Chapter XIII

Angel carried Buffy across the room, lowering her gently to the rug in front of the fireplace.  Grabbing a couple of throws he tossed them on the floor, then turned to put more logs on the fire.  He lay down beside her and rolled her gently towards him, tugging one of the throws over her.

He was as exhausted as Buffy.  He hadn’t slept, hadn’t eaten right in weeks.  Looking down at her he was overwhelmed with her love.  Still sniffling, clutching his shirt in her small hand as if he’d leave her if she didn’t hold on, his heart cracked.  She was right.  She had a right to know what she was dealing with, even if she left once she knew.  All he could do was take the chance.

“I promise, love”, he told her softly, “I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

He bent his head when she moved the hand still grasping his shirt up to his face, drawing him down to her.  As his lips touched hers, she opened her mouth, begging him to enter.  She moaned as he searched for her tongue with his, then sucked it into his mouth.  He deepened the kiss, needing to taste her, keep her close.  No woman had ever made him feel the way Buffy did.  One touch, one brush of those soft, sweet lips was enough to make him forget other women existed.  All the nights of empty sex he’d ever known were swept away with one loving caress of her fingers against his cheek.  They both felt the soft surge of energy their touch always generated in each other.

Angel didn’t break the kiss until he felt her hands unbuttoning his shirt.  He heard her whimper softly as he pulled away and rose from the floor.  “I’ll be right back, love,” he promised.  Making his way quickly to the bathroom, he took one of the small packages from the newly purchased box of condoms hidden in the cupboard.  He gave himself but a moment to dwell on their very presence before returning to his lover.

Lying back down he caught Buffy’s lips in a searing kiss, to make up for his brief absence. Without a word between them, they slowly undressed each other.  His hands wandered tenderly over her, absorbing the feel of soft skin, silken under his fingers, of curves that drew his touch, tracing their lines, memorizing each rise and fall.  Her fingers left fiery trails upon his arms and back.  He reveled in her feather light kisses as her lips moved down his neck, then across his chest.  She lifted her eyes to his and he melted from the heat of her gaze.

She loved him.  He could feel it, her eyes were filled with the its intensity.  He was still amazed by the absolute wonder of it.  All of this was so new to him.  Angel had never loved anyone or been loved in return.  He was still trying to comprehend it.  All of it.  He let the moment, the feeling of them skin to skin and what they felt for each other wash over him, then fill him.

He’d thought of nothing but Buffy for months.  One blissfully revealing night had shown him that it was love he’d been feeling for her all along.  And since that night, his heart and his life had been torn in two.  Wanting to be with her, but staying away had tested him beyond his limits.  Tonight he realized Buffy had been right all along, there really hadn’t been any choice.  He couldn’t live without her anymore than one could breathe without air.  And he needed this – this tender, quiet lovemaking.  Only with her did he feel complete, in spite of his faults and shortcomings.  That she wanted and needed it as much as he, put meaning and purpose in the empty void that had been his life for so long.

Angel felt the fire building in the slow, gentle caresses they’d been sharing.  His hands and lips found their way to her breasts.  He left tiny bites and kisses all over, suckling and licking each nipple, taking small mouthfuls of the flesh over her ribs and stomach, tickling her with his tongue.

He could smell her arousal growing.  Drawn by her scent, he slid down to her navel, then trailed his tongue down, burying his face between her legs.  He needed to taste her, feel her on his tongue, be permeated with her essence.  Wanting to give her as much pleasure as she gave him, he gently sucked on her sensitive bud, building her arousal, lapping up the dew that flowed from her.  She pushed her hips against his mouth and whispered his name.  The sound made his heart ache to hear it.

When he felt her getting closer, he pulled back to rip open the foil, rolling the covering in place.  Angel shifted onto his back and tugged her up on top of him.  He captured her breasts in his hands as she hovered over him, arching even closer towards his adoring fingers and mouth. Taking his time to worship her, alternating from one soft mound to the other, he reveled in her soft, whispery coos of pleasure.  She let her legs fall on either side of him, rubbing herself against his length, sending fire through his veins.

