Chapter two

The Apartment 6:04 am

The sun was coming up. Buffy should be getting up to go to school. Should being the pivotal word. Everything she needed to know, he felt sure he could teach her. With that small dilemma reasoned out, he turned his attentions elsewhere. After two hundred odd years, you do learn that thinking before you act has some benefits - like not getting a stake through the heart. This is especially true if you are lying in bed with The Slayer.

The Slayer - he did love her. He did - with or without a soul it would seem. He possessed the sum recollection of all of his time with her. Granted, he was seeing it from a bit of a different perspective but still he liked what he saw, what he felt. Hell, he wouldn't even be here now if it weren't for her. Not only did she hold the key to his heart but to his troublesome soul as well. Feeling quite benevolent toward her at present, he slid out of bed and tucked her in tight. It was dark in the bedroom and she was up well over half the night. First, running around after the bad guys and secondly with him. Truly, he was indebted to her. Kneeling down at the side of the bed, he murmured a compulsion for her to sleep until he awakened her. He had rarely felt the need to use such powers at his employ in the last one hundred years but hey, if you've got it.

He padded to the bathroom in bare feet, turning on the shower and stepping in. He felt like yelling, screaming, pounding out his pent up energy - he was incredibly pumped after being buried for so long. Before reacting rashly, he counseled himself that discretion was the better part of valor so to speak. He would be much better off bidding his time and in the long run the gain would be that sweeter. The hot water slid over his skin. It felt as if he had just woken up after a long sleep. Every fiber of his being was alert. Had the soul somehow dulled his senses? He was sure on it.

He could smell the Slayer from here even over the shower. He could smell her shampoo - the scent that was undeniably hers alone - vanilla, musk - magic. It was something uniquely hers - and well, now his. The smile was now plastered on his face. Who would have thought that happiness - true bone numbing happiness would break the curse and let him out to play.

By the time he left the shower the water was running cold and he was whistling. An incredible weight was lifted from his shoulders. Opening Angel's drawers, he couldn't fault his other half as far as clothing went. Pulling on jeans and a brilliant blood red shirt, he surveyed the damage in the mirror.

"Well, hello Mr. O'Conner, long time, no see." He smiled to himself.

The phone ringing broke up his welcome, he grabbed it quickly as not to wake his guest.

"Yeah?"

"Angel?"

"Yeah."

"You don't sound like yourself. You OK?" Willow stammered. She had never called his place before. Buffy must have given the girl the number.

"I'm fine. What do you want?" Attempting to sound more downcast and polite, he added, "And you, Willow? Are you? OK, I mean?"

"Uh, yeah. I mean, I was looking for Buffy. She's not at school. She's always late but never this late."

"Don't worry, she's here."

"With you?"

"Where else?" he replied sarcastically. Again he quickly checked himself, " I mean, where else would she be. We were up so late looking for any sign of the Big Bad, that she just collapsed when we got in." Smiling at himself in the mirror, he added, "I just didn't have the heart to wake her up, she's exhausted. Figured she could use the sleep. Her mom's out of town so I knew she wouldn't worry or anything."

Willow again thought something was up. Buffy spending the night at Angel's - well, that was a first. OH! That's what was up she bet. Buffy was going to have a 'fess up soon. Willow responded in a conspiratal tone, "Uh, sure. She needs some z's." Getting nervous at the silence on the other end on the line, she closed with a "Nightie Night!" and hung up. God, how lame she thought. She really needed to get a life and stop living vicariously through Buffy.

Angel shook his head, God, she was lame as hell. What did Buffy see in her and for the matter, the rest of her motley crew? Oh well, if he had anything to do with it and he did, she might be less apt to need - or want her entourage. With that thought, he began to make a mental list of to do's. On the top of that list, was the woman herself, now happily curled in a tiny ball in the middle of his bed.

Joyce was gone until Monday so if Buffy were out of commission for a few days, at least she wouldn't sound the alarm. If anyone would guess his dirty little secret, it was Buffy herself so necessity deemed that she was top priority. He thought on the subject for a while as he watched her sleep. The last thing he wanted to do was subdue her in some fashion, he didn't want a slave no matter how appealing. He wanted a mate. He always had, even before. He wanted someone who would match him in all things and - for all time.

With his goal firmly in sight, he approached the bed.