A/N: Thank you to all of you who have read my fic so far. This is my take on the infamous off screen reunion between Buffy and Angel in season 6. Please be warned this chapter is quite dark and also contains adult themes (mentions of sex but nothing explicit as I'm determined not to bump this fic up to an M rating!). I really believe Buffy and Angel meeting at this point in their lives would have been intense in a dark and frantic way, rather than some kind of soppy and love filled reunion. Oh, and all of the chapters of this story are written so that they could exist as one shot standalones, but will all very shortly start to melt together to form a plot that binds them. I hope you enjoy reading and as I said in chapter 1, please be kind as this is my first ever attempt at writing fan fiction!

Disclaimer: If they were mine there would be no need for a reunion scene as they would never have been apart hahaha...

Post S06E04 – Flooded

The Plymouth roared down the interstate, pushing the acceptable boundaries of the speed limit. The top was up but the windows were down and Angel's mop of thick brown hair was blowing in the wind tunnel the car created.

He shook his head and silently cursed at what he realized now was a really stupid idea. He should never have agreed to meet her half way between LA and Sunnydale; he should have just driven all the way to her.

At the time when she suggested it, all he could think about was the fact that meeting her half way meant he'd reach her sooner. Just hearing her voice on the phone had been enough to send every nerve ending in his body tingling into overdrive. His very soul was screaming out with the need to see her, smell her, touch her, determine for himself if she was truly real, discover if she had come home to him. Well, not to him. But come home just the same.

He steered the car into the parking lot of the truck stop and once again cursed his stupidity. This time for agreeing to meet her in a dirty highway diner. Greasy fast food and his beloved never belonged in the same place, and he hoped they never would again.

He pulled the park brake on and rolled his shoulders back to loosen the tension that was weighing him down. In that moment he was thankful that his heart was unbeating, as he was sure he would be having a heart attack if he was still alive.

Then the tears started flowing down his cheeks. He had promised himself he wouldn't cry. Promised over and over. But he could feel her. His Buffy sense was tingling. She was somewhere nearby. Waiting. For him.

He had no idea how powerful it was going to be. It was a feeling he never thought he would experience ever again and the reality of it was completely overwhelming. It was like a drug.

Pawing at his face, he tried to remove all trace of the blubbering from his appearance. The last thing he wanted to do was alarm her with red ringed eyes or tear stained cheeks. He had no idea what state he was going to find her in, and didn't want to cause her any worry.

She didn't need to know about his heartbroken misery while she was gone. It wasn't just her death that had haunted him every day and night since she'd gone away, it was the sickening knowledge he possessed of the inside of hell. He knew the torments and terrors of living inside a hell dimension. The pain, the fear, the hunger, the manipulative mind games…

The idea of Buffy living that kind of nightmare for five minutes made him tremble with anger. But having been gone from the mortal plane for almost five months, it was highly likely she'd suffered as he had; for over a hundred years. Just the thought was beyond horrifying.

Now suddenly she was back and the happiness satiating every inch of his undead body was all encompassing, powerful and quite frankly dangerous. He knew he was teetering close to the invisible edge. He knew once he actually laid eyes on her – beautiful, perfect, alive – he was going to be at actual risk of dropping head first into the cavernous pool of perfect happiness.

He had spent the drive to the truck stop practicing some of the meditation the monks taught him in the Sri Lankan monastery and consciously drawing guilt-laden memories to the surface of his mind. He knew it was potentially all that was going to stand between himself and Angelus in a few short moments time.

"Dead puppies. Dead puppies dead puppies dead puppies." he murmured under his breath as he exited the vehicle and started making his way towards the entrance of the diner.

Okay, the 'dead puppies' chant wasn't exactly something he'd learned from the monks. But he'd certainly killed his fair share of puppies throughout the centuries and the macabre thought was probably calming his skittish nerves better than any meditative reflection.

