*****

Angel stood by the far wall of the office, well away from the sunlight streaming between the slats of the blinds, watching as Xander rummaged through his duffel bag on the desk.

Finally, Xander found what he was looking for. "Bus ticket," he said, holding it up and zipping the bag. "I'm all ready to go."

Angel just stared, blinking once.

Xander slung the bag over his shoulder and walked over to Angel. He reached out and grabbed Angel's shoulder. "Seven days," Xander said, "and then I'm back here for good." He smiled. "Don't look so glum about it. Weren't you the one talking about waiting two hundred years?"

Angel looked down and shook his head. When he looked back up, there was half a smile on his lips. "You just got here. Stay a while?"

Xander shook his head. "No more wasted time. Besides, what with wolf demons attacking over the weekend, I'm out of clothes."

"You can wear--"

"No," said Xander, shaking his head again. "Cordy would definitely know something was up if I got into your wardrobe. Not the fashionable, me."

"She has to find out eventually."

"Angel, please," Xander said, turning away and biting his lip. "I have to go... to say goodbye... to them. To... clear things up. Things are very not clear."

"Things?"

"Please."

"I'm..." Angel looked down. "...sorry."

"Don't be." Xander fiddled nervously with the ticket in his hands. "I'll miss you."

Angel blinked once, then quickly stepped forward. Xander suddenly found himself buried in an almost smothering embrace, to which he gladly surrendered. Angel's mouth was immediately on his and he opened wide, working his arms free to thread them under Angel's, reaching around to clutch at Angel's sweater, twisting, wrenching, threatening to tear it from his back.

Then, regretfully, Xander had to come up for air, and he gently pushed Angel back. Angel released him and stepped back resignedly.

Xander's breathing was heavy and uneven. "I've got to leave now," he said, "or I never will."

The corner of Angel's mouth quirked. "Would that be so bad?" he asked, attempting to infuse the phrase with the same lighthearted tone that Xander had used a few days earlier.

Xander smiled. "No, it wouldn't." He walked to the door and turned back as he twisted the handle. He was caught by Angel's eyes and stood motionless. "See you soon, Angel."

Angel nodded. "Have a good trip, Xander."

Xander nodded in response and then quickly stepped through the door and shut it behind himself. He made it, casually sauntering, about three doors down before he suddenly turned and collapsed backwards against the wall, panting as if he had been running. He bit his lip and looked up and around as if seeking counsel from the walls and ceiling. Eventually, his gaze fell to the floor, and he reluctantly picked himself up and headed for the stairs.

And back in his office, Angel listened intently to every footstep, until Xander left the building and disappeared into the daytime bustle of the city.

"Buffy?" called Willow's timid voice.

Buffy's eyes snapped open and looked about wildly.

At the library.

She slowly lifted her head from her notebook. "Ugh," she mumbled. "Yet again, the freshman embarrasses herself." She smiled up at Willow's concerned face before her eyes suddenly widened and a look of panic crossed her. "Droolage?" she asked, bringing one hand up to the corner of her mouth and looking down at her notebook. "Okay, didn't salivate. Could have been worse." She slumped back in her chair, relieved.

"Find anything for your paper?" asked Willow, trying to make the subject sound more fun that it was.

"Sort of," said Buffy guiltily, lifting an unopened volume from the desk. "Been having trouble concentrating."

"Pressures of academia..." said Willow sympathetically.

"Hours of research..." Buffy dropped her book with disgust.

"Lack of caffeine..."

"Lack of--" Buffy suddenly looked back up at Willow. "Did you check the answering machine?"

Willow nodded enthusiastically for a moment, then faltered at Buffy's prompting look, and shook her head forlornly.

"Lack of messages," concluded Buffy. She looked down for a moment, then gathered herself together. "Well, there's only one thing to be done. This calls for an extreme... infusion of chocolate."

Willow gave a small, supportive smile and waited as Buffy gathered her books and papers. As they were walking out, Buffy suddenly stopped short.

"There was something else I was supposed to do here," she said, frowning and thinking.

"Write your paper?"

Buffy shot Willow a look. "Other than that." She thought for a moment, then shrugged. "It can wait. Chocolate calls."

The librarian smiled at them as they walked out, then rose from her desk and walked off to attend other business.

So no one noticed when the papers on the desk began to rustle, and the file drawers fly open and shut, as invisible fingers flipped through the papers and hunted through the files.

Then, as suddenly as it had started, all activity ceased... until a single key on the keyboard clicked. And then another. And another. And another. Soon, the keyboard was typing away like a player piano gone mad.

And then it suddenly stopped. A student record appeared on the screen. The record of one Buffy Summers.

Xander slammed the door to his basement and hurried down the stairs, grimacing. He tossed his duffel bag to the floor, paused for half a second, and then collapsed on his bed, sighing with exhaustion.

After a few minutes of just staring at the ceiling, he sat up and reached for the phone. Xander picked up the receiver and carefully dialed a number, nervously tapping his finger on the bedside table as he listened to the repeated rings.

