Author: Indie

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Part 1

Angel stopped just inside the threshold, instinctively scenting the air. It was like every other Council building he had ever been inside, cold and antiseptic. For some reason, the familiarity disappointed him deeply. Some part of him had longed for an event so tied to his destiny to be more auspicious, unknown and exciting. He couldn't stand the thought that it would smell the same as the rest of his life, full of pain and despair.

After today, his existence would never be the same.

The blow clipped him brutally behind the right ear, tearing him from his silent pondering. He stifled the growl, tamping down the urge to rip the offending human limb from limb. Control was everything and he would not allow his to be compromised, no matter how great the insult. Before the pain had completely receded, he was pushed forward. He complied with the command and continued of his own volition. His entire existence depended on his ability to control himself, to follow rules. He only recently found a reason to live and he wasn't ready to give up yet ... not without knowing Her.

The others were already present, more than he thought there would be, but still startlingly few considering that the world's demonic population nearly equaled that of the human. He was one of eight vampires to which the Council reluctantly deigned to grant audience. At the Council Leader's direction, they were seated in a largely empty auditorium. It was a very potent reminder that nearly eighty vampires had started the DHST training a year ago, but only eight had completed it. The rest were dust.

The leader of the Watchers' Council grimaced as he appraised the vampires before him, his already harsh features taking on an even more sinister look. It was obvious he found this whole scenario distasteful, but he had little choice in the matter. Reformed vampires were a necessary evil to daily life within The City.

Straightening his expensive and impeccably tailored black suit, he walked to the podium to address his captive audience. He looked clearly uncomfortable in the formal attire, but as he moved to speak, the transformation from unwilling bureaucrat to seasoned general was palpable.

"You are here, on the first day of the first year of the new millennium," Daniel Holtz said, his powerful voice reverberating sharply in the cavernous space, "because you possess human souls."

"Through your training over the last year, you have proven yourselves to be worthy of a single chance at life within Guardian City."

Angel took a deep, unnecessary breath. January 1, 2001. Certainly an auspicious day for his second rebirth and reentry into the world that had cast him out two and a half centuries earlier.

"You have passed our tests," Holtz continued, "proven yourselves dedicated to the human cause, and will be given admittance into The City and status as a DHST. As you well know, you get one chance to prove yourselves. Any infraction of our laws or DHST codes of conduct will be dealt with swiftly and with finality." The last word hung in the air. It was a cheap theatrical trick, but somehow no less sinister for it. Daniel Holtz meant every word he said. One misstep would be dealt with on the spot, with a large wooden stake planted neatly through the heart.

Angel wondered if the Council Leader often meted out the punishment himself as a means of relaxing. While a man of Daniel Holtz's obvious power and social status could have sat back and lived the life of a well-fed pen pusher, Angel instinctively knew that wasn't the man's style. Holtz learned to lead by actually leading, and he would never expect anything of his people that he wasn't willing to do himself. His body and face were grizzled and hardened by years of reconnaissance missions and hand to hand combat with the minions of Varkesh. He was a man well acquainted with hardship and death, having experienced first hand a multitude of both.

"Today you start a new life," Holtz said, his voice sounding anything but auspicious, "see to it that you do not waste it." With a flourish that clearly illustrated his distaste for the proceedings, Holtz turned over the remainder of the ceremony to a Watcher by the name of Giles.

Angel's attentiveness did not waver one bit as Holtz's second in command took the reins. He knew that Rupert Giles would be every bit as important a figure in his existence as Holtz himself, possibly even more so. Dressed in tweed, rather than silk and Egyptian cotton, Giles wasn't as mentally imposing a presence as Holtz, but it was clear from his carriage that he too was well used to leading. His features were as etched and scarred as that of his superior, and Angel surmised that Giles must have gained a great deal of his field time side by side with Holtz.

"You have heard Council Leader Holtz's words," Giles said, his voice much less theatrical than Holtz's though no less authoritative. "You can be certain his sentiments are echoed by the entire Council and the inhabitants of Guardian City."

Giles' meaning was brutally clear. Though they were being allowed into what was locally called only The City, the vampires should *not* get any ideas about being treated like citizens. Angel gave a sideways glance to his temporary compatriots. A few of them were clearly startled by the bald implications. Young. They had to be young. Only someone not fully acquainted with the harshness of life could be startled by the Council's policies. The vampires spent the last year being poked, prodded, tested and indoctrinated to Council beliefs. Clearly, they expected to be viewed as part of The City.

Just as clear, was the fact that that would never happen.

For his part, Angel wasn't shocked in the least. The Council's policies, while not too terribly heartwarming, were understandable. They were simply doing what was required in order to ensure the survival of the human race. Whereas some of the human cities - there were close to a hundred scattered all over the world - were much more lenient with DHSTs, The City, Guardian City, was not. They could not afford such a risk.

The largest of the human cities, Guardian City was built directly over the Hellmouth and home to the world's only Slayer and the Watchers' Council Headquarters. In some of the smaller cities, the ones less tempting to the demonic hoards, ensouled and reformed vampires could be more or less assimilated into the general population. In The City, however, that was far too risky a venture. There were no blurring of the lines, no shades of gray. Within the thirty foot high, reinforced concrete walls that separated the teeming, human metropolis of multiple millions from the dangerous, demon controlled wastelands, a vampire with a soul was still a vampire and treated as such.

The remainder of the ceremony continued in like fashion and Angel could almost feel the collective enthusiasm of his fellow DHSTs wane to the point of nonexistence. His resolve, however, never wavered. The Council's policies did not shock him and did not deter him from his intended course of action.

He would meet Buffy Summers.

*****

"Tagging" was the appropriate term for it. Angel felt like an animal, which, he noted, the Watchers' Council and society at large viewed him to be. Regardless of the fact that he had been pronounced in possession of a human soul, proven he could handle religious artifacts without pain, sacrificed everything he had to gain admittance to The City, he was still lower than your average human criminal. He was still a vampire and nothing would ever change that.

Angel and the other vampires were given a set of standard issue clothing; shapeless, mass-produced, coarse cotton, button up shirts and pants. The uniforms were dyed a dull black to accentuate the paleness of the being that donned them. A set of heavy duty black boots completed Angel's new attire.

After the outfitting, the vampires themselves were inspected for distinguishing marks, tattoos, or scars. The vampires that bore such marks, as did Angel, were carefully photographed and then assigned a number. The ones who didn't had tagging numbers tattooed onto their gums. As Angel watched a young female vampire held down while the technicians none too gently branded her for all of existence, he was silently grateful for the moment of youthful impetuousness that had prompted him to have the large Celtic design tattooed on his right shoulder blade.

Lastly, but most importantly, and most degrading, were the "tags" themselves. Each vampire was given a set of heavy grade leather collar and wrist bindings about an inch wide that had their numbers branded onto them, along with the words "Domesticated Hostile Subterranean". The collars were intentionally cinched too tight. Had the vampires needed to breathe, they would have been in trouble. As it was, the collars kept them from even attempting the habit, making them stand out even further among humans. The collars also had the desirable side effect of making speaking and feeding especially difficult, which undoubtedly pleased the Council.

Angel did not flinch as a burly young tech tightened his collar to the point of pain. He could deal with the physical discomfort, but the unpleasantness wasn't limited only to the choking sensation. The collar stank, invading Angel's sensitive nasal passages although he wasn't drawing breath. The leather had been steeped in a pungent dye. No doubt that if a particularly stupid and daring DHST were to somehow remove the collar and wrist bindings - a nearly impossible feat given that they were magically reinforced and only the Council had the keys - he would surely find that, beneath the leather, the skin had been stained permanently.

Finally outfitted in a manner befitting their kind, the DHSTs were lined up against the wall as the techs sorted through their assignments. The first six were standard, assigned to work in conditions unsuitable for humans, such as menial labor, high-risk construction sites, and human biohazard areas. Several years earlier, the bulk of them probably would have been assigned as subjects for behavioral studies in Doctor Walsh's labs, but the Council no longer supplied her with DHSTs.

The seventh, a slender redhead with piercing green eyes with whom Angel had become friends over the last year, was directed to the central library because of her ability to read, write and converse in several dead languages. Angel possessed a similar knowledge as well, but he already knew he wasn't going to spend his time translating next to Willow.

Subject number V73, the vampire who called himself Angel, was not given a standard assignment.

He waited patiently, as always, while the techs checked and double-checked his placement order. He wasn't shocked. He knew where he would be placed long before appealing to the Council for admittance to The City. The knowledge, however, did nothing to dull his anticipation. There was still much for him to fear.

A skinny female tech of about twenty-two with long black hair and deep olive skin looked at him warily. Angel accepted the scrutiny without reaction, the smooth skin of his face undisturbed by any betraying expression. She held out the work order to him, quickly rattled off the directions and stepped back with alacrity, wary of him in spite of her vast experience with DHSTs. He nodded and left without comment.

*****

Despite all of his hardened years, he still felt a twinge of anticipation as the heavy steel door that separated the tagging room from the general population of The City was rolled aside. Cautiously he walked over the threshold, finally within the confines of his new world. He had lived long outside the rules of society and he was as afraid as he was anxious about his new surroundings.

The sky overhead looked the same deep, midnight blue, speckled with the twinkling light of the stars. Within the walls of the City, that much at least was a constant. There, however, the similarities ended.

The street teemed with humans regardless of the late hour and Angel was struck by the different rhythm life took inside the Council's reinforced walls. Outside, those who chose to live without government rule, were relegated to the harshest of living conditions. No human with any dose of self-interest would have dared to venture out within an hour of sundown, yet within The City the streets were packed with shoppers, street merchants and mischievous children looking for trouble.

Angel stopped for a moment, soaking in the scenery. For some reason the sight of simple, unaffected life proceeding as normal pulled at the heart he thought long dead. He had seen nothing so simply normal for more than a hundred years. It made him long for the world of his childhood, before the demon plagues and vampire uprisings.

