(Sequel to "The Power Of Love"

DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters from BTVS or ANGEL. They're owned by Joss Whedon, MutantEnemy, the WB, Fox,

A/N: This takes place in the spring of 2001, two years after Angel left Sunnydale. It's set in an alternate timeline from the shows, so none of the events of Season 5/Season 2 have happened. There is no Dawn, Joyce isn't ill, Darla wasn't brought back by Wolfram & Hart, etc.

A/N2: This is the final chapter. It was shorter than I'd remembered, and frankly nothing much happens except that Buffy and Angel finally get together. Hope you enjoy it.


"Wait." Buffy retrieved his jacket from the back of the chair and helped him put it on, fastening it to cover the blood stain on his sweater.

"Thanks." Angel was chagrined; he'd completely forgotten about that.

At the nurses' station they were met by a delegation - the nurse who'd come into Buffy's room, her supervisor, and someone from the business office, each one of them urging Buffy to reconsider her "rash" decision to leave. The security guard, also there, only wanted the details of what had happened, which Buffy gave to him. He took off to inspect the scene.

Buffy cut short their protestations. "I'm going. I understand that it's against my doctor's recommendation. What do I have to sign?"

With tight lips and ill grace, the business office rep pushed a sheaf of papers toward her. Buffy glanced at them, turned to the last page, and signed, then turned to leave.

"Ms. Summers, wait!" the supervisor called. "We have to wheel you to the entrance." When Buffy started to argue, she said firmly, "Hospital regulations." She motioned to an aide hovering nearby to bring the wheelchair over.

Buffy sighed impatiently, but then brightened. "I'll agree only if I can sit on Angel's lap."

"What?" the supervisor sputtered. "Absolutely not." Buffy merely looked at her. The woman groaned loudly. "Oh, for – All right. You win. Again."

She gave a "come on" jerk of her head, and Angel sat down with concealed relief. Buffy sat on his lap, careful not to lean against his wounded chest, and the supervisor herself pushed them to the front doors, where they found Giles waiting for them – and also, to Buffy's surprise, Joyce.

"Mom, what are you doing here?" Buffy asked as she got up. She extended a hand to Angel, who was frankly glad of the assistance. He managed to maintain a façade of normality until the supervisor had left, then almost collapsed against the wall. Buffy caught him before he fell.

"Angel!" Giles and Joyce exclaimed in unison.

"Giles, go bring the car around," Buffy told her Watcher. Giles didn't waste time asking for explanations; he sprinted for the parking lot. Buffy and Joyce together eased Angel onto a nearby planter box.

"What's wrong?" Joyce asked quietly.

Buffy unzipped the jacket, and Joyce sucked in her breath as the dark stain on his shirt became visible. Unlike Giles, she already knew about the attack; Buffy had told her over the phone. "One of the vamps stabbed him," Buffy said. "It barely missed his heart. He needs a place to recuperate."

"Angel, you're welcome to stay with us," began Joyce.

Angel shook his head weakly. "That's too dangerous – for Buffy. They know where she lives – "

"And they can't enter without an invitation," interrupted Buffy firmly. "Which isn't true of the mansion – is it?"

Angel couldn't argue with her logic. Since he wasn't technically alive, vampires had free access to any place he resided, such as the mansion. Just then Giles's car pulled up, and further conversation was suspended until they were safely inside and on their way. Then Buffy had to explain everything to Giles, from the beginning.

Giles nodded when she finished. "I agree with Buffy; her house is safer than the mansion. Although, I do have a guest room, Angel, and no vampires can enter my place either."

"No, Buffy cut in. "I need to rest too, and I won't be able to unless I know Angel is safe. If he's with you, Giles, I'd be worrying every minute that something had happened."

It occurred to Angel that he'd taken it for granted that wherever they went, they'd stay there together. The realization startled him. Were his concerns about resuming their relationship fading? Pushing that thought aside for later consideration, he reminded her, "Buffy, it's you they're after, not me." He was going to say more, but a sudden wave of pain took his voice away.

