DISCLAIMER: *snort*. If they've suddenly become mine instead of Joss's, then how come I wasn't told about it? I don't own them. I never have. I never will. Suing would be a waste of time. Please move on to more profitable venues. And the song is "Everywhere" by Michelle Branch. If you don't have her CD The Spirit Room, you WILL go get it.
DISTRIBUTION: Fanfiction.net, B/A Fluff list, agony_escstasybad list, and if anybody else wants it, just drop me a line and its yours, in the sense of you can post it on your site, but if you attempt to put your NAME on it...you will be hunted down and smacked repeatedly. I'm just so generous and thoughtful that way. *pleasant smile*
FEEDBACK: I am a feedback slut. I accept it from anyone, anytime, anywhere. So thank you to everyone who sends me the goods I so desperately crave, and a stern finger wag at those who don't.
DEDICATION: To Kate, for many reasons. Some of which include, but are not limited to: She bought herself a Buffy student planner (I'm so proud of you!), she listens to me whine and grouse and bitch and complain, she adds the prefix "uber" onto everything, she's a drill sergeant on all things Halloween-y, she gives me tons of fic ideas, and in general, because she's just...Kate, with many inherent qualities of Kateness. Linzy, because of her excellent criticisms, many, many beta reads she's given me, and for having to deal with crazed parents, just like me. Laura, because she's a total genius and I'm all excited about our co-fic, and because of her crazy British way of speaking (henceforth, whilst, wherein, whereupon, therefore.) David Boreanaz, because I love him even if he IS marrying Miss Playmate of the Month Empty Headed Giggly Teenybopper Blonde Girl. As long as he's happy. *pout* Ducks. Because she is just The Goddess. Of all things B/A, and pretty much everything else. I bow before her. And ALL the B/A shippers out there...This is for you, for keeping the faith.
ANTI DEDICATION: The makers of sewers, as well as plumbers, who were NOT a proud sponsor of this fic. Due to one of their stupid sewer pipes backing up directly into my basement and covering the floor with *literal* crap, I haven't been able to get at the computer to write. Anything. Until now. Damn them all to Hell. And Tarkna. And other really bad places. So there. *childishly pokes out tongue* And also, Joss. Because if everything purported to happen in S6 and S3 actually *happens*...He's in deep caca. But if he redeems himself, then I retract all the nasty things I've said about him. Heartless bastard.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm very serious about this, people - START WRITING LETTERS TO THE NETWORKS AND JOSS. I want to see changes in the minds of the PTBs. I want their offices flooded with angry mail from all you rabid B/A'rs. This is the beginning of a massive letter writing campaign I am trying to get off the ground. If you need addresses, feel free to email me. If you have them, write and don't stop. Make your voice heard. Stand up for B/A.
TIMELINE: Six years into the future.
SPOILERS: Consider the whole canon fair game, but probably nothing special.
SYNOPSIS: After the Hellmouth has been closed, the lives of our favorite couple are very different. Buffy is still living in Sunnydale, Angel is in LA. Angel is human, and Buffy is living with Oz, in a strictly friends capacity. And, of course, B/A run into each other eventually, which raises the inevitable question of "What happens now?" This is plotless mush, intended to restore a little hope to those of us left in mind numbing, hair pulling, wrenching, utter agony at the potential S6/S3 rumors.
'Cause you're everywhere to me, and when I catch my breath, its you I breathe, you're everything I know that makes me believe....
~ Michelle Branch, Everywhere

I still love to run.

I mean, I was never going to go out for track in high school, lets face it. Sports and Buffy are about as compatible as sardines and peanut butter. But running for myself is totally different.

It keeps me in shape, for one thing. Since the Hellmouth was sealed, I realized I actually missed training with Giles. So I do my best to keep up my strength and stamina. I take an aerobics class three nights a week. Oz and I do yoga on Saturday mornings, which is a lot more fun than I expected it would be. I taught kickboxing for a few months, until I realized I was working the class too hard. A light workout for me was the equivalent of the Tour de France for some students.

I'm still the Slayer, only without so much of the slaying these days. There's really nothing left to slay. But I don't want my body to ever become lax, not when I'm used to being so powerful. Frankly, I like the security of knowing I could walk through a dark alley and kick the ass of whatever may be hiding inside. It wouldn't even have to be a vampire, or a demon. Just your typical, garden variety mugger, or serial killer...something worthy of an ass kicking.

And I like Sunnydale in the early mornings. Its funny, because all through high school college, I loved sleeping in. Staying in bed until noon, safely tucked under the covers. But now, things are different. I'm not out until all hours staking and pummeling. I wake with the sunrise, and I can't fall back asleep. So I get out of bed, pull on my sweatpants, gym shoes, and sports bra, and head outside.

The temperature never gets too hot, and the sky turns these gorgeous, rich pinks and golds. I never thought of my town as a beautiful place before, since I knew what went on in the underbelly of it all. And now that its done, that that part of my life has been laid to rest...I see Sunnydale the way everyone innocent must have seen it. Safe, sleepy, quiet. A secure niche carved out of the horrors of the world beyond.

I borrow Oz's Walkman every morning, since I'm too cheap to buy one of my own, listen to whatever mixed tape he thoughtfully put in for me the night before, and I run until I really *have* to stop.

