Heal Me
Part 8
By Gem
Angel tried to control the shaking of his hands as he laid Connor in Buffy's old slayer trunk; the baby was asleep, and Angel wanted him to stay that way. Here, in the dark sanctuary of the bedroom, both father and son needed time to rest and regroup. And do some serious thinking about the future.
He loved Buffy, god how he loved her. And he loved the family they were already beginning to build; he knew she did too. Until tonight he had believed...he had made himself believe...that would be enough to hold her to this world. But she had surrendered to the darkness before, and he suddenly realized it no longer held any dread for her; a part of her almost seemed to miss it.
That terrified Angel.
He had always known, if not fully accepted, the risks of her calling. Despite the real possibility that Buffy would not be there to see Connor grow to adulthood, Angel had no qualms about entrusting his son to a woman willing to die in the defense of others. But to entrust the same child to a woman who would rather die than endure the loss of her loved ones...that was something very different. Along that path might lay a danger he had no right to expose his son to.
He had to make her understand the need to stay and fight, the same way she had once made him face the darkness. But it had taken more than words to convince him that snowy Christmas Eve, and he wasn't sure if even Willow had enough magick up her sleeve to conjure a miracle that would save them this time.
* * * * *
"Tara, is that you? It's Willow. I need..." Willow turned her back on the kitchen door, trying to ignore the seeming hordes of people drifting in and out of the area in search of refreshments. "I need to talk to you," she said softly, trying to control the catch in her voice. "I need to see you. Tonight. Can I come over?"
"I don't...I don't think that's a really good idea," Tara answered slowly. "It's late and I'm really tired and."
"It's important, or else I wouldn't ask," Willow pleaded. "I can't come right away, because Buffy might need..." She paused as her words echoed mockingly off of the pitiless steel of the refrigerator door. "Oh, that probably means he was right, doesn't it? If I stay because she might need me to...but she's my friend so I have to..."
"Willow."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the witch said hurriedly. "I've just been doing some thinking...I mean I did something tonight that made me think...and then Angel said some things that made me think other things and I...I really need to know what you think...about what Angel thinks I should be thinking about instead of what I was thinking about."
"Willow I don't..." Tara's strained voice stumbled to a halt. When she spoke again, there was a heavy sorrow in her tone. "Willow, what did you do tonight?"
Willow bit her lip. "That's what I need to talk to you about," she whispered. "I think it was something wrong, but I'm the only one. And if they're right...I really need to know if they're right."
Tara's sigh moved reluctantly along the length of cables separating them. "All right; come on over. But Willow," she warned, "one revelation can't automatically fix everything that went wrong between us."
"I know; I know," Willow assured her, staring down at her tightly crossed fingers. "But we have to start somewhere."
* * * * *
"Angel."
Angel stiffened when he heard Buffy's voice call to him from the doorway. He forced himself to relax and continued to tuck the tiny green blanket loosely around Connor's small form.
"He's asleep," he warned, forcing himself to sound casual. "Don't talk too loudly."
"If he wakes up we'll just settle him down again," Buffy said firmly. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared hard at his broad back, trying to force him to turn and face her through sheer force of will. "I'm not planning on yelling, but you have a habit of making me do things I didn't plan on. Stuff like falling in love with a guy twice my great- grandmother's age."
"You weren't exactly on my century-at-a-glance calendar either." Angel stared down at his son, the baby barely visible in the dim light slipping in from the hallway around Buffy's rigid figure. "Neither was Connor," he added softly, reaching out to caress a downy-soft cheek.
"But we're both here, and now you have to deal with us." Buffy slowly moved into the room, flicking on the lamp on her desk before she crossed back to close the door. "I guess right now it's my turn, since Connor nodded off after the lightning round."
Angel's back stiffened again. Slowly he raised his head, turning slightly sideways to stare sightlessly at the closet doorknob. "Was that what it was like? Lightning?"
She frowned at the strange question. "What what was like?"
"Willow's vortex. Glory's portal. Take your pick." He laughed sharply. It wasn't like she hadn't done that before.
"What are you talking about?" Buffy was totally confused now, not seeing where his mind had made the leap back almost a year in time. "The vortex was kind of twistery, if you must know, but with fewer cows...well, no cows actually. The portal..." she rubbed her hands on her bare arms as an unexpected shiver raced through her. "Yeah, there was some lightning happening there," she murmured.
"Just lightning?"
He still couldn't look at her. If he looked at her, he would push everything to the side once more and take her in his arms, and he couldn't do that again. They needed to face this now, here, tonight.
"No," she said slowly. "There were also some high winds and sort of a Tasmanian Devil dance going on in the center. Any more ancient weather reports you want to go through?"
"I want to know what you were thinking." The words came out choppily, each one reluctantly dragged into the light. "I want to know what you were feeling. I want to know if you thought of anybody else's pain that night but your own."
There, he'd said it. He could at last stand up and face her, turning just in time to see the last trace of color drain from her shocked face.
"Excuse me?" she whispered.
Angel threw up a mental wall against the hurt and betrayal he saw glimmering in Buffy's eyes, even as he fought back the images flashing through his memory. Last spring. The season of new beginnings. A time of renewal and rebirth.
The death of his light.
He'd visited her home, her bedroom, trying to absorb the final imprint she had left on her earthly possessions. The city had dismantled the tower from which she'd leapt, but not before he'd stood on the edge of the platform, looking out and looking down. He'd smelled the blood on the pavement below that no amount of cleaning would ever hide from his senses. He'd seen and experienced it all...when it was too late for anything but grief and guilt.
Funny how there was always time for those.
"I asked them all when I came back here with Willow," he said hoarsely, "but no one knew. They might have suspected...but no one would admit it."
"Admit what? Give me a clue what I'm supposed to be confessing, Mr. Mason."
"You were their hero. You died to save Dawn, and to save the world." The dead look in Angel's eyes was a shivering accompaniment to the distant tone of his voice. "And if any of them believed there was anything more behind it...I'd be the last one they'd tell." His voice became a growl as he added, "I wasn't here; I didn't earn it."
"Look, I don't know what your problem is about tonight's adventure in babysitting, but last year is over and done with."
Buffy's voice was sharp with anger, and something approaching fear. She had worked very hard to block out the memory of the final days of her old life, and she wasn't sure if she was strong enough even yet to immerse herself in all that misery again.
"I did die to save Dawn; did you really expect me to let her sacrifice herself to..."
"To save the world?" he finished for her. "You mean the way you did when you faced the Master?"
Angel still had nightmares about the way they'd found Buffy that night, face down in a dirty pool of water. So cold and alone, her young life forfeit to a destiny she never asked for. And as soon as she was revived, before the water even had time to stop dripping down the front of her stained white prom dress, she was marching into battle yet again. Ready to fight to the death...and beyond.
"I'm the Slayer," Buffy hissed. "It's part of the deal."
She had her own memories of the night the Master rose. She remembered what it felt like to know you were going to die before you even knew how to drive; to know there was no way out and no one to save you because this was what you had been created to do.
But not Dawn. Not Dawn.
"And Dawn's the Key," Angel insisted, refuting the little voice in Buffy's head as though he could hear it himself. "Maybe that was part of her deal. But you wouldn't know because you couldn't let things play out any way but your own."
The shaking in Angel's hands had transmitted itself to his whole body now, but he wasn't sure if it sprang from anger or fear. He had spent three months in a desolate monastery learning to harness his rage and channel it into something productive, but the true turning point had come when he'd seen his lover again, alive and whole.
That was the day the fear began.
Buffy, however, saw only the anger, a mirror of her own. How much could all of his sweet words the past week have meant, if this was simmering just beneath the surface the whole time?
"I guess I'm just selfish that way; saving peoples' lives and all." She tossed her head. "I really need to work on that character flaw, huh?"
Angel shook his head firmly, his dark eyes fastened to her face. The face he'd once thought he'd never see again, except in his dreams.
"Was that what you were really trying to do, Buffy? Just save her life? Or were you trying to escape your own?"
"It was a trade," she snapped. "New lamps for old. Come on, weren't you around when they wrote that story?"
"It was supposed to be about saving the world for all those people who don't even know it might not exist tomorrow." He took a step closer to her, and tried not flinch when she instinctively backed up in equal measure. "You didn't know your death would do that, Buffy," he pressed on ruthlessly. "You gambled those peoples' lives that it would...but you didn't know."
"They made her from my blood!" She abruptly stopped talking when Connor made a tiny, restless mew. Dropping her voice to a biting whisper, she continued, "Who else was I going to line up as a donor?"
"Exactly," he snarled, his voice low and tight. "They made Dawn from your blood, not the other way around. Whatever makes her the Key was a part of Dawn before the monks ever heard of you." Inwardly cursing those same monks for the burden they placed on his lover, Angel tried to hammer his point home. "It's simple biology, Buffy; all the blood in the world can't make genes float backwards. If they could, your mother would have been a Slayer too."
