The Last Cut is the Deepest

Chapter Eleven

Now it was Angel who needed time.

Buffy and he both noted the irony of it with a bout of weak laughter before he left town on business the day after the earthquake. He had needed to take this trip anyway, he'd explained... the extra time and space it gave him to sort things out was just a happy coincidence. He'd kissed her, told her he loved her, and promised they would talk the minute he got back. So Buffy wasn't spinning herself into *too* much of a frenzy over his leaving before they got a chance to work recent events through together.

Haunting the Hyperion like some psychotic ghost, waiting for a sign of his return, and hassling Michael three or four... hundred... times a day didn't really count, did they?

It wouldn't be creepy stalking behavior unless he was actually there, which he wasn't. He was off taking care of some urgent something or other in a dimension far, far away, and there was nothing Buffy could do but wait. And try to avoid going completely insane.

After five days with no word, however, she was starting to lose some of her faith that all would be well, even with Angel's numerous assurances. So after her patrol with the seniors on Friday night, she decided to do a little detective work of her own.

Angel's hotel was easy to break into -- something she planned to take up with him... if she ever saw him again. She kicked in one of the tiny basement windows and squeezed inside, hoping none of the more... flexible demon species were watching. Angel probably couldn't count on all his various digits and appendages how many creepy-crawlies wanted to kill him. Maybe more than she had.

She crept upstairs, trying to figure out what, exactly, she hoped to accomplish by this little felony. Well... maybe there were some clues to how long he planned to be gone in his room. For example, were both of his leather coats missing? That could signal a long trip. Was there milk or blood in the fridge? Only a couple of days, then. Sure. His room was the place to start looking.

Or... maybe she would just lie around on his bed in one of his shirts and sniff his pillows for a while... like a completely *sane* stalker freak.

"No, that's not creepy at all, Buffy," she muttered to herself.

Either way, it was better than moping around the school wondering if something had been irrevocably broken between she and the love of her life.

As she wandered through the dark, empty halls of Angel's home, she considered everything they had been through in the past few weeks since Spike's mysterious and explosive return from the dead. She reviewed every move she had made, every word she'd said, trying to make some kind of sense of it all. If this was just another lesson in the 'Buffy & Angel Learn Everything The *Really* Hard Way' Cosmic Short Course, then she needed to know exactly what that lesson was supposed to be. Using her best 'CSI' skills, she put together the facts at hand:

Spike came back. Angel had a total meltdown. She turned into a thoughtless, tunnel-visioned bitch. Again.

Not much of a case, really. What were they supposed to discover? That they could still beat each other half to death with thoughtless words? That she should be crowned Bad Judgement Queen? That Angel still had a raging demon inside him, so close to the surface that he was still fully capable of losing it and slaughtering someone in a jealous rage?

All points they already knew too well.

So, here was the final exam on their Destiny, and Buffy not only hadn't studied, she hadn't even remembered to bring a #2 pencil.

"Great," she muttered at the numbers on Angel's door: 419. He told her he'd lived a few floors down for a while, but moved the year she came back from the dead. He never told her why, exactly - he just goat fat faraway look he got sometimes, and said simply that he'd needed a change.

Okay, so she didn't have the answer, she figured as she dropped to her knees and began to work the lock, but maybe she could look back at the first question on the test and build some context to help her wing this one. The beginning of the Confluence had forced them together when they had been avoiding each other for years. Having to defeat the vortex pushed them past their defenses, and reminded them once and for all of the very basic, fundamental fact that they loved one another - no matter how much time they'd spent apart. No matter how much they seemed to have changed. Like Angel said, they were bound together in the core of who they were. The trappings - the distance, the denial, the details - meant nothing in the face of how muuch they cared about each other.

She felt the tumbler in the lock fall into place at the same moment that she realized where Spike's return fit into the equation. But before she got a chance to think it through fully, the door swung open, and Buffy was looking directly at Angel's silk-clad kneecaps. Her gaze drew upward to find him peering down at her with a sardonic half-smirk.

"Uh... hi. You're home," she observed.

"New hobby?" he inquired wryly, "I guess I don't need to make you a key."

He offered her a hand. Buffy accepted and let him pull her to her feet. She didn't let go, but couldn't quite look him in the eye, either.

"I've been meaning to find out what the big deal is about stalking, " she mumbled, mortified at having been caught being such a pathetic loser. "And... breaking and entering... it's important to have a secondary career choice."

