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Title: Once Upon a Dream
Author: Christine
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Don’t own them, wouldn’t really want them in their current incarnations anyway. Lots of other people own them, and I’m sure everyone knows who they are, and they’re welcomed to them. But I reserve the right to the wish to claim them should anything change.
Feedback: I admit it, I’m a feedback whore, so, please; chrissnoop@aol.com
Challenge: by Megan at littlemegan77@hotmail.com
Okay this challenge has to do with the season 3 episode where Angel returns from hell. What would have happened if Buffy had acted differently when Angel came back from hell? What if he had listened and obeyed her, yet still had his animalistic qualities even if only for a while and she didn't chain him up in the mansion?

MUST HAVES:
-Angel knowing Buffy is his true mate, he listens to her
-Angel killing/almost killing Scott Hope
-Buffy trying to get animal Angel into her house without her mother finding out u decide why
-hopefully Nc-17 but any rating u want....
-u decide whether Buffy tells her friends that Angels back or not

Pick 2 or more:
-Angel feeding off of Buffy
-Buffy reading Angel a children's book (u pick which one)
-Buffy giving Scott a kiss (eww I know)
-if it’s nc-17: Angel gets jealous and shows her who she belongs to....animal style ;)
-someone walking in on them in bed together

*`*`*`*`*`*`*`
He looked out from his balcony at the vastness of nothingness below. This hellish dimension was all his and he reveled in it. The red from the perpetual sun glowed hotly on hell’s denizens, allowing no break, no relief, no surcease. Typical and obvious, true, but the fact was that most beings in the universe expected this from their hell; why not indulge their horrific imaginings of it?

Leaning his oddly shaped head against one of his six-fingered hands, he thought about what his day was going to bring. He always liked to devise new tortures for a creature’s anniversary stay in hell. Made the time pass a tad more quickly and his daily routine a bit more interesting. And century marks were something to be celebrated; not many vampires can say they’ve survived that long, let alone survived it in hell at the bottom of the demon totem pole.

Torture was a fascinating subject, so many different ways to abuse a being, so little time. Sometimes eternity just didn’t seem long enough. But this one was different: a vampire with a soul. He didn’t see much of that here - the soul part, not the vampire part. Of course he’d heard of him, everyone had. Such a great paradox in a universe full of them. And to top it all off, there was a rumor going around that his own lover, the slayer of all creatures (talk about your paradoxes, what were the Powers thinking, allowing that?), had sent him here.

Ah, yes, truly a fascinating subject. But what made him tick? What drove him?

For centuries he had been trying to discover just that. Guilt, remorse, sorrow, self-loathing, there were just so many emotions to use that it was almost hard to pick one. So he had used them all, going painstakingly through each and every victim of the demon Angelus, using their shouts and recriminations and pain over and over and over again until he thought for sure that this time was the time Angelus would break.

Angelus never did.

So he had looked further into the psyche of his subject, or as much as he could. It was difficult to know one’s victim when the victim refused to corporate. Yes, the demon was all of those things, but there was more. A soul deep (and the word gagged in his throat though the irony did not escape him) need to atone for his past sins, a fated love that was so star crossed as to be in two different universes.

Next task: use the lover as the sole means of torture. It was going to be interesting, indeed.

So he set about doing exactly that. But he had no idea what consequences this latest game would have.
*******
Angelus dwelled in darkness despite the light from the glowing red sphere above. He could no longer remember who he was or what had brought him here. He no longer remembered a time when he wasn’t here.

Buried deeply within him was the primal knowledge that he was once so much more than what he now was, but it was such a long, long time ago he didn’t know why he felt this way. He thought (though such a process was slightly more evolutionized than what he could currently achieve) that he had once had light in his life. Not the harsh glowing red fire of the world around him, but golden, soft, warm, and loving.

He knew this in his blood, though he couldn’t remember who or what or why he should. Names had no meaning, faces blended together as one and all he knew anymore were pain and agony and the need for release.

It was this release that he avoided. In that same instinctual way he comprehended that he was once more, he knew that to give up, to quit, to allow them to win, was something not in his character. Something that someone somewhere wouldn’t want him to do.

At first Angel had tried to surpres the demon Angelus, trying to separate the two halves of himself, but living with him so close to the surface in the depths of the hell he found himself; Angel discovered he needed the demon, needed his strength, his cunning, and his viscousness just to survive.

Though the thought was originally anathema to him - both of him as the demon didn’t want anything to do with the soul, either - the demon and the soul found a medium, that balance that Angel had been striving for since the gypsies had first cursed him.

No matter the punishment devised to hurt him, Angel survived it, allowing the demon more and more control as they used victim after victim. The burning in his blood after he killed his Sire (The First Rule in the Vampire Bible, a major faux pas and not something taken lightly), the murder of his family and friends, his whole village, the torture and pain he inflicted upon Buffy and her friends.

Until the fateful day they had decided to use Buffy against him.

By the time they grew tired of all other torments and focused solely on her, Angel had lost all sense of Self. All ability to vocalize his wants and needs in forms other than the grunt of pain, the shout of victory over another occupant, the growl of anger and hatred; small talk wasn’t really a fact of his life, so nothing else was required of him.

He survived on bare sustenance; the blood wasn’t fresh or even usually mammalian and he had no idea from where it came, but was enough to just survive - to go on for one more day.

Sleep was overrated here but when he did so, that was when they had the most fun. It started out small, as though they were testing the willingness of their subject’s dream-mind to receive the images fed to him. A glance, a touch, a smile: enough to allow him to remember just that much more.

The warmth of her body, the love in her kiss, the feel of her soft hands on his cool skin. The images progressed until he thought he’d go mad from the want. And then they changed. No longer were they memories of their time together, but twisted facsimiles of what they wanted him to do and believe and be, for, with, to her.

Angel drinking her dry, turning her, ripping her apart limb from limb, tearing her heart out with his bare hands. Every method of torture used by him and subsequently on him they used on her. Sometimes there was nothing he could do about it but scream in agony, while others it was infinitely worse: they made him torture her.

They were all about control; they had it and he was helpless to resist.

In this the demon and the soul were irrevocably one: No one touched his mate. She was HIS, always, and the anger, the determination, the conviction that she was the reason he survived all this time, she was what he was living (well existing), for was crystallized into a fire that flooded his veins and beat in his long dead heart.

He would not break. He would not yield. He would not allow them to win by using the one good thing in his long life.

Demon raged in anger and soul burned with hatred. And they became one as they never had before, the yin and the yang that every living being carries within melded perfectly together.
************
Gently she placed the Claddagh ring on the floor in the exact spot she had stabbed Angel mere months ago. God she missed him, every second of every minute of every day. It was as if this big hole had been cut out of her where her heart used to beat, her soul used to reside.

Vaguely Buffy wondered how she had survived these past months. Or maybe survived was too strong a word; lived, existed, moved blindly through her life were more accurate descriptors. She knew that Giles and Willow noticed, Oz maybe, as well. But they said nothing, either hoping that she would eventually come to terms with what she had done or hoping that she accepted what she now had to become without Angel.

“Goodbye,” she said her voice subdued and full of the love she still felt for Angel.

Slowly she stood back up, took one last look around the place. Though her actual time here was short, memories assaulted her, her last one with Angel.
~~~~~~
“Buffy?”

It was his voice that stopped her just as she was about to make the final blow that would kill the man who was once her lover. His eyes glowed, first golden, then with light and love for her and she ceased her downward swing. And in those first few seconds, while she was trying to process everything, her only thought was; Angel, I’ll never let you go again.

Slowly he stumbled to his feet, looking around at the foreign surroundings, clearly confused. “What’s going on?”

He looked at his hands, covered with blood, more confusion. “Where are we? I-I don’t remember…” He tried to say more, but he was totally perplexed and his motor and oratory functions weren’t working as well as they might otherwise have been.

The sword wavered then slowly dropped, but Buffy never took her eyes off him. Angel? Was this her Angel? She looked him up and down in total disbelief, “Angel?” And the way she said it, hesitantly, hopefully, was reminiscent of when they had first met.

A step, then another one. He was breathing heavily, trying to will away the pain he was so obviously in. “You’re hurt.” He said, his first thought for her. He reached out a hand to touch the scrape he, himself, had given her though he didn’t yet remember that.

She looked, too, having forgotten such a little thing in the face of…all this. And suddenly she was pulled into his arms, his strong chest felt so right, his loving, gentle arms wrapped around her. The tears that she had kept at bay since the night she had caused Angel to change were suddenly there waiting to be let free and she smiled. Please, she thought to any god still listening to her, Please let this last.

“Oh, Buffy…God…I feel like I haven’t seen you in months. Everything’s so muddled, ahh,” He couldn’t form complete sentences yet, he still had no idea what was going on. But Buffy was in his arms, and nothing else seemed to matter.

Still holding her he dropped his head and placed a kiss on her shoulder, “Oh, Buffy.”

He was here and in her arms…she leaned closer, wanting to hold onto him forever, and was just about to lean back in his comforting embrace and kiss him hello, when she opened her eyes in horror. She had forgotten…Acathla had awakened.

And he was about to suck the world into Hell.

And in that moment Buffy knew. Knew what she had to do, knew that she would never be whole again, knew that for her, for them…this was the end. And her heart, so newly healed, shattered and crumbled once more, the ashes floating away into the vortex that was soon to consume her lover.

Stiffening, she pulled back. Angel, sensing that something was wrong, looked at her, “What’s happening?”

“Shh,” she said her voice ending on a choked sob. How could she do this? “Don’t worry about it.”

She caressed his face, so beloved, so cherished, memorizing every angle, every plane. His eyes, so dark and, once upon a time, so mysterious…before she knew…knew him, knew who he was, what he was. And she loved him anyway.

Leaning forward she captured his mouth with hers, pouring all her love, all her desire, everything she was and everything that he helped her to be, into this kiss…their final one. Goodbye.

The mouth to Hell was getting larger, but Buffy didn’t care. She needed this one last moment with the only person she had ever loved and ever would love -completely. 
~~~~~~~
Giles watched from a distance. He suspected that Buffy would come here, wanting the contact with whatever was left of Angel’s memory. He knew that she wasn’t over him contrary to the belief of her mother and friends. Though Angelus had tortured him, killed the woman he loved, Giles knew the difference.

