Home Before Dark - Part Seven
by Debbie Nockels
COPYRIGHT: February 2002
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters from BTVS or ANGEL. They're owned by Joss Whedon (who needs to treat them nicer), MutantEnemy, Kuzui, Sandollar, David Greenwalt, the WB, UPN, Fox, etc.
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������ "I can stay as long as you need me to."
������ Moisture stung her eyes. "How about forever? How does forever sound?" He didn't answer, but she read the longing in his eyes, and looked away, swallowing her own yearning. "Not a good idea. I'm incredibly needy right now."
������ He touched her face briefly. "Let me worry about the neediness. I can handle it."
������ His face was full of compassion for her pain. They drew closer, drawn together in spite of the risk by her need to be comforted and his desire to comfort. His lips met hers, and instantly the calendar turned back. The coolness of his mouth, the texture of his skin, with just the barest hint of stubble, beneath her fingers when her hand involuntarily lifted to stroke his cheek, the way his hands rose also, to caress her shoulders and pull her closer � all was instantly familiar, as if the two years they'd been apart had never happened; as if their hearts hadn't been shredded over and over again. Almost she could believe that when she opened her eyes they wouldn't be sitting near her mother's freshly dug grave, but out on patrol, working smoothly together with the ease of long practice.
������ Her hunger for him, so long denied, flared into renewed life. All she wanted was to lose herself in his arms, let her grief be momentarily swept aside in the joy of his embrace � but after a long, breathless moment she gently pulled away. A series of emotions flashed through his eyes � surprise, disappointment, and regret, but she also clearly discerned relief. She forced a smile. "See? I can handle it too." He took her hand and raised it to his lips.
������ "Can you stay tomorrow?" she asked him. "I mean, today?"
������ "Of course," he answered. "I told you I could."
������ "Good," she breathed, nestling into his embrace and feeling his arms close around her. "Good." She closed her eyes and they stayed there under the tree, holding each other, for a long time. Finally, with a deep sigh, she sat up.
������ "I better go home."
������ He nodded, stroking her hair back from her face. "It's late and you need your rest. Besides, Dawn's probably worried sick about you." Standing, he pulled her to her feet.
������ "Dawn's with Tara and Willow," she told him. "But I am getting tired. I haven't been sleeping well lately." She hesitated, then said, "Angel, would you mind staying with me � in the house, I mean, not my room." She smiled faintly. "No sense pressing our luck too far. You could sleep in Dawn's room. Or � or my mom's, of course."
������ "I don't mind at all, and the couch will be just fine," he assured her gently as they began walking. She reached for his hand; it was there, waiting, just as it always had been in the old days.
������ Later, at the house, she helped him turn the living room couch into a makeshift bed. "Thank you," she said when the sheets and blankets were in place, along with a pillow from her mom's room. "I think it will help, knowing you're here."
������ They exchanged a brief kiss, then she climbed the stairs to her cold bed.
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������ Buffy opened her eyes to see sunlight streaming in through the uncurtained window, laying a golden path across the floor. Turning on her back she replayed the second dream in her mind. Why, in the dream, had their kiss not turned passionate as it had in reality, when it had forced them to recognize that Angel could not, in fact, "handle it," that even brief meetings like that were too dangerous for him? Was it merely a reflection of her own desperate wish to believe that it was safe for them to meet? Or could it possibly be more, as the earlier dream had been; this one intended to convey that they could indeed handle it. It had felt the same as the other, with everything preternaturally vivid and clear. But could she trust that feeling?
������ She thought about the different turn events had taken in this dream. Not only had Angel stayed in Sunnydale that night, he'd helped her to see that Dawn's coldness toward her had been caused mostly by her own behavior; that her attempts to keep the full intensity of her grief and insecurity from overpowering her had meant that she'd distanced herself from her own sister; that she had, in effect, been pushing Dawn away at a time when she needed her most. So later that morning she'd apologized to Dawn, and explained, and the resulting scene had been nowhere near as angry and emotional as it had been in real life. Because of that, Dawn had never attempted to bring their mother back to life - a memory which never failed to send a shiver down her spine.