Angel chuckled. "It's nice to know I'm not the only one who has trouble with the concepts of 'time' and 'space'.\
She
She looked up at last, finding a warmth sparkling in his dark eyes that she had been afraid she would never see again. The relief of that sight made her weak in the knees. "Well, since we're here... maybe... we can talk?"

He tugged her gently into the room and gathered her in his arms.

"In a minute," he whispered, and lowered his lips to hers. The kiss was tender and sweet, like ambrosia after all these weeks spent in emotional chaos so far from one another. All of Buffy's worry and the hard-won revelations flew out the window on the satin wings of her joy in being with him like this again. Feeling so safe and small, yet so strong and alive, in his arms.

They drew apart slowly, but their gazes remained entwined.

"Okay," he murmured, barely able to find his voice, "Now I guess we can talk."

Drowning in the chocolate brown of his beautiful eyes, Buffy whispered, "Talk? Was there supposed to be talking?"

He smiled and smoothed his hands up over her arms, her shoulders and neck, and finally combed his fingers through her long, thick hair, delighting in the pleasure of being able to touch her once more. He deeply wished they could skip the talking entirely, but...

"I think that we should, don't you?" he said, "I have some things I need you to know."

Buffy nodded, reluctantly breaking her peaceful trance, and moved past him into the room. "Me too."

"I'd like to start, though, if that's okay," Angel requested, then gestured toward the bed. "Why don't you have a seat?"

She sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the floor, suddenly unprepared to have this conversation, in spite of his warm greeting and all of her conclusions about what they'd just been through. Being fully open and honest -- with him and herself -- didn't seem so simple anymore.

"I was actually just coming to see you," he informed her. "I didn't expect to be gone this long."

Buffy glanced up. "Where were you? Michael wouldn't tell me no matter which of his body parts I threatened to rip off. Did I mention that he hates me? In fact, he said he wouldn't 'divulge that information' even if you hadn't told him not to. Jerk."

"I was in the Tullhst Dimension."

Her face scrunched up. "The Toll House Dimension?"

"I'm starting to worry about you and your cookie fetish," he teased affectionately. "No. It's a pretty unpleasant swamp world where I had to go and retrieve the Senior Partners' tardy guest. It turns out that he couldn't fully open a portal from his side, and he got stuck. His acolytes tried to get him out without letting us know he was an incompetent idiot, but when he started to dissolve, he figured he should devalue his sterling reputation a little bit. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to call, but even my cell service isn't that good."

Buffy stared at him as one particular thing he'd said registered. "Hold on. The Senior Partners' *guest*? You mean... Spike wasn't..."

Angel shook his head. "As it turns out, no. This sorcerer I helped cross over is an expert on space/time rifts. I guess they thought we could use him to patch up some of the anomalies resulting from the Convergence. They say they don't know anything about Spike... other than the obvious. Lilah found the whole thing very amusing."

If she hadn't already been sitting down, Buffy definitely would have had to after that. "But... then... how? Why? And what was the lesson Lilah said you needed to learn?"

"Honestly? I don't know," he confessed, coming to sit beside her on the bed. "I suspect that she was just messing with my mind. But... I've learned a few things, nonetheless."

"Me too," she agreed again.

Angel took a deep breath and turned to face her. "I owe you an apology. A lot of them, actually. So, I'll start there. I was completely out of line with the way I've treated you since Spike came back. I had no right to say the things I said, or punish you the way I did. I'm deeply ashamed, and I hope that when I explain, maybe you can find it in your heart to forgive me for being such a selfish fool."

She shrugged. "You were pretty harsh. But... I get it. I understand."

"No, I don't think you do," he disagreed, "I didn't, really, until the past few days. I was too blinded by my jealousy and bitterness to see things clearly. I thought I was so certain of us, that nothing could shake that faith. But... as it turns out, I wasn't as confident in myself as I liked to believe I was. Seeing you with him... and his being human... I guess I..."

"Blew a gasket?" she offered.

"Yeah. To say the least. But that had nothing to do with you, Buffy, and everything to do with me. My fears. My insecurities. Some part of me, deep down, still didn't... believe I was worthy of you, I guess. And I never would be, no matter how many changes I made in myself... my life..." He looked away from her for a moment, trying desperateo fio find a way to explain all the many things he'd avoided telling her before now. All of the things he had shoved so far down into his seemingly endless well of painful memories and broken dreams, he was hardly able to draw them out anymore.

