Part 8

Angel tried to control the shaking of his hands as he laid Connor in Buffy's old slayer trunk; the baby was asleep, and Angel wanted him to stay that way. Here, in the dark sanctuary of the bedroom, both father and son needed time to rest and regroup. And do some serious thinking about the future.

He loved Buffy, god how he loved her. And he loved the family they were already beginning to build; he knew she did too. Until tonight he had believed...he had made himself believe...that would be enough to hold her to this world. But she had surrendered to the darkness before, and he suddenly realized it no longer held any dread for her; a part of her almost seemed to miss it.

That terrified Angel.

He had always known, if not fully accepted, the risks of her calling. Despite the real possibility that Buffy would not be there to see Connor grow to adulthood, Angel had no qualms about entrusting his son to a woman willing to die in the defense of others. But to entrust the same child to a woman who would rather die than endure the loss of her loved ones...that was something very different. Along that path might lay a danger he had no right to expose his son to.

He had to make her understand the need to stay and fight, the same way she had once made him face the darkness. But it had taken more than words to convince him that snowy Christmas Eve, and he wasn't sure if even Willow had enough magick up her sleeve to conjure a miracle that would save them this time.

* * * * *

"Tara, is that you? It's Willow. I need..." Willow turned her back on the kitchen door, trying to ignore the seeming hordes of people drifting in and out of the area in search of refreshments. "I need to talk to you," she said softly, trying to control the catch in her voice. "I need to see you. Tonight. Can I come over?"

"I don't...I don't think that's a really good idea," Tara answered slowly. "It's late and I'm really tired and."

"It's important, or else I wouldn't ask," Willow pleaded. "I can't come right away, because Buffy might need..." She paused as her words echoed mockingly off of the pitiless steel of the refrigerator door. "Oh, that probably means he was right, doesn't it? If I stay because she might need me to...but she's my friend so I have to..."

"Willow."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," the witch said hurriedly. "I've just been doing some thinking...I mean I did something tonight that made me think...and then Angel said some things that made me think other things and I...I really need to know what you think...about what Angel thinks I should be thinking about instead of what I was thinking about."

"Willow I don't..." Tara's strained voice stumbled to a halt. When she spoke again, there was a heavy sorrow in her tone. "Willow, what did you do tonight?"

Willow bit her lip. "That's what I need to talk to you about," she whispered. "I think it was something wrong, but I'm the only one. And if they're right...I really need to know if they're right."

Tara's sigh moved reluctantly along the length of cables separating them. "All right; come on over. But Willow," she warned, "one revelation can't automatically fix everything that went wrong between us."

"I know; I know," Willow assured her, staring down at her tightly crossed fingers. "But we have to start somewhere."

* * * * *

"Angel."

Angel stiffened when he heard Buffy's voice call to him from the doorway. He forced himself to relax and continued to tuck the tiny green blanket loosely around Connor's small form.

"He's asleep," he warned, forcing himself to sound casual. "Don't talk too loudly."

"If he wakes up we'll just settle him down again," Buffy said firmly. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared hard at his broad back, trying to force him to turn and face her through sheer force of will. "I'm not planning on yelling, but you have a habit of making me do things I didn't plan on. Stuff like falling in love with a guy twice my great- grandmother's age."

"You weren't exactly on my century-at-a-glance calendar either." Angel stared down at his son, the baby barely visible in the dim light slipping in from the hallway around Buffy's rigid figure. "Neither was Connor," he added softly, reaching out to caress a downy-soft cheek.

"But we're both here, and now you have to deal with us." Buffy slowly moved into the room, flicking on the lamp on her desk before she crossed back to close the door. "I guess right now it's my turn, since Connor nodded off after the lightning round."

Angel's back stiffened again. Slowly he raised his head, turning slightly sideways to stare sightlessly at the closet doorknob. "Was that what it was like? Lightning?"

She frowned at the strange question. "What what was like?"

"Willow's vortex. Glory's portal. Take your pick." He laughed sharply. It wasn't like she hadn't done that before.

"What are you talking about?" Buffy was totally confused now, not seeing where his mind had made the leap back almost a year in time. "The vortex was kind of twistery, if you must know, but with fewer cows...well, no cows actually. The portal..." she rubbed her hands on her bare arms as an unexpected shiver raced through her. "Yeah, there was some lightning happening there," she murmured.

"Just lightning?"

He still couldn't look at her. If he looked at her, he would push everything to the side once more and take her in his arms, and he couldn't do that again. They needed to face this now, here, tonight.

"No," she said slowly. "There were also some high winds and sort of a Tasmanian Devil dance going on in the center. Any more ancient weather reports you want to go through?"

"I want to know what you were thinking." The words came out choppily, each one reluctantly dragged into the light. "I want to know what you were feeling. I want to know if you thought of anybody else's pain that night but your own."

There, he'd said it. He could at last stand up and face her, turning just in time to see the last trace of color drain from her shocked face.

"Excuse me?" she whispered.

Angel threw up a mental wall against the hurt and betrayal he saw glimmering in Buffy's eyes, even as he fought back the images flashing through his memory. Last spring. The season of new beginnings. A time of renewal and rebirth.

The death of his light.

He'd visited her home, her bedroom, trying to absorb the final imprint she had left on her earthly possessions. The city had dismantled the tower from which she'd leapt, but not before he'd stood on the edge of the platform, looking out and looking down. He'd smelled the blood on the pavement below that no amount of cleaning would ever hide from his senses. He'd seen and experienced it all...when it was too late for anything but grief and guilt.

Funny how there was always time for those.

"I asked them all when I came back here with Willow," he said hoarsely, "but no one knew. They might have suspected...but no one would admit it."

"Admit what? Give me a clue what I'm supposed to be confessing, Mr. Mason."

"You were their hero. You died to save Dawn, and to save the world." The dead look in Angel's eyes was a shivering accompaniment to the distant tone of his voice. "And if any of them believed there was anything more behind it...I'd be the last one they'd tell." His voice became a growl as he added, "I wasn't here; I didn't earn it."

"Look, I don't know what your problem is about tonight's adventure in babysitting, but last year is over and done with."

Buffy's voice was sharp with anger, and something approaching fear. She had worked very hard to block out the memory of the final days of her old life, and she wasn't sure if she was strong enough even yet to immerse herself in all that misery again.

"I did die to save Dawn; did you really expect me to let her sacrifice herself to..."

"To save the world?" he finished for her. "You mean the way you did when you faced the Master?"

Angel still had nightmares about the way they'd found Buffy that night, face down in a dirty pool of water. So cold and alone, her young life forfeit to a destiny she never asked for. And as soon as she was revived, before the water even had time to stop dripping down the front of her stained white prom dress, she was marching into battle yet again. Ready to fight to the death...and beyond.

"I'm the Slayer," Buffy hissed. "It's part of the deal."

She had her own memories of the night the Master rose. She remembered what it felt like to know you were going to die before you even knew how to drive; to know there was no way out and no one to save you because this was what you had been created to do.

But not Dawn. Not Dawn.

"And Dawn's the Key," Angel insisted, refuting the little voice in Buffy's head as though he could hear it himself. "Maybe that was part of her deal. But you wouldn't know because you couldn't let things play out any way but your own."

The shaking in Angel's hands had transmitted itself to his whole body now, but he wasn't sure if it sprang from anger or fear. He had spent three months in a desolate monastery learning to harness his rage and channel it into something productive, but the true turning point had come when he'd seen his lover again, alive and whole.

That was the day the fear began.

Buffy, however, saw only the anger, a mirror of her own. How much could all of his sweet words the past week have meant, if this was simmering just beneath the surface the whole time?

"I guess I'm just selfish that way; saving peoples' lives and all." She tossed her head. "I really need to work on that character flaw, huh?"

Angel shook his head firmly, his dark eyes fastened to her face. The face he'd once thought he'd never see again, except in his dreams.

"Was that what you were really trying to do, Buffy? Just save her life? Or were you trying to escape your own?"

"It was a trade," she snapped. "New lamps for old. Come on, weren't you around when they wrote that story?"

"It was supposed to be about saving the world for all those people who don't even know it might not exist tomorrow." He took a step closer to her, and tried not flinch when she instinctively backed up in equal measure. "You didn't know your death would do that, Buffy," he pressed on ruthlessly. "You gambled those peoples' lives that it would...but you didn't know."

"They made her from my blood!" She abruptly stopped talking when Connor made a tiny, restless mew. Dropping her voice to a biting whisper, she continued, "Who else was I going to line up as a donor?"

"Exactly," he snarled, his voice low and tight. "They made Dawn from your blood, not the other way around. Whatever makes her the Key was a part of Dawn before the monks ever heard of you." Inwardly cursing those same monks for the burden they placed on his lover, Angel tried to hammer his point home. "It's simple biology, Buffy; all the blood in the world can't make genes float backwards. If they could, your mother would have been a Slayer too."

* * * * *

"The blood; isn't the blood a nice touch?"

The demon's translucent form wavered in his anxiety; Lilah's tone had grown increasingly cool as they went over the fine points of his master plan one by one.

"The blood is a creative use of Angel's natural urges," she allowed. "If, of course, you don't factor in the risk of exposure that our operative would face. And the dangers inherent in rousing those natural urges." She rested her elbows on her desk and made a tent with her fingertips. "Not all of us can just shimmer away when the going gets rough and the vampire gets going."

"There won't be time," Sahjhan said firmly. "Trust me; I know time like the back of my hand."

