Disclaimer: nope, not mine, never will be; if I could I'd claim Angel though *g*
Rating: PG
Pairing: B/A
Category: Angst, Romance, Fluff
Feedback: oh yes, please send it to Connemara.Scarlets@t-online.de
Summary: A night between Christmas and New Year's Eve 2015. And an Invitation.
My thanks go to Jo and Kay for the quick beta-reading! You truly rock, ladies!!!
WARNING: Multiple character deaths mentioned. Not Buffy or Angel, though.

"Would you please follow me, Ma'am?"

The guy who had taken her coat, gloves and scarf nodded at a dimly lit hallway, then proceeded down it, clearly expecting her to follow. With a little sigh and a slight frown she did. Admiring the wooden panels on the wall, and the way the floor creaked underneath her boots as she followed him, and it gave her a feeling of warmth and home, something she'd missed far too long. In the darkness she recognized old landscape paintings, and a huge clock as she rounded a corner.

She wasn't even sure why she'd come. It was kind of crazy, if you thought about it. But something about the plain white card and the printed letters spoke to her, even though she couldn't say what. Maybe it was the Slayer in her, a part she had ignored for years. With all the Slayers in the world now, her life was far more quiet these days, and she hadn't been out hunting in ages. Not that it was needed, anyway. Since the Great Destruction, the expression people used for what had occurred about a year ago, vampires were few and far between. The very few still walking the earth were more prey than hunters.

But walking down that dark hallway, all her Slayer senses sprang to instant alert. Or maybe it was something else entirely. No, it couldn't be. There had to be another reason for the way her heart raced, and her gut was tying itself into thousands of tiny little knots.

She was so busy trying to figure out if the sudden tingling in her gut was cause for concern that she almost ran into the waiter who had stopped in front of a door at the far end, looking at her expectantly. He knocked with his gloved hand, and waited a moment before opening the door. "Ma'am." Again he nodded at her, this time not preceding her, but waiting for her to enter first.

With a nod of her own, she did.

And found herself in a room that might have sprung from her dreams. Wooden walls and floor created an instant feeling of warmth. Or maybe it was the centerpiece, an open fireplace where the logs crackled, sending warm shivers down her spine. Above it she could see an old painting, showing a hunting scene in winter, while on a huge oak table in the middle two empty glasses and an opened bottle of red wine, next to fruit and cheese, promised culinary delight. Two comfortable chairs were waiting to be occupied.

The thing that instantly drew her eyes, though, was the huge white fir, beautifully decorated with white candles, red apples and golden balls that were sparkling with lights, as if thousands of silent fire works had gone off at once. On top she could see an angel in red, white and green, watching over everything, just like the one she remembered from back home.

"If you want to wait a minute," the waiter said politely from the door. "The gentleman will be with you shortly."

"Thank you," she replied, her gaze still on the tree, her mind at a home that no longer existed.

Home these days was nothing she could define. It certainly wasn't her small London apartment, and it sure as hell wasn't Dawn's idea of it. Or anyone else's for that matter. Why she had stayed in London after the Great Destruction, she couldn't even say. It wasn't that she had a lot of friends, nor was there anyone serious in her life these days. Maybe it was just that in between the colorful and sometimes crazy people in Notting Hill, she didn't feel quite as alone as she used to. And it was close to work.

Sighing to herself, she stepped closer to the Christmas tree and again her eyes were drawn to the angel on top. She could have sworn it was the one her mother had bought many years ago. They had always cherished it, but it was gone now, like all the other things that had once been familiar, part of her everyday life. Revello Drive didn't exist anymore. And Joyce Summers was just someone she remembered. There wasn't a grave left. No place she could go to and mourn. Not even a picture she could look at. Nothing.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

She should have known it was him. Should have known it could only have been his card, his idea, his invitation. But she hadn't. For a moment, she admitted, when she'd received the card, there had been a spark of hope, a glimmer of life in a heart that seemed nothing more than an organ to support her body-functions these days, but she'd killed it ruthlessly, not willing to let hope bloom, where disappointment would surely kill her should it not be fulfilled.