Its easier not to think when I'm running. I can concentrate on the song that's blasting, I count the beats of my feet slapping the pavement, I listen to the blood rushing through my ears. And then I go home, I take a shower while Oz fiddles on his guitar. We make breakfast, and scurry off to whatever the days activities are.

I try to keep every second of my time filled. Because when things get quiet, when I have time to stop, reflect...when its still and calm and peaceful, my mind inevitably turns to him. Angel.

He's never really far from my thoughts. Its kind of funny, in a sick, twisted sort of way. There's so much good in my life now. I love living with Oz. I love my friends and family. I love my cat and my job and my exercise and reading to the kindergarten kids at Sunnydale Elementary two afternoons a week. And no matter how content I am with life, no matter how much I know how lucky I am, I feel like I'm missing something. One of the fundamental pieces that's supposed to make me....me.

((Turn it inside out so I can see the part of you that's drifting over me, and when I close my eyes you're always there, and when I sleep you're, you're everywhere - you're everywhere))

I can't understand why he still has this hold on me. I know he's human. I know my pulse still quickens whenever I remember his eyes or his rare smile or the feel of his skin against mine.

I don't know why I can't bring another man into my home, into my bed, without feeling like I'm betraying him. Why no other man ever comes close to filling my body, heart, mind, and soul the way he always did.

But I'm happy. I'm happy with my life and the way things are going in my life. I don't need Angel to be complete.

I think moving in with Oz was the best choice I ever made. It seemed natural, even though we never really spent much time together before now. He came back to town a few months before that last big battle, and after he worked through his issues with Willow, he decided to stick around. We were the only members of the Scooby gang left single, and we were both looking for a roommate.

And now, we've grown so close in the past four years that I can't imagine living with anybody else. He's the perfect roommate - nothing phases him. How many guys don't bat an eye when you leave underwear all over the floor or forget to store a box of Tampax out of sight?

He's turned into my best friend, and I'm grateful for him. When we talk about things - life, love, work, the past - I feel like he understands what I'm saying, because in a lot of ways, he's been there, too.

Everyone but Dawn chose to remain in town after the Hellmouth was sealed. She's living in LA with her boyfriend Matt. She alternates between writing sweeping, star crossed, Harlequin romance novels and gory, graphic horror tales that would make Stephen King envious. In fact, some of them have, seeing as he's written to her once, congratulating my baby sister on giving him nightmares after she published "The Key". She didn't have the heart to tell him she'd lived though it, which was what made her able to write so vividly. And so much better than him. Although, she's sometimes wondered if Maine is one big Hellmouth, and that's where all his ideas come from.

I whacked her over the head with a copy of Cosmo when she gave voice to that observation and told her it *better* not be on a Hellmouth, because I'm retired, and I fully intend to stay that way. Somebody else can take charge if there is, and she giggled and called me a slacker.

Xander and Anya married and have the most adorable children in the world. Their five year old daughter, Skyler, has Xander's dark hair and broad smile, and Alex, who's two, inherited his mother's huge eyes and proud chin. Xander stayed on with his construction company, and he eventually branched out to form Harris Carpentry. Anya found she likes staying home with the kids, but she plans on going back to work once they start school.

Giles is still running the Magic Box, and still playing father to "the children", and by that he means me, Xander, Willow, Tara, and Anya. He gave her away when she married Xander (basically because she couldn't really ask anyone else to do it), and he's thrilled that Skyler and Alex call him "Grandpa".

Spike's on vacation in Europe, where he's missing us more than he'd admit, judging from the weekly four page letters we've all been receiving. When Oz is out with his band, Spike comes over to keep me company. We order in Thai, reminisce about the slayin' days, get drunk, then play Monopoly until Oz gets home and has to drive Spike back to the crypt. After he got past the love/obsession thing with me, I found I really, really like his companionship. He makes me laugh, something I know I should be doing more of.

Willow and Tara have an apartment on the other side of town. Tara's helping Giles manage the Magic Box, now that Anya's busy being a full time mother, and Willow is working on her doctorate in psychology. Oz's return threw a little temporary confusion into their relationship, but they got past it, and they never seem to grow out of the honeymoon stage.

I thought it would be hard for Oz to see Will so in love with someone else. But I was off base. He's mature enough to realize that they've become very different versions of the Willow and Oz they were in high school. He still cares about her, but they've both grown past the point of love. They've realized their time together is over, and they've moved on, something I admire greatly. Especially the way they've managed to remain friends. I don't think it could ever be that way between Angel and I.

Oz always frowns slightly when I give voice to that opinion. "Can't know 'til you try," he states matter of factly.

But after everything that had gone before, neither of us had wanted to try. Or maybe that's wrong. Maybe we wanted to, but we were too afraid. I know *I* was, anyway. Scared out of my mind.

I remember the end of the battle. When the near Apocalypse was finally over. A crack of silver lightning split the sky and struck the ground, searing deep into it. I remember how I had to clamp my hands over my ears to protect them from the terrible, ear splitting shrieks that rang from beneath the ground, when we knew without a doubt that *something* was slamming a barrier down over the mouth of Hell. Once and for all

And after I found my way to his side, Angel sank to his knees, head to the ground. Even now, I can feel the wave of utter terror that swept through my exhausted body at the sight of him, clearly in pain as his body shook and his jaw clenched, muscles spasming and mouth opening in a silent scream.

