Apocalypse: Sunnydale
by Ducks

Part Three

Underground Sunnydale, June, 2018

"What about this one?" Rhea asked, bending over to pick another plant specimen, carefully thanking it for sacrificing itself for her work.  Her Aunt Willow was a very powerful Witch, and she said it was important to honor all of the living things, including the elements, that she used when she cast spells.

Angel peered at her acquisition, "Valley Sage," he announced.

Rhea nodded, satisfied, and threw the plant in her basket.  She was making a dream pillow for her Aunt Willow's birthday, and she had to have just the right ingredients.  Having her father along was the best guarantee that she'd get it right -- he knew everything about everything, especially plants.

She watched him wander to the duck pond nearby, and start skimming stones across its smooth surface.

Rhea knew Angel wasn't her real father, anymore than Willow was her real mother.  But she barely remembered her mother, and had never met her father at all.  Angel might not be human, but he was the best dad anyone could ever want.  He always answered her ceaseless questions with patience and clarity, and always spoke to her like a person, instead of somebody's particularly smart pet, like a lot of people did.  He told her incredible stories, and taught her Latin, Spanish, French, and his own native tongue, Gaelic.  He sang her funny songs, and never told her to get lost when she wanted to go somewhere with him, the way Jeremy did.  Her brother had a stupid girlfriend now, and hardly every wanted to spend time with her anymore.

Angel was never too busy for her.  He was her best friend.

She couldn't remember when she figured out that Angel was a vampire.  The signs were everywhere, and she'd picked up every one, without ever giving it much thought.  There were other vampires in the community, too, like her Uncle Spike, but none of them were as sweet and friendly and well-liked as her daddy, so it had never really occurred to her to ask him about it.  She just took it for granted.  Under the biodome sun, everybody got to walk in the daylight.

But two weeks ago, at dinner, Spike had called Angel his 'Sire'.  Rhea knew what that meant.  She didn't understand it fully, but she knew the mechanics.  It was a part of vampire-hood that nobody seemed to want to talk about.

She set her basket down and walked over to where Angel now sat on a tree stump.

"Daddy?" she asked him.

He smiled at her.  "Mm?"

"Are you Spike's daddy, too?"

Angel started, completely unprepared for such a question, "What? Why do you say that?"

Rhea shrugged and sat down next to him.  Sometimes, Angel couldn't help but stare at her.  She looked more and more like Buffy every day.

"Well... he called you his Sire, and I know that's how you make vampires... The Sire bites someone, and they catch a demon like a cold, and then they're a vampire, too," she said seriously.

Not a bad estimation, for a nine year old.

"Well... yes.  That's it, more or less.  It's a little more complicated, but..."

"You bit Spike?" she said.

Angel looked at her.  He knew, sooner or later, that they would have to talk about this.  Rhea knew full well what he was, by now, and being the curious, quick-witted girl that she was, she would naturally want to know more.  He had been sincerely hoping it would come later.  Much later.  Like, never.

"Yes, I did," he answered honestly.

"Why?" Rhea asked.

Why couldn't she ask him why the sky was blue? It would have been much easier to answer.

"I..." he hesitated, thinking seriously about it, "I'm not sure I remember anymore.  It was a long time ago."

"How long?" Rhea asked.  She always thought it was cool that her dad was almost 300 years old, but looked young enough to be her older brother.

"Hm," Angel did the math quickly in his head, "160 years or so, I think."

"Were you bad then?" She knew that her father had parts of his past he didn't like to talk about -- parts that included Spike.  The two of them were always so mean to each other.

Angel looked out over the rolling hills... they reminded him a little of the rich green ones of his childhood.

"Yes, I was," he said.

"Aunt Willow says you have a curse," she went on.

He nodded.

"Isn't a curse bad?" She asked.

Angel felt like Rhea was a Difficult Question Machine, and somebody had recently pumped her full of quarters.  If she asked about Hell, he was leaving.

"Usually," he answered.

"But you have a good curse," she said.

"Sort of."

"It stops you from being bad?"

"Theoretically," he said, "Can we talk about something else?"

