Chapter 1 - Stumbling Towards Happiness

A breeze swept through the space, bringing with it the tang of salt, reminding Angel of the ocean. It would have been pleasant if he wasn't about to die. The demon was already striding over to his crumpled form. His life didn't flash before his eyes, because for the most part, there was very little of his pitiful existence he wanted to revisit. Regrets, however, that was different. He had a boatload of regrets, but not enough time to go through them all.

Doyle was high on the list. His friend was lying unconscious, less than twenty feet away, on top of the salt mine that Angel had just crashed through. The first real friend Angel had ever had, and what had Angel done? Convinced him to come along on a suicide mission, because Angel was an arrogant ass. After the Mohra finished him off, it would then turn its attention back to Doyle. Angel should have remembered that he never made things better for anybody, and that following his lead always ended very badly for anyone else. He had taken a beating from the Mohra when he had been a vampire. Had he really thought he could take down a demon that was ten times stronger than when it had started out?

Buffy was, of course, a huge regret. She was going to be devastated by his death. He could only hope that eventually she would view him as mostly a fond memory, and move on. He did not want her wasting her life mourning the likes of him, he just wasn't worth it.

He wasn't afraid to die. Not the actual moment of death, but what was going to come after was a different story. Angel had no idea how much time he had spent in hell, and the thought of returning scared him. The torture had been almost impossible to bear when he had been a virtually indestructible vampire, he couldn't imagine the pain as a human.

The Mohra demon put a booted foot on his neck and said, "The End of Days has begun and can't be stopped. For anyone of us that falls, ten shall rise." Angel tensed his body, anticipating the killing blow. Instead, a body dropped from the sky, an avenging angel, knocking the Mohra's sword out of the way.

"You hurt my boyfriend." It was obvious that she was pissed as hell.

"A great darkness is coming." The Mohra' voice rumbled, ferocity evident in the way it turned toward the slayer.

As usual, Buffy wasn't impressed. "You got that right."

Angel watched as Buffy thrust the sword at the demon, but she was parried by a morningstar. They fought, neither landing a blow, until the Mohra wrapped the chain of his weapon around Buffy's sword and yanked it from her hand. The action was barely completed, when Buffy kicked him straight into a wall. "Come on. This is the great warrior of darkness?" Her tone was snide, and Angel couldn't help his ear-to-ear grin.

Angel had long been a fan of ballet, but watching Buffy was better than any dance performance he had ever witnessed. The effortless way she spun, kicked, and leaped was just as graceful as any prima ballerina, and a lot more enthralling from his point of view.

They continued to trade blows, but even though Buffy was currently weaponless, the demon was unable to take advantage. As she ducked what would have been a vicious blow to her head, she stomped on the metal chain of the morningstar, at the same time executing a side kick into the Mohra's middle. The combination caused the demon to let go of his weapon.

Enraged, he picked up Buffy and tossed her hard against the wall, momentarily stunning her. "Together you were powerful. Alone, you are dead." A large, meaty hand wrapped around Buffy's throat, slowly lifting her off the ground as Buffy kicked desperately, her air quickly cutting off. "What do you think of the great warrior now?"

Angel watched in horror, and then a calm overtook him. Buffy needed help. This was what he was here for. Gathering up a fistful of salt from the ground, he quipped, "Little bland," making sure that the Mohra was now facing him. "Needs salt," he said, tossing it straight into the demon's eyes. It roared in pain, dropping Buffy in the process. Angel rushed over to help her up, but before he could, the demon grabbed him and tossed all six feet, one inch, two hundred pounds of him across the salt mine as if he were a rag doll. He crashed and skidded to a stop, aching all over. Forcing his eyes open, he watched as Buffy once again punched the demon. He stared at it, and understanding suddenly dawned on him as he yelled, "The light of a thousand eyes.. The jewel in its forehead! You have to smash the jewel."

Buffy gracefully grabbed the morningstar and swung it, the heavy studded iron ball on a direct trajectory with the ruby jewel in the Mohra's forehead. "No," it screamed, and then it was gone in an explosion of bright light. Buffy dropped the weapon and ran over to Angel.

Sitting next to him, she pulled his head into her lap.

"Buffy, are you all.."

"Shh, you're all right." She sifted his hair through her fingers. "That's all that matters. Shh, you're all right." She bent over and kissed the top of his head. "And it's over. And we're together."

"You should make sure Doyle's ok." He currently felt like one big bruise, but Buffy's presence took a lot of the sting out of it.

"Sure," Buffy agreed, although it took her another minute before she was able to leave his side. Heading back topside, she found Doyle pushing himself up to a sitting position. "How are you doing?"

Doyle let out a groan. "Remind me to say 'no', next time your boyfriend suggests a jaunt. They tend to lead to being pummeled."

Buffy couldn't help her tiny grin as she held out her hand. "Duly noted." Doyle slowly pushed himself up, and a minute later the three of them started walking back to the apartment/office.

"I think I'm going to leave you two, and get something to ease my aching head. See you both later." Doyle turned, and began walking away from them.

Buffy looked at Angel, confused. "There's a drugstore right over there. Where is he going.?"

Angel bit back a smirk. "His preferred remedy is finding a bar."

"Does that actually work?"

"Well, it won't cure anything, but if you drink enough, you won't care."

Buffy wound up making a face while Angel chuckled a little. Even as he laughed, his thoughts were racing. The Mohra had said that the End of Days had begun. What did that mean? More importantly, what did it mean for Buffy? He needed to get some answers. "I don't think we have any food left. Why don't you go on ahead, and I'll pick something up." Not a lie, really. He would go see the Oracles and then stop off and get lunch.

Buffy stopped short, her hands on her hips. "You are not going anywhere until I've checked over your wounds."

"I'm fine."

"Then why are you limping and your hand is against your side? You are coming back to the apartment with me."

"Buffy…"

"Angel…," she mocked. "Do you want me to force you? Because I could." Angel didn't like the gleam in her eyes. Obviously, he was going to be going back to his apartment for the moment. He'd slip out later.

Cordelia was tilted back in her chair, reading a celebrity gossip magazine when Angel and Buffy came in. She straightened up, letting the magazine slip out of her hands. "I can't believe you beat him up," she said in an accusing tone. "He's human now!"

"What?" Buffy said. "What are you talking about? You may recall he ran off to try to stop some almost unkillable demon on his own."

"I guess. My bad. It's not like you haven't smacked him around in the past." It was apparent from Cordelia's haughty tone that she didn't fully believe Buffy.

"He was evil then. I don't smack my boyfriend around. What do you take me for?" Buffy took a step toward Cordelia, eyes flashing in irritation.

Angel put his hand on Buffy's arm. "We heading downstairs?"

"Yes," she practically growled. "Have I ever hit you? Trying to stop you from murdering people doesn't count."

