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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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"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."