Afraid to Fly
By Felicity and Serena

Disclaimer: We really really *wish* we owned them...but unfortunately we don't ::sniffle:: The songs aren't ours either. They're (in order) "You Can Still Be Free" by Savage Garden, "Creep" by Radiohead, "Truly, Madly, Deeply" by Savage Garden and "Dance With You" by Live.
Authors' Notes: Another Felicity and Serena fic! This one is more angsty and less weird than the last one (for those who read HtBMaPiEES). Basically this is Angel brooding angst, and then happy B/A-ness at the end...but lots of Angel brooding angst first. And we started this way before IWRY, so it was our very own idea!
Feedback is required!!!!!

Part One

The sunlight frightened him. Not many things did, but the sunlight was one. When your nightmares began to come true one by one, all around you, you learn to control those nightmares or you surrender to insanity. So he had learned to control the fear, in case his insanity hurt anyone else. But still, there was a truth: he was afraid of the sunlight.

Running from it for 240 years could that to a pers—well, he wasn’t—

The light inched closer and Angel’s internal struggle for words ceased as pure terror washed over him. His eyes fixed on the brightness with the dread fascination of someone watching their own death coming for them, knowing also that it wasn’t death at all, but life, and still able to feel only the fear. He wanted to run, but even that was impossible. There was nowhere to run to, except inside, where Cordelia was saying her good byes to Ryan.

Ryan.

The sunlight moved closer yet.

He was just doing his job that night, trying to atone for his sins, to drive the thought of Buffy from his mind. There has been an awful lot of vampires, but they sometimes hunted in packs and Angel thought nothing of it. He jumped into the fight. Once the vampires were gone he carried the poor man to the hospital, and waited for him to wake up.

He’d been expecting thanks. Questions maybe. What he hadn’t been expecting was the man to narrow his eyes and call him Angelus.

"What? How do you know me?" Angel demanded.

"You saved me? You brought me here?" the man asked. Angel nodded.

"That’s what I do. Save people. Now how do you know me?" he asked again. The man smile, a large, friendly smile.

"My name is Ryan," he replied, "And I’m a gypsy."

Angel nearly knocked over his chair in surprise, but agreed to meet Ryan in a few days for a thank you.

He had never imagined any Romany would thank him with his life.

So here he stood, days later, watching the sun and feeling terror that he hadn’t known in years. A different kind of fear anyway. Every day he feared that Buffy would be hurt, that he himself would hurt someone. But that was mental and emotional fear.

This was primal.

He wanted to run.

As the sun inched closer, he closed his eyes and stepped into the light. For everyone he had hurt. For all his sins. He stepped into the sun and the vampire named Angel burned into memory.

"Uncle Angel!" the little girl exclaimed affectionately, then turned to call over her shoulder. "Mum, Uncle Angelus is here!" Angelus smiled slowly, something off about the way the expression crept across his face.

"What kind of a greeting is this?" he asked in a teasing tone. "Aren’t you going to invite me in?" Colleen dimpled, looking up at her uncle with merry brown eyes that were once the echo of his. His weren’t merry anymore.

"I don’t know…" she laughed, then acquiesced and stepped away from the door. "All right Uncle, you may come in."

This time the grin was genuine. And much more frightening.

"Why thank you," Angelus purred, stepping inside the small stone house and looking around. "Thank you very much."

She didn’t even have time to scream before he showed his thanks and then walked into the next room for dinner.

"So how does it feel?" Cordelia asked, stepping up to him. Angel didn’t move, didn’t glance at her, just stared at his hands, at the sunlight on them, and waited for pain. Waited for fire.

Nothing came, only sunlight and that warm, tingly feeling he had forgotten in the last two hundred years spent without it. There were people, hundreds of people that would never feel it again. Because of him.

"Different," Angel replied softly.

"Oh, that’s good. In Cryptic Mode today, are we?" Cordelia teased softly, her eyes wide with the sight of the sunlight in Angel’s hair. It had the faintest hints of red in it that she’d never seen before. Artificial light just didn’t cut it. Angel finally glanced over and an involuntarily smile flickered across his face.

"You look good in the sun," he said softly. Cordelia grinned.

"I know. Now, if you’re done with this religious experience or whatever, can we go get something to eat? I’m hungry, and I bet you’re starving—how long has it been since you last ate?" she demanded.

"Two hundred and forty six years."

"Funny." Angel arched his eyebrows at her, and then remembered he was standing in the sun and felt the fright again. Religious experience. God, she could never understand. She could never know. No one could ever know. They all thought he had longed for the sun, missed it. In a way, he had. For many years, he had. But at some point there was a change, and the sun ceased to be a missed friend, and instead became an enemy, hunting him at every turn. When had that been? A hundred years ago? A hundred and fifty?

He would age now. He would grow old.

Angel felt elation for the first time in centuries.

"I know this great outdoor café, so you can enjoy the sun while you enjoy your food. And then you can call Buffy."

At the name, Angel’s head snapped around and he forgot about fear or aging or anything else.

Buffy.

He could be with Buffy.

He could give her everything.

Cordelia was watching him with an amused, tolerant look. "Or you could call her now." Before she finished the sentence, Angel was running inside to the pay phone in the front lobby of the apartment building, joy such as he had known only once in his life filling his soul.

Angel raced through the building to the pay phone, dodging the few people that loitered around the lobby. He pulled up short next to the phone, pausing for a moment to catch his breath.

His breath.

He was breathing.

He could be with Buffy because he was breathing.

He could give her everything because he was breathing.

Angel hastily picked up the receiver, fumbling with it as his hands shook in pure joy. He stood staring at it, knowing it was his connection to her. Well, one of them, anyway. They were connected by the sunlight now as well.

Realizing he didn't have any money on him, Angel dialed the collect number he had seen advertised on TV, complete with the girls in bikinis on the beach, early one morning. He could go to the beach. He could sit on the hot sand, with Buffy next to him, rubbing lotion on her...

A smile that could only be described accurately as giddy on his face, he quickly dialed Buffy's dorm room, stating his name when asked. There was a click and the phone began to ring, raising Angel's excitement.

"Hello?" Willow's voice greeted him, dismaying Angel a tiny bit. He had wanted to hear Buffy's voice first...

"Willow? It's Angel," he said, a note of happiness his voice had never held sticking out.

"I know, I kinda accepted the call 'cause it was you," she said with a smile. "What's up?"

Up? Everything. The sun. His spirits. His pulse. Buffy...

"Is Buffy there?" he asked.

"No," Willow said slowly. "She's...out."

"Oh," Angel said, his shoulders sagging slightly at the news. "Where is she? I really need to talk to her, it's important."

"She's out, she went to lunch with Riley," Willow told him. Angel froze.

"Who's Riley?" he asked softly, dread rapidly overpowering his joy. He had a bad feeling...

"He's a junior at school," she replied, squirming at the other end.

"Willow," Angel said with a warning tone. "Who is he and why is he out with Buffy?"

She sighed, a bad sign to Angel. He glanced around the lobby, feeling vulnerable in front of all the people. He was slowly overcoming his wariness of them, of their emotions and their needs. He had been almost as afraid of them as he had been of sunlight.

Almost.

"Riley and Buffy have been sort of...seeing each other," she said. Angel felt his stomach drop and jealousy, rage, and confusion swell up in his soul.

"Oh," he said. It was all he could say.

"Yeah. They've been going out for about a month and a half now," Willow paused. "I can have her call you back--"

"No," Angel snapped, his voice sounding strained and firm at the same time. He would not ruin her life again. She was happy with this Riley and he would not disturb her. No matter how hard it was... "Don't tell her I called. Don't tell her anything."

"But you said it was important," Willow argued hesitantly.

"It's...nothing. Don't say anything. Please, Willow," Angel said, almost pleading with her. She waited a beat, then reluctantly agreed.

"Okay, Angel, I won't tell her." "Thanks," he choked out. Yeah, thanks for nothing... "I'll...talk to you later."

"Yeah, bye," she said.

Angel hung up the phone, despair quickly filling his heart and taking over his senses. His breath was quick, a touch of hyperventilation the likes of which he hadn't experienced for two hundred years. His hand was clamped down on the black receiver, as if his mind had not yet processed what had just happened. The ex-vampire felt violently ill, stomach churning at the thought of her with someone else now that they could be together.

Instinct took over suddenly, the kind all humans are born with and the kind that was heightened from his vampire days--you had to have good instincts to survive. He knew what could kill him from fearing it for two hundred and twenty-five years, and although it could no longer hurt him, he still acted on that instinct. His subconscious whispered a command and his body reacted before he had a chance to realize what he was doing. Ripping his hand from the phone as though it was suddenly a danger to his existence, he turned on his heel, running back the way he had come. Past the happy people milling around in oblivion, on to the door that would lead to his peace.

Angel burst outside, stumbling on the steps. He fell to his knees on the unyielding pavement, his fragile body jarring as it fought gravity. He spread his arms to the sun, begging with a cry of pure anguish for it to put him out of his misery. Too late, the realization hit that it would do no good.

The sun couldn't hurt him anymore.

It would never hurt him again. As long as he remembered sunscreen, anyway.

He braced his pale hands on the pavement as he felt his heart weep. Why did this happen? After all that had happened, after all he had done and had been subjected to, after hundreds of years of murder and carnage and blood tears, he wasn't allowed the tiniest bit of joy?

But what about all the people he had killed? They would never experience anything, least of all joy, ever again. His atonement for all his sins could be in the form of a lonely life, void of love. Did he not deserve it?

She had done what he asked. Never in a thousand lifetimes did he think she would ever find the strength to do so. But because she had, he could not begrudge her her happiness. If Riley was it, he only wished her the best. He was too big of a man to hold it against her.

At least, that's what he forced himself to believe.

"Angel, we usually don't bow before the sun. That's a *little* too freaky," Cordelia said as she walked up to him. Angel barely registered her voice. "Did you get ahold of Buffy?"

"She was out," Angel replied in a sullen tone.

"Out? Man, that girl has bad timing," Cordy said as she hooked her arm under Angel's and hauled him to his feet. When her eyes met his, she took a step backwards. "What happened, Angel?"

"She was out. With Riley, her boyfriend," Angel told her. He tried to keep his voice neutral, but urgency crept in, a desperation that didn't escape Cordelia's perceptiveness in the least.

"So? What's the big? The second she finds out your beverage of choice is no longer blood, this Riley character will be gone faster than a vamp turns to dust," she said.

"She won't find out," Angel replied. Cordelia's eyes widened at the realization of his words and confusion and shock marred her pretty face.

"Angel...now is *so* not the time to be All-Righteous-Guy. Buffy needs to know this, do you have *any* idea how happy she'll be?" Cordelia asked, shaking her head in wonderment. Men could be so incredibly stupid sometimes.

"She's already happy. She doesn't need me screwing up her life yet again," Angel said as he turned his head to the waning sun. He felt nothing looking at it now. He was totally and completely numb.

"Angel, you're obviously not talking about the Buffy Summers I am. She'll be ecstatic and you know it," the brunette told him.

"She's obviously happy with Riley, that would be why she's with him right now. I refuse to ruin it for her."

"Well, if you won't tell her, I will," Cordelia stated, set to march back into the building to call. She almost knocked a businessman over in her haste. A hand snaked out, catching her forearm in a painful grip and pulling her back into the small island that had been created for them by the pedestrians. Her eyes turned to his, disturbed by the look in them. They held the look of a madman set firmly in his ways, crazy and confused and pleading all at once.

