The Future Lies Ahead 2: Breathing Room

Breathe‘Breathe’ Kylie Minogue (Impossible Princess)

*****

Buffy slipped into the library. It had been a few hours since Whistler had left, but none of the others had. Oz and Larry were chowing down on Chinese takeout, and Angel and Giles were talking quietly in the library office. Buffy had eaten her fill of the food earlier, so she rummaged through the stacks for a while. She remembered a book she’d been meaning to read, and went to ask Giles - her Watcher, she mentally added, it was still sinking in - if he had it.

Buffy rubbed her left shoulder, wincing a little. It would be several weeks before she was up to full fighting trim again. Good thing that they had some breathing room. She couldn’t help but think, //Six months? What am I going to do without anything to fight for all that time? Go back to high school, for chrissakes? //

She could hear Angel’s soft, deep voice saying something about the spell the Master had used to try and open the Hellmouth, as she approached the doorway. Angel broke off in mid-sentence, and looked at her.

Buffy said, "Mr. Giles, I was wondering if you had ‘Magickal creatures of the Orient’ by Toshi Kyoto?"

Giles blinked in an absent-minded way, and replied, "Second floor, third stack from the north wall, I think. By the way, call me Giles, Oz and Larry do. I meant to ask you, Buffy, where are you staying?"

"Motel about ten minutes from here."

"Would you mind terribly staying there for a few days longer? My apartment only has one bedroom, and even with the desperate real estate salespeople in Sunnydale it will take a little while to find a new place for us to live."

Buffy frowned. "Wait a minute, I’m going to live with you? When was this decided?"

Giles looked slightly surprised and said, "It’s standard procedure."

"I didn’t live with Brownstone."

"Brownstone was utterly unsuited for a Slayer," Giles snapped. "He’s a drill sergeant of the first order and incapable of forming any emotional attachment, let alone to a Slayer. He also has the filthiest mouth in the entire organization."

Buffy was silent for a minute, then nodded sharply. "Fine. I’ll give you the number of the motel, you can call me when you find something."

Giles frowned and asked, "Don’t you want a say in this? It will be your home for some time to come."

Buffy replied, "I don’t have a home."

Giles shot back, "Well, you do now."

Buffy was slightly taken aback, then ignored the warm spark growing inside, collected herself, and asked, "What about the two out there? How much trouble are they going to be?"

Giles pushed his glasses further up his nose, and said, "Oz was one of the first recruits to the resistance; he’s the only one who has lasted more than a year. Larry joined about nine months ago. They’re both extremely capable, and will be of great help to us."

Buffy was taken aback, and her voice showed it as she asked, "What? Help? Okay, the house is one thing, but I work alone. Period."

Giles opened his mouth to argue with her, but was forestalled.

"Not any more."

Buffy turned sharply towards Angel, as he got to his feet and came to her. "Working alone is what nearly got you killed by the Master, remember?"

Buffy opened her mouth to retort, but Angel kept speaking. "Once you fight the dark side, you can’t just step back and let others take over. Oz and Larry are going to help you whether you like it or not, so I suggest you take it. As for me…Whistler told me that you were my destiny. I don’t know about that, but I do know that I spent two and a half years waiting for you, and I’m not going to leave now. Wherever you go, I’ll follow you. Whatever you fight, I’ll watch your back. The only way you’re going to be rid of me is to kill me, and considering I saved your life once already, I think that would be unwise, not to mention very ungracious."

Buffy looked into his brown eyes and was about to retort, when she really looked. She wasn’t prepared for what she saw. Love, passion, and devotion, unending and undying. Then his eyes went cool, and she was left wondering if she’d just imagined it.

"Fine, then," she said, unable to hide the softening tone of her voice. She lowered her gaze, and noticed the burn marks peeping from his shirt at eye level. "Have you had that looked at? Normally, a vampire’s healing abilities should have made those disappear by now."

"It doesn’t matter. It’ll heal." Angel shrugged. He looked past her, through the doorway, and added softly, "I haven’t fed properly in years."

At Buffy’s inquiring look, he elaborated, "The Master fed me just enough to keep me alive, but not enough for the accelerated healing to kick in. I was planning on feeding off animals when I first came here, but I think I’ll have to raid the blood bank for a while. I’ve got some old wounds that haven’t cleared up yet, and I need to be at full strength as soon as possible."

Buffy asked, "Need any help?"

Angel gave her an almost-smile, and replied, "I’ll be fine. Thanks anyway."

Buffy looked at him again, and said curtly, "If I’m going to end up with a whole gang working with me, I want all of you in the best condition possible."

"Speaking of best condition," Giles broke in. "I had a talk with the surgeon before you were discharged earlier. You’ll need an operation on your shoulder."

"What?" Buffy exclaimed.

The dangerous tone of voice was obvious; Giles hastily explained, "That vampire literally punched a hole through your shoulder, and the tendons were damaged. The surgeon who treated you managed to fix it, but he doesn’t specialize in muscle damage; there’s no one at Sunnydale Hospital who does. He recommended a doctor in Los Angeles, who’s already agreed to perform the operation.

