Man's Best Friend

[lettered]

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PG-13, Angel, Spike, Illyria, Nina, and a puppy.


The puppy wasn't so simple after all. There was still the issue of house breaking, and teething, and it crying all the time.

"You just don't like something being so helpless," Faith told him over the phone. "Something that can't do anything for itself, you're completely responsible for."

Angel thought of Connor. "It's not that. It's I don't understand why it's my responsibility."

"You bought it," Faith reminded him. "Ergo."

"The auction was evil," Angel said, and manfully resisted the urge to whimper. "They want to stuff it in a crate."

"Well, from what you said, maybe that's what's best. Hey, I was incarcerated for almost three years. Robin says it did me good." She paused. "I think that's mostly because I tell him stories about dyking out in prison, but hey, that's something."

Nina thought stuffing the puppy in a crate was a good idea because when the puppy didn't start improving, she started researching, just as if it was a case. Lots of books and sites online said it was good for a puppy. Aggie said, "I think that's what the experts say, actually." The dog trainer Aggie recommended Nina talk to said, "It sounds cruel, but it's the best thing; trust me."

Spike said, "I told you so."

Illyria said, "I don't have issues with stuffing the specimen in a crate. In fact, I look forward to it."

"We need to buy one," Nina said, holding her To Do clipboard again.

"We will also need a Geiger counter, hydrocyanic acid, a device with a hammer and a flask attuned to the counter tube, and a wall to keep the dog separate from the Geiger. And a bit of Spike's hair," Illyria added.

"Acid?" Nina asked. "What for?"

"To make the specimen dead and not dead at the same time, of course."

"Why my hair?" Spike asked.

"Radioactive material, of course," Illyria said. "To discharge the counter tube, if an atom decays in the course of an hour."

Illyria, very excited by this idea, even offered to relent on the matter of calling the puppy Specimen Number One Thousand Five Hundred And Sixteen. "We'll call it Schrödinger," she suggested.

"We'll call it Rufus," Nina said, with finality. "It's on his food bowl."

Illyria and Nina went off to do some recon on the missing teenage girl case; Angel and Spike were stuck together. As they entered the vamp nest near Ventura, Angel said, "How did you know? How'd you know we were supposed to put it in a kennel?"

"I didn't," Spike said, eyes on the vampires. He kind of smiled at them, waiting for them to lay the first blow before striking back. "I just was tired of listening to it. Sticking it in the oven might've had the same effect." A vampire broke from the pack. Spike held up a stake and it was gone. Spike added ruefully, "Wish I'd thought of that."

"You wouldn't have." They were in the action now, vamps coming at him. Angel kicked the one in front of him and turned to stake the one approaching from the side. "You made that chew thing for it."

"No, I made that to show how we should take out the Fold." Spike lit his lighter, and brought a hairspray can from his other pocket, and got a make-shift blowtorch going. "And 'cause I like messing with things." Two vampires burst into flames in front of him, and Angel kicked them down before they could douse themselves in sewer water nearby. "And 'cause you'd criticize if I'd tried to draw a diagram, but what was I thinking? I should've used wire." The aerosol can got knocked out of his hand, and he whirled to stake the vampire who'd done it.

Angel threw a vampire down and used the momentum of its tumble to roll off its back and reach the chest of the vampire standing across from it. "I didn't know you were going to use bone," Angel said indignantly.

"Rawhide," Spike said, diving to recover his can. "Bones can be bad. Fragments get lodged, stuff like that."

Angel knew all about fragments lodging. "Can't be good for him to eat rope." A vampire rushed at him, and he flipped it back over the last. He came down on the top one with a stake, and kept on going through the dust to the one beneath.

"'S not eating the rope," Spike said, lighting up the spray from the can again. "There they go." The vampires were fleeing, so Spike and Angel put up chase. "Notice any rope gone? Just frayed," Spike pointed out as they ran. "It's just the stuff inside. 'S good for it to have both digestibles and nondigestibles on its chew toys."

"You're so full of crap," Angel said, and grabbed a vamp to throw at Spike. He took the next one, and they traded off until no vampires were left in the vacinity. "Why do you know this stuff, anyway?" he asked again.

Spike got that look on his face. "Sunshine?" When Angel continued to stare at him blankly, Spike closed his eyes and gave a weary sigh. "Dru's mutt, in Sunnydale. She kept carving bits off it, see how long it'd stay alive."

"I," Angel said. "Oh. Do you miss her?" he asked suddenly, remembering something Nina had said about Spike needing people, just like he'd kept remembering Spike saying he couldn't be nice that night he had dinner with Nina.

"She was a criminally insane, soulless monster," Spike said, turning away. "Of course I bloody miss her." As he walked down through the sewer tunnel, Angel saw his hand go for his pocket. Putting away the spray can, or possibly checking for that stupid lighter.

Angel caught up. "You were right," he said. "About Nina liking spiky things."

Spike glanced at him from the corners of his eyes. "Yeah?"

"Not you," Angel said hastily.

"Right," Spike said, and stopped glancing, eyes straight forward.

"I mean, she does like you. She said she did." Angel sighed a little. "I think she's still angry. About the puppy."

"She should be. On the rocks, are you?"

"No," Angel exclaimed, offended.

"Fine."

"I don't want it," Angel said, abruptly changing the subject. "I don't want to have to feed it and train it and every stupid little thing. So I get why it doesn't like me. What I don't get is why it likes you. You don't ever even try."

"Maybe that's why," Spike snapped. He started walking faster again. "Because I don't try."

Angel caught up with him again. "That makes no sense."

"Doesn't it?" Spike looked around, in that way he had since the alley, like he expected someone else was there to answer. "Dog's a pack animal. You act all top dog, it respects you, does what you say. You pet it, fondle it, treat it like you do, it thinks you're beta and can make you do whatever it wants."

"I do not fondle it."

"Whatever." Speaking of fondling, there was Spike with that lighter. "Point is," Spike continued, opening and closing the lighter inside his pocket, "Give someone an inch, they walk all over you. You should know."

"I do not give anyone an--oh. I mean, I don't walk over anyone."

"Really." Spike clicked the lighter closed for one last time, and shrugged. "The trick is to show you're the boss of it. Some things will love you even when you kick them around, ignore them when you haven't got time. Maybe because you kick them around, because you act like you own them, they love you. Who knows?"

"I don't own it," Angel said. "It was an evil auction."

"Don't." Spike didn't sound annoyed or angry. His voice was just very quiet, and he wasn't looking at Angel. "Don't even. Has nothing to do with how you got it; you took it on and you volunteered to do that. You can't just drop it when you feel like. It's a different dog now than when you bought it."

"Are you saying I what, influenced it? It doesn't know me from Adam. It's not a person, Spike."