He slammed down the phone instantly when he heard Buffy and Willow's answering machine start up.

He sat frozen for a moment, clutching the phone, the muscles in his forearm tensed, his knuckles white. Then he suddenly relaxed let go, and sighed. A reluctant smile spread across his face and he shook his head.

"Strike one," he muttered, falling back on the bed.

He squinted slightly with confusion as he bounced, feeling something out of place, and reached down into his pocket to pull out Angel's business card, somewhat crumpled. He smiled wistfully at it and smoothed it out in his hands.

After staring for a few moments, he reached again with one hand for the phone. But his hand hesitated nervously over the receiver and he drew it back.

Sighing, he stared at the card in his hands awhile longer, fiddling, or perhaps caressing one dog-eared corner with his thumb. Eventually, his eyelids began to droop, his hands fell to his chest, and he drifted peacefully off to sleep.

Angel carefully wiped the last traces of the drainerwolfsbane from the kitchen counter and tossed the towel into the waste bin. Walking back out into the main room, he slowly surveyed the entire apartment. It was spotless. Even sterile.

Angel frowned. He looked around for a moment longer, his brow furrowed, before closing his eyes and concentrating.

He could picture Xander there. Xander waiting patiently on the couch, Xander eating takeout Chinese in the kitchen. Xander standing outside the door to the bathroom, pristine and wet from a shower. Xander lying peacefully asleep on the bed; Xander rolling merrily around on the bed, anything but peaceful. Xander standing in the kitchen, sorting through the jumble of vile spell-casting concoctions, managing a collection of bubbling pots on the range.

Xander lazing on the couch, securely held in Angel's arms, during that one perfect day, free from interruption.

Then Angel opened his eyes, and Xander was gone. The kitchen was spotless, the living room immaculate, the bed made, the couch... empty.

Angel grimaced and sniffed at the air... and suddenly froze. An instant later, he was walking directly to the corner of the bedroom, from which he retrieved... a balled-up, tattered piece of fabric.

It was Xander's shirt.

Xander's shirt, torn almost to shreds and heavily stained with drainerwolfsbane, which still burned slightly at Angel's skin. And yet he held it tightly, and stared.

After almost a minute of silent motionlessness, Angel walked slowly over to his bed and casually but carefully draped Xander's shirt over the end. He stepped back to judge the effect.

That single tattered piece of brightly colored fabric dispelled the sterility of the room, dissipating the heavy atmosphere. It looked somehow right and comforting. And hopeful. It looked...

Like a promise.

The music at the Bronze was blaring, but Buffy seemed not to notice at all, sitting hunched forward with her elbows on the table, chin supported in her hands, staring blankly into the middle distance.

And Willow, filled with concern, stared at her.

"There _is_ something wrong with me."

"Buffy, it's not a you-thing--"

"They all left and none of them want to come back."

"--it's a them-thing."

"Pronoun games not helping."

The corners of Willow's mouth drew back, stretching her lips into a rather hopeless line. She stared at Buffy for a while, but eventually had to give up. Willow looked up and began to anxiously survey the room, as if the answer to all their problems might just happen to be standing around.

"Oh, look, it's Xander!" she suddenly exclaimed, spotting him standing near the far wall biting his lip. She waved at him enthusiastically and he hesitantly walked over.

"I don't suppose he could conjure up a boyfriend?" Buffy asked, without turning or looking up as he approached.

"Um..." Xander said, drawing out the syllable as if seriously considering the request. "No," he finished nervously, sitting down. "Funny you should mention that, though. But conjuring's more of a Willow-thing anyway. How's it goin', Will?"

Willow smiled back.

Xander turned to Buffy, who was still staring blankly away. "I'd ask, but this is probably one of those need-to-know-basis things, isn't it."

Buffy just sighed almost silently, so Willow filled in. She brought her hands back to her shoulders, flapped her fingers for a moment, shook her head, brought a loose fist aside her cheek, and then pointed at Buffy.

Xander, nodding his head, followed these movements with growing confusion. When Willow was finished, he hesitated for a moment, then whispered, "So... _why_ didn't Big Bird punch Buffy?"

Willow squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head.

"Angel didn't call," mumbled Buffy.

Xander was struck dumb for a moment, and then brought his palm up to his forehead. "Oh, man, Buffy, I completely forgot--" He broke off nervously. "--to say hi." Xander affected a complete change of attitude. "Hey, Buff! Great to see ya! It's been, what... days!"

Buffy groaned and let her chin slip from her hands, folding them behind her neck and pressing her forehead against the table. "This isn't helping either...."

"Sorry," said Xander, sheepishly. "Sorry."

Willow shot Xander an apologetic look over Buffy's head. "You can't blame yourself, Buffy," she said, attempting to find the right tone of encouragement. "Really. I mean, maybe Angel's just waiting for you--" Her tone faltered and her expression grew confused as she noticed Xander violently shaking his head. "--to call hi--"

"Hey, Buff, wanna dance?" Xander broke in, suddenly.

