"So . . ." Joyce said.

"This- this wasn't a good idea," Angel murmured.

Angel turned around and startled to walk away. << No! You can't leave! Faith isn't finished yet! >> Joyce thought.

"Fine," Joyce said, an evil smirk gracing her face, "but if a vampire kills me, it'll be *your* fault."

Angel turned around and glared at the completely frustrating woman. He suddenly knew where Buffy got her stubbornness.

"Okay, so what do you want to hear?" Angel acquiesced.

"I guess I know how you lost your soul," Joyce said.

She could have sworn she saw the vampire blush.

"I want to know how you actually *got* to Sunnydale, why you came here, and everything that lead up to the actual . . . losing of your soul," Joyce said.

Angel sighed.

"In 1898, I killed a gypsy girl, the Elders of her tribe found the perfect punishment. They restored my soul," Angel said.

"They were out of boils and blinding torment?" Joyce asked.

Angel couldn't help but smile.

"I lived in Europe for about twenty years before the war got really bad, and I went to America. I went, like so many . . . immigrants . . . to New York," Angel said.

"Where are you originally from?" Joyce asked.

"Galway, Ireland. Darla sired me in 1753," Angel said.

"Darla? The girl that attacked me in my house made you into a vampire?!?" Joyce asked.

Angel could only nod.

"How old were you?" Joyce asked with a sickening feeling in her stomach.

"Twenty-two," Angel answered.

"So, you're about five years older than Buffy?"

"Joyce, I'm two-hundred-forty five. I'm two-hundred-twenty-eight-years older than Buffy," Angel said severely.

"What about the time you were human?"

"It doesn't really count. That person is dead," Angel said. "I was twenty-two, and my life was over. I deserved it. I was drunk all the time, stole from my pig of a father, and visited the- uh- local establishments," Angel said.

"No one deserves to have lived through that," Joyce said softly.

"I don't want any pity. If you had seen it, you wouldn't have been offering me comfort, Joyce. It's my own fault for being drunk, stupid, and unaware," Angel said.

She was tired of listening to the immortal << Immortal . . . >> vampire put himself down and was anxious to see what happened to him. So . . .

"You were in New York?" Joyce prompted.

"Yes, ma'am, New York. I lived on the streets, avoiding any contact with any human beings, living off rats and other vermin that infested the city. I lost my Irish accent and gained this one from New York, primarily Manhattan," Angel said.

"It was 1996 before I really spoke to anyone. A demon name Whistler, a good demon- or something close to it- convinced me to go to Los Angeles. He showed me Buffy. Most Slayers are trained from birth or close to it. I knew she would have a hard time if she hadn't been training since she was little. I watched her for a little while. She was just so confused- I started to care again. I didn't want to care- especially about a vampire Slayer, but I did.

"I was weak, and Whistler trained me, got me in shape. I met Buffy for the first time in an alleyway outside the Bronze. She didn't know I'd been watching her since she lived in L.A., and she still doesn't. When I met her, I pretty much acted like an arrogant jerk. I delivered a couple of cryptic messages . . ."

And Angel continued to relate the story. . . .

Later that night . . .

"So you spent three months in Hell?" Joyce asked.

"It turned out to be about one-hundred-years. The time is different in Hell than it is here," Angel said.

Joyce was intrigued and terrified at the same time.

"What was it like?"

Joyce could almost feel the air change. Angel tensed and seemed to shake a little bit. He sat down on a bench and looked up at the woman. She seemed to ooze maternal instinct.

"It was bad?" Joyce asked as she sat down.

"It was Hell," Angel said. "I don't remember what it looks like, but I remember the pain and the screams and the torment, not just mine. Everyone else's too. It was almost a tangent thing, and I was still alive . . . or not just a soul," Angel said softly.

"How did you get out?" Joyce asked.

Angel looked at the woman with tear-filled eyes. "A miracle? I don't know. I was just back, insane, but back."

"Insane?"

Angel looked like he would have blushed. "I- I couldn't handle the memories, the pain. I shut down."

