Part 6
After checking on Buffy and finding her still sound asleep, Angel returned downstairs to report to the others. They'd all been so worried about her... and apparently, they had even more good reason to do so than he'd imagined.
He was still reeling a bit from the scene with her in the kitchen, as well as all the information Dawn had given him. It wasn't the first time he'd seen Buffy crack under pressure -- the years they worked together had tested her mettle time and time again. For the most part, she came through every challenge with a snappy quip and that sunshine smile on her face. Others, though... well... she was only human, Slayer or no, and was expected to shoulder so much more than one young, tenderhearted woman should be expected to. It was only natural that sometimes her armor cracked.
Her irrational rage hurt him, of course. If there was anything Buffy seemed instinctively to excel at, it was how to lash out in the most painful, effective way possible. Like a wounded animal, she managed to make whoever was unlucky enough to be in the vicinity when she reached her breaking point hurt, too.
But he couldn't be upset with her. Well... he *could*, and some small part of him that had learned to recognize his self-worth, was. Still... he had expected no less than the worst she had to dish out, under the circumstances. And after all... there wasn't one thing that she'd said that wasn't, in the strictest sense, true.
What *was* he doing here? Who *did* he think he was not to speak to her for a year, and then suddenly reappear at the lowest moment of her life, rushing to her rescue like some fairy tale prince? They barely knew one another anymore. And hadn't he been thinking just a few days ago that she was better off without him in her life? That they had both reached an equilibrium that kept the worst of the pain at bay, and allowed them to move on?
As usual, the more grandiose his plans, the more spectacularly they failed.
It was instinct, to come to her. He hadn't stopped to consider the far-reaching ramifications of this kind of emotionally loaded reunion. All he knew was that the only woman he had ever loved was in pain -- and he had to help her.
He'd been kidding himself all this time. Whether it was good for either of them was irrelevant--his heart was as firmly bound to hers today as it was two years ago, and when she was in trouble, he had done the only thing he could do. Run to her side.
Really, though... wasn't this his Destiny, anyway? Wasn't his reason for coming to Sunnydale part and parcel of the mission he'd vowed to undertake -- reaching out to souls in need, helping the hopeless? Hadn't his epiphany been that the only thing worth doing in the world was giving -- now... in the moment, for its own sake and no other? If there was one being in all the dimensions that needed those things right now, it was Buffy. Their personal issues and painful history aside, she needed support, whether she wanted to admit it or not. Maybe his arrival had hurt her -- as much as it hurt him. Maybe simply by showing up tonight, he had broken something tenuous inside her.
But maybe it was something that needed to be broken. In himself, as well as in Buffy. As much as she needed to learn how to share her burdens, he needed to be reminded of the very thing that had set him on the path to redemption to begin with. Her.
His brooding came to a halt when he arrived in the living room doorway once more. Cordy slept peacefully, curled up under half the blankets Buffy had provided on one couch, while the two Englishmen sat side by side on the other, still speaking animatedly over their long-forgotten tea.
And Spike... Spike sat on the floor with his face not three inches from the television, knocking back a bottle of beer.
Just the sight of his peroxide blond head caused a shot of feral rage to blaze straight through Angel's bloodstream. The whelp had *touched* her -- his *mate*. He *dared* lay a finger on her, when she had shown him enough mercy to take him in, instead of just *staking* him, and saved herself a lot of trouble. Now the bastard sat there like he was just another one of the family, watching the late movie as though nothing had happened? Oh, no. This wouldn't do at all.
The younger vampire glanced up, sensing Angel's approach... his eyes narrowed as he noted his GrandSire's murderous glare, and scented his protective fury. He snarled softly under his un-breath, and turned back to the television.
Angel tensed. If they were alone, or among other vampires, Spike's behavior would earn him a quick and thorough beating for disrespecting his elders...
But this was not some demon lair... it was Buffy's suburban living room, and the exchange attracted the attention of the two very civilized men on the couch. Both were clearly in 'fascinating research' mode, and hadn't noticed his entry, but now apprehension clouded over both faces.
He set thoughts of Spike aside... for now. He suspected that Giles and Wesley were about to tell him something else that he didn't want to hear.
Giles' expression softened. "How is she?"
Angel looked deeply into the Watcher's kind blue eyes, and felt some of his old admiration for the man return. Here was Buffy's true father, no matter what genetics might say.
"She's sleeping," he reported.
The elder man smiled wearily, and pulled off his glasses. But instead of his usual habit of cleaning them, he rubbed his bleary eyes. "Thank God. I was... we were frantic." He replaced his glasses and met the vampire's gaze once more. "Thank you, Angel. I'm glad you came."
The warmth and sincerity that leaked into his voice was like a balm for yet another old wound on Angel's soul. Despite all the things that had passed between he and the Watcher -- those good and horrible -- it was still ultimately Buffy's welfare that meant the most to them both.
"So am I," he replied. And he meant it.
Wesley looked relieved as well, but beneath, Angel could still see his wheels turning.
"I'm certainly glad that Buffy is feeling better, but... There are some things happening here, Angel, which I believe have a direct bearing on what we discovered just before we left Los Angeles."
Angel stood still for a moment without responding, torn between two very different duties -- his work, and the need to be near Buffy if she woke. He knew he should sit down, right now... hear what the two men had to say... try to find some way to help. After all, a dimensional portal to Hell was Armageddon to everyone on the planet, not exclusively one of their teams or the other... and if this 'Glory' was the sorcerer Merl had told them about...
But... upstairs, his reason for having a purpose at all lay sleeping fitfully in her bed, weighed down with grief.
Which to handle first?
He sighed. Buffy would be all right for a few minutes, at least. He eased into the empty chair alongside the couch where the two ex-Watchers sat, and tried to ignore the ache in his still-mending bones.
"What've you got?"
Wesley leaned toward him, keeping his voice low so as not to wake Cordelia. "It would seem that Buffy and the others are facing the wrath of a rather... insane Hellgod, who is trapped in this dimension...."
"Glory," Angel cut in. "Dawn mentioned her."
Giles looked surprised. "She did?"
"Yes. She also let it slip that this Hellgod is after Dawn herself, and that you post watch over her 24-hours a day. What I want to know is... what does this demon goddess want with a fourteen-year-old girl? Even if she is the sister of the Slayer."
"Do you recall that Kate told us that this upcoming ritual required human sacrifices... and a key?"
Angel felt a brand-new fear and rage clutch at his already raw heart to imagine that Dawn was in danger of becoming a sacrifice for some psychotic monster's plans to destroy the world...
"I remember," he growled.
Giles looked the vampire in the eye. "Dawn is the Key."
Before the shock of that revelation wore off, Wesley continued. "It would appear that the unusual demons we encountered are from the same dimension as this 'Glory'. The pending ritual will open the portal to their home... Giles believes, within a fortnight. She needs the Key...Dawn...to do so."
Angel closed his eyes. Apparently, Buffy was bearing even heavier burdens than the worst he had been imagining. No wonder she was in such dire shape.
He looked up at the two men once more, his face set with fierce determination. "Then we have to protect her -- at any cost. If Glory finds out that Dawn's the Key, and what's going on with Buffy... she may consider this as the perfect opportunity to act."
"Giles and I are pooling our resources -- trying to find some way to stop the ritual and destroy Glory. He's been reinstated by the Watcher's Council, and they are working, as well," Wesley informed him.
"If the increase in demonic activity is any indication, time is running short -- both for us, and for Glory," Giles added, "The Council has provided us with information regarding the upcoming convergence, as well as what they believe to be the ritual that Glory will require to open the gate. Unfortunately, what we don't fully comprehend is Glory's true nature, the extent of her power... or the details in regards to Dawn's part in this."
Angel shook his head. "I still don't understand how Dawn could be the Key -- has she been... cursed, somehow? Possessed?"
"No, nothing like that." The Watcher sighed and sipped his tea. "There is a great deal more that you need to know regarding this situation, but the underlying fact is... Dawn is not who any of us remember her to be. In fact... we don't believe that she has truly been among us for more than six or seven months."
Angel frowned darkly. "That's impossible. I clearly remember..."
"That's just it," Giles interceded, "Our memories are false. Implanted. The sect of monks who've stood guard over the Key for centuries fabricated them. Dawn was, in simplest terms, a being of pure energy. When the convergence threatened, and Glory managed to track down these monks, they executed some highly complicated magick to give her human form, and sent her where they believed she would be best defended."
Angel sank back in the chair. "To Buffy."
Giles nodded gravely. "I'm afraid so. And to ensure that the Slayer would guard the Key with her life, they created an elaborate web of spells to convince everyone around her -- including Dawn herself -- that she was, and always had been, Buffy's younger sister. It was entirely by accident that we discovered her true nature at all."
Angel pressed his fingertips into his tired eyes. Now he understood why Dawn had asked if he remembered when they met -- she was testing to see if he'd been effected by the spell. His heart broke for the sisters for the hundredth time that night.
"So, she knows, then," he ventured wearily.
"Yes," Giles replied, "She knows."
((God... poor kid.))
"Does demon goddess know?" Angel asked.
Giles shrugged. "We can't be certain, but... the very fact that she hasn't made any direct threat to Dawn herself, despite ample opportunity, we have to assume not. We don't, however, know how long that state of affairs will continue."
"There are a great many demons working their way from Los Angeles to the Hellmouth," Wesley added, "Any one of them may know or discern the identity of the Key."
Angel took a deep breath and got up. "I'm going to call Kate and see if she's found out anything new. Put Gunn's team on full alert, just in case."
Wesley nodded his agreement. "Considering the circumstances, I believe that would be wise."
"So long as we safeguard Dawn, I believe we have sufficient time to prepare... and deal with... other matters at hand," the elder Englishman added.
Other matters at hand. Buffy's depression. Her mother's funeral. Angel's heart ached anew for her -- her mother was dead, her sister wasn't her sister, and yet another world in peril situation -- possibly the worst she had ever faced -- lay before her.
"We'll do everything we can" he promised, and claimed his cell phone from his jacket as he headed for the kitchen.
