Okay. This disclaimer is long overdue. This story is rated T for violence only. I do not write smut. I will not write smut. That is all.

Buffy felt numb as she walked out of Faith's hotel room, the end of their conversation ringing in her ears.

"Faith, you don't get it. You killed a man."

"No, you don't get it. I don't care."

They couldn't possibly be true, but the dark-haired Slayer's words still filled Buffy with horror. Angel had spent a hundred years trying to deal with what he had done, and it still ate at him even though he wasn't really the one behind any of those things. Giles still showed signs of anguish and remorse when he was reminded of the man who died because of his and his friends' foolishness years ago. Buffy felt like her insides were frozen every time she remembered Allan's blank, staring eyes. She may not have dealt the fatal blow, but she had watched him die, and part of her felt responsible. So how could Faith be so cavalier about it all when she was the one who'd actually done it? And how could she think of pretending like it never happened? How could she expect Buffy to keep it all a secret? The mere thought of concealing something this terrible; of letting it fester within her, was unbearable.

Buffy let it all whirl inside her like an ice storm of despair, unaware of where her feet were carrying her until they had brought her all the way to their destination. Realizing that she now stood before the door to Angel's apartment, she jumped slightly and tried to remember when she decided to go there, but she came up blank. Still, if anyone would understand, Angel would, and she could not and would not hide this from him. She reached up a hand to knock, but before her knuckles made contact with the wood, she noticed that she could hear voices from within the apartment, and faltered.

[o]

"You're sure about this?" asked Angel.

"Yes," said Wesley. "I know I've no chance of getting to your level, but if anything like what happened last night happens again, I need to be able to handle myself better, as the training I've had doesn't seem to have been much help. I could barely keep my head, let alone defend myself." He frowned. "I would ask Mr. Giles, since, as a Watcher himself, he's a better example of what I hope to be able to do, but the evidence so far suggests that he quite detests me, so I'll not bother him more than I have to." He fell silent, looking glum and suddenly feeling rather homesick. He was, after all, over five thousand miles away from England, and the only other person who also hailed from there saw him as an incompetent twerp. No, he definitely wasn't going to bother Rupert Giles more than he had to.

"I'd be glad to teach you how to fight," said Angel.

"Really?" asked Wesley, standing up straighter and brightening considerably.

"It's the least I can do, after everything you've done for me," said Angel sincerely. Then he smirked and added, "Besides, I might not be there to get you out of trouble next time."

Wesley scowled slightly, but was still very happy that Angel had agreed. "Thank you." He looked down at his watch. "Well, I'd better be off. I'll call you about training soon."

Angel nodded, and Wesley walked to the door, but upon opening it, he almost collided with Buffy, who was standing just on the other side, looking as if she'd been there for several minutes while she tried to decide whether or not to come in.

"Buffy!" said Wesley in surprise. She had jumped back in alarm when the door opened, and now looked like she wanted nothing more than to be very far away. Within the apartment, Angel looked around. "What are you doing here?" Wesley asked, still staring at her.

"I, um," she said uncomfortably, "I need to see Angel."

"Oh," said Wesley. "Well, then, by all means," he waved an arm towards the interior of the apartment, "don't let me stop you. I was just leaving, anyway. I suppose I'll see you at the school library tomorrow."

Buffy nodded and gave him a weak, forced smile as she stepped aside so that he could pass, then remained where she was, twisting her hands together and staring at the floor. Angel approached her slowly, his expression full of concern. He had a strong suspicion that he was about to discover the reason behind the blood on her hands the night before.

"Hey," he said softly. Her eyes darted upward, but stopped before they reached his face, then looked down at her fidgeting fingers. He reached out and closed a hand around one of hers, pulled it gently towards him, and lifted his other hand to tilt her face up until she finally met his gaze. "Tell me what happened." Her lip trembled slightly and her eyes sparkled with moisture, but she swallowed hard and nodded.

Angel led her inside and closed the door. When he turned around, he saw that she had already moved over to the couch and curled up on it, hugging her knees and looking so small and vulnerable that he felt his heart twist painfully. He quickly pulled the chair from his desk in front of the couch and sat down, wishing that he had tea or hot chocolate to offer her. "What happened?" he prompted quietly.

