Disclaimer: nope, still don't own them
Pairing: B/A eventually
Category: Romance/Angst/Drama
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Distribution: my site (eventually), Land of Denial, AHA-Archive, if you have any of my stories, take it, anybody else, please tell me where it goes
Spoilers: none
Summary: completely AU, no vampires, no slayers, no Sunnydale; and I really don't know to explain this! I seem to have a thing for AU-fic and older women with younger men at the moment. For this fic Buffy is older than Angel - think about the way he looked in season 1 with his leather jacket (the one he gave Buffy) - yummy!!! She leads a more or less boring life, comfortable and he's the bad boy, who isn't really that bad, but had a rough youth and ... well, I suppose you have to read it to know more.
Feedback: oh yes, please!!!
Dedication: For Patrick. He's the best.

It was one of those evenings. One of those evenings where you would've preferred to stay at home with a good glass of wine, a book or just munching something very unhealthy in front of the TV. Instead you were forced to dress up, paint your face, and appear in public. For job reasons. To show your face. To get promoted if it came up.

And it was boring as hell.

The people around her were laughing, false, overly happy laughs. They were showing their teeth, but their eyes were telling a completely different story. Some of them were crying "I want out", others were dull with too much wine or champagne, the rest was checking out the other sex. Trying to estimate if there was maybe a possibilty for some hot sex in the back room or maybe in a hotel - after the show was over.

It was disgusting.

With a sigh Buffy Summers leaned her back against the wall and closed her eyes for a moment, blocking everything out. The glass of champagne felt cool and smooth in her palm, the voices around her blurred into some unintelligible noise. For a moment she even considered to just leave, but then the rational part of her brain kicked in and she knew there was no chance for her to go. Her boss would never forgive her and then Parker Abrams, the guy in the office next to her would get the promotion she wanted so badly.

As on cue, she heard a laugh near by and opening her eyes they fell on the tall dark-haired man, a full-bosomed brunette draped over his arm, who was talking to Jeffrey Hollis, their boss. Slimy weasel, Buffy thought. He was trying to make points with Jeffrey and from the way their boss was looking into the derriere of the brunette, he was obviously succeeding.

God, what a scumbag. He was actually offering his girlfriend, who - disgustingly - obviously didn't mind. Maybe she should've considered something like that, Buffy thought for a quick moment, then in disgust, dismissed the thought. No way she would sleep her way up the ladder. NO WAY! She was good at her job and she would show them. And she would ignore all the lusty looks Jeffrey Hollis was constantly giving her.

"Look at those sharks."

Buffy turned around and saw Cordelia Chase standing beside her. Cordelia was her secretary of six years, about her own age, and the two women genuinely liked each other, had even become some sort of friends over the years.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed, sipping from her glass. "And Abrams is the worst of them."

Cordelia clinked her own glass with Buffy's and nodded, "He thinks he's wonderful." She snorted, "What a jerk."

"I was just thinking about leaving," the blond sighed, leaned back against the wall.

"Uh-huh," the brunette sipped from her drink, "Boyfriend out of town?"

Sighing for the second time, Buffy nodded, "Yeah. Business trip to Phoenix. He'll be gone for two weeks."

"A real bummer for your love life."

"Not that I really have a lot of it to begin with," the blond remarked sarcastically.

Cordelia raised a brow, sipped again, "Don't tell me there's nothing going on anymore. I thought it was, how did you call it 'the real thing'? And besides, he's a real hunk. In a boring sort of way, of course."

"Cordy," Buffy scolded gently, giving her friend and secretary a stern look. "I can't believe you said that." But inwardly she had to admit that Cordelia was dead right. Riley Finn, her boyfriend, was a good guy. He was a successful financial consultant, and earning more money she could count. And he was good looking. Every mother-in-law's dream. Tall, blond, blue-eyed, good-looking.

Buffy had been drawn to him almost instantly. He came from a wealthy background, was born with the literal golden spoon in his mouth, had breeding, education, and an air or world around him. And she'd thought to have finally found her prince charming. But now, after having been with him for three years, she knew there was a lot of show, and not a lot behind it.

Sure he would be good husband material. And they would probably have a bunch of blond, blue-eyed children, if Riley would find the time in his busy schedule to produce them. And her mother would be so thrilled. She was still nagging her about grand-kids, pointing out that her biological clock was running out soon. But God, Riley was so ... unromantic.

It wasn't really that bad. She knew him by now, knew his limitation. At least she wouldn't have to worry about becoming disappointed with him in tewenty years down the road.

Because he was already so disappointing.

Jesus, her life was a mess. She wasn't getting the job she wanted because Parker Abrams was licking their boss' ass and her love life hadn't been exciting for a long time. Either Riley was too busy, or too tired, or he wasn't even there to actually do anything with her. It was embarrassing for a woman of her age, but she honestly couldn't remember the last time she'd slept with a man. She sighed. And her mother was worrying about grand-children. What a joke.

Buffy brought her glass to her lips and then almost choked on it when Cordelia suddenly nudged her in the ribs. "What the-"

"Oh my," the brunette was fanning herself with her hand, then put it on her chest, "look at that."

"Wha-" The word died in Buffy's mouth that suddenly felt dry as the desert. Oh my indeed, she thought.

"Maybe the night isn't as boring as we thought," Cordy grinned at her friend. "Talk about hunk-material."

"What are they doing here?" the blond asked in a whisper. "Do they actually belong on this party?"

The brunette put her glass down on a near by table, then straightening her dress, she shot Buffy another grin, "I really don't know. But whatever brought them here, the left is mine."

Part 2

Buffy sighed, leaning heavily against her closed apartment door, then stifled a groan when she removed her high-heels. Those three inch-shoes would be the death of her one day. But her evening dress didn't allow anything else. She sighed again, pushed herself off of the door. Maybe she should just buy a new dress. But at the moment, even the thought of doing anything but lay down and getting off her feet seemed too much.

Switching on the light, she glanced at the clock and with another groan realised it was already past midnight. She had a meeting scheduled for eight the next - no, correction - this morning. Great. It was just great. In one of those fashion magazines that always lay on Cordelia's desk she'd read that you had to sleep eight hours at least to stay young and beautiful.

Well, she was thirty-four. It was probably too late anyway.

Almost half past twelve. Buffy shook her head, thinking about Cordelia and her crazy ideas. The brunette had all but jumped one of those men. Men! They were no more than kids. The one Cordelia was interested in was twenty-six.

