Angelus scratched his back, where the magickally enhanced and permanent tattoo now resided. It’d taken him a while to find someone able to do it, but he had, in the middle of an African jungle on the outskirts of Tshikapa in the middle of the Congo. The man, whose name Angelus didn’t bother to learn, did an excellent job, in the equally magickally enhance mirror that allowed the vampire to see the tattoo. 

The tattoo, a gryphon that reminded him of the one so attached to Buffy, covered half his right shoulder. A stylized ‘A’ was nestled between its feet while a ‘B’ was intricately entwined with it, making it look as much a part of the gryphon as the ‘A’. 

 He wished he could see the design again, just to be reminded of…everything. 

Too much changed in the years he’d been here. And yet he had most of all. 

It was odd, true, that he felt both the same and different. Angelus was literally two beings, one who despaired at the pain and slaughter he’d caused during his centuries as Ancient, and one who wanted to return to those days. He did have one thing in common with both parts of himself, as confusing as that seemed, and that was that no matter who he felt he was or wasn’t, Angelus didn’t care. 

He didn’t care about the humans in this realm, didn’t care how often they slaughtered each other, or how often others did. He took care of himself, barely surviving from night to night, and he, strangely enough, took care of his family. Not his family per se, as that family was in a completely different dimension and one he tried, sometimes desperately, not to think about. 

This was the family he didn’t really want and yet one he found himself having, nonetheless. The woman he’d saved nearly a hundred years ago gave birth to a son who survived. Though the couple Angelus took her too had long since died, he found himself, more often than not, visiting them over the years. He watched the son, Allen, grow and marry, having five children of his own. They, too, grew up and married, expanding on the family and making Angelus feel, despite his best attempts otherwise, a part of that family. 

The vampire had no idea how they knew he was a vampire, but it was something that was just accepted and never talked about. He resented it occasionally, resented that they accepted him to a point but backed away when that point threatened whatever they told themselves about him. Still, he continued to visit, continued to watch the family grow and expand, and continued to hope that, one day, he’d return to his own family. 

That hope was less bright than it once was, with so many years passing from then to now. Centuries passed here, a hundred and fifty years here was thirty there, but it felt much, much more. It felt like eternity. 

Buffy still tried to coax him home, but those pleas were fewer and farther between. Angelus raged at this, convinced that her disinterest was due to someone there, someone who captured her attention while he was stuck in the mortal realms with a soul that wouldn’t shut up. 

He missed his family there, Drusilla and William, he missed Gunn’s scathing remarks and he missed Cook’s scrumptious fares. If he ever saw Darla again, chances were strong he’d kill her for what she did to him, but what were those chances? She still lived, contrary to what he was sure Buffy was going to do to her, but Angelus couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Though he did wonder how that curse Buffy laid on her was going. 

Walking through the crowded streets of Dublin, Angelus couldn’t help but wonder how these humans survived. There was a war going on, another one he amended, that spanned much of the continent; it wasn’t nearly as bloody as many. Angelus suspected, knowing wars as he did, that this was but a prelude to something more. There were whispers in several countries, ones even he, as the outcast, heard. Change scattered in the air with words of revolution and transformation 

Making his way towards the little apartment that housed the human family he still wasn’t sure how to feel about, Angelus noted the strangeness of many of the people he passed. The Irish were always a funny lot, he supposed as he walked up the flights of stairs to the third floor. They talked freedom on one hand, over copious amounts of alcohol, yet did nothing about it. No matter how many said it, or who, they were all talk. 

It was strange, and he admitted that, but he still didn’t understand the descendants of the people he was once a part of. 

Knocking on the door, he waited a moment before it was opened by six-year-old, Róisín. “Angel!” She said through her missing front two teeth, as she threw herself around the uneasy vampire’s legs, hugging him. 

“Ah, hello, Róisín,” Angelus said with a slightly forced smile. The affection the girl showed him was unbelievable and never failed to make him feel uncomfortable. He wasn’t used to such open fondness, except from Buffy, and knew, no matter how he changed, that that never would. 

Dragging him into the room, the child proceeded to tell him everything that happened since she’d last seen him. Considering that was yesterday, Angelus wondered how she had so much to speak of. But he let her talk, because he was leaving this night, and didn’t know when he’d be back. 

