SPOILER WARNING: Everything up to Becoming.
RATING: PG-13
SUMMARY: This part happens roughly two and half years after Becoming. Melinda and I wrote this story in an alternating style. I wrote the odd numbered parts(past) and she wrote the even(present). Enjoy!
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Buffy & Co. Joss Whedon and the WB do. No copyright infringement intended.

The soft sound of a boot scraping over concrete pulled Angel from his reverie. He spun around, his eyes searching the darkness as he took a step away from the bench he'd been leaning on. Instantly, he was alert and prepared for battle. Silently, he cursed himself for not paying more attention to his surroundings. He, of all people, was intimately aware of the monsters who roamed the night searching for easy prey.

Methodically, Angel's mind formulated and discarded various scenarios and plans of attack. In his weakened state he didn't have a chance of winning this fight if it turned into a brawl, but maybe he could beat his opponent with guile.

Angel glanced around the cemetery, searching for a position that would give him a better tactical advantage. This was not a good place for a fight. The myriad headstones and mausoleums made hiding easy and defense difficult. Angel growled in frustration. He was already in the best place possible. The open ground around the bench gave him room to maneuver and the unobstructed field of view would allow him to see an attack coming.

Angel had come to the cemetery to wallow in guilt, to revel in his pain, not to fight. Why did the beasties always have to ruin everything? Why couldn't they just leave a man to his misery? This was 'their' place. He and Buffy had spent many an hour here, first getting to know each other and then just spending time together. Hanging out here was depressing and perhaps a bit morbid, but Angel found comfort in the familiar surroundings. As if this place brought him closer to the girl he could never have.

"She said I would find you here..." a familiar voice said from the concealing darkness. Angel winced and straightened from his fighting stance. This wasn't going to be a fight, but it wasn't something he was looking forward to either. In fact, he had been trying to avoid this.

"Still brooding I see..." the voice said, moving around his left side. Angel squinted, his eyes searching the blackness.

A slight movement betrayed his stalker's position and Angel got his first glimpse of his shadow. Cocky, arrogant Whistler. The smaller man strolled into the light, his hands buried in the deep pockets of his coat. Angel sighed in annoyance and took a seat on the bench.

Whistler glided to a stop a few feet from the ex-vampire. "I'm glad to see that you're finally up and around." The plucky little demon smirked down at him. "And that she finally let you out of that blasted chair," he joked, his mouth stretching into a sympathetic smile.

Angel stared up at his mentor, his eyes narrowed in annoyance. Whistler wasn't a threat, but he could be a royal pain in the butt. Angel allowed himself to relax. He figured Willow had sent Whistler to fetch him home or to talk some 'sense' into him.

"Don't worry," Whistler said. "I'm not here to drag you back. They wouldn't let me anyway," he said absently, raising his hand to point over Angel's shoulder.

Angel glanced over his shoulder at the two bodyguards waiting not far away. He'd completely forgotten that they had followed him when he left the house. They were always around and had become part of the scenery to him. The only time both of them didn't follow him was when Willow left the house, then one went with her and the other stayed with him.

Angel smiled to himself. He'd protested the need for a bodyguard, but Willow had told him it wasn't open for discussion. He'd tried reasoning with the men, telling them that he didn't need looking after, but they ignored him. Willow had decreed he have at least one guard with him at all times, except when he was in his room, and they'd not left him alone since.

Angel turned back to find Whistler staring at him. Angel looked him up and down. "She said you would find me here?" he queried.

"Yeah, Willow told me where to find you," Whistler confirmed. He took the remaining steps to the bench and sat down.

Angel scowled, turning away from Whistler. "I don't need a babysitter," he mumbled under his breath.

"I had no choice," Whistler apologized. "It was either track you down or Willow would have my balls."

Angel turned back to face the smaller man, his eyebrows raised in disbelief. "Willow?" he parroted.