Lilah's eyes traveled down his wavering arm to the barely visible hand extending from his sleeve.

"I'm sure," she said dryly. "Now can we get back to this part about the prophecy? Blood is so passé."

* * * * *

"This wasn't about biology! It was about family." Buffy pounded one clenched fist into the other palm, trying to make it look like anger was drawing her muscles taut instead of a growing anguish. "My family!"

Angel shook his head; he'd read the same books she had, over and over, searching for the words that convinced Buffy her death was the answer. He knew, too much and too late, what she had faced.

"It was about looking for a way to close the portal between earth and a hell dimension."

"I forgot; your specialty." She laughed, a sharp, unhappy sound that cut the air. "Wait, no, that was opening portals."

He kept plunging ahead, pushing aside his own flare of pain at her bitter words. "You never looked for another way. Obviously if your death closed the portal, there was more than one way to do it. But you never looked."

"There wasn't time!" Here she felt safe at last, free from any creeping doubts or guilt his earlier words had stirred to life. "Glory had Dawn; she was going to kill her that night. I couldn't let her die."

Now they were at the heart of the matter. "You mean you couldn't lose her," he corrected her gently.

Buffy blinked back the tears that threatened to blind her to her accuser. His voice sounded gentler now, and achingly sad; her own heart twisted at the unwilling pity she could glimpse in his brown eyes.

"No," she agreed softly, thinking the worst of the storm was over.

"But even though you couldn't bear to lose her, you never asked me for any help," he continued, to Buffy's pained surprise. "In all the months that you knew she was the Key, and in all the weeks you knew Glory was a hellgod, you never once called any of us in LA, not even for simple information."

Angel hated himself right now; she would never know how much. The look in Buffy's eyes was enough to break the heart of a stranger, let alone the man who promised to guard her happiness with his own life. But he had to get this out now, before it destroyed all three of them.

"Were things that bad between us? Did you actually believe I wouldn't drop everything to help you? Or did you think if Giles couldn't find the answer, nobody could?" He clenched his jaw as he forced himself to ask the next question, "Or deep down did you just not want to be helped...because you had your own way out?"

Buffy's nails gouged deep into the soft flesh of her palm as she fought to keep her fist from swinging upward in answer to his charge. Instincts old as time itself urged her to fight as a Slayer was meant to, and the part of her that was woman did not disagree. But she would not give in to the call of blood and sinew; this was not a battle to be won by force. She had right on her side.

"How dare you! You weren't even in this dimension when the last vernal apocalypse went down; you were too busy rescuing Cordelia to answer the phone." Buffy's voice dripped with scorn; the timing of last spring's events had been a bitter pill to swallow.

Angel held his ground, even as his own guilt began clamoring for release. "What about when I came to see you after your mom's funeral? You could have told me in person and I would have stayed. You have to know I would have stayed." He threw his hands up in the air, letting them helplessly fall back to his sides a moment later. "I didn't even know about Dawn until after you died; Willow had to tell me!"

"Explaining Dawn meant explaining Glory."

"That's kind of my point."

Buffy swiped her hand across her eyes, brushing away the traces of traitorous moisture. "I wanted you to stay that night for me," she ground out, pushing the words syllable by syllable past her clenched teeth. "Not because the Slayer needed you...or because the world needed you...but because I needed you, and you needed me. That's why I didn't tell you."

Even in the dim light Angel could see the tears she was trying so hard to hide, and each one raked a bloody trail across his heart, but he couldn't let himself back down. Not now, when he'd finally given names to his fears.

"That night." He nodded crisply, trying desperately to hold onto some semblance of composure. "That was the reason that night. What about all the other nights?"

Buffy stared at him open-mouthed. It wasn't like she hadn't thought of calling him a thousand times last year. Or the year before that, or the year before that. It wasn't that she hadn't wanted to, not at all. She just...couldn't.

"I can't believe you think it was selfish of me to die for Dawn," she exclaimed, shifting the fight back to an area where she felt surer of her footing. "I was willing to give you my blood; why not my own sister?"

"You abandoned everything you had left in the world because you were afraid of what you were going to lose." He took two quick steps forward and seized her shoulders between his hands. "You left behind Dawn, and your friends, and Giles...and me, dammit...because you were afraid of losing Dawn and your friends and Giles and me. You abandoned your duty..."

"My duty!" she choked out. Part of her wanted to wrench herself from his grasp, but she was too stunned.

"The one thing that always held you on course," he continued, throwing each word down as a separate charge. "Faith was in prison, so you effectively left the world without a slayer. You left Glory alive to try opening the gateway all over again, and you left Dawn behind to help her do it!"

Buffy vehemently shook her head, sure of her innocence in this at least. "The barriers could only be broken down at that specific time; Giles said so. There was no danger from Glory."

"And Giles said only the Key...not you but the Key...could close the gateway," he reminded her, bitter regret warring with his anger. "Why believe him about one thing and not the other? Or are you trying to tell me that you did believe him...and you jumped anyway?"

She wasn't going to touch that one; he had no right to even suggest it. "Glory died!" she said instead. "She was Ben by then, and I left her dying."

"But not dead," Angel corrected her. His words were coming out in harsh gasps, as though he was nearing the end of a long and difficult race. "Giles had to see to that. Just like Willow and Tara had to take care of Dawn, and the two of them, plus Xander...and Spike, for God's sake!...had to fight the demons that you were born to slay. But you got your way, didn't you? No matter what any of us lost, you didn't have to face losing one more thing."

His words struck deep into her battered soul, each new blow falling before she could catch her breath from the last. She wanted to cover her ears and hum to block them out, or maybe just walk out and not come back. After all they had endured to bring them to this point in their lives, a little peace was not too much to ask for. Peace she thought they'd found, until tonight.

"Why are you doing this?" she whispered.

"Because I don't want it to happen again!" He let go of Buffy's shoulders so abruptly she rocked back on her heels. "I heard what Willow said about the vortex she created, and suddenly I could see it all as clearly as if I'd been standing right next to you when it touched down. You were willing to die right alongside Holtz rather than lose Connor."

"And is that so bad?" She could feel the anger building up within her again, fighting its way past the guilt she felt for causing him pain. "He's your son! Would you rather I let Holtz take him?"

"I'd rather you killed for him than died for him," he answered starkly. "If you die for him, who's going to be there when the next maniac tries to hurt him? And the next one...and the one after that?"

"So you wouldn't die for him?"

"For him, yes. Without him...no." He saw the look of horror in her eyes, and felt an even greater measure twist his own guts. "You're the one who taught me how to live, Buffy, really live. And when you died, I wanted to die too. But you don't honor someone's life by ending your own. And you don't escape the pain of losing them by taking the nearest scaffold to heaven."

"I didn't kill myself!" she protested furiously. "Stop making it sound like I did."

Not then, her mind whispered; at least not then. Forget her self- destructive relationship with Spike, the one that could have eventually resulted in her death if she had not taken charge of her life again. That mistake had come after her death, after she had found, and lost, what was supposed to be the final reward for her slayerly sacrifices. It had nothing to do with her mind-set before the battle with Glory.

Or did it? Did it all begin so much further back than she'd even realized?

"You've lost so much in just the time that I've known you." Angel stepped closer again, his voice dropping to a wrenching half-whisper. "You've carried the weight of the world with as much grace as possible, for as long as you could."

Buffy drew a shaky breath; the 'when's' of the past no longer mattered. Today, tomorrow: those were the issues. "And this qualifies me for a 'Dear John' how?"

"I'm trying to tell you that I'm scared," he snapped. "No, make that terrified. I don't want you to ever to go to that end of the platform again." The next words were dragged from the depths of Angel's shivering soul. "And I don't know if either of us can stop it."

Her eyes widened at the very real aura of fear emanating from her lover. To Buffy's shame, she realized it had been there all the time, lurking beneath the anger that had blindsided her. She closed the distance between them without thinking, and placed her hands on either side of his face.

"Angel, it won't," she said firmly. "How many apocalypses have I faced? And how many times have I not gotten out alive?" She slipped one hand over his parting lips. "No, don't answer that. What I'm trying to say is that death is a risk with this high-wire act, but I'm not looking for it. I'm looking out for it...when I can."

He wanted to believe her. And if his were the only heart to be broken, he would have, without question and without fail.

But it wasn't.

"Buffy, I..." Angel turned his head away, unable to look her in the eye as he retreated. "I'm not the only...there's not just me to consider anymore. I have to think of Connor."

"Angel..."

"The poor kid; he's already got the short end of the stake for a dad."

"Connor's fine," she protested. "He's so fine it's almost kind of scary."

Buffy tried to slip her hand around the back of his neck, but Angel pulled away from her consoling touch. Restlessly he prowled around the bedroom, searching for an escape from the inevitable self-analysis that must follow.

"I'm not good with kids. At least I think I'm not. I haven't actually been around any for two and a half centuries; who remembers? And my job pretty much is my personal life, and neither one of them is exactly going to get a 'Safety First' rating. And in case you never noticed, I can get a little moody sometimes."

"You don't say."

He shook his head impatiently. "I owe it to him to make the best kind of life for him that I can. And I want you to be a part of it...if you want that too."

Angel stopped his pacing and faced Buffy head on; she had the strange feeling he was daring her.

"But you have to want it enough to face the bad times with us as well as the good ones."

"I can't believe," she began, raising her voice to a level that stirred the sleeping Connor. She gave an impatient nod to Angel's frantic wave and lowered her voice to an indignant hiss. "I can't believe you, of all people, are lecturing me on the virtues of sticking around. Do you remember where you live these days?"

