It almost felt strange returning to the old train station after two days at Buffy's bedside. Angel was still in a bit of shock after everything that had happened. He was overwhelmed by the sudden change in everything around him.

No, that wasn't right. Everything around him had been like this all along. He just couldn't hide from it as before. Buffy's very presence effected him just like it had the first time he'd seen her – drawing him suddenly and irrevocably from the shadows, literal and metaphorical. Once again she surrounded him with the essence of the humanity he lacked. He was drawn back into public identity by her just as he might be drawn to sunlight – beautiful, longed for, but deadly.

It terrified him.

He wasn't human. He hadn't even appeared human in a long time. Even more terrifying, though, he didn't know if he knew how to be human anymore. How to pretend. He couldn't remember what it felt like to live, to interact, to just be. It had been so long, perhaps too long for him to ever return.

But Buffy…she was different. Beautiful and vibrant, even when gravely injured, she carried on with the strength and heart he remembered from that too brief time ages ago. She was the antithesis of change.

Change; unchanged. Darkness and light. Monster and human. Death and life.

Yeah, Angel was confused.

Buffy seemed to continue on regardless. Well, no, not regardless. She was very aware of him at all times, smiling and speaking to him even when he was too befuddled to answer. Which felt odd in and of itself – she never hesitated, there were no uncomfortable silences, just the warm glow of acceptance and companionship. Unintentionally, they were both grasping on to old shreds of familiarity from before the world went dark.

"So," Buffy had asked soon after they returned from the hospital together, "what kind of demons were those?"

Angel just shrugged.

Buffy looked at him with raised eyebrows. "If you don't know what they are, how do you plan to kill them?"

"I…." Angel couldn't think of what to say. He didn't plan to kill demons anymore. He just did. He no longer had a seer to direct him to people in trouble, no drawn out hunts. He killed what he happened to find as he wandered and that was that.

"What?" Buffy asked with a chuckle. "You just cut off their heads and figure they'll die?"

"It works," Angel muttered.

"Sure, if the things have necks," Buffy retorted.

Angel couldn't help but smile ever so slightly.

"Well then," she said, moving slowly across the room. She cleaned off his second chair, long covered by books, and carefully lowered herself onto it due to her injuries and its rickety nature. "I'm not usually research girl," she declared. "You tell me where to look."

"Uh…."

Buffy just looked at him patiently. "There are three angry demons out there," she said. "If you think they're going to stand by with us half blinding them…."

"Strasman's Compendium," Angel interrupted her.

Buffy grinned broadly. "There, that wasn't so hard." Her smile slipped and she gestured to the pile of books. "Uh…which one?"

So research mode commenced, and Angel found himself looking back with nostalgia on other times. The early times pouring over prophecies with Giles, and the years of Angel Investigations with Wesley…this was a sort of camaraderie he used to be familiar with, where talking was unnecessary and he could bury himself in someone else's written words. As long as it had been since he opened one of these books, it had been even longer before that since he'd had someone else to look at them with him.

It turned out to be both good and bad this time to have someone with him. On the one hand there was that silent companionship. The more time went on, the less Angel could imagine being alone again. He knew he would be eventually – simple fact – but if he could put that off forever he would. On the other hand, Angel had been alone for so long. He'd become intensely private, for one. Breaking that habit and adjusting his existence to accommodate for someone else's presence did not come easily. And this was Buffy, which raised other issues. Like things he had kept from her for so long he'd forgotten she'd never known….

Angel was reading yet another obscure demon reference when one of those later issues practically smacked him in the face. He had the large tome open on his lap and was scanning the text with one nail running across the page. It looked like this might hold the information they were looking for, but the archaic German was difficult to puzzle out even without the faded ink. Buffy sat across from him, still sorting through the massive piles of books.

"What's this?" she asked abruptly.

Angel finished the sentence he was reading and glanced up, expecting to see another old book with a battered cover. Instead there was an old notebook in her hand, rebound several times, with pages torn and slipping from their rings. If Angel could have, he would have paled.

He's forgotten he still had that.

"Uh…it is…was Wesley's," he managed.

"Oh," Buffy said softly as she began to very carefully open it.

"Buffy!" he said quickly.

She looked at him again, startled no doubt by the abruptness of his tone.

"It's not…it has nothing to do with…." he struggled.

"What is it?"

Angel swallowed the lump in his throat. "Prophecy. Translations."

Buffy looked at him oddly. "You're sure there's nothing…?"

"No!" Angel snapped, standing.

Buffy jerked back in surprise.

"There's nothing," he said more gently. Nothing but empty promises and battled still to be fought. It was the iron grip of the Powers That Be, keeping him alive for some supposed battle that never came. So God damn important…. "It doesn't matter," he said, gesturing at the book he'd been reading. "I know what I need to know."

He turned away from her, grabbing the broadsword standing against the wall.

"I'm coming with you," she said from behind him.

"No," Angel said, not even looking at her. "You're not."

He left at a speed he knew she could not follow.

