Prologue: Awry

Willow frowned harder at Xander's little lecture.

"Well, it's not FAIR! All I want is, like, FIVE minutes of her time! I'm having real pain here, you know? And she should know how it feels... she went through the same thing with Angel! Half the reason she isn't there for me now is that she's KILLING herself trying to deny she still misses him. She's lying to herself, and to all of us, especially Riley! She should just..." she grit her teeth, watching Xander's look of surprise at her grousing, "They should BOTH just be honest with themselves and with us, and Buffy should just go to LA, where she belongs!!!"

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Buffy glared at Spike, wishing that the old saying about looking daggers was literally true. And changed to stakes.

"I am SO sick of you! I can't tell you how little I care, right now, about how much you might or might not know about the commandos! I'd just as soon dust you, vacuum you up, and FIND OUT FOR MYSELF!!!" she shouted.

Spike sneered and narrowed his eyes at her. "Oh, you think you've got what it takes, little girl? I'll just BET..."

He never got a chance to finish his sentence, because without warning, the spot where the Slayer had just been standing, in the middle of Giles' living room, was vacant. Buffy was gone.

Spike started a little, staring at the space. After a moment, a grin spread across his pale features.

"Well, it's ABOUT BLOODY TIME I GOT MY WISH!" he shouted to the empty room.

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Cordelia set down her magazine and looked up at the clock again. 11:30 a.m. She could SWEAR Doyle showed up later and later, every day.

Suddenly, the air beside her desk seemed to crackle and shimmer, and she stared at it in alarm.

A split second later, she found herself staring at Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

Buffy blinked, staring wide-eyed back at Cordy.

"Uh... hi, Buffy," Cordelia said.

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"What do you MEAN, she DISAPPEARED?" Giles screeched at Spike.

"I mean, she dis... ah... peared." he repeated for the hundredth time.

The gathered Scooby Gang and Riley stared at him.

"What did you do, Spike?" Giles hissed, more convinced than ever that the vampire had finally just taken his hatred of the Slayer into his own hands and somehow magickally made her disappear. So long as she wasn't hurt, there was nothing to stop him.

Spike raised his hands defensively, "I didn't do anything! We were just... arguing -- and I had a really good comeback, I'll have you know -- and then she just went *POOF*!"

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Angel stared at Cordelia dumbly, clutching his towel around himself and dripping all over the floor.

"What do you mean, *poof*?" he asked, confused.

Cordelia crossed her arms angrily, "I MEAN, one minute: pretty LA morning through the front window. Next minute? *POOF* Pretty view blocked by skinny blonde!"

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"Alright... alright... let us all remain calm..." Giles mumbled, calming no one. He looked back at Spike again, "What did you say, immediately before that?"

Spike sighed and rolled his eyes, "I said, 'I'll just bet...' Listen! When I said I'd try to help, I wasn't expecting the Spanish Inquisition!"

"Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition," Xander deadpanned. He was soundly ignored.

Riley rose from his seat and stood next to Giles and Spike.

"My question is, where did she go?" he asked.

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"I don't KNOW where she came from!" Cordelia shouted, sick of his grilling, "Sunnydale, I imagine! Why don't you put some clothes on and go ask her yourself?? She's right upstairs!"

Angel stared at his friend for another moment. He had known Buffy was there... the tingling had simply started, without warning, several minutes before Cordelia came down, dragging him out of the shower by pounding frantically on his bathroom door.

"Right," he said nervously, "Yes, you're right."

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"Of course I'm right!" Xander insisted, "Willow said something like, 'Buffy should just go to LA, where she belongs.' I bet if you just call Angel..."

The phone began to ring, cutting him off.

"See?" he said, as Giles picked up the receiver.

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"No, Giles, really. I'm fine," Buffy repeated, "I'm just... in LA now..."

Her words came to a screeching halt when she saw Angel reach the top of the stairs and stand there, staring at her, barely dressed in sweats and a white tee shirt, his hair dripping wet.

"I... I uh... I have to go," Buffy mumbled absently into the phone, ignoring Giles' objections as she hung up to focus fully on returning Angel's confused stare.

"Hi," she said finally.

Angel blinked. "Hi."

Buffy couldn't help herself. She gave him a wry grin. "Sorry I didn't call first, but..."

He smiled back.

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Part I: Nerve Wracking

"Was' going on?" Doyle asked as he came in, examining the water trail that started near Cordelia's desk and dribbled down the stairs to Angel's apartment.

"Buffy's here, that's what's going on," Cordelia complained, "And you're late."

Doyle grinned at her. "Oh! Buffy, eh? And since when do we punch a time clock?"

Cordelia didn't return his smile. In fact, she only seemed to frown harder.

" 'Oh. Buffy, eh?' Is that all you have to say? I can't believe you," she grumbled.

Doyle perched on the edge of her desk, "Okay, I get it. You want I should be the strong shoulder, right? Fine, then. Tell Uncle Doyle what's wrong."

Cordelia's frown turned into an even angrier scowl, "If you have to ask, then I'm not going to bother telling you," she snapped.

Doyle sighed and shook his head. "'Delia, my princess, it really doesn't have to be a big deal every time Buffy shows up to talk to the boss. I mean, Angel can't turn human every time, right? Maybe she just needs his help with something."

Cordelia turned a withering glare on her friend, "Haven't you been paying attention? Every time Buffy graces us with her presence, Angel goes all Lithium Boy, and we almost go out of business!"

He frowned a little. "Last time was different, Cordelia. You know that."

"Maybe," she said, "But... whatever happens, things won't be the same from now on. It's not like she just cruised on down from Sunnydale -- she appeared out of thin air. That CAN'T be a good sign."

"She... what?" Doyle asked.

"Not here, *POOF*, Here!" Cordy said, waving her arms in illustration.

Doyle's eyes went wide. Leave it to Angel and his mate to have a mystical reunion like that.

"Well," he said, "Maybe they've just been brought together so they can work all this out. Find some common ground that they can work together on. That can only be a good thing, right? To have a Slayer -- and the greatest Slayer in history, no less -- on the consultants' list? The Powers must be into that..."

"You think so," Cordelia snorted, "You didn't go through three years of this with them!"

He couldn't respond to that -- he hadn't. But he'd heard stories... and he also knew full well that Cordelia's little hissy fit sprung from more than her upset over the method of the Slayer's arrival.

"Why don't you tell me what's really bothering you?" he said in his most gentle, encouraging tone. It was a trick he had learned from working with 9-year-olds that he hadn't used in a good, long time.

Cordelia looked up at him, her big brown eyes flooded with tears and her mouth screwed up into such a painful scowl that it seemed her whole face might shatter and break off at any moment. She rose from the desk and stared out the nearest window at the bright, bustling street below, and felt that tugging feeling in her heart that she always got when things were about to change in a way she just wasn't comfortable with.

"I don't want her back in his life, Doyle. She's never done anything but make him unhappy," she turned and looked back at him again, "You know, the three of us have really made something, here! Like... like those guys -- the swordfighter guys with the hats in that Leo DiCaprio movie?"

Doyle chuckled, "You mean The Three Musketeers? It's also a book..."

"Yes! Exactly! We're a team! We're a family! Buffy just doesn't belong in the mix!" she said.

Doyle got up from the desk and stood before her, "I know what you're getting at, 'Delia... but... there were actually four musketeers. And, whatever trouble Angel and Buffy have been through together, she is the only person he's ever really loved. He's just not complete, without her -- at least in his mind... I think maybe you should give him a chance to work this out on his own terms," he put his hands on Cordelia's shoulders, and looked deep into her eyes, "Don't think for a minute that Angel's relationship with Buffy can change anything about the way we all fee about one another..."

Cordelia's posture softened as she found herself suddenly and surprisingly comforted by his words, his gentle hands on her shoulders, his soothing blue eyes...

"Maybe you're right..." she whispered.

"I know I am," Doyle said, and smiled warmly at her, "Everybody deserves a second chance. Okay, so, it's more like a fifth chance. But they still deserve it."

Cordy finally returned his smile. She knew what it felt like to need a second... or a fifth... chance.

*************************************

Buffy fidgeted nervously, doing slow laps around the apartment as she waited for Angel to finish getting dressed.

The place was so him. But more so, as if his personality had expanded and grown far beyond the man she'd known in Sunnydale. She could feel his essence in everything she touched -- in the very air around her -- and couldn't help but notice that, for the first time, his lair felt like a home. There were photographs, here and there, of Cordelia and Doyle, a few even including himself. There were other touches that were different, too: a couple of Cordy's abandoned fashion magazines and copies of Variety on the coffee table, the lived-in feeling of the kitchen, some of his drawings... She would even be willing to bet there was now more than just blood in the fridge...

What was she doing there? One minute, she'd been thisclose to dusting Spike in a moment of fury, and the next, she was staring at Cordelia, 110 miles away. How had she gotten there? What did it all mean?

From long and painful experience, Buffy knew that nothing ever happened to her by chance. There was always some momentous reason for everything.

She noticed a half-finished drawing on his desk, and followed her compulsion to look more closely at it.

It was her, sleeping. In some strange bed that she never remembered being in. A look of utter peace graced her features, and the detail was so perfect, it was as if each fine line he'd drawn was really more like a gentle caress. He'd captured the morning light pouring in from a single window, and it lit her so she looked positively angelic.

Buffy stared at it. Was this how he still thought of her?

"Sorry I took so long," his voice came suddenly from behind, making Buffy jump, dropping the sketch back on the desk as she spun around.

Angel, now dressed and fully coifed, looked at her, then at the drawing, then back at her again.

//Oh god... She... I don't want her to...//

He approached and stepped between Buffy and the desk, desperately trying to find an excuse, or something to distract her from what she'd just seen. He only hoped Buffy hadn't yet looked at the 10 or 15 others beneath it, each one capturing some moment of the Day That Wasn't.

"Those are... I was just, uh..." he stammered, struggling to make up some plausible excuse, but knowing there was none. He was, quite simply, busted.

Buffy looked up at him. "It's beautiful..."

Angel stared helplessly down at the sketch he'd been working on the night before.

"It's the subject that's beautiful... I was just recording it," he whispered, unable to meet her gaze.

Both of them stood, looking at the sketch for a long, burning moment, neither knowing what to do or say next. When Angel was finally able to raise his eyes to look at her -- at her real face, which he knew he could never adequately capture with his flimsy talent -- he found himself lost, awash in a sensation of spinning, of falling...

Buffy looked back up at him with her big eyes, whose mutable hazel was dark with confusion, and blinked furiously, trying not to let her knees buckle as they were threatening to.

They were barely a foot apart. All either of them would have to do would be to take a single step, and a million truths that were hidden within each of them would burst to the surface, exploding the walls they had so carefully built around themselves for the past year.

Neither moved.

*************************************

Part II: The Truth Hurts

Giles yanked his glasses off once again, indulging the old compulsive habit like the lifeline to sanity he often felt it was.

Willow watched, still shaking a little, and wondered if one day the ex-Watcher might rub the lenses right out of the frames.

"One last time," Giles said, replacing them, "You cast a spell to have your will done."

"Yes," she repeated.

"And yet, the only thing your will has accomplished thus far is teleporting Buffy to Los Angeles."

"I think so..." Willow said woefully. She hadn't meant for her spell to effect anyone else -- and she really hadn't meant to send Buffy barreling through the ether to land in Angel's lap.

Metaphorically speaking...

She knew it had been a mistake to leave out "For the good of all and with harm to none" at the end. Of course, the whole ritual was ethically questionable to begin with, so...

"Right," Giles concluded, and got up. He walked to one of his many overcrowded bookshelves, and scanned the titles, "Then we should act to reverse the spell before any real damage is done."

"Or any more of us disappear," Anya added, knowing intimately how the Witch felt about her.

"Shouldn't we be getting Buffy back?" Riley asked. He'd been quiet and sullen since all of this began, and was becoming increasingly annoyed that no one seemed concerned at all that Buffy had been sent across the state, into the arms of her "he whose name must not be mentioned" ex-boyfriend.

All eyes turned to him. As quiet as Riley had been, they had all completely forgotten he was there.

"Oh!" Willow said, "Oh..."

Spike laughed heartily, "OH, LORD! Hoo hoo! Poor Soldier Boy... hahahahahaha..."

Giles set a withering glare on the vampire, which did nothing to stop his hysterical laughter. He turned and looked at Riley.

"I... I'm not sure that we need to do anything. Buffy says she is fine, and she's certainly in no danger with... er... where she is. Conventional methods of travel will more than suffice for her return," he told the obviously worried young man. Pity. He would undoubtedly not be among their number for long.

Riley frowned, and said nothing.

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Buffy sat, staring into her untouched tea, chewing her lip. Her head was pounding from the tension of being near him, and a million things she was fighting not to say.

Angel wasn't faring any better. He had managed to kill a few excruciating moments by preparing the tea as slowly as he could, but was unable to find any other way to prolong sitting down with her. The itch to spill his miserable guts was almost overwhelming.

"So..." he said.

Buffy looked up at him, "So."

Angel chuckled nervously, and shook his head, "I had no idea this would be so awkward."

Buffy's tension eased a little, "Yeah, I know... but... I guess you weren't really expecting me."

"And you weren't really expecting to be here," he added.

"I wasn't, no," she admitted, and took a sip of her now-cold tea.

Silence settled over them once again. It was going to be a long day.

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"Honest... you said they should just be honest with one another," Xander reminded her.

Willow nodded sadly. What had she done?

"Honesty! Oh! That's classic! What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall of THAT little reunion!" Spike chuckled. He hadn't really stopped laughing for more than a few moments during the whole debacle. Thinking about the Slayer and his sire thrown unexpectedly together was giving him the giggles like he hadn't had since the 60's. And the look on Soldier Boy's face -- going from angry to shocked to hurt over and over again -- it was better than anything that could possibly be on the telly.

"Giles, have you found anything?" Willow asked, her voice tiny.

He shook his head, "No, I'm afraid not. Willow -- I can't believe you would cast such a spell without some failsafe! Or, at ALL, for that matter!"

Willow pouted, "I just..."

"We know what you just," Anya piped in, "You 'just' wanted to force Oz to come back."

Xander gave her a little shove, and a look that he always used to signal that she was being inappropriate. The ex-demon shrugged. She was only stating the obvious.

The red-headed Witch hung her head, saying nothing. It was true, after all. She had been trying to violate Oz's will by having her will done. She'd be lucky if all the gods and goddesses in the universe didn't just come down and strike her dead.

Riley looked around at all the faces in the room, completely taken aback at how completely bizarre Buffy's friends were. He'd known they were odd -- they'd have to be, to hang around with someone as unusual as he knew Buffy was. But this was just too much. Spells? Hanging around with vampires?

He got up. "I have to go," he announced to no one in particular.

Everyone stared at him. On his way out the door, Riley looked at Willow, the only person who seemed to be willing to show him any compassion at all.

"Have Buffy call me, okay?" he said to her.

"Okay," Willow squeaked.

He left, closing the door behind him.

"This is better than Showtime!" Spike snorted.

***********************************************

"And you just appeared here? Just like that?" Angel repeated.

It was a nice, neutral topic -- how had Buffy gotten there, and what ominous thing did it portend?

She nodded, "Just like that."

"But you're okay... I mean, you look okay..." he rambled, "You look fine. Great, actually..."

Suddenly, Angel couldn't seem to stop his mouth. His brain was slamming on the brakes, but apparently, the message wasn't getting through.

"It's good to see you too," Buffy said, finding herself smiling in spite of the awkwardness of the situation, "Really good."

"I miss you," Angel told her.

Buffy blinked. "I... I miss you too."

All at once, all of the thoughts, all of the feelings they'd been holding inside for the year they'd been apart spilled forth -- an uncontrollable torrent of love and longing... words about living ingenuine lives and practicing poor judgment... words of apology and forgiveness and wishes to make all the past go away.

Neither of them could fight the compulsion they had to tell the entire truth, no holds barred, of what they felt for one another. And about one another.

They talked, non-stop, for an hour, the magick of Willow's spell, and their own soul-deep bond crackling between them, driving them on.

Finally, the babbling slowed, then stopped, leaving vampire and Slayer staring at one another in shocked silence, once again.

"Wow," Buffy said after a moment, "I guess we had a lot to say." She smiled hesitantly, uncertain what response her unrestrained self-disclosure would elicit from him.