Whistler considered him for a long moment; obviously, he was trying to decide if Angel was soft in the head. "Yes, Willow," he snapped. "You know Willow... About yay tall," he quipped, holding his hand up to indicate her approximate height. "Flaming red hair, exceptionally devious... that Willow... unless you know another one you'd like me to meet," he remarked sarcastically. "Sweet, harmless Willow," he mumbled under his breath. Despite the immense love for her that was readily apparent in his voice, it was obvious that he thought her neither sweet nor harmless.

Angel suppressed the urge to backhand the little demon. He wasn't in the mood for any nonsense and Whistler was deliberately pushing his buttons. The only person he let talk to him like that was... Willow. In his mind Angel was unable to make a connection between sweet Willow and Whistler's supposed devil child. Still, the last four months had given Angel a new appreciation of just how stubborn 'sweet' Willow could be.

Absently, Angel fingered his cane as he briefly considered rapping Whistler with it - 'just because'. He only carried the cane at Willow's request. He complained and argued with her about her treating him like an invalid, but he'd never admit to her that sometimes he really needed it. Or that it was all that kept him from falling when he was very tired.

Whistler opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it suddenly. He returned to silently watching Angel for a moment before stretching his legs out in front of him.

"So how are you feeling?" Whistler asked conversationally. Angel's head snapped around. Whistler stretched, lacing his hands behind his head as he considered the brooding ex-vampire.

Angel stared at the smaller man as though he'd not understood a word he'd said. "P-Pardon me?" he stammered. The last time they'd talked it ended in a very heated argument. It had almost come to blows when Willow intervened. Angel didn't think the smaller demon would want to talk to him again after the way their last encounter ended.

"How are you feeling?" Whistler repeated, slower and a bit louder.

Angel considered Whistler for a long moment before he answered. "I'm better," he replied uncertainly, shifting slightly in his seat. This civil, friendly attitude was not what he'd expected. Something was up. "What's your game, Whistler?" he asked, his voice taking on a steel edge and his eyes narrowing suspiciously. He wanted to get this over with.

"No game," Whistler snapped. He sat up, straightening his coat and smoothing his shirt. "I was just wondering if you were going after the Slayer," he stated sharply. Whistler's eyes met his, holding him, studying him as if to find the answer.

"What do you care?" Angel hissed, turning abruptly away. He seemed to fold in on himself, as if he were retreating. His head came to rest in his hands. "What does anyone care?" he mumbled under his breath.

"Actually, I don't," Whistler quipped forcefully, covering his irritation. He'd never let Angel know that he was very worried about the petite, blonde Slayer. "But, I might have news as to her whereabouts."

Angel turned back towards Whistler, his eyes alight with sudden hope. "You know where she is?" he asked, barely containing his excitement. Angel leaned closer, as if he were afraid he would miss Whistlers words.

"No," Whistler said, holding his hands up in a steadying gesture. "I've heard rumors of Slayer type activity in San Francisco, but no actual confirmation." He watched as the light in Angel's eyes died and was replaced with guilt and remorse.

Angel shrugged. "Doesn't matter," he growled. "She wouldn't want to see me. And she doesn't need me messing up her life." He turned away, hunching his shoulders under an almost physical burden of guilt. Whistler could see hardness in his face and pain in his eyes. Angel said those words, but he couldn't quite make himself believe them.

"Whatever," Whistler remarked. He played the part of smart ass demon, but he didn't feel up to it right now. Willow had told him that Angel was going for the brooding record, but he'd never imagined he was this bad.

Angel sat wallowing in his pain and guilt. Whistler quietly watched him. Right now, Angel reminded him so much of the pathetic creature he'd been when he'd dragged out of that alley in New York. Like some vile, raveneous creature, Angel's guilt ate at him, gnawing at his soul until he was nothing but a hollow shell.

Whistler turned to stare thoughtfully at his hands. God, he hated having to play the 'bad cop', but Willow didn't have it in her to be the strength Angel needed to take the next step. She had argued with him not to do this tonight. She didn't feel Angel was strong enough yet. But, even she knew something was going to have to be done to shove Angel in the right direction. That something was Whistler. It was time to stop pulling punches.

