The beast lunged at her, savage and senseless, and refused to be cowed by the metal bars that kept it back. It pressed its body against them, slavering as it set its teeth on them, straining to reach its claws out as far as the bars would permit. Finally it threw back its head and howled.

Willow turned a page in her book. She was getting used to the wolf's antics, but it was annoying when he howled-- the sound echoed terribly in the stone chamber. She checked her watch. He'd been canine for at least twenty minutes now, so he should be winding down.

Sure enough, the beast backed away from the bars, panting, and threw himself onto the floor in a frustrated heap. Willow stayed still, making sure not to look at him. Sometimes eye contact could get him riled up again. She had a theory that the change from wolf back to human came as much from boredom as anything else. Oz claimed that if he locked himself up when nobody was around, he could go back and forth with surprising ease, as if the wolf didn't have any good reason to remain a wolf. When Willow was watching over him, though, she was distraction enough to throw a wrench in the works, and that was the wrench that Oz wanted to work on.

A few minutes later she heard the panting subside and looked up to see that her boyfriend was back. She welcomed him with a smile. She wasn't scared of the wolf-- not in these conditions, anyway-- but there was always an irrational fear in the back of her mind that one of these times, he would just never turn back. He trudged back over to the bars and leaned against them, making no move to leave the cage or to get dressed. "You must be so bored," he said apologetically.

"Oh, you'll have to try harder than that to bore me," she replied. "Remember anything this time?"

He considered briefly, then shook his head. "I remember seeing you sitting there, but that's what I'm seeing right now, so it's kind of hard to tell if that's a wolf memory." He scratched his chin. "Hey, maybe you can try talking to me?"

"Sure!" She closed the book. "I can talk. I can even ramble. I can do a first-class ramble with complimentary peanuts. One ramble, coming right up."

Oz gave her a tired smile and dropped to his hands and knees for an easy transformation. Willow started rambling as soon as the fur started coming in, and didn't let his growling and attacking the bars interrupt her when the change completed. "So, Tara's coming by tomorrow to help me with this seeking spell, it's supposed to reveal any kind of magical devices or charms or demons that could have been placed in the Magic Box to eavesdrop on us. Giles thinks that if anyone heard us talking about the plan, it had to be there, since that's where most of the planning went down. Hmm...okay, looks like I've exhausted that topic already, need something else to ramble about..."

The wolf whined like a dog, as if he agreed. Then he went back to his usual display of aggression, but Willow was encouraged. "So you know how Angel got kind of pissy at you the other night over the acid trip thing? I don't think that was fair, I mean, you were apologizing! And that just got me thinking, he's really been hovering over Buffy lately, and that's cool and all, I mean if you take away the 'forbidden' aspect of it they're the perfect couple. But I kind of miss her. We haven't had any real Scooby time in ages." Oz backed off for a moment-- another good sign, but Willow had to be careful not to show she had noticed, so she kept talking. "Now she's walking on her own two feet, I thought we could all go do something, like, like bowling or dancing or ice fishing."

Suddenly Oz was human again, sitting in an awkward position on the stone floor. He shook himself vigorously. "You really think Angel would go bowling?" he asked.

"Oz!" Willow jumped to her feet in excitement. "You understood what I was saying! And you changed back so fast! And you...thought bowling was a weirder idea than ice fishing?"

"Hm." He stayed on the floor, still looking bemused. "Turns out language is really difficult. Not sure I caught the ice fishing part. But I know you said something about doing a spell, and then you were talking about going somewhere with Buffy and Angel, right?"

"Close. That actually wasn't quite where I was headed with that. I want a little Buffy-sans-Angel excursion. Is that wrong? It's not that I don't like him or anything, it's just...sometimes he kind of acts his age. And you know," she went on as Oz took a breath and started changing again, "I really don't think he would go bowling."

As the wolf paced the length of the cage and scratched at the corners looking for an escape route, Willow sat back down on the floor and rattled off a few more ideas for things they could do with Xander, Anya, and Buffy. Then she started worrying out loud about whether Angel would be offended if they tried to exclude him, and how to sell Buffy on the idea without offending her, and whether two couples and one other person meant fifth-wheel syndrome. She knew she was doing that insecurity thing like she did, but she had promised him a ramble, and it wasn't as if this was anything she wouldn't say to Oz as a human. Oz as a wolf was still kind of a good listener too, she reflected. He always kept his attention at least partially on her, but he never interrupted.

She had just leaned back to stare at the ceiling when Oz said, "So let's do something in the daylight." Willow jumped a little. His transitions were getting smoother and quieter, but that was the first time he had managed to shift without her even noticing. "Nobody needs to make excuses to exclude Angel then. And don't feel bad about it either, baby. He's got a different kind of life than the rest of us." As he spoke, he reached through the bars to grab the clothes he had left on the other side so he wouldn't run the risk of gnawing on them. Willow entered the lock's combination as he got dressed. "He'd probably welcome the chance to hang out with the grown-ups for once."

