DISCLAIMER: I'm not their owner. But they like me better than Joss.
TIMELINE: Summer of Season four.
SPOILERS: None that I can think of.
SYNOPSIS: After running away from it, the rest of the world catches up.
DISTRIBUTION: Anywhere you want it, just let me know.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This is, well, I suppose it's the sequel to `Heat and Dust.' I don't think its really of the same caliber as the first, but hey, we're all critical of our own stuff. Enjoy!
FEEDBACK: If you've got something to say, please do.
RATING: Harmless. Fluff with a couple of dabs of angst here and there for good measure.

There was the warmth of a hand on the small of Buffy's back. Skin touched hers through the narrow band of exposed flesh between her pants and her shirt. She shivered and turned to face Angel, who was suddenly there in front of her.

"You're on the hunt again?" he asked in a soft voice, two fingers brushing her thigh as his arm dropped back to his side.

"Are you?" she questioned, raising a hand to his face. There were thin lines, pale pink veins almost, still attracting her eye. Scars. Bruises. She knew that if she reached out and felt where his ribs were, she'd feel thick gauze padding, elsewhere stitches.

He turned away, almost angry with her. She wondered if it were embarrassment more than anything as she grabbed his forearm. She pulled him very close and kissed him by way of apology. Angel shoved her gently away.

"You know I can fight," he said quietly, eyes downcast. "You know I can." Buffy felt terrible. She didn't want him out fighting, and she hadn't been at all subtle about it. But Angel had his pride. After two centuries, more than two, of being supernaturally strong, he'd had to adjust to being only naturally strong. And he was strong. He was skilled.

Still, Buffy's fear poured into her lungs and tried to drown her. Angel hid his feelings fairly well, choosing to let only his worry for her show through. He stared at her, making her feel transparent and lucid.

"Are you sure you should be out here?" Angel's discomfort with the idea of her being out fighting diffused through the air and hung in it, like the chill of the early, early morning. The damp, clingy feeling of cold held onto her skin and Buffy resisted the urge to curl up inside Angel's warm coat-with him in it.

"I don't want the speech again," she stated grumpily. The night had gone quickly and suddenly frigid. The wind and its suspended, invisible droplets went right through her clothing and set up shop in her muscles. Buffy felt stiff and achy, and her anger towards Angel was thick in her stomach.

"I know, I just-" Angel started, with purpose, but Buffy turned and started in the opposite direction. He got the picture without help. "Stop," he murmured, his hands falling on her shoulders and keeping her from moving. She turned around and he hugged her, lips pressed to her hair by way of apology. "I'm afraid for you," he whispered. "Both of you."

She felt his hand, much warmer than the air, on her belly's very, very slight roundness. Buffy smiled inwardly and relaxed against him. She felt the bandages through his sweater. Buffy shuddered.

"What are we going to do?" she asked herself. "I don't want you out here, fighting. I don't want you hurt or- or dead." Angel held her tighter and pulled his coat closer around them both. "And you can't stand me being out here for the same reason. Do we just let the world take care of itself for the next eight months?"

"Then what?" he questioned, his voice dark with knowledge of their inner fears. "I won't feel any different after she's born. I'll be more paranoid," Angel predicted.

"I don't like the idea of being worried for the rest of my life."

"Isn't that what being a parent is?" he whispered sagely. "Eh," he tried in a lighter voice. "We'll both take a lot of Paxil."

"Not in my condition," Buffy said, not thinking any of their conversation the least bit funny. "You're sure this baby is a girl?"

Angel was relieved that she had changed the subject. Though his fears were well founded, he understood it was pointless to entertain them. The wind, though, and its wet coldness, was making those fears seem bigger and more dangerous. The chill made them grow teeth and gave them weapons.

"Yes," he replied without hinting at his real thoughts, "it's a girl."

"Mmm," Buffy nodded, tuning her senses inward. She felt the tiny pressure of her child and wondered if she was the only woman lucky enough to know it. "We'll see," she kissed Angel's throat with the words.

"Let's go home," Angel suggested. "It's getting cold."

"Yeah, its really chilly."

------------

"Hello?" Buffy called, pushing the door inward with her palm flat against its silky varnish. Warm yellow light and quiet voices spilled out of the growing space. The sounds stopped except for the soft shushing of the door moving against the carpeting. Angel was on full alert behind her, something heavy in his hand.

"Hello?" a familiar voice answered from within. Buffy's eyes widened as she turned to Angel.

"Oh dear god," Buffy whispered. She tried to make herself small beside Angel, to hide herself from the friends waiting in their apartment. Angel twisted his fingers with hers and opened the door the rest of the way. His hand squeezed hers tightly as they crossed into the apartment and were made strangers in their home.

"Buffy!" Xander shouted joyously and threw his arms around her tightly. She wished she didn't need to let go of Angel to hug him properly. Buffy embraced her friend with a sharp, unexpected need of him. It had been almost two months since she'd even talked to him, let alone seen his familiar grin or enjoyed his puppy enthusiasm.

"Willow!" Buffy exclaimed, sudden happiness replacing the fear coating her insides. The redhead joined the hug, and Xander's arms encompassed them both.

"Thank god," she heard Giles mutter, and felt him hugging her too. "Thank god you're all right." She wondered briefly if Angel was being made to feel left out, but she opened her eyes and saw him being embraced by an ecstatic Cordelia and a man that seemed very much like Wesley Windom Price.

