Weathering The Storm

Part 2

Chapter XIII

Angel carried Buffy across the room, lowering her gently to the rug in front of the fireplace.  Grabbing a couple of throws he tossed them on the floor, then turned to put more logs on the fire.  He lay down beside her and rolled her gently towards him, tugging one of the throws over her.

He was as exhausted as Buffy.  He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten right in weeks.  Looking down at her he was overwhelmed with her love.  Still sniffling, clutching his shirt in her small hand as if he’d leave her if she didn’t hold on, his heart cracked.  She was right.  She had a right to know what she was dealing with, even if she left once she knew.  All he could do was take the chance.

“I promise, love”, he told her softly, “I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

He bent his head when she moved the hand still grasping his shirt up to his face, drawing him down to her.  As his lips touched hers, she opened her mouth, begging him to enter.  She moaned as he searched for her tongue with his, then sucked it into his mouth.  He deepened the kiss, needing to taste her, keep her close.  No woman had ever made him feel the way Buffy did.  One touch, one brush of those soft, sweet lips was enough to make him forget other women existed.  All the nights of empty sex he’d ever known were swept away with one loving caress of her fingers against his cheek.  They both felt the soft surge of energy their touch always generated in each other.

Angel didn’t break the kiss until he felt her hands unbuttoning his shirt.  He heard her whimper softly as he pulled away and rose from the floor.  “I’ll be right back, love,” he promised.  Making his way quickly to the bathroom, he took one of the small packages from the newly purchased box of condoms hidden in the cupboard.  He gave himself but a moment to dwell on their very presence before returning to his lover.

Lying back down he caught Buffy’s lips in a searing kiss, to make up for his brief absence. Without a word between them, they slowly undressed each other.  His hands wandered tenderly over her, absorbing the feel of soft skin, silken under his fingers, of curves that drew his touch, tracing their lines, memorizing each rise and fall.  Her fingers left fiery trails upon his arms and back.  He reveled in her feather light kisses as her lips moved down his neck, then across his chest.  She lifted her eyes to his and he melted from the heat of her gaze.

She loved him.  He could feel it, her eyes were filled with the its intensity.  He was still amazed by the absolute wonder of it.  All of this was so new to him.  Angel had never loved anyone or been loved in return.  He was still trying to comprehend it.  All of it.  He let the moment, the feeling of them skin to skin and what they felt for each other wash over him, then fill him.

He’d thought of nothing but Buffy for months.  One blissfully revealing night had shown him that it was love he’d been feeling for her all along.  And since that night, his heart and his life had been torn in two.  Wanting to be with her, but staying away had tested him beyond his limits.  Tonight he realized Buffy had been right all along, there really hadn’t been any choice.  He couldn’t live without her anymore than one could breathe without air.  And he needed this – this tender, quiet lovemaking.  Only with her did he feel complete, in spite of his faults and shortcomings.  That she wanted and needed it as much as he, put meaning and purpose in the empty void that had been his life for so long.

Angel felt the fire building in the slow, gentle caresses they’d been sharing.  His hands and lips found their way to her breasts.  He left tiny bites and kisses all over, suckling and licking each nipple, taking small mouthfuls of the flesh over her ribs and stomach, tickling her with his tongue.

He could smell her arousal growing.  Drawn by her scent, he slid down to her navel, then trailed his tongue down, burying his face between her legs.  He needed to taste her, feel her on his tongue, be permeated with her essence.  Wanting to give her as much pleasure as she gave him, he gently sucked on her sensitive bud, building her arousal, lapping up the dew that flowed from her.  She pushed her hips against his mouth and whispered his name.  The sound made his heart ache to hear it.

When he felt her getting closer, he pulled back to rip open the foil, rolling the covering in place.  Angel shifted onto his back and tugged her up on top of him.  He captured her breasts in his hands as she hovered over him, arching even closer towards his adoring fingers and mouth. Taking his time to worship her, alternating from one soft mound to the other, he reveled in her soft, whispery coos of pleasure.  She let her legs fall on either side of him, rubbing herself against his length, sending fire through his veins.

Her small fingers trailed down until they wrapped around his sex, barely able to circle its girth.  She stroked it gently for a few moments, then guided it into herself.  Angel felt himself grow even harder as he slipped into her welcoming heat.  She used his chest for leverage as she rocked him more deeply inside her.  He pushed up with his hips, both finding a rhythm together.  Bringing his hands up to her breasts once more, he paid special attention to her nipples, squeezing and pinching them softly.  His touch brought her to the brink.  He sat up, drawing his knees behind her back, then pulled her towards him, taking one hand to draw her mouth to his, sipping in her sweetness.  His fingers tangled in the shimmering softness of her hair as he gently held her head in place.

Buffy tipped gently into orgasm, her muscles tightened and he felt her twist slightly, drawing him with her over the edge.  Feeling her climax, he lifted her, moving her down as he drove his hips upward against hers.  He felt his release as her silken walls milked him dry.  He pulled her down with him as he collapsed against the rug, his arms over her.  After a few long moments he rolled her back over beside him.  He withdrew from her only long enough to do away with the protective skin of plastic.  Returning to her open arms, he curled himself around her.

They lay quiet for a long time, listening to the crackling fire.  Buffy finally prompted him gently.  “Angel,” she whispered softly, “I need you to tell me what happened.  I need to hear it as much as you need to tell me.”  His face took on a stony look in spite of his promise to tell her.  Even after what they’d just shared and how much he felt her love, he was afraid of what the results would be.  “Please, Angel,” she begged him.  She wouldn’t let him drop his gaze away from her, wouldn’t let him turn away.  She was the only reason he would ever force himself to remember that time.

She felt his body go tense around her.  A great shudder racked through him and she wrapped both her arms around him to calm him.  He drew her close, as close as he could, short of bringing her inside himself where he needed her warmth and life to be.  He lifted his hand and stroked her hair as he buried his face in its sweet, fragrant smell.  It was so soft … so warm and alive.  Reaching down his other hand, he laced his long fingers through her shorter ones, rubbing his thumb on the back of her hand, feeling its softness under his touch.  Warm and alive.  He still hesitated, not wanting to think of the cold.  The fire hissed and murmured beside them helping to ease him if only a little.  She held his fingers more tightly, pleading with him silently to talk to her and he could deny her nothing, not even this.

He had never told anyone anything but the barest details.  No one knew the whole story – not the doctors or the therapists, not his parents or Cordelia.  He had tried to bury it as deeply as he could, but it was always there, never as far away as he tried to push it.  Not bringing it out, not putting it into words made it easier.  Words would make it too real again and he could never bear it.  It had stayed hidden so long he wasn’t even sure he could do it.  He hated to give Buffy this terrifying, twisted darkness he’d spent his life trying to efface, but now he couldn’t not tell her.  He felt the last of his defenses fall away, as she tenderly brushed her lips over his heart, encouraging him with her love.  He would only do this for her.

The cracked whisper of his voice sounded over the hitching of his breath.  “I was pushing Dru in a swing,” he started, “We were both watching the door for Spike and Harmony and Cordy.  Dru …”  He swallowed harshly and Buffy looked up into his eyes.  Twin points of soft hazel light caught him and carried him on.  “Dru was a pretty little girl, big blue eyes and long, long blonde hair.”  His fingers still unconsciously smoothed Buffy’s hair lifting the soft, silken tendrils as he rubbed them between his thumb and fingers.  “She was such a sweet little thing.”  Buffy’s heart cried for his.  She felt the warm skin of his chest as she laid her face back down against it.  She listened to the pounding beat beneath her ear, felt his fingers tenderly twining strands of her hair around them as if they were his lifeline.

“The men came up behind us.  I never even had time to yell,” he told her. “The last thing I saw before they threw us in the back of a van was Spike’s face as he ran towards us as fast as he could.  But it was already too late.”

Angel stopped once again to draw strength from the deceptively diminutive form that anchored him.  Untangling his fingers from her hair he smoothed his hand up and down her back.  He raised their clasped hands drawing her up to look at him.  “I can feel you, you know,” he said with the faintest of smiles.  “I know you feel it too.”

Buffy knew what he meant.  Besides that inexplicable energy they felt touching one another, it ran deeper than that.  Another reason it had been so difficult when she couldn't be with him, only near him.  “I just know,” she nodded, “that when you're around, whether I see you or not – I feel you – inside – and it throws me.”

“Throws me, too,” he replied simply, his eyes saying so much more.

The ghost of his smile faded away as his expression grew sad.  “There was something between Spike and Dru … not at all like what you and I have,” he said, looking at their fingers entwined, searching for words to explain.  “They had a connection of some kind.  Dru could ‘see’ things.  She’d have dreams, visions, while she was wide-awake.  But Spike was the only one she shared them with and he was the only one who could calm her down when she had them.  He always watched over her, protected her.  It’s as if they were born for that.  She had this gift or whatever it was, and he was there to take care of her.  I don’t know.”  Angel shook his head.  “The look on Spike’s face when the door was closing …” he stopped again for a moment.  “Dru was crying and I pulled her into my lap and kept holding her.”  Angel laid his cheek against Buffy’s head, thinking about the tiny blonde one that had been pressed against him such a long time ago.  “She was crying for her brother and all she had was me.”

Sometimes words weren’t enough.  Buffy reached up and kissed him and waited long moments until she felt him kissing her back.  She felt his arms go around her drawing her close again, hiding his face in the hollow of her neck.  Buffy had known this was going to be a long painful night.

After a while he laid his head back down, his arm still curved around her and began again. “They took us to this cabin somewhere in the woods and tied us up on a bed in a corner.  I don’t know how long we were there.  It was so cold Dru would try to curl up next to me, but our hands and feet were tied, I couldn’t hold her.  I tried to roll as close as I could to keep her warm.  She whispered things to me about what she saw.”

The scene came back to him with agonizing clarity.  Angel only caught a brief glimpse of the forest when they were dragged from the van.  The cabin was bare, except for the dirt and a few sticks of furniture.  Large chinks in the walls and roof let in drafts like scissors of ice that cut through them.  The men had thrown them on a tiny cot like they were so much baggage.  He could feel Dru shivering against him, feel the ropes digging into his wrists with any attempt he made to comfort her.  He was thankful only that her voice was too low for their captors to catch, but he didn't want to hear the things she murmured in the dim light.

Angel shivered at the memory and Buffy reached up to softly stroke her hand against his cheek.  “She kept telling me about a storm coming and that she hurt.  I was so scared laying there with her,” he admitted truthfully.  “I was scared for both of us, there was nothing I could do.  She would cry and call for Spike even in her sleep.  Sometimes I wished it were him there with her, at least she would have had something she wanted.”  He let out a long painful sigh.  “Maybe he would have been able to protect her.  Maybe that’s what he was meant to do.”

He stared up at the ceiling for a while watching the firelight play with the shadows. Then he gently shifted Buffy until they lay side by side, face to face.  She traced the side of his face with her fingers, trailing them across his broad forehead and slanted cheekbones.  He saw the firelight flicker in the depths of her eyes, changing colors with the flames.  He could stay there looking into those eyes forever.  He wanted to spare her all this, but she wouldn’t let him.

Angel felt like someone had pulled a plug somewhere and all these horrible bits and pieces of his past were leaking out like sludge.  Things that weren’t improved by the light of day.  He hated sharing this with her.  No matter how good her intentions were, he still wasn’t convinced this was a good idea.  He was only telling her because she insisted.  What would happen once she did know everything, would she still love him?  No, there was no doubt in his heart about that.  He knew she would, that whatever it was he saw when he looked in the mirror she found something very different there.  He didn’t think he’d ever understand what she did see, but he wasn’t willing to question it if it kept her by his side.  He knew now he had to have her there to survive.

 “It doesn’t get any better,” he warned her, making a half-hearted attempt to dissuade her.

 “It can’t get better until it’s finished, Angel,” she said, staunch determination fixed in her gaze.  She hated seeing him hurting, but she knew if you didn’t get all the dirt out of a wound it could never heal.  This one had festered way too long and painful as it was, it needed to come out.

Angel sighed, already knowing what her answer would be.  He kept his eyes on his hand, which had wandered down drawing patterns over her shoulder and arm.  It didn't work though, he couldn't block out the images of the men crowded around the small table in front of the empty, blackened fireplace.  Once in a while the tallest, heaviest one would stalk over and glare down on them.  Angel had never seen eyes that cold and dead.  The other men were short and fairly nondescript, one with a full beard, the other with several days of unshaven stubble on his face.

“There were three men in the cabin with us," he told Buffy, unwittingly describing what he saw in his mind's eye.  "They ignored us most of the time.  One of them yelled at Dru when she kept crying.  I told him to leave her alone and he said he'd shut her up if she didn’t stop.  I hushed her by telling her stories until she fell asleep."  Angel shook as he recalled the large man's raspy threat.  He wondered how he had found the courage to talk back to the dark, menacing giant, feeling Dru cower against him at the sound of the man's voice.

Then he had found their salvation, small and ignoble as it was.  He had been so careful, so afraid they would catch him out.  "Once they untied me long enough to take me outside because I told them I had to go," Angel murmured in Buffy's ear, "I found a broken piece of a bottle.  I pretended to fall down and landed on it.  I hid it in my hands and when I got back to the bed I tried to cut the ropes when they weren’t watching."

“One of them, the leader, left and was gone for a long time.  When he came back he argued with the others.  They all looked at us and swore.  I know now that things weren't going the way they planned.  It was all coming unraveled and they were beginning to realize what a mistake they made.  They were getting desperate."

Angel's stomach knotted up in terror the same way it had when he was that small boy.  He unconsciously sought shelter in Buffy's arms, pulling her closer.

The men had been angry, screaming obscenities at each other, one breaking a chair to rip off a leg as a weapon.  The largest of them had stripped it from his hands waving it over the smaller man's head.  Angel had felt the fear bubbling up through his chest, moving up his throat.  He bit his cheek to keep from screaming himself.  He rolled over so Dru was behind him, protecting her the only way he knew how.

 "I was so afraid Dru would say something," he recounted in a low voice. "She still wanted Spike.  She didn’t understand why he didn’t come and get her.  She was whispering that the storm was coming and whimpering that she didn’t like to hurt.  But they didn't hear her,” Angel said, looking towards the window as if he expected a storm to appear.

"The leader took one of the men with him and warned the man who stayed with us too keep away from the whiskey.  After they left, he pulled a bottle out of one of their packs."

Angel had been so relieved he almost cried when the huge, burly man had cuffed the bearded one, barking an order to take the van and follow him.  He beat his fist on the table in front of the other man, making his instructions clear about staying sober and keeping watch.  The young boy had been shocked that the scraggly-faced man barely waited a full minute after the others drove away before rummaging through the bag, then pulling the stopper off a bottle filled with dark liquid and taking a long, gulping swig.

The ropes had been tightened cruelly, he and Dru had been trussed up almost unable to move.  It was better after his trip outside to relieve himself.  He'd managed to hide the bit of glass when they untied Dru, warning her on the way out that if she had to go she better be quick about it.  Maybe one of the men still had some small trace of kindness in him since Angel found the rope on Dru's wrists was left a little slack after one of them brought her back and tossed her on the cot.

"The whole time our guard was drinking I worked on the ropes, he hardly even looked over at us. He just kept drinking and staring out the window.  It started raining.”  Angel grimaced unconsciously and Buffy smoothed her warm hands up and down his arms, then drew him closer to her.  He calmed somewhat, but his mind was still lost in the past.

 “The others hadn’t come back and he finally passed out while he was sitting at the table.  I knew I had to hurry, I didn’t know how long we had.  It seemed like forever," he said, his features drawn taut reliving the memory.  "I kept twisting and cutting with the glass until I finally got my ropes off, then Dru’s.  I crept up behind the guy and hit him over the head with his bottle.  He fell out of the chair and his head hit the floor.  It was nighttime when we got out.  It was so cold and the rain was coming down in sheets.”

Buffy reached for his arm and Angel watched as she traced the scars on his wrist.  But he pulled his hand up to her face to wipe away the tears he saw starting to roll down her cheeks.  Seeing her cry for him made him love her even more, if such a thing was possible.  His own eyes stung with moisture as she turned towards his hand and gently kissed the scars below his palm.

Buffy could feel the tremors running through Angel’s frame.  She used one hand to tug one of the throws over them that he had left on the floor.  Angel wound himself around her as Buffy wrapped her small arms around his large torso and snuggled him down under the cover with her.  He felt the cold recede and tried to steel himself for the rest.

“A bolt of lightening hit a tree and lit everything like it was day.  I saw the van they’d taken us in and another car coming up the road.  I grabbed Dru’s hand and we ran.  The men must have seen us.  I saw them and tried to run faster.  They started shooting at us…”

That stark, naked bolt was as indelibly scored into his being as the cacophony of the storm, the echoing crack of the tree, split in two like a matchstick, the ground shuddering in its wake, vibrating through their feet, the chill wind tearing at their clothes and teeming rain arrowed at their faces.  But even the chaotic elements didn't hold the terror of the monsters in the guise of adults, chasing them, the deadly report from their guns and the splat of a wildly aimed bullet as it hit a tree close by, rending the wood on impact, splintered pieces hitting Angel's cheek as they ran.

Buffy was unable to stop the cry from her lips.  Her heart twisted even tighter that anyone could do that to two little children.  Cordy had told her Dru died from a bullet wound, but Angel telling her about being hunted like animals chilled her to the bone.  No wonder Angel always felt cold.

Angel turned his head, the sound of her voice pulling him back.  He put his hand under her chin, bringing it up so he could see if she was all right, concern written across his face.  She felt the ever present tears start flowing again.  He was telling her the horrific nightmare he’d lived through … and he was worried about her just hearing it.  She loved him so much.  She kissed him again, long and slow, her fingers threading through the hair above his neck.

He needed the kiss, his need for her far deeper than the wounds and the scars and the unrelenting pain.  Never had he found refuge from the horrifying specter of that time so long ago.  Only Buffy offered safe haven for his ravaged heart and soul.  When they were finally forced to breathe he sighed into her arms, laying there soaking her in, submerging himself in her loving embrace.  She reached for his hand once again, knowing the worst part was still to come.  She let him rest against her and waited until he was ready.

“I didn’t know she was hurt until later,” Angel whispered so low she could barely hear him.  “We finally outran them.  I thought I could get to a road or find someone to help us and I thought Dru was safe or would be.”

The raw pain in Angel’s voice slit through Buffy like a razor.  Angel folded in against her, taking refuge once more in the curve of her neck.  She cried with him as he whispered the rest to her in wrenching sobs.  He couldn’t stop now until it was all out, until he was done.  The floodgates had finally opened and it all came crashing through.

“It was dark, except for the lightening.  It was so close and bright it was blinding.  Dru was terrified of the thunder.  It made the ground shake.  I tried to find a way out, but it was all trees and rain.  We walked until Dru couldn’t go any further.  I thought she was just tired.  I was looking so hard for a way out I never saw the blood until then.  There wasn’t anything I could do, no way to help her.  There wasn’t even a place to get out of the rain.  I curled up around her, holding her as close as I could.  I tried to protect her from the rain, I tried to keep her warm.  She fell asleep holding onto my hand.  When I woke up it was morning … and Dru …”

Angel would never forget waking with the tiny blonde girl, still curled in his arms.  It was still storming, the rain pounding down on them and around them, but he knew she was dead.  The drops of rain pooled below her unseeing eyes, falling in rivulets like so many tears, down the ivory pall of her cheeks and into her sodden golden tresses.  He had lain there unmoving, just staring at her, the wind blowing its cold breath across him, but not as cold as she was.  Everything he'd done hadn't helped her at all.  He never tried to get up, didn't even remember being found in the forest, under the tall trees.  He had a vague recollection of seeing Spike's father, his face filled with sorrow, swimming before his eyes.  Angel had failed.  He had failed her father, he had failed her brother.  It was all his fault that Dru would never go home again.

Buffy held him letting all the horror, all the terror of what had happened so many years ago work its way out.  His large frame trembled violently as he released the pent up emotions he had locked away for so long.  She felt the tears streaming silently down her face, fall onto his hair.  After a very long time he finally quieted in her arms, burying himself deeper into her warmth.  The fire had died down in the grate, only one log was left burning.  She reached for one more throw to cover them.  They lay there without a sound.  At last she heard his breathing take on the steady cadence of sleep.  Curling herself around him as closely as she could, she fell asleep in his arms.

*****

When Buffy woke it was from the warmth … not from the body that had been crushed close to hers, but from the fire.  She was alone on the rug.  But she wasn’t alone in the room.  Angel was in the chair above her, sagging into the cushions as if a giant hand had pushed him down into it.  His ever faithful cup of coffee stood at attention by his side, vapors drifting lazily in a steamy salute.  His eyes, fixed on the logs he must have added, were vacant … and lost.  ‘It’s not over yet,’ she sighed deeply.  She saw the dark, chocolate eyes regain their focus, following the small sound she made.

“Hi,” he said, his voice softening with his features as he smiled down on her.

“Hi,” her voice still heavy with sleep.  Not seeing her borrowed shirt, she donned the one she pulled off him the night before.  Fastening the buttons, she crawled the few feet from the rug up into his lap.  She snuggled into his chest as he wrapped her in the powerful arms she loved to feel around her.  He rested his chin lightly on the top of her head and raised a hand to her hair, absently stroking through it.  She was content to remain there, tracing her fingers over his heart, basking in his love.

“Hungry?” she heard him ask, but shook her head slightly into the wall of muscle she was relaxed against.

Reluctant to leave the shelter of his embrace, savoring the quiet closeness, she put off getting up as long as she could.  “Save my place?” she finally asked when she could wait no longer.  She felt him nod against her hair, then slipped off his lap.

“Always,” was his single word in reply, smiling into her eyes as she stood.

After she freshened up she gave herself a long look in the mirror, trying to see if the traitor she felt like was looking back at her.  She hated to do this to him.  She still had to absorb the terrible things he’d told her during the night.  But it wasn’t done, there was more.  She was afraid if it didn’t all come out now it never would.  He was vulnerable and she hated taking advantage of it.  She knew though, that to wait even for a day, Angel would be rebuilding his walls.  He had described what happened, but he hadn’t told her the most important parts.  He hadn’t mentioned what came later or how he felt about it – then or now.  She used Angel’s brush on her hair, untangling the night’s damage as best she could, then went back to him.

She loved the way he opened his arms as she drew near.  Falling into them she folded herself back into the little niche she fit into so perfectly.  He brought his hand back to her hair in the same place it had rested before she got up, gently stroking the soft, fine strands of gold as if he had never stopped.  Nuzzled against his bare chest she waited for a few more moments, then finally asked, “What were you thinking of when I was sleeping?”

He stiffened, stilling his fingers where they burrowed into the burnished locks.  “Nothing,” he lied with a tired sigh.  He knew she wasn’t going to let it go.  He was exhausted.  The argument with her the day before – taking her on his desk, an act which gave him mixed feelings of guilty shame and undeniable male satisfaction – were wearing enough.  The rest of the night spent making love, then finally telling her what she made him share, had all drained him.  She couldn’t make him do any more, he rebelled inwardly.

“Angel,” she breathed quietly, tipping her head back to meet his gaze.

“No, Buffy,” he said firmly, averting his eyes so she wouldn’t see his anger.  He didn’t know if he was angrier with her or himself.  He didn’t want to go any further, delve any deeper, seek out any more demons lying below his surface.  But he knew if she asked that he would.  He couldn’t say no to her.  The times that he did had used up all the strength he had against her.  And she would ask.

“This isn’t just for you, Angel,” she persisted quietly, “It’s for both of us … together.  There can’t be an ‘us’ until you know who you are.”

The arrow she shot made a direct hit, stabbing home painfully.  His eyes widened at her piercing insight and he turned her and grabbed her roughly by her upper arms.  “Who do you think I am, Buffy?” he asked tightly as they sat face to face, her gaze never wavering.

“You’re my heart,” she whispered brokenly without hesitation.

Angel felt his own heart clench hearing the sincere honesty in her voice.  He crushed her to himself when he saw tears he had once again caused, falling from those beautiful eyes.  He could feel the heart she said was his beating rapidly against his own.  His large hands caressed her, trying to quiet her trembling, as he rained gentle kisses on her head.

“I’m sorry, love,” he murmured, lifting her tearstained face, catching even more drops to be added to those she had already shed for him.

He eased back down in the chair, stretching his legs out on the ottoman, pulling her down to rest over him.  They let the warmth of the fire ease in and relax them.

“That’s what I was asking myself,” he finally confessed, “I don’t know who I am and I’m not sure I’ve ever known.”

Buffy remained silent, only leaning in closer to him to give him strength.

“When I went back home, nothing was the same.  No … I wasn’t the same.  It was like watching from far away.  Like I was disconnected.  The only things that were real were the nightmares because I knew they were true.  I knew I had failed.”

Buffy immediately stirred her head to look at him.

“Are you going to tell me I didn’t?” Angel asked before she could say a word.

Buffy looked down as she thought about it.  She wasn’t a psychologist, she was a woman who loved the man before her.  She knew he’d heard it all before, but never believed it.  Bringing her eyes back to his, she answered, “No, Angel.  Only you know the answer to that.”

“I did,” he sighed harshly, “A long time ago.”

Buffy thought of the things that frightened her as a child.  They weren’t nearly on the same level as Angel’s demons, but they had been just as real to her at the time.  “When I was a little girl,” Buffy told him, “I was afraid there were monsters in my closet.  My mom used to come in every night and tell me it wasn’t true.  She’d walk me to the door and open it and turn the light on.  She’d push all the clothes out of the way so I could see it was empty.  As soon as she left I knew the monsters were back in there.”

“This isn’t some fairy tale, Buffy,” he said more severely then he meant to sound. “The men were real, so were the bullets.”

“No, it wasn’t a fairy tale,” she replied firmly, “And you weren’t a knight in shining armor that could slay the dragons and rescue the princess either.  You were eight years old, Angel.  You were just a little boy.”

Angel pulled his legs back and slid Buffy into the chair alone.  He stood up, looking around the room, purposely avoiding her gaze.  Running shaking fingers through his hair, he walked over to the bookcases, but they didn’t lend him their wisdom or comfort.  Buffy watched him over the top of the chair.  She knew he was angry, that it was old ground he thought had been covered.  Finally she couldn’t stand seeing the dejected slump in his shoulders and made her way to where he leaned against the shelves.  Coming up behind him, she wound her arms around his waist and waited.  She felt the tension rippling through him.

After a few long moments his muscles flexed as he caught her arm and brought her gently around to face him.  He knelt down before her, loosely holding his arms around her waist, looking up at her.  His jaw was clenched, tightening his features and his eyes held a telltale glisten.  He regarded her carefully before he spoke, as though to gauge her reaction.

“I locked my monsters in the closet.  I grew up.  When I was an agent, I thought I’d put it all behind me, that I’d gotten beyond it,” he said softly, “And all it took was a thunderstorm and a tree to show me I hadn’t gone anywhere at all.  That was the fairy tale.”

Buffy emitted a small cry and sank down to the floor in front of him.  She carefully cupped his cheek in her hand, searching his eyes.  “It wasn’t the monsters you locked away, Angel,” she said as if talking to a child, “it was a little boy.  You know that deep down – that he’s still there.  I’ve seen him.  He’s afraid of those storms just like he was when it happened and he won’t go away until you face him.”

“I don’t know how,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “I only found out he was there a couple years ago when a lightening bolt pointed him out.  It showed me him and everything I never was,” he finished bitterly, breaking their gaze.

