"Dreams of Thee"

Author: Deb Nockels
Email: Debnockels@aol.com
Notes: This story begins with the events of "Surprise" but things take a much more satisfactory turn. Satisfactory to me, anyway. Obviously, in the process I've departed from the canon. Dialogue from the show has been altered, or omitted, but I have tried to keep the characters in character with the exception of Jenny's uncle, who is portrayed here in a somewhat less favorable light than he was in the episode. His name, Enyos, I - uh - borrowed from Buffy the Vampire Slayer: The Angel Chronicles: Volume 3, by Nancy Holder. Also, I am fairly clueless as regards Romany culture and traditions, so pretty much just invented my own.

---

Buffy knocked at the door again. This time she called out, "Angel?"

"Hold on." Angel's voice came from behind the door. It opened, and he stood there, blinking, sleepy-eyed and tousled. "Hey," he greeted her, obviously surprised by her presence, then his gaze sharpened as he took in her distress. "Is everything okay?"

"That's what I came to ask you," Buffy said. "You're okay, right?" Angel looked both bewildered and concerned. Concerned for her. "Sure." He stood aside, gesturing for her to enter. "I'm fine. What's up?"

Buffy walked inside, turned and looked up at him. "I had a dream, that Drusilla was alive."

Drusilla - Angel's vampire-child, once his bosom companion in evil until his soul had been returned by the gypsy curse, then afterward the partner of Spike, another powerful vampire. Drusilla - dangerous and unpredictable because she was totally insane. In the past she hadn't been a real problem due to her physical weakness. But if she had somehow survived the fire Spike had started in the church so they could escape, that probably meant that the ritual Spike had performed to heal her had worked. And Drusilla at full strength was not someone Buffy wanted to meet head-on.

Angel went over to a chair and picked up a white T-shirt draped across the back. "What happened?" He pulled the shirt over his head, adjusted it over his torso.

"She killed you. Right in front of me." Buffy heard the tightness in her voice.

"It was just a dream," he soothed her. "It wasn't real."

"It felt so real." Her voice shook; she fought hard not to give way to the tears threatening behind her eyes.

Angel reached out and cupped her cheek. "It wasn't. I'm right here." His voice was reassuring.
Buffy moved her face into the comfort of his palm, and swallowed. "Angel, it's happened before. The dreams I had about the Master, they came true."

"Not all your dreams come true," he reminded her. His hand moved from her face to the lapel of her jacket.

"No," Buffy agreed. "But some of them do, Angel." Cold with fear, Buffy looked up into his face. "What if Drusilla is still alive? We never saw her body." In her distraught state she forgot that they never did see vampires' bodies, only their ashes, and what with the fire and all, trying to find the remains of a single vampire in the rubble would have been an exercise in total futility.

"She isn't." Angel's voice was firm, his brown eyes steady on hers, comforting. "But even if she was, we'd deal."

She knew he was trying to calm her distress but she couldn't let it rest, couldn't forget the terror of her dream, of seeing Angel killed right before her horror-stricken eyes. Couldn't forget Drusilla's taunting voice as his body disintegrated in a shower of ashes: "Happy birthday, Buffy."

The words stumbled from her lips. "But what if she - "

This time Angel's reassurance was nonverbal: he caught her shoulders, bent down, and kissed her. Slowly. Thoroughly. His lips, as always, were cool, but, as always, their touch sent warmth seeping through her body. Fear-knotted muscles relaxed and, sighing, she leaned deeper into the kiss, only to feel him a moment later gently pulling away. (No, don't stop.)

"What if what?" he asked softly.

Dazed, she looked up at him. Her worry had vanished; all she could think about was him, his physical closeness. "I'm sorry. Were we talking?" Her voice was a mere thread of a whisper. Angel's eyes darkened, and she melted into his arms again, reaching for his lips. Not for the first time she regretted the disparity in their heights. (I need three-inch platforms - or a step-stool), she thought in the instant before all coherent thought fled under the onslaught of his mouth.

