Unforgettable - Part 5
By Jill

Same day, 09:00 p.m.

Angel cursed as he switched off the ignition and got out of his parked car.
A celebration at the Splash, Willow had told him. They were holding a
celebration tonight at the club and there was no way he could stay away.
First he hadn't quite known what to think of it, but then Faith had said the
same and so here he was. Tired, hungry and not feeling very communicative.
Well, maybe he could just drink a glass of something and then quietly
disappear.

All he wanted was to slump down in front of the television and zone out
for a while. He'd been following Riley all afternoon, all around Los
Angeles. That really had been fun, while Spike had been off chasing Darla
again and met again with her sister. Riley hadn't seen Simone this
afternoon, but besides investigating in a case of a murdered bar-owner, he
met an interesting bunch of people. Angel wasn't sure what it meant, but it
was more than just slightly suspicious.

Groaning, he realized he probably would see Riley soon. God, just what he
needed tonight. He opened the door and looked around. To his surprise he
didn't see the faces he'd expected. Yes, there were officers, some of them
he even remembered but there was nobody... He froze when his eyes fell on a
blond head. Buffy was sitting at a table, playing with the straw in her
drink, looking into space.

Of course Angel had known he'd see her tonight, but that had been assuming
that all their colleagues'd surround them. On the other hand, they had
already talked to each other, and they were working with each other. Besides
he could still hear Cordelia's words that Buffy didn't blame him anymore. If
it could be true... "Hi," he said, looking down at her.

Her head jerked up, her eyes widened, and her voice sounded a bit breathless
when she replied, "Hi."

"Guess you're the first one here," he remarked.

"Huh?" she asked confusion clearly visible on her features.

"For the celebration," he clarified. "It seems you are the first."

Instead of lessening her confusion intensified, "Celebration?"

Angel's brows drew together, "You don't know about it? Willow said there was
some sort of celebration tonight at... or was it... no," he nodded more to
himself, "it was tonight. I'm sure of it."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. What celebration?" Buffy asked,
"What was there to celebrate?"

He made a helpless gesture with one hand, "I have no idea. But Willow
insisted I come. And Giles even-," he broke off, when it hit him. "They set
us up," he exclaimed.

"I beg your pardon?" Buffy raised her brows; she still wasn't able to
understand what was going on.

"Willow set us up," he repeated. "She told me to come here for some kind of
celebration. What did she say to you?"

The blond shook her head, "Nothing. As a matter of fact Willow didn't say...
oh wait," she said suddenly, realization in her eyes, "Faith called me. This
morning. She said she wanted to meet me. Reconcile and stuff." She slammed
her palm against the table, "I should've known it. Faith was never a morning
person and all of a sudden she calls me at seven in the morning. Oh, this
traitorous bitch, this lying-"

"I'm sure she meant well," he interrupted her raging.

"What?"

"I'm sure they meant well. Maybe it was their way of trying to get us
together," he said. Did she have any idea how beautiful she looked, her eyes
blazing with anger, he wondered.

His words hadn't the effect he'd hoped, instead of smiling, she seemed to
get even more angry, "Well, huh?" she spat and Angel winced at the sound of
her voice. Maybe angry wasn't quite the right word. Too soft. "I'll give
them well," she stood and combed a hand through her hair, "They have no idea
what they're doing. They don't know what we need. They have no right," she
paused for a moment, obviously suddenly realizing her tone. She sighed and
held out her hands, palms up, "I mean, what are they hoping to accomplish,
I'm asking you."

"I don't know," he replied quietly, "Maybe they just want us to talk?"

"Talk?" she spat the word as if it was something completely foreign to her,
"What should we talk about? I'm sure you aren't even interested in talking
to me."

"Whoa," he exclaimed, holding his hands up. "I never said that."

Her brows drew together in confusion as she stared at him. "So you would?"
she asked, her voice back to normal, but holding a trace of surprise. "Talk
to me, I mean?"

"Well," he shrugged, and then looked pointedly at the table. Why did she
think he didn't want to talk to her? Was it because of his visit to her
apartment the other day? He already regretted ever having gone there. That
morning it had seemed the wisest idea to clear the air between them and
allow them to work together. In the face of Cordelia's words about Buffy's
feelings towards him he wasn't so sure anymore.

She followed the direction of his eyes and instantly understood, "Oh, well,
if you want to sit down," she invited, nervously wiping her hands at her
trousers. "After all I came to talk to someone who'd once been my friend. To
make things better. Now it seems I'm still going to do that, just that it's
you and not Faith. So... do you... want to sit down?"

"I'd like that," he replied softly, giving her one of his half-smiles. "I'd
like that very much." Molly, the waitress, appeared and took his order, then
left again. Angel frowned not quite sure how to begin and caught her chewing
at her lower lip, her hands hidden under the table, but from the movements
of her arms he could guess she was nervously playing with them. She was
staring at her glass of white wine, avoiding his eyes and he wondered what
she expected him to do.

"Nothing, I expect nothing," she said quietly, still not looking at him.

A little bit embarrassed Angel realized that he'd thought aloud. His smile
was sad when he said, "No, I suppose you wouldn't."

She made a little sound of protest and shook her head, one of her hands
playing with her straw now, "No that's not... I mean, I didn't mean that. I
mean," she let out an exasperated breath clearly annoyed with herself and
finally raised her head to look at him, "I'm sorry. That came out wrong. I
didn't mean to imply that there was nothing to be expected of you. I just
wanted to say that after... after," she shrugged, remembering Xander's words
from just before, "well, after what I did to you, I wouldn't be surprised if
you'd like to pretend I didn't exist at all."

"That," he replied, nodding at the waitress who brought his drink, "would be
absolutely impossible. First of all you're sitting right in front of me and
then," he paused to sip from his glass, "it would be hard to overlook
someone as beautiful as you are."