"I was envious, and petty, and cruel... and furious that you had to experience so much... pain. So much heartache alone. I blame myself for that. I realize now that I should have tried to be there for you more when you..." he swallowed stiffly, still barely able to talk about her death, even after all this time. "When you came back. All of that just... exploded when I saw you with Spike. He's a living reminder of all the ways I've failed you over the years. All the things I've never been able to be for you... or give to you. All the things you've had to face alone..."

Buffy grabbed his hands. "Angel, no. You had a life of your own to worry about. People who count on you. And I wasn't exactly honest about what I was feeling. I just told you that I was fine - how were you supposed to know what I was going through?"

"That's just it - I *should* have known. On some level, I *did* know," he insisted, "I saw it in your eyes. This... emptiness. I just... I dismissed it because I couldn't handle the complications. I was so wrapped up in my own problems, and... it was so hard to be that close to you, after thinking I'd never see you again on this Earth, and... wanting you so much... Wanting to hold you and protect you... and being denied that. *Still*." He felt himself losing control of his emotions, rocketing right into babbling territory, but he couldn't make himself stop.

Was Willow's spell still working?

"It was easier simply to accept what you told me at face value: that you were fine, and you didn't really need me anymore. Acceding to that was the only way I could walk away from you again. I'm sorry for that, too. That you were so lonely, you felt like you had to turn to a creature you hated for some kind of comfort. That you were so low that you could see see you were worth so much more than that..."

Her eyes filled from the depth of sorrow in his voice...the slight tremor of the strong, cool hands she held in her own...and the sentiment that she was more valuable a human being than she sometimes gave herself credit for. "We both made mistakes, Angel. I should have known that I could trust you - that you would understand." Her voice broke, "But you were so happy to see me. The way you cried... when you held me... you seemed so relieved - how could I take that away from you after you hurt so much when I was gone?"

His gaze snapped to hers. "How did you know? I've never... talked to anyone about that."

Buffy smiled enigmatically. "I knew. I was always with you."

His lip trembled as he returned a far wobblier version of her smile. "I felt that... and it made me miss you so much more. But Buffy... there's something else. Something I haven't told you that really set me off when Spike..." He tamped down on the little green monster that threatened yet again. "When we found out he was human. The first year I was in LA, I found a prophecy in the Wolfram & Hart archives."

"I thought you just started working for them a couple of years ago?" she asked, confused.

"I broke in to steal some other files, and this particular scroll... called to me, somehow. Wesley translated it - incorrectly, at first - and found that... it was about me. My mission... and my Destiny. Things I would have to face. And the result was that when I did what needed to be done... when I'd saved humanity, there might be a... a reward."

His speech dropped to barely a whisper on the last word, and Buffy was suddenly filled with equal parts joy, anticipation, and dread at what he was about to tell her.

"A reward?" she prompted softly.

Angel nodded.

"What... kind of reward?"

He looked deeply into her eyes, recalling with perfect clarity the moment when Wesley first told him... and his own deeply understated response even as Buffy's beautiful face filled his imagination, and his heart had swelled with the first real hope for the future he'd felt in years.

((That'd be nice...))

"'When the vampire with a soul fulfills his destiny, he will Shanshu - become human,'" he quoted verbatim. He had read the passage so many times, it was seared into his brain.

Buffy's eyes went wide, and she was struck breathless with the shock of the possibility. "Human. You... I mean... really?"

"Really," he replied.

Buffy looked away as the implications of what he was saying tore through her mind. Angel... human. His fondest, most impossible wish. Her own long-lost dream. The two of them, together... walking in the sunlight. Having children, raising a family... growing old together.

And then the other meaning dawned on her, and the dreams went up in a puff of smoke. Spike had returned from the dead as a human. Spike had worn the amulet Angel meant to wear, and helped her save the world as a result. An unselfish act of sacrifice that was humanity's salvation.

The kind of sacrifice Angel had made time and time again for years.

"Oh God," she gasped. "He... Spike..." She looked up at him frantically, "Spike got your reward!"

Angel gave her a small, sad smile. "That was what I was thinking, yeah. Everything I'd always wanted, but could never have. Mortality... you..."

She had done this. Buffy nearly collapsed with the pain of the realization. Angel had planned to wear that amulet. He had fully intended to stand by her in what promised to be the ultimate battle. He had offered himself... shoulder to shoulder, he was hers.