Different; this kiss was different. It wasn't the first time by any means that their kisses had turned passionate, so why was it different now? Why was the atmosphere suddenly so intense? Maybe because they were alone together in his darkened apartment, with his rumpled bed where he'd obviously been sleeping before she knocked at the door so enticingly close? And maybe, just maybe, because only moments before Angel had been only half-dressed? She hadn't consciously paid attention at the time but now the memory flashed before her eyes: of Angel standing at his door, shirtless, of his hunky chest and arms pale in the dimness of his room, the trim waist, of the drawstring pants tied just above his hips, loosely, as if inviting her to -

(Oh, God. Time to leave.) Somehow she managed to stop kissing him, even to stand away from him. "I'm sorry, I - I have to go to school," she stammered.

"I know," Angel replied, but his voice was breathless, and as she made her way to the door he followed her and took her by the arm, pulling her back into his embrace. She didn't blame him. How could she, when that was exactly where she wanted to be?

(Oh, God!) Her thoughts in chaos, Buffy strained toward Angel, kissing him, feeling his lips on hers, his strong arms holding her, hands caressing her neck, her shoulders, her back... slipping down to her hips. He pulled her against him, hard, and a gasp escaped her throat, a thrill of fire going through her as she felt the pressure of his body through their clothing. "God, Angel, you feel - "

So good, she was going to say, but her breath failed her altogether, her bones feeling as if they'd turned to jelly. Feverishly they kissed and then, incredibly, Angel broke away. She knew the effort it took for him to do that because she was in the same condition. For a second it was all she could do to stand upright.

"You have to go to school," he reminded her - and himself? - his voice low and husky.

"Yes," she whispered, shaken to the core with turbulent emotion. She stumbled backward, staring into his eyes. "All right. This is me. I'm going."

Angel followed closely, step for step, until her shoulders hit the door. For an instant they looked at each other, and what she saw in his face set her heart pounding so that she wondered how it stayed in her body. Then he was there, his body pressing her against the wood, his arms around her, his lips laying cool fire on her mouth, her cheek, her neck.

Buffy reached for his shoulders, pulled herself upward to kiss his face, his mouth, the corner of his jaw. The strong, smooth column of his throat seemed to beg for her lips, and she kissed it, again and again. Just then she felt Angel's lips and tongue on her shoulder. A wave of longing swept through her and in unthinking response she nipped his neck, hard. His little gasp of shock - and passion? - brought her to her senses.

Oops. Biting - probably not a great idea, she thought, and couldn't help but be amused. She looked up and saw by the tiny smile on Angel's lips that he too recognized the irony. They stood, breathing heavily, reluctantly allowing the mood to dissipate, sharply aware of what had almost happened between them. What could happen yet.

"You still haven't told me what you want for your birthday," Angel said at last.

Trying to change the subject? Buffy smiled up at him. "Surprise me," she said simply. Angel smiled back at her, that crooked smile she so loved and saw too seldom, usually only when they were alone - and not always then. More often his expression was somber, withdrawn. He never forgot the demonic creature he had been, she knew. Or what that creature had done.

"All right; I will."

Buffy stared dreamily at his face, loving the warm brown eyes, the thin, mobile mouth, the pale, smooth skin that never seemed to show whisker-stubble. (Does he even have to shave?) she wondered. (Maybe his hair stopped growing when he changed. His chest is smooth too; maybe he has no body hair at all.) Abruptly she realized where this line of thinking was taking her, and stopped it. She focused on the moment, savoring the warm glow between them. "This is nice," she breathed. "I like seeing you first thing in the morning."

"It's bedtime for me," Angel pointed out mildly.

"Well then, I like seeing you at bedtime." She heard her own words, realized how they sounded, and grew flustered. She laughed nervously; her eyes dropped. "Uh... I mean..." she stammered, then glanced up at him, feeling very young and gauche.

"You know what I mean."

"I think so." Then Angel stared intently into her eyes. "What do you mean?"

The intensity of his gaze caught her, held her. All of a sudden Buffy no longer felt shy. Calm descended on her like a mantle, and the truth came without hesitation. "That I like seeing you. And the part at the end of the night, the part where we say goodbye - it's getting harder."

