Weathering The Storm

Part 1

Chapter VII

Buffy shrugged and looked at Xander.  They were standing in the middle of the hallway.  Given that it was shortly after nine in the morning, they kept getting jostled around by people trying to get to their offices.  “I don’t know,” she said in exasperation.

“Please just take a look at this algorithm,” he pled.  “I know your background isn’t CS, but you should be able to understand it.”

Buffy repressed the urge to growl.  Xander was right, she probably could have followed the algorithm he was working on and helped him find the flaw, but she didn’t want to.  She didn’t have time to be standing in the hallway going over code.  She had things to do!

A thought slammed into Buffy and nearly staggered her physically.

“Buffster?” Xander said cautiously.  “Buffy?  Are you all right?  You look a little pale.”

Buffy blinked and focused on Xander.  She opened her mouth to speak and then clamped it shut.  She took a deep breath and blew it out through her nose.  “I need to sit down,” she said.

Buffy stumbled into her office and sat down heavily in her chair, her satchel clutched tightly to her chest.  She stared at the dirty, institutional green walls.

Angel absently rolled his chair over to her desk and set a pile of handwritten notes on her desk leaning over them.  “The numbers are well within the range,” he said, staring at the papers intently, “but they ... feel a little off to me.  I’ve been going over them since last night and I want you to take a look at them.”

Buffy turned her head and stared at his profile as he hunched over his notes.  She did not respond, clutching the satchel so tightly that her knuckles went white.

He finally turned his head and looked at her.  She stared at him blankly.  He frowned.  “Buffy?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

She shook her head, trying to dispel her stupor.  She looked at the coffee mug in her hand and something clicked.  She held it out to him.  “Here’s your coffee,” she said quietly.

Angel smiled awkwardly and took the mug, proceeding to take a drink.  “Thank you,” he said carefully.  He started to turn his attention back to the papers, but he stopped.  “Are you okay?” he asked seriously.

She forced a smile onto her face.  “Tip top,” she said tightly.  He didn’t look convinced.  “Just leave the papers,” she said, still forcing the smile.  “I’ll take a look at them in a minute.”

Angel’s expression was wary, but he shrugged and went back to his own desk.  Buffy closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.  She forced herself to unpack her satchel and boot up her laptop.  She noticed Angel glanced over his shoulder several times to check on her.

Buffy should have helped Xander in the hallway.  There had been absolutely no reason why she couldn’t spare five minutes to go over his code.  She should have done it without being asked, much less begged.  But even when he got insistent, she balked.  She had things to do.  Important, time consuming things like ...

Angel.

Buffy was short with Xander because she was in a hurry to see Angel.  The very idea that she wouldn’t be there to hand him his coffee, to take those few moments to light on the corner of his desk when she got there, had made her cranky with Xander.

Taking a deep breath, Buffy looked at the handwritten papers on her desk.  She knew the dark, flowing script as intimately as she knew her own writing, probably better, given that he never typed anything.  It warmed something inside of her to see his artistically slanted lettering.  When had Angel become so important to her?

Thunder rumbled in the distance and it instantly pulled Buffy from her thoughts.  Without conscious effort on her part, her eyes shifted to Angel.  He was staring blindly at the small window then turned to look at her and their gazes locked.  She smiled warmly at him and something inside him seemed to click.  He smiled a bit sheepishly and turned back to his desk.  Buffy watched him for several long moments to be sure that he was okay.  Though they had never discussed it, she understood now how deeply the storms affected him.

Whatever it was that had sensitized him to storms had been bad.  In spite of Riley's snarky comments to Lindsey about storms, Buffy instinctively knew it went deeper than that.  This wound was old and had festered much longer than Angel’s association with Riley.  Something inside her clamored for her to assuage that pain.  Of course, Angel would never allow that.  As quickly as she broke through his barriers, he fortified them once again.  But Buffy had never been one to walk away from a challenge.

*****

Later that afternoon, Buffy met her reflected gaze in the ladies’ room mirror.  She had to be honest with herself.  She liked Angel and not in a we-share-an-office-so-let’s-be-friends kind of way.  Part of her wanted to protect him, but that wasn’t her entire motivation.  What she felt towards him might very well be protective, but it damn sure wasn’t maternal.  She liked him.  She wanted to spend time with him – possibly naked time.  She wanted to find out what those bedroom eyes of his looked like first thing in the morning.  Buffy’s body clenched tightly at the thought as she was assailed by mental images of tangled covers, soft moans, Angel’s perfect white teeth clamped into the flesh of her neck, his powerful hips thrusting as he –

Buffy shook her head violently and pushed the thoughts away.  How had she come to this?  In college she was driven and dedicated to her studies, but she still managed to have a lot of fun.  She dated a lot.  She had always been attracted to vibrant, open men with a very good sense of humor and a healthy appetite for adventure.

And now she was standing in the basement of a government building mooning over her eccentric, distant officemate.  In spite of her ‘no co-worker’ rule.  Even though half the building called him “Psycho” behind his back.

The strangest thing about her attraction was that the prospect of being with Angel made her more nervous than she had ever been with another male.  Sure, she used to get first date jitters in college.  The night before her date with Nate, the one when they went skydiving, she had been a nervous wreck.  Or Jackson – she went caving with him even though she was claustrophobic and she was very wound up before that date.  But it was always the situations that got to Buffy, the skydiving or the caving that made it exciting, not the men.  She didn’t need to jump out of a plane or face one of her phobias to make Angel exciting.  He took care of that simply by being himself.  Buffy vowed that she wasn’t going to let the past ruin this, not his past and not hers.

As a rule, Buffy didn’t dwell on her past.  But some things had a way of surfacing in her mind in spite of how much she told herself she was over them.  One was the memory of Pike – not a boyfriend, but a very close friend, closer than anyone else then or since.  He was the one she had shared everything with while they were growing up.  She had always thought they would see each other through anything, but that hadn't been the case.  Later in their teens, when he started having problems at home, instead of turning to her or even giving her any chance to help him, he dropped her out of his life without a word.  She often wondered what she had done that was so wrong that he never confided in her, never even gave her a reason for shutting her out so completely and permanently.

Less than a year later, when her father left home without even saying goodbye, she knew it must be something wrong with her that she just wasn't able to see.  After repeated attempts to include him in her life long after he moved out, she finally gave up, sadly acknowledging to herself that she had been right all along.  As with Pike, whatever it was her father needed, she lacked.

Losing her mother several years later had been a devastating blow.  Buffy secretly couldn't get over thinking that if she had been there her mother wouldn't have died.  She felt in some way that her mom had left her too.  She knew it was irrational, knew how dearly her mother loved her, but a tiny part of her couldn't let the feelings go.  Although she was ashamed of herself at the thought, she had even wondered once or twice how long it would be before even Giles did the same.

Buffy was aware she tended to hide behind false smiles, to keep people away even as she laughed and joked.  But for the first time, she found herself not drawing back, but reaching out.  She firmly decided she wasn’t going to let her past spoil anything that might lie ahead.  She couldn’t think that every time she got close to someone she would get hurt.  Not all relationships worked out like that.  And besides, she just liked Angel.  It wasn't like she loved him.

*****

The next morning when Buffy took her usual place on the edge of Angel’s desk, she had to sit on her hands to keep them from visibly shaking.  Angel looked up at her.  “Good morning, Buffy,” he said.

Buffy nodded, smiling nervously.  Angel widened his gaze on her and looked her over from head to toe.   “You’re not ill, are you?” he asked a bit too gruffly.  “You don’t look …”

“Do you wanna go to a movie Friday night?” Buffy interrupted in a rush.

Angel stared at her blankly for several moments.  “A-a movie?” he asked.

“Yes, a movie, as in moving pictures, surround-sound,” she quipped.  She knew before she asked this wasn’t going to be easy.

“Buffy, I don’t … I don't think I’d fit in with your friends.  I’m not …” he tried to say before she interrupted him.

“You don’t have to fit in with my friends,” she said, “Just me.”

“What kind of movie?”

Buffy sighed.  Blunt.  She was going to have to be blunt.  She didn’t want Angel to have any misconceptions about what she was suggesting since he seemed incapable of fathoming the concept that she liked him in a boy/girl sort of way.  “I’m asking you out on a date, Angel.  You and me.  Alone.  Dark theater.  I don’t care what kind of movie.  The movie is not the point.”

Surprise washed over his features and he leaned back in his chair.  “You’re asking me out?”

“Yes.”

“On a date?” he clarified, still unable to embrace the concept.

“Yes.”

Angel swallowed a lungful of air.

“What?” she demanded.  “Am I not attractive enough?”

“I-it’s not that,” he stuttered.  He couldn’t seem to get one word in front of the other.

“Then what’s the problem?  Are you not attracted to me?”

Angel took another deep breath and let it out slowly.  “You’re very attractive,” he said quietly.  ‘Beautiful,’ he said to himself.

“Then go to the movie with me,” she countered.

It was a damn good thing that there was a desk in the way because the idea of being alone with Buffy in a dark theatre had been enough to elicit certain physical reactions in his body.  Luckily, he had enough presence of mind to not point out that fact.  Fighting for composure, he looked at the papers on his desk, studiously avoiding her gaze.  He knew he shouldn’t … but she was pleading with him.  He looked up at her and his facial features were tight.  She was bracing herself for a rejection when he made a defeated sound, sighing.  “Fine,” he said, “I’ll pick you up at seven since I already know where you live.”

*****

Buffy walked down the sidewalk, mortified.  She swore to herself that the next time she would pay more attention to the summaries.  “Le Banquet D’Amelia” was not what she had been expecting.  What amounted to French soft-core porn was not exactly her idea of an ideal first date movie with a guy.  Especially when the guy happened to be Angel.  As attracted as she was to him, he had never made any comment or overture to her that was even vaguely sexual.

“Well,” she said, nervously smoothing down the front of her long floral print skirt.  She concentrated on the sound of her heeled sandals clicking on the pavement.  She wouldn’t normally have worn something so dressy to go to a movie with a co-worker, but it was Angel.  She had rushed home from work and spent a great deal of time on her appearance.  Her long hair, which she usually wore in a knot, was pulled away from her face, but hung loose down her back.  The bright pink tanktop matched the flowers in her skirt and the black sandals were almost three inches high.

“Well,” Angel echoed.  He too, had dressed for the occasion.  He wore a long sleeved shirt that covered his wrists, as usual, but it was a soft, thin cotton knit in a deep, sapphire blue.  His pants were black and molded to his legs in a manner that made Buffy want to sit up and beg.

“That was very ... artistic,” she offered.

Angel didn’t seem quite so impressed.  “Yeah,” he said.

“It wasn't what I expected. I've never actually seen ... Well, from the title I thought it was about food,” she blathered.

Angel looked at her, one eyebrow raised.  “Well there was food,” he noted dryly.

“Right. The scene with the ... the food,” she said, blushing.  Why was she so nervous?  It wasn’t like they were a couple of virgins on prom night.  She’d had sex before.  Angel was an adult and sinfully handsome.  She knew that despite his general aloofness, he wasn’t that innocent.  She sighed.  Being with a guy had never made her this uncomfortable.  “So, feel like getting some hot chocolate? Or some cold shower?” she asked lightly.

Angel stopped walking and looked at her.  “It’s okay, Buffy,” he said.  “I mean, I know I don’t get out much, but I have actually seen a real live naked woman before.”

She cringed and smiled.  “I know,” she said, “it’s just ... “

“Uncomfortable,” he offered.

She nodded vigorously.  “You could say that,” she said.

He took a deep breath and cocked his head at her, frowning.  “This was a bad idea,” he said.

Buffy suppressed the urge to growl.  Defiantly, she crossed her arms over her chest, popping out one hip as she turned to face him.  Absolute, brutal honesty was the only way to deal with Angel.  “Why is this a bad idea?” she demanded.

He pursed his lips together, studying her.  There was no way Buffy could appreciate the volatile waters into which she was wading.  He knew it would be best to spare her the agony of getting close to him.  He had never brought anyone anything but misery.  “I’m not ... “ he started and trailed off.  He looked at the ground for a moment and then met her gaze again.  “I don’t do this, Buffy,” he said.  “I don’t go out.  I don’t date.  I don’t know what you’re looking for, but I can almost guarantee you, I’m not your guy.”

Taking a deep breath, she said, “What if I’m looking for you?  What if that is the only necessary qualification?”

Slowly, the side of his mouth curled into a wary grin.  Somehow she managed to give him hope in spite of himself, to make him feel like maybe he did have something to offer.  He knew he should push her away, but for a while, just a little while, he wanted to know what it would be like to be the man she thought he was.  “All right,” he said, still a bit hesitant, then almost shyly asked, “Coffee?”

They fell into step together and Buffy expectantly held her hand out to him.  He stared at her hand for a moment until his grin slowly widened as he grasped it in his own.  Buffy smiled broadly, merrily swinging her free arm as they walked down the sidewalk.

*****

Angel sat rigidly on the sofa in Buffy’s living room, his hands clasped in his lap.  Buffy sat next to him, equally awkward.  “I’d offer you some coffee,” she said, “but we sorta already did that.”

“Maybe I should just go home,” he said.

She turned to glare at him, twisting her body so she was facing towards him on the sofa.  “Do you want to be here?” she asked.

He looked at her for a moment and shook his head.  “That’s not an easy question,” he replied.

“Gee,” she said with feigned delight, “you really do know how to sweet talk a girl, Angel.”

He frowned at her.  “I like being with you,” he said.

“You have ‘but’ face,” she prompted.

“But,” he continued, “I don’t think I’m who you’re looking for.  I don’t go out anywhere.  I like to stay home.  I like to read books.  I don’t own a television, or go out on Friday nights, or do spontaneous things.”

Buffy frowned at him.  “As wonderful as your confession is, I think I already figured most of this out,” she said dryly.

He looked at her incredulously.  “Then why do you want me to stay?” he asked.

“Because I want you,” she said baldly.  “I want to spent time with you and talk to you.  I want to curl up on the couch together and read.  I want to spend my Friday nights arguing with you about which type of marital arts are best instead of sitting in some bar trying to keep the drunk that smells like gym socks from pawing at me.”

Angel’s brow creased into a frown.  “Riley paws at you?” he asked, gravely serious.

Buffy’s lips curved into a sly grin.  “Jealous?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“Yes,” he admitted grudgingly.

“Good,” she said smugly.  “That’s a wonderful place to start.”

“Start what?”

“This,” Buffy said and slowly inched closer to him on the sofa.  Angel swallowed audibly, but he didn’t move a muscle.  Slowly, she pressed herself against his side.  She smiled at him and the open gesture warmed his heart and soul.  She leaned in close.  "I want to tell you a secret," she said with a grin.

Angel couldn't help himself.  His heart was racing.  He started to speak and found his mouth dry.  Licking his lips, he said, "Y-yes?"

She leaned in so close, he could feel her warm, moist breath puffing against his skin.  “Angel,” she said, "Riley does smell like gym socks, but you …”  She trailed off and he could feel her lips barely brushing against the shell of his ear.  "You smell like chocolate."

He laughed and turned his head to face her.  He stopped laughing when he realized that her lips were bare centimeters from his own.  "I don't smell like chocolate," he said hoarsely.

Buffy smiled predatorily.  "You do," she said, "you smell good enough to taste.'

They stayed like that for long heartbeats, teetering on the cusp.  Ever so slowly, Buffy lifted her hand and pressed her palm against his cheek.  He leaned into the caress and into her, tentatively brushing his lips against hers.  It was gentle at first, cautious and exploratory.  They nipped and sucked at each other’s lips, testing each other’s reactions.  Slowly, Buffy’s hands came up to sift through his hair.  Smiling, she pulled back from him far enough to look into his eyes.  She stared into the molten depths, shivering at the raw desire she saw there.

Angel cupped her jaw and brought her close for another kiss.  Buffy pressed herself more tightly against him, craning her head back as he kissed her.  Her lips parted and his tongue teased gently against her own.  Buffy wasn’t exactly sure where her wonderfully socially inept would-be boyfriend had learned how to kiss, but she wanted to send a thank you card to whoever had taught him.  Her toes curled as he kissed her more insistently, his arms wrapping around her waist and dragging her across his lap.

Buffy let out a small yelp of surprise, but as Angel attempted to pull back, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him soundly.  His shock melted away and he met her nip for nip as they ate at each other’s mouths.  His hands found her hips and bit into the flesh, pulling her against him.  Buffy broke the kiss, gasping as their pelvises sealed and she felt the full length of Angel’s erection.

She panted harshly, looking at him dazedly for a second or two and then kissed him again.  His fingers twined through her hair as he met her ardor with his own.  Impatiently, Buffy broke away from his mouth, to kiss wetly along his neck.  Angel was breathing hard, his head thrown back, eyes screwed shut as she pulled mouthfuls of his warm flesh into her mouth, nipping her way down his throat.  The nimble fingers of her right hand made quick work of the buttons on his shirt and her hand slipped inside, trailing over his flesh, resting just above his heart.  As her mouth moved lower, she batted his shirt away and started kissing along his chest.  Impatiently, she pulled at his shirt, trying to work it down his shoulders.  He helped her, pushing the offensive garment out of the way, baring more of his skin to her touch.

Her hands splayed over his muscled chest, tickling along his torso.  My gods, the man was beautiful.  His hands fisted in the hem of her shirt but it took Buffy a while to figure out that he was waiting for the okay.  Deliberately, she wrapped her hands around his and together they pulled her shirt over her head.

As her hair fluttered down around her now bare shoulders, Angel stared at her with such an expression of affection and longing that it nearly broke her heart.  His gaze trailed over her skin, across her collarbone, over the gentle swell of her breasts, which were now covered only by a satin demi-cup bra in a dusky pink nearly the same color as her lips.  Buffy felt like the most precious creature in the world, adored and protected.  His eyes seemed to say a million words that his lips could not form.  Slowly, his eyes once again locked with hers.  Leaning forward, he pressed the gentlest of kisses against her lips.  “Buffy,” he whispered softly.

Tears stung her eyes, but Buffy held them back.  No one, in her entire life had ever looked at her with such utter reverence.  She kissed him harder, twining her fingers once again through his chocolate locks.  He obliged her non-verbal request and kissed her more deeply, wrapping his arms around her to hold her to his body.

Buffy broke off the kiss, panting harshly.  Eyes still closed, she pressed her forehead to his.  Angel followed her lead and simply held her, his hands tenderly sifting through her hair, offering her silent comfort as the surfeit of emotion raged inside her.

She took one final steadying breath and pushed herself back off his lap.  Rising to her feet, she stood in front of him, the fabric of her skirt brushing against his legs.  Slowly, she extended her hand to him in open invitation.

Angel stared up at her.  Her eyes flitted to the open door of what he knew was her bedroom and then back to him.  He swallowed audibly.  The words crowded at the back of his throat.  He needed to make excuses, to tell her that they didn’t need to rush things.  He needed to remind her that she was too good for him, that she belonged with someone steady and normal without all of his emotional baggage.

But the words wouldn’t come.

Angel wanted this – wanted her with an almost unearthly hunger.  And for the first time in his life, he let the selfishness take over.  He could bear any burden.  Time proved long ago that he could live with the crushing knowledge that Dru’s death was his fault.  He could go to work every day knowing that he was a mere shell of his former self.  He could resign himself to the almost unendurably lonely, desolate existence he so richly deserved.

But not now.  Not tonight.  For this one moment, he couldn’t bring himself to push Buffy away, even if it meant saving her.  He wanted so badly to lose himself inside her bright, shining warmth.  Just this once.  He grasped her hand in his own and stood up.

Buffy smiled up at him beatifically, looking for all the world like she was the angel.  Turning, she walked to her bedroom, her fingers twined through his, leading him behind her like a helpless puppy.  He knew in that moment that he would follow her anywhere, even into Hell itself.  The realization that she was leading him not to a fiery death, but into her most private sanctuary made his chest ache with longing.

The room was dark, but he had vague impressions of a large, welcoming bed.  Even in the dim lighting he could tell the room was slightly cluttered, like her office, with all of the tangible items that Buffy needed to feel at home.  His heart pounded in his chest, causing his breath to come in short, ragged bursts.  He loved the fact that she needed to keep constant visual reminders of the people important in her life.  He loved that some delusion on her part made her want him too.

Leaning down, he twined his fingers through her hair, tilting her face up to meet his own.  She sighed as their lips met and Angel took the opportunity.  His tongue snaked out to duel with hers and she raised up on tiptoe, deepening the kiss.  He was mindless, lost in her sweet taste until he realized she was urging him down onto the bed next to her.  He complied quite willingly, following her down and half blanketing her body with his own.  One of his legs was insinuated between hers as he propped himself up on his elbows over her upper body.  One of his hands gently traced the graceful line of her cheekbones, her jaw as he continued to kiss her deeply.

Buffy’s fingertips skimmed over the corded muscles of his arms and shoulders.  They caressed his chest, the washboard definition of his abs, committing every texture to memory.  She tickled across his hip and then circled around following the indentation of his spine.  As he drew one of her lips into his mouth, nursing roughly, her fingernails bit into the muscled wall of his back and a heady whine broke the silence.

He broke off the kiss, his lips working their way across her jaw and down her neck.  He peppered soft kisses across her collarbone and then laved wet, open-mouthed kisses over the swell of her breasts.

“Angel,” she whined breathily, her fingernails digging in deeper as she pushed herself against his sinfully decadent mouth.  “Please,” she said softly, moving restlessly under him.

His hands slid under her body, searching for and finding the clasp to her bra, his lips brushing against her own.

“Yes,” she hissed, shifting again.  Angel had unhooked her bra, but not removed it and her restless motion twisted the dusky pink satin material downward so that one of her nipples was visible.

He moaned at the sight, ducking his head to catch the pebbled flesh gently between his lips.  She let out a tender wail, clasping his head to her chest with one hand as he tenderly suckled her aroused flesh.  He laved the area with long sweeps of his tongue, wetly kissing and sucking.  As he carefully bit down, her breath caught sharply and her leg twined around his hip in a gesture of raw, physical need.

He couldn’t help himself.  His hand found the ankle of the leg thrown around his hip and he slowly traced upward, feeling the silken skin of her calf, the vulnerable indentation of the back of her knee, the lush wonderland of her thigh.  The material of her skirt kept him from venturing higher and his hand abandoned its quest, coming up to cup her breast as his mouth sought out hers.

Her hand covered his where it massaged her breast and as they kissed, Buffy rolled them onto their sides.  Gently circling his wrist with her fingers, she guided his hand to the back of her skirt.  Angel took the cue and drew the zipper slowly downward.  When it was completely undone, he stopped kissing her, pulling back far enough to look at her face.

She was breathless, her eyes huge and luminous.  Her hair streamed over her shoulders, her bare upper body a sensual riot.  Her lips were slick and swollen, parted slightly as she panted.  She was a goddess.  She was his goddess.  Once again, his protestations fought to break through, but he could not give them voice.  He was being offered salvation in the form of this glorious fey creature and he could not turn it away.  She smiled at him and pressed a gentle kiss against his lips before lying back on the bed to watch him.  Her expression was a heady combination; half seductive temptress and half scared little girl.  She bit down on her bottom lip nervously as she waited for him to make the next move.

He smiled and took the opportunity to kick off his shoes and socks before once again blanketing her body with his own.  She giggled as he nipped playfully along her ribs before tracing a line of fire down her stomach.  His tongue circled decadently around her bellybutton before giving it a long, sensuous lick.  As he ventured lower, Buffy’s hands found his shoulders, biting anxiously into the corded muscles, but not attempting to stop him.