"Me? With you?" The words were not uttered scornfully, but more like Buffy was coming out of a stupor as she lifted her head from the table. "Dance?" This last word was uttered with complete incredulity as she turned to face Xander.

"Yoda-like choice of word order, but yes."

"Dance?" Still incredulous.

"Hey, I got some practice over the summer."

Buffy opened her mouth to ask--

"No power on this earth," said Xander, firmly.

Buffy managed a half-smile. "Thanks, Xander, but I'm really not in the mood." She turned back to staring at nothing.

Willow and Xander looked on helplessly.

"What if he never calls?" asked Buffy, dejectedly. "And do you know what the worst part is?" she asked, burying her face in her hands. "I'm still thinking about Parker."

"Parker?" said Xander. "You mean Jackass?"

Buffy nodded, head still held in her hands.

"Still dealing with the id-issues," said Willow, sympathetically, putting her hand on Buffy's shoulder.

"Id?" asked Xander, confused. "As in 'Wizard of?'"

Willow giggled and shook her head. "No, silly, id as in the irresponsible part of the psyche that does all the irresponsible wanting and desiring."

"Oh," said Xander, confusion still lingering.

"I wish my ego would get my id to just shut up," said Buffy, looking out across the room and catching her chin in her hands again.

Xander shook his head. "You college people with your high-falutin' words and ideas," he drawled.

"Hey, all this psych stuff is really useful," protested Willow.

"It actually is a good class," admitted Buffy.

"But you're missing the most important part," said Xander.

"And that is...?" asked Buffy, doubtfully.

"You don't really want Parker. Parker's a..." Xander searched for the right words.

"Poop head," offered Willow with a small, brief smile.

"Excellent choice of phrase," agreed Xander. "Clear, concise, fifth-grade level. Parker's a poop head. You don't want the real him. You want what you thought he was. But that Parker doesn't exist. It's easy to fall in love with someone who doesn't exist," Xander added mournfully, looking down a little nervously.

When he glanced up, he saw Willow looking at him unexpectedly impressed, and Buffy lifting her head from her hands to stare again at him, rather than the middle distance.

Xander hesitated a moment but then went on. "I mean, the whole relationship was a lie. He was lying to you, because he really didn't like you the way you thought he did. And you didn't really like him, because what you liked was the lie... or wait, do I mean the lair? No, because the point was that you liked the lie, not the liar. Right. I think. Where was I? Fear leads to anger, anger leads to... no wait, that was before. We're talking about liars. Don't lie with liars. If you can avoid it. Why am I suddenly thinking about burning trousers? ..."

Buffy had stopped listening after the third sentence, and turned her stare away from Xander and back to the middle distance. "I guess you're right," she said, after a long pause, finally interrupting Xander's babbling.

"Don't worry, I won't let it go to my head," said Xander, goofily.

Willow smiled but Buffy kept staring away. "That still leaves... the other problem."

Xander swallowed. "Same principle," he said, his voice breaking nervously.

Buffy's brow wrinkled. She looked as if she were doing sums in her head. Long uncomfortable moments passed before she finally opened her mouth. "Are you saying Angel lied to me?"

"I dunno," said Xander, shrugging in an attempt to act casual.

Buffy was indignant. "Angel wasn't lying to me. I _know_!" She slammed her fist on the table, making both Willow and Xander jump. "He wasn't lying! I know what you think, but he's not that kind of person! He wouldn't lie to me! He _wasn't_ lying!"

Xander swallowed again and hesitated nervously. When he spoke, it was so low that his friends could barely hear his voice through the blaring music. "Sometimes when people lie to you, it's not really on purpose, because really they're lying to themselves."

Buffy went blank again for a moment, then cringed. "I can't think about this anymore," she muttered. "Willow?" she said vaguely, turning towards her friend.

Willow gave Buffy an unsure smile and shot a nervous look at Xander. "All right, let's go," she said, standing up and giving Buffy a hand.

"Bye, Xander," Buffy mumbled as she walked past him and wandered towards the door. Willow tarried for a moment, pulling on her sweater.

"Did you see Angel while you were in LA?" she whispered, hastily.

"Um..." Xander said, stretching out the syllable again, eyes shifting. "Yes," he admitted, looking down nervously.

"Did he say anything about Buffy?"

"Her name did come up," said Xander, starting to flush.

Willow was too busy keeping an eye on Buffy to notice. "And?"

Xander hesitated, then shook his head. "I think that's for Angel to say," he said, nervously.

Willow suddenly looked at him. "Oh. You're right." She gave an apologetic sort-of-smile. "What with the college, and the classes, and the damage control... life's been kinda on the stressful side."

Xander managed to give her the semblance of a smile. "It's okay. Go on. Make sure she's all right."

Willow nodded and quickly walked off.

Xander watched her for a moment and then dropped his head into his hands, muttering to himself. "Strike two." He sighed. "And just when I thought there was no way for life to get any more bizarre, I have now become 'the other woman.'"