“Never was?” she asked, mystified.  “You think because you lost it during that storm and ended up in the hospital that none of the rest of your life was real?”

“It wasn’t real, Buffy,” his voice cracking with strain, “The screening to get into the FBI?  I never passed it, I wasn’t supposed to be there.  And I never. even. knew.”

“I-I don’t understand …” she looked up with the question in her eyes.

“Neither did I for a long time,” he answered, leaning back stiffly against the bookcase.  “I thought I did it all on my own.  I had myself fooled so thoroughly it never occurred to me I hadn’t.  I didn’t know until I was in the hospital that it wasn’t me.”

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“It doesn’t matter, I know it’s true.  When I had that ‘breakdown’, the polite term for going insane, it made some things crystal clear.  The breakdown alone showed I should never have been in the agency and I could never have gotten there without help,” he told her heatedly.

“Angel, you were an agent for seven years, you led the team.  They wouldn’t trust that kind of job to someone who couldn’t handle it,” answering slowly as she thought about it, while taking hold of his hands.

“And they don’t now, do they?” he replied caustically.  He tried pulling away, but she pinned them in place on her lap.

“Even if you’re right, are you saying you weren’t a good agent?  That you weren’t an asset to the team?  That it wasn’t you who did all the work when you were there?” she challenged him.

“What if it was?  If all it took was something as simple as a weather change to break me, I shouldn’t have been,” he retorted.

“And what if there hadn’t been any storms?  What if you had already learned what to do with that little boy?  What if nothing had happened and you lived your whole life being an agent?  Would it have been real because you didn’t know?” she returned.

He was silent.  He didn’t have an answer.  He didn’t want to argue with her.  He didn’t want to think about it anymore.

“Angel, regardless of how you got in, you were good at your job or they never would have kept you, never would have promoted you.  And you might never have known, if what you’re telling me is true.  But, you’ve put that little boy off all your life and you still have to deal with him,” she said as she brought his hands to her lips.

He looked at her kissing them.  He would never understand why she loved him.

As if she heard his thoughts, she caught his gaze, still holding his hands tightly, “I love you, Angel. I always will.”  Tears hung on her lashes as she whispered, “I’m sorry.  I know this was hard and I know it’s not over, but it will be.  I know who you are and someday so will you.”

He saw her through the tears standing in his own eyes and pulled her into his lap.  Closing his arms around the only entity on earth that made his life worth living, he kissed her.  He’d told her everything and she still loved him.  Even though he thought he’d never know why, he didn’t care, as long as she never stopped.

[end chapter 13]

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Chapter XIV

At her request, Angel dropped Buffy off at her apartment to get ready for their evening out.  After he showered, he dressed hurriedly in the suit he’d picked up earlier from the cleaners.  Even this short amount of time was more than he cared to spend away from her.

When he arrived to pick her up to meet Cordelia and Wesley her heart skipped one or two beats at the sight of him in his tux.  He was devastating.  Buffy thought, with his dark hair and velvety deep brown eyes along with his classic features that he looked like he’d stepped out of a dream.  His broad shoulders seemed to want to burst out of the straining material.  She’d been all in favor of helping them do just that.  Leaving the apartment was a feat all by itself.

Angel, who as a rule, had no lack of discipline, found he had absolutely none when it came to Buffy.  She opened the door when he knocked and he almost fell in when he saw her.  She was a vision wearing a provocative, emerald green, silk cocktail dress.  There wasn’t a curve hidden as it clung to her like a second skin.  Her hair was a fire of gold and her eyes were like glittering green jewels, matching the color of her dress.  Breathtaking didn’t begin to cover it, he thought.  In fact he couldn’t think of a word that had been made to describe how she made him feel.  ‘Love’ was all he had, but it seemed there should be more words to capture all she was to him.

One look ignited a fire that raced through him and he pulled her into a passionate embrace.  It took all his willpower to keep from picking her up and heading for her bedroom.  Instead, after several heated kisses that she shared with equal fervor, he regained control of himself with a concerted effort.  He calmed down enough to lead her outside and help her into the car.

He couldn’t believe he had let Cordy talk him into going out, then rephrased it to ‘forced’, admitting to himself that she’d given him little choice in the matter.  Cordelia had insisted that Angel and Buffy meet her and her boyfriend, Wesley, while he was in town.  So now here Angel sat next to the most ravishing woman on earth and he had to share her with his sister and her boyfriend for an evening of dinner and dancing.  Every time he took his eyes off the road to glance over at his deliciously dressed lover a certain part of his body made it clear what he’d rather be doing.  ‘Can’t do that all the time,’ he mused as he chuckled softly, tempting as the idea was.

“Care to share?” his companion asked in a soft, sultry voice as he felt a slim hand slide onto his thigh.

Angel swallowed hard, his pants growing even tighter as his glance caught her openly lustful gaze.  It had been unseasonably warm for the past couple days, even for the West Coast.  He felt the temperature rise, knowing it had nothing to do with the weather.  “If I do, chances are we’d never make it to the restaurant,” he said honestly, trying to control his breathing and watch where he was going.

It was Buffy’s turn to chuckle as she listened to his swift intake of air.  She couldn’t believe how her shy, quiet Angel had turned into an unquenchable sex maniac overnight.  Not that she was complaining, nor had she since he’d so recently become one.  Releasing one more evil sounding chuckle she thought of all she’d done to help him ‘overcome’ his problem.

“And that would be a bad thing, how?”  Buffy snickered back at him, as she caught him smiling at her wicked laugh.

He laughed then, a sound Buffy had heard more often the past few days then in all the time she’d known Angel.  “You don’t know Cordelia,” he said.

“Not well,” Buffy answered, “But I know she loves you.”

That sobered him for a moment as he thought of Cordy saying those words when he had called her.  Although he had laid many ghosts to rest during his weekend with Buffy, he still wasn’t comfortable with the subject.  To find she’d gotten the bare facts from Cordelia had prompted him to call his sister about it.

“Cordelia,” he said in a tight voice when she answered the phone.

Cordy had been waiting for his call.  She knew after sharing Angel’s past with Buffy that it was only a matter of time before she heard from him.  “Angel?  Wow, did you lose your calendar?  It’s not even a Wednesday,” she rattled on, waiting for the blast.  It wasn’t long in coming.

“I hear you made a visit while I was away,” Angel said, ignoring her vain attempt at humor.

“Yes, I did,” Cordy replied in her trademark straightforward manner.  She knew he would be angry, but if he thought she’d be afraid of him – well, she wasn’t.

“You had no business telling Buffy …” his voice starting to rise before she cut him off.

“And you would have, Angel?” she snapped.

“It wasn’t up to you to make that decision,” he growled.

“Maybe not, but I knew you wouldn’t and she had a right to know.  She loves you,” Cordelia shot back.  “And you love her, don’t you?” she asked.

“That’s not the point …” he managed to get out before she interrupted him again.

“That’s exactly the point!” she exclaimed. “Tell me, Angel, honestly.  What happened after I told her?”

“It doesn’t make any difference ...” Angel started, not getting much further than before.

“Just answer the question, Angel!" she demanded, “Tell me she didn’t make you talk to her about it.  Tell me she doesn’t love you.”

She heard Angel’s labored breathing, then after a few eternally long moments, he said softly and wonderingly, “She does love me.”

Cordelia felt a grin smugly plant itself across her lips.  She’d been hoping, praying and dying for Angel to call her and tell her exactly that for days.  “Angel,” she told him more softly after she’d enjoyed her moment of triumph, “I’m sorry if you’re angry with me, but I love you.  Yes, I interfered and met Buffy when you weren’t there.  I knew the first time I heard her say your name that she loved you.  It wasn’t fair to her, Angel, or you.  I couldn’t let you throw away your one chance of happiness.”

Angel had tried to hold onto his anger, but he knew, in spite of her meddling, she was right.  He could hear how happy Cordy was for him in her voice and he couldn’t deny her that.  “I suppose then,” he said thinking about a certain golden-haired fighter who wouldn’t give up either, “you expect me to thank you?”

Cordy laughed into the phone, tears standing in her eyes, “Yes, Angel, a thank you would be really nice.”

“Thank you, Cordy,” he said simply.

“You’re more than welcome ... and it’s about time!” she ended.

“Yes, I know Cordy loves me and she also knows I hate to get dressed up and go out,” Angel finally replied as he came back to his conversation with Buffy.

“You can’t blame her for wanting to see us together in person.”  Buffy knew how much Cordelia was looking forward to this evening.  She was the one who had made the arrangements with his sister after Angel had finished talking to her.  “And the fun,” Buffy promised him, “will be later when we get un-dressed up.”

He started getting warm all over again.

A short time later, Angel found he had forgotten just how beautiful his own sister was as he stood and watched her enter the restaurant on the arm of a tall, thin, dark-haired man.  She was dressed in a crimson gown that accentuated her abundant gifts to a fault.  There wasn’t an eye that wasn’t drawn to her as the pair made their way across the room.

“Angel, this is Wesley Wyndam-Pryce.  Wesley, my brother, Liam Angelus,” Cordelia introduced them.  “And this,” she said, after he shook hands with Angel, “is Buffy Summers.”

Wesley nodded politely to Buffy, giving her an open, warm smile before returning his attention to Cordelia's brother.  “I’ve heard a lot about you, Liam,” Wesley greeted him, “If I may call you that.”

“Have you?” Angel queried, cocking an eyebrow at his sister.

“Relax, bro, I didn’t tell him that much.” Cordy swatted Angel lightly. “I warned him if I did you’d have to kill him.”

They all sat down and ordered drinks from the waiter.  Cordelia had chosen the restaurant and, of course, it suited her with the dramatic black leather clamshell enclosure that surrounded them and their table.  Cordelia and Buffy both glimmered within it, catching the eyes and breath of their respective dates.  Only the finest crystal and cutlery were laid out before them.  Buffy thought it was a bit rich for her tastes, but she enjoyed the privacy it afforded them.  Although Angel showed a new ease when in her presence, she knew he still abhorred being in places with large groups of people.  She was sure Cordelia had been of the same mind when she made the reservations.

Cordy could see that Buffy was making every effort to keep Angel from being uncomfortable, but thought amusingly, she didn’t really have to work at it.  Even in the company of his sister and her boyfriend, Angel couldn’t tear his eyes off the dainty, green-eyed beauty nestled beside him.  And Cordelia found she couldn’t take her eyes off Angel.  This was ‘Angel’, her brother.  At least he looked like the man she remembered.  But he was smiling and, oh God, laughing!  She had a dim memory of how he did that once very long ago.  The light glowing in his eyes matched the one in Buffy’s.  They were polite to their companions, but it seemed neither could keep their attention away from the other.

Cordelia wasn't the crying type, but she forced herself more than once not to do just that while watching her brother fawning over his beautiful golden goddess.  She’d waited so long for the impossible to happen and there it finally was in front of her.  Cordy still wasn't sure she even liked Buffy Summers, but she was realistic enough to concede to herself that it didn't make much difference.  Angel loved Buffy and after all his years in painful self-imposed isolation he needed her, badly. Not to mention that Cordy knew what Angel was like once his mind was made up.  He would never allow anyone or anything to come between he and Buffy, even his sister.  She could live with that as long as Buffy never hurt him.  But the look Buffy returned to Angel was just as intensely loving and adoring as his own.  Neither of them could stop touching the other, sitting closely, twining their fingers together.  There was no doubt the two were deeply in love.  Cordy sat back and feasted her eyes on the sight.  It had been a long time coming and she figured she deserved to enjoy it.

After their dinner was served Wesley cleared his throat to get Angel’s attention, “I’ve been trying to convince your sister of the benefits of the East Coast as opposed to the West,” he told him.  “She seems to think her career can only flourish in the dubious shadows of Hollywood.  I thought, perhaps, you could support my argument that ‘real’ acting is to be found in New York.”

“Tell the truth, Wes,” Cordelia interjected, “You prefer the East and want me in it for your convenience.”

Wesley laughed dryly, “I would hardly think of you as convenient in any sense of the word,” he told her.

Angel laughed, a sound that Cordelia thought she could get used to, coming from him.  “He already seems to know you well, Cordy.”  Turning his gaze suddenly to Wesley, Angel questioned him, rather severely, “It is her best intentions you have in mind, right?”

He looked at Wesley so piercingly the other man felt as though he was being interrogated.  “O-of course,” Wesley stammered, surprised at the sudden change in Angel’s demeanor.  One moment he was smiling softly at the petite blonde tucked securely within his embrace, the next he morphed into a rather daunting inquisitor.

“Down, boy,” Cordy directed her brother, placing a hand warningly on his arm.  “I’ll be the judge of my male friends’ character, if you don’t mind.”  Glancing back to Wesley she said, “Sorry, Wes, he’s the overprotective type, should have warned you.  I’d forgotten just how protective he can be.  You might want to take note of that, Buffy.”

Buffy chuckled as Angel reddened slightly, “Umm, think I’ve seen that side of him, Cordelia,” she said, thinking of Riley, then Lindsey, knowing Angel was having similar thoughts.  Feeling a bit sorry for poor Wesley and in an attempt to hide Angel’s embarrassment, she asked, “You live in New York, Wesley?”

“Yes,” Wesley answered hesitantly, now keeping one eye on Angel, “but, I’m forced to travel extensively, the West Coast in particular.  I suppose I call neither place home any longer.”

“What is it you do, Wes?” Angel asked with what he considered to be normal curiosity.  The woman on either side of him both gave him points for trying, but Wesley’s nervous reply showed Angel had a ways to go before he reached normal.

“I’m a lawyer for the talent agency where Cordelia is signed.  They have a considerable number of listings on both coasts,” he supplied.  “Although I have had no dealings with the contracts she’s presently agreed upon,” Wesley added primly.

“Wes doesn’t believe in mixing business with pleasure,” Cordy smiled.

It was Wesley’s turn to blush a little.  “I was merely pointing out that we are not professionally connected.  I have no ulterior motives for seeking your company.”

“Just the normal motives of any red-blooded man, right?”  Cordelia teased.

Wesley flushed even more deeply in response.  “Cordelia …” he fumbled for an answer.

“Just kidding, Wes!  Nervous much?” Cordy laughed, then caught Wesley sheepishly looking in Angel’s direction.  “Honest, Wesley, Angel doesn’t bite.  He just growls convincingly,” she laughed again.  “C’mon, Angel, I want to see if you remember how to dance and don’t worry, I’m sure Wesley will be the pinnacle of propriety if he dances with Buffy.”  With that she caught her brother by the hand, looking at him commandingly.

Angel lifted his investigatory look from Wesley and tried silently begging with Cordelia not to force him to dance, but to no avail.

“I didn’t teach you how to dance just to have you choke up on me now,” she grinned wickedly.

“No,” Angel countered, still giving her pleading looks, “but as I recall I wasn’t given any choice then either.”

"Hey!  Can't pin that on me," she reminded him, "I did you a favor, secret agent man."

Angel shook his head with the ghost of a smile, "Even your lessons didn't keep me from sticking out like a sore thumb," he told her, "I was so bad doing surveillance at that ball, they ended up putting me in a van to watch it from a monitor."  At Buffy's deeply curious look he explained, "They were desperate for dancers to mingle, but seems I only dance well with shadows."

Both Cordelia and Buffy burst out laughing at Angel's unusual stab at humor while Wesley looked on mystified.  Still smiling, Cordelia dragged her brother away in spite of his protests, motioning to Wesley to follow them with Buffy.

Once on the dance floor Cordelia told her brother, “You don’t have to scare my men away, Angel,” she smiled, “I can do that all by myself if I need to.”

“I’m sorry, Cordy,” Angel sighed, “I, uh … didn’t mean to …”

“Give him the third degree?” Cordy finished for him. “Yes, you did and I love you for it, but I don’t want Wesley to swim away before I reel him in.”

Angel’s eyes had wandered helplessly to where Wesley was dancing with Buffy.  He couldn’t keep them from finding and settling on the center of his universe.  At Cordelia’s words, he tore them away from Buffy and looked down at his sister sharply, “Reel him in?  That sounds serious coming from you,” he said.

“I’ll never know if he doesn’t live through the night, will I?” she scolded him gently.

“Okay, okay,” Angel relented, “I won’t say another word to him,” he promised as his eyes were drawn back irresistibly to the other couple.  He knew Wesley had no interest in Buffy, he knew that.  But, it didn’t stop the possessive feeling from overtaking him anyway.

“I don’t want you to ignore him, Angel,” Cordy told him, “just don’t eat him.”  Her gaze followed Angel’s, “And I promise, he’ll give Buffy back to you just the way he found her.”   Then she looked back up at him,  “Angel,” she said more softly, “I, umm, brought you something I thought you might like to have.”

He dragged his eyes back once more to his sister with an enquiring look.

Cordelia opened the tiny purse that matched her outfit and handed Angel a small, worn looking, velvet-covered box.  At the question written on his face she nodded at him to open it.  Inside Angel found two very familiar rings, very old and very beautiful.  They were identical except for size, one being much larger than the other, and a stone in the smaller one.  The first, which was obviously a man’s ring, was made of platinum with an intricate design of a heart topped by a crown and a hand holding either side.  The smaller ring differed only in the heart being filled with an exquisite diamond.

“Cordy,” Angel breathed, “are these …” he couldn’t get the rest of the words out as he fingered the smaller ring.

She merely nodded.

Angel’s great-grandfather had given the rings to his grandson on his deathbed and told him the rings belonged to whomever it was who found their true love.  The tale and the rings had always fascinated Angel for some reason, even after the terrible things that happened when he was young.  His father had often told him the rings were there for Angel if he ever found the love of his life.

“How did you …” Angel still couldn’t finish a sentence.

“Shh …” Cordy whispered, “Mom and Dad don’t know I took them, but they wouldn’t care.  They were always meant for you.  I thought you might want to have them.”  She saw Angel’s expression as he looked at the rings reverently.

“I-I don’t deser …” was as far as he got.

“Angel!” Cordy fumed at him, “If you dare say you don’t deserve some happiness, I swear I’ll give the damn ring to Buffy myself!” she threatened him.

“Cordelia,” he said in a desperate voice, “What do I have to offer her?”

“Yourself, Angel,” Cordy answered without hesitation.  “Has Buffy ever asked you for more than that?”

“But,” he tried to continue.

“No, ‘buts’, Angel,” Cordy told him, “Give the girl the choice, don’t make it for her.”

Angel smiled at that, “You sound just like her,” he said softly, as his gaze once more found the subject of their conversation.

He tucked the box inside a deep pocket of his jacket and steered them over to Buffy and Wesley.  “If you don’t mind, Wesley,” Angel asked as calmly as he could, “may I cut in?”

Wesley stepped away without a word, taking Cordelia’s hand and dancing away.

Angel looked down at the lovely woman before him and whispered softly, “Dance with me?”

She beamed up at him fully aware of the possessive way he had moved in front of Wesley before the man barely had time to get out of his path.  Her heart melted at the love that stared down at her from dark, soulful eyes and she lifted her arms, still smiling, in silent acquiescence.

Buffy was light as a feather as they moved slowly to the music, his cheek resting gently on her head.  He started out with a hand around her waist, holding one hand in his, but he couldn’t draw her near enough.  Enveloping her with both arms, he caged her tightly against him, so close he could feel her heartbeat with his.  Buffy gave no protest, surrounded by a dream and waltzing on a cloud.  She thought if she could write her own fairy tale with a happily ever after, this would be hers.  He made her feel like a princess and he was all the Prince Charming she could ever ask for.

*****

On the ride home, once they’d made their good-byes to Cordy and Wesley, Angel pulled over suddenly and stopped the car.  Not saying a word to Buffy, he came around to open her door.  She was so startled, he was out of the car before a question could escape her lips.  He stopped her both in word and motion by pressing a finger to her lips.  She watched as he took off his shoes and socks.  Kneeling down first to remove her shoes, he helped her out of the car.

The air was thick and warm, still caught in the unexpected heat wave of the last few days.  Never making a sound, he clasped her hand and tugged her gently along.  Buffy was so mystified, she kept her eyes on Angel as he led her carefully through the soft sand along a path only he knew.  After a little while they came to a steep bank, Angel picked her up and carried her.  Once he safely navigated his way to the bottom, he settled his precious cargo on her feet.  He looked down on her as a secret smile played on his lips, then nodded his head in front of him.

Buffy drew in her breath as she followed his gaze.  They were standing on a tiny secluded beach, surrounded by sand dunes.  The sky, a clear midnight blue was scattered with clouds of stars.  There was a full moon, round and yellow, sitting almost on the water, shining a wide track across the gently waving sea.  But what caught her breath was the sand.  It lay twinkling and glittering, reflecting the moonlight as if the stars had come down to earth.  She couldn’t help but remember the fairy tale feeling she had dancing with Angel earlier.

“It’s so beautiful,” she whispered as if talking out loud would break the spell.

“I’d forgotten all about it until tonight when we passed this way,” he whispered back, caught in the same enchantment.  “I wandered across it a long time ago when I was on an assignment, but it turned out to be a false lead.  I don’t think anyone even knows it’s here.”  Reaching his arm around her shoulders, he guided her across the beach to a small alcove.  “I used to come here back then, when I wanted to be alone.  I never brought anyone here.   I-it was my secret,” he faltered.

Buffy was so taken by the scene she couldn’t think of anything to say.

"So beautiful," he echoed, but when she turned to look at him, he was gazing down at her.

He pulled her back against his chest and slid his arms around her waist as they looked out over the sparkling sands and the quiet surf, bathed in moonlight.  The softly shining trail ended at their feet.  “I don’t ever want to have anymore secrets from you – even this,” he breathed. “I want to spend eternity with you.”  He bent by her ear. “Stay with me?” his voice cracking with the undertone of his need for her.

Feeling his love flowing into her, filling her heart and soul, she looked at the stars glimmering across the vastness.  How often, she wondered, did it ever happened that two people could be as deeply in love as she knew she always would be with Angel.  “Forever,” she promised him softly, “that’s the whole point.”

Angel summoned up every bit of courage he possessed.  He still believed she was entitled to more than he had to give her, but the thought of a lifetime without her in it was unbearable.  He knew he was being selfish.  Even if it was Buffy’s decision, he wondered if there would come a day she would be sorry for it.  There was still a part of him missing, undone, and he didn’t know how to get it back or finish it.  But he had to let her make the choice and he had to know.  Now that Cordy had given him the rings, they felt like they were burning a hole in his heart.

He reached in his pocket and pulled out the small box.  Turning her to face him, he handed it to her.  After she opened it, he heard her breath catch as she stared at the contents.  He lifted the smaller ring out and told her, “My people ... they exchanged this as a sign of devotion.”

Buffy looked from the ring up to him, then back down at it as he explained, “It's a Claddagh ring. The hands represent friendship, the crown represents loyalty.  The heart, well, you know ...  Wear it with the heart pointing towards you, it means you belong to somebody.  It was a custom in Ireland back then, if you exchanged rings and consummated the vows that it was the same as being married.”

Buffy was so overwhelmed she couldn’t speak, she couldn’t move her eyes as Angel removed the other ring, tucking the box back in his pocket.  She looked at them lying in his hand and finally reached up her own hand and closed it over them, looking up into his eyes, smiling.

“Do you want to belong to me?” she finally asked in a hushed whisper.

“Do you even have to ask?” he questioned softly.

“I already belong to you,” she told him.

Angel felt the lump in his throat as she lifted her hand and held it out to him.  He slipped the ring on her finger with the heart pointing towards her.  Her hand trembled as she took the other ring out of his hand and slid it onto his finger in the same direction.  Buffy leaned in and kissed the ring she had just placed there, then watched as Angel lifted her small hand and felt his lips against her fingers as he kissed her ring in return.  Their promises needed no spoken word.  She looked up at him, tears in her eyes, matching the ones in his.

 “Please don’t cry,” he softly pleaded.  The pads of his thumbs came up to catch them before they fell as he held her face, gazing at her with so much love Buffy thought she would die right there.

She laughed tremulously, smiling up at him, “But you’re crying too.  And these are happy tears.”

Angel could count on his fingers the times he had ever cried, but this … this was one of them.  It still pained him to see tears on that small, exquisite face.  He wanted to make her happy, he never wanted her to cry.  Thinking of how pleased she was only a short time ago suddenly inspired him.  He gazed into those eyes, those beautiful, mesmerizing, hazel eyes and asked once again, “Dance with me?”

She giggled-cried, looking first at him with a smile that lit his world, then down at her toes scrunching themselves into the sand.  “I … umm … lost a few inches with my shoes.”

He held her arms, slipping one foot under hers, tipping her, allowing her to stand on both of his feet.  She had such a look of open glee on her face that he grinned.  Moving her in slow circles across the sand, arms tightly holding each other, they danced to a melody they heard in their hearts.  Buffy felt like she was floating, that they could travel to the stars if they just held on and kept dancing.  She kept looking at the small star twinkling on her finger knowing in some way they had already reached them.

Angel couldn’t see the stars, his attention was firmly fixed on the heavenly body he had captured in his arms.  He had kept her in his arms and in his bed, any and every time he’d had the chance.  He had a lifetime of emptiness he was making up for and only one thing filled it … Buffy.  Since they’d made up and made love after they argued, he had been insatiable.  Now he would make her his … forever.  Just thinking about her made his blood simmer – touching her, all reason fell away.

She felt his arousal pressed firmly against her stomach, setting off a responding flame that shot to her core.  She ground against him, bringing her arms tighter around his waist.  He groaned, tipping her head back and capturing her lips.  Hers opened in invitation and he slid his tongue in to taste the ambrosia within.  He loved her so much, this was the only way he knew how to show her.  He deepened the kiss, seeking out every corner and surface, softly sliding her tongue against his.  Angel couldn’t bear it a moment longer, he had to feel her skin beneath his fingers and mouth.  He had to show her, with everything he had, what she meant to him.  Breaking the kiss, he pulled off his jacket, spreading it on the sand.  He reached for her and lowered her tenderly to where it lay.

As if handling a fine, porcelain doll, he gently pulled her dress over her head.  Without hesitating in his self-appointed task he gently removed her bra and panties.  His heart lurched with indescribable joy as he looked at her lying there, her creamy white form glowing in the starlight.  His gaze reverent as he lovingly perused it.  He still couldn’t believe she was really there …and really his.  His heart ached with his need for her.  She stirred, overcome once more by the profundity of love she saw shining in his eyes and he saw himself reflected in hers.  He found himself falling, as he always did, into the misty depths of those eyes that followed him into his dreams.  She answered his actions by reaching for the buttons on his shirt, undoing each one slowly until she unveiled the skin covering the taut muscles beneath.  He reveled in the caress of her soft fingers and the flats of her hands as they smoothed over his chest and shoulders.  He moved back and stood for a moment to take off the shirt and the rest of his clothes, sinking back down over her.

Knowing his intent, Buffy covered Angel’s hand as it slid towards his jacket pocket, where he kept his wallet.  She shook her head gently when he lifted inquiring eyes, “Just tonight, Angel,” she whispered.  “To consummate our vows there should be nothing between us.”

“Buffy,” he hesitated, “what if …”

Raising the same hand to his face, she simply pressed her fingers against his lips.

Angel hadn’t thought he could love her anymore until that moment.  It was her gift of total acceptance that she loved him just as he was, no matter what he thought of himself, no matter what their future held.

