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"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.

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Angel can't say when he fell asleep, just that he eventually did, the pull of alcohol and exhaustion weighing down heavily on his system. He's been through a lot in the past year, skirting by with the bare minimum sleep requirement if he allowed himself to sleep at all, and being able to just doze uninterrupted and without worry is freeing. It's a freedom he shouldn't be allotted, but Buffy had been right.

He was of no use to his son, to his friends, to the people of Los Angeles if his entrails were falling out. If time stood still on the other side of the door he'd gone through like she said, then Hell on Earth would still be there waiting for him when he found it again. Hopefully by then, his side will have either healed some or been done back up by magic.

Did this place even have a library with those kind of reference books in it? Questions he asked himself upon stirring, though out loud it was—

"How long was I out?"

Angel may not be certain when he fell asleep, but Buffy had watched it happen by degrees. She lay on the opposite bed, tangled up in her own thoughts, her hand beneath her cheek as she watched Angel fall asleep then proceeded to watch him sleep.

It was fascinating, watching him sleep as a human. She'd fallen asleep beside him when he was a vampire countless times, but he'd always been so still, so quiet in sleep. He tossed and turned now. He snored lightly. He was alive and Buffy wasn't sure how to cope with that. She wasn't sure how to cope with knowing what Angel would do or had done in her world. She wasn't even sure if they'd happened to him yet or if they ever would and did any of it matter now that he was human? Shouldn't becoming human be some sort of fresh start?

She was lost in those thoughts when he woke up and asked his question. She glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand.

"A couple of hours. Not too long. How do you feel?"

"Like I was hit by a bus. Or kicked by a dinosaur. Feels about the same."

Funny thing about having actually been hit by a bus before: you're able to legitimately compare that to being kicked by some demonsarus rex. It sure didn't feel funny, though, and that chuckle that ripped through him didn't do him any favors. He was sore — rested for once, but sore. At least he was no longer bleeding through his bandages. Buffy's stitching up did the trick.

He sits on the edge of the bed, runs a hand through mussed, ungelled hair. Might as well address the elephant in the room.

"It's a punishment. Not a gift, not something I rightfully won or earned, but a demotion. I riled up some of the biggest bads out there by taking out their apocalypse task force." Angel sighed, looked down at his feet. "I joined Wolfram & Hart for reasons... It's a powerful weapon, I intended to not only redirect their resources for good, but also to take the damn thing down from the inside-out." He looked back up at her then, something hot and intense in his gaze. "I did it. I pulled the rug out from under the feet of the Senior Partners, but I lost people along the way. Fred, Wes, and Gunn. Doyle."

His gaze dropped again, mouth slanted into a thin, unhappy line. "Cordy."

A breath— "After I did it, they retaliated almost immediately by dropping all of Los Angeles into hell. You can't see it." Or couldn't. Wouldn't? He's sketchy on how time is supposed to play into this, being well acquainted with how that tends to work in these situations. "To the outside world, LA looks like its carrying on as usual. Inside? There's nothing. A void where a city used to be. They're in hell. All of them. The Partners made me human to make it harder for me to fight back and they damned all of them along with me. And you know what the bitch is?"

He laughed again, his side protesting. "I'd do it all over again."

"Good information to know." She hasn't actually been hit by a bus or kicked by a dinosaur, but she's pretty sure there are some comparables there. However, she's got the slayer constitution and healing working for her so...maybe not.

She listens to him, nodding when necessary, but not injecting anything. Sometimes there aren't any words that can make anything better or add anything to the telling. She'd hoped that his new job had been something good, something that wasn't him going evil. Corporate hadn't ever really been Angelus' style, at least not as far as Buffy is aware. It's far too impersonal for him.

She wants to tell him that wars have casualties whether they like it or not. Good deeds don't go unpunished and sacrifices have to be made to make things matter, but he's not one of the potentials; he doesn't need a pep talk and he knows all of the things she could tell him. Instead, she keeps her silence, body tense as she listens.

"Which is why we didn't know," she says quietly. It makes sense; however, she's not certain they wold have been able to help out even if they'd known. She's been busy with her own problems, an influx of zompires is taking over San Francisco and the police are after Buffy. Again.

She looks up at his laugh and his words. "It was Connor, wasn't it? You saved him."

