Part Six

Angel stood silently in the sanctuary of his bedroom, quietly observing the activity on the crowded street below. He had the window and shades open, allowing the sunlight and its warmth to wash over him, comfort him. It had been nearly three weeks since his last encounter with a vampire, and his body was slowly healing. His nose was back to normal, and the bruises had faded.

The feeling of inadequacy had not.

It was there, lurking in the darkness that seemed to own his soul. He couldn't escape it, it was always there. The feelings of despair, sadness, heartache...he carried them with him everywhere. He was trying, trying to live as a human would and not as a vampire with a soul would. He took long walks each day, taking solace in the sun and the activity around him. If he couldn't be part of it, he could at least observe it. But he was alone, and he suffered the consequences of keeping his secret every day. Yet the sunlight was beginning to feel good again, the warm breeze that ruffled his hair comforting. It was a breeze that was only present during the day, and it held the hope and happiness the brilliant rays of the sun also gave.

But it wasn't enough.

The darkness, the feelings, they were still there. Nothing could ever get rid of them. Nothing but her...and Buffy wasn't even there. He had been human for nearly two months and she didn't know.

She wouldn't want him anyway. What did he have to offer? He was weak, he made a lousy human still. The walks, the adaptation to the sun, they were a start. But he had to truly *live*, become part of the world around him. He had to get out and interact with people, learn how to interact with them. They were so different from the kind he was used to saving, they were the strong where the others had been weak.

Angel looked down at the people below, his eyes darting around the avenue. There were so many, all with their own story... He spotted the blonde he saw each day, her arm linked with the dark-haired man she obviously loved. She laughed, and Angel strained to hear the music of it. He wondered what it was like to do that as a human being, make a sound that was beautiful and happy and caused everyone around to smile involuntarily. He had laughed before, laughed with Buffy...but even that had sounded hollow, like something was missing. And something HAD been, it was the spark, the carefree tone that only a human could possess.

He wondered what would happen if he laughed now. Well, to laugh he would have to have something funny to laugh at...and he didn't find many things funny anymore.

His brooding thoughts were interrupted by his apartment door opening. He didn't turn away from the window, he liked the way the sunlight made his skin tingle. It was calming and it helped him feel as though he belonged.

Where, he wasn't quite sure.

"Well, at least you're improving. Light will help with the major tan you need," Cordelia said as she entered. "I mean, come on, Angel! You live in Southern California! Everyone here has tans!"

"Guess I'm in the minority, huh?" he replied from the window. She didn't reply until she was standing next to him at the big bay window, gazing down at the world below alongside him. Angel turned his head to look at his friend, noticing how her cheekbones were accentuated when she smiled and how the sun made her hair shine. She felt his eyes on her and turned to look at him.

"What?" she asked happily...a little too happily. Angel immediately became suspicious.

"Why're you in such a good mood?" he demanded. She shrugged, smiling secretively at him.

"That's none of your business, Angel," she teased. Angel cocked an eyebrow at her and she giggled. "Okay, you don't have to give me the third degree! Geez! I was just on my way out to meet someone for lunch, but I had to bring this to you first." Cordelia handed Angel a newspaper clipping and he took it uncertainly.

"Who's the lucky guy of the week?" Angel asked as he skimmed the paper. A job. It was a job opportunity for him.

"If you must know," Cordelia said, heaving a big sigh, "it's Cameryn. And it's nothing serious, we're just going out. And he's paying. So I guess it's a date..."

Angel smiled, picturing the brunette and redhead. They DID make a cute couple... "And this?" he asked, holding the clipping up. It fluttered lightly in the breeze.

"Oh, that's your new job. You have an interview tomorrow at nine thirty, I already arranged it for you. It's a huge gallery not far from here, I think it's like the third-biggest in the city. It's a pretty important job, you'd be a buyer for the company," she told him, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

Angel stared at her. A job. She had set up an interview for him the next day. Just like that. He could be a paid employee of a company tomorrow. The thought was incredibly daunting...and yet, on some level it excited him. It was his first step to becoming a true human being, working the nine-to-five with a suit and tie. He'd be on a payroll, have a desk...get his practice in dealing with others like himself.

He suddenly felt terror replace his brief joy. What if he was rejected? What if he couldn't do it? He couldn't even cook for himself yet, and he had the pizza boxes and burned food to prove it. When it came down to the wire, he sucked at being human. A job would just complicate things.

Cordelia had been silent the entire time, watching his inner turmoil reach its peak. "Angel, it's just an interview, you're not signing on to be a partner or anything. Come on, it'll give you an excuse to get out of this dark apartment and into the world a little," she prodded. Angel looked at her doubtfully.

"I don't know, Cordelia...I don't know if I'm ready," he said hesitantly. Cordelia shot him a look.

"Angel! You've been human for two months! You've wasted two months of your now extremely-shortened life sitting in this apartment feeling sorry for yourself. Since you won't call Buffy, you might as well do something else with your time. 'Cause, buddy, you really don't have that much left. You had eternity before. Now you've got an average of sixty or seventy more years. And that's if I don't kill you first."

Angel glanced at her, and, finding himself unable to meet her heated gaze, quickly looked away. His eyes traveled down staring at the shining pavement, the cars that whizzed by, and the city that lived its life before him. Maybe she was right. He needed to get out, to live. If he was going to get good at this human thing, he had to start somewhere. And it wouldn't be that hard, he loved art.

Finally he gave her a small smile, the first of its kind to grace his lips in much too long. "All right," he grumbled. "I'll go and apply."

Cordelia grinned happily. "I knew you would. And if you didn't, I'd drag you there anyway," she teased. Angel felt his smile grow slightly wider as he felt something akin to peace fill his tormented soul. He could do this. He was ready.

It was time for him to learn how to feel alive again.

"Uh, Angel?" Cordelia said, interrupting his thoughts. He turned to her questioningly. "I hope you know that you SO aren't wearing black tomorrow. After lunch I'll come get you and we'll go buy you a new wardrobe, one that consists of more than all the colors of the black family."

Angel groaned. Maybe this job thing wasn't such a good idea...

Twenty-two hours later, he walked out of his new boss' office, a proud smile on his lips. He had been given the job after a half hour of grueling questions, everything that ranged from his personal life to his background to his experience with art. The fact that he didn't have any kind of schooling hadn't helped, but when he had easily identified all the different pieces in the office accurately Mr. Martin hadn't hesitated to hire him. He started the next day as an art buyer for Venindine's, the third-largest art gallery in the city of Los Angeles.

Angel was terrified and excited at the same time.

He was now part of the working class of America. Stranger things had not happened.

The night world was as dark and silent as it had always been; Angel was the one that had changed. But what was he now? Where did he belong? He watched a cat yowl and dive behind a garbage bin. He kept walking, wondering what he was doing. He wasn’t looking for trouble, whatever Cordelia would assume if she found out he’d gone out. He didn’t want to get beaten up again. But he couldn’t stay inside another night, wondering what he was doing, what he thought his life was anyway.

He’d gotten a job. A human job. But it wasn’t helping anyone. He wasn’t doing anything to make up for the pain he’d caused. He was just trying to relieve his own brooding. Did that make it a bad thing to do? Or a good thing? Wasn’t this was humans did, after all…try and make their lives better? Why shouldn’t he? Could his life even be better? He didn’t know how to be a human. He hadn’t been a very good one when given the chance and now…all he knew was darkness and fighting. What did he know of living?

Angel rounded a corner, pausing near the entrance to a nightclub. A song started playing inside, it’s haunting melody floating out on the night breeze along with bits of conversation, smoke and heat. Angel paused, listening.

Cool breeze and autumn leaves
Slow motion daylight
A lone pair of watchful eyes
Oversee the living
Feel the presence all around
A tortured soul
A wound unhealing
No regrets or promises
The past is gone
But you can still be free
If time will set you free

Oh god…the song might as well have been written about him. Except the past wasn’t gone, it was all around him…it was in the blond girl that walked by, her face hidden by her hair, it was in the young man that resembled one he’d killed a hundred years before.

But maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe he could forget the past. Maybe he was supposed to.

A woman smiled at him as she walked past, and Angel followed her with his eyes, wondering if he should walk inside, should get a drink, as someone to dance…be human.

Time now to spread your wings
To take to flight
The life endeavor
Aim for the burning sun
You’re trapped inside
But you can still be free
If time will set you free
But it’s a long long way to go

The music got louder for a moment as the door opened and a young woman drifted out. She paused beside Angel, flashing him a bright smile and pulled out a cigarette from her purse. On second look, she wasn’t as young as he’d first thought judging by her diminutive statues and waif-like looks. Twenty six or so, he’d judge. And he’d had a while to perfect that kind of instinct.

"Got a light?" she asked in a husky voice. Angel fished an antique lighter out of his duster pocket and held it up, lighting her cigarette for her. She took a long drag and blew it out, surpring Angel when he started to cough. He wasn’t used to smoke affecting him. As a vampire, he’d never noticed it.

"That’ll kill you, you know," he remarked casually, adding in his mind: along with a thousand other things in this city.

"I know," she laughed with a wry smile. "I try and quit at least once a week, but I’m hopeless. I like watching the smoke spiral up." Angel followed her gaze and vague hand gesture, watching the thin spirals of silver drifting up into the night sky. It was cloudy up above, about to rain. "It makes me think about everything that’s up there. Life and the universe…which I’m pretty much insuring I’ll miss out on." Angel smiled wryly, staring up at the sky. He hadn’t taken the time to just look up for a long time.

"Some things you have to just…stop. You have to make a choice, what’s more important to you. Life…or watching the smoke float up," Angel said softly, looking down from the sky to the young woman beside him, watching him with a sad expression on her face.

Keep moving way up high
You see the light
It shines forever
Sail through the crimson skies
The purest light
The light that sets you free
If time will set you free

"Such words of wisdom…so why are you out here?" the woman asked, arching her eyebrows at him. The corner of Angel’s mouth inched upwards.

"I like the fresh air," he lied. She looked from him to the cigarette and then back to him.

"Fresh air huh? Why are you really standing out here?" she asked. Angel looked away for a moment, and then back.

"I haven’t made my choice I guess," he said finally.

"What choice?"

"Living, I guess," Angel replied, not knowing why he was confessing himself to an anorexic young woman that smoked outside an L.A. nightclub. Maybe it was the music.

Sail through the wind and rain tonight
You’re free to fly tonight
And you can still be free
If time will set you free
And going higher than mountain tops
And go high the wind don’t stop
And go high
Free to fly tonight
Free to fly tonight

She threw the cigarette down and ground it delicately beneath one platform heel. "Living…good idea. Standing outside in the rain…bad idea," she said, flashing him her smile again. Actress, he thought. Figured.

"Rain?" Angel asked. She pointed up at the dark, rumbling sky. A drop of rain hit Angel on the face.

"Rain," she repeated. "See you inside?" Angel didn’t reply and she turned and walked back inside the club. The song ended, wrapping its last strains around him. Free to fly…free to live…He should go inside. He could. Maybe it would work. Maybe he could really do it…be human. Cordelia was always telling him he should take a chance. He had a job now, why not a life?

When you were here before,
Couldn't look you in the eye,
You're just like an angel
Your skin makes me cry,
You float like a feather,
In a beautiful world.
And I wish I was special,
You're so fucking special.

The next song started before he could move towards the door, and so did the rain, slowly at first and then coming down heavier over him. It reminded him of Buffy–rain always did. It never rained in Sunnydale, except on her seventeenth birthday…the night they made love. He could still feel her cold skin, still hear the tapping of the rain on the roof…The song reminded him of her too. Just like an angel…The rain seeped into his head, seeped down over his face, down the back of his jacket. The first time he’d stood in the rain since he became human again. It felt different. Everything felt different.

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here.

Angel froze, just hearing the words of the song. He nearly laughed. Wasn’t it true though? It’s not like he was some normal guy with a clear past and bright future. He was a vampire, in his mind at least, if not in body. He would hurt whoever he touched. He had hurt Buffy so much. He wondered if he was hurting her now, if she missed him as he missed her. He wondered what she would say if she knew he was human, what she would do. And he knew that he wasn’t going to tell her. He didn’t know how to.

I don't care if it hurts
I want to have control,
I want a perfect body,
I want a perfect soul,
I want you to notice,
When I'm not around,
You're so fucking special,
I wish I was special.

Was that what he was doing? Trying to make himself perfect for her? Probably wasn’t far off actually. He did want himself to be perfect. He wanted to be human, to be strong, before he saw her again. She deserved nothing less. But if he hurt himself along the way? If he hurt her?

The rain was pouring now, sliding off his hair, his jacket, soaking his dark shirt, dripping down his face. He made no effort to hold it off or avoid it. What did it matter anyway? What did he care if he got a little wet?

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here.

A man and woman came out the club, laughing, and gave Angel an odd look before making a dash to a waiting taxi cab. He knew he looked odd…just standing there, still, soaking wet. He wondered what they thought of him, why they thought he was there…waiting for someone maybe? Or waiting for anyone? Maybe he was. But then again, maybe he was just waiting for her, which was as idiotic as it sounded.

A man came out and opened an umbrella, frowning at Angel before he walked away. Angel nearly laughed again. There it was…they knew what he was at least. They knew why he hadn’t gone inside, even though he’d nearly been fooled.

Why was he even standing there? What was the point anyway? He stopped thinking as the song went by, stopped even listening, just thought about the rain and her…he was always thinking about her…

Whatever makes you happy,
Whatever you want,
You're so fucking special,
I wish I was special...

He wondered suddenly if she’d ever heard this song, if she’d ever thought of him. Creep, weirdo…was that how she thought of him? Angel shook his head, spilling water in all directions. He was being unfair to her. She had never had an uncharitable thought in her life…okay, so maybe that was being unfair to her. She was human. But she didn’t think that about him…did she?

Angel ran a hand over his face, wondering what he was doing here, besides getting wet. He wasn’t proving anything to anyone by standing outside a club getting more and more depressed by the moment, and probably catching a cold. Cordelia really would kill him for that one.

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo,
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here.
I don't belong here.

No, he didn’t belong there, he thought as the music faded away. He didn’t belong anywhere.