She turned sideways to look at him with that earnest expression he remembered so well. "Maybe at first. But now they know you're in town, and you're not exactly their favorite person either. What if they decide to try to get you out of the way too? You're injured, remember?"

"She's right." It was Joyce. "Angel, you're staying with us." Her tone brooked no argument. Angel smiled faintly and gave in.

As the car turned onto Revello Drive, Giles said, "Keep your eyes open, everyone. If the attack on Buffy really was part of a plan, rather than just, er, an isolated incident, it's just possible they might try to ambush her, and as Angel pointed out, they know where she lives."

The car crept slowly down the quiet street, with everyone straining to detect a stealthy movement, or a strange lurking shadow . . . anything that might indicate a possible attempt at an ambush.

Joyce had the keys ready in her hand, and when Giles turned into the driveway of their house, she leaped out and ran to the front door, wasting not a single motion as she unlocked it, stepped inside, and held it open. The others were slower, since Angel needed help getting out of the car.

Once inside they looked at one another rather sheepishly. "Well," Giles cleared his throat. "Better safe than sorry."

"Absolutely," agreed Buffy. "Angel, do you want to go up to your room now?"

Angel eyed the staircase. "I think I'd better rest a bit before tackling those stairs," he admitted. Buffy assisted him to the couch, which he sank into gratefully, though he refused to lie down.

"Angel, when did you last feed?" Giles suddenly asked.

Angel glanced sideways at Joyce and didn't answer. Seeing his discomfort, she said, "I think I'll go start a pot of coffee," and vanished into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry," Giles apologized at once. "I didn't mean to embarrass you. I was just thinking that it might speed your recovery if you had some, er, nourishment." Angel had to concede that it would help. Giles nodded, then said, "I assume you have a supply at the mansion?"

"Never leave home without it," Angel replied with wry humor. "There's an ice chest in the kitchen with a couple of bags in it."

Giles retrieved his car keys from his pocket and took the key Angel handed him. "Right. I'll be back shortly."

Buffy and Angel spoke at the same time. "Be careful." "Take someone with you." Giles smiled at them. "Of course. I'll see if Ri - er, Xander can go with me." He left.

Buffy sat beside Angel. "How are you doing?"

"I've had worse," he told her, which was only the truth. "How about you?"

"I'm tired," she admitted.

Angel opened his good arm. "Come here." Buffy slid next to him with a sigh. When Joyce glanced into the room a few minutes later, she saw them cuddled together, Buffy's head on Angel's shoulder, his cheek pillowed on her head, both of them sound asleep.

She smiled, then sighed and looked pensive, hoping that this troubled relationship, and its participants, were finally getting the break it and they deserved. Then she returned to the kitchen to wait for Giles's return.


Buffy became aware, first, of her cheek pillowed on something cool and soft, yet muscular; and, second, of being held within an embrace that was achingly familiar. Still half asleep, she snuggled closer and absently ran her hand up over Angel's chest. His gasp of pain jerked her fully awake, stricken by remorse as she realized what she'd done.

"Oh, God, Angel, I'm sorry - I wasn't thinking." She looked at the stain on his sweater. "I didn't make it worse, did I?"

"Of course not," he assured her. "You just - startled me."

"I hurt you," she corrected bluntly, and reached out her hand. "Let me look. Please."

He smiled, a little amused. "If you want to. But you didn't hurt me, not really."

Buffy lifted the hem of his shirt until the injury on his breast was revealed, and breathed a sigh of relief to see that the wound was already beginning to heal and that her inadvertent caress had caused no further harm. Moved by a sudden impulse, she bent down and very gently kissed the gash.

Her action took Angel by surprise, and he gave a little gasp as her lips touched his skin. Buffy raised her head with a worried frown. "Did that hurt?"

Angel tried to answer, but his throat seemed paralyzed. Silently he shook his head, then watched mesmerized as Buffy leaned down and kissed his chest again, this time just above the cut . . . and then to one side of it . . . then on the other side . . . and above it again . . . and again. Each kiss sent a tiny electric tingle through his body. Finally he could bear no more. He pulled Buffy onto his lap, ignoring the shriek of protest from his wound.

