DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything. *sigh*:-)
TIMELINE: After "Becoming a Reality", Buffy and Angel have officially decided to become a "couple", and just see what transpires. Angel sent Cordy off on a nice paid vacation, so they have the place to themselves. Of course, there's still that pesky little curse *grumble*.
SPOILERS: *Shrugs* I don't think so.
SYNOPSIS: Angel tells of experiences in his new life with season two Buffy; their sexual tention, their rituals, and their love...all in the midst of a constant research-a-thon with Wes, trying to figure out the logistics of exactly what happened.
DISTRIBUTION: E-mail me, and I'll praise you for your kindness. *Archivest Note* : Instead of a bunch of sequels, this is now officially the "It Started with a Dream" series.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Sorry it took so long...I wrote this a week ago, and got too busy to do the type/edit thing:-) Anyway, keep in mind that this segment, although it moves the gist of the plot to the next level, is basically some instances peaking into B/A's new existence, and how they play off each other in day to day life. That's why the title is actually very appropriate...it's "just being" together.
FEEDBACK: Oh Joss, please. I'm *so* nervous that this isn't going to be as good as some people thought it would be...so any few words of "It didn't totally suck" would just light my face up. Truely...even if it's one sentence, you'll have the satisfaction of knowing that you just gave this girl a smile on a bad day for her:-)
RATING: PG-13, just to be safe *grin*

She drives me crazy.

Simply insane, to collect the right phrasing of words. My entire being is hugged, twenty-four hours a day, by a saturated air of security. Security is something I've always searched for in life. When I was a child, my mother used to hang a substantial collection of chimes directly outside my bedroom window. She claimed that each stroke, each fluid movement of thick metal, served as a reminder to me. That its sound would be a heavenly host, deigned to pay our small home a visit,...to kiss the atmosphere with soft hymns. I had muttered a wide variety of curses at the very notion of 'forced redemption'. Nevertheless, I couldn't sleep without that soothing symphony of noise...begging me to change.

That is what my slayer is to me.

We decided that sharing a bed was in no way inappropriate. She had been slightly hesitant to make the suggestion on her own right, and I felt tentative to impose anything unwanted on this white flower. Cordelia, in some unknown fashion, tapped into this unspoken desire with an air of mischief, and took it upon herself to make the suggestion.. I had an extended, private conversatin with her before nightfall . . . concocting arrangements for a small "paid vacation" via my own expenses. Buffy and I needed some time alone after her journey...time to meld into a new way of being. It was an unfamiliar, new existence for her,...and I had yet to broach the topic of our present situation. Cordelia understood this with the kind-hearted sympathy I adore about her, and left the apartment shortly after dusk.

Dusk is a magical time for me. It holds many contradictory elements within its palm, creating something truly unique. Light and dark, most obviously. Death and calm. At any given moment, a beam of unfrayed sunlight could ignite my demonic skin. On the contrary, the slender haze of a sun departing carries its own form of a satisfying sanctity. Seeing my heart's lover sit, in all her golden simplicity, atop the roof of the apartment, is breathtaking all on its own. But the backdrop of dusk only further electrifies her in my sight. The first night of our inward journey, I stood in silence for a moment,. . .just watching her. Minutes passed by like heaven on her face, and my long dead heart would pulsate in hysteria if the edges of a smile graced her delicate little lips.

This was the joyous part of love. Pure, unadulterated infatuation with what you beg to be your other half.

"I know you've been standing there." She outsmarts me in all walks of life. I gazed down in an embarrassed light, only to have her creep closer to where I perched. Her body moves in the most sensuous, divine rhythm; exposed legs toned, shiny . . . truly delectable to any fool's eyes. I often wonder what it is about me that excites this masterpiece of a woman. All the beauty of life runs in her eyes . . . there's none left that I could possibly hold, myself.

"I didn't want to disturb you," I replied, struggling to focus my undivided concentration on her soul, and not her body. "Beautiful night."

"I used to love LA at night. Dad never wanted to take us on vacations . . . he loved it that much."

"Never wanted to leave?" I leaned slowly next to her, studying the way her eyes changed shades at each word spoken. She smiled at the memory, brushing a lock of hair behind her small ear.

"Not really. When it came to LA, he was on the way side of loyal, you know?" She took in the crisp air, turning her attention back to my nearly shaking form.

"So what's on the menu of activities tonight? Are there Blockbusters in this fab new millennium?"

I chuckled, gazing at the rooftop before us. "There are. But I don't know . . . movies?

She shoved me playfully, her eyes sparkling with life. "All our time together and we never went to the movies." Her lips pouted in a strangely glorious fashion.