How did she-- Of course. Cordy had calmed down considerably after he told her he did it for Connor. It was the only thing that made sense, the only reason he would sign his name to that dotted line. His son was losing it, clinically. There was nothing he could do for him, nothing that could be doen to stop him. Getting a half-vampire the psychological treatment he so desperately needed would've resulted in a bunch of dead psychiatrists, leaving him with only one option he didn't want to take: eliminate his own child in order to keep the world safe from him.

Connor had been beyond saving, was putting other people's lives in danger besides his own. He would've either killed himself and hundreds of innocence (including Cordy) or been taken down by his father's own hand. Wolfram & Hart gave him an Option C that fixed a seemingly unfixable problem. A new, normal life had given Connor the stability he needed, something to fall back on once the reality of his life set back in.

Angel needed to get back to him.

"Yes," he admitted quietly, feeling tears sting his eyes, unbidden. He blinked them back, pressing his fingers against his eyelids. "He was-- Things got bad, things you don't know about. There was nothing-- Nothing I could, and Wolfram & Hart offered me a chance to do what I couldn't do, to give him something I wasn't capable of providing for him."

He was talking to a girl who dived off a tower for her sister, a girl who had told Giles that if Dawn died, she quit and meant it. She might not understand exactly how Angel felt, but Dawn was a part of her and she wanted all good things for Dawn, all wonderful, normal, happy things. She felt as if that qualified her to understand the whys of what Angel had done and would do.

In his place, Buffy would have done the same thing for Dawn. There was no point in saving a world when she didn't see anything worth saving in it.

"And he's okay now?"

Except Angel didn't have the luxury of quitting. He'd done that once, after he lost Darla to Wolfram & Hart's determination to turn her back into a vampire after she'd finally come around and accepted her mortal fate for what it was. It hadn't worked out too well, and he didn't plan on throwing in the towel ever again. If he'd been forced to take out his kid, he would've kept going, because he had to. Because someone had to. He made the tough choices, the rough calls.

He did it so nobody else had to, never completely thinking of himself. It was always for the greater good, no matter the price.

Funny how a couple centuries ago, he'd been a selfish drunkard going nowhere in life and now he was a selfless Champion of the Powers That Be.

"More or less. Considerably more than less. It's complicated. I don't want to get into the details right now."

At that point, Buffy didn't really have the luxury of quitting, but she had every intention of taking it if Dawn had died. Buffy hadn't chosen to be a hero. It had been pushed upon her. However, she'd accepted it and was willing to dedicate her life to it; she simply had a few conditions; one of them being that Dawn lives.

She nods, happy not to push the issue. "Okay." She sits back down on the opposite bed. "I'll tell you what I now about the doors so far. It's not much. I haven't found one back to Sunnydale, Scotland, San Francisco or anything that resembles our world. That doesn't mean it's not there. From what I understand, different doors react to different people. You might be able to find and open one to Sunnydale circa high school while I can't. Or anywhere else. Generally they seem to be reliable? Once they're there, they stick so in theory you could go back and forth between here and home if you find a door, but as far as I can tell, you can't bring anyone else over."

"Scotland?"

His head snaps up, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. Why was she looking for a door back to Scotland or San Francisco for that matter? Last he heard, she was based out of Italy. Thoughts of The Immortal threaten to sour his mood further, but he resists.

"Yeah...Scotland." All of the dubious looks ever. Surely he remembers Scotland. It's kind of where they'd been when the whole disaster that was their sex life had resurfaced.

"Castle. Potentials. Dawn was a centaur, or maybe a doll. I can't remember which at the time you were there."

Dawn was a centaur. Her sister was a centaur (and a doll?) at some point, and she was near castles in Scotland surrounded by ex-potential Slayers, not on a dance floor in Italy at The Immortal's side. It didn't add up, which meant–

Angel sighed, dropped his head into his hands for a second. He ran his fingers over his face as he lifted his chin back up, his gaze landing back on her.

"Year. What year is it supposed to be for you? Because last I checked, it was circa 2005."

Or it ought to be. He wasn't too clear on how time worked in hell. Last time he was in hell, a century equated to a few months on Earth's dimensional plane.

Buffy furrowed her brow at him. "2007."

Okay well, time lines weren't the weirdest thing in this hotel. She and Dawn happened to be from the same time, but they'd also arrived with in days of each other.

"Ooooookay. So..."