"I guess we did," Angel said, twice as surprised. He was not one to "over-share", as Buffy had once told him, and he had been babbling senselessly, like Xander Harris.

Their gazes locked.

"So I guess this means we still love each other," Buffy said, "Gods, that sounds so stupid..."

Angel got up from his chair, slowly stepping through the space between them, and looked down at her for a moment before he sat beside her on the couch. He examined her face carefully, watching her eyes... the slight blush on her cheek. He'd said a lot of things he probably should have left unsaid, if he wanted to continue being rational and practical. Things he should have kept to himself, if he expected to be able to let her walk away again.

Some part of him fully realized that it was magick that controlled them -- undoubtedly some wild spell of Willow's, knowing her. But, remembering how he and Buffy had almost missed that one day they had together by being logical, and knowing from experience that seemingly irrational, random events always happened for some reason, he suddenly just didn't care.

"I guess we do," he said softly, "Did you ever doubt it?"

His eyes nailed her in place.

"I... I don't..." Buffy wanted to lie -- to tell him that she never really had doubted their love. But predictably, in keeping with the moment, she couldn't, "Yes. I did," She said honestly, casting her eyes down.

Angel flinched. He shouldn't have been surprised -- in Buffy's estimation, he had abandoned her. She didn't' remember anything after that but their brief, tense meeting in his office at Thanksgiving.

"I guess I can understand how you would feel that way," he said, unable to keep the hurt from his voice. He lifted her chin with his fingers, raising her eyes back to his, "I know you think I've been unfair, Buffy. But I've only done what I thought had to be done, for you. So you could be happy. I do love you. I've never stopped, not even for a moment."

Buffy looked at him. She'd been wanting... no, dying... to hear those words for so long, but instead of the relief she expected they'd bring in her, she felt all of her pent up sorrow and rage burst to the surface, instead. She yanked her head away.

"How dare you?!" she shouted, leaping to her feet and glaring down at him, "How dare you say that???? You left me! After everything we've been through together, you just DUMPED me like some WHORE you picked up in a BAR!!!! Don't you dare say you did it for my sake! You never once asked me what *I* wanted! You just assumed that in your infinite wisdom, you knew what was best! I can't believe I'm even doing this!!! I have to go."

She turned on her heel and began to stomp away. It only took Angel a split second, with his preternatural reflexes, for him to jump up, grab her, and spin her around.

"Don't SAY that!" he shouted, "I didn't DUMP you! I wanted something better for you -- better than what I could give! Do you know how hard it was for me to turn and walk away from you? DO YOU?"

Buffy cringed visibly. She had never heard Angel raise his voice like that before... at least, not in anger.

Noticing her reaction, and feeling guilty for frightening her, Angel backed off. He hung his head, running his hand through his hair before looking up at her again. She felt a physical pain in her heart to see tears running down his face.

"It kills me to be without you, Buffy. Over and over again. A million times, every day. I constantly second guess my decision to leave... But it has to be this way. You should have..."

She held up her hand to cut him off.

"Stop. Stop telling me what I should have. I don't care what you think I should have. You don't get to decide that. If you don't want me anymore, that's one thing -- but don't presume to make that kind of decision for me!"

It was time for her to stop whining... time for her to stop letting fate, and all of the people in her life who thought they "knew better", make all her decisions for her. She was a grown woman -- and the Slayer -- it was time she took the bull of her life by the horns and decided what was best... for herself.

"I only have one question," she said, calm once again.

Angel stared at her, surprised at her sudden show of mature strength. And at the realization that maybe... just maybe... she was right.

"Okay," he said.

"Do you still want me? Do you want to be with me?" she asked, her eyes clear.

Angel didn't hesitate. He grabbed Buffy roughly, yanking her to him, and crushed his lips to hers.

Damn the implications. Screw the consequences. This was the only answer he had to give her. And if the Powers wanted to keep their two greatest warriors, they would have to worry about the details.

Buffy's brain objected, but the Truth that burned underneath her skin was stronger than any flimsy sense of logic she possessed. She clung to him, pulling him closer, years of desire crashing down on her like an exploding building of pain and longing. All the walls she'd so carefully built around herself, gone, just like that.

Angel devoured her warm, sweet lips, plunging his tongue between her teeth as it sought hers. They met, and danced, teased and explored, and there was no doubt in his mind or his body that this was where he should be. Whatever had brought Buffy here, whatever magick had forced all the long-repressed truth from them, it seemed that it drove their bodies, as well. There had never been any denying their desire for one another.

He smothered her face with cool kisses, tangling his hands in her long hair. He licked her ears and the soft skin of her throat, amazed at how familiar, and yet, how mind-numbingly new and wonderful, her body felt.

He growled, deep in his throat, and Buffy moaned softly in return. Angel wanted nothing more than to rip her dress off her amazing body, bend her over the couch, and just take her, right there, like an animal.

But... no. If this reunion was to be about Truth, then this also should be true.

Buffy moaned in objection as he stopped, and let her go. They stood, staring at one another, panting uncontrollably.

Angel caught his un-needed breath, and reached out his hand. Looking at her with passion and sincerity, he said:

"Yes, I want you. I always want to be with you."

Buffy took his hand, still out of breath, and struggled with the mixture of arousal, love, anger and confusion that coursed through her. He pulled her close, gently, this time, and softly kissed her.

"We should wait," he said when he pulled away again.

Buffy's smile immediately disappeared, "What? But... I thought you said..."

He took her other hand and looked deeply into her eyes.

"I do want you, Buffy. Right now... right here... like I've never wanted anything. But I want this to be..." he paused, looking for the right word, "I don't know what I want it to be. But I do know that I want to do this properly. I want us both to have clear heads and a clear purpose. When I make love to you again, I want it to only be about us... about our desire for one another. Not about some spell. Do you understand?"

"No," she said honestly.

Angel chuckled. "You will. I promise."

***********************************************

"Is Buffy alright?" Giles asked, surprised to hear Angel's voice on the other line.

"She's fine. I'm just calling to find out if you know yet what happened to her," Angel said. He hoped Giles wouldn't ask any questions that would require him to reveal embarrassing truths about the day's events.

Giles shot Willow a look, and then coughed at the cloud of incense smoke that drifted from the redhead's hastily-conjured circle.

"Yes, I believe we do. It would seem that Willow cast a rather unpredictable spell to enforce her will, and then was... shall we say, cavalier, about what, precisely, she willed," he told Angel.

Angel looked over at Buffy and nodded. She rolled her eyes -- she just knew this had been some wacky nonsense of Willow's.

"What did she wish?" Angel asked.

Giles hesitated, uncertain if it was appropriate to share Willow's pain with him. But... he and Buffy did deserve to hear the truth, so they might be prepared for its possible consequences.

"She said that you and Buffy should be honest with one another, and that Buffy should... visit you," he said.

"I see," Angel replied simply. That explained it. "Have you found a way to reverse the effects?"

"Yes, yes, thank God. Willow is performing the ritual as we speak."

Training his sensitive ears, Angel could hear Willow chanting softly in the background.

"Good," he said. Although he wanted he and Buffy to continue being open with one another, he also wanted them to be in control of that honesty.

"You should feel the effects momentarily," Giles said.

"Alright," Angel replied. Then, a disturbing thought began to dawn on him, "Will this return her to Sunnydale?"

Giles scowled a little. What, exactly, was going on there?

"No... it will simply end the magick. It will do nothing, physically."

"Hm. I don't know about that," Angel muttered under his breath, unable to take his eyes from Buffy, who had gotten up and begun pacing the living room once again.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing," Angel said.

"So... will, uh... will you be bringing Buffy home tonight, then? Or shall we come to fetch her?" Giles asked.

Buffy turned and looked at Angel, smiling slightly.

"Neither," he replied, locking his eyes to hers, "Buffy will be staying with me for a couple of days."

Buffy smiled broadly, a warm, happy, genuine smile.

Now she got it.

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Part III: Unforgettable

"Where are we going?" she asked as they cruised down Hollywood Boulevard. The night air rushed past, and Buffy found herself thrilled and exhilarated by the trip in his convertible.

Angel turned and smiled at her. "You'll see," he said mysteriously.

They had talked again for a long time once Willow's reversal spell had taken effect. And this time, the honesty wasn't compulsory. They sat calmly across the kitchen table from one another, talking about what was happening, and what should happen next.

"Just because it was a spell that brought us together, doesn't mean that it doesn't mean anything..." Buffy said, "I mean... you know what I mean."

Angel looked at her, wondering if there was any way he could possibly adore her any more than he did at that moment. All of the things that had happened to her since his departure had tempered her -- forced her to finally begin to trust her own will and wisdom. Certainly she had made some mistakes -- but that was part of growing up. That was what he had wanted for her -- to grow to womanhood unfettered by his supernatural limitations -- the darkness that surrounded him always, as it did all of his kind.

But, he was certain the Oracles would say that if this happened, if he and Buffy had been thrown together, then it was meant to be. And he trusted the Oracles. He certainly didn't like them, but he knew they always told the truth. An idea began to form in his mind.

"I know what you mean," he assured her, "I agree. This happened for a reason."

Buffy looked at him hard, searching his face for some sign of doubt... or even of certainty. She found neither -- Angel always wore a mask of inscrutability that frustrated her most earnest attempts to know him -- really know him -- by any other means than to ask directly.

"So, what do we do now?" she asked.

Looking at her, sitting there, so serious, but still more relaxed now than she had been before, Angel felt for the first time -- no, perhaps the second or the third -- that the possibilities between them were almost limitless.

"I don't know," he replied honestly, "What do you want to do?"

He had no intention of ignoring her opinion, ever again.

Buffy grinned evilly, "Well, I kind of want to finish what we started before."

He laughed, then became serious again, "We will, Buffy. Don't worry. There's plenty of time."

She pouted.

"We should at least have a proper date first, don't you think?" he went on, "We've never had one."

Buffy scrunched her little brow, "Don't you think we're a little beyond that whole 'date' thing?"

Angel smiled, "We're never beyond that."

She stared at him for a moment longer, wondering what he would do if she just leapt over the table and knocked him, chair and all, to the floor. She could do it, she knew, and she was relatively certain he wouldn't put up too much of a struggle in the end. But her curiosity was peaked. A date with Angel... and not to the Bronze. Could be promising.

She ignored the whining ache for him still burning in her body, and returned his smile. "Okay," she said, "What did you have in mind?"

So now they drove in the warm California night, toward some destination Angel refused to disclose. He'd made a few phone calls in his bedroom with the door closed, and then had taken her by the hand and led her outside. It was funny, watching him drive. Buffy had seen it before, a few times, but that had always been some sort of emergency, and he was the driver of a troop carrier, not her date. He obviously knew the streets by heart -- every corner, shortcut, and traffic light, and after a few minutes, they arrived at what she assumed was their destination.

Angel pulled up in front of one of a block full of dark warehouses, and cut the engine. Buffy looked at the plain brick building next to her.

"Um... so... we're going... hunting?" she asked, perplexed.

Angel smiled at her. "No. No hunting," he promised, and got out of the car. He came around and opened her door, reaching down to help her out.

Buffy let him lead her into the warehouse through a back entrance, through aisles and aisles of merchandise she couldn't identify in the dark, until they wound up in a brightly lit office.

A fat little bald man waited for them, looking groggy and annoyed until he noticed their entrance. Then, he leapt to his feet, gushing effusively at Angel.

"Oh, Mr. Angel! I am so glad you called!" he chirped, shaking Angel's hand enthusiastically.

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you so late, Mr. Mastrianni..." Angel apologized.

"No, No! Don't be silly! After what you did for my Antonia..." he shook his head, clucking his tongue sadly, "This was the least I could do for you. Is this the lovely young lady you mentioned on the phone?"

Angel nodded. "This is Buffy. Buffy, Mr. Mastrianni -- the finest Old World dressmaker in Los Angeles."

Buffy turned and stared at him. "Dressmaker?" she asked.

He grinned broadly and nodded, squeezing her hand.

"Oh, yes!" Mr. Mastrianni cut in, "Mr. Angel has asked that I find something appropriate for you to wear to..." he shot a sheepish look at Angel, "My apologies. He asked that I should find something exquisite for you to wear this evening," he looked Buffy up and down carefully, "You are a size 2, no? Petite. What a lovely girl. Too skinny, but... alas that is the way with today's American girl... my Antonia..." he made the clucking noise again, "But, not to worry! I have just the thing. Here, come with me!" He took Buffy by the hand and led her away, turning back to call to Angel, "My sister Mirabella will be joining us -- she will see to Miss Buffy's hair and such!"

Angel simply smiled and watched them go.

*******************************************************

Buffy felt like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Except, without the whole hooker thing. Mr. Mastrianni and his equally small and round sister pampered her and fawned over her, parading hundreds of incredible dresses before her eyes. The whole gown thing made her a little twitchy, at first, remembering a particular Halloween a few years back, but the princess treatment was something she simply couldn't resist.

She finally chose a dress (a kick dress!), and Mirabella arranged her hair, make-up, and nails, and finally, Buffy was done. She stared at herself in the mirror, hardly recognizing the elegant woman staring back at her.

"Bellisima, no?" Mirabella gushed, giving her hair a final, light spray.

"Yeah... I... guess..." Buffy mumbled.

All of this was like a dream...

"Come, come then. Mr. Angel is waiting for you. Oh, he will be... simply dazzled!" The little woman (who Buffy could hardly hold back from calling Mama Celeste) took her by the hand and led her back through the warehouse to the front door, and opened it for her, spilling her into the magickal night.

The sight that met her eyes left her speechless. Angel's "classic car" was gone, and in its place was a sleek stretch limo. He stood proud and tall beside it, resplendent in a black tux and bow tie, his arms full of more roses than she had ever seen in one place at one time before. Buffy froze, and gaped at him.

Angel gaped right back. He had seen Buffy dressed formally before, but never, never like this! Then, she had been a girl at the prom, young and beautiful and full of hope -- but mostly, young. Now? The creature that stood before him was no one that he knew...

She wore a simple black, floor-length gown that covered her from neck, to wrist, to ankle like a second skin of shimmering ebony silk. It sparkled, catching the light when she moved, glinting off her generous curves. Although the dress revealed no skin, every sensuous inch of her body was highlighted, drawing his hungry gaze. Her hair was piled high in golden curls atop her head, and the only adornment she wore were the ringlets that tumbled out of the clip and spilled down her raven-sheathed shoulders. Her makeup was equally simple -- pale, shimmering blush and a bare touch of mascara to accent her eyes. Her lips were done in a deep, dramatic blood red, which jumped out against her otherwise elegantly monochromatic ensemble.

Buffy and Angel stood, five feet apart, staring at one another.

Mirabella Mastrianni practically jumped up and down with excitement, hugging her brother. There was nothing they enjoyed more than playing some small part in a great romance, and from the looks on these two young, beautiful faces, this romance was undoubtedly greater than most.

After a moment, the driver's side door opened, and a neatly tuxedoed Doyle leapt out and dashed around the side.

"Come on, come on!!!" he barked at Angel, "Curtain's in 15 minutes! Let's GO!"

Angel turned bewildered eyes to his friend, still dumbstruck.

"She... she's..." he mumbled.

"Yes, yes, she's spectacular!" Doyle agreed, sprinting over to Buffy, who also still stood, gaping. He took her hand and dragged her over to Angel, almost knocked silly by the intense electricity that surrounded them. After putting them together, he waited for a moment, but seeing they were still unable to move, he rolled his eyes, snatched the enormous bouquet from the stunned vampire, and handed it to the equally stunned Slayer.

"Here, these are for you. You look great. Now, let's GO!!!"

He began herding Angel and Buffy to the car, opening the door for them and giving them a little shove inside. Once they were sitting across from one another, Doyle closed the door and booked back to the front, and the limo's engine roared to life.

Buffy looked out the window to see the Mastrianni's waving happily to them as they drove away. She waved absently back, unaware that they couldn't see her through the tinted glass.

Finally, there was nothing left but the quiet hum of the limo's engine between them. Angel blinked, as if he had only just realized that he wasn't dreaming, and he should probably say something.

"You look... magnificent..." he said breathlessly.

His voice -- or maybe it was the thorn that pricked her finger -- snapped her back to reality, as well.