Angel could feel the tension in her body, almost as if she were waiting for him to judge her.  It was an absurd thought.  He was the one who should be judged, not her.  Buffy was perfection, absolute perfection.  With his face pressed against the warm, fragrant skin of her abdomen, Angel had never possessed a truer thought in his life.  Buffy was perfection.

He kissed her flesh, tasting the distinctive flavor that belonged only to Buffy.  Tentatively, his fingers found the waist of her skirt and gently tugged at the material.  There were no demands and he gave her every opportunity to change her mind.  Without a moment’s hesitation, Buffy lifted her hips and allowed him to skim the material down her legs.  Her shoes had been lost some time ago and she now lay before him wearing only a pair of dusky pink panties that matched the long forgotten bra.  Angel swallowed audibly.

She waited, silent and still, for him to do something.  She wasn’t sure what she expected, maybe a smart assed comment to break the tension or perhaps some seductive, meaningless words.  She expected him to act in the same manner as her previous lovers and when he did move, her earlier expectations shamed her deeply.  Angel crawled up her body with an expression of pure adoration.  He stared at her mutely before lifting his fingers to touch her cheek, her jaw.  His thumb brushed softly across her lips before he leaned in for the most reverent of kisses.  Tears pricked Buffy’s eyes.  How had she ever considered that he would treat her like the former nameless, faceless men from her past?

They kissed for long, glorious moments, losing themselves in the taste and feel of each other.  Their upper bodies were pressed tightly together and Buffy could feel his heart pounding in rhythm with her own.  But the moment wasn’t perfect.  The rough texture of his slacks distracted her and she broke off the kiss abruptly.

She looked at him, once again biting down on her bottom lip, only this time the expression was mischievous.  She grinned at him, her nose crinkling up in an adorable manner before she reached for his belt.  Something at the back of Angel’s mind screamed for him to tell her no, but when he looked at the blissful, teasing expression on her face, he could not do it.  He rolled over onto his back, pillowing his head on his hands as he let her do as she wished.

Buffy smiled, rising up on her knees.  In an act of sheer bravado, she straddled his hips, looking down at him.  His gaze traveled over her body, making her feel hot and needy.  She reached down and unbuckled his belt.  As she moved to the button of his slacks, Angel took a sharp, shallow breath.  Buffy’s gaze shot to his face.  His expression could only be described as lustful and it filled Buffy with a power she had never before known.  Emboldened, she abandoned the button and scraped her fingernails lightly over the tented fabric of his pants.

Angel groaned, his eyes falling shut as she touched him through the material.  He was hard, his flesh begging for her touch.  Her fingers followed the rigid outline of his shape, stroking him lightly.  She took mercy on him and returned to the button, freeing it before carefully drawing the zipper down.

She grabbed the hem of his boxers as well as his pants.  She looked at him and he took a deep breath before covering her hands with his own and helping her remove the garments.  As soon as he was free, Angel tumbled Buffy back on the bed, glorying in the feel of his nude length pressed against hers.  Almost nude.  Angel hooked a finger in the waistband of her panties and soon she was as bare as he was.

She giggled as they kissed and Angel swore it was the sweetest sound he had ever heard.  One of his hands found her hips, his fingertips lightly skimming over her abdomen to rest on the downy curls.  He stroked her lightly.  She was damp already, moisture wetting her curls and she whined plaintively, nudging against his exploring fingers.  He parted her gently, his fingers caressing her sensitive flesh.  His thumb circled her tender nub and Buffy gasped, her hips thrusting as she buried her face against his shoulder.  Angel smiled, urging her to part her legs more as his fingers lightly traced the entrance to her body.

“Angel,” she wailed softly, pulling at his shoulders.

Though he thought it impossible, her quiet plea made him even harder.  This beautiful goddess wanted him.  She knew him better than any person on the planet and still, she wanted him.  He could not deny her.

He slipped between her legs, which she parted gladly.  His weight supported on his elbows, he kissed her deeply as his hips nudged against hers.  She wrapped a leg around his waist, silently urging him to assuage her need.  He broke off the kiss, panting raggedly.

“Not yet,” he managed to gasp, reaching for his recently discarded slacks.

Buffy watched as he fumbled around the pockets frantically before finding his wallet.  With a strangled groan, he fell back onto the bed next to her,  “I, uh, don’t have any protection,” he told her in a low voice.

Reaching over him, Buffy groped through the drawer of her nightstand before setting a little foil package on his chest.  He looked at her, one eyebrow cocked.

“I believe in being prepared,” she said.  “And … I bought them with you in mind.”

“Really?” he asked.

Absolutely serious as she pressed a kiss to his lips, she said, “Really.”

Angel kissed her back before taking the packet and tearing it open.  With Buffy’s assistance, they had the condom rolled on his rigid length quite efficiently.

Once again, she tugged at his shoulders and this time Angel did not hedge.  Slipping between her legs, he positioned himself at her entrance and slowly slid inside.

They both hissed as he stretched her deliciously.  When he was seated to the hilt, he stopped.  He stared down at her and she met his gaze unashamed.  She brought one of her hands up, to trace along his jaw.

There were so many things he wanted to say to her, so much she needed to understand.  She needed to know how absolutely precious she was to him, how much he loved her.  But the words would not come.

Buffy seemed to understand and she drew his head down for a kiss.  Their tongues tangled wetly as he began a gentle rhythm of thrust and withdrawal.  Buffy keened, breaking off the kiss as her legs wrapped tightly around his waist.  Angel couldn’t take it anymore.  Burying his head in the pillow next to hers, he concentrated only on feeling as he thrust powerfully into her tight, hot warmth.  She was so damn responsive, her internal muscles massaging him, her short fingernails biting into his back as she moaned his name.  She was perfect in a way that not even his most heated fantasies could match.

One of his hands found her hip and then the place where their bodies joined.  The pad of his thumb roughly rubbed the swollen bud of moist flesh and her internal muscles clamped down on him, just as her legs did around his waist.  She thrust up against him, wailing as her climax overtook her.

Angel wanted to last longer, but the sweet siren call of her pleasure was too much.  He had been alone too long and Buffy was too perfect.  With a roar of pure male animal satisfaction, he joined her in bliss.

*****

Angel felt every muscle and bone as they coalesced into pleasurable perfection.  A feeling wholly unfamiliar to him.  He was full to the brim, in body and soul, sated and sleepy, not even capable of forming a thought.  He had made love to her more than once, unable to get enough of her unforgettable essence. There was no room in his heart for anything or anyone except the small world in his embrace.

Falling fast over the edge of consciousness, he forced his eyelids open once more to gaze at the wonder he held close.  Buffy was curled against him, her hair a glowing wave of gold that covered his torso, her face inches below his own.  One small hand lay possessively over his heart, the other he felt the fingers of tucked warmly inside his own much larger one, holding his tightly, even as she slept. Angel had never seen a more precious sight.  The corners of his mouth curved at the sound of a soft snore as she nuzzled against his skin.  She fit so perfectly against him.  His arm gathered her even more securely against him, she could never be too close.  He tried to stay awake, just wanting this moment to keep on happening.  Even as he fought, sleep finally claimed him.  He carried her into his dreams with a peace he hadn’t felt since he was a child.

*****

Buffy woke to a warm muscular chest pillowing her head.  She felt an arm wrapped protectively around her and her fingers held in a tight clasp by the man beside her.  Rain was falling lightly against the window.  She couldn’t remember ever feeling so safe and sound, like being wrapped in a gentle cocoon.  Lifting her head only far enough to look into the face above hers, Angel lay sound asleep with the most beatific smile she had ever seen.  And on an already beatific face it made her heart skip a beat.  He was beautiful.  Not just his face, she thought, but all of him.

It wasn’t the first time she’d slept with someone, but she wished it were.  It had never been like that with anyone else.  Angel had treated her as if she was a special treasure.  She couldn’t believe how hands that large could be so gentle and she flushed as she remembered how they caressed every inch of her.  He had been so tender and loving he’d brought tears to her eyes.  No one had ever made her feel so unique … as if he cherished her.

Deep inside she knew he had shared himself with her in a way he had never done with anyone before her.  How could she not know he loved her?  It had been in every touch, every whisper, the way he looked at her and held her.  And she’d never known until he made love to her.  She wondered how long he had known, if it was the same for him, just discovering it.  Gazing at him dreaming, the lop-sided smile pulling at one corner of his mouth, she knew she loved him.

Without changing her position, she curled back into his chest, smiling as she felt his arm unconsciously pull her tighter against him.  She drifted back to sleep still smiling.

*****

Silent black clouds had winged their way closer, hiding the coming storm under the cover of night.  Building up fury and power, it streaked through the dark air and struck without warning.

Angel felt the lightening bolt’s shock wave run through him and the ground as if they were one.  The cold ate his soul as viciously as it ate at his body.  He tried to roll over, to huddle into a ball, but she was there as always, resting against him, trapping his arm.  She was cold, so cold and he couldn’t do anything to warm her.  She had depended on him for so long, clung to him for protection and he had failed her so miserably.  It was all his fault ...  Lightening flashed through the trees and he looked down.  Long tendrils of blonde hair spilled across his chest.  Her hand rested in his, lifeless and gray in the pale light.

But he wasn’t looking into Drucilla’s dead stare.  The hazel eyes that always danced and twinkled with life gazed blankly through him.  Skin that was so recently flushed in passion was waxen and pale beneath his fingers.  Air once hot and sweet against his face no longer puffed through the silent lips.  The warm, pliant body that had molded around his and become a part of him lay cold and still in his arms.

What had he done?  He had let her die!

For the second time in his life Angel stood on a precipice, teetering on the edge of sanity.  He saw the dark, cold abyss yawning open, ready to swallow him whole.  A searing flash of electricity lit the room like the negative of a photograph.  Somehow the trees had given way to walls and a ceiling.  He felt a small movement and looked down.  The hand, that had lain chill and quiet, curled its fingers in his.  Angel’s breath caught in his throat.  He stared blankly in terror at the small fingers twining more tightly through his own.  By degrees, the world righted itself as he felt the soft form nestled beside his fill him with its heat.

He was lying in bed next to Buffy.  There was no drenching rain or keening, brutal wind, no hard forest floor.  And she wasn’t dead.  Thank God, she wasn’t dead!  He released a painful, shuddering sigh as tremors violently wracked his body.  Thunder rumbled far in the distance.  The storm was already losing its momentum as he desperately pushed the shards of the cruel nightmare away.  He took long, even breaths, deep in his lungs, waiting for the blood racing through his veins to slow.  He lay there for long moments, letting her warmth seep into his shivering frame, chasing away the cold.

Helplessly, he clapped his hands to his head, raking his fingers through his scalp as dark images and imaginings twisted and tore through his mind.  What if that were to happen?  What could he do to protect her?  Why would it be any different than before?  He choked back a silent sob.  How dare he let the coldness inside him even touch her.  It was a part of him as much as the scars on his wrists.  He had no right dragging her down into his own frozen depths.  He had been foolish to let things go so far.  Never should have even gone out with her, let alone …

His gaze fell to the slumbering figure pressed against him, the sight alone inundating him with love.  His lips drawn taut with terror segued to a soft smile.  He dropped his hand to the cloud of spun gold, so soft and silky against his fingertips.  Even filled with such a vehement hatred of himself he couldn't find a single cell in his being that regretted being one with her for those few incomparably precious, perfect hours.

He wanted so much to stay there and curl around her, to take shelter in her warmth, but he didn’t dare.  He couldn’t remain with her.  He knew that.  His muscles tensed at the thought of leaving her.  Staying with her any longer would end as badly as everything else in his life.  He couldn’t allow her life to be wasted with his for a moment more.  He’d already done enough damage.  Buffy was vitality and light.  She had no business in his darkness.

At the thought his resolve strengthened.  Carefully, he disentangled his limbs from hers and slipped from the bed.  With a heavy heart, he desolately searched the darkened room for his clothes.  Once dressed, he padded softly to the door.  He turned, taking one last longing look as she slept peacefully, a smile curved on her lips.  His heart ached at the sight, but he forced himself out of the room.

Once home, Angel kicked off his shoes at the door.  Tugging his shirt off as he entered his bedroom, he tossed it on the floor.  His pants and socks followed after as he stretched his long frame on the bed.  He threw one arm across his eyes, but the visions refused to be put away so easily.  He was drained from the past crowding in and overtaking his mind.  He no longer fought  it, waiting for the ghosts of long ago to finish their dismal dance.  But even they couldn’t keep her away.

Since the day they met her name had been pressed into his heart without him even knowing.  "Buffy", he whispered to the cold darkness.  To him it held the resonance of all that was warmth and light.  Now, after loving her, that sound was his whole world – and he couldn’t live there.

Pulling his arm back over his face even tighter, he wept.

[end chapter 7]

Chapter VIII

Before she was fully awake, Buffy knew that something was wrong.  The arms that had held her all night and the chest, rising and falling beneath her head, were gone.  She sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and searched the room.  His clothes were gone.

Her sleeping demon of desertion, instantly aroused, leapt up and gnawed at her.  She tried to stay calm, thinking, ‘He’s just in the other room.’  Jumping out of bed, she grabbed her robe from the back of the door, tying it as she walked into the living room.  He was gone.  Looking carefully around the room, tears stinging behind her eyes, she found no trace.  No note, no sign … no Angel.

She thought it would be different.  She thought he’d be there when she woke up, imagined his eyes looking down when she opened hers.  But Angel wasn’t there and it twisted her heart how much she cared.  The pain grew no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.  It wasn’t the first time loving someone had hurt.  But it was much deeper and hurt much more than it ever had before.  She finally gave in, the heartache pushing out tears she had been trying not to cry.  Sinking down onto the couch, her legs pulled up beneath her, she grabbed the pillow nearby.  She buried her face in it, soaking it.

When her shoulders finally stopped shaking from her sobs, she sat up, falling back against the cushions.  He’d left her.  She was trying to understand how he could do that after what they’d shared.  “Was I not good?” she questioned aloud.  But shook her head, no, she knew that wasn’t true at all.  It had nothing to do with the act itself.  It hadn’t been a casual encounter.  Remembering his caresses, his hesitant, humble worship of her during the night, she could feel his love.  She had known once he touched her that she loved him.  She was so sure he felt the same.  She knew it had been exceptional – extraordinary – she knew it.  “Then why did he leave?” she cried, throwing the pillow across the room, the tears once more spilling from her eyes, “Why does everyone leave?”

Buffy remembered being wrapped in his arms.  She belonged there.  She realized now it was his love that had made her feel safe … wanted.  Even when he was fast asleep he’d held her tight.  She wanted so badly for him to be there, holding her, just holding her, as he had.  She pushed herself up off the couch and moved towards the closet by the front door.  Opening it, she reached in and searched through the hangers on the rack and found what she was looking for.  She wrapped herself in the leather jacket Angel had given her a few months before.  He had refused to take it back though she’d offered a few times.  Now she was glad she had it.  He had hurt her, but she still needed some small part of him.  Settling back onto the couch, she drew her legs up to her chest.  She adjusted the jacket, feeling the phantom arms filling it and the scent that enveloped her.  It was chocolate.  She closed her eyes and let the memories wash through her.

When he kissed her she melted into liquid, he poured himself into her, blending with her.  His hands everywhere she needed to feel them, touching, stroking, tracing, smoothing.  She felt his skin under her fingers and the shivers that ran through him from her touch.  She had been hungry for him.  Her hands and lips had wandered up and down his large frame, his neck, his beautiful chest, his shoulders.  His muscles had rippled and flexed as his moved around her, above her, within her.  When he was buried inside her, as deep as she could pull him, it felt so right.  He should be there.

She opened her eyes and looked at the window, rain still running in rivulets down the pane.  Did that have something to do with it? She wondered.  She wanted to believe that, thinking of what the storms did to him.  It was better than the alternative.  But she couldn’t convince herself of it.  No, she thought wearily, it wasn’t any different … it was her.  Buffy didn’t know what it was she kept doing wrong, but everyone left.

Giving up the safety of the couch, she held the jacket around her like a shield and dragged herself to the kitchen.  Her gaze fell on the refrigerator.  She didn’t want solid food, the idea alone almost gagged her.  Without thought, she pulled the basket out on the coffeemaker, scooping in coffee from the nearby canister.  Automatically filling the water reservoir, she started the machine with barely a glance.  She wandered over by the window, looking out without seeing.  Crossing her arms, she unconsciously shrugged closer inside the protective leather mantle.

The rain, still falling from dingy, tattered clouds, tapped harshly against the glass, breaking her reverie.  Picking up a cloth near the sink, she absently cleaned the countertop.  With thoughts far away, it was the sugar bowl left out of place that reminded her of the coffee.  As if being played like a puppet on strings, she found a cup, filled it, spooned sugar in and stirred.  She came back to herself with a start, cup in hand, feeling slightly out of synch.  Attempting to shake off the dazed feeling, she wandered back to the couch, setting the mug down nearby, untouched.  Buffy tried not to think or remember, just to let the numbness wrap around her like his jacket.  It didn’t work.  Her thoughts strayed back, they wouldn’t go away.

She had missed Pike terribly when she didn’t see him anymore.  Her father had left her feeling bruised.  This hurt her far worse than anything either of them could have done.

As soon as she knew she loved Angel … he was gone.  Once one tear fell, she couldn’t seem to stop crying.  Couldn’t stop hurting.  She couldn’t do this again.  Every time she let someone in, let someone get close, she ended up alone.  What was it about her?  Buffy wasn’t cold, but she hugged Angel’s jacket a little tighter, scrunching her legs up under it, resting her forehead on her knees.

*****

He didn’t open his eyes.  He didn’t want to see.  Buffy wasn’t there.  Not in his bed.  Not in his house.  Not in his life.  ‘I want my life to be with you,’ he whispered to the face etched behind his eyes.  A single tear trailed down.

She’d never been in his bed or his house.  But it wasn’t the physical space.  She was in his heart.  In his soul.  She was in every corner of him.  Angel knew she would be everywhere he looked without her ever having set foot in his door.  How was he supposed to put her out of his life when she was the very one he needed to live it?

When he did finally find the strength to raise his eyelids, the first sight was the rain beating down, splattering against the window.  His heart twisted as did his lips.  He hadn’t even noticed the storm. The empty bark of his laughter matched the mirthless imitation of his smile.  The irony hit him like an anvil.  He thought by now he knew all about pain, had visited every facet of it.  But what he’d felt before, still deep and wounding, had dulled over the years.  And he’d learned to live with it.  The storms had only exacerbated it.  But this, this was so much worse.  It was a different agony altogether.  It cut to his soul, sheering through every vein within him.  He was almost surprised when he looked away from the rain and down at himself that he wasn’t bleeding.

Last night, for the first time in his life, he had felt like a normal man.  For a few brief amazing hours he had found what it felt like to be alive.  To feel love.  Now he knew what he was missing.  Staring at the hands that had held everything he hadn’t even known existed, he softly cried to them, ‘How am I supposed to go on, knowing what we had?  What we could have had?’  The fingers formed into fists.  Could have, if he wasn’t who he was, didn’t carry what he did.  If another storm hadn’t reminded him with a vengeance of just what he was … or wasn’t.  He wondered fleetingly if knowing her a few years ago would have made a difference.  No, losing his mind as he did, he was glad he had spared her that.  Both of their lives would have been worse.  He couldn’t lay the question or burden of what he was on anyone else, especially her.  He wasn’t a normal man.  He never had been.  It had taken so little to prove he wasn’t worthy of even being near Buffy.

Angel finally crawled across the bed, forcing himself to sit up.  His toes touched the shirt he had pulled off and thrown on the floor the previous night.  Gathering it up and pressing it to his face he could smell her scent.  He heard her light, breathy voice telling him he smelled like chocolate.  He slid the shirt on and buttoned it, breathing in to keep her close.  He pulled on the pants lying nearby and lurched to a stand to finish drawing them up to fasten them.

He ended up in the kitchen, going through the motions of making coffee without quite knowing how he got there.  He watched water pour itself into the machine and coffee fall in the little basket.  His hands were making the movements but they didn’t feel connected.

His gaze caught the small bottle of medicine he’d left in a corner weeks before, abandoned, no longer needing to find all his strength in its contents.  There was nothing man had devised that could lessen or heal the pain he felt now.

The storm had darkened the morning sky to a dull, thick gray, shrouding the house in its mist.  Angel realized after a time that he’d been staring out the windowpane, eyes tracing the rain down its cold surface.  He didn’t know how long he stood there, but the coffee was done brewing, the carafe full.  He hadn’t even smelled it, still washed in the lingering fragrance of vanilla.  He turned off the machine, filling a cup from the cabinet with the steaming liquid and shuffled towards the living room.  He reached the fireplace and sagged into his chair gazing at the charred remains of the last fire.

He would have stayed there as he was, like a rag doll carelessly tossed down, but the cold forced him to his feet once more.  Lighting the fire after building the pile of kindling and logs, he fell back into his seat.  The small effort had drained the last of his energy.  For hours he laid inert, not a muscle moved even towards the coffee, cold and forgotten by his side.  The fire warmed him, but his mind numbed as the time passed.  It slowly shut down against the onslaught of images and thoughts that endlessly chased and taunted him.  The tongues of heat that sizzled in front of him morphed into tender flames of soft skin and softer moans that soothed him.  He slept, his features dropping into repose, at rest if only for a while.

When he turned his head to the chair beside his, he expelled his breath in a ragged cry.  There, a familiar form was curled in a ball; long flaxen hair against skin flushed by passion, eyes he knew were green, closed in slumber above lips bruised red with love.  Angel started suddenly, shaking as the dream melted.  The chair sat empty as it had always been.

His long frame was stiff from lying so long in his chair.  The small respite gave him no peace once he was awake.  He dragged himself up and stretched, trying to get the feeling back in his limbs.  He looked at the clock on the mantle and sighed, thinking of the many hours he still needed to fill.  The last ‘Annie’ had drifted away leaving behind a trail of chill dampness, but the room seemed crowded, pushing against him.  He found a pair of shoes in the closet and put them on.  Grabbing his leather jacket from its hook near the door and his keys on the table below it, he left his refuge behind him.

After walking for hours, trying to blank his thoughts and failing miserably, he stopped in a diner for food.  He had no taste for anything, no inclination to eat.  He only choked the food down to quell the hunger his body told him was there.  Never realizing how far away he had wandered, he trudged back home.  He collapsed on his bed, not willing to remove his shirt, too tired to bother with the rest and let exhaustion overtake him.

The next day was no better.  Angel was restless and tense.  He found himself in front of the bookcases, pulling the volumes out one by one, cleaning and rearranging.  Their familiar weight and texture didn’t impart their usual comfort.  But, he desperately needed the distraction, even if it occupied only his hands, not his mind.

He’d hurt her … again, only this was so much worse.  He’d left without a word and hadn’t called her since then to explain.  What would he have said if he could have found the courage to even pick up the phone?  Tell her he was sorry he’d made love to her?  He knew he should be, but he wasn’t.  He hadn’t been able to maintain control and for that he was sorry … for her, not himself.  It was the most wondrous thing he’d ever experienced – perfect – if it hadn’t resulted in wounding her.  Not for the world would he give up what he shared with her.