Raining tiny kisses over her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks, he found her lips once more, softly melding them with his own.  Buffy felt like she was floating again, as if they were on the water, not solid ground.  Her small hands roved over his back, up his neck, sinking into his thick dark hair.  As they gasped for air once more, her lips ran over his arms, his shoulders and chest, anywhere she could taste him as they shifted in the sand.  He raised his head for a moment, overtaken with the feel of her lips and fingers wandering over his skin, catching in his hair.  “I love you so much,” he whispered hoarsely, looking back into her eyes.

Buffy saw the blazing heat smoldering in his dark eyes, almost black with desire. “I love you,” she echoed, and brought her mouth back to his for another soul deep kiss.  He bent over her carefully, kissing a path down her jaw to the delicate skin behind her ear, then down her neck.  Every time he was with her like this felt as if it was the first time.  As if he was in a new land only he was allowed to explore.  He never liked to hurry when he made love to her.  His hands came up to palm her breasts as his thumb and finger traced tiny designs around her nipples.  He was awed by the way they fit so perfectly in his hands, made for him.  Buffy reached around his waist and pulled him closer.  Loving the feel of her enclosing him in her arms, Angel caught one nipple, sucking it lightly, then scrapping his teeth gently across it.  There was so much to feel and taste.  She arched into his mouth as he drew his large hands behind her, holding her to reach the other breast to his lips.  Buffy felt like she couldn’t breathe, his tongue and lips were burning into her being.  He stayed there worshipping her without any sense of time.  Finally, after laving every inch of her breasts, he nipped the pleading peaks before he covered them with butterfly kisses one last time.

Moving down, he rediscovered the hills and valleys of her curves.  He didn’t think he’d ever tire of tracing their lines.  Tiny grains of light glittered on her arms where they had touched the sand.  Trailing long trembling fingers in soft caresses, he could feel her satin skin, raising tiny goosebumps as he brushed gently over her ribs and stomach, then her hips.  His lips followed, giving devout homage to each rib, each bone, each swell and hollow.  He gave her open-mouthed kisses, as she gifted him with small tastes of vanilla and the slight tang of salt.  His hands roamed up, over her breasts, her shoulders, then down her back.  They kept traveling a different path, trying to touch and feel every inch of her, memorizing every texture and turn.  Buffy’s hands were on a similar journey over his back, his hips, his buttocks, wherever she could reach.  She felt his muscles ripple and cord in response to her touch.  They reveled in their bond, the faint pulse that surged and hummed when they were skin to skin – as if their bodies were telling each other where to touch and how.

His lips finally found their way past her navel where he planted tender kisses, further down until he reached her nest of curls.  Sitting back on his knees, he gently parted her legs with his broad hands and lifted her hips upward.  Gently placing a leg over each shoulder he drew her up to his mouth.  Buffy sighed as she felt his warm breath stir her arousal even more.  She reached out to twine her fingers through the softness of his dark hair.  She could see the moonlight glinting behind him, making his outline glow.  He parted her soft, moist folds with his tongue and laved a long slow line from bottom to top and down again.  She shivered beneath him.  Seeking her core, he plunged his tongue in, tasting the nectar now flowing freely from his ministrations.  He suckled the bud that begged for his attention, feeling it swell between his lips.  Angel breathed deeply, his senses reeling in her essence, he lapped in the moisture, drowning in the taste and feel of her.  He knew he could make love to her forever and still never get enough of her.  He continued to drink his fill and wander his tongue and lips from deep inside her to the small bit of flesh that throbbed under his touch.  Buffy was shaking with passion, she pushed her hips closer to the teasing, tantalizing feel of his mouth.  Angel loved the sweet, crooning sounds she made as he searched for every delectable spot he could find to increase her pleasure.  When he felt her orgasm drawing near, he suckled harder on the flash point of her desire until she came in long, quivering waves, his name escaping from her throat, in a high, warbling trill.

He released her legs, then slid up her body in seconds, sheathing himself in her molten passage, feeling her muscles contract all around him as he drove deeply into her.  She was so soft, so warm, pulsing around him.  Sealing his lips over hers, his tongue started moving in and out of her mouth, keeping time with his thrusts.  His fingers twisted into her hair keeping her locked in his love.  He thought for the thousandth time since they had become intimate, how perfect she felt against him and how perfectly she molded around him as she surrounded his throbbing sex.  He couldn’t imagine now how he’d lived a lifetime without her.

Buffy could taste herself as he kissed her, she sucked his tongue in, continuing the motion he had started.  She pushed him back suddenly with eager hands as she craned her head, her mouth seeking his chest.  Sucking a nipple in, biting down lightly, she reached her fingers to grab the other and pinch it softly.  Angel shivered at her touch, feeling ecstasy shoot through him wherever she made contact.  He could feel his every cell tingle.  His motions became more frenzied as she roved one hand over his back and hips.  Still holding onto his nipple, sucking and nipping it, she heard him groan her name.  Buffy loved how he filled her.  She could feel the hardness, the full length and breadth of him as he pistoned in and out.

Tremors shook his arms as he held his weight on his elbows.  Leaning to one side, still catching her close, he reached up one hand, “Buffy,” he puffed in a hard breath, as he pulled the shining tendrils from her face, “Look at me, love.”

It took her long moments to swim up from the pleasure that was washing in and through her.  She finally opened her eyes and fixed them on the deep chocolate ones staring down at her.

“Keep them open, love,” he begged her as he moved deeper within her, touching off more of the heat that was burning through both of them.  “I want to watch you come with me.  Please,” he whispered before his breath was gone.

She nodded slowly, too caught up in the intense feelings that were building by the second.  Once more he circled his arms around her and pulled her to him.  He rocked in and out of her, never letting his eyes leave her face.  She met every movement, raising her hips in perfect synchrony with his.  They met in an endless circle of flesh, moving as one, hearts joined in a racing staccato beat, souls melding and merging.  He wrapped his arms more tightly around her, bringing her hips smashing against his in a sweet violence. The ripples of bliss, turned to waves of white-hot pleasure.  Feeling him pulse and grow within her, her own climax racing towards her, Buffy clung to his eyes, forcing herself to keep hers open.  She arched into him as delirious ecstasy filled her, her muscles clenching and grasping him, her eyes flooding with rapture and love.  “Angel,” she breathed, “I love you.”  She was lost in wave upon wave of almost unbearable release.  Letting it pull her as she was swept into the vortex of its grasp.  He filled her to bursting, in her, around her, a part of her, moving and melting into her.  She used all of her strength and will to keep her eyes focused on the wild brown gaze that bore into her from above.

She showed him what he meant to her as she kept her eyes locked on his.  He could feel every nerve ending in his body alive and attuned to every single thing around him; the satin of her skin, the grit of the sand, the blush of desire his kisses had brushed onto her face, the moonlight making her translucent beneath him, the soft sea air and the mingled musk of their union, her sweet moans of love above the lapping of the waves of the sea, the rings they had sworn each other.  Every sight, sound, smell and touch kaleidoscoped and swirled around and within him as he felt her rush through his every cell.  His veins were shot through with a feeling so intense it overloaded his senses until it gathered in his groin and exploded into her liquescent heat.  Her eyes, deep and endless as the sunlit sea, were the last thing he saw as he fell over the precipice, rapture overtaking him as it took her.  He knew there could be no bliss in heaven to compare.  “Buffy,” he managed to whisper breathlessly, “I love you,” as he spilled deeply into her womb, lowering his arms on either side, folding himself down over her before losing consciousness.

When Angel finally opened his eyes, gray-green ones floated below him.  A small face looked up with love and concern etched in every line.  Smiling softly he lifted his hand to her cheek, stroking the skin, then wordlessly let his lips fall onto hers.  His other hand held her near as his fingers wound through the whisper soft strands of her hair.  He finally withdrew and rolled over bringing her close beside him, where he could see her face.  They lay looking at the moon as it offered them a path to its door.  The night shimmered with the twinkling stars in the sky and sand around them.  The air still blanketed them in its velvet warmth.

Entwined in each other’s arms, he stroked her hair as she traced letters of love across his chest.  She reached for his hand and slid her fingers through his so their rings lay together.  Deep down he knew he didn’t deserve her or the love she gave him so freely and deeply.  He desperately wanted to be the man she thought him to be.  But she had promised him forever and he knew there was nothing without her.  He’d give her everything he had, whatever it was – whomever he was – because he had every intention of holding her to her promise.

[end chapter 14]

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Chapter XV

Buffy and Angel simply couldn’t get enough of each other.  Angel hadn’t been the demonstrative type since he was very small, but now, with Buffy, he couldn’t not touch her every chance he got.  He had unknowingly thirsted all those years for physical contact and needed to feel her, drink her in like a life-sustaining liquid.  Buffy was seized by the same depth of need for him.  She understood now her hesitancy in giving herself to someone else.  Angel felt ‘right’.  No one else had ever compared to him.  It was as if a part of them had always been together and now they were once more complete.

Except for their evening with Cordelia and Wesley, they spent all of their time at Angel's house.  He made it clear it was now her home as much as his own.  That he wanted her there, in the center of all that he was, underscored to Buffy how deeply he loved her.  Yet even if he had nowhere to lay his head, home to her would now always be wherever Angel was.

Their only forays away from the house, other than work, were for food or to Buffy's apartment to pick up the clothes and essentials that she needed.  The outside world, for all intents and purposes, did not exist.  Where they worked, however, was a different matter altogether.

Their first week back in the office after their tumultuously revealing weekend wasn’t easy.  Keeping their hands and lips off each other seemed nearly an impossible feat once they arrived –together – at work.  It took them a little time to adjust to being in the real world, so to speak, with other people in it.  All of their discipline was needed to keep their distance from each other especially with the temptation of the two of them sharing an office alone … with a lockable door.  But, except for a certain amount of inescapable, but brief caresses and impossible-to-not-have kisses, they had kept the door unlocked and their behavior almost professional most of the time.  Well … most of the time.  Making allowances those first difficult days to satisfy a different kind of hunger, they found their noon break much more enjoyable spent in the supply closet rather than the lunchroom.

*****

Angel couldn't focus on the papers he had lined up neatly in front of him – the mundane task for which the battered wooden desk had been provided.  The image in his mind kept shifting to the unique use they’d found for it that momentous evening over a week earlier.  Buffy wasn’t faring much better.  She couldn’t seem to make sense of anything on the computer screen before her, her thoughts and glances kept turning to the man behind her.

When they had been in their chairs for all of a half-hour, Buffy couldn’t stand it any longer.  She pulled something up she had been working on and wisely asked her most learned officemate if he had any insights.  He was more than willing to help her with her problem.

That was how Xander found them.  Angel stood behind Buffy, his hand had wandered down and lost itself in the tempting silkiness of her hair.  He leaned over where she sat to drop a kiss on the shining golden mass as he peered into her laptop screen.  To say Xander was in shock was an understatement.  The large book he had brought with him to drop off to their office slid out of his limp hands and hit the floor with a resounding thump.  Buffy practically jumped to a standing position, barely missing Angel's chin in the process.  Xander didn’t miss Angel’s hand coming up on her shoulder.  He couldn’t tell if it was protectively, possessively, or both.

“Xander,” Buffy managed to get out in an almost normal tone, “what brings you here?”

“Book,” Xander said, unable to get more than the single word out as he scrambled for the fallen volume that had announced his presence.  Angel glared at him and said nothing, which made Xander all the more nervous.  “It’s, uh, a reference book they were handing out, thought I’d do you a favor and bring it down,” he explained.

“Thanks,” Buffy told him taking the offering, “Never have too many books, right Angel?”  She tried to make the soft jab to his ribs unnoticeable.  If Angel hadn’t been good with reflexes, he might have jumped himself.  But his verbal reaction sounded more like a growl than words.

Xander didn’t miss Buffy calling him Angel, not Liam or Angelus, but ‘Angel’ and wondered how long she’d been doing that and why.  Then he saw that one finger on the hand she used to reach for the book had a ring exactly like the one Angelus was wearing on one of the fingers still curled around Buffy’s shoulder.  Aloud he said, “I thought if our office needed to be cluttered with more books, so did yours,” for lack of anything else to say.

If someone had told him he’d walk in on Buffy and Angelus together like that, he’d have never believed them.  What could Buffy possibly be thinking?  Xander thought someone like Riley was more her speed and had been surprised she seemed to want nothing to do with him.  But, Angelus?  The guy who skulked through the hallways the few times he ventured out?  The guy who hardly ever spoke and when he did, it was more of a growl, like just now?  He wasn’t by any stretch of the imagination normal, so what did Buffy see in him?  Xander suddenly realized that Buffy had outlasted anyone else who had worked with Angelus several times over.  That in itself was amazing.  But those rings …rings were serious, weren’t they?

“I guess my mission here is done,” Xander told them and moved backward with a speed and accuracy he didn’t usually possess.

“Thanks again, Xander,” Buffy repeated.  She could see how nervous Xander was and it occurred to her he was only the first.

*****

Buffy insisted, and even though Angel had been more than reticent about it, after the first week they made their relationship no secret.  They openly shared a table together at lunch waiting for the expected jaws to drop at the sight, which they did.

The very first person to lay eyes on them was Riley Finn, watching from the opposite side of the room.  He had already known the two were an item, ever since the night Angelus had broken Riley's nose.  He hadn't actually seen them together until just that morning in the parking lot of the complex.  The car was in a fairly secluded spot some distance from the building, but Riley could see only too well.  Angelus opened the door of his dark convertible to help Buffy out, bending down to give her a long, deep kiss as she alighted.  No one else in the group that Riley usually had coffee with every morning paid any attention to what was going on outside their window.  Only he saw the two lovers embrace, saw Buffy lean into Angelus and wrap her small arms around his neck.  Riley had turned his head quickly before anyone followed his gaze, he wasn't about to point them out.

Now Buffy and Angelus were sitting right there in front of everyone, bold as brass.  It turned Riley's stomach.  Angry and repulsed as he was at the sight, he checked his temper to avoid making a scene in front of his friends and coworkers.  He had only to remember what a fool Angelus had made of him at Buffy's party, flying across the table just playing a stupid game.  He was relieved that, as far as he knew, no one had heard about his altercation with Angelus that ill-fated Friday night at Buffy's apartment.  Riley had already lost the job he'd wanted all his life and the only girl he'd ever met that made his heart skip a beat, all because of that unbalanced misfit.  He wasn't going to lose anymore to Angelus.  Once again he looked away from them, knowing now was not the time.

Willow, with Tara in tow, were the only ones to approach Buffy and Angel.  Buffy had talked to Willow briefly on the phone, but they hadn’t seen each other in over a week.  Lending support with her presence, Willow pulled Tara down next to her, seeing Buffy’s grateful look.  Angel gave them what could almost pass for a normal hello, he even managed to lift the corner of his lips just a little.  Remaining silent, Tara let Willow take the lead.  Tara slipped Angel a small knowing look and he gave her the shadow of one in return.

Willow spied the matching rings as she sat down across from them, her eyes widening, her smile spreading across her winsome face.  “Are you really married?” she demanded. Then a hurt look quickly surfaced before she could hide it as the true meaning hit her.  “And you never said anything?” she asked.

“According to Angel,” Buffy told her soothingly, “we are in Ireland.”  At Willow’s puzzled expression she went on, “It’s a custom there that if you exchange Claddagh rings you’re married, but I doubt it would hold up in a court of law here … or in a court of Giles,” she said with a twinkle in her eye.

“Oh … oh!” Willow exclaimed as Buffy’s words sunk in.

“Don’t worry, Will,” Buffy assured her, “you’ll be the first to know about any plans, I promise.”

Angel was obviously ill at ease being stared at by most of the lunchroom occupants.  But Willow was surprised that he didn’t seem uncomfortable with the conversation.  As far as he was concerned the rings signified they were one, in body, heart and soul.  Only if Buffy requested it, would Angel ever remove the ring from his finger while he was alive.  He knew Buffy would be a part of him for all eternity, rings or not.

Deep inside, Angel was of the old school and formally announcing to the world that she was his was important to him.  Only his own nagging reluctance at tying her to him because of his own shortcomings prevented him from it.  Buffy knew how he felt and also knew it was something only Angel could deal with and at some point in time it would happen.  She was content to wait until the time was right, as long as she had Angel beside her now … and always.

That and he had yet to meet Giles, something that had the formidable former federal agent quaking in his boots.  Angel had insisted that they visit Giles without delay, he knew how important her surrogate father was to Buffy.  She had already called him and made plans to visit during the week.  Angel did indeed want Giles’ blessing but he still felt she deserved more than he had to offer.  He wondered greatly what this unknown father figure in Buffy’s life would think of him.

*****

Angel tried to keep his hands from shaking on the wheel of the car as he and Buffy neared their destination.  He wasn’t usually the jittery sort, but it was yet another reaction he was trying to learn to deal with in the array of new emotions being with Buffy engendered.  Buffy had changed Angel and his life a little more with each passing day.  He didn’t think, however, that being nervous about meeting the other most important man in Buffy’s life was a more positive aspect of it.  Anything connected with her seemed to have a deep impact on Angel.  She sensed his tension and leaned her head on his shoulder as they slowly walked from the car to the house.  Just feeling her warmth helped relax him a little.  She was worth any anxiety, he decided, as he glanced down at the halo of golden hair.

Giles opened the door as they mounted the steps of the porch.  “Buffy,” he said, giving her a perfunctory peck on the cheek as she turned it up towards him.  “And this must be Angel,” he continued as he looked at the tall man beside her.

Angel flushed hearing his nickname spoken by the other man.  “Liam Angelus, sir,” he said stiffly, offering his hand, catching the grin on Buffy’s face at seeing the color in his cheeks.

“Buffy has a way of … umm … uniquely identifying everyone,” Giles told him.

“So I’ve noticed, Giles,” Angel said, producing what was supposed to be a smile.

“Please do come in,” Giles invited as he stepped back and made room for them to enter.  He led them into the living room, leaving them to sit on the couch while he took a nearby armchair.  A tray with coffee and tea was already prepared and laid out on the table.

“No get-together is complete without Giles’ tray,” Buffy teased.  “Sorry, Giles, Angel is a coffee drinker.  No chance to turn him to the dark side.”

As Giles poured coffee for Buffy and then for Angel, he hesitated, watching her spoon mounds of sugar into her cup.  “You might want to leave some for Liam,” he warned her.

“Nope, no fear there, he takes it like a man,” she smiled.

Angel, trying to quell the nervousness that had overcome him once more, reached for the cup Giles held out to him.  He wasn’t used to being in this kind of setting, didn’t know what was expected of him.  “Thank you,” he managed to mumble.

Giles saw Buffy quietly creep her hand into the one of the large man at her side.  Even though Angel kept his eyes directed on his host, Giles saw him clutch hers as if it were a lifeline.  His heart warmed to the stranger immediately.  If Angel had been an island, as Buffy had lamented on her last visit, it seemed she had indeed found her way onto it.  It was then he noticed the ring sparkling on Buffy’s finger and also caught sight of its mate on the hand Angel was using to steady his coffee cup.  The hands and fingers they were worn on were not lost on him.

“Buffy tells me you have a reason for your visit,” Giles said candidly, still looking at the rings.

Angel eyes had followed Giles’ gaze.  He felt like he was starting backwards before he’d even opened his mouth.  “These were my great-grandparents rings,” he said trying not to stumble over his words.  “I … we …” he attempted.  Buffy squeezed his hand and he looked at her.  He knew she was waiting to rescue him if he asked. Just her touch was enough to fortify his resolve.  “We made vows to each other, but not in a church and not according to law,” he finally got out, somewhat shakily.

“And you feel those vows are binding?” Giles questioned him.  He couldn’t say he was pleased there was no formal wedding, but there was, at least, a commitment.

“I do,” glancing at Buffy once more, Angel amended, “We do.”  He knew he should give the man more of an explanation, but the words wouldn’t come.

“Buffy,” Giles asked, “would you be so kind as to fetch the sandwiches I left in the kitchen?  I know you didn’t have time to eat before the drive here.  And, if you would, please make another pot of tea while you’re there.”

She knew a hint when she heard one.  Looking up at Angel who became even more tense, she pressed her hand into his once more, but acquiesced silently to Giles’ request.  She gave Angel a look filled with love and support on her way out the door.

“Let me be blunt, Angelus,” Giles told him, “I assume you are here for my blessing.  Yet, it seems to be a rather belated consideration.”

“I can’t and wouldn’t deny that,” Angel said, gaining strength from Buffy’s parting glance.  “It wasn’t something that was planned, but it doesn’t make it any less significant.”

“Yet you see nothing wrong with sharing your own vows without any legality?” Giles asked him.

“I will love her and be with her until the day I die if she’ll have me,” Angel stated firmly.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Giles replied, but put up his hand to stop the younger man from responding further.  “Let me be clear.  As I’m sure she’s informed you, I’m not Buffy’s real father, nor do I have any legal standing where she’s concerned.  I do, however, look upon her as a daughter.  That daughter came to me not very long ago in tears.  Someone had hurt her deeply.  He had spent the night with her and then abandoned her without a word.”

Angel flinched as though he had been struck.  Giles could see the misery fill Angel’s eyes before he lowered them to the floor.  The sag in his shoulders confirmed his lack of self-worth.  “I was wrong, I shouldn’t have left her.  I’m not saying I deserve her,” he admitted in a low tone, then looking Giles directly in the eye he continued, “But I swear I’ll never hurt her again if I can help it and I’ll never leave her again … unless she asks.”

Giles knew the way Angel said the words that his leaving her had been for her sake, not his own.  He didn’t know what was in the young man’s past nor did he think it was any of his business.  He did know Buffy had to make her own decisions and that by accepting his ring, she had already done so.

“I have no doubt how deeply you love her and she loves you,” Giles said, “But love of one’s self isn’t an easy thing to come by.”

Buffy hadn’t mentioned how shrewd her surrogate father was.  Angel was glad to know she had someone like that in her life, but he had no reply.  His head dipped down again.  There was nothing he could say.

“I’ve known Buffy for a long time,” Giles said quietly, “She is one of the most loving people I’ve ever met.  She is also a good judge of character and has come by it the hard way.  You might do well to look at yourself through her eyes.”

Buffy chose that moment to return with a plate of sandwiches in one hand and a teapot in the other.  Sensing all was not well she made her way to Angel’s side.  After setting down what she was carrying she reached for his hand.  Angel grasped it and held on.  Buffy looked at him, then at Giles.

“Your rings are beautiful, “Giles said, “I’d be interested to hear the story behind them.”

Angel couldn’t believe Giles had changed the subject, and so smoothly.  Grateful, he found the courage to look back up at him.  “My great-grandparents fell in love with each other at first sight.  That same day he bought the rings and they were wed,” he recounted.  “Before he died, he gave them to my father and told him they were for whomever found their true love.”

Buffy unclasped her hand from Angel’s long enough to give Giles a better look at the antique ring on her finger.  The brilliance of her smile outshone the stone in the center.  “Angel told me they were married for over fifty years,” she relayed to him.

“I can’t help then, but give my blessing,” Giles said as he admired the beautiful piece of jewelry, “when history seems to have repeated itself, at least in principle.”  He couldn’t help adding, “I’m not against a more, uh, formal event at some future date.”

Buffy gave him a sheepish grin and thanked him.  Angel nodded his thank you, not even attempting to respond verbally.

They drank their respective cups of tea and coffee and made a small dent in the food.  Since it was a weeknight and they had work the next day, Buffy and Angel left shortly after a few more minutes of conversation.  On the drive back Angel was quiet.  Buffy finally asked him what they had talked about while she was gone.  “He’s a very wise man,” Angel said somewhat cryptically. “He suggested I try a new view,” but wouldn’t elaborate when she pressed him.

*****

Buffy knew her request would be difficult for Angel, but she didn’t give up.  Asking him to take her to Willy’s wasn’t for her though, it was for him.  Angel needed to be in the real world, needed to step out of the shadows he’d lived in most of his life.  It may have been a small thing to others, but she knew Angel accompanying her to the Friday night get-together was a big step for him.  He balked, as she knew he would when she first mentioned it, but she had a stubborn streak as wide and as long as his and she finally wore him down.

The deal they struck had Buffy grinning to herself.  First, he would go, but only if she promised to spend the rest of the weekend with just him.  She had been planning on doing exactly that anyway.  Second, Angel insisted she go shopping with him for groceries to make sure they had everything necessary and enough to ensure no outside trips would be needed.  He didn’t want anything to interfere with them being alone.  Buffy hadn’t seen it as anything but a win–win situation.  She knew Angel thought forcing her to make two concessions gave him the better bargain.  But she couldn’t see how both shopping and spending the next two days with him didn’t make her the flat out winner.

*****

Once inside the grocery store, Angel turned the cart towards the first aisle, only to feel Buffy pull his arm in the opposite direction.  “Where are you going?” he asked, craning his head back to the spot he always began his shopping.

“I just want to see what’s on sale,” she told him, tugging on his arm, vaguely wondering why he was so hesitant.  She looked over the newspapers mounted on the wall, too busy to notice him still looking back to his starting place.  “Ah!” she exclaimed, “My favorite chips are on sale and those little hot dog thingys wrapped in dough.”  She smiled up at him in delight.

He frowned at her.  “That’s junk food, Buffy, it’s not nutritious,” Angel protested.  Catching her hand in his, he steered her back in the direction they had traveled, while his other hand pulled a crisp, neatly folded paper from his back pocket.

Buffy’s eyes widened, both at his actions and words.  She was struck silent as she watched him smooth out his paper, seeing a list of items in his careful, flowing script.  He moved quickly up the aisle, with hardly a pause, as she saw him fill the cart, marking the paper with a pen.  As he placed the items in a particular sequence, another check was made on the list.

It brought her back to the day she had observed him from a distance as he shopped, before she realized she was in love with him.  Was she, she wondered, in love with him even then?  She thought yes, but no matter, as long as they loved each other now.  But even love, it seemed, didn’t change a person overnight.

She stood in front of him, stopping him before he could touch one more nutritious thing.  “Look at me, Angel, do I appear undernourished?  Or unhealthy?” she queried in a firm voice.

It was his turn for his eyes to widen in surprise, but at the invitation, looked her over slowly from head to foot.  His look turned into a leer, an expression he had never worn before he knew Buffy, but one he caught himself using frequently now that they were together.  Trying to keep his mind on the groceries, he dragged his attention back to her questions.  “You look very healthy,” he assured her, “no sign of malnourishment anywhere.”

“Then you would agree that until now, I must have been capable of deciding what I should eat, right?” she asked.

Too late, he realized where she was going with her questions.  He had been so focused on his routine and choices, that he hadn’t picked up on her offense to his remark.  “Buffy, I didn’t mean … all right I did mean those things are junk.  If you want them,” he tried to cajole her, “then we’ll buy them.  But,” he couldn’t resist adding, “they are full of empty calories.”

Buffy’s jaw dropped and her eyes flashed for a moment.  “Are you saying I’m fat?” she asked in a dangerous whisper.

Angel gave her a long incredulous look, then suddenly laughed out loud.  The matching look on Buffy’s face made him laugh even harder.  He could almost see the thoughts run across her features, flickering from surprise, to anger, to confusion, then finally to mirth as her own tinkling laugh joined his.  “No, love,” he said once they caught their breath, “even I know better than to talk about a woman’s weight.”

His reply set both of them off once more.  Such a strong feeling of love overwhelmed him right there in the middle of the grocery store that Angel swooped down and caught her lips in a sweet, tender and very passionate kiss.  His arms closed around her, unwilling to let the moment end.

