(no subject)

[chuisle]

"Uh, Nina?"

This wasn't right. He knew the hotel — his hotel — like the back of his hand. He could walk the corridors blindfolded, even those in parts of the building that they had barely inhabited before the great move to the Law Offices of Wolfram & Hart. And while the Hyperion had managed to avoid sustaining heavy damage or infestation like a majority of the buildings in Los Angeles, hell wasn't nearly this well-kempt. Especially not where his former mailing address was concerned. The carpets were vacuumed, the floors had carpets, mirrors and glass polished to a glare-free shine...

Not only did he appear to be in the wrong hotel, but the wrong dimension, and that was a problem. A big one.

This was the last thing he needed, whether it be an actual case of dimensional displacement or some trick the Senior Partners were pulling on him in retaliation for overthrowing the Lords. Not that they needed an excuse to meddle in his life. They were the masterminds behind his newfound liveliness in spite of what the heavy glamour that hid his humanity from everyone had to say about him. Angel was alive, but it was important that everyone still believed he was a vampire.

It's like he told Wes; there's only one way to get out of hell. Act like nothing's changed.

Which was why he stared at what he could see of the buffet table across the way, but made no move to approach it. Eating actual food in public? Dead giveaway. (No pun intended.)

He should probably find shoes. Somehow, walking out of his room in nothing but a t-shirt and sweatpants had topped his list of poorly thought out life choices this morning.

Comments

[whattingawhat]

Buffy wasn't really patrolling the halls. There wasn't much need to, so she didn't have her scythe with her, nor was she carrying a stake. In fact, she looked positively harmless in a pair of yoga pants and a tank top, on her way to the gym to work on the punching bag.

She had her earbuds in, her ipod tucked into the hidden pocket in her yoga pants and she was be-bopping along to some One Direction sssshhhh when she was confronted by a ghost from her past.

Quite literally.

Well, maybe not the ghost part. At least she hoped it wasn't the ghost part.

She ground to a halt, mouth gaping. First Faith and now Angel. Hotel? I could use a little break here between blasts from the past.

What came out was:

"Angel?"

Duh of course it was Angel and if she had any doubt there was that ever present tingle-tangle, static at the back of her neck, pulling at that ever so familiar bite on her neck and at the pit of her stomach. There was no mistaking who it was.

[chuisle]

Were he still a vampire, he would be more receptive to her presence. Wolfram & Hart was good at deceiving his eyes, but tricking all those refined vampire senses was a bit trickier. (Giles and Andrew knew that, and that's why the girl who stood in for Buffy in Rome had to be Slayer, otherwise he and Spike would've seen through the deception in a nonexistent heartbeat.) He couldn't smell her, couldn't feel his skin crawl as the demon in him reacted to the thing vampires have nightmares about. He had no immediate, surefire way of telling whether this was some sort of nightmare, hallucination, or trick pieced together by the Senior Partners to throw him off his game.

As if he weren't already off his game in more ways than one. He was sure the others noticed. That's why Nina had been in his room when he woke up. They were worried.

Great.

"So, this is how we're going to play it now?" Angel turned to face her, slowly. "You put on a face, make me believe I'm having a good ol' chat with someone from my past so you can get access to all that info your ghost liaison's incapable of getting... Sorry, but I'm not buying it. Try again."

[whattingawhat]

Buffy tended to forget (conveniently) that vampires felt her the same way she felt Angel because Angel was the only vampire she'd ever properly felt. She was kind of defective that way. The fact that Angel didn't feel her didn't immediately ping to her that something was wrong. Later, she might wonder about the smelling thing, only because she'd commented on it often enough that it was a thing she'd consider.

In any case, she jerked the earbuds out of her ears when he started speaking, catching the last half of his first sentence. "Uhm...this is my face? It's kind of always...been my face." She was giving him the most confused look ever because he wasn't making any sense.

"I don't know what ghost lesion is but it sounds gross so let's stay away from those. Also, chatting...were we chatting before I--are you crazy again? Because if you're crazy again I can probably find some shackles."

And now for some distractions because yum Angel and shackles.

Wait.

"Alternatively, are you evil again?"

