Buffy curled up on the bed, her eyes closed, as she listened to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom just a few feet away. All she wanted was to go to sleep and forget everything that had happened that day, the battle with her latest vampiric foe, the fight with her friends, the harsh words exchanged with her mother. But she couldn't do that until she knew that he was okay, that *they* were okay. So she laid there, fighting against the exhaustion demanding to take over, waiting for him to emerge so that she could see for herself that things were right between them. Until then, nothing else mattered.
The water stopped and she dragged herself up, holding a pillow against her. Long minutes later, the door opened and he stepped out. His gaze immediately found hers and he looked at her, his eyes looking deeply into hers. After a moment he turned away, his gaze slowly taking in the room they were in. When he turned back to her, his eyes held a question.
"Why are we here?" he asked as he walked toward her.
She frowned. "You don't remember?"
He shook his head. "No, the last thing I remember is a crossbow bolt imbedding itself in my gut." He looked down at his abdomen, lightly fingering the healing wound there. He'd gotten the wound when the vampire he and Buffy were fighting got ahold of her crossbow and used him as target practice. "Since I'm still alive, so to speak, I take it you got me out of there in time." He sat down on the bed and stretched out beside her. "That still doesn't answer the question of why we're here and not at my place," he continued.
Hugging the pillow tighter against her she sighed. "I didn't want anyone looking for us," she answered. "This is the best place I could think of."
He nodded, conceding that point. Since everyone knew he was now making his residence at the mansion, anyone looking for Buffy would immediately go there. His old apartment would be the last place they'd think to look.
"So, why are you still here?" he asked her after a moment. "I figured you'd be with Giles, telling him about your latest adventure."
Her eyes chilled slightly at his comment. "You mean, explaining to him why you're not dead yet?"
He smiled coldly. "If that's the way you want to put it."
"You're such a bastard," she hissed, her heart breaking just a little bit more as she said the words.
He shrugged. "I took classes in Hell," he replied. "It passed the time."
As her anger was replaced by guilt, she looked away. "I wanted to make sure you were okay," she said softly. Burying her face in the pillow, she heaved a sigh. "Can we not do this, please? Can we pretend you don't hate me and just be?"
Angel sat up, and, pulling the pillow from her grasp, he took Buffy's hand in his. "Buffy, I don't hate you," he told her once again. He hooked a finger under her chin, tilting to her face until their eyes met. "You know I don't."
Tears welled up in her eyes and she bit her lip to keep from crying. "And I don't hate you," she told him, knowing he needed to hear it. "It's just that it's all starting to get to me."
Ever since she'd told Willow, Xander, and Giles that she and Angel were going to continue to see each other, despite everthing that had happened, they'd been giving her a major guilt trip. At every opportunity, Giles talked about how disappointed he was with her decision, reminding her how much Angel had hurt him. Xander kept talking about her shameless cavorting with the 'vicious killer', about how she'd abandoned her duty and put all their lives in danger just so she could share smoochies with her demon. But what hurt the most was that Willow, who in private had no problems with she and Angel being friends, turned her back when Buffy needed her most.
Pulling her hand away from his, she grabbed a pillow and threw it across the room. "I hate this," she shouted in angry frustration. "I hate having to choose. I hate pretending that I don't care. And I hate having guilt piled on me for not choosing them." She stopped suddenly and let her tears take over.
Angel pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly as she sobbed, offering her the comfort of his presence. "I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault," she said when her tears subsided. She pulled out of his arms and looked up at him. "I have to go out and save everyone's ass every night. I'm supposed to do what's expected of me and I'm not supposed to feel a thing. And I'm not supposed to care that they take me for granted, that they don't give a damn about how I feel. I'm supposed to sit there and take all their bitching and I'm not allowed to do any myself. I give them everything I can. What more do they want from me? And if they can have what they want, why can't I?"
"I think you know the answer to that."
She smiled and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Yeah, I guess I do." There was silence in the room as she took a minute to compose herself. "Being the Slayer really sucks sometimes." Her voice was small and childlike and it saddened him to see her that way.
"That it does." He wrapped his arms around her one last time before pulling away. "You okay?" He smiled when she shook her head. "I didn't mean emotionally, I meant physically. You took some pretty bad hits tonight." He fingered the small bandaged cut above her right eye. "That fight was not pretty."
"Not as bad as the one you took," she answered, her hand reaching involuntarily to touch the fading wound in his stomach. Seeing that crossbow bolt hit Angel, seeing him fall to the ground in pain, had scared her a lot more than was letting on. She'd almost lost him and the thought of going home without him had been too much to take. "You lost a lot of blood."
"I'm fine," he said reassuringly. "I'm more worried about you. Are you sure you're all right?"
Closing her eyes, she leaned back against the pillow and nodded. "Yeah, I'm okay. Although I'm not looking forward to facing the firing squad."
