"Lost and Found"

Author: Molly
Feedback: dingoesgroupie@hotmail.com
Rating: PG13
Pairing: B/A, mentions of A/Other
Summary: Buffy is losing it. Her mother's death has nearly killed her. So Angel eases back into her life to help her put it all back together.
Dedication: Linzy, you know you're the goddess of my universe! Laura, thank you for all the nice things you said in your email, so this one in big part is going out to you. You've been a huge 'Buffy goes through a breakdown' inspiration. Stephanie - just because you're Stephanie. And there's lots of other people I want to dedicate this to...but because I'm very tired, I don't have the energy to mention all of you. But you know who you are.
Random Author Noteage 1: For the purposes of this story, Dawn doesn't and has never existed. I know, I know...she exists, deal with it, yada yada yada. But I just couldn't find a way to work her into this one. Also, after seeing Forever, I've decided I hate her. So I punish her by having her just not exist - she pissed me off. And, as usual, we're into heavy B/A shipperness here, because they just belong together. Period.
Random Author Noteage 2: This is sort of a companion piece to "To Be Myself." I was reading it over and I thought, what would happen if I looked at it from another, more depressed angle? So...hence this piece.
Random Author Noteage 3: I think I'm kind of earning myself a reputation as a Buffy/Angel fluff writer. This isn't fluff. Yes, there are parts of my brain that aren't all rainbows and kittens and picnics. It's heavy, hard core angst. So if you're looking for fluffy-ness, I recommend you read one of my other stories. However, if you can make it past the angst, I promise some slight fluffage at the end. And I am deeply thankful to the reviewer who said I'm a hero to B/A shippers everywhere. Thank you!

It's too hard to be Buffy Anne Summers.

That's the conclusion I've come to lately. It's just. Too. Goddamn. Hard. And I can't take it anymore. I really can't. I can feel my life...slipping away from me. Like the way sand sifts through your fingers at the beach. You try to hold onto it as tightly as you can, but it all trickles away, anyway. And you realize what a futile effort it really was.

You can do everything in your life to the best of your ability. You can floss, always say 'please' and 'thank you', drink your milk...and still The Big Kahuna upstairs will just shrug and pat you on the head.

Too bad, little girl. You did everything right...but I'm going to royally screw with your life and toss another trying mental trip down your way anyway, because it gives me a happy.

You can dedicate the rest of your life to a war you know you'll die fighting. You'll kill your lover when They tell you that you don't have another choice. You'll get a second chance with him, only to watch him walk away from you because They say your love for him is too selfish. You'll lose everything that's ever mattered to you in a series of blows that span over two years. And it *still* won't be enough.

You'll realize eventually that being the Slayer amounts to jack. You're nothing but a lapdog. A tool. Moving through life without anything behind you, just going through the motions of existence. Give a false smile that never quite reaches your eyes, talk, walk, patrol, kill. Set your body on cruise control and just coast along.

I hurt. My body and soul vibrate with this deep down aching I can't force myself to push past. There's a thick, ugly, choking cloud inside me, blotting out everything that made me Buffy. And...and that's okay. Because I don't want to be Buffy anymore. Everyone she loves leaves her. So what's the point in taking chances? In loving? In even getting out of bed every morning?

Life is a joke. A sick, sadistic, twisted, horrible joke thought up by some higher power who got a little bored one day. We're born, we go through a series of meaningless motions, and we die *alone*. If we're lucky, death is peaceful and quiet. But if you're currently me, you know death won't be anything like that. Death is painful and screaming and bloody and oxygen starved lungs screaming for release from the pressure that threatens to collapse them. It's dark, cold, scary, and inevitable.

When I was eleven, back before the great kaleidoscope of life shifted me into a world of demons and vampires and prophecies...my mother's best friend from college killed herself. Mom and Dad went to the funeral, looking shocked and filled with grief in their matching black attire. This was back when they still loved each other, a few years before the constant fighting started. Mom clung onto his arm like she would collapse without him there, and he supported her, his arm wrapped tightly around the small of her back.

She came home from the funeral with thick, wavy lines of mascara etching grotesque lines into her face. I'd never seen her look so old, and it scared me. I understood the concept of suicide, and I remember wondering why anyone would want to do something so stupid, so final.

I didn't dwell on it for very long, though. Stephanie's mom came to pick me up for my ice skating lesson about twenty minutes later. Eleven was not a very philanthropic age for me.

But now I'm seeing things a little differently. If you have no control over the direction your life is spinning in, shouldn't you *at least* be able to control your own death? That's only fair, right? It seems rational enough to me.

Take Romeo and Juliet, for example. They couldn't be together in life, so they chose to be together in death. They couldn't do anything about their family situations or what they were born to. They couldn't stop the horrible things that were going on all around them. So they got out on their own terms.

When people think *Romeo and Juliet*, they don't think "How stupid." No. They cry, and wipe their eyes and think "How romantic..." They were so in love that they'd rather die together than have to live apart. And that's the kind of love that everybody longs for.

I feel like that sometimes, too. When I think of Angel, this void opens up in my heart. I have a sense of being incomplete. I'm half a person, and God, it's hard to live like that. I had that kind of love, and I couldn't have it on *any* kind of terms, let alone my own. But it's over now, and all I can do is accept it and move on. Or at least make a good show of it.

But I don't harbor any illusions of myself as a tragic, Juliet-esque figure. Hardly. There's no Romeo on the horizon, not even a potential one. Riley? Sorry, the only thing they have in common is the first initial. I'm pretty sure Romeo never went out and had party time with vampire whores while Juliet was dodging Paris.

Angel is the only one I could envision as...but I haven't seen Angel since the funeral. He held me, we kissed, and then he was gone again. He left, and I was still there to just deal with it. Alone.

I know that him leaving again made sense, really, I do. It's too hard to be around each other and not be crushed by the weight of all those memories. But it doesn't change anything - I still love him, weak and pathetic as it is. I would lay down my life for him without even thinking about it. In fact, a few times, I almost have. But I'm not going to be so presumptuous as to assume he'd do the same for me.

Thinking about him still hurts. Angel...the million different reactions just his *name* stirs proves that part of me is still Buffy. There's some part of her inside of me that still exists. Some part of me that wants desperately to run to him and collapse into his arms, sobbing, letting him ease this pain inside of me. Let him hold me and soothe this horrible, gut wrenching misery. Make me feel the way only he can. Safe and loved and whole.

But the cynical, bitter part of me wins this internal struggle. Even Angel's arms are an illusion, something I'm never going to have again. Buffy Summers was a brief, albeit short, chapter in his admittedly long life that he's already closed the book on. Memories whose only purpose is material to mull over when he's in an especially broody mood. And I'm not her anymore. He wouldn't love this hollow, broken husk I've become.

I'm not even sure he still loves the old Buffy. But that's another source of pain in the already unbearable burden I'm shouldering. Oh, God...I have to at least pretend he does. When I go, when it's over...I want his face to be the last thing I see. Smiling at me, telling me with his gentle touch that he didn't stop.

I'm not Buffy anymore. I've stopped being her, but I still have her memories. And those memories are what I want to take with me when I'm slipping away from this world.

I go into the bathroom, and, moving slowly, as if I'm in a dream, remove a bottle of sleeping pills from the medicine cabinet. The doctor prescribed them for me after Mom died. Ironically enough, this will be the first time I've opened the bottle. I've preferred to spend my sleepless nights patrolling the Restfield and Shady Hill cemeteries. I've been wearing my body down even more, fighting brutally, viciously. The way Faith used to, once upon a time.

I don't think that I can take another empty moment, don't think that I could fake another hollow smile...it's not enough just to be lonely, I don't think I could take another talk about it...

I walk to the living room and I curl up on the couch. It seems fitting - my mother's life ended here. It's only right that mine should, too. I roll the bottle back and forth from palm to palm, examining it carefully from every angle. This decision seems so inevitable...and yet, it's impossibly hard to follow through. Do I want to die?

Don't you know I feel the darkness closing in...I tried to be more than me, and I gave until it all went away...and we've only surrendered to the worst part of these winters we've made.

Buffy A. Summers. One capsule before bed.

I read that label again and again. Then I begin turning the bottle over once more, end over end. Buffy A. Summers. One capsule before bed. With each rotation of the bottle, another unbidden memory creeps into my brain. My first day at Sunnydale High. Evenings spent with my friends at The Bronze and watching Indian TV. Angel's first kiss. Mom and I shopping on my birthday. A Claddagh ring glinting in the dark. Thanksgiving at Giles'. Christmas at Mom's. Working in Helen's Kitchen. Seeing my parental figures as kids hyped up on band candy. Giles' expression of fond exasperation. Willow's bright, expectantly cheerful smile. Xander's loud, happy, I'm - laughing -with- you -not -at -you guffaw. Anya's blunt tactlessness. Tara's shy candor. Faith's cocky can't-touch -this - I'll - kick- your -ass 'tude. And Angel...everything Angel.

I'm letting them all down, and I'm sorry for that. I should leave notes, or some maudlin, self indulging videotaped farewell. But I just don't have the energy. Not anymore.

But can I really do this? Do I really *want* to do this? Every single one of my Slayer instincts is screaming at me to fight harder. I'm so used to fighting for my life - how can I just give up like this?

My eyes blur and I blink a few times. I think I might cry...but I don't. I haven't cried since I found Mom's body, and I'm pretty sure if I cry now, the tears would be nothing but dust. I'm empty and hollow. There is nothing left inside me to cry over.

I remove the top of the bottle and peer inside. Ninety shiny red capsules peer up at me. I could count them all to be sure its exactly ninety. I could put the bottle up to my mouth and gulp them all down my suddenly dry throat. Chug a lug in a pill form.

Or I could reach in like I'm doing now and take out one single capsule. Down them all precisely and methodically. Which is what I decide to do. My hands are shaking as I look at the first one. The first of many to follow. But I drop it back in the bottle. I can't do this, I can't! Those instincts are pretty much bitchslapping me around, screaming "Buffy, what the HELL is your deal??!?!?" But, at the same time...

//It's too hard and too much and its too cold and too deep. Goodbye, I'm sorry, I love you all...//

I close my eyes, gathering strength.

And then I hear a loud, insistent pounding on my front door. I groan. God, why can't I just have a moment of *peace*? Is it really so goddamn much to ask for? I replace the pill, snap the cap back on the bottle, and shove it under a couch cushion. The anger that flared up inside me only moments before is gone, replaced again by the dull ache.

But God...for some reason, that anger felt *so* good. It was a feeling. A real, legitimate feeling. Something I've been lacking for so long...

It doesn't matter. I'll deal with whoever it is and return to my business. Make it fast and quick this time. Screw method and precision. Just get it done.

I pull the door open, expecting Xander with a pizza, trying to coax me into eating. Or Anya with more flowers and a practiced expression of sympathy. Or Willow wearing her "I'm your best friend, talk to me" face. But it's none of them.

"Buffy..." says Angel, speaking my name only the way he can full of reverence and understanding and

//is it just my imagination?...//

love. His dark eyes are filled with sorrow, and when he meets my gaze, any other words I was about to say catch in my throat.

"A-angel..." I manage. And it comes out in Buffy's voice, not the quiet, defeated tone of the girl I've become these last few weeks. I could almost weep for the comfortable familiarity it brings.

He doesn't wait for any other kind of reply before he crosses into my house, pulling me into his arms, crushing my body against his. Its only then that I feel how hard he's shaking. "Oh, God, you're okay," he breathes, holding me tightly.

I can feel myself begin to tremble violently at his familiar, warm embrace. My knees turn to water, and it's all I can do to stand up. The desperate way he's holding onto me makes my blood hammer through my veins at hyper speed. "Angel," I whisper again. I can't think of any other word. There is nothing else for me to say right now. Only his name.

He pulls back and looks at me, his strong hands cradling the back of my head. He looks intensely into my eyes, and in a heartbeat I know there was no need for me to pretend he still loves me. Because he does. Whatever version of Buffy I've become...he loves her.

He speaks very slowly and evenly. "Where are they, Buffy?"

I turn cold. He couldn't know. There's no possible way. So I try to play dumb. "I don - don't understand. Where are what?" I ask, the words ringing hollow even to my ears.

"Buffy." His voice is gentle, quiet. Pleading.

I lower my head. He takes my hand in his and I lead him into the living room. I reach under the sofa cushion. My face burning hot with shame, I hand him the bottle. He takes it into the bathroom, and I hear the toilet flush. I stand silently until he returns, facing me.

I finally find my voice, expecting him to be filled with disgust, or worse, pity. "How did you..."

"Cordelia had a vision. She said it was you...with pills, and...I didn't want to believe her. But...I knew. I just knew." I finally meet his eyes, but I don't see any judgment or anger. Instead I see...fear. An almost overwhelming amount of fear. And love.

"I just wanted it to stop," I whisper. "It hurts..." And suddenly, it sinks in. Was I really going to kill myself? *Me*? "Oh God, oh God, oh God - I couldn't have gone through with it, oh God, oh God - " My knees give out and I begin to fall to the ground.

But he's there. Angel catches me in his strong arms and eases us to the ground. "Oh, Buffy, Buffy," he soothes, rubbing my back, stroking my hair. And I burst into heavy, heaving sobs. Sobs that I've held in for the past month, since my mother died. Tears that I can't stop or even try to control. I'm in Angel's arms and I'm safe.

If I can cry, I can heal.

After what feels like an eternity of sorrow, I finally cease crying. "I don't want to die," I say, softly. "I really don't want to die."

"I know," he murmurs. "Its hard. And it hurts so much, you think you won't make it. But you will."

"I don't want to be alone."

"You aren't alone. You'll never be alone, I - " and then his own voice breaks. He clutches me tightly to him once more. "Oh, God, Buffy, I was so scared I wouldn't get here in time. If I lost you..."

The tears start again. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," I whimper. "I was...but I couldn't do it. I couldn't and I'm sorry, God, I'm sorry!"

"Shhh," he says gently. He's controlling himself once again. "It's all right. You're safe now." He cups my chin in his hand. "You're still the Buffy I love. You've just lost sight of her for awhile." I snuggle into his arms, still desperate for reassurance that I'm not losing it.

"Am I going crazy?" I ask.

"No," he says firmly. "You're a woman who's had too much thrown at her in the past few months. But, Buffy...you can't just give up. You have to keep dealing."

Angel's presence is the most reassuring, comforting thing I've felt in so long. And right now, I truly feel as though I *can* keep dealing. He's brought me back from that edge I very nearly toppled over. He saved me from myself.

"I will...and you don't have to be on suicide watch twenty four hours a day. I...I think I'm going to be okay."

In answer, he stands, leading me toward the stairs, almost as though I'm a child. "Where are we going?" I ask, too tired to grasp the obvious.

"You need sleep," he replies. He looks over my body once, and meets my eyes again. "And food, if I'm not much mistaken." My stomach growls in response.

He helps me settle into bed and carefully tucks the covers around me. He sits on the edge of the bed and touches my cheek. "Sleep," he whispers.

"Will you be here when I wake up?" I ask quietly.

He bends over and kisses my forehead. "I'm not leaving," he answers. "Buffy...I should have stayed with you. After the funeral...I'm not making the same mistake twice. I'll be here as long as you need me." Need. Not want.

My eyes start to drift. I haven't slept for more than two hours at a time since my mother's funeral, and it feels so good to let myself go. "Good," I hear myself say sleepily.

He leaves the room and my lashes flutter shut. Angel...he's here. He's really here. He knew I needed him and he came. And for some reason, I can cling to the hope that everything is going to be better.

