(3:30 that same night)

����� Buffy and Angel raced through the driving rain, headed for cover. As best she could Buffy listened for sounds of pursuit, but apparently they had lost Dru's henchvamps for they reached Angel's apartment safely.

����� Angel unlocked the door and they scrambled inside, bolting the door behind them. He stripped off his dripping coat, let it fall unheeding to the floor and turned to her. "You're shaking like a leaf." His hands stroked her shoulders.

����� "C-cold," she said, shivering. It was only partly true. She was drenched, water trickling from her hair, mascara no doubt smeared halfway down her cheeks, but she was shaking with more than just the cold. The evening had been one unpleasant surprise after another. Her happiness upon learning about the surprise party had been almost immediately ruined when she was attacked by the disembodied arm she had stopped the vampires from loading on the truck.

����� Shortly afterward it had been stolen back by the vamps in a bold raid that had caught them unprepared. Later, during a nonproductive research session by the whole gang, she had fallen asleep at Giles' desk and had yet another dream in which Drusilla killed Angel. The horror of it had jolted her awake, calling his name out loud, to seek comfort in his embrace � seeking it, but not finding it.

����� Then, during the reconnaissance she and Angel had done at the Factory, there came the shock of finding out, first, that both Spike and Drusilla were still alive, and then that the Judge was fully assembled, followed by their capture by Drusilla's lackeys and the fear she refused to allow to turn to panic as the Judge reached out his deadly hand to burn the humanity out of her. All the events of the night seemed to rush together once they reached safety. Death had been close tonight for both of them. Too close.

����� "Let's get you into something dry." Angel walked over to a tall bureau. He pulled out a thick sweater and pair of sweatpants. "Here." He handed them to her. "Put them on and get under the covers."

����� There was an awkward pause. "Just to get warm," he said hastily. Buffy gave him a faint smile. Of course just to get warm. Oh, Angel, that's not the way it should be!

����� "I'll fix you a hot drink," he added. She nodded and walked to his bedroom while he headed for the kitchen. The sight of the neatly made bed made her sigh as she recalled their session on it earlier that day, before Jenny and Giles had interrupted.

����� I suppose I should be thankful they did, she thought. I am thankful, really. I just wish there hadn't been a reason they needed to.

����� She started to sit down, then realized that would get the bed as wet as she was. So instead she tossed the dry clothes on it, kicked off her shoes and began peeling off her leggings. The stretchy fabric clung to her like a clammy second skin, and the cool air made her shiver even more.

����� Thankfully, she left them in a soggy heap on the floor and drew on Angel's soft, dry, blessedly warm sweats. Of course, they were miles too big for her, even with the drawstring pulled as tight as it would go and the hems rolled up like swollen balloons around her ankles.

����� "Here," Angel said behind her. She jumped. Busy with the sweats, she hadn't heard him come into the room.

����� "Sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you. Just thought a belt might come in handy." He handed her a soft length of fabric that looked as if it might have come off a robe; by winding it twice around her waist and tying it tight she was finally able to secure the pants.

����� He watched her, a coffee mug in his hand, an amused look on his face. "For a minute I thought I'd have to fish you out of there," he teased, handing her the cup. "Here, have a sip but be careful - it's hot."

����� Buffy blew on the steaming surface then took a cautious sip. Hot, yes, but not too hot. And it tasted delicious, whatever it was. She took another, bigger sip. Then another, and another. The hot liquid warmed her shivering body like, like. . . .

����� Like Angel's kisses.

����� "This is good," she said aloud. "What is it?"

����� "Hot lemonade," he told her. "With just a tiny splash of whiskey, to help you relax."

����� "Whiskey?" she said, surprised. "Really? Well, it's good." She took another, larger, swallow, feeling the warmth run through her chilled body.

����� Angel took the cup from her and set it down on top of the dresser. "Come on, get out of the rest of those wet things now, before you catch pneumonia." He stood smiling down at her. Buffy reached for the button of her drenched cardigan, then stopped and looked at him. A second ticked by before he realized her meaning. She could swear he blushed.

����� "Sorry," he said, and turned around. Buffy sat on the bed and unbuttoned the cardigan. As she pulled her left arm out of the sleeve, a tender spot on her shoulder blade surprised her and she drew in an involuntary, hissing breath.

����� "What?" Angel turned his head slightly. "What's wrong?" Alarm edged his voice.

����� "It's nothing," she hurried to reassure him. "It's just a - a cut - or scrape, or something." She craned her head, trying to see back there.

����� "A cut?" He half turned toward her. "Let me - " He caught himself. "May I see?"

����� Buffy swallowed, held the clammy cardigan over her chest, covering the thin knit camisole beneath. "Okay."