Buffy stayed where she was, enjoying the sheer pleasure of Angel’s laugh, and the never-ending thrill of his kiss.  She finally looked up at him, love and desire filling her eyes, “Guess we should hurry up with the food, huh?  Then get home?”

He nodded and turned quickly back to the shelves and his list, methodically reaching for the next item.  He heard her laugh, then saw her pick up a bag of nachos and toss it into the cart.  Before he could find a proper place for it, she threw in another, then several boxes and cans of goodies in quick succession.  Scowling, his head snapped up as the items poured into the cart, until he caught the twinkle in her eye.  It took him a few seconds, but then he grinned at her.  Taking his list in both hands, he held it up, tearing it into tiny pieces.

The two of them sailed through the rest of the store, throwing food into the cart, in a haphazard race to the checkout that left them once more laughing and out of breath.  Neither of them saw anyone but each other.  They were totally unaware of the looks and stares, some smiling, some casting a longing gaze at them, as they left the store arm in arm, pushing the cart together.

*****

If Angel had felt out of place in the lunchroom, the feeling was nothing in comparison to walking into the bar with Buffy.  She could feel every muscle in his body tense as they walked through the door.  Every muscle, that is, that hadn’t already been strained to the limit before they arrived.  He knew he was completely and totally out of his depth.  If this outing had been an assignment, a charade, something he often had to do as an agent, he would have put on his mask and played his part.  He had become adept over the years at doing whatever the job had entailed.  But this was real and that was where the difference lay.  He was with Buffy and he needed to be real for her.  That life he wanted so much to share with her meant being a part of her world and she was worth the cost.  At the thought he looked down at her and felt a little bit of her calm flow into him. He would do whatever he had to do for her, but never without her.

Most of the group was already there.  Buffy knew she and Angel being seen as a couple was still considered an oddity at work, probably even more so here.  She glanced at the inquisitive stares as they made their way to the table.

Willow and Tara, the only ones who had spoken to Buffy and Angel at work, were giving them encouraging looks.  Both women knew what kind of strength Angel had to possess to even be there.  Willow took in the sharp contrast of the ex-agent’s powerful build and gruff manner compared to her dainty friend, standing by his side, poised and petite.  Almost, she thought, like Beauty and the Beast.

Xander was trying to look nonchalant and not quite making it.  Angel still gave him the jitters.  Anya was oblivious to everyone except Xander.  Faith and Kate looked on with more curiosity than anything else.  Lindsey gave both the newcomers a genuine smile, he was happy to see them together, amazed Buffy had gotten Angel to join them.  Lindsey circled his arm around Faith, pleased to feel her draw closer to him.

They took the chairs next to Willow and Tara, Buffy sitting as close to Angel as possible.  Xander offered, more out of nervousness than anything else, to get the two new arrivals some drinks.  Buffy thanked him, but Angel insisted in a tense voice on paying for them.  Buffy tempered his response by suggesting they buy a round for everyone.  Angel agreed at her nod and she felt him relax just a little as he handed Xander the money to give Willy for their order.

Lindsey asked Angel about a problem he’d run into at work.  Angel knew McDonald was purposely drawing him into a conversation.  He went along, knowing Lindsey was making an effort to help him fit in with the group.  Buffy had set him straight on what her conversation with the lead agent had actually been about on the night Angel overheard them.  He was somewhat chagrined, but Angel bore in mind Lindsey’s looks of open admiration for Buffy.  If Faith hadn’t been in the picture, he had no doubt McDonald would have taken a deeper interest in the lithesome blonde Angel held by his side.  Nor had Angel forgotten that McDonald gave Buffy information he wasn't at liberty to share.  Buffy had convinced him, however, that his former work mate had Angel's best interests at heart and had been willing to accept the consequences of his actions.  Angel found he couldn't object to what Lindsey McDonald had done when he'd already forgiven his sister for the same offense.

Xander passed out the drinks while a few of them discussed their plans for the weekend.  Buffy colored slightly when Willow asked if she was doing anything special.  Angel caught Buffy’s eye and actually grinned when she mumbled to her best friend that her time was pretty much spoken for.

Lindsey was still talking to Angel when he glanced up and saw Riley walk in the door.  Their conversation stopped as the last member of their circle approached the table.  Lindsey saw the glare of open hatred Riley fixed on Angel and wondered what was to come.  Buffy caught the same look as Lindsey.  Snaking her arms around Angel’s waist, she felt him wrap his arms around her reflexively.  She had hoped Riley wouldn’t show up.  Even though she knew that eventually Angel and Riley would have to finish whatever was between them, she hadn’t intended to see them deal with each other the moment they met.  This was the first time she’d gotten Angel to go anywhere, she didn’t want it to be the last.

It took one look to send Riley over the edge.  Seeing the couple at work had been bad enough.  It seemed to him since that first glance of them in the parking lot earlier in the week that anywhere Riley looked, Buffy and Angelus were nearby ... and always together.  Now finding the two of them wrapped around each other and the center of attention among his friends pushed him too far.  He wasn't going to play second fiddle to anyone, especially Liam Angelus.

Angel watched as Riley stared at him, then at Buffy.  His dark brown eyes shot a warning glance at him, daring Riley to say or do anything, anything at all.

Riley couldn’t pass up the challenge.  “It’s a good thing for all of us it’s a clear night,” he told Angel as he dropped his jacket around the back of the chair and sat down across from them.

Already wound and spoiling to give Riley what he thought he so richly deserved, Angel replied in a firm, cool tone, “It’s a good thing no one here would have to depend on you if it wasn’t.”  The boy had done a lot of damage to Angel and still refused to accept responsibility for his wrongdoing.

“You should talk,” Riley snorted.  You think anyone would take a chance depending on you?  I’m thinking not likely after what you did,” he said

Everyone around the table had gone silent at the first exchange between the two angry men.  Angelus was as much an unknown factor to them now as the day he was first reassigned to their section.  And while Lindsey, who had known him much longer, had caught glimpses, only Buffy knew what lay beneath the cool, austere exterior of her cryptic, brooding lover.  Riley had been part of the group sitting at the table since his transfer from the field, always ready and willing to socialize with his co-workers or lend a helping hand.  His usually amiable, out-going manner granted him easy acceptance into their midst.  He'd become fast friends with a few of them.

There had been whispers and rumors about both men since their relocation two years earlier.  The talk had recently been fanned anew by the overt hostility between the ex-agents of late and their obviously escalating enmity.  Riley Finn wouldn’t have been wrong to think most of those gathered had unconsciously taken his side between the two … until now.

“And what exactly was it that I did, Finn?” Angel asked, tired of the boy's constant barbs and innuendoes.

“You forget that pesky little trip to the looneybin?” Riley sneered.

With a dispassionate air, Angel waved the taunt aside.  “Everyone knows what happened to me.  What exactly are you talking about that I did?” he repeated slowly as if talking to a particularly dull child. “This is your chance to tell your side.  I’d really like to know.  And what exactly did you do?” he continued questioning him sharply.

“I was doing what I was supposed to be doing,” Riley shot back.

“And what was that?” Angel countered still keeping an even voice, “Staying at your post as you were ordered?”

Riley hesitated, feeling the eyes of his friends on him, he broke out in a sweat.  He looked at Angelus sitting there with Buffy curled closely against him.  Angelus was calm, collected and in control, like there was absolutely nothing wrong with him.  He sat there staring directly into Riley’s eyes waiting for an answer.

The memories of that day filtered through Riley Finn’s mind, as they always did.  He had overheard part of a conversation Angelus had about the exercise with another agent and about the general location of something that had been hidden.  Riley assumed their mission was retrieving whatever had been concealed.  He came up with a plan to do just that.  Later, when only the two of them were left at the site, he tried to convince Angelus to listen to him.

After the other man harshly barked at him to do as he had previously been ordered, Finn waited until he saw his chance and slipped away alone.  He knew he couldn’t sway the taciturn senior agent, but if he was successful, it would show everyone how valuable Riley was to the team.  He switched off his radio, thinking he could say later that it hadn’t been working right.  Checking his watch, he figured roughly how long he had to get back before the others returned.  Unfamiliar with the terrain, he kept wandering further off course.  He wasn't able to locate what he thought had been their objective, the weather slowing his failed efforts.  The trail was obliterated by the increasingly violent storm that moved into the area.

By the time he’d turned the radio back on and followed the coordinates to the clearing, it was too late.  The team had found Angelus in the only clearing for miles in the deep woods.  Riley saw the tree that he heard about during the inquest that followed.  The tall pine had been splintered in half by lightening.  Beneath its fallen limbs, they had found Liam Angelus lying huddled in a quivering mass.  When they approached him he reared up like a savage berserker, sweeping away anything and anyone in his path.  It had taken two teams of men to finally subdue him.

Finn blundered his way through the hearing, saying he too had gotten lost in the storm that put Angelus in the hospital.

“I got lost,” Riley told him, not looking him in the eye, repeating the same lie he had used before.

“I looked for you, Finn,” Angel said steadily, not taking his eyes off him, “You were my responsibility.  I kept in radio contact, kept checking back at the post and kept looking for you.  I had to keep making bigger, wider sweeps to try to find you."

"If you'd just listened to me, I wouldn't have had to try on my own before we failed the exercise.  You wouldn't hear me out," Riley said, "I tried to tell you I could find our objective.  I had a plan, but you wouldn't listen."

Angel kept his gaze leveled on the younger man.  "The point of the exercise was to teach new recruits how to work as a team, how their very lives might depend on it.  And how to take orders, regardless of how they felt about them.  And your job was to stand by with your radio and follow those orders when they came through."

Until that moment Riley Finn had never known that.  Whether it was never brought to light during the inquest or he was so worried about the fate of his career that he hadn’t heard what the true objective was, he didn’t know.  The maneuver wasn’t a treasure hunt, it was a test of competence … and he had failed.  Those twinges of guilt he had never been able to wash away with whiskey were now twisting his stomach in tense knots.

 “My radio wasn’t working,” Riley lied again.  The truth was cutting in, in spite of his unwillingness to face it.

“There was nothing wrong with your radio,” Lindsey suddenly interjected.  “In fact it contained everything that happened.”  Faith nudged him softly and he looked at her, nodding.  Buffy already knew, McDonald thought, now it was about time Riley's friends knew just what kind of a man he was, even if it cost Lindsey his job.  Finn trying to play hero had cost Liam Angelus everything.

Riley felt cornered as both the former and present team leaders stared at him intently, “What do you mean it had everything that happened?  It didn’t work.”

“It worked perfectly, Finn, including the monitoring chip hidden inside.  It recorded everywhere you went and everything you did,” Lindsey said disgustedly.

Riley felt the reality of McDonald's words slice even deeper into his gut.  They had known all along what he had done.  Still refusing to face it he insisted, “Then why wasn’t I fired? Why wasn’t I kicked out?”

Lindsey shook his head, then nodded towards Angel.  “Because Angelus wouldn’t press charges and the recording couldn’t be used as hard evidence, even within the agency.”   Lindsey looked up, his opinion of Riley written across his face.  “You were new and young and stupid and you put everyone around you in danger.  You deserved to be fired.”

He still desperately tried to save himself at Angelus’ expense.  Riley looked back at his inquisitor, whose eyes had never left his face.  “You had your chance to get even, why didn’t you take it?” he bit out.

“Because you were right,” Angel heard himself saying, still keeping his tone even.  Answering Riley’s look of confusion, he continued, “Because I shouldn’t have been out there.  I couldn’t find fault with you when I had no business being there myself.”

“Then you admit it,” Riley exclaimed, “You bought your way into the agency and the team,” as if proving his point.

Angel felt his anger flaring back, “No, Finn, I worked for everything I got.”  Not believing he was saying out loud in front of everyone what he had only shared with Buffy, he told him, “It was thanks to you I found out how I got by the screening.  Until then I didn’t know myself I never passed it.”

“That’s a lie…” Riley began.

“You know all about those, don’t you, Finn?” Angel asked cutting him off.  “I thought I hated you, but I don’t.  I pity you.  You remind me of what I was like, trying to be something I never was.  I lied to myself for a long time, but I never lied to anyone else.”

Riley had never been a liar either, not until that day he had ignored direct orders, thinking he knew what was best.  He lied about leaving his post … and that lie had begotten another and another.  Riley Finn suddenly realized he hated himself and what he'd become, knowing that was the root of the guilt he'd carried the last two years.  But although he hated himself, he hated Liam Angelus more.  He hated that Angelus had been right and Riley hated the thought he might have been responsible for what happened to the other man because of what he did.  And he hated that Liam Angelus was sitting there in front of him and all his friends, tearing Riley's life apart before his eyes, holding the woman who preferred Angelus' broken pieces to him.

“And what are you now?” Finn asked, seething with disdain.  “Something the storm blew in?  Don’t you think she deserves better than you?” he jeered cuttingly, pointing at Buffy.

Buffy’s arms tightened around Angel at the cruel words.  Angel stood, leaning her back gently in her chair, then turned back to Riley.  He did pity Riley, but he couldn’t deny he still loathed the sight of him.  Angel could take whatever Riley had to say about him, but not Buffy.  That was somewhere the boy wasn’t allowed to go.

“I might not be much,” Angel told him, moving around the table with a fluid, catlike grace as he spoke, “but I’m not a liar.  And who she wants to be with is up to her, not me and certainly not you.”  Stepping closer, Angel held up his claddagh ring within inches of Riley’s face and told him in a still, proud tone,  “But you know what, Finn?  She knows everything there is to know about me and she still wants to be with me.  She chose to be with me.”  His anger finally showing itself, Angel growled at him, “She’s mine!  Don’t ever try to come anywhere near her or come between us again.  Get your sorry ass out of my sight before I kick it through the door.”

Riley was furious, rapidly losing the last shreds of reasonable thought.  Everyone was looking at him as if he was the one who was nuts.  And Buffy sat there looking at Angelus with a brilliant smile, holding her hand aloft to show the smaller version of the ring Angelus wore, as if to agree with all he had said.  He couldn’t get over that she could love someone like this lunatic, she must be just as crazy.  He didn’t have to listen to Liam Angelus, he wasn't ever going to give Riley an order again.  Finn started to raise his hand towards him.

Angel caught Riley’s hand before it even clenched into a fist.  Bringing the taller man right up against him, he gripped his hand hard enough to hear small bones crunch.  “Don’t!” Angel said, his voice thick with warning, “You don’t know how much I want you to,” then thrust him away towards the door.

Angry as he was, Riley knew he was no match for the man before him.  Angelus had already bested him twice.  The bruises on his face from their last encounter had barely healed.  Riley could feel the animosity from not only Angelus, but from Lindsey and the rest of those still seated at the table.  In his heart he knew what Angelus had said was true, but he wasn’t about to answer to all the faces around him.  Riley had no answer and he knew it.  The lies he had perpetuated had found him out and the trust of his friends before him was now the price.  He couldn't face any of them ever again.  Without raising his eyes, he grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair.  Only silence followed him as he walked through the doorway, into the darkness and out of their sight.

Buffy had jumped from her chair as the two men had closed in on each other.  Angel turned around and she was there in his arms before he knew it.  Her arms circled his waist in a tight embrace, her ear against his chest and the racing beat of his heart.  Angel bent his head to place a kiss on the small blonde head tucked under his chin.  Not trying to release himself from her hold, he steered her back to their chairs, turned around and drew her into his lap as he sat down.

Xander cleared his throat and in as normal a voice as he could find said, “I think we need some beer, it’s on me.”  The confrontation between the two men had changed Xander’s view of both of them considerably.  Buffy peeked at him from under Angel’s jaw gracing him with a tiny smile.  Maybe, Xander thought, Buffy was a better judge of character than the little credit he had given her.

“Sorry,” Buffy whispered up to Angel while Xander kept everyone entertained by playing waiter again.

He knew she felt badly, but in an odd way he was relieved.  Finn had been a thorn in his side for a long time.  And although he would never have imagined announcing his own failings in front of an audience, strangely, it didn’t bother him.  He felt lighter for it somehow.

“It was bound to happen sooner or later, Buffy,” he reassured her softly.

“It wasn’t how I hoped the evening would go,” she said sadly. “I wanted them to get to know you.”

“I think they know more now than they wanted to,” he whispered wryly.

She looked up at his words, expecting to see a scowl and was surprised instead to see him smile at her.  “I promise,” she said, “it won’t be like this the next time.”

“The next time?  Buffy…” he stopped as he heard a soft giggle in his ear.

“Just kidding, Angel!” she whispered back, “I’ll give you a little break before the next time.”

His only response was a low growl she felt rather than heard.

Lindsey looked at the two whispering to each other as his own arm tightened around Faith’s shoulders.  His admiration of Angelus had gone up another notch.  He didn’t think he was brave enough to be as bluntly honest to admit something like that as publicly as Angelus had.  It hadn’t been pretty, but the man had guts.  No small credit, he thought, went to the lovely and loving figure wrapped securely in his former superior’s arms.  Lindsey mused while taking a long slow draught of beer, there was hope for Liam Angelus yet.

The group loosened up a bit after the pitcher of beer was drained and another appeared in its place, this time as Lindsey’s treat.  Angel said hardly a word, most of his attention fixed on the bundle of softness molded into his lap.  He wore the semblance of a smile and made the effort every now and then to let his eyes rove over the faces surrounding him, but stayed his usual stoic self.  Buffy snuggled comfortably against Angel’s chest, but it didn’t keep her from keeping up her part of the conversation as it drifted lazily around the table.

She suddenly felt Angel sit up straight and glanced up to see him staring at the front door.  She followed his gaze to the platinum blonde in the leather duster who had just entered.  Buffy recognized him as the guy who always sat over in the smoking section.  She was pretty sure it was the waitress’s boyfriend.  As the man turned towards them Angel stiffened and his arms instinctively drew her tight against him.

“Spike,” she heard Angel say under his breath.

“Dru’s brother?” she asked, shocked.  She had heard about him from both Angel and Cordelia.  Buffy instantly asked herself what was Spike doing hanging out in a bar up the street from where they worked?  She didn’t believe in coincidence.

Angel saw the startled look cross Spike’s features when he caught sight of him.  He saw his gaze jump from his face down to Buffy’s and back up again, a look of incredulity mixed with the surprise of finding him there.  He didn't miss the obvious heat that Spike's glance held as it lingered on Buffy.

Spike recovered his wits fairly quickly and sauntered over to the table standing in front of Riley’s vacated seat.  “Angelus,” he said, a sly smile forming on his hard lips, “fancy meeting you of all people.”

“What are you doing here, Spike?” Angel asked in a tight voice, his arms pressing Buffy even more firmly against him.

Spike caught the movement and continued to openly rake his eyes over Buffy’s form. “Why, I come here quite often,” Spike said smoothly, “it’s like a second home to me.”

McDonald looked over his shoulder, behind Faith, at the man talking to Angelus.  He felt the tension rising between them at each word they spoke.  He had noticed the yellow-haired tough.  He’d had an eye on him ever since the man had made himself a frequent visitor.  Lindsey had never liked the looks of the guy, but it wasn’t enough of a reason to investigate him.  He’d done nothing wrong and Lindsey couldn’t do a follow up on him just because he didn’t know him.  He was thinking now he wished he’d trusted his instincts.

“What do you want?” Angel asked evenly.

“Nothing,” Spike said, “just stopping to say hello, don’t let me interrupt.  I can see you’re … busy.”  His gaze once more swept over Buffy from head to foot.  Without another word, he turned and headed toward the smoking section.

Buffy could feel the adrenaline racing through Angel as his arms banded around her like steel.   Although Angel’s confrontation with Riley earlier had been intense, the emotions snapping out of Angel’s eyes as he held Spike’s made it pale in comparison.

The short, but strangely intense encounter between the two men rekindled the same air everyone there had just worked so hard to dispel after Riley’s departure.  The roller coaster effect was more than the group could take and each of them started moving away from the table, making motions to leave.

Lindsey stood, coat in hand, talking to Buffy after Angel finally released her from his grasp.  The authoritative manner Angel unconsciously reverted to was clear in his words to Lindsey as he interrupted their conversation, “His name is William ‘Spike’ Holtz, I want to know everything about him you can find.”

Without hesitation, McDonald replied, “Done.”

Angel latched a protective arm around Buffy’s shoulders and steered her out the door purposely ignoring the pair of keen blue eyes he could feel burning into his back.

[end chapter 15]

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Chapter XVI

“When did you first notice him?” Angel asked, looking at her worriedly.  They were standing inside the door, hanging up their jackets.

“I don’t really remember,” Buffy answered, exasperated.  She walked over to the fireplace with her back to him.  He’d been drilling her since they left the bar and had already asked that same question twice.  “It’s not like I check out the place when I go there,” she snapped.  A lot had gone on, first Riley, then Spike showing up.  She thought the whole evening was making Angel overreact.

Coming up behind her, he slid his arms around her waist, holding her close.  “I’m sorry, love,” he told her, as if reading her mind.  “I’m just trying to protect you,” he said tensely, unable to shake off his apprehension, “I know Spike.  I don't trust him."

Buffy, still vexed, broke away and turned to look at him.  “I can take care of myself,” she reminded him. “But what makes you think this is about me?”

“I saw the way he looked at you,” he almost shouted, remembering Spike's eyes riveted on her.  Running his fingers through his hair, he walked distractedly from the bookcases to where she stood near the fireplace and back again.  "I haven't seen him for a few years, but I doubt he's changed.  If anything he's worse."

"I wasn't around a few years ago, so it isn't about me.  He still holds what happened to Dru against you.  Cordelia told me that.  But it was so long ago," she protested.

"And that makes a difference?  It still affects me, doesn't it?" he asked in a harsh voice.

"Angel – " she said, starting towards him, but he turned away, distancing himself from her.

"You think just because a lot of time has passed it changes anything?" he said in a strained voice.  "What's different?  I'm older, Spike's older, but his sister never will be."

Buffy walked up behind him and laid a hand on his arm to turn him towards her.  He wouldn't move, wouldn't look at her, but stood like a statue, his face towards the wall.

"You think purging my sins by bringing them into the light makes them go away, Buffy?" he asked softly, his voice filled with pain.  Before she could even think of how to answer he said, "It doesn't.  Nothing ever will.  I let Dru die and Spike knows it as well as I do."

"Then you're both wrong even if neither of you can see it," she said to his back.  "I know just telling me what happened doesn't erase it, but it's a start towards dealing with it.  And after all you told me, horrible as it was, it didn't make me change my mind about you one bit."  Still he didn't move or respond.  She asked bluntly, "You think I'm the one who doesn't understand.  Have you ever thought just once that maybe it's you who doesn't?"

Even that seemed to have no effect, Buffy could feel the walls going up around him and felt helpless.  Pulling gently on his arm, she begged softly, "Please, Angel, don't keep me out."

He turned on her suddenly, looming over her, staring at her upturned face, then just as suddenly walked away.  “I knew this was going to happen,” he muttered half to himself as if he hadn't heard her plea.

“What?” she asked, trying to catch his arm again when he paced back towards her, “What do you think is happening?”

“That having you in my life … now it’s putting you in danger,” he said, looking down at her hand hooked over his arm.

“Just because Spike comes up and talks to you for a couple minutes, I’m in danger?” she asked him, trying to make him see he was blowing it out of proportion.

 “Yes,” he bit out, grasping both her arms, looking down at her, “that’s exactly it.”   Angel was losing what little patience he possessed.  He couldn’t make her understand how serious this was.  “I’ve told you before it wouldn’t work with us,” he said in frustration.  “This isn’t some fairytale.  Not every story has a happily ever after.”

She refused to get upset with the remark, “I’m not a child, Angel – I know that.  But we can’t live our lives in fear of what might or might not happen,” she tried to reason with him.

“And I can’t ignore it either.  Do you think I want anything to happen to you?” his fingers were digging into her arms as he shook her, “Do you think I could stand it?  That because of me you could be hurt or worse?”

“Of course not,” she told him, then asked candidly, “but you think staying away from me is the answer?”

Buffy felt the sigh shudder through him as he pulled her tightly against him, leaving him trembling.  He buried his face in the crook of her neck, breathing her in deeply.

“I can’t stay away from you any longer.  You’re everything to me,” was his muffled reply.

She felt relief wash through her, even knowing how troubled he was.  She had been frightened he might be thinking of leaving her again and she knew she couldn’t bear it.

Angel felt the tears on his shirt and drew back to look at her.  “All I ever seem to do,” he said sadly, “is make you cry.”

“No, now they're happy tears, not to be confused with the not-so-happy ones,” she feebly joked, raising her face to his.  “I was afraid you were talking about leaving me,” she confessed.  She watched him shake his head as he pulled her even closer.  “Besides,” she snuffled giving him a watery smile, “hearing you say I’m everything to you kinda hit a soft spot.  I’m not used to being anyone’s everything.”

“You only have to worry about being mine,” he softly reassured her.  He held her for long moments, his large hands gently running up and down her back, her head nestled beneath his chin.  He finally released her long enough to lead her to his chair before the fireplace and pull her into it with him.

"Buffy," he said gently as he wrapped his arms around her, "I don't want to argue with you.  But Spike is a very real danger.  He was very, very close to Dru.  When she was alive they were inseparable.  So when she died ..."  He sighed.  After a few moments he went on, "He's trouble and he scares me."

"So why now?  I mean, has he done something before?" she asked.

"No, love, just insults and threats," Angel admitted.  "But tonight ... tonight he was different.  Just the way he looked at you," he repeated, "he scares me."

*****

They hadn’t gotten to sleep until long after they arrived home.  It had taken both of them, especially Angel, a long time to unwind and relax.  Even making love didn't dispel the sense of uneasiness Buffy knew was plaguing him.  It only made him cling to her more closely as if the tighter he held her the safer he could keep her from any harm that might befall her.

For all of his advance planning, Angel hadn’t had anything specific in mind for the weekend ... but Buffy did.  Late Saturday morning she woke to find two arms fastened firmly around her, her back pressed tightly and tenderly to the wall of warm flesh behind her.  Angel’s breath puffed softly into her hair where he was nuzzled.  Slowly and carefully disentangling the limbs that held her, she crept silently out of bed.  She looked down and couldn’t help but smile at the angelic face reposed in slumber.  Softly, she combed her fingers through the errant spikes of dark, silky hair, then traced his broad forehead.  Her fingers drifted down to the high cheekbones, then touched the tip of the long straight nose.  His straight dark brows were relaxed at the moment over eyes of deep chocolate brown that entranced her when open.  He was an angel, she thought, a badly bruised one, which made her love him all the more.  She couldn’t stop herself from bending down and leaving a tender kiss on his brow.

Rummaging in the drawer Angel had set aside for her, she donned her oldest clothes, a pair of faded denim short shorts and a tiny t-shirt, which revealed a slice of skin above the shorts.  She found her way to the kitchen and made coffee.  After grabbing a cupful, once it was done brewing, she armed herself with dust clothes, feathers and furniture polish.

She was surprised at how undusty the bookshelves were, as if they’d been recently cleaned.  She mused as she went about using the polish and cloth on the rest of the room that she could find much better things to occupy his time than books … cleaning or reading them.  She had just finished when she felt a very familiar pair of arms attack from behind.

“You weren’t there when I woke up,” Angel growled into the nape of her neck.  Then he stopped abruptly and tensed.

She knew his words had brought back the memory of the first night they made love and the morning after … how he'd left her there alone.  Buffy wasn’t the vengeful type and she thought Angel had suffered quite enough pain in his life.  She didn’t want to add any to it.  She turned within his grasp and whispered, “Sorry – am I forgiven?”