She chuckled inwardly, walking towards her bedroom. Not for the first time she thought that it wasn't half-bad Riley was on his business-trip to Phoenix. Tired as she was, the idea of a demanding lover ...

She paused, frowned.

Demanding lover. That was a real joke. She could think about a demanding lover and before her inner eye rose the picture of a well built man, with dark hair, brown eyes, and the most unnerving half-smile she'd seen her whole life. Not that they had been able to talk a lot. Cordelia had monopolised him, but over the brunette's head they had exchanged glances, and more than once Buffy had felt her body tingling all over

Suddenly realising what she was thinking, she groaned and let herself fall on her bed, groaning loudly. She was eight years his senior for Goodness' sake. She had no business thinking about hot, steamy sex with him.

Hot steamy sex?

She closed her eyes, groaned even louder this time. She had to be more desperate than she'd realised. She hardly knew the guy. And she had a steady boyfriend. She had absolutely no business thinking about Angel.

Angel.

That was his name. Well, actually it was Liam. Liam Sullivan. But his friend, Gunn, had called him Angel. And somehow it fit. There was something about him. Not that he was really looking angelic, but under all his cool demeanor tonight she had sensed a seriousness that was rare in a man - or a woman - his age. He might look like a 26 year old, and he definitely had a 26 year old's body, but his eyes were older. Much, much older. She found herself intrigued by it, wondering what had caused this serious expression.

Standing up again, determined to force Angel out of her head, she stepped out of her dress when the phone rang.

Frowning, because nobody ever called her at a time like this, she answered it, "Yeah?"

"Hi, baby."

She suppressed the urge to roll her eyes, then realising that the caller wouldn't see it, she did it anyway. "Riley," she said, hoping her voice was sounding friendly enough. It wasn't his fault that she had fantasies of another man, was it?

"Sorry to call you so late, but I tried it before and-"

"I was at a party. My boss gave it," she replied, cutting him off. She was too tried to listen to one of his lengthy explanations why he did things or how he did them. "Remember. I told you about it."

"Oh, yes," he said quickly, and she heard him laugh slightly. "Sorry, I forgot. Was it successful for you?"

Successful? Was that all he cared about? How about 'did you have fun'? But no, fun wasn't part of Riley's life. Damn, now she'd done it again. Riley was the okay-guy. Her mother simply loved him. She was constantly asking if they would get married soon. And until tonight she'd actually considered it. Or at least thought it possible to find satisfaction in a marriage to Riley Finn.

Realising Riley was waiting for an answer, she tried to ignore the feeling that meeting Angel tonight had anything to do with her decision. It was ridiculous anyway. He was much too young for one. Besides she hadn't talked to him more than a few words. She hardly knew the guy, for God's sake.

"Buffy, are you still there?"

Shifting her attention back to the phone-call, she ran a hand through her hair, "Sorry. Yes, yes, it was nice."

"Good." She could hear the smile in his voice. What was wrong with her, she wondered? He was a considerate man. Good looking. Always concerned about her. Her mother's dream of a future son-in-law. There had to be something wrong with her that she didn't grab her chance with him. Other women would take him without asking twice, Joyce had told her.

"Yeah, good," she said absentmindedly, pulling off her pantyhose with her free hand.

"Are you alright, darling?" Riley asked concerned. "You sound - tired."

"I am tired," she replied, annoyance clearly audible in her voice. Instantly regretting it, she apologized, "I'm sorry, Riley. Yeah, I'm tired. It was a long day. And I've got a meeting tomorrow morning. Why are you calling at this time anyway?"

"I wanted to hear your voice," he said, and his voice sounded so sweet, so loving, and Buffy knew she should melt and whisper something sweet in return. And if she was a good girl, the kind her mother had wanted her to be, she would do exactly that. As it was, all she wanted was to scream. Really loud.

Hell would freeze over before she would marry this man. He might be wonderful, her mother might love him, but Joyce wouldn't have to marry him, and he was also boring, boring, and boring. And if she was bored now, after only a couple of years of having a loose relationship with him, what would she do if she was married to him for twenty years. Probably kill him and end up in prison with a life sentence. If she didn't kill herself first, that is.

But of course she couldn't tell him that. She couldn't tell him any of her thoughts. Not through the phone. She would tell him. As soon as he came back. For now she had to pretend everything was alright. "That's so nice," she said, trying to sound pleased. "It's ... uh ... nice to hear you, too."

He chuckled, and Buffy was glad he bought her lie. "Alright. I won't keep you any longer. Sleep tight, darling."

"Uhm ... yes. You too - honey."

She heard a click and exhaled a pent up breath she hadn't even realised she'd been holding. At least she hadn't been forced to say anything stupid. Like 'I love you'. But then she hadn't said it so far. Not to him. She had said I love you though. To friends. To her mother. And to Parker Abrams.

No, she scolded herself sharply. She wouldn't think about the scumbag tonight. She needed her sleep dearly. Thinking about Parker would only make her blood boil in anger, and it wouldn't change anything. Certainly not the fact that he had broken her heart, and taken her innocence in more ways than only one, taken away all her naive dreams of life and love.

Tightening her jaw in determination, she removed the rest of her clothes, then reached for her nightgown, and without even considering to brush her teeth, she sank onto her bed and was asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow. Her last thought being that she didn't have the slightest idea why Angel Sullivan had even been on the party.

*

When Buffy was finally able to level up her legs the next day it was almost four o'clock in the afternoon, and she was certain she felt every one of her thirty-four years.

She leaned her head back, trying to release her pounding headache, when there was a faint knock on her door and then Cordelia appeared in Buffy's office. She took one look at her boss, and a knowing expression entered her eyes, "Abrams bothering you again."

It wasn't really a question, but Buffy replied anyway. "Yeah." She released a breath, then shook her head, wincing at the pain the single movement caused her.

"You should make an appointment with Pierro," Cordelia proposed, sitting down on one of the free chair, studying the blond closely. "His hands are pure magic. Your headache will disappear within minutes."

Buffy grimaced, leaned forward, "You should know."

Cordelia grinned good-naturedly, "What can I say, I'm never able to resist him."

"Yeah, well, it wouldn't be a problem for me," the blond replied, running a hand through her shoulder-length hair. Pierro Martinelli was a very expensive, very talented masseur living only a few blocks away from the office. He had also been the lover of most of his female customers. Unfortunately the fact that women usually drooled over his dark, Italian features, had made him believe that no woman could resist him.