He stepped up to the glass door of the restaurant, the harsh fluorescent lights inside assaulting his nocturnal eyes, and readied himself to enter when he realized his Buffy sense had abstrusely dulled. He turned, the thought occurring to him that she wasn't in there at all. But he knew she was around. Knew he could feel her. He scanned the parking lot for her, but saw nothing and nobody.

Suddenly she materialized from the shadows, oozing like liquid gold in the darkness. Seamlessly slipping into his world, silently and purposefully. Who knew she was even capable of such a level of stealth? It was surreptitiousness that would put Angel himself to shame.

She came to a stop several feet away from him, staring at her boots and unwilling or unable to meet his eyes.

He took a deep unnecessary breath and drank in the sight of her. She was very thin, and her simple outfit of black jeans and a blood red overcoat seemed to engulf her tiny frame. Her hair was the longest he'd ever seen it and seemed to hang dull and matte around her shoulders. Her skin was pale and gaunt, her cheeks wan and hollow.

And she was without a doubt the most lovely thing he'd ever laid his eyes upon in his entire existence.

Deadpuppiesdeadpuppiesdeadpuppiesdeadpuppies, screamed his frantic mind.

He wanted to close the distance between them. He needed to be near enough to touch her. The few feet that separated them may as well have been an ocean.

"Buffy." he whispered her name like a prayer.

He knew what would come next. It was one of their rituals. She would exhale his name like it was some kind of revelation. It was their stock standard greeting for each other.

But then she looked up at him and their eyes finally met. What he saw there was nothing he had ever seen before on the face of his beloved. She looked haunted, broken and lost. Nothing of her uniquely Buffy spunk or spirit lingered in her green eyes, which were now a dull shade of grey.

"You didn't visit." she said, her voice low and emotionless.

He knitted his brows together in confusion. His emotions were already haywire just from finding out she was alive, and her cryptic words were sending his mind into a spiral.

"No calls. No letters. No emails. Nothing the entire summer." she continued, spitting her words like vitriol. "How could you?"

"Buffy," he spluttered helplessly. "I don't understand. You were..."

He trailed off, unable to say the word that somehow stuck on a lump in his throat. Even though Buffy was standing in front of him, very much alive, he still couldn't admit out loud that it hadn't always been that way.

A short, mirthless laugh bubbled at her lips. "You know, being a slayer, I always thought a lot about what would happen when I eventually bit the big one. After Mom died I worried about it even more. I'd lie awake at night stressing. And you know what comforted me?"

The steely calmness in her voice was like ice to Angel's heart. He was close to tears again, just standing in the truck stop parking lot and watching her mouth move.

"What, Sweetheart? What comforted you?" he asked.

"The knowledge that you and Giles would take care of her." she replied without hesitation. "Be there for her. Treat her like family. Only you didn't do that Angel, did you?"

Oh.

Oh no.

She was talking about Dawn, he realized. He hadn't visited Dawn since Buffy's funeral. Dawn was the sister Buffy loved so much she had willingly died in her place. The sister who was still just a child, and had lost her entire family in a matter of months. And now Buffy believed Angel had turned his back on her.

"Oh God, Buffy." he said, no longer able to control himself as a tear slipped down his cheek. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Too late." she seethed.

The idea that he had let Buffy down so terribly made the world seemingly tilt on its axis and suddenly Angel felt like he couldn't stand upright anymore. He dropped to a crouch on the gravel, his aching head cradled in his hands.

"I needed time, that's all." he said, trying to make sense of the muddled explanation he knew existed somewhere in the recesses of his reeling mind. "After you…left us…I was at the lowest point I'd ever been in my entire existence. Lower then you can ever imagine. I was the definition of a living corpse. It was only your voice in my head that kept me alive at all. The words you told me up on Kingman's Bluff before the snow fell."

"Strong is fighting. It's hard. And it's painful. And it's every day. It's what we have to do." Buffy's quiet voice surprised him, breaking him from his despaired rambling.

He nodded, showing her that she'd correctly guessed the words he had been alluding to.

