The group made their way back to Buffy’s house, exhausted, and trudged wearily into the house. Fred and Cordelia claimed space in Dawn’s room, Willow, Tara and Dawn would be bunking down in Willow’s room. Xander and Anya made their way back to their own apartment with Gunn and Wesley, who would be staying overnight with them, Giles agreed to take the twin bed in the Summers basement, leaving the couch to Buffy. Hank would be sleeping alone in Buffy’s room. Sharing a private smile with Dawn over their father’s still-flustered expression, Buffy shut the door to her room and kissed her sister goodnight.

Spike had disappeared as they left the shop, though Buffy doubted that he was finished with her and fully expected him to come sniffing around tomorrow night. She would talk with Spike, calmly…and with a stake close by, just in case his temper got out of control.

After securing Saria on a cot in the basement, opposite of where Giles would be sleeping, Angel had assured Buffy that he and Connor would make due anywhere in the Summers house. She headed for the steps to make sure they were comfortable downstairs and to see if they needed any blankets. Taking the steps slowly she turned the corner of the entry hall and promptly stopped short. Cordelia, in little more than purple satin shorts and a matching tank top, had her arms around Angel in an embrace that was much more intimate than coworkers normally shared. A piece of Buffy’s heart broke, one sliver at a time. She stared at them uncomfortably before clearing her throat, grabbing onto the railing for support as her knees had suddenly gone weak…right around the same time that rock had settled in her stomach.

Cordelia jumped a bit and pulled back from Angel, ending the hug. “Jeez, Buffy. Wear a bell,” she muttered, and turned back to the vampire. “Get some sleep,” she told him gently, and moved past the Slayer and up the stairs.

“I—I just came to see if you and Connor were okay,” Buffy stammered, looking anywhere but in the eyes of the man in front of her.

“We’re fine,” he assured her.

Buffy stiffened. “So I see,” she replied shortly.

Angel’s gaze grew confused. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she sniffed. “I’ll see about changing the sleeping arrangements.”

“Why?” he asked, genuinely curious. “Someone unhappy?”

Her eyes were steely. “You should have just said something earlier.”

His brow knotted with his confusion. “What?”

She waved her hand towards the dining room. “I didn’t know…I’m sure something can be changed…Fred can squeeze in with Dawn.”

He stared at her for a moment longer, wondering if the events of the past two days were finally taking their toll on the little Slayer when he realized what she meant. “You think I’m…that Cordelia and…oh God. No. Buffy…no. Not happening.” If the look on her face hadn’t promised him a swift death he would have laughed out loud at her train of thought.

“Looked like it to me.” Buffy turned on her heel and walked into the kitchen, pushing open the door and letting it swing back, almost smacking Angel in the face as he followed.

“I’m sure…I know what you think you saw…but it wasn’t anything, Buffy.” He stopped short of the island as Buffy walked around it and immediately looked for something to put in her hands…something that couldn’t be construed as a weapon. A checkered dishrag hanging over the divided kitchen sink served her purpose.

“Buffy,” he tried again. “It wasn’t anything, I swear. She was worried about me, came to make sure I was okay, that I wasn’t having any after-effects of the spell…and mostly she wanted to make sure that Connor was alright. I promise. Hey…” he murmured, covering her hand in his and forcing her to stop the maniacal scrubbing she was giving the already clean counter top. “Cordelia and I are just friends. Very good friends,” he allowed, “but just friends. Like you and Xander.”

He raised his eyebrow, making sure his point got across and she closed her eyes, stupidity flooding through her. It shouldn’t matter anymore…but it did. Everything Angel did would always matter to her.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly, her eyes on their entwined fingers. She squeezed his hand. “I just…I don’t know what to say.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he said easily and released her hand, the warmth of her skin lingering on his own cool touch for a moment.

As he moved away her fingers ached at the loss of contact but she pushed emotion aside, though it pained her to do so, so long now had she been without feeling of any kind. Changing the subject she inquired about his chosen location for sleep that night.

He ignored her question. “What about you?” he asked Buffy as she puttered around the kitchen, her body itching to move, to do anything but stand there under his careful gaze.

“Hmm?”

“Where are you going to sleep?” he asked softly, not wanting to disturb his sleeping child who was cuddled in his punkin seat on the kitchen table. The bright light of the overhead lamp had been turned off in favor of the yellow hue of the stove light and it cast a soft, moody glow over their faces.

She jerked a shoulder as she moved the damp rag over the counter. “Giles is taking the bed in the basement so I can have the couch in the living room. Where are you going?”

He mimicked her, shrugging. “Probably just on the floor.”

