Wesley frowned at the cold bottle of blood in his hand. He had hoped to get closer to the answers he sought when delivering Angelus's blood the day before, but instead he only came out with more questions. The centuries-old vampire had been friendly, if wary and rather forlorn. What was more, he didn't think he'd ever seen gratitude more sincere than what Angelus had shown after he gave him the blood. Wesley knew he hadn't imagined it. Was it an act? It was certainly a performance worthy of an award, if that had been the case. But no, he thought, what could be gained from that? He was already giving him more blood, and he had neither the authority to grant him his freedom nor the key to unlock his manacles. Nothing about Angelus's situation could be improved by pretending to have such human-like emotions. But the possibility that he wasn't acting; that he, a demon, really did feel the things he had communicated through both expression and tone—it was absurd…wasn't it?

Wesley shook his head slightly to clear it. Perhaps he would have to observe Angelus a little longer before asking his questions.

[o]

"You're not just trying to give me an edge in the next tournament, by any chance, are you?" asked Angel, watching Wesley closely as he accepted the bottle of blood from him.

"I most certainly am not," said Wesley forcefully, his expression hardening. "And, thankfully, the tournaments are only held annually."

"Ah, so you're not a fan, then," said Angel, smirking. "That's surprising. I mean, there can't be many more efficient ways of killing old vampires than by getting us to fight each other, can there?"

"What they forced you and the others to do at the tournament was barbaric," said Wesley angrily, picking up the empty bottle from the day before and clenching his fingers tightly around it.

Angel laughed incredulously. "I'm immortal, and I still never thought I'd live to see a Watcher as an advocate for vampires' rights." He raised the new bottle to Wesley, popped the cork, and took a few swigs from it.

Wesley glared at him. "I actually would have preferred it if they'd slain the lot of you at the point of initial capture. The tournaments are unnecessary exercises in cruelty. They enjoy watching you fight to the death far too much for me to believe that it's purely educational. And, in any case, students who might not even be old enough to purchase their own tickets to rated 18 films are hardly mature enough to witness it."

"Hey, it's part of the world they live in," said Angel grimly, leaning back against the wall. "Better to see it early on so they won't underestimate it when they have to go out there and live it than be sheltered their whole lives, only to end up dead in an alley." And I should know, he added mentally. During the silence that followed his words, he drank a few more mouthfuls from the bottle.

"Why do you do that?" asked Wesley, who was staring closely at him, looking both puzzled and agitated.

"Do what?"

"Act like you care."

"Maybe I do." He looked down and added, more quietly, "Even if I sometimes wish I didn't." His throat tightened painfully, and he set the bottle aside. His thoughts had returned to Buffy. Though he tried to avoid dwelling on her—which was already nearly impossible thanks to the never-ending dreams—, he never succeeded for very long. The lighter mood brought about by having non-hostile company and civilized conversation evaporated, to be replaced by the same black gloom that engulfed him almost constantly, and as much as he was starting to like Wesley, he now wished that he would just leave him alone. "Thanks again for this," he said, indicating the bottle, his voice breaking slightly.

Though Wesley recognized the veiled request for solitude, he continued to stare at Angel for a long moment before leaving the cell.

[o]

Buffy picked noncommittally at her food, trying and failing not to replay last night's dream in her mind. Angel had looked healthier than before, but still wore that unbearably sad expression.

"Do you want to do some more dream research after school?" asked Willow, breaking the silence unexpectedly. "I mean, now that Evil Watcher Lady is gone, it's safe again, right? We've got to study for our chemistry and English tests, but I think we'll have time to go through at least one more book, or I could go online." Perhaps Buffy had imagined it, but there seemed to be a note of weariness in Willow's tone. And why shouldn't there be? They'd been researching for nearly two months now without getting anywhere.

"I'm pretty sure there aren't any books left that we haven't already checked, and you've probably gone through the whole Internet by now," said Buffy glumly. Willow frowned. Xander briefly paused the wolfing down of his spaghetti and meatballs to look at them, but his mouth was far too full for him to speak without the risk of spraying them with bits of noodle and marinara sauce. Oz merely sat there, looking pensive as usual, while Cordelia gave a slightly disdainful sniff and continued eyeing her reflection critically in the small compact mirror in her hand.

"But we have to find out what's causing these dreams so we can make them stop," said Willow.

Buffy shrugged. "I think they have stopped. I haven't had any for a few nights now." She lied. In reality, she was now having the dreams every single night. But as heart-wrenching as they always were, the part of her that secretly wanted them to continue so that she could feel that much closer to Angel had been growing stronger ever since she realized it was there. If continued research would ultimately mean putting a stop to the dreams and never seeing Angel again, then she didn't want to find out what they meant.

