Cooking for Two

"You can cook?" Buffy blinked at the sight of Angel in the kitchen, standing over the stove, tossing what had to be onions and some green herb that smelled amazing in the skillet over the fire.

"I've learned, over the years." The corner of his mouth quirked up. "I used to cook breakfast for my team."

She hesitated briefly at the thought of Angel, and his team, and how many of them had died. From the deep sorrow in his eyes, almost instantly masked, he thought of them, too, but he smiled at her. Buffy wondered how much it cost him. She wasn't about to ask.

There'd been too much bad blood since 1999, though they'd set aside their differences for a while, when Buffy's mother died, and again, when Angel'd brought her the amulet. Then Los Angeles had gone literally to hell, and there'd been a renegade Slayer, and Faith, and...a lot of things. Water under the bridge, Buffy tried to remind herself, but it was difficult. 'Bad blood' would be a better phrase, and it was harder to wash away.

None of that had anything to do with the sight of Angel, cooking breakfast. Buffy realized her mouth watered, and it wasn't just from the scent of the food. She'd always thought Angel was a Hotty McHotty. He'd starred in some amazing fantasies and wet dreams over the years, not that she'd want to share that information with him, or anyone but her diary - not that she kept one of those any more. But she'd never seen anyone cook like Angel was now, and it was amazing.

She pushed off the door frame, sitting at the table, waiting for her meal. Angel smiled at her over his shoulder, folding an omlette in half, sliding it onto a plate, bringing it to the table. The smell of roasted peppers, garlic, butter - all combined to make a heavenly scent. Buffy wiped her mouth with the supplied napkin, afraid she was drooling. "This looks great." She didn't even see her plate, too busy watching Angel.

"I hope it lives up to your expectations." If he noticed, he didn't say anything, but passed her a cup of coffee, while taking a mug of heated blood out of the microwave for himself. Angel didn't sit down across from her, instead, he leaned against the counter, sipping from the mug.

Buffy licked her lips and glanced at the plate. "I'm sure it will."