RATING: �PG-13
SPOILERS: �Through Season 3 of BTVS, no specific references. ��For ANGEL, just that he's in Los Angeles.
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: �A thief picks the wrong house to burglarize.

�����Buffy sighed. �This was almost heaven, lying here in Angel's arms, her nose mashed against his beautifully solid chest - even if they were fully dressed and all they could do was kiss and cuddle. �Well, actually there was more they could do but they had agreed not to go there during this visit. �So to speak. She giggled silently.

�����"What?" �Angel's voice was a rumble in her ear.

�����"What what?" �Her head jiggled from the movement of his chest as he laughed.

�����"What were you sniggering at?"

�����Buffy craned her neck to look in his face. �"That wasn't a snigger, it was a giggle."

�����"Ah. �Excuse me. �Why were you giggling?" �He shifted position slightly to look at her. �In keeping with the quiet of the night, their voices were soft and low, mere whispers.

�����Buffy pulled a pillow into better position beneath her head and stroked his neck. �"It was just a thought I had, nothing important. �It doesn't matter."

�����Angel studied her. �There was enough ambient light coming in through the window that she could see his knowing expression. �"Were you by any chance remembering the last time we were together?"

�����"Well, yeah," she admitted. �"It was pretty - memorable." �That was the understatement of the year; she hadn't had so many orgasms since the night she'd tried out her first vibrator. �Angel, of course, had only climaxed once, since they were afraid to push the limits of his curse. �And that was another reason she was adamant they not repeat that experience: it just plain wasn't fair. �Besides . . . sometimes she just wanted to be with him, talking and kissing and cuddling like they were doing now.

�����"We can make another memory." �Angel kissed her, then moved his lips to her ear and neck. �He began stroking her breast through the fabric of her blouse. �She sighed again, then stopped his hand.

�����"No," she said firmly. �"It's not a good idea, you know that. �Besides, being together doesn't have to be about sex every time, does it?"

�����Angel raised his head. �"Of course not." �He kissed her again, softly. �"But you are a tempting wench, you know."

�����Buffy chuckled happily. �"So are you. �Not a wench, of course, but whatever word - "

�����"Shh!" �Angel froze in a listening position. �"What's that noise?"

�����Cal kept to the shadows even though the chances of anyone being awake this late were slim. �He'd scouted out the area, both by day and by night. �People in this part of town tended to go to bed early anyway, but especially so in this neighborhood. �By eleven all the houses were usually dark, with only the back door lights left burning.

�����He gave a soft snort at this antiquated notion of security. �People could be such fools, trusting to the streetlights for protection. There were only two, and even though the street wasn't a long one, that still left several houses in the middle of the block untouched by its revealing rays. �A discreet daytime reconnaissance had assured him that only two of those had an alarm system. �Of the other three houses, one had a large dog, part Rottweiler from the look of it, that had gone inside about an hour ago and hadn't come back out; one was occupied by an elderly couple; and one by a woman and a young woman he assumed was her daughter.

�����He hesitated. �Logic told him to go for the elderly couple. �They were probably at least a little deaf and therefore less likely to wake up. �But folks of that age were also less likely to have an expensive entertainment system or other equipment that he could make halfway decent money off of. �No, it made sense to break into the house where the mother and daughter lived. �The odds were that there would be at least one VCR, possibly two, that he could easily grab and sell on the black market. �It wasn't much, but it would be fast and easy - in and out in five minutes max, stash the take in his car, parked in the next block over, and on to the next area and the next target. �If everything went as planned, he might hit three or four houses before calling it a night.

�����The street was quiet, and the last light inside his target house had gone off an hour ago. �It was time. Cal pulled on his ski mask and slipped from shadow to shadow until the dark bulk of his destination loomed before him. �The back door light was on, sure enough, but the sides of the house were concealed in darkness. �He snorted again, and began checking the windows. �The second one he tried yielded to his manipulations and swung toward him with only the faintest of squeaks. �One stroke of his knife took care of the screen, then he was inside, knife still in hand, just in case.

�����He stood unmoving, alert. �No house that was occupied was ever completely silent. �There were always little noises disturbing the quiet: an aquarium bubbling quietly in a corner, perhaps, or a gargled snore from a bedroom, or even just the mysterious creaks that houses made as they settled. �Listening intently, Cal heard only the electric hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, and an old-fashioned clock quietly ticking away somewhere in the room.

�����He pocketed his knife and drew out his penlight. �The beam flashed on, darting here and there until he located the television. �As he'd expected, it was too large for him to carry. �But, glory hallelujah, there on top of it sat not a VCR but a DVD player! �He'd been afraid to hope for one, even though more and more people were buying them. �On the black market a DVD brought twice the price. �Drawing a deep breath, Cal headed over.

�����He had unplugged the device and his gloved hands were deftly unhooking the cables when someone spoke behind him.

�����"Looking for something?" �It was a girl's voice.