Their kiss was long and, of course, passionate, because every time they kissed their passion ignited to some degree - but this time the flame stayed on simmer rather than flaring to high boil, even though her lips were warm and soft, and her body in his arms the fulfillment of years of aching, solitary dreams. Maybe it was because of his wound and Buffy's lingering weakness, but this time they were content just to enjoy the feeling and not push it to greater heights. The sound of a throat being cleared interrupted them, although it didn't part them.

"Excuse me." It was Giles, speaking from the entrance into the kitchen and sounding strangely formal. "I just wanted to let you know, Angel, that I have your ice chest here in the kitchen, any time you would like it. Er, there were no signs of any vampires at the mansion, by the way."

"I really should have something to . . . drink," Angel said, his lips still only inches away from Buffy's. Giles retreated back into the kitchen.

"You really should," she agreed. "It will speed up the healing."

"Yes." Still he didn't move - nor did she. "I don't want to let go of you," he discovered. "Not even for a minute."

"Me neither." They exchanged a long look, then Buffy gave him a tremulous smile and sat up with a sigh. "I'll bring it to you," she offered. Reluctantly he let her go, watching every step she took as she walked to the kitchen


Her door was ajar. He closed it quietly behind him, and turned. Moonlight flooded the room, surprisingly bright yet somehow also gentle, blurring the contrast between its cool glow and the shadows created by objects in its path. Objects like the tree branch outside the window that thrust dark, wavering fingers into the silvery beam across her bed. Objects like his figure crossing that bright path when he walked over to the bed.

His shadow passed over her face, and she stirred, then, as he sat on the edge of the bed, awoke. "Angel?" Her voice was fuzzy with sleep.

"Yes." He could see her blinking, forcing herself to wake more fully.

"Is anything wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong. I've been thinking."

Two days had passed since they'd come to Buffy's house, during which both of them had almost fully healed. A bit of soreness remained from Angel's injury, but not enough to hamper his movements, as he'd demonstrated earlier that evening in a training session with her - a session that ended with Buffy flat on the floor, pinned there by his weight. She could have thrown him off - they both knew it - but instead she'd looked into his eyes and the next thing he knew they were kissing.

How far things might have gone remained in the realm of the unknown, since Xander and Giles had interrupted them to let them know they were going to Willy's Place to seek information on the vamps who'd attacked Buffy. No further attempts had been made on her life after she left the hospital. When they returned they'd reported that Willy had only looked blank when asked about a plot to kill the Slayer and had given them none of his usual bluster, so apparently it had been an isolated attempt after all.

"About what?" Buffy turned slightly to see him better. In the moonlight her eyes looked even larger than usual, shadowed and mysterious.

"About us." One of her hands lay across the extra pillow, palm up. Angel placed his hand over it, twining his fingers in hers. Her skin was warm, of course, and slightly damp. They'd talked about many things during his stay there, things both good and bad.

A few old hurts had been reviewed, many past joys remembered. At times the atmosphere had grown tense with resentment and anger, and tears had been shed - but apologies had also been given and accepted, on both sides, as well as explanations that helped clear up misunderstandings.

One of the subjects discussed had been the Day That Never Was. Much to Angel's surprise, Buffy had accepted the fact of its existence without much persuasion. She'd also understood his reasons for going to the Oracles to have them take back his humanity, although she wasn't nearly as accepting of the Higher Beings' solution. At least, not part of it.

"They were wrong," she'd flatly stated. "We could both have remembered. Knowing what was at stake, we wouldn't have repeated the same . . . events."

"You were crying just before it happened," he'd told her. "Asking me how you could go on with your life, knowing what we could have had. It would have been too painful, Buffy."

Her chin had firmed in that stubborn gesture he remembered so well. "Only at first," she'd replied. "But later I would have had the joy of remembering what we'd had. They had no right to take that from me."