Try as he might he couldn’t stay the sweet stream of memories of her touch, her feel, the sounds she made, the taste of her on his lips.  That curious fire that fused them and the way they molded together as if they were one.  He couldn’t stop his body responding, growing painfully hard.  He dropped the books in his hands, guilt and shame washing over him.  Roughly dragging his fingers through his hair, he bent his head, then laced his fingers over it.  He didn’t know how to get Buffy out of his mind … and he didn’t really want to, regardless of how it tortured him.  Angel finally forced himself back to the task at hand, despite the pathetic attempt he knew it to be.

When he reached the poetry books, he pulled out the overflowing portfolio with trembling hands.  He knew it would only deepen the ache in his heart, but couldn’t stop himself from studying every single drawing.  He turned each page slowly, drinking in every facet of the face he loved, tracing a finger more than once down a beloved line or curve.  He finally slid the album back in its place with a long agonized sigh.

He sat on the floor, surrounded by the stacks that had provided the only protection he had ever found.  His own manufactured cocoon.  Now he saw how fragile it had always been, but it was all he had.  He knew he couldn’t have the life he longed for, the one he had just put away on the shelf interwoven with the drawings.  Picking up a book, he brushed the dust away with a cloth.  He had to rebuild that other life again – the cold, empty one that was so much colder and emptier than it had ever been.

As he continued through the shelves, deliberately and methodically, he thought about the next day and steeled himself for what was to come.  No matter how badly his heart cried against it, he was doing the right thing.  She didn’t know, couldn’t understand and didn’t deserve to be sucked into the mire that had held him his entire life.

Nothing would have ever made him ready for Buffy.  He had no words from the poetry he’d memorized to give him answers.  No facts and figures in his books to tell him what to do.  He was at a loss.  He had no concept of how she felt or why.  He’d never been in any relationship and he didn’t know how to deal with it.  He had nothing with which to compare it.  He just didn’t know!  All he knew was that he loved her and because he did, he had to stay away.  He had to stop while he had the strength to be able to and before she was injured more.  He tried not to think about how hard it would be to tell her something he still couldn’t even put in words.  Tried not to think of that face, those eyes piercing straight into his soul.

*****

Buffy spent Saturday afternoon moping on the couch until she forced herself up.  She washed, and dusted, and mopped – as she always did when she was upset, thinking at least that she was on the clean side of misery.  At two a.m. she found herself sitting in front of her oven door, her tears mixing with the oven cleaner.  No matter how busy she kept her hands, her mind never stopped reminding her how much her heart was breaking.  She gave up on the stove, suddenly identifying to a frightening degree with Sylvia Plath.

Feeling a weariness beyond the physical, she fell into her bed.  Whatever tears hadn’t been shed seeped through as she wrapped herself in her sheets … and in Angel’s scent that permeated them.  In spite of all her cleaning, she hadn’t had the strength to change them, thinking he was still there in some way.  Besides his jacket, it was all she had and she clung to it.  She could feel every gentle kiss, every tender caress he’d given her.  His trembling response wherever she touched him had thrilled her.  She had never felt such a feeling of joy like that.  She had never felt as though someone was so much a part of her as he was when he filled her.  She had surrounded him and drawn him as close as she could, as if to merge them into one.  Crying softly, she finally slipped into unconsciousness, her pillow drenched with tears.

*****

She was up very early the next morning, not willing to repeat her actions of the day before.  She showered and dressed quickly, eager to put as much distance as possible between the apartment, especially the phone, and her.

She thought about going to Willow’s, but didn’t want to intrude on her and Tara in the early morning hours.  To be honest, she didn’t know if she was ready to see the two of them, knowing they would be rising from the same bed.  Buffy wasn’t a prude, but the concept of Willow being in a relationship with Tara was still fairly new, even if they had been living together for a while now.  It was like getting used to wearing a new pair of shoes and they didn’t feel all that comfortable yet.  And it reminded her all too painfully of waking in her own bed … alone.

Instead, she got in her car and pointed it in the one direction she knew she could find solace, at least for a time.  Two hours later she swung the car into the driveway and saw by the dashboard clock it was still very early, not even seven a.m..  Buffy opened the kitchen door with her key, trying not to make any noise.  She needn’t have worried.  Peeking into the room, she found herself locked in Giles’ surprised, but gentle gaze.

At the sound of the lock being turned he had lifted his head from the tea he was pouring.  He put the cozy on the teapot and stepped around the counter.  “To what do I owe this honor?” he asked, mouth curving in a welcoming smile.  Closer to her by this time, he caught the dark smudges under her red-rimmed eyes.  Giles had never been the demonstrative type, but at the look of abject misery on her face he couldn’t help but open his arms, offering to draw her near.

Buffy didn’t need any more invitation.  She had spent the drive home replaying the whole night with Angel over and over again only to feel more hurt and confused by the mile.  She laid her head against Giles chest, glad for his unquestioning understanding and consolation.  Still, she wished for the hard muscular pillow her cheek on rested upon from what already seemed like a lifetime ago and it made her feel that much worse.  Giles let her stay there for long moments then finally guided her into the living room, to the couch.

“I’m sorry, Giles,” she said, her eyes tracing the pattern on the cushions.  “Guess I need to work on my hellos,” she apologized, finally looking at him, forcing a watery smile on her face.

Falling back in his usual stance, he cleared his throat and said, “I suppose you’ll want coffee instead of a real drink.”

“Coffee would be of the good right now,” she answered thankfully. “And lots of sugar,” the light banter strengthening her smile.  Buffy let herself relax, sinking into the couch, idly scanning the room while she heard Giles puttering in the kitchen.

Giles knew Buffy well enough to know that whatever brought her home must be serious.  She was the type who people usually ran to for comfort and guidance, not the other way around.  It warmed his heart that she had sought him out when she needed someone.  He didn’t know what it was, but knew she would tell him in her own good time.  If he had to guess though, he wagered it involved matters of the heart.

Joyce had told him years ago the little she knew of what happened with Buffy and her friend Pike.  Giles had been a witness to the failed relationship the young girl had tried so hard to have with her father.  He knew few things cut as deeply as the way the boy, then Buffy’s father had abandoned her.  In all the years he’d lived with her he knew she’d never become close to anyone she dated, not close enough to get hurt.  He surmised if it was about a man, he must have made a great impression indeed to have that kind of effect on her.

Bringing the tray in and settling it on the table before them, he filled a cup with the aromatic, dark liquid then offered it to her.  Still smiling at him, she made a show of adding spoonfuls of sugar and stirring.

“At least,” he told her, returning her smile, “it’s not a good cup of tea that you’re ruining.”

She sipped the hot beverage carefully and set it down on the tray.  “I guess you’re wondering what I’m doing here,” she said.

“You don’t need a reason to come home,” Giles answered softly.

The words brought tears to her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.  She picked the coffee back up and slowly sipped, holding the cup for warmth.  She tried to gather her thoughts, but ended up blurting out, “I seem to do all too well in the ‘love ‘em and leave ‘em department.  Only I’m not the one leaving,” she admitted woefully.  “I’m sorry, Giles,” she said looking at the concern on his face, “I shouldn’t be bothering you.  I should figure things out by myself.”

“No man is an island, Buffy,” he gently answered.

She gave a sad facsimile of a laugh, “That’s exactly my problem,” she ruefully confessed, “I think I’m in love with an island.”

Giles didn’t reply, waiting for her to go on.

“Oh, God, I feel like I’m the living version of a lovelorn column.  But I swear, I didn’t go looking for someone to fall in love with.”  She thought about that and slowly added, “I know he didn’t.”  She turned to look at Giles’ face, “You probably didn’t expect that, did you?”

“I’m not as shocked as you seem to think I should be,” he said.  At her surprised look, he asked, “Why shouldn’t you fall in love?  And why shouldn’t someone love you?  You’re a very beautiful, very wonderful woman.”

Buffy blushed slightly, not used to Giles being that directly complimentary.  Even though she’d made straight for Giles and home, like an arrow released from a bow, she hadn’t envisioned sharing any of this with him.  But in spite of her reaction to his remark, she found it wasn’t all that difficult to have this discussion, though she knew it wouldn’t be as easy with anyone else, except maybe Willow.

“I thought he loved me,” she said slowly, “until he left.”

When she didn’t add anymore, Giles asked, “Did he say why he left?”

“No,” came the almost whispered reply, “I haven’t heard from him.”

“Maybe there’s more to it than loving you,” he suggested.  “Or maybe it’s because he loves you.”

“Yeah,” she said sadly, “loving me could do that.”

He gave her an admonishing look, “You think you’re hard to love?  I can assure you it’s quite the opposite.”

“I think you might be biased,” she told him with the shadow of a smile.

“It might help if I knew a little bit more about him,” Giles urged her.

She gave the same hollow laugh, “Me too.”  Seeing him still waiting for an answer, she gave him one of sorts.  “I work with him.  I’ve been working with him for months.  We share an office with each other.”

“You’ve gotten to know him then?” he prodded when she stopped and remained quiet.

Buffy looked down at her hands clasped in her lap.  “I thought I knew him a little at least,” she said in a small voice.  “He’s not Joe-here’s-what-I’m-thinking, but I thought I knew.  I- w-we had a date and we ended up spending the night together, but when I woke up in the morning, he was gone.”

Giles didn’t need or want details into either Dawn’s or Buffy’s sex lives, had in fact, tried to avoid the idea either of them had one.  He had always felt like a father towards them, so the subject had always been uncomfortable at best.  But his immediate reaction to Buffy’s confession was anger at a man, any man, taking advantage of her like that and just deserting her.

“So he led you on.  He asked you out, told you he loved you, stayed the night and uh … then left?” Giles got more upset with each word he spoke.

“No, Giles, he’s not like that,” she tried to explain, shaking her head.  “Guess it would have helped to start at the beginning instead of the end, huh?”

Trying to calm down, he waited to hear what she had to say.

“Look, Giles, I appreciate you being all protective, but the truth is, Angel, never said or did anything to lead me on,” she said slowly, “In fact, he hardly ever talks to anyone.  He wouldn’t talk to me until I didn’t give him any choice.  You know how persuasive I can be,” she smiled at him.  “He’s had some … umm … problems, I dunno, something that happened way before I met him.”  She sighed,  “And you know me, never could resist a challenge.  I’m the one who’s to blame if anyone is.”

Giles’ initial response was, “Angel?”

Buffy shook her head again, “See what I mean?  That’s not his real name, I call him that.  It wasn’t his idea.”  Though now that she thought about it, she realized Angel had never said a word against it ever since she told him that’s what she would call him.  She took a small, sad comfort in that.

“So you forced him to have sex with you?” he asked a bit acerbically.  He was trying to be patient, but it did seem to be asking a lot of him.

“It wasn’t like that at all,” she said quickly, then more slowly, “I came to the realization that I liked him, really liked him and I asked him out, not the other way around.  I had to argue with him just to get him to go.  The rest just kind of happened, it wasn’t something either of us planned.”

“Buffy…” Giles began, but she hadn’t finished.

“It wasn’t just sex, Giles, we made love.  And it’s the first time that ever happened to me.  God, I can’t believe I’m telling you this.  You’re like my father … more of a father than the real one ever was.”

Giles couldn’t help but smile at her.  “I’ve always thought of you as my daughter, both you and Dawn,” he said softly.

“You don’t know how glad I am you’re here,” she told him.  “Even if my face is an unbecoming shade of red right now.  Don’t you think,” she asked him earnestly, “that I know the difference between having sex and making love?”

“I would think you do,” he agreed.  “I know you don’t take relationships lightly.  I’ve never known you to be seriously involved with anyone.”

“And I never thought I would be,” she replied.  “That just kind of happened too.”

“So he told you he loved you … and then left?” he questioned her, still trying to get the facts straight.

“No, he didn’t say he did.  I just knew, at least I thought he did.  Everything is so jumbled up now.”  In a moment of sheer honesty that she couldn’t suppress she told him, “I could feel how much he loved me and I knew I loved him.  And when I woke up in the morning and he was gone, it hurt.  It hurts so bad.”

The tears fell at her words and Giles found himself patting her back only a bit awkwardly, whispering shushing noises in her ear.  Difficult as it was, he was still trying to give this unknown man in Buffy’s life the benefit of doubt rather than the unpleasant alternative.  Buffy had always been a good judge of character.  He hoped that for her sake it was true in this case.  He also knew despite her tribulations with this unknown ‘Angel’, that a good deal of Buffy’s issues had older roots.

“Buffy,” he said softly when she sat back wiping her eyes, embarrassed by her own outburst, “I’m not an expert on these matters, but maybe all that’s needed is time.  I can’t imagine what they might be, but perhaps, Angel, as you call him, had good reasons for not staying.  And don’t be so ready to blame yourself, especially when you don’t have all the facts.”

Even to him it didn’t sound that convincing, but he knew she had to find her own way.  Giles wanted to tell her not to base her feelings on a couple of no-accounts who didn’t realize what a special person she was, but was afraid it would only make her more miserable than she already was.  He wished that Joyce was still alive and here with them.  She would have known what to say and do.  All he could offer was his love.  It would have to be enough for now.

“Thanks, Giles,” she replied.  It still hurt, terribly, but his presence softened the loneliness she had been feeling.  She knew he didn’t have any more answers than she did, but she loved him for trying.

She’d gotten very little sleep the night before.  The trip there, the conversation and freshest round of tears had tired her out.  When Giles gently pushed her shoulder back, urging her to lie down on the couch and had covered her with an afghan, she didn’t resist.

She was surprised to find it was late afternoon when she finally woke up.  She stayed long enough to have dinner with Giles then waved a fond goodbye to him as she pulled her car out on the street and headed back to her lonely apartment.  Even driving, every time she saw a tall figure or a dark-haired head she would look more closely before catching herself.  No matter what she did or where she went, Angel was there.  There was no getting away.

Buffy looked at the answering machine as soon as she opened her front door.  Its smug no message light silently mocked her.  She dropped her keys on the table near the door and hung her jacket in the closet.  Seeing Angel’s jacket where she’d hung it earlier, she started to reach for it, smelling the leather and the man to whom it belonged.  But, she forced herself away and slammed the door shut.

She didn’t need to hold something of his.  It wasn’t like she was some high school girl, mooning over a guy in science class.  ‘I’m an adult,’ she told herself.  She’d been out with guys and it hadn’t worked out, she’d even been stood up on occasion.  It wasn’t like she was a virgin, that she’d never had sex with anyone.  But she hadn’t loved any of them, nor had they made love to her.  The tears that suddenly threatened infuriated her even more.  She refused to give in to them.

He didn’t love her.  She had been mistaken that night.  If he loved her, she couldn’t fathom how he could leave and not say a word, not even call.  She had stayed in the whole day and night before, afraid to miss the phone ringing.  But like the answering machine today, it had stayed silent.

Now as she stood in her living room, the more she stared at the phone and the non-blinking light on the machine, the angrier she became.  At least he could have called her, said something, even if it was a lie.  Thinking of seeing Angel the next morning, she tried to keep up the anger, it was easier to deal with than the pain.  She slept fitfully, not looking forward to going to work or dealing with Angel.

[end chapter 8]

Chapter IX

Angel sat like a stone when Buffy came in the door Monday.  Quickly lowering his eyes, he pretended to read the paper he held.  He was silent as he listened to her putting her things away and setting up her laptop.  Leaving her as he did, he had to give her some kind of apology even if she wouldn’t speak to him.  The ceiling he had spent most of the night staring at hadn’t been kind enough to offer a single word of advice.  Nor had any other words come to him from anywhere else before he arrived at work.  His mouth was as parched for moisture as his mind was for what to say.  He licked his dry lips, desperate for something, anything he might tell her.  He finally braced himself with a courage he didn’t feel.  ‘Sorry’ was all he had to offer … and he was … from the depths of his soul.  She at least deserved to hear him say it.

“Buffy,” he said softly as he turned his chair towards her desk.  The sound died on his lips when he saw her face.  What pieces of his heart weren’t already broken – shattered.  It wasn’t filled with the anger he knew he deserved, but with hurt which she was trying desperately to hide.

Buffy had looked at Angel’s face when she walked past him.  Up until that moment she had held onto her anger, ready to lash out at him as soon as they met.  But he wasn’t quick enough to avert his eyes before they swept down to the paper in his hand.  He had that same little boy lost look and it tore her already shredded heart.  If it had been anyone else, she may have wondered if it was an act, but not Angel.  She could tell that if he had slept at all, it hadn’t been any better than her attempts.  Whatever his reasons for leaving after making love to her, his abrupt exit wounded him as deeply as it did her.  She knew he wasn’t aware of how he appeared because it was something he wouldn’t willingly have let her see.

That flicker of a second, looking into his eyes had exposed a tempest of longing and loneliness … and love.  It was the love that pierced her through.  It crumbled her resolve and laid her low.  If he loved her, why had he left?  She had tried to convince herself over the last two days that he didn’t love her.  Suddenly knowing she’d been right all along wounded her more fiercely in a different way.  Was it loving her that made him leave?  It brought all the fears and insecurities slamming back at her.

Angel wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and kiss away the hurt until it was healed.  What he’d done could have only caused her that much pain … if she loved him.  The revelation almost physically ripped through him with equal amounts of joy and despair.  It was unbearable.  He wanted so much to be who and what she needed.  He had been so selfish in losing control when he was with her.  But he’d never thought she felt the same way about him.  He knew she liked him, but until this moment, had never believed she could love him.  He knew she did.  He could see it in her eyes, even in the way she moved.  Now what he’d done was intolerable … and all the more reason not to be in her life.  The shattered bits of his heart felt like ground glass moving through his veins.

He was up and walking towards her before he knew he’d left his chair.  The closer he came, the more stricken she looked.  She rose as he stood before her.  They were inches apart, staring deeply into each other’s eyes.  The air was charged with the tension warring between them.  The absolute need to hold her and comfort her was almost overpowering.  She begged silently, wanting him to hold her as she had longed for since they were together.  He fought with everything within him which way to go – hold her – or hold back.  She watched the battle as it raged, waiting for the victor.  With every ounce of strength and discipline he had ever possessed, he finally broke their gaze and stepped back.  As soon as he moved, her face twisted into a mask of misery and her tears rushed her out of the room.

*****

Neither of them spoke a word to each other in the days that followed.  When Buffy came in that first morning, she planned on asking him why he never called.  Now, there was no reason for them to talk.  She avoided Willow for a few days, telling her she had things to catch up on.  Willow knew her too well to keep any secrets from her and Buffy didn’t feel like talking to her or anyone.  As hard as it was to be in the same space with Angel she endured it, finding at least his physical presence comforting.  She had become used to it.  She stayed in the office at lunchtime and went straight home after work.

Angel made himself scarce as much as he possibly could.  He left the room for breaks, trying to give her some space.  He didn’t dare look her way when he was there.  He couldn’t stand to see her in pain especially knowing he was the cause of it.  But, a small, guilty part of him was grateful she was still there in the office.  He needed to feel her near, even if it was all he could have.  He worried that she might ask to be transferred, as all his other officemates had done.  The irony didn’t escape him.  The rest had never wanted to be anywhere near him, he hadn’t even noticed them.  Now the only one who did, the only one he had ever wanted in his entire life to be near, he had turned away.

*****

Buffy could only keep Willow from knowing what happened for so long.  She gave her the barest explanation, saying she and Angel went out on a date.  She told her friend that things hadn’t worked out, her eyes pleading with Willow to just let it go.  The redhead knew, of course, that there was more, but also knew it would be no use trying to get Buffy to talk about it.  Willow often wondered what Buffy had gone through before she and her family arrived in Sunnydale.  Buffy told her about Pike and her father, but Willow guessed she left a lot out, as she was doing now.

Although Willow didn’t pry or try to draw out more than her best friend was willing to share, she did insist that Buffy spend more time with her and Tara.  Willow invited her to dinner several times, suggesting it was time for her to get to know Tara better.  Buffy finally agreed, too tired to fight her anymore.  It was as good a reason as any not to stay home and mope.

Buffy liked the quiet blonde who obviously doted on Willow.  She watched them as they did the dishes after the table was cleared.  Heads bent together, they teased and laughed happily with one another.  The affection was clearly mutual.  The face of her best friend lit up with no more than a glance from her partner.  Buffy was glad for both of them, but it made her woefully aware of how lonely she was.

She had been alone for a very long time.  Angel had filled that empty place, she thought, making her heart contract painfully.  He made her feel wanted, needed – special – something no one else had ever done.  Her feelings towards Angel had come as such a sudden shock that the idea of needing to protect her heart from him never even occurred to her.  She should have, she thought wryly.

She stayed in Willow’s dining room, putting things away, trying not to think about her love life or lack of one.  Buffy had never been seriously involved with anyone.  She had always been popular and had dated frequently, but none of the relationships had grown very deep.  There had never been anyone who touched her heart as Angel did.  Perhaps she had guarded against that kind of an attachment, shielding herself from caring too much.  Angel had been a challenge, a puzzle, not someone she ever expected to love.  That hadn’t been the plan.

But she knew protecting herself against Angel wasn’t the real problem.  It was the other way around.  She knew something in his past had devastated him and she had blindly ignored it.  She was the one who tried to force him out of his shell.  Thinking she knew what was best, she hadn’t been able to resist drawing him out.  She had only managed to make his life worse, making him retreat even more.  She had hurt him and herself.  Now he was gone, she was to blame and she didn’t even know why.  She had no right to be angry with him, yet she was.  It was all twisted and wrong and she hated herself for what she had done to both of them.

Hadn’t she done just as badly in her relationships with Pike and her father?  Hadn’t she learned she couldn’t provide whatever it was they had needed?  How foolish to expect anything had changed.  Angel leaving without a word convinced her she was right.

Buffy thanked Willow and Tara for the dinner and company.  She made her way home trying to ignore the fact that instead of the visit cheering her up, it had depressed her miserably.

After a week or so, Buffy started pulling herself together.  She was wounded more deeply than she ever had been, but knew she was the cause of her own pain.  She told herself she had to move on.  Move on, just as she’d always done in the past.  Whomever she loved would leave her, then she’d rebuild her life again with what was left.  But in this instance, she had no one to blame but herself.  She wondered if this time there was anything left to salvage.  But she forced herself anyway.

She was determined to put everything behind her, start fresh and go from there.  Forcing a smile on her face, Buffy joined the rest in the Friday night get-together.  Seeing a flyer at the grocery store, she signed up for a martial arts class just for the physical release it provided.  She continued on, pretending everything was all right in her world.

Although the chief drawback to her plan sat behind her every day, she persevered.  They’d even begun to speak to each other again, be it haltingly and only when necessary.  They were awkward around each other, never getting too close physically.  It was almost more than she could bear.  But, she refused to let her personal life interfere with her work, however painful it might be.  Moreover, in her heart she knew she couldn’t stand the thought of not at least being near him.

*****

Buffy had promised her best friend she would meet her at Willy’s for their regular Friday night gathering.  She hadn’t wanted to go the week before any more than she did now.  But it was better than sitting home with time she didn’t know how to fill.

She’d felt like a cardboard cutout at the pub, smiling and laughing, not meaning any of it.  She couldn’t tear her mind away from thinking of the Friday she had spent with Angel.  As much as the memory tormented her, it did just as much to soothe.  Remembering his voice and his touch still gave her a feeling of completion that she’d never experienced before.  Being jostled by a boisterous crowd only made her more keenly aware of his soft quiet manner and his absence.

