The city resembles an ocean of stars from here, rippling and undulating with mechanical life, as if I'm looking down into the bloodstream of civilization itself.

So many are drowning in that sea. For all its sparkle and shine, for each glittering beacon that half-illuminates the streets, there are a dozen shadows which can't be lit that swallow hope whole.

You know, it's funny... as many lessons as I've learned this past week... as deeply as I have seen into myself and those closest to my heart, it seems like there is always more to know. Seeing Buffy march proudly out to what very well might have been her doom... watching Spike open the thick, concrete walls around his heart and finally admit that he is vulnerable, and afraid...

And that I am standing here, looking down on this sea that I've come to think of as home, feeling the first true sense of hope and purpose I can remember since Wesley translated the Aberjian prophecies what seems like a human lifetime ago...

No matter how long I live, how high I fly or how low I fall, it seems there is always more. Something new to experience...somewhere new to go. An adventure held in each moment that passes by.

An eternity ago, I was a restless boy, never satisfied with the suffocating roots of my here and now. I was hungry for the new, for the change, for a different horizon than the one I saw with bleary, hungover eyes upon rising each noon. And that misguided quest for Different led that shortsighted, wounded boy to step into an eternal abyss of pain and torment, beckoned by a flash of sensual blue eyes.

His fate turned out to be the wrong sort of adventure. When he should have stopped and taken stock of his surroundings, looked inward for his answers, instead, he looked away, and all was lost for him.

Two hundred and forty-three years later, another set of eyes. These like autumn grass, and the thing that was neither demon nor man any longer -- in fact, had withered to nothing at all -- didn't look for or find adventure there, but hope. Light in the endless darkness. Purpose and worth when he had none. Definition that constantly eluded him. Tiny hands of Destiny, tipped in power pink painted nails, had offered him a hand out of that pit of not-being, and gave him a reason to exist.

Somewhere in between was another pair of windows to no-soul, these of azure and ice... a creature marching proudly, always in the middle, the very definition of This and That, Then and Now, neither pushing me into darkness, nor pulling me into light, but simply being. Being Simply.

It's no coincidence that all three came together now in this time, at this place in my life. This crossroads where I stood, crushed under the weight of both the hope dashed and adventure wearing... and because of that convergence, I find that I have discovered yet another way to be. Something... more. Something that is a part of all of them.

I can't explain it adequately, I don't think. I don't even really understand it, yet, truth be told. But the pieces are slowly fitting together... all the things I have been, and all the creatures who have been with me... looking at them together, seeing the way that they fit into what I've built here... I think I'm finding that that is where I live.

I didn't die. I fell, but I rose again, with my lovers' help. I stood up and said no to the darkness, the weakness, and let go of it all. Because, in the end, the only thing I control is me.

Although sometimes I'm not so certain of that.

But the demon is quiet, now. Not absent, the way it had been for awhile. Not howling as it so often does, either. It sits in the back of my mind and waits, almost patiently, as if it knows that my final quest will be to understand it. To learn to be at peace with it... find and accept its place in who I am.

Darla and Drusilla aren't dead. It's been nearly 12 hours since Buffy left, and so much has happened in that time... to all of us. I felt it all happen, as did Spike. I know that Darla and Buffy came eye-to-eye and fought. I know that they came to... some sort of understanding. I know that they both walked away... unscathed, at least physically. My beloved was filled with apprehension, then rage, and finally a sorrow that rang in my bones... but there was peace, after. Buffy's spirit had gone quiet and still as she sat somewhere green and growing, just watching the world go by for a while.

And Spike... my Childe. I knew all of his thoughts, as well... his fear of being alone... of always losing. Of the end of our family, and being without me again. I know what it took for him to ask if he could stand by me as my Most Favoured. I know that he discovered his own answers, this past week, and that he found something that he needed in me, too. Who I am now, and not in the ghost of a demon long dead. When he broke in my arms, I felt it... felt him open... felt his anger and fear rush away, and finally, we were able to take our rest together.

Yes... even after all that we have seen this week, I suspect there is still more erudition ahead for all of us... Darla included. More battles. More losses. More laughter and love, sex and tears. A future, wherever it might lead us.

And this possibility, I think, is a good thing.

So I sit with my feet dangling over the roof's edge and let it all wash through me... all the bits of time and space I carry inside, flowing through my blood, filled with echoes of yesterday, whispers of now, and songs of tomorrow.

Buffy's approach perfumes the air with the scent of green grass, sunny sky, and blood only recently showered away -- hers and my Sire's. It's too hard to turn and look... I won't be able to bear the sight of a single cut or the smallest bruise marring her skin...

She leans her elbows on the ledge beside me, cupping her head in her hands, and looks down to the street. The glance out of the corner of my eye makes me smile... my little warrior... always has to assess the escape routes before she can appreciate the sights.

"It's beautiful up here," she comments when she finally looks up at the metropolitan vista before us.

I turn fully to look at her, and my dead heart swells with love and pride. She is magnificent. Unique. And I think, for the first time, I'm truly seeing her. Not who I wanted or dreamed or wished for her to be, or thought she represented, but pure, unadulterated Buffy.