* * * * *
"The blood; isn't the blood a nice touch?"
The demon's translucent form wavered in his anxiety; Lilah's tone had grown increasingly cool as they went over the fine points of his master plan one by one.
"The blood is a creative use of Angel's natural urges," she allowed. "If, of course, you don't factor in the risk of exposure that our operative would face. And the dangers inherent in rousing those natural urges." She rested her elbows on her desk and made a tent with her fingertips. "Not all of us can just shimmer away when the going gets rough and the vampire gets going."
"There won't be time," Sahjhan said firmly. "Trust me; I know time like the back of my hand."
Lilah's eyes traveled down his wavering arm to the barely visible hand extending from his sleeve.
"I'm sure," she said dryly. "Now can we get back to this part about the prophecy? Blood is so passé."
* * * * *
"This wasn't about biology! It was about family." Buffy pounded one clenched fist into the other palm, trying to make it look like anger was drawing her muscles taut instead of a growing anguish. "My family!"
Angel shook his head; he'd read the same books she had, over and over, searching for the words that convinced Buffy her death was the answer. He knew, too much and too late, what she had faced.
"It was about looking for a way to close the portal between earth and a hell dimension."
"I forgot; your specialty." She laughed, a sharp, unhappy sound that cut the air. "Wait, no, that was opening portals."
He kept plunging ahead, pushing aside his own flare of pain at her bitter words. "You never looked for another way. Obviously if your death closed the portal, there was more than one way to do it. But you never looked."
"There wasn't time!" Here she felt safe at last, free from any creeping doubts or guilt his earlier words had stirred to life. "Glory had Dawn; she was going to kill her that night. I couldn't let her die."
Now they were at the heart of the matter. "You mean you couldn't lose her," he corrected her gently.
Buffy blinked back the tears that threatened to blind her to her accuser. His voice sounded gentler now, and achingly sad; her own heart twisted at the unwilling pity she could glimpse in his brown eyes.
"No," she agreed softly, thinking the worst of the storm was over.
"But even though you couldn't bear to lose her, you never asked me for any help," he continued, to Buffy's pained surprise. "In all the months that you knew she was the Key, and in all the weeks you knew Glory was a hellgod, you never once called any of us in LA, not even for simple information."
Angel hated himself right now; she would never know how much. The look in Buffy's eyes was enough to break the heart of a stranger, let alone the man who promised to guard her happiness with his own life. But he had to get this out now, before it destroyed all three of them.
"Were things that bad between us? Did you actually believe I wouldn't drop everything to help you? Or did you think if Giles couldn't find the answer, nobody could?" He clenched his jaw as he forced himself to ask the next question, "Or deep down did you just not want to be helped...because you had your own way out?"
Buffy's nails gouged deep into the soft flesh of her palm as she fought to keep her fist from swinging upward in answer to his charge. Instincts old as time itself urged her to fight as a Slayer was meant to, and the part of her that was woman did not disagree. But she would not give in to the call of blood and sinew; this was not a battle to be won by force. She had right on her side.
"How dare you! You weren't even in this dimension when the last vernal apocalypse went down; you were too busy rescuing Cordelia to answer the phone." Buffy's voice dripped with scorn; the timing of last spring's events had been a bitter pill to swallow.
Angel held his ground, even as his own guilt began clamoring for release. "What about when I came to see you after your mom's funeral? You could have told me in person and I would have stayed. You have to know I would have stayed." He threw his hands up in the air, letting them helplessly fall back to his sides a moment later. "I didn't even know about Dawn until after you died; Willow had to tell me!"
"Explaining Dawn meant explaining Glory."
"That's kind of my point."
Buffy swiped her hand across her eyes, brushing away the traces of traitorous moisture. "I wanted you to stay that night for me," she ground out, pushing the words syllable by syllable past her clenched teeth. "Not because the Slayer needed you...or because the world needed you...but because I needed you, and you needed me. That's why I didn't tell you."
Even in the dim light Angel could see the tears she was trying so hard to hide, and each one raked a bloody trail across his heart, but he couldn't let himself back down. Not now, when he'd finally given names to his fears.
"That night." He nodded crisply, trying desperately to hold onto some semblance of composure. "That was the reason that night. What about all the other nights?"
Buffy stared at him open-mouthed. It wasn't like she hadn't thought of calling him a thousand times last year. Or the year before that, or the year before that. It wasn't that she hadn't wanted to, not at all. She just...couldn't.
"I can't believe you think it was selfish of me to die for Dawn," she exclaimed, shifting the fight back to an area where she felt surer of her footing. "I was willing to give you my blood; why not my own sister?"
"You abandoned everything you had left in the world because you were afraid of what you were going to lose." He took two quick steps forward and seized her shoulders between his hands. "You left behind Dawn, and your friends, and Giles...and me, dammit...because you were afraid of losing Dawn and your friends and Giles and me. You abandoned your duty..."
"My duty!" she choked out. Part of her wanted to wrench herself from his grasp, but she was too stunned.
"The one thing that always held you on course," he continued, throwing each word down as a separate charge. "Faith was in prison, so you effectively left the world without a slayer. You left Glory alive to try opening the gateway all over again, and you left Dawn behind to help her do it!"
Buffy vehemently shook her head, sure of her innocence in this at least. "The barriers could only be broken down at that specific time; Giles said so. There was no danger from Glory."
"And Giles said only the Key...not you but the Key...could close the gateway," he reminded her, bitter regret warring with his anger. "Why believe him about one thing and not the other? Or are you trying to tell me that you did believe him...and you jumped anyway?"
She wasn't going to touch that one; he had no right to even suggest it. "Glory died!" she said instead. "She was Ben by then, and I left her dying."
"But not dead," Angel corrected her. His words were coming out in harsh gasps, as though he was nearing the end of a long and difficult race. "Giles had to see to that. Just like Willow and Tara had to take care of Dawn, and the two of them, plus Xander...and Spike, for God's sake!...had to fight the demons that you were born to slay. But you got your way, didn't you? No matter what any of us lost, you didn't have to face losing one more thing."
His words struck deep into her battered soul, each new blow falling before she could catch her breath from the last. She wanted to cover her ears and hum to block them out, or maybe just walk out and not come back. After all they had endured to bring them to this point in their lives, a little peace was not too much to ask for. Peace she thought they'd found, until tonight.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.
"Because I don't want it to happen again!" He let go of Buffy's shoulders so abruptly she rocked back on her heels. "I heard what Willow said about the vortex she created, and suddenly I could see it all as clearly as if I'd been standing right next to you when it touched down. You were willing to die right alongside Holtz rather than lose Connor."
"And is that so bad?" She could feel the anger building up within her again, fighting its way past the guilt she felt for causing him pain. "He's your son! Would you rather I let Holtz take him?"
"I'd rather you killed for him than died for him," he answered starkly. "If you die for him, who's going to be there when the next maniac tries to hurt him? And the next one...and the one after that?"
"So you wouldn't die for him?"
"For him, yes. Without him...no." He saw the look of horror in her eyes, and felt an even greater measure twist his own guts. "You're the one who taught me how to live, Buffy, really live. And when you died, I wanted to die too. But you don't honor someone's life by ending your own. And you don't escape the pain of losing them by taking the nearest scaffold to heaven."
"I didn't kill myself!" she protested furiously. "Stop making it sound like I did."
Not then, her mind whispered; at least not then. Forget her self- destructive relationship with Spike, the one that could have eventually resulted in her death if she had not taken charge of her life again. That mistake had come after her death, after she had found, and lost, what was supposed to be the final reward for her slayerly sacrifices. It had nothing to do with her mind-set before the battle with Glory.
Or did it? Did it all begin so much further back than she'd even realized?
"You've lost so much in just the time that I've known you." Angel stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a wrenching half-whisper. "You've carried the weight of the world with as much grace as possible, for as long as you could."
Buffy drew a shaky breath; the 'when's' of the past no longer mattered. Today, tomorrow: those were the issues. "And this qualifies me for a 'Dear John' how?"
"I'm trying to tell you that I'm scared," he snapped. "No, make that terrified. I don't want you to ever to go to that end of the platform again." The next words were dragged from the depths of Angel's shivering soul. "And I don't know if either of us can stop it."
Her eyes widened at the very real aura of fear emanating from her lover. To Buffy's shame, she realized it had been there all the time, lurking beneath the anger that had blindsided her. She closed the distance between them without thinking, and placed her hands on either side of his face.
"Angel, it won't," she said firmly. "How many apocalypses have I faced? And how many times have I not gotten out alive?" She slipped one hand over his parting lips. "No, don't answer that. What I'm trying to say is that death is a risk with this high-wire act, but I'm not looking for it. I'm looking out for it...when I can."
He wanted to believe her. And if his were the only heart to be broken, he would have, without question and without fail.
But it wasn't.