"I knew I needed to find a way back to strong. Back to fighting. For you. So I went to a Tibetan monastery and learned how to go on living with the hole you left in my soul. Even after I returned to LA, I still wasn't capable of seeing Dawn. There's so much of you in her, Buffy, and I just couldn't face her yet. But I swear to you as soon as I felt strong enough I would have come back for her. I would have checked up on her every week, made sure she was safe, paid for her to go to college, bought her a pony…"

Suddenly Buffy laughed and Angel abruptly broke his words off. He raised his head from his hands to look up at her. She was still so distant looking, with her arms wrapped tightly around her body almost as if she was trying to curl into herself to keep away from him. But the anger was gone from her.

"I don't really think the backyard of our house has enough room for a pony to graze."

He stood and studied her completely, reading what little emotion he could from the void of her face. What he could see there was acceptance. She had seemingly accepted his explanation about Dawn and was satisfied. She knew he hadn't really let her down as badly as she'd originally thought. He felt like time folded in on itself and the slate was wiped clean. Their reunion could start anew.

"Buffy." he said again, caressing her name like a delicate flower.

She hesitated, fear flashed across her face, and then she let go of the breath she was holding. She spoke so softly if he wasn't a vampire he wouldn't have heard her. But he was a vampire. And he had heard her. And nothing else mattered.

"Angel."

And just like that he was whole again.

In an instant he cut the distance between them. His large arms encircled her tiny body, pulling her to him. He lifted her off the ground, burying his face in the hollow of her neck, breathing in the intoxicating scent of her. Finally touching her, he let himself believe.

She was back. She had really returned to the mortal plane. She was alive. His soul sang with delight and the happiness bubbled inside him, threatening to overspill.

1753. Kathy's eyes were chocolate brown and brimming with innocence. Remember the way they came over all glassy after she lay dead on the floor? Came the whispered voice in his mind, successfully snapping his happiness back to an acceptable level.

After a few more moments of tight embrace, Angel noticed that although Buffy was not resisting she had made no move to return his affection. In fact, her arms hung limply by her side and her face was still mostly blank.

Slowly he set her feet back on the ground, though he kept a hold on both her elbows, still unwilling and unable to physically let her go just yet. He dropped his head toward hers, getting a clearer look at her eyes. There was a dark, haunted look in them that quietly scared him. Memories of his time in hell replaced his lingering thoughts of happiness and Kathy.

"Talk to me Buffy. Tell me what you've been though." he pleaded.

"I…I can't." she mumbled.

She tried to step away from him, but he maintained his hold on her arms and she didn't fight to free herself. She seemed conflicted by her need to be both as close to him and as far away as possible.

"It's me, Buffy. It's Angel. You can tell me. I'll understand."

"No. You won't." she breathed darkly. "Not this."

"Oh God Buffy, what did they to you?" he gasped.

"They pulled me out."

He shook his head imperceptibly as he realized they were talking about two different things. He was asking her about her time in the hell dimension, but she was referring to Willow and her friends saving her. Completely unsure of how to react to her, he simply followed the direction in which she steered the conversation.

"I know they did Sweetheart." he said soothingly. "I'm so glad they did."

"They ruined everything…" she muttered, pushing the heels of her palms into her eye sockets.

Before he could process the words she had spoken, she stood on her tiptoes and crushed her mouth to his.

He was so shocked to have Buffy's lips on his again that his movements at that point were nothing more than muscle memory. His arms snaked around her back, pulling her flush against his chest. His cool tongue pushed its way into her hot mouth. Nothing warmed his ice cold body like she did. Every nerve ending in his entire body was on fire.

1775. That school in Vienna. The entire classroom of children, all drained of their blood and then propped back up in their chairs like little corpse dolls for their parents to find. His mind screamed at him, and he felt the demon inside wrestling for control as his happiness skyrocketed.

A tiny Buffy hand crept underneath the fabric of his shirt, clawing urgently at his skin. It sent a rush of electrified tingles up and down his spine.