Róisín was a bright child, and one whom Angelus, on the rare occasions he allowed himself to think of her, that reminded the vampire of his own daughter. Or what he imagined his daughter would be like. Shaking those thoughts away, he focused on what the human girl was saying, something about the boy she was going to marry? 

“But he thinks I’m dumb,” Róisín said, wrinkling her nose. 

At a total loss on how to proceed, Angelus asked what he’d ask anyone. “Who’s the boy, lass?” And wondered how he’d managed to find himself in such a position. What was wrong with roaming the world, never stopping in one place for longer than necessary, seeing sights and people and forever tempted to greet the sunlight, end his misery. But that would end Buffy’s life as well, and that was what always stopped him. 

In killing himself, he condemned her to the life of a mortal. He couldn’t do that to her, no matter what feelings he now had towards her, he still loved her. It was something he doubted would ever change, no matter how long they were apart. He wasn’t so weak that he needed to end his life, though the constant clamor of voices condemning him was a continual source of torture. 

Brightening even more at the question, Róisín climbed onto Angelus’ lap, missing the look of consternation on his face as she launched into surprising detail, for one so young, of the boy down the street she’d decided to marry. Usually Angelus said nothing, and while Róisín didn’t mind telling him all her stories, she so wanted him to talk to her. He was her angel, the man to save her from the alleyway when she was three and became separated from her mother and she loved him, unconditionally, for that. 

Eventually the child fell asleep in Angelus’ arms and, uncomfortable in the extreme, the vampire lifted her and carried her to her room. He knew her parents, Lynn and Patrick Doyle watched as he did so, but made no move to either stop him or help him. Angelus wasn’t sure what stories were told the Doyle family, how they all knew he was a vampire and one who would not harm them, but he accepted it, as they seemed to accept him. 

Plus, whenever he was there, someone went to the local butcher and procured enough blood to hold him over for the visit. It wasn’t nearly as good as human blood, and usually chilled by the time he drank it, but it was the thought, right? Angelus was forever denied the blood-food of his home, and knew he’d never again taste the delicious nectar of his elfin wife, so he took what he could.

Plus it meant that he didn’t have to debase himself, while in the city, hunting either the animals that roamed the filthy streets, or his own people, distant relatives though they were. When not in Ireland the vampire had no trouble hunting those who preyed on the helpless and innocent. Killers, rapists, street gangs who stole and tormented everyone else. 

Soul or no, he needed to eat. Who better than those with no redeeming value? 

Laying the child on her tiny bed nearest the window, Angelus brushed her midnight-black hair off her face, wondering how it was that the innocent girl elicited such feeling in him. And made him long for his own family. 

Returning to where the Doyle’s sat in the living room, where they listened with amusement to everything Róisín told Angelus, he wondered where he was traveling to next. Despite the carnage on the content, the Ancient had no desire to partake in it. It was a shame, part of him lamented while the other part scowled in shame, but there it was. Maybe America? He hadn’t been there in a while, and by the time he arrived, via ship, the north of the continent would be lighter longer, letting him have more time to himself, closed indoors, rather than evading any who knew of him. 

“You’re off, then?” Patrick asked, standing and helping his heavily pregnant wife to do the same. 

Despite the changes Angelus experienced, bowing to others, thinking of their comfort first, was never one of them. He was still Master and Ancient of Aurelius, and nothing changed that.

“Yes,” came the short reply. 

“Róisín will miss ye,” Lynn said with a smile, leaning on her husband. “She talks nonstop about ye whenever you’re no’ here.” 

And when I am, Angelus thought, but said nothing merely nodded. He was uncomfortable here, though it was clear that the Doyle’s welcomed him. Maybe that was what made him uncomfortable, the fact that they did welcome him. 

Damn, he missed Buffy. 

“I don’t know when I’ll be back,” Angelus said to the unspoken question as he shrugged into his soft leather coat. The Doyle’s lived in near poverty, but not so bad as their neighbors. There was always food on the table, and clean clothes, and each child had a chance at a decent education, Angelus saw to that. Even in this realm, he had resources and assets at his disposal and knew that Buffy made sure those assets never ran out, no matter the state of their relationship. 

“We’ll be waiting for you then,” Lynn said with a smile and a kiss to Angelus’ cool cheek. He nodded, saying nothing more, and left.

