DISCLAIMER: (n) a denial of legal responsibility; a written statement embodying this. I do not own these characters. The evil little acid-tripping troll – er, Joss Whedon – does. The chess scenes include quotes and material from the movie, "Luzhin's Defense."
SUMMARY: (n) a brief account of the main points of something. This happens immediately following my story "Comfort Zone." What happens when Angel and Buffy wake up?
SPOILER(S): (n) a projecting structure on an aircraft wing that increases drag - what the...!? I'd better use `to spoil:' (v) to damage as to make useless, etc; to impair the enjoyment of. Or spoilsport: (n) a person who spoils the fun of others.
Discusses the major events of "Amends" and previous episodes. Also briefly discusses scenes from the Angel episode "Are you now, or have you ever been" in Angel season 2, and the ballet scene Angel describes for Joyce is from "Waiting in the Wings" in Angel season 3.
RATING: (n) an assessment, an evaluation, an appraisal.
Rated `PG: Parental Guidance suggested' .
FEEDBACK: (n) information about a product, service, etc returned to the supplier for purposes of evaluation. Send all flames, compliments, questions, etc to GAKDragon@msn.com. Be sure to put "Re: Caught Red-Handed" as your subject title or my dad will delete it (I swear, people who send spam must eat in that Monty Python restaurant and enjoy themselves).
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Why must you insist on pumping me for information? All you need to know is that this story picks up where "Comfort Zone" stopped. Buffy and Angel face the music. This is the second story in my "April Fool's" series.

Angel sleepily pulled the warm bundle closer to him. It moved in response and sighed, telling him it was Buffy he was holding on to. Kissing the back of her head, he drowsily lie still, trying to savor the moment.

A while later, he was woken by something poking him in the arm. He shoved the offending object away, hugging Buffy tighter to him, who'd turned over.

"Psst, Angel."

That did it. He growled low in his throat and opened his eyes. "What?" he barked softly.

Faith was hovering over him. "B's mom is on her way up here."

Angel swore and got out of bed. Careful not to disturb Buffy, he grabbed a pillow and his blanket and set them up on the floor. He lay back down and rested for a bit, letting his head clear up. Catching on quick, Faith sat next to him on the floor just as Joyce came in.

"Buffy," she called. "Time to get up honey – oh my goodness!"

"Angel, I don't wanna go to school," Buffy mumbled in her sleep as she rolled over.

Laughing, he sat up and pushed her, hard, so she rolled over again. "Huh, what?" she said, awake now. Grinning at her, he pointed up at her mother, who was glaring at all three of them. "Morning, Mom," she said sheepishly.

"Care to explain this to me?"

Faith jumped in before Buffy could open her mouth. "Angel saved my ass on patrol last night, Mrs. S. He insisted on walking me here so he could check up on B."

Both of the Summers women stared at him. He scratched the back of his head and looked down, a little embarrassed. Joyce quirked an eyebrow at him, but Buffy dug into him. "You didn't tell me that," she said, proud and a little hurt.

"It wasn't that big a deal," he shrugged, glad his blood didn't circulate so his face couldn't blush.

Now it was Buffy's turn to raise her eyebrow. "Faith, do you think it was big deal that he saved your life out there?"

She chuckled, glad for the chance to tease him. "Oh, yeah, definitely. Number One on Life's To-Do List: pay back Angel for saving my neck."

Angel glared at her, but the brunette gave him an innocent look. He shrugged and gave Buffy a lopsided grin.

She smiled and leaned over to kiss it off his face.

His eyes closed as her soft, warm lips spread little fires in his nerves. Unbidden, his hand reached back through her hair, cupping her head.

Watching them kiss, oblivious to anyone else in the room, Faith cocked her head and smiled wistfully. God, to know that kind of love would be heaven. Love so strong it survived battle after battle, months of isolation, even the fires of hell and an eternity of torture. Love sweet enough to sustain their hearts, love strong enough to keep them together even though they couldn't be in the physical sense of the word, love so strong it was blind to all the reasons they should be apart.

Joyce, however, frowned, and her brow furrowed. She didn't understand how her daughter could love this … vampire. She didn't understand it, and she hated that she couldn't understand something that was obviously so important in her little girl's life. After being kept in the dark for so long; about the slaying, about vampires and demons and the things that went bump in the night, and about Buffy's relationship with any man, let alone one 200-plus years older than her, then having it all dumped on her the night of a major showdown with a sadistic bastard who had made her life a living hell; was too much for any woman to comprehend. But that was Buffy's life, and Joyce wanted to understand it, make it better any way she could. She was missing pieces of the puzzle, and she hated it. She cleared her throat.

Buffy ignored her, hands coming up to cup Angel's face as she deepened the kiss.