Knew that the demon that resides…resided in Angel was the very incarnate of everything evil in Liam, the person. Everything that Liam’s soul had once filtered the demon took and multiplied tenfold. Giles understood the difference, true, but he didn’t love: the man, the vampire, the demon.

No matter what anyone thought otherwise, Giles knew that Buffy’s love didn’t die with Angel’s soul. She loved Angelus, too. And while she despised the creature that her lover had become, she couldn’t let go. Was it the demon she loved, too? Or was it just the body and the memory? Giles didn’t know and had a feeling that his questions would never be answered.

He watched as Buffy set down something on the floor, stood there for a bit lost in thought, and finally turned to leave. She walked slowly away, never once looking back. But Giles could see how much she wanted too, just one more moment, one more glance, just one more memory. Just one more that would never be enough.

The ring sat there, alone yet glowing with the love that Buffy felt for Angel. Saying a few words, words he had discovered in his hours of summer research on demon dimensions and Acathla in particular, Giles walked over to the ring and sprinkled some herbs around it, careful not to let any land on the ring itself.

“Let this ring be the sign of her devotion. Let their love be strong once more. Let this act make whole what has been torn asunder. Let he who was sacrificed be completed. As I will, so mote it be” Then stood back to watch.

Within moments the air began to crackle and hiss and a small vortex opened above the now shaking ring, spewing out the being who was once known as Angel. He landed hard on the floor, leaving scorch marks in a pattern all around him.

The poor man was naked and obviously confused, but Giles could do nothing about that. His job was finished. It was all up to Buffy, now.
************
The dreams had been coming every night since she had first…killed Angel. No matter how little sleep, no matter how exhausted she was at the end of her and Faith’s patrol, the dreams were always there, haunting her, teasing her.

Showing her what could have been and what she had done to the only man she had ever loved. Even the ones that created a new life for them ended horribly, with her killing Angel over and over again. And him blaming, taunting her about it.

Lately, however, they had been different. Not of her killing Angel, not of him accusing her of killing him, but of…just him. Buffy thought she was losing her mind, thought that she had progressed past the point of guilt and into such a state of depression that she would surely go mad.

Buffy thought that telling Willow and Giles about what really happened that horrible day she killed Angel would help. It had, she had gone to the mansion and said goodbye to him. Well, the intent had been real enough, and if her heart really wasn’t in it, well, then she had tried. Really she had.

But now she was dreaming that Angel returned to her. In fact, the dreams were so vivid, so real, that she was going to swing by the mansion after her patrol. Faith was watching werewolf Oz, Giles was researching, and Cordelia, Xander, and Willow were checking out the body in the morgue.

Yes, Buffy thought, After I make a sweep through the woods, I’ll take a small detour, just for my own peace of mind. Whatever’s left of it.
************
Food. Survival. Life. These were the imperatives that drove him. He did not know where he was, but three things burned brightly inside of him: Blood was life, sun was death, and the golden vision in his mind’s eye was forever.

He wished that he could remember why the last was so important. His night terrors involved her, and yet some of the most peaceful moments of his life were centered around her as well. It was more than he could handle, so he didn’t.

He was hunting this night, small prey, rabbits, and other small animals; anything that smelled of blood and was easily caught. Something deep inside of him shied away from larger beings, whether it was from fear or from something else, the being that was Angel didn’t understand.

And then his head rose automatically, as though scenting some force in the air. Eyes darted around, nostrils flared. She was here. All he had to do was find her and he was convinced, in whatever was left of his Self that she was the Answer. She was the Reason. 

The growl that escaped seemed to catch her attention and for a moment he was afraid. He tried to run, to get away; to escape for he wasn’t sure that he could go back to that netherworld. But she caught him, and while his strength easily matched hers, he was weak, physically, mentally, in ever way imaginable.

Angel knew, in the moment before he lost consciousness, that She would never hurt him, that She was the reason he had survived, that She was.

She couldn’t seem to move. Buffy stood there, stunned, her heart had stopped when she recognized Angel - naked, blood outlining his mouth, growling at her as if he didn’t recognize her - and her breath clogged in her throat. Words tumbled around her brain refusing to form complete sentences; emotions flooded her system, unable to latch onto any one in particular.

He was back; he was back, hewasbackhewasbackhewasback. “Oh, my God. Angel.” The sound of her own voice spurned her into activity and she set about dragging/carrying him back…where? She could take him to the mansion, it was close enough, but God she hated that place. Once she got him there what she was going to do with him?

No, better (though that wasn’t really the word to use in this situation) to get him to her house. He mother was going to kill her if she found out; Buffy had told Joyce the minimum about her reasons for running away. Plus, her mother’s irrational fear just wasn’t going to dissipate; it had to be worked on. Joyce would probably never understand, but Buffy hadn’t a choice in the matter. This was Angel.

There really was no other way she could see. The mansion was too far away, she could keep a better eye on him in her room, er, house, and…Buffy wasn’t entirely sure this wasn’t all some dream. A wonderful, fantastical dream come true, but a dream nonetheless.

Running as fast as her legs and the pumping adrenaline flowing through her could carry her, Buffy went to the mansion in search of something to contain him. Dru had left a trunk conveniently filled with chains and other things Buffy had no time to focus on. Perfect. Grabbing these up, Buffy was almost on her way out when she spotted the scorch marks on the floor.

