Part 20

When a noise, sounding a lot like someone ringing the bell at his front door, came floating to Wesley’s ears, he didn’t open his eyes. Groaning instead, he reached for the pillow next to him and pulled it over his head, hoping to block out the ringing noise that went from his ears straight to his head, almost splitting it in two, reminding him once again why downing two whole bottles of Scotch last night had been a bad thing for a guy at his age.

But self-pity, loneliness, and a dose of good old despair thrown into the mix had made him forget all about his almost forty year old body, and the way it wouldn’t take it too kindly when fed with an unusual amount of alcohol. Something he would pay for dearly the whole morning he guessed.

He’d been out for the better part of yesterday, trying to research stuff for the book he was planning to write for ages, but never had found time for. Now with the mess Faith Marshall had made of his career, he finally had the time, although it was still highly unlikely any publisher would be interested in a book by someone who’d been accused of sexually harassing one of his students. But with nothing better to do, researching a book had still looked better than just staring into space the whole day, and so he’d gone off to the college library, a place still open to him, even though he was suspended otherwise.

And it had helped taking his mind off his current problems, stopped him from thinking about the progress Kathie’s brother would make or make not. The whole thing was driving him crazy the way it was. So he’d actually managed to do something for the book that might never be published after all, and returned to his home hoping to find something on his answering machine from Liam, telling him about his progress. But all that had been waiting for him was a call from Kathie cancelling their date because of an emergency with a friend, and no news from her brother.

Thoroughly frustrated with the day, Wesley had finally succumbed to those two bottles of Scotch, the results he could now feel in a pounding headache and a stomach that had long gone from queasy to openly revolting, clearly protesting against the mistreatment of the previous night.

The ringing came again, longer this time, and with a frustrated groan, Wesley threw the pillow away, struggled to sit up on his bed without having his head split in two by the blinding pain that shot through his skull. Realising he was still fully dressed, all his clothes wrinkled to a point where it almost looked fashionable again, he finally managed to stand, glad the world wasn’t spinning around him, even though his stomach protested against the sudden change of direction and squeezed dangerously.

Fighting down the nausea, Wesley found his way towards his door, then tore it open, determined to shout at whoever was daring to disturb his Saturday morning, but the words died on his lips when he saw Kathie standing in front of him, her chestnut hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing old, faded jeans, a red turtleneck and the barest hint of makeup. His stomach did a funny little flip-flop that had nothing to do with too much Scotch, and a lot with his hormones that seemed to have gone wild lately. “Kathie?” He stared at her, unable to tear his gaze from her beautiful brown eyes.

She stared right back at him, probably assessing the situation, taking in his rumpled appearance, the yellowish colour Wesley knew his face must show. “Uh-oh,” she made, not waiting for him to invite her, just pushing past, and entering his house as if it was her own, something that sent another little flip-flop through his system. It was a nice idea thinking of his house as theirs. “You smell like the next low-life bar after midnight,” she commented finding her way into the kitchen and Wesley had no problem detecting the disapproval in her voice.

Absentmindedly closing the door, he turned, following her and finding her at the sink deposing the contents of a paper bag he’d not seen her carrying before. He couldn’t exactly make out what she’d brought with her, but glimpses of red and green led him to believe it was vegetables.

The thought of actual food sent another wave of nausea through him, making him feel as green as the cucumber she put on the counter beside the sink. “I … uh … suppose I had a little bit too much last night,” he said after his stomach had settled and the dizziness in his head vanished.

One of her delicate brows came up, “A little?”

Annoyed with her insight, but more with his own foolish behaviour, he sighed, “Okay, I had two bottles of Scotch. Expensive ones, if I may add. So what? I’m an adult. I can choose to get drunk if I want.”

“No arguments on the chosen part,” she replied, not looking at him, “but I’m not sure about the adult thing. Adults don’t drink themselves into oblivion.”

He heard the edge in her voice, saw the strange stiffness in her shoulders, but he was too surprised by her strange behaviour that he didn’t pay them any attention at first. “I wasn’t oblivious,” he protested, then thinking about the way he’d passed out on his bed, still wearing all his clothes, he amended, “Okay, I acted irrational. I felt sorry for myself.” He paused for a beat, then added, “I missed you.”

“That’s … nice to hear,” she said, still not turning around, “but … I … I never saw you drink before. And of course I didn’t see it last night, either, but … do you drink … often?” The question came out oddly forced, and Wesley saw she had gripped the counter so tightly, her knuckles turned white.

Forgetting all about his headache and his nausea, Wesley was behind her in two steps. Cautiously reaching out, he planted a hand on her shoulder, startled by the tight knotted muscles in it. “Kathie?” he asked softly, “What is it?”

She said nothing for a moment, then a pained little noise left her lips, sounding a lot like a little kitten in pain. Wesley felt it slice through him like a knife. “Kathie?” he asked again. “Did I do anything? I really don’t drink as a rule. The last time I got drunk like that was,” he chuckled slightly, “I have a hard time remembering it, some time during college I suppose.”

A forced laugh left her mouth then, but it instantly turned into a sob, and with utmost tenderness he turned her to him, tilting up her face, and found her eyes swimming in tears. “Kathie?” he said her name for the third time. “Darling, what is the matter?”

She had to smile at the endearment that slipped so much easier these days, but couldn’t help a tear to slip from her eye. Shaking her head, she said, “There is … nothing. I’m just being silly.”

Disappointment flickered in his eyes, and with a stab Kathie realised it was because of her. She and Wesley had steady gotten closer over the past weeks, his kisses had grown bolder, but they hadn’t been intimate beyond a passionate kiss and the occasional fondling. And it was because of her, because she wasn’t ready for more, wasn’t ready to give up her last safety belt, to let him tear down the rest of her protective wall.

