One

She looked at him for an endless moment, eyes wide, and he watched the emotions play across her face in exquisite and conflicting waves. "I don't-" she began, then stopped, shaking her head. "This must be a trick, I don't understand-" then snapped her mouth shut, expression closing off as she decided it might not be a good idea to let him know what she was thinking.

She turned her back to him and he blinked in confusion as she fought to compose herself, shaking her head almost violently before turning to face him once more.

"You look the same," she said brashly after staring him down for a long moment, deciding to go with the I feel and am thinking nothing approach, wishing only that she could be as good at fooling herself as she'd become at fooling everyone else.

"You look-" he paused, taking in her appearance, and despite everything she had to fight not to laugh at the comical expression on his face as he snapped his mouth shut.

"I think the word you're looking for is terrible," she said harshly, trying not to feel self-conscious under his gaze and pulling awkwardly downward on the bulky sweater she was wearing. "I'm not blind. I know this hasn't been my best year." She shrugged. "Anyway, I'm older, and that tends to lead to making friends with the wrinkle police-"

"What year is it?" he asked abruptly and her head snapped back slightly despite herself as she realized that if this was really happening he wouldn't know.

"I don't know. How old do I look?" she near-taunted, bitter smirk reappearing on her face as she marveled at her own masochism.

He studied her carefully and despite herself she felt herself growing hot under his intense scrutiny. "I'd say that if you were actually eating you'd look about 26," he said shrewdly, and she could hear the disapproval in his voice. She rolled her eyes in order to keep him from knowing she felt anything at all at his censure, then frowned as she belatedly realized it probably would have been better to let him believe she hadn't even noticed it. "Which would probably put you at about " he paused, eyes narrowing before saying definitively, "28 or 29."

She blinked, just once, inordinately surprised, but then again Angel always did nail the details. "Well then, mister intelligence, come up with a year," she said with more vehemence than she felt, angry for reasons she didn't fully understand.

He blinked, as well, just once, exactly as she had, clearly surprise at her answer, the anger behind it. "2009."

"Bull's-eye," but the snap had gone from her voice and suddenly she was just very, very tired. "I don't suppose you- if it really is you- have any idea how you got here?"

"Um- well, I walked-" he began, brow furrowing slightly before he realized that she meant in a more all encompassing sense. "Oh. No. I don't know how- or why. I assume there must have been a ritual."

"Meaning that someone wants you here to either serve the greater good or greater evil, and with the way the world's gone to hell-" she frowned, "in a bordering-on-literal sense- I'd guess the latter. Great news."

He shook his head slowly. "Yeah. Great news."

Her brow furrowed and she tilted her head slightly, looking a him with a sort of sad expression that he couldn't quite place, didn't quite understand. "I hope you didn't-" she began before pausing, beginning again. "I hope that- if it is you- you didn't come to me thinking that I could help you. To tell you the truth, I can't even help myself anymore."

His brow furrowed again at the tone of her voice, so foreign and final and defeated. He chose to focus on something else, saying softly, "Buffy. You must know it's me."

She shook her head, lower lip trembling slightly despite her best efforts. "Convince me."

"How?"

She shook her head again. "I don't know. Tell me something."

"I don't know what-"

"Yeah, big surprise. I guess it must be you, stoic silence and all," she muttered, then closed her eyes, willing herself to just stop. "I'm sorry," she said with effort. "This is just-"

"I know. It is for me too."

Something resembling empathy flashed in her eyes as she started to laugh.

"You know, one thing we'll always have in common," she giggled almost-hysterically as he tried to decide whether her abrupt outburst was a good or a bad thing, "no one can ever just let us stay dead."

After a long moment he ventured a small smile back at her, daring to ask, "May I come in?"

Her hesitant laughter died at once as she near screamed, frantically, "NO! GOD NO, DON'T COME IN!"

"Mommy!" came a small voice from behind the closed bedroom door, snapping Buffy back to reality as she said quickly, levelly, "Stay in there, Willow, mommy's fine," completely missing the confusion and agony that briefly flashed across Angel's face in her momentary distraction.

"You have a daughter," he said lightly and she nodded, forehead creasing slightly, but she was unable to keep a small note of pride from her voice as she half-smiled.

"Yeah. I have a little boy, too."

