*****

I work for a demon.

I allow myself to forget that. For long stretches of time when work is quiet. When we are talking shop or researching. He seems to be just a man. For long stretches of time I forget what he really is.

Then, in an instant, it all rushes back. I see his true face and the urge to stake him is almost overwhelming. Years of watcher training return and my brain pulses with the words. Enemy. Evil. Vampire.

It happened again tonight. I was caught up in the fight, throwing off the enthralled acolytes who were attacking myself and Cordelia. I could feel my heart pounding as the adrenaline coursed through my veins. Then I heard another pounding. Angel was beating a helpless man.

Enemy

I pulled him away from the prone man. And then I turned away in anger and disgust, because I once again saw the true nature of the man I work for.

Evil

But I can't leave him. He does good for the people of L.A., and as long as he continues his work, I'll be there to support him. But I will keep my crosses and holy water handy.

Vampire

These are not thoughts I want to have. I do not want to formulate attack scenarios. I do not want to plan the best ways out of the hotel, the best ambush points for Angelus. But I need to. These last few weeks he has been on edge. The demon is just below the surface, bubbling away under the skin of my employer.

The Scourge of Europe

I awaken from my musings when Cordelia brings the angelmobile to a stop in front of my apartment. As I'm reaching for the car handle, I feel her hand on my arm.

"Wesley"

She looks at me with an unasked question in her eyes. I want to tell her that Angel's recent behavior is nothing to worry about. But I do worry, and I have a terrible poker face.

"I'll see you in the morning, Cordelia." Her name is almost a sigh. I am tired, and very much in need of a long, uninterrupted sleep. I aim a small smile in her direction, but my eyes remain cast down. I can't meet her demanding gaze at this hour of the night. In a moment I'm out of the car and shuffling towards my apartment. She waits at the curb until I'm safely inside, and then peels away.

But I am not safe yet. I need to know what is troubling Angel, for my own sake, as well as his. He won't confide in me, he won't bare his soul. I can't go back to the hotel tomorrow with these thoughts of stakes and holy water still echoing in my brain. And I won't be able to sleep with the picture of Angel's bloody fists imprinted in my brain.

After an hour of wandering the L.A. streets, I find myself at Caritas. I tell myself that I only go there to gather information. Keep my ear to the ground and all. But I know it's a lie.

I go to see the demons. We drink together, play darts and occasionally have karaoke contests. They're not all evil you know. Although I think Durthock the child-eater cheats at darts.

My failures as a Watcher and Rogue Demon Hunter don't matter here. Probably because it wouldn't be in my best interests to advertise my former occupations. Instead I'm The Human, pronounced in big capital letters. The odd little man who can translate languages, give tips on fitting into the upperworld and nail three bulls-eyes in a row.

I'm accepted and almost well liked. And the annoying insecurities that escape so often in Angel and Cordelia's presence are non- existent. You could even say I've made some friends here. After one particularly long night I found out more about a fire demon named Credune than his mother probably knows. If he has a mother, I'm a bit sketchy on their reproductive system. Although, if I understood his language correctly, he was trying to acquaint me with it intimately. Ahem. That's a story for another time.

I suppose it is simply a comfort to be able to come to a place where people will open up to me. I am worn down by Angel's walls. Night after night I try to find some clues into his heart and soul. But he won't let me in. So I make do with the nameless demons that frequent the bar. I want to find someone who's as tortured and lovelorn as my employer. Then maybe I can see a glimpse into Angel's feelings, and find a way to help him, as he has helped me.

Of course, the demons here are so very different from our resident vampire with a soul. There is no conflict within them. They follow their nature, whether it is killing or comforting. Angel is tortured because his two natures are diametrically opposed. He wants to be the savior and warrior for good, but he also has a violent nature that needs to be expressed. Sometimes I wonder if my goal should be convincing him to let that violence spill out more. Perhaps we'd all be better off if we were constantly reminded of his darker side.

The bartender, a six-armed demon named Raz, has my drink out for me as I approach the bar. Things are busy tonight, and I know I'm going to have trouble getting a table to myself. As I work my way through the crowds, I can hear the singer on stage.

London calling to the underworld Come out of the cupboard, all you boys and girls London calling, now don't look at us All that phoney Beatlemania has bitten the dust London calling, see we ain't got no swing 'Cept for the ring of that truncheon thing

For once the singer actually has a decent voice, there's real emotion to the song. Our host is going to have a wonderful time reading this one's spirit. I've haven't heard too many people here with English accents either, maybe he'll be up for a game of darts when he finishes.

London calling upon the zombies of death Quit holding out-and draw another breath

I finally find a seat and can see up on the stage. The singer looks human enough, with a leather jacket and bleached blond hair. He's very pale. And familiar somehow, although I'm sure I've never seen him before.

London calling, see we ain't got no highs Except for that one with the yellowy eyes

He catches my eye as he finishes the song. Startling blue eyes. So different from Angel's. I find myself wondering if he'll share a drink with me. He swaggers toward my table and I wonder if he'll sit and talk for a bit. When he sits down uninvited, I wonder if below that cocky exterior is a man (or demon) who's as tortured as my employer.

But then he smiles at me and I am overwhelmed by an unexpected surge of lust. I forget about the rest of the bar. I forget about the fight from earlier. And I forget that I work for a demon on the knife edge between good and evil. All I know is that I need to learn more about this man in front of me.

The End