Angel stood still and let the rain wash him away.

"Angel! Could you open the door now please?" Cordelia’s voice demanded from outside. Angel looked up from his book, surprised, and went to the door.

"You know," he said, unlocking the deadbolt and opening the door. "You have a ke–" He stopped when she slid a huge pile of books into his arms. Cordelia walked past him. Angel staggered under the weight and barely managed to get them onto the table before collapsing. His ribs ached.

"Cordelia, what are these?" he asked, sitting down abruptly. She stopped and turned back to him, arching her eyebrows.

"Cookbooks, duh!" she replied. Angel looked at them. The Joy of Cooking. Cooking for Dummies.

"But…why? And weren’t these all expensive?"

"Don’t worry, I used your credit card," she replied, fishing it out her purse and handing it to him. He stared. "You need them! Cameryn’s bringing up the rest in a minute."

"More cookbooks?" Angel asked, looking at the huge pile. Cordelia rolled her eyes.

"No of course not! Dishes and pots and pans of course. I picked out a pattern for you. I knew you’d go for like, black, given the chance, so I figured it was better if I just got them. God knows you don’t need more dark things in here."

"Here we go!" Cameryn called, wheeling a hand cart into the apartment. He stopped it by the table and began lifting boxes off it. Angel stared.

"You bought me dishes?" he asked.

"And cookware. And silverware, of course," Cordelia replied. "Are you gonna help him?" Angel looked at her dumbly for a moment, then at Cameryn, then started and went to help him lift off the boxes. He was pretty much healed and he’d started working out at a gym downtown, hoping to get back into shape so he wouldn’t be seriously injured again.

"Thanks," Cameryn said, when Angel lifted the last box off the hand trolley.

"Thanks for getting it…I guess," he replied. Cameryn grinned.

"It was Cordelia’s idea," he laughed. "I was just dragged along, I swear." Cordelia directed him a venomous look, but he just grinned. "They thought we were getting married."

"Really now?" Angel asked, looking from one to the other. Cordelia rolled her eyes.

"So, are you ready?" she asked.

"Ready?" he repeated.

"To learn to cook! Remember? We’re teaching you how to cook? We have to unpack the pots and pans first though."

"We are?" Angel asked. Cameryn put a hand on his shoulder.

"Don’t worry, you’ll catch up eventually."

Cordelia reached into her bag and pulled out several videotapes. "Where’s your VCR?" she asked, looking around.

"I don’t have a TV," Angel replied. Dead silence settled over the room.

"Here it comes," Cameryn murmured, watching the actress.

"You don’t have a TV?" Cordelia demanded. "How are you supposed to live a normal human life without a TV? And it’s not like you don’t have the money!"

"Cordelia, you don’t have to have a television to live normally," Angel replied. She gave him a "duh" look.

"Fine, we’ll just have to go get one when we’re done. But you have to promise me you’ll watch these!" she exclaimed.

"What are they?" Angel asked.

"Julia Child. Cameryn’s aunt tapes them." Angel looked at the piza delivery guy, who shrugged.

"She asked for them."

"Who’s Julia Child?" Angel asked. Cordelia threw a pen at him.

They (as in Cordelia and Cameryn) decided to teach Angel how to make one thing for each meal, and then they’d go from there. They started with scrambled eggs (they’d also, it turned out, went grocery shopping. Again, with Angel’s credit card…"She was enjoying that way too much," Cameryn confided quietly to Angel.)

"You take your eggs, and your milk and your mixing bowl," Cameryn said, placing the ingredients on the counter. "And put the skillet on low, with butter in it." He saw the way Angel was eyeing the eggs and frowned. "Maybe we should put the skillet on after we have this part mixed up."

"All right," Cordelia agreed. "You break the eggs into the bowl."

Angel picked one up and…squeezed. Before Cameryn or Cordelia could stop him, the thing shattered, spilling all over his hand, the bowl and the counter.

"Wow," Cameryn said, "I didn’t know there was anyone in America that didn’t know how to break an egg. Impressive."

"He’s been out of the loop," Cordelia said weakly. Angel looked from one to the other and wondered how he was supposed to do it.

Things went more smoothly after that, since Cameryn and Cordelia didn’t let him do anything without demonstrating it in detail first. They showed him how to break an egg. How to measure milk. How to mix them together.

"I really think I can do this," he said, after Cordelia wigged out at him for mixing while she was in the bathroom. She gave him The Look. He shut up and handed her the bowl.

"How did you get through twenty plus years without learning to cook?" Cameryn asked, pouring the eggs into a pan and demonstrating to Angel how to mix it. Angel and Cordelia exchanged glances.

"Servants–" she said, just as he replied, "Ate out a lot."

Cameryn arched his eyebrows. "So why the sudden lack of either servants or eating out?" he asked.

"He doesn’t like to eat alone," Cordelia replied quickly, giving Angel a shut up and go with it look. "So…Where did you get your hair done?"

"My sister did it," Cameryn replied, "She dabbles in styling."

"Don’t tell me she works in the glamorous world of pizza delivering," Cordelia muttered. "I cannot believe I’m dating a pizza boy." Angel patted her shoulder reassuringly. Cameryn held back a grin.

"No, no, Dee’s a doctor…Deirdre that is."

"A doctor?" Cordelia demanded. "So why are you a pizza boy?"

"Cordelia, I don’t think–" Angel began.

"Actually, that’s just a night job," Cameryn replied, unruffled. His eyes were gleaming slightly. Angel and Cordelia exchanged another worried look. They had experience with "night jobs".

"What do you do the rest of the time?" she asked suspiciously.

"I’m an artist. Though my dad’s trying to convince me to work at his company. He wants me to take over for him when he retires, but it’s really boring," Cameryn said, shrugging.

"What kind of company?" Cordelia asked.

"Uh, guys?" Angel said. They ignored him, eyes locked.

"Software," Cameryn replied off handedly. "I’m trying to convince him to let me run the internet department, but he thinks that’s too small."

"How…big of a software company?" Cordelia asked, taking another step towards him.

"Um, Cordelia?" Angel asked softly. Intent on her prey, she ignored him.

"I don’t know, it’s worth like, a few million…" Cameryn replied, trying very hard not to laugh at the look on Cordelia’s face. Like she was a lion who’d just spotted a nice fat juicy lamb. That could keep her in shoes for the rest of her life.

"Really?" she whispered. "And he wants you to take it over?"

"Yeah, but it’s no big," he replied. Cordelia caught his hand.

"Cameryn? Why are you working at a pizza place?" she demanded.

"I want to be an artist…And it lets me catch the ones who don’t just want my money," he replied.

"Hello?" Angel said, "The eggs are burning."

"Well I dated you before I knew," Cordelia reminded him.

"Hey, did I say anything?" They were that close to kissing. Then the fire alarm went off.

"Told you they were burning," Angel said mildly.

Cordelia yelled at him, even though she’d expressly forbidden him to touch food without direct supervision. Cameryn lounged against the counter and laughed. Angel sighed and asked how to get burnt eggs out of a frying pan.

Grilled cheese sandwiches went a little more smoothly. So Cordelia was too busy complaining about the cheese on her shirt to remind Angel he had to turn the thing over…it didn’t get that burnt.

Dinner was spaghetti with cheese and tomato sauce. Cameryn was explaining the concept of throwing pasta on the wall to check if it was done, when Cordelia accidentally got in the way.

"You got a stain on my shirt!" she shrieked. "Another one!"

"Oops," he said, picking the piece of spaghetti off and eating the end. Cordelia’s eyes widened and she grabbed the nearby bowl of whipped cream (they had a pre-made pie for dessert) and dumped it on his head. Angel laughed despite himself at the surprise on Cameryn’s face, and moments later was hit in the face by a rather large apple pie. He stood very still for a moment as it slid to the floor. Cordelia paused, suddenly afraid. And then Angel yelled and picked the pie up, launching it at the actress who ducked behind Cameryn, who grabbed a cookie pan to use as a shield. Cameryn scooped up the remaining whipped cream, and dumped it on his almost-girlfriend, who retalliated with the saucepan full of lukewarm marinara sauce, just a shade darker than his hair. A plateful of burnt eggs was sitting on the counter and Angel grabbed it, dumping it on top of Cordelia, who grabbed a handful of grated cheddar cheese and threw it in his face. Cameryn shook out parmensan all over both of them and the apple pie re-entered the fray before all three collapsed on the floor laughing so hard they were in convulsions.

Two hours and massive amounts of cleaning later, the three sat down to a nice large…pizza. The pasta had been forgotten about in the meleé and what wasn’t one large mush was stuck together. Besides, there wasn’t much cheese or sauce left to go on it, and everything else was pretty much decimated. They’d ordered out.

"I like pizza," Angel said reflectively, taking a large piece.

"Since it’s like, the only thing you eat, one would hope," Cordelia replied. She’d insisted on going downstairs and taking a shower before she would let them look at her. Or Cameryn look at her anyway. He’d just changed into Angel’s clothes, which were a tad too big for him. Or…a lot too big for him. It wasn’t that he was small…just, different shaped.

"I think this went well. I’m going to be cooking again…in about a century," he laughed. It felt good. Despite the mess they’d made of the whole "cooking lessons" concept, he’d had fun for the first time in…a long time.

"Remember, huma–or me. Humor me…and watch those tapes. Yeah," Cordelia said quickly, casting a glance at Cameryn, who was giving them an interested look. Angel shot Cordelia a dangerous one.

"So, how do you know each other?" Cameryn asked.

"I was…friends–and I use the word loosely–with his ex in high school," Cordelia replied. "Buffy." She looked at Angel and winced. "You have Buffy face again!"

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Do not."

"Do too."

"Do not."

Silence.

"Don’t give me that look."

"Shut up and eat Cordy."

Angel let out a grunt as he did his two-hundredth sit-up. A thin sheen of perspiration had broken out on his forehead and upper lip as his muscles strained to keep up with the demands of his mind. They clenched tightly as he started up again, breathing out heavily each time he sat up. His ribs were still tender, and this was complete torture.

But he needed to push himself, he needed to become strong. Strong enough to fight and NOT get beat up horribly. Angel had no intention of giving up his personal crusade against evil, there was still guilt in his soul. He was surprised to find that it had lessened considerably in the last few weeks--spending time with Cameryn and Cordelia helped enormously. But that wasn't what he had wanted, he wanted--needed--to feel guilt. He didn't deserve the gift of humanity, and since he had it he was useless.

This was him proving that he wasn't useless.

A sharp ache in his abs caused him to finally stop after three hundred. He had been doing this every day for the last two weeks, and the results were beginning to show. His stomach was sculpted and hard. The tank top he wore showed it off nicely, the fabric pulling tight to illustrate each separate muscle.

"Oh yeah, with a stomach like that you could *definitely* get a modeling job," Cordelia said from her seat on the couch. She was curled up against the arm, a fashion magazine in her lap and MTV blaring from the TV that she had forced him to buy--along with the VCR, DVD player, and stereo system that he "couldn't live without". The beat from the music actually helped him concentrate, setting a pace for his workout.

"I have a job, Cordelia," Angel argued as he sat down on the weight bench he had bought and picked up a fifty-pound barbell in each hand. His biceps screamed as he began to pump with first one hand and then the other. His shirt was nearly drenched with sweat and it was running down into his eyes.

"Well, you could always do it on the side..." she said, raising an eyebrow. Angel's look silenced her.

Still Angel pushed on, ignoring the burning sensation in his muscles and the slight dizziness he felt. That would go away after a while, he knew from experience.

Cordelia watched silently as he yelped once when the weight became too much. He strained, and the veins and muscles in his arm bulged as they fought to do as his mind commanded.

Finally he set the weights down, letting out a long breath of relief.

"Why are you doing this?" Cordelia asked suddenly. Angel looked at her questioningly as he positioned himself to work his calves. He upped the weight on the machine and hooked his ankles under the metal bar.

"Doing what?" he grunted as he began to lift the bar.

"Pushing yourself so much," she clarified. "I mean, it's great that you want to work out to get in shape and all but this is a little ridiculous. You work out at least three hours a day after work...what are you trying to prove?"

Angel was silent as he continued his exercise. He knew it was helping, it was all helping. And, truth be told, he enjoyed pushing his body, making it bend and strain to complete the tasks he assigned it. The satisfaction of a hard, lean body kept him going when he thought he would collapse from exhaustion.

He picked up a towel and dabbed at his face and neck before he spoke, continuing his workout. "Nothing. Is it such a crime to want to be in shape?"

Cordelia shot him an incredulous look. "Angel, there's a fine line between 'in shape' and work-out maniac. You seem to have stepped over to the side of maniac. If you're not at the gym, you're here on that stupid machine that you spent way too much for. You should have gone with the iMac."

"Yeah, so? And Cordy, me and computers do NOT mix," he said, breathing out as a sharp pain grew in his lower leg. He closed his eyes and willed it to go away. When that didn't work, he gritted his teeth and kept on going.

"Don't you think it's a little strange?"

"I think you've thought about it too much," he said as he switched legs.

"Please," she snorted. "I just worry, that's all. I have to look after you until you get the balls to tell Buffy, and you're starting to wig me out. It's like, obsessive. Cameryn's noticed it too, we were talking about it the other night--"

"Don't you two have better things to discuss on dates than me?" Angel asked with a slight grin as he grabbed his Gatorade and took a long swig, slowly quenching his thirst.

"Don't flatter yourself," she retorted, rolling her eyes. "We don't usually talk about you, but we're both worried. I mean, what are you trying to get out of it, Angel?"

"I can't just *want* to get into shape?" he snapped, concentrating on his exercise. Up and down, up and down, breathe in and out, in and out...it was so mechanical, so simple. Maybe that's why he enjoyed it, it was something he was actually good at...

"You can. I think it's great that you want to take care of your body. But why not just sign up for Tae-Bo and call it a day?" she asked, sliding her legs to the floor, dislodging the magazine in her lap.

"This is better," he said, suddenly standing and going over to the punching bag he had bought. He stared at it intently, focusing his energy on his first strike. The music reached a high crescendo and he struck, raining sharp and furious punches on the hard bag.