Faith jabbed him in the side. "Ow," he protested, breaking the kiss.

He looked up at Joyce's stern face and stood up. Folding his afghan, acutely aware that Joyce was watching his every move, he put it back in the bottom of Buffy's closet. He rummaged around, uttering a soft "Yes" of discovery when his hand hit the small wooden chest that contained some of his extra clothes.

He pulled it out, but then grimaced at the sight that greeted him when he opened the lid: Angelus' leather. Nothing but leather. Leather pants, leather vests, leather shirts, a worn-out leather coat, and a leather bustier for – he would have blushed – Buffy. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found some velvet shirts in the bottom. He pulled out a dark maroon one, some socks, and boxers, then looked at the leather in disgust.

He picked up the bustier and held it out, to Faith. "Want this? You can party in it."

She took it with a twisted grin, holding it up for inspection. "Will it fit?"

"Probably not, but isn't that the point?"

Faith inspected the pockets and said, "Ooh," pulling out a wad of cash. "I think this is yours." She waved the bills, mostly $50s and $100s, at him.

He raised his palm, refusing to take it. "Merry Christmas and Happy New Year."

All three women dropped their jaws in astonishment. "Angel," Faith breathed in awe. "Angel, this is-" she quickly counted "-over $3,000. It's yours." She waved it at him again.

"It's not mine, anymore than it belongs to the demon that stole it." He frowned, remembering the terrified young law student Angelus had raped and killed, then robbed. Angel didn't really want any part of *that* fortune. It was poetic justice that a Slayer of vampires should have it. The other one, the one worth billions that he'd slowly accumulated over the years, had started with his family's money. He considered it an inheritance, and hadn't touched it in fifty years.

Angel cocked his head and wondered if the Hyperion Hotel was still standing, or if the demon had destroyed the building.

Buffy, reading his original line of thought, ran her fingers through his hair. He sighed and leaned his face into her hand, kissing her palm. Returning the gesture as he stood up, he addressed Joyce. "Do you mind if I use your shower, Mrs. Summers?"

"Go ahead."

He looked down at the pile of leather forlornly. He picked the loosest pair of pants he could find, and took the bundle to the bathroom down the hall.

Buffy sighed and met her mother's questioning glare. "Mom, let me wake up, then we'll explain everything, okay?"

Joyce let out a long sigh. "I should let you know I'm disappointed in you girls. You didn't trust me with the truth, and didn't think I would be able to handle his presence in this house." She let it sink in, then gave them a warning. "He gets one chance. If he treats either one of you badly or with disrespect, he's banned from the house. And I'll take your door off its hinges, young lady, just to make sure he's not sneaking in here.

"If…if last year happens again, I'll see to it personally he becomes a dust pile."

Faith gulped. Buffy's eyes widened, and she looked ready to cry.

Faith was silent as Joyce left the room.

Faith stuck her hands in her pockets, then remembered the money. She held it out for Buffy. "Here, you're his girlfriend. You should have it."

Buffy politely refused. "I don't need anything. You've got an apartment to pay for, you take it."

"Don't you want half, or anything?"

"Faith, Angelus left all that money there for me. He must have even more stashed somewhere that Angel just doesn't want to use. Go ahead, take it."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, my mom would say." She sat at the end of the bed, divided the money by denomination, and counted it.

Buffy got up, stretched and yawned, and padded over to the closet. She looked over everything. "Sorry, Angel," she apologized out loud, "but I'm cold."

She pulled out a white long-sleeved blouse, the brown sweater her mom had given her for Christmas, and a pair of old jeans.

A box wrapped in green and red plaid caught her eye and she squealed. "Ooh, I almost forgot!"

She turned around and presented Faith with the gift. "Merry Christmas, F."

Faith sighed and put the money away. "Your guardian Angel gave me $4,600, B. I don't need anymore presents."

"Well, this is from me."

Faith smiled and took the gift. As she opened it, Buffy apologized. "Sorry it's late, it was a special order thing."

Faith ripped away the wrapping paper and opened the clipboard-sized wooden box. "Oh my God," she breathed.

A wickedly curved, double-edged knife with a blade the length of Faith's hand was nestled snugly in a creamy velvet lining. A simple gold cross on a gold chain was draped on top of it.

Engraved on the blade, near the hilt on both sides, was a cross. The hilt was made of wood wrapped in brown leather, and had the sign of the cross burned into it. The pommel was made of gold and had another cross, this one embossed.

Buffy broke Faith's awe-inspired silence, tucking her blouse in her jeans. "I figured, even if it didn't work right, you'd have a handy knife when you needed it."

"Buffy, this is—" She choked up and burst into tears. First a vampire had saved her life, then he casually gives her over $4,000.