His gaze never wavered. "Yes. It is." Silently they stared in each other's eyes, lost in dreams and possibilities, then Buffy slid out of his arms. Angel opened the door, they kissed briefly one more time, and Buffy left.

---

Deep in thought, Jenny walked down the corridor to the computer science lab, absently dodging groups of chattering students heading for their lockers. Buffy's dream from the night before last still worried her and she didn't understand why Rupert didn't seem more perturbed about it. Granted, he was preoccupied with planning for Buffy's surprise party that evening, but still... Buffy dreaming about vampires - particularly about specific acts by specific vampires - had never, in her admittedly limited experience, proven inconsequential. Buffy distracted about Angel's safety...

The attractive young teacher sighed. That too bothered her, in more ways than one.

(I don't like how fast this attraction between them has grown - No - ) she corrected herself instantly. (Don't lie even to yourself, Jenny. It's more than attraction; you know it is. It's love, pure and - goddess knows - anything but simple. If Buffy's dream is a true foreseeing... )

She entered her classroom, thinking of the nights she had secretly followed the pair when they were on patrol. How many times had she watched in disapproval as they seemed to forget everything but the joy of being together, of being in each other's arms - only to see them snap to instant attention when danger threatened. (If anything happens to Angel, what will Buffy do?) Dumping her armload of papers onto her desk, Jenny stared down at them, then shook her head determinedly and began sorting through them. It was almost time for first period to begin.

"Jen-ny Cal-en-dar." The thickly accented voice came unexpectedly from behind, making her jump. She whirled around. A man stood there, an older man, perhaps in his sixties, dressed in clothing that proclaimed his indifference to contemporary fashion. Old Country clothing. Very Old Country. Her heart sank. (Oh, no!) Her uncle stepped forward, and Jenny composed herself as best she could.

"You startled me."

"You look well." His voice was edged; he was not a happy camper.

Jenny looked down in the face of her uncle's displeasure. Inwardly she sighed, knowing she should have expected something like this to happen. Her letters to the clan elders had grown fewer in the past months. Fewer? She gave a little grimace. How about practically nonexistent? But how could she write reassuring reports about Angel's continued torment from her clans curse when in the depths of her own mind she was regretting that it need continue at all

"I know I haven't written as much lately. I've been busy."

Enyos' voice was cold, his accent thick. "I cannot imagine what is so important, to make you ignore your responsibility to your people."

Jenny winced. "I've been working," she said lamely, "and - "

He interrupted her. "The elder woman has been reading signs. Something is different."

Jenny looked at him in surprise. "Nothing has changed. The curse still holds."

"The elder woman is never wrong," Enyos stated flatly. "She says his pain is lessening. She can feel it."

Jenny bit her lip. Her uncle advanced on her, his gaze piercing. "There is..." Her voice trailed off. (Damn. I hate this.)

"There is - what?" He leaned forward, his authority as her elder forcing her to reply.

"There's a girl." (Forgive me, Buffy.)

"A girl?" her uncle repeated in disbelief. "How could you let this happen?"

(Excuse me?) Jenny gaped at him. "I have no control over their lives. Besides, the damage was done before I got here. Just how do you think I could have stopped it? By killing her? Killing him? Uncle, I promise you that Angel still suffers. And he makes amends for his past evil. He even saved my life."

"So you just forget?" Enyos' eyes flashed fire. "Forget that he destroyed the most beloved daughter of your tribe? That he killed every man, woman and child that touched her life?"

She looked down at her desk. (No, I haven't forgotten,) she thought but dared not speak aloud. (But it's been one hundred years. How long should vengeance be carried on?)

As if in answer her uncle continued on, voice a muted roar. "Vengeance demands that his pain be eternal, as ours is. If this girl gives him even one minute of happiness, it is one minute too much!"

Jenny allowed her impatience to show. "Angel has suffered for one hundred years, uncle. Believe me, he never forgets the evil he did," she said. "How much harm could one minute of happiness do?"

Enyos straightened, a grim smile on his lips. "Harm enough. One moment of true happiness and it all ends."