He was relentless as he practiced his technique, polishing his sharp jabs and hard kicks. Cordelia watched, fascinated, as his muscles strained and relaxed with each movement. He looked good, almost as good as he had when he was a vampire. That bothered the actress. It was like he had something to prove to someone other than himself. Buffy? Probably. He had to prove he was "worthy" of her. What better way then to become Buff Guy and show her he could take her for a picnic *and* kick demon ass?

Sweat poured down his cheeks, his forehead, his chest. His hair was soaked with it, and his body was tired. But he pushed on, losing himself in the movements of martial arts. Punch, punch, kick, punch. His knuckles were sore from the hard, unrelenting bag, yet he paid them no mind. They would heal.

Finally, when the fast-paced music stopped, he shot out in a left hook one last time, shaking the bag. It strained against its chains, like a beast trying to get free. Angel steadied the bag and leaned his forehead against it, the cool materiel feeling refreshing against his hot flesh. He was breathing hard, sucking in oxygen to his screaming lungs.

"Who are you trying to impress, Angel?" Cordelia asked softly as she switched off the television. He turned his head to gaze at her, his skin still on the bag. There was a pain in his eyes that she thought had been buried.

"God."

She stared at him, raising an eyebrow. "God?" she repeated. He nodded and closed his eyes, concentrating solely on his breathing.

"I have to prove I'm worthy of this gift," he said softly. "I have to show that I can still fight, that I'm not totally useless."

"Since when do you care about God?" she asked.

"I always have, Cordelia. I was raised Irish Catholic, but the whole vampire thing kinda made it impossible for me to practice it," he told her, his gaze on the floor.

Her mouth formed a tiny 'O'. So *that* was what this was all about. Not Buffy, for once. She voiced her thoughts in her tactless manner.

Angel looked up at her with the pain that she had come to associate with Buffy in his eyes. She instantly regretted her words, knowing that he had been making some real progress in the Buffy area. She quickly stood and grabbed her bag.

"Look, uh, I'm gonna go, Cameryn's coming over with Chinese food in a few minutes. Plus you stink, hit the showers, champ," she joked, moving to the door. Angel followed her with his eyes, his body relaxed and slagging against the heavy punching bag.

Cordelia paused at the door. "Look, Angel. Whatever it is you're searching for...? You'll find it. God loves everyone, right? He knows what happened to you, and I know he doesn't blame you. You've paid your debt."

She opened the door. "Now you have to *live*."

The door closed softly as Angel stared at it, her words echoing in his mind. With a sigh, he pushed his tired muscles once more, this time headed for a hot shower.

Part Seven

The sun was shining. Children were laughing. An old couple sat on a bench and a young one danced to music only they could hear.

And Angel walked through it. Once, he would never have been near. Once, he would have been watched suspiciously, conspicous in the bright atmosphere of day, of life, of light. Now he was merely another passer-by, someone with their own life to get too, their own people to meet.

Except he was separate. Even in this odd, shifting world, this city where everyone could find a place, he had none. He had a job, a title, an apartment. People knew him at the gym, at the corner store, in the art gallery. But he connected with none of them. None of them knew who he was, beyond a face and maybe a name. And he knew none of them.

He was afraid to know them. Afraid to take that last step into humanity.

One of his co-workers had asked him out on Friday. "I heard you’re shy," she’d said, pausing by his desk with a smile. "Is it true?"

"I wouldn’t say shy exactly," Angel had replied, looking up. She was pretty, and according to the other buyers, smart and funny.

"What would you say?" she’d asked, a spark in her warm brown eyes.

"Out of the loop," he’d replied with a slight smile.

"Would you like to be back in it?" And there was the dilemma; he didn’t want to be. He didn’t want to go out and meet people, to move on with his life. Not without Buffy.

She’d looked confused when he gently given his reply, and a little dissapointed, but shrugged it off and said she hoped he’d have a nice weekend. Angel watched her walk away and wondered what was wrong with him. Why he couldn’t just shrug and move on.

Bells rang nearby and Angel turned towards them without thinking, an instinct bred into him more than two hundred years before. Church bells rang mass and he followed their echoes, up to the huge, soaring cathedral, where he could walk safely once again. Where nothing inside would hurt him.

The priest was saying Sunday Mass. Angel walked in without a thought; he had nowhere to be. No one was waiting for him. He stopped at the entrance and got down on one knee, dipping his finger in Holy Water and making the sign of the cross. He hadn’t done that for years–once, when he first got his soul back, he had tried to go to church, but it had ached just to be there. The entire building had cried out against his presence. Making the sign of the cross burned as much as the actual symbol would.

But not now. Not anymore.

Angel stood up and walked inside, stopping at an empty pew far back and stepping into it. He kneeled down upon one of the cushions and bowed his head, letting the words of the prayers flow over him like water, familiar despite all the years from then till now, despite the fact he’d aways heard them in Latin and never understood, and now, when he spoke Latin fluently, he heard it in English.

One of his only remaining memories of childhood was their local church. He remember following his mother inside, not the tallest of the brood, not the shortest. The middle child, Angelus. The one that never did anything right, never anything he didn’t have to. But as a child, when he would step inside that place, he wouldn’t be the bad one anymore, the middle one, the ignored one. He would just be himself, a child under God’s loving care, as they all were. He felt no need to misbehave, to have his mother’s attention. He had God’s already, just for being alive.

Standing in that church was the only time he ever felt whole back then.

As he’d grown older his behaviour had grown worse and worse and he’d scoffed at the church, at God, at the doddering old priests and chaste, prim nuns. He’d forgotten that feeling, or tried to forget anyway, to drown it in ale and serving girls.

When he first regained his soul, he’d wondered if perhaps that was why he was turned. If he was being punished for his sins. But God didn’t hurt the innocent to punish the guilty, and that’s what Angelus had done. What Angel had done. Hurt the innocent.

If ever he had turned away from God as a young man, that was nothing compared to his turn away from the Light as he grew older.

But now he was human; God, or the Powers That Be, or whatever higher being was out there, had granted him a second chance at life. A chance to help people, and now a chance to help himself.

He couldn’t forget that. He couldn’t let that go.

It was with a start Angel realized he had been kneeling there for an hour, and the mass was over, most of the people gone. A group of young men walked in, teenagers in baggy clothes with skateboards.

"You know what you could do with a cross," one of them laughed.

"Yeah, stick it up your ass," another replied. They laughed, not seeing Angel nearby. He looked up at them without rising.

"Forgive them Father, they know not what they do," he whispered, watching as they stood there mocking the surroundings before gradually losing interest. Angel watched them leave and then closed his eyes, regret at his words flooding through him. "No," he amended, "Forgive me Father, I know not what I do."

Who was he to chastise them? He who had spent a hundred years carving a cross into his victim’s cheeks to symbolize that God was not all powerful, that he, Angelus, could destroy life.

But he never did. He never destroyed life. Only hurt people. No one man or vampire had the power to destroy life, or love or hope.

Angel bent his head and whispered a prayer that came to his lips, his mind filling, as it always did, with thoughts of her. Of her laughter, and her smile and the softness in her eyes. Of the way her soul felt when she was near him, as if it was calling to his. He ached for her, but he could not call her. He could not just go and show up at her house and expect her to welcome him back with open arms. And he would expect that, he knew. He would want that. But one couldn’t always have what one wanted.

One had to earn it. He would earn this.

"Are you all right?" a kind voice asked from the end of the pew. Angel looked up to see a teenage girl regarding him, her head cocked.

"Fine. I was just…thinking," he said. Her mouth turned up.

"For two hours? I noticed you come in during the Mass…I’m an alter girl. But you just stayed there…aren’t you stiff?" she asked.

Now that she mentioned it…

Angel stood up, stretching with a tiny self-deprecating smile. "I didn’t notice I’d been there so long," he replied. She arched her eyebrows at him and he realized with a pang that she was blond, and the look she was giving him was reminiscent of the slayer. His heart was aching again…he couldn’t even go ten minutes without thinking of her.

"Apparently. Sorry for disturbing you…people just don’t usually find that much to pray about. Father Flaherty is taking confessions now," she said helpfully. Angel watched impassively. "I’ll just stop bothering you now…Sorry."

"That’s all right," Angel replied, "Thank you." She smiled quickly at him and walked out of the church. Angel watched her go and then glanced over at the confessionals. Before he could stop himself he was walking over and then stepping inside the small booth. When was the last time he had been in one of these? Taking Drusilla’s last confession maybe, corrupting her poor innocent mind?

"Bless me Father, for I have sinned," he said softly. "It has been…many years since my last confession."

"How have you sinned my child?" the warm, kind voice came from the other side of the screen. How had he sinned? How many lives had he ended? How many souls had he torn apart? How had he sinned?

How many tears had she shed?

"I have hurt everyone around me for a very long time. I…I knew I was doing it, but I could not stop. Not for the longest time. And then, when I thought I was in control again, I ended up hurting the woman I loved–love," Angel said.

"How did you hurt her?" the priest asked.

"I mocked her and followed her around, trying to frighten her, and then…and then I was myself again, but I still didn’t stop hurting her. I was afraid that I would do worse, and so I left."

"How did she feel about this?" Father Flaherty asked. Angel smiled softly, recognizing the soft Irish brogue in the priest’s voice, muted, but still there. He had lost his…so long ago, he didn’t even remember anymore.

"She said she didn’t want me to leave. She was hurt, but I knew it was better that way. I told her she should move on, be happy without me."

"And what has happened to you?"

"I…I am free. I have been freed from the demon–from my own demons–by some miracle. By God’s hand. But I am unable to complete the work He gave me now, unable to make amends for my sins. I want Him to forgive me, but I know I must earn it…I just don’t know how," Angel whispered; prayed almost. He knew, literally, that there were powers in the universe of good and light, just as there was the First Evil and darkness. And he knew that the Catholic vision of God did not encompass the true nature of this greater light. It wasn’t a man; it didn’t grant some eternal happiness and others hell.

But Angel believed anyway. He always had.

"You cannot earn forgiveness child," the Father told him. "God gives it merely because you ask. You need not suffer to make amends. In God’s sight, they are made merely by the desire to make them. God sets each of us tasks in this world, but it is not our place to understand them. Perhaps by finding happiness you will be fulfilling God’s work."

"But I only know of one happiness," Angel protested quietly, "And she doesn’t deserve reminders of pain, even if they are only memories."

"Shouldn’t you let her decide what she deserves?" Father Flaherty reproved him. "It is not our place to make decisions for others. We must only try to do our best for them and for ourselves and for God. As it is not your place to decide what amends must be made."

"But so many suffered by my hand. Shouldn’t I suffer by it too?"

"Life in itself brings suffering my child. For those who look no further, that’s all it is. We must seek for the joy hidden within it."

But Angel was silent, because in his two hundred years of life, he had never learned how to find joy.

Geez, I guess those guys that say you can get into really good shape in a few weeks aren't lying, Angel thought as he stared scrutinizingly into the full-length mirror in his bedroom. His shoulders were broader, his stomach hard and sculpted, his arms and legs toned and muscular. Cordelia may have been worried about it, but he had never felt this good. He had also never thought he'd spend time appraising himself in the mirror... Must have been spending too much time with said-worrier.

Sighing and humming along to the Strauss symphony playing in the living room, he quickly pulled on a pair of khakis over his silk boxers and went looking for the pressed white shirt he had taken out earlier. Angel spotted the shirt on the chair in the corner and went over to get it, walking in the bright sunlight as he crossed the room. The warmth left his newly-tanned skin tingling and he smiled as he pulled the shirt on and buttoned it, leaving the top two buttons undone. It was more comfortable like that, although it DID make his female co-workers stare even more...

The gallery had been invited to a show in downtown L.A. for a world-renowned artist, and Angel had to go and purchase a sculpture, but he didn't mind. The artwork was amazing and he felt more relaxed talking to people with the same interests as him.

Angel slipped into his dress shoes and went into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. Cordelia teased him about being so healthy, but Angel was really trying to embrace the whole human thing, which meant eating healthily and drinking plenty of water. He had to reach around the half-eaten chicken he had made the night before to get to the Evian. All those cooking shows and "lessons" from Cordelia and Cameryn had helped tremendously, and he had finally gotten the hang of it.

They had been a big help, kind of like his own personal cheerleaders. Well, Cameryn hadn't worn a skirt but... They had been there to encourage him, and for that he was eternally grateful. Cordelia had also ordered him to brighten up the place a bit, which he had reluctantly done. She bought more lamps for him and had added little touches of color all over the place. Cameryn, after seeing the paintings Angel had started doing, had helped get them framed and his work was now displayed on the walls, making the apartment seem homier and happier. His bedroom doubled for his studio and a desk sat against the wall covered in art supplies and sketches.

Sketches of Buffy.

Glancing at the clock on the wall, he swore and went back into his bedroom, grabbing his jacket from the bed and going into the adjorning bathroom to finish his hair. Cordelia had also made him purchase a mirror for the bathroom after seeing what a disaster it had been for him to shave without one. When he had been a vampire, shaving had been painful but the wounds would quickly heal. Now, it was just painful. She had taken one look at him with his face all cut up and taken him shopping.

He finished with his hair in record time and grabbed his watch from the dresser. Making sure he had his keys, he switched off the stero and left, suddenly not looking forward to going. More women to hit on him, just what he needed...

Angel sighed as he sipped his wine, turning away from the painting he had been studying and trying to escape the brunette who was presently hitting on him. What was it with people and not understanding no?

"So, Angel," she said, batting her eyelashes, "maybe you and I could go out sometime."

"I don't think so," he replied with a forced smile. "I'm not dating anyone right now."

"Bad breakup? Or are you gay?" she asked suddenly, a horrified look on her face. Angel’s mouth twitched upwards. He’d been getting that a lot lately.

"Neither," he said. "I’m just not interested." He gave her a tiny smile to soften it and walked quickly away, hoping she would take the hint. Luckily she did, and Angel breathed a sigh of relief as he slowed down, taking in the surroundings of the room he had just entered. It was brightly-lit and held several sculptures of a couple locked in a passionate embrace. He stepped over to the closest one, tracing the outlines of the marble with his eye.