“You’ve done it before,” she remembered.

He did too. “I don’t think your father would appreciate me sleeping next to him.”

She hid a smile. “I can assure him you don’t snore…much.”

He grinned now, easily, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “Quite a day, hmm?” he asked casually.

“That it was.”

“How are you going to handle your father?”

She rolled her eyes. “I really don’t know. I guess…he can’t deny what he saw here tonight…I mean, if he thinks about it…we saved him from those vampires outside the magic shop.”

“True,” he conceded.

“I guess I’ll just try to reason with him…see how that goes. I don’t expect much, but I have to try. I can’t let him take Dawn.”

Her words were adult, mature…but her tone was tired and very, very young to his ears. She looked like she might collapse at any moment, not surprising as she’d had little sleep in the last forty-eight hours. He said as much to her.

With a short laugh she tossed the rag into the sink. “I think I might…but then another part of me is so wired from everything that happened…”

“You haven’t slept since you were in the hotel,” he reminded her gently.

Green eyes met his. “Neither have you.”

His fingers twitched and an urge began to pull at him. They’d…survived. They’d done it. She was back…fully restored and alive again…and he’d succumbed to the demon and made it through to the other side once more. They’d done it together.

Her eyes seemed to look into him, reading his thoughts, and she took a hesitant step towards him. He urged her on with movement of his own, hitching his body to angle himself facing her, shoulders moving forward to be closer to her…and she was in his arms as her own came up and wrapped around his broad chest and hot tears began to spill.

He held her as she sobbed, as she let out months of unhappiness and sorrow. Stroking her wavy tresses he closed his eyes and rested his chin atop her head, strong arms held her against his chest.

“Shhh…” he whispered, wiping at her tear-stained cheeks. “It’s okay.”

She sniffled loudly. “I—I didn’t know that was in there,” she admitted.

He smiled gently. “I figured it was, somewhere. You’ve been through a ton, and knowing you, you but on brave-face and pushed all this down inside you.”

“Sounds like somebody else I know,” she said pointedly, eliciting yet another grin from him.

“Hmm,” he murmured. He himself was not the poster-child of feeling-sharing. Smoothing her hair he tucked a strand behind her ear and pulled her back from his chest to look into her eyes, studying her. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, wiping one last escaping tear. “We should go to bed,” she told him finally. “Separately, I mean.”

He chuckled. “We should. I’m just going to give Connor a bottle.”

She nodded again and moved to the tiny child. Her fingers stroked his wrinkled forehead and she wondered if he dreamed…and what someone so little would dream of. Kissing him gently she walked to the door and turned back to Angel before pushing through. “Good night, Angel.”

He turned from the refrigerator. “Good night.” Their eyes held for a moment before she opened the door and was gone.

Angel blew out an unnecessary breath and leaned against the fridge, chilled bottle in his hand. It never got easier, soul or no.

*~*~*

A half hour later, Connor tucked securely under his arm, Angel headed out into the living room prepared for sleep. Settling his child next to a deep-cushioned easy chair his hyper-sensitive ears perked up at the sound of movement on the front porch. Uneasy, he threw a glance at his sleeping child decided Connor would be safer here than heading out with his father to face whatever lay outside.

He moved swiftly, yet silently, to the front door and peered out through the sidelight. Sighing, he opened the door a moment later.

“I thought you went to bed,” he admonished softly, coming to sit on the front steps.

Buffy jumped at the sound of the door opening. “You too,” she told him evenly.

“I was, until I heard something out front, came to investigate.” He looked up at the moon, bright overhead. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. Just got lots of thoughts up here,” she said, tapping her head.

“I remember it was usually a pretty busy place,” he said easily. “What’s going on in there now?”

“This is going to be the talk you wanted to have, isn’t it?” she asked mock-warily.

“Could be.”

“Might as well get it over with,” she said with a sigh, but without heat.

“I promise,” he chuckled, “It won’t be that bad. Besides…I’m sure, judging by the little misunderstanding we had in there,” he jerked a thumb at the house, “that you’ve got some stuff to ask me about, too.”

“Could be,” she repeated.

“I swear, Buffy, there’s nothing going on between myself and Cordelia.”

She looked over at him, familiar Angel in his dark clothes, his soap and aftershave scent unchanged after all these years. Creature of habit, indeed. She’d wager he still used the same brand of gel he had three years ago. She angled her head as her eyes swept over him. Salon Selectives, Soft Hold, Level B. Smiling to herself she looked back down at her hands. “Whether there is or there isn’t, Angel…it’s really none of my business,” she conceded finally, the words feeling untrue even on her tongue.

