Rating: I don't know; PG/PG13, maybe?
Content: Kissing. Hints at something more, but nothing explicit.
Spoiler Warnings: MAJOR for "Becoming" 1&2. References to other episodes, mostly "Passion" and "Phases".
Summery: Angel gets out of Hell. (Sick of this theme yet? I hope not.) Angst and happiness follows.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters mentioned in this story. If I did, I wouldn't be so mean to them. Joss owns them, and I'm just borrowing them for a while, and I will return them much happier, I promise.

About a mile outside of Sunnydale, the bus screeched to a stop. A young girl got out. She was wearing baggy overalls and she clutched her coat tightly around her. There was a leather duffel bag on her shoulder. She stood and watched the bus as it drove away, her eyes red. It looked as if she had been crying for a long time, and had only stopped because there were no tears left. Slowly, Buffy Summers turned back in the direction she had come from. She was headed for the last place she could remember feeling happy. She hadn’t been back there since that night, but it was safe now. The dangers of that place were gone, along with Angelus, and Angel. She was going to his apartment.

When Angel came to, he was lying on the floor in a small room. There was one door, heavy wood with a lock that looked like it was made out of iron, and no windows. The floor was rocky and uneven, and spikes stuck out of the walls. Slowly, he became aware of an excruciating pain in his stomach. He looked down, and saw the sword that ran completely through his body.

And. Then. The. Memories. Hit.

Buffy’s face, twisted in pain as he mocked their night together. Willow’s eyes wide with fear as he threatened to sink his fangs into her neck. Jenny, running from him just before he snapped her neck. The hatred on Giles’ face as he tried to gain revenge for her. The mixed fear and hate as Xander watched him try to destroy his friends. Buffy again, cowering against the wall as he prepared to kill her. Finally, the set, blank, expression on her face, the expression that meant that she was trying not to scream, or cry, or even feel, as she watched Acathala suck him into.....wherever he had been sucked into.

He lived months in minutes. As he struggled to sit up, he remembered where the vortex of Acathala led to. < So > he thought < this is what my hell is. Trapped with a sword through my gut remembering every single torture that I ever visited upon my friends. Not so different from the *first* time they gave me my soul back. > A wave of pain left him writhing on the floor. < Except for the sword. >

Buffy reached the apartment a little after nightfall. She’d waited on the outskirts of town until the sun went down, trying to dodge the cops. She didn’t know whether or not she was cleared of killing Kendra. Not that it would matter soon.

She let herself in and dropped her bag and her coat on the floor. It looked the same as the last time she’d been there. Buffy sighed in relief. She’d been afraid that Angelus might have “redecorated” in his spare time, but it looked like he hadn’t come back since the day after.....since she’d been there.

< All right, Angel, > she thought as she looked around the apartment. < At *some* point in your life you must have had a knife, and you’re not exactly the type of person who throws things away. Where would you keep it? > Buffy closed her eyes for a moment when she realized that she’d been talking to him in her head as if he were still there. She shook her head to clear it, and tried to think.

The apartment had one big main room, an alcove for the bed, and a door which she thought led to a bathroom, although she’d never looked. There were....*things* everywhere. Artifacts. Objects he must have thought worth keeping. She didn’t bother to look at them. She’d seen most of them before, and they weren’t what she was looking for anyway. There was a desk against one wall, near a bunch of pictures. < Maybe there... > she thought.

As she moved towards the desk, she couldn’t help but look more closely at the pictures on the wall. No, wait. They weren’t pictures, they were *drawings*. She sometimes forgot that Angel was - she swallowed hard - had been an artist. The drawings were all of people, most of them contorted with terrible fear in their eyes. < Why did he draw these? > she asked herself. They were horrible to look at, these terrified people. As she stood staring in fascinated horror, she noticed two pictures that were different. One was the largest picture on the wall. It hung to the left of the others, and it was a portrait, the head and shoulders of a girl. She didn’t look afraid. He had drawn her looking off to the right, a small smile on her face. She had dark hair and dark, laughing eyes, and she was dressed like the pictures of gypsies that Buffy had seen. < Who is she? > There was something strangely familiar about the girl. < She looks like Ms. Calendar > Buffy thought suddenly. It was true. Shorter hair, and more modern clothes, and the girl could have passed as the computer teacher. Once again, Buffy wondered who she was.

Her eyes wandered over the other drawings. The second picture that caught her attention was little more than a sketch. It was unframed, and had been tacked to the wall above the desk. She spread the curling edges flat and examined it. It showed a young man dressed in old fashioned clothes, with long, dark hair tied in a ponytail at the back of his neck. He was tall, and although he wasn’t smiling, his eyes looked as if he wanted to. They were full of laughter. He looked like the sort of person who would play practical jokes on people, and then apologize - and mean it - while he laughed. There was a dark handsomeness about him, the kind that would attract every girl for miles.

