Title – Dealing

By - Mariah (symonk@bezeqint.net)

Disclaimer - not mine.

Distribution - my B/A fanfic site (http://www.withtheprettiness.com/evennow) and everyone with permission. Ask me first.

Rating - PG

Spoilers - everything ever.

Pairing - Buffy/Angel.

Synopsis – just as the title says, lol.

Feedback - always.

AN – Buffy's POV in the first part, Angel's in the second.

I stop as I make one step out of the front door and I see him, still there. He's sitting inside his car and one might think he's just waiting for me, waiting for me to run after him like I did and ask him not to go, but I know him, and I know he's not. He's leaning back in his seat and I can see his eyes are closed though his palms are loosely set on the wheel as if ready to go any minute. I know he senses me there because a moment later, he slowly opens his eyes and tilts his head in my direction. It's a long, melancholic gaze, the complete depth of which I can't comprehend, or maybe I do too well. I just know it forces me to avert my eyes.

Finally, he turns away again and starts the car. My heart almost skips a beat when I'm quick to realize it wouldn't start, even after he tries several times. I feel my whole body tremble and I have to stifle the cry of joy rising from my chest at what's happening right in front of me, but when I want to run the rest of the way over to him I suddenly find myself unable to. He tiredly throws his head back against the seat and covers his face with his hands for a few seconds. When his hands drop to the sides of his body, my sharp eyes detect the familiar shimmer of tears peeping from under his lashes and I can almost hear my heart crack.

I take a deep breath and conjure up the strength I need to move forward, to him. He doesn't budge the entire time it takes me to cover the trivial distance between us that for some reason seems infinite to me, he acts as if he's oblivious to my presence. His lids don't even twitch when I press down the handle and open the door on the driver's side and now there is nothing standing between us.

"Angel," I hunch and cup his cheek in my hand, stroking my thumb over his so familiar skin. "Angel, I'm sorry," I whisper again and wordlessly plead with him to answer, I don't even care what, just as long as he doesn't sit there like that and looks... dead.

His lips curve slightly and he lets out a small bitter laugh before he opens his eyes and looks at me and I only then acknowledge his hand is now covering my own. "They're just gonna keep playing with me, aren't they?" I'm not sure which one of us he's asking that question, if it's me or himself, but I answer anyway.

"If you let them," is all I find proper to say and for some reason, it seems to be enough. I look up at him again and don't speak until I'm sure I have his complete attention. "Angel, I love you. More than anything, I love you. I have problems, and I have fears and I know you do, too. But I want to be able to deal with them, and I can't do that unless you stay. I never want you to go, I never did. Please, just... don't. Stay with me."

He doesn't say anything, just looks at me, looks deep into my eyes until I feel there is nothing left of my soul he still hasn't bared completely and I never felt any more naked than I do right now and before this man. And I love it, I love him for doing it to me and I love *him*.

Finally, after what seemed to me as eternity, he steps out of the car and I straighten up and move back to allow him. We find ourselves standing in front of one another, seemingly speechless, but I only have to wait for another second before he wraps his jacket around my shoulders in the exact same manner he did years ago and whispers, "You're cold," as he plants a soft kiss on my forehead. I let a small sob escape my lips before I bury my face in his chest that always feels like home.

"Just promise me we'll get through this somehow..." I draw back a bit to look up at him and he removes one hand from around me to clear the tears from my face. "Promise me we'll try to do anything to become what I always wanted us to be, promise me we'll make it through everything and we'll make it work."

"We will."

And I thought I didn't trust promises anymore. Maybe this is the first step I should do, to learn to trust promises again, to trust *his* promises. How can it ever work, if I don't?

"And Angel? I never want to take back one moment I had with you, you need to know that," I look into his eyes for confirmation that he really does and he responds with a reassuring half-smile.

"I know. It's not-"

"And you'll *never* make another solution out of leaving."

He smiles again, but I can see in his eyes that he's not taking me lightly. "I won't leave," he makes another promise. "I never... I never meant to leave you, God, Buffy," he looks up for a moment and chuckles softly at his own realization before our eyes meet again, "you should know by now that I can't. They obviously won't let me," he throws another careless glance at the sky. "And even if *I* let myself, there's only so much time I can spend away from you now that we can have everything we ever wanted. I won't go anywhere unless you want me to, and I doubt I will even then."

"I never want you to," I shake my head resolutely. "Even when I'm in some bad place, or when I say stupid things, I never want you to-"

"They're not stupid," he interrupts me sharply and pointedly and I look up. "These things weren't stupid," he clarifies after a moment of holding my gaze captive in his. "The more I think about them, the more sense they make, Buffy..." he breathes out my name and gently crushes me to him, wrapping me in his arms. "Maybe we were going too fast. It just..."

"Felt right," I complete him, not even realizing what I'm saying until the words are out and I smile at the immense amount of truth in them.

"Yeah," he sighs and after a pause says, "I said some things I didn't mean to back there. I-I mean, I did and... These things are probably better said, but... not like that, not like I said them. They were hurtful and... I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too." I murmur quietly and tighten my arms around him to emphasize how much.

He kisses my head again and I sniff back what is hopefully going to be the last tear I'm going to shed in a long time.

I reach for a picture frame and pick it up. It's one of Buffy and Cole, the man who up until yesterday was my best friend and her fiancé. He has his arm around her and they're both smiling, and to a complete stranger, this picture would seem too perfect for words to describe. But not for me. While his smile is bright and true, her smile is nothing but a mask. I never need to look at her mouth because all I need to see is her eyes and I know - she's dead inside. I can't help but being angry with him for having been unable to see that, to see her soul. But then my thoughts drift off to Connor and I know only too well how many lies a person chooses to see when he loves someone. Truth can be the most painful thing in the world.