That night he boarded a ship bound for America, stowed what little luggage he possessed, and prepared for an interminable ride to the continent. As with many things in this realm, Angelus didn’t need nourishment as often as those vampires who were created here. The twenty-day cruise was long and lonely, but Angelus was used to that. Even during his unusually long sleep, Buffy didn’t once visit him, though to be fair, he didn’t contact her, either. 

That didn’t stop his thoughts from focusing on her, wondering what she was doing and with whom she was doing it. Wondering about his kingdom, about his people, about who ran the kingdom now. He knew Buffy was capable of it, knew that she was smart and would make a fine leader, but would Aurelius accept her? Did she even stay in the kingdom once he left, once he refused to return? He knew she originally took the reigns of power, but did she still hold them? 

And if not, then who held the power now? 

Stepping off the ship in Nova Scotia, noting the overcast weather, Angelus wandered further north and west, not really exploring so much as trying to tame his thoughts. He hid, much to his chagrin, like a commoner whenever a vampire or a demonic species he recognized passed him. It was grating, and undignified, but he had no other choice given that he didn’t want more rumors to spread over what happened to him. 

He crossed southern Canada, making his way down towards Mexico before deciding to head back to Ireland. A decade passed already and he wanted to visit Róisín before she completely forgot him. Or before the Great War that shook much of this world, spread to her and her family; Angelus still didn’t know what to make of the Doyle’s or why he went back to visit over the years, but he had to admit, they were the one thing in this world he enjoyed. 

A worldwide war spread over much of the globe, worse, he heard, than anything thus far, and the vampire wondered if this was the war to truly eradicate the human race. He’d heard tales of the bloodshed there, heard how many of his kind were making the carnage worse. He couldn’t say he was surprised at that, but he was surprised that no one noticed the drained bodies, the mutilated corpses. 

The watcher’s had a better hold on those stories than he gave them credit for, it seemed. 

It took him more than a month to return to Ireland, transportation was heavily guarded and thoroughly inspected, and another week to find the Doyle’s. Angelus didn’t realize what he missed until he found the pregnant Róisín caring for a severely wounded man and a younger boy. 

“Róisín?” 

The girl, now a young woman, looked up sharply at the voice. Immediately her face brightened and she rose, awkwardly, to greet the vampire. Hugging him, though he felt uncomfortable as she did so, Róisín grasped his hand and led him to the pallet. 

“Angel, I’d like you to meet my husband, Connor.” There was something in her voice Angelus didn’t at first understand. But then the name registered and he smiled; Connor was the older boy down the street, the last time he visited, that Róisín swore she was going to marry. 

Nodding his congratulations and smiling again, Angelus took in the overwhelming scents of blood, death, and fear. “What’s going on?” 

“The English,” Róisín spat at him, though not so much at him as she spat the words. “They’re trying to bring us down, trying to take away our right to control our own fortunes.” 

“Ah,” Angelus said though he didn’t really know what she was talking about. “Where are your parents?” 

Tears welled in her eyes. “They died last year.” She didn’t elaborate and Angelus didn’t ask her to. “This is Sean, my younger brother,” Róisín introduced instead. “I know you’ve just arrived, but I’ve a favor to be asking ye, Angel.” 

He wasn’t good at this sort of thing, Angelus thought, wasn’t good at favors or helping. The stench was enough to have his eyes flashing golden, and he fought the nearly uncontrollable urge to attack anyone, just to quench his hunger, his thirst. 

“Take Sean to America, Angel. We’ve family in Philadelphia there. I want him out of Ireland until ‘tis safe to return.” 

He wasn’t going to argue with her, didn’t really know what to say, other than no, I can’t be responsible for someone other than me, so Angelus nodded. “What of you?” 

Looking at the man her family owed everything to, Róisín stood again, hugging little Sean as the boy looked with awe at the vampire before him. He’d heard of this Angelus, Róisín was full of stories of the vampire, but to actually see him, face to face? Sean had so many questions to ask, he was tongue-tied on where to begin. 

“I’m not leaving my husband, Angel,” she said to him. “I’ll have our daughter here, where Connor is, as he wanted.” 

Daughter, not leaving her husband, staying with him even in the midst of upheaval and turmoil. Angelus nodded, taking Sean from his sister, listening to her details on where the family was located, and didn’t look back. He ignored Sean’s first attempts to ask him questions as they made their way to any port that was sailing to America, his thoughts elsewhere. 