"Yes, it is," she said finally, drawing a necessary breath that had been lodging in her throat. She didn't turn. There was no need to. "Why didn't you sign the card?"

There was no answer for a while, but she heard two glasses being filled, before he appeared at her side, holding one out to her. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

She took the offered glass and sipped. It wasn't sweet, but not too dry either. Just right. Like this room. Like this night. She sighed. "There was no need. I wanted it to be you."

She heard him drink, too, heard him swallow, thought about the fluid running down his throat. "I'm glad. It wasn't easy to find you."

She smiled slightly. "How did you?" So he'd been trying to find her, had been looking for her. She didn't want to, but she felt good about it. Liked the idea of him with her in mind.

"Xander."

"Xander?" She laughed. Who would have thought? Dawn had to make him happier than she'd thought. She traced a neatly rounded fingernail over the rim of her glass. "He must have been thrilled to see you."

He took her hand in his, stilling its motion. "Actually, he was. He and Dawn seem happy."

Again she laughed, hating that it sounded a little harsh. "They are. And so damn normal." His hand was big and warm, lightly clasping hers. She concentrated on that warmth, that slight connection, so she wouldn't have to look at him. "They are quite the happy family."

He absently rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. The skin was soft, fragile – the way he remembered it. Not at all like the woman. She still looked more like a girl than a woman, even though she was past thirty. Yes, there were little laugh lines around her eyes, and there was a world of knowledge in her eyes, but underneath he could still feel the vibrant girl, and he was glad it wasn't lost completely.

Withdrawing her hand from his hold, she turned away from the tree and for the first time became aware of the ceramic scent pot painted with merry Christmas scenes, filled with potpourri, a silver candle holder, and a miniature sleigh on the window sill. A bow made of red velvet and green calico was the only ornament on the window. Outside, where there was a typical lack of snow – as one would expect in the south of England at that time of the year – thousands of lights sparkled on the trees, making the scene friendly and inviting.

"Why did you stay in London?"

She shrugged, and picked up a ceramic boy angel that sat next to the miniature sleigh. His head was bowed to reveal his halo, his robe painted in soft Christmas colors – pale pinks and muted golds and mossy greens. Usually she would have admired the small figurine, but this night her mind was preoccupied. Without a second glance she set it back on the sill.

Taking another sip from her wine, she shrugged. "It seemed the best thing to do. And I get to see Giles from time to time."

"How is he?"

She shrugged again. "Married. Happy."

"Unlike you." It wasn't a question. And that angered her. Which was stupid. He had merely stated facts. She was still unmarried. It was true, she wasn't happy, she wasn't even sure she was content.

"Why did you never get married?"

Knowing the answer, but not willing to face it, she sighed. "Too busy I guess." Then, deciding for the truth, or at least part of it, she added, "And the right guy never came along."

"I'm sorry."

That angered her even more. "Are you?"

"Yes, I am." Her anger vanished in the face of his sincere voice. "I always wanted you to be happy. To find … whatever you wanted to."

She knew it was the truth. She had always known. Maybe it was the reason she'd never felt she was ready to settle. To stay with one of the men that had come and gone. None of them were what she wanted. She wanted …

"Warm," she almost shouted, turning to him swiftly, finally meeting his dark eyes across the room. "You're … you … warm." Her voice gone, her lips still parted, she stared at him.

He simply looked at her, open, hiding nothing. "Yes."

"You … you're human." It was a mere whisper. Awed. Breathless. She was shivering all over – despite the warmth coming from the open fireplace.

"Yes." A slight smile played around his lips. She remembered the smile. And she didn't. It was the smile of so many years ago, and it wasn't. The trace of sadness was missing now, erased, probably as his heart had started to beat. Or so she wanted to think.

"The Great Destruction." This time she did just state facts. Obviously it had been his final test. And now he was human. She knew it had been his greatest wish, his hope in an ocean of darkness.

Shanshu.

He told her before she left for England, just after Sunnydale disappeared from the face of the earth. She had acknowledged it, stored it away and then forgotten about it. It wasn't a hope she could risk harboring. Not anymore. She'd lost once too often to risk it.