Then her sister Slayer gives her a beautiful, practical weapon. Buffy barely had time to pull her sweater over her head when Faith barreled into her, hugging her and sobbing into her shoulder.

As Angel re-entered the room, toweling his hair off, Buffy lifted her eyebrows and tried to warn him.

Faith broke away from Buffy and hugged an astonished Angel. He awkwardly patted her on the back. He mouthed over to Buffy `What brought this on?'

Buffy opened the wooden box. Angel whistled at the deadly weapon enclosed inside.

"Do you mind if I test it on you, honey?" Buffy asked him as Faith pulled away.

"Test it?" He eyed it warily.

Buffy took the knife and brought it over for a closer look.

"Ah," Angel said, looking at all the crosses on the knife. "Anti- vampire knife."

"Uh-huh."

He reached out a hand and gently grasped the blade. "Ah! It burns," he hissed, snatching his hand away.

"Yay, it worked!" Buffy put the knife away.

"You forgot a sheath," Angel pointed out, shaking the sting out of his hand.

Buffy looked a little hurt. "It's underneath."

Faith couldn't take anymore. She took the case off the bed and headed for the stairs. "I'm gonna put this with my stuff. I gotta sun proof the house anyway."

Angel sank to the bed. Buffy walked over to stand between his knees. Angel wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his head in her stomach. Buffy slung her arms around his shoulders.

Angel lifted his head and puckered up, begging her for a kiss. Buffy smiled and complied.

"Is your mom going to be okay with me stuck in the house all day?"

Buffy shrugged. "If you behave, I don't think she'll have anything to worry about."

"I'll just. Have to. Be my. Charming. Self," he said between kisses.

She grabbed his hands and pulled him up. "Come on," she said, leading him by the hand to the stairs.

He grinned and tickled her in the side with his free hand. Buffy squealed and pinned her arms to her sides.

Angel reached around and tickled her stomach. Buffy squealed again and raced down the stairs.

Laughing, Angel vaulted over the side of the railing, landing in her way. Buffy shrieked, and ran back up the stairs. With a long leap, Angel landed behind her and used one strong arm to lift her off her feet.

"Help! Help!"

Angel dragged her down the stairs and pinned her against the wall, tickling her ribcage and her stomach.

"No, stop! Angel, stop!" She shrieked through her laughter. "Gah!"

Joyce ran into the room, a frying pan held high. Faith was close behind with her new knife.

Buffy retaliated, running her slim fingers up Angel's sides. "Oh, no you don't," he scolded, grabbing her hands together in one large fist. He pinned them above her head. She squealed as he continued his assault on her ribcage.

Joyce lowered the frying pan and stalked back into the kitchen. Faith put her knife away then decided to even the odds.

She hopped on Angel's back, pulling at his arms. He cried out in surprise.

Buffy jumped in and tickled him. Now *he* was the one squealing for help.

He stood straight up and pried at Faith's arms, wrapped around his neck.

He reached back and tickled her stomach. She let go of her grip and dropped to the floor.

Angel whirled around and tickled her. Faith squealed and ran from him.

As he ran after her, Buffy jumped on his back. "Oh, not again," he whined.

"That's enough!" Joyce yelled, staring at them from the kitchen. "You're acting like four-year-olds."

Buffy hopped down, and Angel and Faith tried to avoid eye contact with each other.

"Sorry, ma'am," Angel said first, his voice soft but thick with his brogue.

"Sorry," Faith and Buffy repeated.

"Just…Can't you find something quiet to do?"

They filed into the living room. The curtains had been drawn shut tight at the windows, blocking out the sunlight. Angel and Faith looked at each other and burst into giggles.

Buffy plopped on the couch, dragging Angel down beside her. "You wanna watch a movie?" she asked quietly.

Angel slung his arm around her. "Whatever you want," he said.

"We could play cards," Faith suggested.

"Or chess," Angel countered.

Buffy shook her head violently. "I'm bad at chess. My dad taught me and he never let me win."

Faith shrugged. "Never played it."

Angel's jaw dropped. "Never?" he asked, a little excited.

"Uh-uh."

"You girls make a space on the table," he said, standing. "I'll be right back."

He headed into the kitchen, where Joyce was washing dishes. He cleared his throat. "Mrs. Summers?"

"Yes, Angel?"

"Uh, do you have a chess set?"

She dried her hands. "Sure, it's in the hall closet." She showed him where it was.

"Ah, thanks." He took it back into the living room.

"Who's your opponent?"

"Oh, I'm going to teach Faith."

Joyce nodded and headed back to the kitchen.

Angel set the chessboard on the coffee table and sat on the couch. Buffy sat on the floor at his feet, squished between table and couch, and Faith sat across from them.

"Alright, now since you know how to play, Buffy, you'll be black. White always makes the first move," he explained to Faith.