I am all that I'll ever be, when you lay your hands over me...But don't go weak on me, I know that it's weak...but God help me, I need this

I could have killed myself. Jesus, I almost did.

It's been nearly three weeks since The Big Event. And it's still so hard to actually wrap my brain around the idea that *I* nearly swallowed those pills. Me. Buffy. With absolutely nothing forcing me to do it but myself and my own overwhelming stupidity.

Things are getting a lot better, but there are still things I'm trying to work through. Like, oh, say, the fact that I was such a goddamn moron. I keep trying to explain it to myself.

My head was such a dark, scary place. The pain I felt is dulling, but I can still dimly recall how horrible it was. Like I was a prisoner inside my own body. Forced to watch these events unfold and my life unravel...and not be able to do a thing to stop it.

It was kind of like taking the Cruciamentum all over again, being drained of my strength. That god awful time...everything just felt *wrong*. My whole system was out of whack, my equilibrium shot, my muscles pathetically lax. Weak. Helpless. A shell of who I once was. A body without a soul to guide it.

Kind of a lot like I was in the days before Angel came.

I miss him. Every minute. I miss our relationship. Especially since Mom's death...it brought back these memories. Memories that have no place worming their way back into my head. Memories I've shoved into a little corner of my brain, ones that visit me in the moments just before sleep and just after awake. Seductive, taunting whispers of careful, tentative touches and groundbreaking emotions and dark, soulful eyes that would lock on mine and gain access into the deepest places in my heart. They blanket me, envelop me, and I can never run away.

I can't put him behind me because he's part of me. He always will be. He owns a piece of my soul, with a strict no return policy. When he left, he took something with him that I can never get back. I tried to fill that piece in with someone else, and all I got in return was more hurt.

But hey, it's Sunnydale. Where vampires suck and love bites.

Actually, I guess that's pretty interchangeable.

I heard once that all pain gets easier with time. Well, that's a goddamn lie. Missing Angel didn't get any easier. If anything, it got worse. All the things we did, we said...they just refused to leave my head.

Making love to him for the first (and last) time. Nursing him back to health when he returned from Hell. Sheltering him from my friends. Tai Chi. His arms around me, always keeping the impending darkness a little further away. His rare smiles. The way his eyes would light up when he would see me. Our light sparring matches.

I remember one of those in particular. We'd been having kind of an indoor, nighttime picnic thing when we started messing around, flinging ourselves into an all out brawl to relieve some of that ever present, wicked sexual tension. But we were laughing the whole time. And finally, I'd thrown him to the ground, straddled his perfect body, and 'staked' him with a baguette.

"Got your heart," I'd said, grinning. He smiled (such a rare, beautiful sight) and brushed some hair back from my face. The look in his eyes told me I'd had it all along.

When I told him about Scott, the way his head whipped around...I had cringed. I'd known the news would sting, but I hadn't expected him to look so utterly crushed. And jealous. But he'd swallowed whatever he'd been feeling and wished me happiness in my new relationship.

In that moment, I'd wanted more than anything else in the world to take him into my arms and assure him that it wasn't serious. That I still belonged to him, I still loved him with every fiber of my being. But I didn't. That time, I was the one to walk away, promising him silently I would *never* hurt him like that again.

And a year later, I broke that promise. I threw Riley in his face deliberately, actually *wanting* to hurt him, wanting to see his eyes fill with disbelief and a slight glimmer of unshed tears, wanting to see his face twist in pain that he would inevitably brush of with a show of bravado. So I did. I hurt him the only way I knew that I could, and afterwards, I hated myself.

Seeing the look on his face...in a place where old wounds take root and grow deep, I could feel that pain, too.

And yet, everything I've done to him...he's here, in my home. When Cordelia had that vision, when he knew I needed him, he showed up. He was here for me, no questions asked. Saving me, holding me, letting me cry in the safe shelter of his arms.

Just like old times.

So, you're probably saying, "Whoa, Buffy. Back the train up. How can you miss him if he's right there, in your house?" Fair question.

I miss him because he's here, and he's still so far away. Because he's sleeping in my basement, instead of in my bed, right next to me. Because I'm not falling asleep in his arms or kissing him or touching him the way I dream of touching him. Because when I look at him, I know *he's* wishing I was falling asleep in his arms, kissing him, and touching him the way I dream of touching him.

This "look and look and look some more but don't touch, just fall asleep hot and bothered every night because you fantasize about it all day" situation is driving me out of my mind.

Gypsy curses are the biggest bitch in the world. Even bigger than Cordelia.

I roll over in bed and flip on the light. Sleep just isn't happening. I glance out the window, up at the moon. Not quite the official full moon yet, but close enough that it lights up the sky, tinges the streets with silver. Fleetingly, I think of Oz. I wonder how he's doing, battling demons of his own, out in wherever.

I kick off the covers and stand up. Brooding about Angel always leads to intense craving for chocolate. Fortunately, I have plenty of that laying around. A fun new fact I've learned about life - when a loved one dies, neighbors help you cope by shipping you enough food to feel a third world country for a month.

I tiptoe into the kitchen, rummaging around until I locate my prize - a mostly full gallon of cookie dough fudge mint chip. I locate a spoon and begin devouring it.

I'll freely admit it. Before Angel showed up, I wasn't taking care of myself. Well, I guess the whole suicide attempt thing proves that, but...I had barely eaten in three weeks. Some stupid way to prove something to the PTBs - give my mom back, or the Slayer goes on a hunger strike.

As you can probably imagine, that didn't work out so great.

And Angel's a really good cook. At first, I felt pretty guilty letting him take charge of the kitchen. Having him cook all this stuff for me, while I just mope around. Okay, and while I kickbox demons and attempt to do reading for school. But he really seems to enjoy it. And anything that makes me eat again is a plus. I've even gained some of the wait I lost back, which pleases him immensely.

Frankly, I like having him take care of me. I'm just not sure how I'm going to be able to stand on my own two feet again after he leaves.

"Ugh, stop brooding!" I mutter, disgusted with myself.

Then a cool, strong hand settles on the exposed skin of my shoulder. "I wasn't planning on brooding. I promise. Just joining you in the midnight snack thing," Angel says softly.

"Sure. I'd love some company." I turn and face him. My breath catches in my throat as I look at him. He's wearing a pair of black drawstring pants...and not too much else. The moonlight emphasizes his flawless, muscular build.

He notices my expression change. I'm not sure what he sees. Love? Sadness? The nearly uncontrollable urge to throw him onto the counter, straddle him, and ride him for the rest of the night? "Should I..." He gestures as though he's going to put a shirt on, and that's the *last* thing I want.

"No. No, I can handle you shirtless." I choke on my poor choice of words. "I, uh, meant..." His hand leaves my shoulder and he sits next to me.

A wry smile appears on his perfect lips. "I understood." He reaches for my spoon and snags a bite. "You mind?"

I shake my head. "Help yourself." I watch him eat for a few minutes, my heart twisting painfully in my chest. For a few seconds, I can almost believe we're just a normal girl and her normal boyfriend, hanging in the kitchen.

//He's *not* my boyfriend!// I scream inside my head. //Stop thinking that way. To travel down that road is to know even more pain than before. So just stop!//

His gaze shifts back to me. "What are you thinking about?" he asks softly.

I don't have time to think of an intelligent response, so I blurt out what I actually *am* thinking of. "I'm thinking of what happens when...you're going to leave me again." His eyes cloud over, and I immediately feel contrite. "Angel, no. I didn't mean...I love having you here. You know that. I just meant..."

"Am I hurting you, Buffy?" he practically whispers, his voice sounding scared.

I'm pretty sure my jaw has hit the floor. "What? Why would you think - "

"I...I came here because I wanted to help you. I thought...as egocentric as it probably sounds, I thought you might need me. I didn't think that seeing me...seeing you...was going to be this hard. All I'm doing is making this worse. I should have stayed at the mansion, I shouldn't have even - " He's interrupted by my hand covering his mouth.

"Angel...you've made things *so* much better for me. And, God...if you knew how much I needed you, I *need* you, you wouldn't even have to ask that. You aren't hurting me. I just...when you leave again...it's going to be hard."

Suddenly, I remember that my hand is touching those lips...and that touching is out of bounds for us. Unless I'm sobbing. Then it's okay for him to hold me.

I feel a gentle, warm pressure on my fingertips, and a little shiver runs up my spine. He's kissing my fingers, albeit unconsciously. Oh, God...his lips are pressed against some part of my body. Finally.

I should back away. I should withdraw my hand and go upstairs and try to sleep. But I don't. Instead, I move my hand around to the side of his face and into his soft hair, lightly massaging his scalp. Reflexively, he reaches out and pulls me to him, his hands resting on my waist, tightening his grip. My other hand trails up the side of one of his broad, powerful arms, and into his hair, relishing the silky, soft feel of it beneath my fingertips.

Forget about control. Forget about the no touching rule.

My mother is dead. Angel's touch is the only real comfort I've felt since then. And I need to feel more of it. Especially now. I slowly begin to draw his head towards mine.

This kiss won't be like the one in the cemetery. There were boundaries there, limits. Public place, for one thing, with my mother's body lying five feet away. But here...we're alone. And we're both in our pajamas. Loose...easy to push away from each other's bodies and just...

"Buffy..." he groans, already loosening his grip. I don't like that. I want him to hold me tighter, so I wiggle nearer to him, moving our lips even closer together. "We have to...stop." So he feels the difference, too.

"No," I breathe, my fingers tracing the curves of his back lightly.

"Buffy - "

"Angel, I've wanted you to touch me like this from the moment you came to my front door. I don't know when you're leaving, but I know before you do...I want at least one earth shattering kiss out of this deal. So can you please shut up and oblige?"

"Buffy, if I kiss you...and God knows I want to..."

And I'm sick of the talking. I close the final few inches between us, and our mouths meet. He hesitates at first...but then I feel him give in. He crushes my body against his with an intensity that makes every nerve in my body sing. His lips are cool and sweet and taste like the ice cream we've been eating.

And as certainly as we were devouring that ice cream, we now devour each other. I part my lips slightly, silently pleading for more. And he reads my plea loud and clear, his tongue gently easing into my mouth with practiced ease, then tangling with mine. Oh, God...how long have I wanted this? How long have I dreamed of this, having the taste of him back in my mouth, of these kisses that are so gentle, and yet, set every pore of my skin humming?

Riley's kisses were pecks on the cheek from my great aunt Enid compared to this.

Angel's strong hands tangle in my hair, he begins lightly sucking on my tongue, and all conscious thoughts flee from my brain. I can feel myself already grow wet, and a desperate whimper escapes the back of my throat. I run my hands over the sculpted muscles in his back, feeling every rock solid curve respond to my caress.

His hands travel slowly down my sides and wind around my waist, holding me tightly. So he's wanted this, too. So he's been going nearly as crazy as I have. I ease into his lap and grind my lower body against him, trying to relieve some small part of the friction that's building between my legs.

Here's to the nights we felt alive....

We're kissing. He's kissing me. This wonderful, amazing, passionate kiss that's already making me want more. And then I gasp, feeling a pang of pure delight in my stomach. He wants more, too. The erection that's pressing against my inner thigh is a really big clue. Pun intended.

I wrap my legs around his waist , still frantically kissing him. Can I hold onto him just a little longer this way? God, I don't know...but I want this. I want this so much, I can't stand it.

His fingers massage my lower back, and suddenly he stands, my legs still wound tightly around his torso. We're traveling up the stairs now, and I can hardly dare to hope...but we'll stop. We'll stop before it goes to far and oh, God, he's kissing my neck and it feels *so* amazing, and I have to let out a low moan of pleasure to let him know I want him to keep doing that.

Here's to the tears you knew you'd cry...

The door to my bedroom is kicked open, and we're both on my bed, pressed deep into the mattress, still exploring each other's mouths and touching any part of skin we can find. I yank my tank top over my head, exposing even more for him to kiss, caress...I've needed him like this for so long, and the parts of my body that haven't been blessed with his touch are screaming in protest.

He pulls back and looks at me. "So beautiful..." he murmurs, staring at me with a reverence that tinges my cheeks with a faint blush. He runs a hand down the side of my face, then bends and presses his lips to mine once more. He slowly begins to ease his way down my body. I writhe in anticipation, the space between my legs aching deliciously.

He kisses the faint mark on my neck, and my skin hums. As though the mark is responding to its creator, it sends a message through me. I am his. I will never belong to anyone else. And as surely as I belong to him, he belongs to me.

Continuing his pilgrimage, he licks a long, slow line from my clavicle down to my breasts. I moan as he takes one hard nipple into his mouth and rolls his tongue around it, nibbling gently around the edges. I stroke his hair, wishing he would hurry. But from what I remember, Angel likes to take his time, bringing out every sensation he can before he lets me over the edge. And for once, I'm not in a hurry. For once, I want this to last, to savor every single sweet moment.

He smoothes his thumb over my right breast, teasing it as he continues to lave at the left one. Then, with one last kiss, he moves down, spoiling my body with his gentle attentions. He dips his tongue into my belly button, playfully outlining it, and I shiver. His fingers dance nimbly around my bare waist, raising tiny goosebumps. And then, finally, he draws my pajama pants down, baring me completely before him.

He teases my inner thighs, pressing long, slow kisses around before moving up. I part my legs even further, trying not to writhe in exquisite agony...but when he slides his tongue into me, and runs it gently up over my clitoris, I scream his name at the top of my lungs. I can feel him smile inside me, and it fills me with happiness.

Quickly, he plunges three fingers inside my core, easing them in and out, as he continues to suck on the hard bundle of nerves. I close my eyes, head dizzy with the sensation, and I grip his head tightly, holding him firmly in place. Not that he's trying to escape.

His fingers inside of me, his tongue tormenting me...and now I can't take it anymore. "Oh, God, oh, God ANGEL!!! YES!!" I bellow. "Angelangelangelangel yesyesyes!!!!" I fall over my peak, galaxies exploding behind my eyes, my knees clamped firmly around his head as I continue to call his name.

Finally, he lets me free and glides up my body, resting his weight on top of me lightly. My eyes fly open, and in a second, I've ripped his pants off and flipped him over, straddling him like I did on that night so long ago...only without the barriers between us.

He holds my gaze and I know he's feeling exactly what I feel. Curse be damned. If the PTBs don't want to lose their strongest warriors...well, then they'll just have to fix this. I've never needed anything so much in my life.

He rests his hands on my hips, positioning me directly above him, and I sink down, taking him into me slowly, carefully. Now its his turn to cry out, and he digs his fingers into my skin, clutching me tightly to him. I gasp, the sensation building in me, and I begin to ride him, feeling him thrust into me, hard, deep, and sweet. Tears of joy burn behind my eyes, feeling contentment spread through my soul.

Suddenly, he lets out a growl and takes me by the shoulders, flipping me over and increasing the tempo of his thrusts. I match him, arching my back, feeling my skull bang hard against the headboard a few times. But I don't care. I can't feel anything but pure fire building up in the place where we're joined. I can no longer tell where I end and he begins.

"Buffy, I love you! God, I love you!" he cries, and I moan, scraping my fingernails down his back.

"I love y-you, Angel," I manage, before I howl again, my back arching so hard, my hips crash against his with the sweetest violence I've even known. My inner muscles contract around him, and it's the most intense, perfect orgasm of my life. He lets out a wordless bellow of pure ecstasy as I grip him tightly with every set of muscles I have, and he comes inside me, spilling his cool seed deep within me.

Here's to goodbye, tomorrow's gonna come too soon....