"Yeah, I do. Two hours away. How long is the trip from the Pearly Gates these days?"

She flinched; it had been a cheap, but effective, shot.

"Angel, we've been over this," she said through gritted teeth. "I want the same life you do; you know that. I'm willing to give it all I've got to make that life happen."

"No, we haven't been over this." He took a long, shuddering breath, giving himself a moment's respite from the storm. "I kept all of this sealed up inside, because I didn't want to spoil things between us. Because you came back, and suddenly it seemed childish to carp on why you left. But not saying anything leaves a hole between us, and we can't live like that."

"So instead you'd rather throw it all away?" Her voice rose in disbelief. "This is California; you're not supposed to throw out the baby or the bath water."

A small cry from the trunk reminded them both that there was indeed a baby in the picture, and one liable to wake up screaming if they weren't quieter. Neither Buffy nor Angel spoke for a minute, waiting to be sure Connor was once again asleep.

"It's not like I haven't been where you were, Buffy," Angel said quietly, when he finally felt it safe to speak. "I'm there every day. Do you have any idea what it's like to know you're going to outlive everyone you care about...even your own child?"

He ran his hand through his shock of dark hair, his mind shying away from the image of his world without his friends. Without Connor. Without Buffy. Someday he would have to face it all, but for today he had to focus on what he had.

"When the First tried to get me to kill you, I was sure my death was the only way out. But you wouldn't let me go. You said strong was fighting. Are you going to tell me now it was all a lie?"

"I was eighteen...not even. You're headed for the quarter-millennium mark. How does that make me Yoda?" Buffy protested. "And why do I have to answer for things I said a lifetime ago? A literal lifetime ago," she stressed.

"You were right."

The quiet words, offered with a weary shrug, abruptly laid waste to her anger. Angel sounded so defeated, so lost; as though her repudiation of the girl she had once been rejected him as well. It suddenly flashed through Buffy's mind that he must have perceived her death the same way, as a rejection of all that she, and he, was.

"What do you want me to say, Angel?" she asked gently. "Did things pile up too high around me then, until I felt like I couldn't breathe, let alone scream for help? And did I feel some sort of...relief...when I jumped?" Buffy swallowed nervously. "Guilty on both counts. And would I do it again?" She paused, seeing the trepidation in his eyes. "That's the real deal-breaker, isn't it? Would Buffy take the big plunge again if she had to?"

"That would be the one," he answered hoarsely, nodding his head.

* * * * *

"I don't like this waiting," Cordelia complained. "All we can hear is voices going up and down, but neither of them is coming down to say everything is okay. I think someone should go up there."

She started to rise, but Wesley grabbed one arm and Lorne grabbed the other. Together they pulled her back down between them on the couch.

"Cordelia, no," Wesley said sternly. "I know you've made Angel into your special project the past few months, but it's time to let go. Whatever happens between them now must be their doing. We've no right to interfere."

"I do," Cordelia contradicted him. "I'm the one who sent him back here. I'm the one who made him realize that he wasn't actually over her."

Fred covered her mouth to stifle a giggle as Lorne began humming the theme to 'Hello Dolly.'

"So you see if this all blows up in Angel's face...and we go back to Daylight Savings Brood...it's my fault. I need to make sure they don't blow it."

"Cordelia, don't."

Willow had been so quiet since she came back into the living room that they had almost forgotten she was there. Her sudden participation in the conversation took them all by surprise.

"But Willow..."

"No," the witch said, softly but firmly. "I know you want what's best for Angel, and I'm really glad that you're behind him and Buffy. And I want to be up there fixing things just as badly as you do...probably more." She spoke the next words slowly, trying them on for size. "But it's not our right."

"But..."

"No."

Cordelia frowned, recognizing her defeat but not loving the victor. "All right...but we are not, I repeat not, trading the convertible in on a minivan; I just want that understood here and now, before anything permanent happens."

Willow grimaced. "I think I need to make a phone call."

* * * * *

She wanted to reassure him; she wanted to make that look of dread in his dark eyes vanish from both sight and memory. But even if she could lie to this man, she wouldn't.

"Angel, you know what...who...I am." She took a few steps towards him, and reached out to take his hand. "I wish I could swear that I won't sacrifice myself for someone ever again...but I can't. It's part of the fine print."

"I'm not asking you for that kind of promise, Buffy." He closed his eyes for a moment; why couldn't he make her understand? "I've known from the beginning that someday you would die fighting darkness. I hate it," his hand tightened around hers until it was almost painful, "but I know. What I want is for you not to surrender to it again. I need you; we all need you. Here. Alive."

"But I am here and you're pushing me away!"

"Do you think you're the only one who's afraid of being left behind? I know your dad left you, and Giles left you, and I left you, and in a way so did your mom." His voice was ragged as he forced the words from his mouth. "But what you did...the way you left all of us...it wasn't fair, Buffy."

"I'm sorry, okay." Buffy ground her teeth together, fighting to hold down the sob building in her throat. "Angel, I can't tell you exactly what I was thinking that night...or any of last spring, actually. After my mom died it was all this horrible blur. Insurance forms to fill out and legal paperwork and school records and...it just never stopped. Not until I did."

"Buffy."

"I'm not even sure you could call what I was doing thinking," she continued in a near-whisper. "I hurt so bad that all I could dream of was being numb. And then when I was finally numb I was so...cold. So alone, even when I wasn't really."

Her eyes drifted past Angel to the trunk on the floor, and the child resting within it. Connor had so much ahead of him, his whole actually; that was how the cliché ran, wasn't it? For her that had come down to twenty years, fifteen or so of them good ones, and then a quick death. That was her whole life.

Or at least that's how it felt standing on the windy platform of Glory's tower to hell.

"Dawn wasn't just my sister that night," Buffy said slowly, "she was me. The me who had to die at 16 because some stupid prophecy said I did. The me who lost my home and my friends and the only man I'm ever going love to a destiny I never asked for." She blinked back her tears as she turned to face him again. "It was a trade; I wasn't lying. Me for...me. Only one me had a chance of doing things right so she's the me that got to stay."

Her voice was that of a lost little girl, but the hazel eyes that looked into Angel's own were older than he, for all his immortality, would ever be. It was that ancient grief that still frightened him, however, whispering of future sorrows for the unwary.

"And what about Connor? Is he supposed to take over living for you someday, when you feel like you've used up your chances again?" He steeled himself to look deep into those old, old eyes, to get to the core of all that was truly his beloved. "It's not fair, Buffy, to you or to Dawn or to any of us. You are you, the only one. And no one else should get the opportunities, or the responsibilities, that belong to you."

"It wasn't like that with Connor, I swear." She stepped closer to him, her body lightly brushing against his. "Maybe I said something to Willow that...but I didn't mean it. Not...well, not that way. I wasn't trying to sacrifice myself or anything; I just got, I don't know, caught up I guess."

She saw the great grey abyss again in her mind's eye, just before it swooped down to claim Holtz. "The vortex...it was all swirly and the static was...and suddenly it was like I was seeing the portal...and Acathla's mouth opening and...and then it was too late."

Angel could see the truth in her eyes, hear it in her voice, and something deep within him eased infinitesimally.

"Angel, I'm sorry I hurt you," Buffy whispered. "Tonight...and then." She slipped her hand out of his and reached up to clutch his coat by the lapels, in case he got any more foolish ideas about bailing on her. "And I'm sorry you feel betrayed or something that I didn't ask you for help against Glory."

"Not betrayed." He paused, trying to find the right words. "More like...unnecessary. Part of the past."

"It had nothing to do with you, or with us," Buffy insisted. "It was about me. I had to keep my promise to Mom; she told me to take care of Dawn...and I did." Honesty compelled her to add, "And maybe it's just because I lucked out on both sides of the Great Beyond, but...I can't be sorry for it, either. Because I love Dawn and I am so glad she's still a part of my life."

"I'm glad too," he said earnestly, reaching out to brush away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. "But what you did...why you did what you did...it still scares me, Buffy."

She tilted her head, rubbing her cheek against his cool palm before she turned to press a kiss at the juncture of wrist and hand.

"I know. It scares me too." The admission surprised even her; she had to become familiar with the idea as she explained it to Angel. "For so long after I came back, I wanted to not be here. I wanted...to be dead." Buffy raised her head from the comfort of her lover's gentle touch to look at him squarely. "And now you make me start to wonder if maybe that what I always wanted...if Spike was right and I was in love with death from the time I was called."

Angel could feel his jaw automatically tighten at the mention of his childe's name, but he suppressed his jealous urges; Spike was of no real importance to them anymore. Instead he focused on Buffy, watching the lights and shadows play across her face and through her eyes.

"Any conclusions?" he asked hoarsely.

"Death...my own death...doesn't wig me the way it did when I was sixteen," she acknowledged with a small smile. "After all, I've died twice and lived to tell the tale. But I don't...I don't think life wigs me the way it did when I was 20 either."

Buffy paused for a moment, and then spoke very slowly, trying to choose words that would form the closest thing to a promise she could make. "So I guess I'm going to try to enjoy where I'm at now...until it's time to move on to a new at."

Angel could feel the tension begin to ease from her body as she made peace with the idea of survival; each breath leached a little of the old pain away, both hers and his own.

"After all that I've said tonight, I don't suppose there's a chance you'd let me share that 'at' with you?"

