that goes wrong; don't you know that by now?"

Cordelia's face changed slightly, as if Buffy's words had hit home. She regarded Buffy in silence for a few seconds. "Well, I can tell you're about ready to drop, so I'll say goodnight and let you rest. I'll see you in the morning, Buffy. Oh, here's a toothbrush for you. And toothpaste." She stood aside so Buffy could see the objects lying beside the sink.

Not a word about Angel or what Buffy had just said, but Buffy didn't expect it. That wasn't Cordelia's way if she thought she was wrong about something - or it hadn't been her way in high school. Now, who knew? Buffy was too tired right now to care, in any case. "Thank you. Good night."

Cordy left and Buffy finally got the hot shower she'd been craving. That over, she donned the nightgown Cordelia had brought for her, crawled between the crisp sheets, and was asleep in about ten seconds flat.

---

"Well, this is exciting, isn't it? Going straight to the source of the evil."

Buffy stared around her in confusion. She was in an elevator, standing behind Angel and someone she didn't know; an older, gray-haired man who was attractive without being at all handsome. He had deep lines bracketing his mouth, and a friendly smile - and, she saw with a chill, the left side of his neck bore the unmistakable marks of vampire fangs, still crusted with blood.

"So, what's the big plan, Angel? Destroy the Senior Partners, smash Wolfram & Hart once and for all?" this unknown man asked genially.

"Something like that." Angel kept his eyes trained on the indicator over the doors, watching the numbers flicker by. She could feel his impatience to have the trip over with. Impatience and something else she couldn't quite put her finger on, something cold and determined. He moved slightly and she saw he wore a long metal gauntlet on one hand. She frowned, hoping this one wasn't anything like the Glove of Myneghon. The last thing needed in an elevator was a lightning-spewing weapon.

"Angel, what's going on? How did we get here?" Buffy reached out, gaping with disbelief when her hand went through Angel's arm as if it wasn't there. She tried again; same result. "Angel?" He gave no indication that he'd heard. She leaned toward the other man. "Hello? Can you hear me?" Again no response. Okay, this was ... interesting. And more than a little bewildering. What was going on? Just to see if she could, she pinched herself.

"Ow!"

Holland glanced at Angel. "Now tell me, just what do you think that would accomplish? In the end, I mean," the older man asked genially. Lights flashed, strobe-like, as the elevator descended.

"It'll be ... the end." The expression on Angel's face sent a chill up Buffy's spine. The end? End of what?

Their companion looked amused. "Well, the end of you, certainly; but I meant in the larger sense."

"In the larger sense, Holland, I really don't give a crap," said Angel evenly.

Holland? Was that the other man's name? Wait a minute; Angel had said something about someone named Holland. Yeah! He'd been someone high up in that Wolfram & Hart place. He'd also been one of the group Angel had shut in the wine cellar with Dru and Darla, which accounted for the puncture wounds on his neck. Buffy knew only two people had survived that ordeal, and neither of them was named Holland. So that meant... . Her eyes narrowed. That meant this man was dead. So what was he doing here? What was she doing here? For that matter, where was "here?"

The man - Holland - turned to Angel admonishingly. "Now I don't think that's true. Be honest. You've got the tiniest bit of 'give a crap' left; otherwise you wouldn't be going on this kamikaze mission."

Buffy's head snapped around. Kamikaze mission? "Angel, what‘s he talking about?" she demanded, forgetting for the moment that Angel couldn't see or hear her. She swore under her breath.

Holland mused, "Now let me see, there was something ... in a sacred prophecy ... some oblique reference to you. Something you're supposed to prevent. Now what was that?"

"The apocalypse," supplied Angel sardonically. It was obvious that he knew Holland's seemingly faulty memory was all pretense. Of course it was also obvious that the dead lawyer wasn't really trying to fool him; that it was all a game he was playing for some reason of his own.

Holland snapped his fingers. "Yes, the apocalypse. Of course - another one of those. Well, it's true; we do have one scheduled. And I imagine if you were to prevent it you would save a great many people." He turned toward Angel, earnestly. "Well, you should do that then. Absolutely. I wasn't thinking."

Then he faced forward again. "Of course all those people you save from that apocalypse would then have the next one to look forward to, but, hey, it's always something, isn't it?" He shrugged, and again that friendly smile flashed out.

