Disclaimer et.al.: See Part One

All Roads Lead to Sunnydale
Part 3


"Riley," Angel said flatly. He ran a hand through his spiky dark hair as he tried to process Buffy's surprising revelation. "You came here to ask me to help you rescue Riley. Your boyfriend. The ex-demon hunter. That is what you said, right?" He looked at her pleadingly, suddenly buoyed by the hope that maybe this was all a huge misunderstanding.

Buffy opened her eyes, their shamed, yet half-defiant expression swiftly killing his hope.

"Yes, that's what I said." She had to force the words past the ache in her throat, but for Riley's sake she persevered. "There's a Belos demon in town, and Riley is missing and you know as well as I do the word 'coincidence' isn't on Sunnydale High vocab tests for a reason and I really need…" she paused for a breath. Gathering her courage, she looked him straight in the eye. "I need your help."

"A Belos," Angel mused, trying to ignore his jealousy at her concern. Her boyfriend was missing; of course she was upset. She was supposed to be. That was why he left her, so she could meet someone new and care about him and worry about him and love…"A Belos," he repeated helplessly.

She nodded. "He was one of the Taraka, but Willie says he got bored and retired. Went into business for himself. His latest amusement seems to be demon-hunters."

"Like your pals from the Initiative." Angel looked sharply at Buffy, but didn't say anything more about the former commando group. A part of him still could not believe she could have been a part of such an organization, dedicated to treating demons like so many lab rats, without regard for their potential 'humanity.'

"Yeah, apparently they make the perfect Christmas gift for the Tarakan who has everything."

"And you're sure he has Riley?"

"No, I'm not sure," she snapped. Anger was good; anger was easier to handle than guilt or shame. "I'm not sure of anything, including why I thought you'd help me. I'll just be going now and you can go back to your nice little new life in LA free from the problems of a neurotic ex-girlfriend."

She glared at him as he stood stolidly between her and the door, but instead of moving out of her way he stepped back a pace, completely blocking the door.

"You're not going anywhere," he said. "Not without me, anyway. You came to me for help and you knew I'd give it. There was never any question of that, Buffy, no matter who it is that needs rescuing." He couldn't resist one jab in the name of his pride. "It's not like I'd be doing it for him, you know."

"Well don't do me any favors!" She threw her backpack on the bed and rested a hand on each hip. Obviously he was looking for a fight and she was more than ready to give him one.

"I didn't say I would be doing it for you either," he lied through clenched teeth. "This is my job, remember?"

She stared at him for a moment longer, trying to fan the flames of her fury. With Angel she never feared the storm; she relished it. He could make her so angry she wanted to scream sometimes. Other times he could make her so sweetly content she thought she'd truly died and gone to heaven. But no matter how she felt with him, it was always incredibly intense. She had never felt so alive as when she was in the presence of this man for whom life had technically stopped over two centuries before.

"Fine, do it for your country for all I care," she sneered. "Just give me a hand and then we can go back to our separate lives like you always wanted."

Our separate, solitary, sterile lives, her heart continued when her voice failed her.

"I never wanted…" he stopped himself before he said too much. She was baiting him; he knew that. She always pushed and pushed at him, knowing he would fight back and eventually make her reveal the source of her anguish. But it wasn't his job anymore to heal her; that was Riley's. He couldn't get involved. He drew a deep breath, trying to push the past away before it dragged him under again.

"Let's just go. You can fill me in on the details while we drive."

He stepped back from the door at last, gesturing for her to precede him. She snatched up her backpack with one hand and swept past him, her head held high. He sighed as he grabbed the blanket off of his bed for protection from the upcoming daylight and followed her into the dimly lit parking lot.

They stood silently for a moment, each anxiously scanning the lot for the right car. At last, they reluctantly faced each other as the same question sprang to both minds.

"So where are you parked?"

Buffy looked at Angel strangely. "What do you mean 'where am I parked'? You're the one with the car."

