Blissful Encounter

by Jill

Part 13

There was something eternally beautiful about a sunrise. The way the darkness slowly faded, giving way to the light, like death making room for a new life. And although no sunrise was like the other, there was also something familiar, the steady rising of hope, of light winning over darkness.

Angel usually loved the sunrise, loved to watch the day being born. He would take a deep breath, enjoy a steaming mug of coffee, the quietness of the early hour peaceful and promising at the same time. This morning however, he wasn’t able to pay attention to the spectacular way the sun rose behind the horizon, and peace simply wouldn’t come.

The realization that he was in fact in love with Buffy Summers had left him shaken and restless. He’d suspected it for a while, truth to be told, he’d suspected it right from the start, that she could be dangerous for the peace of his mind, but last night, while the waves of orgasm had swept over them, he’d known it for certain. Crying out her name at the peak of passion, he had done it from the depth of his soul, had known that he was lost, even though he’d heard the alarm bells ring in his head, even though he knew it left him open for hurt and pain. But nothing mattered, could matter, besides this burning fire inside, that left no room for anything else.

He hadn’t been able to sleep after they’d finally made it inside the car, after they’d satisfied their needs again, this time with her on top, her hair gleaming above him, her pale skin shining in the moonlight. It had been on the ground that second time, and Angel still felt the abrasions on his butt. At least they hadn’t done it on the hood of the car again. Jesus, on the hood of a car! He’d never lost control like that before. Nothing had mattered anymore, not the danger of being discovered and locked up for immoral behaviour, not the strange location, the only thing that mattered was that he was finally able to fulfil his hunger, his need, and that Buffy had been doing the same.

She might deny it today, but yesterday night she’d wanted him as much as he wanted her, the second time on the ground initiated by her lips, her need for more. She’d instantly fallen asleep then, sprawled atop of him, and for a moment he’d considered staying like this, savouring the feeling of her so close to him for the rest of the night. But reason had finally won out, and he’d carried her inside, tried to make her comfortable in the backseat, her soft snores causing an ache deep inside his chest, a longing for her to be always near, always by his side.

It wasn’t going to happen, though. He was too much of a realist to believe that one – or two – quick romps in the wilderness – not that they it felt like this for him, but undoubtedly Buffy would see it that way - would change a single thing. At least not for her. For him it had changed everything. But he knew without doubt that she wouldn’t see it that way. Would she be embarrassed by her wanton behaviour, he wondered? Not that he minded it, or that it had been wanton at all. She’d been magnificent, and he’d not been able to look away from her face, with passion darkening her eyes, her mouth opening in a silent cry, her features slack with satisfaction. She’d been so beautiful, he’d wanted to paint her, to preserve her like that, but knew that no painter, even if he was a master of art, could catch that beauty.

He’d slipped from the car an hour ago, suddenly needing the fresh air, only a morning could provide, but he didn’t admire the sunrise as usual, he just stood there, beside the car, his eyes closed, his thoughts racing. Ten minutes ago he’d managed to surface enough to alert the sheriff of their problem, and the man had promised to send the local mechanic with a spare tyre. Maybe he should wake Buffy now, Angel thought, but the mechanic wouldn’t appear before eight, and as it was only seven now, he decided to let her sleep a while longer. And this wasn’t entirely unselfish. At least as long as she slept he could pretend she wouldn’t react the way he dreaded, at least for those few minutes his heart would still stay intact.

Closing his eyes, he raised his head to the sun, and thought about Buffy in his arms, with words of love on her lips.

*****

Her legs felt cramped. They sometimes did, especially after a restless sleep, with tossing and turning, or when Riley was lying in her bed, taking almost the whole space. He was a sound sleeper, but tall and broad, and her bed wasn’t made for men of his size. Well, that – of course – wasn’t entirely true, but it was another argument she had added to her long list why breaking up with the - according to her mother- ‘catch of the year’ had been a good thing. At least she would have her bed for her own from now on. Yes, that was definitely a good thing.

But in consequence it also meant that Riley couldn’t be the cause for her cramped legs. With a groan she rolled, stretching her aching extremities, only to come in contact with something hard and unyielding.

Hard and unyielding?

In her bed?

Her eyes shot open and she bolted upright, gasping as she found herself staring at the familiar interior of her car.

Where she had spent the night.

After having sex.

On the hood.

((Oh God!))

And on the ground.

((God. God. God.))

With Angel.

((Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.))

Her heart pounding wildly in her chest, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps, she frantically started searching for her shoes, found them underneath the front seat, her mind racing.

((God, what am I going to do?))

There was no denying it. She’d had sex with Angel, and not just sex, hot, wild, steamy, satisfying ((no don’t go there)) sex. More satisfying than she could remember ever having had before. ((Stop that!)) She closed her eyes, groaning inwardly at the images of her lying on the car, whimpering in pleasure, demanding more. God, it had been mind-blowing. She hadn’t known sex could be like that. It wasn’t like the stuff she remembered. With Parker, or Riley, or others. Not that there had been that many, but still. There was simply no comparison. When Cordy had told her about it, she had inwardly rolled her eyes, not believing one word. But now she knew. Knew it very well.

The problem was, mind-blowing or not, it didn’t change anything. Angel was still Angel, and he was still several years younger than her. Was it even possible a relationship between them could work? There wasn’t just their age, they were coming from completely different backgrounds too, leading different lives. She came from money, and from what she’d understood, Angel did not. She was a successful executive in her company, while Angel was struggling to get his business on its feet. Okay, they had art in common, and admittedly great sex, but could it be enough? And *what* the hell was she thinking anyway? A relationship? With Angel? There was no way they could have a relationship together.

And she didn’t even want to think about her mother’s reaction to this. To say Joyce would be shocked was putting it mildly. Not that she usually cared what her mother thought, but after the blow Buffy had delivered by dumping Riley, she wasn’t sure her mother was up for another *surprise*. And besides, she didn’t even want to have a relationship with Angel, right? Right! It was not only impossible, but madness. Sheer madness. She should be admitted to a mental institution for merely thinking it.

But maybe she could be excused this once. After a night like this she was probably entitled to think crazy thoughts. Like dating Angel. Living with Angel. Or at least having sex with him. Again.

Instantly she felt herself growing warm all over, her skin tingling at the mere thought of his lips touching it, of his clever hands finding all her sensitive spots, making her moan, and ...

She swallowed. Hard.

Closed her eyes. God, she had to get a grip on herself. She couldn’t let herself go on like this.

A motion beside the car had her looking around, and her eyes fell on a leather jacket outside the window. A very familiar leather jacket. The person who was wearing the jacket was leaning against the car, arms crossed in front of his chest, he didn’t seem to pay attention to what was happening inside the car.

Angel.

She felt her heart slamming against her ribcage – one time, hard - her mouth instantly dry again. God, this was ridiculous. She was thirty-four years old, for Goodness sake, not some hormonally driven teenager, with a crush for a good looking man. And Angel was a good looking man al right. More than that, he was definitely drooling material as Cordy would say. But she’d seen drooling material before, Hell even boring Riley was not bad looking guy as long as you didn’t know him any closer. And she’d known others.

Although Buffy wouldn’t call herself experienced, she wasn’t some fifteen year old virgin either. Some of the men she’d known had been probably even better looking than Angel. Face it, she told herself, there isn’t a rational explanation for what’s happening here. Something’s going on that’s beyond her control, in a way that excited a hidden part of her, but that mostly frightened her. In ways she wasn’t ready to admit. Not openly anyway. And not to Angel. Never, ever to Angel.

“Hey, man, that you with the flat?”

Buffy hadn’t even heard the truck coming, her mind occupied with images she couldn’t forget, and the man who had created them. The car that stopped behind hers was yellow with pink stripes and “Mickey’s” was written on its side in bold, flashy letters in neon green, and if she guessed right, this was a mechanic Angel had obviously called already.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she heard Angel reply, before he pushed himself off of the car, walked over to the truck and the man who was climbing down right this moment. He wore an overall with the same interesting combination of colours as the car, a Yankees’ baseball cap on his hat, his jaws busy with a red bubblegum.

“Nice,” the guy, probably Mickey, grinned and nodded at the flat tyre. “Forgot the spare, huh?”

Buffy experienced a slight pang of guilt at the comment and took it as her clue to leave the car and join the two men. “It was my fault,” she said without greeting. “I removed the spare tyre some weeks ago, and forgot to put it back in.” Forcing herself to look at Angel for a moment, she added, “Morning.”

“She forgot it, huh?,” the mechanic chuckled, winking at Angel. “Well,” he shifted his attention towards Buffy, gave her a once over that made her want to squirm, then turned back to Angel, “Wouldn’t actually call it a hardship, heh?” He winked again, “Nice ‘n cosy I’d say.”

Buffy felt herself blush and quickly had to look away, then stiffened when she felt Angel’s arm come around her shoulders. “My wife and I were on the way home when the car broke down.”

The mechanic’s head came up sharply, “Your wife?,” he asked, swallowing. “I … uh … didn’t mean to…,” he trailed off, and Buffy saw his eyes nervously shifting from Angel to the car and back. “I’ll change it now, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, go on,” Angel nodded, pulling Buffy away, and leading her towards the bushes near by. “You okay?,” he asked. “I’m sorry for … you know.”

She didn’t know why, knew that she should probably should be grateful for his simple way to stop the mechanic’s dirty remarks. The man had probably thought she was some cheap chick, and who could blame him. Her hair was certainly a mess, and the dress couldn’t look much better. Yet, somehow the Angel calling her his wife irked her a lot more than the mechanic’s dirty tongue. “Let go,” she hissed, wriggling away, and glaring up at him. “You probably thought it was fun, huh?”

He was clearly taken aback by her hostile behaviour, but right now she didn’t care, didn’t want to deal with the hurt she saw in his dark eyes. “Hey, I didn’t mean-,” he started, but she wouldn’t let him finish.

“No,” she held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear it.” She couldn’t bear to be so close to him, not now, not after what – She quickly turned away, swallowed, “I just want this over. I need to go behind the bushes for a moment. He should be done soon,” she nodded towards the mechanic, “and then I want to go home. And forget that this all ever happened.” With that she stomped away, not daring to look back, but she could feel his eyes bore into her back all the way.

*****

"Dammit.“ With more force than necessary, Angel slammed the door shut behind him, wincing slightly when it rattled in its hinges. The same moment he heard a car start and drive away, and his shoulders slumped. Double damn.

Throwing his keys on the little desk near by, he shrugged out of his jacket, tossed it over the keys, only to find Kathie watching him from the kitchen doorway. Great. Just what he needed right now. Interrogation and sisterly wise-crack, or even worse, compassion. Then he remembered that Kathie had troubles of her own, and instantly felt like a heel. The man his sister cared deeply about, was in big trouble, and it was certainly more serious than being treated like a little boy by the woman you’d made love to the night before. Twice.

“I say it didn’t go as planned.” Kathie’s brows climbed as she took in her brother’s rumpled clothes, the red-rimmed and weary eyes, the dishevelled hair.

“Yeah,” he frowned to himself, walking past her straight towards the coffee machine. He’d proposed they’d stop on the way for some breakfast, but Buffy’d ignored him, just driven on straight to his doorway, where she hadn’t said goodbye, or anything else for that matter. She’d just waited for him to climb out, then driven away without a backward glance.

He poured himself a cup of coffee his sister had made already – bless her soul – and cup in hand opened the fridge for something to eat.

“Sit down,” she ordered from behind, pushing him away. “You look ready to sleep on your feet. Want some bacon and eggs?”

“Sounds like heaven,” he managed to force a smile on his face, then slumped into the chair. After emptying half of his cup in one large gulp, and burning his tongue in the process, he straightened, “So, how is Wes?” Maybe concentrating on work would help him to forget about his own misery. He’d heard about that kind of waking up from friends, with the woman looking at you as if you were a bug, but not in his wildest dreams he’d ever thought it would happen to him, or that it would hurt so much.

Kathie shrugged without turning, “What do you think? He’s dancing on the tables.” Cracking the eggs with more force than necessary, she paused for a moment, took a deep breath, “He’s … miserable. I think mostly because someone can even think he would do such a thing. He was here until after midnight, and he kept repeating it time and again. The Dean and he have known each other for over five years. Yet, the guy suspended him without a blink. I tried to explain that Mr. Blackwell didn’t have a choice, that the rules say he has to act that way, but it still throws him.”

“Is that the reason you are here this morning?,” Angel asked, sipping again from the strong coffee. Thank God his sister made it like that, because he needed it, desperately. He felt bone weary this morning, and knew that deprivation of sleep was only a little part of the problem.

“I’m here because Wes doesn’t have a job right now,” she replied, mixing the egg with some milk and pepper, then pouring the mix into the pan. “And if he doesn’t have a job, I don’t have one either. I’m his part-time secretary, remember? And he doesn’t need one – at least not for the time being.”

He hated hearing the quiver in her voice, she couldn’t quite hide form him. Maybe someone else wouldn’t have noticed, but they were so close, he heard it instantly. She tried to be tough, had learned to be tough, but underneath she was still Kathie, his little baby-sister, the one who came running into his arms after Tommy Taylor had pushed her into the dirt with her new white dress on Sunday, knowing her father would probably hit her for it. Angel had managed to protect her then, she’d been only four, and his old man wasn’t big on hitting little girls – the only good side he’d ever been able to find in his father – but he’d rather have her beaten up that day, and been able to protect her later.

For a moment he closed his eyes, drew a long breath. No use in dwelling in things you couldn’t change anymore. Better focus on the things you can still change, “So this girl,” he said, feeling his belly grumble at the smell coming from the stove, “the student that accused Wes of harassing her? Who is she? What’s she like?”

“She’s in one of his classes,” Kathie added bacon to the eggs, then put two slices of toast on the grill, “Faith Marshall. She’s from a rich background, brunette, good looking, and knows exactly what she wants. She’s intelligent, but has never made any effort to get her grades up. She relies on dear Daddy to even the path for her.”

He sipped from his coffee again, frowned, “If she’s not interested in learning, how come she’s in college?”

“Didn’t you just listen? I said she had money. And her parents know the right people. The Mayor for one. And others.” She paused for a moment, filled his plate, then put it in front of him. “Besides, I’m sure although she sometimes likes to play dumb, she isn’t. She’s ...” She shrugged, “Who knows.”

“God, this smells like … thanks, honey,” he smiled at her, this time without effort, “So, this Faith,” he shoved some egg on the toast, then savoured the taste. Maybe he’d survive this day after all – even if barely. “How old is she?”

“Twenty-two. She’s already failed the class twice – English literature, that is, and it seems her parents are getting fed up with her. They threatened to cut her monthly pay-check if she isn’t going to improve.”

“And you know all that, because …,” he asked, wondering if some of his PI business had rubbed off onto his little sister. Wesley had told her last night about the mess, and she was like a fountain of information this morning.

A smug smile appeared on her face, making her eyes sparkle, and Angel was stunned for a moment by her beauty. God, for a moment he hated Parker Abrams with a passion, for causing his sister eight years of anguish and unhappiness. She seemed a lot better these days, and if he liked it or not, Wesley seemed to be a big part of it, but she would never be the innocent girl he so much wanted her to be. She’d lost that part in one fateful night, thanks to the ignorance of her step-brother, and a father who hadn’t cared at all.

“Because I’m at least as clever as Faith.” Her voice pulled him back to the present, reminding him that she’d managed to pull herself out of the pits of Hell. Would she ever know how proud he was of her, he wondered, feeling his eyes moisten.

He quickly blinked, once, twice. There was no need to get all weepy now. She wouldn’t want his compassion anyway. She was fiercely proud of what she’d achieved, and rightfully so. “So what did you do? Hack into the computer?”

“As a matter of fact,” she grinned, when he groaned, “Hey, calm down. I didn’t do anything illegal. But after you called last night, I convinced Wes to go back to his office. So we spent two hours there at the very modern computer and I was able to read all the files the college has on Faith. I hardly know her, I’ve seen her once or twice in the office, when she was complaining about being treated unfairly. But that’s as far as our connections go, and I intend to keep it that way. She wouldn’t be a person I’d choose for a friend.”

“And you found all the information?”

She bit her lip, “Yeah … me and Fred. I called Gunn last night, after I called you. And he obviously informed your computer geek. And she instantly went to work. She’s a genius you know?”

“Yeah, some genius.” Angel sighed, thinking of their self-acclaimed secretary with the big glasses, and the big eyes. Another lost soul, he thought, sighing again. “Okay, so Fred found a bit more. Still, it doesn’t give us enough to nail her. I mean, I can see what she tried to do. Because Wes won’t help her get her parents off her back, she tries to dishonour him. But only because *I* understand that, it doesn’t mean anything.”

“But-“

“No buts.” He put a comforting hand on her arm, “Kat, just because we believe that he’s been shammed, doesn’t help. We need proof, hard proof. You just said her parents are rich, which means that very likely they’re going to fight for their daughter. If I’m not completely wrong, they’re going to hire some big-shot lawyer right this moment.”

*****

“Please, sit down Dr. and Mrs. Marshall, Faith. I can call you Faith?”

“Sure,” the brunette, dark-eyed college-student looked at the attractive man standing at his large oak desk, then sat down beside her parents. Her mother pulled a hanky from her purse, elegantly holding it under her eyes, careful not to destroy her makeup. She was sniffling and making little noises of distress, the way she’d done it ever since Faith had told her parents about that nasty professor who’d tried to get under her skirts.

Her father on the other hand sat ramrod straight, his chest puffed out, all importance, the power of old money and connections radiating from him. He hadn’t gotten weepy at all, but furious, the way Faith had expected it. It wasn’t that he really cared about her, Faith knew, but that someone had dared to touch something that belonged to him. Faith wasn’t his wife, just his daughter, but Frank Marshall still counted her as part of his property, like his desk, or his new expensive German car.

“So,” the lawyer, Mr. MacDonald, sat down in his big leather chair, folded his hands on his desk, then looked straight at her, “Faith. Why don’t you tell me what happened with that professor,” he paused for a moment, flipped through some pages, before he gazed up again “Wyndham-Pryce?”

She batted her lashes, then lowered her head, faking shame, “He … uh … tried to touch me,” she whispered, infusing her voice with just enough hoarseness to make it believable. “You know … at places.” For a moment she thought if that wasn’t painting it too thickly, but then pushed the thought away. Maybe the lawyer was as dumb as her parents, buying the untouched virgin act.

He didn’t. She saw it his eyes the moment they met hers. But for some reason, maybe because her parents were going to provide for his next car, or his next lover with the money he would get from them when this was over, he went along with it. “So he … uh … touched you, huh? And then?”

For her parents’ sake she gasped, and when she heard her mother moan, she knew she’d done the right thing, “I shoved him away of course. I would never let him go that far, I’m not that kind of girl.” She felt her mother’s hand patting her arm in a show of comfort, and went on, “But then he…,” she sniffed, let a tear roll from the corner of her eye, “he threatened me. He said I’d see it in my grades if I wasn’t going to give in.”

Mr. MacDonald’s eyes were sharp as razors when they bore into her. Faith felt like she was sliced open, and being studied on an Anatomy-table. One thing was for certain, that lawyer was out of her league, he wasn’t like her parents believing every word she said, or not listening at all like in her father’s case. Mr. MacDonald listened, all right. And he understood. “And that happened, when?,” he asked, his voice like silk, mantled with steel.

“Uh … two weeks ago,” she admitted, holding on to the story she’d already told the Dean. And her parents. She thought about the money she got each month from them – their pay off for not caring at all. Her mother might be weepy now, but that didn’t mean she would ever miss her Bridge-afternoon, just to do something as trivial as talking to her daughter, and her father thought that giving her some thousand dollars a month was enough to keep his bases covered. Her parents didn’t even care enough to notice that her grades had never been good, that they hadn’t been good for a long time. All they saw was that their 22 year old daughter still hadn’t finished college and that it was an embarrassment with their friends. And so, in Faith’s eyes, she’d earned that monthly pay-check, every damned cent of it.

“Two weeks ago,” the lawyer repeated, “And why didn’t you come out earlier with this, why did you wait all the time?”

Faith sniffed again, swallowed, then after a dramatic pause, and more sounds of distress from her mother, she looked at Mr. MacDonald, “Because … I … felt that … they would maybe think it was my fault, that I had done-“

“Nonsense,” her father thundered, clearly at the end of his patience. “An old bookish guy sees a young attractive girl and smells summer. That’s disgusting. And certainly not your fault. Nobody will blame you. We won’t.”

No they wouldn’t, Faith thought. Because that would mean caring in the first place. That sounded downright bitter, she realised, and pushed the hurt away. She was long past that stage. She was strong these days, and hard. Nothing would hurt her, she would keep her head up, no matter what. “Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered, fishing for a hanky in her pocket, batting her eyes. “That means everything.” God, she had become a first class liar, she thought.

She looked up and her eyes met Mr. MacDonald’s again. A muscle in his jaw twitched, she noticed, and his eyes were almost stormy grey now like the clouds on a rainy day, nothing was left of the blue she’d found so comforting when she’d stepped into the room . She felt herself shiver, because one thing she knew without a doubt. He wasn’t buying one word of what she was saying.

Part 14

Angel ran both hands through his hair, dishevelling it in the process, while he waited for the door to open. When it didn’t he knocked again. He kept reminding himself that he was doing this for his sister, that he did it because she needed his help, or rather Wesley did, but looking into her eyes, he knew it was just the same. He might not be thrilled that she’d fallen in love with a man over 14 years her senior, but that didn’t mean he was too blind to see that her feelings for Wesley had finally pulled her out of her shell, and that the Englishman with his glasses and his shyness was probably the best that could happen to her.

And besides, work was good. Especially today, and especially for him. Angel was afraid if he had enough time to think he would do something totally emasculating and staggeringly horrifying … like drive to Buffy’s apartment … and make a complete fool of himself. And that for a woman who probably wished him to Hell.

“Hey.”

He had to blink at the girl the voice belonged to, or rather the young woman, who was standing in the doorway, a bathing robe slung around her body, a towel draped over her hair. So she’d been in the shower, he mused, forcing himself to smile. “Hey, back. I’m looking for Faith Marshall.”

“Faith?”

Uh-oh. Was there suspicion in her voice? Angel cleared his throat, “Yeah, I’m … uhm … a PI-“

“A Private Investigator?”

Angel forced himself not to grin at the breathy admiration in her eyes that had gone round. “Yeah,” he replied, letting another smile slip over his lips. The young woman in front of him was not more than twenty years old, about five-eight tall, and nicely rounded, and while he might have looked twice only weeks before, he didn’t feel anything. Nothing at all. Damn you, Buffy, he thought, for stealing my heart, then stomping on it at every opportunity.

“Are you working for her parents then?,” the girl wanted to know.

He still didn’t know her name, he realised, but that could wait. “Is she there?,” he asked his own question, avoiding answering hers.

She stepped back, inviting him in, the way he had expected her to do. All he knew was that she was Faith’s roommate in college. And that Faith would definitively not be in today. He’d made sure of that before he’d decided to take a look at her room, and her roommate. “Nice,” he commented, as soon as she closed the door behind him.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m sorry for … you know … the way I behaved when you were standing there, but I thought you were maybe an ex-boyfriend or so. And Faith instructed me not to let any of them in, not under any circumstances.” Her voice had dropped to a conspirational whisper, “You understand.”

He didn’t, at least not yet, but wasn’t about to let her know. “Yeah,” was all he replied, letting his gaze sweep over the two neatly made beds, the posters on the walls, the clothes hanging over the backs of chairs. It was a typical female dorm room, nothing special to it as far as he could see. He saw a coffee machine standing in one corner, a TV set in another. Two laptops sat on the two desks, and for a moment he wondered if Faith ever used hers for anything but games.

“Isn’t that awful?”

He turned and saw the girl looking at him, “Awful? Oh, yes,” he quickly caught himself, “It is … uh ..”

“Tess,” she laughed, a little bit embarrassed, “I’m Tess. Faith and I go way back. We were in high school together.”

