Disclaimer: oh please, as if I even want to own them these days
Category: Angst/Drama/Romance
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", "Cold", "Breath", "Friends", "Light", "Trust", and "Simply Love".
Summary: Angel talks to his friends, Angel's POV
Timeline: a month after Connor disappeared
Feedback: oh yes, please!!!
Dedication: For Liz and Lesley, my lovely betas for this story. And for Anja, who begged me to write more in this series.

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 episodes, 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

Cordelia is behind the counter when I step down the stairs, her head buried in a book I haven't seen in ages. I remember it from the back of the shelves in Wesley's office, but I have never bothered to look more closely. Which, if I think about it now, is a bit strange. I wonder why I always avoided to look at the book more closely.

Dismissing the thought, I stop for a moment, watch Cordelia while she's engrossed in said book, her head bent, her recently blond hair - ((Why on earth did she dye it? I liked it the way it was)) - only partially concealing her face. Her nose is slightly scrunched, her forehead marred into a frown. She's an attractive young woman, beautiful even, but I look at her now and wonder why I ever thought we might be good together. Thank God it never got that far. We both would have made each other miserable in the end. I'm not sure if that thing with Groo is serious, but my feelings for another woman certainly are. Always were.

Buffy is sleeping in my room. She finally did fall into an exhausted sleep. I wonder if she slept at all the last weeks, remembering the dark circles on her face, and the way she collapsed in my arms, like a doll, as if life has left her. And I wonder how much of the confusion I've seen in her eyes I'm responsible for?

I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that she slept with Spike. It's only partially the act itself, although that still brings a red mist to my eyes, a mist that can only be connected to jealousy. And yeah, I've always been a possessive sort of guy - or at least I always was with Buffy. Yet, it's not what really bothers me.

Buffy and I have been separated for almost three years now, and I never expected her to become a nun. Hell, it was a big part of the decision to leave her. I wanted her to have a normal life, as normal as a Slayer's life can be at least, and I'd be a fool to think she wouldn't find someone else to share her beautiful body with. She is a young, healthy woman, with a lot to give, and a passion that still takes my non-existent breath away. So I'd be a fool to expect her to forget all about it. It's still hard to think of her with another man, but I have learned to live with it, learned to bear it.

It's true what I told her, a part of me really doesn't care how many men she shares her body with, and it's certainly true that it'll never affect my love for her. The kind of love I feel for her, the kind I never thought myself capable of, isn't the demanding kind. It's given freely, without wanting anything in return. It rejoices if I can see her happy. Or at least content. The problem is she didn't look happy, and she still doesn't. Not entirely, and that makes me wonder.

There is another part of me, a very basic, demonic part, and it rages because Spike has dared to touch her. Touch what's mine. And it raises its head from time to time causing said red mist, but all in all that part is small compared to the worry I feel. Worry because Buffy gave herself to a soulless vampire, a true demon. Even the thought is sickening. Even more so as it tells me that something profound must have happened to cause it. The Buffy I've known, the one I've left wouldn't have done it. She would've laughed at the mere thought. This one doesn't laugh, and she did it. And that worries me.

Buffy is the Slayer, and as such, she's forced to see violence, she's forced to see ugliness, death. To fight it, she has to use violence herself, inflicts death as a routine, has learned to execute it with perfection. The problem is, you can never get used to death. Not if you're human, not if you've got a soul. The Slayer isn't a violent person per se, but she has to learn it, has to come into intimate touch with that dark, hidden place inside of her - at least if she wants to survive. And she wants to survive, it's as much part of her being as it is of every human.

I'm not sure, but I can guess that her death has a lot to do with it. Waking up in a grave isn't really pleasant. I can still remember the moment of my awakening. Confusion was the overwhelming feeling then. But I didn't have a soul when I woke up. And that's what makes the difference. I can't even imagine how she must have felt. Waking up somewhere dark, and then having to claw her way up. A Slayer hunts vampires, she shouldn't be forced to wake up like one.

"Angel."

Cordy's voice forces me back from my heavy thoughts and I take an unnecessary breath, before I step down the stairs completely, stand at the counter, "What are you reading?"

For a moment she stares at me, then blinks, as if she hasn't expected me to say anything, much less ask a question, or show that I care. I feel a pang of guilt, at that, realising just now how much I've let my grief rule me, how much I've forgotten to look out for my friends.

"A book," she laughs slightly, nervously, "A demonic book," she laughs again, "I mean, of course it's a demonic book, because hello, we're an agency dealing with demons and vampires and …" She stops herself, draws a hand through her hair - ((I wonder if I will ever get used to that new look)) - then just stares.

