Disclaimer: oh please, as if I even want to own them these days
Category: Angst/Drama
Pairing: B/A, mention of C/A, D/A, B/R, B/S
Rating: PG-13
Distribution: my site (http://www.never-ending-love.de), ffnet, several lists including BA_Fluff, if you have any of my stuff, just take it, anybody else please tell me where it goes
Spoilers: the whole Buffy-Angel-Saga, I have, however, not seen the latest episodes (I didn't want to be spoiled for another story I was writing), but it doesn't really matter for the story (I've heard rumours though), and you should read the first stories in the series called "Empty", "Frozen", "Dawn", and "Cold".
Summary: Buffy tries to understand what's going on
Timeline: a month after Connor disappeared
Feedback: oh yes, please!!!
Dedication: This is for the great ladies at Ducks babbleboard. I wouldn't make it through this without you!
Author's Note: I am a B/A-shipper, and in my book there's only one person who could help Angel in a situation like this. So if you are C/A or B/S, then just turn away now. You've been warned. And if you still want to send flames - send them on - I will forward them directly to Marti Noxon, David Greenwalt, and Joss Wheadon for what they're taking us through with this season.
Author's Note 2: I won't go into detail, but you still might get spoiled for season 6/3
Author's Note 3: For this story, Connor has disappeared and although the fang-gang has tried finding a way to get him back, all has been in vain.
And once more with the author's notes: Don't worry, I will continue all the other stories I'm currently writing. I promise. But I have the sudden urge to write this. I can't help it. It just pours out of me and so all I can do is go with the flow. < g >
Author's Note 5: I have neither seen the episode, nor read the transcript of the last Angel-episodes. I know Connor has been abducted, but I haven't read the details. And I only heard rumors about Cordy's vacation with Groo. Any faults because of it are mine, but as this story is mine, too, well … you get the point. I hope you'll enjoy nevertheless.

"Well, I'd call that a startling success."

I hear Codelia's sarcastic comment while Angel is racing up the stairs, my cheek still stinging from the blow he dealt me. As a first impulse I want to get up and storm after him, but know at the same time that it would be wrong. I've seen his eyes just before he hit me, and they told me all I needed to know. Angel has closed himself up, he has tried to block everything and everyone out, tried to built these walls, to keep the pain at bay, to find a way to exist despite the terrible loss of his son.

And then I came, and somehow - and I can barely believe it - I've managed to get through all the barriers he's erected around him. The moment he became aware of it, he freaked. He's only hit me once before, the day I stormed into his apartment, convincing myself to protect him, but only seeking revenge. And even then, I had to hit him first. I can only guess how much pain he's experiencing right now to react in that uncontrolled and violent way. But I can understand. I know all about pain and the ways to deal with it. Some people retreat, then hit, others let soulless vampires fuck their brains out.

Pulling back from that line of thinking, because I can't deal with it on top of all this emotional turmoil, I slowly turn my head and find Cordelia - and the others - still looking at me. I can barely remember what the brunette said to me before, but it doesn't really matter. My mind is still filled with Angel, and the way he broke down right in front of me. The others might not have realised it, but I know.

"Don't you … uhm … Shouldn't anyone go after him?"

Fred's voice is soft and a bit frightened. Cordy told me about her on the phone, but only bits and pieces.

"Yes," Cordelia pushes herself off of the counter and purposely walks towards the stairs. I don't even realise standing up and going after her, only when I hear her yell 'ouch' I realise that my hand is clamped around her upper arm.

"No," I say firmly, looking at her steadily. "He needs to be alone right now."

"Yeah?" I can see the aggressiveness in her stance, the anger in her eyes, but I also see the protectiveness shining in them, "And who made you the expert? You haven't been with him for years. You didn't care. Unlike us."

I flinch at her harsh words, and it hurts that I can't deny them. I have stopped thinking of Angel. But not because I didn't care, but because it hurt too much to. I could either die of heartsickness or try to live. I choose the second, maybe because I was the Slayer, maybe just because I'm human. In every one of us is this survival instinct. Spike once said I was flirting with death. And he was right, and yet wrong. I was flirting with it, but only because I wanted to beat it. Not even up there on the platform I truly wanted to die. But given the choice, I thought I could deal better with it than Dawn. I won't deny that it also was an escape. But contrary to general opinion it wasn't easy. Jumping down into the portal was one of the hardest things I've ever done.

"Oh yeah?" a new voice sounds from the doorway, and I see Wesley standing there. I barely stifle a gasp. He looks so thin and worn, so much older than I remember him. There are harsh lines in his face, his eyes are full of grief and guilt, a look I know so well from Angel. "And pray tell," he goes on, not looking at me, his eyes on Cordelia, "What does you make the expert?"

