Work Text:
Angel doesn’t bother to catalogue much about the person in his hotel, other than the fact that they’re attacking Lorne, before he’s launching himself at them and sending them flying across the room. It’s really the flip she does, spinning herself in the air to land in a crouch, that helps Angel register who exactly it is, rather than the blonde hair or her face or even the familiar determined look in her eyes.
They say each other’s names at the same time, eyes widening. Buffy straightens with a bit of panic in her eyes. “Oh god, I’m sorry,” she says, before Angel can get a word in. “Is he a friend of yours? I shouldn’t have attacked, he just startled me, and, um.” She purses her lips as Angel regains enough awareness to turn and help Lorne to his feet. Dimly, he hears footsteps thundering down the stairs.
“Yes, I’m green,” Lorne says, giving Buffy a taut smile, tension in his eyes. “Have been my whole life, thank you very much.”
“Is everything alri- Oh, it’s Buffy.” Cordelia’s tone of voice changes swiftly as she makes the observation. “This’ll be fun.”
“I really am sorry,” Buffy repeats, giving Lorne a tentative smile. It looks even faker than the circumstances would usually call for.
“It’s quite alright,” Lorne huffs, dusting off his suit jacket. Angel’s hand hovers somewhere around his elbow, ready to offer support.
“She didn’t hurt you, did she?” Cordelia says. “Buffy’s pretty strong.”
“Bit of an understatement,” Buffy says. She’s still mildly apologetic, but her annoyance at Cordelia seems to drag her out of the deer-in-headlights look she’s had most of this conversation, thankfully.
“Buffy? The other blonde chick you used to date?” Gunn asks, apparently also in the room. Angel feels horribly out of whack.
“And you are?”
“That’s Gunn,” Angel says, gesturing as he speaks. “And this is Lorne. And, uh, you know Cordelia, of course.”
“Right,” Buffy nods. “And, uh. Who does the baby belong to?”
“Oh,” Angel says, finally registering that Connor is nestled in Gunn’s arms, wrapped in the baby blanket with the little pastel flowers. He steps over and reaches out to take Connor, supporting his head and cradling his body the way he knows he’s supposed to, then presenting him to Buffy like the precious thing he is. “Buffy, this is my son. Connor.”
He feels a little awkward saying it, but the sheer joy and love that the words my son invoke in him wash away any discomfort. Buffy, however, has returned to the deer-in-headlights expression, complete with a not insubstantial note of disbelief.
It’s a long moment before she speaks. “Your… son.”
“Little bundle of joy, isn’t he?” Lorne says, reaching out to let Connor clutch at his finger.
“Right,” Buffy says, eyes fixed on Connor, mildly dazed.
“He’s supposed to be in bed right now,” Angel says.
“He was crying,” Cordelia says. “Loudly. Gunn and I were trying to get him back to sleep, when we heard the commotion.”
Angel nods. “You three head to bed, then. Buffy and I can discuss… things, while I get him back to sleep.” He glances over at Buffy. “Unless it’s urgent?”
“No,” Buffy says, shaking her head, finally pulled out of her stupor. “Not urgent.” She grins. She used to be much better at faking her smiles.
“Right, then!” Cordelia says, ushering Gunn back up the stairs. Lorne gives Angel a glance, to which Angel nudges him away with an elbow.
He and Buffy head to Connor and his room in silence. It’s not awkward, necessarily, but it’s not as comfortable as it used to be. Buffy seems pulled taut, anxious and uncomfortable in a way that Angel wishes he could just chalk up to the baby reveal.
He remembers the way Buffy had been, in their talk immediately after her revival. She had been in an awful state, one he had thought - hoped, maybe, was just a temporary side effect of coming back. Looking at her now, she seems almost worse for wear, but far less willing to collapse into Angel’s arms the way she had then. And not just because his arms were already full.
“So,” Buffy says, as Angel settles himself into the chair next to Connor’s crib. He nods for her to sit on the bed, which she does delicately, perched like a bird ready to take off at a moment’s notice
“So,” Angel repeats.
“How exactly did this, um, happen?” Buffy says, keeping her voice low. Her gaze is locked on Connor in that bewildered way again.
Angel briefly considers making some stupid joke about the birds and the bees, but he dismisses the idea as swiftly as it comes. “You remember Darla?”
“Darla. Wasn’t she one of the Master’s goons?” Buffy squints. “I thought she was dead.”
