PART II
Je ne dors plus. / I no longer sleep.

The first weeks were the worst. Buffy could barely look at Angel without seeing Acathla's gaping jaw behind him. Her nightmares were repetitive and relentless. The vortex opening as Angel's soul re-entered his body. A final kiss and murmured vows of love. Buffy thrusting the sword into his body. Buffy would wake screaming his name and pleading for forgiveness. That first night, the longest night, Angel did not sleep. Instead he sat by her bed and waited for her to wake. She would mumble, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" in an endless mantra, but she never cried. Eventually she would push him away and sink back into her nightmare. The cycle would begin again.

When day finally broke, a bleary-eyed Buffy watched Angel nod off in the chair. "You need to sleep, Angel." He had grudgingly agreed.

She had grabbed a quick shower and was brushing her hair when she heard his cries. Buffy ran into the room. He was thrashing in his sleep, tears raining down his cheeks, repeating "No. No. No. No. No." Angel's dreams were more horrific than Buffy's. His mind replayed every sight, sound, smell, and taste of Giles' torture, Jenny's death, and the others he had killed in his latest Angelus stint. When Buffy had touched his shoulder to awaken him, Angel had jerked upright and stared at her in horror. "What did I do? What did I do to you?" The guilt he felt when he looked at her was unlike anything he had felt since he was first cursed. He had pulled away and fallen to the floor, dry sobs tearing at his body.

They revisited these two scenes every day and night for twenty-three days. In between, Buffy trudged from one diner to another in search of paid work. Most places would only pay her under the table and less than minimum wage. The hours were long, and the clientele and management were unsavoury. At one job, the one that lasted 6 hours and paid $6.75/hr, her boss had pinned her against the walk-in freezer and fondled her breasts. Angel had suddenly appeared and pulled the man off before punching him in the nose. The belligerent owner had immediately fired Buffy and threatened to bring assault charges against Angel. She had grabbed the vampire's hand and pulled him out into the shaded alley behind the diner.

That day they had their first argument since before her seventeenth birthday. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" screamed Buffy. "DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I NEEDED THAT JOB?" She shoved him into a patch of sunlight.

Angel rolled quickly into a shadow. Steam rose from his sleeves as he stood. "WHAT AM I DOING? WHAT ABOUT YOU? He had his hands all over you. Were you gonna stop him anytime soon?" Angel's eyes flashed yellow in the shade. At the edge of her vision, Buffy saw the demonic visage ripple beneath his skin.

"It's not anything that hasn't already happened, Angel. It goes with the job." She said it tiredly and without thinking how he would take this information.

"WWWWWHHHHHHHHAAAAAAATTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!" he roared. Suddenly she was slammed against the wall by an angry vampire snarling in her face.

"Angel, let go! You're hurting me." Buffy struggled in his grip but it didn't lessen. "ANGEL! ANGEL!" It was pointless. Angel had disappeared. She relaxed her body. Her limbs hung loosely as she was suspended in air. "Angel," she said quietly. "Put me down. Please."

Angel's eyes retreated from demonic yellow to dark chocolate brown. His facial ridges smoothed; his fangs retracted. He tentatively lowered her to the ground and loosened his hold. He stroked her upper arms where the skin was already bruising, but he did not step away. When he felt as if he could speak calmly, he leaned his forehead against hers and said painfully, "Why? Why did you let him?"

Buffy closed her eyes and for a few seconds breathed in his scent. "There aren't a lot of jobs I can do, Angel. I can wash dishes or wait tables. Maybe clean rooms. It's not a lot of money, but…"

"Buffy, you don't have to do this," he begged. "Please don't do this. You don't have to take that." He pressed his lips to her hair and inhaled her generic shampoo.

She opened her eyes and sighed in frustration. "Not if you keep beating the crap out of anyone who tries to."

Angel smirked. "Guess I did hit him kind of hard."

Buffy gave him a brief smile. "I think you broke his nose."