It was breath-taking, the upper bodies of a man and woman in the throngs of ecstasy, kissing passionately. It sounded vulgar, but the image was anything but. Their arms almost seemed to tighten around each other, their bodies blending together, their lips touching, their eyes closed, and though it was cold marble one could almost sense that the perfectly carved lashes would flutter at any moment…It was love, passionate and yet pure at the same time, suggesting something beyond the physical interlocking of arms and lips.

He thought of Buffy, of what it had been like that night, when for a moment, they had been one.

He was paying so much attention to it that he didn't even realize someone had stepped up next to him. "It's amazing, isn't it? There's so much passion, so much love that's obviously there between the two people, don't you agree?" the middle-aged woman asked, her eyes never leaving the sculpture. Angel started when he heard her voice, his eyes widening in shock. No, it couldn't be... "Hi, I'm--" she said, finally looking over at him with her hand out-stretched, ready to shake his.

"Joyce." There was a moment of stunned silence as her eyes widened. "Joyce?" he said again, his voice holding a note of shock in it when he spoke, staring at the mother of the woman he loved more than life itself.

She gasped. "Angel?"

The two stared at each other, suspicion quickly rising in Joyce's eyes as Angel recovered from the initial shock.

"What are you doing here?" they asked at the same time. Angel looked around nervously and gestured for her to go first.

"What's going on? I thought you were a-" Joyce's voice dropped to a whisper. "I thought you were a vampire!"

Angel sighed, groaning inwardly. "I was. I saved the life of a gypsy and he turned me human in thanks," he explained hastily.

"Human? You're human?!" she hissed, grabbing his wrist and checking for a pulse. When she found one, she dropped it in awe and stared at him. "When did this happen?"

"About three and a half months ago," he told her. This could change everything. This WOULD change everything. If Joyce told Buffy...

She stared at him. "What are you doing here?"

"I work for Venindine's," he said. "I'm supposed to see about purchasing a sculpture."

"I see," she said, running a hand through her hair. "Well, it...it was nice seeing you."

Angel breathed out. "You too, Ms. Summers. Have a good afternoon."

She smiled warily at him and nodded. "Same to you, Angel."

Joyce Summers turned and walked away, casting one last glance over her shoulder at him. Angel reached out and steadied himself against the wall as he watched her go. Oh, God, what if she told Buffy about this? He almost called out to her, but decided against it. She would have mentioned her daughter if she had wanted to know why he hadn't called her. Right?

He honestly didn't think she would tell Buffy she had seen him. Joyce had made it perfectly clear that she didn't want Angel involved with Buffy, and telling Buffy that he was human and that she had seen him could change all that. She had gotten what she wanted, Angel gone and Buffy with someone new. Stirring up the past would do more harm than good.

Sighing warily, Angel moved away from the sculpture, confident in the knowledge that Buffy wouldn't find out from her mother. He hoped.

Buffy was poring over the latest issue of Mademoiselle when her mother’s car drove up. She heard the engine stop and glanced at her watch, wondering why Joyce was home so early. It was barely nine and she’d had to drive from L.A. and everything. Buffy sighed and stretched her legs. She’d kind of been looking forward to having the whole huge house to herself for a few hours. Now she’d have to explain why she was there and not out "having fun" with her friends. Luckily, Joyce didn’t know about Riley yet or she’d probably throw Buffy out.

The key clicked in the lock and Joyce entered, looking harried and extremely annoyed. Buffy looked up from her magazine and arched her eyebrows.

"Hi Mom," she said cheerfully. Joyce nearly dropped her purse, then spun around and shut the door and turned back.

"Buffy, what are you still doing here?" she demanded, an odd look in her eyes.

"Just thought I’d have a quiet night at home…why are you home so early?" Buffy asked. "Not that I mind but–"

"Why didn’t you tell me?" Joyce snapped. Buffy blinked. Tell her she was going to hang out there? Before she had time to ask, Joyce continued. "Is that why you’ve been so distant? God Buffy, I’m your mother! The least you can do is share important news with me!"

"Important news?" Buffy repeated. Joyce gave her a scalding look.

"Now look here young lady, you may be in college, and you may not be living here anymore, but you’re not an adult yet, and I still have some say in your life! Including your love life!" she exclaimed.

"My love life?" Buffy asked. Did Joyce find out about Riley? But how? And why in heaven’s name would she be angry?

"Don’t tell me nothing’s going on with him! I know you and if you think you can just not tell me about Angel being human, you have another thing coming missy!" Joyce shouted.

Buffy froze. Had her mother just said what she thought she said?

"Mom, what are you talking about?" she asked slowly.

"You know perfectly well what I’m talking about!" Joyce shouted. "I saw him! He was at the show! Looking all…all human!"

"Who did you see Mom?" Buffy asked, wondering vaguely if her voice was really shaking.

"Angel!" Joyce exclaimed. "I saw Angel! So there! Your little game is over Buffy. I want to know what’s going on between you two right now!"

"Angel’s human?" Buffy asked, wondering if this was some sadistic joke her mother was playing, or if it was a mistake or…

"You can’t fool me with that look! There is no way he’s been human three months and you don’t know about it! So start talking Buffy!"

"Three months?" Buffy repeated.

"That’s what I said! That’s what he said, now will you please tell me–" Buffy stood up and turned away, no long listening to her mother. Joyce stopped dead. Buffy picked up her jacket and her purse and slipped into her shoes.

"Where do you think you’re going?" Joyce demanded. "I’m not done yet!"

"I am," Buffy said quietly, a thousand things overflowing in her mind. How could Angel be human? Was it possible? And why wouldn’t he have called her? Could they still not be together? Or did he just not want to be with her? She couldn’t even think that second one, it was too terrible a thought. She knew Angel loved her. There had to be another reason, another explanation. Why hadn’t he told her?

One thought surfaced above them all: she had to get to L.A.

Buffy walked out of the house, her mother yelling at her to get back in there right that minute, and began to run towards Xander’s.

Part Eight

Anya's tank top had just been thrown across the room when an incessant banging on the door caused Xander to detach his lips from hers. The brunette shot him a deadly look and slumped back into the pillows, tracing her finger down his bare chest.

"Ignore them and they'll go away. But if it's Spike, we can let him in, he's sexy," she whispered, nibbling on his ear. Xander pulled back and looked at her oddly.

"You think Spike is sexy? As in boy-next-door sexy or Brad-Pitt sexy?" he demanded over the racket.

"Boys next door are sexy? Xander, your neighbors are two old women who smell like Ben-Gay," she said, leaning forward to kiss him again.

"Good point," he said, his voice muffled in her lips. The banging continued.

"Xander Harris, I KNOW you're in there! Get some damn clothes on because I'm about to break the door down!" Buffy shouted. Xander's eyes widened and he shot off the bed, running to the door. She always made good her threats and he didn't feel like replacing it.

He threw it open to find an extremely-agitated Slayer pacing behind it. She pushed past him, her eyes sweeping over the room and resting on Anya. Buffy rolled her eyes.

"God, don't you two ever stop?!" she demanded, turning to Xander, who was hastily pulling his shirt on. He smiled sheepishly.

"When you say stop, do you mean--"

"STOP!" she shouted, raising her hands to her head. She pulled her hair taut and took several deep breaths.

"When did Buffy go psychotic and why didn't we get a memo?" Anya whispered. Buffy looked at her in disgust and stooped down, picking up one of Xander's tacky Hawaiian shirts and throwing it at the ex-demon.

"Xander, I need you to take me to L.A.," she said, taking another calming breath. Xander ran a hand through his hair.

"For what? Dead Boy need some help saving souls?" he asked, the bitterness in his voice not lost on Buffy. She looked up sharply, her eyes suddenly filled with unshed tears.

"Angel's human," she whispered. Xander's mouth fell open.

"Umm, Xander...the gaping mouth isn't very becoming. It's kind of gross looking," Anya said helpfully. She was ignored.

"Say that one again," he said, "because I *know* you didn't just say what I think you said."

Buffy sighed, a sound that was so pathetically depressing that Xander closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her comfortingly. Buffy fell into his embrace and a sob shook her small body.

"Angel's human and he didn't tell me. He's been human for three months and he didn't tell me," she whispered when she finally pulled away from him, wiping at her tears.

"How do you know?" Xander asked.

"My mom saw him at an art show in L.A. She just got home and she told me," Buffy said. "So I need you to take me to L.A. tonight so I can find out what the hell is going on."

"Why did you come here? We were busy, you know," Anya snapped. "And you people say I'm rude..."

"Anya, you ARE rude," Buffy shot back. "And Xander's the only one with something resembling a car, so I figured he'd do the friend thing and drive me up there."

"Of course," Xander said, immediately grabbing his keys.

"Well, if you two are leaving, can I go too?" Anya asked, standing up and smoothing out her skirt.

"No," they answered simultaneously. Anya seemed taken aback.

"We'll only be gone for a day, Anya," Buffy said.

"You're staying overnight?" she demanded. Buffy shrugged.

"Probably...we can get a room or something."

Anya nodded. "Well, if you are, you two should bring clothes. You don't want to be walking around in clothes you wore today, that would be skanky."

"Who needs Cordelia when you have her?" Xander asked with a smile. Anya shot him a look.

"I don't have time to run back and get clothes," Buffy said, running a nervous hand through her hair.

"Well, you can borrow some of Anya's," Xander said. "She's got a drawer."

"She has a drawer?" Buffy whispered, her eyes holding ancient pain. Xander nodded hesitantly and went over to it, selecting a tank top and a pair of capris that didn't match. Anya snatched them from his hand.

"God, if you're going to just give her my clothes make sure they match!" she cried as she pulled out several articles of clothing before throwing a pair of flairs and a red tank top at Buffy, plus an old pair of Xander's boxers and a large t-shirt to sleep in. She also plucked out undergarments and a hair brush for the Slayer, tossing in some makeup as well. Buffy stared down at the items and looked back up at Anya with fresh tears in her hazel eyes.

"Anya, I--"

The ex-demon held up a hand. "Don't get all weepy on me, Buffy. Emotions are over-rated." Buffy nodded and blinked the tears back. Xander handed her a duffel bag and she shoved the clothes into it. He tossed his clothes in too and zipped it up, throwing it over his shoulder.

"I'll call you in the morning," Xander said as he leaned down, catching Anya's lips in a sweet kiss. She pulled him to her and continued to kiss him soundly. Buffy rolled her eyes and cleared her throat pointedly.

"Thanks for letting me steal him, Anya," Buffy said, grabbing Xander's arm and pulling him away from his girlfriend. She glowered at the Slayer and folded her arms over her chest.

"Don't try anything with my Xand-Man," Anya warned. Buffy's eyes widened and she burst out laughing. Xander turned to her, a confused look on his face. She shook her head and composed herself.

"Sorry, it's just...nevermind," she said hastily, pulling him out the door. Anya stood in the doorway, watching them get into Xander's beat-up Jeep and take off. She closed the door and looked around, suddenly at a loss.

"What do I do now? Whenever Xander and I are here we're usually having intercourse..." She sighed, brushing a piece of hair out of her eyes. "I wonder if Spike's around..."

Buffy sat quietly in the front seat of Xander's car, staring out the window at the dark countryside as they drove. She had propped her elbow up on the open window and was biting her nails absentmindedly.

She hurt. A lot. Knowing that Angel had been human for *three* months and that he hadn't thought she was important enough to tell... He must not have loved her as much as she loved him, because if he had he would have told her in a second. They could be together, finally...and he hadn't even bothered to let her know.

Was there something wrong with her? She closed her eyes against the thought, stretching her senses out across the quiet countryside. The breeze brushed against her cheeks softly, blowing her hair behind her. Xander was quiet in the seat beside her, staring at the road intently.

Angel was human.

Angel was human and he was in L.A. and Buffy hadn't known. She had found out from her MOTHER of all people, which cut deep, pouring stinging salt into the raw wound of her heart. The least he could have done was tell her himself...

And if her mother hadn't found out, would he have even told her at all? What the hell was his deal? Why did he keep this from her? Was he trying to protect her from something? Or did he just not want to be with her?

That was probably it. He had found some leggy blonde wannabe-actress and was shacked up with her right now at his apartment. He didn't want her in his life, he had a new one, one with a job and a title and a blonde bimbo.

He didn't want her.

She had thought that it was impossible to become even more upset about his leaving than she had been.

She had been wrong.

This hurt much, much worse.

Buffy sighed deeply and wiped at the tears that had once again started to trickle down her cheeks. Xander looked over at her, concern marring his face, and reached his hand out to take hers.

"Can I help kill him?" he asked with a grin. Buffy couldn't help herself, she started to laugh.

"I'm not going to kill him, Xander," she said, then muttered, "well, not *much* anyway."

"Now you're SURE that Angel's human? I mean, what if your mom was just playing a joke on you?"

"Oh, because it would just be SO funny and all," she said, an edge to her voice. Xander squeezed her had reassuringly.

"Just a thought. Don't hurt the Funny Guy."

Buffy sighed again and resumed her stare out the window. "Is there something wrong with me? I mean, why would he not tell me?" she whispered, running a shaky hand through her hair and praying that the tremble she had heard in her voice was not obvious. Xander looked over at her quickly.

"Buff, there's *nothing* wrong with you, okay? Angel's Noble Guy, remember? I'm sure he had some lame reason for not telling you," Xander told her comfortingly, then widened his eyes in shock. "I can't believe I just defended him."

Buffy giggled. "Neither can I."

Xander suddenly glanced down, his brow furrowing. He put on his blinker and eased off the road into a small, non-descript gas station. He turned off the engine and gently uncurled his fingers from hers.

"The car is hungry," he said. She smiled.

"You should probably feed it, then," she replied.

Xander quickly got out of the car and fueled up, paying the small, balding man who sat in the little booth. He got back into the car to see that Buffy had turned on the radio, the tunes of Sarah McLachlan blasting. If country was the music of pain, Sarah was the music of depression.

"I thought brooding was something only Angel did," he said with a smile.

"It usually is," she replied softly, shifting her gaze to him. Not being able to take the pain in his friend's eyes, he averted them to the steering wheel.

He turned it down and put the key in the ignition, turning it as he stepped firmly on the clutch. The engine revved to life for a moment, then sputtered and with a sickening pop grew silent. Xander frowned and tried it again.

