Blissful Encounter

Part 17

When consciousness returned, Faith blinked, not quite sure where she was or why. The last hours were muddled in her mind, like a constant blur, with no way to find her way through it.

She groaned, realizing without looking that she was lying on the floor with the usually fluffy material of the expensive carpet her mother had given her the day she'd gone to college now scratching the sensitive skin of her naked back.

Naked

Naked!

Instantly her eyes popped open, all blurriness forgotten, and she found herself staring into a pair of stormy blue eyes, watching her intently and - she noticed with more than a little annoyance - with amusement. In a flash all the images came back to her. Kissing Lindsey. Groping Lindsey. Tearing at Lindsey's clothes. Devouring.

She groaned again, letting herself fall back on the carpet, for once not caring that it was scratchy and uncomfortable, and that she was still nude, her body open to his disturbing gaze. She'd noticed in his office earlier that he had a way of looking at people that made you feel naked even if you were properly dressed. So - she mused - it didn't really matter if she wore clothes or not, and besides, he'd already seen, hell, he had tasted, every part of her body, so it was all the same diff.

"Why didn't you just go?" She asked without looking at him, keeping her eyes closed against his intense gaze, against the knowledge she knew she would find in his eyes.

"Honey," he drawled, his southern accent more pronounced, "that wouldn't have been very gentlemanly of me, would it?"

"Fuck you," she hissed, finally looking at him again, anger sparkling in her dark orbs.

He sighed almost dramatically, and then grinned, "You might be the daughter of one of the richest men around, but you've got the language of an alley cat. Does daddy know about it?"

Not quite able to follow him, she narrowed her eyes, reigning in the annoyance and anger she felt at his behavior. Never before had a man treated her that way, and it was more than confusing. He didn't seem to have respect for her father's name. In that way he was a lot like her English-lit professor, but unlike Wyndham-Price, Lindsey was also sure of himself, with a cocky attitude she wanted to wipe from his face, but knew she'd never achieve the goal. "What?" she asked, keeping her voice low and infused with a warning.

"That you're sleeping around. That you're far away from the perfect daughter he sees in you."

Strange, she thought, feeling her heart turn inside her chest, how much such a remark could hurt, even if it came from a stranger, a man she barely knew, even though she'd heard it before. But somehow, maybe because she was still a foolish little girl inside, still not quite finished believing in dreams, a part of her had hoped that his blue eyes, so serious sometimes, so cocky at others, would be able to see more in her, would be able to look behind the mask she was always wearing. And maybe because he didn't, was why it hurt so much. Because she had - once again - misjudged a man.

She was a fool, she thought, scrambling to her feet and searching for her clothes. She would never learn that men were all the same, that none of them ever cared. "My father wouldn't listen to you," she said bleakly, "And besides, he would hardly care."

"You think?" he asked, still lying on the floor, completely unconcerned about his own nudity.

"Yes," she nodded, yanking her shirt over her head, "I've had over twenty years to prove it. And now I would very much like it if you got your clothes on and left. My roommate will be coming soon, and I don't want her to find you here."

"So I'm dismissed?" he replied, reaching for his own clothes. "The stallion did his duty and now he can go?"

Anger came quickly, and so hot, she thought she could feel it burn on her tongue, burn through her heart. But it was better than the pain, so in a way she welcomed it. "Hey," she cried, "You were the one that started this. You've got no right to behave that way. And you said I was sleeping around. SoЕФ she paused, blinking the tears away that were about to break through the anger, about to betray her bravado, "I just assumed that's what you wanted too."

"That's where you are wrong," he said slowly, but firmly while pulling on his shirt, slinging his tie around his neck. He smiled slightly when he saw her stiffen at his words. Good. This was madness. He had fallen for her so hard and fast like never before in his life. She was only twenty-three years old, she was his client for goodness' sake, and he couldn't keep his hand off her. But he also knew that with her history, with her own cocky attitude, that certainly matched his, it probably wasnТt wise to let her know that he was a goner already. So he simply looked at her, and said, "This, dear Faith, is far from over."

Her sharp intake of breath told him that he'd caught her by surprise.

*****

Buffy's words stopped Angel dead in his tracks, made him stop and turn around, to find himself drowning in the tortured expression in her once so sparkling hazel eyes.

"P-please don't go," she repeated, tears streaming down her cheeks, her fingers clenching her arms like claws so tightly, Angel almost winced at the sight. A part of his mind had acknowledged the presence of Buffy's mother, had heard her talk to Spike. But his whole being was so focused on Buffy, on the pain in her gaze, the battle she was fighting to reach out to him, to give him her trust, he couldnТt say anything to her mother yet. It humbled him in a way he had only experienced once before in his life, and he knew from experience that hehad to be very careful now not to destroy the fragile bond she had allowed to form between them tonight.

"I'm staying," he said slowly, walking back to her, glancing quickly at her mother who seemed to be watching everything while holding her breath at the same time. He knew it would be the polite thing to say hello, to talk to her. He was a strange man in her daughter's apartment after all, but right now he couldn't worry about courtesy or manners. The only thing that mattered was Buffy, and the fact that he'd finally broken through her defenses.

Again, he held his hand out to her and this time - after a short hesitation - she put her palm into his, letting him lead her towards the living room. He sat her down in a chair, with him kneeling in front of her, still holding her hand while his thumb stroked it's back, slowly, soothingly. "Will you tell me?" he asked finally when she had calmed enough, when the initial trembling had eased - at least a little.

From the corner of his eye he saw her mother hovering in the doorway, uncertain what to do, uncertain what to say. So she simply stood there, her eyes wide and sad, the eyes of a mother who realized she'd lost contact with the essence that was her daughter. He wanted to reach out to her, too, wanted to draw her in, but wasn't sure he'd be strong enough for both of them tonight. Yet, he felt Mrs. Summers needed something to do, needed to be part of this somehow, and so without taking his eyes from Buffy, he said, "Maybe you could make some tea?"

After a startled moment, she hurried to say, "Yes, yes. Of course. I'll make it right now." She was gone, but Angel had heard the relief in her voice not to be left out.