After what feels like forever, he finally collapses on top of me, covering my forehead, eyelids, cheeks, and lips in tiny kisses. "So warm...so beautiful..." he whispers.

I sigh in pleasure and trace little designs on his back with my fingertips, enjoying the feeling of him still buried inside me. He throbs once more, then gently draws out, and I let out a tiny noise of protest. He takes me into his arms, and I cuddle against him, fighting the urge to sleep.

"Angel..." I breathe.

He kisses the top of my head. "Yes?"

I can't think of any other words. So I tell him the truest thing I know. "I love you."

"I love you," he replies. "More than anything else in this world."

We don't fall asleep. We just hold onto each other, dreading the impending consequence. The hours tick by, and I can't believe we did something so reckless. We made love, fully knowing what would happen afterwards.

And yet...I would do it again. In a heartbeat.

Finally, I can't take it anymore, and I roll over to face him. "What's going on, Angel?" I ask frankly.

He looks befuddled. "I don't know," he responds carefully.

"H-how long did it take last time?"

"Not very long," he states shortly, the subject making him uncomfortable.

Then a terrible thought hits me. "Oh, my God," I choke out.

"What? What is it? Are you okay?" he asks, panicked.

"I d-didn't make you happy, did I? That wasn't...oh, God." I reach for my clothes, intent on scurrying away to some dark corner.

But he doesn't let me. He grips my arm tightly, and turns me to face him. "Buffy. I've never...don't even think that. Not for a second. Believe me, I know when I'm happy. And that...that was...perfect happiness. I've been around a very, very long time, and...I've never been happier making love to anyone else."

"Then why - "

"Trust me. Please, Buffy..."

So I do. I trust that he is happy, that he does want this. And I decide not to look a gift curse loophole thingie in the mouth. I settle back against his broad chest, and he cradles me in his arms, whispering endearments in Gaelic in my ear. Even if I don't follow the words, I know the meaning. My soul understands his.

His deep, melodious voice carries me into sleep.

Here's to the night...

When I wake up in the morning, for a brief instant, I don't know where I am. Then the memories of last night sink in, and an involuntary shudder runs through my body. What if he's turned? What if he's Angelus? Oh, God, what have I done? Fear gnaws anxiously on my stomach.

The fear, however, dissolves as soon as my body catches up to my mind, and I realized I'm still tangled in his arms, cradled against his broad chest. A warm, fuzzy feeling sinks through my bones, and happy tears prickle behind my eyes. We made love. Angel and I...we made love for the first time in almost two years, it was probably the best sex of my life...and he's still here. Still himself. I sigh contentedly.

The sound wakes him up and he blinks sleepily. "Buffy?" he asks, his voice tired.

"That's me," I reply, for lack of anything better to say. I can see confusion slip across his features for a moment. Then his eyes widen, apparently realizing we're both naked, remembering everything that happened last night.

"Is this real?" he asks, his voice quiet, almost full of wonder. "Because I've dreamed this...and when I wake up, and you're not there, it makes it even worse."

My heart skips a beat in my chest at his words, and the tears in my eyes temporarily blur my vision. "You aren't dreaming. I'm really here, I promise," I tell him, sliding one of my legs between his. "Unless we're having the same dream. And I'm pretty sure we're not...because if we were, there'd be this little bald guy with glasses and a tray of cheese, and - " He gives me a funny look. "Entirely different, long story."

He brushes a gentle hand across my face. "You're really here," he repeats softly. "We really..."

I nod. "And it was amazing."

A faint smile curves his lips. "It was. You are." He leans over and kisses my forehead. The simple gesture dissolves the show of bravado I've been maintaining, and my knees go weak. He draws back and gently wipes a tear off my cheek with his thumb. "Why are you crying?" he asks.

I'm a little startled. Am I crying? But I must be, because now he pulls me tightly to him and kisses each tear away from my face, as fast as it falls. And he's suddenly crying, too, burying his face in my neck and weeping. "Oh, God, Buffy...I love you. I love you so, so much," he says through his tears. We cling to each other, sobbing, holding on as tightly as we can. Afraid any second some giant hand will rip through the window and yank us away from each other, back to real life.

Finally, the tears spend themselves and we huddle together under the blankets. "How did this happen?" he asks me, still disbelieving.

"Who cares?" I respond. "That's so *not* the important thing right now." In reply, he kisses the top of my head lightly. Reality can wait. Right now, I want to freeze this moment in time, cuddled close against Angel's side, afterglow still enveloping us.

So of course, my alarm clock goes off.

I groan and bang my fist on top of it...and hear something shatter inside. I peep over Angel's shoulder, and see that I've split the clock clear down the middle. "Oops," I say sheepishly. He laughs, probably the best sound I think I've ever heard. "We could pretend it didn't go off...a repeat performance of last night could be fun," I hint hopefully.

He gets the hint, bringing his face towards mine. "Could be very fun indeed," he answers, before touching his lips against mine.

And again, because we have the worst timing ever, a loud, insistent pounding is heard from my front door. "I don't hear anything. Do you hear anything?" I ask.

"Not a thing." He kisses me, and for a minute, I really *don't* hear anything. But the pounding grows louder. "It could be just the wind."

"Or a figment of our imaginations. Very...figgy." I sigh, seeing as the frantic knocking doesn't go away. "Or something I should check out immediately." I reach over the side of the bed for my pajamas, loosely wriggling back into them. Suddenly, I panic, whirling around to face Angel. "Maybe you better..."

He nods. "I will." He slips his own pants back on and heads into the bathroom. "I'll be in the shower." I watch him leave for a minute, then I hurry down the stairs, where the pounding is increasing to an annoying staccato beat.

"Keep your pants on! I'm coming!" I say, slipping the deadbolt off the door. Willow and Tara scurry in, looking very abashed and ashamed. I raise an eyebrow. "Good morning to you, too. And to what do I owe the honor of this wakeup call at the crack of dawn?"

"Ooh, Buffy, we're really, really sorry we meddled in your own personal business and if you want to beat us up , we'd be so very okay with that, but you have to know we're really, really sorry, really, and we swear on Miss Kitty's life we won't ever meddle again, ever!" Willow says in one breath.

I blink, and turn to look at Tara.

"Ditto," she says softly.

I take a deep breath. "Okay...you know how sometimes you're at a movie, and it's a really boring part, so you get up to go to the bathroom, and then buy some candy or maybe a drink, and then you come back, and the killer's all unmasked, but you have no idea how that happened because you missed the big explanation scene due to said bathroom and candy? That's kinda how I'm feeling now. So could we maybe start from the beginning?"

Willow looks up from the floor, looks at me, cringes, then looks back down again. "Well...you know how Angel's been here for the last couple weeks?"

"No, really? I had no idea he'd been here, Willow. Why didn't anyone think to tell me?"

She frowns at me. "You're being snippy." She surveys me a little closer. "But you're also being smiley." She looks at Tara. "Am I right?"

"There's definite elements of smiley snippiness," Tara agrees.

I squirm a little under her scrutinizing stare. "Yeah, yeah, snippy me, sorry," I say. "Now, back to *your* story."

"Okay." She takes a deep breath. "Well, it's kind of like this. We were...me and Tara...were looking through some magick books."

"You seem so sad lately," Tara interjects quickly.

"And we wanted to conjure up something that would make you Happy Buffy again," continues Willow. "You know, like a stuffed teddy bear tap dancing in your driveway or something. But then we found this...other spell."

"In one of the old, old books."

"One of the ones Giles gave me...something of Miss Calendar's." Will takes a deep breath, then looks me straight in the eyes. "Ancient Kalderash Magick and Restorations."

"Soul magick?" I whisper, my heart hammering out of control.

"Um, well, sort of?" Tara clears her throat, and Willow 'fesses up. "Okay, yeah. Soul magick. And one of them gives very specific details for...binding a soul. Permanently. To a body. Which, we thought, Hey! *Way* better than tap dancing Teddy Ruxpin. Besides, you two living in the house together, all alone, no supervision...we figured we'd better take preventative measures just in case. I mean, it's *bound* to happen sooner or later, right?"

"So you..."

This time, Tara blurts it out. "We sort of maybe kind of performed the ritual to bind Angel's soul to his body which means that he can't ever lose it again and we weren't sure whether to tell you or not but we figured you had a right to know and we would have told Angel first except if he was mad well he's a lot bigger than us so in summary - " She's interrupted by me throwing my arms around her and hugging her tightly. A slight squeak escapes her. "Ow, um, Buffy, I guess this means you aren't mad, but oxygen, kind of an issue..." I release her, turn, and throw my arms around Willow, equally tightly.

"Oh, my God, Will, I love you forever! And ever and ever and ever!"

She throws a quick glance at Tara. "But she didn't mean it in a love *love* kind of way. Buffy and I really are just friends," she assures the blonde witch, who smiles happily.

"Guys, I would *love* to stay and chat, but I suddenly feel a burning desire to do something with Angel I don't think either of you would want to witness, so..."

Willow grabs Tara's hand and drags her to the door. "We're gone. We're so gone we're not even here. You don't see us. We're two shapes blurry in the distance," she calls over her shoulder. "Bye! Enjoy the spell!" As they hurry out the door, I can hear her say to Tara, "There's just something about heterosexual sex that just seems so *weird*, you know?"

I slam the door closed behind me and scamper up the stairs, to where I can still hear the water running in the shower. Quietly, I ease into the bathroom and strip off my clothes, already shivering a little in anticipation. I poke my head around the curtain, taking in the sight of his perfect, naked form under the hot water. His eyes are closed, and his head is turned toward the shower head, letting the warm stream wash over him, soak his hair, glide over all those shapely muscles that just last night, my hands roamed over freely...

Finally, I regain the power of speech. "Room for one more?" I ask, my voice so...well, sexy, I barely recognize it. His eyes fly open, and he gives me a little grin.

"I think I could probably fit you in," he says. I pull back the curtain and step in, immediately warmed by both the water and his presence. "So who was at the door?" he asks, as he soaps up his hands and begins to rub my back.

"Ohhh...someone was at the door?" I moan. He bends over and kisses my neck, still working his fingers up and down my back, deeply kneading the muscles. "Mmm...it was Willow. And Tara."

"What did they have to say?" he murmurs, his tongue now following the contours of my neck.

I turn and face him. I want nothing more than to see the look in his eyes when I tell him the news. "They bound your soul last night," I say softly. "That's why you didn't lose it. It's...permanent. Yours."

His eyes widen. "They...bound my *soul*? Is that...even possible?" he asks.

"So it would seem."

"This is unbelievable...it's permanent?"

"Apparently so. It'll last as long as you will."

His eyes light up with pure joy and he wraps his arms around my slippery waist, whirling me around as though we aren't in the shower and couldn't fall at any minute. "My soul is permanent!" he repeats, his voice full of happiness. Finally, he sets me down and looks me in the eyes, the sound of water thudding in my ears. My heart begins to race again as he gives me one of his deep, soul searching looks. "Is this...what you want?"

"Me? What? Me?"

"Are you...I mean, Buffy...I know nothing's really changed. I'm still a vampire. But with this spell..." He pauses, and for a moment, looks more uncertain than I've ever seen him look. "Buffy, if you'll have me...if we can start over, have another chance -"

He's interrupted by the fact that I press my lips against his passionately, kissing him with all the vigor and strength he's returned to my soul. Finally, I pull back and he rests his forehead against mine. "So that's a yes?"

"No." His face falls. "It's a 'hell, yes!'" And the smile is back as he kisses me again.

Slowly, I ease my lips away from his and begin kissing his neck, covering his throat in gentle licks and bites. My hand dances down his firm, taut stomach until it finds its destination, and he groans from deep inside his chest as I take his rapidly hardening penis into my hand. "Oh, Buffy..."

I cup my hand around him, gently sliding it up and down in a firm rhythm. His knees tremble and his hips arch forward towards mine. He bends his head down and kisses my shoulder while I continue to stroke, every second bringing him closer to the edge. My own arousal grows, the knowledge that I'm giving him pleasure consuming me.

Eventually, he reaches down and pushes my hand away. "Stop," he says weakly. I attempt to move it back, and he firmly pushes it away again. "Not like this...I want to be inside you." My body throbs at his words. Who could resist a request like that?

I move closer to him, pressing his tip against my sex, and he moans again. His strong arms wrap around my waist and he picks me up, practically shoving me against the cool tile of the shower. The fact that we could slip, fall, and land in a somewhat uncomfortable tangle of limbs is the last thing on my mind. I wrap my legs around his waist and urge him forward. He devours my neck with his mouth, and now its my turn to plead for more. "Angel, oh yes, please..."

And with one quick stroke, he's sheathed inside me, my body stretching to make room for him as he drives into me. "Oh, God!" I cry, but my scream of pleasure gets no further than the inside of his mouth. His tongue imitates the action of his lower body, greedily thrusting into my mouth and lapping at mine.

He plunges in and out of me, filling me to my very center, and stars begin to build behind my eyes. "I want to feel you...touch you...everything," he murmurs in my ear, and I grip his shoulders tightly.

"Yes...oh, yes..." I respond. "Stay with me, don't leave me..."

"Never," he replies. "Buffy, my Buffy, you're so warm, so full of life...I need you, I love you..."

His voice caresses me just as much as his body does. With a cry, I feel myself nearing my peak, my vaginal walls already tightening around him. My eyes slam shut, savoring the feeling of him filling me.

"Buffy..." he moans. "Look at me. Open your eyes. I want to see...when you come, I want to see it."

With great difficulty, I manage to open my eyes again, my vision blurry, and I lock my gaze on his. I fight to keep them open. His gaze is so open, so full of love and lust...it sends me spiraling madly over the edge. I tighten my legs even harder around his strong torso.

"ANGEL!" I scream. "OH, GOD, ANGEL!" I clench around him as tightly as I can, my body trembling and shaking as I scream his name, still transfixed by his stare.

With the first spasm of my muscles and one final, deep thrust, he comes, too, bellowing my name in return. "BUFFYYYY!" He explodes into me, and we lose our footing, slipping, but sliding down slowly as his feet scramble for purchase.

He holds me tightly against him until we both stop shaking and panting, his body shielding me from the shower still pounding above. He brushes a wet lock of hair out of my face, looking pleased.

"What are you grinning about?" I ask coyly.

"You. You're...when we're together, the way you look at me...I love you. I love everything about you. And I don't know what I've ever done in my whole life that makes me worthy of this. Of you."

I trail my hand up his arm. "I know how you feel," I say softly. He bends and places one last gentle kiss on my lips, then stands, helping me up. The water is turning slightly cold.

"Come on. We better get out of here before you drown again," he tells me, looping an arm over my shoulder and turning off the taps. It's only then that I realize I'm shivering. He grabs a large towel from the shelf and wraps it around me. "Let's get you back into bed," he says softly, the hint of smile creeping around his lips.

"You're insatiable," I tell him.

"I certainly try," he responds mischievously.

"I'm not complaining." I smile, then kiss my lover once more. My lover...God, Angel really *is* my lover. Finally. And as of this moment, I'm sure he's going to be the only one I ever have again.

Angel squeezes my hand tightly, just before we enter the magic shop. "So..." he says hesitantly. "We're going in, right?"

"We are," I agree. "We made it out of the car. We're standing on the sidewalk. Two very excellent first steps. Now we just...twist the doorknob. And in we go."

I try and ignore the fact that my stomach is tightly knotted. I'm not quite sure what Giles' position on this is going to be. Not to mention the fact that I slept with Angel *before* we found out that Willow and Tara performed the binding ritual...but I don't really have to bring that up, do I?