He picked up pieces one at a time, demonstrating as he spoke. "This is the king. He's the most important piece you have, and he knows it. But his moves are limited. One square at a time. He's weighed down by his pomp and circumstance. The entire object of chess is to capture the king. That's checkmate. Barring that, you work to prevent your opponent from moving any pieces. When that happens, it's called a stalemate, or a draw. With me so far?"

Both girls nodded. "Good, `cause now it gets tricky." He put each king where it belonged on the board. "The queen stands at the king's left, and is more agile. She's brave, cunning, and can move anywhere she likes. Your opponent will fear her immensely.

"The bishops flank the king and queen. They can only move diagonally, and will always remain on the same color square as when they started. They can be very powerful pieces.

"The knights are strange. They can only move in an `L' pattern. Over two steps and up or back one step, or up or back two steps and over one.

"The rook, or castle, can only move horizontally or vertically in normal moves. However, there is a defense move called castling, which I'll explain later.

"Last are your pawns. They can only move forward one space at a time, except from the starting squares. From there they can move two spaces. They can only attack diagonally. If they reach the other end of the chessboard, they turn into an extra queen.

"Now, when you start, you can only move your pawns or your knights. Once you clear a path, you can move your other pieces. Okay, you ready?"

"I think so," Faith replied.

"Move a piece."

"Any one?"

"Any of your pawns or your knights, yes."

Faith moved her pawn from C2 to C4. "You said two spaces, right?"

Angel nodded, then spoke quietly to Buffy. She moved a black pawn from D7 to D5.

"Now, attack her pawn," Angel instructed Faith.

"How?"

"Put your pawn on the space where hers is, and take her piece off the board."

"Okay, now what?" She held up the captured pawn.

"Just put it to the side somewhere."

He whispered again in Buffy's ear.

She took her knight from B8 and put it on D7 in front of her king.

"Now, the pawn is the only piece that attacks that way. Everything else attacks in the same direction it moves. You want to attack the king. When you put him under attack, it's called check. He must then move a piece into the line of fire if he can, take out the attacker, or move himself out of check.

"When you position all your pieces correctly, you can attack the king in such a way that he can't move. That's checkmate.

"Your turn."

Faith looked at her choices and moved her knight from G1 to F3. "Was that right?"

"Yep," Buffy said as she moved a pawn from B7 to B6.

They played until just after noon, Buffy winning two out of three games.

"Nice set up, Faith," Angel commented as he surveyed her checkmate of Buffy's king.

Faith grinned.

"So, Buffy, what do you think? Am I a better teacher than your dad?"

"Uh-huh. He never even mentioned that castle move to me."

"Hey, B, let's go shopping with my Christmas money," Faith suggested.

"Great! My dad sent me some money, I can go spend it."

"What – what about me?" Angel pouted.

"You can sleep," Faith teased.

"Or you could help my mom. You might get on her good side."

He moped, sighing piteously.

"Oh, come on," Buffy said, pressing kisses to his cheeks, eyes, and nose. "Smile for me? Please?"

He stuck his bottom lip out instead. She leaned in and kissed him, hard. He gently shoved her away. "Go. You'll miss all the good sales."

She hesitated.

"I'll be all right, go."

She didn't need any further pushing. With a quick good-bye, she and Faith were out the door.

Angel packed up the chess set and stowed it. He walked back in the kitchen, watching Mrs. Summers.

Walking loudly, he grabbed a towel and starting drying wet pots.

"So who won?" Joyce asked as she put away plates and cups.

"Buffy twice, Faith once."

"Seems quiet," she remarked later.

"Girls went shopping," he explained.

"And they left you here?"

"Well, sun."

"Oh, yes."

"I'm supposed to go to sleep or help you out."

Joyce thought. "Well, there's not much – oh!" She rushed out of the kitchen with a quick, "Stay there."

He dried off his hands and leaned against the counter.

Joyce came back in with a large manila envelope. "Were you ever in Russia?"

"Twice. Spent fifteen years in Moscow, five in St. Petersburg."

"Ah. Recently?"

"1800's," he replied tersely.

"Good, maybe you can help."

He blinked. "Sure. What do you need?"

"Well, we have a new exhibit coming into the gallery at the end of January. I have to make space for the new display. I took the work home, hoping to finish it over Christmas vacation. I was wondering if you could lend your experience?"

"I'm not very familiar with Russian art, but I'll give it a try."

*****

Faith and Buffy quietly entered the house. "It's not destroyed. Angel must have gone to sleep."

"Look for dust piles or heaps swept under the rug," Faith suggested sarcastically.

"No, the house is too quiet. Something's wrong." She set her bags down by the door, while Faith put her stuff with the rest of her belongings.

