RATING: �PG-13 for mild violence
SPOILERS: �Season 1 of Angel, through "The Ring." �All seasons of BtVS, including Season 4 up to this date, no specific eps or references.
DISCLAIMER: �I don't own any of the characters from BTVS or Angel. �They're owned by Joss Whedon (who ought to treat them nicer), MutantEnemy, Kuzui, Sandollar, the WB, Fox, etc.
SUMMARY: �Basically, the episode "The Ring", with a few changes, and its immediate aftermath.

�����The blow sent Angel reeling back, his head swimming. �Dimly he heard the impassioned shouts and jeers of those watching the fight from the safety of the overhead gallery. �His body was one massive throb of pain, from the mostly-healed bullet wound in his right shoulder to the newest injury � a spear thrust through the right side of his torso. �Only an agile twist had kept the weapon from reaching its original target: �his heart. �But his luck had now run out. �Dimly he saw his demon opponent readying his weapon for the final thrust that would end the match, killing him and thus earning Trepkos his freedom.

�����Suddenly a figure landed in front of him, hitting the ground with a thud and an audible grunt. �Startled, Angel tried to defend himself from this surprise attack, but his weakness betrayed him. �The mere act of raising his hands proved his undoing; slowly, like a tree toppling, he fell to his knees. �Only by a miracle did he manage to keep himself from falling face-down. �On his knees, swaying, dizzy, Angel forced his head up. �He would meet his fate head-on, not sprawled in this filthy pit like a helpless babe.

�����But to his astonishment, he wasn't under attack. �It was Trepkos who was fighting for his life � fighting an enraged blonde whirlwind that spun and kicked with such ferocity that, step by unwilling step, the demon was being forced back across the ring. �Blinking dazedly, Angel tried to make sense of what he was seeing. �How could Buffy be here? �His vision swam, then darkness overtook him.

�����Although fueled by both fear and rage, Buffy stayed in control as she battled the demon who had come this close to staking Angel through the heart. �When, observing from the spectator section, she'd seen the sharpened end of the quarterstaff impale him, she'd thought for a moment that her own heart had stopped. Still in shock, she'd watched as Angel managed to regain the advantage, only to throw away his weapon and spare his opponent's life - and she'd known instantly what would happen next. �Without another thought she'd leaped over the barricade and into the ring, just as Trepkos attacked Angel's unprotected back.

�����Now she watched her opponent. �The first surprise of her unexpected attack had worn off and he was assessing her as carefully as she was him. �"Maybe Angel won't fight you," she told him quietly. �"But I will." �

�����"Who are you?" he hissed. "You're not a demon." �Bending down, he scooped up Angel's discarded staff, holding it defensively in front of him.

�����"I'm the Slayer."

�����In his astonishment the demon actually lowered his guard for a moment. �"The Slayer? �Why would you protect a vampire?"

�����"You wouldn't understand." �Buffy took advantage of his momentary inattention to land another kick that staggered him backward several feet. �While he was off balance she risked a searching look upward at the spectators. �She had just seen that Cordelia and Wesley were in position, one on each side of their former "client" when a movement from the demon alerted her to danger.

�����He lunged at her. �She danced to one side and grabbed the staff out of his hands, using his own momentum to propel him across the floor into the danger zone - his foot actually touched the inner edge of the red ring encircling the pit. �As the demon realized how close he'd come to annihilation, he turned on her a look of mingled fear and hatred.

�����"Don't kill him." �The weak voice stopped Buffy in her tracks. �She dared a quick glance. �Angel was conscious again, and leaning on one arm. �"Don't kill him," he repeated.

�����"Only if he forces me to," Buffy said grimly. �This, however, Trepkos apparently had no wish to do. �He moved back into the ring, away from the danger zone, then stopped, eyeing her warily but making no attempt at another attack.