����� Angel came over and sat down beside her. She turned so he could see her back. A moment later his fingers gently swept the straps of her camisole down almost to her elbows, and she felt the garment slide down her back, baring another inch or three of skin. Her shivering returned, only this time it wasn't from either the cold or adrenalin reaction. Angel's fingertips brushed along her back; her heart skipped a beat.

����� "I don't see anything," he said in a soft, husky whisper. "Whatever it was is already closed. You're fine."

����� But he stayed where he was, fingertips caressing her back and shoulders. His arms came around her and she felt the touch of his lips on the nape of her neck. Buffy caught her breath; her heart pounded in her chest. She leaned back; his arms held her close and safe. He kissed her on the neck and throat, again and again, until she could hardly breathe.

����� "Buffy," Angel said, then stopped. She turned to look at him.

����� "What?" she asked, her voice ragged from the emotion surging through her.

����� "I - " He stopped and wet his lips. "I love you, Buffy." The words now poured out with a rush, as if a dam had broken. "I've tried not to," his voice broke, "but I can't stop." His eyes were wet, as were hers.

����� "Me too," she whispered, incoherent with joy. "I can't either."

����� "I almost lost you tonight. When you kicked the Judge, I thought that was the end," he said hoarsely. "I thought I'd never see you again."

����� She remembered his anguished shout - Don't touch him! - remembered the burning shock of even that brief contact, and knew how real the danger had been.

����� They kissed, deeply, needing the reassurance of physical contact to counteract the knowledge of how close a call they'd had that night. Buffy let the cardigan drop, knew that her camisole was about to slip entirely off her body, and realized that she didn't care. In fact part of her trembled with eagerness to finally reveal herself to his eyes.

����� Yes, look at me, Angel. Touch me. Love me.

����� That last thought broke through the passion enveloping her like a thick cloud. Sanity returned in a sudden rush that made her moan out load. With a sob of disappointment, she pulled away.

����� "Angel, we can't. Not yet."

����� "I know." He leaned his forehead against hers, and she felt him trembling with the same emotions - love and need and more love - shaking her own body.

����� "But we will. Later." He reached for the straps of her camisole, pulled them gently into place on her shoulders. Then his thumbs brushed a slow arc along the low-cut neckline. Buffy quivered. Angel looked at her with promise burning in his eyes.

����� "Later." He rose, reaching out for the dry sweater still lying on the bed. "Here."

����� She took it. "I don't think I need this anymore," she said shakily. "I feel quite . . . " She searched for a flippant quip, but her mind, saturated with emotion, refused to cooperate. She gave up. "Warm."

����� Angel gave her a little smile. "But your clothes are still wet. You don't want to catch cold."

����� "No. I guess not." He left and Buffy finally got out of the wet camisole. She had to admit that the thick, fleecy sweater felt much better. She stood up and went into the next room, where Angel waited for her.

����� "We need to talk to Giles," she said without preamble.

����� "Yes," Angel agreed. He went to the door, opened it. Buffy started past him, but he stopped her. "Wait. Spike knows where I live. He may have posted lookouts." He stepped forward and tested the air carefully. After a moment he came back to her. "I smelled blood."

����� "It could just be a dead squirrel or something," Buffy said reasonably.

����� Angel shook his head. "I don't think so. I sensed something else. I think there are vamps out there waiting for us � lots of them. I don't know about you but I don't feel up to another battle right now."

����� She had to agree. "Will they attack us in here?" For the first time she searched the room for vulnerable spots.

����� "No. They can't enter. Believe me, I've never invited any vampires inside this place."

����� She almost stamped her foot with frustration. "So we have to wait til the sun comes up before we can leave? Angel, we need to talk to Giles now. He doesn't even know the Judge has been assembled!"

����� "So call him."

����� "What?" She stared at him blankly.

����� He went over to a small glass-topped table almost hidden in a corner, and picked up a telephone. "Call him."

����� "You have a phone? You never told me you had a phone." Buffy knew she probably sounded like a dimwit but couldn't seem to help herself.

����� "Most people do," he told her, reasonably enough.

����� "Uh . . . yeah." She went up and took the phone, dialed the school's library number. He answered on the first ring. "Giles, it's me."

����� "Buffy, are you all right? Where are you? We were worried when we didn't hear from you. Is Angel all right?" Giles' clipped British tone had lost all its habitual coolness. "What's happened? Where are you?"

����� "Giles. Giles!" Finally she got through the torrent of words. "Giles, we're both fine. I'm at Angel's apartment. We got captured by Drusilla's vamps but managed to escape. No, Giles, we're fine. Listen to me! Spike and Drusilla are both alive and the Judge is activated."