Buffy felt a wild flutter in her heart at that and blushed instantly, "Oh,"
she made, not sure how to react. "You... you think I'm beautiful?" Oh great,
Buffy, now he thinks you're completely shallow and just fishing for
compliments.

"I always thought that and you know it," he said, the sadness gone from his
smile. "You were always the most beautiful woman in the world to me."

Her blush deepened and the flutter increased to a frantic beating. If he
didn't stop she would soon embarrass herself. "Well... uh... thanks," she
smiled, and then again bit her lower lip. "You look... good too. More...
uh... mature."

He grimaced at that, "Older, you mean?"

"No," she protested, "I mean, of course you are older-"

"Thanks," he joked.

"But so am I," she continued, ignoring his interruption. "I'm thirty after
all."

"Who would've guessed?" he winked at her, "You look barely older than 20."
He was shocked that she didn't laugh at that but that suddenly tears welled
up in her eyes and she was blinking rapidly. "Hey," he said softly, wanting
to reach out and touch her hand, but not daring to. "What is it?"

"You..." she sniffed, "are flirting with me."

His smile widened, "Yeah, and?"

"You are... How can you flirt with me after... after what I've done to you?"
she asked, covering her quivering mouth with one hand. "After all the
horrible things I said, after... after... and then I went and married Riley?"

The smile instantly vanished from his face, "Buffy, about Riley-"

"No," she held up a hand, "You don't have to tell me. I'll..." she took a
deep breath, "I will never forgive myself for behaving like I did that
afternoon at my wedding, when you came and... God, I was such a bitch."

"Buffy, you were hurt. You just lost your brother. You thought..." his voice
faltered slightly, but he had it under control in an instant, "You thought I
killed him. What you did... It's not difficult to understand."

"So you... you..." she was a loss for words.

"I, what?" he asked, reaching out tentatively and covering her trembling
hand with his. "What?" he urged.

"But you came, to my apartment and you said... that you didn't care anymore
what happened four years ago. That whatever happened between us was... you
were so cool, so distant," she wiped her eyes with her free hand, glad that
they were sitting in a dark corner of the club where nobody else could see
her tears.

"Buffy, I thought you still held me responsible for Mike's death," he tried
to explain. "I thought-"

"NO," her outcry was so shocked that some other guests turned to look into
their direction. She lowered her voice, but Angel felt her hand turning and
gripping his. A bolt of electricity shot through him at that, and warmth
settled in his soul that had been missing for four long years, "No, I don't.
I never did. Not really. I just wasn't quite myself after it happened and
I... When I finally woke up I found myself married to Riley."

"I know," he replied squeezing her hand gently, "Cordelia told me. It was...
a shock for me to hear that, I'll admit. All those years I thought you still
thought I was responsible despite my words, despite Faith and Drusilla."

"Oh, Angel," she blinked more tears away, "I'm so sorry. If I could-"

"But we can't," he interrupted her. "We can't turn back time and change
things."

"I know," she whispered sadly. Of course she'd known it all along. It was
too late. But that stupid little part had still hoped...

"We can only move forward," he went on, not letting go of her hand. He
looked at her, saw her beautiful hazel eyes, her shimmering hair, remembered
all the laughter and love they'd shared and then thought about the emptiness
in his life and the feelings he'd tried to ignore. "And we could do it
together if you want," then suddenly realizing what he'd said, he tried to
amend, "Of course we don't have to rush, we could be friends to start, could
go to see a movie, drink a cup of coffee-"

"Yes," she said, interrupting him, her eyes resting on him with an
expression that looked like a mixture between hope and fear. More softly she
added, "Yes, I'd like that." God, maybe Xander was right, maybe sorry wasn't
so difficult after all. "And you can really forget what I said to you?"

"Forget?" he shook his head, "hardly. I'll never forget what happened. But
forgive? Yes. That I can do. Actually I already did that. As soon as I
realized it wasn't really you who said the words. But of course it was too
late. Cordelia said I should've fought harder, and maybe she's right."

Buffy was about to reply when Molly appeared again to bring Angel's steak
and Buffy's french-fries. They ate in silence, exchanging smiles from time
to time, the blonde's eyes shining with something he'd missed before. They
were still sad, but there was also life in them, and hope. Silently he
thanked Faith and Willow for their meddling. This evening was the
break-through, Angel was sure of that. Of course they had still a long way
to go, but they had made peace after all.

He had no idea how Buffy felt about him. Sure, there was guilt, and she
seemed genuinely glad that he didn't blame her for the words she'd said. The
way she'd acted, but that didn't mean that she still had feelings for him,
that she was interested in a relationship. After all she just ended her
marriage and was probably not even looking for another man in her life. A
picture of Riley flickered through his mind but Angel quickly pushed it
away. No, he decided firmly, Riley wouldn't spoil this evening.

"You look so serious," she said, pulling him from his thoughts. "I can tell,
because when you're brooding a sharp line appears between your brows. It's
even more visible now that you've grown older," she said pointing to his
forehead.

"Oh, thanks," he replied sarcastically, but a smile was playing around his
mouth. He felt lightheaded all of a sudden. They were sitting together,
eating, and talking together, God, they were even laughing together. After
all the time they'd spent apart, after all that heartache it was almost
unreal.

"Why did you come back to L.A.?" she asked suddenly.

"What?" the question had caught him off guard. He knew he couldn't tell her
about Internal Affairs and hated that he had to keep a secret from her,
especially now when there seemed a chance for something he'd already given
up hoping. "Oh, L.A. Well, homesick I guess," he said, glad that it wasn't a
complete lie. He had liked living in New York, but there hadn't been one day
when he hadn't missed L.A. or more specifically, Buffy. Maybe he would tell
her that one day, but for the moment he kept it to himself.

"Uh-huh. I can understand that, I would miss L.A. if I had to move away,"
she smiled slightly, then nodded at his plate, "You ready?"