He realized as he listened to the ringing on the other end, that he was exhausted... and famished. He hadn't fed before he left LA, and he still hadn't fully recovered from his injuries. He would need to feed and sleep soon, if he was going to be strong enough to face the days ahead.
As much as he loathed the necessity, now he too would have to depend on Spike.
Kate's voicemail picked up. "Kate, it's me. We have information regarding the alligators. Call me on my cell as soon as you get this. And have Gunn put his guys on alert... we may need them at a moment's notice."
He hung up and sighed, steeling himself for the distasteful task of asking a favor of his GrandChilde.
As if on cue, the blond vampire appeared in the kitchen doorway.
"Need another beer," he announced, opening the cabinet under the sink and tossing his empty into the container there, before swinging open the fridge and grabbing another, as if he did this all the time.
Angel couldn't help but bristle at his gall. What he really wanted to do was beat Spike into the linoleum, not call an uneasy, utterly undesirable truce with him. He suppressed a growl that threatened to tear from his gut, and decided to give diplomacy a chance.
"Spike... I need a favor," he spat.
The blond smirked at him and leaned lazily back against the refrigerator door, his arms crossed over his chest. "Feeling peckish, Peaches?"
Angel felt himself start to shake, and clenched his fists tightly against his sides to fight back the urge to punch him in his smug face. "I would... appreciate it... if you could lend me some blood."
The younger vampire's smirk grew, and he took a step toward the elder, tilting his head to the side, offering his throat. "How 'bout a little taste of the old family stock?"
Angel didn't bother to check his snarl this time, eliciting a cold laugh from Spike.
"Didn't think so. I'd be happy to go fetch you a nice O-pos, precious. But first, tell me... how's my lovely GrandDam, these days? Heard you and she were trying to work things out for a bit," he drawled, cracking open his beer and draining it in a few swallows, his eyes never leaving Angel's face.
"That's none of your business," Angel growled.
Spike gave a satisfied smack, and set his empty on the counter before looking at his GrandSire again. "No? Hm. Well... if you're hungry, I suspect you'll have to make it my business. Unless you plan on taking up hunting again? Nah... So Dru tells me she and the old bag really did a number on you. Rocketed your broody ass right over the edge... I gotta tell ya, I'm pretty bloody well sorry I wasn't there to see it." He looked the elder man up and down. "Ya look okay to me, though. Lemme guess -- after the arson incident, you finally staked the bitch permanent-like."
Angel turned his back on him and stomped out of the kitchen. "Keep your blood, Spike. I'll get my own."
The blond followed. "Where's that, the twenty-four hour butcher? Sorry... SunnyHole hasn't got one. Maybe the Slayer'll give you another taste, eh?"
Angel halted in his tracks at the foot of the stairs, spun, and grabbed the younger vampire by the shirt, hauling him up so they were face to face. His demon face.
"You'd do well to keep your filthy mouth *shut*, boy!" he hissed. "After that stunt you pulled with Buffy, you're lucky I don't just do everyone a favor and rip your head off right here and now."
Spike chuckled and wrenched himself out of his GrandSire's grip. "Ya fucked the bitch, didn't ya? HA! And look at you--still all soul-ey... what... Darla losing her touch? Poor Fluffy... guess the old Sire isn't the bearer of Perfect Happiness, huh? Well, you know... they don't call Buffy 'one bint in all the world' for nothin'."
Without a word, Angel hauled off and laid Spike flat with a vicious blow. He flew down the hall, crashed into the china cabinet, and crumpled to the floor, laughing even as he licked the blood from his split lip. Wesley, Giles, and a bleary-eyed Cordelia came running.
"You did!" Spike chortled, "You fucked her, ya stupid ponce! Still a bloody fledge deep down, arencha? Sire calls, and you come running with grunties leadin' the way! You haven't changed a bit -- still Darla's little bitch, underneath all that superhero bluster! Dru told me you'd buckle, but I didn't believe it!"
"Angel, what's..." Cordy tried to interrupt.
He held up a hand to silence her. "Leave us be. I'll take care of this." He took a few menacing steps toward Spike, who had just struggled to his feet in the kitchen doorway. "Listen to me *very* carefully, Spike. You won't say that name again, do you understand? My relationship with Darla is none of your concern, and if you so much as *breathe* any of what Drusilla told you in front of Buffy, I *will* destroy you, once and for all."
"What did Drusilla tell him?" came a soft voice from the stairs.
Angel spun to find Buffy staring at him. He swallowed stiffly, and allowed his human features to return. "Buffy. Nothing. It's okay. Go back to bed."
The Slayer came down the stairs, not looking at Angel, now, but Spike. "WHAT did Drusilla tell you?" she repeated.
Spike shrugged. "Jes' that her and Darla were working together with some bigwig lawyers to drive the great poufter here straight out of his goody-goody tree."
Buffy turned her angry, confused eyes to Angel once more. "What is he talking about? Darla? She's... you... *killed her*."
The younger vampire swaggered down the hall toward them. "Lawyers brought her back from Hell to torture our Peaches, didn't they? Did a fairly good job, I'd say, considering he said 'screw the Curse' and fucked the bitch."
Cordelia shot into the hall, menacing the blond demon. "Spike, SHUT UP!"
"You WHAT?" Buffy yelped, now fully focused on Angel again.
He kept his eyes nailed to the floor, and said nothing.
"Buffy, I'm certain that you can't trust what Spike says," Wesley intervened, "He's simply trying to make trouble."
"No, I'm not! Well... okay, yeah I am, but... are you all trying to tell me he *didn' t* bang her? Look at him! Bastard looks awfully guilty to me! Not that that's new," Spike commented, motioning toward his chagrined elder.
Wesley and Cordelia exchanged frantic looks. Now was *not* the time to rehash Angel's recent difficulties.
Buffy backed slowly away from him, shaking her head. "I don't... understand."
"Buffy," Cordy said softly, "It's not what you think."
"Angel?" the Slayer whispered, even as she continued backing away, her eyes wide.
He remained silent.
((Not like this. Not now, please.))
Spike shoved by the tense clutch of friends and grabbed his duster from the chair. "Well, I see my work here is done. I'll just pop round the crypt and grab us creatures of the night a bite then, shall I, GrandSire? I'm sure you and the Slayer have plenty to talk about in the meantime."
Giles shot him a withering glare as the vampire disappeared out the front door.
Buffy stopped at the foot of the stairs. "It's not true, is it? You didn't..."
Angel finally raised his eyes to her. "I'm sorry. I didn't want..."
She looked closely into his face, and saw the truth he was trying to hide written clearly, there. With an agonized gasp, she turned and ran up the stairs, slamming her bedroom door behind her.
Everyone stood, dazed, for a heartbeat.
Cordy put a hand on his arm. "Why don't you talk to her? Tell her what happened? It'll be good for both of you."
Angel looked into his best friend's eyes, then back up at where Buffy had just been. "I didn't want her to know, Cor. It's too complicated to explain, and... she wouldn't understand. Especially not right now."
"It's true, then?" Giles spoke up, "You... your Sire isn't... dead? How is that possible?"
Wesley took him by the shoulder and led the bewildered man back toward the living room. "I'll explain as best I can, Rupert. You see, we've had some trouble with a law firm called Wolfram and Hart, and they..."
Cordy put her arm around Angel's shoulders and gave him a comforting squeeze. "Don't sell Buffy short, Angel. Remember what happened the last time you underestimated your friends?"
He looked at her, his eyes filling with tears again. "She has enough to worry about, don't you think? I didn't want to give her any more. That's not why I came."
She reached up and wiped a teardrop from his cheek. "Well, all good intentions aside, the cat's out of the bag now. Don't you think that the truth would be better than whatever she's thinking?"
Angel closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. He in no way even wanted to *think* about Darla, let alone have to explain what happened to an already distraught Buffy.
But Cordy was right. Spike had already fueled the fire... only the truth might help curb it from flaming into an inferno. And irrevocably damaging the already tenuous bond between them.
"I'm not so sure," he murmured, and climbed up the stairs
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part 7
The room seemed, by all outward appearances, exactly the same as it was when he left it less than an hour before: dark and cool, the spring breeze floating lazily in through the window that was once his personal gate to the Heaven that was Buffy.
But the air was perfumed by something more than the scent of damp earth and the first hint of flowers blossoming. More, even, than months of unshed tears and the slight, musky decay of hope disintegrating. Now, Angel could smell her anger... curses against the Fates and unimaginable pain there, too.
Buffy sat in her rocking chair, staring out that very window, her tiny form lit to silver and shadows by the setting moon.
She straightened when she sensed his arrival. "I don't want you here, Angel," she declared, no hint of confusion or weakness, sorrow or anger in her voice, only cold certainty. "I want you to go."
If he had been merely human, and not gifted with nigh on 250-year old hunter's senses, not known her as well as he knew himself--probably better--he might have believed her. As it was, it still hurt to hear her voice so devoid of emotion, and know that he, once again, was the source of her pain.
"Let me explain," he offered, trying to keep the shivering that consumed his body from his voice.
She closed her eyes for a moment. "Explain what? You don't owe me any explanations." She opened her eyes once more, her gaze never leaving the window, as though she was speaking directly to the night... or maybe to the specters of who they once were that sat on the sill, sharing innocent kisses and dreaming fruitless dreams. "I know you meant well by coming, and... I'm really sorry for what I said earlier. You were just being..." she chuckled bitterly, "You were just being you, and as usual, I was just being the psycho-selfish bitch from Hell. It wasn't fair, and I'm sorry."
Angel stepped the rest of the way into the room, and sat down on the corner of her bed. "You don't need to apologize, Buffy."
Still not looking at him, she shook her head, and turned her focus to her hands folded in her lap, instead. "I can't do this right now. I don't *want* to do this. There's too much to say, and it's been too long... I think you should leave. Please."
He stared at the floor beneath his feet -- even the pattern of her carpet was achingly familiar. Not so long ago, he would have agreed -- almost been glad to hear her say no to him, and he would have left without another word. It would have made things so much easier, when he had vowed to do his best to finally let her go, too.