Buffy and Willow were walking briskly along the path back to their dorm when Buffy suddenly froze in her tracks. "Wait a minute. Did I just get relationship advice... from Xander?"

Willow, a little surprised, thought for a moment, and then gave an uncertain nod. "I guess so."

"Well," said Buffy, continuing along the path, "maybe college _is_ turning out to be a little different from high school."

*****
Part 2:

Cordelia, shooting yet another annoyed look through the window into Angel's office, finally sighed and put down the file she was trying to find a home for. "Angel's been acting really... _weird_ lately."

"Tell me about it," muttered Doyle, not looking up.

"I mean, I know he's a dark, brooding vampire and all, but all he does is sit in his office staring at the wall. And what's with that old stainy rag he's got hanging in there? Hello? I thought _I_ was going to be consulted before any interior decorating decisions were made."

"Some people can be so insensitive."

"No kidding. He doesn't even go down to his apartment anymore. He just broods in there all day. I mean, what, is he trying to show off? It's not like he's the only person in the world with problems, you know." Cordelia's eyes suddenly widened and then rolled down guiltily.

Doyle, still staring with confusion at the door to Angel's office, didn't notice.

"Speaking of which," Cordelia continued after a moment, "sometimes when a person is... y'know... under stress--it might be anything... career-launching parties... or vampire-eating wolf-demons--"

Doyle turned his confused expression on Cordelia. "Speaking purely hypothetically, of course."

Cordelia nodded. "This could not _be_ more hy-pathetic." She frowned at the word, then continued. "Sometimes the stressed person can act a little... insensitive... to other people's problems, even if they're, like, really bad, or something."

"Really," said Doyle, flatly.

Cordelia nodded enthusiastically. "And sometimes, the person might want to show that she's--or he's--sorry... somehow."

Doyle stared for a moment. "She--this person--could just say, for instance, 'I'm sorry.'"

Cordelia waved her hand in a motion that was both resigned and dismissive. "That might not be the person's style. The person's style might be... granting the pleasure of her company--" Cordelia winced. "--maybe, not to sound too conceited, or anything."

"I see," said Doyle, blankly, and turned to stare at the wall again.

Cordelia frowned in frustration and went back to her filing.

"So, princess," said Doyle, turning to face her with a sudden, brilliant smile, "what say we leave the vampire to his brooding and go out for a couple of cappuccinos?"

"Finally," Cordelia muttered briefly to herself. She perked up and turned to Doyle. "Well, there's all this filing to do, and more bills to sort..." she began discouragingly, "but since we can't pay them anyway, sure, why not?" She flashed her own brilliant smile back at him.

"It's a date, then," he said, rising and extending his hand.

She coyly dodged it but followed him to the door. "Well, I wouldn't go _that_ far."

Buffy was startled into awareness by sudden movement all around her.

"--and remember to turn in your assignments as you leave."

Everyone in the class was gathering their books and leaving their seats. Buffy looked down at her notebook, where she had apparently drawn only a few loose circles during the entire class.

"Wanna copy my notes later?" Willow asked, cheerily.

Buffy turned to Willow and looked at her somewhat vaguely. "Uh, yeah, thanks." Buffy looked back down at her paper. "Y'know, he should have called. He _should_ have called." A note of anger crept into Buffy's voice.

"Sure, Buff," said Willow, blandly encouraging. "But you know what men are."

Oz raised an eyebrow.

"Well, not you," said Willow, smiling at him.

Oz feigned mild disappointment.

"Men," Buffy snorted. She rose and gathered her papers, clutching her assignment tightly in her hand. She stalked to the front of the room, silently muttering to herself, and slammed her paper down on the desk, making Riley jump and look up in surprise.

"He _should_ have called," she asserted, angrily. "Why don't men call?"

Riley opened his mouth, but could not come up with an answer to meet her demand before Buffy turned on her heel and strode quickly out of the room.

Willow gingerly placed her paper on the desk with an apologetic shrug and smile, and quickly followed Buffy out the door, Oz casually in tow.

Riley shook his head. "Peculiar."

Willow sorted through the disorganized jumble of books that had developed on Buffy's bed. "Are you using _Psychology and Religion_, Buff?"

"No, but I'm starting to think it'll take an act of God to get this assignment done."

Willow was still searching through the pile. "I could have sworn it was--what's this?" She lifted a large, worn, leather-bound volume out of the pile of modern psychobabble.

Buffy turned around. "Oh, that," she said, when she saw the book. "I forgot all about it. Giles made me check it out of the library. Sort of a slayer assignment. It's a demony kind of book. Seems like he's having trouble giving up the teacher instinct."

Willow grinned. "Teacher instinct being assign, assign, assign." She sighed. "Is it just me, or was homework more fun in high school?"

"It's just you," said Buffy, turning back to her desk. "Homework wasn't any fun in high school, either."

Willow sighed again and started back in on the pile of books. Eventually, she extracted a small paperback from the mess. "Finally," she muttered, and began to flip through the pages, searching.

The phone rang. Neither Buffy nor Willow moved an inch.