Okay, I know the answer to that. Yes, I do. I couldn't lie to Giles like that. Besides, he'd probably pry it out of me by saying "Hello," or something. And it helps to know that Angel is about as apprehensive as I am.

Or maybe even a little more so. Angel whirls around to face me, his expression panicked. "Giles is going to behead me, isn't he?"

I raise my eyebrow, trying to seem more nonchalant than I feel. "If he is, he made no mention of it when I called and said we'd stop by one the sun went down."

"Oh." He pauses, looks at the ground, then lifts his head and looks at me once more. His fear is almost endearing, and its definitely cute. "What did he...make mention of?"

"He said 'Good. We'll see you then.'"

"Oh," he says again. "Did you tell him..."

"That we're back together and we spent the entire day in my bedroom making up for lost time until Mrs. Darcy from next door dropped by, asking if everything was all right on account of all the screaming coming from upstairs? No, I decided to forgo that and just stick with 'We'll stop by once the sun goes down.'"

He smiles a little and squeezes my hand once more. "I love you." Then he opens the door.

Anya is busy sticking price tags on a new line of talismans. Lately, she's taken to wearing an all black power suit whenever she comes to work, and today is no exception "Welcome to the Magic Box," she calls out cheerfully, without turning around.

"Hey, Anya," I return.

She faces us, her face losing its expectant smile and abruptly turning into a scowl. "Oh. Its just you two. Yet more people who come in here but never actually buy anything."

"Xander never buys anything, either," I retort.

"Xander more than makes up for it in other areas." She jerks her thumb in the direction of the training room, trying to look tall and important. "Giles wants to see you. He's back there." Angel and I begin to head in that direction, but she intercepts us, shoving me towards the training room and Angel to the counter. "Just Buffy. Angel stays out here." She brandishes a large, bright pink feather duster in front of us, then shoves it into Angel's hands. "Dust the shelves."

He stares at the monstrosity in his grip. "Dust the...shelves?"

She narrows her eyes at him. "Yes! Dust! You have time to lean, you have time to clean. What else are you going to do while she's getting lectured by Giles?" Angel turns to me, abject terror in his eyes.

I shrug helplessly. "Xander bought her this book...since then, she's been donning the power suits and quoting stats night and day. Be a better employee through your own inner goodness, or something."

"Goodness?" he echoes, disbelieving. "Buffy, I don't work here..."

I shrug again, feeling the hint of a smile tug at my cheeks. "Better just go with it. Support her endeavor and all that."

"Exactly! So dust!" Anya interjects firmly. Then she turns on me. "And it's 'goddess'. Build A Better Business Through Your Own Inner Goddess. Lesson One was 'command respect in all circumstances'. My wardrobe and attire are now suitably commanding and I feel as thought I am ready to progress into Lesson Two." The phone rings and she trots over to it. "Thank you for calling the Magic Box, Anya speaking. How may I persuade you into giving me your money?"

Angel looks to the duster, then back to me. "Do I really have to do this?"

I take the duster from him and tickle his nose lightly. "Humor her. I'll give you a reward later. Believe me, by the end of the evening, you'll appreciate those feathers...there's a lot more uses for these things than dusting," I say, my voice heavy with implication.

He grins widely. "And I'm a dusting fool." He turns to the counter and I walk into the training room.

My hands feel damp and clammy. Suddenly, I'm nervous. I know Giles isn't exactly going to give us the full on thumbs up...and as dumb as it sounds, I don't want him to be mad at me. I wipe my palms across my jeans and take a couple deep breathes.

Giles looks up from where he's mounting an ax on the wall. "Buffy." His voice is carefully neutral, giving away nothing.

"Hey, Giles," I return, walking over. "Need a hand?" I gesture to the ax.

"No, thank you, I believe I have it under control." He swings in another nail. "Willow and Tara paid me a visit this morning."

I let out my breath in a rush. "So...you know. They told you his soul is bound."

"Yes." He hangs the ax, and turns and faces me. "I must say, I'm a bit concerned."

"What are you concerned about?" I say, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice.

"You and Angel," he states clearly. "He's been living with you for nearly three weeks, and I'm sure, ah, tensions, shall we say, have been running a bit high. I'm afraid that you two will automatically jump back into your relationship just because -"

"Because we love each other?" I interrupt bluntly.

"Because it seems like now is the right time," he continues, as though I never barged in. "Key word being 'seems'. His soul is bound, he's here, right now. But you know as well as I do, Buffy, you've been a little...off, in the past month or so. Ever since your mother..." He fumbles, unsure where to go. "And on top of that, he's still a vampire. The basic problem of the situation was never the curse. It was a subset of the fact that he is, and remains, a vampire."

"I love him," I say quietly.

"I don't doubt that. And I am grateful to him for helping you though your mother's death. It seems as though he reached you when the rest of us could not. But I don't want to see you hurt again, Buffy. Not because of him."

"Giles...it's too late. It was...it was too late before Willow and Tara even told us about the binding ritual."

He takes off his glasses and rubs them on the corner of his shirt, sighing a little. "I suspected as much. As much as I respect you and your judgment, I figured it would be only a matter of time before the strain of living together would begin to take its toll."

I look at the ground. "Yeah, well, sex without thinking seems to be a recurring theme for us."

"Buffy...there's no point in dwelling on what could have happened. That fact is, nothing did. And I will in no way pass criticism on you for your behavior." He pauses for a moment, gathering his thoughts, then continues. "I have your best interests at heart, Buffy. If he leaves again, I know how terribly heartbroken you'll be."

"He won't," I say, surprised at the authority in my voice. In truth, I never know what Angel's going to do. From one minute to the next, I'm usually in the dark on his plans. "I know it doesn't seem like anything's changed. Maybe nothing has. But Giles...I love him. I'm always going to. Maybe I'd be better off with a normal, stable, human guy. But that's not what I want. I'm never going to want that."

"I understand. And if you believe that your relationship with Angel will work out all right, then I will support you. In whatever you decide, I'm behind you."

To say that I'm shocked by this speech would be an understatement. "You aren't going to argue? Give me one of your patented Giles glares that renders me powerless against your supreme Watcher authority?"

He smiles. "I didn't plan to. Also, I very much doubt my glares have any effect on you whatsoever."

Suspiciously, I eye the ax he hung on the wall. "And you're not planning on using that on Angel, are you? Because he was a little concerned about that on the walk over here."

"Merely a decoration."

I raise an eyebrow. "Next time I go shopping, I'm buying you a poster. Either that or a candle sconce." He laughs, and I know everything's going to be okay.

"Buffy, I'd appreciate it if you'd promise me one thing, though."

"Sure."

He meets my eyes and his tone is serious once again. "Talk to Angel. Don't jump back into your relationship assuming nothing has changed. You've grown in so many ways since you've graduated high school. It's only fair to assume that he has, too."

I nod. "I will. See you tomorrow?"

"Very good. Take care."

"So what did Giles say?" Angel asks when we arrive home.

I lock the door behind me and tug him into the living room. "First I want to know how the dusting went."

He grins. "Apparently, I have a natural gift for it. I knocked over about five orbs of Petronala, but I caught them before they shattered. She was all set to hire me on the spot."

"So naturally you couldn't get out of there fast enough."

"Naturally." He sits on the couch and pulls me down next to him. "And what did Giles say?"

"You just can't be diverted from the original topic, can you?" I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "He was none too pleased that we...you know...before we knew about the binding. But we have his blessing. He's cool with it."

"So in summary, he's going to tolerate me for your sake."

"Something like that." I pause. "You don't think we jumped into this too soon, do you?"

"I'm not sure I understand the question. Can you explain?" he says gently.

"This relationship. We've been apart for so long, and now we're back together? Abracadabra, just like that?" He winces a little. "Oh, no, Angel, I didn't mean that I don't want to...rush. Believe me, I do."

//Why do those words feel so familiar?//

"I don't think this qualifies as rushing, Buffy," he answers carefully. "I've missed you, I've wanted you for so long. And I never stopped loving you, not once. So many nights, I'd wake up, certain if I reached out, I'd feel your body right next to mine." He pauses, then tries to continue. "Leaving you was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life. And you have no idea, no inkling of how close I came so many times to just getting in the car and coming back to you, pleading on bended knee for another chance."

"Letting you go was...I know you had the hardest job. The whole 'actually walking away' part. But watching you go, and knowing if I ran after you, grabbed you, begged you to stay with me that you would...it was unbearable," I return.

"Can you forgive me for that?" he asks quietly.

I reach out and touch his hair. "I forgave you that a long time ago." He closes his eyes, and goosebumps ripple up and down my arms, across my stomach. God, the effect he has on me...finally I draw my hand away. "Giles was right. We probably should have talked about this stuff earlier. Think before we jumped into bed. Not that it wasn't fun."

He smiles. "I wanted to talk. And think. But it was as though the moment I touched you, I couldn't..." He fumbles, uncertain where to go.

"I understand," I fill in quietly. "It was the same for me. I was so insane to be near you, to have you inside me again -" And now it's my turn to break off, feeling my cheeks flush. But I manage to forge ahead. "And I don't care if anything's changed or not. So don't throw that at me. Soul bound or unbound, vampire or human, I love you. I always will."

"I love you," he responds, his voice cracking with emotion.

"And do you want to do the relationship thing? Make it work? Swear on a stack of Bibles you won't walk away from me again?"

A smile tugs at his lips. "I don't know about the Bibles, but I can promise you I'm done walking away."

I sigh in relief. "Good. Then I guess...there's other stuff. The life stuff. Things that have happened since you've been gone. Changes."

He reaches out and takes my hand in his, gently running his thumb back and forth over the top of it. "Then let's talk."

And we do. For the next three hours, we re-learn each other's lives, making a concentrated effort to leave out nothing. I tell him everything I know, from the mundane, everyday living details to the big, life changing milestones. From the Initiative, Maggie Walsh, and Adam, to the endowment ritual and the first Slayer, to Mom. Faith and the fun, body switching antics. Jonathan's spell. Oz's departure. Dracula. Riley's vampire whores and his departure to parts unknown in Belize.

I tell him about Xander's move from directionless loser to skilled carpenter. How stable he and Anya are, despite Anya being...well, herself. Giles running the Magic Box and buying a bright red sports car, which Angel says he'll have to see to believe. Willow's Wiccan evolution and her relationship with Tara. He laughs when I tell him of Willow's biggest misfire - and how I ended up engaged to Spike because of it. And Spike ingratiating himself into the Scooby gang, his anti violence chip, his freakish obsession with me.

He in turn tells me about his business in Los Angeles. The death of his close friend Doyle, and some of the more bizarre (even for him) cases he's handled. His friendship with a police officer named Kate, a woman who seemed nearly as lonely as he did. Cordelia's transition from vain bitch to vain, bitchy vision girl/ do gooder and her burgeoning acting career. Wesley loosening up, buying leather pants, driving a motorcycle (which is my turn to say 'I'll believe it when I see it.'), becoming like a brother to him. A new crew member, Charles Gunn. A demon karaokee bar where, horror of horrors, he's actually sang. Out loud. In front of people. And Wolfram and Hart, and the return of Darla...

He weeps when he tells me what they did to her. What he allowed to happen to a room full of lawyers because of her. His horrible, downward spiral where he pushed away friends and turned into someone he didn't know. I ignore the jealous twinge in my heart, seeing his tears because of her, and I hold him, soothe him as best I can. My poor Angel...God, what he must have gone through. As his hot tears fall onto my skin, I feel a deep, irrational anger at Wesley and Cordelia. They couldn't have picked up a phone and *called* me when this happened? When he was going through a mental breakdown, nobody thought I deserved a heads up?

But I can't stay angry long. He tells me he's not even sure I would have been able to help him. He had to find his own way out of the dark.

"How?" I inquire.

His dark brown gaze sears into mine. "I had an epiphany." And I understand that's all he wants to say about it.

He touches my cheek gently, hesitantly, then draws away, as though he's been burned. He pulls away. "Buffy...after what I've told you, what's happened...if you don't want to have anything to do with me again, I understand."

In reply, I lean over and kiss him, thoroughly, crushing his mouth against mine. He returns it with equal, almost desperate passion. "I love you...I love you. And I don't blame you," I tell him, hoping it's enough.

"I..."

"Shhhh," I murmur. "It's all right." He kisses me softly in response, slowly moving me back on the couch, sliding his hands through my hair and showering my face with gentle kisses. His movements are careful, as though he thinks I'm delicate, breakable.

My hands find their way under his gray shirt, and I trace designs across his back with my fingertips. His muscles are perfect, finely sculpted cool marble beneath my hands. God, he feels incredible...before I know what I'm doing, I've yanked his shirt over his head and tossed it to the ground.

The rest of our clothes soon follow. I don't know how it happened. My fingers remember only skin and sinew, not zippers and buttons. He hovers above me, suspending his weight on his arms, and I can feel him trembling as he looks into my eyes.

Suddenly, it's almost as though its three years ago and the night of my seventeenth birthday. I feel as though I've never been touched before, never made love to anyone, although this afternoon's escapades and the visit from Mrs. Darcy certainly belies that.

He hesitates, and I can sense his uncertainty. I trace the curve of his face with my hand, softly stroking his cheek. "Are you all right?" I whisper.

He nods, his eyes shining. "I just...being with you like this...this is what I want. I want you in my arms, I want it like this forever."

And I know why this time feels different. We know each other. Inside and out, there are no longer any boundaries between us. This is playing for keeps. This is me and Angel. The way it was meant to be since time began.

My own eyes mist with tears. "I'm not going anywhere. Forever sounds good to me, too." I let my hand trail from his face down his shoulders, massaging the back of his neck. "Make love to me, Angel. Please..."

He kisses my forehead and gently rests his full weight on top of me. He eases inside me, and I have everything I've ever wanted right here, filling me. "I love you," he whispers, moving in and out of me carefully.

"I love you, too," I murmur back.

I'm not worried about how everything is going to turn out anymore. Angel knows me, and I know him. He loves me.

And that's all that I need to know. We can worry about what happens next later.

The night is humid and sultry. I've downed far too many Cokes, trying to quench this nagging thirst that the heat keeps dredging up. Now my tongue feels thick, coated with sugar. It's the kind of cloying sweetness that makes me crave a glass of water. But because I'm an American consumer with eons of jingles ringing though my head, I signal the bartender for yet another carbonated beverage. If I drink just one more, the dryness in my mouth will finally be sated.

The Bronze is packed with people and its *hot*. The air conditioner is on full blast, but when you combine body heat with the already steamy outdoor temperature, it makes almost no difference. However, I'm relatively comfortable, clad in a dark red gauze skirt and a black tank top, my hair held off my neck with chopsticks. A few sweaty strands are glued to the back of my neck, my cheeks flushed in a way that I know has nothing to do with the heat wave inside. I sneak a little glance up at Angel. The corners of my lips curve in a smile as I remember how fast the windows steamed up once we parked in front of the club...then reached for each other and made out like teenagers until we *had* to go inside for fear of melting, or my friends coming to look for us.

Willow and Tara are holding hands, heads bobbing to the driving drum beat in the background. Every now and then, they throw beaming glances in the direction of Angel and I, pleased with their part in bringing us back together.

Xander has his arm around Anya, holding her close against his chest. I'm pretty sure Willow dropped the 'Buffy and Angel are Buffy and Angel again' bomb a few days ago, so he's had time to work out any expressions of hostility...probably on my punching bag in the training room.

But for now, he's been his normal, cheerful self to me, and while he hasn't been particularly warm to Angel, he hasn't been especially frosty, either. At the moment, he, Tara, and Angel, are involved in some long, drawn out discussion about politics, or something.

