I stand very, very still for a moment, staring at the man I haven't seen in close to seven years. Not since my wedding.

((He came with Cordelia, and she was fresh and young in mint green that looked like bright spring grass. I remember how her hair fell over his shoulder as she leaned against him and told me- Congratulations- and I nodded, smiling slightly as I watched Danny out of the corner of my eye.

He came over later and asked me if I was all right.

I kissed his mouth and said I was fine. No one could have argued that I wasn't a good liar.))

My past rushes up and spins in front of me as I gaze down at Angel and breathe out shakily. “Hi.”

He inclines his head and tugs at the end of his black T-shirt. “Hello, Buffy.”

“What are you doing here?” I ask bluntly, my lips tense.

“I wanted to see if you were all right,” he murmurs, obviously discomfited by my question. I realize suddenly that he's forgotten what I'm like and it's a strange thought. Angel not knowing me. But he doesn't, I suppose, and hasn't for such a long time.

“That's funny,” I reply. “Since you weren't at the funeral.”

“It would have been too hard,” he avoids my eyes and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “You know.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, and put the glass down on the porch railing. It's outsides are slick with condensation and it slips and slides against my palm. “I guess I do know.”

Angel gazes at me for a moment and then asks the inevitable question. “Did they ever…?”

“No,” I answer curtly. “It was going too fast. Everything disintegrated when they hit the water. At least that's what the officials at the airline told me. Aren't they nice?”

“Buffy…” he sighs, but I continue.

“And I used to have dreams, you know- where I'd see it all.” Pressing a hand to my forehead, I tremble in the burning hot morning. “He wasn't even supposed to be on that flight. It just bugged me for so long. If he had taken the bump, and just…”

“You can't beat yourself up for things like that,” he says firmly, and steps up, so we're a breath away from each other. Biting his lower lip, he bows his head, and I look at the tiny rivulets of sweat that trickle over his neck. I can smell the salt. “I'm sorry. Sorry for everything.”

“Everyone's sorry,” I mutter. “Too bad I really can't blame anyone but him. And myself.”

“You're *not* to blame, Buffy,” he touches my arm, just above my elbow and I gaze up at him, shuddering lightly.

“How can you know that? We fought on the phone right before. I told him to get his ass home. You can imagine.”

He shakes his head. “That's just you.”

“What? Being a raging bitch is just me?”

“You know that's not what I meant,” he murmurs, and his fingers dip into the hollow of my elbow, his thumb against the tiny pulse that beats under my skin. “It's your job to get other people into shape, Buffy. You've always been the first to point out the obvious.”

I laugh hollowly, nodding at the truth of that statement. “Too bad I couldn't forget who I was for one moment and just be a supportive wife, huh?” Before he can respond, I graze his shoulder with my other hand and nod to the door. “Want some coffee? We could catch up.”

“All right,” he accepts, and walks up with me, to the inside of the house.

I pour the coffee grinds into the fancy silver and black machine Xander and Anya bought us for our wedding.

((Anya told me later she hated it and gave me the receipt to return it, and I would have too, if Danny hadn't told me it'd be rude.

“Manners are something you lack,” he had murmured to me, kissing the back of my neck as he threw the receipt in the garbage. “Lucky that you have me, huh?”))

My head throbs with insistent pressure as I watch the brown liquid begin to drip into the pot, and I motion for Angel to sit down at the kitchen table. “So,” I begin. “What brings you to town? Business?”

“No,” he denies. “I came to see you, actually.”

“Oh,” I whisper, and brush the heavy weight of hair off my neck, which still remembers Danny's kisses. “Is Cordy with you? Or is she at home with the kids?”

Angel seems to think for a moment. “No, she's not with me.”

“Oh, that's too bad,” I lie, pouring the coffee.

“And we don't have children,” he reminds me. “Or have you forgotten?”

“I try and forget everything to do with you and Cordelia, actually, Angel,” I acknowledge with a wry grin. “But then you can relate to that.”

“Buffy… is this…is this not ok?”

“What?”

“Me being here. Is it too hard for you? Seeing me?”

I begin to laugh and can't stop. Huge bursts of heavy laughter erupt from my belly and I lean against the counter as I shake. “Aren't you just…” I trail off and spin lazily in a circle, my mouth open and gasping as I try and catch my breath. “Isn't it simply amazing how full of yourself you are? What do you imagine? That it's *you* I can't get over, Angel? My husband is dead. Do you get that?”

His hands grasp my arms to pull me towards him. My hand flails out for purchase and with a strange shattering sound, the cup of coffee breaks and sends scalding liquid splashing across my arm. “Damn, damn, DAMN,” I swear as he hauls me over to the sink and runs the cold water over my burned skin.

“Stop acting like a child,” he grates out furiously. “You're hurting yourself.”

“I'd rather hurt you,” I mutter. “Why are you even here?”

“Guilt,” he replies harshly. “I felt pity and guilt and all those wonderful emotions that you seem to inspire.”

“Don't even *bother* feeling sorry for me,” I whisper. “I'm happy. I'm widow-happy. I didn't pine for you all these years. I don't love you anymore. So don't think that I—“

“Do you think I like seeing you this way?” he cuts in, his voice low and husky. It sounds in my ear like a bell from the all too distant past and I start in shock as I remember- what it was like to be with him. What it was like to belong to him. “When I heard—I wanted to come and see you right away. But I was afraid that you wouldn't want me here. We haven't exactly been on the best terms since—“

“Since you got married and 'always' stopped meaning something?” I fill in dryly. “I know. But… when my Mom died… you were the first person I wanted. The *only* person I really wanted. And when Danny was killed… Angel, I would wish for you to come. But you have a life now. I know that. You can't just pick up and come back to see me whenever someone in my life leaves. Which seems to happen a lot.”