“She is. Was.” Angel lets out a half-laugh, half-sigh. “It’s complicated. She was brought back to life, for a bit, and I… I made some bad decisions.”
“I thought vampires couldn’t have children,” Buffy says, tilting her head. “You’ve mentioned it.”
“Yes. Well. It’s an unprecedented miracle. Connor’s the subject of some prophecies Wesley is trying to decipher.”
“Right,” Buffy says, hesitantly. “I never imagined you as the fatherhood type.”
Angel half-shrugs, trying not to disturb Connor. “I mean, I never thought it was possible. Even when I was alive, really. But… Connor’s the best thing to ever happen to me.”
Buffy nods slowly, and now she’s looking at Angel, something wistful in her eyes.
“You seem happy,” she says, her voice small. Angel wishes he could reach out to her.
“I am,” he says. “But you didn’t come here to talk about me.”
Buffy draws her shoulders inwards. “We can. Talk about you. And Connor. It’s fine.”
Angel just looks at her.
“Can’t I just visit you? Without a reason?”
“Always,” Angel says, but he keeps his gaze fixed on her, allowing her the space to talk. She stays quiet for a long time, the only noise being Connor’s occasional baby noises.
“It’s just,” Buffy starts, then cuts herself off. Eventually she continues. “There’s a thing. That happened. And Xander keeps telling me to talk to someone about it, and I don’t want to, and I’m not going to, but. I thought if I paid you a visit it might shut him up. For a bit.”
“Are you okay?” Angel asks, as if he doesn’t know the answer. From what it seems, Buffy hasn’t been okay since she came back from the grave.
“Nobody got hurt,” Buffy says. Which isn’t an answer. Not really. Angel doesn’t press.
They sit in silence a while longer, Angel rocking Connor back and forth. Eventually, he starts quietly warbling out an old irish lullaby, keenly aware of Buffy watching him. In the dim lighting, it’s hard to decipher her already guarded expression. Finally, after Connor’s finally fallen asleep and Angel has carefully tucked him away in his crib, she breaks the silence.
“So have you just been raising him alone?”
“Everyone here has been helping,” Angel says. “Cordelia especially. But they’re all… there’s no second parent.”
“I can’t imagine Cordelia taking care of a baby,” Buffy says, a hint of laughter on her voice.
“She’s pretty good with him,” Angel says fondly. “You’d be surprised.”
Buffy looks a bit skeptical. “Well, I wouldn’t be much better. Dawn is enough of a handful.”
“I’m sure you’re doing great with Dawn.”
Buffy shrugs. “It’s hard. I’m trying my best.” She looks at him, at Connor. “I can’t imagine having to take care of a baby.”
“Honestly? It hasn’t even been that long, but… I can’t imagine life without Connor.”
Buffy laughs quietly and shakes her head. “I’m glad. That you’re happy.”
“I want you to be happy too,” Angel says. Buffy, still perched on his bed, like she’s afraid to rumple the covers, stares at some point of nothing near the carpet. She looks fragile in a way he’s never seen her.
“I will be,” she says. Angel stands up, brushes a hand against her arm, as gentle as can be. For a moment, Angel thinks she’s going to break into tears, but she just leans in, closing her eyes. He stands there for a moment, then wraps his arms around her, tucking his chin over her head as she curls into his chest.
They end up curled up together on the bed, on top of the covers, legs tangled together with Buffy’s face buried in Angel’s chest. Angel can feel the rapid pace of her heartbeat, the way her hands clutch at the fabric of his shirt. They’re positioned on his front, as if ready to shove him away at a moment's notice.
Angel holds her gently, listening as her heartbeat gradually slows to a healthier pace, as her breathing becomes less carefully monitored and more natural. He only allows himself to fall asleep once she has.
It’s still mostly dark when he wakes up, but there’s a cold, barren space beside him on the bed. Angel doesn’t think much of it until he hears the quiet retching coming from the bathroom, which has him up on his feet before he has time to think.
The door is just barely ajar, the light off. Angel nudges it open slowly, flicks the light on, hunches over and walks in softly.
“Buffy? It’s Angel.”
There’s no reply, with Buffy hunched over the toilet, other than the slightest twinge of her shoulders. Angel leans down next to her, reaching over slowly and carefully.
“It’s just me,” he says. She flinches at his touch, but doesn’t bat him away, so he carefully pulls her hair up.
Even after she stops retching, Buffy remains curled over the toilet, her eyes squeezed firmly shut.
“What happened?” Angel asks.