That meant he hadn't been possessed by Twilight. He hadn't killed slayers or Giles or any of the things that Buffy remembered.

He made a noise low in the back of his throat, a gruff, unhappy sort of sound that would've been — should've been — a growl.

"Time. I hate dealing with time, especially when it comes to the misalignment of."

"I can't say I've got that much experience with it. I mean there was the whole future thing but...yeah. It's...weird."

Because what do you hold people accountable for? Things they haven't done yet? That seems a little judgemental and wrong in Buffy's opinion, but at the same time, holding them accountable now could prevent the thing from happening in the future. Or is that not how it works?

She was getting a headache thinking about it. She reached up to rub at her temple.

"Not Jewish but I like Oy vey is appropriate here."

You don't. Because Angel knows well that time can be a very flexible thing that is not as solid as it appears to be. You can live your life one way thinking that's the way it's going to be only to stumble across an opportunity to make it different or have someone do that for you. Time could change, people could do things differently. And people were not always in control of their actions. He'd laugh bitterly to know he joins Team Possessed in the future, given how many of his friends and loved ones have fallen victim to that very thing. Why not him?

But it hasn't happened yet and he's big on not doing what prophecies and history say he ought to do. Written in stone? He doesn't think so.

Nevermind that the possible future isn't even on his radar at the moment. He wasn't terribly concerned about it, wasn't asking questions — no, his mind's on hell. She'd had no idea, so either he survived and never told her (typical of him, Buffy hasn't been a part of his life for a very long time and if this injury hadn't lead to the human reveal, he would've kept it to himself) or he didn't survive to tell her. Either way, his mind is on his city, his friends, his son, and the thousands of innocents stuck with them.

"I have a few other choice words for it, but they're more along the lines of the seven words you can't say on television."

She's all for not letting it happen, for changing the future (or her past).

Buffy was glad he wasn't asking questions, and yes, she knew it was because he was focused on his home and everything that was happening there. She got that. She'd been lucky enough to come from a time when things were relatively calm, but she got that wasn't true for everyone.

She nodded because yeah...she got that.

"Sooooo...uhm...do you have other questions? About this place?"

It was hardly ever true for him. When things were calm, that usually meant something bad was about to happen. Calm before the storm, every single time.

“Only if there’s anything or anyone I need to be keeping an eye out for, and is there weapons?”

He stood then, stretching his arms experimentally over his head, mindful of his side. Some of the tension in his muscles had ebbed, sleeping peacefully for a few hours proving to be beneficial for more than just the pain.

Oh, it's coming for Buffy. She just doesn't know it yet.

"So far, everyone has been okay. There are a couple of vamps around, but I've talked to them some and watched them and so far, they're not hurting anyone that I can tell.'

As for weapons, she moves over to the closet and opens it. She's been collecting them through out the various doors. She's got her scythe, of course, but she's a bit possessive of that. She comes back with a short sword and a stake.

"I know you like a bigger sword, but that's all I've got," she tells him handing it over.

"As far as anyone else is concerned, you're putting me in that category. For the sake of appearances, I promise to keep my fangs to myself."

It doesn't necessarily need to be said, but he says it anyway. He's in the middle of pulling the shirt she brought him over his head when she walks back in the room. With a stitched up side, fresh clothes, and a good few hours of sleep, he feels some semblance of whole again. That's better than he's felt in a long time.

"I can work with that." He takes both from her. The stake is pocketed while the sword is given an experimental, expert swing. It's no surprise that a good bulk of his upper body strength is in his sword arm.

"Got it." Honestly, it will take her a while to get used to the idea of him being human. She will probably, for a while, still think of him as a vampire.

She stays a few feet away, arms crossed as she watches him with the sword before nodding. "And now you know where I sleep, so if you need anything else...Be careful with the doors. Not everything inside them plays by our rules."

She hesitates for a moment. "Let me know where you end up staying? You know...stick together and all of that."

Which is for the best. For all that he selfishly hoped he'd be human one day, actually being alive makes him miss being dead. He's good at being a vampire, and was more at home with cravings for blood and violence than he is with the various instincts and urges that come with being a human being. Which had taken some getting used to, considering he hadn't been human for more than twenty-four hours in centuries.

It was like driving stick when you'd been behind the wheel of an automatic for far too long. You did it once, but it took you a moment to remember where everything was and how it worked.

He nods, lowering the blade. "Just like old times."

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