"Could you get that, Will?" asked Buffy, still not looking up from her desk as the phone rang a second time.

Willow made an affirmative mumble and, carefully keeping her place in her book with one hand, reached for the phone with the other.

"Hello?" she said, without much warmth.

"Hi. It's me."

"It's who?"

"Xander. Y'know, dark hair, brown eyes, goofy demeanor."

"Oh, hi, Xander. Sorry, what with all the studying the voice-identification is kinda experiencing slippage."

"No prob. Um...."

"What's up?"

"Well, I was gonna make a proposal for some sociable-type interaction, but I'm guessing with the homework, hanging's not on the agenda."

"I checked my calendar, and, nope, no fun scheduled for tonight." Willow sighed.

"Well, I'll let you get back to your college-y evening."

"But, hey, if you wanna talk, I could use the excuse to take a break."

"Really? That's cool, because--"

"I'll just do the whispering," Willow said, very quietly. "So I don't disturb Buffy."

Xander hesitated. "Buffy's there?"

"Yeah," said Willow, still whispering. "We're both working on this psych paper. Topic proposals and preliminary research due next class."

"Sounds very scholastic."

"What d'you wanna talk about?"

"Um..." said Xander, fidgeting with the phone cord. "Oh, nothing. It's... not important. I don't want to... disturb Buffy. I'll see you around sometime."

"Well, okay. If you're sure."

"Night, Willow. Good luck with the paper."

"Thanks. Night."

Xander hung up the phone with an exasperated sigh. "Strike three," he muttered, "I'm--" He scoffed, then grinned. "I guess this game follows different rules."

Shelf after shelf. Books without number. They went on and on, into the blackness. Stygian. No way out, caught in the maze of stacks. And yet she had to run, for _it_ was right behind her. She could feel it, hear it shrieking an unintelligible demand. She cornered; it followed. She grew breathless; it pursued tirelessly. She fell against a shelf. Piles of books fell to the floor. Then they were all falling, flying from everywhere. All falling on her. No escape. And _it_ caught up to her--

Buffy awoke with a small yelp and sat up in bed, looking around wildly.

At her room. Normal.

"Mmph?" Willow whimpered, turning over and raising her head from her pillow. "You okay, Buff?"

"Okay," Buffy replied, as her eyes became less frantic, "nightmare."

"Was it bad?" asked Willow, sitting up.

"It was... strange. Weird. Definitely weird."

"Are you sure it was just a nightmare? Was it, like, maybe prophetical? I mean, last time you had a weird nightmare, your demon roommate was doing the sneaky soul-stealing."

"Then again, given all the slayer-stuff I've seen, a nightmare every once in a while could be kinda... normal," said Buffy. She smiled slightly, and continued in a more relaxed voice. "Besides, it was about books and a library or something. It was probably just a nightmare about our psych paper."

"In fact," Willow said, more cheerily, "she even said in class, 'This paper will be a nightmare,' didn't she?"

"I guess she was right." Buffy fell back on her pillow. "Sorry I woke you."

Willow just smiled as she lay back down. "That's okay. It's nice to have a friend around when you're all nightmare-panicky."

"Yeah, thanks, Will."

"Night, Buffy."

"Night."

"Angel..." Xander moaned, twisting and writhing on his bed.

He opened his eyes and Angel was suddenly above him, kneeling over him, smiling down at him. Angel reached out with one hand to caress Xander's cheek, running his thumb down the jawbone. Xander looked down at Angel's arm and turned his head to press into the contact.

"Angel...."

Then Angel's hand withdrew and Xander looked back up into Angel's eyes, as Angel lowered his head and brought his mouth to Xander's. Softly, at first, their lips met, and then Xander's mouth was open wide and Angel was kissing him, hungrily. Xander felt Angel's hands run across his shoulders and down his arms, then slowly up and down his torso, Angel's thumbs tracing patterns on his chest and stomach. Xander reached up and around Angel, grasping hard, stroking the rippling muscles of Angel's broad back.

"Angel...."

As Xander pulled Angel closer, Angel's hands fell to the bed and he began to grind himself against Xander, slowly at first, then with increasing urgency. Angel's mouth suddenly left Xander's, and Angel began to drag his lips down Xander's neck, tracing the veins, then across Xander's collarbone, and down his chest. Xander brought his hands down, clutched at the bedsheets, and arched his back, desperate to never lose contact with Angel's lips as they trailed a meticulous path down his stomach to his navel, and then...

They were gone.

Xander looked down, startled, to see Angel smiling up at him. Xander smiled dreamily back. And then Angel leaned down and Xander felt his mouth--

"Angel!"

Xander suddenly sat up, awake. He looked down at the twisted bunch of sheets and blankets he held in his arms and laughed, releasing them and smoothing out the bed.

Still smiling, he lay back down and closed his eyes, murmuring Angel's name only once more--softly, peacefully--before drifting back to sleep.

"Any calls?" Angel asked, determinedly casual as he stepped out of the elevator and shut the gate behind him.

