Angel woke to a familiar burning hunger. He knew better than to open his eyes, for he could feel dirt pressing down all around. As realization set in, he began to panic. He had to quash his first instinct, which was to take a breath. He didn't need to do that anymore, he realized.
His hands balled into fists, and with great effort, he brought them upwards, using his fingers to dig and shovel dirt aside. Familiar sensations, though hundreds of years old. Using all of his muscles, he tore his way upwards, through the moist earth and into the cool air beyond.
It was nighttime, and though the hunger made him unconscious of all but the need to feed, he knew somewhere that he would never see anything but the night again.
Instincts kicked in and he scented the air. There was the scent of people, but it was old, very old. No use hunting them. But a doe and her fawn had passed through maybe an hour ago, and though they were not his choice prey, they would do as long as they had hot, salty blood running through their veins. Liquid life. The beast within him howled out for blood, and he listened to it, taking off on the tracks of the deer.
The doe would have been much faster than him, had she not had her fawn to think of. As it was, Angel was hard-pressed to catch up. Fortunately, because of his considerable hunting skills, the deer did not know it was being tracked, and stopped often to graze. It was at one such moment that Angel overtook it.
It stood in a small patch of grass, its head lowered with its fawn by its side. Angel climbed up a tree, his supernatural muscles having no trouble doing it with speed and stealth. But nevertheless, the doe sensed him, and her head lifted.
Angel took hold of his opportunity and dropped down on her from above. Doing his work quickly, he snapped her neck and drank from the artery. Warm life gushed into his mouth and he took all that the doe had to offer with greed.
Only when his hunger was sated and the deer drained did he look up, his face covered with gore.
He shifted back to his human countenance, and awareness slowly returned. He took his time wiping the blood from his face with his shirt. He was thinking. Why did he still have his soul? He knew that he'd died and awoken as a vamp, therefore, why hadn't Angelus made an appearance? There was no curse this time, nothing tangible to tether his soul to his body. Nothing at all.
He looked around, mildly curious. He had a pretty good idea where he was, but that wasn't the problem. The problem was finding out where everyone else had gone. He remembered the scent he'd gotten before, the scent of humans.
Casting about, he found his own tracks, and followed them back to where he'd come from. He stood over his empty grave and trembled. No one should have to dig their way out of their own burial place.
He turned away from the disturbing sight and scented the air again. It was faint, but still there. If he hurried, he could catch up before the scent got too old to track.
He loped onwards, thankful at the moment not to be human, and knew that the only thing that would slow him was daylight.
***
Buffy still stood in council with the Oracles. They'd turned away, as if expecting her to be done. But she wasn't. She still had one question left.
"What about my friends? Are they...okay? Are they in Heaven?" A foolish question, she knew, and not one she was sure she wanted the answer to. But something that had to be asked nonetheless.
"No." They answered in unison. Buffy didn't know exactly what she'd expected, but she wasn't as surprised as she might have been. Too many surprises had been dropped today.
She groaned softly. Her peace of mind shot to hell, she left without a further word, cursing herself for asking such a stupid, stupid question.
Previously empty dreams were filled with images of Willow burning in hell that night.
***
Angel was gaining fast. The scent of the others grew stronger every day, and one day, late at night, he fancied he could detect Buffy's own distinct odor among the throngs of others.
At this point, it was unnecessary to even track by smell. There were tire tracks all over the place, and they'd moved into the forest. Such a large group could hardly move without devastating the trees around it.
For once in his life, Angel tried to avoid thinking and brooding. He concentrated only on speed. He didn't want to think about what he'd had and lost. And for once he didn't feel the masochistic need to torture himself with it. If that made him selfish and uncaring, then so be it, because he needed to function, and the only way he could do that was by acting on autopilot.
Occasionally, Buffy's sweet face would pop into his face and make him smile. She gave him the strength to continue, and he was sometimes able to go two or three days before he had to stop and feed.
He climbed up a hill, and stopped when he reached the crest. L.A. He was home.
***
Buffy shivered and placed a hand over her belly. The growing child inside her had not yet bloated her belly, but she thought she could feel a difference.