"No," he said slowly, "Gunn took my car to get Wesley because you were going to drive us back to Sunnydale. Quit kidding around, Buffy. I'm not actually that fond of crouching in the back seat under a blanket, so I want to get as far as we can before sunrise."

Anything not to prolong this, he added silently.

"Well, then if I were you I'd start running now and hope for a cloudy day, because I don't have a car. Not here, not anywhere else." She crossed her arms and stared at him. "Why would you think I had a car?"

"You had to get here somehow," he pointed out, using what he felt was a marvelously calm voice, given the situation.

"I hitched," she explained. "Why would you even think I could drive? How do you know I have a license?" Her eyes narrowed with suspicion; he looked strangely guilty, even for Angel.

"You hitchhiked? Are you crazy?" He couldn't believe she would do something so foolish. "That's dangerous, Buffy."

She cocked her head and stared curiously at him. "Dangerous for who?" Before he could answer, she returned to her main concern. "And don't try to change the subject. How do you know I have a license?"

"Well Giles said…umm, why don't we continue this inside?" He tugged at her wrist, trying to draw her inside. She jerked her arm away and continued to stare at him.

"Giles said what? And Giles said when? And why is Giles saying anything to you about me?"

"Buffy, if we don't have a car to talk in, I really would prefer to continue this inside. I'm not a big fan of the dawn's early light." Angel didn't look to see if she was following him when he turned on his heel and walked back to his room. He was too busy trying to figure out a way to explain his transgressions that wouldn't land him on the wrong end of a broom handle.

The door slamming behind his back told him that broom idea wasn't so far-fetched after all. He still didn't face her; she was less likely to wail on him if his back was turned, and he needed time to regroup.

"Okay, spill. Why did Giles tell you I got my license this summer, and what else have you two been gabbing about behind my back?" She crossed her arms over her chest and impatiently tapped her foot. "Did he tell you about that nasty sunburn I got a few weeks ago? How about that cut on my arm from the fight with the Parantheon last Tuesday night?"

The blanket he had been clutching absentmindedly fell from his hands as Angel spun around and grabbed her wrists. "A Parantheon?" he asked urgently as he extended her arms and scanned her unblemished skin. "Did it spit acid on you, or did you just get grazed by a claw?"

Her anger vanished at the sight of his frantic concern. She relaxed her arms in his gentle grasp, enjoying the feel of his cool touch on her pulse points.

"Just a claw," she assured him. "I'm fine."

He reluctantly released her and stepped back, trying to distance himself both mentally and physically. He would always worry about her, but he couldn't let the concern get out of hand, he scolded himself. She wasn't his to protect any longer.

"I'm sorry, I just…well, I'm glad you're okay. And as you can tell, no, Giles didn't tell Wesley about the Parantheon. He talks to Wes," Angel explained, steadily holding her gaze. "Not me. But I think he knows, that is I think Wesley told him…I like to know you're doing all right." He looked away as he continued his confession. "So Wes asks how you are, and Giles always says 'fine,' but sometimes he says more than that. Then Wesley tells me and I…I'm happy for you."

"But in these little conversations nothing flows the other way, does it? It's just a one-lane information superhighway." Her temper suddenly flared as the memory of last night's scare resurfaced.

Angel glanced at her clenched jaw, and her seething eyes. Buffy was gone and the Slayer was back.

"I don't know what…" he stumbled, "Giles doesn't ask about me, if that's what you're asking. Why would he?"

"And Wes doesn't volunteer anything, does he," she said flatly. "Little tiny incidentals like your apartment building being blown up. Stuff like that. Things that could have killed you!" She was on him faster than lightning, grabbing his coat to keep him from fleeing, to keep him with her. "No, that one I had to find out on my own at one o'clock in the morning with no one around to tell me if the ashes in that dirt were actually you."

She released him with a shove as she turned away to hide her tears. A moment later she felt two strong arms slip around her, cradling her against the cool length of his body. A part of her wanted to push him away again, but the other, stronger part wanted to stay in this fragile bubble of time for as long as she could. She dropped her head on her chest as his lips delicately stirred the hair behind her ear.