“Oh?,” Angel raised a brow. That part was interesting. “So you know her for a long time.”

“Like, forever,” Tess laughed again, clearly more at ease now. “She’s always been wild,” another laugh, “if you understand. But it’s not really a surprise with her parents ignoring her all the time.”

“They did?” He let his eyes sweep over what he thought was Faith’s desk, saw the picture of an elderly couple, probably said parents. The man’s dark hair was sprinkled with grey, while the woman was styled perfectly, not one of her undoubtedly dyed hairs in the wrong place. They were smiling, but there was no warmth in their expressions. “I suppose that happens now and then,” he added, thinking that he would’ve preferred a bit of ignorance from his father instead of his constant cruelty or his drunken excesses.

“She’s the typical rich girl,” Tess chatted on, sitting down on her bed, “Born with a silver spoon. She had everything, but nothing. Don’t understand me wrong. Her parents aren’t really bad. They never hurt her, not physically. Her mom’s actually quite nice, but always busy.”

So Faith Marshall was the neglected society princess. Could that make her lash out, not caring at whom? Could blaming Wesley be a way to get her parents’ attention? Certainly possible. But how could he prove it?

“She isn’t really a bad student,” Tess seemed to have warmed with the subject, not needing any encouragement now to tell all about her friend. “She’s actually very smart. Could be an A- or at least a B-student. But instead of studying there are guys, and guys, and guys. If you ask me it’s only to get back to her parents. And last year-“ she suddenly stopped herself, and Angel wondered what might have slipped from her lips. Last year? What?

“Yeah, I heard.” It was an audacious shot, but maybe it was his only chance. As soon as Faith was back, Tess would tell her about the PI and this game would be over.

Tess eyes grew round like saucers, “She told you? You know about Kevin?”

Angel shrugged, keeping his eyes on the picture of a girl in the arms of a boy he’d noticed between two books on the desk. The girl was tall and brunette, smiling, but with sadness clouding her dark eyes, while the boy was fair haired, and at least a foot taller than her. A college football player, Angel wondered?

“She told you about Kevin?,” Tess was obviously still in awe. “Wow, I thought she’d never tell anyone. Expect me of course, but then, I’ve been there.”

“It was hard on her.” It was another blind shot, but he just had to risk it. And he almost made a scoring gesture with his arm, when he saw Tess nod from the corner of his eye.

“Yes, it was. I wouldn’t want to go through this. To fall in love with a guy, to get pregnant. Which, of course, wouldn’t be really bad. But then the guy just let you fall like a hot potato and because of your parents you have to get rid of the baby. And you have to go through all that alone.”

An abortion? Faith Marshall had had an abortion? That certainly was an interesting piece of news. Angel turned slowly, smiling at the young woman on the bed, “Not completely alone.”

She rewarded his comment with a smile on her own, “No, not completely,” she agreed. Tess was a nice girl, Angel thought, and at another time, at another place he might have been interested. She was pretty, not dumb, compassionate … but she was lacking in one very important field. She was *not* Buffy Summers.

He saw Tess bite her lip, and instantly recognized the look in her eyes. “So,” she said slowly, “when this is over and you are done with this … case, do you think … you know.” She blushed prettily. Yes, he would have been seriously tempted. And maybe he should still take her on her offer, give in, spend some nice days with her, enjoy Tess’ company. But he couldn’t. All he could think of was a certain blond who’d treated him like dirt this morning. All he could see were her hazel eyes, stormy dark with passion, her mouth, so perfect and tempting.

“No,” he slowly shook his head, “I’m sorry, but I’m-“

“Involved,” she sighed dramatically, then shrugged. “Just my luck. All the nice ones are already taken.”

Taken, huh? He’d given a lot if he was, but unfortunately the one he wanted, didn’t seem to want him. At least not over a quick romp on the car and the ground. He’d been good enough for that. Angel wondered if she was crawling back to that boyfriend of hers tonight, pretending nothing had ever happened. God, he was a fool. A fool for falling for her. But damn, she was in his blood. And somehow he had to find a way to show her that this wasn’t as impossible as she thought.

*****

With a groan Buffy let her forehead fall against the computer screen, instantly pulling it backward when the heat radiating from it was uncomfortable on her already throbbing head. Sighing she rubbed the spot with her fingers, gritted her teeth. It was not the time to have a headache. Her boss was expecting the report first thing next morning and with Parker breathing down her neck she couldn’t afford to screw this up. The little slimy bastard would only too gladly take over. But only over her dead body, she vowed silently, trying to concentrate on the words. Never again would she let him win. Never again. She still wore the scars of that one time he didn’t even seem to remember, and she wasn’t eager to add new one, although she doubted that he still had the power to hurt her the way he once had. She wasn’t the naïve little virgin anymore, she’d once been.

The work she had to do wasn’t really difficult, she thought with an inward sigh. She had done it before. Often. The subject was familiar, the procedure as well, the only thing unfamiliar was she. She couldn’t remember ever having felt so distraught before. Not during work that is. When her step-father had died she’d been devastated, but her boss had given her time off. She could hardly go to him now and expect compassion because she couldn’t forget what had happened last night. Damn, she had to forget. Soon.

Forget. Right. Not likely. Try as she might, he was still there. She could still feel his hands on her body, sometimes rough, sometimes gentle, could feel his lips, like silk, his stubble scratching her skin following the path his lips took. And worst of all, he was still in her head. As soon as she closed her eyes, as she’d done before, images of Angel kept coming. His smile, his eyes, his graceful way of moving, the way he’d been holding her on the dance-floor, and she also remembered the hurt in his eyes before she’d turned away. She hadn’t been able to look at him again, afraid to see it again, afraid to break down and do … What exactly?

Kiss him and tell him she hadn’t meant it? But hadn’t she? No, she thought firmly. She hadn’t wanted to hurt him, just wanted him to … what? God, she had never felt so confused and her insides were in turmoil.

So now what? Call him and tell him she was sorry? No way. If she did that, he would see it as an encouragement, and right now she couldn’t handle that. She’d been able to give him the cold shoulder during their ride back to his house, but without a doubt she knew that she wouldn’t be able to it again. Just being close to him made her body hum, made her senses go into overdrive. If he was near right now, she knew she’d grab him and …

God, she had to stop this. But hadn’t she tried to tell herself the same thing for the better part of the day, ever since she’d come awake in her car in the middle of nowhere, remembering what had happened the night before? And see what it brought her, she was sitting over an important project and all she could do was think of a man. No, not just a man. She was thinking of Angel. He was in her head, in her gut, in her heart, and on her skin. He was everywhere and obviously he was not going to go away.

Again her gaze flickered to the computer screen, the cursor blinking madly, waiting for her to continue, but nothing would come, her mind had shut down, solely focussed on a face with dark eyes, and a smile that knocked your socks clear off your feet.

When right that moment the door to her office opened without a knock, she didn’t have to look up to know who was entering.

“Hey, girlfriend, how’s it going?”

How was she going to pull this off, Buffy wondered quickly. How was she going to act normal around Cordelia, how was she going to pretend she was just peachy? Her secretary, and friend, had the senses of a bloodhound and could usually smell those things a mile against the wind. So far she’d been lucky. Cordy hadn’t been there in the morning, had taken some time off for a doctor’s appointment, and had no knowledge of the fact that her boss had been late. But there was no running anymore, and so the blond raised her head, hoping her eyes were cool and controlled. “Cordy. Just the person I was waiting for. I need this typed as soon as possible.”

She fished a small tape from her purse, tossed it towards the brunette who caught it easily in mid-air. “Sure. No prob.” Then after what seemed like a short inward discussion, Cordelia stuffed the tape into the pocket of her blue slacks, and instead of leaving she crossed the room and sat down opposite to Buffy. “So, how was your high school reunion?”

“Okay,” the blond replied with a shrug. “You know how that goes. A lot of ‘ohs’ and ‘ahs’ and stuff.”

“Did you have a date?”

That’s it, Buffy thought. Confession time. She should’ve known Cordy wouldn’t let her off with a simple explanation. “Yeah,” she replied, pretending to be busy scanning the text on the screen. The truth was she knew every word of it by now. It wasn’t really difficult with only three lines written so far.

“Well,” the brunette leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with excitement, “tell me!”

Shifting uncomfortably on her chair, Buffy kept her eyes on the screen, “Angel,” she mumbled, but of course Cordy had understood well.

“Angel?,” the brunette’s eyebrows knit in confusion. “Who is Angel?”

“I meant Liam,” Buffy said quickly, hating her slip. Maybe part of the problem was that she was always thinking of him as Angel. Maybe if she’d tried to see him as Liam she could be cooler about all this. Yeah. Sure. She almost laughed out loud at that. As if the name had anything to do with it.

“Liam?,” Cordy stared at her for a moment, then her eyes lit up with a force that made Buffy wince, “Liam! You mean sexy, leather-jacket Liam? The guy who was so eager to get your address from me? Wow.” She sat back in her chair, truly impressed, “I bet that had them all gaping with envy. Go, Buffy.” She grinned broadly at her boss, and Buffy could see that there was only genuine pleasure in the other woman’s expression. In Cordy’s eyes Buffy had scored big time and the brunette was glad for her.

“Yeah, there was some head turning involved,” the blond admitted, remembering the looks some of her former classmates had given her. Judy at the reception had almost forgotten to close her mouth, and not to forget Claire who’d pawed Angel all over.

“I’ll bet,” Cordy grinned wickedly. “So what happened after the official meeting. I mean … you were on your own with Liam. Yummy Liam, I may add. Did you jump his bones?”

No he jumped mine, but I didn’t mind at all. Buffy felt heat rising in her cheeks, and was glad she’d been so generous with make-up this morning, trying to cover the bags under her eyes, and the grey look of her skin after a night in a car. “And I would you tell this because…?” she asked, pretending to be extremely bored, hoping her friend might get the clue.

But of course this was Cordelia sitting across from her, and Mr. and Mrs. Chase hadn’t raised their daughter to be tactful. “Because I’m your friend. Because I’m the one who got you two together. So you owe me. Big time.”

“I didn’t jump his bones,” Buffy said slowly, almost choking at the lie. On the other hand it wasn’t really a lie. She hadn’t jumped his bones, at least not the first time. ((Ohgodohgodohgod.)) She could already feel the heat spreading through her body. Just the memory was enough to get her to a sizzling point.

“You didn’t?” Cordy’s voice was a mixture of disappointment and disbelief. “What are you? Dead? Or a nun? A guy like Liam – Buffy something is seriously wrong with you.”

“Cordy, the guy is seven years my junior,” Buffy finally voiced her greatest concern. Try as she might, she couldn’t get over the age difference. She didn’t really see it as a problem this very moment, but what about in ten years? He’d be 36, in prime of his life, and she would be 44, most likely have wrinkles and … other imperfections. Would he still love her then? Or would he be disgusted, regretting that he was committed to a woman so many years his senior? And what the *hell* was she thinking again? Hadn’t she just decided that a relationship with him was impossible?

“And that would be a problem, why exactly?” The brunette crossed her arms and tilted her head.

“Because it is,” Buffy replied stubbornly. Maybe if she was more like Cordy, just living for the now, enjoying each moment, not caring for tomorrow, it really wouldn’t be a problem, but unfortunately Buffy wasn’t cut that way. She always thought about tomorrow, always needed some kind of promise, something … Yeah, sure, a little voice in her head whispered. That’s why you slept with Angel, without a second thought tonight and without-

Her thoughts came to a screeching halt, her stomach dropping through the bottom.

OH GOD.

OHGODOHGODOHGODOHGOD.

She swallowed. Hard. And swallowed again, all thoughts about older women and younger men fleeing her head. From the corner of her eye she saw Cordy uncrossing her arms, leaning forward, studying her boss curiously. No wonder, Buffy thought, she felt as if the ground had just been knocked away under her feet. As if the world was spinning around her.

God, she was the most stupid, irresponsible … She was thirty four years old, but that obviously didn’t save you from being an idiot. Mentally counting, her heart started to hammer. She’d never been eager to use the pill, and because Riley had always been so considerate, they’d agreed to use condoms. But Angel hadn’t used a condom. At least not to her knowledge. She couldn’t be sure about the first time, but she was very sure about the second. She’d been the one initiating it, had had her hands –

OH GOD.

She and Angel had had sex. Twice.

And without any protection.

Part 15

Black was definitely reflecting her mood, but maybe her mother would get suspicious. Joyce had a sixth sense where her daughter was concerned, maybe something all mothers had in common. Yellow would instantly rise her mother’s hackles. She never wore yellow, so why should she now. And red – hadn’t she read something about red being aggressive?

Buffy stared into her closet, annoyed with her own indecision. It was only a dinner with her mother, for heaven’s sake. Maybe she’d just take blue or green. A neutral colour. Yeah, light blue would be good. She grabbed the long sleeved dress, sighing slightly. She’d never particularly liked it, but for tonight it would do.

She stood staring into her mirror, hairbrush in hand. Down or up? Up was showing control, making her sophisticated, giving her the image of a cool business-woman. On the other hand she never wore her hair up out of the office. She sighed again, threw the brush onto her dressing table, moving from annoyance with herself to irritation.

Stepping into her black pumps, she sighed for the third time – deeply. He had taken over her thoughts, her feelings, her very life. It was physical, she told herself. She’d never thought herself to be such a physical woman – although she knew she could be passionate – yet since she’d known Angel, cool and reserved Buffy had to force herself to keep from moaning at the mere reminder of his touch. It was all she could do to keep her mind on work.

Usually she would say get the physical out of the way, so she could regain control of her mind and gain some perspective. The problem was, they had done the physical already, but instead of feeling sated and contend, the way it had been with the other men in her life, she craved more. And that – on top of her recent discovery that she’d been too eager to even think about protection – made her doubt her own sanity.

She reached for her wide leather belt and cinched it around her waist. It was a little late in her life to have such teenage thoughts over a man. And he was – after all – just a man. A man seven years her junior. She knew that many woman had physical relationships with younger men and relegated them to that compartment of their lives while functioning separately in their business lives. Perhaps that would be the answer to her problems – or it should have been. A strong friendship, a satisfactory physical relationship, with no ties. But somehow she knew, this wouldn’t work in Angel’s book. And, so she had to admit, not in hers either.

After a final glance in her mirror, Buffy nodded. At least she looked presentable. Today of all days her mother had decided to invite herself for dinner, no doubt trying to talk some reason into her again, no doubt trying to discuss Riley. But maybe it was just as well. Riley was a safe topic, something that might get her thoughts off Angel – if that was even possible.

When the doorbell rang, she took a last glance into the mirror, then left her bedroom, closing the door behind her. With a practiced daughter smile on her face, she opened the door, only to have the smile freezing on her lips, seeing the unexpected visitor standing there and grinning from ear to ear, holding a bucket of flowers.

“Hey, beautiful.” He took a step back, his blue eyes wandering up and down her body, taking in her clothes, the shoes, her stylish makeup. “And what a sight you are.” He made a slight bow, held the flowers out for her. “Seems I’ve chosen the right time to show up.”

Maybe if she had expected him, Buffy might have accepted the present with a smile, but somehow she just couldn’t find it in her to act casual, or even pleased to see him. Instead, she took a deep breath not to kill him on the spot, but her voice was still like a bucket of cold water, when she said, “What the Hell are you doing here, Spike?”

*****

“What the Hell are you doing here?”

Lindsey MacDonald stifled a grin, then pretending to ignore Faith’s outraged expression, he sauntered into her dorm room, letting his eyes sweep over the furniture, the pictures, taking in the whole atmosphere of the room. “It’s nice to see you too,” he replied without looking, aware that if looks could kill, he’d be cold in a flash.

“You have some nerve to show up here without invitation,” she hissed at him, and when he turned he saw her standing, hand still on doorknob, she was almost trembling with anger. “If I call my father, you’re out of a job in two minutes.”

He raised his brows, “Oh, is that so? Well, then go on,” he nodded at the phone on her desk, “call him.” When he saw her eyes widen, he shrugged, “There are funnier things than to represent a spoiled little girl who’s pissed off because a teacher has actually resisted her charms.”

The door shut with a loud bang, “You son of a-“

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Does a young lady use that kind of language?” he taunted, enjoying his view. She was dressed in tight denims, a green turtleneck, her hair loose and falling freely, her eyes sparkling with anger. She was simply beautiful. Lindsey felt his gut tighten. He’d been attracted to women before – he was healthy man after all, but none of them had ever left the kind of impression Faith had, even though she’d been lying in his face.

Beautiful brown eyes narrowed, “Who do you think you are, coming to my room and accusing me of-“

“Lying?” he asked, not trying to hide the grin now. “Yeah, that’s what I’d call it. You’ve been lying to me, to your parents, to this old honorable alma mater. And don’t even try to deny it. So, what I really want to know is, why?”

Her eyes narrowed another bit, becoming mere slits, but God, she was even more beautiful this way. What a woman, Lindsey thought, feeling his blood rush into his groin. She was pure fire, hot, sparkling, and he wondered if her passion was going to burn in the same way. It made him even more curious to find out why Faith Marshall was acting the way she did. He wasn’t blind. Besides the fact that she’d been lying, he had also seen how she’d looked at her father, and at her mother for that matter. For all their concerned attitude, Faith’s parents seemed to be more concerned about their name or what a scandal might do to the family business than what it had done to their daughter. And it seemed the young woman knew that as well.

“Why?” Faith raised her brows, crossed her arms, “How come you are interested? You’re a lawyer, right? Isn’t it enough for you to earn your money. My father’s going to pay, don’t worry.”

“I’m not worrying,” he replied easily. “I might not be a partner in my firm yet, but I know my bosses appreciate my work, and that won’t change. No, that’s not the reason I came. I want to know why someone like you, young, beautiful, intelligent, someone with a whole life ahead of her, is in need of such …,” he made a disgusted gesture with his hand, “nonsense.”

Something flickered through her eyes, but it was gone too soon for him to judge. “Intelligent, huh?” She laughed, a short, dismissive sound. “You think that? Didn’t you know that I flunked psychology last year? And English lit? I’m a dummy, lawyer. You’re mistaken if you think I’m something special.”

He wasn’t quite sure, why, but the way she said it, the way he saw pain come and go in her eyes, made him act in a way he hadn’t planned. He wasn’t even aware of the steps he’d taken towards her, and when his head lowered to hers it was already too late to change. He pressed his lips onto hers, for a short, lucid moment wondering if he could claim temporary insanity for his actions, but then he could feel nothing but her tempting lips, could hear nothing but the little moan that escaped her. And when her arms wrapped themselves around his neck, he wasn’t so sure anymore if coming here had been one of his wisest decisions.

*****

“Well, Hell.” Spike’s grin didn’t slip, although he saw that Buffy was anything but happy about seeing him show up unexpectedly at her doorstep. “Won’t you invite me in?”

Buffy frowned, but then sighed inwardly. She could hardly send him away like some dog, could she? Well, maybe she could, but standing there, with this puppy dog look in his eyes, holding out the flowers for her, she didn’t have the heart for it. And he reminded her of all the high school fantasies she’d ever had, the fantasies Spike had been a big part of. “Alright, come in,” she invited, stepping back. “What are you doing in town?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I wanted to see you?”

She almost laughed out loud at the tone of his voice. He sounded like a little boy. “Well, excuse me if I get a little suspicious. I mean we don’t see each other for over fifteen years. And then all of a sudden I’m someone in your book? It’s a little hard to believe.” She finally took the flowers from him, then marched into the kitchen, to search for a vase.

He stopped in the doorway, leaned one shoulder against the frame, “Nice apartment. So why do you think you can’t be the only reason I came? You are a beautiful woman, very attractive, tempting.” His voice dropped to an intimate whisper, but while it might have sent shivers down her spine eighteen years ago, she now felt absolutely nothing. Nil, zero, zilch. All she could think was that his voice wasn’t as soft and velvety as another one that kept whispering to her in her dreams, that his eyes were a boring blue, instead of a warm, deep brown. God, she was pathetic!

Stuffing the flowers into the vase with more power than necessary, she added some water, then placed it on the table. “Thanks,” she said, remembering that she hadn’t said it before.

“You’re welcome.” He was still leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed now, he was watching her. “Okay,” he said finally, “I came because I met Dru. I … uh … well, we needed to discuss some business.”

“I see,” Buffy nodded, irritated at her own indifference at his reply. Why couldn’t she at least be disappointed that she hadn’t been the reason for his coming into town? Why couldn’t she feel a tiny little bit of … jealousy? But there was nothing. Plain nothing. She didn’t care why Spike had come into town. Or if he had met Dru. Or what he did at all. All her mind could think was that he fell short compared to another man, one she couldn’t stop thinking about. Would she have fantasised about Spike if Angel had been there during her high school years? She wondered. But then, Angel would have been nothing more than a kid, nine or ten years old, hardly swooning material for a girl.

Instantly sobered by that thought, she looked at her unexpected guest, “So you came to see Dru, and you thought it was a good idea to drop by while you were in town anyway?”

“Something like that,” he admitted, his grin a bit lopsided now. “I thought we had a good time that night, and so … well, I thought it couldn’t hurt to try. What do you think about a fancy dinner in a restaurant of your choice?” He gestured at her clothes, “You’re all dressed up anyway.”

“As a matter of fact, I’m dressed up because I’m having dinner with my mother.”

“With your mother?,” he raised a brow at that. “Does sound like the evening of dreams.”

She couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her mouth. “She isn’t that bad,” she grinned at Spike who made a pained grimace.

“I remember,” he said after a moment, “Your parents were the keeping kind. There was this step-father of yours, the guy was actually pretty cool.”

“Yeah, he was,” she replied softly, feeling the familiar stab of pain. God, she missed Giles, right now maybe more than ever. He’d always been so understanding, always had an open ear for her problems. She wished she could ask him what to do. “He died some years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Spike said, and the compassion in his voice was genuine. “Your mother never remarried? I remember she was an attractive woman.”

“No, she didn’t,” Buffy shook her head, “Her relationship with Giles was very special. After my father and she split up … well, she was pretty hurt and … Giles was the best that ever happened to her. And to me for that matter.”

“And your … father?”

She shrugged, not particular about touching that sour spot in her life. “He calls sporadically. But most of the time I don’t know what he does, or with whom.”

“Sounds a lot like my old man.” Spike sighed, “There are parents out there who shouldn’t have any kids. When Dru and I first married I wanted a baby. She was against it. Looking back it was probably for the best. A kid would be torn apart between us now. Plus all the yelling.” He sighed again, more deeply this time, and Buffy wondered if his previous meeting with his ex-wife had been all that pleasant.

“Is she …,” she paused, not certain she even wanted to know, but asked anyway, “Is there a new man in her life?” It was strange though, talking with Spike as if they’d been closest friends. She’d once had a crush on him, but after high school she’d soon forgotten all about him.

“No,” he shook his head, ran a hand through his hair. “She’s all hung up on her career these days. Not that it seems to make her happy, but,” he shrugged, “If she wants it that way.”

“Yeah,” Buffy nodded, reminded of another woman who’d once believed that a successful career was the most important thing in her life. That a man, a lover, was something you could have on the side, that didn’t intrude your feelings all the time. But that was before a guy in a leather jacket, and a half-smile that should be forbidden had entered her life and turned it upside down.

He was about to say something when the doorbell rang again. She shot him a quick apologetic smile then walked for the door, expecting her mother, her welcoming smile in place for the second time that night. But again it froze on her face. It wasn’t her mother leaning against the doorframe, a scowl on the forehead. And before she had time to say a word, Angel pushed past her, entering her apartment without waiting for an invitation.

“I know,” he growled, when he turned to face her, “you try your best to ignore me. At first I thought it was for the best to give you space, but you know what?” He didn’t wait for her to answer, didn’t give her time to come to terms with his unsettling presence, but went right on, “I’m done giving you space. You’re behaving like a scared little girl, running away all the time, and it’s time you stopped.”