Buffy…he’d left her, she wasn’t the one to desert him, no matter what either of them did.
**********
Oz walked swiftly down the corridor on his way to speak with Gunn, who was currently guarding Buffy. 

Things had gone from bad to worse within the last few years, beginning with the one thing that seemed to guarantee that not happen. The treaty between Aurelius and Rezov was designed to promote peace and prosperity within the Continuum, if nowhere else. It was not supposed to cause rebellions to start up nearly everywhere. 

That was the case, however, and since the birth of Ariana more and more vampire cults sprang up, insisting that it was their right, as the true heirs to the Continuum, to remove the threat within their midst. Lucky for most of them, Kingdom Aurelius adored their queen and her daughter, following her with a blind loyalty and devotion many Ancients longed for. 

Gavrie, the Rezov Ancient, admired that about Buffy, telling her so himself at a gathering several years ago. It was, he insisted, one of the many reasons he agreed with his ambassador, Cuman, about the alliance. 

Spotting the doorway ahead, Oz stopped outside it, nodding to Gunn as they awaited Buffy. His mistress had changed in the thirty years since Angelus left for the mortal realms, in too many ways for Oz not to notice. 

She ruled with an iron fist that made the other Ancients notice her and fear her, made her kingdom finally and fully understand her, though she was always indulgent with them, and made the Continuum agree to induct her as one of their own. It was a first all around, as induction into the Continuum was the highest honor and many Ancients waited years for such a tribute and never, in the history of history, had anyone but a vampire been considered for such a position. 

The times, Oz thought with a grimace, they were a-changing. 

Buffy further emphasized that when she exited her rooms, ready to make the trek to the Continuum headquarters. Gone were her gowns, long and flowing, her hair done to perfection, her jewels many and noticeable. In their place were soft leather pants specially made from the Hunter Lands, heeled boots that added to her height and general air of quiet pride as she attended some function or another, and tops that left a little too, well, little to the imagination. 

Oz was scandalized, Gunn almost tripped over his feet the first time Buffy walked out of her rooms dressed like that, muttering something about doubling the guard…or maybe not. They both came to the silent agreement that should Angelus return and find his wife dressed like that, no war would ever equal his wrath. Buffy refused to listen to anyone who tried to get her to change, even when Oz risked bringing Angelus’ name up as a reason. 

Her flatly stated, “I’ll wear what I want and when and I don’t care who,” and that was emphasized, “Cares to say what. Understand?” 

It was never brought up again. 

Ariana, who shared her father’s taste in clothes, and now her mother’s, took that as a sign to stop wearing her own long flowing gowns except at state dinners and Continuum functions. Buffy didn’t care, saying only that if she saw too much skin, it didn’t matter how old Ariana was… 

Ariana nodded, having learned early on that Buffy’s wrath was not to be crossed. It wasn’t that her mother ever hit her, or that Buffy was unduly harsh with her punishments. It was more that she had that look about her that threatened even when the elf said not a word. It was a great talent. 

Walking between her two Firsts, Buffy reviewed her agenda for the day. There was her meeting with her ministers, then a private one with Theophilus on the inner working of the council; lunch with Ariana, as was their custom, and a late meeting with the representative from the Continuum, General Change, about the recent insurgents. She was scheduled to appear before the Continuum in two-day’s time, and needed all the information she could at her disposal before she left this evening. 

Turning the corner, Buffy halted and quickly turned back around. 

Gunn and Oz did the same, a growl issuing from both First’s throats as the scene before them registered. Ariana was currently pressed against the wall, her beau Andre pressed against her. Buffy blinked, then again, before clearing her throat and turning the corner once more. 

“Ariana?” 

That simple word was enough to bring the couple back to reality with a jerk. It was one thing, Buffy thought as Andre straightened stiffly before her, to know your daughter was sleeping with the heir to the Rezov throne. It was another to catch them in the hallway. And where in all the Lands was Arian’s First, Nicholaus? 

“Mother!” The woman said with a smile that fooled no one. “Erm…” 

“Yes, quite,” Buffy nodded. “Andre, I trust I needn’t leave Gunn here to watch over anything while I’m meeting with the Continuum?” 

“No, ma’am,” the older vampire nodded, abashed at having been caught. 

