Ceremonies of Innocence

by Persephone

"Nice," Cat commented as Angel flipped the lights of his place on. The room slowly blossomed into view as soft light lovingly rose like an artifical sun. He glanced down to see her perusing her surroundings.

"Better than you hoped?" he teased. Somehow, he couldn't shake the suspicion that she really thought he lived in a crypt. While not as nice as his place back in either L.A. or Sunnydale, this warehouse cum apartment was snug and more importantly secure.

"More upscale," she returned blandly, "though I wouldn't recommend the view."

She was referring to the blacked out windows, one more reminder of his true state of existence. As if he needed one more. He shrugged, then winced as a fiery pain burned its way up his side. "Comes in handy when you have a slight sun allergy."

"I suppose so. So the sunlight thing is true then?" she asked.

"Yeah," he replied shortly. It was one of the real regrets of his life, this longing to see a sunrise and to know that he never would again.

An expression of contrition crossed her face and for not the first time, Angel wondered just how much of a bead she had on him. How far did her ability to read him extend? It made him uneasy. Right now, he'd like nothing more to send Cat on her merry way out of his life. He didn't want, didn't need, this sense of closeness that seemed to be creeping between them. Once, he'd had friends, close friends, and had very nearly destroyed them on his rampage as Angelus. Fortunately, Buffy had stopped him before he had taken out the Slayerettes.

Jenny Calendar, however, hadn't been that lucky.

Angel shook his head, pushing the haunting memory aside. He wasn't going to allow himself to dwell on it, not now. The mere thought of it, however, was reminder enough of how dangerous he truly was. He was didn't belong among 'real' people as Whistler called them because he wasn't a real person. His first mistake had been in believing that he could become just that. That belief had fueled his hope of, then his folly in, pursuing a relationship with the Slayer. That belief had culminated in the loss of his soul one rainy night and what had followed had more than reinforced his belief that he was better off in remaining distant. He would always love Buffy in one way or another, would always be there for her, but they would never be together. And that was something they were both learning to accept. In the meantime, he did what little he could to help, a penance for the sins of his past whilst remaining, as far as he could manage it, alone. Alone was safe, it had a certain aching comfort. In being alone, the only one to get hurt was yourself.

So the last thing he needed right now was this young Scottish lass, who was doing her damnedest to help him, to be kind to him. In a way, her earlier standoffishness had been far more preferable. He did not want to like this girl. 'Too late for that,' whispered an inner voice.

'Just satisfy her and get her out of here,' Angel leaned against the wall, gritting his teeth in pain as another searing wave worked its way up him. That young one had scored him deeper than he had initially thought. It irritated him that. He was older than many vampires, certainly older than that young puppy he had staked earlier this evening, he should have been able to overcome him easily. 'Don't get cocky,' Angel warned himself. Then as an afterthought with respect to Cat, he mentally added, 'Or distracted.'

"Maybe ye should sit down," Cat's subdued voice intruded on his reverie. The young woman was once again at his side, tugging at his elbow. Angel allowed her to lead him over to the leather sofa and push him down into its welcoming folds.

"I dinna suppose ye have a first aid kit or something?" she tucked a strand of hair behind one ear.

"In the medicine cabinet in the bathroom," he informed her.

She seemed surprised, then her eyes narrowed, "Why do I have the feeling that this is no' the first time something like this has happened ta ye?"

He gave her an innocent tilt of the head. "Why do you think that?"

"Uh-huh. Ye're not fooling anyone," she told him. Leveling one finger at him, she ordered him, "Dinna move. I'll be right back."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied sarcastically, "Should I eat all my vegetables as well?"

"If I thought it would do any good," she glared at him, "I'd thump ye for that."

"No, you wouldn't," he said confidently.

She cocked her head at him, "Oh, wouldn't I?"

Angel was surprised to find just how much he was enjoying their bantering. "I'm an injured man. You wouldn't hit an injured man now, would you?"

At the puppy dog look he flashed at her, Cat rolled her eyes, "Men. Ye're all the same. Ye think all ye have ta do is smile, look helpless, and we women will fall all o'er ye."

"Don't you?" he gave her an arrogant smirk.

"Live in the now, Angel," she shot back, turning on one heel. Then, pausing, "Where is yer bathroom, by the way?"

"Now who's helpless?"

She tossed her hands in the air in silent plea before flouncing off. As soon as she left the room, Angel let the arrogant act slide, crumpling against the couch tiredly. He must have lost more blood than he had realized. It had taken every bit of strength he'd had just to stay upright in the last few minutes. He closed his eyes against the wave of dizziness that swam up before him, making him want to retreat to the fuzzy edges of conciousness. It felt so good to just lay here like this with his head against the armrest, eyes shut against the spinning of the room. Angel knew he needed to get up before Cat found him like this, it was too tempting to just lie here like this.

