Chapter Four

-Angel-

She was trying not to cry when she ran out of here. I know this because I could smell it on her. I've made Buffy cry often enough to know exactly what she smells like before, during and after. I pace the office, scrub my hands through my hair. I'm getting married in two weeks. I shouldn't be standing here, trying to decide whether to go after my ex-lover or not.

She's not dead, she's not dead, she's not dead, is the only thing going through my mind. For five years I'd believed otherwise. A frown creases my brow, I'd assumed because I could smell her, feel her, touch her, she was real. It hadn't occurred to me that maybe I was the only one, until now.

Frantically, I rush into Harmony's office. Somehow after the debacle with Wolfram and Hart she ended up as my secretary, again. "Di-did you see Buffy?"

Harmony gives me her patented confused look. "Duh, she was just here, left a few minutes ago, looked like she was going to cry."

"Oh, thank God," I breathe. And then I remember, when Cordy came back Wes, Fred, Lorne, Gunn all saw her, but the security cameras showed nothing. "I need the security tapes, Harmony. I also need you to find out if Buffy is staying in a hotel somewhere."

-Buffy-

I manage to make it to my hotel room before complete melt down. I almost lose it at the door. I can't get the damn credit card key to work. The light refuses to turn green. It finally does. I shove open the door and stumble inside. I take a deep breath. I'm gonna be okay. I knew all of this when I came here. I'm gonna be okay. I keep repeating it to myself, but somehow hearing Angel say all the things I knew already made them real.

I just need a hot shower, I tell myself. A hot shower will make this okay, I lie to myself. I know that once Angel becomes human and married to someone not me, nothing is going to be okay.

I climb into a hot steamy shower, so proud of myself for holding it together, for being strong Buffy. It's easy to ignore the scalding tears that mix with the steamy water. That's not me breaking down, that's stress or jet lag or a thousand other things that aren't me breaking down.

Once I've got my jet lag tears under control I get out of the shower, wrap myself in the white, fluffy, hotel robe and walk out of the bathroom. I comb my hair out and flip through channels, trying to find something on TV, preferably something very weepy, more of me not breaking down.

The old black and white of An Affair To Remember is on. I close the blackout drapes, dim the lights and curl up around a pillow. The tears leaking down my cheeks have everything to do with the movie, not me breaking down.

There's a knock on the door and I know without asking that it's Angel. That tingle tangle at the base of my spine tells me so. I remain curled up around my pillow. Maybe if I ignore him, he'll go away.

"Buffy, open the door. I know you're in there."

I sigh. He can probably hear my heart racing or smell me, or something. I don't want to hope maybe he still has his Buffy sense.

"Buffy, don't make me kick the door down."

I get up and grumble. He would, it's a very Angel-y thing to do. I glance at myself in the mirror and I'm so not what I want Angel to see. My eyes are red and puffy from not breaking down. My hair is damp, stringy and I'm wearing a bathrobe. I pictured myself looking some more like a short Gwyneth Paltrow, wearing something completely stunning and terribly sexy the first time Angel showed up in my hotel room. I open the door and for a moment I can't breathe. I forgot how big Angel is, how much he fills up a doorway.

"How did you find me?" I ask.

Angel shrugs. "I run an investigations company. Can I come in?"

I shrug and step aside. It's not like he'll go away. He's got over two hundred and fifty years of Irish temper and stubbornness in him. Angel walks into the room and immediately I can't breathe. The room is too small, my skin itches and I just want him to be kissing me again.

"I wasn't exactly expecting company," I say and gesture toward my aforementioned beautiful self.

Angel gives me that little half grin that is mine alone, at least I hope I can still lay claim to that particular smile of his. "You look fine," he says. And my breath catches because he doesn't sound like he's lying. I'd know if he was, at least I think I would. Angel used to be a terrible liar, but maybe that's changed, after all so many things have changed.

I wrap my arms around myself. That last year he was in Sunnydale, I stayed wrapped up like this constantly just to keep from touching him. So many things haven't changed. He paces the room with his hands in his pockets and I wonder if he still does that to keep from touching me.

-Angel-

Her heart is racing. I want to take her in my arms and whisper sweet, soothing words until her heart beat has gone back to that particular, familiar cadence that was once my lullaby. I know I can't. I'm getting married in two weeks and Buffy is not my bride to be.

"I looked for you for three years. I used every contact I had and then I made new ones. No one had so much as a whisper on you."

She bites her bottom lip and worries it between her teeth. I want to kiss that lip and tell her to stop, she'll make herself bleed.

"I quit. I changed my name and I quit. I haven't slayed anything in five years," she says quietly.

That would explain why my contacts never found anything. When a slayer stops slaying, she kind of disappears off the demon radar. There are so many questions I want to ask, so many things I need to know.

"Where did you go?"

She looks down at her feet; her hair falls in a honey gold curtain around her face. Sorrow and strength roll off her in waves. She glances up at me from underneath her lashes and I can see acceptance in her eyes. Buffy is more at peace with herself right now, even when she's hurting, than she has ever been.

"All over Italy at first, then I found Tuscany and it seemed to fit. There was this little village named Siena. The people there didn't ask questions. They didn't want to know anything about me. They were just enamored of the little, blonde American. They didn't ask a lot of questions about my past and they never wanted me to save the world," she says.

I understood the need to get away; I understood the desire to be someone else for a little while. I didn't understand how she could walk away from everyone she loved, everything she knew.

"How? How could you walk away and leave everyone behind?"

She swallows hard. Her mossy green eyes shimmer with tears unshed. "You can only kill a girl so many times, Angel."

I'd rather have her shove a sword in my gut and send me to hell for a century or so, I know from experience it hurts less then those words uttered from her lips. I swallow hard, tears sting my eyes. "I'm sorry," I rasp. I take one last look at her, turn and walk out of the room.