It's quite a rush. She is Goddess still, but fully human. The pedestal of perfection I once placed her on now dust, but I find that I worship her no less... as friend and lover... ally and precious soulmate. This is the most complete and genuine that our bond has ever been.

"Yeah," I agree, and turn back to the sparkling.

"It's easy to get lost in a place like this, isn't it? There's so much to handle... so much you have to face without really understanding. It's all so beautiful, and yet...so much of it is ugly and dark." She sighs deeply and shakes her head. "It's a wonder we're not all deranged."

I don't know if she's talking about the city below, or our respective callings, or just life on this planet in general... her sweeping statement of wisdom is true of all of them. How many profundities have I heard in the past few weeks? How much learning are three flawed beings like myself, my love, and my Childe supposed to be able to accept all at once?

Or maybe that's the point. Maybe that's the reason they came. Because together, we can share all these burdens. Puzzle out all the questions in our very different minds and hearts, and teach one another our discoveries.

Together, we are strong. Funny that an evil demon bent on my destruction once told me that. The demon that gave me one single, perfect day I've ever experienced, shared with the beautiful heroine beside me.

It's an amazing sensation. To have all of that is a foundation I've never had in all of my incarnations. A safety... a shelter against all the storms of Hell. She and Spike complete me, and I them, and yet, we are all becoming whole unto ourselves at the same time.

Two hundred and fifty years old, nearly, and I'm only now growing up.

"Maybe we are," I tell her. "Maybe we're all insane, and the only difference is in perception of what's sane and what's not."

I'm 'going all Buddha' on her, as she used to call it, and I expect to find her shooting me a 'what the Hell are you babbling about?' look.

She's not. Instead, she smiles wryly, and gives a little nod. "Maybe so. I mean... look at us. How rational is it for a Slayer to be Bonded to two of the most formerly evil vampires ever Made? I mean... mind-bending sex aside."

She wiggles her eyebrows at me at that and gives me a smarmy grin. I have to laugh and reach out to pull her closer, my arm wrapped tight around her shoulders.

I *like* this woman.

"Definitely have to put that aside," I agree.

We're quiet for a few minutes, just gazing out over the city as she leans her head on my shoulder, and traces fingertip spirals on my thigh. That simple contact is like fire under my skin, and a tingle runs up my spine.

"I didn't kill them," she informs me softly.

"I know."

"I wanted to, Angel. I wanted to hurt them for what they did to you. But when I got there... When I came face to face with her..." she sighs deeply. "It just didn't seem right."

That makes me glance at her in shock. I hadn't spent much time trying to deduce Buffy's reasoning for not killing my Dam and Childe. But I'm certain that if I had, one of the possibilities certainly wouldn't have been the morality of the matter. Even I, in all my indecision and weakness, know they should be stopped. The only reason I couldn't was that demon instinct to preserve my line... and my shame that what they had become was my fault to begin with.

Buffy has neither of those burdens on her. She's the Slayer, and my Mate. As both, the decision to take retribution or not was her right to make. To think that she felt some compassion toward two evil, twisted demons...

Either she's even more extraordinary than I've always thought, or she really is mad.

"I see," I reply. I'm not quite sure what to say. That they still exist makes me glad, angry, and ashamed at once, and none of those things are rational or constructive, so impassive neutrality is probably my best choice, here.

She arches a wry eyebrow at me. "You see? Aren't you curious to know why?"

I consider that question carefully for a moment, so that when I reply, I'm certain the answer is true.

"No."

Buffy is silent, at that. But a moment later, she adds, "She loved you, you know. In her way. She still does."

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, and there she is again... Darla. Who she once was... what she might have been... and what she is now. I swing my legs fully around and take Buffy into my arms, pulling her close. She leans forward until our foreheads touch, and we are eye to eye once more.

So much like that moment with Will this afternoon, when we were drunk, in my kitchen....

"I know."

Part of me does wonder... what passed between my Mate and my Dam, this afternoon? What did they see inside of, and say to, one another? Why did either one let the other walk away? What lessons did those two females share that I will never know?

"You're characteristically chatty, considering how busy your mind is. Guess your particular flair for effusiveness hasn't changed any." She grins broadly.

I have to return that smile. It's funny... it doesn't seem to matter how hard things have been between us. It is always, *always* good to be near her. "Whereas *you* have actually developed a vocabulary that extends beyond, 'like, duh...'"

She laughs and punches me lightly in the chest. "I *am* in college, you know. And unlike high school, I actually *go* to classes. And *study*, thank you very much."

I catch her hand and her gaze, softly bringing the former to my mouth, and gently falling into the latter. Instead of plunging into an abyss, this woman's eyes are an endless fount of light that buoy me. But always, and still, she is an adventure. I wonder... had I met her like as a human man, would she have had the power to save me then? Would Liam have stepped back from the abyss and learned the things that I have from her?

I imagine not.

"I know," I whisper as my lips brush her fine knuckles, "And if I haven't said so, I am very, very proud of you."