But when the pain passed, he stood, slowly, breathing deeply...and I *knew*. Somewhere down deep in the very core of my soul, I knew what had happened. He looked at me with wonder and pure joy lighting his features, but he made no move to touch me, or even approach me.

My breath caught in my throat as he finally took a tentative step forward. For a brief moment, images of white dresses and children and sunlight and love flashed in my mind.

Looking back at that one single instant across the span of five years...I think things would have been vastly different if he'd touched me. If his hand had brushed against mine, if his arms had found their way around me...

But the moment was broken when the rest of our battered ranks came scrambling over to see if we were all right.

So the rest is history. We talked a few days later, when things were calmer and more settled. And agreed not to start again. We'd been hurt too many times, and it was for the best to leave the past in the past. He went home to LA, I stayed in Sunnydale. And I went on with my life.

And I've done a pretty good job of convincing myself and everyone else that I don't still think about him.

(('Cause you're everywhere to me, and when I close my eyes, its you I see, you're everything I know that makes me believe I'm not alone...I am not alone.))

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Today's been a long, long day, and I can't wait to get home, shower, and relax on the couch with the remote and a few good, dramatic soap operas. Dawn's birthday is coming up in a few days, and I've been shopping since ten to try and find the perfect gift. So far, I've bought a ton of things... and yet, none of them are for Dawn.

But it *really* wasn't my fault. I stopped in the toy store, and I *swear* it was just to look, but then I saw a Powerpuff doll that I *know* Skyler would love. The only thing she ever watches is Cartoon Network, and she calls me Aunt Bubbles instead of Aunt Buffy sometimes, so, really, how could I *not* get it for her?

And after that, well...it hardly seems fair to buy a present for Skyler and leave poor Alex with nothing, so I had to spend another twenty minutes in the aisle of KayBee Toys deciding between a train set and a kite. Eventually choosing the train set because it was way more expensive.

I spoil them, and I know it. But I figure, if I'm never going to be having kids of my own, then pampering my godchildren is the next best thing.

And besides that, Victoria's Secret was having a great sale. How was I supposed to *not* notice something like that? Even though I don't have anyone in particular to model all my new lingerie for, its nice to have it in reserve, in case the day ever comes when I give up my celibate lifestyle.

After I grab a pretzel from the food court, I've come to an important conclusion - I'm just too tired to keep looking for something Dawnish. I must be getting old. I can't handle the mall for six hours straight anymore.

Finally, I decide that I'll just mail Dawnie a card, telling her I'll drive up to LA, take her out to lunch, and then let her pick out her own gift. A day of sisterly bonding, although I know she'll roll her eyes at Matt and say "Buffy couldn't think of anything better. Big shocker." I grin at the idea, knowing as much as she'll pretend she's pissed at not getting a thoughtful, monetary gift, she'll love hanging out and spending quality time together for the day.

As I'm getting ready to exit the mall, I notice the pet store is having a buy one, get one free deal on aquarium fish, and my bargain alarm starts ringing once more. Oz has a huge fishtank in his room. And he names every single one of his fish after some famous musician. So he has Janis, Jimi, Jerry, Paul, Ringo, and Mama Cass. And I have Athena the cat, since I was slightly less original in animal christening. Our apartment is a regular food chain waiting to happen.

But on an impulse, I decide to go in and buy Oz two more neon tetras. Then he can name them John and George and have a complete set of Beatles. Or, in the instance that Athena's been snacking while I've been out, I'll have two replacements so my kitty doesn't get scolded.

After I pay for the fish, I grip the bag holding John and George in my right hand, sling the toys over my shoulder, and dangle the Victoria's Secret purchases off my left wrist. I nudge the door open with my shoulder and stumble out, bumping shoulders with a man who's making his way in.

I try and grab the door frame for balance as he knocks me back a few steps, but my feet skid out from under me, and I slip, the contents of my Victoria's Secret bag spilling onto the freshly waxed floor of the Sunnydale Mall.

At least I saved the fish, if not my dignity.

"I'm so sorry," says the man, bending over to help me to my feet, discreetly pretending not to notice the underwear. As his hand closes over my arm, sparks fire through my veins and the skin he's touching begins to tingle.

And I know its *him* before I even look up.

My heart starts beating out of control, and I turn my face to meet his. "Angel?" I ask, slowly getting to my feet.

He drops my wrist the second the word leaves my lips. "Buffy."

"Its good to see you," I say awkwardly, trying not to notice that we're standing in a crowded mall amidst a sea of lacy lingerie. God, he looks...amazing. Better than I've ever seen him look, with his new, healthy tan and muscles...No! I am not thinking this way, because I DO NOT CARE what Angel looks like.

And I'm certainly not wondering what it would feel like to have his arms around me...to kiss him and see if his mouth is as warm as his hand on my skin was...

"Its good to see you, too," he says easily, and my heart sinks a little. Clearly, this isn't affecting him nearly as much as its affecting me. "How've you been?"

"Good, I've been good, very much of the good." Okay, so is it possible to use the world 'good' more than twelve times in one sentence? Dumb, dumb, dumb... "You?"

"I'm not complaining," he replies, giving me a little half grin.

