Angel POV:

A week had passed since that battle with Logan. Everyone was healing nicely. Faith and Principal Wood were hurt the most and they seemed to be hostile with this…mutant. Even when Dawn was with him, their respect for him was next to nothing.

I couldn't blame them either. What was this kid? The transformation I went through was excruciatingly painful—and that wasn't the worst of it. There was something about him that was familiar. He was so much like my son…

I sighed to myself, fighting back the grief that overtook me every time I thought of Connor. Most people would pity me in the amount of pain that was kept nice and tight inside me. But I'd been through worst. I'd literally been through hell.

Remembering that night I was sent…there, I looked to Buffy from inside the bus. She was standing at the edge of the pit, just looking out into the desolate wasteland that was once Sunnydale. It made me ache to see her like that. To watch her stand there, knowing full well that she was grieving again! After seven years of nothing but constant grief, and now this.

I ran my hands through my hair, worried for her.

"Why do you love her?" a familiar voice rang.

I looked up to the urchin strapped to the ceiling of the boss. I gave him my "famous" what's-it-to-you look.

"I mean, c'mon! She's a drama queen, arrogant, and her blood must be amazingly pleasant" he reasoned.

I knew I should've snapped his neck. But I couldn't argue with him. Her blood was….amazingly empowering. I would know. But I pushed those thoughts away, slightly disgusted with myself. "You really shouldn't be talking," I said in a low voice.

"Psh. I'm not any of those things," he replied.

I didn't feel like arguing. Some part of me knew he was still talking…but I just tuned him out. I continued to watch Buffy, knowing full well that the chances of her moving from that spot were low.

Buffy POV:

I could feel his eyes on my back. His amazing chestnut pools, I could tell, weren't judgmental. Just worried.

I didn't mean to concern him, but I just didn't want to look away from my home. My heart was throbbing in my chest as the memories from my first day in Sunnydale flow into my mind. My eyes were stinging once again, and I closed my eyes, not wanting any of them to fall.

"Damn emotions," I swore to myself.

I could feel the sun setting and I was eternally grateful for it. I wanted to be able to see him outside of the bus again. I stood there until the sun set over the horizon. I could see the stars so clearly, the desert landscape amazing.

A pair of arms wrapped around my waist and a familiar body pressed close to my back. My stomach dropped a foot at the mere feel of him. I sighed involuntarily.

"You know. In most romance stories, the moon is a symbol of love," he said.

I smiled, "That I do know," I replied.

"Well, the thing is," he turned me around gently so I was facing him, "The moon, to me, is just a giant rock in the sky," he explained.

He leaned in closely and breathed, "I believe the stars are a symbol of love. Endless, Pleasing," he said quietly, "And so hard to see clearly, that when you catch a perfect view, it's the one things you don't want to let go of, but can lose so easily" he said.

I smiled up at him, looking into his eyes. They were staring up at the sky, watching the thousands of diamonds glinting in the sky. I put my hand on his cheek, feeling his smooth, cold skin underneath my palm. He touched it and pressed it harder to his face.

I felt a thrill in my heart that made it thump slightly fast. I watched him closely, as he continued to gaze at the stars.

I didn't know how long we stood there. But I was just about to turn his face to mine, when I saw something like guilt flash across his face. "Angel?" I asked, suddenly worried.

He turned his head to mine, catching my concerned tone. He didn't need to say anything to know I had caught his emotion. I saw the slight embarrassment in his eyes. "Angel, what's wrong?" I asked—my voice more level.

"It's nothing," he replied. He began to walk away and I grabbed his arm roughly.

"Tell me what's wrong," I demanded. My voice was intentionally harsh and I could feel the instinctive defensive coil of his muscles.

Angel looked to me shamefully and walked back to me like a wounded animal. He stood in front of me, but didn't look straight at me.

I put my hands on his cheek. "Tell me."