Chapter V

Angel had thrown the repugnant memo away, but retrieved it out of the wastebasket.  He grudgingly conceded that pretending it wasn’t there wouldn’t make it go away.  Smoothing the crumpled paper and reading it once more didn’t make it any better than the first time he read it.  Apparently even having a desk job had its own hidden terrors.  He had to stand before a large assembly and talk.  When he was an agent he had forced himself to adapt to being part of a small group, even leading one.  But he had no experience in dealing with something of this magnitude.  He made a sound somewhere between a sigh and growl as he reread it one more time, looking for a loophole.

Each section of the Analysis department was expected to give a detailed report.  His area of expertise made him the only choice to give the presentation for the section to which he was attached.  For once, he cursed his solitary existence.  If he weren’t so isolated, someone else could possibly appear in his stead.  But as things stood now, he was the only one with the requisite knowledge.  Acting like a trained monkey, speaking publicly on demand, was not in his job description, he thought resentfully.  Which reminded him of why he was there and it didn’t improve his mood.  When he had been in the field he gave reports, but only to his own team or a small number of agents.  But, he wasn’t an agent now, making the situation grate even more.

The report was to be presented in the auditorium.  And ‘… making full use of audio/video equipment at your disposal,’ according to the instructions.  He had no idea what he was supposed to do.  Why couldn’t he just stay in his office and do his work in peace?  Why did they have to have ‘talks’ about it?  He did his job and he did it exceedingly well.  There was no point in trying to explain it to a bunch of idiots who were incapable of grasping his logic.

Angel was so engrossed in his little well of misery he never noticed his officemate watching him with an amused half smile.  Buffy knew what the memo said.  She could almost see the abysmal thoughts filing through his mind.  Watching him more closely, his tense profile didn’t quite hide the irritation and anger stirring dangerously near the surface.  She could see the silent conflict between annoyance and fear.  Recognizing that heavily guarded vulnerability sobered some of her mirth.  She knew it was only obvious to her and she would never betray that knowledge to him or anyone else.

She did feel badly for him, knowing how painfully inept he was socially.  The idea of having a sizable audience staring at him had to be torture for him to contemplate.  He unconsciously swung his chair in the only direction that offered a solution – towards her.  Although, she thought studying his face as he turned, the majority of women attending the conference probably wouldn’t care if he stood there and said nothing.  They’d be happy just enjoying the view.  She licked her suddenly dry lips and focused back on his apparent dilemma.

She planned all along on taking pity on him.  But she was waiting.  She received the same memo in her email and already anticipated his response.  Angel, of course, hadn’t known about the presentation until a clerk delivered a paper copy of the memorandum to his desk.  Buffy wondered once more how he not only managed to avoid computer training, but how he circumvented the necessity of having a computer on his desk.  Not that he needed one, he worked on some puzzles that came their way faster than any program ever invented.

Angel’s expression was so wretched that she was ready to offer her solution, when she saw the light bulb click on in his head.  She chuckled to herself.  She’d worked with Angel long enough – longer than anyone else, in fact – to become familiar with his distressingly shy nature.  He hated to ask anyone for anything.  She knew he finally thought of another alternative.  Not something he would normally do, but faced with one mind-numbing option, reaching out had to seem almost harmless in comparison.

“Buffy,” Angel cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady, “I see you were copied in on this memo about our section …” he trailed off, hoping she would pick up on what had suddenly occurred to him.

She knew she was being wicked, but she just couldn’t help herself.  “Yes, I was.”  She continued innocently, “I'd love to help you out, Angel, but I don't 'do' theories.  How exactly are you going to do the presentation?  I know I’ll be interested in listening to it.”

Disappointed she hadn’t taken the hint, he tried to sound nonchalant,  “I didn’t have anything in mind.  But I thought perhaps you could help me do it.”

She hid the smile that was tugging at her lips and tried to sound serious, “I don’t know … I’m not sure I’d be of any use.”

He hesitated, grabbing at straws.  “You’ve picked up a lot in just two months.  We share the work … in a way.  I-I wouldn’t mind the help,” he finished, a desperate tone creeping in.  His newfound hope was plummeting.  He looked so distressed as he waited for her answer.