As they stepped on the elevator, Angel answered hesitantly. "Not normally. Special circumstances excepted. There was that time I was sick." Buffy glared at him. "And when you thought I hurt your mom." Buffy's look became even frostier, as Angel finally noticed. "You know, what, never mind. I really don't recall you ever laying a hand on me. Except in a good touch way," he hastily added, as they stepped into his apartment.

Buffy gave him a toothy smile. "Good answer. Now get on the bed and sit." She sat on the floor on her knees in front of him, her body tilted back a little so she could take him in. "You have a bruise on your cheek." she reached up and gave him a tender kiss there. "Better?"

"Much."

Her face was scrunched in concentration. "You have a cut on your chin." This time the kiss was lingering, and Angel sighed softly.

"Sweater, off," Buffy said. Her breath caught as she tugged it over her head. "You're hurt," she said unhappily. There were various scratches, and black and blue marks all over his torso. "Don't move," Buffy commanded. She dashed off into the bathroom and came back a few minutes later with a wet, soapy washcloth. She washed each abrasion, and then followed it up with open mouth kisses. Angel had to admit, he did not mind her nursing routine, unorthodox as it may have been.

Once his entire torso had been attended to, to Buffy's satisfaction, she sat back down on her knees. "Pants and underwear off. I need to check out the rest of you." There was a bit of a predatory look in her eyes, and Angel inwardly grinned. He was enacting one of the best scenes from one of his favorite movies. Indiana Jones, eat your heart out.

—-

He felt the pull of the outside world, but resisted for a few minutes, burrowing further into the surrounding warmth of the blankets. Finally, he picked his head up slightly, squinting at the clock on his nightstand. Almost two hours had passed. After Buffy had checked him out, she had commenced to kiss him in places that weren't in the least bit wounded. And he had proceeded to demonstrate that he really wasn't that hurt. And After that, they wound up napping, wrapped around each other. He pushed himself up a bit and turned to look at Buffy, curled against him. She looked completely untroubled, the burden of being the slayer not evident. He carefully untangled himself from both the blanket and Buffy, his movements slow and deliberate so as not to disturb her. Carefully sliding his boxers and pants back on, he was debating whether to put on a different shirt, when he heard a rustling behind him.

"Angel?" Buffy's voice was sleep-slurred.

"Go back to sleep. I'll be back soon."

"Angel," she said again, her voice the tiniest bit more awake. "Don't go."

"I have to. Don't worry."

She sat up in bed then, the blanket and sheet pooling around her waist, leaving her upper body exposed. There were no windows in his bedroom, and yet, she somehow seemed framed by golden light, looking ethereal. He looked away from her. Her pull was too strong. He had to go to make sure that she wasn't in danger.

"Don't go see the oracles." Angel was so startled by her soft request that he immediately brought his eyes back to her. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, then opened it again.

"Buffy…".

"Don't go," Buffy repeated. "If you go, something bad will happen. I know it."

"You heard what the Mohra said. The End of Days is coming. I need to know if that's true. What it means. What it means for you."

Buffy blew a loud raspberry. "If I had a dollar for every demon who boasted about the end of the world. Well, I wouldn't be rich, but I would have enough to buy this really cute pair of boots I saw the other day."

"Boots?" Angel said, a bit confused. The Mohra had boasted (pretty convincingly, Angel thought) about ending the world, and Buffy was talking about boots? "Don't you have a lot of boots?" he asked cautiously.

"Not these. And they would go perfectly with this adorable skirt I saw."

"So you don't own the boots or the skirt?"

"You obviously don't understand the intricacies of women's fashion." She gave him a pointed look. "Why are you even discussing clothing? It's really not the issue."

Angel almost started to defend himself, and then realized that it would get him nowhere. Instead he simply said, "I have to go talk to the Oracles."

"And if you do? There are only two options that I can see. Mr. Mohra was talking out of his sparkly jewel. Or, there will be an apocalypse, probably on a Tuesday in a few months, and I'll have to stop it. Business as usual."

"What if you die during it?" Angel's voice was haunted. "What if you die because I'm human and couldn't help you?"

"Come here," Buffy said, pointing to the bed next to her. Angel sat, as Buffy pulled him against her, his bare back against her bare chest, her arms around his waist. Her warmth seeped through him. "I'm going to be dead by the time I'm thirty." Buffy voice was the dispassionate, factual tone one would use when saying the grass was green, or two plus two was four. Angel spun around in her grasp, his hands on her shoulders, as he stared into her eyes.

"That's not true. That's not going to happen."

"You're right," Buffy said quietly, looking down at the bed. "It's more like I won't make it to twenty-five."

"Buffy." Angel's voice rose in protest.

"I should have been dead at sixteen," she said, cutting him off. "You and Xander saved me, but it won't happen again. I'm a slayer, but I'm not a special slayer. And slayers die. It's what we do."

"I can go back to the Oracles. Demand they change me back, so I can protect you. You won't die." He was breathing way too fast, with shallow panicked breaths.

Reaching her hand up, she traced his jaw line, felt the slight stubble under her fingers. "How would that help? You wouldn't be able to stay in Sunnydale."

"Doyle will get a vision that you're in trouble."

Buffy smiled sadly. "You can't guarantee that. And I'd rather be happy."

"You don't need me to be happy, Buffy. You have Willow and Xander. And I saw you talking to that guy while I was there."

"Is that what you think? I probably would date that guy if he asked. But do you think he's really going to understand me, even if I do tell him about being the slayer. Even Willow and Xander don't completely understand. You're the only one who ever did." Her hand dropped from his face as she entwined her fingers with his. "I just want to be happy. With you."

"Buffy, I…" Angel's voice cracked and faded away.

"I know I'm being selfish, and I should be sorry, but I'm not."

Angel pulled her against him, the top of her head under his chin. "You're not selfish. You could never be selfish. I still have a mission here though. Doyle is going to get visions, and I need to be here to save people."

"Los Angeles isn't that far away. We'll work it out."

"Are you really sure?"

"Was yesterday the best day of your life?"

"You know it was."

"Then there's nothing more to talk about," Buffy said decisively. "Except that we both need to get dressed so we can go get some lunch."

As soon as they stepped off the elevator, Buffy made a beeline for Cordelia. "Angel doesn't understand why I need these dark brown suede boots I saw."

Cordelia sat up straight and gave Buffy a careful once over. "Dark brown is definitely your color. But with those man size calves, you'll need an extra wide leg."

Angel wrapped his hand around Buffy's bicep. "I'm starving. Are you starving? We really need to do the lunch thing," he said, dragging Buffy out of the office.

They had walked three steps, when Buffy stopped dead, sticking her leg behind her and twisting her head back. "My calves are not man-sized," she said in a dangerous voice. "They're muscular."