Part 16 Joyce Summers-Giles brought her car to a stop in front of her daughter's apartment building. Shutting off the ignition she let out a weary sigh, resting both hands on the steering wheel, while the radio still blared some old song of the Beatles. God, how her husband had loved that music. When he was painting it had been a constant background noise, connected to him like her own daughter who had adored her step-father in a way that was painfully missing in her relationship with her real father.

Joyce sighed again, patting her hair with one hand, missing her late husband tonight more than ever. He'd had a way with Buffy, they had shared something special. Her stubborn daughter had always listened to Rupert, or had at least considered his point of view, while all her mother said seemed to make Buffy do the exact opposite. God, she could do with Rupert's calming influence tonight, although - she let out a little laughter - this probably wouldn't happen in the first place.

If Rupert was still alive, he would look at Joyce with his deep, knowing eyes, telling her without words that Buffy's life was exactly that, Buffy's life and that Joyce didn't have a say in it. That her daughter was old enough to make her own decisions, and that she, Joyce, should wait until Buffy came and asked for advice. Unfortunately Joyce simply wasn't made for standing by and waiting, she usually gave her opinion, wanted or not, and that - more often than not - led to heated arguments with the one person she loved most on the earth.

Not that Rupert and Buffy hadn't fought frequently, because they had. Nobody could be close to her daughter and not fight with her. Buffy could be the most mule-headed creature on this planet, but somehow their fights had been different to the ones that seemed the only way of communication between mother and daughter lately. She wasn't sure why, but these days whatever she said, Buffy was takingit the wrong way, while with Rupert, her daughter had at least realized he was always trying to do what was best for her.

Frowning at that, Joyce firmly forced those thoughts down, not willing to deal with them any longer. Her daughter was waiting for her, and the longer she had to wait, the stronger her defenses would be. And besides, Rupert didn't always know best. This was her daughter after all. Buffy was about to make the biggest mistake of her life, and Joyce wasn't going to stand by and let it happen. Buffy might hate her for her intervention, but maybe one day, when her daughter was a mother herself - although the chances of that ever happening were getting less by the day - she would understand why Joyce had to act the way she did.

With new determination spreading through her body, Joyce climbed out of the car, and after pressing the button on her key and hearing the car lock, she marched towards the house, hoping that her daughter would have a more open mind tonight than usual. Buffy could be so stubborn sometimes. Like now. Joyce would never understand what had brought on her daughter's latest behavior. Buffy had seemed happy and content in her relationship with Riley. And they were made for each other, both successful in their jobs, both good looking, both around the same age, with similar expectations for their lives and future. A match made in heaven.

And all of a sudden Buffy didn't seem to think so anymore.

So far all of Joyce's attempts to find out what had changed her daughter's mind had been in vain. Buffy didn't want to talk about it. It was her life, her decision. Period. They had even argued about it. Joyce felt almost ashamed for the way she'd yelled, but nothing had changed. Buffy insisted Riley wasn't for her, that a future with him was out of the question.

Joyce's first thought had been a fight between lovers, something that happened every day, but a phone call to Riley had proven her wrong. Buffy's ex-boyfriend insisted that he was still at a loss to understand what had caused their break-up. So the next logical reason was another man. But Buffy had insisted there was none, and Joyce had been tempted to believe her. It wasn't like Buffy to jump from one man to the next, but then Joyce wasn't born just yesterday, and she had lived long enough to know that anything was possible.

And that had been her reason for a dinner with her daughter tonight. She wanted to find out what was going on, wanted to understand why her daughter had thrown a perfectly fine relationship away, and didn't show the slightest sign she would be willing to reconsider.

Well, she would find out tonight, she thought, lengthening her strides, pushing the door open with straightened shoulders and raised chin. She would find out, and then convince her daughter that she was a fool to let Riley go.

Her daughter might be stubborn sometimes. But Buffy wasn't a fool. Not by a long shot.

*****

Buffy stared at the man in front of her, trying her best to understand what was happening. She'd been planning a not so pleasant evening with her mother, and all of a sudden this was turning into some wacky soap opera. And Angel hadn't even noticed Spike so far. "What …", she finally managed, "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, wasn't it clear enough for you?" Angel stared right back, his posture aggressive and challenging at the same time. He knew he was acting irrational, but he was done standing back and waiting for her to accept that they were right for each other. He still wasn't quite sure what had brought this on, but now that he had decided to confront her, he wasn't about to back down again, even though he saw the silent plead in her eyes, the way they had widened in shock. "I said I'm through with waiting for you to come to terms with our relationship. I'm through giving you space."

Her initial surprise instantly giving way to anger, Buffy went very still. "What," she raised one brow, "are you talking about? A relationship? What kind of relationship?"

*Liar, liar*, a little voice inside her head was whispering. *You slept with him. You care for him. What would you call it? *

Buffy mercilessly ignored it, and crossed her hands in front of her chest, suddenly remembering her other guest, slightly ashamed that she was using Spike as a shield against the confusing emotions Angel was rousing inside of her. "By the way, you remember Spike, don't you?" She looked past Angel, directly at the bleached blond who was standing in the kitchen doorway.

She saw something flicker in the depth of Angel's dark orbs, before his whole body tensed and he slowly turned, "Spike?"

Angel felt something quiver deep inside of him, something he didn't want to accept, something dark, and ugly, and he instantly recognized it as jealousy. Not the light kind, the angry kind he'd experienced the night of the high school reunion. No. this time it was deeper, growling in his gut, twisting it, making it churn. And it was accompanied by anger, anger so deep and furious, he wasn't sure he was going to keep himself together. So she was playing dirty, was she?, he thought.

When he finally faced the other man, leaning casually in the doorway, he knew his anger was irrational and certainly turned towards the wrong person. Spike stood, watching him a little warily, not quite certain himself what was going on, what game was about to be played.

Angel straightened his shoulders, narrowed his eyes, "Hello, Spike," he greeted the other man.

Buffy almost shivered at the ice in his voice, not quite sure if her last move had been her best. What if she'd judged Angel wrong, what if he went berserk and … but no, Angel wasn’t the type to do such a thing. Not that she really knew him well, but somehow she couldn’t imagine him trashing an apartment or beating up another person. It just didn’t fit.

"Liam." Spike inclined his head, a smile now playing around his lips. "Nice to meet you again," he said, but his voice was betraying his lightness, and again she was ashamed for the way she was playing those men, and all because of her own uncertainty. But as much as she hated it, she wasn't ready to change anything, either. She was feeling unsettled, her emotions so close to the surface, and all because of this man, this boy, really. This couldn't be real, this couldn't be happening, not to her, not to the most rational person she knew. Not to Buffy, who had planned her whole life. She couldn't accept it, and she wouldn't.

"I wish I could say that, too," Angel replied, and Buffy could see the rigid control he was trying to keep. "I see," he went on, and she realized he was looking at her again, "You lost no time finding a substitute. I wonder what your boyfriend will say to this?"

Boyfriend? A little confused, Buffy frowned at him, then suddenly remembered that he didn't even know about Riley and her splitting up, which, given the circumstances, she wasn't inclined to change. "Riley?” she raised her chin. "We don't have that kind of relationship. We're both very open, modern people."

Completely forgetting Spike's presence, Angel felt his body stiffen, not willing to believe what she was hinting at. "You mean… ", he had to take a breath. His determination was slowly fading in the face of her obvious indifference. Had he been so wrong about her? Could he have misjudged her? But no, he thought, thinking back at the way she'd cried out his name, the way she'd touched him, the way her eyes had clouded over. She couldn't have been faking that. And he simply refused to believe that Buffy was the kind of woman who could experience something that profound and just shake it off the next day. "You're lying," he said slowly, but firmly. "It's still the little scared girl talking here. The one who doesn't take risks, the one who admires her step-father for living out his fantasies, but is too scared to live up to them herself.”

He let his eyes wander and rest on the picture painted by Rupert Giles visible through the partially opened living-room door. It was a disturbing painting, showing a rainy day at the coast, a storm bending the trees, clouds hanging deep and heavy. The colors were dark, black, brown, gray, blue, a cold, dark, green - the scenery stormy and threatening. At least at first glance. But more closely looked at, there was such peace coming from it, such clarity, as if the artist was allowing you a glimpse into his soul. A man shaken by the experiences life dealt you, but who had finally found his home, his destination.

Angel looked back at Buffy, trying to imagine her mother. Did Mrs. Summers have the same eyes? Did she radiate the same energy, the same strength, paired with such intense vulnerability? The same vulnerability that Buffy was trying to hide by acting out, by seeming cool and tough? If yes, Angel couldn't blame him. How could a man meet such a woman, and not take a second look, and maybe a third? And if he did, how could he not get lost in her, how could he not give her his soul? Completely and forever.

The way it had happened to him.

"Hey, maybe I should leave now."

They'd both forgotten that Spike was still there, Angel realized when he saw Buffy's eyes widen in surprise, The air between them was too intense, to cracking to even notice any other presence. And it gave him hope.

"No, there is no reason to leave." Buffy tried to keep her voice cool and controlled, tried to keep herself together, although she was sure her knees were trembling underneath her dress. Thank god she had chosen one in full length, hiding the evidence of her turmoil. She had to gain control again, she thought desperately, feeling herself falling, feeling herself slipping. She wasn't going to let this man take control of her life, her actions. So she straightened her shoulders, her eyes blank, "He is the one intruding here," she said loud and clear, not able to look into Angel's eyes, afraid of the pain she might see there at her words, "I didn't invite him."

If she had slapped him, she couldn't have hurt him the way her words had. Angel felt himself reeling back as if from a blow, then breathing deeply, managed to instantly pull himself together. Well, what had he expected, anyway? She had made it perfectly clear before that for her a relationship between them could never work. That she wasn't going to give in, wasn't going to see what beauty they could create together.

With great difficulty he managed to turn his head to look at her, and in that very moment, in that fraction of a second, he suddenly understood. Understood as clearly as if she'd had laid it out in front of him in bold letters. Something had happened to her. Someone - a man - had hurt her. Had hurt in a way she wasn't able to forget, in a way that had scarred her so deeply, he thought he could reach out and feel the pain. And he was also sure, that if she'd let him, he would touch the scars, would soothe them, would make them heal with love, a love she seemed to determined to push away.

A rage he'd never felt before suddenly filled him, threatened to consume him, against the man who had done this to her. Some man had turned this beautiful, breathtaking woman into a frightened little girl who didn't seem to trust anyone, least of all herself, and who had decided to refuse love, because it was safer. Because that way, she wasn't going to get hurt again. If the man had been around -right now - Angel was sure he'd spent the rest of his days in a high-security prison for murder one. He had always hated violence, had tried to fight against it, still carrying the scars of his early childhood, but in this split of a second it didn't matter. All he wanted was to erase this guy in a futile attempt to carry out justice, but knowing at the same time that it wouldn't change anything for Buffy. The only thing able to help her was love. Love he was willing to give. Love she was so determined to reject.

"No, you didn't invite me," he said finally, feeling a sudden calm, although her eyes had shut down, not showing any of the pain and torture he'd only gotten a glimpse of before, "but I'm still staying. We're going to talk, and if you don't want to talk, you're at least going to listen."

"I so need to go now," Spike pushed himself off of the doorway, holding up his hands as he passed the couple on his way to the exit door. "No need to see me out. I know the way." He reached for the door-handle, then stopped in the process, his eyes finding Angel's face. "There's nothing between us, man. We're nothing but - acquaintances. I was feeling low tonight, had a meeting with my ex. Thought I could use some cheering up. So don't give her a hard time."

"This has nothing to do with you," Angel replied, his eyes not wavering from Buffy's gaze, starting to like the other man without wanting to. "But thanks, nevertheless."

"I'd say have a nice evening, but ...", Spike trailed off, chuckling slightly to himself. "See you." He didn't expect an answer and didn't get one. God, he thought, shaking his head, why did love have to be so complicated all the time?Why couldn't people just fall in love, be happy and stay that way? Instantly his thoughts traveled to a certain raven-haired woman, remembering the girl she'd once been, the girl he'd been in love with so deeply, he couldn't think straight. When had this stopped? When had they lost what had seemed so precious, so right? God, he was maudlin tonight. Maybe he should just find a bottle of old Scotch and drown himself.

With a last chuckle he opened the door - and froze. Instead of an empty hallway he was greeted by the face of a woman so much alike another, and a pair of eyes that were looking at him curiously, before she spoke, "So you are the reason my daughter dumped her boyfriend. I should have known. You've always been bad news Spike."

“Mrs. Summers,” Spike inclined his head in a matter of greeting, then gave the older woman his best smile, the one he had practiced as a boy to charm Dru’s parents all those years ago. It had worked then, and he could only hope it would work now. “How nice to meet you. Believe me when I tell you, I have nothing to do with the troubles between your daughter and her boyfriend. And I’ll be gone anyway – I was just on my way out.” And then, without contemplating his next move, he wriggled past her, and with a last glance at Buffy he left, although a part of him wanted to stay and watch the drama unfold.

*

“So,” Joyce closed the door behind the blond man, “This was an interesting-“ Her words died on her lips when she turned and saw her daughter standing in the middle of the hallway facing a strange dark-haired man, Joyce had never seen before. But there was something in the way they looked at each other, his dark orbs intense and serious, Buffy’s defensive, with a touch of anger, and – to Joyce’s utter surprise – something close to fear. But it wasn’t fear of this man, it was something different, something that made Joyce tremble down to the core.

Neither of them looked up, didn’t give a sign they had acknowledged her presence, just continued staring at each other, until the man spoke.

“You dumped your boyfriend?” His voice was low, and a little bit dangerous. “Interesting piece of news you so comfortably avoided to share with me.”

Buffy’s chin jutted out in defiance, “I can’t see why this is any of your business. I can’t see where this concerns you.”

Joyce felt her gut clench almost painfully at the tension in the air, at the strange waves she was getting from her daughter. “Hi,” she said, “I’m Joyce Summers, Buffy’s mother.”

She could have well kept the words to herself, because neither the man nor her daughter were reacting.

“It concerns me all right,” he said, not touching her, just continuing to look at her with those serious eyes, Joyce found herself drawn to. “It concerns me because I care for you, because -,” she saw him pause, as if considering his next words, then he pushed ahead, “I love you.”

“No.” Buffy’s denial came quickly, her voice firm.

“Don’t tell me what I feel,” he retorted, “I know you don’t want to hear this, don’t want to concern yourself with this, but it’s true nevertheless. I love you.”

“No,” she said again, shaking her head emphatically. “You believe you love me, but it’s different. I know it is.”

“No, it isn’t,” he shot back, and Joyce saw he was clenching his fists. Could it be he was a violent person, she wondered. He was a tall man, strong, well-muscled. What would she do if- But no, she told herself instantly. Nobody who could look at her daughter like this, would hurt her. How could her daughter insist of him lying when his love for her was written clearly in his eyes.

Love?

Suddenly feeling shell-shocked, Joyce found herself rooted in place, breathing suddenly difficult.

Love?

This man had claimed loving her daughter, and she didn’t even know his name, hadn’t seen him ever before.

“Buffy,” he said, “I love you. It’s true. Stop denying what’s right in front of your eyes.”

“In front of my eyes?,” she echoed, shaking her head again, “This … this is madness. You’re deluding yourself in some kind of fantasy, and-“

“I’m not deluding myself,” he replied, his voice softening, “but you are. Buffy, why are you so determined to believe that I’m not in love with you? And more importantly, why are you trying to tell yourself you aren’t? Why are you trying to push me away? What are you afraid of?”

Joyce saw her daughter step back, then stop, pressing a hand to her mouth for a moment, pulling it away the next, “In love with you?,” she asked, her voice unnaturally high. “Why can’t you just accept that not all women are falling down at your feet. That there is a thirty-four year old woman who isn’t head over heels for your twenty-six year old body?”

Twenty-six? The guy was only twenty-six? Joyce continued to stare at the pair.

“Why are you always bringing up my age?,” he asked, his voice even softer than before, and Joyce found herself hanging at each of his words. There was something about him, something that moved her deeply. Maybe it was in the way he looked at her daughter, maybe it was the way he talked to her, as if he knew her inside out. “You are using our age difference like a shield. But that’s nonsense. It’s seven years, and do you know how many couples are seven years apart? So stop bringing this up all the time. Why don’t you stop hiding yourself behind this, and start telling me the real reason you’re shying away from your feelings.”

“My feelings?” she echoed, “You don’t know anything about my feelings.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” he said instantly, reaching out as if to touch her, then pulling his hand back. Maybe it was for the best, Joyce thought. Her daughter was so rigid, the merest touch might break her. “You’re scared, and don’t try to deny it. You’re afraid I’m going to hurt you, and you’re scared to let yourself trust me, because someone has betrayed your trust before, someone has hurt you deeply.”

“No,” Buffy said again, but now her voice was a mere whisper, tears welling up in her eyes. “Please don’t do this,” she pleaded brokenly, “I … I can’t do this.”

Finally he held out his hand, palm up, “Won’t you trust me? Whoever it was, can’t you see I’m not him?”

Buffy took another step back, her eyes wide and like those of a scared animal pushed into a corner with no way out. “I can’t,” she whispered, “Don’t you understand, I can’t. This … th-this is …,” she stopped, shook her head, biting her lower lip, “Please, go.”

“No,” he said softly, but firmly. “I’m not going. I’m not going to watch you doing this to yourself. I’m not going to let you draw back behind your safe wall, away from love and happiness.”

“I am happy,” she almost cried out, defensively crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Why can’t you accept that and just leave?” Joyce heard a stifled sob on the last word, and almost reached out to touch her daughter, but something held her back, told her she couldn’t let her protective mother-instincts run free.

“You are happy?,” he echoed her question gently. “Then why don’t you look that way, Buffy? To me you look anything but.” Again he held out his hand for her. “I love you, Buffy, and I want you to trust me. I can’t promise never to hurt you, but I will never do it deliberately. I know this guy – whoever it was – hurt you. But do you want him to win? You’re cutting yourself off from happiness, always afraid, always taking a step back, and all because of him? Do you really want that?”

Joyce was still standing in the spot she’d been standing all the time, not able to move, not able to say anything, almost feeling like an intruder into something intensely private, even though she was Buffy’s mother.

She saw her daughter hesitate, saw her pressing her arms close to her chest, saw her close her eyes, then slowly shake her head, and she wanted to push her into the arms of the man was holding them open for her, but knew she couldn’t do it, although she felt her heart breaking at the scene before her. Not just for her daughter’s pain, even though that alone was enough to cause it, but also for herself, for what she has missed in her daughter’s life that seeing Buffy like this was coming to her as some kind of a shock. What had happened in her daughter’s life that she was behaving that way? Couldn’t she see the young man was serious? That his eyes were shining with the kind of love every woman dreamt of. What had happened to the child she’d once carried in her womb that made her afraid and shy of affection?

Joyce wanted to scream with the pain she felt at the mere thought. They had once been so close and then, one summer while Buffy had still been at college everything had changed. Buffy had refused to come home one summer, and Rupert had gone to see her, then returned without her, serious and somehow withdrawn, not offering any explanations for their daughter’s absence, had dismissed Joyce whenever she’d brought up the subject.

Guessing deep inside that something terrible had happened, she hadn’t – like a good mother would have done – tried to find out what exactly had been going on, had instead chosen the easier path. Her daughter was alive, wasn’t she? And Buffy had even talked to her on the phone where it was so much easier to pretend her cheerfulness wasn’t as forces as it sounded.

God, what kind of a mother did that make her? Confronted with the question she wanted to do what she always did, wanted to turn and run, to take cover, but how could she in the face of Buffy’s pain and the love and determination of a young man she barely knew but who seemed to know so much more about the daughter she loved with all her heart.

She tentatively reached out, touching her daughter’s shiny, blond hair, felt her heart breaking a little bit more when Buffy flinched.

But she clenched her teeth against the pain that was almost physical, she would not run away this time, would face the fact that she had let her daughter pull away from her, that she had done nothing to prevent it, that she now barely knew how to comfort this young woman who seemed to be torn apart in front of her eyes.

She was facing the worst a mother had to, failing her daughter, by looking away, by trying to pretend things were fine.

She looked up at the man whose name she still didn’t know, saw the pain in his eyes at her daughter’s rejection and with shame had to admit that she didn’t have the slightest idea how to help them. Riley was forgotten, all the things she had intended to say, all the rational things, so well thought out. Who wanted to hear them anyway now? Her daughter was hurting, and it was as if she, Joyce, was living through the whole pain with her.

Joyce saw Angel take a slow, deep breath, saw his hand fall away in surrender, his shoulders slumped. Then without a word, and one last look at Buffy, he walked towards the door, intending to leave, intending to do what Buffy had wanted from him, giving her the space she obviously needed, although they all knew it was a lie, a lie spoken to protect, a lie born from old pain that still seemed fresh on a tortured soul.

Wanting to do something, but not knowing why, Joyce looked frantically back and forth between her daughter and the dark-haired man with the serious eyes, watching him step closer to the door and away from Buffy, away from the woman he so obviously loved, but who wouldn’t let him close to prove it.

Joyce knew it was probably the wrong thing to do, but she was about to make him stop when Buffy suddenly drew a shuddering breath, her whole body trembling with the effort, before she whispered brokenly, “Don’t go. Angel. Please, don’t go.”

Part 17

When consciousness returned, Faith blinked, not quite sure where she was or why. The last hours were muddled in her mind, like a constant blur, with no way to find her way through it.

She groaned, realizing without looking that she was lying on the floor with the usually fluffy material of the expensive carpet her mother had given her the day she'd gone to college now scratching the sensitive skin of her naked back.

Naked?

Naked!

Instantly her eyes popped open, all blurriness forgotten, and she found herself staring into a pair of stormy blue eyes, watching her intently and - she noticed with more than a little annoyance - with amusement. In a flash all the images came back to her. Kissing Lindsey. Groping Lindsey. Tearing at Lindsey's clothes. Devouring.

She groaned again, letting herself fall back on the carpet, for once not caring that it was scratchy and uncomfortable, and that she was still nude, her body open to his disturbing gaze. She'd noticed in his office earlier that he had a way of looking at people that made you feel naked even if you were properly dressed. So - she mused - it didn't really matter if she wore clothes or not, and besides, he'd already seen, hell, he had tasted, every part of her body, so it was all the same diff.

"Why didn't you just go?" She asked without looking at him, keeping her eyes closed against his intense gaze, against the knowledge she knew she would find in his eyes.

"Honey," he drawled, his southern accent more pronounced, "that wouldn't have been very gentlemanly of me, would it?"

"Fuck you," she hissed, finally looking at him again, anger sparkling in her dark orbs.

He sighed almost dramatically, and then grinned, "You might be the daughter of one of the richest men around, but you've got the language of an alley cat. Does daddy know about it?"

Not quite able to follow him, she narrowed her eyes, reigning in the annoyance and anger she felt at his behavior. Never before had a man treated her that way, and it was more than confusing. He didn't seem to have respect for her father's name. In that way he was a lot like her English-lit professor, but unlike Wyndham-Price, Lindsey was also sure of himself, with a cocky attitude she wanted to wipe from his face, but knew she'd never achieve the goal. "What?" she asked, keeping her voice low and infused with a warning.

"That you're sleeping around. That you're far away from the perfect daughter he sees in you."

Strange, she thought, feeling her heart turn inside her chest, how much such a remark could hurt, even if it came from a stranger, a man she barely knew, even though she'd heard it before. But somehow, maybe because she was still a foolish little girl inside, still not quite finished believing in dreams, a part of her had hoped that his blue eyes, so serious sometimes, so cocky at others, would be able to see more in her, would be able to look behind the mask she was always wearing. And maybe because he didn't, was why it hurt so much. Because she had - once again - misjudged a man.

She was a fool, she thought, scrambling to her feet and searching for her clothes. She would never learn that men were all the same, that none of them ever cared. "My father wouldn't listen to you," she said bleakly, "And besides, he would hardly care."

"You think?" he asked, still lying on the floor, completely unconcerned about his own nudity.

"Yes," she nodded, yanking her shirt over her head, "I've had over twenty years to prove it. And now I would very much like it if you got your clothes on and left. My roommate will be coming soon, and I don't want her to find you here."