"Oh, that's right. It's a thing." Spike walked away.

The next day, Nina came into the office with a crate, Illyria came with a leash and collar, and Spike came with a bone.

Angel might have surreptitiously checked the calendar on his desk to make sure it wasn't National Get The Puppy Dog A Present Day, or anything. He'd forgotten Wesley's birthday once and Cordelia had given him hell. And no cake. Not that he had wanted it.

"Put it in his corner," Nina was saying, as Angel lifted the kennel for her. "And put some of his stuff in it. And then put him in it. Aggie's friend said he has to get used to it."

Angel put it in the corner, then put Spike's plan for the Grath'nar Fold in it, and then the dog. The dog began to cry, and Angel locked it up.

"He already has a collar," Angel told Illyria later.

Illyria frowned. "This is not for the specimen."

"Thought you were calling him Buckminster Fuller," Spike said. Angel turned to stare at him, wishing he had never told Nina about his interest in reading. Through a convoluted series of textual thievery, it had led to Spike thinking he was enlightened, and through a convoluted series of various impassioned avocations, it had led to Illyria thinking she was a mad scientist. "Schrödinger, whatever," Spike added, off Angel's stare.

"Where's my Geiger counter?" was all Illyria said in response to that. "Besides, the collar is for Bob."

"Please, don't tell us any more," Angel said.

"Until later tonight," Spike added, "when there's liquor. And possibly demonstrations."

"You already made him a chew toy," Angel told Spike later. "Why'd you get him a bone?"

Spike frowned. "This is not for the specimen," he said, making his voice low and smooth.

Angel rolled his eyes. "It's not for Bob, so don't even say it."

"How would you know?" Spike asked, normal voice again, smirking. "Maybe Illyria needs it for her demonstration. Maybe she'll just have a bone in her pocket, instead of being happy to see Vila. Maybe she also needs a whip," he added thoughtfully.

"What's the bone for?" Angel asked, and resisted adding, "you stupid idiot, just stay on the topic" to the end. He was also resisting the image of Illyria with a whip melting the insides of his brain.

"Oh, that old thing," Spike said innocently. "Some demon named Derekis walked it off somewhere."

"A bone of Derekis?" Angel repeated. "There's no way."

"Way," Spike said, and patted his bone.

"But not the tibia," Angel guessed.

"Oh, ye of little faith."

"You got the Tibia of Derekis. When? Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought you were going to let Head Biter chew on it." Spike clutched the tibia protectively. The puppy whimpered from its kennel at the sound of one of Spike's names. Angel could hear it scratching, as if to get to him. "Couldn't let that happen," Spike continued, lovingly stroking the bone. "Seeing as it's so special. Illyria says it's a perfect specimen. Perfect Specimen Number Three Thousand Forty One, that is."

"You showed it to Illyria? Before me?"

Spike gave him a funny look, but, "Had to make sure it was authentic," was all he said. He stopped touching the bone in disturbing ways and put it on his desk.

"Well," Angel said. "Is it?"

"Told you, didn't I," Spike grumped, but without much malice. Too proud of himself, probably. "Illyria put bits under her microscope; they checked out."

"Where'd you get it?"

"Black market." Spike was full of dignity, sort of like Queen Victoria.

"Yeah, but how?"

"Okay, first. Let's get one thing straight, case word gets out. I'm not the Doctor, never was, never will be; rumors of my doctorate have been greatly exaggerated." Spike was not amused, sort of like Queen Victoria. "Though I understand why you'd think so, considering my genius."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"That is the hallmark and tragedy of my genius," Spike said sadly, looking down his nose at the lesser world. Exactly like Queen Victoria.

"Did you let anyone else in on it?" Angel asked. "How many others know?"

Spike deflated, nothing like Queen Victoria. He took on a slow and stupid tone. "Uh, duh, thanks Spike, for uh, finding us the uh, stuff we've been looking for. For days. I'm so helpless, I uh, thanks." Angel thought he sounded much better imitating Illyria. Spike switched to normal voice. "Why, thank you, Angel. I know that you're handicapped; it's okay."

"I'm not joking around," Angel said. "This is important."

"Really," Spike said, sounding bored. "Why don't you go find the crystal and blood we need to do the spell, then?"

"It's not that easy." The crystal had to be from some special cave and the blood from a Slothin spawn; only then could they dispell the Dental Demon of Illyria's thesaurus fame.

"I did my part," Spike said. "Found the bone, shouldn't be too hard. Hop to it, Angel. Going to let all my tortured geniusness go to waste?"

Angel thought the answer might be yes and then remembered that it wasn't.

When Angel told Nina about Spike finding the bone they needed, she acted surprised. "So you didn't know," he said, strangely relieved.

"Where'd he get it?" she asked.

"I think he might have had some help."

"Help?" Nina said. "Who?"

Angel shrugged. "One of his friends, maybe."

Nina stared at him. "Angel. We're his friends."

"Not me," Angel said quickly. Nina rolled her eyes, and Angel continued less defensively, "I meant one of his other friends." Nina kept on staring at him, so he said, "You know. He's always . . . talking to people."

"Okay, sure," Nina said, but Angel didn't think she did know.

It made him feel sort of funny, so Angel thought he might go back and tell Spike he wasn't always stupid again. Then he remembered what had happened with the Grath'nar Fold and decided against it.

*

Three months and a week after the battle in the alley with Black Thorn, and the office Nina had rented them was mostly back in business. With Nabbit's money, they were able to replace the windows and furniture the vampires Gunn had sent after them had broken. Nina commandeered the rest of the funds to buy a new dishwasher, business cards, and a stereo system for the office, and then computers, cell phones, and a big steak dinner for each of the employees. Then she gave them each a bonus and took one for herself. Illyria made a payment on a microscope she wanted, possibly for her experimentations; Angel put his in the bank and no one knew what happened to Spike's.

Nina put hers to a final payment for a metal cage she was ordering. When Angel had rented his warehouse loft, the only thing that had pleased her was it was big enough for the one she wanted. She'd found it on a special and possibly illegal site online, bookmarked it, and slowly saved her money. She wouldn't let Angel help. It was like she was buying her very first car or potter's wheel or dining room set. Except that it was a cage.

The only part of the office that wasn't repaired yet from Gunn's attack was the front door, which they had had to special order because Nina wanted "Ash Agency" frosted on the front.

"We burn all your problems to ash," Nina pointed out. "It could be our slogan. And vampires, go poof, ash. It makes sense."

"Right, doesn't have anything to do with your last name," Spike had suggested, holding one of the business cards she had just handed him. He sounded disgruntled.

