The Road Home Series:
In the Silent Depth
by Gem

Part Three

You said, understand, we are blacker than sun-
but golden in the shadows, even coming undone.

“Easy does it now. Just take it slow and we’ll be fine.” Doyle carefully wove a path through Angel’s weapon-strewn living room, sighing in relief when at last they reached the bedroom.

“Careful,” Buffy cautioned. “I said be careful!” She glared at Doyle as he stepped away from Angel a moment too soon and the larger man landed heavily on the bed, taking Buffy with him.

“Angel, are you okay? Did I land on anything ouchy?” She slid back a little so her weight was not resting on his body and began unbuttoning his bloodstained shirt. He groaned softly when she helped him sit up to ease it off, but she wasn't sure if the pain came from the wound itself, or the fact she had to peel the shirt off of it.

“I’m fine, give or take a bullet or two.” His lips twisted in a half-smile as he edged back on the bed to lean against the headboard. He raised his hand to stroke Buffy's hair, but when he noticed his arm trembling he swiftly dropped it to his side.

“Just one. I counted." Cordelia carried a tray laden with a bowl of water, towels and a variety of gleaming medical instruments in from the kitchen. She laid them one by one on the nightstand, arranging them with the same ease of long practice as she held the determinedly cheerful smile on her face.

“One was enough,” Buffy said shortly. She resolutely kept her face turned away from Kate, who stood hesitantly in the doorway. Kate stood, while Angel lay bleeding in Buffy’s book this was not an acceptable turn of Fate’s wheel.

“Buffy, it was an accident.” Angel’s dark eyes begged her to keep both her temper and her perspective. For the moment he conveniently pushed aside how he would feel if their roles were reversed.

“That’s why she’s still breathing,” Buffy replied with a tight smile. “Now, everybody out. It’s time to play doctor.” She frowned as she checked the supplies at her disposal. “There’s no alcohol, drinkable or otherwise, and I don’t see anything to numb the wound itself. What’s going to kill the pain?”

Cordelia quickly glanced at Doyle, motioning him to speak for both of them. When he didn’t respond quickly enough she growled and spoke for herself.

“Angel likes to do the big he-man no painkiller thing when he's shot. Men." She ventured a step closer to the bed. "Umm, Buffy, we’ve probably done more care and feeding of a wounded vamp than you have lately, so you might want us to do some of this. We kind of have a system.” Cordelia's bright smile weakened in the face of the Slayer's cold stare. She could only hope she'd made her point without risking life and limb.

“And now I’m part of the system and the system includes painkillers.” Buffy's tone left no room for discussion.

“Works for me. Everything’s a bit brighter with a drop of Jameson’s.”

Doyle avoided Cordelia’s eyes and pretended this had never been a question of rank. He knew how much Cordelia wanted Buffy back in Angel’s life, for both their sakes. But it was only this week, in the teeth of Buffy's 24/7 presence, that it was beginning to dawn on the former May Queen this was a permanent situation. Like it or not, she would be forced to relinquish her spot as token woman in Angel's life. He only hoped the transition could be less bloody than this evening’s activities.

“I don’t need any…” Angel started to say.

“Yes, you do." Buffy interrupted him. "And even if you don’t, you do so I won’t feel so bad about poking into your heart with Disco Mr. Pointy.” She waggled the silvery probe at him and forced herself to smile, despite the queasiness of her stomach.

“I’m just going to wait in the living room.” Kate started to back out of the bedroom, then changed her mind and approached the bed. “Angel, I’m so sorry I hit you. I don’t know what happened. I just froze when that…that thing came at me, and then when I woke up all I knew was I had to pull the trigger. If you hadn’t knocked Buffy out of the way…” Kate shivered as she left the remainder of her sentence hanging in the air.

Angel studied Buffy as his inner eye finally played out what might have happened in that dark alley. Every time she went on patrol, every time she helped him with his work, she faced death he knew that in his head. He would have gone mad from the knowledge if he didn't have such implicit faith in her strength and skill. But to know that it might not be a demon, that one bullet from one gun in the hands of one overwrought human could take away the light of his life frightened him more deeply than he ever could have imagined.