"So I'm dismissed?" he replied, reaching for his own clothes. "The stallion did his duty and now he can go?"

Anger came quickly, and so hot, she thought she could feel it burn on her tongue, burn through her heart. But it was better than the pain, so in a way she welcomed it. "Hey," she cried, "You were the one that started this. You've got no right to behave that way. And you said I was sleeping around. So…” she paused, blinking the tears away that were about to break through the anger, about to betray her bravado, "I just assumed that's what you wanted too."

"That's where you are wrong," he said slowly, but firmly while pulling on his shirt, slinging his tie around his neck. He smiled slightly when he saw her stiffen at his words. Good. This was madness. He had fallen for her so hard and fast like never before in his life. She was only twenty-three years old, she was his client for goodness' sake, and he couldn't keep his hand off her. But he also knew that with her history, with her own cocky attitude, that certainly matched his, it probably wasn’t wise to let her know that he was a goner already. So he simply looked at her, and said, "This, dear Faith, is far from over."

Her sharp intake of breath told him that he'd caught her by surprise.

*****

Buffy's words stopped Angel dead in his tracks, made him stop and turn around, to find himself drowning in the tortured expression in her once so sparkling hazel eyes.

"P-please don't go," she repeated, tears streaming down her cheeks, her fingers clenching her arms like claws so tightly, Angel almost winced at the sight. A part of his mind had acknowledged the presence of Buffy's mother, had heard her talk to Spike. But his whole being was so focused on Buffy, on the pain in her gaze, the battle she was fighting to reach out to him, to give him her trust, he couldn’t say anything to her mother yet. It humbled him in a way he had only experienced once before in his life, and he knew from experience that hehad to be very careful now not to destroy the fragile bond she had allowed to form between them tonight.

"I'm staying," he said slowly, walking back to her, glancing quickly at her mother who seemed to be watching everything while holding her breath at the same time. He knew it would be the polite thing to say hello, to talk to her. He was a strange man in her daughter's apartment after all, but right now he couldn't worry about courtesy or manners. The only thing that mattered was Buffy, and the fact that he'd finally broken through her defenses.

Again, he held his hand out to her and this time - after a short hesitation - she put her palm into his, letting him lead her towards the living room. He sat her down in a chair, with him kneeling in front of her, still holding her hand while his thumb stroked it's back, slowly, soothingly. "Will you tell me?" he asked finally when she had calmed enough, when the initial trembling had eased - at least a little.

From the corner of his eye he saw her mother hovering in the doorway, uncertain what to do, uncertain what to say. So she simply stood there, her eyes wide and sad, the eyes of a mother who realized she'd lost contact with the essence that was her daughter. He wanted to reach out to her, too, wanted to draw her in, but wasn't sure he'd be strong enough for both of them tonight. Yet, he felt Mrs. Summers needed something to do, needed to be part of this somehow, and so without taking his eyes from Buffy, he said, "Maybe you could make some tea?"

After a startled moment, she hurried to say, "Yes, yes. Of course. I'll make it right now." She was gone, but Angel had heard the relief in her voice not to be left out.

Buffy hadn't even noticed her mother's presence he realized. She was staring ahead blindly, her teeth biting her lower lip so hard it bled.

"It's okay," he said softly, stroking her hand again, "You don't have to if you aren't ready. There's time later."

She started to nod, then shook her head in the negative, "No, I … I want to," she whispered, "but I … I don't know h-how to begin."

"How about the beginning?" he replied in an attempt to lighten the mood, but knowing it was in vain. She was far beyond that, was far beyond lightness or jokes.

She nodded again, rubbing a trembling hand over her forehead, then letting it fall into her lap to the other that was still firmly in Angel's. It wasn't much, he thought, but maybe that little touch was giving her the strength she needed. He liked to think it was.

"I-I was in college," she began, keeping her eyes directed on her hands, "A - a freshman, and I, there was this guy. H-he was … good looking … and charming and - and I'd been, well, the other girls were teasing me," she laughed, but it bore no humor. "B-because I was still a virgin. And then h-he came, and he was great … funny, attentive." She paused, her mouth curving into a self-loathing smile, "And I was so stupid."

She looked up then, and the pain in her eyes almost took his breath away. "I suppose," she smiled a little sad smile, "it's this way with guys. I mean, Riley couldn't remember his first time either. Or rather, the name of the girl. He remembers the first time, but only that he was clumsy and nervous. He couldn't tell me how she felt when I asked him."

And so she'd assumed all men were like this, Angel thought sadly, feeling the coolness of her hand, the pulse at her wrist fluttering underneath his forefinger. "Not all men are like that, honey," he told her softly, glad she was looking at him. "The first woman I slept with, her name was Darla. She was older than me, and experienced. She was seeking me out - at least that's what I think today. I … uhm," he had to grin at the memory that seemed now ages away, "I was sixteen, still in high school, and she was the aerobics trainer who came to our school one afternoon a week. She trained the girls. She never told me her real age, but my guess was she was around thirty. We met for about four weeks, then it was over and … I never saw her again."

"Did you …" she started, then frowned and shook her head.

"Did I love her?" he asked, sensing her unspoken question. When she nodded, he told her honestly, "I thought I did - then. Today," he smiled, knowing that what her felt for Darla, who he'd once admired as a boy, couldn't hold a candle to what he felt today. To the depth and connection he felt for the woman in front of him. "Today I know it was just a teenage fantasy. But then it seemed real and true." He waited a heartbeat before he asked, "And you … slept with that guy?"

She nodded, "Yeah. And I thought, I thought I was in heaven. He seemed to have experience, and even judging it from today's view, he wasn't a bad lover for a twenty one year old boy, but … while I thought it was special and beautiful, I was nothing but a challenge for him. A virgin to deflower - that's what they said behind my back later." She bit her lips again, and Angel felt her squeezing his hand. "When … when I confronted him, he laughed. He said that, that I was a stupid girl believing this was anything serious."

"Oh, honey," he said softly, reaching out and cupping her cheek. "I'm so sorry." But already when he said the words, he knew somehow that wasn't all, that therehad to be more. Being treated that way by your first lover was something that unfortunately happened all the time, and although he loathed the idea of a girl having such an experience, and especially if it was Buffy, he also knew that they all managed to get over it sooner or later. It was a bad experience but it wasn't enough of an explanation for Buffy's behavior, for the walls she had surrounded herself with. "But that's not all, huh?"

Her head came up with a snap, and she looked at him for a moment with wide eyes, as if startled by his insight. Then she sighed, and Angel liked to think that she'd realized he was different, that he wasn't like the guy who'd used her or her ex-boyfriend who couldn't remember the name of his first girl.

"No," she whispered, her gaze back at her lap, "I … four weeks later I discovered I was pregnant."

"Preg-" The word stuck in his throat, closing it up, making it hard for him to breathe. She'd been pregnant. With the child of a guy who hadn't really wanted her in the first place. "Oh, Buffy," his own voice was reduced to a whisper now. "Oh, baby."

Her tears were falling again, "I, I was so ashamed. And I … I wanted to tell him … even after. But when I came to his room, he wasn’t...” a sob tore from her throat, "there was a girl with him - in bed."

"God, Buffy". Disturbed more than he'd thought possible, Angel drew a hand through his hair, trying to get a grip on his own raging emotions. The rage he'd felt earlier was threatening to come back. He wanted to find the man, wanted to tear him apart, make him hurt physically as much as Buffy had suffered emotionally. "I'm so sorry. So terribly sorry."

"Me too," she replied, frowning slightly. "I … was upset and … but on the other hand there was this tiny person inside of me, this baby. And although I was afraid, and … sad, I still wanted it. I already loved it."

"Of course you did," he assured her. How could she not? Buffy wasn't the kind of person to reject an innocent baby, a child that hadn't done anything to deserve wrath or anger.

She went on as if he hadn't spoken, too caught up in her story now, the words tumbling from her lips faster and faster as if she was getting rid of something that had been long overdue, and it probably was, Angel thought, "… I, I mean, I didn't know how my parents would react. I hoped my father, my step-dad, would be supportive, but my mom … and still I loved it." There was such sadness in her voice now that Angel already feared he knew what she was going to say, and a part of him wanted her to stop, wanted her not to go on, not to say the words that would shatter a dream, but also sensing that they needed to be said.

But when she did, and even though he expected them, he felt each one of them like a mortal blow.

"I lost the baby a week later. It wasn't anything … nothing went wrong. I didn't fall, or … anything. The doctor said these things happen all the time, that, that miscarriage is a common thing during the first trimester, but … I …" she raised her head, her eyes swimming in tears, so lost and sad, "I loved that baby, Angel. It was a part of me, and it … d-died. For a while I wanted to die, too. Then, when I thought I couldn't take it anymore, I called my step-father and he came, and he pulled me back, made me see the light again."

She said nothing for a moment, just looked at him, then finally, tentatively, she reached out, stroked the skin on his cheek, rough from a day's growth of beard. "You were a lot alike, you know," she said softly, a first real smile creeping up her features. "I loved him very much."

Angel's heart was so full, he felt it would burst any moment, looking into the eyes of this woman who was already in every cell, every fiber of his body, who was already a part of his soul. She hadn't told him she loved him, maybe it was too early for that, but maybe without even realizing it, she had given him a compliment that was equally precious. She'd compared him to her stepfather, a man Angel had never met, but who seemed important to her, and whom she'd loved without reservation.

Blinking his own tears away, he looked deeply into her eyes, "I really would like to hold you now," he said gruffly, emotions constricting his throat.

"I would very much like to be held," she replied, slipping her arms around his neck, and letting him pull her down into his lap, almost crawling into him, holding onto him with all her might.

Over her head, Angel sensed a movement at the door, and as he looked up he saw Mrs. Summers standing there, tears falling down her cheeks as well. One hand firmly pressed over her mouth, she was watching her daughter being held in the arms of a man she hadn't known before tonight. With almost startling insight Angel realized that she hadn't heard the story before, that she hadn't known - until now - that her daughter had lost a child, and so much more, that year in college. How must she feel, hearing all this now, realizing that Buffy hadn't trusted her enough to tell her, had only opened up to the man who was holding her in his arms now.

A part of Angel wanted to reassure her, wanted to give her comfort, but another part resented her for letting this happen in the first place. Not the experience, not the miscarriage. Joyce couldn't have done anything to prevent that, but for leaving her daughter alone in all this, without her mother, who obviously hadn't been there for her when Buffy had needed her desperately. That didn't mean that mother and daughter didn't need to talk, but right now wasn't the time for it. It would come - but later, when emotions were less raw, and hopefully less painful.

So Angel dismissed Joyce from his thoughts for the time being, focusing back on the woman in his arms, her hot tears falling onto his shirt, burning the skin underneath with the despair they stood for. But maybe, and Angel hoped this would be the case, they were healing tears, too. Maybe they could help to ease the pain that had so long held her soul in it’s fist, had crippled her slowly, to a point where she'd been too afraid to love, or let someone else love her.

Although listening to her sobs and tears was painful, Angel did listen - not trying to soothe with words that meant nothing, just holding her, stroking her back, showing her that he was there, that she could count on him, trust him. He would show her that he was nothing like the man who'd taken her virginity as if it meant nothing, and then had abandoned her. The man who'd never known that he'd left her with a child, a child long dead and gone.

A part of him felt a perverse satisfaction at the thought. This man would never know that he'd created something beautiful with her, something she'd loved instantly. He would never know what could have been, and in Angel's eyes that alone was punishment. He thought about Buffy being pregnant with his child, the idea filling his heart with such joy he wanted to burst, and he thought about not even knowing it. Yes, he thought again, this was punishment, albeit unconsciously, like a precious gift you never received, a joy never given to you. This man had hurt her, and in return had been denied of what Angel considered a miracle. It wasn't enough, but it was something.

He heard Mrs. Summers in the kitchen clattering with cups, while Buffy was slowly calming down in his arms. "I cried all over you," she said, her voice muffled in his shirt. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he told her, giving his voice all the softness he could muster. "I'm glad I was here, glad you trusted me with this."

"You are, huh?" She looked up then, a slight smile playing around her lips, and it warmed his heart.

"Yes," he smiled back, cupping her cheek. "I meant what I said before, Buffy. I love you. And this … it's part of loving someone. Being there for that person. For good and bad."

Something between a sob and a laugh tore from her throat, "Bad, maybe. But this certainly qualifies as worse. You want the worse moments, too?"

"Definitely," he replied without hesitation, looking deeply into her eyes.

She raised a hand, wiping the tears from her face, "I'm a mess tonight, Angel. I'm, I don't even know what I am. I … I think I'm not ready for this, yet."

Again he smiled, "That's okay. I'm not expecting anything. I know this was hard for you - and I feel humbled that you told me."

"Okay," she said simply, running a hand through her hair, stifling a yawn.

Gently his thumb stroked the soft skin on her cheek, "You're tired. Emotional revelations can be very draining."

"You seem to know what you're talking about."

He saw her looking at him with a hint of curiosity and a silent question, but he couldn't answer her, because he was too drained himself. But also because he had promised not to tell, had made a vow to his sister in a night a lot like this, with Katie's body in his arms, sobbing out her very soul.

So he simply shrugged, "Life experience," he told her vaguely.

"Because you're so old," she joked, but her eyes were still sad, although he noticed they weren't as desperate anymore as they had been before. It wasn't much, but maybe it was a start. Healing wouldn't come overnight, and Angel didn't expect it to, but he needed something to hold onto, needed something to hang his hope on. Because he wasn't going to give this up, give her up. He might still be young in years, but his life had been far from easy and he knew that something like this didn't happen all the time. She was too important to let her slip away.

"I might be younger than you," but my life experience certainly matches yours, he'd almost said, but in the face of her recent revelation he wasn't so sure anymore. He couldn't, didn't even want to, imagine what it meant to lose a child, even one you hadn't had the chance to hold in your arms. So he simply said, "But does it really matter?"

She looked at him long and seriously, before she replied, "Maybe not. But I can't think about it. Not tonight."

Angel saw Mrs. Summers coming back again, holding a cup of tea in her hand, "Did you notice your mother is here?"

Buffy's startled eyes flew to the older woman who was now kneeling down beside her, still holding the cup. "Mom?"

"Yes, baby. I'm here."

"Oh, mom," Buffy pressed a hand on her lips, only now realizing that her mother had heard the story too.

"It's okay," Joyce said soothingly, glad when Angel took the cup from her hands, and reached out to her child. "I needed to hear it. And I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry I was such a horrible mother."

"Oh, mom," Buffy said again, "I never thought that."

"I know," Joyce smiled despite the pain Angel could see in her eyes, "But it's the truth. But maybe," she wet her lips, uncertain how to go on, "if you let me, we could try to make this better. I never wanted us to drift apart like this. Maybe it's too late to be your mother again, but how about being a friend, do you have any need for one in your life?"

Another sob came from the younger woman's throat, and with a muffled cry she flung herself into her mother's waiting arms. "Oh, mom. Yes, yes, I'd like that. A friend. A mother. Mom, I missed you so."

"And I missed you," Joyce replied. Her eyes met Angel's over her daughter's shoulder, and there was a world of emotions in them. Angel knew they had to talk, all of them, especially Buffy and her mom. But that would come later. Today all that mattered was that the healing had begun.

Part 18

Joyce closed the door quietly, careful not to disturb Buffy who had fallen into a light sleep only moments ago. She sighed and leaned against the door, closing her own eyes for a moment, when she suddenly remembered that there was still a man sitting in her daughter's kitchen, a man whose full name she still didn't know. She'd been tempted to ask her daughter about him, but one look at her still tear stained face, the swollen eyes, the exhaustion that seemed to have invaded every fiber of Buffy's body wasn't something she could just ignore. So she hadn't asked, but she still wanted to know.

Maybe it was just curiosity, or maybe it was the concern of a mother who'd just rediscovered her true responsibilities, that made her push away from the door and walk slowly into the small kitchen. There he sat, long legs stretched out in front of him, head leaned against the wall, eyes closed.

For a moment Joyce just looked at him. He seemed awfully young and vulnerable that way, certainly not older than the twenty-six years Buffy had mentioned, but Mrs. Summers already knew that the moment he opened his eyes the impression would change completely. There was a world of knowledge in those eyes that seemed much too old for the man they belonged to, and Joyce found herself wondering what had happened in his life to put that knowledge there.

The very same moment said eyes opened and stifling a yawn, he gave her a smile, straightening in the chair. "Mrs. Summers," he acknowledged her, standing up, impressing her with his manners. She knew the reaction had been unconscious, he was too tired, too concerned to care, and maybe because of that, it impressed her even more.

"Please sit down," she nodded at him. "I still don't know how to call you."

"Liam," he replied, smiling again. "Liam Sullivan."

"My daughter," she cleared her throat that was still feeling raw from the emotional roller-coaster she'd been through tonight, "called you … Angel?"

She almost smiled when he blushed slightly, "That," he laughed a little, obviously embarrassed. "My sister used to call me that. And somehow, it stuck." He shrugged, "I don't know why, but Buffy insists on using the stupid name."

Joyce nodded, understanding instantly why her daughter had chosen to stick with his nickname. It somehow fit the man she was looking at. She had seen his gentleness while dealing with a distraught Buffy, had heard the softness in his voice, all his senses attuned to the woman he obviously loved. "I see," she nodded again, finding a chair for herself, and rubbed her temples wearily.

"She is asleep?" he inquired, concern heavy in his gaze.

"Yes," she nodded for the third time, raising her head, "Finally. I'm ... I’m still having trouble coming to terms with what I heard tonight. To think she never told me," she shook her head. "I always wanted to be the best mother. I read so many books, but … I'm a total failure."

"Don't," he said softly, much in the same tone he'd used with Buffy before, and Joyce looked up. "Beating yourself up won't help. Buffy needs you. Now. That's all that matters. This isn't a best-mother-of-the-year contest."

Scrutinizing his gaze for a long moment, Joyce was again stunned by the wisdom this young man obviously possessed. Then - once again - she looked into his eyes and it all seemed so clear. Slowly she ran a hand through her hair, "Do you want something?" she asked, gesturing at the kitchen counter.

"No, thanks," he declined with a smile. She looked tired and worn, Angel noticed. Which, given the circumstances, wasn't surprising at all. How would he feel finding out that his daughter had kept something like that from him? The way Joyce obviously felt right now, he thought, answering his own question. "But what about you?"

"No," she sighed wearily. "I couldn't, not now." With a glance at the clock, she leaned back in her chair, "You seemed to know exactly what to say to her."

He shrugged, a little bit uncomfortable with the change of subject. "I've had some … experience." He'd given everything not to have it, but tonight it had proven useful at least.

Joyce waited a moment, before she asked, "Someone close to you?"

Angel knew that she wasn’t trying to be nosy, or intrusive. She just wanted to understand, wanted to hear a reason why Buffy had told him and not her. Still, he didn't want to answer, but did nevertheless. "Yes," he said finally. "She's …had it rough."

She nodded, considering his words, realizing that for some reason he wasn't offering more. But somehow - maybe because she'd seen him with Buffy tonight - she didn't need anything else. Where she once would have demanded a lengthy explanation, she kept quiet now. "I wish," she said finally, "her step-father was still alive. He always knew how to handle her. They had a special connection. Something," she laughed quickly, unhappily, "I'm painfully missing."

Angel ignored her self-loathing, and instead concentrated on the other subject, "Buffy loved him very much."

It wasn't a question, Joyce realised, but a statement, and again she wondered what this young man already knew about her daughter. "She told you about him?"

"I draw," he replied to give her an explanation, "and I paint, even though I'm not anywhere as good as your late husband. But in that way we had something in common."

"I see," Joyce nodded again, thinking that Rupert's painting couldn't be the only thing they had in common. Not only had Buffy told Angel about her experience in college, she’d told him about her step-father, a subject she never touched, not even with her mother. Not that it meant much, Joyce thought with an inward sigh. After tonight she had seen the full extent of the degree mother and daughter had grown apart, had been forced to face the unpleasant truth. But Buffy had opened up to Angel in a way that was heartbreaking and touching at the same time. Buffy had opened up her soul, had given the young man her trust. Growing apart or not, Joyce was certain of one thing. Buffy had never been one to give her trust easily, but when she gave it, it meant something.

Even though Joyce was still trying to found out what exactly.

"So Buffy and you have been seeing each other?" she asked finally, cautiously. Angel wouldn't betray Buffy's trust, Joyce knew.

And true, the moment the words were out of her mouth, his eyes narrowed slightly, and he looked at her speculatively. "I'm not sure this is something you should discuss with me," he replied slowly, pronouncing each word carefully, but his voice was still soft, not at all offended or defensive.

Joyce smiled slightly, she couldn't help herself, "Have people ever told you that you surprise them?"

A smiled crept up his features in return, transforming them from good looking and serious to dangerously attractive, "Once or twice."

"I can't imagine why", she said dryly, but there was a lot of humor in her voice. "You're not at all what I expected when I saw you."

"Why?" he shot back, "Because I'm not wearing a suit and tie. Or because I'm younger than your daughter?"

"A little bit of both, I think," she replied honestly. "To my embarrassment, I have to admit I tend to be one of those people who judge others too quickly sometimes. But one is never too old to change, I suppose."

He let that remark go, knowing that it didn't need to be commented on. Instead he leaned back, looked at Buffy's mother for a moment, before he said slowly, "Maybe it's a good time to warn you now."

Her brows shot straight up, "Warn me?"

"Yeah," the smile crept up again, softening his serious eyes. "I'm planning to stick around Buffy for a while, probably a long while, so you'd better get used to me."

She should be outraged, Joyce knew, but after everything she'd seen tonight, there was no outrage left, no indignation at his statement. He didn't look at all like the man she'd hoped for her daughter, and yet he seemed to be exactly what she needed. Sometimes, she thought with a chuckle, mothers just had to accept things and be glad they'd worked out so well. Especially mothers who'd forgotten what it meant to be one.

"Is that so?" she looked at him sternly, but couldn't hold back her grin for long. "Well, if that's the truth, we'd probably better start by you calling me Joyce."

*****

She was smiling at her. A full blown, toothless smile, a smile she knew so well. That little girl with blond locks and blue eyes, blue eyes like all babies have, blue eyes like an angel.

She had seen the smile before, so often she couldn't count. And she knew the girl. Only sometimes it was a boy. A little boy with dark eyes and hair. His feet were perfect. His hands were, too. The hands of an artist. A painter. Or a musician. A baby's hands.

A smile played on Buffy's features as she slept. The same smile she saw on the baby's face. Happy. Content. But her head was already thrashing left and right, knowing what would come, knowing the joy wouldn't last long, couldn't last long.

The shadow came slowly, it always did. Dark and threatening, and it was going to steal the smile and the baby. The shadow didn't have a face or a smile. It didn't have eyes, nor hands or feet. It was just dark and dangerous. And painful. God, she was so tired of the pain, didn't want to feel it anymore. But she knew it was in vain. She could already feel the edges of it, could already feel it tearing at her womb, taking what was precious, what she already loved.

Her fingers clawed into the sheet, the covers already on the floor. She was lying on the bed only in a tee-shirt and panties, trying to fight the pain, trying not to surrender to the fight she knew she couldn't win. It would go. The smile. The laughter. The beautiful eyes. She was prepared for it, knew it, but that didn't mean it would hurt less.

Buffy gasped for air, the nightmare still holding her in it's grasp. Tears started leaping from her closed lids, forming little streams on her cheeks, instantly wiped away when the skin came into contact with the pillow while her head was thrashing from one side to the other. She tried to reach for the smile, but the shadow was already growing, tried to hold on to the eyes, but they were already gone, blinded by pain and fear. Then suddenly a little ray of light started to built at one edge of the shadow, growing bigger by the second. It had only been a shimmer at first, but now it was spreading, starting to surround the shadow, chasing it away.

And after a few moments there was so much light, Buffy felt almost blinded by it. She tried to see, tried to reach out. But it was too late, the smile and laughter was gone. But for the first time, so was the shadow.