"Shhh, shhh, it's okay," he crooned softly. "I'm sorry, I should have told you. But I didn't think you'd come here and I didn't want to worry you over nothing."

Something in Angel's voice troubled her. Buffy shifted slowly in his arms until she faced him, her hands lying flat upon his broad chest. Looking into the quiet depths of his dark eyes, she saw all the doubts he would never burden her with.

"You didn't think I would worry, did you?" she asked softly. "After all I said last spring, you were afraid I wouldn't really care."

Angel didn't answer, but she could see the truth in his face. Buffy reached up and gently cupped his cheek. His skin was cool, yet even the briefest contact seemed to warm it, giving the illusion of life restored by her touch.

"Do you have any idea how terrified I was when I saw that lot with nothing but police tape and ashes in it? I was scared to death." She stood on tiptoe, stretching up to kiss those lips that trembled ever so faintly at her words. "I thought that I'd really lost you this time."

Lost, lost, the voice in her head suddenly chanted. Angel is safe, but Riley is lost.

She gasped and struggled to get out of his arms when she realized what she, what they, had been about to do. Angel had been as lost in the moment as she had, and it took him an instant to understand her distress. As reality overtook him, he dropped his arms, and his head, in shame.

"I'm sorry," he said swiftly. He raised his head and took a step towards her, his hand outstretched. Her eyes widened in a kind of fear as she stumbled backwards. He held very still, trying not to do anything to further alienate her.

"We seem to say that a lot, don't we?" she asked breathlessly, running a hand through her long blonde locks as she tried to regain some semblance of control.

"Just the joy of being us," he agreed with a small smile.

He seemed to have no trouble calming down, she noted crossly. After a hundred years of practice living among humans, the watertight doors could clang shut in the blink of an eye.

"So, what do we do now? We don't have a car, and even if the buses came up this way, it wouldn't be for a few hours." She tossed her backpack on one of the beds again and perched uneasily on the edge.

If he could be Mr. Calm, Cool and Collected then so could she, she told herself stoutly. Okay, so not Mr., but at least Mrs. Calm, Cool and…no, not that either, never that, she inwardly sighed. If she could, she wouldn't be here.

"We could always try hitchhiking," she offered, not really expecting an answer.

Angel shrugged off his leather duster and sat down on the other bed. That was close, too close, he thought with an inward tremble. He could barely hear Buffy talking over the voice in his head that was berating him for being such an idiot. He had to get away from her now, immediately, before something more happened.

He was pretty sure the voice was that of his father. After all these centuries, the old boy still talked a pretty good game. And even from the depths of his shame, that voice still irritated the hell out of Angel.

"Since I think I might be more useful to you out of the ashtray, that's not really an option for me," he commented after a lengthy inner struggle. It gave him a perverse delight to disobey his phantom father's wishes. "Gunn should be back in a few hours with my car, so I think we have to just wait it out." He looked closely at her, noting the smudges under her large hazel eyes, the slight tremor in her delicate hand as she raised it to her face, the unaccustomed slouch in her slender…she looked tired, he decided hastily. "You look tired. When did you last get some sleep?"

"Last night," she confessed. "With the hitching, and the little side-trip to visit Cordy, it took me all night to find you."

"Why don't you lie down." He gestured to the bed she was sitting on. "Get some rest until Gunn and Wesley come back and we can head out."

She needed her rest; she needed to regain her strength, he told himself. His father's warnings were forgotten as he resolutely closed his mind to any other explanation for his invitation.

She looked uneasily from the demure twin beds to his sexily innocent face. "I really don't think that's a good idea." She squirmed slightly, trying not to imagine sleeping in the same room as Angel, feeling his body just a few feet away, wondering if he would draw closer as she slept, hoping that he…"You, me, one room?" she asked doubtfully.

Angel looked embarrassed as her meaning became clear, and he wondered why it had to be such a problem. It just seemed so natural.