"Not man-sized at all," Angel agreed. "Cordelia was obviously mistaken. Or maybe she needs glasses," he said, silently praying that she'd be gone by the time they got back. He knew Buffy did not believe in killing people, but he wasn't sure what her policy was regarding maiming them.

—-

Angel lay in that twilight suspension, caught between sleep and wakefulness, thinking (dreaming? daydreaming?) about Buffy and all of the inappropriate things he'd like to do with her, his groin slightly tightening. Buffy had gone back to Sunnydale a couple of days ago, and the bed seemed incredibly empty without her. Their new reality was only a few weeks old, and she'd been able to come up the last few weekends, but he knew better than to expect it. The Hellmouth did not care about Angel's personal frustrations. Maybe he'd pay a visit to Sunnydale instead.

A piercing scream derailed his musings. He immediately threw on a pair of pants, shoving his feet into his boots without bothering to lace them as he raced to the elevator, cursing its slowness.

Cordelia was directly in front of her desk, jumping up and down and screaming. Doyle had apparently just walked in, as he was by the door, frozen, his expression a mixture of worry and horror. Angel was sure that the expression was mirrored on his own face.

He carefully inched around the perimeter until he was right next to Doyle. Angel whispered to him, "Do you think she's possessed?"

"Your guess is probably better than mine," Doyle whispered back.

""I saw a banshee once, and it was pretty similar. I'll tackle her arms, you grab her legs. One, two." The two men rushed her, pinning her to the floor. "It's going to be fine, Cordelia," Angel soothed. "We're going to fix this."

Cordelia yanked her arms out of Angel's grasp and whacked him in the ribs, while giving Doyle a kick in the shin. "Christ, woman," Doyle yelped.

"What is your damage," she said, glaring at both of them. "Are you mental?" Smoothing out her shirt, she gave a menacing glare to the two men. "If you wrinkled my outfit…"

"We heard you screaming?" Angel said, half questioning, half defensive.

"Please," Cordelia waved her hand in a dismissive manner normally only employed by royalty. "I got a part."

"That's great, princess. I knew it would only be a matter of time before your talent was recognized."

Cordelia bestowed a wide smile on Doyle. Angel privately thought suck up. "What show?" Angel asked.

"The World Keeps Going Around." She sighed upon seeing Angel's look of confusion. "You really need to get a life." Before he could protest, she looked at him as if to say 'sad, sad, little man'. "It's only the second most popular soap in the country, Mr. I'm-too-tortured-to-watch-TV."

"What's your part? New love interest?" asked Doyle.

"Second girl on the right. But once they see me, I'm sure the part will be expanded. My star is ascending." She looked around the office thoughtfully. "I probably won't be able to be your office manager too much longer. Not that it matters."

"What's that supposed to mean? I have a mission."

"If you haven't noticed," she said, giving Angel a pointed look, "it's been all quiet on the vision front for the past three weeks."

"Lass isn't wrong," Doyle admitted.

"What about that woman who came in a few days ago?"

"She thought we sold Christmas ornaments." Cordelia crossed her arms over her chest. "Face it, the Powers have decided you don't have the right stuff any more. Which hallelujah, thank goodness, because all those demon guts were drying my skin out."

"I can't just pack up and leave."

"Why not? Go to Sunnydale instead of moping around here."

"I don't mope," Angel complained. "I think…downstairs…by myself…in the dark. OK, maybe I am a little broody."

"He's much better when his girlfriend is here," Doyle said to Cordelia.

"Well sure. When she's here he only comes up for air every five hours or so."

"The girl is a hottie."

"Can you two please not discuss my sex life when I'm standing right here."

"The important point is that you should be heading to Sunnydale instead of hanging around here."

"Cordelia, it's just a temporary lull. Things will pick up."

"In the meantime, you're walking around looking like your puppy was kicked, your car totaled, and your house flooded."

"Quite the litany of woes," Doyle noted.

"And even worse," Cordelia continued, clearly on a roll, "I feel sorry for you, which means I'm getting frown lines. Unacceptable."

Doyle grinned. "There's the girl I know and love."

"Maybe I could go to Sunnydale for a few days," Angel conceded.

"No!" Doyle yelled just as Angel finished speaking.

"I thought you wanted me to go?"Angel said, as Doyle suddenly groaned and sank to the floor.

Cordelia frowed. "I can't believe I just jinxed everything." Sighing, she bent down. "What exactly did you see?"

"Whiskey, neat," Doyle groaned.

"That's sort of strange for a vision."

"Not his vision," Angel headed over to the filing cabinet, pulled open the bottom drawer and grabbed a bottle of whiskey, pouring a good amount into a mug. "Here," he said, handing the mug to Doyle. Doyle tipped the mug back, drinking the whole thing in two swallows.

Rubbing his forehead. Doyle looked blearily at Angel. "Well, that one was a doozy. I'll tell you what I didn't see - you." He pointed at Angel. "The vision was pretty clear. Clear for a vision, that is. Whatever needs to be done, it's meant for me. And a very good looking black guy who appears to spend all his time fighting demons. I'm pretty sure I recognized where he was hanging out."

"I'm not in the vision?" Angel sounded miffed.

"Sorry, man. Seems like a bunch of people living in the poorer part of town are being harassed by some big uglies. And you are not a part of the rescuing."

"I think things are pretty clear." Cordelia had her hands on her hips, her voice no nonsense. "You need to go downstairs, pack up and get to Sunnydale."

"But."

"No buts. It's not like our favorite hellmouth can't use a helping hand."

"I guess. It's not like Buffy would mind."

"Good. All settled. Doyle, go downstairs and help Angel."

"Me? There is a possibility that that last vision caused brain damage. I need to rest."

Cordelia sniffed. "Like anyone could tell the difference. He is going to need help and it can't be me. I need to practice my lines."

As Angel and Doyle headed to Angel's apartment, Cordelia's voice floated over to them, repeating "Excuse me. That was my spot" over and over and over. Angel was beginning to think that escaping to Sunnydale wasn't that terrible an idea.

—-

Angel walked across the campus, checking the building names as he did so. Since becoming human, Buffy had come to LA, so this was his first time coming to UC Sunnydale. He hadn't told her he was arriving, figuring that seeing her surprised (and hopefully excited) expression would be worth it. He easily followed behind someone into her dorm and was momentarily knocking on Buffy's door.

It swung open to reveal Willow. "Angel, you're here!" she said with a bright smile. And then her face immediately collapsed into confusion. "You're not supposed to be here."

Angel allowed himself a sheepish grin. "No, I'm not. I thought I'd surprise Buffy."

"She's in class." And then Willow immediately added, "come on in."

Angel looked around the small room and sat down on one of the desk chairs."Has Buffy said anything about me?" he cautiously asked.

Willow giggled. "I think you mean how many minutes have passed since she last mentioned you. How does it feel to be a breathy, heart-beaty regular person?"

"I'm enjoying it," he said with a smile. "Any idea when Buffy will be back?"