And she had turned him away. She had given Spike that amulet. She had...

"I did it," she whispered in horror. "I gave your Destiny away. You could have been human, and I... Oh God!"

"No. Buffy, no," he objected as she broke down, tucking his fingers under her chin to raise her streaming eyes to his. The misery on her face shattered his heart anew. "I don't think that's true. That's part of what I discovered while I had these few days to think. When Spike came baumanuman - and you were so obviously… attached to him, that was the conclusion I came to. That, for whatever reason, the Powers had chosen him to stand in the place I thought was mine - in the war against evil, and by your side. I had stopped consciously hoping for Shanshu - for a life with you - a long time ago. This just brought it all back, along with all my old insecurities, and forced me to look at them straight on. I automatically believed the worst - that you wouldn't choose me, because I was unworthy. Because I'd failed you, over and over gain. Because, deep down, I still didn't believe I could be part of something so powerful… so right. Even after everything that's happened since we found each other again. Then, in the cavern… you did choose me. And finally, I recognized… I saw in your eyes what you'd been trying to tell me from the start: just because you love Spike, that doesn't change the way you feel about me. I'm still your Destiny, even if I have to share your heart. And if I'm meant to be human… to be with you… it'll happen in its own time."

"But that's just it," she sniffled, reaching up to tenderly stroke his face, "You don't share my heart. Yes, I care about Spike. I do. But you're the one in my soul, Angel. You're the one I see standing by my side when I dream about the future. You're the one I need… the one I want to talk to… spend time with. It's you. It's always been you. It always will be."

Her declaration nearly drove him to tears of relief. "You don't know how much I needed to hear you say that. Buffy… I lost it the way I did because… I can't stand the thought of losing you - losing everything - to Spike. I'm sorry that I expressed that fear the way I did." He shifted, sliding to his knees on the floor before her, like the supplicant of some magnificent goddess, and took her tiny hands in his. But she was so much more than a Goddess to him - something so much better: a woman - a beautiful, flawed, strong, giving soul who meant more to him than almost any person he'd known in his life. "You arhe mhe most amazing, brave, tenacious soul I've ever known. I do respect you… and admire you, and love you, with all of my heart. You are the reason I am what I am today. I would do anything to take back the things I said to you the other night, because none of it was true. I was ashamed and angry *for* you, not at you. Because... in all my shortsignessness... in all my self-loathing, I've never been able to be the kind of man... the kind of friend... you deserve. I want to change that. Starting now."

She sniffed softly, basking in the warmth, the sincerity of his avowal. "Well…" she whispered through her tears, "I guess you could start by kissing me."

To encourage him, she dropped to her knees beside him. When Angel turned to look at her, she captured his beautiful face between her hands and kissed him, long and lazy, a touch of lips and tongue. Gentle, loving, and full of promise and forgiveness.

He could feel the kiss begin to tip… from sweet comfort to that place where coherent thought ceased, where facts and words no longer mattered, and instinct… hunger, and raw, fiery need took over.

It was habit, after all this time, for him to stop and pull away when that fire sparked. "Buffy…"

And it was just as automatic for her to stop reaching for him and try to catch her breath. Stop her heart from pounding right out of her chest. Stop wanting him so much that it hurt. Pull back before things got out of…

They stared at each other until each broke into a slow smile with the comprehension that those actions *were* only habit now, instead of the world-saving necessity they once may have been.

"We don't have to stop…" he whispered aloud, tracing a gentle fingertip under her jaw and following the digit's journey with his eyes until it met its conclusion at the dip in the collar of her tee shirt. A tug or two, and he could see her… touch her… taste her…

"I think we should wait," she declared, and immediately wondered aloud, "Who said that?"

"You did," he replied, blinking in confusion. "Why?"

His look of genuine bewilderment was so sweet, she almost smiled, but decided against it, because that would be even harder to explain than her initial demonstration of complete loss of reason. Which remained completely incomprehensible to her.

In what twisted alternate reality didn't she want to make love with Angel?

Buffy frowned, her own confusion growing. "I'm not sure. It just… seems like we should."

Angel sighed and sat down beside her on the floor, their backs braced against the side of the bed. "I was actually thinking something similar. I just chose to ignore it."

Buffy glanced at him. He didn't seem upset or disappointed at all, which was a good… Hey!