"So you- you named her Willow. I'm sure that- the other Willow was flattered that you-"

"Willow Rosenberg is dead," Buffy said abruptly, her fragile smile shattering as she cut him off sharply.

His jaw dropped slightly and pain was evident on his face as he shook his head, not knowing where to begin. "Buffy I'm-"

"Whatever, SO over it," she said with a casualness she hoped he wouldn't realized she didn't feel.

Angel wasn't fooled but let it pass, looking down at the ground, then up again, unable to stop himself from asking the question anymore that he was able to keep the slightly jealous note from his voice. "Who's their father?"

"Does it matter?" she asked coldly before shaking her head, eyes offering an apology she wasn't certain he'd see there before she took a deep breath. "He's dead, too," she amended softly, despite herself unable to make this utterance lightly, looking downward so she wouldn't need to meet his eyes, and he couldn't bring himself to ask anything else, her borderline cruelty suddenly making far more sense.

"Was it-" he hesitated, asking the first thing that came to mind, "recent?"

She nodded wordlessly and he would have had to be blind to miss the tears that were threatening to fall from her eyes.

"Buffy-" he tried, reaching out a tentative hand.

She shook her head, taking a needless step backward. "Please don't. It's fine. They're all dead; I'm used to it now."

"All? You- you mean your friends," he said slowly and she rolled her eyes, annoyance temporarily supplanting her pain as she snapped,

"No, Angel, all of my multiple husbands."

He blinked at her for a long moment before venturing, "That was sarcasm, right?" as she rolled her eyes, not unkindly, offering a smile that didn't nearly reach her eyes.

"Yes. Sarcasm. That was." There was an awkward pause and he hesitated before attempting to break it.

"Well, I- anyway, I'm-"

"Yeah, you're sorry, I know," she said, voice reacquiring its edge, surprised as he shook his head.

"No. I mean, yes, I am, but what I was going to say was that I'm sure your children are beautiful."

Her jaw dropped, then closed, and she hated him, hated herself for her inability to hate him, hated how he always said the things that she needed to hear.

"Yeah, thanks," she said dully, shaking her head as a single tear finally fell down her cheek and hating that she couldn't stop it. "Too bad they got stuck with such a bad mother."

"I'm sure you're not-"

"Oh Angel, I REALLY am," she said, shaking her head, telling herself to stop talking even as her lips continued to move. "I should never have had kids. It was so-"

"Buffy-" he said and at his voice snapped her mouth snapped shut, guarded expression coming over her face again.

"How did you find me?" she asked, switching subjects abruptly, amazed when he just shook his head.

"I- just knew."

"You JUST KNEW to look between 19th Street and-" she began incredulously before biting her lower lip contemplatively, muttering more to herself than him, "but then, since when did anything ever make sense?" She turned her attention back to him. "Well, okay then," she continued with a shrug, brow furrowing. "I think we need a plan of action," and he fought not to slump in relief as a flash of the girl he'd used to know came through. Buffy paced back and forth for a moment before deciding to perch on the arm of the sofa, biting her lip contemplatively.

"Can I come in?" he asked again, hating that had to, and stunned as she jumped up again, shaking her head vehemently.

"Buffy, I swear-"

"I- it's not your fault," she said rapidly. "I- I just REALLY can't ask you in."

"I don't-"

"Angel, a lot has changed since you died," she said in a rush. "I shouldn't even be talking to you; which honestly wouldn't bother me- I mean, you're probably getting that I've changed a lot, here, but I'm happy to report that my 'no authority' mindset remains intact, which is sort of why I'm in this mess to begin with, I guess," she babbled, "but it might get my children killed, which, I mean, is SO not okay. I can't ask you in because the people who are in charge now have complicated magiks working all over the major cities. There's a spell on the entrances, if I ask you in they'll know the force field has been breached and-" at his confused and relieved expression that she didn't understand she shut her mouth, shaking her head and continuing dully, "It's a miracle you managed to get here without being killed. And you need to leave before they realize you're here, and the longer I talk to you the greater the chance they'll realize I've been tainted-"

He blinked in confusion. "Tainted?"

"Though with any luck," she continued, starting to babble again, 'They'll just assume again that it's because I had sex with you and Spike so long ago, especially since they think you're dead- Angel it's so important that they don't realize you're not dead-"

"Buffy, what's going on here?" he asked her gently. "Tell me." And as her mouth flew open again he added, "Slowly."