He was a masochist.  He’d come to this realization.  Because despite knowing that it was going to be hell, he still signed up for it.  Next week he’d be moving in to the small bedroom between Buffy’s room and the master bedroom that Oz and Willow would be sharing.  Doyle would get the basement.  It was ridiculous.  Buffy was right, his lease had been up.  But he had more than enough money to live on his own.  The only reason he was going to be roommates with Buffy was so that he could be close to her.  Close enough to make sure Lindsey kept his distance.

Growling under his breath, Angel lifted the door into position.  It was awkward.  He knew he should have asked for help, but he didn’t want anyone seeing what he was doing until it was finished.

He and Buffy were on good terms.  They hung out a lot. They palled around.  They were ... friends.  He liked being friends with Buffy.  He had always genuinely enjoyed her company.  She had a unique wit and charming humor.  Her driving fire was enchanting.  But as much as he enjoyed being her friend, he wanted more – needed more.  And not just sex.  Of course he missed sex.  He missed sex a lot.  He’d been missing it ever since Buffy moved out.  He’d come close a few times, wanting so badly to drown his pain in someone, anyone, that he went prowling for company.  But even when the warm bodies were ones that he had many times before found release with, he couldn’t do it.  Darla was so similar to Buffy and so completely different all at the same time that it did nothing but confuse him even more.  Gwen was just ... well, she wasn’t Buffy.  After that, he quit trying, deciding it would be better to spare both himself and his would-be partner the misery.

"That’s...just.... that’s ... wow," Buffy said, startling Angel out of his thoughts.

He smiled, testing the door, making sure it swung freely on the hinges.

"Angel," she said softly, "I know that these kinds of doors are fairly common on houses, but aren’t they usually at the front door?"

Angel stared at the steel case door.  It had a dead bolt and a peephole.  He had been thinking about this for a long time and knew that everyone would balk at his innocent plan to keep Buffy safe from intruders, both wild and domestic.  He turned and grinned sheepishly at her.

"Generally," he agreed, nodding.  Reaching in his pocket, he produced a shiny key and put it in her hand.  "Now you can lock the door and no one will be able to sneak up on you.  No splintered doorframe.  This one is stronger than the last one."

Eyeing him warily, she looked down at the key in her hand and then back to the door.  "Don’t these usually come with a spare key?"

"Sure, I have the spare in case you get locked out," he mumbled, pretending to test by swinging it as he peered at the hinges.

"Angel…" Buffy warned quietly.  "I want the key."

"Oh and look," Angel said, striding into her room and skirting the boxes so he could reach the window.  He gestured outside once she came closer.  "I trimmed the tree so no one could climb into your window."

"Oh god," Buffy groaned, looking over at her butchered tree.  It looked like it had a run in with the Texas Chainsaw Massacre.  She was probably going to have a gardener come out and treat the branches he hacked off so the whole damn thing didn’t die.  "Angel, have you lost your mind?" she demanded.

"No baby, I’m just thinking of you," Angel said looking down at the prickly bushes he planted on the ground level so it would be more difficult to scale to the porch roof.  From the tone in her voice, it wouldn’t be a good idea to mention those.  He had been up since 6 AM that morning planting them.  Maybe she wouldn’t even notice.  They weren’t exactly pretty but they did lend a sort of wild beauty if you didn’t look too closely.  "I want you to feel safe in your own house," he said, kissing her forehead.  "It’s important."

"Alright," she sighed, "but I want that key."

"Someone has to have a spare," he said, moving quickly toward the newly installed steel case door.  "Damn, look at the time.  I’d better meet up with Gunn to move my stuff if I’m going to get that done today."

"Angel, I want the key," she growled, stomping after him.  "Willow can have the spare."

"Sorry baby," he called out as he tramped down the stairs.  "We can talk about it later!"

Angel hurried out of the house and into his car.  He started it just as Buffy made it to the door, scowling after him.  He waved cheerfully and pulled out.  If he hurried, he could make it to the hardware store and have a copy made before he met up with Gunn at his place.  He’d be damned if he went to all that trouble only to lock himself out of her room.

It was later that night when Buffy was curled up in bed that she glanced at her new door.  Unbidden, tears shimmered in her eyes.  She blinked them away quickly, sniffling loudly.  Damn him.  Angel still knew exactly how to break through all of her carefully erected barriers to find that one vulnerable spot she didn’t even know she still had.

The fact that he still wanted to protect her, that he went to all the trouble of making sure she felt safe in her own home – even now that Ethan was dead, made her heart ache.  She was still mad at him, still unbelievably wounded by his actions.  But she couldn't deny that she still loved him, that she wanted nothing more than to believe he truly had changed.

She sniffled again, steeling her resolve as she stared up at her darkened bedroom ceiling.  They were friends now.  They were good at that.  Maybe, sometime in the future they could be more, but right now had to keep him at arm's length.

She had to.

"You busy tonight?"

Buffy swiveled around to look at Angel.  Damn, but he looked good.  She was standing at the kitchen sink eating a bowl of cereal as she looked out at her back yard, still trying to convince herself that all of this really was hers.  "Weh?" she asked, chewing around a mouthful of frosted mini-wheats.

Angel smiled.  "I'm assuming that was a 'where'," he said cheekily.  He shrugged at her glare.  "Out," he said.  "As friends.  I have this thing I need to go to tonight and I really not in the mood to deal with any sort of romantic hassles."

Perversely, Buffy was both relieved and angry that he apparently was truly beginning to view her as 'just a friend'.  Hiding her scowl, she swallowed her bite and turned toward the sink to rise out her bowl.  Every time she went out somewhere with Angel it got harder and harder to stop herself from moving their relationship to the next level – or back to the previous level.  Whatever.

Sighing, she turned around, "What time?"

"Look, you don’t have to go if you don’t want," he said, lending against the doorjamb.  "I just thought you might like to get out of the house for the evening."