My God, what had she done to him?
~~~~~~
It wasn’t easy, but she had managed to chain Angel up before he regained consciousness. When he did, a growl escaped him, though Buffy felt it wasn’t totally directed at her. She couldn’t carry him; even with her strength he was too heavy. Plus he was sure to fight her all the way. Finally she gave up and tried to talk to him.

She didn’t remember her words, but kept her voice soothing and calm, her mind clear and totally focused on him and her love for him. Telling him of his life, of how he trusted her (not telling him of how she betrayed that trust and made him what he currently was), of how she trusted him (the months of Angelus didn’t count tonight) and how much she cared for him. Buffy tried to touch him, but Angel shied away from her hands. Moving slowly backwards, she could only hope that he followed her.
He did. Not because he understood what she was saying, but because he knew her. Trusted her (What was trust? Why should he feel it? Why should he feel anything?) to guide him, help him. Knew that she would care for him (Why are you bandaging my hand? I’m not going to get an infection. It makes me feel better. I almost lost you and this calms me a small bit.)

He followed her because he’d follow her anywhere. (Where were they, where was here? Why would he go anywhere? Who was she?) She was…she was. And that was all the animal that was Angel knew. All he needed to know.

Buffy turned to look at her house, her heart sinking. The SUV parked in the driveway was a sure sign her mother was home. A quick glance at the sky indicated that it was later than she thought, only a few hours to sunlight. Well, she had to get Angel into her room somehow.

The tree? That may have worked with the Angel of before, but Buffy doubted very much that he’d be able to climb it, especially chained as he was and naked. Oh, God, he was naked and glorious and…she had to stop these thoughts before they went any further.

It would have to be the back door, then. What a colossally stupid idea; she should have just gone to the mansion, at least he’d have room there, no one to hear him…no help for it now, they were there.

As quietly as she could Buffy opened the door, turning to make sure Angel was still with her. He was, and strangely quiet, too. The look on his face was of intense concentration as if he was trying to remember who she was and why he should go into this dwelling.

Which he couldn’t. Oops. Buffy had completely forgotten that she had revoked his invitation. What with his sudden return and all, such a mundane thing never crossed her mind.

Whispering, still in the same gentle voice, and hoping that the invitation worked when the vampire couldn’t understand you, she said, “Angel, come in.”

He didn’t move, of course, but he didn’t run, either. Progress. Moving forward, Buffy hoped that he’d continue to follow her. He did, though much more cautiously. He followed her through the kitchen, stopping now and then to sniff the air or look around in fear and alertness. She had made it up the steps, was thisclose to her room when she heard movement in her mother’s room.

And so did Angel. Who didn’t understand what it was and didn’t take it at all well. His growl was low and dangerous, and he seemed ready to strike out at whatever was lurking behind that door.

Not raising her voice, not slowing her pace or jerking to a stop, Buffy opened the door and stepped inside, allowing Angel to follow her. She smiled, hoped that he knew what it meant, and went back into the hall to call through her mother’s door.

“I’m home, everything’s all right.”

The muffled, “Good night, honey,” was all she heard before running back to her room to find Angel…gone?

Where on earth could he have gotten to so quickly? Scanning the area, which wasn’t all that big, Buffy found him curled up on the floor in the shadows by her bed. He was shivering, arms wrapped about his body, eyes closed, low growls emanating from deep within his chest.

Cautiously she approached him, not wanting to surprise him yet needing to touch him, to reassure. He opened his eyes at the contact, but didn’t move. “Angel, I have to leave for a bit. I’ll be back.”

He didn’t say anything, but Buffy didn’t expect him to. Locking the door, she exited through the window, keeping it cracked just enough to allow her to push it open when she returned. At the last minute she opened the blinds wide, so that when the sun rose it would shine into her room, but not where Angel lay on the other side of the bed.

She didn’t want to take the chance that he’d leave while she was gone. Granted, the lock on the door wouldn’t stop Angel, but it would prevent her mother from entering. It was something, she supposed.
***********
Early morning sunlight poured through the windows giving the whole library a soft, gentle quality. Giles walked in, looked around to make sure all was in order, unlocked Oz’s cage, and spotted Buffy. Sipping from the tea cup he picked-up on the way in that morning - making it himself seemed too great a feat on the few hours sleep he had actually gotten - he went to see what she was doing there, surrounded by stacks of books.

“Hey,” Buffy said, as she stretched awake. God, remind her never to fall asleep in the library chairs, not the most comfortable place.

“Hmm. Hello.” He answered, distractedly, reading some of the titles around her.

Oops. She really meant to clean it all up before anyone wandered in this morning. Thinking quickly, she tried to play it off, knowing that she really couldn’t fool her watcher. “Oh, boy. Faith and her nutty books.”

“Exploring Demon Dimensions and Mystery of Acathla.” No, clearly Giles didn’t believe her.

“Yeah! And she still listens to heavy metal; freaky deaky.” Must get away, must get away before he realizes…but she stopped only a step or two down the stairs, knowing that he didn’t buy one word of whatever had babbled out of her mouth.

“Buffy...” So, he thought, she found him. Good.

Slowly, as if pulling the words from deep within her, Buffy tried to explain. “What if... I told you that... I had a dream about Angel... and, um... it brought up some questions?”

“I'd say it was to be expected. Must have been some dream. I didn't think you knew what a card index was for.” He took another sip of his tea and waited for her to continue.

“I dreamt that he came back.” There, it was out. Sort of.

Suddenly her weight seemed too much for her legs and she sank to the step. Watching as Giles sat next to her, Buffy’s stomach sank with dread. That it was impossible, that it really was all a dream. That she had finally broken down completely and was hallucinating.

Where to begin, where to begin, “Of course. After Jenny was killed, I had dreams that she was s-still alive, that I saved her.”

He wasn’t accepting it, wasn’t going to accept that the man she loved, the one who had tortured him and killed Ms. Calendar was back. She tried one more time; “This was vivid. Really vivid. Three-dimensional, sensurround, the hills are alive...” Damn, probably not the best metaphor to use.

“Do you believe it was a prophecy?” The question held something that Buffy couldn’t place, something that said maybe, just maybe, if she told him the truth, he’d understand.

“No.” Ugh, that came out too quickly; no prophecy there, just some visuals - very intense visuals. “I-I don't know. I…I guess it just...it made me wonder.”

He didn’t answer, and Buffy decided to take the chance. “Is there a chance even? Could it happen?”

“Well, there's no record of anyone returning from a demon dimension once the... gate was closed. I-I-I can't imagine how it could happen or-or why.”

“Let's just pretend for a second that... Angel somehow found his way back to Sunnydale. What would he be like?”

Wondering why she just didn’t come right out and say it, but knowing all too well the probable reasons, Giles answered instead, “I really can't say. From what is known about that dimension, i-it would suggest a world of... brutal torment. And time moves quite differently there, so...”

“I remember.” A part of her, when she was dropped into Ken’s version of hell several weeks back, hoped that this was where Angel was, that somehow, she had been lucky enough to find him again.

When she hadn’t, when she hadn’t sensed his presence, hadn’t heard his voice or growl or actually seen him, was when she had known that wherever it was she had found herself in, it wasn’t hell. Or maybe it was; her hell involved no Angel and the constant pain and guilt that she had done that to him herself.

“So he would've been down there for hundreds of years.”

“Yes.”

“Of torture,” she finished her voice breaking.

Obviously she wasn’t going to tell him, maybe if he gave her some hope? “It would take someone of extraordinary... will and character to survive that and, uh, retain any semblance of self.” Okay, so he couldn’t lie to her, though, “Most likely, he'd be, be a monster.”

“A lost cause.” Her voice was devoid of all emotion when she said that.

“Maybe. Maybe not. In my experience, there are... two types of monster. The first, uh, can be redeemed, or more importantly, wants to be redeemed.” Much like Angel was attempting after he came to Sunnydale.

“And the second type?” She didn’t want to know, she really didn’t, but she had to.

“The second is void of humanity, cannot respond to reason... or love.” He hated saying that, but he felt he needed to. Needed to what? Warn her of the extreme uphill battle she was facing in trying to get through to Angel? Giles didn’t know.

And then something came over her, something that she had no control over, and she just had to tell someone. She had to say the words, let someone other than herself know that what she saw was real. Maybe if she said it aloud then it’d be true. “Angel’s really back. I, uh, I found him last night in the woods as I was patrolling.”

To her surprise, Giles looked less than surprised and said calmly, “Really?”

“Um, yeah.” Okay, now she was confused. She had just told her watcher that the man who had tortured him for hours was back from the hell she had sent him too, and that was his only reaction? “Giles…what’s going on? Why do you seem to already know this?”

“Have you ever heard of The Powers That Be, Buffy?” At her negative headshake, he continued, “They are the ultimate force for good; they are the ones whom recruit the warriors for our cause. They helped create the Watcher’s Council untold millennia ago.”

She still had a glazed shocked look on her face and Giles didn’t know if it was from his limited explanation or the fact that he knew about Angel or the whole thing in general. “They um, they contacted me while you were…away, and informed me that there was a way to bring Angel back, that he had a purpose to fulfill here and he couldn’t very well do so while trapped in another dimension.”

“So he really is back?” Her voice was so small, so hopeful, that Giles had to physically resist the urge to take her in his arms and hold her tightly.

“You thought otherwise?”

The eyes that met his were bright with tears and hope. “I thought I was losing my mind.”

Now he did move closer, resting a hand on her arm in whatever comfort he could give her. “No, Buffy. He’s back. I found the correct spell weeks before you came home, but I needed an anchor to bind it. Do you remember when you went to the mansion to say goodbye?”

At her dazed nod he continued, “The ring you left glowed with the love you felt for each other, it was an almost palpable sign of what you meant to each other, a few words, the right herbs…that was the night he came back.” She stared at him in shock, unable to blink or look away.

Words refused to be formed and all Buffy could do was grab Giles in a tight hug and repeat, over and over again, “Thank you, thank you, thank you…”

She pulled back, looked into his eyes. “Why? After everything he did to you, why?” She had to know.

Giles looked away from her hopeful eyes, so full of love and joy that his heart healed just a bit. “One doesn’t ignore a command from the powers, Buffy.”

“Is that the only reason?”

“No. I knew you ran-away for more than just the fight with your mother. When we found Acathla dormant, you and Angel both gone, I surmised that you had to kill him, sent him to Hell; when Willow said that she was almost positive the spell worked, I realized that you had to do so after his…restoration. I didn’t tell anyone, wasn’t my place to.”

“So all the probing about locations, about how I…killed Angel…that was for…?” She trailed off, clearly at a loss.

“You needed to talk about it, needed to get it out. Plus I needed a tangible piece of your love for him. And I got it that night.” He paused, organizing his thoughts, then, “I’m not sure that I forgive Angelus for what he did to me, Jenny, you…But I do know that we all carry our demons within us. With Angel it’s just a bit more pronounced, the evil within him. I think that it’s up to you to help him to understand the difference between that. Help him accept the good and the bad.”

Buffy threw her arms around him again, “Thank you, Giles; you have no idea what this means…thank you.”

They broke apart when Willow walked in, cheerily babbling in a terribly frightened way. And back to the crisis of the moment it was for them.

She hadn’t asked Giles to say anything, but Buffy knew that he wouldn’t. Not unless she asked him to. And she didn’t know how she felt about that just yet. It all seemed so surreal at the moment.
***********
A growl escaped him as he fought with the chains binding his wrists. How could his vision chain him up like this? He had enough of chains and refused to be bound any longer. So he fought, struggled to release himself and finally, just as he was loosening them, he felt something.

Looking around, crouching in a corner not filled with boxes and shelves Buffy had shoved to the side to make room for him, out of the way of the sunlight spreading across the floor, ready to strike out at whatever was hunting him, Angel tried to ascertain from where the danger was coming. Nothing was there. The room, the house, was deserted but for a moment he thought he saw others, the vision fighting - him? - someone else pounding on him with a stick or poker of some kind.

Shaking these things off, he lifted his head, using all his senses and…found her. He didn’t know where she was, but he knew that she was in trouble. He could smell her adrenaline pumping; hear her heart beating, feel her in his very core. Knew that she needed him.

The chains, still attached to his wrists, were forgotten in the face of this new development. She needed him and he was not about to let her down. He turned in the direction his instincts, honed by the predator and sharpened by his time…there, told him to go. He leapt out the window as if he had done so a thousand times before and raced quickly through the back roads.

He had no idea (though things looked familiar but he couldn’t figure out why) where he was or why he knew that this street was faster than that one, this alley was a dead end but that one opened up the main road. He kept going, eyes darting back and forth, nostrils flaring for the scent of her or lurking danger. Ears pricked with every little sound.

Finally he found her, something was tearing into her and he couldn’t hold back the demon, nor did he want to. She was in trouble and needed his help. So he attacked, using the hated chains to still his opponent. He felt the change come over him, growling with hatred and want and need, though he had no idea why he should feel those things.

At length the beast stopped moving, Angel’s ears no longer picked up the beat of the attacker’s heart. And he looked over at the vision. And he remembered. Just her, only her. She was the Reason he had fought so long and hard, she was everything. His mouth worked for a few moments before sound finally emerged.

“Buffy?” He said and to his own ears his voice sounded odd, hopeful (what was hope?), loving (what was love?); joyful (what was joy?). Something in him shifted back into place, something that he had known, in some deeply buried part of himself, was missing. It filled him, completed him.

What was it? How did he know it was gone? And how did he know that it was suddenly back?

And then he went to her, for to do anything else was not an option. Went to her because she was the vision he had carried with him and he knew she would never leave him now that he had her in the flesh.
~~~~~~~
He was back. She couldn’t believe it. Angel, her love, her life…was back and in her arms. Sure, there was the previous night and Giles’ explanation, but a part of her hadn’t really believed…

Shadow and light swayed with the bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling of the hellish science lab casting them in an eerie glow. Why, thought Buffy as she wrapped her arms around Angel’s head as he sobbed into her chest, How?

Thank you, Giles, thank you. Angel was back. And all the questions, all the inherent problems that could possibly arise because of his sudden return…didn’t matter. And the tears running down his cheeks, the sobs wrenched from his heart, were all echoed by her.

Everything she had tried to tell her friends and family about how she was okay, about how she was over Angel, how she, if not forgave herself, then accepted what she had to do…it was all a lie. And the truth, the one truth that Buffy knew in her very cells, was that she couldn’t ever let him go, again.

If she did, it would destroy her.

The only speech he seemed capable of was reciting her name over and over again, and frankly that was just fine with Buffy. She wrapped her arms tight about his shoulder, holding him that much closer to her as her own tears mixed with his. And murmured his name like a prayer, “Angel.”

She didn’t remember how they had made it back to her house or snuck back into her room, but somehow they did. And shortly thereafter Angel had fallen onto the floor into a fitful sleep, obviously still haunted by whatever nightmares he had endured in the hell she had sent him.

