She stared mournfully at the rows and rows of choices before her. How could she pick? There were too many, and they were all tempting. Where were her friends when she needed them most, to help her choose? This job was too hard, too much responsibility. She couldn't handle it. And it was *cold*, so cold that she had to cross her arms over her chest to warm herself, and it was hindering her ability to think. /Just do it, just pick one,/ the voice in her head coaxed, as if it were that simple. /Come on, Slayer girl. Be strong. Be in control. Choose./

"All right," she groused out loud, drawing the attention of others. "Fine. They wanted me to pick, I'll pick."

So saying, she jerked open the tall glass freezer door and snatched a carton of ice cream from the shelf, the cold washing over her and giving her goosebumps. She let the door thump closed behind her and stalked to the register.

---

As soon as Buffy nudged open the door, Xander pounced. "You got it? You got the goods?"

"Yes, yes," she said impatiently, relinquishing the shopping bag to him. "God, don't ever send me to pick ice cream again. It's too much to handle."

Giles peered through the contents of the bag that Xander was hastily emptying. He gave Buffy a small half-smile when a tin of English biscuits appeared, and she shrugged noncommittally. "You can't join our junk-food fest if you don't have junk food."

"Now, Buffy, I'd hardly call my butter cookies junk food--"

"Hey, put whatever label you want on it," Buffy laughed. "Cookies are cookies."

"I hardly think that biscuits fall in the same category as...whatever *those* items are," Giles remarked with distaste, motioning toward the package of bright pink half-domes.

"*Those* are Sno-Balls," Xander huffed. "A finer processed junk food you will never find."

"Unless it's these," Willow grinned, holding up a package of chocolate Donettes. "I love the bright yellow color inside. Makes me feel all cheery."

"Please, by all means, have at it, then," Giles allowed, glancing with impatience at the abandoned books on the table. "Just indulge quickly, so we may return to the task at hand--"

"Vanilla?" Xander howled, interrupting Giles. "I sent you for ice cream and you come back with *vanilla*?" He turned to Willow in a panic. "Wills, she got vanilla," he moaned, letting the carton fall to the floor and dropping his head to his hands.

Buffy frowned and retrieved the ice cream. "I like vanilla. Vanilla is good. It's...non-threatening."

"I'm sure we can jazz it up a little," Willow soothed, patting Xander's arm. "Here, look. There's some chocolate kisses in here. You can put those on it."

"I was hoping for peanut-butter-fudge-ripple," Xander said hopefully.

"Peanut butter...I'm sure Giles has some, don't you Giles? Please say you have peanut butter," Willow asked, rolling her eyes toward Xander.

"Peanut butter. Perhaps," he mused. "You'll have to look in the--"

Xander was already rummaging through the cupboards, trying to locate the peanut butter by sense of smell. "Peanut butter!" he shouted triumphantly, holding it aloft like a trophy. He spoke softly to the small jar. "You'll help me right the wrongs done by the Slayer, won't you? I knew I could count on you the moment I laid eyes on your red and blue label. This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." He opened the lid and inhaled deeply.

Buffy stared at him incredulously. "Are you going to take it to dinner first, before you make love to it?" she asked, unwrapping the foil from a chocolate kiss.

"Sure, I'll have it for dinner," Xander replied, putting a spoonful on top of his ice cream. "And breakfast, and lunch, and a midnight snack..." He slid the open jar across the table to Buffy, sending it teetering toward the edge. In her haste to catch it, she fumbled with the candy in her hand, dropping the chocolate into the jar and sending the foil wrapper floating gently to the ground.

"Oops," she said, looking at the little chocolate resting inside the peanut butter jar. Fishing with her fingers, she retrieved the kiss and held it up. "Yum," she announced, about to pop the delicacy into her mouth, when Giles approached.

"Chocolate covered with peanut butter? Is that good?" He looked doubtful.

Buffy's eyes widened. "You've never had chocolate and peanut butter? My God, you really do come from another country. Here, try this." She handed him the small treat, licking her fingers, and he took it from her carefully.