"You’re right," she said, with a nod of her blonde head.  "I do need to get out of the house.  What time do you want to go?"

"How about 6:30?" he suggested.

"What should I wear?"

"Whatever you want," he said, grinning as he raked his eyes over her t-shirt and boxers.  "It should be pretty casual."

He was getting so hard up over his ex-lover that even with her hair on top of her head in baggy clothes that showed absolutely nothing, she looked sexy.  Idly, he wondered what she would do if he crossed the room and took her into his arms.  Clearing his throat, he pulled himself out of his reverie, nodded at whatever Buffy had just said and walked out of the kitchen.

At six-thirty, Buffy walked out of her room and down the steps to find Angel strolling around the living room jingling his keys.  She had chosen to wear jeans and a silk camisole since it had been warm at night lately.  Now that she saw Angel looking delicious in black slacks and a maroon silk shirt, she suddenly felt underdressed.

"Should I change?" she asked, frowning.

"No," he said, shaking his head.  "You look beautiful.  Ready?"

She followed him out of the house and climbed into his car, still feeling a bit unsure of her attire.

"Maybe if you stop being cryptic about where we’re going, I’ll feel better about my outfit," she said after a few minutes of driving in silence.  She used to have no problem at all with the fact that Angel didn’t often listen to the radio unless she turned it on and was fine with not talking as well.  Tonight the silence seemed overwhelming.

"I’m not being cryptic," he chuckled.  "You never asked."

"Angel," she groaned, rolling her eyes, "where are we going?"

"Dinner with my parents," he said calmly, flipping on his blinker as he neared the next corner.  "We have a monthly thing if my father’s in town to catch up and I occasionally bring a date-"

"YOUR PARENTS?" she shouted, nearly sobbing with the news.  "Angel, you didn’t tell me we were meeting your parents!"

"Actually, you’ve already met my mother," he answered, pulling into a long circular drive in front of a mansion.  Buffy’s mouth went dry as she stared at the monstrous structure.  "And you know Cordy," Angel continued.  "You’ll just be meeting my father."

"I’m wearing jeans," she said, punching him on the shoulder.  "How could you not fucking tell me we were having dinner with your parents and let me walk out of the house wearing jeans?"

"You look beautiful," Angel said, frowning.  "What’s the big deal?"

"Look at that house," Buffy growled.  "Cordelia’s going to look like she just walked off the pages of a fashion magazine and I’m wearing jeans."

"My Dad’ll be wearing jeans too," Angel offered weakly, hoping his father hadn’t had to work late that night.  "It’s just a family meal."

"Yeah," she said, climbing out the car.  "Whatever."

Angel finally had to grab Buffy by the hand and pull her bodily through the house.  She cowered behind him, so overwhelmed that she had finally stopped bitching and now looked more like a deer in the headlights.  As he rounded a corner and entered the formal dining room, he heard a weak, "Oh gods."

Personally, Angel didn’t see anything special about the room.  But as he tried to view it from Buffy’s perspective, he felt a little bad.  He could see how it was overwhelming to someone who wasn’t used to it.  The room was decorated elaborately from the crystal chandelier to the priceless antique china dishes.  He hadn’t lied to her. This wasn’t a special occasion.  It was just a simple dinner with the family.  But a simple dinner with the family probably was slightly different than what she was familiar with.

His mother glanced up as they drew closer.  She smiled brightly at her son, but shock registered on her face as she glanced at Buffy.  She hid it quickly though and said, "It’s very nice to see you, Buffy.  Angel tells me you’re roommates."

"Yeah," Buffy managed to squeak.  "There’s five of us all together sharing the house."

"Living with four people when you could afford your own place," Cordelia sneered, entering the room.  Her new Prada heels clicked loudly on the highly polished parquet floor.  "I thought Mom was the martyr in this family."

Angel glared at his sister while his mother calmly looked at her daughter.  "Cordelia, how your brother chooses to live his life is none of your concern," she said firmly.

"But Mom – " Cordelia started, gaping at the injustice.

"None of your concern," she repeated flatly.

With a huff, Cordelia pulled out a chair and sat down in it.  Angel urged Buffy to do the same.  When they were both seated, Buffy reached over and dug her fingers into Angel’s thigh as hard as she could.  He grunted softly, but managed to maintain his smile as he firmly peeled her claws out of his flesh and made small talk with his mother.

"Kathleen, what the hell is that smell?" a voice bellowed loud enough to make Buffy jump in start.  She swiveled in her chair to see a very large man filling the doorway.  He stepped through easily, scowling at his wife.  "It smells like rotting fish, lass."

"Honey, it’s the new dish the cook is working on," Kathleen reminded him gently.  "Be quiet or you’ll hurt her feelings."

"What about my feelings?" he groused.  "She’s stunk up the entire house!"

Angel and Cordelia grinned at each other and then at Buffy who was quietly giggling.  She was somewhere between fear and awe of the huge man who was whining like a child over having to eat fish.

"Jake honestly," Angel’s mother said, shaking her head, "you’ll like the meal and if you don’t, you’ll pretend."

"Hi sweetheart," Jake grunted, kissing the top of Cordelia’s head in passing, before continuing with his argument.  "Baby, I won’t pretend if it tastes like shit," Jake said.  "We pay her to make edible food!"

"Shhh," Kathleen reminded him.  His booming voice carried all over the neighborhood.  She was certain the cook was already crying her little eyes out.  The girl was half the time convinced someone or other in the household hated her and was preparing to quit.  Jake’s shouting about rotting fish would be enough to send her into hysterics.

Jake settled at the end of the table and only then did he notice the little blonde visitor.  "Angel, who’s your little friend?"

"Buffy Summers," Angel said, squeezing her hand under the table.  "Buffy, this is my father, Jake."

"Hi Mr. Chase," she said timidly.  She already liked him.  He didn’t seem to match his dainty, lush surroundings.  In fact, he looked like a carpenter and, true to Angel’s promise, he was wearing jeans.

