At *that* moment, in fact.

He shot out of his chair before she could get to far, coming to a stop before her, his eyes flicking up and down her body in a silent inventory.

He calmed considerably once he was sure that she was all in one piece.

He'd been worried.

Buffy covered her face in a faux cheerful grin.

"Hi!" She said in the brightest voice she could muster. "I'm-"

"Late." Angel finished, though he wasn't annoyed. He knew that she had responsibilties she couldn't ignore.  

He had to admit though, he'd been anxious.  Scared that she changed her mind, and that suddenly the thought of dating him repulsed her.

Buffy bit her lip, looking down at the floor.

"Rough day at the office." She told him, not meeting his gaze.

Angel smiled as he caught sight of a length of straw that had tangled into her blonde hair.

Gently, he removed it. "So I see."

He twirled it in his fingers, and could smell the scent of her hair wafting toward him.

He handed it to her.

She blushed, mortified. "Hey, it's a look. A seasonal look." She quipped.

Angel was about to open his mouth to reassure her, when Cordelia strode past them.

"Buffy." She said, pausing and cocking her head to the side. "*love* the look. It just *screams* street urchin."

Buffy winced. She looked up at Angel through nervous eyes. "You know what? I need to go...put a bag over my head."

Angel's voice lowered and softened as he leaned down toward her, resisting the presistent urge to capture her lips in his own and make her forget all about Cordelia and her fashion advice.

"Don't listen to her. You look fine." He told her quietly, though even as he said the words, their inadequacy frustrated him.

How did you tell somebody that starlight shone from their eyes and sunshine from their smile?

How did you really put into words the depth of your desire for them? Your hunger for their touch?

He sighed inwardly, knowing that he would have to settle for those flimsy words, if only for the moment.

Her unhappiness was clear in her green eyes as she gave him a tired smile.

"You're sweet." She told him. "A terrible liar, but sweet." She turned to leave, pausing only when his hand fell on her arm.

Angel welcome the fire that shot through his system as their skin made contact.

A touch from Buffy could leave his cold-blooded body toasty for hours.

"I thought we had...you know." He reminded her, pushing away his earlier fears of disgust and rejection.

"A date?" She turned to face him. "So did I. But who am I kidding? Dates are things normal girls have. Girls who have the time to think about nail polish and facials and stuff.  You know what I think about? Ambush tactics. Beheading. Not exactly the things dreams are made of."

Her sad eyes bore into his before she turned and walked away.

Angel watched her leave, wishing there was some way he could make her forget, if only for a moment, about her calling.

Her destiny.

But there was no way.

He was vaguely aware of Cordelia at his side. "Cappucino?"

He took the cup from her without even really realising it at first.

After a moment, he looked down at the steaming cup in his hand, then handed it back to her.

"No thanks...there's just somewhere I've gotta be."

And with that he disappeared into the shadows, leaving Cordelia gaping after him.

Angel scooted up the pine tree outside Buffy's window, watching in silence as she moved about her bedroom.

He watched her often, though never if he felt that she wanted her privacy.

He could tell when she wanted to be alone.

She always faced away from the windows, her glass shutters shut against the outside room.

Whenever he found her like this, he slipped back into the night, busying himself elsewhere.

Tonight, her windows where open, the blinds flapping softly in the cool night air.

She sat on her bed, one foot resting in front of her, the other leg curled beneath her.

As he watched, she removed hte lid from a bottle of sky blue nailpolish, carefully wiping the bristles free of excess enamel, then brushing them over her toenails with  well-practised precision.

He studied her movements, fascinated.  

He rarely saw her kick back and do normal-girl stuff. All the things she talked about so fondly, yet other girls took for granted.

She wriggled her toes, and Angel grinned.

She had tiny, perfect feet. Her second toe was slightly longer than her big toe, a trait which had always turned him on in intensely.

But then, there wasn't much about Buffy that didn't turn him on.

She leaned down, holding hair hair back from her face as she blew on her newly painted toes.

She lowered her feet to the floor, smiling in satisfaction.

It amused him that she smiled the same smile whether she had painted her toes perfectly or averting an apocalypse.

She was a strange one, his Buffy.

His Buffy.

He liked the sound of that.

She stood, crossing to her mirror, staring into it for a moment, and he could see the sadness dwelling in her eyes.

In his opinion, she should never wear that expression. She should never look that sad.

He wondered, briefly, if their non-existent date was the cause of her sadness.

He wished that he didn't have the power to effect her like that. Wished he ouldn't hurt her.

He reminded himself that he hadn't been responsible for the cancellation fo their date, but something inside was telling him taht he hadn't tried hard enough to get her to stay.

He sighed.

Too late now.

She moved away from the mirror, using one hand to tie her hair into a high ponytail.

A few soft tendrils fell in her eyes, and her hair was straw free.

She crossed to the closet, pulling out her favourite pyjama's - a mauve tank top and purple boxers dotted with silver stars.  

He looked away as she pulled them on, studying a cat which walked along the fence.

After a moment he looked back, seeing her slip under the blankets,pulling them to her chin and rolling over, snapping off her lamp.

He could see her glow in the dark stars dotting the roof and furniture.

After a few moments, he heard her breathing slow and become even.

She was asleep.

He slipped through the window, kneeling next to her bed and gathering up her tiny hands in his, being careful not to wake her.

He rubbed their joined hands against his cheek, marvelling at the silky flesh of her palm.

He could hear her pulse close to his ears, and listened to the blood rushing through her veins.

She was alive.

So very alive.

He saw it in her bright, vibrant eyes.

Heard it in her musical, tinkling laugh.

Felt it in her searing touch.

He just...sensed it.

He'd never felt so vehemently about anything before.  

Never wanted anyone , or anything so badly in the entire span of his existence.

It surpassed want, need, lust...even bloodlust.

There was just something about her, that he could quite put his finger on.

A...brilliance to every movement she made, and a softness to every word she spoke.

She was bright, vibrant.

She had a shiny soul.

He shook his head.

He'd been writing poetry his entire life, and all he could come up with was 'shiny'?

His self-flagellation was forgotten as she moved in her sleep, parting her lips slightly.

He couldn't help it. She looked so beautiful...

He lowered his mouth to her own, placing a soft kiss on the side of her mouth.

She stilled, and when he pulled away a small smile played across her sleeping lips.

He sat there, just holding her hand for an hour or more before her eyes blinked open sleepily.

He looked into their green depths, and knew from theri cloudiness that she wasn't really awake, or asleep.

She was in a state of waking slumber.

"Angel??" She murmured, tightening her hand around his. "Hi."

"Hi." He replied with a half smile.

"Stay with me?" She whispered, yawning.

His smile grew to a lopsided grin. "Gladly."

He leaned down, kissing her brow and smoothing a hand over her cheek. "Go back to sleep, baby."

She obeyed, sinking back to unconsciousness.

He smiled down at her, running his fingers up and down her arm, gently tapping out a quick beat on her firm muscle.

It made him sad, but he knew that he'd have to leave soon. Dawn was fast approaching, and as much as he wanted to stay with Buffy, he'd be no good to her as a pile of ashes.

He glanced at the sky. He still had about an hour to go...he'd be cutting it close, but...she was worth it.

Gently, he lay down on top of Buffy's blankets, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and spooning against her back.

She sighed and relaxed into his embrace.

He could feel her heartbeat through the thin fabric of their clothing, and smiled as the rythym reverberated through his own body, giving the illusion of life.

That's what everything was like with her.

She shared her energy and enthusiasm.

She was contagious.

He loved it.

He loved her.

He kissed the patch of flesh behind her ear.

"Sleep Sweet, my Love."

The End