"No, I guess you wouldn't be...what with the sudden human-ness and all. I mean, that's got to give you not a whole lot to complain about."

He nods to my bags. "How was...shopping?" he asks, and for the first time I hear a hint of uncertainty in his voice. Maybe this is going to be harder than it looks. For both of us.

"Oh, you know, it's Dawn's birthday soon, and I thought I'd pick up some stuff for Oz..." I trail off and bend over, hastily shoving lingerie back into the bag.

"Those are for Oz?" he asks, with a pointed look at the matching bra and panty sets.

I let out a little embarrassed laugh. "No...uh, those are for me. He's not really into the women's clothes so much. The fish are for him. John and George. He names them after music type people." My mouth might as well be filled with sawdust. I wet my lips with the tip of my tongue and try to think of something else to say. When did it become this hard to talk to Angel? "So...what are you doing here? In Sunnydale, I mean."

"Oh, I...Wesley and Cordelia. They're..." His face flushes bright red. "They're sort of moving here. Together. I'm helping them move. Into their new place."

I stifle a giggle. "Cordelia and Wesley?"

He gives me that little half grin again. "It was something of a shock. Cordelia sent me to pick up some dog supplies. She convinced Wesley to get her a puppy. Since she's been pregnant, he's giving in to - "

"Cordelia is *pregnant*?" I yelp.

Angel nods. "She's nearly six months along." He smiles, and I can tell he's happy about it. Uncle Angel. "She found out that she's having a girl, so she's going completely over the top - reading all the books, painting the baby's room pink..."

"That's great," I tell him. "Have her give me a call. We can...go shopping for baby clothes. I think I might have some of Skyler's old things at my place if Cordy wanted them."

"Skyler," he says uncertainly. "Is...is that your daughter? Are you and Oz..."

"*God*, no," I exclaim. "I don't have kids, and Oz is...just a friend. Skyler is Xander and Anya's daughter. Their basement flooded, so I'm keeping some boxes of stuff for them." I smile. "She's the sweetest little girl in the world. If I ever have a daughter, I'd hope she'd be like her."

"You're not seeing anybody?"

I try to hide my grin at the note of possessiveness that creeps into his voice. "Not really. Not recently, I mean." I pause, trying to decide if I should...oh, what the Hell. I'll drive myself insane imagining him with someone else if I *don't* ask, anyway. "You? I mean, are you...seeing anybody?"

"No," he says simply. His eyes meet mine, and I'm struck dumb. Even in the rush of moving on with my life... I never forgot how it felt when he'd lock that dark, gentle gaze on me. I couldn't.

My emotions are split right down the center. One half of me is screaming, //Tell him you miss him, damn it! Tell him how lonely you are without him, tell him you need him, tell him if you have a daughter, you want it to be *his* daughter! Tell him the *reason* you aren't seeing anybody is because nobody's him! You little wimp, give him the truth! You *know* you still love him, would you just admit it before you break down in tears?//

And the other half? //You chose not to get back together for a reason. Besides, if he really *wanted* to be with you, he'd have made a move by now. Make up some excuse and get the Hell out of here. You're doing fine without him.//

That's the half that wins. "I should go," I say suddenly. "I was supposed to meet someone at four, and I'm already late." Some of the hope dies from his eyes at that, and I have to force myself not to reach out and brush his cheek, to throw myself into his arms and kiss him until we both collapse from lack of oxygen, to take him back into my cells and never let him out again.

"I'm sorry," he immediately apologizes, and my heart wrenches. "I didn't mean to keep you."

"Its fine," I answer. "Will you...be in town long?"

"A few days," he responds, running a hand through his scalp. My fingers are itching to reach out and do the same, to tangle in that thick hair that I remember the feel of so well...

"You should...you know, call me. Or something. We could have dinner?" Oh, GOD. Why did I say that? WHY? I don't want to have dinner, I want to get far, far, far away and pretend this didn't even happen. That I haven't seen him since that day five years ago when what was left of my heart was yanked out...

//because I'd wanted him to protest, wanted him to say he didn't care about getting hurt because he'd never stopped loving me//

...because we're both such great big chickens.

"That would be nice," he says softly. "I'm staying with Wesley and Cordy. Their number is listed under Wyndham Pryce."

"I'll call you," I tell him, knowing there's no way I'll do any such thing.

He gives me sort of a sad smile. *He* knows there's no way I'll call him, too. "I'll look forward to that." He touches my upper arm once more, and my nerves start screaming at the contact. "Take care of yourself, Buffy."

"Always do," I reply. "I'll see you around." Then I turn and fairly sprint from the mall, heart hammering in my chest.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Oz gets home a few hours later, he finds me in front of the TV, flushed and sweaty from my fourteenth repeat viewing of my Tae Bo tape. I'm viciously punching the air in front of me, feinting right and roundhousing left, dropping into a sweep, then coming back up into a snap kick.

He stares at me for a minute, then passes by into his room, depositing his guitar case. He comes out a few moments later, and out of the corner of my eye, I see him head into the kitchen. I can hear the refrigerator open, the microwave beep.

I tune out and throw my final few punches, ending with a hard uppercut into nada. Then I turn the TV off and flop back on the couch, dangling my legs off the arm rest and wiping the sweat out of my eyes with the edge of my tank top.