"You won't tell her, or anyone from Sunnydale, about this. No one needs to know. Got it?" he said, his voice final. There was an uneasy silence that fell over the two as Cordelia struggled with herself. She wanted to tell, she knew it would be in the best interest of them both if this was out in the open. But gazing into Angel's eyes, she knew he was doubtful. He thought Buffy didn't love him anymore, which was a bad thing. He would need to build his confidence once more before he could confront her.

"All right," she agreed reluctantly. Her brain was on a different wavelength, already scheming. He had said not to tell. He hadn't said she couldn't hint. It would be a challenge, but when did Cordelia Chase ever turn down a challenge? "I won't tell your precious Buffy your little secret. Happy?" she asked. His head inclined slightly. "Okay, we're going to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Angel, dearest, you're human now. You need to eat, especially with your high metabolism. C'mon, I know this great café--"

"I don't want to go," he said stubbornly. He didn't feel any hunger, just a bone-chilling sadness.

"That wasn't a question, it was an order. I give them from time to time, and now's one of those times. We're going and that's final." She grabbed his hand and pulled, leading him away from the building and the phone and his sanctuary.

As they walked down the street Angel's thoughts were consumed by the beautiful blond who he would never again be with.

"Sure you couldn’t eat another cow or something?" Cordelia asked, eyeing the remains of Angel’s "lunch". He frowned and glanced at the empty plates on the table. He had been hungry after all. Really, really hungry. It wasn’t like he hadn’t eaten food since he’d been a vampire…but there was something so different about it. Everything tasted twenty times as good as it had while he was a vampire. And when he paused, he could hear his stomach rubmling for more. He felt true, honest hunger for the first time in over two centuries. No more of the lust for blood that would sing in his veins. This was true. This was human.

Angel thought of all the people that would never be able to eat again because of him.

"I’m fine," he said quietly.

"Okay…well, I for one have work to do, so you want me to pick up the bill?" Cordelia asked. Angel glanced up at her, pulled out of his thoughts.

"No, I’ll get it," he replied. Cordelia frowned slightly.

"Angel, where did you get all your money anyway? You never earn any!" she exclaimed. Angel looked up and met her eyes. She had no idea how true that was.

"G-get out!" the old man stammered. Angelus smiled lazily, propping one boot up on the velvet arm of the man’s chair.

"You know, you’re getting older Monsieur. You may not have long to live," he replied in perfect French. The man trembled beneath the malevolent gaze.

"I-I’m in perfectly good health!" he asserted, his voice wavering. Angelus arched his eyebrows.

"That wasn’t what I meant." The man’s eyes went wide and he shrank back in his chair.

"Wh-what do you want from me?" the man asked in a whisper. Angelus grinned and flicked a piece of dirst off his boots, onto the perfectly pristine chair. He pushed away and looked around the beautifully appointed sitting room, with it’s Oriental carpets and it’s crystal chandeliers.

"Just one little thing…"

"I threatened an old man once, into leaving me all his money," Angel said softly, his eyes glazing with guilt as they always did.

"When you were Angelus, right?" Cordelia asked. He looked back to her and she shrugged. "Hey, I was just asking!"

"When I was Angelus. Since then I’ve invested it, and I have a lot of money now. Money which I earned through cruelty and threats," Angel whispered. He took a deep breath—looking startled afterwards—and looked back to her. "I can’t use it anymore. I can’t survive on money that shouldn’t be mine."

Cordelia laughed suddenly and Angel frowned. "Okay Angel, my parents didn’t pay their taxes for like, eighteen years, and they never had a problem using the money. Until, y’ know, the IRS took it all away…"

"That’s different," Angel said sharply, not in the mood for teasing. Cordelia shook her head.

"Not really, but if you insist…anyway, I’m sure you can get a job. You’re smart, you’re good at lots of stuff. And the being human is always a definite plus!"

"Thanks."

"No problem. And take my advice: before you decide that you simply can’t use that money, go buy some groceries. This whole having to eat thing can be a real drag sometimes," she said, putting a hand on his arm. Angel looked away, wondering how he could even live, knowing that everything he had was the result of the terror he had caused other people.

He looked back to Cordelia. "I’ll think about it."

Buffy sighed as she walked down the dorm hall to the room she shared with Willow. Riley had offered to walk her up, but she had politely declined, needing to get as far away from him as fast as she possibly could. She had just listened to him go on and on about the psych project Professor Walsh was letting him grade and how deep everyone's work had been. Some people may have found it incredibly fascinating stuff, but Buffy wasn't one of them. It took all her willpower to not fall asleep in her salad.

Rubbing a smooth hand over her eyes, she pulled her keys out of her jacket pocket and carefully inserted the correct one in the lock, turning it until she was rewarded with a satisfying click. Buffy entered and shut the door swiftly behind her, not being able to stop herself from slumping up against it and closing her eyes. God, she was tired.

"Did you have fun?" Willow asked. Buffy opened one eye, squinting at her best friend who was sitting on her bed looking a little nervous. Buffy closed her eye and led her head loll back, breathing out.

"Will, I was out on a date with Riley. Fun and Riley are polar opposites. What do you think?" she said as she pushed off from the door and walked the distance to her bed. Plopping down on the soft comforter, she kicked off her ballet flats and curled up into a ball, resting her head on her pillow. "How's the studying coming?"

"It's not, really, I just started," Willow said. Buffy nodded, her eyes straying over the papers spread out over Willow's bed. The portable phone lay nestled against one of her textbooks.

"Who called?" she asked, perking up slightly. Buffy propped herself up on her elbow, drawing her knees to her chest and fighting down a yawn. Going out with Riley always left her drained.

"N-no one," Willow said nervously. Buffy gave her a look. "What? It was...no one. One of those-those credit card people, trying to lure us freshmen in with talk of low interest and...and high credit, even though they know that we know that it's a crock to get more money and to leave us broke..."

"Are you gonna be done anytime soon?" Buffy asked with a smile. Willow's lips lifted in a half smile in return. "So, no one else called?"

"Nope. It's been quiet," she told her before turning back to her books. Buffy sighed and lifted her upper body so she could remove her light jacket, which was promptly flung onto the floor. Had she really expected anyone to?

Hiding her face from the harsh sunlight that spilled into the room from the window, Buffy pulled the blanket up from the foot of her bed. She wasn't just hiding from the sunlight--the sunlight they could never share--she was hiding from the truth as well. She had expected someone to call, she'd expected him to call. She always did, even though it resulted in coming home and having the fact that he hadn't called hit her hard every time. It was a false hope that she clung to, she was well aware of it. But it was the only hope she had.

"I think I'm gonna take a nap," Buffy announced, burrowing deep into her array of blankets and sheets. She opened her eyes to squint at Willow once more, finding her best friend staring at her, her brow furrowed in thought. Buffy opened her eyes fully to stare back at Willow. "What is it, Will? Do I have something on my face?"

Willow snapped out of her thoughts. "No...sorry, I, uh...I'm gonna go meet Oz," she said in a rush, jumping off her bed and disrupting the papers. They scattered across the floor, causing Willow to hurriedly pick them up and shove them into a pile.

"Okay, wake me and we'll go for dinner late," Buffy said as she pulled Mr. Gordo out from under her back and gripped him to her chest. She needed comfort right now and the pink pig gave her the strength she didn't possess.

Willow nodded, hesitating slightly at the door. She wanted to tell Buffy that Angel had called, that he had sounded urgent and that she should call him back to find out what was happening. But there was a seed of doubt in her mind. Maybe it hadn't been really important and Angel didn't want to bother her. Willow hated seeing Buffy get all excited and then let down when it turned out that nothing was happening. She had seen her friend suffer too much, not telling her wouldn't really hurt her. Shaking her head slightly, she threw a smile at Buffy before leaving. Buffy's lids grew heavy in a matter of moments, her mind beginning to shut down as she prepared for sleep.

That's when he came. In a swirl of silvery clouds, Angel rose in her mind's eye, standing tall and glorious and handsome. He held a single hand out to her, urging her to join him in the place they would always be together, her heart. Without hesitation she accepted, fitting her hand perfectly in his and tightening her hold on him, lest he slip away. Drawing her close to him, Angel ran a hand through her hair and leaned down to graze her cheek with his lips, his breath tickling her skin.

The dreams she had only pushed her farther away from Riley. If she hadn't been so desperate to move on she would have broken up with him long ago. She knew that he would never measure up to Angel, that he would never make her feel as loved and worshipped as Angel had. She was ultimately going to hurt him, and even with this in mind she couldn't break it off. She clung desperately to the thought that maybe if she tried hard enough, she could love Riley the way she loved Angel. Even though it was futile at best, she was so lonely and heartbroken she didn't feel anything anymore.

Buffy fell asleep, her dark Angel holding her close.

On the Caller I.D. next to the phone, the number for the pay phone Angel had used burned bright.

Part Two

She had moved on. He was human and she had moved on. She wouldn’t want him even if she knew. She had a new boyfriend, a normal life. Angel was just a shadow on her past. A shadow that she would never even glimpse the darkness of.

He knew, when Ryan had first told him his plan, that he shouldn’t. He didn’t deserve humanity, he never would. He had hurt too many people, stolen too many lives, too much innocence. He didn’t deserve to walk on the earth, much less in the sunlight, with her. Not that walking in the sunlight was a such a joy to begin with.

Angel’s stomach growled.

"Damn," he muttered, and pushed away from the wall he’d been staring at, turned away from the framed picture of her, towards the kitchen. He glanced at the bag of food Cordelia had picked out for him and reluctantly walked toward it. She said it was easy, there was no way he could mess it up. Just boil water, add the—what was it called? Ramen. Even he should be able to do it.

Though judging by Cordelia’s coffee, he probably shouldn’t be taking lessons from her.

"A pan." He needed a pan. He’d never really been one for cookware, but maybe the person who’d lived here before…Angel pulled open a drawer. Empty. He pulled open another. Empty. He hurt his arm trying to open a third. How could it be stuck? All the drawers had opened fine before!

When he was a vampire.

He was weak now, human. Why would Buffy love him?

It didn’t matter. Buffy would never know. No one was going to tell her. She would feel like she owed him something, and they would both be unhappy, and he wasn’t going to go hide behind her like a weak—a weak human. That’s what he was. A weak human that needed to eat, that had nothing to offer. All he had was money he had earned hurting others, and two hundred years of painful memories.

Savagely, Angel ripped open another drawer, and found one battered steel pot. He pulled it out and kicked the drawer shut, then slumped against the counter. What was he going to do?

He took a deep breath, marveling at his need to do that, at the feeling of air filling his now-working lungs, at the pumping of his heart, the blood flowing through his veins. He had all of this, and he still couldn’t have her. The one thing he had ever needed.

Angel filled the pot full of water and put it on the stove, realizing a few minutes later it was on the wrong burner. He moved it over and walked away to slump into a chair and stare at the table, frowning as the light faded and his sight slipped away. He had always been able to see in the dark before. Before…

He fell into brooding again, as the last light slipped away. Darkness enveloped him, as it had so many times before, so many other nights. But this night was different. Now, that darkness was not the comfort it had been. Now it hid him, true, but it hid everything away from him as well. Darkness had been his companion, his cloak. It hid him from the human world, from what he could never be part of, but allowed him to see. In the night, he saw all the things humans couldn’t, he knew the darkness.

Or he had known it, anyway.

Now he was lost in the one thing he had always been at home in. During the day, he was an outcast, but at night—and now here, he was an outcast too. He didn’t belong. Buffy had been his anchor in all worlds, and now she was gone too.

Something was burning.

Angel stood up and stumbled over a chair on the way to the wall, groping along it until he found the small table by the door, and the switch on the lamp. He blinked as the room brightened all at once, and turned back towards the kitchen.

