A/N: Okay, I'm a couple of days late on this one... After a weekend of insane work, I'm finally updating. This is a pivotal chapter, though, and rather long... So I hope you guys enjoy.

Thank you to everybody who's still following and reviewing. ::hugs::

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Angel was the king of secrets.

Even as a man, he’d spent days, years possibly, hiding things from his father. He’d kept his pleasures as discreet as possible so he wouldn’t have to see the hell fires in his father’s puritanical stare, and he’d never looked back since.

Sometimes he thought maybe that was why he was so good at keeping things secret even from himself.

How long, he wondered, had he wanted Cordelia Chase? Was it from the first time he’d seen her, 12 years old and wearing shoes most grown women would have to spend a whole week’s paycheck on, slim figure just beginning to show the promise of maturation? Or when he’d first trailed her, unbeknownst to her, to her first high school dance, watched her grace the floors with both seduction and casualness just shy of loose?

He wasn’t sure, but he now realized it had been there for a long time.

So he’d done the honorable thing; he’d gone to Cordy’s father and told him that he might possibly be interested in seeing his daughter… outside of security sanctioned visiting hours. The man he’d come to respect beyond others had given him a quick glance, then sat down at his desk.

“Angel, “ Chase had said. His words came out carefully, as if slightly pained.

“Cordy’s a big girl. As much as I wish it could be someone else, you seem to be it for her. I’m just asking you to be careful, alright?”

The man in him was satisfied, the demon in him was screaming at the bit.

At war on the inside, he walked up the steps slowly, headed for Cordy’s wing of the mansion. He could smell her before he even came to her rooms, the faint scent of jasmine and woman.

She was standing in her living room next to the open verandah, legs curving down into sharp stilettos. Her back was to him, and he devoured the sight of her chestnut hair as it blew gently over her bare shoulders.

“Cordy,” he breathed, his eyes tracing her figure’s glistening outline against the night sky.

She turned and gave him a wicked smile.

“Keep looking at me like that and we won’t make it to dinner at all.”
She walked over and stopped in front of him, then leaned up and gave him a wet kiss. When she finally pulled back, Angel’s blood was mimicking the quick beat of her heart.

“As much as I’d love to just stay in, I need to get crowd reaction on this dress.”

She gave a little turn.

“What do you think?”

He lifted her hand and drew it to his lips, a timeless gesture of old.

“You look magnificent.”

Cordy flashed him a hundred-watt smile, tucking her arm in his as she turned them towards the door.

“You sure do know how to talk to the ladies. I bet you were a charmer in your day.”

He gave her a soft smile as he recalled some of his wilder human dalliances.

“You could say.”

“Okay, so what was your human name anyways? I mean, was it old fashioned like back in the day? ‘Cause I totally think…”

*

Giles was perched on the edge of Spike’s couch, rubbing the bridge of his nose with one hand. What Buffy had just asked him to help do both delighted and terrified him.

It delighted him that Buffy was finally standing against Summers. It terrified him that she wanted to do it the first time by taking on Wolfram and Hart.

“What you’re proposing is going to be very difficult to pull off.”

“I bought us a little bit of time with the Merselin demon suggestion.”

Giles cleared his throat as he slid his glasses back on.

“Lovely idea, actually, if the situation was as they actually described. I get the feeling from what you’ve told me that girl won’t go down without a fight.”

“She was odd, mate,” Spike offered.

“Buffy looked like she was just studying the girl. Woulda thought nothing of it myself if it weren’t for vampire senses.”

“What do you mean?”

Spike hesitated, trying to put what he’d seen into words.

“She… well, every so often she would sorta flicker, you know? Not like anything in particular on her. Just like for a second you couldn’t see her. Then she’d be back and you’d be wondering on your sanity.”

“She’s their prophecy keeper?” he asked again.

“Yeah,” Buffy said. “One of their lawyers told me that she had all their secrets in her head.”

“That means she will be very well guarded.” Giles expression was severe.

“Giles, I have to get her out of there.”

“What exactly did she say to you?” he asked, trying to get some sense of the situation.