“I see,” he said tightly, pulling back, taking with him the warmth that had enveloped her just before. “So you still don’t trust me, huh? Do you think there is something true in Faith’s accusations after all?”

“NO,” she shouted, horror in her eyes that he could think such a thing. “No,” she repeated. “I would never think that. Never. You’ve got to believe me.”

“I have, huh?” he laughed, but it was without humor. “And what about you, why don’t you believe?”

Startled, and confused, she shook her head, “But I do. I believe-“

He interrupted her before she could finish, “No, you don’t. Not where it counts. There you always keep you distance, never let me close.” He looked at her for a long moment, “And I’m trying to understand. I really am. But … how can I when you don’t explain, when you just keep me guessing.”

New tears were welling up in her eyes, and a tightness constricted her chest, she had never felt before. She felt as if being caught in her own personal fortress, safe but unhappy, and she couldn’t find a way out. “But … but that’s not true,” she cried, knowing very well that she was lying, could feel it in her heart, and see it in his eyes. “I-“

“You don’t trust me,” he interrupted her again.

“But I do,” she protested, angrily wiping the tears from her face, “I trust you. More than I …,” she stopped, realising that again she was about to lie. More than… she’d been about to say. More than what? More than everyone? Certainly not. Angel was the person who knew all about her, and even he didn’t know her best kept, her darkest secret. She’d never been able to tell him, never been able to open up, afraid what he might do as soon as he knew. And what would Wesley do? What would he think about her, knowing the unspeakable, knowing everything. Would he still look at her with love in his eyes, or would it be replaced by disgust?

That, she realised, was her greatest fear. That he would stop loving her, stop adoring her, the way he always did, the way his eyes were caressing her the moment they fell on her.

“I am right,” he stated, his shoulder slumped, his eyes sad and knowing. “You don’t trust me.”

“I …,” she started then broke off again, not knowing what to say, how to defend herself. Then she tried again, “It’s not that. It’s … hard to explain. It’s complicated and …,” she shook her head, swallowed, “There are things … in my past … I can’t talk about them - yet.”

“Yet? Or not ever?”

“I’m trying,” she cried, despair clawing at her gut. Was she going to lose him? She couldn’t let it happen, couldn’t risk losing the only man she’d ever loved, the only man she - trusted? “I am trying,” she whispered finally. “Really, I am, Wes. I am. You can’t know how painful it is.”

“No, I can’t because you never even tried to tell me.” He shook his head, turned away, sighing, “Kathie, maybe you should leave me now. This is … getting us nowhere and … I need a shower anyway.”

She felt as if he’d kicked in the gut by his words, felt her lower lip starting to tremble, the tears spilling over. She was going to lose him. Oh God. OHGODOHGODOHGOD. “You are sending me away?” she asked desperately.

“Yes,” he nodded, looked at her again. “For now. You were clearly disgusted by my post-drunken state, but you won’t tell me why. You could hardly look at me. And again, I have not the slightest idea what’s the reason. I have some ideas, but that’s not the same. And I’m not going to force you to tell me. It has to come from you. Because you trust me. Because … this …,” he gestured at her, then at himself, “… us … maters.”

“It does. Believe me, it’s important. More than that, it’s the most important thing in my life,” she cried, trying to make him see, make him understand, that she wasn’t doing this to hurt him, but because it was too hard, because it hurt too much.

“Maybe,” he gave her a sad smile, then walked towards the door, “I’m going to have a shower now. And I suppose you’ll find your way out.” When he saw her flinch, he added, “This isn’t the end, Kathie. But maybe we both need the distance. Some time to think things over.” Then he left, and Kathie couldn’t remember ever having felt more alone in her life, trying to understand when her idea of cooking for him today had gone so wrong, and how she could make it right again.

*****

The first thing Angel felt when he woke that Saturday morning was the warm, soft body laying sprawled atop of him. The next thing was that he didn’t mind the additional weight at all. Opening his eyes he saw Buffy’s head only inches apart from his snuggled at his chest, her golden hair gleaming in the morning sun, her breathing still even, telling him that she - unlike him - was still asleep. He almost chuckled at that, but restrained himself, not wanting to wake her with the movement of his chest.

But he did reach out, one finger softly touching her silken strands, marvelling in the feeling to have her so close to him, so intimate and trusting. After the first time he’d made love three times more to her, one time only with his mouth, bringing her to a climax all on her own, but he’d almost followed her just by watching her climbing and shatter, utterly open to him, revealing everything, hiding nothing. Never in his life he’d been closer to a human being, and it made him feel like the king of the world.

This night had been about her, and her alone and she had taken everything with a soul that seemed greedy for love and attention, a soul that had only now realised it wasn’t broken for good. Angel felt humbled beyond words that he’d been the one to give her back all the joy, that he’d been allowed to be part of the rebirth taking place right before his eyes. The first time they’d made love, on the hood of her car, had been wonderful and he’d always cherish the memory, but there had been an urgency in her then, that was missing now. She had been relaxed last night, letting the feeling wash over her, bathing in it, absorbing it with every cell of her beautiful body.

He’d watched in awe, and hadn’t he known it before, he would have known then that this woman was his destiny. The way she’d looked at him when she’d climbed to her last climax, the way her eyes had locked with his, the intense expression, all that had strengthened the bond they’d been forming yesterday. She wasn’t careful anymore around him, wasn’t trying to protect herself, because she understood that with him it wasn’t necessary.

She trusted him.

“What are you thinking?”