"Ends?" Jenny stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that if ever this... fiend... finds true happiness, the curse is over, as if it never existed."

"But then what happens?" asked Jenny. She frowned. "The curse restored Angel's soul. If the curse ends, what happens to his soul?"

Her uncle shrugged. "He will lose it. Again."

Still she struggled to understand. "But... if he loses his soul... the demon will once more be in control. Angelus will return."

He nodded. Jenny felt a chill sweep over her. "You can't be serious. That makes no sense at all! Without his soul Angel will once again be a vicious, demonic killer."

Her uncle glared at her. "For the Romany vengeance is a living thing. You know that, Janna, or you should. It passes through generations. It commands. It kills. Angel was meant to suffer, that was the reason for the curse, the only reason. Not so that he could live as a human. One moment of true happiness, of contentment ... one moment where the soul that we restored no longer plagues his thoughts - and that soul will be taken from him."

"Uncle, this is crazy!" Jenny pleaded. "The girl I told you about is the Slayer. She's in love with Angel and he - "

"A Slayer in love with a vampire?" Enyos laughed with derision. "What nonsense is this? Or does she not know what he is? Has he deceived her too with his angelic face?"

"It's not nonsense." Jenny faced him squarely. "Her name is Buffy. She ignored the look on her uncle's face that said as plain as words, What kind of a name is that for a Slayer?

"She is strong, very strong. Just in the time I have been here she has destroyed more vampires and other demons than I can count. She knows who Angel is and what he has done, and she loves him with all her heart."

"Then she is a fool, and not worthy of her calling." Enyos was contemptuous. "Why do you concern yourself with her? You are Rom - Kalderash. She is gadji, an outsider. She is nothing to you!"

Jenny stood firm. "She is the Slayer, uncle. She is important to everyone, Rom and gadji. Twice that I know of she has saved this world from destruction, and even now I fear that a new evil threatens us."

"Bah!" Her uncle dismissed her words with an angry gesture. "You have forgotten who you are and what your duty is, Jenny Calendar!" He spat out her name as if it burned his mouth.

She stared at her uncle as if seeing him for the first time. How, over the years, could she have failed to recognize the obsession? The stubborn refusal to see the reality of the world? Most Rom held themselves somewhat aloof from the outside world, interacting with it only as much as was needed to survive. But this...her uncle's attitude was beyond aloofness; it reeked of fanaticism, and under the present circumstances that could be fatal.

Jenny's resolve firmed as Enyos turned and stalked out the door. Somehow she would fix this mess. And fast. Some special sense of her own was warning her that time was of the essence.

As soon as her last class was over she rushed out to her car, praying that Snyder-the-All-Seeing wouldn't catch her leaving early. Fifteen minutes later she pulled onto a long, rutted driveway that led to a large three-story house, weathered with age, once-white paint peeling off in long, curling strips. She got out of the car and walked up the sagging steps. The front door lay open despite the coldness of the day. Before she could knock a voice came from inside. An old voice, cracked with age. A familiar voice, though not heard for many long months.

"Come in, child. I have been expecting you."

Jenny stepped inside. Her gaze went immediately to the adjoining room, where an elderly woman bent over a large wooden dining table set up in the middle of the open space. "You were?" she asked, mildly surprised. The old woman moved one palm over the cards laid out on the tables surface. She swayed rhythmically. "The cards never lie," she crooned.

Jenny laughed. "You old charlatan! Now how did you really know I was coming here, aunt?" She walked over and hugged the old woman fondly. Yliana. Her great-aunt, sister to her mother's mother.

The woman straightened up with a chuckle, gestured at a telephone on the floor behind her. "Your uncle called to tell me what had passed between you. It wasn't too hard to guess that you would want to talk to me."

"I need to talk to you," Jenny corrected. She pulled up a chair, sat down. "Aunt, this has gone far enough. Angel must not lose his soul again. The very thought of Angelus walking the earth once more is..." She shivered. "Terrifying. It must not happen."

"It need not happen," Yliana said mildly.

"Really?" Jenny looked at her with surprise - and hope.

"Of course not. All you need to do is warn Angel of his danger. I do not believe he wishes to become a demon again."