Her heart twisted at the abject misery on his face and she finally relented.  “I could do the presentation, Angel, but I am still fairly new at this.  You’re the ‘theory genius’, I only know the computer side of it.  I’m afraid I won’t know everything that should be included.  I’d need help getting it ready.”

He brightened noticeably at her words.  She hadn’t been prepared for what simple relief could do to his usually somber features.  Smiles on Angel delivered a devastating effect to her breathing.  That he was ignorant of what his looks did to her made him all the more breathtaking.  She wondered if she’d be able to handle seeing actual happiness and be left standing.

“I can help with anything you need,” he said a little too quickly, so thankful she was willing to help him.  “I, umm … can take care of any of the … ah … equipment you need for it.”  He had no idea how to use any of those things, but he’d learn.  He was aware he’d still be in front of a large gathering.  In all fairness, he didn’t want to take advantage of Buffy.  The knowledge she’d be right beside him though already made the whole dismal affair less daunting.

Buffy nodded her agreement, grinning inwardly at the poor man’s relieved countenance, pretending she hadn’t noticed.

They had a month to complete the report.  It sounded like a lot of time at the beginning.  But they already had a full workload and with the inevitable emergencies that came up, it made it difficult to set aside the hours needed to work on it.  They squeezed minutes, sometimes a half-hour to an hour in, here and there.  Time grew shorter, and they ended up having to spend several evenings in the empty office complex after everyone else had gone home.

Buffy prepared the topics to be presented, tapping Angel’s vast store of information.  She had known his tasks were out of the ordinary, but never realized just how intricate the problems were or how brilliant he was at resolving them.  Angel amazed her.  He was so knowledgeable that sometimes as she questioned him, she felt like he was a book and she was turning his pages.  Working in tandem they fell into a smooth cadence, finding they simply enjoyed each other’s company.  There was an ease that belied the brevity of their relationship.

Buffy had grown so used to Angel asking her the time she answered out of habit without a second thought.  Working more closely the last couple weeks, he had forgone the asking and simply held up her wrist checking her watch when necessary.  The first time he did it, he was concentrating on case studies they were including in their examples.  He had suddenly pulled his head up to look out the window at the late afternoon sky.  Gently grasping her hand in his, he raised it to look at the small face of her timepiece, then placed it back down on the table.  The action was so innocent she knew he wasn’t consciously aware of doing it.  She felt a catch in her heart to think he felt that at ease with her.  She understood and accepted it as a simple act of trust.  The slight pulse of current at the contact hadn’t gone unnoticed either.  He became embarrassed when he realized he’d done it the next time.  But rather than let him shy away, she had taken his hand and placed her wrist in it, lifting it towards him.  No words were ever spoken, but from then on the small liberty was a given.

On the quiet evenings, pouring over books and papers together, Buffy got glimpses of Angel she intuitively knew no one else had ever seen.  Instead of the face he showed the world – there with only the two of them – he transformed before her eyes.  He would animatedly explain the difference between one methodology and another.  He wasn’t ‘geeky’, spouting facts and figures like an automaton.  He warmed to his subject, challenging her, sketching diagrams, showing comparisons.  And she became fascinated with his fascination.  He wasn’t lecturing on a topic, but rather introducing and sharing an old friend.  His eyes would shine when she understood a point he clarified.  He made leaps of logic that Buffy could see were brilliant, yet he softly and sheepishly led her through his thinking.  Leaning back in his chair, relaxed in his element, his demeanor showed a confidence and surety that was rare for him.  Conversely, it made him seem all the more vulnerable.  Normally hidden beneath a deceptively cold, undemonstrative cover, she saw the real Angel.  One she knew he didn’t even know existed.

Buffy wasn’t the only one enjoying the time they spent together.  Angel knew Buffy had a quick mind.  He’d worked with her on random problems, quizzing her findings or jointly figuring a sequence.  He didn’t know that mind was voracious – devouring every illustration and equation he fed her.  He felt like he could open a line of intellect between them and stream it directly into her brain.  He’d known she was beautiful on the outside, but inside – she was dazzling in her depths.  She would dance nimbly from one reference to another, following his lead, never losing step.  He wished he could draw in and hold a fraction of her verve and vivacity.  She was a warm zephyr, breathing life, while winding through the cold, solitary hallways of his thoughts.  Angel didn't know Buffy missed those long nights with each other as much as he did when their impromptu work sessions drew to a close.