Her small fingers trailed down until they wrapped around his sex, barely able to circle its girth.  She stroked it gently for a few moments, then guided it into herself.  Angel felt himself grow even harder as he slipped into her welcoming heat.  She used his chest for leverage as she rocked him more deeply inside her.  He pushed up with his hips, both finding a rhythm together.  Bringing his hands up to her breasts once more, he paid special attention to her nipples, squeezing and pinching them softly.  His touch brought her to the brink.  He sat up, drawing his knees behind her back, then pulled her towards him, taking one hand to draw her mouth to his, sipping in her sweetness.  His fingers tangled in the shimmering softness of her hair as he gently held her head in place.

Buffy tipped gently into orgasm, her muscles tightened and he felt her twist slightly, drawing him with her over the edge.  Feeling her climax, he lifted her, moving her down as he drove his hips upward against hers.  He felt his release as her silken walls milked him dry.  He pulled her down with him as he collapsed against the rug, his arms over her.  After a few long moments he rolled her back over beside him.  He withdrew from her only long enough to do away with the protective skin of plastic.  Returning to her open arms, he curled himself around her.

They lay quiet for a long time, listening to the crackling fire.  Buffy finally prompted him gently.  “Angel,” she whispered softly, “I need you to tell me what happened.  I need to hear it as much as you need to tell me.”  His face took on a stony look in spite of his promise to tell her.  Even after what they’d just shared and how much he felt her love, he was afraid of what the results would be.  “Please, Angel,” she begged him.  She wouldn’t let him drop his gaze away from her, wouldn’t let him turn away.  She was the only reason he would ever force himself to remember that time.

She felt his body go tense around her.  A great shudder racked through him and she wrapped both her arms around him to calm him.  He drew her close, as close as he could, short of bringing her inside himself where he needed her warmth and life to be.  He lifted his hand and stroked her hair as he buried his face in its sweet, fragrant smell.  It was so soft … so warm and alive.  Reaching down his other hand, he laced his long fingers through her shorter ones, rubbing his thumb on the back of her hand, feeling its softness under his touch.  Warm and alive.  He still hesitated, not wanting to think of the cold.  The fire hissed and murmured beside them helping to ease him if only a little.  She held his fingers more tightly, pleading with him silently to talk to her and he could deny her nothing, not even this.

He had never told anyone anything but the barest details.  No one knew the whole story – not the doctors or the therapists, not his parents or Cordelia.  He had tried to bury it as deeply as he could, but it was always there, never as far away as he tried to push it.  Not bringing it out, not putting it into words made it easier.  Words would make it too real again and he could never bear it.  It had stayed hidden so long he wasn’t even sure he could do it.  He hated to give Buffy this terrifying, twisted darkness he’d spent his life trying to efface, but now he couldn’t not tell her.  He felt the last of his defenses fall away, as she tenderly brushed her lips over his heart, encouraging him with her love.  He would only do this for her.

The cracked whisper of his voice sounded over the hitching of his breath.  “I was pushing Dru in a swing,” he started, “We were both watching the door for Spike and Harmony and Cordy.  Dru …”  He swallowed harshly and Buffy looked up into his eyes.  Twin points of soft hazel light caught him and carried him on.  “Dru was a pretty little girl, big blue eyes and long, long blonde hair.”  His fingers still unconsciously smoothed Buffy’s hair lifting the soft, silken tendrils as he rubbed them between his thumb and fingers.  “She was such a sweet little thing.”  Buffy’s heart cried for his.  She felt the warm skin of his chest as she laid her face back down against it.  She listened to the pounding beat beneath her ear, felt his fingers tenderly twining strands of her hair around them as if they were his lifeline.