"No," Jenny agreed slowly, "But - "

"But what?" her aunt asked, looking keenly at her.

"The only way for Angel to stay out of risk is for him to leave Sunnydale," she answered unhappily. "To leave Buffy."

"Ah. This is the girl he cares for?" Yliana looked especially bland, which cued Jenny that something was up.

"The girl he loves," Jenny said steadily. "The girl who loves him. Did my uncle not tell you of her?"

"He did," her aunt admitted. "Is it true that she is the Slayer?"

"Yes."

"Incredible," muttered Yliana, then made a face. "Buffy. What a name for the Slayer! What kind of mother would name her child Buffy, anyway?"

Jenny rolled her eyes. "It's just a name, aunt, and don't try to change the subject on me."

Yliana let it drop. "How could such a thing happen? The Slayer in love with a vampire?"

Jenny shrugged. "I'm not really sure. It happened before I arrived. As best I can tell, Angel started out by warning Buffy when something bad was going down. Then he began helping her when things got a bit too rough. Now - " She shrugged again. "I've seen them in action, aunt, and they're a formidable team. They almost move like one, as if they know each other's minds."

She looked up to find her aged relative watching her with dark, glittering eyes. "You like this girl, this Buffy," Yliana remarked.

"I do, very much," Jenny nodded. She took a deep breath. "And I like Angel." There. It was said.

Silence. Jenny dropped to her knees beside the elderly woman, took one bony hand in hers. "Aunt, hasn't he suffered enough? It's been one hundred years - " She was interrupted.

"If it were nine hundred years, it would not be long enough!" her uncle shouted. He stalked into the room, followed by a group of three men. Jenny recognized them and her heart gave a thump. (Mathiu. Poul. Benjamin. The elders. He's called an enclave of the Elders.)

Enyos turned to the other men. "Hear her words. With her own lips she admits her perfidy. She has betrayed our trust, betrayed her people. She no longer deserves to be called Kalderash. I demand her expulsion."

Stunned beyond speech, Jenny could only stare at him. Poul, a short, wizened man with a thatch of thick, white-streaked hair, spoke. "A moment, Enyos. All I have heard is an opinion, not a confession of guilt."

"Were she true to her people, to her heritage, she could hold no such opinions," Enyos hissed. "Her opinions are betrayal in themselves."

Poul regarded him. "So now we tell our people what they may think or not think? Is that what you believe?" Enyos glowered at him, but said nothing. Poul looked at Jenny. "Janna."

Jenny rose to her feet, inclined her head in respectful greeting. "Elder."

"Your uncle charges that you have failed in your duty, that you have betrayed your trust. What have you to say?" Although Poul's tone was formal, his eyes were reassuring. Jenny relaxed a bit; at least she had not already been tried and judged. Except by her uncle.

"I have betrayed nothing," she answered quietly. "I was sent here to watch Angel, to make sure the curse still held fast. I have watched, and I have seen the curse at work. Angel remembers the evil he has done, and he regrets it. He atones. He suffers."

"But not enough," her uncle said harshly. "Not now, not since he met this girl. His nights should be endless hours of torment and despair. His sleep should bring him no relief. Not for one minute should he be able to forget what he was and what he did! The day he stops suffering for his crimes he is no longer worthy of a human soul."

"And so he loses it?" Jenny retorted angrily. She glared around her. "I said it to you before, uncle, and I say it now, that's insane! You would condemn the world by setting Angelus loose, all in the name of avenging a girl who died a century ago?"

She extended pleading hands. "Don't you see how senseless that is? Angel with his soul intact is a good person. He helps the Slayer, he fights and kills demons. Don't we all benefit from this?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" a voice drawled. A figure emerged from the hallway, a man, dressed in appallingly bad taste, a battered hat tilted rakishly on his head.

"Who are you?" Benjamin confronted him, his weathered face creased with displeasure.

"Call me Whistler," the stranger replied jauntily. "For now, at least."

"What are you?" Yliana stood up, came toward him. "You are not human."

Whistler regarded her with respect, bowed slightly. "No, ma'am, I'm not. I'm a demon." He folded his arms and leaned against the wall, looking highly amused.