I put down the photograph of Buffy and Cole and focus on the ones standing next to it, of Willow, Xander, Giles, Dawn, Joyce, Anya, Tara... and Connor. Some of these people are gone, some are still here, so many things have changed. I realize suddenly the house I stand in has seen too much loss in so short period of time. People died here, people I myself maybe don't remember now as I used to before, but they were people important to me, even if because they were important to her. This house is a museum of changes, of loves and losses, happiness and heartbreaks. If I think really hard, I can find memories lying in every corner, concealed in every small detail. I glance into the kitchen and I can see her entering it in the morning, one of those her mother was out of town and we bribed Dawn not to tell I was staying over. Her blond hair is still a bit disheveled and her green eyes are still dimmed with a veil of sleep, and with her small body clad in my oversized shirt, she is stunningly beautiful.

I throw one look at the couch and I remember her falling asleep in my arms after a long night of slaying. There was one night a week when we always found ourselves falling asleep in front of the TV in her living room because she didn't want us to part overnight and at the same time it wasn't the best of ideas to spend the night in her bed with Joyce in the house following our every move. However tiny she was, I scarcely remember a morning-after when I woke up without feeling soreness in some area of my chest. The couch was always too small for the two of us and it always seemed to take her forever to find the perfect position in my arms to fall asleep in. I think she was twisting and turning until she was simply too tired. And I remember Joyce, regardless of how much she played the cautious mother, granting us a soft smile or two when she'd come downstairs to check on us late at night thinking we were both fast asleep.

I remember distinctly everything she told me that morning she visited me in the mansion, I think I'll always remember it. At the time, I didn't feel all too worthy of Buffy myself, so Joyce's interference never did strike me as groundless, but I still know, today, now that I can look back at everything and piece everything together, that in so many ways, I did pass the mother-test in her eyes. Not to say her ways of achieving her goal was a just one, but all in all, she just wanted the best for her daughter. And I know what it feels like, to be a father, even though I was robbed of such a large portion of that experience. But nevertheless, I know, that if I ever have a daughter... I'll want the best for her, too.

I pick up a photograph of Connor, and I slightly grin to myself when I see him smiling. I think there were only two times in my life when I saw him smiling so openly. There must be so many things I've missed about him. Only from the brief moment I got to see him yesterday, I saw how much he has changed. Then again, under Buffy's care and influence, how could he not to? I wonder whether he sometimes thought about me, I wonder if he missed me, but then I sadly realize I better stop my thoughts before they follow that doomed trail.

There is a girl with him in the picture, she's also smiling, and she's beautiful, she seems happy and so does he. I think I saw her with him yesterday at the party, but I'm not sure. I wonder who she is, what is her name, I wonder if he'll ever tell me... If he'll ever talk to me at all...

I notice there is not a single picture of me in there, nor anywhere in sight, I already made that observation before but I never brought it up before Buffy. It somehow related in my mind with opening old wounds and this is the last thing I want to do. Maybe I'll ask her sometime, maybe she'll just tell me. Maybe not. I know for certain she has one picture of me, one she keeps close to her heart in a place where no one can see it and find it. I saw that picture reflect in her tears the other night and I saw it in her tears only an hour ago. I wonder if there will ever come a time when she will let it fade away and what can I do to help her, and at the same time, I'm not sure it's my place to step in for that one. She knows my arms are always open for her, maybe I should just wait for her to walk into them first...

I hear the water stop running upstairs and I know she's finished her shower, and in my mind I can already see her descending the stairs in my shirt, which she already so conveniently made her own. Does she know I have a bag full of clothes in my car to last me for at least a week? Did she ever really think I planned to leave the next day after I finally found her again? I look again at my son's picture and have to ask myself if she really is my biggest challenge I came to this town to face. Her love has always been unconditional and the most reliable thing in the world to me. Even at times I had nothing and no one to trust, after we drifted apart so much I was no longer sure of the survival of our bond, I knew that I would come to her, and no matter what, she would have me, and she would love me. Even through our hardest times, and God only knows we're the experts in those.

But Connor... The Sunnydale I left years ago is not the Sunnydale I came back to the other day. This one holds within it so much more than the woman I love and my only true definition of home. Here, there is also my son. And I think that facing *him* is what I fear the most.

I must be too engrossed in my thoughts because the familiar slender arms almost take me by surprise when they suddenly wind around my waist from behind and I feel the soft pressure of her lips on my back.

"Didn't you trade your advanced brooding skills for your humanity?"

I chuckle and whirl around to face her. "Apparently not," I reply, trying to maintain a playful note to my voice, but she was never one to be fooled by those cheap attempts at cover.

"I think you have a little surprise in store, Angel," she obviously hints at something, but I know for the life of her she'll never tell me before I see it for myself so I don't even bother asking. "I think your boy grew in some ways you wouldn't even imagine."

I try to judge the tiny gleam in her eyes for better or for worse and for some reason can't make up between the two. An inner voice insists she would never hide anything from me if it were bad, but given the fact it's my son that we're talking about, there can be a very thin line separating the good from the bad and sometimes none at all.

"I don't... I don't even know how to begin talking to him, I don't know if he wants to talk to *me*..."

"Ask him," she says simply as she nods at something behind me and I feel my entire body stiffen because I know what, or rather whom, she's seeing there without the need to revolve. She draws near and fastens her arms around my neck for a moment, briefly kissing my cheek as she inaudibly whispers, "I'll be upstairs," and then pulls back and leaves.

I gulp and slowly turn around, locking eyes with the light blue ones of my son.

"Dad," he acknowledges my presence with this single word, which given our past experience, is never clear regarding the intentions behind it.

THE END