***

For a while after his abrupt departure, Buffy simply gaped at where Angel had gone. What had she done to deserve such a reaction? She couldn't even begin to figure out what he was feeling at the moment. Was he angry with her? Or was there something else going on entirely?

Well, some wry part of her noted, at least she got a reaction out of him. Less than a week ago she wouldn't have gotten that much.

So Buffy frowned, and she worried, and eventually she read. She read about a vampire with a soul, written about ages before his own birth. She read about battles, fiends, and plagues he was meant to face, and she read about his reward. Multiple translation and reinterpretations, but it all led to one conclusion.

Some day, Angel would be human.

There was no hint of when or how, but there it was. Angel would one day be a vampire no longer, but rather a living, breathing member of the human race. Buffy read the notes over more than once, her thoughts a turmoil of possibilities. She couldn't find the answer to one question, though.

Why had her finding this upset Angel so much?

She was jolted out of her thoughts suddenly. Just as abruptly as he'd left, Angel returned. Buffy was startled and shocked by his appearance. Only his sword was free of gore – cleaned before he left the battle site as always. His shirt was practically shred to ribbons, and the red blood mixing with blue demon ooze testified to the wounds beneath.

"Angel!" Buffy could not help but cry, springing from her chair, heedless of her half healed injuries.

He looked at her, saying nothing. Buffy could see him wincing with every step he took. Sitting heavily in his chair, Buffy could see lines of pain on his face.

She rushed to action, grabbing the first aid supplies and going quickly to his side.

"Don't," he said oddly, flinching away from her first attempt to check his wounds.

He couldn't exactly go far, and Buffy would not be dissuaded. "Stop it," she said sternly. "Take off your shirt so that I can look at your wounds."

Angel looked at her stubbornly. "You need those," he insisted, gesturing at the bandages and antiseptic wash she carried.

"I'm almost healed," she retorted. "Slayer, remember?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "Take off your shirt."

After one more stubborn look that Buffy easily matched, Angel complied. Once the wounds were laid bare, Buffy sat next to him on the chair's armrest and began to carefully wipe blood and gore away. Angel trembled under the first couple of touched and Buffy couldn't help but be reminded of an animal yearning to escape. He relaxed only after a couple of minutes and let Buffy bandage his wounds. He was silent.

"So," Buffy said after a long while, taping one bandage on his back into place, "did clobbering some demons make you feel better?"

"No," Angel replied simply.

Buffy knew what that felt like. "Did you get them?"

"They're dead."

Buffy nodded and they fell into silence once again. It was awkward this time, and to her surprise it was Angel who broke it.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked in a voice barely above a whisper. He sounded absolutely miserable.

"Because I don't like seeing you in pain," Buffy replied honestly.

"I would have healed," Angel began to reply.

Buffy finished securing the last bandage – low across the ribs – and then moved so that she could face him. She crouched in front of his chair, her hands resting lightly on his knees. "I didn't mean just this," she said very gently. "I think you've been in pain longer than the oldest person alive ever lived. I could feel it from the moment I found you again. I want to make it go away, or at least lessen it."

Angel looked away from her without comment.

"I read the prophecy while you were gone," Buffy continued. "I read about how some day you're supposed to become human. What in that – in me finding it, whatever – upset you so much?"

Angel faced her abruptly with a snarl, his eyes flashing yellow with emotion before returning to brown. "How can you ask me that?" he hissed around his fangs.

"I asked because I was worried about you!" Buffy explained. "When you ran out of here like that I was afraid you wouldn't be back!"

"And that would bother you?"

"Yes, it would bother me!" she said, aghast that he would think otherwise. "You're my friend, Angel. You're the only one left."

"So better the monster you know than the humans you don't," Angel muttered sarcastically.

He obviously did not mean for her to hear that. "You're not a monster," she said vehemently.

"Then what am I?" Angel retorted. "I'm sure as hell not human!"

"But you could be!" Buffy cried, remembering the prophecy.

Angel nearly glared at her. "With this face?" he growled. "With these hands? There's no place for me among humans anymore."

The finality in his voice infuriated her. "Fine!" she declared, standing up. "You think you're a monster, do you? Well then, I guess you are what you think you are! I mean, look at Faith. She killed a man and thought she was evil, so guess what? She became evil!"

"Buffy…."

Buffy kept right on going. "So go ahead and be a monster," she said. "I mean, you think you are one and that you look like one. How far from there to being one? I mean, all you have to do is start killing people again and you'd definitely fit the part!"

Angel flinched.

Buffy crouched at his feet again, calmly meeting his pained gaze. "But you know what I see instead?" she asked gently. "I see a friend in pain. I see someone who has tried to suppress parts of himself for so long that it hurts just to be. You are one of the most human beings I have ever met.

"No monster would have rescued me from those demons," she went on. "No monster would care like you do. They wouldn't go on fighting, even when it seems senseless and the possibility of reward seems gone. You're not a monster. When I asked about you that first night at The Underground, the bar tender made a point of telling me you're a good man. I see that. He sees that and he doesn't even know you. Why can't you see the same thing?"