"Isn't there anything else we can do tonight?"

"Hmmm . . .I *think* I can come up with something . . ." She utilized the element of surprise, kidnapping me into her arms with all her majesty. She nuzzled our noses together, a coo escaping from the bottom of her thought. In the following seconds, she visually inspected my body, . . .a hunter licking her lips at fresh prey.

A dull flame of fear blinded my reaction for a moment's time. How long had it been since my soul was released in her reality? Did she understand the logistics of it . . . the painful barriers that invited themselves between our every touch?

"Buffy . . . ." My voice began a weak, yet persistent, protest.

"Shhh . . . ." She blinked a few times, a slow sparkling motion casting over her gaze. Her lips brushed the flesh of my own, eliciting a growing primal need inside of me.

I had to have her.

My arms surrounded her body in a desperately tender embrace, each finger thrilling at the feel of her soft fabric gracing my sense of touch. Our tongues danced feverishly in a gloriously messy fashion, bodies intermingled in a sacredly plentiful manner. It took every ounce of restraint I possessed to carefully detach my lover from where she belonged.

"We can't do this, Buffy." My voice was a whisper, a supernatural essence that only we could hear. "It's not safe."

"I know . . . ," her glistening eyes assured me, a magnetic force bringing her closer still.

Our encounters were quite complex for a great deal of time after that. Touch was a necessity for survival . . . . I needed the temptation of the feel of bare flesh like I needed a pint of blood. The scent of sweat against her limbs . . . the slender reflection of light dancing within her newly washed hair . . . it all nourished the void my departure had created for so many long, terrifying months.

Buffy, this beauty from my glorious past, is an elixir of the purest form of life. I had forgotten how precious she had been in her early teenage years. . . the clarity of love that she emanated. I experienced it day in and day out, all with a reminiscent joy.

She was mine again. I was the "boy" she had deigned to have a crush on. I was the one she dreamed about at night. I was the only one she'd ever given the sacred gift of her body to. Lord . . . How I relished every second of this unconditional union.

She loved to fall asleep against my chest. Just a certain detail ritualizing her agenda. I would dutifully turn my back while she changed into one of Cordelia's nightshirts, at her own unspoken, yet unwanted, request. During which, of course, I'd strip off my own attire, changing into a pair of draw-string pants for slumber. Once or twice she would turn around slightly too soon, a girlish embarrassment exploding in her cheeks. My soul sang with joy at the sight of such tenderness, yet I kept a straight face out of nothing but utter respect.

"Oh . . .oh, god . . . Angel." She would turn around after a moment of secretly studying my naked form, the mischievous grin of a teenage girl hugging her expression reluctantly. "I had no idea . . . ."

"It's OK," I'd assure in a low gentle tone. She was so innocent in the world of men, and I wanted to keep her safe from the existence her other self had formulated in Sunnydale. The thought of my Buffy, content in another man's arms . . . it was a greater agony than the fires of hell themselves.

"I'm done," I spoke quietly once dressed, streching underneath the covers in relishment. Cordelia's bed was truly a wonder. . .it's scent alone was heavenly.

Or was that just the woman who now inhabited it?

"You know, Cordelia never gave me her expressed permission to wear her pajamas."

"I'll deal with Cordelia," I assured with a half smile, motioning for her to join me in bed. "Are you tired, yet?"

"Vaguely," she muttered in a yawn, cuddling up against my chest. Her hair flowed in a celestial halo around her skull, brushing against my face in blissful wonderment. She subconsciously began to play with the smooth taper of muscles residing in my chest, closing her eyes and speaking in a voice of unadulterated peace. So calm, I had thought, for someone who had left her life for one of the future. Considering my machinations as Angelus, the change may have been a blessing in her eyes.

"Tell me about us," she whispered quietly, her mind swinging on the verge of unconsciousness.

"What about us?"

"What did we . . . where, where did we go . . . ?" Her eyes fluttered rapidly, each breath smoothing out to a gentle rhythm. She had fallen asleep . . . and I was saved from having to disclose the things I so dreaded to tell her.

Once or twice she would wake to shower at daybreak, her bare feet tiptoeing silently against the cool wooden floor. Her small frame's escape from my arms never went unnoticed, and I'd rise immediately to start the day. I'd never felt such comprehensive joy at the start of a morning,. . .not in all my despicable years. The shower lapped in droplets against her glorious, naked flesh; and the sound filled something tender inside of me. I'd stop by the bathroom door en route to the kitchen, relishing in the warmth of moisture emanating off her curves. She had asked me to bring in a rose-petal body wash one instance. . . an instance I can taste deliciously in my memory. I had opened the door for a hesitant entrance, begging the Powers that Be to spare any humiliation or unsureness I may accidentally cause within her.

