RATING: mild R
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, Joss's. He needs to treat them better. Oh, and Fox, WB, Mutant Enemy, Sandollar also own them.

������Kate gaped, the gun in her hand drooping. �"That's not possible. �There wasn't a cloud in the sky!"

������Buffy stared at the storm, then looked at Angel, recalling a certain Christmas two years ago. �"Deja vu."

������"All over again," Angel nodded.

������"Only then it was a snowstorm." �Her words were unsteady.

������"Well, it was winter," Angel reminded her faintly. �He was as dazed as Buffy. �

������She nodded slowly. �"Right. �And now it's spring, so of course it would be rain and not snow. �Although if the PTB wanted to make a really dramatic statement, snow would have been my suggestion. �Some people need to be hit over the head before they can see the obvious," - glancing at Kate.

������The detective was still standing there, staring from one window to another, as if unable to believe her eyes. �The hand holding the gun dangled loosely at her side.

������"Ahem!" �Buffy cleared her throat loudly. �Kate was oblivious. �"Detective Lockley!" she called, with more volume. �Kate blinked then slowly focused on her.

������ "You might as well put your gun away," Buffy told her. �"There won't be any sun today. �Not as long as Angel is in this cell, anyway."

������Kate shook her head violently. �"Who are you?" she rasped, bringing the gun up again to bear on Buffy. "What are you?" ��She backed away until she hit the cell door behind her. �Her eyes were wild, the whites showing. �"How did you do that?"

������Buffy rolled her eyes. �"Oh please. �It wasn't me. �Don't you believe in a Higher Power?" �She saw with alarm that the gun was shaking in Kate's hand.

������"Detective Lockley!"

������Buffy started, as did Angel. �Kate's head snapped around. �The voice had come from the open door to the holding area, where a tall, rather husky man of middle age was standing. �His short, dark hair was flecked with gray, and he exuded authority.

������"Captain," faltered Kate, �what are you doing here?"

������He advanced a couple of steps into the room. �"I think a better question, Detective, is what are you doing here? �I sincerely hope you have a good explanation for why you're threatening these inmates with your gun." �

������"Sir, these two are extremely dangerous."

������The captain didn't look impressed. �"They were searched, according to procedure?"

������"Of course, sir."

������"So I assume neither one of them is now carrying a weapon of any kind?" �Angel and Buffy stood motionless under his scrutiny.

������Kate hesitated. �

������"Detective?" �The captain's voice cut like a whip. �She started. �"No, sir," she admitted.

������"In that case, Detective, I suggest you hand over your weapon." �When Kate didn't immediately comply, his voice hardened. �"Now, Lockley!"

�����������Kate swallowed audibly. �"Yes, sir." �With hands that trembled she lowered her arms. �The captain held out his hand. �She reversed the gun, walked over to him, and gave it to him. �There was a policeman behind him, Buffy now noticed. �She recognized the young cop who had tried to argue that Angel shouldn't be arrested. �Serrano, that was his name.

������The captain turned back to Kate, his face unreadable. �"Now, Detective, I would like to hear your explanation as to why these two are in here in the first place. �There doesn't seem to be any paperwork on them."

������"Captain, the man admitted to harboring a known felon. �In addition he resisted arrest. �The girl aided and abetted him."

������Buffy started to protest, but Angel placed his hand on her arm and shook his head. �"Wait," he breathed.

������"Did you Mirandize them?"

������"Of course I did," Kate declared.

������"No," Angel and Buffy said in unison. �

������The captain regarded them for a moment then turned to the cop. �"Serrano, I believe you were present when these two were taken into custody?" �Serrano nodded. �"Did you hear the detective read them their rights?"

������The young man wet his lips, casting a nervous glance at Kate. �"No, sir."

������The captain nodded as if unsurprised. �His eyes turned again to Kate. �"As I understand it, Lockley, this man, Angel, was instrumental in persuading the fugitive, Faith, to turn herself in. �Is that correct?"

������"That's what he claims, yes," muttered Kate, sending Angel a sullen glance.

������"So does Faith," the captain stated baldly. �"She has also stated that the disturbance last night was instigated by someone out for revenge against her, and that these two acted only in defense of their lives, as well as hers; that at no time did they fire any weapons; that, in fact, they had no weapons in their possession at all. �Is this true?"