"What were you thinking about us?" she asked him now. Her breath came a little faster now as hope began to rise, and Angel could hear the increase in her heartbeat. She began stroking his hand with her thumb.

"I was thinking that I need to go back soon, to L.A. And I was thinking that maybe you could come with me, just for a few days. And then maybe I could come back here the next weekend, or whenever I could make it."

Buffy sat up, throwing the bed covers off. Even at this intense moment Angel spared a mental smile at the memory of the ridiculous pyjamas he'd seen her in at various times. The black-and-white ones that made her look like a petite Holstein calf in an XL skin sprang instantly to mind.

Tonight she had on a thin tank top made of T-shirt fabric, and matching sleep shorts. Blue, he thought, though it was hard to tell in the pale light. Her breasts were plainly outlined by the clinging fabric. A definite improvement.

"Funny," she murmured, bringing his attention back from the past. "I was thinking the same thing, earlier; that we could take turns commuting, so to speak."

"Right now I don't see another solution."

"Neither do I." She slid closer. He could feel her warmth now.

Angel took a deep breath. "You have to be here in Sunnydale, just as I'm needed in L.A."

"Yes." Now she stayed where she was, watching him, her eyes shining. She raised his hand to her lips and kissed the back of it, then turned it over and placed a soft kiss in the palm.

Angel licked his lips. "But there's no reason that we can't - " His words ended in a gasp as her tongue flicked out and brushed his palm.

'No reason at all," she breathed, and pulled his head down.

The instant their lips touched, all words fled Angel's mind. All that existed was this moment and the softness of her lips and the heat rising from her body as her heart sped up. Then he was lying beside her and they were kissing again, and her hands were caressing his chest and shoulders and back, and even through the T-shirt he was wearing her touch inflamed him. He felt a rush in his groin, felt himself begin to thicken, and marveled at how quickly she could arouse him.

His own hands weren't idle. He caressed her back, her shoulders, cupped her head between his hands for a deeper kiss, then trailed one hand down her neck and over her breasts, stroking her buttocks. He sought and found the heat between her legs, and began pressing against it.

She made a little sound and pulled away just long enough to tug his shirt off and allow him to do the same with hers before launching herself against him, pressing close, inserting her leg between his so that her thigh gently and rhythmically nudged his growing erection.

It was Angel's turn to make a sound, in his case a soft groan. He held her tightly and rained kisses on the smooth column of her neck, following it to her silky shoulders, then down to her shadow-tipped breasts. He took one deep in his mouth, suckling it gently, rolling his tongue over the satin tip and feeling it slowly contract to a pebble-roughness. Releasing it, he drew back and admired the glistening nipple, standing out as hard and erect as he was becoming. He bent his head to her other breast.

Buffy clutched at his head, pressing it closer, and closed her eyes. How could she have forgotten this, even for a moment much less for two years? But then she knew that she hadn't forgotten anything, not the magic of his cold kisses, or the passion that his slightest touch inspired, nor the completion she felt just being in his presence.

No, she'd merely pushed the memories away, chosen not to remember them, any of them. Because if she hadn't she never could have gone with Riley, and then where would her "normal" life have been?

Angel's tongue worked her nipple, each motion sending a thrill shooting along some unknown connection directly to her groin. Blood rushed to engorge sensitive tissues, swelling them and making them even more sensitive. Angel's hand pressed between her legs in a rhythmic, caressing motion, and she gasped out loud.

Feverishly she kissed the top of his head, the only part of him she could reach at the moment, for he stubbornly refused to relinquish her breasts, moving back and forth from one to the other. His tongue brushed and probed, again and again.

His hand crept beneath her pyjama shorts and knew just the right spot to touch and the right amount of pressure to apply. He tugged her shorts off, urging her legs apart, and one long cold finger slid inside her and then out again, using her own moisture to lubricate his caress of her already throbbing nub. She trembled as each gentle stroke sent lightning through her.