“Did you go to Giles' funeral?” he inquires quietly, and I nod, the water beginning to numb the sting deep in my arm. The flesh is still red and I stare at it curiously as he continues, “I couldn't get there in time. Cordy had an important campaign that she was working on—and never mind. You don't want to hear about this.”

“It's ok,” I answer dully, turning off the water and reaching up into the cabinet for the first aid kit. “We both moved on. I really don't—“

“Don't what?” he asks softly.

“Don't love you anymore,” I reply. “I mean, I still care, and sometimes I think of you… but it's been so many years, hasn't it?”

“Since you stood in my doorway and promised me it would be forever?” he finishes, smiling faintly. “Yeah, it has.”

Tears burn my eyes suddenly and I sit across from him, spreading the bandages and ointment in front of me like a shield. As I begin to spread the anti-septic on the reddened patch of skin along my inner elbow, I talk, slowly, “A long time ago, it would have really hurt to hear you talk about Cordelia. And I was angry and sad when you married her. But I did—love Danny. I married him, and had no regrets. I'm happy to hear about your life now. I guess it's just the sixteen year old in me who still flinches when she hears about you with someone else.” I pause, my gaze flitting away from his, as I tear off a long piece of sticky bandage. “It's stupid, isn't it?”

“What?” he whispers, low, and I look up at him.

“How long human beings hold onto things that'll never be.”

“Not stupid, exactly,” he shakes his head. “It's basic hope.”

“And doesn't that just spring eternal,” I grin, applying the white material to the burn with careful fingers. “I mean… months after Danny died, I'd hear a car in the driveway and think it was him. The phone would ring and I'd smile, imagining hearing his voice on the other end of the line… telling me it was a mistake and he was coming home. Sometimes I'd have dreams—“ I break off, thinking of the things my brain spins when I sleep. Kisses and lazy backyard summer days with barbecues. We have children and Natalie doesn't have cancer and sometimes Giles is there. But usually it's just Danny. Danny, Danny. Him and me, with no cold wind and no planes. No bloody smiles and black and white photos of the dead.

Angel's palm covers mine suddenly and he says, “You must have loved him a lot, Buffy.”

My throat is so tight, I'm afraid it'll explode. Swallowing as best as I can, I shrug. “I wish I could be angry with him. I wish I could hate him. Sometimes he gets really far away.”

“The past has a habit of doing that,” he says without inflection, and begins to clean up the spilled coffee with long swipes of a blue and white checked dishcloth. “Sometimes you get to the point where you just can't wait anymore, can you?”

“What do you mean?” I ask, rubbing my tired and gritty eyes. Glancing outside, I see the children across the street running through the sprinklers with their youthful vigor. Every so often the girl, who's whip of red hair keeps sticking to her cheeks, yells to her brother, that's it's “cold”!

“I'm not sure,” he shakes his head and wrings out the cloth in the stainless steel sink. Gripping the countertop with his big and powerful hands, he regards me with the same Angel eyes I knew so long ago. “It did hurt when you got married.”

“You did it first,” I remind him, my stomach roiling. The burn aches through the layers of bandage. “It's funny, if you had asked me in High School… what the future was going to be…”

“It wouldn't have been this,” he finishes for me and half-smiles. “I agree. But then I guess I wonder what we expected.”

Rising from my chair, I pad over to the screen door with sweaty feet, and touch the wire mesh with unsure fingers. “We expected it to be forever. I expected everything to last forever. Friendships, death, love. Instead… everything just kind of faded away, didn't it? High School ended, you left, and things became too difficult.”

“When did you stop loving me?” he asks, and it's such a cruel question that my belly tightens, vomit stinging the back of my teeth.

“Do you expect me to answer that?”

“Yes. Don't I deserve a time? A place?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see a picture of Danny and me horsing around in Willow's backyard. How long ago was that? I'm wearing a blue sundress and he's in jeans and a worn out white T-Shirt. We're laughing- and his hand rests comfortably along my middle. I realize it was taken when I was pregnant.

That ended in tears. For both of us.

“It wasn't when you married Cordelia, if that's what you think,” I respond absently, my mind on long ago summer days. “It was… I guess it was when I came back from Heaven.” (Sometimes I envy Danny. Because I'm certain that's where he is.) “I had nothing left. Nothing left to give anyone, really.”

He nods bleakly, and suddenly he's the Angel that I knew- the one who loved me and only me. The one that ignored Cordelia because she didn't have blonde hair and Slayer skills. The one who would soothe my bruises with lotion after patrol, and dance with me at my prom and kiss me in the darkness.

Taking a step towards him, I whisper, “I stopped knowing you. I'm sorry. You became someone I didn't know.”

Angel flinches and his fingers reach out to entwine with mine. “I became someone I didn't even know. I'm sorry… so—“

“Stop saying you're sorry,” I cry out. “I'm so fucking sick of everyone apologizing to me for everything. I'm a widow, not someone who's been betrayed.”

He looks away and then drops my hand. “Buffy… there's something you should know.”

“What?” I ask. Bad-news face. But then, Angel always had it. That was what sparked my interest in the beginning. It's funny how things change.

“Cordelia and I…” he pauses. “We're divorced.”

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