The thrashing of her head stopped the moment her eyes popped open, staring at nothing for a short moment, before focusing on the ceiling that was barely visible in the dark bedroom. Only the pale light of the not quite full moon shone through the window where the curtains hadn't been closed. Her breathing slowing, Buffy wiped the remaining traces of tears from her cheeks. What a strange dream. It had been so familiar, she'd dreamt it hundreds of times before, but never had it ended in pure light. Always the shadow had won.

She remembered waking up in Riley's arms, crying and screaming the name she'd given her unborn child, remembered Riley trying to soothe her, but at loss how, not knowing what had caused the nightmare in the first place. A part of her had longed to snuggle into his embrace, to let his strong arms surround her with warmth. But strangely his arms had never promised warmth or tenderness. They'd felt like something foreign, something that didn't belong there.

And suddenly it was all there. The warmth. The tenderness. The light. She didn't feel alone like usual. She felt enveloped in love and understanding, felt treasured and held, even though she was alone in her bed. But in her heart she knew that he was out there, still watching over her, that he hadn't just left when her mother had helped her to go to bed.

She'd thought herself ruined forever, ruined for any kind of emotional bond, for any kind of trust, and in consequence, for love. Because there was no love where there was no trust. It had been her reason for going for nice and easy - for the Rileys in this world. The good, reliable guys that were undemanding, and utterly harmless, because they had never touched her heart, her inner core.

And like a curtain being torn from her inner eye, she realised with startling awareness that that had been the reason for her shying away from Angel. From the first moment she’d met him, she'd felt something stirring inside of her, had felt that hiding from his knowing eyes wasn't possible. With a feeling that bordered on despair, that hidden part had reached out for him, wanting him, as if he was the one, the only one to heal her wounds, to soothe her broken spirit and soul.

Funny that he'd had the same impact on her like his step-brother had had so many years ago. The attraction had been instant and strong. The difference was she had been a stupid girl then, and was a wary woman now. And where there had been darkness and carelessness in Parker, there was so much light, so much tenderness in Angel, it took her breath away.

She'd been pushing him away, telling herself that it could never work, that he was too young, too different, while her heart had already known it had been nothing but excuses, born from her fear of risking her heart again. But he hadn't run like others, he'd stayed, had shown his love in so many ways, she couldn't count. He'd taken her insults, had taken her flirting with Spike, had taken everything because he loved her, because … she mattered to him.

He wasn't like Parker who had only needed a few hours to replace her with the next stupid girl on campus. Angel was nothing like his step-brother. He was true, strong, loving, and she trusted him. And, she admitted to herself for the first time, she loved him. And this love was spreading like a fire through her, warming places she'd thought cold and lost forever, opening her soul and heart. She wasn't emotionally crippled like she'd thought all these years. She loved. And was loved back. And it was the most amazing feeling she'd ever known.

Part 19 (definitely R for sexual situations *g* - maybe NC-17)

Faith Marshall was still furious with herself, with her parents, with Lindsey MacDonald, and with the world in general, when the door of her dorm room opened at ten o'clock at night, and her friend and roommate wandered in, wearing a silly, satisfied grin on her face.

Tess stopped as soon as her eyes fell on the other woman, lying sprawled on her stomach on her bed, "Hey, Faith. You're back." She stopped, sniffed, "Did you - smoke?"

Damn. Some of the stale smoke that seemed to be attached to Lindsey's clothes still had to be in the air. Faith pushed herself into a sitting position, "A friend came to visit," she replied. It wasn't actually a lie. Someone had come to visit. Only, he wasn't a friend. They might have fucked like bunny rabbits, but nothing earth-shattering had happened.

**Really?** a little voice inside her head whispered. **And how about that earth-shattering climax. How about those stormy eyes you don't seem able to forget?**

Disturbed with the annoying little voice, Faith tucked her long hair behind her ears, "We talked." Now that was an outright lie, but no way she'd tell her friend what had happened in this room tonight. And on the very spot Tess was standing in.

"That means it wasn't the one who was here this afternoon," Tess said while crossing the room to her own bed and sitting down.

Friend? She didn't have friends. Besides Tess, that is. Instantly alert, Faith straightened, her gaze sharpening on her friend. "Someone was here today?"

"Mmmmm," Tess replied, lying back on the bed, still fully clothed, and sighing contentedly. "You know," she added dreamily, "Daniel is such a sweetie."

Irritated with the change of subject, Faith tried to control her annoyance, and asked, "Daniel? You mean Daniel Carmichael?" If the situation had been different, if she hadn't been in this mess, she had brought on her all by herself, she might have been able to sound interested at the news of her best friend dating the college quarterback, but as it was, her voice sounded flat, the interest forced.

And Tess - knowing her like nobody else did - knew it instantly, "Excuse me," she said bitingly, "that my private life isn't as interesting and fucked up as yours."

Hating herself for her reaction because she cared for Tess in a way she cared for nobody else, Faith stood up, and walked to her friend’s bed, looking down at her for a moment, then sitting on the edge. "I'm sorry," she said, reaching for her friend's hand. "I don't mean to be such a bitch, it's just …everything is so complicated and," she grinned slightly, "fucked up."

After a moment Tess grinned back, "Yeah, I know." She sighed, "And I didn't mean to sound so… so selfish."

"No, that's okay. So you went on a date with Daniel Carmichael. That's great news." Again the enthusiasm was missing from her voice, Faith realised, but at least she sounded more sincere.

"Yeah," another happy sigh slipped from Tess' lips. "We didn't actually *do* anything, mind, but the evening was so … he was sweet, and thoughtful, and perfect."

"Sounds like a match made in heaven," the brunette replied, smiling to take the edge from her words. But when she saw her friend's smile fall, she sighed, and ran a hand through her hair. "God, Tess, I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me tonight."

**Liar, liar, pants on fire.** The little voice taunted. **You know exactly what's wrong with you. You can't forget about your stormy eyed prince in an expensive suit. The guy who marched into your life like a thunderstorm and refused to leave again.**

God, this was disturbing. Nobody could call her innocent, Faith thought with an inward laugh that wasn't laughter at all. No, nobody could, not by a long shot. Still, Lindsey MacDonald, with his blue eyes that could turn to stormy gray in the matter of moments, had touched something inside of her nobody had ever touched before. And it was turning her insides upside down.

"Hey, it's okay," Tess' hand squeezed her own. "I know a lot's going on in your life. I wouldn't want to be in your shoes for all your dad's money."

A sarcastic smile turned up Faith's lips. "Thanks. So, that friend of mine you mentioned. Do you remember the name?"

"No," Tess shook her head. "Sorry. He might have said it, but it somehow slipped my mind. But he was … a hunk. Tall, dark, handsome. A slightly brooding look, but you know how that adds to some men's attraction."

Alarm bells rang in the back of Faith's mind. She didn't know anyone who fit the description. Wrong, she amended instantly. She might know someone, but for the life of her couldn't remember who. Too many men had come and gone throughout her life, to rule out the possibility of the one Tess had just described. "What did he want?" she asked finally when she caught Tess looking at her expectantly.

"So you don't know him?"

"No," Faith shook her head, hoping it was true.

"Well, he said he was a PI-"

"A PI?" The alarm bells were ringing up a storm by now. A PI?

"Well, yeah. I supposed he works for your dad," Tess stopped, chewing her lower lip, "at least that's what I assumed. Thinking about it, he never really said. He asked some questions about you."

By now her ears were almost falling off by the tornado the alarm bells were causing in her head, "What questions?"

"Nothing special. What kind of girl you were? He knew about Kevin."

The blood drained from Faith's face in a rush, her skin suddenly feeling clammy and strangely unreal. "K-kevin?" she stuttered.

"Yeah." Confused. Tess sat up, touching her friend's shoulder, "Hey, is something wrong? He really talked as if he knew."

"N-no," Faith shook her head, feeling a tremble run through her whole body. Kevin. God, she couldn't think about Kevin. It was the one thing in her thoroughly fucked up life she really wanted to forget, but somehow it seemed to pop up at every turn. She didn't seem able to get rid of the stain the memory still caused on her soul. Involuntarily her left hand moved to her stomach, a place where once a child had nestled, a child she'd killed. It didn't matter that her parents had forced her to have an abortion. She'd been nineteen then, an adult, it had ultimately been her decision. She had killed her child, and she had to live with it. Not her parents, who had long forgotten about that "incident."

"Faith, are you okay?"

She heard Tess' voice as if from a great distance, and nodded, not wanting to worry her. Tess was her friend, but how could she understand what it meant to kill something that was already part of you? "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Why don't you tell me more about your date with Daniel?" she asked, standing and walking back to her own bed. She let Tess' voice wash over her, hoping it would rid her of the guilt and pain, but knowing it would never happen.

*****

She looked exhausted, her hair mused from sleep, her eyes red-rimmed. Her cheeks still bore the traces of recent tears, but to Angel she was still the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. When she saw him, the sleepiness seemed to vanish, and a hesitant smile tilted up the corners of her mouth that caused a funny feeling to spread through his chest, enveloping his heart, making him feel joyously happy and dizzy at the same time. He tried to put a halt to this feeling, tried to rein in his hope, not wanting to read too much in that one tentative smile, but knew it was already too late. His hope had already shot right through the roof. There was no way he could put a lid on it now.

"Hey," he said softly, hoping his voice wouldn't come out too hoarse, expressing everything he felt at the sight of her, only dressed in panties and a skimpy t-shirt.

She stopped in mid-stride, her smile slipping a little, but she looked at him steadily, and there was something in her eyes he didn't quite dare to read. It was a new softness he hadn't seen before.

"Buffy!" Joyce turned away from the sink where she'd just been rinsing a cup and smiled at her daughter, "How are you feeling?"

"What," Buffy began, then cleared her throat when her voice wouldn’t come out in little more than a whisper. "What time is it?" she managed finally.

"A little after midnight," Joyce supplied, filling the cup in her hand with shaky fingers. She didn't know what to expect from her daughter now, didn't know how to act around her. She was still the same Buffy, but in a way, she also wasn't. So she took the easiest way for now, "Do you want something?" She gestured at the cup in her hand.

"No, thanks," Buffy retorted on a little yawn, before her attention shifted to Angel. "You're still here."

The slight wonder in her voice, and the pleased surprise in her eyes did funny things to his gut, and Angel realised that she hadn't had a lot of good surprises in her life. No, mostly they'd been quite the opposite, like realising that the father of your unborn child was nothing but scum, or that your boyfriend didn't remember the first girl he'd been intimate with. Angel made a vow to himself, there and then, that from now on he'd bring a lot of good surprises into her life.

He smiled softly, "Where would I go?"

"How about home?" she replied, sitting down on the chair opposite to his.

He shrugged, "Not that I don't like my house, and maybe I could have done something really important. Like cleaning. But did you really expect me to just go?"

She waited what seemed like an endless moment with her answer, the importance, the profoundness of it hanging in the air like lead. And when a silent, almost whispered, "No," left her lips, her eyes met Angel's and held, a world of meaning passing between them.

//Can’t speak, can’t breathe

Can’t get up off my knees

Don’t know what comes over me//

Joyce suddenly felt like an intruder into something private, something she wasn't part of. A part of her resented it, she was Buffy's mother after all, knew her daughter for more than 30 years. Another part wanted to just leave - they might not notice her departure anyway - but something kept her rooted in place. For the most part, however, she just couldn't go, after forming a new, but still very fragile, bond with her daughter tonight.

That very same moment, Buffy seemed to remember her mother's presence, and with great difficulty - so it seemed - tore her gaze away from the man across the table. "Mom," she said slowly, "You must be tired."

Tired? Joyce didn't feel tired at all. Emotionally drained. Yes. Weary. Maybe. But not tired. Her whole being was still in turmoil from all the things she never wanted, but had needed, to hear. Yet, she was still mother enough to recognize the silent message Buffy was sending with her eyes.

Lying through her teeth, something she'd never done before, but which was maybe a result of her newly required mother instinct, Joyce looked around for the purse she'd deposed somewhere but long forgotten. "Yes, yes," she nodded, "I'm tired."

Buffy's mouth turned into a half-smile in response, a smile that seemed so much more intimate than all the forced cheer Joyce had received over the past years. Blinking against the tears that were suddenly threatening to well up, she saw her purse laying on the desk in the hallway. "I'm going to leave you on your own now." She gave the couple a smile, "Angel, it was nice meeting you, maybe you'll come over some time. With Buffy. I'd like to have you for dinner."

Without looking up, without taking his eyes from her daughter's face, Angel nodded, "That would be nice."

"Well, then it's settled," Joyce walked back to her daughter, purse in hand. She bent down and kissed the younger woman's cheek, glad when Buffy didn't flinch the way she had so often before. "See you soon, honey," she whispered.

"Thank you, mom. For being there for me."

God, she had to leave now, Joyce thought desperately, or she'd start to bawl like a little girl. "Bye," she said instead, hurrying out of the apartment without looking back, content in the knowledge that her daughter had all that mattered right now.

*

Buffy found him watching her the moment the door fell shut, and she focused on Angel again. His lids had dropped slightly, giving his eyes an intense and strangely disturbing look.

//Whenever you come near

Heart’s pounding in my chest

Little voice inside my head

Can’t hear a word it says

But the feeling’s loud and clear.//

Buffy felt heat spread through her body, her lips suddenly going dry, and it intensified when he finally spoke, his voice hoarse with a mixture of suppressed passion and want. "You sent her away," he said slowly, his eyes darkening underneath the lids.

"Yes, I did," she confirmed, holding his gaze.

"Why?" He bit out the one word, as if it was too hard to say it at all.

"I think you know why." She gave him a smile that grew slightly tremulous. It was ridiculous, she told herself. She'd made love with him on the hood of a car, and in the dirt beside a highway, but somehow this was different. They had come together in a moment of heated passion then. Tonight, however, she was initiating it on purpose, and with a feeling in her heart that made her utterly vulnerable.

//Love must be telling me something

Giving me some kind of sign

Spelling it out for me

Love must be telling me

I must be falling tonight//

She saw him shift slightly in his chair, for a moment wondering if the reason could be an arousal as painful as hers, for she was most certainly aroused, the heat between her legs turning into a most delightful ache she welcomed with pleasure. It was all because of him, the man her heart had taken in whole, had admitted she loved, and for him, the man who'd stood by her, had not wavered, no matter how hard she'd tried to push him away.

"Buffy." His voice pulled her from her thoughts. "I'm not sure this is a good idea tonight, not after-"

"I am sure," she said firmly. No way she would let him retreat, would let him go all gentlemanly on her. Not tonight of all nights, not when she'd finally discovered she was still capable of love, of joy, of pleasure. Not when she needed him, when every fibre of her body was crying out for him. "I am very sure," she repeated, emphasising her point. Then she reached out, covering his hands with hers. "Or don't you want me?"

//I’ve been in love and lost

I swore I’d sworn it off

No matter what the cost

I’d learn to live without//

His response was a low groan that seemed to come from a place deep inside of him. "God, Buffy. I'll always want you, no matter what. I just thought-"

She put two fingers over his lips, sealing them, the contact sending goose-bumps all over her body. "Then why don't you stop thinking now," she suggested, letting her voice drop to a seductive whisper, "and take me to bed instead?"

//But you weren’t in my plans

Now baby here I am

I still don’t understand

But I know there ain’t no doubt//

She could see the moment his control snapped, could see his eyes going almost black, his lids dropping even further, giving his face a thoroughly sensual look. He was out of his chair in a flash, gathering her in his arms, lifting her up, and as they were getting closer to the bedroom, his mouth was already fusing with hers, his tongue demanding entrance while his teeth were nipping her lips, gently teasing, promising more to come.

The door to her bedroom was thankfully open, so he just pushed his way inside, Buffy still securely wrapped in his arms, her hands roaming through his hair, making the skin of his skull tingle. As soon as they reached her bed, his knees bumping against the edge, he let her down gently, but kept contact with her, not willing to break it. "Buffy," he whispered her name hoarsely, his hand combing through her blond hair, so soft to his touch, like silk, caressing his skin. "God, Buffy."

She chuckled then, a low sound, thoroughly sensual, but a bit uncertain at the same time, "I know," she whispered, her eyes locking with his. "I know. You can't know how I feel right now. When I lost the baby," she paused, searching for something in his eyes, then, obviously finding it, she went on, "I wanted to die. A part of me did."

"But you're alive, Buffy. And so am I. And that's what counts. All that counts." He kissed her, softly this time, without tongue, just a touch lips to lips, sweet, almost hesitant, before he looked at her again. "Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I'm starting to," she replied, laughing shakily. Her heart was pounding in her chest, almost jumping with the sheer joy. It was a feeling that was so completely foreign to her, she could hardly bear it. She could smell his musky scent, could feel the heat emanating from him, enveloping her, warming her from the inside where she'd been so cold, so alone for so long.

Slowly she lifted her hand to his cheek, feeling the rough unshaven planes of his face. He looked tired, probably a lot like herself, but it didn't matter, for his eyes were so alive, so sparkling, she couldn't stop looking into them. They were reaching deep into her soul and stirring the ashes of what she had thought were long-dead coals – starting a fire that was blazing through her now. "I … I can't promise you anything," she told him, feeling shaky to the core. She had admitted to herself she loved him, but wasn't ready to tell him. Not yet. But soon, she promised herself, she would tell him soon.

"I'm not asking you to," he retorted, "If I learned anything from life, it's that there aren't any guarantees. There can't be. Life is too uncertain.”

"But I know I need you tonight. More than you'll ever know."

"I doubt that," he said, smiling slightly. "How could you need me more than I need you? Tonight. Forever."

Her heart fluttered, and so did her stomach, "Forever is such a long time."

"Not long enough. Not nearly long enough." Cutting off further conversation his lips covered hers again, and they parted instantly. Hot and slow his tongue slipped into her mouth, tasting, questing, promising. She felt his breath on her cheeks as his lips left her mouth, found a path from her cheeks, to her closed eyelids, then down to the sensitive hollow of her throat, hot and alive, burning her, claiming her, warming her.

His arms came around her, pulling her closer, his lips whispering her name over and over. Buffy let her head fall back, let the sensations wash over her. She knew she was mainly taking and not giving, but it didn't seem to matter to him, didn't seem to slow him down. She could feel his hands slip underneath her shirt, like two burning furnaces on the bare skin of her back. She felt her body turning to liquid fire, molten and languid, fiercely aching for his touch.

Her breasts felt full and waiting, her nipples already erect, hardened even more when his mouth claimed them through the shirt. She moaned, her fingers clawing his hair, her body arching against him, wanting him more than anything she'd ever wanted in her life.

His hands wandered down her side, his fingertips tracing every curve, every line of her body, down over her hips and finally coming to rest on her abdomen. "Maybe one day," he whispered, "we will have a baby."

Startled from the passion that was already spiralling out of control, she looked at him, "Wh-what?"

"Nothing," he whispered, kissing her again. "Do you ever imagine what it would have looked like?" he asked.

"Looked like?"

"The baby," he clarified. "Do you sometimes imagine its face?" He already did, he realised, could already picture a little girl with blond hair and hazel eyes, the image of her mother. She’d be a miniature Buffy, a girl he could spoil and protect, and make sure she would never drift away from her parents the way her mother had. A girl that would help to chase Buffy's shadows away. She would never forget about the child she had lost, she wouldn't be the woman he loved it she could, but maybe she would learn to live with it, secure in the love and trust she was receiving.

She stared at him for a moment, saw the love and understanding in his eyes, the warmth, and nodded, "Yes, I do. All the time. Sometimes she has blue eyes, or he has dark ones."

"Sometimes it's a boy and sometimes a girl?"

"Hmmm," she agreed, when his hand slipped back underneath her tee-shirt, moving upward, towards the curve of her breast. "God, Angel."

"I love you," he said, kissing her again, "I'm glad you can talk about it now."

"Only with you," she replied, kissing him back.

"I'm glad," he whispered, the love for her consuming him completely.

"I was so cold for so long, Angel," she told him, "so cold."

"Then," he said, his warm breath, tickling the skin of her neck, "let me warm you. Let me chase the cold away."

With a swift movement he pulled her shirt over her head, leaving her body bare to him, only the panties remaining in place. His dark head bent, his lips closing around her nipples, caressing them into aching, hard buds. Buffy moaned loudly, letting herself fall into his arms safely locked around her. "Angel," she hissed, gritting her teeth against the fire that was threatening to consume her. "Oh God."

"Easy, baby. Easy." His mouth left her right nipple, turning its’ attentions to the other one, Buffy almost shattering at the contact. God, was it possible to have an orgasm from having your nipple sucked? She felt her blood roaring in her head, felt her heart pounding a mile a minute, felt herself losing control, and didn't mind.

Then suddenly her panties were gone, and he parted her thighs, pressing a kiss to the tender inside, biting, sucking. He could finish her right here, right now. Another kiss, another gentle stroke of his finger, and she would collapse in a quivering heap at his feet. But he didn't kiss her again, didn't part her thighs any further to stroke her. Instead he let go of her, getting rid of his own clothes, then lifted her up, his arms wrapped around her, letting his arousal rub over her belly, then probe between her thighs, pushing through the blond curls to the heat underneath.

She braced her hands on his shoulders, her breathing spiralling out of control, uneven, harsh in the stillness of the bedroom, her muscles already clenching and unclenching, waiting for him to join her completely, to fill her the way he had twice before. But he didn't, surprising her again. Instead he pushed her back, watching her as she stretched out on the bed, then joined her, with a smile on his face. "God, you're so beautiful. Your skin is like satin, your hair like silk." His fingers took a path from her belly towards her curls, then without warning dipped lower, filling her with two, making her gasp. "You're soft where I'm hard," he whispered, "and so sweet. God, you are sweet."

"Angel," was all she could manage. "Angel."

"Yes," he replied, removing his fingers from her tight heat. "And I love you."

Nothing came in return, but he hadn't expected it. It was too soon, he told himself. She was still too raw from tonight's revelations. He would have to be content with the trust she was showing him, giving him freely. "Tonight is only for you," he told her, slowly coming to lie on top of her, his knee nudging her thighs apart again, his hardness probing, but not yet entering. "Just for you."

She was beyond coherent speech, was swept away by the sensations he was causing inside of her, but she still managed, "I … I .."

He looked up, into her glazed eyes, unfocussed, in a world of passion and ecstasy. "What, baby? What?"

"I … want … you."

"You've got me," he returned, pushing inside of her, slowly inch by inch, filling her, loving the feeling of her heat welcoming him, surrounding him, accepting him. "All of me," he said when he was finally sheathed to the hilt.

"Y-yes," she stuttered, almost losing it then.

But he would have none of it, withdrew with the same agonizing slowness, before he pushed inside again, setting a steady rhythm that brought her to the border of completion but wouldn't let her find it. Wriggling underneath him, seeking more friction, she became impatient and wrapped her legs around his bottom, forcing him to penetrate her deeper, not letting him withdraw all the way out. She felt him chuckle against her throat, but he complied, deepening his strokes, and picking up the rhythm at the same time.

She felt the spiral starting deep inside her belly, felt her vaginal muscles clenching around him, felt him groan, before an earth-shattering climax swept her away, made her unconscious to the way she cried out his name, or that he joined her the moment she went over the edge. Angel's own climax was equally strong. He strained against her, emptying himself into her hot and heavy, and he held her tightly, so that they might never slip apart.

//But you weren’t in my plans

Now baby here I am

I still don’t understand

But I know there ain’t no doubt.//

Part 20 – again definitely rated R (maybe NC-17) for sexual situations ( you didn’t think part 19 was all you’re getting, did you? *G*)

When a noise, sounding a lot like someone ringing the bell at his front door, came floating to Wesley’s ears, he didn’t open his eyes. Groaning instead, he reached for the pillow next to him and pulled it over his head, hoping to block out the ringing noise that went from his ears straight to his head, almost splitting it in two, reminding him once again why downing two whole bottles of Scotch last night had been a bad thing for a guy at his age.