I'm not really following, because Willow, Anya, and I are involved in a long, drawn out discussion about shoes. Particularly the ones we're planning to buy this weekend on our girlie shopping excursion.

With a jolt, I realize how much I've missed this. How much I've missed being part of the group with my friends, sharing their lives. How cut off from everything I really was. How I didn't know about things like Anya's new approach to business, for example, or the highlights in Tara's hair that are just a shade lighter than her natural color. Xander's preference for Sprite over 7UP, and Willow's newly manicured nails that once upon a time, I would have gone to get with her. And I want back in.

Even when Angel came to Sunnydale to give me my wakeup call, I still spent more time hiding in the house and skulking though the shadows of the cemetery. Too busy wallowing in morbid depression to remember life, my grief over my mother blurring the edges of everything, letting details fade from focus. Life had no point, it was all just random details and meaningless drivel.

But since Angel's been here, since we've been back together, everything's changed. My whole *outlook* has changed. And now, I see that time is short, it really is. I never fully grasped that before, and now I do. Every single second with the ones we love is so precious, and now I want all the moments I missed back. I want to take the last month and do it all over again, and not let anything pass me by. I want to know what Willow ate for breakfast, what comic strip made Xander laugh the hardest this morning, if Tara prefers McDonalds over Wendys, and Anya's favorite brand of shampoo. I want all those moments.

But I suppose to know some of those things blurs the line between 'friend' and 'stalker', so I take what I can get. I hold on to what I have - trips to the Bronze, which we all know we're outgrowing, but refuse to let go of anyway, the mall, movie nights at Xander's.

Xander makes a face at me, jolting me out of my deep thoughts. "You're thinking, Buff," he complains. "You have think face. And you know there's no thinking allowed inside the hallooed halls of the Bronze."

"I'll try not to think from now on," I assure him. "I was just...I missed you guys. A lot. And...I'm sorry for blowing you off. For not letting you in after my mom..."

He reaches across the table and squeezes my hand gently. "No apology necessary, Summers. We love you, anyway." He shoots Angel a mischievous grin. "In a friendly, non-conjugal sort of way, of course. Wouldn't want Dead Boy getting all jealous."

"Don't call me that," Angel says pleasantly.

"No problem, Dead Boy," Xander returns brightly. Then he pulls Anya to her feet. "Dance, m'lady?"

"Yes," she says. Then she glares at him. "You love me more than Buffy, right?" she demands.

"Of course," he assures her, guiding her onto the dance floor. He winks at me over his shoulder. "Sorry," he mouths. I try and look stern, but I dissolve into giggles.

Willow also stands. "Let's play pool!" she says excitedly to Tara. "A couple guys just walked up...I bet I can sucker them for a few bucks."

Tara smiles. "You're such a shark." She turns to Angel. "But don't think this means you won the debate on the merits of Clinton's foreign legions policy. I'll be back."

They wander over to the pool table, hand in hand.

Angel looks at me questioningly, and I smile. "Willow loves pool. She says it's one big math problem, and you know how excited she gets over geometry. Plus she loves being a girl who shows up the guys who think they're pool studs."

"The light is shed." He brushes a lock of hair out of my face. "And what would you like to do, Miss Summers? Chug your umpteenth cola of the evening?"

I wrinkle my nose. "So you noticed that, huh?"

"I noticed," he assures me. "You're going to be a little jittery tonight, love."

"Hyper. I'll be excessively hyper," I correct him. "And that just means we'll have fun trying to wear me out." He grins and kisses the tip of my nose. "So how went the debate on the foreign legions policy?"

"Don't tell Tara, but I'm pretty sure I'm losing," he confides. "She's vicious."

"So you aren't shocked at the whole relationship between her and Willow, then?"

He smiles at me gently. "Buffy, I've been around for two hundred and forty seven years. I *have* seen two women together before. More than once, in fact. I think it's safe to say I'm a very tolerant person at this point. Besides, I like Tara. She's intelligent, and she seems like a caring, loving woman."

I narrow my eyes at him. "You sound like you have a crush on her. Is it because she cares about politics?"

"I definitely have a crush on one blonde girl in the room...and I guarantee you, it's not Tara." He draws me near for a deep, intense kiss that pulls the air right from my lungs and leaves my head spinning.. "Believe me?"

"Mmm hmm," I murmur, bringing his head back towards mine for another kiss. Public standards of decency? Boundaries? Who cares? There's no world outside Angel and his hands and his lips...Finally, I part from him, drawing the thick air into my lungs. "Okay. We're in a public place. Just keep focusing on that."

He smiles. "Oh, I'm seeing how it is. Am I that embarrassing that you can't be seen in public with me?"

"Not at all. I'm just afraid if you keep kissing me like that, I'll have to jump you. Here. In front of all these people. Which could be dangerous, since I don't really feel like getting arrested for indecent exposure..."

Angel arches an eyebrow. "I didn't know what I had that kind of effect on you. Might have to use that to my advantage sometime."

"You always have that effect on me," I assure him. He captures my lips with his once more, and I give in, the heat making me lazy. When we part again, his eyes are sparkling, and I breath. Lucky bastard, he doesn't have to worry about running short on air. "Public place. Bad Buffy."

"Bad, bad Buffy," he mocks. "What am I going to do with you?"

"You could kiss me again," I hint hopefully.

He brings his lips towards mine, and I close my eyes in anticipation. "Nah...that's just downright dangerous," he teases, pulling away.

I look at him, then grab his collar and yank him back to me. "On second thought...what's the life of a Slayer if not dangerous?" I challenge, and kiss him once more. He traces the curve of my lips with a gentle finger.

"Do you want to dance?" he asks.

"Angel, you hate dancing."

"I can do the slow ones," he assures me, drawing me to my feet and onto the dance floor. He tightens his arms around my waist and I rest my head on his shoulder. My body fits up against his perfectly. Two pieces of some greater puzzle that were always meant to be locked together. Yin and yang. Sand and sea. Chocolate and peanut butter. Buffy and Angel.

When did my life get so good?

Angel shudders between my legs, thrusting upwards into me deeply. "God, Buffy!" he cries out, clutching my hips tightly.

I can't find my voice through the thick haze of pleasure I'm feeling. All I can do is moan and whimper, bend down and kiss him greedily as I ride him. His tongue finds its way into my mouth and tangles with mine. I want to be as close to him as I possibly can, swallow his moans, taste his very essence. I'd crawl beneath his skin if I could.

His hands play across my breasts, rolling my nipples between his long fingers as he bucks and spasms beneath me. We've never tried this before, me on top, and I have to admit, it's nice.

Okay, so its more than nice. It's amazing, mind blowing, earth shattering...although, making love to Angel always is.

Finally, this impossible bliss comes to an end, and I can feel his seed pulse deep inside of me. I tighten around him, crying out his name, and I almost can't take how good this feels, how right...I leans forward onto his chest, trying to catch my breath, little sighs escaping me as he lightly strokes my back.

Eventually, I sit up and look at him. He's still panting and shaking. I gently smooth his hair away from his face. "Are you okay?" I ask quietly.

"G-give me a minute," he manages. I smile and cover his face in soft, tiny kisses. His cheeks, forehead, eyelids, throat...everywhere I can reach. His skin is so soft and cool.

"Good, then?" I murmur in his ear, lightly tracing my tongue around the curve of his earlobe.

"I...I..." he gasps out. Slowly, I slide off of him, and he takes me into his arms, nuzzling into my body, his head resting against my heart. I can feel how fast my own heart is pounding, how my blood is singing in my veins. And I can also feel how hard he's shaking. I lift his head up to mine, meeting his eyes.

"Angel...you're trembling," I say softly. I kiss him once, feeling his lips quiver a little against mine. "God...you're shaking so much..."

He smiles at me. "I'm recovering." He rolls onto his side and strokes a lock of hair out of my eyes. "I'm not sure I'll be able to, but I'm trying. Buffy, you..."

"I what?" I prompt him.

He kisses the tip of my nose. "Do you know what you do to me?" he asks, his voice so low, so full of love that I could weep.

I touch the side of his face. "I've got a pretty good idea. I know what you do to me."

"You make me so...I'm happy," he says, his dark eyes losing some of the pain that never seems to fade from them. "I've never been this...it's scary how happy I am. I feel like I could whistle...turn cartwheels or something."

I smile. "Now *that* would be entertainment." I pause. "But please don't."

He laughs, and I snuggle up against his broad chest, feeling his arms tighten around me. "I'm glad you feel that way, though. I like you happy." He nestles his head in my hair, and I close my eyes, breathing in his scent, every cell in my body tingling.

Happy. Yeah, I feel that, too.

The shrill ring of the phone abruptly pulls us out of the warm circle of afterglow we've been immersed in. I groan. "I should have unplugged it. I knew the complete silence was too good to last."

He plants a kiss on top of my head. "We take what we can get."

Reluctantly, I move out of his arms. Happily, he moves with me, curls his body around mine and plants little kisses across my shoulders as I reach for the phone, giggling at his touch. "Hello?"

"Buffy? It's Cordelia."

Perfect. Great. Wonderful. Absolutely fabulous. I cover the receiver and turn to Angel. "It's *Cordelia*." He sits up, his brow furrowed, and I turn back to the phone. "Hi, Cordy...what's going on?"

"Nothing you need to hear about," she says snippily. "Look, sorry if I'm interrupting anything that shouldn't be...interrupted or whatever, but is Angel around?"

I cover the receiver again. "Do I tell her you're here?"

He makes a face and I giggle. "I don't exactly *want* to talk to her..." he says, sounding for all the world like a whiny fifth grader who just got called down to the principal's office.

"Hey...HEY!" Queen C shouts into the phone. I can hear her even with my hand cupped over the mouthpiece. "Are you whispering? I can hear you!"

I sigh and uncover the phone. "He's right here, Cordy." I hand the receiver to him, trying not to be annoyed. Leave it to Cordelia to pick exactly the wrong moment to call.

"Cordelia. What's going on? Is everything all right?" Angel asks.

Say one thing for Cordy - she talks *loud* when she's on the phone. I can pretty much follow the entire conversation. "Things could be better. Look, no offense or anything, but you're gonna have to cut your trip short. I mean, as long as your departure won't send Buffy running straight to the pharmacy or anything."

I can feel my eyes narrow involuntarily at that crack. As grateful as I am that Angel was here to stop me from killing myself, I can't help but wish it was someone *other* than Cordelia who had that vision. Who saw me at my lowest possible point.

"Is something wrong?" he asks, giving me his patented "I'm sorry" look.

"We've had mad customers. They just keep coming in, one after the other *on top of* the head splitting, mind cracking visions, which, for the record, aren't getting any better, and frankly, I can't keep up with all this work! Wesley and Gunn are being their usual pig headed macho male selves, saying they can handle it, but they severely overestimate their own skills, which is - Hey! Don't *put* that there! I have it labeled for a reason!"

"Look, woman, I have my own system," comes a faint voice from the background.

Angel winces. "So...that's it? No big life or death, world Apocalypse thing?"

Cordelia heaves a long suffering sigh. "*Money*, Angel. Money *is* a big world life death Apocalypse thing."

" 'Delia, gimme the phone," comes the voice from the background once more.

" 'Delia? Excuse me. How about you say my name and tack a 'please' in there, 'unn?" she retorts.

"Phone, Cordelia." He sounds like someone not to mess with, and apparently, she handed it over. "Angel, man? You there?"

Angel looks relieved. "Gunn. I'm here. What's going on? From a sane person's perspective, I mean."

I can't hear the explanation that follows, but I can hear the shout that he ends with. "English, don't *think* I can't see you reaching for my chocolate chip muffin! Back yo' British ass away from it!"

"I wasn't going near your muffin! I was...merely reaching for the...stapler!" Wesley calls back.

"I'll come down as soon as I can, all right?" Angel interjects. "I promise."

"Take your time, man. Don't let Cordy's nagging influence you one way or the other. Not if your girl still needs you."

"NAGGING?" Cordelia squeals. "Am I the only one who need solid food in this room, people? We have clients coming in who want to give us MONEY! The stuff with which to buy said solid food! And you know what else money can buy? Shoes!" The rest of the conversation is cut off, as Angel abruptly pushes the 'off' button, then turns to face me.

"Same old Cordelia," I say wryly.

He gives me a faint smile. "I'm sorry."

"I've learned to take her comments with a full shaker of salt by now. Not just a grain, mind you. A shaker." I pause, then continue. "So...you have to go back." I hate the way my voice quavers at that.

"Hey..." he says softly, pulling me back into his arms and kissing my forehead. "You know I'd love to stay. But...if they're having problems..."

"It's fine," I assure him. "As long as you're coming back this time." I try and turn it into a joke, but it falls flat. The fact that he left me isn't something that I can talk about lightly, no matter how long ago it happened or what his intentions were.

"I'm never leaving you again," he says, his voice serious. "Ever. We just have to work something out. Weekends, vacations..."

"We will. And I understand." I lean over the side of the bed and reach for my clothes.

He grabs my arm gently and turns me toward him. "What are you doing?"

"I was going to get dressed. I thought you were leaving, so..."

He kisses me. "Not for a few hours yet," he breathes gently. I drop the clothes back on the ground.

"Good."

He plays with a lock of my hair and looks at me as though he's memorizing my face. "If you wanted to...you could come with me. It would be nice...you could see my new place. The hotel," he says, sounding proud. "And you could meet Gunn," he continues. "You wouldn't...I mean, maybe just for the weekend. If it was okay with Giles. And if you wanted to," he repeats.

I feel a huge smile spread across my face. "About *time* you asked."

He looks sheepish. "Well, I didn't want to drag you there if you didn't want to go."

I brush a quick kiss across his lips, then look at the clock. "I could give Giles a call right now. He's doing inventory with Anya tonight." I reach for the phone and hit speed dial button four. The Magic Box.

Someone answers on the second ring, despite the late hour. "Thank you for calling the Magic Box, Anya speaking. How may I persuade you into giving me your money?" she says cheerfully.

"Anya, it's Buffy. Can I talk to Giles?"

"If you give me five dollars."

"Anya - "

"It's Lesson Number Three in Build a Better Business Through Your Own Inner Goddess!" she protests. "Make the sale. No matter what the cost, don't let that customer leave your store without emptying part of their wallet."

I'm going to kill Xander for giving her that book. If she was annoying before..."Anya. Put. Giles. On. The. Phone. *Now.*"

"Fine," she grumbles. "GILES! IT'S BUFFY! And she's cranky. I don't get paid enough for this. Can I please put out a tip jar?"

The phone is wrenched out of her hand. "Buffy?" Giles says, sounding irritated.

"Might I remind you it was *your* idea to hire her," I say.

"I assure you I've been paying for that grievous error in judgment. Now, what's the situation?" He sounds way too hyped about that. Like any minute, I'll tell him there's a new demon squad in town and he has to make with the research.

Note to self: Find Giles a girlfriend. STAT.

"No big," I assure him. "I was just wondering if it'd be okay...ifIwenttolawithangelfortheweekend."

"I'm afraid I didn't quite follow."

I take a deep breath. "Is it okay with you if I go to LA with Angel for the weekend?"

"Los Angeles? Buffy..."

"It's just two days! Two little, brief, day - to - night spans. Forty eight hours. I'll be home before you can click your heels three times. Pleeeeeease?" I whine. Angel tries to look at me sternly, but a grin plays around his mouth.

Giles sighs. "All right, then. Two days. No more. I feel like your mother," he comments dryly. Then he realizes what he just said. "Oh, I..."