She left him for only a little while, reassuring her mother that everything was just fine she was just a little tired, to stock up on his supply of blood. Went to him finally, in the predawn hour, and held him, unable to resist the pull of him any longer. Instinctually he wrapped his arms about her, hugging her close and his shaking slowed.

And she was suddenly filled with such conviction that it almost overwhelmed her. Whatever horrors had been done to his mind could be repaired. However his soul was tortured and perverted she would make it right again. As long as he was with her then that was all that mattered, she could fix anything, everything.

The spasms stopped and he seemed to relax with her there. He had yet to say anything other than her name, but Buffy was confident that she could bring him back. After all, he had come back to her from the dead and that was the hard part. The rest, whatever it was, they could deal with. They had to; she couldn’t live without him again.
************
Scott. She had forgotten all about Scott. He was a nice normal boy who genuinely seemed to like and enjoy her company and what on earth was she going to do now? She had told him that the reason for her sudden spacey-ness was due to problems at home. It wasn’t exactly a lie; Angel wasn’t really a problem, but he was at home.

Her friends didn’t know about Angel’s return, only Giles. If she broke up with Scott, then they’d know. If she continued seeing him, it would be an affront to Angel and everything they once shared. But why should she care about her friend’s opinions? And did she want that so called normal life and could she even have it…?

These thoughts ran round and round in her head as she tried to concentrate on the conversation flowing around her. Scott, Angel, friends, Giles, Giles, Angel, Angel, Angel. Everything always came back to him.

He was getting better, she could tell. Words, sentences were slow in forming, but they were coming along. The days were the worse, though. Whatever he endured…there, whatever she had forced him to endure, it haunted him worse when he was asleep.

Buffy tired to be there for him as much as she could, but school took up so much of her time. And now that her mother knew about the slaying, it was harder to sneak around her. And she was worried about Angel alone in her room for such long periods though he seemed to recognize his surrounding now and knew when her mother was home. She tried, really, but she was so scared.

“What are you afraid of?” Giles had asked on night when Buffy could no longer hold everything in and inadvertently let that slip.

“Of my feelings. I mean I loved him so much, I still do, but it’s hard to see him like this, hard to know that the reason he’s like this is because of me. Because I sent him there. I’m afraid that when he’s better he’ll resent me that he’ll blame me for the torture he’s had to endure. I’m afraid that everything Angelus said was true and that Angel never really wanted me. I’m afraid that he’ll never get better.” By the end of this she was sobbing uncontrollably.

Giles could do nothing but take her in his arms and hold her as she babbled and sobbed. He tried to reassure her, but doubted she heard much of what he said. Tried to comfort her, but what were words in the face of everything that now stood before them?

Now, as Xander and Cordelia continued their verbal sparring, Buffy’s thoughts turned to the previous night. The conversation was way worse than the one the night before when she had blurted out that she had a boyfriend and he made her laugh and what on earth had possessed her to say those things to him? But last night…was worse.

She had brought his daily supply of blood, knowing that he didn’t yet feel comfortable going in public. Buffy could see how much he wanted, craved the smell, the taste. And wondered yet again what they had done to him in hell. “Go ahead, it’s okay.”He did so, but turned away from her not wanting her to see this other side of him. “I remember.” The words had been spoken hesitatingly, as if they physically hurt him to say them.

And Buffy stopped her haphazard nervous cleaning, breath catching, heart pounding. “Remember?”Angel’s head tilted to the side as though he could hear the unspoken feelings in her words. “Why are you suddenly nervous?” The question was blunt and real, where the Angel of before would have known the reason; reaffirming her belief that his time in hell had destroyed - changed? - something in him, that she had been the cause.

“Because of your next words. Because I think I was fooling myself that this could be like it used to be. Because I can’t ever be what you want me to be and because we can’t ever be together…like we used to be.”

“I…” Angel stopped, not knowing what to say to that. He didn’t yet know how to tell her everything. “Um, why you did it. I remember what I did, you, Giles. I know why you stopped me. I was going to destroy the world.” He stopped, gathering his thoughts. But it wasn’t like he used to, like he was carefully avoiding those words/thoughts/feelings that might hurt her, instead it was as if he was trying to remember how to put thoughts and feelings into words.

It had only been a few weeks; Buffy couldn’t really expect anything else though this was the most he had spoken since his return. In fact, she was amazed at the progress he had made; it was nothing short of astounding and added another layer to her love for him.

“I don’t blame you.”

Those may have been the last words she had expected to hear from him. Second only to ‘I still love you’ and right above ‘My time in Hell turned me human.’ So it was perfectly natural that she stuttered, “U-um, w-w-what?  You don’t? Why not?” She blamed herself.

The smile he sent her was full of understanding and love and uncertainty and Buffy’s heart broke all over again. “I remembered…what I was, the look on your face…what it cost you. The way you move now…you keep a part of yourself away from me.” And again, his words were halting and uneven.

“I-I thanks. No, I mean, don’t. I don’t deserve your forgiveness.” She saw that he was about to object and did what she did best in these circumstances. She fled. But not far enough or fast enough to hear the animalistic cry of pain and fear and loss emanating from her lover.

So here she was, sitting in the school library surrounded by her friends…all alone. And belatedly thanking whatever god listened to the prayers of a slayer for her vampire lover that her mother had still been at the gallery during that horrible conversation. A piece of herself was still with Angel; a piece was trapped in the pits of hell. And she didn’t know how to get either back; didn’t know if she wanted Angel to give back the piece he still held.
~~~~~~~
Scott saw her and decided that now was as good a time as any. After her weird no-show at the Homecoming Dance, (He: Where have you been? In a fight? Buffy: Um, no, the limo… Cordelia: It took a wrong turn. Buffy: And then broke down. They went on to explain some very twisted and long explanation for their tardiness, and while their friends seemed to accept this, Scott wasn’t so sure.)

So now, as he saw her walking towards him with such a far off look in her eyes that he knew she didn’t see him, Scott decided that now was the time to end it.

“Buffy, hi.”

“Scott!” And the word was infused with surprise, relief and guilt. She had been, once again, wrapped up in thoughts of Angel. It wasn’t fair to Scott; it certainly wasn’t fair to her. As for Angel…Buffy had no idea where that whole situation stood.

And then Scott was saying something to her, something about not seeing each other anymore. About how before they had started dating that she had seemed so alive and full of energy and vigor. About how he didn’t seem to know her any longer.

Buffy had to restrain herself from agreeing with that last point. No one knew her, only Angel and she wasn’t so sure of that any longer. So she stood there, stunned and speechless. And did nothing to stop him as he walked away. But she was none too surprised to feel relief at his departure.

What a small dent he had made in her life.
~~~~~~~~~
And what was the first thing she had done? Run straight to Angel, only to open her bedroom door to find him…exercising? That was a new and big step forward and Buffy didn’t know what to make of it. God he was beautiful, graceful, each motion fluid, flowing into the next movement without a break, without a pause.

His muscles rippled with each stretch and arch and Buffy’s throat was suddenly dry. God she wanted him. Maybe they shouldn’t have made love, for reasons other than the obvious. If she hadn’t known what she was missing, maybe she wouldn’t want him so badly now.

Soon he would no longer need her, would he even want her? Did he ever even want her? Angelus’ words rang through her mind, but she forcibly tuned them out. Angel had never lied to her about how much he loved her, wanted her. Angelus…well, who know what went on in that twisted mind; maybe he wanted her, too, but refused to admit that he could love a human.

Buffy mentally laughed at that thought; not bloody likely. And it seemed that Angel had heard her mental laugh, for he raised his head to see her standing there; watching him with a look of longing in her eyes.
“Buffy.” He was surprised that he hadn’t felt her presence, but then realized that he had, only chosen to ignore it. Being with her, even for a few minutes brought too much pain. He was in enough; more was simply inconceivable.

She looked down briefly; disconcerted at being caught watching him but then smiled, looked back at him. “I didn’t know you could do that.” Her hand fluttered, indicating his Tai Chi.

It was the briefest glimpse of a small smile as he straightened up from his hunched stance. “I-I’m feeling better.” He said, trying to ease her obvious fears for his health and not knowing what else to say. But the weakness in his limbs was too much and he bent back over trying to support himself with his hands on his knees.

Buffy, of course, rushed right to his aid, never able to stand to see him in pain. “Angel...” She trailed off as she helped him stand up. “Why don’t you sit down?”The room was warm, the blinds were drawn and Buffy tried to keep the portable heater she had bought when Angel returned on all the time, but still he shivered. Worried, Buffy picked up a small paper bag as they passed the nightstand, hoping that feeding would help.

“It’s late. Where were you?” He was sitting now, and couldn’t be more grateful, though he cursed the weakness still plaguing him.

She waved it off, “Latest big bad. It’s always something in this town, you know.”Confused, Angel merely looked at her, unsure what to say to that, “Oh,” and leaned against her headboard.“How are you feeling?” She moved closer just as he leaned forward to adjust his position against the pillows. They both realize at the same time what a colossally bad idea that was, and Buffy leaned back with a sigh. Angel watched her as she moved away, and asked, “How is, uh... Scott?” The name stuck in his throat, causing the demon within to howl in rage and jealously.

“Scott?” Who? Oh, right. “Oh, um... boyfriend Scott. Uh...a-actually, he’s...” She had forgotten in the few moments she had been with Angel, that there was an outside world. “No Scott. He…isn’t in my life anymore.”Angel nodded, and leaned forward again, capturing her chin in his hand. He didn’t say anything, merely looked in her eyes for a long moment. Satisfied that she was perfectly all right with that, he let go and leaned back again. Indicating the bag she left next to him, she changed the subject. “Uh, that’s for you.”

As Angel reached for it, Buffy added, “Uh... I-it’s fresh from the butcher.”

“Thanks.” And took the container out, opening the lid. The smell was overpowering and he almost couldn’t control the change as he took that first sip. He still felt odd, feeding in front of Buffy, but she didn’t seem to mind and he was so hungry. “You’re being careful, right?” The question was so abrupt that Buffy was caught completely off guard. “Careful?”

“With the slaying.” He clarified as he walked across the hall to brush his teeth. She may not have minded, but he did for her.

