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..

Winter's end promises of a long lost friend
speaks to me of comfort
but I fear that I have nothing to give
I have so much to lose here in this lonely place
"Fear" by Sarah McLachlan

"What makes you think that you can *take me* anywhere?" she drawled, drawing herself up. Her look held an even challenge, practically daring him to try anything. Others had come before him, trying to take her home. Giles, Whistler, other Watchers… Even Spike, once... Not one of them succeeded. No one MAKES a stubborn Slayer DO anything; no one forces a determined Slayer to go home, not even her soul mate.

Angel chuckled, his eyes lighting with pleasure. He delighted in her defiance, in every breath she took, in every little thing about her. Everything she did pleased him immensely, always had. Her blond hair glowed in the sunlight like spun gold; he loved the sunlight that made her shine. Her blue eyes sparked with fire, reflecting that indomitable spirit that made her so strong. Her beauty and life gave him a reason to live. Without her, he was nothing. These last six months had been cold and empty. Now, simply being near her eased his pain.

Did she imagine that he would ever try to force her to go or do something against her will? Abruptly, his brief bubble of happiness burst. Of course she did. Buffy's last memories of Angel were those of a vicious monster. He was lucky that she retained enough fondness for him to speak to him so kindly. Downtrodden, Angel shook his head. "You'll come home because you want to," he told her. "No other reason."

Casually, he shoved his hands into the pockets of his brown suede jacket. Angel leaned back to balance precariously on his heels. One quick shove would have toppled him; he instinctively trusted her not to push. "You'll come because you've been alone for too long," he said with simple faith. He'd seen the loneliness and the longing in her eyes. Buffy wanted to go home.

Buffy flushed, feeling ridiculous. Damn. He'd called her bluff. Angel understood her all too well, he always had. All of the others had argued with her. It had made it easy for her to walk off and leave them behind, refusing to go home or to listen.

Angel pulled his hand from his jacket and extended it to her. In his hand, he held a packet of letters tied together with a simple red ribbon. She recognized her mother's handwriting on the top envelope, addressed to 'Buffy, my beloved daughter'. He was offering her life back to her; it was easily the greatest gift anyone had ever given her. Buffy stared at the gift fearfully, afraid to accept. Forever ensued in a frozen drop of time. Angel's hand never wavered. Finally, she extended her own shaking hand and took the letters.

"Your parents and friends miss you, Buffy. They," he swallowed against a thick, painful lump, leaving 'We' unsaid. God, this hurt. Why hadn't Willow left him in Hell? At least there, the pain wasn't fresh and new. "Love you and want you to come home."

Feeling scared and lost, Buffy turned away from him. She wanted to sink to her knees and curl up into a little ball. Dear God, her past, her home, her family and friends... This was what she wanted more than anything. This was what she'd been dreaming of, wishing and praying for. Could it be so simple, to trust Angel to take her home…? What was it in her that refused to believe?

Her heart said, 'Yes, it's this simple. Trust Angel.' Her doubt came from fear and lack of faith in herself, not him. What did she have to offer that anyone would want? Apparently, Angel believed that she was worth a great deal, to come so far and to go to the trouble of finding her. Buffy trusted Angel to guide her home, to guide her anywhere. He'd never led her astray before. He'd never betrayed a trust, not in the way that she'd betrayed him. He'd never hurt her, not in the ways that she'd hurt him.

So long ago, he'd come out of the night to guide her. A quick hint, a cryptic warning and he'd flee again. At the time, she'd thought of him as a wise guy with commitment issues. Now, she knew that he'd run because he'd been wise. He'd known that time rapes youth and innocence. He'd possessed the wisdom to stay away because he'd known that temptation would destroy them. He'd never lacked in commitment to her. He'd tried to protect her by keeping a safe distance.

Her own doubt, guilt, and self-condemnation should never cast doubt on his integrity. To doubt him was to do him wrong, and she never intended to wrong him again. Never again, she promised herself and God. If Angel said she could go home, then she could. That's what she wanted more than anything. Her hand tightened convulsively around the letters. She'd read them later, when she was alone. It was enough just to hold them, for now.

Angel waited patiently for Buffy to decide. If she said 'No', he had no intention of just giving up. He'd follow Buffy to the ends of the earth until she changed her mind. He couldn't force her to go home, no one could. However, he could make a damned nuisance of himself until she finally gave in.

Ultimately, her final decision was easy; she was tired of running. Resolutely, Buffy turned back to Angel. He expected a firm, 'No. Now get lost, you bastard.' To his shock, Buffy smiled. Briefly, her facade cracked, allowing some of her soul's true weariness to show through. She swallowed and raised her eyes to his. "Take me home, Angel. Please…"

****

Buffy stood at a crossroads, about to choose a path that would alter the course of her life. So far, she'd come to three such points in her short life. The day she'd learned of her destiny, the day she'd condemned Angel to Hell, and today, the day she'd chosen to go home. Somehow, she found it hard to believe that this might be a good thing. She simply couldn't afford the luxury of hope; she had no strength to squander.

Being the Slayer meant that she had no self, no identity beyond her duty. Before, she'd always chosen "correctly". Both times, she'd chosen duty over self, duty over love. Now, she chose selfishly. Home over loneliness. Buffy could barely believe it; she was going home at last…

Absently, she fished the key to her flat out of her pocket. She shared the apartment with two other girls, both runaways. Angel stood patiently, not intruding on her thoughts or personal space. They'd come here in silence, barely exchanging more than a couple words on the walk over. Angel followed her obediently, a silent companion on her trip into her past, her present, her future. He reminded her of a wraith, a soul lost between life and death, trapped in between. So much like herself… Was there anything that they didn't share?