She blushes, and I watch in wonder as tears well in those breathtaking eyes, her lower lip trembling. So beautiful and warm, my Buffy... so alive. "Thank you. It... means so much to me to hear you say that."

I smile at her. "I mean it. I admire the woman you've become a great deal, Buffy. And I love you... as much as I did the girl you were before. Maybe more so. I consider it a great honor to have been allowed to be a part of your life, and to be able to see it happen... I only wish I hadn't missed so much."

Buffy presses herself more tightly against me, wrapping her arms around my neck and holding on with the same ferocity she did on the Day That Wasn't, when Fate tore her from my arms and obliterated that single, perfect moment so that it existed nowhere but in the twisted wreckage of my memory.

(I'll never forget!)

"Part of my life? Angel, God... you are so central to who I am. You taught me and gave me more than pretty much anyone else I've ever known. I wouldn't be half the person I am if I'd never met you... or loved you as much as I do."

That look in her eyes... all that love, so pure, so certain still after everything she's seen... everything I've put her through... I'm starting to believe that is the greatest gesture of forgiveness I could possibly find.

I wish I could tell her... About That Day, when everything was immaculate for just a measure of heartbeats. About Shanshu, and the hope it brought me when Wesley first said the words...

(Oops, uh...)
(I hook up with the only person who came to LA to get older.)

But there's still so far to go. So much still to do... To tell her now would accomplish nothing but multiply the longing I know we already feel. And I have so many fences to mend... with her... with my friends... with the Powers themselves. So, for now, well...

For now, there is only *now*.

I reach up and trace the line of her cheek, the soft curve of her eyes, her tiny nose, her warm lips... details burned into my memory from a thousand moments watching them... thinking of them... drawing them... longing to see them again...

I've adored this face so completely for so long, with everything I am.

"I think I could safely say the same thing, Buffy."

It's true. Of all the human beings (and other creatures, as well) who I have met on my path, no one has taught me more about what it means to be human, to love, to care, than this small, tender, ferocious woman in my arms.

Then I kiss her, because, really, what else could I possibly say? There aren't words to tell her what she means to me. How deeply her being is nested into my heart. Or how still, despite mountains and valleys, time and distance, and even the pits of Hell coming between us, she is still my hope. She remains the living symbol of everything I long for, for the future.

I can't tell her. I can only show her. Another lesson taught to me over and over again by the pure, selfless giving of my soulless Childe, who has never been able to say the words.

Buffy closes her heavenly eyes and relaxes into my arms, melting into the soft caress of our mouths sweetly blending... the ancient, well-remembered clash of hot on cold, just as it always has been between us. Perfect balance and synchronicity.

Touching her is like... climbing to a mountain peak, standing tall in the clouds and looking down over the world like a god. Like throwing open the doors of home after the longest journey, to find a fire in the hearth and a smiling face to welcome you.

It's the first time we've been unhurried... the first time I feel like forever is mine, and within that endless space, I can take my ease in caressing her. Who knows when I might have this leisure, this blessing, again? The precious gift of her trembling body, so tiny against mine... the ambrosia of her velvetwarm skin... I can note every change in her form that time has wrought... the way her curves have filled and become more defined. The way her breasts feel full in my seeking hands as I peel away her dress and bare her to my wondering eyes.

I stand there, glad not to need breath, and memorize the magnificent beauty of my Mate... my very heart, before me.

Her explorations are different this time, too. As she strips me, she smoothes her hands and mouth over every inch of my skin, slowly feeling... memorizing me, as well. I close my eyes and lose myself in her touch.

This time, we make love. Slow. Easy. Deliberately. There's no desperation in it. No pain. No frantic clutching for healing or salvation or forgetting. No fear. No lessons to be learned or promises to be made. No blood or tears, just soft moans and sweet cries. Just two people coming together in love.

I love her. Maybe I shouldn't, but I do, and I always will.

Our eyes remain open as I lay her down on the roof and move within her, and we watch one another. I watch the emotion... the passion in those seas of love and acceptance... we climb together to somewhere higher than we've gone before. Somewhere more real... more human... and the peak is quiet... easy and still... no growls... no teeth, just hearts and eyes and souls wide open and gazes clear. A single, unspoken "I love you" between us, washing over our bonded bodies like a soft rain as we explode tenderly into nothing... and everything.

Afterward, she puts on my shirt, and we pillow ourselves on the rest of our clothes and look up at the starless sky, wrapped in each other's arms, like any two lovers on a Los Angeles rooftop.

"When I thought I lost you, Angel... when Cordy called, and we didn't know where you where..." she says softly, her voice barely disturbing the air around us. She tips her head back to lean against my chest. "All I could think about were all the things I never got to say to you. Things I wanted to thank you for... and... apologize for."

I kiss the top of her head, inhaling the sweet aroma of her hair, and the lingering musks of battle and passion on her warm skin--all the things that make her my Buffy--in one deep breath.

"You don't have to do either. Ever," I assure her, and it's true. Even the greatest gift I might have given her, or the most grievous wound she may have inflicted on me can never balance the scales of all I owe her.