Oz returns and offers me a bottle of water, wearing his trademark calm expression, as though its not unusual to come home and find me kicking the nonexistent ass of nothing. I accept the bottle and take a long drag, almost wishing it was whiskey. Burning all the way down to my gut and making me think this whole day was nothing but a drunken hallucination.

He settles into his favorite chair, plate of snacks in his lap, then turns to me. "There's new fish in my tank."

I wave my hand. "Merry Christmas."

He nods. "John and George. Or possibly, John and Yoko."

"Go George. Yoko couldn't even spell "water" right."

"Some say that was a form of artistic expression rather than mere stupidity." He pauses, then studies my face intently for a moment. "So, I think I'll take a stab here. Bad day?"

"On an epic scale."

"Need to vent?" Oz is really good at that. Letting me vent. He's my ventilator. But right now, I just don't feel like delving into all those messy issues. He doesn't need to be burdened with my tons of emotional baggage. The guy just got home from some club in...God, I don't even know. I can't believe I didn't ask. Too wrapped up in myself. Again.

"Maybe later. Your turn to talk. How was the gig?"

He grunts, then eats an apple slice. I interpret this as 'decent, but we could've done better.' Over the years I've gotten pretty good at analyzing Oz's various noises and the meaning behind them. And right now, its best to change the subject. "Any apples left?"

"Two. But there's no more caramel dip." He holds up the tiny container and shrugs. "Share?"

"Sure." I reach over the couch and snag a slice from his plate, liberally coating it in the dregs of the dip. I pop it into my mouth and stare at the ceiling, reflecting on how things could have turned upside down so quickly.

Seeing Angel used to be the highlight of my day...or night, really. If anyone had told me back in high school that one day, I'd bump into him in the mall, in broad daylight, and feel anything but pure, unadulterated joy, I'd have had them committed. Certifiably insane.

And now? When did it become so *hard*? And why? Why does it have to be that way? Why didn't I jump at the chance when we had it all those years ago?

I've fought battle after battle. I've faced one unstoppable, uber-evil after the next. I've been inside Hell. And after all that, I can't work up the guts to say to *one* man, "I want to be with you?"

I swallow my apple slice hastily. I'm afraid I'm going to choke, because the questions I need answers to are burning my tongue and turning the sugar sour. "Oz?"

He meets me eyeball for eyeball. "Buff."

"You don't think I'm a coward...right? I mean, truthfully here."

He gives me one of his rare, Oz smiles. "Truthfully? You aren't a coward. Me, I'm not sure how you could even *think* so. Remember the whole Hellmouth thing, or did you forget about that?"

"I didn't forget, I just...I mean, relationship wise. You keep score here. How many relationships have I had since I became your average Jo...sephine?

"At last count? I think it was a half of one. You went out with what's his name...Michael, for an hour, then you called me from a payphone and made me come to the restaurant, pretend I was your brother, and invent a story about how our grandmother fell down and broke her hip."

"So that makes me a coward."

Oz leans forward, intent on the topic now. "I'm not sure I'm tracking."

"Because I can't...do the relationship thing. Sure, I can whale on the mean old demons...I mean, if there were any left, which, no. But when it comes to opening my heart, taking chances?" Suddenly, I leap of the couch and start pacing. "You know what? I need to do that. Make with the chance taking. Seize the moment, live in the now, carpe diem, and all that. Let's go out. Let's go to a club. I'll wear something extremely slutty, and I'll find some guy to dance with, and maybe go to a movie with. And I won't make you tell stories about Granny's broken hip, and then I'll have a committed relationship where there's equal sharing and caring and I won't be chicken girl anymore. Come on, lets go! Right now!"

Oz stares at me, and a long, pregnant pause fills the room. When he speaks, he forms his words slowly and evenly. "So. I'm guessing you saw Angel today."

My mouth drops open. "How do you *do* that?" I demand. "Are you developing some new mind reading talents I should know about?!"

"Not that I'm aware. You're making me dizzy. End the pacing, and vent."

I flop back down on the couch and scowl at him. "Yes. I saw Angel. And *how* did you know?"

He gives me another semi smile. "Known you for nearly nine years now, Buffy. And in all that time, that look only means one thing. Angel."

"And *why* do I still have the look? I seriously want to know this. *Why* hasn't 'that look' gone the way of crossbows and purple mascara?"

"Maybe 'cause you don't get a say in that. You can't just turn your heart off, Buff. Doesn't work like that."

"My heart *is* off! Its been off for pretty much *ever* - "

"You mean its been off since the end of senior year." He leans forward a little, tilting his head to one side and scrutinizing my face.

"That was a cheap shot."

"I know."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Oz. I can't argue with you if you give in that easily. You were not supposed to say 'I know'. You weren't supposed to concede."

Oz shrugs, and rakes a hand through his dark hair. Its dark today, anyway. He's planning on going back to strawberry blonde by next week. "You were right. It was a cheap shot. But it had to be said." He takes a deep breath, and when he looks at me, I'm struck by how much I feel like I'm being Obi Wan Kenobi'ed. He's definitely got the Alec Guinness, weary- yet- deeply- wise thing down. "Buff...you aren't a coward. There's a big difference between being a coward and being scared. And...you're just scared."

I snort, forgetting my earlier claims of being terrified. "I'm not scared of anything."