"What? Yes, yes, I'm ready. It's good food." He laughed suddenly, and when
he saw her curious gaze, he explained, "I just realized I haven't been to
Cara since I came back."

"You haven't?" she couldn't believe it, "I wouldn't be able to exist without
her. Willow and I meet there at least once a week for lunch. It's like a
tradition. Just last week we were talking that L.A. wouldn't be the same if
Cara wasn't there anymore."

"How is she?" Angel asked affectionately. He had always liked the owner of
Kinks and Drinks, and he remembered a special evening, when she'd sat with
him, listened to his grief and hurt, maybe prevented him from doing
something stupid.

"Fine," Buffy replied grinning. It lit up her whole face and want slammed
into Angel's gut with a force that made him suddenly breathless. "You know
Cara. Nothing can stop her. She's still in love with her lump of a husband
and he simply adores her. Her clothes are still 'kinky' she insists and we
all love her."

They laughed together at that and the blond felt like flying at the feeling
that began to spread through her whole being. It had been so cold those last
four years without him and now the warmth was coming back. He didn't blame
her anymore, she could hardly believe it, and he was laughing with her, had
held her hand. She felt like climbing the highest mountain and
shouting it to the world.

"Shall we go?" he asked after a moment, checking his watch, to
his surprise it was already 11.00 p.m.

"Sure," she agreed, trying to protest when he placed several bills on the
table, but he just shook his head and so she gave him a thankful nod.

Leaving the club the night-air was a welcome change from the sticking
atmosphere inside. "Where did you park your car?" Angel asked, looking
around.

"Just over there," she pointed at a small Toyota Riley had given her three
months after their wedding. "The green one." She'd thought about getting rid of
it, but there wasn't enough money at the moment to replace it. So she swallowed
her pride and was still using Riley's gift.

"Let me walk you," he offered and then started towards it without waiting
for her answer. She smiled and followed, enjoying being near him like this.
Please, please let this work, she prayed to whatever god was listening.

They reached the driver's side of the car and she turned to say goodbye,
when his large body suddenly held her prisoner between him and the car.
"Angel," she said startled because of the unexpected closeness. Her heart
beat a mile a minute, feeling him so close to her, her breath caught in her
throat and it was as if armies of ants were running through her gut.

"Do you know that when I returned to L.A. I vowed that I wouldn't fall for
you again?" he whispered, leaning closer. "I thought I could do it," he
chuckled slightly, "I actually thought I could stay away from you. But I
should've known."

"What?" she whispered back, mesmerized by the intense expression in his
eyes, the burning passion, they were usually brown but now they seemed
almost black.

"That I couldn't resist you," he replied, his breath fluttering over her
lips.

When his lips finally touched hers, she felt the shock all the way to her
toes. The ripples of pleasure were so intense, that she moaned involuntarily
against his mouth.

Angel's hands slid into her hair, combing through it, marveling in the
feeling of pure silk running through his fingers. She was so soft, so warm,
so perfectly suited to him. For years he had dreamed of this, of kissing her
again, of her kissing him back, and finally his dream was becoming reality.

With gentle force he urged her lips apart, his tongue slipped between them,
and she reflexively opened her mouth to it. It had been so long, but it felt
so natural, so right. Buffy raised her hands to encircle his neck, to pull
him even closer to her, then gave in to the hunger, taking all she could
get, afraid he would stop, afraid she would maybe never feel like that
again, so whole, so complete. She needed more, needed-

Involuntarily she made a strangled, helpless sound, overwhelmed by the
feelings that were consuming her and Angel, understanding it wrong, ended the
kiss and stepped back. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice shaken, his
hands in her hair trembling. "I... I didn't mean...."

"No," she raised her hands and covered his that were now cupping her cheeks.
"It's okay. I wanted it too."

Slowly pulling his hands back, he cleared his throat, "Maybe you should go
home now," he suggested, shaken to the core by the intensity of his
feelings. Had he actually believed he could live without her?

"Yes," she whispered, opening the door behind her back. "See you tomorrow,"
she breathed, reaching out she touched his arm a moment.

He startled her when he put her hand in his and pulled it to his mouth,
kissing it softly. "Yeah," he agreed, letting go of her hand again,
"Tomorrow."

With a last smile she slid into her car, started the ignition and drove
away.

*****

same day, 11.30 p.m.

With a happy smile on her face Buffy unlocked the door to her apartment,
closed it afterwards and with a sigh leaned against it. She closed her eyes
and could still feel Angel's lips, the taste of him, the way his breath
had tickled her skin, and his hands running through her hair, massaging her
skull.

She couldn't remember when she'd ever had felt so good before. No, that
wasn't true, she remembered, but after four empty years she suddenly felt
filled with warmth, with love, with hope and she thought she would burst
from all the feelings tumbling inside of her. She'd been so depressed and
utterly hopeless and now... Everything suddenly seemed possible again. All
the things she'd thought were lost were again within her reach. And the
feeling was so wonderful, that she began to hum a love song when she pushed
herself away from the door and made her way towards the living room.

Still humming she switched the light on, turned and froze. The song died on
her lips and the keys she'd been holding fell to the floor, sounding
incredibly loud in the sudden silence.

After a moment she managed to make her voice work, but it still croaked when
she said, "Wha..." she had to clear her throat first, "What are you doing
here?" she asked.

"I lived here for three and a half years," Riley replied shifting slightly
on the seat he was occupying. He had pulled his legs underneath him and was
watching her, then slowly held out his hand where a set of keys was dangling
from his index finger. "And I still have the key," he added unnecessarily.

"So I see," she replied coolly, glad that she'd been able to regain her
composure so quickly. "But you still haven't answered my question," she went
on, throwing her jacket over the sofa, "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting my wife," he said, smirking at her.

Her only retort was the rising of one brow, "She isn't here," she said after
a moment.

