The growling of his own stomach woke him up in the middle of the night. He hadn't eaten in well over 15 hours. Throwing a robe on over his t-shirt and boxers, he carefully made his way downstairs in the dark and silently crept into the kitchen. He was fumbling for the light switch when the voice behind him made him leap into the air.

"I believe there's still chicken in the fridge."

"Rupert." Angel didn't bother trying to hide the fact that Giles had likely shaved a few years off his now mortal life span.

"So, is this the result of the Shanshu prophecy?" Giles waved a hand in Angel's general direction.

"You knew about that?" Angel's eyebrows lifted high in surprise.

Giles sat down at one of the kitchen chairs. "As a watcher and head of the Council, it's my business to know about such things." Off of Angel's look, he added, "When Buffy found you, I explained about the prophecy, but no one else has any idea as to how you became human or the deeper meaning of it." He waited until Angel had retrieved some chicken and a beer and then added, "So, you're redeemed now. Crimes all forgiven?"

Angel thought about the faces of the dead that still haunted his waking moments. "It doesn't particularly feel that way," he answered softly.

"Good." Giles casually rested his right hand on the table. Few people got to see it; Giles was careful about keeping it out of sight. But Angel was all too familiar with the twisted, mangled appendage; he still remembered the sound each bone had made as he had snapped them, could still remember the sweet taste of Giles' blood as he had sensuously wrapped his tongue around every broken, bleeding finger.

"You are here at Buffy's behest. There is to be an engagement party tomorrow. Make sure that you attend in a proper celebratory mood." Giles stood up to leave and something finally broke within Angel.

"You knew what was happening in L.A. You're the head of the council, as you just reminded me. Why didn't you send help?"

Giles took off his glasses and carefully cleaned them. He then put them on and looked at Angel with a mixture of pity and disdain. "Your attack was a suicide mission. I didn't see any point in consigning a group of young girls to certain death." He voice softened a bit. "You do know that things did improve in that area? Demonic activity in Southern California is at an all time low." Giles nodded and left the room.

Angel closed his eyes and again saw the endless parade of all who had died during that final battle against Wolfram and Hart. Had it been worth it? He grimaced as he bit back sudden nausea and a minute later he rose to toss out the chicken.

He almost didn't go to the party. He hardly knew anyone attending and he didn't exactly think he'd be missed if he didn't show. At the last minute he went, not because of Giles' thinly veiled threat, but because he didn't want Buffy to think he wasn't thrilled for her. In the end, her happiness was the only important thing. It always had been.

When he finally arrived at the restaurant, the party was in full swing. He saw Giles at the bar, surrounded by a bunch of other people, mostly middle aged men. All of them looked rather discomfited by the loud dance pop and seemed to be huddled together for protection. The tables in the middle of the floor had been cleared away and a large group of young girls, along with some young men, were enthusiastically bopping to the beat. He thought he saw Willow's red hair waving in the air while she danced with another young woman.

He carefully edged around the wall of the restaurant. He still knew how to melt into the shadows and used it to find a table as far away from everything as possible. He was just about to go to the far corner when a voice at his elbow stopped him.

"Grab a seat."

The man was a light caramel color, the muscles visible under his shirt attesting to the fact that the tan was the result of hard manual labor and not a tanning bed. His hair was extremely close cropped and the set of his mouth revealed him as someone who took life seriously. However, it was his eye patch that was his most arresting feature, it seemed to speak of someone who had survived unspeakable events and come out stronger for it.

"Xander?" It was half question and half statement. The changes in Xander were as dramatic as his own.

"Having fun?" Angel wasn't sure if Xander's question was mean spirited or not. He couldn't read him at all. He was about to ask him something innocuous and try to gauge the situation, when Xander's arm shot up.

"My friend here would like --" and he glanced over at Angel.

Angel was about to order a beer and then decided the hell with it. He had nothing to prove to anybody, least of all Harris. "Whiskey, neat."

Xander nodded appreciatively, "So I guess you're now an undead man." Frowning, Xander ran his hand through his mostly nonexistent hair. "More accurately, un-undead man. Sort of like Prince formally known as the artist formally known as Prince." Off of Angel's blank stare, Xander sighed. "The newly humanized are not receptive to pop culture jokes, it seems.

"I hear you're a big deal ad exec nowadays."

"Art director. Not the same thing."

"But still a big cheese. Someone told me you were profiled in Business Week.

"That wasn't that big a thing." Angel was feeling more and more uncomfortable. "What have you been up to? Still fighting the good fight?"

"Yup. Once you get a taste for near death, nothing else comes close." Angel had absolutely no idea whether Xander was being serious or not. Then again, most of Xander's quips had been unintelligible to him. "I've been in Africa for almost six years. A lot of slayers have turned up there. Mostly I track them down. Try to train them a bit. If they're still living in a village, I do my best to hook them up with the village medicine man and turn things over to him. It seems to work out. Otherwise I send them back here." He looked out into the crowd, but his eyes were unfocused. "The last girl I found died in my arms. First, she took out the thing that was terrorizing her village. I don't think she was more than thirteen." His voice was flat and uninflected. He turned to Angel and noted the second whiskey he was already drinking. "Trying to drown your sorrows?"

Angel gave Xander the fish eye, but it had no outward effect. "I'm Irish. I like to drink."

Xander tipped his chair back a little and gave a little snort of disbelief. He crossed his arms over his chest and gazed out into the crowd. It was obvious to Angel who he was looking at. "It's the first time I've ever seen her this happy. He's good for her."

Angel couldn't decide whether that was a subtle dig or not. It didn't matter. He stared at his hands splayed on the table and wondered if, in fact, he ever had made Buffy happy.

"He's a researcher with the council. Demon language specialist. They're a good match; he grounds her." Xander's tone wasn't completely unsympathetic. Angel couldn't decide if it was because his vampire past really was the past now or because he was permanently out of the running where Buffy was concerned.

He was about to signal the serving girl for yet another drink, when a voice chirped next to him. "So this is where you guys have been hiding."

Xander smiled and for a moment, Angel saw the boy from so long ago instead of the hardened man he'd become. "Where's Lily?"

"I left her by the bar. I told her I had to do some dancing with my best bud. And you're next, mister," Willow said, giving Angel a pointed look.

Angel held out his hands and shook his head. "I don't dance, Willow. Ever." He looked out at the dance floor, lost in thought, and suddenly it was one hundred and fifty years ago. The room swam before his eyes and changed; the wood floor became highly polished white marble, the cheap fixtures, crystal chandeliers, and all the men were in frock coats and the women, ball gowns. Darla stood before him, in a gown of sky blue silk and navy accents, but when he held his hand out, it was Buffy who accepted his invitation. He could feel the whalebone corset beneath his hand as the chamber orchestra started playing. They were in perfect harmony as they waltzed together, swirling and holding each other close. He could feel her heartbeat moving inside of him. She wanted to tell him something; he could see that, and he bent down close to her lips. He was holding her tightly; he was never going to let her go and it felt like nothing could be more perfect than this.

"Sir, can I get you another?"

He had to blink a few times because the world was suddenly very blurry.