This battle was over, though, and as he took a bare moment's rest Angel took little notice of the fine sheen of vampire dust that coated him. He did not wipe it off of his misshapen brow, nor did he feel any sense of victory as he automatically cleaned his weapons of demon remains. He paused for just a moment, sitting in the shadows, uncertain as to what he was doing and where he was going next. Uncertain on a level even as to who and what he was.

Old. Nothing should be this old.

Angel paused for a second in wiping his axe's blade. He shivered, though he didn't feel cold. Never had, not since…. Never. This was something else. There was something in the air. Something that was almost familiar if he could just truly pause long enough to figure out what it was. One thing was certain: change was coming.

Whether the change was good or bad, he didn't know. Change was more often bad than good anyway. Change was to be avoided. He turned his attention away from the feeling and back to his task. With a hand more closely resembling a claw, he wiped at the blade again until it was clean. He paused again, looking at that hand as if seeing it for the first time, even though it had been that way…for a long time.

No, change wasn't good at all.

He bunched the rag up in his fist for a moment. When Angel frowned, he could feel the sharpness of his fangs against his inner lip. They never went away, now. That had been one of the first changes.

He threw the rag away violently as he stood. The axe back under his cloak, he moved on, keeping to the shadows like the things he killed. He couldn't go elsewhere anymore. The time for that was over. He'd seen enough fear reflected in the eyes of others to know that. He didn't need to see himself in a mirror to know. The monster inside left its mark.

Keeping to the shadows, he sought the demons once again. He couldn't fight his own demon, but he could fight others. It didn't matter anymore that he usually didn't remember why he fought. It's what he did. All that was left to do.

A sharp gnaw of hunger distracted him, further reminding him of just what he was, should he ever truly forget. He needed to feed. He needed to stop fighting for the night and get blood to fight back the hunger once again. For a little while.

There wasn't redemption anymore for one such as him.

Monster. Of all the mysteries in her life, this one was the biggest.

How the hell did she get here? And where was this anyway?

In time she came to realize that it wasn't 'where' that was the question. It was 'when.' Because either she'd stepped into a whole other world when she woke up that one morning, or this was still her home in the far, far future. She honestly still wasn't sure which it was. All her attempts at finding out had been useless – she couldn't even figure out how to compare the calendar. Maybe, in the levels above – the towering heights of the city, connected by bridges, places the sun still touched – there was someone who could tell her. But she'd woken up in the alley, in the places in between – the bottom – and no one up there would open their doors to a bottom dweller. She'd learned that the hard way.

Safe to say she didn't have any further clue as to how she got there, either. She just knew that was where or when she was, and there was no going back that she could find. She had to make the most of it.

So that's what she did. She was still the Slayer, no matter what time or place this was. She slayed.

In her own time and place, she was Buffy Anne Summers. Here, she was just Slayer. And there were plenty of demons to kill.

She made her way from one region of the city to the next, rarely staying in one place too long, rarely resting from her fighting. Her attire had changed. She no longer even knew what the fashions were, so how was she supposed to stay up to date? Instead, she wore all black – simple jumpsuit and jacket. It was functional, and it kept her hidden when she wanted to be. The demons even came out in the daytime, here. There were nearly always enough shadows to keep them safe and unnoticed. So Buffy used that to her advantage, too. They hid in the shadows; she hunted them on their own ground.

With her change in attire had gone Buffy's choice of weapon. It was too hard to get actual wood, and she often lost stakes as a vampire turned to dust. So, no wooden stakes. She wore a sword strapped to her back. A bit medieval even for her home time, it was oddly not looked at twice here. No one dared look twice at anything in the lower levels.

She made her way across the endless city, occasionally trading in favors from the ones she saved for a bit of money, food, or a place to stay. She never stressed their hospitality too long, though. She felt better on the move.

Tonight, Buffy was looking to settle down for a bit again. She was tired; she needed food and a place to rest. Sometimes she could find a place that would pay her for a short while, somewhere that wanted protection for (or from) its customers. Easy work, short term. That's what she wanted.

Knowing the impossibility of keeping a low profile as a small woman with a big sword, Buffy made no effort to keep her appearance quiet. She followed a boisterous group into what seemed to be an active, lively – if more than a bit seedy – bar. "The Underground" the sign over the door read. She strode in confidently, allowing her very walk to show she knew what she was doing with a sword, and sat herself down at the bar stool.