����� Silence, except for the sound of Giles' indrawn breath. "He's assembled?"

����� "Assembled and ready for duty," she confirmed. "You could even say, eager."

����� Another silence. "Giles?" prompted Buffy. "You there?"

����� "I'm thinking." She heard him sigh. "Buffy, I - I simply don't have any good answers yet. I think you two better get back here right away. We need to put our heads together."

����� "Yeah, well there's a problem with that," Buffy told him. "Angel's place is surrounded by hungry vamps just aching to get their teeth into us. Or take us to Spike and Drusilla, I'm not sure which would be worse. We'll have to wait til daylight. I mean, I'll have to wait. Obviously, Angel won't be going anywhere because he's a vampire, and you know about the sun and vampires . . . "

����� Giles cut through her ramblings. "Buffy? Are you all right?"

����� She couldn't seem to think. Her brain felt foggy and sluggish. "I don't . . . know..."

����� Angel came over and took the phone. She leaned against him, suddenly needing the support. "Giles, she's just exhausted. She's had a pretty rough night; she needs to rest. Can someone call her mother with a good story?"

����� "It's been taken care of already. Buffy is spending the night with Willow."

����� "Good. She'll see you in the morning, then." He hung up the phone, then lifted Buffy in his arms as easily as if she were a child and carried her across to his bed, where he set her gently on her feet.

����� He lifted the bedspread and sheet and obediently she slid under them, scooting over next to the wall. Tucking the covers around her, he sat down next to her and said, "Get some rest now." He stroked her hair for a moment, then bent down and briefly kissed her. As he stood up to leave she put her hand on his arm.

����� "Stay with me, Angel. Please."

����� He hesitated, but only for a moment, before lying down beside her. She slid into his arms, snuggled against his long body, her head resting on his shoulder in that hollow just made for lovers. Even as she whispered good night, she felt drowsiness creeping over her like a blanket.

����� Angel's lips touched her hair, his voice whispered, "Good night, mavourneen," and her last conscious thought was to wonder what he had called her. Then sleep descended and blackness came.

����� Angel waited patiently through what little remained of the night. Tired though he was, he resisted closing his eyes. After all, he'd be sleeping soon enough once the sun rose. He wanted to be awake, to savor these few hours. From time to time he glanced down at the girl sleeping soundly in his arms. His courageous, exhausted, darling Slayer. How he loved her, had loved her from the very beginning when Whistler first showed her to him as she learned of her Slayer destiny.

����� You touched me so deeply, even then. I watched you chatting with your friends at school, saw you Called, and I loved you. I knew the hardship and danger you would face as the Slayer, and wanted to protect you. Did Giles ever tell you how few Slayers live to see even their eighteenth birthday? I was determined you would be one of them, and so I decided to help you. How could I have guessed that you would love me too?

����� How hard he had fought against that love, knowing the difficulties it would bring to both their lives. At first he'd tried to keep his distance, to stay aloof . . . only to fail miserably. Then he'd decided that he could handle it, that he could see her, be with her and help her, and still maintain control. That too failed as each such encounter only wound him more tightly in love's coils, until a night without her presence became a night of misery.

����� He grew envious of her friends, of the time she spent with them; jealous that they could see her during the warmth of daylight, while his time with her was confined to a few hours of cold shadows. In particular he'd been jealous of the boy, Xander, whom he knew felt more for Buffy than just friendship.

����� Angel grimaced wryly. If truth be told, he still felt occasional twinges of jealousy when Xander was around. The lad's constant barbed zings at him didn't help. But Xander had proven himself a good friend to Buffy many times over, and he knew Buffy valued his friendship as she did that of the girl, Willow.

����� Willow. Angel smiled as he considered her. Sweet little Willow. Shy yet capable of amazing gutsiness. Intelligent. Mature. Computer whiz-kid. Everybody's favorite kid sister - except when it came to Oz. Oz, who amazingly had seen past the shy, girl-next-door exterior to the real person, and liked what he saw. Willow had bloomed since meeting Oz, and Angel hoped their relationship would grow. Anyone who could see a vampire dusted before his eyes and take it in stride was a friend � or boyfriend � worth having.

����� Buffy stirred, muttered something unintelligible. Her breathing quickened and her eyebrows knit together. She whimpered; one leg jerked beneath the sheet.

����� Bad dream. Angel ran his hand soothingly down the arm resting across his chest. "Shhh," he whispered. "It's okay, you're safe. Rest."

����� He kissed the top of her head, crooning softly, and Buffy grew quiet. With a deep sigh she relaxed once more into slumber. He lifted her limp hand and kissed her fingers, marveling as he always did that her slender body could hold such incredible physical strength.