Buffy set her jaw. Holland reminded her in many ways of the late, unlamented (by her anyway) Mayor Wilkins of Sunnydale - always ready with a smile and a quip or a homily, while he planned the deaths of thousands of innocent people. So what was this man's game? What was he up to, and how did it include Angel? The elevator jerked, startling her, then began to pick up speed. Buffy looked up. The numbers were flashing by too quickly to read.

"You're not going to win," Angel stated quietly, with determination.

"Well ... no. " Holland looked faintly surprised, as if Angel should have known better. "Of course we aren't. We have no intention of doing anything so prosaic as winning." Then he laughed, genuinely amused, and for the first time Angel glanced in his direction.

"Then why?"

"Hmm? I'm sorry?" The polite incomprehension on Holland's face made Buffy want to hit him, it was so patently false. "Why what?"

"Why fight?" asked Angel.

"That's really the question you should be asking yourself, isn't it? See, for us, there is no fight - which is why winning doesn't enter into it. We ... go on ... no matter what."

The face he turned to Angel left no doubt that he believed every word he was saying. "Our firm has always been here, in one form or another. The Inquisition. The Khmer Rouge. We were there when the very first caveman clubbed his neighbor. See, we're in the hearts and minds of every single living being. And that, friend, is what's making things so difficult for you."

His voice softened with what appeared to be real compassion. Angel's eyes flickered, and Buffy sensed a tendril of doubt creeping into his mind. Holland continued, "The world doesn't work in spite of evil, Angel; it works with us. It works because of us."

"Don't believe him!" Buffy said, once again trying to grab Angel's arm, and failing. "He's lying! Don't let him get to you."

With that the elevator came to a screeching halt. The doors opened. Buffy stared. The scene outside the doors displayed, not the nightmarish scene she'd begun to expect, but a bright, sunny day. On the other side of the street a homeless person pushed a loaded shopping cart across an open plaza. Behind the pleasant, garden-like area rose a huge building with "Wolfram and Hart" carved over the enterance.

"Welcome to the home office," declared Holland.

Angel stood stock-still. "This isn't... ." Buffy felt his confusion, his doubt.

"You know it is," Holland said him, again with that air of gentle reproof. "You know that better than anyone. The things you've seen ... the things you've, well, done. You see, if there wasn't evil in every single one of them out there - "

A sudden yell caught Buffy's attention - and Angel's. Two people in the plaza were arguing, angrily and loudly.

" - why, they wouldn't be people, would they? They'd all be angels."

The glove dropped off Angel's hand, hitting the floor of the elevator with a metallic clank as he walked outside, moving like someone in a dream - or a nightmare. Buffy hurried after him. As the doors began to close she heard Holland call out, "Have a nice day."

Angel slowly walked along the streets of L.A. Buffy, at his side, watched him observe everything he passed: a young woman, obviously a prostitute, and a potential customer having an angry disagreement; a woman yellling at a young girl, probably her daughter; a homeless man with a brown bag under his arm shuffling aimlessly down the sidewalk, muttering to himself, ignored by everyone.

Even though she knew he couldn't hear her, Buffy said, "Angel, you know this is only a part of the truth. Yes, people get angry and they say and do things they shouldn't; but there's also love and kindness and friendship." She stopped in despair. She didn't know exactly what was going on here, but she was convinced that she was witnessing something Angel had experienced. She could literally feel his hopelessness, his desperate need for reassurance, something she was unable to give him in her current state of ... not really being there. It was like being a ghost.

Or like dreaming. Buffy considered that as she trailed Angel. That made more sense, that this was a dream. It had the familiar trademarks of being in the middle of something but at the same time being apart from it. And if this was a dream ... then she was afraid she knew where it was heading.

Angel turned into the entrance of the Hyperion, Buffy right behind. As they entered the lobby she heard Cordy's voice. "Hi, you've reached Angel Investigations. We help the hopeless. Leave a message and we'll get right back to you." Then came the beep of an answering machine, and a woman's husky voice.

"You did it, didn't you? You bastard." The words were slurred. "You made me trust you. You made me believe. No, it wasn't you ... it was me, right? I couldn't take the heat..."

Expressionless, Angel walked over to the counter where the answering machine sat. The voice grew thicker, with pauses in between words. "That's what they're gonna say. Then you're gonna feel all bad - or you won't care. But then ... then I won't care either. I won't feel a thing."

Buffy frowned. This didn't sound good at all. She hadn't a clue as to who the woman on the phone might be, but it was certainly someone Angel knew ... and from the sound of it, someone Angel had let down, just as he'd done with Cordelia and the others.