Her soft spoken words pulled him from his musings, making him smile before he even looked at her. When he did, he felt his groin responding instantly and heard her chuckle. “Ohhh,” she made, grinning like a cat who’d just discovered the fattest mouse in the stable. She let her eyelids drop a little, and licked her lips. “Shouldn’t you be … satisfied after last night?”

“I suppose it’s a question of temptation,” he replied, grinning as well. God, this was heaven. She was almost carefree and she took his breath away. He hadn’t seen her like this before, had always hoped, but never dreamt, that this woman existed inside of her.

“Is that so?” She quirked one brow, and sighed when she felt his cock harden against her thigh, “Yeah, I suppose it is. A good think it’s Saturday and I can take care of the … little problem.”

“Buffy-,” he began, but she stopped him.

“Shhhh,” she made, grinning at him again, her hazel eyes sparkling. “You took care of me last night, this time it’s my turn. I will love you so thoroughly, Liam, Angel Sullivan that you’re going to forget your name when I’m finished with you. I will make you plead for mercy, and won’t show you any.” She winked, then chuckled, a low and throaty sound that made him stand up straight.

Angel smiled at her, “Promises. Promises.”

“Promises, huh?” She returned his smile, then, without warning, began making her warning a reality.

**

“Hmmm,” she said, as soon as she was able to catch her breath, “What a way to wake up.”

“Uh-huh,” was all he could offer, his head laying between her breasts, still inside of her. “Love you,” he breathed.

He felt her shift beneath him, but again she didn’t respond, just tightened her arms around him, holding him close to her body, to her heart. She wanted to say the words, but something, maybe some tiny part of residual fear was holding her back, killing the words before they could leave her mouth. So she just kissed him on his hair and sighed, “Hungry?”

“Mmmm.”

She felt him nod against her breast, his stubble that was even more prominent than last night scratching the sensitive skin, making it tingle. But this time she was too content, to satisfied to feel arousal again. “Breakfast?”

“Shower first,” he retorted, finally looking up and meeting her eyes. “Good morning by the way.”

She grinned, “Morning. What do you think about eggs and bacon?”

“Sounds like heaven.” He kissed her, slowly, lazily in the afterglow of morning sex. “I could get used to this. My personal love slave, and she’s able to cook, too. How much do you earn? Could I stop working and reply on living off your money?”

She grinned, “Not on your life, buddy. I’m not going to support a lazy lover.”

“Not even one who …,” he wiggled his brows, made her laugh

“Not even if you were Casanova. I believe in emancipation - of both sexes.”

He sighed dramatically, “That means I’m still going to have to spend long nights apart from you, in my car, drinking cold coffee.

For a moment she seemed to consider it, then shook her head, “You’re getting no pity from me. No way. You’re young and healthy. Earn your own money.”

Angel laughed then, too. “I wouldn’t dream of living off my girlfriend’s income.”

“I know,” she replied with sudden softness.

“So how about that breakfast?”

“Go shower,” she wiggled underneath him, pushing slightly at his shoulders. “It’ll be ready as soon as you’re finished.” She reached for her shirt when he got up, and pulled it over her head, grinning at the disappointed expression in his eyes. “Go,” she ordered, and watching him disappear towards her bathroom, thinking that he somehow seemed to belong already, and unlike with others, it didn’t make her want to throw up. This time, she wanted to shout with joy.

But because it was Saturday morning and most of her neighbours would probably still sleeping, she walked towards the kitchen, humming a love song instead.

Part 21

"What's that?"

Buffy's head came up with an almost audible snap, and she found Angel standing in the doorway, only clad in a pair of unbuttoned jeans, and nothing else. He was fresh from the shower, his hair still wet and several remaining droplets were still clinging to his bare chest. Her mouth went instantly dry at the sight and she had to swallow hard, before she could make her voice work. "Wh-what?" she asked in confusion, her mind refusing to do anything but focus on the perfect example of the male species standing in her kitchen doorway.

His mouth turned into a knowing half-grin, but instead of commenting on her current state he nodded at the flat box she'd placed on the chair she'd obviously reserved for him. "That," he repeated. "Is it - for me?"

Following the direction of his eyes, Buffy looked at the package as well, and after a moment she managed to pull herself together, and her thoughts away from X-rated images racing through her mind. "Oh," she blushed, then cleared her throat. "Yes, yes it is." Laughing slightly, and a little bit self-consciously, she pointed at the box. "It's … uhm … nothing, really. I went out a couple of days ago." She rolled her eyes, "Actually because I needed a cocktail dress, but I ended up with this."

Now it was his turn to feel suddenly dry-mouthed, and oddly touched by the idea of her buying something for him - at a time when their relationship hadn't been one at all.

With slightly trembling fingers he reached out, touching the fragile wrapping paper with initials stamped on it, probably coming from one of the expensive boutiques she frequented, no doubt. For a moment, Angel found himself wondering if this could ever work, with them coming from backgrounds so different, then he firmly suppressed the thought. It was nonsense anyway. He had worked too hard for this, he wouldn't let self-doubts destroy it again. Backgrounds were just that, the past. It was up to them to make the present and the future.

His voice rough with emotion he carefully lifted the box, placing it on the table while he seated himself at the same time. "Can I - open it?"

"Of course," she encouraged, biting her lower lip as a sure sign of nervousness. "Go on."

Tearing the wrapping, he lowered his eyes and lifted the lid. The box contained an obviously handmade sweater, with a soft, rough-textured, dark-burgundy background. It had an intricate pattern in white and blue, with a satin sheen to it. Angel touched the sweater with tentative fingers. It felt wonderfully soft, and was, without doubt, an expensive piece of clothing. But it was also a thoughtful, well chosen gift from a woman he loved more than he'd thought possible. "It's beautiful," he said softly, still looking at it, "I …" rising his head, he smiled slowly. "Thank you."