"Buffy, I..." Angel turned his head away, unable to look her in the eye as he retreated. "I'm not the only...there's not just me to consider anymore. I have to think of Connor."
"Angel..."
"The poor kid; he's already got the short end of the stake for a dad."
"Connor's fine," she protested. "He's so fine it's almost kind of scary."
Buffy tried to slip her hand around the back of his neck, but Angel pulled away from her consoling touch. Restlessly he prowled around the bedroom, searching for an escape from the inevitable self-analysis that must follow.
"I'm not good with kids. At least I think I'm not. I haven't actually been around any for two and a half centuries; who remembers? And my job pretty much is my personal life, and neither one of them is exactly going to get a 'Safety First' rating. And in case you never noticed, I can get a little moody sometimes."
"You don't say."
He shook his head impatiently. "I owe it to him to make the best kind of life for him that I can. And I want you to be a part of it...if you want that too."
Angel stopped his pacing and faced Buffy head on; she had the strange feeling he was daring her.
"But you have to want it enough to face the bad times with us as well as the good ones."
"I can't believe," she began, raising her voice to a level that stirred the sleeping Connor. She gave an impatient nod to Angel's frantic wave and lowered her voice to an indignant hiss. "I can't believe you, of all people, are lecturing me on the virtues of sticking around. Do you remember where you live these days?"
"Yeah, I do. Two hours away. How long is the trip from the Pearly Gates these days?"
She flinched; it had been a cheap, but effective, shot.
"Angel, we've been over this," she said through gritted teeth. "I want the same life you do; you know that. I'm willing to give it all I've got to make that life happen."
"No, we haven't been over this." He took a long, shuddering breath, giving himself a moment's respite from the storm. "I kept all of this sealed up inside, because I didn't want to spoil things between us. Because you came back, and suddenly it seemed childish to carp on why you left. But not saying anything leaves a hole between us, and we can't live like that."
"So instead you'd rather throw it all away?" Her voice rose in disbelief. "This is California; you're not supposed to throw out the baby or the bath water."
A small cry from the trunk reminded them both that there was indeed a baby in the picture, and one liable to wake up screaming if they weren't quieter. Neither Buffy nor Angel spoke for a minute, waiting to be sure Connor was once again asleep.
"It's not like I haven't been where you were, Buffy," Angel said quietly, when he finally felt it safe to speak. "I'm there every day. Do you have any idea what it's like to know you're going to outlive everyone you care about...even your own child?"
He ran his hand through his shock of dark hair, his mind shying away from the image of his world without his friends. Without Connor. Without Buffy. Someday he would have to face it all, but for today he had to focus on what he had.
"When the First tried to get me to kill you, I was sure my death was the only way out. But you wouldn't let me go. You said strong was fighting. Are you going to tell me now it was all a lie?"
"I was eighteen...not even. You're headed for the quarter-millennium mark. How does that make me Yoda?" Buffy protested. "And why do I have to answer for things I said a lifetime ago? A literal lifetime ago," she stressed.
"You were right."
The quiet words, offered with a weary shrug, abruptly laid waste to her anger. Angel sounded so defeated, so lost; as though her repudiation of the girl she had once been rejected him as well. It suddenly flashed through Buffy's mind that he must have perceived her death the same way, as a rejection of all that she, and he, was.
"What do you want me to say, Angel?" she asked gently. "Did things pile up too high around me then, until I felt like I couldn't breathe, let alone scream for help? And did I feel some sort of...relief...when I jumped?" Buffy swallowed nervously. "Guilty on both counts. And would I do it again?" She paused, seeing the trepidation in his eyes. "That's the real deal-breaker, isn't it? Would Buffy take the big plunge again if she had to?"
"That would be the one," he answered hoarsely, nodding his head.
* * * * *
"I don't like this waiting," Cordelia complained. "All we can hear is voices going up and down, but neither of them is coming down to say everything is okay. I think someone should go up there."
She started to rise, but Wesley grabbed one arm and Lorne grabbed the other. Together they pulled her back down between them on the couch.
"Cordelia, no," Wesley said sternly. "I know you've made Angel into your special project the past few months, but it's time to let go. Whatever happens between them now must be their doing. We've no right to interfere."
"I do," Cordelia contradicted him. "I'm the one who sent him back here. I'm the one who made him realize that he wasn't actually over her."
Fred covered her mouth to stifle a giggle as Lorne began humming the theme to 'Hello Dolly.'
"So you see if this all blows up in Angel's face...and we go back to Daylight Savings Brood...it's my fault. I need to make sure they don't blow it."
"Cordelia, don't."
Willow had been so quiet since she came back into the living room that they had almost forgotten she was there. Her sudden participation in the conversation took them all by surprise.
"But Willow..."
"No," the witch said, softly but firmly. "I know you want what's best for Angel, and I'm really glad that you're behind him and Buffy. And I want to be up there fixing things just as badly as you do...probably more." She spoke the next words slowly, trying them on for size. "But it's not our right."
"But..."
"No."
Cordelia frowned, recognizing her defeat but not loving the victor. "All right...but we are not, I repeat not, trading the convertible in on a minivan; I just want that understood here and now, before anything permanent happens."
Willow grimaced. "I think I need to make a phone call."
* * * * *
She wanted to reassure him; she wanted to make that look of dread in his dark eyes vanish from both sight and memory. But even if she could lie to this man, she wouldn't.
"Angel, you know what...who...I am." She took a few steps towards him, and reached out to take his hand. "I wish I could swear that I won't sacrifice myself for someone ever again...but I can't. It's part of the fine print."
"I'm not asking you for that kind of promise, Buffy." He closed his eyes for a moment; why couldn't he make her understand? "I've known from the beginning that someday you would die fighting darkness. I hate it," his hand tightened around hers until it was almost painful, "but I know. What I want is for you not to surrender to it again. I need you; we all need you. Here. Alive."
"But I am here and you're pushing me away!"
"Do you think you're the only one who's afraid of being left behind? I know your dad left you, and Giles left you, and I left you, and in a way so did your mom." His voice was ragged as he forced the words from his mouth. "But what you did...the way you left all of us...it wasn't fair, Buffy."
"I'm sorry, okay." Buffy ground her teeth together, fighting to hold down the sob building in her throat. "Angel, I can't tell you exactly what I was thinking that night...or any of last spring, actually. After my mom died it was all this horrible blur. Insurance forms to fill out and legal paperwork and school records and...it just never stopped. Not until I did."
"Buffy."
"I'm not even sure you could call what I was doing thinking," she continued in a near-whisper. "I hurt so bad that all I could dream of was being numb. And then when I was finally numb I was so...cold. So alone, even when I wasn't really."
Her eyes drifted past Angel to the trunk on the floor, and the child resting within it. Connor had so much ahead of him, his whole actually; that was how the cliché ran, wasn't it? For her that had come down to twenty years, fifteen or so of them good ones, and then a quick death. That was her whole life.
Or at least that's how it felt standing on the windy platform of Glory's tower to hell.
"Dawn wasn't just my sister that night," Buffy said slowly, "she was me. The me who had to die at 16 because some stupid prophecy said I did. The me who lost my home and my friends and the only man I'm ever going love to a destiny I never asked for." She blinked back her tears as she turned to face him again. "It was a trade; I wasn't lying. Me for...me. Only one me had a chance of doing things right so she's the me that got to stay."
Her voice was that of a lost little girl, but the hazel eyes that looked into Angel's own were older than he, for all his immortality, would ever be. It was that ancient grief that still frightened him, however, whispering of future sorrows for the unwary.
"And what about Connor? Is he supposed to take over living for you someday, when you feel like you've used up your chances again?" He steeled himself to look deep into those old, old eyes, to get to the core of all that was truly his beloved. "It's not fair, Buffy, to you or to Dawn or to any of us. You are you, the only one. And no one else should get the opportunities, or the responsibilities, that belong to you."
"It wasn't like that with Connor, I swear." She stepped closer to him, her body lightly brushing against his. "Maybe I said something to Willow that...but I didn't mean it. Not...well, not that way. I wasn't trying to sacrifice myself or anything; I just got, I don't know, caught up I guess."
She saw the great grey abyss again in her mind's eye, just before it swooped down to claim Holtz. "The vortex...it was all swirly and the static was...and suddenly it was like I was seeing the portal...and Acathla's mouth opening and...and then it was too late."
Angel could see the truth in her eyes, hear it in her voice, and something deep within him eased infinitesimally.
"Angel, I'm sorry I hurt you," Buffy whispered. "Tonight...and then." She slipped her hand out of his and reached up to clutch his coat by the lapels, in case he got any more foolish ideas about bailing on her. "And I'm sorry you feel betrayed or something that I didn't ask you for help against Glory."
"Not betrayed." He paused, trying to find the right words. "More like...unnecessary. Part of the past."