He gave her a level look. “And somehow…the thought of you and Spike still got to me…so I guess the mature thing to do is to admit that it bothers us. Even if is shouldn’t.”

She squinted at him. “You always were the smart one.”

“You need to give yourself more credit.”

“I haven’t been acting very smart lately,” she admitted. “I mean, no one can say that my… involvement…with Spike was for the best.”

He fought the snippy words that wanted to be said and tried for calm and reasonable instead. “No…I wouldn’t say that. But I would say that it’s understandable. You were in a bad place, much like I was when Darla came along, and he was there. It’s ugly to say it like that, but it’s true. Sometimes you don’t need love, you just need a warm body.”

She grinned. “So we both chose walked into the arms of vampires.”

He smiled back. “Well, the warm-body is just a figure of speech.”

“You got Connor out of it,” she said wistfully. “At least you can say that.”

His eyes filled with love. “Yeah…it’s incredible. But you got something too, you know.”

Her brow furrowed. “Besides shame, humiliation and the desire to fling myself off a high-rise?”

“How about a renewed sense of self…some self-esteem…knowing who you are and what you’re worth now,” he corrected. “Coming out of this, you know you’re better than that, that you deserve more than what he can give you. You deserve more than anyone can give you,” he admitted.

Her heart fluttered at his kind words and her eyes softened. “So do you. I hope…I hope you can find that someday, Angel. You deserve it.” Her words were honest. “Just not with Cordelia, okay?”

He laughed out loud now and she shushed him but couldn’t contain her own giggles. “I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” he assured her, then let a gleam enter his eyes. “I couldn’t afford her anyway.”

“Very true.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment, watching some leaves scatter up the street and Buffy wrapped her arms around her at the momentary chill.

“Cold?” he asked and removed his duster, placing it over her arms, dwarfing her, before she could object.

“Thanks,” she murmured, slightly uncomfortable as his scent filled her nostrils. For a moment she closed her eyes and could be right back there…in his arms, holding on for dear life to the single most important thing she had.

When she opened them, he was watching her. “Why don’t you start at the beginning…tell me everything that happened since the last night I was here.”

“The night of my mother’s funeral,” she remembered. He nodded. And so she launched into the tale of Glory’s uprising and Dawn’s kidnapping…of her gift to the world, the gift of her, and how she’d been peaceful and happy until Willow had worked her dark magics with the help of Tara, Anya and Xander. She told him how hard it had been to be back, without her mother, with a teenage sister to care for, and bills coming in from everywhere…and with Giles leaving her alone.

“He swears it was for my own good,” she told Angel, “but I miss him so much…and it doesn’t feel like it’s for my own good. It feels like I lost a friend. Like I was abandoned.”

“I think that’s natural,” he told her, fighting the feelings of guilt that flooded his system. He’d left her too, after the biggest battle of her life, he’d left her to handle things on her own. And look where it had gotten them. He swallowed his thoughts and plunged ahead. “You know he’s always there for you…he came back to help out now,” he pointed out.

She nodded. “And I know he will…but I also know he’s got a life in England…and I don’t want to interrupt that.”

He considered for a moment. “I’m sure though…if you were to ask…I bet he’s missing you every bit as much as you’re missing him. Maybe more. His life in England ended six years ago when he came here…it’s hard to just go back and pick that up again.”

Her story continued with Spike and their involvement, Willow’s use of dark magic and Tara’s departure, and of Xander and Anya’s engagement. When she finished he told her about Darla’s return and the plots of Wolfram and Hart to corrupt him, to make him lose his soul to her…and how it had almost worked. She laughed at the thought of Cordelia’s face when Angel fired them, and grimaced when he told her of the clothing he bought to get back in her good graces again. (“I’d pay to see that dance, though,” she’d teased.) She was equally pleased, though she kept it to herself, to learn that he’d kicked Darla to the curb after their night together. He told her of his vendetta against the lawyers and shocked her when he admitted, with shame, how he locked them in a wine cellar with Darla and Drusilla.

He went on to tell her of their trip to Pylea and Cordelia’s enslavement followed by her coronation and how in that world there had been two suns…two suns that did nothing to him but warm his cool skin. Her eyes widened when he told her of seeing his reflection, though he kept to himself that a year and a half earlier, on an unseasonably warm November day, he’d already been treated to the sight of his image in a mirror…and to the sound of his heart beat.

His story continued with the telling of Fred’s rescue…and of Willow’s visit to tell them the news of Buffy’s death. His eyes went vacant as he regaled the tale of his summer away…a summer spent trying to escape, then trying to deal, with the death of the woman he loved.