"Human." She said it quietly, more to herself, letting the word form slowly on her tongue, wanting to taste it, savor it, then store it away forever. "It was a year ago."

"Actually, about ten months." He laughed slightly. "It wasn't anything drastic, not like the last …" He trailed off, coughed. "I suddenly felt sick at the sight of blood, you know. Then I could stand in the sunlight for a minute and not combust. It was a gradual change."

With a nod she took it in. Then she turned back to the windowsill, taking a deep breath as she did so. The boy angel smiled at her, his halo bright and shiny. She picked it up again, saw his blue eyes, the friendly smile.

"It was … I was trying to get back into things first." He came up beside her, taking the angel from her hands and carefully setting it down again. "There I was. Former vampire, now human. I didn't have any papers, no social security number, nothing."

"I suppose the Powers don't care for such mundane things." She could feel his warmth now, and wondered why she hadn't felt it before.

"You can say that again." She heard him laugh, felt her heart expand at the sound. "Wesley helped me with it. But it was still a pain. Then I tried to find you."

"You owe me nothing, Angel." It was the first time she had said his name. He had yet to say hers.

"I owe you everything." Again his voice was sincere. He truly believed he did. "You were the reason."

It sounded wonderful, and she wanted to believe it. But something inside of her resisted. How could she be the reason? She was just a woman. Someone who had risked her life numerous times, sure, but still just a woman. Nothing special. Just … Buffy.

His warm hand came down on her shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Without you, I would've been gone long ago. Like your friends. Like this world. You saved so many people, even though most of them will never know it, will never thank you for it." She turned her head and looked at him, but he continued before she could speak. "I know you never expected them to. You're an amazing woman, Buffy. And you *are* the reason."

The warmth spread through her whole body, thawing her heart at the edges. "I was nothing but a foolish girl."

"You're wrong." His smile was gentle, "You were very brave. And smart. Do you remember Christmas on the hill over Sunnydale? You told me that strong was fighting. I always carried it with me."

"I said a lot of stupid things that night." It was a lie. She had said a lot of stupid things, but not that night. For once, she'd found the right words and spoken the truth – right from her heart. She could still remember loving him so much it hurt, wishing she didn't, that she could be free again, young and careless. And at the same time wishing this feeling would never end, that he'd always be with her, that they would be strong and fighting together.

"No." He shook his head and removed his hand from her shoulder, leaving her with a feeling of sudden loss. "You were hurting that night. We both were. But where I wanted to give up, you were ready to go on. Underneath all the tears and the pain I saw the fire."

"I didn't save you that night, Angel. They did."

"Maybe. But I prefer to believe that I would've gone with you in the end. I wasn't ready to die. Not when you were so willing to continue fighting."

"Willing?" She heard herself laugh harshly, almost like a bark. "More like forced to. I was never willing, Angel. Never."

The hand was back on her shoulder. "Don't do this, Buffy. Don't try to make yourself believe that you only did what you did because you had to."

Shaking off his touch, she moved away, to the table, pouring herself more of the red wine. Maybe if she drank enough, she'd be able to forget. "But it's the truth. I fought with all I had against being a Slayer. You didn't know me then, Angel."

"But I did," he replied smoothly, without a moment's hesitation.

"Because you watched me coming down the steps of Hemery? If you think that, you're an even bigger fool than I am." She felt raw inside, felt herself hurting in places she'd tried to ignore for many years.

"Buffy." It was the way he said her name, that soft, almost breathless whisper, like a caress, like the touch of a soft hand, that made her shiver. Always had.

"I was a spoiled girl, Angel. Like Cordelia."

"That's a compliment," he said and she heard him smile. "She turned out to be quite a woman in the end."

The tug on her heart was quick and painful, the twist of her gut sharp. Jealousy. She recognized it almost wonderingly. "So – you and … Cordy." She was surprised how much it hurt. It shouldn't. After all, they had been separated for years, hadn't even talked to each other. There had been men in her life. Riley. Spike. And others. It shouldn't matter. Yet, it did. Maybe because she heard the warmth in his voice, the admiration. She recognized it. There had been times when it had been for her – and her alone.