It was Angel. Angel as he must have been two hundred years ago, before he was changed. A lump rose in Buffy’s throat. < He has the same expression on his face that Xander gets sometimes > she thought. < When he’s about to laugh, but trying not to > The picture blurred before her eyes. She wished that she had known him then, before all the years of brooding and solitude. < Oh, God, I miss him so much. Why are you doing this to me? > She brushed the tears from her cheeks and began to search through the piles of paper on the desk. < Damnit, Angel, > she thought in desperation. < Don’t you even have a *letter opener*?!? >

“Second drawer down. On the left,” Angel muttered sleepily. He jerked himself away from his nightmares with a start. < I heard Buffy > he thought dazedly. < Why is she looking for my letter opener? >

< Second drawer down. On the left. >

Buffy stood stock-still. < I heard him. I heard Angel > she thought wildly. She took a deep breath and shook her head. < I haven’t slept in a while.....I must be hallucinating.....oh well, it wouldn’t hurt to look > She opened the drawer. A long knife with a jeweled handle lay on top. Buffy stared at it, eyes wide in disbelief. < Well, at least I’m having *accurate* hallucinations >

“NO!!!” Angel sat straight up, ignoring the pain from the sword. Somehow he knew what Buffy was trying to do. It was as if he could see into her thoughts. < I can’t let her. She can’t.... > Wincing, he reached down and grasped the hilt of the sword. Just touching it sent fresh waves of agony all over his body. < Think of Buffy > he reminded himself as he gritted his teeth against the pain. Taking a deep breath, he yanked the sword out. Blood began to pour from the wound. He was gasping, his eyes wide. < Buffy... > he thought. < Just keep thinking of Buffy.... > Slowly he pulled himself to his feet and stumbled to the door. < This is true hell. Knowing what she’s going to do, and not being able to stop her..... > Frantically, he searched for a weakness in the door.

< .....stop her..... >

Buffy’s head snapped up. “Angel!” she cried. < It’s only in my head. I haven’t slept in two days, I’m tired, *it’s just in my head*.... >

Shaking, she grasped the handle of the knife and took it out of the drawer. Testing the blade against her thumb, she drew blood. < Some letter opener... > She started to walk away from the desk, then turned back, pulled the tack that was holding the sketch of Angel up out of the wall, and took the picture with her.

Buffy sat down on the bed. She thought of her mother, and wished that things could have been different. < She should have tried to understand.....but maybe I should have tried harder to explain. Maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference.....I wonder if she misses me > She thought of school, and finals, and realized that she wouldn’t have to worry about *that* ever again. She thought of her friends. < Did Giles make it out ok? > Willow must have tried the spell again. < I hope she didn’t hurt herself worse.... > Had Xander known? He must have. Would it have made a difference if he had warned her? She wished he had, and felt angry with him for not letting her decide for herself.

She thought of Angel. His eyes, watching her while she did just about everything, waiting in the wings to make sure she was all right. Hunting with her, kissing her in the graveyard, kissing her as they sat on his bed..... She’d felt safe that night, lying in his arms. Safer than she’d felt anywhere else. She remembered the sound of the rain outside.

The knife felt heavy in her hand. She picked up the drawing to study it one last time.

Black spots were appearing in Angel’s vision. He dropped to his knees in front of the door. “Buffy, don’t....*please*....” He touched the wound in his stomach, and his hands became covered in his own blood. As he lapsed into unconsciousness, he reached for the heavy, iron doorknob. He touched it, felt his blood-covered hands slip, and then, to his amazement, he felt it turning.....

Angel felt as someone had thrown him through the doorway, and he heard the sound of cracking stone behind him. He somehow managed to hit the ground rolling, stopping only when he rolled into a wall. As he lay on the ground waiting for the world to stop spinning, he noticed that the pain in his stomach was gone. He bent his head to examine the wound, and discovered that although his shirt was torn and bloody, the skin underneath was smooth and unbroken. < What the hell... oh well, time to worry about that later. Now I have to get to Buffy > He stood up and immediately recognized the mansion that he, Spike, and Dru had been holed up in. He glanced around quickly. The demon lay in a pile of rubble on the floor. For a moment he stood in shock, trying to understand what had happened. Then he took off, running towards his apartment as fast as he could.

Buffy stared at the drawing for a long time. It had been months, and she could still remember the feeling of those hands in hers, the touch of those lips. The love in his eyes whenever he looked at her. His trust in her, as he closed his eyes without a question when she told him to. She let herself drown in memories of him. They couldn’t hurt her now. She hadn’t let herself before because she had been afraid that it would make her weak. There was nothing to defend herself against anymore. < It will be over soon. No more pain. Just nothingness > The drawing fluttered to the ground. She picked up the knife, holding it with both hands in front of her eyes. Silently, she said goodbye. To her friends, her Watcher, her mother. To the sun and moon. To Angel.