“Oh.” And was that relief or embarrassment in her voice? “Uh... Yeah. Of course.” Her head didn’t seem to be attached to the rest of her body any more, for it was bouncing up and down like a simpleton. “Full of carefulness.” She clarified as he walked back into her room, shutting the door behind him.

“I worry about you.” It was as close as either of them had come to saying how much they still cared.

“I worry about you.” She countered, accepting his words as much as the feeling behind them.

And because of that feeling, because he still cared for her above all others, the next words out of his mouth hurt. “I'm getting stronger.”

“Yeah, pretty soon, you won't even need me.” She tried to cover the hurt beneath her joy at his wellness but wasn’t so sure she succeeded.

Angel wanted to agree, almost did, was so close to saying something stupid along those lines, but, as he sat back down on the bed next to her, found that he couldn’t. “I’ll always need you.” “Really?” Her voice squeaked with hope and joy. Clearing her throat, she tried again, “Um, I mean, good, I-I need you, too. Always.”She leaned forward, not really sure how she had gotten so close to Angel, but he was there and she was there and they just had to touch…now. The pull between them was overwhelming and Buffy could no longer ignore it.

The first touch of their lips was electric. Nothing had changed between them; the passion that was always an undercurrent in their relationship sparked to life and before long Buffy’s tongue was tracing his lips, his perfect, sweet lips.

Hands moved slowly upwards, tracing bone and sinew, before wrapping around his neck, keeping him close. He pulled her even closer, almost roughly, in the intense need to feel all of her, now. Buffy straddled him, leaning backwards a little and allowing Angel more access to her body.

One hand left her waist to travel the familiar yet new path over her stomach and up to her breast. Long fingers massaged the straining nipple through her sweater before sliding under the material to touch the flesh.

The whimper she gave at this contact was swallowed by his mouth as his other hand moved to divest her of the top. Buttons and clasps were swiftly undone and soon she was bare before him. Trailing his mouth from hers downwards, Buffy leaned back in his embrace as Angel reacquainted himself with the taste and feel and scent of his lover’s skin.

As his mouth closed over the peak, Buffy cried out his name, and hearing her voice, suddenly pulled away. “Stop, we, we have to…stop.” She said it in a gasp, her eyes, her body betraying her.

Angel pulled away instantly, his unnecessary breath coming hard and fast. His hands clenched in denial before releasing her and she scrambled off the bed.

“I’m sorry.” They both stammered out simultaneously, now regarding each other from across the room.

Finally Angel stood, moving towards the window as if to leave. “I should go.”

“No!” Though the thought of him leaving seemed best, Buffy couldn’t let him. She wanted him too much, needed him, and if they were to have any kind of relationship of any kind, then they needed to sort these things out. “It’s late and, um, and you’re still not at full strength. I, we, it, hmm, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Buffy…” But what could he say? He wasn’t at full strength and didn’t know where to go anyway. He could still smell her arousal and it clawed at him with a fierceness that was all too familiar. Flashes of their one perfect (in more ways than one) night together stopped whatever he was about to say.

At length Angel nodded, “All right.” And then, in a drastic change of subject, “Does, um, does anyone else know I’m back?”

Buffy visibly relaxed. For a moment she was afraid that if she let him leave then he’d walk out of her life and never return. The thought filled her with a bone depth fear and sorrow. She lost him once; she wasn’t sure what a second time would do to her.

“Giles. Actually, it’s a funny story. Let me get changed and I’ll tell you all about it.”
~~~~~~~
Angel lay on the floor looking up at her as she leaned over the bed, relating the events that brought him to this point; the curse Jenny had found, Willow recasting it, the fight at the mansion, her time in LA, bringing him back from Hell. He was silent for a while, digesting everything. He could tell Buffy was getting worried when too much time had passed and he still hadn’t figure out what to say.

“Oh.” Seemed good, but she looked at him expectantly and he felt he should try for something more. “Um, so it was your claddagh ring that brought me back?” For some reason that was the detail that Angel kept returning to: the ring he had given her in love and commitment and had been the ultimate symbol of what they shared…had released him from the pits of Hell and returned him to her.

The irony was not lost on him.

“Yeah. Giles said that it shone with the love we shared.” Her voice was quiet, some of that love seeping through despite her best efforts. Then, more brightly, “Some herbs, some words, and poof, you’re back.” And the crushing guilt had in no way dissipated with that wonderful miracle. “And, um, I don’t know why I forced you to stay here; you probably hate me now, knowing that I’m the one to send you there…to Hell in the first place and never even tried to find a way to bring you back.”

She drew breath to say more, but Angel stopped her by pulling her down onto the floor with him and wrapping his arms tightly around her. The first sob broke free of her tight hold and she was soon crying uncontrollably. “It was all my fault. I should have tried harder; I should have gotten there sooner. If only I had known…I’m sorry, Angel, I’m sorry, I don’t know how you can ever forgive me, I killed the only person in the world I ever loved and I never tried to find a way to bring you back. I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

“Shh, love, shh, it’s okay, it’ll all be all right. I don’t hate you, I never could. You did what you had to do; you did the only thing that you could do. I saw the look on your face, remember. You were heartbroken. It looked like you had died…at first I didn’t understand, but as soon as I did, I knew that you had no choice. It was either my life or the world’s. Not really a choice at all.”

He continued to stroke her hair, whispering soothing words in a language she didn’t consciously understand, but knew were words of love and forgiveness. Eventually her tears stopped and she lay there, ensconced in her lover’s arms, safe, loved, home. “But how could you not hate me? I can barely stand myself.”

Placing a tender kiss on her forehead, Angel smiled at her, “Because I love you. You didn’t have a choice. I understand that. What I can’t understand is why you took me back in after everything I’ve done to you…” He trailed off, the pain and guilt from those months weighing heavily upon his shoulders.

Buffy caught his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. There was pain there, but love as well and she felt a small piece of her heart begin to mend. “Because I love you, too. Because even after everything, even then, I couldn’t stop loving you. The hardest thing I ever had to do was thrust that sword into you. The easiest thing I ever did was love you.”

And this time, when their lips met, it was in healing. Soft and cleansing, it mended rifts and started the process that would restore what they had once had. Angel felt his soul, burdened with pain and grief and guilt, lighten just a little.

Later, still safely wrapped in each other’s arms but now in Buffy’s bed (maybe not the smartest thing they could have done but much more comfortable than the floor), Angel said, “I think I should talk with Giles. Seems only right, thank him and such for bringing me back even after everything I’ve done to him…after everything he’s done for he, for you, for us.”

“Are you sure?” Buffy turned in his arms, to look at him.

“It’s the least I can do. Plus, I should probably reassure him that what happened last year, with the two of us, won’t happen again.” It hurt to say, knowing that they would never again be intimate, never again feel the joy and ecstasy in each other’s arms. But Angel would gladly give up those precious, wonderful memories if it meant the horror he had inflicted on those he loved and the torment (though that seemed only just for what he had done) he had survived in Hell never existed.

The glow of the crescent moon watched over them as they fell asleep in each other’s arms, content for the first time in months. Knowing that the other was safe and here and they were together. The rising sun shone brightly around them, never penetrating their haven, promising a bright new day.

Promising them a future.
~~~~~~~~
To say Angel was nervous was like saying a blue whale was just another mammal not the largest animal ever to grace the earth. It was amazing, he thought to himself as he approached the apartment that held the man he had so much to thank for…and so much to make up to. Here he was, over two centuries old, (plus all that time in hell) and he was as nervous as if he were approaching his first day of school.

Or the Spanish Inquisition.

Vaguely he wondered if writing it on a note and slipping it under the door qualified as a ‘talk.’ And he wondered how much conversation they could have with him on one side of the door and Giles, most likely holding a sword to his neck, on the other. Literally.

Taking a deep unnecessary breath, he knocked.  It opened almost immediately and Angel would have thought that Buffy had warned Giles of his visit except for the utter shock on the other man’s face. “Erm, Angel.”

No welcome there, no ‘please come in.’ And didn’t it just figure, he was holding a fencing rapier. Well, he hadn’t really expected a happy welcome, so he started on his semi-prepared but nonetheless heartfelt, speech.

“Giles…I, um, just wanted to say that I’m sorrier than you can ever know for what I did last year, to you, to Buffy, to Jenny. I’d say that it wasn’t me, but we’d both know that’s not entirely true.”

The other man said nothing, staring at Angel as if he’d grown three heads and they were all purple. And, considering this was the Hellmouth, it wasn’t entirely inconceivable. Resigned, Angel finished, “And I wanted to thank you. For watching over Buffy afterwards, for helping her after I was…gone. For bringing me back though you have the least reason to want me here.”

Still Giles said nothing, just continued to stare at Angel as if he were an annoying door-to-door salesman. Nodding his head as if this was exactly what he expected, and it was, Angel turned to walk away.