Smoke was coming up from the pan. "Damn," he muttered, and walked over, grabbing the thing to take it to the sink. White-hot pain shot through his hand and he dropped it with a clatter as he swore again, considerably louder this time. He glared at the burnt pot laying on his kitchen floor. There were really times when one just felt like morphing into a vampire. Not that there was much he could do to a pot. He knew there was a reason he didn’t own cookware.

Angel waited for a few minutes then leaned down and gingerly poked the pot. It was cool. He picked it up and filled it up with water again, placing it back on the still-hot burner. He eyed his hand, which had a faint red line across the palm, and wondered if maybe the last occupant of the apartment had left some burn ointment. Probably not.

The water started to boil and he ripped the package open and dumped the ramen in, cursing as he saw the flavoring packet drop into the water. Gingerly he poked at it until he managed to wedge it up against the side of the pot and get it out (burning his fingers further in the process). He threw it on the counter and turned away.

Angel slumped into his chair again and stared morosely at the wall. He was a fool, a lovesick, human fool. He had killed, and he had tortured and he had mocked, and now he was paying for it all. Because as close as he had come to happiness, he would never reach it, and that was his payment. He could see joy, he could almost feel it, feel her in his arms, feel her silky hair. He could hear her voice and his memory could instantly supply the feel of her lips. But he could never have her. Not really.

He wanted to die. He could now too. It was much easier to kill a human body. But he didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve that kind of peace—or even the finality of Hell. No, he had to pay for his sins, he had to suffer on the Earth, knowing that she was within reach and never able to hold her.

It took Angel a while to realize that something was burning again. His senses were dulled considerably, and he was still getting used to being human again. It was like having a cloth draped over him—his hearing was bad, his sense of smell was considerably less developed, and the darkness stole his vision away.

But something was burning. Again.

Angel leapt up and ran to the stove. He’d forgotten about the Ramen and it was not burnt to the bottom. He let out an unintelligible shout, grabbed the handle of the pot, not caring how much he hurt himself (he deserved it anyway) and threw the damned thing into the sink.

He was hungry.

The phone lay on a nearby table. Angel grabbed it and pulled out the phone book from a nearby drawer, flipping open to the pizza section of the yellow pages and dialing the first number his eye fell on.

"Pizza for the stars," a bored voice said. There was the sound of gum popping. "How may I help you?"

The doorbell rang. Finally.

Angel nearly ripped the door off it’s hinges opening it (or he would have, had he been capable of that anymore). A slender young man in the oddest uniform Angel had ever seen stood there, watching him out of odd green-grey eyes.

"Deluxe vegetarian?" the guy asked, arching his bright red eyebrows at Angel. And this was bright red—like his hair. Definitely had a fire-engine thing going on.

Angel nodded—despite Cordelia’s crack about the cow earlier, Angel found he didn’t really want to eat meat. Something about the years of having to exist off blood. The thought of any kind of flesh just made his stomach go all nauseous. A very odd feeling when you hadn’t felt it for two hundred years.

"Twelve fifty please," the guy said. Angel pulled out his wallet, frowning slightly as he took in the symbol on the young man’s shirt. There was something…He couldn’t remember. He started to pull out the twelve fifty, and noticed a hundred dollar bill.

Well, he didn’t deserve the money. Maybe someone else did. He pulled it out and handed it to the man. "Keep the change," he said, taking the pizza and beginning to close the door. The guy stopped him.

"Uh…you just gave me a hundred bucks." Angel turned back to regard the young man, who was watching him out of suspiciously old eyes.

"I know. It’s not…Well, you deserve it a lot more than I do," he replied quietly. The young man watched him, and then nodded finally, and gave him a huge lopsided grin.

"Hey, thanks man!" Angel nodded, unable to bring himself to smile back. All he wanted was to be left alone to his misery…and to eat.

Damned as he was…he was really, really hungry.

Angel was restless. He wasn't used to being cooped up in his apartment at night, he was usually out, lurking in the shadows, saving the damsels and punishing those who preyed on the weak. It was his duty to protect them, to atone for his sins by helping others in need, like himself. But while they could be saved, he couldn't be. The one person who could truly save him was out of his life forever.

He wasn't used to being confined.

He felt like a caged animal, pacing in his prison. Well, he was sitting down, but it felt like he was burning a hole in the carpet. Angel needed to get out, he needed to feel the darkness he was so used to but would never again be a part of. He felt at home in the shadows of the street, and he needed a familiarity right now. His life had drastically changed and he craved something that reminded him of what he wasn't anymore.

Angel launched himself out of his easy chair, grabbing his long coat from the rack beside the door and leaving the safety of his apartment for the unknown dangers of night.

He exited the building quickly, his hands instinctively moving to his pockets, where they rested comfortably. He took a deep breath to calm himself as he walked briskly down the street, his mouth turning downward at the foul stench he inhaled.

"L.A. air, gotta love all that smog," he said to no one in particular. He passed a strip club, where loud music vibrated from. His senses were poor, he couldn't see what the shadows hide, he couldn't hear the faintest footsteps, he couldn't smell the rancid odor most vampires gave off--somehow they thought that being dead allowed them to stop bathing. Angel had spent some time with vampires like them, which was probably why he showered daily and had been eternally grateful when deodorant had been introduced to mankind.

A scream rang through the night, piercing the organized chaos of Los Angeles' nightlife. Angel's head whipped around to the source, a darkened alley on the other side of the street. Turning in mid-stride, he raced across the street, narrowly missing being hit by a car that whizzed by. Angel was intent on his destination and didn't even realize, didn't even consider how close he had come to having his humanity ripped from him once more. He skidded on the pavement as he raced down the alley to the source of the scream.

Angel came upon the vampire and his victim, a young blond who reminded him of Buffy. Buffy... Angel shook his head, clearing all thoughts of the Slayer from his mind. He was doing this for her.

He did everything for her.

Angel locked eyes with the terrified girl, who whimpered as her lifeblood was slowly sucked out of her. Angel placed his hands on the jacket of the vampire, tugging as hard as he could.

The vampire didn't budge.

Angel frowned. What the hell was going on? He should have been able to... Should have. He didn't have his strength anymore. His chain of thought was abruptly cut off by a growl that sounded from deep in the vampire's throat. He had let go of his victim, who slumped against the dirty wall, clutching her neck feebly to stop the flow of blood. Angel growled in return, the sound not as threatening as it had once been.

"Angelus...what the hell happened to you?" the vampire asked. "You reek of humanity, you have a pulse..."

"Aren't we the smart one," Angel retorted as he threw a punch at the demon's head, wincing as flesh connected with flesh. The vampire barely flinched.

"Is that all you've got?" he taunted. Angel made a face and punched again, using all his anger and frustration and Buffy-missage to add to the force with which he delivered the punch. The vamp laughed in Angel's face as he punched back.

Angel's head snapped back as hot pain shot through his jaw. He brought his hand up to his lip, pulling it away and finding it sticky with warm blood. A knee came up, sending a sharp pain through his stomach. The vampire kicked him hard in the shin, ducking easily out of the way when Angel tried to retaliate. He grabbed the ex-vampire's arm, twisting it around to the point where it nearly snapped under the pressure. Angel let out a yelp and twisted with his arm, stamping on the vamp's foot and stepping out of the way. The demon snarled and stalked towards Angel, sending a punch to his jaw that caused Angel's already-split lip to open wider, spilling warm blood down Angel's chin and smooth pale neck. Before he knew it, Angel was on the ground, his body being thrown around and beaten up. His entire body ached, his arm felt broken, as did several of his ribs. He was bleeding and he did nothing else to defend himself. Did he not deserve this? He had done so many things, things more horrid and imaginative, to hundreds of people.

He deserved every pain that was now being inflicted on him.

When he was near unconsciousness, the vampire sneered at him and grabbed his blond, vanishing into the night. Angel closed his eyes and breathed in slowly, his lungs burning as he fought to breathe out again. His body was on fire, blood soaking through his clothing and pooling beneath him. A face rose up in his mind's eye through the numbing pain, a beautiful angelic face that had always haunted him. How he wished he could be worthy to be with her again...

Angel felt himself slipping, felt his grip on life diminishing with each passing moment. Through all his pain, Buffy's face burned bright in his face.

"Buffy..." he rasped out. And suddenly she appeared, like an angel sent down from heaven to bring him home. He grappled at the pavement, trying to pull himself up to greet her, to kneel before her like a peasant and pay worship to her beauty.

"Dude, don't move," Buffy said. But it wasn't Buffy's voice, it was a masculine voice and it came from Buffy's body...but it wasn't Buffy's body either. Angel squinted, his vision blurry, trying to make out the figure before. "You're pretty banged up."

"Buffy?" Angel asked, his voice a whisper as the name burned in his throat. The person shook his head.

"Who's Buffy?" Angel took several shallow breaths, feeling lightheaded and extremely weak. "Okay, you...stay there. I'm gonna call an ambulance."

"It's not like I can go anywhere..." Angel said softly, shifting to make himself more comfortable. He was in so much pain...and she wasn't there for him. She was with Riley. And he could be with her instead. He could give her everything she deserved, and yet he was lying in a dirty alley, slowly dying while she was in Sunnydale two hours away living her life to the fullest extent with her new boyfriend. Someone who was worthy of her love...

"Forgive me..." Angel whispered as darkness engulfed him.

A slow beeping pushed through the fog in his mind. Angel felt as though he was floating on in the air...and yet, it felt as though he was sinking. There was nothing, nothing around but darkness and pain and longing--longing for what he had once had and would never have again. Longing for what he had given up. He had failed her...

And yet he hadn't. Angel had died before, he knew what it was like. There had been the white light and everything...and now there was nothing but a cold black night that surrounded him. Struggling to overcome it, to leave the darkness he was forever trapped in without her love, Angel opened his eyes slowly, blinking rapidly as he adjusted to the bright light. He tried to bring a hand up to cover his eyes but was instead rewarded with a sharp pain shooting up his entire arm. He winced, cursing softly as his vision swam before it steadied.

"You're awake," a voice said next to him. Angel turned his head slowly, staring into a familiar face.

"Pizza guy?" Angel asked. His throat was scratchy, and those soft beeping noises were driving him crazy. Angel wanted to rip the machine out of the wall. Not that he could, he was weak now. The guy laughed, bringing Angel back to the present.

"That'd be me. I found you after you were mugged," he said, brushing back his red hair.

"Mugged?" Angel repeated.

"Yeah, you were lying in that dark alley bleeding to death...and after that tip you gave me, I figured the least I could do was stop you from dying in the middle of the street," he replied. Angel knitted his brows and laid back into the pillows, his body throbbing in intense pain. He tried to shift slightly but he quickly stopped when his head spun and he felt violently ill. Almost as ill as he had felt when he heard Buffy had a boyfriend... Being human sucked.

"Thank you," Angel said simply.

"Don't mention it," he said, flashing a brilliant smile. "The doctor said they'll be able to release you in the morning, they wanted to keep you overnight to do some tests or something."

Tests...now that sounded fun. Angel struggled to sit up once more, his face contorting in pain as his body flexed sore muscles and unclosed cuts. He ripped the IV from his hand and looked around for his clothes.

"Dude, what're you doing?" the red head asked. Angel glared at him as he sat up fully in bed, ignoring the mind-numbing pain. He deserved it, afterall. The least he could do was take it like a man.

"Admiring the view," Angel said sarcastically, gesturing to the closed window. "What the hell do you think?"

"You can't leave, you look like you're gonna keel over again," he protested, rising out of the uncomfortable hospital chair and grabbing the hospital gown Angel wore gently. "Just rest, I'll go get one of those guys with the white coats."