"Move, beast," a uniformed guard shouted loudly, pushing Angel off the sidewalk and into the street.

He stumbled, narrowly managing to avoid being run down by a car, but quickly regained his footing. The guard gave him a challenging glare and Angel dutifully bit down on his tongue, dropping his eyes to the ground. Abandoning his reverie, he set about reaching his destination as soon as possible though he held no hope of it being any more hospitable than that to which he'd just been subjected.

He had the street address and a map in his pocket, but he needed neither. He spent a significant amount of time while in training as a DHST going over the route. It was forever imprinted on his mind despite the fact that this was the first time he actually traversed it. He headed for the bus stop that would take him across the city, away from Council Headquarters and into the gated communities reserved for Guardian City's wealthiest and most powerful citizens.

*****

The front door to the large, stately house was slowly opened following his perfunctory knock. The woman regarded him coolly, her icy blue eyes fixing him in place. Her air of authority was unmistakable. Angel pursed his lips together and lowered his eyes, but not before taking careful note of her appearance. She was probably in her mid-twenties, blonde, very attractive and very, very controlled. She had to be one of Holtz's daughters, Kate if he was not mistaken. She worked for the Council and he had seen her a few times ordering around soldiers as if she had been born to do it.

"Subject V73. I have a work order," he said quickly, wincing at the pain the collar caused as he spoke.

Forcefully, she said, "Give me the papers," careful not to step over the threshold.

Angel reached into the pocket of his shapeless, black, standard-issue pants. Finding the work order, he handed her the documents. Kate took the papers, careful to avoid touching him. She scrutinized the documents, finally peering at him over the top. Abruptly, she handed it back to him, satisfied that he had legitimate business. Turning on her heel, she headed back into the house. Clearly, she expected he would wait.

And he did, for long minutes. He had no other choice.

As his attention drifted back to the task at hand, he was surprised to find he could hear nothing of the goings on inside the home. The house had obviously been proofed against his kind. After long moments, the door opened again and Kate was nowhere to be seen.

Angel found himself face to face with Daniel Holtz.

The punch took him off guard, and Angel stumbled backwards, sitting stunned on the porch for several moments. The Watcher glared at him, all of the contempt he harbored for the undead clearly visible on his face.

"Never come to my front door," the Watcher bit out succinctly. "And do not even *think* about speaking with one of my children again."

*****

Angel looked down at the piece of paper wearily through his swollen eye. From the brutality that initiated his working relationship with Daniel Holtz, things had not gotten progressively better. Angel was informed that under no circumstances would he be staying in the Holtz household. He was given the address of a rooming house that took "his kind" and summarily dismissed.

Trudging down the street, Angel hoped it wouldn't be much farther. He had been walking for miles. It was no great shock that the boarding house that would cater to vampires was nowhere near the upscale neighborhood where his employer lived. Shaking his head, Angel took inventory of the myriad of differences between life inside The City and out.

For years, he lived in a small enclave, comprised of assorted beings, human, demon, and hybrid. As long as you minded your business and did your work, no one cared much what you were. There were others like him, victims of the demon plagues, outcast from human society, living side by side with human criminals who had been thrown out of one of the Council's many protected cities. Ensouled demons and anti-social humans commingled, equally despised by both humans and demons, free to live - no, not live, to exist - as they were able in the wastelands.

But that was before the war swung into full gear, before Varkesh decreed that neutrality was not allowed, before the true demons had herded him into one of the holding camps for those who refused to fight the humans. His captors didn't care that he possessed a human soul, that he always had. He was a vampire and as such, he was expected to assist with the slaughter of the humans. When he refused to help, they took it out of his hide, literally.

Stopping at the threshold, Angel double-checked the address Holtz had given him. This was it. He stepped through the door into the large structure unimpeded, a sure sign that other vampires were in residence.

*****

The suite of rooms he rented was sparsely furnished, but it had all the conveniences a vampire would want, namely a refrigerator for meals, a bed, a shower and no windows. Willy, the manager of the Hyperion, had been civil enough, and well used to dealing with DHSTs. After some haggling, Angel managed to negotiate an arrangement for room and board that he could afford on his meager salary. He was somewhat relieved that Willy would take care of all of the arrangements necessary to procure the packaged blood on which he had subsisted the last year. He would at least be spared the indignity of begging at blood banks, or of finding willing victims. He couldn't do that, not again. Sighing deeply, he sat down on the lumpy, but clean bed.

"I hope I didn't just make a huge mistake," he whispered to the empty room, pondering the wisdom of his choice for the first time since he made the decision to be a DHST. Maybe he wasn't quite as hardened as he thought. His eye still throbbed where Holtz had belted him and his neck and wrists ached from the confining leather straps. His undamaged eye watered from the noxious dyes that wafted up from his tags.

Life in the camp had been hell or at least as close as he could get without actually leaving the dimension. Angel was starved, beaten, tortured every day for years, but somehow in those settings it had been easier to retain his sense of self. He knew who he was, he knew why he was being tortured.

Now, in The City, living in a "free" society where life was valued, he never felt like such a non-entity. He was dirt, lower than the low, not even worth the time it would take to spit on. He was well accustomed to the egotism humans were capable of, but he never imagined himself resigned to the role of chattel. He was punished simply for what he was. The concept was staggering. Angel had a soul, but it was not unblemished. He possessed sins too numerous to count, but the Council didn't care about them. They weren't punishing him for anything other than succumbing to a sickness he could not fight.

When Whistler approached Angel in the camps, offering him freedom if he would be willing to join the human cause, the ensouled vampire was hesitant. He was sick of fighting, his soul tired and longing for release. His memories of being banished from human society, nearly two centuries earlier, were still fresh in his mind despite the passage of time.

In retrospect, Angel should have known Whistler would play dirty. The half demon helped him escape from the camp without securing a promise of assistance. At the time, Angel thought it odd, but he had no idea how good Whistler was at playing hardball. They hiked through the wastelands for weeks, all the while Whistler refusing to tell Angel where they were headed.

Then one night, the annoying little beast had pulled Angel from a sound sleep. They hiked several hundred meters through the dense underbrush to an outcropping known as Morton's Rock. Angel found himself staring down at a small group of human soldiers out on a routine reconnaissance mission. That, in itself, was not strange. The Council routinely scoured the wastelands around their cities, keeping an eye out for any nearby demon movement. What was surprising, however, was that the human soldiers, clad in their standard issue camouflage uniforms, their upper arms emblazoned with the deep red insignia of the Watchers' Council, were not alone.

Angel had seen Her for the first time.

In the sea of green and brown camouflage, her red leather pants and tight black tanktop clearly singled her out. Even more offsetting was the long mane of thick, golden hair, pulled back in a large braid that hung down her back. He knew instantly what she was, if not whom.

To most people traveling with a group of Council soldiers, her appearance would have been a liability but not to her, not to the Slayer. Her outfit was designed to draw attention. She was more dangerous than the dozen soldiers she traveled with combined. She was the fiercest fighter for the human population, born to rid the world of his kind.

She turned abruptly, facing in his direction. Her vision hadn't spied him, hiding within the craggy outcropping of rocks, but he knew she sensed his presence. Her body was tense, prepared for a fight or chase that never materialized. He was spellbound, lost in the lush fullness of her pale pink lips, in her large, hazel eyes.

He shuddered, not at her beauty, but at the bleakness in her gaze. He never thought to see his own emotions reflected in another being with such painful precision. Had he not already been crouching, the sense of synchronicity, of understanding and affinity, would have brought him to his knees.

He fell in love with her in an instant, overpowered by the sheer force of her presence. She waited motionlessly for nearly half an hour, watching for him to betray his position Recklessly he stayed rooted to the spot, unable to turn away from the sight of her even if it meant his safety was compromised. He studied her in absolute silence and stillness, noting the fine sheen of perspiration on her golden skin from the tension in her body, the perceptible flaring of her nostrils as she fought to pinpoint his position.

Her patience was to no avail. After two and a half centuries of avoiding the Council, Angel would not be found. He almost sighed aloud with regret as she finally turned away, tiring of her fruitless pursuit. Effortlessly, she ordered the troops, suggesting they find a new camp for the night.

He stayed long after she was gone, drunk on her energy, blissfully smitten with the vitality that clung to her like a second skin. She was a goddess, a sorceress, effortlessly bewitching him into selling the only thing of value he owned, his soul.

"She's the one you would be helping," Whistler whispered in his ear when the Slayer was out of earshot.

There was no decision for Angel to make. He knew that he would gladly die for that girl. In a moment, he understood that she was his salvation, his single chance at redemption and understanding. He had been given the opportunity to do something meaningful with his life.

Whistler merely smiled and said, "I knew you'd see things my way."

It was quite the understatement. But then, of course, came the year of DHST programming. The rigorous codes of conduct and segregation rules for DHSTs had clearly reinforced just how different he was from the girl he vowed to protect. But not all of his studies were boring. In between The City ordinances he was forced to learn, he managed to pick up a few key bits of information.

Her name was Buffy Anne Summers.

With a painful sigh, Angel pushed away the memories. Laying back on the bed, he kicked off his shoes and surveyed his new home. It was definitely going to take some acclimation, but he forced himself to keep in mind that starting over wasn't supposed to be easy. And tomorrow was a new day. He fell into an exhausted slumber, too wiped out to bother with getting undressed or under the covers.

Chapter 2

Angel's firm knock on the service entrance door the next evening was answered by the Watcher, Giles, who had overseen the bulk of the ceremony the previous day.

"Ah, yes, you must be number V73 then. Follow me," he said, with none of the pomp and circumstance Angel was accustomed to receiving as a vampire among Watchers. Even the DHST instructors who had been his constant monitors for just over twelve months had never treated him so casually. It was somewhat of a relief to be treated as if his presence were a normal occurrence. Angel followed, silently walking several paces behind the more slightly built man. He noticed with something very close to relief that Giles didn't once check over his shoulder. Trust was something Angel wasn't often given and the Watcher's small gesture, however unintentional, went a long way to easing his stress.