Buffy hadn't even noticed her mother's presence he realized. She was staring ahead blindly, her teeth biting her lower lip so hard it bled.

"It's okay," he said softly, stroking her hand again, "You don't have to if you aren't ready. There's time later."

She started to nod, then shook her head in the negative, "No, I Е I want to," she whispered, "but I Е I don't know h-how to begin."

"How about the beginning?" he replied in an attempt to lighten the mood, but knowing it was in vain. She was far beyond that, was far beyond lightness or jokes.

She nodded again, rubbing a trembling hand over her forehead, then letting it fall into her lap to the other that was still firmly in Angel's. It wasn't much, he thought, but maybe that little touch was giving her the strength she needed. He liked to think it was.

"I-I was in college," she began, keeping her eyes directed on her hands, "A - a freshman, and I, there was this guy. H-he was Е good looking Е and charming and - and I'd been, well, the other girls were teasing me," she laughed, but it bore no humor. "B-because I was still a virgin. And then h-he came, and he was great Е funny, attentive." She paused, her mouth curving into a self-loathing smile, "And I was so stupid."

She looked up then, and the pain in her eyes almost took his breath away. "I suppose," she smiled a little sad smile, "it's this way with guys. I mean, Riley couldn't remember his first time either. Or rather, the name of the girl. He remembers the first time, but only that he was clumsy and nervous. He couldn't tell me how she felt when I asked him."

And so she'd assumed all men were like this, Angel thought sadly, feeling the coolness of her hand, the pulse at her wrist fluttering underneath his forefinger. "Not all men are like that, honey," he told her softly, glad she was looking at him. "The first woman I slept with, her name was Darla. She was older than me, and experienced. She was seeking me out - at least that's what I think today. I Е uhm," he had to grin at the memory that seemed now ages away, "I was sixteen, still in high school, and she was the aerobics trainer who came to our school one afternoon a week. She trained the girls. She never told me her real age, but my guess was she was around thirty. We met for about four weeks, then it was over and Е I never saw her again."

"Did you Е" she started, then frowned and shook her head.

"Did I love her?" he asked, sensing her unspoken question. When she nodded, he told her honestly, "I thought I did - then. Today," he smiled, knowing that what her felt for Darla, who he'd once admired as a boy, couldn't hold a candle to what he felt today. To the depth and connection he felt for the woman in front of him. "Today I know it was just a teenage fantasy. But then it seemed real and true." He waited a heartbeat before he asked, "And you Е slept with that guy?"

She nodded, "Yeah. And I thought, I thought I was in heaven. He seemed to have experience, and even judging it from today's view, he wasn't a bad lover for a twenty one year old boy, but Е while I thought it was special and beautiful, I was nothing but a challenge for him. A virgin to deflower - that's what they said behind my back later." She bit her lips again, and Angel felt her squeezing his hand. "When Е when I confronted him, he laughed. He said that, that I was a stupid girl believing this was anything serious."

"Oh, honey," he said softly, reaching out and cupping her cheek. "I'm so sorry." But already when he said the words, he knew somehow that wasn't all, that therehad to be more. Being treated that way by your first lover was something that unfortunately happened all the time, and although he loathed the idea of a girl having such an experience, and especially if it was Buffy, he also knew that they all managed to get over it sooner or later. It was a bad experience but it wasn't enough of an explanation for Buffy's behavior, for the walls she had surrounded herself with. "But that's not all, huh?"

Her head came up with a snap, and she looked at him for a moment with wide eyes, as if startled by his insight. Then she sighed, and Angel liked to think that she'd realized he was different, that he wasn't like the guy who'd used her or her ex-boyfriend who couldn't remember the name of his first girl.

"No," she whispered, her gaze back at her lap, "I Е four weeks later I discovered I was pregnant."

"Preg-" The word stuck in his throat, closing it up, making it hard for him to breathe. She'd been pregnant. With the child of a guy who hadn't really wanted her in the first place. "Oh, Buffy," his own voice was reduced to a whisper now. "Oh, baby."

Her tears were falling again, "I, I was so ashamed. And I Е I wanted to tell him Е even after. But when I came to his room, he wasnТt...Ф a sob tore from her throat, "there was a girl with him - in bed."

"God, Buffy". Disturbed more than he'd thought possible, Angel drew a hand through his hair, trying to get a grip on his own raging emotions. The rage he'd felt earlier was threatening to come back. He wanted to find the man, wanted to tear him apart, make him hurt physically as much as Buffy had suffered emotionally. "I'm so sorry. So terribly sorry."

"Me too," she replied, frowning slightly. "I Е was upset and Е but on the other hand there was this tiny person inside of me, this baby. And although I was afraid, and Е sad, I still wanted it. I already loved it."

"Of course you did," he assured her. How could she not? Buffy wasn't the kind of person to reject an innocent baby, a child that hadn't done anything to deserve wrath or anger.

She went on as if he hadn't spoken, too caught up in her story now, the words tumbling from her lips faster and faster as if she was getting rid of something that had been long overdue, and it probably was, Angel thought, "Е I, I mean, I didn't know how my parents would react. I hoped my father, my step-dad, would be supportive, but my mom Е and still I loved it." There was such sadness in her voice now that Angel already feared he knew what she was going to say, and a part of him wanted her to stop, wanted her not to go on, not to say the words that would shatter a dream, but also sensing that they needed to be said.

But when she did, and even though he expected them, he felt each one of them like a mortal blow.

"I lost the baby a week later. It wasn't anything Е nothing went wrong. I didn't fall, or Е anything. The doctor said these things happen all the time, that, that miscarriage is a common thing during the first trimester, but Е I Е" she raised her head, her eyes swimming in tears, so lost and sad, "I loved that baby, Angel. It was a part of me, and it Е d-died. For a while I wanted to die, too. Then, when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, I called my step-father and he came, and he pulled me back, made me see the light again."

She said nothing for a moment, just looked at him, then finally, tentatively, she reached out, stroked the skin on his cheek, rough from a day's growth of beard. "You were a lot alike, you know," she said softly, a first real smile creeping up her features. "I loved him very much."