[chuisle]

Was he crazy again? Probably. At least, there was likely some part of him that was completely off the rocker. Likely always would be. If not the dragon, Wes, and sheer stubborn determination, he would've gone mad during those months spent immobile, in pain, and babbling incoherently to a beast who now thought his name was that of a woman long gone. A woman whose face wasn't the one he's staring at now.

If they wanted to get a rise out of him, why hadn't they used her face and form instead of Buffy's?

Maybe it wasn't a rise they were aiming for. Maybe they just wanted him to squirm. Always a classic.

"Not as crazy as I ought to be, and we both know that option's presently off the table."

Were he in a better mood, he would've laughed. One of the few upsides to humanity was having a soul that was permanently bound to his being. The only way he could lose it again was if he did something crazy like coming clean about his human state of being and talked Spike into turning him.

The thought has crossed his mind, even if it's been vetoed every single time it does.

[whattingawhat]

Angel wasn't getting any easier to understand. There was a brief moment where Buffy wondered if she was going crazy, if this was some sort of trick, or maybe she'd walked through a door and ended up--she stopped her internal monologue, turned in a circle and then again, stopping when she was facing Angel. Nope, still the hotel.

"Crazy? Uhm...sort of always a table-able option. Or shackles? 'Cause those are always on the table too. Just...saying."

He would forever be getting Buffy's best confused face. "I don't--Angel, did they do something to you when the whole..."

She took a couple of steps backwards, really wishing she'd thought to bring a stake or anything with her. Angel had been fine. She remembered the last time she'd seen him vividly and he'd been wracked with guilt, but he hadn't been crazy.

"Okay. Answers. I'm going to need some, otherwise, I'm getting the shackles out and we'll talk when you're less cucukoo for coco puffs."

[chuisle]

Right, because bruises from iron shackles or otherwise was just the thing he needed to add to his current list of injuries. There was a gash on his side, a smattering of cuts and bruises, and he was pretty sure he broke his hand (again) during the fight with the Lords last night. He flexed it experimentally, bit back the urge to wince. Yep, definitely fractured it somewhere between the She-Skip and the T-Rex.

Damn, that was his good sword hand, too. And he was fresh out of primordial fixer uppers now that Wolfram & Hart was reduced to a pile of rubble.

He sighed, his frustration escalated by the pain surging up from his hand and into his shoulder. He really, really missed being able to heal from these kinds of things overnight. He should've woken up feeling refreshed, not like he'd just been hit by a bus.

"You need answers? You have the answers. You are the answer. You're the Wolf, the Ram, and the Hart. Pick up one of those three pieces of yourself and give it a good talking to if you're unsatisfied with the pieces you're getting out of me."

[whattingawhat]

It was only when he flexed his hand that Buffy realized he was hurt. Her eyes went wide.

"Okay. We should get you to...uhm...I've got a first aid kit in my room. I can--do the nurse thing and patch you up."

She hesitated a moment. He was going to need blood to really heal. She'd wait and see how crazy he was once she'd gotten him alone and patched up before she made the offer to let him have some of her blood. It wasn't the best option, but she didn't know where the other vampires in the hotel got their blood. She knew Bella had a door with a forest and she ate deer, but that wouldn't be an option for Angel right now.

"Come on. I'm not going to stake you," she told him as she gestured toward the hallway she'd come down.

[chuisle]

He'd be more concerned about her noticing if he wasn't so convinced that this wasn't what it seemed. It's for the sake of keeping whoever and whatever this is talking and moving does he agree to come along, nodding in response to her offer. At the very least, they'd do something about the fact that he was forever on the verge of falling apart. Maybe that's what the goal here was — to put him back together without making it seem like they wanted him intact. Of course, wanting him whole couldn't be a good thing, either.

"Not like that'd do much." Not like she understood what he meant by that.

[whattingawhat]

It wasn't very far, just down the hall. His comment got a bit of a look from her, but she assumed he meant bandaging. He'd heal fast enough that anything like stitches would be taken out hours later.

She stopped in front of a door, got a key out and unlocked it, stepping over the threshold before she said "Come in, Angel."