Cordelia looked at him as if he were crazy. "No, no calls. Why do keep asking about calls? Are you expecting a call?"

"No, not really, I guess."

"Yeah, I've given up on expecting any calls, too. You got a lot of mail, though." Cordelia leafed through it. "Junk, bill, junk, junk, ooh... handwritten. Oh," she added disappointedly as she read the envelope, "it's for you."

"Who did you think it would be for?" asked Angel, as he walked over and took it from her.

Cordelia, engrossed by one of the advertising flyers, didn't reply.

Angel walked over to his chair but froze when he looked at the handwriting on the letter. Quickly, but carefully, he tore the envelope open. He read the enclosed card with amazement, and then sat down, stupefied.

"What is it?"

"It... it's Hallmark." Angel was still staring at the card.

"And this is a big deal because...?"

Angel replied, but seemed to be merely talking to himself. "No one's ever sent me a card like this before."

"Maybe it's because you're a dark, brooding vampire, remember?"

Angel ignored her. "I have to go shopping," he said, rising and striding across the room. "I have to--" He stopped. "--not burst into flames."

"Who's it from?"

Angel quickly pocketed the card. "No one."

"I see," said Cordelia, nodding knowingly.

"You do?" Angel looked worried.

"Now that you've got your soul permanently, I knew it was only a matter of time before you got some girl to fall for your brooding, I'm-in-so-much-pain-so-give-me-love routine. Who is it, police-woman?"

"No," said Angel, offended and relieved at the same time. "And this isn't an act."

"Oh, it's very convincing, I'll give you that."

"Look, when you've murdered your family, your friends, and thousands of others, and ruined the lives of thousands more, you can get back to me."

"Get _over_ it."

*****
Part 3:

Xander strode into the bookstore with a calm and casual air, slowly surveying the rows of shelves standing before him. He walked over to the first shelf and systematically began to browse, moving leisurely down each aisle, scanning its contents, his air still determinedly casual. But a careful observer might have noticed the agitated way his hand repeatedly worried the seam of his pants. And also the furtive way he glanced across the room at a section of shelves he had yet to reach.

He looked around cautiously before finally entering the aisle, still trying to maintain a casual appearance. His eyes widened slightly as he surveyed the range of titles in the small, under-stocked section. Trembling a little, he finally reached out to pull one book, glancing up guardedly over the shelves as he did so. And saw Willow. Heading straight for him.

He flinched back from the shelf, inhaling sharply through clenched teeth. After a moment's hesitation, he stepped to the side, trying to reassume the appearance of casual browsing. And then Willow was suddenly beside him.

"Hi!" he exclaimed, startled.

"Hi, Xander. What are you doing here?"

"Um, ah," Xander stuttered, "nothing--I mean, uh, browsing. Yeah. I mean, it's great! Look here, it's, uh..." Xander looked up to read the title of the section he was pointing at. "Philosophy! And, over there, is that... literary criticism? Wow! Outta my way!" He rushed forward, almost knocking Willow over. Then he turned back. "Uh, why are you here?"

Willow, a little overwhelmed by Xander's display and not sure whether to giggle or frown, stared in confusion for a moment before collecting herself and answering, "I needed to find a book for my psych paper. The library and the campus bookstore didn't have it."

"And so you must descend from the ivory tower and mix with the townies."

"Xander, I live here."

"At the bookstore?" Xander looked around, as if trying to gauge the comfort of the living accommodations. "I knew you liked books, but--"

Willow grinned and hit him playfully. "In Sunnydale."

"Oh, right."

A look of concern suddenly crossed Willow's face. "I'm sorry we couldn't talk last night. Would you like to get coffee?" she asked, gesturing across the bookstore at the coffee shop in the corner.

Xander looked over and gulped. "Sure," he said, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat.

Willow gave him a little smile and led him over to the counter. They gave their orders, and then Xander turned and leaned casually back against the bar. "Find your book?" he asked, offhandedly.

Willow grinned and held up her bag. "Yep. _Psychological Factors in Pagan Religions_."

Xander boggled. "They have _that_ and they hardly have any--" Xander broke off and hesitated nervously.

"Any what?" asked Willow.

"Your coffee," the cashier said.

Xander quickly and gratefully paid, and then led Willow over to an empty table. They sat down and Xander proceeded to fiddle nervously with his cup, sipping occasionally. Willow eyed him with concern over the rim of her own cup.

Xander finally put his coffee down and pushed it away, leaning forward as if he were about to say something. But he stopped and hung his head.

"Xander," said Willow, placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "It's okay. I already know."

Xander jerked his head up and looked at her, wary. "You know?"

Willow pulled her hand back. "Anya told me all about it."

Xander stared in disbelief. "_Anya_ told you?"

"Yeah. Anya... really randomly... walked up to me this morning and started talking about men... and women... and relationships, and I just sort of stood there, and she just kept talking on and on for like, ten minutes straight. By the end I sort of figured out that she had done the breaking-up thing with you... or something. And then she said thank you and that she felt much better, and then she walked off. It was... surreal."