*****

The day of the training Angel was ramrod straight with tension.  Buffy was again taken with just how handsome he was, even though he was petrified.  He was dressed in a black suit with a cream-colored shirt that showed his broad shoulders and large frame to mouth-watering advantage.  The determined look in his dark brown eyes and the decided set in his jaw enhanced his usual air of restrained power.

The only thing that deflected Angel’s monumental misgivings throughout the day, in fact probably made it possible for him to survive them, was looking at Buffy.  She wore a business suit, coincidentally the same shade of cream as his shirt, which accentuated her golden hair and green eyes.  The lines of the jacket and skirt defined every toned curve.  He had a hard time swallowing when she first walked in the office that morning.

Unbeknownst to them, was the arresting effect of how they looked together.  Later in the day, during their time in the spotlight, more than a few conference attendees were taken aback by the pair.  When he bent his head close to hers, sharing whispered instructions, they looked like an opposite, yet matched set, one completing the other. They were a striking couple, his towering dark looks contrasted against her dainty luminance.

The building was filling up, people pouring through the entry door in varying groups.  Eyeing them, Angel was becoming more nervous by the minute.  He headed for the break room and had one more cup of coffee to fortify his resolve.  When that didn't help at all he went in search of Buffy and found her in the nook in the hallway that held the water cooler.  Buffy was standing nearby it with Xander, Anya and Riley, watching the clutches of people on their way to the auditorium.  She was laughing at a remark Xander made and Angel went still for a moment in his steps towards her.  Tossing her long blonde hair behind her, eyes sparkling a deep emerald green – she was lovely.  He forgot for a few seconds that there was anyone else in the hall.  Snapping out of his reverie, he came up beside her.  Without thinking, he reached for her wrist and drew it up to peer at the small watch she was wearing.  Without a flicker of surprise at his actions, she continued her conversation with Xander.

Riley couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeing.  That sick, psycho had touched Buffy and she hadn’t even batted an eye.  She acted as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  He was stunned … and revolted.  Xander was looking at him strangely and Riley realized he must have asked him a question.

“Are you ready to do your part of the report?” Xander repeated slowly.

Riley was barely aware of what he answered as he watched Angel propel Buffy through the auditorium doors, guiding her with his hand on the small of her back.

*****

Their slot in the schedule was the last presentation before lunch.  It was obvious that most of the people were not only there by command, but what little interest they showed at the beginning of the morning had dwindled appreciably. That was until Buffy lit the stage.  Once the group that preceded them sat back down in the front rows, Buffy stood at the podium and Angel stayed in the background.

He watched with a growing sense of admiration at the way Buffy caught the attention of her wavering audience.  Her lively figure moved gracefully from the podium to the board, then to the slides and on to the other equipment that Angel operated on cue.  All the while she kept up her spirited dissertation on the specific topics the two had worked on together.  Angel marveled, realizing how much she had learned from him in a very short time.  But even more at the innovative ways she relayed the information, building an interested following in her every word.  She spoke distinctly and with certainty, making it clear by her subtle phrasing and slight gestures, that it was her partner who was responsible for most of the content.  She didn’t do it in a way that put undue attention on him.  Angel was so entranced with her performance he never even picked up on it.

When she finished, a number of rejuvenated spectators became participants.  They asked questions, and offered their own insights, showing appreciation and a formerly lacking enthusiasm.  Angel flushed when directly asked some of the questions, but Buffy deftly slid in, translating his overly technical answers into something easier for people to understand.  He couldn’t help but feel pride and gratitude for her.  He just hoped they wouldn’t be called upon to do this ever again.

*****

After the auditorium was emptied at the end of the day, Buffy and Angel gathered their leftover props and materials.  The two of them walked in step together towards their office deep in an avid conversation about the conference.  Neither of them noticed the way Riley followed behind them.  His muscles were tensed, a look of disgust twisting his features, as he closely watched and listened until they closed the door behind them.