[the_dawnster]

This chick is sitting in one of the plush couches in the lobby, scribbling notes in a journal, her book bag settled on the floor in front of her, her feet curled up underneath her. She probably looks older than the last time Angel has seen her. Because she is. And at this point she's used to people just appearing, especially in the lobby. It's become one of her favorite hobbies here, seeing someone appear, watching their confusion, helping where she could and meeting and learning about new people and places.

Pausing in her scribbles, she looks up at the new face. This face wasn't new to her. This was the face of someone who had hurt everyone she cared about including herself. But really, she's past it. Mostly. People make mistakes. People die. Things happen. She stuffs all of those emotions threatening to spew out into the open air deep down inside.

"Weird, right? I give it three stars cause while it isn't Trump Tower, it isn't a Motel 6 either." Her lips twist thoughtfully. "Not that I've ever been to Trump Tower, but I imagine it would be more impressive. Less hum-drum and more posh, not the Spice Girl."

[chuisle]

To his knowledge, the last time Angel spoke to Dawn, it was while soulless and checking on the status of a Slayer's-in-town rumor that was circulating around between all the bottom feeders. Technically, that was the first time he ever spoke to the girl, as she was brought into creation sometime after his departure from Sunnydale. He remembered her, of course, but he knew that those memories weren't real. He had no right to judge that, what those monks did, for he'd sanctioned the same regarding his own son when it came to giving Connor a better life. He allowed not only his son's memories to be altered, but those of his friends and everyone who knew him. Sometimes, that sort of thing was necessary.

Doesn't make running into what appears to be Buffy's little sister any less awkward. She's taller, and less lanky than he recalls. Probably around his son's age now.

"Uh— I'm, um— Spice Girl?"

[the_dawnster]

"Still not into pop culture references, huh?" She can deal with that. Kind of. She's not very good at keeping said references down to a minimum. Honestly, it's a Summers thing.

She shifts uneasily and then forces a small smile in his direction. "You're good you, right? Not evil you?" She's pretty sure she would be dead if he were Angelus but it's good to get confirmation on things, right?

[chuisle]

They always thought he was evil again. While he couldn't necessarily blame them, the assumption wasn't really all that appreciated. He'd done his evil time, but out of the total of two times he'd gone bad since those gypsies cursed him, Angel had only done one soulless stint near the Sunnydale crowd. The only people with Sunnydale roots to tango with him the second time around were Wesley, Faith, and that thing that had been inhabiting Cordelia. But that didn't count for much.

He bites back the anger thinking about that brings forth. It's not Dawn's fault, and the question is relatively valid — better safe than sorry. She's right, though. Were he Angelus and not Angel, he would've already broken her neck and stored her body in a convenient closet for Buffy to come across later.

"No, not evil. I'm me. Good me. As good as it gets... me." Literally, but he wasn't about to clue Summers the Younger in on the truth Buffy had stumbled upon.

[the_dawnster]

That makes her smile, an all around glad smile that things are on the up and up... and maybe even better. Because as good as it gets is a special kind of Angel lingo that could elude to some really good things for him. She's a firm believer in redemption. Buffy had taught her that through everything that had happened with Willow. And even through more than just that. So she believes that everyone deserves good things if they're working toward repairing or changing whatever things that might not look so good in their past.

She nods and taps the tip of the top of her pen against the journal in her lap. "Buffy's here too." Thank goodness. Because Dawn wasn't sure she would be handling this place quite so well without her sister here. "Have you seen her?"

[chuisle]

Good is relative. Angel's alive and that's a good thing, but it's also a very, very bad thing. It's what he's always wanted and the last thing he wants all rolled into one, a burden more than it is a gift. A curse of it's own. He isn't human because he earned it, because he shanshued, or finally did right by the world. No, he's human because Wolfram & Hart knows that right now, while Los Angeles is damned to hell, is when he needs his demon the most. So they took it away from him so he'd be easier to control.

He liked to think he was still giving them a good run for their money, vampire or not. It would take more than the removal of his fangs to keep him down.

"Yeah, I ran into her earlier."