"Well don’t whisper at me and it’s Jake.  Mr. Chase is a bricklayer in Dublin," Jake grunted, crossing his arms over his broad chest.  "So, you’re the lass who has my son by the balls, eh?"

"Jake!" Kathleen blustered at her husband and then looked at her son in shock.  Angel crossed his arms over his chest as well and leaned back in his chair.  He had absolutely nothing to say.

"Your son is an asshole," Buffy countered without thinking. Snapping her mouth shut, she spared a glance over at Cordy, who was studying her nails.  She appeared to care less about the whole affair.

Angel’s father hooted in laughter in response.  "That he is, little one," he chuckled.  "Now where’s the roadkill that new cook is making? The sooner I choke it down, the sooner we can order a pizza."

Buffy was actually chuckling quietly to herself as Angel drove them back to the house.   While the first few minutes had been absolutely mortifying, after Jake showed up, dinner was actually a lot of fun.  Despite all of Jake’s squalling, dinner had been very, very good.  Cordelia was her usual catty self, but Angel’s parents hadn’t seemed to mind her being there at all. It made Buffy feel welcome and warm in a very unusual way.

"I hope you didn’t have too horrible of a time," Angel said quietly, his eyes focused on the road.

"It was good," Buffy said with a smile.  "I like your dad."

Angel chuckled.  "You’re the first girl I’ve ever brought home that said that.  Most of the time he terrifies them."

Buffy ignored the irritation his words caused.  She didn’t want to think about Angel taking other girls home to ‘meet the parents’.  "He’s a marshmallow," Buffy said.  It was obvious that Jake Chase adored his family.  It was also obvious that he had a lot of darkness in his past.  Buffy could identify with that.  It made her feel like less of a freak.

When they arrived back at the house, Buffy yawned and mumbled something about an early aerobics class that Willow had convinced her to take.  "Nite," Angel said softly, watching her walk up the stairs.

Her door latched with a soft click and he sighed, frowning.  He wandered into the kitchen and pulled out a bottle of beer.  Doyle found him fifteen minutes later sitting on the front steps staring out at nothing.

"Ya look like someone ran over your puppy," Doyle said, sinking onto the step next to Angel.

Angel grunted, not looking at him.

"Buffy still not lettin’ ya back in, eh?"

"We’re friends," Angel said acridly.

"Friends is somethin at least," Doyle noted.  "And you’re more than friends.  You’re roommates."

"It’s not working," Angel said.  "She’s never going to forgive me."

Doyle sighed.  "So I guess you best get on with your life then," he said.  Angel’s head snapped to him and he glared.  Doyle smiled.  "Look, man.  If Buffy says she just wants to be friends, then maybe you should be friends."

"That’s the worst piece of advice I’ve ever heard," Angel bit out.

"You’re missin’ the point," Doyle continued.  "Buffy has no problem being your friend because she knows that you’re still pinin’ over her like some lovesick pup.  Maybe you should give her a little competition."

"Like date someone else?"

"Now yer catchin’ on, genius," Doyle said.  "And since you’re such great friends, why don’t you suggest something friendly.  Like a double date."

Angel was pleased with himself as he slipped into his leather pants the following Friday night.  Doyle just didn’t get nearly enough credit for being a genius.  When he first brought up the double date with Buffy, he was purposefully cryptic so at first she thought he was asking her out.  She was already hemming and hawing over the friends thing, when he clarified that he wanted her to double date with him and Faith.  The look on her face was absolutely priceless.

Faith, on the other hand, was thrilled about the date.  She was less than pleased about the double part, but she couldn’t wait to make Buffy jealous.  As vague as Angel was to Buffy, he was honest with Faith.  He had no intention of sleeping with anyone in the near future but he did want to let Buffy know what she was missing.

It wasn’t until he came down the steps and saw Lindsey standing there that he reconsidered Doyle’s genius.  The man was a fucking moron.  Angel eyed Lindsey severely and then invited them out to his car to pick up Faith.  As he got out of the car to walk to her door, he closed his eyes for a second in a silent promise.  He would not kill Lindsey.  Not even if he kissed Buffy goodnight.

Faith opened the door, smiling her bright red, come fuck me smile and Angel felt a twinge in his groin.  As much as he loved Buffy, he had always lusted after Faith.  She could do things with her body that made him weep with pleasure.  He chuckled as he looked at her outfit.  She had worn black leather pants too.

"Nice pants," he said, cracking a grin.

"What’s in the pants is nicer, in case you’re done having blue balls over blondie," Faith grunted, kissing him quickly on the lips before tucking her arm in his.

"Be nice to Buffy," Angel warned.

"I didn’t promise anything," she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder.  "She cut you loose and if she has a problem-"

"Faith," he growled as they reached the car.

"Chill," she laughed.  "I’m on board here.  I’m just shooting my mouth off. I won’t hurt little twinkle toes’ feelings."

Faith slid into the front bench seat of Angel’s car and glanced in the back.  One expertly plucked brow arched.  She had expected Buffy to have some loser with her, but this guy looked very, very interesting.  Apparently Buffy was moving up in the world.  "Faith," she said, boldly extending her hand towards him.

"Lindsey," he replied with a slight twang.  "My pleasure."

"If you play your cards right," she countered with a purely carnal smile.  He almost blushed.  It was adorable.

Angel slid behind the wheel and his glare was enough to make Faith turn around in the seat and buckle her seatbelt.  Initially she only agreed to the date because she was bored and torturing Buffy sounded like fun.  The bitch had, after all, taken away her favorite toy.  But now things were looking up.

The restaurant was a college hang out, a bar and grill.  It was noisy but they had great burgers and a decent selection of beer.  Faith didn’t wait to be seated, steering all of them to a large booth and yelling drink orders at the bartender.  Buffy glared a hole in her back.  If it weren’t for the leather pants and the obscenely tight red tanktop, she wouldn’t get away with half the crap she did.