His dark thoughts were banished by the gentle touch of her hand on his shoulder, drawing him back to the present, and towards the brighter future he was determined to give her. He smiled at his love, still safe by his side on this night at least.

"It was an accident," he repeated firmly. "And I'm always going to be there to get in the way of them where Buffy is concerned."

"It's kind of a hobby," Cordelia explained, returning with the requested rubbing alcohol and a bottle of cognac, as well as another bowl.

"Unfortunately, getting between Buffy and just about anything can be hazardous to your health," the subject of the discussion added dryly. "Now can we please get this bullet out of you before the wound starts to close up around it and gets infected?" She handed Angel the cognac bottle and began to clean the wound.

"Buffy, it can't get infected." Angel shifted slightly on the bed to give her better access to his chest, after he took a substantial swig of the cognac. "And even if it did, it's not like it can kill me." He hissed in pain as she sliced a larger hole in his chest to allow her to probe for the bullet. She might not kill him, but that didn't mean it was going to be fun either, even with the help of alcohol.

"Man's got a point. You can't kill him with a stick." Cordelia cocked her head to the side while she reconsidered this statement. "Wait, no, my bad. A stick is about the only thing you can kill him with."

"Sunlight," offered Doyle, wiping the blood from Angel's chest as Buffy searched for the bullet. "Fire too."

"Holy water," Cordelia suggested. "It ruins his precious leather couch too, so be careful when you pack your slayer bag, Buffy. Some people are so materialistic." Her affectionate smile turned to a wince as Buffy hit a visibly painful area and Angel flinched.

Kate slipped out of the room as the list grew. She wanted to stay and help, she wanted to feel a part of this little group who squabbled amongst themselves but faced the enemy as a unified force. As badly as she wanted to belong, though, she knew she didn’t, and there was no point in outstaying her dubious welcome.

Buffy alone noticed Kate’s departure, but she considered not tap dancing with joy to be kindness enough. If Kate hadn't left her car in Angel's garage, she wouldn't have let the detective accompany them back to the apartment at all.

"Poison," the Slayer grimly contributed to the trivia contest. Memories of the last night she kept vigil by Angel's bedside threatened to swamp her as she searched for the latest implement to put a hole in her beloved's chest.

"Ooh, ooh, I know," Cordelia crowed. "Beheading. That works, right? I'm sure it does because I remember this one time Buffy had a cymbal and…"

"Can we not count the ways I can die right this minute," Angel pleaded from his sick bed. "It's kind of discouraging." He smiled weakly at his well meaning, but tact-challenged, loved ones.

"Amen," echoed the surgeon when, at last, she succeeded in grabbing the bullet with the forceps. She dropped it in the little ceramic bowl Cordelia proffered and wiped her forehead with her arm before she started bandaging Angel. "Okay, let me get this cleaned up and then with a little tape and some gauze, you'll be good as new. This time," she finished darkly.

Angel concentrated fiercely on controlling the quiver in his arm so he could reach up to caress her cheek. "I'll be fine tomorrow, Buffy. It was just a bullet. I think we've established they can't kill me."

"That doesn't mean I enjoy spending my spring break digging around your heart for scrap metal. The only thing that's supposed to be in there is me." She smoothed the last piece of tape onto his chest and sat down beside him, taking one of his hands in her own.

Doyle tugged on Cordelia's arm, trying to move her towards the door. She twitched her sleeve out of his grasp and glared at him.

"I want to make sure Angel is all right, okay? Jeeze, what’s your damage?"

"I think he has everything he needs." Doyle nodded to Buffy, who was rubbing the back of Angel's hand against her cheek while he smiled up at her.

"But we always keep an eye on him when he's hurt," Cordelia protested, to no avail.

"We're here if they need us, Cordelia. They know that." Doyle spoke softly, trying not to disturb the lovers. He draped his arm around Cordelia's shoulders and guided her out of the room, Buffy and Angel none the wiser to the exchange.