�����The door leading to the arena swung open, and three men armed with electric prods entered the ring, swaggering with the assurance that they were superiorly armed. ��Buffy laughed out loud. �One of the guards swung his weapon at her. �Easily, she ducked under it and disarmed him with a single roundhouse kick that cracked at least one rib and left him writhing on the floor. �Trepkos stooped and picked up the dropped rod, using it to zap the fallen guard.

�����The second man gaped in disbelief. �Belatedly, he brandished his weapon, but Buffy was already there. �She snatched it out of his hands, and propelled him straight into the arms of the hovering demon. �An evil smile split Trepkos' face. �The man gulped, sweat springing out on his face in oily drops. �One zap from the prod dropped him.

�����Buffy was busy with the third minion, who had obviously learned from the mistakes of his colleagues. �They circled each other warily, careful to keep their distance. �It appeared to be a stalemate.

�����Just then the door burst open again; her opponent disappeared under an avalanche of demons. �Above them the gallery erupted in screams and shouts as the panicked spectators fled to the closest exit. �One nasty-looking demon with green-striped skin knelt beside Angel's prone body. �Before Buffy could lash out at him, however, the demon touched a short, silvery rod to the metal cuff encircling Angel's wrist. �The wristlet sprang open.

�����Wesley's magical key, Buffy realized. �He had told her about it when she first arrived. �He'd also reported its theft by a demon in the holding cells. �Apparently the demon had decided to free all the captives, for gazing around her Buffy could detect no betraying glint of the enslaving metal other than the one that Angel had worn.

�����This demon rose to his feet and faced Buffy with wary curiosity. �"Why are you, a human, fighting demons to protect a vampire? �Why do you care what happens to him?"

�����"For the same reason they do." �Buffy waved in the direction of the gallery where Cordelia and Wesley had captured their "client." �"Because he isn't just another demon; he's Angel, and he's our friend."

�����"Friend. �Right." �The demon gave a raucous laugh. �"You've got the hots for this loser."

�����"Buffy!" �The hail saved Buffy from needing to answer. �She looked up. �It was Cordelia, waving frantically to attract her attention. �"What do you want us to do with this creepoid?"

�����Buffy gazed coldly at the man being held in a stranglehold by Wesley, who also had a gun pointing at his captive's head. �Obviously the ex-Watcher was taking no chances. �Darren MacNamara had lost none of his aplomb; he sneered down at her. �Before she could respond to Cordelia's question,

�����"Give him to us," the striped demon growled. �His chartreuse eyes blazed with hatred as he glared at his former captor.

�����"No." �Buffy faced the demon. �"He's human and must answer to our laws."

�����"Law?" �The blazing eyes turned on her again. �"What law do you have that protects demons?"

�����"I can answer that." �It was a tall, attractive brunette who spoke. �Buffy had noticed her in the audience, earlier. �The woman continued, smoothly. �"I'm Mr. MacNamara's attorney and I can assure you that my client has broken no laws. �Demons aren't even acknowledged by society, much less entitled to legal protection. �On the other hand, there are laws against being an accessory to murder, which is what will happen if you hand my client over to these � creatures."

�����Just then there was a startled exclamation from the gallery, quickly cut off. �Buffy's head snapped around. �Somehow MacNamara had escaped from Wesley's hold. �With a sinking heart Buffy saw that he had also taken possession of the gun, which now pressed against Wesley's head. �Cordelia and the few people remaining there began edging away. �Buffy discreetly hefted the electric prod, which she still held, and wondered if she could throw it accurately enough to hit him, then knew she couldn't, at least not before he'd shot Wesley.

�����"Now," came his cold voice, "I think this farce has gone on long enough. �You, Blondie! �I don't know who you are, but drop the weapon." �As Buffy hesitated, he jammed the muzzle of the gun into Wesley's temple, causing the young man to wince. �"Now! �Or your friend here will pay the price of your hesitancy."

�����Instead, Buffy swung the prod out and behind her, deliberately grazing the minion attempting to sneak up on her. �There was a loud zap and a strangled yelp. �She zapped him once more for good measure, then dropped the weapon with a clatter and faced the fight arena's owner, her hands on her hips, arms defiantly akimbo.