"I wish it to be Illyria Agency," Illyria said. "I wish to head a vast corporate enterprise that will make the world tremble once again at the sound of my name. A multi-media endeavor that will monopolize the industry of the Wolf, Ram, and Hart, and possibly also that of Google Dot Com." Since Nabbit had paid them, Illyria's interest in motorcycle maintenance had slackened. Now she was really interested in the stock market and owning the world. "Sort of like Bill Gates," she added.

It was then that Angel noticed Illyria's habit of attempting to emulate the magnates of whatever her current hobby happened to be, and abandoning them and said hobby when she got tired of them. She never spoke of Pirsig with the same fervor again.

"Tough noogies," was all Nina said, and handed Illyria a business card.

The card had a sort of abstract design on it that could be several things. Angel thought it was a skeleton in a closet dissolving into ash. He was just glad that Nina was better at art than Cordelia. He was just glad that Nina was not Cordelia at all, and that the words on the card did not read Angel Investigations.

This way he couldn't really fire them.

He could still burn them though, and he tried not to think about that. Instead he thought of how rowan made good weapons; looking at Nina he wondered for the first time what kind of wood was floating around in his chest.

"What?" Nina asked him when she noticed he was staring at her. She sounded irritated. "You got a problem with my name, too?"

"No," he said, "I like it."

"Suck up," Spike muttered.

"Really?" Nina asked Angel, her irritation disappearing. Now she just looked anxious. "What about the picture? I didn't want to be explicit, but maybe it's too abstract."

"I like all of it," Angel said, kind of hoarsely. He wasn't looking at the card.

Spike was glaring at Angel. He tore his card in half and tossed the two pieces aside. "Consider that week one and two of notice," he told Nina, and stalked out.

Angel found one of those business card holders to put his card in. Then he put the holder on his brand new desk they'd had to buy, right in the spot where he'd kept the vase.

Spike came back later that evening, and dropped the city section of the newspaper on Nina's desk. "Found us a case," he said loudly.

Nina scanned the article, put it down, and said, "You mean you got us more on one of our open cases."

"Yeah," Spike said, taking out a cigarette. "Whatever. We got a file?"

"Not yet." Nina pulled over one of her legal pads. "With the Nabbit case and . . . repairs," she said, waving toward the main room with the windows, "and we didn't have much to go on. This helps. Thank you. Don't smoke in here."

Spike put his cigarette away, looking pleased.

So pleased that Angel, suspicious, went over there. He saw the headline of the article; a name caught his eye. Then he was going for his coat and heading out the door. Possibly with a dramatic swirl of black duster but that wasn't actually his fault.

Twenty minutes later he thought maybe he should've tried to prevent it anyway. Spike laughed at it, but secretly he wanted the corner on melodrama. Apparently, the second Angel had left, Spike had jumped into his Rabbit after him. Angel thought that maybe Nina came with him because the way Angel had left so quickly and looked so grim had worried her. Unlike Spike, she wasn't just trying to show him up.

Somehow they managed to be faster, so that when Angel got there Anne was holding Spike up with a cross-bow.

Served him right.

"Don't give me that crap," Anne was saying. "You were going to kill us all."

"Well, yeah," Spike said. "But you were kind of asking us to. You don't remember the whole Cult of Death thing? Idiot kids all into it."

"There're a lot of people in this world asking to die," Anne said. "Not all of them deserve to. You do."

"No!" Nina yelled. One of Anne's kids, a burly one, had her by the arm, looking confusedly from Anne to Spike and back again, obviously not sure what was going on.

There was a man, Anne's age maybe, also holding a cross-bow. Other kids were milling around, looking scared and confused. The shelter was a shambles, like the article had described.

"Anne, don't," Angel said, pushing his way in. "He's with me."

"Oh, nice, Angel, great." Anne sounded as if she would've rolled her eyes, if they hadn't been trained on Spike. "Betray me, join an evil law firm, get Gunn killed. Yeah, like I've got every reason to trust you."

"Spike's alright," Angel said, surprised to hear himself say those words so evenly. "He's got a soul."

"Just like you, huh?" Anne said sardonically. "No wonder he bit me."

Angel couldn't feel the splinters near his heart. He couldn't feel his heart. He couldn't feel anything in his chest; he felt sort of empty. He looked at Spike blankly. "You bit Anne?"

Spike did roll his eyes at Angel. "In Sunnydale, apparently." He turned to Anne. "Did you taste like cream cheese? Because I really don't remember whether I--"

Angel still felt kind of like a void. He turned to Anne. "You were in Sunnydale?"

"I've seen far worse things than you since then," Anne told Spike, "but I wouldn't ever forget your face."

"And I won't forget that time I met Louis Armstrong," Spike said, "but don't get your knickers in a twist. I'm not a sodding rock star."

"You were the first thing I saw that was real," Anne said.

"This is real," Nina said, holding up the newspaper Spike had given her earlier. "Why were here. Uh," she added, glancing at Angel. "Right? This is why we're here, right? I mean, besides the fact that you all apparently know each other in some strangely circumstantial plot involving an absent Slayer and some big crater two hours north from here."

"It's Gunn," Angel told Anne. "He attacked us, too. A week ago. Same M.O. as your shelter."

"Oh, so he murdered three of your kids?"

Nothing was coming to fill up the hollowness in Angel's chest. "No," he said finally.

"Well, maybe if you hadn't made him a vampire, he wouldn't go around attacking places he used to call home."

Angel was looking at the kids.

"They've seen worse things on the streets than your kind," Anne snapped.

"I didn't make Gunn a vampire," Angel said, and wasn't sure he meant that, really. He looked around at Spike and Nina. "None of us did."

Anne sighed and slowly lowered her weapon. "I know that."

"That's nice," Spike said. "Could've warned a bloke."

"It's okay," Anne told the other man with the cross-bow.

The guy tried to disarm the bolt, which sent it whizzing crazily through the air in the direction of Spike's chest. If Angel had found anything to fill him up in the moments before that, he sort of lost it then.

He had the cross-bow on the floor and the the man against the wall before he really knew what he was doing.

It was weird, with the man in front of his face now, Angel felt like he almost should know the guy. And then he said Angel's name so Angel guessed he did know him. He didn't let go.

The kid was one of Gunn's gang. Old gang, before Angel Investigations, Angel didn't remember his name. Cordelia and Fred would have known.

Gunn actually talked to them.

Wesley would have known, too. Wesley had gotten shot, almost died, trying to help him, some of Gunn's friends from zombie cops. Those memories of Wesley made Angel's memories of Spike in a wheelchair not so funny any more.

Or maybe it was the fact that Spike was possibly a pile of dust behind him. Angel hadn't stopped to watch.

"Angel," another voice was saying, and strong hands gripped his shoulders and forcibly pulled him away.

