Author's Note: Okidokee! Routine update for y'all!

Enjoy!

Chapter X

Before Dusk

She watched him as he slept.

It was more of an observation than a show of endearment. Or, perhaps it wasn't. She couldn't be certain, lately. Every waking moment, the humanity within her seemed to be swelling. She found herself less threatened by such a thing nowadays.

Still, she often conjured up ways to ensure that her former title would not be forgotten.

For instance, there was a modest, though quaint, structure not twelve blocks from the church dubbed as Piggly Wiggly—an undignified title, to say the least—that she'd a mind to conquer some day soon. No doubt she'd have very little resistance.

She remained hesitant, however, on whether she would reveal her strategy to him. Her head tilted in her study of the sleeping vampire. His closed eyes were very slightly rimmed, still, in scarlet, from his display of grief. Beneath, that, however, were unhealthy shadows in their hollows. His face was still incredibly wan—even in the still day-lit room and taking his breed into consideration.

He was healing, though—however gradual. Briefly, she wondered if she might not provide him with more of her own blood—instead of the animal's he'd had her retrieve from then on. She hadn't been able to lend him much during her first donation.

She was vaingloriously proud, though, that the letting of her veins had brought immediate results towards his health. Still, he would probably object. For the vampire was also proud. He'd want to heal on his own time, instead of thieving the strength from another.

He slept with an allayed peace, which she was thankful for. The only thing that marred his angelic face was the barest of frowns. So, perhaps there was a hint of endearment in her study. As much as she loathed to admit it—considering she was supposed to despise him—his presence was growing on her.

In her peripheral vision, she took very slight notice in the fading golden rays that slipped through the boarded windows.

The soft rustle of fabric and cushions caused her to glance back at the sofa, where the vampire was waking. His brow drew together tiredly, and he stretched. It wasn't long until his eyelids fluttered open.

Despite herself, she smiled slightly as he looked at her. "You slumber like the Dead."

She was pleased when a small, halfhearted grin cracked the side of his cheek. "I am the Dead."

"And yet you live," said Illyria, watching him still from the large armchair.

She couldn't quite discern the expression on his face for the look he gave her. It was a hybrid of slight dejection, but also acceptance and knowing. Then, in another instant, the sorrow was gone and replaced by a gratifying sort of warmth. "Thank you, Illyria," he said, his mood lighter now. "I'm very grateful for what you did."

This pleased her. She tilted her head back, bright eyes narrowing slightly. "You are welcome, Angel," she told him kindly, surprising herself. He smirked slightly, and it was obvious that was the first time she'd ever said such a thing to him—or to anyone whom she could recall. She waited for him to mock her, but he never did. Illyria tilted her head, glancing at the small table nearby. "I obtained fresh swine blood for you," she said, rising from the armchair. "I presumed you would not accept more of my own."

Angel sat back in the cushions, giving a small shake of his head. "There's really no need for it," he assured her. "I'm feeling better—stronger."

She tilted her chin up, looking down her nose at him, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Truly?" she inquired slyly.

His brow furrowed, and he regarded her with a funny look—at a loss for what she was playing at. "Yes…" said Angel carefully.

"Good," said Illyria, a single syllable stabbed into the air. She then took up a defensive stance. "Then you shall do well, at last, to challenge me," she declared, rather proudly.

A dark eyebrow arched doubtfully into his forehead. "What?"

"Take up your weapon of choice, vampire," Illyria urged rather flippantly, gesturing to the large desk towards the corner of the room. "You have been out of your practice for exactly seven suns and moons. You are in ominous need of training." Illyria snatched two small warrior axes which had been resting against the side of the armchair. "Therefore, we shall do battle." She twirled them once with expert fingers, then remained still—waiting expectantly for him to attack.

Angel only stared up at her from the sofa, a dumbstruck expression plastered upon his face at her sudden proposal. After a moment, he said, "Ominous need?"

Illyria's brow knit together. "You are offended?"

Angel's eyebrows shot up comically. "A little."

"Good."

Angel's face scrunched up in indignation. "Hey!" he protested, and Illyria only smirked—giving him the look when she had been allowed to throw Spike around in the training room. "You make it sound as if I couldn't go three rounds with a fruit-fly. I've heard that before, and it wasn't any less aggravating back then."

Illyria tilted her head. "With my blood, you could drop thirty legions of these fruit-flies with a single glance. If only you hadn't cast off my offer so hastily," she chided. "Come, vampire. I have a need to strike something."

Angel couldn't believe his ears.

She was taunting him.

He tried to deepen his frown in order to hide his mirth. The twitch at the corners of his mouth finally gave him away, and she twirled the axes in her hands expectantly, a fine eyebrow arched.

A slow grin of snide relations spread across his face. Amused, he nodded. "Alright," he said. He rose from the sofa, looking down at her from his height. "Alright, you Smurf," he conceded, chuckling as he moved past her and took up a large broadsword, getting a feel for it in his hands—testing its weight.

Illyria still had her back to him, but her neck craned so that she could leer at him from the corner of her eye. Narrowing her eyes, a smug bend lifted her lips ever so slightly. Angel, hoping he was as well as he said he was, tossed the broadsword lightly—allowing it to twirl rapidly in the air by its axis before catching it again.

It would do no good if she was able to whoop him like some novice yutz.

He felt only a little faint, but he knew she was right—a little practice would do him some good. Not that he wasn't sure he could totally own a fruit-fly any day of the week, but lately—a hummingbird seemed iffy.

Illyria turned to face him, grin firmly in place with anticipation. She backed around the couch into the larger space between it and the stairs. Angel followed casually.

Angel smiled softly. "As my good friend Spike would be happy to say…"

But Illyria was already there. "Let us dance, you and I."

A/N: Tada! There is your fill for tonight--expect another tomorrow! Tomorrow's chapter will be much longer, too. R&R, please and thank you!