"Oh, but she is," he insisted, watching her walking to the bar and pouring
herself a glass of soda. "And she looks very beautiful tonight."

Buffy closed her eyes for a moment, glad that he couldn't see her face, then
pulling herself together she turned back to him, "Riley, please. Just leave.
I have no idea what's going on in your head tonight, but I'm tired."

"Come on," he said and put his keys on the table, "Tomorrow is Saturday. You
can sleep in. Don't you have ten minutes for your loving husband?"

"Riley," she sighed heavily and shook her head. "What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" he echoed. His expression changed that moment, gone
was the smirk, the lightness of his voice, and it was replaced by anger,
even hatred, "Well, maybe I thought I at least deserve the same treatment as
your lover," he spat the last word, as if its taste was poisoning his mouth.

"My what?" Buffy asked honestly surprised by his accusation.

"Your lover," he repeated. "Is he good?" he asked, finally standing up,
"Does he satisfy you?"

"Excuse me?" she crossed her arms in front of her chest, but her eyes never
wavered. "*What* are you talking about?"

"What am I talking about? Well, I'll tell you what I'm talking about. I'm
talking about the fact that I saw you, in front of the Splash, your lips
locked with Angel's."

Too stunned by his words, by the fact that he'd obviously been watching
them, she couldn't find the words this would have demanded. She could only
stare at him.

"What?" he taunted, "no excuses?" he asked, stepping closer, "I already told
you, you were a whore, Buffy, and you are, you certainly are."

Finding her voice again, she hissed, "Get out, get the hell out of my
apartment."

"Oh, no, my lovely wife," he replied, coming even closer, his whole
body language openly threatening, "And that's what you are. My wife. My oh
so loving, adulteress, cheating wife," he said, emphasizing each insult by
punching his right fist into his left palm.

Oh no, she would not be frightened by his aggressive posture, she would not
back away and beg him to leave her alone. She suppressed the fear rising in
her in remembering the way he'd beaten her before he'd left the apartment,
what she'd thought had been for good. "Only for another three weeks," she
said, glad her voice was sounding cool and controlled, "After that a judge
will end what shouldn't have begun and then you can go to hell for all I
care."

The moment the words left her mouth she knew it had been the wrong thing to
say. In a flash he was right in front of her, his arms coming to encase her
between the bar and his body. Angel had done almost the same thing only
minutes ago, but it had been with care, his eyes passionate while Riley's
were blazing with rage, his hands gripping the edge of the counter so tight
that his knuckles went white.

Now being so near to him, Buffy could smell the alcohol in his breath, saw
the heightened color in his cheeks, partly from anger, but partly caused by
too much whiskey, his favorite drink these days. Hoping that he wouldn't
realize that her hands were shaking, she looked straight in his eyes
that, as she knew now, were not completely sober "Get out," she demanded.

He laughed at that, a sound that made the hairs in her neck stand up
straight and fear sent shivers down her spine. "Oh no," he replied, "First I
want to have what you so willingly gave to him," he said and without warning
his mouth took possession of hers, with bruising strength he forced her lips
apart, making her nauseous with the smell of his breath, his tongue invading
her deep, while his hands and arms were pressing her close, holding her so
tight that she had no chance to push him away.

The fear was dominant now, with images of raped women springing to her mind,
beaten wives, crying in her arms, with empty, hopeless eyes, abused by their
boyfriends or husbands, treated as if they were objects, not human beings.
God, please no, she prayed silently. No, please don't let him do this. And
suddenly there was Angel's face, smiling at her, laughing, she thought about
his lips on hers. And rage suddenly pushed the fear away, rage that she was
letting Riley do this to her, that she allowed him to taint this evening
that held so much hope.

With all her strength she managed to get her hands between their bodies and
pushed his much larger and heavier body away. Maybe because he wasn't
expecting it or maybe because of the alcohol he stumbled back a step, "NO,"
she shouted. "Get away from me," she said, wiping her mouth, hoping against
hope to wipe him away, his taste, the feeling of his invasion, "Get out of
my apartment."

"Oh, come on," he had the guts to grin, "you liked it, admit it. I'm sure he
didn't kiss you that way."

"No, he didn't. I enjoyed kissing him," she shouted, trembling with rage and
fear, hating Riley in a way she'd never hated him before. "How can you dare
to force yourself on me?"

"Because you vowed that you'd worship me with your body," he declared,
imitating the priest's voice. "God, you were lying like the best of them. We
might be divorced in three weeks, but by God today you will be my wife."

Without another warning he grabbed her. She hadn't expected him to move so
quickly with all the booze in his blood, but obviously she'd been wrong.
Ignoring her outcry he pushed her to the ground and was over her the next
second, pulling at her clothes, his ragged breathing in her ears, she could
feel the evidence of what he was planning to do to her pressed against her
thigh.

He's going to rape me, Buffy thought desperately, oh God he's actually going
to rape me. The rage gone again, the fear was back. And he could see it, she
thought, he could see it in her eyes, and he was laughing at her fear,
enjoying the feeling of power and control. What had she been told at the
Police Academy? Rape is no sex crime it's about showing power. And they were
right, she thought, while Riley was busy ripping her blouse into shreds,
grabbing her bra and ripped it apart, then roughly and a bit clumsily
fondled her breasts.

And maybe the acceptance of what was going to happen to her made her system
shut down. It was as if her mind and body were suddenly two different
things, as if her mind didn't belong to this body anymore. She went slack
under his hands, didn't even realize that he was trying to pull down his
zipper, while his other hand was pushing up her skirt.

Suddenly he let go of it, and his hands came to frame her head, she saw his
lips move, saw him saying something, maybe even shouting, he was shaking her
shoulders, but it was as if she was watching the whole scene, not being
actually a part of it. And then he was gone. The weight lifted from her
body, but she didn't care, didn't really notice it. She thought she heard
the door slam, but she was just lying there, staring at the light on the
ceiling, her eyes unfocussed, her body beginning to shiver.