"It had nothing to do with you, or with us," Buffy insisted. "It was about me. I had to keep my promise to Mom; she told me to take care of Dawn...and I did." Honesty compelled her to add, "And maybe it's just because I lucked out on both sides of the Great Beyond, but...I can't be sorry for it, either. Because I love Dawn and I am so glad she's still a part of my life."
"I'm glad too," he said earnestly, reaching out to brush away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. "But what you did...why you did what you did...it still scares me, Buffy."
She tilted her head, rubbing her cheek against his cool palm before she turned to press a kiss at the juncture of wrist and hand.
"I know. It scares me too." The admission surprised even her; she had to become familiar with the idea as she explained it to Angel. "For so long after I came back, I wanted to not be here. I wanted...to be dead." Buffy raised her head from the comfort of her lover's gentle touch to look at him squarely. "And now you make me start to wonder if maybe that what I always wanted...if Spike was right and I was in love with death from the time I was called."
Angel could feel his jaw automatically tighten at the mention of his childe's name, but he suppressed his jealous urges; Spike was of no real importance to them anymore. Instead he focused on Buffy, watching the lights and shadows play across her face and through her eyes.
"Any conclusions?" he asked hoarsely.
"Death...my own death...doesn't wig me the way it did when I was sixteen," she acknowledged with a small smile. "After all, I've died twice and lived to tell the tale. But I don't...I don't think life wigs me the way it did when I was 20 either."
Buffy paused for a moment, and then spoke very slowly, trying to choose words that would form the closest thing to a promise she could make. "So I guess I'm going to try to enjoy where I'm at now...until it's time to move on to a new at."
Angel could feel the tension begin to ease from her body as she made peace with the idea of survival; each breath leached a little of the old pain away, both hers and his own.
"After all that I've said tonight, I don't suppose there's a chance you'd let me share that 'at' with you?"
"I said I wanted to enjoy it, didn't I?" she drawled. A mischievous smile darted across her face, gone within the space of a heartbeat but leaving a trail of sparks chasing down Angel's spine.
"Buffy, I didn't mean to put you on trial, but you...you scared the hell out of me tonight," he whispered. "And you're talking to a man who knows exactly what that feels like." He slipped his arms around her waist, holding her loosely against him.
"I wasn't exactly expecting Holtz to show up on my doorstep, you know."
"Something's always going to be showing up, baby." Angel brushed a kiss across the crown of her head. "And we're going to lose people, no matter how careful we are. But we can't lose ourselves."
"That part's always going to bug me." She shook her head, narrowly avoiding the collision of her forehead with his chin. "I know I'm supposed to die for all this, but it seems like the people I love should get something out of that. Like death insurance or something."
He nodded gravely, acknowledging the general unfairness of life, especially her life. "I wish it worked that way too."
Buffy forced her muscles to relax, reaching for and finding the comfort that Angel's embrace always gave her. "I thought we were over the hard part, but...there's always going to be hard parts for us, aren't there?" she asked with a wistful smile.
"Looks like."
"I thought it was supposed to be get easier," she confessed. "After the first night we seemed to fit together so well and I thought...I thought we were finally doing it right...like something was wrong if it took this much effort. But I guess we're just not built for the easy life, huh?"
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
"I'm going to risk my neck, and you're going to hate it," she continued, sliding her hands up and down his arms. "And then you'll stay out too close to sunrise on a case and scare me half to death."
"Repeatedly," Angel assured her.
He reached out and with one lazy hand traced the line of her jaw. Buffy leaned into his caress, the turbulence within her heart slowly dissipating as she imagined the long future that stretched before them, pitfalls and all.
"And Connor is going to spend his childhood explaining our bruises," she mused, "at least until they fade. And the broken furniture...and the broken windows..."
"He'll learn."
"And Cordelia is going to have to mind her own business when we fight." She waited to see his response.
"She'll lea...I'll talk to her," he promised.
"And I'll...I'll talk to you if it starts to get to me again," she said softly, awkwardly. "I always used to be afraid I'd hurt you if I did...mentioning the people I lost must make you miss your family even more and it's not like I even really..." She closed the last infinitesimal bit of space between them, wrapping her arms around his waist as she looked up into his dark eyes. "I just didn't want to hurt you."
There was a kind of peace on her face that Angel had never seen before, even when she lay sleeping. In a way it saddened him, for the innocence he had so long cherished in Buffy seemed to be a thing of the past; her acceptance of herself the price of this new serenity. But the woman he saw before him, tear-stained and tired, was even more beautiful in her tempered strength than the glowing girl he remembered.
"I'll make you a deal," he said, smiling softly down at her upturned face. "You don't protect me from you and I won't protect you from me. I've been told that's one of my more annoying habits."
"That and the toothpaste tube thing." A wry grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.
"You're supposed to squeeze..." he began.
She pulled his head down for a kiss to silence his protest. "Since we're setting terms here, if one of your exes shows up, trying to seduce you into general badness, you promise you'll let me know this time?"
Angel could hear the genuine apprehension beneath her light tone, and gave his answer in kind. "Agreed. And if there's an apocalypse on the schedule and I'm not here...you'll call. Sound fair?"
"Sounds perfect," she murmured, pushing herself up on her toes to meet his lips in turn.
* * * * *
Willow stared at the telephone, the instrument of her torture, as it rested demurely on the smooth white countertop. She didn't want to do this; she wanted it all to go away, go back to the way things were. Back to when things were simple and she knew who she was and what she was and what she wanted.
Kindergarten was looking better and better all the time.
There was no turning back the clock, though. Or there was...but Willow had a sneaking suspicion that sort of magick was exactly the kind she needed to avoid. Somehow she needed to regain control of her own life...but only her life...and not with spells or potions or talismans. And she needed to do it for herself, by herself.
Gritting her teeth, the witch forced her trembling hand to reach down and pick up the phone. Each number punched seemed to be stabbing directly into her own soul, but there was no other way.
"Tara, it's Willow again." * * * * *
"Nope; can't do it." Buffy suddenly shied back, tugging at Angel's arm to pull him away from danger. "Bad...way bad...idea."
"Buffy, we don't have a choice." Angel eyed her sternly. "I don't want to go down there any more than you do, but we left all of our friends downstairs...some of them not even knowing each other..."
"They're big people," she said desperately. "They can introduce themselves."
"We have to go down some time," he pointed out. "Eventually you're going to need food and Connor will need diapers and..."
She crossed her arms and stared at him. "We can sneak out a window; it's not like we haven't done that before."
"Buffy," he sighed, "I left Sunnydale the first time because I didn't want you hiding in the shadows with me. Do you really think I like the idea any more now?"
She pouted for a moment, hating it when he was right, and hating it even more that they both knew he was right. Hating too the fact that her pout seemed to have lost its power over him. Definitely not a perk of growing up, she reflected grimly.
"All right," Buffy grudgingly allowed. "We'll go down and do introductions and make with the small talk and feed the masses; I'll even set up bridge tables. Will that be enough to satisfy you?"
Angel shook his head firmly. "You forgot the part where we ask one or all of our seven potential babysitters to watch Connor for a night or two while we do a little more making up." He leaned down and smiled at her, more than a hint of wickedness in his dark eyes. "The kind of making up we really can't do with a baby in the same room and your sister in the next."
"I thought...not that I'm complaining, but I thought we were going to take things slow this time."
One large cool hand ran languorously down her back, creating a spine-length shiver in his lover that was swiftly transmitted back to him through the pressure of her slender body against his.
"Oh I intend to take things very slowly," he teased.
"Angel," Buffy protested half-heartedly. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but can I have Serious Guy back for just a minute? Forget the whole making love idea...well, don't forget," she flashed a quick smile, "but raging hormones aside, do you really want to leave Connor after all that went down tonight?"
He stopped stroking her back instantly, but he didn't let her go. Not yet. Not ever, he vowed.
"Holtz is dead, or close enough to it," Angel said gravely. "And Connor will be with a houseful of people who know demons...or are demons." Keep telling yourself that, his mind commanded his heart; just keep saying it until you believe it. "I'm not saying I won't worry, but I have to trust that they can take care of him. Otherwise I'll have to staple him to my hip for the rest of his life."
Buffy quickly shook her head. "No way. My spot." Her hand quickly slid down his side to claim her territory.
"As for making love..." an idea not far from his mind, considering the placement of her hand, "I'm not saying we should go any further than we feel right about. It was never just about the sex, and I don't want it to be that now."
The lingering kiss that followed didn't exactly support his claim, but Buffy decided not to argue.
"But I need to be alone with you," Angel said at last, when there was space and breath to allow speech. "I...need you, that's all. Just you, for just a little while."
She grinned back at him, feeling a weight lift from her heart. Maybe all wasn't exactly well, at least not yet, but it could be. They could make it well.
"Well why didn't you just say so?" she mumbled through the sudden pressure of her lips against his.