“Angel. Would you like to come in?”
~~~~~~~~~
Dazed and confused, Angel walked out of Giles’ apartment not really sure of where he was going. Okay, that conversation went nothing like Angel expected. For one, he wasn’t a big pile of dust. And for another, it seemed as if Giles…had not forgiven Angel, but they were making progress towards it. Angel hoped that they could find what they once had, the friendship they had once shared.

It was weird and Angel’s one thought was to find Buffy and tell her what had just happened. As he wandered the streets of Sunnydale, he replayed parts of the conversation.

‘There are two parts to every person, good and evil; Angelus was the embodiment of everything evil that your soul, the good portion of you, keeps in check. With no counter balance, the evil overpowered you and…not won, but existed fully, with no checks and balances.’

‘Hell was nothing like you read about in the books, it’s a thousand, thousand times worse.’

‘Buffy and I…what happened before won’t happen again. Now that we know the consequences.’ And of course those consequences couldn’t include something simple like pregnancy, could they? Oh, no, it involved him losing his soul and killing everyone around him.

‘Er, okay,’ Giles said gamely then paused when Angel said nothing more, ‘Why not?’ And he seemed honestly perplexed.

Startled, more than a little baffled at that question, Angel said slowly just in case he had tortured Giles a bit too much and the other man now suffered from select amnesia. ‘Curse, one moment of true happiness…Giles are you okay?’

‘Didn’t Buffy tell you? Um, no, wait…’ He was quiet then, apparently searching his memory. ‘Um, oh, dear, that may be completely my fault. I had thought to tell her, but I guess it slipped my mind. What with all the explanations on how you came back and why and…I’m really sorry for that, Angel.’

Which helped Angel none at all. ‘Oh, okay. Good, good…what?’

‘The curse, Angel. The Powers That Be thought that such a flimsy shackle should be strengthened. Seems rather preposterous for your curse to have such a loophole; those gypsies really should have thought it out a tad better. Plus they, the Powers, didn’t want one of their greatest warriors to be lost to them again; you have a destiny to fulfill, Angel, you’re going to need your soul for it. You have no idea how much trouble it was to find you, find the spell to bring you back, and alter it to fit your circumstances.’

‘Oh.’ And that was the last thing that Angel had said. Giles had gone on to explain the details, the preparation, the ritual that took place before he had followed Buffy to the mansion, but Angel only heard parts of it.

His mind was filled to overflowing with the knowledge that he was worthy of being a warrior to such a noble cause, that he was needed, and that Buffy and he could be together in every way imaginable. And the images that flashed through his mind were pretty damn imaginable.

Then, of course, came the obligatory lecture from Giles about safety and responsibility. Buffy was still so young and that Angel should have been the one capable of saying ‘no’ to her. And, yes, he understood the situation and what not, (though he obviously preferred not to dwell on it) but the simple fact remained that…and on and on.

Angel appreciated it, really, and to an extent he agreed with the other man. But his simple fact, simple truth, was that Buffy was everything to him. She was his destiny. So he reassured Giles that he would be more careful in the future (though how Giles could possibly think that, now that his soul was firmly encased in his body, was beyond Angel.)

But as he walked out the door, still more than slightly dazed, Angel heard the Watcher say, ‘Right, Rupert. And everything you just said to him didn’t even make a dent. Well, at least high school pregnancy is out of the question.’

‘Angel!’ When the vampire turned, Giles smiled. ‘I should have just saved my breath, shouldn’t I?’ Angel said nothing, for what was there to say? But Giles seemed to understand and nodded. ‘Just…be careful. She’s still very young; I don’t want her hurt.’

So now he walked aimlessly, following the bond that they had always shared to her, only to find himself in front of her house. Assuming that Buffy was inside, Angel slipped into the shadows and began walking around to the tree that led to her room. Suddenly he stopped, because he knew, through feeling and hearing, that she wasn’t inside, but standing on her porch.

And she was talking with someone, a boy that Angel didn’t recognize. Laughing, nodding, she looked to be having a good time. And the flash of jealously that swept through him shook Angel to the core. Rage, anger, jealously, possessiveness, lust, love all swept through him and the demon howled along with the soul.

But then she was looking around, frowning. The boy said something else, but Buffy shook her head, and responded though Angel couldn’t make anything out over the roar of his stolen blood, and leaned over and kissed him.

And that was when Angel lost it. Only years of semi-remembered training and mediation kept him from flying through the yard, forcing the boy off of her (the boy who was standing at least 18 inches away from Buffy) and beating him to a bloody, unrecognizable - dead - pulp. As it were, he growled, deep in his throat, and leapt over to where they were standing.

He grabbed the boy (for he couldn’t have been older than 17), and threw him (though he was still no where near touching her) off his mate. Stalking the few paces to where the boy had landed, Angel leaned down, grabbed him by the scruff of his scrawny little neck, resisted the urge to snap it, and growled, “Stay away from her. If I ever see you near her again, you had better run.”

He released the boy’s collar, watching him fall back onto the soft springy grass, clutching his broken wrist, blood flowing from his nose, whimpering like a child, and whirled to face Buffy. She was staring at him wide eyed and opened mouthed. Her mouth worked for a few seconds as if she was trying to say something, but nothing came out. She was still standing there, dumbfounded, when Angel disappeared into the shadows.

Buffy, snapping out of her shock (did Angel just throw Scott against the tree?) and raced inside, (did Angel just get super-vamp jealous and attack Scott?) and up to her room. When she slammed into her house, glad that her mother, once again, was busy at the gallery, and raced upstairs, she didn’t expect to find Angel packing what little belongings he had there.

“What are you doing?” Shock made this the first thing out of her mouth despite her intense need to know what in hell he thought he was doing to Scott, playing shadow of the night avenger.

“I’d forgotten you’d moved on. I had foolishly assumed…” He stopped. If the boy (that puny whelp) was whom she wanted, then Angel wouldn’t stop her. He wouldn’t stay and watch, but he wouldn’t stop her.

“Moved on? What? Scott?” She was making no sense to herself and could only imagine what it sounded like to him.

Angel turned to face her. “Oh, so that was Scott? The one you were no longer seeing?” His tone was snide, almost rude, but the emotions still seethed through him and he couldn’t stop himself.

And then something snapped inside of him. Fuck that. If Buffy wanted to move on then she’d have to tell him to his face. He wasn’t running. She was his and he’d be damned (again and again) if he’d let her go that easily.

He stood toe to toe with her in one stride, yanking her flush against him. The boiling anger, the jealously, all directed towards that pathetic boy, clawed in Angel’s gut and he felt the change come over him. He couldn’t stop it; in this the demon and the soul were one: Buffy was his and no one touched her.

“You’re mine, do you hear me? No one else touches you.” His lips were mere inches from hers, his eyes bore into her.

Mesmerized, Buffy could do nothing for a moment, then his words penetrated the haze - the shocked, startled, and definite sexual haze - that clouded her brain and she jerked back. “Don’t you tell me that! I’m my own person; I belong to no one. And if I want to talk with Scott, then I’ll damn well talk to him.” Although at the moment, she couldn’t remember one word she said to him. “And don’t go all macho one me, telling me that. Who do you think you are?”

She would never admit it to anyone, but his words sparked something deep and primal within her, arousing her like nothing else had before. Anger, not at Angel’s words but at his actions with Scott, warred with the desire for him that always ran just beneath the surface. And multiplied exponentially at his caveman display.

She vaguely wondered at herself, never figuring on going for that whole possessive routine. But then she didn’t care because the feelings roiling through her were too intense to ignore, allowing no other thought in but, Angel. Nothing else mattered; her world had shrunk to include only him. And he was all hers.

Buffy could tell that he was about to say something, positive it was along the lines of more macho crap, she grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him, vampire change aside. God, it had been so long. Elongated teeth or not, Angel’s kiss tasted like no other.

Had she really thought that she could enjoy Scott’s kiss? Had he really thought that she’d be satisfied with another? Foolish, the both of them were just plain foolish when it came to the other.

It was hard and passionate, and her tongue didn’t slip into his mouth so much as thrust in, scrapping against his jagged teeth and she tasted her own blood. The taste didn’t make her stop, but pushed her farther, and Buffy ran it purposely over and over his irregular canines, until Angel pulled away.

“What are you doing?” But he was breathless (funny that he didn’t need to breathe yet found he couldn’t catch it) and the question didn’t come out as a demand but as a gasp for more, to please not stop.

“Um, I-I-I don’t know. What are you doing?” God it had felt wonderful. And then Buffy remembered how they had gotten into this place to begin with and demanded, “And what do you think you were doing with Scott?”

And that was all the reminder Angel needed. He grabbed her again, pulling her off her feet and crushed his mouth to hers. He didn’t give her room to maneuver, breath to protest, or time to think. Not that she was fighting him in any way, if the shredding of his shirt was any indication, her hands gripping and bruising his cool flesh, her legs wrapping tight around his waist as she ground into his erection.

Buffy heard her sweater tear, felt the cool air caress her flushed skin a moment before Angel’s equally cool hands touched her, inflaming her all over again. Her thoughts were muddled; all she knew was him, the taste, the feel, the scent. All she wanted was him. She felt him change, felt the rigid bumps of his forehead smooth out into his human visage as his mouth closed over her nipple, sucking on the engorged point.

A whimper was all she could manage and even that became a breathless gasp when his cool tongue moved over her flesh, to the valley between her breasts, and circled the other nipple. Hands fisted in his hair and she rocked against him, urging him to continue.

They crashed backwards onto the bed, bounced once but never broke apart before Angel flipped them over so he could continue his feast upon her heated flesh. He fumbled for only a moment at the snap of her pants, but regained momentum as he pushed them down. He paused for an instant, breathed in the scent of her arousal, the sound of his name on her lips before resuming his journey.

His hands smoothed up her stomach as his mouth found the opening of her desire, and he tasted her. Memories of their last - their only - time together assaulted him but he pushed them back. This was new; this was different. This was his, all his. And if there was a small lingering doubt in the back of his mind as to the prudence of this despite Giles’ words, then he ignored it.

Around the outside of her soft pink flesh, he flicked his tongue, teasing, her, before entering her. She bucked against him, winding her legs tightly against his head to keep him from moving; calling out his name as her hands clutched the bed sheets so hard her knuckles turned white.

She whimpered in protest as he left her center, pushing her legs into the mattress, moving lips over hip and belly. Suddenly he leaned forward, his body draped over hers, “Buffy, look at me.” And his voice was not soft and gentle as it had been that first night, but demanding; ragged with desire, need, want, and love.

She couldn’t resist, her eyes wild, glazed with love and desire, desperate for more, for all, locked on his.

“You are mine, do you hear me?” And his mouth descended on her again, bruising and possessive.

“Angel, please…” Her body hummed from his touch, begged him for more. He wasn’t abusive, never hurting her. But he refused to give over control, refused her the release she craved. The release she wanted only with him.

Her hands moved up his chest; nails scrapped down his back leaving long welts along the way to clutch his ass, pulling his against her. Finding the fly of his pants, she quickly undid them, shoved them down as far as she could reach, before grasping the cool flesh underneath. His erection sprang free of the confines allowing Buffy to caress him as her mouth trailed down his neck relishing the taste and feel of his smooth, cool skin.

She flipped them over for better access before attacking him with her hands and mouth. Her lips latched onto the artery throbbing in his neck, worrying it between her teeth before moving slowly downwards. As her lips closed over his penis, she felt his hands convulse in her hair, her name fall from his lips.

Suddenly it was too much for Angel to handle; it had been an eternity since he had last held his love in his arms, last tasted her passion scented skin. Anger still beat in his veins, jealously still clouded his mind, and he did the only thing he could do.

Pulling her up and flipping them over, he pressed Buffy into the mattress, pinning her to the bed with one hand as the other trailed down her back causing her to arch, purring his name in sweet pleasure. Growling into her ear, “Mine, you are mine, always,” Angel slid his hand under her, lifting her perfect rounded ass into the air.

Thrusting into her as deep as he could go, desperate to go deeper, to somehow merge with her and never leave. Relishing her gasp of pleasure, the tightening of her inner muscles around him. In and out he moved as his long fingers found her flash point of desire. She met him thrust for thrust, as he set the pace, hard and fast.

He was too far gone, seeped completely into her. All he knew was her, all he could hear, smell, taste, touch. Watching as she reared up on her arms, head flipped back, hair trailing down her long curved spine, Angel couldn’t control himself. Faster and harder and she met him with every beat. He pulled her up, her back to his front, never letting up the pace.

Pulling his head around to hers, she kissed him, long and hard. Allowing him access to her neck, as if she instinctively knew that that was what he wanted. She never thought to protest, never thought to deny him this. His face changed, and the growl that emerged from him sent Buffy flying over the first edge of bliss.

“Mine,” he growled as his teeth sank, slowly and gently, in direct contrast to his thrusting, into the soft flesh of her neck.

“Yes, always.” She finally gasped. And her entire body convulsed around him, her climax shuddering through her in never ending pounding waves.

Angel’s own release burst from him, and he howled her name before finally collapsing onto her.

Long, long minutes later, using what remaining energy he had, Angel rolled off of her, gathering her close in his arms, and heard her content whisper, “And you are mine, my Angel -always.”

Buffy was on the verge of falling asleep when their actions suddenly registered with her. Jerking awake from her pleasant position in Angel’s arms, she cried out, “Oh, my God, Angel! What have we done?”

“Hmm, what?” What was she talking about? Oh, right, he hadn’t bothered to tell her Giles’ story in his rush to claim her as his. Sane thought never entered the equation. “Giles fixed everything, baby. It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”

Satisfied that everything was okay, that her newly returned lover wasn’t leaving her again, and that tomorrow was soon enough for explanations, Buffy fell asleep in Angel’s arms. The only place she ever wanted to be.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The sun was shining brightly against the window, but the inhabitants inside felt none of it. Sometime during the night Angel had grabbed the bedspread off the floor, from where they had shoved it in the haste of their mating, and wrapped them in its warmth. Now he lay on his side, watching Buffy sleep.

Gently he removed a stray hair from her cheek, caressing the skin as he did so. So soft, so smooth. He worried that he had hurt her; worried that he had drank too much from her. But she smiled at him now, reassuring him that she was okay.

“Now this is a sight I could get used to.” Buffy said as she stretched awake. Leaning over to kiss Angel, she sighed and laid her head against his smooth chest. “Good morning, Angel.”

“Morning.” He took a deep, unnecessary breath, and asked the question that had been plaguing him since he awoke, “Did I hurt you last night? I’m so sorry. I never should have let things get that out of control, let myself lose control like that.”

Buffy raised her head and, seeing the worry and fear in her lover’s eyes, gently took his beloved face in her hands and kissed him quiet. “Angel, honey, you’re babbling. Something I never thought to say to you.” The smile she sent him was short lived.

“You didn’t hurt me; I know that you really couldn’t.” He, Angel, could never hurt her. Angelus, the embodiment of everything evil, had tried but did so only indirectly. Maybe someday, if Angel was willing, Buffy would ask him why that was. But for now she needed to reassure him that she was just fine, that they were fine, and that now, nothing could stand in their way. “It was…oddly exciting. Not just the sex part, though that was absolutely amazing, mind blowingly so, but the…other, too.”

She was reluctant to put voice to what had transpired between them, unsure how Angel would react. The first time they had made love, it was slow and thoughtful, with Angel taking his time careful not to hurt her. This time was completely different. Not that Angel was out to hurt her, but that he wasn’t as careful not to hurt her. He was natural, she supposed, he was Angel.

“Buffy, what I did to you was inexcusable. I used you like some…and I drank from you.” The words were stuck in his throat and he didn’t know how to force them out, the shame was so great. His fingers - long and hesitant - found their way to the mark on her neck, newly closed.

“Angel, listen to me.” She waited until his eyes once again met hers. “I love you. You love me. And you could never do anything that would purposely hurt me. I know this for a fact. You didn’t use me; I was a willing participant, remember. The drinking part? I…” She blushed at this and closed her hand over the fingers still caressing her neck, “I really enjoyed. Maybe, sometime…but that’s not the point, must stay on topic here.”

But Angel’s eyes widened. He could smell her arousal just as she was thinking of the previous night, see the darkening of her eyes, hear her heart pick up its beat. And it amazed him. And aroused him as well.

“However, that little display of jealous macho man? Don’t try it again.” Then she kissed him, softly and gently, as if to erase the months (years, centuries, eons) they were apart, the hurt and pain they had endured.

He smiled as she pulled back, but grabbed the back of her neck to stop her when she was only inches away. “Jealously or no, I don’t like the thought of other men touching you. And you kissed him.” His voice had lowered to a growl by the end.

“Kissed him?” Exasperated, Buffy blew out a breath. “My lips touched his for a moment less than a second. Somehow I don’t think that warrants throwing him halfway across the street, causing him bodily harm.”

“It does in my book.” And he captured her lips again, running a hand possessively down her back to cup her bottom as he did so. “What can I say, I’m old fashioned. I don’t want my lover touching anyone else.”

Buffy was about to say something to that when Angel smiled and kissed her again, effectively cutting her off. He knew that they’d eventually talk about that, among a few other hundred things, but for now he just wanted to revel in the feel of her. Much like he had wanted to do the morning after the first time they had made love. “What time do you have to be to school?”

Buffy broke away, breathless. “Too soon. Plus I told the guys I’d talk to them before hand. I think it’s time to explain about your return. And now, about you and me.” She smiled again, and this time the kiss lasted longer and it was harder to pull away.

They probably wouldn’t have if not for the frantic pounding on the door followed a scant moment later by the crashing opening of it (hadn’t they locked it the night before? Oops, no, not in all the…excitement.) Jumping apart, still covered by the quilt, they lay there, frozen.

In the doorway stood Willow and Xander, Oz and Cordelia just behind them and her mother behind them. They all had equal looks of shock and bewilderment on their faces, followed quickly by betrayal and fear.

Oh, dear.
~~~~~~~~~
Several hours, one missed school day, a visit from Giles and a loooong explanation later, Buffy and Angel walked hand in hand down the darkened street. Okay, so her friends had jumped to conclusions when they heard about Scott’s explanation and description as to how he came to be in this condition.