Angel turned down the volume on the machine, then headed for the staircase, his face still frozen, devoid of expression. Buffy caught up with him on the stairs. "Angel, listen to me! You have to hear me! What Holland said back there isn't true - and down deep inside, you know it. Angel, please hear me!" But she knew he didn't; despair still emanated from him in almost visible waves.

Remembering what he had told her that evening, she didn't follow him into his bedroom but waited just outside the door. She watched him take a few steps inside, then come to a sudden stop. "What do you want, Darla?" he said.

Buffy braced herself. Sure enough, a woman stepped into her line of vision from whatever corner of the bedroom she'd been hiding in. Buffy stared. The last time she'd seen Angel's sire, Darla had been dressed in the plaid uniform of a Catholic schoolgirl, with her blonde hair in a blunt cut, reaching almost to her shoulders, and bangs across her forehead - a simple, demure style to match the unsophisticated persona.

No trace of that schoolgirl could be found in the elegant young woman now before her. The figure formerly concealed by a white blouse and pleated skirt showed to good advantage in a slinky red dress that hugged her slender form like a second skin. Her hair was artistically casual. For the first time Buffy realized how beautiful Darla was. Even the burn scars on her face couldn't detract from that. She swallowed.

Darla didn't say anything, just watched Angel, her attitude wary, alert. Turning his head slightly but not looking at her, Angel held up a gold ring Buffy hadn't noticed before. "You want this?" Carelessly he tossed it to the floor. Darla scurried over. In a flash Angel whirled around, grabbed her arm, and sent her stumbling toward the wall, following after.

"Or maybe what you really want is this!" It was the first trace of real emotion Buffy had seen from him since they'd left the elevator. He pushed Darla up against the wall and gently brushed the hair back from her face. "That may be what you really want. Isn't it?" Then he kissed her, softly. Darla didn't react except to stare at him with suspicion. He kissed her again, a little harder, and Buffy looked away. Even though she knew this encounter would ultimately end on a positive note, the sight of Angel kissing someone else was more than she could stand.

Darla pushed him forcibly away. "Don't play games with me." Her silky, cat-voice struck Buffy with a jolt, sweeping her almost five years into the past.

("I made him. There was a time when we shared everything, wasn't there, Angelus? You had a chance to come home, to rule with me in the Master's court for a thousand years, but you threw that away because of *her*. You love someone who hates us. You're sick, and you'll always be sick. And you'll always remember what it was like to watch her die.")

("Come on, Buffy. Take it like a man.")

("Angel?!!")

Angel's voice brought her back to the present. "I'm not playing. I just want to feel something besides the cold." The desolation behind his words wrung Buffy's heart even as Angel pushed Darla onto a table, lowered himself above her, and began kissing her.

Darla kissed him back, pushing his jacket off his shoulders. Buffy turned away as Angel helped her strip off his jacket, still kissing her, but the unexpected sound of Darla laughing yanked her around again.

Angel pulled back as Darla pushed him away and stood up. "Why are you laughing?" he demanded.

Darla kept laughing and didn't answer. Without warning Angel struck her, hard. Buffy gasped. Darla staggered across the room, out of Buffy's sight, and she heard the sound of glass shattering. Buffy hurried inside, noticing only vaguely that this was more than just your standard hotel room - it was a spacious suite. Darla lay sprawled on the floor of a second room, surrounded by glass shards. Angel had deliberately sent Darla through a glass door? A door that led to his bedroom, she noticed at second glance. Maybe it was an accident, Buffy thought wildly. Maybe Angel hadn't intended his blow to be that forceful.

Her eyes flew to Angel's frozen face. Or maybe he just hadn't cared. Buffy rubbed her arms, shivering.

Angel slowly walked toward Darla as she rolled over and looked up at him, visibly stunned. "Don't you feel the cold?" He reached down, grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her up.

"What are you doing?" she demanded breathlessly, a thin trickle of blood running from the crack that had opened in her lip. A slowly reddening bruise next to it showed where Angel's blow had landed.

"It doesn't matter," he murmured, stroking her face. "Nothing matters - none of it." He kissed her again, and again Darla responded, but with far more agression than before. Kissing frantically, they fell onto the bed, tugging at each other's clothing.