She told herself she wouldn’t give in, that she’d join Willow tonight and focus on having fun.  She couldn’t keep hoping to be with Angel, she had to learn to let him go.

It was five o’clock and Buffy wasn’t staying late, she had told Willow she’d be there right after work.  She shut down her laptop, zipping it in its satchel and got her purse out of her desk drawer.  She saw Angel neatly laying things in his briefcase and snapping it shut.  He was waiting to let her go through the door first.  She started to walk past him when she felt her foot catch on a crack in the tile floor.  She had been concentrating so hard on not looking at Angel when she passed by, that it caught her off balance and she pitched forward, twisting to avoid falling.

Angel was there in an instant, his hands gently catching her close.  She ended up safely couched in his arms.  He sank to the floor, holding her in his lap.  His face was mere inches from hers and he couldn’t turn his eyes away.  She was so beautiful and she felt so right in his arms.  He could feel the energy crackling between them.  He watched her eyes grow round and fill with tears, her mouth trembling to keep from crying.

For a moment Buffy couldn’t move, she was lost in those dark, soulful eyes.  They were filled with the same intense longing and love she felt herself.  It was too much.  “I’m sorry, Angel,” she sobbed, tears spilling down from her lashes, “It was my fault.”

He winced. “No, Buffy …”  She had nothing to be sorry for.  He would catch her forever just to hold her like this.

He was right there, so achingly close, yet so far away.  She didn’t want to move, but stay right where she was.  She could smell that sweet, rich scent that was so Angel.  His large, warm hands glided up and down her back like an old habit, like he'd calmed her in the same loving way countless times.  She only wished it were true.  She knew if she didn’t get up now she would never be able to stay away from him.  If only she was what he needed, but she wasn’t.  Why couldn’t she ever be what anyone needed, especially Angel?  Instead she had made both their lives worse.

She tore herself away from him, pushing against him to find her footing and stand upright.  Looking down, unable to stop crying, she repeated, “It’s all my fault.  Everything that happened was because of me.”  With that she blindly grabbed for her purse off the floor and stumbled out the door.

Angel was so stunned he couldn’t move, could only watch her figure disappear out of sight.  He stayed there on the floor for long moments.  He stared down at his hands.  They had been filled with her only seconds ago and now they were empty ... again.  He sat back on his haunches.  “Her fault?” he exclaimed to the air around him.  How could she ever have thought what happened was her fault?  She was the only thing in the world that had ever mattered to him.  She had cared about him, gone out of her way to draw him out when no one else would come near him.  She loved him.  All he ever did in return was hurt her and the weight of the knowledge was crushing his heart.  The only thing left behind was her computer in its satchel on the floor beside him.

*****

Willow and Tara both kept looking towards the door, waiting for Buffy.  The rest of the crowd from work was already there when they arrived.  Buffy was nowhere to be seen and Willow wondered if she would even show up.  A half-hour went by before Willy called out, telling her she was wanted on the phone.  She knew it was Buffy begging off of her promise and was already listing the arguments in her head to use on her.  But once she heard Buffy’s voice thick with tears she knew she couldn’t force her to come.

“I’m sorry, Will.  I know you’re probably watching the door,” Buffy sniffed.

Willow nodded as her eyes shot to the front door, although Buffy couldn’t see her perform either act.  “Are you okay?” Willow asked.

“I-I’m just not feeling very well. I have a headache.”

“I could come over, maybe bring you something, some aspirin,” her best friend offered.

“No, don’t.  You deserve a night out.  I know you like being there.  And I think I should just lie down.”

“Buffy, if you need anything …”

“I’ll let you know, Will,” Buffy promised.  “I’m sorry I made you wait so long before I called.”

“That’s okay, but I’ll call tomorrow, just to make sure you’re all right.”

“'Kay, talk to you then.”

Willow went back to the table, sitting down heavily next to Tara.  Lost in thought she never even noticed Riley sitting nearby.

“I-is Buffy not coming?” Tara asked, already knowing the answer from the look on Willow’s face.

“No,” Willow said, speaking distantly, half-thinking out loud, “Something must have happened with Liam.”

“Angelus?” Tara queried, “Did they have another date?”  Willow had told her the week before that Buffy had gone out with Angel.  Tara knew her partner had talked to Buffy afterwards.  She got the impression from Willow that it had gone badly.

“No,” Willow said again, coming out of her reverie.  “I don’t really know.  Buffy didn’t actually mention him.  She just said she wasn’t feeling well.”  Willow said it in a way that Tara knew meant she didn’t want to discuss it any further.  Willow didn’t like to talk about her best friend’s problems even with Tara.  As close as Tara was to her, Willow was sorry she’d said anything to her about Buffy.

If Willow had turned around she would have seen Riley trying to hold down his blood pressure.  But she was still worried about Buffy and didn’t even know he was listening.  Riley had heard the few words between the two women and was still trying to process them.  Buffy went out with Psycho?  Didn’t she realize how dangerous he could be?  Riley warned her and she wouldn’t listen.  He was repulsed to think she would even consider spending any time with Angelus that wasn’t necessary.  How did Angelus manage to get her to go out on a date?  Riley knew it couldn’t have been Buffy’s idea.

No one else seemed to pick up on the serious threat Angelus presented.  Now it sounded like something had happened between them.  Riley had to make it clear to Buffy that it wasn’t safe for her to be around him.  And Riley couldn’t wait until he saw her at work.  He had to tell her now.  He made himself calm down so that no one would realize what he’d heard.  Waiting impatiently for a few minutes that seemed more like hours, he left as quietly as he could.  He didn’t want Willow or Tara to know he had overheard their discussion.  He knew Willow was very close to the petite blonde.  He wanted to talk to Buffy and didn’t want to take the chance of her friend realizing where he was going.

Spike, of course, noticed that Buffy was absent.  She didn’t make appearing there a weekly practice as religiously as some of the others.  He watched Riley leave not long after the boy arrived.  Spike thought it was odd, but he wasn’t that concerned.  He thought maybe Riley had given up staying since Buffy wasn’t there.  Or better yet, he’d given up the doe-eyed looks he’d been giving her and found someone else.  At least Spike hoped so, it seemed there were already too many men interested in her.  Spike had made it his business to follow the girl in question home one night to see where she lived.  At some point in time he hoped to visit her there himself.

He knew he’d spent way more time on this place than he should, literally months with nothing to show for it.  But during that time of watching and waiting and drinking his beer, he dwelled on all he had read about in his father’s file on the infamous Liam Angelus.  Spike’s anger and hatred of him and the impact he’d had on Spike’s life continued to grow.  Angelus was not only the cause of his sister’s death, but he’d taken Spike’s place in Daniel Holtz’ heart and still held it after all these years.  There was nothing left for Spike that Angelus hadn’t tainted.

Only two things kept him at Willy’s every Friday night.  His ever increasing desire for vengeance on Liam Angelus and his ever increasing desire for the lovely sweet thing Spike had kept his eyes on for months.

*****

A very long time after Buffy left, Angel had remained in the office.  He finally picked himself up off the floor, unconsciously stretching out the cramps in his legs as he stood up.  All he could picture were the tears streaming down her face as she ran from the room.  Falling heavily into his chair, he leaned his arms on his knees, his head and hands hanging down.  Holding her had brought back in vivid detail the night they were together.  Love had indelibly imprinted that night on his soul, from the first moment they touched until he forced himself from her bed.  ‘Love.’  Now, he thought despairingly, he knew what it was.

Helpless, he surrendered to the memories as they washed over him.  He loved her with everything in him.  He’d known it the moment she raised that beautiful little hand, calming and guiding him.  He’d felt it, burning with the same desire reflected in her eyes.  For him.  He never fathomed a feeling so idyllic could be as exquisitely real as pain.

Her lips and mouth had been so sweet, so welcoming.  His fingers traced his own lips feeling hers on them once more.  He remembered he had tried so hard those first few moments, just to taste, to be careful not to lose control.  Just to savor, not stay.  But those soft, seeking fingers and lips had burned a trail down to his neck, then his chest … and he was lost.  All thoughts of restraint vanished as he fell victim to her searing touch.  She sparked a blaze of want and need so strong it had burned around and within him.  But still he had waited, unable to believe a creature so splendid, so perfect could want him.  And then she laid her small hands on his to help him discover more of her.

He kept every touch, every sight and sound, every taste and smell that was Buffy.  His whole universe.  As he explored it, he safely stowed every movement and feeling in his soul.  She wanted him as much as everything in him screamed for her.  His mind couldn’t wrap itself around the concept and he couldn’t stay his hands or mouth any longer.

He worshipped every inch of her, taking long moments to soak every fiber of her into himself.  He covered the softness of her skin, kissing every velvety surface in his quest to know all of her.  Seeking every silken curve, every secret fold with trembling fingertips.  Yet, somehow, she felt so familiar, as if he were retracing well loved paths.  Her essence permeated him, he reveled in the taste and smell of her.  Then he finally sheathed himself deeply inside her, slowly filling her, feeling her open and draw him ever deeper.  All the while her warmth enfolded him, comforted him, enclosing him in her arms, bringing him home.  The energy he always felt at her touch flowed between them.  Waves of pure, indescribable bliss washed through him, moving him to a rapture he knew could never exist anywhere else.  And when he had called out her name, exploding with her in incomparable ecstasy, he felt how profound that love could be.

She filled his heart and soul as much as his body, completely encompassing him.  He hadn’t been able to stop making love to her again and again.

Angel pulled back in his chair, rubbing a tired hand over his eyes, trying to quell the ache rising in his chest.  He didn’t know how long he’d been there, lost in remembrances of what he knew he could never have again.  After standing up, he bent to pick up Buffy’s satchel, then reached for his own case.  He closed the door behind him, walking slowly out of the building to his car.  He didn’t even try to start it, just sat there, still in a stupor from the remembered images and from Buffy’s last words.

All this time he thought she knew.  He was the reason he never dared stay with her ... when that’s all his heart and soul cried out for him to do.  How could she even think she was to blame?  She was perfect, was everything he had been dreaming of for months.  She was never out of his thoughts for a second.  God, he loved her!  He felt his heart wrench even more.

If it weren’t for him none of this would ever have happened.  Now he thought of the look in her eyes and it crushed him.  Even when he tried to do what was best for her, he kept hurting her.  And he hadn’t even known just how badly until this moment.  He knew he couldn’t be with her.  He had nothing to give her except his love and that wasn’t enough.  She deserved so much more.  But he couldn’t let her think any of this was her doing, he had to make that clear to her.  His gaze fell on her satchel.  Starting the car, he put it in reverse, backing out, then turning it towards her apartment.  He wasn’t going to let her think a moment longer that she had ever done anything wrong.

*****

Buffy hung up the phone from Willow.  She glanced at the kitchen, but her stomach lurched at the thought of food.  Collapsing on the couch she laid her head on the arm of it and closed her eyes, feeling exhausted.  Taking a shower and changing seemed like such a long process, even the small act of walking as far as the bedroom.  She couldn’t stop the tears that she’d been holding back.  Too numb from the unexpected crush of being in Angel’s arms, she couldn’t force herself to even search for tissues.  Tugging at the corner of the scarf she was wearing, she dried them as they seeped from beneath her closed lids.  She knew if she had a mirror it would show swollen, red-rimmed eyes.  It made her wonder briefly … there had to be a tear limit somewhere, didn’t there?

She had no idea how long she’d been curled into the cushions when she heard a knock at her door.  She couldn’t imagine who was there, but wasn’t in the mood to see anyone.  With a sigh of tired resignation she opened the door to find Riley.

“Buffy,” Riley said, moving through the door without waiting for an invitation.  He grabbed her by the arms looking her over closely.  “Did he hurt you?”

“Did who hurt me?” she asked, pulling her arms out of his grasp and backing away from him.

“Angelus!” Riley stated flatly.  He moved towards her, holding his hands up as if to calm her.  “I know he hurt you.  I tried to warn you but you wouldn’t listen.”

Buffy looked at him incredulously, still backing away while she tried to figure out what he was talking about.  “Why would you think he hurt me?”

“I can see you’ve been crying, Buffy, you can’t hide it.  I just want to know what he did and I’ll take care of him for you.”  He tried to lower his voice, trying to keep himself in check.  He just wanted to comfort her and she kept moving away like he was the bad guy.  ‘What did Angelus do to her?’

“Take care …” she fumbled with his words.  “Riley, I don’t know what you think happened, but Angel would never lay a finger on me.  Who have you been talking to?”  She couldn’t imagine where he got the idea that Angel had harmed her.

“Angel!” Riley exclaimed. “That’s what he told you to call him?  He’s sick, Buffy.  I know he’s done something to you.  Why won’t you tell me?  I’m only trying to help.”  All the time he’d been trying to get closer to her she had continued to move back until she felt the wall behind her.  Riley was standing directly in front of her.

“Riley!” she yelled at him, putting her hands on his chest to keep him away. “I already told you.  He would never hurt me.  I appreciate your concern, but it’s none of your business.  Please leave!”  With that she pushed him, trying to get herself away from the wall.

“No, Buffy!” he said, frustrated in his attempts to make her realize the danger.  He hovered over her, refusing to move.  “Just listen …”

They both heard the door open and crack against the wall behind them.  Before Riley could turn his head, he heard a deep, voice growl menacingly, “She told you to leave her alone, boy!”

Riley was picked up by scruff of his neck, dragged across the room and tossed, like a rag doll, into the hall.  His head hit the wall, leaving him stunned.

Buffy blinked her eyes as Riley landed outside her door and Angel turned, pulling her close.  She could hear his heart pounding madly against her ear as his arms pressed her tightly against his chest.  She instinctively leaned into his embrace.

“Did he hurt you?” Angel asked anxiously as he pulled back, his eyes wildly scanning every inch of her.

“N-no ... I’m all … Angel!” she broke off and suddenly cried his name as she saw Riley come back through the door.

Riley staggered towards Angel, raising his fist unsteadily, still dazed.  Angel pivoted around, shielding Buffy behind him.  Riley came at him throwing a wild punch with his right hand, which Angel easily blocked with his left as he finished turning.  Buffy watched, moving to the side, as Angel’s other arm pulled back and his fist shot into Riley’s face.  She heard the bones crack and saw blood spurt from Riley’s nose as his head glanced back from the blow.

“How dare you touch her!”  Angel growled at him again.  More concerned with Buffy, Angel turned to her once more, gently pushing her back into the safety of the kitchen.

Riley reflexively ran his fingers over his nose as he regained his balance.  His face contorting in anger, he ground out, “You’re the one who shouldn’t be touching her.”

He came up behind Angel, pulling him back with his hands on both of his shoulders.  Angel threw his weight back on his left leg, then pitched it forward as he swung his right foot around.  The move forced Riley back.  The momentum in Angel’s body as he twisted to face him was enough to send his fist plunging deep into Riley’s stomach.  Riley folded and fell to the floor on his side.

Angel’s glance hurried back to Buffy.  She was leaning against the counter, her eyes wide with shock.  He heard Riley stir.  Before Riley could get up, Angel grabbed him by his collar and ejected him through the open door.  As Riley tried to crawl away, Angel hauled him up, choking Riley’s jacket around his throat.

“Don’t even think about coming near her again. Ever!”  Angel snarled as he half-dragged, half-carried the larger man down the hall.  He deposited him in a heap on the lawn.  Angel’s muscles were tensed, ready to spring.  He wanted Riley to give him a reason to hurt him.  If Riley had left even one mark on Buffy he’d kill him.

“I only came here to warn her about you.  You’re the one who needs to stay away from her,” Riley told him as he dragged himself to his feet to face him.  He could see the feral look in Angel’s eye.  Riley knew how dangerous the man was.  He watched Angel move with the grace of a big cat, ready to pounce on its prey.

“Is that how you warn someone, Finn?  Force them against their will?  Even when they scream, ‘no’ you don’t stop?”  Angel queried in an ominous voice as he continued around him.  “Or are you still playing games?”

“Don’t try to make it about me, Angelus.  She was crying before I got here.  I know you’re the reason.”  Riley wasn’t going to let Angelus turn things around.  He knew the man before him had done something to Buffy and he meant to find out.

“I would never harm her!” Angel growled, closing the space between them.

Riley kept turning to keep Angel in his view.  “What did you do to her?  Why was she crying?”

“It doesn’t concern you.  She told you to leave.”  Angel bit out.  He’d had enough of Finn fucking with his life.  Angel didn’t want him anywhere near Buffy again, ever.

“Did you lose control with her like this?  Is that why she was crying?”  Riley asked, his voice rising.  “I didn’t see any storm.  Do you lose it without one now?”

Angel snapped.  Riley thought he had been ready for him, but Angel leapt, knocking him down with a flying kick before he could move.  Angel landed straddling Riley’s chest, raining blows down on him blindly.  Riley fought to keep the fists from flying at him.

“Angel!”  Buffy yelled from the door.  She had been so shocked she felt rooted to the kitchen floor until she heard Angel dragging Riley outside.  Everything happened so fast, she was unable to react.  When she ran down the hall and reached the door she heard Riley taunting Angel.  She saw Angel kick Riley to the ground.  Riley’s face was bruised and bloodied as Angel’s fists pounded him in a flurry of movement.  She knew it wouldn’t take much for Angel to finish what he had started.  “Angel!” she yelled more loudly and ran to pull him back.

At Buffy's touch on his shoulder, Angel stopped.  He pushed his hands hard onto Riley’s chest to raise himself up.  He stood up and backed away a few feet, never taking his eyes off his adversary.  Angel stared down at him, breathing heavily, anger and hatred flashing in his eyes.  Buffy stepped between them as she watched Riley shake his head and roll over to his knees, then push up from the ground.

Riley looked at her in shock as she moved away from him and back towards Angel. “You’re protecting him?” he shouted.

She looked at him in disbelief, feeling the anger rolling off Angel, inches behind her.  “No, Riley,” she enunciated clearly, “I’m protecting you!”

“Protec …” he sputtered.  “You saw what he can do and you’re not afraid?”

“I told you,” Angel blazed, “I’d never hurt her!”  He knew Riley was no threat, but he moved forward, until Buffy was safe against his chest.  He couldn’t stop as he circled his arms around her waist, drawing her closer.  “If you want to live,” he rumbled at Riley, “get gone!”

Buffy felt the power humming through Angel’s body.  She turned in his arms and raised her hand to his face.  Looking up at him, she said quietly, “Please, Angel.  There was never any doubt.  You could never harm me.”  He looked down at the trust shining in her eyes.  After a few seconds she felt the tension ease and the fight go out of him.  She twisted around as Angel kept her in his embrace.  She looked at the man before them and said, “Please leave, Riley.”

Riley still couldn’t believe what he saw.  “Buffy!  You don’t know about him, he …”

“Riley!” she raised her hand to a stop.  “Enough!  I told you, it’s none of your business.  I want you to leave.”

Riley shook his head.

She cut him off as he opened his mouth to speak.  “I won’t call the police, Riley, but if you don’t go, I’ll report what happened to Walsh,” she said quietly.

Riley stood staring at her, blood dripping down from his face.  He finally made a sound of disgust, gave both of them one last look and limped dejectedly off to his car.

The two stood there as if molded into one.  Neither wanted to move.  Buffy let her head rest against Angel’s chest, feeling his arms tighten around her.  She was content to revel in the feel of him surrounding her.  Nothing could ever harm her there.  There was no place, no place like Angel’s love.  Angel was still working through the instant panic he had felt at seeing her in jeopardy.  She was safe now … and she felt so perfect there, fitting as though she were a missing piece of him.  ‘How can I ever leave her?’  He tried to swallow the lump that felt like a rock lodged in his throat.

Looking down at his hands, she finally moved, pulling them up for examination.  “I need to clean these cuts,” she told him.  Keeping his hands in her grasp, she gave him a soft tug towards the apartment.

He didn’t argue with her, but followed quietly behind.  The adrenaline was still pumping through him, although his anger had melted away with her look.  He saw her satchel lying on the hallway carpet near her door, where he had dropped it.  Picking it up, he laid it on the table by the couch, then went back to check the lock on her door.  The force he used flinging the door open hadn’t damaged it.

Angel had driven to where she lived.  Parking the car he had grabbed her satchel and walked into the building, to her apartment.  He heard the voices before he reached her door.  All he needed to hear was Buffy shouting at Riley to leave and Riley’s, ‘No’ before he kicked in the partially opened door.  He had gone mad with rage at the sight of Buffy pinned against the wall with Riley bent over her, inches away.  Some part of his brain registered that she could protect herself, but the idea of her in any danger had terrified him beyond lucid thought.  He’d grabbed Riley on pure instinct to keep her from harm.  Angel would do anything it took to protect her.  It frightened him now to realize how far he knew he would go.

Buffy shook her head as she looked from the door to him and saw him start to say something.  She knew he was going to blame himself for everything.  “No, Angel, don’t be sorry,” she said, “You didn’t know what was happening. But I’m glad you came.”  She went into the bathroom as she spoke, returning with a first aid kit.

“What was happening?” he asked.  He hadn’t given it any thought until now.  She didn’t care for Riley, so what was he doing there?  He knew she hadn’t invited him.

Pushing him gently down to the couch, she opened the kit and reached for his hands.  She answered as she dabbed the wounds with cotton, “He came to warn me about you.  He thought you had hurt me.”  As Angel tried to pull his hands back at her words, she held them more firmly.  “I already told you, I know you’d never do that.”

Angel’s knuckles had taken the worst of the punishment, or rather they’d doled it out.  His left hand had just a few scrapes. The right one though had a fairly deep cut, probably from where it connected with a nose that was now broken.

The wound was a little above the scar that still showed traces of purple and blue after all this time.  Buffy made a soft smiley sniffle, as she thought of the very first time that she had seen Angel and his mangled bandaging.  She’d had such an overpowering urge at the sight of his handiwork to fix it for him, to make it all better.  She was caring for him now as she had seen herself doing all those months ago.

She didn’t know Angel was remembering exactly the same thing.  He was mesmerized watching her real flesh and blood hands tending him now instead of just imagining it.  She held the gauze in place as she gently laid the tape around the edges.  She bent over, so intent on her task she didn’t feel Angel, unable to deny himself, press a gentle kiss in her hair.

When she was done she looked at him with such love and tenderness it nearly broke him.  His pulse was still racing.  Being this close to her made it hard to keep his emotions in check.  He loved the feel of her hands on him.  He never wanted her to stop touching him.

And he didn’t want to hurt her anymore, didn’t want to have the conversation that was inevitable.  He waited a few more minutes, trying to calm down.  He didn’t know how he was going to tell her not to love him when he knew he could never stop loving her.  But he had to, he knew he wasn’t worth it.  Look how much pain he’d already brought her after only one night together.  A night he would never take back, the only thing he would have left of her.  He stayed quiet long moments after she finished dressing his wounds.  He finally brought both her hands together and held them inside his own.

“I hurt you, Buffy,” he said softly, his head bowed down over their hands.  “You should have listened to him.”

Buffy could tell by the tone that she didn’t want to hear anything more he was going to tell her.  She had felt the emotions coursing through him when he held her.  She’d waited so long for him to hold her again.  Startled as she was when he materialized clutching her to him, he made her feel so safe, so grounded.  It felt right.  When he’d burst through the door, she had been shocked at the depth of his rage.  She was sure she would have been able to take care of Riley herself, but to see Angel charging to her defense had made her shiver with his fury.  She knew it had all been for her.  One look at the frenzied wrath written on his face had made her fear for Riley's life.  In Angel’s eyes, she could see the threat of death to anyone who would dare harm her and it shook her to her core to see how much he loved her.  This wasn’t the quiet, reserved Angel who shared her office with barely a word or gesture to anyone.  But she understood instantly what a force he must have been to reckon with when he was an agent.