"If you were anyone else, the muscles would heal enough that you wouldn’t need an operation. But you being the Slayer, a reduction of mobility, however slight, could get you killed."

"Okay, fine, when do I have the operation?" Buffy snapped.

"Your shoulder will have to heal for a while first. Taking your Slayer healing abilities into account, I scheduled the operation in three weeks. Until then, you’ll have to cut down on the training. You’ll have to concentrate exclusively on lower-body fighting techniques, I’m afraid."

Angel had been listening quietly, now he asked, "What about Tai Chi? That should strengthen the muscles without putting them under much stress."

Giles raised his eyebrows and looked thoughtful, before saying, "Well, from what I know of that art, it would be ideal, perhaps even hastening Buffy’s return to top condition afterwards. Unfortunately, I don’t know it."

"I do," Angel stated. He turned to Buffy and said, "I’d be glad to teach you, if you want."

Buffy looked into his eyes and couldn’t stop the corner of her mouth turning up, as she replied, "I’d like that."

"So, should I come here tomorrow?" When Buffy and Giles both nodded, he added, "Sunset’s at six, I’ll be here at six thirty."

As Angel started out the doorway, Giles interrupted with, "Where are you staying, Angel? Do you have a number where you can be contacted?"

Angel looked thoughtful for a minute. "I had a phone in my apartment, but it must have been cut off by now. I can’t remember the number, anyway."

"Won’t you have been evicted, too?" Buffy asked dryly.

Angel shook his head absently, and replied, "No, I own the building." He didn’t see Buffy raise an eyebrow at that comment. As the three of them walked over to the library table, he continued, "It’ll be filthy, but dust doesn’t bother me - one of the advantages of not having to breathe." He looked down at his shirt, and couldn’t stop a half-smile as he said, "I’m going to have to go shopping."

"Shopping?" Buffy asked flatly.

"I may be immune to the ravages of time, but my clothes aren’t. They’ve probably been eaten to pieces by moths by now. I can’t walk around Sunnydale like this."

"I wouldn’t worry, what’s one more dead man walking around here?" Buffy remarked. Angel looked at her, and for a second she wondered if she’d hurt his feelings. //Don’t be ridiculous. What does it matter? //

Then Angel replied, "Well, call it a strange rationalism, but I kind of like to blend in."

Buffy didn’t know why she was glad that he wasn’t offended with her.

*****

Larry said, "Hey, I just realized. We can go to the mall at night again. Cool. I’ve missed those lime Slurpies. Buffy, you want to come with us sometime?"

Oz recognized the ploy; it was hard to believe, but some of the tightest bonds in the Scooby Gang had been formed over various kinds of junk food.

"I don’t do malls," Buffy said flatly.

Larry’s voice was slightly surprised as he said, "Woah. I thought the urge to shop was a biological imperative for all women."

"I’m not a woman - I’m a weapon," Buffy said. The matter of fact way she said it gave Oz the creeps. She turned to Giles and said, "I have to answer the call-"

"Of the wild?" Larry asked.

"The call of nature, dumbass," Oz told him, before Buffy could make a reply designed to shred him. "Turn right from the doors, third door on the left."

Buffy nodded her thanks and stalked out.

Oz waited a minute, then said, "First order of business, is to turn the Terminator back into an actual human being. All those in favor?"

"Aye," seconded all the other men.

*****

Three days later, Buffy and Giles went house hunting. Giles’ call to Sunnydale Real Estate had produced a flurry of activity. The office had been reduced to two realtors, who fell over themselves to earn a commission - the market in Sunnydale hadn’t exactly been jumping lately. One had taken to selling funeral plots on the side.

The first day, Buffy and Giles had nixed four houses - including a two-story on Revello Drive that Buffy dismissed as ‘too Pollyanna’ and a mansion on Crawford Street. The second brought a couple of possibilities, and the Slayer and her new Watcher discussed them over pizza at the library. They had the cards from the realtor and a map spread out on the table, and Oz and Larry were offering advice.

"I like the one on Green Avenue," Oz remarked. "Huge garage."

"Won’t do us any good. We only have two cars," Buffy told him.

"Wait, you have a car?" Larry asked.

"I will. Giles said he okayed it with the Watcher’s council."

"Yes, the deposit should be in the account in the next few days," Giles told her, concentrating on eating a slice of pizza without letting any toppings drop onto his clothes. "So will the draft for the house, once I give the council the amount. Now that the Hellmouth will have a Slayer permanently assigned to it, we’re allowed to buy, not just lease."

"Why are you getting all this money from the WC?" Larry asked.

Giles looked up and said, "Watchers with an active Slayer get a stipend for extra weapons and such. Thanks to the council’s mixture of guilt and gratitude, they’ve increased it to include a living allowance too. I’ve set up a joint account for it, after all it’s Buffy’s money too."

"So, we’re rich?" Buffy asked absently, contemplating one of the house cards.

"Not rich…we’re rich-ish," Giles replied. "Have you narrowed your choices yet?"

"I think maybe these two," Buffy said, spreading two cards between them.