I can feel Cordy stiffen beside me, and I have to admit I'm surprised by the sudden tension. From what she told me on the phone, I got the impression that Cordy and the others were some sort of tight knit family, and besides Angel's grief, they were doing pretty well. But Wesley's stance is positively hostile, while the anger coming from Cordelia is now like a touchable thing surrounding her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asks through gritted teeth, her eyes narrowed, her hands clenching at her sides. I have not the slightest idea what's going on, but am too fascinated by the drama unfolding in front of me to look away.

At that his bravado suddenly crumbles right in front of our eyes, his shoulder sag, his head lowers, and he's looking like an old man. He gives a weary sigh, "Nothing. Just …," he shrugs, "nothing."

"Oh no," Cordy walks away from me, and towards him. "You can't do that. You throw something at me, and then it's suddenly nothing? No way."

"Cordy, let it go," Gunn warns, reaching out for her, but Cordelia evades his grasp, her eyes steadily resting on Wesley. But the ex-watcher doesn't look up, doesn't acknowledge her in any way, just stands there, like a lamb waiting to be slaughtered.

"No, I won't let it go," she insists, placing her hands at her hips. "This has gone on too long already. Everybody is whispering around here. It's the first time, Wes has risen his voice at any of us, and I'll be damned to let him retreat into his shell again. He made a big mistake. Even maybe unforgivable, but compared to Angel he's still like a saint. And I won't even get started on Gunn, or …," she gestures vaguely at Fred, "or you,", who gasps incredulously, mouthing 'me' at her boyfriend, who pats her shoulder to give her comfort, but can't quite hide a grin, "or me," Cordy finishes her sentence, then takes a deep breath.

"We all made faults. Just look at Buffy," she turns her head to gaze at me for a moment, "I'm sure she isn't blameless either. No, I know she isn't."

I think about Spike, and walk towards Wes, only now understanding why she was so upset, and what she's trying to do. "She's right, Wes," I tell him. "I made some very big mistakes."

His Adams apple bobs up and down when he swallows, and I can see him fighting with tears, then he wets his lips, and clears his throat, but avoids to look at us, "Yeah?" he asks, his voice wobbly, shaky, "Did one of those mistakes cause your friend to lose his child?"

"No," Cordy replies, "But Angel didn't help those lawyers in the wine-cellar, and don't even let me get started about his evil alter ego."

"That's no excuse," Wesley whispers, his head suddenly coming up, his eyes darting around. "Where is he, by the way?"

"Up in his room," Fred tells him, giving him a tentative smile. Again she reminds me of Willow, trying to smooth the waves. Or rather the Willow I used to know.

The ex-watcher nods, the grief in his eyes deepening. He thinks Angel didn't leave his room.

"No," I step closer to him, put a hand on his arm, "I was with him tonight. We … well, we didn't actually talk, but I think I made some progress."

"If you call him behaving like a madman a progress," Cordelia snorts, giving Wesley a last long look, then turns away to the counter, busying herself with some files, which I'm sure can wait. But I know she's trying to hide her concern, and I'm silently amazed by the changes in her. The Cordy I've known wouldn't have given a damn, if Wesley was down, or if Angel wasn't able to cope with his grief. This Cordy, however, cares, more than I've ever thought possible. I shouldn't be surprised, I know, she was the one who called me, who almost forced me to come, but I still am. And I'm tempted to let myself like her.

I have to smile at the thought, but the smile vanishes quickly, when I catch Wesley's stricken look, "What?"

He swallows, "He … behaved like a madman?"

"Uhm …," I rub my palms on my trousers, before I answer, "I think, uh … I suppose …" I stop, angry with my stammering, then take a deep breath, "Last night he was … strange. I've never … no, that's a lie. I've seen him worse." Wesley nods in understanding, knows that I'm referring to the time when Angel came back from hell. "Anyways," I go on, "But this morning he was talking to me. I told him Giles left and went back to England." I nod when I see the ex-watcher's shocked expression. "Yeah, he reacted in quite the same fashion. He was really opening up, and then he began to panic."

"Because he was starting to feel something."

I've always known what a great guy Angel is, but my admiration grows with each passing second. Not only Cordy has changed into someone I could actually like, Wesley has changed as well. And only for the better. There isn't anything left of the pompous, arrogant man who came to Sunnydale some years ago. "Yes," I agree. "Or at least that's what I hope." My eyes flicker to the stairs, "I should probably try to find him."

"He'll be in his room," Wesley says and gives me the number.

From the corner of my eye I see Cordelia's head come up sharply, but she quickly looks away again, stuffing the files into a drawer, then shutting it with more force than necessary. Gunn gives her a startled look, then shrugs, and reaches for a jelly donut, giving Fred a grateful smile when she holds out a coffee for him.