�����Cal froze in place then straightened up, first unobtrusively drawing his knife. �Most of his buds carried guns, but he'd found his six-inch skinning blade to be just as effective in shutting up prospective troublemakers. �Unless, of course, they happened to have a gun themselves, but that seldom happened in neighborhoods like this. �Still, there was an assurance in this girl's voice that made him wonder. �He wasn't worried about being identified, since a ski mask covered his face and a black unitard helped provide anonymity, but he didn't want to be plugged by a nervous householder, even though this one sounded anything but. �Better safe than sorry. �He cleared his throat. �"I don't have a gun."

�����"Really?" he heard. �"Suppose you raise your hands above your head anyway, so I can see them. Well, no gun maybe, but a wicked-looking knife. �I think you should carefully toss it behind you . . . toward me, that's right. �Okay, now you can turn around. �Slowly." �With that last word, the voice came closer.

�����She had to have a gun, with that attitude. �Gritting his teeth with frustration, Cal obeyed, hands still held high. �His jaw dropped. �He took another look, unable to believe his eyes. �"You - you're not armed!"

�����The cute blonde smiled and took a step toward him. �"Surprise." �Never taking her eyes off him, she turned her head slightly. �"Angel, did you call the cops?"

�����Cal snapped his head around. �A tall, dark-haired young man stood in the hallway - her boyfriend? �As far as he could see, this one had no weapons either. �He swelled with indignation. �Were they doing some kind of drugs, or were they just suicidal? �They were damn lucky he wasn't carrying a gun, or their bodies could be crumpled on the carpet this minute!

�����"They're on their way," the man called Angel told her.

�����To hell with this. �Taking two steps forward, Cal kicked out at the young woman, but she evaded his blow with a speed that amazed him. �At the same moment she grabbed his foot and the next thing he knew he was flat on his back, blinking up at the ceiling. �Rolling over, he scrambled to his feet, only to meet a flying kick that landed him right back on the floor.

�����"You could give me a hand here, you know," he heard her say. �The young man's reply was calmly amused. �"Why? �You're doing fine on your own."

�����"Because I think this - person - needs a scare thrown into him. �You're a lot scarier than I am, Angel."

�����Cautiously turning his head to see what they were up to, something caught Cal's eye. �It was his knife, lying only a couple of feet away. �His eyes flew to the couple, checking on them.

�����"Only to those who don't know you," the man named Angel said to the girl, who wasn't even looking at Cal. �In fact, neither one of them seemed to be paying any attention to him at all. �Their mistake. �He turned in the direction of his knife, slowly, and levered himself up on his elbow.

�����"So funny," the young woman told Angel. �Cal made his move. �In one movement he scooped up the knife and scrambled to his feet. �The next second he had his arm around the girl and the knife at her throat. Her young man straightened up with a jerk.

�����"Take it easy and no one will get hurt," Cal told him. �As the man took a step toward him, he added, warningly, "Stay right where you are."

�����The boyfriend continued walking. �"You're making a big mistake." �His voice remained calm and unworried.

�����"It'll be your mistake if you don't stop right there," Cal snarled, dragging the girl toward the window. �"Only your girlfriend will be the one paying for it."

�����"Oh, I don't think so." �With that the young man switched on a lamp. �"Surprise!" �The soft voice had transformed into a growl.

�����Cal tried to scream, but it strangled unborn in his throat. �Yellow eyes blazed at him from under a heavily ridged brow. �The man smiled, revealing a mouth full of long, very sharp fangs.

�����The scream broke through. �Still screaming hoarsely, Cal released his hostage and backpedaled for the window he'd entered through. �Before he'd taken more than two steps the young woman whirled around, grabbed him by the arm and pulled. �

�����He lurched forward. �Jesus, she was strong! �She released him and he staggered for several feet. Before he could regain his balance the coffee table hit him in the leg. �He fell over it and found himself once more staring at the ceiling. �In the next second the man - the monster - was leaning over him, smiling at him. �Cal stared wide-eyed at the fangs.

�����"You picked the wrong house tonight."

�����The faint sound of sirens could be heard in the distance. �Cal almost wept in relief. �The monster straightened up, and before Cal's very eyes his face changed into that of a handsome young man. �"What are you?" he croaked.

�����The man named Angel smiled at him, but even though the fangs were no longer in evidence, this smile was just as fearful as the other one had been. �"Something you don't want to look over your shoulder at night and see coming for you." �Cal believed him.

����� �The young woman also gazed at Cal, with speculation in her eyes. �"I don't think he'll be any more trouble, do you?" �Cal shivered as the horror mask once more appeared on the young man's face.

�����"Not if he wants to stay healthy, he won't," the boyfriend said with meaning. �Cal shook his head vigorously to indicate he wouldn't cause trouble. �The normal face appeared again. �"Good."

�����The sirens stopped outside the house. �Buffy went to the front door and opened it. �"He's in here," she called to the officers spilling out of the patrol cars.

Twenty Minutes Later

�����Joyce was exhausted after a long night of opening crates and sorting through bills of lading. �All she wanted was to get home, fall into bed, and sleep for at least ten hours. �Thank God she was almost there. Turning the corner onto Revello, the yawn splitting her face was cut short at the sight of a patrol car with flashing lights parked outside her house. �She screeched to a stop behind it and ran inside. �"Buffy? �Oh, thank God!"