"I said I wanted to enjoy it, didn't I?" she drawled. A mischievous smile darted across her face, gone within the space of a heartbeat but leaving a trail of sparks chasing down Angel's spine.

"Buffy, I didn't mean to put you on trial, but you...you scared the hell out of me tonight," he whispered. "And you're talking to a man who knows exactly what that feels like." He slipped his arms around her waist, holding her loosely against him.

"I wasn't exactly expecting Holtz to show up on my doorstep, you know."

"Something's always going to be showing up, baby." Angel brushed a kiss across the crown of her head. "And we're going to lose people, no matter how careful we are. But we can't lose ourselves."

"That part's always going to bug me." She shook her head, narrowly avoiding the collision of her forehead with his chin. "I know I'm supposed to die for all this, but it seems like the people I love should get something out of that. Like death insurance or something."

He nodded gravely, acknowledging the general unfairness of life, especially her life. "I wish it worked that way too."

Buffy forced her muscles to relax, reaching for and finding the comfort that Angel's embrace always gave her. "I thought we were over the hard part, but...there's always going to be hard parts for us, aren't there?" she asked with a wistful smile.

"Looks like."

"I thought it was supposed to be get easier," she confessed. "After the first night we seemed to fit together so well and I thought...I thought we were finally doing it right...like something was wrong if it took this much effort. But I guess we're just not built for the easy life, huh?"

"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"I'm going to risk my neck, and you're going to hate it," she continued, sliding her hands up and down his arms. "And then you'll stay out too close to sunrise on a case and scare me half to death."

"Repeatedly," Angel assured her.

He reached out and with one lazy hand traced the line of her jaw. Buffy leaned into his caress, the turbulence within her heart slowly dissipating as she imagined the long future that stretched before them, pitfalls and all.

"And Connor is going to spend his childhood explaining our bruises," she mused, "at least until they fade. And the broken furniture...and the broken windows..."

"He'll learn."

"And Cordelia is going to have to mind her own business when we fight." She waited to see his response.

"She'll lea...I'll talk to her," he promised.

"And I'll...I'll talk to you if it starts to get to me again," she said softly, awkwardly. "I always used to be afraid I'd hurt you if I did...mentioning the people I lost must make you miss your family even more and it's not like I even really..." She closed the last infinitesimal bit of space between them, wrapping her arms around his waist as she looked up into his dark eyes. "I just didn't want to hurt you."

There was a kind of peace on her face that Angel had never seen before, even when she lay sleeping. In a way it saddened him, for the innocence he had so long cherished in Buffy seemed to be a thing of the past; her acceptance of herself the price of this new serenity. But the woman he saw before him, tear-stained and tired, was even more beautiful in her tempered strength than the glowing girl he remembered.

"I'll make you a deal," he said, smiling softly down at her upturned face. "You don't protect me from you and I won't protect you from me. I've been told that's one of my more annoying habits."

"That and the toothpaste tube thing." A wry grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"You're supposed to squeeze..." he began.

She pulled his head down for a kiss to silence his protest. "Since we're setting terms here, if one of your exes shows up, trying to seduce you into general badness, you promise you'll let me know this time?"

Angel could hear the genuine apprehension beneath her light tone, and gave his answer in kind. "Agreed. And if there's an apocalypse on the schedule and I'm not here...you'll call. Sound fair?"

"Sounds perfect," she murmured, pushing herself up on her toes to meet his lips in turn.

* * * * *

Willow stared at the telephone, the instrument of her torture, as it rested demurely on the smooth white countertop. She didn't want to do this; she wanted it all to go away, go back to the way things were. Back to when things were simple and she knew who she was and what she was and what she wanted.

Kindergarten was looking better and better all the time.

There was no turning back the clock, though. Or there was...but Willow had a sneaking suspicion that sort of magick was exactly the kind she needed to avoid. Somehow she needed to regain control of her own life...but only her life...and not with spells or potions or talismans. And she needed to do it for herself, by herself.

Gritting her teeth, the witch forced her trembling hand to reach down and pick up the phone. Each number punched seemed to be stabbing directly into her own soul, but there was no other way.

"Tara, it's Willow again." * * * * *

"Nope; can't do it." Buffy suddenly shied back, tugging at Angel's arm to pull him away from danger. "Bad...way bad...idea."

"Buffy, we don't have a choice." Angel eyed her sternly. "I don't want to go down there any more than you do, but we left all of our friends downstairs...some of them not even knowing each other..."

"They're big people," she said desperately. "They can introduce themselves."

"We have to go down some time," he pointed out. "Eventually you're going to need food and Connor will need diapers and..."

She crossed her arms and stared at him. "We can sneak out a window; it's not like we haven't done that before."

"Buffy," he sighed, "I left Sunnydale the first time because I didn't want you hiding in the shadows with me. Do you really think I like the idea any more now?"

She pouted for a moment, hating it when he was right, and hating it even more that they both knew he was right. Hating too the fact that her pout seemed to have lost its power over him. Definitely not a perk of growing up, she reflected grimly.

"All right," Buffy grudgingly allowed. "We'll go down and do introductions and make with the small talk and feed the masses; I'll even set up bridge tables. Will that be enough to satisfy you?"

Angel shook his head firmly. "You forgot the part where we ask one or all of our seven potential babysitters to watch Connor for a night or two while we do a little more making up." He leaned down and smiled at her, more than a hint of wickedness in his dark eyes. "The kind of making up we really can't do with a baby in the same room and your sister in the next."

"I thought...not that I'm complaining, but I thought we were going to take things slow this time."

One large cool hand ran languorously down her back, creating a spine-length shiver in his lover that was swiftly transmitted back to him through the pressure of her slender body against his.

"Oh I intend to take things very slowly," he teased.

"Angel," Buffy protested half-heartedly. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but can I have Serious Guy back for just a minute? Forget the whole making love idea...well, don't forget," she flashed a quick smile, "but raging hormones aside, do you really want to leave Connor after all that went down tonight?"

He stopped stroking her back instantly, but he didn't let her go. Not yet. Not ever, he vowed.

"Holtz is dead, or close enough to it," Angel said gravely. "And Connor will be with a houseful of people who know demons...or are demons." Keep telling yourself that, his mind commanded his heart; just keep saying it until you believe it. "I'm not saying I won't worry, but I have to trust that they can take care of him. Otherwise I'll have to staple him to my hip for the rest of his life."

Buffy quickly shook her head. "No way. My spot." Her hand quickly slid down his side to claim her territory.

"As for making love..." an idea not far from his mind, considering the placement of her hand, "I'm not saying we should go any further than we feel right about. It was never just about the sex, and I don't want it to be that now."

The lingering kiss that followed didn't exactly support his claim, but Buffy decided not to argue.

"But I need to be alone with you," Angel said at last, when there was space and breath to allow speech. "I...need you, that's all. Just you, for just a little while."

She grinned back at him, feeling a weight lift from her heart. Maybe all wasn't exactly well, at least not yet, but it could be. They could make it well.

"Well why didn't you just say so?" she mumbled through the sudden pressure of her lips against his.

* * * * *

Part 9

Conversation in the living room swiftly died when the first steps were heard on the staircase. Moving as one, all heads turned to face the archway, waiting expectantly for the feuding lovers to make their appearance.

Buffy could feel the measure of all those eyes as she walked into the silent room with Angel by her side. Had they heard any of the fight from down here? No, they couldn't have, she decided a moment later; Connor hadn't even truly woken up from the noise. But did they somehow know anyway? Had they guessed why Angel had been so angry, even though she had been clueless? Had they felt the same way about her death, and just never told her? She suddenly realized there were going to be a lot more painful conversations in her future, raking up things she had once thought best left unsaid.

'Group therapy much?' she thought with a wince.

"Hey," she said, pausing awkwardly in the archway. "When did you guys become Quakers? Or...please tell me we haven't been overrun by mime demons."

"We were hoping we could hear you fight if we were quiet," Cordelia said bluntly. "We wanted to know if we were going to need to step in and make you two act like grown-ups, or if you could finally figure it out for yourselves."

"Sounds to me like someone is volunteering for babysitting duty." Buffy tried to keep the edge out of her voice as she added, "For an actual baby this time."

Cordelia looked sharply at Angel. "Does that mean you're on your way to make up? Or you don't want us to hear the real fight?"

The vampire hesitated. "Is there any chance we could leave here without answering that question?"

"Surely you jest," Wesley interjected dryly. "We took our lives in our hands riding in that car with you tonight; do you really expect us to let you keep mum now that we're finally to the denouement?"

"It was worth a try," Angel sighed.

"Angel-cakes," Lorne began, pausing to stare politely at Buffy as she tried in vain to cover up her giggle. "We've all been through a lot together the past few years. Well, not exactly all of us all together, but close enough. I think a lot of it was thrown at us by the good old boys in blue-face in an attempt to get you two crazy kids back on the same path. So we have a vested interest in the outcome of this little soap-opera."

"Not to mention the whole 'who's going to live where and what are we going to do about the business' part of the deal," Cordelia added. "Not that we're trying to push one way or the other, you understand, but knowing would be a good start."

Angel glanced down at Buffy, silently asking her for her opinion. She pressed her hand over his on her waist, and answered for both of them.

"We can't give you exact where's or when's," the Slayer hedged, "because we're still hammering out the details. We're talking major construction zone here. But it will happen...it is happening," she admitted, turning her head to hold Angel's eyes fast with her own.

Willow smiled painfully. "One day at a time, right?"

Angel tore his gaze away from his lover, looking sharply at the witch. He saw not only the sad smile, but also a new kind of maturity in her brown eyes.