"No," Rhea said.

Angel nodded.  He had thought as much.  Rhea was stubborn, like her mother, but with a brain that seemed to suck in knowledge like a sponge.

Unfortunately, he couldn't really set her down with the Encyclopedia Disks, for this one.

"Will you live forever?" She asked.

"Maybe.  I could.  I don't get older, and I can't get sick," he said.

They sat quietly for a minute.

"Did you love my mommy?" She asked.

Angel looked at her sweet face, a living answer to the very question she was asking.

"Yes, I did.  Very much.  I still do," he said.

"How come you didn't marry her, instead of my other dad?"

Angel sighed.  That was the toughest question of all, really.  One he had asked himself a million times over the years.  But above and beyond all the reasons there had been that he and Buffy couldn't build a life together, the most important reason sat beside him.

"If your mommy and I had gotten married, you never would have been born," he said.

"Oh," Rhea said, "You can't have babies?"

"No," he said sadly.

"Well, I guess it's a good thing you didn't, then.  It's okay... you have us, now."

Rhea sounded more like 19 than 9, sometimes,  "Yeah, I guess it was a good thing."  He smiled warmly down at her.

"Do you want  to see some butterflies?" she asked.

Angel was relieved at the change of subject,  "I would love to," he said.

She reached a little hand out to him.   He took it, and she led him away into the meadow.

Angel collapsed heavily on the couch beside Willow, and sighed deeply, leaning against her.  She slowly looked up from her book.

"Rough day?" She asked.

Angel chuckled, "Yes and no.  Rhea wanted to know if a Sire was the same thing as a father."

Willow laughed, "Oh no, she did not!"

"Yes she did.  I swear, if Spike puts any more ideas in their heads with his big mouth, I'm going to sew it shut."

Willow chuckled again and patted his knee,  "Poor baby.  What did you expect, that she wouldn't be curious? Not every kid has a father who is a vampire..."

"Hrmph," he snorted.

He sat quietly, looking into the fire as Willow went back to her reading.  After a moment, she looked up at him again.

"Since when have you been embarrassed about who you are?" she asked.

He shrugged, "Not embarrassed, exactly..."

Willow closed her book and set it down on the table, curling her legs up beneath her and turning to face him.

"Angel... you have nothing to be ashamed of anymore.  You've more than made up for what happened before," she said gently.

Angel sighed, "Maybe... But... being here... life is so different.  With plasma replacement and digestive enzyme pills, I can eat food, and not have to drink blood... with the artificial sun, I can walk in the daylight, and without somebody trying to stake me or shove a cross in my face or splash me with holy water all the time... it's... it's easy, to pretend that I'm... normal."

Willow squeezed his hand, "You are normal.  As normal as any of the others who live down here... Everyone has things in their past that they aren't proud of.  Especially with all these years of war."

Angel thought 'not proud of' was a bit understated for how he felt about his past.

"Look at all of the good you've done over the years," Willow went on, "All the people you've helped... in Sunnydale, in L.A., here.  Look at the beautiful children you've raised.  Don't you think it's about time you give yourself a reprieve from all that guilt?"

Angel thought about the worst deeds he'd done... the pain and misery he brought on hundreds, maybe thousands, of innocent people.  Horrifying, abominable things... Unforgivable things.  He thought about Buffy, and what she must be going through, wherever she was...  If only he had remained at her side, maybe things would have been different, for all of them.

"No," he said simply, "I don't.  That's not why I do the things I do, Willow... to ease my guilt.  I do them because they're right."

Willow reached up and turned his face so she could hold his gaze with her own, "There you are.  Hardly the morality of a monster, is it?" She smiled warmly at him.

His tension eased a little, "No, I guess not.  And... everything is... different, now."

She nodded and kissed his frown lightly, "It is.  You're different.  You wouldn't be my friend if you weren't."

"Mostly, I'd be trying to eat you," he joked.

She smirked at him.

"I owe a lot of that to you, you know," he added seriously, "You've been... a good friend, to me."

She blushed under his intense gaze.  