������ It was so tempting to believe this dream was more than just desperation and hindsight; to believe that, like the first one, it also had special meaning; that it was a message from the PTB or someone else Up There. But did she dare believe it? Sighing, Buffy rolled out of bed. As she was dressing her ear caught the sound of footsteps in the hall. They stopped for a moment outside her door but then continued on. Angel? Probably. She bent down for her shoes and socks.
������ And what in the world was the meaning of her third dream? If anything?
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������ "Good morning." Cordelia looked up from the computer as Angel walked into the lobby. She frowned. "By the look of those circles under your eyes I'd say you didn't get your beauty sleep last night. What happened, did Buffy keep you up late?" She cast a worried glance at Wesley.
������ Wes sighed. "Cordelia, I'm sure Angel didn't � "
������ "Stop right there," interrupted Angel. He placed his hands on the counter and surveyed them � Cordelia, Wesley, and Fred. "Where's Gunn?"
������ "Donut run," Wesley supplied, his eyes intent on Angel.
������ "All right, then one of you will have to repeat to him what I'm about to say." Angel looked at each one of them in turn, making sure he had their attention. "I understand and appreciate your concern over the state of my soul, but believe me, no one is more anxious that I hang on to it than I am. Buffy and I will not � repeat not � do anything that will put my soul at risk. You can trust us. Is that understood?"
������ "Well, sure." Fred looked upset. "Of course I trust you. We trust you!"
������ "Absolutely," Wesley said quietly.
������ Angel looked at the remaining figure. "Cordy?"
������ Cordelia regarded him steadily. "It isn't that easy, Angel. I don't believe you would deliberately do anything to risk your soul, but I also know how much you love Buffy and how much she loves you. God, every time you two even look at each other, the sparks fly so much I feel like hauling out the fire extinguisher! I know � okay, I don't know but I can imagine � how difficult it is for you both to keep from . . . being closer. Do you blame me for being worried?"
������ "No," he told her, "but do you blame me for getting a little tired of being put through an inquisition every time Buffy and I see each other? Tired of seeing the anxious glances � hearing the pointed questions? And more than tired of having my private life picked apart? Can you understand that?"
������ After a minute Cordelia sighed, "Yes. I can see how that would . . . get old. " She was silent for a moment, then said, "All I can promise is that I'll try. I want to believe you can be in control; I really do. So I really will try."
������ "Thank you." Angel inclined his head gravely.
������ But Cordelia went on. "Angel - it isn't just the soul thing; it's the effect that Buffy has on you whenever you've been together, even if it's only for a few hours. Do you remember what you were like when you first came to Los Angeles, the hours you spent being Mr. Broody, alone in the dark?"
������ On the upper landing, Buffy paused, listening.
������ "Every time you see her the same thing happens: You go into brood mode." She began itemizing on her fingers. "There was the Thanksgiving you went to Sunnydale because of Doyle's vision; there was her return visit the next day to see you at the old office � "
������ Angel looked sharply at her.
������ " � which the least said about that, the better," she said hurriedly. "But there was also the time she came here when Faith was being all I'm-so-evil-please-kill-me wacko."
������ Buffy frowned. What was that about Faith?
������ "Cordy." Angel tried to stem the flow of the litany.
������ "All right." Cordy threw up her hands. "Fine; I won't name each and every one, except to mention that the time you came back from her mother's funeral tied for moodiness with the record low you set after that day we're not even supposed to mention."
������ Up on the landing, Buffy wondered what that was all about. Something pretty traumatic for Angel, from the sound of it.
������ Fred whispered to Wesley, "What day?" He hesitated, then knowing Angel wouldn't want the story of the Day That Never Was repeated, shook his head. "A day that Angel really doesn't want us talking about, Fred."
������ "Oh. Sorry." She subsided momentarily. "Whose mother's funeral?" she then wanted to know.
������ "Buffy's," he whispered back. "Her mother died last spring - February or March, I think it was." Fred looked stricken.
������ Cordelia wasn't finished. "I just don't want it to start up again. In case you don't know, it's really depressing to be around someone who's moping all over the place."
������ "Cordy." Angel went over to her. "I promise I'll try not to infect everyone with my bad mood if I should start �moping,' okay?"
������ "That's not the point." Her voice softened. "I don't want you to get hurt again."
������ He put a hand on her shoulder. "I know. And . . . I'm grateful for your concern, I really am, but . . . it's my life, Cordelia. Or unlife, rather."