And she noted that he didn’t say, “the woman that he had loved.” Pushing that thought away, though she couldn’t stop the tingling in her belly, she listened.

Darla had reappeared, hugely pregnant, and, as it had turned out…with human feelings for the child. Buffy still couldn’t believe that and indicated as much with a “Harrumph.”

“It’s true… I know how it sounds…but she honestly cared for him, even if it was just side-effects of Connor’s soul in her body.”

“Okay,” she sing-songed, still not believing it.

He took a breath and slowly reached for her hand, hesitantly entwining their fingers together. “And then…one night Fred and I were outside talking and Cordelia rushed to the door, shouting that you were alive.” He stared at the ground, emotion filling his voice. “And I just…blanked. Nothing else was important anymore. I had to see you, I had to know it was you, with my own two eyes.”

“So you called and we met,” she murmured, her own eyes fascinated by the sight of their interlocked fingers.

“And you were…you…but not really. And I’m sorry, because I brushed past all that rather than forcing you to talk about it, rather than trying to get down to the problem, because I was…” He trailed off, the pain of it too much for him ton continue.

“You were…” she prompted, her voice barely a whisper.

His eyes reluctantly pulled from the ground and sought hers. When she dared to look up at him, he continued. “I was so happy that you were alive, Buffy. It’s the closest I’ve come to a moment of happiness since that night.”

Her heart plunged into her feet. “Oh…oh.”

His voice broke as he spoke, emotion teeming. “My very first thought was just to get to you, to hold you, to feel you against me so I could know it was really you, and not some cruel joke or a dream…or something Wolfram and Hart cooked up for me since Darla didn’t work.” He let out a bitter laugh. “It’s amazing, I’m actually surprised they haven’t tried that.”

“Tried what? Me?”

He nodded.

“Angel…” She didn’t know what to say.

“It would work up to this day, Buffy.”

“What…what are you saying?” she breathed, not daring to think it.

He still wouldn’t look at her. “Even three years later.”

Stunned, she reached up and turned his face to hers, her eyes searching, hoping to find in them what she was looking for. She did. In them she saw hope and despair of hoping, love, and fear of loving. She saw raw emotion.

Without thinking she untangled her fingers from his and brought her other hand up to his face, cradling his perfect features between them, pulling him towards her and planting her soft lips on his. An involuntary gasp escaped his throat and for a split second he didn’t react until his mind began to work and he responded with fervor, falling into the embrace.

His own hands came up and tugged at her, pulling her close to him, wrapping around her tiny frame and all but plopping her down on his lap, stealing her warmth. As all their kisses did, this one built itself up until they were straining against each other, panting…and still wanting more. Now he did hitch her up so that she was half-sitting on his lap, leaving them eye to eye and she wrapped her arms around his neck, plunged them into his hair, massaging his scalp. An involuntary moan escaped and he dragged his lips down to her neck, laving kisses over her ear, her collar bone. His hands moved under his coat, under her shirt and stopped there, his fingers just teasing the skin on at her waistband.

“Angel,” she gasped as his hands splayed her back. “Yeeesss…”

Her murmurs urged him on and he found her mouth once more, sealing his lips over hers, his tongue delving inside to taste her.

She groaned into his mouth. This, this was exactly what she needed. What she’d always needed. What she always would need. It was useless when they denied it…the night in the cemetery had proved that, hadn’t it? Everything always led back to Angel…every road she went down. Even now…the only way the Teplir had been able to keep them in the dream state was to simulate perfect happiness, by going into their memories and plucking out the one thing guaranteed to keep them complacent.

She shivered as she remembered the feeling of being with him in that dream-bubble…just the two of them, lost to the world, of feeling his hands on her, their limbs entwined, straining for more and never being satisfied. Her hands imitated his and found flesh beneath his shirt, tugging on it enough that the cool breeze of the night tickled his skin, which then blazed beneath her hot touch.

“God…you feel so…Buffy,” he sighed, ripping his lips from hers and turning his ministrations back to her neck, to his mark.

She sighed and arched her neck back, trying to form a sentence when a high-pitched wail sounded from inside the house. Connor.

They froze, locked together, until Buffy brought her head down and their eyes met. Sheepishly she removed herself from his grasp and straightened her clothing, patted down her hair.

“I’ll just…ah…” he looked from her to the front door as he scrambled to his feet. “I…just a sec, okay?” At her nod he rushed inside to tend to his wailing son.

Buffy sank onto the front steps. “Oh boy.”

Chapter Twenty-Four: Clearing The Air
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