Angel called with the news two days later.
Giles answered the telephone (understandable since it was his house, even though the call could've been for any one of the remaining Scoobies that had convened there, as was often the case), and his eyes ticked over to Buffy for a brief moment after he greeted the person on the other line, a sign she took to mean it was Angel. It was either Angel or her mother, and since the latter was up to her ears in work at the gallery, Buffy figured it was the former. Her former. Dear God, she hoped he wasn't her former...former boyfriend, former friend...former anything.
They had not spoken since he'd stormed out of her hospital room with Faith -- okay, in all fairness they hadn't really stormed, their walk had reflected the intention driving them on, strides filled with purpose (Angel) and purpose and more than a little apprehension (Faith). Buffy had been released a few hours later and the gang had high-tailed it back to Sunnydale at her insistence, and they hadn't heard a word from the City of Angels since.
The Watcher spoke very little, keeping his eyes pinned on the wall so as not to disclose anything. Buffy strained to listen, but even her Slayer-enhanced hearing couldn't pick up their conversation. She was clueless and Giles wasn't helping, which in turn made her feel all the more nervous. Why wasn't he saying more? How many times could a person really say "Yes, of course" and "Right" and nod, anyway? Giles certainly seemed determined to find out from the obviously one-sided conversation. Funny, Angel had never been much of a talker. But that was before, back when he was still uncomfortable in his own skin, when he thought that he was unworthy of her. Oh, how things changed.
Finally, after an eternity which Buffy spent pretending to watch television -- even though no one was fooled -- Giles hung up the phone. She turned off the set (he really needed to invest in one of those new-fangled models, complete with a remote control that could mute the sound) and looked over at him expectantly, hoping that her eagerness to learn what he'd obtained from the conversation wasn't showing too much on her face. Giles was silent for a long moment, his gaze still fixed on the wall.
It became apparent after about a minute that he wasn't about to spill, and Buffy shot Willow a somewhat-desperate look. She had been dying to find out how the whole thing had played out, but was too full of pride (and, okay, she was scared that if she called Angel would tell her flat out that he didn't want to talk to her or, even worse, hang up on her without a word, and she really couldn't deal with that on top of everything) to actually pick up the phone. Willow knew all about her friend's anxiety, and, for Buffy's sake (okay, so she was a *little* curious too), spoke up.
"You really should get an unlisted number," she remarked, cutting through the silence. "Courtesy calls are so not courteous."
Giles started and glanced at her for a heartbeat before he turned to look at Buffy. He cleared his throat. "That was Angel," he announced, watching her closely, trying to gauge her reaction. A twitching muscle in her jaw was the only indication she gave, and he probably misinterpreted because she wasn't angry (well, not *really* angry, who did he think he was just calling and not wanting to speak to her?!), she was curious and he was stalling and it was NOT sitting well with the hormonally imbalanced Slayer.
"And you figured the best way to tell us about the conversation is telepathy? Sorry, Giles, but there seems to be something wrong with my connection. All I'm getting is static," Buffy teased. She fought to keep her voice neutral, playful even, but she was sure it came across as the high-pitched, agitated squeak it sounded like to her own ears. Even just a passing mention of Angel's name -- hell, someone just had to say the *word* 'angel' -- and she tensed, her skin quivered, her entire being fairly ached. How was it possible for him to have such an effect on her? Oh, yeah, there was that whole 'he was her soulmate' thing. Damn technicalities.
"Faith has been taken into custody," he reported guardedly. "She apparently turned herself in to the Los Angeles police a few hours after she, erm, left the hospital with Angel."
Buffy was silent. She'd known it was coming. It was the logical conclusion: the right thing for Faith to do. She wanted to prove that she was willing to pay for what she'd done, for the lives she'd taken, and turning herself in to the proper authorities was a sign the likes of the large neon one that hung above the Sun Cinema.
Wanting Angel's help was one thing. Going willingly to jail was quite another. And now her friends were obviously waiting for an answer, and she knew she couldn't disappoint.
"Oh."
Well, it was a start. What did they expect? She already felt as though someone had taken a machete and hacked away at her insides thanks to the fight with Angel, and added to all the stress of what she'd been through with Faith and the arguments she'd had with Riley and Xander, hoping for anything other than a monosyllabic reply was expecting *way* too much.
It was then that Xander's absence was really felt. He would have come up with some witty, mischievous comment to counter her one-word answer and the tension in the room would have quickly melted away, replaced by relaxed laughter. But he wasn't there, and neither was Anya or Riley or, thankfully, Spike. She hadn't been expecting any of them and hadn't even wanted to see any of them (well, she was pretty ambivalent about Anya, as long as she wasn't doing the horrible over-sharing thing that she indulged in WAY too much)...but suddenly, she longed for Xander's humor, and...and just his presence. He had been one of her best friends, and the fact that they were no longer on speaking terms hurt.
And of course that whole line of thought had been brought to her courtesy of raging hormones, because she was still beyond furious with him for what'd he'd with Faith while the secondary Slayer was in possession of HER body. He'd touched her, he'd fucked her -- how could he have actually believed that Buffy would cheat on her boyfriend with him...that she would *want* him enough to come onto him, jeopardizing not only their relationships but their longstanding friendship as well? He was such a...such a...such a GUY. A stupid guy who only had enough blood to run one head at a time.