"You took care of the vampire," he said softly. "And very well I might add. You didn't get yourself killed. That's all that matters." She sent him a skeptical glare and he chuckled. "Is it really that bad?"
"Yeah, it is," she replied, her voice soft with pain.
He watched as she hugged the pillow to her chest, the sadness and pain in her eyes cutting him like a knife. He wished there was more he could do for her, wished there was some way he could make things better for her. But she'd chosen her path and she had to deal with the consequences. The only thing he could do was be there for her, listen when she needed to talk, hold her when she needed to cry. All he could give her was his love. Even if only from afar.
"When I left Sunnydale I was in so much pain," she said, her voice pulling his attention back to her. "I had just lost you and it was just too much. I needed to get away. I needed to be by myself so I could cry or rage or....I just needed time. And I couldn't do it here with them around." She stopped speaking to look up at him, her eyes questioning. "You know there are times when I wish I was the only one who knew who I was. Not because I want to keep them safe, but because I just don't feel like dealing with them. I mean they're my friends and I love them, but I wish they didn't know so much. Is that wrong?"
He shook his head. "It's not wrong," he answered. "It's just the way you feel. Sometimes you just wish everyone and everything would go away. It doesn't mean you stop caring, it just means you need time to yourself. Everyone does."
She nodded in agreement. "That's what I needed when I left. I needed to be alone and I knew they wouldn't understand that. There's so much that they don't understand. I wish...there's so much that I wish I could tell them, but I know that I can't because they just don't get it." She sighed, running a hand through her hair in frustration. "But anyway, when I came back it was like I'd done something majorly wrong. I know they couldn't have known the full story, but putting two and two together couldn't have been hard. And it didn't matter to them that I'd saved the world again, or that I had to kill you to do it. All they cared about was that I left and they had to fend for themselves for once. Not one person asked me why I left, no one seemed to care that I was hurting. It just didn't matter." She broke off to wipe a few stray tears from her eyes. "I've risked so much for them and I've never asked for anything in return. Okay, maybe sometimes I've asked for something, but I have never asked them to risk their lives for me. But the one time I did need them to be there, they weren't. And a little part of me stopped caring because it was obvious that they didn't care as much about me as I did them."
"And how do you feel now?"
Her lips curved up in a small, humorless smile. "I'm so closed off from them now. I mean I'm there and I listen, but I never offer anything about what's going on with me. I can't remember the last time I've gabbed with Willow. And Giles and I have drifted so far apart. I can understand his position, I really can, but he refuses to see mine and it just keeps us at odds. We won't even get into what my mother has to say." She pulled the pillow tighter against her as silent tears fell down her cheeks. "I'm all I've got."
He wanted to tell her that she had him to, but he knew that wasn't entirely true, at least not yet. Although he and Buffy had spent plenty of time together since his return from hell, this had been the first time they'd ever really talked. Most of their time together had been hesitant, full of stilted conversation and covert glances as each of them tried to adjust to being near each other again, tried to get used to being in each other's life without being together the way they wanted. He wished it didn't have to be that way, just as much, if not more, than she did. It was just one more impossible wish to add to the already overflowing list.
He pulled the pillow away from her grasp, smiling when she hugged it tighter in protest. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her against his chest. "You're tired."
"Very," she answered, stifling a yawn.
He grabbed the cover and pulled it over them. "So, sleep. I'll wake you up in a few hours and you can go face the general and his merry band of executioners."
She looked up at him, her eyes wide with amusement and shock, at both the joke and the suggestion. "You mean stay here, curled up with you, indulging in my selfishness while they sit in the library worrying about me, wondering if I made it out alive or if Faith will be taking my place?"
"Yeah," he replied with a smile. "How's that sound?"
She laid back down against his chest, snuggling up against him. "I say we make 'em really sweat and not wake me up til morning."
He laughed, the sound echoing in his chest. "That may be stretching it a bit."
"You're right," she agreed with a nod. "How about you wake me up in a few hours, I sneak back into my room and you and I face the firing squad together in the morning?" At his wary look she smiled. "Come on, Angel. You know I handle executions a lot better when you're around."
Any protests he started to make were silenced when he noticed the pleading look in her eyes, the desperate note in her voice. He realized then that she needed at least one person on her side, needed one person who understood and wouldn't criticize or judge her. And he could put aside his feelings for her friends because she needed him to.
"All right," he replied, agreeing to her plan. "You sleep and we face death in the morning."
"Together?"
"Together."
"Because I need you," she said softly, her tone serious. "I need you around. 'Cause when you are, I know I'm not alone."
Leaning down, he kissed her forehead gently. "I'm not going anywhere."
She gave him one last smile, grateful for his presence in her life and she closed her eyes, finally allowing the exhaustion fighting for control of her body to win. Just before she drifted off to sleep, she heard Angel's voice whisper softly in her ear.
"Because all we've got is each other."
And for the first time in a long time she fell asleep with a smile on her face.