������"I . . . don't know, sir." Kate was beginning to have the glazed look of a deer frozen by the headlights of an oncoming car.

������"Did you find any weapons on them? �Have any witnesses come forth to claim that they were armed? �Have you even looked for witnesses?" The captain shot his questions at her like arrows. �Kate didn't answer, only looked at him dumbly.

������"Captain." �It was Angel. �Buffy heaved a mental sigh of exasperation; she just knew what he was going to say. �Sure enough: "You know that Detective Lockley recently lost her father under tragic circumstances. �You must also be aware that she refused to take any leave of absence from her duties."

������"I'm aware of that, yes," the captain replied, looking keenly at Angel.

������"I'm sure that her irrational behavior tonight is due to a delayed reaction to the shock of her father's death. �She needs rest and professional help."

������The captain nodded shortly. �"You took the words out of my mouth, young man. �Detective Lockley, consider yourself on medical leave until further notice. �I want official notification within forty-eight hours that you have sought professional help, or you will be suspended. �Is that clear?"

������Kate nodded silently. �The captain eyed her then said, "Serrano, find someone to take her home. �Lockley, you are not to drive, do you understand? �Later this afternoon, if you are feeling better, you may return for your car."

������Kate nodded again, then walked out of the room without a word or backward look, moving like a zombie. �Serrano followed her a wary distance behind. �The captain called for the guard and ordered him to open the cell door. �When Buffy and Angel were free he looked at them. �"On behalf of the LAPD I sincerely apologize to you both. �I suppose I'll be hearing from your attorneys." �He sighed.

������Angel shook his head. �"No attorneys, and no apology is needed, Captain. �I just hope Kate gets help. �You need good people like her." �Buffy pursed her lips, but remained silent. �

������"Yes," the captain agreed. �He paused, as if about to add something, but apparently thought better of it. �He apologized again and showed them the way out.

������Minutes later they stood outside the police station, getting drenched. "Angel!" someone shouted. "Over here!" Squinting through the driving rain, Buffy recognized Wesley, waving to them a short distance away. He was standing next to Angel's convertible; luckily, the top was up. An umbrella protected him somewhat from the downpour.

������They sprinted for the car, Angel moving toward the driver's side. Wesley opened his mouth, but Angel merely looked at him and he subsided. Sighing, he got into the back and Angel took the driver's seat.

������Buffy surveyed herself. "I don't know why we bothered to run," she said ruefully. "We couldn't possibly get any wetter than we are right now." The motor purred into life. Angel checked behind them and pulled out into the traffic, which was already beginning to pick up, despite the downpour and the early hour.

������"There is a certain drowned-rat quality to you both," Wesley agreed. "Would you care to tell me what happened to cause this storm to appear out of literally nowhere? Because I refuse to believe it was a coincidence."

������"Not," admitted Buffy. "Angel was about to get fried by the sunrise, thanks to Wacko Kate. Apparently the PTB didn't approve of her little plan."

������Wesley blinked as Angel turned a corner. "An admirably succinct account, Buffy, but hardly informative. Would you please elaborate?"

������Buffy yawned, all of a sudden ready to drop from fatigue. "I'll let Angel do the honors, Wes. I'm really tired." As she rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes, she heard Angel's voice beginning to recount their ordeal, but then it faded away.

������"Buffy, wake up. We're here." Buffy opened her eyes. Angel was turned toward her, touching her arm. Blearily she looked out the window and recognized Angel's building. Then, with a shock that jerked her fully awake, she realized the storm was dissipating fast. Really fast. "Angel, the sun!"

������Angel took one look. "Damn!" He scrambled awkwardly out of his coat, pulling it out from beneath him, then positioned it over his head and reached for his door handle. Light was already breaking through the rapidly vanishing clouds. The wet sidewalks gleamed.

������"Wait!" Buffy stopped him. "Wes, get out here and open the umbrella. Angel, get out on my side. You'll get less exposure that way."

������"Good thinking," approved Wesley. In a flash he and Buffy were out of the car, and Wesley positioned himself outside her door. As Angel slid across the seat Wesley got the umbrella open and ready, and ten seconds later the three were inside the building.