"You're spoiled and selfish," Whistler stated coldly. His words bit at Angel, pulling him from his brooding. Whistler turned to face him. The dark-haired ex-vampire glared at him. "You are," he affirmed evenly. "Willow babies you. She lets you wallow in guilt when she ought to be kicking your sorry ass." His words were cruel. "You're a coward." Angel leaned toward Whistler, his face twisted into an angry scowl.

"You don't scare me," Whistler scoffed, ignoring Angel's attempt to intimidate him. "You're yellow. You're afraid to face Buffy," he taunted. "Well, it's time to eat the fruit from the bitter seeds you've sown."

Whistler stood up and turned to look at Angel. "You're pathetic. Don't you get it?" he demanded angrily. "You don't matter. You're just another nameless demon. She is the Slayer. Your pain, your guilt, your pathetic little problems don't matter. She needs to be here, doing her duty." Whistler stopped his tirade and walked a few steps down the sidewalk. "You need to do whatever is required to bring her back," he stated as he melted into the shadows. "It's the least you can do," his bodiless voice said from the darkness.

Lost in thought, Angel stared at the spot where Whistler had disappeared. He didn't like what Whistler had said, but maybe he was right.

Angel settled onto the bench to think, or brood, as Willow would have said. Either way, it was something he did well. He had had years to think of nothing but his crimes. Long years of self torture and guilt. Years spent hiding from the world and from himself.

That's what he was doing now. Hiding. "How selfish can I be?" he whispered to the night. Whistler was more than right. His pain was nothing compared to what he'd put Buffy through. Nothing compared to his obligations. He had asked for a chance to be a person, to make a difference.

His chance had been the Slayer. Angel, once one of the most vicious vampires to ever walk the earth, stood beside the Slayer in the fight against evil and he had made a difference for a while... Until they had made a mistake that almost cost Buffy her life. This was his second chance to make a difference and he was hiding. Hiding from her and from himself. And from the pain.

She was the Slayer and she was all that mattered. He was nothing... without her. Angel nodded to himself, clenching his fists. Willow and Whistler were right, he should go after her. Not for himself, but for Buffy.

Angel set aside his pain with a new resolve and determination born of will and spirit that even Hell could not have beaten back. Having decided, he leapt to his feet and headed home, eager to leave for San Francisco. He didn't know where to look, but deep in his heart he knew that he would find her.

In his final act of love and penance, Angel would lead Buffy home... And then he would let her go.

***************

"Here's your keys," Willow said softly, holding a closed fist out to him. Angel extended his hand and Willow gently deposited a ring with three keys on his open palm.

"What are these?" Angel asked curiously. He examined each one before looking at her.

Willow fingered two of the keys. "These are to the car and this one," she said, poking the third key. "Is to your apartment." Her eyes met his as she waited for his reaction.

"My apartment?" he mimicked, cocking his head quizzically.

"Well, not quite..." Willow trailed off apologetically. She poked a slip of paper into his hand. "I put your belongings in storage and they rented your old apartment out." Angel glanced at the paper to find an unfamiliar address carefully printed on it. "So I picked out a new one. It's bigger and has two bedrooms, so..." Willow paused as she considered how to broach the delicate subject of the Slayer. She waved her hands in mute frustration. "Well, in case you should need two bedrooms... for... whatever." She smiled tentatively. Angel stared back at her, but didn't say anything.

Willow suddenly wondered if she'd overstepped her bounds. "If you don't like it, you can find another one," she blurted. "I had all of your belongings, plus a few extras moved in. And I had heavy drapes installed. I-know-you-don't-need-them..." she said forcefully. "But, I thought you might revert to your nocturnal ways... when... well, anyway... it would make it easier to sleep through the day."

Willow crossed her arms defensively. "I'm sorry. I should have let you handle that yourself. I just wanted to surprise you and..."

