A/N: This one shot is set around the time frame of "Revelations" and was inspired by a convo with flyersfan on LM. We both wondered if Buffy and Angel had ever talked about his time in hell and her guilt over being the one who sent him there. This is my first Angel/Buffy fic, so be kind. Feedback is enthusiastically welcome.

To Hell and Back

Buffy walked into the mansion hesitantly. She was still a little wary of Angel, newly returned from hell. To be honest, she was afraid of the undercurrent of barely leashed violence in the man she loved. That's right, she still loved him, in spite of all that had happened. Maybe she needed a shrink. God knows, she had to be nuts to come here on the lame excuse of bringing him more blood. It wasn't even noon, he was probably still sleeping, so he wouldn't need it for four or five hours yet. But she couldn't seem to stay away. Setting the bag on the couch, she moved silently toward the bedroom.

She could barely make him out in the darkness, his bare torso a pale blur against the dark sheets. He was moving restlessly, muttering in his sleep, and her heart clenched as his words registered.

"Bastards! Stay back, I swear I'll kill you!" he growled in a low, vicious voice she'd never heard him use before. His head tossed on the pillow. "I said stay back! Don't make me—"

She perched gingerly on the edge of the bed. "Angel?" she murmured, afraid to wake him too abruptly. She reached out a trembling hand and touched the cold skin of his shoulder. "Angel," she said louder, pushing at him gently.

He shot upright so suddenly she nearly fell off the edge of the bed. The violence of the dream had brought his game face to the fore and her heart stopped for a moment as his yellow eyes glared at her fiercely. In the next moment it was gone as he recognized her.

"Buffy," he said hoarsely. Sitting up, he scrubbed both hands down his face, trying to wipe away the remnants of the vivid nightmare. "What are you doing here?" he asked, unable to meet her eyes. No matter what she said, he hated her to see that side of him.

"I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd stop in," she said, forcing a light tone, watching him closely. His eyes kept bouncing away from hers as though he was having a hard time holding her gaze. "What were you dreaming about?"

Angel pushed himself up higher on the bed and the sheet fell to his lap. Buffy's mouth went dry as her eyes roamed the sculpted planes of his torso. Knock it off! she scolded herself sternly and forced herself to focus on his face.

He seemed to be having trouble shaking the effects of the dream. "I—I was in the demon dimension," he said haltingly. A wave of guilt washed over her at the obvious pain he was in. She had sent him there. She couldn't imagine the torture he had endured.

"What was it like?" she whispered, dreading the answer but needing to hear it anyway.

Angel lifted a shoulder, his gaze skipping past her. "You don't want to know," he murmured, obviously uncomfortable talking about it.

Buffy decided to let it slide for the moment, but there was something she needed to get off her chest. "I'm sorry," she said huskily. He gave her a puzzled look. "For…sending you there. If there had been any other way—"

Angel sighed and his eyes met hers dead on for the first time. "It was my fault, if I hadn't opened that portal—"

The depth of pain in those deep brown eyes caused her heart to squeeze. "That wasn't you, it was Angelus—" she argued desperately.

"He's part of me," Angel said roughly. Buffy's eyes were wide and she shook her head, but he spoke to forestall her denial. "Face it, he is. He's there, always under the surface, struggling to take over."

"No!" Buffy said firmly, shaking her head. "You won't let him. I know you," she finished on a broken whisper.

"I did," Angel whispered painfully. Buffy gasped. "When I was in the hell dimension, I had to let the demon in me out, just to survive. There was so much violence there…I wouldn't have lasted if I hadn't…" His eyes held such deep sorrow. Buffy fought the urge to embrace him. "After awhile it was just easier to let it—" he broke off, unable to finish the thought.

Comprehension dawned. That's why he'd been little more than an animal when he'd come back. Tears clogged her throat. Angel leaned forward and stroked her cheek softly. "I forgave you a long time ago, if there was ever anything to forgive. I know you only did what you had to do."

She blinked at him, lips trembling as a pair of tears rolled down her cheeks. He brushed one away with his thumb, unbearably touched by her concern for him. His eyes dropped to her mouth, so close all he had to do was lean forward a few inches…

Her pulse was pounding, he could hear it. Her eyes were dilated, the irises almost completely gone. She made the decision for him and he was lost as her lips met his softly. His eyes fluttered shut and he groaned. Her taste, just like he'd remembered, like he'd dreamed of all those years in hell. At times it was all that kept him sane.

Buffy couldn't breathe. She had missed this so much. How had she survived? Her tongue ran the seam of his lips and she moaned a little when they parted for her. His hand ran lightly down her neck and over her shoulder, urging her closer. Their kisses became more frenzied, sipping, nipping, devouring, sending their passions to unbearable heights. Just like they had on that night, when they'd made love and set Angelus free…

Suddenly Buffy tore away, standing and taking a stumbling step away from the bed, the back of her hand pressed to her mouth. A sob caught in her throat. They had to stop. They couldn't…

Angel fell back against the pillows, stunned by the intensity of his passion. He'd almost said the hell with it, damn the consequences, he wanted her so badly. He closed his eyes so he couldn't see her, wouldn't be tempted, clutched the sheets to stop himself from reaching for her…

"I—I should go," she whispered, staring at the wall.

He didn't trust himself to answer so he nodded, then realized she wasn't looking at him and couldn't hear him nod. "Yeah, okay," he said huskily, then cleared his throat. "See you later?" he asked, hating himself for the need in his voice.

She nodded, still without looking at him, then started for the door. "I left you some blood…on the couch…I mean, its not on the couch, its in a container and the container's in a paper bag…" she was babbling so she stopped. Then she made the mistake of looking back at him. God, he looked good. Sexy. I've got to get out of here, she thought desperately. "See ya," she managed to say.

He smiled a little and nodded. "Yeah, later," he murmured, and then she was gone, leaving him feeling incredibly lonely. And aroused. Groaning, he punched his pillow and rolled over. No way was he getting any more sleep. But that didn't mean he couldn't lay there for awhile longer and think about her.

THE END

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