*****

A week after what Angel referred to as the ‘ordeal’, Buffy was still receiving requests for copies of the information they had presented.  Humming to herself, thinking how well it had turned out, she made her way to the copy room.  She let out an exasperated breath blowing the tendrils of hair near her face.  Her light mood was broken as she saw the indicator blinking for ‘low paper’ on the copier.  One of her pet soapboxes was people leaving equipment for someone else to take care of the problems.  She was busy digging out paper to put in the machine, momentarily annoyed at said people, when she heard someone enter the room.

“Riley,” Buffy greeted him as he walked towards the copier, “I’ll be done in a few minutes.  As soon as I clean up after whomever was here, then do a few copies.”

“I don’t have anything to copy, Buffy,” he said as he slid his hands in his pockets.  “ I … uh ... just wanted to talk to you for a minute.”

“Oh?”  She looked up at him.  Buffy was really hoping he wasn’t getting ready to ask her out.  Riley had this nasty mindset of coming on as though she was the helpless female just waiting for a big, strong man like him to come along.  But he reminded her more of a St. Bernard with the little cask around its neck.  If she needed rescuing, she could do it herself.  She didn’t need a Scooby Doo to come to her aid.  She’d made an effort to subtly let him know she wasn’t interested by trying to be where he wasn’t whenever she could.  If he saved her a seat, she tactfully found another, if she saw him in the hall, she turned in another direction as discreetly as she could.

“You probably won’t think this is any of my business, but someone has to warn you,” he said in a rush.

“Warn me?  About the copier?  Nope, already heard about the little light rays in them being dangerous,” she said with a grin.  Thankfully it wasn’t for a date, but she knew it!  He just had to save her from something.  She had a feeling this could be nothing of the good.  She closed the drawer on the machine.

“No,” Riley shook his head, “not about copiers.  About Angelus.”

“An-Liam?” she caught herself. “I know you have problems with him, Riley.”  She turned her back on him to put in the papers she was copying and pushed the button to start the machine.

“That’s not it,” he put his hand on her shoulder to turn her around.  “I mean, it’s true I don’t like him, but he’s trouble. You don’t know what he’s capable of doing.”

Buffy pulled Riley’s hand away as she turned to face him.  “I appreciate your warning, Riley, and I know Liam’s had some problems in the past.  I’m not worried about him hurting me.”

“You should be,” Riley answered raising his voice more than needed to be heard above the copier.  “He’s a basket case.  I’ve seen him when he’s gone off.”

“Riley,” her voice took on a sterner tone, “Liam has never done anything to make me afraid of him.  They would hardly have put me in an office with him if he was dangerous.”  She turned back, taking the papers out of the copier.

“I’m only telling you for your own good,” he said not willing to give up, “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

 “And I’m telling you, Riley,” Buffy finally lost her patience.  Angel wasn’t even there to defend himself.  “I know something happened between the two of you.  I’m not asking what it was.  If you have something against him, that’s for you to sort out. But, I’m not a little girl.  I don’t need someone to protect me and tell me who to watch out for.  It's my concern who I spend my time with, not yours."  With that she pulled the rest of her papers out of the machine and walked out, leaving him standing there alone.

*****

Another ‘Annie’ had been hurling its force against the building for over an hour.  Angel was tense, he wondered if Buffy had reached the doctor’s office, then gotten home before the rain started.  He knew he shouldn’t be worried, he was the one affected by the weather, not her.  But he was concerned all the same.  She’d said it was just an annual checkup, but you never knew what could show up.  Shaking his head at the last thought, he knew he was getting too wound up.  Now he was just being stupid.  He just couldn’t keep her out of his mind though.  He was pacing around the office from a combination of concern for her and a reaction to the gale that raged outside.  He couldn’t concentrate and finally gave up the effort.  His usual drug of choice, caffeine, hadn’t helped any either.  Any excuse to leave the room which felt incredibly empty, sounded good, even a short walk down the hall.