"Bud," Faith said, scooting down in the booth, making herself comfortable as she simultaneously cuddled up to Angel and smiled wolfishly at Lindsey.  "Took you for more of the pretentious aged whiskey type."

"I only have pretentious aged whiskey when I’m with pretentious old men, darlin’," Lindsey said, raking his eyes over her plunging neckline before looking back into his arms.  "I am definitely not in that sort of company."

"No, you aren’t," Faith purred, tipping the bottle to her lips and taking a drink.  She set it down again and smiled at him.

Buffy scowled.  How Faith could make drinking a beer carnal was beyond her.  Lindsey was practically drooling on her.  Thankfully Angel looked a little annoyed.  At least she wasn’t the only one not enjoying their dates giving each other googley eyes across the table.  Buffy huffed in irritation.  Not only was Faith trying to monopolize Lindsey, but she was so close to Angel, she might as well be sitting on his lap.

"How are things going with starting your own practice, Lindsey?" Buffy said, interrupting Faith.  "Are you having a hard time getting the clients you need?"

"Actually, it’s been going okay," Lindsey said, suddenly remembering he was there with Buffy.  "I almost have too much to do.  I’ve been nabbing quiet a few of Wolfram & Hart’s smaller, more neglected clients and they’re enjoying being treated more importantly.  Some of them even have me on retainer already.  That reminds me, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something, Buffy."

"Oh?" she asked, taking a dainty sip of her beer.

"My secretary can’t keep up with some of the filing and other tasks and I was wondering if you were interested in being my part time secretary.  Just to fill in for a couple hours a week," he said.  "No schedule.  Just whenever you’re free and I’ll pay a competitive wage."

"How many hours?" Buffy asked, thinking about her course load for the semester.  A small amount of hours a week would definitely help out.  She wanted to set up a savings account in case there was an emergency and it was looking like all the money her roommates paid did just enough to pay for the house costs and her tuition.

"Not too many," Lindsey said.  "I’d be flexible, but I was thinking-"

"About shutting the fuck up?" Angel snarled from across the table.  "If you think for one minute you’re going to get Buffy into your office at night where you can try to get in her pants, you better have another thought. No fucking way."

"Angel," Buffy said, whipping her head to look over at him.  "What the hell is your problem?  Lindsey needs a secretary, not a hooker.  Besides, you can’t tell me what to do.  I can work for him if I want."

"The hell you can," Angel argued.  "You are not going to spend your evenings working for him.  I don’t trust him."

"How dare you," Buffy hissed.  "I allow you to live in my house, but I didn’t sign on for a parent, thank you very much."

"Can I have a word with you?" Angel asked tersely.

With a grunt, Buffy pushed herself out of the booth and followed Angel out into the parking lot.  "What the hell is that all about?" Buffy demanded.  "We’re friends, Angel.  Nothing more."

"Yeah, I know," Angel said bitterly.  "Why do you think I brought Faith?  I have enough friends.  She’s made it perfectly clear she’d like to resume our former relationship."

Buffy bristled.  "Yeah, I’m sure you shared something really special with that vapid whore."

"Like what you and Lindsey have going on is strictly cerebral," Angel countered.

"He’s a friend."

"Like I’m a friend?" Angel demanded.  "Does that mean that Lindsey used to nail you on a regular basis too?"

The slap shocked both of them and they simply stared at each other.  Absently, Buffy rubbed her stinging hand.  A couple brushed past them on the way into the bar, obviously noticing something was wrong.  Eventually, Angel looked away, dragging a hand through his hair.  "We should go back in," he said tightly.

Nodding, Buffy turned and preceded him inside.  She was so lost in her pain, in the recognition of Angel’s presence behind her that it took a minute for the scene to register.

Abruptly, Faith and Lindsey broke apart.  Lindsey had the decency to look ashamed while Faith merely smile, wiping the spittle from her lips with the back of her hand.  "Have a nice chat?" she asked cheekily.

Buffy crossed her arms over her chest, staring blindly out the windshield, trying to ignore the sounds of Lindsey and Faith making out in the back seat.  The whole thing was heartbreakingly frustrating.  She loved Angel so much but how was she supposed to trust him again?  How was she supposed to know when she was ready to be with him again, when she was done finding her footing in her new life?

After they dropped Faith and Lindsey off at Faith’s apartment, Angel gripped the steering wheel tightly but didn’t speak.  He was furious with her and he was furious with himself.  Was he just going to spend the rest of his life pretending, like he did tonight with Faith, only to be made into a fool at the end of the night?  Maybe he should just move on for real.  Get his own place again and find a warm body to put into his bed.  She wouldn’t be Buffy, but then again he couldn’t have Buffy could he?

He snarled and pulled over on a side street a few miles from Faith’s apartment and turned toward her.  "What do I have to do, Buffy?" he demanded.  "What will it take?  I’ve been celibate for months.  I spend all my time doting on you, being your fucking friend and making sure I toe the line!  Or maybe you don’t love me like I thought you did, is that it?  Am I just this big slobbering dog following you around?"

"I told you I need time," she said, her eyes filling with tears.  She leaned against the door, away from him and tried not to cry.  He made it sound like she was just trying to torture him on purpose.  She loved him.  She would never hurt Angel.

"Yeah, but how much time, Buffy?  What are we talking?  Another month?  A year?  What?" he raged.  Realizing himself, he jerked open the door and got out.  Taking deep breaths he paced along the sidewalk like a caged tiger.

Slowly, she opened her door and stepped outside.  Closing it, she leaned back against it, unable to go to him.  She didn't know why she couldn't but her fingers held a death grip on the door handle and her feet were rooted to the concrete.  Angel was the first - no the only - man she had ever and possibly would ever love.  Just when she thought she was permanently lost, he gave her the means to drag herself back from the edge, but at the same time he wounded her more deeply than anyone else ever had.  She believed he loved her.  She believed he wanted to make it up to her.  But down deep inside, she wasn't certain that he wouldn't hurt her again.  She had come so far, turned her life around so much … and if he gathered her close only to destroy her again, that truly would be the end.  She would never recover.  Not a second time.