"Oh, she has psychology next, but we're in the same class, so you can just come with me if you'd like to give her a hello before class starts."

"Yeah, I'd like that." Now that Angel had a chance to examine Willow a little more closely, it was obvious something was up. "Willow, is something wrong?"

"No," she said sniffling. "OK, something is wrong, but you're here to see Buffy, and be all 'happy couple', and you shouldn't have to deal with sad Willow."

"Willow," Angel said gently. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't care. I consider you a friend."

"Oz left me," she said, barely holding back tears. "He was afraid that he couldn't control the wolf and was going to hurt me." Her lower lip trembled as she fought for control.

Angel understood Oz' reasons. It was a scary thing to worry about hurting those you loved because of the darkness within. "Oz is one of the smartest people I've ever met," he said quietly. "He's going to figure this out and come back to you."

Using the back of her hand to swipe her eyes, Willow told Angel "thanks," and then stood. "We should get going," she said, trying to force her grief away.

As they walked, Angel noted that the open green spaces were pleasant, but he suspected that at night, it afforded a lot of places for vampires to hide. Mix in lots of drunk college students and the place was dinner central. They went into a large modern building and entered the back of a large lecture hall that was already filling up with students. Buffy was at the front, talking to the same guy he had seen her with at Thanksgiving. It was obvious from the guy's posture that he was interested in Buffy. Angel began to dash down the stairs toward the front. Halfway down, he could see Buffy subtly tense. She knew he was there. When he got to the bottom, about three feet away, she turned to him, her face alight.

"Angel, why are you here?" Angel could tell that while she was happy to see him, she was also worried, assuming some threat was on the horizon.

"Surprise," he said, stopping immediately behind her, hoping that was enough to allay her fears. Buffy turned so that she was in between the two men. "Angel, this is Riley, my psych TA. Riley, this is Angel, my boyfriend."

Angel looked over Buffy's head and gave Riley a look that made it clear that Riley should back off, since Buffy was his. He knew he was being childish and petty, but he didn't care.

Buffy fumbled inside her pocketbook, before triumphantly producing a key. "Angel, you want to wait for me back at my dorm? Once this class is over I'll be headed back."

"Sure." And then he slowly tilted her chin and gave her an extremely thorough kiss, knowing Riley was watching the whole time. Eat your heart out, college boy, he thought, as he went back up the stairs.

Back in the dorm room, it was apparent which desk was Buffy's. Not only was it quite a bit messier than Willow's, there were also two photos that Cordelia had taken of the two of them on one of Buffy's visits to LA. In one photo, the top of his head was missing and in the other, Cordelia had taken the picture from so far away that it was hard to be sure that it was actually them. He wondered if Willow was a better photographer.

He looked at the books on the desk. There was her large psychology textbook. A bunch of classic novels were also present, obviously for her freshman English class. He had read all of them multiple times, so he would be happy to offer Buffy insights if she was interested. There was an overview of European history prior to World War 1. He could certainly give her some help with a lot of that. He idly wondered what the history book had gotten wrong. He saw an astronomy book as well, and he remembered her saying she was taking astronomy for non-science majors. Opening it up, it seemed pretty interesting. Maybe he'd browse through it.

Next semester, he'd see if he could convince Buffy to take an art appreciation course. He'd love to take her to some art museums. Or maybe Introduction to Philosophy. They could debate the merits of various schools of thought.

He wound up perusing the astronomy textbook until Buffy arrived. "I would think reading about the night sky would be the last thing you'd want to do," she teased.

Angel smiled. "I could say the same for you."

"I figured on slow nights that I could try to spot the constellations." She sat heavily on the bed, causing it to bounce a little, and patted a space next to her. Angel happily obliged and sat next to her. "So not that I'm not delighted that you're here, but why are you here?"

Ange's smile faltered a bit. "Doyle just had a vision, and it very pointedly did not include me."

"You think you no longer have a purpose?"

"I don't have a purpose," Angel said angrily. "I don't deserve to be human. I was hoping that the visions would allow me to keep fighting. To make amends."

Buffy gave him a long searching look. "I met this guy, Eddie, a day after I started here. He was in my psych class, and he was as confused by everything as I was. We talked about being study buddies. He was murdered and turned that night. Do you think that was fair?"

"What? No. Of course not."

"Life isn't fair, Angel. Maybe it isn't fair that you're human now, maybe it is. It doesn't matter. This is the hand you were dealt. But I know you're still going to help people in some way, because you care."

A chuckle erupted from deep in Angel's chest, startling Buffy. Another one followed. Instead of subsiding, they seemed to take on a life of their own. A part of Angel was mortified by his reaction, but he was helpless to stop. And then finally he began laughing, a deep belly laugh. The rational side of him wondered when he had last laughed like this. Probably back in Galway. He was now laughing so hard that he was bent over, aware that Buffy was likely wondering if he was possessed. Finally, his laughing subsided, turning into the first case of hiccups he had experienced in 250 years. Buffy, wide eyed, went over to the mini fridge in the corner next to Willow's desk, grabbed the pitcher of cold water from within, and poured some into a mug adorned with the letter B that was on her desk. Cradling it between her hands, she guided it to Angel's mouth, not letting go until he finally was back to normal.

"What was that?" she asked.

"I had been planning to talk you into taking Introduction to Philosophy next semester."

Buffy's face registered complete confusion. "And you were thinking about Socrates' stand up routine?"

"The stupidity of talking you into taking that class struck me like a lightning bolt."

"Because I'm too dumb to understand the class." Buffy said, in a tiny voice.

Leaning forward, Angel took the mug from Buffy's hand, and carefully placed it on the floor, off to the side. Then he placed his hands on her hips and slowly pushed her so that she was now facing away from him, and carefully settled her on his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist. Although he was no longer permanently cold, he still loved feeling Buffy's warmth seep into his skin. He buried his face into her hair for a moment, and placed his chin on her shoulder as he spoke. "The only stupid person in the room is me. For a long time, all I saw was ugliness in the world. Obviously, without a soul, but even with a soul I didn't see that there was any kind of place for someone like me. Then I met you, and you made me realize that fighting, even when the cost is high, is the right thing to do."

"Once I was in LA, the visions from the Powers showed me that not only could I help, but I could atone. But now, I'm human, and for the last month I've been lost, without a purpose. I've walked around the earth for almost three hundred years and I still didn't understand the meaning of life. Meanwhile, you're eighteen -"

"Almost nineteen," Buffy interrupted.

"True," Angel smiled against her skin. "You don't need to take a philosophy course, because you could teach the damn course. Life doesn't make sense. Good people die young. Evil people live until they're ninety-five. The only meaning is the meaning we bring, the good we do. Which means we need to do the best we can do, every day, even if it's just a small act of kindness."

Buffy nodded, more to herself than Angel, processing what he had just said. "So you're going to go back to LA and help people?"