"Okay," I reply, squeezing the ex-watcher's arm.

With that I turn around, hoping that I'm doing the right thing.

*

He doesn't answer when I knock at the door, but after a while I hear the key turn, and so I step inside, afraid what I might find.

Angel sits on the floor, his legs drawn up, his lower arms resting on his knees, while his head is leaning against the wall. His eyes are closed, and he looks almost peaceful. If I hadn't heard the key turn, I'd think he hasn't moved for ages. "Hey," I say softly, not surprised when he doesn't move at the sound of my voice. For a moment I think about sitting down on his bed, then suddenly feeling this might be too intimate, I sit down beside him on the floor instead. Our positions almost mirror the way we were sitting last night, before we walked down into the lobby and fell asleep on the sofa.

It wasn't really comfortable there, but I haven't slept that well in ages. Isn't it strange that a cold body can give you so much warmth? It isn't the kind of body-warmth Riley used to give me, of course. Or the sweaty exhaustion I felt with Spike. It's a different warmth, deeper, more profound, surrounding my heart. My soul.

"I'm sorry."

I'm startled to hear the sound of his voice, haven't expected him to speak at all, but I don't turn my head, knowing that he still sits the same way he did when I came up. "Sorry?" I frown, "Whatever for."

"Hurting you. Hitting you," he clarifies, and it pleases me to know that he realises that this one blow didn't really hurt me. There are other things, things that have nothing to do with violence, that are hurting so much more.

"That's okay," I tell him, desperately wanting to touch him, but not daring to. It was so easy to touch him, down in the lobby. Now sitting so close, we seem miles apart.

"No, it's not," he insists. "I had no right to lash out at you." I hear him sigh, and when I turn my head I see him watching me, his eyes half covered with his long lashes, lashes I sometimes see in my dreams. They're so long, I'm sure a lot of women would envy him for them.

"No," I agree, "but I understand. I know you're hurting badly right now, Angel. I …," I stop, not sure how to continue, what to say. What do I know, anyway? He lost his child. His son. Something he never thought he'd have in the first place. How can I ever really understand. So I try another approach, "When Mom died … I felt as if everything was useless. The way it felt when I had to send you to Hell in order to save the world. But I was seventeen then, and Mom had thrown me out - so I left. But when my mother died, there was still Dawn, and Dad wasn't around - as usual - and Glory. I was so … I wanted to leave, and couldn't.. And then you came."

I look at him, wanting him to understand, "You will never know how important it was for me. I had no idea how to make it through the night. But you held me, the way you used to do, and it was okay. At least for the short time, it was okay." I feel tears gather in my eyes, but I don't look away, don't wipe them away when they fall. He's still watching me intently - or at least I hope he is, I'm not really able to see his eyes beneath those damned long lashes. "I'd like very much to make it okay for you, too. But I know I can't," I sob, hating myself for bawling like a little girl. But the pain coming from him almost tears me apart.

"I wish you could, too," he says quietly, taking my hand in his. "I don't want to hurt like this," he admits. "But I don't know how to stop."

I hold my breath, hardly able to believe that he's finally opening up, that he's talking to me, telling me what's going on inside of him.

"And there's another part of me, that …," he gulps, his hand tightening on mine, almost bruising it " … that thinks I've earned all this. That I can't be … can't go on while Conn-…"

His voice cracks, and he can't say the name. I see him swallowing, see him averting his eyes, and realise that he's trying to hold tears at bay. "God, this is …," he whispers, "… I thought I had no tears left."

Without thinking I move, my free arm going around him, pulling him to me, holding him. "Angel," I say hoarsely, "It's okay to cry. It helps-"

"But that's it," he almost shouts, pulls back forcefully, trying to get away. "I'm not sure I want help, don't you see?" he cries, tears streaming down his cheeks. My heart breaks to see him like this, so broken, so vulnerable. I've seen Angel cry only a few times. When he thought he had to leave me to get rid of a part of the judge, when he regained his soul before I had to send him to Hell, and when he came back. And I also know that I'm probably the only one who's ever seen him like this. And although I hate to see him that way, it's also like a precious gift, telling me that he still trusts me.

"Oh, Angel," I say, pulling him to me again, my hand burying itself in his hair. "Connor wouldn't want this, don't you think? Do you really think he wanted to see you this way?"

"No." The word is muffled against my throat but I understand it nevertheless.

"Cry, Angel," I tell him, kissing his crown, wrapping my other arm around him as well. "Let yourself fall, I'm here to catch you."

He wraps his arms around me, and I feel his cold tears on my skin, feel his body shaking in my embrace. And while hoping to give him comfort, I close my eyes, and try to imagine that he's holding me, too.

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