William had quickly learned not to trust.

It was his weeks at Wolfram and Hart that had done it, and for that he was grateful. While on the surface, they seemed to be an ordinary Monolithic Law Firm, he was clever enough to be able to see the dark shadows behind the screens.

That, and he read people's mail.

"Crawford," that deep, cheerful, and oh-so-threatening voice sounded from behind him, "Don't let us down."

William turned around, halting his incessant pushing of the cart he'd gotten to know and pity. Tristaple grinned and shot him a thumbs-up, still sipping on his coffee. Man was a god damn corporation.

"I'll deliver this mail right, uh," he returned, wishing he had better chosen his words, "Right."

As Constantine turned around, picking up some memos, he called, "We're counting on you, tiger."

Sighing and falling back into the repetition, William headed for the elevator. He was sure there were worse jobs, and he knew he should be thankful, but... He was sure that every working body felt the way he did.

Trapped. Isolated. Examined. Goaded. Placated.

"Don't grouse," he chided himself, the elevator doors gliding closed, "Gives you time to think."

And that, it most definitely did. One of the first things he'd thought about was the fact that they had pulled up his papers. His citizenship papers. Assume that he was, in fact, over a hundred and forty years old, that was just a bit suspect. Perhaps he'd immigrated and acheived citizenship in his forgotten years. Maybe he'd just never aged, never died, never been taken off the records.

Maybe Wolfram and Hart was lying.

He'd seen a few things: a clause in a contract he'd spied on a desk, People with eyes The Wrong Color. He saw things others didn't, probably couldn't. He seemed to have better senses, and the worrisome things was that the higher-ups probably goddamn knew.

Ding. Your floor, jerk.

Of course, these were all things he didn't have the time or space to deal with. He had his own issues to deal with, and the things he had seen were probably normal, anyway. In the end, normal was the only thing anyone could be, anyway.

And that was the second thing he had thought. Eventually, he had come to the conclusion that his memories were most likely lies. The simplest answer was most often, the right answer. Someone had said that, and he would be glad when he remembered who. Even with all the bizarre circumstances (Most notably his awakening) leading to his memory loss, it was still a lot more easy to swallow delusions than apparent immortality.

Perhaps he was in an experiment. Maybe that explained his enhanced strength and senses. Maybe he'd been left in Sunnydale, forgotten, but too tough to die. Hell, he was far too poor a poet to ever have received any modicum of success. His mamories of Victorian London lacked a certain amount of credibility... Whatever the case, the only thing he was reasonably sure about was his name, and even that had some number of doubts.

"Got your package in," he said offhandedly as he entered the office.

It was only the second or third time he'd had business in this particular office, but he and the owner had hit it off decently well, and talked sometimes. It was good to have a friendly face and a familiar accent at the workplace.

Wesley looked up from the musty tome he was poring over and motioned to a teacup as he began pouring over it. "Thank you, William. Care for a cup?"

"Don't mind if I do," William replied, flopping down into the seat across the endtable, "Find what you'd been looking for?"

Wesley Wyndham-Pryce came off as a very quiet, reasonable fellow, and maybe just a bit coddled. Well, sometimes. William had taken a good look at the man, and seen that there was something else there. There was rage, and there was some hope, and there was a hell of a lot of inexplicable strength.

He also knew enough to stay just a bit unshaven. How he did it, though, was anybody's guess. Musta got some special tough-guy razor.

Wesley sighed and rubbed his temples. "Lagest archive in the world, you'd think they'd have something more on the Shan..." he trailed off, looking a little prissy in his caution, "Versus Chang case. Yes. Very influential, but, ah, little known?"

In the end, William couldn't help but bve amused by Wesley. "Yeah, think I heard of that one."

"Oh. Very good. So, um, how are things with that woman? Tanya?" Wesley asked, obviously anxious to change the subject.

WIlliam had to smile at that. "Nice girl. She'd be a lot more appealing if it weren't for the constant ringing."

"Ringing?"

"Bloody biological clock goin' off like no tomorrow," he emphasized with a hand gesture like an explosion, "Not really ready to get into kids right now..."

"What is is?" Wesley asked as William stifled a chuckle.

"Just thinkin' that I shouldn't go runnin' into anything big when I don't even really know who I am yet, yeah?"

Wesley nodded appreciatively and replied, "Very true..."

William really enjoyed doing that.

---

"Evenin', Tangerine."

"Evenin', Crawford."

Willam paused on the way to his room and turned back to the continually amused man. "You know, you can go ahead and call me William."

"Yeah, but you can't call me Jacob yet, so I figure tit for tat, right?"

Cocking his head slowly, William considered that with a deep breath. "You are the strangest man, Tangerine."

"'S not me. 'S the world," he smiled.

As he was about to start walking again, realization struck him, and he turned once again. "Oh, I need to talk with you about business."

"I try not to let business interfere with my work, but fire away," Jacob invited.

William leaned over, against the counter between them, pushing some of his brown hair back to its friends. "I figure I'll be clearin' out pretty soon. Got a decent job, enough credit to take out a little loan or two, god knows how, and just bein' honest, livin' here isn't cheap."

"It's a motel," Tangerine raised an eyebrow, "You're not really breaking my heart, here."

"Yeah, well, all the same, you been good to me, so I figure I ought to give you a heads-up," he said somewhat quickly, "Plus, if you know any decent flats around..."

Jacob Tangerine grinned, inhuman in its scope, but utterly friendly. "Oh, I'm sure I can dig something up for a friend."