Angel was washing his hands in the Men’s room when he heard the door open and saw Riley’s deplorable countenance reflected in the mirror.  Angel knew he should have moved to the side to let him pass.  Should have.  But Angel’s judgment wasn’t objective when it came to dealing with the Clark Kent wannabe.  Angel hated Riley.  He hated the fact that the jealous little prick’s prank had cost them both so dearly.  He hated that Riley blamed him rather than himself for the fallout.  But more than anything, he hated the way Riley was constantly hovering around Buffy.  Angel knew he should leave it alone, but it aggravated him to see Riley making every attempt to be near her. The thought brought a snarl to Angel’s features.  He watched as Riley blanched slightly and reached for the door to leave.

“Don’t worry, Finn,” Angel growled in a low voice, “I’m not going to beat the shit out of you.  As tempting as the thought sounds.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Angelus,” Riley countered, as he pulled himself up to his full height.  “Maybe someone should be though.  You might have some people fooled, but not me.”

The bald implications hit Angel and his lips curled back into a snarl as he spun to face Riley in the cramped space.  “You wouldn’t be talking about anyone in particular, would you?” he asked, looking Riley straight in the eye.  He knew Riley had talked to Buffy.  He should have known Riley would think he was looking out for her best interests.  Angel thought he knew whose interests really concerned Riley.

Riley saw how quickly Angelus discerned his actions, making him even more suspicious about the ‘working’ relationship between Angelus and Buffy.  Riley did care about Buffy and he didn’t trust the psycho in front of him at all.  “I thought your co-worker had a right to know about you.  She has to share an office with you, she needed to be warned to be careful.”

Angel saw red.  How dare this asshole take it upon himself to try and protect Buffy.  Buffy was not this cornflake’s concern.  Angel could just imagine Riley trying to slime his way into Buffy’s life on the pretext of keeping her safe from him.  Safe from him?  The notion was preposterous.  When she was with him, Buffy couldn’t be in a safer place in the world.  Angel would die before he would ever harm her.  But Riley was trying to make her afraid of him.  Without consciously thinking about it, Angel’s hand shot up and clamped around Riley’s throat, hurling him against the wall next to the sink.  Riley was slightly taller than he was, but Angel was angry enough that he had no trouble taking the upper hand.

 “I’ll never hurt her,” Angel growled, “But I can’t say the same for you, boy!”

Riley grabbed Angel’s wrist and twisted out of his grasp.  He swung at Angel with his other hand, but it was blocked before it connected.  Angel grabbed the hand aimed at him.  Pulling Riley forward, he jerked him around, twisting Riley’s arm behind his back.  Angel looked at the toilet in the stall in front of them with a gleam in his eye.

“You stay out of my office and my life,” Angel hissed into Riley’s ear. “You’ve fucked it up enough.”

Riley knew even though he was physically larger, he was no match for Angelus in a rage.  But Riley wasn’t a coward, he wouldn’t back down.

“It wasn’t my doing,” Riley bit out as he wrestled to get his arm free, “You were fucked up long before I ever laid eyes on you.”

Angel didn’t even try to rein in his anger as the words hit home.  He ratcheted Riley’s arm up higher, then brought his foot up against the back of Riley’s knee, kicking it, forcing him to the floor.  He hauled him the few steps across the floor to the stall and plunged his blonde head into the toilet.

“Finn,” Angel snarled as he kicked the flush lever, “don’t forget to wash after using the facilities.”  He didn’t wait to see what Riley would do.  Leaving the stall, he turned and stalked out of the room.

Riley pulled himself up, shaking the water from his head.  He was livid.  There were only two things that kept him from following Angelus down the hall.  The picture of the two men who had tried to take Angelus down the day they found him in the woods.  That and what was left of his career.  But he knew it wasn’t over between them.

*****

Buffy took a seat on the edge of Angel’s desk.  Slowly, he looked up with those piercing mahogany eyes. “Good morning, Buffy,” he said.

She smiled at him.  Their rapport was much improved.

Buffy’s scheming was paying off.  Slowly, but surely, Angel was coming out of his shell ... at work.  She still had made almost no progress on drawing him out of his shell socially.  He steadfastly declined invitations to the Friday payday get-togethers and he had avoided the Fourth of July barbecue several weeks earlier.