“Am I?” he whispered, his head still bowed.

In answer she raised his face to hers, her mouth closed over his, her tongue plunging past the lips that parted for it.  It was a long, deep kiss – one of comfort and assurance as much as love.   “Does that answer your question?” she asked when she finally pulled back.

He gave a soft, shy smile to the hazel eyes that held his and smiled back at her.  Dropping another kiss on the forehead of the beautiful face tilted towards his, he sighed.  He didn’t know how she had found him, but he’d never let her go.

When he finally raised his head and tore his eyes away from the delectable form in his arms, he glanced around the room, inhaling the scent of cleaning fluid.

“Buffy, I didn’t mean for you to spend the weekend with me as a maid,” he chided gently.

“Sorry,” she grinned, “you get the whole deal.  Maid, co-worker, love slave, all part of the total package.”

“Love slave?” he cocked an eyebrow.

“Why did I think that’s the only part you would hear?” she returned, laughing softly.  “But, cleaning first, slaving later.”

“If you’re the slave that would make me the master, right?” he asked, warming to her brightening mood.

“If you think that’s gonna get you out of doing what needs to be done around here, think again, big guy,” she teased, “You get to be master after the work is finished.  But, you are allowed to eat first.”

He chuckled as he let her lead him to the kitchen.  Her long, golden hair fell down her back in a cascade of curls.  He watched the sliver of skin widen between the shirt and shorts as she reached in the cupboard for a mug.  Keeping his mind on housework instead of Buffy was asking a lot.  Admiring the round, firm bottom wiggling in front of him, above slim, tanned legs, he couldn’t help but ask, “Tell me,” he wanted to know, “is that your maid or love slave outfit?”

“Guess it all depends on how you look at it,” she said, turning to catch his appreciative stare.  She shot one back, practically drooling over the way his own cutoff denims encased his lower torso and how the sleeveless t-shirt covering his chest defined every muscle bulging beneath it.  There had to be a law against looking that good in old clothes … any clothes.

It was hard to keep their eyes or minds on their tasks.  Somehow they did manage to get through all the rooms and leave an appearance of clean behind them.  But not without frequent pauses or all out stops, caught up much more in each other than the dust and dirt they were supposed to be fighting.  Angel didn’t think he’d ever look at housekeeping in the same light again.

Buffy found herself wondering more than once as she saw the light refracted off the diamond in her Claddagh ring, what it would be like being married, spending the rest of their lives like this.  Angel saw the coveted looks she gave to her left hand and his heart both ached and sang at the thought of her being his wife.

The bedroom was the last to be cleaned and where Angel lost the final battle.  Buffy was tucking the midnight blue satin sheets under the pillows and smoothing out the matching counterpane.  It was suddenly too much – he loved to see her hair fanned out against the dark, silky material.  Creeping up behind her, he spun her quickly around and slid onto the bed bringing her with him.  He arranged her hair gently on the pillow and looked down into brilliant green emeralds that sparkled with love and desire.

Buffy shivered at the deep sable gaze that looked into her soul.  There wasn’t a part of her that didn’t feel him inside her.  He would always be a part of her.  She wondered, not for the first time, if he hadn’t always been there deep down.  She reached up, opening her small arms and felt the same shiver run through him as he let her draw him down over her.  How could it be, she wondered, that she could love him so much and still keep loving him more?

“Now …” he murmured, “exactly what does a love slave do?”

“Guess that would depend on her master,” was her tempting reply.

"Would it mean making my wishes come true?" he asked softly.  When she nodded, he shook his head and answered her confused expression, "You already have."  He grinned at the brilliant smile she gave him before hungrily fastening his lips over hers.  He kissed her breathless before finally pulling back to look at her again.  "But I can think of a few more," he told her with that crooked half smile that made her heart beat faster.

As he started removing her shirt, she caught his hand and whispered in a sensuous voice, "Let me ... master."

He chuckled and flopped down beside her saying, "I wish you would take off your clothes, then mine."

"As you wish," she said impishly.  Buffy loved his playful light-heartedness and deep down thrilled at the thought that she was the one who elicited that response in him.  She made a show out of pulling the little t-shirt up slowly, raising her arms to lift it over her head.  Watching the heat increase in her lover's eyes, she peeled the shorts down inch by painfully slow inch as the bulge beneath his own shorts grew.  As she finally skimmed the silk panties down her legs, flicking them off her foot, she felt a large hand grasp her around the waist, pulling her down on the bed.

Angel rolled over on top of her once more, grinning happily, as she giggled, "You're making it hard to follow your commands."

"No," he replied as he slipped his hips between her thighs and pressed his arousal firmly against her curls, "You're making it hard."

She laughed out loud then, answering him with a roll of her own hips into his, making him groan.  Reaching up she tugged at his shirt and he helped her pull it over his head.  Then she wiggled her hand down between them.  Instead of trying to unbutton his shorts, she cupped her hand around his telltale need and started stroking him.

"Buffy ..." he managed to groan as he hardened and swelled even more, straining against the rough denim fabric.

Taking pity on him she forced him back as she undid the button and unzipped his shorts.  She pulled them down as he lifted his hips to speed her along.  His sex springing up, finally freed of its restraint, bobbed invitingly towards her.  But as she reached out to grasp it, he suddenly slid her underneath him, easily capturing both of her hands in one of his, holding them over her head.  Her puckish smile melted away when she lifted her eyes to his face.  She felt a rush of wetness as his gaze swept over her like a living flame of lust, burning through her, straight to her core.

"I can't wait," he whispered fervently, his control dissolving in an instant, feeling an overwhelming need to lose himself in her.  "I need to be inside you ... now."  Taking only a moment to sift his fingers through the downy hair and feel how ready she was for him, he waited no longer to slide his aching member into her lush, searing hot channel.

She cooed as he filled her, giving herself over to the lovely feeling of him thrusting deeper and deeper.  Buffy lifted her legs around his waist, drawing him even closer, her hips moving in time with his as he kept pumping into her faster and harder.

"I love you," he whispered hoarsely without breaking their rhythm.  He couldn't slow down, couldn't have stopped if his life depended on it.  Angel was surrounded by her sleek, silken walls, lost in the grey-green mist of her loving gaze.  He heard her soft cries of pleasure, felt her small hands as they tightened in his.  Releasing her hands, he slid his under her back, drawing her closer.  He felt her arms go around him, fingernails digging into his shoulders and back as she writhed against him.

"Angel," she gasped, "please."

His large hands slid down as he repositioned her hips, driving his length against her most intimate flesh until he felt her walls ripple and contract around him.  He bent his head, searching for her mouth, needing to feel her lips on his.  She moaned into his mouth as he kissed her deeply.  His movements becoming more and more frantic, he plunged into her very depths, touching her womb, until he felt his own release as it washed through him and spilled into her.

Lying over her, his arms trembled as he tried to move off, knowing he was too heavy, but she would have none of it.  She held him there, her arms holding him tight against her.  After long moments just holding each other, she allowed him to shift his weight to his arms as he raised himself up on his elbows and looked down at her.  "Sorry," he said in a soft, lilting tone, "I just couldn't help myself, watching my slave unwrapping herself for me."

Buffy gave him a luxurious smile and whispered silkily, "Your wish was my command."

Does this mean you're no longer under my command?" he asked with a lazy grin, catching tendrils of spun gold, wrapping them around his fingers, gently tugging them.

"I'd call this pretty much under, Angel," she chuckled, wiggling beneath him.

"Ah," he said, "then I command you to stay right where you are.  There are a few other things I'd like to wish for, starting with this," and leaned down to give her another breath-stealing kiss.

A very long while later they remade the bed and took a shower together.  Buffy had already made wearing one of Angel’s shirts a habit, one with which he found no fault.  There was something so adorable about her swimming in its depths that it tugged at his heart.

They had a late supper and when they finished, they washed and dried the dishes together and put them away.  Angel reached for the box of matches on the mantle and lit the kindling under the logs he had already laid out.  Falling back against the leather cushions of the chair, he stretched out in it.  Buffy took the hand he held out, letting him draw her down next to him.  He reflected on how lonely he had really been all those evenings alone in his chair – and how lonely he would always be without her beside him in it.

“I love it here,” she told his chest as her fingers crept under the shirt covering it.  Almost shyly she added, “I feel like I belong here.”  She felt his warm breath in her hair as he exhaled, his muscles relaxing beneath her touch.

He sighed deeply, she never ceased to amaze him.  He felt exactly the same way but it made his heart swell to hear her say she did too.  “Embedded deep within she lies, in true love’s sweet forever ties,” he quoted softly.  She craned her neck up to peek at him and he smiled softly back down on her.  “You do belong here,” he assured her, stroking her back, letting her small hands work their magic on him as she slid them further under the fabric.

She was content to trace lazy lingering lines of love over his chest and abs.  Her touch wasn’t meant to arouse as much as comfort.  After lying there for a long time watching the flames bend and dance Angel gently shifted her so he could look into her face.

 “I never thought I’d have anyone in my life,” he said, reaching up his hand, smoothing the hair back from the side of her face.  “I never looked, never even thought about it.”  His fingers kept sliding through her hair; she could feel his love right down to the tips of them.  “I never expected you … you found me somehow,” he said wonderingly.

Buffy remained silent, keeping her eyes on his face, her hand still soothing a path over his skin.  Angel wasn’t one to start a conversation and she knew it was difficult for him, so she waited, giving him time.

“I still don’t think I’m the one you deserve,” he said placing his thumb over her lips before she could protest.  “But I want to be.  I-I don’t know how, but I want to be.  There are things I’ve never told anyone else, but you need to know.  I want you to know.”

“Angel, I know …” she started to tell him.

He stopped her by kissing her softly, then held her eyes with his and told her, “Buffy, I’ve never let anyone into my life, I’ve never known how.  You’re the only one I want in it now.  I promised you I’d try and I don’t want to screw it up.  So, I’m trying …” he trailed off.

“’Kay,” she said simply, leaning back, but still watching his face.

He settled his arms around her, trying to think of how to tell her.  “What I told Riley last night was true.  When he left his post I went looking for him, several times.  I kept checking the radio, but only got static.  He was a new recruit, it was his first training exercise.  I was responsible for him.”  His eyes became unfocused as he recalled what happened that night.  “I knew it was going to storm.  You can smell it before it comes.  You can feel it,” he shivered.

She hugged herself against him to lend him her warmth and he unconsciously tightened his hold on her.

“The wind started to pick up, bending the tree branches, and I could hear the thunder rumbling before I saw the lightening.  I knew it was coming.  Then the rain began falling … hard.  It was like the sky split open and it all poured down at once,” he said, remembering.  “The flash blinded me.  Thunder cracked and shook the ground.  It must have hit very near to where I was standing.  The next strike hit a tree right beside me ... just like the first time.  I felt the heat, smelled the wood burning and I was there all over again.”

Buffy could feel the trembling he didn’t seem to be aware of, his eyes turning dark with memories.

“The next thing I remember was lying on the ground looking up through the trees and she was there beside me.  I could hear her whispering, but her lips didn’t move.  I tried to keep her warm, to keep the rain off her.  Her hand was cold … so cold and her eyes they were just staring …”

“Angel,” Buffy whispered to him softly.

He turned his head slightly at the sound of her voice and she could see him coming back to the present, his mind still caught in the past.  He closed his eyes and leaned his head back.  “After that I couldn’t stop dreaming about it, especially when it stormed,” he said bitterly.  “I took all the drugs they gave me, but she never would leave me alone.  All the nightmares I had as a child that I thought were gone.  They weren’t.”

She had no words, so she said nothing.  She simply held him, her hand still trailing over his chest, her other slipping up to the nape of his neck, fingers curling in his short, dark hair.

He looked down at her, a faint smile touched his lips, his hand finding her cheek once more.  “From the first day I met you, I dreamt about you,” he confided softly, his thumb running over the fine bones.

Buffy was so surprised she could only keep her eyes fixed on his as he went on.

“You made the nightmares go away.  I-I didn’t know if I loved you.  I didn’t know what love was or maybe I would have realized that’s what I felt for you.”

She laid her head against his shoulder nuzzling her face against his throat.

He finally drew her back a little with a desperately wretched look.  “The first night we made love,” talking so low she could barely hear him, “I knew then that I loved you.”  His face darkened, “Then the storm came … and the lightening.  It brought it all back.  I was there on the cold ground … the tree branches creaking above.  But it wasn’t Dru beside me … it was you I saw lying there.  Your eyes were open …  You were so still and cold.  It was so real.  I was so afraid.  Your hand was in mine, but it felt cold and hard …  I was terrified I’d killed you.  Then I saw your hand move … and I woke up.  You were curled up in my arms and you felt so close, so warm.  You were alive.  You weren’t dead.  You were all right.”

She twisted up and wrapped both arms around his neck and drew him closer.

“I-I wanted to stay there with you so badly that night.  I wanted you to hold me.  You’re the only one who ever made the cold go away.  I didn’t want to leave you.  But I couldn’t … I didn’t want to hurt you.  I never meant to hurt you,” Angel told her.

Buffy could hear the fear still vibrating in his voice.  She kept on holding him, rocking him gently.  She had never felt so alone as the morning she had found him gone.  But hearing him, holding him, she felt his terror, his fear.

“Angel,” she said softly after his shoulders stilled from the emotions shuddering through him.  “I’m so sorry, I wish you could have told me, but I understand.  I know you’d never hurt me if you could help it.”  In his ear, she whispered,  “I love you.”

“I love you,” he whispered back, keeping his face pressed into her shoulder, holding her so tightly she couldn’t move.  They felt so right together, so safe in each other’s arms.

*****

Once more Buffy woke before Angel the next morning, slipping free of the muscular arm that held her gently against a warm, hard chest.  She pulled on another shirt she had stolen from her sleeping lover and padded to the kitchen to make coffee.  Steaming cup in hand, she wandered through the living room to the further side, surrounded by bookcases.  Her eyes roved over the rows and rows of Angel’s collection.

On the shelves in one corner, Buffy noticed the books were different from the rest.  Most of the volumes were slim, almost all were obviously worn from long and frequent use.  She knew these were his books of poetry.  She settled on the floor to look more closely at the titles.  He'd haltingly told her how much he loved poetry, as if she'd think it was strange.  She confessed she didn't know much about it, but wanted to learn.  He'd given her a shy nod at her unspoken acceptance of his avocation.  At her soft pleading, he had promised to read to her and she thought she would surprise him by choosing a book to share later.

What looked like a very large book near the bottom of the shelves caught her eye and curiosity teased her to pull it out.  It was a portfolio, the contents almost bursting out of it.  She set her cup of coffee to the side, then untied the strings and the large covers fell open, revealing page after page of artwork.  She gasped, her eyes wide with amazement at the face she saw in each and every image.  She kept picking up one after another, spreading them before her, her heart swelling and aching all at once.  Is this how he saw her?  This beautiful and perfect?  She saw his love for her drawn in every line, every shading, every tiny detail he had so carefully recorded.  The sheer number of pages took her breath away.

Buffy felt Angel behind her, looking down at her.  Her gaze moved from the drawings to his face as he kneeled down beside her.  She saw a mixture of trepidation and love in his eyes.  Without a word, she let the papers flutter to the floor as she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder.  “They’re beautiful, Angel.  But there are so many … When …?” she left the question hanging, finally lifting her face to his.

Angel sighed deeply then drew her so close that she could hear his heartbeat, “All those nights I couldn’t sleep – when I was thinking of you.”  Pulling back slightly giving her a crooked half smile, “Every night without you.”  Lightly tracing her cheek with a single finger, as if memorizing it for one of his drawings, he whispered softly, “They were all I had.”  His voice betraying a disconcerting undertone, “But they’re not even close to the real thing.”

“I wish I looked the way you see me,” she told him.

“You do,” he assured her and left no doubt of his belief in a kiss fashioned to convince her.  “But there’s so much more to you.  I want to see it all,” he said, putting his forehead against hers, “inside and out.  Every single thing there is to know.”

“Every single thing?  That could take a while, Angel,” she grinned up at him.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he smiled back.

He helped her gather all the sheets together in the holder, then slide it back in its place.  They finally settled before the fire, entwined in each other’s arms, sipping coffee and talking softly.

She told him her middle name was Anne, that her birthday was in January.  Once upon a time –when she was small, she had wanted to be a famous ice skater.  He shyly told her about how he taught himself to draw, about his favorite poetry.  That his birthday was in September – in his favorite season – autumn.  He loved the slant of the sunlight and the vivid colors, the smell of leaves burning.  They found many things they both loved and had in common, listening to Billie Holiday, the color blue, steak with red wine, of being fascinated by old myths and legends.

Buffy realized she had never been with anyone else long enough for them to know those things about her … and the thought pleased her.  She loved that it was something she had only shared with Angel.  She knew Angel had never shared much of anything with anyone, that it was a new experience for both of them.

The phone rang breaking the soft, mellow mood they’d woven around one another.  She felt Angel become instantly alert at the voice greeting him.

“McDonald,” he acknowledged.

Buffy couldn’t hear the conversation, but could see a frown growing, creasing Angel’s forehead as he listened.

“I can be there in a half an hour,” he said into the phone.  When he hung up he looked down at Buffy’s questioning gaze.  “McDonald found someone who has some information on Spike, he’s meeting him in a little while,” he told her.

“Where do we have to meet him?” she asked, getting up from the chair to come stand beside him.

“We aren’t meeting him,” Angel said, giving her a long look, “I am.”  Before she could get a word out Angel stopped her by gently placing his hands on her shoulders.  “Please, Buffy,” he entreated her softly, “don’t argue with me.  I’ll only worry if you come.  I don’t know who this guy is and I don’t want him to see you.”

She wasn’t happy about it, but she was familiar with his look of stubborn determination.  “Then you can take me back to my apartment,” she told him.

His face fell at her words, “You aren't going to stay with me?” he asked sadly.

“Not if you aren’t going to be here,” she smiled up at him.  Seeing his disappointment she explained, “I need some more clothes anyway and I would like to get some money’s worth out of my rent.”

“I’d rather you stayed here,” he said, although he didn’t look quite as forlorn as he had the moment before.  “We could stop by later to get your clothes,” he suggested.

“Angel,” she said, laying a hand on his chest, “I just want to go there while you’re gone.  You can drop me off, then pick me up when you’re done.  I wasn’t planning on staying.  What difference does it make if I’m here or there?” she asked sensibly.

He still didn’t like the idea, but he had no rebuttal to her logic.  “I won’t be gone long,” he promised her.  “As soon as McDonald and I are done, I’ll be right there to get you.”

“You worry too much,” she chuckled softly. “You know that?”

Angel tried not to show how concerned he was.  He knew she was probably right, but he had a bad feeling in his gut that wouldn’t go away.  He knew it didn’t matter which place she stayed while he was gone, he just didn’t like her being anywhere without him.  Realistically he was aware he couldn’t be with her every moment, but the thought did nothing to calm him.

On the short drive to Buffy’s they heard on the radio that yet another storm was predicted for that evening.  According to the weatherman, it would be worse than all the storms that had preceded it.  The voice on the radio warned that people should stay off the streets if at all possible.  The announcement only made Angel feel even more anxious about not staying with Buffy, intensifying his nagging feeling of unease.  She could see the concern etch even deeper lines around the frown he wore.  The storms didn’t hold the same sway over Angel as they used to, but that didn’t mean they still didn’t have an effect on him.

“I want to be home with you when the storm breaks,” he said, not realizing it was to soothe himself more than her, “hearing the rain on the outside while we’re warm and dry on the inside.”

Once they were inside her apartment, he instructed her to keep the door locked, not to let anyone in.  He told her he would call her on the phone when he was done, so she would know it was him when it came time to pick her up.  Buffy nodded without replying.  She thought he was overreacting … again, but knew there was no point in telling him that.

*****

Angel hadn’t been wrong worrying about Spike.  His instincts had been right on target.  In spite of how upset Angel had been and his warnings to her, it was Buffy who didn’t realize how dangerous Spike could be.

Spike had been camped out just barely in view of Angel’s house for hours, make that days.  He had only allowed himself to leave his self-appointed post when he had no choice, always looking at the driveway upon his return to make sure Angelus' black convertible was there.  It was now Sunday afternoon.  Spike desperately held onto the thought that the girl had to go home, at least for work clothes or something she needed sometime.  She’d been shacked up in that house with Angelus ever since Friday night.  Emphasis on ‘shacked up’, he thought bitterly.

Buffy had made it clear she had no interest in Riley, which was no surprise to Spike.  The big cowboy had more brawn than brains, no appreciation for the finer things in a woman.  Spike had wondered though if there wasn’t something between her and the dark-haired senior agent, McDonald.  They had spent more than one Friday night seemingly cozied up together, leaning into each other in deep conversation.  He hadn’t cared much about either man.  Spike knew it was only a matter of time before he introduced himself to Buffy, in one way or another.  But when he had walked into the bar to see her sitting in Angelus’ lap, being held by him so publicly and possessively, Spike felt like someone had punched him, knocking the air right out of him.

He had been looking for a way to get even with Angelus, but he had never imagined the little blonde in the picture at all.  As far as Spike knew Angelus had turned into a wuss even where women were concerned, if the small amount of information he had been able to scavenge could be believed.  But there Liam Angelus sat big as life, with one of the most adorable creatures Spike could ever remember seeing, clinging to him.  The sight revolted him.  The price Spike wanted to exact from Angelus went up through the ceiling just seeing her touching him.  The fuck didn’t deserve to be alive, didn’t deserve to have a life at all, especially one that included the beautiful little number Spike himself had been having wet dreams about for weeks.  He realized now that his Friday night visits these intervening months had become more about watching Buffy than finding a weakness in Angelus.  Only his increasing need to cause Liam Angelus the same kind of pain he felt had kept him from seeking her out ... until now.

Spike's estimation of the tempting blonde went down several points as he wondered how any woman could want to be with that poor excuse of a man.  He gave her the benefit of a doubt, maybe Angelus’ looks had gotten in the way of her judgement.  Angelus being all dark and broody might be attractive to some women.  But Spike would make sure Buffy knew what lay behind Angelus’ mask to show what a miserable piece of humanity he really was.

His skin crawled at the thought of taking Buffy after she’d been with Angelus.  He didn’t care for the other man's scraps.  But it didn’t stop him from wanting her.  He’d been salivating at the sight of her far too long.  And what better way to get to Angelus than for him to see her having sex with someone else, especially Spike himself?  What a wonderful way to torture the man he hated.  Yes, that idea appealed to him through and through.  He’d never known Angelus to have much to do with any woman for more than a one night stand.  He could tell in a glance she was much more than that to him.  If Liam Angelus loved Buffy one-tenth as much as Spike had cared for his sister Dru, Spike was determined Angelus would suffer, would be as devastated, as he had been when she died.  He had let her death go unavenged far too long.

One of his brief trips away from his birds-eye view of Angelus’ house had been to his own place to pick up some things he thought he might need.  He had already planned where he would go and what he would do, all he had needed were a few items to help him accomplish all he had in mind.

He finally saw the two of them leave the house, snickering as he watched Angelus help her into his car.  Letting them pull out into the street and nearly disappear in traffic, he started his car to follow them.  He stayed back as far as he dared without losing sight of the convertible.  He had expected them to go to Buffy’s place, but was surprised to see Angelus come back out a few moments later and drive off.  Spike checked the contents of the seat next to him quickly.  Time would be on his side for only so long, he wasn't going to waste it.

*****

As soon as Angelus was out of sight, Spike moved his car up to the walk.  Hoping the towel in his pocket wasn’t noticeable, he made sure he kept a normal pace and manner as he approached the entry door to Buffy’s apartment building.  He kept his eyes open without turning his head, but saw no one before he reached the door.  He was a competent cat burglar and although he would have preferred the cover of night, he was adept at triggering the lock silently and quickly.  He found his way to Buffy’s door, checking the number against the name next to the doorbell outside.  He tapped on the door quietly and prepared his surprise.

Buffy hadn’t even had time to get to her bedroom before she heard the knock on the door.  Thinking Angel must have forgotten something, she never paused, but ran to the door, threw the bolt and opened it.  “Angel,” she said without even seeing who was there.

Spike leaned into the doorway as she opened it, holding the towel.  As soon as he saw her face he covered it with the cloth and caught hold of her before she could move.  He pushed her into the room and closed the door.  She struggled for a few short seconds, trying to kick him, then pull away from him, but too late, falling into his arms unconscious.

Spike patted himself on the back and silently thanked one of his recent girlfriends.  She was a vet’s assistant and had invited him to wait for her one night where she worked.  He had taken advantage of the situation when she had gone to freshen up for her date.  Seeing a small bottle of chloroform someone had neglected to put away, he helped himself to it.  He hadn’t known how handy it would be.

It was still daylight, but Spike didn’t dare wait for night to come.  He knew Angelus probably wouldn’t be gone for any great length of time.  He had no choice other than scooping Buffy up and taking her to his car.  He had to take the chance that no one would be around to notice them leaving.  He didn’t even bother to look around her apartment, but lifted her into his arms and closed the door behind them.  He got to the entry door and had just shifted Buffy to free up one hand when the door opened in front of him.

Staring into the face of what must be one of Buffy’s neighbors, Spike used the mix of surprise and panic he knew must be on his face to answer the look of suspicion he saw on the short, bald-headed man before him.  He had thought for a moment it was Angel coming back.

“My friend just fainted,” he said in what he hoped sounded like a worried voice.  “I’m new around here, could you tell me where the hospital is?”

The man looked closely at Buffy, even touched her cheek, but finally told Spike, “It’s right down the street,” he said pointing, “go two blocks and make a left, you’ll see the signs for it.”   He brought his eyes back to Buffy’s face once more and asked, “Are you sure she just fainted?  What happened exactly?”

Spike pretended to be upset, “I don’t know!  One minute she was fine, the next she fell over on the couch.  I have to get her to a doctor!  If anyone comes, tell them where we are,” he said, trying to sound convincing.

“Yes, of course,” the older man promised, “I’ll do that.”

Spike carefully lowered Buffy into the back seat of his car, knowing the neighbor was watching every move he made.  He waved back at him as he got into his seat, then drove off in the direction the man had indicated.

*****

Lindsey saw Angelus’ car pull up a ways down the street and strolled towards it slowly.  The two met and spoke briefly before entering the bar a few doors down.

It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust to the dim interior of the rundown dive.  Lindsey didn’t look around, but headed towards the back corner hidden in shadows with Angelus close behind him.

“Merle,” Lindsey said with a twisted smile, “I brought a friend with me, hope you don’t mind.”

The small man in the loud shirt seemed to shrink back into the booth as he gazed up at Angelus’ formidable breadth and height.  “You didn’t say anything about company,” he sniped with false bravado.

“Maybe we could find a quieter spot so you could get to know me better,” Angel told him in a soft, dangerous tone.

“No, no,” the thin, pale-looking wretch replied, “I just got my drink,” as if the glass he was holding would save him.

McDonald sat down across from him while Angel made a show of folding himself down into the booth right next to Merle.  Merle looked even more uncomfortable as he half-turned, glancing back and forth between the two faces staring at him.

“So, what can you tell us about your friend Spike?” Lindsey questioned him.

“Pah, he’s no friend,” Merle shook his head,  “the guy would rob you as soon as look at you.”

“Is that what he’s been doing?” McDonald prodded him.