They stood in the alley, foreheads pressed together. It had been so long since they had really touched. "Angel?"

"Hmm?" His hands traveled up her arms and rested on her shoulders; his thumbs caressed the bare skin of her collarbone.

"You're about to be dust in the wind." She lifted her eyebrows to indicate the creeping sunlight.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw the threatening light. "I should—"

"Go," she finished. "I need to return the uniform and get my things." She turned to go into the diner and was stopped by the pressure of Angel's hand gently squeezing her arm.

"If he tries anything," he warned.

"I won't let him, Angel. I promise." She watched him follow the shadows before she returned to the restaurant to collect her six hours worth of wages.

*****

It was past sunset, a few days later, when she unlocked the door to their latest home. In the unlit room she could see Angel sprawled on his bed. He didn't stir as she entered. Buffy glanced at the clock and looked worriedly at the vampire. She had waited over an hour. When he didn't appear, she had come back on her own. Guess he overslept. She sat on her bed then bent to unlace her shoes. Her hand brushed something wet. She didn't remember leaving any wet towels this morning. The room was usually tidy; her mother would be amazed. She picked up the item and realized it was Angel's shirt. She sniffed it. Blood. Oh god. What happened? She turned on the light and hurried to Angel's bed. Her mouth gaped as she saw the flayed skin on his arms and back.

Buffy tried to roll him over but he was too heavy. His skin felt cold and clammy beneath her hands. He was much colder than he should have been. She debated the pros and cons of waking him and decided to let him sleep. She gathered up his clothes and hers and tossed them in the laundry bag. Then she scribbled a note telling him where she would be and tucked it in the mirror's edge. Vampires healed quickly. Like Slayers. He would probably be fine by tomorrow.

*****

Angel woke to the annoying sound of a laugh track. He rolled onto his back and groaned.

"You awake?" Buffy's voice floated above the noise from the television.

Angel rubbed his eyes. "That depends. What are my other choices?" he grumbled.

"There's dead. But you already are," she shot back. "How about more dead?"

"More dead?" I'm a vampire. How much more dead can I be?

"Yeah. The dusty version kind." She twirled a Tootsie pop in her fingers as she channel surfed.

"Oh." Angel sat up and groaned louder. The sky was light. It was day. "Shouldn't you be at work?" He hung his aching head between his propped knees.

"I quit," she replied nonchalantly and turned off the TV. "Yesterday." She waited for him to process the remark. When he quickly raised his head, she flashed a smile. "Good morning," she said brightly.

"You quit yesterday? Buffy, it was your first day. Did something happen?" Angel thought back to the day he'd punched her boss. His eyes appraised her. She looked cheerful. Too cheerful. "Buffy, what did you do?" he asked suspiciously.

"Nothing. And it was my second day." She softened her voice. "Today is Wednesday. You were asleep when I got back Monday evening. When you didn't wake up, I got worried. So I stayed. Angel, what happened?" Concern blossomed on her face. "You had blood all over your clothes. I washed them. I think I shrunk some of your stuff though. Sorry," she added guiltily. "Do you want some blood? You didn't have any left so I got some from the butcher." Buffy's babbling masked her fear. Angel's chest was marked with bright red welts. The wound in his abdomen had reopened. She had cleaned him up but she had never seen him so badly beaten.

Angel tried to recall the last 36 hours. He remembered the fight and being outnumbered. The Krevach demons had not killed him, just whipped him repeatedly and left him where the sun would find him. He had crawled back to the motel and collapsed on the bed. Some dark vague memory still tugged at him. He closed his eyes and forced his mind to the hidden space. He remembered drinking something warm and sweet and coppery. His eyes flew open and bored into Buffy. She squirmed under his scrutiny and tugged on the sleeves of his shrunken shirt. In a blur he knelt before her and pushed the left sleeve up. Her skin was unblemished. He checked her right arm and saw two puncture marks on the inside of her wrist.

