Angel blinked rapidly, his face a mixture of shock and disbelief.
"I never got it," she said as his face grew questioning and he arched an eyebrow in unspoken inquiry as she offered an amused smile.
"Never got what?" he inquired as she walked over to a winding stairway that looked on the verge of collapse, ignoring his question as she tested her weight on it before started up. As the stairwell miraculously allowed them to ascend without any major mishap they turned into a room so utterly and effortlessly tasteful that Angel knew that Rupert must have decorated it. Buffy froze, eyes taking on that half-glazed look he had long ago learned meant she was lost in a memory, and he took advantage of the opportunity to look at the room closely, cringing as he noted a hole that had been punched through a cream colored wall, a watercolor painting that had been smashed into the hardwood floor.
"They wouldn't believe me when I told them that there was no entrance into the secret passageways in this room," she said softly, seeming to read his thoughts as she sat down on the bed and bounced up and down playfully, an action that confused him for a moment until he saw a portion of the wall swing outward and allowed his jaw to drop in surprise as she shrugged, quipping lightly, "Ingenious, huh?" as she stepped into the dark hallway beyond the wall. He continued to survey the room until he noticed her holding out a hand and beckoning for him to follow, a grim smile on her lips as he stepped toward her and the wall swung closed one more.
Angel followed Buffy down a long, dark hallway, surprised when she stopped suddenly and uttered an incantation, causing a door to appear from nowhere "You know how to undo concealment spells?" he blurted in surprise as she opened the door and stepped inside, quickly following her before the door disappeared again.
She shot him a funny look, turning on the light. "Shouldn't I? It's only a level two spell."
"Level-" he began, then was silent as he surveyed the scene before him- two long rows of neatly made cots, small bedside tables next to each one. "Was this a hospital?" he questioned, abandoning his first line of questioning as his brow furrowed and he tried to make sense of it.
"No," she whispered. "This is where Giles and I kept them."
Angel blinked in confusion, then decided to just embrace his frustration, near growling, "Kept WHO?"
She took a deep breath, then sat down on the cot nearest to her, crossing her legs under her and twirling a stand of hair around her finger absently, which only served to annoy him more as he was forced to admit, if only to himself, that he hated that she had picked up a new nervous habit since he had last seen her, hated that she had done anything of any consequence at all that he didn't know about, hated Rupert for having gotten to see so much that he had not-
"Okay, the short version," her voice sliced through his thoughts as she adopted what he instantly remembered as her no nonsense voice. "You died in that battle thingy. Chaos and disaster, blah blah blah, slayers come, slayers see, slayers-"
"Conquer?" he finished with a small smile and her eyes snapped up to meet his as she deadpanned bleakly,
"Die. I was going to say slayers die."
"How many?"
"I'm the only one left."
His jaw dropped and he sat heavily on the cot across from her. "How did you survive?"
She gave a wry smile. "Ironically enough, Ethan." The smile faded. "If I'd known it would come to this I would have just-" she sighed heavily. "But that was a long time ago now."
"What happened?"
"Nothing good," she replied evenly. "He swept in and saved the day, right before the last stand. Bought a lot of Halicout witches with him-"
"Wait," Angel said, brow furrowing. "Halicout- as in the Fairie Isle? I thought that was a myth."
She shrugged. "Guess not. Anyway, once they got here I barely needed to fight. A few words and it was done. That was also when I started to pick up some of the magic. It turns out there are five- the fairies called them 'cases' of spells, and anyone can manage the first two- it's when you get up to the third level that you start to run into issues with people not having enough power."
"How far can you go?" he asked curiously and she shrugged.
"The truth? Magic is not so much a Buffy skill. I barely nailed the level two spells down, and that was only after Willow died and Rupert started freaking out about how I needed to learn everything I could to protect myself."
"Was that before or after your marriage?"
"After. Right before I got pregnant."
He felt his heart constrict uncomfortably again at the words and forced himself to be patient, waiting for her to go on.
"It was good for a while," she said carefully, twirling the strand of hair around her finger again.
"When did you start doing that?" he blurted before he realized what he was doing and she blinked at him as though he were crazy, looking at him strangely before asking incredulously,
"Getting pregnant? I date it to the time I started to sleep with mortals-"
"No- Twirling your hair like that," he clarified, for once glad he didn't have any circulation as it prevented him from blushing as her expression cleared slightly before becoming even more confused.
"Didn't I always?"
"No," he replied hoarsely. "You didn't."