The hallway they walked through was lined with offices. This was obviously the section of the house devoted to Daniel Holtz's work. Angel was fairly certain he wouldn't be seeing the residential part of the sprawling structure ever again. In spite of the cool reception he had received, Angel was impressed by what he saw.

The rooms were large, done in dark woods and smelled of brandy, cigars, leather and old books. The smells were both comforting and bittersweet, conjuring memories of Angel's childhood. He spent countless hours as a boy in his father's sprawling library, soaking up every drop of attention the man had been willing to give him. Regardless of how badly he was treated in The City, Angel knew that he would be able to take some comfort in this space. He followed Giles through an impressive library and into Holtz's private offices.

The leader of the Watchers' Council was seated behind a heavy wooden desk, his attention focused on the text in front of him as he dictated to a young woman, with curly chestnut locks that brushed the collar of her blue button-up shirt. She took dictation on a laptop, not bothering to look up as Giles and Angel entered the room.

Angel instantly recognized the girl for what she was, a demon - or perhaps a half demon, sometimes it was hard to tell. Holtz and Giles as trained Watchers would have possessed the same powers of perception, so obviously the girl's heritage was no secret.

Why on earth would Holtz have a demonic secretary? Angel shook off the thought and elevated his assessment of his employer's character. Obviously, there was more to Holtz than met the eye. He had been Head of the Watchers' Council for more than two decades, and ruled with an iron fist. Yet, he employed both a nearly three centuries old vampire, and a demonic assistant. Apparently, he was well versed in dealing with shades of gray.

Angel took a moment to watch the man who held his destiny in his hands. Yesterday's silk suit was nowhere to be seen. Holtz looked much more at home in the worn white shirt. His battered leather jacket was thrown over the back of his chair. Mindlessly, he brushed a swath of unruly gray hair back from his forehead. Angel noticed that he wore a pair of gloves, obviously to protect the delicate pages of the book from the oil on his hands as he leafed through the tome. A pair of surprisingly thick spectacles were perched on the end of his nose. He was a curious man.

Angel's nerves were so frazzled that he almost missed the peculiar tingling in his stomach. But the sensation was so unique, so demanding that he was forced to take notice. Turning his head, he caught a glimpse out of the corner of his eye. On a nearby loveseat sat Buffy, her hands clenched tightly around some sort of computer printouts. Those large hazel eyes that had formerly bewitched him, now riveted him in place. Angel couldn't have taken a breath if his life had depended on it - luckily, it didn't. Her mere presence caused him to shiver unexpectedly. Given the force of her gaze, she had undoubtedly noticed his reaction, but made no acknowledgement. With obvious effort she tore her gaze from his, turning her attention back to her papers. Endeavoring not to appear self-conscious, she smoothed the papers flat, hiding the physical fact of her unease.

Giles noticed his reaction and smiled somewhat conciliatorily. "It will take some time to acclimate to working so closely with the Slayer," he said. Giles directed Angel to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of Holtz's desk. He did so nervously.

It was several minutes before the Watcher finally closed the ancient book and looked up, studying the vampire over the rim of his glasses. He was silent, looking Angel up and down. "You were on time," Holtz commented. "I suppose that is a good sign. Whistler vouched heavily for you, but still, I'm not one to take a half demon's word at face value."

Angel nodded, but couldn't help noticing Holtz's secretary frown in annoyance.

Removing his glasses, the Head of the Watchers' Council stood behind the desk. "Subject V73," he said, "you may address me as 'Holtz' as do all those in my employ. My rules are straightforward and simple. I expect your conduct to be absolutely professional at all times. I don't want to know about any personal issues you might have, and you had better keep them from interfering with your job. You will report for work one hour after sundown each day and leave one hour before sun up each morning. You may, on occasion, be expected to work during daylight hours, though, of course, not outside. Is this understood?"

"Yes, sir," Angel replied coolly.

"Good," Holtz replied, motioning for the vampire to stand. "This is Mr. Giles, you two have already met. The woman with the laptop is Anya Emmerson, my personal secretary." He pointed to Buffy, "Last but not least, this is Ms. Summers. She is the Slayer. You are employed to assist her in any way possible."

Angel swallowed convulsively, regardless of the pain from the collar. He knew that they would be working together, but he hadn't dared to hope so closely. He chanced another peek at her, but Buffy avoided looking at him.

"About your eye," Holtz said to Angel, motioning towards the bruise he had inflicted the previous evening. Angel was an elder vampire and as such, the wound should have already faded to non-existence. However, since he was woefully underfed, subsisting on the most meager amounts of blood, his healing abilities were severely impacted.

"Yes," Angel said, stiffening at the remembered slight.

Holtz smiled, looking almost friendly for a moment. "Even I am watched," he said cryptically.

*****

"So what am I supposed to call you?" Angel asked, wincing in discomfort at the movement of his throat, as he followed several paces behind the tense Slayer.

She was dressed for mobility, rather than fashion, in a snug, black cotton shirt and a pair of faded, denim jeans. He soaked up her appearance greedily, noting everything from how a few unruly strands of her long blonde hair were escaping the loose ponytail at the nape of her neck, to the soothing, vanilla scent that seemed to cling to her body.

He felt slightly drunk. What he should have felt was fear. He knew that, but the knowledge did nothing to dampen his enthusiasm. She continued to leaf through her papers as they walked, but Angel knew she wasn't paying them any mind. All of her attention was tuned to the vampire trailing behind her. He could see her taut muscles as she moved, walking with her head held high, her weight evenly distributed on her feet so she could move quickly if necessary - to attack him.

"My name is Buffy," she replied, her voice tight.

He followed her into the library, a huge series of interconnected rooms whose ceilings were at least two stories tall. It took some doing, but Angel kept himself from staring at Buffy. As she took a seat at a long, oak table, he let his vision travel the room. He knew it would be best to give her time and space in which to acclimate to his presence. She was clearly edgy and he had no intention of getting their working relationship started off on the wrong foot.

Patiently, he stood in the center of the large room. He studied the library as a means of distracting himself, maintaining a safe distance of several yards from the jittery Slayer. The cavernous space was paneled in rich, old wood and from the look of it, was well loved. Angel knew from first hand experience that many Watchers reserved their affection for their libraries, often preferring the company of their books to that of their own families. Angel's own father had been much of the same mentality, especially after the death of his eldest son, Colin.

Shaking his head, Angel pulled his thoughts away from the unpleasant memory of the loss of his brother. He had been afraid of this, afraid that after so many years that the familiarity of his surroundings would open wounds he thought long healed.

Tamping down on his unruly emotions, Angel studied the rooms, scrutinizing them for long moments before he realized something was amiss. His vision picked the room apart wall by wall, until finally, it dawned on him what was wrong. His eyes once again shot to the vaulted, paneled ceilings. His gaze swept the room. Every available inch of wall was covered from floor to ceiling with bookshelves.

"No windows," Angel said in a near whisper, both because they were in a library and because it hurt to speak.

Buffy looked up, meeting his gaze. Slowly she nodded. "Sunlight would damage some of the texts," she said succinctly.

There was something in her manner that gave Angel pause. Yes, sunlight could be damaging to some older texts, but it was odd, even for someone as devoted to their tomes as Holtz appeared to be.

Unless ...

Angel looked at Buffy expectantly. She shifted, almost imperceptibly, under the force of his gaze. "What?" she asked, fighting the urge to turn away from the unexpected power in his eyes.

Deliberately but slowly, he closed the space between them, taking the chair directly across from her. "Al-yahs," he said clearly.

All of the color drained from Buffy's face as she stared at him, her eyes going wide. When Holtz had first informed her that Whistler had found them a DHST contact, Buffy had known he wouldn't be your average vampire. But she hadn't expected he would be so completely dissimilar from his brethren.

He was.

She'd known, at first glance, that there was something odd about him, something hauntingly familiar. With complete disregard for any social niceties, she scrutinized him. "What do you call yourself?" she asked, her voice sounding deceptively even.

"Angel," he replied, once again meeting her gaze with self-composure foreign to most of his kind.

Angel. A demon named Angel.

She smiled in spite of herself as she took in both the apparent contradiction and appropriateness of his moniker. Her gaze traveled over his body with the sort of predatory detachment she used when appraising a tactical schematic. Angel was pale, even taking into account his vampirism. It was an easy assumption that he was underfed, as were most DHSTs. But it still took decades for human skin to bleach to the unnatural pallor that his flesh exhibited. He looked as if he was hewn from marble by a particularly talented artisan. Only, no artist would have been able to marry the alabaster quality of his flesh with the rich chocolate brown of his eyes and hair. Even the minimal bruising around his left eye didn't mar his attractiveness.

Buffy took a deep breath, forcing herself to be colder in her appraisal. The rest of his appearance was impeccable. His clothing was standard issue, black button up shirt and pants with black work boots, but he was neat, tidy and clean. His fingernails and hair were both clipped short without being severe. It was apparent that he took some pride in how he looked. Most DHSTs wouldn't have bothered. He bore none of the trademark signs of most vampires living in The City. He had no clan insignias, no skin irritations from fighting his tags. If it weren't for the bands of leather and his lack of pigmentation, she would have said he looked ... human. He didn't have the uncivilized, animalistic appearance of most of his kind.

"Yes," she said slowly, "we have the Al-yahs texts. How are you familiar with them?" The Al-yahs texts were known only in the most exclusive Council circles. They were a set of prophecies written millennia before ... in vampiric blood. They could not be exposed to sunlight lest they disintegrate. They held many insights into the times in which they now lived.

"I've had occasion to view them," he replied evenly. "Though that was quite some time ago."