'Just a few moments more,' he promised himself muzzily.

"Well, I found the the kit though I have ta ask what possessed ye ta hide it behind a rat trap. Ye should set up a warning or something, I nearly lost a finger getting the thing. I..." Cat trailed off, clutching the kit close to her chest as she took a few tentative steps forward. Angel was leaning against one end of the couch, eyes closed and not moving.

She placed the kit on the coffee table, then turned to the patient. Cat did not like what she was seeing. Angel was normally pale, him being a vampire and all, but in the last few minutes he had moved beyond pale. His skin tone was sickly ash gray and it didn't take a genius to figure out that, despite his protestations, even if he was a vampire, Angel was not well. As gently as she could, she eased him into a more upright position, struggling to remove his jacket. When she finally managed that, Cat noticed the ragged ends of his shirt seemed a darker red than before. She ripped the shirt open and swore. The cut had torn, probably on the walk home, and was wider, despite all her care to the contrary. Blood was freely flowing over his skin and onto the couch.

"Damn yer eyes for being so stubborn, Angel," she raged at him, "Why didn't ye tell me?"

Running to the kitchen, she searched the cupboards until she found a bowl, rinsed it clean, and then put the hottest water she could manage in it. There was a set of fresh towels hanging nearby. She snagged one of them and hurried back into the living room. Soaking the towel, in the bowl, she bit her lip and murmured, "This may sting a bit."

Angel whimpered as she pressed the wet towel against his open wound. She cleaned it as best she could without hurting him further but he didn't come around. That worried her all the more. After putting antiseptic on the wound, she pulled out the gauze and surgical tape. She wasn't sure how well this was going to work-- Angel's cut was deep and she'd bet anything that nothing short of stitches was going help. The problem was, that would entail going to the hospital and having a lot of questions that neither of them wanted to answer brought up. This would just have to work. 'It has ta,' she thought fiercely.

She sat back on her haunches once she was through binding him up. 'Now what?' she asked herself. Angel being a vampire made it difficult to tell whether she had done the right thing or not. There was no tell-tale sigh of relief or catch of breath in pain-- in fact, there was no breath at all. He didn't need to breathe, he had told her. While she intellectually understood that, she found it bothered her not to see his chest rise and fall in suspiration. The dead don't need to breathe. She banished that thought. Angel was not dead, the dead didn't come back. The dead didn't feel pain or anything else but Angel could and clearly did. He was...he...well, he *just* was. Something different than she or other humans but she couldn't deny him his existence.

'How am I supposed ta know if ye're okay or not?' she brushed a hand against his skin. It was cold under her touch. More evidence of his undead state to be lumped with the lack of pulse and breath. Angel had said that he would heal and he seemed to think it wasn't that big a deal. Of course, that could have just been him putting on a good face for her. She heaved a gusty sigh, running her hands through her hair. Taking the already damp towel, she made a few swipes at the couch, attempting to remove the blood there. If Angel did recover, he was not going to be thrilled about what had happened to his couch. Suddenly, she froze, staring at the scarlet stain against the white cloth as a thought took root in her mind.

Vampires survived off of blood, she knew that much. And Angel had lost quite a lot of blood tonight. What if...what if he had lost so much that he *couldn't* heal himself? The more she thought about it, the more convinced Cat became of the rightness of the idea. 'That means that I need ta find some...some sustance for him,' she hugged herself, hands rubbing at a chill that wasn't physical in origin. The thought of luring some poor, unsuspecting soul here for Angel to drain was totally out of the question. The very idea made her ill. So what options did that leave her with? Hospitals carried blood--she could always nip over and steal a bag or two. She shuddered at the image of herself standing outside an operating room waiting for scraps. 'Okay, now we're getting morbid,' she chastised herself. She could always open a vein and let him feed from her. The problem was, how would she know just how much blood Angel needed? Would she be able to stop him if he started taking too much?

'Think, Fraser, think,' she ran an exasperated hand from her hair. 'All right, Angel is a vampire. We've established that already. Vampires need blood. We've covered that base as well. So wouldn't it make sense for him ta have a food supply just in case...just in case...' She could hardly finish the thought, 'in case he canna go hunting.' Cat didn't want to think of Angel stalking humans for prey just as the young vampire earlier had stalked her, but it was a notion she couldn't entirely dismiss.