������"Are you all right?"asked Buffy anxiously. Little wisps of smoke drifted upward from Angel's coat. He removed it, giving it a little shake. "I'm fine. See?" He turned around, allowing her to inspect him, then smiled. "No worse than a sunburn."

������Buffy gave him a look. "Ha ha." She heaved a sigh of relief, then wrinkled her nose. "I don't know about you, Angel, but I can't wait to get rid of this Eau du Prison smell. May I use your shower?"

������Fifteen minutes, three head-to-toe scrubbings, and two shampooings later, Buffy decided she might finally be rid of the pervasive odor. Leaning her hands against the tiled wall she stood under the streaming water, letting the hot spray wash away the tension. Well, a portion of it, at least.

������She knew better than to expect a fairy tale solution for Angel and her, despite the Powers' timely, not to mention theatrical, intervention that morning. Their relationship had never run smoothly, despite their love, and she had no reason to believe it ever would. But for now she deliberately pushed away all thoughts of the future, and just luxuriated in the warmth of the water and of finally feeling clean again.

������"I gotta say, that Angel is one lucky man."

������Buffy shrieked and whirled around, her heart thumping. A young man stood there, leaning against the sink, shaking his head admiringly. His thin, humorous face and dark hair looked vaguely familiar.

������"Who are you? How dare you spy on me?" She snatched her towel off its hook and wrapped it hastily around herself. Keeping a wary on the intruder, she stepped out of the shower.

������She might have believed the penitent look that crossed his face, if it wasn't for the bright blue eyes twinkling at her. "Ye have my solemn apologies, Slayer. Sure, and I never would have committed such a terrible breach of manners if the situation hadn't been so urgent."

������"Who are you?" Buffy repeated. Belatedly aware that the shower was still running, she reached over and pushed in the knob, getting her towel wet in the process. Which didn't improve her mood one bit.

������The young man slapped his hand against his heart theatrically. "Ye don't remember me? I'm shattered." He bowed to her. "Doyle is the name."

������Buffy narrowed her eyes. "Doyle." He did look like the man she vaguely remembered Cordy dragging out of the office when she had paid her visit to Angel back in November. But Doyle was dead. He'd died saving Angel and Cordelia and a boat full of half-breed demons.

������"The one and only. Thank God, most would say." He grinned puckishly at her.

������"Doyle's dead," she returned flatly.

������"As a doornail, me darlin'," he cheerfully affirmed. "And unfortunately still at the beck and call of Those Who Expect To Be Obeyed." He heaved a dramatic sigh.

������The bathroom door burst open and Angel rushed in, with Wesley hovering close behind him. "Buffy, are you - " He stopped in mid-word, staring at their visitor. His open mouth closed, opened, then closed again. "Doyle?" he whispered.

������"Angel, man, it's good to see ya again." Doyle smiled at his former employer. "I know you're all choked up and everything', but we don't have time for all that right now. I'm on an errand for the Powers. They've had enough of the two of ya mopin' around and pinin' for each other - it's giving them acid stomachs or somethin'. So they sent me to give you two a hint." Along with his mischievous mannerisms his exaggerated Irish brogue had also vanished.

������"A hint?" Angel looked as confused as Buffy felt. "What kind of hint? About what?"

������Doyle straightened, in the process somehow becoming taller than he actually was. "That which has already been done cannot be undone," he intoned. Buffy's eyes widened. His normal light tenor had deepened and become . . . fuller. Richer. Even kind of eerie. It almost sounded as if more than one person was speaking through his voice.

������"But that which has already been done can be altered, or revoked. Find the Book of Sekhmet and seek the solution."

������Doyle stopped speaking and gave his head a little shake. "Whew! That's a strange feelin'. A million times better than those skull-splitters I used to get, though." He whistled in remembrance.

������"What does it mean?" Angel still looked bewildered. Doyle gave him a rather disgusted look. "A tad slow tonight, aren't ya?" he remarked cuttingly.

������Buffy rushed to Angel's defense. "Doyle, we've had a really rough night. Can you give us a hint - �cause I have to admit I'm not getting the message either. For starters, what is the Book of Sekhmet?"

������"It's a volume of ancient spells, curses, and prophecies." Wesley spoke for the first time. "Sekhmet was the lion-headed goddess of Old Egypt. She was the goddess of - well, of a great many things: life, birth, and death, to name only a few."