Years of fighting the forces of hell, including her lover, did that to a person. So the ‘Angel was back and obviously evil’ verdict wasn’t too far fetched, despite the certainty (by Willow) that the restoration spell had worked.

And if they didn’t happily accept everything, then Buffy was confidant that they would. Eventually. They just needed some time. A lot of it.

“Are you worried?”

“No. Yes. No, not really. I mean, truthfully, it’s not really their business what I do or whom I do it with. Yeah, I would love for them to accept you, but I know that’s not going to happen over night. They don’t love you. It’s not as easy for them.”

She pulled him over to a low stone wall, sitting astride his lap as she continued. “Xander only wants what’s best for me, he doesn’t think anyone is good enough and you being, well, you, that’s just more against you. He’ll come around. And if not, then that’s too bad. I love you and I want you in my life. It’s not Xander’s choice. Willow wants me happy. You make me happy, ergo, Willow will be happy for me. Oz is a pretty easygoing guy and I think he understood and accepted Giles’ explanation of the curse and whatnot. As for Cordelia…she’s Cordy. What more can I say?”

But Angel wasn’t fooled. He knew her, knew how upset her friend’s accusations made her, what their love and support meant. And her mother…Joyce hadn’t taken the whole thing too well. It hadn’t helped that they needed to provide some serious back-story that no one had bothered to fill her in on before.

But there was no staking, no holy water, no throwing into the sunlight, and no Buffy being thrown out of her house or committed to an asylum. All in all, not a terribly horrible day. But now that everyone knew where Angel was staying, he had decided to move back into the mansion, despite the memories there.

It was really the only place for him to go. Some light, a good dusting, a new bed, the place would be livable for the both of them. And that was where they were headed now; in fact, they were only about a hundred yards from the garden.

“And your mother?”

Damn the man, how was it that with three little words he could cut right to the heart of the problem? “She’ll come around. She, too, wants what’s best for me. After she has time to adjust, to accept everything that I’ve kept from her, then maybe…she won’t ground me for a hundred years.”

“She loves you, Buffy. You’re her little girl. She’ll always accept and forgive you. I’m not so sure about me, though.” His hands had been running slowly up and down her back, part nervous, part needing to feel her. To make sure that everything wasn’t a dream, some new form of torture they had designed for him.

“I know. But accepting of you or not, I love you and I’m not letting you leave me ever again.”

And she sealed this vow with a kiss, making sure that Angel knew and understood that she meant it, that never again would they be separated. “Angel,” she said, her breath coming hard and fast, “Let’s get to the mansion. Dusty and memory ridden as it is, I think it’s better than me accosting you out in the open.”

He picked her up, locking her ankles around his waist, “Yeah, good idea.”

Their lips fused together and they stumbled through the garden opening mere moments later, lucky not to have broken their necks. They never did make it to the bed the rest of the night.
*********
His tongue was cool on her heated flesh, but nonetheless arousing for its lack of heat. Blunt teeth worried her nipple as roaming hands found her heated core, teasing the soft folds of flesh before slipping inside. Trailing down, his cool mouth tasted every inch of her exposed skin.

Moving back up, his tongue was drawn again and again to the scar that marked the right side of her neck that marked her as his. Even as lips reluctantly left the toughened flesh and found hers again, he remembered giving her that scar not quite a year ago. Hungry for the feel of her, he released his one handed grip on her wrists, reveling in her touch on him.

