DISCLAIMER: Its unfortunate that I don't hold the rights and titles. Maybe someday.
TIMELINE: Eh, throw it in sometime during or after season four.
SPOILERS: Nothing much.
SYNOPSIS: A typical `Angel has a rough night, Buffy makes him feel better.'
DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere you want it, with an email of course.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: I wrote this about a million years ago. It's not very carefully edited. It may or may not be a poorly written fic, but it is certainly sweet and fluffy.
FEEDBACK: If you'd like, I'll gladly read it.
RATING: I'll say pg-13 for some language, but its practically harmless. I'll reiterate- SWEET AND FLUFFY.

Buffy put her keys in the door and unlocked it. The tall, heavy oak door swung easily on its hinges, softly bumping into the wall. There were permanent marks on the paint from it, but she didn't care. She thought the scratches fit in pretty well with the rest of the apartment. The apartment that she shared with Angel. She sighed, thinking about how happy she had become so suddenly.

She and Angel were together again, finally, and they would always stay that way. She was human, and a slayer; and he was a vampire, with a *permanent* soul. None of that mattered anymore, just that his soul was indeed permanent. They had been living together for a few months already, and life was becoming a sweet, fulfilling routine. This, in truth, was all she had ever really wanted.

Buffy looked around at her home with joy. It was perfectly sized for the two of them; plenty of space when you needed to be alone, and just small enough to be almost always in sight of one another. She had decorated it to meet her and Angel's tastes; keeping it fashionable and dark at the same time. Unfortunately, at that moment, the place was silent. Angel was still out.

She checked her watch. It was about ten to four, A.M. It was still early for Angel; there was another hour and forty minutes of night left before he would be forced inside. She had decided to return home in enough time to catch at least three solid hours of sleep. Buffy hadn't had a terribly busy night; after taking out a pathetic ring of vampires dressed as super-villains, she had walked about town for another hour without incident. Deciding that Angel had probably had the same, quiet kind of night, she walked home. But Angel wasn't back yet, so maybe he had actually found a fight. Either way, he would be home soon. Buffy put her bag in the hall closet that served as weapons chest and hung up her leather jacket. She fingered a new tear in the dark, smooth material and sighed grumpily. If that coat got one more patch, it would look more like a quilt than anything.

She walked into the kitchen and put water on for tea. She still had adrenaline flowing through her veins, and she wouldn't be able to sleep unless she calmed down a little. If Angel had been home, Buffy would have found another, more interesting way of relaxing.

After scrounging up the last Sleepy Time tea bag and rinsing out her favorite mug (with the Count from Sesame Street on it), she went to change. She tossed her clothes into the laundry basket and put on her winged heart Pjs. Buffy turned down the bed and pulled the shades carefully over the windows. The bed was a four poster, with heavy curtains strung around it; but it still made sense to keep light out of the room, period.

By then the kettle was whistling. Buffy grabbed her demonology textbook and her dream journal, and went into the kitchen. She had some homework to do before her classes in the afternoon, and Giles had asked her to check up on her sleep patterns. She could get a start on both and wait up for Angel. She always slept better when he was home, anyway.

At ten to five, Buffy closed her notebook. She had finished the assignment for class with ease, demonology being both her major and second nature. After all, you don't spend nearly every waking minute either kicking some monster's ass or sleeping with your vampire boyfriend without picking up a few things. And her dreams had been ordinary for the past two weeks, so that took only minutes. The dribble of tea in the bottom of her Count mug was icy cold, but she drank it anyway.

And Angel still wasn't home. Not that she was worried, exactly. He came in late sometimes, so did she. They both had cell phones, and the general rule was to call if you were going to be out past sunrise. He hadn't called yet, so chances were he was almost home. Besides, he still had time before the sun came up. Regardless, the little curl of fear in her mind was making her insides uncomfortable. She squirmed a bit before resolving to read the next chapter in her textbook.

Buffy was two pages into it before she heard familiar footsteps in the hall. They were a little slower than usual, and she was nearly positive he was limping; but she was still sure it was Angel. She closed the book in her lap as his keys jangled in the lock, and he opened the door quietly. She gasped softly when she saw him. From the looks of it, he had found the rest of the Sunnydale vampires.

His face was bruised, the left eye swollen nearly shut, and there were deep scratches on his cheek. He carefully cradled one arm to his chest, and he was limping. He looked at her tiredly as he walked inside, locking the door behind him.

"Angel, god. What bus ran you over?" she joked half heartedly, and started to get up. He held a hand up to her.

"Don't get up!"

"What?" she asked, staying in the comfy armchair.

"Just- don't move. Stay right there," Angel told her as he dropped his bag carelessly by the closet. "Don't move," he repeated quietly, like he was assuring himself. He shrugged out of his coat with a groan and let it fall to the floor.

"Angel!" Buffy yelped, seeing his cream colored sweater soaked with blood. She started to get up again.