1860. Drusilla's terrified howling as she fled from him, her family slaughtered right in front of her eyes.

Angel started to come over lightheaded and he searched desperately for another heinous memory to calm his racing mind. But he was so distracted by the ministration of Buffy's fingers that he couldn't think straight anymore.

He gasped and pulled back away from her, using all his strength to push her backward at the same time. Immediately she came for him again, and it took every ounce of control he had within himself to shove her away once more. This time he held her at arm's length, a death-like grip on her biceps to prevent her from approaching a third time.

"Buffy, stop." he sucked in several unnecessary breaths. "You have to stop. I'm so happy. You have to stop."

She studied him silently, that dark and haunted look ever-present in her eyes. "I need you. Please, I need you. Don't deny me this."

He screwed his eyes painfully shut and shook his head in anguish. He knew he was on the precipice, and he knew that she knew it too. He had no idea why she would want to put him through such torment. She had to have known what seeing her again would do to his emotions.

"Please, Buffy." he begged her. "I'm happy. I'm too happy. This is dangerous. You can't. We can't."

Suddenly her mood changed again. She angrily shoved his hands off her arms and lashed out with a closed fist that hit him squarely in the jaw. He reeled back from the blow, but managed to stay on his feet.

"Happy?" she screamed, her voice rising almost an entire octave. "Happy? You're happy?"

"Buffy, seeing you alive and safe is so treacherously close to pure happiness for me." he spoke calmly and raised the palms of his hands in an act of submission. "Don't you know?"

"Want me to change that for you?" she continued to rage, her eyes now clouding over with hatred and disdain.

"You can't." Angel said. "Nothing could change that for me tonight."

The smirk that spread across her lips was sadistic; foreign on a face that usually held such ethereal beauty.

"I was in heaven." she said, her soft voice flowing from her mouth like dry ice.

Angel blinked several times and shook his head to try and clear his mind. He suspected he hadn't heard her correctly, or possibly he hadn't understood the intention of her words.

"You…I…what?" he spluttered.

"I was in heaven." she repeated, this time loud and determined. "I was warm, and safe and surrounded by love. I wasn't a slayer anymore. I was free. My fight was over and I was free."

Angel reached out to grab her but she deftly sidestepped his hand.

"No." he gasped.

But then, it was so obvious. Why would someone as good and pure as Buffy ever spend a second in hell? Why would the greatest slayer in history, who had saved the world more than once, languish in an eternity of fire and brimstone? She had laid her life down for her sister, despite knowing the truth that the girl was nothing more than a bundle of energy and a myriad of planted memories. Why would such a sacrifice result in anything except entrance to heaven?

And then Buffy opened her mouth again, and out spilled her pièce de résistance.

"One second I'm in paradise, and the next I'm hot and confused and gasping stale air in the pitch black darkness."

In an instant Angel knew exactly what she was referring to and he took the words like a sucker punch to the gut. His drew his right hand up to his mouth to try and conceal his shock and dismay, but did a very poor job of it.

There was just no way Willow would have left her best friend in all the world to claw out of her own grave. There was just no way.

It had been centuries since he'd endured the act of digging himself out of his grave, but he still remembered the event as one of unspeakable horror. And yet her experience must have been so much worse, because he hadn't needed to breathe on the way up. Nor had he been alone – Darla had been waiting for him.

"How long does the damn dirt stay embedded under your fingernails?" she jeered. "Because I scrub them and I scrub them yet my hands still stink like the earth I dug through that night."

Angel said nothing, merely shook his head, too dazed to respond.

"How long will I see the inside of my own coffin every time I close my eyes? How long will I dream about just lying there in the darkness until the air runs out and I can return to heaven again?" she implored.

"Buffy," he said, his voice coming out as more of a strangled sob. "I didn't know."

"Still feeling happy, Angel?" she sneered. "Still at risk of letting Angelus come out to play? Because maybe it wouldn't be so bad to go a few rounds with him right now. I could use the distraction."