"Cordelia," I ask, "Is something wrong?"

"Wrong?" her voice is a little bit shrill, her hands busying themselves with each other, "What would be wrong?" She tries to hide it, but I can see she's desperately trying to change the subject, and then, "How is Buffy?"

"Asleep," I reply mildly, trying to look around her, to see what she's trying to hide. "What are you reading, Cordy?"

"Reading?" she looks as if I've spoken in Romanian. Or rather, in Russian. I really, really hate to think about Romania.

"Yeah," I shake my head. What the hell is going on here? "Cordy, what is the matter?"

I give her another look, then attempt to round the counter, but she holds up her hand, something bordering on panic entering her eyes, "Stay away," she orders. "Why are you down anyway? We thought you'd sleep for a long time. Together." She stops, laughs again, "Well, not together-together, but … Or that you two would talk. You know, a nice, long talk. Catching up. Stuff like that."

"What do you mean, 'we'?"

My question obviously throws her, because she stares at me again, "What?"

"You said, 'We thought you'd sleep for a long time.' Who is we?"

"We," she swallows, a faint blush creeping up her face, "Well, we, that is Gunn, and Fred, and-"

"Me."

I feel my body stiffen involuntarily at hearing the voice behind my back. There have been times during the last four weeks when the only thing I wished was to never have to hear this voice again. And there have been other times when I desperately wanted to hear it. Crying out in pain when I use my hands on the body it belonged to. But never once during that time I thought I would be glad to hear it. Or at least indifferent, and I realise what Buffy's coming really does for me.

I think about a sentence I've once read in a book, about love bringing out the best in you, making you a better person. And I realise it's true. Where I would've been tempted to beat Wesley up, to inflict as much pain on him as he inflicted on me, I'm now able to see that he never intended to hurt me. That he acted stupid, and maybe rash, but that he never consciously did it to hurt me. That doesn't mean I've forgiven him, or that we can ever be friends again, or even feel comfortable in each others presence, but at least I can turn around now, and look at him, without the urge to kill him on the spot. The only way I could avoid this during the last weeks, was by ignoring him.

"Angel."

His voice is rough, and I can still see traces of bruises on his skin, and for the first time he's looking at me, and what I see in his eyes is so terribly familiar, it makes my gut clench. His eyes are darker than usual, the shadows in them deep and hurting. There is guilt, the most powerful feeling of all, and pain, self-loathing, and I realise that very moment that the man I once knew is gone forever. He's changed profoundly, by a mistake he's made, and he'll always pay for it.

It painfully reminds me of another man, whose single stupid mistake changed his life in a dark alley. It doesn't really matter if the one was just 26, heavily drunk, and not thinking clearly, while the other is older, and did it because he thought it was the right thing to do. We both made mistakes, we're paying for. I might have given up the idea that there's a way to atone for your sins, that there is something beyond us, something bigger, but that doesn't mean I've stopped paying.

Every night I wake up from a nightmare, every time I remember one of the thousand - ((or were there even more?)) - faces, I'm paying. Those faces that meant nothing to me, lives that were mine to play with, to end them if I was in the mood, I know that whatever I do, it'll never be enough. It can't be enough. And how should it be? You cannot pay for a life you've taken, with a life you've saved. Lives aren't part of a simple calculation. Taking a life, killing a person, is extinguishing an individual, someone who can't be replaced. I've never been so aware of it than I am right now. You could bring me hundred babies, but none of it would be Connor. They could be cute, and smiling, and kicking, and they still couldn't replace the one I've lost.

"Wes came some hours ago."

I hear Cordy's voice behind me, nervous, and I realise that I have to say something. "Wes." I know it's not much, but honestly, I'm not sure what to say. Even though I don't want to kill him anymore, even though I can understand what he's going through, I'm still a father who lost his son because a so called friend thought it better for Connor to be with a stranger than with me.

"We … uh … we're researching something," Wesley tells me, then nods towards his office where Gunn and Fred are shuffling through books as well. I stop. Then frown. Gunn. Shuffles. Through. Books. Something very strange is happening here!

"What are you researching?," I ask, looking back and forth between Cordy and Wes.

But before they can answer me, we hear a noise from the top of the stairs, and when we look up Buffy stands there, rubbing her eyes, still looking warm, and rumpled, and - ((God help me)) - tempting in one of my ((Jesus!!!)) shirts. It looks a lot better on her, I realise, keeping myself from sucking in a sharp breath. It'd be a dead giveaway, and I really, really don't want my friends to wonder if I'm on the brink of losing it.