It was just so infuriating! She couldn't even think about it without fuming, so she avoided it at all costs -- or at least she had been avoiding it up until moments ago, and was set to do so again immediately. Maybe Faith hadn't been totally off when she'd accused her of being pretty friendly with denial.
Whoa, where did the Faith-friendly thoughts come from? Those were definitely hormone-induced, too. They had to be.
And then there was the whole 'avoiding Xander meant thinking about Angel' issue. That territory was dangerous, too, but for a totally different reason. With Xander she wanted to scream, while Angel thoughts made her want to, well, scream too -- but in that sobbing, down-on-her-knees screaming that the movie's hero usually did at least once while he or she was pulling the weepy, pathetic "I can't go on without you" act.
Just the thought of all the horrible things she'd said to him, the way she'd treated him, made her want to cry, and the agony of the past forty-eight hours had surpassed everything she'd been through with Faith and the body switching because of the terms they'd left it on. He'd just...left. Told her he loved her and walked away.
No, he hadn't just walked away, she'd *driven* him away. Sure, he hadn't really tried to see her side of things (which was something she actually had grounds to be upset about), but that was because he was busy trying to help someone in need. He'd been trying to do his job, and she'd let her anger and jealousy get the better of her -- definitely not one of her best moments -- and in her narrow-mindedness she could've done serious damage.
Never mind could've. She had. The things she'd said...on quiet reflection, Buffy couldn't believe how AWFUL she'd been to him. What had possessed her to tell Angel she'd keep both herself and the twins away from him if he helped Faith? Who was that bitter, self-absorbed woman and why had Buffy allowed her free rein of the vocal chords?
But, in all fairness, it wasn't like she could be all supportive of something she was whole-heartedly against. The whole debacle with Faith was so complicated and twisted, and there was just so much rage and bitterness and unfinished business that she couldn't even begin to sort it out. She had the right to be angry, to strike out against her. The girl had fucked up her life more than once, and that wasn't something Buffy was about to forget, no matter how much Angel thought the younger girl could transform.
She'd barely slept since they'd left L.A. The ride back to Sunnydale had been absolute torture, wishing with all her heart for Giles to turn the car around so she could straighten the whole catastrophe out between herself and Angel. She had never thought that he would walk out on her, with *Faith* of all people, leaving her in that room all alone. Anger had risen in her throat like bile, and she'd counted backwards from fifty at least five times to keep herself from chasing after them. Somehow, through the rage, she'd realized that going after them, antagonizing Faith -- and Angel -- further, would do nothing but worsen the situation and, given her mood, end up leading to violence.
Sometimes, though, violence really was the answer.
Her eyes felt scratchy from lack of sleep, her skin was oily, her hair limp, her nails in a horrid state of chipped-ness. Not only that, but she was dressed in sweat pants -- SWEAT PANTS! -- and an over-sized t-shirt. Those clothes were the most comfy to mope in -- and mope she had, sulking in her dorm room or at Giles's or even at the Espresso Pump, where Willow had dragged her the night before in a failed attempt to lift her spirits. It wasn't like she could drink caffeine (she didn't need to get hyper, and it was bad for the babies), and despite Willow's best efforts, Buffy hadn't done much besides sit and stare at her glass of ice water.
She'd screwed up. He'd screwed up too, but she'd given him the ultimatum, which had been low. Really, really low. And, okay, so he'd walked out on her, which without a doubt wasn't sitting well with her. Plus, he'd left with Faith. One of her least favorite people. She couldn't help feeling like he'd left HER for Faith...and maybe he had.
But she didn't KNOW, and that not knowing was killing her. She felt empty and lost and...just terrible. They'd barely been together for a day and it appeared that they had already broken up again. All because of Faith.
Well, the Chosen One admitted that perhaps she wasn't entirely blameless in the whole affair. But it was mainly Faith's fault.
A tap on her hand brought Buffy out of the conflicting cobwebs in her mind. Her gaze darted up from her lap to meet Willow's kind eyes, and she had to swallow to keep the tears back. This was agony...not being near Angel, not being able to talk to him about this...not even knowing if he *wanted* to talk to her. It didn't matter that she'd gone for months without him, they'd shared too much over the past few days for her to be able to just switch off her feelings.
And now he had just hung up. That's what their relationship had been reduced to. He hadn't even asked to speak to her. She could be remarkably oblivious when she wanted to be -- even though when it came to Angel she definitely didn't want to be, but she knew a sign when she was hit over the head with one. He didn't want to speak to her.
"This is a good thing, Buffy," Willow said, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
"I know," she whispered. Almost unconsciously (it wouldn't hurt so much if she didn't know), Buffy pulled away from her best friend and looked over at Giles. "What else did he say?"
Giles pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "She has a hearing next week," he replied. "He told me he'd call when he knows more."
"How...how is she?" she asked. That one was much harder to get out. She didn't *care*, really, she just...was curious. Which was probably bad, since supposedly curiosity killed the cat, but she already felt like she was dying so it probably couldn't hurt. Plus she wasn't a feline, so maybe in this case it was okay to want to know.