Willow smiled and kissed Oz's nose. "I believe I was promised a bubble tea if I helped you with your wolfing today."

"Then we, damsel, are bubble tea bound." As they left the crypt, he added wistfully, "Ice fishing does sound like fun."

"Ice is cool," she agreed. She took his hand as they came up into the sunlight together.

******************************************************************

Nobody made any jokes about a priest, a vampire, and two Brits walking into a bar, but Giles thought one of them might after they got a few drinks into them. He even entertained the possibility that it might be himself. It had been a while since Giles walked into a bar with anyone-- the Bronze didn't count, despite its alcoholic options-- and it was actually something of a relief to be able to do so without his companions being carded. He made a comment to that effect as they each made a purchase at the bar and then took a table in the corner together.

"Good thing, too," Angel replied. "I've got to get Cordelia to make me a fake ID in case that ever happens."

Giles tried to imagine that situation. It could happen. Angel looked to be in his mid-to-late twenties, but there were enough bartenders in the United States trying to play it safe that it was a credit to Angel's skill at handling people that he had avoided confrontation on the issue so far.

Wesley glanced nervously at Father Tom. "Of course, it's sometimes necessary for Angel to temporarily assume an identity of some kind for the sake of his work. We would never bend the law just to get a round at a pub."

The priest didn't bat an eye. "Render unto Caesar," he said. "I've got no particular allegiance to the laws regarding the drinking age. And I'm of Irish Catholic descent."

Angel grinned broadly. "What's the difference between a Roman Catholic and an Irish Catholic?"

"About three pints," Father Tom answered promptly, and he and the vampire clinked their glasses together.

Giles blinked. He didn't know what was stranger: that the two could tolerate each other's presence at all, or that they were bonding over cultural and religious stereotypes. "So," he said. "Evidently we deem this establishment a safe place to talk about fabricating legal identification. Shall we also consider it safe enough to discuss more pressing matters?"

"Safer than that shop of yours, anyhow," said Father Tom. "For now."

That was true enough. Willow and Tara had cast a variety of spells aimed at exposing whatever unwelcome magical energy was hidden there and had succeeded only partially. Something was there, haunting the shop, and it had enough consciousness to be labeled a spirit. Once this much was established, the girls had started coming up with ideas to narrow down the possibilities of what it was, but Giles had stopped them there. Willow had already crossed so many magical barriers. If her work wasn't becoming so integral to their needs, he would have asked her to refrain from using it at all for a while. She at least listened to him when he said they had done enough for one day, though, and now they had enough information to know to keep business talk out of the Magic Box.

"But do we actually have anything to say about the pressing matters?" Wesley asked. He was getting frustrated, Giles could tell. He had pulled his weight with the responsibilities of researching, and now he wanted payoff. Well, so did they all.

"I've got news," Father Tom informed them, "but I don't know that you'll like it. I've received a response from the bishop of my diocese. He's received word from the Vatican, now that they've reviewed the documents we sent them. It looks like the Church is the first one to have come to a conclusion about participating in the spell."

"And?" Giles was curious, but impartial. It was difficult to be anything else, what with his own uncertainty about which way he wanted the road to take them.

"They-- we-- will have nothing to do with it. The theological debate keeps coming back to the answer that we have to err on the side of caution, and leave matters as they are. The main problem--" he paused for a swig from his glass "--is in the uncertainty of the afterlife. We believe in a Heaven and a Hell, and the possibility of other options, but we don't claim to know where any one soul ends up. We also don't make any kind of choice about who goes where, and when. That's God's decision. Humans can't take it upon ourselves to send souls to the afterlife. We can't choose to bring them back from there, either." He was looking at Angel now, not questioning him but letting the questions come as they would to everyone else's mind. "Especially since nobody really knows what happens to the soul when a human becomes a vampire. To bring a soul out of Heaven, for instance, even if there remained no memory of being there...that would be reprehensible."

Angel's reaction to this line of logic was unexpected. "Good for the Church, then," he said shortly. "Good for you." Giles heard no sarcasm in his voice, and inspected his face to see if he had missed it. Angel seemed to know what he was thinking (and the other two at the table seemed to be thinking the same thing), and elaborated, "They chose a stance. Everyone else keeps wavering. Sounds like they went at it through a reasonable line of thinking, and if I know anything about the institution, nobody's going to change their mind now they've set it. So good for them."

Wesley listened to him and nodded. "And it's still possible to cast the spell without their support, if our other channels come through. I don't think it would even require all of them." Then he glanced up sharply at Father Tom. "Is the Church's position one of neutrality, or can we expect actual interference from them?"