//If you can call this dream sequence "reality"...//

"You clean up pretty nice, too," she quipped.

Angel smiled. With teeth. Buffy thought she might faint from the rare sight of it. She inhaled the roses deeply.

"These are... this whole thing, it's... just... incredible," she said, looking up at him again.

"You're the one who's incredible," he said softly, "All of this is just a reflection of you... and the way you make me feel."

Buffy sighed happily. "So, curtain, huh? We're not going to the opera, are we?"

Angel chuckled. "Not exactly."

The divider between the front and the back of the limo slid down, and Cordelia's perfectly coiffed head poked through.

"No nookie back there, you two!" she scolded, "Angelus is not invited!" The divider slid back up and she disappeared once again.

Buffy looked at Angel, "You brought Cordelia on our date?"

He shrugged sheepishly, "We needed a driver. That was the price," he told her.

"Can we leave her in the car? Me, Cordy, limos and formal wear don't tend to make for a nice evening..." Buffy said sullenly.

Angel laughed, "I'd like to see you accomplish that."

*******************************************************

They barely made it to the theatre on time, and had to rush to the stairs that led to the private boxes. Once there, an usher led them to the top floor, into an opulent box, decorated in wine colored velvet and golden accents. As they each took their seats, the curtain went up.

Buffy had never been to the theatre, before. The play, which she discovered from the program was The Phantom of the Opera, was something Willow had gone on and on about, when she had gone to see it with her family on Broadway.

The Slayer was entranced. She watched the action on the stage, fascinated, unable to look away, utterly captured by the dramatic music and pageantry.

Angel watched her. He'd seen the play many times over the years, and he found Buffy infinitely more interesting. One of the things he'd always loved most about being with her was the discoveries she was constantly making. Her youth was a beautiful, shining thing, and watching her acquire new experiences with innocent wonder made his ancient, dead heart sing.

His favorite song was coming up. He had a sudden vision of dropping to his knees before Buffy and serenading her. If this were some dramatic movie, he probably would have, but as it was, he just couldn't sing -- and Buffy would probably beat him to death with her little evening purse. So he took her hand and squeezed, instead, and tried to ignore Doyle yawning and fidgeting beside him, and Cordelia whacking him from the last chair in the box.

"Raoul: No more talk of darkness,
Forget these wide-eyed fears.
I'm here, nothing can harm you.
My words will warm and calm you.

Let me be your freedom
Let daylight dry your tears.
I'm here, with you, beside you
To guard you and to guide you.

Christine: Say you'll love me every waking moment
Turn my head with talk of summertime...
Say you'll need me with you
Now, and always.
Promise me that all you say is true.
That's all I ask of you.

Raoul: Let me be your shelter
Let me be your light
You're safe, no one will find you
Your fears are far behind you

Christine: All I want is freedom
A world with normal light.
And you, always beside me
To hold me and to hide me.

Raoul: Then say you'll share with me
One love, one lifetime
Let me lead you from your solitude.
Say you need me with you
Here, beside you.
Anywhere you go, let me go too.
Christine, that's all I ask of you.

Christine: Say you'll share with me
One love, one lifetime.
Say the word and I will follow you.
Share each day with me,
Each night, each morning.
Say you love me...

Raoul: Oh, I do...

Both: Love me, that's all I ask of you.
*refrain*
Both: Anywhere you go, let me go too.
Love me, that's all I ask of you."

When Angel looked at Buffy again, she was looking straight back at him, tears streaming down her face, her eyes alight with magic and love.

He squeezed her hand once again and smiled, reaching out to wipe away her tears.

It was a moment they would never forget.

*******************************************************

The ride home from the theatre was quiet and relaxed. Buffy sat in Angel's arms, leaning comfortably into him, looking wistfully at the program in her hand, and the mass of roses on the seat beside her.

She felt breathless -- exhilarated and sad at the same time. The thought of returning to the Hellmouth without him gave her a physical pain. They'd been in one another's presence for less than 24 hours, and yet, it felt to her heart like they had never been separated. And she never wanted them to be, again.

Buffy looked up at his handsome face, set with a look of contentment he didn't bother to hide. He looked dreamily out the window, a small smile playing across his lips. She reached up and traced the beautiful anomaly with her finger, and he turned and smiled down at her.

"What?" he asked softly, seeing her strange expression.

"Thank you," she said, "For tonight... this has been the best night of my life."

Angel smiled and sighed deeply as he looked into her eyes. She was so beautiful... so exquisite... her perfect features like the finest work of art. He found himself thinking, yet again, that he could never possibly love her more.

"It's only just begun," he whispered, stroking her cheek before leaning down to kiss her painted lips.

*******************************************************

The magical haze hung around them like a shield of warmth, not even dissipating when the limo stopped, and Doyle opened the car door for them again.

"Last stop -- Angel Investigations!" he sing-songed, stepping out of the way to let Angel get out. The vampire reached down and helped his lady love out of the car, and the two stood looking at one another on the curb, like a couple of lovestruck teenagers.

"Well, you two obviously don't need me, anymore," Doyle said.

Angel gave his friend the warmest smile the half-demon had ever seen on him. He sure was a handsome bugger...

"Thanks, Doyle. I really appreciate it," he said sincerely.

Doyle blushed, "Hey. No problem," he said, and leaned in to whisper to Angel, "Besides, I got a free date with 'Delia out of the bargain," he grinned, and wiggled his eyebrows.

Angel chuckled and slapped him on the back, "Good luck," he whispered back, and he and Buffy stood hand-in-hand, watching as the limo drove away.

When it was out of sight, Angel looked back at Buffy once again.

"Are you hungry?" he asked her, "We could go change... get something to eat..."

She looked up into his soulful mahogany eyes, and shook her head slowly, "No. I'm really not hungry."

There was no mistaking her implication.

Angel's breath immediately quickened. Without another moment's hesitation, he swept Buffy up into his arms and carried her inside, kicking the office door in as he went.

Buffy laughed happily and snuggled against him, glad for the millionth time for his vampire strength. He didn't put her down until they arrived downstairs, then he did, and tossed his keys on the table, took off his coat, and loosened his tie. Buffy leaned over to unstrap her high-heeled pumps, but Angel reached out to stop her.

"Don't..." he said softly, "Leave them on."

They breathy timbre of his voice sent shivers down her spine, and left her frozen, speechless. Never taking his eyes from her, Angel took her hand once again. As always, her warm touch shocked him, sending a wave of electric joy through his every nerve as he led her slowly down the hall to the bedroom, and stood before her, next to the bed.

Angel looked down at her, and saw that she was trembling.

"Don't be afraid," he whispered, "You never have anything to fear from me."

She didn't tell him that it wasn't just fear that made her shake. At least, not the kind of fear she thought he might be talking about. She felt like a virgin again, like she'd never been touched before. Like the first and only time they'd been together had never happened, and they were getting a chance to do it over again. The rest of her shivering came from want, pure and simple. She wanted Angel, all of him, all the time, forever. And right at this moment, when she could feel his cool breath on her face, she felt that she might, finally, be able to have him.

He reached up and undid the black clip that bound her hair, letting all of its golden glory tumble down over her slim shoulders. He ran his fingers through it gently, arranging it until it softly framed her face. He lay his palm flat against her cheek and gazed down at her, his heart feeling nearly fit to burst.

"I love you, Buffy Summers," he said, "I have loved you for as long as I can remember. And I will love you until the day I leave this Earth, and beyond."

Angel softly kissed her, and gently eased her down until she sat on the edge of the bed. He kicked off his shoes and dropped to his knees before her, sliding his strong hands down her silk-painted legs until he arrived at her feet. He lifted the first, and undid the thin strap of her shoe, easing it off. He held her dainty foot cupped in his hand, and began firmly squeezing it, from heel, to arch, to toe, and back again.

"Mmmmmm..." Buffy moaned softly, relaxing under his expert touch. He turned his focus to the other foot, repeating the same motions, and giving it the same strong pleasure as the first.

//Even her feet are perfect...//

Angel lifted the foot to his lips, and began to trace the tops of her toes. He could hear her heartbeat quicken... smell her blood changing with sudden arousal, and rush through her veins like a fever. He only knew the taste of her when she was frightened and sad, and the aroma of the pleasure building in her cells was like the sweet scent of fresh muffins in a bakery. He practically drooled.

After he regained his control, he began to nibble on her toes, one at a time with tiny bites that sent screaming shocks rocketing up and down her spine. When he finished with her toes, he moved to her slim ankles. He followed the line of each fine bone and tendon with his lips, reveling in the tiny whimpering noises that escaped from her throat.

He took his time. As an immortal, time was really the only gift he had to give her, and he planned on taking full advantage of it. After all... it was only because of her that he remained, however marginally, among the living.

The times they had been together this way before were different. The first time had been desperate and frantic, an awkward, halting attempt to stave off the death and destruction that encroached on them from every direction... to keep the loneliness in their souls at bay...

The day that he was human had been all about flesh -- devouring it, taking it in in a strictly earthly sense, indulging his humanity in every sensation he possibly could.

This was about Buffy, pure and simple. To show her, once and for all, what physical love could really be like, without pressure, without pretense, without fear or hesitation, in a way that only one who truly worshipped her could demonstrate.

He slid his hands up her legs, dragging her dress slowly with them. He gasped a little when he reached her thighs, and found her sheer black stockings ended there, held suspended by a garter belt of exquisite black, Italian lace.

If there was one fashion Angel could honestly say he missed in more modern women, it was the habit of wearing a garter belt.

Regaining his composure yet again, he continued his journey to revealing her entire body, releasing it from the skintight confines of her dress. Buffy sighed softly as his hands smoothed the fabric up over her hips and sides, and stretched her arms and body long and languidly as he pulled the dress over her head, then tossed it aside. He ran his hands back down her curved, muscled length again, simply amazed at how smooth and warm she was. He smiled at the goosebumps that rose under his touch, and watched each expression of pleasure grow, and peak, and fade from her face as he caressed her through the thin silk of her camisole.

"Oh god, Angel..." she sighed, stunned by all of the new sensations he brought out in her body. She had only been with two lovers (if you could call Parker a "lover" -- right then, and after, Buffy never would), but she was suddenly and ultimately certain that there would never be another.

He kissed her lips gently, licking their edges with tiny flicks of his tongue, before sliding it between them, touching her tongue gently before withdrawing again. He let his hands glide over her, molding her pleasure like a sculptor, adoring the feeling of silk, then skin, then silk again as he experienced her body.

Buffy was consumed by him -- by his electric presence, by his enormous, finely cut body hovering inches over hers. His lips blazed a cool trail over every inch of her face: her eyelids, her lips again. He kissed and licked her ears, her neck and her chest, while simultaneously stroking the rest of her with his strong, gentle hands. She reached out and undid the buttons of his shirt slowly, exposing the muscles of his broad chest inch by inch, before he finally helped her throw off the offending barrier. She pulled herself toward him, diving mouth-first into him, bringing her mouth finally into play as she lapped at his pale skin.

Angel moaned and clutched her to him, struck senseless by the warmth of her mouth, firing his dead nerves nearly to life. In a moment, he knew he would be lost in her touch, and that was not a part of his plan... yet.

He gently pushed her back on the bed, ignoring her whimpering protest. He lay on his side beside her, letting his free hand have full rein. How he loved the way her body rose and fell in sensuous, fleshy curves. There was nothing in all the dimensions more beautiful than the cut of a human woman's figure, and there was no woman's body as glorious and perfect as hers.

He brushed his fingertip under her chin and down her throat, over the fine line of her collarbone and shoulders, down over her toned arms, to her fingertips, and back again. Over the material of her camisole, he traced the round curve of her left breast, and then her right, tickling the ultra-sensitive skin underneath each one, then licked around the outer edges to the top of each perfect globe once again. He moved down, achingly slow, over her nipples. They were so hard, they poked angrily at the material, tenting it to a painful point on each side. He made a tiny circle over each tip with his tongue, causing Buffy to moan loudly and arch her back into his touch. He leaned his head down and flicked the left peak, then sealed his lips firmly over the silk. Gently, he licked and suckled at the rock-hard point, ending with a series of minute nips that sent shudders crashing through her that even he could feel. Angel did the same to the right breast, rejoicing silently when his action elicited the same response once again.

He could smell her desire... feel her temperature rapidly rising under the sensitive surface of her skin. He groaned hungrily, a growl from deep in his throat at the mixture of sensations that washed over him -- those demonic, and those more earthly. The scent of her blood, of the dripping signal of her readiness from her core...

Fighting still to rein himself in, he slid down her body, marking his way to her center with his lips and his tongue, careful to only touch her enough to stimulate the fine hairs on her skin. He paused at her belly, taking the time to kiss and caress this special curve -- his favorite -- before moving down once again.

Her silk panties were practically soaking, and he slowly lowered his face between her legs, pressing his nose into the cleft there, inhaling her special scent, which was edged with the soft rose perfume of the underwear.

Buffy bucked and moaned loudly, grasping desperately at him, his hair, his shoulders, wherever she could reach, so long as she could somehow pull him closer.

He ran his hands once more over her heaving chest, trailing down to where his mouth was buried. Raising his face, he used a single finger to dip into the wet silk, easily finding the throbbing flashpoint of her desire. When he pressed through the material and touched it, Buffy cried out, and wrapped her strong legs around his shoulders. Feeling her body flex and pulse beneath him shattered his attempt to prolong her pleasure. He ripped her panties away with his teeth, leaving only the garterbelt in place, and sank his mouth between the swollen folds of her sweetest, most intimate flesh.

He devoured her sweet essence as though it were the purest blood, plunging his tongue into her core in a driving rhythm, then stroking upward over her quivering clitoris, over and over again.

Buffy panted and dug her nails into him, pulling his hair as she urged him closer... deeper...

Leaving his tongue on the hot bundle of nerves, he inserted one finger, then two, and slowly, a third, into her tight opening. He matched the stroke of his tongue to the rhythm of his fingers inside her, and in a brief moment, he could feel the first spasms of her inner muscles begin to clench and grab at his hand.

It was all he could do to keep himself from ripping off the rest of his clothes and impaling her, he wanted so badly to be inside her when she came. But there was plenty of time for that. He increased his pace slightly, timing it to the pounding of her heartbeat.

She screamed as she crashed over the precipice of her orgasm, ramming her hips into his face and nearly crushing his head with her muscular legs. The waves seemed to crash over her forever, filling her vision with stars and speeding her breath until she almost lost consciousness.

Even when Buffy collapsed, panting, Angel didn't relent, only stopping when he had licked her clean. Softly stroking the skin of her inner thighs, he kissed her sopping curls and looked up at her.

He could see it in her eyes when she opened them again. He could hear it in her blood, in her screaming nerves. There was no need for her to express aloud what she wanted. It was perfectly clear:

Him. Inside her. Now.

She sat up and pulled him off his knees, reaching down and simply snapping his belt in half. She panted angrily as she fumbled with the tuxedo pants' complicated fly, and after a moment gave up and simply tore them at the waist, as well.

"Hope that wasn't a rental," she grunted, pulling the ruined slacks off and tossing them aside.

He laughed as he watched her. It was, but he didn't care.

Buffy pulled him back onto the bed with her, reaching down and into his silk boxers, finding his raging erection ready and waiting for her. She wrapped her hot, tiny fingers around its substantial girth, and slowly stroked him, watching his face contort with pleasure.

"Oh, god, Buffy... that feels... oh..." he gasped, throwing his head back. He suddenly reached down and grabbed her wrist, halting her hand's soft rhythm, "Stop. You need to stop. I don't... I don't want to, yet," he panted.

"Too bad," she grunted, pulling his hand away. He immediately grabbed her again, opening his eyes to meet hers.

"No," he said firmly, taking her hand out of his shorts, "Not like this. I want to be inside you."

Her body throbbed at the words. She took her hands and slid the boxers down his legs as far as she could reach, instead. He kicked them off, and rubbed the full length of his hard body against her soft one. He claimed her breast with one hand, and removed the camisole with the other.

Her skin, so long blocked from him by the material, screamed at his bare touch. She moaned and closed her eyes for a moment, letting him ease her ache with his hands, before she reached for him again.

Angel looked down on her, his hunger clear in his piercing eyes. Buffy met, and held, his intense gaze.