"No. I need to go," Angel said stubbornly. He swung his legs around to the side of the bed and, careful to hold the back of the gown closed, stood up. His legs felt like jelly, and it took all the strength he did-- and didn't--posses to not fall to his knees on the cold floor. His head felt like there was someone with a jackhammer in it, enjoying inflicting the torture on him. He paused, allowing the wave of dizziness and nausea to pass before taking a hesitant step. His muscles screamed in protest and his breath was short, but he made it over to the chair where his clothes were soon enough.

Angel was buttoning his pants when a dark-haired woman walked into the room. She was examining a clipboard and didn't see that her patient was not in bed behaving like a good boy when she first entered.

"So...Angel. How are we..." she trailed off when she looked up and saw the empty bed. Quickly scanning the room, she saw a half-naked Angel quickly pulling on his bloody shirt. He hated hospitals. The knowledge that he had lived off the blood they received for years made him feel queasy and the sooner he got out of there, the better. The doctor raised a skeptical brow at the ex-vampire. "And just where do you think you're going?"

"Home," Angel replied.

"Angel, you're in no condition to go anywhere but back to that uncomfortable bed," she said firmly. Angel shook his head and pulled on his jacket, wincing as he reopened a closed cut on his stomach.

"I'm fine."

The doctor smiled wryly. "Aren't we a man of many words." The smile disappeared from her red lips. "Angel, I'm sorry, but you have to stay overnight."

"Look," Angel said, his tone short and harsh. "I'm not staying in this hospital. Either you can let me out or I'll break out. It's your choice."

She crossed her arms over her chest, her gaze holding his. The pizza guy looked back and forth between the two, watching them bicker. He fought down a smile, why was this Angel guy being so stubborn anyway?

Finally she sighed. "All right," she grumbled. "I'll let you go, Angel. But only because you look incredibly hot in that jacket." She smiled and quickly filled out a few papers. Ripping them from her clipboard, she shook his hand after handing them over. "I hope I never see you again."

"Likewise," Angel said, taking the papers. He started towards the door but stopped, looking over his shoulder at the red-haired young man. Raising his eyebrow, he said, "You coming?" The guy nodded after a moment and fell into step behind Angel.

The doctor watched them walk down the stark hallway and sighed. "Why are the cute ones always gay?"

Angel was silent as they reached the nurse's station. He handed the forms over and leaned comfortably against the counter--or as comfortably as he could when he felt as though he would faint from the pain. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his wallet and removed five hundred dollar bills.

"Here," Angel said. "Thanks for what you did, I appreciate it." His dark eyes met the green eyes of the delivery boy, which were wide with shock. When he made no move to take the money, Angel pressed it into his hands.

"I though you got mugged--"

Angel shook his head. "It was an old...enemy," Angel said shortly.

"I can't take this, man. It's no big deal, just doing my citizenly duty. Keep the money," he replied. Angel was interrupted by a nurse shoving a clipboard under his arm, indicating where he should sign. He quickly did as instructed and handed it back to her, forcing himself to look away when he realized she looked like Buffy. He wondered what Riley looked like...

"I don't want it," Angel told him. He closed the guy's hand around the money. "And you probably need it more than I do."

"Yeah, this'll cover me for next month's rent. Thanks a lot, dude," he replied reluctantly, tucking the money carefully into his back pocket. Angel nodded and reached out his hand, gripping the other man's in his own.

"I'm sure you'll be seeing me again, I'm not the best cook in the world." With those words, Angel moved away, trying to be as stealthy as possible. Without his vampire strength and the air of mystery that had always surrounded him, he looked rather foolish. He was normal now, just like everyone else. Wincing at the pain that throbbed through his aching body, he stepped into the elevator, ignoring the nurse's calls telling him he had forgotten his prescription.

He didn't deserve relief from the pain.

He didn't deserve anything anymore.

Part Three

"Oh no, this place doesn’t look gloomy," Cordelia muttered, walking into Angel’s apartment. "Angel?"

There was no response. She shook her head and walked over to open the windows. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the living room. Cordelia set down the flowers she’d brought on the table and walked into the kitchen, eyeing the dissaray with raised eyebrows.

"What did you do in here?" she called. She poked at the dingy pot, complete with black, burnt on something-or-other. "Even I was never this bad."

Still nothing from the bedroom.

"Honesty Angel, you can’t even cook ramen? What have you been doing for the last two hundred years?" She left the kitchen and drew open the curtains to another window. "Angel? Are you moping again?" She sighed and walked to his bedroom door. "I’m coming in, so you better be dressed!" She opened the door. And stopped. Because lying in bed, his face contorted in pain, was Angel. Or what was left of him anyway.

"Oh my god! What happened?!" Cordelia cried, running over to the bed. Angel opened his bloodshot eyes and tried to smooth away the pain on his face.

"Nothing. I’m-I’m fine," he rasped. She eyed him in disbelief.

"Fine? Fine?! Angel, you look terrible. I mean…your face is all swollen up!"

It was true. Angel had two black eyes, as well as bruises all over his cheeks and a split lip. On of his ribs was broken. His entire body felt like it had been run over by a semi-truck.

He hadn’t felt pain like this in over two hundred and forty years. Even in Hell, even being tortured—he had been strong, and he had healed. This…this just kept hurting.

"Okay, tell me what happened! Now!"

"It was a vampire," Angel whispered through his bruised throat.

"But how did he get in? I mean, now that your alive your house is off limits, right?" Angel tried to nod and stopped, laying back on the pillows.

"It is, but I–I went patrolling. He was attacking a girl, I—"

"You what?" Angel stopped, and looked up at her with dark, dark eyes in his bruised face.

"I—"

"I heard what you did. Talk about idiotic! Angel, did you miss the whole ‘human’ thing? You’ve now been reduced to our level. So you can get hurt, and no more super-strength. Why did you go out?"

"I had to…to get out. It’s my duty to help. I have to atone for my sins—"

"Oh, yeah, your sins. Almost forgot about those," Cordelia muttered in a sarcastic voice. "Speaking of sins, it’s nearly sinful not to call Buffy! She would completely freak if she found out you were human. And she’s going to kill me for not telling her right away…"

Angel’s eyes widened with alarm and he sat up, grabbing Cordelia’s wrist, his whole body wincing at the pain. "You can’t tell her! Ever! She will never know Cordelia. Promise me." Cordelia’s mouth thinned and she pulled away easily.

"I already promisd. But I still think it’s stupid. Now…you promise me you’re not going to do anything else stupid, like go looking for vampires again," Cordelia said sternly, eyeing him like a wayward child. He flopped back onto the bed.

"I promise," he said hollowly, his voice empty of everything, even the pain. Cordelia smiled brightly, pretending not to notice.

"Good then. Okay, I saw the mess you made of dinner last night. We’re going to have to work on that. And a job. Obviously you can’t be detective-guy anymore, since you can’t fight, and if you don’t want to spend your money, you’ll have to get a real job. I’m thinking waiter. If you hadn’t gotten yourself beat up, you could have gotten a job as a model, but we’ll have to wait and see…what do you do?" Angel barely shrugged in response, staring off into space.

"Hmm. You could work in a history museum or something. I mean, you kinda lived through it, right? Or maybe a library. You could be a dusty old librarian guy," Cordelia mused. She glanced uneasily at Angel, who had a blank sheen to his eyes.

"Did I mention that you should call Buffy?" she asked. His eyes snapped back to reality, and to her.

"Not another word," he growled (though his growl wasn’t nearly as impressive anymore). Cordelia shrugged.

"Okay. Well what do you think? About the job thing?" Cordelia stood up from her seat by the side of the bed and opened a window nearby. Angel flinched away from the light and Cordelia frowned momentarily, wondering what that was about.

"I don’t know," Angel murmured, his eyes fixed on the spill of sunlight through the window. Cordelia sighed.

"Well cooking then. First rule: don’t let things burn. It’s not actually that hard, you just have to stop getting lost in contemplation of Buffy, whom you should call, by the way."

Angel glared.

"I’m not—"

"Whatever Angel. So watch what you’re cooking. Stir it. And turn the heat down when you put the ramen in. And you really need some better pots! I mean, disgusting much? I know I wasn’t very good, but you like don’t own any dishes, do you?"

"I have some cups," Angel muttered.

"Oh. Great. Buffy would have a fit. You know she likes to cook, right? She’d make you food…"

"Shurt up Cordelia! I don’t need your help, I don’t need anything! Just leave me alone!" Angel shouted, despite the obvious pain of the exertion.

Cordelia’s face went white. She eyed him for a long moment and then turned on her heel.

"Fine. It’s obvious you’re going to be Brooding Guy whether I try and help or not, so I’ll come back when you’ve gotten over yourself," she muttered, picking up her purse. She glanced at the vase of flowers on the table, then left them there. She paused by the door. "I hope you feel better Angel," she called.

There was no answer from the bedroom. Cordelia opened the door and walked out, and Angel was left alone again with his memories, his pain, and all his sins.

Angel stared down at the materials sprawled out on his counter. Pots, pans, a tea kettle, plates, bowls, and silverware. Cordelia had dragged him to the store, making him spend more of the money he didn't deserve to buy cooking ware. It had been hell shopping with her, and he had been extremely thankful when it had ended. Picking out a silverware pattern with Cordelia was not a fun time.

Angel sighed, picking up the piece of looseleaf paper that sat next to all the new kitchenware. He looked over Cordelia's careful script. She had insisted on writing out directions for him on how to cook spaghetti, complete with small illustrations.

"I'm not four, Cordelia. I can read just fine, thank you," Angel had said.

"Angel, honey, you'll need them. Trust me on this one, you'll be thankful you have those pictures," she had retorted. Angel looked closer at the diagrams, snaking his head when he couldn't decipher the meaning of them. Picking up the smallest pot, he brought it over to the sink and filled it halfway with water, per Cordy's instructions. He set it on the stove and turned the burner on, images from the last time he had tried to cook flashing through his mind.

He left the water alone to boil and turned away from the stove, putting a hand to his head. He was still in immense pain and it had been nearly a week. The whole human thing was starting to lose its appeal...

Angel occupied himself with putting the newly-purchased items away in the cupboard. He had a crowbar with him this time, just in case the drawers decided to give him trouble. Cordelia had taken the liberty of lining the shelves with paper beforehand, so Angel just gingerly placed the pots and pans in and closed the doors. The kitchen seemed so bare, he had never used anything but the fridge and the sink before. There was nothing that brightened up the room, no little trinkets that usually made a kitchen seem homier.

It didn't feel like much of a home without her.

Angel closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing all thoughts of Buffy from his mind. He picked up the silverware tray that Cordelia had persuaded him to buy, claiming he couldn't keep his forks and knifes all jumbled.

The sound of water boiling over caught Angel's attention. He turned back to the stove in fear, cursing when he saw the water overflowing. He moved to the stove, scooping up the oven mitten he had gotten as he went. He turned the stove off and removed the pot, watching the water carefully so it didn't spill over. His arm trembled under the weight, still sore from the fight. He waited until the water had gone back down to its normal level before replacing it on the burner and picking up the package of spaghetti. He turned the stove back on and ripped the package open, pouring the entire thing into the pot. He picked up Cordelia's instructions and laughed despite himself. In big letters she had written 'DO NOT BROOD WHILE COOKING.'

Angel resumed his organizing, putting the forks, knifes, and spoons in the tray and opening a drawer next to the sink to put them in. The silverware suddenly clattered to the floor as he caught a glimpse of what was in the drawer.