������Doyle nodded his approval. "You'll be Wesley, I'm thinkin'."

������Wesley inclined his head in return. "I am. It's an honor to meet you, sir."

������"Sir?" Doyle looked over both shoulders in an exaggerated fashion. "Sure, and I thought it was me father you were talkin' to." He grinned. "The name's Doyle, not sir."

������"Doyle, then." Wesley, too, smiled. "Can you repeat the message? I'd like to be sure I got it right." Doyle obliged, this time with no supernatural overtones, and Wesley frowned, deep in thought.

������"�That which has already been done can be altered or revoked.' Something that's already happened needs to be altered in some fashion, and Angel is to look in the Book of Sekhmet to find out how to do it - but we don't know what it is we're supposed to change."

������"I've always been a big fan of Cher's," remarked Doyle, apropos of nothing at all. The abrupt change of subject left everyone gawking at him. "I really like that old song of hers; from the seventies, I think it was. You know the one."

������Pursing his lips he whistled a few bars of a tune. Buffy recognized it from the oldies radio programs her mother loved to listen to, but she couldn't place it.

������Wesley watched Doyle closely, then tentatively began humming the same melody. Angel glanced at Buffy, his expression mirroring her own confusion. Wesley looked over at the vampire. "Angel, don't you recognize the song?"

������"Vaguely, yes. I'm just wondering what it has to do with anything." Angel's voice betrayed his growing exasperation.

������"Wait," Buffy said. She didn't understand either, but she believed that Doyle had a definite purpose in mind when he mentioned the song. "It's something about tramps and robbers, or something."

������Wesley sent her an approving glance that also held suppressed excitement. "Yes. The actual title is �Gypsies, Tramps & Thieves'."

������Buffy got it instantly. "Gypsies!" She turned in elation to Angel, who still looked lost. "Like in the Kalderash. �That which has already been done can be altered, or revoked'. Angel, the Powers are telling us that something can be done about your curse!"

������"Finally!" Doyle mimed wiping sweat off his forehead while Wesley gave her what could only be called a beam. Doyle leaned toward Buffy and, gesturing at Angel, whispered, "Did he get hit on the head last night or somethin'? He's usually quicker in the uptake than this."

������Wesley cut in. "As Buffy already told you, Doyle, they had quite a rough night. After almost getting fried by the sun, one can hardly wonder if Angel is somewhat out of it right now."

������"Is Buffy right?" Angel asked Doyle, ignoring all the by-play and cutting right to the heart of the matter. "Is that what the message means?"

������"Seems clear as mud to me," Doyle smiled.

������Angel took a step toward him. "Doyle." Although his voice stayed quiet, his manner made it clear he was in no mood for jokes. "Can something be done to change the curse so that - "

������He stopped, swallowed, as if afraid to speak the words for fear they might not be true after all.

������Doyle became equally serious. "So that your soul is safe?" He smiled again, but this time with reassurance. "Angel, any spell or curse that can be cast can also be broken - or revised, even though it might not be easy to do it. What I can't understand is why none of you ever thought of that. Not even your Watcher, Buffy. I never mentioned it because I figured you'd already researched it and couldn't find the solution."

������Buffy exchanged a blank glance with Angel, then Wesley. "I . . . don't know." She had rarely felt so stupid.

������"It doesn't matter," Angel said. He stood straighter and a burden seemed to lift off his shoulders. Suddenly he looked years younger, with a light in his eyes Buffy hadn't seen since before her seventeenth birthday. "I'm going to call Giles and see if he knows where I can lay hands on the Book of Sekhmet."

������"It's entirely possible that he may even have a copy himself," contributed Wesley. He was as excited as they.

������"Doyle," began Angel, smiling broadly as he turned to the spirit of his friend. "I don't know how to - "

������"Thank me?" interrupted the Irishman, so sharply that they all stared at him. "I'll tell you how: by not screwing up this chance for happiness the way you did before!"

������Angel was visibly taken aback by his cutting tone. "Look at ya," continued Doyle. "You're grinning like an idiot. Feelin' happy, are ya, my friend?"

������Buffy paled. How horribly ironic would it be if Angel's joy at finally getting rid of the loophole that put his soul in danger actually served to activate the loophole itself?

