Chapter Thirty-Seven

When she emerged from the bathroom, her face cleaned of any traces of breakdown, Angel was pacing by the window. Spike was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's—"

"I sent him downstairs," Angel said. "We need to talk." He stopped pacing, looking around briefly before he went to stand behind the nearest couch and braced himself with his hands on the back of it. "Can you…" he gestured to the other couch.

Ignoring the invitation to sit, and wondering what he possibly could have done to make Spike leave so quickly, Buffy crossed her arms. She remained standing where she was, on the opposite side of the sitting area from him. "What's this about?"

"The parts of your little inter-dimensional time travelling trip that you haven't told anyone about!" he shouted. His jaw snapped shut after the outburst, lips going rigid like he had his teeth clenched and was struggling to keep control.

"You're going to have to be a little more specific," she said. What did he know? What could he possibly know, and how?

"Sit," he said. "Please?"

"Not until you tell me what you think you know, and what's been going on with you."

Angel looked away, hands clenching on the couch back, fingers digging into the leather. He'd been pretty growly since she'd arrived, but this was a new extreme. He kept making jerky motions, as though he had something unpleasant on his mind and couldn't quite shake it. She supposed it shouldn't surprise her that a meeting with evil had made him this angry.

"We need to talk," he said again. Scrounging for words? His expression kept twisting from angry to confused, maybe even a little lost, like he didn't have the topic he wanted them to discuss firmly in his mind and was trying to get a solid grasp of it.

"Why don't you sit?" she suggested.

He looked startled, like it hadn't even crossed his mind to. "I'm fine," he said. He met her expression of disbelief with a stubborn look and a repeated, "I'm fine."

"Tell me what we need to talk about, then," she said. If he said he was fine, she saw no point in arguing.

Angel released the couch and made a frustrated gesture with his hands. It looked desperate, like he was trying to find something to latch on to and couldn't. Buffy had the feeling he thought she should know what he wanted to talk about, but two things came to mind and she really didn't want to broach either one of them if it wasn't what had him in this state.

Of course, he might be well aware of both topics anyway.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked. His voice was so quiet; a whispered, half pleading tone that she hadn't heard from him in years. Her brow contorted in concern. "Not anyone else, but at least me?" His voice retained the almost trembling tone of query.

She didn't like how vulnerable he sounded. Hadn't he been spouting off about some big plan he had, something to do with the Senior Partners, not even twelve hours ago? Vulnerability and trying to take down evil did not go well together.

She would screw up his plans just by being present.

"Angel, I'm not sure I know what you're talking about," she said, trying to keep her voice at the same level as his was. She felt a little like she was trying to avoid spooking a wild animal.

He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands. In rapid succession he'd gone from holding them folded in front of him, to crossing his arms, to letting them hang at his sides, and finally to shoving them in his pant pockets. "No," he said sharply. "This I know you remember. You alluded to it when we were looking for the amulet. I didn't know what to think and it slipped my mind, but Eve filled me in. Buffy, why didn't you tell me?"

She'd alluded to it? What had she mentioned down there? A replay of their trip through the cave flashed in her mind. She fast-forward past Fake Angel's awful revelation, trying to remember what she'd said. Wait. Rewind. Just before his big reveal. She'd mentioned Acathla's Hell dimension, and Angel had noticed but not said anything. She'd completely forgotten.

"He said you knew," she whispered. If he hadn't… and oh god she knew the state he'd been in when she returned him to Sunnydale, so how could he, really?

There hadn't been a good time to bring it up, even if she'd thought to and wanted to talk about it, but she should've mentioned it. In hindsight…

She hated hindsight.

Angel shook his head, lips parted like he wanted to say something, to be a more active participant in the conversation. "I remember, I guess…" Confusion, still, and hesitancy. This was why she hadn't wanted to talk about it, ever. She didn't need a morose walk down memory lane, and she certainly didn't need to drag Angel down it with her.

"I remember, once. I thought I was…" he shook his head, as thought he could will the words to shake free. "…Hallucinating, or something. It wasn't real." He'd grabbed the back of the couch again and was squeezing it. Otherwise, he stood stock still, the faintest look of embarrassment showing through the confusion in his features.

"It was real," she said, trying for reassuring.

"The other times it wasn't."

Tears leapt to her eyes, and she pressed her lips together. The faintest feeling of guilt tightened in her gut—an old, familiar feeling that crept up on her when something reminded her of that summer waiting tables, and the months of Angel's recovery that followed. That feeling was tighter, now. Tighter than it had been in years.

She could have saved him sooner, returned to an earlier point in the timeline. She'd let the avatar psych her out and that… that wasn't acceptable. It only made her gut clench more, seeing the vulnerability he showed now, when she'd thought he'd long ago recovered from his stint there.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, and she didn't know what the apology was supposed to cover, but she knew it didn't feel like enough. She'd done what she had to do, then and now. Sending Angel to hell. Rescuing Angel from hell. Not mentioning to Angel that she knew just how he'd gotten back. Still. 'I'm sorry'? How lame could she get?

Angel shook his head, finally stepping around the couch and dropping into it. He rested his elbows on his knees and cradled his head in his hands. He looked tired. Buffy gazed at him for a long moment, hoping he might respond to her lame apology, before she crossed over and sat on the opposite couch. She remembered what had happened the last time they'd been alone and seated side by side.

"It's not your fault," Angel said, voice muffled by his hands.

"For not telling you," she clarified, not sure what he was referring to.

He nodded, silent; deep in thought, or maybe in another place altogether.