Buffy couldn't deny he was attractive, but she hadn't reacted friendly when his hands had travelled from their usual path. Since then she had avoided Pierro. Cordelia didn't mind the guy. She liked to play with men, liked feeling womanly and desired. Buffy liked feeling desired, too, but that didn't mean she'd let some macho Italian touch her wherever he thought women liked to be touched.

"You know," Cordelia said, pulling back to the present. "Those dark rings under your eyes...," she trailed off, sighed loudly. "Not very attractive. You're not twenty anymore, Buffy. You need to take care of yourself. Being past the big 3-0 a woman can't just run around, looking her age. That way you will never meet your knight in shining armor."

"I'm not looking for my knight in shining armor," Buffy protested. "At the moment I'd give everything for a hot bath, a good book, and a glass of dry wine."

"You can't deceive me, girlfriend. You *are* looking for your knight in shining armor. For a while you thought Riley might be the guy, but obviously you've woken up in time. But that doesn't mean you've given up looking for him."

Rubbing her tired eyes, Buffy gave Cordelia a smile. She had once considered it might not be wise to be a friend and a boss at the same time. But they had liked each other from the start and the blond hadn't been able to keep their relationship strictly business. Cordelia might have her flaws and faults, but she was refreshingly blunt, had a wonderful sense of humor, and was loyal to the core. Buffy knew she could trust her with blind eyes and friends like her didn't run around in bunches.

Trying to change the subject, Buffy smiled again, "What happened with your hunk last night?" she asked, trying to ignore the heat spreading through her whole body when Angel's image flickered through her mind.

"Boring," the brunette answered, releasing a heartfelt sigh.

"Boring?"

"Yeah. Boring."

"Why?" Buffy asked, more than just a little bit puzzled. Cordelia had been quite smitten by Angel. So what had happened?

The brunette shrugged, "He ... uh ... wasn't interested."

"Oh?" That was something new. Men were always interested in Cordelia. Buffy felt something stir inside of her, and tried to pretend she wasn't glad Angel had turned Cordy down.

Suddenly the brunette grinned, "No, he wasn't," she said, "But you know what? I'm pretty sure he's interested in you."

"Me?" The blond was glad her voice didn't sound too excited. Dammit, what the hell was the matter with her? Why was it suddenly so important if Angel was interested in her?

"Yeah, you," Cordelia replied, not at all fooled. "He couldn't stop talking about you." She rolled her eyes, "It's not very flattering, you know."

"I'm sorry," Buffy said, feeling anything but

"Yeah, sure," the brunette snorted, but then grinned again. "Hey, maybe the guy's your knight in shining armor," she said suddenly.

"Oh, please!," now it was for the blond to roll her eyes, "The guy's far too young for me. I could be his mother."

Cordelia snorted again, "Hardly. He's twenty-six, going to be twenty-seven next month. Your birthday was last month. It's only seven years. That's nothing." Her grin widened when she saw the expression on Buffy's face. "Besides," she went on, "Even if he isn't your knight in shining armor. He's a hunk. And I wouldn't let him get away if he was interested in me. Nothing but hot, steamy sex to make you relax."

"Hot, steamy ...," Buffy almost choked on the words, then guiltily had to admit she'd had had the same thoughts only last night. "I hardly know the guy, Cordy," she said evasively.

"I know," the brunette beamed. "That's why I gave him your private number. And I told him you had only free evenings the whole week."

In response the blond stared at her as if she wasn't able to believe this was really happening. "You, what?" she asked incredulously.

Cordelia stood up, and walking to the door she tossed over her shoulder, "I just knew you'd be eternally grateful. Maybe you should check your dresser tonight. You know, just in case. " With that she slipped from the room.

Letting her upper body slump over her desk, Buffy groaned.

Part 3

"Hi."

Buffy did a double take, stared at the man in front of her. "H-hi," she stammered, wide-eyed, glad she had the door-frame to hold onto. She wasn't sure she wouldn't faint any moment.

He frowned, looked down for a moment, but she had already seen the faint flush of embarrassment. When his head came up again, he cleared his throat. "I ... uh ... You probably don't remember me..."

**What? Not remember him?**

"... but ... we ... uh ... met, well, kinda. At that party. You know, the one where you attended with your friend. Cordelia."

**So he did remember Cordy's name.**

"Ah. I mean ... uh ... I do. Remember, I mean." **God, and maybe I should just shoot myself. Now he thinks I'm some idiot who can't form a coherent sentence.** She didn't even want to contemplate what might have happened hadn't Cordelia warned her in advance.

"Oh." He seemed relieved. "That's good." A little laugh escaped his lips, but his eyes were still serious, and - as she'd seen before - much too old for a face that young. "I'm Liam. Liam Sullivan."

"I know. Angel," she replied, smiling too.

He rolled his eyes, "I'm sorry you ever heard that," he told her. "Gunn likes to use it." He sighed. "Still."

Her brows quirked curiously, "Still?"

"Uh-huh. My mother used to ... uhm ... call me Angel." Again embarrassment showed on his face, and Buffy found herself irresistibly drawn to it. "Gunn used it to tease me. Then it stuck."

She nodded. "I think it fits."

Again he rolled his eyes. "Well, if you really like it...," he let the words trail off, but the message was clear. He'd just given her permission to use that name. Suddenly he seemed to remind himself where they were. He in front of her apartment door, she inside. "I ... uh ... didn't want to disturb you. But I ... uh ... wanted to see you again. And as Cordelia only gave me your address...," he gave her an apologetic smile.

**Smooth move, Chase, very smooth. Don't give him my phone-number. Give him my address instead.**

**Address?** She frowned. "Cordy told me she gave you my private number."

"No, she didn't," he insisted. "She gave me your address."

**Just wait, Chase. You're going to pay for this.** "Oh."

"Yeah. Uh ... I really don't ... I mean..." He took a step back.

"No," she said quickly. **Can you be more obvious**, she groaned inwardly. Hoping her voice sounded casual, she added, "You don't have to leave. Do you want to come in? Maybe have a cup of coffee?"

**Oh yeah, very smart, Summers, invite strange men into your apartment.**

His eyes lit up. "I'd like that."