Which had been something of a train wreck. He thought she was some manifestation of Wolfram & Hart's, the firm's newest way of screwing with his head, carrying on with the assumption that she already knew things she shouldn't until it was too late. Buffy knew what he was, knew that he wasn't a vampire anymore, and in a panic, he'd sworn her to secrecy. How long that cat's going to stay in the bag, he doesn't know. But she knows and to be honest, he isn't quite sure how he feels about that.

He's too used to only Wesley and his dragon knowing. The only two that ever should. Everyone else had to believe the lie. Nothing's changed.

[the_dawnster]

Unfortunately 'nothing's changed' to Dawn isn't necessarily a good thing with Angel. But she'll believe it wholeheartedly because one; why would anyone lie to her? And two, Dawn is oftentimes just that naive to believe anything that someone with a familiar face will tell her. Whether that's Angel or Buffy in this instance remains to be seen. For the time being, she'll cling to the fact that he said he's good and let it be.

She nods, waiting for him to say more about his run in with Buffy. But there was nothing. Not an it was good to see her. Not a testament to all the awkward ever. Nothing. "I forget how opposite of chatty you are. But I'm just gonna assume it was awkward and that our run in is way more fun." With that, she grins wryly at him.

[chuisle]

At least while something has definitely changed, Angel himself remains firmly planted in the good without any risk of going bad. The only way that would be accomplished is if he had someone sire him. And, not going to lie, while he'd entertained the thought of getting someone to do just that... As much as he wanted — needed to be a vampire again in order to get everyone out of the hell he dropped them into, his soulless self likely would only make things worse. Spike would become a professional Illyria and Angelus wrangler, and that would be ultimately counterproductive, nevermind subjecting his son to that again...

Anyway— Chatty? Yeah, he's not always the most chatty. Internally, there's a constant running commentary, but externally? Silence. Usually. Sometimes. Depends on who he's talking to and Buffy's little sister? Well, that's the cherry on top of this particular slice of awkward.

"Saying hello and then asking to be stitched up kind of have that awkward effect." He lifts the edge of his shirt up, revealing the bandaging wrapped around his torso.

It'll take much longer to heal than it should (good ol' human healing, how he hates the), but there's no harm in being honest about the fact that something big and nasty ripped into him. Happened all the time, human or not human. He was a magnet for such things, especially when he strolled right up to them and waved a flaming sword in their faces. That'll do it, alright.

[slutbomb]

Buffet table does look tasty. Faith hasn't had the chance to partake either but those are some pretty longing gazes coming from Angel. Don't worry, though, Angel. Faith's not keen on the deal, yo.

"Wow, never thought of it but I bet you miss chocolate hardcore." Of course, she had thought of it but the past year usually consisted of actual business and her living kind of a double life. Some jokes just had to be saved for a more opportune time.

She comes into the room from a doorway across from him, face scrunched up as she wonders if Sane Angel has left the building. "Dude. You know how I feel about your weird ass toes."

[chuisle]

"What's wrong with my toes?"

The response comes to him so naturally, that it's not until after he looks down at his still shoeless feet and wiggles his toes against the carpet does it occur to him that Faith just came out of nowhere. And that she hasn't actually seen his toes before. He may be teetering along the fine line between sanity and insanity (and there's always going to be a part of himself that isn't as lucid as he ought to be, he knows that), but he remembers everything just fine. Falsified Dawn memories aside, Angel's mind is perhaps the least tampered with of all. He'd remember if he'd gone shoeless in front of someone he spent the better part of a few years making biweekly visits to.

Buffy and Dawn are here, and now, so is Faith. It makes him wonder if any other blasts from his still-a-vampire past are wandering any of these halls.

[slutbomb]

She moves closer, scrunching up her face in more than just reaction to those toes.

"Your middle toe is what. You know it's not supposed to be longer than the other ones, right?" Distraction is the name of the game here. Because something is off, but Faith can't put her finger on it yet. Angel seems like he's in a bit of a daze which is maybe not totally uncharacteristic at home in the flat -- in a strange hotel that begets lots of questions and investigation, though? She's finding that hard to believe.

Or maybe he's got post-Buffy brain. That always did a number on people...