"What did you do?" Angel whispered hoarsely. But he already knew. He dropped her arm and retreated until he bumped into the door. He closed his eyes and turned away.

"Angel, you were hurt so badly, you needed blood to heal. And, um, I didn't know where to get any. I mean, do you just walk into a butcher's shop and ask for a quart of blood? And okay, well, I guess you do because I did that. But I didn't know to do that then. I didn't know what to do. It was worse than when Spike tried to fix Drusilla. Angel, please, I didn't know what else to do." Buffy's torrent of words was worse than silence. She placed one hand on his back. Angel jerked away as if he had been branded.

"Don't." He snapped.

"Don't what?" Buffy asked in a torn voice. "Don't help you?"

"Go away, Buffy. Just…" Angel steeled his voice. "Leave and don't come back. Ever."

"You're throwing me out? You've got some nerve." She thumped his back in frustration. "If you're in such a hurry to get rid of me, you leave!"

Angel spun around in game face. "Fine," he snarled. He flung the door open and prepared to step into the sunlight.

"You'd really leave?" Buffy's small frightened voice stopped him.

Angel's gold-tipped gaze raked her body hungrily. "Yes." He could hear the blood rushing beneath her skin.

Buffy ran into the daylight.

*****

She returned late that night. Angel wasn't there. She took her duffel bag out of the closet and began to fill it with clothes. She went into the bathroom for her toothpaste, toothbrush, and shampoo. When she emerged, Angel was sitting on the bed beside the almost full bag. He looked haunted. Buffy leaned against the doorframe and waited for him to speak.

"I am a vampire," Angel stated flatly.

"With a soul," she amended

"But still a vampire. We survive on, live for blood. It's who we are, what we do. Rat's blood is the worst. It's bitter. The hair catches in our teeth. Pig or chicken's blood is slightly better. Not a lot of fun chasing down pigs or chickens. There's no finesse in the hunt. Human blood is better. It has this bright red sheen that reflects its coppery taste. It slides down our throats. It's the triumphant finale to the hunt."

Angel paused and closed his eyes. His face became rapturous. "Then there's the blood of a Slayer," he whispered. "Slayer blood is the elixir of life, the sweetest of ambrosias. It is perfection. It is magical. It is mythical. Once a vampire tastes Slayer blood, no other blood will satisfy." He fixed her with a defiant glare. "Ever."

The silence stretched between them before he glanced at the duffel bag. "Do you need money?"

Buffy shook her head to indicate no. "Angel, I don't want to go."

"Okay. I'll go."

"I don't want you to go, either."

Angel released an exasperated sigh. "Buffy, one of us has to leave. I can't be around you."

"Why not?"

"Why not? Buffy, did you hear what I just said?"

"Yes," she whispered, "and I would do it again if I had to. If you needed it. Angel, I love you. There is nothing I wouldn't do for you." He didn't protest or disagree. She interpreted that as a positive sign. "It's not like you're a serial killer. I trust you. As long as, you know, you don't get happy." Buffy mumbled the last word.

"Trust me, there's no chance that's happening any time soon."

"Oh." That wasn't the response she'd expected. "Well, as long as that's not a problem." She paused. "Does that mean you'll stay?"

*****

It took another thirty minutes of coaxing before Angel confirmed Buffy's suspicions. He had the vampiric equivalent of insomnia. Buffy's snide comment about vampires and stress did nothing to assuage his guilt. Angel had been ambushed because he was exhausted.

Buffy guessed why he wasn't sleeping. He was staying awake through the nights because of her nightmares. During the day, he was watching her. Angel was averaging maybe two hours of sleep every twenty-four hours. Normally, he would have been able to handle that. This was not normality.

"You don't need to watch over me, Angel. I can take care of myself," she repeated in case he hadn't heard her the first five times.

"Buffy, that's not even a question. I just…"

"You just what?"

"I worry about you. And I know I don't have any right," he added, forestalling her objections. "But I do."