Oz read the cards over her shoulder and pointed to the one on the left. "That one."

"Why? The other one has a home gym."

"You don’t need stuff that looks like modern torture equipment, you need space. Put a few mats down in that big basement, you’ll be fine. Besides, it has a swimming pool."

"Why do I need a swimming pool for?" Buffy asked, her tone almost devoid of expression.

Oz replied, "Swimming’s good exercise, and you’ll be grateful in summer, believe me. Besides, think of the advantages of getting a priest to bless it. Your own Holy water reservoir!"

"You have a point," Buffy said. She pushed the left card towards Giles, and said, "Let's take that one."

*****

Three days later, Buffy and Angel had their first T'ai C'hi session. The basement of the new house was purposely kept almost bare, except for a full-length mirror bolted on halfway along one wall, and mats on most of the floor. Buffy had insisted on this room being finished first - not even the bedrooms were completely decorated and unpacked yet.

There was a small alcove under the wide concrete stairs, as well as a tiny bathroom, with a toilet, sink and shower. Just right after practice sessions.

The Slayer cleared her mind for the moment, simply following his graceful patterns of movement, her shoulder aching under the miniscule and quiet motions. They'd been at it for an hour and a half. After Angel had taught her some basics, how to breathe according to custom, how to move, how to stand, she'd simply followed his movements in a sweet silence.

Buffy didn't really want to examine the emotions she seemed to be having towards this man, this vampire, she corrected herself, and instead tried to concentrate on her breathing. It worked to a certain extent, but to know what he was doing, to move without his hands on her body correcting her, she had to watch him intently, mimicking every flex of his muscle. And that way led to madness.

But the alternative was worse. //Or better. No, not better,// Buffy told herself, //Worse.//

So if she failed, when she failed, he would come up behind her, molding his body to hers. He never gripped or pushed her limbs or even spoke, but she could feel him as he moved. She could feel the movements originate in the center of his body.

It was like fighting but in slow motion. When she was fighting, the Slayer didn't wait to see how a vampire would attack, and she sure as hell didn't look them in the eye. Centering on their chest, she could see every move they would make as it started to form, whether it be a punch from their chest and shoulders or some lower attack that always began in their abdomen. She could see the move, and block it, cutting off its power.

Buffy used the same skill with Angel when he came behind her to help.

She could feel his chest rippling faintly, his shoulder, then arm slide slightly against hers. She could feel the nearness or absence of his legs.

Moving in tandem this way was too intoxicating for words for the Slayer, who after her parents died never again thought about love in any of its many forms. Truth be told, not for some time before, either.

Buffy felt a strange tingle ripple through her skin at his touch. It seemed to travel along her skin and under it in her flesh at the same time.

She'd noticed that he acted like he wanted to touch her a great deal, but only her. He also didn't like being touched himself. Larry had tapped him on the shoulder from behind, and Angel had instinctively reacted as if it was an attack, whirling around and pinning him to the stacks. He'd apologized almost immediately, but Buffy sensed some thing that could later become a problem, if it wasn't handled right.

This time, after she'd been corrected, he didn't move back to his side of the mat right away. He stayed with her, guiding her movements from behind. For a single, blissful moment, she allowed herself uninterrupted pleasure at the sensation of his naked back and arms touching her tenderly, guiding her, helping her body to heal with no other motive than the obvious. The moment did however end, and left the Slayer not wanting to move, but uncomfortable with the situation, nevertheless.

Just when she was about to pull away and cite her shoulder for a rest, she felt a tremor rip through his entire body. Buffy pulled away from him instantly and spun around to face him.

"What?" she demanded roughly, honestly not knowing what was wrong, but knowing that something was. She would have never dreamed, not in a lifetime, that perhaps her own closeness had caused his lack of control, or at least contributed to it.

"Nothing," Angel said quickly, taking a step away from her and off the exercise mat. "Let's take a break. Here," he said, tossing her water bottle to her, picking up a small towel off the ground for himself.

Buffy watched as he turned around, lifting a slightly shaking towel to the back of his neck, wiping the sweat off, holding the towel there.

"Angel," she said softly but sternly. "Turn around."

He hesitated a moment, but turned. His gaze was cold, completely closed. Buffy didn't know him extraordinarily well, but she knew that look. He was hiding something. The Slayer had no idea what, but he was hiding something from her, and that alone pissed her off.

Her gaze narrowed as she searched his face for clues. He was pale, but he was always pale. There were dark circles under his eyes, but he was a vampire. They weren't the most gorgeous of God's creatures. Perhaps because they weren't one of His creatures. He looked sort of gaunt, but he was kinda thin anyway, and except for the muscles, he might even be termed reedy.

It wasn't until her errant eyes strayed to his chest that she knew what was wrong. His burns, other lash marks and various gouges weren't healed. But if she had had them, they would have disappeared by now. And weren't vamps supposed to heal even faster than slayers?

"You haven't fed yet, have you?" she asked accusingly. How dare he? How dare he not take care of himself? He was part of her team dammit, an important part.

"Haven't had time," he said, his stare still cold.