"Hey!" she cried, getting the bar tender's attention.

He looked at her a bit patronizingly. "You old enough to drink?" he asked sharply.

Buffy glared at him. "You gonna tell me otherwise?"

The man held up his hands in surrender. "You're feisty, kid. What'll it be?" He was a short, round man – reminded her a bit of a fat version of Willy. Buffy winced at her own sense of nostalgia. She was really homesick if she was missing Willy!

Buffy did not let her glare diminish. "It's Slayer, not kid," she snapped back. "And information."

"I've heard of you," the bar tender said, grudgingly impressed. "Thought you'd be bigger, keeping all those demons on the run."

"Everyone always says that," she retorted.

"Still," he added, only a touch regretfully, "no information unless you order something."

"Fine," Buffy gave in. She slid some money across the bar. "Whatever you've got."

He gave her a glass of clear liquid that Buffy made no move to drink. "It's good," the bar tender promised.

"I'm sure, but I told you I'm not here for drinks."

The bar tender took a second to collect money from another patron before looking back at her. "What do you want, Slayer?"

"I'm looking for a place to settle in for a while," Buffy explained, loud enough for others in the bar to hear as well. "Thought this might be the sort of place where someone might know someone who could lend me a room in exchange for protection."

To her surprise, the bar tender shook his head. She'd never had someone dismiss her so easily before, especially not someone who knew her reputation. No one else at the bar seemed to be showing any interest, either, and it wasn't because they weren't listening in. "What?" Buffy asked, and winced inwardly as her tone emerged more defensively than she would like. "You think I don't have the muscle?"

"Hey, I'm not doubting your capabilities, kid," the man said in return. "Already got protection here, though. And before you ask – yeah, from demons and all that."

Buffy did not let her surprise show. After all, there should be a Slayer in this time and place. Slayers weren't the only ones that fought demons, anyway. She just gave the bar tender a contemplative look. "What if I wanted to meet your protection?" she asked.

The man scowled still further. "Then I'd say that's not a good idea," he retorted oddly.

Buffy was about to make a sharp comeback when something froze her. Something was suddenly different in the air. She felt it in the pit of her stomach and crawling up her spine. Familiar. Her breath caught.

She had to be imagining it. Not here…not now….

The bar tender's eyes flicked past her abruptly, into the darkness of the bar. "Excuse me," he said softly. He reached under the bar, grabbing a small cold box – modern variant of the cooler, but more like a portable, cheep fridge. He hurried out from behind the bar without another word.

Buffy watched him go. She watched him hurry to the darkest area of the bar and open the door to a back room. Buffy saw nothing of whom he spoke to, but when he returned to the bar moments later the box was gone.

And Buffy knew.

"He your protection?" she asked abruptly when the man returned to his duties behind the bar.

The man froze. "You saw him?" he said in a hushed voice. "No one ever sees him. He doesn't let anyone."

Buffy shook her head. "I didn't see him." But if I'm right, I know him. "Vampire?"

The bar tender looked very nervous. "Listen, I don't ask questions," he said. "Never spoke to him. Don't even know his name. He comes here every few weeks, I give him…the box. In return he keeps violent demons off the doorstep. Been that way since before the current owner bought the place." He pulled himself a bit straighter, his voice stronger. "It's a good thing, too. A lot of the people here owe their lives to him and don't even know it."

Buffy pulled out a bit more money in thanks and left it on the counter as she stood. "I don't doubt it," she replied, slinging her single bag back over her shoulder.

"Hey!" the bar tender said abruptly, noticing her leaving.

Buffy turned to look at him.

"Don't you go slaying him," he said angrily.

Buffy looked at him innocently. "And why shouldn't I?"

"Honestly, I don't think you can," the man replied.

"Oh really? Think that poorly of me?"

"Think that highly of him," he retorted. "He's a good man, Slayer, even if he's not human. I won't be responsible for his death."

"And neither will I," Buffy replied honestly. With those parting words she left the bar, in search of an old dream.