But self-pity, loneliness, and a dose of good old despair thrown into the mix had made him forget all about his almost forty year old body, and the way it wouldn’t take it too kindly when fed with an unusual amount of alcohol. Something he would pay for dearly the whole morning he guessed.

He’d been out for the better part of yesterday, trying to research stuff for the book he was planning to write for ages, but never had found time for. Now with the mess Faith Marshall had made of his career, he finally had the time, although it was still highly unlikely any publisher would be interested in a book by someone who’d been accused of sexually harassing one of his students. But with nothing better to do, researching a book had still looked better than just staring into space the whole day, and so he’d gone off to the college library, a place still open to him, even though he was suspended otherwise.

And it had helped taking his mind off his current problems, stopped him from thinking about the progress Kathie’s brother would make or make not. The whole thing was driving him crazy the way it was. So he’d actually managed to do something for the book that might never be published after all, and returned to his home hoping to find something on his answering machine from Liam, telling him about his progress. But all that had been waiting for him was a call from Kathie cancelling their date because of an emergency with a friend, and no news from her brother.

Thoroughly frustrated with the day, Wesley had finally succumbed to those two bottles of Scotch, the results he could now feel in a pounding headache and a stomach that had long gone from queasy to openly revolting, clearly protesting against the mistreatment of the previous night.

The ringing came again, longer this time, and with a frustrated groan, Wesley threw the pillow away, struggled to sit up on his bed without having his head split in two by the blinding pain that shot through his skull. Realising he was still fully dressed, all his clothes wrinkled to a point where it almost looked fashionable again, he finally managed to stand, glad the world wasn’t spinning around him, even though his stomach protested against the sudden change of direction and squeezed dangerously.

Fighting down the nausea, Wesley found his way towards his door, then tore it open, determined to shout at whoever was daring to disturb his Saturday morning, but the words died on his lips when he saw Kathie standing in front of him, her chestnut hair pulled back into a ponytail, wearing old, faded jeans, a red turtleneck and the barest hint of makeup. His stomach did a funny little flip-flop that had nothing to do with too much Scotch, and a lot with his hormones that seemed to have gone wild lately. “Kathie?” He stared at her, unable to tear his gaze from her beautiful brown eyes.

She stared right back at him, probably assessing the situation, taking in his rumpled appearance, the yellowish colour Wesley knew his face must show. “Uh-oh,” she made, not waiting for him to invite her, just pushing past, and entering his house as if it was her own, something that sent another little flip-flop through his system. It was a nice idea thinking of his house as theirs. “You smell like the next low-life bar after midnight,” she commented finding her way into the kitchen and Wesley had no problem detecting the disapproval in her voice.

Absentmindedly closing the door, he turned, following her and finding her at the sink deposing the contents of a paper bag he’d not seen her carrying before. He couldn’t exactly make out what she’d brought with her, but glimpses of red and green led him to believe it was vegetables.

The thought of actual food sent another wave of nausea through him, making him feel as green as the cucumber she put on the counter beside the sink. “I … uh … suppose I had a little bit too much last night,” he said after his stomach had settled and the dizziness in his head vanished.

One of her delicate brows came up, “A little?”

Annoyed with her insight, but more with his own foolish behaviour, he sighed, “Okay, I had two bottles of Scotch. Expensive ones, if I may add. So what? I’m an adult. I can choose to get drunk if I want.”

“No arguments on the chosen part,” she replied, not looking at him, “but I’m not sure about the adult thing. Adults don’t drink themselves into oblivion.”

He heard the edge in her voice, saw the strange stiffness in her shoulders, but he was too surprised by her strange behaviour that he didn’t pay them any attention at first. “I wasn’t oblivious,” he protested, then thinking about the way he’d passed out on his bed, still wearing all his clothes, he amended, “Okay, I acted irrational. I felt sorry for myself.” He paused for a beat, then added, “I missed you.”

“That’s … nice to hear,” she said, still not turning around, “but … I … I never saw you drink before. And of course I didn’t see it last night, either, but … do you drink … often?” The question came out oddly forced, and Wesley saw she had gripped the counter so tightly, her knuckles turned white.

Forgetting all about his headache and his nausea, Wesley was behind her in two steps. Cautiously reaching out, he planted a hand on her shoulder, startled by the tight knotted muscles in it. “Kathie?,” he asked softly, “What is it?”

She said nothing for a moment, then a pained little noise left her lips, sounding a lot like a little kitten in pain. Wesley felt it slice through him like a knife. “Kathie?,” he asked again. “Did I do anything? I really don’t drink as a rule. The last time I got drunk like that was,” he chuckled slightly, “I have a hard time remembering it, some time during college I suppose.”

A forced laugh left her mouth then, but it instantly turned into a sob, and with utmost tenderness he turned her to him, tilting up her face, and found her eyes swimming in tears. “Kathie?,” he said her name for the third time. “Darling, what is the matter?”

She had to smile at the endearment that slipped so much easier these days, but couldn’t help a tear to slip from her eye. Shaking her head, she said, “There is … nothing. I’m just being silly.”

Disappointment flickered in his eyes, and with a stab Kathie realised it was because of her. She and Wesley had steady gotten closer over the past weeks, his kisses had grown bolder, but they hadn’t been intimate beyond a passionate kiss and the occasional fondling. And it was because of her, because she wasn’t ready for more, wasn’t ready to give up her last safety belt, to let him tear down the rest of her protective wall.

“I see,” he said tightly, pulling back, taking with him the warmth that had enveloped her just before. “So you still don’t trust me, huh? Do you think there is something true in Faith’s accusations after all?”

“NO,” she shouted, horror in her eyes that he could think such a thing. “No,” she repeated. “I would never think that. Never. You’ve got to believe me.”

“I have, huh?,” he laughed, but it was without humor. “And what about you, why don’t you believe?”

Startled, and confused, she shook her head, “But I do. I believe-“

He interrupted her before she could finish, “No, you don’t. Not where it counts. There you always keep you distance, never let me close.” He looked at her for a long moment, “And I’m trying to understand. I really am. But … how can I when you don’t explain, when you just keep me guessing.”

New tears were welling up in her eyes, and a tightness constricted her chest, she had never felt before. She felt as if being caught in her own personal fortress, safe but unhappy, and she couldn’t find a way out. “But … but that’s not true,” she cried, knowing very well that she was lying, could feel it in her heart, and see it in his eyes. “I-“

“You don’t trust me,” he interrupted her again.

“But I do,” she protested, angrily wiping the tears from her face, “I trust you. More than I …,” she stopped, realising that again she was about to lie. More than… she’d been about to say. More than what? More than everyone? Certainly not. Angel was the person who knew all about her, and even he didn’t know her best kept, her darkest secret. She’d never been able to tell him, never been able to open up, afraid what he might do as soon as he knew. And what would Wesley do? What would he think about her, knowing the unspeakable, knowing everything. Would he still look at her with love in his eyes, or would it be replaced by disgust?

That, she realised, was her greatest fear. That he would stop loving her, stop adoring her, the way he always did, the way his eyes were caressing her the moment they fell on her.

“I am right,” he stated, his shoulder slumped, his eyes sad and knowing. “You don’t trust me.”

“I …,” she started then broke off again, not knowing what to say, how to defend herself. Then she tried again, “It’s not that. It’s … hard to explain. It’s complicated and …,” she shook her head, swallowed, “There are things … in my past … I can’t talk about them – yet.”

“Yet? Or not ever?”

“I’m trying,” she cried, despair clawing at her gut. Was she going to lose him? She couldn’t let it happen, couldn’t risk losing the only man she’d ever loved, the only man she – trusted? “I am trying,” she whispered finally. “Really, I am, Wes. I am. You can’t know how painful it is.”

“No, I can’t because you never even tried to tell me.” He shook his head, turned away, sighing, “Kathie, maybe you should leave me now. This is … getting us nowhere and … I need a shower anyway.”

She felt as if he’d kicked in the gut by his words, felt her lower lip starting to tremble, the tears spilling over. She was going to lose him. Oh God. OHGODOHGODOHGOD. “You are sending me away?” she asked desperately.

“Yes,” he nodded, looked at her again. “For now. You were clearly disgusted by my post-drunken state, but you won’t tell me why. You could hardly look at me. And again, I have not the slightest idea what’s the reason. I have some ideas, but that’s not the same. And I’m not going to force you to tell me. It has to come from you. Because you trust me. Because … this …,” he gestured at her, then at himself, “… us … maters.”

“It does. Believe me, it’s important. More than that, it’s the most important thing in my life,” she cried, trying to make him see, make him understand, that she wasn’t doing this to hurt him, but because it was too hard, because it hurt too much.

“Maybe,” he gave her a sad smile, then walked towards the door, “I’m going to have a shower now. And I suppose you’ll find your way out.” When he saw her flinch, he added, “This isn’t the end, Kathie. But maybe we both need the distance. Some time to think things over.” Then he left, and Kathie couldn’t remember ever having felt more alone in her life, trying to understand when her idea of cooking for him today had gone so wrong, and how she could make it right again.

*****

The first thing Angel felt when he woke that Saturday morning was the warm, soft body laying sprawled atop of him. The next thing was that he didn’t mind the additional weight at all. Opening his eyes he saw Buffy’s head only inches apart from his snuggled at his chest, her golden hair gleaming in the morning sun, her breathing still even, telling him that she – unlike him – was still asleep. He almost chuckled at that, but restrained himself, not wanting to wake her with the movement of his chest.

But he did reach out, one finger softly touching her silken strands, marvelling in the feeling to have her so close to him, so intimate and trusting. After the first time he’d made love three times more to her, one time only with his mouth, bringing her to a climax all on her own, but he’d almost followed her just by watching her climbing and shatter, utterly open to him, revealing everything, hiding nothing. Never in his life he’d been closer to a human being, and it made him feel like the king of the world.

This night had been about her, and her alone and she had taken everything with a soul that seemed greedy for love and attention, a soul that had only now realised it wasn’t broken for good. Angel felt humbled beyond words that he’d been the one to give her back all the joy, that he’d been allowed to be part of the rebirth taking place right before his eyes. The first time they’d made love, on the hood of her car, had been wonderful and he’d always cherish the memory, but there had been an urgency in her then, that was missing now. She had been relaxed last night, letting the feeling wash over her, bathing in it, absorbing it with every cell of her beautiful body.

He’d watched in awe, and hadn’t he known it before, he would have known then that this woman was his destiny. The way she’d looked at him when she’d climbed to her last climax, the way her eyes had locked with his, the intense expression, all that had strengthened the bond they’d been forming yesterday. She wasn’t careful anymore around him, wasn’t trying to protect herself, because she understood that with him it wasn’t necessary.

She trusted him.

“What are you thinking?”

Her soft spoken words pulled him from his musings, making him smile before he even looked at her. When he did, he felt his groin responding instantly and heard her chuckle. “Ohhh,” she made, grinning like a cat who’d just discovered the fattest mouse in the stable. She let her eyelids drop a little, and licked her lips. “Shouldn’t you be … satisfied after last night?”

“I suppose it’s a question of temptation,” he replied, grinning as well. God, this was heaven. She was almost carefree and she took his breath away. He hadn’t seen her like this before, had always hoped, but never dreamt, that this woman existed inside of her.

“Is that so?” She quirked one brow, and sighed when she felt his cock harden against her thigh, “Yeah, I suppose it is. A good think it’s Saturday and I can take care of the … little problem.”

“Buffy-,” he began, but she stopped him.

“Shhhh,” she made, grinning at him again, her hazel eyes sparkling. “You took care of me last night, this time it’s my turn. I will love you so thoroughly, Liam, Angel Sullivan that you’re going to forget your name when I’m finished with you. I will make you plead for mercy, and won’t show you any.” She winked, then chuckled, a low and throaty sound that made his cock stand up straight.

Angel smiled at her, “Promises. Promises.”

“Promises, huh?” She returned his smile, then, without warning, began making her warning a reality. She didn’t bother with gentle seduction, although for a moment she considered it. She would do that, later, she promised herself, but this time she got straight to the point. Before he could guess her intentions, she knelt on the bed, and slowly, agonizingly slowly, started kissing away the dampness that glistered on the tip of his arousal. When he groaned and moved his hips, she let him fill her mouth, taking all she could, enveloping his length, savoring the taste of him, the heat and the incredible softness of the flesh sheathing so much hardness.

When the muscles in his thighs were taut and quivering, when Angel knew he couldn’t take one more minute of this incredibly erotic play, she pulled away, leaving him like that, and stretched out lazily – lazily for goodness sake – beside him, grinning again. “Well,” she winked, “it’s your turn now.”

With one swift movement he was over her, parting her legs at the same time, and coming up hard inside her, filling her in one fluid stroke. She started to laugh, that sexy, throaty sound again, but he swallowed it with his kiss, claiming her mouth the way he was claiming her body, letting the passion spiral high, then settle it, only to let it spiral again. He wanted to make this last forever, but his heart was racing in his chest, his blood roaring through his veins, while Buffy made soft little sounds and tantalizing movements beneath him that bordered on torment. But God, what a sweet way to be tormented.

When she came, with a cry, her cheeks flushed, her breast heaving, her vaginal muscles still clutching him, that was enough to make him follow, crying out her name, but as she’d promised – forgetting his.

“Hmmm,” she said, as soon as she was able to catch her breath, “What a way to wake up.”

“Uh-huh,” was all he could offer, his head laying between her breasts, his softening cock still inside of her. “Love you,” he breathed.

He felt her shift beneath him, but again she didn’t respond, just tightened her arms around him, holding him close to her body, to her heart. She wanted to say the words, but something, maybe some tiny part of residual fear was holding her back, killing the words before they could leave her mouth. So she just kissed him on his hair and sighed, “Hungry?”

“Mmmm.”

She felt him nod against her breast, his stubble that was even more prominent than last night scratching the sensitive skin, making it tingle. But this time she was too content, to satisfied to feel arousal again. “Breakfast?”

“Shower first,” he retorted, finally looking up and meeting her eyes. “Good morning by the way.”

She grinned, “Morning. What do you think about eggs and bacon?”

“Sounds like heaven.” He kissed her, slowly, lazily in the afterglow of morning sex. “I could get used to this. My personal love slave, and she’s able to cook, too. How much do you earn? Could I stop working and reply on living off your money?”

She grinned, “Not on your life, buddy. I’m not going to support a lazy lover.”

“Not even one who …,” he wiggled his brows, made her laugh.

“Not even if you were Casanova. I believe in emancipation – of both sexes.”

He sighed dramatically, “That means I’m still going to have to spend long nights apart from you, in my car, drinking cold coffee.”

For a moment she seemed to consider it, then shook her head, “You’re getting no pity from me. No way. You’re young and healthy. Earn your own money.”

Angel laughed then, too. “I wouldn’t dream of living off my girlfriend’s income.”

“I know,” she replied with sudden softness.

“So how about that breakfast?”

“Go shower,” she wiggled underneath him, pushing slightly at his shoulders. “It’ll be ready as soon as you’re finished.” She reached for her shirt when he got up, and pulled it over her head, grinning at the disappointed expression in his eyes. “Go,” she ordered, and watching him disappear towards her bathroom, thinking that he somehow seemed to belong already, and unlike with others, it didn’t make her want to throw up. This time, she wanted to shout with joy.

But because it was Saturday morning and most of her neighbours would probably still sleeping, she walked towards the kitchen, humming a love song instead.

Part 21

"What's that?"

Buffy's head came up with an almost audible snap, and she found Angel standing in the doorway, only clad in a pair of unbuttoned jeans, and nothing else. He was fresh from the shower, his hair still wet and several remaining droplets were still clinging to his bare chest. Her mouth went instantly dry at the sight and she had to swallow hard, before she could make her voice work. "Wh-what?" she asked in confusion, her mind refusing to do anything but focus on the perfect example of the male species standing in her kitchen doorway.

His mouth turned into a knowing half-grin, but instead of commenting on her current state he nodded at the flat box she'd placed on the chair she'd obviously reserved for him. "That," he repeated. "Is it - for me?"

Following the direction of his eyes, Buffy looked at the package as well, and after a moment she managed to pull herself together, and her thoughts away from X-rated images racing through her mind. "Oh," she blushed, then cleared her throat. "Yes, yes it is." Laughing slightly, and a little bit self-consciously, she pointed at the box. "It's … uhm … nothing, really. I went out a couple of days ago." She rolled her eyes, "Actually because I needed a cocktail dress, but I ended up with this."

Now it was his turn to feel suddenly dry-mouthed, and oddly touched by the idea of her buying something for him - at a time when their relationship hadn't been one at all.

With slightly trembling fingers he reached out, touching the fragile wrapping paper with initials stamped on it, probably coming from one of the expensive boutiques she frequented, no doubt. For a moment, Angel found himself wondering if this could ever work, with them coming from backgrounds so different, then he firmly suppressed the thought. It was nonsense anyway. He had worked too hard for this, he wouldn't let self-doubts destroy it again. Backgrounds were just that, the past. It was up to them to make the present and the future.

His voice rough with emotion he carefully lifted the box, placing it on the table while he seated himself at the same time. "Can I - open it?"

"Of course," she encouraged, biting her lower lip as a sure sign of nervousness. "Go on."

Tearing the wrapping, he lowered his eyes and lifted the lid. The box contained an obviously handmade sweater, with a soft, rough-textured, dark-burgundy background. It had an intricate pattern in white and blue, with a satin sheen to it. Angel touched the sweater with tentative fingers. It felt wonderfully soft, and was, without doubt, an expensive piece of clothing. But it was also a thoughtful, well chosen gift from a woman he loved more than he'd thought possible. "It's beautiful," he said softly, still looking at it, "I …" rising his head, he smiled slowly. "Thank you."

For a moment her features were blank, but then the most beautiful smile broke out on her face, turning it radiant, like morning sunshine, and her eyes became sparkling beacons. Angel suddenly found it hard to speak, felt himself tumbling head-on into her, his breath quickening, his heart starting to race.

"I'm glad," Buffy said, totally oblivious to what her smile had done to him. "Well, put in on. I want to see it on you."

Swallowing, he forced himself to relax. They had made love several times in the last twelve hours, damn it. Why the hell did he still feel like a love-crazed teenager at the sight of her beautiful smile? He'd thought he was past hormone-induced love-sickness, but obviously he was wrong. At least, where Buffy was concerned. He just had to look at her, and he turned to mush. "I … uh … yes, I will."

Standing up with the sweater in his hand, setting the box aside, he was grateful for the chance to move, to give himself a moment to pull himself together.

Buffy watched as he pulled the sleeves over his hands, then lifted his arms. A sudden rush of heat swept over her as she saw the muscles of his chest and belly stretch and flex as he tugged the sweater over his head. Something about that expanse of naked skin lessening as he pulled the edge of the sweater over his shoulders, past the flat, male nipples, over the ridged abdomen and past the navel that seemed intimately sexy to her, above the still unfastened waistband of his jeans, made a wave of pleasure spread through her in ever widening ripples.

God, she was going to go insane, she decided. She was over thirty years old, not a blushing virgin by a long shot, but Angel had awakened a side of her she hadn't even known existed. She couldn't help thinking of the sweater coming off instead of going on, and that rippling heat abruptly changed course and flooded downward to pool in some low place inside her.

She felt color warm her cheeks and was glad he was busy straightening the edge of the sweater and not looking at her. Or wasn’t she? Then he smoothed a hand down the front of the garment, pressing the softness of the sweater against his chest as if he liked the feel of it against his skin.

And in a rush, the heat inside of her tripled.

It was even worse than last night, she realized. She wanted him - again. As if she couldn't stand not touching him for a moment. She'd never known that watching a man pulling on a sweater could be that erotic, could do such things to her insides. It was like touching him herself, like-

God, this was madness. She couldn't even sit at a breakfast table and not fantasize about making love to him.

"Buffy?"

She looked up then, at his face, into his eyes, and a shock rippled through her. She found an answering heat in his brown orbs that had darkened so much they were almost black.

Wetting her dry lips, she swallowed, "Angel?"

"Would you mind terribly if we'd skipped breakfast? I'm suddenly not very hungry anymore."

She was out of her chair and walking towards him, before she even realized what she was doing, "No. I’m not very hungry either," she whispered.

He swallowed as well, his eyes turning even darker, becoming almost impossibly black. "Ever done it in your kitchen?" he asked.

"N-no," she stuttered, feeling herself fall into his hypnotic gaze, "But I'm open for a try."

"Good." His voice was hoarse and deep, making her knees turn to jelly. "I hope this stuff isn't expensive."

"W-why?"

"Because I can't find it in me to care right now."

It was a good thing she had emptied the fruit basked the day before, and that she'd never particularly liked that special coffee mug, because everything landed on the floor, when he lifted her on the counter and made true of the promise she'd seen in his eyes just before.

*****

Lindsey MacDonald closed the file he'd taken home with him for the weekend. He propped his feet up on his small living-room table, entwined his hands behind his head, and sighing, leaned back on his sofa. Usually he hated lazy Saturday mornings, but somehow, in a strange way, this wasn't a Saturday morning like all those others in his life. Although he didn't want to admit it, he knew without a doubt that it had to do with a girl with a pair of brown eyes. A girl who seemed tough as nails but was soft and vulnerable instead. She didn't do a bad job of hiding it, but Lindsey had seen through her act from the very start. Maybe because they were so alike when it came to hiding their true personality was concerned.

Closing his eyes, he remembered the way she'd been clinging to him in the final waves of orgasm, the way she'd thrown back her neck, wild and so incredibly beautiful he'd had problems breathing. But he also remembered how calculating she'd sounded in his office, how false her smile had been towards her parents, how she'd tried to lie to him, tried to make him believe the poor bastard had actually touched her in a way she never invited. In reality, he thought with a mirthless laugh, it might have been the other way around.

Not that Wesley Wyndham-Price invited female fantasies as a rule. Lindsey had seen the picture of the bookish professor with his dark-rimmed glasses, the clothes that seemed too large for his thin frame. He had also seen the intelligent eyes behind the thick lenses that told a lot about the sharp mind this man possessed, and the seriousness that told the lawyer instantly that the professor was a man to trust. But Lindsey was certain a sharp mind had never been part of Faith Marshall's idea of an attractive man, neither was she particular on trust,

he guessed.

No, he thought, opening his eyes, whatever had happened between Faith Marshall and Wesley Wyndham-Price had nothing to do with sexual harassment, and all to do with a poor little rich girl who had too long suffered from parental neglect. But she was a poor little rich girl who had also learned how to get what she wanted. The English lit professor had simply come between them, or rather given Faith a reason to use him. He'd probably refused to upgrade her, and now the young woman was determined make him pay.

As beautiful as she was, Faith was a woman of contradictions, and as much as she attracted him, as much as his senses went into overdrive at the mere thought of her, he'd better not underestimate her, or he might not end up on top of her - a place he'd like to take up for a while - but he would be her next victim. Yes, he thought, standing up and walking towards the kitchen to refill his empty cup, he would be smart to keep an eye on her. She might be fun and almost irresistibly attractive, but she was also dangerous. And he'd do his damnedist not to forget about it.

*****

Still wearing the silly grin on his face, something he didn't seem to be able to get rid off this morning, Angel opened the door to his house some time around noon, sighing contentedly like only a man could who'd been thoroughly satisfied by the most amazing woman he could imagine. Shrugging out of his jacket, he tossed it over a chair. He was still so relaxed in the afterglow of spending the morning with Buffy, talking to Buffy, making love to Buffy. They had done it once more before he left, this time against the wall of her hallway. He had to chuckle at the memory, and felt his groin tighten at the images flickering before his inner eye. Grinning, he shook his head, then walked into the kitchen.

He wasn't quite sure what he had expected to see there, probably nothing as his mind seemed too preoccupied these days to do anything but picture Buffy Summers - preferably naked - but it certainly wasn't his sister, sitting at the table, an untouched glass of milk in front of her, her face hidden by the curtain of dark hair falling around it. Her fingers were in her lap, but there was a stiffness in her shoulders Angel knew only too well, had seen before, and had prayed never to see again.