But strangely enough, my mouth doesn't go dry and my throat doesn't ache at the mention of her name. "Aw, Giles...you *are* like my mother. Only in a more manly sense."

He sounds relieved. "Lovely. I'm deeply touched. Don't get in too much trouble."

"I never do. See you Monday." I hang up, and smile at Angel. "We have liftoff, Captain. Should I go pack?"

He sweeps me into his arms and begins to kiss my neck. "In a few minutes," he whispers.

"I have no problem with that," I assure him, surrendering to his touch.

The drive to LA goes by quickly, considering the late hour we leave at. Traffic *inside* the city, however, is an altogether different story. Lights blare, car horns squeal, obnoxious rap pounds out from the radios of cars around us.

In fact, I'm awakened to the sound of some of the dirtiest curses I think I've ever heard coming from the car next to us. I jerk my head up off of Angel's shoulder. "Wassat?" I slur, my voice groggy from sleep.

"Shhhh, baby," he murmurs. "Go back to sleep."

I rub my eyes. "I *really* doubt that's happening." But I do snuggle back up to his side, and he puts his arm around me. "You LA people have bizarre taste in music. If you ever start listening to that stuff..."

I glance up at his profile, seeing the hint of a smile on his face as he concentrates on steering his tank - excuse me, his car - through the jammed streets. "I'm more of a classical man," he says, nodding toward the stereo that's softly playing Vivaldi...or Mozart...or one of those guys. The dead composer guys.

"Yawn," I comment. "We have to get you tuned into the good stuff. Something vaguely modern."

"I listen to vaguely modern...sometimes," he protests. "Cordelia has the office radio tuned into some teenybopper station around the clock. I could hold my own in a conversation about it."

"Okay, so who sings 'Lady Marmalade'?" I challenge.

"Patti LaBelle," he responds promptly, looking pleased with himself.

I roll my eyes. "Sorry, wrong answer, thank you for playing, you are the weakest link, goodbye."

"What? Yes, she does," he protests. "I remember."

"No...I meant the new version. The hyped up 'Moulin Rouge' - esque version."

"Oh." He thinks for a minute. "Sorry. I don't know." Then he arches a brow. "Moulin Rouge, you say?"

"Okay, you're either picturing me in one of the low cut corset, flouncy skirt slut costumes, or you're having a pop culture moment," I tease.

He grins at me. "What does a girl like you know about a place like that?" he drawls in a mock seedy accent.

"Willow dragged me to see the movie. It was pretty good. I didn't sob quite as hard as she did, but, pretty good nonetheless. Did you see it?"

"No. I thought it might be a bit of a letdown after having been in the actual Moulin Rouge at the turn of the century ."

My eyebrows shoot way, way up at that. "You were at the real place?"

"It was an amazing experience," he tells me. "The dancing, the costumes, the music, the joie de vivre of the Parisian people..."

"The cheap prostitutes you could pay for a night of ecstasy with," I shoot back.

He smiles. "Jealous?" he asks.

And again with the shooting up of the eyebrows. "You mean you actually *did*? Pay French prostitutes?" I demand.

He laughs, and I try to stay mad, but I can't. "French prostitutes have nothing on you, Buffy," he assures me.

I sigh. "Angel, Angel, Angel. Why do I put up with you?"

He gives my knee a gentle squeeze. "I have no idea." He makes a left, and suddenly, we're facing a sprawling, elegant building. He parks the car, then turns to face me. "We're here."

I look at the building in awe. "This...you live here? *This* is your hotel?"

"This is the Hyperion," he says modestly.

"Wow. Big. Way big."

He gets out of the car and steps over, and opening my door for me, taking my hand and helping me out. Have I mentioned how much I *love* his old fashioned manners? Because I really, really do. "Do you...like it?" he asks, sounding a little uncertain.

I tilt my head to the side and look at him questioningly. "I love it...but why does it matter?"

"I...I guess I just...I want you to like it." He gives me his bashful little boy grin, the one that always makes my stomach flip over and my heartbeat pick up speed. "I'm hoping you'll want to spend a lot of time here."

I smile and kiss his lips softly. "You could be living in a cardboard box, and I'd want to spend a lot of time there. I mean, preferably, it would be a cardboard box out of site of the prying eyes of the public..."

"I'll keep that in mind in case I'm ever in the market for a cardboard box," he assures me. He goes to open the door, then looks at me. "Are you sure you're ready for this? They can be a little...rowdy at times."

"I've weathered many a Willow/Anya fight before. The textbook definition of rowdy. Trust me, I can handle it." He smiles at me and pushes the door open. Instantly, I wish I could take that statement back.

"It's not *my* fault it bled all over your designer shoes! How was I supposed to know that thing was gonna pop like a grape?" Gunn bellows in the background.

Cordelia's voice blends into the conversation. "Well, maybe if you hadn't stocked the car with all your stupid battle axes and spiked chain thingies, I could have fit my emergency fashion kit in there and fixed them before they were totally RUINED!"

"Well, okay then! Next time I'll prioritize - wreck your stupid, ugly ass shoes, or let an evil, poision pus shooting demon run rampant through the streets! And if you would have worn gym shoes like I *told* you in the first place - "

"Oh, so this is MY fault?" she shrieks.

"Yes!" he roars in return. "English, back me up here!"

"I'm not backing *anyone* up," Wesley chimes in. "The last time I did, the other through a spitball at me, *Cordelia*," he adds pointedly.

"It wasn't a spitball, it was a piece of GUM," she hurls back.

"It was still pretty damn disgust - uh, hey," Gunn says, catching sight of Angel and I in the doorway. "Welcome home. That Buffy?" he adds, with a nod to me.

"Duh, that's Buffy," Cordelia hisses.

"Yeah, that's Buffy," I respond wryly. "Nice to see you again, Cor."

"Uh huh," she says, not sounding any more enthusiastic than I do. "Welcome to Angel Investigations. Happy to see you. But you aren't staying long, right?" I choose to ignore that.

Wesley walks forward, attempting to make up for her...well, Cordelia-ness. "Yes, its certainly wonderful to see you, Buffy. How have you been?" he inquires politely.

I smile at Angel. "I've been good, thanks. Yourself?"

"Oh, I can't complain. We were all so terribly sorry to hear about your mother," he adds gently. "I didn't know her very well, but from the few times I met her, she seemed a giving, generous woman."

"Thank you." My throat tightens a little, but I swallow a few times and the lump building there dissolves.

Gunn steps forward and shakes my hand in a firm grip. He meets my eyes, and I take an immediate liking to him. He seems straightforward and confident. "Charles Gunn. It's nice to meet you, after hearing Angel yap about you for the last three weeks."

I laugh. "Likewise. Don't believe a word he says." Gunn gives me an easy smile, and I think I'm going to enjoy getting to know him.

"You have manners? Let me mark this one down on the calendar," Cordelia snorts from the background "When did you suddenly grow those?"

He turns and faces her, in an expression that eerily reminds me of the way Xander looked at her while they were dating. "I've *always* had manners," he shoots at her. "And that was a pointed comment about your lack of them, Little Miss Gum Thrower."

"You only use them when you *want* something, Mr. I Don't Know How To Put The Toilet Seat Down After I Use It," she fires back.

I lean up to whisper in Angel's ear. "The witty banter...crush-y sign?"

He smiles. "Once they start disappearing into closets together, I'll let you know." He clears his throat. "Sounds like you guys have really been cracking down on the workload. The arguments and all...demons of the world beware."

"FYI, while you and Buffy were busy being lusty bunnies back in Sunnydale, we *were* fighting...stuff. Demons! Big, nasty, evil demons that exploded green pus all over my new shoes from Fred Segal," Cordelia whines.

"Radonmians," Wesley explains. "There was a nest of Radonmians in the sewers."

"Did you take them out?" Angel asks, moving over to the desk to examine some paperwork.

"Capped three, got two left," Gunn explains. "But we also got a new vamp gang down in Silver Lake, lookin' to make a name for themselves, and a band of ghouls over by North Pembroke."

"So what's our plan of attack?" Angel asks.

"The demons and the ghouls were visions, so we figure they're first priority, the vampire gang was info from a source of Wesley's, and Gunn forgot about a walk in client we had this morning named Andrea who thinks she's being stalked," Cordelia explains. "We thought you and Wesley could take out the vampires tonight, it shouldn't be any trouble, then come back here and give me a hand in researching how to vanquish the ghouls. And Andrea has an appointment set up tomorrow morning for Gunn to bodyguard her while Wesley checks out her apartment for something eep-y."

"Which leaves Slay Gal and me here wide open to crack down on our demons. You wanna play?" Gunn asks me.

My eyebrows shoot up, and I have to admit that the thought of a decent battle is pretty attractive right now. The vamps of Sunnydale have been getting wimpier by the day, and I've been itching for something to whale on. "Count me in," I say, walking down the stairs and pulling myself up to sit on the counter. "So how do you kill a Radonmian?"

"A number of ways," Wesley responds, sounding almost identical to Giles. "Skewering the large pustule in the middle of their stomach is the preferred method, but it can get rather messy - "

"Wear *gym shoes*," Gunn tells me, while staring pointedly at Cordelia. She sticks her tongue out at him, and goes back to handing Angel several manila folders.

Wesley continues his lecture. "However, decapitation works equally well. And the backs of their knees are a very sensitive, delicate area. The best method of approach is probably to knock them down with a sharp kick from behind to the knee, then proceed with the skewering."

"Sounds like fun. Anybody got an ax I can borrow?" I ask.

"Hand to hand or full length?" Angel asks, already walking to the wall and pulling a few down. "Or do you think a broadsword would be better?"

"I'm not sure. I think sword would work better for decapitation. One of my many areas of expertise." I don't mention that as much fun as making a Radonmian explode by stabbing it in the gut sounds...well, lets just say I have more fun decapitation memories than I do 'sword through stomach' ones.

Angel hands me the sword, giving me a gentle smile. "How does that feel?" he asks.

I give it a practice swing. "Oh, baby, mmm, that's good," I respond mischievously. Angel grins at my raunchy little joke.

I can hear Cordelia murmur, "God gag me," under her breath, which only makes him grin wider.

Angel cups my chin in his hand, his dark eyes burning into mine. "Be careful," he tells me softly.

I give him a cocky smirk. "Aren't I always?"

He laughs a little, then tilts my face up to his and kisses me deeply. When we part, Gunn lets out a loud wolf whistle.

"Whoo, is it me or did the temperature in here just shoot up about a hundred degrees?" he asks Angel teasingly. Angel declines to comment, instead holding out his hand and helping me down from my position on the counter. I hop down and give him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Be home before you know it," I promise.

"I'll get your girl home to you in one piece," Gunn reassures Angel.

I arch my eyebrows. "More like, I'll be making sure you don't behead *me* instead of one of the demons. Don't forget who's the expert here."

"We'll see about that, Blondie," he says cockily.

"Blondie? Oh, no you didn't. You did *not* just call me Blondie," I respond.

"Whatever. Just be sure you don't break a nail," he tosses back.

"She isn't Cordelia, you know," Wesley chimes in.

"Hey!" Cordelia exclaims. "That was SUCH a cheap shot!"

"And a valid point as well," Wesley shoots back.

Angel puts a hand on my back and Gunn's shoulder, ushering us toward the door. "Wow, look at the time. You guys are probably missing out on all those big, scary demons. Go, go."

He shuts the door behind us just as I hear Wesley shout, "Cordelia! ENOUGH with the GUM!"

"Gunn! Behind you!" I yell, ducking a punch from the nasty, crusty demon I'm battling. For all his lecturing, Wesley somehow forgot to mention that they have hands the size of Christmas hams and they wear BIG HONKING METAL ARMOR over the back of their knees. Easy kill, my ass.

Gunn lets out a grunt and dodges just in time, bringing his leg up in a hitch kick, knocking the demon back a few steps. I whirl around and spin the sword in my hand, finally getting the upper hand. The demon lunges at me, and I parry, severing its head from its shoulders. The body staggers, then falls forward to the ground, letting out a spray of purple, nasty smelling pus.

Suddenly, I can see why Cordelia was so irritated about her shoes.

I turn, shaking the chunkier bits of flayed demon from my hair. Gunn is pinned against the wall, the demon's ham sized fist clenched around his throat. He wraps his leg around the back of the demons torso and underneath the armor, giving the back of his knee the tiniest nudge...and the demon lets out a horrible wail and drops him.

That's my cue. I turn two flips, then tap the demon on the shoulder. "Hi," I say sweetly. "You really out to get to a dermatologist about those big craters on your back. Soon."

"Slayer," he growls.

"That's right. Slayer." With that, I jam my sword all the way through his stomach. If the decapitation was nasty, this is even worse. More of the purple pus shoots out, along with some kind of dark green, viscous liquid that smells even worse. The demon wails again, and I yank the sword back out, rewarded by a spray of the green stuff streaking my hair and the top of my forehead.

Gunn comes to stand at my side. "Think you're gonna need a bath, girl," he comments intelligently.

"Gee, you think?"

"Ah, don't sweat it. The green stuff brings out your eyes," he says, laugh lines forming around his own eyes. "Wanna get out of here?"

"In the worst way." I nudge the body of the fallen demon with my toe. "We just leave them here?"

"I'll get some of my boys to come out here and light them on fire just to be sure they're gone," he tells me. "In the meantime...Taco Bell?"

"Yum. Lead the way." We begin to walk out of the alley.

"That flippy thing was sweet," he tells me. "Wanna show me how to do that sometime?"

"Oooh, tacos!" Cordelia squeals, jumping out from behind her desk. "For me?"

I clutch the bag closer to me. "No way. These are for the people who were liberally dosed in demon bodily fluids. Namely, me and Gunn. Two people who are not you."

Her lips turn down in a pout. "You know, I sacrificed my shoes to fight the good fight. You'd think that would at least be worth a bag of those cinnamon twists."

"No dice. Mine. I don't share." I set the bag down on the counter. "Where's Angel?"

Wesley comes out form his office, thumbing through a huge text. "He went to pick up some herbs I need for vanquishing the ghouls." He sets the book down and settles into a chair, taking off his glasses and cleaning them thoroughly. "The demons are eliminated, I assume?"

"Sliced and diced," Gunn assures him. "Blondie and I make quite a team."

"I haven't had that much fun on a patrol in a long time," I add.

"Nice to know some people get such a thrill out of killing," Cordelia says snippily. "Anyone know the term 'psycho'?"

Thankfully, Gunn cuts me off before I can respond. "Man, you oughta see this thing with the flips she can do! And the sword - she flipped though those demons like they were made out of butter."

"Show 'em the flip!" he demands.

"No big," I say, trying to hide how pleased I am by his compliments

"Um, excuse me, this is an office. Not a three ring circus," Cordelia says before I can protest. For once, I'm thankful to her.

"Wes, did Angel say when he'd be back?" I ask again.

He gives me a reassuring smile. "Soon, Buffy. Getting those herbs is not the most dangerous of all missions I can think to send him on."

I give him an apologetic look. "Sorry. I just feel better knowing...where he is." I grab a taco out of the bag and take a huge bite, feeling as though I haven't eaten for weeks. What's the expression? Slaying makes you hungry and horny? True on both counts. I can't *wait* for Angel to get home.

"We understand," Gunn calls from the other side of the room. "After he told us about his crazy night with his bitch of a Sire, we wanted a detailed description of his whereabouts 24/7, too."

Cordelia elbows him harshly at that. "Shut up!" she hisses.

Gunn's words don't sink in for a minute. But once they hit, the taco crumbles to ash in my mouth and it's all I can do to swallow. I drop the rest of it back onto the wrapper. "What? Crazy night? Darla?"