'He's a good man, Slayer. That better be you, Angel, 'cause insanity's not something I need in my life.' If the lower levels of the city were consistently dark, behind The Underground was darker still. Buffy could barely see a few feet in front of her, and she'd always thought she had pretty good night vision. Still, she knew she was going the right way. She could feel that feeling once again, could feel him. Every second that passed with that old tingling further convinced her that she was right.

Angel. How long had it been since she'd seen him? In her mind it was nearly a year now, and even that had only been a relatively brief meeting after her mother's funeral. A brief comfort. But how long had it really been? How long?

The shadows moved around her, undefined shapes slumped against the foundations of buildings. Refuse and debris. It was hard to make anything out. Abruptly, one of the shapes moved separately, and she followed. She was certain now. Somehow, she was certain.

"Angel!"

The shape froze. After a second of seeming indecision it straightened up to its full height and turned towards her. She could barely make him out in the darkness. He was like a creature made of shadow, completely dark, and he radiated strength and age like no other vampire she'd ever been around. If she had not been so certain as to his identity, she would have been frightened.

"Angel," she said again, gentler. Something was wrong and she hadn't the faintest clue what it was.

Even with her eyes adjusted to the near total darkness she couldn't make out any details, but she could see him cock his head to the side ever so slightly, regarding her. She felt her breath quicken and smiled as calmly as she could. He took a hesitant step forward. A tiny bit of light from something passing over head illuminated him for a moment.

Buffy gasped.

Angel froze.

It was Angel; Buffy knew that now, but changed. So changed.

How long?

In her life in Sunnydale, Buffy had encountered all of two vampires that she would consider ancients. Both were so old they could never again pretend at being human. The Master had been bald and had worn an extreme version of the demon's countenance forever upon his features. Kakistos had hands and feet that had become cloven…well, before Buffy and Faith had killed him, of course.

Angel looked like neither of them, but his age was stamped upon his features nonetheless. Ancient. His hair was longer than she remembered and slightly unkempt, but that wasn't what startled her so. His eyes were golden instead of the old familiar brown. His face was almost like a vampire's game face, but not quite. Harsher, if that was possible. The hand that held the cold box to his chest was twisted into something resembling a claw.

Yet past that, in the moment where she could see the expression behind the changes in Angel's features, there he was. Angel. Yet not Angel. Lost.

Dear God, how long had it been?

Then the moment was broken, the glimmer of recognition faded, and wordlessly he turned away. Moving off into the darkness.

Buffy had no choice but to follow.

She needed him, the one last familiar thing in the world. Some part of her told her that right now, he needed her, too, even if he didn't know it.

He needed her, before he was lost for good. Her smell filled the confined space between the buildings, seeming to overwhelm even the ever-present stench of refuse. Her heartbeat was like thunder in his ears. Hell, he could even feel her along his skin. So familiar. So her.

He frowned to himself. He knew nothing was ever meant to be as old as he was, and this just proved it.

The centuries had finally destroyed his sanity. That was the only explanation.

It was a pleasant vision, but a vision nonetheless. If he acknowledged it, it would disappear. Or maybe it wouldn't; maybe it would change, and become something out of Angel's nightmares instead of his dreams. So, no comfort to be had here. No relief. Just the sad reminder of times long past, things long lost, and a curse that was the bane of his existence in all its forms.

Just a hallucination.

That, of course, did not explain why her scent and her heartbeat followed him all the way home. Despite trying her hardest to stay calm, Buffy's thoughts were racing. Just when she thought she had her new existence figured out, just when she was making her place in the world, this had to happen.

Angel.

Sure, no matter how much time had passed, there was always the possibility that he could be alive. Undead. Whatever. But once it became clear to her just how much time had passed, how different this world was from the one where she had grown up…she hadn't even entertained the possibility. One night in this world, over two months ago, Buffy had come to a final realization: she had no way home. Her friends would have to get her if they could, but that hadn't happened yet. She realized she had to stop hoping for a way home and start living a life here. On that night she had mourned everyone she once knew. That had included Angel.

But he wasn't dead. Out of everyone, he was the one still walking the earth. Even if she'd imagined he was alive, though, she would not have imagined him like this. Changed in body and mind, he was an ancient vampire who would no doubt be incredibly powerful – and terrifying – was it not for the existence of his soul. Still fighting, still existing…but that was it. Whatever he'd once hoped for was long gone now. Except for that one brief moment where she thought he'd recognized her, Buffy couldn't even find a spark of the Angel she once knew.