But now... When she had opened so completely to him downstairs... let all the horror and hurt inside of her pour out in a deluge, and he had felt her every emotion as if it were his own... She opened something in him, too--that small, battered box in his heart where he had stowed away the true depth of his feelings for her. Where he had hidden the memory of their sweetest times together. That repository he had thought padlocked forever less than a week ago, when he had finally thrown out that damn carton of ice cream.
Maybe it had been true, then. But seeing her face... holding her in his arms again... had demolished that false certainty completely. Now he found that he didn't want her to push him away. He wanted to stay. Not just for her sake, but for his own.
How could he argue, though? How could he tell her what he wanted, when he wasn't certain himself? How could he press the issue, when the last thing that she needed right now was more stress?
"If that's what you want. I understand," some still-logical part of his mind replied. It was the correct answer to give, even if it wasn't the one in his heart.
Buffy turned to look at him at last, and her stormy eyes belied her calm voice. "Do you? I don't think you possibly could. Do you know how long it took me to get to the point where I wasn't sitting right here in this chair every night, waiting for you to come back? I knew all the reasons why you never did, but they didn't help. Because it seems to me, if you loved me as much as you always said you did, it would have made you want to *stay*, not go. Stay and try. Move fucking mountains to find a way." She shook her head and turned away again. "Forget it. It doesn't matter now. I just... I can't believe that you left me because you couldn't have sex with *me*, but you could... It just makes everything we went through seem... worthless."
Angel slid closer to her, reached out, and turned the chair to face him. She averted her eyes. "I never wanted you to find out like that. Buffy... what happened with Darla... it was just the end of a long, ugly downward spiral in my life. It had nothing to do with you, or the way I feel about you. I swear."
Anger flashed across her elfin features as she looked up again. "Nothing to *do* with me? How can you *say* that? It has *everything* to do with me! Wasn't half your big sewer speech that you wanted me to be with someone who could make love to me, and you couldn't? Well - it looks like you can now, huh?"
He resisted the urge to shake her. To make her stop uttering these false, vile statements... "Damn it, Buffy! It wasn't just about sex! It never was! That was only the first on a long *list* of reasons why I had to *go*!"
She snorted and shoved him out of the way, moving to sit on the windowsill. "No, that's right. There was, what... daylight, picnics, children...'something outside demons and darkness', isn't that what you said? Well, I tried it, and guess what? NO CAN DO! So you ripped my heart out for *nothing*! But... hey... at least you're getting laid now, right?"
Angel jumped to his feet and hauled her up before him. "That's not fair! I'm trying to tell you -- it wasn't like that." He released her and stepped away with a frustrated sigh. "Listen. This isn't why I came here tonight. I came because I thought you needed help, not to talk about me."
Buffy grabbed his hands so firmly he flinched, and looked fiercely into his eyes. "What's new? You *never* talked to me about you! You never told me anything! You just took it upon yourself to make all the important decisions *for* me, and then left me alone to pick up the pieces! You took *everything* with you when you left. *Everything!* There's nothing left of me to give someone else! You said it tore you up to see me because you couldn't move on, and I could? I guess the tables have turned, huh? I *can't* move on! I told you I'd never change, and I haven't! I broke poor Riley's heart because I couldn't give him mine. You have it, Angel! You always have, and you always will! Just because you don't..." she freed his hands and stepped back as her voice cracked, "You don't love me anymore... doesn't change that."
He was so shocked by her outburst--and its conclusion-- for a moment, he couldn't respond. But then he reached out and gently tipped her head up to look into her forlorn eyes. "You don't really believe that, do you? Yes, I left. And given the same circumstances, I would do it again. I wanted you to have something good, Buffy. Something beautiful, and meaningful. How could I ever have made you happy if I couldn't even *touch* you the way I wanted to without putting the whole *world* in danger? But I *never*... not for a *second*, stopped loving you. Never. I still do, with all of my heart."
She blinked up at him for a breathless moment, tears trickling down her cheeks, but when she spoke again, her voice was empty, and she pulled her face away. "You love me so much, you'd rather fuck some evil, soulless..." Her rant halted abruptly, and her sorrow and anger were quickly replaced by confusion. "Wait a minute. How did you... you still have your soul. How?"
Angel turned quickly away and moved toward the door. "It doesn't matter. You should try to get some sleep."
Buffy grabbed him by the arm and forced him to turn around, but he didn't meet her gaze. "Angel? If you slept with Darla, how is it that you didn't lose your soul?"
He shook his head. "I was in a bad place. She was there. End of story. I don't want to discuss it anymore."
She held him fast. "Angel, what's going on? What happened to you?"
His voice was barely a whisper. "Please, just... let it go, Buffy. It's not important."
"No, it *is* important! Please talk to me," she pleaded softly, still holding him in place. "I need to know. Don't shut me out."
Angel slowly raised his eyes to her again. Her insistence wasn't the behavior of someone who didn't care... who didn't believe that the two of them were friends somewhere, deep down. Who really wanted him to leave...
Buffy had always been that, for him. Always there to talk to, even though there were so many things he was too ashamed to share. And even now, when she was already in so much pain of her own... still, she cared enough to reach out.
He could hear her heart pounding... carrying the same rhythm of need that he felt in his own blood. That old, familiar burning... that pull that had always drawn their bodies and essences together like magnet to iron. Irresistible.
The reasons he left her... all the logic that had driven him to pull up roots from the only home he'd ever known... turn his back and walk away from his life's only light... vaporized under the weight of her entreating gaze. He could see it in her, as well... behind the thick walls she'd built around herself -- she still wanted him, too. Only years of fighting against it had buried the feeling away.
His soul -- *his* *permanently ensconced* soul -- cried out:
((You can touch her! You can love her!))
He had wanted this, so much... this single chance... one moment to look into her eyes and behold her feelings for him still burning softly there...
Before he knew what he was doing, Angel grabbed her shoulders and pulled her to him, plunging into her mouth with his own. It was mindlessly animalistic, and yet spiritual in the same beat... an uncontrollable expression of hunger deeper than any other he had known before. Buffy yelped at his invasion, and stiffened in his embrace, at first... but then her body recognized his hunger as her own, and she relaxed, yielding into his arms as she returned his desperate, bruising kiss with equal passion.
Oh, God, this... this was so different than what he felt that cold night with Darla. With Buffy, it was complete and full and whole, where the other was utterly void... empty. Buffy's lips were warm and sweet with life, where his Sire's had been cold and bitter with death. For those moments, as Angel lost himself completely inside his mate's... oh, so longed for... mouth... he understood once again -- and more clearly than ever -- why he had once lost his soul to this woman.
When he finally forced himself to draw away, Buffy stood frozen and trembling before him, her mouth gaping open in shock as she gasped for breath.
"Wh-what... what was that... for?"
He held her at arm's length, and smiled. "Because I love you, Buffy Summers. More tonight than I ever have before. I didn't want to leave you. It was the hardest thing I ever had to do, bar none. And I can never, ever express how much I've missed you."
The stunned blonde shook her head slightly. "I don't... understand any of this."
Angel drank in the sight of her... that look... every detail of her beloved face... the way her eyes shone emerald green with tears... the way her lips flushed deep rose from their kiss.
Had he ever seen anything more beautiful in all his days?
"I don't think I do either," he admitted, "I just... I wanted to kiss you, and so... I did."
Buffy didn't move, but continued to stare, wide-eyed, up at him. Five minutes ago, she hadn't even wanted to look at him. She'd wanted him to go, and pretend that he'd never come at all. It was the only way she had survived, over the past two years without him. But now...
Now her Angel was here... looking at her just the way he always used to, like she was the very center of the universe. All her bewilderment and pain vanished into the dark of his loving eyes, and she felt a true smile -- the first one in... forever -- being born in her heart.
"Would you... do it again... please?"
With a full, joyous burst of laughter, her vampire drew her back into his arms, and did just that.
Their second embrace in as many years was softer... gentler... with both of them losing themselves in the velvet comfort of loving caresses.
It was tender, yes... but it was so very real, it started a fire in Angel's belly like nothing he'd ever felt before -- not even for her. As if touching her like this... and more, knowing he was *allowed* to touch her, gave him a chance to feel true desire for the first time since... well, since a Day That Never Was, a lifetime ago.
He let that fire grow and spread for a moment... let it lick at the very edges of his being as he explored the warm contours of her mouth with his tongue and lips and teeth... let his hands wander over paths remembered in such exquisite detail... her slender shoulders and arms... her fine back... up to brush the tender nape of her neck, and into the lush silken waves of her hair. His fingers wound into the thick, soft strands, and even the ancient demon at his core, that had experienced every feast of the senses immortality and this dimension had to offer was lost in wonder at the feel of her. Her sighs like a magnificent symphony, carrying his name on a blessed melody of breath into his ears. Her heartbeat a wild percussion against his still chest...
And his body sang to it... his soul shouted... ((You can have this!))
Slowly, and oh, so hesitantly, he pulled away once more.
"Buffy, we shouldn't..."
Her body tensed against him, and he could feel that old sadness and frustration awakening in her consciousness once again. But it lasted only an instant, and when she met his gaze, her eyes were clear, and she wore a warm, if disappointed, smile.
"I know," she murmured. "I'd forgotten how... hard it is." Her eyes went wide as she realized what she'd said. "I-I meant... you know... difficult... to resist."
He couldn't help but smile at her shyness. For a heartbeat, he considered correcting what she was thinking -- that despite their newly igniting desire, it was just the same, between them. They were denied one another, and their deepest wants were subsumed by the Curse. He wanted to tell her... 'No, my love... that's not it. Not anymore.' He wanted to watch her face light up when he informed her that that particular barrier was gone forever. That the reasons he wouldn't let this storm overtake them, right now... why he didn't just lay her down on the soft bed and make love to her until the world came to an end... were far more complicated, now. But... with any luck at all, far less permanent and irreversible than before.
He wanted to tell her. But so much still stood between them, and in front of them. The coming days would test both their will and their strength, so for now...
"I think you should try to get some sleep, Buffy..." he whispered, his palm brushing her cheek. "You're exhausted."