"A demon?" The third elder - Mathiu - stepped forward. At 6'3" he towered over the diminutive Whistler. He looked him over carefully. "You don't seem very... demonic."

Whistler shrugged. "Well, see, there are demons and then there are other demons. I'm one of the other kind."

"Meaning what?" Enyos demanded. He advanced threateningly. Whistler glanced at him, unimpressed. "Back off, Enya. Meaning I'm a good demon."

Her uncle swelled with outrage. "My name is Enyos!"

"Enya - Enyos." Whistler shrugged, patently uncaring. "Names don't mean a lot to me. I change mine frequently."

"Calm down, nephew, before you have a stroke," Yliana quelled the irate man, then looked at Whistler. "You are one of those who tries to maintain the balance between good and evil? "

Whistler nodded. "That's me."

"Why are you here?" Yliana persisted. "This matter does not concern you."

He shook his head in reproof. "You know that's not true, Elder Woman. Come on, I know you've seen it in the cards."

"I have seen a great troubling," the elder woman replied slowly. "But also I have seen its ending."

"Look again," Whistler advised quietly. His manner held no trace of mockery now, only chilling sincerity. Jenny wet her dry lips as her aunt walked back to the table and sat down. In silence they all gathered around her, watching while she shuffled the deck and slowly laid out the cards. In silence they waited for her to speak.

Yliana hissed in shock; her face grew white. "I see two evils waiting in the shadows. Both are terrible, both capable of destroying the world. One is much closer than the other; its time draws very near. It must be stopped immediately." She swallowed.

"Bingo!" said Whistler softly. "And if innocent lives - many innocent lives - are not to be lost, Angel must not change back." Yliana looked at Poul, and nodded. "He speaks truth. This also I have seen."

Enyos broke in. "This means nothing! No one is trying to change him back."

"No," Jenny said. "You only want to deny him any chance at happiness."

"He must pay for his crime!" shouted Enyos.

"He has paid!" Jenny shot back. "For one hundred years he has paid! Give the guy a break!"

"Never!"

"What about Buffy?" she demanded. "What has she done to deserve this misery? What crime is she paying for?"

"For her stupidity in falling in love with a vampire," her uncle said with withering scorn. Jenny began another angry retort, but Whistler stepped in between them.

"Excuse me," he said smoothly, "but I want to be sure I understand the situation here. Correct me if I'm wrong. About a hundred years ago the vampire Angelus fed off a member of your tribe, and killed her. In punishment, the elder woman cursed him by returning the soul to his immortal body so that he would suffer eternal remorse and torment."

"That about covers it," Jenny said. Whistler nodded and pursed his lips. He pushed his disreputable hat to the back of his head and surveyed them, hands in pockets. "Uh-huh. Am I the only one who sees the flaw in this supposed vengeance?"

"There is no flaw!" Enyos glared at them. "It was the perfect punishment: eternal suffering."

"But who was doing the suffering?" asked Whistler. He eyed Enyos for a second, then without warning whipped a knife out of his pocket. In the blink of an eye he flicked it open and held it to the other man's throat. Everyone stiffened in shock, but they stayed put.

"You know, Enya," he said. "Using that kind of logic, if I should cut your throat right here and now I wouldn't worry about retaliation at all." He stepped back, fixed them all with a glare. "Because you folks would go and punish the damn knife!"

"He killed the favorite daughter of our clan!" Enyos all but shouted.

"No." Whistler shook his head. "Don't you know anything about vampires? It wasn't Angel who killed sweet little Roscika. It was the demon."

(How does he know her name?) wondered Jenny, then her eyes widened as she took in his words.

"It was his body," maintained Enyos stubbornly. "His hands held her down, his mouth drank her blood until she died."

Whistler sighed. "I guess I have to explain it to you in words of one syllable. Let's have a little game of Pretend." He pointed at his chest. "Me - vampire demon. He held up his knife by the blade and pointed at it. "Knife - Angel." Suddenly he hurled it past a startled Enyos. It stuck, quivering, in the wall behind him.