Angel could hear the underlying tension in Buffy's voice, although she was trying hard not to show it. "No. I still don't know what I'm going to do exactly, but I'll help patrol at night. I'm going to stay here, if that works for you."

Buffy twisted in his lap, pushing him down on the bed while enthusiastically kissing him. When they finally broke apart, Angel said, "I take it that's a yes," he said, with a twinkle in his eyes. "I'm going to move back into the mansion, so I am going to head over there to do some cleaning."

"I'll come with."

"Don't you have homework?"

"Just some reading," Buffy said, shrugging. "I have time to help get the place livable."

A few minutes later, the two of them were walking through the mansion's door. There were sheets covering the furniture and fortunately, the place had been left alone while Angel had been gone. "I'll take care of the main bedroom and upstairs bathroom," Buffy announced.

"All right. I'll tackle the living room, kitchen and dining room."

"Kitchen," Buffy repeated. "What have you been doing about food?"

"Mostly take out. But while you're in class tomorrow, I'm going to buy some basics, like food, pots and pans and a cookbook."

"You can cook?" Buffy didn't bother to keep the disbelief out of her voice.

"I make a mean breakfast,and I suspect I'll be a pretty good cook. I already have exceptional knife skills." Buffy rolled her eyes at that one.

Angel walked Buffy over to a closet that had a bunch of cleaning supplies that he had left behind, including an upright vacuum. The two of them went to their separate destinations. Angel was engrossed in mopping the living room floor, when he heard a piercing scream from upstairs. Racing upstairs to the bathroom, he found Buffy pointing to the wall, where a large spider had taken up residence. He stared at her for a moment, managing not to laugh, and then he ran back downstairs. A minute later, he came back up with a piece of paper that he coaxed the spider onto. He then brought it outside and set it free. Mission accomplished, he headed back to the bathroom. "You kill huge, scary demons all the time."

"But that was a spider," Buffy said, screwing up her face in disgust while she shivered. Even with decades of keeping to himself, he barely managed to hang onto a poker face as he went back downstairs.

An hour later, just as he was finishing up in the kitchen, he heard another yell from upstairs. Setting aside the mop, he hurried up the steps and stepped into the bedroom. Buffy was standing there, hands on hips, looking determined. "I think there's something wrong with the bed."

"Huh?" It wasn't his most eloquent response, but he had no idea what Buffy was talking about. It was the same bed that had been there before.

"Sit on the edge of the bed and you'll see what I mean."

Giving Buffy a puzzled look, Angel proceeded to do just that. "Feels like a normal bed to me," he said, as his eyebrows knit together in confusion.

She moved so that she was standing directly in front of him. "I'm telling you, my slayer senses are going haywire."

He shook his head in puzzlement. "I don't kn—"

Buffy had placed her hands on his shoulders and pushed him down onto the mattress. "I think we need to test it out."

"Your boyfriend is apparently not all that bright," Angel said, finally catching on.

Buffy hummed in agreement while she placed her hands on either side of his hips and began to crawl up his body. "Luckily, he's very good looking, and extremely sexy."

"Sexy, huh?" Angel flipped them over, as Buffy shifted to capture his lips with her own.

—-

When Angel woke the next morning, guilt clung to him, as Buffy hadn't done her homework or patrolled. But looking at her - her face relaxed and happy - he decided that a single day off was good for her. She carried so many responsibilities around all the time. Kissing the corner of her mouth, he smiled as she wrinkled her nose in her sleep, and attempted to burrow deeper into the pillows. "Buffy?" he whispered. "You have to get up. You have class."

"Don't care," she mumbled.

He smiled at her declaration. "You don't have clothes here, so I have to drive you back so you can shower and change. Up, up."

Her eye opened the tiniest bit, just enough to let him know she wasn't fully asleep. "Sure I can't stay here?" Buffy said with a pout.

"If this is going to work, you have to be able to get to class and patrol at night."

Buffy reluctantly agreed, and got out of bed to put back on her discarded clothes. Seeing her body, he was tempted to drag her back and say to hell with school, but he knew he couldn't. He had to be able to fit into her current life. "What are you going to be up to today?" Buffy asked, as she zipped up her pants.

"Heading to a few stores to get kitchen supplies, some food, and other items. I'll meet you in your dorm after your last class."

Fifteen minutes later, he was giving Buffy a quick kiss, as she exited the car and disappeared in a mob of other college students. Angel watched for a few minutes. He was human now, but he still felt apart from it all. He supposed he was gradually getting used to being an actual part of humanity. For now, he had shopping to do, but first he had another stop to make.

The building was of course familiar, although he had never seen it in the daylight. He pressed the buzzer and waited.

"Giles," he said quietly. A flash of distaste was present, and then it changed to utter shock as Giles registered that it was a sunny morning, and Angel was on his doorstep.

"Human, unexpected, can I come in?" Angel hurriedly explained.

Giles pushed the door open and Angel sat down on the couch, privately marveling that no explicit invitation was needed. Giles turned and started bustling in the kitchen, cabinets opening, water running, although Angel suspected it was more so that Giles could get his thoughts in order. A few minutes later he returned with two mugs of tea.

"How?" said Giles, skipping pleasantries.

"A Mohra demon's blood got in me and made me human. It's been about a month." Although Giles didn't move, Angel could see the way his mouth tightened and he knew the man was hurt. "Buffy didn't tell you because I was planning to stay in LA, and we weren't completely sure how things were going to work out."

"And now?"

The question was asked neutrally, but Angel knew there were a lot of unspoken things under the surface, some of it hostile. Even though he was human, he knew that Giles would never fully forgive him. Angel didn't particularly feel he deserved it. "The Powers That Be have made it abundantly clear that I am no longer of any use to them. So, I came back here to help Buffy."

"And to rekindle your relationship." Giles looked at him in that cool, appraising way he had. "You aren't good for her."

"I love her." It wasn't an answer to Giles' declaration. He didn't have a snappy comeback or even a denial. "I have a favor to ask of you. I want you to train me."

Giles' eyebrows lifted in surprise. "You've been fighting for several centuries."

"As a vampire. Certain things I'm fine with. My sword skills are excellent. I know how to throw a punch. But I need to learn how to fight when I don't have superhuman strength. And I want to learn how to use a crossbow. I never bothered before."

"Why not have Buffy train you?"

"She has a full load of classes, which means studying, homework and writing papers. Plus, she's out there every night keeping Sunnydale safe. Finally, she needs some time to relax and spend time with her friends." He decided not to add in also navigating a relationship with him. "She doesn't need to add training me to her already overflowing plate."

Giles gave him a long searching look. "Fine," he said, obviously not completely happy with the prospect. "We'll start with some basic moves."