Instead of the expected frown appearing, her smile only grew as she reached up to touch his face in return. "Okay... but I still want to hear everything."
He nodded. "I promise, when the time is right, I'll tell you."
"Everything?"
Angel pulled her back into the circle of his arms. "Everything."
She looked up with an expression that tried to be stern, but only managed to be adoring. "I'll hold you to that, you know."
He chuckled and scooped her up, depositing her carefully on the bed, and drew the covers up before pressing a final kiss to her lips.
"Sleep. We have plenty of time to talk."
Her smile slipped. "So you'll... stay?"
He smoothed her hair away from her face. "Yes. I'll be right downstairs, if you need me."
Angel rose to leave, but Buffy grabbed his arm to stop him. He looked down at her once more.
"Will you...hold me? Please?"
He considered her request for a moment. Was it wise to hold her tonight, when his entire being was roaring to do so much more? It had been so long since his restraint was truly tested by her presence, and he was in no way sure that he would be able to resist her proximity.
He leaned down and untied his boots, toeing them off and leaving them at the foot of the bed, then crawled up to lie beside her. Buffy snuggled back against him, and his arms encircled her tiny body automatically, as though they laid down together like this every night.
She sighed, and he could swear that it was almost a happy sound. "I'm so glad you're here," she whispered.
Angel closed his eyes and buried his face in her hair, inhaling the warm, sweet scent of her. He'd forgotten how absolutely fulfilling it was, just to feel her next to him.
"So am I, Buffy. More than you know."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part 8
For once, Buffy didn't dream about the horrors of death. No mom-corpse chasing her through endless miles of cemeteries, eyes wide open, moaning, "Why couldn't you just be a good girl, Buffy?"; no visions of Angel being sucked into Hell with her sword sticking out of his gut, and his hand reaching out for help, his eyes full of pain and betrayal and not-understanding. No Riley hanging from his entrails from some jungle tree, accusing her of being a cold bitch and then exploding into flames. And Buffy didn't once see Glory cackling with glee as she ate her shrieking sister whole. Not a single vampire inhabited her dreamworld, either.
Well... except one. The one with the adoring, soulful mahogany eyes and open, comforting arms, who held her and kissed every inch of her body as he whispered that she was the most magnificent, wonderful thing in the universe, and how very much he loved her.
The very same vampire who, when she opened her eyes from the last sweet dream of him, lay quietly sleeping with his face only inches away from hers on the pillow.
Buffy held her breath and kept utterly still for a long time, terrified that she might still be dreaming, as she had so many lonely nights in the past, and if she did so much as blink, he would vanish.
There was just no way she could handle that, right now.
But then he sighed softly and reached out, his arm --solid, strong, and *real*-- wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer, confirming his presence.
((Oh... my God. He's *here*.))
She allowed him to gently tug her to his body, and then couldn't, rather than wouldn't, breathe. She had forgotten how big and hard he was... all over. How he smelled so clean, like Ivory soap and leather and breath mints. She had pushed all those small details out of her mind -- the vision of his beautiful face, his full, soft lips, his lush eyelashes, his high, proud cheekbones. To see them now...
Her eyes immediately filled with tears, and her heart leapt to realize -- yes, he really *was* there, beside her. And for the first time in years, Buffy felt truly *safe*. Nothing could ever touch her or anyone she cared about, so long as her Angel was near.
The events of the past night flashed through her mind's eye: how she had lashed out at him in the kitchen, but he had still simply held her when she fell apart. How she overheard his argument with Spike, and her already beleaguered heart had completely collapsed to hear what he had done... But most of all, she remembered his kisses... how sweet and cool his mouth was... how gentle his hands, and how all the rest -- his leaving and everything after, had simply ceased to matter while she was in his arms.
That was the way it had always been, with him. The true reason why his departure had wounded her so deeply -- nothing else in the world made any difference at all, as long as she could fall into those melting chocolate eyes, hold his hand, or hear his voice. The little girl in her didn't care if this dimension was sucked straight into Hell -- as long as he was holding her as it did. When he turned and vanished into the smoke on Graduation Night, he had taken her entire foundation with him. The only thing that had ever stood between herself and all the ugly details of her reality.
Now he was here. In her bed. At the moment in her life when she had thought she couldn't go on, that she had finally lost everything... had nothing left to hope for or hold onto. Like magick, there he was, standing in her living room with that old look on his face. As if that tiny, broken voice in her soul had screamed out to him across the miles, and like her knight in shining armor, he had come.
Buffy laid there and looked at him. He didn't look a day older, of course... in physical detail, he looked exactly the same as he had that night in the alley, a million years ago, when she had kicked his ass and stomped on his chest, and he had grinned up at her and asked if there was a problem. Exactly the same. But somehow... not. She couldn't quite put her finger on what it was, but... there was something... Whatever he had gone through since the last time she saw him made him... glow, almost.
She worried her lip bloody and pushed away the possibility that it was sleeping with his resurrected Sire that changed him. She was missing too much backstory on that to really understand what had happened... why he still had his soul... and she simply wasn't ready for anything to cast a shadow over the simple, incredible fact that he was *here*.
For right now, she didn't care why, or how. She just wanted to enjoy it, for as long as it might last.
Buffy snuggled closer, tucking her head under Angel's chin, hiding from the world in his loving embrace, and let herself drift back to sleep.
Everything else would still be waiting for them when they woke up.
***
Angel hadn't dreamed in a long time... not since his subconscious had almost cost him everything.
He realized, of course, that he probably still had dreams -- so long as he had brainwaves and a psyche, his mind would go on sorting the details of his daily experience, just as it always had. Only now, he never remembered them.
It was probably a blessing. Chances were good that most of what happened in his sleep were horrible nightmares of blood and violence, screaming and death, thousands upon thousands of his victims replaying their cruel, grisly murders for his eternal torment. Or worse -- he would dream of Buffy... making love to her or killing her... whatever. Those dreams were the most painful of all.
Either way, it had been months since he remembered having one. When the initial moments of wakefulness stole on him the morning after he arrived in Sunnydale, and he felt a tiny form nestled tightly in his arms, for a moment, he thought it was a nightmare. Something in his muddled mind said that this was Darla he was holding, and that he was soulless, the grinding hunger pains in his gut a signal to rise with her and hunt.
He panicked and found himself unable to do anything but open his eyes, his Dam's voice and the thunder echoing in his skull...
((What you need is a fresh kill. Hot human blood will wash away the foul memory of it...))
Blonde hair. His face was buried in it. But... he couldn't be The Other, could he? Because... he was terrified, and the demon certainly would *not* be, if it was once again in control.
Angel forced a gulp of oxygen into his lungs, closed his eyes once more, and counted as he exhaled and willed the panic to pass.
((1...2... When I look again, I'll just see pillows. 3...4... It was just a dream. Calm down. 5...6... 7... You're alone, just like you always are. Your soul is safe. 8...9...10...))
He opened his eyes and focused his vision.
The hair was still there, but... he realized with a start that he could feel the heat from the scalp beneath it against his face, and there was the distinct sound of a heartbeat.
The dream sighed and turned over in his arms.
That face... that sweet little sleepsmile...
Buffy.
He blinked rapidly. She wasn't a dream, either. Her arms were there, wrapped around his neck, her warms lips rooting around his jaw... her muscular leg was tossed absently over his hip, and the damp heat of her center was pressed unconsciously against his groin.
His body didn't care if it was a dream or not, and responded, hardening instantly against her.
((Jesus Christ. It's *real*.))
Just to be certain, he gently pressed himself into the juncture of her thighs, eliciting a tiny mewl of pleasure from his sleeping mate.
The sound of it... the feeling of her... for a moment, Angel was lost in its sweet comfort. He put his arms around her, seeking her mouth with his own. A tentative brush, at first, but then harder... his tongue insistently pleading for entrance between her lips, the circle of her arms and legs tightening around him.
He closed his eyes again, and moaned softly. No, this wasn't a dream. Her living warmth really was wrapped around him, her mouth really was softly devouring his, her strong fingers really were tangled in his hair. The only thing dreamlike about it was... that it wasn't a dream. And that he didn't have to stop.
The motions were automatic, and he didn't bother to fight them. His hands wandered down to her tiny waist and beneath her tee shirt, sliding up the lean lines of her back, pushing her shirt up over her head and off. He pulled her desperately to him, her breasts crushed delightfully against his chest as his lips roamed from her mouth to her throat, his tongue seeking from instinct the scar on her jugular, darting out to taste the raised mark.
"Oh, God... Angel..." she gasped, arching into him, her own hands exploring the broad expanse of his (still fully-clothed) back, his waist, and finally griping his rear fiercely and urging his lower body closer. "Yes..."
Some part of his mind objected. This wasn't right. Just because he *could* didn't mean he *should*, and even if her body did feel like the Gates to Paradise beckoning him, there were things they were supposed to be thinking about. Something they were supposed to do. Some reason that currently escaped him why he shouldn't be touching her this way. Why he shouldn't be rolling her over onto her back and trailing gentle kisses through the valley between her breasts. Why he shouldn't be cupping one perfect globe of flesh in his hand and teasing its nipple with the pad of his thumb as he nibbled the other gently.
But the groan from deep in her belly... the swiftly growing aroma of her desire made it really, really difficult to think, and even more difficult to want to.
Buffy was wide-awake, now, fully aware and participating with abandon. Angel looked up to find her watching him from beneath lids half-mast in lingering sleep and burgeoning lust. She graced him with a gentle smile, and placed one tiny hand on either side of his face.
((Don't stop,)) her eyes told him.
He let out a low growl. More. He wanted more. He immediately refocused on the delights beneath his mouth, languidly tracing each curve and line of her bare torso. Each rib... each velvet hollow beneath her breasts... the feminine turn of her belly...
"Buffy..." he sighed into her navel.
She stopped him when his tongue teased just beneath the waistband of her sweatpants, and she urged him back upward for a long, deep kiss before she pulled away to look into his eyes.
"Not that this isn't really... really fun, but. Maybe we shouldn't tempt Fate just yet, okay?" she murmured huskily.