* * * * *
To Be Continued
Part 8
By Gem
Angel tried to control the shaking of his hands as he laid Connor in Buffy's old slayer trunk; the baby was asleep, and Angel wanted him to stay that way. Here, in the dark sanctuary of the bedroom, both father and son needed time to rest and regroup. And do some serious thinking about the future.
He loved Buffy, god how he loved her. And he loved the family they were already beginning to build; he knew she did too. Until tonight he had believed...he had made himself believe...that would be enough to hold her to this world. But she had surrendered to the darkness before, and he suddenly realized it no longer held any dread for her; a part of her almost seemed to miss it.
That terrified Angel.
He had always known, if not fully accepted, the risks of her calling. Despite the real possibility that Buffy would not be there to see Connor grow to adulthood, Angel had no qualms about entrusting his son to a woman willing to die in the defense of others. But to entrust the same child to a woman who would rather die than endure the loss of her loved ones...that was something very different. Along that path might lay a danger he had no right to expose his son to.
He had to make her understand the need to stay and fight, the same way she had once made him face the darkness. But it had taken more than words to convince him that snowy Christmas Eve, and he wasn't sure if even Willow had enough magick up her sleeve to conjure a miracle that would save them this time.
* * * * *
"Tara, is that you? It's Willow. I need..." Willow turned her back on the kitchen door, trying to ignore the seeming hordes of people drifting in and out of the area in search of refreshments. "I need to talk to you," she said softly, trying to control the catch in her voice. "I need to see you. Tonight. Can I come over?"
"I don't...I don't think that's a really good idea," Tara answered slowly. "It's late and I'm really tired and."
"It's important, or else I wouldn't ask," Willow pleaded. "I can't come right away, because Buffy might need..." She paused as her words echoed mockingly off of the pitiless steel of the refrigerator door. "Oh, that probably means he was right, doesn't it? If I stay because she might need me to...but she's my friend so I have to..."
"Willow."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the witch said hurriedly. "I've just been doing some thinking...I mean I did something tonight that made me think...and then Angel said some things that made me think other things and I...I really need to know what you think...about what Angel thinks I should be thinking about instead of what I was thinking about."
"Willow I don't..." Tara's strained voice stumbled to a halt. When she spoke again, there was a heavy sorrow in her tone. "Willow, what did you do tonight?"
Willow bit her lip. "That's what I need to talk to you about," she whispered. "I think it was something wrong, but I'm the only one. And if they're right...I really need to know if they're right."
Tara's sigh moved reluctantly along the length of cables separating them. "All right; come on over. But Willow," she warned, "one revelation can't automatically fix everything that went wrong between us."
"I know; I know," Willow assured her, staring down at her tightly crossed fingers. "But we have to start somewhere."
* * * * *
"Angel."
Angel stiffened when he heard Buffy's voice call to him from the doorway. He forced himself to relax and continued to tuck the tiny green blanket loosely around Connor's small form.
"He's asleep," he warned, forcing himself to sound casual. "Don't talk too loudly."
"If he wakes up we'll just settle him down again," Buffy said firmly. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared hard at his broad back, trying to force him to turn and face her through sheer force of will. "I'm not planning on yelling, but you have a habit of making me do things I didn't plan on. Stuff like falling in love with a guy twice my great- grandmother's age."
"You weren't exactly on my century-at-a-glance calendar either." Angel stared down at his son, the baby barely visible in the dim light slipping in from the hallway around Buffy's rigid figure. "Neither was Connor," he added softly, reaching out to caress a downy-soft cheek.
"But we're both here, and now you have to deal with us." Buffy slowly moved into the room, flicking on the lamp on her desk before she crossed back to close the door. "I guess right now it's my turn, since Connor nodded off after the lightning round."
Angel's back stiffened again. Slowly he raised his head, turning slightly sideways to stare sightlessly at the closet doorknob. "Was that what it was like? Lightning?"
She frowned at the strange question. "What what was like?"
"Willow's vortex. Glory's portal. Take your pick." He laughed sharply. It wasn't like she hadn't done that before.
"What are you talking about?" Buffy was totally confused now, not seeing where his mind had made the leap back almost a year in time. "The vortex was kind of twistery, if you must know, but with fewer cows...well, no cows actually. The portal..." she rubbed her hands on her bare arms as an unexpected shiver raced through her. "Yeah, there was some lightning happening there," she murmured.
"Just lightning?"
He still couldn't look at her. If he looked at her, he would push everything to the side once more and take her in his arms, and he couldn't do that again. They needed to face this now, here, tonight.
"No," she said slowly. "There were also some high winds and sort of a Tasmanian Devil dance going on in the center. Any more ancient weather reports you want to go through?"
"I want to know what you were thinking." The words came out choppily, each one reluctantly dragged into the light. "I want to know what you were feeling. I want to know if you thought of anybody else's pain that night but your own."
There, he'd said it. He could at last stand up and face her, turning just in time to see the last trace of color drain from her shocked face.
"Excuse me?" she whispered.
Angel threw up a mental wall against the hurt and betrayal he saw glimmering in Buffy's eyes, even as he fought back the images flashing through his memory. Last spring. The season of new beginnings. A time of renewal and rebirth.
The death of his light.
He'd visited her home, her bedroom, trying to absorb the final imprint she had left on her earthly possessions. The city had dismantled the tower from which she'd leapt, but not before he'd stood on the edge of the platform, looking out and looking down. He'd smelled the blood on the pavement below that no amount of cleaning would ever hide from his senses. He'd seen and experienced it all...when it was too late for anything but grief and guilt.
Funny how there was always time for those.
"I asked them all when I came back here with Willow," he said hoarsely, "but no one knew. They might have suspected...but no one would admit it."
"Admit what? Give me a clue what I'm supposed to be confessing, Mr. Mason."
"You were their hero. You died to save Dawn, and to save the world." The dead look in Angel's eyes was a shivering accompaniment to the distant tone of his voice. "And if any of them believed there was anything more behind it...I'd be the last one they'd tell." His voice became a growl as he added, "I wasn't here; I didn't earn it."
"Look, I don't know what your problem is about tonight's adventure in babysitting, but last year is over and done with."
Buffy's voice was sharp with anger, and something approaching fear. She had worked very hard to block out the memory of the final days of her old life, and she wasn't sure if she was strong enough even yet to immerse herself in all that misery again.
"I did die to save Dawn; did you really expect me to let her sacrifice herself to..."
"To save the world?" he finished for her. "You mean the way you did when you faced the Master?"
Angel still had nightmares about the way they'd found Buffy that night, face down in a dirty pool of water. So cold and alone, her young life forfeit to a destiny she never asked for. And as soon as she was revived, before the water even had time to stop dripping down the front of her stained white prom dress, she was marching into battle yet again. Ready to fight to the death...and beyond.
"I'm the Slayer," Buffy hissed. "It's part of the deal."
She had her own memories of the night the Master rose. She remembered what it felt like to know you were going to die before you even knew how to drive; to know there was no way out and no one to save you because this was what you had been created to do.
But not Dawn. Not Dawn.
"And Dawn's the Key," Angel insisted, refuting the little voice in Buffy's head as though he could hear it himself. "Maybe that was part of her deal. But you wouldn't know because you couldn't let things play out any way but your own."
The shaking in Angel's hands had transmitted itself to his whole body now, but he wasn't sure if it sprang from anger or fear. He had spent three months in a desolate monastery learning to harness his rage and channel it into something productive, but the true turning point had come when he'd seen his lover again, alive and whole.
That was the day the fear began.
Buffy, however, saw only the anger, a mirror of her own. How much could all of his sweet words the past week have meant, if this was simmering just beneath the surface the whole time?
"I guess I'm just selfish that way; saving peoples' lives and all." She tossed her head. "I really need to work on that character flaw, huh?"
Angel shook his head firmly, his dark eyes fastened to her face. The face he'd once thought he'd never see again, except in his dreams.
"Was that what you were really trying to do, Buffy? Just save her life? Or were you trying to escape your own?"
"It was a trade," she snapped. "New lamps for old. Come on, weren't you around when they wrote that story?"
"It was supposed to be about saving the world for all those people who don't even know it might not exist tomorrow." He took a step closer to her, and tried not flinch when she instinctively backed up in equal measure. "You didn't know your death would do that, Buffy," he pressed on ruthlessly. "You gambled those peoples' lives that it would...but you didn't know."
"They made her from my blood!" She abruptly stopped talking when Connor made a tiny, restless mew. Dropping her voice to a biting whisper, she continued, "Who else was I going to line up as a donor?"
"Exactly," he snarled, his voice low and tight. "They made Dawn from your blood, not the other way around. Whatever makes her the Key was a part of Dawn before the monks ever heard of you." Inwardly cursing those same monks for the burden they placed on his lover, Angel tried to hammer his point home. "It's simple biology, Buffy; all the blood in the world can't make genes float backwards. If they could, your mother would have been a Slayer too."