He holds my gaze evenly. "Yeah, you are. You're scared of getting hurt again. Scared its gonna be like last time." Then he stands and says simply, "Its not. You should know that." He carries the empty plate into the kitchen and opens the dishwasher.

I follow in after him, setting my water bottle back in the refrigerator. "Oz?"

"Hmmm?"

"How do you know? That it won't..."

Oz fills the washer with soap and spends a small eternity debating which button to push. For a minute, I think he didn't hear the question. Then he straightens. "Its not something *I* know, Buffy. I'm not a mind reader. But its something *you* know. Because if you didn't, then you wouldn't be spending all this time having to think it over. So stop thinking. Act." He yawns. "Is it cool if I crash now? Kinda beat."

That's Oz for you. Major, deep revelation, then end it on a mundane, every day comment. "Go crash," I tell him absently. "And...thanks."

"Use the force, young Skywalker," he returns, then heads to his room.

I sulk at his back, my brow furrowed. "*I* was planning to make the Star Wars joke."

Oz keeps walking, his heavy boots clumping loudly on the wooden floor. "Life's rough."

//But maybe...maybe it doesn't have to be. Maybe it shouldn't be.//

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I strike a match and light the two tall white candles on the center of the dining room table. Everything looks perfect - the plates match, we have real napkins (borrowed from Giles), wine, and even a cut glass vase holding a bouquet orange blossoms in the center of the table.

I inhale the sweet scent of the flowers deeply, trying to choke down the bile rising in my throat. Oh, God, I'm going to puke. Or faint. Or rip this stupid black dress off and run screaming for the hills.

//I'm going to *kill* Daniel Osbourne. Kill, kill, kill. He's dead. Dog meat.//

Last night, he happened to casually mention that he'd invited Cordelia and Wesley over for a celebration dinner, on account of her pregnancy. I balked. Its not like Cordelia and I ever got along when we went to *school* together, and now she's coming to my apartment for *dinner*? *Voluntarily*? And don't even get me *started* on what I think about Wesley.

But Oz pointed out in his stupid, rational way that it was all in the past, and the last couple years had been about building a new life, its time to let go of prejudices, blah blah blah. And, oh, did he forget to mention Angel would be attending, too?

That was when I lost my temper for real and started shrieking at him.

I don't remember too much, only that it was something along the lines of "you're butting into my personal life!" and "what the HELL gives you the right?!" and finally ending with, "Oh, my God, I have to get this place clean, what's he going to *think* when he sees that we haven't vacuumed in nearly a year?"

So the AI party is going to be here in approximately ten minutes, I'm wearing a *dress* (with my new underwear beneath it, but why go there?) , and I let Willow take me to get my nails done this morning while Oz and Tara fixed dinner. Since they're the only ones out of the group that can actually cook.

I have to admit, the kitchen smells great. Tara makes killer chicken in some kind of cream sauce, and Oz is the god of rosemary potatoes...but *still*. I don't see why we couldn't have just done...hot dogs and Coke or something. Brought out the ketchup and pickles so it wouldn't have been *too* informal. Done our catching up between bites and had everybody out in a half hour. Instead, we have candles and fancy food and *wine*. Which means there will inevitably be conversation. About personal things.

And Angel's going to be here. In my home. Looking amazing and smelling even better and wearing one of those dark colored shirts with the top button undone that shows a tiny glimpse of tanned skin and smooth muscle...

An involuntary groan escapes my throat, and Oz glances over at me. "You know," he says conversationally, "if you'd just called him like you said you were going to, you wouldn't be going through this."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'm perfectly fine."

"You're grinding your teeth."

"Go to Hell."

He grins at me and opens his mouth to retort, when we hear the knock at the door. My blood freezes in my veins, my hands turn clammy, and I'm rooted to the spot. I look pitifully over at Oz.

"Shouldn't have told me to go to Hell," he replies. "Because now I urgently need to check on the potatoes." He heads into the kitchen, humming under his breath.

//Pull yourself together, Summers.//

I wipe my hands on my skirt and walk to the door, plastering a bright smile on my face. "Hey, Cordy. Hey, Wes."

"Oh, my God, Buffy!" Cordelia squeals. She throws her arms around me, her outsized abdomen pressed against mine, and I think I feel her baby kick in protest. An unexpected gesture, but a nice one, and I return the hug. "How have you *been*?"

My smile feels a little more genuine. "I obviously haven't been as good as you." I touch her belly, and she beams. "I'm so happy for you. A baby, that's really wonderful."

Wesley sets his hand on her back, and I'm amazed at how different he looks. He's no longer the arrogant pansy who stormed into Sunnydale determined to bring me under control. He's become a man all of a sudden, a man who's clearly happy about being a father and even happier about who the mother of his child is. "Thank you," he answers for her, a proud smile adorning his face. "We're rather happy, too."

Suddenly, I realize they're all still standing in the hallway, and I laugh. "Come in, come in, please. I didn't mean to gush in the doorway." Cordelia and Wesley step inside and head into the living room, where they're greeted by Oz. I'm left facing Angel. And I was right about the shirt.

My heart starts hammering so loudly, I'm certain he'll be able to hear it. "Hi..." I say, intending to follow it up with a clever one liner or ironic observation, but the words get stuck in my throat.

"Hi," he returns. He reaches for my fingers, draws them to his mouth, and brushes his lips over the back of my hand.