"I got your back, B."

Buffy took point, slowly creeping toward the kitchen. She gently pushed the door open.

Angel was standing, explaining something to Joyce, who sat listening with complete attention.

"So he picks her up, drags her over to here, stage left, and then he leaps away offstage. Now she's left onstage, and she does this, like, I can't even describe it, it was something like this." He tried to demonstrate a complicated graceful dance with his hands.

"And oh, God. I tell you, I was in tears. And that was 1894, that I saw them. Oh, it was beautiful," he said as he sat back down.

Joyce noticed her daughter and their houseguest. "Oh, girls! You're home."

"What'd you get me?" Angel sprang up and kissed Buffy gently.

"Um … what did you get me?"

"When? I've been stuck in the house all day. It's not like I have the ring of Amarra."

"What's that?"

"It's like a vampire Holy Grail," he explained as he sat at the table. He pulled Buffy into his lap.

"It's supposed to make the wearer invincible – to stakes, sunlight, crosses, you name it. Doesn't exist, though."

"How do you know?" Joyce asked.

"Nobody's ever found it. Believe me, if some vamp had found it, somebody else in the community would know. And there probably wouldn't be a Slayer left alive to stop them."

"Oh. Well, I meant what did you get me for Christmas?"

"I've had a rather blue Christmas this year, so you get my continued existence."

"And that, only by a miracle," Faith interjected.

Angel gave her a half-smile.

"I don't understand," Joyce admitted.

"Angel was sort of haunted by the Ghost of Christmas Past," Buffy began. "He tried to kill himself at sunrise, but then we had all that snow."

Joyce gasped. "Seriously?"

Angel nodded, placing Buffy's head under his chin as he leaned back. "This being, calling itself the First evil, tried to make me kill Buffy and then myself. I decided to just kill myself by standing out in the sun. But then the sunrise never came."

As Joyce sat back in shock, Angel scanned the layouts again.

"I think your best bet is to put some smaller sculptures from the exhibit in the hallway leading to the main showroom."

"Entice the public eye by giving them a small taste," Joyce agreed.

"Yeah." Angel flipped through the pictures previewing the Russian sculptures by Topolsky. "Do you have any Russian tapestries?"

"No, no tapestries at all. Just paintings."

"That's a shame. Because the tapestries would go well with the other pieces. You'd have a very tactile exhibit."

"Mm-hmm."

"What are you guys talking about?" Buffy demanded.

"A Russian art exhibit in your mom's gallery."

"What, and you got conned into helping?"

"Hey lady, you left me here."

"Yeah, you suggested he help your mom," Faith pitched in unhelpfully.

"Come on," he said, tapping his girlfriend on twice on the leg. "Show me what you bought."

Buffy had bought a few pieces of jewelry, some shoes, and a lot of clothes.

Angel looked up as she re-entered the kitchen, displaying the last item of clothing she'd gotten.

"Hmm," he said, his eyes following every curve as she turned.

She was wearing a sleek violet, form-fitting dress with a skirt that flared just above her knees. "You like?"

"Very much. A little too cold for winter, though."

"It'll be great for graduation parties."

His eyes widened. "Am I supposed to show up at those?"

"Maybe. The ones at night, anyway. But you're definitely coming to the Prom. Aren't you?"

"Uh, sure. Yeah, sure," he said quickly. He hated dancing. He rubbed his eyes. "I need a nap. Can I use your room?" He asked Buffy.

"Uh-huh."

Angel followed her upstairs, avoiding the patches of sunlight and wincing at the sounds his leather pants were making.

After Buffy had closed the door, he pulled off his shirt and idly scratched his chest.

Buffy stood still next to the bed, staring at him. Her breathing was unsteady.

She raised her hand to his chest. Angel dropped his arms and stepped closer.

Breathing raggedly, she slowly caressed his chest, following the contours of his muscles. He closed his eyes and made his hands into fists. If he touched her, they both might not be able to stop until it was too late.

Seeing his resolve, Buffy allowed her hands to familiarize themselves with his skin. She slowly circled him, running her hands along his shoulders, down his arms, across his back. She dropped a kiss on his tattoo, then traced its lines with her finger.

"When did you get it?"

"Uh…" He thought a moment. He'd been evil, he knew that. "1810. Darla and I, we were in the Orient. We passed through Russia on our way back to Europe. Napoleon invaded and we … fed off of a lot of his troops."

"Oh. It still suits you."

"Think so?"

"Mmm." She walked around in front of him. She rested both hands on his chest.

He wrapped his hands just above her elbows. He pulled her towards him so he could kiss her with a foot of space between their bodies.

He locked his arms, keeping her at bay. Kissing, he was pretty sure, they could handle.