"How did you get your sanity back?"

Angel looked at the woman. She knew more about him than every Watcher diary ever written, more than anyone except maybe Whistler.

"This . . . thing. It attacked Buffy, and I knew." Angel frowned. << Yeah, sound like a psychopath to the lady. >> "Buffy- she had me changed up in the mansion so I would hurt anyone or myself. I knew there was something wrong, so I broke free. He was attacking Buffy, and I . . ." he trailed off, embarrassed.

"You what?"

Joyce already knew what he was going to say, but she wanted to hear it. Listening to Angel talk was enthralling. He leaned back on the bench.

"I killed him. All I knew was that it was trying to hurt her. She was the only thing I think I half-way remembered. I remembered bits and pieces of memories, that I'd hurt her. I didn't want her to come near me, in case, I hurt her. I remembered her, and I didn't want him to hurt her. I killed him, and, suddenly, it's like this fog was lifted. I remembered everything. I wanted to scream, and all I said was her name," Angel said.

Joyce knew he wasn't talking to her anymore. He was talking to himself and to Buffy. She admired the pale countenance of her daughter's love. He looked just like what he was, a man in love. She supposed it wasn't unnatural for Angel to be in love with Buffy. In his time, she was the right age to be married off or even have a child. << Married? >> she wondered. << *Would* he marry her? >>

"Would you marry her?" Joyce asked.

Angel was as startled by the question as he was the fact that someone was there. He sat there for a silent moment, looked the woman in the eyes, and sighed.

"I- don't know how to answer that. We- we *can't* see each other anymore. It couldn't work out. I'm a vampire . . ."

". . .She's a Slayer. If there was no clause in the curse, if none of this had ever happened. You and Buffy had been living happily ever after since January. Not knowing anything that happened in those six months, would you marry her?" Joyce asked.

Angel held up his silver Claddagh ring that glinted in the moon light, heart pointing toward him. Joyce admired the intricate craftsmanship of the *very* antique ring. She looked at Angel, a question in her eyes.

"The hands stand for loyalty, the crown stands for loyalty, and the heart- stands for- love. You wear the heart pointing towards you, and it means you belong to someone." Angel closed his eyes. "It was a wedding band in my time. I *couldn't* marry her legally in a church. I *can't* make holy vows in front of a minister," Angel said.

Joyce breathed a shaky breath.

"In your mind, you're already married to her," Joyce said. << I wish I could have found someone that romantic. >>

"Was," Angel corrected.

"If you love her so much, you're willing to just let go of her?" Joyce asked as she got off the bench.

Angel followed her, surveying the area for any threats.

"I love her enough to let her fly free if she wants it. I'll never own her completely, and I wouldn't want to. I love her enough to let her go," Angel said.

Joyce stepped into the car.

"You don't want a ride?" she asked.

"I'll walk," Angel said. "I want some time to think."

"You love my seventeen-year-old daughter enough to let her free, Angel. But what if she couldn't come back? What if she needed help? What if she broke a wing?"

"It was my hand that threw the stone, then," Angel said.

"Then fix your mistake. Don't leave a broken girl for someone else to put back together. She'll never be truly healed unless *you* do something about it," Joyce said.

"I've already done enough," Angel argued.

"Whose decision is that to make? You'll have done enough when she no longer has black marks under her eyes and can make it through the day without feeling lonely," Joyce said.

"It's not my job anymore," Angel said despondently.

"Then whose is it, Angel?" Joyce asked, getting the angry-mother-face on.

"I dunno. Scott's?" Angel asked.

"Buffy and Scott broke up," Joyce said.

Angel looked genuinely shocked.

"Why? Is she okay about it?" Angel asked.

"He broke up with her because he wanted what Buffy couldn't give: a happy, perky girl with no problems or responsibilities. He wanted to go out with a kid," Joyce said.

"She *is* just a kid," Angel said.