"According to Angel, she's...she's at peace with her decision," her Watcher imparted, his voice gentle, hoping to provide some balm for the wound he knew was still fresh. "She has a long way to go, but he seems confident that she can make it."
"What about the Council?" Tara inquired softly. "Will they try anything?"
"It's hard to say," Giles answered honestly.
Willow shifted on the couch. "Guess, then. Like, on a scale of one to ten, do you think they'll try to break into the L.A. jail to break her out and then put her back in again over in jolly old England?"
"Did anyone else get lost somewhere over the Midwest?" Buffy asked, slightly puzzled.
Giles sank down into the wooden chair next to his desk. "It's highly doubtful. That kind of operation would draw media attention, and that isn't exactly ideal for a group that keeps a rather low profile."
"Lots of cameras and reporters don't exactly help you fly under the radar," Buffy added absentmindedly.
"Okay, so they won't try to break her out. Would they try to hurt her?" Willow pressed.
Buffy shot her a look. "When did you jump onto the Faith bandwagon?" she snapped.
"I'm not on her bandwagon. Don't worry, Buffy, I didn't join the Rogue Slayer fan club, I just...no one deserves to be murdered in cold blood."
"And those two guys she killed somehow don't fall into that category? They somehow deserved it?" No, she wasn't forgetting about that anytime soon. Faith was a *killer*. She belonged in jail. Where she was. Voluntarily. With Angel standing resolutely by her side.
Stupid hormones.
"Buffy...I-I don't think that's what Willow was implying," Giles put in, leaning forward and bracing his elbows on his knees, creating a cradle for his chin with his hands.
Buffy sighed, rubbing a hand over her stinging eyes. "Yeah, well, let's not all decide to come down with a case of selective memory just because Faith is wearing her white hat again. She hasn't *changed* yet. A person can't just wake up one day and decide to kick their habit and be done with it. She hasn't *worked* at it yet. She hasn't tried!"
"Yet," Willow added, echoing Buffy.
"And how do we even know that she wants to change?" Buffy wondered aloud, leaping up from the couch and pacing, her hands planted firmly on her hips. "Sure, she kept saying it, and she let the cops cuff her -- which, knowing Faith, she probably liked a lot. But how do we KNOW?"
Giles stood and walked over to where she stood, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. Buffy jumped at the contact, fried nerves sparking to life under his gentle touch. Shrugging, she tried to dislodge him, but he kept a steady grip on her, forcing her to look up at him.
"Do you trust Angel?" he queried.
"Of...of course I do," Buffy stammered, averting her eyes.
He noticed this and changed the subject. "Forgiveness isn't given lightly, Buffy," he declared, and immediately she knew where he was going.
"It's done because someone needs it," she recited, her eyes meeting his again, sparkling bright with tears. "Not because they deserve it."
Giles nodded and gave her a squeeze. "I like to think that was rather good advice."
It was, and it made her think even more, something she didn't really want to do at the moment since in the forty-eight hours that she'd *been* doing it she'd managed to confuse herself even more on where she stood. She wanted to make things right, but didn't want to confront Faith. Confronting her would have to lead to forgiving her, and Buffy didn't know if she could do that. She didn't know if she *wanted* to do that.
But whatever happened with Faith, she knew what she had to do with Angel. She had to face him, forgive him and hope he returned the favor. And she had to do it NOW, because she couldn't go on like this. More importantly, she didn't *want* to go on like this. There was no way she was letting Faith come between them, not after everything they'd been through. Not after everything they were still going to have to go through.
And so it was that Buffy found herself standing outside Angel's building scant hours later, shading her eyes from the harsh sun as she worked up the courage to actually go inside. The bus hadn't been very comfortable, the air conditioning hadn't worked and the bathroom had been leaking a foul odor that made her stomach churn. But she'd put up with it (not as if she had much choice), thankful that there had been a bus to take at all on such short notice. After leaving Giles's in a hurry, she had stopped only at the dorm to grab some cash and change into a pair of jeans and a baby doll t-shirt before booking it to the bus station on the edge of town.
Now here she was, standing on his doorstep, very disconcerted and more than a little afraid. What was she going to say to him? What if he didn't want to see her? What if he told her to leave or, even worse, told *Cordelia* to tell her to leave? What if he ignored her completely?
She sighed heavily, her hand creeping up absentmindedly to cup the slight bulge of her abdomen. It still hadn't sunken in yet, she hadn't had the time or ability to even begin to process the fact that she was pregnant. The things -- *babies* -- growing inside of her didn't feel like hers yet.
Steeling herself, Buffy took another deep breath and fought back the wave of dizziness that emanated from the core of her body. She could do this. She had to do this. Not for Faith, or because of Faith, or anything else Faith related, but because Angel deserved an apology for the way he'd been treated, and he would get one. She hoped.
Before she could chicken out, Buffy was already through the door and walking down the hall to the small cluster of offices that served as the headquarters for Angel Investigations. She halted before rounding the corner, having the good sense to peek her head around to look into the windows of the office. She spied Cordelia doing her nails at what she had come to assume was the former cheerleader's desk, and Wesley reading the paper on the small couch. Good, things were slow in the soul-saving business that day. Better chance that Angel would be there.
