Author's Notes: I am back with more drabbles. Well, this is more like a one-shot then drabble but either way, this one takes place after the events of Beauty and the Beasts. Enjoy.

Under the guidance of the moon, she walks up the lonely path toward the opposing mansion.

To the casual observer, it appeared abandoned; no signs indicating it was ever occupied.

But he was there.

Waiting for her.

For her.

Her hands started trembling as soon as she neared the garden doors.

Ears ringing, heart thumping, her fingers touched the cool brass knobs, slowly pushing the door ajar.

Her feet begged her to turn around and head towards home.

It was too dangerous for her to be anywhere near him.

Too dangerous for them both.

And for their world.

What would she say to the others if they discovered the secret she was keeping?

They had no idea Angel was here, much less alive.

The worse, if she were to be honest, was that Angel himself would know she no longer had his cross nor the Claddagh ring he had given her for her birthday.

More than anything in the world, the thought frightened her.

She couldn't lie to herself and pretended that she no longer loved him, nor care what he thought.

It was quite the opposite.

Because she did.

He was the only freaky thing that still mattered to her.

Composing herself, she entered the living room, her eyes studying the cold, empty surroundings.

"Angel?"

No answer.

She tried for his bedroom, and found him nestled underneath the red velvet covers, his chest bare.

Her heart skipped. She struggled to keep an impassive expression on her face, looking anywhere else but him.

"Hey. I brought food," she mumbled, setting a brown paper bag on the bedside table.

He glanced at her, his own face steady as he pulled the covers towards him.

"Thanks," was all he answered. It was almost immediately that he noticed the missing cross and ring.

"You're not wearing your…" he began, but stopped, unsure what to say next.

"Yeah. I figured wearing them would remind me too much of what happened. I didn't think I could bear that. Going through the days was already hard enough. It was the literal definition of my personal hell."

She folded and unfolded her hands, the awkwardness palpable in the air.

Angel remained silent. His face became a blank canvas; unreadable even to her.

"I…I guess I better get going," Buffy announced, turning her back to him.

Suddenly, a large cold hand gripped hers, keeping her in her place.

"Don't," Angel pleaded. "I want you to stay."

Alarm bells sounded off in her head.

"I'm safe when you're here," he admitted.

He pulled the Slayer towards him, encircling his arms around her.

Her body stiffened, but she didn't resist.

She gazed into his eyes and felt herself drowning in them once again, a deep, pitiful sadness threatening to reach the surface of her.

Her eyes spilled wetness onto his covers.

Gently, with the pad of his thumb, he wiped them away.

Despite her self-imposed boundaries, she stayed with him throughout the night.

And when Angel drifted peacefully into a sound sleep, she held his hand in hers. Warmth against coolness.

When her eyes couldn't keep wake anymore, she rose from her loveseat, placed a gentle kiss to his lips, then joined him to unconsciousness.

All while his hand being protected by her own.

Fin.