"Baby, it's happened before and it will happen again," Angel said softly as his friends departed. "You know that. I'll take bullets for you you'll fight the daytime demons for me. Neither one of us is invincible, so we each have to go with our strengths and use them to protect the other." He held her eyes with his own as he slid down on the bed and motioned for her to join him.

"Oh sure, be reasonable," Buffy grumbled, gently twining her body around his. She knew he was right, but that didn't make it any easier to watch the man she loved bleed on her behalf, to see him suffer pain in her name. There were some parts of being a Slayer she would never get used to, not in a million years.

Angel smothered a yawn with his hand the combination of blood loss and the cognac was taking its toll. He struggled to keep his eyes open, but the steady beat of Buffy's heart against his chest was dragging him down a long black velvet slide to oblivion and he didn't have the strength to fight anymore.

Buffy nestled her head in his shoulder and tried to relax. The feel of his cool skin beneath her cheek was soothing, and the fast returning strength of his embrace reassuring, but she still couldn't shake her unease.

"I know you're right," she murmured at last. "I just can't stand to see you like this. When I saw you fall in the street, and I knew it was because of me, it was déjà vu all over again. I mean, I know it wasn't exactly the same situation, but then we get home and you've got this wound in your chest and you're trying to pretend it doesn't hurt and that you're not secretly shaking, and don't think I didn't see that just because I didn't say that I saw…" She paused for a breath. "Thank God Cordy and Doyle started listing all the things that can kill you, because I really needed the reminder that this wasn't one of them. For a little while…I was back there, that night at the mansion when I thought I’d lose you forever. I don't ever want to go back to that night again."

Angel was silent. Buffy waited for a reassuring word, or a gentle caress, but there was nothing. At last she dared to look up to meet his eyes, somehow knowing what she would see there.

She smiled softly at the sight of his dark lashes brushing his marbled cheekbones, and pressed a tender kiss to the hollow of his throat as he lay sleeping. Even from the depths of slumber, his arms instinctively tightened around her in response.

"I love you," she whispered. "And nothing is going to take you away again, I swear."

Buffy carefully closed the doors to Angel's bedroom after one last peek inside. She turned to face her company with a sigh and the brightest fake smile she could muster.

"Kate, I didn't want to throw this out in case you had to account for it or something." She held the bowl containing the bullet as far away from her body as possible, but the detective didn't seem to be there to relieve her of it. "Cordy, where's Kate?"

"Hmm?" Cordelia looked up from the fashion magazine Buffy had brought with her from Sunnydale. "Kate? Oh, she went home awhile ago. Said to call her if anything else came up tonight, otherwise she'll be back in the a.m. Ditto for Doyle. Say, do you know if these slides are still in?" She glanced from the magazine to the bloodstained boots on Buffy's feet and sighed. "Look who I'm asking."

"She bailed, after that lame-o apology she gave him?" Buffy was relieved she didn't have to play nice any longer, but she still couldn't believe her ears. "Honestly, can you give me one good reason I shouldn't kill her? Aside from the whole 'she's Angel's friend and she's human' argument, because that's not stacking up too well against the bullet that was in his chest that's now in this bowl." She slammed the offending bowl down on the coffee table and flung herself onto the futon.

Cordelia put down her magazine and leaned forward in her chair. "Umm, how about she was actually aiming for the monster that was trying to kill you and Angel and she just happens to be a suck shot?"

Buffy pursed her lips and glared, not deigning to reply.

"Okay, how about 'learning to love yourself is the greatest love of all.' Will that do it for you?" She sat back and gripped the arms of her chair, bracing for the explosion.

"Excuse me? What's the gospel according to Whitney Houston got to do with this?" Buffy wasn't angry yet, she was too busy being confused.

"Wake up and smell the carbon paper, Buffy. She's you in ten years." Cordelia leaned forward again, peering critically into Buffy's face. "Five if you don't use that moisturizer I sent you for Christmas."

Buffy rose and began to pace. "You've finally gone over the edge, Cordelia. Too much time in la-la land, I guess. What on earth makes you think Kate is anything like me?"