She knew he was. There was the tingle in her soul, the familiar warmth beneath her skin, the flutter of her heart (she had to snort at her pathetic poetic impression) that always alerted her to his presence. It was there, and it was strong, the sensation made more potent by the fact that there was a part of him inside of her at that very moment. He invaded her senses, made her heart beat a fast, furious rhythm, caused her blood to thunder through her ears. It burned and it soothed and the intensity was almost scary, but she felt heady and light-headed all the same. It was...it was like coming home.
Only she wasn't sure if he was her home anymore.
Buffy slid a stray strand of blonde hair back into its rightful place behind her ear, stepping around the corner and walking into the office before she could lose her nerve. Cordelia glanced up from her nails, gave Buffy a bored look, and then returned to her task.
Wesley lowered his newspaper long enough to smile at her before returning it to its place and resuming his reading. The Slayer glanced anxiously at Angel's associates (family), waiting for one of them to speak.
Finally, Cordelia capped her nail polish bottle. She didn't bother to look up as she said, "You're in trouble," while blowing on her wet nails.
Buffy's eyes widened a bit at the blatant comment, before remembering whom she was dealing with. Cordelia was blunt, and a few months away from Sunnydale hadn't changed that. It probably never would. "I...I know," she finally answered, shifting awkwardly on her feet.
"I expected you about three explosions ago," she continued.
"Explosions?" Buffy repeated.
Cordelia still hadn't looked at her as she jerked her head in the direction of Angel's office. "He'll come in here and yell at me every few minutes. It's like he thinks he's my boss or something. And, okay, so it's really not a yell because he only does that when it's directed at you, but it's a growl, and I don't appreciate being growled at. He was fine until you popped back into his life, you know." She pointed at the closed door leading to Angel's office, and Buffy glanced over, noting that the shades had been drawn, completely obstructing her view into the interior room. "You broke him, you bought him. Now go fix him."
"Is he...?"
"Yes," she retorted with an exasperated sigh for good measure. "He's in there. Brooding. In the dark." The brunette finally looked up, her eyebrow ticking skyward at Buffy's casual appearance. "I thought you were over that whole fashion victim phase."
Buffy tried to glare at her, but couldn't put her heart into it. She had to fight to keep from trembling, and that was a battle she was definitely, without a doubt, losing. She didn't have extra energy to spare to do anything else, it was taking everything she had just to keep up the conversation with Cordelia while she could feel his presence so acutely, feel it wrap around her, permeate her skin, stitch itself into her every cell. Being two hours away had been one thing, and a very hard thing at that, but this, being so close to him, feeling his essence gliding over her skin and into her soul, and yet not *being* with him...it was so much worse.
"Go," Cordelia ordered, pointing to the door. "Fix."
Before Buffy could move, the door opened and Angel appeared. He stopped the minute he saw her, their gazes locking, each trying and failing to hide the misery in their eyes. They stood like that, staring at one another for a long moment before Angel broke their contact, letting his eyes roam over her body, automatically checking to make sure that she hadn't been harmed in any way. She did the same, eyes widening as she took in his bloodshot eyes, mussed hair, and rumpled clothes...hadn't he been wearing those at the hospital the other day? Wracking her brain just brought her back to their fight, which in turn reminded her why she was there in the first place.
"I had this...I thought it was you," he uttered at last, his voice guarded, his eyes alert.
"It's me," Buffy affirmed. "Look, I even brought my own body this time."
Cordelia snorted. "You're always so thoughtful, Buffy."
"Cordelia," Angel warned, his gaze once again locked on Buffy. Buffy shuffled her feet, wringing her hands together behind her back in a desperate attempt to keep her cool, even though she was fairly aching to run up and embrace him, to promise to do everything she could to erase the ultimatum she'd given him.
"If you don't want the commentary, take it somewhere else," Cordelia replied with a shrug, reaching over and grabbing a magazine off the pile of folders on her desk.
"Would you like to come in?" Angel asked, stepping aside in emphasis. Only then did she notice the strain in his voice, how it seemed deeper than usual, something that usually happened when he didn't sleep enough. So she hadn't been the only one. Maybe there was hope for them yet. It wasn't a great chance, but maybe was really all she needed at the moment.
"I guess that's my cue," she mumbled to Wesley and Cordelia, as though she was apologizing for leaving them in the middle of an important conversation and not a heavy silence. The room felt as though it was slowly caving in on her, and Buffy was all too happy to escape into the quiet of Angel's office. Where they would be alone. Totally alone. Just her and Angel.
Suddenly, two extra people to run interference didn't seem like such a bad idea.
But the door was shut and she was left alone with Angel. "Sorry," he began, clicking on a lamp on his desk, "I was just..."
"Cordelia said you were...doing paperwork," Buffy lied. No need to get his defenses up even more by accusing him of brooding in the dark about her. Especially if it turned out that he was thinking about Faith.
"Paperwork," Angel echoed, rolling the word around in his mouth, testing it out. Seeming to like the lie, he nodded once, avoiding her eyes. "So..."
"So."
The awkward silence was back, and this one stretched on for what seemed like an eternity. There was a heavy tension laced with hesitation that weighed down upon them, closed in on them, nearly suffocating them with its power. Buffy knew she had to initiate this, but...she didn't know how.