Of course, he reflected, that was actually the problem. It felt too natural, even after all this time and space between them. Five minutes alone with his beloved and he was lost in the dream once again.

"Yeah, you're right," Angel said, his voice unintentionally husky. He cleared his throat and tried to sound more matter-of-fact. "Problem is, Gunn has his room key with him, and I really don't want to attract any intention while I'm on a stake-out by breaking into rooms." He raised his hand as she opened her mouth. "And before you say anything, there are no more rooms. It's a small motel in a very small town, there's a big dog race tomorrow, enough said."

"So, this is it. You, me, one room." She wasn't sure if she sounded too happy or too scared about the prospect; both emotions were fighting for dominance in her heart. "You know, we could always, umm, talk," she said hopefully.

"We have a lot to catch up on," he gravely agreed. "But why don't you get under the covers first. That way, when you fall asleep," he glanced shrewdly at her, "which looks to be in about ten minutes, you'll be comfortable."

"Good point." She slipped off her shoes and climbed up to the head of the bed, but she stopped when her hand touched the edge of the blanket. "Ugh. I've been wearing these clothes for like 24 hours now. By the time we get back to Sunnydale, I'm going to smell like a slime demon on a Saturday night. Much joy there."

Angel suppressed a smile as he removed his own boots. "Why don't you borrow one of my shirts to sleep in and wash your stuff out in the bathroom," he suggested. Casting an appraising eye over her lightweight, and slightly skimpy, clothes, he gently added, "They don't look like they'll take long to dry."

She smiled sourly at him; she had heard his comment on her wardrobe, or lack thereof, quite clearly even without words.

"This happens to be the latest in hitchhiking attire, I'll have you know. And just for that smart remark, I'm going to use up all the hot water in the shower," she promised him smartly. She held out her hand. "Shirt, please."

He fished in his duffel bag for a T-shirt, trying not to picture it clinging to her body, getting her scent on it. He wasn't letting the idea of her in the shower into his head at all. Despite his protests to the contrary, he really was only human.

He managed to control the tremble in his hand as he held out the shirt, but they both jumped when their hands connected as she took it from him.

"I won't…I won't really use up all the hot water," she said softly, just before she fled to the relative safety of the bathroom.

Sure and it's as if you'll be needing anything but cold water now, his father's voice mocked him.

Angel buried his head in his hands and groaned. This was going to be a very long day.

* * * * *

Buffy stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. What on earth was she doing here?

Riley, she was here to rescue Riley, she reminded herself. He was her boyfriend, well, sort of. He loved her and she loved…that is she needed…needed to find him because it was all her fault that he was in danger and he was only in danger because he loved her and she…couldn't stop thinking of Angel in the other room, the room with the beds.

Well, you were the one who wanted to feel again, her increasingly troublesome little voice whispered.

Buffy buried her head in her hands and groaned. This was going to be a very long day.

* * * * *

"It must have really hurt when he went back to that law firm," Buffy said softly. "I can tell that you thought he'd changed."

They had been talking for hours. Big stuff, small stuff, all the things they had missed in each other's lives; it was all food for the hungry soul. It almost seemed more like a dream than reality; being alone with Angel after so long apart, just the two of them hidden away from the world. And yet, there was still something missing.

Buffy shifted slightly under the covers of her vast and lonely twin bed. As she slid her hand under the pillow, she tried very hard not to remember what it felt like when she used to use Angel as her pillow. There was a little hollow in his shoulder, created just for her cheek, and she still remembered how cool his skin felt, until she warmed it with her own.

No! Bad Buffy, very bad.

She gave herself a mental shake. She couldn't let herself remember things like that right now; it would only ruin this temporary oasis of calm. In those few minutes before her shower they had come closer to the edge than she ever dared try again. Since then it had all been about stepping back. There was no other way for them anymore.

From across the narrow margin between the beds, Angel shrugged his shoulders and pulled the blanket up a little further on his chest to keep himself warm. When he answered Buffy, his voice was weary, but matter-of-fact.