"Neutrality. They want to be kept updated on how things progress, but I'm not meant to sabotage any more than I am to contribute."

Giles thought of what that could mean, and to his surprise it gave him a brief pang. "Does this development mean you'll be returning to your home?" he asked.

Father Tom shook his head, and Giles could see that he was hiding a small smile which said he had telepathically noticed that pang and appreciated the reluctant affection behind it. "I'm here for Daemonis, not your spell. I crossed the whole country to get to him, and I'll go home when he's dead."

"You're his nemesis," mused Angel, tracing a finger around the rim of his half-empty glass. "Hunter with a personal grudge, I had one of those once. Did he kill your family?"

"He killed a few of my parishioners," said the priest casually, showing no distaste at Angel's reference to his bloody past. "Close enough."

Angel nodded. "Probably women, right?" he said. "Pretty ones, not too young not too old. Maybe kind of shy."

If Giles was perplexed by that comment, Father Tom was startled right out of his composure. "How-- how did you know that?"

"Love," stated the vampire. "You can go through it and come out the other side, and it still sticks with you in one way or another. In his case, it would be a nasty way." He looked up and saw everyone around the table examining him again, and drummed his fingers on the table restively. "I talked with the guy, remember? I'm good at guessing someone's type. His was easy."

"Right, because of his romantic side." Wesley had a far-off, pensive look as he picked up the thread of conversation. Giles wondered if working closely with Angel made it easier to remember that he was inhuman, or just the opposite. "That's so...unspeakably macabre."

"He offered to sire Buffy." Angel dropped the words like a bomb, his good humor now thoroughly gone. "Offered it, like he was doing me a favor. You can't understand what it means to sire someone. The way they idolize you, especially at the beginning...it doesn't matter how much she hated you the day before. The moment she wakes up she belongs to you." Everyone was quiet as Angel's voice became increasingly harder. "And he'd do it, too. Just to wreak havoc. Just to see how much he could hurt someone before it drove her insane..."

Wesley cut in quietly. "You're not Daemonis, Angel."

Surprise flickered through Angel's eyes as he lifted them from the spot on the table where he had been staring. Then he nodded once and leaned back, the tightness about his shoulders diminishing. Giles looked at Wesley with renewed respect. He himself would never have guessed that Angel needed to be told that he wasn't Daemonis, and he doubted even Buffy would.

"I know," Angel allowed. Now that he had broken out of his angry trance, he looked distinctly uncomfortable about the emotion he had just spilled. "I just can't get him out of my mind anymore. He killed his own lover and now he wants mine." He looked at Father Tom. "I hope you don't mind sharing your grudge."

Giles tried not to twitch when he heard Angel use the word 'lover.' He tried to tell himself that Buffy was an adult and thus none of this was his business, but some part of his mind was always keeping tabs on how her relationship with Angel was progressing, and it was certainly progressing. Even a week ago, Angel wouldn't have been likely to refer to her so naturally with possessive pronouns. "Where is Buffy tonight?" he asked. There, that was a safe thing to say. Got them off the topic of grudges, and there weren't any implications that Buffy didn't belong under Angel's care.

"With her friends. They're doing..." His brow furrowed, trying to remember. "One of those things they do. Having fun. She's safe."

Wesley smiled. "Ah, if only Cordelia were here to complain on your behalf about Buffy having fun without you."

Angel stared at him blankly. He didn't even seem to realize that his friend was teasing him. "Buffy has to have fun. With or without me. She's safe and she's having fun. What else matters?"

"Sure," said Father Tom heartily, completely out of the blue. "You can share my grudge."

******************************************************************

The mansion seemed especially silent tonight, but not in an ominous way. Angel knew that Buffy was upstairs, not only from the single light on up there but because, well, he knew. She was waiting for him. He had just come home and Buffy was upstairs waiting for him. Why had this not sunk in before?

He closed the door behind him quietly, locking it up as always. Nothing would get in to disturb them. Sacred space. Safe as houses. The silence remained, thick and inquisitive, and it made Angel keenly aware of everything around him. The fireplace, full of last night's ashes. The table he had staggered into when he tried to run away from Buffy and the terrible sacrifice she intended. The spot on the floor where he had landed, uncomprehending, after Hell let him go. The coat rack. The coat rack? Oh, right. He took off his coat and hung it up, still examining his surroundings. Everything was familiar. Everything was new. Even the memories were new-- he was looking at each one as part of a whole, as a series of events that had brought him to where he was now, and that was a good place, and that was new. He slipped off his shoes at the bottom of the stairs and went up as part of the silence, one step at a time.

