A/N:  part three of Looking Up.  Buffy/Angel alternating POV's.  Can they move past all their mistakes to be togther?

Please yes feedback.

Disclaimers same as before.

This chapter dedicated to my friend Spoiledsquish.  Thanks for all the words of encouragement!  Keep B/A alive!

Enjoy.

Briskly walking through the Los Angeles streets, I stop at a traffic light, and bounce impatiently on my heels, waiting for the signal to change.  Every second counts now, and I dash across the street as soon as the green man appears on the sign, the universal symbol for "hurry up before you get smeared all over the pavement."

I can see the edge of the hotel tower now, and pay no heed to the few people wandering the streets at 2 in the morning, who gape at the small blonde girl apparantly risking her neck, and her purse, to get somewhere so late.  Or is it early? 

I like seeing you first thing in the morning.

It's bedtime for me.

Well, then I like seeing you at bedtime.

Boy had that been akward.  All things Angel were not always of the good.  He always had such an uncanny nack for making me feel like the biggest dope sometimes.  Still does.  I think it's the look in his dark eyes that makes me trip over my words sometimes. 

It's been a while, though.  I've changed.  A lot.  I've done things, said things that I'm not proud of.  Things I wish I could take back, or undo altogether.  But I know he's not perfect either.  Hah!  Far from it.

~*~

I still pace, watching the stars and counting the seconds as they slowly tick by.  Why the hell would I think she would come to see me?  She's not done "baking" as she put it.  And then there's Spike.

A snort of furious laughter escapes my lips, and I sink down to the bench I happen to be passing at that moment.

Jesus.  Spike.  I know he's had his moments, but…a soul?  What the hell was he thinking?  Did he know, hadn't he seen the pain it can cause you?  Didn't he understand the injustice, the loneliness, the plain hurt evidenced in my situation?  Can't be close, can't have a relationship, whoops, don't touch, God forbid you should have any peace for one second for one minute of any day at all no rest no time for yourself always on call to help the helpless no peace…

I shudder at the way my monkey mind always seems to be able to remind me of what I am and what I can't have.

 All the pain, all the seperateness, all the years, aeons of aloofness don't matter if I can just have one thing.  And it's such a little thing, really.

If I could just see her, just hold her once more, before she heads to Cleveland and out of my life again.

~*~

You know, considering what an expert Angel is at leaving me, I don't really know why I'm in such a hurry to see him.  As a matter of fact, what am I doing?

Why am I torturing myself?  Am I really sure of what I want?  Can I leave Spike behind?  After what he did for me?  For all of us?

Sighing, I plop down on a bench next to a bus stop a few blocks from the hotel and the supposed love of my life.  If he is that, why is he so good at hurting me?  Why is he still so good at it?

And damn it, why do I let him?

I want my life to be with you.

I don't.

I hang my head as this most definitely unwelcome memory rises from the dark corner where I had buried it.

Spike never left you.  Spike was always there for you.  He got a soul for you.  And you're so eager to forget him and run to Angel just like you always do.  What a bitch.

Okay, maybe I am a bitch.  But Spike was not always there for me, not in the ways that counted.  And what about the whole soul getting capade in the first place?  He left to have the chip removed, not to get a soul.  Not for some noble ideal, not to fit in or find his place in the world, but to be able to kill me.  He just got lucky that's not what the shaman saw inside of him.  In his heart of hearts.  God!  Why does this have to be so hard? 

I love Angel.  I always have.  And I have a feeling now that I always will, no matter if we never saw each other again.  I don't want to run to some man's arms just because I'm lonely or need comforting after the really ass kicking suck a thon that this year has been.  I have my family, my sister, my friends.

So why does it feel like half my soul is empty without his next to it?

I do understand, I think.

I need to see him.

~*~

I feel a surge of anger rise unbidden at the unfairness of all this. 

I have never been one to wonder at my fate, to suffer in silence for the way my life must go.  Well, not too much anyway.  Honing the brooding skills over 100 years or so makes a man very adept at hiding the way he truly feels.

I rise off the bench, and make my way home to the Hyperion.  Or home for now.  There are plenty of extra suites in Wolfram and Hart, I mean Angel Investigation's new home.  I just can't bring myself to leave just yet.