“She told me the prophecies were all confused about me. That I was the queen of secrets.”

Giles’ face went blank.

“She has prophecies about you in her head?”

“Yeah. So I asked her if she knew what they would do to me, if they knew what I am. And she told me they already know.”

“What does that mean, Watcher? That Summers already knows she’s the Slayer?” Spike tried to keep the panic out of his voice, but couldn’t keep it out of his heart.

“I’m not sure,” Giles replied.

“Did she say anything else?”

Buffy glanced at Spike, running Bell’s Champion comment through her brain, but decided to keep quiet about it.

“She just said, ‘See ya soon, Queeny.’”

“Well,” Giles said finally, visions of their future disembowelments playing in his head.

“We’re going to need some help.”

*

Angel woke gasping.

Beside him, Cordy lay sleeping, wrapped in sheets with her face turned towards him.

As he stared down at her, his chest filled with a fiery pain that quickly traveled the length of his body. With it came an awareness that something was horribly wrong.

“No, please no…”

He fell from Cordy’s bed, crawled on his knees to the balcony and with one hand threw the doors open.

The LA night was cool, but did little to stop the burning. He raked his fingernails over his bare chest, tearing at the flesh until he could smell blood. A sob caught in his throat…

And then the world stopped.

The pain was gone, a sudden relief that caused Angel to gasp.

“Now idn’t this a pretty picture?”

Above him stood a man, Irish by the sound of him with vivid green eyes. He was wearing slacks and a button down shirt, and he smelled far from human.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Name’s Doyle. I’m here to prevent a major sorta catastrophe, man.”

He looked down at Angel, his forehead wrinkling as he sighed.

“Stand up, would ya? This is painful enough to watch without you crawling on the ground like that.”

Angel climbed to his feet, surprised to find them steady.

“What sort of catastrophe?”

“You mean you can’t tell? You’re in the process of losing your soul, man.”

“My soul?” Angel pressed his hands over his chest, where the pain had been so vicious moments ago.

“Look down, man.”

Angel looked, and saw himself locked in agonized place on the balcony, hands frozen against his chest. He glanced back at Doyle, unsure of what to think.

“Your Gypsies didn’t just curse you with a soul. They cursed you with a soul with certain, uh, conditions, you could say.”

“Conditions?”

“Look, the point is, Cordy made you happy. And I do mean REALLY happy. You’re just not gonna be yourself anymore if things keep going the way they’re going.”

Doyle tilted his head, eyes considering.

“I’m here to make you a deal, man. A deal that’ll stop the travesty that’s about to occur ‘cause you couldn’t keep your Irish parts tucked away.” He glanced through the balcony doors to where Cordelia lay sleeping.

“On behalf of the Powers I’m supposed to be chastising ya, but between you an’ me I don’t blame ya. She’s fine piece of work, she is.”

“What sort of deal?” Angel asked, trying to refocus him.

“Well, you know what they say. A Shanshu a day keeps the soul in place.”

Doyle laughed heartily at his own joke before realizing that Angel was staring at him with a blank expression. He cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Well, maybe you don’t. Ya see, certain things have to happen certain ways. And for reasons I can’t tell ya, your Cordy needs to live. Angelus needs to be gone for good.”

“And how exactly do you plan on getting rid of him?”

“What I’m offering here is to make you a man again. Mortal.”

Angel was stunned, insides rioting at the words. Mortal. Man. He could do nothing but stare at Doyle as the possibilities raged in his head.

Doyle glanced down at where Angel was crawling on the balcony, his soul a shimmer in his eyes in progress of departing.

“Or you could be him, about to wake up and destroy yet another very special woman.”

Drusilla’s name hung unspoken on the air.

“How am I supposed to protect her?” he asked softly, finally, as the considerations slowed to a distant din.

The Irishman gave him a searching look.

“You’re just gonna have to learn to trust.”

It was a heavy word, not easy swallowed. But she was Cordy…

“Okay,” he said softly as he gazed over at her sleeping form, hand tucked beneath her cheek and hair spilling in dark curls across the pillow.

“Do it.”

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