"Fuck you! Make time, dammit!" Buffy stalked up to him and got in his face. "What the hell is your problem?" she asked low and angrily.

For a fraction of a second, the cold wall in his eyes came down to reveal fear, of all things before it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. For a moment longer she stared into the dark depths, no longer able to sense anything at all. Still as death.

The Slayer snorted and turned her back to him. Stalking up the basement stairs, she didn't hear him slump to the ground.

*****

"Oz. Buffy. Has Angel made arrangements with you and your mother for the blood bank? But she's been collecting them anyway? How many? Yea, that'll be good. No, tell her not to stop. When can we pick them up? Where?" Buffy paused in her conversation, her first inclination to simply hang up. "Thanks," she added, before disconnecting and heading back down the stair way.

"Put your shirt on, we're leaving." He was sitting on the ground and made no real move to get up. Buffy ignored him for the time being. Whatever his problem was, he sure as hell wouldn't want her help. Would he?

She grabbed her own large shirt and headed over to the full-length mirror she'd insisted be bolted to the far wall. Buffy buttoned the bottom buttons, closing over her bare abdomen and making her sports bra seem like a tank top. Angel had told her that the lines of her body had to be clear to him, at least in the beginning lessons, so that he could see where she was going wrong, and the two sizes too large shirt didn't work.

She took a moment, and hearing nothing behind her assumed her fighting partner was still on the floor. The Slayer looked at herself in the mirror, and wondered what Whistler had meant when he'd told her to take the time she was given and become the woman 'she should have been'.

//What? I'm not good enough this way? What needs changing?//

The Slayer sighed and took out her braid. Her hair had come mostly loose anyway, and it tended to get in her way, which always annoyed the hell out of her. It had to be up, period.

Her braid had come to just past her shoulder blades, so when she half ran her hand though it, then shook it, the last few bits didn't come untangled. She knew, but didn't care. It was good enough. Buffy was just about to put her hair back in a simple pony tail at the base of her neck when she felt her hair being pulled slightly. She tensed immediately, only to hear a voice behind her.

"It was still tangled," he explained softly. Her eyes flew to the mirror, but if she expected to find the weakened vampire's reflection, she was sorely disappointed. The Slayer had half a mind to pull away, but then his fingers threaded through her hair, brushing it out slowly with his fingertips. Stroke after stroke, until it lay in soft wavy layers around her shoulders, he continued on. When he'd finished with the blonde length, his hands came forward, his fingers combing the stray wisps and strands around her face, combining them with the rest of her softly gleaming golden mane.

"You should leave it down sometimes," he murmured softly, very near her ear. He seemed done with his self appointed task, but his fingers were still stroking her hair ever so gently. "It becomes you."

Buffy couldn't seem to get her breath under control, and her heart was beating as if she'd just finished fighting. She swallowed with difficulty and stepped towards the mirror, breaking contact, and the spell he'd put her under.

"I like it up."

*****

Angel hefted the filled cooler with ease, placing it on the down-turned cargo bay door of Buffy's new Jeep Cherokee whose only added amenity had been the highest UV tint available. He shoved it in, underneath the cover, only to have Buffy pull it back out again. He gave her a questioning glance, to which she glared in return.

She popped the lid and handed him a bag. He looked at it questioningly, then back at the ice chest. His eyes nearly bulged. The look on his face - the Slayer was almost tempted to laugh. Which was something, considering that the average slayer doesn't have a sense of humor. There were 43 bags in the container, plus ice.

Tonight, Angel was dining in style. Or something closely resembling it, if quantity could be near quality.

Looking back at her with the blood bag in her hand, he stammered, "You don't mean, I mean, not here…"

"Yes, here. One for the road." She tossed it to him.

He just stared. The look on his face was stricken. What the hell was his problem now? Buffy just stared at him. Could he get any more melodramatic?

After his eyes darted around for a moment, they finally rested not on Buffy, but the bag in his hand. "I don't know, I mean, what if someone walks by?"

That was such a pathetic ploy. But hell, if he felt like dancing around whatever issue was bothering him, she could play along. "Oh yea, I forgot, this is Sunnydale, land of garlic, holy water, dark clothes and safety curfews. Last thing they'll be expecting is a vampire. Besides. Curfew is still in effect. Anyone who happens by is _not_ going to be interrupting us."

//There. Top that, Dead Man Walking.//

His face fell. Obviously, he couldn't.

"I can't."

"What do you mean, you can't?" she said, closing the cooler and then the cargo. "Just do the fang thing, and suck. Seems simple enough." Was there something integral she was missing?

"I can't get it open," Angel said softly.

Buffy's brows furrowed, before she rolled her eyes and got seriously impatient. "This is getting old. Eat."

"I can't get it open," he said with slightly more vehemence.

"Okay," she said, trying to placate them. Since the master, she'd only seen him get slightly… riled… twice. Once when Whistler told him about the curse and his own personal watcher, then once again when she'd implied that she worked best alone. Apparently blood also got him going. Not a big surprise, really.

Buffy briefly rolled her eyes at the stupid situation they were now in. "What, your fangs need sharpening or something? Come on, get on with the program."