����� His thoughts returned to the events of the past twenty-four hours. What a kaleidoscope of events: Buffy's dream. Learning Drusilla and Spike were both alive. The Judge. And something of at least equal importance, Jenny Calendar's startling disclosure.

����� Thank God she and Giles came when they did. If they'd been even ten minutes later - well, maybe twenty - they would have been too late. Buffy and I would have made love. We were so close to it. And then -

����� He shuddered. Then he would have become a demon again, perhaps the most evil vampire to walk in recent history. The Master may have been the oldest vampire in existence but Angel knew that if the gypsy curse hadn't changed everything, sooner or later he would have challenged the Master for supremacy. Probably not for another century or so, but eventually.

����� And I really believe I would have won.

����� He must have fallen asleep in spite of himself, for he found himself waking with a start. Angel felt a difference in the atmosphere. He glanced at the window. Yes, the dark wasn't as thick as it had been. Only animals were as sensitive to the onset of dawn as vampires; it was a built-in early warning factor.

����� It'll be daylight soon; I need to wake Buffy - but not yet. Let her sleep awhile longer. The day would come soon enough, with more dangers and undoubtedly more surprises for them all. Hopefully the surprises would be pleasant ones but he wasn't holding his breath on it - so to speak.

���������� He thought about Jenny Calendar - or Janna Kalend, to give her her Romany name. She seemed to have faith in her great-aunt, faith that the old woman could deliver on her promise to alter the curse so he and Buffy could love without releasing his resident demon. Please God she was right. Angel tightened his hold on Buffy, moved his cheek caressingly over her hair.

����� "This feels so good," she murmured.

����� "I thought you were still asleep." He kissed the top of her head. She moved a little, craning her neck to look in his face. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes shadowed with fatigue, but their expression, calm and happy, more than made up for it. She smiled.

����� "I still like seeing you first thing in the morning."

����� "And I like seeing you," he said softly.

����� Her eyes examined his face with concern. "Did you get any rest?"

����� "A little, but mostly I was too busy enjoying having you here with me."

����� "I love you," she whispered.

����� "I love you." Strange, how easily the words came now when before they had been so difficult to speak. A barrier had been crossed and he knew there would be no returning.

����� Buffy raised up on her elbow and leaned over to kiss him. Her lips were soft and warm, but after a few seconds she pulled away. "Sorry; I forgot about the deadly morning breath. Strong men have been known to turn pale and flee in horror from it."

����� "I didn't notice anything," he told her, which was true. "As long as it's not garlic breath . . . " He let his words trail off, gave her a whimsical half-smile.

����� "Angel!" she exclaimed. "You made a joke!" Her delighted grin lit up her face. Angel couldn't resist; he caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers.

����� "It's been known to happen on rare occasions," he deadpanned. He gazed into her eyes, gently tugged her head down and kissed her again.

����� "I better go," she sighed when they stopped.

����� "Yes," he agreed. "You have to change and go to school."

����� "And you have to sleep," she said, then a startled look crossed her face. "I forgot! Miss Calendar's aunt is doing her curse reversal thing this morning." Worried, she sat up. "She said there might be side effects. Maybe you shouldn't be alone."

����� "I'll be fine," he told her firmly. "Don't worry about me."

����� "I do worry about you. I can't help it." She looked down at him.

����� "I know. It's the same with me. But it'll be all right, Buffy." He slid out of the bed, held out his hand to her, pulled her to him. "I'll be fine." They kissed, then, reluctantly, Buffy gathered up her discarded clothing and walked to the door.

����� "I'll come back this afternoon," she told him.

����� He nodded. "I'll be anxious to hear what you've found out."

����� One last kiss, and then she left. Angel watched her as she walked away. Buffy, colleen, take care. Don't let anything happen to you - I couldn't bear it.

����� He went back into his apartment and closed the door. Once inside, he wandered restlessly from room to room, unable to settle. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it down, more for something to do than from actual thirst. Outside, the sky grew lighter and he pulled down the blackout shade before going over to the refrigerator to select his dinner.

����� Some selection. Let's see, shall I have lamb or beef tonight? Or how about pork? Not that it made much difference; blood was pretty much blood. He grabbed a bag at random.

����� I wonder when the old gypsy woman will start her spell? Will I know when she does? How will I know if it really works? he wondered as he opened the plastic bag. Grimacing, he gulped the contents down. Refrigerated blood had the consistency of thin jelly. It kept him alive - or Undead, or whatever - but sure tasted awful. He'd have to pay a visit soon to the meat market for something fresher or the hunger would grow unbearable.

����� Without warning, white-hot pain stabbed him. He gasped and dropped the bag, staggered to the living room. The pain struck again; he doubled over, collapsed on the couch.