"Oh, let me count the ways." Cordelia couldn't help the smile on her face. In her own way, Buffy was just as oblivious as Angel. "Leaving aside the whole hair issue, since shades can vary from one dye lot to the next…"

"I'm a natural blonde!"

"Yeah, me too.” Cordelia waved aside Buffy’s open-mouthed outrage and continued. “Now, as I was saying, aside from that we also have the fighting for truth and justice gig. Well, maybe you're not exactly fighting for truth, except in an 'X-Files' kind of way, but you both sure fight a lot, and there's a whole bunch of kicking involved too. Then we have the father issues. I think this weekend has pretty much established yours, and Kate's not exactly going to nominate Papa Lockley for any Father of the Year awards either. Umm, she's not really good at following orders, though she's a whiz at giving them, and she fell for Angel the minute she saw him, and now that she knows he's a vamp she's still panting at his heels. Any of this ringing a bell, Buff?"

Buffy’s jaw had gradually reconnected with the rest of her face during Cordelia’s speech. When at last her character dissection was complete, she threw up her hands in defeat.

"Uncle. I give. We're twins born to different mothers. In different decades." She resumed her seat on the futon, drawing her knees up under her chin in preparation for a good pout.

Cordelia abandoned her chair to sit next to her friend. She draped her arm around Buffy's slender shoulders and attempted a conciliatory pat.

"So maybe I was exaggerating a little. About the carbon thing,” she added hastily, “not the moisturizer. The point is she was enough like you to make Angel feel a little less lonely when he first came to LA. He needed you, and he couldn't have you, so he went for a designer knock-off. Not that he had the slightest clue that's what he was doing, of course."

"He had you and Doyle," Buffy pointed out a little resentfully. "And it was his choice to be alone." His choice to walk away into the night without a word, without giving her the chance to make sure he was really okay, without being able to reassure him he did the right thing when he drank her blood.

Cordelia's attempts at Willow-type sympathy came to a swift halt. She withdrew her arm and fixed Buffy with a steely gaze. Obviously the situation called for the kind of ‘tact-lite’ common sense only Cordelia Chase could supply.

"What's with the wallow? Has the phrase ‘get over it’ lost all meaning in the new millenium? Live in the now, Buffy. He's here, you're here and Kate went home alone."

"This time."

"And every other time. You're the one who was checking out the other entrees on the menu. He was at full brood setting from the minute he left Sunnydale. But I fixed things, and now you're both very happy and I haven't heard so much as a thank you from you in weeks, young lady." Her stern tone was only partially in jest.

"Thank you," Buffy snapped. She realized in an instant that her tone was somewhat less than gracious. "I really do mean it, Cordelia. It's just hard seeing part of his life that didn't have me in it. We should have been together all this time."

"But you weren't, so he needed someone to, well, distract him. Someone who wasn't a part of the past or his destiny, all of which was tied up with you. Even though Angel and I are like best friends now, back then…you see, Doyle is kind of on loan from the PTBs, and I think Angel saw me as a legacy from you. I just don't think it dawned on him Kate would ever get attached." She shook her head over the general cluelessness of men and vampires.

"He hasn't seen himself in a mirror in a long time," Buffy agreed. She stood up abruptly, overtaken by a sudden need to reassure herself of his well-being. "I should probably go check on him."

Cordelia stood up as well, holding on to Buffy's arm to keep her in place. "I'll go. You should relax, have a cup of coffee. Decaf."

Buffy shook off her hand. "Cordelia, I don't need any coffee, just a little vacation from my vacation. I'll be right back." She glanced briefly at the ceramic bowl with its grisly contents resting innocently on the coffee table. "So that's why she's here? As a me, but not quite me?"

She wasn't sure if that was a greater or lesser testament to the strength of their bond that she had tried to replace him with someone totally different while he went looking for a vision of Buffy-future. In the end, she supposed, all that mattered was their spectacular failures.

Cordelia bit her lip as she nodded her head. She'd never felt threatened by Kate, but the Slayer's return was giving Cordelia the same out of place feeling she saw in Buffy's eyes. The only difference was that everyone knew Kate would never go the distance, whereas Buffy was in Angel's life for keeps. Cordelia could either be gracious and work out a new place for herself in the grand scheme of things, or she could go out fighting and lose her best friend.

