A/N A piece of trivia that is kind of appropriate for later in the chapter: The claddagh ring is named after a fishing village and suburb of Galway. Guess where our hero is from… internet search engines can be fact filled fun!

Disclaimer: Don't own anything yet... my plans to take over Mutant Enemy have fallen through so all the ATS and BTVS characters still belong to the god that is Joss.

Please read and review - feedback is so welcome. Some angst ahead, but bear with me.

If at any point in its history, the lobby of the Hyperion Hotel had truly been haunted then it was on this day. The only difference was that now the ghosts were actually sat on the freaking sofa. The fact that they were quite obviously corporeal did nothing to dispel the fear that these two figures were merely shades of that which had gone before. Cordelia was worried. They hadn't spoken one word or moved one inch since they had returned. They looked as if they had just stared into the mouth of hell and been invited for tea and cookies by the Devil himself – although this being Hell A that was entirely possible. Usually she would have been on the edge of her seat or threatening a serious amount of Queen C attitude in order to find out what the hell had happened. This time though, she really didn't think that she wanted to know. Scrap worried she was moving into the territory of big, stinky fear and her Chanel perfume was doing nothing to cover the fumes. For what must be the thousandth time in the eternity that had been the 47 minutes and 23… 24 seconds since they returned she cast an unnoticed glance – ok full on stare – at the pair on the sofa.

Darla. Cordy had to give the gal props on her fashion sense and deportment, Darla sure knew that immortality (ok mortality) was no excuse for lapses in hygiene and style. Right now though Cordy doubted that the best stylist in LA could bring this girl back to life. Physically she was unharmed but she seemed shocked out of her mind. She seemed to be mumbling something under her breath although Cordy couldn't for the life of her tell what she was saying but whatever it was it was on a repetitive loop. .Her hair was lank and fell over her face covering most of her emotions, but she had obviously been crying and Cordy actually respected the fact that she hadn't been bothered to reapply. That told Cordy that whatever had gone down had profoundly affected the ex-vamp and she wasn't afraid to show it. When she had caught sight of Darla's eyes they had seemed dead and she doubted they had sparked back to life. Her hands, folded so neatly in her lap were shaking, so badly that Darla had given up on trying to sip the water and the following whisky that Lorne had brought out. She just sat there and seemed so much smaller than the brassy vampire that Cordelia had known her to be.

Angel was an entirely different matter. It was like he wasn't there at all. There was no reaction at all. At least Darla made the effort to jump when a paper clip hit the floor. He was badly burned on his face and his hands seemed to have taken an acid bath. He was limping badly and there was obviously damage to his ribs as he winced whenever he had to move. But apart from the occasional grunt of pain there was no other sign that Angel was in the room – just a body wracked in pain

Wes and Gunn seemed on edge, so much so that they couldn't sit still. Gunn had polished every weapon in the cabinet and was on his second round with his special axe. Wes flittered from sorting the books to polishing his glasses to making endless pots of tea. Lorne was perched uncomfortably on the other couch and was downing Sea breezes like the world was running out of grapefruit juice. Cordy ran her file over her nails for the fifth time – if someone didn't speak to she was gonna…

"I passed the Trials."

Angel's voice, quiet and raw as it was as it was, had the effect of an atomic bomb. Only thing was, the radioactivity was an unknown and potentially apocalyptic in nature.

"Trials?" Wesley hesitated, he was not sure if he wanted to know what said trials were and what the obvious cost had been. "Angel, what information can you give us about these trials, I'm afraid it would be over optimistic to describe Lorne's information pertaining to them as, well, information."

"Yeah bro'. He just turned up here and said you'd come over all mediaeval on us. What is with you this year? First jousts, now trials – next it'll be Princess Cordelia and you saving a damsel from slavery or some other whacked out mission. I thought we were livin' it up the good old 20th century?"

"Charles, you should have learned by now that the forces of darkness are not 'down with the times'. They may appear at anytime and manifest in any way that…"

"Guys! Quit it! Angel's trying to tell us something. Can ya just quit your bitching for three seconds? Jeez!" Cordy had been watching Angel closely. Had it been anyone else they may not have noticed the minute muscle contractions all over Angel's body that signalled the onset of major brood session and that meant that Cordy was not going to get the answer that she wanted. That meant that she would either stay here all night and fret or go home and fret and although Dennis was good with a loofah there was only so much de-stressing that a ghost could accomplish. Oh and she was also really worried about her vampire. He hadn't even brooded over 'Little Miss Slays A lot' (or 'Lays A lot' – if the rumours were to be believed) this much. It was down right freaky. She glanced over at Angel and saw that he was twisting round that ring he always wore the one with the heart, she thought it was some kind of Irish thing a clannagh… no claddagh ring! When she'd asked where he'd got it; he'd just said an old friend had given him a piece of home. Cryptic much! She noted that Darla was watching the fingers that were playing with the ring in such a loving way. Cordy also noticed that Darla looked pissed. Before she could examine this Angel's melancholic, whisky tones started up again. Everyone seemed to sense that whatever Angel had to say was going to affect them all.