"Buffy!" The name sounds shrill from Cordy's mouth, and definitely relieved.

I make a mental note to find out what the Hell is going on in my own house, before focussing on Buffy. "You're up?," I say softly, when she steps down. "Are you feeling better?"

"Uh-huh," she mumbles. "Hey, Wes. Didn't see you before."

"No. I … uh … I just came. Some hours ago. Good to see you."

"How long was I out?"

"Not too long. Six or seven hours," I tell her.

She groans, then runs a hand through her hair, "I'm sure I look terrible." Her eyes narrow at me, "You still don't have any mirrors in your room. That'll have to change. Is there coffee around?"

"Yes, I made some fresh." Fred comes from the office, beaming at Buffy. "It's just over there." She points at the coffee maker, and the Slayer walks over as if reaching for her life-line.

"She looks slightly better than before," Cordy says, and looking at her concerned gaze, I suddenly remember a time when a snippy comment would've been all she'd have to say. She doesn't do that anymore, and I'm a little bit proud of it. Not that I think I've caused all this, but I like to think I'm at least part of it. It's not like saving a life, but it's still a good feeling.

"Be careful with her. She's had it rough." I say quietly, not wanting for Buffy to hear it.

"Hmmm," Cordy makes absentmindedly, but suddenly her head snaps around, her gaze focussing on me for a couple of seconds, before she comes around the counter and without warning hugs me.

Not quite understanding what this is about, or what to think of it, I return the hug for a moment, but when she holds me tighter I try to loosen her arms, and pull back myself. "Uhm … Cordy." Maybe her relationship with Groo isn't what I thought after all. Or my behaviour just before Holtz took Connor didn't go as unnoticed as I thought. "I … uh … I know I made some … I mean, I gave you some hints that I might … that is …"

"Hints?," her confused expression is real, and my knees almost go weak with relief. Thank God she never really paid attention to my subtle hints regarding my feelings for her. "What hints?"

"Nothing," I reply quickly, "So, what was this hug for?"

She smiles, "I'm just so glad you're back. You were like a shadow these past weeks. And I …," her eyes cloud over, "I … I know how much you're hurting because of Connor, but …" She shrugs, a bit uncertain how to go on. "Well, I'm glad you're back," she states again.

She will never know how much I'm hurting right now, what it means to lose a child, and I pray to God she never will, but I know the words came from her heart, and instead of closing myself up, I nod, "It means a lot, Cordy." She will never know what it costs me to say that, behaving almost normal, and that I wouldn't have had the strength to do it only two days ago. I look at Buffy, and our eyes meet for a brief moment. She is my strength. And maybe I'm hers.

"Good," Cordy smiles again, and it's more genuine this time. "We miss him, too, you know," she adds quietly, her eyes flickering to Gunn and Wes, then to Fred.

But even with Buffy around my strength has its limits. It's too early to talk about Connor. I cannot do it. Not now. I'm not sure when. And I certainly can't do it with Wesley around. That's the definite point where my strength ends. At least now.

Again it's Buffy who saves me, "That's really good coffee," she comments, holding a mug when she joins us. In her eyes I can see she's heard Cordy's last comment and that she understands how I feel. I wonder how I could ever let myself forget how much I love her. How much she means to me. How much I need her. But unlike before she needs me, too. I'm more to her than just a shoulder to lean on, a guy she can talk to during the night, who shares her patrols. Maybe that's part of the reason that things that seemed impossible before, seem perfect now.

"Thanks," Fred smiles.

"Want some?," Buffy asks, holding the mug out for me. The gesture is innocent, but at the same time intimate, a gesture so natural, and easy, as if she's done it a hundred times before, as if we've never been apart, and my soul is torn between grief and joy. Is it even possible to feel that way, I wonder. Is it possible to feel grief, as deep as the deepest ocean, something you think you will never be able to overcome, and at the same time joy? Joy so bright and sunny, you're blinded by it. Obviously it is, because that's how I'm feeling right now.

"Thanks," I take the mug, sip, and our eyes meet again over the rim. There is a smile in hers, and I cannot help but return it. And that must have given us away, because Cordy suddenly gasps.

"Oh my God," she exclaims. "Oh my God."

"What?," Wesley, obviously confused, is already reaching for an axe, while the book Gunn was reading slips from his hand reaches for the seer, in attempt to keep her from falling to the floor. Although she's much better with her half-demon status these days, old habits die hard.