"Do you want me?" she asked him again.

His chest heaving, his cool breath softly puffing against her face, he answered, "I need you."

She pulled him on top of her, immediately engulfed by his big body. He bore his weight on his hands as he hovered over her, relishing the moment, burning every detail of every sensation into his memory for eternity.

He shifted until his hardness pressed against her center, sending a shudder rocketing through him, this time. He closed his eyes and moaned before looking at her again.

"Buffy..." he whispered, almost afraid to go on, but equally terrified not to.

Buffy placed a gentle fingertip to his lips. "Shhh... just make love to me."

Angel exhaled deeply, dipping his face down and kissing her as he slowly, achingly eased himself inside her. She groaned as her body stretched to accommodate him, and spread her legs wider, wrapping them around his waist as he sunk as deeply into her as the limitations of their skin would allow.

He moaned her name as their bodies met and molded perfectly, as though this was their ultimate purpose. Angel found himself once again struggling for control, not wanting the fire that blazed through him to ever fade.

Buffy softly stroked his lust-shadowed face, and his broad shoulders and back. He kissed her softly once more before drawing himself nearly all of the way out of her, and then easing, millimeter by millimeter, back in again. He repeated the motion several more times, and Buffy arched her back to bring him even deeper. One more slow thrust, one more slow withdrawal, and the last of his self-control finally dissolved. He plunged himself to the hilt inside of her, and both of them cried out -- in pain or pleasure, neither knew, and neither cared.

Angel wound himself around her, enveloping her completely as he buried himself inside her. Each hard, deep stroke sent him rocketing toward the edge that his body had been dreaming about since that cold day last November.

Buffy whimpered in time to his rhythm, matching his thrusts with her own, clutching him so close, she no longer knew which limb, which skin, which muscle and sinew was his, and which was her own.

"God, Buffy! I love you!" he cried into her ear.

She had heard somewhere that women physically couldn't orgasm during the act of simple intercourse. But she found out that that was completely untrue, as the friction between them sent her screaming into oblivion once again, crying out his name.

Feeling himself clenched by her powerful muscles, both inside and out, a last single, deep thrust sent him careening to join her.

It was a good, long time before the earth-shattering climax ceased in either of them, and they both collapsed, limp and breathless, into one another's arms.

Angel buried his face in her neck, tapping her skin with tiny, sweet kisses.

The room spun, and Buffy's heart pounded so hard, she thought it might explode. She fought the utter, contented exhaustion that threatened to take her away from this perfect moment, and pulled him close to her, sharing her warmth and softly brushing his hair with her hand. They were quiet for a moment, until she heard a strange hitch come from his throat. Buffy suddenly realized that Angel was crying. She pulled away in alarm.

"Angel? Are you okay?" She asked, lifting his tear stained face.

He nodded and smiled, his brown eyes shining.

"Are you sure?" she asked, praying silently that nothing bad would happen, "Why are you crying?"

He reached up and traced her beloved lips, her perfect cheeks, and the edges of her big hazel eyes.

"I never thought..." he said, his voice soft and broken, "I never thought we'd be together like this again. I dreamed... but I never really even hoped."

Buffy felt her own tears burst forth. She was so happy, she almost wished she could die, right there in that incredible moment, wrapped in his loving embrace.

Almost.

She kissed him, but said nothing, only tenderly wiped his tears away.

He caressed her face with his eyes once again. How he loved to look at her... "Tonight was perfect," he whispered, "I never want it to end."

Buffy smiled at him, hardly able to fight off sleep anymore. She kissed the tip of his nose, and scooted over to snuggle into his chest.

"Sleep..." she said, "We'll make another one like it tomorrow."

Angel froze. Did she know, somehow, deep inside? Did some part of her remember when he'd said the very same thing to her? After a moment, he relaxed again and tucked his head over her own, letting peaceful rest finally take him. It didn't matter, now. Not one moment of the past did. The only thing that mattered was the bright future that lay spread out before them.

With his heart's mate snoring softly in the safety of his arms, Angel slept.


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Part IV: Loose Ends

Doyle was more than a little shocked when he arrived the next morning to find the office door leaned carelessly against its frame, the hinges snapped. Cordy followed close behind him, and gasped audibly.

"Oh no! Oh my god!" she shouted, throwing the door out of her way and bolting into the office.

Doyle blinked at the remains, and followed. Cordelia looked around frantically -- nothing else seemed out of place.

"Jesus..." Doyle mumbled, "And throw Mary and Joseph in there, for good measure. What the hell happened, here?"

Cordelia was already heading toward the stairs, now wielding a stake.

"I knew it! I KNEW IT! I TOLD YOU!" she barked at him.

He shrugged and grabbed another stake from the drawer in Cordy's desk, and followed her down into Angel's apartment. Cordelia snuck into the living room on tiptoe, and then to the kitchen, finding Angel's coat and keys abandoned there. Again, nothing else seemed out of place.

"What the hell..." Doyle repeated from behind her. Cordy jumped, stake raised, barely avoiding impaling him with it. Instead, she pointed it at him menacingly.

"You never listen to me!" she hissed, "I told you this would happen! Now we're both probably going to die! PAINFULLY!"

"Why are you whispering?" came Buffy's own whisper from beside them.

Both Doyle and Cordy jumped, both holding up their stakes.

Buffy stood looking at them strangely, wearing Angel's robe and the pair of bunny slippers he'd procured for her at some point while she slept. Her hair was yanked back in a messy tail, and she smiled wryly at them.

"Expecting someone else?" she asked.

Doyle grinned, tucking the stake in his waistband, "Oh, you know... Angelus..." he said lightly, "Good morning there, young Buffy Summers."

"Hi," Buffy replied, still waiting for Cordy to put her weapon away.

She didn't. She glared at the rumpled Slayer, "You did it, didn't you? You and Angel!" she asked, taking a step forward, "Where is he?"

Buffy shot her a nasty look and pushed by, heading for the coffee maker. She poured herself a cup and leaned casually against the counter.

Doyle felt a little pang of admiration for his boss. That looked like one relaxed Slayer.

"He's in bed -- it's barely 9 a.m.," Buffy told her, and sipped at her mug.

Cordelia narrowed her eyes at Buffy, examining her carefully for fang marks.

"You're still here," she observed, "And you're still alive."

Buffy gave her a sarcastic sneer, "And still human, too. So I think you can probably put that away."

Cordelia wasn't cowed. "Not until I see that Angel is still Angel," she snapped.

Buffy rolled her eyes and walked back toward the living room. "Fine, then, go see for yourself. But don't blame me if he's one grouchy vampire. We were up kind of late."

She plopped down on the couch and clicked on the TV as Cordelia stalked down the hall toward the bedroom.

Doyle was completely torn between grilling Buffy, and watching what was about to go down between Cordelia and Angel.

"JESUS, CORDELIA, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!" Angel's angry shout echoed from bedroom.

Buffy and Doyle both sprinted down the hall. They scrambled into the room, and Doyle burst into a fit of laughter at the scene.

Angel was pressed against the far wall, covered by nothing but the pillow he clutched to himself. Cordelia stood on the other side of the bed, staring at him, then at the stake she'd impaled in the mattress, and then back at him again.

"I... I'm sorry!" she shouted back, "You hissed at me! I thought..."

"I hissed because you woke me up..." Angel grumbled.

"You thought what," Buffy cut in, "Starting the day by dusting your boss was a good idea?"

"No... but..." She gestured at the rumpled bed, the naked vampire, and the Slayer drinking coffee in his robe.

Doyle laughed harder. After a moment, Angel's face burst into a smile, and he joined his friend. He reached down, claiming his sweats from the closet floor and slid them on before tossing the pillow away.

Buffy still menaced Cordelia. Cordelia kept right on glaring at Buffy.

Angel and Doyle kept laughing, slapping each other on the back as they walked out of the room.

"If you ever threaten him again," Buffy hissed in Cordelia's face, "You'll find out the hard way which one of us is better with a stake!" She yanked the one that Cordelia had wielded out of the mattress, spun it in her hand like a six-gun, and slid it in her robe pocket as illustration.

Cordelia only glowered down at her, saying nothing.

"Hey, who wants breakfast?" Angel called from the kitchen.

The two women glared at one another for a minute before their need to move on to other things overcame their perceived need to protect Angel.

"Just so you know," Cordelia told her as they walked down the hall, "He made me swear to kill him if he ever changed again. And I, unlike some people, will keep that promise."

*******************************************************

"You did not!" Willow yelped, "Did he... I mean... is... is he... grrr?"

Buffy laughed, "No, Will, he's still Angel."

"Oh! Oh, that's good, then, right? I mean, was it good? It had to be good. I'll bet it was good -- better than good -- great! It was great, wasn't it?" her friend gushed happily.

"It was divine..." Buffy said, wondering if the Witch could hear her smile, or know that she had looked up an appropriate adjective in his thesaurus last night.

"Oh... and he took you to see Phantom... and the dress, and the flowers, and...oh Buffy! I'm so happy for you! Are you happy for you?"

Buffy sighed and fell back on the bed, closing her eyes. She breathed in his scent, and her own, from the pillows.

"I couldn't possibly be happier," she assured her best friend.

"Then... you're not mad at me? For the spell?" she asked fearfully.

Buffy laughed, "No! God, Will, no way! Actually, I could kiss you. I owe you big, for this one."

"No... no you don't. I already owe you. This only pays back a little bit."

"Forget that, Willow. This means everything to me. Everything. I think you should at least consider the slate CLEAN."

Willow smiled. 'For the Good of All and With Harm to None', after all...

*******************************************************

Even Angel ate, as the three of them sat in his kitchen. Doyle gobbled half the food himself, washing it down with a fistful of Tums, a pile of ibuprofen, and a Screwdriver.

Cordelia grimaced at the display. "Here's a unique idea: Why don't you not start out, continue, and finish your day with a "couple of strong ones", and maybe then you wouldn't be walking around feeling... and smelling... like a dead wino all the time!" she scolded.

Doyle squinted at her, "I only had those coupla glasses of bubbly..." he objected.

"You drank the whole magnum. Then you sang "Danny Boy" until you passed out on my couch," she reminded him.

He gripped his head, "I'm proud to be Irish," he insisted half-heartedly.

Angel chuckled at them, his mouth stuffed full of eggs and toast. He might not be able to taste much, but the warmth and texture of the completely human comfort food was in perfect keeping with his lighthearted mood. Maybe he'd make a minestrone for dinner...

"I'm glad you think this is funny, Mr. New Attitude," Cordelia snapped at him, "I almost dusted you!"

"Yah, but ya dusted his mattress, instead," Doyle said.

Angel grinned at her, "No, she just... ventilated it a little, that's all."

Cordelia frowned furiously, and leaned over the table toward Angel, dropping her voice low, "Are you crazy? What are you thinking, getting... you know... naked... with Buffy? God, Angel, where is your sense? Do you have some, like, cosmic condom you never told us about?"

"Cordelia, calm down. Everything is fine, see? I'm still completely in possession of my soul," Angel said lightly.

"Oh, ha ha. You could have killed yourself -- or us -- or I could have killed you! Have you gone completely loco? I mean, I know last night was all romantic and everything, but I didn't sleep with him!" She made a dramatic gesture toward Doyle, who raised his head from its perch on the tabletop.

"Hey! You would have!" he objected, "If I'd stayed conscious..."

Cordelia turned a withering look on him, "It would have taken at least twice that much champagne for me to let you come within ten feet of me. And there's no way to keep that much booze around you long enough for anybody to get any!"

Doyle looked at Angel, "I coulda gotten her to, if I tried."

"I'm sure," Angel agreed, shoveling another heaping forkful of eggs into his mouth.

*******************************************************

"So, what are you going to do now?" Willow asked once Buffy's story was done.

"I don't know, Will. I don't know what we can do. He's got his life here, and I've got school, and slaying, and... oh... god..." she trailed off.

"What? What's wrong?" Willow asked, immediately alarmed.

"Riley," Buffy lamented, "I forgot all about Riley. God, have you seen him at all?"

Willow wrinkled up her nose, "Um... well... yeah... he was... uh..."

"Willow, spit it out," Buffy urged her.

"Oh. I don't think... um... I'm not sure you have to worry about Riley anymore."

"What? What do you mean?"

"I mean... he was... kind of... here... for the whole thing."

"He was what?"

"He was here. He knows about the spell, and about Angel and stuff."

Buffy groaned. "Oh, GOD, you told him about Angel?" This was not good.

"No! No! Not... told him, told him! He just... knows you're there. He wasn't very happy when he left the other day."

The Slayer whacked her forehead with her fist, "Damn it, damn it, damn it..."

"Buffy, I'm sorry. He just... showed up."

"No, Will, that's okay. I'll just have to talk to him when I get back. At least this happened before he and I got too serious..."

"Yeah," Willow agreed, not really believing that would help at all, "Good thing."

*******************************************************

"So... what's next for the pair a ya, then?" Doyle asked, following Angel into his office. The tall vampire eased his tired body into the chair and kicked his feet up on the desk.

"You mean before or after I convince Cordelia I'm not Angelus?" he joked.

Doyle was taken aback by his friend's sudden and complete reversal of demeanor. The sullen, broody, guilt machine was gone, and had been replaced by some silly, giddy, grinning, happy thing. Like a giant leprechaun... only scarier.

"Uh... does it matter?" he asked.

Angel clasped his hands behind his head and leaned lazily back in the chair.

"Nope, not really," he told Doyle.

"No, but seriously," Doyle went on, trying to bring some realistic focus back to the situation, "So, you're back with the Slayer, then, right? I mean, you know, since you can..." he made an obscene gesture with his hands.

Angel sat back up, serious again.

But not sullen, Doyle noted.

"Well, that's important, yes. But... we have other things to consider. Separate lives. We should, really, take it easy. Take it slow. We have a lot to work through. And we don't really know how or why all this happened."

The half-demon leaned forward and looked seriously at him, "But I'm thinking you did your best wooing last night. Isn't it a little late for 'slow'?"

"That part was simple," Angel told him, "It's the rest of it that's complicated."

*******************************************************

"No, please, don't tell Xander. Or Giles. Or Spike. Don't tell anybody. My dad's going to bring me home tomorrow, so I'll just... I'll take care of it then," Buffy said.

"Okay. If you're sure. I won't tell anybody," Willow's voice broke a little, "I wish Oz were here. He was always the one I got to tell all the things I wasn't supposed to tell anybody..."

Buffy could have wept at her friend's misery, especially in light of her own unfolding happy ending.

"Oh, Will... don't worry... he'll be back. I'm sure he will," she promised, and she meant it. Come Hell (literally) or high water, once Oz got his head on straight, he'd return. The Hellmouth was as much a part of him, and he of it, as any of the rest of them. And Willow, even more so.

"I don't know," Willow said sadly, "I wish I could believe that, but I'm not sure if I do anymore."

*******************************************************

Buffy walked into Angel's office a short time later, to find him with his feet up, reading a book and facing toward the shaded window.

He was stunning, sitting there, his brow scrunched and his lips pursed in concentration as he lost himself in whatever he was reading.

"No wonder business is booming," she said, leaning easily in the doorway, "Look how hard you work."

Angel looked up and smiled when he saw her, closing his book.

"Hey," he said, obviously glad to see her.

"Hey," she replied, and leaned over the desk for a kiss. He complied gladly, and Buffy sat down across from him.

"Whatcha readin'?" she asked, unable to decipher the faded leather cover. Couldn't he, just once, pick up a paperback from Waldenbooks?

He almost blushed. "Uh... it's... The Kama Sutra. In French," he said sheepishly.

Buffy cocked an eyebrow at him. "My my... somebody's being a bad boy..."

He leered good-naturedly at her, "I have a lot of catching up to do. I need some ideas."

She grinned. "Well... good luck with that," she drawled, "And I mean it. Really."

Angel chuckled, "So, when's your dad coming?"

"Bright and early tomorrow," she answered sadly, "I'll be back on the Hellmouth again in time for lunch with the gang."

Angel set the book down and folded his hands on the desk, "So... you talked to Willow, then."

Buffy nodded.

"What did she say?"

"You mean, after 'Oh my god Buffy I'm so sorry' a million times?"

"Yeah. After that," he said.

"She said, and I quote once again, 'You did not!'"