“The men came up behind us.  I never even had time to yell,” he told her. “The last thing I saw before they threw us in the back of a van was Spike’s face as he ran towards us as fast as he could.  But it was already too late.”

Angel stopped once again to draw strength from the deceptively diminutive form that anchored him.  Untangling his fingers from her hair he smoothed his hand up and down her back.  He raised their clasped hands drawing her up to look at him.  “I can feel you, you know,” he said with the faintest of smiles.  “I know you feel it too.”

Buffy knew what he meant.  Besides that inexplicable energy they felt touching one another, it ran deeper than that.  Another reason it had been so difficult when she couldn't be with him, only near him.  “I just know,” she nodded, “that when you're around, whether I see you or not – I feel you – inside – and it throws me.”

“Throws me, too,” he replied simply, his eyes saying so much more.

The ghost of his smile faded away as his expression grew sad.  “There was something between Spike and Dru … not at all like what you and I have,” he said, looking at their fingers entwined, searching for words to explain.  “They had a connection of some kind.  Dru could ‘see’ things.  She’d have dreams, visions, while she was wide-awake.  But Spike was the only one she shared them with and he was the only one who could calm her down when she had them.  He always watched over her, protected her.  It’s as if they were born for that.  She had this gift or whatever it was, and he was there to take care of her.  I don’t know.”  Angel shook his head.  “The look on Spike’s face when the door was closing …” he stopped again for a moment.  “Dru was crying and I pulled her into my lap and kept holding her.”  Angel laid his cheek against Buffy’s head, thinking about the tiny blonde one that had been pressed against him such a long time ago.  “She was crying for her brother and all she had was me.”

Sometimes words weren’t enough.  Buffy reached up and kissed him and waited long moments until she felt him kissing her back.  She felt his arms go around her drawing her close again, hiding his face in the hollow of her neck.  Buffy had known this was going to be a long painful night.

After a while he laid his head back down, his arm still curved around her and began again. “They took us to this cabin somewhere in the woods and tied us up on a bed in a corner.  I don’t know how long we were there.  It was so cold Dru would try to curl up next to me, but our hands and feet were tied, I couldn’t hold her.  I tried to roll as close as I could to keep her warm.  She whispered things to me about what she saw.”

The scene came back to him with agonizing clarity.  Angel only caught a brief glimpse of the forest when they were dragged from the van.  The cabin was bare, except for the dirt and a few sticks of furniture.  Large chinks in the walls and roof let in drafts like scissors of ice that cut through them.  The men had thrown them on a tiny cot like they were so much baggage.  He could feel Dru shivering against him, feel the ropes digging into his wrists with any attempt he made to comfort her.  He was thankful only that her voice was too low for their captors to catch, but he didn't want to hear the things she murmured in the dim light.

Angel shivered at the memory and Buffy reached up to softly stroke her hand against his cheek.  “She kept telling me about a storm coming and that she hurt.  I was so scared laying there with her,” he admitted truthfully.  “I was scared for both of us, there was nothing I could do.  She would cry and call for Spike even in her sleep.  Sometimes I wished it were him there with her, at least she would have had something she wanted.”  He let out a long painful sigh.  “Maybe he would have been able to protect her.  Maybe that’s what he was meant to do.”

He stared up at the ceiling for a while watching the firelight play with the shadows. Then he gently shifted Buffy until they lay side by side, face to face.  She traced the side of his face with her fingers, trailing them across his broad forehead and slanted cheekbones.  He saw the firelight flicker in the depths of her eyes, changing colors with the flames.  He could stay there looking into those eyes forever.  He wanted to spare her all this, but she wouldn’t let him.