It was probably selfish, and it showed how incredibly lonely Angel had been, but a part of her wanted it back, wanted him to be pining after her, waiting for her to come, for her to be his only light. She wasn't. Not anymore. There had been others, she knew. Darla. Cordy. No doubt others whose names she didn't know.

"Cordy and I …" He trailed off, sighed. "We never … At least not while I was in control."

She filed that away for later, not sure what to think of it. Besides, Cordy was gone. She was part of the past. Now, here, was the present. And it was all that mattered. All that could matter. And maybe, the future.

"I was surprised to see Dawn with Xander."

Surprise was a mild word for what Buffy had felt. Shocked was more like it. Her little sister – and Xander Harris. A couple. And now married. Even happily. It was strange to think of them together. "Spike said…," she started, but stopped, shook her head. It didn't matter what Spike said. Spike was gone, too.

"He was very brave in the end," he told her. "Did all he could do."

She nodded. Knew all about Spike and his final battle with evil. Giles had told her. And he'd heard all the stories from Wesley. "Is Wes married now?"

"Yes. He and Fred finally managed to get it right." He laughed slightly, "It was way past time."

So others did get happy ends. Dawn and Xander. Wes and Fred. She had met the slightly chaotic scientist once. And liked her instantly. Giles and Anna. His childhood sweetheart. Who'd have thought?

Not Willow though.

"You miss her, don't you?"

Could he still read her thoughts? Did he still know what was deep in her heart, in her soul? "Every day."

She quickly looked at him and saw him nod. Yes, he did understand. He had lost people, too. Cordy. Gunn.

"What about Connor?"

He sucked in a breath. Stiffened. "Connor?"

"I knew. I've always known." And it had hurt. More than anything else.

"How?" Bewildered … and a little shocked, he stared at her.

She shrugged. "I have no idea. I just did. Maybe our lives were a lot more linked than we thought." Locking her eyes with his, she asked gently, "Is he alive?"

His head moved slowly, in one painful nod. "Yes."

"But he still has no idea who you are."

It wasn't a question. The expression in his eyes said it all, "No."

She didn't tell him she was sorry. Sorry was a far too weak word for what she felt. He had lost so much. How could he still be standing? Where did he find the strength to go on, to still try? He once had told her that he was weak. To her, now, he seemed incredibly strong. Almost inhuman.

"I … saw him. Right after … you know." He spoke with great difficulty, as if every word was spoken through a wall of pain. "He is happy. And … I'm glad."

"I know." She felt like crying, and like screaming at the same time. At the Powers. At God. Whoever in the universe was willing to listen. If they were unwilling, she'd make them. See, she wanted to shout, here we are, warriors. We risked our lives time and again, and what did we get? Injustice. Nothing else. "Why did we do it, Angel?" She made it a question even though it wasn't one. They both knew the answer.

"What else were we supposed to do?"

Yes, they both knew it.

"Why did you invite me?" She asked finally, not wanting to think about the past. Present. Future. Those were the things that counted. The Past was over and gone. And it wasn't going to come back. Not this time.

He was silent for a long time while they looked at each other. She saw the lights of the Christmas tree dancing in his eyes. Dark, like his hair, like he had once been. Then, slowly, he reached out with his right hand and took a strand of her hair between thumb and forefinger. "I love you, Buffy," he said, his mouth once again curving into the familiar smile. "And I want my life to be with you."

She had thought her heart was dead. Shriveled or frozen in her chest, but at those words, words she remembered from long ago, it sprang to life of its own free will. They should hurt, the words once spoken in a sewer beneath Sunnydale. But they didn't. Here, now, nothing seemed important anymore. Nothing but the present.

"Just like that?" Her voice sounded a little breathless, but she didn't care.

"Just like that." He let the strand of hair slip from his fingers and touched her cheek instead. His fingers were very warm, very soft, even though she could feel the slight roughness of the skin, all proof that Angel, indeed, was human.

"You don't know me anymore, Angel. I'm different. I changed a lot." He needed to see that. Needed to know that she wasn't little Buffy anymore. She was Buffy.

"So you're not dough anymore."