"Buffy…"

She frantically shook her head, as if trying to chase demons from her own mind. Her aggression deflated in front of him.

"Sorry." she sighed, running her hands through her hair in an act of defeat. "Actually I guess I should be thanking you. I've been numb ever since I came back. I knew you'd be able to make me feel something. Hadn't banked on it being anger, but at least it's something…"

Everything suddenly made sense to him. The haunted look in her eyes, the trauma, the anger and most of all the kiss. Of course he would be the one to make her feel again. But anger wasn't what he wanted for her. It wasn't what she deserved to be reduced to. His beloved Buffy was standing in front of him and she was broken, but he knew he could fix her.

His mind drifted back to the night of her seventeenth birthday. The night they had given themselves completely to each other. The night they had melded into each other, their souls entwining with their bodies as they made love. He knew it was the closest he would ever get to heaven.

Yet Buffy had been there. Truly, honestly, been there. And he knew she longed to return; could read it plainly on her face. He couldn't give her that, couldn't send her back, but he could get her damn close.

Without another word Angel grabbed her hand and dragged her capriciously back to the Plymouth. He could hear her unsure footfall on the gravel behind him but she dutifully followed. He opened the passenger door and pushed her onto the shiny leather of the back seat. He hesitated only a moment before following her, closing the door behind him and covering her tiny body with his own.

Instantaneously her mouth found his in the dark enclave of the car and Angel found himself fleetingly thankful that he hadn't wasted time putting the top down before he left the Hyperion, such had been his haste to meet her.

She moaned underneath him, one hand raking through his hair and the other tucked under his shirt on the small of his back. She drew a leg up between his, mewling as he moved his lips from her mouth down to her jawline and then the hollow of her throat. Then, swallowing down his common sense and better judgement, Angel reached for the band of her jeans and slipped a hand inside.

1890. The sweet Russian grandmother who Spike held down and forced to watch as the group drained her large family of children and grandchildren.

1998. The exhilaration of posing Jenny Calendar's dead body in the watcher's bed, before setting up a romantic scene for Giles to find.

Buffy moaned again, rocking her hips against him. He looked down at her, her eyes firmly closed and her mouth slightly open as she let go of her pain and fought to find a path back to heaven. He kissed her again, wondering if he could taste heaven on her lips, but knowing he didn't deserve it even if he could.

1998. The bliss of perching on the windowsill and watching Buffy sleep at night, clutching her Claddagh ring and silently whispering his name as the devastation rolled off her in waves.

1999. The look on Buffy's face as he told her their relationship was a freak show and he didn't want to be with her.

2000. The big, fat tears rolling down Buffy's face as she sobbed that they didn't have enough time, and she would never forget, never forget, never forget.

She gasped and shifted suddenly, and he knew she was getting close to release. He sucked in a sharp intake of air he didn't need and tried to refocus his efforts to stay in control of his own emotions, even as he unlocked hers. Digging deep, he found new thoughts even more horrifying than his most savage memories.

Buffy's soul screaming in pain as she was unexpectedly ripped from heaven.

Buffy alive and thumping frantically on the lid of her coffin as she slowly suffocated.

Buffy choking and inhaling the dirt as she clawed her way to the surface.

Buffy's hands, torn and bloody, with nobody around to tend to them.

With his human face still firmly in place, Angel bent his head to the crook of her neck and clamped his blunt teeth down onto the scar he'd left there years earlier. Not hard enough to break the skin or inflict any real pain, but enough to awaken the bond he had created when he'd bitten her.

It was all she needed to push her over the edge. She cried out in bliss and he pulled back just in time to watch the peace and happiness wash over her face for a few brief moments, as she climbed as close to heaven as she would ever manage on the mortal plane.

Seconds later it was over. Her eyes snapped open to look at him, but the haunted look had been replaced by despair. Her face crumpled in anguish and she pushed him away.

