DISCLAIMER: All things Buffy belong to Joss Whedon, the WB, FOX and Mutant Enemy and 20th Century Fox Film Corporation.
RATING: Give it an R
DISTRIBUTION: On my website:

They were out on her apartment balcony, watching the sun set.

Angel stood at Buffy's back, his arms wrapped around her waist. She leaned back against his chest, comfortable in his embrace, her own hands resting on his.

"It's beautiful," he said softly, watching the sky turn orange and gold and black - colours he had forgotten in centuries lived in the dark. "I've missed so much."

"But some things never change," Buffy answered just as quietly. "The sun has been coming up and going down again every day, just waiting for you to be able to watch it."

Angel laughed, and she could feel the sound reverberating in his chest. "Does that mean that now the sun won't come up tomorrow?" He shook his head and laughed again. "Buffy, I'm nothing special. The sun hasn't been waiting for me."

She turned around, setting her back to the fading glories in the sky. She place a hand on his chest, amazed and awed all over again at the feeling of his heart beating under her palm.

"Nothing special?" she repeated, and her tone was one of mixed affection and exasperation. "The only vampire ever to have a soul? Who had prophecy written about him centuries before he was born? The only vampire ever destined to become human again?" She tapped his chest to make her point. "Me, I'm just the latest in a long line. You're unique." How can you say you're nothing special?"

Angel just shook his head, having no answer to give her. He understood what she was saying, but even after living with knowledge of the prophecy for so many years, now that it had come to pass it didn't feel real. Even standing there, watching the last of the day's sunlight fading from the sky, hearing the sound of his own breathing, feeling his heart thudding in his chest and pushing the blood through his veins, he still couldn't believe all this related to _him_.

Buffy shook her head in exasperation, obviously understanding exactly what he was thinking. "And besides," she added as if it clinched the matter, "I love you. Doesn't that make you special?"

"It makes _you_ special," he answered without needing to think. She raised a hand threateningly and he laughed again. "All right," he agreed placatingly, feeling an unexpected peace settle around him as he said the words. "Yes, that makes me special."

His tone turned soft and he raised a hand to trace the line of her cheek with his fingers. "I've missed you so much."

She captured his hand with her own and kissed the palm. "I've missed you too."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the prophecy," he whispered against her skin. "But there was no sort of timeframe. It could have happened in a year or in a century. I didn't want to hurt you any more in the meantime."

She shook her head and curled herself up against his side, her cheek resting against his chest. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the baby," she said so quietly he could barely hear her. "I was so afraid for her, and I didn't want to give you any more guilt and grief. I was going to tell you later, and then she disappeared."

He smiled against her hair, wondering how he had lived without the touch and feel of her for so long. "You know what?" he said in an amused, ironic voice. "I think we've both finally grown up."

She laughed, a full-throated chuckle that was itself a little ironic. "Well, at least I'm only thirty-eight, not pushing three hundred."

He cupped his hands under her chin, tilting her head upwards. "So I'm a slow learner."

She laughed again, her breath brushing against his face, and leaned forward into his kiss. Her hands slipped around his neck with a familiarity that suggested they might never have been apart. He caught her around the waist and pulled her closer and they gasped as their bodies collided and their lips met.

She was old things made new; scents and tastes never completely forgotten, strength and fragility in equal measure, a part of himself found again after being missing for so long it had become a phantom pain. He had forgotten how small she was; she fitted completely inside his embrace and he had to bend his head to reach her lips, her face, her shoulders, the scar on her neck that he had put there so long ago. She was his, truly and at last, forever, and that was more unbelievable than anything else that had happened on this day of miracles and wonders.

For Buffy, everything was new and different, with a solid core of familiarity that was as known to her as her own soul. The lips that caressed and devoured hers were warm and sweet, the chest that pressed against her was alive, moving with the frantic pulse of his heartbeat. And he laughed; her Angel who was always so careful and brooding could suddenly laugh with a joy and beauty that she had never heard before. Buffy smiled against his lips and let herself fall completely into his kisses.

It took a moment for Angel to realise he was feeling light-headed not only from the miracle of kissing Buffy again, but also from a much more ordinary problem; a simple lack of oxygen. He broke the kiss, lifting his head to breathe, and Buffy buried her head against his chest again and chuckled.

"It has its disadvantages, doesn't it, this breathing thing?" she said, sounding amused

Angel took another breath, relishing the feeling of the evening air flowing into his lungs, sweeping back out again. "I think I'll manage to get used to it."

He would have kissed her again, but Buffy stepped back, looking at him with a vulnerability in her eyes that belonged to the girl she had been, not the woman she had become. "Make love to me?" she asked softly. "Please. It's been much, much too long."

He stared at her, thinking of the thousands of empty, lonely nights he had spent alone and hoping she had not lived as solitary a life as he had. She needed care and warmth and companionship to help her survive the duty she was called to perform. And he had always tried to console himself by believing she had found it.

Buffy watched him, reading every emotion crossing the face that had often been so expressionless, understanding them all. She shrugged, and smiled slightly. "Oh, I've had sex," she admitted. "A little more than strictly necessary perhaps. But I haven't made love since Thanksgiving, 1999."

"Oh," he said softly, understanding now. "I know."

There was so much meaning in those two words; much more than they were strictly capable of expressing. Acknowledgement, understanding and agreement; loneliness and a feeling of incompleteness, both slipping away now as each was filled by the other's presence.

"Only you, Buffy," he whispered. "In nearly three hundred years, only you."

She nodded, and with their arms around each other's waists they walked inside together.

**

The landed on her bed in a tangle of arms and legs, neither knowing where one ended and the other began and neither caring. They kissed with an innocence they had both thought long lost, tender and exploring as befitted a new beginning.

Angel twisted a handful of her hair around his fingers, kissing the fall of sunshine in his palm before moving on to her face, her neck her shoulders, the valley between her breasts. She tilted her head enough to place her own kisses on his forehead and helped him undo the buttons of her top. She wasn't wearing a bra, and as the cotton pooled about her sides her creamy skin was exposed to him, her nipples hardening under his intent, hungry gaze. "With my body I thee worship," he whispered softly, bringing a smile to her face.

"Oh," she said quietly, surprised and unsurprised, both at the same time. "With my body I thee worship," she repeated in a barely audible voice. "Oh, indeed I do." She stretched her arms above her head, pulling all her muscles taut, and let him look for a moment, a smile on her face. Then, as he would have kissed her again, she used her Slayer strength to roll them both over until he was lying on his back with her pressed against the length of him. "Don't get greedy, love," she said with a chuckle. "We're equals now. We do this together." She sat up, straddling his hips, and undid the buttons of his shirt. She pushed it aside and ran her small hands across his chest, making him hiss at the contact, before bending her head to kiss him again, her hair brushing across his face.

Between kisses and caresses they undressed each other slowly, awed both by each other and the knowledge this miracle was theirs now, free and safe and beautiful, without conditions or constraints. They had the rest of their lives to love each other - _to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part_.

They had a life together ahead of them; to find new ways to love each other with each passing day, to watch their daughter develop into the astounding woman she had the potential to be, to grow old together, to, if they should be so blessed, die in each other's arms, one day many years hence, and pass together into the next life.

When at last he buried himself deep inside her, she welcomed him with a sigh and a moan. And it was like they were both coming home after a long, long time alone in the wilderness.

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