"Hey!" Her smile ignited a fire of unsolicited brilliance, teeth gleaming, lips moist and delectable. "Did you find it in the dungeon of all things retail?"

"Huh?"

"Cordelia's drawer," she corrected, grinning at me in adoration. "I'm sorry . . . I just can't get the image of a "Salvation Army, yay!" Cordy out of my mind."

I chuckled softly, approaching the shower with careful stride. "It takes some adjusting . . . but you'll get used to it eventually."

She held the shower curtain snug against body, a bare shoulder, arm and small face peaking out above. "Um . . .you can just put it down next to me. On the floor. If you want?"

I let a sparkle light my eye unnoticed, joyful in her unabashed innocence. "Sure, "I agreed, placing it against the tiles before my exit.

"Hey . . . " Her eyes twinkled a spectacular little signal into my soul and I answered it with a soft, lavish kiss to the lush, red petals of her lips. "Mmmm . . ." she cooed quietly, closing her eyes and inhaling. "Very good morning, hmm?"

"Yeah," I babbled, chastising myself internally for gushing like a love-struck schoolboy. I was so young in her presence. So bursting with hope . . . hope that a day would arise of the most joyful yet simplistic life between myself and my beloved . As humans.

**********

"The Documentation of Alderman?"

"Too vague," I answered Wesley, a solemn tone vibrating my voice. "To say that Alderman exaggerates is an understatement. And his sections on dreams?"

"Is neurotic. Yes, I know." The foremer watcher pinched the narrow between his eyes, a frustrated sigh emerging in unmasked frustration. "How is she? Have any side effects of the time travel manifested themselves?"

"That would be of the not," Buffy answered proudly, entering the dinningroom in relaxed strides. She stroked an index finger lovingly down a lock of my hair, gently squeezing my shoulder. "I'm guessing you boys aren't studying the weather. What gives?"

"We're trying to figure more out about your . . ."

"My little trick?" She brushed the hair away from my forehead with a small, warm hand, placing a delicate kiss on my bare skin. "It's late, come to bed."

My body shivered desperately in response to her casual words. Come to bed. If only.

"I think we've done all we can . . . for tonight, at least," Wesley agreed, collecting random texts into his grip, "We can continue the research tomorrow."

"Or not." the delicate woman sat down next to me, a flicker of frustration igniting her eyes. "You've been researching for three nights. Can't you put it to rest for one day?"

I wanted to appease her more than life itself, to obey her every whim for a single smile. But this research . . . it could hold the key to her health and state of being in all forms of life.

"Buffy . . . this is too important to . . . . " Wesley had slipped out the door without my awareness, and the small little slayer preceded to climb atop my lap. So voluptuous in intent, yet so unsure. She looked anywhere but my eyes for a moment, finally settling on my chest for direction.

"Please," she whispered, her eyes round and magnificent. As if I'd need more convincing, she revealed her little pink tongue, pressing it lovingly against my upper lip.

"Maybe it . . . can wait . . . a day," I stumbled, entranced by her movements.

"Good," she smiled, making her way to the bedroom in devilish strides.

That clever aura was never absent from her demeanor. The following day found myself eagerly keeping to my word. . . freeing my thoughts for our reunion alone. I woke hours before the heat of morning sunshine, stretching languidly . . . a pang of peace rupturing through my veins. She was a delicate flower lying next to me . . . petals of jasmine, rose . . . each individual scent humming its own soft melody. I kissed the pillow of her warm cheek, excusing myself from the room for an early shower.

"Angel!" she cried out loud like a young child, lower lip quivering, eyes bulging in a wonderous fear. "Oh, my god, your OK . . . " She threw her tiny arms around my broad chest, snuggling into my skin.

"Buffy," I soothed in a whisper, kissing her silky crown in repetition. "What happened? Were you dreaming?"

"Oh, my god." She collected herself in a calm demeanor, brushing golden ringlets of hair away from her face. "Yeah, I guess I was. Sorry for the histrionics."

"Big words," I teased gently, eliciting a giggle from her tightened mouth.

"I learned it in American Lit. Ugh, I'm sorry. . .were you about to shower?"

"Don't worry about it . . . you had a bad dream. We can talk for a while."

"No way, just, oh god," she laughed in embarrassment, pulling her face down harshly into her hands. "I'm such a drama queen in early morning wakeage scenarios . . . just don't worry about it. Please. Go shower your undead heart out."