������ "I know," she mumbled. "All right, I've had my say and I'm not going to keep beating a dead horse." She eyed him, and the corner of her mouth quirked. "So to speak."
������ "Thank you." Angel squeezed her shoulder, then lowered his hand and looked around. "Speaking of Buffy, is she up?"
������ "I don't think so," Fred offered, glad of the change in subject to something she had knowledge of. "At least, I haven't seen her."
������ "Nor have I," said Wesley. Cordelia just shook her head. "Isn't she in her room?" she asked.
������ "I didn't check," Angel answered. "I didn't want to disturb her if she was still asleep. Which I hope she is. She's been through a lot and I don't think she's been sleeping very well."
������ "I'd be surprised if she were," Wesley said quietly. "I can't begin to imagine the stress she's been through. She was pulled out of death; that must have been an incredible trauma."
������ "It was," Angel agreed, thinking, And you don't even know the half of it. Aloud, he continued, "Which is why I want her to get all the rest she can."
������ "Too late," came a voice. "I'm awake." All heads turned to the staircase, where Buffy was descending. Angel went to meet her.
������ "Hi." The warmth in his eyes made a curious contrast with the hesitancy of his greeting.
������ "Hi." For a brief moment their eyes caught, then Buffy turned her attention beyond him and smiled at everyone. "Good morning. Is there anything for breakfast? I'm starving."
������ "Donuts," offered Fred brightly, "as soon as Gunn gets back with them."
������ "Sounds good." Buffy turned to Angel, but was intercepted by Cordelia handing her a cup of coffee. She blinked. "Uh, thanks."
������ "I think I remembered how you like it," Cordy said, ignoring her blatant surprise.
������ Buffy took a sip. "You did; it's perfect. Thank you." Again she looked at Angel. "Can someone take me to the bus station this morning?"
������ Angel couldn't hide his sharp disappointment. "You're leaving already? I'd sort of hoped you'd stay until tonight, at least. I could take you home then."
������ "I wish I could stay longer," she said with regret, "but I need to get back. Dawn's pretty insecure these days; she needs me with her."
������ "Of course," Angel acknowledged at once. "I wasn't thinking. I'm sure either Wes or Gunn will be happy to give you a ride to the depot. That is, if you don't mind riding on the back of a motorcycle or in an old, beat-up truck."
������ "Gunn has a motorcycle?" Her interest piqued, Buffy sipped again at the coffee. She'd never ridden on a motorcycle; it might be fun.
������ "No, I do," said Wesley, coming forward, "and I'll be happy to oblige."
������ "Girl doesn't look crazy," a new voice broke in. "So why'd she want to risk her life riding behind you on a drafty motorbike when she could lounge in comfort inside my vintage truck?" It was Gunn. Ignoring Cordelia's snort of derision at the description of his ride as "vintage," he sauntered toward them and set a large box from Dunkin' Donuts on the counter. Immediately there was a concerted rush toward it by Fred, Cordelia and Wesley.
������ Gunn gathered the box under his arm protectively and fended them off with an upraised hand. "Manners, please! Where were you all raised � in a barn? Company gets first choice." As Fred drew back abashed and Cordelia favored him with one of her trademark looks, he opened the box and presented it to Buffy with a flourish. "Here you are."
������ Buffy selected a donut almost at random, only making sure it wasn't coconut (which she detested), and bit into it absently, still trying to wrap her mind around the concept of Wesley even owning a motorcycle, much less riding one. Belatedly she remembered her manners. "Thank you, Gunn."
������ "My pleasure." Gunn winked at her before saying to the others, "All right, now it's your turn." As he replaced the box, he deftly snagged both a chocolate cruller and a nut-covered donut before anyone else had a chance, then sauntered off. "Mm-mm! These are good!"
������ Wesley gave him a look of his own and turned to Buffy. "Either one of us will be more than happy to take you to the bus depot, whenever you like. Just let us know." Before Buffy could thank him, he changed the subject. "Did you sleep well?"
������ She flicked a glance at Angel. "Pretty well, thanks. Of course, it would have been more restful if I hadn't kept having these dreams."
������ As she'd intended, that caught Angel's attention. However, Wesley also grew alert. "Dreams?" he asked, his Watcher training rising to the forefront. "You mean Slayer dreams?"