****

Angel entered his apartment about ten minutes after Buffy had reached hers,
but what he found in his living room was unlike the one the blond had found
in hers. Switching on the light, he froze as well, but for completely
different reasons. The two people on the sofa jerked away from each other,
and while Drusilla blushed deeply, Spike only glared at him, "Bloody hell,
can't you knock before you rush in like some attack commando?"

The dark-haired man chuckled slightly and raised a brow, "That's hardly the
way to describe my entrance. Besides this is my apartment and why didn't you
go to your own room?" he asked, pointedly nodding towards the door in the
right corner. "Hi, Drusilla," he finally acknowledged her woman's presence.

Her blush deepening, she quickly glanced at him, and then in the same manner
looked back, staring at her hands. "Hi, Angel."

Spike clicked his tongue and tilted his head, "And may I ask where you came
from at this late hour?"

"You may not," his friend shot back. "It's certainly none of your business."
Giving Spike a last look, he smiled apologetically at Drusilla, "I'm sorry
about this, I didn't mean to interrupt you. And don't feel uncomfortable,
you're always welcome here."

"It's a bit awkward," she admitted shyly, "I've known you for so long, it's
almost as if my big brother was finding me making out with my boyfriend."

Angel grinned, "Hardly. You won't hear any threats from me and I'm also not
going to hit Spike."

The blond snorted, "As if you could."

His friend looked pointedly at his still highly colored cheek, but didn't
comment. "Well, just ignore I came in," he said after a moment. "I'm tired
and I need to sleep for-"

He couldn't finish his sentence when suddenly the phone rang. Exchanging a
curious glance with Spike, he picked up the phone, "Hello?"

"A-Angel."

The voice was so small, so distant that he had problems to hear it at all
and so he asked, "Hello? It's Angel here, who's there?" He could see Spike
standing up and coming towards him, gesturing if the call was for him. The
dark-haired man shook his head and strained to understand, startled when he
heard a sob coming through the line. "Hello!" he called, suddenly alarmed.

"A-Angel."

This time the voice was clear and Angel could feel his heart dropping right
through the bottom, "Buffy," he shouted through the phone, holding it in a
crushing grip. From the corner of his eye he saw Drusilla getting up as
well, alarm in her eyes. She put a hand on Spike's arm, and he looked at her
shaking his head. "Buffy, talk to me. What's going on?"

"A-A-Angel," she managed to croak again, "Please," another sob tore from her
throat, "help."

"Buffy!" he shouted, "Baby, are you hurt? Buffy! BUFFY!" Angel turned his
head, looked at Spike with wild, fearful eyes, then tried again to talk to
her, "Buffy," he asked again, gently this time, guessing she might be
frightened or hurt. "Baby, talk to me."

"Please come," she whispered, then the phone fell from her hand.

*

Angel couldn't remember ever having felt so helpless before. While Spike was
busy breaking every speed limit that existed, Drusilla put a comforting hand
on his shoulder. He was ready to scream. Buffy hadn't responded anymore
after her last plead for him to come. He'd shouted, cried, whispered and
begged, but she hadn't talked to him again.

Without thinking again, he'd grabbed his keys and headed for his car. Spike
and Drusilla caught up with him after a moment, the blond insisting that Angel
wasn't in any condition to drive a car.

And Angel was glad. He hadn't even realized that his whole body was
trembling before he'd felt Drusilla fastening the seat belt for him. His
mouth was dry, his heart was pounding in his ears and the most horrible
images were running through his head. God, what had happened to her? She'd
sounded so weak. It wasn't like Buffy to ask for help. The mere fact that
she'd called him was turning his gut into knots.

God, let her be all right, he found himself praying. Please, let her be all
right.

*

She didn't answer the door and frankly Angel hadn't expected her to. So
exchanging a short glance with Spike the two men threw themselves at the
door and it gave way without much resistance. "Buffy," Angel shouted,
storming into her apartment, ignoring everything he'd ever learned about
entering an apartment where he didn't know what he to expect, but panic was
pounding through his body, pushing him forward. While Spike and Drusilla
were checking the kitchen and the bedrooms, Angel went straight towards the
living room and was about to switch on the light, when her voice stopped
him.

"No, don't," she pleaded.

"Buffy," he said gently, stepping inside, trying to see something despite of
the darkness. Then slowly as his eyes became accustomed to the lack of
light, he could see her sitting on the ground, her back leaning against a
chair, she was trying to cover her upper body with... His blood froze in his
veins. "Buffy," he said, kneeling down in front of her, his breath coming in
gasps, "Buffy," he repeated her name, not able to take in what his mind was
telling him.

Her lips looked swollen, there was a bruise on her cheek, her skirt was torn,
the shirt too, and she was desperately clutching it against her bare
breasts. And if that hadn't been enough he could make out the silhouettes of
her torn bra and panties lying on the ground. "Oh, God, Buffy," his voice
cracked in his throat, he had no idea if he should touch her at the moment
or not. He sensed movement at the door, and without turning said, "Spike,
call the cops."

The blond was already pulling his phone from his pocket, when Buffy's voice
shouted hoarsely, "No."

"Baby," Angel said gently, tentatively reaching out and putting a hand on
her upraised knee, "You need to report it to the police. You have to report
the person who..." his voice broke again, then with difficulty he continued,
"did this to you, who... raped you... has to be punished." He heard
Drusilla's and Spike's shocked gasps from the door but didn't care.

"He didn't rape me," Buffy whispered, slowly covering Angel's hand with
hers.

"The hell he didn't," he bit out.

"No, he didn't," she insisted softly. "He tried. But he didn't finish.
Angel," she inhaled sharply, "he... he was watching us," she said.

"Watching us?" he asked, not understanding, "Who was watching us?"