Angel looked up to the heavens, then back at her, "What did you tell her?"

Buffy smiled innocently, "Whatever do you mean?"

He gave her a look.

"What do you think I told her? That I was swept completely off my feet and out of my senses by a gorgeous vampire, who then ravished me to unconsciousness! I told her everything. That's what she's there for -- it's kind of in the best friend job description."

"And how did you tell her it was?" he asked playfully.

"Why, are you insecure all of a sudden?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, his smile never wavering.

"Hmmm... what did I say? Oh, right: I think "mind-blowing"... and maybe "divine"."

"Was she upset?" he asked, serious once again.

Willow, the hopeless romantic, would be the easiest of all their friends and family to convince. Except for Doyle, of course; as long as nobody was bleeding and there was plenty of beer and a chance to worship Cordelia from afar, his partner was game for pretty much anything.

"No. Not upset, really... concerned, of course -- the Curse and everything... She wasn't too happy that we went ahead without knowing it was safe, but..."

"Giles is going to have a stroke," Cordelia said from behind them, "And Xander, idiot though he is, will do his level best to hunt Angel down and kick his ass. I hope you two are happy!"

"And Spike will laugh," Buffy added forlornly. But after a moment, she brightened once again. "But...Nothing I can't handle, don't worry."

"Buffy, maybe I should take you back," he suggested worriedly, not wanting her to have to face the inevitable flack alone.

"No worries," she insisted, "If they give me any lip, I'll just take 'em out."

Cordelia sneered at her, "Charming. But really, Angel. We've got work to do," she held out a small piece of message paper, "Victim-of-the-moment. And call Kate," she added, and stalked out, slamming the door behind her.

Angel stared after her.

Buffy frowned, "Who's Kate?"

Uh oh. He'd forgotten all about Kate.

"She's just... uh... she's just a friend," he said weakly.

She looked at him, "If you said it with a little more conviction, I might be more inclined to believe you," she said, unable to keep the jealousy from her voice. Angel was kind enough, or shocked-deer-caught-in-the-headlights enough, not to call her on it.

"She's a police officer I work with sometimes. We went out once or twice, that's all," he admitted honestly.

Buffy nodded. "Yeah. I've got one of those, too."

Angel looked at her, confused.

"Not a cop," Buffy clarified, "But a 'went-out-with-once-or-twice'."

"That blonde guy I saw you with at Thanksgiving?" he asked, remembering the handsome, vibrant boy he'd seen her smiling up at.

"Riley. Yeah," she said. It was too bad. Riley was, genuinely, a nice guy. But... already history.

"So, um... are you... going to... uh... are you going to see him again?" Angel asked haltingly, looking up at her.

Buffy smiled and got up, walking around the desk and climbing into his lap.

"Well, that all depends," she purred, nipping his ear, "On how tired I am when I get home."

Angel mock-glowered at her, "Is that so?" He wrapped his arms around her and held her gaze.

"That's so," she said.

He kissed her softly.

"I think maybe it's time for my lunch break," he said.

Buffy looked up at the clock, noting it had a crack in the face. 11:30 a.m.

"Close enough," she whispered, and kissed him again.

*******************************************************

After a sumptuous dinner of fresh minestrone and handmade Italian bread, and a two-course dessert of flesh and sweat, Angel and Buffy sat, relaxing in the living room.

They'd talked about their options over their meal (the food part): what they should do next... how their relationship would move forward. It was agreed they would return to their daily routine, visiting one another whenever possible, and try to slowly re-blend their lives.

So they sat, quiet and contented, Angel reading yet another book, and Buffy flipping through his many sketchpads and portfolios. Each piece was finely detailed and beautifully done, capturing the fine nuances of light, shadow, and space that he observed.

She looked up at him, "You know, you're really good," she said.

"Thanks," he replied off-handedly.

"No, I mean it. Have you ever considered giving up the battle of good versus evil to become a starving artist?"

Angel didn't look up from his book, "Can't pay penance by drawing pictures," he informed her.

"Too bad, because these are really beautiful. Of course, most of them are of me, so..."

He looked up finally and grinned at her for a second before returning to his reading once again.

"You've got some imagination," she observed, looking at pictures of herself in situations and places she knew she'd never been in, "Where does that come from? Reading a lot?"

"Celibacy," he deadpanned.

Buffy laughed at him. "Well, I hope this doesn't mean you'll lose your imagination now..."

She let her voice trail off as she looked at a nude of herself, lying on this very couch, looking up at him lovingly. For a moment, she was blinded by a flashing vision that felt more like a memory: of munching chocolate bars and trying to stay still as he drew her.

"Stop fidgeting," he scolded her, holding the pad in his lap as he drew.

"I'm hungry. And I think I'm turning to stone," she complained.

"Good! Then at least I'll be able to draw you!" he shot back.

It was gone again in a moment, but it left Buffy shaking.

Angel stared at her, concerned. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah," she answered, blinking rapidly, "I'm fine... just... tired, I guess."

It had been so vivid...

*******************************************************

Armed with a duffel bag stuffed full of stakes and crosses, with Angel's favorite broadsword thrown in for good measure, they went out into the LA night for a good, old-fashioned patrol. He took Buffy up into the Hollywood hills, to where the cemeteries were filled to the brim with the famous... and the infamous, and pointed out the final resting places of entertainment's icons as they passed.

"Did you ever stake anybody famous?" she asked him, touching John Wayne's crypt.

"A rock star once, but I don't think that counts," he told her. "There. That's the victim of the attack I read about in the paper."

Buffy looked curiously at the headstone, but didn't recognize the name. They sat on a nearby wall to wait.

She swung her legs carelessly in the air.

"So... tell me about this Kate," she said casually.

Angel looked at her, "What do you want to know?"

Buffy pouted a little, "Besides that she's a boring, hunchbacked, hideously deformed, fanged and taloned harpy? Oh, you know... the usual."

"She's... nice," he said vaguely.

"Nice? My grandmother is nice. Are you going to ask her out, too?"

Angel frowned and shrugged, "Kate's kind of a loner... workaholic... messy past... bad relationship with her father. We have a lot in common," he said.

"Sounds like big fun," Buffy said.

He took her hand and wound her fingers around his.

"It was a way to pass the time," he said, "She's been a good friend."

Buffy scowled. "Did you read the Kama Sutra for her?"

Angel gave her a little shove.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said.

"Well, did you... you know... kiss her, or anything?"

"Buffy," he said, jumping down off the wall and standing between her knees, "I haven't kissed anyone other than you in over a century. Do you really think I'm going to just go slobbering all over the first woman I meet three months after we broke up?"

She looked at him seriously. "You kissed Faith," she reminded him.

He sighed, frustrated, "That was different. That was for a purpose, not because I wanted to. You know that."

"So, you never wanted to kiss Kate?"

"I didn't say that," he said, "I just haven't. That's all."

Buffy searched deep in his eyes, and saw that he was telling the truth. It didn't make her feel any better.

"Does she know about me?" she asked.

"Of course not. We don't know each other that well."

"I thought you were such good friends... What, am I some dark, terrible secret now?" she complained.

"Stop it. What was I supposed to tell her? 'Hi, my name's Angel, and I'm a 250 year old vampire in love with a teenaged Vampire Slayer?' You're just being difficult. And catty."

Buffy said nothing, and stared down at her hands.

"What about you?" he said, "That Riley character. And that other guy... what was his name..."

Buffy looked up at him in shock, "How did you know about Parker?"

He clenched his fist, trying not to remember the sensation of hearing that Buffy had given herself to someone else... and that that someone else had hurt her.

"A little birdie told me," he said bitterly, "While he was running me through with hot pokers."

Buffy watched him walk away, back down the short hill to their target's grave.

What was she supposed to tell him? That she had been so lost and lonely after he left, that she just jumped into bed with the first loser who smiled at her twice? And what about Riley? Things with him were... nice. She kind-of liked him. But they'd never so much as held hands, and she knew he could never hold a candle to Angel... hell, he couldn't even hold a match to Angel.

How could she tell him that none of that mattered anymore, anyway?

Her opportunity to do so passed, as the ground beneath Rachel Manion's grave began to heave and shift.

"Back on the clock, buddy!" she called to him, as he had his back to the rising vamp.

Angel turned and looked down, just in time to see the first bloodless hand reach out of the grave into the air. He drew his sword and waited, decapitating the newborn demon the moment its neck was clear, letting the gravedirt absorb its dust.

He looked back up, to find Buffy standing only a few feet away, watching.

"I'm sorry," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"It's okay. I was right here," he said, putting the sword away.

Buffy came closer. "No... I mean... about before. About Parker."

Angel looked at her. "The only thing you have to be sorry about it selling yourself short," he told her, "Showing poor judgment is a part of growing up. It happens."

She nodded as she always did when he shared the wisdom of his experience with her. She took another step closer, so that they stood across the freshly disturbed grave from one another.

"And as for Riley... let me put it to you this way: Riley who? I think he really likes Willow, anyway," she said.

He looked at her again, feeling the old twinge of guilt that he was once again stealing her chance at a happy, normal life. He looked down at his shoes.

"I'm sure he's a nice guy. Maybe you shouldn't discount him so quickly," he said quietly.

It was Buffy's idiosyncratic habit not to step on graves, so she walked around Rachel's and met him on the other side.

"You're the only nice guy I want, " she said, and reached out to take his hand. He squeezed hers, looking up at her with gratitude.

"I don't deserve you," he said reverently.

Buffy smiled. "You don't get to decide that anymore, remember?"

He returned her smile, "How could I forget?"

*******************************************************

Buffy let the searing hot water run over her, steaming away another night's worth of vamp dust and assorted other grime. Was it her imagination, or was Slaying a dirtier job here in LA? Maybe it was the smog...

Fighting beside Angel again was a thrill she had almost forgotten. The way he moved so gracefully, like the shadows themselves, overwhelming opponents with sheer, brute force... the way his back flexed and his arms stretched, and his legs shot out, utterly destroying everything that got in his path...

Watching his powerful dance, and performing her own beside him gave her a throbbing ache in her every muscle -- and it wasn't from strain.

She remembered once that Faith had mentioned that Slaying made her hungry and horny. She might have been a psychopath, but sometimes she got things right on the money. Buffy was definitely... stimulated... by fighting. And fighting by Angel's side, well... It beat The Red Shoe Diaries and a vibrator on Saturday night, that was for sure.

She giggled at the thought. A moment later, she almost jumped out of her skin when the curtain was thrown back and Angel poked his head into the steam.

"Need someone to wash your back, little lady?" he drawled, smiling playfully, "Me and my buddies are free."

The play on 'watching her back' wasn't lost on her, and she chuckled.

"I think there might be room for one filthy vampire in here, but your friends are gonna have to find somewhere else to bathe."

Angel climbed in with her, already naked. Apparently, he had been pretty confident about her answer.

She smiled over her shoulder at him, "Shower with a friend. Nice water-saving measure."

"Yeah, well, I try to be environmentally friendly. I could be around for a while," he quipped, taking the soap and lathering up his hands.

"The whole not breathing, eating, or processing waste thing probably helps... oh..." she moaned as his big, slick hands smoothed over her aching shoulders.

"Good?" he asked, stepping closer to her.

"Mmmhmmm..." she sighed.

Angel continued kneading her shoulders and neck with firm, long strokes.

"You're tense," he observed.

"Mmm... not for long," she joked.

He worked the lather, and his fingers, down to her middle back.

"What's bothering you?" he asked.

"Nothing... nothing worth talking about," she answered breathlessly.

Angel stopped rubbing.

"Awww... okay, okay..." Buffy relented. He went back to work, moving down to her waist, "I just really don't want to go," she told him.

Angel stepped closer, so her soapy back slid against his chest. He leaned over her and began to lather her stomach.

"I don't want you to go," he whispered in her ear, "Believe me."

As if to illustrate, he slid his slippery hands up over her breasts, teasing her nipples lightly with bubbly fingers.

"Oh... I believe you," she groaned, arching her back into him. Angel grunted at the sensation of her round rear pressed against him, and Buffy felt him instantly harden.

He slid his hands down to her belly, and then her hips, and over her thighs, lathering her lower body completely. He rinsed his hands and reached down between her legs, slipping his fingertip inside and caressing her lightly.

She breathed heavily, reaching her arm around his head for balance. He nibbled softly on her ear as he circled and dipped his finger into her, letting her slippery body slide slowly up and down against his.

"So beautiful..." he whispered, "Watching you fight... it's like an ironic ballet... watching you... your body like the deadliest weapon in the face of an enemy... and yet," he plunged the finger he had been touching her with deep inside her. Buffy writhed against him, moaning loudly, as he went on, "And yet, I know your body can be like this... an instrument of pleasure... pure, supreme pleasure..."

He kissed her neck, softly teasing the sensitive skin where he had once bitten her with his tongue, not slowing his attentions to her nether regions. He bent her slowly forward so she could brace her hands against the wall, and she put her left foot up on the edge of the tub, opening herself fully to his view.

Angel's breath caught in his throat at the sight of her submissive posture. She was perfect -- every inviting inch of her.

He bent his knees and came up so that his erection slid between her soapy legs. They opened wider to him, and he eagerly accepted their invitation, easing himself inside. It was a difficult position, as slippery and wet as they were, but the danger of falling only made the already hot passion of their coupling even sweeter. He thrust into her with a powerful abandon, wrapping his arm around her to dip his fingers into her curls once again.

The moment he touched the raw bundle of nerves in her body's center, she cried out, and bent over further. Angel used his other hand on her shoulder for purchase, pulling himself firmly in and out of her, in a steady, even rhythm.

"Angel... yes..." she moaned, "Harder. Please. Harder."

He strengthened his grip on her, and pounded mercilessly into her yielding flesh, never losing time with his finger on her clit. She tossed her head back, whipping his chest with her wet hair, a stinging lash that made him grunt, adding another "deeper" to her "harder".

This position... her subservience, her unerring trust in his mercy, was both tender and erotically animal, at the same time, and he found he would soon have to make a choice, if he kept fucking her that way: lose control of the demon, or lose control over his orgasm.

Angel chose the latter.

"Buffy!" he shouted, slamming into her with all of his strength.

"Yes! Angel! Yes!" she screamed.

He drove into her as he came, shouting. After a few moments, during which Buffy could feel him still pulsing inside of her, he eased off, letting her bring her arms and leg down once again.

She turned around and smiled up at him.

"We should probably get out before we dissolve. Or I drown. Again," she said.

He laughed and nodded, still winded.

"Besides," he panted, "I owe you one."

Buffy scrunched up her nose with excitement, "But who's keeping track?"

*******************************************************

After a few sweet hours of bedroom activity that almost required another shower, Buffy lay once again tucked securely against his chest. Her father was due in less than five hours.

"I'll never criticize Willow's magick, ever again. I swear," she said happily, tracing lazy lines across his chest.

"Sound policy," he agreed, and pulled the comforter up over them, "You should get some sleep. You'll need your energy."

"Hmmm.... Yeah, I guess. But... I just... I want to stay awake so this day can keep happening..."

Angel tried not to flinch at yet another familiar moment from That Day. Was that what this was? Another Chance, granted to them by the Powers to make up for the one he had sacrificed for her life? Would there be constant signs and hints like this, every time they were together from this day forward?

He pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head, but said nothing.

*******************************************************

He walked her as far as the outer office.

"So... I'll call you tonight, and let you know how things went," she promised him, not letting go of his hand as she looked up into his eyes.

//I'm not going to cry, damn it! It's only for a couple of weeks!//

Angel leaned down and kissed her softly, tenderly brushing her cheek.

"I'll be thinking of you," he promised.

"I'll be thinking about you, too," she replied.

"We'll be together again soon. Don't forget," he said, and gave her one final, slow, deep kiss that left her reeling and gasping for breath. He smiled as he watched her struggle to regain her composure, "To remember me by," he said, and let her go. Buffy walked backwards into the hall, toward the outside door.

"I love you, Angel. Thank you. For everything."

He smiled. "No. Thank you, Buffy... for popping by..."

She laughed, and reached her hand back for the doorknob.

"You should probably close that," she reminded him, nodding toward the sunshine that leaked in through the spaces in the blinds behind her.

"I love you," he said, waving, as he did as she said.

*******************************************************

Part V: Little Details

"I see," Kate said quietly, looking down at her hands in her lap.