������As Angel's hopeful expression also faded, Doyle added, "Look, man, you've got the chance of a lifetime here. Don't blow it. Find the Book, find the spell or whatever it takes to keep your soul safe, cast it, and then celebrate."

������"You're right." Determination swept across Angel's features. "Thank you."

������Doyle gave him a long, narrow-eyed stare, then nodded, as if satisfied with what he saw. He waved his hand airily. "Think nothin' of it. All part of the service, ya know. Well, I better be getting back to work before the Powers dock my pay. See ya around. Oh, and Angel?"

������Angel raised an inquiring eyebrow. Doyle nodded toward Buffy and gave him a thumbs-up gesture. "Congratulations. She's a real stiffener, all right."

������Buffy's jaw dropped, but before she could do more than gasp in outrage, Doyle disappeared. Wesley coughed, then said smoothly, "I believe I'll take my leave also. I'll see you both later." Then he too vanished from her view, but not before she caught a glimpse of his wide grin.

������She turned to Angel, seething helplessly, at a loss for words. Angel shrugged. "It's only the truth." Then he smiled. "Especially when all you're wearing is a towel."

������Buffy looked down; she had completely forgotten her state of semi-nudity. "Oh. Uh, yeah . . . guess I better get some clothes on, huh?"

������Angel nodded but didn't move. "Buffy - " He stopped, clearly searching for words. She didn't give him any help, only waited, clutching the towel around her. Finally he made a helpless gesture. "I feel like the world has suddenly turned upside down. There's so much we need to talk about, but - " Again he stopped.

������"Angel," said Buffy quietly. "If Doyle's right there'll be time enough for talk later. The only question I have right now is whether you want us to be together again."

������She held up her hand as he started to speak. "Not whether we can be together, or should be together, but whether or not you want us to be."

������Angel's answer wasn't verbal: He took two steps forward, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her. Not passionately or desperately, as they'd kissed in the jail cell, but with a consuming love and reassurance that spoke louder than words.

������Buffy hadn't realized how stiff she was until the tension drained from her body at Angel's response. The relief was so great, for a moment she felt giddy and leaned against him until her head cleared.

������"Good," she managed to rasp. "Then we'll make it work, somehow. Now, give me a minute to get dressed and then - "

������She broke into a tremulous smile. "And then I think we have a phone call to make."

FIVE MONTHS LATER

������"Ahhh!" Buffy gasped/moaned. Above her, Angel echoed her cry as he drove deep inside her. At the impact of their bodies a shower of sensation exploded within her, and Buffy shuddered. "Oh, God! Angel - "

�����������"I can't wait!" he gasped, his face contorted.

������"Neither can I!" She bucked upward to meet him, and his hard length slammed into her again and again, faster and faster. Then Angel froze momentarily and her groan mingled with his choked cry as the bonfire of orgasm consumed them both. Afterward they lay sprawled atop the sheets, limp as rags, until Buffy's breathing returned to normal.

������Sighing, Buffy nestled closer, draping a leg over Angel's long limbs and relishing the coolness that sucked the excess warmth from her overheated body. She let her hand lazily caress the flat, muscular planes of his chest and stomach, and rediscovered a fact she'd completely forgotten: the vampire was ticklish.

������Gasping, he grabbed her hand and forcibly stopped the light tracing of her fingertips. Although greatly tempted to start a tickle fest, Buffy decided against it. After all, Angel might retaliate, and she too was ticklish. She couldn't, however, resist a giggle.

������"Sorry." She moved her hand away from the trouble zone, back up to his chest. Smoothing one soft, flat nipple, she said, "I wasn't sure this day would ever come, Angel. I'd almost given up hope." Through the window she caught a glimpse of the bright moon shining gibbous in the dark sky.

������"I know. I thought we'd never find the right spell, and then - " He gave a little laugh, his breath puffing against the top of her head. "We do know how to complicate things, don't we?"

������"I'd say we deserve a medal by now," Buffy said wryly. "If anyone gave out medals for screwing things up, that is. Between me feeling guilty about Riley and trying to break it off with him without hurting him - "

������"Which wasn't possible, and you knew it," put in Angel. "He loves you, Buffy. There was no way he wouldn't get hurt."