Or she could do a little of both, with the inimitable Chase style.

"It's as plain as the nose on your face, which, by the way, looks better on her face…hey! Put that down!"

The crash woke Angel, but hearing no further sounds of disturbance, he left guard duty in Buffy's capable hands and went back to sleep.

Buffy's eyes moved nervously between Angel's car parked at the curb and the large glass doors ahead of them. Her faltering steps mirrored the hesitation in her voice as she moved further away from the surety of a quick getaway.

"Angel, I really think this was a bad idea."

He looked down at the small hand tugging on his arm, then up at her pale face. Her lips almost seemed to be trembling, and there was a tiny bead of sweat on her forehead. He reached out to press a cool hand to her brow, suddenly concerned for her health.

"Baby, are you feeling all right? I know you didn't sleep well last night, and you haven’t looked too good all day. You look beautiful," he hastily amended, "but you don't look like you feel so hot."

She considered lying, which would result in a speedy retreat to the safety of the apartment, but she couldn't bear the worry in his dark eyes. She smiled faintly and shook her head.

"I'm okay, physically. But I really think we should have postponed this. Like, say, fifty or sixty years."

Now that he was certain nerves were responsible for her color, or lack thereof, there was no further reason not to face their fate. He dragged her resisting form a few more steps, until she got a good purchase on the pavement with her heels and dug in. He stopped pulling and summoned all of the patience he learned after spending 244 years dealing with humans.

"Buffy, we don't have a choice. And if anyone should be trying to get out of this it's me."

"Exactly!" She was so relieved he understood at last. "You were shot Saturday night. All we have to do is tell him you were shot…"

"When I took you down to an abandoned warehouse to trade weapons for drugs," he finished for her, staring in amazement at his hopeful lover. "Do you really want to use that as an excuse to get out of dinner with your father?"

"Do you think it will work?" She prayed he would be reasonable about this. Her father had never approved of her live, same-age boyfriends somehow she didn't think he was going to be an easier sell when it came to her undead bicentennial-and-a-half man. Irate parents were a complication she didn't have the time or patience to deal with at the moment.

"No," he said firmly. "Believe me, I'm dreading this too, but we're going to get it over with. We're going to have a nice, normal dinner with your father, just like every other couple gets to do. We'll talk about your classes and my business, and how they make two very good reasons why we shouldn't get married. He'll hate the fact that I know nothing about sports and could care less about politics. We'll fight over the check, and make phony promises about going golfing sometime, just the guys. Then you and I can relax and go kill the nasty demons."

He was saddened to realize he viewed that as the fun portion of the evening.

Buffy took a few tentative steps towards the restaurant door, then turned to Angel again as another thought struck her.

"Angel, you're not mad at me, are you?"

“What is it, Buffy? Why would I be mad?” He reached out to pull her tightly against him, swallowing a yelp when she accidentally hit a still-tender rib.

“Because I told my dad we were engaged,” she replied in a small voice. “It’s something we sort of talk about and sort of don’t, and then I threw it right out there on the living room floor like we had a church booked and a caterer picked out.” She watched her fingers in rapt fascination as they traced patterns on his chest it was too hard to look in his eyes right now.

“Well,” he said slowly, hoping to tease her out of her strange mood, “it was kind of a demotion from ‘husband,’ which is what you told Kate, but I guess I can forgive you.” The corner of his mouth quirked upward in a sly smile as he peeped down at her face for a reaction.

“She told you!" Without thinking, she slapped her hand on his chest, fortunately missing his sore rib this time. "It wasn’t enough she told you she knew you were a vampire when I specifically told her to let me do it. Oh no, she had to blab every word we said, like some sort of big…blabbing thing.”

“Buffy, it’s all right. You were only telling the truth.” Angel suppressed the impulse to laugh when he saw how truly embarrassed Buffy was. “I was kind of flattered, actually,” he confessed.