“Good.” Turning to her daughter, Buffy’s features softened, her eyes a compelling green that made Ariana wonder how her father could ever leave her. She was beautiful, smart, and compassionate, strong willed and ruled the kingdom so well they were more prosperous than ever. What changed between her parents to cause such a large and long rift? 

“Ariana, check in with William and Drusilla, please, I need to speak with Andre alone.” 

Ariana hesitated a bare moment before nodding and turning in the opposite direction, Nicholaus directly behind her. Gunn made a mental note to speak with the First about guarding his charge from all directions. 

Buffy began walking, slowly, towards her council chambers, Andre falling into step beside her. He was much taller than she, and much older, but the vampire held the woman beside him in the highest regard. And not just because he wanted her daughter more than life itself. 

“I trust you, Andre, more than maybe I should,” Buffy began. “I know how you feel about my daughter; I know that Ariana feels that way about you as well. But that does not give you the right to interfere with her duties here. I know,” she held up a hand, wondering when she became her father, “That what I just witnessed was most likely a singular incident in public, but I trust you understand what I’m saying?” 

Andre nodded, knowing all to well what the elfin queen meant. “I understand, majesty. I would never,” he swore, “Do anything to harm Ariana. It was a miscalculation on both our parts. Times,” and here he sighed, not in annoyance, but in resignation over the situation in general, “Are very dangerous right now and I understand and share your apprehension about Ariana’s safety.” 

Softening, Buffy halted her pace a turn away from the council doors and relented. In the nearly two decades since Andre arrived at the castle, Ariana had been besotted with the older vampire. Buffy watched that first interaction between the then ten-year-old Ariana and the heir to the Rezov throne and saw the way her daughter’s eyes lighted up, the way her gaze followed him the rest of the night, and how, for the next week he was there, Ariana talked of little else. 

In truth, Buffy approved of the match between Ariana and Andre, the vampire was strong, smart, cunning, and definitely handsome. He was desperately in love with Ariana and she with him, and frankly, if nothing else, that would be enough for Buffy. But there was too much going on in their world at the moment and that, regrettably, took priority. 

“I’ve vowed to you, majesty, to protect Ariana’s life with my own and I meant it. I know Elfin Laws forbid our marriage until her second Birth Rite in another twenty years, but I hope you realize that until that day, I will treat Ariana as if she already were my wife.”
Buffy nodded, knowing the vampire spoke the truth. But there was just one more thing that bothered her. She didn’t want to ask, wasn’t sure she had the right to know, but she needed to be the one to do it.  

“Have you drunk from her yet?” It was, Buffy knew, only a matter of time. But to do so before any sort of official ceremony made for more than sticky problems later on. It was some of the oldest magic there was - blood magic, and Buffy knew, intimately, what it involved. 

Andre swallowed, “No, majesty,” he whispered before admitting, “But I have wanted to. Nor has she tasted my blood.” It was, however, getting harder and harder to resist the temptation, knowing what it could bring to their relationship. 

“Andre, I realize this is none of my concern, but good. Please, wait until the ceremony. I know it’s decades away, but until then…” 

Buffy didn’t relish giving the man a blow-by-blow account of her own experience, nor did she want him suspicious as to Angelus’ reasons for deserting her and his kingdom for so long. But she knew the consequences of tasting a mate’s blood and then being denied that pleasure; it almost drove Buffy insane, and it did cause complications in her pregnancy. The fact that every few months she needed to, again, taste Darla’s blood added another layer of anger towards the vampiress, and at the same time, another layer of trust. 

So long as Darla said nothing to no one, Buffy was content to let the other woman live as freely as possibly. There were many secrets Darla knew and so far, in the years following the incident for which she was partially responsible for, Buffy knew the vampiress told no one of those secrets. 

Drawing herself up to her full, if diminutive, height, Buffy smiled at him. “I do trust you with my daughter, Andre Vladimir of Rezov.” 

“That is all I ask, my queen.” 

She walked into the council chambers then, missing the words spoken between Andre, Gunn, and Oz. 

“Ariana worries for her mother,” Andre said in as quiet a voice as he could. “These rebellions are more and more frequent and are taking a toll on the queen.” 

Oz nodded, “True, but there is nothing to be done about that. While we’re gone, keep Nicholaus and Drusu close, as well as William and Drusilla. If you hear word of anything, send a messenger immediately.” 