"Don't be silly," she objected.

"No," he said, taking her hand and raising it to his lips, "Everything I have today is because of you.  Because you took me in when I had nowhere to go... gave me a home, a family..." he bowed his head, "Love.  You've helped me to find some peace... the first peace I've had in a very long time."  Angel kissed her hand gently, and rubbed her soft skin against his cheek.

Willow was speechless.  She felt exactly the same, of course; that the three years they had spent together were the most contented and peaceful she had ever known.  Angel had brought her heart back to life -- made her feel like a human being again.

The irony wasn't lost on her.

She had no illusions about what their love was -- an arrangement sprung from need, deep friendship, respect, and trust.  They were two lonely people who shared the responsibility of raising the children of their closest friend together.  It wasn't a romantic, passionate love, but a warm, companionable one.

Willow realized suddenly that Buffy had once told her almost the exact same thing about Riley.  She leaned over and kissed Angel on the forehead,  "I love you," she said softly.

He smiled, "I love you, too."

They were what they were.  And that was enough, for now.

Friday was market day.  Today was Wednesday, and Angel wasn't even close to ready for the vendors his fields served.  Once a week, Sherily and her husband Christopher came to the farm, and got tomatoes, lettuce, cilantro, and other produce and herbs from him to sell at the market for a cut of the credits.  A sweet arrangement, usually...

But this week, the couple suddenly wanted more eggplant.  Demand was up, they said.  More profit, they said.  A huge insurgence of vegetarian Mafah demons that had recently joined the community, they said.

Mafahs, apparently, liked eggplant.

Angel enjoyed nothing more than the idea of pleasing as many of the palates of his neighbors as possible, but the truth was, his eggplants looked like crap.  They just weren't taking to the soil in these large numbers.  He stood looking down at the pathetic vegetables, scowling and scratching his head.

He wondered if Mafahs got angry if they didn't have enough eggplant.  All those clawed tentacles... and he was so out of shape...

The echo of a shout floated across the field to his ears.  He looked up, shading his eyes, searching to see if he could discern the source of the odd noise.  It wasn't children playing, and it wasn't the sound of someone in trouble or in pain...

It was an excited shout.  It took a moment for the source to come up the hill into Angel's field of vision -- Jeremy.  He was sprinting as fast as his gangly legs would take him, and waving his arms frantically, shouting, "DAD! DAD!"

Angel began moving out of the eggplant enclosure to meet his son partway.  He watched the boy lope up the hill, and felt a little pang of pride at how much of a man he was becoming.

"DAD!" he shouted once more as he reached Angel, and then skidded to a halt, stooping over to catch his breath.  It was almost a half of a mile to the house, and if Jeremy had sprinted the whole way, it was no wonder he was winded.

Angel slung his water bottle off his back and handed it to his panting son, who accepted it gratefully, and took a long, gulping drink.  Angel waited.

"Dad!" he said finally, still, panting, "You have to come to the house.  You have to come now! Aunt Willow..."

Angel felt his chest clench, "What happened, is she okay?" he asked, already ready to run himself.

But he noticed suddenly that Jeremy was grinning.  He shook his head wildly, "No! I mean, YES! She's fine! Dad, they found my mother! She's alive! She's coming home!"

Angel had experienced a lot of shocking things in his life, but nothing, not even the horrors of war and Hell, or the memory of Darla's fangs in his throat, compared to the utter sucking vacuum of astonishment he felt inside him as he ran with Jeremy back to the house.

The only thing that registered in his mind was a single, rhythmic cadence that drove him forward:

Buffy is alive.

He crashed through he back door and found Willow's standing as still as a statue inside the kitchen, her arm hanging limply at her side, the phone still clutched in her hand.  Angel approached her slowly, and took the receiver from her.  She stiffly turned her head to look at him, her eyes wide.

He held the phone to his ear.

"He... hello..." he said.

"Bloody Hell!" Spike shouted, "I don't want to talk to you, wanker! Put the Good Doctor back on!" He sounded far, far away.

Angel looked over at Willow, who had sunk into a kitchen chair and stared catatonically into space.