Oh. My. God. If Cordelia's *hug* was unexpected, that was...he kissed my *hand*, and already my body is screaming and pleading with me to jump him in full view of everyone. The blood that felt frozen in my veins only moments before now rushes back to life, surging through me with such force, I physically feel dizzy.

His face flushes when he releases my hand. So it was impulsive. So he didn't plan to be Joe Smooth. "I..." he stammers, not sure of where to go. A smile breaks out across my face, and I link my fingers with his once more, drawing him into the apartment. No awkwardness. My mantra for tonight. I won't let him apologize for that.

"Come inside," I say, squeezing his fingers once more and relishing in how warm they are. Then I let go, reluctantly, and close the door. He trails behind me into the living room. "So," I ask out guests. "You guys want the grand tour?"

"Duh," Cordelia says. "We're just decorating our place, and I'm desperate for ideas."

Wesley arches an eyebrow. "I thought we'd already decided on - "

"*You* decided," she interjects. "I changed my mind, since I would rather kill myself than live in a house with *plaid* curtains. Blue and *green*," she says to me disgustedly. "Its like he has no taste. Honestly, he expects me to raise a *child* in a house with blue and green *plaid* all over everything? Please."

"Its a classic color combination!" Wesley protests.

Oz smiles faintly. "Buff was the same way. Wouldn't let me pick out anything I wanted."

"Really," Angel says, turning my way.

I grin. "We fought like an old married couple. But, come on. He wanted red *vinyl* cushions and orange *shag* rugs. The place would have looked like the abandoned set of a porn movie."

"I was thinking more like a flame, but porn works, too, I suppose," Oz says calmly.

Cordelia looks around. "Not very porn-ish now. More of a 'we're intelligent, post college people who have good jobs and wonderful taste in furniture.'"

"Sucks, huh?" Oz says easily. "No disco ball..."

"Except in your room," I respond.

"Like the painting *you* have up is normal," he returns. "Starry Night, so original."

"*Anything* is better than Dogs Playing Poker, which was *your* artistic selection of choice," I shoot back acerbically.

"You only think that 'cause you're a cat person."

"You have a cat?" Cordelia asks. Just then, Athena chooses to make her appearance, creeping out from my room and stretching on the rug in front of us lazily.

"I have a cat. She's my baby," I say, bending down and scratching behind her ears.

"I'm only asking because, you know, Angel's got a cat. That he treats as his child," Cordelia says innocently.

From the tone of her voice, and the look she exchanges with Oz, I get it. We've been set up. This whole dinner thing was orchestrated for the sole purpose of getting Angel and I to interact.

And I don't mind it as much as I probably should.

Its my turn to look at him. "He does?"

"He does," Angel confirms. "Apollo."

"Apollo and Athena. Interesting," Oz says, dragging the word 'interesting' out into more syllables than I would have thought possible. A pause stretches between the five of us until I clear my throat.

"The chicken smells like its just about done. Why don't I go start fixing the plates, and Oz, you can bring out the drinks. Everybody but Cordelia wants wine, right?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dinner passes much more pleasantly than I expected it to. Cordelia regales me with tales of she and Wesley's courtship, life in LA, plans for the baby. Wesley and Oz prattle on about classic rock, a topic I had no idea Wesley knew *anything* about. And every so often, Angel's foot brushes against mine under the table, and a tingle shoots up my leg.

He doesn't have much to say, and he looks the happiest when he's watching the four of us interact. At times, I tune out Cordelia just to focus on him...the way his eyes light up when he samples the chicken, or Tara's cracker-cheese-broccoli casserole. Its amazing that he's been human for this long, and the sense of taste still delights him. The way he wipes his mouth every time he takes a sip of wine, the way he leans forward slightly when interjecting his opinion in about whether the Grateful Dead or Led Zeppelin have a more extensive cover.

I'm almost sorry when dinner's over, because it means that everyone will be leaving, and I don't know when we'll get a chance to do this again.

It's almost as though Cordelia read my mind on that point, because after I carry the dirty china into the kitchen, she starts up a new conversation. "We *have* to do this again. You guys should totally come to our place for dinner once we get it fixed up." She shoots a sly glance at Oz, then she's all innocence and maternal sweetness again. "Speaking of getting it fixed up...you know, you never really gave us that grand tour. Oz, how about showing Wesley and I the kitchen, and Buffy can show Angel the bedrooms?"

I feel my face heat up. //Ever for *Cordelia*, that was blunt.//

Wesley coughs discreetly. "Perhaps it would be best if we - "

"Checked. Out. The kitchen. With Oz. *We* don't need to see her bedroom. *Ours* is already done," Cordelia says pointedly, shooting a glare at Wesley. She stands slowly, one hand resting on her belly, and tugs him into the kitchen, Oz trailing behind. Leaving me once again, standing alone with my former lover.

I clear my throat. "Well..." Then I let out a chuckle. "Not *too* obvious or anything, don't you think?"

Angel smiles. "A charging bull is more subtle than Cordelia."

"What the Hell. Lets give 'em what they want." I open the door to my room and gesture for Angel to step inside.

He looks around, pausing to examine the books on my bookshelf...