����� I think - it's begun, he thought. More pain, but not as sharp. A few minutes later, only twinges, then . . . no pain. He felt light-headed; the room swam in and out of his vision; his eyelids were leaden. The sunrise? It had never affected him like this before.

����� What's happening. . . ? His consciousness faded.

����� "Well, the bus depot was a total washout, and may I say what a lovely place to spend the night. What a vibrant cross-section of Americana!"

����� Buffy strode into the school library just in time to hear Xander's disgusted remark. "Sorry, Xander," she told him. Turning to Giles: "Any ideas?"

����� "Not yet." Giles gestured with his glasses. "The others have only just got here. I haven't had a chance to tell them."

����� "Tell us what?" Xander didn't like the sound of that at all.

����� "Spike and Drusilla are alive. The Judge is active," Buffy briskly summed up.

����� "Wait a minute." Xander was indignant. "You mean my visit to the Sunnydale Abandon-Hope-All-Ye-Who-Enter-Here Depot was for nothing?" They ignored him.

����� "Buffy, what can you tell us about him?" Giles asked.

����� "Not much." Buffy hated to admit it. "I just kicked him and it was like a sudden fever. If he ever got his hands on me . . . "

����� "In time he won't even need to do that." Giles sounded tense. "Once he regains his strength he'll be able to reduce us all to charcoal with just a look."

����� "Also," Buffy added, trying to sound more chipper than she felt, "not the prettiest man in town."

����� "So how do we get rid of this guy?" Cordelia looked scared. Xander checked an impulse to go over to her. She would only gibe at him, maintaining their public image of two people who despised each other. Their secret smooching sessions remained just that - secret.

����� "I'll continue my research," Giles said heavily, "looking for a weak spot. The rest of you should get to your classes."

����� "I better go too." Jenny picked up her purse. "I'll go on the Net and search for anything on the Judge." Giles thanked her, and they all filed out.

����� "How was Angel this morning?" Jenny asked Buffy as they walked down the hall. "Rupert told me what happened last night. Sounds like you two had quite an adventure, fighting the Judge and Drusilla's men. I mean, vampires."

����� "He was fine. Tired." Buffy glanced over at her, feeling a confusing jumble of emotion. Anger because the lovely young teacher had deceived them in the first place; gratitude because she had come over to what Buffy thought of as their side and was trying to help Angel. "Miss Calendar, when was your great-aunt going to start the thing - the ritual or whatever it is?"

����� "She probably began it right at daybreak."

����� "So about an hour ago. Not long after I left." Buffy looked worried.

����� Jenny tried to reassure her. "It should be over by now, Buffy. Auntie said it wouldn't take long. I really don't think you need to worry about Angel. He'll be fine."

����� "Something wrong with Dead Boy?" It was Xander, of course, giving forth with one of his usual zings. Buffy had never been in less of a mood to put up with it.

����� "No," she said shortly, then needing to vent her worry and frustration somehow, added maliciously, "He was just fine when we kissed goodbye this morning." She was sorry the moment she said it, and the hurt that flashed across Xander's face only made her feel worse. Before she could apologize, however, Xander turned on his heel and walked away. Willow touched her arm.

����� "He'll get over it, Buffy. Besides, he deserved it," she said seriously. "Angel's done a lot, helping you save the world and all. Xander needs to remember that." Then she leaned closer to Buffy. Her voice lowered suggestively. "So, you were with Angel all night after you left here?"

����� Buffy had to smile. "Yes, but not the way you're thinking. We got trapped there by some of Drusilla's vamps and couldn't leave."

����� "And?" Willow prodded. Jenny nodded goodbye as she turned into her classroom. Buffy and Willow plodded on.

����� "And - nothing." Buffy sighed tiredly. "There's a lot going on that you don't know about, Will, and there's just no time to fill you in right now. Maybe at lunch, okay?" Willow agreed and they parted ways, going to their separate classes.

�����Angel groaned. He tried to raise his aching head and immediately retched as nausea rushed in. Rolling over he spewed his recent meal onto the floor, feeling better the moment his stomach was empty. Gingerly he sat up, then as his head gradually began to clear, stood up.

����� So far, so good. His first few steps were stumbling and slow, but he persisted and soon regained strength. Not full strength but that, he figured, was partly because it was daytime and partly because he was exhausted and needed to rest. But first he needed to clean up that mess on the floor, which he did, though the sight of the regurgitated blood was almost enough to start him retching again.

����� Afterward he stood undecided. He needed to feed; the hunger in him was growing stronger by the minute. He could stave it off for the time being with what sat in his refrigerator, unappetizing though it might be, but he needed a pick-me-up. Walking over to the phone he dialed a number.