Angel scampered upright and molded his body against the side of the car, trying to give Buffy as much space as possible. She snapped up to a seated position beside him, clawing her hands at her throat and chest as the emotions overwhelmed her.

"It's not enough. I want it back. I want more." she cried.

Then she burst into tears, and it was like watching flood gates open for the first time. The sorrow engulfed her completely and she gave herself over to the misery.

"It's okay. I'm here." he murmured, reaching a hand tentatively toward her.

She shook with hysterical sobs as she threw herself into his arms. He held her tightly against his chest, and she hid her face in her hands and cried like the world depended on it. Which, quite likely it did.

Eventually she fell into a deep and restful sleep. Angel suspected that slumber had been eluding her since her return, so he simply kept her cradled in his lap and methodically stroked her hair as she softly snored.

Three hours later, Buffy awoke with a start and her hands shot out above her head, slapping chaotically at the roof of the car. Angel winced as he realized the enclosed space in the back of the Plymouth had caused her to recall the moment she woke inside her coffin.

"It's okay Buffy." he said, snatching her tiny hands and holding them in his own. "You're safe."

Hearing his words, her mind seemed to snap back into focus and she remembered where she was. She smiled up at him and reached up to cup his cheek. For a long moment, they said nothing, simply sat staring at each other and losing themselves in each other's eyes.

Are you still my girl?

Always.

"I should go." she said, suddenly turning away from him and straightening her clothes. "I need to get home before Dawn gets up."

He didn't want to let her go. Wanted to keep her with him, if not forever then just for a few more days. A few more weeks. A few more months. A few more years. Okay, so yes he wanted to keep her forever.

Yet even as he thought the words, he knew that just wasn't a possibility. There was too much separating them at this juncture of their lives. So much responsibility pulling them in different directions, as much as he hated to admit it.

But he also knew that Buffy had a long way to go in her emotional recovery, and he worried that she wouldn't recover productively if left to her own devices.

"Buffy when you get home I want you to talk to Giles or Willow, okay?" he urged her gently. "You need to talk about your experience and get it all out in the open or the darkness will consume you."

She shook her head fiercely. "No Angel. They can't know the truth. They can never know. It will hurt them. I can't hurt them."

"Buffy you need to talk to someone, okay? If not Willow or Giles then Xander. If not Xander then Anya or Tara. Anyone. Okay? Just talk to someone." he said insistently.

She softly nodded her acquiescence as she leaned around him to open the door and step out onto the asphalt, buttoning her pants as she went. He followed her out, leaning nervously on the side of the car.

"I'll try." she promised. "I'll talk to someone."

God, he loved her. He wanted nothing more than to stay with her. But he could smell the sunrise not far away and he knew he needed to make a move sooner rather than later.

"Call me if you need me." he said. "I mean it. Day or night."

She nodded again, and smiled up at him sadly. He knew she was as reluctant to leave as he was. She stood on her toes and planted her hands determinedly on his shoulders, before leaning up to place a firm kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, my Angel." she whispered against his ear. "Thank you for making me feel."

It wasn't until he was half way home, the taste of Buffy lingering sweetly on his tongue, that he realized she didn't have a drivers license and he had no idea how she'd reached the meeting point at all. He had most likely left her there to catch the bus home, and he wasn't sure what kind of terrible person that made him. Or maybe the real problem was that he wasn't a person at all.

It wasn't until he was pulling the Plymouth into the Hyperion hotel that it occurred to him their intense reunion had in fact taken place in the dark parking lot of a roadside diner. He hadn't even taken her inside and bought her a coffee. He truly was the scum of the Earth.

When he slipped inside the building, he was surprised to see Cordelia sitting on the steps in the lobby. It was clear she had been worried about him, and was waiting for him to return home.

"You look like hell." she gasped, standing to face him as he crossed the room.

"No." he said darkly. "I look like heaven."

He brushed past her and climbed the stairs to his bedroom, allowing himself to sink into a deep and powerful brood.

He didn't surface for three days.