When he’d pulled her against him outside on the lawn, she still hadn’t had time to wonder how he had suddenly appeared.  Or ask what had brought him there the moment she needed him.  She had just wanted to stay there … forever.

Leading him back inside after Riley was gone, she hoped Angel had come to apologize for leaving her and for staying away.  When she looked in his eyes at the office she couldn’t stop herself from telling him the truth.  She wanted him to tell her that she was wrong, that her love was enough to overcome what had stopped him.  That he wasn’t keeping himself away because she couldn’t help him enough, that she wasn’t enough.  She hoped he had come to share what it was that made him leave her that night.  Just as her heart had started to beat again, she could feel it slowing down, thudding against her breast, not wanting him to go any further.

“Riley didn’t know what he was talking about.  He thought I had bruises.”  She tried to fend him off, trying but failing miserably to think of a way to keep him from continuing.

He finally looked up, dark, troubled eyes piercing into hers.  “Just because the bruises don’t show, doesn’t mean they aren’t there,” he said gently.  “I’ve hurt you ever since I met you.  I’ve never done anything but bring others pain.  I didn’t … don’t want to do that to you.”

“No, Angel,” she denied, grasping his fingers tightly.  “It’s only painful when you’re not there.  It hurts when you won’t tell me what’s wrong.”

He shook his head slowly.  “You and me being together is unfair to you.  You deserve something outside my demons and darkness.”  He hung his head, closing his eyes to the image of her being with anyone else, but made himself finish.  “You should be with someone who can be with you in the light.  Someone to make love to you.”

“You made love to me, Angel!” she cried, not able to stem the flood as tears suddenly washed out of her eyes.  Her hands flew to his shoulders, shaking them gently.  “It was the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me.  I never knew until then that I didn’t know what making love was, not until I was with you.  It’s my fault you left.”

Raising his head at the desperate sound in her voice, he was astonished and humbled by her guileless admission.  His bandaged hand found her cheek, the pad of his thumb erasing her tears.

Her eyes were huge, round pools of salty green.  “Please, Buffy,” he whispered hoarsely as he drowned in them, “I never had anything as precious as you in my life.”  He brushed back strands of hair, silken against his fingers.  “It was beautiful.  I’ll never be sorry for that night, except for what it’s done to you now.  Look at how much I’m still hurting you.”  Lifting his other hand to cradle her face, drying the rest of her tears as he stroked it, he held her gaze.  “It’s not you who’s at fault.  It’s me.  Please, never, ever think it’s anything you’ve done.”

“Don’t you see, Angel,” she begged him, trying to make him understand.  She reached up tracing her finger down his face.  “It is me.  It’s what I haven’t done …”

“No!” he admonished her, “You’re perfect!” tilting her face gently, “You’re everything I could ever want.  I’ve never known anyone or anything as wondrous as you.  You’re the most amazing thing to ever happen to me.”  He’d promised himself he wouldn’t get too close again, but he couldn’t bear to see her grief.  He dropped his hands to pull her against his chest, wrapping his arms around her tightly.  His lips brushed the top of her head.  “I love you, Buffy.”  He sighed, resting his head lightly on hers, and just sat there, holding her.  He shouldn’t have told her, even though she already knew.  All this would only make it harder for both of them, but he was helpless to move.  After long, heartbreaking moments he tried to explain.  “I’m trying to do what’s right.  I’m trying to think with my head, not my heart,” he whispered fervently.

“But what about my heart, Angel?” she broke in and pulled away.  Leaning her head back to make him look at her, “I love you,” she said passionately.  “Do you think I have a choice in it?  Do you think I can just turn it off?  I’m never going to change. I can’t change.”

“You have to find a way to do just that, Buffy,” Angel told her, gazing down at her sadly.  “This can’t work with us.  Loving me won’t ever be something good for you.  I’ve never been any good for anyone.  There’s so much about me you don’t know.  Whoever you think I am, I’m not and never can be.  You deserve someone else so much better for you than I am capable of being.  I can only drag you down.  I won’t let you waste yourself with me.”

“I want my life to be with you,” she made one last plea, trying to hold onto his arms as she felt him pull away.

He cringed, hearing the same desperation that had been in his own voice as she echoed his words.  He gently caught her slender hands and held them once more in his bruised ones.  He hated to say it.  It sliced through him to even think it, but it was for her.  It was she who was important.  He had to let her go.  He couldn’t keep her in the half-life he led.  He finally dropped her hands and moved back.

“I don’t,” he told her as he got to his feet.  He looked down at her one last time, then walked to the door and quietly let himself out.

Buffy couldn’t stop sobbing after he left.  She felt like she had been so close.  He had finally told her he loved her … and then walked out her door.

[end chapter 9]

Chapter X

Riley entered his office as quietly as possible Monday morning, but Xander spotted him the moment he walked in.

“Wow,” he exclaimed, “hate to see the other guy.”

Riley didn’t bother to reply, but went to his desk and sat down.  He couldn’t remember landing one punch on Angelus, which did nothing to improve his mood.

Xander, not picking up on Riley’s tension, blathered on, “It looks like what they say about two for one is true, huh?”

“What’s that?” Riley finally asked.

“That you get two black eyes for one broken nose,” Xander told him.  A closer look at Riley’s expression rather than the bruises decorating his face and Xander caught on he might be better off not pursuing that particular subject.  Xander was more than curious to know what and who had happened to Riley, but not brave enough to ask.

Riley turned back to his desk, not even bothering to answer.  Grabbing a sheaf of file folders, he absently thumbed through them.  Moments went by, but instead of working he was still staring at them blankly.  He couldn’t decide which angered him more, letting that psychotic asshole get the best of him or seeing Buffy protecting the cretin.  It disgusted him to think she preferred Angelus over him … and it hurt.  He really liked Buffy, liked her from the moment he saw her.  But no matter how hard he tried, she’d never given him a flicker of interest and it rankled, especially to be tossed over for the likes of that maniac.

He scowled at the manila covers still clutched in his hands.  Angelus had been the bane of his existence for far too long.  First his career, now his girl.  Finn shook his head.  They’d placed a madman in a position he should never have been allowed to fill.  Initially, Riley had been as shocked as everyone else when Liam Angelus lost it and ended up in a mental ward.  But seeing him later, once he was released and working again, Riley wondered why someone hadn’t discovered the truth about Angelus sooner.  Riley figured he must have really had everyone fooled for a long time.  Finn didn’t deny the man was brilliant, bordering on genius – but he was nuts.  Money got him in, no reason to think it wasn’t how Angelus got the promotion to head his own unit too.

He remembered when he had been assigned to Angelus’ section.  All the taciturn leader had to do was say something and it was done, no questions asked.  The veterans in the group treated Angelus like he was the head of the whole Bureau, not just their team.

It wasn’t that Riley couldn’t follow orders, he was well aware what would be expected of him and had always tried to be a team player.  The trouble was Liam Angelus.  The man was cold, merciless and unyielding.  He was a hard taskmaster, making every recruit give every fraction of strength and stamina he possessed without so much as a word of encouragement for one of them.  Angelus didn’t solicit any of the recruits’ advice or opinions for fresh, new ideas, a big mistake by Finn’s way of thinking.  He tried to approach his new superior several times and in every instance Angelus gave him that fathomless gaze, turning away from Riley without even speaking.

He wasn’t the only one put off by his chilly, impassive manner.  But the more seasoned agents assured the new men that once they were in the field they would find for themselves why the rest of the squad chose to ignore Angelus’ phlegmatic behavior.  They knew from experience that the tall, powerfully built senior agent had a mind that never stopped working, a mind that had kept all of his agents alive.  Theirs was the only crew that could claim that particular achievement.

Riley had loved the chance to work in the infamous FBI.  But the longer he was there, the more disenchanted he became with how things were done.  He knew he could do as good, even better a job than Liam Angelus.  Finn thought if he could show everyone how much he had to offer it would help him stand out.  He knew he could excel if he was only given the chance.  And he had thought the training exercise was the perfect opportunity.

The disturbing stab of guilt Riley felt angered him.  What did he have to feel guilty about?  He threw the files down he was holding with a loud slap, making his co-worker jump at the sound.  Not even noticing Xander’s reaction, he rubbed a hand across his forehead, trying to block out the day that had spelled the ruin of his career as an agent.  His gesture did little good.  The only thing that accomplished that feat was increasing amounts of liquid oblivion.  Even that only dulled it, smoothing the sharp edged memories that over time cut deeper and deeper into his conscience.  Glancing at the digital clock on his desk, he sighed despondently, there were hours to go before even that last resort was an option.

*****

Later that morning Xander happened to be in the break room with Riley when Angelus walked in.  He could feel Riley tense the moment the other man appeared.  Angelus never gave either of them a glance while he took his time pouring coffee into his cup.  He turned at the very last moment and shot what almost looked like a smirk in Finn’s direction, then leisurely walked back out of the room.  Xander heard the sound of breaking glass and looked over to see the mug Riley had been holding, lying in pieces against the wall.

*****

“Hello, Cordy,” Angel tried to keep his voice from betraying how utterly hopeless he really felt … and failed miserably.  Less than a week had gone by since he had thrown Finn out of Buffy’s apartment.  And since Angel had forced himself out of her life – again.  It was Wednesday night and he’d been dreading hearing the phone ring.  Cordy always called every other week without fail.  He'd managed to fend off her last call by telling her he didn't feel well that night.  It hadn't been a lie, he'd never felt worse, except maybe until now.  He wondered if he should just let the phone keep ringing when she called, but only for a moment.  Not picking it up would bring his sister pounding on his door in record time.  He certainly didn’t want to see her face to face.

“Angel?” Cordy hesitated.  In just two words she knew something had happened.  Her heart dropped a little.  He had sounded so … different … the last few months.  He was decidedly different now too, but not in a good way.  This wasn't even old Angel, this was worse.

“Yes?” ‘Damn,’ Angel cursed silently.  He wasn’t good at subterfuge, at least not with Cordelia, she knew him all to well.

“Is everything going okay?” she asked, knowing it was pointless getting him to really confide in her, but not having a lot of options.  She didn't ask if he'd really been sick, why bother?

“I have to go away,” he suddenly thought to tell her.  Anything to draw her away from probing too deeply.

“Away?” she echoed.  “Why?”  Angel never went anywhere anymore.  When he was in the field it wasn’t uncommon.  Who knew where he’d be from one week to the next.  But he always tried to let her know if he wouldn’t be there for her call so she wouldn’t worry.  Since he’d gotten the job in Analysis, whatever that was, he had never gone anywhere.

“They want to make a computer program about some of the work I’m involved in.  I have to go to share information they need to develop it,” he told her.  He didn’t want to go.  He didn’t care for computers invading what little space he had, but it was the ‘being gone’ part that really bothered him, which it shouldn’t.  It wasn’t like he had anything or anyone keeping him from going, he thought ruefully.

“Well, that’s a good thing, right?  I mean that they need you to help them with it?”  She didn’t know that much about what he did, other than it was totally boring.  Angel had a knack for boring.  He would sit with his nose deep in dusty books for hours.  A lot of his books weren't even in English, and not even interesting, like novels, let alone something with pictures.  No, his reading choices would invariably have facts, figures and no fun.  She was always a bit surprised he didn’t like computers, they were filled with that kind of stuff.

“Yeah,” he said without conviction, “so they tell me.”

“So, when do you go?  How long will you be gone?” Cordy questioned automatically.

“The end of this week, for two or three days, depending on how long it takes to get what they need,” he answered dispiritedly.

“Just you?” she asked, pressing a bit more, knowing it wasn’t the trip that had put such an ache in his voice.  “Doesn’t your co-worker have to be there too?”  Angel had only mentioned his officemate twice in other conversations, not realizing it until too late.  But just the way his voice caressed her name let Cordelia know exactly who had been behind his subtle, nevertheless amazing, transformation.  As she expected, she heard a painful intake of air at her questions.

“No,” he said, forcing a lightness into his voice he didn’t feel and doubted he would fool her with, “No one, but me, I’m the one who has all the theories.”

Taking one more direct shot Cordy said as lightly in return, “I thought you and what’s her name?  Buffy?  Thought that’s what she was there for too.”

“She has another assignment,” Angel answered a little too quickly, then tried to cover saying, “This isn’t the only thing she has to do.”

“Whatever,” Cordelia wisely decided to leave it at that.  She wasn't blind, deaf or dumb.  She was sure that wasn't all 'Buffy' was capable of doing either.  The name dropping, the lilt in his voice, the incredible slip he made accidentally spilling about Buffy's party invitation.  Cordy had almost bitten her tongue off hearing that one.  If Buffy was the one who had lifted him up, then only she could have caused what sounded like the painful fall he was now trying to hide.  And Cordy knew without a doubt that Angel wouldn't willingly tell his own sister a word about any of it.

But she had other sources of information that she knew would get her further than trying to drag it out of him.  “Sounds like one of those boring male weekend business things anyway,” she told him.  Cordelia was already making plans of her own.

“Look, Cordy,” Angel said, unable to deal with any more explanations, "I have things I need to do, research to take with me.”  He could make it true, he rationalized, without admitting he was lying to her.  “I’ll call you when I get back and let you know how it went.”

“Don’t let me keep you from the world of fascinating figures,” she snarked, knowing a falsehood when she heard one.

“Then we’ll talk in two weeks,” he finished, “Good night, Cordy.”  He sighed with relief as he placed the phone in its cradle.  He didn’t need any more questions from Cordelia, she already knew more than he probably cared to assume.  He loved her dearly, but she was overly concerned about his welfare.

Cordy didn't even offer him an argument, which if Angel hadn't been so preoccupied morosely thinking of Buffy, might have caused him to wonder why.  She drummed her perfectly manicured fingernails lightly on the polished wood table holding the phone as she told Angel goodbye.  Curious as she had been about what was going on with Angel and with whom, she'd tried to stay out of things, she really had.  But no more.  Cordy hung up the phone, only to pick it back up and dial quickly.  “Aunt Dee? Hi, how are you?”  After listening to her reply she went on, “I’m good too.  Look, is Uncle Daniel there?  I really need to talk to him.”

*****

Holtz wasn’t at all surprised when his wife called him to the phone, in fact, he’d been waiting for Cordelia to call.  There were some things in life that were a given – his wife still worrying about him and his job after all these years, his daughter, Harmony, preening in a mirror, his son, Spike, looking for money – and Cordelia Chase checking up on her brother.

Cordy may have changed her name for her ‘inevitable stardom’, as she called it, but she hadn’t changed how she doted over Liam Angelus one bit.  As Harmony’s best and still closest friend since early childhood, Cordelia knew the Holtz family and their home as well as her own.  Holtz looked on Cordy as a second daughter, admiring the fire of the brash, outspoken brunette.  She was also a constant reminder of the debt he felt he owed her older brother.  He was very fond of Cordy in her own right, but she also gave him a close link to Angel.

The agency head knew he was using his position to manipulate a situation that had nothing to do with business.  And yet, he also knew if it wasn't for that very job, he wouldn't feel a need to be involved in Angel's life at all.

Never in all the years Holtz had known him had Angelus found anyone or anything that seemed to give him any kind of happiness or contentment.  Not until Angel met Buffy Summers.  There weren’t very many things Holtz wasn’t aware of in the younger man's job or life.  After Holtz had witnessed how Angel and Buffy interacted with each other in their presentation, he had made it a point to find out all he could about their relations to date.

He heard about the thunderstorm that forced Buffy to go home early one day.  He knew the late hours the two officemates kept, preparing for their presentation.  He also knew they met outside of working hours in the gym and at a party.  Holtz had even heard about the very recent altercation with Riley Finn, the young recruit who stood on the brink of unemployment for his actions, both two years earlier and presently.

Daniel Holtz had a fairly shrewd idea of what brought the blooming relationship to a halt.  Angelus.  After years of watching over Angel, he was painfully aware of how low an opinion the stoic former agent had of himself.  Holtz, like Cordelia, thought Angel needed a little help that her brother wasn’t willing to give himself.

The elder FBI agent almost felt guilty using Cordelia.  He had ordered Walsh to set up an immediate training conference for Angelus to attend.  And he also told her to find an assignment that would keep Buffy Summers from accompanying her officemate.  He hoped a short absence and a little interference from Angel’s sister would improve the situation.  Holtz knew it was only a matter of time before his phone would ring.

“Cordy,” he greeted her when he took the phone from his wife, “what a pleasant surprise.”

*****

Buffy sat at her desk, forlornly holding her coffee mug with the big ‘B’ on it.  She pouted first at the mug, then his desk, her lower lip extending even further.  The space looked so big and empty without him to fill it.  Buffy missed Angel and he only left that morning.  Not that they were talking or even coming near one another.  It tore her apart every morning to see him.  But she knew it would be so much worse if he wasn’t there at all.  She was wrong, it was beyond worse, it topped anything she’d imagined.  He said he didn’t want her in his life, but she had held onto the comfort of his physical presence.  Now she didn’t even have that, at least for the next two or three days.  She had an irrational feeling of being robbed.  It was Friday.  Bad enough the weekend was starting, but she was being cheated, having to endure one extra day of no Angel.  And weekends weren’t something she looked forward to anymore.

Walsh had insisted that Angel attend a conference to try and translate his theories to a bunch of pencil-necked geeks.  Shortly after the presentation he and Buffy had done, they were informed of plans to extrapolate his theories in a computer program.  Angel told her at the time that he assumed they would both be requested to assist with the development.  He’d said it with a desperate tinge in his voice.  She knew how uncomfortable he would be being grilled about his work.  They both expected Buffy would fill the same role of translating Angel’s brilliance into mortalspeak.  While she supplied the computer assistance he needed, she was also the kind of mouthpiece for the duo.  But Walsh had made it clear Buffy was to stay behind.  Any computer work she usually performed for Angel could be handled by others attending the meeting.  Walsh had something else for Buffy to do.  She was assigned to work with Lindsey on a new case.

Angel hadn’t had much time to get acclimated to the idea of going, with or without her.  The date had been set up with amazing speed, considering the length of time anything of that nature usually took to plan.  To say Buffy was upset with Angel was an understatement.  But she loved him, that hadn’t changed.  And she was deeply concerned about him.  She worried how he’d handle the forced trip away from home.  She knew he was struggling with what lay between them as much as she was.  She hated to see him under any more pressure.  Mentally, he was strong, incredibly strong in some ways, which she was only too heartbreakingly aware.  But knowing he’d reached a breaking point at least once scared her, not knowing what might trigger a second.

Buffy traced the outline of the ‘B’ with her finger.  It was just a common everyday mug off the assembly line like any other.  But to her, it embodied the essence of her life.  Hard to live a full life with only a mug and a jacket for company.  ‘Great,’ she thought, ‘I’m making myself all weepy again.  I’ll have to drink more liquids just so I don’t dehydrate myself.’  She looked at her watch, which of course, had her eyes swimming in seconds, thinking of Angel gently grasping her wrist to peek at it.  She was so thankful when it was finally time for lunch.  She couldn’t eat anything if she tried, but she hated to be in the office … alone.

*****

Cordelia gave the guard a dazzling smile as he handed her the pass Uncle Daniel left for her at the gate.  She parked her car and walked in the entrance, realizing she had forgotten to ask for directions to Angel’s office.  She became aware of two pairs of eyes staring at her.  Both pairs belonged to men, which of course, didn’t surprise her at all.  A tall man with blonde hair and a shorter dark-haired man stood before her.

“Can I hold yo … I-I mean, can I help you?” the shorter of the two asked her.

Cordy laughed and replied teasingly, “Depends on which you plan on doing.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, flustered and trying to apologize, “I didn’t mean … I mean … I’m Xander.”

The larger man interrupted by smoothly stepping in front of the other saying, “I’m Riley, perhaps I can be of service, ma’am.”

Cordelia couldn’t help but notice the bruises on Riley’s face now that he was a bit closer.  “That looks like it had to hurt,” she couldn’t help saying.  Cordelia was nothing if not brutally blunt.

Riley reddened at her words and Xander used the opportunity to try his hand one more time.  “Are you looking for somewhere or someone in particular?” he asked as suavely as he could muster.

“Yes”, she told him, “I’m looking for Liam Angelus, do you know him?”  She wasn’t ready for the look of anger and sheer hatred she saw on Riley’s face, his hands flexing unconsciously upon hearing her brother’s name.  It wasn’t hard to figure out that might be where he got the battered makeover.

Xander glanced quickly at the man by his side, then waved his hand towards the hallway to his left saying, “He isn’t here, but his office is down the hall, third door on the right.  Can I get you some coffee or something?  Maybe leave him a message for you?” he asked, trying to ignore the tension that was palatable.

“No,” Cordy answered quickly, “Thanks, but no to the coffee and I can leave a message myself.  I appreciate your help, I think I can find my way from here.”

“Just a friendly word of warning,” Riley said in a low voice, before she could walk past them, “If I were you, I’d be glad he was gone.  Trust me, he’s not someone you want to get to know.”

“Who I get to know,” Cordy replied, her own voice firm and clear, “is entirely my decision.  But, in this case, I know him very well and there are few men who can hold a candle to him.”  With that she turned on her heel and walked down the hall without a backward glance at either of them.

*****

Buffy had taken her time and was late getting back to work.  Walking in the room her eyes widened in shock.  There was a very, very beautiful woman sitting in Angel’s chair … at Angel’s desk.  Buffy’s eyes went from open wide to narrow and green in nanoseconds.  She’d never asked him, but Buffy suddenly wondered about the other women in Angel’s life.  His one remark on the subject came back to haunt her; “I have actually seen a real live naked woman before.”  Funny she could remember something like that word for word.  She didn’t want to think about how many ‘real live naked’ ones he’d seen at all, especially if they looked anything like the high-priced whore sitting in front of her.  And okay, Buffy thought, she’d had relations with other men, but that wasn’t the point.  And there was a point in there somewhere.  In all honesty, another woman, as in other than herself, had never crossed her mind.  He told her he loved her and she loved him.  Other people had never figured into it after that.  Not until this very moment.

Buffy started, realizing she was staring at the woman with what had to be a wonderfully intelligent look.  One that probably equated her IQ rating around the same total as her age.

In the meantime, Cordelia was delighted.  She knew exactly what was running through the little blonde’s mind.  And she liked it.  Well, she liked the fact that the girl was jealous.  She hadn’t decided if she actually liked this Buffy chick.  It was definitely a mark in her favor that she reacted that quickly to the sight of an unknown woman in her brother’s chair.  Cordy thought a little possessiveness was a very good thing, or in this case evidently, a lot of it.

Moving towards her desk, Buffy never took her eyes off the obvious floozy.  Buffy had to admit she was beautiful.  Straight and tall, if she were standing, with long, flowing chestnut hair almost to her waist.  Her eyes, under exquisitely arched brows, were the same deep brown and they were gazing at Buffy in amusement.

“May I help you?” Buffy asked a bit frostily and not regretting it one bit.

“You might,” Cordelia answered without elaborating.