����� "Sam, it's Angel. I need a delivery, today. Yeah, the usual. Five o'clock? Thanks." He hung up the phone, devoured the contents of two plastic bags, and flung himself onto his bed. At once he sank into sleep so deep it was close to a coma.

����� Two-forty-five. Classes were over for the day, thank God. "What have you got, Giles?" Buffy demanded the moment the library doors swung behind her. She threw her purse down and perched on the big table while the others - Willow, Xander, Cordelia - fanned around her. Xander was avoiding her, she saw with regret.

����� "Nothing, I'm afraid." Giles looked and sounded defeated. He rubbed his temples. "Absolutely nothing."

����� "Me neither." Jenny had just entered. She looked as hopeless as Giles. "Zip. Nada. Nothing."

����� "No weapon forged by man . . . " Willow murmured despairingly.

����� "It took an army to kill him, yada, yada," finished Buffy. "Look, there's got to be a way!"

����� "There is!" enthused Cordelia. "All we need is an army." Everyone looked at her.

����� "Yeah, well, we don't have an army," Xander said sarcastically. He stopped, stunned by the recollection that suddenly popped into his mind. "Whoa. Whoa. I think I'm having a thought here. Yeah."

����� He took a step forward. "Yeah. That's definitely a thought. And now I'm having a plan." He looked at his friends, excited. "I've got a plan!"

����� "Well, may we hear it, please?" Giles enquired with strained patience.

����� Xander explained, and as they listened doubtful glances became excited ones. One hour later the group disbanded, confident they knew the strategy and, for the first time, hopeful that they - and the world - might survive.

����� Willow, who had had everything explained to her over lunch, came over to Buffy. "Are you going to see Angel now?"

����� "Yeah." Buffy slung her bag over her shoulder. "I want to check on him, make sure he's all right."

����� Jenny approached. "Do you mind if I go with you?" In response to Buffy's look, she added, "I have an interest in this too, remember?"

����� Buffy remembered. "Okay."

����� "I hope everything's all right," Willow said softly. "I mean, I hope everything's all right." She gave Buffy one of her meaningful looks.

����� "Thanks. Me too," Buffy told her. You have no idea how much I hope so.

����� "My car's here; I'll drive you," Jenny offered. Ten minutes later they pulled up in front of Angel's building.

����� "He may still be asleep," Buffy said after her knock went unanswered. She knocked again then tried the knob. Much to her concern, the door opened.

����� "He didn't lock it. He always locks it." She was worried. "Angel?" They went a little way inside.

����� "Angel?" Still no reply.

����� "The bedroom?" Jenny suggested.

����� Buffy nodded, went into that room. Angel lay motionless on the bed, still in the clothes he'd had on last night. "Angel." He didn't move. She went over to him, touched his shoulder. "Hey, sleepyhead."

����� No response. Panic began to spread. "Angel, wake up!" She shook him, and finally his eyes opened.

����� "Buffy?" he said faintly.

����� "Yeah." She wilted in relief. "I was worried. You wouldn't wake up."

����� "Sorry." Angel pulled himself more upright, leaned back against the wall. He blinked, obviously still not fully awake. "I'm okay, just a little tired." He rubbed his hand over his face and blinked again, seemed to be slightly more alert. "Hey, how are you feeling?" He looked at her.

����� Buffy sat down. She was still shaky from the moment when she'd thought Angel was dead. Really dead, not just Undead. "I'm okay. Tired." She gave a resigned shrug and managed a real smile. Angel returned it.

����� "You look tired," he agreed.

����� Buffy rolled her eyes. "Great. I must look like roadkill."

����� "You look beautiful," he told her. His hands came up and cradled her face. They kissed. Buffy relaxed and smiled at him again.

����� "Excuse me." The sound of someone calling from the next room.

����� Angel looked suddenly alert. "Who's there?" He let go of Buffy and started to get off the bed.

����� "It's just Miss Calendar," Buffy said hastily, as Jenny herself appeared in the doorway.

����� "It's just me," she said. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

����� "I had kind of a rough morning," he admitted. "But I feel better now." He looked at Buffy, who hadn't moved. "Are you going to let me get up?" he asked her teasingly.

����� "I haven't decided yet," she teased back. "I kind of like you right where you are."

����� "Do ye now?" A faint Irish lilt sounded in his voice, the first Buffy had ever heard.

����� She was enchanted by it, thinking of the young man he had once been, so long ago, and tried to answer him in kind. "Indeed, and I do, begorra." She made a face. "Well, that stank."

����� Angel burst into laughter, full-throated laughter she had never before heard from him. "Begorra?" he gasped. "Where did you pick that up?"

����� She laughed too. "I don't know. It was just something I remembered from some old movie."