Spike had his arm, guiding him as if Angel was an elderly, troubled cripple. Angel knew that was how he was being guided because once he'd had to spend some days in an old man's body who was thought to have dementia, and this was exactly how the nurses had touched him there.

Spike's eyes looked as blue to Angel as when Gwen had made his heart beat. Maybe Spike always looked that way when he got injured. Maybe it was thrilling for him, or something. Maybe he liked it. Angel wanted to punch him until those eyes were black. "It missed," Spike said, as if Angel couldn't see that. "Missed the heart."

"That's too bad," Angel snarled.

Spike looked taken aback. Then he shrugged and turned away. "Maybe it won't next time." Angel could tell Spike was sneering as he said it.

If wishes could be horses, Angel thought, because that phrase had been running through his mind a lot lately. Maybe because they hadn't been, in that alley.

"Thanks," Gunn's old friend was saying to Spike. "Guess I'm sorry about the--you know."

Spike looked down at the hole in his shirt, the purple knot of congealed blood it revealed. Next he glanced back to Angel. "Aim better," Spike said, turning back to the guy who'd shot him, strangely polite. "And don't be sorry. Most of us are really bad."

The guy said blandly, "I've seen a few."

Spike said, "Yeah?"

The guy seemed pretty happy to describe his vampire slaying exploits to the vampire in front of him. Maybe he was trying to let Spike know that he could be a threat, could've killed him, wouldn't've missed if he'd really been aiming. His name was Rondell. Angel vaguely remembered him; he had taken over Gunn's gang of vampire fighters when Gunn went to join Angel Investigations. He had been a good friend of Gunn's, Angel remembered.

Angel also remembered Gunn's words: "We'll never be friends."

"'S a bitch without a Slayer," Spike was saying. Nina and Anne were talking, continuing the clean-up that had obviously been going on since morning. The other kids were helping or scattered. Spike went on, "You know them?"

"What? Slayers?" Rondell said. "Whaddya mean?"

"Oh," Spike said airily, drawing out a cigarette. "Super girls, Chosen Ones, all that. They can be really . . ." He paused as he lit his cigarette. "Athletic," he said at last, and scowled. "Did it one summer, without a Slayer. Harder, though."

"We once did over half a dozen in one night," Rondell said proudly. "Most of them were in a house, trapped them, burned it down. That shit was a record."

"Our record was fourteen without a Slayer." At Rondell's look he said hurriedly, "Well, we had a witch. And a bot. And I'm a--well, you know."

"Okay, a bot? Is that like a Slayer?"

"No," Spike said sharply, frowning. "Robot. Not as strong, and her--fake smiles, and her--her bloody--no. Not living, anyway. Nothing like."

Rondell didn't really have anything to say to that. "We have a truck," he offered, after a while.

"Yeah?"

"All tripped out. Stake shooter at the back, like a Tommy, spokes at the hubcaps. Added them on the bumper, too, with holsters by the mirrors to shoot more stakes."

"Sounds like a proper porcupine," Spike said, impressed.

"It's one sweet ride." Rondell pressed his lips together, looking pensive. "Gunn souped up the first one; we modeled it after that. Kept a lot of his ideas when he left. Could make something from nothing, and it's not like Sears markets good dusting products; you know what I mean. 'Sides. We don't got the dough. Don't need it."

"The hubcap axes," Spike said.

Rondell shrugged. "Started making them after he left."

"Now he's using them against you." Spike tapped some ash out from his cigarette. "Your people can't be blamed for that. Need a good weapon. And, speaking as a vampire, axes are good. One of the scariest things that's happened to me was an axe attack. 'Course, that was partly 'cause it was a mother wielding it."

Laughing, Rondell said, "Tell me about it. Rogette's got a kid that's four months; you should see her on patrol."

Spike waved around his cigarette. "Don't even talk to me about mums. Fucking scary, mate."

"Yeah," said Angel, who'd been listening in with nothing to say, but unable to stop because he kept thinking about Gunn. "Once there was this pregnant lady, and I had to joust for her. You know, on a horse. And then I killed the guy, but she didn't even thank me."

Spike and Rondell looked at him.

"Let me see that cross-bow," Spike said, turning away to the weapon. "Looks like you have a faulty mechanism."

"Don't use it much, anyway," Rondell said, turning also. "But Annie here wanted some protection. She's not much for hand to hand, like us. Just wants to protect her kids."

"I get that." Spike fiddled with the trigger on the bow. "But you got to protect yourself, too. A Slayer can shoot this once, drop it and fight, but you've got to learn how to hang back. Or you won't hang on."

"I hang on pretty good," Rondell said.

Spike looked at him, cigarette back in his mouth, wreathing his sharp face, furrowed forehead, in lazy smoke. "Again, I get that." Slowly, he began to smirk. "So, lemme see this truck."

"It's back at our place." Then Rondell smiled, too. "But I can show you my splinter rifle."

"Lead the way," Spike said, and they went.

Angel kind of stood there and watched them go.

Then he went over to help Nina and Anne, who were re-shelving some books and game boards and things. "I've been telling her Spike's on our side," Nina said.

"Oh yeah, that Spike, he's great," Angel said.

Nina looked at him strangely, and Anne said, "Maybe he is. But you're not."

Angel paused, standing there stupidly, holding one of the games.

"You can't come in here and throw my people around," Anne continued. "I know that's the way you're familiar with doing things, but not in here. Not on my turf."

"But he shot . . ." Angel trailed off, his hand clutching spasmodically on the Game Of Life.

"Okay." Anne slammed down a pile of books and turned to him. "What part of, 'we just got attacked by a cadre of vampires' do you not understand? And you come in here and attack us again? Not to mention that the other vamps were sent by a guy I used to care about. I called Rondell over here to help protect this place, and that's not even going into the fact that Rondell cared about Gunn, too."

"I cared about Gunn."

Anne looked at him skeptically. "Right, like you cared about all your employees? Didn't one of them get shot? I seem to remember guns don't really hurt vampires. Kinda funny, then, how you weren't there to take the bullet. But maybe you had more important things to do. Maybe you had Wolfram and Hart to fight. Oh, wait, I forgot. You run that company."

"Not any more," Angel said, pointlessly. "Gunn chose to work there too."

"Maybe because he wanted to do some good. Maybe because he never was doing any good, once he started catering to you, and all your issues. Because you always have something more important going on."

"Now wait just a minute," Nina said, grabbing the Game Of Life out of Angel's hands and setting it down. She turned, which kind of put her standing between Anne and Angel. Angel wanted to push Nina aside, tell her not to interfere. He wanted Anne to keep going.

"Angel was trying to take down Wolfram and Hart from the inside," Nina was saying. "And Gunn was too. They did it together, and decided on it together. If you cared about him you wouldn't belittle what Gunn died for."