**Uh-huh.** "Well, then ...," she made an inviting gesture, and he stepped over the threshold.

"Nice," he commented once he was inside and looked around. "Seems you're doing well."

She laughed, and when she saw him looking at her quizzically, she grinned, "You sounded like my mother. 'You're doing well for yourself, Buffy.'"

He grinned, too, and it made her heartbeat speed up. "I see. Well, if it's any help, my mother only rolls her eyes and I'm sure each Sunday she lights a candle to pray for me."

She laughed out loud. "You want coffee?"

"Not really. It makes me jumpy. So I'm restricting myself to two cups in the morning. Do you have a glass of wine?"

"White or red?"

"Red," came his prompt answer.

She smiled, "Red it is. Come on, there's the living-room. Sit down. I'll be back in a moment."

She had to hold onto the counter in her small kitchen, while she took several deep breaths to calm down.

**Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.**

He was here. Right here. In her apartment. She felt her knees wobble and tightened her grip. It wouldn't really help if she'd pass out now

Hyperventilating.

He was sitting in her living-room.

Waiting for her to come back.

Pulling herself together she found two glasses and the bottle she'd been looking for and taking a deep breath, she managed to smile when she entered the living-room a few minutes after she'd left him there. "Here you go," she announced her presence, putting down the glasses on the small table, filled them.

He stood at the other end of the room, looked up from the painting he was studying. "Nice," he commented, turning slowly back to her.

Nice wasn't quite the word she'd use for the disturbing composition of dark colours. But she had always loved the painting. Her step-father had given it to her a long time ago. "Thanks." She picked up one glass and handed it to him.

She didn't know why she was disappointed by his remark about the painting. Maybe because she had seen more in his serious eyes, more depth. She shrugged inwardly. It wouldn't be the first time she'd been wrong. She usually dismissed mistakes like that. Strangely, this time, she couldn't.

He took the glass and nodded. "You surprised me tonight," he said, glancing at the painting for one last time.

"I did? Why?"

He gave her a little cryptic smile, but didn't answer her question. Sipping from his wine, he looked at her. "Is Cordelia your friend?"

"Yeah," she confirmed, taking her own glass from the table. "Why?"

He shrugged. "You don't seem very much alike, that's all."

A grin appeared on her face, "You're not the first who said that. All my friends think the same. But Cordy is a great secretary, a wonderful friend and ... good for me. I'm sometimes too ... how would she call it. 'Too uptight.'"

His eyes rested on her face for a moment, then he slowly shook his head, "No. I can't see that."

"And you know me - since when?" She sipped from her wine, waiting for his answer.

He shrugged, "True. I don't know you very well. But I know people. I've learned to see what's behind the facade." He paused, then added, "I had to."

She wanted to ask what it meant, but didn't want to intrude. "So you like the picture," she returned to their former subject, nodding at the painting hanging at the opposite wall.

"Yeah." He looked at it again. "It's disturbing. Wild. The stuff some nightmares are made off."

So he did have depth, she thought, and tried to ignore the joy she felt, that there was more to him after all. "I've always felt the same," she told him, gazing at the painting as well. "I think it's wonderful."

"It is," he agreed.

Suddenly he seemed uncomfortable, quickly turning away from the picture, his shoulders tense, his eyes guarded. "Do you know the artist?" he asked.

"My step-father. He was ... a wonderful man."

"Was?"

"He died three years ago," she told him, her eyes sad. "He was the best father a girl could wish for. But secretive where his past was concerned. Given the things he painted, I'd say it wasn't a happy one."

"No, probably not." His eyes were even more serious now. "It happens."

Why did she have the feeling he wasn't talking about her step-father anymore? "Yours, too?" The question was out before she could stop it. "I'm sorry," she said quickly. "You don't have to answer that. We don't know each other good enough."

He smiled slowly, and Buffy felt her insides flutter. "True. But usually you change that by asking questions. So, to answer yours. I don't mind it, by the way. No, my past wasn't happy either. My mother died when I was still little. I was four. My father," he shrugged, his eyes cold, "wasn't really worth being called one."

"Do you have brothers or sisters?" she asked.

"A sister. She's two years younger," he replied. "And a step-brother. My father married again when I was twelve. His new wife already had a son."

*His* wife. Not *my step-mother*, she thought. "You didn't like her very much, I gather."

He smiled approvingly, "No, I didn't. Neither her, nor her son. He was six years older."

"Maybe he was jealous."

He shrugged again, "Whatever. I didn't care enough to try to understand him."

It was a lie, Buffy realised instantly. She really didn't know him well enough, but Angel just didn't seem like a guy who didn't care. Whatever had happened between the two boys, it must have been bad. And had been enough to initiate a dislike for life. But she saw the shuttered expression on his face, and was wise enough not to ask. Maybe one day he would tell her.

**Oh yeah. Now you're losing your mind, Summers. How can you assume there will be a next time? Maybe he's lost interest already.**

Not liking the way her thoughts were taking, she quickly changed the subject again. "Do you like art? I mean, not just this painting. In general."

"Yeah," he nodded, obviously relieved she hadn't tried to dug deeper. "I do. I ... uh ... paint a little myself."

Her eyes lit up. "You do? What kind of stuff?"

"Oil mostly," he answered. "But I'm not nearly as good as your step-father was. Neither am I as talented. It's just for fun. I can relax."

"I'd like to see your paintings if you don't mind," she said impulsively.

Again, she saw embarrassment. "You do? Uhm ... well, alright. But ... don't expect anything. It's really ... just for fun."

Shockingly, Buffy realised she wanted to kiss him. **Down, Summers. You don't know the guy. You've only seen him twice.** Okay, so some people didn't need that long for a kiss. But she wasn't some people. She'd never managed to be a true modern woman where intimacy was concerned. It didn't mean she was uptight either, although Cordelia thought she was. She had a boyfriend after all. And she'd had sex before. But she liked to know her sex partners, not jump their bones on the first date.

**Date?** He'd been standing in front of her apartment. She'd invited him in. That didn't count for a date, did it? Grudgingly, she had to admit that she wanted it to be a date. And then remembered something she'd wanted to know ever since she'd seen him at the party. "Angel?" She saw him wince at his nickname, and had to grin. "May I ask you something?"

"Go ahead," he invited with a smile of his own that made her stomach do a little flip-flop. God, he had a nice smile.

"The party. Why did you go there?"

"You mean because I didn't look as if I belonged there?" he asked, grinned when she blushed.