Then Buffy wrapped her arms around his shoulders and stepped into his embrace.

Angel was lost. He kissed her feverishly.

Next thing he knew, they were on the bed. The top half of her new dress was bunched around her waist. He had his face pressed to her chest.

He pulled his head up when he realized what he was doing. "Buffy, I'm sorry. I – "

She cut him off with a kiss. "Who started it, mister?"

"What? Uh…"

"That's right, me. I started it. I'm sorry, Angel." She got out from under him and pulled up her dress. "You came up here for a nap." She pulled back the covers. "Get in."

"Buffy, I –"

"Shut up and get in," she said mock sternly.

He sighed and climbed in. "Thank you."

She kissed him softly on the cheek. "Sleep tight."

"I'll try."

*****

Buffy and Faith were eating popcorn and watching Indian TV when the sun finally set at 7:03 pm.

Buffy stood. Stretching, she said, "I'd better go wake up Angel."

"You Bronzin' later, B?"

"I'll be there."

"Cool. I'm gonna hit the cemeteries."

"Be careful, F."

The inhuman scream that came from the second floor startled them all.

"What is that?" Joyce asked, covering her ears.

"Buffy! Buffy! Nooo!"

"Oh, God," she whispered. "The nightmares." She raced up the stairs, Faith close behind.

The Slayers burst into the bedroom, where Angel was thrashing about and yelling, in the grips of a terrible nightmare.

"Faith, get a cross!" Buffy pulled Angel into a sitting position, and slid in behind him. "Cross!"

"Here!" The brunette tossed one. Buffy held it against Angel's chest, wincing as the flesh sizzled and burned.

"No, don't hurt her! Don't touch her! Buffy!" Angel jerked within Buffy's rock-hard embrace and opened his eyes.

He fought to get out. "Shh, shh," Buffy whispered in his ear. "It's alright, we're okay." She tossed away the cross and smoothed her hand over his new scar. "It's okay, Angel. It's okay," she repeated over and over.

He calmed down, blinking. Wrapping his hands around her small wrists, he leaned his head back on her shoulder.

"Where – where-"

"My bedroom. Sun's down now, you can go back to the mansion."

"Tony's first," he said a while later.

Buffy nodded. Tony's was the butcher shop down by the multiplex where Angel got his pig's blood.

"Faith, go into the kitchen. In the fridge, way in the bottom drawer, is a microwave tuna casserole. Go get it, please?"

Faith looked at her strangely. "O-kay." She slipped out.

Joyce took her place, watching Angel with concern, though he was still sitting in the same position. "Is he okay?" she whispered to her daughter.

"Not yet," Buffy said softly. "But he will be."

"Here you go, B." Faith handed her the box.

Angel sniffed at the air, his eyes following the box intently.

Buffy stood, and ruffled Angel's hair. "Wait in the hall, guys." She closed the door.

Angel tore into the box, and three packs of blood fell in his lap.

"Drink them all," Buffy said softly as he bit the corner off one. "If they stay in there any longer, they'll go bad."

She sat in front of him on the bed and ran her fingers through his hair as he drank.

Buffy cleared away the trash. Angel sat, staring into space. "I could walk you home," she offered.

He was fully alert at that suggestion. "No. Too dangerous, you're still-" He touched her lower belly briefly.

"Oh. Right. I was going to go to the Bronze. Wanna come with?"

"Later. For an hour, maybe. I have to change."

"I happen to like you in those pants. But that's fine. We can dance for an hour and then go wherever."

"No. You hang out with your friends. I need … I need `me time,' as you would put it."

Buffy smiled. "I get it. See you there?"

He nodded and kissed her sweetly. Gathering his stuff, he left by her window.

She opened the door and headed downstairs. "Angel's going to the mansion, then he'll meet us at the Bronze."

"Mansion? He has a mansion?"

"Yeah, mom. The abandoned one, over on Crawford Street?"

"The one with the hill, looking out over town?"

"Yeah."

"Nice place."

"Mm-hmm."

"Honey, what was that all about?"

"I s-sent him to Hell last May. He had nightmares about it for a while when he got back in October, but I thought they were gone. I guess not."

"What do you mean, you sent him to Hell?"

Faith was listening closely.

"When he was … evil, he opened this gateway to Hall. We fought, and … Willow-" She swallowed over the lump in her throat. "Willow cursed him, restored his soul. I said goodbye to him, then stabbed him. The gateway closed up, and he went to Hell."

Faith stared at her, dumbstruck and crying. Joyce looked horrified. At once, the two women hugged Buffy.

"Oh, honey, why didn't you tell me?"

Buffy let the tears come.

"B, don't you ever keep secrets like that from me again," Faith said. "We're Slayers, girlfriend. You got my back, and I got yours. That means we trust each other. Got it?"