�����He actually chuckled, secure in his own advantageous position. �"Well done, though I ought to shoot this incompetent idiot anyway, just to teach you a lesso - "

�����A spear flashed by him, thrown by the demon who had freed the slaves, and missing him by scant inches. �Involuntarily MacNamara flinched. �As the gun dropped away from Wesley, the young man acted, hitting the weapon out of his hand and sending it sailing into the pit. �The man snarled and punched Wesley in the stomach. �All the air went out of him and he sank to his knees, gasping for breath. �Before MacNamara could follow through with his intended kick, Cordelia rushed their ex-client, shoving him hard against the guard rail. �He wavered, arms flailing the air wildly. �Cordelia pushed again, and over the rail he went.

�����He never reached the ground. �Instead, he was caught by dozens of eager hands and passed along, yelling and struggling, until he reached the demon who had freed Angel. �Crazily, Buffy was reminded of a mosh pit. �The demon slapped one of the magical cuffs on the man's wrist. �It was the same wristlet that had enslaved Angel, Buffy realized. �It closed with a loud, satisfying buzz.

�����"Let's see how you like it," the demon said grimly. �He nodded and the man's captors heaved him straight into the air above the red ring. �There was a terrified scream, a flash of light, and then - a shower of ashes and the clink of the wristlet hitting the ground.

�����Buffy released the breath she hadn't known she was holding and turned to Angel. �He was struggling to sit up. �She knelt down and assisted him to a more upright position. �

�����"Buffy?" �He squinted at her. �"I didn't imagine it? �You're really here?"

�����Buffy touched his face, brushing away a dirt smear. �"I'm really here."

�����"Why � how?" �Angel blinked, still disoriented. "This isn't your weekend."

�����"I had a dream that you were in trouble, so I called Cordelia," Buffy said briskly. �"When she and Wesley told me what was going on, I borrowed Willow's car and here I am. �How do you feel?"

�����She gently touched the palm-sized red stain on his undershirt. �As she had hoped, the wound had already stopped bleeding. �Vampires rarely bled much; none of the blood they drank to stay alive � or, rather, Undead � circulated through their veins; instead, it seemed to just somehow . . . dissipate.

�����"Like I've been pummeled by a demon and harpooned in the gut," was Angel's wry response. �He looked around the pit. �The demons had all fled. �"What happened? �How did they get out of the cells?"

�����"Wesley and Cordelia found the key to the cuffs," Buffy succinctly informed him. �She ducked beneath his arm and helped him to his feet, bracing herself as he swayed. �He knew even her Slayer strength couldn't bear his weight for long, but when he tried to stand alone his knees buckled beneath him. �Then he felt someone take his other arm. �Wesley. �His assistant pulled Angel's arm across his neck, taking a major part of his weight off Buffy, who gave a sigh of relief.

�����"Come on, old chap, let's get you out of this place." �Wesley's clipped British tone was softer than usual. �Angel gave him a slight sideways smile of thanks and they started forward at the slow, uneven shuffle that was all he could manage. �Angel glanced up into the gallery. �The attorney from Wolfram and Hart was the sole remaining occupant. �They exchanged a long look, then the young woman smiled and sketched a salute.

����� "Congratulations. �You've won this round."

�����"Again," Angel stated as defiantly as he could in his condition.

�����Her smile disappeared. �"Yes. �Again." �For a second her cool, professional mask slipped, replaced by what appeared to be genuine concern. �"Angel, a word to the wise: Don't make a habit of winning against us, or we'll be forced to bring you to the attention of our senior partners. �You wouldn't like that, I promise you." �Her eyes flickered, moving to Buffy and Cordelia, then back again to Angel.

�����Instant fury raged through Angel, lending him strength. �He straightened, even took an unassisted step in her direction. �"Don't even think of it." �His voice was low and deadly. �"You think I'm causing Wolfram and Hart trouble now? �Then heed this warning."