“Pretty much,” Merle agreed, “when he’s not busy trying to get up whatever skirt is walking by.  He thinks he’s hot stuff with that peroxided hair and leather duster,” he said curling his lip in derision.

“What’s he been up to lately?” Angel wanted to know.

“These drinks get pretty expensive, ya know,” Merle muttered as he drained the glass he’d been holding so desperately.  Despite a healthy fear of the rather large man beside him, Merle was determined to make them pay for their information.

Angel grabbed the glass out of Merle’s hand, “Drinking isn’t good for you,” he warned in a low voice.

*****

Spike knew exactly where he was going, but made sure he didn’t drive too fast getting there.  He wasn’t about to give the police or anyone else any opportunity to spoil his plans.  His father used to go to an old cabin years before with friends of his to ‘rough it’ and had always taken Spike along.

Camping with his father seemed like something that happened to someone else now.  Maybe, he mused darkly, it was.  Back then he had been close to his father, he had idolized him.  He had done everything he could to make Daniel Holtz proud of him and his father was.  But not now, not for a long time.  Even while he tried to deny it to himself, Spike wondered why he still cared so much.  Seeing that file in his father's office had brought it all back to him, but that wasn't what had bothered him the most.  What finally broke him, made him hate Liam Angelus with a burning fury was that even after all the time Spike had been gone he hadn't found a file with his name on it ... only Angel's.

It was Angel's fault Dru was dead, not his father's and not Spike's.  Just because he hadn't been with Dru like he was supposed to be that day, it wasn't his fault, it wasn't.  His father had asked him to watch over her, but Spike had always done that, except for those few moments.  And he would have been there if he hadn't stopped to talk for that one second.  Would things have been different later if he hadn't told his father he wasn't there?  He shook the thoughts away and concentrated on his plans.

Spike had no idea who owned the cabin or if anyone would be there, but thought at this time of year it was probably locked up for the season.  He released an evil chuckle as he listened to the weather report on the radio about the heavy storm warnings.  It couldn't have been more perfect than if he ordered it.  Buffy stirred, mumbling Angel's name, making Spike jerk the nondescript sedan off the road.  Not everything in the world revolved around Liam Angelus.  Carelessly pouring more liquid on the towel he had doused her with earlier, he gave her another few whiffs of the fumes before she woke up.  Looking at her lying there, he was tempted to take her right there by the side of the road.  But there wasn’t time, not with what he intended for her later.  That and the thought of the look on Angelus’ face when he found them together.  He wanted everything to be perfect for the performance he had in mind for Angelus’ benefit and speed right now was of the essence.  Spike knew it would take Angelus one short visit before he was on his way to the rescue.  He would get his pound of flesh out of Buffy Summers and with a captive audience.  ‘Captive’ being the key word.

He made one stop at a roadside phone to leave a message.  The rain started as he turned the car off the main road into the woods.  It wasn’t a long drive to the cabin, which he found without too much difficulty.  He pried the padlock off the door of the ramshackle building.  Dragging Buffy from the back of the car, roughly swinging her over his shoulder, he entered the single room dwelling.  He dropped her none too gently on the small cot in the corner.  He knew it would be a while before she came around.  After he brought in the few items he had left in his trunk, he sat in the chair next to the small wooden table in the center of the single room cabin.

After setting everything up to his liking, Spike paced around the small area getting more irritated and frustrated by the minute.  He was glad he thought to bring the whiskey along to keep him company.  He’d never seen the cabin his sister had spent some of her last hours in, but he imagined it wasn’t much different than the one he was in now.  It had to be a cabin though, he wanted the surroundings to be just right when Angelus finally arrived.  The liquid burning down his throat helped ease the ache that always settled in his heart when he thought of Dru.  He took a few more swigs, longer ones, as his eyes roamed over the walls of the room and the simple cot in the corner where he had left Buffy.  It wasn't Buffy he saw lying there.  Instead it was a scared little girl with long blonde hair and huge blue eyes staring at him and whispering.

He rammed his fist against the rickety table and squeezed his eyes shut.  This wasn’t working out as he had planned.  He’d wanted to set the stage for Angelus.  Spike hadn’t expected any of this to have an effect on him.  But all he could see and hear was his little sister, she was crying for him, whispering his name.  He couldn’t hear all she was saying, he didn’t want to hear her.  He kept his eyes closed and put his fingers in his ears.  When that didn’t work, as the images and sounds continued to torment him, he tried to drown them in more whiskey.

*****

The little information Angel and Lindsey could get out of Merle wasn’t that helpful.  It didn’t matter to Angel why Spike had been gone or how long.  He was only interested in what Spike was up to and where he was now.  Merle hadn’t known much of anything.  Only that the dyed blonde stole and schmoozed his way through most everything.  Spike was penny ante for the most part, a little more dangerous when he gathered a few others around him.  He had somehow managed to stay out of jail, only just.  His last endeavor to avoid getting caught is what had kept him away until now.

Angel was sorry he’d wasted his time on the snitch, but knew it was something he had to check out.  His only thought was to get Buffy and go home.  He thanked Lindsey for the work and time he’d invested before the agent left.  He stayed behind to call Buffy to let her know he was on his way.  When she didn’t pick up by the third ring he felt the frisson of fear run down his spine.  He let it ring a few more times praying she was just too busy to answer right away.  But the chill feeling of foreboding that had never gone away since he first laid eyes on Spike moved up through his chest, tightening it with alarm and panic.

He got to her apartment just after dark, automatically taking in the dark windows in the failing light.  He quickened his steps once he unlocked the entry door with the duplicate set of keys Buffy had given him a few days earlier.  He knocked on her door, but inserted the key in the lock without waiting.  He flung the door open, striding through the living room, looking in the kitchen as he passed, then throwing back both the bathroom and bedroom doors.

“Buffy!” Knowing even as he shouted her name that she was gone.

[end chapter 16]

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Chapter XVII

When Buffy finally came around, she was lying on a kind of bed in the corner of a dilapidated cabin.  Light came from a camping lantern that stood on a scarred wooden table, in front of the remains of a small stone fireplace.  The only other furniture she saw was a wooden bench near the door.  She could not only hear rain falling, but saw it dripping in through the age-worn roof.

She searched her mind for where she was and how she'd gotten there. All she could remember was opening her front door and something sweet and cloying being shoved in her face then … nothing.

She pulled back, startled, when a face suddenly loomed above her and a pair of icy blue eyes stared down.  “Enjoy your nap?” the blonde man asked as he bent closer.  She caught the smell of whiskey before he bobbed and weaved away from her.

“Spike,” Buffy said, trying to clear the cobwebs despite the dull pain in her head.

“No need for formal introductions, I see,” he said.  He brought his hands from behind his back to show her the ropes he held in them.  “I thought I’d wait until you were awake.”  He really didn’t know why he hadn’t tied her up before now.  He should have.

“Of course.  You wouldn’t want to take advantage of me,” she spat at him sarcastically.

“I plan on doing exactly that,” he informed her with a triumphant, yet oddly grim smile.

Buffy tried to stay calm and docile.  All she needed was one small chance to get away from him ... and it wasn't long in coming.  As an inebriated Spike bent over to slide the twisted hemp around her arms he lost his balance and pitched forward.  Not wasting the opportunity, Buffy pushed him away with her feet.  She tried to stand and get the upper hand over her captor, but the effects of the chloroform hadn't worn off, making her unexpectedly woozy.

Spike swore as he twisted around and barely caught her before she succeeded.  Grabbing her roughly, he held her arms behind her back and pushed her facedown on the cot.  He held his knee on the small of her back with painful pressure while winding the rope around her wrists.

He knew then why he had hesitated – all he could think of was Dru.  The kidnappers had tied her up, that much he had known.  His mother had cried the whole time she looked for a burial dress with long sleeves to cover her baby's wrists.

He tried to keep his mind off what he was doing.  What was he doing?  No, this wasn’t the same thing, he told himself.  Dru was a little girl and Angel should have protected her.  All of this was his fault, it had always been Angel’s fault.  He was the one who had been with Dru.  Spike pushed the thought from his mind for the millionth time that her own brother hadn't been there.

Buffy's head throbbed as she tried to suppress the prickle of fear his words had caused.  She knew Spike was very drunk and he seemed to be having a silent monologue with himself.  She forced herself to remain still while he tied her hands.  She was afraid any movement on her part would only make him cinch the ropes tighter.  Or make good on his threat.

Once he finished he moved back a step to look down at her.  “I doubt it will take long for Angelus to find us.  I’m sure Angel is tearing up the countryside looking for you right now.”  At her slightly confused look he added, “You talk in your sleep, darlin’.  But I was surprised to hear you call him that.  I thought he gave that up a long time ago.”

Her heart twisted at the thought of what Angel must be going through at that very moment.  All she could think of was the nightmare her lover had finally revealed to her.  He must be going crazy.  She knew how she would feel if he were the one who disappeared.  Why had she been so stupid?  Why hadn’t she used her head before she bounded over to the door and just opened it without thinking?  Look where her thoughtlessness had gotten her.  And she had thought, what seemed a lifetime ago, that she could be an agent?  The reality of the situation made her think fleetingly of how dangerous that job really must be.  And Angel had been one of the best.  She knew he would find her, she only prayed it would be soon enough.

*****

“You’re looking for Miss Summers?” Angel heard a timid voice ask behind him as he stood with his back to the open front door.

He spun around to see a neighbor of Buffy’s he had glimpsed once when they had stopped by to pick up some of Buffy’s things.  “Where is she?” he demanded without preamble.

“A friend of hers took her to the hospital –” the man started to tell him.

Advancing the few steps into the hall, Angel grabbed the shorter man by the shoulders, shaking him, nearly shouting, “What was wrong with her?”

“T-the man who took her said she fainted, he was carrying her out the door as I walked in,” he managed to get out.  Although Angel only saw the man next door once, the smaller man had seen Angel with Buffy a few times.  Unbeknownst to the couple, he had witnessed the fight with Riley through his window several weeks before.  He saw firsthand how dangerous the furious man in front of him could be.  And that was why he had thought it very odd when the strange blonde-haired man had appeared at the entry door with the petite, young neighbor in his arms.  “I never saw him before.  That’s why I asked him what happened to her.”

Angel was beside himself, his heartbeat was so loud it thundered in his chest.  “What did this ‘friend’ look like?” he barked at him.

“He was very blonde, not as big as you.  He was wearing a black duster and black leather pants,” the neighbor replied.  He could feel the tension rolling off the tall man, see the frenetic expression on his face.  “I-I touched her,” he offered softly, “she was warm and she wasn’t pale.  I didn’t notice until he had put her in the car and driven away that I could smell something sweet.”

Angel nodded and said in a tight voice more to himself than the neighbor, “Chloroform, I can still smell it.”  With that he slammed Buffy’s door shut, locking it.  Without another word or backward glance at the other man, he stormed down the hall and out the entryway door.

The next door neighbor was more relieved than offended by the powerful man’s abrupt departure.  He wanted to be anywhere the angry bruiser wasn’t.  He thought to himself, he wouldn’t want to be in the blonde man’s shoes once the dark menacing force that had just blown out of the apartment building caught up with him.

*****

Buffy twisted her wrists and felt some slack in the ropes that held them together.  She couldn’t just slide out of them, but they were loose.  She was sure it had been unintentional on the part of her abductor.  She watched Spike, who had his back to her as he sat at the table, frequently reaching for the bottle on the table.  The bottle looked more empty than full; she only hoped he would pass out from the effects.  All of his attention was on something in front of him that she couldn't see.  Grateful for whatever was distracting him, she silently she set to work on freeing her hands from her restraints.

Spike couldn’t get the pictures of Dru out of his head.  Refusing to look in the direction of the bed, he kept the bottle close by, taking a sip every few moments to blur the images.  Tying the ropes on the small form presently on the cot behind him had unnerved him more than he could have imagined.  He tried to concentrate his thoughts on Angelus and his anticipated arrival.

His gaze remained fixed upon the object in his lap.  Spike hated guns.  It was the instrument used to take his sister's life.  After her death he hadn't even been able to watch westerns or cop shows without feeling an aversion to the cold, lethal weapons.  In spite of his tough man image and rather long criminal record, guns had never been a part of it.  Now he looked at the one in front of him in morbid fascination.  Just as with the cabin, it was another prop in his little show for Angelus and a necessary one, despite his loathing of it.  Dru had died by a bullet and so would Angel ... just as he should have instead of her.  But not before he suffered, not before Spike saw Angelus watch something he cared about taken away first.

He hefted the unfamiliar weight in his hand.  He thought absently, as he took another pull from the bottle, that he should have learned more about how to use one.  But they all basically worked the same, right?  You just pulled that little trigger and the piece of lead shot out and hit its mark.  He knew he was no match for the former FBI agent, Spike knew he would need more than his own strength to overpower him.  He needed something to keep Angelus at bay while he took Buffy right in front of her lover.  Yes, it had to be a gun.

*****

Angel knew it was pointless to check out the hospital.  He slammed the car door, the sound reverberating through the quiet neighborhood.  There hadn’t been any question that this would be his next stop.  He stalked up the walkway and pounded loudly on the door while jamming his finger in the doorbell.

Daniel Holtz opened the door at once, his face showed no surprise at who he found on his doorstep.  Swinging the door wide, he admitted the tall, clearly enraged visitor inside.  “Spike left a message on the answering machine,” Holtz said in way of a greeting.  Leading Angel to the small table it sat on in the hallway, he depressed the play button.

“Angelus,” Spike’s voice floated up from the speaker,  “I won’t keep you in suspense.  And I wouldn’t miss you joining my little party for the world.  Ask good old Dad for directions to his old hunting grounds.  I hope he remembers the way.  Wouldn’t want you to get lost in the forest now, would we?  You might want to hurry, in case I start the party without you,” he ended.

“Where is he talking about?” Angel bit out tersely.  He knew Spike had taken Buffy, but to hear him confirm it made Angel all the more afraid for her.

“I’ve called Lindsey,” Holtz said in reply.

“I don’t care if you call the whole fucking agency.  Tell me where they are!” Angel thundered.

“This isn’t about you. You’re not even on the team. You can’t go alone,” Holtz protested.

Grabbing the front of Holtz’ shirt, dragging the man’s face up to his, Angel hissed, “It’s about Buffy!  Tell me now!  If he hasn’t hurt her, I might let your boy live.”

Holtz knew Angel wasn’t making an empty threat.  More though, he could see the stark terror in the younger man’s eyes.  He relented, pulling his shirt out of Angel’s grasp, unconsciously smoothing the wrinkles as he answered, “It can only be one place, I only went there a few times.  I took him with me when he was younger.”  He gave Angel the directions and tried one last time to reason with him.

*****

Buffy couldn’t help but think of Angel and the scars on his wrists as she pulled and rubbed the ropes against the bed, slowly loosening them.  How frightening must it have been for two small defenseless children?  She kept her eyes on Spike as he muttered under his breath raising the bottle to his lips time and again.  She knew Angel would find her, but not when.  Finally able to slip a hand out of the loops that held her, she sat quietly, trying to plan what to do next.

She saw Spike stagger to his feet and turn towards her.  The blood ran from her face when she saw what he held in his hand.  Spike using a gun had never occurred to her, though she didn't know why.  It should have, she thought, after all, Angel and Dru were hunted down with them, didn't all the bad guys use guns?  She tore her eyes away from it and looked up at the man holding it.  Buffy thought she caught what looked like a trace of ... remorse?  The fleeting expression was gone once he realized she was looking at him.

"Your lover should be here in a little while," he said, emphasizing the word with a sneer as he took a few uneven steps towards her.  "Don't get all hopeful he's gonna save you though," Spike warned her, "Bet he never told you he's not very good at taking care of anyone except himself."

"Angel told me what happened to him and to your sister," Buffy answered.  "He told me everything."

Spike didn't believe her.  He knew for a fact that the kidnapping was something Angelus never talked about, ever.  William Holtz remembered his father pacing by the front window, watching the home next door.  He overheard him tell his mother about the scores of doctors, psychiatrists and therapists that Angel's parents had enlisted, but to no avail.  Some of those same professionals had talked to Spike at his father's request.  If Angel wasn't going to talk to anyone, neither was he.  Besides, he didn't need any help dealing with Dru's death, he knew who to blame.

Spike figured if Angel had told Buffy anything it was just something to make himself look good, he'd never tell her the truth.

"He told me he cut their ropes off and got them out of the cabin.  They were running away, but the kidnappers were behind them, shooting at them.  Angel was trying to keep her safe.  He didn't know Dru was wounded until later," she said in his defense.

The firm, sure way Buffy spoke, she sounded like she really did know – that Angel had actually told her.  And it was more than Spike had ever heard about exactly how his sister was shot.  His father had refused to tell him or anyone else what he knew.  Daniel Holtz had said talking about it wouldn't change it, that details would only make the memories worse.

"So he was a hero.  Is that how it went?" he said, thinking of Dru being injured and Angel being there instead of him.  His heart ached at the thought of her hurt and afraid.  Having a virtual stranger tell him part of his past she hadn't even been involved in gave it a disturbing intimacy that made him feel raw and somehow revealed.

"No, Spike, he was just a very scared little boy," she said quietly.

"I would have taken care of her!" he shouted, not even hearing her reply.  "If only I ..."  and stopped, stuck on the scene he could never banish of the van pulling away with his sister reaching out for him, screaming his name.  He let out a string of curses and started to bring his hands up as if to cover his head, but the gun in his grasp halted his movement.  The gun ... Angel ... he would be there soon.  Spike swung around keeping the gun pointed in her direction while disjointed thoughts continued to avalanche through his head.

Buffy knew she was taking a dangerous chance just talking to him.  She didn't know Spike at all, but it was obvious he was unraveling more and more by the minute.  She kept desperately hoping for some kind of opening.  With a flash of intuition, she confronted the volatile man before her.

Spike saw Buffy eye the gun with trepidation, but wasn't ready for her next words.  He was so lost in his own world of pain that it didn't register at first what she was saying.  When it did, his head snapped up at her question.

"You want me to tell you how Dru felt when you pull the trigger, Spike?" she asked softly.

He looked at her with something resembling horror in his eyes.  "Not you," he said dazedly, "Angel.  It's for Angel."  At the thought of actually using the loathsome thing on her or anyone, even on his lifelong enemy, the gun almost dropped from his hand.

Buffy grabbed the moment.  As he glanced down towards it, she jumped up from the bed and leaped towards him, kicking the gun out of his hand before he could react.  She twirled around to give him a second kick, but the space to turn in the tiny cabin was too small and she grazed her heel on the corner of the table before her foot could connect with its target.

The sudden attack jarred Spike back to where they were and why Buffy was there.  She had almost succeeded in throwing him off his game.  He lunged at her before she could counterattack, catching her arm in a painful grip.  He was instantly back to his swaggering, arrogant self.  “Oh, no, my sweet soon-to-be lover,” he laughed darkly, grasping her other arm as well, “can’t have you saving yourself.  That’s a job for your white knight.”

Buffy broke his hold by suddenly sliding her hands up his chest and shoving him away.  Catching her foot beneath both of his in a well-practiced sweep, she sent him crashing to the floor in front of the fireplace.  She didn't see his hand as it landed in the grate and he suddenly blinded her by throwing a fistful of ash in her face.

He lurched to his feet, grabbing her arms before she could wipe the soot from her eyes.  Pulling her close to his chest, he backed her up, caging her between him and the fireplace.

“He'll be here soon, we should be getting on with it," he said, giving her a lewd smile.  "Or maybe you're really looking forward to it, is that it?” he taunted, moving his mouth down close to hers.  Buffy could feel his hot breath against her cheek, smell the liquor he'd been drinking steadily.  As his lips touched hers, she shuddered with revulsion, trying desperately to get away from him.  Her spontaneous reaction to his touch infuriated him and he roughly pulled her towards him again.

Buffy pulled her head back, then suddenly thrust it forward, her forehead hitting him hard in the nose.  Still half-blinded, she kicked out with her leg.  Angered by the hard blow, he shoved her hard against the stones, bringing her head against the stone corner of the fireplace with an audible crack.  She slid to the floor as pain exploded in her head.  Spike snickered as he bent down and dragged her none too gently to her feet.

This time it was Buffy who held the element of surprise.  Although dazed and fighting to retain consciousness, she had enough stubborn defiance left to defend herself.  Before he realized she was still conscious, she brought her knee up into his groin as hard as she could.  He gasped in pain as they fell to the floor in a tangle.  She scrambled away from him, quickly seizing the gun that had landed a short ways from where they were struggling.  He was still writhing in agony when she brought the heavy metal butt of the pistol down on his head.  He finally lay before her, lifeless.

Bringing her hand down from the back of her own head, she saw it was covered with blood – her blood.  The sight sickened her.  She couldn’t think clearly.  She could barely stand and stagger to the door.  All she knew was that she needed as much distance between herself and Spike as she could get before he regained consciousness.  Using what little strength she could muster, she pulled the door open and stumbled into the black, wet night.  Suddenly caught in the elements, she never even noticed the gun fall from her hand to the ground in front of the cabin. The storm was picking up momentum as she careened down the pathway from the cabin.

*****

Daniel Holtz felt a deep heaviness seep into his limbs as he watched Angel’s car disappear out of sight.  He was filled with fear of what had already happened and what was to come – for his son, for Angel and for Buffy.  She was, he thought sadly, an innocent pawn, much as Angel and Dru once were.  Only this time was even worse because it was his own flesh and blood creating this living nightmare.

What if, he wondered yet again, he had taken Spike with him, as the young boy had begged him when he told his father Dru had been kidnapped.  Would that have helped his son to grieve for his sister and be able to let her go?  Would his relationship with his son have been different or changed how Spike lived his life?  Would it have made Angel’s life a bit more bearable, not having Spike’s wrath only validate how the small boy had viewed himself after he came home?  But as hardened as Agent Holtz had already become to myriad horrors he had witnessed, it hit too close to home.  The tragedy that had taken his own daughter's life had affected the then younger father just as deeply as either boy.   Any mention of it was more than he could deal with for many years.  Too many years.

The tired man couldn’t keep his thoughts from traveling back to the dreadful debacle.  Thugs had kidnapped his daughter and had mistakenly taken Angel, thinking he was Holtz' son.  Their misguided plan of revenge for the agent's role in their incarceration had backfired and left the three, only recently paroled, imprisoned for life or dead.  Holtz could still see every detail of the drafty, ramshackle cabin hideout.  He could see the bloody ropes that had held the small captives hostage as the frayed pieces were bagged for evidence.  He couldn’t imagine the terror those two innocent little children must have endured.

He was the first to find the boy and girl in the predawn hours after the two-day search since the children escaped.  Standing alone, he looked down at the pitifully huddled bodies lying beneath the tall pine trees that offered little, if any, shelter.  He thought they were both dead.  Holtz knew the mental snapshot, framed by the terrible knowledge of what men are capable of, would never dim in his memory.  The tiny girl stared from sightless eyes, her coloring so much like his own.  He saw the wound and fought to keep the bile down in his throat.  What kind of man could even point a gun at a baby?  His baby.

As he turned the other face towards him he realized the boy was alive … physically.  Angel was, not surprisingly, lost in a world of his own, his dark, stricken eyes huge and empty.  But what broke the heart of the head agent even more was the young boy still tightly holding the hand of the smaller child beside him.  His body still curved around her in protection.  The blood dried on his wrists like macabre bracelets where he’d torn skin and muscles to release himself from the ropes’ tight knots.  Holtz could see the youngster had done all he could for the little blonde girl he clung to, who was now beyond his help.  He gently lifted the dark-haired boy away from his forever silent charge, careful not to startle him.  Shrugging out of his coat, he wrapped it around Angel.  Holtz cradled him close trying to cover and warm the small shivering form.  Holtz swore then and there if he could ever do anything within his power for Liam Angelus, it would be done.

*****

Angel was out of the house and in his car in seconds, completely oblivious to the older man’s warnings.  He couldn’t afford to waste precious time while Buffy was in danger.  His knuckles turned white as his fingers clenched the steering wheel.  Pushing his foot down harder on the accelerator, he wove in and out of traffic.

After all these lonely, empty years he had only just found the one person who had ever made a difference to him.  And now his past was catching up with him once more and putting her in jeopardy because of it.  The bitter irony tore into his heart like a jagged knife.

It had started raining before Angel left the Holtz house.  The storm grew in intensity the further Angel drove.  Although on some level the fierce tempest registered, he had no room for anything in his thoughts except Buffy.  Pictures of her filled his mind; tears hanging on her lashes as she told him she loved him, gazing down on her face as it filled with the ecstasy that he gave her when they made love, laughing as they cleaned the house, smiling up at him as she curled before the fire.  The overwhelming need he felt for her made his heart almost physically ache with her absence.  He would never survive without her.  There was no point in living if she wasn’t there beside him.

The rain was an almost impenetrable curtain.  Drivers pulled their cars off to the side, unable to see the road in front of them.  Angel’s only concession was to go slower to make sure he didn’t miss the road he was looking for.  The only effect the twists of lightening had on him was to illuminate his way, allowing him to speed up for those few seconds everything was visible.

Angel was so afraid for Buffy, he could feel his heart beating wildly in his chest at that thought of her life being in peril.  He tried not to think of what Spike might have done – might be doing – to her, but images colored his imagination nonstop.  He had all but forgotten his half promise to Holtz.  His mind flew through the different ways he would torture Spike before he killed him for kidnapping Buffy.  If he hurt her …

He finally reached the turnoff Holtz had described.  The rain had started coming down harder, the storm swaying the trees, making it almost impossible to see on the unlit back roads.  He forced himself to slow down, not daring to take the chance of missing the cabin.  He crept the car forward as the trees of the deep forest surrounded him.  Then, almost hidden from view, he spotted the small building beyond its overgrown driveway.  He killed the engine, even though he doubted it could be heard over the wind and the steady pounding of the rain.  Making his way across the short distance to the one room shack he quickly walked around it.  The small enclosure had no windows.  Not waiting any longer, he kicked the door in to announce his presence.

Spike was sprawled on the only chair in the cabin.  Angel searched the small room quickly, but found no one else there.  His gaze took in the small cot and the lengths of rope lying on it.

“You’re too late, Angelus,” Spike sneered at him.  “You’re pathetic,” he went on, “can’t save the girl anymore now than you could back ...”

Angel grabbed him and hurled him against the wall before Spike could finish speaking.  “Where is she?” he snarled.  “What have you done with her?”

“Try and find her,” Spike told him not taking his eyes off the taller man before him.  “She’ll be a mite different than the last time you saw her,” he said daringly.

Angel pulled back the hand not holding Spike.  His fist hit Spike squarely in the nose with a satisfying crunch.  He watched the blood spurt and run down the smaller man's face.  “You don’t know how good that felt,” Angel warned him in a dangerously silken tone.  “Tell me what you did to her and where she is.”  Spike only stared at him, bloody, but defiant.  Angel didn’t hesitate to bring his fist back up, this time letting it land of Spike’s jaw.  When Spike still didn’t answer he struck him again in the same place.  This time Spike felt teeth loosened from the blow.  “If you change your mind, let me know when to stop,” Angel told him in the same smooth voice.

“You have good taste, Angelus,” Spike threw at him, his face already darkening with bruises.  “She was a nice little piece.”

Angel's roar filled the tiny cabin.  He removed the hand from Spike’s throat long enough to replace it with the other.  His right hand, now free, sank into Spike’s eye.  He wanted to kill Spike, but he needed him to find Buffy.  That didn’t mean he wouldn’t beat the peroxided blonde to a pulp until he talked, even cripple him if need be.  The longer his opponent remained silent, the more blows Angel rained down on his head and body.