Anne looked down at her. She was a little taller, but they were both blonde. Buffy would have been smaller than both. Cordelia would have been taller than all three.

Angel could feel his splinters inside him again.

"I don't know what Gunn was doing there," Anne said finally, going back to shelving books. "I don't want to know. I don't want to know where he learned Gilbert and Sullivan, either. I'm just looking after me and mine."

"Alright," Nina said. "Me too. Which is why we have to work together."

"I take it where I can get it." Anne glanced over at Nina and smiled breifly. "I didn't mean to lay into you, anyway. You haven't done anything."

Nina didn't smile. "I work on a team," she said. "We do things together."

"I get it," Anne said. "Look, it seems like Gunn is targeting--like, home bases."

"What do you mean?" Nina said, all business now.

"Okay, two weeks ago, his guys attacked Rondell's hide-out. They have like a HQ, in the sewers, where they gear up for patrols, make weapons, plan, sometimes live. Hovel, mostly, that's how come it isn't smeared all over the paper like mine, but they lost two guys. Two good people. Week later, you say they attack your offices, right? Now it's been another week, and . . . this place." Anne looked around at the broken windows, one of the doors half ripped from its hinges, the broken furniture.

"So, we should figure out who and what else is important to Gunn," Nina guessed.

"The hotel," Angel said.

"Alonna's youth center," Anne said at the same time. She glanced at Angel. "Alonna was his sister," she told Nina. "She used to go to it after school; later she volunteered there. Besides this place, Gunn used to help there a lot. Until he got a new job," she added, not looking at Angel.

"Well, both," Nina said. "And other places too. We mark out everywhere we think might be important."

"And then stake them out," Angel concluded. "Exactly one week from today. Set up protections, guards, so we'll be ready. If we can capture one of the lackeys," Angel went on, "maybe we can find out where Gunn's base of operations is."

"Rondell's people will be glad for that," Anne said.

Frowning, Angel said, "Maybe they should stay out of it."

Anne rolled her eyes, still looking at Nina. "That's what happens to working together."

"No," Nina said. "We'll need to keep all our people on this, on a rotating basis. We need Illyria, too."

"Come look at this," Spike was calling, walking into the room, holding a javelin. Spike was practically beaming. "This shit is bloody brilliant." When Nina and Anne looked over he held up the javelin and leered. "And pleasingly phallic, innit?"

*

A day or two after Spike got the Tibia of Derekis, he and Angel were arguing over how to get the crystal. Well, it started out being about how to get the crystal, but ended up being about Spike not getting the dog killed. And it started out as arguing, but ended up with them rolling around the office punching each other's faces.

"You can't do that," Angel was saying, rolling so Spike's fist hit the floor. "He's just a dog!"

"Lots of dogs do." Spike tried to knee his groin.

Angel blocked and punched Spike in the side of the head. "Name one!"

"Bloody Lassie! Lassie, you idiot! Rin Tin Tin! Scooby Fucking Doo where are you! Christ!" Spike tried to punctuate every name with another kick.

Angel wrapped a thick arm around his neck. "Those are TV dogs!"

"What the hell are you doing?" Nina demanded, coming in. So Angel had to let go, but he was kind of bitter about it, seeing as how he'd had Spike, there.

"What's wrong with you two?" Nina hadn't seen them fight like that in a while. Mostly because they tried harder to do it when she wasn't around.

"He wants to train the puppy to rip people's throats out," Angel said, standing up.

"Well, yeah." Spike stood and brushed himself off. "Wanted to name him Mauler, too."

The puppy scratched inside his crate, obviously hearing its name and wanting to go sit at Spike's feet and pant its puppy smile.

"You can't take him out on cases," Angel muttered. "You'll get him killed."

"Why should you care?" Spike demanded. "And anyway, he could be a rescue dog."

"What?"

"Balto, kind of," Spike said, "except completely not."

"Um, Balto's also TV," Nina said. "My niece owns that movie."

"Movie, not TV," Spike pointed out.

"Balto was a real dog," Angel said, and realized that didn't help anyone. Well, it helped Spike, but no one wanted to help Spike.

"Rufus is not going to rip throats," Nina said. Spike looked over her shoulder at her clipboard as she wrote on it, maybe to see if teaching Rufus to rip throats had been on the list and she was just crossing it off. "Nor is he going to be called Mauler," Nina went on. She looked at Spike and then at the kennel. "What kind of dog is it, anyway?"

Then Nina and Spike looked at Angel.

"They didn't tell you at the vet?" Nina finally asked.

"Um," Angel said. "I didn't ask. They said at the auction. But I forgot."

"Bloody typical."

"You forgot?" Nina asked incredulously.

"Uh," Angel said. "Some kind of sight-hound?" He figured he'd better not mention again that the auction had been evil. He guessed everyone knew that by now, even if they didn't act like it.

They all looked at the kennel.

"The dog is in a superposition of eigenstates," Illyria said helpfully, entering the main room of the offices. "Or would be, if you'd gotten me my Geiger."

"At least someone is please thinking of the puppies," Spike muttered.

"Now that we're all here," Nina said, and settled into meeting mode. "Did you guys come up with any way to get the crystal?"

Spike and Angel looked at each other.

"At least someone is please thinking of their duties as a superhero," Illyria said, sniffing. "On that note I wish to wear Wonderwoman's bikini."

"That's nice," Nina said, marking something down on the list. Possibly to buy Illyria a Wonderwoman bikini; she still liked to give them gifts from time to time. "But what's your plan?"

Illyria blinked. "That is my plan. I will wear a Wonderwoman bikini and seduce the Broodmother to temporarily deactivate the hive mind so that I might enter the cave and retrieve the crystal."

"So, Vila is just practice?" Spike asked.

Angel was about to tell him not to be an asshole when Nina nodded, and added, "We don't want to see you get his hopes up only to dash them again."

"And dash him," Spike put in. "With the whole way you fractured his wrist and that."

"It was an accident," Illyria said. "I won't hurt Bob. We are embarking upon a relationship built on mutual attraction, respect for each other's values, and lots of sex."

"Hello, Anya." Spike's tone was sarcastic, but his mouth was tight and he was looking at his hands.

"That's really nice, Illyria," Nina said thoughtfully. "I'm so glad you two are finally back together."

Spike's voice moved from sarcastic on into bitter. "Last time I checked this wasn't Relationships Anonymous."

"Your plan could work," Angel told Illyria. "Not sure about the Wonderwoman bit, but the Broodmother is notoriously sensual. But I think I--"

"I should go," Spike said suddenly.

Angel's jaw hung open. "Why you?"

"Because I'm prettier than Illyria."

"I was going to say that I should go," Angel said.