Buffy raised the blade to her throat and prepared to draw it across.

Angel skidded to a stop in front of the door to his apartment. He grabbed the doorknob, threw the door open, and raced across the room towards his bed. He stopped as soon as he could see around the corner. Buffy was sitting there, the knife near her throat, but her eyes were turned towards the door. When she saw him, they widened, first in disbelief, then in astonishment. Angel stood as still as he could, afraid that he would startle her if he moved, afraid of what would happen if the knife moved even an inch. “Don’t,” he whispered. “Please, Buffy.”

For a moment, Buffy just sat and stared. Angel was standing in front of her, his eyes filled with fear and worry. He wasn’t in the depths of hell, he was *here*. She leapt to her feet, dropping the knife as she started towards him. She was halfway across the room when a wave of dizziness hit her. She stumbled and almost fell, but Angel was next to her, holding her up. They clung to one another, each afraid to let go. “I love you,” Angel said fiercely. It suddenly seemed very important that she know that. “I love you more than anything in the world......”

All of Buffy’s problems and fears felt far away. Wave after wave of exhaustion, happiness, and relief washed over her. Her last thought before she passed out was that she was were she’d been longing to be for months. In Angel’s arms.

When Buffy woke up, she was in Angel’s bed. Alone. Feeling a very strong and uncomfortable sense of deja vu, she sat up, looking around for him. When she didn’t see him, she began to worry. “Angel?” she called, her voice loud and high with panic. “Angel, where are you?”

He came around the corner, looking about as worried as she felt. “Buffy, what is it? What’s wrong?” He sat on the edge of the bed, next to her, and she threw her arms around him. His arms tightened around her instinctively.

After a moment she pulled away. “Sorry. I was just scared when I woke up and you weren’t here. Deja vu. Sorry if I scared you.” He watched as she rubbed at her eyes with hands that shook visibly. < Deja vu? > he thought. < From when? She hasn't been around here since.....oh > Angel reached out and pulled her close again, stroking her hair.

“I’m sorry, Buffy. I’m so sorry.”

Rupert Giles sat down at his desk and once again went over the mental checklist for the group he always thought of as “his” children.

Oz - on the fringes of the group, certainly, but he was always helpful, and he obviously adored Willow. He’d hardly let her out of his sight since she’d gotten out of the hospital. He would be in senior exams now. No injuries.

Cordelia - she was fine too. She had actually become a much nicer person since she’d started dating Xander. Junior exams for her and the rest of the group.

Xander - broken arm. Not serious. He kept looking guilty whenever anyone mentioned Angel and Buffy. < I’ll have to ask him about that.... >

Willow - she was still in her wheelchair, but the doctors said that she was well enough to take her exams. She was obviously worried about Angel and especially Buffy, but she tried to hide it.

Giles sighed. Once again he’d gotten through the entire list except for the last two names. The two most important names. Where on earth were Buffy and Angel? He couldn’t believe that she wouldn’t have called him if everything was back to normal. The demon was dormant, and Willow seemed to think that the curse had worked. So where was she? He rested his head in his hands, trying to avoid the metal casts on his broken fingers. They would heal in a couple of weeks, and he’d be as good as new. He only wished that he could say the same about everything else that had happened in the past week.

The phone rang beside his ear and jerked Giles out of his reverie. He picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

Buffy’s voice came across the line. “Giles? It’s me.”

Giles let out an enormous sigh of relief. “Thank God. Buffy, where have you been? We’ve all been worried sick about you..... where are you?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t call, I just was busy.... I’m in Angel’s apartment.” She answered his next question before he asked it. “And yes, Angel’s here too. Back to his old brooding, guilt-ridden self.”

Giles could here the happiness in her voice even over the phone. The life that had been missing from her for so long was back. He smiled to himself.

“Listen, can we come to the library tonight? Can you make sure everyone’s there? There are a couple problems that still need to be worked out, and I think we may need everyone’s help.”

“What *kind* of problems?” he asked warily.

Buffy sighed. “Let’s see, that fact that I don’t know if the curse on Angel is permanent, or if there’s a happiness clause again. The fact the the police are still after me, I got expelled, and my mom threw me out. *Those* kinds of problems.”

There was silence on the line for a moment. Then Giles took a deep breath. “All right, come by as soon as it gets dark. I’ll try and have everyone here.”

“Thanks Giles. I’ll see you then.”

“And Buffy?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you’re safe.”

Silence. Then -

“I’m glad you’re safe too, Giles.”

Giles listened to the static for a minute after she hung up. Then he replaced the receiver and straightened up. The children would be getting out of exams in a minute, and they would be in to see if Buffy had returned. He had to be ready to tell them the good news.... and the bad.

CONTINUE