Angel felt like someone had pulled a plug somewhere and all these horrible bits and pieces of his past were leaking out like sludge.  Things that weren’t improved by the light of day.  He hated sharing this with her.  No matter how good her intentions were, he still wasn’t convinced this was a good idea.  He was only telling her because she insisted.  What would happen once she did know everything, would she still love him?  No, there was no doubt in his heart about that.  He knew she would, that whatever it was he saw when he looked in the mirror she found something very different there.  He didn’t think he’d ever understand what she did see, but he wasn’t willing to question it if it kept her by his side.  He knew now he had to have her there to survive.

 “It doesn’t get any better,” he warned her, making a half-hearted attempt to dissuade her.

 “It can’t get better until it’s finished, Angel,” she said, staunch determination fixed in her gaze.  She hated seeing him hurting, but she knew if you didn’t get all the dirt out of a wound it could never heal.  This one had festered way too long and painful as it was, it needed to come out.

Angel sighed, already knowing what her answer would be.  He kept his eyes on his hand, which had wandered down drawing patterns over her shoulder and arm.  It didn't work though, he couldn't block out the images of the men crowded around the small table in front of the empty, blackened fireplace.  Once in a while the tallest, heaviest one would stalk over and glare down on them.  Angel had never seen eyes that cold and dead.  The other men were short and fairly nondescript, one with a full beard, the other with several days of unshaven stubble on his face.

“There were three men in the cabin with us," he told Buffy, unwittingly describing what he saw in his mind's eye.  "They ignored us most of the time.  One of them yelled at Dru when she kept crying.  I told him to leave her alone and he said he'd shut her up if she didn’t stop.  I hushed her by telling her stories until she fell asleep."  Angel shook as he recalled the large man's raspy threat.  He wondered how he had found the courage to talk back to the dark, menacing giant, feeling Dru cower against him at the sound of the man's voice.

Then he had found their salvation, small and ignoble as it was.  He had been so careful, so afraid they would catch him out.  "Once they untied me long enough to take me outside because I told them I had to go," Angel murmured in Buffy's ear, "I found a broken piece of a bottle.  I pretended to fall down and landed on it.  I hid it in my hands and when I got back to the bed I tried to cut the ropes when they weren’t watching."

“One of them, the leader, left and was gone for a long time.  When he came back he argued with the others.  They all looked at us and swore.  I know now that things weren't going the way they planned.  It was all coming unraveled and they were beginning to realize what a mistake they made.  They were getting desperate."

Angel's stomach knotted up in terror the same way it had when he was that small boy.  He unconsciously sought shelter in Buffy's arms, pulling her closer.

The men had been angry, screaming obscenities at each other, one breaking a chair to rip off a leg as a weapon.  The largest of them had stripped it from his hands waving it over the smaller man's head.  Angel had felt the fear bubbling up through his chest, moving up his throat.  He bit his cheek to keep from screaming himself.  He rolled over so Dru was behind him, protecting her the only way he knew how.

 "I was so afraid Dru would say something," he recounted in a low voice. "She still wanted Spike.  She didn’t understand why he didn’t come and get her.  She was whispering that the storm was coming and whimpering that she didn’t like to hurt.  But they didn't hear her,” Angel said, looking towards the window as if he expected a storm to appear.

"The leader took one of the men with him and warned the man who stayed with us too keep away from the whiskey.  After they left, he pulled a bottle out of one of their packs."

Angel had been so relieved he almost cried when the huge, burly man had cuffed the bearded one, barking an order to take the van and follow him.  He beat his fist on the table in front of the other man, making his instructions clear about staying sober and keeping watch.  The young boy had been shocked that the scraggly-faced man barely waited a full minute after the others drove away before rummaging through the bag, then pulling the stopper off a bottle filled with dark liquid and taking a long, gulping swig.

The ropes had been tightened cruelly, he and Dru had been trussed up almost unable to move.  It was better after his trip outside to relieve himself.  He'd managed to hide the bit of glass when they untied Dru, warning her on the way out that if she had to go she better be quick about it.  Maybe one of the men still had some small trace of kindness in him since Angel found the rope on Dru's wrists was left a little slack after one of them brought her back and tossed her on the cot.