Her eyes were drawn up to the horizon, back the way they'd come, and she thought she felt him. Just for a moment.
He was close.
She stood up and paced the length of her room. A series of apartment buildings had been found abandoned and intact a few blocks away from the Oracles' building. That was where the refugees were staying. All of them.
Buffy was grateful to have a warm bed again, and access to hair brushes, toothpaste, and mirrors. Though the hot water, electricity, and cable had gone out long ago. There was, after all, no one to man the factories, power plants, or TV stations.
We'll have to remedy that situation as soon as possible, Buffy thought idly, wishing for a hot running bath.
Matt had insisted on staying in the room next to hers, still worried for her mental health. He'd seen a great improvement in her recently, though he didn't know why. She hadn't shared what she'd learned from the Oracles with anyone yet. Though the pregnancy and her love's return were great joys, the burden of her friends' incarceration in hell wore heavily upon her soul. She didn't know how to explain what she was feeling, so for the time being, she cordoned off that thought train and let it lie.
She sat down on her bed and picked up the book she'd been reading. Candles burned all around the room, providing light to read by, and extra warmth in the cold winter months.
Rifling through 'The Big Book of Baby Names', she wondered whether her child would be a boy or a girl. Either would be wonderful. She imagined a little girl with Angel's chocolate eyes and dark brown hair, and smiled. It wouldn't be long now.
Absently stroking her belly, she sighed. She'd missed him so much. She'd nearly died when she thought he had. Even now, the numbness still clung to her, and her cynical side, the one that protected her against false hope, clamored that it was all a trick, a trick to make her do their bidding, and that once again she was a pawn and Angel was still rotting in a makeshift grave with no marker.
She heard a soft sound outside her door. "Matt?" she called, not sure she wanted to be disturbed by him at the moment. There was no answer. But a familiar tingling started up at the base of her spine, and she shivered. Could it be?
She got up and walked slowly to the door. Waited a moment for a knock. Then, when none came, she undid the deadbolt and threw the door open. She threw herself into his arms without skipping a beat.
"Angel," she said in that breathy way of hers that always made him giddy with love. Giddy on Angel wasn't much, but it was a change from his usual broody behavior. He returned her embrace with equal fervor and enthusiasm.
"I missed you."
Buffy broke down crying. Worried, Angel clutched her close and held her as sobs wracked her body. "Are you okay, Buffy?" He asked, helping her to the bed. She sat down and began to get herself under control. Every so often her breath caught in a hitching hiccup, but she began to breathe normally again.
"Yeah. Sorry, I just...Hormones, I guess." Angel nodded, but still looked confused. She elaborated. "Angel. I'm pregnant."
"What?"
"I said I'm pregnant."
"What?"
"Okay, Angel, I know you heard me that time. I. Am. Pregnant. With. Your. Child. Actually, I've been thinking, and I believe that's the reason that the Powers made you human. So we could have a child. And the Oracles told me..." Buffy stopped, not willing to open that can of worms just yet.
"Let's just sleep. We can talk about it tomorrow." Angel said nothing, merely grabbed another blanket off the chair and started to set it on the floor. "Angel? What are you doing?"
He sighed. "Curse, remember? You may want to sleep now, but what about in the morning? I don't know if I can...if I could control myself."
"Oh. Well, that's something easily taken care of. The Oracles told me that the curse is no longer in effect. Didn't you notice the fact that you already had yours when you woke up?" Speaking of it reminded her, and she went to the window to draw the heavy curtains. "For the morning," she explained.
Angel didn't seem to notice. Instead, he stared at the ground and looked thoughtful. "Angel. Angel. Hello? Angel!" Buffy said, beginning to get exasperated.
"How?" He asked.
"They said your soul is tied to mine. Had something to do with being soul mates or something. Can I sleep now? I promise I'll tell everything in the morning."
Angel looked somewhat contrite, and sat down on the bed beside her, drawing her into his arms. They lay back on the coverlet and Angel stayed awake long after Buffy had drifted off, watching her sleep.