Buffy was forced to resort to alternative measures of persuasion.  “So, I’m having this party at my place next Saturday,” she said as casually as possible.

He looked at her, expressionless.

“I was thinking maybe you could come,” she added.

He dropped his gaze, turning his attention back to the sheet of paper in front of him.  “No thank you,” he said.

Buffy groaned in exasperation, slumping her shoulders as she glared at him.  “Why not?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I don’t socialize,” he replied, not meeting her gaze.

“Fine,” she said, all of her irritation with him clear in her voice, “but I’m putting a lot of work into this damn party and it would really mean a lot to me if you would come.”

*****

Angel was ready to kick himself.  He was so deep in what Cordy sardonically termed his ‘brood mode’, he had forgotten it was Wednesday night and she would be calling.  Wrapped up in his own world when he first spoke to her, he’d mentioned Buffy's party.  He felt like reaching into the phone to snatch the words back, but it was too late.  And it didn’t make him feel any better that she didn’t conspicuously comment on it.  Cordelia was quick, hardly anything got by her.  He knew she hadn’t asked about it because she figured he wouldn’t tell her.  She was right, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t tuck the information away.  He wasn’t sure what she’d make of it, mainly because he didn’t know himself.  ‘For a taciturn guy,’ he fumed at himself, ‘I’ve got a big mouth.’

Returning from the kitchen, he threw a couple small logs on the kindling he had prepared.  His eyes absently roamed the room.  It was a large space, but was dwarfed by the neat, nearly overflowing bookcases that lined every wall.  Only the windows and fireplace stopped their spread.  One section held art, another languages, but the shelves offered very few novels or works of fiction.  There was a corner, however, full of books of poetry that had become worn and faded, as if the ink had been absorbed in their many readings.  The rest of the volumes that climbed the walls were filled with hard facts and dry statistics to untangle and solve problems.  Math, history, science -– tangible texts for analysis and research.

Two overstuffed chairs and a couch with throws of warm, earthy colors tossed over them were on the far side of the room.  Small muted rag rugs stepped from there across the dark wood floor to where a pair of matching leather chairs and ottomans warmed themselves by the fire.  It was his favorite place to be.  A large, deep-piled rug stretched itself out between the chairs and the fireplace.  Small tables were scattered throughout the room, most holding more books that had escaped from the shelves.  It was cozy for a man, but very much a reflection of its owner, as if trying to generate a warmth he lacked.  It was his fortress.  He felt safe, surrounded and hidden behind his books.

He scraped the wooden match against the fireplace bricks and carefully lit the shavings beneath the logs.  Angel was always cold, even in the summer.  He thought fleetingly that the office hadn’t been as chilly the last few of months, then put it off to the faulty workings of an old building in disrepair.  At home alone he hadn’t felt any difference, the cold was still there.

Angel was well acquainted with the cold, but he needed his few creature comforts.  He liked the fire, it was like a comfortable old friend who bade him draw near.  He liked to read or draw by its light, one ear hearing its crackle and hiss.  It wasn’t unusual for him to sit in his chair staring into the flickering colors, much like someone else would watch a television.  Since he met Buffy, he found more reasons than ever to gaze into the flames as if they had answers to questions he did not yet possess.

He collected his coffee from the mantle where he’d left it, then fell into the welcoming cushions.  Angel thought about Buffy’s invitation as he leaned back in his dark leather chair, feet propped up on the ottoman before him.  He staunchly avoided gatherings of any kind.  The idea of attending a party, especially with the people he worked with only reinforced his long-standing aversion.  With few exceptions, he could do without seeing any of them outside work.  Scowling to himself, he scanned a mental index of his co-workers.  Only three people, besides Buffy, had ever made a positive impression on him.  Lindsey, who now headed the team of field agents, was bright, tough, quick and dedicated, qualities Angel admired.  He didn’t hold it against Lindsey being promoted to his former position, he understood there was nothing personal in the decision. The only other employees to catch his discerning eye were Willow, who he knew was Buffy’s best friend, and Willow’s friend, Tara.  He felt an odd sort of kinship, sensing a deceptively keen intellect and quiet, yet powerful strength in both young women.  He smiled, thinking Buffy had good taste in friends.