For a moment her features were blank, but then the most beautiful smile broke out on her face, turning it radiant, like morning sunshine, and her eyes became sparkling beacons. Angel suddenly found it hard to speak, felt himself tumbling head-on into her, his breath quickening, his heart starting to race.

"I'm glad," Buffy said, totally oblivious to what her smile had done to him. "Well, put in on. I want to see it on you."

Swallowing, he forced himself to relax. They had made love several times in the last twelve hours, damn it. Why the hell did he still feel like a love-crazed teenager at the sight of her beautiful smile? He'd thought he was past hormone-induced love-sickness, but obviously he was wrong. At least, where Buffy was concerned. He just had to look at her, and he turned to mush. "I … uh … yes, I will."

Standing up with the sweater in his hand, setting the box aside, he was grateful for the chance to move, to give himself a moment to pull himself together.

Buffy watched as he pulled the sleeves over his hands, then lifted his arms. A sudden rush of heat swept over her as she saw the muscles of his chest and belly stretch and flex as he tugged the sweater over his head. Something about that expanse of naked skin lessening as he pulled the edge of the sweater over his shoulders, past the flat, male nipples, over the ridged abdomen and past the navel that seemed intimately sexy to her, above the still unfastened waistband of his jeans, made a wave of pleasure spread through her in ever widening ripples.

God, she was going to go insane, she decided. She was over thirty years old, not a blushing virgin by a long shot, but Angel had awakened a side of her she hadn't even known existed. She couldn't help thinking of the sweater coming off instead of going on, and that rippling heat abruptly changed course and flooded downward to pool in some low place inside her.

She felt color warm her cheeks and was glad he was busy straightening the edge of the sweater and not looking at her. Or wasn’t she? Then he smoothed a hand down the front of the garment, pressing the softness of the sweater against his chest as if he liked the feel of it against his skin.

And in a rush, the heat inside of her tripled.

It was even worse than last night, she realized. She wanted him - again. As if she couldn't stand not touching him for a moment. She'd never known that watching a man pulling on a sweater could be that erotic, could do such things to her insides. It was like touching him herself, like-

God, this was madness. She couldn't even sit at a breakfast table and not fantasize about making love to him.

"Buffy?"

She looked up then, at his face, into his eyes, and a shock rippled through her. She found an answering heat in his brown orbs that had darkened so much they were almost black.

Wetting her dry lips, she swallowed, "Angel?"

"Would you mind terribly if we'd skipped breakfast? I'm suddenly not very hungry anymore."

She was out of her chair and walking towards him, before she even realized what she was doing, "No. I’m not very hungry either," she whispered.

He swallowed as well, his eyes turning even darker, becoming almost impossibly black. "Ever done it in your kitchen?" he asked.

"N-no," she stuttered, feeling herself fall into his hypnotic gaze, "But I'm open for a try."

"Good." His voice was hoarse and deep, making her knees turn to jelly. "I hope this stuff isn't expensive."

"W-why?"

"Because I can't find it in me to care right now."

It was a good thing she had emptied the fruit basked the day before, and that she'd never particularly liked that special coffee mug, because everything landed on the floor, when he lifted her on the counter and made true of the promise she'd seen in his eyes just before.

*****

Lindsey MacDonald closed the file he'd taken home with him for the weekend. He propped his feet up on his small living-room table, entwined his hands behind his head, and sighing, leaned back on his sofa. Usually he hated lazy Saturday mornings, but somehow, in a strange way, this wasn't a Saturday morning like all those others in his life. Although he didn't want to admit it, he knew without a doubt that it had to do with a girl with a pair of brown eyes. A girl who seemed tough as nails but was soft and vulnerable instead. She didn't do a bad job of hiding it, but Lindsey had seen through her act from the very start. Maybe because they were so alike when it came to hiding their true personality was concerned.

Closing his eyes, he remembered the way she'd been clinging to him in the final waves of orgasm, the way she'd thrown back her neck, wild and so incredibly beautiful he'd had problems breathing. But he also remembered how calculating she'd sounded in his office, how false her smile had been towards her parents, how she'd tried to lie to him, tried to make him believe the poor bastard had actually touched her in a way she never invited. In reality, he thought with a mirthless laugh, it might have been the other way around.

Not that Wesley Wyndham-Price invited female fantasies as a rule. Lindsey had seen the picture of the bookish professor with his dark-rimmed glasses, the clothes that seemed too large for his thin frame. He had also seen the intelligent eyes behind the thick lenses that told a lot about the sharp mind this man possessed, and the seriousness that told the lawyer instantly that the professor was a man to trust. But Lindsey was certain a sharp mind had never been part of Faith Marshall's idea of an attractive man, neither was she particular on trust,

he guessed.

No, he thought, opening his eyes, whatever had happened between Faith Marshall and Wesley Wyndham-Price had nothing to do with sexual harassment, and all to do with a poor little rich girl who had too long suffered from parental neglect. But she was a poor little rich girl who had also learned how to get what she wanted. The English lit professor had simply come between them, or rather given Faith a reason to use him. He'd probably refused to upgrade her, and now the young woman was determined make him pay.

As beautiful as she was, Faith was a woman of contradictions, and as much as she attracted him, as much as his senses went into overdrive at the mere thought of her, he'd better not underestimate her, or he might not end up on top of her - a place he'd like to take up for a while - but he would be her next victim. Yes, he thought, standing up and walking towards the kitchen to refill his empty cup, he would be smart to keep an eye on her. She might be fun and almost irresistibly attractive, but she was also dangerous. And he'd do his damnedist not to forget about it.