"It works that way for most things worth having," he agreed, offering a grave smile to reflect Willow's. "If it was easy, what would be the point?"

"That it wouldn't hurt?" Cordelia suggested practically. "I'm not knocking the school of hard knocks or anything, but given the choice, I'll move to Easy Street any day."

"And I want the house next door, Cordy," Gunn stated. "Some day I'd like to try having things work out instead of beatin' them into shape. Sounds..."

"Peaceful," Fred sighed, continuing her boyfriend's thought. "No more worries, no more problems..."

"No more demons," Wesley added, joining in the fantasy. A loud snort prompted him to add, "Present company excepted, of course."

"All I can say is: save me from the simple life," Lorne interjected firmly. "How would you know when you were awake living in this perfect little world of yours? Without the craziness that means life, all you have is..."

"Death," Buffy said flatly.

Dawn shivered at the thought. "Ugh. When you put it that way, no thanks."

"That goes double for me," her sister said lightly. Only Angel could feel the tight grip of her hand around his, signaling him the commitment behind her flippant words.

Cordelia's eyes narrowed; the happy couple seemed, well, happy. And this was a good thing, if indeed it was legit. If not, it was all-hands-on-deck time.  

"So, here's my question," she said, working hard at sounding casual and offhand. "You guys supposedly spent the past week 'talking things through,' yet as soon as we get back here you have to hightail it upstairs to talk some more."

"Actually, that would be an observation, not a question," Buffy offered helpfully, trying to get Cordelia off the scent.

Her former rival, however, would not be so easily distracted. "Why does this smell like the beginning of an angst-a-thon to me?"

"Cordelia, what Buffy and I talked about is between us," Angel said firmly. "It's great that you all care, but we need to work things out for ourselves."

He met Cordelia's eyes, and was relieved by the reluctant understanding he found there. He could tell she was curious, and he knew that she cared. But the same maturity that was evident in Buffy and Willow had left its mark on Cordy as well. Angel might be the butt of a little good-natured teasing, but she would respect the boundaries.

"Oh sure," his best friend said airily. "I do all the work getting you two together again and I don't even get a little dirt out of the deal."

Given the occasional reminder, that is.

Buffy's lips twitched. "No dirt," she agreed pleasantly. "Also no clean. Just a whole lot of none of your business."

"And as part of that," Angel quickly added, "seriously, who wants to baby-sit tonight?" He glanced at the curtained living room windows. "Or for what's left of tonight until about the same time tomorrow night?"

"You're leaving? Without Connor? Overnight?" Gunn stared at the Slayer in amazement. "Damn, girl, what did you do to him up there?"

"We need time," Angel said quietly.

He hated the idea of leaving his son; he already missed him, before he had even walked out the door. But Connor required time and attention, an abundance of them, actually. And at the moment, so did his relationship with Buffy. In order to give each what was needed, some delegation was required.

"Hey, you know Uncle Lorne; always a lullaby at the ready."

"Great." Angel breathed a sigh of relief; at least he knew Connor would be in good hands.

Lorne started to move towards the stairs. "I'll just get the little nipper and we can...go to wherever we're supposed to go after Angel takes the car." He stopped in his tracks and turned back to face Connor's father. "Say, how is this going to work, Angel-face?"

"We can take my car," Buffy offered.

"Car seat," Angel said succinctly.

"Right." She nodded, unwillingly impressing Cordelia by her quick grasp of Angel's verbal shorthand. "It's in my car. We'll have to move it or take yours, so they can take Connor out if they need to." She patted Angel reassuringly on the chest. "To go for ice cream or something. Not hospitals."

"Ice cream?" Lorne said doubtfully. "At his age? Exactly how long were you kids planning on being gone?"

"And why do they get Connor?" Dawn burst out. "We were going to take care of him this week."

Angel winced at Dawn's aggrieved tone. He didn't want to hurt anyone, least of all Buffy's sister; it hadn't even occurred to him that she might perceive his friends as a threat to the status quo. From the look on Buffy's face, however, this was not an unexpected development.

"Dawn," Buffy said slowly, "it's not easy for Angel to leave Connor with anybody; it doesn't matter who. But Lorne usually looks after him, and it would probably be easier on Connor if he's with someone familiar."

"Except Lorne needs somewhere to stay," Angel reminded her. "In fact, so does everybody else, unless they're going back to LA tonight..."

"Not on the likely," Cordelia sniffed.

"Then we need room we don't have." Buffy grimaced at her suddenly tiny home. "We could put Lorne in my room with Connor...and someone could have the couch...but other than that we're talking hardwood floors. Emphasis on both hard and wood."

"What about the mansion?" Angel suggested, only to be hooted down by the Sunnydale residents, both past and present. "It's not that bad," he said defensively.

"Sweetie, yes it is," Buffy said gently.

"Look, Fred and I will stay in Buffy's room with Connor tonight; Lorne and Dawn can take over when the little guy wakes up." Cordelia glanced around the Summers' living room, mentally measuring and rearranging furniture. "And after we pick up all the broken glass, the guys can rough it down here for one night. That way we'll all be around to protect him," she finished, casting a knowing glance at Angel.

"That sounds great." Angel breathed a sigh of relief; the first compromise had been successfully negotiated. One down, six or seven million to go, he reminded himself. In the end, everything in life came down to a compromise. Adapt...or die.

* * * * *

"You're killing me. You are literally killing me; you know that, don't you?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Sahjhan, but we can't ignore the fact that there's a new player in the game." Lilah tapped the open folder with one long, burgundy nail. "A ringer, no less."

"Impossible."

"Not a word we use around here, I'm afraid." There was a faint tinge of pity in her voice, or perhaps it was condescension; when it came to lawyers, Sahjhan could never be sure. "At any rate, it seems that Angel has reunited with his ex. You must have heard of her: the slayer?"

"Slayer?" Sahjhan asked blankly. There had been so many.

"Buffy Summers." Lilah spoke slowly and carefully, over-enunciating each syllable of the name for emphasis. "Rumor has it she's rather protective of Angel, at least when he's not soul-challenged. I imagine that concern would extend at least somewhat to his child."

Sahjhan's already wrinkled face creased even more as he frowned. "Angel is back with the Slayer? His Slayer? But that never happen...well, maybe the first...or was that the second?" He sighed loudly. "Juggling multiple time streams gets a little confusing sometimes. But I don't see why her being in the picture makes that much difference. Anyone can be manipulated."

"Slayers are unstable, to say the least." The attorney's lips twisted into a grim smile as she remembered Faith, and all the chaos that surrounded her brief connection with Wolfram & Hart. "Mixing one into this pot adds another layer of difficulty to an already unwieldy plan."

"My plan is foolproof!"

"You don't know these fools...and that's the major problem. You're already gambling on personalities and relationships you know very little about. And from our experience in dealing with Angel Investigations, you're betting on the wrong team."

"You're telling me Wolfram and Hart is afraid to take on Angel?" The demon's voice showed polite disbelief. "The same firm that brought a notorious vampire back from the dead for the sole purpose of bringing Angelus back into the fold, and you're afraid of this?" He waved a disparaging hand at the folder that contained the fruits of his labors.

It was Lilah's turn to sigh. "Believe me, we at Wolfram & Hart would like nothing better than to grind Angel and his whole staff into tiny little dust motes, but we're not willing to risk our necks, if you'll pardon the expression, on a scheme that more than likely will not work. After the last time we tried to...interfere...with the child, my boss made it clear we're to treat Angel's child like one of his own. Better actually, since rumor has it Linwood...well, that's neither here nor there."

Sahjhan couldn't believe his amorphous ears; they really weren't going to help him. He just couldn't catch a break. First the gypsy curse designed to separate Angelus and Darla backfired, then repeated attempts to make the vampire despair and kill himself failed one by one. Even Holtz in all his implacable hatred must have somehow botched the job, vanishing from Sahjhan's internal radar. Wolfram & Hart had been his last hope, and now they too were deserting him in his hour of need.

It was like the world was out to get him or something. Or maybe it was just those rotten PTB's, the old busybodies.

"Maurie was right," he murmured in amazement. "I should have just dumped a soul in another vampire...someone close to Angelus, someone who knows the same people. That would have sent all their lousy 'the' vampire with a soul prophecies to a hell dimension in a handbasket." Sahjhan shook his head, sending tiny sparks of light floating outward in his wake. "But no, I had to have principles. I couldn't mess up the whole universe by rewriting prophecy after prophecy; one prophecy was my limit. Besides," he appealed to Lilah, "who in the world would think having two of those freaks around would be better than one?"

"I'm sure I don't know." Her tone was polite, but dismissive.

"You won't help me? That's your final decision?"

"I'm afraid so." The attorney's hand slipped beneath the lip of her desk to press a small button on the right-hand side. "But we appreciate you thinking of us for your demonic needs, and because we value your business so highly we really don't want to lose you to another firm."

The wall behind Lilah quickly slid open and a hand holding a large glazed jar was extended. Sahjhan didn't even have time to scream before a swirling cloud rose out of the Resikhian jar, twined around his incorporeal form and dragged him into the depths of his new and eternal home. A moment later the anonymous hand whisked the urn back into the recess behind the wall, leaving Lilah alone in her office once more.

"It was a pleasure doing business with you," she murmured, pushing Sahjhan's proposal out of the way in favor of her folder of take-out menus.

