That night, the two watched three movies until it was nearly four in the morning—one comedy, one action, and a horror film—Charlotte really focused on the horror, taking mental notes, and Angel found it fun when she jumped at the scares. She really enjoyed the downtime, though she did pout halfway through the first movie because she'd ate all the chocolate. During commercials, they talked lightly. Angel would tell her details about the movies, she'd question the commercials, and she listened to him tell jokes, being a little goofy and even throwing a pillow at her. Charlotte had yelped but quickly caught on to the idea, and threw one did that a few times before a scene in the film grabbed her attention, ignoring the pillow that clipped her cheek.
After a while more, Angel looked towards the clock, noticed how late it was, and was surprised. He'd developed a strong internal clock over the years and was always aware of the hour. But, being here with Charlotte, time disappeared. He only remembered feeling that way once before, with Amanda. Speaking up, he announced it was time to get some sleep. He'd already paid for two nights, so they didn't have to rush, and tomorrow he'd take her out so she could actually walk the streets, visit shops, and feel visible. Charlotte at first whined in a playful way, but when that whine ended with a yawn, she grudgingly agreed.
Sleep refueled them, and in the early afternoon, Angel took her out. They went shopping so she could pick up some clothing of her own choosing. Angel made a note to call Cassie for a small loan, as his funds were dwindling a bit quicker now that he had a lady with him. For the first time, Angel regretted turning down the military's offer of an honorable discharge. He found a restaurant with a large variety and warned her to accept that others did eat meat and keep her cool. She assured him that she understood she couldn't save everyone; adding a snarky Some are just destined for hell, I guess. Angel heard the levity in her reply but sensed it bothered her more than casually. She really did cherish all of life. They ate and talked, and Charlotte's eyes were saucers when the server brought her a slice of 'Death by Chocolate' cake. Angel genuinely enjoyed her enthusiasm and happiness, and he hoped that she would never become jaded like he had.
Over the next few weeks, they traveled the back roads between towns, stopping at police stations to check on local reports. The couple ate, shopped, laid on their beds, watched movies, and did the one thing Angel had truly forgotten to do: live. The weeks grew longer as the early months matured into the late summer, and in that time Charlotte began to hone her demon skills between missions.
She had forgotten to tell Angel how she'd conjured the branch the night of the river rescue but had quickly rectified it after she'd processed everything. Angel took it in stride, but she could see both pride and awe in his eyes. With that trick, she could conjure anything she needed on a mission for her or him, so Angel downgraded from a large duffel bag to a backpack, leaving out anything that wasn't necessary that she could call upon later.
She practiced her hearing, smell, and vision, wanting to see if her powers would grow so she could scent even further, but there were certainly limits. She also began to call upon her physical features independently of each other. She knew it could be done, as she'd done so in the river, and it took time and focus, but eventually she could produce just her claws, tail, or horns and enjoyed sharpening her teeth to give Angel demonic growls if he irritated her. She did so one time when she'd caught him sneaking a hot dog at a baseball game he'd taken her to. It was more amusing because of the panicked look on his face, worried that others could see her, but Charlotte had learned when and where she could let her powers out.
As she grew more powerful and confident, the missions came and clicked off quickly. Charlotte was able to utilize her scare tactics five more times, each time resulting in the safe rescue of innocent children. Despite it all, Charlotte could not completely let go of the irritation at having to go invisible before arriving at a scene or staying that way until they cleared out. Still, she had come to accept the importance of safety and was very adamant about reassuring Angel that she loved what they were doing.
When she had expressed those feelings, Angel sat her down, each on their own bed, and expressed his concerns: "I wanted to discuss that with you. I've been asking a lot from you and from your gifts. You've been such a wonderful help, but am I pushing too much?"
"No!" Charlotte shook her head. "I asked for this, remember? Until my memories come back, being with you is my sole purpose, Angel, and even if they do, I don't want to stop being your partner."
Angel looked away, his face betraying his worry. "I believe you. It's just—"
Charlotte placed the palm of her hand on his cheek and drew his attention back to her. "No matter who I was, who I am now matters more. Every time we save a life, my heart swells. It makes me feel like I am more than the demon inside me, and I need that. You saved me, yes, but you've also guided me, trained me, cared for me, and given me purpose. Saving lives is my destiny; I believe this. I am so-so grateful, so please," Charlotte's eyes glistened. "Never doubt that you can ask anything of me."