She couldn't help herself, she had to smile. "No. I'm not sure I'm cookies, either. If I learned one thing, Angel, it's that I'll be never done baking."

His smile widened, "Good. Because I'm definitely not done. I'm just starting anew. But I know one thing. I want to do it with you. Together."

"Together." She let the word linger on her tongue, almost as if tasting it. Together had once meant everything to her. Could it again? Was it possible? She wished she could talk to Willow, hear her friend's advice, but fate had decided otherwise. Willow was a mere memory now. Like so many others. So many were gone, never to come back. Could she really let this chance go?

Angel was here. And human. So – was it possible? Or was it still an impossible dream? Could two people who had undoubtedly grown apart over the years still fit? Was love enough?

"Yes, together." She felt his warm palm on her cheek, his thumb tracing the line of her brow. Almost involuntarily she leaned into the caress, seeking the closeness, the love it carried. "Buffy, we've only got this one life. Let's not waste it. If *I've* learned one thing, it's that life is precious and can be surprisingly short. We don't know what's going to happen tomorrow. But we have today."

"And tonight?" she asked, not really sure where it had come from. The words were out before she could think about them.

"And tonight," he agreed, and his answering smile melted the last drops of ice around her heart. "And maybe tomorrow, and the next day, if we're lucky. And if we're really lucky," his smile widened, "we'll be together for a long time. Still, today is what counts."

"And tonight," she repeated, smiling too. It was a smile that felt familiar. A smile that hadn't been there for far too long.

"And tonight," he echoed. "I love you, Buffy. I want my life to be with you."

She saw it in his eyes, saw the unvoiced question. "Me, too," she said, allowing her hand to touch him for the first time. His skin on his face was smooth, but she could feel the slight stubble. A little prickly. "Willow once asked me how you shaved. You know, without having a reflection."

He took her hand in his and kissed it. "I had time to practice." He paused, leaned forward and kissed her forehead. It was just a brush of lips on skin, but she felt herself shiver. "I'm so sorry about Willow."

"I'll never forget her," she told him, almost fiercely. "She was the best friend I ever had. A much better friend than I ever was. When she really needed me, I was never there."

He kissed her again, this time on her nose. "Don't be so hard on yourself. She loved you."

"I know. I loved her, too." And suddenly she needed to be closer. Without warning him, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself close. "Angel," her voice was muffled against his throat. "Promise me you'll never leave me again. I couldn't bear it. I can't do this if-"

She was interrupted when he removed her arms from his neck and pushed her back a little so he could look into her eyes. "You know I never *wanted* to leave you," he said urgently. "You know that, do you?"

A part of her knew it was the truth, but there had been so much pain, the doubt was still there. "I-" she started, but he interrupted again, closing his fingers around her upper arms almost painfully.

"I was a vampire. A vampire with a shaky soul. Buffy," his eyes were very intense, "I loved you so much. I wanted you like I never wanted anything else in my life. And because I did, I had to go. But my heart broke that night. And I need you to make it whole again. I need you in my life, Buffy. I can't do it without you."

"Yes, you can," she said, meaning it. They both had learned to survive without each other. They had even lived – if barely.

"Maybe I could," he conceded. "But it wouldn't be living. Not the way I want to. I existed these past years. I even … let some women into my life, but … I don't *want* to live like that anymore. I want a life. A true life. With the woman I love. The *only* woman I ever truly loved." He stopped, looked at her for a long moment, before he continued, "The woman I'll always love."

She felt her eyes turn moist and blinked. Her voice was hoarse, when she told him, "I never stopped loving you either, Angel. I swear."

"I know," he said, pulling her close, holding her, his heartbeat mingling with her own. "I know, Buffy."

She sniffled against his neck; "I'm still wondering if I'm going to wake up any time soon. That all this is just a dream."

"It's not," he assured her, holding her even closer. She melted against his strong form, wishing for a moment they could truly become one. "I'm here. And I'm going to stay."

At that she pulled back. "In England?"

"If you want me to." He shrugged and smiled. "I was born on an island near by. We could go there. I could show you where I grew up. Although," his smile turned into a grin, "nothing will be familiar, I suppose."

