Disclaimer: Blah blah blah. Joss owns Buffy and Angel, and Renny Harlin owns the Covenant boys. I own nothing fun or cool or sexy. Sad :(

Summary: Buffy and Angel talk in the aftermath of "Four vs. One." Feelings are shared, angst ensues.

RECCOMENDED: Make sure to read "Chapter 13. Four vs. One" before reading this otherwise nothing will make sense. Actually, I lied. All of the Buffy/Angel angst will make sense, but the context will not.

Rated FR13 for a naughty word but, unfortunately, no sexiness. Next time.

Hi gang. I know it's a been a seriously long time since I've updated this fic (actually, all of my fics), but I got a burst of inspiration after watching I Will Remember You. I'm such a sucker for B/A, but those crazy kids can never seem to work it out. Hence, this plot bunny was born. It wouldn't stop gnawing at my ankles until I got it out of my system, so here it is.

Thanks to nightshadowlife for your amazing and positive review, and thank you to EVERYONE who has been so patient and stuck with me through my failure at updating regularly. I really appreciate every single one of you (even you lurkers out there!).

Enough of my sentimental jibber jabber and on to the story!

Buffy had no idea how long she sat beside him, squashed uncomfortably into the wooden-backed chair Caleb had been able to scrounge up from somewhere in the house. Seconds stretched into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days. Well, not days, but it sure felt like it. Time always had a tendency to stop whenever the two of them were together. Even now, even after he had left her and scuttled off to LA to start a new life, a life without her in it. Even though she knew that the boys were patiently waiting for her downstairs, she could only bring herself to think of him.

Everything was different now. The night that they had met in that alley seemed like a lifetime ago despite the fact that it had been little more than two years. She wasn't the innocent, naive sixteen year old she had been when she had first met him, and he was no longer the cryptic, mysterious stranger that had fascinated her so many years ago. He was still cryptic, some things never changed, but he was no longer a mystery. She knew him, his soul, and he understood her power and her responsibility maybe better than she even knew herself. They had shared so much, and yet, they had never been further apart.

The problem was, the Slayer contemplated as she sat unmoving, her gaze hovering in the general direction of the figure curled up on the bed beside her, was that she had grown. She had aged, both in years and in maturity, while he stayed the same, stunted by his grief and unwillingness to allow himself redemption. He had let her in, but he had returned from hell distant and closed-off. The two would never be able to have a future together, and he had known it. Despite her protests and his desire to change, he had known that he would never be able to. In his eyes, he was a monster, undeserving of forgiveness from those he had hurt and the love of the woman he loved more than life itself.

And just like that, he had left her.

For weeks, she had closed herself off from her mother and her friends, wishing every day that things could be different. That he would suddenly appear back in her life as if nothing had happened. That he felt the same about her. That he could never bring himself to live without her. Obviously, things did not change, and for more days than she could count, she had wandered through life on autopilot as the world continued to crash down around her.

That was until she had decided that enough was enough and, like she did the previous year, she had packed her stuff and fled. She was a coward. She knew it. She had told her mother and friends that she just needed some time. A change of scenery, was all. Truth was, she couldn't stand being there. The movie theater where the two had spent many a night getting hot and heavy in the back row. The window where he had crawled through too many times to count so that he could simply hold her as she slept. The faint smell of his cologne that still lingered on her clothes despite the repeated washings in to an attempt to rid him from her life.

It'd been too much, and she had fled to the one place where she felt safe. Back home. Her home would always be wherever her four best friends were, no matter which city her mother decided to relocate them to. They were her home. And they had welcomed her back with open arms, no questions asked.

She hadn't expected to fall for them, all four of them. Before her return from Sunnydale, nothing remotely sexual or romantic had happened between any of them. They were her best friends, her rocks, but they had never been anything more than that. She had loved them, but she had never felt inclined to search for anything other than their friendship. Sure, she had had crushes on all of them at one time or another, she did have eyes after all, but none of them had made a move to deepen their relationships. How times had changed.

Angel shifted on the bed, his pain-filled moans snapping her from her internal reverie. Without a second thought, she slipped her small hand into his large one and leaned over him to make comforting shushing noises in his ear.