Too soon, the hugging part was over. Buffy again felt the stillness and the chill coiling in her bones, and it wasn't coming from the night air. It was coming from her friends who stood around her with looks of well-aged anger and disappointment glued on their faces.

"Well?" Willow asked finally. She disapproved greatly of Buffy's stupefied silence.

"Well?" Buffy whispered, hoping they would understand when she knew it wouldn't be easy.

"Where have you been?" Xander asked loudly, his emotions overcoming any self-control. Buffy sat down on the couch and looked at Angel for help. What to explain? What to leave out? She tried to ask him these questions with her eyes, but couldn't find answers in his slightly harried face.

Oh hell, she thought darkly. Angel's face registered her new direction and the worry deepened in his eyes.

"We drove down the coast," Buffy said calmly. "Then we came here."

"You. Didn't. Call," Giles gritted. "We had. No idea. If you. Were alive."

"We are alive," Angel answered without remorse.

"How could you be so inconsiderate?!" Willow hissed. Her eyes were daggerous, cold, and hurt. Buffy didn't feel well. She was still not warm enough. Pulling her legs up, she rested her head on the arm of the couch.

"Angel's human."

"You're WHAT?!" Cordelia shouted, smacking Angel's arm. He looked nervously at the group who were staring intently at him.

"You didn't tell us?" Wesley asked, hurt beyond measure. Xander sputtered nonsense and sat down hard on the coffee table. Willow blinked in silence and then turned to Giles who looked at them, lost.

"Oh," the watcher said. "Oh."

Angel blocked Cordelia's continued assault and moved to sit next to Buffy. Xander looked at him and sneered.

"That doesn't give either of you the right to just leave. You can't just pick up and go without telling us."

"Its not like we- we don't want you to be together," Willow said, her voice showing its broad range of emotion. She was happy and angry and everything in between.

"We couldn't have stopped you," Wesley stated with squared shoulders and no humor. "But we would have known!"

"We got married, and Buffy's pregnant," Angel said quietly, letting the words do the shouting for themselves. Every face went blank, every mouth dropped. There was silence in the room, and Buffy began to feel warmth in her hands. She stood up.

"I'm sorry, there aren't any complicated explanations," Buffy said, shrugging. "He showed up and I- I just had to go." Angel stood and went to Cordelia.

"I should have said something to you, but it was then or never." He put a hand on Wesley's shoulder. "You know how much this meant to us. If I hadn't gone then, maybe there'd be no baby."

"I wouldn't take any of it back," Buffy insisted firmly. Willow walked to the couch and sat down, pulling Buffy with her. The girl's eyes were dancing with tears as she held Buffy's hand and studied the circlet of metal on her fourth finger.

"So," she said with a breaking voice, "Are you going to tell me about this wedding and why I wasn't there, or what?"

----------

Wind, cold and bleak and stinging with sea spray, whipped at Buffy's hair. She hunkered down in her sweater and the jacket she'd borrowed from Angel. Opening her eyes, she watched the moon glowing bright white in deep blue sky. She'd never seen the sky be that color sapphire. She'd never seen the stars look so much like ice.

Despite the cold, Buffy was warm. Her hands were warm in their soft gloves, one held out to ride the air as the car moved swiftly along the road. The convertible's top was down, and looking past Angel she could watch the purple black ocean writhe against the rocky cliffs with white foam like snow shooting into the air.

Their bags were thrown haphazardly in the backseat. The wretched stereo played something soft and slowly urgent. Everything was beautiful and Buffy was relieved to be riding the nighttime's current with Angel again.

"Thank you," she said, shifting in her seat to face him fully.

"For?" Angel asked, keeping his eyes on the circuitous road and it's dangerous cliffs. They slopped off treacherously beyond sparse, twitching grasses.

"Everything," she sighed, toying with his collar.

"You're welcome," he grinned and maneuvered the car around another sharp turn. She thought about their apartment, and the people inside, and the noise of gleeful celebration that had followed the noise of the angry interrogation. Too much, Buffy thought. Too much noise, too many people, more than enough statements directed at her mistakes in life. There were too few (the many, many made still not quite cutting it) remarks about the future.

Her mind returned to its nocturnal setting of seascape and chilly, clinging air. She breathed and tasted its sharp briny flavor and smiled. There was peace in the car's growling engine and the stripes of yellow seemingly eaten by the convertible's fast paced mouth.

She thought, briefly, briefly, about their hurried goodbye to the new extension of aunts and uncles, and their flight out the door with sloppily packed bags. Well, they knew they were fine. They didn't have to worry. Buffy would call in a couple of days.

"Angel, this was a good idea," she murmured, laying her head on his shoulder.

"Going away?" She nodded. "Yeah it was." He paused, and Buffy wondered what he was thinking. "It's a good thing you had it."

"Yeah," Buffy sighed, staring at Angel's reflection in the rearview mirror. The scars, the eyes, the line of his jaw-Buffy bit her lip to stifle the happy sound in her throat. It would break the moment, disrupt their subtle music and whispery rhythm, and she just wanted to be silent and watch him.

His eyes, dark brown just like always, were full of happiness and an extended promise of shivery intentions. They laughed in quiet at her and Buffy felt layers of pleasant chills swim the length of her spine.

God.

He was beautiful in the moonlight.

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