I gave her a soft smile, linking our hands in a casual, yet glorious union. "You can sit inside the bathroom, if you want. I mean . . . if you want to just . . .."

"Be together," she finished for me, her eyes melting every particle of my existence. So full, so open.

Accepting.

" Um . . . I, uh," she laughed in a nervous fashion, twidling her thumbs subconsciously. "I could sit on the floor I guess?"

I nodded.

"I'd like that,"my voice blended into her facial expression in a low husky tone, surprising even myself, "I mean...if *you*'d like to."

The answer was unspoken.

She spent a humorus amount of time rummaging through Cordelia's cabinets, her eye catching hold of various salts and herbal lotions. She handed them to me one by one, babbling endlessly on their purpose and strengths. I accepted each with a smile of the greatest gratitude, and proceeded to turn the water on in a repetitious flow.

"Mmm," my beloved closed her eyes, intaking the rushing burst of steam that clouded our vision, "Don't you love hot showers?"

"Yes..." I trailed off, admiring the way small cube's of sweat clung to her shapely brow.

She blushed, a reddish blend of cinnamon and sugar filling her cheeks in the most divine manner, "What?"

"You are a goddess." I froze for a moment, unwilling to believe I had actually let my thoughts slip into open air. She swallowed, a serious arousal hazing over every particle of her body. For a moment, I let myself relish in the simple fact that I could cause such a reaction in her.

"Thank you" she replied simply, her mouth ajar from loss of words, "The uh, "she looked down and smiled, eager to turn the attention away from herself,"...the hot water's gonna run out."

"What? Oh...the shower. Right. Hot water," I took a step back, mentally attacking my desire to invite her to bathe along side my own flesh. It felt so right...so needed. Our bodies belonged in an interlocked state.

She sat delicately against the cool tiles, propping her back vertically to the wall for careful support,"I'll just be...reading" she lied preciously, staring at my shirtless body. The magazine, ironically, was upside down.

"Ok," I played along, dangling the string of my pants. Oh God did I want her. Her eyes penetrated my bare skin like molten lava, exploding each pore and cell in it's path. She selfconsciously turned her attention back to the magazine before I could strip nude, and a flicker inside my essence weeped.

The water brought my dead body into a luscious shock, only magnified by the heat her blood pumped into my senses.

"Are you ok?" I heard her ask in a worried tone, responding to my small cry.

"I'm fine. The water's..."

"Hot."

"Yeah...very hot."

I felt her shiver on the other side of the shower curtain, body presently sweating from the heat. And from the closeness between us, needless to say.

"So anyway...I thought we could maybe do the shopping thing today. I'm kind of lacking in the clothes department."

"That's understandable," I smiled, running the lather agaisnt the skintone of my muscles. Each stroke felt so heavenly, and I desperately struggled to picture her own fingers working into my skin, coddling me in the most intimate ways.

"Unless I could just borrow some from future-Buffy." she gave herself a ponderous moment of silence, "Angel?"

"Hm?"

"Is it freakish that I'm kind of scared to meet her?"

I thought for a moment, a rush of recent images flooding my mind,"Why would you say that?"

"I don't know" I heard her place the magazine down with a soft thud, her head leaning back against the wall,"I mean...I keep picturing all the stuff that must of happened to keep us apart. Needless to say, the imagination gig isn't working in my favor"

"Do...do you want to know yet?" I mentally kicked myself. Showering wasn't the most opportune moment for a genuine heart to heart.

She considered the idea,"I don't think so. Let's just veg for awhile first," she stalled, a welcome act in my mind.

The story wasn't exactly the happily ever after we had envisioned our first year together

**********

"And you don't want me to close the curtains?"

"I'm alright", my eyes devoured each word in front of me, barely bothering to answer Wesley's question of concern.

"Angel? You're obviously in pa..."

"*Wesley*. I'm fine, alright?," I traced my finger against the cool table top, lost in a rash of depressing thoughts,"I want the place to be bright when she gets back. I mean,...she's been through alot; now she's having those dreams..."

"You don't need to convince me." he mused, his voice small and reverent. He could easily scan my every expression, every thought of passion, annoyance...anger at the pain of the woman whose air I breathed and soul I drank. And he respected it.

"The dreams..." he continued the tangent of thought, placing his glasses delicately across the bridge of his nose,"They may actually be of some significance."

"She just said that I was...hurting. That something was hurting me."

"And she didn't say what?"