* * * * *

The baby lay quietly in his makeshift crib, and every parenting book Angel had read suggested he do nothing to disturb the status quo. Let sleeping babies lie; that was the maxim dictated by people who had infinitely more experience with childrearing than a two hundred plus year old vampire.

"Up we go; that's a good boy," Angel murmured, gently lifting Connor from the trunk. "Daddy just wants to say goodnight. Nothing to cry about."

"That's snoring, Angel. Your pride and joy snores."

Angel glanced quickly at the figure in the open doorway, feeling vaguely guilty at being caught breaking the rules he insisted everyone else adhere to.

"What are you doing up here, Lorne?"

Lorne slowly walked into Buffy's bedroom, glancing around with avid curiosity as he made his way over to the trunk by the window. His red-eyed gaze took in the cream and gold wallpaper, the white frilly curtains in the windows, the lace on the pillow shams, and one slightly impatient vampire in the middle of it all.

"Kind of hard to picture Mr. Maroon and Morose in a bright little room like this," the demon mused. "Nice for the baby and all, but you're more of an Autumn. This isn't exactly your usual palette.

"I see; you came up to offer decorating tips." He shifted Connor up to his shoulder. "Well, you might as well go back down and corner Buffy on that one. It's her room."

"Not for long, I'm guessing." Lorne smiled shrewdly. "Or maybe hers, but not only hers."

"We told you; we're still..."

"Talking things out," Lorne finished with a nod. "Heard that. Didn't buy it...but I have a slight advantage over the masses when it comes to knowing the difference between your nose growing and your..."

"Lorne!"

The demon quickly hurried over to help Angel soothe Connor, when the baby was startled into consciousness by his father's unexpected bark.

""I was just teasing, Angel-cakes." Lorne stepped around behind Angel to look into Connor's red face. "Take it easy, little guy; big daddy's got a short fuse when it comes to Mommy."

"Don't..." Angel stopped, unsure of what he was objecting to. "Don't jinx anything, okay?"

Lorne moved around to face Angel again. "Superstitious?" He raised an eyebrow at the concept.

Angel couldn't help a quiet laugh. "With what I've seen...with what I am...you really think I'm in a position to rule anything out?"

"True," Lorne sighed. "No wonder you don't keep salt at the hotel; you'd throw your arm out every time someone broke in and tossed the place. Which is to say every other day."

"I don't keep salt because I don't eat," Angel corrected him. "Not much, anyway. Besides, it's bad for you. Not me personally...maybe not even you...but a generic 'you'. Them."

Lorne held up his hand. "Humans. Yes, familiar with the concept."

Angel glanced down at Connor, moving the baby back to cradle him in his arms. "I know what it's going to take from here on out is hard work, not luck or Fate or even sacred destiny. But it can't hurt to be careful...just in case."

"You're going to make it, my friend." All traces of Lorne's earlier humor were gone, leaving only a sympathetic smile behind on the demon's face. "You've found your true path again, and you know enough to stick with it this time."

It was Angel's turn to smile. "With a little help from my friends, huh?"

Lorne pressed his hand to his chest, roughly where his heart would have been if he were human. "I was always more of a Wings fan myself; whatever do you mean?"

"I know what you did, Lorne. All the times you encouraged me to talk to Cordelia...all the stuff about how perfect we were for each other...I know it was a set-up." Angel gently rocked Connor back to sleep as he spoke. "You knew I loved Buffy all along, but you let me pretend I didn't until I was ready to face my feelings again."

"Everyone needs a safe place to hide now and then." Lorne shrugged off the vampire's thanks, though his cheeks took on a yellowish tinge as the blood rushed up to color his face. "You did the hard part; you took the leap."

Angel shrugged, using the gesture to bring Connor's small head up for a gentle kiss. "It wasn't actually hard, not once I saw her face again. I think that's why I left here in the first place; I couldn't look her in the eye and still pretend we would ever be over."

"You mean all we had to do was give you cab fare?" Lorne smacked his forehead with one green hand. "Boy, do I feel the fool."

"We?"

"Fred and I. And Groo, towards the end."

A quick frown chased across Angel's forehead. "Groo too? You didn't...that's not why he left, is it?"

"No, no," Lorne reassured him. "Groo knew it wasn't going to work for he and Cordy; he told me he was leaving. So I asked him if he'd grace us with a little parting gift."

"That was really nice of you all," Angel mumbled. How many people had taken part in this conspiracy to save him from his own stupidity?

"Obviously we should have just gotten the girl to LA, or you back here. I would have too, if I'd known you were such a big romantic marshmallow." He suddenly nodded his head and sighed. "Of course, the Manilow. It was right in front of me all the time."

Angel's eyes met Lorne's over Connor's head. "All kidding aside, Lorne; you were a good friend when I needed one the most, and I thank you." He gently laid Connor in the trunk. "We all thank you," he mumbled, suddenly embarrassed by his outpouring of emotion.

Lorne playfully punched the vampire's shoulder. "Ya big lug."

* * * * *

Cordelia swept another small pile of ceramic fragments into her small dustpan. It was the tenth, or perhaps the ten thousandth pile she had swept up since they began cleaning the living room, and suddenly she couldn't take it any more.

"That's it," she declared, standing up and tossing her dustpan onto the sofa. "I am officially done."

"Hey!" Gunn exclaimed. "I just got those cushions clean."

"And fluffed," Fred added loyally. She ran a hand down Gunn's arm. "He did a wonderful job on them."

"Well Gunn can fluff to his heart's content, assuming the rest of you aren't as weirded out by that idea as I am. But there are other things around here that need doing more and I'm going to do them."

"Such as?" Welsey asked suspiciously.

"Connor," she said quickly. "If they woke him up, he won't go back down unless he's sung to, and look who we sent to help Angel: Lorne." She slapped her hand to her side. "Could we have been any dumber?"

"Cordelia." That was all Wesley said, but his tone said volumes.

She paused, debating the wisdom of offering a straight answer. The old Cordelia wouldn't have bothered to compose a lie; let people object, as if she cared what they thought. She did care what these people thought, though; they were her friends, her real friends, and their good opinion mattered to her.

Unfortunately, so did their trust.

"I want to check on Angel. I know," she continued, holding up a hand to ward off comments, "I know. He's a big boy, Buffy is his problem...I mean business...we need to respect their privacy, blah, blah, blah. I'm not talking about that stuff."

Gunn glanced from Wesley to Fred, trying to see if he was the only one missing a few clues, but they looked just as confused as he.

"What are you talking about then?"

Cordelia gnawed on her lower lip. "I think we need to know what Buffy knows, because it may not be as much as she thinks she knows. And if it isn't, who really wants to be the one to spills the magick beans?"

* * * * *

"And if you want to get him to go down for a good long nap, put a spoonful of this rice cereal in with his formula." Buffy grinned as she pulled the small carton from the pantry shelf. "Angel was amazed by my 'instincts' when I figured that one out, but I think he's just forgotten an empty stomach can be almost as growly as a demon."

"You're really getting into this whole 'mom' thing, aren't you?" Willow took the carton from Buffy's hand, but she didn't look at it. Instead, she shifted it from hand to hand as she studiously avoided looking at her best friend. "I mean it's nice; it's just kind of...strange. In a nice way," she hastily added, daring a quick glance at Buffy.

"Try looking at it from this side of the diaper pail and see how the weirdness abounds," Buffy said ruefully. She sat down at the kitchen table, resting her chin on her hands. "But I'm going to make it work. We're going to make it work," she corrected herself. "I'm finally starting to get my life figured out. You know, what I want to be when I grow up; Angel and Connor are big parts of that. I just...wasn't really expecting the Connor part, not if I got the Angel part."

A faint smile darted across Willow's face. "I know what you mean. When Tara and I...well, we never talked babies; we're a little young for that. Not that I think you're too young," she said quickly, " but we...we were nowhere near ready, and even when we are...were...well, it would be a little more complicated than those health class filmstrips would have you believe."

Buffy saw the opportunity she'd been waiting for, though she was a little unsure of how her question would be received. "Speaking of Tara, have you, umm, given any more thought to telling her about tonight?"

Willow nodded, dropping into the seat next to Buffy at the table. "I not only thought, I almost did. I called her and asked her if I could come over tonight and talk."

"Will, that's great!"

She leaned over and gave her friend a quick, fierce hug, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. She and Angel had so much to look forward to, she actually felt a little guilty when she thought of all Willow had lost. It didn't help to remember that most of it had been lost while Buffy was too wrapped up in her own misery to notice. But all that was over now, she reminded herself, or at least on it's way to over.

"You'll see; when she knows exactly what went down, she'll understand that you had no choice."

"I'm not so sure about that," Willow answered unhappily, "but it's really not an issue tonight. I called her back and cancelled."

"But why?" Buffy pulled back and stared at her friend in dismay.

"When you guys were upstairs talking, we were doing some talking down here too. Cordy really wanted to come up and 'help' you guys..."

"Angel swears she means well."

"I think she does," Willow said unexpectedly. "Or maybe I have to, because as much as she wanted to fix everything for you guys, I wanted to even more. I think the only thing holding me back was Cordy; I didn't want to sound like her." This time her smile went the distance. "Kind of an old habit, you know?"

"But I don't get what that has to do with not talking to Tara." Even if Buffy still hadn't been a little sensitive on the subject, there were more important things to discuss than Cordelia Chase.