A small part of her dreaded that any trace of her friend – her love – was gone for good. A small part, one that she squashed ruthlessly as soon as she was aware of the thought.

Her Angel was still there somewhere, and she was going to bring him back. She needed him, after all. She needed something. She needed…she needed home.

So she followed him. She followed him even as her ignored her presence and maneuvered through and in between buildings with feats no human could duplicate. If she ever fell so far behind that she could not see him anymore, she could feel him. As long as she could feel his presence, she could follow it, and if she could follow it she could find him.

She'd lost him again, briefly, just when she thought she had the knack of keeping up with him. He only had one free hand, anyway, so his mobility was restricted slightly. Not that it made much difference, but it helped. Still, for a moment she stood there, in darker shadows still. Confused, she couldn't put a direction to the sense of him. Unless…

Down?

There was still further down in this city? Peering into the shadows, Buffy searched, finding at last something like an old, metal grate set right into the pavement. She lifted it with minimal difficulty and dropped into the total blackness below.

Yes, that was better. He was ahead of her now. Smells were different here, older. Not the modern refuse and futuristic stink, but more familiar – old sewage, perhaps? Eww….

She made her way along by feel. The wall of the tunnel was cold to the touch. Not the sewer at all, she was relived to realize, but some sort of access tunnel. It was lighter up ahead and she could see a square opening where this tunnel ended. Please, let that be the destination – it had been a long, emotionally draining night, and Buffy needed to stop to figure out just what she was going to do next.

The sense of him was strong again. Close once more. Buffy fumbled her way to that lessening of darkness – not light at all, just slightly less of its absence. She wasn't afraid, not as long as she knew Angel was nearby. Okay, so he was ignoring her presence, but still….

She reached the end of the tunnel and dropped into the open space.

There was a brief jolt as she landed. She rolled, coming back to her feet unharmed and searching for her next step.

Angel was there, just in front of her. For a moment, as she stood there, she could feel his gaze upon her as clearly as if he'd touched her. Was he startled that she'd followed him all the way to his lair? Then the moment slipped away and his gaze went elsewhere, ignoring her once again.

Buffy sighed. Too much to hope for, she supposed.

She crouched down where she was, reaching into her bag. Angel might see fine in this near-total darkness, but human eyes weren't meant for this. If she was planning to stay – and some part of her had already made that decision – she was going to need to look at where she was living.

After a couple of seconds of rummaging she came out with a portable lamp. In deference to Angel (this was his home, after all) she switched it on its lowest setting. It took a second for her eyes to get adjusted after the total darkness of the tunnel, and when they did….

"Oh my," she gasped.

This place must have been beautiful once, but it was now forgotten and buried by the city above. An arched ceiling was gracefully undamaged above her, decorated with mosaic tile, colors dulled with dust and time.

"What was this place?" Buffy asked. She might as well have been asking herself instead of her silent companion. One of those fancy train stations, perhaps. Buffy had never seen one herself.

It bore little semblance to whatever it had once been. What space weapons or Angel's scant furniture – a chair, a bed, and an old (yet sophisticated compared to what Buffy had been used to) fridge – did not take up was covered with…papers. Books, scrolls, loose pages, even sketches were piled on every available surface. There might have been tables and shelves under them, but Buffy wasn't sure. They were all covered in a thick layer of dust.

The Angel she'd known had never been that careless about his texts.

It looked like nothing in that segment of the room had been touched in ages, anyway. As Buffy watched, Angel stood in front of the fridge and began to take packets of blood out of the cold box and pile them in to stay fresh. The last one in his hands moments later, he closed the fridge, sat heavily in the chair, and neatly punctured it with his fangs. Buffy watched with something like morbid curiosity.

"You never used to feed in front of me before," she said, if just to break the silence.

He continued to drink as if she wasn't even there.

"I hope you don't mind a house guest," she continued.

He finished the bag and threw it into the discarded box.

"Well, I'll take silence for consent," Buffy said lightly. "I warn you, I'm going to be one of those annoying guests. For one, this place is not fit for human habitation as it is. I'm going to put food for me next to your blood, I'm going to organize your bookshelves, shuffle through your belongings…and I'm not going to leave until you speak to me."