“Are you here to see An-Liam?” Buffy asked, immediately kicking herself for her usual slip with Angel’s name.  Just seeing the woman had unnerved Buffy more than she cared to admit.  And she didn’t like cat and mouse, especially when she was being cast as the rodent.

Cordelia caught the small lapse and intuitively knew the name she started to say hadn’t been ‘Angelus’ or she wouldn’t have stumbled over it.  Her own eyes widened a bit.  She knew her brother well and no one had called him ‘Angel’ in a very long time.  It didn’t seem likely he would have asked her to call him that.  Grudgingly, Cordelia had to give her another mark, regardless of how the girl had come to use his name.  As Cordelia turned to face her, something about the movement struck Buffy as intimately familiar.

“You’re Angel’s sister, Cordelia,” she said, without even being aware that this time she did use his nickname.  Now she could see the similarity between the siblings.  Amazing, Buffy thought, how the gene pool could be so generous to one family.

It was Cordelia’s turn to be caught off guard.  She wasn’t giving marks anymore.  It was more like ‘three strikes you’re out’ and the slender, golden-haired woman had bested her.  She was impressed, miffed, but impressed nonetheless.  If she was still grading her though, she could see why Angel had been attracted, even with his aversion to blondes.  She knew the quick intellect would be as big a draw to him, if not more, than her looks.  And she was already finding Buffy Summers to be one very quick little lady.  ‘Emphasis,’ Cordelia thought, openly eyeing the petite figure before her, ‘on little’.   She wasn’t sure yet about lady.

“Angel’s not here.  He’s at a confer …” Buffy trailed off only just realizing she’d used the familiar name not once, but twice.  And Cordelia didn’t seem surprised.

“I’m not here to see, Angel,” Cordelia purposely stressed. “I came here to meet you.”

“Me?  Why?” Buffy was dumbfounded.  A feeling she was already getting all too often around Angel’s sister.

“I wanted to see who he’s been talking about,” Cordelia replied honestly.

“He talks about me?” Buffy said in a tiny voice that immediately filled up with pain.

Cordelia saw the anguish reflected in Buffy’s eyes.  Her tone was an exact match to the misery Cordy had heard in Angel’s voice when she called him.  “Not in so many words.  He never uses more than he has to,” Cordy said a bit more softly.

Buffy told herself now was not the time to let go with the waterworks, especially in front of Angel’s sister.  But she didn’t get the message to her eyes in time and a few drops sneaked past her defenses.  “No, he’s the original ‘man of few words’,” she feebly joked.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, he let a few more slip out than he usually does.  More than he meant to, I’m sure,” Cordy told her.

“Is that why you wanted to see me?  Something that he said?” Buffy sniffled, grabbing a tissue from the box that had become an essential staple on her desk.  She dried her eyes, blew her nose and resolved no more crying in front of the relative of the man who had been her lover for a precious few hours.

“In a roundabout way, I suppose,” was Cordy’s answer.  “I love my brother very much.  He’s very important to me.  I don’t want to see him get hurt,” she added frankly.

Buffy felt her twenty-second resolution already wavering as she pulled the tissue box closer.  “I love him too,” she quietly admitted.  What was the point of trying to hide it when Cordelia already knew?  “I would never hurt him if I could help it.”  Buffy couldn’t stop her lip from quivering.

Cordelia felt herself softening even more.  She wasn’t even sure she liked Buffy, but there was no denying how the young woman felt about Angel.  Cordy thought she might be biased, but she could understand how someone could fall helplessly in love with her brother, with or without his help.  One look at Buffy Summers told her the feelings the two had for each other were very mutual and very deep.  And knowing her brother, it looked like he’d gotten on his white steed and ridden away to slay the dragon and left the damsel distressed.

Cordy was happy for Angel, even if he couldn’t see it … yet.  After all these years and all the pain she’d seen him in, she’d almost given up hope he’d ever find happiness.  He’d closed himself up and off for so long she had been afraid his castle keep was impregnable.  She didn’t know how Buffy got in, but she had to give her credit.  For Angel to finally find someone who had been able to climb into his ivy tower was amazing in itself.  The part about him jumping from said tower was classic Angel.  And she was damned if she was going to let him.  If Buffy needed help making her highly intelligent, dumbass brother see reason, Cordy would give her all the help she needed.

“Look,” Cordy said, “I don’t really want to talk about Angel here and I know you have work to do.  How about we meet for dinner?”

“Y-you call him Angel?” Buffy stared, shocked once more.

“I’ve been calling him that since I was born,” Cordelia said with a knowing smile. “So, dinner?”

Buffy agreed.  She was still trying to process Cordy’s last remark as they made plans to meet.  She watched her leave, wondering if Cordy could tell her anything that would help her with Angel.  She never gave a moment’s notice to what Cordy had thought of her.

*****

Cordy didn’t have any trouble following Buffy’s directions to the restaurant.  It was appropriately private.  The booths were deep with tall dividers between each one.  The lighting was fairly dim and the atmosphere subdued.  Once they ordered and the waitress brought their drinks, they settled back in their seats.  Cordy gave Buffy a long look.

“Buffy,” Cordy started, still looking at her intently, trying to gauge how much to tell her.  “I know you love Angel and I know he loves you.”  There was no doubt in Cordelia’s mind about the latter.  The pain in her brother’s voice that he futilely tried to hide had assured her of that.  Although Angel’s pain and his attempts to mask it and deal with it alone were things she had fought against for years.  Keeping her gaze locked on Buffy’s she added, “But things aren’t that easy with Angel.”

Buffy barked out a humorless laugh.  No, easy and Angel weren’t even on the same plane.  She waited for Cordelia to continue.

“Something happened to him a long time ago and he’s never gotten over it.  I don’t know if he ever will,” Cordy said slowly.

“I know something happened, Cordelia,” Buffy prompted her softly, “I know storms have something to do with it and I saw scars on his wrists …”  She looked at Cordy imploringly.

Cordy took a deep breath.  She didn’t want to break her brother’s confidence, but she didn’t want to see him alone for the rest of his life because she kept silent.  This was what she had come here to do and for him, by God, she would do it.  Fortifying herself with that thought, she finally shared with the woman across from her what had happened over two decades ago.

Buffy’s eyes widened in shock and only moments into the story, she felt the tears stinging behind her eyes.  She refused to let them fall.  She forced herself to remain sitting up straight while Cordelia’s words pierced her heart.  She was overwhelmed by the monstrous cruelty that had befallen her poor broken Angel.

Angel’s sister had just mentioned Spike’s name when the waitress came to serve them their dishes and refresh their drinks.  Both of them had gotten salads, neither even pretended to eat.

After the woman was gone Buffy caught Cordy’s eye, “Spike?”

“Spike was Dru’s older brother, he’s Angel’s age.  He was very close to his sister.  He blamed Angel for her death,” Cordy told her.

“But he was only eight years old!”  Buffy cried.  The tears she’d held back sprang to her eyes.  She looked over and saw the same thing in Cordy’s.

Cordy shrugged her shoulders helplessly, “Tell them that.  Neither of them has ever gotten over it,” she said.  “Angel crawled into his own little world, he hardly ever spoke, did everything he was told without arguing.  He spent almost all of his time hiding in his books.  My parents tried everything, took him to specialists, spent tons of money on therapy.  It seemed to make things worse instead of better, so they finally stopped.”

Buffy closed her eyes, leaning against the cushion behind her.  All she could see was a lost little boy … the same one she’d glimpsed the first time she ever laid eyes on him.

“When he got older,” Buffy heard Cordy go on, “he acted like he had gotten over it to some degree.  He wanted to be an FBI agent.  It was all he focused on.  He put everything he had into getting that job and he was damn good at it.  It was the best I’ve ever seen him.  I don’t think I’d call it happy, but he was proud of where he’d gotten.”

“W-wasn’t there ever anyone he cared about?” Buffy opened her eyes and asked haltingly.  She couldn’t help it, she had to know.

Cordy swirled the ice cubes in her drink, listening to them clink against the glass.  “He went out with girls.”  She felt Buffy’s eyes on her as she knew she they would be.  “But there was never anything serious, not one of them lasted more than a night or two.  I think even that stopped when he ended up in the hospital over two years ago.  Everything stopped.”

Buffy was so overwhelmed with what Cordelia was telling her she’d almost forgotten about his more recent past.  “What happened to him?” she asked.

“You might want to ask one of your agent buddies about that,” Cordy looked back at her.  “All I know is how he looked lying in that hospital bed.  It was days before he was lucid for even a few minutes.”  Cordy’s face had a tired, worn look mixed with anger.  “It broke him, took everything away.”  Buffy could see the tears standing in Cordy’s eyes again as she looked back at a memory.  She said in a voice so low Buffy had to strain to hear it, “I thought I was gonna lose him then.”

Buffy handed her some tissues from the box she now carried constantly.  She’d known they were going to need them.  “But he did get better,” she said, trying to make Cordy feel better.

“Pffft! Better!” Cordelia fumed, angrily swiping at her eyes, momentarily heedless of her makeup, “Do you know what it must have done to him not to be an agent anymore?  It’s all he ever wanted.  The only goal he ever allowed himself.  Now he’s cooped up in a room all day pushing papers.  But he does it.  He doesn’t have to work, he’s never had to do anything.  But he needs it.  He needs to stay busy, needs to do something he thinks makes him useful.  He doesn’t know how to do anything else because all he ever wanted was to be an agent.”

Buffy put her hand on Cordy’s arm.  She didn’t know her at all, but she could feel Cordelia’s love for Angel.  It was good to know someone else had been there for him.  “He’s good at other things too.  Angel’s the only one who can do the job he has in the FBI,” Buffy told her proudly, in some small way trying to comfort her.  “He’s still important to them.”  Her eyes drifted blindly on a point somewhere behind Cordelia’s head.  “He’s important to me.  If he’d stayed an agent I might never have met him,” she said, thinking out loud.

Cordy watched the emotions play across Buffy’s face.  She could see how much Angel meant to her.  Angel needed someone like her, someone who could appreciate him just as he was.  She hoped Buffy was strong enough for both of them because she knew how stubborn her brother was.  Buffy had broken through walls Cordy thought were so thick no one would ever find him.  Even with the love he had to see in this girl staring him in the face, he still refused to let her all the way in.  She knew it would take all Buffy had and more to win this fight.  She thought of the shadows of guilt and pain she always saw in his eyes and she knew Buffy could be the one to finally erase them … if only he’d let her.

“One thing about Angel,” Cordelia shrewdly surmised, “he doesn’t need help getting hurt, he does that all by himself.  I’ll bet he’s already convinced himself that he’s not good enough to be in your life.  And he’s already blamed himself for you ever having met him.”

Buffy nodded her head, eyes tearing up again thinking of Angel’s remark about demons and darkness.  His sister knew him well.  “He won’t listen.  I know he loves me.  He told me he did, but I knew even before that.  But he doesn’t think love is enough, at least not mine.”

So Buffy had issues of her own, Cordy thought.  She liked her well enough so far, but Cordy’s first concern was still Angel.  “If you want him, Buffy, then you’re gonna have to fight for him.  He’s his own worst enemy.  I know he loves you too, but it’s up to you to convince him he’s worth loving.  He’s been hurt … badly."

"You think I don't know that?  You think I haven't tried?" Buffy asked her heatedly, her eyes flashing dark green at the brunette across from her.  "Short of pounding it into him, what can I do?" she finished in desperation.

"That's just it, Buffy.  Gentle isn't going to work.  It’s going to take beating him over the head with how much you love him to get through to him.  This is Angel we're talking about and, trust me," she said thinking back over her own battles with him, "it could get a whole lot worse before it gets better.  Cocking a perfectly shaped eyebrow she asked almost as a dare, "You game?"

Buffy stared back at Angel's sister, a fiercely determined look growing in her eyes.  Taking the challenge, she declared, "I'm game.”

[end chapter 10]

Chapter XI

Angel stared at the dull, drab walls around him thinking how appropriately they fit his mood, not to mention his life at this moment.  The very last place he wanted to be was stuck in a motel room too many miles away from the only thing he had ever cared about.  Not that it would be much better if he and Buffy were in the same room, he thought dismally … and whose fault was that?  His arms crossed dejectedly behind his head, lying against the flimsy pillows, ‘Mine,’ he sighed sadly, ‘mine.’

He had spent the day with programmers having his brain picked and his theories inspected with a microscope.  Buffy might have been worried about his uneasiness among strangers, but Angel hardly noticed them.  He had hoped, in fact, that the meetings would be a distraction from his brooding thoughts, but he found there was no easy escape.  At one time his mind would have been totally engrossed in number and letter sequences, or how to apply findings to unraveling impossible riddles.  Now, he gave perfunctory responses, hardly able to keep his attention on the task at hand.  He caught himself doodling profiles of Buffy’s face on the edges of his notes and again later, tracing her figure on napkins instead of eating his lunch.  He couldn’t even bring himself to get rid of those tiny bits, but carefully secreted them in a pocket of his briefcase.

He had one more day to go.

He sorely missed his office … no … that wasn’t true … he missed his officemate.  Reservations had made been for him to stay two nights – but he wasn’t.  He didn’t care how late they kept him the next day, he couldn’t take the distance.  He was going to the airport and taking the first flight home if he had to sit there all night to wait for it.  He couldn’t be with Buffy, but at least, he could be near her.  He’d take what he could get.

He did wonder how much he would see her when he got back.  Buffy had been finding a lot of reasons to be out of the office.  While things were strained between them, to say the least, her absence made it feel as if all the light and air had been sucked out of the room, leaving a cold, static void.  Since being assigned to help Lindsey McDonald with his case she had been spending more and more of her hours during the day with him.  There had been some work at night too, supposedly to gather more information and research it immediately.

Angel didn’t even try to stave off the wave of jealousy that sluiced over him.  He would once he returned, but here at least, he could give rein to his true feelings.  He wanted Buffy to be happy, that was why he had left her.  He saw the appreciative gleam in McDonald’s eye when Buffy was near.  Angel would rather see her with someone like Lindsey then scum like Riley Finn.  But it didn’t mean he had to like it.  It didn’t mean he didn’t feel like ripping her possible suitors limb from limb.  He just had to make sure she didn’t know it.  He prayed for McDonald’s sake that if he was interested he’d better be very careful how he treated her.

Leaving Buffy’s apartment that last time had been the hardest thing Angel ever had to do.  He left his heart ripped out and bleeding before he closed the door behind him.  No stranger to pain, he had endured it for a lifetime.  But leaving her there crying, knowing he was the cause of her heartbreak, was the worst agony he had ever known.  He had told her the truth, of sorts, he desperately wanted her, needed her, loved her, but the life he had to offer wasn’t something he wanted her to share.  He would deny his own heart and soul before allowing her to settle for the shell of a man he was.  It was better for her to move on to someone worthy of her love, before she wasted any more time on him.

Little did Angel know that his sister had already made her way to Buffy with the exact opposite thoughts in mind.

He lay awake for a while, then finally rose and found the sketchpad.  Settling his large frame on the motel bed, he leaned back against the headboard.  He had tried to read earlier, but couldn’t keep his attention on the words for even a few sentences.  Restless and feeling at odds, he had searched out a store to find a few pencils and the pad he now held.  Glancing through the surprising number of pictures he'd already drawn, he shook his head.  He couldn’t seem to help himself, the drawing had become addicting, the only thing able to bring him any peace.  In some way he felt a link to Buffy as she materialized in the charcoal lines, drawing her close if only on paper.

The picture he couldn’t get out of his mind, the one he had to draw now was of her fast asleep in the chair that sat by his before the fireplace.  He saw her wearing a beatific smile, blissfully dreaming in her slumber.  She had never been in his house, yet she looked as though she belonged there, should be there.  How many nights had he dreamt of her, curled like a kitten, warm and soft?  How many times had he been surprised not to find her there when his eyes opened, almost touched her before she faded from his sight.

But now he had captured her in the only way left to him.  Tangled locks cascading over her shoulders, covering her breasts, cheeks pink from the fire and his caresses, slender arms and legs snuggled deep into the cushions and eyes closed with the smile that played on her lips as she dreamt.  The hair, the face, the hands … every feature he adored, brought to perfection by his hand.  So small, so perfect, so loved.

Once more what he felt, what every fiber of his being craved, found its way from heart to paper.  He fell into a fitful sleep, her picture on his chest, still clutching his pencil.

*****

Buffy spent all day Saturday mentally going over everything Cordelia had told her.  She ran errands, went to the gym to exercise, shopped for clothes.  Even if she had tried, there was no getting Angel out of her mind.  And even though she never saw him on the weekends, except that one momentous Friday night, she missed him.  She called Willow late in the afternoon to see if her redheaded friend wanted to go out to a movie.  But Willow apologetically told her that she and Tara were just getting ready to leave for a concert.  After kicking around the apartment for another hour, Buffy decided to go to a movie by herself.  Once there, she found she really didn’t care about what was showing or sitting there for two hours.  Spying Willy’s across the street, it looked like a better alternative than just going back home.

She hadn’t planned on finding anyone she knew inside and was pleasantly surprised to see Lindsey McDonald draped over a stool at the end of the bar.  As she walked towards him she wondered if she should say anything after all.  He was staring into his beer mug and didn’t look like he was in the mood for any company.  He glanced up before she could move away and called her over.  Buffy thought he was insisting out of politeness.  When she tried to refuse, he was adamant.  He guided her to a table, bringing along a pitcher of beer and two mugs.

Buffy had been working with Lindsey for a good share of the last two weeks and found she really liked him.  If she wasn’t so deeply in love with Mr. ‘I’m No Good For You’, she thought she might not have minded getting to know Lindsey better.  But she figured she would need to take a number.  Lindsey McDonald was handsome, smart, sexy and understandably popular.  He was easy to talk to and very down to earth.  So Buffy found it odd that such a temptation to the general female population was sitting there unattached.  It didn’t take her long to find out they were kindred spirits.

According to him, Linds was in the same boat she was … well almost.  Lindsey was in love with Faith Knight.  And Faith, well, that was his problem, he wasn’t sure where he stood with her.  Lindsey told Buffy that all he and Faith seemed to do best together was argue.  They’d had an on again, off again relationship for a while and though he tried to remain aloof, it wasn’t working.  Being apart made Lindsey realize just how strong his feelings were and Faith’s reluctance to commit was tearing him apart.

Lindsey seemed relieved he had found someone to share his woes with, someone who could identify with him.  He rambled on for some time, so deeply involved in his own love life he never noticed how quiet Buffy was, across from him.  She thought he needed an outlet and knew exactly how he felt, so she sat and listened as he poured his heart out.

At length, Buffy commiserated with him, but only to a point.  “At least you have some kind of relationship,” she said sadly.  Lindsey refilled her empty glass and then his own.  She’d had a couple glasses already and knew she probably shouldn’t have much more.

“And you don’t?” he asked, finally realizing how much of the evening and conversation he had monopolized.

She knew Lindsey had seen her with Angel a couple of times now and thought he was probably curious.  “A relationship takes more than one person,” she sighed.

“I thought maybe you and Angelus …” Lindsey said, letting the end of his sentence drift off.

“Yeah, … me too,” she told him, “but I …” she stopped suddenly, looking at Lindsey entreatingly.  She hated to ask Lindsey, but now that she had the opportunity she couldn’t let it go.   “Linds, I know you aren’t supposed to say anything about what happened to Angel … I, uh, mean Angelus,” she said, cursing herself for never being able to not call him that.  “But I really need to know.”

“Buffy, you know I can’t divulge privileged information,” he said, unwittingly falling into his professional demeanor.

“I don’t mean to make this sound dire, Lindsey, but I’m not just asking out of curiosity.  Please,” she begged, not meaning to get so emotional, “it’s really important to me.  I know he won’t tell me if I ask.  I love him and I think it has to do with why we aren’t together.”

McDonald wasn’t one to pry, but he had often wondered what it was that made Angelus set himself apart.  What could have caused him to isolate and insulate himself so completely from everyone?  Violent as that storm had been, he was sure that what had landed the strong, stoic man in the hospital was much more deep-seated than a simple fear of the elements.  Much more.  He genuinely liked the taciturn ex-agent.  Lindsey thought if anyone deserved a break that it was Angelus.  He had thought on occasion that Liam Angelus needed someone in his life, that he seemed too painfully alone.  Although he didn’t think it was apparent to anyone else, McDonald was sure that his former boss was strongly attracted to Buffy.  If Lindsey had any doubts left after Buffy’s party, the way Angelus had watched over every move the little blonde made during the kickboxing class dispelled them.  He knew Buffy was probably right.  Angelus wasn’t one to share and his strength of will was formidable.  Whatever his reasons, Lindsey doubted Angelus would tell her.

He didn’t have to see the tears suddenly glistening in her eyes to understand how intensely serious Buffy was in her request.  He silently weighed what was at stake – his own well-being or someone else’s.  Imparting details of the maneuver that had cost Angelus and Finn their positions as agents could very well jeopardize his own just for sharing them outside the Bureau.  But Lindsey knew that was nothing compared to Angelus’ wrath when he found out.

“It’s not that …” he started to answer her.

“Please, don’t tell me no, Linds,” she pleaded, the tears slipping silently down her face.  “I know he’ll be mad if you do,” she went on as if reading Lindsey’s mind.  “But I swear if I tell him, I’ll take the blame for it.  Please?” she asked one last time.

Lindsey knew it wouldn’t matter if Buffy told Angelus she forced the information out of him.  Angelus would, rightly, hold him responsible for breaking his trust.  Lindsey almost told her no, but he couldn’t find it in himself to refuse.  What if Faith wanted to know something about Lindsey himself and someone told her.  He tried to be objective about it.  He would be angry, but if it helped bring him and Faith together, he knew he would at least try to understand.  He just hoped Angelus would.

“I'll tell you,” he finally said, unable to bear the look of sheer desperation in her eyes, “but if Angelus is angry, I'm not afraid to deal with him myself.  I never learned,” he added with a faint smile, “how to say no to a beautiful woman.”

Lindsey told Buffy everything he knew about the unfortunate episode.  He had only been an eyewitness to the outcome.  Still, he found it difficult to describe the scene that morning more than two years ago.  He remembered arriving moments too late to help the men Angelus had batted out of his way like toy soldiers.  Lindsey had felt the raw pain the large, muscular man had radiated as he flailed wildly at anyone who came near him.  When they had finally managed to subdue Angelus, McDonald knew he would never forget the dark, empty eyes that stared at nothing, nothing at all.

Lindsey remained quiet after he finished telling Buffy what she wanted to know.  She still had tears trailing down her cheeks that were now from knowledge rather than supposition.  This time it was Buffy who lifted the pitcher and poured the beer for both of them.  Neither one spoke until the glasses were empty once more.  Both were silently thinking of where they wanted to be instead of where they were.

Buffy knew she’d had too much to drink but realized she didn’t care.  She was so wrapped up in Angel thoughts she couldn’t think straight anymore.  Everything that both Cordelia and Lindsey told her was swirling somewhere around in all that beer.  At first she hadn’t been able to stop the tears from escaping and trailing down, thinking of the terrible things Angel had silently endured over the years.  But then she found herself getting increasingly angry.  Now that she knew what was behind his actions, Buffy was deeply hurt.  Why hadn’t he told her?  Didn’t he think she could deal with his past?  Or wasn’t her love enough to help him put that past behind him?  The more she drank, the angrier she became.