Angel blinked at her.
((Fate? Damn Fate. Screw Fate. My soul is just fine, you don't need to worry, it's my *body* that's starving, so *please*...))
With a sigh, he disregarded the raging imperative in his blood and concentrated on exploring every millimeter of her mouth, instead, laving delicately at the upturned corners, and reveling in the feeling of her hands caressing his back.
((Not now, but soon.))
((No, NOW!))
((We need to talk first.))
((FUCK talking! You have eternity to talk!))
((We can't just plunge into this. There's so much she needs to know, and she's grieving. She'll regret it later))
((Oh, bullshit. Stop being such a pussy.))
He tried not to listen to his logic and lust arguing almost audibly in his mind, like the proverbial cherub and devil on each shoulder. Frankly, his body agreed with the devil, but...
He leaned back, away from her mouth, earning a little whimper of protest.
"Don't stop... kissing good," Buffy gasped, pulling him down once more.
Angel staid her hand and brought it to his lips, then forced himself to sit up.
"We need to talk."
Her eyes popped open, and she scooted up to the headboard, tugging the covers over her bare chest.
"Now?"
He nodded. "There are... some things I need to tell you, before we go any further."
She shook her head, as if denying what he was saying, and Angel could clearly scent apprehension in her blood, where there had been nothing but love and desire a moment before.
Buffy gulped nervously. "Okay, but... just so you know? When I said I wanted to hear everything, I didn't mean, like... right this *minute*."
Angel smiled and took a deep breath. "Buffy, it's about..."
The door burst open, interrupting his speech, and both of them looked to see Dawn come crashing in.
"Oh! Uh... oops. Um..." she stammered, averting her eyes. "Sorry, I... Sorry."
Buffy sighed in frustration and swung her legs over the side of the bed, reaching for her so recently discarded shirt and slipping it on. "This better be good, Dawn."
The girl opened her eyes a crack, and when she saw that they were more or less off each other, opened them all the way and gave the couple on the bed a knowing grin. "I knew you two wouldn't be able to keep your hands off each other."
Buffy growled, "Dawn? You busted in here without knocking because...?"
Angel chuckled and refastened the top buttons of his shirt.
"Yeah, right. Uh... Angel... your cell phone's been ringing off the hook. It was driving Cordy nuts, so... I answered it." She handed the phone to Angel. "It's Kate. She says it's important."
Angel cringed inwardly as Buffy turned a glare on him, and held the phone to his ear.
Dawn stood in the middle of her room with her arms crossed over her chest, smirking.
"Go away now," Buffy ordered her.
"But..."
"GO!"
With a snort and a roll of her eyes, the teenager left.
Buffy turned back to watch Angel, who wore a carefully neutral expression, so she couldn't get any clues of who this *Kate* might be.
"Yeah? Uh huh. They did. Good. So... you killed them, then? How? Uh huh. Everybody okay? She's fine... understandably upset... What? Did he say when? Okay. Yeah. I'll call you later to update you. No, not now. It can wait. Yeah, thanks. Me too."
He snapped the phone shut and set it on the nightstand, then turned to meet Buffy's nasty look.
"What?"
"Who's *Kate*? Another one of your lovers?" she snapped.
Angel bristled at her tone for a moment, and considered meeting it by snapping back, but chose to be amused and touched by her jealousy, instead, and gave her a smile. He pulled her back into his arms, and peppered soft kisses all over her cheeks.
"She's just a close friend. Someone I work with," he assured her.
Buffy pushed him off, and pouted. "You were about to tell me something. Was that it?"
He realized that all of this was probably too much for his love, in her current state of mind. And the way she was acting, chances were she might take news of the Curse as simply more proof of her irrational suspicions. What she needed right now was *rest*, not more complicated issues to think about.
"No, that's not it. Now, lie down."
She narrowed her eyes at him.
"Lie *down*," he insisted.
With a huff, Buffy finally complied, flopping down onto her stomach with her head braced on her arms.
"I still want to talk about this," she said.
Angel ignored her, and before she could grill him any further, he grabbed the bottle of lavender skin lotion from her nightstand, and slid her shirt up once more. Stunned, Buffy didn't resist, and he took full advantage of the moment's respite to moisten his hands and start kneading the tense muscles of her back with long, firm strokes of his fingertips.
"OoooohhhhhhhGaaaaahhhhhd..." she moaned.
He chuckled to himself -- in no way had he lost his touch. It was easy to turn her to mush, really... and not unpleasant. He remembered spending plenty of time rubbing her back when she was younger. It had been a relatively innocent way to touch her, while serving the dual purpose of soothing away a hard night's slaying, or a particularly rough day at school.
Besides, it left some of his mind free to consider what Kate had told him. Nothing new or Earth-shattering had developed in LA. Kate and Gunn had managed to take out the Pootiadieps -- fire was their weak point, and borrowed flame-throwers the weapon of their destruction. Kate mentioned that they were trying to obtain one for the team, which Angel couldn't help but think would come in handy. She' also reported the discovery of three or four other heretofore unknown demon species that they believed were interdimensional. But the most disturbing fact was one that Merl had given them... one that Angel in no way wanted to deal with.
Some of the non-Earth demons had been seen coming and going from Wolfram & Hart headquarters through the underground.
He had only just managed to put all that behind him. To find out that the lawyers might somehow be involved with the convergence, Glory, and the threat to Dawn put him even further on edge than he had been previously. Not that a demon Goddess was anything to scoff at in herself, but... if Lindsey's bunch were involved, things could get a great deal worse.
Angel tried to push the thoughts aside, for now. Giles said they had some time, and as long as they kept a close eye on Dawn, there would be a few days for them to figure out what to do.
For the moment, Angel vowed to stay focused on the *moment*. And that meant concentrating on the beautiful woman who fairly purred beneath his touch.
He'd forgotten how bizarre the juxtaposition of normalcy and Duty could be. It had been so long since he'd dealt with anything mundane (if attempting to rebuild his very complicated relationship with Buffy, and the tragic death of her mother could in any way be considered mundane). Still... love and death were very human things, and nothing about his reality had been even vaguely human for quite a while. To deal with the incredible, miraculous details of the everyday, however painful they may be, gave him a pang of joy.
And to face them with Buffy...
Maybe they were teetering on the edge of the Apocalypse. But for the first time in as long as he could recall, he didn't feel the dread quite so acutely. Whatever came, they would face it together. However hard they might have to work to make 'together' a reality again. There was no doubt in his mind that he could throw as much energy into healing their bond as, not so long ago, he had invested in trying to destroy Wolfram and Hart.
Now one might very well lead to the other. Two very different causes colliding. He almost chuckled at the irony.
A soft snort interrupted his reverie. Angel glanced down, and found Buffy fast asleep once more.
With a smile he felt deep in his soul, he got up, careful not to jostle her as he pulled the blanket back over her prone form, then stood for a moment, enjoying the harmonious music of her feminine snoring before he turned and left his love to her slumber.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part 9
When Angel finally made his way downstairs, the house was already in a state of minor chaos. Dawn and Willow were busy straightening the living room, while Wesley and Giles poured over books at the dining room table, with a blonde woman he didn't recognize, Xander, and his exceedingly odd girlfriend looking on. Actually, the latter two were paying far more attention to one another, snickering and whispering in one another's ears, but the blonde seemed as engrossed in what the two Englishmen were doing as they were.
He shook his head. Would wonders never cease?
Xander was the first to notice his approach, and Angel was once again surprised when the boy ((*man*... he's not a boy, anymore)) gave him a genuine, lopsided grin.
"Hey, hey, Dead Boy! Sleep well?"
His girlfriend -- Anya, the ex-vengeance demon, he vaguely recalled -- looked up. "Do you still have your soul? Because I haven't had breakfast yet, and I really can't run without a well balanced meal in my stomach."
The vampire raised his eyebrows at her cheek. ((Guess Harris doesn't wander too far from form.))
"Good morning, Angel," Giles greeted him brightly, looking far more rested himself.
Wesley raised an absent hand, but not his eyes from his book, in greeting.
"Good morning, everyone," Angel replied.
The still as-yet unidentified blonde woman rose and thoughtfully shut the blinds, before approaching him and looking up with big, kind eyes and a warm smile as she offered her hand. Angel liked her immediately.
"I'm T-tara. It's r-really nice to m-meet you, finally."
He shook her hand. "It's a pleasure, Tara."
Anya glanced up once more. "She and Willow are lovers. Lesbians," she reported helpfully, and turned back to the notes she very obviously wasn't reading.
Angel watched poor Tara turn a flaming shade of crimson, and felt a distinct pang of sympathy for her.
"Ah. Good for you," he mumbled stupidly. The idiotic comment seemed to do its work, though, as the woman's soothing smile returned.
Wesley abruptly got up and herded his friend into the kitchen, where they found Cordelia leaning against the counter, eating dry oat bran out of the box and intently reading the owner's manual for the cappuccino maker.
Although Angel lamented the lack of coffee, he most decidedly did *not* lament the lack of Cordy's coffee.
"Did everything go all right with Buffy last night?" Wesley whispered, as if afraid to wake her. "You didn't come back down, so I assumed..."
Angel patted his colleague on the back and moved to close the shade over the kitchen sink, then claimed the owner's manual from Cordelia's hand, ignoring her offended, "Hey! I was reading that!" as he moved to make it himself.
"Things went as well as can be expected," he answered vaguely, then turned back to Cordy. "I'll make breakfast, okay?"
She scowled at him, but moved aside. "So you told her about Darla? The whole, "Oh, woe is me I'm all psycho" thing?"
He returned her frown. "Yes and no," he replied, measuring out the coffee and dumping it into the filter.
"Yes and no? Did you, or didn't you?" Cordy prodded.
"Did you tell her about... your soul?" Wesley added.
Angel glanced up, then quickly away again, filling the pot with water and switching the machine on.
Cordelia and Wesley exchanged a knowing glance at his non-response.
"You didn't, did you? I should've known. Wouldn't want to break delicate Buffy," the seer complained.