Nothing. His meal done, he stood and proceeded to strip as if he was completely alone. Buffy blushed and turned her head quickly. Seconds later she looked back to find him completely burrowed into the old blankets covering his bed. His eyes were closed and he was frowning slightly.

Buffy sighed. "Goodnight, Angel," she whispered.

She turned off her light and watched him from the haven of total darkness.
Things fell into a pattern pretty quickly after Buffy moved into Angel's lair. In the day, Angel slept and Buffy made herself at home. She was true to her word and made her presence very noticeable. Her first day there she went out and bought herself a mattress, a couple of blankets, and some food with what little money she had. The mattress and blankets took up space in a corner; the food found a slot next to the blood in the fridge.

Also, just like she said, she began to go through the piles of stuff Angel had collected over the years. That was a task where it was difficult just to figure out where to start. She couldn't even read a good chunk of the stuff. Eventually she began to separate things into three basic piles: personal writings and sketches, books, and other stuff she couldn't make heads or tails of.

She hesitated at first at going through Angel's personal things. But days went by and he never looked at them or paid any attention to Buffy. She got tired of talking to herself or staring at walls in the daytime. So she began to read what she was organizing. She had to be careful with some of them – so old the paper was incredibly fragile. And her nosiness did stop at one point – she couldn't bring herself to read his journals. He'd apparently kept them for quite a while, sporadically at times. In the last of his journals his handwriting rapidly deteriorated and then the entries abruptly stopped. Buffy could only guess that was due to the changes in his hands – it couldn't be easy to write with claws.

Buffy frowned. Had it been as long since he had read the texts in his possession? Had it been as long since he'd spoken to anyone?

Maybe it was no wonder that his mental state was questionable. He'd been a total recluse for possibly centuries.

Other clues came in the form of sketches. There were several pleasant images – people, friends…even a couple of herself, to Buffy's surprise. Those were vastly outnumbered, however, by more horrific images – demons and victims. Angel himself, but not as Buffy remembered him or how he appeared now. Monstrous distortions she only knew as him by other writing and details on the pages. It was an obsession with self, Buffy was beginning to recognize. Angel had always had an awareness of his self-image. The black-on-black clothing, the massive classic convertible…Angel always had an image, and that image was strong, mysterious, and human.

Buffy could only imagine what he'd gone through when his appearance had begun to change.

So, that was her daytime. There was so much to go through that she'd made very little visible progress. In nighttime, when Angel woke, Buffy stayed with him. She was a step behind him wherever he went. She fought next to him when he fought handfuls of demons and vampires every night.

Whether or not he actively acknowledged her presence, Buffy began to realize that he was aware of her. His behavior shifted ever so slightly, and every little bit served to reassure Buffy. After that first night Angel didn't again strip in front of her. After about a week Buffy noticed the return of Angel's old habit of unnecessary breath.

Appearances.

Most noticeable, though, was the shift in Angel's fighting style. Ever so slightly he accommodated someone else fighting with him. It was almost like old times, if a whole lot quieter. Two weeks after she had first felt Angel in the depths of The Underground, she followed him as he returned there once again on an errand for blood. The back door was closed, and she watched with some surprise as he produced an old key and slipped it easily into the lock. The door opened silently, and Buffy slipped in behind him.

She watched as Angel slipped through the pitch-black storage room they'd entered to approach the door to the main bar. There was a small window set into the door, and he paused in front of it briefly before slipping into deeper shadow.

Moments later the door opened. The same bar tender who'd been working there last time Buffy was there blinked into the darkness. He held another cold box in front of him. He did not leave the comfort of the pale light of the doorway, but looked into the darkness for Angel. When his gaze fell upon Buffy he gasped.

Buffy winked at him.

The bar tender was obviously flustered as he passed the cooler to Angel. Angel never emerged completely from the shadows as he took the blood and disappeared through the back door.

Buffy hesitated. If last time were any indicator, he'd head right back to his lair with the food for the next two weeks. Buffy could easily catch up with him again there. It might be nice to have some human company for a little while.

The bar tender was still standing in the doorway. "What are you doing here, Slayer?"