"She... can't come to the phone," he said.

"Oh, Felicity Kendall's underpants... Crying, right? Fine, then.  I don't have much time before we lose the satellite feed.  I wanted to tell you that we found our Buffy."

"Where..." Angel choked out, "Is she... alive?"

"Well, of course she's alive, you plonker! We found her in Alaska, escaping from a compound 5 miles deep in a glacier.  Last place in the world we expected to find a camp.  She's just got a touch of demon flu..."

The signal cut out.  Angel found himself utterly unable to move, and so he stood, just listening to the static.

After what felt like an eternity, he hung up the phone and turned to Willow.  She was staring at him.  He could almost feel the tension in the air.

"She... she's... I can't believe it.  After all this time..." Willow said.

Angel feel dizzy, and gripped the kitchen counter, staring back at her.

Buffy.  Alive...

It didn't take long for world of the MIA's return to spread like wildfire through the city.

75 of the last POW's had been found, more or less alive, in a compound built far below the surface of a glacier in northwestern Alaska.  The Black Ops team had found someone, it wasn't clear who, wandering across the frozen landscape after having decimated the small contingent of guards and escaped with five others.  All had died but this one, who found the team and led them back to rescue the remaining prisoners.

There was little doubt in Angel's mind who the escapee was.

He hadn't slept in the three days since Spike's phone call... he hadn't really fed, hadn't worked... he only walked endlessly through the city, his mind a fuzzy jumble of indistinguishable thoughts.  He was hardly able to speak at all, and spent as little time at home as possible.  He almost couldn't bear to look at Willow and the children.  So, he stayed away.

Willow herself was equally crippled by shock, but much clearer on the problems and confusion presented by Buffy's imminent return.  She was overjoyed that her best friend was alive, and ecstatic for all of them that she was coming home.

But what would it be like, having her back again? Her absence had become like a living being, in its own right -- another member of their family, living among them.  Missing her, remember her, and honoring her ghost had become central to the daily routine... to the passing of each season... to Willow and Angel's bond itself.  Her return could have effects that Willow couldn't even begin to imagine.

She was closer to Buffy's ghost, now, than she had ever been to Buffy herself.  When her corporeal body was home again, could anything remain the same for any of them?

Some part of her had become attached to this life...

There was little time to think about that now, and no way to predict it, anyway.  In four days, they would find out.

Angel found Willow in the study when he returned from the Farming Committee Meeting.  It was a rare occasion to find her in that room without a fire blazing, a glass of wine on the table, and a book open in her lap.  But tonight, she sat in the dark, simply staring into space.

He could see her clearly despite the utter lack of light, and could read many of his own fears and questions etched into her familiar features.  He sat down beside her without turning on the light.

"Cad e mar ata tu, Sabia?" he asked, using his Gaelic pet name for her, hoping to bring her out of her stupor.

She blinked, but didn't turn to look at him.

"I was just thinking about the past..." she said.

Angel sighed,  "Me too," he told her.

"Lumiere," Willow said, and the magickal hearthfire sprang to life, casting the room in a low, warm light.

They sat and stared at it.

After a while, Angel spoke, "I'm sorry I haven't been here for you the past few days."

Willow shrugged, "I understand.  This is hard for all of us."

Silence settled over them once again.  Then, Willow shifted a little, so she faced him in the firelight.

"I can't help thinking... why was it so easy for us to be there for each other when we thought she was gone, and now that we know she's alive, it's like the past three years never happened, and we can't even be in the same room anymore?"

Angel swallowed hard, "I don't know.  I guess, with her alive, everything is more... complicated," he finally reached out ant took her hand, "What we have has always been simple.  Straightforward.  No mysteries, no enigmas, no..."

"Tragic ironic passion?" Willow offered.

He half-smiled, "Yeah, I guess. It's always just been us."

She nodded, "And now... now all of that will change," she said sadly.

With all of his heart, Angel wanted to lie to her -- tell her that Buffy's sudden reappearance in their lives meant nothing to him... changed nothing.  But he couldn't.  He hated to think that everything he and Willow had shared would disappear in the face of his first love's return.  He hated to think he might have been using her to dull his own pain, but the fact was, they had been using each other.

