"What was her name?" she asked shyly. Pain flickered over his face and
  for a moment she was certain he wouldn't answer.

  "Maire," he said at last. For the first time since she had known him she
  heard the faint trace of his Irish roots in his accent. "Mary."

  "She loved you?"

  "Yes."

  "Did you remember that," she asked, "before you got your soul back?"

  "Yes." He paused. "But I didn't care."

  "So, now you remember… and care?"

  "Yes."

  "She loved you. You were a good brother."

  There was a long pause.

  "Thank you," he said softly.

  Slightly encouraged, Willow risked a little more. "You said she was the
  youngest. There were others?"

  "Two… and one brother," he added. Before she could ask him another
  question he surprisingly continued on his own. "Liam was the oldest.
  Then Sile. Then me. Then Siobhan and Maire."

  "The middle child," she murmured. "Angel? Angelus? Why isn't your name
  more…?"

  "Irish?" he smiled faintly. "I was born on September 29."

  She looked at him uncomprehendingly.

  "The Day of the Archangels," he explained. "Gabriel and Michael."

  "Oh." She paused for a moment. "Your family was Catholic?"

  "Yes," he said. "But I'm afraid that won't help me now."

  She sensed a deep sadness within him. She feared that he would close up
  again if she pursued that particular subject so she tried something a
  little safer.

  "What did your father do?"

  "He was a farmer." He talked quietly of his family, his father's fields,
  his mother's cooking, of teasing his sisters, and roughhousing with his
  brother. His accent gradually grew stronger as he recalled his distant
  childhood. Willow was mesmerized. They were nearly home before she
  realized it.

  "Angel? When is the last time you talked about your family?"

  He stared at the road thoughtfully. "I don't know. Usually I try not to
  think about them." He gave her a sideways glance. "Nobody has ever
  really asked."

  "Buffy?"

  He shook his head. "She's focused on now." His grin was bitter.
  "History really isn't her strong suit. She doesn't want to know about
  Angelus. She doesn't want to think about what I use to be."

  "Not even before you became a vampire?"

  "It's not important."

  "How can family not be important?"

  He made an odd, shrugging gesture that might have been a sigh if he could
  breathe. "Buffy tries to … avoid subjects she thinks might be …
  awkward."

  "I'm sorry," Willow said, suddenly abashed.

  "It's okay," he reassured her. "It's been… a long time. I miss them,"
  he continued, almost to himself.

  Willow touched his hand lightly as it lay on the gearshift. "Thank you
  for telling me about them."

  "Next time," he smiled, "we'll talk about your family."

  "Next time?"

  "They're playing the Ducks next Saturday. It won't be much of a game,
  but bad hockey is better than no hockey."

  She could hear the hopeful note in his voice. Does he really want to do
  this again, she wondered? "Angel?" she said slowly. "I've enjoyed all
  of this… but I still don't understand. Why are you doing it? Did you
  really just want someone to go to the game with… or… or is it just to
  make Buffy jealous?" she finished miserably. Idiot, she thought. Why
  did I say that?