Buffy grinned, stepping towards him. "I don't know," she said. "I thought maybe I could get a drink. That is what you serve here, right?"

He looked back and forth for a moment between Buffy and the door Angel had disappeared through. "What are you doing with him?" he asked suspiciously.

"He's an old friend."

The bar tender had an odd expression on his face. "I wasn't aware he had any friends," he said.

"He used to," Buffy replied honestly.

The bar tender looked at her seriously for a long moment. "Well," he said at last, "are you going to have a drink or not?"

Buffy felt a gnaw of unexpected guilt at leaving Angel on his own. Just because he wasn't the best company right now didn't mean she should abandon him without a word. Abruptly that feeling was joined by the sharp pull of something else. "I can't!" she said quickly.

"But I thought…"

"I'm needed," Buffy said mostly to herself and rushed out the door after Angel.

The familiar sounds of violence met Buffy almost immediately, plus a horrible stench. She paused only long enough for her eyes to readjust to the total darkness behind the bar then took off at a run.

She rounded the corner to see Angel trading blows with three demons. Each was taller than him by about two feet and was two large people wide. Buffy had never seen Angel so dwarfed by essentially 'normal' demons. The blood he'd been carrying was carelessly spilled against one wall. For the moment Angel was keeping the demons at arms length, but they were bigger, likely stronger, had wicked looking claws, and outnumbered him.

Damn it, she shouldn't have left him alone.

Buffy drew her sword from her back and jumped into the fray. She swung her weapon wildly before the nearest demon even knew she was there. The large blade barely scratched its heavily scaled back. The demon turned on her, absolutely furious. It was one less demon for Angel to deal with, but Buffy was not liking this situation.

Keeping the sword in front of her, Buffy focused entirely on evading the demon's claws. It was like trying to parry ten daggers at once. Even if she could hurt it, she couldn't take her attention away from those claws long enough to inflict any damage.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Angel go down, then come up moments later with a rusted metal rod. He swung it wildly at one of the demon's heads, making it rear back dazed. Before it could recover, he drove the pole into its eye.

The demon screamed, staggering back from the vampire. The other two demons looked at it, alarmed. Buffy took the momentary distraction to follow Angel's lead, lunging in with her sword and aiming for the nearest demon's eye. She connected, but didn't get the damaging blow she wanted before the demon returned its full attention on her, screaming and flailing in startled pain.

She barely had time to be surprised before the demon's claws caught her across the abdomen. After that it was like everything happened in slow motion. Lines of pain erupted as she fell away from the demon, only to be replaced by a spreading numbness. Distractedly she heard a different roar, followed by a scream from the third demon. Then nothing but running feet, followed by silence.

She knew she'd been seriously injured and was likely in shock, but she couldn't bring herself to move. She could feel the coldness of pavement under her and the spreading warmth of her own blood. At least she didn't see any demons at the moment. Maybe they'd run away or something.

A face swam into her blurring vision. Buffy had never been so relieved to see golden, vampiric eyes. "Angel," she gasped.

She just hoped distractedly that wasn't the last thing she was going to say.

She was just so tired…. Blood.

Oh, God, he could smell her blood!

Panic was hammering at Angel in waves, but instead of making him freeze it spurred him into action. It suddenly didn't matter if she was a figment of his imagination or not. If she were, then soon he'd know for sure. If she wasn't, then he couldn't lose her. He was surrounded by her heartbeat and her scent twenty-four hours a day. She followed him and fought by his side. He found himself terrified at the prospect of losing that. Losing her.

Cradled against him, she didn't feel like a hallucination at all. She felt very solid and very real. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest almost as if it was his own. He could smell her blood, too thick in the air – he remembered what that smelled like, and this was real. The panic suppressed any hunger he might have felt at that otherwise.

Angel ran, keeping to the darkest shadows where he could, running faster than a human could possibly match. There was a clinic he'd taken unconscious injured to before. That's where he was taking Buffy. He couldn't just leave her, though. He had to know she would be okay. She had to be okay.

For the first time Angel did not slow as he came near the clinic. He didn't hesitate as he neared people, but held Buffy closer as he barreled through the front doors.

There was a moment's hesitation just inside the door. A young nurse gaped at his entrance, frozen. Angel came to a stop, uncertain for a second. This wouldn't do at all. As fear overwhelmed him, he couldn't even tell how Buffy was doing anymore. She needed help now.