"I ... uh ..."

"Hey, that's not a problem. I've never been the type for suits and ties," he said, gesturing at his leather jacket and denims.

The outfit was perfect for him, Buffy thought, stifling a groan at the way his denims fit snuggly. Her fantasy was already on a path of its own. "I think your clothes are just fine," she muttered

His smile was warm and a bit more intimate than before. Buffy felt warm all over. "So, uh ... why did you come to the party?" she asked.

"Ah. Yeah, I told you about my step-brother. We don't get along well, but sometimes he remembers I'm around."

"Oh?"

"Mmmm. Whenever he needs my help." He saw her raise a brow, and said, "I'm a PI."

Her eyes widened. "A private investigator?"

"Yeah."

She nodded, lost in thought for a moment, then remembered, "Your brother? Still not explaining why your step-brother has something to do with you being at the party?"

"He works with your company," he explained.

"He does?" **A colleague of mine is Angel's step-brother?**

"Uh-huh."

Feeling suddenly impatient, she sighed. "So are you going to tell me?"

He looked puzzled, "Tell you?"

"The name. Your brother's name."

"Oh," he chuckled. "Sorry, I thought I did. It's Abrams. Parker Abrams."

Part 4

Angel killed the engine of his Harley in front of the little house he and his sister lived in. There was still a light in her window, so she would be up.

He had to smile. She almost never went to sleep before he was back home. Although she was two years younger than he, she was always mothering him. And part of it was staying up until he was home. It was a feeling that made him warm deep inside. She cared.

Maybe it was because nobody had ever cared for them after their mother had died. There had only been them after that, because their father had been too drunk or too busy with women to even realise they were there. At the age of six, Angel was able to cook and wash, and at five Kathy could do the same. They had to, their father didn't care if they went asleep hungry or wore the same dirty clothes for weeks.

They had cared for each other.

And when their father had married Carole Abrams, a woman Angel detested deeply, it had only gotten worse. Nothing they did was right, and she almost behaved as if feeding the siblings was more than she could afford. The day Angel had become eighteen, he'd left the house and after the the terrible night of his sister's sixteenth birthday nobody protested when he took Kathie with him.

He found a job, worked ten hours a day and went to school at night. Often he'd fallen asleep over his books, and Kathie had woken him up, her hand stroking his hair gently, reminding him that he would be more comfortable in bed.

Yes, they cared for each other. Deeply. Probably deeper than usual. But he didn't care. It had not just kept them sane, in a deeper, more important way, it had kept them alive.

He walked towards the porch, but before he could reach for the keys the door opened and she stood there. All five feet of her, her dark hair, even darker than his, gleaming in the lamp-light. Her smile was warm and loving, her eyes happy to see him. "Hi, you're late," she said, stepping back to let him in.

He bent down to kiss her on the cheek, "Not too late. It's not even midnight."

She held out her hands and he shrugged out of his jacket. "What did you do? How was work?"

She shrugged, "Fine. Wes is a great guy, he's so thoughtful."

Angel grinned inwardly at the description of her boss. Wesley Wyndham-Price was thoughful, alright. A transplant from England, he had come to the States to teach. Now he was a professor for English literature and history, and a year ago Kathie had started working as his secretary. It was only a part-time job, and exactly what she'd been looking for. She had a degree in history herself and was currently writing her Ph.D. The job with Wesley was a way to earn money in a field she found utterly interesting.

Lately, however, Angel had the feeling that there was more to the whole thing than just professional interest. Kathie had started talking about Wesley more and more. He wasn't sure if they were the ideal couple, Wesley being several years older than his sister. But he'd met the professor and had liked him immediately. He was a quiet, open, and a little bit shy man. Maybe just what his sister needed after what she'd been through.

Wesley was thoughtful, alright. "So you had a good day. That's good then."

"Uh-huh," she replied, tilting her head. "Did you have a date?"

"I wouldn't call it a date exactly." And really, it hadn't been a date. Standing at a woman's doorstep didn't count as a date, did it? She had invited him in, however, and they'd spent a nice evening together, until he'd told her that Parker was his half-brother. Then all the color suddenly drained from her face. She'd caught herself instantly, but she couldn't get rid of him fast enough after that. Well, he thought, whatever the problem was, he wouldn't let it come between them.

"So you had a date."

"As I said-"

She grinned, "Yeah, yeah, I heard you. What's her name?"

He sighed. Kathie could be incredibly blunt. And she knew him better than anyone else. "Buffy. Buffy Summers."

"Sounds ... interesting." She giggled.

She never giggled. But she had. For a moment his thoughs snapped back to Wesley. Maybe it was time for the big-brother-talk. He grinned at the thought. Kathie would kill him if she knew. "Yes, she is ... interesting."

She looked at him for a long moment. "It's more, isn't it."

Yeah, she definitely knew him too well. "Could be. She's older." He walked into the kitchen in search for something to drink and heard her follow him.

She snorted, "Who cares. Age is only a number."

Oh, yeah, he had to talk to Wesley. Age is only a number? Uh-huh. "She's beautiful, and intelligent."

"Sounds really serious." She leaned against the doorframe in the kitchen. "Where did you meet her?"

"At the party. The one at Parker's company."

At the mention of her step-brother, Kathie's eyes went cold. "She a friend of him?"

"No," he replied, opening the can of soda. "Actually, he seems to dislike him a lot."

For a moment, she watched him, a strange look in her eyes, then she turned away. "I'm tired. Have to get up early tomorrow." When she was already half-way up the stairs, she shouted, "I'd like to meet her. Soon."

He emptied the can, tossed it into the garbage, grinned. If it was up to him she would.

*

Buffy groaned and rolled to her other side. She opened one eye.

2 a.m.

She groaned again. Sleep wouldn't come. She wasn't really surprised. After Angel had dropped his little bomb about being Parker Abrams' step-brother, she wasn't surprised at all. After this revelation, the evening had ended quickly. She wasn't able to do small-talk with him. Not after this.

Liam Sullivan was Parker Abrams' step-brother.

It wasn't just a little bomb. It was more like a nuclear detonation. For more reasons than just the obvious one.

She hated Parker Abrams. She despised him. He was a scumbag. He made her life in at the company a living hell. He tried to outmanoeuver her, tried to beat her in every possible field. But that was just the surface. The real problem was, they had been more. Once. Much more.

