THE TOUCH OF YOUR HAND

Disclaimers: I don't own any of the characters, much as I wish I did. They belong to Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy.

Summary: Angel has a run-in with the Initiative.

A/N: Please bear in mind that this is set circa 1999. The lyrics below are from the song "Crying" (think Don McLean rather than Roy Orbison) by Orbison/Melson.

I was all right for a while,

I could smile for a while,

But when I saw you last night you held my hand so tight

When you stopped to say hello,

And though you wished me well, you couldn't tell

That I'd been crying

Over you,

Crying over you.

Then you said so long

And left me standing all alone,

Alone and crying . . . crying . . . crying . . . crying.

It's hard to understand that the touch of your hand

Can start me crying

Angel walked through the university campus, his mood as somber as the moonless night. Once again he was in Sunnydale without Buffy's knowledge - though that would change as soon as he got to her dorm - because once again a vision had shown Buffy to be in danger. The exact nature of the danger, however, was frustratingly vague. Cordelia may have inherited Doyle's visions upon his death, but she lacked Doyle's experience in deciphering the flashing images of which they were comprised.

He spied a telephone booth ahead and hesitated. Maybe he should give Buffy a call instead of just showing up at her door unannounced. It would be less of a shock for her, that way.

He grimaced. Who was he trying to fool? The only person needing to be cushioned from shock was himself. His presence would be a surprise for Buffy, and not a particularly welcome one either, but not the gut-wrenching experience it would be for him.

As the Oracles had decreed, after they took back the day so that it never happened, he alone carried the bittersweet memories of his all-too-brief reversion to humanity two months ago. He alone remembered the piercing sweetness, the sheer uninhibited joy of making love to the girl he loved, without fear, until they both were sated to the point of numbness. As far as Buffy remembered, the only time they'd been together was the five or so minutes she'd spent in his office giving him a piece of her mind about his last covert visit to "her" town.

Recalling the hurt anger in her expression and her words, Angel sighed. He definitely didn't want a repeat of that experience. He sighed again. It really didn't seem fair. He had tried to keep that visit a secret only because he didn't want to disturb the new life Buffy had begun to build for herself after his departure from Sunnydale.

It was just sheer bad luck that he'd run into her friends during his protective surveillance. He should have known that either Willow or Xander was bound to spill the beans about his presence - Willow because her conscience wouldn't let her keep it from Buffy, Xander because of his tendency to let his mouth become detached from his brain. And Buffy, being Buffy and ultra sensitive where their relationship was concerned, of course had put the worst possible interpretation on his secrecy.

Angel stopped at the phone booth and dug a handful of loose change from his pocket. He listened as the coins clinked their musical way into the system, then dialed her number. The phone on the other end rang three times before being picked up. Angel moistened his lips, preparing his speech.

"Hi, you've reached Buffy and Willow. Sorry we're not here to answer your call but please leave your number after the beep and we'll get back to you. 'Bye."

He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words he gave a strangled cry as a jolt of agony such as he'd never experienced paralyzed him. Distantly he heard a sound that reminded him of electricity zapping. The receiver dropped from his numb fingers as he dropped to the ground like a felled tree, jerking uncontrollably in every limb.

Two men cautiously emerged from concealment in a grove of shrubbery about twenty-five feet away and walked toward him, guns held at the ready. Helplessly, unable to speak or move anything other than his eyes, Angel watched them approach. They were powerfully built, dressed in military camouflage, their young faces wary. One was black, the other white. The guns they held were unlike any he'd ever seen, with strangely thick muzzles. The white man reached for the dangling telephone receiver, put it to his ear and listened. After a second he said, "Hello?" then shrugged and replaced it.

Angel felt the approach of a third person behind him. This unseen person asked, "Is he immobilized?" It was a young voice, a male perhaps in his middle twenties, but it held authority. Angel strained to hear through the debilitating effects of whatever he'd been shot with. A drug? Poison? His muscles continued to spasm, out of his conscious control.

"Yes," the black man said.

"Good. Did you find out who he was calling?"

"No one answered," came the reply from the white man. "I heard a click, like an answering machine shutting off, and then just dead air."

"Too bad. It might have led us to a nest. Oh well, let's get him to the lab. Forrest, you and Graham grab his legs. I'll watch our path."

Angel felt his legs being lifted, then he was being dragged across the rough ground. The third man entered his line of sight, glancing down at him indifferently. Angel experienced a jolt of startled recognition. This was the young man he'd seen with Buffy on his previous visit. The good-looking young man she'd been talking to with every appearance of enjoying the conversation. His mind whirled.

"Hold it. There's something up ahead."

Angel's captors hauled him under the bushes. "Who is it, Riley?" Angel recognized the black man's voice. The third man - Riley - swore. "It's more vamps. Three of them."

"Do we go after them?" It was the other member of the trio.

Riley swore again. "Damn, they're stalking a group of students." A shrill scream split the night air. "Go! I'll stay with this one."

The sound of running feet slowly faded from earshot. Riley's face appeared once more in Angel's limited view. He squatted down beside the helpless vampire and ran a clinical eye over him. Apparently satisfied by what he saw, Riley gave a little nod and started to stand up. Suddenly his attention was caught by the ring on Angel's right hand. He lifted the hand and inspected the ring closely.

"A claddagh ring." Riley glanced at his victim. "Friendship, loyalty, and love. Which one of your victims did you take this from?" His tone was hard. With difficulty, he yanked the ring off Angel's finger and put it on his own hand.

Burning rage swept through Angel with the force of a tidal wave. He managed to make a low, guttural noise. Riley met his eyes, and Angel hoped his fury showed in their expression. Riley merely looked contemptuous. Then he turned, taking up a guard position a few feet away. Angel mentally groaned. What was going on? Who were these soldiers, and what was Buffy's connection to this Riley person?

He heard footsteps coming toward them and a familiar sensation swept through him: the realization that Buffy was nearby.