Angel's heart was so full, he felt it would burst any moment, looking into the eyes of this woman who was already in every cell, every fiber of his body, who was already a part of his soul. She hadn't told him she loved him, maybe it was too early for that, but maybe without even realizing it, she had given him a compliment that was equally precious. She'd compared him to her stepfather, a man Angel had never met, but who seemed important to her, and whom she'd loved without reservation.

Blinking his own tears away, he looked deeply into her eyes, "I really would like to hold you now," he said gruffly, emotions constricting his throat.

"I would very much like to be held," she replied, slipping her arms around his neck, and letting him pull her down into his lap, almost crawling into him, holding onto him with all her might.

Over her head, Angel sensed a movement at the door, and as he looked up he saw Mrs. Summers standing there, tears falling down her cheeks as well. One hand firmly pressed over her mouth, she was watching her daughter being held in the arms of a man she hadn't known before tonight. With almost startling insight Angel realized that she hadn't heard the story before, that she hadn't known - until now - that her daughter had lost a child, and so much more, that year in college. How must she feel, hearing all this now, realizing that Buffy hadn't trusted her enough to tell her, had only opened up to the man who was holding her in his arms now.

A part of Angel wanted to reassure her, wanted to give her comfort, but another part resented her for letting this happen in the first place. Not the experience, not the miscarriage. Joyce couldn't have done anything to prevent that, but for leaving her daughter alone in all this, without her mother, who obviously hadn't been there for her when Buffy had needed her desperately. That didn't mean that mother and daughter didn't need to talk, but right now wasn't the time for it. It would come - but later, when emotions were less raw, and hopefully less painful.

So Angel dismissed Joyce from his thoughts for the time being, focusing back on the woman in his arms, her hot tears falling onto his shirt, burning the skin underneath with the despair they stood for. But maybe, and Angel hoped this would be the case, they were healing tears, too. Maybe they could help to ease the pain that had so long held her soul in itТs fist, had crippled her slowly, to a point where she'd been too afraid to love, or let someone else love her.

Although listening to her sobs and tears was painful, Angel did listen - not trying to soothe with words that meant nothing, just holding her, stroking her back, showing her that he was there, that she could count on him, trust him. He would show her that he was nothing like the man who'd taken her virginity as if it meant nothing, and then had abandoned her. The man who'd never known that he'd left her with a child, a child long dead and gone.

A part of him felt a perverse satisfaction at the thought. This man would never know that he'd created something beautiful with her, something she'd loved instantly. He would never know what could have been, and in Angel's eyes that alone was punishment. He thought about Buffy being pregnant with his child, the idea filling his heart with such joy he wanted to burst, and he thought about not even knowing it. Yes, he thought again, this was punishment, albeit unconsciously, like a precious gift you never received, a joy never given to you. This man had hurt her, and in return had been denied of what Angel considered a miracle. It wasn't enough, but it was something.

He heard Mrs. Summers in the kitchen clattering with cups, while Buffy was slowly calming down in his arms. "I cried all over you," she said, her voice muffled in his shirt. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he told her, giving his voice all the softness he could muster. "I'm glad I was here, glad you trusted me with this."

"You are, huh?" She looked up then, a slight smile playing around her lips, and it warmed his heart.

"Yes," he smiled back, cupping her cheek. "I meant what I said before, Buffy. I love you. And this Е it's part of loving someone. Being there for that person. For good and bad."

Something between a sob and a laugh tore from her throat, "Bad, maybe. But this certainly qualifies as worse. You want the worse moments, too?"

"Definitely," he replied without hesitation, looking deeply into her eyes.

She raised a hand, wiping the tears from her face, "I'm a mess tonight, Angel. I'm, I don't even know what I am. I Е I think I'm not ready for this, yet."

Again he smiled, "That's okay. I'm not expecting anything. I know this was hard for you - and I feel humbled that you told me."

"Okay," she said simply, running a hand through her hair, stifling a yawn.

Gently his thumb stroked the soft skin on her cheek, "You're tired. Emotional revelations can be very draining." "You seem to know what you're talking about."

He saw her looking at him with a hint of curiosity and a silent question, but he couldn't answer her, because he was too drained himself. But also because he had promised not to tell, had made a vow to his sister in a night a lot like this, with Katie's body in his arms, sobbing out her very soul.

So he simply shrugged, "Life experience," he told her vaguely.

"Because you're so old," she joked, but her eyes were still sad, although he noticed they weren't as desperate anymore as they had been before. It wasn't much, but maybe it was a start. Healing wouldn't come overnight, and Angel didn't expect it to, but he needed something to hold onto, needed something to hang his hope on. Because he wasn't going to give this up, give her up. He might still be young in years, but his life had been far from easy and he knew that something like this didn't happen all the time. She was too important to let her slip away. "I might be younger than you," but my life experience certainly matches yours, he'd almost said, but in the face of her recent revelation he wasn't so sure anymore. He couldn't, didn't even want to, imagine what it meant to lose a child, even one you hadn't had the chance to hold in your arms. So he simply said, "But does it really matter?"

She looked at him long and seriously, before she replied, "Maybe not. But I can't think about it. Not tonight."

Angel saw Mrs. Summers coming back again, holding a cup of tea in her hand, "Did you notice your mother is here?"

Buffy's startled eyes flew to the older woman who was now kneeling down beside her, still holding the cup. "Mom?"

"Yes, baby. I'm here."

"Oh, mom," Buffy pressed a hand on her lips, only now realizing that her mother had heard the story too.

"It's okay," Joyce said soothingly, glad when Angel took the cup from her hands, and reached out to her child. "I needed to hear it. And I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry I was such a horrible mother."

"Oh, mom," Buffy said again, "I never thought that."

"I know," Joyce smiled despite the pain Angel could see in her eyes, "But it's the truth. But maybe," she wet her lips, uncertain how to go on, "if you let me, we could try to make this better. I never wanted us to drift apart like this. Maybe it's too late to be your mother again, but how about being a friend, do you have any need for one in your life?"