"I don't remember," he said after a long moment. "Not in any detail, anyway." He looked up, meeting her eyes, his hand held apart, open—still in the position they'd been in to hold his head, but now empty. Open, like he was waiting for something to fall into them. "It all blurred together after a while. A hundred years of very little variety," he shook his head. "I should remember an abrupt change, but my memory jumps from hell to finding you on campus. There's nothing in between."

Buffy kept quiet while he spoke. He'd never really talked about this before, not in any detail. She didn't want to interrupt. When he appeared to have finished, though, she sighed, rubbing her hands up and down the tops of her thighs.

"What did Eve tell you?"

"That you'd been there. A second time. Brought me back. I didn't believe her at first—how could you have?—but it started making more sense than the First Evil."

"Time travel. Yet another new tool in Buffy's belt. Probably packaged in with the immortality."

"The amulet?" His eyes found it.

"Yeah. Bends time and space, or something."

"How did you do it?"

His gaze locked so intently on hers that she couldn't have looked away if she wanted to—and she tried, getting as far as his hairline before she was drawn back in.

"I don't know how to explain it," she said, but started anyway, telling him about the rings and the magic that the amulet had transferred into them, the precision in matching up the two timelines so that he was pulled through at the right time.

She could have done better. That was the thought that kept surfacing. She could have done it all sooner, saved him from the agony—both the agony of being there and of this conversation now. She didn't voice it, though. No point in bringing up something that would only have Angel outwardly deflecting while his thoughts went in who-knew-what other direction.

So, Buffy changed the topic. Well, kind of.

"There's something else."

His expression turned briefly wary, then resolute as he covered up and put away his emotions. It was very neat, very practiced… Very Angel.

"What is it?" he asked. Calm, preparing for her to drop a bomb on him, and rightfully so. She gave him ten seconds to crack, if what Spike had told her about the prophecy was true. Then again, maybe he would agree that she'd jumped to conclusions.

Still not quite sure why she was doing it—maybe some part of her thought it was best to finally come clean—Buffy told him about the couple of days she'd spent as a vampire.

Angel remained impassive through the story, which somehow ended up a lot longer and more detailed than what she'd told Spike—and went beyond what she'd planned on saying. It felt good to talk about it. Not a weight-being-lifted sort of feeling, or anything—no, she felt more like one had been added on, with a prophecy in the question. But still, it felt good.

It felt a bit less good when Angel's impassiveness remained after she'd finished talking. Quite a few very, very long seconds after she finished.

"You've told Spike about this?" he asked finally. Buffy nodded. Expression saying he didn't really want the answer, Angel said, "And?"

Had he not leapt to the same conclusion Spike had? The same one she had? Maybe, more likely, he wanted to see if Spike had arrived at the same conclusion, or…

"He mentioned a prophecy."

Angel's expression still hadn't changed, though he nodded at the words.

"I want to talk to Wesley about this," he said. She could have rolled her eyes at how much of a default response that seemed to have become for him, but resisted, if only because she'd been really wanting to talk to Giles about the same thing.

"What are you thinking?" she asked. He could at least give her that much before he went ahead and started sharing with everyone else in his little group.

"Immediately? That it can't be you, no matter what it looks like right now," he sounded vaguely angry. He probably thought she was being self-centred. "It doesn't make any sense."

"Makes some kind of weird sense," she replied, willing to argue the point though there was no heat in her voice. "In a 'the-Powers-don't-care-and-like-to-mess-with-us' sort of way."

Angel shook his head. "I can't believe it."

He didn't want to, was what he meant. He had been holding onto this tightly—not that there had ever been any doubt about that. She couldn't figure out if dropping this on him had compounded her lingering feelings of guilt, or lessened them.

"Maybe Wesley can take another look at the prophecy when he gets a chance, let us know for sure. 'Cause I'd really like to know if I inadvertently fulfilled one, too."

Nodding again. Not that Angel was usually Mr Talkative, but he'd been chattier—or at least forthcoming—than usual until she'd ruined his sharing mood by being all cool about bringing him back from hell. And then she'd gone and ruined it even further when she'd brought up this topic.

At least it was starting to get late. She could get out of here soon; take a walk, stake something, get some air. A bit of space was what she needed. Maybe what they all needed.

Angel rose, drawing her attention. "You're still going out tonight?" he asked, as though he'd been privy to her thoughts. Maybe he had been. He wasn't wearing his amulet, hadn't yet put it on to her knowledge, but who knew what kind of powers just having it might grant him?

"Yep," Buffy said. She stayed seated. The couch was comfy, and she certainly didn't have anywhere to be.

A fraction of a frown. "Be careful," he said. "I meant what I said before—"

"L.A.'s not even on a Hellmouth, Angel. I think I can handle it," she said, ire instantly spiking.

"I know," he said. "I know you can, and probably better than I could at this point. I just…" he shook his head. "I just worry about you."

"Thank you," she said. "Now stop."

He gave her a weak smile, glancing around and appearing lost for a moment before he started toward the door. "Oh, one more thing," he said, pausing. He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. "Dawn called and left a message with Harmony when we were in Sunnydale. Here," he held the paper out to her. Frowning, Buffy got up and took it from him.

"I'll call her, I guess," she said, looking at the unfamiliar number on the 'While you were out' page. Dawn was probably furious she hadn't called already. She should've done that first thing.

"Stay at Spike's tonight, so you don't have to worry about getting back in the building. Save the call for the morning, when you get back. Make sure she's awake," Angel suggested.

Her attention turned sharply from the paper. Stay at Spike's? Had she heard that right?

"Angel?"

But he was waving, already leaving the condo. Feeling unsettled, Buffy stared at the elevator long after the doors had closed and the car had descended.