"I hope you understand," Angel added, "I'd very much like for us to still work together... still be friends."

She looked back up again, and scanned his gorgeous face. Of course she was disappointed that he didn't want to "see" her anymore-- she enjoyed Angel's company like she had no one else's in years. But the happy glow in his usually sad, haunted eyes almost made it worth getting dumped.

Kate smiled, "Of course we'll still be friends, Angel. That's all we've ever really been."

He nodded. "Good. I hope you know that I value your friendship," he said sincerely.

"And I value yours," she said. She paused for a moment. "So, what's brought about this little... change in attitude? If I can ask..."

His smile broadened. "An old friend," he said vaguely.

"Must be some friend," Kate joked.

Angel nodded. "She is."

Shifting comfortably into Buddy Mode (as years in the company of gruff, macho cops had taught her to do), Kate leaned over the desk a little.

"Tell me... what's she like?" She asked, sincerely interested in who could possibly have brought about this metamorphosis in him.

Angel scrunched his brow. Did she really want to know?

"What... you really want me to tell you about Buffy?"

"Her name is Buffy? Where did you meet her, Go-Go Beach?"

He gave her a funny look.

"No. Sorry," she apologized, "Little 'meow', there. Tell me about her. I know you're dying to... I can see it in that goofy grin of yours."

With a twinkle in his eye and a happy breeze in his heart, Angel told Kate about Buffy. Leaving out the parts that sounded like something from an H.P. Lovecraft novel, of course.

*********************************************************

"Oh, wow..." Willow sighed dreamily, stretched out on her bed, "He said that? Like, out loud?"

Buffy took a deep breath that seemed to nearly double her size. "Just like that. Word for word."

"Wow..." Willow said, staring admiringly at her best friend, "Wow."

"Yeah. And you know what the funniest part is? Being with him like that felt... so... familiar. Like all this stuff had happened before," she looked wistfully out the window, "And the dreams I've been having..."

Willow sat up and leaned toward her excitedly, "Better than the real thing?"

Buffy looked back at her, "No. Just... different. He's always human."

"Oh," Willow replied, "Well, I mean, in a way, that would be better... easier, at least."

Buffy shook her head. "I don't know. I used to think so, but... I think maybe things between us are meant to be exactly as they are. And we're exactly who we're supposed to be."

Willow beamed at her. "You are so lucky..." she said, her voice edged with longing sadness.

Buffy got up and sat beside her, taking her hand, "You'll get your second chance, Will. I know it."

The redhead smiled weakly, and fought the tears that threatened behind her eyes. These days, she always felt like crying.

"I hope so," she said.

A knock at the door broke the warm moment, and Willow rose to answer it.

"Oh," she said to the unseen visitor, "Um... Riley! Hi, uh..."

"Is Buffy here?" she heard him ask. Willow spun around, looking desperately at her.

"I... well..."

"It's okay, Willow," Buffy said.

She moved out of the way, and the room was instantly filled by Riley's enormous body. He fidgeted awkwardly and stared down at Buffy.

"Um... so... I've gotta... you know... go..." Willow muttered, and scurried out of the room.

Riley closed the door behind her, and sat down on Buffy's bed.

"I guess we need to talk," he said, looking down at his hands.

Buffy felt bad for him. "Yeah, we do," she said.

He took a deep breath, steeling himself, before he looked up and into her pretty face. "So... you saw your ex in LA," he began. Buffy nodded. "And, considering you were there for two days, it's probably safe to assume that things went... well," he went on.

"They did," Buffy concurred. She suddenly had no idea what to say, but he seemed to be taking the reins from her. It was a strange feeling, but welcome, under the circumstances.

Riley nodded in understanding. It hurt, to know this would be the last time they were alone together like this. "The others... the way they responded to the whole thing... I'm guessing there's a pretty long history there. You've been together for a long time."

Buffy looked at him. His big shoulders sagged, and his usually bright and cheerful face was drawn into a painful frown.

"Not always together," she told him honestly, "But we've been through a lot, yes."

He looked straight into her eyes, "You love him," he said. He wasn't asking, only stating a point of fact.

"I do," Buffy said without hesitation.

"Well..." Riley said. "Then it's over. I'm not sure what else to say."

He looked away and got up. Buffy watched him.

"I don't think there's much else to say..." she said sadly. She really would miss his warm simplicity...

"That's it, then. I guess we've covered everything."

Buffy started at the familiar words. Had she said them to Angel only a few weeks ago?

"I guess we did," she answered, as Angel had.

Riley gave her a final small, sad smile, "Then... I'll see you around," he said, and walked out of her room without another word.

"Yeah," Buffy said to the door, "See you around."

*********************************************************

Angel knew he wasn't going to make it down the stairs before the machine picked up, but he ran anyway, tossing the keys and his bag of groceries on the table and sprinting to his desk.

"Angel..." It was Buffy. His heart leapt. "Please... if you're there, pick up..."

She was crying. He grabbed the phone.

"I'm here. Buffy, are you alright?" he asked frantically.

"I broke up with Riley," she sobbed.

Angel grit his teeth.

//Be supportive, idiot. She did it for you.//

"Oh, Buffy... I'm sorry," he said. Of course, the only thing he was really sorry for was her obvious misery.

"No. It's okay... I mean, really, it was easy..." she told him.

"Well... that's good, isn't it? What did he say?"

"He... he just said he'd see me around," Buffy sniffled.

"That's it? Good for him," Angel said, "No need for a scene, right?"

"But... I thought he liked me!" she cried.

Angel felt his chest clench with jealousy, but he fought to keep his cool.

//Friend mode. Friend mode.//

"I'm sure he did, Buffy. How could he not? But... what did you expect him to say?"

"I don't know," she lamented, "I thought maybe he'd argue, just a little at least, you know?"

"Honey..." Angel sighed, "You just spent two days here with me without so much as a word to him. I think he probably got the message right away. Talking to you was just a formality."

Buffy's sniffling slowed, then stopped. "You're probably right," she said, "I mean, we really didn't know each other that well. It wasn't like he was in love with me or something..."

Remembering Buffy's immediate and earth-shattering effect on him, Angel wasn't so sure. But he wouldn't tell her that.

"Right. It's all for the best," he assured her, "Besides, I like you."

His voice was soft, like velvet, and Buffy found herself immediately comforted and warm.

"I like you, too," she replied, relaxing back on her bed.

"What are you wearing?" Angel teased lightly, hoping to cheer her up with a little good-natured leering.

"Just a tee-shirt," Buffy said seriously, her own voice low.

He'd meant it to be a joke. But his instant erection at her words made him think that maybe this could turn out to be a fun miscommunication. He collapsed into his easy chair.

"Nothing else?" he whispered, conjuring the visual in his head.

"Mm-Mm," she said.

"Tell me how you're laying," he requested.

"I'm on my back..." she said, stretching languidly.

Angel moaned softly. "I can hear you stretching... I love to watch your body work... the way your muscles go taut and then soft, and back again... it makes me crazy..."

"How crazy?" she breathed.

"I'm already hard as a rock," he replied.

"Mm. Rock-hard is good," she said.

"It's very good," he agreed, "Except for the pants part."

"Then take them off," she suggested.

Angel looked around him, as if to check for anyone who might be watching. The apartment was, of course, empty.

"Right here?" He asked her. He was pretty certain he'd never used a phone as a sex toy before -- they'd come along long after his cavorting days were over.

"Right there. Right now," she whispered.

He complied, and sat back down, perching the phone on his shoulder.

"Okay..." he informed her.

"What are you wearing?" Buffy asked.

"Black turtleneck. Emerald boxers. Silk..."

"Ooh. I like you in green," she purred, "Take them off, too."

"What? Buffy..." he objected.

She chuckled at his reticence. "Just do it," she ordered softly.

He did, so that he sat in the chair in nothing but his turtleneck, his hard-on poking up at him. Angel felt like a total idiot.

"Fine."

"You're bottomless?" she grilled him.

"I am."

"So am I..." she whispered, "I'm thinking about your hands on me... everywhere..."

Angel shut off his brain and let his throbbing body take over.

"Where? Where am I touching you? Tell me."

"My chest... oh... you use your fingers... lightly... on my nipples. They're so hard..."

He listened to her breath quicken, and his blood immediately began to boil. He felt as thought he were starving for her, already, and they had only been apart for a few days.

"Yes... I love your breasts... the way they fall when you lay on your back... the way the move when you move... the way they respond to my mouth... I love to feel them crushed against me."

Buffy moaned. "Then you put your fingers inside of me. All over... deep... God, Angel, I'm so wet..."

He closed his eyes, the sensation of wanting her almost as strong as if she were in the room with him physically. He could practically smell her.

"Does it feel good?" he groaned, reaching for himself, and clutching his erection in his hand.

"Yes... it feels... uh... like Heaven..."

"Are you touching yourself?" he asked.

"Mmmm... yes. But... it's you, touching me... your hands... your fingers... your mouth."

"I love to lick all the juice from inside you... I like running the very tip of my tongue all around the outside of your opening... up over the lips, over the very tip of your clit... I love to suck it... feel it throb in my mouth... feel your body move beneath me, around me..."

"Yes..." Buffy panted.

He could hear small grunts escaping her throat, and the vision in his mind of her masturbating on the other end made him throb against his own smooth stroke.

"I want to be inside you, Buffy... slide in, deep, where I fit so perfectly..."

"Filling me..." she groaned, remembering the sensation vividly.

"Yes. What do you want? What do you want me to do?" he asked, breathing so hard he could barely speak.

"Fuck me," she said, "Hard. Ugh..."

He closed his eyes and let the vision unfold, the soundtrack her own moans and sighs as he smoothly stroked himself in time with the imagined rhythm of her heart.

"Uh! Oh, Angel..." her senseless moaning grew, going on and on for a few minutes. He concentrated on the noises she made, training his hearing so he could almost hear her hand on herself. Then, he heard her cry out once more before she relaxed again with a winded sigh.

"I won," he said, releasing himself.

"What? What do you mean, you won?" she said breathlessly.

"You came first. I won," he informed her.

"Oh, fine then," she pouted, feeling flushed and satisfied as she slid her body under the covers, snuggling the phone to her face like it was Angel himself.

"Buffy..." he said seriously.

She yawned. "Excuse me. Yes?"

"I love you. Are you okay, now?"

Buffy chuckled softly, "I'd say so. I feel better, if that's what you mean. Only trouble left is lunch tomorrow. Not just with Willow -- with everybody. At Giles' place," she told him.

Angel sighed, "Are you sure you don't want me there?" he asked again.

"No, I'm not," she admitted, "But if I'm going to convince them I'm making a mature decision, then I'd better be mature about it."

"Very sensible. Don't worry, you'll do fine," he promised her, "And make sure you call me right after and tell me how it went."

"Are you hanging up already?" she whined.

"It's late, Buffy. You have to go to sleep, and I have to go to work," he looked down, and realized he was still half-naked, and mostly hard, "And put my clothes back on."

"Don't," Buffy whispered.

He immediately sprang fully to life again. "Why not?"

"Because," Buffy told him, "I'm going to tell you a bedtime story."

Angel moaned happily, and settled back into the chair once again. The woman whose basement was haunted by the ghosts of a thousand rats her exterminator husband had killed could wait.

*********************************************************

Buffy felt like she was getting ready to face a firing squad when she walked through Giles' front door. And there they were -- her executioners: Giles, Willow, Xander and Anya. Of course, Willow was probably really her ally, but she knew the Witch would try to remain neutral.

Giles looked up when she entered.

"Buffy," he said, "Do join us."

Buffy marched up the platform toward the gallows...

"Hi, guys," she said, holding up her hand in a pitiful excuse for a greeting.

They just looked at her, waiting. All Buffy could think was how facing three angry people would be so much easier than the, what, seven who had cornered her in the Sunnydale High library senior year?

She sat in the only empty seat, which just so happened to be the wing-backed chair that stood alone at the top of the circle of furniture -- the proverbial "hot seat".

Giles sat with his hands folded in his lap. "Willow tells us you have something you'd like to say."

Buffy looked slowly around at her friends' faces. She suddenly wished that Oz was there, too. At least then there'd be one neutral expression in the room. She let her gaze skip over an already fuming Xander, and settled on Anya. The newest member of their dwindling group sat, looking mostly bored. A good place for Buffy to put her focus.

"I don't really want to be here," the ex-demon told her, "Except that I want to know when I should start running for my life. I hear Angelus is as mean as he is gorgeous... OUCH!"

Xander elbowed her roughly and shot her a nasty look. Anya shrugged and settled back on the couch.

Buffy's old friend leaned forward, his dark eyes shooting daggers at her.

"Really, though, Buff, Anya's got a good point. How long do we have before your demon lover shows up looking to have us all for dinner?" he asked coldly.

"Xander..." Willow warned.

Buffy held up her hand. "No, Will, it's okay. It's a legitimate question," she held Xander's gaze, "Angelus is not back. Angel is still Angel, and none of us are in any danger. At least not from him," she said.

"How can you be so certain?" Giles interjected, "You don't know what effect your prolonged exposure to one another might be. You have no proof that..."

Buffy looked the man, who might as well be her father, straight in the eye.

"We're pretty certain," she told him.

Giles looked at her. "What do you mean? How... oh," he blushed, "I see."

"YOU MEAN YOU ALREADY SLEPT WITH HIM???" Xander screeched, "Oh, GOD! This is worse than I thought! Anya, hand me that sword. I'm gonna get this over with quickly."

Before anyone could respond to his melodrama, the basement door burst open, and Spike came barreling inside. He looked around at the surprised faces.

"Am I too late? Did I miss anything?"

"Xander was about to commit Hare-Kari," Anya told him.

"Oh, good," Spike said, and took a seat at the kitchen table to watch.

*********************************************************

Angel tried to read the next Latin passage in the exorcism, but the angle of the light was falling too far off the page.

"Cordelia! The light, please?" he asked, exasperated to see that his assistant was more concerned with watching the floor for ghost rats than with helping him dispel them.

"Sorry!" She squeaked, and held it up too high, still looking fearfully at the floor.

Angel snatched the flashlight from her hand.

"Come on, Cordelia. They're not even corporeal," he barked at her.

"I don't care if they weren't in the Army!" she snapped back, "They're still rats!"

Angel rolled his eyes. It was moments like this that he really missed having Buffy beside him. He shook his head to clear it of her image. No time for that now. Time for that later, when he called her.

He read the passage again. He wanted to get this over with -- he was none too fond of rats, himself.

//Only ten days. Only ten days until I see her again.//

*********************************************************

Buffy sighed, leaning her head on her hand, looking out the window at the last blazing rays of the day beginning to dance their way down over the horizon. Angel would be getting out, now, prowling the streets, dark and mysterious and gorgeous, doing... hero things.

She looked down at the manila envelope in her hand. There was no mistaking his careful script, spelling out her address on its surface. There was no need for a return address -- she could feel him, all over it. She lovingly traced her name across the paper, and could almost hear his soft voice saying it:

Miss Buffy Anne Summers

So formal, like an old-fashioned gentleman... which she knew he was. Her heart skipped at beat at the memory of his voice, and she replayed many of his eloquent words of love in her mind as she carefully opened the envelope. A single sheet of fine parchment paper was all that it contained, and Buffy gently pulled it out.

It was the two of them, as they must have looked coming out of the theatre last week -- she in her gown and he in his tuxedo, arm-in-arm and face-to-face, smiling brilliantly at one another. He'd even captured the lights and the detail of the marquee behind them, complete with a portrait of the Phantom. It was as though he had brought a photographer to take candid shots of them, and then drawn the picture from those. To think that he had done it from memory...

A single line of elegant calligraphy bore the only message, drawn carefully in ink at the bottom of the sketch.

Anywhere you go, let me go too...

Buffy burst into happy tears, grabbing the phone and dialing his number before the first one fell.

"Yeah, Angel! Cordelia, NO! Not... the red one, damn it! Doyle, will you show her which sheath I was talking about, please?" he shouted, then came back, "Sorry. Angel, here."

"Hi," Buffy said quietly.

He was immediately calm again, and left Doyle and Cordelia to bicker over the weapons cabinet in the outer office.

"Hi..." he said softly, "Are you okay? I was worried about you. How did it go?"