������ "No," Buffy hastened to reassure him. "These were personal."
������ "Good," he sighed. Fred raised inquiring eyebrows at Gunn, who shook his head to indicate he hadn't a clue. Cordelia glanced at Buffy with a knowing yet wary look, as if to suggest she could guess what the dreams were about and didn't approve, then went to pour herself another cup of coffee. Wesley continued, "I don't think I could handle another crisis just yet."
������ "Tell me about it," Buffy agreed.
������ Angel touched Buffy's arm, gently urging her across the room where they wouldn't be easily overheard. They sat on a small overstuffed couch, their knees almost touching. "You had another dream?" he asked her quietly. She nodded. "Was it like the first one?"
������ "Yes and no," she told him. "It felt the same as the other - you know, way vivid and realistic - but this one wasn't about you and Darla. It was about us."
������ "Us?" Angel got a funny look on his face.
������ "Yes. I dreamed about the night you came to see me after Mom's funeral, but it was different."
������ His expression grew even stranger. "Different how?"
������ Buffy hesitated, slightly puzzled by his reaction. Cautiously she said, "Well, everything happened just like it really did - until we kissed. And then . . . well . . . nothing happened." She clarified this. "I mean, we kissed and it was really, really good, just the way it was then, but - it didn't get out of hand. And so you - "
������ "Didn't leave that night," Angel finished in a low voice. "I stayed in Sunnydale."
������ For a moment Buffy was bewildered; then it hit her. Her eyes widened. "You dreamed it too," she whispered.
������ Angel nodded. "I slept on your couch."
������ "Yes."
������ "And after we woke we talked about Dawn." Buffy slowly nodded. He went on, "Then you and Dawn had a talk later in the morning and got things straightened out between you, pretty much."
������ "Yeah, another major difference." Angel looked at her inquiringly, which surprised Buffy at first. "Oh. Of course you don't know, �cause you'd already left so how could you? Well, what really happened is that Dawn and I didn't have our little talk until late that night, after she'd tried to bring Mom back to life with a spell."
������ Angel's jaw dropped.
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������ The gang had been watching them covertly, while pretending to talk among themselves. "So," Gunn observed, "are Slayers always such hot mamas?"
������ Wesley shot him a repressive look. Fred said, in a surprised voice. "You really think Buffy's sexy?" Then, flustered, she added, "I don't mean she isn't pretty, because obviously she is. I mean, look at that gorgeous hair, and her eyes. It's just that most guys prefer more . . . well, figure . . . in a girl, seems like. Especially up top." She glanced down at her own modest endowments. "And Buffy . . . well . . . she's like me, she just doesn't. That's all I meant."
������ "You mean she hasn't got much in the chest department," mused Gunn. "That's true, right enough. But you know what, boobs ain't all that matters, especially in her case. Because what she has got is presence. That girl walks into a room, people are gonna take notice. And in my book that qualifies her as hot."
������ "Too bad you never met Faith," said Wesley drily. "She fits anyone's definition of a hottie."
������ Cordelia gaped at him, one hand flying to her chest in a dramatic gesture. "Wesley! Don't tell me you actually noticed that!"
������ Wesley sent her a wry glance. "I would have to be blind not to have noticed those slinky, low-cut tops and skin-tight pants she always wore."
������ Gunn's eyebrows rose almost to the top of his shaven head. "Someone remind me to meet this chick if she ever gets outa prison."
������ "Trust me," Cordelia told him. "You don't want to meet that psycho bitch." Catching Wesley's look, she made a face. "Yeah, yeah, Angel says she's changed. She'll have to prove it, though, especially after knocking me out and torturing you. Those aren't the kinds of things I can just forget, you know?"
������ "I do indeed," Wesley agreed quietly.
������ Fred made a mental note to ask about this Faith person later on. By the look on Wesley's face now wouldn't be a good time. Her eyes returned to the couple on the couch. "Are they really as much in love as you said?"
������ "Oh yeah," Cordelia replied. Wesley said, simply, "Yes."
������ "Oh." Fred pondered that for a moment. "Kyrumption!" She nodded as if that explained it all.
������ "Gesundheit," Gunn instantly replied, straight-faced.
������ "No," Fred laughed. "It's a word. Kye-rumption. It's the one nice word I remember from the Pylean hell dimension."
