Woo-hoo! Look who upated! I'm so jazzed about this, and it's my longest chapter yet. Don't know what got me in gear again but I stayed up half the night to finish it. I'm afraid my muse will be in hiding come morning.

Thank you to all who commented and favorited. You do inspire me even if you can't always see it.

Uh, there was, oh, yeah, I remember. All mistakes are mine and I'm sorry you have to read them. Please enjoy.

Disclaimer: I owe pretty much nothing, and certainly not these characters. Please don't sue me. You'd be wasting your time.

And remember; please Read and Review.

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By the time the sun set Angel was thoroughly convinced Buffy was never returning. He was also convinced that he deserved every moment of Hell he'd been through, and more. Hideous images of torture, assault, and carnage ran ceaselessly behind his eyes. He moaned and pressed the heel of his hands to his eye sockets, trying to shut out the images, but it didn't work. He had broken her, taken what was most innocent about her and shattered it. She should hate him. How could she not hate him?

She'd send him back, it would only be right after what he did. She'd send him back. But the thought of going back there had him sobbing even as he hid in a dark corner, hoping she wouldn't. Hoping she wouldn't and believing she would. All the while a darkness, a wild, ceaseless intelligence seemed to be creeping into his mind, his being. It spoke no words but he could hear the growl of it. Had it always been there? The images continued and Angel wrapped his emaciated arms around himself. The worst part was, hating these images, despising them so deeply and yet…not enough. He would never do those things, but he had, he had and he had relished it. It was torture, to see the destruction he had wrought, to feel like that wasn't him, and to know know it was him and that he had done it. He was responsible. The pain that passed through his damaged frame was a penetrating pain, it sizzled through every muscle, every fiber, and made him jerk, unable to hold back a response to such a force, but he didn't cry out. He deserved the pain he got.

When Buffy stopped to look at him the sight of her strong Angel, huddled in a corner, cringing away from her was too much. After all she'd been through, all the pain, all the fear, some of which was a direct result of his alter-ego, it was much much too much. Buffy dropped to her knees with a painful thud and began to sob. He was never coming back. Her Angel, the man she loved, was never coming back. She didn't know how long she cried, though it was long enough to wear out her eyes, tear at her throat, and subject her brain to a painful, rather unbelievable throbbing. Why was it that when you cried that hard you always felt like your brain was about to fall out?

She knew she should, she knew he deserved it, but she couldn't bring herself to move over to him, to comfort him, or to touch him. Little did she know that her tears brought Angel more anguish and that, as much as he wanted to comfort her, his guilt wouldn't allow him to touch her. It didn't help, the things they'd done to him in Hell. If she knew—maybe she should know. Maybe she'd stake him and maybe, just maybe, the powers that be would be merciful and end his existence. He knew no one like him could ever go to Heaven.

Slowly, oh so slowly as not to frighten her, or perhaps to ease the pain that crashed like waves upon him, he eased his way over to her. He thought to tell her, there were words fluttering about inside his head. Maybe he could make sense of them enough to tell her. Intent on this he reached his hand out to rest on her forearm, which covered her face, a small tingling passed through is fingers and Angel had a moment to think that was odd before he jerked back in horror as Buffy screamed.

What she'd seen before was nothing compared to this. What she had sent him to was something no one deserved. There was pain, it felt like he was being torn in half, and blood, so much blood, and the mocking laughter of what he'd been reduced to. And there was the girl, the one he'd tried to be kind to, who was screaming, forced to watch him endure a fate that was about to become hers. Then, and worst of all, there was the horrible horrible knowledge that this wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last and there was nothing, nothing, that he could do to stop it.

The image left Buffy as quickly as it came but the effect stayed so she was left sore and trembling, hot tears streaming down her face. God, she was a monster. Yes a voice seemed to whisper in her mind, you are.

For a long while she couldn't move but when she finally could, when her eyes cleared, she wished she could just close them again. Angel, who had pushed himself against the wall near her was scratching at his forearms. He'd ripped the bandages from then and now there were bloody gashes where his nails had dug grooves. He couldn't lose more blood, he wouldn't make it.