"It sucked," she said, "But that doesn't matter..."

"No, it does. Were they upset?" he went on, "What did they say?"

"Shut up," she sniffled, "Shut up for two seconds and listen to me."

He did.

"I got your present," she told him, holding the picture up to look at it again.

Buffy could almost hear him smile. "You did?"

"I did."

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"It's beautiful. Perfect. Just like that night..." she sighed, "How do you do that, Angel? How do you capture moments like that? It's so... everything is just right. Just like I remember. How do you even know what you look like?"

"From you. I can see myself reflected in your eyes," he told her, "When your life moves as slowly as mine does, you learn to pay attention to the little details. That's where all the true beauty lies."

"You're amazing," she said, "You remember everything..."

"I'll never forget..." he said.

They both froze -- Buffy, because the words set off all the same alarms in her head that her dreams did, and Angel, because he had chosen those particular words to say.

They were silent for a long time.

"I miss you," Buffy said finally, "Nothing's right, without you here."

Angel sighed longingly, "I know. Everything feels... off," he agreed.

"It won't be forever, though, right?" she asked, almost wishing he would beg to come see her now.

"No. It won't. I'll see you next week, remember?" he reminded her.

"I mean after that..." she cried softly, "I don't want to be this far away from you. It hurts too much."

"I know," he said, almost on the verge of tears himself.

"We need to rethink this whole long-distance thing," she told him, "Soon."

"We do," Angel agreed.

The door to his office crashed open, and Doyle came sprinting inside, Cordelia close at his heels, waving a nasty looking dagger at him.

"You come back here, you rotten little..." she shouted.

Doyle ducked behind the desk, trying to dodge her. "I'm sorry!" he shouted back.

"You can't just come out and tell me something like that and then walk away! I mean, a BRACHEN DEMON??? You wait until now to tell me that?" she circled the desk menacingly, swiping the knife in the air to punctuate her words, "I almost slept with you! GROSS!"

Doyle stopped for a split second, protected by the desk between them. He stared at her. "You did? You did! I knew it! I told you!" he yelped happily, looking over at Angel, who sat on the edge of the table near his office door. The vampire waved the phone at them to illustrate that he was using it.

Cordelia stood up straight. "Oh. Sorry," she said, "But he..."

Angel cut her off with a look, reaching out to take the knife from her hand. "I wanted you to sharpen it, " he said, "Not carve Doyle with it." He slipped it into his pocket.

Cordelia scowled at him, turned on her heel, and stormed out. Before he followed, Doyle stopped beside Angel and gave him a wink.

"See? I told you," he said, and left.

Angel sighed, exasperated yet again. "Are you sure you want to come spend any time here?" he asked Buffy.

"I'm glad that they're there," she told him, "They're good for you."

"You're good for me," he corrected her.

She smiled, "Cordelia really cares about you. That's important."

"Yeah," Angel said wistfully, looking to the door where his friends had so recently been, "It is."

*********************************************************

Part VI: Something New

Willow looked down at the piece of paper in her hands, then up at her best friend again.

"Well, it looks fine to me," she announced, "No bad spelling... very neat... grammar's okay... Are you sure you really want to do this?"

Buffy nodded. "Very sure."

"UCLA. Huh," Xander said, half-proudly and half-sadly, "We'll miss you, Buff."

Buffy got up and moved to sit down next to him, and put her arm around his shoulders.

"I haven't gotten in, yet," she reminded him.

"You will," Willow said.

Buffy smiled, "But I'm not going to be that far away. And you guys know you're always welcome..."

"Yeah," Xander snorted, I really want to come hang out for a few days with Dead Boy and the Wicked Ex From Hell." Buffy pouted at him, and he immediately relented. "Okay, okay, I'll come visit you... it's not like my high-powered career will get in the way."

They all laughed, and Buffy took the transfer application from Willow. She stared down at it. Her grades were good enough. Her father was nearby. And it was the first step toward spending the rest of her life with Angel.

Could she do it? Leave her home, her family, and move away to a completely different life?

His smile played across her mind like a ray of sunshine. Buffy relished the thought for a moment, then folded the paper to envelope size. There really wasn't any other choice she could make.

She slid the application into the envelope, and looked up at her friends as she licked it and sealed it shut.

The three Original Scoobies sat, looking at it.

**********************************************************************************

"This is the female form,
A divine nimbus exhales it from head to foot,
It attracts with fierce, undeniable attraction,
I am drawn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor,
All falls aside but my mouth and it..."

Angel softly kissed the nape of her neck, just below her hairline as he whispered to her.

"Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, and
what was expected of heaven, or feared of hell, are now consumed."

He lightly kissed her first vertebrate.

"Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it,
the response likewise ungovernable,"

He licked slowly across the line of her shoulder, leaving her flesh hot, but shivering from his cool tongue.

"Ebb stung by flow and flow stung by the ebb, love flesh swelling and deliciously aching,"

He drew across the other shoulder, his hands supporting his weight just above her.

"Limitless limpid jets of love
hot and enormous, quivering jelly of love,
white-blow and delirious juice,"

Angel traced the length of her spine with his lips, brushing his body lightly against hers, their skin barely touching.

"Bridegroom night of love working
surely and softly into the prostrate dawn,
undulating into the willing and yielding day,
Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-fleshed day,"

He rubbed his face against her smooth back, feeling the texture of her as he traveled to her waist, and up over the hills of her rear.

"This is the nucleus -- after the child is born of woman,
man is born of woman,"

He gently turned Buffy over to face him, and dove down again, beginning his journey over her electric body once more from her throat.

"This is the bath of birth, this the merge of small and large,
and the outlet again,"

He kissed between her breasts and underneath them, over the rolling cut of her ribcage, and to her tight belly.

"Be not ashamed, women, your privilege encloses the rest,
and is the end of the rest,"

Buffy sighed deeply, her body responding to the sensuous, breathy cadence of his words, the impossible, hypnotizing depth of his voice, as much as his certain touch.

"You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul,"

It was like a litany of prayer he chanted as he worshipped her. His lips reached the tender flesh of her inner thighs, avoiding the steaming part of her that most longed for him, blanketing her everywhere else with his hands and his mouth.

"The female contains all qualities, and tempers them,
She is in her place and moves with perfect balance,"

He shifted until they were face to face, and leaned down to touch his lips to hers once, and again. Buffy reached up and caressed his back, pulling him down to her. He relaxed his weight onto her bones, and looked into her eyes.

"She is in her place and moves with perfect balance,
She is all things duly veiled,
She is both passive and active,
She is to conceive daughters as well as sons,
And sons as well as daughters."

He kissed her again and gently reached under her, bringing her lips in line with his own. Then he returned his adoring gaze to her face.

"As I see my soul reflected in nature,
As I see through a mist, one with inexpressible completeness, sanity, beauty,"

He eased himself inside of her, gently urging her legs wider with his own. He closed his eyes for a moment and caught his breath, while Buffy tenderly stroked his cheeks as she watched him.

"See the bent head and arms..." his whispered, his breath rough, "The Female, I see."

Angel pushed deeper inside of her to punctuate the end of his recitation. The rest of the ritual was purely about touch: about her arms wrapped around him, and her heart beating, strong and wild, against his still chest.

As he made love to Buffy, he reached out with his soul, searching deep within her for that spark he was lacking... that fire that separated the living from the other-than-living... that isolated him from all of them... the Power of Life that only she could give.

Buffy moved with him silently, sensing that this was much more than lust, for him. Much more than love or adoration, or even worship. She watched his eyes close and his expression shift slowly, and realized that he was concentrating, fully, on being one with her -- like a pilgrim seeking unity with the source of all life.

Angel rocked slowly in a rhythm older than time itself, claiming her body at the same time he experienced its ultimate other-ness, and knew, somehow, deep inside, that he was not so different from her after all. Every being, even the two of them, was alone.

And yet, he also knew that she was the other half of him -- his body and soul. That she fit perfectly into his body, and between them, they created one pure life, a single living creature, the only true essence that existed in the universe.

When the air exploded around him, and he heard her finally break the silence by calling his name, he knew something else, with a finality akin to death: that the only danger that remained to his precious soul was ever letting her far from him, again.

As he collapsed in her arms, her body's warm sweat gluing him to her, Angel understood, finally, what his destiny truly was:

To love her. That was all.

**********************************************************************************

It was the ice cream that finally did it. Innocent enough... her favorite snack. But as they cuddled in bed that Saturday afternoon, looking at the TV and watching the time pass, the frozen dairy treat changed everything.

"I'm hungry," Buffy said from beside him.

Angel smiled down at her. "You just ate half a pizza."

"Yeah, and then I immediately burned it off," she said, smirking at him. Not bothering to put anything on, she jumped out of bed and ran over to the fridge. Angel was compelled to tear his eyes from Xena, Warrior Princess to watch Buffy move.

She peered forlornly into the refrigerator. "I'm going to have to go to the store," she said, and grabbed the last pint of ice cream and a spoon, bringing them back to bed with her. She slid back under the covers, and Angel immediately cuddled up to her again, throwing his empty Reeses' Stick wrapper into the growing heap on the floor and not taking his eyes from the sword fight on the television.

"Xena favors her right," he told Buffy, "All Callisto has to do is spin left and take her from underneath. Easy."

Buffy gave him a strange look as she popped the top off the pint. She looked at the top, noting it was her favorite -- cookie dough fudge mint chip -- before she tossed it away. "You're not supposed to root for Callisto. She's the Bad Guy."

Angel shrugged. "I'm not rooting," he corrected her, "I'm just making an observation. As a sword fighter."

Buffy snorted at him and took a giant spoonful of ice cream, swallowing it down so quickly, it froze her teeth. "Huh huh...My boyfriend's a sword fighter..." she said proudly in her best Butthead voice.

He wrinkled up his nose at her, "You really go for that Alpha Male stuff, don't you?" he joked.

"I do, I admit. Mid-life crises, The Man Show and all," she agreed.

Angel didn't know what The Man Show was, but he laughed anyway.

The door suddenly opened, and Willow backed into the room, shielding her eyes.

"Uh... hi... guys, sorry. Sorry. I need my Chem book."

Buffy and Angel watched her maneuver around the room backwards, and finally locate the missing item by sweeping her hands over every surface, knocking most of the other things on that surface to the floor.

"Willow. We're decent. You can walk forward," Buffy assured her.

"No! No... It's okay. I got it," Willow insisted.

"Willow, what are you doing?" Buffy asked.

Willow kind of peeked out of the corner of her eye, and seeing they were covered, and not on top of each other or anything, turned the rest of the way around. The room was a disaster -- there were clothes strewn everywhere, both his and hers, and were interspersed with empty fast food containers and junk food wrappers. It was pretty apparent that they hadn't left the room since Angel's unexpected appearance on Thursday night, and that was two days ago.

"I'm having an argument with Spike about viscosity and temperature changes," she told them.

Angel laughed.

"What?" Buffy asked, looking between her friend and her lover, "What's viscosity?"

"Thickness of liquids," Angel explained.

"Oh," she said, "That's a pretty stupid thing to argue about."

Willow shrugged. "It's better than TV. And it helps me study. Believe it or not, Spike's pretty smart."

"Yeah, smart," Angel snorted.

"Well, I'm off! You two have fun!" Willow said, waved, and disappeared the way she entered.

Buffy looked at Angel. "Viscosity?"

"Spike's an expert... on blood viscosity," he told her.

She rolled her eyes. "Nice," she said, and took another spoonful of ice cream.

"Are you gonna share that, little glutton?" he asked, reaching for the carton. Buffy surrendered it to him, and watched him take a few bites.

There was that flash again... that little twitching tug of something right at the edge of her memory that she could never quite get a hold of...

Angel scooped some ice cream out and smiled playfully as he held it up to feed it to her.

Buffy stared at the heaping spoon as if it threatened her. She knew. Suddenly, every piece just fell into place, and all of it -- the dreams, the visions, the strange sense of deja vu -- all of it made perfect sense.

"Are you okay?" Angel asked, still holding out the spoon. She continued to look at it, seeing in slow motion as a few gooey drops melted and fell to the sheets. Her eyes went wide.

Buffy was not okay. Her mind reeled and her heart pounded as 24 hours of her life that no longer existed flashed before her eyes. The drawing... the kitchen table... the words that had passed between them... and most of all, the ice cream. She couldn't move. Couldn't speak, couldn't feel, couldn't think, nothing. She only stared.

Angel dropped the spoon in the carton and hastily tossed it onto the nightstand, moving closer to her.

"Buffy... what's wrong? You're white as a sheet. Are you sick?"

She dragged her eyes painfully over to look at him. She could remember, with perfect clarity, what the warm glow of life looked like on his pale skin... how hot his hands were... the way his heartbeat echoed in his chest, thumping sweetly against her ear as she leaned on him...

"You were alive," she said finally.

Angel flinched visibly, and backed away from her, his eyes wide.

"What..." he said.

Buffy's green eyes bore into him, "You were alive. You came back to life," she repeated.

He blinked at her. "How did you..." watching Buffy's face, he understood, "You remember."

She nodded slowly, as though her head weighed too much for her neck. He had no idea what to say to her. They sat, silent, the tension that they had fought so hard to ease quickly settling over them again, like an angry storm cloud.

Buffy stared at him, overcome by her shock and the sudden rush of joy and sorrow that came with the memories... the moments still played torturously against the movie screen in her mind. How could he not tell her? How could he make such a decision without her? How could he have kept this a secret?

Without a word, she reached over the side of the bed for her jeans and tee shirt, and began to get dressed. Wounded by her reaction, Angel reached out to touch her, but she flinched away. When she was dressed, she turned and looked down at him, rumpled and beautiful, his dark eyes filling with tears.

"I need to be alone," she said, and got up.

He closed his eyes and ran his hands over his face, then nodded, not looking at her. She looked at him for another long moment before she turned and left.

**********************************************************************************

Spike watched the whole miserable thing go down. He'd been wandering about Sunnydale, following a pack of young demons, hoping maybe to get a hold of some leftovers and kick a little ass, while he was at it. But the Slayer, looking very loose-cannon-y, ruined his fun by rescuing the would-be victims and slaughtering the seven vamps without even breaking a sweat.

When she was done with the obviously unbalanced, and disturbingly pun-less kill, the little blonde collapsed to the ground in front of a nearby grave and began to cry.

"Oh, bloody, stinking Hell," Spike complained to himself, and stepped out of his hiding place.

Buffy sensed his approach and looked up at him, her face a mask of utter misery.

Half of him found the scene infinitely funny. But the other half admired her on some twisted level, and more practically, owed her his ass a couple of times over. Spike walked over and sat down next to Buffy, lighting up a smoke. He offered her one, and she shook her head, wiping pathetically at her eyes.

"I'm fairly certain I'll regret this," he said, "But what's the matter?"

The Slayer shook her head again and began to blubber anew.

Spike rolled his eyes. "Come on. If you talk about it, you'll feel better," he promised, "Don't tell me your great puppy dog finally fell off the Soul Train again..."

For the third time, she shook her head.

"He dumped you, then... told you to take a hike..." he guessed.

"No. He didn't," she sobbed.

"Okay, look. I'm not all that interested in your well being to begin with, so if you want to share, I beg you to cut to the chase, eh?"

Buffy sniffled, staring at the ground. "Angel was... he was... human..." she told him.

Spike's eyes went wide, "Say again?"

She looked at her former archenemy.

"Human. Angel was human," she repeated.

He scowled. "That's not possible," he said, "And besides, why would he want to be... oh, right. Forget it."

"It is possible... Last fall, after... after he was here... he... he killed a Mohra demon and... its blood brought him back to life," Buffy explained.

Spike stared at her. He'd always thought the Slayer was a little off, but now there was no doubt in his mind that her attic was just chock full of toys. And they were all broken.

"Okay, I'll bite -- so to speak. What happened? I mean, I assume the problem is that he isn't human anymore..."

Buffy sighed loudly. "He traded his life for mine," she said forlornly.

Spike made a choking noise, "Oh, that figures. God, that Noble Sacrifice routine just makes me gag."

Buffy said nothing.

He looked carefully at her. Maybe she wasn't crazy, but she was obviously not far away from going there.

"Really. Gave up his humanity for you, eh? Huh," he said with surprise and sympathy that were obviously fake, "That's something."