"Why don't you want to?" she asked, her sudden offense making her voice a little shriller than she meant it to be.

"Oh, no. You said it first. The burden of proof, therefore, lies with you," he rejoined, waving away her inquiry before facing her with a sly grin. "Besides, who said anything about not wanting to?"

She nodded. "I know. It's not that I don't want to either, because… hey, six years waiting…" She banged the back of her head against the bed in frustration. "Maybe the time's just not right yet. Or maybe this is some new screwed up loophole in the curse where we *can*, but we *can't*. And if that's the case, I don't like it any better than the old one."

Angel gave her hand a tug, urging her to lay her head on his shoulder. As much as his body was aching to make love with Buffy, this simple moment felt so right… sitting here, just talking with her warm little body tucked up against him like this…

"There's no hurry. We can take all the time we like," he assured her, peppering soft kisses into her hair. "Tomorrow's fine."

Buffy laughed. "Tomorrow it is, then. But seriously… what made you think that?"

"I don't know. I was kissing you, and then I thought I had to stop kissing you, and then I remembered that I didn't have to stop… it was all very disconcerting."

She smiled up at him from her perch on his shoulder. "Maybe, now that we get to decide for ourselves, we actuawantwant to make a conscious choice? Exercise our free will?"

"Possibly. Or...maybe there are still things between us that need to be resolved. And for this to feel natural, we need to address them first," he theorized aloud. "I think I've said everything I need to say..." Which wasn't precisely true, of course, but he'd told her everything he could… or was willing to. There was still the matter of Spike's trying to rape her that ate away at him, but he didn't want to keep dragging her memory back to that. Of course it enraged him… of course he still didn't understand why she would forgive such a heinous crime. But it was her decision. Her forgiveness to bestow. His homicidal feelings about the matter were irrelevant.

And then there was Connor… but that, he was forbidden from sharing. Even with the mate of his soul.

Buffy chewed her lip, trying to imagine what remained unsaid between her and Angel. "I never answered your question."

He looked at her. "Question?"

"At the hospital, when we had that first fight about Spike."

"I don't remember," he admitted. "It's all sort of a blur of rage now."

"God, it was so important to you at the time!" she reminded him, then got up on her knees and settled between his, facing him squarely. "You asked me if I could honestly tell you I don't love Spike. And the answer is… no. I can't. But it's not the way you keep thinking. I can say, without any doubt at all, that I am not, and never have been, *in* love with Spike. I *am* in love with you. I should have told you that right away."

He sighed happily. "Say it again," he requested, all but beaming up at her as he pulled her to him once more and wrapped his arms around her. "Tell me you love me."

"I love you," she told him, never meaning it more than she did in that moment.

"How much?" he teased.

"More than cookies. More than chocolate. More than ice cream. More than shoes," she replied with a grin. "More than all of them put together with a deep tissue massage and a facial on top."

He returned it. "I love you too, Buffy."

She brushed a gentle kiss to his lips. "I want to tell you everything about what happened. Although... 'want' is probably too strong a term... A lot of it is bad. Okay - sadistic and twisted. Not a collection of my more shining moments. And you're really, really not going to like most of it. But I don't want there to be any more secrets between us, Angel. I think that's what keeps getting us into trouble."

Angel ignored the pang of guilt at all he hadn't… couldn't… tell her, and scowled. "I'm not sure I want to hear this."

"Well," she proffered, sitting back on her haunches. "You can tell me about all of your other women, if it makes you feel better. Then we both have to endure the torture."

"I don't think that's a solution I like much better," he replied, then sighed in resignation. "Okay. Let me make some tea first. And find my whiskey stash."

They rose together, and Buffy tucked herself up on the bed while he went to put the kettle on.

"Normally, I'd be all 'Drinking Doesn't Solve Anything' D.A.R.E. girl - probably the caretaker of wild teenaged Slayers talking," she called after him. "But in this case, I think inviting Mr. Glenfidditch to the gathering might not be the worst idea."

"Single malt helps even the worst medicine go down," he concurred. "You want peppermint, right? With more sugar than deemed safe by the American Dental Association?"

Buffy smiled blissfully to herself, in spite of her nerves and that little patch of unsated lust still burning low in her belly. Angel knew her so well. Loved her so much. Even this, one of the most difficult conversations she knew she'd ever have, would be far easier remembering that.

"Perfect," seplieplied softly. \t pet perfect."

~