"The whole time our guard was drinking I worked on the ropes, he hardly even looked over at us. He just kept drinking and staring out the window.  It started raining.”  Angel grimaced unconsciously and Buffy smoothed her warm hands up and down his arms, then drew him closer to her.  He calmed somewhat, but his mind was still lost in the past.

 “The others hadn’t come back and he finally passed out while he was sitting at the table.  I knew I had to hurry, I didn’t know how long we had.  It seemed like forever," he said, his features drawn taut reliving the memory.  "I kept twisting and cutting with the glass until I finally got my ropes off, then Dru’s.  I crept up behind the guy and hit him over the head with his bottle.  He fell out of the chair and his head hit the floor.  It was nighttime when we got out.  It was so cold and the rain was coming down in sheets.”

Buffy reached for his arm and Angel watched as she traced the scars on his wrist.  But he pulled his hand up to her face to wipe away the tears he saw starting to roll down her cheeks.  Seeing her cry for him made him love her even more, if such a thing was possible.  His own eyes stung with moisture as she turned towards his hand and gently kissed the scars below his palm.

Buffy could feel the tremors running through Angel’s frame.  She used one hand to tug one of the throws over them that he had left on the floor.  Angel wound himself around her as Buffy wrapped her small arms around his large torso and snuggled him down under the cover with her.  He felt the cold recede and tried to steel himself for the rest.

“A bolt of lightening hit a tree and lit everything like it was day.  I saw the van they’d taken us in and another car coming up the road.  I grabbed Dru’s hand and we ran.  The men must have seen us.  I saw them and tried to run faster.  They started shooting at us…”

That stark, naked bolt was as indelibly scored into his being as the cacophony of the storm, the echoing crack of the tree, split in two like a matchstick, the ground shuddering in its wake, vibrating through their feet, the chill wind tearing at their clothes and teeming rain arrowed at their faces.  But even the chaotic elements didn't hold the terror of the monsters in the guise of adults, chasing them, the deadly report from their guns and the splat of a wildly aimed bullet as it hit a tree close by, rending the wood on impact, splintered pieces hitting Angel's cheek as they ran.

Buffy was unable to stop the cry from her lips.  Her heart twisted even tighter that anyone could do that to two little children.  Cordy had told her Dru died from a bullet wound, but Angel telling her about being hunted like animals chilled her to the bone.  No wonder Angel always felt cold.

Angel turned his head, the sound of her voice pulling him back.  He put his hand under her chin, bringing it up so he could see if she was all right, concern written across his face.  She felt the ever present tears start flowing again.  He was telling her the horrific nightmare he’d lived through … and he was worried about her just hearing it.  She loved him so much.  She kissed him again, long and slow, her fingers threading through the hair above his neck.

He needed the kiss, his need for her far deeper than the wounds and the scars and the unrelenting pain.  Never had he found refuge from the horrifying specter of that time so long ago.  Only Buffy offered safe haven for his ravaged heart and soul.  When they were finally forced to breathe he sighed into her arms, laying there soaking her in, submerging himself in her loving embrace.  She reached for his hand once again, knowing the worst part was still to come.  She let him rest against her and waited until he was ready.

“I didn’t know she was hurt until later,” Angel whispered so low she could barely hear him.  “We finally outran them.  I thought I could get to a road or find someone to help us and I thought Dru was safe or would be.”

The raw pain in Angel’s voice slit through Buffy like a razor.  Angel folded in against her, taking refuge once more in the curve of her neck.  She cried with him as he whispered the rest to her in wrenching sobs.  He couldn’t stop now until it was all out, until he was done.  The floodgates had finally opened and it all came crashing through.