Quick as lightning she was over to him and pulling his hands away to push them against the wall. Angel flinched at her touch but she held him firm.

"Stop it," she demanded, a steal edge to her trembling voice. Angel flinched again and turned his face away, but didn't try to move out of her grip. Didn't she understand, didn't she know? He deserved it. He deserved pain. There was something black and evil inside him and he had to get it out.

The voice in Buffy's head intensified at the sight of Angel's hefty flinch. Monster! It bellowed. You've destroyed him. This is all your fault. Buffy choked back a sob at the anguished look on Angel's face. Her fault. Her fault and her responsibility. God, she was too young for this. With a deep quivering sigh she released his hands and leaned in to rest her head against his shoulder. She was so very tired. Angel froze at being touched so familiarly but began to slowly relax when it became clear that she had no intention of moving away from him. He didn't know what he'd done to deserve this reprieve but again he was too selfish to reject her. Instead his hands itched to touch her, to become familiar with her features again. After a time she sighed again and pulled back, and for the first time he noticed the dark bags under her eyes.

She looked at him, both serious and concerned. "Are you alright? Do you need anything?"

Angel hesitated to respond, uncomfortable with asking for anything when she'd given him so much, but one thing was making the ache in his body nearly unbearable. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but encouraged by Buffy's nods and gentle smiles he finally spoke.

"B-Buffy," he said softly, "c-c-cold." The word sounded odd on his tongue and he knew he wasn't saying it properly but his mouth wasn't able to cooperate properly. He sighed and looked away, embarrassed by his weakness, and his stupidity.

For a moment she was overwhelmed by hearing him speak anything other than her name, but Buffy's eyes widened as she realized that his shivering might not be from fear. She felt both relief and guilt wash through her at the realization. "Let's get you warmer," she said kindly as she slipped her arm around his waist and awkwardly helped him to stand. Once beside the bed she led Angel to sit and returned to her backpack in the other room, trying desperately to ignore the keening sound he began making the minute she stepped away. Did he want her or hate her? Did it matter? From her back pack she pulled a pair of sheets. The mattress looked dirty and the thought of him resting on something that could infect his wounds had haunted her all night.

Thankfully, when she returned the keening stopped and she helped Angel to stand and lean against the bedside table while she put she sheets on and picked the quilt up from where it had fallen on the floor. Why hadn't he retrieved it? Did he think he wasn't allowed? Shuddering at the thought she laid the thick bedding over the sheets and led Angel to touch it.

"This is yours now," she said, "all yours. You can take it where ever you want. You can do whatever you want with it. It's not mine." His wide eyes told her he understood. "Now, how about we get you under the covers and warmed up?"

Carefully she helped him into the bed and then, much to his astonishment, climbed in beside him. "Is this alright?" she asked. He could only nod. Anything she did was alright. She sighed and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her warm body against his side. "I know you don't make any heat of your own," she said, "so I thought this might help." Angel could only stare at the ceiling. This was bliss, he was sure of it. Not only had she returned but now he found himself almost freed of the reek of the mattress and surrounded not only by her smell but by her warmth and by *her*. He took a deep breath and finally relaxed.

Buffy waited until Angel's shivering stopped and followed by his breathing before allowing herself to drift to sleep as well. It might be a fantasy that her Angel was there with her, holding her, but it wasn't one she was willing to relinquish quite yet.

Angel woke later on, more comfortable than he could ever remember being, he turned his head to the side to find that Buffy wasn't there and for a moment he panicked. But, he'd barely managed to sit up when she came back into the room, carrying a massive pile of first aid and several warmed bags of blood. She gave him the blood first and he took them gratefully, turning away to drain them as quickly as possible before sheepishly handing the emptied bags back. She smiled warmly at him and Angel felt a bit as though he were standing in sunlight.