"There were three. The first one was easy in a sense. Kill the demon and keep his body parts from reattaching themselves. The second – gee that was fun – had to run down a corridor totally created of crosses. Got to the end and the fucking door was locked. The key just happened to be in a font of holy water – deep joy! The third test was the easiest though."

Here he paused and his head drops. His usually perfectly coiffed spikes were flattened and surprisingly long. They created short bangs round his face that made him seem so vulnerable. Briefly he glanced at Darla. No one could work out whether he was searching for permission to continue or reassuring her of something. Angel hesitantly reached out and when Darla withdrew from him he moved from his spot on the couch, wincing with each movement, and kneeled in front of her. For the first time Cordelia gets a good look at her face and her heart shatters. Darla looks utterly destroyed and lost – so far from the sadistic killer and weaver of Angel's dreams and nightmares. Angel raised a raw and blistered hand, untreated and obviously painful, and brushed her cheek before gently but firmly holding her in place and locking their gazes. What he has to say is obviously more for Darla than anyone else.

"To be able to give Darla a new life, they had to get the cosmic scales to balance. Nothing comes for free in this world. So I died."

There was a moment where there was nothing but silence and then all hell broke loose. Everyone started talking at once, mainly expressing the same opinions yet their deliveries are quite varied. It was perhaps a blessing that they drown each other out as Angel imagined that the language coming from all of them would make even Liam blush. Wes seemed to be doing most of the cursing, seemingly having a varied spectrum ranging from the reticent "Bloody Hell" to "Fucking Jesus Christ on a three legged goat". One voice however broke through the cacophony. Darla… and she is hysterical. After 150 odd years of it Angel knows that it is duck and cover time. Yet he can't seem to summon the will to bother defending himself. Despite the lack of strength, her grief and horror at the night's events (not to mention what she has been through with WR&H) are making her a forced to be reckoned with.

Palms, nails, fists, feet all beat down upon him and he doesn't lift a finger to stop her. She's chanting the same litany that she had started in Jeeves' banquet hall, although it has been added to over the past hour. Tears streamed down her face and her voice is thick with tears and rage.

"You're dead. You're dead. You're dead. Oh God the wall. So many sharp points. You're dead! You're dead! You've fucking left me! You don't leave me! I'm you're Sire. You're dead! So many stakes. Dust everywhere – blowing in the wind… YOU'RE DEAD!"

Her litany continued for what seems like seconds and eternities at the same time. He could feel fresh cuts opening on his face and he misses the smell that should be there. That coppery and nutty aroma that he knows to be himself. The scent that he has surrounded himself in for almost a quarter of a millennia. He misses the rush that comes with the aroma and the arousal that comes from the pain. All he feels is the pain. This is so wrong.

Then Lorne is pressing a damp cloth to his face and Cordy is gently rocking Darla as if she were a child. Wes and Gunn are stood off to the side, the look of horror on their faces as they realise what Darla s saying that Angel had to go through. Cordy had joined Darla in crying and even Lorne had tears in his eyes. But all Angel can think about is the fact that he had lost everything that he was. With his human senses he is totally cut off from the world, he can't tell how everyone is coping by listening to their heart beats or whether Gunn and Wes are crying by smelling their tears. Its like a blanket has been thrown over the world and he hates it. The irony of the situation hits him like a juggernaut. A few months ago he was pushing himself to fulfil his destiny and gain his humanity; it was all he thought about. Now he felt robbed. He had never realised what he'd be giving up, how much he relied upon his instincts, how he'd totally defined himself by the fact that he was a vampire. In actual fact he wasn't sure whether or not he wanted this. He thought that Darla had been begging to be turned because she couldn't cope with her soul, how foolish of him. The soul hadn't even been part of the equation. She couldn't cope with the mortality of the situation, never mind the morality.

He was rudely awakened form his thoughts by laughter. Cordy was laughing. Why the hell was she laughing? Didn't she realise what he had lost? Didn't she care? How could she…

"Ow! Cordelia watch the… need to breathe here… Let go goddamit!"

"Sorry Angel, its just – you're human! You're alive, and healthy (relatively speaking) and you're not a vampire anymore. Angelus is gone and you're free Angel. You're free!" Her laughter continued and Wes, Gunn and Lorne joined in the festivities. He couldn't. The smile he forced on his features was as painful as his thigh. He wasn't Angelus, Angelus is gone and… its so quiet in his head. 'Oh I'm insane! I'm missing Angelus'. He glanced at the now calm Darla. From the small smile that she gave him, she was aware of what he was going through. What he heard next chilled him to the bone…

"We have to call Sunnydale!"

'Oh God… Buffy…'