The engine whirled briefly and went dead again. Xander cursed softly and looked over at Buffy.

"There seems to be a problem," he told her. She stared at him.

"Xander, get this car moving."

"That's the thing, Buff, I can't."

"Dammit!" she cried, lashing out and punching the dashboard. Xander winced when he saw the fist mark she had left. "Why is this happening?! I need to get to L.A. and find out what the FUCK is going on with Angel and now the car won't start?! This is priceless!"

Xander cautiously placed a hand on her arm, feeling the coiled muscles relax slightly. "Uh, Buffy? Can we try and not take our aggression out of Xander's poor car?"

Her lower lip trembled slightly as she nodded and drew a shaky breath. "Sorry. I'm just a little tense."

"Well, I'm going to go ask that scary man over there if he can fix this and then we'll be on our way, okay? And I'll even let you yell at Angel more, I'm sure this is his fault somehow."

Xander got out of the car and Buffy followed. Together they walked up to the poorly-lit booth.

"Excuse me..." Xander's eyes settled on a name tag. "Billy-Bob. My car seems to have died on me and we need to get to L.A. tonight."

The fat man squinted at them, blowing a cloud of smoke into Xander's face. "Yeah? So?"

"This is a repair shop, right?" he asked, gesturing to the dark garage. Billy-Bob nodded. "Repair it!"

"Shop's closed, boy. You'll have to wait until morning to get your poor excuse for a car fixed."

"Morning?!" Buffy cried, stepping up the window. "Come on! Just come out here, work your little mechanic magic, and let us get going! I have an ex-boyfriend to scream at and I'm really edgy and I need to get to L.A. right now!"

The man stared back at her, unfazed. "Shop's closed," he repeated. "Gotta wait until morning."

Buffy looked as though she was about to explode. She shrieked and lashed out on a poor unsuspecting cinder block with her foot, breaking it in half. Xander seized her by the arms and shook her.

"Buffy, chill. So we're set back a little. Not the end of the world."

"No, the end of the world is less stressful than this," she snapped, her hazel eyes on fire.

Xander sighed and turned back to Billy-Bob. "Is there any cheap, tacky motels around here?" he asked. Billy-Bob nodded and pointed down the street.

"About a block away, Motel Six and a Half."

"'Motel Six and a Half'? Where'd the half come from?" Xander asked, scratching his head.

Billy-Bob shrugged. "You'll be able to get a room cheap there. You can leave your car here and we'll take a look at it first thing in the morning. After the coffee and doughnuts, of course. What's your name, boy?"

"Xander Harris. You'll be able to fix it early?"

"If it's not too serious," Billy-Bob said with a sigh. "I'll call you at the motel and let you know."

Xander sighed and nodded reluctantly. "Thanks." He removed the Jeep key from his keyring and walked back to the car, where Buffy was leaning against it with her arms crossed over her chest. She had the bag slung over her shoulder.

"This is just what we needed!" she cried as the two friends began to walk in the direction of the motel. Within minutes it was visible.

"Well, I did say cheap," Xander said, raising an eyebrow at the decrepit motel. Buffy wrinkled her nose.

"That thing passed all those inspections?" Xander shrugged and held the door open for her. Cheesy elevator music assaulted their ears and a stale smell of old garbage and something else that made Buffy flinch. A bored-looking teenager sat at the desk, flipping through a Playboy.

"Umm, we'd like a room," Xander said after several moments. The guy looked up dully.

"How many nights?"

"One," Buffy said quickly. "Only one. Our car broke down and we just need to wait for it to get fixed."

"Single or double?" he asked, going back to "reading the articles".

"Double," they said at the same time. The guy picked up a key and handed it to them, along with a clipboard with a piece of paper for them to fill out. Buffy quickly did, charging the room to her mother's credit card. They were given the key and directed to their room.

Buffy unlocked it hesitantly and stepped in, flicking the switch as she did so. Xander followed and the two of them stared around.

"God, could the *be* tackier?!" Buffy asked as she set the bag down on the floor, taking in the pea-green walls, orange bedspreads, and dark dressers. Xander checked the bathroom, shutting the door quickly.

"I think there's something dead in there," he said.

"Where?" she asked, pushing him out of the way and opening the door. A foul stench greeted her senses and she quickly closed the door. "I'm guessing it's the plumbing."

"Well, at least the beds are comfy," Xander said, testing one out. It creaked under his weight.

"Although not entirely stable," she said dryly, reaching for the bag. She pulled out the pajamas Anya had given her and turned her back to Xander. He did the same and they changed in silence.

Buffy pulled a brush through her long blonde hair as she sat on the bed. Xander tested his out again, getting another loud shriek for his troubles.

"That bed sure has seen better days, hasn't it?"

Buffy shuddered. "*So* don't want to think about it," she replied, pulling back the covers and grimacing. "I can't believe I'm going to sleep on this."

"It's only for about seven hours," Xander said, gesturing to the alarm clock on the nightstand between them. It was well after eleven, and Buffy felt her lids drooping. She switched off the light and curled into a little ball.

"Xand?" she whispered, looking across the room. The motel's neon sign was right outside their window and its light cast eerie shadows in the darkened room.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for doing this," she said softly, forcing the tears down. "It really means a lot to me."

"You're welcome. That's why I did it," he said. "Well, that and the fact that Anya's wearing me out."

Buffy smiled. "Don't have the stamina to keep up with Demon Girl?"

"I don't think *anyone* has that kind of stamina."

Silence crept through the room for several minutes, when suddenly a sob
erupted from Buffy's chest. Instantly, Xander slid into her bed and held her close, allowing her to cry her heart out in his arms.

She fell asleep clutching him to her, wondering why Angel would ever want to put her through this kind of pain.

Again.

"Are you going to go kill him or shall we stand here for a while longer?" Xander asked, eyeing Buffy. She started, looking away from her study of the big apartment building, back to her friend.

"I…well, what if he really doesn’t want me around?" she asked in a forlorn voice.

"How many times do we have to cover this?" Xander asked gently. "The boy’s an idiot, whether he’s dead or not, and you’re no Betty Louise! So get going!" He unfolded his arms and gave her a gentle push towards the building. Buffy gave him a grateful smile, but paused again.

"Are you sure you don’t want me to go in with you?" Xander asked. Buffy shook her head.

"No. I should do this by myself. I can do it. Thanks Xand," she replied.

"No prob."

"So, you going?" he asked. She smiled ruefully, squared her shoulders and walked towards the building, not sure whether to be angry or just afraid.

He turned away from the window the second he glanced out of it. There was a blond girl in the parking lot, with some guy. Their faces were turned away from the building, but it still made his heart ache. He tried to forget about it as he stumbled into the shower, his entire body protesting the movement, his muscles screaming with fatigue and soreness.

It was a good soreness though, Angel reflected as he turned on the hot water and let it wash over him like a balm. An honest soreness. One that meant he had accomplished something, saved someone.

He was making amends, as painful as it might be.

One of his old contacts had tipped him off that Pizza For the Stars, the place Cameryn worked, was actually owned by some nasty demons that ran a side business with toppings a lot more interesting than sausage. Also a lot more illegal and morally wrong. Angel had spent the last week planning the operation, and the night before he had taken them down. It had been hard, and he felt like a walking bruise the morning after, but he had done it.

Maybe he wasn’t so unworthy anymore, he thought, then pushed it away, concentrating on the feel of water running down his face, over his arms and chest and legs.

It was, as he thought, a good pain. A worthy pain.

If anything could ever be worthy of her.

That was an old pain and he tried to push it away, relaxing his tense muscles. It didn’t work very well.

Which was when he heard the pounding.

At first he thought it was just construction or something, but there wasn’t any happening in the building, and he realized it had the distinct sound of fist hitting wood. Cordelia? he wondered. But she wouldn’t be up this early…unless she was angry at him for something. Which didn’t really explain the pounding, since she would just come in…

He turned off the shower and climbed out, wincing at the protestations of bruised muscles, then wrapped a towel around himself and ran into the front room, where the pouding continued unabated.

Only to come face to face with Buffy, who had just broken the door handle and walked inside.

He was wearing a towel. And only a towel. Between the rage, Buffy was trying not to melt into a puddle on his floor.

"B-Buffy," Angel stuttered, his eyes widening. Buffy glanced over at the open window, where sunlight streamed into the room, and then to Angel, who had a bruise across his shoulder and was breathing hard.

"It’s true," she whispered, her eyes filling with tears again. "It’s true!"

"Buffy, I can explain," Angel said quickly. "It’s not what you th–"

"Not what I think?" she demanded, cutting him off. "Tell me, Angel, what do I think? That I’ve spent the last three months in misery while you ran around L.A. in the sunshine, never bothering to pick up the phone?!"

"That’s not true Buffy, that’s not what ha–"

"So, what? You didn’t want to be with me? You thought it would be easier this way! Who wants some teenage girl hanging all over you, huh? And this way I’d never have to know, you’d never have to see me again!" she shouted. Angel went completely still, horror dawning in his eyes that this was what she thought of him.

"I thought it was for the best. So you could have a chance with your normal life. You have a boyfriend and–"

"Riley?" Buffy demanded. He nodded. "My god Angel! Riley is nothing. Nothing! I can’t even stand him half the time, but he was better than spending every night in my room alone thinking about you! Or listening to my friends tell me how I needed to move on! But I guess that wasn’t a problem for you. You already had."

"Buffy, you know that isn’t true, I love you!" Angel protested, beginning to get angry too.

"You love me?" she laughed bitterly. "Yet we have a chance for happiness and you decide to just not let me know? Actions speak a little louder than words Angel!"

"I told you to move on! I wasn’t going to just come waltzing back and expect you to still be there for me!" Angel shouted back.

Buffy stopped, her face going white like she’d been hit. Tears were pouring unchecked down her cheeks.

"Yes," she whispered. "You should have. Because if you really, truly loved me, you would know that I would always be there for you, always want you and love you. You would believe in me Angel. You would want us to be happy." Her voice began to rise. "You don’t want to be happy Angel! And you don’t want me to be! You don’t know what happiness is! Or true love!"

"I know what true love is," he replied quietly, tears slipping into his mouth as he spoke. "But I wanted to be worthy of it."

"Worthy?" Buffy yelled. "Worthy?! You and your stupid sins and your stupid self-sacrifice! You deserve everything you idiot, and so do I! But the truth is you don’t want it! Deep in your little masochistic heart you want us both to suffer! So fine, I’ll suffer! I’ll suffer for the rest of my life because I can’t stop loving you! Because now you’re the only thing standing between us and happiness! You Angel! That’s it! I hope that makes you feel worthy."

And then she was gone, and her last words echoed in the room, silent accusations.

Angel wanted to break down, but he didn’t know how. He wanted to run after that, but he didn’t know how to do that either. He went back to the bathroom, dried himself off and went to get dressed, silent tears streaming down his face the whole time.

He’d just put on his pants when someone burst through the door. Someone else.

"What the Hell is wrong with you?!" Xander demanded, bursting into Angel’s bedroom. The once-vampire looked up, surprised, registering finally that this was who had been in the parking lot with Buffy.

"Everything," Angel replied quietly, turning to his dresser to pull out a shirt.

"No you don’t! You’re not going Brooding Guy on me! Or on her! What the hell did you say to her?"

"Not much," Angel said. "She did most of the talking."

"Then why did she just go running off into the city without a word, sobbing like her life was over?" Xander yelled. Angel froze, then sat down on the bed, looking up at the young man for the first time.

"I can’t be what she wants me to be."

"Which is what? Human? With a heart of some kind maybe?" Xander exclaimed. "Where do you get off not calling her for three months?"

"I thought she’d be better off without the reminders. Starting fresh," Angel said.

"God, you’re more of a dumbass than I thought! She doesn’t want a start fresh!" Xander yelled. "She wants you, though I have no idea why!"

"So I should do what?" Angel asked.

"Go after her! Tell her you love her! Make her feel like someone in this stupid world actually cares about her!"

"You care."

"Yeah, but I’m not the one she wants. So what are you doing sitting here? The most amazing woman in the world is somewhere in L.A. at this very moment, crying her eyes out because of you! You’ve put her through hell, several times! You went evil on her, dumped her, lied to her–the least you can do is go and make up! I don’t care what you really think! Just go beg until she either gets some sense and beats the crap out of you, or takes you back."

"But–"

"No buts! Go! Now! She’s getting away!" Xander yelled, pointing out the front door. Angel stared at the young man before him, whom he knew had never liked him. Whom he knew wished he would just stay away from Buffy forever. Whom he knew loved Buffy very much and wanted her to be happy.

Which, he realized suddenly, was the only thing he wanted too.

"Thank you," Angel said softly, and ran out of the apartment.

Part Nine

Angel didn't know where to begin. Los Angeles was huge and Buffy had had a head start. He ran blindly through the streets, turning his energy and attention inward and focusing on finding her. He stretched his soul out, trying desperately to find the connection with hers that had always been there. If he reached out and searched for her, he knew he would find her.

He *had* to find her.

Angel rushed around a corner and stopped for a moment, a solitary figure standing in a mass of people. He looked around breathlessly, hoping to spot her. There were several blonde-haired young women walking briskly down the street, and he stood on tiptoe to see each one.

None of them were Buffy.

Angel ran a hair through his still-damp dark hair and sighed wearily. He felt such an ache in his heart that he didn't know whether he would die or go insane from it. The need to fix this awful mess he had created, to show her that she truly was what he wanted more than anything in the world, was his driving force. It was a feeling of madness that he hadn't felt since he had returned from Hell more than a year ago.

He closed his eyes and took several deep, calming breaths. He reached deep into the recesses of his dark and tormented soul, gathering up all his love for Buffy and using it as his guide to her. It was like a spiritual experience, he was focused as he delved deeper and used everything that made him Angel to aid his desperate search.

And suddenly a force began pulling him in the direction of a nearby park, and Angel knew that he would follow this instinct. He felt her, he felt in tune with her. He nearly wept at the feeling of unadulterated despair that wrapped around him like a wet blanket.

He had to fix this.