But, his scowl returned at the thought of Riley Finn.  He knew Finn wouldn’t pass up any chance to be near Buffy. A growl formed deep in his chest.  Riley, it seemed to Angel, had a very dangerous habit of continually making excuses to be in the vicinity of his small, lithesome officemate.  The thought filled him with near homicidal loathing.  Angel had a lot of unfinished business with Riley Finn.  Adding Buffy to the mix made him want to pick the boy up by the throat and throw him as far as he could fly.  The image twisted his lips into a predatory smile.  Dousing the boy’s head in the toilet was mild compared to some of the scenarios that temptingly paraded through Angel's musings.

He was only too familiar with Finn’s constant whining.  Riley blamed his demotion to a desk job on Angel, rather than himself.  Angel also overheard the rumors floating around of how he, himself, had gotten past the psych tests in order to achieve his field status.  He knew who started them. He didn’t know if Buffy had heard them.  And once again Angel found he was worried about what she might think.

He tented his elegant fingers as he watched a log shift from its place.  Angel had to give Riley credit, not that he’d ever tell the asshole that.  But Riley saw something that Angel had been blind to – at least when he was hired.  Angel had passed the testing.  He had to – not only just to get into the FBI, but also to attain his goal of becoming a field agent.  Once in, he’d gone even further, purely on merit, to head the team.

He’d never wanted anything more in his life and he had devoted all his time and energy towards being in the FBI, especially in the field.  He let nothing stand in the way of his resolve to get where he wanted to go.  Anything else paled in comparison to where he wanted to be.  He did everything asked of him and more … and he made it.  Alone.  He hadn’t depended on anyone.  He hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t needed to and he couldn’t.  He’d done his homework for fucking years and that’s what had gotten him in the Bureau.

And all the cases he did; the long nights he’d spent doing surveillance, weeks spent away from home undercover, costumes bought to mask who he really was, all of it, he’d done.  Clawing his way out of that black pit of pain and twisted memories, he had made it all by himself, to finally become someone doing something that was meaningful.

Angel picked up the cup of coffee on the small table next to him and sipped it slowly.  The most curious thing of all was that in all those years he never delved too closely into why he wanted to be an agent so badly.  A psychiatrist would have told him it was to assuage the guilt he felt over his past, he was sure.  Angel wouldn’t have argued the point, but there was more to it.  Did he do it to keep some unknown child safe from what had happened to him?  Was it a way to save himself?  To make up for Dru?  When he asked himself at all, the only answer that came back was that he needed it.  He needed to feel that he served an integral role somewhere.  It hadn’t been enough after all, but it was as close as he’d ever been to contentment.

Thanks to ‘Agent’ Riley Finn it had all dissolved.  Angel had finally achieved the single objective of his existence and it was over, compliments of a new recruit playing games … and a thunderstorm.  Angel closed his hand over a stray chip of thin, dry kindling and flicked it into the embers, hearing it snap as it burst.

While in the hospital after the ‘incident’, after the storm broke him, the truth pelted down on him, much like the rain.  Lying in bed for countless days, he let it wash over him, seeping into every pore.  He had never really changed.  All that time, all the days and nights, weeks … years.  He’d never gotten past it.  The storm and subsequent breakdown had rammed it all home with an agonizing intensity.  He was still that small boy, not just from his childhood nightmares, but from the very night it had all happened.  He never moved on, never conquered it.  He may have pushed that lost child down so far he thought he had finally lost him.  But the small boy was still there, as cold and terrified as he’d ever been.  Everything he did was only a charade.  He had spun a gossamer web of half-truths and blindness – and in the end caught only himself.  Days, weeks after his admission to the hospital, when he was trying to marshal his thoughts into some kind of cohesiveness, he remembered the day he was given his first position, in vivid detail.  After all those years of deluding himself that he had done everything alone, it finally clicked into place.  Holtz.