The shock registered in Buffy's eyes and Angel was glad that she was being forced to redefine her notion of him. Everything that happened this night would set the standard for the entire future of their working relationship. He would not be treated like an animal and apparently she was reevaluating his merits as a sentient being.

"How old are you?" Buffy asked, her eyes slitting as she watched him. In spite of their immortality, the life span of the average vampire was much shorter than the life span of the average human. Their mortality rate was phenomenal due to human predation and strife with others of their kind. Most of them didn't survive as the walking dead for more than a few decades at most.

"I will be 274 in May," Angel said matter-of-factly.

Buffy stared at him in stunned silence. That little tidbit of information had been conspicuously omitted from the files Holtz had given her on Angel. Vampires of his age were almost unheard of, and never, never taken on as DHSTs. It was surmised that it would be impossible to rehabilitate a vampire of that age and power, regardless of whether or not they possessed a soul. They were almost never seen near The City and if they were, they were usually dispatched as quickly as possible. "Why are you here?" she demanded.

"It was arranged," he answered, being intentionally evasive.

She glared, unaccustomed to vamps pulling any attitude with her. "Tell me," she said quietly.

Angel looked at her passively, his exterior calm belying none of the turmoil raging inside of him. He knew he was intentionally baiting a Slayer. She was angry, he could sense Buffy receding and the Slayer emerging, but he willed himself to remain calm. He was going to have to work with her day in and day out. He wasn't about to let her think that she could push him around, regardless of his emotional attachment to her. "If Holtz wanted you to know," he said in a measured tone, "I'm sure he would have informed you."

Buffy flinched, and Angel instantly regretted his provocative comment. Why would things be any different now than they had been two and half centuries before? Odds weren't good in the favor of the Council becoming more mindful of the emotions of the young girls in their charge. He knew the drill was the same now as it had been two hundred and fifty years ago. He knew how the Council handled their Slayers.

He knew without being told that Buffy was forcibly removed from her biological parents as a very young child and raised within the confines of Council Headquarters, surrounded only by Watchers and other girls from similar backgrounds, allowed no outside contact. It was the way things had been done for millennia but that did not make it any less damaging to a small child.

Angel learned during his DHST training that Buffy held the title of Slayer since she turned fourteen, which meant that six years ago she was transplanted into Holtz's family, expected to fit in as if she had always been there. He knew that was rarely the case with such transplants. Although tradition dictated that the Slayer should live as the daughter of the Head of the Watchers' Council, in reality it was almost never a smooth transition.

Holtz had at least two daughters of which Angel was aware, but after the confrontation with Kate, the Watcher had told him to stay away from his 'children'. The statement indicated that Holtz could have more progeny. Angel knew Holtz hadn't included Buffy in his statement about his children, otherwise he would have been forbidden to see her. Pointing out how much Holtz left the Slayer out of the loop had been a foolish move. Angel hadn't meant to wound her.

"Fine," Buffy said, clearly flustered, but trying to hide any emotional response, "keep your secrets for now, but don't think for one second that I won't stake you if I get any indication that you're a security threat to the Council."

Angel nodded dutifully, his guilt clearly etched on his face. He opened his mouth, searching for something to say to make it better.

Heavy footfalls sounded in the hallway outside the library. Both Buffy and Angel turned to see a Council soldier enter the room. The young man's gaze flicked over Angel, automatically dismissing him and moved to Buffy, lingering there. "You ready?" he asked the Slayer.

Though the soldier was dismissive of Angel, the vampire did not return the favor. His gaze raked over the young man. He was tall, muscular, fair haired. Angel snorted. The soldier was the human ideal, young and hearty, dedicated to the protection of The City. He suppressed the urge to growl.

Oblivious to Angel's turmoil, Buffy nodded to the soldier, rising from the table. "Stay here," she ordered Angel. "I'm going to patrol. When you're familiar with procedure you'll assist me, but not tonight. Check with Giles, I'm sure he'll have something to keep you busy."

Angel watched silently as she joined the soldier and left the room. So much for getting started on the right foot. He managed to insult her and then was forced to watch her leave with another man. With considerably less enthusiasm than before, he went in search of Giles.

*****

Angel finished picking up the books he used in the translations that Giles assigned to him and headed for the door. It was a quarter after five in the morning and he was going to have to rush to beat the sun home.

"Angel, just a moment," Giles called, trotting to the door. As he came to a stop beside the vampire, Giles handed him a stack of books. "I believe these are yours," the Watcher said.

Angel stared, dumbfounded, at the books in his hands. They were old, and well loved. He knew that for a fact since they were his. When he entered DHST training, he was forced to give up all of his earthly possessions, even his books, as a symbol of leaving his former life behind. The collection was small, but extremely rare and valuable - at least to those who knew what they were looking for. He had missed it dearly. "How did you get these?" he asked quietly.

"I made sure that they were set aside when you entered training," Giles said. "I kept them. I assumed that if you passed that you would want them back."

"I didn't think I'd ever see them again," he admitted, running one hand lovingly across one of the battered spines as he had a thousand times before. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," the Watcher said with a smile as he turned to leave.

Chapter 3

Temptation almost always assails us at the point where we thought no defense necessary.--Elizabeth Elton Smith (Three Eras of Woman's Life)

When Angel arrived promptly the next evening, he entered without knocking, using the passkey that Giles provided. The space was much as it had been the previous evening. He scented four distinct presences, Holtz, Anya, Giles and - Angel smiled - Buffy.

Moving at a leisurely pace, he found Giles and Buffy in one of the roomy practice spaces that branched off of the library. Angel took care to make noise as he walked, knowing how unnerved most humans were by vampiric silence. The Slayer looked up, assessing him with unreadable eyes and Angel nodded in greeting. She returned the gesture, although the expression on her face was guarded. He wounded her the night before, and she was hesitant to extend him any trust. He wanted to kick himself.

Angel watched as Giles, in full pads, attempted to spar with the much stronger and more agile Slayer. It wasn't a particularly successful session, as half the time Giles was too out of breath to do much more than try to stay in one piece. They took a break and Giles removed the headgear, causing his hair to stick up like a porcupine. He was breathing hard as he gulped at the large glass of water.

"This doesn't seem to be too terribly efficient," Angel said quietly.

Giles shot him a wry glance. "No, it's not," he said. "While Riley has been assisting her on patrol, he is unavailable for our practice sessions, leaving only me. Buffy needs to be sparring with someone about twenty years younger."

Angel smiled and said, "Or two and a half centuries older."

Giles gave him a puzzled look but as understanding hit him, his face curled in a happy smile. "That would be a marvelous idea," he said.

"What?" Buffy asked, having just returned from the bathroom.

"I think you should spar with Angel," Giles said. "He's much closer to being a match for you, and it would leave me free to critique your movement."

Buffy looked slightly mortified, but voiced no opposition. Several minutes later, vampire and Slayer were squaring off with one another.

It was invigorating for both of them, facing off against their mortal enemies. Buffy was a raw fighter, powerful and agile, both in body and mind, but she wasn't very disciplined. Angel was stronger than Giles, but still no match for Buffy. He was woefully underfed and long out of practice, but he had two hundred years of training she lacked. That fact alone enabled him to match her fairly evenly - much more evenly than a Council soldier could have managed.

They fought vigorously, but with restraint, neither of them landing any particularly damaging hits. Giles happily gave Buffy pointers throughout the exercise, reveling in the fact that he could critique her form without simultaneously having to evade her advances. Spontaneously, the Watcher upped the ante by directing Angel in a variety of specific attacks. It irritated Buffy to no end that the terse conversation between vampire and Watcher was conducted in a particularly obscure dialect of ancient Sumerian which she had no hope of understanding. Giles smiled gleefully as Angel merely nodded at his directions, understanding the dialect perfectly and executing the moves with a rare grace.

They sparred for nearly an hour when Anya, clearly displeased at having to actually carry out secretarial duties, came into the training space to inform Giles that Holtz needed to speak with him promptly. The Watcher left but Buffy and Angel continued practicing, glad to be pitted against a worthy opponent. They went round and round, becoming slightly more aggressive without Giles' watchful eye. Angel managed to land a rather good hit on Buffy's left knee that sent her sprawling. She bounded up, angry more at herself than him, but advanced in a fury.

Angel didn't stand a chance and he knew it. He was nearing the end of his energy and Buffy was newly invigorated by the force of her emotions. As she grabbed and flipped him, he didn't fight her, allowing her to pin him face down on the mat as she straddled his lower back.

Suddenly, the fight was over.

Despite the pain it caused Angel, they were both breathing harshly, well aware of the awkwardness of their positions. Buffy's deceptively small hands were clasped firmly around his right arm, twisting it up behind his back. She wasn't hurting him, but neither did she release him. And he didn't ask her to.

They were both aware of the fact that her hands were shaking. Buffy screwed her eyes shut and took a deep breath. What was she doing? They were sparring. She needed to move. But she couldn't.

She felt it again, that strange sense of familiarity she'd noticed when she first saw him. She could feel it. Hell, she could almost smell it. Then it hit her. Buffy leaned forward, almost burying her nose in the nape of his neck as she inhaled deeply. Angel didn't move so much as a muscle. "You," she hissed, the word sounding disproportionately loud to Angel, considering where her mouth was in relation to his ear.

Deliberately and cautiously, so as not to alarm her, he pulled his arm free. Buffy released him, rising to her feet and retreating several steps. He rolled over and rose to his feet, facing her. She watched him through slitted eyes.

"Me?" he asked cautiously.

"Last year," she said succinctly, "at Morton's Rock in the Wastelands. You were there."

Angel watched her mutely. He remembered the night at Morton's Rock as clearly as if it were yesterday. Obviously, so did she, well enough to recognize him by scent alone. Cautiously he nodded. "I was," he confirmed.

"I knew you were out there," she said. "I waited. You never showed yourself." Her voice was low, a harsh whisper that tingled along his spine. She was watching him the way a healthy cat watched a wounded mouse.