Popping the whole thing into his mouth, Giles rolled it around on his tongue and let the chocolate begin to dissolve. His eyes lit up with delight. "Delicious," he proclaimed. "Why didn't you ever tell me about chocolate and peanut butter?"

/chocolate and peanut butter chocolate and peanut butter chocolate and peanut butter/

Buffy shook her head slightly. There was a peculiar buzzing noise coming from far away, and she wondered if the others could hear it. She looked back at Giles, who was hastily unwrapping another chocolate kiss and dipping it into the peanut butter jar he held clutched to his chest.

"Marvelous," he murmured.

Buffy watched him as if he were standing behind a clear shower curtain. She could see him, could in fact see all of them, but they were wavering slightly in her field of vision, and for some reason all sound in the room had faded away. The only thing that was audible was a voice in her head.

/chocolate and peanut butter chocolate and peanut butter chocolate and peanut butter/

The room was tilting a bit at the edges, and Buffy reached unsteadily behind her for the arm of the sofa. Lowering herself onto it, bracing her weight behind her on her hands, she closed her eyes to regain her balance and was suddenly hit with a powerful pain directly behind her eyes. She cried out involuntarily, bringing the heels of her hands to her eyes, and toppled unceremoniously to the floor.

---

When she woke, she was resting comfortably on the couch, with Giles pressing a cool cloth to her head. His mouth was a tight line, and Xander peered down at her from the back of the sofa. Willow knelt at her feet, holding the bowl of water for the cloth. Buffy's headache was gone, her vision clear.

She sat up abruptly, pushing the washcloth from her forehead, not caring that it left damp tendrils of hair sticking to her skin.

"Slowly," Giles said, supporting her back, but she brushed him off impatiently.

"I'm fine. Where are my keys?"

"Buffy, I don't think you should drive anywhere," Willow began.

"I'm fine," Buffy repeated, scanning the room for her shoes. "I, umm...haven't eaten, is all. Low blood sugar. I'll grab a bite on my way to--"

"To where?" Giles asked, concerned. "I'll drive you back to your dormitory. Let me just--"

"No!" Buffy said suddenly, startling them all. She lowered her voice and tried to smile. "I mean, no, don't leave here. You guys can continue your research and update me tomorrow. Really, I'm all right." She began backing to the door, trying to will the color back in her cheeks that she could feel were like ice.

The three of them just stood there, staring at her oddly, and Buffy felt a pang of guilt. "How about I call when I get home?" she offered, and Giles nodded.

"If you have not called within thirty minutes, Buffy, I'll be 'round to check on you."

"Thirty minutes, yep, got it." She nodded enthusiastically, causing Xander to raise his eyebrows in disbelief, but finally she had reached the blessed relief of the door. Slipping through with one last wave, she closed her eyes for a moment of thanks, then turned determinedly toward her car.

She had somewhere to go.

It took forty-five minutes to make the drive, with one stop at a pay phone to lie to Giles. The fact that Willow would discover her absence when she returned to the empty dorm room was a problem Buffy would worry about later. For now, there was a more pressing matter at hand.

She didn't go through the office, knowing people would be there. She went straight to the sub-level apartment, knocking on the door impatiently, and shifting from foot to foot. After what seemed an interminable amount of time, the door creaked open slowly. Buffy stared up unflinchingly at the one person who would always hold her heart in his hand, and spoke.

"I remembered."

---

"You remembered?" Angel swallowed tightly and watched Buffy carefully. She could mean any number of things. Better to listen and wait. But oh, her scent, that faint smell of daffodils that always surrounded her, was washing over him and practically bringing tears to his eyes. He wanted to say, "Thank God," and snatch her into his arms, and then dump her right back into his bed.

Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

She stared at him with those luminous eyes, those eyes filled with hurt and resentment and anger. "Did you hear me? I said I remembered."

Angel thought it best to not say, "Remember what?" He knew very well what, he was only fooling himself if he thought she might be talking about something else. "I see," he said slowly.

Buffy shook her head in disbelief. "Why do you always take my choices away?" she asked softly.