*****

Still wearing the silly grin on his face, something he didn't seem to be able to get rid off this morning, Angel opened the door to his house some time around noon, sighing contentedly like only a man could who'd been thoroughly satisfied by the most amazing woman he could imagine. Shrugging out of his jacket, he tossed it over a chair. He was still so relaxed in the afterglow of spending the morning with Buffy, talking to Buffy, making love to Buffy. They had done it once more before he left, this time against the wall of her hallway. He had to chuckle at the memory, and felt his groin tighten at the images flickering before his inner eye. Grinning, he shook his head, then walked into the kitchen.

He wasn't quite sure what he had expected to see there, probably nothing as his mind seemed too preoccupied these days to do anything but picture Buffy Summers - preferably naked - but it certainly wasn't his sister, sitting at the table, an untouched glass of milk in front of her, her face hidden by the curtain of dark hair falling around it. Her fingers were in her lap, but there was a stiffness in her shoulders Angel knew only too well, had seen before, and had prayed never to see again.

But here it was, and although the last thing he wanted to do today was get involved in someone else’s problems, he was also aware that when his sister was concerned, almost nothing mattered. They'd gone through thick and thin together, had managed to overcome the events of her sixteenth birthday, and there was no way in hell he'd be able to block out the sadness radiating from her or the way her stiff shoulders moved up and down in silent sobs.

When Kathie became aware of his presence, her shoulders stiffened even more, and slowly her head came up. Surprisingly her eyes were dry, but they were red-rimmed and Angel could still see the traces of recent tears. He could see from the puffiness of her skin that she'd been crying for a while, and tell from her swollen lips that she'd chewed on them restlessly, a certain sign of distress.

Giving her only a quick glance, Angel walked over to the refrigerator to get himself a soft drink and popped open the can. Placing the can on the counter in front of him, he sat down opposite his sister, and after a moment, he looked at her. "What happened?" he asked slowly, not sure if he wanted to hear it, but knowing he would.

She didn't say anything for a long time, then shrugged. "Wes sent me away," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper, and obviously strained by hours of crying. Angel suddenly felt like a heel. While his little sister had been crying her eyes out he'd been making love with Buffy on her kitchen counter. And enjoying it.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he wrapped the other around the soft drink. "He - sent you away?" It sounded strange, somehow not at all like the Wesley he'd come to know and like. The Wesley he knew was shy and sometimes stiff, but Angel would bet his agency if the professor wasn't head over heels in love with Kathie. "Why?"

She shrugged again, "He said I don't trust him. He - uh - he was smelling like he'd been drinking, and when I … asked him, he said he'd had two bottles of Scotch last night."

To any other person hearing this, it might not mean anything, but in Angel's head all alarm bells started to ring. Sitting up straight, his eyes became intense, "Did he - hurt you?"

Startled by the question, Kathie's head came up with a snap. "NO," she hurried to say. "No. Nothing like that. He - he was sober. As always. But … but smelling it …" Angel saw her struggle, and saw her lose when tears welled up in her eyes. "God, Angel. It all came back to me. Like … like a horrible nightmare I couldn't get rid off. I … tried … but all I saw were their faces, and their drunken laughter, and … th-their h-hands."

Her voice almost broke in the end and when the tears started to fall, Angel was by her side in an instant. Crouching down in front of her, much in the same way he'd done with Buffy the previous night, he took her hands, "Oh Kat," he said softly, reaching out with one hand, cupping her cheek. "I'm so sorry."

The tears dripping from her lashes, she managed a smile, "It's not really bad, Angel. Just when I smelled," she sighed, "that stuff on him, I … I couldn't think anything but…" she shrugged in the end.

He nodded, letting his hand fall from her face, curling it around hers instead. "So you freaked and he wanted to know why, right?"

She nodded miserably.

"And when you didn't tell him, he got angry?" He looked at her intently, wanting to understand what had happened between his sister and Wesley.

"No," she shook her head, sent her hair flying, "Not angry. Just ... sad. Disappointed. God, I hated to see the disappointment in his eyes. And the weariness. I think he's fed up with me."

He almost grinned at that. Wes fed up with her? Not by a long shot. Angel had a feeling that the professor was into this for the long haul, but now was not the time to discuss this special subject with his sister. "That's nonsense, baby." Her head came up again, staring at him almost in wonder. He smiled, "The guy loves you. But I can also understand how he feels. He's in love with you, but you're still keeping a part of you private. It's as if you're not trusting him, and in a way, it's the truth."

"You really think?" she asked doubtfully.

"Oh yeah," he nodded, kissing her cheek and standing up to walk back to his place. Reaching for his drink, he took a long gulp, before facing her again. "I know it, Kat. Because that's the way I felt with Buffy. She … always kept something hidden from me, didn't open up." He couldn't stop the smile blooming at his next words, "Until last night, that is."

"I thought you were with her when I found the message on the answering machine," she said. "So, she opened up to you. And then?"

"A gentleman never tells," he replied, grinning.

She rolled her eyes, "Gee, as if I even want to know. Knowing your brother has sex is almost as bad as thinking that way about your parents." A shadow flickered through her eyes, before she added, "At least that's what I've been told." She sighed, "So you had a good - night?"

"The best," he told her. "She's amazing. She's the one, Kat. The one I've been waiting for."

She smiled, "You're in love with her."