She turns in my arms, and there are tears in her eyes again. You know... of all the things I could accomplish in my eternity, the one I wish most fervently for is to never have her cry again. Or at least... to never be the cause of her sorrow.

"No. I do," she insists. "Angel... you've given me so much, and never asked for a single thing in return. Not once. And there have been so many times when I hurt you..."

I interrupt her with a soft kiss, and pull her back to me. "Don't. I don't want anything from you, but for you to be happy and well. The rest is irrelevant. The past is gone, Buffy. We can't change any of it now, no matter how much we'd like to. All we can do is leave it behind and move forward again."

She pulls away and her eyes light up as though someone sparked a fire in her soul, and her smile warms with it. To think that this smile belongs to me...

"That's very balanced of you," she informs me.

I nuzzle her nose with mine. "I've had an epiphany."

She chuckles. "After everything you've been through? I'd be kind of surprised if you didn't." She takes a deep breath and claims my face in her tiny hands. "Everything will be different, from now on. I can feel it. Everything's changed. And we'll all be better for it."

My smile grows, blooming from somewhere deep in my heart... because I think she's right. I hold her close once more, and kiss her with all the hope I can feel growing... and the apprehension beneath it that I try to push away to think that tomorrow, she'll be gone.

The roof access door bursts open with a crash, and Spike staggers out, a bottle of whiskey that I'm fairly certain I hid in the pantry dangling in his hand.

"Oi, Angelus! Get off the Slayer and get in here! Bloody cable's out, and I don' wanna miss Xena!"

Buffy and I exchange a roll of eyes and a laugh.

"Some things never change," I correct her.

She dislodges herself from my embrace and stands up, smoothing my shirt down over her legs.

"Thank the Powers," she says with a grin, and offers a hand to help me up.

***

The Whistler once told me that our lives are defined by moments. Some of them are small... brief flashes of nothing that you might never notice if you aren't looking for them. Others are enormous, gargantuan mountains of change that you couldn't miss even if you wanted to -- and more often than not, you do. Each and every one of those moments, big or small, changes you and the direction of your life forever.

I can name a hundred transmutating events in my existence. The preponderance of them beginning with that bright Galway afternoon, when I said goodbye to my human life in the guise of spitting in the face of my father's disdain. I don't think I need to list all the others after... right up until the night, almost three weeks ago now, that I crawled into a sewer and gave it all up.

But these days -- these healing days with my mate and my Childe -- these have been about those smaller moments. Seconds ticking by like soft animals... albeit sometimes with nasty teeth.

I think I've changed more during these days than in all of my nearly 250 years combined.

It's not just about the lovemaking, either. Although... don't misunderstand. I don't think I realized how much I missed being skin-to-skin with another creature that I cared about until I had it again. No... the sex was just... a vehicle, I guess. Even the Bonding. Making love to the two beings that constitute the very core of me became far more than just a physical expression of my affection and desire for them. Being part of them... and taking them inside of myself... allowed me to find those bits of me that had gotten lost in the shadows of hopelessness and unending despair that Darla's return had wrought. And perhaps some others that I never had before at all.

I watched Buffy and Spike the last night we were all together, and I pondered those rediscovered things as reflected in them. Spike's lust for living... his uncanny ability to cut through any bullshit and not only get straight to the heart of the matter, but to describe it in every ugly, knife-edged detail. He is like a tender blade taken to the edges of my soul, scraping away the scabs and scars of denial and self-pity, whittling off a century of self-involved brooding and over-thinking about the meaning of it all, to expose the true nature of Be-ing. Just that. Eyes open, plunging into each night with a joyous battle cry... taking what you are given and using it to your best advantage. The lemons of fate not only squeezed into lemonade, but transformed into a lemonade stand empire. Laughing, crying and raging at the circus that is un-living. That is the essence of my Childe.

Spike has reminded me -- the Big Picture I was always so concerned with; the Ultimate Meaning of Everything -- is irrelevant. It is only *now*... all the nows of yesterday and tomorrow as they pass, that make us what we are. It is only when we stop trying to stand on the outside looking in, and start *living* on the inside, that we find all the joy this dimension has to give.

And Buffy... she is like... the sunshine of it all. Strength in the face of unimaginable burdens. Despite her Calling... all that her status as Chosen has stolen from her... she is still painfully, exquisitely human. She has reminded me what it means to have a soul -- to be connected to everything living thing in creation by that ethereal essence. To allow yourself that connection -- let it flow both ways, as it was meant to. She's compelled me to recall that giving and taking are two sides of the same coin... and that to truly touch my humanity, I need to be able to need. Let myself take, as well as give. To reach out when I am lost, just as I reach out to others when they are. That it's not all mine to bear.

She's also reminded me that what I want, ultimately, is not to be alive in a human sense, necessarily... that Shanshu isn't to live and breathe, raise a family, grow old and die in mortal time. It's not a reward to seek. The promise is there, of course, and I would be lying if I said that part of me didn't still desperately want it. But now... I don't see it as a place I'm trying to reach, so much as a puzzle I'm piecing together. My soul already is human... and every time I learn some small part about what that means, I am one piece closer to being truly whole.