"Uh-huh," she said tearfully.

"Now come on. You got to get snazzy for the Bronze. We'll party, and then I'll patrol."

Buffy smiled weakly. "Thanks."

*****

The Slayers stepped into the Bronze, chatting lightly. Buffy had changed into a silver satin long-sleeved blouse and black miniskirt, while Faith was wearing her new bustier and red hip-hugger jeans. The brunette immediately started bopping to the beat.

"I'm gonna get a table," Buffy called over the music. Faith nodded and moseyed over to the bar for drinks. Buffy was pleased to find the Scooby Gang's usual table open and saved seats for everyone.

Four Star Mary was the band tonight, and Oz always liked to listen to them play. Full moon had been a few weeks ago, so he was safe. Willow, of course, would be at his side.

"Hey, Buffster. You're looking stylish."

"Hey, Xand. Didn't know you were here."

"You alone?" He grabbed a seat next to her.

"Faith's getting a drink, and Angel's coming later."

Faith came back with two beers and a soda. "Diet Pepsi, right B?" She left a stool for Angel to sit next to Buffy.

"Thanks, F. What do I owe you?"

"Pfsh. I got money to burn, sister."

"Well, next round's on me."

Faith shrugged. "Whatever."

"Is Willow here?" Xander asked.

"Haven't seen her yet," Buffy replied. "But Oz should be here. He's never missed Four Star Mary, unless it's on account of moon."

"True." He scanned the crowd. "Oh great," he muttered. "Queen C is back on her throne."

The two girls looked in the direction of his mournful stare, where Cordelia was surrounded by a crowd of Cordettes.

"Poor Xander. Still giving you the brush off?"

"I just think she's jealous we got all that snow."

Buffy smiled wistfully, remembering the snow angels she and Angel had made after their waltz in the street.

"Uh-oh. Buff's got Angel-face."

"Huh?"

Faith chuckled. "You are so far gone, B. You are beyond the point of salvation."

Buffy blushed. Xander got up to get his own soda. When he was out of earshot, Buffy replied softly, "You would be too, if you knew what he could do with just his tongue."

Faith stared at her in shocked admiration. "Buffy!"

The blonde blushed more. "Well…"

"I can't believe I'm hearing this! Listen to you, a wild woman."

"Shh, everybody'll hear."

"You're a party animal, B."

"Speaking of animals," Xander said as he sat back down. He pointed at the door, where Oz and Willow walked in hand-and-hand.

Buffy waved them over. "Hi, guys."

"Hi Buffy, Xander. Hello Faith." Willow nodded in the brunette's direction and sat next to Xander.

"Hey" was all Oz said.

"So where's Angel?" Willow looked around.

"He'll be along later."

"Not soon enough for Buffy, though," Faith teased, taking a swig of her beer.

The blonde swatted Faith. "If you keep that up, I'll make him go home."

Faith stuck her tongue out. "He gave me my Christmas presents, I don't need to see him till New Year's."

"What did he get you?" Oz asked.

"First, he saved my royal ass on patrol. Then he gave me this," she indicated the bustier, "and some money that was in one of the pockets."

"To hear you talk, you'd think he was the Christmas Angel," Buffy retorted.

"Who's that?" a smooth voice asked behind her.

"Hey, you're early!" Buffy hopped off her stool. She wrapped her arms around Angel. He'd changed into a pair of jeans, still wearing the same shirt.

Faith patted the stool next to her that she'd saved for him. "Want a beer?"

He sat, his arm still around Buffy. "Yeah, sure." She handed him the extra one.

He used his claddagh as a brace against the cap and popped the top off. "I see it fits," he nodded at her top.

She grinned. "Yup."

He turned and kissed Buffy on the cheek. "I decided to get you a gift after all." He placed a small box an inch-and-a-half square in front of her.

Willow gasped and watched, riveted. Buffy took a deep breath and opened it. She closed it quickly. "Where did you find this?"

He leaned over to whisper in her ear, "I landed on it."

She opened the ring box again. She smiled wistfully and lifted the silver ring out of its snug compartment. She slid it onto her third finger, right hand, heart pointing back to her wrist. "Thank you, Angel." She kissed him. Willow sat back, slightly disappointed that the box hadn't contained an engagement ring.

"So, Oz," he began conversationally, "band any good tonight?"

"Usually."

"Full moon work out okay?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Christmas fun?"

"Enjoyable."

"Same here. Well, Christmas Day was."

Buffy reached over and pinched him. "Stop that."

"Ow. What? We're just talking."

"No, you're not talking. You're conversing in Oz-speak. You'll make Willow jealous."

"Fine, I'll sit and speak Latin then. She'll know what I'm saying." He addressed Willow in Latin, "Vos es eruditio Latin is annus, etiam?"