"Totally and completely. Irrevocably." He knew he was grinning like an idiot, but who the hell cared. He was flying high this morning. So high not even his sister’s problems had managed to dampen his good mood. Angel still wasn't quite sure he liked the fact that Buffy had stacked several one-time-use razors. Sure, it could be she needed them for herself, but somehow Angel couldn't quite make himself believe it. And, so he thought on an inward sigh, looking at the red-rimmed eyes of his sister, was it really important? He and Buffy had, at least, crossed the bridge Kathie and Wes still seemed to have in front of them.

"I'm glad," Kathie said honestly, "I wish…" she trailed off, and sighed again.

Angel put the soft drink down, and walked back to his sister. "You need to talk to him, baby. If he's really important to you, you need to tell him. I know it's hard, but he needs to know, because only then can he understand."

He saw her swallow, saw her run a shaky hand through her hair, "I suppose you're right. It's just so hard. Talking about it, it's like living through it again."

He reached out, and taking her hand, he pulled her up, wrapping her up in a brotherly embrace, "I know, Kat. I know. But without it, this won't work."

Kathie let herself sink into his embrace, letting his strong, familiar arms surround her with gentleness and the safe feeling of protection. Angel had never let her down, had always stood by her, even when things were really rough. But he was her brother, while Wes, Wes was the man she loved. Deeply and honestly. Maybe not with the same passion Angel had for Buffy, but then, she wasn't Angel. Had never been. Her past had shaped her, had made her into the woman she was today. Her experiences were not the same her brother had had. But he was right. She had to tell Wes. But before she could do that, she had to open up to her brother as well, had to tell him the whole truth, the one she'd carried deep inside of her, afraid he might freak and do something stupid.

Not anymore, though. He wasn't the eighteen year old, impulsive teenager anymore. He was twenty-six, almost twenty-seven, and the most responsible person she'd ever known. He could face the truth. She'd faced it, too. Had carried it inside of her, until she'd sometimes thought it would strangle her.

Slowly she pulled back from his embrace and the moment their eyes locked, she took a deep breath, "Angel, there is something I have to tell you. And you're not going to like it."

Part 22

"Jeez, it's raining cats and dogs out here, so move and let me in where it's warm and comfy."

Buffy stepped back from her door, staring disbelievingly at her co-worker and friend, Cordelia Chase. She looked more like a drowned rat than the usually stylish woman the blond saw every day at work, as she quickly entered Buffy's apartment close to dinnertime. "Cordelia?" she asked, still not believing her eyes.

The brunette turned, and pulled off her drenched coat. "Well, it's a relief you still recognize me. Maybe the damage isn't too bad."

"Damage?" Buffy echoed, trying to get her thoughts back on track. She'd been lost in daydreams for the better part of the day, most of them containing Angel, and not a lot of clothes, so it was hard to concentrate on her friend who was looking at her expectantly.

"Duh," Cordelia exclaimed, patting her hair, "Claudio spent ages to get it done, and I'm afraid it's all ruined now."

"Uh," for the first time Buffy really looked at the woman in front of her, and her eyes almost bulged out of her face, "You've cut your hair," she stated in disbelief. "And you're … blond!" And indeed Cordelia had suddenly turned blonde. Not, Buffy thought, that it looked bad. Because it actually looked nice, but somehow it was ... wrong. Yes, that was the only word she could think of. She, Buffy, was blond. Cordelia was brunette. She frowned, not quite sure she could follow her own thoughts today. It was all Angel's fault anyway. He had turned her into someone she barely recognized anymore. Gone was rational, always cool Buffy Summers, and she was replaced by a love-crazed woman, who didn't seem to be able to go a few hours without her lover.

"Do you like it?" the former brunette asked, turning around in front of the real blonde.

"Uhm … yeah, nice," Buffy replied, finally managing to close the door. "What brought that on?"

Cordelia gave her a look, then sighed, "Would you believe if I told you I was in love?"

Dumbfounded Buffy stared at her. Cordelia? In love? Something earth shattering must have happened. As long as she’d known the former brunette, Cordelia had had lovers. But never, not once had she been in love. Not the kind of love Buffy now knew existed, not the kind of love she was suddenly recognizing in her friend's eyes.

Slowly, Buffy nodded, "Yeah, actually I can believe it."

A still brunette brow came up, "You can? Does that mean you and your … hunkfinally got it done?"

Feeling a blush creeping up her cheeks, Buffy quickly turned away, and walked towards the kitchen, knowing her friend would follow her. "Do you want a cup of coffee? I just made some fresh."

"You look different," Cordelia said when sat down on one of the chairs. "Lighter somehow." She grinned, "No need to tell me, I'm already seeing it crystal clear. You and Liam, huh?"

Closing her eyes for a moment, Buffy took a deep breath before she turned with a filled cup in her hand. "Did anyone ever tell you that being nosy isn't always welcomed?" Not that she didn't want to talk about Angel. Actually, she wanted to shout it from the roof, but she wasn't so certain she wanted to discuss this with Cordelia. True, her friend had seemed supportive, had even urged her towards an affair with Angel, but that didn't mean she'd be thrilled hearing her boss had helplessly fallen for the "hunk".

A brilliant smile was her answer, "Yeah. Many times. Never bothered me." Cordelia took the cup from Buffy, sipping carefully. "And … is he any good? I mean, he sure does look promising, but a lovely package can be deceiving. Just because he looks like a hunk, it doesn't mean he can get the job done, so to speak."

Buffy couldn't help it, she burst out laughing. "Honestly, Cordy, is there anything else you can think about? But to answer your question, yeah we … uh,are together."

The smile turned even more brilliant, "That's great. Wonderful. For a while I was afraid you'd get stuck on that loser Riley."

Feeling she needed to come to her ex-boyfriend's rescue, Buffy shook her head, "Riley isn't a loser. He's nice. An okay guy, and he'll be a nice girl's dream. He just isn't for me."