"I don't know, Willow," he said truthfully, "I can't tell you what will happen now."

She clenched her teeth, absolutely refusing to cry, "We never made any promises to one another, Angel.  This was always about right here, right now.  This moment only, and no more.  I never wanted anything else from you.  So, when she comes... I'll understand, if you... and she... I mean, you should..."

Angel closed his eyes against the pain.  He had been so happy, so content, for so long, this new heartbreak felt like a million shards of glass, ripping him in two.  He bowed his head.

"It's never that simple between Buffy and me," he said, "I don't want to... just...assume anything.  And I don't want to hurt you."  A tear dropped out of his eye, "I love this life, Willow.  Part of me doesn't want it to change.  Part of me is terrified of seeing Buffy again.  But I can't lie to you.  I still love her.  I always have.  I never stopped, not even for a moment."

Willow nodded.  All she felt was a dull, thudding ache in her heart -- she didn't think there was much of it left to break, after all of the others...and this was something she had thought about many times.

"I know," she said quietly, "There was never any question of that," she took a deep breath, and sat up straighter, "Angel... I think that... when Buffy comes back, maybe you should move back to the singles' quarters."

Angel started, taken by surprise," You do? Why? What about the kids?"

"They'll have enough to think about, getting to know their mother again.  And I don't want Buffy to... to have to deal with... you know, us," she said.

Angel blinked away his tears.  Once again, Willow was doing her very best to be brave and strong in the face of her pain, for him.  Thinking straight... making logical choices.  Something he thought he too, was once good at.

"Okay," he said, "I'll go."

"Just for a while.  Until we figure things out," Willow added.

For the first time since they had been reunited, the silence that feel between them was an awkward one.

"Willow... this doesn't change the way I feel about you," Angel said after a moment, "You know how much I care about you."

She smiled sadly at him, "I know."

He reached out and touched her beloved face, "I owe you everything I have in this life.  And for that, no matter what, I will always love you.  You're a part of my soul, now... my family.  And you will always be my friend," he said softly, and kissed her sweet lips.

She pulled him into her arms, "I love you too, Angel.  That will never change."

They held one another long into the night.

Angel didn't see Buffy when she returned.  In fact, he left town himself.  Instead of moving back to his old apartment, he hiked to the farthest edge of the community and sat.

Someone had taken the time and the trouble to build a glade here, complete with a riverlet and a copse of giant oak, birch, and willow trees.  Birds and butterflies flew about, and the river's edge was densely populated with bugs and toads.

He sat zazen for hours on end, watching the minutes trickle by as only an immortal could. He bathed in the cool water, and ate only what he had brought with him.  He had too much to think about to be around anyone else right now.  Long a loner, he had come to rely on peace and solitude to help him work through his problems.

Angel felt as though everything and everyone he had come to love had been torn away from him, once again.  The irony was, it wasn't his curse, or the war, or any other thing about him or his destiny that was coming between him and his life, it was Buffy herself, who had once been his life.  He was upset to find that some part of him resented her for it.

As he sat, he struggled to find his center again.  What was it, now? Once, there had been Buffy.  Then, his work.  Then, the war.  And for the past few years, it had been Jeremy and Willow and Rhea.

He realized suddenly that after all these years, he still didn't know himself, except in relation to others, and the world around him.  He had no idea who he thought he was.

 It was a situation he would have to remedy, and soon.  He would find no other true answers until he had.

The only thing he knew for certain was that he didn't want to lose his family... the children, or his work on the land.  It made him happy, to be connected to life that way... raising people, and raising plant life.  These things were solid and sure for him, and he would fight to keep them.

//Oh, God, am I getting THAT hokey?//

He sighed.  How did he feel about Willow? And Buffy? His emotions for both women were so tangled up in one another, he couldn't seem to pull them apart.  He loved Willow, he could honestly say that, but how, and why? Did he love her as his mate, because she was kind and giving , beautiful, brilliant, and strong? Or did he love her because she was the last tie to what had been, before? Did he love her because of her connection with Buffy? Did he love her in a way that was built to transcend time, space, and obstacles the way that he loved the Slayer?