He locked eyes with the nurse, and she took an inadvertent step back. This wouldn't do at all.

"Help her," he growled. There was a strange atmosphere in the clinic, to be sure. Doctor Hasna tried to remain unaffected, but everyone had been jumpy since the vampire had shown up at the door. The girl was resting comfortably now – surgery had been easier than Hasna had expected. Now she was the only one willing to approach the vampire to talk to him about the girl's injuries.

She didn't need to ask where the vampire was. Simple observation showed one room that staff was passing just a little faster and a little warily. It was a small lounge, often used by members of the clinic staff to rest when they were too exhausted to make it home. For the moment, it was a place for a very worried elder vampire.

Doctor Hasna had to fight her own hesitancy to approach that door. The clinic treated demons as well as humans on occasion, so while vampires very rarely needed her attention, she was familiar with their existence. She'd never seen a vampire quite like this before, though.

With a deep breath she opened the door to the pitch-dark room. "Hello?" she called hesitantly. She closed the door behind her and turned on the light. The vampire was suddenly starkly obvious – all in black on a background of hospital white. He blinked at her in the sudden brightness. His elbows were on his knees and Hasna had the impression his head had been in his hands only moments before.

She swallowed hard to calm herself. "I'm Doctor Hasna," she greeted as gently as she could. "I need to speak to you about the young woman you brought in."

The vampire nodded and sat up straighter.

The doctor hesitated for a second. She didn't know what to expect of this vampire. There was nothing typical about him or his behavior thus far. Hasna approached him cautiously. "First off," she said, "could you tell me her name?"

The vampire didn't seem to understand what she was asking at first. Then he swallowed audibly. "Buffy," he said. His voice was softer than she expected, like he was uncertain of his own voice. "Buffy Anne Summers."

Hasna smiled, trying to be as reassuring as possible as she would for any concerned loved one. Not that the same thing usually went for vampires, especially when it came to a mortal. She took nothing for granted, though. "How about your name?" she asked lightly.

"Angel," the vampire said, only a bit more confidently.

She didn't let the vampire's incongruous name faze her. "Alright, Angel. Well, whatever got to Buffy did a pretty bad number on her stomach. It managed to cause some significant muscle damage."

Angel tensed. "She's okay?" he asked urgently.

Hasna was startled by the sudden force of feeling in the vampire's brown eyes. "She'll be fine. A little scarred."

His entire body relaxed and the slightest hint of a grin turned up the corners of his mouth. "Can I see her?" he asked.

The doctor had to think about it for a second, remembering the general unease currently prevailing in the clinic. She thought about the injured girl currently resting in a private room, the victim of a demon's attack, and the fact that she was actually considering letting a vampire into her company. And then there was the fact that this vampire was responsible for the girl's life, and the concern he obviously felt over her well-being. Hasna didn't think it was possible to fake that.

She brushed a strand of black hair behind her ear. She smiled. "I'll take you to her," she said. Buffy awoke slowly. Her head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton, but she wasn't in pain. Good drugs, she thought. Either that or her wounds had killed her, and she wasn't ready to contemplate the second option.

Her eyes opened on blank whiteness, and for a moment Buffy panicked. She was so used to darkness. This was wrong.

Then things came into focus and Buffy knew her surroundings for what they were: a hospital room. She sighed. It was so quiet, not at all like the hospital back in Sunnydale. She looked around to try and catch the other changes time had wrought.

Her eyes caught something else instead. Leaning against the wall, his head was down in repose. She couldn't tell if he was awake or not. She hadn't expected him to be here. Hell, considering his behavior since they met in the street weeks ago, she was lucky he'd acknowledged her presence enough to get her medical care. She assumed he was the one who brought her here….

"Angel," she found herself whispering despite her consistent lack of response.

This time he surprised her. His head shot up at the sound of her voice and within seconds he was at her bedside. His eyes locked with hers and Buffy found herself smiling despite their surroundings.

"Buffy."

For a second Buffy thought she imagined his whisper. He spoke! She grinned even wider. "Hey, stranger," she said happily. "Long time no see."