He laughed sharply. "Something like that."

//Huh?// She gave him a look.

"I can't grow the fangs."

//_Huh?_//

"You're a vampire without teeth," she said flatly. "Why bother?"

He seemed to ignore her barb, which wasn't really directed at him anyway. "It takes energy, and even that amount, I don't have to spare."

"Oh, that was smart." He glared at her, but handed her back the bag when she held out her hand.

Angel watched her as she flipped it over, looking for a weak spot. She settled on the juncture where the IV tube would have normally been inserted, had the pack not expired and been sealed for waste. She deftly stabbed it with a blunt nail, the force of her finger puncturing it more than the actual nail.

She plugged the hole with her bloody forefinger and handed it to him, transferring her blocking finger for one of his.

Buffy watched as the vampire brought the pack to his lips and tilted his head back, drinking it down. It wasn't what she'd expected, not at all. He was just drinking it, like it was a packet of orange juice.

When he had finished he strolled over to a garbage can and disposed of the empty bag. Coming back to the car where Buffy was still waiting, he was licking off the finger that had blocked the tear on the bag.

Buffy looked down at her own finger and it's slightly congealed blood and wondered what in the hell she could do with it. Then she looked back up at Angel, who had just arrived.

"Um, Angel?" Buffy began, not really waiting for his response. "I don't mean to be rude or anything, but I just washed these pants and don't really want to get blood on them, and um… I mean…uh… Would you mind?" Buffy hesitantly held her hand out in front of her, not knowing what kind of reaction she was going to get. Was this the height of rudeness? Why did that suddenly matter? And when was the last time she'd asked a vampire to suck on her finger? Oh well. Waste not, want not.

Her eyes met his over her hand, and there was something very unreadable in the dark pools, but whatever it was, her heart skipped a beat, then went double time to make up for it. Angel took a step closer, taking her hand in his cool fingers, bringing it close to him.

Buffy watched as the vampire looked down at her blood soaked finger. Her clean fingers curled around his hand, giving him more room to do whatever it is he was preparing to do. The Slayer stepped closer to Angel and he brought her hand the rest of the way to his partially lowered head. The moment his tongue reached out to slowly lick one side of her long finger, Angel looked up at Buffy.

She was finally able to recognize the look in his eye. Smoldering. His eyes were filled with pure heat.

For the first time since he'd drunk the pint, Buffy really looked at her companion. He was so different now than how he'd been since she'd known him. He looked healthy, strong, and extremely handsome. His face, though still pale, glowed with an inner light. Angel's skin looked softer, smoother, more supple than it had before. His entire body seemed lighter and larger somehow. Gone was the weak, anemic thing that had accompanied her to the hospital. The being that stood before her was powerful, virile, and well… not alive per se, but at the least, very, very undead.

Buffy's lips parted of their own violation and her breath came in tiny pants. Her brain had completely shut down the moment his tongue darted out to carry the blood away from her finger, and all she could do was feel.

She could intensely feel that he was a vampire. His essence screamed out from him in waves, taunting her, warning her of what he would be capable of after he finished the rest of the blood. A tiny bit of the power that embodied him teased her basic survival instincts, those primal urges that did _not_ include running away, unlike that of the common populous.

She felt, with equal intensity, that he was a man. A very gorgeous man. One who presently had her finger in his cool mouth, and was swirling his tongue around it as if it were candy. Buffy idly wondered what his tongue would feel like on other parts of her body. What would it feel like as his lips went up her arm? Would his tongue dart out and taste her collarbone? And her neck? What would her neck taste like to him?

The very small part of her mind that registered reality told her that he was done cleaning the blood off, but he continued to suck her finger in and out from between his lips, his tongue caressing it in unceasing patterns of familiarity. Finally, Angel drew her finger from his mouth slowly, resting the delicate tip for a moment on the edge of his lips before releasing her hand altogether.

He took a step back and glanced up into her eyes for just a moment. "Don't mention it," he murmured before walking around to the passenger side of the SUV.

*****

They reached his apartment building less than ten minutes later. Buffy was out of the Jeep faster than Angel, and swiftly opened the cargo bay door. She saw Angel about to speak, and Buffy hefted the cooler onto her shoulder before Angel could protest. "You go open the door."

He walked ahead of her and she had a small moment to look at his lean form before her mind chastised herself. Broad shoulders tapering to lean hips, powerful thighs, strong hands… Buffy shook her head to rid it of her obsessive thoughts and followed him into his basement apartment. She set the cooler down near the couch while he took off his jacket somewhere behind her.

"So," she called out over her shoulder. "Can you, you know, transform, or do you need me to get you a knife?"

"No," Buffy heard him reply, coming closer. "Got it covered."

"Huh?" she countered, not really understanding until she turned. Before her stood a vampire, and her instinct screamed at her to do something other than just stand and stare. Unfortunately, she was rooted to the spot.

The 99% of Buffy that was a Slayer to make the T-1000 proud was mentally checking the apartment for possible stakes. Angel had so many handy wooden things with legs. How kind of him. Must be convenient if company comes.