She knew she was stringing Angel along and she hated herself for that, but she couldn't seem to do any differently.  She was too scared, too gun shy to risk everything by trying again.

"You just going to stand there all night?" he demanded.

She looked up, tears glittering in her eyes.  "Angel, I … " she trailed off into nothing.

He shrugged, trying to look indifferent, but the tears standing in his own eyes told a different story.  "I won't spend the rest of my life trying to win you over," he said, his voice cracking with emotion.  "This is it.  Tonight.  If you ever want there to be anything between us again, you need to tell me now because if you don't say anything, I'm gone, Buffy.  Permanently.  I'm done being your doormat.  I know I fucked up and I'm sorry.  I'd do anything to make it up to you if you would only give me the chance.  But I do have my limits."

She opened her mouth, staring at him.  Tears streamed down her cheeks, but the words wouldn't come.

Moments stretched into minutes as he waited, staring at her with such longing that it broke her heart.

But still, the words wouldn't come.

He sighed, shuddering.  A mirthless laugh broke across his lips, dissolving into sobs.  "Fuck.  This is really it," he said bleakly.  "I don't think I ever really thought this would happen."  He looked at her, so lost and lonely.  With something between a groan and a growl, he pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes for a moment before dropping his arms back to his sides.  Turning, he quickly approached her, grabbing her wrist and slamming his keys into her hand.  Task accomplished, he darted away from her again as if touching her caused him physical pain.  "Take my car and go home," he said.

"Angel - "

"Now, Buffy!" he yelled, his tears gone.  "Go home.  I'll have someone get the car tomorrow along with the rest of my stuff."

"You're not … You're …  You're leaving?" she asked in a near whisper.

"I told you," he said quietly, his face streaked with tears.  "It’s over.  Goodbye, Buffy."

Buffy pressed her free hand against her mouth as he walked off without looking back.  She watched him, unable to move as he left her.  She could see his shoulders shaking as he stumbled away.  Slowly, she slid down the side of his car and sobbed for a long time, gripping his keys in her hand as if they would bring him back, as if they were a part of him.

Finally, when she was able, she stood on shaking legs and slid into the driver’s seat of his car.  She fumbled for long minutes trying to find a way to move the seat forward so she could reach the pedals, still sniffling.  The tears in her now swollen eyes made it hard to see but she did make it home in twice the time it would have taken a licensed driver.

She pulled into the driveway and stumbled into the house.  She dropped her purse and the keys on the floor in the entryway and crawled up the stairs, feeling the tears come to her eyes all over again.  It seemed to take forever to get to her room.  The first thing she saw was the door Angel had installed for her, the stupid fucking door with its deadbolt and peephole.  The tears erupted all over again at the sight of the monstrosity.  Slowly, she made it to her bed, curled up fully clothed and sobbed herself to sleep.

It was after ten in morning when Willow knocked on her door, startling Buffy awake.  She sat up, bleary eyed and looked at her best friend who fidgeted as she tried to find the words.

"Buffy," Willow started nervously, "I don’t know what’s going on but there are some men downstairs and they say they’re here to take Angel’s stuff.  Oz is down there with them, but they say they’re supposed to pack everything up and take it right now.  And uh…they want his car keys."

"Okay," Buffy said, taking a deep breath. "Okay, this isn’t happening."  With shaking hands she picked up her phone and dialed his cell phone number, biting her lower lip nervously.  Seconds later she hung it up again and stared at Willow, feeling new tears prick her eyes.  The number had been disconnected.

"Let them take it," Buffy said, laying back down on the bed.  "Just let them in, Will."

"I don’t understand," Willow said, moving inside and sitting next to her on the bed.  "He just moved in."

"He’s leaving me," Buffy said, falling into new sobs.  "He said he’s not coming back, Will.  He…he meant it."

"Hey, Darlin, what's goin' - "  Lindsey stopped short, staring at Buffy.  "Oh, gods, Buffy," he said, hurrying to her side, placing a comforting hand on her arm.  "Oh shit.  About last night.  Oh gods.  I mean, I know it was tacky and all, but I never really thought you were taking it seriously.  I know you still love Angel.  I just - "

She pressed trembling fingers over his lips, silencing him.  They were standing in her kitchen, late afternoon sun shining through the windows.  "You and Faith were fine," Buffy said, her voice low and scratchy from endless hours spent sobbing.

Lindsey looked at her beseechingly.  "Sweetheart, what happened?"

She wrapped her arms around her middle.  "Angel's gone," she said flatly, shocked when she didn't start crying again.  "Last night he gave me an ultimatum and I …  I sat there and did nothing while the only man I'll ever love walked out of my life."

"Buffy, he loves you," Lindsey said firmly.  "He may have been all riled up last night, but that boy is so pussywhi-"

"He's gone," she said.  "Permanently.  He had a moving company come over today and pick up all of his stuff.  He'd disconnected his cell and whenever I call his parents' house, the maid answers and pretends not to speak English."

Lindsey pursed his lips together.  Despite what he felt in his gut, that Angel would never willingly leave Buffy, he had to admit that it sounded like the impossible had indeed come to pass.  Sighing, he leaned back against the counter, unable to give her any words of comfort.

"Well, at least you and Faith had a good evening," Buffy said, trying not to sound bitter.

Lindsey smiled weakly.  "Sorry about that," he said.  "Awful timing."

She shrugged, trying to push away her foul mood.  "I don’t want you to be miserable just because I am, Linds.  I'm happy you and Faith hit it off."

"If there’s anything I can do…"

"There’s nothing anyone can do," Buffy said wearily.  "I missed my chance, Linds and now he’s gone."

Angel didn’t even flinch when his father opened his door and let it slam against the wall.  He stayed in his chair, staring at nothing.  The only sound was his father’s footsteps on the floor.  Jake Chase sat down on the edge of the bed and stared at his son wordlessly.  Angel was used to this game.  He didn’t look at his father and he said nothing.

