The stake flew through the air towards Angel's heart. Despite her battered psyche, Buffy was still The Slayer. Even at the distance of 30 feet her aim was accurate. Fortunately, Slayer blood flowed through the vampire's body and sharpened his reflexes. The stake embedded itself in the wall behind him. Buffy yelled in frustration and gathered up the bedsheet. Can I make it to the door before he climbs over the bed?

The answer was a resounding no. Angel tackled her to the floor and pinned her with the weight of his body. She wriggled beneath him in an unconscious imitation of Faith. Her legs were tangled in the sheet; her hands beat uselessly on his back.

"Stop squirming," a chilling voice commanded in her ear. Buffy froze. Oh God. Ohgodohgodohgod. He was nuzzling her threat, breathing her scent, licking at the wound he had made. His hands swept down her body. "I'm not Angelus," he whispered in her ear before he sucked an earlobe into his mouth. "I'm not Angelus," he repeated. "But I want you as much as he ever did." His mouth moved to hers and devoured it completely in a rough passion-tinged kiss that left her lips bloody.

"Get off of me." Buffy punched him in the jaw with enough force to make his ears ring. She drew back to hit him again. He caught her wrist in a vice-like grip and squeezed until she cried out in pain.

"Buffy, please. Don't. Fight. Me. You'll lose." Angel released her arm and rolled off her. He stood and walked to the dresser where he found some clothes for her. "Get dressed," he ordered with his back to her. "Get dressed before I take you on the floor like Angelus wants." He slammed the door behind him as his howl of frustrated desire shook the floorboards.

Buffy hesitantly made her way to the kitchen and walked into a surreal tableau. An obviously dead Wesley was propped in a chair. A half werewolf/half human Oz was nonchalantly drinking what smelled like really bad strong coffee. A vampire in gameface was growling and pouring milk into a bowl of her favourite cereal. The whole scene was just a little "off".

She took it all in for a long minute before she spoke. "Okay. Now this is more than the usual freakiness that passes for life in Sunnydale. What gives?"

Angel set her bowl on the table and rummaged in the drawer for a spoon. Oz poured a cup of coffee for Buffy, another for himself, and one for Angel

"Whoa. Stop. Coffee makes him jittery." Oz gave Buffy a classic Oz look.

"I don't think 'jittery' is my problem today, Buffy," Angel said before downing the vile contents of his cup. "I'm thinking it might be 'psycho'." He leered at her through his fangs.

"Or possibly 'dead'," added Oz. "More coffee?"

The four of them sat around the table staring at their hands, the utensils, anything but each other. A dead ex-Watcher, an undead vampire, a werewolf, a Slayer. Except for the slurping of coffee or cereal, there was an eerie silence.

Angel battled his body for control of the demon. He didn't speak again until his facial ridges had disappeared and his fangs had retracted. Then he broke the tension. "The Hellmouth is opening. Oz and I can feel its pull. That's why he's half werewolf and I'm—"

"Doing your best Angelus impression?" queried Buffy somewhat snidely. She flinched when his hand covered hers.

"I'm sorry about earlier, Buffy. I'm trying to keep him reined in as much as I can. But the more the Hellmouth opens, the more the demon wants out." Angel rose from his chair and squatted at her feet so he could hold her hands in his. She looked deep into his eyes searching for the monster housed in his body. Angel's eyes flickered quickly from brown to yellow to brown again. If she had blinked, she would have missed it.

"So last night was what exactly?" Her voice quivered as she asked this terrible question. She did not want to have this conversation with him; she needed his reassurance that her sex life was not destined to be a universal joke. Angel smoothed a strand of her hair behind one ear and allowed his fingers to follow the contour of her jaw. The world was reduced to him and her. The Mayor, the Hellmouth, even Oz were forgotten.

"Last night was me, Angel, worshipping you, Buffy, as a man loves a woman." He lifted her chin and gave her a deep kiss. When he broke it off, he saw the tears pooling in her eyes. It really is Angel and not a dream. She shook her head to clear the tears. "And this morning?" she demanded.

This morning. Angel sighed. How do I explain that this morning she looked so desirable that I wanted her even without Angelus or the Hellmouth goading me? His lover was still a very inexperienced teenager. She had no concept of the power of her sexuality.

"This morning was still about a man and a woman." Her face scrunched up as she processed this sentence and couldn't. "Hunh?" Angel smiled at her ignorance and tried to phrase his explanation without offending her.

"You looked sexy. He's a sexy undead guy. He just kind of went with it." This very Xander-like statement came from Oz in a bored monotone. Angel and Buffy turned to him with their mouths gaping. "I'm thinking I should probably stop drinking the coffee," Oz noted to himself.

They were in the great room surrounded by books. In one of these tomes Wesley had found a spell that required a Slayer. Buffy had remembered that tidbit of information while Oz had been washing the dishes. They had decamped back to the great room to search for "a big ugly green book" with a damaged cover. Once again, the books had been divided into three orderly stacks. This time the piles were "not big green books", "big green books", and "not the big green book we need".

"Hey," said Oz looking up from the book he was browsing. "I think that coffee's paying off. Didn't Willow do a binding spell the last time the Hellmouth opened?"

"Yeah, she did," said Buffy. "It's probably in one of these books here somewhere." She gestured at the floor. "Aren't we looking for a binding spell?"

"Nah," said Oz. "We're looking for the sealing spell. The binding spell will keep the Hellmouth beasties from eating you while you seal the Hellmouth." He smiled triumphantly. "And I know just where that book is." The book was in Willow's house in Willow's room under Willow's bed where it landed when we… The smile was replaced with a stoic look.

Buffy moved quietly to Oz's side. "You don't have to get it," she said softly. "I can go."

Oz thought about that. Going to Willow's house last night had been tough. Buffy was her best friend, but he just didn't want anyone else touching Willow's things. He wiped a sleeve across his face. "I'm good to go." He looked at his fur-covered hands. "Not like anyone's going to be around to notice me."

He grabbed his jacket and then stopped. "Angel, can I talk to you for a minute?" Buffy and Angel exchanged puzzled glances. After a couple of minutes of furtive whispering and a gentlemanly handshake, Oz left.

"What was that all about?" asked Buffy. She had rolled up the sleeves of Angel's shirt to reveal toned arms with an ugly bruise on one wrist. She lay on her stomach on the floor idly flipping pages while she waited for Angel to join her.

Angel grinned wickedly. "I'll never tell," he said and scooped her off the floor.

"Hey, we've got an end of the world thingy happening here. We do not have time to fool around." She giggled as she said this and tried to make her face look stern. "Angel, put me down."

"No," he replied and suddenly released his hold on her. She landed on the couch where she was swiftly covered by a cold vampire.

"You're warm," he teased as he unbuttoned her shirt and danced his fingers across her breasts and belly. "I could get used to the taste of a Slayer."

Somewhere in that sentence Angelus had come out to play.