* * * * *
"The blood; isn't the blood a nice touch?"
The demon's translucent form wavered in his anxiety; Lilah's tone had grown increasingly cool as they went over the fine points of his master plan one by one.
"The blood is a creative use of Angel's natural urges," she allowed. "If, of course, you don't factor in the risk of exposure that our operative would face. And the dangers inherent in rousing those natural urges." She rested her elbows on her desk and made a tent with her fingertips. "Not all of us can just shimmer away when the going gets rough and the vampire gets going."
"There won't be time," Sahjhan said firmly. "Trust me; I know time like the back of my hand."
Lilah's eyes traveled down his wavering arm to the barely visible hand extending from his sleeve.
"I'm sure," she said dryly. "Now can we get back to this part about the prophecy? Blood is so passé."
* * * * *
"This wasn't about biology! It was about family." Buffy pounded one clenched fist into the other palm, trying to make it look like anger was drawing her muscles taut instead of a growing anguish. "My family!"
Angel shook his head; he'd read the same books she had, over and over, searching for the words that convinced Buffy her death was the answer. He knew, too much and too late, what she had faced.
"It was about looking for a way to close the portal between earth and a hell dimension."
"I forgot; your specialty." She laughed, a sharp, unhappy sound that cut the air. "Wait, no, that was opening portals."
He kept plunging ahead, pushing aside his own flare of pain at her bitter words. "You never looked for another way. Obviously if your death closed the portal, there was more than one way to do it. But you never looked."
"There wasn't time!" Here she felt safe at last, free from any creeping doubts or guilt his earlier words had stirred to life. "Glory had Dawn; she was going to kill her that night. I couldn't let her die."
Now they were at the heart of the matter. "You mean you couldn't lose her," he corrected her gently.
Buffy blinked back the tears that threatened to blind her to her accuser. His voice sounded gentler now, and achingly sad; her own heart twisted at the unwilling pity she could glimpse in his brown eyes.
"No," she agreed softly, thinking the worst of the storm was over.
"But even though you couldn't bear to lose her, you never asked me for any help," he continued, to Buffy's pained surprise. "In all the months that you knew she was the Key, and in all the weeks you knew Glory was a hellgod, you never once called any of us in LA, not even for simple information."
Angel hated himself right now; she would never know how much. The look in Buffy's eyes was enough to break the heart of a stranger, let alone the man who promised to guard her happiness with his own life. But he had to get this out now, before it destroyed all three of them.
"Were things that bad between us? Did you actually believe I wouldn't drop everything to help you? Or did you think if Giles couldn't find the answer, nobody could?" He clenched his jaw as he forced himself to ask the next question, "Or deep down did you just not want to be helped...because you had your own way out?"
Buffy's nails gouged deep into the soft flesh of her palm as she fought to keep her fist from swinging upward in answer to his charge. Instincts old as time itself urged her to fight as a Slayer was meant to, and the part of her that was woman did not disagree. But she would not give in to the call of blood and sinew; this was not a battle to be won by force. She had right on her side.
"How dare you! You weren't even in this dimension when the last vernal apocalypse went down; you were too busy rescuing Cordelia to answer the phone." Buffy's voice dripped with scorn; the timing of last spring's events had been a bitter pill to swallow.
Angel held his ground, even as his own guilt began clamoring for release. "What about when I came to see you after your mom's funeral? You could have told me in person and I would have stayed. You have to know I would have stayed." He threw his hands up in the air, letting them helplessly fall back to his sides a moment later. "I didn't even know about Dawn until after you died; Willow had to tell me!"
"Explaining Dawn meant explaining Glory."
"That's kind of my point."
Buffy swiped her hand across her eyes, brushing away the traces of traitorous moisture. "I wanted you to stay that night for me," she ground out, pushing the words syllable by syllable past her clenched teeth. "Not because the Slayer needed you...or because the world needed you...but because I needed you, and you needed me. That's why I didn't tell you."
Even in the dim light Angel could see the tears she was trying so hard to hide, and each one raked a bloody trail across his heart, but he couldn't let himself back down. Not now, when he'd finally given names to his fears.
"That night." He nodded crisply, trying desperately to hold onto some semblance of composure. "That was the reason that night. What about all the other nights?"
Buffy stared at him open-mouthed. It wasn't like she hadn't thought of calling him a thousand times last year. Or the year before that, or the year before that. It wasn't that she hadn't wanted to, not at all. She just...couldn't.
"I can't believe you think it was selfish of me to die for Dawn," she exclaimed, shifting the fight back to an area where she felt surer of her footing. "I was willing to give you my blood; why not my own sister?"
"You abandoned everything you had left in the world because you were afraid of what you were going to lose." He took two quick steps forward and seized her shoulders between his hands. "You left behind Dawn, and your friends, and Giles...and me, dammit...because you were afraid of losing Dawn and your friends and Giles and me. You abandoned your duty..."
"My duty!" she choked out. Part of her wanted to wrench herself from his grasp, but she was too stunned.
"The one thing that always held you on course," he continued, throwing each word down as a separate charge. "Faith was in prison, so you effectively left the world without a slayer. You left Glory alive to try opening the gateway all over again, and you left Dawn behind to help her do it!"
Buffy vehemently shook her head, sure of her innocence in this at least. "The barriers could only be broken down at that specific time; Giles said so. There was no danger from Glory."
"And Giles said only the Key...not you but the Key...could close the gateway," he reminded her, bitter regret warring with his anger. "Why believe him about one thing and not the other? Or are you trying to tell me that you did believe him...and you jumped anyway?"
She wasn't going to touch that one; he had no right to even suggest it. "Glory died!" she said instead. "She was Ben by then, and I left her dying."
"But not dead," Angel corrected her. His words were coming out in harsh gasps, as though he was nearing the end of a long and difficult race. "Giles had to see to that. Just like Willow and Tara had to take care of Dawn, and the two of them, plus Xander...and Spike, for God's sake!...had to fight the demons that you were born to slay. But you got your way, didn't you? No matter what any of us lost, you didn't have to face losing one more thing."
His words struck deep into her battered soul, each new blow falling before she could catch her breath from the last. She wanted to cover her ears and hum to block them out, or maybe just walk out and not come back. After all they had endured to bring them to this point in their lives, a little peace was not too much to ask for. Peace she thought they'd found, until tonight.
"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.
"Because I don't want it to happen again!" He let go of Buffy's shoulders so abruptly she rocked back on her heels. "I heard what Willow said about the vortex she created, and suddenly I could see it all as clearly as if I'd been standing right next to you when it touched down. You were willing to die right alongside Holtz rather than lose Connor."
"And is that so bad?" She could feel the anger building up within her again, fighting its way past the guilt she felt for causing him pain. "He's your son! Would you rather I let Holtz take him?"
"I'd rather you killed for him than died for him," he answered starkly. "If you die for him, who's going to be there when the next maniac tries to hurt him? And the next one...and the one after that?"
"So you wouldn't die for him?"
"For him, yes. Without him...no." He saw the look of horror in her eyes, and felt an even greater measure twist his own guts. "You're the one who taught me how to live, Buffy, really live. And when you died, I wanted to die too. But you don't honor someone's life by ending your own. And you don't escape the pain of losing them by taking the nearest scaffold to heaven."
"I didn't kill myself!" she protested furiously. "Stop making it sound like I did."
Not then, her mind whispered; at least not then. Forget her self- destructive relationship with Spike, the one that could have eventually resulted in her death if she had not taken charge of her life again. That mistake had come after her death, after she had found, and lost, what was supposed to be the final reward for her slayerly sacrifices. It had nothing to do with her mind-set before the battle with Glory.
Or did it? Did it all begin so much further back than she'd even realized?
"You've lost so much in just the time that I've known you." Angel stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a wrenching half-whisper. "You've carried the weight of the world with as much grace as possible, for as long as you could."
Buffy drew a shaky breath; the 'when's' of the past no longer mattered. Today, tomorrow: those were the issues. "And this qualifies me for a 'Dear John' how?"
"I'm trying to tell you that I'm scared," he snapped. "No, make that terrified. I don't want you to ever to go to that end of the platform again." The next words were dragged from the depths of Angel's shivering soul. "And I don't know if either of us can stop it."
Her eyes widened at the very real aura of fear emanating from her lover. To Buffy's shame, she realized it had been there all the time, lurking beneath the anger that had blindsided her. She closed the distance between them without thinking, and placed her hands on either side of his face.
"Angel, it won't," she said firmly. "How many apocalypses have I faced? And how many times have I not gotten out alive?" She slipped one hand over his parting lips. "No, don't answer that. What I'm trying to say is that death is a risk with this high-wire act, but I'm not looking for it. I'm looking out for it...when I can."
He wanted to believe her. And if his were the only heart to be broken, he would have, without question and without fail.
But it wasn't.
