Disclaimer: Don't own either buffy or angel. Joss owns buffy and Angel.
Summary: Okay, we all know how heartless MR. Joss can be, and we all know that there is a big chance that we won't see the reunion of buffy and angel, when he found out that she was alive. So, I'm writing one.
Timeline: Beginning of B6 and A3. After ep NC for A.
Rating: Same as the show.
Notes: We all know that we all wanna do our own versions of what could, and will happen when Buffy and Angel meet after her death for the first time.
Notes2: Buffy's POV. I might do a follow up with Angel's POV.

I didn't want to leave.

I was almost scared to, but I couldn't fight that urgency, raging inside my veins. That urgent knowledge that Angel wants... needs to see me. He knows I'm alive, and it frightened me when I heard his soft voice call to me over the phone. His voice sounding hoarse as he told me to meet him between Sunnydale and Los Angeles.

To close that short distance...

I left anyway. Leaving Giles and Dawn with the many broken arrangements of furniture... I really don't want to use credit... I know that I'll have to get a job.

I've never noticed how interesting that sounds. The word `Job'. I never thought I'd live long enough to get one.

I laugh as the wind blows against my face, my eyes stinging, not from the harsh wind, but from the thoughts. I didn't live long enough to get a job... I died before I even considered getting a job.

I've seen so many lunatics and insane people, vampires, demons... but I have a sudden feeling of knowing what its like. And from what I feel, it's almost comforting. That numb feeling of hysteria building up inside of me.

My hands are shaky on the wheel... I guess I really am nervous. So much that I don't think I can drive any longer, but I do.

Driving wasn't all what it was cracked up to be when I was seventeen. Now that I know how to do it, there's really nothing... grand about it.

But it's one of the things that I find myself doing. Not because I want to, because I *have* to. It's like saving the world over and over again... before it was because I wanted to... but now...

Now it feels more like because I have to.

The spot Angel wants to meet me is in a small town, smaller than Sunnydale, that appears to me to be more of a rest stop than an actually town.

The address of the building he told me about is burned into my memory as I get out of the car and walk towards it, and before I know it, I find myself sitting on the bed in the corner of the small apartment room, my back against the cool wall.

I tilt my head to the side, and stare.

The room reminds me of his old apartment. Quiet... small... the tones barely a fraction of real powerful colors. Just blacks and whites and grays... Only this one's more vacant. There is only a small refrigerator that's keeping me company with its soft hum.

I find it comforting.

I don't keep track of how long I've been waiting. Or how much Giles and Dawn, or anyone is worried about me. I don't want them to worry about me. I want them to act happy, so I can relax and... adjust.

It's not an easy thing to just adjust to something as big as dying and then being brought back. It's almost as if they expect me to jump out of my grave and smile and ask if I can go slay something, save some people's lives, and then be able to car pool and have time for the Scooby picnic lunch.

I'm not made of steel... and my pain is quite real...

Huh. Small poem... that's... that's cute.

I wonder what the other Slayers fell like. All of them, when they died. Did they feel as... as peaceful. Actually, *peaceful*, as I did? Maybe...

I hear the door open, and slowly turn my head so my eyes are even with my visitor.

Angel.

He hasn't changed. He usually doesn't.

But his eyes... his nice eyes are filling up as he looks at me. As if I really wasn't here. As if I was just a ghost... like so many times I would run to look for him, but just remember that he was no longer in Sunnydale.

I hear him say my name, tired, hoarse, hungry.

I stand up to great him, and before I know it his hand is on my cheek, reassuring himself that I'm real. That I'm here.

"Buffy..." He cries, and then he's on his kneels before me, burying his head into my chest and crying softly as his arms wrap around my waist tightly. I had experienced this only once with him. It was when he came back from hell...

Aren't I suppose to be crying like that? Falling to my knees and crying. No.

I don't.

But I do cry.

The feeling of it... it's weird. I'm not used to tears. They feel far too foreign to me. Even now. Just like my first words. They hurt when I said them, but I did.

Wiping my tears away, I find the courage to kneel before him and slowly guide him to the bed where I sit in the same position as before. But now, he rests his head on my thigh and curls up... like a little boy.

He was more affected by my death than I thought.

I run one of my hands through his hair, and we enjoy the peace, but like all peace, it needs to be broken.

"You've changed..." He whispers, his voice so quiet that it reminded me of the times he would whisper into my ear about his love for me.

"Have I?" I ask.

"Your hair is different..." He explains.

"I haven't seen the sun." I look down at him, and find him staring up at me.

"Please don't say things like that." He murmurs.

"I can't help it." I murmur in return.

He stares off at a wall before looking back up at me, "Were you happy?"

I understand that question, almost immediately, and feel the need to lay down. I rearrange our positions, and set myself to lay beside him. I stare up into his eyes, my head resting in on his shoulder like it always did. I feel my tears fill my eyes, "I was really happy." I can't tell if that was my voice... it sounded too weak... too dead... not at all what you would expect from a Slayer.

But am I really that now?

I sob into his neck, "I was really happy..."

Am I anything any more?

He comforts me like I did him. Curling his big fingers through my hair, running them up and down my back. Shushing me and kissing my forehead and tears away. Things he has done before but feels different now.

I feel my heart begin to slow as I calm down and I feel myself loosen up.

I stare up at him, "Its hard living again... how did you do it?"

He looks at me, "I didn't."

"But I have to, right?" I ask him.

He brushes his fingers across my forehead, "You're living... that's all I can ask for... that's all I expect you to do... live..."

Live...

I wrap myself around him and just rest. This is one of the many things that can pass between Angel and I, that involves no words, but a million meanings... a million expressions of feelings...

I don't hear Giles' worried voice call to me any more. I can't feel Spike's eyes on my skin, or Dawn's looks of fright. I don't see Willow's faux expression of happiness of my return, or notice Xander's jokes that are filled with more pain than laughter. I don't feel Tara's compassionate nature or Anya's blunt behavior... I don't see my mother's dead body...

I can barely feel Angel's soul.

I'm living.

That's all any one can ask for.

Wow! Was that... was that my first angst filled fic? I... oh my God it was!

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