"Thanks, Jacob."

"No problem, William."

---

"Dear, I fear we're facing a problem," Tanya look William in the eye, the rest of the room dark, "You love me no longer, I know, and..."

She paused for a split second, breathing in and filling with emotion, "Maybe there is nothing that I can do to make you to."

He couldn't help but look her in the eye as she went on, not skippikng a beat.

"Mama tells me I shouldn't bother... That I ought to stick to another man. A man that surely deserves me..." and after a second her eyes lit up, and she finished, "But I think you do."

"And so, I cry, I pray and I beg," someone seemed to whisper behind them.

And then Tanya belted out, "Love me, Love me! Say that you love me..."

God, he hated Karaoke. Well, more accurately, he wanted to hate karaoke. It was sweaty, and drunken, and awkward, and exhibitionist, and all manner of cries for attention. It was utterly revilable, but oh-so-enjoyable. He'd already tried out a few tunes, and he'd found that he had a pretty decent set of pipes. Never really tried that in his previous life.

Or previous set of lies, he reminded himself.

Still, he was fairly conflicted, and for a lot of different reasons. He'd have thought that the inner turmoil would become old hat after a time, but apparently that's not the was it works. Fancy that. In the meantime, he'd wonder what to do about Tanya and her increasing affections. And then there was the matter of Wolfram and Hart's confusing dealings and shadowy actions. Of course, his whole past and identity remained in question.

And most importatnly, he had to decide what he thought of karaoke.

"Not the best voice down here, eh?" a voice came from his left.

He turned to see the owner of the bar sitting next to him, wearing a smart suit and a knowing look. He was a fairly odd-looking guy, but who wasn't in a dark bar?

William almost smiled and downed another shot of bourbon. "Yeah, well, it's not the voice I'm worried about..."

Shrugging, the barkeep replied, "It's true. It's the intent you have to watch out for. I think there's a little too much to that song she's picked, William."

Scoffing, William turned to the dapper man and shot, "Sorry, mate, can't imagine you bein' big with the lady troubles."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Laughing as he seemed to take offense, William continued, "No offense, but you're 'bout as queer as a door in the ceiling."

Looking away, he said humorously, "You got me there, Willy. I've still seen plenty of women troubles, so don't discount me just yet."

"Yeah, I know," William sighed, "Don't worry. I'll try not to break her heart too bad."

Knowingly, the barkeep layed a hand on William's shoulder. "Something tells me that problem's going to come up a lot."

"Feh. Thanks, Drew."

"Anytime, Willy."

And the Drew was gone, retreating to take care of other customers who needed sooth advice, or possibly sooth alcohol. After a moment of staring at her emptily, Tanya stepped off the starge, smiling and sweaty. Too bad she was somewhat a looker.

"How'd you like it?" she asked, taking his hand in her own.

He smiled half-heartedly and answered, patting her hand, "'S a good song, and you gave it life."

She cocked her head, and from the way she looked at him, he could just hear the, "Awwww..." going through her head. Oh, bollocks, what had he done? Now anything he did to get this bint off his tail was just going to make him look bad. Best to quit when you're behind.

"Say," he said resolutely, "I'd better be off. I got some apartments to look at tomorrow morning. Gotta get my life together, an' what lot."

"Are you sure you want to go back to that little motel?" she said sweetly, "It's not really a nice place."

"Er..." Er...

Leaning in close she smiled winningly, the coming come-on somehow wholesome, "You could sleep at my place. Then I can help you look around tomorrow. It's always better with someone else."

"Uh..." Uh...

She was still smiling, and that wholesome thing was beginning to lose some of its stayng power. It was somewhat a bad situation. He had to do something, think of...

"Booze!" he shouted.

"Booze?" she asked.

William pointed at the half-empty bottle of bourbon they'd been sharing and pleaded, "Yeah, I mean, we're both kinda drunk, and wouldn't wanna do anythin' we'd regret come mornin', right?"

He neglected to inform her that he had drank the lion's share of that half. He could only hope she was too drunk to know better.

Pouting she looked down, and he could actually see the secretary in her well up to the surface. "You're... probably right. You're a good man, William. Thank you."

"Heh, heh..." He didn't feel all that chivalrous.

Standing, he had to get out. He had to get away from this mess before it really did get sour. "Right, well, I'm gonna be off. I had a lovely time, we'll do it again next friday."

"Thank you, William," she said, standing to meet him.

And then, as he was about to go, she kissed him on the lips, and all he could do was just kind of go along.

"Right..." he noted as she pulled back, a sheepish look on her face.

"Night," she called as he walked away.

---

"Grah," he said to the door.

The last thing he knew, he was laying in his bed and feeling bad about the whole Tanya affair. Thankfully, he had a couple of days to think about what to do. Or, more accurately, try to avoid it.

Also, his shoes were still on, and his feet felt absolutely terrible.

Just as he was wondering why he had talked to the door, a knock came from it, answering his question. Standing unhappily, he shook some of the grogginess of and opened the door, mumbling, "Hello?"

And there she was, giving him a look of pure business. Hopefully she was here on work, not pleasure. Of course, knowing his luck...

"Hello, William. Can I come in?"

Gesturing inside and wiping sleep from his eyes, he yawned something like yes.

"I stopped by because I have a proposal for you," she said curtly, sitting in the only chair in the room.

It was with some curiosity that he sat down and looked at her. It was also with some relief that he removed his shoes. "Yeah? Do tell, miss-"

"Just call me LIlah," she soothed.

---