The light he had seen from downstairs was coming faintly from their bedroom, the door cracked open invitingly. He pushed it open gently and stood in the doorway for a moment. She was sitting crosslegged on the bed, writing in a book she had in front of her by the light of a single bedside lamp and a few candles, and she looked up at him and smiled. She didn't say anything, but he thought her lips formed the suggestion of his name.

"I remember this," he said, not knowing the words were coming until they were out.

She arched an eyebrow. "Remember what?"

He leaned against the doorway, taking her in. "Happiness."

"Angel." She gave him the liquid eyes, the shy smile. Not everyone got to see that smile. "What's got you all sentimental?"

"I don't really know." He snapped out of it a little and closed the door behind him before crossing the room to sit by her on the bed. She was wearing silk pajamas, purple ones with pockets and buttons, and her hair was let down to tumble over her shoulders. "I was just thinking," he said. "You even look pretty when you go to bed." He looked down at the book and pen she was still holding. "What are you doing?"

She left the compliment unanswered, but he could tell by her stifled chuckle that she remembered the first time he had said it. "Journalling," she replied. "I got out of the habit while I was off duty, but then I realized that stuff is still happening so maybe I should take some notes."

He touched the journal, felt the mass of filled pages and the streamlined blank ones. "Is this the one with the fantasy about the charming foreign exchange student Ahmed?" he asked.

"Oh man," she laughed. "We really are taking a trip down Memory Freeway tonight, aren't we? I filled up the Ahmed Hypercrush Chronicles years ago. And hid them." Her forehead creased in sudden consternation. "In my old room, where Willow and Oz live now..."

"But Willow probably heard all about it at the time anyway, right?"

"You bet she did." She shrugged calmly. "Highschool diary stuff doesn't matter. It was really only embarrassing that one time. I just can't believe you remember it."

"Yes you can."

She gave in and grinned. "Yes, I can. But props for being so suave about it at the time."

"Well, the suave part was short-lived," he reminded her. "I also recall being a little uncouth..."

"Oh, you're not referring to scaring the bejeezus out of me with your growly face and then jumping out my window, are you?" She waved a carefree hand. "Water over the bridge. And did I ever not think that that was going to be a memory I could someday look back on and laugh."

Hearing about it in those terms added a whole new dimension to the night's surreal parade of memories. He started to laugh. She started to laugh. As it ran its course they were both silent for a moment, lost in their respective thoughts and memories. Then Buffy set the diary on the bedside table and said, "We're okay, right? You're not still mad? About the acid and the...Spike and everything?"

He laid a hand on her thigh. "I was never mad. Just afraid."

"Then, are you still afraid?"

There was a lot to consider in that question. "Some," he admitted. "I don't know how to let my guard down anymore. Even-- especially when I'm happy. I'm still atoning, and it gets ugly sometimes. I don't want to drag you down into that."

"You won't," she said, full of confidence. "We're going to be good this time. I do my job, you do yours. And when it's time for you to retire from atonement, I think we'll know it."

The last of his smile fell away. "You might not be here to see it."

"I'm ready for that." Her voice had a new maturity to it, complementing the innocent wisdom she'd had for as long as he had known her. "I'm still yours."

"If you weren't so independent that would be a hard thing to hear from you. I want to give you more than I have to give," he implored, hoping it didn't break her new rule about talking about what he couldn't be for her. He had to get it out. "Buffy, I have to go back to LA sooner or later. I might have to stay there for years. For a lifetime. For your lifetime. It doesn't seem fair, making you wait for me when I might never get to you."

"I'm not waiting for you. This isn't waiting. I told you, I'm yours. No matter where you are or what you are." She leaned closer to him. "Aren't you going to tell me you're mine, too? Because this is the right moment to tell me that."

"Always."

Her smile showed that she was perfectly contented with that answer. "I miss my ring," she said, glancing down at the unadorned finger on her left hand. "I lost it after you came back to life."

"I'll get you a new one," he promised immediately. "I lost mine too." Actually, he had destroyed it when he was evil, but he saw no reason to make that distinction now.

"It wouldn't be the same," she started to object.

"Why should it be?" he countered. "We're not the same people we were back then. Doesn't mean I ever stopped loving you, but I think we both know this is much more a renewal than it is a continuation."

She went quiet, considering this, then spoke up again in her playful voice. "At least I've finally got you talking like there is a 'this' to renew or continue as we deem appropriate."

"Well, you did insist I stop trying to leave you for your own good."

"That's right," she replied with an impish grin. "Angel...I've been thinking about what you said that night you told me about your curse being fixed. About my heart being my home. I think I kind of get it now. I think I know where I am."

"And?" He felt a tug and looked down to see that she was unbuttoning his shirt.

She reached the top button and slid her warm hand up his chest and around the back of his neck, pulling his face up close to hers to whisper in his ear. "I invite you in."