Now she couldn't hold back the sob anymore. Without thinking twice, Angel
pulled her close and cradled her in his arms, holding her, stroking her,
soothing her with words of nonsense, much the same way he'd done in the
bathroom a few days ago.

"We're going to make some coffee," Drusilla announced and pulled Spike with
her to give the couple some privacy.

The moment they were gone, Angel gently kissed Buffy's temple and asked
again, "Who?"

"It was Riley." She felt his body stiffen, and heard the sharp intake of
breath. "He was here when I came home. I forgot he still had a key. He never
used it since he left and so," she shrugged. "He was drunk and angry. He'd
obviously seen us in front of the Splash. He lost control and I was sure he
was going to rape me."

She felt him tighten his hold on her, felt the shudders that were running
through his body, "And then, when I thought it was going to happen, he let
go of me. I... I don't know why, but he was gone."

"I really want to kill him," Angel admitted after a long silence.

"I know," she replied, snuggling into the healing warmth of his body. It was
so good to be close to him. She needed him and trusted him completely.
Nothing could've told him this more clearly. In a moment of utter
vulnerability she had called him. Not Willow. Not Cordelia. Although they
were women, she had called him and despite the horror he felt also humbled
by her trust.

"I'm staying," he announced. "And I still think you should report him."

"I know," she said again, "but it won't change anything. I hate him," she
told him, "don't get me wrong. I really do. I despise him, he is disgusting.
But it would cost him his job and I'm not sure it would make him a
better person. He isn't really a violent person." When she heard his sound
of protest, she put her fingers over his mouth, "He hit me, once. And
today... I don't know, he lost control. But he got it back. He didn't go
through with it. I have no idea why, but I want to believe it's because he
realized what he was doing was wrong. I was married to him for four years. I
don't want to think of him as a rapist."

Angel considered her words, weighted them against his urge to have Riley
punished for what he'd done to her, "Okay," he finally gave in. "But I'm
staying."

"Yes," she replied. "Just hold me, Angel. Hold me," she whispered and then
the tears finally fell.

*****

Saturday, August 26th, 4.00 p.m., Los Angeles

Angel entered Buffy's kitchen to start the percolator. If Buffy was still
the same, and he couldn't believe that she would ever change her obsession
for strong, black coffee in the morning, she would need a mug of the brew. Okay,
so it wasn't exactly morning anymore, but who cared.

When the coffee machine began to hum, Angel opened the fridge in search for
some food and found cheese, eggs, onions and milk, all he needed for a nice
omelet. She would surely need it as soon as she got out of the shower.

He held her for a long time, just held her while she was crying in his arms,
not only for what had happened to her last night, though by God that was
reason enough, but also for four lost years, for a dead brother,
misjudgment. It just poured out of her, a cleansing sort of tears, healing,
but nevertheless painful to watch. Dru and Spike had left quietly to give
the couple the privacy they needed.

It was after sunrise when Buffy had finally fallen asleep and he'd gently
scooped her up and carried her to her bed, peeling her torn clothing from
her bruised body. Even now tears welled up in Angel's eyes when he thought
about the marks on her breasts, the bruises violent fingers had left on her
inner thighs. Riley might not have gone through with what he'd attempted,
but Angel still felt like finding him and beating him until the last bone in
his miserable body was broken.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he ran a shaky hand through his hair and
busied himself with the omelet, cutting the onions and cracking eggs. He
wasn't a gourmet cook, but he could at least manage not to starve and his
omelets weren't that bad. Beating eggs in with milk, he didn't hear the
silent footsteps approaching the kitchen, and almost jumped out of his skin,
when he heard a soft "Hi," from the door.

"Buffy," he turned to her and put a hand on his chest, "God, you startled
me."

"Sorry," she gave him a smile, but it wasn't really apologetic, "Hmmm. That
smells nice," she commented, and then settled herself on a chair, watching
him preparing breakfast. She'd showered and washed her hair, now securely
hidden under a fluffy towel while her body was covered in an equally fluffy
robe. She looked so sexy, that Angel sucked in a sharp breath, desperately
hoping she wouldn't realize what she was doing to him. He was glad he was
wearing loose slacks. After what she'd been through she certainly wouldn't
care for the fact that he was completely aroused.

"Coffee'll be ready in a minute," he announced without turning, "I suppose you
still drink it black?"

"Our tastes are still the same," she replied, smiling slightly, "I seem to
have conked out," she remarked, still a bit nervous remembering the fact
that she had found herself naked in her bed, without any memory how she'd
gotten there. "Did you sleep at all?" she asked.

"A little," he said and poured his mix into a pan. "I'm okay. Don't worry
about falling asleep." He stirred the egg-mix, and then turned to her. "You
were entitled to sleep." Tentatively he stepped closer and crouched down in
front of her, concern in his eyes and voice, "How do you feel?"

"Better," she retorted, "Clean." She suddenly shrugged self-consciously,
then looked down at her hands, "I suppose you saw the bruises he... left."

"Yes," he confirmed, reached out, and covered her tightly entwined hands,
massaging her white knuckles, then pulled them towards him and kissed them
softly. Her head came up with a jerk and their eyes met, "There is nothing
to be ashamed of," he told her gently, "Absolutely nothing."

"I know," she said, exhaling a shaky breath, "Intellectually I know that. I
thought about everything I learned about rape and attempted rape. I know
that he had a need to show his power, but... but I feel so violated, Angel.
He came into my home, a home we shared while we were married and... And I
know I didn't love him, but that doesn't mean there weren't happy times. We
laughed, Angel. We joked, we," she looked at the stove, "we even made
breakfast together, and now he's tainted everything."

"Buffy-"

"No, please, let me. I need to tell you."

"Okay," he said softly, kissing her hands again. "Go on."

