As Buffy and Angel strolled out into the dark London night, she stared at his unflinching back and wondered what he was thinking.

It was always hard to tell. He was a master at hidden thoughts, hidden feelings. His face was a blank, pale canvas. She wanted to scream. She knew he must be going internally crazy wanting to know what he had done. The memories would flood back sooner or later and she knew. She would have a lot to answer for.

Buffy wasn't even sure what had come over her in those wild moments with Angelus. When she closed her eyes she was back in that bathtub, the hot water slapping over her thighs as she gripped him with her insides, owned his flesh, felt him own hers. It was crazy, certifiably. She knew it and she was scared what Angel would say when he remembered.

“Where do you think they went?”

His voice startled her and Buffy let the words rest in the still evening for a moment. “I don't know,” she finally answered, not looking at him. “I didn't really chat it up much with them.”

Her attempt to lighten the mood failed miserably. He absently crossed the street and headed towards the main square in Islington. “Maybe a bar,” he said quietly, his eyes studying the stars. “Or somewhere where you can see the sky. Darla likes a view.”

For some reason those words cut deep, and Buffy reacted sharply. “You know we're gonna have to stake them both. You do get that, right?”

“I get it,” he replied without any inflection in his tone. Frustrated, she grabbed his arm, her fingers tanned and golden against the blackness of his coat.

“Angel…you're scaring me. Cut out with the one wordiness please?”

“I didn't mean to scare you,” he said, ignoring her insistent fingers clawing at his sleeve. “This is just a lot to take in. Once I get the memories back everything will be clearer.” He sounded as if he was dreading this. “I didn't…hurt anyone in Sunnydale did I?”

“You didn't come to Sunnydale,” she returned, and they resumed walking, their hands brushing occasionally, the slight shock of their skin touching making Buffy's flesh burn. “I think you took off straight away for good old London. Cordy came and gave me the good news and I headed over here. That's about the it.”

“Hmmm…” he murmured, and his dark eyes scanned the streets pensively. “How was Cordy?”

“Same old,” Buffy said brightly. “Just glad she didn't have to stake you I guess.”

“I can imagine,” he said bitterly, and she made a sound in her throat, finally losing her temper with him.

“Look, Angel, I know this is traumatic time for you, but please, don't be cryptic guy!” she snapped, and his head turned to look down at her. “Just be happy you didn't kill any of your nearest and dearest this time, or my nearest and dearest, might I add.” As soon as the words left her tongue she wanted to call them back, wishing there was some button that she could push to erase a second from time. But it was done. The words were there, hanging between them, a presence in themselves.

He laughed without humour and stopped walking, running his hands through his hair. “Why don't you make this all about you?” he said angrily, his eyes flashing fire at her. “Act like the victim. The brat. Go ahead.”

“Nice to know how you think of me,” she replied blankly. Her face hurt, but she didn't want to relax her skin. She was afraid she might cry. That was something she could never do.

“Nice to know what you think of me,” he shot back, jamming his hands in the pockets of his duster and staring out that the Thames River pensively. She shrugged and sighed.

“I don't think of you. Now can we please get on with this so I can go home? This really wasn't on my list of ways to spend a weekend you know.”

“Oh I'm sorry,” he answered, sounding anything but. “Did I interrupt a weekend with Riley?”

She flinched and gazed up at him. “Riley's not in the picture anymore. Can we please go?”

Starting to walk without waiting for him, Buffy concentrated on not weeping. Her eyes were burning with wetness, the orbs longing to rid her of the pain clamouring inside her head, but she resisted.

“I'm sorry about Riley.” His tone was weary, and confused but for once she didn't long to throw herself in his arms and soothe his invisible scrapes. Where had he been when she was screaming for him? He hadn't been the one to smooth lotion over her scars for a long time. Where had he been when that vampire had almost eaten her for breakfast? Where had he been when Faith returned, stealing her body and sleeping with her boyfriend?

Buffy pressed her hand to her forehead, ignoring him. She wanted to be forgiving, understanding, kind and sweet and nice and all that stuff. But she couldn't. Not now. Not with him. “Whatever,” she responded. “It was a while ago. Let's check this cemetery.”

She could sense his eyes boring into her back as she stalked through the partially opened gates into the mess of grass and gravestones. A stone angel loomed gently over her, her eyes two blank grey slates. Buffy envied her. When you were stone you didn't feel pain. There was peace.

“Buffy…we need to talk.”

Oh great. The talk. She inwardly groaned and spun around to face him. “About what? Haven't we said it all? Many, many times? I just want to get the dusting done and then go home.”

“Don't.”

“Don't what?” she asked furiously, hating the look in his eyes. He was hurting, and she was the cause, but she couldn't care. She didn't want to care. “Don't make this hard? I can't help it, it's in my nature. I like it rough,” she smiled nastily, and he caught her arm with his strong fingers.

“What happened with Angelus?”

“Nothing, a big fat nothing,” she lied uneasily, and shifted slightly, feeling the soreness between her legs. “Besides, you'll remember soon won't you? I basically just cursed you again. Oh, and I left out the happiness clause.”

“What?” he inquired blankly.

“No more happiness clause. Your. Soul. Is. Bound,” she emphasised and turned again, her eyes smarting with tears. Stupid tears, she thought. Tears of regret. Tears for what might have been. Tears because now he could make love to her and he probably didn't want to. Suddenly she was distracted by sounds coming from her left.