Another sob came from the younger woman's throat, and with a muffled cry she flung herself into her mother's waiting arms. "Oh, mom. Yes, yes, I'd like that. A friend. A mother. Mom, I missed you so."

"And I missed you," Joyce replied. Her eyes met Angel's over her daughter's shoulder, and there was a world of emotions in them. Angel knew they had to talk, all of them, especially Buffy and her mom. But that would come later. Today all that mattered was that the healing had begun.

Part 18

There is always a wicked secret,

a private person Е

--- W.H. Auden

Joyce closed the door quietly, careful not to disturb Buffy who had fallen into a light sleep only moments ago. She sighed and leaned against the door, closing her own eyes for a moment, when she suddenly remembered that there was still a man sitting in her daughter's kitchen, a man whose full name she still didn't know. She'd been tempted to ask her daughter about him, but one look at her still tear stained face, the swollen eyes, the exhaustion that seemed to have invaded every fiber of Buffy's body wasn't something she could just ignore. So she hadn't asked, but she still wanted to know.

Maybe it was just curiosity, or maybe it was the concern of a mother who'd just rediscovered her true responsibilities, that made her push away from the door and walk slowly into the small kitchen. There he sat, long legs stretched out in front of him, head leaned against the wall, eyes closed.

For a moment Joyce just looked at him. He seemed awfully young and vulnerable that way, certainly not older than the twenty-six years Buffy had mentioned, but Mrs. Summers already knew that the moment he opened his eyes the impression would change completely. There was a world of knowledge in those eyes that seemed much too old for the man they belonged to, and Joyce found herself wondering what had happened in his life to put that knowledge there.

The very same moment said eyes opened and stifling a yawn, he gave her a smile, straightening in the chair. "Mrs. Summers," he acknowledged her, standing up, impressing her with his manners. She knew the reaction had been unconscious, he was too tired, too concerned to care, and maybe because of that, it impressed her even more.

"Please sit down," she nodded at him. "I still don't know how to call you."

"Liam," he replied, smiling again. "Liam Sullivan."

"My daughter," she cleared her throat that was still feeling raw from the emotional roller-coaster she'd been through tonight, "called you Е Angel?"

She almost smiled when he blushed slightly, "That," he laughed a little, obviously embarrassed. "My sister used to call me that. And somehow, it stuck." He shrugged, "I don't know why, but Buffy insists on using the stupid name." Joyce nodded, understanding instantly why her daughter had chosen to stick with his nickname. It somehow fit the man she was looking at. She had seen his gentleness while dealing with a distraught Buffy, had heard the softness in his voice, all his senses attuned to the woman he obviously loved. "I see," she nodded again, finding a chair for herself, and rubbed her temples wearily.

"She is asleep?" he inquired, concern heavy in his gaze.

"Yes," she nodded for the third time, raising her head, "Finally. I'm ... IТm still having trouble coming to terms with what I heard tonight. To think she never told me," she shook her head. "I always wanted to be the best mother. I read so many books, but Е I'm a total failure."

"Don't," he said softly, much in the same tone he'd used with Buffy before, and Joyce looked up. "Beating yourself up won't help. Buffy needs you. Now. That's all that matters. This isn't a best-mother-of-the-year contest."

Scrutinizing his gaze for a long moment, Joyce was again stunned by the wisdom this young man obviously possessed. Then - once again - she looked into his eyes and it all seemed so clear. Slowly she ran a hand through her hair, "Do you want something?" she asked, gesturing at the kitchen counter.

"No, thanks," he declined with a smile. She looked tired and worn, Angel noticed. Which, given the circumstances, wasn't surprising at all. How would he feel finding out that his daughter had kept something like that from him? The way Joyce obviously felt right now, he thought, answering his own question. "But what about you?"

"No," she sighed wearily. "I couldn't, not now." With a glance at the clock, she leaned back in her chair, "You seemed to know exactly what to say to her."

He shrugged, a little bit uncomfortable with the change of subject. "I've had some Е experience." He'd given everything not to have it, but tonight it had proven useful at least.

Joyce waited a moment, before she asked, "Someone close to you?"

Angel knew that she wasnТt trying to be nosy, or intrusive. She just wanted to understand, wanted to hear a reason why Buffy had told him and not her. Still, he didn't want to answer, but did nevertheless. "Yes," he said finally. "She's Еhad it rough."

She nodded, considering his words, realizing that for some reason he wasn't offering more. But somehow - maybe because she'd seen him with Buffy tonight - she didn't need anything else. Where she once would have demanded a lengthy explanation, she kept quiet now. "I wish," she said finally, "her step-father was still alive. He always knew how to handle her. They had a special connection. Something," she laughed quickly, unhappily, "I'm painfully missing."

Angel ignored her self-loathing, and instead concentrated on the other subject, "Buffy loved him very much."

It wasn't a question, Joyce realised, but a statement, and again she wondered what this young man already knew about her daughter. "She told you about him?"

"I draw," he replied to give her an explanation, "and I paint, even though I'm not anywhere as good as your late husband. But in that way we had something in common."

"I see," Joyce nodded again, thinking that Rupert's painting couldn't be the only thing they had in common. Not only had Buffy told Angel about her experience in college, sheТd told him about her step-father, a subject she never touched, not even with her mother. Not that it meant much, Joyce thought with an inward sigh. After tonight she had seen the full extent of the degree mother and daughter had grown apart, had been forced to face the unpleasant truth. But Buffy had opened up to Angel in a way that was heartbreaking and touching at the same time. Buffy had opened up her soul, had given the young man her trust. Growing apart or not, Joyce was certain of one thing. Buffy had never been one to give her trust easily, but when she gave it, it meant something.

Even though Joyce was still trying to found out what exactly.

"So Buffy and you have been seeing each other?" she asked finally, cautiously. Angel wouldn't betray Buffy's trust, Joyce knew.

And true, the moment the words were out of her mouth, his eyes narrowed slightly, and he looked at her speculatively. "I'm not sure this is something you should discuss with me," he replied slowly, pronouncing each word carefully, but his voice was still soft, not at all offended or defensive.