Buffy had him lay back and turned the covers away before she set to the arduous task of re-bandaging his wounds. Several of them were still open and raw and this bothered her deeply. Angel just lay there, basking in the gentle physical contact. He didn't care about the pain, it was the purpose he relished. He was nearly asleep again when he felt her slide into bed beside him. With his eyes closed he gave an almost-smile and let out a soft purr. There was nowhere else he'd rather be. Then, when his mind was blurred and this limbs heavy with lethargy he felt soft lips brush against his own. It was only a moment, and the touch was light, but it sent a lazy heat spiraling through his body, and before he could respond a blessedly dreamless sleep pulled him under.

When Angel woke the next morning Buffy was gone, but two bags of blood, nestled in a box filled with ice, sat on the table beside him and beside that a letter. He sat up gingerly, not wanting to move from the warmth and comfort that had surrounded him, to snag the letter and pull it back. He couldn't yet recall how to read so the words themselves were of little use to him but Angel did know that it was *her* who wrote it and her words were for him and made quite an impact. With a sigh he laid back down holding the letter to him and let himself hope that maybe, just maybe, all this was real and she would return.

Buffy made it to her room just minutes before she heard her mother begin to stir down the hall. She breathed a sigh of relief and snuggled down into her pillows and comforter. It had been a good night, except for the kiss, maybe including the kiss. She hadn't meant for that to happen. He'd just looked so peaceful. So…angelic. So ironic that he could be skeletal from starvation and riddled with gashes yet still look beautiful. No wonder no one could resist him in his days as Angelus. Angelus; she flinched at the thought. You've let him out, a voice seemed to whisper, you're a monster and you've let a monster return to this world. You make everyone suffer. And all of a sudden Buffy was fighting back tears. No, Angel wasn't a monster. He was many things, but not a monster. Consoling herself with this she took a deep breath and relaxed into her bed. She'd had more sleep this last night than she'd had in quite some time.

When she woke again she was pleased to find her mother cooking eggs and toast. She kissed Joyce on the cheek as she snagged a plate.

"What was that for?" her mother asked. Buffy just smiled and began to eat. Then after several minutes she looked up.

"Thank you, mom."

Joyce could only smile in return, turning to check the coffee so her daughter wouldn't see the grateful tears shimmering in her eyes.

At school Buffy was more alive than she had been in quite some time. That is to say, she actually participated in class, and only seemed half distracted from everything. Her friends watched her closely, but not as closely as Oz. That smell, she was covered in it, but where was it from?

Willow pulled Buffy aside between classes.

"Buffy, are you ok?"

Buffy looked away guiltily. "Sure thing, Willow. Why wouldn't I be?"

"It's just…you've been different since you came back."

Buffy nodded solemnly and tried to slip from Willow's sudden grip on her forearm. "Living on your own will do that to you."

Willow shook her head, frustrated and a little frightened by her friend's evasion. "It's more than that," she said, "I can just…I know, and you know, and the other day, at the store…" she trailed off. "Please, just tell me."

Buffy pulled out of her friend's grip and took a measured step back. Her lip trembled but she would not allow herself to cry. "I'm sorry, Wills, I really am, but I just can't. Please believe me and please just-just back off."

The bell rang and Buffy turned to her next class without another word. She avoided Willow and, by default, the rest of her friends for the rest of the school day.

It was close to the full moon and Oz could feel the wolf pulling heavily on him but he still allotted to follow Buffy again that night. Luckily this time no one caught him as he was leaving. Sure enough, she patrolled for about an hour but then made her way to the mansion where she disappeared again. Oz was about to head off, believing it was a dead end, or perhaps something he shouldn't be nosing around in anyway, when the door to the mansion opened.

When he saw who was there he found himself entirely grateful that he was positioned downwind. The last thing he would need was for them to sense him, or smell him. Because, in the doorway was Buffy, helping a thin and limping Angel through the doorway. He followed them as far as the local WMCA before turning back. Well, that was new. He took a deep breath as he let himself in his room. This would definitely change everything. Nodding to himself he decided to talk to Willow about it in the morning. She was Buffy's friend. Surely she would know what to do.