RATING: PG
CONTENT WARNING: Buffy/Angel angst.
SUMMARY: This happens exactly 3 years after Becoming II. Please be warned that we are experimenting with an alternating story-telling style. Lil-Wolf will be writing the odd numbered sections, ie. "the past", Willow rescuing Angel from Hell. I am writing the even numbered sections, ie. "the present", from Buffy's perspective. There may be some logical flow sacrificed for the sake of emotional symmetry and artistic endeavor, but I believe that the overall affect will make it worthwhile. :)
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Buffy & Co. Joss Whedon and the WB do. No copyright infringement intended..

If all of the strength and all of the courage
Come and lift me from this place
I know I can love you much better than this
Full of grace
I know I can love you much better than this
It's better this way
--"Full of Grace" by Sarah McLachlan

All she could see were his eyes. Lonely, haunted, tortured... In the stillness of the afternoon, the world ceased to exist beyond his eyes. With the clarity of a vision, she found the intense loneliness of her own heart, her own soul, mirrored in his eyes. Always, she found herself in him; this more than anything drew them together. No one understood her loneliness, her isolation, her suffering better than Angel. Buffy found a kindred spirit within those dark eyes.

Her feet carried her to him. Her lips formed his name. Too stunned to speak, she reached for him. An illusion? A dream? Lord knew, she'd dreamed of this before. With reverence, and an odd sort of grace, she lifted her hand. She held it level with his face, slowly drawing closer. Angel trembled with fear and anticipation. He turned his face slightly towards that questing hand. That small gesture, an unspoken invitation, provided Buffy with the encouragement she needed. With the edge of her hand, she tenderly touched his face. Her small hand lightly grazed along temple and cheek. He felt solid, real, too real not to believe.

Angel closed his eyes, against fear, against hurt, against disbelief. He'd dreamed of her for so long; this couldn't be real. More than anything, he needed her, needed her touch. So he closed his eyes, and let himself believe. He gave himself over to her, to their love, without hesitation. He trusted her more than anything in the entire world; she was his world.

Her heart floundered like a grounded bird. She couldn't believe, couldn't feel... Believing meant feeling; feeling meant pain... Three years ago her heart had turned to ice. Now, Buffy felt that ice cracking under the impact of his abrupt reappearance in her life. She hadn't been ready; she'd had no chance to prepare. For three years she'd been lost and alone. Then suddenly, he'd reappeared on her horizon, a guiding light shining out of the darkness. He was the lighthouse of her life. Instinctively, she reached for him, knowing that he'd guide her to safety.

Her hand turned over, pressing closer to his smooth cheek. She trembled with hope, longing, fear... Angel closed his eyes tighter, fighting hard to stop the tears from falling. He failed, tears trickling silently down his cheeks. He cried at the simple pleasure of her touch.

Buffy felt her heart breaking again. He was so sad and so desperately sweet. Sad, sweet Angel... Her chest became constricted and her breathing labored. She'd done this to him, reduced him to tears. Even now, after her betrayal of their love, their loyalty, their friendship, he still loved her enough to cry at her touch. He still trusted her enough to close his eyes. How could his faith be so great after the last time...?

"Close your eyes..."

Abruptly, memory returned like a wave crashing over her head. The little reminder brought back the vivid memory of their last time together, when she'd thrust a sword completely through him. Staring into yesterday, she could still see the betrayal and the hurt in his eyes. Buffy let her gaze drop to Angel's chest, still seeing the protruding sword. She'd told him to close his eyes. She'd kissed him good bye, and she'd sent him to Hell. He hadn't even known why...

Now, three years later, he'd finally gotten free somehow. Yet, here he stood, before the same woman who'd betrayed him, closing his eyes again. With a stifled cry, Buffy jerked her hand away from his face. She'd just betrayed his trust again, acting as if nothing lay between them. She'd taken advantage of his love, acting as if they shared no ugly past. It didn't matter that she'd done it to save the world. Betrayal is betrayal. She didn't deserve to touch him.

Angel's eyes popped open. He saw the look on her face and flinched. With one small gesture, one small look, she cut the throat of his hope. He saw horror, pain, hatred reflected in her eyes, in her soul. Abruptly, he turned away. Her rejection opened a chasm of hurt in his heart. He understood all too well; she hated him for what he'd done to her. She despised him.

Buffy saw him cringe, saw the realization dawning in his eyes. He turned away from her in disgust. He understood her betrayal; he realized that she'd just used his love against him again. She had to fight the impulse to cry out, to reach for him. The hurt started all over again, but she let him go. There wasn't anything she could say; apologies weren't sufficient for what she'd done to him. Instead, she focused on his inexplicable presence here.

"How?" Buffy croaked into the broken-shard silence. The word sounded rough leaving her dry, cracked throat.

"Willow." One word, yet that one word contained all of the explanation in the world. Willow, everyone's true friend. Willow, who would never give up on you, or betray you. Willow, who would move Heaven and Hell for the sake of friendship.

Buffy nodded, acknowledging her friend's greatness and her own failure. She hadn't even tried to get Angel free. She hadn't even considered the possibility. Willow had not only envisioned the impossible, she'd accomplished it. She'd bent reality to her desire, to her will, and brought Angel back from Hell. Willow the hoper, dreamer, idealist, visionary, and now miracle worker...

"Human?" she asked, watching him breathe. Somehow, she found this change no harder to believe, or accept, than his miraculous escape from Hell.

His shoulders slumped; she saw disappointment dragging them down. "No," he replied. "Not quite. They--" he hesitated, fighting for control. "Changed me. I'm like Whistler, except Willow affixed my soul. There's no escape this time. No... accidents."

Buffy started at the sadness in his voice. Then she flushed with painful guilt, remembering how he'd 'escaped' last time. Only it hadn't been an accident; that too had been her fault. She'd been the reason he'd lost his soul. She'd been wrong, and selfish, and stupid. She'd destroyed him once in a moment of blind passion, and then a second time on purpose. It was kind of him, to use a word that connoted gaining freedom. Sweet, generous Angel wouldn't place the blame on her, where it belonged. She would, though...

"Why are you here?" Not how are you here, but why. She couldn't begin to understand why he'd seek her out, of all people, after regaining his freedom and his life. She couldn't possibly bring him anything but more pain. She couldn't offer him anything but painful memories of betrayal. She couldn't do anything for him but hurt him more.

His shoulders stiffened. With quiet, enduring strength, Angel drew himself up. He shoved aside his personal feelings, his pain, his torment, and focused wholly on her. He'd devoted his life to her back in 1996; she'd been his crutch since Willow pulled him out of the Abyss. He needed her in more ways than he could admit or define, even to himself. He couldn't heal himself, so he'd decided to heal her instead. Every trace of emotion wiped from his face, he turned to her.

"I've come to take you home."

CONTINUE