Spike could taste the blood pooling in his mouth, could feel it from the many wounds running down his face and neck.  He was suddenly afraid of the strapping form that had him pinned to the wall.  “You’re one of the good guys,” he said, in spite of the pain he felt in moving his mouth.  “One of the white hats,” he yelped as Angel’s fist found his cheekbone.  Angelus' heavy Claddagh ring split the skin open, the blood spurting from it freely.

“One last time,” Angel hissed at him.

“All right!” Spike shouted, “I don’t know where she is.”

“Not good enough,” the dark-haired man answered.  His fist hit Spike in the stomach and Angel watched, unaffected, as the other man doubled over in pain.  When the smaller man didn't immediately respond, Angel keep punching him, picking him back up when he could no longer stand.

Spike's sides and stomach were clenched in pain.  “It’s the goddamn truth,” he managed to breath out.  “She hit me over the head with a bottle and ran out of here,” he finally admitted.

“How long ago?” Angel demanded.  He saw the fragments of glass lying on the table and floor and could now see blood from a wound on the side of Spike’s head that he didn't think he had caused.

“I don’t know!” Spike yelled back, “She knocked me out cold.  I don’t know how long I was out.”

Angel dragged Spike across the small space to the cot.  He picked up the ropes and tied Spike’s hands behind him swiftly and expertly, then shoved him to the floor.  He bent down long enough to tie another rope between the frame of the bed and Spike’s wrists.

“You better pray I find her and that she’s all right,” Angel told him in a chilling whisper that shivered down Spike’s spine.  “Or you’re a dead man,” he promised.  Then without warning Angel’s fist caught Spike in the temple and laid him out on the floor.

*****

The rain was washing down in torrents, stinging her face like cold, harsh shards of glass.  Buffy could hardly see more than a few feet before her, but she ran all the same.  She tripped over tree roots and uneven ground several times, bruising her arms, legs or face with each fall.  The cold started to seep into her soggy clothing, making her shiver as she pushed herself to keep moving.  Her head throbbed where she had struck it against the fireplace.  She dully realized she had no idea where she was, she had run aimlessly away from one danger into another.  She knew Angel would look for her, but she was afraid she could be lost in these deep woods forever and never be found.  The thought chilled her to the bone, as she saw Angel’s face in her mind once more recounting his nightmare about her and about the horrible fate of the little girl he had tried to protect.

“No,” she cried, “I can’t do that to him.  I can’t die on him!  I have to help him find me.”  She turned around, trying to find the way back from where she had come.  She tore pieces of cloth off the hem of her skirt and tried to tie them to bushes as she trudged on through the howling storm.  It reached gale force as it ripped around her.  Rain came down even harder, punishing her skin, the wind twisting her wet clothing around her, beating down the last bit of strength she had left.  She thought she could feel Angel – that mysteriously familiar feeling that only stirred when he was close.  It had to be because she needed him so badly, she thought despairingly.  But it was all she had.  She tried to concentrate on feeling him, hoping against hope it really was him.  One last stone in her path brought her stumbling to her knees.  Try as she did to fight it, the cold, wet swirling darkness overcame her as she sank to the floor of the forest.

*****

The storm was worse than when he arrived.  He had wasted precious moments on Spike.  Angel was terrified – Buffy was out there somewhere, but where?  The forest went on for miles.  The gale was tearing branches from trees, spinning them as if they were bits of paper.  Rain thrummed down, plastering his clothes to his body.  His only thought of the pouring rain and screeching wind was that it hampered him from finding her.  His heart caught in his throat to think of her lost in the tangle of trees he saw all around him.  He had to find her.  His terror increased as he made his way forward, afraid he would pass right by her, not knowing how close she might be.  He screamed her name, but the wind threw it back into his face and into his soul.  He took what advantage he could of the lightening as it tore rents of light in the darkness around him.  In the white-hot glare his eyes searched endlessly for her.  So adamantly focused on finding his mate, he barely heard the echoing crack of the requisite thunder in its wake.

Angel was one of the best trackers the FBI ever had, but the storm confounded all his efforts.  He felt like he was going in circles, not able to tell one stand of creaking, bending trees from another.  There was no connotation of time, as though he’d been searching for hours.  How long had she been out here?  She could be badly hurt … or worse.  He tried not to explore that thought any further.  He was desperate to find her.  In front of him, a scrap of cloth waved wildly in the wind.  He caught it off the bush it was tethered on, recognizing it was from Buffy’s skirt.  Holding it up to his face he knew she had left it there for him.  As if she had reached out an unseen hand to him, he felt her touch.

There in the middle of the vicious storm wailing and whipping around him, Angel made himself stop.  He called out to Buffy with everything in him.  Standing stock-still, he reached out with his senses, hoping to catch some hint of her.  It wasn’t his sight or his hearing he used, but his heart and soul.  He stood long, torturous moments as the rain sluiced over him, the wind screaming in his ears.  Finally he felt it, just a trace, but he knew it was her.  The welcome sensation of her being near was very, very faint, but it was there.  He started walking, letting himself be led by the feeling.

That’s how he came upon her, lying on the ground.  He was reminded so much of his horrifying dream that at first he couldn’t move.  Her slim hands were trying to cover her arms, her legs pulled up in a fetal position to stave off the cold.  She looked so small and fragile.  Angel cried her name aloud as he dropped down beside her, scooping her into his arms.  There was no response.  She stayed ominously still.  She was so cold, so pale, her hair a drenched dark golden mass framing her face, trailing down her back.  Frantically, he felt for a pulse on her neck, beneath the sodden strands of hair.  His numbed fingers were shaking so hard he couldn’t hold them still.  He couldn’t feel anything.  His breath hitched in his throat as he looked down on the closed eyelids of the only woman he ever loved, ever would love.  Gently, tenderly, he laid her back down, spooning his large body around hers protectively, his arms drawing her close to him.  His tears fell into her hair.  He couldn’t stop the shuddering sobs that racked through his body as he clung to her.

He placed his lips over hers and breathed his life into her, keeping his eyes on hers for any sign of movement.  “I won’t let you go,” he told her, “I can’t.”  He was desperate when she still didn’t respond.  “I need you so much, love.  I didn’t find you to lose you.  Not like this, please, not this.”  Trying to keep the waves of panic from overwhelming him, he kept filling her lungs with short, measured breaths, watching in between for her chest to rise and fall on its own.  “Please, love,” he begged in a ragged whisper, “Please wake up.  You can’t leave me, not now.”  He rubbed her hands and arms trying to warm her.  “Buffy, I felt you … inside,” he whispered to the pale, still face, “that’s how I found you.”  He lifted the small hand that held his ring and threaded his fingers through hers as he tried once more to push air between her lips.  “You have to hear me,” he said, “You have to find me now.  Please.”

Angel felt a scant frisson of energy from the hand clutched in his grasp.  The tiny pulse made him dare to turn his head a few inches … and he found himself looking into twin pools of misty green.  His eyes widened as he felt a slight, feeble arm reach up towards his neck.  He felt that indefinable flow of energy between them growing stronger.  He was flooded with such joy at seeing a faint smile on the beloved face inches from his own that he never realized he was chanting her name over and over and over.  Oh, God, he hadn’t lost her.  She was alive.  She was soft and growing warmer, lying in his arms gazing into his eyes.

“Angel?” she whispered so softly he could barely hear her.

“I’m here, love, right here,” he whispered hoarsely, gently hugging her closer.

“I heard you calling me,” she forced out weakly, “I felt you.”

Angel could feel Buffy’s heartbeat against his own.  He had searched for her and he had been in time.  He hadn’t failed her – he had found her.  They had found each other.

The wind rose at that moment, swirling the rain-soaked leaves and debris around them.  Angel lifted his head, realizing he’d been oblivious to the weather except its role in keeping him from finding Buffy.  He saw it for all it was.  Just a storm.  The raging tempest no longer held him captive.  It no longer held any power over him.

He ran his large hands over her gently, looking for any wounds.  She stopped him, tugging his head down to reach her lips.  They opened as his slanted across them softly and tenderly.  He was starving for her and needed to taste her, to touch her.  His tongue slipped into the warmth of her mouth and tangled with hers.  He gently hugged her to himself, as near as he could bring her.  The tears that fell now were of relief and soul deep fulfillment.

“Angel,” she whispered over the sound of the rain, “please don’t cry, I’m all right.”

He hadn’t even known he was crying.  He saw her brow crease in tender concern and whispered back with a soft smile, “These are happy tears, love.”

At that she curled her arms more tightly around his neck, burrowing her face into the warmth of his chest.  She murmured from below his chin, “You’re everything to me.”  At her words his arms tightened their hold.

He pulled back quickly when he felt her wince, mindful the cuts and bruises that covered her.  “You’re hurt,” he said worriedly.  “Did Spike do this to you?” he asked, his voice filling with anger at the thought of what Spike had done, what he might have done to her.

“H-he tried … but … I got away,” she said falteringly.  “I knocked him out.  I hurt my head, but I got away,” she repeated.  Buffy heard Angel curse bitterly.  “No, Angel,” she said softly, “It doesn’t matter, I’m okay.”  But she shivered as she spoke and not from the cold.

Angel felt the small tremor run through her.  He needed to get her to shelter.  Disentangling himself from Buffy long enough to stand, he swept her into his arms in one swift movement.  He looked around a few short moments trying to get his bearings and headed in the direction he thought the cabin should be.  The storm had started to slack off by the time he finally found it.  Angel carried her inside the one room shack and set her down on the bench inside the door.  He looked over to see Spike was still out cold and whispered to Buffy that he’d be right back.  Moments later he returned with two blankets from his car.  He tried to wrap her up in both of them, but she insisted he pull one around himself.

He drew her into his lap, bringing her as close as physically possible.  Very gently, Angel ran his fingers and eyes over every inch of her under the blanket.  A hard knot had formed on the back of her head from hitting it against the fireplace.  Other than that he was relieved to find nothing more serious than small cuts and bruises which appeared to be from her flight through the forest.

So afraid of almost losing her, he buried his face in the hollow of her neck, reveling in her living warmth.  He nuzzled her damp hair, then dropped kisses on her forehead, her eyes, her cheeks.  When he got to her lips, he captured them with his own, so thankful to be able to once more savor her sweetness.  Angel was addicted to her, a need he would never satisfy.  His hands roved over her nonstop, touching and caressing her.  He kissed and soothed every small bump and aberration in his path.  Tenderly fingering the marks on her wrists where she’d freed herself, Angel eyed Spike dangerously.

As if he felt the baleful gaze, Spike stirred and struggled to sit up against the wall.  He looked over, shocked to see Angel on the bench with Buffy held fast in his arms.

As Angel sat there, pulling her closer to his chest, he stared at Spike.  He looked around the cabin so painfully familiar, looked at the small cot and at the ropes.  The last piece of the puzzle of his past finally fell into place.  And it had taken Spike’s deranged hatred to show him.

Spike had loved Dru.  They were connected in a way no one but the two of them understood, if even they did themselves.  She was integral to him, a part of him, and when she died it killed most of what was good and pure in Spike.  He had let it twist him into a bitter, loveless man.

Why, Angel wondered, had he ever listened to Spike who had been just a little boy himself?  Monsters in the guise of men kidnapped and shot his sister, not Angel.  He wasn’t the one who had taken her from her family or harmed her.  He’d done everything he could to protect her, but he never had a chance.  He was only eight years old.  The realization was like a watershed bursting over him.  All these years he hadn’t been able to forgive himself for something he never had any control over.

The doctors, his parents, Cordelia had all tried to make him see it wasn’t his fault.  All his life Angel blamed himself for Dru’s death, refusing to listen, refusing to hear that little boy locked inside.  He let fear and guilt and Dru’s angry little brother convince him that he was the one who was wrong, the one who failed.  Buffy had told him he had to deal with that small child she glimpsed buried deep inside.  That little boy had a right to be hurt and scared, but Angel let his own misplaced blame blind him and push that small voice of truth away.

Angel finally understood he wasn’t a failure, he never had been.  The face that had looked back at him from his mirror was never the one anyone except he and Spike chose to see, each from their own warped perspectives.  He had done all he could for Dru.  And later it was his work, his brains and blood and sweat that enabled him to become an agent – a good one.  He had nothing to be ashamed of, everything he had worked for he had earned and he deserved.

Looking down at Buffy, his hold on her tightened.  He had saved her.  As a man, as someone big enough and strong enough to be able to rescue her.  Not as a helpless child, desperately afraid of the monsters and the storm, trying to protect an injured little girl.  There would be no new nightmare to taunt and torment him forever.  All those lonely, empty, dreadful years slipped away as he hugged his reason for living closer to him.

Spike sat on the floor glaring at him.

“Why don’t you fight me, Spike?” Angel asked from the bench.

“Untie these ropes and I’ll be glad to oblige,“ he snarled.

“No,” Angel told him, “I’ve already made it easy for you, there’s only you tied up.”

“What are you talking about?” Spike asked angrily. “How do you expect me to fight with these and what do you mean only me?”

“I was tied in ropes just like those and so was Dru,” Angel clarified, “You told me I should have been able to save her.  That you would have, if it had been you with her, instead of me.  So go ahead, get out of those ropes and show me.”

“That was different,” Spike shouted as he wrestled with the bonds and the truth.

Angel’s mouth formed a sad smile at his words, “You’re right, Spike.  It was very different.  I was only eight years old and there were three men who tied us up.  How could I have helped Dru or myself?  I was just a little boy.”

Spike had no quick, smart-mouth retort.  He slumped against the wall.  He’d become the monster, now he was the victim.  He knew he couldn’t break the ropes as strong as he was.  The cold veracity of Angel’s words cut through him like a blade.  He wasn’t about to admit to Angel that he’d already stumbled across that painful truth.  If he did he’d have to admit it to himself.

‘What a waste,’ Angel thought sadly.  He and Spike had both lost years of their lives.  Spike filling his own heart with hatred for blaming something on Angel when he himself could have done no better.  And Angel for believing him.

Angel felt a small tug at his arm and looked back down on Buffy.  She had tears in her eyes and a bittersweet smile of her own.

“It’s someday,” was all she said.

His smile deepened as Angel answered her by giving her a kiss deeper than the smile.

*****

Daniel Holtz and Lindsey McDonald entered the cabin expecting the worst.  They were relieved to find all three occupants alive.  Holtz exhaled an audible sigh at the sight, not realizing until that moment that he’d been holding his breath.  Angel, still sitting on the bench inside the door, cradled Buffy gently, keeping her blanket close around her.  Spike, battered and bloodied, leaned against the wall, still on the floor, his hands tied to the bed.  Lindsey signaled to his waiting team to remain where they were outside.

Holtz had never seen Spike’s bruised face show what he saw there, although it was not a new expression to the young man’s father.  Replacing its usual cocky, arrogance was a mixture of disbelief and self-loathing.  He had seen a similar look gaze back at him from his own mirror.  But the face he identified most with that look would have been Angel.  Now, however, Holtz saw no trace of it on Liam Angelus at all.  In its place was love and relief, all directed at the small bundle he held close to his chest.

Spike flinched when his father kneeled down beside him, refusing to look at him.  Once more Daniel Holtz wondered how much of all this had been his own fault, but knew the time for what could have been was over.  Now he would have to see what could be salvaged from the shreds of the past and of the present.  Without a word, he sat down next to his son and slipped an arm around his shoulders.  He waited for Spike to pull away.  Instead, Spike sat perfectly still, not moving away or towards his father.  Holtz could feel Spike’s muscles trembling under his arm and tightened it around him.  Perhaps all was not lost – perhaps.

While the team stayed behind to finish up, Holtz silently untied his son and lead him to the waiting car.  Lindsey watched them leave as he opened the door on his own car for Angel to slide into with Buffy still securely in his arms.

[end chapter 17]

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Chapter XVIII

The doctor warned Angel and Giles that Buffy's concussion had been fairly serious and the combination of physical and emotional trauma had drained her.  It would take time for her to recover and Angel promised Giles he would make sure she stayed put until she did. The only reason the doctor allowed Angel to take her home after an unusually brief observation period was her very real and visible fear of having to stay in the hospital even for one night.  It was obvious that her aversion to the harsh, clinical atmosphere affected her deeply and was more harmful than good.

Angel knew the abduction had taken a greater toll on Buffy than she would admit or possibly was even aware of herself.  He noticed she had been unnaturally quiet when Lindsey drove them straight from the cabin to the hospital.  Instead of sleeping, as may have been expected, she laid in Angel's arms passively, staring out into the darkness beyond the side window.  She refused to accept the standard counseling given to victims and was unwilling to discuss what happened in any detail.

Angel was faintly surprised at her reaction.  Buffy was a fighter, a strong, resilient woman, always able to deal with whatever she faced and not one to take anything lying down.  But she had been content to let him take care of her as he wished and had given no argument to his undivided attention.  He knew something was very wrong, but all he could do was give her time.  The doctor had told him some form of shock was a normal occurrence and Angel strongly suspected that was the case.  Even after so many years, he worriedly remembered his own experience all too well and hardly let her out of his sight.

*****

Two days after Angel brought her home Lindsey McDonald dropped by the house.  Buffy listened to the low hum of voices from down the hall, then finally the sound of the front door closing.  Lindsey had poked his head in when he first arrived to say hello and see how she was doing.  She found herself momentarily fixed under his pensive gaze before he turned and followed his ex-team leader back to the living room.

Due to Angel's concerned diligence in making her eat and rest, Buffy's color had already slightly improved.  Although it still made her head throb if she moved too quickly and she still tired very easily, her strength was gradually returning.  The Bureau had requested their presence for a debriefing, but Angel refused to leave Buffy's side to go to the office or admit anyone from the team into the house until he was sure she could handle it.  After everything Angel had told her that he knew about Holtz, she was sure the older man was responsible for not forcing the couple to comply with Bureau policy.  And it was probably at Holtz' discretion that Lindsey McDonald had been sent as a kind of emissary.  She was almost positive she knew the reason for the agent's visit and it wasn't long before she found she was right.

Angel appeared in their bedroom moments after Lindsey left, clearly disconcerted with the information he had just received.  As he expected, William 'Spike" Holtz was being held for kidnapping Buffy and holding her against her will.  Angel believed Spike was guilty of more, but in spite of his circumspect questions, he hadn't been able to get her to share what actually occurred.  Knowing she hadn't bounced back from the experience had made him wary of forcing the issue.  So what Lindsey reported to him caught him totally off guard.

He crossed the room with a measured step, reaching the bed to sit beside her.  "You never mentioned a gun, Buffy," Angel said tightly, trying to conceal just how upset he was.  "McDonald's team found one right outside the cabin."  He waited but she said nothing.  "It had to belong to Spike," he asserted.  She remained silent, neither acknowledging nor denying what he said, she kept her gaze riveted on the spot where her fingers played with the edge of the blanket.  "Spike had a lump on his head that corresponded with the butt of the gun," Angel added, still looking for a response.

"As I recall, he had a lot of lumps.  How could you tell one from another?" she asked, finally speaking, but not looking up.  Buffy remembered the bruises covering Spike's face and head, and his broken gait as he held his arms across his stomach, every step an open agony.  His father nearly carried him to the waiting car.  She knew after the run in with Riley just how dangerous Angel was when it involved her well being.  Spike looked like he'd been brutally beaten within an inch of his life.

Angel was thrown by her unexpected reply.  "He's lucky all he got were lumps, he deserved to be dead," he shot back, instantly enraged all over again at what had happened ... what could have happened.

Buffy knew he was deathly serious.  She thought it was quite possible that the only reason Spike had survived was due to Angel's need for him to be alive until she was found.  The obvious violence of her lover's assault on the peroxided blonde made her shiver in spite of the blanket that covered her.  If Angel had known about the gun when they were at the cabin, she sincerely wondered if Spike would even be breathing right now.

Angel immediately regretted his sharp retort.  He knew she'd been bottling something up inside and now he'd silenced her by lashing out.  He couldn't deny that it hurt to think she hadn't told him about the gun and it frightened him because he didn't know why.  It wasn't the only thing he feared, but he pushed his own qualms away ... this was about her.  He couldn't count all the times she'd been there when he needed her ... now she needed him.

He searched for something to say to get her to open up and talk to him.  "Spike said you hit him with a bottle," he said, recounting what McDonald had told him.  "There was a broken bottle, but it wouldn't have left a lump the size of a golf ball like the one in the picture I just saw," Angel said, trying to keep his voice level.  "And if, as he said, you 'kicked him in the balls', he would have been in too much pain to even notice what you used to knock him out."  He saw the faint blush that crept across her cheeks, but she made no reply.

"You didn't have a gun and it didn't get there all by itself," he said in exasperation.  "It had his fingerprints all over it," he continued.

"You don't have to play FBI agent with me, Angel," she said quietly.  "What do you want me to tell you?"

"Tell me?  Maybe why you didn't feel I was important enough to even tell me about the gun?  I had to find out about it from McDonald?"  No matter how hard he tried to stay objective and keep his feelings out of it, he failed miserably.  "I thought we could tell each other anything," he said softly, his disappointment evident.

"I was afraid if you knew he had a gun you would kill him," she answered, sitting up with sudden animation.

"You were protecting him?" he asked, his eyes wide with astonishment.  "He hurt you!" Angel exclaimed.

Buffy shook her head in frustration.  "It's because I felt that you were important that I didn't tell you!" she explained.  "I don't care about him!  I was afraid for you!  I know what you would have done if you knew he had a gun.  You would have killed him!"

"Yes," he agreed without hesitation in a dark, chilling tone, "I would have."

"And that's exactly why I didn't," she replied passionately.  "You're too important to me to take the chance of losing you.  And if it wasn't for me, none of this would have happened."

Suddenly it was all too much, everything that had been swirling around in her mind for the last couple days overwhelmed her and she couldn't contain it any longer.  It all came pouring out in a torrent, her words running into each other, much as the tears that suddenly appeared and ran down her face.  Somewhere during her broken ramblings Angel drew her into his lap without even being aware of his actions.

"I was scared, Angel ... I was so stupid, I didn't listen to you, I didn't even think about who was at the door.  He was drinking, all I could smell was the whiskey when he tied me up, telling me what he was going to do ... all the time I was trying to get out of the ropes I couldn't stop thinking of you and Dru and how terrified you must have been ... then he turned around and he had a gun ..."

His arms tightened, but Angel didn't stop her, didn't even try.  Consciously relaxing his hold, he caressed her, his warm hands sliding up and down her back, in smooth, soothing movements.

"I never thought about a gun ... why not a gun though, but he acted so strange with it, then he caught me ... I almost got away, but he caught me ... I didn't want him anywhere near me, Angel, and I got away ... I finally got away ... I hit him with the gun so he couldn't hurt me, so he couldn't ... so he couldn't ... I-I ran, I was so afraid and I got lost and I knew you were looking for me ... Spike said you were looking and I thought you wouldn't find me and I had to help you ... I couldn't do that, I couldn't leave you ... " she trailed off out of breath.

He thought she was done and had almost pulled back to look down at her when she went on.

"I tried to get back, but I couldn't, there were just trees and more trees and it was pouring rain, I kept falling down ... but you found me, you were so warm, I love you so much and I heard you talking to Spike ... and you saw him, you saw the little boy, you listened to him ... but then I saw Spike when they took him outside and he could barely walk, he was all bloody and his face was swollen and black and blue and I knew you'd done that, you'd done that for me and it scared me because it was my fault and you could have killed him even if he didn't want to use the gun ... it was all my fault ...

The tumbling words turned to whimpers and Angel finally shushed her, trying to calm the sobs still hiccuping between her small gasps for air.

"Shh ..." he whispered softly, covering her with his arms as if to shield her from her unseen demons.  "It wasn't your fault, love.  It's all right," he murmured.  He rocked her gently, feeling her tears on his skin as they soaked through his shirt.

"It was -" she tried to protest.

His mouth covered hers to gently stop her from saying more.  When he finally broke the kiss, he pulled her against him.  He kept his cheek nestled next to hers, murmuring soft words to quiet her.  In spite of his deep concern, Angel had a strangely rewarding feeling being the one giving comfort instead of receiving it.

"You need sleep, Buffy," he told her as he gently slid her off his lap and back under the covers.  "We'll talk about this later, but now you need some rest."  His heart twisted as she looked up at him longingly, then guiltily dropped her head as if she wasn't entitled to his company.  "I'm not leaving, love," he said as he quickly stripped off his clothes down to his boxers and slipped in behind her.  She was tense when he first spooned himself around her, but relaxed against him almost in spite of herself.  "Now sleep," he softly commanded.

*****

Buffy woke when she felt a warm, comforting hand gliding lightly over her hip, down her thigh, then back up.  She leaned back against the pillows and looked up into an even warmer gaze from chocolate brown eyes overflowing with love and concern.

"Hi," he whispered, smiling down at her.  "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you."

He saw a shadow flit across her features and her lashes fluttered down, hiding her eyes from him.  Angel wasn't surprised.  He was thankful that she had finally divulged the dark thoughts and feelings she had kept locked inside.  No one knew better than he did just how detrimental they could be the longer they were allowed to remain.  He doubted though, that the sudden release from her pent up emotions, followed by a few hours of sleep would change her opinion.

He rolled gently on top of her, pinning her in place, Buffy's thighs opened instinctively to welcome his body in its accustomed place.  Keeping his weight off of her by leaning it on one elbow, his eyes were focused on the small face trying to turn away.  He lifted one finger, running it tenderly down the fine bones of her cheek and jaw, then cupped his hand under her chin, forcing her to look at him.  "I love you," he told her with heartfelt conviction.  When she lowered her eyes, he said, "You'll never know how much."

"More than I deserve," she said in a whisper, unable to ignore how her actions had led to her capture.

He sighed, giving her an understanding look and agreed, "I know how that feels."

"It's not the same thing, Angel," she replied quickly, shaking her head.  "If it wasn't for me, none of this would have happened."

He fingered her silky hair, examining his thoughts.  "If it wasn't for you," he finally told her, "I wouldn't know what love is.  You wouldn't be in my life and you wouldn't have been in any danger ... and none of this would have happened."

"You're not going to blame yourself for this," she exclaimed, no longer avoiding his gaze, but meeting it with a sudden fire flashing dangerously from her green eyes.  "It wasn't your fault before and it isn't now."  She was afraid that whatever had finally made him understand that he was never responsible for Dru's death would be lost.  "It was never your fault," she reiterated.

In that single defining moment in the cabin, the reality of what had befallen him as a child had been so clear to Angel.  However, years of harboring guilt, no matter how misplaced, wasn't an easy thing to dismiss.  It was second nature to Angel to wear blame like an ill-fitting coat, albeit one not easily shirked and thrown away.  Buffy was inadvertently showing him the necessity to do just that.  She was repeating his mistake, berating herself for something she didn't cause.  Both of them needed to place the culpability where it belonged.

"Not any more than it's yours ... right?" he challenged as he returned her remonstrative glare.

His simple question brought her up short, making her realize how right he was.  She may not have heeded Angel's warnings and used caution when opening her apartment door.  But it was Spike who was behind all that transpired, not her and not Angel.  Buffy gave the dark eyes holding hers a slow nod, conceding his point.

He lowered his forehead against hers.  "I love you," he said once more, with emphasis on each word.