Xander looked at the table and scratched his head. "Yeah, that's Anya."

"I'm so sorry, Xander."

"No, really, it's okay. It's for the best." He grabbed his coffee cup again.

"No, it's not okay. I mean, last night you were in pain, and you called, and I didn't have time to talk."

"What? Oh, that." Xander let go of his coffee long enough to make a short, dismissive gesture. "I'm really okay with it. I mean, we didn't even really have anything to break up. So there's no use crying over spilt milk that wasn't there to be... spilled."

Willow frowned. "You're sure you're okay? I mean, it's all right to have emotions... to want to be mopey... or angry..."

"Or sneezy?"

Willow smiled. "Whatever works."

"I'll stick to being Xander."

Willow smiled and nodded, and then glanced at her watch. "Oh! I'd better get back to school." She grinned. "Townie time's up."

Xander smiled weakly at her as she got up. "Have fun."

She nodded. "Call if you need to talk, okay?" She gave a little wave and turned to the exit. Xander watched her until she was out the door.

"And that would be strike four." Xander shook his head. "Too bad this isn't bowling."

He sat for a moment longer at the table, before gathering his courage and getting up to once again systematically browse his way across the bookstore.

A torrent of Geiger-counter-like clicks suddenly issued from the machine, its monitor burst into a tempest of flashing colors and wild patterns, and indicators and dials everywhere flashed and spun.

"Whoa!" Riley Finn jumped back from the keyboard, and then immediately reached forward again, pressing buttons and turning dials in a desperate attempt to regain control.

"Agent Finn?" came a demanding voice from over his shoulder. "Are you destroying the equipment?"

"No, ma'am," he said, finally stifling the chaos. He returned quickly to the keyboard and began typing away. "Hotspot... definite."

"Can you triangulate?"

"Yes. It's... the library?"

"Are you sure?"

"Um... no. This equipment hasn't been calibrated yet. It might just be a glitch."

"And that glitch might be a poltergeist."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Take a team and investigate."

Riley nodded, rose from his chair, and began to walk quickly away.

"And be careful."

Riley turned back and smiled. "Always am."

Buffy awoke with a start and a sharp intake of breath. After a few seconds of looking around at her darkened room, she exhaled softly and muttered to herself, "Again with the books."

She squinted suddenly and looked around again, haunted by the feeling that something still wasn't quite right. She turned and looked out the window. Far away, across the quad, she could see the tall dark windows of the library... and a ghostly light moving about inside. She stared for a moment, then rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked again. The light swept across the windows, rising and falling without regard to gravity... looking suspiciously supernatural.

Buffy was immediately out of bed, pulling her hair back into a neat pony tail, and quickly changing into an outfit more intimidating to demons and practical for fighting them than her pajamas. She paused at the doorway, looking back into the room at Willow curled up on her bed, still plunged deep into sleep.

Buffy smiled briefly, and then was out the door.

A short run across the quad later, she was at the doors to the library. The vast slabs of oak stood, tall, impenetrable... and both conveniently and suspiciously ajar. Buffy carefully squeezed through the narrow open space, anxious not to test the hinges, and then padded up the stairs, moving slowly to prevent her footsteps from echoing too loudly in the vast stairwell.

The great yawning space of the library appeared larger still in the shadows of the night. Buffy stood at the head of the stairs and scanned the room, sweeping her eyes across the tables, desks, chairs, and shelves, looking for any sign of the ghostly light she had seen from outside. But she saw nothing... until finally, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a pale shimmer, just visible from deep within the stacks.

Buffy moved forward cautiously, staying deep in the shadows, always near or under cover, until she reached the dark maze of shelves. She could still just see it, a faint glimmer of light gliding amongst the books, somewhere. She stalked it as best she could, trying her best to keep sight of it as it disappeared and reappeared in the distance, sometimes completely blocked by the many yards of books, other times just barely visible between the shelves.

Suddenly, there was a footstep. It was almost silent, muffled by row upon row of books, but it was definitely a footstep. Buffy froze and listened intently. There was a faint sound of movement from several rows over. Buffy began to cautiously stalk in that direction. The light was no longer visible, but the footsteps grew ever closer, moving guardedly in stops and starts like her own.

Then, the footsteps were right next to her, one row over. Buffy tensed and took a tight hold of her stake, keeping it raised and ready. She silently counted to three, and then jumped out from behind the stack--

And into a large, blond-haired young man.

"Riley!"

"Buffy?!"

Buffy was so busy quickly hiding her stake that she didn't notice Riley making similar motions. When she looked back up, she hesitated, then laughed nervously. "What are you doing here?"

Riley smiled at her and shifted from foot to foot. "I'm, uh, up late... grading papers."

"What's with the fatigues?"

Riley looked down at himself and then back up at Buffy nervously. "Oh, this? Uh, just old army surplus stuff. It's comfortable to relax in... when I'm... grading papers."

"But with the vest?"

Riley looked down and up again, still awkward. "I just had to... complete the look."

