Angel looked down at the girl sleeping so peacefully in his arms and smiled, feeling remarkably peaceful himself, warm enough from her body heat that he almost felt alive, and his heart so full that he was amazed it hadn't burst. It had been at about that point last time that he had begun to feel the agony of his soul being ripped from his body, but no such pain came to take him away from her now. The Kalderash had obviously known what they were doing when they rewrote the curse to ensure that his soul stayed where it was. He was going to have to thank them one day, even though they'd only done it out of vengeance.

He pressed a tender kiss to her temple, and, moving carefully so as not to wake her, got out of bed, pulled on boxers and pants, and walked over to the refrigerator.

[o]

Buffy awoke slowly, feeling warm and content—until she felt around beside her and realized that she was alone. All lingering traces of drowsiness evaporating on the spot, she sat bolt upright, clutching the sheet to her chest, icy terror clenching around her heart as the sense of déjà vu barreled into her.

"Angel?" she called, trying and failing to prepare herself for not receiving an answer.

"Buffy, you're awake," said Angel, stepping into view from the other side of his enormous, antique wardrobe, barefoot and shirtless, smiling with his eyes the way he did every time he saw her.

Buffy almost wept in relief. He was still there. He was still Angel. As the tension drained out of her, she noticed something that had escaped her attention so far. "Ooh, what's that smell?" she asked, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply.

"I, uh, made you breakfast," he said, running a hand through his hair and gesturing towards the small nook next to the wardrobe that passed for a kitchen.

"Breakfast?" Buffy repeated, giggling. "But it's," she squinted at the old analog clock sitting on his desk across the room, "seven in the evening."

"Well, if you want to wait until morning…," he said, smirking.

"As much as I do want to, I can't," she said reluctantly. "I should go home. We want my mom to like you, remember? I don't think it would be a very good start if I missed our traditional mother/daughter Sunday night movie marathon thing and she somehow found out that it was all your fault." She grinned mischievously at him. It was then that her stomach decided to give a loud and impatient growl. "So, breakfast?" she reminded him hopefully.

Angel laughed and vanished again around the wardrobe. Buffy looked down at the floor beside the bed. The only article of clothing within reach was his discarded shirt, which she promptly snatched up and donned while she listened to the soft clinks of glass and china coming from the direction Angel had gone.

Right after she'd finished doing up the last button, he reappeared with a tray containing a steaming ham and cheese omelet, two slices of buttered toast, a bowl of fresh, sliced strawberries, and a glass of orange juice. He placed the tray on the coffee table, feeling profoundly thankful that he'd recently stocked up on normal food just in case she ever got hungry when she was there. Buffy hopped out of bed and practically skipped the short distance to join him by the coffee table, where they sat on the floor next to each other.

"Mmm, maybe you should be the one to cook dinner when you come over," she said appreciatively after taking a few bites out of the omelet.

"It wouldn't be right," said Angel, shaking his head gravely. "We can't just cheat your mom out of the opportunity to poison me like that."

Buffy almost choked on her current bite of omelet at the explosion of giggles his words had caused. She could hardly believe it. Angel was being playful! Since when was Angel playful? She sincerely hoped it wouldn't be a one-time thing. "No worries," she said with a grin once she had succeeded in swallowing. "Mom's way too passive-aggressive to try something that direct."

Despite the earlier rumbling of her stomach, Buffy was surprised to find that she was ravenous, though it shouldn't have been that much of a shock. Given the events of the night before, she hadn't had much of an appetite for breakfast, and had been rather otherwise occupied by the time midday rolled around. In no time at all, she had completely devoured the breakfast he made for her.

"I could definitely get used to this," she said, stretching luxuriously and scooting over into his embrace.

"Me too," he said, and this time the smile spread across his entire face.

She smiled back and kissed him, then looked over at the clock again and pouted. "I have to go. Mom. Audrey Hepburn. Popcorn." He nodded, and they got up. Buffy quickly slipped her own clothes back on while Angel cleared up the breakfast tray.

"I'll see you tomorrow, right?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "We'll see what we can find out about why the deputy mayor wanted to talk to you."

"And Angel?"

"What?"

"Don't tell anyone else about—about what happened to him. Not yet."

"Okay," he said. "Don't worry about it."

They shared one last long, unhurried kiss before Buffy departed.

[o]

That night, Buffy's sleep was plagued by nightmares about Faith and the man she had killed. She woke up in a cold sweat at least an hour before sunrise and fervently wished she was still at Angel's apartment. Well, she wasn't going to go back to sleep if there was a chance of having another fun dream about getting drowned, so she slid out from under the covers, put on her slippers, and made her way slowly downstairs, yawning hugely.

She had the vague idea of reheating a couple of leftover waffles in the toaster, but was distracted at the bottom stair by flashing colors coming from the living room, where she found her mom watching the early morning news. The subject of the report made her blood run cold. "Fishermen discovered the body today, the victim of a brutal stabbing. Authorities and citizens alike were shocked when the slain man was identified as Deputy Mayor Allan Finch."