"You didn't tell her about the Feast of Souls? Wolfram and Hart? *Any* of it?" Wesley yipped.
Angel didn't respond, so Cordy moved to the fridge and reached inside. "Then I take it you two didn't get..." He stopped and turned to glare at her. When she stood once more, she was holding a fresh pint of blood in her hand. "...funky? Don't look at me like that."
He took the blood, not bothering to ask where it came from. Spike was the last thing he wanted to think about, this morning. "Look at you like what?"
"Like all innocent and offended. Your soul is sealed tight like that guy dangling from the beam in the old Super Glue commercials, Buffy's all 'Desperate Need of Comfort' Girl, you spent the night together..."
"It is a natural assumption," Wes concluded for her.
Angel popped the mug he'd filled into the microwave, and started it before he met his friends' inquiring gazes again.
"We have a lot we need to work through before something like that could happen between us," he explained.
His partners emitted matching derisive snorts.
"What?" Angel cried, "I'm not some randy teenager, you know! Buffy has enough to think about without adding sex to the mix. Especially sex with *me*."
Cordelia rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Big ego much?"
The vampire gave her a smirk in response.
"Well," Wesley conceded, "I must say, I believe that you made a wise decision, for the time being. There are serious matters here that must be dealt with that take precedence over more... personal things. With the exception of Joyce's funeral, of course."
"Of course," Angel replied, and gulped down his breakfast, letting the warmth flow through his famished body. In all the previous night's excitement, he'd forgotten that he was half-starved. He went back to the fridge and looked in, finding at least 10 or 12 pints of fresh blood stacked neatly next to a case of Guinness.
Spike might as well have written his name on it in magic marker.
((I don't care. I still want to stake him.))
As he moved to warm another mug full, he remembered what really had interrupted his almost-tryst with Buffy.
"Speaking of serious, I spoke to Kate a little while ago."
"And?" Wesley queried.
"Cordy, would you please grab a frying pan? They used to be in that far left hand cabinet. And... she said they took care of our Pootiadieps, but... apparently there are other odd species making themselves known. The sewers and utility tunnels leading east out of the city are lousy with them."
"Oh, goody," Cordy quipped, "All coming to visit the Hellmouth -- alternate dimension demon vacation spot of the year."
"Hm. I see," Wesley commented, leaning on the counter and tapping his chin thoughtfully.
"That's not all," Angel continued, dreading their reaction, but knowing he needed to tell them anyway, "Cordy, can you grab the milk, butter and eggs? These demons have professional help."
"Let me guess. Does this 'professional help' begin with Wolfram and end with Hart?" she asked as she handed him the requested food.
Angel nodded gravely, and melted some butter in the pan.
"Even better," she added.
They spoke quietly about the ramifications of Wolfram & Hart's involvement in an already complicated mix as Angel expertly whipped up huge platefuls of eggs, bacon and toast enough to feed the small army in the dining room. He prepared a little extra of everything with heaps of sugar added, which he planned on force feeding Buffy later, if he had to. For now, though... they let her sleep.
The smells of home cooking drew everyone to the kitchen, and they all ate there, chatting animatedly about various Hellmouth-happenings that the LA team had missed: creatures from outer space, trolls, even Dracula himself, whom Angel was none too fond of anyway, but hearing that he'd bitten Buffy...
Hell, if he spent too much time thinking about that, he'd be passing the rest of his eternity hunting down and slaughtering every fool who'd dared to lay a hand on his mate.
Nonetheless, the scene felt warm and comfortable. Though he always felt happy and content when cooking for Cordy, Wes and Gunn, something about being surrounded by so many connected people just felt... right. Like coming home.
He'd been back in Sunnydale less than 24 hours, and already he felt more comfortable with this crowd than he ever had in the years he lived here. They seemed to truly accept him at last, simply by virtue of Buffy apparently doing so.
It was nice. A very pleasant sensation that Angel was pretty sure he could get used to... if he had in any way planned on staying, which he didn't. Everything seemed to be falling into a comfortable place in his life, for a change. Though the hardest parts -- both personal and professional, were still to come, it was good for them all to be free... let go, for the time being. Tomorrow would be Joyce's funeral, and after that...
He watched Dawn carefully. She was a little down, naturally, but far less so than he might have expected, given the situation. And still she was a little spitfire. She told him animated stories about school -- which, unlike her sister, she actually *enjoyed* -- the boy she liked, how she'd wanted to join the softball team, before...
Even as he smiled and took part in their conversation, Angel couldn't help but feel a deep sympathy for Dawn's plight. After all, he knew all too well how it felt to be a freak in a world of freaks, out of place pretty much anywhere, with no real way to understand what you were, let alone learn how to define it. But she had the advantage of looking like a perfectly normal human girl with perfectly normal human origins, so he hoped that eased at least some of the existential confusion she must feel.
Besides... Dawn was surrounded by people who very obviously adored her.
After they ate, the crowd disbursed, wandering to the living or dining rooms, leaving Angel and Dawn to clean up.
"So... are you and Buffy getting back together?" she asked as she handed him the pan she'd just washed.
He dried it and arranged it in the drainer. "I don't know. It's... too soon to tell."
"Do you want to?"
He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but she was fully focused on scrubbing. "It's complicated. Too complicated to just say 'yes' or 'no'."
Dawn rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You guys were practically doing it when I walked in this morning."
Angel stopped and gave her a look. "Excuse me? We most certainly were *not*."
"Were too. Buffy had her shirt off."
Angel cringed, and turned his full attention to furiously drying the plate in his hand. "This is not an appropriate conversation for us to be having, Dawn."
"Why not?"
"Because, you're fourteen years old, for one. And for another, it's none of your business. That's private, between Buffy and myself."
She made a derisive sound. "I'm old enough to know what hot, steaming monkey sex looks like."
He froze. "Dawn, please. Maybe you're not uncomfortable having this conversation, but *I* am. Show some mercy for your puritanical elders."
"Sorry. I know it's none of my business. Just... Buffy hasn't been the same since you left. She's so... serious all the time. I mean... she tried to be happy with Riley, but it was *so* fake." The girl looked woefully into the foamy water. "And when Mom died, she turned into a total zombie... or like, the Stepford Buffy. You used to make her really happy...mostly. So... I was hoping maybe... since you were back..."
Angel took the cup from her hands, replacing it in the dishwater, and turned Dawn to face him fully again.
"Dawn... I'm not 'back.' I'm here to help out for as long as you guys need me, but I'm not staying. I have a home in LA... a job. I'm going to have to go back there, eventually. I thank you for the vote of confidence, really. And you know that I love Buffy more than anything in this world or any other. But it's just not as simple as do I or don't I."
"Because of me," she sniffled, casting her eyes to the floor, "Because of the whole Glory thing."
He gave her a warm smile. "No, not because of you. Or Glory. There's just... we've been apart for two years, Dawn, and you know as well as anyone that the year or so before that was... difficult. Buffy and I would have a lot to work through, if we wanted to try again. And with everything that's going on in both our lives, I'm not at all certain that *now* is the best time. Do you understand?"
Although when she glanced up at him, her eyes said that she did, she shook her head, pouted, and said, "No."
Angel chuckled softly and pulled her in for a hug. Dawn snuggled tightly into his ((huge)) chest, resting her arms around his waist. To her, Angel had been the big brother she always wanted, and never had. He talked to her like a grown-up, most of the time, and he never held it against her when she acted like a little kid. She would never admit it out loud to anyone, but... when he left, her heart was broken almost as badly as Buffy's. She'd liked Riley well enough, but... it was never the same. Riley never told her stories about the French Revolution, journeys across Europe on one of the first steam trains, the first moving pictures... And Spike, well... half the reason she liked Spike was because of the ways he reminded her of Angel.
And now that he was here, all the scary things that had taken over her life seemed somehow... a whole lot less scary. She could only assume that Buffy felt that way too... not to mention the fact that she had walked in on them practically...
Then, she remembered... the whole reason he and Buffy couldn't be together in the first place. She remembered back when her sister was a junior...those months when Angel had seemed to just vanish, and Buffy cried herself to sleep every night. And how, right after that, her older sister ran away. Even when she came back, and then he did, things had never been the same.
Dawn hadn't found out why until less than four months ago, when she finally managed to break into Giles' "locked" bookshelves, and read all about what had happened between Buffy and Angel.
She pulled back enough to look up into his face. "It's the Curse still, isn't it?"
He flinched, and she watched his expression darken. Of course, he hadn't known she knew... But the look only stayed for a second before it changed back into his trademark half-grin.
"Let me guess... Giles' journals?"
She merely grinned back in response.
"Hasn't anybody ever told you that diaries are other people's *private*, *personal* property? How would you like it if Giles broke into your room and read the Dawn Chronicles?"
At that, she pulled out of his arms and frantically started doing dishes again.
"I burned them," she reported flatly.
The admission stopped Angel dead... so to speak.
"What?"
Dawn shrugged, feigning a nonchalance that Angel could see clearly was false. "I burned them all. I mean, what's the point? I didn't really write them anyway."
He leaned back against the counter, his heart filling with sadness for her once again. He could remember so clearly seeing little Dawn curled up on the couch, or tucked away in the alcove of the library, scribbling furiously in one of her books. She always said, "Someday, like, 500 years in the future, this'll be a textbook in some history class. I'll be an icon of 21st century womanhood." Angel would tease her that if she wrote about all the things she'd seen as the sister of the Slayer, the only place the Dawn Chronicles would ever be published was in "Science Fiction Monthly."
But then... none of that was real, was it? None of what he remembered sharing with his favorite small human had ever happened at all.
"I'm sorry to hear that," he said gently, "I was looking forward to buying them in 500 years."
Another shrug. "Yeah, well... they were stupid anyway."
Angel placed a hand softly on her shoulder. "Dawn... I know this must be rough for you. But believe me, as far as I'm concerned, you're as real as I am. Those memories mean a lot to me."
Dawn looked up, and he watched her big, blue eyes fill with tears. "They do? I mean... why? They're not even real."
He gave her a warm smile. "They feel real enough."
A hint of the girl's smile returned. "Thanks."