"It's been a while." More than two hundred and fifty years. More than several lifetimes. And yet, here he was, looking barely thirty.

A thought occurred to her, and she frowned. "You realize," she told him, "that technically you're younger than I am now."

He cocked his head, "Will that be a problem?" He sounded so serious, she had to laugh. It felt good. Free.

"No. But it's weird. You've always been so much older."

"I still am," he assured her, kissing her nose again. "I was just well preserved."

"Mmmm." She sighed and snuggled against him. It seemed so natural, as if they'd never been apart. Maybe they really had been made for each other, had been destined to be together from the start. Who knew? And who the hell cared? She certainly didn't. Angel was here, with her, and she intended to keep it that way, the Powers be damned.

"There's something Xander wanted me to tell you," he said after a moment.

Her brow came up, and she raised her head from his shoulder to look at him, "Xander gave *you* a message for me?"

He grinned, "He said, quote, `if she's smart, she'll hold on to you with both hands. Life is short.'"

Stunned, she giggled. Xander could still surprise her. "Now I see where your sudden insight came from."

He looked at her with mock horror. "You really think I'm quoting Xander Harris? No, I came to the realization all on my own. But it was nice to hear Xander say it, too. He's not a bad guy."

She laughed, "Now that his focus is on the other Summers-woman."

"That, too," he agreed, kissing her firmly on the lips.

The kiss rocked her world. As if it had been out of whack and was suddenly back on its axis. Everything was suddenly right again. "Why did you wait that long to come to me?" she demanded.

He sighed, "As I told you, there were a few things I needed to take care of. And I needed to find you first, but also …," he hesitated, then, his eyes locked with hers, he went on. "I needed to be sure."

"Sure." Her gut clenched. "Sure … that you … loved me?"

"No," he shook his head. "I was always sure of that. No, I needed to be sure that I could live with a rejection. That I'd be ready to deal with it."

Laughing softly, she let her eyes sweep around, "You went to an awful lot of trouble for a rejection."

"Buffy," he was serious, "I hoped, but I had no idea how you were going to react. I hurt you very badly."

"Yes." It was out of the question, and they didn't need to discuss it. He had hurt her. A lot. But so had she. "And I hurt you. But this is the present, remember? And maybe the future. The past is just that – the past." And she was sure of it. Had never been more sure of it in her life. Angel was her past, and if everything went right, he was her present, and would be her future, too. But she also knew that nothing in life came for free, had learned it the hard way. People had to fight and work for what they wanted.

"We hurt each other," he agreed. "But you were very young. I, on the other hand-"

"Stop." She was very firm about this. They could not build a life on guilt. "The past, remember?"

He looked at her almost as if she were a miracle. And maybe she was, she marveled. Maybe they were each other's. With a laugh that was more than a little incredulous, he pulled her close again. "The past," he echoed her words. "The past." It was like a vow.

"Of course," she pulled back and gazed at him, "that doesn't mean that I can't use the guilt thingy from time to time, right?"

He laughed, and kissed her again. And again. "I love you, Buffy Summers. God, how I love you."

She laughed, as well. "And I you. I love you. Angel … uh," she frowned, "… Are you still just Angel?"

"I didn't want to use my old name. Somehow it didn't seem right." She understood. So very well. Even though he had been Angelus then, he had still killed his father, and his name with it. Guilt. And remorse. Yes, it was in the past, but they had to accept that the past would always be part of their future, too. Too much had happened to forget about it completely.

"So, what did you choose." He seemed a little embarrassed and she raised a curious eyebrow. "Angel?"

"Summers. I … uh … chose Summers."

It was her turn to stare at him incredulously. She should be angry with him, but she wasn't. Somehow it was just right. "I think it fits," she said and smiled when she saw him release a long breath. "Well, Angel Summers, how are we going to do this?"

He frowned, "This?"

"Us," she clarified. "Because, I … can't jump into things. I need to take it slow."

"So, slow it'll be," he agreed and kissed her again.

Not sure what to think of his easy acceptance of her terms, she bit her lower lip. "How slow?"

"How slow do you want us to go?"

She gave him an annoyed look. "A question isn't the answer of a question."