Andre nodded before bowing to the two Firsts, and going about his own business. Without a word, but with a superior smirk on his face, Gunn took up position outside the council doors, beating Oz to it. With a scowl, and a mumbled, “Traitor,” Oz entered the council chambers and prepared for yet another interminably long and no doubt equally boring meeting. 

It wasn’t that these meetings weren’t important, they were; it was that the ministers talked incessantly. Oz wished for the days of absolute tyrant rule, it’d make things simpler.
~~~~~~~~~~
The apartment was small and in the basement. 

It amused him to no end that the city he chose to live in for such an extended period of time was one that bore his name as well. Los Angeles, though spelled differently than his name, was certainly no angel; but then again, neither was he. Only to Róisín was he considered one and even when she called him that, Angelus cringed at the implications. 

Walking through the combined bedroom/living room, Angelus paused just outside the kitchen, listening. His soft cotton pants hung low on his waist, his chest and feet bare so early in his day. It’d taken him a long while to become used to sleeping during the day and moving only at night, when he was used to coming and going as he pleased, no matter the state of the sun. 

There was someone outside his apartment. It wasn’t Buffy; he’d feel that in a second, no matter how hard both of them tried to close off their bond. In the years he’d been away, that was not only partly unsuccessful, but rather pointless, too; some things weren’t meant to ever truly close. It wasn’t any of his family, that rhythm associated with them was also absent. But the scent spoke of demon and Angelus was certainly in no mood today. 

Yanking open the door, as the man before him tried to pick the lock, Angelus wrenched the stranger into the room, snarling as he did so. Banging him against the wall, Angelus slipped into his vampire image and growled, “What do you want?” 

“He-he, ah, Angelus?” The stranger currently pressed against the wall looked human enough, even if he certainly didn’t smell it. Then again, there was a familiarity to that humanity as well. Angelus narrowed his eyes and waited. He was not the one at the disadvantage here, so he could afford to. 

“Ah, I’m Doyle…” Angelus slowly released the man before him, reverting to his normal face, and still silently waited. “Right, then, I’m Róisín’s great-grandson…” 

“You’re not human.” Angelus stated flatly, still not moving away from this Doyle. 

“Now that’s just a bit rude! So happens that I am very much human.” Doyle said indignantly, and then sneezed, changing from a human face to a blue-ish green one with weird spikes. Shaking his head, making the spikes disappear, he amended somewhat sheepishly, “On my father’s side. 

“You’re a Doyle?” 

“Aye, Allen Francis Doyle, at your service, but please, just Doyle.” When Angelus still said nothing, Doyle sighed heavily. 

He’d heard, all his life, stories about Angelus, stories passed down from his great-great-great-whatever-grandparents and especially from his Grandma Róisín. Stories of how this vampire with a soul, an anomaly to be sure, had saved his whatever many greats grandmother to allow her son to be born. Of how he visited every so often, checking in on the adopted family, though no one – not even he, some suspected – knew why. 

It’d been a good long while since anyone in his family saw Angelus, not since the vampire brought Doyle’s great-grandmother’s brother to America during the Uprisings of the early part of the 20^th century. Sean made it to Philadelphia alive and well, but Angelus disappeared after that. It’d taken Doyle a year to find the vampire, and another week to figure out how to ask for his help. 

“And you’re here, because…?” 

Difficult one, wasn’t he? Well, what did Doyle expect? Truth be told, Doyle didn’t know what to expect, as this was all new to him, too. Playing it by ear didn’t seem to be helping, however, and now the half human was at a loss. 

“I need your help.” Angelus said nothing and Doyle pushed ahead, not sure if that silence was a good or bad thing. With a sinking feeling, he suspected the latter. “I tried to help a bunch of my mother’s people a while back, they’re Bracchan, not really a bad bunch, but well, it didn’t go well. Actually,” Doyle said with a frown that belied the pain Angelus could clearly see in his eyes, “It went badly.” 

Doyle wandered into the kitchen, in search of something to take his mind off the screams, the blood, the death. “Have any alcohol?” 

“No,” Angelus replied shortly, not bothering to follow the man into his kitchen. He knew what was there, and knew the half demon would be back soon enough, empty handed. Plus, he didn’t follow, he led. 