����� Still chuckling, Angel put his forehead against hers. "Ah, begorra, but I love you, mavourneen."

����� Buffy frowned, pulled back. "You called me that last night. Who's Maureen?"

����� "Ma-vour-neen," Angel enunciated slowly. "It means �my darling.' "

����� She was taken aback. "Oh." Angel's dark eyes looked at her with such light, such love. Never had he been so open with his emotions. "You're . . . different, Angel. There's something new in you, I'm not sure what it is."

����� "It's hope," he told her, simply.

����� Jenny cleared her throat. "So the new spell has succeeded?"

����� "I don't know." Angel looked at her. "How will I be able to tell?"

����� Jenny hesitated. "Yliana - my great-aunt - said the proof would be in the pudding."

����� "Pudding?" Buffy was totally lost. "What pudding?"

����� Angel continued to look at Jenny. "In other words . . . we won't know until it's put to the test."

����� Jenny took a step forward. "Angel, my aunt is very wise, very gifted. I would trust her with my life."

����� "I have," he reminded her bluntly.

����� "I know. She won't let you down."

����� "Good." Buffy got up from the bed, all business now. "Angel, we need to bring you up to date. Xander came up with a plan to eliminate the Judge."

����� "Xander?" Angel looked incredulous.

����� Buffy grinned. "Kind of boggles the mind, doesn't it? But remember last Halloween, his gig as Soldier Boy?"

����� She was referring to the spell cast by a costume shop owner that turned everyone into the beings their costumes represented. The streets had overflowed with real goblins, ghouls, witches . . . every kind of monster imaginable. Willow had turned into a real ghost; Xander, dressed in combat fatigues, became the Ultimate Soldier, and his military skills had helped save their lives.

����� Buffy hated remembering that night, for she herself had worn the fancy dress of an eighteenth century noblewoman under the mistaken notion that it would impress Angel. What it had done instead was almost get her killed, for that was exactly what she had turned into: a dainty, helpless, clinging-vine who shrieked and cowered at the slightest hint of danger.

����� Luckily Giles had tracked down the shop owner, an old university friend of his, and broken the spell - just in time for Buffy to come back to herself and beat the daylights out of Spike as he was about to sink his fangs into her neck.

����� Angel broke into her reverie. "I remember, but what about it?"

����� "Well, he remembers what he knew then."

����� Angel looked confused.

����� "I mean, he still has those memories, the soldier's memories."

����� Angel got it then. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. "What's his plan?"

����� "He's going to break into the armory and steal a rocket launcher. That baby should disassemble the Judge, don't you think? Then later we can dispose of the pieces." She frowned. "Somehow."

����� "Acid."

����� "Huh?"

����� He looked at her. "Drop the pieces in acid. See if they dissolve. If they do we can stop worrying about someone finding them and reassembling the Judge again."

����� "Ewww." Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Good idea, but . . . ewww. Besides, where would we get that much acid? I mean, Blue Boy's a pretty hefty guy."

����� "There's that chemical plant outside of town," Jenny suggested.

����� Angel nodded at her. "Good idea. I'll check it out as soon as it gets dark."

����� "No," Buffy interrupted. "Willow can do that, with me. Xander needs you at the armory, Angel. You'll probably have to do the breaking in."

����� Angel hesitated, then nodded. Clearly he wasn't thrilled about working with Xander, but clearly he was also willing to do whatever it took to get the job done. "What time is it?" he asked suddenly.

����� Buffy glanced at her watch. "About a quarter to five. Why?"

����� "Nothing. I'm just expecting a . . . delivery."

����� Buffy knew evasion when she heard it. She eyed him speculatively. Avoiding her gaze, Angel stood up. He leaned against the wall, obviously dizzy. Buffy forgot speculation. "Angel?"

����� He shook his head a little, took a deep breath, carefully stood away from the wall and took another step. "I'm all right. Just a little . . . dizzy. Got up too fast, I guess."

����� She might have believed him if just then he hadn't had to grab at the wall again. She went over to him. "Here, lean on me." She ducked under his arm, but the first step he took caused her to stagger and almost fall.

����� "I'm too heavy." Angel tried to take his arm from around her shoulders, but she hung on fiercely. "No, you're not. I just wasn't ready."

����� Jenny moved around to Angel's other side. "Let me help." She offered her arm as support and slowly they made it to the living room.

����� Angel dropped onto the couch. "I guess I'm weaker than I realized." He looked at Buffy, worried. "If I can't get more strength back you may not be able to count on me tonight."

����� Buffy nodded slowly. "That could be a problem. Tell you what, I'll check back in a couple of hours and see how you're doing. Miss Calendar, would you mind waiting outside for me? I need to talk to Angel alone for a minute."