“I guess I just felt a little…threatened, you know, with her walking in like that. Like she’d done it a million times before. I wanted her to know she wasn’t supposed to anymore…but maybe I overstated my case a little.”

“I’ve felt that way more time than I can count when it comes to Xander,” Angel confessed, lightly stroking her flaxen hair. “And you were actually telling the truth, more or less that’s what I told her.” He lifted up her left hand with his own, bringing it to his lips for the barest trace of a kiss. “These rings have bound us together as much as any piece of paper. They called me back from hell itself. And even if they didn’t tie us together, we’ve always known in our hearts that we are one.”

She looked deep into his eyes, marveling at how much light could pour from their dark depths. In the glow of his steadfast devotion, her earlier insecurities seemed unbelievably foolish.

If only all her inner demons could be banished so easily.

"Okay, so we're square about Dad. Can we go home now?" She pushed herself away from his arms and tugged at his hand, trying to pull him back to the convertible before it was too late.

“Buffy, what is wrong? You won't tell me about your bad dreams last night, and now you're acting like you're, I don't know, scared almost. What's your deal?”

Part of him was becoming exasperated by her swift changes of subject and reluctance to deal with reality, but the other part of him was deeply concerned. She was hiding things from him, and that usually meant there was an apocalypse of one type or another in the forecast.

"It's complicated," she mumbled, suddenly intent on the wonders of her left foot.

A gentle hand slid along her jaw and under her chin, tipping her face up to the light.

"If I wanted simple, I would have dated Harmony."

“I just…I just want him to like you,” she said, evading his eyes. "Kate's dad likes you, Cordelia told me so."

"I'm not sleeping with his daughter," Angel replied dryly.

She spun away from him and stared at the awning covering the entrance to the restaurant. "This whole week is turning into such a mess! I wanted to spend some time alone with you, some real time, not just a weekend. And then my mom sics my dad on us, and your would-be honey drags you into her case and shoots you as a thank you. Now we have to juggle family dinners with fascist demons. How am I supposed to concentrate on winning over my dad to our side when all I can see is you lying in the street with…" she couldn't make the rest of the words get past the sob tearing at her throat.

He was in front of her in an instant, his arms sliding around her to hold her fast as he guided her head down to his shoulder. "Shhh, Buffy, I’m fine now. And we'll figure it out. I promise."

She wanted to believe he could make everything all right. She wanted to believe their love would somehow wipe out all the bad luck that seemed to follow her and used him as target practice. But in her mind's eye she kept seeing Angel on the night before graduation as he was literally dying for her love, Angel being shot by Darla while he tried to protect her, Angel in the alley with Kate's bullet in his chest. As hard as she tried to focus on the future, she couldn’t escape the visions of all the ways she had led him to near-destruction in the past, and the memories were killing her. For all her belief in their strength as a team, there were some battles she needed to fight on her own.

"There's nothing to figure out." She drew a deep breath and removed herself from the security of his embrace. "We hunt demons, I have parents, we have pasts that come back and bite us on the butt. We'll deal. We always do."

Angel looked at her strangely, puzzled by her sudden shift from tears to stoicism. "Buffy, I think we need to talk…"

"I think we all need to talk. That's what this dinner is all about." Hank Summers was suddenly at Angel's elbow, wearing the same fake smile as his only daughter's.

Dinner with Hank progressed much as Angel had predicted, but Buffy found herself strangely comforted by that fact. There was almost a mundane air to the floundering conversation between her father and boyfriend. They had little in common besides Buffy, they had very different opinions on most subjects and they were almost humorously territorial when it came to pulling out her chair and opening doors for her.

It was almost as though Buffy had inadvertently stumbled into the “normal” life she had been searching so hard for all these demon-filled years. A few months with Riley had made her finally realize she didn't want to live there, but it wasn't a bad place to visit. As long as Angel was by her side, that is.

The only dangerous portion of the evening came when her father ventured into the typical parental domain of family history. The past was always a raw area for Angel, and once Buffy had learned the truth she tried to shield him from it when she could. Tonight there seemed to be no escape.

