There was no warning.

There never is any. At all.

+ + +

The air is sweet and heavy in the backyard, and I lie on the grass, sweaty in a sleek black bikini Dawn made me buy when I visited her in New York a few years ago. Every so often, the bees drone in the fragrant orange blossoms blooming to my left, and I flinch, not so much afraid of the pain of the sting- but simply the anticipation of it. Music plays on the radio next to my ear, but I can't really hear it- I'm listening to the distant buzz of the lawnmower, as Angel cuts the front lawn.

It's one of those lazy Saturdays, and I don't plan on doing much.

Dawn called last night for the first time in ages and told me how things were going. I carefully asked her about Spike, not wanting to sound too judgmental, but my little sister has grown up, and she wasn't in the least angry at my questions. She told me that their relationship was a casual one, mostly borne out of a shared remembrance of the past. Understanding, I didn't press. However, I heard real tenderness in her voice when she spoke of him, and it worried me. I know all too well what a seductive spell Spike can weave, but I try to remember that he cares for Dawn, and wouldn't hurt her.

Right.

Naïve, till the end.

She seemed genuinely happy to hear about Angel though. But told me that if he left again, she was going to kick his ass. Tentatively she mentioned Danny, and I reassured her—no one would ever take his place. She loved him… a lot, and I know it still hurts- the idea of me with someone else. How can I blame her for feeling that way? It hurts me too.

Turning over on my belly, I squint against the sun and glance over to the side of the house, where I can see Angel's back, glistening in the light. My mouth dries, and I lick suddenly chapped lips, shaking my head at the throb in my stomach. You'd think after a month of him back in my life, a few weeks of constant sex- I'd be at least a little sated.

You'd think.

“Want me to do the back?” he calls over the roar of the mower.

“No!” I call back, waving him over to my side.

Shutting off the mower, he lopes over and sprawls on his back beside me, the scent of his very male sweat reaching my nose. “Mmm…” I breathe and lean in, arcing one arm over his waist. “You smell kinda… manly.”

“Well I've been doing manly work,” he reminds me with a slight smile, curving his palm against the back of my head and bringing me up for a sweet kiss. He tastes like the strawberries we had for breakfast, and I lick his bottom lip, tugging on it with my teeth. “I'm gonna need that, Buffy.”

I laugh softly, and throw my thigh over his legs, feeling the scratchy hair on his calves against my flesh. He kisses me again, arching his eyebrows as I slide my hands down his stomach and under his shorts, to the warm skin beneath.

“Don't the neighbors have windows?”

Panting slightly, I feel him throb underneath my palms and at his bitten-off groan, whisper; "Do you care?”

He tears off my bikini bottoms, and dips his fingers between my legs, the hardness and heaviness of them inside me making me whimper. My back bows as I drive down on his hand, the sound of our frantic kisses and sighs filling my ears. Rolling me beneath him, he throws the blanket over our lower bodies, and I yank down his shorts as fast as I can, almost screaming to feel him inside me. The sweaty fringe of my hair falls over my eyes as I stare up into the burn of his gaze, feeling the strength, the heat of him as he slams inside me.

His lips crush mine; swallowing my cries, as he moves, slowly at first, but soon faster, harder, deeper, and I grip his back, my fingers slipping over his skin. “Buffy…” he groans into my lips, his tongue drowning in the recesses of my mouth, and I move frantically, desperate, searching. Driving back, he thrusts deep, and our pelvic bones grind together as his hot seed floods my insides and drips down my inner thighs. It's the feel of him- the life and the power and the *Angel* that makes me convulse, and mindless, I scream into his shoulder, the taste of his sweat and sweet musk filling my mouth.

As he moves off me, I catch him in another quick kiss and then flop down once more, blades of grass sticking wetly to my back. He slides my bikini bottoms back up my legs before pulling his shorts back on. Lying back down again, he kisses me briefly.

“You have nice stamina,” I tease breathily, referring to our morning spent in bed.

Smiling without opening his eyes, he reaches over and laces his fingers through mine. “I think it's you, love.”

“Nope,” I murmur, pressing his palm into mine and inexplicably, feeling tears pricking my eyes. “My stamina left years ago. Along with the Slayer strength… and strangely, my love of chocolate. But then again, I think that has something to do with the pregnancy thing. Eating something a hundred times a day because of cravings makes it lose it's appeal.”

He is silent for a moment. “I'm sorry.”

“Why?”

“Because… I couldn't be there for you during that.”

“You didn't need to be,” I remind him. “Angel… I was married.”