She took another shaky breath, "The night we split up, we had an argument
and he went berserk. He hit me, but that was nothing compared to what he did
yesterday. I know we didn't get along, he behaved horribly and I could be a
bitch too, but I still had some hope we might find a way to at least
tolerate each other, as colleagues - some day," she suddenly had to laugh. It
wasn't a happy sound, "But now, I hate him, Angel. I really hate him."

"I hate him too," he replied, shifting a little bit on his feet, "You're
sure about not reporting him?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "As much as I despise him, I can't do it. I don't know
why, I can't really explain, but I can't do it."

When the fresh smell of the cooked omelet reached his nose, Angel got up to
turn their breakfast over in the pan then came back, "I understand," he
said. He wasn't quite sure when he'd made the decision to do what he was
about to do. Maybe it had been tonight when she'd cried in his arms or later
when he'd watched her sleeping, but he'd made up his mind. There would be no
more secrets between them. He wouldn't risk their fragile relationship by
keeping something from her.

Still looking into her questioning gaze, he went on, "Yesterday you asked me
why I came back to L.A. and I told you it was because I was homesick. But
that was just part of the reason."

"Just part of?" she asked confused. "What do you mean?"

"Two weeks ago, Internal Affairs approached us. Obviously convinced that
there's a dirty cop in our precinct." He saw her eyes widen, heard her gasp,
and nodded, "Yeah. I know. Pretty bad stuff. They wanted me because I've
already been there, and I knew all the officers and the fact that Spike,
whom nobody knew, was my partner was a big plus."

"A dirty cop," she said incredulously, "Oh God. Do you... do you know who?"

"We don't have the slightest idea. According to the DA everyone's a
suspect," he told her, got up to pour two mugs of coffee and to prepare two
plates with the omelet. He placed both in front of her place and his, and
then sat down.

"The DA?" she asked, "Does that mean-"

"Yeah, Cordelia is involved. Quite intensely actually. She is my regular
contact. Doyle knows too, Internal Affairs of course and... Giles."

"I see," she nodded, tasting his cooking. "That's good," she commented
almost absentmindedly. "You said we're all suspects," she said after a
moment. "Yet you told me."

He stopped his fork in mid-air, put it down, reached over the table and took
her hand, "I don't want any more secrets between us. I have the feeling
that... that we have a chance here. I have no idea what's going to happen
between us, but a secret can be a bad thing. It could kill something before
it has a chance to... blossom."

She had to swallow the lump in her throat before she could reply, "I feel
honored, by your trust. Is it intentional or validated by facts?"

"Pure intention," he said with a smile playing on his lips. "But I trust my
feelings. You were never really on my list," he told her and let go of her
hand. "But what I meant with understanding you, there's a possibility that Riley
could be the one we're looking for and although I hate him, although he hurt me,
I remember all the good times we had together and find myself hoping it isn't
him."

She grimaced slightly at his words, then picked up another piece of food, "I
wonder if Cordelia would agree with you," she mused.

He grinned at that, "I doubt it. She's pretty tough. I'm really surprised
that her relationship with Doyle works. Hell, when he called me in New York
to tell me he was getting married, my first reaction was to laugh."

"I agree, they're certainly an interesting couple. But Cordy is so in love
with him, I can hardly believe it. Don't get me wrong. She is my friend and
I love her, but like you said, she's tough as nails and she's the last
person I'd expected to fall in love like this."

"Love isn't something you can choose," Angel said quietly. "The last four
years would have been much easier if I could've just turned my feelings
off."

"Would you have liked to turn them off?" she asked, deliberately avoiding
looking at him, too afraid of his answer.

He hesitated, took a sip from his coffee. Putting his mug down, he propped
his elbows on the table entwined his fingers and rested his chin on them.
"There have been days and nights," he let out a short laugh, "mostly nights
actually, when I wished I'd never met you," he said honestly, remembering
the pain and heartache especially the first year after he'd left L.A.

He saw her frown, but still she wouldn't lift her head, "I see," she
whispered. "I really hurt you didn't I?"

"You did," he agreed. When he saw her flinch he immediately reached out and
covered her hands with one of his large. "But that was only on my bad days.
Sitting here across you at the table, I know that my life would've been
terribly empty without you."

"I know how you feel," she replied, her voice just a whisper. Her head came
up and he could see the moistness in her eyes. "I'm so glad you're back,"
she admitted. "I was confused when Giles told us you were coming, I had no
idea if you hated me. But now I'm glad."

"Never," he said firmly, "I could never hate you. That's just not possible.
There is no hate-Buffy-program on my hard-drive," he tried to make light of
the intense situation.

"I-," she started when her doorbell suddenly rang. Angel saw her blanche,
felt her hand tremble under his, saw her eyes widen in sudden fear. He
squeezed her trembling hand.

"He's not going to hurt you again," he promised, getting up. "I'm just going
to see who's there."

She held his arm when he was about to pass her, "Angel, I don't want to see
anyone. I don't... want to explain this," she pointed at her face and the
bruises that were very visible.

"Alright. I'll try to send them away. Okay?"

She nodded and smiled gratefully. "Thanks."

He smiled back, and then went for the door. He wasn't sure who was more
surprised him or the person standing in the doorway. "Cordelia?"

"Angel?" she said, raising a curious brow. "What a surprise. Or maybe not.
Doyle swore that it was only a matter of time until you and Buffy got back
together. But boy, do you work fast. You've been back barely a week and
already I find you in her apartment." She took a deep breath, "Well, are you
going to invite me in, or not?"

"Cordelia," he hesitated, "Now isn't a good time."

"Why? Is she not dressed yet?" she rolled her eyes, "believe me, Angel, I'm
a big girl. The idea that people actually have sex with each other doesn't
shock me anymore."

"I know you're a big girl," he replied, but didn't step away. "Can't you
accept that you aren't always welcome? Why didn't you call first?"

She pursed her lips, and an expression of annoyance crossed her features,
"Because, Mr. watch-dog, I had already a date with your... well, what would
you call her?"