"I love you too," she told him right before his lips descended on hers.  She needed that solid reassurance, needed to feel his warmth, his body close to hers, needed to feel his love blanket her.

The kiss was slow and tender as he carefully caged her beneath him, arms on either side of her head.  He had to force himself not to go further, remembering her weakened condition.  Rolling back, he stretched out on his side next to her, his fingers returning to play with strands of her long blonde hair.

His loving gaze swept over her small form.  Angel could sense something was still wrong.  "That's not everything," he said.  When she didn't respond he looked at her more intently.  Surprised, he saw a wary look on her face.  "Buffy?"

His gaze penetrated straight to her soul and made her wonder if she was just as transparent to him as he appeared to her.  There was one more thing that kept coming back to her.  Angel had said they should share everything, but this was something he wasn't going to want to hear.  She took a deep breath as her eyes darted back and forth across his face.  "It's about Spike.  I don't think he meant ... "

"... to hurt you or worse?" He finished before she could.  Angel's voice matched the instantly ominous look on his face.

She quickly raised her hand to his cheek to calm him, "No, Angel, that's not what I meant.  Please ..." she asked without finishing her request.  The expression he gave her was guarded, but he kept silent, waiting for her to continue. "I didn't mean he didn't plan on taking me and maybe doing more than he did," she said, looking at him.  "But the gun.  That was different."  At his look of bewilderment she went on, "I think he was afraid of the gun, afraid to use it.  It's kind of how I got away from him."

Angel was now completely in the dark.  "So what?  What difference does it make why as long as he didn't?

"That's just it, Angel," she tried once more, "Why didn't he?"  Buffy turned slightly to hold his gaze.  "The gun scared him so badly he almost dropped it."  At his continued look of confusion she said, "You're not the only one with scars, Angel.  Spike might have caused some of yours, but he has his own too."

Angel gave her a stony look.  He didn't even try to summon any sympathy for Spike Holtz.  "So why do you care?" he wanted to know.  "You don't even know Spike."

"Because he needs help.  Because there might be something there worth the effort," she said earnestly.  "You were."

Angel's eyes flared with dark anger.  He understood her intent.  Some very small part of his mind could even accept that Spike might need more than a jail cell.  But it didn't change the danger he presented to Buffy or the terror he had purposely created.  Angel couldn't find it in him to be concerned about Spike, in fact, quite the opposite.  He enunciated slowly, "He drugged you, he abducted you, he tied you up.  And then he planned on raping you and – " he stopped unable to complete the sentence.  With every word she felt the tension in his muscles increase.  "I don't care what he thought about the goddamn gun."

Buffy wasn't easily intimidated or dissuaded.  Still looking into the depths of his dark brown eyes she answered with another hint of green fire in her own, "I know better than you what he did.  I was the one who was there with him.  Maybe I'm wrong and it doesn't make any difference.  But other people were hurt and have been for too many years.  There's already been enough damage done, I refuse to make it worse," she said with a tone of determination he was all too familiar with hearing.

"Just forgive and forget?" he questioned harshly.  "You think it's that easy, just let it all go?"

"No," she said honestly, "I don't think you'll ever do that, but you don't have to make it harder."  She leaned into him.  "Angel," she asked more softly, once more searching his face, "what purpose will holding onto any of it really serve?  He has enough problems and so does his father.  Hasn't all this gone on long enough?"

"He has to pay for what he did to you," Angel insisted, still not moved by what she said.

"Of course he does!  There was never any question.  But he's been paying all along too, Angel, and he still is," she said.  "There's no need for us to add to it.  You told me about his father," she reminded him.  "He was there for you even if you didn't know.  Couldn't you at least think of him?"

"His father is the only reason Spike isn't dead," he said coldly.

"Then do one more thing for him," she entreated him.  "Just tell Holtz what I said, that's all I'm asking.  It's not much, but it might make a difference to him ... to both of them."  Angel had wiped all expression from his face, Buffy couldn't tell what his reaction was to her request.  "This needs to be finished, done," she said.  "To get on with our lives, we need to put all this behind us, not drag it out to cause more pain and misery for anyone.  Please, Angel."

*****

The doorbell echoed through the house.  Opening the front door, he found Liam Angelus standing before him.

Angel lifted his chin, leveling his gaze on Daniel Holtz and said, "We need to talk."

****

Buffy was tired of staying in bed, but the moment she even moved a foot out of it, Angel was right there to put it back under the covers.

“Don’t want those beautiful toes peeking out of there again,” he warned her, kissing said toes lovingly before tucking them under the sheet and blanket.

“My toes don’t need to be here anymore than the rest of me,” she grumbled petulantly.  “There’s nothing wrong with me, Angel.”

“You're still suffering from the effects of the concussion, according to the doctor,” Angel reminded his willful patient. “To say nothing of bruises from head to foot,” he added.  "It's either here or the hospital."

Buffy shivered at the word, but gave him a mournful look.  “It’s been four days,” Buffy pouted, sitting up, crossing her arms over her chest.  “And I don’t remember the doctor saying I’d have to spend the rest of my life horizontal.”

Angel let his gaze linger over every inch of her.  “And that would be a bad thing … how?” he smirked leeringly at her.  He was happy to hear her complain, it was the first really Buffy-sounding thing he'd heard her say.  He took it as a sign of her continuing recovery.

Much as he wanted to and as engagingly willing as she was, he had refrained from making love to her.  He wasn’t taking any chances where she was concerned.  He needed to see the sparkle back in her eyes and more color return to her cheeks before he would go any further than soft, light kisses and gentle caresses.  But it didn’t mean he couldn’t make her more comfortable, he reasoned, if he was very, very careful.

Buffy gave him a sly smile in return.  He had treated her like glass ever since he brought her home.  She loved him for it, but she didn’t think she was quite that fragile.  “I think you need to examine these bruises much more closely,” she suggested, slipping back down, pushing the covers away.

He grinned at her, sitting on the edge of the bed.  She was lost in one of his shirts, as usual, making him marvel once more at what she could do for a simple white shirt.  Just as he started to indulge her by unbuttoning it, the doorbell rang.  Angel growled at the interruption.  Looking back at her with longing, he left the room to answer the door.  When he opened it, he found Buffy’s best friend standing before him.  “Willow,” he greeted her, trying to keep the growl out of his voice.  He stood there for long moments just looking at her.

Angel had really been making an attempt to learn how to act in this new world in which he found himself.  His normal response to finding anyone on his doorstep would have been to close the door without a word.  Knowing Buffy was more than ready to continue where he’d left off with her made things even more difficult.  But he knew slamming the door in the redhead's face or scaring Willow away wasn’t how Buffy expected him to deal with company – no matter what they’d been about to do.

“Hello, Angel,” Willow said, waiting patiently outside.

“You’re here to see Buffy,” he answered, stating the obvious, then finally opening the door wider and stepping back to allow her inside.

“Well, yes,” Willow agreed.  “And you too,” she added with a smile as she took a few steps into the room.

“Oh, I uh … let me get Buffy,” he said gruffly, escaping to the bedroom while he left her standing there.  Moments later he came back with Buffy swathed in a blanket, curled securely in his arms.  Walking past her, as though Willow wasn’t even there, Angel lowered himself into his chair, still holding Buffy close to his chest.

Buffy motioned for Willow to take the chair beside them.  “Sorry, Wills,” she explained, “this was the only way he’d let me out of bed.”

Willow didn’t think Buffy looked all that unhappy about Liam's over-protectiveness.  But she was rather surprised that he hadn’t left Buffy in the chair and disappeared.  “Are you feeling any better,” she asked, worried that there might be a reason he was staying so close.

“I’m fine,” Buffy answered, giving Angel an exasperated look, “He won’t believe me though.”

Angel remained silent, trying to blend in as part of the chair.  As much as he’d rather be somewhere else, she was right.  He wasn’t letting her out of his sight, no matter what she told him.

Buffy had a fair idea of what he was thinking and ignored it completely.  “Angel, I’d really like some coffee,” she whispered to him.  “And Willow might too.”

So much for his watching, he thought, taking the broad hint and reluctantly sliding her into the chair as he stood up.  “Would you like some coffee or tea, Willow?” he asked politely.  Angel never understood the need to feed people, but he knew it was part of the ritual of visiting and acquiesced to his lover’s request.

Willow hid a smirk, telling him, “Coffee is good, thank you.”  As soon as he was out of sight, she leaned over and whispered, “How are you really?”

“Truth?  I’m still pretty sore around the head and bruises, but I’m not telling him that,” Buffy admitted.  She peeked in the direction he had gone then said in a low voice that couldn't be overheard, “I’m more worried about him than me.  He’s been so sweet taking care of me, but he’s not getting enough sleep himself.  I think he’s still afraid something might happen.”

“Like what?” Willow wanted to know.

“Nothing specific,” Buffy tried to explain, “I think it’s gonna take him a while to get used to good things happening.  He hasn’t had a lot of that.”

With an eye towards the kitchen, Willow laughed softly, “Something tells me that won’t be a real problem anymore.  You’ve always been good at challenges, Buffy.”  She giggled with a twinkle in her eye, “He couldn’t have found anyone better to help him ... umm … adjust.”

“Willow!” Buffy exclaimed.  She’d known her best friend for years and couldn’t believe what she was insinuating.  Willow had always been rather embarrassed and shy when even the word ‘sex’ was mentioned.  It seemed life with Tara was having an effect on her partner.  Buffy started to say more when she heard Angel’s footsteps.

He came back holding a tray that he had painstaking arranged with mugs of coffee and some cookies he found.  Buffy flashed him a smile against his unsure expression, which helped ease his awkwardness.  Carefully setting the tray on the small table beside the chair, he offered coffee and a cookie to Willow.  He turned back towards his chair, looking down at its small occupant.  It wasn’t hard to anticipate his unspoken request and Buffy reached out her arms.  Lifting her and slipping beneath her in the chair in one fluid movement, he drew her against him.  Angel couldn’t fathom the secretive smiles he caught on both young women before they melted away.  He had a hard enough time with becoming accustomed to people in general.  Understanding women was something he knew he would never accomplish.  He didn’t realize he wasn’t as alone as he thought.

Willow sighed happily to herself, perusing the couple before her.  They seemed invisibly attached, tuned into their own internal wavelength to each other.  She almost expected when one took in a breath of air, the other would exhale it.  It was sweet how each worried more about the other.

She’d known Buffy for several years, seen her date many different men.  Even though Willow had been the one who thought Buffy would be able to work with Angelus, she’d never expected them to end up together.  Whatever it was Buffy had been missing and searching for, she had finally found.  As strange as some might find Liam Angelus, Willow could see how uniquely the two complemented and completed each other.

As she watched Liam lovingly spoon sugar into Buffy’s coffee for her, Willow thought back to when she first saw him.  It wasn’t that he had changed all that much since then around other people, she thought, but around Buffy.  The smile that lit his face as he lowered his head towards the figure held closely beside him was something she was sure few had witnessed.  She doubted he would ever gain many social graces, but mantled in Buffy’s love, one would hardly notice.

Willow shook her head slightly when she realized Buffy was speaking to her.  The two women talked while Angel remained quiet, absently stroking his lover’s hair.  He hadn’t been wrong to insist Buffy needed rest.  Willow could see her friend was tiring quickly.  She wisely kept the visit short, telling Buffy she had a few errands to run.  Willow was surprised when Angel cautiously touched her arm as he opened the door for her when she was leaving.  She looked up at him and saw him nod in Buffy’s direction.

“She thinks she’s doing better than she really is,” he said in a worried tone only Willow could hear.  "I don’t mean to keep her friends away.”

As Willow stepped outside and out of Buffy’s hearing, she reassured him, “I didn’t think you did.  And I don’t think anyone else could take better care of her than you."  Willow saw a mixture of shyness and relief wash through Angel’s face and again was reminded of how stoic he usually appeared.  Now she thought she saw a smile trying to find its way to his lips.

“Thank you,” he said softly, “Buffy has a good friend,” then quietly closed the door as she walked away.

*****

As soon as Buffy recovered according to his watchful satisfaction, Angel insisted on making their vows to one another legal.  Some small part of him would always think no one, including himself, would ever be good enough for her.  But it was his way of showing Buffy he had finally overcome his demons.  And he wanted, at last, to officially show the world how much she meant to him.  At his request, the wedding was arranged in the shortest time allowable.

Giles looked at the small gathering of friends and family surrounding him, then at the two before him.  He couldn’t contain the smile that broke past his usual reserve.  Never had he seen Buffy so radiant in all the years he had known her.  The love shining from her eyes was reflected back in full by the tall, dark-haired man looking down at her as he placed the antique Claddagh ring on her finger.  The groom extended his arm as she slipped the matching ring on his finger.  As one, they lifted the rings to each other and kissed them.

 One look at her lover, now husband, beaming a smile at her the size of the sun melted away any loneliness and emptiness Buffy had ever felt.  She knew how much this meant to Angel, only this moment realizing it was just as important to her.  They finished exchanging their vows and Angel bent down to give her a passionate kiss, regardless of their audience.

As swift and simple as it was, Giles couldn’t remember a more joyful occasion.  Jenny squeezed Giles’ hand, nodding silently towards Tara.  The young woman quietly brushed a tear from Willow’s cheek as the redhead rejoined her.  Willow had stepped down from her place beside the bride to watch her float down the aisle on Angel's arm.

Buffy gave Angel's best man a wink when she saw Faith making a beeline for him after the ceremony.  Lindsey's eyes twinkled in return as he clasped the brunette's hand firmly in his own.  A few moments later, Cordelia caught Angel unawares, pulling his head down and kissing him on the cheek with an audible smack.  Recovering his wits from the unforeseen attack he found his sister already walking away, flashing the newly married couple a jubilant smile.  Wes, trailing behind her, gave them a silent nod of congratulations.

In the far corner of the room Angel saw an older man move towards the exit door.  With one hand on the handle, the man turned and gave Angel a look filled with pride, love … and joy.  With a faint smile he silently slipped out the door and was gone.

Once Angel took Buffy in his arms to start their first dance as husband and wife the rest of the world fell away.  Neither of them was fully aware of anything else for the remainder of the evening except each other.

*****

Buffy woke several nights later, as she often had, without the familiar warm chest pressed against her back.  She didn’t like it, but didn’t panic either.  She knew where he was.  As careful and guarded as Angel had been during all the time since her disappearance and subsequent return, he failed to hide from her how much of an impact her ordeal with Spike still had on him.  It wasn’t Angel’s past that weighed on him anymore.  Facing that small child from long ago and the storms had finally put them both to rest.  Nor was it even a matter of who was accountable for any of it.  What terrified him was just the thought of almost losing Buffy.

She was more right than she realized when she told Willow he wasn’t used to good things happening.  Years spent alone and isolated, weren’t forgotten or undone overnight.  Angel wasn’t finding it easy to let go of well-worn patterns of looking at life from the dark side.  He had finally found someone to share his life, someone who loved him as much as he loved her.  He couldn’t get over coming so close to losing everything he had so recently gained.

At night, he lay in bed unable to sleep, holding Buffy gently as she slept in his arms.  She felt so small, looked so vulnerable.  The depth of emotion he felt looking at her, touching her, was so overpowering it left him shaking.  He had to get out of bed afraid he would wake her.  He would sit, as he had tonight, before the fire, trying to distract himself with old friends who had always been there for him – his books.

She found Angel sleeping in his chair, small flames softly flickering, licking the logs on the hearth.  Her lips curved into a soft smile as she read the title of the book he held, the habitual finger holding his place on the page.  It was the book he had read to her the last few nights.  She had never read or heard much poetry, never really understood it.  But when Angel recited it to her, even if the lines sounded strange to her ears, she knew what they meant.  She found she loved it when she heard Angel’s velvet tones turn words into the worlds.  It was the only time, except when he made love to her, that his voice held such passion … such pathos.  He was so beautiful, she reflected, inside and out.

Her heart broke for him, seeing the dark circles beneath his eyes. She saw the frightened glances he thought he concealed and she woke when his arms quivered around her.  She knew what worried him, having the same fears herself.  Life without Angel was now unimaginable to her.  But she also knew they needed to take what they had and live it a moment at a time.  It was better to cherish what was there, than wonder what was to come.  He needed time and he needed her.  Buffy meant to be there for whatever it took.  She curled up in the chair that sat next to his, unwilling to disturb what little rest he had found.  Tucking a small throw around her, Buffy gazed at him for a very long time, until she drifted off to sleep herself.

 *****

Angel no longer had nightmares.  Exorcised with truth and love, they lost the power to haunt him.  But still his sleep wasn’t restful.  He had fallen into a fitful doze.  Opening his eyes, he found himself staring, not at the fire banked low in the grate, but at the chair pulled up before it.  He literally rubbed his eyes, then almost pinched himself to find if he was asleep or awake.

So very many times this same illusion had filled his dreams.  Just as often he had thought it real and reached out only watch it melt into nothingness.  Tongues of fire from the dying embers flickered over the soft curve of a cheek, framed by long dark lashes closed in sleep.  The flames shimmered on the golden curls of tousled hair that trailed down low over breasts that gently rose and fell.  Creamy, velvet skin was flushed from the glowing warmth.  It was such an evocative, yet comforting vision.

Quietly, swiftly, as if the image before him would suddenly dissolve, Angel slid from his seat and fell to his knees in front of the chair only scant feet from his own.  So very, very gently he laid one finger on the cheek that begged for his touch and traced the outline with a feather light caress.  The ethereal dream didn’t fade away, but stayed, solid and vibrant under his hand.  A lump formed in his throat, but it didn’t quell the sob that wrenched its way out.  She was real and she was there.  More … she was his.  His wife.

Her long lashes fluttered open at the strangled sound and he was caught in a mossy green gaze.  Love and concern welled up in her luminous eyes, as she searched his face.  He heard an almost inaudible sigh fall from her lips as she tenderly brought them close to cover his own.  Warmth surrounded him as she pulled him gently into her embrace.  He opened his mouth to the soft demand of her moist tongue.  It was so sweet and soft against his as she suckled it slowly.  Letting himself fall into the taste and feel, he lost himself deep in the kiss.

Angel wasn’t even aware of the single tear that escaped, trailing down from the corner of his eye, until her slender finger reached up to catch it.  “Angel?”  That achingly endearing way she always spoke his name, asking and claiming in one breath, made his heart constrict.  “Shhh ...” she soothed as his own breath hitched in response.

He burrowed his face into the hollow of her breasts, inhaling her scent in deep breaths.  Her firm, gentle fingers slid up the nape of his neck and into his hair drawing his head closer to rest there.  He lifted one hand to part the cloth covering her skin and felt her own hand pull the material away.  He let his lips fall on the soft fullness of one breast, seeking and finding its taut peak.  Drawing it into his mouth he suckled it gently, but urgently.  The strong, steady beat of her heart pumped beneath his ear, intensifying the serenity and comfort he found in her … only her.  Long moments passed as he nursed solace from her.  Her sensitive fingers moved softly, surely over his back and shoulders, then sifted through his hair.  She quieted him with calm, loving strokes, offering silent refuge for his troubled spirit.

With her gentle, prepotent touch, what Buffy had tried to make him see all along suddenly seared itself into Angel with a crystalline clarity.  He had wasted all of his yesterdays despairing of a past over which he never had any control.  Now he was wasting all his tomorrows doing the exact same thing.  All he had was today.  She was all there was, all there ever would be that he wanted, that he so desperately needed.  There was no doubt in his heart that it was the same for her.  They were so much a part of one another that each felt the other’s joy and pain as if it were their own.  His life was finally full of all that had been missing and now would never be lost.  Somewhere deep within he knew he and Buffy would always be together, they were one … forever.

His fears finally assuaged in the shelter of her affection, he lifted his face to hers.  “I love you, Buffy,” he told her in a strained whisper, “I love you so much.”

He was so beautiful to her.  Tears glistened in her eyes at his declaration and he leaned in to kiss them away before they fell.  She felt the peace as it flowed into him, saw it mirrored in his eyes.  His whole body relaxed as the ever-present tension dwindled and at last ebbed away.  He threaded his fingers through her hair as he covered her face with soft, solemn kisses, her eyes, her cheeks, her nose.  Brushing his lips against hers, his tongue swept across them in tiny licks, then gently pushed, seeking its way into her mouth.  Her lips parted with another sigh as he plunged his tongue deeply inside, savoring the sweetness only she possessed.  She kissed him back, her tongue melding with his in a slow sensuous dance.

Angel pulled her flush against him, tightening his arms around her as their kisses deepened.  He reached up with his hands, burying them in the lush fullness of her silken locks, twisting the soft tendrils around his fingers.  His tenderness slowly changed to passion, comfort giving way to desire.  His lips and tongue moved to take in more of her supple flesh, slowly kissing and feasting on every exquisite inch.  The soft moan of pleasure from his mate heightened his own and spurred him on to give her more.  He missed nothing in his quest to find every precious, luscious morsel of her.  Biting softly on her earlobe, gently sucking on the sensitive skin behind it, he moved down to her throat, nibbling and nipping lightly.  His hold loosened as he leaned back to soak in the sight of her.  She was breathtaking in the firelight.  Her skin now glowed not from the heat of the fire, but from his touch.  Her lips were swollen and red from his kisses.  Her long, golden tresses shone like satin.

Buffy laid her hands to his chest, splaying her fingers on its broad expanse.  “I love you,” she said in a soft, low breath, making him throb at the sound of her voice.  Gently, she peeled his shirt down his arms until he shrugged out of it and tossed it on the floor.  She smoothed her hands over the planes and contours of his chest and shoulders, in long, luxurious strokes, now meant to inflame rather than calm.  Every slight movement of her fingers against his skin caused his muscles to jump in response.  Her lips grazed lingeringly across his chest until they latched onto a nipple.  She bit down lightly and Angel released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in a ragged pant.  She drew a line of flame with her tongue from his neck, to his abs, then down his long, lean torso.  Her lips curved in a smile, feeling the tremors her touch caused rippling through him.  But when she moved her hand below his waistline, he gently caught it, bringing it to his lips.

Holding her gaze he told her haltingly, “There were so many nights … I would wake up … and find you sitting right here.  But when I reached for you … you were gone.”  Silencing her before she could speak by laying two fingers from his other hand against her lips he continued, “Tonight you’re here, really here.  You’ve tried to tell me, but this finally made me understand.  Whatever is going to happen will happen.  We can’t know, Buffy.  No one can.  That’s just the deal.  We have to take each moment we find.”

“But – ” Buffy tried to reply under the gentle fingers.

But if you don’t stop now,” he said smiling at the hand he held captive, “I won’t be able to show you what it all means to me.”

She stared down at the hand holding hers, then back up, the corners of her mouth turning up in warm invitation, “Show me, Angel,” she whispered.

The shirt she wore, his by rights, fell away at his touch.  He moved slowly from shoulder to shoulder, showering a new rain of kisses on the tempting skin, coveting more delectable tastes of her succulent golden flesh.  Angel released her enough to settle once more over her breasts, but to give rather than take.  His lips caressed the plush mounds, building her desire, carefully listening to her breathing as a guide.  His tongue drew patterns of love, as he licked and sucked the velvet pillows in ever-closer circles to her nipples.  As she arched against him, he finally captured one rosy tip, scraping his teeth across it, then pulling it into his mouth.  He felt her breath catch and he moved to claim the other, while his hand gently caressed the first, rolling the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

The fingers of his other hand pulled the throw away and trailed a deliberately slow, blazing path down her torso, dragging sensuously over her belly.  His tongue moved slowly, giving taunting flicks of attention to her breasts, drifting down in a sultry path over and around her stomach to her naval, letting it linger briefly as he shifted her lower body forward, lying her back against the cushions.  As he looped his thumbs through the waistband of her panties, she lifted her hips in response, allowing him to pull the wisp of fabric down and off her slim legs.  His lips followed his hands, leaving open-mouthed kisses of adoration in their wake.

Leaving a delicate tracery of lust as it continued its journey to the soft cleft hidden between her thighs, his tongue dipped in as she parted her legs to give him entry.  Ever so lightly he caressed the moist, pink flesh in languid strokes, imbibing her essence, relishing it, as it flowed from her center.  She cried out loud as his tongue delved deeply into her innermost sanctuary and he held her hips tightly as he lovingly ravished her.  He felt the groan that shuddered through her frame as small hands circled his neck, pulling him closer.  Smiling against her glistening curls, he gifted her with gentle kisses in every feminine fold.  He nibbled on the rich banquet with tender bites as he swirled his tongue to catch her intoxicating honey.  His lips finally settled on the nub nestled above, plump and hard from his ardent labors of love.  Closing around it with tender lips, he sucked it gently into his mouth.  Angel heard her gasp and felt the tight bud swell even more.  He teased it with his tongue, flicking it with minute strokes, until he sensed her approaching climax.

She whimpered as Angel tore himself away, standing up only long enough to strip off the rest of his clothes, then dropped back down before her.  His lips caught hers, sharing the taste of her as their tongues mingled together.  Her hand found his rigid flesh and closed around it, eliciting a deep guttural moan from him.  They moved as one, lifting, as she guided him inside her.  She wrapped her legs tightly around his waist, his large hands pulling her hips to him until no space remained between them.  He penetrated her scalding depths to the hilt.

They both gasped, reveling in the feeling of completion this most intimate expression of love unceasingly gave them.  The so-familiar charge of energy generated by their touch hummed through them.  Hearts and souls merged with their bodies.  To Angel this would always be home, and to Buffy where she always belonged.  The same loving balm she poured over him in every glance, every word and touch, sheathed Angel as absolutely as the walls that held him deep inside her.  The profound love Buffy felt in his arms, saw in the glowing depths of his eyes and heard in the rich, cadence of his voice, pierced her heart as deeply as he was buried within her molten core.

He tried to go slowly, his movements angled to bestow on her every nuance of pleasure he could give her.  He drank in her moans of elation, doing everything in his power to bring her higher.  Her hands roved over the warm flesh of his back and shoulders, sliding into his hair, then down his neck to his chest, her touch tingling his skin.  Fingernails bit into his arms as her soft, keening wail sounded in his ear.  Her muscles contracted and massaged his sex as he tried to maintain a steady, rhythm.  But the heat and passion he found in the stormy recesses of her eyes, caused him to lose control, streaking a bolt of lust and love like lightening from his heart to his groin.  He thrust into her in ever quickening strokes, deeper and harder, until he touched the mouth of her womb.

The power of their love surged through every cell, rising higher with each caress, each tender whisper.  Every nerve and muscle pulsed in a rising crescendo of rapture until they were swept over the edge, his seed spilling into her as she climaxed.  They whirled together in an achingly sweet ecstasy that melted into a haven of bliss.

When he finally opened his eyes Angel found he was on the floor in front of the chair with Buffy snug in his lap.  He had fallen back on the rug, bringing her with him.  Silencing her mewl of protest with a gentle kiss, he withdrew from her.  He slowly got to his feet, carefully holding her close, not willing to let her go even for that brief moment.  Padding softly to their room, he gently laid her on the bed, crawling in beside her.  She tugged the sheet and comforter up over them as he spooned in behind her, drawing her closely against his chest.

A smile crept across Buffy’s face only moments later as she felt the measured puffs Angel was breathing into her hair.  He was curled around her, sound asleep, his powerful body finally at ease.  Nothing disturbed the deep silence, but the soft sounds of his serene slumber.  It was music to her ears.  There was still a long way to go, but they would go together.  She snuggled into her husband's unconscious embrace and joined him in his dreams.

~Finis~

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