"Vampires don't live long in the Wastelands by making their presence known to Slayers," Angel noted dryly.

"No," she said with a small smirk, "they don't. In fact, you were the first one to ever get away from me."

Angel took a deep breath, trying to read anything in her expression, but the flicker of amusement had faded, leaving an implacable facade. She was too withdrawn, too guarded. Leisurely she turned from him, heading for the supply room, probably gathering weapons for the nightly patrol with Riley.

"But I didn't get away," he said quietly, staring after her retreating form.

*****

Inside the supply room, Buffy backed up against the wall, her blood pounding in her ears. What had possessed her to do that? She'd been practically nuzzling him. She was losing her mind.

Sinking down to the floor, she cradled her head in her hands. This wasn't happening. Ever since she could remember, her life had been regimented, everything neat and orderly and perfectly by the book. Then last year, that damn vamp had slipped through her hands. Of course, no one else had been aware of his presence, but she had. She had felt the force of his gaze on her, almost as if he had touched her. She stood there for nearly half an hour, waiting for ... for what? She wasn't sure, and in the end, it didn't matter. She turned away and he didn't follow.

But the irritation, the fact that she hadn't hunted him down but simply stood there and allowed him to play voyeur, rooted by the weight of his perusal. It ate at her, both the aggravation with herself for allowing it, and for allowing him to escape.

When she saw Angel in Holtz's office, she knew there was something about him. He set her nerves on edge, causing her muscles to tense in anticipation. But it wasn't the same tension she experienced around other DHSTs. The rush was different, but familiar at the same time. His presence heightened her senses without seeming threatening. It was the same jumbled reaction she had that night at Morton's Rock. The same reaction that caused her to give him a free show rather than hunting him down like she was born to do.

And then tonight, as she pinned him, it all clicked into place. She would know his smell anywhere, the smell that had eluded her for more than a year.

She had to leave, to get away from him before she did something, though honestly she didn't know what. She shook her head, trying to shake off the feeling of connection.

But she wasn't the only one who felt the pull. She heard him clearly as she left the room. "I didn't get away." That's what he said. What did that mean? With a growl of frustration, she pushed herself to her feet. She wasn't going to lose control of this situation. With a burst of energy born of out of annoyance, she began collecting weapons for patrol.

*****

Angel pretended to be distracted by his translations as Buffy left to patrol with that damn soldier. Of course, he wasn't distracted. Every bit of his finely tuned senses were trained on the pair.

A few questions asked of Giles had informed Angel that Riley was a fairly new addition to the Slayer's inner circle and only a temporary one at that. In response to vague rumors of problems within the DHST community, about a month earlier the Council decided that the Slayer needed more backup. Apparently that happened occasionally. Given that Angel was still in training at the time, Riley was the temporary fix. The plan was that as soon as Angel was able to patrol, Riley would be out of the picture.

From Angel's perspective, that couldn't happen soon enough. Though his contact to Buffy and Riley together had been limited, Angel had watched them very carefully. Riley was smitten with the Slayer. Of course, the soldier was a professional, so he kept their relationship strictly business, but Angel could tell. He could almost taste how much the boy wanted to get his hands on Buffy.

That was not going to happen. By the end of the week, Angel would be patrolling and Riley would be back on Council duty. Good riddance.

Angel seriously doubted there could ever be anything between himself and Buffy, but it didn't mean that he wanted to sit idly by and watch her with another male. Of course, if Buffy's reactions to Riley were any indication, Angel didn't have much to worry about. While Riley was definitely taken with the Slayer, she seemed completely oblivious to his attentions. Not uninterested, just unaware. Yes, as far as Angel was concerned, Riley couldn't leave fast enough.

*****

Several nights later, Buffy watched as the feral vampire exploded into dust, leaving Angel gripping the stake. His expression was neutral, more akin to an assassin than a predator. This was a job to him. He found no joy in it. She had a very good appreciation for professionalism in her line of work. Most people, however opposed to vampires, got a bit squeamish about it. Those that didn't tended to be a bit too overzealous for her comfort. She wasn't on a religious crusade, it was simply what she was designed to do.

"Nice work," she said, meeting his eyes in the dim lighting. The lone street light provided meager illumination for the parking lot outside the abandoned warehouse where the rogue vamp had been holed up.

"It's what I'm here to do," he said, his voice betraying none of the elation elicited by her praise.

She shrugged. "Still," she said, "it's good to see someone who can hold their own. I've sparred with lots of Watchers and Council soldiers who come up to scratch on the mat, but in real combat situations freeze. Good to know you're not a liability."

"I take care of me and mine," he said, brushing the dust off of his dark pants and shirt.

Buffy watched him, wondering about the comment, but let it go. He had her back and she was pleased to know that he was up to the challenge. She went through several would-be backups during her tenure as Slayer. Most of them ended up hurt, mentally or physically, sometimes both. So far, Riley had proven the most dependable, but he simply didn't have Angel's strength or speed. Odd as it seemed, she much preferred having Angel with her, both for Riley's safety and her own. Buffy shook her head, not knowing what to think of her reaction. She had expected to tolerate Angel, not appreciate him. Turning, she headed for the sidewalk and their next assignment, Angel fell into step next to her.

Pulling the piece of paper out of her pocket, Buffy double-checked the work order. It wasn't necessary, but it gave her something to do.

"Where to now?" Angel asked, idly flipping the stake over in his hand.

"Wareham district," Buffy said. "There have been some complaints. It might be a Rettoph infestation."

Angel cocked an eyebrow at her. "I thought they were a cold climate species," he said. "I didn't know they could venture this far south."

"They can't," Buffy said wryly. "Some overachieving young Watcher probably took the complaint call and dug out his books. He decided it was a Rettoph infestation and had it put on my roster. Happens a lot. It's probably raccoons."

"You're serious?" Angel asked, slightly incredulous.

"Unfortunately, yes," she replied dryly.

"What a waste," he said. "They expect a Slayer to spend her time checking out pest problems."

Buffy laughed. "Welcome to the life of a civil servant," she said. "That," she motioned to the now vacant parking lot, littered with vampire dust," was a rarity. Mostly, I track down DHSTs that aren't so prompt about reporting to their case workers and remind them to be on time. Once I got to go to the zoo and help track a pack of Yrrahian Ankle Biters that broke out of their enclosure and managed to eat half the birds in the aviary."

Angel stopped walking and gaped at her. "Please tell me you're kidding," he said.

She shook her head. "I'm the Slayer," she said, "but for the most part, our DHST population is very well behaved. Even the ones that go rogue generally don't cause a problem. Why do you think the training is so long? After a year of behavior modification and with a drop rate of 90%, the ones that pass are usually in for the long haul."

Angel shrugged. "I guess you have a point there," he said.

Buffy started walking again. "Don't get me wrong," she said. "I have had my share of nasty run-ins with vamps. For the same reasons I just went through, when we get a bad vamp, they're usually rotten to the core and nasty as hell. We don't get a lot of half measures around here. Plus, I do two weeks in the Wastelands every quarter with Council soldiers. When it's rough, it's rough, but there's a lot of down time."

Angel sighed, somewhat desperate to keep the conversation going. "I suppose it has its perks as well as its benefits," he said.

Buffy laughed. "Yeah," she said, "the drawbacks are that I might pass out from boredom and be devoured by a pack of surly Ankle Biters."

Angel looked at her and smiled and Buffy smiled back before she could stop herself. What was she doing? He was a DHST, her assistant, not her friend. She blanked her face and walked slightly faster, putting her ahead of Angel. She trusted him and that made her distrust herself. She was cautious by nature and it wasn't her style to be so accepting of an outsider. Her natural ease with him, combined with the fact that he was a vampire made her very skeptical of her instincts.

Angel watched her pace herself ahead of him and did nothing. He merely fell into step behind her. It wasn't like he could expect her to treat him like a person overnight. Things were going well, but he didn't want to push it, especially not on their first night patrolling. Time was the one thing he had in spades, and he meant to use it to his best advantage.

*****

"So," Giles asked, as he took a seat at the large table Buffy was sitting on top of, "what do you think of your new assistant?"

Buffy met his eyes and nodded solemnly. "Angel knows his stuff," she said. "And he isn't afraid to get the job done."

Giles nodded slowly. "That's what you told Holtz," he said.

Buffy frowned and then shrugged. She knew Giles was looking for something more personal than a performance review. Holtz only asked about the hard facts, but Giles was often more interested in her insights and instincts. "He's nice," she admitted, "a little out of the loop as far as technology and culture go, but he's not your typical vamp."

"I agree," he said with a nod. "His grasp of preternatural subjects and fields of study would rival those of any Council scholar. I dare say he's probably more educated than a good deal of them, and very well read."

Buffy smiled openly at the Watcher and whistled, long and low. "Wow. Big compliment coming from you," she said with a grin. She was very attached to Giles and she liked that he shared her assessment of Angel's character. It gave her more faith in her own instincts, which she had been questioning of late.

"I suppose so," Giles replied. "But it is a bit of a shock. I know Holtz wanted a DHST who could help us keep an eye on Walsh, but I never expected to find one that could truly be of help to us in other areas."

Frowning, Buffy asked, "Where did Whistler find him?"

Giles shrugged. "I have no idea," he said. "Angel's past is largely a question mark. He answered the questions that were absolutely necessary to gain him entrance to DHST training, but aside from that, he is very tight lipped."

"That's not really a good thing," she said.

"No," Giles concurred, "it's not, but I haven't found any reason to distrust him. Have you?"

Buffy pursed her lips together as she thought about it. "You mean besides the fact that he's a vamp?'"

"Yes, besides that," Giles said seriously. Everyone living in The City knew that vampires could be trained, but never trusted. At least not without careful supervision. While Giles wasn't exactly of the same mind where Angel was concerned, he had to take societal norms into account.

She sighed and shook her head. "Nope," she said. "I'm usually really good at picking up on insincerity. He seems kosher."