Angel beat her to it, saying, "Wow. This is weird."
"I think, for once, weird manages to fall short," Buffy rejoined with a poor excuse for a smile. Biting her lip, she glanced around, feeling incredibly uncomfortable in the small dark room. "Could we...um, maybe go downstairs? I'm getting icky vibes, I think they're coming from Cordelia."
His lips quirked up in a pained half-smile and Buffy had to fight to keep her tears down. How had things gotten so awkward between them? Just two days ago they had been so close, so open, so loving, so *right*, so...well, there had been lots of heavy petting -- and sucking and licking -- involved. And now they were like old flames that hadn't seen each other in fifteen years.
"Sure," he agreed, leading the way to the stairwell. They descended silently into the gloomy apartment, which brightened a bit when Angel flicked a switch at the bottom of the stairs. A few of the lamps adorning the wall lit up, bathing the room in a soft light that didn't quite reach the murky corners. It created atmosphere, but was also...unnerving. Probably what he had been going for.
The pressure was thick as Angel moved into the center of the room, glancing around as though he'd never seen the place before. Buffy let her eyes roam for a moment, memories of discoveries and heartache and tears and love washing over her. A lot had happened between them in this apartment, from their reunion to the ramifications of that day in November that hadn't really happened, to the body-switching, and the walls seemed to be closing in slowly, menacingly, reminding her of what she stood to lose.
Angel shook his head, clearing the fog he'd been lost in moments before. Remembering his manners, he offered, "Can I get you anything?"
"A cup of tea would be nice," she requested. Angel was too busy staring at her to nod, and, feeling more than a little self-conscious, Buffy asked, "What? I haven't sprouted horns, have I?" Her hands strayed to her forehead.
He took a tiny step in her direction, his hand rising as though he intended to touch her face, run his fingertips over her cheek, her lips, and her forehead. Buffy leaned towards him instinctively, craving his soft touch...a touch that never came, as Angel seemed to remember their current circumstances and let his hand drop. "You're horn-free," Angel assured her, his voice rough as he turned and moved over to the doorway leading to the kitchen. "I'll be right back with your tea; make yourself comfortable."
Buffy couldn't be comfortable with him in the other room where she couldn't see him or feel him, so she followed him into the kitchen like a lost puppy (which was pretty accurate, all things considered) and leaned against the doorjamb, watching him fill the old silver kettle with water and then place it on the burner.
"Do you want honey?" he called.
"No, nothing sweet," she said softly, alerting him to her presence. He glanced over his shoulder from his place by the counter and met her eyes, frowning at the dark circles that stood out in stark contrast from the white surrounding her hazel orbs.
"When was the last time you got some sleep?" Angel inquired casually, reaching up to retrieve a teacup and matching saucer from the shelf.
"Around the same time you did, from the look of it."
He turned to scowl at her as the kettle began to whistle. "Buffy, you need to take care of yourself. In your condition..." He trailed off, not needing to continue.
"'In my condition'? Angel, this isn't the eighteenth century. Horns popping out of my forehead like some horrible form of demonic acne would be a condition. Growing a tail would be a condition. Being pregnant is just...being pregnant."
"I--" The kettle shrieked loudly, cutting him off. Distracted, Angel moved over to pour the steaming liquid into the cup and dip in the tea bag. Buffy took a hesitant seat at the table as Angel placed it in front of her, unsure of how to proceed now that the diversion had run its course. So she settled on the next logical step.
She took a sip of her drink. And after that she took another. And then another. Soon the whole cup was drained, and then she was really stuck. Being not two feet away from him was wearing on her, and the looks of barely-controlled anguish he kept shooting in her direction sent sharp stabs of pain careening through her heart. He looked about as guilty as she felt, and to think that he felt as though *he* had been wrong...well, he sort of had. But sort of and *had* were what separated them, and since Buffy was guilty of the 'had', she was the one who needed to apologize. Now if she could just get her vocal chords to work...
"How's Faith?" Buffy voiced cautiously, her gaze never wavering from the porcelain cup.
"She...I think she's going to make it," Angel responded. He was unsure of what else to offer her, and so that was all he said.
"Oh." Another one of those awkward pauses. So. He thought Faith was going to do it, that she was going to get through this. Buffy didn't know how she felt about that. "Angel, I..." she started, quickly trailing off when she didn't know *what* she was. She was sorry, and she felt horrible, but how could she even begin to explain what she was and was not sorry for?
His hand twitched as though he wanted to reach out and soothe her, but something was hindering him. Either he couldn't...or he wouldn't. "You what?" the vampire asked.
"I...the reason I'm here...no." She stopped, took a deep breath, and allowed herself to regroup. "I owe you an apology."
"Buffy--"
"No, Angel, I don't want you to try and make excuses for me. I'm not in pre-school anymore, I can own up to this," Buffy asserted firmly, clasping her hands together on the table in front of her. Angel remained silent. "I...I acted like a spoiled brat. And you didn't let me get away with it."
"Buffy, you had every reason to...well, not to act the way you did, exactly, but you had valid concerns that I didn't give much consideration to," Angel protested.