A shaking hand reached into the drawer and withdrew a faded picture. Tears sprung unexpectedly to Angel's eyes as he gazed at the smiling face before him, the picture of innocence. He brushed them away as he became lost in Buffy's face, her bright eyes, her beautiful grin. She looked so young, so happy.

He had forgotten that he had hid the picture in the drawer, he had done it when he had first moved into the apartment. He only had two pictures of her, this one and the one they had had taken at the prom. The prom one he hadn't been able to part with; it was in the nightstand next to his bed. But this one, he had put in the drawer, knowing he'd never have to open it. It had been a test, and he had been passing until that moment. His fingertips grazed her face as he stared at it in wonder, time slipping away as he became lost in her gaze, her youth.

Angel lost track of the time. He was too caught up in the past, all the memories they had made...all the memories they hadn't. He missed her beyond comprehension, beyond thought and reason. And she didn't want him anymore...

Angel suddenly remembered the spaghetti boiling on the stove. Placing the picture face-down on the counter, he walked over to it, thankful there was no black smoke coming from the pot. He picked up a fork and poked the spaghetti, which was sticking to the sides of the pot. It was clumped together on one side and didn't look right. He picked up the directions and shrugged, looking for the thing to drain the pasta with. He picked it up and looked at the object doubtfully before placing it in the sink and getting the pot. He poured the water and clumpy spaghetti into the strainer and set the pot aside, poking the pasta uncertainly with his fork once more.

When the pasta stayed clumped together, Angel growled and suddenly threw the strainer across the kitchen. The spaghetti splattered on the wall and clung to it for dear life. Angel sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes before walking over to the phone. The number for the pizza place was taped onto the phone and he carefully punched it in.

Twenty minutes later the doorbell rang. Angel stood up from the chair he had been brooding in for the time being and answered it with money in hand.

"Guess you weren't kidding when you said you couldn't cook," the delivery boy said with a smile on his face. Angel chuckled.

"I never lie."

"So, that'll be twelve fifty, sir," he said. Angel handed him a fifty.

"The name's Angel," he said as he passed over the money.

"Cameryn," the red head replied. Angel's eyebrows shot up.

"Crooked nose?" he asked, his Gaelic background reminding him of the old word. Cameryn started.

"Wow, you know Gaelic?" he asked.

Angel smiled slightly. "My mom made me learn it," Angel said. Well, it was true...

"Yeah, it's my parents' idea of a sick joke," he replied.

"Try growing up with the name 'Angel' and then we'll talk about sick jokes," he laughed. Cameryn smiled and handed the pizza box and Angel's change over. Angel pulled out a twenty and gave it to him. "Thanks."

"Man, what's up with you and giving away money?" Cameryn asked as he slipped the bill into his pocket. Angel sighed.

"I don't want it," he told him with a shrug. Cameryn looked over Angel's shoulder into the dark apartment.

"That's some cheerful place you got there," he joked. Angel nodded.

"I like things dark," Angel deadpanned. Cameryn's eyebrows shot up.

"Pretty girl," he said, tossing his head in the direction of the framed picture that sat on the table next to Angel's chair. It was the one from Angel's bedroom, taken on the night of the prom; something had made him go into his room and get it. Buffy had wrapped Angel's arms tight around her waist and had leaned into his chest heavily, as though she would never let him go. Angel had put his head close to the side of hers and rested his cheek on her blond hair, nuzzling the silken strands softly. They looked so happy in the picture, a facade of the anguish both had been feeling.

"That's my wife," Angel whispered without thinking. As soon as the words escaped his mouth, he regretted them. What was he thinking? Well, they were technically married by old Irish tradition. But that was over with... Yet it sounded so right, coming from his lips. His wife, his beautiful wife...

"Wow," Cameryn breathed. "I take it she can't cook either?"

"She's not here," Angel said tightly. "We aren't together anymore."

Cameryn sighed and held up his hand. "Look, man, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything--"

"No," Angel said reassuringly, "it's okay. It's just...hard."

"Well, look. I'm sure you'll be okay. It's hard, y'know?" Cameryn said, as though he knew what he was talking about. "But you go on. That's the only thing you can do. It hurts, I know, but you deal. And it'll get easier, dude, someday. You just gotta be willing to let go."

Angel was silent for a long minute. That's what he was doing now. Letting go. Willingly letting go. Letting her be free to move on with her life...even though he could be with her now, could truly be with her. Even though it hurt more than he could bear...

"Yeah," Angel said, averting his eyes. Cameryn made a noise in the back of his throat and picked an imaginary piece of lint off his uniform, causing Angel to look once more at the name stitched on his chest. He had heard of it before, hadn't he? He couldn't place it, though, just like the other night.

"Well, I have to go, I have more pizzas to deliver and if I don't get there in the next five minutes they come out of my paycheck," he said. Angel nodded and snapped out of his trance. He lifted the pizza box slightly.

"Thanks," Angel said.

"See you around," Cameryn said as he stuck his hand out. Angel shook it and closed the door, bringing the pizza into the kitchen, passing by the picture on the table on the way. He set the box on the table and stood in the kitchen for a moment before striding back into the living room and picking up the frame, crushing it to his chest. Along with the picture from the counter, he picked up a plate and went back to the table. He took a seat and opened the box hungrily, taking a piece with oozing cheese out and sliding it onto his plate.

As he brought the food to his lips, his gaze strayed to his beautiful love, reminding him of what he could have--food--and what he couldn't--Buffy.

Night had fallen. Vampires would be roaming the streets, demons attacking innocent humans—humans Angel should be helping.

He put on his jacket and left his apartment.

He got two steps before it started to hurt.

He got to the elevator before it became hard to walk.

He was almost to the first floor before it became hard to breathe.

He was almost to the door of the lobby when he collapsed.

His hands hit the floor before he did, jarring his broken rib and sending pain shooting through his bruised body. He put his head down to the floor and took deep breaths, hating the body that had trapped him, hating the pain that only proved to him he could not be what anyone needed, he could not help anyone, least of all himself.

He had spent so many years dreaming of being human again, and when it happened, all he could think of were the things he’d lost.

All he could think of was her.

"I’m pathetic," he told himself, pushing himself slowly to his feet. He stared at the door, but didn’t go out it, turned around and limped back to the elevator instead.

Maybe Cordelia was right, he thought as he went back down. Maybe he should call Buffy. God knows he wanted to. It was the only thing he wanted. He almost laughed at himself for that. He was human, and he couldn’t think of anything else he wanted? How many times had he not let himself dream of this? He’d never believed it would happen. Before Buffy—he hadn’t cared about anything really, least of all dreams he knew would never come true. And after—she was the only thing he really wanted. When he dreamed of being human, it was with her. Starting over with her.

He could call her. It would be so easy. For him anyway.

The elevator stopped and he limped back into his apartment and collapsed on the couch. He couldn’t ruin what happiness she had found for herself. She had moved on. She was in college now. She had started over, with a new boyfriend. She didn’t need him and she wouldn’t want him. Or she would say she did, because she felt loyalty, but it wouldn’t be true. If he called her now he would never know if she really wanted him back in her life or if she just couldn’t turn him away.

Neither of them deserved that.

Angel didn’t deserve her. He’d made her life miserable for years, and given her nothing except a ring and empty promises. He wouldn’t hurt her again, not for the world. Once was far too many times already.

"Hey lover," he purred, leaning against the alley wall. He could see her entire form stiffen before she turned to face him.

"Angel. What do you want?" she demanded. He smiled viciously.

"I just thought I’d see how things were going. You know, if Willow got new fish. How Giles is taking his little bereavement. Oh, and let him know that he can come and see me any time. I’m always ready for a little heart to heart," Angelus laughed. Buffy glared at him.

"Stay away from Giles," she warned.

"Or what?" he asked, cocking his head at her, "You’ll spank me?"

"I’ll kill you!" she cried. He threw back his head and laughed, a chilling sound.

"Right. I’ll put it on my calendar. Tuesday sound good to you?" A second later he had her pushed up against the alley wall, her arms pinned. She glared at him. He smiled and leaned down to kiss her softly, imitating Angel. He body relaxed and he took immediate advantage, turning the kiss vicious. She pushed him away hard and he let her, laughing. Her eyes glimmered with tears under the street lights, making his cruel grin broaden.

"I’ll see ya round Buff," he laughed, lifting a hand and walking backwards into the darkness he came from.

Part Four

Cordelia scowled as she stepped into Angel's dark apartment. He still seemed to love the dark--a little TOO much, as far as she was concerned. The blinds were closed and the curtains were drawn, almost as if he was afraid that one ray of sunlight would kill him... Cordelia got that he still was uncomfortable with the whole human thing, but it was getting a little old. He brooded and moped and refused to call Buffy and didn't want to take the medicine that would help him heal faster. He seemed to be clinging to the brooding side of life a little too much.

But he was impossible. Angel refused to go out anywhere, he didn't want to meet people. All he wanted to do was stare at the pictures of Buffy that he
had and whine about how he wasn't good enough for her and how he wouldn't ruin her happy little life. If Cordelia heard that excuse one more time she was gonna scream...

As suspected, she found him lounging in his bedroom, the shades drawn and the only available light coming off the few candles that were burning around the room. She had thought that nothing would be worse than a brooding vampire. She had been wrong.

A brooding human was a hell of a lot worse. Especially since he had honed his skills so well...

"You know, it's a miracle I don't need anti-depressants because of you," she said, crossing the room and throwing the shades open quickly. Angel flinched away from the light once more and Cordelia rolled her eyes. "It's not gonna hurt you, Angel. The sun is your friend now. As long as you remember your SPF 15."

Angel ignored her as he stood up and moved cautiously in the shadows, dodging the patches of light until he stood in front of the window. Peering out, he observed the people down there. He was like them now...only not. Cordelia would never understand what he was going through, there was no way she could.

"Aren't we in a talkative mood today," she remarked, scrutinizing Angel's back. He still had a bandage around his ribs and she could see that the bruises he had sustained were fading. His tattoo stood out, contrasting sharply with the paleness of his skin. "Did you do that, or did Angelus?" she asked quietly.

Angel turned around as though he only realized she was there at that moment. "Do what?"

"That tattoo. Was it your idea or one of your demon's genius ones?" Cordelia asked, walking over to him and crossing her arms over her chest.

"The demon. He was possessive, he needed to show that he owned my body," Angel said quietly. Cordelia's eyes grew round, she couldn't believe Angel had just told her that. He usually was Secret Guy.

"So he etched ink into your skin as a male pride thing?" she asked. Angel's lips curled upward in a half-smile.

"That's what it comes down to, yeah," he said, turning back to the window. Cordelia suddenly remembered why she had stopped by and handed a rolled up
newspaper to him. He looked at it disdainfully and then turned his gaze back to Cordelia. "You want me to read more?"

She groaned and shook her head. "No, God Angel, you do that enough. I was looking for some jobs for you because I was bored and had nothing to do. Now," she said, turning the paper over to show Angel her handiwork, "I circled a bunch of jobs that you would be interested in. The modeling thing is out for now, I'm sure they'd love you but with the bruises your little crusade produced we'll have to wait on that. But there are some old, stuffy jobs at a museum and an art gallery and even a waiter one. You make good money, although the hours suck and it kills the social life...that you don't have."

Angel continued to stare out the window. "A job, huh?" he said quietly, mulling it over. Maybe it would do good to get out of the apartment, that way he wouldn't have to feel guilty every time he paid a bill...

But he wasn't like the people he would be around. They made him nervous, and they made him realize how truly different from them he was. Sure, he breathed the same air that they did, ate the same things as them. But he had seen so much, and done so much...he felt oddly out of place among them. He had nothing in common with anyone...no one but Buffy. She would know what he was going through, she would be her kind and empathetic self and reassure him and shower him with her undying love and affection.