"I wanted her to tell me who was right: Angel or her. And I wanted her to tell me whether it was safe for me to use magick again or not. I...wanted her to tell me if I was a normal person or I was going to end up some control freak who tries to tell everyone else how they should live their lives, like my mother." Willow raised her hands helplessly then let them drift back down to her lap. "I wanted her to tell me who I am...but that's not fair. And if I don't know who I am, how can I ask her to love me?"

"She does love you, Will," Buffy insisted, taking one of Willow's hands in her own.

"I know, but why? Who am I that she should love me?"

"Willow," Buffy started to protest.

"I don't mean that to sound like I'm way down on myself; it's just that I really don't know who I am anymore." Willow frowned, searching for the right words to explain ideas still very new to her. "All my life, until I met you, I was just a geek, and I was okay with that. But when I started doing magick to help you, suddenly I was a witch. Then I fell in love with Tara and that made me a lesbian. And when I went overboard with the magick, I was an addict and then a recovering addict. They're..." she sighed, "they're all labels, Buffy. Nice neat little words to stamp on my forehead so everyone else knows who I am and what I believe. Except I don't know any of that stuff yet. Do you...do you know what I mean?"

"You're talking to the Slayer, remember? Not only do I get a title, with a 'the' in front of it no less, I get centuries of tradition and about sixty stuffy English guys telling me who and what I am. Trust me; I can relate." She paused for an instant, considering her words and the truth behind them. "I guess I really can relate. I don't know if Angel and I would have been able to fix things between us a few years ago...or even a few months ago. There was so much I needed to figure out on my own."

"Exactly. It's not that I'm trying to hide what I did from Tara, but I'm not sure how much it really matters in the grand scheme of things."

"You really think there is a 'grand scheme of things' out there? Like a great big road map?" Buffy pushed her chair back from the table and stood up. "With, of course, a nasty wrinkle through the part that says 'Buffy Summers'."

"Hey, none of that talk, Miss I-Just-Got-Everything-I've-Ever-Wanted!" Willow cried, gently swatting at her best friend's arm. "All you need now is a job and you'll find one soon. A really, really good one this time."

Buffy smiled, though there was a measure of apprehension in her eyes. "Actually I already have one; they called while you were in the shower. I start Monday."

* * * * *

Gavin Park was working late, trying to untangle yet another mess left by his predecessor in Special Projects, Lindsey McDonald. It seemed McDonald had possessed a certain genius for leaving client records in a tangle, obviously hoping to secure his position with the firm by being the only who could unravel them. He had met his match, however, in Gavin.

Before any further legal wizardry could be performed though, Gavin needed food. Lunch with Linwood had been productive, and definitely something to be savored when holding it over Lilah's head, but it had been a very long time ago.

Thinking of Lilah reminded the hungry attorney of the folder of menus he had seen in her office just yesterday. She couldn't possibly be working this late, he mused, glancing at his watch. It seemed the perfect time to pop into her office and have a look at that folder...and perhaps a few more while he was in the neighborhood.

He was almost to her door when he spotted them: two demons he knew to be Lilah's lackeys. They were coming out of the private office behind her private office, carrying something large and vase-like. Gavin ducked his head down so they couldn't recognize him and quickly revised his plans for the evening. If these two slackers were working late, it was only because Lilah was doing something she didn't want anyone to know about. Something he was now in the unique position to discover and then confront her with, possibly in front of Linwood.

Could life get any sweeter than this?

*******

// There was a wild colonial boy, Jack Duggan was his name.
He was born and bred in Ireland, in a place called Castlemaine.
He was his father's only son, his mother's pride and joy
And dearly did his parents love that Wild Colonial Boy

At the early age of sixteen years he left his native home
And to Australia's sunny shore he was inclined to roam
He robbed the rich, he helped the poor, he shot James McAvoy
A terror to Australia was... //

"It's no use," Angel broke off with a sigh. "The third song is definitely not the charm."

"My tall, dark and...dark...friend, dare I suggest it might be the selection that's unsettling the little tyke? Don't you know any songs that don't involve death or pain or painful death?" Lorne shook his head. "Where do you find these things? 'One-Hundred-and-One Songs to Slit Your Wrists By'?"

"They're Irish," Angel said, a faint growl coloring his voice. "What do you suggest? A nice little song about hanging his crib from a rotting tree branch during a hurricane?"

"Mercy, no. I'm all for the non-standard fare, but how about something with a touch more sparkle? How does Marvin Gaye strike your fancy?"

"Marvin Ga..."

"Mmm," Lorne interrupted, "maybe you're right. Serious father issues going on there; definitely bad karma." He tapped one ruby nail to his lower lip. "I know; how about..."

"That's okay," Angel said hastily. "I think we're past the point where even Elvis could save us."

"Elvis," Lorne snorted.

"Connor's not going back down," Angel continued, ignoring Lorne's protest, "not without another bottle." He shifted the baby from his shoulder and began gently swinging him back and forth in the cradle of his arms. "Lorne, could you..."

"Sure thing, Daddy-o." Lorne stood up immediately and headed for the door. "I'll go put in an order with the lady of the house and be back up in a jiffy." He frowned and paused in the doorway. "Say, what is a 'jiffy' anyway? And who decided it was something really small?"

Angel raised an eyebrow at him. "The king of kye-rumption is wondering where new words come from? Could you just get the bottle first and find the dictionary later?"

Lorne sighed dramatically. "Try to show an interest in someone's culture and this is the thanks you get." He patted Cordelia on the shoulder as he swept past her in the doorway. "Careful, Goldilocks; papa bear is growling down the house for lack of a bottle that's just right."

"Connor's not hungry." Cordelia stepped quickly into the room, reaching out her arms for her honorary nephew. "He needs someone to sing him to sleep." She looked pointedly at Angel. "Someone who sings well."

"He likes my voice," Angel protested, though he handed Connor over without hesitation.

"Yeah, him and about 10 cats that live in the alley behind the hotel. I'm sure they must all be female."

"First Lorne comes up to critique the bedroom wallpaper, and now you're giving unsolicited musical reviews. What's next? Wes offering safe driving tips?"

"Says the man who pioneered warp drive in Pontiacs?" Cordelia's tone was mild, however, as it usually was when she was cuddling Connor. "Actually I just wanted to see you alone for a minute, sort of to get our stories straight."

"What stories?"

"You've been with Buffy for a week, just talking." She paused. "Or so you say."

"Cordelia."

"And now you're going off to do some more. I can't help it if I wonder exactly how much sharing is going on in these gabfests."

He turned his head away and restlessly shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "We told you; we want to keep things private."

She moved one hand from under Connor's back to wave away his protest. "That's not what I meant. There's things that I know that Buffy might not know, or you might not know that I know but that doesn't mean I don't know..." she reached up and tapped her cheek with the flat of her palm. "Sorry; Fred moment there."

Angel looked at her with some suspicion. "What do you think you know that I don't think that you...it's contagious." He blew an impatient sigh through his teeth. "What are you talking about, Cordelia?"

"Can you say 'shansu'?"

"Oh that."

"Oh that?" she mimicked him incredulously. "As in the moment you've been waiting for since before you even knew you were going to get it? Did it slip your mind or can't it swim upstream against the raging hormones?"

"You know it's funny but it doesn't seem to matter as much now. Not that I'd turn it down," he quickly added, hoping to avoid inspiring the PTB's to new heights of mischief. "But I really only wanted it for..."

"For Buffy," Cordelia finished for him. "And my next line would be 'Duh!' But that still brings us no closer to an actual answer to my question."

He drew in a deep, self-satisfied breath; even the tumult of this evening could not long disturb the harmony the past week had created in his soul. "I don't want any secrets between us, so I am going to tell her it's a possibility. A remote possibility. I was planning to tell her tonight actually." He paused. "When we're alone."

She pretended not to notice his pointed glance at the door. "Good, because you just know Wesley cannot keep a secret."

"Was that the big moral dilemma? Keeping my maybe-shansu from Buffy?"

She wanted to get straight to it, and with anyone else she would have; it was the Cordelia Chase trademark. Angel, however, required a bit more finesse, and a little thing called tact.

"Well, that and...she is up to speed on Darla and the whole 'oops-I-did-It-again' thing that created your little tax deduction, right?"

Angel nodded, his smile dimming slightly at the mention of his sire. "Buffy knows all about Darla and Connor."

"Just tell me you didn't tell her about that stupid idea you had about you and me." She tried to make it sound like a plea, but it came out as more of a command. "You know, the thing I specifically asked you...no, I actually told you not to tell her. "

Angel studied his shoes with an intensity he had formerly reserved for contemplation of his dark past.

"I had to," he mumbled. "She kept asking why I was here and I couldn't lie to her."

"Of course you couldn't," she sighed. "And of course I had to turn down one of the few guys out there who actually can't lie to a woman. Not well, anyway."

"Isn't that supposed to be a good thing?"

The boyish grin and hopeful tone he turned on her should have melted the steeliest of hearts, but Cordelia could only groan at his masculine innocence.

"Only if I get enough of a head start."

"Are you really all that concerned about her knowing, Cordy? I'd be the one she'd be mad at and she's not. Confused maybe...but not mad."

"Color me flattered." She broke off and stared down at Connor's small dark head resting against her shoulder. It was time to stop dancing around and get to the real issue, before Connor went into full wail mode and Buffy came running. "No, I guess I can deal with that. My question is, can Buffy deal with your little Black Friday Redux, or is she not going to get the chance to?"

"I don't...I don't know what you're talking about," Angel stammered, despite his crawling suspicion that he knew exactly what she was talking about.