'Now,' she reined those thoughts in briskly, 'assuming that I'm right, where would he stash his supply? Where would I hide blood if I was a vampire?' Of course, since she wasn't and had never been a vampire, the answer didn't leap automatically to mind.

'So much for that approach,' she shook her head and began ransacking the room. No corner, no cushion, or statue was left unturned. Part of her hoped that the brandy bar in the corner was hiding a bottle or two but that proved fruitless. But the sight of decanters and wine containers did give her an idea. Dashing into the kitchen, she yanked open the small refrigerator in the corner and began scanning the contents. A few slices of cheese, some grapes, something that was completely unidentifiable and a couple of dark bottles in the back. She skipped over the edibles and removed one of the bottles. Carefully, she uncorked it and sniffed. Her nose wrinkled at the salty, coppery scent. 'Jackpot,' she thought. But there was little triumph in that. She turned the cold bottle in her hands uneasily. What had was in this bottle had once belonged to a living being--possibly a human. Sure, one could argue how was it different from eating a hamburger--the end result was the same but eating cow meat was a trifle different than taking the precious life fluid of a human being. 'Hold on,' she thought, 'ye dinna know this is human blood. It could be animal blood. Angel just said that he drank blood, he never specified what type.' She sincerely hoped what she was holding wasn't human. If it was, then she didn't want to know where or who it came from. Her stomach was already having a hard enough time with this as it was.

Debating as to whether or not she should pour the liquid in a glass, Cat gave up and simply clutched the bottle in one hand, marching back into the living room. Angel was still against the leather couch, but she could see the stain of blood beginning to seep through his bandages. 'Damn,' she swore. Then she lifted the bottle to his lips. 'I hope this works,' she prayed as she cracked his mouth open and raised the bottle in her hands. A few drops of bright red liquid fell into his mouth. Cat stilled her hand, waiting for a sign that she was doing the right thing. Nothing, then he convulsively began to swallow, tongue rising to the rim of the bottle. With equal parts relief and unease, she helped him hold the bottle, watching him suckle it like a babe. Soon, she didn't even have to hold it for him. Angel took the dark-hued bottle from her grasp and began gulping down the contents. His throat constricted and for a moment, she thought he might be choking but then she realized that the constriction wasn't limited to his throat. His whole face was tightening. Brows arching into a demonic sneer, eyes a bright yellow that was hard to look at, and a elongated canines brushing his lower lip as he slowly lowered his head. Cat stared, fascinated by the complete and rapid change. 'This is who he really is,' she realized. 'But not all of him,' whispered another voice, 'this is just part. Remember that he saved your life.'

Yes, that was the important thing, that was what she should fix in her mind. However, she knew that this face would also be along side it despite herself.

Angel finally seemed to be aware that there was something beyond his irrational hunger, beyond the pain and the taste of blood. For the first time, his eyes focused on her, saw reflected in her eyes what was on his face and twisted his head around, away from her. "Go away."

"No."

"Get out, Cat," Angel's voice was devoid of anything remotely resembling human compassion or reasonableness. Cat felt her heart quicken in fear, but forced herself to remain calm.

"No, Angel," she told him quite clearly and firmly. Then, summoning all her courage, she said, "Let me see ye, Angel."

The muscles of his shoulders rippled in response to that. "Why? So you can ogle the beast?" he snarled.

"I want to see ye, Angel," she kept her voice low, singsong almost. Hesitantly, she reached a hand out, paused, then setting her jaw, Cat let her hand come to rest on his shoulder. His flesh was unnaturally cool but not uncomfortably so. Even more importantly, he felt human--the skin underneath her fingers was strong but it was still flesh. It could tear and bleed just as easily as hers. It reassured her, gave her the courage to bring her other hand down on the other shoulder. He was tense under her and coupled with a flash of insight their tactile contact gave her, she realized that he was afraid. Probably about as afraid as she, though for differing reasons. Taking him by the shoulders, she began pivoting him around towards her.

Angel resisted her efforts by catching her nearest hand. His voice was pleading, "Don't see me, Cat."

"Why?"

"You shouldn't have to see me like this," there was absolute loathing in his voice. Her heart went out to him, "No one should."

"I saw ye before. How is this different?" she whispered, letting her captured arm lower, so that her fingers could clasp themselves around his wrist. He cringed, loosening his hold as if he had been burned. Cat took advantage of it, reaching with her free hand to take his chin and turn his face towards her.