The other 1% of Buffy that was slowly transforming into a normal woman was trying to point out that Angel was devastatingly handsome, period the end. Smooth planer face with deep brown eyes, check. Roughly ridged brows, golden eyes and nearly razor sharp fangs? Still, check.

Unfortunately, the more interesting Buffy was still in the minority.

"Buffy? You're between me and my food. Remember? Starving vampire?"

She wasn't sure of his looks when he was like this, but his voice jarred her out of her mesmerized state. "Yea. Right. Sorry." She quickly darted out of the way, sitting against the far wall, just watching.

Angel sat down on the couch and brought the cooler between his legs. He flipped it open and grabbed a bag. Three seconds after he brought the full-to-bursting bag to his lips, it was flat and drained. He tossed it to the floor, and grabbed another, then another, then another. The seventh bag, he drained more slowly, and as he tossed it too to the floor, his face relaxed into its normal human appearance.

Angel kicked the cooler closed with his foot and stretched out on the couch. He sighed blissfully as he just sat there and relaxed. "Thanks," he murmured to his silent companion. "Needed that."

The Slayer looked at the vampire on the couch. He didn't look like a vampire. He looked like a sleepy 24 year old. A very handsome one. It wasn't long until her mind rescinded the comment about vampires being at the bottom of the Animal Kingdom Beauty Scale.

"Don't mention it," she replied, echoing his earlier words. "But if you make me drag your ass down there again just to feed you, you're going to wish you hadn't," Buffy ended brusquely, masking her warring emotions with some attitude.

"Yes ma'am," he mumbled humbly.

He sighed again, looking for all the world like someone had poured him onto the sofa, he was so relaxed. Before long however, Angel got up and made a go at picking up the cooler.

Buffy's harsh words stopped him in his tracks. "What are you doing?"

He raised his head and arched his eyebrows. "Uh, putting this away?"

"Why?"

"So I can have something to eat for the next week."

"Think again."

"What?"

"All that's for tonight. You can go get more in two nights. Now sit down, chill out, and eat."

"But…"

"But what? Starving Vampire, lots of blood, where is there a problem here?"

"I can't take all of this at once. It's been too long."

Buffy paused for only a moment, absorbing that tidbit. "So what? So you take a breather. I'm not leaving until it's all gone."

"Suit yourself," he said, settling back into the couch and making himself thoroughly comfortable.

"I think I will."

*****

"Angel," Buffy called out, sitting on the floor against the far wall.

"Can you growl and snarl like the rest?"

The vampire looked over from the microwave in the kitchen where he was heating up a pint. "Yeah."

"So, will you? Or do you have to be… all gnarly to do that?"

Angel walked back with three warmed pints and laid down on the couch, making himself comfortable. With his shoulders against one arm rest and his legs hanging over the other, his head was left to support itself. He set the three body-temperature blood bags on his stomach and looked over to the Slayer.

"No," he said, answering her second question first. "Don't have to be, but it's more logical."

At her querying glance, he continued. "What? It wouldn't strike you as odd to see a human making the vocalizations of something between a wolf and a large cat?" His eyebrows flicked up then back down as he turned his attention to the latest course in his late night feast.

"Woulda freaked me out," Angel murmured as he picked up a pack and brought it to his lips, changing his face the moment before his fangs bit into the plastic.

Drinking this one down slowly, a quarter of it was nearly gone before

Angel looked over to Buffy almost as an afterthought. His golden eyes locked with hers over his meal and he began to growl. Softly at first, it never escalated into anything that could be identified as threatening, but grew deeper and fuller as he continued to drink down the red liquid.

Buffy swallowed convulsively as the very possessive, satisfied sound shot right to her lower abdomen, making it tighten. The tension she felt wasn't the same as when she was fighting, but it was just about as fierce. She shifted slightly, hoping to relieve some of the tension, but the movements only created more. After a moment's hesitation she managed to get out, "That doesn't sound very threatening."

Angel was already into the second bag, but at her words drained it in less than two seconds. "Wasn't meant to be." He quickly swiped up the next cooling bag and sipped it slowly, his ensuing growl more of a murmur.

"I-is that how you growl when you fight?" Comfort, discomfort - the line was so very fine.

He let the question linger as he slowly and methodically drained the third pack, then tossed it in the trash with the rest. Angel closed his eyes and let his head loll as his arms crossed in front of his chest. He looked as if he were about to fall asleep. "I wasn't fighting," he finally replied, his voice deep and husky. "I was feeding."

Buffy swallowed again, trying to tamp down her body's insane reactions to every little thing this man did. "Really?" she asked with quiet sarcasm. "Hadn't noticed."

*****

Buffy sat on the kitchen counter with her legs crossed, fingers of both hands curling over the edge of the counter top. She looked over to her companion who had just popped another two bags into the microwave. It had been an hour or so since he last fed, and really, he wasn't looking so good. "Angel, why don't you stay transformed for longer periods of time? Does it take energy to maintain it?"

He eyed her position for half a moment then joined her on the counter, just on the other side of his heating food. "No."