"Yeah, I had valid concerns," she agreed, "and I still have my valid concerns regarding Project Faith. It's not a place I'm all that ready to go yet, either. But you didn't deserve to be treated the way you were, and I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for all the horrible things I said, for...for wanting you to choose."
Angel waited, letting that sink in. The last two days had been absolute torment, and he hadn't been able to give Faith all of his support down at the precinct, the place where she'd required it most, because of the dissonant state he was in. He was so torn up inside with wanting to return to Buffy, talk through their issues, make her see why he had to do what he was doing. All the while that Faith had clutched his hand, her eyes wide, her face pale, her voice like that of a frightened child...beseeching him, wanting him to tell her that things would always work out like in the movies, that life really did have a happy ending -- he'd been preoccupied with his and Buffy's plight. That had just burdened him with even more guilt, because Faith was hurting and she needed him to help her cope with it.
"I...I couldn't deal with having her in the same room as me. Angel, I wanted to get up from that bed and KILL her for what she'd done to me, what she'd done to my friends...what she'd done to you. And then when you took HER side...I..." Buffy trailed off, almost ashamed as she recalled the bitter hatred that had seized her in those moments of passionate rage. "It hurt so much that you wouldn't even *listen* to what I had to say. I felt like you...you didn't even care."
"Buffy, you know that's not true," Angel maintained carefully. "This was never about you...well, not *just* about you. This was about Faith's SOUL, about her peace of mind. I couldn't...I couldn't just abandon her because you didn't give your approval."
She sighed, gripping her hands until her knuckles turned white. "But you didn't even listen to what I was saying," she reiterated, her voice thick with tears.
"I know, Buffy, and I'm sorry for that. But," he added, "you weren't exactly speaking logically. Or rationally."
"Excuse me for getting upset because you were too busy defending your precious Faith to bother with me," she snapped. His wounded look instantly made her regret her harsh words, and with a sigh she admonished, "There I go again. I sure do have the 'open mouth, insert foot' technique down in spades."
This time, Angel reached across the space between them, taking one of her small hands in his larger one. "Buffy, I hope you understand why I did what I did. Faith needed to know that I was on her side."
"And to do that you had to cross over from mine?" she asked. Even though she was incredibly hurt at the moment, their contact did wonders for her jumpy stomach and jangled nerves, and she longed to be closer still, to be wrapped up in his embrace where the world seemed to magically melt away and leave only Angel with her.
"You were attacking her, Buffy. She needed me," Angel argued.
"I needed you too."
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I know you did. I needed you, Buffy. I needed you to support me in this. No matter what she'd done to you, I wanted to know that you were behind me, that you trusted me to do what was right."
"I do trust you, Angel," Buffy assured him, slipping her fingers between his. Her face darkened as she continued. "I don't trust *her*."
"I don't expect you to. Buffy, what she did to you was abominable, I know. She betrayed you, she violated both your trust and your body. If you *had* been completely fine with it and forgiven her right that instant I would've been worried that the switch had somehow damaged your memory," Angel told her.
"I've had enough problems with my memory," she reminded him. "It's been forbidden from losing anything else." Her grip on him tightened noticeably but neither said a word. There would be time for discussion about that scenario later, after they got back to where they'd been before Buffy had gotten her body back. Or, if they couldn't get back, after they sorted everything out. IF they could sort everything out.
Angel sighed. "Do you understand why I did it?" he asked gently.
"Honestly...I-I guess I do...I mean I get the whole you see yourself in her, if you can be redeemed so can she and vice versa thing, but...I don't know if I really understand *why* you did it. Why you risked so much for her," Buffy said. Her voice, though soft, sounded incredibly loud in the otherwise-silent kitchen.
"I believed," Angel intoned simply. "I talked to her, Buffy...before she left, I...I reached her. She broke down right in front of me while she was trying to convince me that she was fine. She wasn't, and she knew it, but she didn't know how to admit it. When she did, I knew that she had a chance."
"But why did you have to *give* her the chance? Who says she deserved it?" she demanded, feeling her anger rising a notch again. He was always defending the other girl when he had no logical reason to. He just did it. It was infuriating.
Angel matched her anger with his own. "Who says she didn't? You? Buffy, contrary to what you may believe, your word is *not* final. It's not law. Not when someone's soul hangs in the balance."
"And what, yours is?" she shot back. "You have to know what it was like to not have a soul before you get that kind of power, is that it?"
"No! It's not about power, Buffy! It's about believing, it's about giving someone another chance even if you don't think they deserve it. That's the business I'm in now, and if you can't respect that, you shouldn't be here," he scolded her harshly.
"So now you're handing out the ultimatums?" Buffy barked, snatching her hand away from his.
"I'm sorry, I forgot that was your job."
The bitterness and hurt in his voice broke something inside of her, and before she even knew what was happening, tears had welled in her eyes and were threatening to spill down her cheeks. "Angel," she whispered brokenly, "you know I didn't mean that."
"Do I?" he questioned quietly. "Do I really?"
"I was caught up in the heat of the moment," she defended weakly. "I hated losing to Faith."
"Hey," he said, reaching across the table to catch her chin in his hand. A single tear slipped down her cheek and he brushed it away easily as he told her, "This wasn't some contest. I'm not the prize for the winner. There was no winning and losing, just...understanding. The understanding is just going to take time."
