Chapter 2
Angel stepped silently inside the sterile hospital room. His sweeping glance took in Buffy's entrancing form as she slept. Hesitantly, Angel lowered himself into the chair beside the bed, wondering how to tell her.
Stroking Buffy's golden hair, he gazed lovingly at her chest as it rose and fell with each breath she took, and wondered briefly what breathing actually felt like. Years of not needing oxygen had led him to give up the pretence of breathing - except to speak - and could not remember the subtlety of that constant movement.
When he'd first given up inhaling or exhaling, it had surprised Angel every time someone failed to notice that his heart didn't beat or that his lungs didn't need filling with air. Lost in memories of days when the flaws in human observation were still knew to him, Angel's hand lost motion and his body became almost inert.
"Mmm," Buffy moaned, stirring and jolting Angel's hand back to life.
"Hush, honey. It'll be okay."
As Buffy's eyes blinked open, Angel only had to glimpse the terror in them to know it was very real. Worried, he frowned.
"What is it?" Buffy queried. "What's wrong?"
"You're scared," he answered simply. "Why are you so scared?"
"It's nothing." Buffy looked away.
"No, it's not. Buffy, please. At least tell me if there's some way I can help?"
Buffy didn't respond, so Angel touched her far cheek compassionately and tried to turn her face towards him. She stubbornly refused to move; Angel's hand retreated moist. The owner of that hand studied the girl dejectedly and vowed to find the cause of her tears.
Sniffing, Buffy murmured,
"Angel?"
His head shot up.
"Hmm?"
"Have you got a tissue?"
Smiling wanly, he pulled a crumpled tissue from his pocket and placed it in her open hand. She grasped his fingers, squeezing them softly to reassure him that she was alright, then took the tissue and dried her eyes. Pale and quivering, she finally succumbed to his attempts to see her face.
Even though he'd been expecting it, Angel gasped involuntarily at the fear he saw in the eyes of Buffy's tear-streaked face. Before his mind registered it, however, a protective instinct kicked in, and Angel drew her into a cocooned embrace, almost tugging the needle passing blood into her body from its vein.
"Shh," he whispered tenderly, as the Slayer once more began to sob. "It's okay. It's okay."
Eventually, Buffy fell asleep in her Angel's arms. Kissing her hair, Angel lovingly placed her back on the bed and was left to wonder what in the hospital had made the Slayer - the one girl with not only the strength and skill, but also the courage, to fight the forces of evil - so utterly petrified.
Angel stepped silently inside the sterile hospital room. His sweeping glance took in Buffy's entrancing form as she slept. Hesitantly, Angel lowered himself into the chair beside the bed, wondering how to tell her.
Stroking Buffy's golden hair, he gazed lovingly at her chest as it rose and fell with each breath she took, and wondered briefly what breathing actually felt like. Years of not needing oxygen had led him to give up the pretence of breathing - except to speak - and could not remember the subtlety of that constant movement.
When he'd first given up inhaling or exhaling, it had surprised Angel every time someone failed to notice that his heart didn't beat or that his lungs didn't need filling with air. Lost in memories of days when the flaws in human observation were still knew to him, Angel's hand lost motion and his body became almost inert.
"Mmm," Buffy moaned, stirring and jolting Angel's hand back to life.
"Hush, honey. It'll be okay."
As Buffy's eyes blinked open, Angel only had to glimpse the terror in them to know it was very real. Worried, he frowned.
"What is it?" Buffy queried. "What's wrong?"
"You're scared," he answered simply. "Why are you so scared?"
"It's nothing." Buffy looked away.
"No, it's not. Buffy, please. At least tell me if there's some way I can help?"
Buffy didn't respond, so Angel touched her far cheek compassionately and tried to turn her face towards him. She stubbornly refused to move; Angel's hand retreated moist. The owner of that hand studied the girl dejectedly and vowed to find the cause of her tears.
Sniffing, Buffy murmured,
"Angel?"
His head shot up.
"Hmm?"
"Have you got a tissue?"
Smiling wanly, he pulled a crumpled tissue from his pocket and placed it in her open hand. She grasped his fingers, squeezing them softly to reassure him that she was alright, then took the tissue and dried her eyes. Pale and quivering, she finally succumbed to his attempts to see her face.
Even though he'd been expecting it, Angel gasped involuntarily at the fear he saw in the eyes of Buffy's tear-streaked face. Before his mind registered it, however, a protective instinct kicked in, and Angel drew her into a cocooned embrace, almost tugging the needle passing blood into her body from its vein.
"Shh," he whispered tenderly, as the Slayer once more began to sob. "It's okay. It's okay."
Eventually, Buffy fell asleep in her Angel's arms. Kissing her hair, Angel lovingly placed her back on the bed and was left to wonder what in the hospital had made the Slayer - the one girl with not only the strength and skill, but also the courage, to fight the forces of evil - so utterly petrified.