Angel leaned his head on the bathroom door and tried to stop the swirl of emotions and words that raced through him. She's alive! She's alive and on the other side of this door. This ecstatic thought was followed with a more sobering one. Do I have any right to go in there? She's lost so much today. Am I just going to make it worse? Angel was swiftly descending into a trademark brood session. If she'd been at full strength… I'll just make sure she's okay. What if she doesn't want to see me? His unspoken fear that he would hurt Buffy again was overpowered by his more basic desire to be with her. I need to see her, touch her, feel her in my arms. He could hear noises in the bathroom as she moved around. He could smell shampoo and soap. He could… he nearly fell into the bathroom when Buffy opened the door.

 "I figured if I waited for you to open the door, I'd have to dye the grey in my hair," she griped. She looked terrible. Her hair was dirty and matted with blood. Her clothing was ripped and filthy. "Buffy! You're alive!" It was an idiotic thing for him to say, but she was incredibly alive. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her and yell at her for not being here sooner and God, she's alive! He didn't know what else to say or do.

They stood in the threshold and stared at each other. What Buffy really wanted was to have Angel hold her. In his arms she could forget the awfulness of the past hours. But, she was more afraid that Angel would walk away from her again. She couldn't accept that kind of rejection right now; she could barely manage the conflicting emotions Angel always stirred in her. They hadn't really talked since their breakup in the sewer. She didn't know what to expect from him here and now.

Angel blinked first. His thumb brushed away the lone tear traveling down her cheek. A sob hitched in Buffy's throat, and she moved into his arms burying her head into his chest. She cried and screamed with grief and frustration until she was finally silent. Angel just held her and stroked her back in lazy circles. When she lifted her face to look at him, he drowned anew in her eyes. His mouth descended to her lips and brushed a soft kiss on them.

"Angel," she breathed and parted her lips so his tongue could sweep the inside of her mouth. Is the world spinning because he's kissing me or is the world just spinning? She suddenly felt nauseous. "Angel?" she said again. He recognized the note of panic in her voice. He looked at her unfocussed eyes. "Buffy, you need to sit down."

He checked the temperature of the shower and turned his back while she took off her clothes and got in. When he turned around, he could see her silhouette through the shower curtain. "You're not talking," he chided. She had all the signs of a concussion, but she still desperately wanted to be clean. The compromise had been for him to stay in the bathroom while she showered. Her part of the compromise was to talk. Buffy told Angel everything: her shock at finding at Giles, her fear that her mother was dead or worse, her absolute horror at the brutalities inflicted on Sunnydale's residents. The ordinariness of shampooing her hair and washing her body made it easier for Buffy to articulate her feelings. The only thing she couldn't talk about was what had happened between them.

She turned off the shower and stuck her hand out for the towel. Her body was covered in bruises and cuts, but she was clean and that lifted her spirits. She waved her hand in the air. "Angel, I need a towel." He chuckled. "Did you bring one?"

"No," she answered, "you have towels."

"I had towels. Oz used them to clean the van earlier tonight. I might have a dishtowel. Somehow, I don't think that'll be big enough." Buffy could just picture Angel's smirking face. She had an overwhelming urge to hit him.

"So, what, I'm supposed to drip dry?" He couldn't resist. "Well, it'll reduce the wrinkles." Her head appeared around the edge of the shower curtain and she fixed him with a Slayer stare. "I'll see what I can find," mumbled Angel as he exited the bathroom.

He returned with a blanket and one of his silk shirts. Buffy looked dubiously at the blanket that he had torn in half. "That's all you could find?" she asked. Angel looked at the blanket. It was clean and it was soft. What else did she want? Men, Buffy sighed in exasperation and took the wanna-be towel from Angel. She dried her body and warned Angel that she was getting out of the shower. When she pulled back the curtain and stepped out, she was surprised to see him staring at her. Good thing I wrapped the blanket around me. I look like one of Hannibal Lector's victims under here.

 "Wesley said he thought you might need stitches. I brought tape and bandages." Angel waited expectantly. "I'm – I'm okay. That Slayer healing thing," she babbled back. Angel still didn't turn away. "Is that for me to wear?" she indicated the shirt with her head. The vampire suddenly realized that she was speaking to him. He'd been thinking about what her body looked like under that blanket. If I don't leave now, I'm gonna take her right here on the floor and to hell with the consequences. "I'll let you get dressed. There's some lotion in the cabinet. Sorry, I don't have a dryer." He hurriedly left closing the door firmly behind him. Buffy was sure that she'd just seen Angel run out of the bathroom. I'm confused; he's confused. So, why can't we be confused together?

The bath was nice. What she really wanted now was sleep. She headed for the bed in Angel's room. She hadn't expected to find him there. A part of her did not want to acknowledge the awkwardness between them. Another part of her, the part that had absorbed the last twenty-four hours, knew it was there and ignored it anyway.

He was changing the bed linens. He smiled at her as she walked in. "I thought you might want to sleep. Are you cold? I think I've got an extra blanket somewhere. Would you like some hot tea? Have you eaten anything? I've got some food. I can make a fire in here if you want." She smiled back at him. Her vampire was babbling nervously. She walked up to him and put a finger on his lips to stop the torrent of words spilling out of his mouth.

"Shhhh. I'm fine. I just want to sleep."

"Oh," he replied sheepishly. "Okay. Well, if you need anything, just call. I'll be in the great room." He left before she could say or do anything to change his mind.

Buffy lay down on Angel's bed. The sheets and pillowcases were clean and smelled faintly of laundry soap. She looked at the dirty bed linen piled on the floor at the bottom of the bed, sighed, and got up. She pawed through the bed sheets until she found a pillowcase. She held it to her face and breathed in Angel. She quickly switched the clean pillowcase for the dirty one and lay back down. She stared at the ceiling. She stared at the walls. She tossed. She fidgeted. She tried one of the soothing meditating exercises Giles had taught her. Nothing worked. She couldn't get to sleep. When she closed her eyes, she saw bodies, blood, death.

Angel heard her footsteps as she got out bed and headed for the stairs. He raced up the stairs so quickly he bumped into her. Tears were pooling in her eyes. "What's wrong?" he asked gently, "Tell me what I can do." How about holding me until I go to sleep? He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Or maybe you could just hold my hand and talk to me? He lifted her into his arms and carried her back to bed. I'll even take a good night kiss and a promise that you'll be here when I wake up. He pulled the covers up to her chin and kissed her forehead. "Try and get some sleep, Buffy." He turned to leave the room. She stopped him with a single word, his name, surrounded with fear and love and need.

"Stay with me. Please."