�����In a second his face transformed to his vampire visage. �"You can't begin to imagine how formidable I would be if anything happened to someone I care for. �Carry that message back to your bosses!"

�����After a second the woman nodded, visibly shaken by his transformation from barely ambulatory victim to deadly opponent. �"I will." �She turned and disappeared out the exit.

�����Buffy gave him an amused glance. �"I see you've hooked another one."

�����"What?" �Now that the confrontation was over, Angel once again felt every bruise, cut, and scrape. �His knees gave way and only the combined efforts of Buffy and Wesley kept him from falling.

�����"Come on, Casanova, let's get you home. �You need to get in some healing time." �Buffy carefully urged him forward.

�����"I could have taken him, you know," Angel weakly asserted as they staggered from the arena. �He knew that would make her laugh, and sure enough she did.

�����"Sure you could've. �You're Superman and Batman rolled into one."

�����"Don't forget Indiana Jones," contributed Cordelia, bringing up the rear. Once outside, they stopped to observe a small group of demons about twenty yards up the street. �One of the demons turned around and waved jauntily at them. �Trepkos.

�����"You guys did a good thing tonight," Angel told them.

�����"Yes." �Wesley smiled proudly. �"We set the captives free."

�����"Actually, didn't we set a bunch of demons free?" Cordelia asked thoughtfully.

�����"Ah. �Well, technically . . ." �Wesley's face fell. �"Yes."

�����"Could be embarrassing to meet up with them again," Buffy observed, glancing slyly up at Angel. �"Under less favorable circumstances, I mean."

�����He gave a little laugh. �"I'll cross that bridge when and if I come to it," he told her.

�����An hour later Angel lay on his couch, propped up by three pillows, showered, and wearing clean pants. �His right arm was behind his head and Buffy was putting the finishing strip of tape on the bandage over the still-open wound. �"There."

�����Angel tore his gaze away from her face and examined the bandage. �Gingerly he lowered his arm, wincing at the pull on the injury. �"Thanks."

�����"Any time," Buffy said softly. �Her finger traced over the scars left from his torture a few months ago by the vampire Marcus, then moved to the cuts and bruises on his face � which were already partially healed. �"But not too soon, please." �Her eyes met his pleadingly.

�����He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. �"I'll try to be more careful," he promised, then drew her closer and kissed her. �"I'm glad you're here, Buffy. �It feels like a year since I've seen you." �His voice was husky.

�����A rather sad smile curved her lips. �"It's only been five weeks."

�����"Only?" �Angel's smile matched hers in sadness. �"I've missed you so." �They were caught in each other's eyes.

�����"I know. �I've missed you too," she breathed, leaning toward him. �Their lips met again. The kiss was necessarily gentle, due to his split lip and bruised jaw, but it was by no means perfunctory. �As the seconds ticked by, Buffy nestled against his chest, careful to avoid his injury. �Her hand caressed his shoulder and neck softly. �So engrossed were they that neither one heard the footsteps on the stairs.

�����"Angel? �Are you here � Oh!" �The words cut off with a startled sound. �Angel and Buffy looked up to see Kate standing at the foot of the stairs, gaping at them. �She stammered, "I'm sorry. �I, uh, didn't know you had company. �Or, for that matter, that you were home. �Uh, Buffy, it's good to see you again." �She nodded at Buffy, gave her a brief smile.

�����Buffy sat up a little, without hurry. �Her hand remained on Angel's shoulder, stroking the bare skin. �Her cool gaze was fixed on Kate. �"Detective Lockley, what an unexpected pleasure."

�����"What are you doing here, Kate?" asked Angel. �"Is something wrong?"

�����"No." �Kate had regained her composure. �She came a few steps further into the room. �"Earlier today Wesley seemed to think you might be in some sort of trouble, so when I got off duty I thought I'd come by and check. �Judging by the condition of your face, I'm guessing he was right. �Is the other guy in as bad shape as you are?"