"Pah," Cordelia made a sweeping gesture with her hand, "Tell me what you want. For me he's still going to be the loser he is. I've never met anyone more boring. At least he seems to have satisfied you, I have to give him that, even though I'm still at a loss how he did it."

"Oh, I don't know about that." The words were out before Buffy could stop them, and she turned beet red the moment she realized what she'd just said. "Uhm … I mean-"

"I know what you mean," Cordy grinned knowingly. "So Liam is a hunk inside and out. Good to know. You need someone like him. You'll see, passion is the word."

Uh-oh, Buffy thought. Passion. Sure, there was passion. Raw, hot, all-consuming. There was lust. Need. Hunger. But there was also this little part where she loved Angel. With all her heart. She still hadn't said the words yet, but it didn't really matter. What mattered was that she knew. And she was sure Angel knew as well. How could he be so close to her and not know that she loved him, in a way she hadn't even known love could exist. "Yeah," she said finally, realizing that Cordelia was waiting for her to say something, "There is passion. Definitely passion."

"Perfect," Cordy sipped from her coffee, her gaze turning thoughtful, "Did he stay here last night? Because you look exactly like a woman whose been loved thoroughly. Nobody can fake those bedroom eyes.”

Buffy gulped. "Bedroom eyes?"

"Uh-huh," the former brunette nodded, "Take it from a pro. You've got them. But that's a good thing. I'm glad you finally found a good lover. Women need that. Even though most would deny it if asked."

Realizing that Cordelia still thought Angel was nothing but a pastime for Buffy, just a lover like Cordy had had several of, the blond felt inclined to clear up that point. "Cordy," she began, "Liam isn't just … a lover."

A brow came up, "He's not?"

"Well, he is," Buffy amended, "but I - he's more. It's … I -"

The cup met the table with a thump, while Cordelia's eyes widened in disbelief, "You're in love with him?"

Crossing her arms defensively in front of her chest, Buffy raised her chin, "Yes, I am," she replied firmly. "Very much actually."

"But," Cordelia gestured wildly, "But … but he's … young. A lot younger."

Huh? Had she missed something? Was this the same Cordelia who had encouraged her to have an affair? But as she'd thought already, an affair and love were two entirely different things for her friend. "You said yourself-", she tried to defend herself, but was interrupted instantly.

"When I was … telling you to take him as a lover, I thought as a lover. Not to fall in love with him."

"Well, tough," Buffy shot back. "Because I am in love with him. And it's not really any of your business. I don't need to justify our love."

Cordelia held up both hands, "Hey, no need to get angry. I'm just … surprised, I guess. That's not like you. I mean, you never ever did something spontaneous since I've known you."

Somewhat mollified, the blond took her own mug and settled into the chair across the table. "Things … change." She laughed at the words, hardly able to believe how tame they sounded, yet they stood for a complete turn around in her life. "I love him, Cordy," she repeated, "It's amazing and … frightening at the same time. But it's still the same. I love him."

"Tell me about it," the former brunette gave her friend a long last look before lifting her cup again. "And besides. People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, if you get my drift." She sipped, "Believe it or not, but, I, uh … Do you remember Gunn? The guy who came with Liam that first night?"

Buffy nodded, "Sure I do."

Cordelia snorted slightly, "Which is indeed a miracle, remembering how you had eyes for Liam only."

The blonde's brows rose, "And I wasn't the only one."

Rolling her eyes, her friend let out a long breath, "Okay, okay, I thought he was a hunk, and he still is. I do tend to get caught up in the moment sometimes," she caught Buffy's grin and threw her hands in the air. "Alright, I get caught up every time. But this," she became serious all of a sudden, "this is serious. It's like nothing that ever happened to me before. It's like - WHAM - struck by lightning. Buffy," she sighed dramatically, "I'm a goner. I'm so in love with this guy. And that after I thought myself immune."

"Wait," Buffy held up a hand, "let me get this. You're in love with - Gunn?"

"That's what I've been talking about for the last, ah, half an hour."

Buffy didn't want to point out that the better part of that half hour had been spent talking about her and Angel, Instead she smiled. "Well, it's great."

Cordelia snorted again, "That's what you think. Don't get me wrong. Gunn's a great guy, but he's a street kid, with absolutely no manners, no tact - and okay, I was never accused of having too much tact myself, but still. But the worst of all," Cordy stopped and to her utter surprise, Buffy saw tears well up in the brunette's eyes, before she continued, "The worst part is. I don’t think he loves me back."

Buffy was about to answer, when the doorbell suddenly rang.

*****

Kathie bit her lower lip, her trembling hand hovering over the doorbell at Wesley's home. She'd been standing here for almost an hour, not certain what to do, and even less what to say the moment the door opened. Leaning her head against it, Kathie took a deep, shuddering breath, but it didn't help to steady her. She still remembered the anguish in Angel's eyes when she'd told him. He hadn't doubted her for a moment, believed every word she was saying, had held her while she cried, had kissed her before leaving the house, a painfully vacant expression in his eyes.

Kathie knew she'd hurt him with her story, had taken the remaining bits of innocence, had destroyed all happiness he'd been carrying around today like a beacon. But she also knew he was right when he told her that only the whole truth could bring healing and, in the end, let her move on. She'd carried it around for too long already. It was time to tell her story and that meant not only Wesley, the man she loved, but also Angel, the brother who'd stood by her through everything.

He would get over it, Kathie knew that without doubt, but he had to work through it, the way she'd had to. And maybe, after everything was out in the open now, they would finally learn to live the life of normal people, not scarred by the past, not always doubting themselves, not trying to be careful all the time. Maybe now she could finally love.