"Oookay," said Buffy, unconvinced.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"Me?" asked Buffy, taken by surprise. "Um... I woke up... and thought I saw something in the library windows. Thought it might be... burglars or something. So I came over to--"

"You thought it might be burglars and you came over by yourself? Isn't that a little... dangerous?"

Buffy drew in a breath and opened her mouth to angrily protest, but then suddenly laughed nervously again. "Yeah, I guess it is. Silly me. I mean, I must be... a little foggy... from the sleep." She yawned and put her hand over her mouth theatrically, eyes locked on Riley's reaction.

"Right, well, maybe you'd better get back to it," said Riley, in a tone more fond than condescending.

"Okay!" said Buffy, unexpectedly docile. "Have fun grading papers."

"Thanks," said Riley, nodding quickly. "I will."

Buffy turned and walked towards the exit. Riley watched her, still nervous, when his radio suddenly crackled. He grabbed it, turned down the volume, and held it up to his mouth. "Yes?" he whispered.

"There's nothing in any of the storage rooms."

"Nothing out here either," he said, quietly. "If there was anything, we must've scared it off. Meet me at the entrance." He glanced up to see Buffy turning back at the top of the stairs, and hastily shoved the radio into his pocket before he could hear the reply. He grinned innocently at her.

Buffy waved. "Night!"

He waved back quickly. "Night!"

Buffy turned and disappeared down the stairs.

Riley shook his head. "Peculiar."

There was a hesitant knock at the door, which echoed slightly in darkness of Angel's apartment. Angel laid down the book he had been reading and walked quickly across the room to answer it.

"Doyle."

"Angel." Doyle looked around uncomfortably. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No," said Angel, stepping back and gesturing into the apartment. "Come in."

Doyle strode in with a determinedly casual air, hands thrust in his pockets. "Where's the kid?"

"Xander? He's out of town for a while."

"Oh." Doyle relaxed a bit, then something seemed to occur to him. "I had a vision. Girl. Vampires. We'll need to hurry."

Angel stared at Doyle in disbelief for a moment, then grabbed his coat and herded Doyle out the door.

On the drive and during the fight, Doyle and Angel spoke only to give directions and coordinate strategy. This was natural.

It was only during the drive home that the silence between them became unnatural and heavy. Doyle was staring out the window of the car, his head lowered at a pensive angle, sulking.

Angel, after repeated uncomfortable glances in his direction, sighed mentally and finally spoke. "Doyle, silent brooding is _my_ specialty. You going to tell me what's up?"

Doyle gave Angel a glance. "You know what's up."

"I can guess. You have something to say?"

Doyle frowned slightly. "Angel, man, do you know what you're doing?"

Angel thought for a moment before answering. "Not really... but I'm more sure of this than I've been of anything in a long time."

"But... look, Angel, I know you've got your soul back and all, and now you can actually get some without going all fangy and evil, and that's great, I'm happy for you, really I am, but... Angel, you don't have to get some from the first person to walk in the door!"

"Doyle--"

"I mean, I realize you have some shared experience and all, both going through that ryver demon thing, but if I went out with everyone who was attacked by the same demons as me, well, I'd be a very popular fellow!"

"Doyle--"

"And besides, Cordelia says you're supposed to hate this... Xander... kid, or whatever his name is."

"Doyle, I love him."

Doyle was shocked into speechlessness for a moment... but only a moment. "But he's just a kid! He's not just less than half your age, he's less than a tenth of your age!"

"He's just as old as Cordelia."

"I... but... you..." Doyle's expression was anxious and confused, but then he relaxed into resignation. "I suppose this is where you lecture me about being homophobic."

"What good would that do?"

"What?"

"Sounds like you could give that lecture as well as I could."

"I'm sorry, Angel, man. You just surprised me. I mean, when you meet someone, you make certain... assumptions.... And then when you suddenly find him... making out... with another guy, it's sort of shock to the system, y'know? I mean, you were supposed to be straight. What about that slayer girl, Buffy? Wasn't that supposed to be the forbidden love of all time?"

"That's the story."

"Oh." Doyle paused, then went on, frustratedly, "Well, you can understand why I was surprised."

"I don't blame you for being surprised, but--"

"I know, I know.... You don't have to tell me." Doyle stared out the window at the lights going by. "So, when's the kid--I mean, Xander--getting back?"

"Three days."

Doyle turned to look at Angel. "You're counting the minutes, aren't you?" he asked, amazed. Then a small, amused smile appeared on his face. "You've got it bad."

Angel brought the car to a screeching halt. "Oh, look, your apartment," he said, in a flat voice. Doyle looked worried but then noticed the slight upward curl of the corner of Angel's mouth and grinned back.

Doyle got out of the car and turned back before closing the door. "And don't worry," he said, "I won't tell Cordelia. I'm sure you'll want to save _that_ scene for... a special occasion."

"Thanks for bringing that up."

"Later, Angel." Doyle slammed the door shut and immediately headed up the steps to his building. Angel watched him until he got inside and then slowly drove off, shaking his head.

*****