"All your shit is piled up in the garage," Jake said finally with a sigh. "If you don’t do something with it, your mother’s going to be pissed."

"I’ll move it," Angel grunted, but didn’t budge an inch.  His voice was low and scratchy.

"You’re hurtin’ like a bitch, boy.  I understand that, but are you sure you’re not making a mistake?"

"I lost her before last night," Angel said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.  "She just fucking stared at me like I’d sprouted another head.  She doesn’t love me.  I saved her from her fucked up life and now she’s moving on to bigger and better things.  She outgrew me and I’ve outgrown being stupid."

"Well," Jake said, rising to his feet.  "I guess you’ve got it all figured out."  He wandered over to the window and looked out for a moment before speaking.  "When I met your mama, her father forbid her from seeing me," Jake said, surveying the beautiful estate, "and she broke up with me under his orders.  She cut me off.  She wouldn’t take my calls.  She returned my letters.  I went from heaven to hell in a fucking day.  I wasn’t good enough for her because I didn’t have a pot to piss in, but I loved her.  I would have sold my soul to have her back in my life."

Jake turned around and faced his son, leaning on the windowsill.  "It took me three months, two weeks, four days and 10 hours to get her back," he said, recounting the time with startling accuracy.  "But I’ll tell you the God’s honest truth, son, I’d a’ waited three decades for her.  How much time is that little blonde worth to you?"

"Leave me the fuck alone, Dad," Angel grunted, rising to his feet.  "I’m not you and Buffy’s not Mom."

"Get your shit out of the garage before your mother gets home," Jake said, not moving from his spot as his son left the room.

Finals came and went in a blur.  Even the realization that she hadn’t flunked out of school wasn’t enough to put more than the weakest smile on Buffy’s face.  She tried to be reasonable about things with Angel.  She tried to convince herself that she just needed time, that the stabbing ache of pain in her heart would eventually fade.  But it never did fade.  She never got used to seeing the empty room he occupied for such a short time.

Sleep became a thing of the past and she picked up a paying job at the Hyperion manning the desk after hours.  Lindsey’s job would have paid better, but she couldn’t take it.  Not after everything that had happened.  She enrolled in summer school just to have an excuse to hang around campus.  The art history class would fulfill a requirement she needed for graduation, but Buffy couldn’t even try to lie to herself.  She took the class because it was being taught by Professor Kerr, Angel’s boss.  She thought perhaps Angel would be the TA for the class.  It would have been fairly neutral ground, a chance for them to see each other without either of them having to make the first move.  But Angel wasn’t the TA.

The class started six weeks after her horrible, final fight with Angel.  The class itself was only six weeks long and they were quickly approaching the final before Buffy could muster the nerve to linger after class one day.

"Ms. Summers," Professor Kerr said, looking up from his papers.  The class was small and he knew all of the students by name.  This student in particular, he had noticed.  You couldn’t miss her.  She looked so miserable he was afraid she was going to sink into the floor.  He knew he wasn’t the most engaging professor on campus, but it did bother him that she seemed so dissatisfied with the class.

"Uh, hi," she mumbled, flushing.  Her expression was pained and she was obviously nervous.  "I just ... well, this isn’t really related to class, but I ... I was wondering ..."

He looked at her expectantly, his curiosity now piqued.

She took a deep breath.  "I was wondering about one of your teaching assistants," she said.  "Angel Chase.  I was just wondering if you could possibly tell me his office hours."

Everything clicked into place for Professor Kerr and he gave her a small, sad smile.  She wasn’t bored by his class.  She was nursing a broken heart.  So many things made sense now.  He sighed.  "I’m afraid Angel isn’t my assistant for summer session," he said.

"Oh," she said sadly, her cheeks staining with an embarrassed blush.  "I see."

Removing his glasses, Professor Kerr looked at her.  If anything, she looked even smaller now, more deflated.  "Angel is studying abroad this summer," he told her.  "And I honestly don’t know if he intends to return in the fall."

She looked at him and for a moment, he thought she was going to cry.  But she simply took another deep breath and nodded.  "Thank you, Professor," she said.

"You look lonely."

"I’m not interested," Angel grunted from his barstool.  He didn’t even bother to look at the woman sitting beside him.  It didn’t matter if she was supermodel or hobo, he didn’t want to know.  It didn’t matter.

"Maybe if you take that handsome face of yours out of your beer-"

"No," Angel said, cutting her off immediately.  "But thanks."

With a dainty huff, the woman was gone from the stool beside him and he grimaced into his drink.  It had been months.  Long ones.  He refused to count the time just to spite his father with his Happily Ever After, I Fought So Hard For Your Mother speech.

He didn’t think it would be easy, leaving Buffy and moving on with his life, but he had no idea it would be this hard.  He took for granted seeing her every day even if just to talk to her or see her smile, or hell, to see her angry.  He was already starting to forget was it was like to hear her laugh or how his heart squeezed when he saw tears in her eyes.  He was already starting to forget the exact way she smelled.  Like all human memory, his was unreliable, hardening half of the past and softening the rest.  It was destroying whatever peace of mind he had left.  Yesterday he laid in bed for a half hour and tried to remember exactly where her scar stopped and began.

He was wasting his opportunity abroad by being miserable and depressed.  He had promised himself he’d really move on, that he’d make the most of life without her and so far he’d only made the most of his drinking skills.  He felt guilty for not trying harder.  Jenny’s new husband, Rupert Giles, was a kind man with a lot of connections.  He helped Angel get an internship, gave him a place to stay and seemed to have a fatherly expectation of him to exceed.

He would soon, he decided.  He would tour the countryside and make friends, even find a girlfriend.  Yep.  Any day now, he’d get right on that.  In the meantime, he took another sip of his beer.