Angel was silent.

Buffy took a deep breath and ran a gentle hand across his brow. He closed his eyes at her touch. "You may not look human here," she said, "but you'll always be human here." She placed her hand over his heart with that last phrase, then stood again and withdrew from him slightly. She swallowed. "You lost a lot of blood," she said, changing the subject. "You should eat something."

Angel blinked at her oddly and hesitated.

"What?"

"There isn't any. The blood…."

Memory image: cold box of blood spilled in the midst of battle. "You haven't fed in four days?!"

Angel shrugged. "I don't need much."

Buffy shot him a 'don't be ridiculous' look. "Clean up, get a new shirt on, and let's go."

"Where…?"

Buffy smiled reassuringly. "To ask your supplier for an advance," she explained. She had more plans than that, though. Angel was finally talking to her. He needed convincing as to his own potential for humanity? Then it was about time he started talking with some other members of the human race.

***

Angel licked his lips nervously. And part of him felt ridiculous for being nervous.

"Front door," Buffy had said. No problem, right?

Yeah, right.

Next to him, Buffy was as strong and confident as ever. She was trying to be confident enough for both of them. When his footsteps would slow, she would smile at him and lightly touch his arm, moving him inexorably forward.

The reaction when they entered the seedy bar wasn't what Angel expected. More specifically, there wasn't a reaction. Buffy and Angel were noticed, but that was it. No one looked at them twice.

Angel's confusion must have shown on his face, because Buffy suddenly chuckled.

"You should have seen the blue slimy guy that was here on my first visit," she said just loud enough to be heard. "I'm sorry for the janitor." Then, a bit more seriously, "I've learned one major thing since I arrived here. There aren't many – at least, down here – that don't know about the existence of demons."

She drew him then over to the bar and grabbed a stool for each of them. "Hey!" she called to get the bar tender's attention.

He smiled when he saw her. "Hey, Slayer! Back again so soon?"

Buffy smiled back. "I'm here, aren't I? You know, I never did get your name."

"Richard," the bar tender replied. "You going to introduce me to your friend?"

"You know my friend," she said, placing a hand on Angel's shoulder.

Angel glanced at the bar tender. He'd been watching the mass of people around them pretty much since they got there, both fascinated and overwhelmed. Now he met the bar tender's shocked gaze and dropped his eyes almost immediately. Buffy's second directive – "speak" – was suddenly an impossibility.

Buffy squeezed his shoulder slightly before releasing it. "I got him to come in through the front door this time," she teased.

Richard swallowed audibly. "Well," he said, "what can I get you then?"

"Same as last time," she replied.

"The drink or the information?"

Buffy chuckled. "The drink." There was a pause. "Angel?" Buffy prompted.

"Bloody Mary," he muttered sarcastically. He was rethinking a bit too late the idea of coming to a room full of humans when he was hungry. He'd never attack anyone, but he was not comfortable.

The bar tender chuckled, and he could feel Buffy grin. It had been a rather juvenile joke, perhaps, but it was something.

"Actually," Buffy said before Richard could fill their drink orders, "that's why we're here."

He looked at her oddly. "What is?"

Now Buffy seemed a little nervous herself. "We…ran into a little accident after we left here last time," she explained. "The cold box was lost in the process and never made it home. We're having a…food shortage as a result."

Richard looked back and forth between them. "It'll take a couple of days," he began.

"Come on," Buffy pressed. "You don't even have a little something to tide us over?"

"Why would I have that?"

"You do serve demons here," she pointed out.

"I serve neutral demons," he clarified. "Blood drinkers aren't typically neutral." He glanced at Angel. "No offense," he added.

Angel just nodded.

Richard sighed. "Look, I…might have something in the back. It won't be very good quality, and I don't want you spreading the word that I'm doing this."

"Anything you can do would be wonderful," Buffy said sincerely.

Richard just frowned at her and disappeared behind the bar. About a minute later he returned with a drink in each hand; clear alcohol for Buffy, and for Angel…. "Your Bloody Mary," the bar tender said with a smirk.

The blood smell hit Angel hard, but he couldn't…. His hand trembled slightly, a centimeter away from the glass. He glanced at Buffy uncertainly.

She smiled at him and raised her glass. "A toast, perhaps?" she suggested to ward off the awkwardness.

Angel lifted his glass towards hers.

"To humanity," she said.

Angel brought his glass to his lips and drank slowly, trying with all his might just to look like any other patron of the bar. The blood did not bring him any pleasure, but it did sate the hunger some, if not the desire.

He lowered the glass at last, completely drained, and noticed the bar tender watching him. "Thank you," Angel said honestly.

Richard smiled back at him. "Any time," he said and moved on to other customers.

Angel could feel Buffy's happiness next to him and turned to see her smile. Freshly fed and with the hazy sense of uncaring acceptance around him, Angel allowed himself for the first time to truly smile back.

Go to the Next Part