"Last night, before we fought Balthazar," she began after a few seconds, sounding slightly hoarse. She stopped and closed her eyes. When she spoke again, her voice was a little stronger. "Faith and I were heading towards the warehouse. We kept getting jumped by vamps, and then this guy—the deputy mayor—he showed up. We thought he was another vampire at first, and I didn't recognize him until it was too late, and—," she broke off, her eyes wide, tears threatening to spill from them, "—Faith staked him. There was nothing I could do. His heart, it—he died right there in front of me."

"Are you okay?" asked Angel.

"I don't know."

"This isn't your fault, Buffy," he said, taking both of her hands in his. "It sounds like it was an accident."

"Yeah," she said. "It's just, I talked to Faith about it, and she said she doesn't care. She got rid of the body, she's acting like nothing's wrong, and she got annoyed when I brought it up. I mean, before I knew Ted was a robot, and I thought I'd killed him, I'd never felt worse in my whole life, even though it was an accident and he hit me first."

"It only happened last night," said Angel. "People handle things differently. She could be in shock or denial. Those won't last, and she's going to need help once they're over."

"Okay," said Buffy. "I'll do whatever I can, but until then? She's not stable, Angel, and she thinks the rules don't apply to her."

"If you're worried, I can keep an eye on her."

"Good," said Buffy, nodding. Her eyes unfocused and silence fell over them for a while, until Angel broke it.

"You said this happened in an alley?" he asked, his brow furrowed.

"Yeah," said Buffy, looking at him again and frowning. "Why?"

"What was the deputy mayor doing in an alley that late at night, in the exact place where two Slayers happened to be?"

"He was looking for us," Buffy realized, her eyes widening slightly. She'd been so focused on his death and what had followed that it hadn't occurred to her to wonder what he'd been doing there, but now it seemed obvious. "Why would he be looking for us? It's not like Slayers get funding or recognition from the city."

"Maybe we should try to find out more about this guy," said Angel.

Buffy suddenly choked on a sob that had come out of nowhere, then buried her face in her hands. A second later, Angel had moved from his chair to the couch next to her and pulled her into his arms. "I keep seeing his face," she said in a small, strangled voice. "Oh, God, what if he had a family? What if he had kids? And Faith got rid of the body, so they won't even know what happened to him. They won't know why he didn't come home. They don't deserve that. He didn't deserve to die. He was just there. He didn't deserve to die."

"People don't always get what they deserve. Life can be cruel and random. Sometimes more than we can stand. Sometimes innocent people get hurt, and sometimes guilty people get rewards that should never have been theirs." A shadow crossed his face. "Sometimes they come back from Hell when they should have stayed there forever."

Buffy looked at him sharply. "Don't ever say that," she said fiercely. There was nothing small or strangled about her voice now.

It took a considerable amount of effort on his part to refrain from replying, "But it's the truth." He might as well have said it, however, for Buffy had clearly guessed that it was on his mind.

When she spoke again, the words came out quiet and passionate, but were somehow more thunderous than they would have been if she had shouted them. "Don't you think I'd have found it a little harder to fall in love with you if Hell was really what you deserved? Don't you think Wesley wouldn't have become your friend, or that he wouldn't have wanted to take the time to go all the way to Romania to make sure Angelus could never come back if there was no difference between you and him?" She ran her fingers tenderly across his face. "You think you're a monster, Angel, but you're not. You're a good man, and you belong here. With me." The last sentence came out in a whisper—almost a plea.

Angel looked into her eyes. The part of him that wanted to contradict her—the part that contained two centuries' worth of guilt and self-loathing—felt weaker than it had ever been before. Buffy and Wesley were probably the two people least likely to see him the way they did. One a Slayer called to kill his kind, the other a Watcher heavily indoctrinated for his whole life to think only the worst of him. But against those odds, they saw him as a good man, and for the first time, he was starting to believe them. It was both wonderful and terrifying, and Angel couldn't speak. His throat was painfully tight, and his vision had blurred from the moisture in his eyes.

Buffy pressed herself more closely to him. "You deserve to be happy," she said, her breath tickling the side of his face.

The already weakened barrier in his mind snapped, and then his lips were on hers.

Yes. Yes, they did.