"Angel," she encouraged, feeling him stir at the sound of her voice. "Angel, wake up." Slowly, as if trying to follow her command, his eyes blinked open, widening slightly at the unfamiliar surroundings.

"Buffy," he answered, his voice rough from both sleep and pain. She had poured as much blood as she could down his throat, but after the beating the boys had given him, she would need time to recover. "What's happening? Where am I-..." His voice trailed off as his memories came rushing back to him, and he shot upright in bed. His sharp cry of pain had Buffy jumping up and pushing him back down onto the bed.

"Stop that," she ordered impatiently.

"Buffy," he started again, conviction seeping into his previously weak voice. All pain was forgotten, and his chocolate brown eyes were staring into her hazel ones, snatching the breath from her lungs and leaving her hypnotized. "What are you doing? Here. With them." He gestured absently at the door to the hallway. She knew that he could sense them, and a touch of anger laced his last words.

"I belong here," the blond answered stubbornly, drawing back and crossing her arms over her chest. She knew where this was leading, and she was gearing up for a fight. It was about time they sat down and hashed everything out. Their wounds were too raw, to painful, to leave them unattended. "I belong with them."

"No, no you don't." The inflection of his voice did not change, but she could sense the anger in the controlled manner in which he spoke to her. Angel rarely yelled. He yelled when he was scared or overwhelmed, but he dead-panned when he was angry. Just another thing to add to the list of useless things she knew about him. "I left so that you could have a normal life. This isn't normal, Buffy." She wasn't sure whether he was talking about the fact that there were four of them or the fact that they were warlocks. Probably both.

"I'll never have a normal life," Buffy countered, echoing those words she had told him in the sewers beneath Sunnydale so many months ago. A flicker of recognition sparked behind his dark brown eyes, and despite her lack of agreement during their last conversation, he stubbornly continued along the same path.

"You can have a normal relationship. With a normal guy. You just have to try." She knew that it had to be hard for him, pushing her to seek a relationship with someone other than himself. The steady glow of sorrow in his eyes barely startled her anymore. She had spent many nights staring into those deep eyes of his, memorizing everything about them.

"No." the Slayer argued, shaking her head to clear her thoughts. "I can't. I'm the Slayer, Angel. I'll never have a normal relationship. Why do you think I love you so much?" She barely realized that she had not used the past tense of the word. "Being the Slayer, it's all darkness and danger and power. It's what I need. Can you really see me with some corn-fed Iowa boy?" Ha. As if. "I know it's seriously fucked up, but there's nothing I can do about it. I know it, and you know it. But you still left." Bitterness laced the last part of her rant, and she saw him wince.

"I loved you!" he shouted, looking her dead in the eyes. Ah there it was, an exclamation mark. He was starting to panic. He wasn't going to stop until he made her see it. Made her see why he did it. Why he left. "I left because I loved you! You don't need any more darkness in your life! I wanted you to be with someone who could make love to you, someone who could be with you outside in the sunlight. I wanted you to have a normal life, Buffy! Our relationship wasn't fair to you!"

"You still left!" she spat back, jumping to her feet and pointing an accusatory finger at him. All of a sudden, all of the deep dark secrets she had kept locked up for so long came tumbling out. She was practically screaming now, and dangerously close to sobbing. Tears of anger and frustration welled up in her hazel eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She knew that the boys could hear her, but she couldn't bring herself to care. She was pissed, and she was finally going to let her former lover have it. "I loved you! I wanted you, and you left! God, you say you loved me, but now I'm not so sure!"

She knew she was being childish. She knew that she was yelling and screaming for no reason and that no good could come from the word vomit that was spewing from her mouth. She knew that he was right, that he had been right to leave her. It was better for both of them in the long run, and on any other day, she would wholeheartedly agree. Only pain could come from them being together. She knew that he had loved her, that he still loved her, and that saying such a thing was not only hugely unfair to him but to the memory of their relationship. But right now, as she stared at him, his eyes wide from shock at her outburst, all rational thought had already flown out the window.