"Angel, it's too early for me to be understanding. I'm trying, really, I am...but it's not something that just hits me, you know? Or if it does, it hasn't dropped by yet," she told him. Instinctively she leaned into his palm, nuzzling his cool skin and pressing a kiss to it before reaching up and curving her fingers over his.
"I know, Buffy. It's difficult, and it's not going to get easy for a long time. You just have to deal with it...this isn't something that you can lock inside."
"That way leads to major emotional breakdowns," she conceded. "I'll skip the detour and take the bumpy road, don't worry, I just...I need time."
He nodded, lacing their fingers again. "And you'll get all the time you need. You've got a lot to process, and you know that this won't resolve itself overnight. But you have to be *willing* to at least try to get through it. And I'll be here with you every step of the way."
That brought her back to her other cruel words. "Angel, I didn't mean what I said about not wanting you near me or the...the...you know." She couldn't quite force the word out from her stiff throat and plunged on before she had to. "I was just so mad at you, I guess I sorta reverted back to my spoiled brat, throw-a-tantrum-if-I-don't-get-my-way days. It was wrong of me to hold that over you, and I...oh God, I'm so sorry," Buffy apologized, her eyes filling with tears again.
Keeping their hands firmly connected, Angel quickly moved over to the seat beside her. Her tears were already falling and he took care to wipe each one away with the pad of his thumb. "We both said things we didn't mean, Buffy."
"But you meant what you said about how if I kept up the jealous narrow-minded jerk act you wouldn't want me," she alleged. It wasn't a question.
Angel seemed to choose his words carefully. "I...yes, I think I meant that. I don't want this relationship because I want someone to fight with. I want *you*, and I know that we're going to have a lot of tough times ahead. But I'm going to need you to be supportive and understanding when it comes to my line of work. It goes without saying that we're going to disagree again, but I...I just...we have to be equals in this or it'll never work."
"Should I dust off my pom-poms?" she joked, hiccupping. "I could be A.I.'s head cheerleader."
"You could be," he concurred, moving closer to her. "There's something about those short skirts that really does it for me."
"I think you just like young school girls in uniform."
"I like you," he pronounced, leaning closer.
Buffy smiled. "I like you, too." Still unsure of where they stood, and well aware of the fact that Angel was rapidly invading her personal bubble (not that she minded in the least), she asked, "Are we okay now?"
Angel effortlessly lifted her off her chair and settled her into his lap, crushing most of the doubts she had. He wrapped both arms around her waist to effectively hold her in place. "We've still got things to talk about, but...I think we're going to make it. Really, when you think about it, this is nothing compared to what we'll have to face." Buffy stiffened against him and he grinned. "I mean, we *are* going to have to decide on a curfew one day."
"One day that's a long time from now," Buffy deferred, breathing a sigh of relief. Her hand moved up to sift through the small hairs at the back of his neck. "When I'm done being a jealous bitch that holds grudges."
Angel craned his neck to look up at her. "What were you jealous about?" he asked. Buffy sighed and snuggled up to his chest, fitting her head in the space right below his chin that seemed to be custom made for her.
"You were fighting for her. You were fighting *me* for her. I just..." She paused, trying to formulate her feelings into words. "You were standing up for her. I don't think I've ever really seen you stand up for anyone, yourself included."
He waited, but she didn't continue. "Something tells me there's an 'and' somewhere in there."
Sighing, Buffy said, "I just wasn't used to it, I guess. I mean, you've always had about as much self esteem as...well, you're like the anti-Cordelia. And just watching you defend her, knowing that in part you were defending yourself too...it threw me."
"I'm not supposed to have any self-confidence?"
"No, I don't mean it like that. Confidence is a good, really. It just was...surprising. But in a good way!" she claimed hastily before laughing. "I'm talking myself in circles."
"I think it's kind of cute," Angel chuckled, tightening his grip on her. Already they were slipping back into the comfort they'd reached before, and it felt...safe. It seemed that they had finally been able to get things out in the open and discuss them like rational adults, working through their problems together, something they'd never been capable of in the past. Sure, they'd both been hurt, had first hurt each other and then themselves when they let insecurities and pride keep them apart. As long as they were trying, though, they would make it.
She felt the gradual shift as their worry evaporated away to be replaced by something that felt...warm. Sort of fuzzy. That feeling when things were back to good again, when the bad wasn't forgotten or denied, just accepted, dealt with, then put behind them. There had been no steps back (well, not big ones, anyway), just...in a slightly different direction. The paths that had been separate for so long were slowly finding their way back to one another, beginning to entwine again. The way they were destined to.
"So what have we learned from this Share-A-Thon?" Buffy queried playfully.
"I'm not going to let you get away with everything," Angel asserted, his tone completely serious. Sensing the switch in mood once more, Buffy raised her head off his shoulder and met his gaze. "I'm going to call you on things. You're going to do the same to me. We both have the right and, more importantly, the responsibility to keep each other in line. We have to be equal in this relationship or it won't work."
"Right," Buffy acceded. "No more of the Batman and Robin act. From now on we're Batman and...Batman."
"Batwoman," he corrected.