They had met in college. She'd been a freshman, he in his final year. Good looking. Sophisticated. Successful. And she'd fallen in love with him. She'd been a virgin, a naive little girl, and he'd seen it. And used it without any regrets. She'd lost her virginity, he'd gained another proof for his reputation to be the most irresistible guy at campus.

And she had learned the hard way that trusting a man could be a big fault. It would have been hard if she'd just slept with him. The way things were, it had been a disaster.

She took a deep breath, suppressing the tears that always threatened to come whenever she thought about shattered dreams, and lost love.

Love.

What a joke. It had never been love. Never. Not on his side. And not on hers either, as she'd found out later on. She'd been fascinated by him, but she barely knew him. She'd slept with him after knowing him for only three days. Hardly enough time to love someone. The morning after he'd told her that she had to leave.

She'd never forget the way he'd laughed at her that morning when she'd asked him, wide-eyed, if they would see each other again. No darling, he'd said, he didn't have any intention to see her again. She hadn't been so good anyway.

The first tear was slipping from her eye now. It shouldn't hurt anymore. It had been a long time ago. But it still did. Not because of his betrayal. By realising she had never loved him the healing began. But there was another wound, one that wouldn't heal. Couldn't.

It was the final irony to meet him again at work. And it was even more than he didn't remember her. He'd never shown any sign of recognition, had never mentioned their night together. And knowing the scumbag, he would have used it by now. No, he didn't remember her at all. She'd just been a challenge for him, one to be conquered and soon to be forgotten afterwards.

But she could not forget. He hadn't suffered the way she had. No, she would never forget.

And Angel was his step-brother. Granted, he didn't like Parker either. He hadn't made a secret of it. But could she risk it? The answer was a firm no. She wouldn't. She wouldn't do anything that could connect her with things she'd tried to suppress for so long.

As much as she liked Angel, and she did, as much as she felt attracted to him, she couldn't do it. Not when he was related to Parker. Okay, so they weren't really related, but that didn't matter. She would just forget about him. When he called the next time, she would tell him she was busy. Or ... yes, she would just tell him she had a boyfriend. It was the truth. She had a boyfriend. It wasn't really important that she'd decided to dump Riley. For the time being, until he came back, he was still her boyfriend. And she would tell Angel. So he would understand that there was no way they could see each other again.

For the peace of her mind, it was the only way.

Part 5

"I can't believe you gave him my address."

A bag filled with bagels came flying on Cordelia's desk, while Buffy rushed past it, into her office. The brunette gave the bag only a quick glance, then raising a brow, she stood and followed the other woman.

"Good morning to you, too," she said, closing the door behind her, barely able to stifle a grin. "So I assume he came to see you last night?"

The blond let herself fall into her chair, ran a hand through her hair, glaring at her secretary and friend, "I don't like the way you're saying this. You make it sound as if we were having hot and steamy sex last night."

The second brow rose as well, "And? Did you?"

"Cordy!" Buffy shook her head. She didn't know why she was still surprised by the blunt remarks of the other woman. But she was. Probably she would never completely get used to Cordelia Chase. "I'm not you. Besides," she sighed, closed her eyes for a moment, "He's Parker's brother."

Cordelia's eyes almost bulged out of her head, "He's, what?" She jumped from the chair, started to pace the office. "That slimy weasel. He just doesn't stop at anything."

Buffy straightened, "What are you talking about?"

"Well, it's clear as day. Parker wants the Phoenix-job. You want the Phoenix-job. And now he uses is brother for this." She stopped, then with a groan let herself fall back into the chair, "And I gave him your address."

"So you gave him my address," the blond said triumphantly. "But you are wrong on the rest. We didn't talk about it, but I have a feeling he and Parker aren't on the best of terms."

Cordelia's brows shot up again, "Well, that's good then."

"Yeah. And no. I mean, yeah, it's good he and Parker aren't pals. They aren't really brothers. They aren't even related. Angel's father married Parker's mother." She saw the brunette smile, and held up a hand, "But still, this is a mess. I cannot be with Angel, while ..."

"Ah. So you're already thinking about him in terms of 'being with him'." A sly grin appeared on Cordelia's face.

"Cordy, I hardly know the guy."

"Didn't know that was needed for hot, steamy sex," the secretary muttered.

Buffy rolled her eyes, "Is that all you can think about? Hot, steamy sex? That might be your thinking, but it isn't mine. I never had a one night stand in my life..." Wrong, her inner voice whispered. Yeah, she'd had a one night stand. But not because she wanted to. She had thought she'd found something wonderful. Something special. It had been a nightmare. It had cost her dearly.

"Well, then it's long time for one."

The blond sighed, "I can't. I'm not like you. I want to know the guy, I want to actually like him before ... you know. The problem is ... I could like him. A lot, actually. And I'm not sure I want that."

"You know," Cordelia said, standing up, giving Buffy a long, hard look. "That's just so you. I'm giving you the opportunity to have a great one-night thing, and in typical Buffy-fashion you have to make it all complicated and ...," she threw her hands in the air, "I don't know what to do with you."

***

Angel yawned when he entered the small office he and Gunn had rented for their detective agency. It wasn't in the best part of town, but it was okay. It wasn't big, but that didn't matter. It was what they were able to pay, and so far it had been enough.

The office had a small reception area with a desk and a computer - bought second hand. It was Fred's place. She was their secretary, sort of. Two days after opening the agency, Gunn and Angel had found her on the doorsteps, half starved, dirty, with clothes torn. She'd been slightly confused, but after feeding her, and cleaning her up, they hadn't been able to get rid of her. She stuck to them like glue.

Kathie said Fred was suffering from some serious hero worship, and for the first weeks her eyes had lit up like beacons whenever Angel had entered the room. Fortunately she was over it now, and over the months she'd proven to be a useful employee and a good and loyal friend.

From the reception area you could reach the two small offices, one for Angel, one for Gunn. They were equal partners in this.

Angel and Gunn knew each other from earliest childhood, then lost touch for a while, but had met again some years ago while Angel had been working at a bar to pay for his own and Kathie's education, and they'd liked each other from the start. They shared a rough youth, with only little love from their parents, and they both had seen the darker shades life had in store.

"Yo, partner." Gunn's face wore a broad grin when he stepped out of his office. Much to Angel's dismay who loved to sleep late, the African-American was an early bird, and almost disgustingly awake at a time when Angel still needed serious caffeine infusion to get himself half-way going.