"Buffy, I..." Angel turned his head away, unable to look her in the eye as he retreated. "I'm not the only...there's not just me to consider anymore. I have to think of Connor."
"Angel..."
"The poor kid; he's already got the short end of the stake for a dad."
"Connor's fine," she protested. "He's so fine it's almost kind of scary."
Buffy tried to slip her hand around the back of his neck, but Angel pulled away from her consoling touch. Restlessly he prowled around the bedroom, searching for an escape from the inevitable self-analysis that must follow.
"I'm not good with kids. At least I think I'm not. I haven't actually been around any for two and a half centuries; who remembers? And my job pretty much is my personal life, and neither one of them is exactly going to get a 'Safety First' rating. And in case you never noticed, I can get a little moody sometimes."
"You don't say."
He shook his head impatiently. "I owe it to him to make the best kind of life for him that I can. And I want you to be a part of it...if you want that too."
Angel stopped his pacing and faced Buffy head on; she had the strange feeling he was daring her.
"But you have to want it enough to face the bad times with us as well as the good ones."
"I can't believe," she began, raising her voice to a level that stirred the sleeping Connor. She gave an impatient nod to Angel's frantic wave and lowered her voice to an indignant hiss. "I can't believe you, of all people, are lecturing me on the virtues of sticking around. Do you remember where you live these days?"
"Yeah, I do. Two hours away. How long is the trip from the Pearly Gates these days?"
She flinched; it had been a cheap, but effective, shot.
"Angel, we've been over this," she said through gritted teeth. "I want the same life you do; you know that. I'm willing to give it all I've got to make that life happen."
"No, we haven't been over this." He took a long, shuddering breath, giving himself a moment's respite from the storm. "I kept all of this sealed up inside, because I didn't want to spoil things between us. Because you came back, and suddenly it seemed childish to carp on why you left. But not saying anything leaves a hole between us, and we can't live like that."
"So instead you'd rather throw it all away?" Her voice rose in disbelief. "This is California; you're not supposed to throw out the baby or the bath water."
A small cry from the trunk reminded them both that there was indeed a baby in the picture, and one liable to wake up screaming if they weren't quieter. Neither Buffy nor Angel spoke for a minute, waiting to be sure Connor was once again asleep.
"It's not like I haven't been where you were, Buffy," Angel said quietly, when he finally felt it safe to speak. "I'm there every day. Do you have any idea what it's like to know you're going to outlive everyone you care about...even your own child?"
He ran his hand through his shock of dark hair, his mind shying away from the image of his world without his friends. Without Connor. Without Buffy. Someday he would have to face it all, but for today he had to focus on what he had.
"When the First tried to get me to kill you, I was sure my death was the only way out. But you wouldn't let me go. You said strong was fighting. Are you going to tell me now it was all a lie?"
"I was eighteen...not even. You're headed for the quarter-millennium mark. How does that make me Yoda?" Buffy protested. "And why do I have to answer for things I said a lifetime ago? A literal lifetime ago," she stressed.
"You were right."
The quiet words, offered with a weary shrug, abruptly laid waste to her anger. Angel sounded so defeated, so lost; as though her repudiation of the girl she had once been rejected him as well. It suddenly flashed through Buffy's mind that he must have perceived her death the same way, as a rejection of all that she, and he, was.
"What do you want me to say, Angel?" she asked gently. "Did things pile up too high around me then, until I felt like I couldn't breathe, let alone scream for help? And did I feel some sort of...relief...when I jumped?" Buffy swallowed nervously. "Guilty on both counts. And would I do it again?" She paused, seeing the trepidation in his eyes. "That's the real deal-breaker, isn't it? Would Buffy take the big plunge again if she had to?"
"That would be the one," he answered hoarsely, nodding his head.
* * * * *
"I don't like this waiting," Cordelia complained. "All we can hear is voices going up and down, but neither of them is coming down to say everything is okay. I think someone should go up there."
She started to rise, but Wesley grabbed one arm and Lorne grabbed the other. Together they pulled her back down between them on the couch.
"Cordelia, no," Wesley said sternly. "I know you've made Angel into your special project the past few months, but it's time to let go. Whatever happens between them now must be their doing. We've no right to interfere."
"I do," Cordelia contradicted him. "I'm the one who sent him back here. I'm the one who made him realize that he wasn't actually over her."
Fred covered her mouth to stifle a giggle as Lorne began humming the theme to 'Hello Dolly.'
"So you see if this all blows up in Angel's face...and we go back to Daylight Savings Brood...it's my fault. I need to make sure they don't blow it."
"Cordelia, don't."
Willow had been so quiet since she came back into the living room that they had almost forgotten she was there. Her sudden participation in the conversation took them all by surprise.
"But Willow..."
"No," the witch said, softly but firmly. "I know you want what's best for Angel, and I'm really glad that you're behind him and Buffy. And I want to be up there fixing things just as badly as you do...probably more." She spoke the next words slowly, trying them on for size. "But it's not our right."
"But..."
"No."
Cordelia frowned, recognizing her defeat but not loving the victor. "All right...but we are not, I repeat not, trading the convertible in on a minivan; I just want that understood here and now, before anything permanent happens."
Willow grimaced. "I think I need to make a phone call."
* * * * *
She wanted to reassure him; she wanted to make that look of dread in his dark eyes vanish from both sight and memory. But even if she could lie to this man, she wouldn't.
"Angel, you know what...who...I am." She took a few steps towards him, and reached out to take his hand. "I wish I could swear that I won't sacrifice myself for someone ever again...but I can't. It's part of the fine print."
"I'm not asking you for that kind of promise, Buffy." He closed his eyes for a moment; why couldn't he make her understand? "I've known from the beginning that someday you would die fighting darkness. I hate it," his hand tightened around hers until it was almost painful, "but I know. What I want is for you not to surrender to it again. I need you; we all need you. Here. Alive."
"But I am here and you're pushing me away!"
"Do you think you're the only one who's afraid of being left behind? I know your dad left you, and Giles left you, and I left you, and in a way so did your mom." His voice was ragged as he forced the words from his mouth. "But what you did...the way you left all of us...it wasn't fair, Buffy."
"I'm sorry, okay." Buffy ground her teeth together, fighting to hold down the sob building in her throat. "Angel, I can't tell you exactly what I was thinking that night...or any of last spring, actually. After my mom died it was all this horrible blur. Insurance forms to fill out and legal paperwork and school records and...it just never stopped. Not until I did."
"Buffy."
"I'm not even sure you could call what I was doing thinking," she continued in a near-whisper. "I hurt so bad that all I could dream of was being numb. And then when I was finally numb I was so...cold. So alone, even when I wasn't really."
Her eyes drifted past Angel to the trunk on the floor, and the child resting within it. Connor had so much ahead of him, his whole actually; that was how the cliché ran, wasn't it? For her that had come down to twenty years, fifteen or so of them good ones, and then a quick death. That was her whole life.
Or at least that's how it felt standing on the windy platform of Glory's tower to hell.
"Dawn wasn't just my sister that night," Buffy said slowly, "she was me. The me who had to die at 16 because some stupid prophecy said I did. The me who lost my home and my friends and the only man I'm ever going love to a destiny I never asked for." She blinked back her tears as she turned to face him again. "It was a trade; I wasn't lying. Me for...me. Only one me had a chance of doing things right so she's the me that got to stay."
Her voice was that of a lost little girl, but the hazel eyes that looked into Angel's own were older than he, for all his immortality, would ever be. It was that ancient grief that still frightened him, however, whispering of future sorrows for the unwary.
"And what about Connor? Is he supposed to take over living for you someday, when you feel like you've used up your chances again?" He steeled himself to look deep into those old, old eyes, to get to the core of all that was truly his beloved. "It's not fair, Buffy, to you or to Dawn or to any of us. You are you, the only one. And no one else should get the opportunities, or the responsibilities, that belong to you."
"It wasn't like that with Connor, I swear." She stepped closer to him, her body lightly brushing against his. "Maybe I said something to Willow that...but I didn't mean it. Not...well, not that way. I wasn't trying to sacrifice myself or anything; I just got, I don't know, caught up I guess."
She saw the great grey abyss again in her mind's eye, just before it swooped down to claim Holtz. "The vortex...it was all swirly and the static was...and suddenly it was like I was seeing the portal...and Acathla's mouth opening and...and then it was too late."
Angel could see the truth in her eyes, hear it in her voice, and something deep within him eased infinitesimally.
"Angel, I'm sorry I hurt you," Buffy whispered. "Tonight...and then." She slipped her hand out of his and reached up to clutch his coat by the lapels, in case he got any more foolish ideas about bailing on her. "And I'm sorry you feel betrayed or something that I didn't ask you for help against Glory."
"Not betrayed." He paused, trying to find the right words. "More like...unnecessary. Part of the past."