Blindly, Angel broke out into a flat run, pumping his arms and ignoring the sharp pain that grew in his side. It felt like a knife was slowly being twisted in his gut and his lungs and sore body screamed in protest, but he pushed on, dodging people and traffic.

He was being controlled by his heart.

He had relinquished power to it, and it pushed his aching body to the breaking point.

A person's heart is so much stronger than their mind.

He mopped at the sweat on his brow with his hand as he raced into the small park. Angel slowed significantly until he was jogging down the lane, his head swinging back and forth as he looked for her. There were children laughing as they played catch, young lovers out already enjoying the sun. The sky was a magnificent blue, like one out of a painting, the sun a bright ball of fire against a sea of sprawling ocean. Not a cloud littered the sky, and the sun shone as though it was smiling down on the Earth and its inhabitants. Angel was oblivious to everything but his goal as he trotted along, his eyes and soul searching for her.

And suddenly he spotted her blond head. It was bowed and her shoulders shook with sobs. He felt his heart rip painfully in two as he stared at his beloved, broken by her lover twisting a ragged knife in her heart. Without thinking, he raced up to her, grabbing her arms and spinning her around.

Angel felt Buffy shudder at his touch and he pulled away as though she had struck him. In a way, she had. She looked up at him, her hazel eyes clouded with bitterness and disgust.

"Leave me alone, Angel," she said, her voice tired and withdrawn. She wrapped her arms around herself and brought a hand to her face, wiping futilely at the tears that had found purchase on her cheeks. He shook his head and grabbed her again, pulling her to him.

Buffy shuddered, her body trembling. "No, Buffy. I won't leave you alone until you listen to me," Angel said, tightening his grip on her arms.

"Angel, you're hurting me!" she yelped. He released her instantly, his mouth set in a firm line. "You've said all there is to say."

"No," Angel said with a shake of his head. "*You've* said everything *you* have to say. Now listen to me."

"Why should I?" she demanded, biting her lip hard to keep it from trembling. "I don't want to know why you did what you did, nor do I care. You made your decision to not tell me, so I don't want to hear it!"

"No, dammit, you're going to listen to everything I have to say and you're going to understand why I did it!" he cried, seizing her arms once more and bending low to look her straight in the eye.

Buffy averted her gaze, sucking in a breath to try and keep the tears at bay. Angel's intense gaze burned her soul and she found herself looking back at him helplessly, drawn to the fire in his eyes.

"Don't touch me, dammit!" she ordered sharply, withdrawing from his embrace. "And don't look at me in that way you always do, like you know exactly what I'm feeling and exactly what I'm thinking. Stop looking into my soul!" Buffy was sobbing now, her voice hoarse with raw emotion. Angel stood silently during her tirade, oblivious to the audience they had acquired. "Get out of my head, Angel! Get out of my heart!"

The last sentence was nothing more than a pathetic whisper, a plea to end the torment once and for all. She knew it was impossible, he was imbedded in hers as much as she was in his. But the words felt satisfying, the anger justified. This was her right, this attack on his actions was her release.

"I can't, Buffy, and you know that as much as I do." His reply was soft, the words true. She felt a wave of helplessness wash over her, she was hurting and there was no cure.

"Why do you do this to me, Angel?! Why do you keep hurting me so much?" she asked, her voice rising.

"You weren't supposed to find out!" he replied, running a shaky hand through his dark hair. "You were happy!"

"Damn you, Angel, do you just NOT listen to me?!" she cried. "I'm NOT happy! I'm miserable! I'm not myself, I'm like this robot. My body's alive, but my soul feels dead."

"No," Angel said with a shake of his head. "You're stronger than that, you've faced so many horrible things. You *died* for God's sake. Something like love is NOT strong enough to break you!" The words he spoke were a lie, and he knew it. But he was so insecure and confused and he didn't know what to say to possible amend this.

Buffy's face went white and she drew in a shaky breath. Without thinking, she took a step towards him and slapped him squarely across the cheek. Angel's head whipped back at the force of the blow, and he winced as her palm connected with his soft flesh. Caressing it lightly, he stared back at her in shock.

"Don't you EVER say that again," she said menacingly. "God, Angel, are you really that stupid? You were my everything and you left me! I loved you more than anything else in this entire world and you LEFT me! How did you think I would take it?!"

"I left for your own good, Buffy, and you know it!" Angel shouted, his body coiled. "Do you have any idea how hard it was to walk away from you?"

Buffy held up a hand to stop him, ignoring the tears that ran unchecked down her cheeks. "Don't. Do NOT go there right now. I think the real issue is the fact that you've been human for three months and you haven't sent so much as a postcard."

"I wanted to, I wanted to so badly," Angel told her honestly. At her incredulous look, he threw his hands up and turned to the side, composing himself. "I thought about you and missed you every second of every day. But I wasn't just going to waltz back into your life after all the pain I had caused."

"This whole human thing changes everything, Angel! You didn't care enough about me to tell me," she said, her voice lowering to a bare whisper. "You didn't care enough to tell me."

Angel's heart constricted sharply as he took in her tear-stained cheeks and the haunting sadness in her eyes. Impulsively he took a step towards her before stopping, unsure of what to do. He settled on taking her hands carefully in his and looking deeply into her eyes.

"That's not true," Angel told her softly, "and you know it isn't. I cared enough about you not to tell you."

"That makes absolutely NO sense whatsoever!" Buffy cried, trying to pull away from him. His hands held hers firmly as he forced her to look at him.

"But it does. I was a wreck, Buffy, a complete and total wreck. For at least a month and a half I was useless, completely useless. I didn't want to burden you with this, not when you were creating a new life for yourself," Angel said. She shook her head, silvery tears flying in all directions.

"Burden? You're anything but a burden, Angel," she argued. "You--"

"You would have felt obligated to come help me and I couldn't stand that thought!" Angel cried suddenly, releasing her hands and backing up. His look was desperate as he continued. "I thought you would feel like you HAD to come here even though you didn't really want to. I didn't want to tie you down, Buffy, especially after I heard about Riley and--"

"Stop!" she screamed, her voice thick with emotion. "Riley meant NOTHING to me! It was always you, it was only you! And how dare you make that assumption! You know that I would be ecstatic to help if you knew me at all--"

"But that's just it," Angel interrupted. "I don't know you anymore. We've been apart for months, Buffy, how was I to know you hadn't changed? How was I to know you'd take me back?"

"You should have know, dammit!" she cried, pointing a finger at his chest. "You should have known that the second I found out you were human I would have dropped everything and come rushing back to be with you! I think you didn't want me to know! Who is she, Angel, who's your new girlfriend?"

Angel looked as though he had been slapped. The breath was sucked out of his lungs and his eyes bulged at her words. "Another?" he asked lowly, almost dangerously. "You think there's another in my life?"

"Why else wouldn't you have called?!"

"Because I didn't think you'd be able to ever forgive me for leaving you! Because I didn't want you to suffer anymore! Because I don't deserve you! Because I had to truly learn how to live like a human and not as a vampire!" Angel shouted, rattling off a few of his many reasons. Buffy looked away from his intense gaze, shielding her eyes and her heart.

"Compared to this, leaving is forgivable. Believe me," she said firmly. "I'm suffering more without you than I am with you! I feel like I'm this shell, Angel, I'm not myself. I haven't been since you left! You don't deserve me? I don't deserve someone as compassionate and caring and loving and wonderful as you." She seemed to choke on her tears at that moment, trying desperately to hold them at bay. "Tell me what the real reason was, Angel."

He took a deep breath. "I..." His voice croaked and he swallowed, wetting his dry throat. "I didn't feel worthy of this gift. To be human, after all I'd done...I had to prove I deserved it. I had to show that I *was* worthy, that I could still do good even though I wasn't a vampire anymore." Buffy moved to interrupt him at this point, but he held a finger to her lips, silencing her. "That was the problem. I was trying to live like a vampire in a human body and I couldn't. I didn't know what to do, how to act. I had to learn how to live, how to truly live, before I could even think about anything else. And if you had been here, you would have distracted me to the point where I don't know if I would have come to this revelation. I had to do this for me, Buffy, I had to convince myself that I could handle this before I brought you into it."

With each word he spoke, Angel felt a sense of truth behind them. He had never realized it before, but that was what had happened. It had been about him, this whole thing had been about him and his insecurities. He had to establish himself as Angel--human and not Angel--vampire-with-soul. Learning about Riley had given him an unselfish reason, a noble cause. He had used him as a shield to hide from his own fears, and he had hurt Buffy in the process.

She was pale as his words registered. Her eyes searched his in a desperate attempt to uncover the truth, and she knew instantly that it was indeed what he felt. She saw his realization, she saw his enlightenment. But she still had anger to deal with, and she did it the only way she knew how. She attacked.

"I can understand that, and I respect that. But you could have at least told me, Angel, you know I would have given you your space to figure this out."

"You would have," Angel agreed softly, inclining his head. "But I couldn't have stayed away if you knew."

"I deserved to know, Angel, after all that we shared...what, did you not love me enough to tell me?" she asked desperately, her eyes welling. Angel looked at her as though she had grown two heads. Violently he grabbed her forearms, leaning down close, invading her personal space.

"Why do you keep doing that? I told you why I did what I did. I'm not trying to sugar coat this or whatever, and I'm not making excuses for myself," Angel told her. "You asked for the truth. That's what I gave you." His voice turned pleading. "Why are you doing this?"

"Why am *I* doing this?!" she repeated, shocked. "Do you have any idea how much this hurt me? I'm still in shock, seeing you now in the sun..." Buffy brought up a shaky hand to touch his warm cheek. Angel leaned into her caress, turning his face to seek out more of her palm. She withdrew it as though he had burned her. Brilliant tears blazed in her hazel eyes as she stared up at him coldly. "I found out what I wanted to know. I'm just gonna go and wallow in my grief for the rest of my life. Enjoy yours, Angel, it's a lot shorter now."

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away from him.

Angel let her get about twenty feet ahead of him before he realized what had just happened. Crying out her name, he raced to catch up with her, stepping in her way and effectively blocking her path.

"So that's it? That's how it ends? We don't try to make this work?" Angel demanded, staring darkly into her tear-filled eyes. Buffy choked back a sob and nodded.

"You don't want this to work, so I'm not gonna bother."

"That's not true and you know it! Look, I...I know I can't change what I did, but at least let me try to make this up to you," Angel pleaded, his dark eyes drawing hers in. Buffy hesitated.

"Angel..." she whispered softly, her tone relating the anguish she felt. "I...I can't. I can't open myself up to you again, I always seem to get hurt."

Angel was at a loss. He didn't know what to say to convince her that he wouldn't hurt her intentionally again. "I understand," he said tightly, tears constricting his throat. He felt himself die a thousand painful deaths when her eyes overflowed, tears pouring down her luscious cheeks.

He took one last look at her heartbroken face and turned, slowly walking out of her life forever.

Buffy's lower lip trembled as she fought hard to keep from crying. The urge was too powerful, however, and she let out a cry of pure anguish. She watched Angel's back as he walked away from her and knew this was her only chance at happiness. She was tired of being lonely, she was tired of being miserable. She just wanted to be with the one she loved.

"Angel!" she cried, racing up to him and spinning him around forcefully. Looking him squarely in the eye, she whispered, "We can't end it like this." Her voice dropped. "Please don't let it end like this."

Angel took one look at her visibly shaking with pain and enveloped her in his strong embrace, wrapping her in his love and protection. She sobbed bitterly against his chest for what they had lost and all they had gained, her small body wracking with painful cries. His hands grasped at her clothing, trying to draw her closer. His cheek nuzzled hers, one hand coming up to smooth away the hair that had matted itself to her forehead. Buffy burst into fresh tears and buried her head deeper into the crook of Angel's shoulder.

He was oblivious to the tears that ran freely down his face, concentrating solely on banishing her pain and heartache. Standing there, in the shelter of the sun, Buffy and Angel healed each other.

After a long time, Buffy pulled away. Her eyes were scratchy from crying and her vision bleary, but she could see him perfectly. Angel gazed down at her, concern and love in his dark eyes. She sniffled and tried to smile up at him to assure him that she was all right. Suddenly unable to meet his gaze, she looked down, staring at the large amount of tears on his chest.

"Sorry about that," she said with a gesture and a sniffle. He smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"Well, you can never take too many showers," he joked lamely. Buffy found her eyes drawn back to his, her heart bound to his and her soul a part of his. After this moment she knew that she would never let him go.

"Angel..." she whispered, her breath hitching slightly. Angel tightened his arms around her, pressing his forehead to hers. Suddenly she realized that she had been arguing with Angel for nearly fifteen minutes and in that time she had never registered his appearance. He was shirtless. And shoeless. But back to the shirtless thing... She looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. "Why don't you have a shirt?"

Angel looked down at his bare chest and laughed, shaking his head. "Well...I was kinda in a hurry. But, hey, it's better than the towel." Buffy raised her eyebrow.

"I don't know...I kinda liked the towel. You looked so...naked."

"That would probably be from the whole I-WAS-naked thing..." Angel said with a chuckle. Buffy giggled, the sound suddenly turning to a sob.

"Shh," he said soothingly, pulling her once more into his embrace. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere." She looked up at him under her lashes, an unspoken question shining in her eyes. "Ever." Satisfied with the answer, she let out a trembling breath and collapsed against him once more.

"We can make this work, right?" she asked, her voice a plea. Angel felt a smile grace his lips, a genuine one filled with love and happiness. He nearly shuddered in the relief that swept through him.

"We can," he assured her, bringing a hand up to caress her cheek.

"This doesn't make what you did okay," she warned, pulling back to stare him in the eye. "We still have a lot to work out."

"I know," Angel said with a sigh.

"But not here, not now," she whispered. He nodded in agreement, finally noticing the crowd of people who had gathered around them. Buffy followed his gaze and fought down a laugh. "I think we made a scene."

"Don't care," Angel muttered, his lips hovering dangerously close to hers as he bent down. "Can I kiss you now?"

She nodded, her eyes bright with happy tears. Angel didn't allow them to fall, pressing his lips to hers gently instead. Buffy gasped when they touched, wrapping her arms around his waist again to pull her closer to him as they deepened the kiss. Angel ran his hands through her blond hair, over her face, familiarizing himself with her features again. She parted her lips and he slipped his tongue into her mouth, drawing hers out to play.