Joyce smiled slightly, she couldn't help herself, "Have people ever told you that you surprise them?"

A smiled crept up his features in return, transforming them from good looking and serious to dangerously attractive, "Once or twice."

"I can't imagine why", she said dryly, but there was a lot of humor in her voice. "You're not at all what I expected when I saw you."

"Why?" he shot back, "Because I'm not wearing a suit and tie. Or because I'm younger than your daughter?"

"A little bit of both, I think," she replied honestly. "To my embarrassment, I have to admit I tend to be one of those people who judge others too quickly sometimes. But one is never too old to change, I suppose."

He let that remark go, knowing that it didn't need to be commented on. Instead he leaned back, looked at Buffy's mother for a moment, before he said slowly, "Maybe it's a good time to warn you now."

Her brows shot straight up, "Warn me?"

"Yeah," the smile crept up again, softening his serious eyes. "I'm planning to stick around Buffy for a while, probably a long while, so you'd better get used to me."

She should be outraged, Joyce knew, but after everything she'd seen tonight, there was no outrage left, no indignation at his statement. He didn't look at all like the man she'd hoped for her daughter, and yet he seemed to be exactly what she needed. Sometimes, she thought with a chuckle, mothers just had to accept things and be glad they'd worked out so well. Especially mothers who'd forgotten what it meant to be one.

"Is that so?" she looked at him sternly, but couldn't hold back her grin for long. "Well, if that's the truth, we'd probably better start by you calling me Joyce."

*****

She was smiling at her. A full blown, toothless smile, a smile she knew so well. That little girl with blond locks and blue eyes, blue eyes like all babies have, blue eyes like an angel.

She had seen the smile before, so often she couldn't count. And she knew the girl. Only sometimes it was a boy. A little boy with dark eyes and hair. His feet were perfect. His hands were, too. The hands of an artist. A painter. Or a musician. A baby's hands.

A smile played on Buffy's features as she slept. The same smile she saw on the baby's face. Happy. Content. But her head was already thrashing left and right, knowing what would come, knowing the joy wouldn't last long, couldn't last long.

The shadow came slowly, it always did. Dark and threatening, and it was going to steal the smile and the baby. The shadow didn't have a face or a smile. It didn't have eyes, nor hands or feet. It was just dark and dangerous. And painful. God, she was so tired of the pain, didn't want to feel it anymore. But she knew it was in vain. She could already feel the edges of it, could already feel it tearing at her womb, taking what was precious, what she already loved

Her fingers clawed into the sheet, the covers already on the floor. She was lying on the bed only in a tee-shirt and panties, trying to fight the pain, trying not to surrender to the fight she knew she couldn't win. It would go. The smile. The laughter. The beautiful eyes. She was prepared for it, knew it, but that didn't mean it would hurt less.

Buffy gasped for air, the nightmare still holding her in it's grasp. Tears started leaping from her closed lids, forming little streams on her cheeks, instantly wiped away when the skin came into contact with the pillow while her head was thrashing from one side to the other. She tried to reach for the smile, but the shadow was already growing, tried to hold on to the eyes, but they were already gone, blinded by pain and fear. Then suddenly a little ray of light started to built at one edge of the shadow, growing bigger by the second. It had only been a shimmer at first, but now it was spreading, starting to surround the shadow, chasing it away.

And after a few moments there was so much light, Buffy felt almost blinded by it. She tried to see, tried to reach out. But it was too late, the smile and laughter was gone. But for the first time, so was the shadow.

The thrashing of her head stopped the moment her eyes popped open, staring at nothing for a short moment, before focusing on the ceiling that was barely visible in the dark bedroom. Only the pale light of the not quite full moon shone through the window where the curtains hadn't been closed. Her breathing slowing, Buffy wiped the remaining traces of tears from her cheeks. What a strange dream. It had been so familiar, she'd dreamt it hundreds of times before, but never had it ended in pure light. Always the shadow had won.

She remembered waking up in Riley's arms, crying and screaming the name she'd given her unborn child, remembered Riley trying to soothe her, but at loss how, not knowing what had caused the nightmare in the first place. A part of her had longed to snuggle into his embrace, to let his strong arms surround her with warmth. But strangely his arms had never promised warmth or tenderness. They'd felt like something foreign, something that didn't belong there. And suddenly it was all there. The warmth. The tenderness. The light. She didn't feel alone like usual. She felt enveloped in love and understanding, felt treasured and held, even though she was alone in her bed. But in her heart she knew that he was out there, still watching over her, that he hadn't just left when her mother had helped her to go to bed.

She'd thought herself ruined forever, ruined for any kind of emotional bond, for any kind of trust, and in consequence, for love. Because there was no love where there was no trust. It had been her reason for going for nice and easy - for the Rileys in this world. The good, reliable guys that were undemanding, and utterly harmless, because they had never touched her heart, her inner core.

And like a curtain being torn from her inner eye, she realised with startling awareness that that had been the reason for her shying away from Angel. From the first moment sheТd met him, she'd felt something stirring inside of her, had felt that hiding from his knowing eyes wasn't possible. With a feeling that bordered on despair, that hidden part had reached out for him, wanting him, as if he was the one, the only one to heal her wounds, to soothe her broken spirit and soul.

Funny that he'd had the same impact on her like his step-brother had had so many years ago. The attraction had been instant and strong. The difference was she had been a stupid girl then, and was a wary woman now. And where there had been darkness and carelessness in Parker, there was so much light, so much tenderness in Angel, it took her breath away.

She'd been pushing him away, telling herself that it could never work, that he was too young, too different, while her heart had already known it had been nothing but excuses, born from her fear of risking her heart again. But he hadn't run like others, he'd stayed, had shown his love in so many ways, she couldn't count. He'd taken her insults, had taken her flirting with Spike, had taken everything because he loved her, because Е she mattered to him.

He wasn't like Parker who had only needed a few hours to replace her with the next stupid girl on campus. Angel was nothing like his step-brother. He was true, strong, loving, and she trusted him. And, she admitted to herself for the first time, she loved him. And this love was spreading like a fire through her, warming places she'd thought cold and lost forever, opening her soul and heart. She wasn't emotionally crippled like she'd thought all these years. She loved. And was loved back. And it was the most amazing feeling she'd ever known.