"Just let her come in, Angel" Buffy called from the kitchen.

He gave Cordelia another long look, "Don't upset her, do you hear?" he
warned, making her stare at him in confusion, then stepped back to allow her
to enter.

"Thanks," she breezed past him, "I really can't see what's so special about
him," she was already talking to Buffy, "Okay, so he's got a nice body," she
said, walking towards the kitchen, "and he's not bad looking-"

"Thanks," Angel commented with a smirk.

Cordelia ignored him, "-but his manners leave a lot to be deserved. So,
girlfriend would you now tell how it happened that I come to find a man in
your... OH MY GOD!"

"Cordy," Buffy said calmly after her friend's shocked outcry. "Calm down."

"Calm down?" the brunette asked disbelievingly. "What happened to you? Were
you mugged?"

"No," Buffy shook her head, and then reached up to loosen the towel that was
still wrapped around her hair. "I wasn't mugged."

"But... what happened?" Cordelia wanted to know. With a helpless expression
she sat down on a chair.

The blond looked towards the doorway where Angel was standing. He smiled at
her and she smiled back. Still looking at him she said, "Angel and I were
having dinner last night, and a drink. Afterwards he kissed me at my car."
The brunette raised a brow and her gaze went to Angel as well, when Buffy
continued, "When I came home, Riley was already here. He must have seen us
kissing. He was... out of his mind, and then he... just lost it."

"And he hit you again?"

"Yes, that and..." she hesitated. Taking a deep breath, she added, "He tried
to rape me."

"What?" Cordelia gasped.

"He didn't go through with it, but he tried."

"Oh," the brunette nodded, now believing to understand the situation, "And
so you called Angel to report what was happening."

"Yes and no."

Cordelia narrowed her eyes, "What do you mean yes and no? Buffy, don't tell
me you're letting him get away with this. He tried to rape you and he hit
you. I would gladly prosecute his ass and make him pay."

"I know," Buffy assured her. "I know Cordy, but for several reasons I don't
want to. I decided not to report him and I expect you to respect that."

"I-," Cordelia gave her a helpless look, then turned to Angel, "What are you
saying to this... this nonsense? You can't honestly support her. Angel,
Riley needs to be punished for this. He tried to rape her."

"I agree," he replied, taking Buffy's hand, "And I told her that. But I can
also understand what's keeping her from doing it. I respect her decision.
There were special circumstances."

"Oh no," the brunette looked back and forth between Buffy and Angel, "Don't
try to tell me there were different circumstances. You're both detectives.
There is no excuse for rape."

"Attempted rape," Buffy threw in.

"Well, then attempted rape. It doesn't really matter. He tried to force
himself on you."

"Yes, but he obviously realized it was wrong," the blond argued, "It
wouldn't change anything if he was accused of attempted rape. First, we're
still married, and I've seen more than one judge looking at a woman who
accused her husband of rape. Secondly, I'm sure he won't do it again. And
he's not going to go around and rape or try to rape other women. He isn't
the type. I'm not going to report him, Cordelia, and you have to accept it."

"Well... I... I don't know what else to say. I don't like your decision, but
it seems I can't change your mind," the brunette said, throwing her hands in
the air. In a last attempt she looked at Angel, hoping against hope that he
would talk some sense into Buffy.

"Cordelia I agree with you, completely. But I'm not going to put her through
more than necessary. It's her decision to make," he said.

The assistant DA took a deep breath, "Fine. Well, then, I suppose our trip
to the beach is off?"

"Oh God, I'm sorry," Buffy buried her head in her hands, "I forgot."

"Understandable under these circumstances." Cordelia gave the blond a smile and
patted her arm. Then she suddenly grinned wickedly, "So I'm going to drag
Doyle there, oh, I can just see him groaning. He hates the beach, he hates
the sun, says it's not good for his skin. Alright. See you on Monday," she
said and stood. "Don't bother," she told Buffy who was about to get up, "I
know the way." She gave them a short wave, before the door closed behind her.

"You didn't tell her."

"Hmmm?"

"I said, you didn't tell her that I know about the real reason you came back."
Buffy stood and moved close to him, raising her head to look into his eyes.

"What?" he asked, mesmerized by the beauty of her bruised face, by the look
in her eyes. "Oh, yeah. I know." He grinned suddenly, "It's the weekend."

"Huh?"

"She's always telling me that work free time is sacred time. No work on
weekend she says. So I decided to listen to her."

"Oh?" Buffy raised a brow. "Angel," she asked again, "why didn't you tell her?"

He sighed, "Because I think Monday is still early enough. Because we both know
what would've happened if I told her. And you are in no condition to deal with
one of her tantrums. Not today."

"Oh," she said again, her eyes wide and grateful.

"Yeah," he reached out and tenderly touched her cheek with his fingertips.
"Does it still hurt?"

"No, not really," she whispered, feeling a jolt of pleasure.

"What do you want to do today?" he asked, forcing his mind away from
dangerous ground. For God's sake, she just lived through her husband trying
to rape her and he was thinking about opening her robe and... He jerked away
from her, "Do you want to watch TV or shall I get you a movie or-"

"Angel," she scolded gently.

"What?"

"You're babbling."

"I am?" he asked, and then exhaled sharply, "Yeah, I know," he admitted with
a little shaky laugh. "I'm sorry." He took a deep breath, "So what do you
want to do?"

"Could you... just hold me?"

He groaned at the idea of her body pressing intimately to his, knowing it
would be pure torture for him. But her eyes were huge and pleading, she
trusted him to be with her, help her and he couldn't deny her anything.
"That," he said, glad his voice didn't crack, "I can do." He held out his
arms and she came to him, needing the closeness, the shelter of his body,
the feeling of safety in his arms.

"This is nice," she whispered.

"Yes, it is," he replied, and realized it was the absolute truth.

... to be continued