"Hi, Angel." Fred beamed at him from her place behind the computer.

"Morning," he greeted back, sipping from the coffee he'd brought in the coffee shop at the corner. "Any news?"

"I checked out your brother's case last night," Gunn replied, sitting at the edge of Fred's desk.

One of Angel's brows rose, "And?"

"It was a blast," the other man's lips turned up into a sarcastic smile, "I've been spending the whole night in my car with junk food and too much coffee. And absolutely nothing happened. Parker owes us big time for this."

"Yeah," his friend agreed. "And he's going to pay."

"I really hate the guy." Gunn reached out took the half-emptied cup from Angel and took a large gulp. "Gino still makes the best coffee around."

"Parker is slime," Fred's eyes were full of disgust.

"He sure is," Angel agreed. "But he's paying big bucks for this, and unfortunately as our business is just starting out, we can't be too selective." He sighed deeply, reached for his coffee again. "But I agree, I'd prefer not to work for him. Kathie almost had a fit when I told you he was our new client."

"How is the little goldilocks?" Gunn asked, taking one of the cookies Fred had always on her desk. He always called Kathie goldilocks although she was dark-haired. It was a joke that went back to childhood.

"Goldilocks my ass," Angel snorted, then gulped the remaining coffee. Running a hand through his short hair he chuckled, "I think she's got it bad for good old Wes."

"What?" Gunn almost choked on his cookie. "Wes?" He rolled his eyes, "God, the guy could be her father."

"Not quite," Angel said dryly. "But yeah, he's older."

Gunn chuckled, "Older or not, the guy isn't standing a chance."

Angel shot him a look, but his face was serious. There were things about Kathie nobody but he and his sister knew. To everyone she looked fine. But Angel knew only too well, that a lot of it had been achieved by hard work and extensive therapy. But because Kathie was so proud of herself, and because he would never betray her trust, he flashed Gunn a smile, "Yeah. That's what I'm afraid of."

***

The door opened and Wesley's head appeared. When his eyes fell on Kathie Sullivan, he frowned, "You are still here?"

His clipped English accent sent a shiver down her spine. How could she ever have believed him boring? "Yes," she gave him a smile, her hands stilling on the keyboard. "I need to type some stuff for my PhD. I hope that's okay?"

The frown disappeared, "Oh. By all means. Type away. I was afraid you were still working for me. And I don't want you to do more than you're paid for." A smile appeared on his face as well. He looked years younger then. "Anything I can do to help you?"

"Professor," she scolded, but her smile never slipped, "You're not meant to help me."

"Oh. That's ... not what I meant. I thought maybe you h-had a question or something." He coughed slightly, looked out of the window.

God, he was adorable when he was all flustered. Like a little boy. She wanted to hug him in those moments, but knew he'd be horribly embarrassed. He was such a nice man, but terribly shy. Sometimes she wondered if he still was a virgin. A little bit irritated with herself, she dismissed the thought. But she was glad he was shy. She wasn't all that bold herself. She wasn't a virgin anymore, but it was a fact she would only too gladly forget. Unfortunately she couldn't.

"No," she forced herself away from those thoughts, and smiled, "I'm fine. But this computer is so much faster than the one Angel gave me."

"Your brother is a good guy," Wesley replied, looking at her. "I'm sure he does all he can."

"Oh, he does," she said quickly, her voice warm. "He's the best brother a girl can wish for. We're close. And I'm glad he gave me the computer, but it's easier to work on this one. Especially with graphics."

His brows shot up, "Graphics?"

She grinned. Wesley was lost where computer were concerned, but he was fascinated by the new possibilities, "Yeah. You wanna see?" When he pulled a chair next to her and sat down, she felt warm all over. It was a good feeling. She felt like a real woman.

Part 6

“Hi.”

Buffy looked up from her desk, her pen slipping from her fingers when she became aware of the man standing in her doorway. “A-angel?” she stammered, discussing for a moment if this was some wacky dream. Of course she would never admit it to anyone, but her weekend had been filled with dreams. Day dreams to be precise. It had been so annoying she’d finally gone to the fitness studio in her neighbourhood, hoping that exercise would help, that she might fall asleep from exhaustion. She’d fallen asleep alright, but had woken up with her body aching all over, and an x-rated dream still etched in her mind.

He sighed deeply, “Seems you’re already addicted to that stupid nickname.”

She had a hard time stifling a grin, “What are you doing here?”

His day had been crap, not that the weekend had been any better, but today really hit the bottom. From the cold coffee in the morning - Gino’s was closed on Mondays -, to a client who was refusing to pay his bill, to his recent meeting with Parker. So he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation and stopped at Buffy’s office. “I had an errand to run,” he replied, looking around in her office. “Nice,” he complimented, “Very professional.”

“As this is my profession it’s hardly surprising.” She sighed when she realised how snippy that sounded.

One of his brows rose, “Bad day?”

She sighed again. Running a weary hand through her hair, she leaned back in her chair. God, he looked too good to be true. Fresh, young, wearing what seemed to be his professional outfit: jeans and the leather jacket, underneath a black shirt. A woman had to be dead not to notice him. And that was the only reason she felt heat rising inside of her. Right?

She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, “What errand?”

A grin appeared on his lips, “You’re not bad at avoiding answers.”

She frowned at him. “If you must know, your brother and I had an … uhm … argument.” Argument was a pretty loose term to describe the yelling that had taken place around noon. As a result she’d been called to her boss. To make matters worse Riley had called an hour ago, to tell her he would be home earlier. Tomorrow to be precise.

Sitting down on the edge of her desk, he planted a hand on the surface and leaned forward, “Is that so? What a coincidence. I just saw him. Now I understand why he was so … irked. And just for the record, so you don’t forget it again. He’s my step-brother. We’re not related.”

So Parker had been irked? Too bad. “And your errand … was it Parker?”

“Yeah,” he combed a hand through his hair. “Not very pleasant either,” he smiled. “I already told you we weren’t close.”

Eyeing him closely for a moment, she nodded, “Yeah, you did. And so after you talked to your step-brother, you thought maybe if you could annoy Buffy for a while it would make your day?”

This time he laughed, picking up the pen that had slipped from her fingers just before. It was still warm from her skin, and Angel felt his own prickle at the thought. He cleared his throat, “Actually, I thought you could maybe use a break,” he glanced at the clock on her desk, “It’s almost five. So, how about looking at some paintings?”