"Thanks. I mean it. I don't want Buffy to worry about me when we're patrolling." Angel reached for his wallet and wrote something on a piece of paper he removed from it. "This is my phone number. I'm back at the mansion. Could you call me so we can discuss a training schedule in the next few days?"

"The mansion?" Giles was clearly surprised. "Considering what took place there, I never understood why you moved back there."

"You told me once that complacency was dangerous for me," Angel said as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I still think that's true. Living there is one way of making sure that doesn't happen."

As he turned to go, a voice was heard from inside the apartment. "Service in this place just keeps getting worse." Angel shot Giles an incredulous look as he pushed past him. Walking down the hall, the watcher behind him, Angel's mouth opened wide in shock as he opened the bathroom door.

"Am I crazy, or is Spike chained up in your bathtub?" Giles sighed. Spike looked at Angel with a quizzical expression.

"Bloody hell! You're alive."

"Why is Spike here?" Angel asked Giles.

"Why is he breathing?" Spike asked Giles, with the same expression on his face.

"There's some kind of military operation going on that's capturing demons and experimenting on them," Giles explained. "They put a chip into Spike so that he can't bite people anymore."

Angel walked over to Spike, smirking. "Can't get the game face up anymore? Pretty embarrassing, at your age." He turned back to Giles, the smirk turning into a questioning expression. "That doesn't answer why he's an un-decorative fixture in your bathtub."

"We need to find out where exactly the military operation is, and Spike isn't talking."

"You're feeding him? He's not going to talk."

"I'm getting pig's blood and I'm chained up in a bathtub, not exactly The Ritz."

Angel glared at Spike again before heading back into the hallway. "Letting him hang around is a mistake."

—-

The campus was already bathed in lengthening shadows by the time Angel returned to the dorm. Unlocking the door (he was not certain he was actually supposed to possess a key, but he was grateful that he had one), the only reason he wasn't knocked flat on his back was that the room was too small to allow for much velocity buildup, and Buffy was at least half his weight. Even so, her unexpected bodily launch pushed him back a few paces. Stepping into the room, Angel kicked the door closed with his foot.

Clinging to Angel, her hands and legs seemingly roaming everywhere at once, his lips unerringly gravitated toward hers. It felt like forever until they finally broke apart, and it was only then that he noticed Willow over in the corner, in front of her desk looking small, forlorn, and miserable. Guilt overtook him. He did not deserve this happiness. And then he remembered Buffy's speech.

"The two of you should come over to the mansion. I'm cooking my first dinner and the more critics, the better."

Willow resolutely shook her head. "I don't want to intrude."

"No intrusion. Besides, don't you and Buffy have a psych paper to write?" He knew for a fact that was the case.

Brightening a little, Willow said, "I'm planning to write mine on the use of advanced technology in behavior modification therapy. It's Professor Walsh's field of interest."

Privately, Angel thought that nothing his father had ever tried had managed to modify his behavior, and he doubted that fancy tech would have made a difference.

"What are you going to write about?" Willow asked Buffy.

"I don't know. Maybe you could give me a few ideas?"

"Perfect," Angel beamed at both of them. "Gather up your books, and we'll head out. And Buffy, take what you need for an after-dinner patrol."

"Yes, sir," Buffy mock saluted, while giggling.

Angel shook his head at her antics, as they packed up and left.

As he diced up carrots for their dinner, Angel noted that he was right when he said that his knife skills would be useful in food prep. He was not going to dwell on exactly how he had gained those knife skills, however. Instead, he focused on the murmur of Buffy's and Willow's voices. He was glad he had invited Willow. Dinner here wouldn't mend her broken heart, but at least it would let her know that they cared about her.

"Dinner's ready," he announced a short while later, proudly dishing out a chicken and vegetable stir fry with rice.

"This is delicious," Buffy said after taking a large bite. "How do you know how to cook?" she said, suspicion in her voice.

Angel shrugged helplessly. "I followed the recipe? I like food? It wasn't that hard?"

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "I like food, and it doesn't seem to matter."

Angel decided not to point out that Buffy had less patience than a kid on Christmas morning, and that probably accounted for most of it. "Beginner's luck?" he said mildly.

"It's really tasty," Willow interjected.

Angel smiled at her. "Food is my second favorite part of being human."

"First?"

He didn't answer, just let his gaze linger on Buffy, his face aglow with his feelings. "Oh," said Willow, her head bowing with embarrassment.

Once they were finished, the girls insisted on doing the washing up, so Angel got the patrol gear ready. Once done, he and Buffy dropped Willow back at the dorm, and then drove over to the start of Buffy's old patrol route. She had expanded to also include the campus, but she explained that tonight they would just do a cemetery route.

The first cemetery turned out to be a bust. Buffy was already halfway out the main gate, when Angel stopped and called her name softly. It was only when she was almost close enough to reach out her arms and touch him that he began speaking again, using the same quiet tone.

"I saw Giles today."

Emotions flashed across Buffy's face - defiance, anger, shame. Until this second, Angel hadn't realized how upset he was. "Were you planning to tell me about Spike?"

"He's not the same as he was," Buffy said, with a belligerent undertone.

Angel laughed harshly. "He's a remorseless killer."

"A government demon hunting group did something to him. He's our only lead to helping us figure out what they're up to. He can't hurt people anymore."

"He's a manipulative creep."

"I'm the slayer," Buffy said, with no hint of acquiescence. "Until we know more, Spike is staying right where he is."

"I think you're making a mistake," Angel said grimly, and then he sighed. "But I don't want to fight with you, especially about Spike."

The next cemetery found them both tense, and neither said a word to the other as they left after finding no demons. When they entered the third cemetery, Angel grabbed Buffy's hand and pulled her in close to him for a moment. She squeezed his hand back and Angel smiled. He still felt that she was making a huge error in judgement, but she was also right. She was the slayer and it was her call.

As he looked around, he immediately recognized the cemetery as having a mausoleum that they had spent more than one night leaning against while they smooched. He had a sneaking suspicion that Buffy was planning on some quality nostalgic kissing.

Before they took three steps, five vampires surrounded them. Leaping at one of them, Angel was able to plunge his stake into the heart, and he was immediately showered with dust. Then he made the mistake of looking to make sure Buffy was okay, instead of looking to the next opponent. Immediately, something slammed into his lower back, causing him to drop to his knees. The pain was agonizing, radiating through his entire body, and forcing tears to his eyes. The vampire dragged him back up to his feet and he could feel the tips of its fangs start to pierce his skin. He slammed his head backwards, feeling cartilage crunch, as he broke the vampire's nose. As the vampire screamed in outrage, he managed to escape its hold, and in the same instant slashed his sword around. Realizing that Buffy had already taken out the other three, he crashed back to his knees, his back spasming in pain.

"Angel!" Buffy rushed over to him, her face etched with fear.

"I'm fine," he said, pushing her away.

"You're not. Can you walk? We're going back to the mansion."