But he didn't have her to lean on, he didn't have her to hold him and tell him it would be all right. He was alone and it was his own damn fault. All he had to do was pick up the phone and dial...

"Ugh, you have Buffy-Face again," Cordelia said with a grimace. "I'll leave you alone with your brooding thoughts. Just try to keep the curtains open, okay? Maybe go for a brooding walk or something, you know, so you can be all mopey and still get some air...I'm going to go before you depress me too much."

"Thanks, Cordelia," Angel said softly, his gaze suddenly burning into hers.

"It's just a paper, Angel, you can pay me back the seventy-five cents or whatever," she said with a shrug. The dark-haired ex-vampire shook his head.

"No,I mean...thanks for looking out for me. Thanks for caring," Angel said with a small smile. Cordelia averted her gaze and blushed slightly.

"You're welcome. I mean, you still ARE my boss. And I won't give up on you until you call Buffy..." she said with a smile. Angel's warning look made her sigh. "Okay, I won't say the B-word. Call me later and we'll go out for dinner, I know how good of a cook you are."

"Actually, I'm getting pizza. You want to stay?" Angel asked, setting the paper down in the chair next to the window. Cordelia shook her head.

"I have an audition in two hours and I can't eat anything. I don't want to look all fat and gross for it," she said.

"Cordelia, you couldn't look fat if you tried," Angel said with a smirk.

She gaped at him. "Angel, was that an actual compliment? I didn't know you had it in you anymore," she teased. Angel cracked a smile.

"From time to time I can be charming," he told her. She gave him an incredulous look.

"Okay, well, try no to be charming while I'm gone. Unless you call Buffy--which you should, by the way--then you could be as charming as those cute little eighteenth century manners will allow you to be." Angel's smile disappeared and Cordelia decided that was the best time to make her exit.

"Adios, Brood Boy," she called over her shoulder as she sailed out of the apartment, returning it to the dreary state its owner seemed to love so much. "He really needs a dog or something," she murmured as she waited impatiently for the elevator. The doors opened with a ding to reveal a red-haired guy in a delivery uniform holding a pizza.

"Cameryn?" she guessed, reading the name on his name tag. Cameryn looked up at her in surprise.

"Do I know you?" he asked, his eyes sweeping appreciatively over her body. She preened a bit for him before getting back to business. She reached out and held the elevator doors open.

"No, but we both know Angel. He told me you were the one who saved him that night," she said as he stepped out of the elevator. Cameryn nodded, realization suddenly dawning on his face.

"Angel, right. He must be *really* bad at cooking, he's been ordering pizzas every night!" Cameryn said with a laugh. "Plus the guy loves to tip, which is a major plus..."

Cordelia smiled. "Yeah, that sounds like Brood Boy. Moping around in his dark apartment, thinking about his beloved Buffy--who he should call, by the way. You should mention that to him."

Cameryn's brow furrowed slightly as he ran a hand through his red hair. "His wife?" he asked. Cordelia was startled for a moment.

"Yeah, I guess she was. They exchanged those rings and the proper body fluids, so yeah, she's technically his wife."

"Well, I'll be sure to mention it," Cameryn said. "It was nice to meet you..."

"Cordelia," she supplied, holding out her manicured hand. Cameryn surprised her by bending over and kissing the back of it softly. "Cordelia Chase."

"Well, Cordelia, it was a pleasure making your acquaintance. I hope I get to see more of you in the future," he said with a grin. She found herself smiling back, oddly touched by his gesture. She withdrew her hand from his gentle grip and took a step back.

"Likewise, Cameryn," she said, stepping into the elevator. The doors closed and suddenly she was moving, down to the second floor where her apartment was. Getting off the elevator, she quickly walked to her door and pulled her key ring out of her pocket. With a twist of the knob, she was in, closing the door behind her.

Walking over to the phone, she quickly flipped through her address book to the 'R' section, finding Rosenberg easily. Picking up the cordless phone on the end table, she quickly dialed the number. If Angel wasn't willing to call Buffy, the least she could do was call Willow and find out how the Slay Gal herself was. He had never said she couldn't play Secret Agent Cordy Woman...

"Hello?" Willow said as she picked up the phone. Cordelia resisted the urge to roll her eyes, even when they were just on the phone Willow annoyed her. There certainly was no love lost there...

"Willow? It's Cordelia Chase," she said smoothly. Willow gasped.

"Cordy? Wow, I haven't heard from you in ages. What's up?" Willow asked, her voice laced with excitement.

"Oh, nothing really. My career seems to be taking right off, my agent thinks I'll land a movie within the next six months," Cordelia preened. Okay, so it was a bit of a lie, her agent had actually said six years...but Willow didn't need to know that.

"That's great!" Willow said, the initial shock wearing off. She knew Cordelia just wouldn't call to chat about nothing, the brunette was up to something...

"Yeah, it is. I'm so proud of myself," Cordelia said happily, plopping down on her deep-purple couch. "How's the gang?"

"Well, Xander and Anya are together, Oz is good, and Giles is...well, he's the same," she replied. Cordelia waited, and, realizing Willow wasn't about to mention Buffy, decided to bring up the topic.

"And our lovely little Slayer? How's she holding up?" Cordelia asked, trying to sound as nonchalant as she could. Willow was thankful she was such a horrible actress, she could tell immediately that something was up...

But what did she tell her? Cordelia could tell Angel everything that she said, or he could even be on the line at that exact moment... She couldn't very well tell her that Buffy moped around all day and was miserable without Angel there, that wouldn't help. But she couldn't exactly lie...

"Hello, Earth to Willow. Come in, crazy Wiccan Girl," Cordelia muttered into the phone.

"Oh, right! Buffy! Buffy's great, y' know, her usually cheerful self. She loves college, and is doing really well with the slaying, and she even has a boyfriend. Riley. She says he's borin--boards! He...uh...likes boards. He builds things!" Willow said, wincing at her slip. Cordelia could tell by her high-pitched voice and nervous tone that she was lying...she could tell when a person lied, it was a gift.

"Oh...that's...nice," she said, wrinkling her nose. Boy, Buffy sure knew how to pick 'em...

"Yeah. It's great seeing her happy again after the whole Angel thing..."

"She's happy?" Cordelia repeated. Willow frowned.

"Well, not *happy* happy, but...yeah,I suppose that she is somewhat. She even cracks a smile every now and then," Willow said with a false note of cheerfulness. "So, how's Angel?"

Cordelia groaned. This would be hard... "Oh, Angel's great. He's fine, everything is just peachy. You know, saving the lost souls of L.A. and repenting his nonexistent sins and annoying the hell out of me all the time..." she said quickly.

"Does he..." Willow trailed off,not sure how to continue. She couldn't really just come out and say it, could she? Guess there was only one way to find out... "Does he miss Buffy?"

Cordelia was silent for a moment. "I..um...yeah, I guess so. I mean, he usually doesn't brood around me--"

"He doesn't brood around you?" Willow repeated with a laugh. "Please, Angel broods around his toaster."

"True," Cordelia agreed. "And it's gotten much worse now that he's huma--hums! He likes to hum...when he broods...yeah..."

Willow frowned at the phone. "Did you say human?" she asked. Cordelia quickly shook her head.

"Of course not! Angel's not human! Where in the world would you get that idea from? It's not like he can go out in the sun and go to the beach or something....besides, if he was, he'd call Buffy in a second and you know it," Cordelia said, wincing at her words. Smooth, Chase , real smooth...

"Yeah, that's true," Willow agreed. "Are you sure he's okay? Because he called here the other day and wanted to talk to Buffy and he sounded all happy and stuff--"

"Oh, someone just beeped me, I gotta go," Cordelia said quickly. "I'll call you some other time."

"Okay, bye Cord--"

Cordelia hung up the phone before Willow could finish her sentence. She sighed and placed the phone in its cradle. So Buffy was about as miserable as Angel was...why those two thought that this kind of torture was healthy was lost on Cordelia. They should just get back together and have that be the end of the self-inflicted isolation...

But no. They had to be difficult and Angel had to be stubborn and Buffy had to move on too fast and the whole situation made Cordelia want to scream. Them and their delusions of grandeur...

With a sigh, she sank back into the comfortable pillows. Those two would be the death of her... But she knew more now, and she could continue working to try and get them back together. It would all work out in the end.

And, on the bright side, if--no, WHEN she *did* get them back together Angel would probably be giving her a big bonus...

Cordelia Chase was on a mission.

And when she put her mind to something, she ALWAYS succeeded.

"Come on Angel, you’re not that hurt. You can answer the door," Cordelia called, rattling the locked doorknob of his apartment. Her audition had gone well, and while waiting to be called in she’d had time to turn Willow’s one sentence about Riley into a suitably terrible relationship. Which she now had to tell Angel all about. If he would only unlock the damn door!

No reply. Cordelia sighed and opened her purse, fishing within the quagmire of receipts, make-up and extra pantyhose for keys. She’d somehow wheedled Angel into giving her his spare key when he moved in—something about if she needed to take refuge from any bad guys.

"Ah ha!" she muttered, her hand closing around the key ring. She pulled it out and tried five different keys before she found the right one. She finally opened the door and walked into the apartment.

The dark apartment.

She really was going to kill him one of these days.

"We humans usually like to have lights on," she called, switching on a light and closing the door behind her. "Y’ know, so we don’t kill ourselves."

No answer. "Angel?" Nothing. "Okay, this is not funny. Where are you?" She walked into the bedroom, switching the light on. The bed was empty. The closet was open. She whirled around and walked quickly into the tiny office. No one. The bathroom was empty too.

"He did it," she said to the empty living room, not sure whether to be angry or worried. "He went out patrolling." She thought of his broken rib, the way he winced when he moved, the bruises. "Damnit Angel!" she yelled. "You promised not to do anything stupid!"

Yelling at an empty room really wasn’t helping. She’d just have to wait until he got home and yell at him. And if he ever did this again—Well, there was a Slayer in Sunnydale who’d just love to get a call.

Angel was in pain. Lots and lots of pain. His breathing was hitching in his chest, making the air burn as it fought to escape his lungs. His broken ribs--STILL not healed--gave his chest a dull ache, and with each step he took they felt as though they were going to poke through his chest. He was still incredibly sore, his body protesting the entire time.

Angel fought back the wave of dizziness that suddenly gripped him, placing a shaking hand on the brick wall beside him to steady himself before he continued his journey to wherever it was he was going. He really had no idea, he just had to get out...and ignore the pain...

It was only pain, after all. He could deal with it because it came from a physical wound, something that would heal eventually. Well, if he kept trying to patrol it wouldn't... But the hole in his heart was something that he couldn't handle. It festered and oozed and did all those other things that poets made sound so beautiful. The pain and ecstasy of love.

Right about now he was feeling only the pain.

Lots and lots of pain.

Angel trudged through the dark streets of L.A., his long duster hugging his body, almost hanging off of him. He had lost weight since he had become human. All he ate was pizza. Well, pizza and those little chocolate balls Cordelia claimed where a healthy breakfast cereal...Cocoa Puffs? Angel shook his head, the motion causing another wave of dizziness to hit. Combined with the pain from his ribs and the ache in his body, it was a wonder he didn't faint.

But he had a job to do. As long as he was sitting at home moping, he wasn't making amends. He wasn't atoning for his sins. He wasn't showing he was worthy of her...

But what did it matter anyway? She wasn't his anymore. Try as he may, Angel just couldn't accept it. Maybe because he didn't want to, but it was a fact he had to deal with. He wouldn't ruin her happiness, he had hurt her too much in the past. He loved her too much to begrudge her anything.

