I've been impaled before. A very nearly uncomfortable number of times, actually.

A two by four might be new, though.

I have to sink to the floor, half falling, not just because the feeling of something driven through your guts is really, truly unpleasant but because I feel Penn die like a shudder, a ripple in still water, a door slamming closed in a gust of wind and like, perhaps, the way a tree might feel when one of its branches is pruned too close to the trunk.

It's different from when I killed Darla. Killed my Sire. That shook everything too, shook me, but this is different. This is worse.

Penn: my shame, my mistake, my son, my killer. Mine.

The Blood won't let me forget that.

I lean my head back against the wall and breathe solely for the sensation of air filling my lungs and wooshing out. I am exquisitely aware of the texture of the wall behind me, the feeling of my entrails knitting back together. And the exact position and distance of Kate Lockley from me.

I confess myself surprised that she didn't kill me.

I can hear her heartbeat. The temptation is stronger. I have been wounded, and healing requires energy, requires fuel. Requires blood. The demon says want want want but it is less than I have ignored before. I wait.

"Do you need anything?" Kate asks, finally. She sounds reluctant. I shake my head. Yes. Nothing you can give.

"I'll heal."

More silence. I am almost amused with myself. I was proud to make a friend, on my own, without their insinuating their way into my life. I was proud to be able to feel like I'd forged some kind of connection with a human being that had nothing to do with Sunnydale or my life there, or the Powers That Be. This should remind me that I can only ever build those relationships on lies.

As they say, the truth will out. And the truth wears fangs and a demon's face. Not so lovable.

I deliberately do not imagine what Kate is feeling right now. Betrayal, anger, hatred – whatever it is, all it means is that whatever fragile thing we might have had is gone now. I will accept that. Just give me a moment to recover from the two by four first.

"Are there others?" Kate asks, abruptly. I turn my head the smallest bit to see her. She isn't looking at me. Just at the pile of ash that used to be Penn.

"Other vampires? Of course."

"No," she says, and her voice is tight and faintly annoyed. "I mean – others of yours. Wandering around out there, that might come here, cause trouble."

For a moment I want to turn on her for asking at all, rage just a little against what I can hear in her voice; judgment. I deserve it, yes; that doesn't mean I enjoy it. "There are others," I say, finally. "But they aren't like Penn. And they won't come here."

Well, Spike might. Has. Could again. But Spike is…different. And I'm not prepared to speak in detail about my other childer, not tonight.

The wound has almost finished closing. I should go soon, if I want to beat the dawn. Kate has been silent for several minutes, and I start to stand.

"What happened?" She asks. It isn't a detective's voice, this time. It's Kate's, and she's curious. I hold very still. Curiosity, in my experience, is nearly always painful.

"What do you mean?"

"To you," she says. "What I read about you…it was terrible. So what happened? How'd you get here, how long have you been…doing this kind of thing? Is this some kind of mid – unlife crisis?" She looks like she wants to scoff at her own words. I want to do anything but.

"It's a long story," I say. "And one I'd rather not indulge in."

"You owe me an explanation," she says, eyes flashing momentarily. "After pretending…"

In point of fact, I never pretended to be anything. I just…didn't mention. I don't think pointing that out would help me. "And you ran me through with a two by four," I say, trying for light. "I'd think that makes up for it."

She just looks at me. I'm not the first to look away, but she wins anyway. I let my head fall back again to look up at the ceiling of this underground, stinking cavern.

"A curse," I say. "It was a curse. Gypsies." Darla's gift. How generous. "They restored my soul." If I pretend I'm talking about someone else, it's easier. But there is no one else I could possibly be talking about. I shrug. "So now I…atone."

And avoid happiness, because if I find it the world ends. It's a good unlife.

Kate says nothing. I straighten with only a little bit of a twinge and start to head back into the sewers, back home. "Good night, Kate."

"Wait," she says, "Angel, or Angelus, or whatever the fuck…" I pause. She sighs, audibly. "Thanks. For your…help."

I nod, once. "Thank you for killing Penn."

She hesitates. She is nervous, I can feel it. "He was like your son, wasn't he?"

I consider that. But there is only really one answer. "Yes," I say. "Once."

I don't wait to hear what else she might like to ask, what other old shames she might want to dig up. I go, but quietly, always quietly. I have intruded here enough.