“It was dark, except for the lightening.  It was so close and bright it was blinding.  Dru was terrified of the thunder.  It made the ground shake.  I tried to find a way out, but it was all trees and rain.  We walked until Dru couldn’t go any further.  I thought she was just tired.  I was looking so hard for a way out I never saw the blood until then.  There wasn’t anything I could do, no way to help her.  There wasn’t even a place to get out of the rain.  I curled up around her, holding her as close as I could.  I tried to protect her from the rain, I tried to keep her warm.  She fell asleep holding onto my hand.  When I woke up it was morning … and Dru …”

Angel would never forget waking with the tiny blonde girl, still curled in his arms.  It was still storming, the rain pounding down on them and around them, but he knew she was dead.  The drops of rain pooled below her unseeing eyes, falling in rivulets like so many tears, down the ivory pall of her cheeks and into her sodden golden tresses.  He had lain there unmoving, just staring at her, the wind blowing its cold breath across him, but not as cold as she was.  Everything he'd done hadn't helped her at all.  He never tried to get up, didn't even remember being found in the forest, under the tall trees.  He had a vague recollection of seeing Spike's father, his face filled with sorrow, swimming before his eyes.  Angel had failed.  He had failed her father, he had failed her brother.  It was all his fault that Dru would never go home again.

Buffy held him letting all the horror, all the terror of what had happened so many years ago work its way out.  His large frame trembled violently as he released the pent up emotions he had locked away for so long.  She felt the tears streaming silently down her face, fall onto his hair.  After a very long time he finally quieted in her arms, burying himself deeper into her warmth.  The fire had died down in the grate, only one log was left burning.  She reached for one more throw to cover them.  They lay there without a sound.  At last she heard his breathing take on the steady cadence of sleep.  Curling herself around him as closely as she could, she fell asleep in his arms.

*****

When Buffy woke it was from the warmth … not from the body that had been crushed close to hers, but from the fire.  She was alone on the rug.  But she wasn’t alone in the room.  Angel was in the chair above her, sagging into the cushions as if a giant hand had pushed him down into it.  His ever faithful cup of coffee stood at attention by his side, vapors drifting lazily in a steamy salute.  His eyes, fixed on the logs he must have added, were vacant … and lost.  ‘It’s not over yet,’ she sighed deeply.  She saw the dark, chocolate eyes regain their focus, following the small sound she made.

“Hi,” he said, his voice softening with his features as he smiled down on her.

“Hi,” her voice still heavy with sleep.  Not seeing her borrowed shirt, she donned the one she pulled off him the night before.  Fastening the buttons, she crawled the few feet from the rug up into his lap.  She snuggled into his chest as he wrapped her in the powerful arms she loved to feel around her.  He rested his chin lightly on the top of her head and raised a hand to her hair, absently stroking through it.  She was content to remain there, tracing her fingers over his heart, basking in his love.

“Hungry?” she heard him ask, but shook her head slightly into the wall of muscle she was relaxed against.

Reluctant to leave the shelter of his embrace, savoring the quiet closeness, she put off getting up as long as she could.  “Save my place?” she finally asked when she could wait no longer.  She felt him nod against her hair, then slipped off his lap.

“Always,” was his single word in reply, smiling into her eyes as she stood.

After she freshened up she gave herself a long look in the mirror, trying to see if the traitor she felt like was looking back at her.  She hated to do this to him.  She still had to absorb the terrible things he’d told her during the night.  But it wasn’t done, there was more.  She was afraid if it didn’t all come out now it never would.  He was vulnerable and she hated taking advantage of it.  She knew though, that to wait even for a day, Angel would be rebuilding his walls.  He had described what happened, but he hadn’t told her the most important parts.  He hadn’t mentioned what came later or how he felt about it – then or now.  She used Angel’s brush on her hair, untangling the night’s damage as best she could, then went back to him.

She loved the way he opened his arms as she drew near.  Falling into them she folded herself back into the little niche she fit into so perfectly.  He brought his hand back to her hair in the same place it had rested before she got up, gently stroking the soft, fine strands of gold as if he had never stopped.  Nuzzled against his bare chest she waited for a few more moments, then finally asked, “What were you thinking of when I was sleeping?”