No.  They had been thrown together by sad circumstance, not because they were irresistibly drawn to one another.  They had fallen into one another's lives because of Buffy's children.  They'd ended up in each other's arms because of Buffy's death -- or rather, her mistakenly assumed death -- as a comfort, for one another.  Nothing more.  No matter how attractive and desirable he found Willow, no matter how much he respected and liked her, what they shared was nothing like that deep, abiding passion he held for Buffy.

It had been a long time since Angel had let those old feelings come to the surface.  It had been a long time since his life had sprung from his certainty that he was meant to love Buffy, even if he couldn't be with her, until the end of time.  He had shoved all of that deep inside the recesses of his heart, and built his new life, like an airtight fortress, around it.  He didn't know if he had the strength to let it out anymore, even if he wanted to.  He wasn't certain if he even knew how.  And... there was still the unknown factor: how Buffy herself felt...

Could it be possible that they had lost that connection, forever? That the one lifeline he'd clung to for so many years -- that had brought him back from Hell and through a war -- had simply vanished?

There was only one way for him to find out, and he didn't think he had the strength to do that, either.

Willow sat in her office at the clinic, waiting for Buffy to be done with the latest in her long line of debriefings.  She was supposed to stop by when she was finished, and the two of them would have dinner with the children at the house.

Buffy had been home for nearly a week, and Willow had hardly seen her at all, she was so busy.  The two women hadn't yet had a chance to spend five minutes alone together.  And there was so much for them to talk about: Where Buffy had been, how she'd survived and escaped... and how she'd found Spike, of all people.

They'd need to rehash all the years that they'd been apart.  That's what best friends did.  They'd talk about the way the community had grown, about everything that had happened tot he children... about how weird it was to see Buffy's name on the War Memorial wall.

And, inevitably, they would talk about Willow herself... and that would, sooner or later, lead to Angel... and that was where things could get ugly.

Buffy still didn't know that he was here, among them, let alone that the vampire had lived in Willow's home... slept in her bed... raised Buffy's children with her.

For the first three days, Buffy had been in quarantine, suffering from some demon fever that no one had ever heard of.  Then she went from one high-level defense meeting to another, that never included anyone less than a General.  Hush hush. Top Secret.  No Willow's.

She hadn't even been allowed to see the children for more than five minutes, so there was no one who knew her tie to Angel who would tell her.  Willow had been to see Buffy, allowed into quarantine briefly by her medical clearance.  But the thick glass between them had killed any hope of communication, besides smiles and tears of greeting and gratitude.

Not that Willow had any inkling how she would tell her, anyway.

So, dinner promised to be... interesting. And the days that would follow, even more so.  Buffy would want to be with her family again.  She would want to know everything.

Willow sighed and pulled off her glasses.  Why couldn't anything having to do with her best friend ever be simple?

She missed Angel.  Whenever anything problematic came up, they always sat down and worked it out rationally, logically, until they got through it.  Actually, Angel usually thought logically, and she usually was the one to yell or cry.  She wished fervently that he would be with her, to help her thought this, as he had so many things before.  But she herself had asked him to go away, and go away he had.  No one had seen or heard from him in days.

With Angel gone walkabout, an escape reminiscent of his tragic brooding days, all of the really hard work was left for her.  It wasn't the first time she had borne so heavy a burden alone.

Willow was able to pretend all through dinner.  In fact, she had hardly had to pretend, with the happy chatter of the children and Buffy's hilarious stories of life on the front.

Leave it to Buffy to cast a positive light on being a prisoner of war.  Her story of how Spike had found her, and almost fallen off a cliff in shock, had them all in stitches.

But once the kids were safely tucked in bed, and the two women sat with glasses of wine by the fire, there was no room left for pretending.  Buffy's demeanor became immediately darker, as if she too had been putting on a brighter face for the sake of her son and daughter.