"I'm sorry," she responded carefully, looking at him apologetically. "I don't know."
Buffy struggled against the very definite impulse to scream as her ex-lover looked at her with polite interest as she finished her very short explanation about the non-origin of her nervous habit. She decided there was nothing to do but keep talking and pretend his utter lack of emotion where she was concerned didn't bother her.
"Anyway," she stated. "Long story short- the battle in LA was big. Humans found out about demons. They panicked. Ethan took advantage. Rupert and I were stupid and helped him. We got married, Ethan took over the government-"
She felt vague triumph as some interest did flash in his eyes then and he asked doubtfully, "You're telling me Ethan is in charge of America's-"
"There is no America now," she said dully. "There's the International Association of Mortals Against the Supernatural and there's everyone else."
"And you and Rupert were everyone else," he deduced softly and she felt a small pang as she remembered suddenly how intelligent he'd been, too- when she was younger she had always been drawn to his strength, but what had hurt her most after his death was the slow realization that if he had lived they might have come to appreciate one another as equals, once she'd matured.
"Buffy?" he asked uncertainly, pulling her out of her thoughts.
"I'm sorry," she said softly. "Did you everread Kant?"
She almost laughed at the incredulous expression on his face. "You've read Kant?"
"I read a lot now. I have for a long time. I mean, after you turned me on to poetry-"
"You hated poetry."
Buffy felt something akin to sadness flash through her quickly and she forced herself to ignore it, trying to forget how foolish she used to be before she admitted, "No. I loved it. If I could go back and do everything differently the only thing I'd change is that I would have admitted more to you. I was always so scared you wouldn't like me that I said stupid, hurtful things, and it was wrong. I loved the poetry. I still have that Browning book you gave me for my 18th birthday."
"Which poem is your favorite?" he asked disbelievingly and she smiled slowly.
"Are you testing me?" she asked, an amused challenge in her voice before she shrugged. "I've liked lots of her poems over the years, most of them at different times, but only one always seemed relevant." She paused, struggling not to feel awkward as she began to recite, "Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand hence forward in thy shadow. Nevermore alone upon the threshold of my door of individual life, I shall command the uses of my soul, nor lift my hand serenely in the sunshine as before-"
"Without the sense of that which I forbore- thy touch upon the palm," Angel interrupted slowly and against her better judgment, almost against her very will she stood and walked to sit beside him on the cot he had chosen, as she continued softly,
"The widest land doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine with pulses that beat double. What I do and what I dream include thee, as the wine must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue-" she whispered, voice trailing off as she was suddenly, intensely aware of his close proximity to her, the hand he had somehow placed on her thigh. "God for myself," she murmured in a voice that did not sound like her own, more wanton and sensual than it had been in years as her head angled toward his and she gently placed a hand on Angel's chest, leaning forward as she whispered, "He hears that name of thine, and sees within my eyes the tears of two-"
It was Angel who finally lost the thin thread of self-control pulsing between them, reaching his free hand tentatively up to caress her cheek and touching his lips to hers slowly.
This was not like their earlier kiss, but instead full of tenderness and memory as their eyes fluttered slowly shut and her hand came up to meet his, caressing it as his thumb slid carefully across her cheek and she slid her hand gently down his arm and along his back, moving her other hand across his chest and wrapping her arms around his neck so she could pull herself into his lap, deepening the kiss.
He groaned as her tongue flicked outward and licked his lips, pulling her closer against his better judgment and running the hand that still grasped her thigh higher, rewarded when she let out a gasp of her own and threw back her head as he began to suck on her throat and she somehow angled her head so that she could gently nibble on his earlobe as he did so.
"We can't" he gasped even as she threw her oversized sweater over her head, revealing a skimpy red camisole through which he could clearly see hardened nipples- and he groaned again as she ground down against him before touching her lips to his again, allowing her tongue to tangle violently with his for endless moments until they were both breathing heavily.
"We can't," he said again, all but shoving her to the floor as he pushed away from her with difficultly, feeling his erection straining uncomfortably against his pants as he stood and walked across the suddenly too small room with every bit of self control he possessed, sunned as she seemed undeterred by this, shimmying out of her blue jeans, revealing a red thong.
"See, this I what I don't get," she said breathlessly, laying back against the pillows and slipping a hand inside her panties, beginning to draw slow circles around her clitoris as he watched, mouth gaping. "250 years of sexual experience and it never occurred to you that maybe we could try mutual masturbation?"