"I promise you," Angel cupped his hand over hers, "that I will not hesitate to ask of you what needs to be done to save everyone we can."
"Good!" Charlotte's cheeks flushed at the prolonged touch between them, then added a little pun she'd picked up, "and I promise you to be the best demon any angel could ever ask for."
Angel chuckled as Charlie beamed, and the two stared at each other in silence. Clearing his throat, Angel broke away gently and suggested they get some rest.
The honesty they could share with each other made them stronger and bolder in their shared beliefs that they could save the world, figuratively, so when the night came that Angel feared the most, they fell deep into despair. Cassie had sent him a text concerning a kidnapping only an hour away from them. A little girl had been taken by her estranged father, and the police found them in a home on the outskirts of the town. Angel knew Charlotte could easily make her way inside and subdue the man, so they made haste to reach the location. They had been only five minutes away when Cassie phoned to inform Angel of the sad news; the police had surrounded the house and begun talks when the father took his daughter's life, followed by his own.
Angel had pulled off to the side of the road to take the call, and with the van safely parked, he dropped the phone on the floorboard and screamed. He punched the steering wheel repeatedly, bashing his fists against the wheel, while Charlotte wept in her chair, feeling helpless. Yet, despite her pain, she reached out and grabbed his arm in her hand with demon strength to stop him before he hurt himself. Angel stopped, gave her a blank look, and after a moment or two, nodded softly and asked her to let him go. Angel thanked her when she did, and he said he'd find them a room nearby so they could get some rest.
The usual ritual of showers, food, jokes, and movies was tossed away, replaced by loss. Angel slumped into his bed as Charlotte pulled her covers up over her head, her soft hiccups from spent tears muffled by the blanket. Cassie had tried calling again, but he let it go to voicemail and sent her a short text saying that he'd call tomorrow. After a while, he heard Charlotte's soft breathing, indicating she'd finally fallen asleep. Slipping out of bed, he went over to the suitcase he'd picked up last month and pulled out a notebook, worn at the edges, and sat down at the desk. Turning on the lamp, he opened it, clicked a pen that had been nestled in the spine, and began to write.
A while later, lost in writing, he didn't hear the quiet rustle of sheets nor the soft gliding feet of Charlotte, who'd woken up to the light and saw Angel at the desk, hunched over. She gave a soft cough to announce herself, and Angel's haunted eyes turned her way.
"Did I wake you?" He softly asked.
"It's okay. What are you writing?"
Angel closed the notebook, "It's my journal of failures."
"Angel?" With pain in her voice, she put her hand on his shoulder.
Putting his hand on top of hers, he leaned his head to trap her hand against his shoulder, needing the touch in the moment, and he sighed deeply, "I don't let them go, Charlotte; I don't let them be forgotten. I don't let myself forget I fucked up."
She saw the size of the notebook, licked her lips, and whispered, "How many?"
"Since I started this job, or since the beginning?" He didn't realize he'd added the last part.
"The beginning." She wanted to know.
Angel looked at the book. He opened it on the first page. It was dated one week after he'd left the service. She recognized the date only because he'd told her when he left, not why.
"I guess I should tell you." Angel resigned himself to opening his memories up, and immediately the pain stabbed his heart. He looked at the words on the paper, let go of Charlotte's hands, and stood. He motioned for her to sit on her bed, and he took a seat on his. Clearing his throat, Angel began to read from page one of his journal.
—
When he finished, Charlotte wept, not only for the events he had shared but for how his soul had been torn apart. She now understood his core, his very being, who he was, and why he was. She saw the angel that swelled within him. She had already dedicated her life to helping him, but now she wanted to dedicate herself to him. Standing, she shuffled over and took the notebook from his still hands, placing it gently behind her on the other bed. He looked up at her, eyes wet with memory, and she leaned down and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was soft, soothing, and inviting. Angel reached up to embrace her and felt her body melt into his. The kiss grew heated, and she pushed gently, silently asking him to lie back on the bed. She crawled on top of him and felt her body melt into his. It felt so good. Her body was responding to him much more intensely than any of her shower sessions, and those had been frequent lately. She could feel his heat against hers, and she started to move her hand down between their bodies, intent on removing the obstacles of clothing that kept them from joining.