"His choice. You can't make someone seek redemption. Maybe some day Lindsey will realize selling his soul to the highest bidder cost him more than a hand."

The Angel that Buffy remembered would have torn her heart out with those simple words, because she would have heard his underlying self-reproach. But at least the Buffy of old would have been able to hold him, and soothe him, and make the pain go away for a few minutes. Deep within her soul she would have known that he needed her, only her, and that she could make a difference in his life.

And then she would have gone home to her mother and her other life and left him alone with the memories. Maybe, for Angel's sake if not for Buffy's, it was a good thing that girl had disappeared somewhere along the way. Maybe there was something her own heartache and loss had taught her that could help him now.

"You were there for Faith, one hundred percent," she reminded him. "Okay, so maybe your technique was a little more hands-on than I would have liked…" she made her voice light to let him know she was teasing, "but you helped her get her act together."

"She wanted to change. I was just a handy punching bag while she figured things out."

Angel was desperately wishing for his own punching bag at this moment, or maybe just a handy wall to bang his head against. All that he had ever dreamed of was just two feet away, in a secluded motel room, waiting to claim him and be claimed. And he had to be strong and resist the temptation to cross that short distance between them, for her sake. He had to be content with whatever time Buffy, and Fate, could offer him, and use it wisely, or he would lose all that he had gained.

But oh, it would be so much easier if he could hit something.

"I guess you've gotten to play punching bag a lot in the last year, haven't you? I sure didn't miss my chance to take a swing." Buffy flipped onto her back, trying to avoid the sympathetic gaze she could literally feel on her skin.

"I've done my fair share of hitting back." When she didn't answer, he tried again. "It's done, Buffy; over. We're past it, right?"

She sighed deeply and turned to face him again. When had it all gone so wrong? It wasn't just Angelus, or even the curse itself; there was so much more that pulled the world out from under her feet. Had there been a way to stop it? Had there been a point where she could have turned it all around?

"I don't think either of us are very good at getting past stuff, Angel. Or over stuff or around stuff, for that matter. We just get through, somehow." She smiled faintly, knowing in the darkness he would be unable to see the accompanying tear slip gently from the corner of her eye.

"We will find him, Buffy."

His quiet reassurance took Buffy completely by surprise. She almost asked Angel who "him" was, but she stopped herself in time. They had been talking for hours without mention of Riley, or her purpose in seeking Angel out. After the initial post-showers awkwardness, they had fallen back into the old familiar patterns. If she closed her eyes she could almost picture them in front of the fireplace at the mansion on Crawford Street. Riley had no place in that world; it belonged to she and Angel alone.

"I know we will. I'm not worried." She swiftly dismissed his promise; there was too little time and too much to say. "Tell me more about this law firm, Angel; there's something about that whole set-up that gives me the wiggins. I mean, demons using lawyers? Who gets to complain about whose killer instinct?"

"We should try to get some sleep, Buffy." He wanted to say so many things to her, listen to all her confidences, share in the minutiae of her life, but he knew it was pointless. This was a little oasis, but the real world was coming back far too fast, and they needed to be prepared. He needed to let go of this dream before he was in too deep.

"But…"

"We need to rest," he reiterated gently. "We don't know what we'll be up against with this Belos demon, and we'll have to work fast."

His comment stung. She had been luxuriating in his company, willing to ignore the wishes of family and friends for the sake of time spent with him, and all he wanted was to get it over with as quickly as possible.

"Yeah, I don't want to keep you away from all that LA night life for too long," she said bitterly. "Cordelia can't very well go to all of those pretentious Hollywood parties without an escort." She made a loud and extended production of flipping over on her other side to turn her back on him.

Angel wanted to say something brilliant, something that would soothe her hurt feelings and make everything right between them. But even if he knew what that something was what good would it do? What was right when it came to them was not being together at all; the alternative was simply too hard.

"Sleep tight, love," he whispered to her back.

* * * * *

She was having the dream again.