All of a sudden, there she was, three months ago when Angel had disappeared into the smoke, and she hadn't been able to say the things that she was saying to him right now. She swiped angrily at the traitorous tears leaking from the corners of her eyes and stared unflinchingly into his dark brown ones.

"How dare you ask me that," he all but snarled, his voice strained with emotion. The yelling was gone from his voice, and the controlled anger was back. She didn't know if she was angry at her or at himself. It didn't really matter. They both deserved it. "Of course, I love you." She noted his use of the word 'love' instead of 'loved.' It was the same mistake she had made a few minutes ago, and he too barely seemed to notice it. "We both love you. Even when I'm... him. Why do you think he always seeks you out?" A pause while Buffy considered his words. "I love you more than anyone, anything, in this world, Buffy. I did it for you. I do everything for you." The last sentence came out as a whisper, the anger receding as quickly as it ignited. This was it. This was Angel, her Angel. Raw and uncensored. Alert the media.

Suddenly, he looked less like the bastard who had ruined her life and more like a sad, lost, little child.

"I know." She sighed, her shoulders sagging, and dropped back into her previously occupied chair. All of the anger and hatred she had felt for him a mere fifteen seconds ago drained out of her, only to be replaced by sadness and exhaustion. He stared at her, seemingly surprised how she could be so calm and mature so soon after her crazed outburst. The two sat in silence for a few moments, each reflecting over what had just happened, until Buffy broke the silence. "I love you, Angel. I always will, but I've moved on."

He winced, but she couldn't bring herself to regret what she had said. It's what he wanted. For her to be happy. Loved. With them, she was.

"I love them." This last sentence came out so quietly that she was sure he wouldn't have heard it if he didn't have his bionic vampire hearing. But there you had it.

She did love them. It might not be the blinding, passionate, violent love that she had shared with Angel, but it was love none the less. They were everything to her, and her to them. They needed each other. They would always protect her, and most importantly, she knew that they would never leave her. It was selfish, she knew it, but she also knew that they would always be there for her. Through thick and thin, sickness and health, everyday life and apocalypse-preventing days, she was theirs, and they were hers. Lately, she'd been slowly realizing that this was the kind of love that lasted a lifetime.

She chanced a look at Angel. He was staring straight ahead, not looking at her, but a muscle in his jaw was ticking. Still he said nothing. She had no idea what kinds of thoughts were swirling around in that brain of his, but she was sure that they were not of the good. Maybe it was cruel of her to tell him all of this, but she'd had to. No more secrets, no more unsaid thoughts.

The seconds ticked by on the clock on the bedside table, and the two remained motionless. A few tense minutes later, Buffy came to the conclusion that he wasn't going to say anything else to her. With an almost-imperceptible sigh, she stood and turned toward the door, stopping as her fingertips brushed the ornate brass handle.

"Goodbye, Angel." She let the goodbye hang, and when he didn't respond, she quickly exited the room and shut the door behind her. As soon as the lock clicked into place, she heard a quiet sob from the other side of the door. The vampire's rare display of emotion sent her already frazzled nerves spiraling out of control, and the the tears that she had been fighting back came pouring out, drenching her cheeks and chin as she fled the scene.

Blindly stumbling down the once ornately decorated hallway, she managed to find the stairs and make it almost half way down before collapsing in on herself. She grasped the wooden banister above her head to keep herself from tumbling down the rest of the way and sucked in great, heaving breaths in an attempt to calm herself and trick the tears still streaming from her eyes into submission. No such luck.

Mere seconds later, as her sobs were in serious danger of leading to hyperventilation, four pairs of arms wrapped around her from all directions. Quiet shushing sounds filtered through her ears accompanying several muttered utterances assuring her that everything would be fine. As she curled into them, and a hand blushed a now-soaking strand of blond hair out of her eyes, she knew that everything really would be fine.

She was home.

I know that Buffy was seriously wimpy and un-Buffy-like in this chapter, but ever since Graduation Day Part 2, that woman has needed to rant about her feelings and bitch Angel out. Since she never got a chance to, I thought I'd give her one. :)

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