A/N: I wasn't going to include this chapter, but I was taking a break from the Spike one and re-reading the first.  As I watched Angel walk away, I knew that wasn't really my version of Angel, so I had to explain him.  Then, it also explained why Angel returned better. I know there are die-hard Spike fans who would rather Angel go to hell – again.  But there are also those of us who love both of them.  This story is for both of the gorgeous blood sucking fiends – though I do freely admit to liking Spike better.

"You're weak, William."  The sentence tasted bitter in his mouth as he walked away.  There was a sheet of icy anger across his mind, which he worked to clear as he moved.  He didn't like it.  He could stand boiling anger, rage, but the cold fury he'd felt while talking to Spike disturbed him.  It felt too much like Angelus, and that was enough to leave him shaken.  He wasn't that cruel, anymore.

I'm not, he insisted to the accusing silence in his mind.  He sighed shakily, and settled down just outside the cemetery to wait a few minutes.  Now, just before the sun rose, the sewers would be more crowded than he'd like.  They'd clear out in a few minutes, as vampires made their mad dashes to deserted building, crypts, or caves.  Angel had extra time.  He was heading to the mansion, and the building cast a long shadow, covering the manhole he would use until almost seven.  It was only 5:15, and the sun had another twenty minutes to rise. 

He rubbed his face tiredly.  Why was he so worked up about seeing Spike?  The vampire wasn't a real threat, even when he hadn't had his chip.  Especially to Angel. It had shocked him out of his mind when Spike had betrayed him as Angelus.  Not because he had had so much trust in him, but because the younger vampire had always submitted to him.  He should have been too scared of Angelus to have even thought of betraying him.  Angel had started to re-think that submission, but eventually reached almost the same conclusion.  Spike was still terrified of him; he had just learned to work past it. 

But a love-crazed Spike… so the fool was finally over Drusilla?  That, too, was something he'd never have thought possible.  But the Slayer? He had to admit, the two had their similarities – unorthodox, impulsive, immature… but there was the whole issue of him having killed two Slayers.  Also, Buffy would never see him. 

Angel got up, slipped into the tunnels, and made his way toward the mansion.  The itching feeling of the rising sun ceased as he entered the sewers.  He made sure he had a stake at the ready, in case he ran into any vampires who remembered him.  He tended not to be too popular with the evil of Sunnydale.

That made him think, as he absently kept an eye out for those who meant him ill.  What was Spike doing these days?  If he was helping Buffy, as she said he was, he couldn't be too popular with most of the demon population, either.  And Spike wasn't one for the lone wolf deal.  He had to have a pack to run with.  Which made Angel finally realize who he had selected for his pack: the Scoobies. 

The concept threw him for a moment.  But he knew Spike, and if he was fighting with them, he was siding with them – and for as long as he had known him, that meant he was working with them.  Not that Spike worked well in groups, but he would fit himself into one anyway, and do his part, as he saw it. 

A short, punky looking girl passed him, and he hunched over, trying to look inconspicuous.  Buffy had told him once that that was impossible – he could prowl, skulk, creep, lurk, or anything else, but once someone saw him, that was it: he was spotted.  Apparently, she didn't think he blended well.  The vampire gave him a curious look as she passed, and he reached unobtrusively up his sleeve.  The rest of the tunnel was empty, and her back was to him.

He slid the stake back up his sleeve, and continued walking.  One more down. 

So what was Spike up to? Why was he running with the good guys, instead of fighting them? How had he gotten in with Buffy, anyway?  He supposed he understood how Spike had fallen for her, once he'd seen her.  He knew exactly how that was.  He even almost understood what he'd said about not leaving.  He'd had a hard enough time convincing himself when it was time to go.  He still hated the vampire.  He also wasn't quite ready to kill him. 

He reached the tunnel that turned off to the mansion, and turned, still thinking.  He'd killed Darla.  And she'd been his lover.  But Spike was… well, incompetent had always been the word of choice.  He just didn't feel justified in killing him, yet.  You don't need justification.  He's a vampire, he warned himself.  What else is there?  There was a lot, he was uncomfortable to discover.  He headed home to puzzle it out.

He pulled himself out of the manhole, and walked swiftly to the door.  He was in deep shadow, but the sun was up, and he felt itchy, and uncomfortable.  He was about to pull open the door when he heard voices from inside.  He peered in through the window.  Damn.  He'd forgotten to ask Buffy if anyone had taken over the old mansion.  It had been stupid of him to assume it was still empty.  There was a whole nest of vampires inside.  He felt mildly indignant.  They had trashed the place.  He hadn't had much, really, and had taken anything he really cared about – but it was still his place, and it was a mess. 

He sighed, and turned around, dropped back underground and pulled the cover across, sealing out the sun.  Where to go?  He didn't fancy sitting in the sewers all day.  He didn't feel comfortable going back to Buffy's.  She had enough to deal with, and there were still mixed opinions of him, he knew, among the gang. 

Well, they did have to talk.  He steeled himself and headed back the way he had come.  William the Bloody was going to have a visitor.