"Hello?" Nina waved a hand. "Prettiest of them all?"

"Not you," Angel said.

Spike rolled his eyes. "What Prince Charming means here is that the Broodmother has a noticeable predilection for the masculine."

"Of course you're prettiest," Angel said hurriedly. "But yeah. With, the masculine. Stuff. You're not masculine, Nina. Very feminine."

"Huh," Nina said.

Angel took her hand. "Very delicate. In a really strong way. But gracefully," he added. The things was, everything he'd said with Buffy had been right, and with Cordelia, all you had to do was say she was gorgeous and she'd give you that big teeth smile, and sometimes pat his shoulder.

"I'll be over here," Spike said. "Gagging myself with this bone."

"You and Spike could both go," Nina told Angel, taking her hand away. "It could be like that time you had to pretend you were--"

"No," Spike and Angel said at the same time.

"It couldn't be like that," Angel elucidated.

"Yes, never," Spike said fervently.

"But still one of you." Nina scribbled something on the list. "I mean, Illyria shouldn't go either. 'Cause she's . . . female. Um, right?"

Spike set down his bone and looked at Angel. Then they both looked at Illyria. "Illyria's kind of . . ." Angel began.

"So I'm not feminine?" Illyria said, in a dangerous tone. "I'll show you feminine."

"You could strap on my bone," Spike offered, and snickered.

"I just think you'd better let me do it," Angel told Illyria.

Illyria did not seem mollified. "Why is the aggressive female so ostracized in today's society?"

Angel held up his hands. "Hey. I like aggressive females."

"Me too," Spike said.

They both kind of got dreamy eyed for a minute.

Illyria did seem a little comforted by that. "I'm studying to be a dominatrix."

"There are um. Classes?" Nina swallowed.

"I said I never wanted to hear about that," Angel said.

"I said I wanted to hear all about it," Spike said. "You never did any demonstrations."

"No, really," Nina pressed. "I mean, you already have the outfit."

"And the a lot of the equipment," Spike added. Nina was poised to write on her clipboard, maybe in case Illyria turned out to be lacking in equipment after all. Angel thought Spike was probably thinking she lacked a strap-on tibia. "Down there in the basement."

"And you've got the personality, definitely," Nina added.

"And a lot of Vila," Spike said.

"What do you actually need to study?" Angel concluded.

"Bob," Illyria answered.

Nina beamed with pride at that answer. Angel still felt confused. Spike looked at the clock on his desk and said, "Well, muchachos. Time flies. See ya."

"Where are you going?" Nina set down her clipboard in alarm. "You haven't even taken patrol or anything."

"Got a hot date." Spike was going over toward his coat.

"In the late afternoon?" Nina asked.

"Everyone's got dates these days." Angel suddenly felt sullen. He felt Nina looking at him and added, "Well, we do too. But I mean, our dates are good."

The last one had started out kind of rough, but ended up nice. He had found out she liked cacti and ochre and rare steaks, which he had known before, but it wasn't just because some people liked them rare. He guessed he should have known that before too, so he tried to make it up to her. If he didn't know her favorite songs, he knew how she liked to be touched; if he didn't know what all her dreams were he knew them well enough that night. He could be gentle and romantic; he could try to be what she believed he was.

Spike shrugging his coat on snapped Angel back into the present, and he frowned. "Date with who?" he asked. "Probably with a--" He cut himself off. Spike was standing there, coat half on, waiting for him to finish. Looking like he had the other evening, when they were fighting vampires, and he'd been waiting for one of them to come at him, just daring them to knock him down. Angel swallowed and said feebly, "Girl?"

Spike finished putting on his coat. "Actually, it's a boy," he said, turning away. "Tall, blue eyes, big hands, red lips, soft hair. You might've seen him around a time or two; I think you know him or--fuck," he announced, because Angel had slammed him against the wall. "I was joking."

"I," Angel said. Then: "Oh." He let Spike up. "Well, don't joke. It's not funny."

"Don't have to be so sodding sensitive."

"Give it a rest, Spike," Nina said tiredly. She knew Angel loved Connor for reasons he never explained when she asked him. When Spike went around making his bad jokes she was usually on Angel's side, except for that time when they almost started going out after the alley, and she'd thought she should know the truth, and Angel had told her to fuck off.

"It's nothing to do with your pretty boy. And I don't have a date," Spike said, with a similar kind of exhaustion. "It's business, okay? Give it a rest." He glared at Nina, and left.

"That was odd." Nina was looking down, doodling sadly on her clipboard.

"Not so much," Illyria said.

Angel nodded. "Remember when he was quitting once a day?"

"Good times," Illyria agreed.

Nina sighed. "So, romancing the stone."

Shaking her head, Illyria said, "Michael Douglas does nothing for me."

"Oh, I like Kathleen Turner," Nina said.

Angel took a moment to process Nina liking Kathleen Turner and the fantasies this entailed.

"I found her character demeaning." Illyria waved her hand in a dismissive gesture.

Nina just sighed again. "Sure. So I guess it's you and Angel who've got a date tonight. Find out what you can about seducing the Broodmother and getting the crystal, but we're not operating without Spike on this. Strictly recon."

"What about you?" Angel asked, frowning.

Nina blinked. "I have a hot date, too."

Angel looked at her. For some reason all he could remember was Spike saying he wasn't nice, and that he was on the rocks with her. He wondered abstractly whether he was going to lose her, because he wasn't good enough to keep her, hadn't been. He'd thought before about asking her to stab him and dig around in there for the bits of wood Spike had missed; he wondered if he could get her to do it before she left him, if she was going to leave.

Buffy had stabbed him once.

And then he'd been in Hell, so really, he'd done it all before.

He shook all those feelings away. It was easier to read her face than himself, and he felt a little relieved. "Night before full moon," he ventured.

"Yes," Nina said steadily. "What did you think I meant?"

"I'll stay with you," Angel offered.

Nina looked pleased, smiled, and said, "I'm a big girl, Angel. But it's a bigger cage. Come see me slobber after you and Illyria do your work."

He took her to his warehouse just before dusk, and watched as she got undressed. She walked into the cage and closed it. He came up to lock it, but afterwards stood there, and put his arm through the bars. She brought his hand up to her face. "I'm glad we have this," he said.

"Um," she said, and looked around the cage. "This?"

"No," he said, stroking her cheek. "Us."

"Oh, that." She laughed. "Well, you should go. Or I'll be gone and so will you. Us will be you in my belly. You'll give me indigestion for weeks."

He didn't want to tell her that he wouldn't be gone. Even getting eaten by a werewolf wouldn't kill a vampire. It wasn't her any more, but he would still be him, even ripped to shreds. He let go of her hand, stepped back, and watched as she became something else. He looked at his hand, where she had touched him, the same hand as centuries before, and left.