These are some of the lessons my lovers have taught me with their words and gestures, with their bodies and their boundless, selfless caring. But more even than that... perhaps the most precious gift of all, to me, and the most difficult one to accept...

They've reminded me what it feels like to be loved. Really loved, deeply, selflessly and entirely. And maybe... just maybe... they've started to help me believe that I'm worth it.

So that last night that we spent alone together, I passed trying to thank them. Not with colorful words that would make Will snort or Buffy cry, but just by... being with them. Telling their skin and their lips... speaking with my moans and sighs as we three creatures, now as close to being truly One as we can possibly be, brought our bodies together again and again.

When I was soulless (and truth be told, when I was human, as well), there weren't many pleasures of the flesh that I didn't sample. There's almost nothing shocking or kinky under the moon for me, anymore. But what we create together is... entirely new, each time. The sheer power of it... the purity in every clutching hand and thrusting hip... each orgasm a new height achieved. Making love with Buffy and Spike is like... rebirth. Pain and bliss and unending recreation of one another. The room is electric with our cries and our scents, our musks mingled into something like... how the very Ground of being must smell, if such a thing were possible. And for the first time ever, I am not only part of something so much bigger than the sum of its parts -- but something bigger even than all the sums of all the parts. And each moment that I feel Spike's coolhard or Buffy's softwarm, or both... I'm filled with it. With everything that exists.

Such tiny, aching moments, but they flicker like a flame inside me, now. The pilot light of my existence, and all that came before is... not irrelevant, not wiped clean, but... *part*. Part of me and all that I am, all that I do, and all that I dream.

So when the larger moments come, I'm ready. I feel stronger than I ever have, with Buffy's "I love you. I'll call you later tonight and see how it went," echoing softly in my head and her sweet farewell kiss on my tongue. With Spike's "Oi, Peaches, where the Hell is the remote... and where the bloody FUCK did you get those faggy assed PANTS?" ... the memory of his hands and tears on my skin, comforting both of us after she left...

Like shield and armor, I carry them... wear them as I descend the staircase alone to face the remainder of my family... the human family I wounded and frightened most of all with my surrender to the darkness.

I've tried to mentally prepare myself for any eventuality, from a hesitant agreement to attempt to rebuild what I have destroyed, to out and out cold rejection, so their individual expressions in response to my arrival aren't any real surprise. Gunn wears his trademark mask of tough, cool neutrality. Wesley struggles to hide mixed emotions, each one playing clearly on his face -- relief... anger... confusion... curiosity.

Cordelia simply scowls, refusing to meet my gaze as I approach.

But however angry they might be, they didn't hesitate to come when I called to ask if we could talk, and I have to take that as a good sign. Coupled with the fact that they cared enough to contact Buffy in the first place, I have to hope that we can, in time, put things back together again.

I sit down in the empty chair and clear my throat. Their heavy, waiting gazes bear down on me with the weight of months of hurt and worry, and it's all I can do to find the words to express what I need to tell them.

"Thanks for coming, guys. I was hoping maybe we could... talk... about what's been happening lately. But... before we start, I want to say... I'm sorry. For... everything. I..." Where did all of my carefully planned words go? Why, suddenly, can't I articulate what seems so clear in my heart? "I should have... trusted you all enough to turn to you. I don't have any excuses. Not for how I reacted to Darla's return, or anything that came after. But please... know that... at the very least, I never meant to hurt any of you. And I am... truly sorry."

I can see Cordelia literally biting her tongue, and I can almost hear all the smart remarks that must be rolling around in her head. 'Oh, you mean like locking 20 lawyers in a wine cellar with two psychotic vampires, or like you firing us and then wandering off to die in the sewers without a word?'

But she says nothing, just chews her lip bloody and frowns harder.

Surprisingly, it's Wesley who chooses to break their tense silence. "All of us have spoken at length about this, Angel. And we have some things that we would like to say to you, as well. So... this summit, if you will, is more than welcome."

I have to say that, at least, is a relief. I try to smile at them... though I honestly don't know if I succeed.

"Good. So... shall I start?" I ask.

"No. I want to," Cordelia interrupts, sitting forward, facing me. Her hands are shaking, and for a moment, she can't seem to look up at me. But finally, she does. "Angel, I... can't say that I wasn't really hurt by what you did. I mean... after everything we went through... Doyle..." she shakes her head and glances away for a moment, "I really believed in what we were doing. And I can't say that I understand why you did what you did. But... I also know that... I didn't really try very hard to. I should have... listened to you, more. You're my best friend, and you were drowning, and all I could do was... bitch and criticize. So... I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry I didn't try harder to reach you."

I shake my head. "Cordy..."

She holds up one finely manicured hand. "No. Let me finish. I've been practicing, and I don't want to leave anything out."

I can't help but smile as relief expands like a bubble in my heart. I'm not good at hearing these sorts of things... at sharing what I feel is my responsibility. But I think that this is part of the lesson -- the give and take -- that I am learning to accept.