She pushed open the door to the dingy apartment and stepped aside to permit him entrance. Angel stepped in, and looked around curiously. Buffy followed his gaze, seeing her 'home' through his eyes. She saw a squalid dump, junk piled high, scattered clothes, garbage rotting on the floor, decay everywhere.

Suddenly sick, Buffy hung her head in shame. She was embarrassed beyond words that he should witness this. She never spent time here, returning home only to shower and sleep. This was humiliating. It hurt that he should see her living like this. She'd sunk so low…

"Sorry 'bout the mess," Buffy mumbled, nearly in tears. "Just let me grab my stuff." She darted around him, nearly tripping over his feet. Unshed tears clogged her eyes, leaving her blind to his compassion.

"Buffy--" Angel caught her arm, spinning her around. His arms closed around her small, shamed form in an almost hug. He was too scared to take her fully into his arms. He didn't even deserve to touch her after the way she'd flinched from him earlier, but he couldn't help himself. His fingers grazed her shoulders, barely touching. "It's ok. I've been there. I've been through the exact same thing." He felt her forehead settle against his breastbone and nearly shivered with pleasure. She was touching him willingly...

Angel swallowed, fighting tears. "There's nothing to be ashamed of," he assured her. "I've hit bottom and I've gone even lower." Tenderly, he dared to stroke her back. Her arms gradually wrapped around his waist. "I'll bet that you've never resorted to eating rats." There, that did it. He heard a semi-hysterical giggle muffled against his chest.

Gradually, Buffy eased away from him. She was reluctant to leave his embrace, even though she didn't belong there. She didn't deserve his comfort. Scrubbing the tears from her face, Buffy turned towards her bedroom. "I'm just gonna get my stuff," she mumbled, sniffing and breathing through her mouth. She barely noticed Angel follow her into the bedroom.

With efficiency born of long practice, Buffy snatched a heavy canvas duffel bag out of her closet. She'd been thinking about leaving San Francisco soon anyway. Her job here was done; she'd already destroyed the Master vampire and decimated the local coven. Swiftly, clothes, shoes, and her few personal effects disappeared into the bag. She turned to find Angel helpfully offering her Mr. Gordo, taken from his place on her bed. Angel lips were fighting a losing battle with a barely repressed smile.

Grab, toss and the stuffed pig followed the rest of her belongings. Bringing the duffel bag with her, she turned her back to him again and reached under the bed. Her hand sought and found the handle of her weapon's trunk. Angel and that damn pig... So many memories... Ice skating, his fear that she couldn't accept his game face, their kiss on the ice...

With a solid tug, the trunk slid out from under the bed. She quickly opened the small padlock on the latch and lifted the lid. Let's see... A few stakes, her carving knife, a cross, some Holy water, her gun... Giles would have weapons, no need to take everything.

Buffy didn't realize that Angel was staring over her shoulder until her senses alerted her to his sudden proximity. She glanced back; his frozen gaze was locked onto something past her in the chest. Too late, realization dawned. Damn! Angel lunged and Buffy twisted, both grabbing for the same weapon. Angel reached it first, proving that he'd lost none of his remarkable speed. He lunged away from her, leaping back.

Buffy came to her feet as he drew the sword from its scabbard with an expert twist of his wrist. She'd learned to use a sword during her training in dozens of different weapons; he'd trained with one as a boy, as the nobleman's weapon of choice. She'd continued to use a sword periodically after the Acathla fight. The weapon's versatility and reach made it one of her favorite weapons. Buffy reflexively settled into a defensive posture. She didn't expect Angel to attack, but her instincts were simply too ingrained to be ignored.

He wasn't seeing her anyway; his mind's eye was trapped in the past again. Angel lifted the sword to eye level, staring at the steel blade with fascination. Feeling ill, he relived the sword fight. He'd cut her, hit her, tried to kill her. And yet, in the end, she'd still shown him mercy. She'd been kind enough to touch him, to tell him that she loved him, and to kiss him good bye. She'd told him to close his eyes to spare him. He hadn't had to watch the hate on her face as ran him through, or suffer the expectaton of coming pain.

With an effort he wrenched his mind out of the past. He looked up to find Buffy watching him; in her eyes he recognized the Slayer. Abruptly, he realized how this must look. He'd stolen her weapon from her and drawn it. Bile filled his throat. She expected him to attack. Angel hastily shoved the sword back into its scabbard. With the blade resting flat on his upturned palms, he offered it to her.

Buffy knew sick shame again as she took the weapon from him. Angel's color was off, he'd turned pale and his hands were shaking. In the last minute she'd seen his guard come down completely and she'd been staggered by what she'd witnessed on his face. Such pain, such suffering, such loneliness... Her beloved was trapped in a waking nightmare, thanks to her. All her fault. Damn her.

She lacked the courage to watch any longer; she lacked the integrity to even apologize. She was too much of a coward... Buffy turned from Angel and occupied herself with shoving the sword into her bag. She yanked the zipper closed with a series of sharp tugs and then grabbed the bag roughly, tossing it over her shoulder.

"Let's go," the Slayer ordered brusquely, marching past Angel.

"Don't you have anyone to say good bye to?" he asked, watching her run from him.

"Nope. I have people to say hello to."

CONTINUE