"Angel, love.  Someone bought you a drink.  A pretty girl," the bartender said in her singing voice.  She was one of the few people he actually knew.  Having spent most of his free time in the bar, he knew all of the staff.  He really liked Drusilla, even if she was a few cards short.

"No thanks, Dru," he said, looking up at her.  She was a beautiful young woman.  If he wasn’t knee deep in Buffy memories, he would have slept with her months ago.

"Come on," the pretty girl in question said, slipping onto the barstool next to him.  "It’s an older vintage but I’m sort of hoping it will be a nice reminiscence rather than a bad memory."

He blinked twice, staring at the dark amber of his beer.  He’d been here for quite a few hours.  It was entirely possible he was piss drunk enough to start hallucinating.  Turning his head, he looked at her.

Buffy.

She smiled slightly at him.  He took a deep breath drinking in the sight of her.  She was dressed conservatively, wearing a light blue tanktop covered by a matching cardigan.  Her flowing skirt reached to her ankles and her painted pink toes peeked out of pair of casual sandals.  This wasn’t a hallucination.  In a hallucination, she would have been flashing more cleavage.  "Buffy," he finally managed to say.

"Hi, Angel," she said, feeling like the lamest person on the planet.  "I, uh, I bought you a drink," she said, apparently running with the lameness theme.  "I’m old enough to do that here."

He looked at the glass.  If he wasn’t mistaken, it was a nicely aged single malt scotch.  He frowned.  "Actually, I think I’ve had enough to drink."

Her face fell.  "Oh," she said, obviously wounded.

"No," he assured her.  "It’s not that I don’t want it, I just ... if I drink that I’m going to have the conversational skills of a carrot."

"Can we talk?" she asked quietly.  He nodded slowly and tried not to fall on his face when he slid off of his bar stool.  He followed her to a small table in the corner of the bar.  His heart was pounding in his chest as he sat and stared at her face.  He was he stared at her lips, trying to make out the faded scar as he tried to clear his head.

"I should have said something," she said finally when she had his full attention.  He seemed to be drinking her in and it was unnerving.  "When you walked away that night, I should have said something, anything to keep you with me, but I wasn’t ready.  It wasn’t fair of me to expect you to wait and it wasn’t fair of you to expect me to hurry up."  She took a deep breath and it came out shuddering.  "I missed you," she choked, "and before I say anything else I just need to know you’re not going to turn me away."

"I love you, Buffy," he rasped back.  "You know damn well the only reason I left is because I could never turn you away.  I had to leave to keep myself away from you."

"I love you too, Angel," she said, allowing the tears to streak down her cheeks.  "And I’ve been miserable without you."

He reached across the table and wrapped his hand around hers, holding it tight.  Her fingers tightened around his, trying to convince herself he really was there.  She sniffled a few times and then smiled weakly at him.  "You have plans tonight?" she asked.

"I’d cancel a date with the Queen for you," he said and then smiled.  "But, no.  I didn’t have plans."

She stood without dropping his hands and he let her pull him to his feet.  Trailing behind her, never releasing her hand, he followed her out of the little pub and into the early evening.  They walked down the street, hand in hand, silent for a very long time.

Eventually, Buffy spoke.  "Are you really thinking of staying here for grad school?"

He looked down at her, the stress of the last few months clearly written on his features.  He looked tired, exhausted really.  "I haven’t really given it much thought," he said.  "The original plan was just for the summer.  I met up with some of my dad’s family here.  They’re trying to convince me to stay."

"Will you?"

He stopped walking, pulling her into his arms.  He hugged her close, craning his neck until their foreheads touched.  "Not if it means losing you again," he said.  He moved slightly, slanting his lips over hers.  She pressed closer against him and kissed him back as passionately as she could.  Tears streamed down both of their cheeks as they finally held each other again.

"Let’s go somewhere," she rasped, clinging tightly to him.  Groaning in agreement, he headed toward the flat and then paused.  Giles and Jenny were probably home and although he had a guest room all to himself, it wasn’t nearly enough privacy.  Turning on his heel, he went in the opposite direction.

"There’s a hotel a couple of blocks down," he explained, holding her hand tightly.  Their clasped hands were shaking and neither were sure if it was one of them or both.  They walked silently, fearing any moment the dream would end and they would be alone again.

Buffy found herself struggling not to cry when Angel checked them in as Mr. and Mrs. Angelus Chase.  The hotel, or more appropriately, the inn, was small, but it was clean and had a homey feel to it that one would expect to find at a Bed & Breakfast.

Angel turned once the door was closed and pulled her into his arms, attacking her lips with an urgency that was almost desperate.  He threaded his fingers through her long, silky blonde locks moaning as her hands moved over his chest and back as if she needed to map him out again and reacquaint herself with the lines of her lover.

Her fingers were shaking as she fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, causing one to pop off and disappear somewhere in their room.  She giggled against his mouth as she struggled to get the rest of them off, trying to keep herself from just tugging until all the buttons ricocheted around the room.

He shrugged out of his shirt and then pulled her back against him, sliding his hands under her cardigan and tank top and spreading his hands over her warm back.  For a moment he seemed content just to smooth over that warm skin, relishing in the feel of her, but as soon as it began, it was over and he made short work of her sweater and tank top.  Her strapless bra found its place on the floor next to her other discarded clothes, but he didn’t witness its fall.  Leaning in immediately, he took one painfully erect nipple between his lips and swirled his tongue around it.

He backed her to the bed until she fell back on it and slid up the pillows.  Shucking out of his jeans, he followed her quickly, noting that she too had shimmied out of the rest of her clothes.  He rested his hips in the natural cradle between her thighs and entered her immediately groaning in thankfulness at her unbelievably tight, wet heat.

"I was miserable without you," he said, pulling himself away only to slide back in harder, filling and stretching her to his shape again.  She wrapped her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck and moved with him, haphazardly kissing patches of salty skin.