I enter through the back way, and softly close the garden doors behind me.  The lobby is eerily silent, and only a few lights flicker in corners, making giant pools of shadow in between their feeble attempts at illumination.

I decide to go ahead and empty the weapons closet, which is pretty much the last thing to go.  Opening the doors, I see that most of the larger pieces have already been packed, only a few small daggers and one of my favorite maces remain.  As I look around for a bag to put them in, I notice a small duffle, covered in dust, in the far corner of the closet.  That will do.

I pull it out, and turn it upside down to shake out the remaining dust bunnies.  A small piece of paper tumbles out with them.

I pick it up off the floor with suddenly trembling fingers, and turn it over.

A sixteen year old Buffy Summers smiles up at me, flanked by her boon companions Willow Rosenberg and Xander Harris.

God.  Were they ever that innocent?  And young.  Buffy must have slipped this into one of my books a thousand years ago.  And here it is now, a physical reminder of all the things I loved most dear, and all the things I had to leave behind.

I sink to the floor, weapons cabinet hanging open, packing forgotten.  I gaze at the picture of my beloved and her friends, as silent tears of…regret? begin to fall from my eyes.  I hastily swipe my hand across my face in shame, not willing to feel so much so soon after the emotional roller coaster I have been on the past few days.

A creaking sound reaches my ears through my haze of pain, and I leap to my feet, mace in hand, and approach the door, ready for anything, pleading silently for any kind of baddie to cross the threshold so I can take out my swirling anger and sadness on it's evil head.

~*~

I find the Hotel exactly as I had expected.  Tall and imposing, yet cheerfully painted, it feels like a place he should live.  I approach the door, still not sure I'm doing the right thing.  The hinges creak when I push the monstrous thing open.

Light falls on his face from the streetlamps, and I gape in shock at the sight of a bedraggled fallen Angel, tear tracks staining his beautiful face, as he hefts a very large and sharp mace right towards me.

"Angel!  It's me!" I shriek right before he can land the killer blow.

His arm halts with difficulty in mid air, and he rights the mace, laying it over his shoulder, as he takes his turn staring.  He blinks his eyes slowly, as if he's trying to clear his vision.

"Buffy?" he whispers, and my name has never sounded more precious.

~*~

As I swing the mace, fully intent on beheading the thing that has dared disturb my grief, her voice reaches my ears finally.

"Angel!  It's me!"

I halt my swing, stopping my killing blow a few inches from her wide green eyes, now staring at me in utter bewilderment.  I sling the weapon over my right shoulder, and whisper "Buffy?" to her, not really sure if my want and sorrow have conjured her there out of thin air, or if it's the real thing standing there in a white tee shirt and jeans in front of me, looking for all the world just like that young girl in the picture I had been holding moments earlier.

I back away from the door, and she follows, jumping as the door crashes shut behind her.

"I hope, um, I hope I'm not bothering you," she says hesitantly.  I burst into laughter, making her jump again.

"Angel, what's wrong?" she murmurs, concern etching her features.  I drop the mace to the ground with a clatter, and sit on the round couch that is luckily right below my butt.  She crouches next to me on her knees, eyes desperately searching mine for some sign of sanity.

"Angel, has something attacked you?  Are you all right?  What can I do?"  she stands suddenly, in a fighters stance, fists by her chest, ready to defend me.  I can only smile at this, and deep in the small part of my dead heart that reserves space for memories of her a small beacon of hope awakens.

~*~

He sinks to the couch, and at the look in his eyes I jump up, ever at the ready for some new threat.  Living on the hellmouth for seven years has made my instincts really honed.  Almost too honed, if you ask me. 

When I gaze down at him again finally, he's smiling as though he hasn't had a thing to smile about his whole life.  It was always a rare gift to see this type of expression on his normally dour face.

"What are you smiling about?" I ask him, and sit down beside him.

"It's funny, you know, that you're here, now," he tells me.

"Why?  Were you expecting someone else?" I reply.

"No, not really.  I just, well, was just thinking about you, and then there you were."

I smile at him now in turn.  "I hope it wasn't a bad thought."  I wipe a lingering tear off his cheek with my finger.  He shuts his eyes, and places his hand over mine, holding it to his face.