"I'm fine," he repeated, slowly getting up, trying not to let Buffy see exactly how much he hurt.

Buffy frowned, clearly upset as they walked back to the car. Once home, Angel locked himself into the bathroom and twisted his head so that he had a partial view of his back in the full-length mirror he had installed earlier that day. His lower back was black in color, with red and yellow around the edges of the horrific bruise. He gingerly touched the area. He didn't think anything was broken, but standing up was painful. Hobbling over to the toilet, he moaned quietly as he pissed blood. He'd keep an eye on the situation, and if it didn't worsen, he hoped he'd be fine in a week or two.

Buffy was hovering right outside the door as he opened it. "We need to get you to a doctor."

"I'm fine," he said, his voice flat.

"You're not fine. You can barely walk."

"I'm fine, Buffy," he said, his voice a little more forceful.

"You're hurt." Her hand accidentally brushed his side and he flinched.

"Leave me alone, all right," he snapped, "Just stop it."

He watched as she forced her features into a stone mask, even as the fear in her eyes was still plain. They'd been together just a few days, and he was already upsetting her. "I'm sorry, I'm being an ass." He pushed his hand through his hair, suddenly deflated.

"Yes, you are." Buffy's voice had a hint of tears.

"Help me onto the bed," he said, sighing. The two of them shuffled into the bedroom. Once there, Angel gingerly sat on the age of the bed, hissing in pain.

"Let me get your shirt and pants off." Buffy tried to be as delicate as possible, but Angel still wound up clenching his teeth. "Your back," she said, her voice catching.

"It's just a very serious black and blue. I don't think anything internal is damaged." His kidneys were obviously banged up, but he was going to keep that to himself.

"I'll be right back," Buffy said as she raced downstairs. She was back in a few minutes with two pills in her hand. "Tylenol. They'll make you feel better."

Angel nodded and swallowed them dry. "I wasn't mad at you just now," he explained. "I'm used to being able to take chances, because I can just shake off injuries. Obviously, I can't do that any more. I just feel useless and I wound up yelling at you. I'm sorry."

"You're not useless. You just have to get used to the whole human thing."

Angel could only hope Buffy was right. What if she got hurt or worse, because he could no longer help out when needed?

"You're going to have to sleep on your stomach," Buffy observed. "I'll go back to the dorm so you can rest."

"Don't." Angel's hand reached out and he laced his fingers through hers. "I sleep better with you next to me."

Buffy smiled, and Angel felt the pain beginning to lessen.

—-

Ten days had passed since he had gotten injured, and he was mostly back to normal. Healed enough, in fact, that he had told Giles to set up his first training session for this Monday. He and Buffy had settled into a routine. On Tuesdays, she didn't have classes, so they spent the day together. Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays he headed over to the campus and they had lunch together. He cooked dinner most nights, and often Willow and sometimes Xander and Anya joined them. (Frankly, Anya's blatant sexual pronoucements were a bit unnerving, but he just tried to ignore them.) Wednesdays, Willow came over and taught him computer basics. He knew he was going to have to eventually find something to fill his days, but at the moment he was content to read until Buffy came home.

Tonight he was making a roast chicken, roasted green beans, and mashed potatoes. He was especially excited about the potatoes, and he had checked five different recipes before deciding on the best version. (He was Irish after all, and no way these weren't going to be the greatest potatoes ever made.)

He turned as the door opened and Buffy walked in, giving him a quick kiss before sitting down at the kitchen table. Hands cradling her head, teeth tugging at her bottom lip, it was obvious that something was wrong.

"Want to talk about what's bothering you?"

"We're going to have dinner at my mom's Saturday night."

"Oh." The single word was invested with a lot of meaning. Joyce hadn't exactly been thrilled when he had initially dated Buffy. He wasn't sure her opinion would change now. "She knows about…" His voice trailed off.

"It will be easier for us just to show up."

He was fairly certain that wasn't true, but he suspected Buffy was just as worried about her mom's reaction to them getting back together as he was, and she simply wanted to postpone the inevitable. He didn't blame her, and forced a smile for Buffy's sake. "I'm sure it will be fine."

"How's your back?" The sudden change in topic was entirely welcome to both of them.

"Much better. It still bothers me a bit when I sleep on it, but it's healed enough that I'm going to start training with Giles in a few days."

"Can you hold up dinner?"

"Sure, why?"

"Because if you're that much better, I don't want to wait to take you for a test drive," a mischievous and eager look evident, Buffy was already heading to the stairs.

"Vixen," he said to her retreating form.

She turned on the staircase, clearly insulted. "Why would you call me a weasel?"

Angel couldn't help a small laugh. "Fox, not a weasel." Now that the stove was turned off, he hurried after her. "My cunning little vixen." He knew Buffy wouldn't get the reference, but it seemed an apt description.

—-

Angel surveyed his dresser drawer for the fifth time. The maroon sweater was probably his best bet. A little more likely to say 'breathing now', instead of his usual all black ensemble, he wondered if he should have let Buffy buy him that spring green polo shirt. He thought about it for another second, and decided absolutely not. He checked himself in the mirror yet again, and was carefully rearranging some hair when Buffy's voice floated up from downstairs. "Aren't you finished yet? Never thought I'd find someone who spends more time getting ready than I do." Angel stuck his tongue out, even though Buffy couldn't see the gesture, and then hurried down.

—-

"Hi Mom!" Buffy's cheerful greeting did not manage to erase Joyce's pursed lips or slitted eyes when she saw Angel. He was trying to think of the best way to approach the situation when Buffy simply stated, "Angel is human now and we're back together." That was one method he guessed, but it did not cause Joyce's expression to alter.

The Summer's living room had always seemed like a cozy space to Angel. However at the moment, with he and Buffy on opposite ends of the couch, and Joyce in the club chair leaning in as she faced them, an intense look on her face, it felt more like an interrogation room.

"Human. When did this happen?"

"About six weeks ago. It was a demon thing," Angel nervously replied.

Joyce gave a look that was equal parts disapproving and hurt. "But I've only been here two weeks," he hastened to add.

"And we would have been here sooner, but Angel got hurt fighting a vampire."

Joyce's frown did not disappear. "Come into the dining room and I'll serve dinner."

Buffy's face lit up. "Spaghetti and meatballs. One of my favorites. You're going to love it, Angel."

Angel had not yet added pasta to his repertoire (during the worst of his back pain, they had gotten take-out), and as he sat down, he realized that he had no actual idea how one ate spaghetti. He shot a discreet look over at Buffy. Apparently, stick your fork on the plate and twirl. Well, he could manage that. He didn't think to take the sauce into account, so his twirling was much too vigorous, and sauce splashed everywhere. Joyce shot him a look, and he wound up slumping in his seat. Way to make an impression, idiot.