"No, Angel, she's not. I told you. The world killed her innocence. It made her into a vampire Slayer and taught her that she had to be afraid. She was a scared child. You took the child, fell in love with her, gave her comfort, and convinced her she didn't have to afraid. She isn't a child anymore," Joyce said.

Angel paused, not sure how to counter the clever woman's argument. It struck him as odd that she ought to be trying to rip his hair out, and, instead, she was trying to pair him up with her daughter. It almost seemed like something out of his childhood.

"Why are you so anxious to have us back together? I figured you'd come after me with a flaming stake," Angel said as he narrowed his eyes.

She *still* sounded like an eighteenth century mother trying to make an advantageous marriage. Angel nearly shiver in disgust. He would have, had it not been so absurd and humorous.

"The only thing worse than a scared child is a terrified woman. That's what she is. She's alone now with no one to fight the evil with. Her friends, Faith, Rupert, even I don't see it. I don't really know what's out there. I know to be afraid, I just don't know why," Joyce said. "You do, and you understand it."

And, with that parting shot, Joyce drove away. She left the vampire to fend for himself against the darkness. . . .

"Mom? Is that you?" Buffy called as Joyce came in.

"Buffy? I thought you'd be out patrolling," Joyce said.

"I was. I got finished. I was worried. You're okay?" Buffy asked.

"I'm fine, Buffy," Joyce said.

"Where were you?" Buffy asked.

"Nowhere," Joyce said.

"Mom? That's not a good thing to say when you live on a Hellmouth and your daughter's the Slayer," Buffy said nervously.

"I- I was Christmas shopping. I didn't think you'd be home so . . ."

"Christmas shopping?!? What'd you get me?" Buffy asked.

"It's a surprise," Joyce said with a faint smile.

"Oh- please?" Buffy asked, batting her eyelashes.

"Go upstairs, Buffy," Joyce said good-naturedly.

When Joyce heard her daughter's door slam, she ran to the phone and dialed the number she was getting to know very well.

"It's Joyce. Did you do it? . . .Yeah, I'm not sure. . . . Are you sure he heard you? . . .Absolutely? . . .Okay, yeah. I don't think he's quite ready, yet, but he's close. Go to the next step tomorrow . . . Bye, Faith," Joyce said.

When Angel arrived at Buffy's window, there was no mother watching over her. He wasn't entirely sure of Joyce's motives, but he knew she didn't understand. Joyce had only seen the tip of the iceberg. She didn't know how far he had gone when the demon was in charge of his body. She didn't know how hard it was to resist her.

She was laid across the bed in all her teenage glory, the moonlight spreading across her bright hair. He could hear the steady thud of her heartbeat and the whoosh of air in and out of her lungs. Her hands were twisting the covers around, and her eyes were twitching. He knew she was having a nightmare. Her heart rate and breathing caught up with her dream.

He stepped out of the shadows and sat on the edge of her bed. He gathered her up in his arms and gently rocked the sleeping girl. She seemed to relax a little bit, but he knew the images were still present.

"Sh- Buffy. It's okay. Sh- everything's fine," Angel whispered.

She whimpered a little before practically limp. He got off her bed and stepped into the shadows behind her. No sooner than she had been laid back down did she sit up quickly.

"Angel?" she asked with wide eyes. "Angel?"

Angel didn't dare move. She surveyed the room as he melted further into the darkness.

"Angel?!?" she asked again.

She put her hands to her face and ran her fingers through her hair. Angel watched her shoulders shake. He wanted to comfort her, to step out of the shadows and kiss her hair, but he was afraid of what she would say. << Why is she calling for you, then? >> Angel asked himself. << She probably felt me and is wondering why. >> Right.

She grabbed the glass of water on her night stand and drank all the water, and she seemed to calm down. She practically fell back in bed. When her slow even breathing signaled she was asleep, Angel grabbed the glass, risked going downstairs, filled it with ice and water, and put it back in her room.

<< If I can't be near her, at least I can offer her some comfort, >> he thought. The strange thing about his reasoning was that he wasn't more than four feet away from her.

Part Four.

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