"Does the knife have control over how it is used?" he demanded. "If I wanted to kill someone with it, could it stop me? Well, neither could Angel. It was the demon, folks - not Angel! Angel wasn't even there! He died when the vampire killed him. His soul was gone! It had been gone for more than a hundred years! And you folks - you called it back! You forced it back into its body - a body still inhabited by the demon, mind you - and condemned it to an eternity of torment."

His tone was scathing. "Angel as a human was a wastrel and a rogue, I grant you. But he never knowingly harmed anyone. He wasn't a killer. Tell me, did he deserve that?"

"He's right," Jenny muttered. "Sweet goddess, he's right. Why didn't we see it?"

"Because we were too intent on revenge," Poul said in a grim voice. "Because our eyes were blinded by grief and rage." He looked around at the others, catching their eyes one by one, and one by one they nodded, except for Enyos who refused to give way.

"By a vote of four to one the Elders have decided to end the curse on the vampire Angel. Yliana," asked Poul, "how can the curse be lifted?"

The elder woman shook her head. "It cannot be lifted, not without setting the demon free. "

"Wouldn't that be a good thing?" Mathiu looked puzzled. "The demon would be gone and Angel would still have his soul."

"It would be good," Yliana agreed, "if we knew two things: First, where would the demon go? Second, what would happen to Angel? His body is more than two hundred years old, Mathiu. The only thing that has kept it alive is the demon inhabiting it. If the demon is set free, Angel might very well die. Probably will, in fact."

Jenny stared at her. "Wait a minute. You're talking as if something could actually be done. I thought those magicks had been lost to our people."

Yliana raised an eyebrow. "Did you?" was all she said. After a second Jenny accepted this. She walked over to Yliana.

"All right, so the curse can't be lifted, but can it be changed, aunt?" she asked. "Changed so that Angel can find happiness without risking the loss of his soul?"

Yliana nodded. "It can be done."

"How long will it take?" Jenny asked. Her aunt handed her a piece of paper. "If you will get these items to me tonight, then all will be ready in the morning. The preparations will take a couple of hours; the incantation less than one."

Jenny stared at it, then at her great-aunt, who gave a slight shake of her head that said, Not now. Instead of the question she had intended, she merely said, "I'll get them, aunt," and slipped the paper in her purse.

"So we just forget the evil done to little Roscika?" Enyos asked bitterly. "Forget that the demon who killed her still roams the world?"

A great light filled Jenny's mind. "No!" she exclaimed. "No. Don't you see?" She looked at her uncle with shining eyes. "The punishment will still hold for the demon. It will still be imprisoned in Angel's body, still curtailed by Angel's human soul. Could there be any greater agony for a demon than to be stuck, helpless, in the body of a good man? It loves violence, but the only violence it experiences is against other evil beings. It craves hot, fresh blood, and only receives it in cold, sanitary plastic bags." She sank down in a chair and chuckled. "If the curse is altered so that Angel's soul no longer suffers, it is the perfect punishment!"

Enyos stared at her for a moment. Then, slowly, a grim smile creased his face and he turned to the others. "She is right. Very well. I agree with the vote."

"There is one more thing," Liana put in. "Janna, Angel must be told what is to happen. The procedure tomorrow morning will not go unnoticed by him. There will be... certain side effects." Her eyes went to Jenny. "He may feel weak or dizzy." She shrugged. "Or it may have the opposite effect. He may be filled with energy, restless, unable to rest. It can go either way."

"I'll tell him tonight," Jenny promised. She hesitated, knowing she needed to leave to get the items needed for the casting but wanting, needing to talk with Yliana. Her dilemma was solved by the departure of the male elders. Enyos paused at the doorway and said, stiffly, "Janna, I was wrong about you. I'm sorry."

Janna inclined her head in forgiveness, knowing how difficult it was for her proud uncle to say even that much in apology. For a second gratitude softened his eyes, then he nodded at her and left. Jenny again turned to Yliana.

"Aunt," she began, then stopped and searched the room with her eyes. "Where did Whistler go?"
"Who knows?" Her aunt made a gesture of tired resignation. "Did you wish to speak to me, child?"