He heard scuffle in the alley that he had just passed, and Angel turned quickly to the sound. A little too quickly, causing him to nearly keel over in pain. Taking a deep, steadying breath and squaring his shoulders determinedly, he marched into the dark sidestreet, his body throbbing in protest. Well, he tried to march, his legs didn't seem to cooperate and so he kind of limped...but he still tried to be intimidating. Didn't really work...

A hand snaked down to pull a sharpened stake out of his duster pocket, and Angel clutched it in his hand as he slowly approached the vampire. Buffy's beautiful, smiling face suddenly found its way to his mind's eyes and a rare smile flickered over his lips.

"For you, my love. Always for you," he whispered, preparing for battle. He winced as his hand closed in a fist, the skin that had healed over the cut he had sustained before protesting as it flexed. He moved behind the vampire, who was gorging herself on a young blond woman.

"I guess you newbies like to swing both ways too, huh?" Angel said, alerting her of his presence. She growled and whipped around to stare at him, blood dripping off her glistening fangs. Angel glared at her in return, choking down the bile that rose in his throat. She grinned wickedly at him.

"Oh yeah...wanna take a ride?" she asked sensually. Angel's response was his fist in her face, causing him to cry out in pain at the flesh-on-flesh contact. The vampiress's head snapped back and Angel was surprised he had mustered enough force to do so.

She snarled at him and threw a series of punches at him before he could get his hands up to protect himself, each catching Angel in a part of his body that already ached. She hit his sore ribs with a well-aimed blow and he reeled back, gasping at the pain and biting back a cry, dropping his forgotten stake in the process. He tried to fight back, but the pain was unbearable and she was too strong. He was pushed up against the wall, his body slamming into the concrete with a sickening crunch. His nose was bleeding once more, as was a cut on his forehead and a gash across his chest where she had caught him with her nails.

She laughed at him. "Pitiful man, you think you can beat me?" she snapped, accompanying her gibe with a stinging slap. She pulled his head back and to the side painfully, gripping his dark hair in her hand as she stared him in the eye. "The cute ones always taste the best..."

With that, she sunk her fangs into his neck. Angel's eyes widened in shock, and then fear. She could not turn him. He was human, this was his chance to be with Buffy...he had to fight for her. He had to win for her. He had to tell her...

His lips opened in a silent scream as she drank from his neck, her slurping making him ill. Suddenly remembering the extra stake in his pocket, he reached down and removed it, getting a better grip on it and ignoring the mind-numbing white-hot pain that shot through his entire body. He brought it up, driving it through her chest before she knew what was happening.

In a moment, she was dust. Angel clutched feebly at the bleeding wound on his neck, resting against the wall as he calmed his rapid breathing and fought to stay conscious. The girl he had saved had thankfully run at the first window of opportunity she had been given to do so, and Angel felt a small joy knowing he had saved someone that night. It almost made the pain bearable.

No, wait, it really didn't...

He somehow made it back to his place, although the walk was hazy and filled with pain...and pain...and more pain. Angel almost blacked out several times, and had to stop to catch his breath and close his eyes in an attempt to block out the pain radiating from his body. His ribs screamed in protest and his hand and face were sticky with blood. The warm liquid had nearly stopped running down his chest from his neck when he managed to miraculously unlock his apartment door and walk inside. He had just crossed the threshold and feebly tried to close it when he fell down.

The last thoughts he had when he before he slipped into the inviting darkness were that a girl had done this to him. Talk about embarassing. A girl had taken the mighty Angelus down, royally kicking his ass with ease. A girl... Cordelia. She was gonna be pissed... Angel moaned and clutched his head, mentally dreading the lecture she would surely give him.

And then the pain became too much and he couldn't take it anymore. His mind comforted him with images of Buffy, his Slayer holding him and caring for him and loving him...

She was the last thing he thought of before he succumbed to the numbing darkness.

He didn’t really know why he went. He just had a feeling. And in Cameryn’s family, you followed your feelings.

Besides, the guy was a great tipper.

He went to knock when the door swung open. It wasn’t latched. That was never a good thing. In fact, it felt like some bad horror movie. The room inside was dark. Cameryn reached for a light switch, and stopped once the room brightened. Angel was laying on the floor, unconscious, blood streaming from a wound in his neck, a cut on his forehead and a bloody nose.

"Oh man," Cameryn whispered, "Not a good idea." He closed the door behind him and knelt down, very gently turning Angel over onto his back to have a better look. His shirt was torn and Cameryn could see the bandages from the last time this had happened, plus more bruises.

"Buffy," Angel moaned, rousing slightly. Cameryn watched with a mixture of pain and understanding.

"Sorry dude, it’s just me. We have to get you to the hospital."

Angel’s eyes opened at that and he shook his head, groaning in pain as he did so. "No. No, I don’t deserve…don’t deserve…"

"You don’t deserve to attempt living?" Cameryn hazarded.

"No," Angel said, turning his damaged face away.

"Well can I get you off the floor?" Angel didn’t answer, so Cameryn put a hand behind his back and gently sat him up, trying not to quail at the extreme pain visible on the man’s face.

"What did you do to deserve this?" he asked, then put a hand to the…bite? on his neck. He didn’t ask, knowing only too well what it was.

"I asked for it," Angel rasped.

"Well that’s not really the brightest way to go man." Angel didn’t reply, trying to stand up and failing.

"What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d look in…thank you for that money." Angel but back another groan. "Okay, I’m taking you to the hospital."

Angel’s hand gripped his arm in an amazingly tight grip. "No," he said firmly, then lapsed back into pain. Cameryn eyed him uneasily, unsure what to do. The injuries didn’t seem life threatening, but what if he had internal bleeding or something?

"I’m fine," Angel said, as if sensing his thoughts, and once again tried to get up. Cameryn supported him and Angel made it to his feet, leaning heavily on the pizza guy.

"Somehow ‘fine’ isn’t the word I’d use. Is there someone you want me to call? Say…this Buffy chick you keep mistaking me for?"

This look of absolute pain far beyond anything physical crossed Angel’s face momentarily and then was gone. He shook his head and opened his mouth, as if to say something, then stopped. "There’s no one," he said softly.

"What about Cordelia? She was here earlier? She seemed to know you pretty well." Angel’s mouth twitched upwards a little as he lowered himself into bed. Cameryn settled him down.

"She’d be…a little upset," Angel said shortly. Cameryn arched his eyebrows.

"Why would that be? Because you went out and got yourself nearly killed?"

"It’s not that bad," Angel lied.

"What about that?" Cameryn asked, indicating the still oozing bite. Angel put a hand to it, the oddest expression on his face.

"It’s only what I deserve," he said quietly. Cameryn’s eyes narrowed.

"Do you have any washcloths? And bandages?" he asked.

"In the bathroom," Angel said softly, wincing at the pain in his jaw just from speaking. Cameryn nodded and turned.

"Don’t move," he ordered before he left. The bandages were in the medicine cabniet, and the washcloths on the rack. Cameryn filled a cracked bowl he found in the kitchen (this guy had a lack of dishes) with warm water and went back to the bedroom. Angel hadn’t moved. Probably couldn’t, from the looks of him.

"Hold still," Cameryn said, wetting down one of the cloths and beginning to slowly sponge off the bite. Angel swayed. "You need blood."

"I’ll be fine."

He cut off a piece of bandage and stuck it on with bandage tape (Angel didn’t have cookware, but he was well supplied for taking care of injuries), then moved on the to cut on his forehead.

"All right," he said after a moment, "Why’d you do it?"

"There’s great evil in the world and someone has to fight it," Angel said softly. "Besides, I have to make amends. Prove myself worthy."

Cameryn gave him an odd look. "Uh, last time I checked, getting yourself killed wasn’t the best way to prove yourself worthy. Or stop evil for that matter. Dying—usually not a great improver of strength."

Angel’s mouth twitched upwards. "But it worked so well last time."

Cameryn laughed involuntarily, then shook his head and got back to the serious process of bandaging Angel’s many wounds. He pronounced the nose sprained, not broken. "A lot of women are gonna thank me for that one," he grinned. "Another thing…getting your face punched in doesn’t improve the hunk factor. I mean, it adds a little manliness, but really, not a big help."

"Not really what I was going for," Angel said softly, his eyes getting that far away look again.

"What were you looking for?" Cameryn asked.

"I told you," Angel replied, not meeting his eyes. Cameryn put the washcloth into the now blood-filled water and stood up. There wasn’t really anything else he could do here, for a man that didn’t want anything to be done.

"Forgiveness, right. The end of evil. You know what I think you were looking for?" Cameryn asked, causing the other man to look up at him with dark, pain-filled eyes, questioning eyes. "I think you were looking for her."

And there was nothing Angel could say to the truth.

Part Five

Cordelia hung up the phone, fuming. Cameryn had just called and told her that Angel was back and in really bad shape. She was SO going to kill him... Cameryn had called after Angel had slipped back into unconsciousness, claiming he found her number by the phone. He had briefly told her of what had happened before saying he had to go to work. Cordelia had thanked him for taking care of Angel.

He was probably gonna need a lot more help after she was through with him.

Grabbing her keys and mentally preparing herself for what she would say to the injured ex-vampire, she was just stepping over the threshold when the phone rang. It shrilled loudly on the table where she had left it, and Cordelia stopped. She really wanted to go give Angel a piece of her mind--and tell him her big story about Buffy and Riley, she had spent a lot of time on it--but this call could be from her agent, telling her it was her big break. Torn, she decided to answer it. Plus, yelling at Angel when he was unconscious wouldn't be any fun.

"Hello?" she said huffily. "Cordelia Chase."

"I'd hope so, or else I'd feel like a big dork," came the response. Cordelia smiled.

"You're already a big dork, Harris, so it doesn't matter if you do something stupid," she retorted playfully.

"Thanks, Cor, you always were so good at doing wonders for my ego," he shot back.

"It's a talent," she told him, setting her keys down and settling herself in the recliner.

"So how are you, Miss Aspiring Actress?" Xander asked.

"About to go up and kill Angel. I'd say you could help, but I don't want to wait the two hours it'll take you to drive here," she said.

"Dead Boy giving you trouble?"

"Yes! The guy is impossible. God, I'm gonna go up there and just...ugh!" she cried, throwing her free hand up in the air. The brunette took a deep breath and calmed herself down slightly. "So, how's Sunnyhell?"

"As demonic as ever," he replied. "Although the demons have been kind of M.I.A. lately, which is good for Buffy because what with the college thing and the Dead Boy missage and all, she barely has time to sleep. So that pretty much leaves the 'dale as being -ic."

"She still pining away for her Romeo?"

"Oh yeah, she tries to hide it but even the blind guy who sits on the corner near the Espresso Pump can see it," Xander said. "It's getting bad, like one of those cheesy musicals or a bad Disney movie. I'm just waiting for her to snap and start belting out one of those songs about how she loves and misses him and wishes on a falling star or something that he'll come back to her."

"Only you would compare heartbreak to a Disney movie, Xander," she laughed, brushing a stray piece of hair out of her eyes. How in the world had that gotten there? She'd have to go fix it before she went up to Angel's...

Xander chuckled. "So is the object of her weird affection the same way?" he asked. Cordelia sighed.

"If I hear him whining one more time about how he's not good enough for her and how she deserves to be happy, I'll scream! I try to reason with him, tell him 'Hey, the second Buffy sees you she'll forget all about Riley--'"

"Fish Boy," Xander corrected.

"Fish Boy?" she repeated.