I rubbed my forehead with harsh strokes, an elixer of helplessness overtaking my state of mind, "What was I supposed to do? She was so...so..." my voice cracked, and I cleared my throat with a loud clarity,"Excuse me. She was in pain, Wesley. Physcal pain. Something's off about her...I don't think she's well."

Despair. I saw a low tunnel below me, crimson with velvet of black and aching of blood. My every thought, every moment of life...none of it mattered to me. *She* was all that mattered. I let my eyes close over in waves,...trying desperately to mentally exfoliate each drop of fire that had touched her, every stab that had penetrated through her gentle skin. She wasn't telling us everything, that I was sure of. There was so much confusion...so much we had yet to understand. Her entire being was at stake.

"Have we tried the Texts of Berlin? I know the origins are obscure, but the basic knowledge is..."

"Buffy...spilled her frappaccino on it," a whistful smile graced my lips, remembering the way her little voice had cried out in one thousand apologies. She had insisted on making it up to me, in any way possible. So ironic, I had thought, that a she could ever believe, even for a moment, that an old manuscript would mean more to me than her sacred new presence in my life. Nevertheless, she had led me slowly to the couch, ordering me to sit. I smiled at her innocence, playing along gladly. She slowly staddled my lap, pure childish exuberance gracing over her eyes, hazed with pure woman on top.

"I am now gonna make out with you for..."she glanced casually at the clock, tongue firmly planted in cheek,"Ten minutes. Lip to lip, tongue to tongue, body to body...and there's *nothing* you can do about it," she smirked, the heat bursting off of her small body and into my delighted lungs.

"Make out?" I chuckled at her choice of words. As if we were two fifteen year olds, coming home from the movies on a Saturday night.

"Mmm..." she rubbed her tender peach nose against mine, smiling into my beaming face,"*Oh* yeah. This is how I apologize to my boyfriends for spilling tasty treats on their century old manuscripts."

Those were the beautiful moments. The simplicity of "making out" with my girlfriend. My girlfriend. So many meanings, in such a mundane word.

"Doesn't seem to have left much of a stain, does it?" Wesley inspected the text, eyeing it with a dark suspicion,"In fact...there's not even a trace of..."

"Let me see that," he handed it over to my eager embrace, eyes washed over with fear.

It was the same text. Without any stain.

"Could this...this couldn't be another one?"

Wesley shook his head, batting his eyes at an abnormally fast rate, "There are only five known copies. The other four are in the Council's possession, if I remember correctly. I...oh dear lord."

"What is it? Wesley?"

"The Myths of Kai...they might.."

I stood up in an emotional rush, fear and wonder trailing off my body as I paced,"The Myth's are legends, we need facts."

I'm not sure if that's true. They prophesized of a Slayer whose soul would evolve into a mirror of purpose"

English, Wesley."

Right. An evil slayer, I guess you could say."

Faith..."my mind turned into a tapestry of speed. I couldn't bare to maintain the process of thought. So many myths in the book of Kai...so much despair. If my slayer was to be prophesized in that text...I'd sell my soul to the pits of hell to protect her before I'd dare allow it to pass, "What could it possibly say about Buffy? Slayers usually aren't prophesized in Kai."

There is..." the former-watcher let his gaze swing to the tiles below us, a tremor added to his voice.

Say it."

is eyes seemed to bulge in an awe of thought. He looked me straight on, rimming with purpose, "There's a myth. Of a Slayer, whom no death can touch. Nothing, literally, can affect her...because she can't *do* anything. She can't affect the world around her...physically. No change can come to pass on her behalf," he stood , leaning heavily against Cordelia's sink," It claims that she'd be of mortal blood. That this change would come to pass on her own terms...and that it could only truely transpire under dire, or unique, circumstances. The circumstances, however, aren't explained in the slightest."

And you think that...that these 'circumstances' might be Buffy's time travel?"

Of course..."Wesley's eyes bursted, excitement streaming forward,"I talked to Giles the other night and..."

What? I thought we'd agree to wait until.."

I had to, Angel. He told me that Buffy was perfectly alright."

gazed uncomfortabley downward, an akward rush overcoming me, "Good."

Angel...there's only room for one version of the same soul at any given time. Buffy, the Buffy of today, was here far before the one from the past. Therefore...this one can't have any effect on our time period. If she spills a glass of water...it won't leave a puddle. If she takes a shower, it'll be dry as a desert afterwards. If you and her become..."he cleared his throat in discomfort,"...intimate..."

My heart stopped.

You won't lose your soul."

Don't worry, a special vignette will possibly be next in order after this. Just utilize the wonder that is feedback, and give we your thoughts on this one,...so I can try and continue:-)

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