Not liking the heat she felt rising, she pushed herself away from her desk, then stood and walked towards the window, “I’m sorry,” she told him, “I’m really tired. It was a long day. A visit to a museum isn’t what I had in mind.” More like a hot bubble-bath and some sappy romance novel, but of course she didn’t tell him. The idea of a bubble bath and Angel in the same room was dangerous enough without saying the words.

“That’s not what I had in mind,” came his husky voice from close behind her, and Buffy almost jumped out of her skin. She whirled around, finding herself suddenly pinned between the window and Angel’s body. She felt the heat radiating from him, and almost moaned aloud.

“N-no?” she asked, hating the tremble in her voice.

“No,” one corner of his mouth lifted into a half-grin, and he took a step back. Enough was enough, he decided. Not that he minded her flustered look. Not at all. The faint blush was very becoming, and the way her eyes darkened was almost irresistible, but he had the feeling that Buffy was a woman who wouldn’t take kindly to being pushed. “You remember I told you that I sometimes paint?” She nodded and he went on. “The idea is, you look at my paintings, say some nice words, and then I’m going to cook for you.” The idea to cook for her had just formed in his head, but the moment the words were out of his mouth, he really started to like it.

He was glad when she smiled in return, “You cook? Do you have other hidden talents?”

She wanted to slap herself the moment the words were out, but of course she couldn’t take them back, so she quickly added, “I mean like … uh … mowing the lawn, or … or … washing dishes … or…”

His answering grin told her that he wasn’t buying a word of it, “Yeah,” he said, “I do dishes on occasion. But tonight that’s going to be your part. After all, I’m going to cook.”

God, this was madness. He might not be related to Parker, but hadn’t she decided that she couldn’t go out with him. “My boyfriend will be back soon,” she blurted, instantly averting her eyes in embarrassment.

“Your - boyfriend?” His voice was casual, but she could hear the hardness underneath.

“Uhm … yeah.” She did look at him then. He was standing near her desk, his arms folded in front of his chest, his eyes narrow. “So you see, I cannot just go out with you. It wouldn’t be … right. I cannot go on a date with a … man.”

A boyfriend, huh? Angel tilted his head, scrutinizing her closely, wondering who this boyfriend was. He wasn’t exactly an expert when it came to women, but he would swear that the guy couldn’t be too important for her. Her reaction towards him had been instant and strong. Women didn’t react that way if they were already in love with another man. Well some probably did, but he was sure Buffy wasn’t one of them. “Well,” he said slowly, “Who said this was a date? I mean you’re the daughter of a man who was an artist. I’m simply inviting you to look at my paintings and then we have dinner - as friends.”

When he put it that way? What could she say? “Friends?” she echoed weakly, “I suppose that’s okay.”

He beamed, his face all innocence, but she knew she’d been outmaneuvered by an expert.

*****

Wesley stopped in the doorway of his office. Kathie was staying late again. She was sitting at her desk, deeply engrossed in something on the computer-screen, her small nose scrunched in concentration, a frown on her forehead, she looked simply adorable. He quickly closed his eyes and pushed the unwelcome feelings down. This was simply not appropriate. And it was deeply disturbing. Wesley Wyndham-Price, who’d always seen himself as the epitome of appropriate behaviour, who never left the line, who was never late, he was lusting after a student.

He looked at her again, her dark, curly hair held back by a golden clip, only a hint of make-up on her face, and felt his groin tighten. Irritated with himself, he combed a hand through his already dishevelled hair, and cleared his throat.

At the sound her head came up, and when she saw him standing there, she smiled, “Oh, Wesley. I didn’t hear you. Is there something you need?”

Her dark eyes shone like gems, and the curve of her full lips was so inviting, he inwardly groaned, “No,” he said harshly. “Nothing. But this can’t go on.” He gestured vaguely at her and the desk.

The smile slipped from her face, and a worried look entered her eyes, “I’m sorry. I … Did I do something wrong?”

“Kathleen,” he began, purposely using her full name instead of the short form, “This can’t go on. You cannot stay this late all the time.”

“Oh, but I thought … last time you said, you didn’t mind.”

He let out a long breath. This was all going wrong. He’d simply been trying to remove the temptation and now she was looking at him with big, wounded eyes and his gut clenched painfully. “I don’t … I mean … Kathleen, if it was up to me … but people … they are going to talk if you’re staying late all the time.” It was a lie, pure and simple. Not an ass cared if students were staying late. They did it all the time. But it was the first thing that came into his mind. He saw her blink and felt like a heel.

“Of course,” she replied quickly, her trembling fingers flying over the keyboard to shut down the computer. “That’s … of course I understand. I would never want that …” she shook her head, a nervous laugh coming from her lips, “I’m sorry.”

God, he hadn’t wanted this. She looked as if she’d committed the worst crime. Her movements were jittery, while she collected her things.

Not looking at him, she pushed back her chair, stood and picked up her books and files. “I won’t do it again, I promise,” she said, and to his horror he saw tears gathering in her eyes.

No, no, oh God, no. He hadn’t wanted this. He knew how vulnerable she was, had seen it before. God, he was scum. Worse than that. He was … He reached for her, before he could think twice, when she was about to leave the office. She whirled around, her eyes huge, and the books slipped from her arms. She stared at them, then at him, her whole body trembling.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, already bending to pick them up again, but he didn’t let go.

“No,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” God, these eyes were killing him.

“No, no,” she insisted, “You are right. I don’t want people to think-“

“They won’t,” he said firmly, “People don’t care. It’s me. Kathie, it’s …”

“Yes?” her voice was breathless.

He was lost. Looking into her eyes, he knew he was a goner, “Would you mind if I kissed you now?”

“Kiss me?” she breathed, clearly not quite able to follow his train of thoughts.

“Yeah,” he nodded, his eyes intent, his hands trembling on her arms. “I know this is wrong. We shouldn’t do this. I’m much older than you…”

“How … how much older?”

“… But I would really very much like to kiss you,” he finished, ignoring her question. “So would you mind, if I did?”

Their eyes locked and held. “If you don’t say anything, I’m going to take that as a yes,” he whispered, his lips only mere inches apart from hers.

“Yes.”

The moment he heard the word, his control snapped, and he captured her lips in a long, passionate kiss.

Go to Part 7