"Willow," Angel said gently, interrupting her nervous babbling. She looked at him briefly before glancing away. "Thank you," he said. Willow's eyes met his and he smiled reassuringly at her. "I've had no time to deal with those kinds of things myself. Plus, I've not been in the right frame of mind." His hands reached out to untangle her arms from where she'd wrapped them tightly around herself. "It was very kind of you to take care of that for me and for letting me borrow your car," Angel said, his hands slid down to hold her hands in his own.

"Oh, those aren't the keys to my car. Those are yours," she informed him. His brow furled as he digested this new bit of information. "Um... Whistler picked it out..."

"I don't know how I'll repay-"

"You don't have to," Willow interrupted, sounding a bit more hostile that she'd intended. "What I mean is, we decided we wanted to do this for you," she informed him. "You don't have to repay us." Her hands squeezed his gently. "And I'm not trying to make you leave either. I just thought you should have a choice when you get back..."

"Thank you," Angel said, pulling her into a hug. "Don't worry, I'll bring her home," he breathed into her ear. Willow squeezed him tighter, then stepped back. She wiped at her eyes.

"Got your plane ticket?" she asked in an attempt to distract herself from tears.

Angel patted the jacket pocket where he'd stashed the ticket. "Right here."

"Oh! I almost forgot," she exclaimed suddenly, her hand flying to her mouth. She dug through her ever-present briefcase and pulled out a bulging manilla envelope. "This is yours, too," she explained as she handed it to Angel. He turned it over, but it was sealed shut and had no outside markings on it. He looked at her for explanation. "It's a bunch of letters for Buffy and some papers you'll need. I took the liberty of creating a new identity for you. Driver's license, birth certificate, social security card... that kind of stuff. The papers will explain everything I set up. It's just in case you need any of that stuff. I didn't know if you'd ever had any of those created..." Willow trailed off.

"Thanks again," Angel whispered as his lips brushed her cheek in a friendly kiss.

"Your plane's boarding... you should go before I start bawling like a baby," she said, her voice already husky. "I don't do good-byes well." When Angel pulled back, Willow could see tears in his eyes, also. "Go on," she scolded as she shooed him toward the boarding line.

"Go and find your Slayer," she said under her breath as he disappeared down the ramp and into the waiting jet.

********

Angel stepped outside, away from the clinging stench of fish. He paused for a moment to drag in a lungful of sweet, clean air. The breeze, smelling of salt water, washed away the permeating odor of dead fish.

The simple act of stepping into the sun still left him awestruck. Angel looked out across the water, its dark, angry gray broken by small whitecaps and the bobbing heads of sea lions not currently sunning themselves on the boat docks. The screams of sea gulls could be heard as they floated by on air currents. The soft cooing of pigeons blended into the ever present hum of life in the city. For a moment, Angel paused to absorb it all.

The Slayer's presence pulled at him like a magnet. Angel turned unerringly to find her leaning back against the cannery wall. Everything inside of him wanted to run to her and pull her into his arms. Fear kept his feet rooted to the ground. The vision before him was both heaven and hell. Buffy looked exactly as he remembered, only more beautiful. Her hair glowed gold in the sunlight and her face was that of an angel.

All of his fears seemed magnified ten-fold. Angel had searched for her for a month and now that he'd finally found her, he worried that he'd made the wrong decision. What if she didn't want to see him? What if she hated him? What if...? Angel squelched the negative thoughts. He didn't matter. His pain was nothing. Only the Slayer mattered... He would do anything for her, still.

Swallowing his own doubt, Angel rallied his courage and stepped closer. Carefully, he wended his way through the debris in the tiny alley. His eyes never left the petite girl before him. She was all that mattered. His fear and doubt were nothing. She didn't open her eyes as he approached. Did she know it was him? Was this a sign that she didn't want anything to do with him?

When he reached her, he found himself unsure what to do or say. It was taking all of his courage not to bolt. Angel trembled as he fought the urge to run. Finally, after a painful eternity, she opened her eyes.

"Angel," Buffy uttered on a disbelieving breath. To Angel, no word had ever sounded so sweet.

CONTINUE