He stiffened, stilling his fingers where they burrowed into the burnished locks.  “Nothing,” he lied with a tired sigh.  He knew she wasn’t going to let it go.  He was exhausted.  The argument with her the day before – taking her on his desk, an act which gave him mixed feelings of guilty shame and undeniable male satisfaction – were wearing enough.  The rest of the night spent making love, then finally telling her what she made him share, had all drained him.  She couldn’t make him do any more, he rebelled inwardly.

“Angel,” she breathed quietly, tipping her head back to meet his gaze.

“No, Buffy,” he said firmly, averting his eyes so she wouldn’t see his anger.  He didn’t know if he was angrier with her or himself.  He didn’t want to go any further, delve any deeper, seek out any more demons lying below his surface.  But he knew if she asked that he would.  He couldn’t say no to her.  The times that he did had used up all the strength he had against her.  And she would ask.

“This isn’t just for you, Angel,” she persisted quietly, “It’s for both of us … together.  There can’t be an ‘us’ until you know who you are.”

The arrow she shot made a direct hit, stabbing home painfully.  His eyes widened at her piercing insight and he turned her and grabbed her roughly by her upper arms.  “Who do you think I am, Buffy?” he asked tightly as they sat face to face, her gaze never wavering.

“You’re my heart,” she whispered brokenly without hesitation.

Angel felt his own heart clench hearing the sincere honesty in her voice.  He crushed her to himself when he saw tears he had once again caused, falling from those beautiful eyes.  He could feel the heart she said was his beating rapidly against his own.  His large hands caressed her, trying to quiet her trembling, as he rained gentle kisses on her head.

“I’m sorry, love,” he murmured, lifting her tearstained face, catching even more drops to be added to those she had already shed for him.

He eased back down in the chair, stretching his legs out on the ottoman, pulling her down to rest over him.  They let the warmth of the fire ease in and relax them.

“That’s what I was asking myself,” he finally confessed, “I don’t know who I am and I’m not sure I’ve ever known.”

Buffy remained silent, only leaning in closer to him to give him strength.

“When I went back home, nothing was the same.  No … I wasn’t the same.  It was like watching from far away.  Like I was disconnected.  The only things that were real were the nightmares because I knew they were true.  I knew I had failed.”

Buffy immediately stirred her head to look at him.

“Are you going to tell me I didn’t?” Angel asked before she could say a word.

Buffy looked down as she thought about it.  She wasn’t a psychologist, she was a woman who loved the man before her.  She knew he’d heard it all before, but never believed it.  Bringing her eyes back to his, she answered, “No, Angel.  Only you know the answer to that.”

“I did,” he sighed harshly, “A long time ago.”

Buffy thought of the things that frightened her as a child.  They weren’t nearly on the same level as Angel’s demons, but they had been just as real to her at the time.  “When I was a little girl,” Buffy told him, “I was afraid there were monsters in my closet.  My mom used to come in every night and tell me it wasn’t true.  She’d walk me to the door and open it and turn the light on.  She’d push all the clothes out of the way so I could see it was empty.  As soon as she left I knew the monsters were back in there.”

“This isn’t some fairy tale, Buffy,” he said more severely then he meant to sound. “The men were real, so were the bullets.”

“No, it wasn’t a fairy tale,” she replied firmly, “And you weren’t a knight in shining armor that could slay the dragons and rescue the princess either.  You were eight years old, Angel.  You were just a little boy.”

Angel pulled his legs back and slid Buffy into the chair alone.  He stood up, looking around the room, purposely avoiding her gaze.  Running shaking fingers through his hair, he walked over to the bookcases, but they didn’t lend him their wisdom or comfort.  Buffy watched him over the top of the chair.  She knew he was angry, that it was old ground he thought had been covered.  Finally she couldn’t stand seeing the dejected slump in his shoulders and made her way to where he leaned against the shelves.  Coming up behind him, she wound her arms around his waist and waited.  She felt the tension rippling through him.