It always started out so beautifully; just she and Angel on the beach in each other's arms. They kissed, they talked, and then they kissed some more. Time spun away, and when she came back down on earth, they were in his apartment. They spent hours there, lying intertwined on his big bed, touching, tasting, exploring. Suddenly they could fulfill any hope, any desire, because nothing was forbidden except tears.

It was beyond magical; it was real.

And then, as always in their lives, the enormous sucking evil came and stole their happiness away. She clung to Angel with every ounce of her slayer's strength, but it was never tightly enough to save him.

She awoke with a gasp, still reaching out for phantom Angel's hands. She drew a few deep breaths and wiped away the tears still clinging to her lashes before she looked over at him.

Only a faint sliver of daylight slipped into the room between the heavy curtains over the window. She could just make out the faint impression of his body on the other bed, but she knew what was happening from the sounds he was making.

So he still had the nightmares.

When Angel returned from Hell, he had been plagued by nightmares. Every night, sometimes more than once, he fought off horrors only his tortured mind could fathom. Eventually the nightmares had dwindled, but they never completely went away. He found it hard enough to outrun the ghosts of his past in his waking moments; when sleep claimed him he lost all his carefully built defenses. Only one thing could ever stand between him and the dark memories that tormented him.

Buffy slowly pushed back the covers and slid off her bed. She stood for a moment in the infinite space that separated them, watching him wrestle with inner demons more powerful than any vampire. Her hand dropped to peel away the blanket that covered him, and with a sigh she slipped into bed beside him.

He didn't awaken; he didn't even seem to notice her subliminally at first. He still tossed and groaned and wrung her heart, until she grasped one of his wrists and pulled his arm around her waist. She turned on her side and spooned up against him, holding his body firmly against hers. He fought her for a moment, and then something broke through the barriers. Perhaps it was the beat of her heart against his chest, or the scent of her skin, but whatever it was it reached him even in the depths of slumber. He buried his face in the curve of her neck and slid his other arm around her, capturing her in a prison from which she never wished to escape.

Even as Angel's tense muscles began to relax, Buffy could feel the icy core within her begin to melt. The same succor he found in their embrace warmed her as well, and the last shreds of her nerveless shell dissolved.

She had forgotten how closely woven joy and pain, light and dark, can be. How could they ever completely separate two souls so hopelessly entangled? As Angel slept, Buffy shed quiet tears, mourning the peace she could only find in the arms of a man she could never have.

* * * * *

Angel awoke slowly, reluctantly abandoning his strangely tranquil dreams for his less than pleasant reality. It was so hard to let go; he felt warm and relaxed and utterly content, things he hadn't felt in a very long time. In fact his only source of discomfort seemed to be a piece of hair in his mouth.

He was too sleepy to speculate on the how's and why's; he only wanted to remove the offending lock. This required a free hand however, and the arm he instinctively tried to move seemed to be weighted down. He blearily opened his eyes and beheld his obstacle, in the shape of a small blonde girl sleeping trustfully in his embrace.

"Buffy?" he whispered. "Oh, god, please no!" He drew back slightly as he quickly tried to review his memories of their quiet morning. He could not recall her being in his bed at any point. If she climbed in, as she obviously must have, it was after he fell asleep.

They were safe. Or as safe as they could be given such close proximity.

"Buffy, you need to wake up." He gently shook her shoulder, leaning over her to whisper in her ear. He didn't want to wake her; it felt so right to be lying here intertwined. He may have been the one to walk away, but home for him would always lie within her arms.

She had another home, though, and someone else to share it with.

"Mmm, just a few more minutes," she mumbled. She raised her hand to brush her hair out of her eyes, and accidentally connected with Angel's jaw. He reflexively jerked back, dislodging her from his comforting embrace and hurling her into the waking world.

"Angel." She sat up quickly, clutching her portion of the covers to her chest. He sat up as well, trying to appear more relaxed than she, but failing miserably.