Her euphoria was short-lived as Angel suddenly broke the kiss. She looked at him, her eyes worried. "Angel?"
"Charlotte." He swallowed, "I don't think this is a good idea."
"Why?" She blinked, unsure if she heard right.
"You're not human."
The statement was factual. It was also the most insulting, cruel, mean, and utterly despicable statement she'd ever heard Angel say to her. She bolted up as her eyes turned crimson from her demon's rising rage, which she knew only proved his point. But as intense as her sexual arousal had been, it was nothing compared to a demon scorned.
"FUCK YOU!" She growled deep. Electrical currents seemed to shift through the air, and the light from the lamp flickered, threatening to go out.
Angel watched her demon form bleed out, and challenged her expression with one of contriteness—yet zero fear—showing her complete trust. He knew this needed to play out, and he also knew if she attacked, there was nothing he could do; he was unarmed.
As quickly as her anger had risen, it fell and was replaced by the deep pain of rejection. She lowered her head, and fresh tears poured from what should have been a dry well.
"I have more to say." Angel ventured softly.
She sniffled. She didn't think anything he would say could soothe her right now. She had just revealed her feelings for him, let her guard down, and was willing to give herself to him. And he called her a monster? Taking a deep breath to control her anger, she looked up with eyes that said, 'Go ahead'.
"I regret what I said, but not the reason behind it. We've still not really tried to find out where you came from, exactly how powerful you are, what would happen if your memories came back, and," he paused, "if we're even physically compatible or if—by making love—something otherworldly happens. We're just not informed enough for this." It was a reasonable, intelligent argument, but it tasted sour to Angel as he said it.
Yet, in duality, it also concealed the fact that he was falling for her, and her actions announced that she felt the same way. He cursed his critical thinking, but he couldn't risk hurting her, himself, or what might come of such a union. But now that Charlotte had shown her desire for him—and her love—rejecting her deserved a notebook of its own.
Charlotte was silent for longer than he liked, but there were subtle movements that told him she had listened and was having her own internal monologue. He waited, and soon she looked up at him. Her black eyes were fierce with determination, "I want my memories back! I want to know who I am, Angel." Charlotte sniffled and thought, I don't want to lose this.
Taking a deep breath, Angel stood and walked over to Charlotte. She tensed at first, but let him lift her chin to look into his eyes. "Then tomorrow I'll take you to New Orleans and introduce you to my sister. If anyone can help you, it'll be her."
Charlotte averted her eyes. The feeling of rejection still tore at her heart, even though her mind agreed with him. Human emotions sucked, she silently repeated in frustration, but not all of them. When she kissed him, those feelings were like a cocoon, a shroud of protection for her grief. She thought back to all that he had shared with her, how he had let down the last of his shields for her, and suddenly she felt an incredible sense of guilt. She realized that she had taken advantage of him while he was vulnerable, and it disgusted her. She turned her sad eyes back to him, full of remorse: "I'm sorry I pushed you tonight. It was selfish of me."
"For a few moments, I felt normal, safe, and wanted." Angel dropped his hand from her chin and bowed his head, "But I never meant to hurt you."
"I know." Charlotte's voice sounded distant.
Angel peered at the clock on the desk, "We should get some sleep. It's a long drive, and we'll have to leave early if we're to get to my sister's place before midnight."
Charlotte nodded solemnly. She walked over to her bed, picked up Angel's notebook, and ran her fingers over the cover. A fresh sense of sadness made her sigh. She turned and handed it back to him, and he gently took it and placed it on the other pillow on his bed.
"Good night, Angel." Charlotte chastised how curt it sounded to her, but she was too exhausted and just slipped under her sheets and rolled herself to face the wall, her back to Angel.
With a silent good night, Angel stood and went over to the desk, turned off the light, and crawled back into his own bed, his thoughts racing over what he would tell his sister tomorrow. He already knew that she had an idea that he was hiding something from her, as her intuition had led to probing questions that he had to answer carefully. Now, she was about to find out just how big of a secret that was.