"It had nothing to do with you, or with us," Buffy insisted. "It was about me. I had to keep my promise to Mom; she told me to take care of Dawn...and I did." Honesty compelled her to add, "And maybe it's just because I lucked out on both sides of the Great Beyond, but...I can't be sorry for it, either. Because I love Dawn and I am so glad she's still a part of my life."
"I'm glad too," he said earnestly, reaching out to brush away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. "But what you did...why you did what you did...it still scares me, Buffy."
She tilted her head, rubbing her cheek against his cool palm before she turned to press a kiss at the juncture of wrist and hand.
"I know. It scares me too." The admission surprised even her; she had to become familiar with the idea as she explained it to Angel. "For so long after I came back, I wanted to not be here. I wanted...to be dead." Buffy raised her head from the comfort of her lover's gentle touch to look at him squarely. "And now you make me start to wonder if maybe that what I always wanted...if Spike was right and I was in love with death from the time I was called."
Angel could feel his jaw automatically tighten at the mention of his childe's name, but he suppressed his jealous urges; Spike was of no real importance to them anymore. Instead he focused on Buffy, watching the lights and shadows play across her face and through her eyes.
"Any conclusions?" he asked hoarsely.
"Death...my own death...doesn't wig me the way it did when I was sixteen," she acknowledged with a small smile. "After all, I've died twice and lived to tell the tale. But I don't...I don't think life wigs me the way it did when I was 20 either."
Buffy paused for a moment, and then spoke very slowly, trying to choose words that would form the closest thing to a promise she could make. "So I guess I'm going to try to enjoy where I'm at now...until it's time to move on to a new at."
Angel could feel the tension begin to ease from her body as she made peace with the idea of survival; each breath leached a little of the old pain away, both hers and his own.
"After all that I've said tonight, I don't suppose there's a chance you'd let me share that 'at' with you?"
"I said I wanted to enjoy it, didn't I?" she drawled. A mischievous smile darted across her face, gone within the space of a heartbeat but leaving a trail of sparks chasing down Angel's spine.
"Buffy, I didn't mean to put you on trial, but you...you scared the hell out of me tonight," he whispered. "And you're talking to a man who knows exactly what that feels like." He slipped his arms around her waist, holding her loosely against him.
"I wasn't exactly expecting Holtz to show up on my doorstep, you know."
"Something's always going to be showing up, baby." Angel brushed a kiss across the crown of her head. "And we're going to lose people, no matter how careful we are. But we can't lose ourselves."
"That part's always going to bug me." She shook her head, narrowly avoiding the collision of her forehead with his chin. "I know I'm supposed to die for all this, but it seems like the people I love should get something out of that. Like death insurance or something."
He nodded gravely, acknowledging the general unfairness of life, especially her life. "I wish it worked that way too."
Buffy forced her muscles to relax, reaching for and finding the comfort that Angel's embrace always gave her. "I thought we were over the hard part, but...there's always going to be hard parts for us, aren't there?" she asked with a wistful smile.
"Looks like."
"I thought it was supposed to be get easier," she confessed. "After the first night we seemed to fit together so well and I thought...I thought we were finally doing it right...like something was wrong if it took this much effort. But I guess we're just not built for the easy life, huh?"
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
"I'm going to risk my neck, and you're going to hate it," she continued, sliding her hands up and down his arms. "And then you'll stay out too close to sunrise on a case and scare me half to death."
"Repeatedly," Angel assured her.
He reached out and with one lazy hand traced the line of her jaw. Buffy leaned into his caress, the turbulence within her heart slowly dissipating as she imagined the long future that stretched before them, pitfalls and all.
"And Connor is going to spend his childhood explaining our bruises," she mused, "at least until they fade. And the broken furniture...and the broken windows..."
"He'll learn."
"And Cordelia is going to have to mind her own business when we fight." She waited to see his response.
"She'll lea...I'll talk to her," he promised.
"And I'll...I'll talk to you if it starts to get to me again," she said softly, awkwardly. "I always used to be afraid I'd hurt you if I did...mentioning the people I lost must make you miss your family even more and it's not like I even really..." She closed the last infinitesimal bit of space between them, wrapping her arms around his waist as she looked up into his dark eyes. "I just didn't want to hurt you."
There was a kind of peace on her face that Angel had never seen before, even when she lay sleeping. In a way it saddened him, for the innocence he had so long cherished in Buffy seemed to be a thing of the past; her acceptance of herself the price of this new serenity. But the woman he saw before him, tear-stained and tired, was even more beautiful in her tempered strength than the glowing girl he remembered.
"I'll make you a deal," he said, smiling softly down at her upturned face. "You don't protect me from you and I won't protect you from me. I've been told that's one of my more annoying habits."
"That and the toothpaste tube thing." A wry grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.
"You're supposed to squeeze..." he began.
She pulled his head down for a kiss to silence his protest. "Since we're setting terms here, if one of your exes shows up, trying to seduce you into general badness, you promise you'll let me know this time?"
Angel could hear the genuine apprehension beneath her light tone, and gave his answer in kind. "Agreed. And if there's an apocalypse on the schedule and I'm not here...you'll call. Sound fair?"
"Sounds perfect," she murmured, pushing herself up on her toes to meet his lips in turn.
* * * * *
Willow stared at the telephone, the instrument of her torture, as it rested demurely on the smooth white countertop. She didn't want to do this; she wanted it all to go away, go back to the way things were. Back to when things were simple and she knew who she was and what she was and what she wanted.
Kindergarten was looking better and better all the time.
There was no turning back the clock, though. Or there was...but Willow had a sneaking suspicion that sort of magick was exactly the kind she needed to avoid. Somehow she needed to regain control of her own life...but only her life...and not with spells or potions or talismans. And she needed to do it for herself, by herself.
Gritting her teeth, the witch forced her trembling hand to reach down and pick up the phone. Each number punched seemed to be stabbing directly into her own soul, but there was no other way.
"Tara, it's Willow again." * * * * *
"Nope; can't do it." Buffy suddenly shied back, tugging at Angel's arm to pull him away from danger. "Bad...way bad...idea."
"Buffy, we don't have a choice." Angel eyed her sternly. "I don't want to go down there any more than you do, but we left all of our friends downstairs...some of them not even knowing each other..."
"They're big people," she said desperately. "They can introduce themselves."
"We have to go down some time," he pointed out. "Eventually you're going to need food and Connor will need diapers and..."
She crossed her arms and stared at him. "We can sneak out a window; it's not like we haven't done that before."
"Buffy," he sighed, "I left Sunnydale the first time because I didn't want you hiding in the shadows with me. Do you really think I like the idea any more now?"
She pouted for a moment, hating it when he was right, and hating it even more that they both knew he was right. Hating too the fact that her pout seemed to have lost its power over him. Definitely not a perk of growing up, she reflected grimly.
"All right," Buffy grudgingly allowed. "We'll go down and do introductions and make with the small talk and feed the masses; I'll even set up bridge tables. Will that be enough to satisfy you?"
Angel shook his head firmly. "You forgot the part where we ask one or all of our seven potential babysitters to watch Connor for a night or two while we do a little more making up." He leaned down and smiled at her, more than a hint of wickedness in his dark eyes. "The kind of making up we really can't do with a baby in the same room and your sister in the next."
"I thought...not that I'm complaining, but I thought we were going to take things slow this time."
One large cool hand ran languorously down her back, creating a spine-length shiver in his lover that was swiftly transmitted back to him through the pressure of her slender body against his.
"Oh I intend to take things very slowly," he teased.
"Angel," Buffy protested half-heartedly. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but can I have Serious Guy back for just a minute? Forget the whole making love idea...well, don't forget," she flashed a quick smile, "but raging hormones aside, do you really want to leave Connor after all that went down tonight?"
He stopped stroking her back instantly, but he didn't let her go. Not yet. Not ever, he vowed.
"Holtz is dead, or close enough to it," Angel said gravely. "And Connor will be with a houseful of people who know demons...or are demons." Keep telling yourself that, his mind commanded his heart; just keep saying it until you believe it. "I'm not saying I won't worry, but I have to trust that they can take care of him. Otherwise I'll have to staple him to my hip for the rest of his life."
Buffy quickly shook her head. "No way. My spot." Her hand quickly slid down his side to claim her territory.
"As for making love..." an idea not far from his mind, considering the placement of her hand, "I'm not saying we should go any further than we feel right about. It was never just about the sex, and I don't want it to be that now."
The lingering kiss that followed didn't exactly support his claim, but Buffy decided not to argue.
"But I need to be alone with you," Angel said at last, when there was space and breath to allow speech. "I...need you, that's all. Just you, for just a little while."
She grinned back at him, feeling a weight lift from her heart. Maybe all wasn't exactly well, at least not yet, but it could be. They could make it well.
"Well why didn't you just say so?" she mumbled through the sudden pressure of her lips against his.
* * * * *
To Be Continued