"I'm sorry, really sorry," she stammered, not quite meeting his eyes. "You were having one of your nightmares, and I know…that is I remember how hard you are to wake up so I thought…but I guess I should have tried to wake you." She smiled weakly. "Seemed to do the trick, though."

"Thanks," he responded softly. There was nothing more to say, at least that he could say without hurting her. She already knew anyway.

"What time is it?" she asked, in an attempt to get conversation back to neutral territory. "I feel like I slept for days but we couldn't…it can't be all that late."

He smiled crookedly at her as he raised his wrist to give her an answer. "Well, now that I have my arm back I can tell you." He glanced at his watch, and then did a double take. "It's after four. Gunn and Wesley should have been back hours ago."

"Maybe they stopped for lunch,'" she suggested. When he looked at her in complete disbelief, she offered another option. "Okay, maybe they're in Gunn's room waiting for us. It doesn't always have to be a deep, dark and deadly, you know."

"No," he agreed, reluctantly sliding out from under the covers. "It doesn't have to be, but it usually is." He dragged his duffel bag over to the bedside to rummage through it for a change of clothes.

"I see we're still having trouble directing those feet to the sunny side of the street."

He glanced at her over his shoulder. "Not exactly a good neighborhood for a vampire. Besides, I've lightened up a lot," he protested. "Cordelia isn't even afraid to invite me to her parties anymore. Well, not very afraid," he amended.

"Umm, yeah, she mentioned a party you two were going to," Buffy said hesitantly. She slid off the bed and headed for the bathroom, trying to appear casual as she continued to pump him for details. "She said the guy who was throwing it was named Rabbit or something. Is he a new client, or is Cordy fishing for a Xander replacement?"

"Neither one, actually."

Angel deliberately kept his reply short, trying to see how long Buffy could maintain her pose of cool disinterest. He knew precisely what she was thinking, because he had felt that way himself many times before when it came to Buffy and other guys.

"So Cordelia isn't dating anyone?" Buffy called through the bathroom door. "I mean she made a big deal about you taking her to this shindig, but I know that you two aren't…well, you know."

Angel was silent, waiting until her curiosity, and possibly jealousy, forced her to speak her mind. If he assured her before she even asked the question, she might see that as placation rather than honesty. She needed to ask, and be answered.

The bathroom door swung open, revealing Buffy dressed once again in her own clothes. She paused in the doorway, looking somberly at him.

"You are just friends, right? I know I don't have the right to ask anymore, and I know I should be happy for you if there's someone new in your life, but I…well, I guess there isn't a but, is there?"

Angel wanted to take her in his arms then and there, and never let go again. She, for whom he'd literally gone to Hell and back, still doubted the permanence of her place in his life. He knew he was the one with no rights in this situation, since he had been the one to walk away. Still, even if it caused still more complications and heartache for them, he needed to be honest with her.

"Cordelia is my friend," he said gently. "Maybe my best friend in LA, but that's it. A former client named David Nabbit is giving the party. Wes and I were invited, along with Cordelia, and I said I would drive her. Once we arrive, Wesley and I are under strict instructions to disappear, and not do anything at the party to embarrass her. Like dance." He spoke slowly and patiently, trying to cover any potential areas of doubt.

"She just seemed really protective of you," Buffy said grudgingly, scuffing her bare toe on the carpet. "I know I shouldn't pry; the last time we saw each other we made it clearer than one of Giles' crystals that we had separate lives."

"Maybe we made it a little too clear." He took a step closer to her and instinctively started to reach out, but he stopped his arm halfway up and then let it fall to his side. "I think it's okay to talk about our lives and how we're feeling. I'm just afraid of overstepping and causing you problems at home. You're the one with something to lose here."

Riley again.

Buffy wanted to scream. Every time she and Angel started to get a little too honest for comfort, he dragged Riley back into it. As though there was nothing else between them anymore but the job.

A sharp comment sprang to her lips, but before she could voice it, she noticed a sketchpad protruding from Angel's duffel bag. She pounced on it, forgetting both Riley and her anger.