"Yeah, well, I do know. A couple of years ago you took away the life Buffy always wanted and gave it back edited for television. Now are you going to tell her about it, or do I have to spend the rest of my life hoping I don't let anything slip that will give her grounds to strangle me or stake you?"

* * * * *

"I can't believe you got a job...I mean another job. And so fast; you're really starting Monday?" Willow leaned forward, all dark thoughts of her own future forgotten in the face of Buffy's good news. "What kind of job? Is it good money? Not that it matters, of course, except in the strictly financial sense, but...oh." A not-too pleasant prospect crossed her mind. "Where is it? Here or...LA?"

"Here," Buffy said firmly. "Right near Hellmouth Central, actually." She rested her hands on the back of a kitchen chair, focusing on her clenched fingers rather than Willow's concerned face. "I'm, umm, going to be working for the new battered women's shelter they just finished building a few blocks from the old high school."

"That's great. Wonderful even." Willow tried to sound enthusiastic; she wanted to sound enthusiastic. Somehow, though, the overall effect was closer to puzzled. "I mean it's important work, and you are awfully good at helping people so you should be good at...whatever you're going to be doing."

"I believe the word used was 'dogsbody'." Buffy shuddered, raising her head to meet Willow's eyes. "Not a word I personally would use lightly around a mystical convergence, especially with all the flying Scooby references. But not everyone has my unique perspective on life." She frowned. "I guess that's why they call it 'unique,' huh?"

"So what exactly will you be doing? Teaching them self-defense?"

Suddenly the job sounded fairly logical to Willow, verging on the obvious. At least it did until Buffy shook her head.

"Umm, maybe a little on the side, but only really basic stuff. The director likes the idea in theory; you know, as a confidence builder. But the goal is to get these women away from the violence, not take the chance of amping it up."

"So you'll be..." Willow let her voice trail off, hoping for enlightenment.

"I'll be helping set things up and get families moved in from the old shelter at first, then I'll fill in wherever they need me. Ordering supplies, answering phones, basic maintenance...though I did warn them I'm not much of a plumber." Her quick grin faltered when Willow didn't answer with one of her own. "I know it doesn't sound like much at first, but Willow, when they heard I had been taking some psychology courses, and that I wanted to go back to school, they offered to help."

Buffy began to pace, too excited to stay still any longer. "If I take sociology courses as well...and some business management classes probably wouldn't hurt...they'll hire me when I get my degree. I mean they'll hire me as a counselor. In the meantime, they'll help me pay for my classes. Isn't that great?"

"Super. It's just, well..." Willow scrambled for an appropriate, yet tactful, description. "It's unexpected, I guess. Like the 'mom' stuff, you know? I mean I never thought of you working with...well, you're so strong and you...you don't let anybody get away with messing with you, so it's hard to see what you'd have in common with...not that you can't imagine, but..."

Buffy stopped pacing and looked quietly at Willow. "You mean because I don't have to worry about any guy...any human guy, at least...getting the best of me physically, I wouldn't understand the women there?"

She tried not to be hurt by Willow's surprise; she'd thought much the same things about herself until a few months ago. Even then, her mind initially rejected the idea; she was the Slayer, not a 'victim.' It had taken her a long time to realize she could be both.

"Well, no," Willow answered slowly, "but...kind of yes. It's just so different from who you've always been I don't even know how you...how did you think of it?"

In one way the question made sense, but the fact that it did drove home to Buffy how little she and Willow had shared during those first dark months after her return from the afterlife. It was her fault as much as Willow's, but that knowledge did little to remove the sting.

"Angel and I have been doing a lot of talking this week, and I've had some major thoughts all by myself the past few months." Buffy almost laughed when she heard the words coming out of her mouth; as though 'major' began to cover the territory her mind had roamed. "When I went to see Dawn's social worker today and I saw the job listing, it finally all sort of jelled. This is what I need to make something good of the whole Spike mess."

"The Spike..."

"I'm sorry, Buffy," Fred said softly as she pushed open the kitchen door. "Lorne said that Angel said Connor needs a bottle to get back to sleep. Cordelia said what he really needs is a decent lullaby...Connor, of course; Angel is a little old for lullabies." She giggled nervously as she tucked a strand of long brown hair behind her ear. "Actually he's very old for lullabies...but I guess you already knew that. I mean of course you do, because if anyone knows about vampires...other than Angel, that is...it would be a vampire slayer, right?"

"So you came to get Connor a bottle?" Buffy prompted.

Fred shrugged apologetically. "I can't sing."

"O...kay," Buffy murmured.

"But I wanted to help."

"I'll warm up a bottle and we'll have the little prince down for the count in no time," Buffy promised, giving up comprehension as a lost cause. Angel had warned her about Fred's spiral thinking; she just hadn't believed him.

"I'm sorry I interrupted," Fred said quickly. "You two were talking; please go on. Unless it's something I shouldn't..."

"No, it's fine," Buffy reassured her. She removed a bottle from the refrigerator and put it in the pan of water she now kept on the stove at all times. "I was just explaining to Willow about my new job at a shelter for battered women."

"Oh that's wonderful." Fred pulled out a chair and sat down next to Willow, relishing the opportunity to get to know a new side of Angel through learning more about Buffy. "The library where I used to work did a story hour at our local shelter once a week, for all the kids whose moms were afraid to leave them at the library for the regular story hour." Her smile dimmed slightly. "I didn't really understand that...not deep down, you know...until I'd been in Pylea for a while. To be looking over your shoulder all the time, never sure how long you've got before some monster shows up and just drags you...it's, umm, really sort of hard to explain," she finished quietly.

"You kind of have to be there," Buffy agreed, her unseeing gaze drifting to the baby bottle on the stove.

Willow's head swiveled as she abandoned one riddle for another. "Buffy, I don't mean to make it seem like you've had an easy time or anything; I know that's not true. Not even close." She paused, searching yet again for the tactful path to enlightenment. "But what you went through with Spike...that was totally different than what you'll see in that shelter."

"Yes and no." Buffy shrugged uncomfortably and concentrated fiercely on the bottle and the pan, on anything but the look on her best friend's face. "If you mean that I was able to defend myself physically against him, well then yeah. Spike could hit me, but I could hit back just as hard, and I did...when he used his fists."

"I didn't mean to..." Fred began quickly, sensing she might have stumbled into an area too personal to be shared with a relative stranger. "Maybe I should leave, or..."

"When he used words," Buffy continued slowly over Fred's protest, "when he told me I was some sort of freak of nature and I'd never fit in again, or when he told me I was incomplete and inhuman and the only one who could ever understand or love me ever again would be him...I had no way to fight back. Not for a long time."

"I didn't...you never said what he said to you," Willow stammered. "Buffy, if you'd only told us, we could have helped."

"I couldn't; I was too afraid it was true. Actually I was sure it was true, and he knew that and he used it." She drew a shaky breath; it went against the slayer grain to expose her vulnerability to anyone, and Willow, more than most, had always believed devoutly in Buffy's strength. "I felt so...I don't know, dirty I guess, when I came back. Everything had been so clean and simple and just...good...where I was. And then I came back and everything around me was harsh and dirty and ugly, especially me."

Buffy forced herself to raise her head and look at Willow, even though she dreaded confronting the combination of guilt and pity she knew she would find in her best friend's eyes.

"I didn't feel like I was worth anyone loving me, and being with Spike made me sure of it. Kind of a do-it-yourself prophecy, I guess. The more I let him say and do to me, the more I felt like I deserved what he'd said and done the day before."

"But you got yourself out," Willow said desperately. "You didn't let him keep doing it."

She clung to that fact, holding it up against the memory of Buffy's face when she came down from Glory's tower after her resurrection. Seeing Buffy truly alive again had made Willow so happy, and so very proud of herself for pulling it off; she couldn't let herself see the still dead look in her best friend's eyes that night, or in the many days...weeks...months...that followed. It wasn't until just now, seeing the life and strength, and even the pain, that glowed in Buffy's eyes that Willow realized how terribly vulnerable Buffy's rebirth had left the slayer.

"Yeah, I did get out. Eventually. And so did every woman at that shelter." Buffy turned around and leaned against the stove, her fingers clutching tightly to the handle on the oven door. "Look, Willow, I'm not saying I know exactly how those women feel. There wasn't any paper, or kids, or money tying me to Spike, and as hard as he tried to separate me from you and Xander and Dawn, you were all still here waiting for me when I saw the light. I was lucky. But that doesn't mean I don't understand what it is to want to believe someone is hurting you out of love."

"That's not love, Buffy."

Willow's voice was small, as small as she felt. This was the kind of thing women were supposed to protect each other from, yet she had never even realized it was happening until it was over.

"I know. But if you feel like the lowest of the low, and someone agrees with you, but says he loves you anyway, it's hard to stop believing him. You don't want to stop believing him, because if he's such a loser and even he can't love you, you're worth even less than you thought."

The sound of a childish wail pierced the kitchen ceiling, breaking the silence Buffy's last words had produced.

"Gotta go," the Slayer said with no small relief. "I don't think the bottle's all that warm yet," she lifted it out of the pan and tested it against the palm of her hand, "nope; it's not. Guess he'll just have to rough it this time."

Fred held out her hand. "Do you want me to take it up so you can finish your talk...the one that I kind of interrupted?"

"No, that's okay." Buffy wiped the dripping bottle off with a kitchen towel and started for the door. "After her first shot at an inquisition didn't work, I'm betting Angel needs some serious rescuing from the wrath of Cordelia."

* * * * *

Go to Part 10