Buffy sucked Angel's lower lip into her mouth lightly as she stood on tiptoe to get even closer to him. Finally they broke apart, both gasping for breath, and realized that their audience had started applauding. Grinning sheepishly, they gazed at each other and promptly forgot that they had an audience at all. Buffy pulled his head to hers again, kissing him hard as she released all the pent-up lust and love she felt for him. Angel returned it with equal fervor.

"Angel?" she asked, suddenly breaking away. He looked at her.

"What, beloved?" he asked, cupping her cheeks in his palms lightly. She pressed a kiss to each, turning her head to each side.

"If you're human and there's now no curse, what the hell are we doing making out in a park?" she asked, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. Angel's face slowly split into a huge grin and he grabbed her hand, whisking her away. She laughed happily and entwined her fingers with his, gripping his bicep. In surprise, she looked up at him. "Angel? Have you been working out?"

He laughed and kissed her hard, making her forget about everything else.

Epilogue

The apartment smelled of good things. "Mmm," Buffy murmured, emerging from the bedroom and rubbing at her eyes. She ran a hand through her hair and slid her arms around Angel’s waist, pressing a kiss to his tattoo. Angel glanced over his shoulder at her, smiling appreciatively at the sight of her in one of his black silk shirts, which barely covered the tops of her thighs.

"Well rested?" he asked teasingly. Buffy made a face and leaned her head up against his shoulder again.

"I’m good…The bed last night wasn’t exactly restful," she reminded him, then smiled slyly. "And I got quite a workout today." Her arms tightened around his waist and he laughed.

"Tell me you don’t want to do it again," he grinned.

"Well…I am kinda hungry. Maybe after dinner. I didn’t know you could cook," Buffy said, getting up on her tiptoes in a vain attempted to peek over his shoulder at the stove.

"I learned," he relplied, turning in her hold suddenly so there faces were inches away. He leaned down and kissed her softly, then held a wooden spoon to her lips. "Taste."

Buffy eyed him reluctantly. "Angel, if you poison me I will be very annoyed," she warned sternly.

"Have a little faith," he replied, mock-hurt. Buffy’s eyebrows arched, but she sighed and accepted a bit of sauce from the spoon. Her eyes widened.

"Wow! That’s really good! Angel, where did you learn to cook?" she demanded.

"You’d be surprised," he laughed.

"It tastes good," she repeated, tracing a finger over his bare chest. He was wearing pants, but again, not much else. "But not as good as you."

Angel chuckled, pulling her closer and bending his head to find her mouth. He kissed her softly, lovingly, and then the kiss deepened as his arms tightened around her, pulling her closer, tightly up against him.

The door opened.

"Oh God! Yuck! Put some clothes on!" Cordelia shouted. They broke apart and Buffy spun to see her old friend holding a hand on the side of her eyes to avoid seeing them. Buffy giggled.

"Hi Cordy," she said.

"Well at least this will stop the moping," Cordelia muttered. "Are you two decent?"

Buffy looked down at herself and pulled the shirt a little further over her thighs. "We’re fine," she reported. Cordelia peeked a glanced and then turned to them, crossing her arms.

"I really don’t need these kind of mental pictures," she snapped.

"Well you could try knocking," Angel suggested. Cordelia gave him a look.

"Okay, you two are obviously fine. I’m going to go reassure Xander now and spend the next week trying to get that scary picture out of my mind," she said, turning back towards the door.

"Wait," Buffy called. "Xander’s at your place?" Cordelia turned back reluctantly.

"Yeah, he somehow managed to find me. I–through some kind of temporary insanity I’m sure–left him with Cameryn. I swear, if Xander opens his mouth, I’m going to–"

"Who’s Cameryn?" Buffy asked curiously at Angel’s amused chuckle.

"My boyfriend," Cordelia said cheerfully. "He’s going to inherit a multimillion dollar company."

"He’s trying to be a starving artist," Angel explained.

"Not for long," Cordelia replied. Buffy grinned.

"Sounds like fun. I look forward to meeting him…after dinner. And preferably fully clothed."

"I was going to take you dancing after dinner," Angel said in a forlorn tone. Cordelia’s jaw dropped. Buffy didn’t notice, too busy turning happily to her boyfriend.

"Really?" she exclaimed. He nodded with a smile. Her face fell. "I don’t have anything to wear. Just my clothes from Friday and the stuff Anya leant me. Which I wore earlier. Nothing for dancing."

Behind her, Cordelia gave an aggrieved sigh. Buffy turned back to look at her. "Fine," the actress announced. "You can borrow some clothes. But you have to promise to stay a foot away from Angel! I don’t want to have to wash everything fifty times!"

"Um, Cordelia…that may be a little hard while dancing," Angel pointed out. Cordelia rolled her eyes.

"Fine, you can touch but no…touching," she commanded with a slight shudder. She eyed Buffy. "And put on clothes before you come downstairs. It’s apartment 3C."

"Will do," Buffy agreed. "I’ll be down in a minute."

Cordelia crossed her arms and eyed the two of them, smiling innocents, then shuddered again. "I don’t want to know."

Buffy and Angel just smiled.

"Wow," Buffy breathed, emerging from the bedroom again, this time fully clothed. Angel turned to see her. She was wearing a pink skirt reaching from her hips to her upper calves, with a lace net layer making it a dusty rose shade and adding a bohemian pattern. Above that she wore a black tube top, baring plenty of creamy skin and an inny belly button. She carried a short jean jacket to complete the ensemble and was currently pivoting for him on her platform sandals.

"You’re right," he said, "Wow." Buffy grinned.

"I was talking about the decor silly," she told him, looking mighty pleased despite her protestations. While Buffy was getting ready Angel had dimmed the lights and filled every inch of surface area in the room with white candals. He’d even set up the dinner table with two red candles, a lacy tablecloth, wine glasses and a vase of roses.

"So was I," he teased. She set down her jacket and walked over to kiss him.

"Aren’t we breaking one of Cordelia’s rules here?" she asked, giggling, when she pulled away.

"Who’s rules?" he asked, his mouth curving in a provocative smile. She pushed him away.

"I’m hungry. And this music won’t do at all."

"What’s wrong with it?" Angel asked, bemused. He was playing, as always, classical.

"The composers are old…and dead," she added with a glance at him. She walked over to the stereo and turned it to radio, flipping through the channels until she settled on one. Sarah McLachlan’s "I Love You" began to play.

And I cannot find the words to say
I need you so bad

"Perfect," Buffy said, turning back. Angel set down two plates on the table.

"Dinner is served," he announced, catching her eyes. Still holding them, Buffy sat down to eat their first meal together, as humans.

"I like Cameryn," Buffy announced a few moments later. "I think he’s going to be good for Cordy."

"He’s a good guy,"Angel agreed.

"How’d you meet him?"

"He brought me pizza," Angel explained. Buffy blinked in surprise, eyeing him.

"Excuse me?"

"He was a pizza guy. Then he…helped me. I’d gotten myself into trouble."

"You?" Buffy asked in disbelief, arching her eyebrows playfully. Angel nodded, remembering with a slight shudder the pain of those nights. Buffy lost her smile, watching him. "What happened?" she asked. Slowly Angel set down his knife and fork and tipped his head to the side, pilling the neck of his shirt over to reveal to tiny round scars, matching her own. Buffy gasped.

"Oh Angel…" She reached a hand out to him and then dropped it. "Why?"

"I didn’t know how not to fight–and I didn’t know how to either," he said quietly. Buffy reached across the table and gripped his hand.

"I don’t want you to hurt," she whispered, not speaking only of the bite.

"I didn’t know how much I would," he replied, understanding all the meanings in her words.

"You never even tried to call me? I don’t think I would have had that kind of strength," Buffy breathed, not releasing his hand.

"Oh, I did call," he replied, smiling slightly. "The very first thing I did. I was so happy…because I knew I could be with you. Willow answered. You were out on a date with Riley." Buffy gasped slighty, then swore. Angel laughed in surprise.

"I knew he was annoying, but I didn’t know he’d screwed everything up that much!" Buffy exclaimed. Angel grinned.

"It’ll all right now love," he reminded her.

"I know," she pouted. "But I’ve missed you. And this cooking!" She let him god and took another bite. "This is good!"

"Be glad you weren’t here. Believe me," Angel chuckled, "Rome wasn’t built in a day."

"And neither was this dinner?" Buffy asked.

"Something like that," Angel replied, thinking of all the long, lonely nights he’d spent coming to terms with himself, with his own past, his own humanity. He looked up and met Buffy’s smiling eyes and knew it had been worth it.

"This place is nice," Buffy said, looking around the classy dance club. "Come here often?"

"Never," Angel replied. "I didn’t want to without you." Buffy grinned broadly and pulled him out onto the dance floor with her. Angel spun her and then pulled her close, kissing her softly as they moved to the music. She laughed delightedly, surprised at this part of Angel she’d never seen before.

"What happened to Mr. I-Don’t-Dance-To-Anything-Slow-Than-My-Undead-Heartbeat?" Buffy asked as his hands slid down her hips, pulling her closer yet. He avoided her eyes.

"Cordelia…taught me to dance. She insisted," he admitted. "I was a little reluctant."

Buffy laughed, imagining that. "Well I’m glad," she announced, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Very glad."

"So am I," he murmured. The song ended, but they didn’t break apart and the next one that came on was slower.

"I love this song!" Buffy exclaimed, looking up at him with glowing eyes. "Dance with me?"

"Forever," he whispered, drawing one of her hands to his mouth.

I'll be your dream,
I'll be your wish I'll be your fantasy.
I'll be your hope,
I'll be your love be everything that you need.
I love you more with every breath truly madly deeply do..
I will be strong I will be faithful
'cause I'm counting on
A new beginning.
A reason for living.
A deeper meaning.

"You are my meaning," Angel laughed down at her, listening to the song. "My reason for living."

"I want to be your everything," Buffy replied softly. "You’ve always been mine."

"You are," Angel assured her. "You’ll always be."

"Could we get any sappier?" Buffy asked teasingly, grinning suddenly, warmth filling her from the look in his eyes, the music that wrapped around them and the human warmth of him beside her.

"I think I could manage it," Angel replied with a half smile.

I want to stand with you on a mountain.
I want to bathe with you in the sea.
I want to lay like this forever.
til the sky falls down on me...

"Do you really want this Angel?" Buffy asked seriously.

"Of course I do. How can you doubt how much I love you?" Angel asked, just as serious suddenly.

"I don’t," Buffy said, looking away for a moment. She looked back again, sighing. "I just…I know you needed time, but I found it hard enough not to run to you even though I thought you were still cursed! If you really want to be with me, how could you stay away that long?"

"I don’t think I ever really doubted we would be together again someday," Angel replied quietly. "I mean…I did doubt, but I always thought someday I would tell you, someday we would be together. I just wanted to give you a chance to be on your own a little. I think we both needed that."

"I don’t want to be alone," Buffy said softly, tears beginning to clog her throat. "Not ever again. I missed you so much…’

"I know," Angel murmured, holding her tighter. "I know love."

And when the stars are shining brightly in the velvet sky,
I'll make a wish send it to heaven then make you want to cry…
The tears of joy for all the pleasure in the certainty.
That we're surrounded by the comfort and protection of…
The highest powers. In lonely hours. The tears devour you…

"You swear you want this?" Buffy demanded, blinking away the tears and looking up at him.

"With all my heart, my soul…everything. I want you." Buffy smiled softly and laid her head down on his chest, closing her eyes and swaying to the music.

"I want my life to be with you," she whispered, remembering the last time she had said those words.

"And so do I," he replied, healing more than one wound.

Oh can't you see it baby?
You don't have to close your eyes
'cause it's standing right here before you.
All that you need will surely come...

"This is really all true, isn’t it?" Buffy asked, after a minute, pulling away enough to see him. Her eyes were shining and a smile curved on her lips. "I keep thinking maybe it’s this glorious dream. This afternoon was…perfect. And you can cook, and dance and…breath. It’s too good to be true."

"It is true," Angel laughed. "And believe me, we’ve earned it. It’s been a long time since I was happy."

"Since either of us were," Buffy corrected him.

"Right. I know what you mean though…this does feel like a dream. In fact, I may have dreamed this day a hundred times before. But this time it’s real."

"Like I said," Buffy replied, "You are my dream."

I'll be your dream
I'll be your wish I'll be your fantasy.
I'll be your hope
I'll be your love be everything that you need.
I'll love you more with every breath truly madly deeply do...

"I didn’t think it was possible to love someone more than I loved you," Angel said. Buffy’s eyebrows shot up in alarm.

"Excuse me? And now it is?" she asked. Angel chuckled.

"You. I love you more all the time. Every day I’ve been human, I’ve loved you more. Silly, isn’t it? Every breath I’ve taken I’ve loved you more."

"Truly madly deeply?" Buffy suggested.

"More," Angel breathed.

I want to stand with you on a mountain,
I want to bathe with you in the sea.
I want to lay like this forever,
Until the sky falls down on me...

"We should go on a picnic tomorrow," Buffy decided, pulling slightly apart from him when the song ended. "And when it gets really warm we should go to the beach."

"And watch the sunset," Angel suggested.

"Mhmm. Are you going to stay in L.A.?" Buffy asked suddenly, turning to him. They had been too busy the rest of the day to discuss the future.

"I think I’ll keep my apartment. My job is here, but it’s very flexible. I could get an apartment in Sunnydale, or move back into the mansion…if you wanted," he finished hastily, realizing what he was saying.

"No, I don’t want you to move back!" Buffy replied sarcastically. Angel’s eyes widened and she giggled. "Teasing Angel?"

"Right. I guess I’m still not quite up to the human level," he laughed.

"You’re doing pretty well," she assured him. Her eyes were bright and laughing, and he couldn’t stop himself from pulling her toward him and kissing her deeply.

"Angel," she murmured when he pulled away, clinging to him to stay upright.

"Maybe dancing isn’t the greatest idea," he said breathlessly. Buffy laughed lightly, torn between desire and amusement.