Not releasing his mouth, she rolled them over and leaned forward until she could taste his neck, down to his chest, running her soft little hands over muscle and bone taunt with want and need. Hear his breath catch, a gasp of her name. For her, all for her.

Mouth closed over his erection, tongue swirling the top again and again. She took him deep into her mouth, drawing him into her throat, and rolled his testicles tenderly, before releasing him and moving back up.

Rising upward, she impaled herself on him, gasping out his name as he filled her, completed her. The pace was not slow and sweet, but rather fast and hard, flesh slapping flesh as hands clasped in a vain attempt to anchor themselves against the pounding waves of pleasure.

There was no other sensation in the universe like this: feeling his lover’s skin sliding against his, knowing that her breathy moans, her sighs, were all for him, only for him. She fit perfectly against him, every curve and valley of her body molding to his as though they could indeed become one. She was his warmth, his sun. She was his…and he was irrevocably hers.

Suddenly rearing up, he grasped her hips, pumping into her faster as his mouth fused with hers. Breaking apart on a gasp, he sank his elongated teeth into her neck, piercing the skin and drinking her magical blood as his climax shuddered through him. She came the moment his teeth broke the skin of her neck, inner muscles clutching at him as she threw her head back, screaming his name.
~~~~~~~
Long, long minutes later, when motor control finally returned, Angel opened an eye and looked at his beloved. Her hair, long and silken, was tangled around them adding to the intimacy of their joining, but her eyes were open and looking into his. The smile she sent him was soft and loving; as if she were trying to convey everything she was thinking and feeling by the simple movement of her lips.

“Better now?” He asked, slightly amazed that he had found the strength to talk at all. The seemingly bottomless well of desire he had for her was sometimes overwhelming. Again he thanked Giles and the Powers (whoever They were) for securing his soul. Perfect happiness was a risk every time they were together anymore, let alone intimate.

“Yeah, much. But I wouldn’t mind if you could…remind me, say, every night.” She rolled off him and curled into his side, her head propped up on one hand as she traced random patterns on his chest.

“Every night, huh? I might be able to manage that. Or, maybe, every other.” He stilled her hand, bringing it to his lips as he said that.

Buffy sent him a pout, but didn’t say anything. And a minute later she nodded her understanding and smiled at him instead. They had agreed, or rather, Angel had insisted and Buffy had reluctantly accepted his decision, that Angel needed to find his own way towards redemption.

Helping her out in Sunnydale was all well and good, but truthfully she was doing fine on her own, and while she loved his help, was a much better fighter for it, she technically didn’t really need it. But he needed to find his own way. Needed to discover why The Powers That Be had brought him back, what his mission was now.

And leaving her was the only way that could happen.

“I’m not leaving you, Buffy. I’m just leaving Sunnydale.” Angel shifted on their bed and smoothed away a tangle of hair from her face. Her eyes were understanding but he could also see the pain in them. He was probably the only one who could.

“I know.” She said, amazed that once again he had managed to read her so well. It was as if the closer they became, the more their thoughts and feelings were manifest in each other.

Then more firmly, “I do know this. It’s just that I’m going to miss you. I love you so much, and I don’t want you to leave. I like seeing you every day, like making love to you whenever we’re together, not just when one of us can see the other. I feel as if every hour we’re apart is just wasted time. And I’m whining now, so I’ll stop.”

“Buffy, I love you. I could never leave you. I’m just not going to be in the same town as you. We talked about this; you know my reasons. I have to do this; I have to know why I was brought back, why I’m so important to these Powers that they brought me back from the pits of Hell.”

Sniffing back tears she refused to cry, Buffy sent him a smile, and agreed. “I know. I do; and I understand, truly. It’s just the ‘in fact’ part of the scenario is much harder than the ‘in theory’ part of it.” Shaking off her fears: that once Angel was away from her he’d realize that he didn’t really need her, she leaned over and kissed him.

“We still have a little time before I have to get up, want to help make it go by faster?”

Angel smiled, but stilled her roaming hands. “Buffy, I’m not going to forget you. I’m just going to Los Angeles for a while. You know that’s where the Powers want me to meet this mysterious guide. And two hours isn’t far; though I’m with you one the wasted time part. Now tell me what’s really bothering you.”

“Damn it! How did…Fine.” She sighed, again not surprised that he had seen through her to the source of her fears. In the past months they had grown - together and individually. Their relationship was now more, more stable, more secure, more open, more mature. And while she had occasional fits of insecurity (and they were coming les and less often), Angel always managed to calm her fears. She knew that he’d never leave her; she just wished that the together part was in the same town.

She fully intended on transferring to UCLA in the spring. She could still be the Slayer in LA. The Hellmouth could be patrolled without her; and if something really important came up, it was only a two-hour drive.

Assuming that she survived her first day of college.

But, hey, she survived her last day of high school. Graduation and ascension and all. How hard could college be? She really hadn’t meant to ask that, mentally or otherwise. Had she just jinxed herself?

“It’s this whole college thing. Willow’s all into it, excited and fitting in, Oz is Oz, so he’s fine, Xander’s not even back from his summer road trip, but he’s not going to college and I’m…” How could she put this in a way that didn’t sound stupid and selfish? She couldn’t; there was just no good way.

“I feel like everyone is moving on except me. I’m still the slayer, I still have the same responsibilities, nothing’s going to change there. Everyone is going to find this wonderful new path to walk and I’m stuck on the same old one.”

Smoothing a hand down her cheek, Angel asked, “Do you really think that? Do you really think that you’re in some kind of rut? That you can’t have what you want: being the Slayer, college…me?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s just that everything’s different now, and I don’t know where I fit in anymore.”

Scooting up against the headboard, Angel gathered her into his strong embrace, running his hands down her arms, her back, soothing her as best he could. “You’ve survived Giles getting fired, quitting the Council, high school, Faith going rogue, the mayor ascending, blowing up the high school, and this summer. I don’t see what you can’t survive now.”

“But I had you. And I know you’re going to tell me that I can survive college without you here all the time, and I’m fairly sure I can, too, but it’s like this huge step and it scares me more than all the demons I’ve killed put together. And so help me if Faith ever comes out of that coma, she better run far and fast. Because if I find her, she’ll regret it.”

“She’s a lost soul, Buffy. I wish I had more time to help her.” The remorse in his voice was palatable. He understood where Faith was coming from and where her path was leading her. He regretted not being able to help her more. If only…but it was pointless to think like that.

“She didn’t have the support system you do. Her first watcher was murdered before her eyes, Giles tried to help, but her second watcher was a psycho with delusions of power. Wesley certainly didn’t make a good impression. And I think she felt left out of your friendship circle. She always felt she had to compete with you when all she really had to do was be herself. I think, in the end, she understood that. Or she wouldn’t have helped you in your dream.”

“And the fact that she tried to kill you?” That was the pain she harbored most against Faith. She could almost forgive her (almost) for turning to the mayor, the one person who treated her like family; she could almost forgive her for losing her way, for turning from everything that being the Slayer stood for. But to shoot Angel, the one person who tried to help her, with a poisoned arrow? That was something Buffy could never forgive.

“She was lost, Buffy.”

Sighing, wrapping her arms tighter around him, Buffy said nothing. She knew how he felt, the guilt over one more person he couldn’t help. Her lover was noble and strong, but the pain, regret, guilt, responsibility he felt to the world he had once terrorized weighed heavily on his shoulder.

And that was the final reason. She wasn’t letting him go, he would always be a part of her, he wasn’t leaving her; he was just finding his own path. And while it hurt that he couldn’t do it with her, Buffy understood that their paths were always together. Nothing could separate them.

“So, LA. When do you leave?” And this time her voice held only love, for it was stronger than anything else in the world.

“End of the week. I wouldn’t leave you on your first day of school.” He smiled at her, happy that she accepted his choice, at peace with his new role in the world, overjoyed to have her by his side and in his life.

“Good, then you can help me work off some of this nervous energy.”

“Gladly.”  His lips met hers, soft and gentle. They had all the time they needed. And if fate intervened, then it was something they’d deal with then. They were together and nothing could separate them.
~~~~~~~~
Buffy walked into the mansion, dumping her huge pile of books on the side table as she did so. Her first day of classes and she was beat. Four years of this? How on earth was she going to survive? And her roommate was a freak; no one listened to that much Cher and stayed sane.

Why hadn’t she roomed with Willow? Oh, right. They were trying the meet new friends thing. Trying to prove that they could do so and that their intimate little group wasn’t all they had. So far it wasn’t going well.

Angel wandered out of the bedroom where he was packing the last of his things. He fully intended on visiting Sunnydale, or rather, Buffy, but, on a weekend trip together, they had found an apartment in LA he planned on moving into. Hopefully not alone, if Buffy did indeed transfer to UCLA as she planned. And she was pretty adamant about it.

“Hey, how was your first day of classes?” He leaned down to kiss her, noting the stress and tiredness in her eyes.

“Long.” She said, responding to his kiss. “Hmm, but I feel better already. Where do I begin? I got lost, that place is huge when you’re not trying to kill demons; in the bookstore I dropped a pile of books on some dorky TA which, as it turns out, is the TA for my psychology professor. And the library is so big I think even Giles would be impressed. Although he did work at The British Museum, so I’m not so sure.”

“Sounds interesting. Is that why you dragged all your stuff here instead of leaving them in your dorm room?” He cast an eye to the table that now held every book Buffy had been forced to pay an overly exuberant price for.

Startled, she followed his gaze. “Oh. Um, probably. Plus my roommate’s a freak. I think she might be a demon.” The more Buffy thought that, the more it made sense.

“Want to give me the tour…later?” His lips had wandered down her neck and were caressing his mark. It was his favorite place, well, one of them, and he never missed an opportunity to nuzzle it.

Buffy shivered in his arms. The slightest touch, hell, his gaze, sent her nerves tingling. “Yeah, later. Much later.” She agreed, winding her arms around his shoulders, pulling him closer as his tongue flicked out to taste the roughened skin, to feel the throb of her artery. 

Angel picked her up and carried her into their bedroom. Same town or not, she was still his and he fully intended to show her as often as possible.

The sun had long since set by the time they even thought about going back to campus. They never did make it. But there was always tomorrow night.