He seems about to say something, and then pauses. “I know. So was I. But… when I heard about you losing your baby, Buffy—“

“It's ok,” I break in, closing my eyes to the sunshine. “Really, I had people with me to get through that. And it was a long time ago.” Memories play behind my eyelids as I take a breath and then murmur, “And I guess while we're making with the apologies, I should say sorry about Connor. You know I wish I could have been there- to fight. To take some of the responsibility from you.”

“I had to fight that battle alone,” he whispers. “It's over, it doesn't matter now.”

But of course it does. Neither of us voices that truth aloud though, and I listen mutely to the bees, wondering if a sting would hurt more than this moment.

+ + +

Throwing my keys on the side table, I think for the hundredth time that I hate Mondays, and kick off my fashionably high heel shoes, padding into the kitchen on bare feet. The floor is wonderfully cool, and I wriggle my toes as I grab a ripe peach from a bowl on the counter, biting into it with sharp teeth. The juice spurts past my lips and drips down my tongue, and I think naughtily of Angel for a moment, leaning against the counter and imagining the heat of him against my mouth.

The phone jangles and I jerk guiltily, wiping my lips and reaching for the receiver. “'Lo?” I mumble, through a mouthful of fruit.

“Hello darling.”

“Nat,” I murmur warmly and swallow. “Sorry, just got in from work.”

“Oh that explains it. I was trying you earlier…” she pauses. “I thought you were taking some time off?”

“I was,” I explain. “But I decided I'd taken too much after a while. So how are you?”

She sighs. “Better, I guess. The doctor called yesterday and said it's gone into remission.”

“But that's wonderful!” I exclaim and she sighs again.

“I know… but I'm too afraid to hope.”

“Stop that,” I chide her gently. “You're better… you're *getting* better.” Darkly I think of the past, and bloody dreams and lie, “I *know* you're going to be fine.”

“Thanks, darling,” she smiles through the line, her voice reminding me of dry linens and the arms of Mother.

((When I woke in the coffin, I screamed for my Mother.

Soundless screams of pure terror. Garbled words and squeaks and incoherent jumbles.

Mom. Mom. Mom.))

My head hurts and I press my palms to it, speaking calmly into the phone, “Believe me Nat, you're going to be utterly and completely *fabulous* by the time you get rid of that hideous wig.”

She laughs heartily, “You bad girl… what a horrible thing to say.”

“It really is,” I agree, liking her laugh. I rarely hear it out here in LA. Sometimes I think of moving out to Minnesota to be with her. Of taking care of her and shoveling snow and taking long walks and forgetting about work and everything else but Danny's mother. Sometimes I think that getting away from LA and it's ghosts would be good for me. I can feel the pull of Sunnydale every single day.

“Is Angel home yet?” she asks, and I glance at the clock.

“No, he's not due back for another few hours. Had some scouting to do at the Four Seasons, I think.”

“Are you two planning anything special tonight?”

I smile. “Not at all. Just dinner… maybe a movie or something. I have laundry to do- the ultimate mood killer.”

She giggles softly. “I assume there'll be some football on, conveniently.”

“No doubt,” I agree dryly. “Did Dawn call you today?”

“Yes, she did actually,” Natalie replies, sounding a little surprised. “Did she finally get in touch with you? She didn't mention anything to me.”

“Oh yeah,” I say wryly. “Finally. I swear, that girl… it's like a punishment to talk to me or something.”

“I'm sure it's no such thing,” she argues gently. “Dawn loves you, Buffy. It's just normal sibling troubles.”

I smile, thinking of all of our “troubles”. If only she knew. “I guess you're probably right. But you could have colored me stunned when she called, really, Nat. It's down to once a month now. She used to call every week.”

A knock at the door startles me. “Sorry, I have to go. Someone's at the door. Can I call you back a little later?”

“Don't worry about it,” she answers fondly. “Say hi to Angel for me.”

“Will do, Nat. Love you.”

“I love you, Buffy.”

“Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

Setting the phone down, I walk down the hall to the door, as the bell rings again. “Coming, coming,” I shout, not really annoyed. It's probably the kids across the street, selling those damn chocolate bars again. Well, I'll buy one. Maybe two. The little boy has eyes like Danny's. A little navy, a little brown.

Grasping the doorknob, I open the door and look up.

There is no warning.

There never is any. At all.

“Cordelia,” I say blankly.

“Buffy,” she greets me quietly, sleek in a black suit and heels. “Can I come in? I have something to show you.”

next