"Okay," I encourage her.

Cordy swallows stiffly and averts her eyes once more. "When I had nowhere to go, and, well, let's face it, I was pretty alone and useless out here, you gave me a home. You gave me a new family and... I've learned so much from you since all of this started." She glances up once more, and I see tears welling in her big, brown eyes. "I was so angry that you would just walk away from all that, you know? I was ready to come over here and tell you to stick it. But then... when we almost lost you... it... scared me. I mean, a whole lot more than all the ugly, brain-sucking monsters or my parents going to jail. More than anything has ever scared me before. I don't... want you not to be a part of my life. I just... I want to understand you better, because as much as I love you, I don't. Understand you, I mean. And I do. Want to." She looks around at the others with a little shrug. "That's it, I guess."

I have to take a deep breath and let all of that sink in. I've always known Cordelia cared, in her way... and frankly, I never for a moment blamed her for the way she reacted to the Darla situation. In fact, I thought I deserved far worse. But to hear the depth of emotion in her voice... see the sincerity in her damp eyes...

"Oh, except... I'm still really mad at you," she adds with a sniffle.

"I understand," I assure her.

"Yes," Wesley cuts in, "I must say, Cordelia has spoken my feelings, as well. Almost word for word. With the exception of this: I can't let it go without saying that... I feel almost as responsible for what has happened as you are, Angel." He holds up a hand when I move to object. "No... please. You have, as Cordelia said, been more than generous in giving us somewhere to go... and something to believe in, this past year. You have been a good friend... there for us when we needed to talk, or simply... needed to know someone cared. And I feel horribly that I didn't try harder to do the same for you. We trust you... still. I very much want you to feel the same. I realize that there are complicated things about your state of being and your history that you are ashamed of... and that you're not comfortable talking about. But let me make this clear -- we *are* here for you. No matter what the circumstances. If I had made a real attempt to be certain you knew this... perhaps this would never have happened."

I look away. There's too much emotion inside of me to be able to look at them, right now. Of all the things I was expecting to happen here, today, what I am hearing never even made it on the list.

"Now I'm satisfied that all has been said that we needed to say," Wesley concludes, "At least as far as I'm concerned."

"Me too," Gunn adds, speaking for the first time. "More or less."

"I don't suspect the coming days will be easy for any of us, Angel," Wes goes on, "But your work -- *our* work -- and you... are very important to all of us. We are willing to do whatever it takes to help you get back on track."

Gunn nods his agreement.

"Anything," Cordy amends.

I find my voice choked by a bewildering storm of emotion... gratitude, surprise, and happiness. That they think they need to apologize to *me*...

"Thank you," I finally manage to tell them, and I wish so much that there were better words to express what I'm feeling. "I know that I... hurt you all, and I'm sorry. I should have trusted you more with what I was going through. I just didn't... know how to explain. Or even if I should."

Wesley leans forward, and in a shockingly open and dramatic gesture for such a reserved man, sets his hand on mine and gives it a fierce squeeze.

"We care about you very deeply, my friend. We want to learn to understand, and we want you to know that... no matter how complicated or ugly you may believe what happens to you is, we are your friends. And of all this things this episode has taught us, perhaps most important is that.." he glances around at each of the faces in our circle. "We are family. And if we don't lean on one another, then all is lost."

I feel my tears returning. Tears of joy and disbelief that I -- in my estimation not so long ago, a creature unworthy of mercy, let alone forgiveness -- could be so blessed as to have such a wonderful family... seems more reward than I ever could have hoped for.

And in a moment, it seems, we are all on our feet, clutching at one another and weeping openly, while laughing at the same time. When the embrace is finished, and we return to our seats, it's my turn to speak again.

I take a deep, suddenly very necessary breath, and with Cordelia's small hand clutched tightly in mine, I begin at the beginning.

"The Sire/Childe bond is very complicated. It's a tie more profound than I think can adequately be expressed in words. That's why there are so many intricate laws and rituals involved, as I'm sure you know, Wesley. One of the most fundamental is... you simply don't kill the one who made you. And despite the fact that Darla and I had been estranged for nearly a century when I did...it still... effected me."

***

By the time I'm done telling my friends what amounts to my life's story, it's late. We're all exhausted from the emotional sharing... the hours of catharsis and healing. And although I'm drained utterly as I drag my tired bones up to the suite, I feel almost... buoyant. As if the last of the chains that have weighed me down for so long are now finally gone.

Spike is already asleep, sprawled out naked on the bed with a half-empty beer clutched in one hand, and the long burnt-out remains of a cigarette in the fingers of the other. I know I should probably be angry... he could have burned down the hotel with his carelessness. And tomorrow, I'll have to sit him down and make the first amendment to the list of rules he'll spend the majority of our time together eschewing.

But for now... I just take a moment to look at him... gaze down on his pale, sculptured beauty and the stubborn refusal to be anything but what he is plainly evident even when he is in repose. This boy... this blonde Adonis, who captured the cold center of a demon's heart so many years ago, and gave even that evil creature warmth. Captured a mind obsessed with power and taking, and forced it to learn to give. My Most Favoured, and still most beloved, Childe.