"Angel, there's a couple of things I need to tell you.  I know our last conversation wasn't exactly, well, the best one we've ever had, and I feel like I need to clarify some things," I start, and he kisses my palm, shutting me up immediately.  Shivers break on my bare arms, and I wonder feebly were the hell I left my jacket.

"I know, Buffy, I mean…I understand.  I get now what you were trying to say.  Cookie dough not withstanding, I got your point.  And the other thing, well, that's really your business, and I'm sorry I got possessive.  I didn't mean to interfere," he speaks to the floor, apparently not wanting to meet my eyes.

"I've had my own stuff going on too, and we really haven't been the best of friends lately.  I know I've been hard to get in touch with, but believe me when I say it's really for the best you didn't see me this year.  It hasn't been…easy," he continues, and the familiar mask closes over his eyes again, blocking anyone from trying to get too close.

"Well, it's not like I tried, either.  I had my own stuff too.  You know, little sis, new job, apocalypse, Faith, Spike," I rattle on, then realize I said the taboo word.  He jerks his head up at the mention of that name.

"I've made my peace with it.  It's your deal.  Not mine.  I have no right to tell you who to be with, or to judge your choices.  I made some bad ones myself over the past year, and it's really better if no one brings them up again.  I can't undo what I've done, Buffy," he says, taking both my hands in his now, "but I can learn from my mistakes and readjust my behavior so you can still respect me, and so I can just be around you again.  You don't have to trust me.  I just want to be with you, be near you, even for a little while."

I'm speechless.

~*~

I rise from the couch, and her eyes follow my back as I pace in front of her.  "I realized a few days ago, after seeing you again, that the things I had believed to be important in my life were not as important as just one thing.  And I prayed to whoever would listen that if I could just see you one more time, just hold you in my arms once more that I would be satisfied.  All the pain, all the stupid things that I did last year would be worth that one moment with you.  And I would be stronger for it.  I could get through the coming year and the years after that with the memory of you and me together, even if just for a few minutes.  I can exist without my friends, I can exist within the walls of Wolfram and Hart, hell, I can even exist without my son, but I can't live at all without seeing you just once more.  And here you are.  Somebody's listening to me.  And I can't believe it.  I don't know if I should.  'Cause what happens if I turn around and you're not really there?"

I stop my tirade and realize what I've spouted to her is true.  I didn't know if I could make it anymore without Cordy, without Connor, having to inhabit that façade of an office, looking at the sun everyday, and not want to greet it every morning. 

But just the few seconds I've had in her shining presence, her willingness to protect me no matter what, has given my long dead body the will to move on, the will to have no peace for myself and do what's right for humanity.  To help those who can't help themselves.  And whatever the Powers have in store for me next, I know that I can meet the challenge because this amazing woman is out there also fighting the same fight, and that no matter how much time passes, her soul and mine are melded, and can never be torn apart again.

~*~

It's my turn to cry now.

He turns back to me finally, and I stand shakily, making my way to him.  We just look at each other, my whole speech of forgiveness and platitudes forgotten, and as I stare into his dark chocolate eyes, tinged slightly red from tears, I realize myself that I truly am home.

I don't need Sunnydale.  I don't need Spike.  Hell, I never really did.  Here's the thing right in front of me that I was using Spike to fill in for.  My soul's other half.  It's twin. 

No matter how much time passes, no matter if we don't see each other again for years, I'll never ever forget his words, or the look of utter joy in his eyes when I finally take his hands in my own and sob out three words.

"I love you."

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me to his chest, weeping silently into my hair, all the crap, all the sorrow and damage that has been inflicted on him pouring out of him and into me.  My soul will hold his up.  Just like his held mine up so many times before.

"God, Angel."

He rests his forehead against my own, and we shakily smile at each other through the gloom.

His lips meet mine, gently, and it's as if I never left his side.

And I never will, as long as he'll have me.

~*~

Her strength is my strength now, and I'll never need anything else.

I kiss her finally, and she sighs into me, running her hands up my back and ending in my hair, tangling in the short strands.  I cup her face tenderly with my hands, and deepen the contact, as if I can't breathe except to breathe through her.

I know we have a whole hell of a lot of obstacles in our way, but I don't care.  I don't care if hell crashes down around our ears and the world is ripped away to leave nothing in it's place.  All I care about is to kiss this woman, and to have her kissing me.

And this empty shell of a man feels whole again, if only for a little while.