Part 19

Special disclaimer: the lyrics used in this are from the song УLove Must Be Telling Me SomethingФ by LeAnn Rimes from her album УI Need YouФ. They are not mine. Never will be. *sigh*. Lyrics in //Е//

Faith Marshall was still furious with herself, with her parents, with Lindsey MacDonald, and with the world in general, when the door of her dorm room opened at ten o'clock at night, and her friend and roommate wandered in, wearing a silly, satisfied grin on her face.

Tess stopped as soon as her eyes fell on the other woman, lying sprawled on her stomach on her bed, "Hey, Faith. You're back." She stopped, sniffed, "Did you - smoke?"

Damn. Some of the stale smoke that seemed to be attached to Lindsey's clothes still had to be in the air. Faith pushed herself into a sitting position, "A friend came to visit," she replied. It wasn't actually a lie. Someone had come to visit. Only, he wasn't a friend. They might have fucked like bunny rabbits, but nothing earth-shattering had happened.

**Really?** a little voice inside her head whispered. **And how about that earth-shattering climax. How about those stormy eyes you don't seem able to forget?**

Disturbed with the annoying little voice, Faith tucked her long hair behind her ears, "We talked." Now that was an outright lie, but no way she'd tell her friend what had happened in this room tonight. And on the very spot Tess was standing in.

"That means it wasn't the one who was here this afternoon," Tess said while crossing the room to her own bed and sitting down.

Friend? She didn't have friends. Besides Tess, that is. Instantly alert, Faith straightened, her gaze sharpening on her friend. "Someone was here today?"

"Mmmmm," Tess replied, lying back on the bed, still fully clothed, and sighing contentedly. "You know," she added dreamily, "Daniel is such a sweetie."

Irritated with the change of subject, Faith tried to control her annoyance, and asked, "Daniel? You mean Daniel Carmichael?" If the situation had been different, if she hadn't been in this mess, she had brought on her all by herself, she might have been able to sound interested at the news of her best friend dating the college quarterback, but as it was, her voice sounded flat, the interest forced.

And Tess - knowing her like nobody else did - knew it instantly, "Excuse me," she said bitingly, "that my private life isn't as interesting and fucked up as yours."

Hating herself for her reaction because she cared for Tess in a way she cared for nobody else, Faith stood up, and walked to her friendТs bed, looking down at her for a moment, then sitting on the edge. "I'm sorry," she said, reaching for her friend's hand. "I don't mean to be such a bitch, it's just Еeverything is so complicated and," she grinned slightly, "fucked up."

After a moment Tess grinned back, "Yeah, I know." She sighed, "And I didn't mean to sound soЕ so selfish."

"No, that's okay. So you went on a date with Daniel Carmichael. That's great news." Again the enthusiasm was missing from her voice, Faith realised, but at least she sounded more sincere.

"Yeah," another happy sigh slipped from Tess' lips. "We didn't actually *do* anything, mind, but the evening was so Е he was sweet, and thoughtful, and perfect."

"Sounds like a match made in heaven," the brunette replied, smiling to take the edge from her words. But when she saw her friend's smile fall, she sighed, and ran a hand through her hair. "God, Tess, I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me tonight."

**Liar, liar, pants on fire.** The little voice taunted. **You know exactly what's wrong with you. You can't forget about your stormy eyed prince in an expensive suit. The guy who marched into your life like a thunderstorm and refused to leave again.**

God, this was disturbing. Nobody could call her innocent, Faith thought with an inward laugh that wasn't laughter at all. No, nobody could, not by a long shot. Still, Lindsey MacDonald, with his blue eyes that could turn to stormy gray in the matter of moments, had touched something inside of her nobody had ever touched before. And it was turning her insides upside down.

"Hey, it's okay," Tess' hand squeezed her own. "I know a lot's going on in your life. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes for all your dad's money."

A sarcastic smile turned up Faith's lips. "Thanks. So, that friend of mine you mentioned. Do you remember the name?"

"No," Tess shook her head. "Sorry. He might have said it, but it somehow slipped my mind. But he was Е a hunk. Tall, dark, handsome. A slightly brooding look, but you know how that adds to some men's attraction."

Alarm bells rang in the back of Faith's mind. She didn't know anyone who fit the description. Wrong, she amended instantly. She might know someone, but for the life of her couldn't remember who. Too many men had come and gone throughout her life, to rule out the possibility of the one Tess had just described. "What did he want?" she asked finally when she caught Tess looking at her expectantly.

"So you don't know him?"

"No," Faith shook her head, hoping it was true.

"Well, he said he was a PI-"

"A PI?" The alarm bells were ringing up a storm by now. A PI?

"Well, yeah. I supposed he works for your dad," Tess stopped, chewing her lower lip, "at least that's what I assumed. Thinking about it, he never really said. He asked some questions about you."

By now her ears were almost falling off by the tornado the alarm bells were causing in her head, "What questions?"

"Nothing special. What kind of girl you were? He knew about Kevin."

The blood drained from Faith's face in a rush, her skin suddenly feeling clammy and strangely unreal. "K-kevin?" she stuttered.

"Yeah." Confused. Tess sat up, touching her friend's shoulder, "Hey, is something wrong? He really talked as if he knew."

"N-no," Faith shook her head, feeling a tremble run through her whole body. Kevin. God, she couldn't think about Kevin. It was the one thing in her thoroughly fucked up life she really wanted to forget, but somehow it seemed to pop up at every turn. She didn't seem able to get rid of the stain the memory still caused on her soul. Involuntarily her left hand moved to her stomach, a place where once a child had nestled, a child she'd killed. It didn't matter that her parents had forced her to have an abortion. She'd been nineteen then, an adult, it had ultimately been her decision. She had killed her child, and she had to live with it. Not her parents, who had long forgotten about that "incident."

"Faith, are you okay?"