"I'm fine," he managed, probably getting his first good look at the blood. "Just don't get up. Please?"

"Okay," she whispered, and watched him as he took off his boots. He nudged them into the corner, and then slowly pulled off his sweater and the shirt underneath. "Oh, Angel," she sighed. His back was to her, and she could see bruises around his ribs that were starting to heal. There was blood on his skin, spreading in a pattern from wound a few inches left of his spine. When he turned around, she saw that the injury went strait through. It looked like a gunshot, with the entrance wound above and to the left of his navel. More blood, and bruises, marred his abdomen. He gave her a shaky look.

"I had a rough night. I- I'm going to eat. Don't move." Then Angel went into the kitchen. She smiled a little. If he was hungry, he was okay. And feeding would help him heal. She listened to he sounds he made in the kitchen. The opening of the fridge door, the `blood bank' drawer being wrenched open (it always stuck a little), a little shuffling, the drawer and fridge being shut. The snip of scissors, pouring liquid, and finally Angel's noisy drinking. The sound made her a little giddy.

She loved the silly little vampire. Then he ran the tap, rinsing his glass, and his mouth. The sound of him gargling made her laugh. When he walked back into the living room, he wasn't limping as much; but he was so out of it that he still wore his game face.

She gave him a worried glance, more for his benefit than actual worry. Angel staggered exhaustedly to her, dropping painfully to his knees at her feat. He flopped forward, burying his face in her lap and wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. Buffy leaned over him, embracing him warmly. He growled against her soft flesh, whimpering slightly.

"Want to tell me about it?" she asked quietly. He sighed, and snuggled closer, pressing his face against her belly. Her scent was comforting, and the pajamas were soft against his skin. She leaned back a little, running her hands over his arms and though his hair, enjoying the feel of his closeness.

"I've been in eight separate fights," he said into her. "Not including the one at the bronze with the really drunk bouncer. Nothing serious, just a lot of fighting. until the last one. A bunch of bad ass vampires dressed as super heroes or something were after these punk kids- y'know, leather, tattoos, piercing." Buffy laughed a little. "What?" he asked, turning his face upwards to look at her. She gently stroked his vampiric face as she explained her mirth.

"I took out the hot-shot super villains," she said, smiling. "And if I recall, you have a tattoo and wear leather an awful lot." He groaned, leaning into her palm.

"Were yours wearing capes and tights too?" She laughed, and he smiled sarcastically. "And I thought you liked the leather? And the tattoo," he huffed. She leaned in to kiss him, running her tongue over the sharpness of his teeth. He moaned into her mouth, and growled as she pulled away.

"Yes, and I love the leather, and the tattoo. How did you get so beat up?" He put his head back in her lap gloomily.

"Like I was saying, the vamps were pounding the three kids pretty bad. Super heroes are strong, I guess. I jumped into the fray. Everything's going pretty good, I dusted four or five of the eight. I took a couple of good hits; some freak in green broke some of my ribs, another one broke my arm. All in all, not so bad."

"That's the bruises," she observed. He gave her a muffled `uhuh' before continuing.

"I'm still fighting the few that are left, and I don't see that the stupid, dumb kids are still there. When I finally noticed them, I turned to tell them to run and one of them had a gun in his hand. I must have vamped out sometime during the fight, because he tells me to get away. Then he shot me."

"The kid?!"

"Yeah, shot me. If he had gotten my spine, I wouldn't have been able to dust the rest of the super-morons. As it was, I took a pretty bad beating from them once I was wounded. The jerk ran off in the following confusion. And I was planning on beating him within an inch of his life, too."

"Angel, Angel, Angel," Buffy soothed. "Are you healing okay?"

"Yeah. I'll be fine." They sat there, Angel still holding her tightly around the waist with his head still in her lap, Buffy stroking his hair.

"Does it hurt much?" she asked quietly.

"Yeah," he whispered, not having the strength to lie.

"Why don't we go to bed? You should get some rest."

"In a minute," he said, nuzzling closer. "I don't ever want to move," he confessed, ten minutes later in a sleepy voice. She smiled at that. "I just want to stay right here, smelling you and feeling you. Listening to the blood in your veins." He yawned against her. "This is the safest place I'll ever be. Your arms, in your warmth. mmmhhh," he sighed. "Thank you."

"For what?" Buffy asked softly.

"For making this all go away." He placed a lingering kiss just above her pajama covered belly button. Then he got stiffly to his feat and pulled Buffy up as well. She wrapped her arms around his waist, and he cradled her face in his hands. They kissed slowly, and then moved toward the bedroom.

Buffy helped him clean the blood off his once again perfect skin in the bathroom. She brushed her teeth while he sat on the counter and watched her. Then he looped an arm around her middle and the pair curled into bed together; Angel using her stomach for a pillow as Buffy tangled herself around him.

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