�����She clutched at her daughter. �"What's happened? �Are you all right? �Why are the police here? �What - Angel?" �She stared at the vampire. �"I didn't know you were in town. �Buffy, what's going on?"

�����Buffy led her distraught mother over to the couch and nodded at Angel, who disappeared into the kitchen. A moment later he was back with a steaming cup in his hand. �"Mom, here, drink this chamomile tea. Everything's okay. �We had a burglar, that's all, but we stopped him before he took anything."

�����Joyce gasped. �"A burglar? �That's all? �It wasn't - " She stopped, glancing at the policeman standing over by the television set, then whispered, "It wasn't demons or vampires?"

�����"No, Mom, it was just a burglar," Buffy reassured her, then for the sake of the listening cop she added, "He wasn't trying to hurt me; he just wanted the DVD player. �Angel and I caught him and called the police."

�����Joyce sank back in the couch with a sigh of relief. �She took a swallow of her tea. �"Thank God you're all right!"

�����The policeman stepped forward. �"You were very lucky that he didn't have a gun, miss," he told Buffy seriously. �He was young, and very sincere about his profession. �"It's better to just get out of the house and then call for help. �Safety first, you know."

�����Angel stirred. �"We did watch him for a few minutes before we confronted him, Officer. �If he had a gun it had to be in his waist pack. �We knew we could take him before he could get to it." �At the policeman's skeptical look, he added, "I'm a black belt and Miss Summers is trained in street fighting techniques."

�����"I figured." �The cop blinked. �"Well . . . " Faced with the dilemma of having to admit that these civilians might be as competent to handle bad guys as the police, he changed the subject. �"We'll be in touch, Miss Summers. �Mr. Jones, will you be in town for a while?"

�����"Only through tomorrow." �Angel glanced at the clock on the mantel. �"Today, I mean. �I have to be back in L.A. Monday morning. �If you need me you can find me at the number I gave you."

�����The cop finally left. �As Buffy closed the door behind him, she turned to Angel with a quizzical look. �"Jones?" �Angel shrugged. �"It's a long story; I'll tell it to you sometime."

�����"I'd like to hear it," Buffy assured him. �"I wish you hadn't had to give Detective Lockley as a reference, though."

�����Angel shrugged again. �"Cops don't like private investigators, particularly unlicenced ones. �Kate is a cop too; she'll give me a good reference."

�����"I'll bet," the Slayer muttered. �She sat down beside Joyce. �"You doing okay, Mom?"

�����"Sure," Joyce managed a smile. �"It was just, getting home so late and seeing the police car outside, I was afraid . . . " Her voice faded away, then she gave herself a little shake. �"But you're all right and Angel's all right - " She gave him a sharp look. �"You are all right, aren't you? �I mean you two didn't - "

�����"Of course not." �Buffy was exasperated. �Angel looked at her reassuringly. �"You don't have to worry, Joyce. �That will never happen again." �His eyes met Buffy's with an involuntary look of regret.

�����Joyce ran a hand over her hair. �"I know," she sighed. �"I'm sorry. �I just - I wish - oh, damn it, anyway!" �She rose, cup in hand. �"I'm going to bed before I start getting maudlin about how unfair it all is." She kissed her daughter goodnight and stopped in front of Angel. �Much to his surprise, she pulled his head down and gave him a kiss on the cheek too. �"Goodnight, Angel. �Don't leave town without saying goodbye, okay?"

�����Too stunned to respond, Angel watched her leave the room. �Buffy came up to him, slipping her arms around his waist. �"What was that all about?" he asked her.

�����"Mom likes you."

�����"That's a switch." �He continued to stare down the hallway.

�����"Not really," Buffy disagreed. �"She never disliked you, Angel - well, not once you became good again. She just didn't think you were right for me. �Which only goes to show that parents don't always know best."

�����He smiled down at her, and gave her a squeeze. �"Or vampires."

�����"Or vampires." �She squeezed him back. �"Come on, let's go to IHOP and get some coffee or something. �I think we'd be pushing our luck if we went back to my room tonight. �We shouldn't have gone there in the first place."

�����"Probably not," he ruefully agreed. �They kissed, not briefly, then Buffy ran upstairs for her purse. Watching her, Angel gave a melancholy sigh for all the things in their relationship that were missing: sunlight, picket fences . . . and, of course, being able to make love. �Then she appeared at the top of the stairs and began descending the steps.

�����As she reached the bottom step, Buffy smiled at him. �His mood suddenly brightened. �He walked over and put his arms around her. �She was right; it was being together that mattered, not all the other stuff. �"I love you, Buffy Summers."

�����Buffy put her arms around his neck. �"I love you too, Angel Jones." �About to kiss her again, Angel stopped in mid-pucker. "I see I'm going to have to explain about that," he sighed.

�����Buffy giggled. "Yep." They kissed again, softly, then drew apart. �"Let's go."