But here it was, and although the last thing he wanted to do today was get involved in someone else’s problems, he was also aware that when his sister was concerned, almost nothing mattered. They'd gone through thick and thin together, had managed to overcome the events of her sixteenth birthday, and there was no way in hell he'd be able to block out the sadness radiating from her or the way her stiff shoulders moved up and down in silent sobs.

When Kathie became aware of his presence, her shoulders stiffened even more, and slowly her head came up. Surprisingly her eyes were dry, but they were red-rimmed and Angel could still see the traces of recent tears. He could see from the puffiness of her skin that she'd been crying for a while, and tell from her swollen lips that she'd chewed on them restlessly, a certain sign of distress.

Giving her only a quick glance, Angel walked over to the refrigerator to get himself a soft drink and popped open the can. Placing the can on the counter in front of him, he sat down opposite his sister, and after a moment, he looked at her. "What happened?" he asked slowly, not sure if he wanted to hear it, but knowing he would.

She didn't say anything for a long time, then shrugged. "Wes sent me away," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper, and obviously strained by hours of crying. Angel suddenly felt like a heel. While his little sister had been crying her eyes out he'd been making love with Buffy on her kitchen counter. And enjoying it.

Rubbing a hand over his face, he wrapped the other around the soft drink. "He - sent you away?" It sounded strange, somehow not at all like the Wesley he'd come to know and like. The Wesley he knew was shy and sometimes stiff, but Angel would bet his agency if the professor wasn't head over heels in love with Kathie. "Why?"

She shrugged again, "He said I don't trust him. He - uh - he was smelling like he'd been drinking, and when I … asked him, he said he'd had two bottles of Scotch last night."

To any other person hearing this, it might not mean anything, but in Angel's head all alarm bells started to ring. Sitting up straight, his eyes became intense, "Did he - hurt you?"

Startled by the question, Kathie's head came up with a snap. "NO," she hurried to say. "No. Nothing like that. He - he was sober. As always. But … but smelling it …" Angel saw her struggle, and saw her lose when tears welled up in her eyes. "God, Angel. It all came back to me. Like … like a horrible nightmare I couldn't get rid off. I … tried … but all I saw were their faces, and their drunken laughter, and … th-their h-hands."

Her voice almost broke in the end and when the tears started to fall, Angel was by her side in an instant. Crouching down in front of her, much in the same way he'd done with Buffy the previous night, he took her hands, "Oh Kat," he said softly, reaching out with one hand, cupping her cheek. "I'm so sorry."

The tears dripping from her lashes, she managed a smile, "It's not really bad, Angel. Just when I smelled," she sighed, "that stuff on him, I … I couldn't think anything but…" she shrugged in the end.

He nodded, letting his hand fall from her face, curling it around hers instead. "So you freaked and he wanted to know why, right?"

She nodded miserably.

"And when you didn't tell him, he got angry?" He looked at her intently, wanting to understand what had happened between his sister and Wesley.

"No," she shook her head, sent her hair flying, "Not angry. Just ... sad. Disappointed. God, I hated to see the disappointment in his eyes. And the weariness. I think he's fed up with me."

He almost grinned at that. Wes fed up with her? Not by a long shot. Angel had a feeling that the professor was into this for the long haul, but now was not the time to discuss this special subject with his sister. "That's nonsense, baby." Her head came up again, staring at him almost in wonder. He smiled, "The guy loves you. But I can also understand how he feels. He's in love with you, but you're still keeping a part of you private. It's as if you're not trusting him, and in a way, it's the truth."

"You really think?" she asked doubtfully.

"Oh yeah," he nodded, kissing her cheek and standing up to walk back to his place. Reaching for his drink, he took a long gulp, before facing her again. "I know it, Kat. Because that's the way I felt with Buffy. She … always kept something hidden from me, didn't open up." He couldn't stop the smile blooming at his next words, "Until last night, that is."

"I thought you were with her when I found the message on the answering machine," she said. "So, she opened up to you. And then?"

"A gentleman never tells," he replied, grinning.

She rolled her eyes, "Gee, as if I even want to know. Knowing your brother has sex is almost as bad as thinking that way about your parents." A shadow flickered through her eyes, before she added, "At least that's what I've been told." She sighed, "So you had a good - night?"

"The best," he told her. "She's amazing. She's the one, Kat. The one I've been waiting for."

She smiled, "You're in love with her."

"Totally and completely. Irrevocably." He knew he was grinning like an idiot, but who the hell cared. He was flying high this morning. So high not even his sister’s problems had managed to dampen his good mood. Angel still wasn't quite sure he liked the fact that Buffy had stacked several one-time-use razors. Sure, it could be she needed them for herself, but somehow Angel couldn't quite make himself believe it. And, so he thought on an inward sigh, looking at the red-rimmed eyes of his sister, was it really important? He and Buffy had, at least, crossed the bridge Kathie and Wes still seemed to have in front of them.

"I'm glad," Kathie said honestly, "I wish…" she trailed off, and sighed again.

Angel put the soft drink down, and walked back to his sister. "You need to talk to him, baby. If he's really important to you, you need to tell him. I know it's hard, but he needs to know, because only then can he understand."

He saw her swallow, saw her run a shaky hand through her hair, "I suppose you're right. It's just so hard. Talking about it, it's like living through it again."

He reached out, and taking her hand, he pulled her up, wrapping her up in a brotherly embrace, "I know, Kat. I know. But without it, this won't work."

Kathie let herself sink into his embrace, letting his strong, familiar arms surround her with gentleness and the safe feeling of protection. Angel had never let her down, had always stood by her, even when things were really rough. But he was her brother, while Wes, Wes was the man she loved. Deeply and honestly. Maybe not with the same passion Angel had for Buffy, but then, she wasn't Angel. Had never been. Her past had shaped her, had made her into the woman she was today. Her experiences were not the same her brother had had. But he was right. She had to tell Wes. But before she could do that, she had to open up to her brother as well, had to tell him the whole truth, the one she'd carried deep inside of her, afraid he might freak and do something stupid.

Not anymore, though. He wasn't the eighteen year old, impulsive teenager anymore. He was twenty-six, almost twenty-seven, and the most responsible person she'd ever known. He could face the truth. She'd faced it, too. Had carried it inside of her, until she'd sometimes thought it would strangle her.

Slowly she pulled back from his embrace and the moment their eyes locked, she took a deep breath, "Angel, there is something I have to tell you. And you're not going to like it."

Part 22

"Jeez, it's raining cats and dogs out here, so move and let me in where it's warm and comfy."

Buffy stepped back from her door, staring disbelievingly at her co-worker and friend, Cordelia Chase. She looked more like a drowned rat than the usually stylish woman the blond saw every day at work, as she quickly entered Buffy's apartment close to dinnertime. "Cordelia?" she asked, still not believing her eyes.

The brunette turned, and pulled off her drenched coat. "Well, it's a relief you still recognize me. Maybe the damage isn't too bad."

"Damage?" Buffy echoed, trying to get her thoughts back on track. She'd been lost in daydreams for the better part of the day, most of them containing Angel, and not a lot of clothes, so it was hard to concentrate on her friend who was looking at her expectantly.

"Duh," Cordelia exclaimed, patting her hair, "Claudio spent ages to get it done, and I'm afraid it's all ruined now."

"Uh," for the first time Buffy really looked at the woman in front of her, and her eyes almost bulged out of her face, "You've cut your hair," she stated in disbelief. "And you're … blond!" And indeed Cordelia had suddenly turned blonde. Not, Buffy thought, that it looked bad. Because it actually looked nice, but somehow it was ... wrong. Yes, that was the only word she could think of. She, Buffy, was blond. Cordelia was brunette. She frowned, not quite sure she could follow her own thoughts today. It was all Angel's fault anyway. He had turned her into someone she barely recognized anymore. Gone was rational, always cool Buffy Summers, and she was replaced by a love-crazed woman, who didn't seem to be able to go a few hours without her lover.

"Do you like it?" the former brunette asked, turning around in front of the real blonde.

"Uhm … yeah, nice," Buffy replied, finally managing to close the door. "What brought that on?"

Cordelia gave her a look, then sighed, "Would you believe if I told you I was in love?"

Dumbfounded Buffy stared at her. Cordelia? In love? Something earth shattering must have happened. As long as she’d known the former brunette, Cordelia had had lovers. But never, not once had she been in love. Not the kind of love Buffy now knew existed, not the kind of love she was suddenly recognizing in her friend's eyes.

Slowly, Buffy nodded, "Yeah, actually I can believe it."

A still brunette brow came up, "You can? Does that mean you and your … hunk finally got it done?"

Feeling a blush creeping up her cheeks, Buffy quickly turned away, and walked towards the kitchen, knowing her friend would follow her. "Do you want a cup of coffee? I just made some fresh."

"You look different," Cordelia said when sat down on one of the chairs. "Lighter somehow." She grinned, "No need to tell me, I'm already seeing it crystal clear. You and Liam, huh?"

Closing her eyes for a moment, Buffy took a deep breath before she turned with a filled cup in her hand. "Did anyone ever tell you that being nosy isn't always welcomed?" Not that she didn't want to talk about Angel. Actually, she wanted to shout it from the roof, but she wasn't so certain she wanted to discuss this with Cordelia. True, her friend had seemed supportive, had even urged her towards an affair with Angel, but that didn't mean she'd be thrilled hearing her boss had helplessly fallen for the "hunk".

A brilliant smile was her answer, "Yeah. Many times. Never bothered me." Cordelia took the cup from Buffy, sipping carefully. "And … is he any good? I mean, he sure does look promising, but a lovely package can be deceiving. Just because he looks like a hunk, it doesn't mean he can get the job done, so to speak."

Buffy couldn't help it, she burst out laughing. "Honestly, Cordy, is there anything else you can think about? But to answer your question, yeah we … uh,are together."

The smile turned even more brilliant, "That's great. Wonderful. For a while I was afraid you'd get stuck on that loser Riley."

Feeling she needed to come to her ex-boyfriend's rescue, Buffy shook her head, "Riley isn't a loser. He's nice. An okay guy, and he'll be a nice girl's dream. He just isn't for me."

"Pah," Cordelia made a sweeping gesture with her hand, "Tell me what you want. For me he's still going to be the loser he is. I've never met anyone more boring. At least he seems to have satisfied you, I have to give him that, even though I'm still at a loss how he did it."

"Oh, I don't know about that." The words were out before Buffy could stop them, and she turned beet red the moment she realized what she'd just said. "Uhm … I mean-"

"I know what you mean," Cordy grinned knowingly. "So Liam is a hunk inside and out. Good to know. You need someone like him. You'll see, passion is the word."

Uh-oh, Buffy thought. Passion. Sure, there was passion. Raw, hot, all-consuming. There was lust. Need. Hunger. But there was also this little part where she loved Angel. With all her heart. She still hadn't said the words yet, but it didn't really matter. What mattered was that she knew. And she was sure Angel knew as well. How could he be so close to her and not know that she loved him, in a way she hadn't even known love could exist. "Yeah," she said finally, realizing that Cordelia was waiting for her to say something, "There is passion. Definitely passion."

"Perfect," Cordy sipped from her coffee, her gaze turning thoughtful, "Did he stay here last night? Because you look exactly like a woman whose been loved thoroughly. Nobody can fake those bedroom eyes.”

Buffy gulped. "Bedroom eyes?"

"Uh-huh," the former brunette nodded, "Take it from a pro. You've got them. But that's a good thing. I'm glad you finally found a good lover. Women need that. Even though most would deny it if asked."

Realizing that Cordelia still thought Angel was nothing but a pastime for Buffy, just a lover like Cordy had had several of, the blond felt inclined to clear up that point. "Cordy," she began, "Liam isn't just … a lover."

A brow came up, "He's not?"

"Well, he is," Buffy amended, "but I - he's more. It's … I -"

The cup met the table with a thump, while Cordelia's eyes widened in disbelief, "You're in love with him?"

Crossing her arms defensively in front of her chest, Buffy raised her chin, "Yes, I am," she replied firmly. "Very much actually."

"But," Cordelia gestured wildly, "But … but he's … young. A lot younger."

Huh? Had she missed something? Was this the same Cordelia who had encouraged her to have an affair? But as she'd thought already, an affair and love were two entirely different things for her friend. "You said yourself-", she tried to defend herself, but was interrupted instantly.

"When I was … telling you to take him as a lover, I thought as a lover. Not to fall in love with him."

"Well, tough," Buffy shot back. "Because I am in love with him. And it's not really any of your business. I don't need to justify our love."

Cordelia held up both hands, "Hey, no need to get angry. I'm just … surprised, I guess. That's not like you. I mean, you never ever did something spontaneous since I've known you."

Somewhat mollified, the blond took her own mug and settled into the chair across the table. "Things … change." She laughed at the words, hardly able to believe how tame they sounded, yet they stood for a complete turn around in her life. "I love him, Cordy," she repeated, "It's amazing and … frightening at the same time. But it's still the same. I love him."

"Tell me about it," the former brunette gave her friend a long last look before lifting her cup again. "And besides. People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones, if you get my drift." She sipped, "Believe it or not, but, I, uh … Do you remember Gunn? The guy who came with Liam that first night?"

Buffy nodded, "Sure I do."

Cordelia snorted slightly, "Which is indeed a miracle, remembering how you had eyes for Liam only."

The blonde's brows rose, "And I wasn't the only one."

Rolling her eyes, her friend let out a long breath, "Okay, okay, I thought he was a hunk, and he still is. I do tend to get caught up in the moment sometimes," she caught Buffy's grin and threw her hands in the air. "Alright, I get caught up every time. But this," she became serious all of a sudden, "this is serious. It's like nothing that ever happened to me before. It's like - WHAM - struck by lightning. Buffy," she sighed dramatically, "I'm a goner. I'm so in love with this guy. And that after I thought myself immune."

"Wait," Buffy held up a hand, "let me get this. You're in love with - Gunn?"

"That's what I've been talking about for the last, ah, half an hour."

Buffy didn't want to point out that the better part of that half hour had been spent talking about her and Angel, Instead she smiled. "Well, it's great."

Cordelia snorted again, "That's what you think. Don't get me wrong. Gunn's a great guy, but he's a street kid, with absolutely no manners, no tact - and okay, I was never accused of having too much tact myself, but still. But the worst of all," Cordy stopped and to her utter surprise, Buffy saw tears well up in the brunette's eyes, before she continued, "The worst part is. I don’t think he loves me back."

Buffy was about to answer, when the doorbell suddenly rang.

*****

Kathie bit her lower lip, her trembling hand hovering over the doorbell at Wesley's home. She'd been standing here for almost an hour, not certain what to do, and even less what to say the moment the door opened. Leaning her head against it, Kathie took a deep, shuddering breath, but it didn't help to steady her. She still remembered the anguish in Angel's eyes when she'd told him. He hadn't doubted her for a moment, believed every word she was saying, had held her while she cried, had kissed her before leaving the house, a painfully vacant expression in his eyes.

Kathie knew she'd hurt him with her story, had taken the remaining bits of innocence, had destroyed all happiness he'd been carrying around today like a beacon. But she also knew he was right when he told her that only the whole truth could bring healing and, in the end, let her move on. She'd carried it around for too long already. It was time to tell her story and that meant not only Wesley, the man she loved, but also Angel, the brother who'd stood by her through everything.

He would get over it, Kathie knew that without doubt, but he had to work through it, the way she'd had to. And maybe, after everything was out in the open now, they would finally learn to live the life of normal people, not scarred by the past, not always doubting themselves, not trying to be careful all the time. Maybe now she could finally love.

Taking another deep breath, she pressed the doorbell, her heart starting to hammer in her chest when she heard footsteps from the inside. The next moment the door was pulled open, revealing Wesley, rumpled and tired, the weariness increasing the moment he recognized her.

"Kathie?"

His voice was rough, and although he certainly hadn't tried to sound sexy it still sent ripples over her skin. She licked her suddenly dry lips, "Hi, Wes."

He looked at her long and hard, before he asked, "What do you want?"

Steadying herself by breathing deeply a third time, she tried to summon a smile, but her lips wouldn't obey. "I … I want to talk to you," she said finally.

"Talk?" His brow came up. He seemed distant, but the sudden light in his eyes made it possible for Kathie to hope. "About what?"

"Would you let me come in?" She bit her lower lip, entwining her hands tightly.

Whatever she had done, something suddenly shifted in his eyes, turning them warm and loving. Had he seen her intention already? God, she hoped he had.

"Wes?" she asked.

Shaking his head slightly, he looked at her. "Will you tell me then?"

She swallowed, "Yes."

Another long and steady look, then slowly, he stepped back, opening his house to her. "Then," he smiled, "you're very welcome."

*****

She couldn't believe her eyes, finding Angel standing in front of her door, but before Buffy could even say a word, Cordelia appeared beside her. "Hey, Liam," she greeted, then frowned when there was no reaction from him. "Hey," she waved a hand in front of his face. "What's your deal?"

"Angel?" Buffy spoke the word slowly, not sure how to approach him. He looked like she'd never seen him before. His gaze was unfocused, he was drenched in rain and sweat, his hair standing up in every direction as if he'd run his fingers through it more than once. His clothes were disheveled, his shoes muddy and wet, as was the rest of the man. But the worst were his eyes. She had seen them angry, happy, glazed with passion, wild with need, but she'd never seen such desolation in them, such pain and fury, and, she realized, the fury was directed inward. At himself.

"Angel?" she said his name again, tentatively reaching out and touching his arm, not caring when he flinched at the touch. She knew it had nothing to do with her touch, but with the way he wasn't really himself right now. "Why don't you come in?" she invited softly, and pulling slightly at his sleeve she became even more concerned when he followed without resistance. "We have to get you out of your clothes. They're dripping wet."

"And that's my cue to go," came Cordelia's voice from behind them.

Buffy looked up, giving her friend an apologetic smile, "I am sorry. I know this is important to you, but-" She shrugged, nodding towards Angel's shaking form, sitting lifeless on one of the chairs in her hallway.

"Hey, no worries. I can recognize an emergency." Cordelia grabbed her coat, making a sound of disgust when she realized it was still wet, then, shrugging, she pulled it on. "See you Monday," she waved, " and then I want to know why you call him Angel." With that she was gone, leaving Buffy with a small grin on her face that vanished instantly when she looked at Angel who still hadn't moved an inch. His hair and clothes were dripping on her carpet, while he was still staring blankly at his hands that were hanging loosely between his thighs.

With greatest care, as if handling a raw egg, Buffy put a hand on his shoulder. "Angel, you need to get out of your clothes," she repeated her words from before. She sighed when there was again no reaction. He was too heavy to just drag him towards her bathroom, but she couldn't leave him like this either. Somehow she had to get his attention, had to break through this wall of silence he was wearing like a shield right now. At least he'd come to her, she thought, hoping that meant he trusted her the way she trusted him.

She was about to talk to him again, when suddenly he started to speak. The words came slowly, as if torn painfully from his soul, his gaze still firmly focused on the floor. "I walked," he began, his voice rough, almost raw, "I … I don't know how long. I … lost track of time."

Buffy kneeled down before him, eager to look at him, to make him look at her. "That's okay," she whispered, cupping one cheek with her hand, horrified when the skin of his face was clammy and cold, the lips already turning blue. "Angel, please. You need to change your clothes. You're getting sick."

He laughed at that, hollowly, a sound that made Buffy's heart ache. "Doesn't matter," he murmured. "Nothing matters. Absolutely nothing."

"You're wrong," she said urgently, framing his face in her hands, "So wrong. A lot matters. We matter. Our love for each other."

His eyes flickered to hers, and for a moment the old warmth was back, and a glimpse of hope, but they were instantly gone, once again replaced by pain and hopelessness. "Does it?" he asked. "Really?"

Growing more and more concerned with his unfamiliar behavior, Buffy kissed his ice-cold lips, then forced him to look at her. "Angel, listen to me. We're together now. There's nothing we can't do. Nothing we can't conquer. But first you have to tell me what happened?" She grabbed the first thing that came into her mind, "Did something happen to Kathie?"

He erupted almost violently at the mention of his sister's name, coming out of the chair, not caring that Buffy was pushed backward. He walked towards the door, his hand reaching for the handle, then fell down to the floor. His shoulders slumped, he stayed that way, didn't turn, didn't look at her. "I … I don't know if I can do this," he whispered finally. "I … God, Buffy. I don't know if I can live with this."

She was behind him in an instant, slinging her arms around his waist, holding him, pressing herself close as much as she could, not caring that his soaked clothes were now soaking hers, only wanting to give him warmth. To give him love. "You can," she said firmly. "We can. Please, Angel, tell me."

She felt him shudder in her arms, and knew it had nothing to do with him being cold from the rain, before his hands came up to cover hers that were still resting on his stomach. "I'm so glad you're here," he whispered. "So glad."

"Me too," she replied. "And I will not go away."

He laughed again, harshly, unhappily, "Don’t be so sure. Maybe you will as soon as you know that my father raped my sister and I did nothing to prevent it."

Part 23

Angel didn't know what he had expected to happen after the words, torn from his very soul, had tumbled from his lips. He wouldn’t have been surprised if she stepped back, stunned and shocked, and looked at him with disgust and horror - or if she screamed and told him to get out. But as she'd done before, she surprised him completely by tightening her arms around him, pressing herself even closer to his back, the warmth of her body penetrating the chill he was feeling in and out, bringing him back to life where he'd thought himself dead just moments ago.

Hearing his sister telling him about their father had been a torture he'd never experienced before. He thought after living through the night of her sixteenth birthday, nothing could shock him. He'd been wrong. God, he'd been so wrong. And he'd been ignorant and stupid not to see what had happened right before his eyes.

"He...he raped your sister?"

Angel heard Buffy's whispered question, her voice soft, full of love and understanding, but each word felt like a blow to his midsection, even though he knew it wasn't meant that way. How could Buffy do it, he wondered, how could she touch him, feel him, when he wanted to shed his skin to get rid of the guilt and self-disgust that was threatening to consume him. "Yes," he replied, his voice barely recognizable, even to him. "He raped her ... abused her ... for years. It started when she was eight, and went on until he married our stepmother." He felt his body tighten, took a deep breath, trying to control the fury rising in him. "It went on for years, and I never knew."

"You were a little boy yourself, Angel. Barely older than Kathie. How were you supposed to know?"

"I don't know," he exclaimed, freeing himself from her arms, not able to stand her touching him any longer. She was too good, too true to be tainted by him. He was not worth being touched by her. "But I should have," he insisted. "I was closer to her than anyone-," he stopped, laughed harshly, the sound filled with self-loathing, "Or so I thought. Now I find out that there was someone much closer."

"Angel, no," Buffy shook her head, horrified by the way he was accusing himself, the way he had pushed her away. "It was your father who raped her. A grown man. You were only ten when it started."

"But don't you see," he cried, whirling around, facing her with those pain-filled eyes, eyes that only hours ago had been filled with passion and laughter. "I was the only one she had. I was her brother. I was supposed to take care of her. There was no one else."

God, how she wished she could turn back time, could return that easy look to his eyes, but of course it wasn't going to happen. Life couldn't be turned back, and the terrible truth about Kathie would have come out sooner or later. At least now she was there, could be there for him. And she would, Buffy vowed to herself, stepping closer to Angel. She would help him through this, the way he'd helped her through her own nightmares. "And what," she asked slowly, "would you have done? You, a ten year old boy, against a grown up man."

"I could have..." he started, then stopped, lifting his shoulders in a helpless gesture, "maybe informed the authorities, I don't know."

"No, you don't, do you?" she said softly, slowly, tentatively putting a hand on his arm that had started to tremble. Whether from the cold or the emotional turmoil, she couldn't be sure. But right now it didn't really matter. He might wake up with a cold tomorrow, but that was nothing compared to the pain he was going through right now. "So if you still don't know how to handle such a problem, what would you have done sixteen years ago? Listen to me, Angel. There is nothing you could have done. It's your father who is responsible, nobody else."