“Nothing happened,” Buffy says. “I stopped him.”
“Stopped who?” Angel asks. Buffy shakes her head so violently Angel worries she’ll throw up again.
“Nobody. It’s nothing. Go back to bed.”
Angel cups Buffy’s cheek, guiding her head upwards. “You should wash your hair.”
Buffy just frowns, shoulders pulled forward and eyes downcast. Angel moves to guide her backwards, one hand on her shoulder, when she tenses and shoves him off.
Angel catches himself on one arm, giving her a concerned look but not moving into her space.
“I’m sorry,” Buffy says. Angel shakes his head. “I just-” She curls in on herself, eyes locked on Angel’s face. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m fine,” Angel says.
Buffy blinks, harshly. She gives Angel a long look before turning away, fixing her eyes on the wall.
“Do you want me to go?” Angel asks. He really doesn’t want to leave her alone right now, but he’s not sure she wants him here. He’s not sure if he belongs near her while she’s like this, anymore.
Buffy blinks again, slowly, gaze unfocused when she opens her eyes. She shakes her head, only once. “You said I should wash my hair,” she says, leaning back against the bathtub. “Can you… um, were you offering. To…” Buffy closes her eyes again. Delicate has never been a word Angel associated with Buffy, even in her worst moments, but right now — she looks as though she’s about to break.
Angel shuffles towards her slowly. “Whatever you want,” he says, gently pulling her hair into the bathtub. He reaches over to grab the dangling showerhead, tells Buffy to lean back and close her eyes. Buffy doesn’t speak, eyes squeezed shut.
Angel works as gently as he can. He’s helped Cordelia wash her hair a couple times, after battles where she didn’t have the energy for a full shower, and Cordelia wasn’t afraid to complain when he pulled too hard. Buffy doesn’t complain, doesn’t say anything, just complies whenever Angel nudges her head to a different angle. She stays tense the whole time, shoulders hiked subtly.
“All done,” Angel says, standing up to grab Buffy a towel. She leans up slowly, reaches up to take the towel from him, drying her hair with methodical movements. Angel watches, hands clasped at his front, until she’s done and moves towards the door.
Something must have woken Connor up at some point, because he lets out a gurgle as Angel walks past. He huffs warmly, then leans over the crib, crossing his arms on the railing. “You really don’t want to go to sleep tonight, do you?” he says, receiving a tiny baby-grin in return.
“I still can’t believe you have a son,” Buffy says. When Angel glances over, she’s watching him with a soft look in her eyes. Angel looks back down at Connor, as awake as a baby can be.
“Do you want to hold him?”
Buffy leans back at the statement, eyes widening and hands curling up. “He’s so… little.”
“Babies tend to be,” Angel says, reaching down and plucking Connor out of his crib. He turns to Buffy, holding Connor out. She stares at him for a long moment, shoulders hiked.
“What if I hurt him?”
“You won’t. Just make sure to support his head.”
Buffy takes another moment to think, then reaches forward and takes Connor with slow movements, like Angel will rescind the offer at any moment. She looks down at him, and even in the low light, Angel can see the uncertainty on her face. It’s odd - once upon a time, there was no one Angel would have trusted with his hypothetical children more. Now, looking at Buffy and Connor together feels off-kilter, like two worlds intersecting where they shouldn’t.
It’s not long before Buffy moves to hand Connor back over, waiting until he’s firmly nestled in Angel’s arms to pull back. She looks at them with a bit less bewilderment now, something fond settling into her expression as she watches Angel rock Connor back and forth.
“Fatherhood suits you,” she says. Angel smiles.
“You go back to sleep,” he says. “I’ll join you in a minute.”
Buffy nods. Angel continues to rock Connor until he falls asleep, then settles him back into his crib and crawls into place beside Buffy, pulling the covers up over their shoulders. Buffy’s forehead brushes against Angel’s shoulder, their legs knocking together, but neither of them move to curl around the other.
Angel doesn’t remember falling asleep, but when he wakes up there’s light peeking through the edges of his thick curtains, and Buffy is pulling the door to his room open.
“Buffy?”
She glances back. “I’m heading back to Sunnydale,” she says softly. She goes for a grin, the least fake one so far. “Hellmouth can’t survive without its slayer for long.”
Angel pushes himself into a sitting position. “Stay for breakfast, at least?”
Buffy hesitates, glancing at the door and Connor’s crib and finally Angel himself. Her shoulders settle ever so slightly. “Alright.”