Don't Own A Thing.

Unable to resist, Angel's eyes looked over the rim of his plastic cup to take her in. She looked completely out of place standing off in the corner, her eyes sweeping the room but not really seeing anything. Her hands were fidgeting against one another, her weight shifting subtly from one foot to the other.

It had been months since he'd been able to call her his own, weeks since he'd last seen her. A series of conflicting emotions hit him as he stared. He couldn't begin to tell you which one was taking the lead. Good chance though it was his anger toward her for breaking his heart, sadness and longing to have her back, or the burning need at seeing her, in one of those tiny black dresses that always knew how to drive him wild.

He watched with narrowed eyes as some faceless guy strutted over to her, obviously flirting, handing her a drink. Angel raged, his hands balling into fists beside him. He watched her politely smile, even chuckle once, but then sent him on his way. He growled anyway, circling the area so he could come up behind her.

"You know you can't handle your liquor," he spoke, leaning against the wall a good few feet away from her.

She jumped at hearing his voice, bits of red liquid from the cup splattering on her wrist and arm. She made a face at him then held the clear cup with one hand as she wiped the wetness off onto her dress. "What are you doing here?"

"I go to school here. What are you doing here?" he countered.

"I was invited," she answered then sighed. "I came with a friend okay?"

He looked away from her for a moment to quickly scan the room. "Who?"

She made a noise of annoyance at him. "Cordelia."

His forehead wrinkled up in confusion. "Since when are you and Cordy such good friends?"

Buffy sat her drink down on the small table beside her and pinched her nose. She knew coming here was a bad idea. "Since now. And none of this is any of your business."

He pushed off the wall and strode toward her, trapping her between him and the wall.

Buffy squeaked and looked up at him with panicked, lonely eyes. "Angel..."

His head tilted, dropping a soft brush of his lips against hers. "I miss you," he whispered.

"Stop it," she pleaded, trying to sink back into the wall.

"Buffy," he whispered, dropping another kiss. "I love you so much, baby. Don't you understand how much this is killing me?"

"Don't you?" she asked, tears seconds away from falling. Something caught the corner of her eye and Buffy choked out a strangled sob. "Your wife's here."

He sighed, looking over his shoulder. So she was.

His attention went back to Buffy when he felt her tiny hands punching as hard as they could against his chest. "Let me go!"

He sighed again, reluctantly pushing off the wall and giving her space to run away from him. Unable to run after her, he kicked at the wall where she formally stood, then pushed at the oak table she'd set her drink upon.

Darla's hand was suddenly on his shoulder and he felt like vomiting. Instead, he angrily pushed her away. He watched as she glared back, her hands coming out to cup her swollen belly where their unborn child rested. He sneered at her then walked away.