He waited. Buffy didn't seem even animated enough to tell him to get lost...

"So, then, what are you doing sitting out here, crying among the dead?" he asked her, "Shouldn't you be thanking him profusely or smothering him with kisses or whatever it is you mushy wanks do?"

Buffy wiped at her face and shrugged, "I can't," she told him, "I can't even bear to look at him."

Spike whacked himself in the forehead. "You are just something else. The both of you. I thought you two were finally going to get just a little greedy and selfish... maybe get yourself some long-term happy; you know what I mean? But, NO. No, not you two drama queens... always with the angst and woe..."

She turned and stared at him. "But... it's... I mean, how can I be around him, knowing what he gave up for me?"

He shrugged. "What's the big deal? He's been dead for a lot longer than he was ever alive."

Buffy sighed, exasperated. "I don't know why I'm talking to you... your idea of a great love was a twisted basket case who collected babydolls and liked nonsense rhymes."

"Oh. Good. Lash out at me... sure, that's fine. But may I just say: 'Give me a break'?" Spike said, "That's what these here modern folks call a gift. And a pretty nice one, to him, I'm sure. I would think you'd want to be around the pathetic simp. Don't you think that shows that he'd do pretty much anything for you? I doubt Soldier Boy would be so generous!"

Buffy looked at her hands, ashamed. What had she done? She heard that Angel had made the ultimate sacrifice for her, again, and she ran away from him like he'd done something horrible to her. Worse was that Spike, once again, had been the one to point it out.

"I hate you," she said quietly.

He grinned, "Yeah? Well, I think you're a crazy, wanking bitch, so... wanna have a go? I'll let you kick my ass."

Buffy looked up at her reluctant colleague and almost smiled.

"You can't hit me," she reminded him.

Spiked shrugged, "Just as well. I'd hate to have to kill you, and put an end to this endlessly gut-wrenching saga. What would I do on Friday nights?"

Buffy laughed.

**********************************************************************************

When she came crashing through her dorm room door a few short minutes later, Buffy almost collapsed with sorrow to find that Angel was gone. The room was straightened, the garbage removed, and the bed neatly made. There was no sign that he had been there at all.

Then she noticed his writing on her notepad by the phone.

"I'm sorry." was all it said.

Buffy clutched the horrible thing to her chest. She was such a bitch! Every time Angel did something kind and heart-breakingly unselfish for her, she seemed to feel it necessary to punish him for it. Like he needed any more guilt!

Willow entered, carrying her bathroom kit.

"Oh. Buffy," she said quietly, her voice full of compassion.

Buffy looked up at her, her eyes overflowing with tears. "He's gone," she moaned, "I drove him away."

Willow set the basket down and sat beside her on the bed. "He's not gone," Willow said.

"How do you know?"

"Because I saw him leaving," she told her sobbing friend, "He's going back to LA tomorrow. He said something like there was no reason to stay..."

"Did he say where he'd be?" Buffy wailed.

"I..." Willow hesitated. Angel had made her swear... But they were her friends -- she couldn't let either of them hurt like this, if she could help it. "He said he was going hunting, and then to the mansion."

Buffy jumped up, "I have to go. I have to tell him..." she ran for the door.

"Buffy! Tell him what? What's going on?" Willow called to her.

The Slayer paused, her hand on the doorknob, "I have to tell him that I understand. And how much I love him," she said, and sprinted out.



**********************************************************************************

Angel shifted the bag on his arm as he climbed the garden stairs. Three hours, and not a single vamp, demon, or even a creepy, cold feeling. Not even a smart word from Spike.

He sighed -- he'd really needed a vicious battle to wipe the crippling guilt and hurt out of his system. Angel had hoped with all of his being that Buffy would never remember his day as a human -- most of all, how it ended, and why. But he'd also seen all of the little signs and flashes, when they were together. He had a feeling that, sooner or later, it would all come back to her. Oracles or no, Buffy was still the Slayer.

He hadn't had any clue how she might react: would she be angry? Sad? Confused? Resentful? All of the above? But the last thing he expected was for her to hate him... just turn her back and walk out like she had. After all they had shared over the past few weeks... all the plans they'd made... How could it end like this, without a word? Were they really doomed to constantly be torn apart by the immutable shadows of their past?

Angel closed the French doors behind him, dropping the bag alongside and walking into the living room. He didn't bother with the lights -- he knew the place was cold and dark, every surface covered with a thin layer of dust. It looked like no one had been there in years. Which they hadn't.

Angel collapsed on the sofa, sighing heavily and letting the little cloud of dust settle over him. He shrugged off his jacket and stared into the dead fireplace.

//Dead. Cold and empty and dark. Like me.//

In moments he felt the familiar melancholy sneak over him once again like that old friend that you never want to run into, but you always do. The dark cloud that Buffy's golden presence chased away appeared to be about to return. Just when he thought the most painful part of his curse had been lifted -- the part that threatened to eternally separate him from his life's only light -- the Fates had conspired to punish him once again.

"When is it enough?!" he wailed to the empty room.

Something on the mantle caught his eye, and he rose to look at it. He swore his dead heart skipped a beat as he snatched it up and devoured it with his eyes. It was a pink sheet of notebook paper with Buffy's sprawling and loopy handwriting across its surface:

"My Sweet Angel:

I've never been good at all this wordy stuff. I've also never been any good at accepting bad things that are good for me. I've never just done what I needed to do with any sort of grace. I've always kind of stumbled through, whining and bitching all the way. There are a lot of things I regret.

The deepest regret I have is all of the things I've done and said to hurt you. All of the things I never apologized for, and worst of all, the fact that I never thanked you: for always watching my back, for loving me, no matter what I threw at you, for telling me the truth, always... Or for being my friend. My true friend, sometimes the only one I had.

So, I'm sorry, and thank you. Please, let me show you how much all that you have done means to me...

Always...
Buffy"

Angel smiled at it.

"Hi," she said softly from behind him.

He turned in the dark and looked at her. There it was -- the same tingling throb that rushed through him every time he lay eyes on her, when he saw the special way she looked at him... the way her body language was so open and welcoming, as if she were always eagerly awaiting his arrival.

Angel knew he was always hungry for hers.

"Hi," he said finally.

Buffy slowly crossed the living room, able to see her way by the full moon's bright light from the garden doors. Not that the placement of his furniture wasn't etched deeply into her brain -- she remembered every fine detail of this place as clear as all of the moments, both good and bad, that had passed between them, there.

She finally arrived and stood before him, looking up and into his sad eyes.

"I know I end up having to say this a lot," Buffy said softly, "But, I'm sorry."

Angel just looked down at her, saying nothing.

"I remember the first time I kissed you here. Do you remember?" she asked, reaching out to touch his stomach, the place where she'd run him through, "I loved you so much, that moment. After all those months, thinking I murdered you, and left a monster in your place, here you were again. Do you know that there's... something -- I don't know what you'd call it -- but something like a spark in your eyes, that Angelus didn't have? When he looked at me -- a purely hideous demon wearing your beautiful face -- it was like looking into nothing. I had finally accepted what I had to do. I even took the swing that would have ended all of this, forever. Then I saw... you looked up at me with so much pain, and so much love... You looked up at me, and I saw that spark. The first thing you noticed was that I was hurt... you didn't insist I tell you what was happening, or why I was about to cut your head off... You just held me. But it was too late. It was too late for us... too late to save you. The vortex was opening behind you, and..." her voice broke, "And then I kissed you, and then..."

Angel stood towering over her, his pain clear on his face and his chest heaving. He didn't try to return her touch, or back away from it.

"I wanted to die," she cried softly, "I wanted to fade away and disappear and forget... forget everything that we shared... It was the hardest... god, that doesn't even begin to cover it. But I knew what I had to do. I knew what I was giving up... what I was taking away from you..."

Buffy paused and reached out for his hand. Angel looked down at it for a long moment before taking it and looking into her eyes. It was the first time she had said anything about sending him to Hell... the first time he had ever seen the soul-wrenching pain and resentment behind her soft green eyes at being forced to sacrifice him. She had always hidden her pain from him; at first, he assumed, because he was so weak. And later, because they were trying their damnedest to pretend everything was fine....

Angel wasn't sure if the knowledge that her heart was shattered by the experience made him feel better, or worse. It only reminded him that Buffy, better than anyone else beside himself, understood what it meant to sacrifice.

"I would die a million deaths to keep you safe, Buffy..." he said, "In fact, I have."

She nodded. "I know. I believe that, really, with all of my heart."

Angel released a breath he had forgotten he was holding and realized, with a flash, that he was angry with her. He didn't think he ever had been, before, when all of the things that hurt her, that made her lash out, were his fault. But this...

"I don't understand the way you reacted... I mean, when you remembered," he told her.

Buffy cast her eyes down at the floor, "What did you expect me to do? How would you react, if you were me?"

He considered the question carefully.

"I don't know what I expected. But I know it wasn't you walking out on me without a word," he said honestly.

She lay her free hand on his arm. "I'm sorry, Angel... I just... it was so much, all at once. "

Angel looked at her as if she were crazy -- his hurt and anger getting the best of him at last.

"How do you think *I* feel, Buffy? I had everything -- every. single. thing. I have ever wanted in a quarter of a millennium -- right in my hands," he held them up in illustration, then shoved them toward her, "And I had to give it back. The past month, the time before you came back to me, was worse than Hell." His voice was sharp and angry, and he punctuated his proclamation with a snap.

Buffy stared at him, once again taken aback by his anger.

"I know..." she said softly, "That was kind of the point of my story before. I know what you did. And I know why you did it. And I know what it took for you to do it."

Angel knew she was telling the truth as she saw it. He knew she was confused. He wanted to take her in his arms and comfort her, kiss her pain away. But he also knew that she wasn't the only one who needed comforting. He needed her... the shelter of her arms. Her understanding. For once, he wanted to lean on her.

The realization that he needed her so badly slammed into Angel like a freight train. It frightened him like nothing ever had before, so much that he saw it at last -- his worst fear -- the terror that had driven so much of what he had done for the past five years:

Losing her. Walking away from Buffy, giving back his humanity in her name, even going to Hell at the end of her sword were easier than the possibility that, someday, he might have to watch her die.

Feeling dizzy enough to collapse, Angel turned from her, and walked back out the French doors, into the warm night.

Buffy blinked as she watched him go. She could feel his pain deep in her bones, and she knew, suddenly, what he must feel like all the time -- causing irreparable pain... carrying unbearable burdens.

She followed Angel out into the garden and found him sitting on the edge of the fountain, looking up at the moon. Buffy sat beside him, and joined in his quiet watching.

After a moment, he spoke, his voice so low, she could barely hear his words.

"I've been around for a very long time," he said, "I have seen and done things most people can't even conceive in their wildest dreams, or their worst nightmares. I've had hundreds of companions... partners... lovers... But I only just realized... with all of that, I still don't know anything about love. Nothing at all."

Buffy watched the first of his tears fall, and he turned the dark, shining brown of his moonlit eyes to hers.

"Until you. When I met you... since I met you... I have learned so much more about so many things than I ever have before in my life. Especially about what it means to love someone," he looked deep into her eyes, "and to be loved in return."

Her breath caught in her throat.

"Do you know what Hell is like, Buffy?" he asked.

She nodded.

He gave his head a little shake, "I mean the pits of Hell. The place where the damned are condemned to spend eternity..."

"No," Buffy admitted.

Angel turned his eyes back to the sky.

"It's worse than you can imagine. Dante's picture is a children's playground, compared to what it's really like there."

She didn't know who Dante was, but Buffy thought she got the comparison anyway. Her heart broke to think of how much Angel must have suffered.

"The punishments extend far beyond the physical... I could take those. The constant violence... the rending of muscles and bone and skin. I could handle all of that -- I deserve that, and more, for the things I've done. But do you know what the worst part of Hell was?" He looked at her again.

She shook her head.

"You. The thought of you, alone... going through what you must have been going through... punishing yourself for doing what you had to do. And they..." he gulped involuntarily, "They can see your soul. They see what's inside, and they use it against you. The things they made me believe about you..." his voice went weak, almost breaking with pain, "The things they did to you, and made me... that was the worst torture of all."

They sat in silence while he cried, taking deep, hitching breaths to try to calm himself. The memories of Hell were still fresh in his mind -- most of all, the times that the masters had used his love for Buffy as a weapon against him. He would never tell her all of the horrible things they had shown him. How many times they had forced him to tear her apart... how he had ripped her, limb from beautiful, perfect limb, a thousand times. Or how he had to watch her raped and brutalized by hoards of stinking, poisonous demons... Or die a million cruel ways...

Even his own demon -- the great lover of pain and suffering -- had cried out against that treatment. Angelus felt, as deeply as Angel himself did, that Buffy belonged to him.

"I'm sorry..." she whispered.

Angel looked over and saw that Buffy was now crying, too. He put his arm around her and pulled her close, until she collapsed, sobbing, into his chest.

"No..." he whispered, "The time for sorry has passed. It's time to look forward, now." Angel cupped her face in his hands and tilted it up to look at him, using the tips of his thumbs to stem the tide from her eyes, gently wiping the tears away.

"I know that you have sacrificed, Buffy. We both have. We both have put everything we are... everything we dream... on the line for the sakes of millions of faceless others. I know that I have hurt you, and you have hurt me," he tilted his head a little, moving his line of vision all around her, drinking her in with his eyes, "But here... this... is why we do it. This is our reward. This is why none of that matters, anymore. None of it."

Watching him memorizing her, she realized, that was how he drew. Buffy reached her own hands up to touch his smooth, pale, skin, moving closer to him, watching his eyes watch her as their lips met.

Angel literally felt the tickle of electricity as they touched, and he opened his eyes to look at her once again. He caught her looking back, and their mouths smiled together. He pulled her closer, and felt the familiar thrill of her tiny arms wrapping around him. She squeezed him, hard -- hard enough to make him gasp.

"I'm sorry," she cried into his neck, "I'm sorry I pushed you away... I'm sorry I sent you to Hell... I'm sorry I didn't remember... I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," she chanted, sobbing. He held her tighter, his own fear, sorrow, and frustration flooding out of him.

"No, Buffy... I love you... don't. It's okay, now. It doesn't matter. I love you..."

The clouds came from nowhere, shadowing the moon, and they sky split open, the silence of the dull air broken by the pounding of thunder. They didn't notice, lost as they were in their embrace. Nor did they notice when the moon began to weep as it disappeared behind the clouds.

Angel kissed her gently... a bare touch to her top lip, and then the bottom. Another brush to the center, and he pulled away to look into her eyes once again.

The rain began to fall softly, the big, warm drops mixing with their tears. Buffy shivered as the water poured down on them, and quickly turned to steam against her hot skin. She took him in -- all of him -- the human he had been two centuries ago, the demon who lived inside of him, and most of all, the dark symbol of all that she had that was good in her life, now.

"I'm sorry," she said, "And I promise I'll try to never have to say it again."

The thunder rumbled and the lightening crashed, and blessed torrents fell from the heavens as they made love in the Heavenly garden outside the place that once housed the gates of Hell.

"Inside my skin
There is this space
It twists and turns
It bleeds and aches

Inside my heart
There' s an empty room
It's waiting for lightning
It's waiting for you, and

I am wanting
I am needing you here
Inside the absence of fear

Muscle and sinew
Velvet and stone
This vessel is haunted
It creaks and moans

My bones call to you
In their separate skin
Make myself translucent
To let you in, for

I am wanting
I am needing you here
Inside the absence of fear

There is this hunger
This restlessness inside of me
And it knows that you're no stranger,
You're my gravity

My hands will adore you through
All darkness aims
They will lay you out in moonlight,
And reinvent your name, for

I am wanting
I am needing you here
Inside the absence of fear."

FINIS

**********************************************************************************

A Note About the Nature of This Series: Technically, this is the end of Something Old. However, since I'm enjoying this carefree universe so much, I fully intend to add more, later. Not necessarily "sequels", per say, but just carrying on the story as I feel like it.
But, we've still got a lot of loose ends, don't we? *grin*

Note: The song used in Part III is "All I Ask of You" from The Phantom of the Opera. In Part VI, The poem Angel recites to Buffy is from "I Sing the Body Electric" by Walt Whitman. The song "Absence of Fear" is by Jewel, from her album Spirit