"There's no such thing," she chastised, burrowing against his chest again, swinging her legs slightly. "It was Batgirl. You know," Buffy added as an afterthought, eyeing him, "I wouldn't mind playing Batgirl if you had to put on that tight rubber suit." It was nice not to feel like her entire world was crashing down anymore. Apocalypse Buffy and Angel successfully averted.
His chest rumbled with laughter. "Rubber suit? The farthest I'd go is leather, and even that's pushing it."
"It was worth a try," she giggled. "Actually, I'm pretty sure Batman used to wear leather, so you're all set. No wardrobe change required."
"I don't think I'll ever understand all this pop culture. I'll forever be culturally inept."
"You're going to need a crash course in the culture that is pop sometime between now and August," Buffy informed him.
"What happens in August?" They both knew that he knew, but she humored him.
"That's when the crash course in parenting begins. You can't take two crash courses at the same time."
Angel leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers. She felt his faux breath on her lips as he whispered, "Something you picked up at college?"
"Nah. You don't learn much in college besides the necessity of a pizza place that delivers twenty-four hours a day and how to do keg stands," she giggled.
"What do you want to do about Faith?"
Startled at the dramatic subject change, she pulled away from him. "And here I was hoping my previous answer would be rewarded with some smoochies," she opined, nervous and jumpy at the mention of Faith's name. Truthfully she didn't know. She didn't want to see her...but she knew that someday she'd have to.
"Do you want to go visit?" Angel asked, urging her on. "Talk to her, get everything out in the open?"
Buffy shook her head vigorously. "No. That can of worms is staying tightly shut, at least for now."
He sighed, shifted beneath her. Distracting herself for a moment, she focused on his appearance, frowning at the dark circles ringed around his bloodshot eyes. He looked like Hell. Which, since it felt like that was what they'd been through, seemed pretty inevitable. Buffy was exhausted too, the sleepless nights catching up with her, and she knew that if her head found that spot right underneath his chin she'd be out in a minute flat.
"So, umm...am I...forgiven?" Buffy entreated, not sure of any other way to phrase it.
"Yes," Angel replied simply. His answer gave her the courage to meet his gaze. "Your heart was in the right place, Buffy, and I respect you for that. We apparently have this crazy habit where we let our tempers get the best of us, and that's just something we're going to have to work on."
"Right. And no more jumping to conclusions. Or stepping to them, for that matter. No more conclusions at *all* until we talk things to death," she put forth. The half-smile he sent her way melted her insides and she snuggled back against him, her eyes sliding shut as fatigue got the best of her.
And then suddenly she was wide-awake because her stomach felt as though it was turning over and over like a roller coaster. With a lurch, Buffy jumped off Angel's lap and stumbled towards the bathroom. She could feel him flanking her and was able to dimly register him calling her name in alarm as she fell to her knees next to the toilet and began heaving violently, her body ridding itself of the little she'd been able to digest in the past few days.
Squeezing her eyes shut against the horrendous taste of acidic bile, Buffy groped madly around, searching for Angel. His hand caught her flailing one easily, the other occupied with keeping her hair out of the way as she vomited, coughing and choking all the while. Finally, after several more dry heaves, she slumped over the toilet, completely spent. Angel carefully disentangled their fingers and lifted his hand to tangle it in her golden hair, sifting through the tresses soothingly as Buffy's breathing returned to normal.
When she peered up, her face was pale and glistened with sweat, her eyes red-rimmed and glassy. Offering him a weak smile, she smoothed back her limp hair before wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.
"Any chance you've got some Listerine lying around?" she asked, her body slumping back against the wall.
Angel got to his feet and retrieved the bottle from the cabinet, offering it to her as he slid down beside her once more. Buffy propped herself up against him, using him for support as she fumbled with the cap, her stomach still rolling around unpleasantly. Seeing her struggle, the vampire tugged the bottle away and opened it before handing it back to her.
"All better?" he inquired after she'd spat into the toilet, flushed, and returned to the circle of his arms.
"I don't know why they call it morning sickness when it happens all day long," she sighed, shivering in his embrace. The tiled floor felt uncomfortably cold even through the thick material of her jeans and she sank against Angel further, whimpering in discomfort.
"Do you feel like you're going to get sick again?" She shook her head. "Let's move this cuddling session somewhere that's more conducive to it than the bathroom floor, then."
"You lead, I'll follow," she muttered as Angel swept her exhausted body into his arms.
"You lie, I'll carry," he corrected with a grin, making his way into the bedroom. "Are you always going to use the morning sickness excuse to get out of fights?"
She smiled at him weakly, feeling totally drained as he gently placed her on his large bed and set out to remove her shoes and pants. "Of course."
"You can't win by default all the time, you know. That's cheating," Angel reminded her as he helped her pull on a pair of his sweatpants.
"Winning by default is still winning," Buffy smirked as she slid under the covers. Angel yanked on a pair himself and then climbed in after her, gathering her against his chest. "Maybe...maybe I'll write Faith a letter," she murmured right before she fell asleep, suddenly remembering his question. "At least then there's always white-out."
Angel smoothed a hand across her warm cheek, tugging her up and draping her across his body. "I love you," he whispered. She was already fast asleep.
TBC...
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