"One more song," she said, as "Dance With You" by Live came on. "I love this one." Angel groaned but agreed. Buffy followed him onto the dance floor again and wrapped her arms around his neck, deliberately pulling him near.

sittin' on the beach
the island king of love
deep in fijian seas
deep in some blissful dream
where the goddess finally sleeps
in the lap of her lover
subdued in all her rage
and I am aglow with the taste
of the demons driven out
and happily replaced
with the presence of real love
the only one who saves

"Buffy, I don’t think I can make it through this song and all the way home," Angel moaned as she turned and danced up against him. She grinned wickedly.

"You promised," she laughed, turning back, grinning, her eyes alight. "I feel like I’m glowing Angel."

"You are glowing."

"Everything else is gone. Just you and me lover," Buffy whispered in his eyes, pulling his head down near hers.

"I wish," he muttered, kissing her hungrily as they danced.

I wanna dance with you
I see a world where people live and die with grace
the karmic ocean dried up and leave no trace
I wanna dance with you
I see a sky full of the stars that change our minds
and lead us back to a world we would not face

"I could stay like this forever," Buffy murmured. Angel growled slightly and she laughed again. "I just meant together. Dancing together."

"There more than one way to dance," Angel reminded her.

"I want to learn them all," Buffy whispered. "And dance with you forever."

the stillness in your eyes
convinces me that I
I don't know a thing
and I been around the world and I've
tasted all the wines
a half a billion times
came sickened to your shores
you show me what this life is for

They made it through the song…barely. Back at Angel’s apartment they broke all their promises to Cordelia and then clung to each other, making up for all the nights of loneliness with a thousand unspoken promises.

Looking into her eyes, into their deep brightness, Angel knew he had found what he was looking for. For over two hundred years he had searched and never found it. Never found this feeling, this perfection. He had never found love. Even when he had been human, he had searched, never knowing what it was he needed. He had tried alcohol and whores and gambling. He had found Darla. As a vampire…he’d lusted for blood for a hundred years. He’d wanted pain, and he’d taken it. Made it. But when he saw the truth of what he had done, he did not know how to fix it, he had never known what to do. He had searched for forgiveness in alleys, thinking that by hurting himself he was paying.

That wasn’t how you paid for sins. You paid by giving as much joy as you had given pain. You paid by learning that life is for living, for striving for happiness.

You paid by loving so deeply.

As he loved her.

She had taught him all that, and so much more.

I wanna dance with you
I see a world where people live and die with grace
the karmic ocean dried up and leave no trace
I wanna dance with you
I see a sky full of the stars that change our minds
and lead us back to a world we would not face

"This is real happiness Angel," Buffy whispered into the gorgeous stillness. "This is perfection."

"This is you," he replied.

"No," she corrected, "us."

in this altered state
full of so much pain and rage
you know we got to find a way to let it go

"Do you forgive me for what I did? For what I had to do?" Angel asked.

"Not telling me?" Buffy asked, "Or leaving?"

"All of it," Angel replied, meaning those and all the other things, all the ways he had hurt her.

As if she could hear his thoughts she turned over to regard him, curling on her side, inches from him. "We both hurt each other, for a long time, but that’s over now. We have to make it be over."

"How can you forgive me?" Angel asked. Buffy traced his face with a small hand.

"I love you. And I hurt you too, I know I did. So we both have to forgive."

"Then we both will. We both have." Buffy nodded, yawning sleepily and cuddling closer to him. He cradled her against him, bending to kiss her head. "You’re tired. Sleep."

sittin' on the beach
the island king of love
deep in fijian seas
deep in the heart of it all
where the goddess finally sleeps
after eons of war and lifetimes
she smilin' and free, nothin' left
but a cracking voice and a song, oh lord

"I don’t want to sleep," Buffy protested, her exhaustion evident in her voice.

"Why not?"

"What if it’s all a dream, and when I go to sleep I really wake up?" she asked.

"It isn’t," he promised.

"How do you know?"

"I know. Sleep, love, you deserve it. I’ve got you." Slowly, safe in his arms, Buffy’s eyes drifted closed and Angel only held her closer, wondering what he had ever done to deserve a lifetime of her. What he had done that gave him the chance to hold a goddess as she slept, to protect her from the world she had to face every day.

Maybe he’d never done anything to make himself worthy. Maybe it didn’t matter.

I wanna dance with you
i see a world where people live and die with grace
the karmic ocean dried up and leave no trace
I wanna dance with you
i see a sky full of the stars that change our minds
and lead us back to a world we would not face
we would not face
we would not face
we would not face

Buffy felt as though she was floating in a sea of clouds, her body weightless and her soul free. She wanted to stay in the blissful state forever, no worries, no fear, Angel's arms wrapped around her...

Only they weren't. Even in sleep, she could feel that he wasn't in bed with her, and she ached for him. That feeling, plus the demands of her growling stomach, roused her from her peaceful slumber. Buffy cracked one eye open and saw that it was only nine thirty in the morning. She groaned and rolled over, nestling deeper into the sea of silk and pulling a pillow over her head to block out the invading sunlight.

The smell of breakfast--pancakes?--reminded her that she was starving, and with effort she opened her eyes and pushed the pillow away. Looking around, she saw that she was indeed alone in the room. She sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest, and called out for her lover.

"Angel?"

"Be right there," he replied from the kitchen. Buffy quirked an eyebrow but shrugged and laid back down, curling around the large pillow. Her eyes drooped and she was nearly asleep when Angel reappeared, carrying a large tray laden with food. The delicious smells assaulted her senses and she bolted up in bed, her eyes widening.

"What's going on?" she asked as he set the tray on the nightstand and went to
closet, retrieving a shirt for her.

"Breakfast in bed," he said as he handed her the shirt and leaned over to give her a sweet kiss. She pulled back and gaped at him, quickly buttoning the shirt over her very naked body.

"Breakfast in bed?" she repeated. "How in the world did I ever live without you?" Angel smiled slightly and settled into the sea of silk next to her, reaching over to pull the tray onto his lap.

"That's in the past," he said firmly, picking up his fork and spearing a piece of scrambled egg. "Taste." Buffy obediently opened her mouth for him, giggling when his eyes darkened slightly with lust, and ate it. Her eyes widened as she chewed.

"It's delicious," she told him, leaning over for a kiss. She scooted closer to him and reached for the other fork.

"I'm glad. It was hell learning to cook, but if you like it, then it was worth it," he replied softly. She smiled, her face glowing, and Angel felt himself fall in love with her all over again for the thousandth time.

"I love you," she whispered warmly.

"And I you."

"So are you finally going to tell me how you learned how to cook or do I have to guess?" she asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

"Cordelia and Cameryn--well, I'd say they helped but they were either too busy bickering or making out so it wouldn't be accurate... They bought me the cookbooks and taped the shows," he said, feeding her a piece of bacon.

"And I'm guessing before they got all that stuff it was a disaster?" she teased.

"I don't think disaster is a strong enough word," he grinned.

"I wish I could have been here," she said without thinking. When she realized her words, she bit her lip and turned to him. "Angel, God, I'm--"

"Shh," he said, placing his finger on her lips. "Don't dwell." She nodded, her eyes locked on his.

"No more dwellage here, I promise," she said, her voice thick with emotion. She rested her head on his hard shoulder as they ate, enjoying the closeness between them.

They were nearly finished when Angel brought a piece of pancake laden with syrup to his lips. The syrup dripped onto his chest before he could get it into his mouth, the sticky substance sliding down and tingling his skin. Buffy watched and giggled.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," he said with a groan, looking around for something to clean it up with. Buffy grinned at him mischievously and captured his hand in hers, bringing it to her lips.

"It was perfect," she mumbled against it, leaning down to clean it off of him. Angel chuckled as she did, bringing her head up to meet his in a passionate kiss. She shifted, moving to straddle him, in the process dislodging the breakfast tray. It toppled over, spilling juice and leftover pancakes and eggs on them and the bed.

Buffy and Angel broke apart in shock, staring down at the mess and then back at each other. The silence was broken when Buffy began laughing, and Angel quickly joined her.

"Well, at least we have an excuse to wash the sheets now," she said with a giggle.

"And ourselves," he added as he scooped up what he could and put it on the plate, setting the tray on the nightstand. "Let's strip the bed and then shower." She smiled coyly at him.

"Why don't we shower first?" she asked, her hand tracing down his once-again bare chest.

"Because I don't want this to set," Angel told her matter-of-factly. She pouted but helped him get the bedclothes into the washing machine. That done, she shed the silk shirt quickly and held out her hand.

"Let's go, I think the juice is drying."

Angel took it and pulled her to him, finding her lips with his and kissing her fiercely.

"You just want to get into the shower with me," he said with a laugh as she pulled him into the bathroom.

"Can you blame me?" she mumbled against his mouth. His response was another kiss.

"This is oddly fitting, don't you think?" she asked as she surveyed the scene before them. Lush grass spread in all directions, interrupted only by the cement of the paths in the park. It was early afternoon and the sun shone brightly overhead, smiling down on the blissfully happy couple who stood under its rays, looking for the perfect spot for them to have their picnic.

"Are you sure you don't want to go somewhere else?" he asked, worried that the memories from this place would ruin the afternoon. She shook her head.

"I like it here," she said, slipping an arm around his waist. "We got back together here."

"Yeah, after we yelled at each other for half an hour," he reminded her. She shrugged.

"Don't you dare start brooding on me again," she warned playfully, grabbing his free hand. "C'mon, I wanna go sit under that tree."

Buffy led him up the tiny knoll and put the blanket that she had been carrying down, spreading it over the ground. Angel set the picnic basket down on it and pulled her to him. "Are you *sure* you want to stay here?"

"Yes, I'm positive," she said firmly. "Why, do you want to go somewhere else?"

"I want to go where you go," he replied.

"Well, then you're lucky that you don't have to go anywhere. We're staying here to enjoy our nice little lunch--I'm starving after that thing in the shower," she said with a wicked grin. "Although I think I'm still pruny."

"You look beautiful to me," he said, drawing her into his arms and seizing her lips in a kiss that left them breathless.

"I never thought I'd hear you pant after we did that," she whispered, placing a kiss over his heart.

"That's not the only thing that makes me pant," he replied provocatively. She giggled against his chest and pulled him down to the ground.

"Believe me, lover, I know," she said with a wiggle of her eyebrows. He tried to pull her to him but she evaded his hands, opening the picnic basket instead and pulling out the sandwiches and cans of soda they had packed. She sidled up to him, lying on her side and leaning against his strong chest as she unwrapped her sandwich.

"Is it always going to be like this?" she asked softly after a few minutes of quiet. Angel's free hand had been lazily roaming over her body, grazing the fabric of her tank top. Buffy propped herself up on her elbow and craned her head to gaze at him.

"Like what?" he countered, nuzzling her neck. She sighed and brought one hand up to tangle in his dark hair.

"This wonderful, this perfect?"

"No."

Her eyebrows shot up at his answer, her hand involuntarily tightening in his hair. He grimaced when she pulled, then smiled at her reassuringly. "It'll be better." Buffy waited for that answer to sink in before smiling happily at him, her fingers loosening their grip and running through his thick hair soothingly.

"Good answer," she said, pulling his lips towards her.

"I thought you'd like it," he mumbled against her lips.

"Angel?" she whispered when they broke apart breathlessly. He wordlessly motioned for her to continue. "Are you happy?"

Angel lay back on the blanket, gazing up at the blue sky, the sunlight that no longer frightened him…and Buffy. He smiled slightly. "Truthfully…I feel like I’m flying. What is this?"

Buffy laughed softly, one of her hands threading through his hair idly as she sank down on an elbow beside him. "This is living." Angel hoisted himself up on an elbow and turned on his side to gaze at her.

"This is what I was afraid of?" he asked softly. Buffy smiled, but there was sadness in her eyes to match that in his.

"Were you? Afraid?"

"I think so…afraid that I wouldn’t be any good at it, maybe. That I would make as much of a wreck of life as I did the last time. Or that it wouldn’t be what I expected…for a hundred years I longed to be alive. What if I had gotten my wish and found it wasn’t any better?" Angel mused. Buffy was very still and quiet beside him, watching him intently.

"And is it?" she asked. Angel sat up suddenly, and waited for a moment before answering.

"Better doesn’t describe it. These last few days with you have made me realize that I'm really alive. I was almost there, I was almost feeling completely human...and then you came and I realized that you were what I needed."

"I think you're giving me too much credit," she said softly, turning over onto her back and looking at him looming over her. "It was you who realized you were really human or whatever. I came and found you looking...I don't know, at peace with yourself. It was like...you were all grown up."

Angel chuckled. "I've been grown-up for two centuries, Buffy," he reminded her. She giggled and snuggled closer to him.

"I mean...you looked comfortable with yourself, like you had realized who you were and what you wanted to do with your life. You know, like every other young adult out there looks when they realize it too," she clarified, her hand brushing against his cheek. He leaned down to plant a kiss on her forehead, then pulled back to look deeply into her eyes.

"I want to spend the rest of my life with you," he told her, drowning in her hazel eyes. "I want to marry you, and have children with you, and grow old with you. But most of all I want to be with you."

Buffy felt tears well up in her eyes. "Oh, God, listen to us. We sound like those cheesy Hallmark cards..." Angel's lips twitched upwards in a slight smile.

"We *are* getting a little too mushy, aren't we?"

"You can never have too much mush...unless it's now, when we do," she giggled. He leaned down to kiss her softly, his love and passion for her coming through clearly. She eagerly responded, arching her body against his.

"I love you," he whispered against her lips.

"I love you too, Angel. Always and forever."

"You know what I want to do?" Angel asked, his mouth curving in a smile.

"What?" Buffy asked, smiling back at the look of pure joy and mischief in his eyes. His grin broadened. "Angel?"

Angel siezed her hands and jumped to his feet, pulling her with him, laughing with joy because he knew he was worthy of her, of this gift…he knew he was human. He drew her close to him, kissed her and then grabbed her hands and began to spin, ignoring her shriek of laughter as they spun around and around faster and faster and faster.

"What are you doing?" Buffy yelled breathlessly as they spun.

"Flying," Angel laughed, and it was true.