As though his hospital window had been a movie screen, he had gazed through it, back to the day he was assigned to his post.  Angel saw Holtz as he tried to slip unnoticed out a side door of the conference room.  He only caught a glimpse – Holtz looked up at the same time.  Both men held each other’s gaze, then he was gone.  So struck by Holtz’s expression, Angel tried many times to interpret what he saw in the older man’s eyes.  They reflected a mixture of pain and sadness, something with which Angel was all too familiar.  But there was more that he didn’t understand – hope, pride … love.  Angel couldn’t understand what motivated those emotions.  He couldn’t even understand the reason for Holtz’s presence.  In spite of what had happened with both families years before, he knew his sister’s best friend was still Harmony, the older man’s daughter.  But Angel himself had avoided Holtz and his family whenever he could ever since Dru died.  Although he hadn’t seen him in years, as far as Angel knew, his neighbor still worked for the FBI.  So he had surmised Holtz was there as part of his job.  It was just a coincidence seeing him.

The realization had made Angel sick with self-loathing. He had been so naive, so ready to believe in himself.  He should have known better.  All of his pride in his initiative and his accomplishments; every bit of it was sorely misplaced.  His admission in the Bureau had never been based on his merits.  He never overcame anything.  Not at all … and he had never known, maybe never wanted to know.  And though he still hadn’t known why, he knew then that it was Holtz who had made sure he passed the psychological screening.  Of all the people in the world it astounded him that Holtz would help him.  Holtz had every reason to want him dead.  As dead as his little girl.  Angel had failed her and everyone else in his life.  He found later he was one of the very few who knew or guessed what Holtz’s real role was in the Bureau.

Now Angel was just a shell, an empty husk of something that had never been real.  Something that, for a time, he had believed he was.  Now what was left, sat behind a desk.  He didn’t question his current status, knowing it was again due to Holtz’s silent, saving grace.  But Angel never approached him, never once sought him out to ask him.  He didn’t know what he could ever say.

He wondered since the day he was lying in that bed if he had fooled anyone except himself.  Had everyone else known all along what a joke he was?  They must have.  All those years he hadn’t succeeded, he hadn’t slayed his dragons.  Instead he was the emperor with no clothes, suited in his own armor of denial.  Wrapped in his own delusions of wholeness.  All the while still the broken toy, fallen off the shelf, that couldn’t be fixed.

He pushed up from the chair, walking stiffly towards the kitchen.  It was late.  The last thing he needed was coffee, he told himself as he poured another cup.  He took it back and set it on the side table, but turned away, instead of sitting down.  He moved through the room restlessly, lovingly touching the spine of a book here, pulling another one down, aimlessly fanning through its pages.  He circled the room slowly, surveying without seeing.  Finally, he took a couple of long, deep breaths to relieve the tension he felt in his muscles, he imbibed the scent of burning wood and old books.  He let what solace he could wring from them soak into him and help calm him.  Looking back at the fire and his coffee waiting for him, he let them draw him back.  He eased into his chair, stretching his legs out and picked up his cup.

He forcefully turned his thoughts, searching for another path to follow.  And he saw golden hair framing a small face with chameleon eyes in myriad settings.  Shining in the sunlight at lunchtime with Willow, laughing.  Puzzling out a cipher, biting her lower lip in fierce concentration.  Sliding onto his desk in her spot with a morning smile, offering the coffee that she had made for him.  Glancing towards the fire he thought he must have added another log without realizing it.  He remembered the irritation in Buffy’s voice earlier in the day when he refused her invitation.

Not long after his refusal, he saw Finn stop Buffy outside the ladies’ room.  The jackass put his hand on her arm as she passed.  Angel bristled at the gesture, but was mollified when Buffy shrugged the hand away and kept walking.  He didn’t hear the words exchanged, but the implication was clear.  Finn wanted Buffy and Buffy wasn’t interested.  Angel was inside the break room, they hadn’t been aware he was watching.  Nor did they see the rare smile that lit his face for a few seconds as he saw the distance between the two grow.

He still hated the thought of a party.  But he knew he’d hurt her feelings and he’d promised himself he would never do that if he could help it.  Not after last time.  He sighed deeply inside himself.  Just to make her happy, he would go.  And keep an eye on Riley while he was there.  He might know Buffy didn’t care about Finn, but he also knew Riley was too arrogant and dense to get it through his head that he wasn’t wanted.

[end chapter 5]

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