There came a bright flash of light. Buffy blinked. The scene had suddenly changed. Angel, now fully dressed, sat at the foot of the rumpled bed, pulling on his shoes and socks. Darla stood at the side, wearing only a sheet wrapped around her, hair tousled.

"You're not evil." Darla stared at Angel with incomprehension. "I - I don't understand. Was I ... was it ... not good?" Then she gave a short laugh. "Well, I don't accept that. You cannot tell me that wasn't perfect. Not only have I been around for four hundred years, but I used to do this professionally. And that - was - perfect." She grabbed Angel by the arm and tried to drag him back onto the bed. "We'll just go again!"

Angel pulled his arm free and stood up, backing away. "No. No, we can't. You know we can't. We're finished." His voice was gentle; the words, final.

Anger swept over Darla's face. "Finished? Why? What, because you suddenly decide? You know, an hour ago you wanted this. You weren't tricked into anything. I didn't seduce you. You wanted it!"

"Yeah," admitted Angel, watching her with something very like compassion. "And you were right, Darla, it was perfect - it was perfect despair."

Darla stared at him in disbelief.

"And you were the reason. You've always been the reason. You were the thing that made me what I am, and ... I thought -" Angel faltered, searching to put tangled emotions into words. "I thought if I could save you, I'd somehow ... save myself, but - but I was wrong. And when I failed - "

"Stop it!" Darla cried. Angel ignored her.

"When I failed, you saved me. And I have to thank you for that. There's nothing I can do for you now, Darla. I can't even hate you."

"You knew this would happen, didn't you? You made me trust you! You made me believe!" Darla accused him.

Angel's eyes flickered, as if her words touched some chord of memory. Hastily he turned to leave. "We're done. Let yourself out."

Darla raced after him, stooping to pick up a sharp splinter of wood. (A remnant of the door frame? Buffy wondered.) "Where are you going?" She raised the stake. Angel turned swiftly and caught her wrist on the down swing.

"You did me a favor tonight," he said evenly, still with that hint of compassion. "Now I'm going to do one for you. Get dressed and get out. Because the next time I see you I will have to kill you."

Speechless, Darla glared after him as he walked out of the room.

---

Buffy's eyes flew open. "What - ?" Pushing the hair out of her eyes, she sat up and looked around her, momentarily disoriented. Where - ? Oh, yes. She was in a bedroom at the Hyperion Hotel; it was - she craned her neck to see the luminous dial of the clock-radio on the nightstand - 3:07 A.M.; and she'd just woken up from a sound sleep.

And from a most extraordinary dream, remnants of which still chased one another through her mind.

Reaching over, she switched on the bedside lamp, then arranged the pillows behind her. Leaning back into their softness, she reviewed her dream. She was convinced that it had shown her the events pertaining to Angel's epiphany. His stark hopelessness still resonated in her heart. ("It doesn't matter. None of it matters.") God, no wonder he'd grabbed at the first opportunity he saw to generate a warmer emotion. That it happened to be Darla was mere chance. Come to think of it, maybe he'd been lucky that it was Darla. What if he'd run into Cordelia instead? Knowing Cordy, she probably would have staked him if he'd tried to come on to her, especially after everything he'd put her through beforehand.

Something niggled at her memory. Buffy frowned. What was it Angel had said to her earlier that evening? "It wasn't about sex. It was about losing myself ... forgetting." Ohmigod, had Angel actually been trying to really lose himself with Darla? As in, losing his soul?

A cold chill swept over her; then Buffy relaxed back into the pillows. No. Angel had told her, emphatically, that he knew being with Darla couldn't cause him to lose his soul, and she believed him. No, as he'd told Darla, he was only trying to feel something besides the freezing cold. Briefly she thought about the many times she'd used Riley to push back the memory of cool lips on hers ... gentle hands holding her close ... of looking up into deep brown eyes. She hadn't realized at the time that's what she was doing, but it was.

Suddenly Buffy jumped up. Out in the hallway she hesitated, trying to remember where Angel had said his room was. Oh yeah, the corner room at the end of the hallway. Turning left, Buffy went up to the closed door, hesitated briefly, then tapped on the door.

Angel opened his eyes and realized that, contrary to his expectation when he'd gone to bed that night, he actually had fallen asleep. He'd fully expected to lie awake all night, torturing himself with thoughts of Buffy. Just as his fuzzy brain began to comprehend that something had awakened him, the door to his suite opened and a white figure padded in.

He shot upright. "Buffy?"

 

Want to read the PG or R version of part two?