"It was for the best--" he began lamely, then was suddenly surprised by two small fists beating on his chest.

"I'm tired!" Buffy shouted at him, punctuating each word with a shove, causing Angel to step back to keep his balance. "I'm tired of you choosing for us! I'm tired of your self-sacrifice! I'm just tired, Angel!"

She had driven him backward into the apartment in her anger. He let her rain the small blows on his chest, not moving to defend himself, in fact welcoming the rage. It was her right to be angry, and it was a relief to him that she had, for whatever purpose, remembered their fleeting day. He would not be alone now in his anguish, and he felt guiltily happy that she was here, no matter what the reason or the result.

Angel let her beat out her anger on his body, until he felt her blows weaken and watched her face crumble. It was only then that he enfolded her in his embrace, resting his cheek atop her golden head, and felt her hot tears soak his shirt as she sobbed. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm so sorry, it was never meant for you to remember, I was promised you would never remember. It was only supposed to be me."

Buffy quieted after a time, listening to Angel's soothing words. She realized, as she stood with her ear to his chest, that she was struggling to hear a heartbeat. None came. "Was it real?" she murmured, so softly that Angel had to strain to hear her.

"I wanted it to be," he replied honestly, his lips in her hair.

"I remember everything," she whispered. "How could it not be real?" She lifted her head to stare at the kitchen table, standing strongly in one piece. "That was broken," she said, her eyes filling again.

Angel swallowed. "It was. We broke it."

Buffy left the comfort of his embrace to stand in front of the refrigerator. She placed a hand on it, feeling the coolness of the metal, letting the hum of the motor travel through her fingertips. "You kissed me here," she said sadly, the memory of it as clear as if it had really happened.

When there was no answer, she turned around to find Angel staring into the bedroom, his eyes locked on the large bed. Buffy came to stand beside him, and they both stood looking at the bed where they had found their lost souls again.

"It happened," Angel said fiercely, his fists clenching. "It was not a dream, or just a memory. It *happened*." His eyes were blazing in the darkness, and he turned to Buffy and clutched her upper arms. "I want it again. I want to make it happen again."

Buffy tried to laugh. "Let's just find one of those weird demon guys. They can probably help us out."

He let go of her abruptly and fisted his hands. "We don't need them."

Her breath caught on a sob. "Angel, I want it too. But we can't, it's impossible, it's the reason you're here and I'm there. You said it yourself, there's nothing we can do."

"There is."

Buffy tilted her head and looked at him. "There is, what?"

"Doyle...Doyle said..."

She stepped closer to him and took his face in her hands, smoothing the pad of her thumb over his cheek. "It's all right," she promised. "You can tell me. Let *me* make the choice this time."

Angel looked at her, and like always, was unable to deny her anything. His words came out rushed. "Doyle said the Oracles took away my humanity and kept the curse with it."

For a moment Angel was unsure if Buffy had heard him. Her facial expression did not change, she did not give any indication that she had understood the implications of what he had told her. After a very long moment, she spoke.

"Tell me what you mean, 'and kept the curse with it'." Her words were quiet, careful, and Angel realized with a pang that she was holding herself at a distance, making sure that her battered heart would not suffer another beating.

"I mean," he spoke into her eyes, "that the gypsy curse was lifted when the Oracles stripped me of all my human qualities."

"But your soul stayed," she pointed out, almost desperate to find the loophole, knowing that there had to be some sort of terrible catch and she would find herself plunging back down into the numbness of despair.

"My soul stayed. It was kind of like a...I don't know, a reward, I guess, for giving up such a precious gift. That's how it was explained to me." Although his soul would never feel like a reward, not as long as the memories of death stayed with him. But for Buffy, to have Buffy here, in his arms, in his bed, it was more than enough.

"You didn't tell me," she accused, realizing the implications of it. He had known, he had known for some time that they could have formed some sort of relationship with this new development, and he hadn't told her.