Cordy evades his touch, rolls her eyes at him and Wes, then snorts, "Gee, paranoid much? There are things besides demons and visions, you know. Although," she pauses for a moment, "maybe you should keep it ready, just in case." Then her eyes narrow. At me. At us. At Buffy and me. "You didn't do it, right?"

Clearly I can see that nobody but us three understands a word of what she's referring to. Buffy and I however catch up instantly. But before I can say something, Buffy beats me to it. "No we didn't." I have to smile when I hear the amusement in her voice. It's the first time I hear her like this when Angelus is mentioned, even if not directly. "So calm down. Angel is still very soulful. Besides, if…," she stops, grins at me, and I hide my own grin in the cup, "it would be too late already."

"Okay," Gunn puts his sword down, "Can anyone tells me what's going on here?"

"God, men are just so clueless," Cordy snorts, shaking her head. "Buffy and Angel are back together. No wonder he's halfway normal again." Suddenly she smiles smugly, "Which proves again how good I am." Her gaze darts back to me, "I called her after all."

"And I'll be eternally grateful," I assure her, patting her shoulder.

"You are back together?," Fred's eyes are big and rounded, "You mean you were … I mean … I heard about Buffy … and … I saw you grieve and … you were a couple. But … but what about the keyrumption and …," she trails off, when she catches Cordy's glare.

"What the hell are you talking about?," the seer almost shouts. "Keyrumption? God, can we say stuck in Pylea. And we talked about this, Fred. It's a big no-no." Instantly her voice softens, "I understand that you've still got problems adjusting. But it's more than a year now. You should live in the now, Fred. Or maybe your boyfriend isn't as attentive as he should?" Her glare now goes to Gunn, who holds up his hands.

"Hey, I didn't do anything."

"No, he's … we're fine," Fred assures us quickly, then sighs. "Just forget about it."

I finally remember that there was something I wanted to ask, "So, you were researching something. Can we help?"

Silence. Complete, utter silence.

Then Wes, "Uhm … yes, actually we were researching-"

"-a demon," Cordy falls in, the same brightness in her voice I've heard before, and I can feel the hair in my neck stand up straight. "A very ugly … yellow … demon."

"Yes, a demon," Gunn confirms, but he can't look at me. He's always been a lousy liar.

"Okay," I cross my arms in front of my chest. They all know this means business. Or at least I hope so. I might not own this agency anymore, but I've still got some authority here - I think. "Someone's going to tell me what's going on here. Now."

"Angel-," Fred starts, but shuts up instantly when Cordy nudges her in the ribs.

"You know," I look at them, one after the other, trying to force them with my stare, something Angelus perfected over the centuries, and that comes in handy now and then, "this is ridiculous. There is nothing you can't tell me. I'm part of this team, right. I might have been out of it for a while, but now I'm here and you can tell me. I'm still stronger than all of you." I see Cordy look pointedly to my side and amend, "Almost all." I don't need to turn to know that Buffy and Cordy share a grin.

"The reason," Wes starts slowly, "we didn't want to tell you, was that we didn't want you to get your hopes up. But maybe you should know. This concerns you after all." I simply raise a brow, and he goes on, "The thing is … we're-"

"No, Wes," Cordy throws in.

"It's not important." He is clearly uncomfortable, shifts on his feet.

"No, it is important," she insists. "It was Wes' idea. Only his. We're nothing but his obeying minions in this. Go on, Wes."

And he does, clearing his throat first, "The thing is, we're actually researching you."

Uh-oh. That doesn't sound good. "Why?"

Wes coughs again, and Cordy finally has enough, "God, just say it already. Angel, Wes had the very good idea to research your curse. As far as I know, it's never been done before. We don't know if we'll find something, but it's at least worth a try, right? We want to help. And before you start arguing, save it. We're family. This comes with the territory." With that she turns away, snaps a donut from the top on the counter, then opens the book she's already been reading before, ignoring us altogether.

I stare at her, not sure what to say. What to think. The room spins slightly around me, but I'm not concerned, after the rollercoaster ride that is my life these past weeks. But then I feel a touch. Buffy has slipped her hand in mine. Our eyes meet. And then she smiles, slowly, sweetly, and I know whatever happens, I can take it. Because I've already found what really counts.

Feedback would be treasured. As I said before, I crave it, and it helps me to write more. RL is so busy right now, you wouldn't believe it. So feedback is really needed. Please send it to Connemara.Scarlets@t-online.de . Thanks for reading, I hope you had fun.

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