"Sometimes it is. Buffy, I'm okay with everything you decide. At least where this is concerned. " He waved his hand at her, then at himself. "I kind of jumped this on you. It's the least I can do."

"Well," she licked her lips. "I kind of liked the whole being jumped on concept. And of course," she looked around again, "being invited to an expensive inn into a separate room is very romantic. I mean, I'm not that young anymore. This kind of stuff doesn't happen to me all that often."

"You're young," he said firmly. "For me, you'll always be young."

"Now you're gonna tell me that I'll always be beautiful to you." She was only half joking. She wanted to be beautiful to him. Always.

"Of course you will be." He sounded a little insulted that she would doubt him, and she smiled.

"Remember when I told you that you're a terrible liar? Sweet, but a liar?"

He smiled, the memory obviously close to his heart. "I don't care what happens, Buffy. To me you'll always be beautiful."

She grinned. "See. A liar. But I forgive you. A woman likes to be called beautiful."

"I'll remember that."

"So … uh … about this thing. I … want dates. Several. I want you spending money." Suddenly a thought came to her, "Or are you broke? I mean, I-"

He laughed, "I'm not broke. I'm not rich, either, but … I'll get along."

"I don't earn a lot at the bookshop, but I can get by." Something else came to her, "Thinking about it, I work at a book shop. And you're good with books, too. We could open one together."

"Maybe. We'll see. I want to live one day at a time. Agreed?"

"Agreed." She did, wholeheartedly. And she hoped there would be countless of them. Her eyes fell on the sofa in the corner. A big, comfortable looking sofa. And she suddenly had an idea. "Angel?"

"Yes."

"The guy who showed me in. Does he always knock first?"

"Huh?" He looked down at her, puzzled.

"I mean, he doesn't just barge in, right?" She bit her lower lip, wondering if her initial idea had been the wisest. On the other hand, the sofa really looked nice.

"He is an English waiter. Employee of one of the most expensive restaurants. They don't barge at all."

Satisfied, she nodded. "Good."

He frowned, "What is this all about?"

Shrugging, she snuggled closer to him. "Nothing." Clearly he didn't believe her, but seemed to let it go. "Angel?"

"What?" He pulled back to look at her.

"That sofa over there." She nodded into the direction and he turned his head.

"What about it?"

"I know I said I want to take it slow, but … uh …" she trailed off, but caught his gaze.

In an instant his eyes grew almost impossibly dark, and her heart sped up. "You sure?"

"Yes."

"No doubts."

"Not one. I want it. Now. Angel, I need it."

He smiled and kissed her, slowly, sweetly. "Whatever the lady wants." He tugged her towards the sofa and she followed.

Reaching it, she hesitated. Was it really the right thing to do? Or would it be rushing things? Did she really want it now, or was it just her insecurity raising its ugly head?

He seemed to read her thoughts – again. "We don't have to, Buffy. I love you. You don't have to prove anything."

"I know." Was this about proving something? "I mean, I think I do, but … Angel, I want you so much. I just want to be sure. I want it to be right."

"Hush." He silenced her with another sweet kiss. "There's no hurry. I didn't invite you here tonight to seduce you."

"You didn't?" She was irked by the disappointment she felt at his words.

Obviously he realized it, because he laughed, "Not as a matter of urgency, no."

"Oh."

"But," he took both her hands and started kissing her fingers. "It has entered my mind once or twice since you came."

"Oh."

"Hmmm." He turned her hands, and kissed the spot on her wrist where he could feel her pulse racing underneath. She gasped in response.

"Angel?" Was that her voice sounding so breathless?

"Hmmm?"

"About going slow?"

"Yes?" His voice was a whisper, a caress against her bare skin, sending shivers all over her body. How long had it been since she'd felt like this? She couldn't remember. Or maybe, she could, but right now she didn't want to dwell on it. There would be time for that later.

The tip of his tongue traced her thumb, before he gently sucked on it.

Much, much later.

There would be time for a lot of things later. But right now, all that counted was the feeling of his lips, the touch of his hands, and the sound of his voice. This was the present. This was what counted.

She closed her eyes and let it happen.

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