Buffy unhooked her legs and allowed them to swing slightly, as not to bang into the cupboards below. "Then why? Do you not like it? Is it uncomfortable?"

"Too comfortable." He shrugged, looking out into the living area. "Didn't want to make you nervous."

"I wasn't nervous," the Slayer retorted, sitting up straight and stilling her legs.

"Yes you were," he countered, now looking back at her.

"No I wasn't," she assured him, at least certain that nervous didn't _begin_ to encompass everything she felt when she saw him in his demonic form.

"My mistake then," Angel replied calmly, shrugging again. "So why did your heart race and your adrenaline spike?" he asked innocently.

"For the hell of it," Buffy retorted. Then, she looked at him, eyes narrowed and gave in slightly. "How did you know?"

"I could hear your heart beat and smell… your willingness to hunt me."

Buffy looked away, mortified that she'd been easy to read, unable to control herself to that extent. "I don't want to hunt you, I swear," she said softly.

"You may think you don't, but your body does," the vampire explained calmly, still looking out into the other room, seemingly unaware of her discomfort. "I'm guessing it's a slayer thing."

"Guess so."

The microwave finished and Buffy noted Angel reaching around to take the bags out and put two cold ones in. Still sitting on the counter, he shifted and drained the two bags, quickly shifting back.

Finally looking over to him, however briefly, she nonchalantly mentioned, "You know, if it's all the same to you, I'd rather get used to it."

"But it's not all the same to me." She looked at him sharply, only to encounter the soft gaze of his now healthy countenance. "Your body reacts to me, mine reacts to yours," he explained. "And you being nervous makes me nervous too. But we can try it, little bit at a time, if you want."

"Sure," Buffy replied, not really wanting to annoy him, but wanting to get over this… whatever it was. "Whatever's natural."

"Okay," Angel said, as he shifted.

She'd never seen a vampire actually shift from their human face to their demon one. The closest she'd come was earlier in the evening when she saw Angel shift over a bag of blood, but that was different.

He hadn't been looking her in the eye as his changed, became feral, shaded. His face hadn't been completely open to her when it had contorted into the twisted version before her. He hadn't been mid-word when his fangs lengthened and incisors sharpened.

She couldn't help it. After her heart missed a beat, it went double time to make up for the error. It seemed to be doing that a lot this evening. She gripped the counter and took a deep breath, then another. As with the other times, it wasn't just her spider-sense going berserk. Buffy's womb clenched and she knew she was wet all over again. She'd been nervous enough to wet her pants the first time she'd encountered a vampire, but she had moved on past that a long time ago. So why was she doing it now?

Most of her brain was focused on calming herself down, but the remaining part that wasn't considering how fast she could rip out his fangs with her bare hands was wondering if his face was still as soft as she'd imagined earlier.

"See? You're freaking out." Angel opened the microwave door and grabbed the two bags inside.

"I am not! Okay, so I am. I just… wasn't expecting it, that's all."

Angel looked up from the last of the present course of his night-long feast. "After that entire conversation?" The vampire rolled his golden eyes and went back to the dregs of the bag.

"Well, I… Just…" Buffy tried to explain what was going on, but quickly realized she wasn't entirely sure herself. The tongue-tied girl finally settled on an exasperated, "Nevermind."

Angel slid off the counter and walked into the other room. It wasn't until he sunk down into the couch and faced her that she realized he was laughing at her. The bastard was really laughing at her. He also apparently thought that the look on her face was worth something, because that set him off even harder.

Buffy stalked into the room, but by the time she was there to confront him, he had all but melted into the upholstery, laughing so hard he couldn't sit up straight. She stared at him for a while, but every time he'd been practically calm, Angel would glance up at her stern face of disapproval and dissolve into an undignified giggling mass.

Finally, he was able to look at the Slayer with nothing more than a grin.

"Are you done now?"

"Yea, thanks." Off her crossed arms and still hard face, he continued, "Oh, come off it. When was the last time _you_ laughed?"

The question caught her completely off guard. When _was_ the last time she'd laughed? Not since she'd been called. There'd never been anything remotely funny. "Almost two and a half years."

Angel's grin was softer now, more understanding. "Then I got you beat by 97." The vampire sighed, sitting up straight and stretching his arms out, encompassing the entire back of the sofa. "I think I'm entitled to a case of giggles every century or so."

Buffy thought about that, and for the second time in as many days and two and a half years, the corner of her lips dared to quirk up slightly. "I'll buy that."

*****

Buffy meandered over to the cooler and checked on the supply. 9 bags to go. She closed it up and sat down next to it, leaning on one of the sides. It positioned her directly in front of the couch, effectively blocking Angel's way, if should he decide for some reason to get up.

He was lying across the piece of furniture, his body too long for real comfort, though he seemed to be doing just fine. "You want the couch?"

"Nah, I'm good," she said, looking into his face, his closed eyes nearly hidden by the thick ridges. Her heart began to thump as she thought of what she wanted to ask him. She pulled her knees up close to her chest and hugged them slightly. "Um, Angel?"

He must have realized her distress, because as soon as she began to utter his name, his face shifted back.

"No, wait," she called out to him alarmed. "Go back."