She should have known. Faith wasn't exactly subtle. Of course someone was going to find the body. Buffy didn't know what to think. It had only been an accident; she didn't want Faith to have to go to prison for years because of it. But what would Faith do now? And what would she expect her to do? What if they traced it back to Faith and it went to court? What if she, Buffy, was called as a witness? Which would be worse: selling out her friend or lying to the police about something as serious as this? She didn't want to find out.

The report continued as these thoughts were chasing each other around Buffy's head. "Still reeling from the news, Mayor Wilkins had this to say." The image switched to one of the mayor at a press conference.

"Mr. Finch was not only my longtime aide and associate, he was a close personal friend. I promise you I will not rest until whoever did this is found and brought to justice. Thank you very much."

At that point, Joyce noticed Buffy standing there in the doorway. "Oh, honey, you're up," she said. "Oh, it's just terrible, isn't it?"

Buffy said nothing. Yes, it was terrible.

[o]

"I want you to look into this," said Wesley. It was lunchtime, and news of Allan Finch's death had obviously reached more ears than those of the press and Buffy's mother. "Find out everything you can about the murder of the deputy mayor."

"But that's—I-I mean, that's...," stammered Buffy, hating that she couldn't tell Wesley and Giles the truth because Faith was sitting just across the table from her. "That's not really our jurisdiction, is it?"

"It's no big, B," said Faith, and Buffy was alarmed to hear how calm she was—not to mention that her tone contained a slightly threatening undercurrent. "We'll get into it if he wants."

"No, Buffy's right," said Giles. "The deputy mayor's murder was the result of human malice. There's nothing supernatural about it."

"Perhaps," said Wesley, "but we don't know that for certain. I say it merits investigation."

"Which I'm sure the police are doing," said Giles, getting up and walking around the table. "In the meantime, if you ask me, there are better uses for the Slayers' time."

"Don't sweat it, Giles," said Faith, still looking directly at Buffy. "We'll do it. No problem."

A distraction arrived then in the form of Cordelia. "Don't let me interrupt," she said. "Wait, let me interrupt. I'm in a hurry." She raised her eyebrows significantly.

"What do you need?" asked Giles in a longsuffering voice.

Wesley turned to look at the newcomer, and his mouth fell open slightly. She was absolutely stunning. It was as if all of the air had been sucked from the room.

"Uh, psych class," said Cordelia. "Freud and Jung. Book me?"

"Happily," said Giles.

Cordelia turned and noticed Wesley for the first time. She smiled. "Check out Giles: The Next Generation," she said appreciatively. "What's your deal?"

"Er, I, er," Wesley stuttered. As freaked out and tense as Buffy was, she had to suppress an amused grin at this exchange. "Well—I'm a...." Wesley struggled to come up with a suitable cover story, but was still finding it rather difficult to form anything resembling a thought, let alone something suitably clever and interesting.

"New Watcher," Faith supplied, her own smirk very apparent.

"Oh," said Cordelia with interest.

Wesley shot a slightly bemused look at Buffy. "Does everybody know about you?" he asked.

"She's a friend," said Buffy.

"Let's not exaggerate," said Cordelia derisively. "So," she stepped closer to him. "You're the new Watcher."

Summoning as much poise as he could, Wesley held out his hand. "Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."

"I like a man with two last names," said Cordelia flirtatiously. "I'm Cordelia."

"And you teach psychology," said Wesley, hoping to prolong his conversation with her but fearing that he was going to botch it grotesquely any second now.

"I take psychology," Cordelia corrected him. Wesley looked at her in puzzlement.

"She's a student," Giles clarified as he walked past with the books she had requested.

Wesley dropped her hand as if he'd been burned and attempted to beat his unprofessional hormones into submission. "Oh, well. I, er…yes. In fact, I am—here to watch... girls." He went red. "Er—er, Buffy and Faith, to be specific."

"Well, it's about time we got some fresh blood around here," said Cordelia, who was still, most unhelpfully, flirting.

"Well. Fresh. Yes," said Wesley, going from mortified to smug in under a second.

"Here we go," said Giles, who had finished stamping Cordelia's books.

"Thanks," she said, accepting the proffered books. "So," she turned back to Wesley and flashed that brilliant smile again, "welcome to Sunnydale." With that, she departed, swinging her hips rather unnecessarily.

"My," said Wesley, trying to compose himself but forgetting not to smirk. "She is cheeky, isn't she?"

"Uh," said Faith. "First word: jail; second word: bait."

Wesley cleared his throat. "Well, er...where were we?"

"Done," said Buffy. "I mean, we are done, right?"

"Uh, yep," said Faith. "Detective time." They left, Buffy shooting an uncomfortable glance behind her at the two Watchers as she went.

Yay, morning--or, well, evening--after happies! And shirtless Angel returns! Also, I noticed that I had him run his hand through his hair after preparing a meal for her, just like he did in "Not Death, but Love". Oh well. I thought it was a cute way for him to be modest about how thoughtful he is. And then almost everything else in the chapter was lifted from canon. *discontented sigh* Still. I couldn't help but include the Wesley meets Cordy scene. Way too much fun to write his thoughts during that one to pass it up. *snicker* And there were a few lines changed to accommodate Wesley's improved standing with Buffy and his increased respect for Giles (even if Giles still doesn't like him much).