Giles raised his eyebrows in question. "So we let him keep his secrets?" he asked.

"For now, I guess," Buffy replied.

Chapter 4

Angel kicked the door to his suite shut behind himself as he flicked on the lights. He was exhausted, fighting to keep his eyes open, but he knew sleep wouldn't come in this state. He had to feed. He grimaced at the thought, but in blatant rebellion, his stomach growled loudly.

He was going to have to talk to Willy. The near starvation level rations he was being kept on weren't doing much to sustain him. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't have been a problem. He was an elder vampire, and as such, needed substantially less blood than most of the fledglings that compromised the DHST population.

But these weren't normal circumstances. He had been working with Buffy for just over a week, and she was running him ragged, patrolling the streets of The City relentlessly. When she wasn't patrolling, they were sparring or inquiring into leads that Holtz assigned them. He simply couldn't maintain the level of physical activity without larger rations.

He pulled open the door to the antiquated refrigerator that hummed loudly in the small kitchenette. He was down to two small bags. With a sigh, he pulled them both out and not bothering to warm them, sank into game face and bit into the bags, draining them both in seconds.

It took the edge off, but it didn't sate his appetite. He threw the empty bags into a nearby biohazard container and headed for the shower. Maybe Willy would be able to get larger rations, but he might not. Angel felt something inside himself wither at the thought. He hadn't survived for two and a half centuries without learning the tricks of the trade. He was being supplied with rationed, bagged, Council-regulated, human blood. But he knew there were other ways.

Livestock was always an option, vampires could subsist off of any warm blooded animal, but it was a last resort. Human blood was infinitely more potent and satisfying.

There were a lot of DHSTs living in The City and Angel knew without being told that there had to be a black market. In the Wastelands they were known as 'hosts', humans willing to let vampires feed from them for a price.

Angel shuddered as he pushed open the bathroom door. He didn't want to have to do that again, especially not within The City. In the Wastelands, warm feeding had been an unsavory, but accepted part of life. He himself had been driven to it at times, trading possessions, sex or even physical protection from other demons for a warm human neck. But here, being caught feeding off of a human, no matter how willing, would be a reason for instantaneous termination. He didn't know if he was willing to risk it. Also, he had the definite impression that Buffy would not approve. Angel had a past filled with things he was not proud of, but he was working hard to change, to make amends for his mistakes.

*****

Buffy shot a glance behind herself to be sure that Angel still followed. She almost jumped when she realized how close he was. He smiled sweetly at her and she scowled in return. An accomplished predator, he was almost completely silent as he moved carefully through the dense underbrush.

Two weeks of working together and their relationship was ... odd to say the least. Buffy sighed as she took a seat on the ground outside the nine foot tall, barbed wire topped, chain link fence that surrounded one of Nabbit Industries' labs. More and more frequently, the leads they gathered brought them back to Nabbit Industries, specifically to those labs headed by Maggie Walsh. But they had been unable to come up with any substantial evidence that she was behind the DHST unrest.

"We're not going to find anything," Angel said in a low whisper she could barely hear.

Buffy grunted. For an assistant, he was very pushy. She wasn't sure if she resented that fact, or enjoyed it. Angel wasn't like any other DHST she had ever been around. He had ... personality. Most vamps she met were about as cerebral as 'blood good. sun bad.' Angel, however, had proven himself indispensable time and time again. By virtue of age, he possessed insight and experience that let him make logical leaps that even a highly trained Slayer would have been incapable of making. But it wasn't just his knowledge that made him different. He was educated and experienced without being condescending. Unlike most of his kind, he gave as much as he took. His comments were laced with small glimpses into the amazing life he had led and Buffy found herself making up excuses to pick his brain.

But she wasn't about to admit that she enjoyed his company. And she couldn't afford to think about the jumble of emotions he caused inside her. Out of sheer stubbornness, she sat outside Walsh's labs for nearly two hours. Her butt was numb from the cold by the time she admitted that Angel was right. They weren't going to find anything. Slowly, she rose to her feet and silently trekked back to the winding city streets.

Angel looked at her smugly as he noticed her limping. He silently hoped that her pride, as well as her posterior, was slightly wounded. He loved being right, mostly because she was so damn cute when she was angry.

"Shut up," Buffy said, although he hadn't uttered a single word.

Angel's grin grew wider. "I didn't say a thing," he said in a harsh whisper.

Buffy scowled.

*****

She started walking and didn't stop until they reached The Bronze, a local after-hours hangout that catered to a rowdy, youthful crowd. She and Angel could be reasonably anonymous there, though it was decidedly odd for a DHST to be seen in a social setting. Of course, no one was going to say anything to them. She was the Slayer and had a lot more leeway than most.

As Angel procured a table for them, away from the loud garage band that was massacring old Rolling Stones songs, Buffy ordered them both a quadruple espresso. She may have been working nights for the last six years, but it was still in direct opposition to what her body thought was right. Caffeine helped to even things out, and she was usually in too much of a rush to brew any coffee at her apartment before she headed to work. As the bartender handed her the two paper cups, she made a move to get out her wallet, and he stopped her. "On the house," he said, with a knowing smile.

Buffy returned the gesture and headed for the table. While Slayers a couple hundred years ago would have been forced into a secret life, slaying demons under cover of night, that was no longer the case. Open warfare between humans and demons had negated the need for separate lives. Two and a half centuries earlier, The Watchers' Council superceded all existing human governments, dissolving the arbitrary boundaries that had divided countries before the plagues. They ruled and protected all human cities scattered throughout the world. Consequently, the Slayer and all Watchers were openly acknowledged, though still a separate class of citizen than your average human.

Slowly Buffy sank down into the chair across from Angel, careful not to spill her drink or his as she pushed it across the table to him.

"Told you," he whispered smugly, still gloating over the fact that he was right about Walsh's lab.

"Why do you do that?" she demanded grouchily, the caffeine not yet elevating her mood.

"What?" he whispered, frowning.

"Whisper," she snapped. "You're always whispering. It's driving me nuts. Did you used to work for a phone sex line or something? Because if you did, let me tell you, it's not sexy, it's creepy."

Angel sobered at her little outburst and cleared his throat loudly. "I whisper," he said clearly, followed by a pronounced wince, "because these damn collars are too tight and it is extremely painful to speak or breathe or drink."

Feeling appropriately chastised, Buffy looked at him meekly. "Oh," she said lamely, "I didn't realize."

"Of course not," Angel said, reverting to his habit of whispering, "I'm just a vampire. Why would you care what I feel?"

Buffy sank down a little lower in her chair as she sipped at her coffee in silence. She was embarrassed that she accused him of trying to be overtly sexy, and at the same time, licking her wounds at his scolding.

Angel sat back, staring blindly at the band on stage. He hadn't meant to snap at her, but he wasn't thinking clearly. Willy wasn't able to up his ration quantity and he was reeling from the effects of prolonged starvation. The constant hunger gnawed at his insides. Combined with the continual physical pain caused by the tags, it was driving him closer to the edge. Angel forced himself to calm down. Closing his eyes, he wrapped his hands around the cup of coffee Buffy brought him, relaxing somewhat as the heat radiated through the Styrofoam, warming his cool flesh.

"You're not drinking," Buffy said timidly, still stinging from his earlier snap. "Is that because it hurts to drink?" Buffy didn't really have any friends and Angel, DHST or not, was the closest thing to a companion she ever had. Even if he did make her crazy. The knowledge that she insulted him and had been oblivious to his pain was not easy to take. While she did think of him as an animal of sorts, she also thought of him as an ally and she was uneasy with the idea of him being discomfited unnecessarily.

Slowly, Angel opened his eyes and looked at her, still slouched in the chair, her tiny hands wrapped around her coffee cup. He sighed heavily and gave her a weak smile and shook his head. Pain in swallowing was not what was keeping him from drinking.

"Don't you like coffee?" she asked.

"It's okay," he replied quietly.

"Just not in the mood?" she surmised.

"You could say that," he replied cryptically. Buffy cocked an eyebrow at him in question and Angel leaned forward. Pulling on the cuff of his shirt, he inched the fabric upward so that his arm was bare to the elbow. He flipped his hand outward so that the vulnerable flesh of his inner arm was exposed.

Buffy gasped. His flesh was pulled taut, the veins straining prominently beneath the perfectly white surface. As she watched, they twitched and shifted under the skin in tiny convulsions. "What's wrong?" she demanded.

"I'm starving," he replied dryly, rolling his cuff back down and buttoning it securely. "The rest of my body looks the same way, but I think I'll spare you the horror."

She stared at him blankly. "Why didn't you say something?" she snapped. "I thought you were supposed to be on rations."

"I am on rations," he countered, "but what the Council thinks I need to survive and what my body thinks I need to survive are two different things. I've been underfed since I started DHST training, but now that I'm working with you, with the increased physical activity I am starving to death."

Buffy was quiet, obviously trying to assimilate the information. After nearly a minute of silence, she pushed her chair back and stood up forcefully. "Go back to the library," she said, the power in her voice leaving no room for argument. "I'll meet you there in an hour."

*****

True to her word, just over an hour later, Buffy bounded into Holtz's library, a large duffel bag thrown over her shoulder. Angel watched her silently from the worn leather sofa, curiosity gnawing at him. She walked to the sofa and dumped the bag at his feet. Immediately, she dropped into a squat, crouching over the bag as she pulled the zipper open and methodically emptied its contents.

"Where did you go?" he asked, unable to remain silent a moment longer.

"To collect on a few overdue debts," she replied without looking at him. When the bag was empty, Buffy pushed it away. Angel watched as she grabbed a large silver thermos and handed it to him. He looked at it, shocked beyond reason.

"Not yet," she said abruptly, rising up on her knees so she could root through the pocket of the faded denim jeans she wore. Triumphantly, she pulled out a set of keys. Angel stared in disbelief. In her hands, Buffy held a set of keys that he knew would unlock the tags he wore.

