These days, there was only ever one reason he was out on the streets at this time of night: a body. An innocent person, a victim he'd been unable to save. He knew it was unreasonable, reckless even, to consider each death that happened in this city as a personal failing, but that was simply who Angel was. And besides, in this case, it was his fault. Taking one final glance at the flashing red and blue lights sparking off the wet pavement, the forensic tech frowning as they draped a sheet over the latest body and the police tape keeping the public at bay, Angel turned his back and headed for the mouth of the alley. He sensed movement behind him, which wasn't unusual, since this was a mainstream part of town, so he brushed it off. It wasn't until he really listened, the cadence of the footsteps igniting in his memory, that Angel truly became concerned.

This couldn't be right. Not here, not now, not after he'd only just gotten back, not after she had a sister who needed her. But it was.

"L.A.P.D. Put your hands where I can see them, pal," called out Buffy Summers, dressed in an officer's uniform and aiming a gun at his chest.

Well, this was unexpected. It was quite obvious that she had no clue who he was, what he was, what he was to her and she was to him. All their history, gone, just like that. Maybe it had something to do with whatever was brewing in Sunnydale, whatever was going on with Dawn. But it wasn't like she could exactly tell him now. Angel made a split-second decision: if she didn't remember him, he'd just play along. Throwing her one of his trademark grins he put his hands in the air. "Is there a problem, Officer...Summers?" he drawled, pretending to read the name on her uniform.

"Yeah, there's a problem: why am I following you cutting out from my crime scene?" Buffy asked, handcuffs glinting at her belt.

"I know what you're thinking, but don't worry, I'm not your guy," he replied. "And, for the record, you're too young for that to be your crime scene," Angel added, just to feel her out, to see what she'd say. If it was really her.

Buffy raised a brow, not likely used to a suspect talking back quite so much. "You never know: maybe I'm just that good," she replied, stalking closer towards him, ever unafraid of a challenge.

Yeah, it was definitely her.

"I was in the neighborhood, you can't arrest me for that."

Buffy tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "Yes, but I can arrest you for tampering with a crime scene, obstruction of justice, or just pissing me off. All options sound good to me, now all i gotta do is pick one."

Angel lowered his hands into the pockets of his coat, surprise flickering in his eyes as she let him. "Look, Officer, we both know you're not going to arrest me."

She crossed her arms, face impassive. "Yeah? Why's that?"

"Because if you wanted to, you would have already," he said simply. "And because of this."

He tossed something at her. She caught it deftly, turning it over in the dim light. "Angel Investigations," she read off the card. "So, you're a P.I? Mr Fedora and Trench Coat and a secretary in big heels?"

Angel smiled slightly. "Yes, I'm a P.I. among other things. No, I don't have a hat: they never fit my head. And no, I don't have a secretary, but the mental image of Wesley in stilettos is too entertaining to pass up on. We want the same thing."

"What's that?"

"To stop bad things from happening to good people, to protect those who can't protect themselves. To make the world a little safer, even if it's only one bad guy off the streets at a time." He'd changed so much since their first encounter all those years ago, in an alley almost the mirror image of this. She'd changed him: he wasn't just about killing vampires and demons anymore. No, that wasn't his job at all. It was about doing what was right. It was about the people, the people he could help, if he chose to. And he had chosen. Even if it hurt evey day.

"Yeah, that's right. But that still doesn't explain your being here: was the victim a client of yours?"

"No. She was my client's mother."

Buffy absorbed the new information with a slow blink. He could practically hear the wheels in her mind turning, assessing. Assessing him.

She holstered her gun, putting her hands up in the universal image of surrender. "Okay," she called out. "Say I believe you. Do you have any idea who might have had it out for her?" Buffy asked him, and for a moment it was hard not to think of years passed, to them holed up in the Sunnydale High Library going through books and tracking down whatever evil thing had reared it's head that week -and that was if it had even had a head.

That had been her fight. But it wasn't now. She might have still been Buffy, but she wasn't the Slayer, or at the very least didn't remember being one, and until Angel could figure out some way to get her back, he didn't want her anywhere near or involved with this case. And that included him.

So he replied, "As I'm sure you're aware, the confidentiality agreement I hold with my client prohibits me from discussing that."

A frown marred her face. "But her mom's dead! Are you really going to stand there and pull that crap and say it's not connected?" Buffy demanded, frustration clear and most certainly present.

"It's not connected."

It seemed his cryptic quips and annoying attitude hadn't gone away as much as he'd thought.

"Fine, be that way. But I will get to the bottom of this. And if I find out this has anything to do with your case, if I find out you're hiding stuff, I will charge you with impeding a murder investigation. Got that Columbo?"

Angel shook his head. "The most you could charge me, given your current position, is with a parking ticket," he said smugly. It was true, after all.

"True," she relented, but then her green eyes took on a dangerous glint, the kind that promised trouble. "But I could charge you with so many that you drown in them, a sea of tickets, yellow slips of paper as far as the eye can see. Sound fun to you?" she purred.

The vampire hid a grin. "Not particularly," he said honestly.

"Didn't think so. What's with the angel?" Buffy asked him, gaze momentarily caught by the slip of paper.

His heart winced. "It's my name," was the only thing he could think to say.

"Angel," she mused, trying it out. "It's a pretty name. So, Angel, are you going to help me with this or not?" And from the look in her eyes, he could tell that she wanted him to say yes, that she was intrigued but more than anything she wanted justice to be served.

He wanted that too. Just not at her expense.

"No," he answered and prowled off into the night, turning his back on the woman he loved yet again.

Author's Note: Hello, everyone, welcome to my first multi-chapter crossover Buffy and Angel fic. I'll be honest, I have no proper knowledge of police procedure apart from what I've learned from books and TV, so bear with me on the continuity. I'm so proud of this story, and I love it so very much. I hope you will, too. I've got the first seven chapters done already, and I'll try to post as regularly as I can. By the way, this takes place just after Joyce's death and Darla and Angel haven't slept together.

So, stay tuned, and enjoy the ride.

Until we meet again.

All my love, Temperance Cain