"Really?" said Willow brightly. "Buffy, that's great!"

Buffy pasted on a smile to match Willow's. "Yep!" she said.

"Good job, Buff," said Xander, who had just finished his spaghetti. "Now you can finally step out into a productive, Angel-free existence."

Xander had made it perfectly clear on several occasions that, to him, her dreams were almost as bad as if she had continued dating Angel after he lost his soul. Every time the subject had come up, she had insisted angrily that the ensouled Angel was the only one her subconscious had ever shown her, and also pointed out that if it hadn't been for Angel, Xander would have been dead several times over. Even though Xander usually backed off at that point, it was obvious that he wasn't convinced. Consequently, it took all of Buffy's self-control to keep the fake smile in place and stop herself from smacking the smugly contented expression off of Xander's face.

"And if you're not still gun-shy from the whole Scott thing," said Cordelia rather indifferently, not taking her eyes off her reflection, "I think that Ben guy from math last year is still interested."

"Yeah," said Buffy, "yeah, maybe." Willow and Xander seemed satisfied, and even though Oz was watching her closely enough to make her slightly uncomfortable, he said nothing.

[o]

By the time they made it to the library that afternoon, Buffy half regretted lying to her friends, but only because they had become so keen to get her dating again that it would have been obnoxious even if the dreams really had stopped and she wanted to move on.

Her guilt gave another twinge when she saw Giles standing behind the counter, organizing a pile of books that needed reshelving. He still had thick bandages on his head over the places where Mrs. Post had struck him with the wooden statue and he was taking a prescribed pain medication with his tea, but was otherwise perfectly healthy. Buffy had been so terrified when she'd seen him on that gurney. For a few terrible seconds, she'd thought she was going to lose him. And now she would have to lie to him.

"Guess what, Giles?" said Willow, bounding up to the counter.

Giles looked up from his stack of books. "What?" he asked.

"Buffy stopped having the dreams!" she said happily. Buffy winced, but managed to arrange her features into the fake smile in time for Giles to look at her.

"Have you really?" he asked, sounding both serious and pleased.

"Yeah," said Buffy. "So! Unless those dreams where you're suddenly naked in public require research too, it looks like you guys are off the hook." Next to her, Xander grinned in an unfocused sort of way, which earned him an irritated whack on the shoulder from Cordelia.

"If you still want closure, I'll keep looking," said Giles earnestly.

"Thanks, but I'm really okay. I'd rather just get on with my life now," said Buffy, ignoring the unpleasant squirming of her stomach. She wished she and Faith hadn't left things so tense after their fight; she could really have used one of their grueling sparring sessions to vent some of her inner turmoil. But she supposed she'd have to make do with patrolling for the time being. And after that, added an unbidden voice at the back of her mind, it'll be time to go back to sleep....

[o]

Over the next few days, Wesley did not attempt to strike up conversation whenever he ventured down to the dungeon to bring blood to Angelus. He no longer knew what to think. Everything he had ever learned told him that the creature in that cell was a monster void of feeling, but, to his ever-increasing disquiet, everything he witnessed with his own eyes and ears told him otherwise. And even when Wesley himself did not speak, Angelus always thanked him before he could leave the cell with the previous day's empty bottle.

One day, when he noticed that the sickly, starvation-induced gauntness Angelus had acquired under the meager rations Smith had given him was now completely gone, it occurred to Wesley that perhaps the vampire's civility had indeed been an act. Angelus was surely as strong as or stronger than he'd been during the tournament by now, and the chains holding him were not indestructible. His politeness could simply be a way to make Wesley drop his guard and keep the improved rations coming.

And so, from that point on, the extra blood became, instead of merely an attempt to gain Angelus's favor in hopes of loosening his tongue, a rather foolish experiment. Ignoring the part of his brain telling him that things could become very fatal for him if he was right, Wesley convinced himself that Angelus would soon use his restored strength to make a bid for freedom. But he was wrong. Not once did Angelus make the slightest movement suggestive of an attempt to break free of his restraints. He merely sat there, thanking Wesley for the blood, his expression ranging from brooding to anguished.

There went the last of Wesley's logical explanations.

Come on, Wes, think on your own! You can do it! You're already so close! So, yeah, here's the intermission chapter between the alternate "Revelations" and "Lovers Walk". Not so much with the action, but pretty heavy with the internal stuff of the main characters. Buffy is shutting out her friends in order to protect a secret morbid desire, Angel is still grieving, and Wesley's preconceived notions about him are taking further critical hits. Bwaha.