"Lean forward," she directed. Too stunned to disobey, Angel did as she commanded. The heat of her hands shocked him as she fought with the lock on his collar, but the moment was over before he had a chance to react. He watched dumbly as Buffy turned the collar over in her hands, studying it carefully.

She took his collar off. He was floored.

"Drink up," she said expectantly when she noticed he was watching her.

"Excuse me?"

"The thermos," she said, "is filled with blood. If you're starving, eat."

Angel continued to stare at her, a slightly scandalized expression replacing the blank one that had been there before. Gradually, comprehension dawned on Buffy. Angel refused to act like a DHST in every other situation, why should this be any different? "I've seen vamps eat before," she said seriously. "It's not going to gross me out."

Realizing that she had no intention of leaving, Angel relented. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't dream of feeding in front of her, but his body was screaming for the liquid inside the thermos and he couldn't ignore it any longer. With deft efficiency, he unscrewed the lid and raised it to his lips.

Buffy watched in blatant fascination as he fed. She hadn't been kidding about watching vamps eat. She witnessed the process many times in the past, but none of them had looked even remotely the way Angel did. First off, he didn't vamp out. If she hadn't known what the thermos contained, she would have believed it could be something as innocuous as water. There was none of the pointy teeth, yellow eyes, growling and gulping that she associated with a DHST being fed. He simply drank it with the grace with which he performed every other activity. No streaming crimson rivulets escaped from the corners of his mouth to stain his shirt, regardless of how quickly he drank. In less than thirty seconds, he set down the now empty thermos and regarded her silently.

Feeling color rise in her cheeks, Buffy realized she was staring at him.

"That wasn't human," he said quietly, licking his lips in a manner that made her stomach feel funny.

She shook her head, pushing away her earlier embarrassment. "No, not exactly," she said, shocked that he had noticed. Most DHSTs, especially in the grip of starvation wouldn't have been sentient enough during feeding to realize the difference. "It was Watcher."

Angel nodded. He could still feel the burning in his throat from the power of the blood. It was far more potent than your average human fare. He never tasted anything quite so satisfying. He could feel it working in his system. The bone deep sense of hunger was gone, replaced by a warm feeling of satiation. He sighed in relief. "Thank you," he said gratefully.

"You're welcome," Buffy replied. "I made a few calls. Willy shouldn't have any problems getting you larger rations in the future."

Angel was humbled by her obvious concern. The thought that she had gone out of her way to get the keys to his tags and made arrangements for his sustenance was unbelievable. He could not, however, get past one thing. "Where did you get Watchers' blood?" he asked.

"It's public law," she explained, trying to make light of her actions. "Everyone living in The City has to donate blood twice a year. It's a public tax for the free labor the DHSTs provide. Only the Slayer is exempt. Even Council members have to make the allotted contributions."

Slayers were exempt. Angel had heard legends of what a Slayer's blood could do to a vampire, but for the first time he truly wondered if they were more than just fiction. He could feel the Watchers' blood coursing through his veins. What would Slayer's blood do to a vampire's system? Legend held that it was nothing short of a cure all, but he had never put any stock in that myth before now. If it was true, the Council had good reason to perpetuate the idea that it was just a myth. They also had good reason to hoard the Watchers' blood. "Council member donations aren't put into regular circulation, are they?" Angel asked, easily reading between the lines.

"No," Buffy replied, "they're not. The Council keeps them, to use for other things."

"Like payoffs?" he surmised.

Buffy nodded. As Angel had quickly realized, Watchers' blood was infinitely more powerful than standard human. The Council used their store of blood to buy information from vampires living in the Wastelands. It was a very effective tool.

"Gimme," Buffy said, holding out her hand expectantly. Angel was puzzled, but then realized she meant to remove the rest of his tags. Dutifully, he held out his wrist as she removed the leather, the warmth from her hands once again seeping into his cold flesh. He held absolutely still, watching her tiny fingers wrestle with the obstinate locks, fighting the urge to curl his fingers around hers. Eventually, the lock gave way and the tag on his left wrist slipped free.

As he knew it would be, the skin underneath the leather was already a dark gray. Given time, it would undoubtedly be stained black. Buffy frowned as she looked at the marred flesh, but remained silent.

He watched as she gathered up the tags and then picked up a can of aerosol spray. Careful not to touch the leather too much, Buffy sprayed them, front and back with the liquid. Judging from the writing on the can, it was a fixant that would presumably keep the dye from bleeding any further into his skin.

*****

Sated and sleepy, Angel took off his collar and wrist bindings and laid them on the table next to his bed. With Buffy's help, he rigged up a system that would keep the tags on without actually having to lock them again. They were loose enough to allow him to breathe and speak freely, something for which he was intensely grateful.

He didn't know why Buffy helped him, but she had. Angel smiled. She was a tough girl. A Slayer. Someone who was used to being on their own, to doing the things that no one else wanted to think about. She was hardened by the viciousness she was forced to witness day after day, by the viciousness she was forced to mete out.

But not too hard.

She had a soft streak in her that Angel doubted many people ever got to see. Odds were that Holtz didn't encourage her to be overly sympathetic. She didn't have any comfort in her life. She was alone and lonely.

He understood that, all too well.

Part 5

"Buffy, would you please come here? I need your opinion," Giles called toward the Slayer who was lounging on the couch with a book over her head.

"No way."

"Buffy, really, we're talking about weapons," Angel chimed in, trying to curry favor.

"Would you two shut up before I die of boredom?" Buffy groaned.

Angel and Giles, deciding she would not be swayed, ignored her, continuing with their debate. On the surface, it appeared to be a serious dispute, but Buffy was able to recognize it for what it was, some disturbing male nerd bonding experience. In spite of the whole tall, dark and handsome thing, Angel was quite the geek. He and Giles had been arguing for the last hour over which dead guy's translation of some stupid ancient text was more accurate.

It was excruciatingly dull, even when they were yelling.

Buffy was fairly sure that she had never seen either of them quite so talkative. They were both so quiet most of the time, but when they got together, they would "debate" one boring subject or another for hours. She would have gotten really annoyed if they didn't seem to enjoy it so much.

Considering how much time she had to spend with both of them, she would rather they be happy and arguing, than quiet and withdrawn. Still, it could get seriously annoying.

*****

The lobby of the Hyperion was crowded with DHSTs and down and out humans. It was payday and ration day in The City, which meant that everyone was figuring out how to best blow the money and sustenance they recently acquired.

Willy was arguing over back rent with a particularly nasty looking human who worked down at the docks. The heavily muscled man was bald and missing a few teeth, his clothes stained and tattered, but Willy didn't seem intimidated. He argued his point and threatened eviction until the dockworker relented, stripped a few bills off of his recently acquired wad of cash, and paid the manager.

Glancing up quickly from counting the bills, Willy said, "Be wit' ya in a sec, Angel."

The vampire nodded and idly thumbed a rip in his shirt that he acquired the previous night while sneaking around a few of Nabbit Industries' labs. Unhappily, he resigned himself to the fact that he was going to have to spend some of his meager, hard earned cash on a new shirt. He was hoping to spend the money on a few art supplies, but that apparently wasn't in the cards.

"You're the one that helps the Slayer, right?"

Angel turned abruptly towards the voice and found himself staring at a vampire of dubious age. He appeared to be young, turned before he was quite fully a man, but looks were deceptive with his kind. However, from his lax attitude and posture, Angel wouldn't have been shocked to learn he was a fledgling.

"Who wants to know?" Angel growled, his voice thick with warning.

Angel had to stop himself from smiling. His voice was indeed a fearsome tool once again, thanks to Buffy's loosening of his collar. He was fairly sure it would have undermined his authority if he cringed in the middle of being menacing. Of course, as far as Angel could tell, he was the only DHST with that problem. Almost all of the other tagged vampires, this newest fledgling included, seemed to have little trouble speaking. Undoubtedly, they did not find it comfortable to speak while collared. Idle chitchat was not something in which most DHSTs engaged, but they did not seem to have the same pronounced reaction he had. Of course, none of them were anywhere near Angel's age. After nearly three centuries, learning a different way to speak was not easy.

"Whoa there," the boy said, holding his hands up in surrender. "I didn't mean to step on any toes. My name's Xander. I just thought you might have a little information."

Angel nodded in greeting, but ignored the outstretched hand. "What kind of information do you want, Xander?" he asked pointedly.

The boy blushed, a decidedly rare feat for a vampire. Oh, he had to be young. Angel determined Xander wasn't a threat, merely an annoyance, and turned away. As he did so, Willy caught his gaze and pulled a cooler out from under the counter.

"I don't know what you did, but I gotta give ya credit, I didn't think it was possible to get this kinda payday," he said with a clearly envious note in his voice. Willy credited himself on being able to get anything, but he failed Angel. The vampire was forced to find another - and more successful - route.

Angel nodded, but remained silent. He wasn't about to tell Willy where his new suppliers had come from. Efficiently, he popped open the lid on the cooler and made sure the contents were as they were supposed to be.

"Wow."

Angel turned and found Xander staring over his shoulder, nearly salivating at the sight of his rations. Quickly, he snapped the lid shut. Angel wasn't an idiot. He knew his rations were at least four times the size that most DHSTs were allotted, and much more potent to boot. He didn't want to make any enemies. "Why don't you come with me," he said quietly to Xander, the threat clear in his voice.

The boy swallowed harshly and nodded.

*****

"Looks like working for the Slayer really paid off," Xander said nervously, pacing around Angel's suite.

"How do you know I work for the Slayer?" Angel asked.

His assignment was known within the Council and he was regularly out in public with Buffy, but Angel hadn't realized that his employment was common knowledge to his peers.

"I saw you," Xander said plainly.

"Where?"

"At Holtz's house," Xander replied and then quickly caught himself.