//does he see I still have the book of Browning sonnets?//

...my makeup scattered around the dresser, the wooden butterfly dangling from the ceiling fan, and the snapshots around my mirror. "What's this?" he asks curiously, pointing to a strip of photos taken in a little booth at the Santa Monica pier.

I come up beside him, smiling. "That's me and Skyler. I took up to the pier a few weeks ago. Isn't she beautiful?"

He nods. "She looks like Xander, except it works for her."

I laugh, and gesture to another one. "There's Giles and me, dancing on Xander and Anya's wedding day. Oh, and that's Oz and me, on Mykonos - "

"You went to Greece?"

I nod. "I took two weeks off from work and we backpacked around. It was beautiful. One of the best vacations of my life."

He turns to study my face. "What do you do?"

"I run my mom's old gallery, and..." I chuckle a little. "Spike helps. He's my assistant manager, who works very odd hours."

"*Spike* helps you at work?" he asks disbelievingly.

I shrug. "As he says, it keeps him in blood and beers. I pay him what he's worth, and he's excellent at appraisals."

"So you enjoy it, then? Running the gallery?"

"I do. I really do. Its lot more interesting than Mom always made it seem. I mean, I meet great people and I get to handle expensive things." I pause, his eyes making me lose my train of thought. "How about you?"

"Me?"

"In the working capacity. What do you do?"

He smiles, sheepishly. "I'm a critic."

I arch one eyebrow. "A critic of what, exactly?"

"I work for Los Angeles Magazine. You know, they give me plane tickets and tell me to find the best hotels, the best restaurants, the best entertainment spots..."

I smile back. "That suits you. I mean, it sounds like the kind of thing I pictured you doing."

He seems pleased. "I like it. No decapitation or disembowelment necessary in terms of job skills. Just good taste." He reaches out to straighten a photograph that's tilted at a funny angle on the mirror, then stops, looking intently at something. I turn my head, wondering if I accidentally left up the picture I snapped of Spike's Halloween costume last year - Rocky from Rocky Horror, that'd be enough to scare *anyone* - when I catch a glimpse of what he's staring at.

Me. And him. Reflected together in the mirror.

My breath catches in my throat. It looks so natural, so right, and my heart again begins thumping at double time. We turn to face each other in the same instant.

"Angel -"

"Buffy -"

And then nothing else matters, because before I can utter another sound, his arms are around me and his lips over mine. He crushes me against his warm, firm body and he kisses me so deeply, so hungrily...

My arms wind around his neck, pulling him closer to me. Tears start spilling out of my eyes, because his mouth is warm and sweet and tastes like chocolate and wine and cream, because its him. Its Angel all around me, holding me and kissing me and running his hands through my hair and over my back, and suddenly, the world rights itself, the way it never has in all these years. I'm standing on both my feet, but floating somewhere above the ground at the same time.

When we finally part, he doesn't let go of me quite yet. He rests his forehead against mine and trails the pad of his thumb across my cheek. "God, Buffy, I've missed you," he murmurs. "So much."

"M-me, too," I whisper in response. "Every day."

"I didn't stop loving you," he says, his voice low and husky. "I never stopped. I thought..."

"You thought I did. Thought I stopped loving you." I finish his sentence.

"How did you - "

A tiny smile breaks on my face. "Because I did, too. Thought you stopped loving me, and God, we're both such assholes."

He lets out a noise that's half laugh, half sob, and buries his face in my hair. "I was scared, so scared I'd end up leaving you or hurting you again."

"So was I. But, Angel...I know. Its everything I know. I know that you won't hurt me, not ever, and I still love you, and I want to try again. I've wanted to try again since I saw you in that stupid pet store, and maybe even before that, so if you even *try* to tell me it's better to go our separate ways - "

He silences me with another kiss. "Shhh. Never again. Ever. Nothing in my life is right without you. This...being human, doesn't mean half of what I thought it would without you to share it."

I stretch on tiptoe and capture his mouth with mine. "I love you," I murmur into his mouth. "I love you so, so much."

Then I hear Cordelia pounding on the door. "Did the point of this evening get through your retarded skulls?" she yells. "Have you two dolts made up yet? Because if you *haven't*, I swear to God, I will send Wesley in there to tie you together!"

"Now just a moment!" Wesley protests. "Darling, I love you, and I understand you're very prone to mood swings at this stage, but that would really be testing the limits of my devotion."

Angel grins. "Mission accomplished, Cordy."

"But send Wes in anyway," I call back. "The bondage could be fun."

"Ewwww," Cordelia says. "Okay, we're *so* going now. Oz, you need a place to crash tonight? Unless, of course, you really *want* to hear the bound to be obnoxiously loud sounds of them getting back together."

"See you tomorrow, guys," Oz says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. The front door closes, and I turn back to Angel, grinning broadly.

"I think we're supposed to be making obnoxiously loud getting back together noises by now," I say seductively.

He tugs me toward him, wrapping his body around mine and lowering me back onto the bed. "Then we'd better get started. Might take the whole night. And part of the morning. But one question first."

"Anything."

"Do you have...you know. Protection?" He smiles happily. "There could still be consequences. Only, happier ones this time."

I laugh and tug him down on top of me. "Bring it on," I whisper, covering his mouth with mine.

Screw responsibilities. There's worse things to be than a mother.

*grin* Go on...tell me how squishy and happy you feel now. ; )

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