Taking another deep breath, she pressed the doorbell, her heart starting to hammer in her chest when she heard footsteps from the inside. The next moment the door was pulled open, revealing Wesley, rumpled and tired, the weariness increasing the moment he recognized her.

"Kathie?"

His voice was rough, and although he certainly hadn't tried to sound sexy it still sent ripples over her skin. She licked her suddenly dry lips, "Hi, Wes."

He looked at her long and hard, before he asked, "What do you want?"

Steadying herself by breathing deeply a third time, she tried to summon a smile, but her lips wouldn't obey. "I … I want to talk to you," she said finally.

"Talk?" His brow came up. He seemed distant, but the sudden light in his eyes made it possible for Kathie to hope. "About what?"

"Would you let me come in?" She bit her lower lip, entwining her hands tightly.

Whatever she had done, something suddenly shifted in his eyes, turning them warm and loving. Had he seen her intention already? God, she hoped he had.

"Wes?" she asked.

Shaking his head slightly, he looked at her. "Will you tell me then?"

She swallowed, "Yes."

Another long and steady look, then slowly, he stepped back, opening his house to her. "Then," he smiled, "you're very welcome."

*****

She couldn't believe her eyes, finding Angel standing in front of her door, but before Buffy could even say a word, Cordelia appeared beside her. "Hey, Liam," she greeted, then frowned when there was no reaction from him. "Hey," she waved a hand in front of his face. "What's your deal?"

"Angel?" Buffy spoke the word slowly, not sure how to approach him. He looked like she'd never seen him before. His gaze was unfocused, he was drenched in rain and sweat, his hair standing up in every direction as if he'd run his fingers through it more than once. His clothes were disheveled, his shoes muddy and wet, as was the rest of the man. But the worst were his eyes. She had seen them angry, happy, glazed with passion, wild with need, but she'd never seen such desolation in them, such pain and fury, and, she realized, the fury was directed inward. At himself.

"Angel?" she said his name again, tentatively reaching out and touching his arm, not caring when he flinched at the touch. She knew it had nothing to do with her touch, but with the way he wasn't really himself right now. "Why don't you come in?" she invited softly, and pulling slightly at his sleeve she became even more concerned when he followed without resistance. "We have to get you out of your clothes. They're dripping wet."

"And that's my cue to go," came Cordelia's voice from behind them.

Buffy looked up, giving her friend an apologetic smile, "I am sorry. I know this is important to you, but-" She shrugged, nodding towards Angel's shaking form, sitting lifeless on one of the chairs in her hallway.

"Hey, no worries. I can recognize an emergency." Cordelia grabbed her coat, making a sound of disgust when she realized it was still wet, then, shrugging, she pulled it on. "See you Monday," she waved, " and then I want to know why you call him Angel." With that she was gone, leaving Buffy with a small grin on her face that vanished instantly when she looked at Angel who still hadn't moved an inch. His hair and clothes were dripping on her carpet, while he was still staring blankly at his hands that were hanging loosely between his thighs.

With greatest care, as if handling a raw egg, Buffy put a hand on his shoulder. "Angel, you need to get out of your clothes," she repeated her words from before. She sighed when there was again no reaction. He was too heavy to just drag him towards her bathroom, but she couldn't leave him like this either. Somehow she had to get his attention, had to break through this wall of silence he was wearing like a shield right now. At least he'd come to her, she thought, hoping that meant he trusted her the way she trusted him.

She was about to talk to him again, when suddenly he started to speak. The words came slowly, as if torn painfully from his soul, his gaze still firmly focused on the floor. "I walked," he began, his voice rough, almost raw, "I … I don't know how long. I … lost track of time."

Buffy kneeled down before him, eager to look at him, to make him look at her. "That's okay," she whispered, cupping one cheek with her hand, horrified when the skin of his face was clammy and cold, the lips already turning blue. "Angel, please. You need to change your clothes. You're getting sick."

He laughed at that, hollowly, a sound that made Buffy's heart ache. "Doesn't matter," he murmured. "Nothing matters. Absolutely nothing."

"You're wrong," she said urgently, framing his face in her hands, "So wrong. A lot matters. We matter. Our love for each other."

His eyes flickered to hers, and for a moment the old warmth was back, and a glimpse of hope, but they were instantly gone, once again replaced by pain and hopelessness. "Does it?" he asked. "Really?"

Growing more and more concerned with his unfamiliar behavior, Buffy kissed his ice-cold lips, then forced him to look at her. "Angel, listen to me. We're together now. There's nothing we can't do. Nothing we can't conquer. But first you have to tell me what happened?" She grabbed the first thing that came into her mind, "Did something happen to Kathie?"

He erupted almost violently at the mention of his sister's name, coming out of the chair, not caring that Buffy was pushed backward. He walked towards the door, his hand reaching for the handle, then fell down to the floor. His shoulders slumped, he stayed that way, didn't turn, didn't look at her. "I … I don't know if I can do this," he whispered finally. "I … God, Buffy. I don't know if I can live with this."

She was behind him in an instant, slinging her arms around his waist, holding him, pressing herself close as much as she could, not caring that his soaked clothes were now soaking hers, only wanting to give him warmth. To give him love. "You can," she said firmly. "We can. Please, Angel, tell me."

She felt him shudder in her arms, and knew it had nothing to do with him being cold from the rain, before his hands came up to cover hers that were still resting on his stomach. "I'm so glad you're here," he whispered. "So glad."

"Me too," she replied. "And I will not go away."

He laughed again, harshly, unhappily, "Don’t be so sure. Maybe you will as soon as you know that my father raped my sister and I did nothing to prevent it."

Go to Part 23