She heard Tess' voice as if from a great distance, and nodded, not wanting to worry her. Tess was her friend, but how could she understand what it meant to kill something that was already part of you? "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Why don't you tell me more about your date with Daniel?" she asked, standing and walking back to her own bed. She let Tess' voice wash over her, hoping it would rid her of the guilt and pain, but knowing it would never happen.

*****

She looked exhausted, her hair mused from sleep, her eyes red-rimmed. Her cheeks still bore the traces of recent tears, but to Angel she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. When she saw him, the sleepiness seemed to vanish, and a hesitant smile tilted up the corners of her mouth that caused a funny feeling to spread through his chest, enveloping his heart, making him feel joyously happy and dizzy at the same time. He tried to put a halt to this feeling, tried to rein in his hope, not wanting to read too much in that one tentative smile, but knew it was already too late. His hope had already shot right through the roof. There was no way he could put a lid on it now.

"Hey," he said softly, hoping his voice wouldn't come out too hoarse, expressing everything he felt at the sight of her, only dressed in panties and a skimpy t-shirt.

She stopped in mid-stride, her smile slipping a little, but she looked at him steadily, and there was something in her eyes he didn't quite dare to read. It was a new softness he hadn't seen before.

"Buffy!" Joyce turned away from the sink where she'd just been rinsing a cup and smiled at her daughter, "How are you feeling?"

"What," Buffy began, then cleared her throat when her voice wouldnТt come out in little more than a whisper. "What time is it?" she managed finally.

"A little after midnight," Joyce supplied, filling the cup in her hand with shaky fingers. She didn't know what to expect from her daughter now, didn't know how to act around her. She was still the same Buffy, but in a way, she also wasn't. So she took the easiest way for now, "Do you want something?" She gestured at the cup in her hand.

"No, thanks," Buffy retorted on a little yawn, before her attention shifted to Angel. "You're still here."

The slight wonder in her voice, and the pleased surprise in her eyes did funny things to his gut, and Angel realised that she hadn't had a lot of good surprises in her life. No, mostly they'd been quite the opposite, like realising that the father of your unborn child was nothing but scum, or that your boyfriend didn't remember the first girl he'd been intimate with. Angel made a vow to himself, there and then, that from now on he'd bring a lot of good surprises into her life.

He smiled softly, "Where would I go?"

"How about home?" she replied, sitting down on the chair opposite to his.

He shrugged, "Not that I don't like my house, and maybe I could have done something really important. Like cleaning. But did you really expect me to just go?"

She waited what seemed like an endless moment with her answer, the importance, the profoundness of it hanging in the air like lead. And when a silent, almost whispered, "No," left her lips, her eyes met Angel's and held, a world of meaning passing between them.

//CanТt speak, canТt breathe
CanТt get up off my knees
DonТt know what comes over me//

Joyce suddenly felt like an intruder into something private, something she wasn't part of. A part of her resented it, she was Buffy's mother after all, knew her daughter for more than 30 years. Another part wanted to just leave - they might not notice her departure anyway - but something kept her rooted in place. For the most part, however, she just couldn't go, after forming a new, but still very fragile, bond with her daughter tonight.

That very same moment, Buffy seemed to remember her mother's presence, and with great difficulty - so it seemed - tore her gaze away from the man across the table. "Mom," she said slowly, "You must be tired."

Tired? Joyce didn't feel tired at all. Emotionally drained. Yes. Weary. Maybe. But not tired. Her whole being was still in turmoil from all the things she never wanted, but had needed, to hear. Yet, she was still mother enough to recognize the silent message Buffy was sending with her eyes.

Lying through her teeth, something she'd never done before, but which was maybe a result of her newly required mother instinct, Joyce looked around for the purse she'd deposed somewhere but long forgotten. "Yes, yes," she nodded, "I'm tired."

Buffy's mouth turned into a half-smile in response, a smile that seemed so much more intimate than all the forced cheer Joyce had received over the past years. Blinking against the tears that were suddenly threatening to well up, she saw her purse laying on the desk in the hallway. "I'm going to leave you on your own now." She gave the couple a smile, "Angel, it was nice meeting you, maybe you'll come over some time. With Buffy. I'd like to have you for dinner."

Without looking up, without taking his eyes from her daughter's face, Angel nodded, "That would be nice."

"Well, then it's settled," Joyce walked back to her daughter, purse in hand. She bent down and kissed the younger woman's cheek, glad when Buffy didn't flinch the way she had so often before. "See you soon, honey," she whispered.

"Thank you, mom. For being there for me."

God, she had to leave now, Joyce thought desperately, or she'd start to bawl like a little girl. "Bye," she said instead, hurrying out of the apartment without looking back, content in the knowledge that her daughter had all that mattered right now.

Buffy found him watching her the moment the door fell shut, and she focused on Angel again. His lids had dropped slightly, giving his eyes an intense and strangely disturbing look.

//Whenever you come near
HeartТs pounding in my chest
Little voice inside my head
CanТt hear a word it says
But the feelingТs loud and clear.//

Buffy felt heat spread through her body, her lips suddenly going dry, and it intensified when he finally spoke, his voice hoarse with a mixture of suppressed passion and want. "You sent her away," he said slowly, his eyes darkening underneath the lids.

"Yes, I did," she confirmed, holding his gaze.

"Why?" He bit out the one word, as if it was too hard to say it at all.

"I think you know why." She gave him a smile that grew slightly tremulous. It was ridiculous, she told herself. She'd made love with him on the hood of a car, and in the dirt beside a highway, but somehow this was different. They had come together in a moment of heated passion then. Tonight, however, she was initiating it on purpose, and with a feeling in her heart that made her utterly vulnerable.

//Love must be telling me something
Giving me some kind of sign
Spelling it out for me
Love must be telling me
I must be falling tonight//

She saw him shift slightly in his chair, for a moment wondering if the reason could be an arousal as painful as hers, for she was most certainly aroused, the heat between her legs turning into a most delightful ache she welcomed with pleasure. It was all because of him, the man her heart had taken in whole, had admitted she loved, and for him, the man who'd stood by her, had not wavered, no matter how hard she'd tried to push him away.