������ "What's it mean?" asked Cordelia.
������ "It's when two great heroes meet on the field of battle and recognize their mutual fate," Fred explained. "It's also a kind of grog made out of ox dung, but that's an archaic usage. They don't actually make that drink anymore."
������ "Can't imagine why," was Gunn's wry comment.
������ "They recognize their mutual fate?" Cordelia wrinkled her brow. "That sounds kind of ominous." She cast a worried glance over at Buffy and Angel.
������ "It just means they recognize at their first meeting that their lives are bound together in some way. It can be bad, sure, but it doesn't have to be," Fred explained further. "There are many legends in Pylea of warriors recognizing kyrumption and fighting together as brothers, becoming great champions. Of course," she admitted, "there are also legends of great enemies having kyrumption and, well, fighting each other to the death. But I don't think we have to worry about that here."
������ "Probably not," Wesley said in a dry tone. "Unless perhaps Angel were to lose his soul again." He caught Cordelia's eye. "Which of course will not happen," he added firmly.
������ Oblivious to the byplay, Fred emerged from deep thought. "Moira."
������ "Huh?" Cordelia shook her head a little. "Who's Moira?"
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������ "So what do you think the dream means?" Buffy asked. "I mean, do you think it means what I think it means?"
������ Angel sat quietly, mulling over everything he'd just heard. At length he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just don't know, Buffy. I know what I want it to mean - "
������ "Yeah, me too." Buffy looked down at her plaited fingers.
������ " - and that's exactly why I'm afraid to take it at face value - because we do want it so much. To be able to see each other on a regular basis . . . it would mean so much." His voice died away.
������ "Yeah," Buffy said again, softly. "Angel, I don't think I could have gotten through these last few days without you. Having you there with me made so much difference. When it got bad . . . when it felt like everything was just piling on top of me and I felt like I was drowning or suffocating . . . your presence got me through the worst of it."
������ "I'm glad I was there for you to talk to," Angel murmured, stroking her hand and remembering some of the bad times she was referring to. It was bad enough that she'd been yanked without warning from a place of peacefulness and well-deserved rest to fight demons once again; but on top of that was added the extra burden of having to pretend to her friends that they'd really rescued her from hell rather than pulled her out of heaven, not to mention the care and responsibility for a teenaged sister. Whenever Buffy's eyes started showing that lost, haunted look he'd made a point of stepping in and giving her whatever kind of support was needed at the moment.
������ Placing her hand over his, Buffy looked up. "Angel, it wasn't just the talking, although that was part of it. I mean, you're the only person who knows the truth about where I was, so, yes, it's a relief to be able to be myself when I'm with you . . . but it's more than that. If all I needed was a confidant, I could have told . . . well . . . Spike, for instance. He wouldn't feel guilty at knowing the truth because he had nothing to do with resurrecting me, and I'm pretty sure he'd be able to understand the stress involved in coming back from the dead."
������ "Not that I would," she added hurriedly, as Angel looked his incredulity at her. "Tell him, I mean. Because . . . well, because he's Spike, and - it would just be too weird." She made a face and gave a dramatic little shudder, which brought a reluctant smile to Angel's lips, but in her heart Buffy admitted that this scenario was more likely than she wanted to believe. If Angel hadn't been there, with his love and support . . . but he had been. He still was, thank God, so she would never need to resort to confiding in Spike. She squeezed his hand.
������ "What I'm trying to say," she went on, "is that knowing you still loved me enough to drop everything when I needed you - "
������ "Did you ever doubt it?" Angel interrupted her, sadness in his tone.
������ Buffy looked away. "I . . . wondered sometimes, that's all. I mean, it's been a long time since you left, and our last couple of meetings weren't exactly . . . happy."
������ Angel gently tilted her head around to look at him. "I told you once that you're the only girl I've ever loved, remember?"
������ "In two hundred and forty-three years," she supplied, with a wavering smile. "I remember."
������ His eyes were dark and earnest; she longed to lose herself in their brown depths. "It's two hundred and forty-five years now," he said, "but it's still true. No one can hold a candle to you, Buffy."
������ "Thank you," she whispered, swallowing. "You either." Oblivious to their audience, they kissed, softly, gently.
END OF PART SEVEN - To Be Continued
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