"You're drawing again?" Buffy lifted the pad gently from his bag, but didn't open it. "I thought you gave it up after…after you came back." She still couldn't say the word "hell" to him. Some guilt would never fade, for her any more than for Angel.

"I did." Angel looked away for a moment, remembering the taunting portraits of Buffy and her loved ones that he had drawn as Angelus. "For a long time I wouldn't let myself near a sketchpad. I couldn't." He faced her once again. "But then Cordelia got me some pastels, and I didn't want to hurt her feelings. It's funny; I didn't realize how much I missed sketching until I started again."

Buffy looked at the pad, and then at him, a question in her eyes. He smiled and nodded, taking a seat on the edge of the bed while she flipped through the drawings. There was no danger of her seeing something she shouldn't see; he hadn't wanted to bring his drawings of her on the stakeout for fear they would be lost or damaged. It wasn't like he needed pictures of her anyway; every look, every gesture was engraved upon his heart.

"Angel, these are beautiful," she said slowly. "All these street scenes near your old office, and the boardwalk at night. I'm so glad Cordelia got you those pastels, even if it does seem…oddly perceptive coming from her." She glanced at Angel, daring him to disagree.

"She thought I needed to reconnect with my humanity," he said dryly. "Well, that and she thought I was depressed."

"Who? You?"

"Go figure." Angel shrugged, a small smile on his face at the memory of Cordelia's kindness. "Anyway, it's been a lifesaver. So to speak."

"So you're drawing again." Buffy gently closed the pad and placed it back in Angel's bag. "You go to parties now, and Cordy has to tell you not to dance instead of coaxing you out on the floor. You even have a cell phone. Y2K Angel is really quite the new and improved vamp."

He felt a brief flash of anger, but mostly he was hurt. He had hoped she would be proud of him; he was working so hard to make something decent out of the useless Irish lad who turned into a merciless destroyer of innocence. Instead she seemed angry again, the way she had been when he helped Faith last spring. He thought they had gotten past that, but obviously not.

"What was I supposed to do, Buffy?" He turned up his palms and shrugged. "I know I'm a vampire, but that doesn't mean I'm going to retreat into my coffin for the next hundred years. I want to grow, to change, just like everyone else. I want to be…someone."

Buffy realized she had gone too far. Her own hurt had led her to strike out at him again, fully expecting him to absorb the blow because he loved her. If he couldn't love her in her worst moments, who would?

"Angel, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to sound angry; I'm not." She dropped to her knees in front of him and grasped his hands in hers. "Or maybe I am angry, but not at you. It's just…I feel like everyone is changing but me. I tried to move forward, but I don't want to without…and it's not like I can go back and get a do-over. Life doesn't work that way. I'm just stuck, and it hurts, and sometimes it makes me really mad." She looked down at his hands for a moment before reluctantly facing him again. "And sometimes I take that mad out on people I know won't hate me because of it."

He gently freed one of his hands from hers and reached out to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand.

"I could never hate you. Ever," Angel said gently. "But we can't go back, Buffy. And maybe that's not such a bad thing. Maybe we can finally become the friends you said we never were. Maybe there's even more in store for us." He looked deep into her hazel eyes, searching for the pathway to her soul that once he had known instinctively. "But until then, we can't let the pain take over. If we can't even see each other without lashing out, how can we ever hope to…never mind."

Angel stood up abruptly, forcing her to scramble back away from him. He walked over to the window, keeping carefully out of the sun's faint rays trickling through the opening in the drapes. His face was equally well hidden from her.

Buffy stood up and crossed over to stand behind him. She wanted to reach out and touch him, but she was suddenly afraid. There was something going on here that she didn't understand. Angel was keeping things from her again, and that could only mean badness in Buffyland.

"Angel, how can we ever hope to do what?" she asked softly. When he didn't answer, or even look at her, she tried again. "Angel, I may not have seen much of you the past year, but I know your Something Face. What are you hoping for?"


CONTINUE