����� She waited until the slender young woman had left, then faced Angel. "You're hungry, aren't you? That's why you're so weak - you need to feed." He didn't have to say anything; she knew she was right by the look on his face. "Angel, how can I get you what you need?"

����� "Buffy, don't - " he protested faintly, but she rushed on. "You're too weak to go anywhere; tell me what to do. Where can I go?"

����� "Buffy." He took her hand, but refused to look at her. "It's taken care of."

����� It took her a moment to make the connection. "The delivery you're expecting?" He nodded, eyes still averted. Just then someone knocked on the door.

����� "I'll get it," she said.

����� "No!" Angel struggled to get up. Buffy put her hand on his shoulder. "Stay here," she told him gently. "I'll get it." She went to the door, talked briefly to the man there, and a minute later came back to Angel, carrying a large paper bag that made a clinking noise when she set it down on the floor at his feet.

������"Here." Buffy knew he didn't want her to stay, so she added, "I'll be back in a couple of hours." Bending down she kissed him, then walked outside to where Jenny waited.

�����Angel waited until he was sure Buffy had left before opening the bag. Inside were three quart jars of fresh animal blood, still warm though cooling fast. He grabbed one, wrenched off the lid and avidly gulped down the contents. The second jar emptied just as fast. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this ravenous. Well, yes, he could. It was the evening Whistler had found him hunting rats to stay alive. The evening he had first seen Buffy.

�����Buffy. He cringed in shame that she had even seen, much less recognized, his need, and marveled at the miracle of her love, that enabled her not to shrink from the demands of his vampiric nature. Already he could feel the healing effects of his meal.

�����He eyed the third jar. He had taken more than he usually allotted for one feeding. But his physical weakness was undeniable, as was the fact that he was needed tonight - and needed at full strength.

�����Slowly he reached down and picked up the jar. He hated to do this, knowing that ingesting this much fresh blood at one sitting would only make it that much harder to go back to the refrigerated kind. His vampiric side would rebel against it all the more fiercely for having tasted this banquet. He began drinking, more slowly this time. I might as well be as civilized as possible about it.

�����Two hours later, showered and changed, teeth vigorously brushed and the minty taste of Scope in his mouth, Angel waited for Buffy. A knock sounded.

�����Right on time, he thought fondly and opened the door. It was, of course, Buffy. She had changed into something better fitted for tonight's expected activities. She wore black: black spandex leggings; black pullover sweater, and black boots. A black beret covered her blonde hair.

�����"Hey," they chorused in duet. Buffy looked him over and smiled. "Two minds in the same gutter, I see." Angel too had dressed entirely in black; in his case a black one-piece jumpsuit. "You look ready for trouble."

�����"If trouble comes, I'll be ready," he agreed. He motioned for her to come in but she shook her head.

�����"If you're ready we better go." He was, so they did. "You're feeling better," Buffy observed.

�����"Yes." He hesitated then said, with difficulty, "Thank you."

����� "You'd have done the same for me."

����� Angel couldn't deny it. They walked toward a car parked at the curb. He recognized it as Cordelia's, and sure enough, that young woman stood at the driver's side. She whistled softly as they approached.

����� "Look at you!" Her eyes ran over Angel, frankly appreciative. "Good enough to nibble on!"

����� Angel saw Buffy clench her jaw and hastened to defuse the situation. "Thank you, Cordelia. You look very - " Too late, he saw her outfit. "Uh, you look - "

����� "Trashy," she contributed. "I know. It's part of Xander's plan for tonight."

����� "Why?" he asked, totally at a loss.

����� She shrugged. "You're asking me?" Opening the door, Cordelia got inside and looked in the rearview mirror, checking her makeup. Angel opened the back door for Buffy, and they slid in.

����� Cordelia turned to look at them. "I'm just the wheels for this outfit. No one has bothered to fill me in on the plan I'm supposed to be a part of." She flounced back around, turned the key, and off they roared, CD blaring something Angel couldn't identify.

����� "That's because Xander hasn't filled us in on it either." Buffy's voice was tart. Angel squeezed her hand, then put his arm around her shoulders. She stayed tense for a moment, then relaxed and leaned against him.

����� "You do, you know." He had to bend down to hear her.

����� "I do what?"

����� "Look good enough to nibble on." Her glance at him was coquettish. He tilted her chin up and kissed her. "So do you."

����� They kissed again, then again, more deeply. Angel pulled Buffy onto his lap, cradled her in his arms. Cordelia, catching sight of them in the mirror, rolled her eyes, but a moment later watched them furtively . . . and wistfully.

����� "We're here, guys. Better untangle yourselves."

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