"So, Angel," Hank said with a forced smile. "Angel. That's Hispanic, right? Or is it short for Angelo?" He didn't much care, really, but at this point he was struggling to find a subject that didn't require preferences or opinions.

Angel ducked his head for a moment, then met Hank's eyes straight on. He would not let the past drag him down on this night of all nights. The name he now used had been taken in jest, then later retained as penance. Now, at last, he was beginning to see it as a promise to those that he had wronged, and in that there was no shame.

"It's a nickname, actually. I've just had it for so long it's become my name."

"Oh, that's interesting," Hank lied. "So what is your real name?" Please let this be a long and involved story, he pleaded with whatever gods might be listening. Please let this get us through dessert.

"Liam."

"Liam…" Hank prodded, unwilling to abandon this line of inquiry until it was as exhausted as he.

"Mannion," Angel finished quietly. "I was born Liam Mannion, but I only use the name for legal purposes these days."

"How did you get Angel from Liam?" Hank was genuinely curious now, but his daughter had no intention of allowing his curiosity to be satisfied at the expense of Angel's peace of mind.

"Angel is from Ireland, Daddy," she swiftly interjected. She squeezed Angel's hand under the table and continued to speak very quickly to keep her father from jumping in with any more painful questions. "Well, you probably guessed that from his name, his real name I mean, which he doesn't use much, but he already said that, didn't he? It means 'strong protector, did you know that, Daddy? I looked it up one time and…"

Unfortunately, she had to pause for breath sometime, and Hank took advantage of it. "It seems like kind of a strange leap Liam to Angel. I just wondered how you came up with it."

"My sister…" Angel began, only to be interrupted by a shrill and insistent noise.

"Beeper," Buffy announced triumphantly as she plucked it from Angel's belt. "Sorry, Dad, but we need to…" her cheerful voice faltered into silence as she read the LCD display. "Oh, very funny, Cordy." She held up the beeper for Angel to read. "Has she been taking Xander lessons?"

Angel read the display silently, but he couldn't help the twitch of his lips when he met Buffy's eyes. "She can't exactly go into details with the service, you know," he offered apologetically.

"But 'Bat signal'?" she hissed. "Doesn't that raise a few…"

"Is there a problem?" Hank broke in, looking from his daughter to her fiancé for some clue. They seemed to have forgotten his presence, and not for the first time that evening. Whenever they spoke to each other, he suddenly felt as though he and the rest of the world ceased to exist. Then, as swiftly as it occurred, the invisible shield seemed to drop and they reconnected with time and space.

Buffy dropped her napkin on the table and slipped her purse over her shoulder as Angel pulled her chair out for her.

"I'm sorry, Dad, but we have to go. There was just a break in the case Angel is working on and we need to follow up on it."

She was surprised at the regret she could feel twisting inside of her when she realized the night was over. She was grateful to her father for being the source of this brief interlude of normal people problems, and she was almost sorry to see it end. It was nice to know, after all this time, that he could give her something besides sweeping, and ultimately unfulfilled, promises.

"Buffy's psychology studies are a big help to me, otherwise I wouldn't take her away too," Angel explained as he rifled through his wallet for cash. "Here, dinner is on me," he said as he laid several large bills on the table.

"But I insist…I invited you…" Hank stammered.

"No, we insist," Buffy answered firmly, "and we so don't have time to argue. Maybe you can pay next time, okay?"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished them back. The evening hadn't been such a wild success she was dying to spend more of her precious Angel-related time repeating the experience. There was no mistaking the glow in her father's eyes, though she knew she would be held to her word.

"I'd like that. We still have a lot to catch up on."

"You have no idea."

"So, how did the big dinner with dad go?"

Cordelia asked the question before they even finished coming down the stairs, but she could tell by their grim expressions that she wasn't going to get an answer out of Buffy or Angel any time soon.

"What gives?" Angel tossed his duster on the back of the couch along with Buffy's coat. He moved restlessly from the couch to the stairs, waiting for details so he could form a plan of action.

"Yeah, why the sudden summons?" Buffy patted the seat next to her on the futon, but Angel wasn't ready to settle down yet. She shared an understanding glance with Cordelia, then walked over to Angel and dragged him to a chair. "Sit, oh caged lion. You're making my neck hurt just watching you."