I take the bottle and the cigarette butt from his hands, put them on the nightstand, and sit down on the bed beside him, remembering... a thousand nights of tenderness and passion we've shared... all the forevers that we promised one another, once upon a time. And I can't help but think I'm looking at another miracle... that our bond has drawn us so tightly back together after a century of separation, both physical and emotional. And now, looking at him with a clear mind, I realize that I missed his presence in my life. His unpretentious joie de vivre that has made me want to rip his head off more times than I can count... now seems like the final bit of mending for a hole in my existence that I never really knew was there until this moment.

I stroke his chiseled cheekbone... trace the edges of his eyes, and those thick lashes flutter open, sky blue orbs focusing on me. In those few seconds when he first wakes, before the Spike facade has an opportunity to assert itself in his defense, he is Will... just my lovely young Will, and his smile is pure, almost innocently boyish, and lights his face with love.

An eternity of guilt may be my cross to bear. And I can shoulder it gladly, fully certain that it is just punishment for the things I've done... the pain I've caused, and the lives I've stolen. But still... it seems so much... less... when I know that this man and the people who I spend the afternoon opening my heart to, and the tiny, golden warrior who left only hours earlier... all love me as they do.

"How'd it go?" Spike asks sleepily, and I almost believe that he wants to know.

I sigh. "It went. It was difficult, but... we got through it more or less in one piece."

He nods and sits up, leaning back against the headboard, regarding me closely, as if inspecting for injuries.

"Y'okay?"

"Yeah. I am," I admit.

Spike exhales as though he's been holding that breath for a long time. Has he been... worried?

Nah.

"What'd they say about me stayin'?" he asks almost shyly. He's ten times as beautiful without his armor... and I love him ten times more than that.

I reach up to touch his face again, and he leans into it, closing his eyes with a soft sigh.

"They were... understandably skeptical. Cordelia suggested keeping you chained in the basement. But I think they'll get over that."

He grins. "S' gonna be fun, drivin' that bunch nutters."

I try my damndest to frown in disapproval, but I just can't seem to pull it off. "I really wish you wouldn't."

Spike snorts, now fully Spike again. "Yeah, well, if wishes were horses, right, Peaches?" He reaches behind me for his beer, but I stay the hand. His eyes tick back to me, questioning.

I lean toward him and take that beautiful face between my hands...watch his eyes go wide with surprise at the unexpected approach as I draw him in for a gentle kiss... soft and long. I sweep his lips inside and out, and taste myself and our line there, in that cool haven... the smoke and the tang of beer... wonderful Spike Things. Will Things. Love Things.

For a moment, he's stiff in my embrace, but then I feel him relax into me... feel his carefully constructed shell slip away with a soft sigh, and William reappears, throwing himself utterly into that eternal kiss that was once the herald of his making.

I pull away and I'm brimming... I've lost everything, these past few years... and in only a few days, had it returned to me tenfold. Gift after precious gift, and now...

"I love you, William. I want to make love with you... tonight... every night... forever."

I expect him to laugh. To snort or scoff or mock me, as is always his way when I get melodramatic. But he doesn't. His brow furrows a little, the scar on the left side crinkling, and he swallows stiffly, but his gaze doesn't leave mine.

I know that he's uncomfortable with my habit of words. He always has been. And with good reason. In his youth, my soulless self often said one thing and did quite another. Professed to love him, as I just did, and proceeded to beat him ragged... whispering soothing words over screams of agony.

But it's in my nature to speak. I can't help it -- I've always had a big mouth. Now, though, I'm telling him a truth deeper than any I think I've expressed to him before... trying to put words to a depth of gratitude and desire that are beyond expression. And I think maybe some part of him understands that.

Spike arches that scarred eyebrow and his next words are definitely Spike words, but his tone is... well... it says something far more loving than the words themselves. "If you wanna shag, nonce, you don't have to resort to bloody poetry. I'm not the Slayer."

I can't help but laugh, and as I kiss him once more, more passionately, this time, I wonder...

Where are the boundaries of my Curse, if they exist anymore at all? Because I can't imagine being happier than I am right now. Soul and demon alike are set aflame with their very different joys. How long will it be before I feel my essence being torn from my shell as punishment for all of the happiness I've had this day?

But then... *perfect* happiness is something else entirely, isn't it? It's an illusion... a gift belonging to the naive, who think that a moment can last forever... that no pain can ever touch them again, if they are this exhilarated. All those years ago, when I made love with Buffy for the first time, even I was innocent in it -- washed away by the only comfort I'd experienced in a century. Like a virgin again myself, full of romantic dreams of a better future... a perfect future, with her.

But I'm older now... wiser. I know better than to think that this flawless moment is anything more than that -- a moment. And no matter how hard my body rejoices... no matter how high the ecstasy of touch, of connection, takes me...

I know it is only for now.