The blood sang in her ears; her breath faltered. "Angel!" she cried out. "Oh God!" And then the explosions began, deep inside her womb first and expanding upward and outward until her entire body convulsed in orgasm. Blindly she arched and shook and gasped, and just as the tremors began to subside and she was beginning to catch her breath, Angel yanked off his sweatpants, rose to his knees and lifted her onto his lap, impaling her on his rock-hard length - and it started all over again.

Angel groaned out loud. How could he ever have left her, left this completion, this other half of his soul? He'd intended to draw out their lovemaking, make it something they'd never forget . . . long hours of slow hands and tender, burning caresses, so that their passion would build gradually, each touch, each kiss heightening the intensity, deepening the fire, until at long last they would reach the peak.

But the reality of being with her in her bed, the never-forgotten feel of her naked body soft and silky and hot against his bare chest and the scent of her arousal in the air . . . it was overpowering. Before he'd quite known what was happening, his sweatpants were on the floor, Buffy was on his lap, and he'd buried himself to the hilt in her steamy depths, shaking with the intensity of his need.

He heard her cry out again. Her hot, wet tissues clenched around his erection as another orgasm claimed her, sweeping him along with it.

His groan rang through the room, echoed by hers. Flames raced through his body, and he crushed her to him, burying his face in her neck and holding her in place as tightly as she held him, so that his involuntary thrusting only pushed him deeper within her body, where his barren seed spewed forth.

It was a long time before either of them moved, floating as they were in a sea of complete and utter satiation. Without changing position, they held each other. Buffy rested her head on Angel's shoulder, one arm draped around his neck, her legs wrapped loosely around his hips. Dreamily he stroked her hair, smiling to himself as he carefully avoided the bristly patch around her old injury.

Actually, it wasn't that bristly anymore. Apparently her healing ability also included her hair, for it was growing at a phenomenal rate. Less than three weeks after her injury, the shaved area already sprouted a growth of almost two inches. It looked pretty strange, he had to admit, but at least it had stopped Buffy from talking about getting a "butch" cut. Instead, she planned to cut the rest of her hair chin-length until the new growth caught up.

Finally Buffy sighed. "That was . . . unbelievable." Her voice was husky.

"Mmm," Angel murmured in drowsy agreement, still stroking her hair with long, lazy sweeps.

Another period of silence, then, "I'm sure glad my mom is out of town for the night."

Angel laughed, breaking the mood. Grinning, Buffy tilted her head just enough to see his face, then she too broke into laughter. "We were a little loud," Angel admitted.

"Mmm," was all Buffy said, mimicking his earlier response, but then she gave a contented sigh and put her head back on his shoulder, absently caressing his chest. He was still buried in her body. A moment later she said, "Angel?"


She gave a slow, sultry wiggle of her hips. "You're still hard."

He smiled a little smugly. "I know."

"Is that . . . normal? For vampires, I mean?"

"Not that I know of."

"Oh. Is it normal for you, then?"

Angel chuckled. "Only under the right conditions."

"Oh." A beat. "What conditions?"

Angel tilted up her chin and gave her a kiss. "You."

She smiled happily and nestled against him. "Angel?"


"It seems a shame to let it go to waste."

"It does," he solemnly agreed. "So what are we going to do about it?"

Buffy straightened up. Without speaking she gently pushed him down onto his back, never losing their connection. "I have a few ideas."

"I thought you might," Angel murmured. She leaned toward him. He lifted his face slightly in anticipation, closing his eyes. When the expected kiss didn't come, he opened them again in surprise. She was gazing down at him with an unreadable expression in her glorious eyes.

"I love you," she said quietly.

He couldn't speak for a moment, his throat tight with swelling emotion. "I love you too."

Their lips met. Tomorrow they would face the new day, with all its changes and joys and, yes, problems. But that was tomorrow. Tonight was theirs.



A/N: That's all of this one, folks. I'm pretty sure I don't have a sequel to it, though I do have other fics I'll be posting. But I'm going to take a short break first; I need to go through my files and remember just what I've got, lol. Also, my hands need a break from the keyboard, and these old stories need a lot of cleaning up, since the formatting codes show up when I transfer them. Many thanks to everyone who left reviews; that is really appreciated.