"It was nothing!" Cordelia says hurriedly. "Just a lot of - "

"Violence!" Wesley chimes in. "Angel and violence, well, you know how he is when he gets - "

"Violent! Not a pretty picture!" Cordelia adds. "And with you two being back together and all, the violence would just be - "

"Even more violent than usual!" Wesley concludes. "So you see how this is in no way an issue."

Gunn looks at them strangely. "I didn't mean violence, I meant the night they - " He's interrupted by Cordelia's hand sliding around his mouth.

"Bad! Very, very bad!" she says, giving him a warning look. Wesley looks around the room, nervously tapping his foot up and down, looking everywhere but at me.

An ice cold lump of fear starts to build in my stomach. I speak slowly. "Then...what did he mean?" I ask.

"Psssh, it's Gunn. I mean, him and his ebonic talk, you never really know what he means," Cordelia says casually.

Gunn's eyes grow wide and indignant. "Ebonics! Woman, you - " he mumbles against her hand.

She stomps on his foot. "Shuuuuuuut up!" she hisses again. Wesley coughs.

"Cordelia." I say again.

She drops her hand from Gunn's mouth. "Ebonics," he mutters. She stomps on his foot again. Wesley puts a hand on his back and says something quietly in his ear, and Gunn's eyes widen, as though he knows he said something he shouldn't have.

Cordelia looks back to me, her eyes sympathetic. "Buffy, I really don't think its something I should say..."

"Cordelia, you're starting to scare me," I plead.

Suddenly, the front door closes shut. "Wesley, I got those herbs you wanted," Angel says, coming in and taking his coat off.

"Angel! Hey, look, guys! It's Angel!" Cordelia trills.

"Angel! Why, yes it is!" Wesley adds.

"Welcome home, buddy! Angel, all right!" Gunn cheers.

Cordelia sticks two fingers in her mouth and attempts to whistle, Wesley applauds cheerily, and Gunn starts chanting "An-gel, An-gel, An-gel!"

Angel gives them a blank look. "Let me know when you've all finished," he says.

"Done."

"Yes, quite finished."

"Totally."

He raises one eyebrow. "Great. Someone want to tell me what's going on, then?"

"We, uh....really, really missed you!" Cordelia tells him.

"Right. What's going on?" he asks again.

"Why you gotta assume something's going on? Can't we just be glad to see you?" Gunn throws in.

Angel looks to me, his eyes amused. And suddenly, I remember back to the night in my living room...the night I thought he told me everything about his life since he left me. I remember the haunted look in those dark eyes as he said "I had an epiphany."

The pieces of this puzzle are starting to add up, and I really, really wish they weren't.

//Crazy night with his bitch of a Sire...I meant the night they....I had an epiphany...Crazy night with his bitch of a Sire...the night they...//

My stomach roils, and I avert his gaze. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see his brow wrinkle in concern. "Buffy?" he asks.

"Okay!" Cordelia says loudly. "Well, we know how much you want your private time, so...we're gonna go shopping, right, Wesley?" she grabs his arm and yanks him toward the door.

"Cordelia, you know I despise - "

"TEA shopping, okay?" she hurls back, yanking him out the door.

"I'll drive," Gunn adds, scuttling out after them and slamming the door behind all of them.

Angel crosses over to me quickly, his eyes filling with fear. "Buffy...are you all right? Did something happen?" he asks. He takes hold of my arms and turns my head toward him.

I finally find my voice through the layers of acid that are burning away at my throat. "You slept with her," I say, my voice almost inaudible. "You slept with Darla."

Oh, God, Angel, please tell me I'm wrong, please tell me its all a misunderstanding, please don't have made love to her, please...

He drops my arms and takes a step back. But he doesn't look angry, or hurt. He looks...he looks ashamed. His mouth opens as if he's going to say something, but nothing comes out. He just stares at me.

"Buffy..." he whispers.

My mouth goes dry, and I can't swallow. I freeze, rooted to the spot, and I just stare at him.

I think I can physically feel my heart shattering.

When I was thirteen, my parents took me to Colorado for Christmas. They wanted me to have traditional Christmas-y memories of hot chocolate and thick sweaters and snow. It was one of my last One Big Happy Summers Family memories. Mom and I bought matching parkas colored with slashes of scarlet and deep orange. I remember how we giggled over how wide Dad's eyes grew when he saw the price tags, and how Mom always looked like a living, breathing flame when she hurtled down a ski slope. I went sledding and skiing and built snowpeople (Mom was very adamant about saying 'snowpeople' and not 'snowmen') and had snowball fights with the kids in the suite next to ours. During the day, there wasn't any place more fun than outside in the crisp air and warm sun.

But at night...everything changed at night. Its funny, now that I'm remembering, how terrified I was of the nights. No streetlights. Just pitch dark and bone chilling cold. When Mom and I would walk back from the skating pond, I would nestle against her side and never pretend that I wasn't scared out of my mind. With Mom, I never had to pretend. But the dark was just blanketing, and it chilled my body more than anything I could remember. I never wanted to be alone in that freezing blackness.

And now that I'm standing here, rooted to the spot in Angel's enormous living room, I remember that feeling. Being cold all the way down to my soul. Like I'm trapped in a frozen lake with a sheet of ice above me....drowning. That's how I feel. Like I'm drowning as I stare at his broad shoulders and back. He won't meet my eyes.

He hasn't said a word, just keeps focusing on the potted plant in the corner like it holds the answers to life. For a moment, I turn my gaze to the frond and idly think that it ought to be watered. The edges of some leaves are turning brown and brittle.

I wish he *would* say something, because along with the rest of my body, my brain has iced over. Except for a nagging echo.

//He slept with her. He slept with *her*.//

Angel and Darla. Darla and Angel. In his bed. Bodies wound around each other, fingers exploring, hungry kisses, nails raking down backs, sweat and lips and tongues and...

I shut my eyes tightly, trying to erase the horrifying tableau sketching itself in front of me. Angel on top of Darla, Angel inside of Darla, Angel screaming *Darla's* name...I inhale sharply and he turns to look at me, his eyes deep and searching.

"Buffy," he begins softly. I raise my hand and cut him off.

"Don't," I return, my voice sharp as the blade I once ran him though with. "Don't say a goddamn *word*. I don't want to hear it." I don't want to hear anything. I want to be anywhere but here, home safe in bed, working out in my training room, watching movies with Willow and Xander...*anywhere* but here.

"Buffy, you have to let me - "

"What? *Explain*? Explain how, in the middle of your exist...existent...WHATEVER the word is, little crisis, you wound up fucking HER into your mattress?"

"Existential," he says quietly. "The word is 'existential'."

I gape at him. "I DON'T GIVE A FLYING *FUCK* WHAT THE *WORD* IS, ANGEL!" I screech. "WHY?" The word rips out of my throat, and suddenly, all the anger in my voice drains away. "Why would you...how could you...with *her*?"

He takes two steps toward me, so close that if I wanted to, I could reach out and slap him. "I'm sorry," he says. "I'm so, so sorry...but I didn't do this to hurt you, Buffy. I didn't."

"So you were going to what, then? *Not* tell me and hope I never found out?" My throat clenches and my voice comes out thick and clotted. "That night in the living room...I told you *everything*, Angel. Everything. I told you things I didn't ever want you to know about. Dracula biting me, Riley and how much I regretted losing him, Mom - " A tear leaks from my eye and worms its way slowly down my cheek. "And I thought you did the same. I thought you trusted me enough to share the things with me that I shared with you. The hard stuff. The painful stuff."

Does he get it? Does he understand? As hard as it is that he slept with her, as much as its crushing me...it hurts more to think that he didn't *tell* me. He *swore* that he had told me everything that night. And to find out that he held something this huge back from is...

"I didn't want to hurt you any more," he responds, his voice cracking. "I fell so far, Buffy, I let those lawyers DIE, I bolted them into that wine cellar and essentially signed their death warrants. And I...I told you about Holland. What he said." Angel walks away from me and starts pacing, running his hands through his thick hair, frustrated. "'The world doesn't work in spite of evil. It works because of it.' I walked for what felt like...forever, not hearing anything else, just that. That everything I'd...fought for had no point.

"I came home, she was there, and..." He falters, and picks up again. "I was...sinking. And for a moment, on the end of my nerves, I *wanted* to sink. I wanted to let whatever was pulling me under just *do it*. Take me back to where there was no remorse, no regret. No feelings. No love. And I thought if I...with her, then...He would be there when I woke up. Angelus. Free."

He turns toward me and reaches out a hand. "It didn't mean anything, Buffy. I swear to you, it was nothing. It wasn't love, it wasn't even lust. It was...it was sleeping pills. Being with Darla was *my* drug."

My mouth hangs open and I stare at him, stunned. "How can you even compare that?" I whisper.

"Because it *was* suicide," he responds. "On some level, it was suicide. I was trying to kill the soul, and let the demon have free reign. But it didn't work. She didn't make me happy. She never could."

He reaches for me once more, and I take another giant step back. "Don't you *touch* me," I say bitterly. His eyes widen, he looks as though I just struck him. Good. *Good*. I *want* to hit him, the way he hit me that night so long ago, in his apartment, after I saw Faith in his arms.

For the first time, I don't feel the urge to curl in his arms and let him kiss the pain away. The only thing I feel is the impulse to strike him again and again. And then cleave every limb from Darla's body. Slowly. With a rusty butter knife. Then bury a whole goddamn *tree* in her heart.

"You sanctimonious *bastard*," I spit. "Did you expect THAT to be enough? That you tell me I'm the only one whoever made you happy and I swoon back into your arms, everything trundling along merrily once more? I was going to *kill* myself, and you sat there, telling me I couldn't give up, I had to keep dealing, a bunch of other complete BULLSHIT. All morally superior. So, what, you get a double standard because you're special Soul Boy, and the rest of us don't get to falter?"

"I never said you couldn't falter!" he yells, his voice finally breaking. "I never asked you to be perfect, Buffy!"

"Didn't you?" I throw back. "Okay, so *you* fell from your pedestal. But you're not the ONLY one who's done *questionable* things! You don't have full copyrights on the "Things I Regret" list, okay?"

"So what do you regret?" he fired. "Huh? Tell me what you regret!"

"I regret being stupid enough to FUCK you in the FIRST place! God only KNOWS what you had to think about to get it UP every time we've been together! Have you been imagining I was HER?" I yell.

And I instantly know I've gone too far. I've gone a couple county lines over from 'too far'. I don't think I'm ever going to be able to forget the look he gives me right now. 'Thank you, Buffy, for ripping my heart from my chest. Here, would you like to put it through the mulcher now?'

"If that's what you think, then leave," he says evenly, keeping himself together, refusing to sink to my level and fling a hurtful retort at me. "Tell me that you're willing to walk away from this because of a few mistakes. Tell me you want to throw away everything we've built so quickly. Tell me you *meant* what you said."

He delivers that statement so flatly that if I didn't know him so well, I'd think he didn't care. But his eyes...in his eyes, I can see he's not telling me to leave. He's asking me to stay, to work it out, to not let his evil, soulless, skanky, whorebitch of a Sire come between us. His eyes are telling me he loves me and he doesn't want me to go.

My heart screams at me to swallow my stupid pride and tell him I love him, that I didn't mean it, that I'm sorry, I was just thrown for a loop, but its all right, because I love him, I love him...

But my body and my heart don't seem to be linked at the moment. The command my heart gives my legs is to walk toward him, but they disobey and carry me away from him, out the door and into the street, where they break into a run. In minutes, I'm far from the Hyperion.

Far from Angel and the look of utter disbelief and heartbreak etched into his handsome features.

I keep running until I can barely breathe. My legs give out and I tumble to the ground in some filthy alley behind a seedy bar, my chest heaving, my sides cramping, hair soaked with sweat. I pant for air and lean against the bricks, the rough clay scratching into my back.

I'm being childish and stupid, I know that. I mean, hello? How many times did *I* get it on with Riley? But its...different. For some reason, its different. For one, Riley wasn't, well, *evil*. Not in the strictest sense, anyway.

And the thought of Angel with another woman is agony. When I die, and if I go to Hell, I'm fairly certain Hell will be this. A rerun of tonight that I'm forced to live in for eternity, with my heart screaming, my head pounding, and my stomach begging to empty itself of the churning mass of acid swirling inside of it. A whirl of emotions, anger suddenly the most prevalent, wrack my aching head.

But instinct is telling me that laying defenseless, performing mental torture on myself, in an alley, in a town I know nothing about, isn't the wisest career move I could make. I stretch and touch my toes, working out the stitch in my side. I take a few deep breaths, then I rise to my feet and straighten, trying to assume the most intimidating stance I can.

Not a second too soon. The back door of the bar is kicked open and a crowd of about ten people stumble into the alley, their arms around twined around their dates, raucous laughter ringing out shrilly. I feel the familiar tingle in the pit of my stomach at the sight. A slight, almost pleasant cramping sensation that means only one thing. Vampires.

//Hunt. Destroy.//

This is *not* a fight I should be taking on. For one thing, I'm unfocused. And for another, there's at least ten of them, and ten to one...not the greatest odds. If I stay behind the steps, hidden in shadow, they'll pass me by. They don't seem to be looking for a fight.

But adrenaline is coursing through my veins, rumbling in my stomach, snaking up my calves, and suddenly, every muscle in my body arches, tenses, on alert and *wanting* this fight, craving it. Needing to feel bones cracking and skin splitting, hearing the steady, resounding beat of fist on flesh.

I'm a big ball of anxiety, hurt, confusion, and pissed off-ness combined with the pure, raw instinct of a hunter. A *Slayer*. They are my prey. They are mine to kill.

Plus, on a simpler, more hormonal level - I want to beat up *something*.

They pass by my patch of shadow, and I narrow my eyes, trying to decide where to begin the attack. A scrawny, wiry boy of no more than seventeen catches my sight....at least, he appears to be no more than seventeen. For all I know, he had a front row seat at the execution of...I don't know, somebody who got executed a long time ago, whatever, history was never my best subject, lets move on. He hangs back to light a cigarette, and opportunity knocks.

Some primal part of me I keep hidden hovers just beneath the surface.

//Clear the weak ones first.//

I spin into a flying kick and send him soaring into a pile of crates stacked haphazardly against the wall. He doesn't seem to understand the concept of 'tuck and roll', and ends up impaling himself on a jagged board. Dust. One down.

His companion cries out his name, then snarls, her eyes glowing a feral yellow as she pivots, looking for her mate's attacker. Her mate's killer.

Which would be me. I step from behind the concrete stairs into the weak glow of a streetlight. "You know, you can't say the Surgeon General lies. Smoking those things really *will* kill you."

"Its the Slayer," a burly, biker vamp growls. His hair is pulled into a tight, greased ponytail, and a tattoo of a spiderweb with a fly caught in the middle covers his left cheek. The spider is tattooed onto the side of his neck, inching its way up to the prey snared in its trap.

"Its the Slayer. Nice tat, by the way."

He grins slowly, sliding his tongue across teeth suddenly fangy-er than they were moments before. "The Slayer. We've heard of you. And the more I hear, the more I've wanted a taste."

"Then possibly you should head over to your neighborhood friendly Jewel. I've heard they give out free samples on weekends." I bounce on the balls of my feet, itching to strike him, to slap the smirk from his face and make him beg me for a quick death. "Okay. I'm *so* in the mood for some ass kicking, but to be honorable, I'll give you a fair warning. I've had one *hell* of a bad night. I'm in full blown Medea mode. So anybody who doesn't want to be singing the chorus of "Blowin' in The Wind", I'd recommend a strategic retreat. *Now*."