"I didn't tell you," he agreed solemnly. "Your words came back to haunt me, and I just couldn't, Buffy. You said you were on the verge of something good at home, and for me to take it away would have been the cruelest thing I'd ever done." Angel looked at her sadly in the half-light from the kitchen, feeling as if she were slipping away even as he held tightly to her hand.

"The cruelest thing you've ever done," Buffy said slowly, "was to go away and leave me."

He realized, finally, as he stood there with her in his kitchen. Angel realized what he had done to her, to both of them, when he left her standing among the ruins of the failed Ascension, when he did not even have the courage to say goodbye. She was his redemption, this tiny girl with a heart of gold. Los Angeles was not his saving grace. The countless victims of the city would not ever be enough to save him. Only Buffy would ever save him, had in fact saved his worthless hide with her own blood, and he had repaid her by leaving her. He opened his mouth to speak and found there were no more words, he had nothing to say that would erase the cruelties he had done. So Angel stood there helplessly, hoping against hope that she would not walk away from him in her anger.

"I could never," she said.

"Huh?"

"Walk away. That's what you were thinking, wasn't it? Even now, you're still thinking how undeserving you are."

"I'm not deserv--"

"You ARE," she said fiercely. "You ARE deserving. You're good and kind and worthy, Angel. You are."

And then, not knowing what else to do, he kissed her. She melted under him immediately, her rigid stance relaxing, molding to him. There was no talking in the kitchen for a long time, save Buffy's soft sighs and the small sound of hands being run over clothing.

Angel growled and nipped at her, trying to take all of her into his mouth at once, sweeping the warm recesses with his tongue and feeling her respond in kind. Their bodies were pressed together, hardness meeting pliancy, and suddenly Angel hoisted her to his waist and felt her wrap her strong legs around his middle. He walked with her that way to the bedroom, kissing her all the while, feeling his erection press uncomfortably close beneath the fly of his black jeans. The pressure of Buffy's thighs squeezing his hips was torture, he wanted nothing more than to drop to the floor and rid both of them of their damn clothes, and make her ride him until she couldn't breathe.

Instead, he put a knee on the bed and sank onto it, Buffy beneath him, still clutching him with her legs. He broke away from her mouth and pressed his forehead to hers. "Are you sure, Buffy? Are you?"

Buffy felt a tiny flash of anger that he could still have to ask that question, then realized that, for Angel, it was not a matter of "have to". For Angel, it was a matter of "need to". He needed to know, he needed the reassurance, though she had already shown him countless times how sure she was. It was something that would stay with him forever, the insecurity, and he would always need to be calmed and soothed.

"Of course, love," she smiled, smoothing his hair from his forehead. "I'll never be as sure of anything else. I love you, Angel, don't you get it? That won't go away, no matter how far apart we are, no matter who else may come into our lives. Being apart from you is the worst thing I've ever had to do."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Worse than sending me to--"

She cut him off by clapping a hand over his mouth and shaking her head sternly. "Too much talking. Not enough kissing." Buffy drew his mouth down to hers again, warming inside when she felt him smiling against her lips.

"Sorry," he murmured against her mouth, darting a cool tongue out to trace the contours of her lips. Rolling to his back, he took her with him so she lay full length atop his body, and she slipped her legs to the side to straddle him. Exerting light pressure, Buffy ground against the hardness beneath her, sending Angel arching his neck against the pillows and hissing through his teeth. "Damn clothes," he mumbled, gripping her hips with tight fingers.

She giggled, and when he opened his eyes, he saw why. She had quickly discarded her shirt and bra and sat atop him with only her pants still on, her cream and coral breasts glowing in the dark.

"Still too many clothes," he growled, sitting up quickly. They sat facing each other, their legs entwined, and Angel lifted a full breast in his hand. "Beautiful. Just....beautiful," he murmured before lowering his head to taste it, the nipple tightening under his tongue. There was sweetness and spice on her skin, and she smelled like outdoors. He grazed the nipple with his teeth, feeling her shiver, and did the same to the other breast. Angel switched back and forth for long minutes, worshipping her body, until Buffy was whimpering and clutching his dark head.