"She didn't tell me because she though it was her fault," Angel said, looking past her at nothing. She realized he hadn't even listened to her words. "Because she thought I'd be angry." He took a ragged breath, "Her fault. God, she was barely more than a baby. And then, after my father stopped, after she was pulling herself together, three of Parker's drunken friends tried to rape her on her sixteenth birthday. No wonder, she almost slipped away after that."

Buffy flinched at the mention of Parker Abrams, but pulled herself together quickly, "Three of Parker's friends?"

He nodded, "Yeah. They were celebrating at our home. Kathie came home from a party two girlfriends had thrown for her, she'd just come out of her shell again." He shook his head, half in disbelief, half in anger, "She was such a happy kid, and suddenly she became quiet, and I never even guessed." He turned away again, pounding a fist against the wall, making Buffy wince. "God, I was so stupid."

Not quite sure what to say, she thought that making him talk might be the best thing, so she asked, "So she came from the party?"

Buffy saw him shudder, realized he was pulling himself together with great difficulty. "She was late. Her luck was they were stone drunk, too far gone to do any real damage, but with her history it was still enough to almost drive her over the edge. When I found her that night, she was barely speaking, just kept repeating the word 'no'. She wouldn't let me touch her. If was a few hours before she even let me take her in my arms."

He paused for a moment, taking a deep breath, remembering finding his sister, her clothes torn, her eyes vacant and unfocused, her lip bloody, screaming when he tried to get close. "I had just turned eighteen a month before and had decided it was time to move out. I wanted to take her with me, but my father resisted." He laughed harshly, "You have three guesses why. She didn't want to stay, but never told me why. Of course I didn't ask either. I was too busy ignoring what was right in front of me." Breathing deeply again, he continued, "Anyways. Finally she told me what happened that night and I told my father. He wanted to avoid bringing the police into it, because one of Parker's friends was the mayor's son. So I blackmailed him. I promised to keep quiet if he let her go with me."

"And he agreed." It wasn't a question. Buffy knew Angel's father had agreed. After all she knew about the man by now, she also guessed he didn't care enough for his daughter to do anything else.

"Yes," he confirmed. "Grudgingly at first, but he did. So that night, after I had a fall out with Parker because he didn't keep his buddies in check, we packed Kathie's stuff, and never went home again. Kat had a hard time dealing with what I thought was that particular night. I didn't have a clue that ...it had brought back memories that were a lot worse."

He was shaking like a leaf by now, but he didn't care. He felt cold inside in a way he never had before, so what did it matter that his wet clothes only added a coldness to the outside? He realized that Buffy was still standing close to him, but he didn't dare look at her. He couldn't take her love or her compassion right now. He didn't deserve it, couldn't accept it. Not when he'd failed as a brother in a way he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to forgive. Why on earth had he come here in the first place?

Turning around, but carefully avoiding her gaze, Angel straightened. "I need to go," he announced, moving towards the door, then stopped when she stepped in his way.

"No way," she said firmly, touching his arm. "You're not leaving. Or if you do, I'm coming with you. I'm not going to let you go like this."

"You can't stop me," he warned, hardening himself against the concern he heard in her voice. "Do you really think you can stop me?"

"Yes, I think I can," she told him gently. "You wouldn't hurt me, and that would be the only way to get through me now."

Anger flared, unfocused, hot, untamed. It was a lot better than the other feelings that were tearing him apart, so he welcomed it, and used it to steel himself when he finally looked down at her. "Don't be so sure," he warned again, "My opinion of myself isn't all to high right now. I'm not sure it would matter anymore if I had another bit of guilt on my conscience."

"That's nonsense, Angel," she replied, not backing away an inch. "You love me. I didn't want to hear it. I didn't want to deal with it. But I know it now. You couldn't hurt a person you love."

"Oh, really?" he said bitingly. "Maybe you should just ask Kathie, she might tell you otherwise."

"I'm sure she doesn't blame you," Buffy told him, wanting to touch him. But she knew she couldn't, knew he wouldn't be able to stand it.

"No, she doesn't," he admitted, remembering his sister's words, before he'd left the house. ((**It's not your fault, Angel.**)) "But she should," he insisted. "I am responsible, even though I never laid a finger on her. But standing by and letting it happen is almost as bad."

"But you didn't know!" Buffy cried, desperately trying to make him understand. "And again. You were only ten. A little boy. Your father abused your sister. He was the adult. Not you. Not you." She repeated the last words for emphasis, but had a feeling they bounced off him without changing a thing. Instead of listening to her, he was getting worse. He was building walls around himself, was trying to push her away. Well, she wouldn't let him. Not when they'd just managed to get past her ghosts. Not when she'd finally accepted that she loved him.

"I love you," she said suddenly, firmly. "I didn't tell you before, because ... because, I don't know why," she said finally, "But it doesn't matter. You made it possible. You made me love you, Angel. With your laughter, your gentleness, your love, your passion. I'm in love with you, and it's something I never expected to happen. I don't even care anymore that you're younger. It doesn't matter." Now she grabbed his arms, forcing him to stop ignoring her, "Are you listening to me? You made me love you. You can’t do that, and then turn away again. Do you hear me? I won't let you do this!"

In the end she was hitting his chest with her fists, not even realizing what she was doing. The fear of losing him was too great to just let him retreat into a shell. "I love you dammit," she shouted, "I love you. Doesn't that mean anything for you?"

Angel stared down at her, saw her scream, saw her shout, felt the blows on his chest, and something inside of him opened and refused to close up again. He loved this woman. Loved her in a way that was far beyond anything he'd ever expected. He loved her. And more amazingly, she loved him. And she was fighting for him now, fighting for the man she loved.

The groan started deep in his chest, then broke out through his lips, bringing her name with it, hardly recognizable, but it made her stop and look up at him with tear filled eyes. "Buffy."

"I am sorry," she cried, "Sorry for what happened to Kathie. Sorry you couldn't help her. But I won't allow you to destroy what we have. Let me help you, Angel, please don't pull away from me. This is what love is about. And I love you."

He felt his own eyes tear, felt a sob rise, and then, almost overwhelmed by his feelings for her, he closed his arms around her, pulling her close, holding on to her like his life depended on it. "I love you," he whispered. "And I need you. God, I need you so. This hurts. Oh God, Buffy, this hurts."

They sank on the floor, holding onto each other, and although Buffy realized she was crying, she knew that the tears weren't just sad ones. Because this time she was the one to help, this time Angel was the one who had to trust her, believe in her, rely on her. It wasn't just her taking and him giving. No, now they were equal partners.

*****

Wesley was holding her in the loose embrace of his right arm, while the fingers of his left hand were combing through the dark waves of her hair. He tried his best to suppress the violent shudder that was quivering in his inner core. The rage like nothing he'd ever known before was almost consuming him.

"My father," he began quietly, keeping his fingers running through her hair, hoping it would eventually calm him the way it seemed to calm her, "used to beat me into submission when I was still a boy. And when I still wouldn't back down, he simply locked me into a closet in our hallway, only letting me out when I begged for forgiveness."

He heard the soft gasp, before Kathie turned in his embrace, shifting on the sofa they were both sitting on, so she could look at him. He was once again amazed by the wealth of compassion he saw in her eyes. How, he wondered, could someone who'd suffered so much, still feel the pain of others the way she did?

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"God," he exclaimed violently, then took a deep breath when he caught her startled gaze. The last thing he wanted was to scare her. He was still hardly able to believe that she was permitting him to touch her, even kiss her. "I am sorry," he apologized. "I didn't tell you this, so you'd feel sorry for me."

"I know," she smiled, reaching out to touch his cheek. Her eyes, like those of her brother, mature beyond her years, were full of love and understanding. "But I'm still sorry. No child should have to live through such a thing. When..." she faltered for a moment, then cleared her throat, "my father started ...showing interest, I, I thought it was me, that I did something that made him...Because, you know, it hurt. The first time-"

This time Wesley wasn't able to just sit and listen. He let go of her, surging up from the sofa in one violent motion. Ramming his hands through his hair, he took three angry paces towards the door, then stopped, "God, I can't even believe I'm thinking this, but I'm sorry the bastard is dead. I really am. I want to stand in front of him, and then put my hands around his throat, and watch while the life slowly slips out of his body." Still staring at the door, he shook his head, "And I thought I wasn't a violent person."

"It wouldn't be worth it," Kathie said softly.

"Yes, it would," he said bitingly, clenching his hands into fists, desperately trying to cling to the rest of his sanity. "Believe me, it definitely would."

"I should have phrased it differently," she replied. "*He* wouldn't have been worth it. And because I knew it I didn't tell Angel, because I didn't want it to happen. Angel might not have killed him, but he ... might have hurt him and I didn't want him to end up in jail. Not for ... him." She paused, sighed softly, "In the end he died a very painful death from the cancer that was eating up his stomach. Maybe that was his final punishment."

And he left the house and all his money to his wife and her son, not to his natural children, Wesley thought. Kathie had told him that at the beginning of their relationship. Wesley had thought the man was scum then, he knew he was the lowest kind of bastard now.

"I..." her voice was - again - very soft, "I love you, Wes. It's something I never expected to happen. But I, I would understand if..." He turned slowly and saw her frown, her eyes uncertain as she started gnawing her lip. "I mean," she shrugged, looking at him a bit sheepishly, "I'm not sure I can stand a man touching me."

"Kathie-"

"No," she held up a hand, "I, I want you to know this. I want you to know what you're getting into, before-"

"Kathie," now he was interrupting her, but he didn't care. He couldn't let her go on like this. "I'm not sure what I did to deserve you," he told her, smiling slowly, "and I might be an idiot sometimes, but don't think I'm going to let you go. I can recognize a real treasure when I see one. I know there are no guarantees, Kathie. But I'm willing to risk it. You're worth it."

He saw her lips twitch, but she didn't smile yet. "Wes, I-"

"I love you," he said, approaching the sofa, his eyes never leaving hers. "And I'm not such a prize myself. I mean I'm… some years old than you, and I might be unemployed very soon with this accusation hanging over my head. I know your brother is trying to help, but he might not be able to. So," he sat down, taking her hand, and grinned, "Don't you think we're a match made in heaven?"

At that she suddenly started to laugh, and a moment later, without warning, threw her arms around his neck, "If you put it that way," she said, "How can I do anything but agree?"

*****

"I need-" Angel started, but was interrupted instantly by two soft fingers pressed against his lips.

"You need to do nothing," Buffy said softly, but firmly, pressing his bare shoulders against the pillow. She'd finally managed to get him out of his clothes, although the situation hadn't been at all like the one she'd pictured ever since he'd left her apartment that morning. Afterwards she'd pushed him under the hot shower, not caring that her own clothes got soaked in the process, only glad he was finally getting warm again. And then, not giving him room for any discussion, she'd pulled him into her bedroom and into her bed.

That’s where he was right now, clad only in a pair of boxer shorts, the lone piece of his clothing that had miraculously stayed dry. Under different circumstances, it would have been highly erotic, but right now, Buffy was only relieved he didn’t look as if he might collapse at any moment anymore. Or die from pneumonia. Or both.

"I need to call Kathie," he insisted, trying to sit up again.

"No," Buffy told him, shaking her head, "she already called. While you were in bathroom, getting dry. She’s with Wesley." She once again put two fingers over his mouth when he was about to protest. "She is fine, Angel. Wesley will take care of her. She told him everything. There is nothing you can do. Not tonight."

"I love you," he murmured around her fingers.

"I love you, too," she replied, kissing him quickly, softly. "I want you to sleep now."

It was indication of his exhaustion that he simply nodded, not even trying to protest again. But when she got up, he held onto her hand. "Stay?" he queried.

She reached behind her to switch off the light. Slipping under the covers, wearing only a tee shirt and panties herself, she kissed him on the forehead. "Always," she whispered. In response he pulled her close and sighed, and minutes later was asleep.

Part 24

Kathie snuggled deeper into the soft material underneath her head, trying to shield her ears from the noise that came floating through the air. She felt much too comfortable like this, to give up this spot to whatever reality wanted to intrude. Unfortunately her pillow didn't seem to have the same thoughts, and started to shift underneath her almost the same moment. She let out a little noise of displeasure, when her pillow suddenly chuckled.

"Hey, sleepyhead." Wesley's sleep roughened voice rumbled into her ear, sending pleasant shivers over her skin. "Someone's at the door."

"Mmmph," she replied unintelligibly. Kathie - and no other member of the Sullivan family for that matter - had never been a morning person, and although she didn’t have the slightest idea about what time it was, she'd bet it wasn't even eight yet. "Too early," she mumbled.

"I know." Wesley sighed, before she felt his lips touch her forehead ever so slightly. "And on a Sunday, at that. I wouldn't have minded staying with you like this - uh - let's say ten or twenty years," he grinned, "but we can't just ignore the person out there."

"Can't we?" she whined.

He chuckled again, then became serious, tilting her chin up with one crooked index finger. "It could be your brother, darling. Didn't you tell me he was not taking this news well, which I can't really blame him for, by the way."

She was wide-awake in an instant. "Angel," she said her brother's name, her voice betraying the concern she felt for him. She'd seen how hard the news had hit him, and Buffy's words on the phone hadn't helped either. The only good thing was that he was with the woman he loved. Kathie looked up at Wesley. Yes, she knew what love could be worth. "You are right," she gave Wesley a quick smile, then scrambled up from the sofa they'd fallen asleep on last night, trying to straighten her clothes, knowing it wasn't going to work anyway.

Giving up the effort, she hurried through the hallway and reached for the door handle.

*

Faith had been standing in front of the door for the better part of the last hour, alternately gnawing her lips, or stepping from one foot to the other, sometimes glancing at the man in the car on the street.

When the door finally opened, her voice cracked, but she still managed to get out, "Hey."

For a moment Kathie didn't recognize the person standing in front of Wesley's apartment door, who was trying to smile at her from underneath her rain hat. The heavy drops were dripping down the sides and onto her shoulders that were covered in a well-used Barbour-coat. But when she heard the voice, the hairs in her nape stood up straight. Her voice tight, she nodded slightly, "Faith Marshall."

The dark eyes flickered toward the ground, than back at Kathie, and Angel's sister could almost feel how uncomfortable the other woman was. Good, she thought, not feeling the least bit of compassion for the student who had put Wesley through hell. Raising her chin, and quirking a brow, Kathie asked, "What do you want?"

"I … uh..." Faith looked at the young woman in the doorway, easily recognizing her as the professor's secretary, and judging from the fact that she'd opening his door on a Sunday morning, probably a lot more. The old Faith would have used that knowledge to her advantage. The college didn't look fondly on professors who became intimate with lower members of the staff, but the new Faith only tired to clear her throat, then said, "I … I know it's kind of a strange time for a visit. And I'm," she laughed slightly, "sure I'm the last person you want to see."

"You've got that right," Kathie replied, not showing any inclination to invite the other woman in, although the rain was pouring down on her heavily.

Well, she hadn't expected them to dance with joy at seeing her, Faith reminded herself firmly, once again risking a glance back at the black Mustang parked in front of the house, and the man in the driver's seat. Their eyes met for a short moment, and the message that passed between them gave Faith the courage to go on. "I … could I, maybe, come in?"

Kathie's other brow came up as well, her whole posture that of a mother protecting her young, or a lover her man, Faith thought with a flicker of amusement, once again thinking of the man in the car. "You want me to invite you in?"

"I … I need to talk to Professor Wyndham-Price," Faith explained, her eyes pleading. "It's really important."

A moment passed before Kathie shifted slightly on her feet, and after throwing a glance over her shoulder, she looked back at Faith. "If you promise not to run and scream sexual harassment again," she said sternly, her eyes holding a warning that nobody in his right mind would miss.

"I promise. I didn't come to make trouble, I came to apologize," Faith replied quickly, then released a long breath when the other woman stepped back and allowed her to enter the house.

"Give me your coat," Kathie held out a hand, then took the jacket from Faith, her face doubtful. "So, what brought this on?" she wanted to know.

This time a slight smile lifted the corners of Faith full lips. "Let's just say someone made me see my errant ways," she replied cryptically, following Kathie into the living room.

*

// With Tess gone home to her parent's farm in Oregon, Faith had expected for her weekend to be dull and uneventful. So when someone knocked at the door of her dorm on Saturday night, she had welcomed the distraction, only to freeze when she came face to face with Lindsey's arrogant smile.

"Faith," he said with a slight not, pushing past her and not waiting for an invitation.

"Hello to you, too," she replied with open sarcasm, closing the door and leaning against it. "You look a bit … worse for wear," she stated finally, noticing with amazement his wrinkled clothes, the circles underneath his eyes, and his hair standing up in every possible direction, as if he'd constantly run his fingers through it. "What happened to you?"

He stopped at the wall opposite to the door and Faith could see him take a deep breath before he turned around, facing her squarely, "You," he said finally, once again combing his hands through his hair. "You happened to me."

A brow came up, "Excuse me? I'm a little bit confused, so could you … maybe,explain?"

God, she was so beautiful, it took his breath away. For all his rational reasoning this morning, thinking about her through the day had almost driven him crazy. Instead of working on a case, he’d sat in his apartment, staring at nothing, picturing her face before his inner eye. Finally - and shockingly - he'd realized what had happened. He'd fallen in love with Faith Marshall.

"Ever since I left your dorm," he began, looking at her wryly, "I've been restless and … I didn't sleep very well last night. I finally figured you out were the problem." He shrugged out of his jacket, threw it on the bed, and slowly walked towards her. "You are spoiled even though your parents don't really take care of you, you use people, you're used to getting what you want, but," he stopped, so close now she could feel his body heat, "I can't help liking you."

Too stunned to say a word, she simply stared at him.

Making a waving gesture in the air, he went on, "Oh, I've tried to talk myself out of this, I mean, it's probably the biggest mistake I’ve ever made. But here it is. I care for you, and I don't care if telling you is the smart thing. So-," he stopped, breathing hard, "Are you interested?"

Her mouth painfully dry, Faith licked her lips, then swallowed, desperately trying to keep her cool, "You," she said hoarsely, “care for me?"

In response Lindsey's incredibly blue eyes narrowed, "Don't get any ideas," he warned, "I'm not going to go soft on you. You're not going to push me around. I'm not one of the idiots you usually seem to fall for."

"N-no," she stuttered, trying to comprehend what was going on. He cared for her? He liked her? She'd thought after their one - admittedly memorable - sexual encounter things were over. But obviously he didn't think so. His eyes were stormy, but this time they were still blue, not turning gray. He wasn't as angry as he'd been in the office and the night before. No, something else flickered in the depths, something that made her stomach do a little flip-flop.

"So," his voice turned impatient, "What do you think?"

"Uh-," What were they talking about? Oh, the caring thing. She looked at him again, feeling weak and warm at the same time, and afraid. God, she'd never been so scared. But she'd also never - not since Kevin - spent a night dreaming and thinking about a man. And this one seemed as serious as they came. And there was this little flip-flop feeling she couldn't get rid of. "Yes," she said, her heart pounding a mile a minute. God, what had she done?

Again something flickered through his eyes, and he relaxed slightly, placing his hands on either side of her, "There's one condition though."

Feeling all her hopes instantly shatter, all the warmth gone, Faith's gaze hardened and her voice became sarcastic. "Oh," she lifted her chin, "I should've known this would come with a price tag attached. What is it? Want me to talk to Daddy, so he can-"

She couldn't finish it, because his lips covered hers without warning, effectively cutting off whatever she'd been about to say, and leaving her breathless when he finally lifted his mouth again. "Don't ever accuse me of something like that again," he warned, his eyes glittering dangerously, "Your father only interests me because he is your father, although I'm not sure he deserves the title, but that's another problem. Not that I don't like having money, but I'm not going to play anyone's bitch for it. And I do have problems with parents neglecting their children."

His eyes suddenly softened, and with a one fingertip he stroked the skin of her cheek. "No," he murmured, kissing her once again, but playfully this time, "that's not what I meant. What I want from you is to withdraw these silly accusations against your professor. You and I, we both know that he never touched you, never harassed you. You don't need such nonsense to get other people's attention. You're too smart and way too beautiful for that."

"You … you think I'm beautiful?" God, was that her voice, so squeaky and foreign? Faith felt her eyes water, and tried desperately not to cry. But nobody - not even Kevin - had ever called her beautiful. And nobody had ever cared for her the way he did. If she wasn't careful Lindsey was going to turn her into a blubbering fool.

"Of course I think you're beautiful," he replied. "But I'm not going to say that too often. You could use it against me." He smiled to soften his words, showing her it wasn't serious. "So, will you do it?"//

*****

"So, the girl withdrew her accusations?" Buffy asked Angel from her spot on his bare chest. Her eyes took in every detail of his beautiful face, the straight nose, and his full lips that she wanted to kiss all the time, and the dark eyes, where she had seen a myriad of emotions in the short time they knew each other. The same eyes that looked at her now with open amazement.

"Yes," he nodded, placing the receiver back on the cradle. "Obviously someone made her see that it was wrong." He shook his head, "I'd like to meet that person. I don't know Faith Marshall, but I have a feeling she isn't easy to handle."

"Maybe she's in love," Buffy suggested.

"What makes you say that?" he wanted to know, watching her closely. He'd slept fitfully at first, thrashing and turning in his sleep, waking up time and again, sweaty and panting. But she'd been there every time, soothing him, whispering words of comfort, or simply loving him.

"Well," she smiled at him now, that smile he had come to love, the smile he wanted to see each morning from now on. "Love can change people," she was saying, "Nobody knows that better than I." She kissed him lightly, then looked at him with serious eyes, "How is Kathie?"

"She," Angel once again shook his head in amazement, thinking about his sister, her past, and his own guilty feelings that seemed so overwhelming yesterday. Everything looked a lot better in the face of the morning, greatly improved by Buffy, and the laughter he heard coming from Kathie. "She sounds happy. Almost bubbly." He laughed, pulling Buffy close, "She loves him," he stated, "And you're right. Love can change people. But it seems it also can work miracles. I’ve never heard her like this, she's … the way I remember her when she was very young. Her voice was so full of happiness."

"That's good," Buffy said softly, stroking his chest. "How do you feel about it?"

"About Wesley and Kathie?"

Buffy nodded, breathing a kiss on the sensitive flesh between his nipples, making him shiver. "Yeah."

He suppressed a moan at her ministrations, then concentrating on the subject, he shrugged, slightly shifting on the bed to get more comfortable, "I'm glad. I mean, I … wasn't sure. He's fourteen years her senior, but maybe she really needs someone like him. He isn't imposing in any way, he seems very considerate, and I have a feeling he's got his own demons to deal with. Of course," he suddenly grinned, "being Kathie's older brother, I don't want to think of them intimately in any way," he sighed dramatically, "but I have to accept it."

"I'm glad you're better today," she told him, glad his eyes were soft and loving this morning. There were still shadows in them, and some of them probably would never go away, but at least he didn't look anymore as if his world had ended.

"That's because of you," he replied softly, letting two fingers trail over her cheek, then cupping it with his hand, "I don't know what I would've done without you." He didn't even want to think about it. He'd been about to drown in despair and guilt, and only Buffy's love had pulled him from the brink.

"I love you," she whispered, kissing him, feeling warm from his words, but also a little scared. He put a lot of responsibility in her lap. But while she'd have shied away from it only days ago, his love had given her the strength to deal. It was a wonderful feeling. "I love you so very much."

"Love you back," he murmured between more kisses. Then, "You hungry?"

"Later," she said, kissing him so thoroughly, he forgot all about food, only feeling this incredible woman, her warmth, her love, and returning her kiss with all the love of his own.

Buffy moaned and shifted so that she was lying on top of him. She could feel his arousal, could feel herself responding. Before she opened up to him, she looked into his eyes, almost black with passion. She hadn't told him that Parker Abrams was the father of her lost baby. Maybe one day she would, but somehow it wasn't important anymore. She knew Parker had already forgotten her, and his ghost that had haunted her for so long, had been banished by love, and a pair of brown eyes that glazed over when their bodies joined the way their souls already had, carrying her to heaven and a future where the past couldn't hurt anymore.

END