"Buffy." His voice pulled her from her thoughts. "I'm not sure this is a good idea tonight, not after-"

"I am sure," she said firmly. No way she would let him retreat, would let him go all gentlemanly on her. Not tonight of all nights, not when she'd finally discovered she was still capable of love, of joy, of pleasure. Not when she needed him, when every fibre of her body was crying out for him. "I am very sure," she repeated, emphasising her point. Then she reached out, covering his hands with hers. "Or don't you want me?"

//IТve been in love and lost
I swore IТd sworn it off
No matter what the cost
IТd learn to live without//

His response was a low groan that seemed to come from a place deep inside of him. "God, Buffy. I'll always want you, no matter what. I just thought-"

She put two fingers over his lips, sealing them, the contact sending goose-bumps all over her body. "Then why don't you stop thinking now," she suggested, letting her voice drop to a seductive whisper, "and take me to bed instead?"

//But you werenТt in my plans
Now baby here I am
I still donТt understand
But I know there ainТt no doubt//

She could see the moment his control snapped, could see his eyes going almost black, his lids dropping even further, giving his face a thoroughly sensual look. He was out of his chair in a flash, gathering her in his arms, lifting her up, and as they were getting closer to the bedroom, his mouth was already fusing with hers, his tongue demanding entrance while his teeth were nipping her lips, gently teasing, promising more to come.

The door to her bedroom was thankfully open, so he just pushed his way inside, Buffy still securely wrapped in his arms, her hands roaming through his hair, making the skin of his skull tingle. As soon as they reached her bed, his knees bumping against the edge, he let her down gently, but kept contact with her, not willing to break it. "Buffy," he whispered her name hoarsely, his hand combing through her blond hair, so soft to his touch, like silk, caressing his skin. "God, Buffy."

She chuckled then, a low sound, thoroughly sensual, but a bit uncertain at the same time, "I know," she whispered, her eyes locking with his. "I know. You can't know how I feel right now. When I lost the baby," she paused, searching for something in his eyes, then, obviously finding it, she went on, "I wanted to die. A part of me did."

"But you're alive, Buffy. And so am I. And that's what counts. All that counts." He kissed her, softly this time, without tongue, just a touch lips to lips, sweet, almost hesitant, before he looked at her again. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I'm starting to," she replied, laughing shakily. Her heart was pounding in her chest, almost jumping with the sheer joy. It was a feeling that was so completely foreign to her, she could hardly bear it. She could smell his musky scent, could feel the heat emanating from him, enveloping her, warming her from the inside where she'd been so cold, so alone for so long.

Slowly she lifted her hand to his cheek, feeling the rough unshaven planes of his face. He looked tired, probably a lot like herself, but it didn't matter, for his eyes were so alive, so sparkling, she couldn't stop looking into them. They were reaching deep into her soul and stirring the ashes of what she had thought were long-dead coals - starting a fire that was blazing through her now. "I Е I can't promise you anything," she told him, feeling shaky to the core. She had admitted to herself she loved him, but wasn't ready to tell him. Not yet. But soon, she promised herself, she would tell him soon.

"I'm not asking you to," he retorted, "If I learned anything from life, it's that there aren't any guarantees. There can't be. Life is too uncertain.Ф

"But I know I need you tonight. More than you'll ever know."

"I doubt that," he said, smiling slightly. "How could you need me more than I need you? Tonight. Forever."

Her heart fluttered, and so did her stomach, "Forever is such a long time."

"Not long enough. Not nearly long enough." Cutting off further conversation his lips covered hers again, and they parted instantly. Hot and slow his tongue slipped into her mouth, tasting, questing, promising. She felt his breath on her cheeks as his lips left her mouth, found a path from her cheeks, to her closed eyelids, then down to the sensitive hollow of her throat, hot and alive, burning her, claiming her, warming her.

His arms came around her, pulling her closer, his lips whispering her name over and over. Buffy let her head fall back, let the sensations wash over her. She knew she was mainly taking and not giving, but it didn't seem to matter to him, didn't seem to slow him down. She could feel his hands slip underneath her shirt, like two burning furnaces on the bare skin of her back. She felt her body turning to liquid fire, molten and languid, fiercely aching for his touch.

Her breasts felt full and waiting, her nipples already erect, hardened even more when his mouth claimed them through the shirt. She moaned, her fingers clawing his hair, her body arching against him, wanting him more than anything she'd ever wanted in her life.

His hands wandered down her side, his fingertips tracing every curve, every line of her body, down over her hips and finally coming to rest on her abdomen. "Maybe one day," he whispered, "we will have a baby."

Startled from the passion that was already spiralling out of control, she looked at him, "Wh-what?"

"Nothing," he whispered, kissing her again. "Do you ever imagine what it would have looked like?" he asked.

"Looked like?"

"The baby," he clarified. "Do you sometimes imagine its face?" He already did, he realised, could already picture a little girl with blond hair and hazel eyes, the image of her mother. SheТd be a miniature Buffy, a girl he could spoil and protect, and make sure she would never drift away from her parents the way her mother had. A girl that would help to chase Buffy's shadows away. She would never forget about the child she had lost, she wouldn't be the woman he loved it she could, but maybe she would learn to live with it, secure in the love and trust she was receiving.

She stared at him for a moment, saw the love and understanding in his eyes, the warmth, and nodded, "Yes, I do. All the time. Sometimes she has blue eyes, or he has dark ones."

"Sometimes it's a boy and sometimes a girl?"

"Hmmm," she agreed, when his hand slipped back underneath her tee-shirt, moving upward, towards the curve of her breast. "God, Angel."

"I love you," he said, kissing her again, "I'm glad you can talk about it now."

"Only with you," she replied, kissing him back.

"I'm glad," he whispered, the love for her consuming him completely.

"I was so cold for so long, Angel," she told him, "so cold."

"Then," he said, his warm breath, tickling the skin of her neck, "let me warm you. Let me chase the cold away."

//But you werenТt in my plans
Now baby here I am
I still donТt understand
But I know there ainТt no doubt.//

Go to Part 20