"Stop," she gasped, and he grinned.

"You liked it well enough last time."

"But...more. I need more."

"More, is it? Easy enough," he agreed. "Anything you want."

So saying, he lay her back down among the pillows and kissed her again, a tender kiss, trying to convey all that he felt for this tiny girl in a single moment. He tried to claim her with his tongue, and then his kisses trailed away below her ear to the small white scar at the curve of her neck. Deep, primal satisfaction welled up in him as he tasted the raised skin. He had branded her, marked her as his, and the world could see it. Then back to her mouth again, while he used one hand to deftly work the button on her pants, and then he was pushing them down and ridding himself of his own clothes as well. Shirts and pants littered the floor of the bedroom but the two in the bed didn't notice or care, they were lost in each other and the new discovery that had been given to them.

Angel's hands swept down her body, tantalizing her, dipping into soft warm crevices and then teasingly dancing away again. He found the moistness at her center and licked his lips at it, wonderingly. "All for me?" he murmured in her ear, sliding a finger into it and then out again.

"Yes," she gasped, "always for you, only for you." She arched into his palm, seeking more pressure, and then his finger was replaced with his tongue and she cried out. It went on and on, the exquisite torture, with Angel sweeping his mouth over her throbbing bud and licking up the juices that dribbled down and left a damp place on his sheets. The smell of her wetness and want brought out the ridges on his forehead and he could feel his fangs lengthening in his mouth, and for once he did not curse the demon that lived inside him. He welcomed it, it fueled his passion for her, and before she even knew what he was about, he had used the razor tip of one fang to bring forth a tiny drop of blood from her clitoris. So sharp was his fang that Buffy did not even feel the prick, she only felt Angel begin to purr deep in his throat and suckle at her pulsing center.

Buffy wanted to cry out but could not, she could not find the breath to do it because all of her concentration was centered around her core, feeling Angel suck her so strongly. All she could do was clutch at the silky fringe of his hair and bring him tightly against her, and then she was shuddering and sobbing and flying.

Before she came down from her peak, Angel was looming above her. The question was back in his eyes again, and Buffy did not feel anger at it, knew she would never get angry at him for it again. "It's all right," she assured him. "I want you, Angel. I need you. Like I could never need anything else."

He bowed his head in relief and sank into her in one smooth stroke, his arms shuddering while he tried to hold himself still. Buffy felt him tremble, heard the throaty catch in his voice as he spoke against her creamy shoulder.

"I love you. Always. For always."

She clung to him, her hips moving instinctively against his, her heart filling and healing. They ground together, Angel thrusting deeply, sweeping her up with him in a flood of emotion. He was gentle at first, then not so gentle, setting a masterful rhythm for both of them, forcing Buffy along with him as he drove into her. Feeling her warmth, her tightness, when he had thought it lost to him forever, was like a wolf nipping at his heels and he sped up his thrusts as if he were reaching, searching. He was filled with an aching pleasure when he felt her grip his arms with her fingers and toss her head on the pillow, crying out for him to hurry, hurry. Buffy bent her knees and gripped him with her legs to absorb the impact of him, and Angel knew just when she had had enough. He ground his hips against her, rubbing just the right spot, and when she began to tremble beneath him, he let his climax come with primal ferocity. It rocked him, and he could only hold tight to the girl beneath him while he spilled his cool seed into her warm recesses and they both cried out.

A long, long while later, they still lay entangled in one another, Buffy's golden hair spread across the dark pillowcases. Angel raised himself on one arm to look wonderingly at her. "You always come to find me," he said.

"I will *always* find you," Buffy repeated solemnly. "But I wish you wouldn't make me."

"Maybe...maybe it's time to stop running away." He looked concerned as he said it, as if she would not accept the decision.

"I can make my own choices, Angel. I save the world on a daily basis, I can make up my own mind."

He nodded, ashamed.

"Now," Buffy said, stretching like a cat. "Whatcha got to eat around here?"

A corner of Angel's mouth quirked up.

"I have some peanut butter."

 

The End

 

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