[chuisle]

Angel looks down at his toes for further inspection — there's nothing wrong with the middle one, longer than the others or not — and when he looks up, Faith is close. Too close. He takes a step back instinctively, no longer accustomed to letting people get this close to him, especially those the vampire glamour is meant to fool. He bumps into the wall behind him, that inherent grace not so inherent anymore.

Wesley probably would've laughed at him the first time he tripped over air, were the fact that he did so something to laugh about. It was more a horrifying part of the reality he was going to have to endure and work around than something to poke fun at him for.

"Right."

[slutbomb]

Her brow knits together, and Faith instinctively takes two full steps backward, out of Angel's wider-than-she-thought personal bubble. She was good at reading signals (nothing to do with the slayer so much as everything to do with a broken home life) and even if she wasn't, that would've been a big red flag. Angel could sometimes be a little klutzy when he was forced into a situation he wasn't used to or couldn't navigate for whatever reason.

This shouldn't be one of those times. "Didn't mean anything by it."

Not that that's really what she's saying. Sure, those are the words that come out of her mouth, but in a hollow sense that meant no real text had carried by them. It was filler, while she watched Angel with a look akin to predator hunting prey -- something's hinky and she's learned over the years when to leap and when to heel. If he needed a little space, she could give it. For a moment, anyway.

[chuisle]

It was, because a human being with a recently stitched up side courtesy of his ex-girlfriend was sort of lacking in the natural grace department. Honestly, it's a wonder he hasn't tripped over air in front of some Big Bad in hell and given himself away completely. Miracles apparently do still happen, if not on the grander, much more preferred scale.

"Stop that. Stop looking."

That look; the scrutinizing, the careful attention to detail as if waiting for him to do something that would tell her just what's going on that makes him so... off. And he realizes how off he's being. It was easier to work around being off when his sole companions were a dragon and a ghost in the know. Being around people who honestly know him is trickier. There were only going to be so many times he could trick Spike into doing something vampire-ish before he had to step up to the plate himself and fail spectacularly at the performance.

"Not here, not out in the open like this."

[slutbomb]

"Shit." Faith doesn't mean to let the curse slip, but she can't help it. A thousand situations are running through her head, ones she's thought up before, because Faith did stuff like planning contingencies nowadays. Angel acting sketchy wasn't really something she's comfortable with, but she's here, she'll deal with it and it'll be OK.

"C'mon, let's get a room." She winces. "Not-- nevermind. Let's just find somewhere off the beaten path." She moves, trying to take the lead while still keeping him in her line of sight. She didn't like this -- not the way Buffy reacted to her, and not the way Angel is behaving. It all spelled out more trouble than Faith felt like she could handle right now. She thinks about asking him if he'd seen her yet, but that can wait for closed doors and a sanity check.

[chuisle]

Shit. That's what he said right before he slammed into the pavement and broke nearly every bone in his body at the start of this hell-tastic year. Discovering you've been reduced to a living, breathing, mortal being while mid air? Sucks. Really sucks. It gave a whole new meaning to the phrase 'look before you leap.' Check your pulse before you leap, make sure it's absent and not heartily present before you jump off a skyscraper.

"Here," Angel steps around her, hand landing on the knob of a door he knows for a fact leads to an empty room. It's one of several he'd pulled open moments before while looking for a way back to hell. He holds it open, ushers her inside and locks it firmly behind him once she's in.

And then he paces, back and forth in front of the doorway, eyes glued to the floor.

"I don't know how to address this. I haven't really had to address it. Not directly. I've gotten pretty good at hiding it. Really good, actually, but a lot of that's a series of complicated, primordial glamours that were incredibly awkward to apply..."

Buffy saw it because he was hurt, because the bleeding hadn't yet stopped. Maybe it would've if he'd let anyone near him after the battle, but he'd insisted upon dressing his own wounds, too fearful of what Nina would discover had he let her wind the bandages around him herself. (That and her werewolf side was a bit unstable and an unhinged werewolf around blood... not a good idea.) Faith would see it because she knew him, and he didn't want her to see. He wanted her to know.

It would make her the first person he actually told about this. He hasn't even told his son, doesn't want to burden him.

The paces stops and he looks up heaving in a breath, then letting it out. "Alright. I should just... say it. Okay. Here it goes."

I screwed up.

"I'm alive."