"Etiam," she replied with a smile. "EGO certus, si Volo futurus a veneficus quod iacio alica, perceptum lingua."

"Bonus informatio."

Faith giggled. "¿Usted habla español?"

"Sí, señorita. ¿Dónde usted aprendió?"

"El laundromat abajo de la calle de donde crecí para arriba."

Xander chimed in: "¿Usted habla español, Faith?"

"Sí. La mama dijo que aprendí español antes de que aprendiera inglés. Mi mama trabajó en el laundromat cuando era un bebé."

Oz smiled, following the conversation.

"Dammit, I shoulda taken Spanish instead of French," Buffy complained.

Angel whispered in her ear, "Vous avez les yeux les plus beaux que j'ai jamais vus. Ils allument votre visage et soutiennent votre âme. Chaque jour vous tenez votre coeur dehors sur le monde. Vous êtes plus beau que n'importe quelle merveille que j'ai jamais vue dans ma longue vie." As her friends watched, her face reddened.

She whispered back in his ear, "Vous avez le bout le plus mignon en existence."

He let out a short bark of laughter and kissed her temple.

"How many languages do you speak?" Willow asked.

"Six or seven fluently, there are about ten others I can get around in." He took a swig of his beer and scanned the crowd. His gaze stopped on an odd-looking female who was getting very cozy with the man next to her at the bar.

"What are they?" Buffy asked.

"Gaelic, English, Latin, French, German, Spanish, and some demon languages." Angel took another swig of his beer, and as he lifted it, he nonchalantly clinked it against Faith's.

She drank too, and watched as he motioned with the bottle. "Skanky ho at nine o'clock?" she asked softly without looking.

"Yours, yes."

"I got her tagged. I'm not moving `till she does."

"Okay. Come on, Buffy. Let's dance."

As a slow song began, Angel maneuvered into position. Buffy, like all popular teens, went to hug him and do the turn-in-one-spot dance.

"Hey, hey, what is this?" he demanded, as she approached him that way.

"Huh?"

"What do you think you're doing, dancing like that? Give me your hand." He put his right arm around her waist, and put her left arm around his shoulders. He tucked her right hand against his chest, and began to dance in lazy circles in their little space of floor.

"Now how is this different?"

"It's more intimate. It forces you to look at your partner. You can't pretend they're someone else. You lock eyes with each other and just dance."

She smiled softly. "But we could have done that my way, too."

"Not comfortably."

"So?"

"But you also can't do this," he said as he suddenly pushed her away from him. When she reached the end of his left arm, he spun her back into his embrace.

"Ooh." She was a little breathless.

"See?" He grinned.

"Do it again," she said a little bit later.

An exaggerated sigh escaped his lips. He put a little distance between them and turned her clockwise twice under his arm. She giggled and glanced over his shoulder. "The skanky ho left."

"Faith can handle her," he replied.

The brunette Slayer had indeed disappeared, as Angel and Buffy discovered when they got back to their table.

Willow shared an excited smile with Buffy. They'd watched her dance with Angel, and those spinning moves had looked so cool.

Buffy turned on her stool and leaned against Angel's arm. He turned towards her and rubbed her back. Leaning over her shoulder, he whispered softly in her ear, "Sol ar aon oidhche cómhlámh, Mé do ghréas smuaineadh neamh budh amharc an moch maidin grian solus far an t'uainne cnocs a'Éire. Tú còmhdaich mé anafior, agus Mé ioma mian taisbeanaim tú mo fárdach'lann."

She smiled softly and let his words wash over her. She never understood what he was saying when he did this, but she loved the sound of his voice when he spoke Gaelic.

Faith came back then, flushed with the thrill of the kill. She picked up Angel's beer – her own having been finished off earlier – and took a long gulp.

"Help yourself," Angel said, looking at her strangely.

"Thanks," she said lightly, ignoring his look. "She had friends waiting."

"How many?"

"Only three. Made it interesting."

"I'll bet."

A short blond guy wearing lots of leather and an earring came up to Faith and asked her to dance.

"We'll never see her again," Buffy said, laughing as Faith headed for the dance floor.

"Wouldn't that be a good thing?" Willow muttered, so low only Angel heard it.

He frowned. What did the affable redhead have against Faith?

He wrapped his arms around Buffy, pulled her close, and massaged her belly. "Does it still hurt?" he whispered softly.

"Mm-mm." She shook her head. "But that feels nice."

He kissed the soft flesh behind her ear. "At your service, mo caraid."

They sat, mostly, for an hour, before Angel excused himself. Buffy wouldn't let him leave without a lingering kiss, and he made Faith promise to take Buffy straight home before patrolling.

With a wave goodbye for everyone else, he left.

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