"I came across the world for you," she choked back, feeling his talented fingers slide between them to caress her swollen clit in time with his movements.  She panted, arching her back and digging her nails into his skin as she neared climax, bucking wildly against him with every thrust.  She erupted, crying out his name and screaming in pleasure as he pounded harder, squeezing his eyes closed with the feeling her inner muscles fluttering around him in release.  Finally, he let go and joined her crying out her name in exquisite pleasure.

When the world once again righted itself, Angel rolled off her, onto his back, pulling her across his chest.  He loved the feel of her, the perfect weight of her body against his.  They didn’t speak, the only sound their labored breathing.  Absently, he ran his fingers through her hair, scattering it across his chest.

"If you’re going to leave me again, please just kill me now, and save me the trouble of dying a lingering death," he managed to say.  "I saw a letter opener on the desk over there.  You could just stab me through the heart."

She lifted her head from his chest, looking up at him, ashamed at her past actions.  "I’m not leaving you," she said.  "Not ever again."

He cupped her face in his hands, kissing her deeply.  "I’m going to hold you to that," he swore.

"Good," she said, returning his kiss with all the passion she felt for him.

Despite an afternoon of hard drinking, Angel’s all consuming hunger for Buffy had him hard for her again in moments.  She stroked him, loving the feel of his rigid flesh between her fingers.  With a devious grin, she straddled him, bracing one hand in the center of his chest while using the other to guide him inside her.  Sighing, she sank down on him, pleasure rippling through her at the feel of him clasped so securely within her body.

The pace was more languid this time, more leisurely and playful.  She teased him, nipping at his lips, giggling when he growled at the frustratingly slow roll of her hips.  "Patience," she said.  "Don’t you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?"

"Eight months, fifteen days, twenty hours and sixteen minutes," he said in all seriousness.

She stopped moving and stared down at him in curious wonder.  He looked chagrinned and wouldn’t meet her gaze.  "That’s how long ago the Alpha Christmas party was," he mumbled.

Cocking her head to the side, she smiled at him.  "You know how long ago it was to the minute?  Angel, that’s so sweet," she cooed.

"It’s not fucking sweet," he said, looking up at her.  "There’s not a godamn sweet thing about it. Each fucking second of it was hell and I’m not letting you get away again."

"Not trying to escape," she purred, moving again in slow, deliberate movements.  He slid his hands down her back and cupped her ass, grinding harder against her with every stroke.  Angel gritted his teeth as she teased him, keeping her movements agonizingly slow, biting at his lips and neck and making sure that each muscle of her body played into making love to him.  The exquisite torture of her lovemaking brought them to their peaks together and when they shuddered into completion, it was simultaneous.

"So," Jake drawled, slapping his son on the back.  "Eight months, fifteen days, twenty hours and sixteen minutes."

Angel stared blankly at his father wearing his best poker face.  He'd known from the minute Buffy suggested including that in their vows that his father would never let him live it down.  But Jake's teasing grin gave way to something far more serious.  "Was she worth all the misery?" he asked.

Looking across the room, Angel looked at Buffy - his wife.  She was beautiful in her flowing white dress, a delighted smile on her glossy lips.  She chatted with Angel’s mother and grandmother happily, laughing intermittently – no doubt from stories they were telling her about him as a child.  She’d never looked so gorgeous and he’d never loved her more.

"You were right, okay?" Angel said, hiding his grin.  "Happy now, old man?"

"I’m always right, son.  The sooner you realize that, the easier things’ll be," Jake chuckled, taking a sip of his drink.  His face became serious as he wrapped an arm around his son.  "I’m glad you got your lass in the end."

"Me too, Dad," Angel said, still staring across the room at her.

The DJ they hired, who turned out to be a bit more excited about his job than they’d hoped, announced it was time for the father-daughter dance and Buffy’s head shot up, her eyes widening in horror.  Angel cursed under his breath.  That fucking moron.  He told the DJ no fucking father-daughter dance.  Angel was about to head over and beat the man within an inch of his sorry polyester clad life, when Jake stopped him.

"I’ll take care of this," Jake said.  Angel groaned.  The last thing he needed was his father in a brawl on his wedding day.  Not that he hadn’t intended to do the same thing, but still.  He was shocked when Jake set his drink down and casually walked over to Buffy, extending his hand.

"Want to cut a rug?" he asked, grinning.  Sniffling, she nodded thankfully and headed out to the dance floor with her father-in-law.

"Thank you," she said as they started to dance.  "I was so embarrassed."

"What for?" he demanded, spinning her around.  "Let me tell you something, girl.  You’re a Chase now.  We hold our heads up high in this family, you understand?"

"Yeah," she said, smiling.  "I get it."

When the song ended, Buffy hugged Jake and kissed his cheek.  Angel crossed the floor and pulled her into his arms, silently thanking his father.  Jake put two fingers to his forehead in a little salute to his son before heading off to find his wife.

"Your family are good people," Buffy said, cheek to cheek with her husband.

"Yeah, they’ll do," Angel said, pulling back to smile at her.  His kissed her softly and held her firmly in his arms.

"I can’t believe this is real," Buffy said, sniffling again.  "We’re really here, married.  You’re all mine and everyone knows it."

"I can shout it out to the room if you want," Angel grinned, pulling her off her feet and swinging her around.

"I love you," she laughed, kissing him.

"I love you too," Angel answered softly.

The overanxious DJ announced loudly into the microphone at the end of the dance that it was time for the Hokey Pokey and Willow squealed in delight rushing onto the dance floor.  She grabbed Buffy and tugged her out with her and then waved in vain at the rest of the room.  Her enthusiasm was such that soon a large circle of people had joined in.

Angel hung back and watched standing next to Oz in silence.  As the crowd was turning themselves around for the third time, Angel looked at Oz.

"You going to marry her?"  Angel asked with a wry grin.

"You think I’m going to let her get away?" Oz answered stone-faced, as always.  He didn’t look at Angel once, but followed the movements of his nerdy redhead, ecstatic about the silly song.

The End