"Any time."
They returned to washing the dishes in silence for a while until Dawn spoke again.
"You never answered my question, before."
Angel glanced at her. "Which question?"
"Forget if you think you can, or should, or whatever... Do you *want* to get back together with Buffy?"
He didn't need to think about the answer to that. "Yes. Very much."
Dawn nodded. "Good. Then... I think you should. Don't worry. We'll find a way around the Curse."
((The Curse. If only it were still that simple...))
"We'll see," he replied.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part 10
As the morning passed into afternoon, Buffy slept happily on, dreaming of gentle hands and cool kisses, while downstairs, her adopted family worked on the daily tasks that had been draining so much of her time. Angel and Dawn scrubbed the kitchen and bathrooms until they sparkled, Willow and Anya did the laundry, Tara vacuumed and mopped, Xander raked the yard and trimmed the shutters, Cordy dusted, and Wesley and Giles took turns moving things, when requested, between bouts of reading. When every inch of the house was clean, Angel and Cordelia made sandwiches for lunch, and everyone converged back in the living room to watch TV, chatting amicably about the least serious events on everyone's minds.
Giles couldn't help but be surprised by the turn-around in demeanor that Angel, Cordelia, and Pryce's presence had wrought. Buffy was finally resting peacefully, and all the children -- even Dawn -- were more relaxed than they had been in days. Miraculous. It was as though there had been a hole in their daily lives that none of them had truly noticed until Joyce's death, and had no idea that it would take the return of their departed friends to fill it.
Despite the fact that many dire and painful events still lay before them all, for the first time, Giles felt truly hopeful. Certainly, with everyone supporting one another, Dawn and Buffy would more easily be able to cope with their grief, and with all of the two teams' combined resources, they would find defeating Glory far less daunting, as well.
Naive optimism on his part, perhaps, but... watching all the children laugh together made it difficult for Rupert not to be optimistic. The emotional atmosphere was so different in kind than the one they had been laboring under for years now...
He was pondering the implications of a Buffy/Angel reunion when the doorbell rang. The assembly all looked at one another -- no guests were expected until the next morning, at least.
Anya was closest to the door. "I'll get it," she announced, and jumped up to do so, "But if I don't know them, I'm not inviting them in. We don't need any more vampires."
"You know, speaking of unwanted vampires... we haven't seen Spike all day," Xander observed, "We couldn't get rid of him for the past week, and now all of a sudden he's nowhere to be found? I can only think of one thing that would make him disappear that easily." He turned a grin to his former enemy, "And may I say, *thank you Angel*!"
Giles, Cordy and Wesley all looked to the vampire for his response. His expression was understandably dark.
"My pleasure," he grumbled.
Anya threw open the door to reveal a handsome brunette woman in a neat, calf-length navy dress, holding a matching carry-on bag and wearing an annoyingly bright smile.
"Hi! I'm Sophie!" she declared, offering her hand.
The ex-demon stared at it, then glanced up at her again. "You're not invited in," she informed the woman, and slammed the door in her shocked face.
A collective resigned sigh rose from the Sunnydale residents in the living room. The visitors, however (even Cordelia) were clearly taken aback. But before anyone could rise to correct Anya's rude dismissal of poor Sophie, the door swung open once more and admitted a tall, burly blond man who, if one took note of his mossy hazel eyes, could only be one person.
Dawn's happy squeal as she jumped up from her seat on the floor and flew into the newcomer's arms left no doubt as to his identity.
"DADDY!"
Hank Summers scooped his youngest daughter up and swung her around before setting her on her feet once more and giving her a thorough once over.
"God, Punkin' Belly, when'd you get so big?"
Giles automatically felt his hackles rise, annoyed at the man's blatant gall, and couldn't stop his mouth as he got up to approach him.
"I imagine it would have been sometime in the two years since you bothered to see her," he snapped.
All eyes flew to the Englishman in shock.
Hank gave a cool smile. "Well. Mr. Giles, I should have known. Nice to know you're still sticking your nose into other people's business."
Angel watched with growing apprehension -- and admittedly, no small degree of interest -- as the two men squared off. Humans liked to consider themselves so civilized, but on occasions like this, especially between territorial males, he was reminded that they weren't so far removed from their primal ancestry after all.
He'd never met Buffy's father, but he knew that he didn't like what little she had to say about him -- how he had abandoned his family and taken up with another woman, contributing nothing but money to Buffy and Dawn's well-being. He never understood that kind of throwaway attitude in modern men. Why start a family, if you couldn't be bothered to stay and raise it?
Angel did assume the man would at least have enough manners to show up to the funeral of his ex-wife--they had, after all, been married for some 15 years. But he hadn't taken much time to think about what his arrival might mean to Buffy or Dawn... or, apparently, to Giles, who had stepped into Hanks place as paternal figure over the past five years.
The two men smiled and shook hands, but Angel couldn't help but think they were really circling... sizing one another up. He half-expected them to start growling at any moment.
But the exchange only lasted a few heartbeats before Hank turned to address his youngest once more.
"Baby, you remember Sophie, don't you?"
Dawn didn't bother to hide her contemptuous eye-roll. "Sure. Hi Sophie."
"Hi sweetie," the woman gushed, grabbing the teen's board-stiff form into an enthusiastic embrace. "You're so BIG! And oh, honey... I'm so sorry about your mommy."
"Yeah. Thanks," Dawn replied without enthusiasm.
Hank's eyes scoured the crowd in the living room, and from his expression, didn't exactly approve of what he saw.
"Where's Buffy?" he asked with a deep frown.
"She's resting," Giles informed him.
"She left Dawn by *herself*?" Sophie squeaked.
"She should be down here taking care of things," Hank complained.
"Dawn is *hardly* 'by herself'," the Englishman reminded him, motioning toward the others.
It was Cordelia, surprisingly, who came directly to Buffy's defense. "And Buffy *has* been taking care of things. This is the first time she's slept in days!"
Hank cut her off with a curt wave of his hand. "She shouldn't be leaving Dawn with strangers."
"But they're not..." Dawn objected, but was interrupted by Hank abruptly turning his back on her and moving toward the stairs.
"Buffy?" he called.
That was enough. Angel shot from his chair and cut off Hank's access to the staircase. Keeping his voice calm, he towered over the smaller man, meeting his angry gaze square on.
"With all due respect, Mr. Summers, Buffy really needs to rest. She's been under a lot of pressure for the past few months."
Hank fairly glowered, not backing down. "I don't know who you are, young man, but I can definitely say that it's not your place to decide what my family does or doesn't need."
Angel suppressed the urge to snarl, but did not repress the cold sneer that crawled across his lips, or the protective fury he knew burned in his eyes.
"I think that you need to leave Buffy alone."
Mr. Giles approached from behind Buffy's father. "Angel is correct. Buffy is terribly worn out from all of this. There's no reason to wake her now."
Hank Summers' eyes flicked from Angel to Giles, and then to the rest of the group, who hovered protectively around Dawn in the living room doorway.
"Fine," he conceded sharply, "Dawn, pack your things. You're coming back to the hotel with us."
Dawn's eyes went wide with shock and fear. "What? No! I want to stay here!"
"I am not leaving you alone with a bunch of strangers and your irresponsible sister! Pack your things!" he barked, taking a step toward her.
Giles blocked his path.
"Mr. Summers, I believe that Dawn is best left where she is, for the time being."
Anger marred Hank's features. "Who the Hell do you people think you are?"
"They're my family," Buffy declared as she came down the stairs.
Her father spun to face his firstborn, and his expression softened. "Buffy. Hi, sweetie."
He moved to embrace her, but Buffy stepped away and stood at Angel's side. He placed a gentle hand on the small of her back as a show of support as she leaned into him.
"I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow," Buffy said, her voice without emotion.
Hank immediately realized his error in approach, and pulled up short before he reached Buffy and Angel.
"We got an earlier flight. I thought you and Dawn might... need me."
The man's voice softened at the last, and Angel almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Although Buffy's voice remained calm, Angel could smell her hurt, anger, and frustration growing.
"We *needed* you six months ago, but you were too busy showing Sophie *Europe* to bother caring. So you'll excuse me if I'm not impressed that you showed up the day before mom's *funeral*."
A wave of pain washed over Hank's features. "I'm sorry, baby, really. Things have been..."
"Busy?" Buffy snapped, finally starting to lose her composure. "Yeah. You've always been busy, haven't you, Dad? Too busy for us. You really didn't need to bother coming before tomorrow. Dawn and I are being taken care of just fine. By the same people who have always taken care of us." She wrapped her arm around Angel's waist, and leaned into him for emphasis.
Angel kept his eyes on Buffy's father, but laid a soft kiss to the top of her head.
Hank remained silent, appropriately chagrined, with his eyes to the floor. Mousy Sophie, however, was not to be cowed so easily. She stepped toward Buffy, ignoring the glare she received from the tall man next to her, and pointed in the younger woman's face.
"Now you see here, young lady. Your father and I have done our very best to provide for you..."
Buffy snorted and pushed her hand away. "*You* haven't done *anything*. And all *he's* done is send a check once a month for five years. Which, by the way, he can just keep doing, because Dawn is staying with *me*, and *I'm* staying right here." She addressed the last directly to her father, then moved away from Angel to stand in the clutch of her friends, putting an arm around her sister's shaking shoulder.
Angel followed, and he, Wesley, Xander and Giles stood together to form a barrier between the intruders and their family members.
Sophie spluttered indignantly. "Are you just going to let them get away with this?" she yelped at Hank, who finally raised his eyes from the floor.
"I didn't come to fight with you, girls," he said softly. "I know I haven't been the best father, but... I want to make it up to you. We're all we have left, now."
"You're *not* all *we* have left," Buffy spat.
Hank turned to look at Dawn. "Honey, don't you want to come live in the house in Modesto? We've got a pool, and Scruffy... and there are lots of nice kids in the neighborhood."
"No," the girl replied unequivocally, snuggling closer to her sister.