Buffy sighed deeply, sinking into the soft cushions of the couch.  "I never realized how much I missed upholstered furniture," she said.

Willow sat down beside her, and sipped her wine, "It is handy," she agreed.

She and Angel had put it to good use many times...

"They're like strangers...The kids..." Buffy said suddenly.

Willow turned and looked at her best friend.  She looked sad and unhealthy, too thin, and she seemed to sag into herself as she hadn't in the past.  Her skin still had a creepy yellow tint to it, although it wasn't nearly the thick, ghostly gold it had been when she first returned.

"It won't be like that forever," Willow told her, "You just have to get to know them again, that's all.  They're good kids... smart.  They've missed you."

Buffy bowed her head, "I missed them, too," she looked up into Willow's face for the first time, "And you.  Every day, I thought about you all.  I hoped... prayed... you would all be safe... and happy."

"We have been, mostly," Willow said.

Buffy moved closer to her, "Will... I have to thank you.  For taking care of Jeremy and Rhea.  For helping them grow up to be so wonderful... for... everything."

Willow shook her head, feeling guilty for all that she still had to tell Buffy, "Don't.  I wouldn't have it any other way," she took a deep breath and set her glass down on the end table.  She noticed one of Angel's ancient volumes of Voltaire, sitting there," It wasn't just me, Buffy.  The whole community has been there for them."

Buffy watched her best friend closely.  Her body language was so odd, all of a sudden... tense.  She tried to dismiss it to the time they'd spent apart, but something nagged just at the edge of her mind... something Willow wasn't telling her.  Something in the air of the community that she'd felt the moment she'd returned.

Willow knew she could feel it, too.

//Well, no time like the present...// she thought bitterly.

"Buffy... a lot has happened, since you've been gone.  There are... things you should... you should know."

Buffy felt her chest tighten with fear, "What... like... what, Willow?"  Everyone was dead now, weren't they? What else could there be?

//Better to get it out.  Say it all at once.  Don't hesitate.  Don't stutter.  Just tell her.  She'll understand.//

"Two years after you were taken..." Willow felt her strength and resolve drain out of her in a single moment.  In her mind, she saw Angel's kind eyes and his genuine smile.

//I owe him this.  I owe them both this.  For everything they've given me.//

Buffy leaned in toward her, her face full of fear, "What? What happened after I left?" She reached out and took her old friend's hand, "Willow, you can tell me.  It's okay."

Willow looked into Buffy's warm hazel eyes, which seemed a startling green against her yellowed skin.  "I haven't been raising the children alone, Buffy..." she hesitated, uncertain she had the strength to go on, "Angel's been with me."

Buffy abruptly let go of Willow's hand and snapped bolt upright.   "What did you say?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

Willow looked down at her hands, "Angel has been living her for three years.  He came back when they liberated the Might, in Washington."

Buffy slumped back against the couch.  She blinked furiously, unable to even process the thought.  Angel? Alive? Here?  

"Angel's here? Alive?" She thought aloud.

Willow nodded, "As alive as he's ever been."

Buffy was completely at a loss.  She had imagined that Angel died years ago, in the LA Underground.  But not only was he alive, he was here, maybe nearby...

//But if he's here, he must know I'm back.//

"Where is he?" she asked Willow, "Why didn't he come tonight?"

Willow frowned, never more upset at Angel's brooding-loner behavior, "When we... when he heard you were coming back, he... he left."

Buffy looked back at her once again, her eyes quickly filling with tears, "He left?" No.  He wouldn't...

"No, no," Willow said quickly, "Not left, left.  Left like... he needed some time.  We... we thought you were dead, Buffy.  We held on for a long time, but..." Willow sighed, unsure of how to continue.  She hadn't even gotten to the worst part, yet.  She felt confused by the old pain, when Buffy sat right there, beside her.

"I can't believe it," Buffy said, "I can't believe he's... alive..."

Willow screwed her face up into a tense frown, "There's more," she said, "There's something you should know.  About Angel and I."