Angel cracked one eye open the tiniest bit, perhaps to make sure it was really Buffy Summers sitting in front of him, but he did shift back immediately thereafter.

"I was just wondering, I mean, if you wouldn't mind…" the Slayer trailed off, not wanting to ask, but really wanting to know. "Your face," she began again, trying to get it out. "Can I…"

"Sure," he said, eyes still closed. "But you'll have to come over here, cause I finally got comfortable."

Buffy inched over on the floor until she was on her knees right next to his shoulders. She swallowed past the lump in her throat and reached out to touch the ridge where his eyebrow once was.

Her touch was feather light, barely even discernable. As her fingertips skimmed down to his enunciated cheekbones, she realized that his skin was so soft - nothing like what she'd imagined. She examined his face, scrutinizing it, imprinting it on her memory. Every curve, every twist. Buffy had once thought all vampires looked pretty much the same. But no one looked like Angel. Not anymore.

She touched him with more assurance now, letting her palm know the curve of his cheek, her fingertips the texture of the lips that drew back from his deadly fangs. Her thumb was tracing from the tip of his nose to his hairline when the soft rumbling started, somewhere in his chest. Her fingers just beginning to get buried in his silky hair, Buffy smiled slightly, wondering if it was what she thought it might be. Only one way to find out.

"Are you purring?" she asked softly, incredulously.

"Mmm… Feels so nice," he murmured.

Her fingers trailed down his face, coming as close to his closed eyes as she dared, when they had the audacity to slowly open, meeting her own. Buffy's hand stilled, then retreated to the relative safety of her lap.

"Thanks," she said, sitting back on her heels, realizing that she didn't really need to fear this face anymore. It was still Angel.

*****

"Angel?" Buffy called over from her position lying on a small rug on the other side of the couch. "When you… get like that. Is it voluntary?"

"Sometimes."

The Slayer shifted to her side in an attempt to stave off the sleep that was taunting her like the morning sun. "When is it not?"

Angel took a moment to respond. She could hear him shift on the sofa, then see him get up, stretching. "I guess extreme emotions tend to bring it out." He worked a kink out of his back and brought three cold bags over to where she was lying. "Like the primal urges," the vampire began, sitting down near her. "Fear, hate, anger. Love."

Buffy felt her eyes begin to close again, but didn't fight it, just this once. "I thought vampires… or at least demons, couldn't feel love." She was so tired, but she had so many questions. Now if she could just stay awake long enough to get the answers.

"Lust, then," Angel replied, draining another.

"Is it true?" Buffy mumbled. "Vampires can't feel love?"

Her eyes, firmly locked against outside stimuli, completely missed his small knowing smile. "Demons can't. The farthest they can feel anything in that vein is… affection, maybe. Maybe obsession. But no," Angel said, much softer now, "Not love."

"So, anything with a demon can't love." The Slayer sighed and curled up, slightly closer to him than she was before.

"Depends on what else is with the demon."

"What do you mean?" She was almost completely gone.

"A soul can do whatever the hell it wants - that's part of the deal. Love, rage, you name it."

"So, it depends on what's in control," she sighed, a little frown on her brow. "The demon or the soul."

"Yeah." The Slayer thought that perhaps she could imagine the little smile on his face.

"Oh," she said, just before her mind gave up the fight for sleep.

*****

Angel watched the beautiful retreating form of the Slayer. His Slayer. Well, maybe one day.

Out of sight and into the morning sun, Angel shut the door and leaned his back on it. The vampire could barely keep his eyes open, he was so sated and sleepy, but he couldn't keep his mind off of the gorgeous army-reject blonde whose scent still lingered.

He breathed deeply of her and felt his longing pound even harder through his veins. He'd felt it winding through his system ever since he took off his shirt in her basement and smelled her instant arousal. If it hadn't been for certain 'games' in his basement cell, he would have had an erection ever since. Before that, he'd thought she was beautiful - hell, he'd fallen in love with her two and a half years ago in LA - and there was a definite connection between them, but tonight was the first time Angel had ever thought he actually had a chance with her.

Angel thought back on all the little incidences throughout the night, how much he'd wanted to kiss her, and how often the urge had come upon him, though if he had and she'd kissed him back he would have panicked. Each of her innocent questions, every stolen glance was dear to him as he remembered them. Stripping down to nothing he slipped between the dark satin sheets and sighed.

He knew how confusing this must be for her. Oh, he'd no idea how often or not she'd been in love before, though his money was on seldom, but he could nevertheless smell her adrenaline warring with her hormones the entire night.

As much sympathy as he had for her, he couldn't resist a grin and a vain thought or two. It was nice to know that he'd inspired a hormone overload in the girl he wanted. The girl he'd waited for. The one thing that could redeem him and make him something to be accounted for. No more of this 'the vampire has entered the building' shit. No more 'puppy' or 'party favor' or even 'Angelus'. He was just Angel, once again.

The moment said vampire closed his eyes, he fell asleep with blood in his system, a smile on his lips, Buffy on his mind, and only a single thought in his head.

//This could be bliss.//