Spiderboy lunges for my throat before I finish speaking. I duck just before his fist closes around my windpipe, then sweep my arm up from the center of my stomach, shattering the cartilage in his nose. Driving it up into his brain. A blow that would kill a human. As it is, he should be in a Hell of a lot of pain, not to mention he geyser of blood spurting from his face. "Okay, you even didn't let me finish! Which was very rude. I *hate* being interrupted." I shove him backwards into his group, sending three of them crashing to the hard pavement. He stays curled on the ground, whimpering about his nose. Some leader. Fearless, my ass.

The female who's mate I killed hasn't turned her sight from the pile of crates where he met his end. Then, without warning, she whirls and faces me. For one second, she looks into my eyes, and I see something reflected there that I can feel in myself. White hot, searing pain...she freezes as our eyes lock, cold fury radiating out of her. The sarcastic comment I was about to make dies in my throat.

She isn't afraid of me.

She wants my blood. I took her lover from her. And she doesn't care if it means her death as long as she can pay me back for that. If she can take me down with her.

She whips one arm out, cracking me hard across the face, hard enough to make me wince, to raise a welt. I double my fists, throw rabbit punches at her midsection, hoping to drive her back and give me enough room to strike.

But it barely phases her. She locks an iron grip on my upper arm and flips me over, slamming me onto my back, then snarling as she moves for my throat. For the first time, I feel a sharp frisson of fear jitter up my spine. I don't have a stake. I don't have a sword. I have no weapons except for the broken crate boards that are at least five feet away from me. I'm pinned to the slimy, filthy ground, and I'm going to die, because any second her fangs are going to sink into my throat and rip it apart -

//NO! nononononononononononono!!! NOT LIKE THIS!!!!//

I drive my knee up hard into her pelvic bone and knock her off me, clumsily scrambling on hands and knees towards the crates. She hisses again, moves to yank at my ankle, and I kick back, feeling her nose crunch and break under the soft rubber sole of my sneaker. I hear her grunt in pain.

And God help me, I like knowing *I'm* the one who's causing it.

"Nice try, bitch," I snarl, grabbing a broken board. I grasp it like its a baseball bat, like I'm Mark McGwire, and slam it upwards into the side of her head, knocking her to the ground. Before I know what's happening, I'm on my feet, I'm racing toward her, I'm driving it through her chest, all the way into the pavement beneath.

The pack erupts then, charges at me as one. I should have thought before I came on Hormonal Time Bomb patrol. Technique, common sense, and discipline fly from my brain. I let my hurt and frustration at Angel shadow my judgment. I picked a fight that ordinarily, I wouldn't pick. Not without some backup. But I feel...

I feel anticipation and eagerness. You want the Slayer? You want to take me down? Well, here I am, come and get me. I'll kick your ass, I'll rip every shred of pride you have away, I'll feel your ashes on my skin. I. Want. This. Fight.

I feel like Faith. The way she said she used to.

//When I'm fighting, its like the whole world goes away, and I know only one thing. I'm gonna win, and they're gonna lose. I like that feeling.//

And then I'm not feeling like anything.

My Buffyself is gone. The Slayer takes over. There's no method, no precision, no structure. There's only instinct and sweet, primal violence. My reality is nothing but bodies flying, blood flowing, bones breaking. I am destruction come walking. I am Final Death and Judgment.

My hands whirl and tear, bend and maim, cripple and kill. My eyes find that soft, tender point of their chests where the board can be thrust in to splinter their hearts. My hands find throats, wrap around and snap necks, toss them to the ground where I can easily finish them later. My feet find soft, yielding stomachs and groins, my ears revel in the cries of pain.

And then its over. I'm surrounded with nothing but whirling clouds of dust that settle quickly into piles.

I'm filled with a crazy mixture of pride and disgust with myself. My forehead is covering in a light film of sweat, mixed with blood. Mine or theirs?

I hurl the board away from me and stand statue-still. My hands clenched into fists and my heart hammering, nerve endings humming. If I move, I think I might shatter into a million pieces and blow away on the wind.

"So you feel better now, or what?"

A familiar voice breaks the post battle silence, and I turn to see Gunn standing at the entrance of the alley. His arms are folded across his chest and his forehead is knit into an expression of concern. He takes a few cautious, tentative steps towards me. "'Cause...if you're still lookin' to throw down, just sayin', I think I should be somewhere else. So I'm hopin' you got all that bloodlust out and we can start talkin'...without throwin' punches."

"You're supposed to be shopping. Tea shopping. With Wes and Cordy," I return.

He shrugs. "Nah. I'm a nosy bastard. I hung around outside for a little while after English and 'Delia took off. Spyin'. So you and Angel...havin' problems?"

I nod. "I...I'm not sure what happened. He told me about Darla and then I kind of-"

"Turned into your own evil twin, right?" I nod again. He lets out a sigh and sits on the steps, then turns to look at me. His eyes are dark with experience beyond his years. "So what did you run out on him for?"

"What?"

"You heard me. What did you run out on him for?"

"I told you. I wigged out." Which is *way* too simplified and it explains nothing...but its the best I can come up with. And Gunn isn't fooled in the slightest.

"Pretty shitty reason. Weren't you the one who spent the better part of the year bangin' on some GI Joe wannabe?"

"That's *different*."

He stands suddenly, and comes up to me, looming above me. "You're damn right its different. You were screwing Soldier Boy, 'cause, what? It was a 'love the one you're with' moment? Can't have who you want, so you have whoever? Angel screwed Evil Vamp Woman 'cause he was *messed up*. He was tryin' to *kill* himself by fucking her."

"And if it HAD worked?" I screech. "If he HAD? You'd all be DEAD by now, you know that?"

"Oh, please, you're tryin' to tell me *that's* what's up your ass? You aren't thinkin' of the consequence, girl, you're thinkin' of how this affects *you*."

"HE TOLD ME TO MOVE ON!" I shriek. "HE WALKED OUT ON *ME*, NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND!"

"Except for an hour ago, when you waved sayonara, took your turn to walk out on him. You don't have a clue what he went through, because you weren't *there* when he was goin' through it. You didn't see what was happenin'. And I ain't sayin' its your fault, but that's the way it went. He didn't know who he was. He *lost* himself." Gunn takes a deep breath, and steadies himself, then meets my eyes again. Then he abruptly switches topics. "Last year, I killed my sister. Alonna. She was the most important thing in the *world* to me, and I killed her. She got vamped, and I jammed a stake through her heart in a warehouse a couple blocks over. And I lost myself after that. I turned into the big bad killin' machine - every goddamn vamp, demon, even drug dealers, whatever - that I *saw* was the reason she was gone. I was out of control. And you do dumb shit when you get like that, Buffy. You do things you wouldn't *ever* think about doin' when you're...yourself. And you regret it down to the bone, but if no one forgives you for it...it'll drive you crazy."

"But he...he.." I don't know where to follow up with that. Gunn struck a nerve, and suddenly, the warrior who was here minutes before vanishes. Instead, I'm scared, vulnerable Buffy. I'm back in my body, the one with shaky knees and freezing hands. With tears threatening to form in my eyes, and my arms starting to ache at the thought of never holding Angel again.

"He loves you. If you felt for him the smallest degree of what he feels for you, you wouldn't be listenin' to me Dr. Laura your ass in some pisshole of an alley. And anyway, shouldn't that be kind of...you know, a plus for you? Four hundred year old *whore* couldn't make him lose his soul. You're the only person in God only knows *how* long that could make it happen. As a virgin. Who knew *nothin'* about sex. So if you overlook the whole "he went evil" factor...whoo, can we say 'get down with your bad self'?"

Involuntarily, the corners of my mouth edge up a little.

But Gunn isn't finished yet. "And if you don't wanna go *another* couple years without him, suck up your pride, and get over it. Get back to that hotel and tell him you forgive him. Because that's what he needs to hear. You're not gonna find anybody who's pure perfect," he says matter of factly. "Everybody makes mistakes. Even vampires. Souled or un-souled."

//So don't throw that crap at me. Souled or un-souled, vampire or human, I love you.//

I said that to Angel, didn't I? I told him I loved him no matter what only a few weeks ago...and at the first sign of trouble, I bailed. Giles thinks I've *changed* in the past year? No. I'm still the same spoiled, selfish brat I always was.

I lost Riley because I couldn't suck up my pride in time, and I didn't feel *anything* for him what I feel for... I am *not* going to lose Angel the same way.

//If you think you can love this guy...I'm talking scary, messy, no holds barred *need*...//

I didn't need Riley. I need Angel the way I need air. He's inside of me, he's part of me. He's a fundamental piece of what makes me Buffy, he's at the center of my being. He challenges my mind, he makes me smile and laugh, he holds me, he dries my tears, he's there when I need him, he makes me scream to the heavens when he's inside me because its so right, so perfect...

//Oh God I love him I need him Angel I love you I'm sorry I love you//

"Gunn..."

And Gunn doesn't look the way Xander did when he gave me this reality check - grave and worried, thinking I'd probably already lost my chance. He doesn't say "Run," knowing that even if I could fly, I wouldn't make it in time. Instead, Gunn's proud, handsome face splits into a wide, satisfied grin. "Knew I'd get the point across. So what are you still doin' here, Blondie? Move it. You know where he'll be."

I come in through the double doors of the Hyperion slowly, hoping against hope that he'll be here...but where else would he go? It isn't like there was a military helicopter waiting outside for him or anything...right?

But the thing about *that* is...I *let* Riley go. And I ran after him to try and stop him, but even when I was running, my mind wasn't screaming "Faster, faster! He's The One, you jackass, and look what you've done!"

I wasn't afraid of losing him. I was afraid I was losing my last chance at a normal life.

But I won't ever have a normal life, and what's more, I don't even want one. My mom told me once that happiness is wanting what you have. And I *want* the life I've been dealt. I can fight it and combat it and pretend that I'm like any other girl...but I'm just not. I never will be, and I'm finally okay with that.

And I need Angel to be with me through this insane, freak show existence. Because that's what brought us together. Because if I had been living any other life, I wouldn't be where I am right now. Sure, I could do without the nausea and the rapidly climbing blood pressure at *this* moment...but if I'd been someone other than Buffy Summers, The Chosen One, I would have missed out on him. Angel. This.

I wouldn't trade him out for anything. *Anything*. And I'm hoping against hope that its not too late for me to let him know that.

Something across the way catches my eye, and I make my way up the red carpeted stairs, looking through the glass doors into the garden. He's in there. I can just make out his big frame, settled on the bench...his shoulders hunched and his head in his hands.

My heart wrenches at the sight and I don't waste another second edging the doors open and tiptoeing in, inching my way down the few stone steps until I'm left with nowhere to walk but over to him. So I stay still.

Until he looks up and meets my eyes.

We stay locked apart for what feels like an eternity, just staring...I want to say so many things, but I can't seem to find the words. So I hope my expression is saying everything I have to say for me, because my voice is MIA, and my brain seems to have wandered along with it.

And then he's standing. He's moving toward me, he's tentatively stretching out a hand to trail his fingertips across my cheek. "Buffy..." he says wonderingly.

I close my eyes and lean into his palm, and he cradles my face gently, brushes the pad of his thumb across my eyelid. Then I turn my head up to his. "You didn't think you were going to get rid of me *that* easily, did you?" I whisper.

"I didn't think you'd come back," he says hoarsely. "I thought you were gone."

"Shhh..." I say, drawing him into my arms. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry I left." I'm sorry...that doesn't even come close to being an adequate apology, but its all I have. "I'm so, so sorry. It was kind of...knee jerk reaction, and it was childish. But, Angel...I love you. No matter what, there's nothing you could do to make me stop. Ever."

The relief and hope that I see in his eyes twists my heart all over again. *How* could I have put him through this? How could I have let him think for even one second that I stopped loving him? "Buffy, I'm so - "

"There's *nothing* to be sorry for," I tell him. "Its over. And it doesn't matter. I love you. For always." Then I tilt my head. "As long as from now on, I'm the *only* person you're getting any from. Okay?"

He lets out a noise that's half laugh, half sob, and he buries his head in the space between my shoulder and neck. I tighten my arms around him and settle slowly into the window seat, Angel nestled against me. I stroke his hair and murmur into his ear, although I'm not even sure what I'm saying at this point.

He starts planting little kisses on my neck, and I sigh. This is what I need. This is what I'll always need. His hands find their way under my shirt, fingers cool against my belly, and I whisper his name once more.

I unbutton his shirt and roll it off his shoulders, taking the time to trace every curve, every muscle in his back, remembering the feel of him. If Gunn hadn't followed me tonight, would I be here right now? Would I have lost Angel for good this time?

I don't know. I don't care anymore. The only thing I can tell is that I'm here right now, and we're safe. We're together and I'm not going to let us be apart again.

He's undressing me so slowly, so deliberately that I think I might scream. But I don't, I rein my pleas in and continue to let him relearn me, fingers trailing gently over my spine, up my arms, across my face. Goosebumps ripple across my skin as I slide his own pants down over his legs, grind my hips into his fairly bulging erection, and smile when he lets out a low moan against my throat.

We're finally bared before each other, and he slides his body over mine, blanketing me, surrounding me, and I'm drowning in his eyes. "Angel..." I murmur, my voice so quiet, I almost can't hear it.

"I love you," he tells me quietly, resting his forehead against mine. "For always."

"Always," I breathe, and stroke the side of his face.

And then he's inside me, and I can't remember how to form words anymore. All I can feel is his hands and his lips and his skin. I can smell jasmine and Angel's special scent, sandalwood and rain. The stars blur above me and the moon smiles as we rock together for so long, uttering no sounds but for breathless moans and each other's name.

He shudders once and his legs tense. He's close, he's so close to the edge, and suddenly I am, too. Suddenly, my head falls back and I'm tightening around him, clenching him tightly, and he's slamming into me with such force, I almost think it should hurt. But it doesn't, its sweet and soft and warm and right, and when he comes, when he fills my insides, the stars come into focus and I cry out so loudly, for a minute, I think they can hear me.

He nuzzles into my body and I wind my arms around him, panting slightly for air. He presses a kiss to my sweaty collarbone, then tilts his head to look at me. "I love you," he says again, intensity burning behind those dark eyes I know so well.

"I love you back," I tell him, brushing my lips over his forehead. We relax on the window seat, comfortably twined together, when I happen to glance out the window. "Angel," I say, hating to shatter the afterglow. "We might want to take this inside. Cuddling up with a pile of dust doesn't quite turn me on. Besides, I don't think Cordelia would be very happy if she walked in and saw the nakedness. You'd have to front the therapy bill. And with Cordelia, it'd be one hefty bill."

Angel laughs and rolls off me, wrapping me up in the remnants of our clothes and scooping me up into his arms. "Then we'll have to take it to the bedroom, won't we, Miss Summers?" he growls playfully in my ear.

I twine my arms around his neck, feeling more alive than I have in a long, long time. "We just might," I agree, snuggling against him.

I cast one last look at the approaching dawn over his broad shoulder. For a moment, I think I can almost see my mother's eyes in the sky, smiling softly.

//Happiness is wanting what you have, Buffy. Always remember that.//

"Always," I say to myself. I won't ever forget my mom, I won't ever stop loving her, and I know that. But I can tuck her away into my heart, I can remember her and I can grieve for her, but I won't let her death kill me.

I can finally say my very last goodbye to my mother. And start to look forward to the rest of my life. With Angel at my side.

The End

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