Buffy looked at her, and immediately knew what Willow was going to say.  She shouldn't have been surprised, shouldn't have been hurt -- it was the natural thing to happen, after all... They both thought she was dead... they were old friends... the only two left...

But it hurt, anyway.  As Willow explained how she and Angel had clung to one another in pain, fear, loneliness and desperation, Buffy couldn't help but let a decade of tears burst from her tired eyes.

Angel... her sweet Angel.  Beloved, so long lost, to her... since long before the world had torn their world apart, he had been missing from her life.

But Willow had had him.  For three years, he had been by her side... in her arms.  Willow had possessed what she had only dreamed of, since she was 16 years old.  Buffy was so jealous, so irrationally and unfairly angry, she had to suppress the urge to flee.

This was her home.  Her family, whatever they might have done in her absence.  They were alive, and they were well.  She would just have to find a way to deal with the rest.

Buffy had been killed by a vampire; tortured and beaten and shot in battle, and ill almost to death with a wasting demon fever.  She had almost starved to death, almost frozen to death.  All of her friends and family were dead, and everything she had ever known and loved, destroyed.  She had lost her husband, her mother, everything.  And Angel had broken her heart himself, over and over again.  But nothing... nothing she ever experienced before had ever ripped through her like this news.

She realized suddenly that Willow had stopped talking, and was staring at her, waiting for her to say something.

Buffy looked up at her friend -- 1/4 of the only family she had left in the world.  The one who had stood by her, through everything Hell had thrown at them, for twenty years.  What could she say?  What she and Angel had shared had ended years ago.

"I'm sorry, Buffy," Willow went on,  "We were... it hurt us both so badly, to think you were gone.  We were so lonely, and the kids were like a bond between us... and a tie to you," she looked at Buffy, her big brown eyes begging for forgiveness, "Please... I hope you understand.  Please don't be angry."

Buffy looked at her for a long moment.  Then, she gave her friend a sad half-smile, and said, "How could I be angry at you, Will? How could I be angry that two of the people I care most about in the world cared enough about me to take care of each other, and my children?"  She reached out and took Willow's hand, noticing, for the first time, that she was starting to show signs of age, "I'm not angry.  Of course, it's weird, I mean...but... It doesn't matter.  That's the past.  I love you.  And I'm just glad to be home."

Relief washed through Willow, and she felt the palpable tension seem to lift from the room.  She grabbed Buffy and clung to her, tears spilling down her face.  She could feel Buffy's matching tears, puddling on her shirt.

"I'm so glad you're here, too, Buffy! I missed you so much!" she cried.

Angel stayed in the back 40, working the fields as far away from the city as possible.  But since the underground only spread for 50 miles in each direction, there was only so far he could go... and it didn't seem far enough.  He wanted to be on another planet... somewhere where he couldn't constantly feel her presence.  Since Buffy's return, he hadn't come into town at all.  Jeremy came a couple of times a day to check on him, and bring him clothes and news, but he hadn't seen Rhea at all.  The boy's visits were brief, and he barely mentioned his mother, so Angel imagined that Willow must have explained things to him.

The only thing that needed doing out here was threshing early wheat and hay for animal feed.  This was Johnson's plot, and the old man usually preferred to use machines for this kind of high-yield, cheap work.  When Angel had come to him and asked if he could harvest and acre by hand, he had given him a funny look.  Just so long as he got the grain he needed, the farmer cared little for how it was done.

"Odd boy," he observed to his wife as he watched the vampire walk away.

Angel had to do it.  He had to keep moving, keep busting his ass, keep plunging headlong into the backbreaking chore, working himself until he dropped, and barely had the strength to drag his carcass back to his camp at the glade.

He could feel her in the air -- he had been mistaken when he thought their bond was broken.  He knew intimately, with a stirring deep in his soul, the minute she had passed into the entrance tunnel, and for the past week of his self-imposed exile, he could feel the electric pulse of their blood bond every second.  It invaded every cell of every living thing around him, so that even the grain itself seemed to hum with her.   Buffy changed the world like that.  Angel seemed to inhale her with every breath, to the point where he could smell nothing else.  So he stopped breathing.