It was too late. Angel advanced, pinning the boy to the wall and vamping out. He growled loudly as Xander cowered. "Why are you watching the Slayer?" Angel ground out, enraged at the idea of anyone keeping tabs on Buffy.

"I'm not! I'm not!" Xander yelped.

"Then what are you doing?"

"I follow Anya sometimes," Xander explained quickly.

Angel released his grip and stepped back. "Anya?" he asked, confused.

Xander nodded, straightening his shirt. "Anya Emmerson, Holtz's secretary," he explained.

"Why are you keeping tabs on Holtz's secretary?"

"Because I ... like her," Xander admitted.

Angel's scowl slowly melted away into a grin and he laughed. Xander wasn't a spy, he was some lovesick kid who happened to be hot after Holtz's money-minded secretary. "Xander," he said, "I'm afraid you don't have enough cash to date her."

The boy looked dejected. "I know," he said.

Angel opened the cooler and threw Xander a bag. "Maybe that'll take some of the pain away," he said with a smile.

*****

Angel walked several steps behind Buffy. Being considerably taller, he could follow her at his normal pace while she was stomping as fast as she could, muttering to herself under her breath. In the month he had worked with the Slayer, he came to know several things about her, foremost being that she hated wasting time. She was convinced that their mission for the evening, given to them by Holtz, was a waste of time. Consequently, she was very unhappy.

"This is total *bullshit*," she grumbled, as she stalked down the street.

"What exactly are we doing?" he asked, half wondering if he should have just stayed silent.

She stopped walking and turned to look at him. "Busy work," she groused. "We're doing busy work." Cocking an eyebrow, Angel waited for the real answer. Sighing heavily, Buffy said, "We're going over to Mercy hospital to back up Animal Control."

Angel's confusion was clear. "Excuse me?"

"There's a Pet problem at Mercy. We need to go over and make sure that none of the Animal Control guys get hurt trying to get rid of it."

Angel frowned. "Someone took a pet to the hospital?"

"It happens every now and then," Buffy said, resuming walking, albeit at a more leisurely pace. "Pets aren't that common. It takes a hell of a lot to get a license for one. Most people wouldn't bother."

Comprehension dawned, and this time it was Angel who stopped walking. Noticing he wasn't following, Buffy stopped and turned to look at him. "Do you mean a vampire?" he asked incredulously.

"Well ... yeah. What else would I be talking about?" she asked, feeling oddly embarrassed by the chastising expression on Angel's face and not understanding exactly why.

He glared at her. "I thought you were talking about a dog," he bit out.

Buffy shrugged. She opened her mouth, and then stopped. She was about to say 'they're both animals', but she halted the words. Angel was a vampire, and as such, he probably wasn't of the same opinion. She closed her mouth. She had never personally known a member of the undead before and while she still viewed the species on the whole as animals, she would not categorize Angel as a beast. "Order are orders," she said blandly. "The Pet is causing a problem at Mercy. We have to get him out of there without hurting anyone."

Angel looked away from her, as if he couldn't stand the sight of her, and continued down the road towards the hospital. Buffy stared at his back unhappily. She tried to shake off the unwanted emotions. Why should she care what Angel thought? He was one of them. Of course, not even she believed her words. Sullenly, she hurried after him.

*****

"So why is this one a Pet?" Angel asked, breaking the silence for the first time, as he and Buffy entered the stairwell. When they arrived at Mercy, it was in security lockdown because of the unruly vamp. The elevators were out of commission as a precaution, and consequently, the pair had to climb ten flights of stairs.

"His owner wanted it that way," Buffy explained. "99% of the vamps in the city are classified as DHSTs. Like you, they have work assignments. They're monitored closely, registered living quarters, weekly check-ins with case workers and such."

"I don't have check-ins," Angel said.

"Your job assignment is to the head of the Watchers' Council and the Slayer. I think they figure you're monitored closely enough," she said wryly.

"So what's the difference with a Pet?" Angel asked, getting back on topic.

"Exactly what it sounds like," Buffy said. "They live with their owners as members of the household. They aren't checked up on other than a yearly physical exam. They don't have to wear tags unless they're taken out in public. But it's a lot of trouble to get a Pet license. They're *very* expensive and ... "

"And? " Angel prompted.

"It's frowned upon."

Angel laughed deprecatingly. "Society doesn't like the idea of a vampire being part of the family?" he asked.

"They're not part of the family," Buffy said, "at least no more than the family cat or dog. They're possessions."

"Whatever you say," Angel replied dryly.

*****

"What's the sitch?" Buffy asked the Animal Control officer, a man by the name of Bates.

Bates nodded, glad to see the Slayer had finally arrived. "He's in there," he said, pointing to the lone closed door on the wing.

The officer automatically handed Buffy a write up on the Pet. Given the Council's love for documentation, the registration was several pages long. Buffy quickly scanned them, then folded them up and placed them in her back pocket. "Is he armed?" she asked, eyeing the door.

The officer nodded. "Tazer. He already zapped two of my guys."

"Guess that makes it easier for us," Buffy said.

"What makes it easier?" Angel asked.

Turning, the Animal Control officer noticed Angel for the first time and jumped slightly. Buffy shook her head in dismissal, knowing full well that if Angel had meant the man any harm that he would have already been dead.

"It's a kill situation," Buffy said. "The Pet attacked two officers. It's broken Domestication laws and must be destroyed."

Angel was stunned by the coldness in her voice.

*****

Stealthily Buffy toed open the door with Angel close on her heels. The overhead light in the room was off, but a small lamp on a table beside the bed was lit. In the bed, a very elderly woman, clearly dying, was cradling the head of a distraught vampire in her lap. Unaware that he was being watched, the vamp was sobbing openly as the woman gently stroked his hair, rubbing his face against her abdomen.

Buffy must have made some noise, because suddenly the vamp's head shot up. His expression was one of abject misery, but when he focused on the intruders, his eyes immediately turned golden and he sank into game face, growling loudly at the Slayer. Buffy's body went rigid, preparing for a fight. She jumped slightly as Angel's hand closed around her wrist, dragging her back out of the room and closing the door as the vamp continued to growl.

"What the hell are you doing?" Buffy demanding, twisting to confront the vampire as she wrenched her wrist free of his grasp.

Angel looked over his shoulder at Bates and his cronies who were intently listening to their conversation. "Can I have a word alone?" he asked tersely.

With a grumble, Buffy walked into one of the other rooms which had been emptied when the conflict started. Sitting on the bed, she glared at the vampire expectantly.

"Leave him," Angel said succinctly.

"What?" Buffy asked, incredulous.

"Leave him," Angel repeated.

"He's a wild animal. He's a danger to everyone in this building," she shot back.

"He's a grieving lover," Angel clarified evenly.

Buffy was shocked into silence. She gaped at him for several moments. "W-what did you say?" she asked.

Angel took a deep breath and looked at his reason for living. Her world was so rigid, so full of rules, that she was blind to the obvious. "You have his registration," Angel said. "How long has he been with her?"

Buffy reluctantly pulled the papers out of her pocket, quickly skimming through the data. "Sixty years."

"Was she ever married? Ever have kids?"

"No," Buffy replied, having some idea of where he was heading. "She was never married, never had children. She lived alone."

"I assure you," he said, "she may not have had a human companion, but she did not live alone. And she did not sleep alone either."

Buffy swallowed harshly.

"Whether you and society approve or not," Angel said, "they were lovers, most likely for her entire adult life. Now she's dying."

Buffy remained silent.

"I don't think he wants to hurt anyone," Angel explained seriously. "But he won't let them take her away from him, and he won't leave her side."

Buffy stared at her hands, still clasping the print up on Miss Gillian Miles and her Pet, John. "We have orders," she said quietly, unable to meet his gaze.

"She's dying," he replied just as quietly. "She won't last the night and neither will he."

Meeting his eyes, Buffy gave him a quizzical glance.

"The room has an eastern exposure, Buffy."

She swallowed again and nodded. She hadn't missed the fact that the blinds had been pulled up. John would die with the sunrise. "I'll talk to them," Buffy said. "Sunrise is only a couple of hours away. We can secure the room until then."

*****

Buffy ran her fingers across the blanket that had until very recently covered Gillian Miles. She turned her hand over and looked at it, the tips of her fingers were coated with ash. Angel watched her silently.

"How did you know?" she asked without looking at him.

"I just did," he answered. "Relationships like this are not too out of the ordinary in the Wastelands."

She turned her head, meeting his gaze. "Did you ever have a human lover?" she asked, shocked by her own bluntness.

The silence hung in the air for nearly a minute before he spoke. "John and Gillian were more than lovers," he said. "They were mates. Bound for life, dedicated to one another."

Buffy continued to hold his gaze. "You didn't answer my question."

"I've never had a mate," he replied evasively, turning away from her to face the window, which was once again covered by blinds to block out the sun.

"Did you have a lover?"

"I had lots of lovers," he said dryly, neither ashamed nor proud of his actions, merely stating them for what they were. He took no satisfaction from his past, but he knew better than to deny it existed. He had learned from his mistakes and that was something to cherish.

Buffy flinched. She didn't know what she expected his answer to be, but his brutal honesty caused a twinge of jealousy. She didn't like the idea of Angel having lovers. "Were any of them human?" she asked.

Reluctantly, he met her gaze again. "Some," he replied evenly.

She recoiled and turned her attention back to her hand, rubbing the ash between her fingers. "But you didn't die for any of them," she mused.

"As I said," he replied, "they were lovers. I've never had a mate, human or otherwise."

"What about now?" she asked, shocked by the catty quality of her voice. "Do you have any lovers at the moment?"

He watched her for several drawn out moments and slowly a smile crept over his features. Buffy was upset by the idea of him having a lover. "You're the only woman I spend any time with, Buffy," he replied firmly.

She glared at him, well aware that she betrayed herself with the last question. She couldn't deal with this, not right now. Abruptly, she headed for the door. "Call Giles," she called over her shoulder. "He can give you a ride home."

TBC...

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