Creeping slowly past some gravestones, she saw what they were looking for. Darla and Drusilla, lying on the grass, thankfully not undressed, simply kissing, their mouths stained with blood. As Buffy realized it was probably from a recent kill, she looked around, but could find no body.

Motioning to Angel, she took out her stake and stalked lightly towards them. “Hello girls,” she greeted, and arched a brow.

Darla sighed wearily. “Angelus get tired of you?”

“No, but he got a little tired of you,” Angel said coldly, coming out from the shadows like an avenging demon, his face a mask of fury. “Tell me, Darla, what did you really hope to gain by making me lose that pesky soul? I think I told you once already that you never made me happy…” he taunted and she flushed.

“Maybe I wanted you to remember our past!” she spat, standing up. “I mean, seriously, did one hundred and fifty years mean nothing to you? You were with this cheerleader for what, two measly years and you think you're in love? I would have given up everything for you, Angelus. And you pick her…” Darla trailed off, her thin body shaking with malevolent anger.

“I didn't pick her,” Angel returned, not even noticing Buffy wince. “There was never a choice between the two of you. I told you I would help you get through your illness Darla. I wanted to help you.”

“What a drag,” she sniffed, flipping back her head of platinum blonde locks. “I wanted blood. I wanted excitement. I wanted a life, Angelus. You wanted to brood. You wanted to be unhappy. So I tried to do what you needed.”

“You think that's what I needed?” he shook his head tiredly, gazing at his Sire. “I never needed that.”

“I gave you blood,” she said imploringly. “I gave you life, Angelus.”

“You gave me death,” he replied, and walked towards her, his duster flying around him like a black cloud. “And now I'm going to give you what I should have given you a long time ago.”

She appeared transfixed by his eyes, reaching up to touch his face. “What?”

She never saw it coming. He whipped out the stake and shoved it through her heart with all the force in his body. “Your goodnight kiss.”

Darla was still for a moment, staring up at him. “Goodbye,” she whispered as she slowly crumbled into dust at his feet. Angel watched as the wind picked up the particles, blowing them in his face, over the gravestones, into the endless night.

Drusilla, who had been silent, stood up fearfully. “Angel beast,” she said accusingly. “You smell like despair.”

Wearily, he stared at his childe, watching as she murmured something to herself, her pale skin wraith-like in the moonlight. “Go Drusilla. Just get out of here,” he said quietly, but firmly and she nodded to him.

“Where did Grand-Mum go?”

Suddenly a tear slipped out of his eye. “I don't know, Dru. Just go. Find Spike. But don't come to LA again.”

She nodded, her dark hair swirling over her shoulders. “I'll go…” she cackled softly, walking into the shadows, and out of the cemetery.

Angel stood where he was for a long time, and Buffy studied the ground at her feet. She didn't know what to say. Parts of her wanted to claw his eyes out, which she knew was irrational. She loathed the jealousy she felt over Darla, but couldn't help it. They had a history. It teemed between them, and she was no match for it. Even now that she was dust. Darla's palpable presence lingered in the air.

Parts of Buffy wanted to embrace him close to her bruised heart and let him envelop her like he always had. Let the scent of him, rain and roses and sadness, wash over her and drown her in its endless tide. He was going to drown her anyway, she realized. It was like an undertow in the ocean, this love, this unshakable yearning deep down in her aching bones, for him. It couldn't be quenched or stopped or fought against.

It simply was. It existed inside her and she was powerless against it. He always pulled her under, and sometimes she thought about what it would be like to let the water close over her head. To breathe him in, and to hell with the consequences. He was Angel. Her nemesis. Her lover. He was simply a part of her now. Buffy sighed and gazed at his silent form, wondering what to say.

“Do you want to be alone?” she asked him softly, and he quivered with shock. Maybe he had forgotten she was there, she wasn't sure. But he turned and came towards her, his eyes wounded and wide with confusion.

“I remember,” he answered, and she jerked in surprise, then horror.

“Oh?”

“How could you…” he trailed off, obviously trying to assemble his garbled thoughts and broken memories that were pouring into his brain. “I mean…with him? How could you do that…?”

“Simple,” she said quietly. “I had to get you back. So I did it.”

“No…” he cried, knowing that she was lying. “You liked it. I remember. You wanted him.”

“I wanted you.”

Everything inside him revolted in what she was saying. “That wasn't me.”

“It was a part of you,” she reminded him softly, and reached up to caress his creamy cheek. “Angelus lives inside you. And yes, I wanted him. But it was to get you back, Angel. Don't you get that? All I had was my body. I had to use it.”

“Oh god…” he moaned. “You should've staked me. He could have killed you…he could've…he was drinking you…”

“Yes,” she agreed, and her fingers went, unbidden, to her neck to touch the holes. “But I stopped him in time. I stopped you. It's not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” he shouted, literally trembling with rage. “Not a big deal? By God, Buffy, you could have died! You could have died!” He grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. “Don't you get that? Don't you fucking get that? You can't do that anymore…put your life on the line…to save me…oh my god…Buffy…” he groaned, and suddenly dropped to his knees, pressing his face into her stomach and wrapping his arms around her waist as he sobbed against her.

Déjà vu shocked her into stillness, remembering a time long ago when they had been locked in an embrace just like this one now.

She stood there with him for hours, until she could see that dawn was coming, and then helped him rise so they could walk back to the hotel. He fell onto the bed in a deep slumber, and Buffy sat nearby, watching him.

They would have time to talk later. Right now, her love needed to rest.

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