Grumbling, Doyle returned, predictably empty-handed. “So, this…and well, things happened.” Still, after more than a year, Doyle couldn’t talk about it. Didn’t want to, wasn’t sure that unburdening himself was the way to go. He’d done something horribly selfish and didn’t deserve to unburden himself. “Now I’m stuck with these visions from the Powers That Be.” 

“The Powers That Be what?” Angelus asked, not having really followed the conversation. 

Arching an eyebrow at Angelus, Doyle sighed. “The Powers That Be…” a pain in my ass he wanted to say but didn’t. Doyle had no idea what or who or anything else about them, but he knew one thing. His mother’s mother had the gift of the sight, and was a strong leader among the Bracchan people. She knew the Powers, and drilled into Doyle the importance of following them. He didn’t like it. In fact, he down right hated it. But the blood was on his hands, and he needed to atone, somehow, for that. 

“I’m sure that a well versed vampire such as yourself would know of the Powers, eh? Ancient magicks, good guys who help the helpless and fight for right.” Lord, he was rhyming, what had he sunk to? 

“We have our own beliefs,” Angelus said shortly and offered nothing more. He was still a little unclear on what Doyle wanted with him, but had a horribly sinking suspicion it had to do with this helping bit. 

“We?” Doyle questioned and for the first time noticed Angelus’ odd accent. It wasn’t Irish, as he’d first suspected, nor was it this flat American one spoken on the west coast, despite the amount of time the vampire obviously spent here. In fact, it wasn’t one he’d ever heard before. 

Doyle’s family knew next to nothing about the vampire Angelus except that he’d helped once, and continued, when things were at their worse, to do so. Angelus wore an impressively made ring on his left hand that, so rumor had it, often glowed, faintly, with a strange purple-gold light. He dressed in the finest clothes, stood arrogantly tall, and never, ever divulged anything about himself. 

The one time Róisín caught him asleep, recovering from injuries sustained while fighting some kind of demon, the child swore, to this day, he muttered something about buffies and magicks. But the girl hadn’t the courage, despite her obvious idolization of the vampire, to ask Angelus about it. 

“Where are…so ah, this help,” Doyle said instead, deciding that he really didn’t want to know any of the myriad questions that were racing around in his brain about Angelus. Maybe, someday, possibly, he’d ask, but today was certainly not that day. Doyle had other things to ask him. 

“I need your help to help these people.” 

“What people?” Who was he supposed to help? He couldn’t help anyone, least of all himself, the past years certainly proved that. And who were these Powers Doyle spoke of? 

“Ah, right, didn’t mention that did I?” Doyle cleared his throat and shook his head. Angelus could only wonder in awe what went on in the man’s mind. “I get these visions, see. Great big flashes of color, sound, and pain that detail people who need help. I’m supposed to help them.” He paused and admitted, in an embarrassed voice, “But I can’t always. I’m a lover, not a fighter, and frankly, after getting hit by one of these visions, I can barely walk afterwards, let alone fight demonic forces of darkness.” 

“And you want me to help,” Angelus said flatly, not at all impressed. “No.” 

“No?” Doyle looked taken aback. “But…why not?” 

“I can’t help you, Doyle, I can’t help anyone.” 

“Ah, I see. No,” Doyle admitted, “Actually I don’t. But I understand the wallowing part of life. Still, not even a back up muscle or something? Anything? I can’t do it meself.” 

Angelus sighed, “Why me?” 

“Because you’re the only other supernatural creature I know, and since you haven’t eaten my family yet, I take that as a good sign. Also,” Doyle eyed the vampire and wondered if he could run fast enough when he admitted this last bit. “I saw you in my latest vision.” 

Raising an eyebrow, Angelus scowled. “Me. You saw me in your vision?” 

“Ah, kinda. I’ve been looking for ya for a while now, to ask for yer’ help. And then, just as I was about to see you tonight, this blinding pain racked my brain. See, you were there, with this rather gorgeous brunette and you were saving her. So, since you were already there, I took it as a sign.” 

“If I help you find this woman, will you leave me the hell alone?” Was it too much to ask to be left alone? Was it some horrible sin to want as much peace and quiet as his conscious would allow him? 

Brightening, Doyle nodded. “Sure! So long as you aren’t in any more visions,” he added quietly, hoping, though he knew that probably wasn’t true, that Angelus didn’t hear him. Then, brighter, “So then, we’re off?” 

Angelus just knew he was going to regret this.

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