Buffy was happily chattering about her classes, oblivious to the growing tension. After telling her mom about her history class, she smiled, and then announced, "Mom, did you know that Angel is a talented artist?"

Angel's eyes grew wide. "Really, I'm not that good."

Buffy waved her hand in dismissal. "He's just being modest. You should see his work."

"I'd love to," Joyce said, a predatory smile in place. "Tomorrow, 1 PM?"

"Yes, Mrs. Summers." Angel knew when he was defeated. He could only hope for a bit of mercy.

He didn't say anything else throughout dinner, but Buffy and Joyce kept up a running conversation. At the end of the meal, he jumped up. "I'll do the clean up so you two can keep catching up," he suggested.

"Thank you, Angel." For the first time, Joyce had a somewhat friendly expression directed at him. Part of his offer was because he did indeed want to be polite so mother and daughter could spend more time together. The other part was because he just needed to escape the room.

At the end of the evening, Joyce reminded him again that she expected him to stop by the next day, and they then said their goodbyes. "That went well, don't you think?" asked Buffy.

He made a non-committal noise. Since he wasn't dead, he'd take what he could get.

Angel woke up early the next morning, his three most recent sketchbooks in front of him. He didn't want to admit it, but showing Joyce his work filled him with trepidation. He had been drawing his entire existence, and when he had been a kid he had had grandiose ideas of becoming a famous artist, which his father had promptly quashed. Drawing was how he made sense of the world. Even as a homeless bum, living on the streets of New York, he drew. He would rummage through garbage to find tossed pencils and pens and wadded up paper. He was at rock bottom then, and even so, he sometimes managed to find things he wanted to remember - the silhouette of a tree, the Chrysler building rimmed in the moonlight, a falcon on the hunt. It was probably the only thing that kept him sane.

Joyce was a professional. Her opinion mattered. And if she told him he wasn't very good, he would be crushed, although he would keep it to himself. He needed to pick out his best pieces. Two landscapes. Two different examples of a still life. Those were fairly obvious choices. Now he just had to select a portrait. Buffy. But that was proving difficult. The nudes were easy to weed out. But even the rest. They were drawings of Buffy, but Angel could easily see how exposed he was in all of them. His heart, his soul. All of them seemed so raw to him. Finally he found a picture he had drawn of Buffy speaking to Willow that seemed fairly neutral.

At two minutes to one, he rang the doorbell. "Hello, Mrs Summers."

"Come in, Angel." Her smile did not reach her eyes.

Walking into the living room, he would have rather faced a dozen vampires. Handing over his portfolio, his heart pounding, he sat watched as Joyce looked through the pictures, her expression giving nothing away. She would look at one, then switch to another, then go back again.

"Buffy was right," she finally said. "You are very talented."

It felt like all the air rushed out of his body as he semi-collapsed on the couch.

"You could easily get a job doing illustration work for a company. A small ad agency, for example. How long have you been drawing?"

"Since I was a kid," Angel said softly. "I found that a lot more interesting than rote sums."

"Even when…"

"Yeah, even then," Angel said. "Some of it was done to deliberately hurt people, but not always. I still found things of beauty that I wanted to draw just for me. Things I wanted to keep close." The conversation was making him uncomfortable, but he wasn't going to lie. He still had old, old drawings he had done of Darla, Dru and Spike, times when they had been quiet, sitting around a fire, talking and playing cards. He had loved them, after a fashion. He still did, he supposed.

"How old are you, Angel?"

Here it comes. The real reason for this visit.. "Two hund-"

"Not that," she interrupted.

"Oh. Twenty six."

"Buffy is eighteen."

"Almost nineteen," he said, with a bit of defensiveness in his voice. He knew she was thinking about when they had first gotten together, when Buffy was sixteen.

"That's still a large age gap."

"Buffy isn't an average person. She has literally saved the entire planet on numerous occasions. Boys her age can't understand what that's like."

"And you do?"

"I know what it's like to be different from everyone else. To have a calling."

"But these things aren't true anymore," Joyce said, unwilling to concede his point.

"I still have to make amends." It was the first time he had admitted it, but it was true. He just had to figure out how. " I love Buffy. I would die for her."

Joyce looked at the charcoal sketch he had done of Buffy. "I can see that." Angel could feel his face flushing. "You are the only boy - man - she's ever seriously dated. If she wanted to spread her wings, would you let her?"

"Of course. Buffy's happiness is the only thing I care about." He would let her go, although it would kill him. Leaving her a few months ago had been bad enough.

Joyce folded her hands in her lap, her expression guarded. "I can't say that I approve of the two of you, but I also realize it's your and Buffy's decision. Just don't let her get hurt."

Angel wasn't sure if she was referring to demons or himself.

—-

"So how did my mom like your work?"

Angel couldn't help his huge grin. "She said I was talented."

"Duh. You should learn to listen to me." Her expression became more serious. "What did my mom say about us?"

He had assumed that she hadn't noticed the tension, but of course she had, Buffy was nothing if not perceptive. "She thinks that I'm too old for you."

Buffy snorted. "You're too old for everybody, bicentennial guy."

"Not that."

They were sitting now, on the couch in front of the fireplace. Buffy leaned into Angel, her back against his chest as she pulled his arms around her. "How old are you? Were you," she corrected.

"Twenty six."

She snuggled into him, obviously thinking about this revelation. "Well, as far as knowledge-knowledge, you're way ahead of me. History, literature, art. No way I'll ever know as much as you. Current culture though? Way behind. Have you seen the Princess Bride?"

"What?"

"Prepare to die," she said, poking him in the gut a little, which caused him to laugh as he flinched. He hadn't remembered he was ticklish there. "Well, obviously we will be rectifying that this weekend. Physical maturity?" She leaned back, carefully scrutinizing him. Once done, she snuggled back against him. "If you get any more mature, I'll never let you leave the bedroom, so we're all right there."

"Good to know," Angel said dryly.

"Unless this is your peak, and you go rapidly downhill."

He rolled his eyes. "Knew you were only after my body."

Buffy laughed a little and continued, still giggling a bit. "Then there's emotional maturity. Inside that manly exterior beats the heart of a twelve year old."

"How can you say that?"

"Because I saw you last week, making the oven mitts talk to each other."

"You saw that?"

"Yup."

"Damn. Could you maybe keep that quiet? My broody rep depends on it."

"Under pain of death." She pulled his arms tighter around her. "You know the real reason we're good together?" Her voice had become serious. "We make each other happy. Things have been pretty quiet the last few weeks, but it's not going to stay that way. But you're going to be with me every step of the way, and that's all I need."

Angel pressed a kiss to the top of Buffy's head. She was right, in that there was always some big evil that would eventually make an unfriendly appearance in Sunnydale. They would make it through. He had a vision of them years from now, surrounded by family and friends, and her fate would be different from every other slayer. He didn't know how, but in that moment he knew it to be true. He would make sure of it.