*

After the attack on Anne's shelter, and Ash Agency's subsequent visit, Anne, Angel, and Rondell composed a list of places Gunn might hit next. They added rankings of how important each place was, trying to establish a percentile for each about how likely it was to be attacked, and how many people they should keep to protect each place. They didn't argue, but there was a strange kind of tension. Rondell thought he knew Gunn best, and Anne seemed to agree with him. Angel kind of agreed with him too, but kept thinking about the way Gunn had loved to watch Fred eat, the way Gunn and Wesley had picked out movie stars and superheroes to pretend to be right before big battles, the way Cordy had mother-henned Gunn sometimes, the way Gunn had told her, "I wish Alonna had known you."

"Think we'd've gotten along?" Cordy had said, pleased.

"Hell no," Gunn had said. "Just wanna know who'd've won the cat fight."

Cordy had still seemed pleased.

Maybe it was because she knew Gunn hadn't meant it. Maybe it was because she knew Gunn had meant it after all, but meant something else by it too, something so dear he couldn't speak it.

Maybe it was because she knew Gunn.

Angel even kept thinking about the way Gunn and Lorne had traded lyrics back and forth once Gunn's brain passed the bar. For some reason Angel could remember all those things about Gunn, Gunn with Fred, with Wesley, with Cordy and Lorne, but the only thing he could remember about Gunn and himself was about how they'd never be friends. So he guessed Rondell knew Gunn better, but it made Angel feel frustrated and his chest hurt and he was hungry. And being hungry was never good, because Anne and Rondell would notice if he started looking at their necks.

And it also made Angel want to be able to name more of Gunn's special places than Rondell. He named the restaurant Gunn used to eat at with Fred, Cordy's, Wesley's, Caritas, which Rondell said first, and even the White Room, which made Spike look at him strangely and Nina pat his arm. And yeah, Nina and Spike had to be there for some reason, even though only Angel and Rondell had fought and bled with Gunn. Angel would've added that they were the only two who had lived with Gunn, also, except Angel hadn't lived with Gunn, because he was dead.

And Spike had to keep talking to Rondell about weapons and fighting vampires. Whenever Angel talked about fighting vampires, they started talking about, Angel didn't know, Mario Smash Brothers and where to get good buffalo wings and basketball instead. And really, that was just rude, because Spike shouldn't know anything about basketball, but apparently he did.

And Anne and Nina had to start getting along and be so blonde.

And in the midst of brainstorming Anne had to bring out coffee for everyone sitting around the pingpong table just like a meeting, and Angel had to say no because he was already jumpy and caffeine made him jumpier, and he always said no because vampires didn't need any liquid sustenance besides blood, and he still felt like he was starving. And Spike had to say yes, and give Anne this look, this slightly unfocused, sad look. "You remind me of someone I knew once," Spike told Anne. "Good friend."

"Huh," Anne said. "We'll see."

"That's what I mean," Spike said. "You just take people as they are, don't judge. And that's just the way she was."

"I don't know," Anne said, still skeptical. "You bit me. But people change," she added, after a while.

"See, not everyone thinks that way. Plus, she always had a cuppa ready."

Anne smiled. "Sugar?"

"Please," Spike said, just as if he was always going around being polite to everyone and taking sugar in his coffee and saying please.

Later Spike said the woman Anne reminded him of had been named Joyce. Angel remembered how he and Joyce had never gotten along, and hated Spike for that.

And then Illyria joined the little list-making session, and she wasn't any help either. "I don't understand your business venture," she told Anne.

"Um, because it's not a business venture?" Anne guessed. "It's not for profit."

"That is what I do not understand," Illyria said, and proceeded to outline three entrepreneurial schemes for the independent business person she had learned from reading BusinessWeek.

"What is it with former demons and economics?" Spike asked. "I demand an independent voice in this world of corporate oppression," he continued, turning to Nina. "And until you give me that, you can find me with the union."

"What's that about?" Anne asked, after he had left.

"Spike likes to quit," Nina explained.

"Unions are the downfall of efficient business." Illyria paused. "I admire fascism."

By the time Angel, Nina and Illyria got back to the office, Spike was there chatting up Faith.

They were laughing, Faith sitting on Angel's desk and Spike in Angel's desk chair, which Angel didn't understand because Spike's desk was two feet over and untouched.

Angel stood dumbly in the entrance to the main room of the office. "What are you doing here?"

Faith immediately stopped laughing and got off his desk. But the sober, slightly uncertain expression was gone in a second, and then she was smirking. "What, not happy to see me?"

"I just didn't expect," he began, and stopped. "Of course I'm glad to see you."

"That Angel," Faith told Spike. "He's such a touchy feely person."

Angel's hand twitched by his side, but he stayed there standing in that doorway.

"Who's this?" Nina said, coming out around him.

"And what's she wearing?" Illyria said, coming out from the other side.

Faith laughed. "Your harem, I presume?"

Spike snorted and Angel didn't know what to say.

Then Faith came over and hugged him. Angel thought about Gunn, thought about the long meeting they'd just had at Anne's shelter, about how Rondell knew Gunn better and Anne reminded Spike of Joyce. It made Angel want to touch her, Faith's lean body up against him, Faith who reminded him of a child locked in a closet who couldn't get out, who reminded him of how good it felt to kill, who reminded him sometimes of Drusilla. He wanted to hold her for a long time and hear that she had come out into the sunlight, that she only killed the bad guys now and that he had helped her do that. He wanted her to hold him back like he had held her in that alley--not in the battle with the Black Thorn, but a very similar one; they were all the same, really. She had asked him to kill her because she was bad, and he would not do it for her. He wanted to hold her like that, and ask about Buffy.

He settled for patting her awkwardly on the back.

Faith pulled away. Illyria seemed to be looking at them with curiosity. Nina seemed to be looking at them with tight lips and blank eyes. Spike seemed to be looking for his lighter.

Angel introduced Faith to Nina and Illyria. Nina still looked disgruntled when she found out Faith was a Slayer, but then maybe she remembered the name was Faith, not Buffy, and shook Faith's hand. Illyria still wanted to know what Faith was wearing, possibly because it was mostly leather.

"You're one to talk, motorcycle mama," Faith told her derisively.

"She does ride a Harley," Nina volunteered.

"Does she really." Faith looked at Illyria with new eyes. "Fucking sweet," she said. "Take me for a ride?"

Illyria returned the look. "If you're good," she told her, and smirked a little.

"You can trust me to be bad," Faith said, and Angel was mildly impressed. As of yet he'd never seen anyone but Bob have the nerve to flirt with Illyria.