������"No," she sighed, with regret. "But I couldn't stay with him once we knew there was a chance your soul could be safe, even if we didn't know how long it would take to find the right spell."

������"No," agreed Angel, with just the faintest tinge of smugness in his voice.

������Buffy noticed, but just rolled her eyes and let it pass without comment. "Anyway, if it wasn't me freaking about Riley or about telling my mom, or trying to figure out how I could be with you and still watch the Hellmouth without conflict, it was you freaking about leaving L.A. unguarded, or about �abandoning' Faith and Kate."

������"Buffy, they're my responsibility - " Angel began.

������"I know," she interrupted. "I understand that now, Angel. Really. It just . . . wasn't easy for me to accept it at first, especially when it came to Faith. You've told me everything that happened, and I'm willing to believe that she wants to change, even that maybe she's already changed. But when she gets out of prison she's going to have to prove herself."

������She looked up into his face. "And I better not find you cuddling her again, or I won't be responsible for what happens!"

������She was only half-joking. Angel seemed to realize this, for his smile was brief. "Faith won't be in a position for anybody to cuddle her for a long time yet," he reminded her quietly. "She won't be eligible for parole for five years."

������Buffy was silent, torn between her lingering hate and need for revenge on the rogue Slayer and her innate compassion for such a troubled soul. After a moment she discreetly changed the subject. "How is Kate these days?"

������"She went back to work last month." A real smile lit Angel's face. Buffy smiled too. "That therapist you recommended is really helping her, huh?" she asked.

������Angel shook his head, remembering. "It wasn't doing Kate any good seeing a therapist who didn't know that demons exist. She had to be able to talk to someone who could really understand what she was going through."

������"Mm-hmm," Buffy acquiesced. "So you gave her the name of a demon psychologist." Then as Angel turned a noticeably patient look on her, she chuckled. "Okay, sorry. A psychologist who just happens to have a few demons as patients."

������Angel relaxed back into the pillows with a reflective smile. "All it took was a couple of encounters with the Vinath and Corolli children as they waited for their parents for Kate to realize that demons come both good and bad, just like humans."

������Buffy chuckled again. Vinath and Corolli demons were among the very few that could be classified as "cute." The young ones resembled nothing so much as furballs on two legs; the adults were a bit more intimidating, being sleeker and usually well over six feet tall. "Good. I don't want to have to worry about Cop Lady hiding in a dark corner waiting to stake you. Or me."

������They were quiet for several minutes. Finally Buffy said, thoughtfully, "You know, even though there were times when I thought I'd explode with impatience, I'm kind of glad that it took so long for the spell to be located."

������Angel rolled toward her, leaning on one elbow to look down at her. "Why?"

������"Because it gave us a chance to get to know each other again, maybe even better than we did before. With you spending half your time here with me, and me going to Los Angeles the rest of the time, we were able to work our way back into each other's lives."

������Angel's brown eyes were serious. "I'm glad too. Now I know we can make it work, even if we can't be together all the time."

������She searched his face. "No more nonsense about me having a �normal' relationship?"

������He grinned. "Normal is overrated. I have it on the highest authority."

������Buffy grinned too. Angel grew sober. "Buffy, are you okay that we came back here tonight, to my old apartment?"

������Her response was firm. "Yes. It was my idea, remember?"

������"The . . . associations . . . aren't too painful?" A worried line creased his brow.

������She shook her head. "Not anymore. That's why I suggested it." Reaching up, she stroked along the line of his jaw. "Angel, I had to exorcize that memory, and the best way to do it was to come back here to . . . uh. . . ."

������Angel raised a teasing eyebrow. "To. . .?"

������She hit his shoulder playfully. "To celebrate our reunion."

������"Did it work?" A faint shadow still played across his features.

������Buffy considered, pursing her lips. "Not completely." Then she grinned. "I think we need to give it another good old college try."

������Slowly Angel smiled. "I'm up for that."

������"You better be," she threatened, then pulled him over on top of her and began kissing him, running her hands through his thick hair. They rolled over onto their sides. His arms pulled her close, his hands roamed across her back . . . her hips . . . her breasts. Before long Buffy was gasping for breath.

������And Angel demonstrated beyond doubt that he was, indeed, up for it.

THE END