That in itself is a sort of epiphany... a new freedom. It sets me loose to enjoy this coupling with my Childe the way I did so many nights when we were the gods of our world. It's the same, now... this freedom... but different in equal measure. I wonder how it is for him today, when my soul is touching him through my hands on his smooth, cool skin. I wonder if he knows or cares, one way or the other, or if the flesh and blood are enough. I don't know... I can't ask... and after a while, it really doesn't matter anyway.

He feels so good.

I let my hands and mouth re-experience this new/old sensation, so similar to the tryst with Buffy on the roof last night. Free of thought, of pain and care... just the marble cut of his form beneath me... his moaning and shivering as I caress him.

There is a difference between making love with Spike and with Buffy. A lot of them, actually. Neither is necessarily better than the other, but right now, the differences are exquisite. He is hard where she is soft... cool where she is warm. Like Me where she is Other. And that is its own sort of comfort.

My Will looks into my eyes as his features toughen, and the azure orbs turn to gold. Blunt teeth sharpen to fangs, and the call of the Blood hums louder, even, than the song of the flesh. Our mouths tangle, knifelike teeth cutting tender lips as he turns me over, and our union becomes a paradox in motion. He growls, and I snarl -- we are animals. But his touch, though burning and frantic, is still gentle and loving -- because part of us are men, too. Lovers. This is a bond I can never share with another creature-- not even my Buffy. I created this being -- he is mine, and I am his, for as long as we exist. My soul only makes the melding more intense, more emotional... more of a sweet storm than it once was.

Spike slices open his wrist with a fang, and I drink of him before he smears both our bodies with it, and we are sticky and slick with the essence of our shared eternity. He uses that viscous sum and substance to lubricate himself and me, and in a single, powerful, rending thrust, we are one in body as well as blood. The smell of the rut... of the gore coating our skin... on the sheets, everywhere... is intoxicating beyond the description of it. He cries out as he moves deep, driving toward my center, and I answer with a roar of my own as I arch into him. He takes my aching erection in a fierce grip, and in a moment, the last of humanity is gone...

Another liberation. A celebration of what we are... and what we are becoming.

We dance this ancient demon dance, my Childe and I... this ritual so fully carnal, primal, that even our common mate can never truly be a part of it. The waves of rapture rage over us, ever higher, until we are both screaming for release, and I pull him down to me... tear into his throat with tender violence, feeling our mingled passion rush over my tongue. He wails as though I am killing him again, and embeds his fangs in my vein...

And the world is red... white... blood and stars... eternal life and love and all that our bond entails as we come together... he fills me -- his blood, his cold seed -- and he takes me in return until there is nothing left of either of us but sated silence as he collapses into my arms.

I lie perfectly still and listen to it. The nothing all around us, and the everything inside of us.

"Good holy FUCK!" he exclaims into my neck, and I laugh.

Moments later, the phone beside the bed rings, and I reach over to answer it.

"Yes," I murmur, my mind and body equally languid.

"Okay, you guys are going to have to get on a schedule or something. I almost drove the DeSoto through the front of the Magic Box," Buffy informs me.

I laugh some more. "Sorry. I guess I should have warned you that the Bond can get... intense, sometimes."

"Yeah... maybe you should have a pamphlet or something."

"I'll work on it."

Spike picks his head up from its resting-place on my chest. "S'at the Slayer?"

I nod.

"Hm. Tell her to sod off. I'm sleepy," he grumbles, rolling off of me, "And I need a shower."

Spike gets up and pads off toward the bathroom.

"Didn't mean to interrupt your post-coital bliss," Buffy chuckles, "But I wanted to yell at you for the car thing. And tell you both that I love you."

I smile and sigh deeply. "We love you, too. Have you seen the others, then?"

"Yeah. I was just going to hook up with Giles. He's in supermega research mode -- the Glory thing. And... he wants to meet with you, too. To, uh... talk about the Bonding."

I close my eyes. See? Not perfect. The world is still waiting for us outside, and it is still just as dangerous and ugly as it has ever been.

"Tell him I'd be happy to."

"So... how did it go with the others? They obviously didn't stake you..."

I tell my beloved about the meeting with Cordelia, Gunn and Wesley, and we chat about this and that... nothing and everything. She makes me laugh, my Buffy. I could sit and listen to her babbling all night.

"OI FUZZY! You coming or what?" Spike calls.

"Spike and I will come on Tuesday, how's that?" I ask Buffy.

I can practically hear her smile. "Two days too far away. I miss you. Go take a shower before Sid has an embolism."

"He can't..." I laugh, "Okay. I miss you, too. Goodnight, my love."

"Goodnight. Tell Spike not to drop the soap."

With a chuckle, I hang up, and move to join Spike. The steam rolls out in thick waves as I open the door, and I can hear him bellowing one of those godawful sku or skug songs, or whatever they're called.

Life is complicated. I am a complex being, with countless layers and desires... And I bet that a great many challenges, dangers, and near-apocalypses still lie before us. But, to be honest?

"Christ, Peaches, close the effin' door! You're lettin' all the heat out, ya bloody idiot!"

Honestly, I don't think I really mind so much anymore. After all... I always wanted an adventure.

~END~