Illyria seemed pleased. Later she started calling Faith Specimen Six Hundred And Sixty Nine, but no one knew if that was the number that was next in order of specimens, or whether that was just Illyria.

"This bad." Spike tapped his crumpled box of cigarettes on the palm of his hand. "Does it have anything to do with mud wrestling?"

"Was going to come a few months earlier." Faith put her big boots up on Angel's desk. "But there was an apocalypse in Ohio, so I got held up."

"Your apocalypses last 'a few months'?" This was before Illyria decided to name Faith Specimen Six Hundred And Sixty Nine. Faith was still in the testing stage with her; Illyria hadn't decided yet what she'd be.

"Don't be hating," Faith said. This was also before Illyria had made full payments on the microscope, but Faith squirmed a little, like she was under one. "Hellmouth action can take a while. 'Sides, they're not like Buffy's apocalypses. Hers always take nine whole months." Faith looked around at the three of them, them whose apocalypse had lasted a day and a half at most. "She gets summers off, too."

"Not one summer," Spike sharply reprimanded the cigarette he appeared to be talking to.

"You kidding? Heaven," she told Nina and Illyria. "You ask me, that's off. That's a vacation. That's Maui, baby."

Nina laughed. "Maybe Heaven is cooler than Maui."

Illyria was head tilting at Faith, smiling. Angel didn't smile. Spike got up to stomp out.

He paused at the door, but didn't turn around. "Going for a fag outside, if anyone wants."

Apparently no one wanted, and Spike stalked the rest of the way out.

"You were coming to help us?" Angel said finally. "You said you meant to come a couple months ago."

"Yeah, your whole thing," Faith said. "Guess I missed the show?"

Nina looked at the other two, who didn't say anything. "You could say that."

"No you can't," Illyria said. "It was not for show."

Angel sat down heavily at Spike's desk, not really wanting to talk about it. "Maybe it was," he said, and they were silent for a while.

"Some Circle of the Black Thorn shit." Faith said it expectantly, maybe thinking they would volunteer. "I don't know, Buffy said."

"Buffy sent you?" Angel said finally.

"Well, no." She took her boots of the desk.

"Oh." Angel looked away. Spike had left his stupid lighter on the desk.

"Maybe I'll have that smoke," Faith said suddenly. "The flight kinda has me jittery, and, you know, time change. See you tomorrow?" she asked Angel.

"I'm glad you came, Faith," he told her.

She looked like she was going to touch him, but then she didn't. Instead she passed right by him to go out to Spike.

*

With Nina in her cage and Spike out on mysterious business, Illyria and Angel were doing recon on the Broodmother. It was kind of like a stake-out, watching the entrance to the cellar which contained the entrance to the cave, watching who went in and who went out, trying to pick up any info on her slimy, tentacled holiness.

It was kind of boring, really.

"So, you and Bob," Angel said. They were sitting in his car, and he was trying to make conversation, which was sometimes difficult when it was the two of them. When Angel did stake-outs with Spike, Spike yapped his ear off. When he did stake-outs with Nina, they talked about art and movies and fighting evil; when they got bored of that, they started necking.

"What about me and Bob?" Illyria had her seat belt on even though they weren't driving. For a while she had been obsessed with safety. She had made them all badges that said, "I play it safe around the workplace," which Angel and Spike had had fun wearing while running out of burning buildings.

"I just thought it was interesting you're going out with him again," Angel said. "We thought you two were over."

"We were never over," Illyria said. "Bob is my on again off again love interest."

"That's nice." Angel actually thought it kind of was. Nice. "What does he like?" Angel asked, after a while. He'd been thinking about this a lot, lately, about how Spike had accused him of not really knowing Nina.

"Bob likes wood." Illyria hadn't stopped watching the cellar entrance. "He likes a man called Neil Young, golf, and something called hi-def which I have not yet determined the use of. Bob likes me," she added.

"And you like him," Angel concluded. Illyria nodded and they were silent for a while. "Why?" Angel asked suddenly. "Why do you like him?"

Illyria finally turned to look at him. She stayed that way for several long moments with her hard, unblinking eyes, and Angel took the opportunity to stare at the cellar instead. "He does not mind that I am blue," Illyria said finally, and looked away again.

Angel turned a little in his chair. "What? Do you . . ." He searched for words. "I didn't know that you minded being blue."

"I don't. And neither does Bob."

"Oh." Angel sat there for a while. A man with a hood went down into the cellar, carrying a package of some sort. Angel strained to see his face, but the angle was wrong. "Maybe we should check that one when he comes back out," Angel suggested. "I knew that you had the whole . . . gender issues thing," he went on. "And the former God King issues thing. And the Fred--I mean, shell--issues thing. But I didn't know you had an . . . issues thing about being blue."

"Just because Grover was never as lyrical about it as Kermit doesn't mean that it's easy being blue." Illyria did not look over.

"I don't mind you being blue," Angel offered.

"People look at me funny."

"Well," Angel said, not knowing what to say. "Well, they're stupid."

Illyria was quiet for a long time again. "I might be using blue in the sense of what you call metonymy," she said at last. Her voice was softer, the way it was sometimes when she acted more human. "That would be a figure of speech that uses one concept to represent that of something larger, such as--"

"I know what metonymy is." Angel said it kindly.

"Yes. Okay. What I mean is, perhaps blue is merely a symbol of all my other . . . issue things. The point is . . ." Illyria's eyes flickered brown, which Angel found interesting, considering so much talk of blue. "Bob likes me for who I am. Every part of me. From this to . . ."

Then Fred was sitting there, and she looked so sad. "This," she finished saying. "And it doesn't bother him that I am one or the other or both or nothing. I tell him I am a woman so he respects me as a woman, but no labels matter to him. I am Illyria to him, and it is enough."

"And blue," Angel suggested.

"Yes." Illyria changed back again.

Angel looked out at the cellar. "I was just thinking about Nina," he said finally.

"You respect Nina as a woman," Illyria said.

Angel frowned. "More than respect. And more than as a woman." He thought about that. "A warrior, too," he said finally.

"You worship her as such." Angel, surprised, didn't say anything. "And you respect her as a werewolf, too."

"It's just a part of her," Angel said. "Who she is. So yeah, I guess."

"That is good," Illyria said, and they didn't say any more.

Angel knew that it was good. But he wondered about respecting Nina as just Nina, and whether that was enough, as Illyria was for Bob.

Angel didn't know. He didn't really know if that was enough for anyone, whether anyone in the world could really feel that way about each other. Whether sons felt that for their fathers or sisters for their brothers, friends for their friends or lovers for their lovers.

Then he remembered something Faith had said, about not being able to stand something that could love him for exactly who he was.

Angel supposed he was enough for the goddamn dog, and that would have to do.

*

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