Neither Lindsey nor Buffy was sober enough by the end of the night to drive home.  Lindsey called a cab after Buffy agreed it was a good idea that they both pick up their cars the next day.  When they finally tumbled out onto the sidewalk and into the cab, they were far too inebriated to notice the dark convertible following behind them.

*****

Not wasting a moment once his last meeting was over, Angel drove the rental car, already packed with his bags, to the airport.  He had made his own reservations for the flight home, not willing to wait for the scheduled one in the morning.  It was late and he was tired, knowing he wouldn’t catch any sleep on the plane.  He hardly slept the night before which hadn’t come as any surprise.  Sleep had become almost nonexistent the last couple of weeks, only coming with total exhaustion.  He didn’t feel any better for the little he did get.  Nor had he eaten much during all that time either.  The effects were leaving their marks.  The loss of weight on his already slim frame and the dark circles under his eyes made him noticeably haggard and drawn.

The flight was long and tedious.  He had opened the sketchbook looking for a fresh page.  Instead he leafed through the drawings he had created when after waking a very short time the night before, sleep once more had refused to rescue him.  He became immersed – enthralled and lost in the study of his unattainable subject.  The eyes that pleaded with him, the lips he could never kiss again, the soft hands that he wanted to feel holding him – they were whispering from the pages.  Cold comfort, but comfort nonetheless, soothing him as his books no longer could.

Startling him, a low voice beside Angel said, “She’s beautiful.”  The speaker was an older woman in the adjoining seat.  Grey-haired, with glasses and a kind face, she looked like someone’s mother.  She was studying the picture he had finished the night before, then turned her friendly gaze up to his face.  She couldn’t help but see the love in his expression and in the artwork he grasped tightly.  “Is she your girlfriend or your wife?”  She wasn’t prepared for the look of abject pain and loneliness she caught before he brusquely turned away.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, but dared say no more.  She could almost feel the heartbreak of the dark-haired man next to her and felt badly for causing such a troubled response.  They both remained silent for the rest of the trip, but she noticed his gaze never left the drawing, held like a lifeline in his trembling hands.

When he finally got off the plane and searched for his car in the airport parking lot, all he wanted to do was go home and try another attempt at sleeping.  The quickest route took him through Main Street in the small hours of the morning.  It was the weekend, which meant more people were still out despite the late hour.  Just as he came to a stop for a red light, he caught sight of the blonde head he’d know anywhere.  Lindsey McDonald and Buffy were standing outside the bar that everyone at work congregated at Friday nights.  Only this was Saturday and Angel didn’t think it was part of any investigation that McDonald was working on that would need Buffy’s help.  He could tell by the way they were both weaving and holding each other up as they fell into a cab together, that neither of them was even close to sober.

It was all Angel could do not to ram his car in front of the cab and drag Lindsey out through the window.  But he kept his hands clenched on the steering wheel as he trailed behind the taxi.  It was a short trip, ending in front of Buffy’s apartment building.  Parking the car some ways back from the cab, he forced himself to just watch, trying not to let jealous rage overtake him.  They emerged from the cab with difficulty, then stumbled to the entry door.  He saw Buffy drop her keys after she unlocked the door and kneel down to pick them up.  Lindsey offered her an unsteady hand and they fell in a heap on the doorstep.

Angel couldn’t restrain himself any longer, he slammed out of his car and stalked towards the unsuspecting pair.  He was at a distance though and before he got near enough, Lindsey had already helped Buffy up.  McDonald was staggering towards the waiting cab as Buffy opened the door to go inside.  Lindsey didn’t know he just saved his own life when he closed the door to the taxi.  Angel gave a fleeting look in its direction as he reached the entry door, catching it before it closed.

His steps were silent on the carpeting.  He followed behind as she jammed the key in the lock and fumbled her way in her door.  As she turned to close it, he was standing in front of her.  Her eyes widened as she stepped back in surprise, her lips curving in a smile of joy that split him with half elation and half anguish.

“Angel,” she said in that small breathy way only she could say it.

His breath was gone, he couldn’t speak, still processing the mix of emotions her smile alone had invoked.

"You've come back," she said softly, thinking he had changed his mind, that he wanted her in his life.

The anguish he felt won out as he realized why she thought he was there and he knew it showed on his face. “I saw you with McDonald, I was worried about you,” he tried to explain feebly.

Confusion crowded into her eyes as he moved forward and her smile melted into a bitter line of anger.  "That's why you're here?" she asked, the tone changing to match her look as she swayed a little before him.

"I just wanted to make sure you were all right," he shrugged miserably, feeling more torn by the moment.

She couldn't think straight, but she knew by his look he wasn't there to stay.  She couldn't do this, she wouldn't, she wasn't up to trying to make him understand.  She wanted to scream at him she was so angry, but she felt dizzy and her head hurt.  “So you’re what?  My knight in shining armor, come to rescue me – again?” she spat out.

He cringed, knowing he deserved her anger, but was still as concerned as before.  “No, I-I just saw you … the two of you in the cab and I …” he trailed off as he saw the look of anger go up one more level to furious.

“Are you stalking me?  You’re the one who told me you didn’t want me in your life, but you can spy on mine?” she demanded, her voice rising.

“I wasn’t stalking you!” he told her, trying to keep his voice low.  “I happened to take that way home from the airport and saw you get in the cab,” he said, realizing as he spoke he’d just made things even worse.

“So you followed us here?” she yelled.

“Buffy, please,” he tried to tell her, “calm down and let me explain.”

“I don’t want your explanations,” she seethed. “Who I’m with is none of your concern, you made that clear.  She glared at him, “I’m not in your life, remember?  You don’t want me there,” she repeated harshly.  “I’m of no concern to you.”

Shocked she would think that, let alone say it, he reached for her, “That’s not true. You know I care what happens to you.”  Before he could stop them, the words were out of his mouth, “I love you.”

Her face crumpled at his declaration, “You can’t have it both ways, Angel,” she cried, her voice falling off to a whisper, tears streaking down her face.  She turned away suddenly and lurched unevenly towards the hallway, holding one hand to her mouth, the other to her stomach.

Angel kicked the door shut without thinking and caught up with her as she got to the bathroom door.

“Just leave,” she managed to eke out as she crossed the room and fell in front of the toilet.

“I can’t,” he told her honestly as he grabbed a washcloth and turned on the faucet to soak it.

He reached for her, gently pulling her hair back, just as she wretched violently into the basin.  Keeping a delicate hold on her, he waited until she was finished.  After a few long moments she sank back onto the floor.  Very carefully he drew her into his lap, tenderly soothing her face with the cloth.

“Angel, please …” she tried weakly to move as she spoke.

“Shhh ...” he whispered, as he continued to brush the damp cloth over her face.

Buffy had no fight left.  She hadn’t been sleeping or eating any better than Angel.  The drinks and the shock of seeing him at her door combined with the emotions he caused were more than she could handle.  She couldn’t help that she felt like she was right where she should be … and she didn’t have the strength to even stay conscious.  She fell asleep as he held her, just as she’d dreamt of doing every night.

Angel sat there for a very long time just holding her.  He smoothed the damp strands of gold from her cheek, staring down at her fallen lids.  The sight of her never failed to take his breath away.  She was so very lovely and now looked so vulnerable and fragile.  He could see the dark smudges under her lashes and feel how light she’d become.  Lighter than the last time he’d held her, he could tell.  His hands couldn’t stop moving over her, caressing her lightly, tracing whisper-soft love into the lines of the face he saw every moment, in dreams or in waking.  How could he keep leaving her when the most important part of him stayed with her?  He knew she was right, he had no right to be jealous, had no right to be where he was at this moment.  He shouldn’t have followed her and made her angry.

He finally rose to his feet, cradling her in his arms, her weight no more to him than a feather.  Laying her gently on the bed, once he reached her bedroom, he looked in her dresser for a gown.  Lifting her with great care, he removed her clothes and dressed her in the nightgown, tucking her under the covers.  He wanted nothing more than to crawl in beside her and curl around her.  But he didn’t, he knew he would never leave if he did.  Instead he let his tired body collapse on her couch.  He would stay until daylight, just to make sure she was all right.  He knew no sleep would come for him.

*****

Once again Buffy fell asleep in the arms of her lover … and woke to find him gone.  She had been ready for it this time or at least she thought.  She didn’t know if it was seeing that he had changed her and put her to bed or looking at the indentation his large frame had left on the couch.  But it made the tears she didn’t want to cry fall anyway.  Curling into the cushions, the unique scent that was Angel’s surrounded her.  Every time he had been in her apartment had made her heart break a little more with each visit.  What made it that much worse was he showed even more each time how much he loved her.  He wouldn’t stay with her, but he couldn’t seem to keep himself away.  She thought wryly that if he loved her any more, it would kill her.

She forced herself to shower and get dressed, in spite of the pounding headache the generous amount of beer left in its wake.  Willow agreed to give her a lift to her car when Buffy phoned her and asked for the favor.  She was grateful Willow had picked up easily on how out of sorts she was and not pressed her too closely about what she’d done with her night out alone.  Poor Willow, Buffy thought, hadn’t been in her best friend’s confidence as she used to be.  Oddly enough, she and Willow had spent very little time together since Buffy had started working in the same place.  Both had expected to fall back into the same routine with each other as before, but that hadn’t happened.  She idly wondered if it was because Tara had replaced her in Willow’s life or Angel had replaced Willow’s in her own.  Granted, she hadn’t spent evenings with Angel, but seeing Willow and Tara together often reminded Buffy of how lonely she was.  And, unfortunately, it was Angel’s company she enjoyed the most.

She took her car back home, trying to keep Angel thoughts to a minimum.  It was impossible.  She could still remember, even through her alcoholic haze the evening before, how her heart had leapt at the sight of him in her doorway.  Those strong arms were just where she wanted them to be … and he had left … again.  The anger she’d felt the night before started welling back up.  She loved him, but she was so frustrated and infuriated with him she could scream.

Buffy stormed through her apartment like a tiny tornado.  She whipped around looking for a victim for her wrath.  She spied the stove standing innocently before her, seeming to cower beneath her vengeful eye.  She no longer thought of anyone’s head in it, except Angel’s.  She felt like stuffing all of him inside and turning it on high.  As she dug underneath the sink for the oven cleaner she went over that heart-wrenching conversation with him, the night he had thrown Riley out, for the thousandth time.  Every word of it had been burned into her brain.

Donning a pair of gloves and arming herself with a scrub brush and the cleaner, she attacked the oven.  As she made long vicious swipes with the brush, she punctuated them with broken sentences, thinking out loud. “You always hurt me.  You left me bruised.  Nothing is my fault because I’m perfect!”  She poured more cleaner on, daring the stove to stop her.  “I’m so precious that you have to do what’s right!  I’ll do what’s right, Angel!  If you can think with your head and not your heart so can I!”  Sitting back looking at the battlefield, she found she’d conquered the dirt all too easily.  She moved on to the refrigerator to start a fresh fight.

Finally exhausted, she collapsed onto the couch and lay there, staring at the ceiling.  All this time since their ‘talk’ had been a breakthrough for her.  She had looked back on her relationships, something that she had always buried rather than exam too closely.  It had been a sometimes painful, but honest evaluation.  She had tried to be objective about Pike and her father.  She finally found, to her amazement that she had done all she could.  She had been there for them.  She realized the fault lay with them, not her.  Where were they when she needed them?  They left her behind without any consideration of what it would mean to her, when all she had wanted to do was help them because she loved them.  But their own needs and feelings had been more important to them than hers.

Angel leaving her was different.  He didn’t want to, she could see it, hear it, feel it, in every part of him.  He wasn’t abandoning her.  She knew he would never be free of her.  He thought he was letting her go to something better.  She knew there would never be anyone better in her life for her than Angel, ever.  She had to make him understand that she had no life if he wasn’t in it.  He needed to know that.

She had Angel to thank for all of her revelations.  If she didn’t love him so much, if he hadn’t hurt her so deeply, she never would have looked as closely at herself as she did.  She hadn’t been able to push it down and hide it away as she always did before.  She loved him too much to lose him.  Her heart and soul had cried out as one when he walked out the door and she thought she would die.  The pain was so intense, she couldn’t ignore it, she had to deal with it.

But he’d given her insight.  It wasn’t just knowing that he did love her, but knowing she was important to him, so important he was trying to protect her.  It had taken her a while to figure that out, that his protection of her was more than physical.  More than beating up Riley or anyone else who threatened her.  He would defend her against even himself if he thought it was necessary.  He told her he wouldn’t let her be part of his darkness, but he needed her light.

And he’d given her back her strength by letting her see his own.  If he could love her so much that he would give her up to keep her safe, then she could love him enough to make him see she was only safe with him.  If he didn’t want to spend ‘this life’ with her, he’d have to work with her to make a new one.  She refused to let him go, no matter how noble he was trying to be.  If he could make her raise and deal with her own demons, she knew he had to exorcise his own.  She understood his were deeper, more firmly rooted by the pain and time that had held him.  But she knew he’d come further with her than with anyone in his life and if he didn’t let her help him, he might never be free.  She was more important to him than he realized and she had to make him see.

Somewhere in the last week, between her conversation with Cordelia and waking up to find Angel had watched over her, it finally dawned on her.  Angel was right … and he was so very, very wrong.  She had been thinking with her heart.  She automatically assumed she was to blame for things not working out, even though Giles had warned her against doing exactly that.  She had forgotten there were two people involved in that decision.  And she realized with blinding clarity he hadn’t given her that option. He had made the decision for both of them.  He never gave her a chance.  He had done the same thing she did, he assumed.  He assumed to know what was best for her without even asking her.

Just because she understood now why he had kept himself from her, it didn’t make her any less angry.  It made her furious.  She knew what an uphill battle lay before her because she knew how very strong and thickheaded Angel was.  The stove and refrigerator weren’t even a good warm-up for what lay ahead.  She had to think of how to get through to him and she knew it wasn’t going to be easy.  That thought alone enraged her all over again.

[end chapter 11]

Chapter XII

The tension in the office during the next several days was so thick it was almost tangible.  Anyone having the misfortune to even drop a memo on Angel’s desk couldn’t avoid the pervasively palpable phantom of stress lurking like a silent member of the room.

Angel had spent what was left of his weekend from alternately chastising himself for interfering in Buffy’s life and telling himself he wasn’t a part of it, to wondering hopelessly what to do with the rest of his life without her.  By Monday morning he had convinced himself once more that she needed someone else in her life, whatever the cost to his own heart.  He told himself he wouldn’t become possessive when it came to Buffy with other men.  He had no right, that part of what she said had been true.  He would be detached and unemotional if it killed him.

Buffy had used her time letting her anger build to a boiling point, wondering how one man could be so obviously brilliant, and yet, so incredibly dense.  She was damned if he was going tell her what was best for her without her having a say in the matter.  But she knew trying to jackhammer any sense into the Angel’s obstinate stone wall wasn’t the answer.  She wasn’t sure exactly what to do, but she would find a way to make him understand.

They barely looked in each other’s direction.  Angel forced himself not to smell the scent of vanilla that assailed his senses whenever she was near, or pay any attention to the warmth her presence radiated.  Buffy kept a check on her temper, steadfastly refusing to give into the urge to march over and give Angel a swift kick whenever she saw that now familiar slump of dejection in his shoulders, signaling his lack of self-worth.  Or giving in to the even stronger impulse to make him take her in his arms and love her like she knew he did.

Amazingly they made it through the entire week, thanks only to Buffy not being in the room with Angel for the majority of the time.  Frequent visits to Lindsey’s office or in his company where he was on assignment had kept her busy.  Her work with McDonald was almost at an end.  The culprit at the center of the case was within days of being detained formally.  All that was left was finishing up the paperwork such an endeavor created and submitting it to their superiors for perusal.

In the short time she’d known Lindsey it wasn’t hard to find that the paperwork was one aspect of being an agent that he despised.  Lindsey had been a good friend to her the last couple weeks, sensing her need for unquestioned acceptance, and she felt she owed him for that.  As a surprise for him, she had gathered their work together and completed as much as she could without his input, making his part of it decidedly easy.  She hadn’t had the chance to give him the information.  She had spent the evening before putting everything in place while she was home.  She could have stayed late and done the work in the office, but even when Angel wasn’t there, the echo of his presence and the residue of emotions charging the air kept her away.  She still wasn’t sleeping well, finding herself staring into the dark for hours before falling into a fitful unconsciousness.  As a result, she woke up late that Friday, racing to work, leaving everything she labored over the night before sitting on her kitchen table.

Willow had been gently prodding her to make an appearance that night at Willy’s.  It had been several weeks since Buffy had been there and Willow missed her presence.  Plus Willow figured her best friend needed the distraction.  Willow was only too aware that all was not right in Buffy’s world these days.  Buffy hadn’t promised her friend she would show, rather she decided to say nothing and surprise her instead.  She was tired and didn’t want to go, but didn’t want Willow worrying about her.  Her plan was to stop by home, pick up the papers for Lindsey and give them to him at Willy’s when she joined Willow.

Although Angel had lasted the five days of the workweek, he was on the verge of exhaustion.  Most nights the bed had seemed too wide and empty.  Rather than enduring the loneliness he spent his nights moodily staring into the fire from his chair.  Any sleep he’d managed to wrest was tainted with ravaged dreams of reaching for Buffy only to find her gone.  When he woke, he was forced to that cold reality by the harsh light of day.  His recurring dream of her curled in the chair that sat next to his tore at his heart as the illusion melted with the sun.

It took all of his strength and stamina that last morning to drag himself from bed, shower and dress, then drive to the complex.  Nothing could have kept him away if he only found five minutes of the day would be spent near her.  As it turned out, Buffy spent the entire day sitting right there behind him.  It was a bittersweet agony.  The newest ‘Annie’ that had been brewing since morning didn’t help any.  He tried to lose himself in his work, but the specter of the lonely weekend stretching before him was breaking the last bit of endurance he possessed.

At five o’clock Angel had put the last of his folders in his briefcase, hoping the work he had with him would give him some respite from the long, empty hours ahead.  Buffy had left the office only moments before, headed down the hall towards the break room.  He wondered if she hoped he would be gone when she returned.

The storm had finally broken shortly before.  He grimaced at the rain drumming against the basement window to the accompaniment of strobes of fiery light and pounding thunder.  Although he no longer depended on drugs to get him through them, the frequent and increasingly more violent occurrences of foul weather still had an effect.  His uneasiness towards them had been more pronounced the last couple of weeks.  He had put it off to lack of sleep.  Picking up his jacket along with the case, he had gotten a few feet down the hall when he heard Buffy’s voice.

“I’ve got a surprise waiting for you,” he heard her say in a low voice.

It was Lindsey’s voice that answered with a teasing tone, “For me?”

Angel stopped where he was, unable to move a muscle.  Some part of his brain was telling him he had promised not to get involved with her life anymore.  The rest of him was already screaming to rip Lindsey’s tongue out of his throat.  Angel stayed frozen in place as he listened to the conversation around the corner moving away from him.

“Don’t you think you deserve one?” Buffy asked in the same tone Lindsey had used.

“Depends on what you consider a surprise,” Lindsey lightly jested.

“I don’t think you’ll be disappointed,” passing the banter back to him, her laugh tinkled and drifted away in the distance.

Angel didn’t hear Lindsey’s reply as they passed out of his hearing.  He was still rooted to the spot, a red haze of jealous fury swirling around him.  He finally turned his steps back to the office, blindly making his way to his desk without even knowing where he was.  He stood there, unaware of the passage of time, briefcase and jacket in hand, his large frame trembling with the sudden rage that was overtaking him.

Having watched Angel get ready to leave and expecting an empty office, Buffy almost ran into him when she entered the room.  “Angel,” she chirped, jumping, “I thought you were gone.”

He whipped around, dropping his forgotten belongings to the floor.  Looking down at her, his eyes flashed dangerously, “Yes,” he bit out, “I can see you were distracted.”  It hurt him more than he had thought possible to think she had actually moved on and in such a short time.  He knew she loved him, how could she do that?

Buffy sensed the waves of anger pulsate around him, as she felt her own rise in response.  She knew the howling wind shrieking outside had nothing on the tempest unfurling before her.  She instantly knew he must have heard her talking to Lindsey about the papers she had to give him.  Although she had no idea what Angel thought he heard, the jealousy burning in his eyes exposed the conclusions he’d drawn.  Angel loved her.  His whole being was practically screaming it at her.  He had to love her very much to be so very angry.  But now so was she.  It had been a perfectly innocent exchange with Lindsey and she was damned if she was going to explain herself to Angel.  She walked determinedly towards her desk. “I was just getting my things,” she said, refusing to elaborate.

“Don’t let me stop you,” he spat as he turned and stalked towards her.  “You have better things to do, I’m sure.”  He couldn’t stay away from her; she drew him like a magnet.

Buffy whirled around to see him towering over her.  She had never felt any fear when she was near Angel, nor did she now.  But she felt the pain that was emanating from him; it was laced with the jealousy and anger that were shaking his frame.  Her heart cried out for him, but his blind obstinacy still stoked her own fury.  “And what better things do you think those would be, Angel?”

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he countered.  “I don’t want to keep you.”

His choice of words made her snap.  Cordelia was right.  Gentle wasn’t the way to go with Angel.  If she had a club she would have used it on his head.  She made up her mind  that he wasn’t leaving that room, he wasn’t leaving her sight, he wasn’t leaving her ever again and she was going to make him understand that once and for all.

“You’re right, Angel!” Buffy spat back, hands on her hips.  “You aren’t keeping me, you didn’t want to keep me in your life.  It doesn’t work with us.  That’s what you told me.”

Her retort only accentuated the pain he felt.  She was twisting his words as if the fault was hers.  He grabbed her by the shoulders, “No, I-I can't give you a life, or a future or anything a girl would want.”

“You say that!  Why is it just your decision?  What about me?  I love you so much,” she insisted.

“What, do you think this is simple?” Angel returned, exasperated, “You think there's an easy answer?”

“Why is it difficult?  What are you so afraid of?” she looked up at him not letting him turn his eyes away.

“Because I want you so badly!  I want to take comfort in you,” he cried.

“Why is that so wrong?”  Buffy wanted to know, the same timber rang in her question.

 Angel shook his head, dropping his hands to his sides as if in defeat. “Look, I'm weak. I've never been anything else.”

“You're weak.  Everybody is.  Everybody fails,” she told him firmly as she reached back for him, locking her hands on his arms.

“You can never understand,” he tried to tell her, looking into her eyes.

“Why won’t you let me try?” she cried, answering him with a question.

He raised his hands to her face, his own a mere breath away, “Am I a thing worth saving?  You don’t know who I am, Buffy.  I’m just a shell, I’m not even a man.”

“So that’s it, Angel?” she replied in an agonized whisper, putting her hands on his, “You don’t think you’re worth it?  You just give up?”

“Buffy, please.  For once ... let me be strong,” the sound of his voice becoming ragged with emotion as he stepped away from her, tears streaking his anguished face.

“Strong is fighting!  It's hard, and it's painful, and it's every day.  It's what we have to do.  And we can do it together.”  Tears of frustration sprang from her own eyes.  Why couldn’t he see what she was trying to tell him?

He closed his eyes, not answering, not moving.

“Then I’m not worth fighting for?” she asked in a low voice, “So what difference does it make to you if I’m with someone else?”

His eyes snapped open at the absurdity of her words.  Unable to believe she could think that after his revelations, he clarified, “You’re the only thing in the world worth fighting for!  I’m the one who isn’t worth it!”