After a few long moments his muscles flexed as he caught her arm and brought her gently around to face him.  He knelt down before her, loosely holding his arms around her waist, looking up at her.  His jaw was clenched, tightening his features and his eyes held a telltale glisten.  He regarded her carefully before he spoke, as though to gauge her reaction.

“I locked my monsters in the closet.  I grew up.  When I was an agent, I thought I’d put it all behind me, that I’d gotten beyond it,” he said softly, “And all it took was a thunderstorm and a tree to show me I hadn’t gone anywhere at all.  That was the fairy tale.”

Buffy emitted a small cry and sank down to the floor in front of him.  She carefully cupped his cheek in her hand, searching his eyes.  “It wasn’t the monsters you locked away, Angel,” she said as if talking to a child, “it was a little boy.  You know that deep down – that he’s still there.  I’ve seen him.  He’s afraid of those storms just like he was when it happened and he won’t go away until you face him.”

“I don’t know how,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “I only found out he was there a couple years ago when a lightening bolt pointed him out.  It showed me him and everything I never was,” he finished bitterly, breaking their gaze.

“Never was?” she asked, mystified.  “You think because you lost it during that storm and ended up in the hospital that none of the rest of your life was real?”

“It wasn’t real, Buffy,” his voice cracking with strain, “The screening to get into the FBI?  I never passed it, I wasn’t supposed to be there.  And I never. even. knew.”

“I-I don’t understand …” she looked up with the question in her eyes.

“Neither did I for a long time,” he answered, leaning back stiffly against the bookcase.  “I thought I did it all on my own.  I had myself fooled so thoroughly it never occurred to me I hadn’t.  I didn’t know until I was in the hospital that it wasn’t me.”

“How do you know that?” she asked.

“It doesn’t matter, I know it’s true.  When I had that ‘breakdown’, the polite term for going insane, it made some things crystal clear.  The breakdown alone showed I should never have been in the agency and I could never have gotten there without help,” he told her heatedly.

“Angel, you were an agent for seven years, you led the team.  They wouldn’t trust that kind of job to someone who couldn’t handle it,” answering slowly as she thought about it, while taking hold of his hands.

“And they don’t now, do they?” he replied caustically.  He tried pulling away, but she pinned them in place on her lap.

“Even if you’re right, are you saying you weren’t a good agent?  That you weren’t an asset to the team?  That it wasn’t you who did all the work when you were there?” she challenged him.

“What if it was?  If all it took was something as simple as a weather change to break me, I shouldn’t have been,” he retorted.

“And what if there hadn’t been any storms?  What if you had already learned what to do with that little boy?  What if nothing had happened and you lived your whole life being an agent?  Would it have been real because you didn’t know?” she returned.

He was silent.  He didn’t have an answer.  He didn’t want to argue with her.  He didn’t want to think about it anymore.

“Angel, regardless of how you got in, you were good at your job or they never would have kept you, never would have promoted you.  And you might never have known, if what you’re telling me is true.  But, you’ve put that little boy off all your life and you still have to deal with him,” she said as she brought his hands to her lips.

He looked at her kissing them.  He would never understand why she loved him.

As if she heard his thoughts, she caught his gaze, still holding his hands tightly, “I love you, Angel. I always will.”  Tears hung on her lashes as she whispered, “I’m sorry.  I know this was hard and I know it’s not over, but it will be.  I know who you are and someday so will you.”

He saw her through the tears standing in his own eyes and pulled her into his lap.  Closing his arms around the only entity on earth that made his life worth living, he kissed her.  He’d told her everything and she still loved him.  Even though he thought he’d never know why, he didn’t care, as long as she never stopped.

[end chapter 13]

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