"His last name is Finn. I call him Fish Boy, he hates it," Xander explained. Cordelia laughed.

"Okay, whatever. Anyway, does he listen? No!" She was on a tangent and there was no way she could stop. She forgot that Xander didn't know Angel was human and just kept on talking. "He's all 'poor me, I'm such a bad person and have so many sins to atone for. Let me go out and save some little skanky damsel and NOT charge her so that maybe I'll be forgiven or whatever.' You'd think he'd finally get sick of feeling sorry for himself and stop, but no! He can go out now, meet new people, do whatever the hell he wants, and he just sits up in that dark apartment of his and stares at a picture of Buffy and annoys the hell out of me! I mean, he should be taking up a hobby or something, y' know? Like surfing, he'd get out, meet some girls, break all their little hearts when he appeared uninterested, and he'd get a great tan!"

"Umm, Cordelia? Do you really want your boss to be a big pile of dust that much?" Xander interrupted, disturbing the stream of thought that had been going through her head. She blinked and gasped, realizing she had almost slipped. That was another thing she was going to kill Angel for, she was the WORST at keeping secrets and he was making her keep a huge one...

"Well, um...if he keeps it up, yeah!" she said uncertainly.

"Okay, just checking. I don't think Buffy would be too happy with you if you let that happen, though," Xander warned. Cordelia sighed.

"I won't, don't worry. Not until he heals, which will take even longer now because Mr.-Wannabe-Superhero went out and got himself hurt again..."

"Cordy, you do realize that I don't have the slightest idea of what you're talking about, right?" Xander asked.

"Oh, yeah, short version is Angel got hurt, didn't wait to heal, went out and got hurt even more. I was just on my way up to go yell at him when you called," she told him. Xander nodded.

"Oh, well in that case when you do go up, make sure you get some jabs in for me," he replied. Cordelia laughed.

"You're about as compassionate as me," she said.

"I don't think anyone can be that cold-hearted," he joked. If she had been next to him, she would have slapped him. Her hand actually rose in an instinctual response before she remembered that he was nowhere near her, so slapping him wasn't going to be happening anytime soon.

"You're lucky I'm not there, or you would be crying out in pain right about now," she told him hotly.

Xander grinned. "I know, that's why I said it. And allow me to take this opportunity to be childish and say 'nener nener'!"

"Look, Xander, I'd really love to stay here and bicker wit h you some more but I really have to go give my boss a piece of my mind," she said reluctantly.

"Cordelia, are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked. Before she could reply, he continued. "I mean, you don't have much left, you might want to save it in case you need it."

"Oh, wow, aren't we the funny one today," she said dryly. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Yep. Try to be at least a little civil," Xander said. Cordelia raised an eyebrow.

"Since when did you care about Angel?"

"I've been on this end of several of your rants, I know what it's like. Just go easy on the poor guy, okay?"

Cordelia laughed. "Believe me, he deserves it."

"Later, Cor."

"Bye Xander," she said, pulling the phone away from her ear and turning it off. She left the phone on the chair and walked into her small bathroom, there was no way she was going up to see Angel with a hair out of place.

Cordelia barged into Angel's bedroom, ignoring the fact that that it looked more like a tomb than a place where someone slept. One of these days she was gonna introduce him to pastels... She didn't bother to acknowledge the pale figure on the bed, walking over to the window instead and throwing the shades open. Bright sunlight flooded the room, eliciting a reaction from Angel. He moaned, a noise that sounded so pitiful Cordelia nearly stopped and closed them again, and flinched away from the harsh light. She strolled up to the bed after opening the windows as well, allowing a slight breeze in. The curtains swirled softly, swaying as they played with the air.

Cordelia glowered down at her boss, taking in his appearance before she spoke. His face was paler than usual--if that was possible--and the dark bruises that littered his cheeks and forehead were a sharp contrast to the whiteness of his skin. His nose was a mix of red and a deep purple and was also swollen. He was bare-chested and his ribs were bandaged again. A nasty cut that looked as though someone had gotten a little rake-happy on his chest was red and oozing slightly. The most disturbing thing was the bandage that covered thge side of his neck, a tell-tale sign that he had been bitten. She decided not to comment on it. For now.

"Aren't you a picture," she quipped, breaking the silence that hung thick in the room. The brunette moved to sit next to him on the bed, and Angel shied away from her. "Geez, Angel, it's not like I'm gonna hit you. Even though I should. My God, *how* could you be so *stupid*?! You weren't in any kind of shape to go out and look at you now! Let's hope none of those cuts scar, because then you'd have to kiss modeling goodbye. Angel, you promised!" she cried, sounding surprisingly hurt.

"Cordelia, I--"

"You know, since you broke your promise, I really should break mine," she announced, not allowing him to speak. Angel's eyes grew wide as Cordelia held up a perfectly-manicured hand. "Don't worry, even I'm not that petty. But, so help me God...Angel, if you EVER do something like that again Buffy will be getting a phone call from me. That is, if I don't kill you first."

"Not a problem," Angel rasped. He drew a shaky breath and continued. "I'm not going anywhere for a while." God, he hurt. Every time he breathed his ribs protested, shooting white-hot pain through his body. His nose throbbed and his vision kept swimming, the room spinning out of control. And that was just sitting down. Standing was definitely out of the question...

He felt like hell. This time it hadn't been a mack truck that had hit him. It had been a high-speed train. Or maybe a 747...

"So you're finally gonna get a clue and give up the pointless crusade?" she asked hopefully.

"No," Angel said flatly. He would have shook his head in support of his answer, but his eyes nearly rolled back into his head a the pain that coursed through his body just from speaking. "I just have to train first."

"Angel! Do you *want* to be turned again?!" she cried, pointing to the bandage on his neck. "Because I know that's not a hickey. You really don't want to go back to being all doom and gloom and no sun, do you? I mean, the doom and gloom is still there, but you really should go out and work on that tan..."

"I wasn't careful," he said hoarsely. "It won't happen again."

"How do you know?" she demanded. "It could, and then you'd be right back where you started. Only soul-less. And out for blood. Probably mine, and then Buffy's."

"I said it won't happen again," he repeated through clenched teeth, his nose incredibly sore.

Cordelia threw her hands up in the air in defeat, bouncing the bed softly. Angel's wince caused her to stand and begin pacing. His eyes followed her as she walked furiously across the carpet...back and forth, back and forth...he was getting dizzy. She finally stopped suddenly and stood at the foot of the bed, her hands on her hips.

"You are SO impossible! Do you have a death wish?" she cried. Angel stared dully at her. "You are *human* now, Angel. You get hurt. If you're not careful, one of these days you're gonna get dead. And when that happened, Miss Slay Gal herself will come here and kick *my* ass for keeping the secret. Is that what you want?!"

Angel shook his head once, ignoring the nauseous feeling the motion gave him. Buffy couldn't know, it would only hurt her. She was happy and probably in love with the right kind of guy. Riley. Although he could now give her everything he had hated Riley for...

"Stop!" Cordelia shrieked, stamping her foot, the platform banging loudly against the hardwood floor. "You have Buffy-face. AGAIN! 'Oh, Buffy's *so* much happier now, she has someone who deserves her.' Yadda yadda yadda, the brooding is *so* old, Angel. Will you please get over it and move on?! And for your information, Buffy is NOT happy! She's--"

Angel feebly held a hand up in protest. "Cordelia, I don't want to hear it."

"Well, Brood Boy, you don't have a choice," she snapped. "I talked to both Willow and Xander and they say your little lover is miserable. She's going out with a guy who's last name is *Finn*! Buffy Finn, could you imagine?! It sounds like some weird fish or something... Anyway, perfect little Riley is a cow poke from Iowa who always talks about Iowa-things.

"Iowa things?" Angel repeated, raising an eyebrow. The movement made his sprained nose scream in protest and he moaned deep in his throat.

"Yeah, y' know, like corn and cows and stuff," Cordelia said. The story she had concocted seemed to be working. Maybe she should try the screen-writing thing too... "And Buffy's way bored and upset and sad and she needs you to make it all better. You could be, like, her big Angel-shaped Band-Aid!"

"I can't make it all better, Cordelia," Angel replied, his breath ragged. "All I seem to do is hurt her and I won't do that again."

"When are you going to stop being so selfish?" she asked, her dark eyes boring into his.

Angel was the one to look away first. "This is for her own good," he told the brunette firmly.

"Like hell it is!" she retorted. "Why are you punishing her? What did she ever do to you?"

"I'm not punishing her!" he cried, slapping his hands down on the bed in anger. Angel ignored the agony it caused, concentrating solely on Cordelia's words.

"Yes, you are! I don't know why you think she's better off without you, 'cause last time I checked she wasn't. Buffy needs you, contrary to popular belief. And you need her. I don't know why you let yourself live with these delusions," she said, her voice quiet, accusing. Angel met her gaze again and held it.

"Because sometimes the truth hurts too much."

For the first time in a long time, Cordelia Chase was speechless, haunted by Angel's dark eyes and his grave words that rang true in her mind.

Humanity didn’t make someone good. Didn’t make them worthy. It just made them weak. Or maybe it revealed the weakness that had been there all along.

He’d always been weak, in his mind, his heart. His weakness had nearly destroyed the only person he’d ever loved. He wouldn’t let that happen again. He wouldn’t let her be hurt, even if it meant living in torment.

Maybe he could make her happy. But he couldn’t take the chance that he would only cause her more pain. True, Cordelia made it sounds like Buffy didn’t really like her new boyfriend, but Cordelia was prone to exaggeration. Especially when it was towards her own ends. Which seemed to focus quite a bit lately on getting Angel to call Buffy. As far as he knew, Riley was the perfect guy, sweet and young and…human.

Which Angel was. But Angel wasn’t very good at it.

He slid out of bed, clenching his teeth tightly against the pain, and walked over to the window, forcing himself to open the window, to let the light fall across his hands, holding tightly to the window sill. It had been a week since he’d been beaten up. It still hurt to move, but he was healing, and Cordelia acerbically assured him that his face would heal, though it would be a while before he could get a modeling job.

A modeling job? Not exactly his dream job…Not that he’d been dreaming of jobs of any kind…

He knew Buffy. If he told her he was human she would feel that she had to respond. She would feel that with all they’d gone through, she owed him a real relationship, whether she really wanted it or not.

Or she would tell him to go to Hell, which was probably what he deserved.

Angel shook the thought off and pushed away from the window, making his way slowly and slightly painfully into the living room. His latest attempt at cooking was still in the sink.

He had to face the facts. He was a terrible human. Brooding, dark, mysterious creature-of-the-night he could handle, but he didn’t know how to be human. He didn’t know how to walk in the sun without flinching, or smile and make small talk with people he’d never met. He didn’t know how to cook, or shop or interact with people in a non-saving-their-life way. The one thing he’d always been able to do, help people, was obviously no longer available to him. He was a worthless wreck. At least before he’d been able to help, to atone, to make amends. Now all he could do was sit around and brood.

Why would Buffy want him? If she saw him like this, she’d never love him. Why should she? He was weak. He hadn’t deserved her as a vampire, and he didn’t deserve her now, as a human.

Out the kitchen window someone shouted and Angel glanced down, his eye fixing on young blond woman and her boyfriend, nuzzling across the street. He felt sick. Or possibly just hungry again.

This was his punishment. He’d killed, he’d maimed, he’d tortured. And now he had to sit by and think about Buffy in the arms of another man. A good man, one who had never hurt her. One she could love without conditions. No matter what he was like now, there was always the past. Between he and Buffy, there could never just be love. There would always be memories, always be pain and heartbreak.

This was God’s punishment.

No more than he deserved anyway.

On to Part Six