He blinked at her for a second. His eyes were back to the old familiar brown instead of the vampire gold she'd gotten used to in recent weeks. It made her feel unexpectedly comfortable and reassured. It was like Angel was suddenly once again present behind those eyes.

"Buffy," he said again, clearer this time.

Buffy sensed the unspoken question in that one word. "Yeah," she said gently, "it's me." She raised a hand to touch his face, but he shied away just before she could connect. "Hey," she said again, whispering this time, "it's me."

He sat back, just slightly out of reach. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

"Don't be," Buffy said as gently as she could. It was so nice to hear his voice again, even distorted by his fangs. "Come on, Angel, don't pull away from me."

He scooted the room's only chair closer to the bed. Carefully, afraid she'd scare him away, Buffy placed her hand on his own. She could feel him tense as if to pull away for a second, and then relax. "There," she said happily. "Isn't that better?"

He kept his gaze locked on their hands. "How?" he asked simply.

Buffy knew what he was asking. "I don't know," she admitted.

He looked flustered, as if trying to reconcile reality with what he thought reality was supposed to be. "You died," he said after a while.

Buffy didn't know quite how to respond to that. "Not that I remember," she faltered. "I just…went to sleep in Sunnydale and woke up here." She chuckled to herself. "Well, not here…in the city, you know? In this time. Whatever." She shrugged, and Angel smiled ever so slightly.

He looked at their hands again. "You've really been here?" he asked softly.

"Yeah, I've been here," she said. "Last couple of weeks, pretty much 24/7. Though I must say I like this new talkative Angel more than the Angel zombie I was starting to think I was living with."

Angel would have blushed if he could have. "I'm sorry."

"You keep saying that," Buffy pointed out easily. "You don't need to apologize. Though I wouldn't mind an explanation for this sudden turn-around."

Again Angel faltered. "You're real," he managed at last.

"That's all it took?"

He swallowed hard. "I couldn't…. I needed…."

"Take your time," Buffy said gently. She looked at him curiously. "How long has it been since you…even spoke with anyone?"

Angel's brow furrowed in though. "Long," he said simply.

Buffy squeezed his hand. "Well then…"

At that moment a woman with long black hair and a doctor's coat entered the room. "Good morning, Buffy," she said. "How good to see you awake."

Buffy watched in surprise as Angel sat back in his chair, fading into the background once again. It was like a switch had been flipped and he was suddenly reverting to his behavior of the last few weeks. He was abruptly and instantly out of reach.

She swallowed, unsure of what to do about this – what she could do, even – and glanced at the doctor. "Hello," she said, acknowledging the woman briefly. She looked back at Angel once again.

The doctor came the rest of the way into the room, stood next to the bed, and to Buffy's surprise smiled at the vampire trying to blend into the chair. "Have you been here all night, Angel?" she asked gently.

Angel jumped slightly, startled back from wherever he'd gone. "Yes," he replied easily.

The doctor turned her smile back on Buffy. "I'm Doctor Hasna," she introduced herself. "That demon really did a number on you."

Buffy's hand went to her bandaged stomach. "I guess so," she said. "They were tougher demons than we usually expect to encounter."

Doctor Hasna looked shocked. "You were expecting demons? Why?"

"Someone has to fight them," Buffy replied.

"Both of you?"

Buffy nodded and smiled at the doctor's obvious shock.

"You didn't tell me that," the doctor directed at Angel.

"You didn't ask," he replied.

The doctor seemed to be having serious thoughts, but she shook them off and smiled at Buffy once again. "Well, you're going to be fine. I'd like to keep you here one more day. Once I release you, take it easy on the demon hunting for a while, yes?"

Buffy frowned. What else was she supposed to do?

"Angel?" the doctor tried.

He looked at her questioningly.

"I don't want her fighting demons with or without you for at least a week," Doctor Hasna insisted.

Angel nodded. "She won't."

Buffy pouted.

"All right. At the end of that week, you need to come back so I can do a final check on you, okay?"

Buffy nodded reluctantly. "Okay."

The doctor smiled. "I'll see both of you later," she said calmly, and left the room again.

Buffy sighed and sank back into her bed. "I've told you how much I hate hospitals, right?"

"No," Angel replied.

"Well, I do," Buffy complained. "Something's going on. I can't wait to get out of here."