�����Before Angel could answer, Buffy cocked her head. �"You know, there's a great little invention called the telephone. �It saves your legs from a lot of unnecessary walking, not to mention keeping all that nasty automobile exhaust out of the environment."

�����Kate stared at her, taken aback. �"I did call, a few hours ago, and left a message. �That's why I became concerned."

�����Angel looked apologetic. �"I forgot to check for messages. �I'm sorry if you were worried."

�����"Not her," Buffy muttered, not quite under her breath. �When Angel turned a surprised look on her, she reminded him, "We all forgot - Cordelia and Wesley too. �We did have a few other things on our minds."

�����"So I noticed," Kate murmured.

�����Buffy pointedly stood up, allowing Kate to see the large bandage adorning Angel's torso. She gathered up the tape, scissors, and miscellaneous scraps, and took them to the bathroom. �Angel started to rise, then grimaced and remained where he was.

�����"Don't get up," Kate said quickly. �"I didn't realize you were injured. �How bad is it?"

�����"I've had worse," Angel told her. �"It'll be better in the morning."

�����Buffy returned to the room. �"Not unless you get something in your stomach," she said. �She continued on to the kitchen, her voice wafting back to them. �"Do you have any human blood on hand, or is it all animal?" �There came the sound of the refrigerator door opening. "Hmm, I see pig . . . beef . . . ah, here we are. �O-positive. �I believe that's a good vintage, isn't it, Angel? �Rich and salty, without too much clotting?"

�����"I have to go," Kate said abruptly. �"I'm glad you're all right. �I'll, uh, talk to you soon." �Turning, she almost ran back up the stairs, her shoes clattering with every step.

�����Buffy came back, a plastic bag of blood in her hand. �Angel looked at her. �"What was that all about?" he wanted to know. �"Why were you so rude to Kate?"

�����Buffy sat down beside him. �"Why do you like her so much?"

�����One corner of Angel's mouth curved up. "Jealous?"

�����She gazed at him steadily. �"Should I be?" �To his astonishment, her eyes showed real concern.

�����He gave a soft laugh. �"Not in a million years." �He leaned forward and kissed her. �Buffy leaned into the kiss and Angel's arms tightened around her. �Several breathless moments later Buffy finally pulled away.

�����She lay in his arms for a minute as he pressed tiny kisses into the softness of her hair, then sighed. �"Kate's not your friend, Angel. �She sneaked around behind your back to find out about you, instead of just asking you. �And when Wesley called her, after you went missing, she refused to help."

�����Angel looked away for a second. �"I didn't know that." �Then he sighed and released her. She sat up, looking at him. �"Buffy, Kate has had to deal with a lot of frightening truths in a very short period of time. �Her father was killed only a couple of months ago � by vampires."

�����"Oh." �Buffy looked disconcerted. �"I didn't know that," she said in unconscious echo of Angel's words. �He reached for her hand, caressing the back of it.

�����"Buffy, you've had years to become accustomed to the idea of demons. �Kate has only had a few weeks. �Give her a chance. �She's an intelligent, strong woman � and a good cop."

�����"Hmm." �Buffy looked unconvinced, but shrugged. �"Okay, I'll cut her some slack. �For a while." �Then she handed Angel the blood bag. �"Here, have a snack while I go � elsewhere. Then I'll help you get to bed."

�����"When do you have to go back?" Angel asked her.

�����"Tomorrow morning," she told him regretfully. �"I'll have to leave early; I have a ten o'clock class."

�����"You probably should leave tonight - " Angel began. �Buffy interrupted. �"Is that what you want me to do?"

�����"You know it isn't," he said softly, his soul aching at the thought.

�����Buffy smiled. �"Good," she said. �"Because I'm staying with you tonight." �Leaning forward, she kissed him then stood up. �"I'm going to call Giles and fill him in on what's happened, while you dine on that yummy-looking bag of O-positive. �Then you need to get a good night's rest."

�����As she left the room, Angel slowly smiled. �Somehow he didn't feel in need of that much rest.