The yellow eyes that met hers weren't human, it was true. Nor was the demonic visage with its abnormally sharp teeth blantantly visible. But the panicked, half-hopeful expression was. He was still a man, still a fellow being with uncertainties and doubts. She let her fingers brush his cheeks, then over the twisting brow. He watched her with an expression of bewilderment. There was nothing sensual about the movement of her hands over his face--it was too like the tracing, inquisitive touch of a child for that. Lowering her shields, Cat felt waves of sorrow and anger and fear. He was like a wounded animal, craving attention but wary of the hand offered to him. That same frightening hunger she had sensed earlier was there but there was so much more locked underneath it. It frustrated her but there was no way she could breach his shields without his knowing it. Or without her own conscience nagging her.

The shrill wail of the telephone snapped her back, shielding instantly raising back into place. Cat bit her lip as the moment strained but didn't quite break. Angel was still staring at her, those deep eyes drilling holes into her soul. The intensity of feeling she saw walled there made her acutely aware of just how similar they actually were. Neither one of them was very trusting. Nor were they completely open about how they felt. Where Angel walled his feelings off with a sullen face, Cat hid hers with a smile and the pretension that nothing was amiss. They both had their secrets though she was aware of what probably qualified as Angel's biggest one: namely that he was a vampire. And she had the distinct impression that like herself, that he was isolated not completely by choice but because there were some bridges that simply could not be crossed.

Or that they were afraid to cross. At the moment, she wasn't quite sure which it was. There were parts of herself that she had locked away, hoping that she would never have to find the key and revisit what she had left behind. Who she had left behind. But being here, seeing something of herself in Angel, made her realize that locked door had never truly been shut off, not completely. It was just waiting for the right moment to swing open again.

And it frightened her more than she cared to admit that this felt like that time. Cat had to stop this before her Pandora's box came completely undone.

"Angel," she exhaled, "The phone."

It was strange to watch that face shift back to its more angelic countanence. Stranger still to reconcile the man with the beast. And it was difficult to shut him out when he watched her with such an intent expression.

She couldn't stand this. Leaping to her feet, she stalked over to the phone, feeling secretly relieved at not having to see his dark eyes glinting at her so knowingly. Yanking the phone out its cradle, she said more brusquely than she had intended, "Hello?"

"Hello? Um," there was a uncomfortable pause before surprised voice asked, "Is this Angel's residence?"

"Aye, it is."

"Um, er--is he there?" the voice ventured. It was a British voice, male and quite flustered, if Cat was hearing him right.

"Yes," she drawled out, curiosity sparked now. Any aquaintance of Angel's definitely had to be *interesting*. Then her mouth twisted into a rueful smile as she realized that she had just lumped herself into that category as well.

"Could I speak with him?" a note of impatience was creeping into the other line's voice, "It's terribly important. Tell him that it's Rupert Giles."

"I'll take that," said a voice in her ear. She jumped. Somehow, during her terse telephone exchange, Angel had crept to her side without her knowledge.

Handing him the phone, Cat brushed a lock of hair behind one ear nervously, "I should go. Ye'll be all right?"

She really didn't give him time to answer instead backing towards the door. A few more feet and she'd escape the stifling atmosphere of this place. And the uncertainties it evoked in her.

"Cat."

Looking back, she found him holding one hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. His face was serious as he said, "Please don't leave."

"Angel--"

"There are some things we need to discuss. Things you need to know for your own safety," he cut her off, "Please."

She cast a longing glance at the door. Just a few more steps... The desire for freedom was nearly palpable. Then, there was Angel, who was begging her with large puppy dog eyes that made her feel like an absolute cow for even wanting to run out of here at top speed. 'Tisn't fair,' she moaned silently, 'he's immortal--he's probably had a long time ta perfect that mask. And I'm not even twenty-one years old yet--how am I supposed to blow off this sort of manipulation without feeling guilty? Those eyes of his should be classified a lethal weapon,' she thought in annoyance as she realized that she was already moving away from the door and back towards him. 'Guess that takes care of that decision.'

"All right," she growled, immensely displeased with herself for giving in so easily. Waving a vague hand towards the back of the warehouse, "I'll give ye a bit of privacy for yer phone call. Then we can...talk."

It was ungracious, she knew, to treat him this way. After all, he had saved her life but she couldn't help but feel that since the moment she laid eyes on him her life had begun spinning out of her control. 'Okay,' she corrected herself, remembering some of the Tomorrow People's past scrapes, 'more out of control than normal.' She didn't like that feeling. Didn't like how much she wanted to identify with Angel. So if she was snappish and short with him, could she really be blamed for that?

'Bloody hell,' she clenched her fists, 'what have I gotten myself inta?'

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