“I think you are, Angel,” she said angrily, “but if I can't convince you that you are, then I don't know what can.  But do not expect me to keep waiting.  You’re the only one I’ll ever love, but I guess that’s not good enough.  You’re jealous of Riley or Lindsey?  Get used to it, you’ve left me no choice.”

“What are you saying?” he raged, his anger and jealousy welling up all over again at the mention of his rivals.

“What do you think I’m saying?” she snarled back, grabbing for her purse on the desk.  “I’m supposed to find that happiness you think is out there for me.  Why wait?” she taunted as she stalked towards the door.

He was in front of her before she could reach it.  He grabbed her by the arms, pushing her back, kicking the door shut.  The sound reverberated through the room.  “So you’re just going to go out and find one of them?” he fumed.

“What am I supposed to do?” she threw at him, “What’s left?  Now let me go.”  When he didn’t release her, she played her last desperate hope.  “There might be someone out there who will love me enough to care.  Or maybe it’s better they don’t.”

“I care!” he roared, “I love you!”

“Then prove it, Angel,” Buffy shouted, “Don’t just talk about it, show me!  Because if you don’t, if you dare leave me again, I swear, you’ll find me under one of them!”

Angel’s body shook with the possessive anger her threat evoked.  She couldn’t do that.  He didn’t believe her, especially after all she’d just told him.  He knew it was an empty threat, no matter how mad she was.  But that didn’t stop his violent reaction to the mental image her words conjured.  The last tenuous barriers crumbled at visualizing her with anyone except himself.  He knew now he could never stand by and see her with another man.  If it was proof she needed, he’d give it to her!

Buffy saw a stark, brilliant flash of lightening out of the corner of her eye then felt the earth shudder from the peal of thunder that followed.  Angel grabbed her roughly against him, crushing her to his chest.  One hand slid up the back of her neck, grasping a handful of long, blonde hair, pulling her head back.  His face was once more a hairsbreadth from hers.  “If that’s what you want, I’ll show you,” he hissed against her lips, mashing his mouth over hers, forcing his tongue in with bruising force.  He held her there for long moments, unable to stop, now that he finally had her in his arms again.  Not breaking the kiss, Angel turned her around.  Moving a few steps, he pushed her back against his desk, lifting her to balance on its edge.

He released her lips long enough to let them breath.  He drew his in deeply, looking down at the simple white cotton top with tiny straps over her bare shoulders and the short dark skirt hiked high up her thighs.  All those mornings he had seen her in a similar outfit perched in the exact same spot flashed provocatively through his mind.  Every day he had longed to do exactly what he was doing at this moment – holding her, touching her.  Her flesh felt so warm and yielding beneath his hands.  He ran his fingers over the creamy velvet skin and soft inviting curves as if impelled to touch every inch of her.  They roved over her shoulders, swept down her arms and back, then dug into the material covering the soft cheeks of her buttocks as he roughly dragged her hips towards him.  He recaptured her lips, giving her one of the long, deep, lustful kisses he had imagined over and over again.

Angel stood close to the desk, twisting and jutting his hips forward as she slid her legs apart in blatant invitation.  He groaned against her mouth at the contact as he cupped his large hands around the softly rounded globes, pulling her more tightly against him.

She could feel his erection, hard and long, straining beneath the fabric separating them, throbbing to be set free from confinement.  Pulling him even closer, she ground into him, her growing wetness seeping through her panties onto his trousers.

Buffy didn’t feel a shred of guilt for throwing someone else in his face if that’s what it took to get through to him.  Anything to bring him back to her.  She had missed him so much, wanted … needed him so badly.  Twining her hands more tightly around his neck, she held the kiss, bending his head even closer towards hers, her fingers clutching his thick, dark hair.  She could feel the quivering tension in his arms as he lifted his hands to catch her hard against him in a fierce embrace.

He lifted his head, panting from his need.  “I love you,” he forced out in a ragged whisper, the words tearing themselves from his throat.  “I try not to, but I can’t stop.”

“Me too,” she cried, “I can’t either.”  She loved him so much.  At his admission and final surrender, a teardrop fell and trickled down her cheek.

Angel moaned as he leaned in, gently tasting the single tear, replacing it with fiery kisses that trailed across her face and down her throat.  He outlined her collarbone with his tongue, craving her sweet, vanilla skin.  Fanning her desire, he stoked his own, raining hot, wet kisses on one delicate shoulder, then retracing the burning path across to the other.

Taking possession once more of her mouth, he nipped at her top lip, then bit down on the lower one.  He was voracious, taking every bit of sweetness he could find, sucking her tongue in, sliding it against him own.  All the while his hands wandered restlessly; grasping, teasing, tempting as his fingers followed her lush, soft lines, exploring her warm secrets.  She was breathless before he broke the kiss.  His eyes were dark with passion, riveting her in place.

“You’re mine!” he said fiercely, finally claiming her, as she sobbed in agreement.  His hand dug into her waist, still holding her by the hair with the other.  He dove back into her mouth with no less force than before, drinking down her moan as he devoured her lips.

Buffy’s desire for him spiraled with each brutal kiss.  Between her legs, she felt her body's liquid response flow from her core in answer to his fervent declaration.  She’d been longing to hear those words since that first night they made love.  Nothing had been right since he left.  She returned his kisses with equal ardor, nipping and sucking at his lips, dueling her tongue against his.

Suddenly ripping off the thin top she wore in one swift tearing motion, he reached behind her, fumbling with her bra, finally tossing it aside.  He captured both breasts in his hands, sucking one nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling the hard tip.  His fingers closed around the soft flesh, kneading it, his teeth scraping hungrily against the nipple he held captive.  She gasped from the sensation, arching into him.  Angel was ravenous for the taste of her, he’d dreamt about this so many empty nights.  His mouth left one breast to tease the other with his teeth and tongue.  Lifting his hand to the abandoned nipple, he rolled the sensitive point between his thumb and finger.  Buffy pushed herself against him, begging him to take more.

The thought of another man even touching her made him furious.  One hand had found its way back to her golden, shining hair, twining it in his fingers, tugging her head back to give him better access.  Moving his mouth to her throat, he bit in as if marking her as his own.

“Mine!” she heard him growl again.  He took mouthfuls of her skin, sucking hard, knowing her tender flesh would bear his marks.  He laved the succulent white column, roughly soothing the abraded flesh.

“Yours,” she breathed, feeling his hot breath on her neck as he nipped and licked at her skin.  Her hands found their way to his chest, ripping buttons off his shirt to slide inside, tickling her fingers across the hard muscular surface beneath.  She felt him shudder at her touch, inciting her passion even more.  Grabbing the shirt, she pulled it all the way open, pushing it off his shoulders, desperate for the feel of his skin against hers.  He shrugged it the rest of the way off, his muscles tensing, then rippling as her fingers curved around his back, digging into his skin.  Buffy was greedy for him, her hands roamed his back, his chest, his shoulders, raking her nails over his skin.

Angel’s pulse throbbed in his ears, he felt himself grow harder, feeling what little control remained slip away.  Attempting to remove her skirt he snagged and tore the zipper in his haste.  Exasperated, he pulled her forward far enough to tear it more, lifting her an instant to push it down, then off her legs, along with her shoes.  In the heat of his passion, Buffy saw tattered pieces of her delicate lace panties fall to the floor.  He leaned back far enough to rake hot, hungry eyes over her flesh.  Her bedroom had been dark the night they made love.  This was the first time he had feasted his eyes on her small, perfect body in the light.  If possible, he hardened even more at the sight.

His face was transfixed with awe as he worshiped her with his eyes, “Buffy,” he breathed heatedly, “you’re so, so beautiful.”

She gave him a suddenly shy smile, making her look innocently seductive, color flushing her skin a deep rose at his words.  Feeling the lustful adoration burning her with its gaze, Buffy answered with a heat of her own.  She unbuttoned his pants, grappling with the zipper, in a hurry to remove the offending garment.  Her eagerness inflamed him and he growled, impatiently pulling her hands away and shoved both the pants and his boxers down and kicked them off with his shoes.

Reaching back down for the pants, he searched through the pockets.  Feeling Buffy’s gaze, he self-consciously pulled his wallet out and fished out a foil packet.  After their one night together he knew it was wrong for him to be with her.  He also knew there would never be anyone else in his life or his bed except her.  But it hadn’t stopped him from making a point the very next day of buying condoms and carrying some with him.  Buffy’s smirk as she helped him roll the supple cover over his hard length was worth a thousand words.  He returned her look with a deliciously evil grin.

He slid his hand between her legs, fingers seeking their way through the soft, curling hair, burrowing quickly into her folds.  Groaning, he slipped two of them deep inside her, feeling them instantly coated with her juices, ready for him.  He caught the heady fragrance of her arousal, a scent he had smelled only one night and would never forget.  It made him dizzy with desire.  He rubbed his thumb against her swollen, sensitive bud making her grind against his hand, her head falling back as she arched against him once more.  He withdrew his fingers and grasped her by the hips.  Lowering his head, Angel lifted one hand to bring her head closer, then kissed her even more savagely.  His hand dropped to her waist, pulling her to the very edge of the desk as he pressed into her entrance.  He impaled her in one swift movement, thrusting himself deeply inside.  Her body welcomed his return, her moist, tight channel stretching to accommodate his length and girth.

They both cried out at his invasion, reveling in being one again.  So overcome at feeling him inside her once more she climaxed as he filled her to bursting, calling out his name as she peaked in his arms.  He gritted his teeth to keep from following too soon after her, awash in her liquid heat, her muscles clenching and grasping him, holding him in exquisite agony.

Buffy wept at the feel of Angel buried so deeply where she needed him.  She had missed him so much, relived the memories so many times.  She pulled him closer, using her inner muscles to draw and hold him, wrapping her legs around his hips to lock him in place.  Angel felt the soft, undulating walls pull and contract around him, his eyes shut tight, muscles cording as her hot flesh surrounded him.  He needed to move, his blood racing, hands once more biting into the flesh on her hips.  He pulled out, plunging back in, not stopping, continuing to thrust in and out of her.  Every push back into her depths elicited a deep moan from her as he rasped his sex over sensitive nerves both in and outside of her.  Angel grunted with the effort, her sounds of pleasure spurring him to go faster, deeper until he set a bruising pace, the motion oddly in sync with the rhythm of the rain pelting the small square of glass above them.  He pounded into her, almost out of his mind with the ecstasy surging through every part of his body.  She could never be too close, he could never delve too deeply.

Withdrawing for only a moment, he pulled her legs from his waist, putting his arms underneath them.  As he drove back into her, Buffy’s eyes glazed over as the heat from the friction spread through her like wildfire.  Tiny beads of sweat dotted her upper lip as she laid back on the desk and wrapped her arms around his, lifting her legs higher, urging him closer still.  Slamming into her, almost at the point of exploding, he reached down to where they were joined.  He wanted her to come with him.  His fingers twisted her slick nub rubbing it almost painfully.  His touch jolted through her.  She peaked once more, pleasure pulsing through her, tingling its way to every nerve ending in waves, crying out Angel’s name once more.  He came at the sound of his name on her lips, her hot core throbbing, clamping him like a vise.  Swept away by the euphoric feeling of her all around him, pulling him deep, he pumped into her erratically, shouting her name with the last of his breath.

Almost unable to move, he loosened her legs from around his hips, gasping.  Still trying to fill his lungs with air, he slid his hands under her back and pulled her up to his chest.  He needed to feel her, skin to skin, heart to heart.  The beat of hers answering his own.  Buffy burrowed into his embrace, puffing small breaths against his sweat-slicked chest.  Her small arms reached around his waist, holding onto him as tightly as he held her.  He dropped kisses in her hair as she snuggled against him.  She could still hear the storm outside, its force spent, winding down.

When they finally calmed, their breathing recovered and their heart rates neared to a normal pace.  Angel discreetly removed and disposed of the condom.  He was almost embarrassed to look at her now that the fire and passion had burned away.  He’d lost total control … again.  He felt like a caveman blindly coupling with his mate.  But at the picture that drew in his mind, he found himself smugly smiling.  As said mate lifted her head with a sated, satisfied look on her face, he couldn’t erase the smile.

Buffy grinned – naked, on Angel’s desk, clothes strewn on the floor, and Angel smiling down on her with a self-satisfied smirk.  “Take me to your cave, Neanderthal man,” she chuckled, reading his mind.

Angel laughed, a rare and precious sound to her ears.  Then he stopped as the import of her words sunk all the way in.  With a solemn look he gazed down at her, his fingers tucking a sweat-drenched lock of hair behind her ear.  The fingers trailed slowly to her chin as he said, “I’ll take you home with me,” a soft glow lighting his face from within.

He stepped back, gently releasing her, to scoop up her clothes.  Eyeing what was left of them, he picked up his jacket, lying by his forgotten briefcase.  He handed it to her with what was almost an apology on his face.  “Sorry,” he said with little conviction.

After they dressed as best they could, Angel bundled her down the hall.  Glad everyone had gone home for the weekend, leaving the building deserted, he hurried her into his car.  He kept glancing over at her, as if to see if she was still there.  Wearing a look of awed happiness he couldn’t keep off his face, he drove through rain swept streets the short distance to his house.  He pulled in the driveway, parked, and ran around to open her door before she could reach for the door handle.  Giving him a blinding smile she let him help her, twining her fingers in the hand he held out.  She held them as he led her up the path and waited while he unlocked the door and escorted her inside.

He closed the door and without even giving her a chance to look around, he captured her lips with his.  Buffy stood up on tiptoe, hands automatically reaching around his neck, opening her mouth to his tender request.  His arms came around her, deepening the kiss, finally breaking it, leaving her dizzy and breathless.

“Welcome home,” he said softly, his eyes shining down on her.  As she gazed back up to him, he basked in the love she radiated for him.  She was here …with him.

Buffy couldn’t take her eyes off him to even look at the room.  He was still Angel, quiet and shy.  But the brooding darkness seemed to have lifted from his features.  An endearingly beguiling small half-smile stayed on his lips, reflected in his eyes.

Catching her hand once more in his, he tugged her down the hallway into his bedroom.  She leaned against the closet doorway as he searched through the clothes hanging there.  She was mesmerized, watching him constantly glance over as if to make sure she hadn’t disappeared.  He finally handed her a shirt and a pair of boxers from the drawer below, then recaptured her hand in his and led her into the bathroom.

Buffy wouldn’t release his hand as he turned to go, but pulled him back inside, closing the door. ”Stay?” she whispered almost pleadingly as she lifted her eyes to his.

The look of pure love shining out of them was almost too much for Angel.  He thought his heart would burst right out of his chest that she loved him that much.  “I couldn’t leave you if I tried," he told her honestly, wrapping his arms around her, his cheek resting against her hair.  He held her carefully.  The emotions he felt coursing through him made him afraid he would injure her with their intensity.  She was so easy to love but it was still hard to believe how deeply he could see she felt it in return.

“Wash my back?” he heard her say, muffled against his chest.

“Your back, your face, your hair …” he trailed off as she reached up and pulled his head down towards hers.  It was a long, sweet kiss.  He was still trying to deal with the incredible feeling of euphoria she gave him.

Almost shyly she helped him take off his shirt and pants as he loosed his jacket from her shoulders.  He reached into the shower, turning on the water, testing the temperature, then drew her in with him under the steamy, hot water.  They could feel the passion and desire for each other not far away, but this was about discovery.  They wanted to take the time to know each other, just to touch one another.

Angel found himself tracing gentle patterns on her arms and back as he had dreamed of doing so many times.  He placed tender kisses on her neck and shoulders as he lathered the soap, sliding his fingers over her skin.  They took turns gently massaging shampoo through one another’s hair.  Buffy let the soap slip through her hands lost in the feel of his muscles against her palms.  They took their time, languishing in the warm mist, enjoying the feeling of oneness they shared.  They finally left the stall when the water began to cool.

After he wrapped Buffy in a huge cotton towel, he insisted on drying her.  She didn’t argue, but smiled as she felt the large, strong hands through the towel, gently pat each inch of skin, then tousle her hair.  He gave her the clothes he had found for her.  While she dressed, he dried himself, padding back to the bedroom long enough to find something for himself to wear.  She followed behind him still buttoning the crimson silk shirt over the black silk boxers from his closet.  He turned when he heard her step, his smile widening at the picture she made in his clothes.  He thought they had never been worn so beautifully.

He finally left her on her own long enough to rummage around in the kitchen to find something for them to eat while she wandered through the living room.  She fingered one of his books as her gaze took in the volumes that lined the walls, surrounding the room with their staunch, solid security.  She intuitively understood what the books and the room itself represented to Angel.  And with that, just how singular her own presence was in the midst of it.  It reminded her painfully of her conversation with Cordelia, something she knew still had to be broached and brought into the open.  She unconsciously shook her head, unwilling to inflict any hurt upon him as happy as he was right now.  But she knew nothing had really changed, that until they shared the scars, inside and out that they both had, they couldn’t move on.  In his words, it wouldn’t work with them.

He called to her and she laid down the slim volume to join him in the kitchen.  She was quiet as she nibbled at the salad and French bread he’d set on plates on the table.  She sipped a little of the wine with a pensive look.  He wondered at the sudden change in her mood, worried he’d done something to upset her, but didn’t ask, waiting instead, giving her time.  When they were done, he swept the few dishes into the dishwasher.  As before he took her smaller hand in his, this time leading her to the fireplace.  He built a small fire as she looked on, preoccupied, then he drew her down in his chair, tucking her in beside him.

He stroked the silken hair as he gently laid his cheek against her forehead.  “Are you going to tell me why you’re so quiet?” he asked, concern leaking into his words.

A few seconds passed.  “I love you,” she told him in a small voice, rubbing her cheek against the fabric of the shirt that covered his chest.

“I know that,” he answered as he lifted her chin with one finger to see into her eyes.  The pain and sadness there, and the worry, behind the love in her look pierced him.  “I love you,” he said, overwhelmed once again by how deeply she affected him.  “More than anything,” he added with a desperate whisper.  He waited while she remained silent.  His concern for her won out over his patience.  “Tell me what it is, love,” he pleaded softly.  If she only realized how much he loved her – more than life itself.  He had called her ‘love’ so naturally, he thought, but that was what she was, love personified.  What else would he call her?

She wasn’t sure how to start, not wanting to push him away, knowing he would be troubled no matter how she went about it.  Gathering her courage, she finally shifted around, sitting almost face to face with him.  “I-I’ve never loved anyone like I love you,” she started.

He wasn’t calmed, knowing from her tone how serious she was.  He could feel her tension and eased his large hands down her back as he studied her.

“In fact, I never let myself love anyone for a long time,” she said.  She smiled then, “But, you didn’t give me any choice.”  She took a long breath, knowing the next part would wound him, but she went on, “When you left – every time you left – I thought it was me.”

She reached out two fingers, pressing them against his lips as he started to open his mouth in protest.  Then seeing the look of self-loathing in his eyes replace the light that had been there for so short a time, she leaned in and kissed him softly.

“No, don’t …  Let me explain,” she entreated, as she threaded her fingers through his hand.  “When I was younger, I had a close friend …”  Buffy told him about Pike.  She told him about her parents breaking up and about her father abandoning her.  She explained how her mother’s death had reinforced her feelings.  How she had never gotten serious with anyone since then, nor had she wanted any close relationship.  “I thought when they left, that they didn’t love me, that it was something I had done or not done that caused it,” she ended.

“They were fools for leaving you,” Angel said, not understanding how anyone couldn’t love her.

She gave him a wise, sad smile, “So were you, Angel,” she reminded him.  When he tried to lower his eyes, she tilted his face up, “But for different reasons.  They left me because they were worried about themselves and that's who came first.  You left because you put me first."  Her fingers traced from his chin up his jaw, then drifted back down again.  "They were selfish, Angel.  Something you don't know how to be.  And I love you for that, even though it hurt," she finished in a low voice.

He reached his arms around her, kissing her softly, hiding his head in the crook of her neck, “I’m so sorry, love,” he whispered.

“No one can hurt me as much as you,” she confessed.  When she felt him cringe at her words, she lifted a hand back to his face to look at her.  “Because no one could ever love me as much as you,” she said softly.

She nuzzled down into his embrace, still turned towards him.  “If you and I didn’t love each other so much, I might have been able to cover it up, push it away and not deal with it.”  She looked back up, “But you made me see things, painful things about myself.  I wouldn’t have done that if it wasn’t for you.”

Buffy gathered her strength for what she was about to tell him, unconsciously squeezing his fingers more tightly.  “You were wrong about leaving, Angel,” she said, searching his face.  “You should have trusted me enough to share why you didn’t stay.”

She saw the dark haunted look move back in and take up residence in his eyes, his head falling forward in dejection.  “Buffy …” he said, not even knowing how to continue.  He had been so happy with her the last few hours, he had managed to push everything away.  Now it was all rushing back around them.

“I-I already know what happened when you were a boy, Angel, and what happened two years ago,” she said softly as carefully as she could.  His eyes grew wide with shock.  She felt him tense and raised her hand back to his face to comfort him.  She thought fleetingly it was as though she was trying to calm some kind of frightened animal that had been wounded and left vulnerable.

“Who told you?” he questioned her, his voice thickening with anger, almost snarling.  His business was his own, no one else’s.  He sat up and away, only holding her loosely.  His eyes penetrating into hers.

“Cordelia came to visit me while you were away,” Buffy admitted.  “And I begged Lindsey to tell me what happened during the training exercise.  He could lose his job for it, but he knows how much I love you, so he finally gave in.  He didn’t want to do it.”

Angel shot up, practically dumping her on the floor in his fury.  “He should lose it, he had no right, neither did Cordelia,” he ranted.

Buffy refused to let his anger stand in the way.  She scrambled to a stand.  Putting her hands on her hips, she told him, “Cordelia loves you.  She was worried about you.  She cares about you, just like I do and she knew you wouldn’t tell me!”

“It happened a long time ago, Buffy, it’s over,” he said bluntly, walking away towards the shelves of books.

She followed right behind, pulling him around to face her, “It’s not over at all, Angel, it’s keeping us apart,” she said, angry that he was still shutting her out.  “You said yourself it won’t work with us and that’s why.  You have to let me in.”

“Into what?” he countered angrily, “What’s left of me?  It isn’t pretty, Buffy, what little there is to see.  That’s why I tried to stay away from you.  You deserve a real man, not a broken one.”

“Why won’t you let me decide for myself?  Why is what I do with my life only up to you, not both of us?” she challenged him.  “I love you, Angel,” she cried, “I can’t live without you anymore.  Don’t you understand?  You have to let me in!  You’re the only somewhere I have to go.”

Buffy was so tired.  It had been a very long day.  She had been so happy with him, so overjoyed to see him smile and look free for those few hours.  She loved him from the very depth of her being and she wasn’t going to let him go.  But she was so frustrated arguing with him, she broke down, crumpling against him, crying.

He couldn’t stand the sight of the tears streaming down her face, her shoulders shaking with sobbing that he had caused yet again.  He lifted her into his arms, smoothing a hand over her back, his anger dissolving in her tears.  “I’m sorry, love, please don’t cry.  I didn’t mean to be angry with you,” he murmured in her ear as he gently rocked her to calm her down.

“Angel,” she breathed in a ragged whisper, still desperate for him to know just how much she loved him, “all I can see is you … all I want is you.”

“I know the feeling,” he answered from the bottom of his heart.

[end chapter 12]

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