Hank sighed. "Okay. This is hard on everyone. Let's just... take a little time to cool off. Buffy, why don't you and Dawn join Sophie and I for dinner at the hotel later? We can discuss all of this rationally. After all, Dawn is fourteen years old. She needs responsible adult supervision. And whether I've been a good one or not, I *am* her father, and it's my decision to choose what's best for her." He stepped past Angel and bent to kiss Buffy on the lips, but she turned her head, and he was forced to settle for her cheek. "We're at the Sunnydale Hilton. Mr. Giles? You're welcome to join us, if you'd like. Say... 7:30?"
Giles nodded curtly. "Fine."
"Good then. Well, it was... interesting to meet you all," Mr. Summers said, and with a final glance at his daughters, claimed a still-glaring Sophie and dragged her out the door.
Angel looked behind him to find Buffy with her arms around a hysterical Dawn.
"I'm SO not going to live with them!" she cried, "I want to stay with you and Giles!"
Buffy hugged her baby sister tightly, meeting Angel's eyes as she replied, "Don't worry. You're not going anywhere."
Angel nodded his silent assent at his love's unspoken question. He had promised to help them protect Dawn, and he would do anything in his power to do just that.
Even if it meant protecting her from her own father.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part 11
After the scene with Hank and Sophie, it took nearly an hour to calm a hysterical Dawn. Buffy stayed locked up with her, alone in the girl's room, and tried her damnedest to convince her little sister that she wasn't going anywhere. They would talk to their father that night at dinner, and find some way to change his mind.
Meanwhile, Angel took the opportunity to grab a badly needed shower. To say things were tense here in Buffy's part of the world was akin to calling the Black Plague an unfortunate outbreak of the flu. He could hardly believe how quickly her troubles seemed to multiply, each one adding another heavy load to her already overburdened shoulders. Though in many ways, he was glad to be there to offer what little assistance he might, he couldn't help but wonder if the baggage he brought with him was just more that she didn't need right now. Everyone seemed to be glad for his presence, but... how long could that possibly last? And how would Buffy feel about him being there if she knew the whole truth about the past year? How would she respond to the story of Darla's return... and the ending of that saga? The Feast of Souls and all of its side effects?
What if news of his permanent soul didn't meet with a happy response? Could he handle that? And what if he and Buffy did decide to try and work through all their many and complicated issues, and attempt to make their relationship work again -- what then? He had to go back to LA -- his home, his purpose, and his family were there. And she would have to stay here, whether she kept Dawn or not, for the same reasons.
How could they possibly make it work?
Angel leaned back against the shower stall and thanked the Powers that he didn't have to breathe, so he could just stand there and let the torrent of scalding hot water wash all his tension, fears and doubts, away. He needed to keep his mind clear. He couldn't let the darkness sneak up on him again... not now. Not while Buffy still needed his help.
But did she, really? She'd already had her first breakthrough, and was on the road to a natural, healthy grieving process. Was his presence really necessary? Maybe they should go back to LA after the funeral...
No. At the very least, they needed to stick around until this Glory business concluded. As soldiers, if nothing else. The personal stuff, as Wesley had so aptly noted, needed to be put aside.
He just had to step back from her a little. Be there if she needed his shoulder, but.. avoid the more... complicated things.
((You mean complicated things like almost making love with her this morning?))
Yes. Things exactly like that.
It had been a long time since he came face to face with his almost irresistible hunger for her. And feeling it again now, he was reminded of all the reasons he had to leave in the first place -- his body, heart and soul ached in equal measure to be close to her, drawing him as though she was the sun, and he an eternally circling planet. He could never resist, no matter how hard he tried. Back then, not being able to resist had very clear, very dire, all too familiar consequences -- unleashing the most sadistic, insane demon the world had ever known onto an unsuspecting and helpless populace.
So now... that looming issue was moot. To make love to his heart's mate might not mean the end of all existence, anymore. Giving in to that overpowering temptation meant possible disasters of a far more complicated, human kind, instead. So much had changed in their lives. *They* had changed. And still their ugly past hung between them like a wall of heavy mist that they could wander through forever and still never find one another on the other side.
And wasn't Buffy's life -- and his, truth be told -- already complicated enough?
But God... being with her this morning... holding her so tightly in his arms all night... felt so good. So right. Like he had been gone on a long, painful journey, and had only now returned to the warmth and comfort of home. It seemed easy right now, because it was all still so new... and both of them were so needy... so lonely... The haze of shock at their reunion hung around them, a momentary pardon from the past... but it was only a matter of time before that dissipated, and all the old wounds came to bear once more...
It wasn't that he thought the effort wouldn't be worth it. Hell, he'd walk through fire to...
No... he didn't want to start thinking about trials, on top of everything else. To quote his dearly missed friend, The Host, "That way lies badness."
For a moment, Angel had an insane urge to jump in the car and race to Caritas, slaughter some harmless easy listening number, and have his flamboyant green friend read his soul. Tell him what to do. Was Buffy meant to be part of his Destiny?
A soft knock interrupted his thoughts, and without waiting for a response from him, Buffy entered. He couldn't see her through the heavy steam or the shower curtain, but he could feel her... smell her... a shiver of want rushed through his blood.
"It's just me," she announced, setting the lid down on the toilet and then sitting herself on top of it. "I know shower time is private naked time, but... if I promise not to peek, can I stay and vent?"
Angel sighed and picked up the washcloth. "Sure. What's up?"
"My quote, unquote *father*, that's what. I wish he was a vampire so I could just... stake him," she snapped.
"You don't mean that," Angel chided her gently as he lathered up.
"No, but the sentiment's definitely there. I mean, God! How can he walk in here after two *years* and just start ordering me around like he owns the place?"
Angel scrubbed. "Doesn't he?"
"No... actually... I do. Mom left the house to me."
"Ah," he replied. Another heavy responsibility for his young love. "I think he was a little taken aback to find his daughters -- especially Dawn -- in a house full of strangers."
"You guys aren't strangers," she objected.
"Buffy... he doesn't know that."
"Right," she grunted, "Which is pretty ironic, considering he's the biggest stranger of all. He doesn't even know Dawn anymore, and..."
She trailed off, but Angel heard her unspoken implication -- that Hank had no idea *what* Dawn was, either.
"Angel... if he takes her... she won't be safe. There'll be no one there to protect her."
He quickly washed and rinsed his hair and cut the water, then leaned out to grab a towel from the bar next to the stall. He caught Buffy watching through the mist, with wide (and he could swear, hungry) eyes, which she immediately averted as a deep blush crawled up her neck.
"You look... good," she murmured shyly.
Angel snapped the curtain shut and toweled off. "Thanks. I've been, um... working out... more."
God, did that sound as horrendously lame to her ears as it did to his?
"Oh. I... didn't think... you know... that vampires had to..."
"We don't. But we can... it just doesn't really do anything, since our bodies don't produce new tissue. It's good for honing your reflexes, though..." ((Could somebody please shut me up?)) He tied the towel around his waist and poked his head out of the curtain again. "You didn't come in here to discuss my exercise regimen, Buffy."
She didn't avert her eyes this time as he climbed out of the shower. It was difficult to see clearly, through the steam, but he definitely thought her expression was one of appreciation.
"No... right..." she muttered, still staring so openly at him, that if he had a living circulation to speak of, he would be blushing furiously, too.
He tried to ignore her attention. "I don't think you should worry about your dad until you speak to him tonight. Maybe you and Giles can change his mind."
Angel stared at his utter lack of reflection in the mirror, and realized suddenly that in his hurry to get here, he'd completely forgotten to pack any toiletries.
As if she'd read his mind, Buffy reached around his legs, pulled an unopened toothbrush and bottle of gel from the cabinet under the sink, and handed them to him with a smile that he could see clearly even through the vapor.
He took the items and smiled in return. Maybe they weren't such total strangers, after all... the gel was even the right brand and hold. "Thanks."
"No problem," she said, turning away, her blush increasing. She cleared her throat and forced herself back to the topic at hand. "I know you're right. It's just... he's treating me like same little kid who he thinks burned down her high school gym because she was hanging out with the 'wrong crowd'," she made air quotes around the words. "He doesn't know the first thing about me, anymore. He hasn't since the moment I was Called. He thinks I can't handle this."
"Can you?" Angel mumbled around a mouthful of toothpaste, then spit it out and rinsed his mouth before he went on. "Raising a child -- especially a teenager -- *especially* a teenager like *Dawn* -- is a pretty heady undertaking, don't you think?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Whereas saving the world from horrible *monsters* on a nightly basis *isn't*, right?"
Angel sighed. "That's not what I'm saying." He slicked his hands with gel and ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm just saying -- *are* you ready for this kind of responsibility?"
((Are you sure you're ready, Buffy?))
((Ready, willing, and able.))
"I wouldn't be doing it alone. Giles promised to help. So will the guys. And hey -- aren't you supposed to be on my side?"
He smiled down at her. "I am on your side. I'll back you up no matter what you decide to do."
Buffy smiled tentatively in return, but said nothing.
"Now get out so I can finish getting dressed," he commanded softly, reaching for her hand. She took it, and Angel pulled her to her feet. A little too hard, as she ended up in his arms, pressing his back against the wall.
They froze like that for a long time, their forms toe to toe and hip to hip. And once again, Angel felt his traitorous body totally disregard all his carefully laid out logic, and respond to her closeness... the look in her eyes... the soft sheen the steam had made on her skin... The cherub and the devil took up arguing again in his head.
((Kiss her!))
((Just apologize and wait for her to go.))
((Kiss her, idiot!))
((Don't start this now. It's not the right time. And you won't be able to stop.))
((JUST GODDAMN KISS HER ALREADY!!!))
"Sorry," Buffy murmured, gazing up at him without moving, and not looking even the least bit sorry.
"Uh... B-buffy, I..."
She pressed more tightly up against him for a moment more, then pulled away, brushing his towel-encased crotch with a light sweep of her hand as she did.
"Right. Getting dressed. Witness me leaving you to your privacy," she purred, and stepped out, shutting the door behind her.
After she'd gone, Angel remained where he was, fighting to catch his un-breath, for a very long time.
God help him. He wasn't going to make it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TBC...
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