"Another of Kate's informants was nailed, right after he finished talking to her," Doyle said, as Angel grudgingly took a seat. "And I do mean nailed. No interest in her, just him. From the sound of it, he's a Bathor."

Angel and Buffy shared a quick, worried glance.

"The Bathor are fighters. They won't let him go unavenged, but they don't stand a chance against the Scourge." Angel began to drum his fingers on the wooden arm of his chair. "We have to get ahead of them somehow and head them off."

"So we're going to beat them up so the Scourge won't get the chance to," Cordelia postulated slowly. "Hey, do I have a great job or what?" She turned her smile up to full wattage as she mentally reviewed her reasons for picking LA as an escape from the dangers of the hellmouth.

"You're not a part of this," Buffy said swiftly. "We're talking gang wars on an 'Apocalypse Now' scale. Doyle can come, but you and Kate are out of this as of now."

"Wait one minute! I am not taking orders from a civilian, and a child at that." Kate rose to her full height to tower over her teenage rival. "These are my informants who are being killed, in my city. This doesn't concern you at all."

Buffy didn't bother to stand up she learned early in her career that all the good posture in the world wouldn't give her a commanding presence. A loud voice wouldn't do the trick either. It was all in the attitude.

"This has always been my job, this will always be my job." Her voice was like ice. "And even if it wasn't, these creeps could come after Angel next because of what he is, and if you think that doesn't concern me you just haven't been paying attention." She leaned forward, her eyes steady, her body perfectly poised to spring. The temperature in the room seemed to drop at least ten degrees. "Now sit down and be quiet while we figure out a plan that will get our collective asses out of this mess alive."

Kate had taken her seat more gracefully on past occasions, but never quite so fast.

"Oh joy, more dark alleys," Buffy groused as they pulled up behind a dimly lit storage shack in the warehouse district. "How did I ever manage to miss all these lovely tourist spots when I lived in LA?"

"You weren't hanging with the right crowd." Angel scanned the dark street with his preternaturally sharp night vision, but he saw no signs of life. He nodded to his companions, prompting them to leave the relative safety of the car for the suspiciously quiet street.

"Aye, always trust an Irishman to know how to show a lady a good time," Doyle said with a flourish as he held out his arm for Buffy.

"Okay me boyos, one thing before we go in." Buffy rested a small, firm hand on each of their arms. "There will be no letting the demon out to play, either of you. Promise me."

Doyle glanced quickly at Angel before he cleared his throat and answered for both of them. "We may not have a choice, Buffy. We're both stronger in demon form."

"And you're more vulnerable," she insisted. She looked beseechingly from one man to the other, letting her gaze come to rest on her beloved. "If they know what you are, you become targets, not just obstacles. Angel, promise me. Please."

Angel regarded her somberly for a moment before leaning over to kiss her forehead. "I'll try, Buffy. That's the best I can do." His eyes told her he wanted to give her everything she ever asked for, but he wouldn't make a promise he couldn't keep.

"Ditto for me," Doyle offered, his hand raised in pledge.

Buffy glared at Angel for a moment, then abruptly turned away to face the shack. "Fine, but when you end up on the sharp end of a billy club, don't expect me to whip out the Dustbuster and clean up after you."

"Buffy…"

"Hush! They're coming!"

Buffy forgot her anger in the face of the coming battle. She watched as demon after demon filed out of the small shack, reminding her of clowns climbing out of a Volkswagen. The Bathor were not remotely clown-like, with their ridged heads and long scaly tails, but they were about to become a source of amusement for the Scourge if something wasn't done quickly.

Angel and Doyle ranged beside her, providing a united front. Buffy glanced at Angel, signaling he should be the spokesperson. He cleared his throat and prepared to say something he knew would be utterly useless. Suddenly they heard footsteps behind them, made by a large number of boot-clad feet coming ever closer.

"Oh this is just ducky," Buffy breathed. "Anyone for a game of monkey in the middle?"

Part Four

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