"Uh, yes." Jenny brought her mind back to the business at hand. She fished the list out of her purse and held it up. "You had this all ready for me. You knew you were going to need these things. How, aunt? How could you know..." Her voice trailed off as her aunt merely looked at her with dark, inscrutable eyes. "Never mind," she sighed. "There is another matter, aunt. I don't want to lie anymore. I want to tell Buffy who I am and why I was sent here. And her Watcher."

She felt the color rise in her cheeks. Yliana raised a bland eyebrow. "Her Watcher?" she inquired.

"Yes," Jenny said, striving for nonchalance. "He's the school librarian. His name is Rupert Giles."

"Ah." Yliana studied her face, her old eyes kind and wise. "You care for this man too," she observed.

Jenny gave up. She nodded. "Yes. I do. He's stuffy and he can be pompous and long-winded at times - did I mention that he's British? - but he's kind and gentle and brave, and I - I think I love him, aunt."

"And he?" Yliana wanted to know.

"I'm not sure,' she said slowly. "I think maybe he loves me, but..." She bit her lip. "I just don't want to lie to him anymore."

The elderly woman looked thoughtful. "Tell him the truth, my child. I will inform the other elders of my decision."

Jenny stood up and hugged the frail body. "Thank you, aunt."

The woman waved her hand in dismissal. "Thank me by getting me what I need."

"I will," promised Jenny. "Tonight." Then she left.

For several moments after the sound of Jenny's car had faded, Yliana sat staring into nothing. Then she scrutinized the cards displayed on the table in front of her and said, "I know you are here, you might as well show yourself."

"What did you see for her?" asked a voice. Whistler stepped once more into view. Yliana merely looked at him in silence, then put a finger on one card. It showed a black-cloaked and -hooded skeleton wielding a sword and riding a white horse. Death. The demon whistled.

"How?" he asked.

"Angelus," was all Yliana said. Her voice was bleak. Whistler nodded, slowly.

"This is a good thing you are doing, Elder Woman," he told her. "Many innocent lives will be saved. And two deserving people will be given a chance at happiness."

---

As she pulled out of the driveway Jenny looked at the clock of her car. Heavens, was it only four o'clock? She felt as if an entire day had passed since she left the school, not a mere hour and a half. Well, that was all the better; it gave her more time, and time was in short supply right now.

She glanced at the sky, where low-lying clouds were already tinged with pink from the setting sun. (In an hour it'll be dark. Okay, first things first. Find Buffy and Rupert, and 'fess up. Arrange to talk with Angel. Drive to that magic shop and get auntie's stuff, then get it to her. Then attend Buffy's birthday party. Piece of cake - I don't think.)

She drove back to the school, pulled with a screech of tires into the almost empty lot, parking haphazardly across at least two parking spots. Her shoes made little noise on the tiled floor as she walked to the library. She pushed open the doors. "Buffy?" The room appeared to be empty.

Rupert came out from his office, spectacles in one hand, an open book in the other. "Jenny?" He smiled at her, that tentative, Is-she-really-here-to-see-me? smile that normally got her right in the pit of her stomach. Now she ignored it.

"Isn't Buffy here?" she asked him.

He looked somewhat taken aback at her brusqueness. "Er, no. No, she left early, about half an hour ago, to check on Angel. She's worried about him. Her dream, you know."

Jenny was surprised and a bit perturbed. "But it's not dark yet. Won't he be asleep?"

"Possibly he was," Giles acknowledged. "But vampires don't really, well, sleep like the dead, if you'll pardon the expression. They can be awakened just as we can."

"Oh." She digested that bit of information, and frowned. (So Buffy's alone with Angel in his apartment. Oh, no. That's too dangerous just now.) She grabbed Giles' tweed-clad arm. "Rupert, we've got to go there - right now. They can't - I mean, it's not safe for them to be alone - oh, just come with me and show me where Angel lives. I'll explain in the car." She pulled him toward the exit, ignoring his protests. "Come on!"

Once outside Jenny raced to her car, flung herself into it and turned the key, scarcely waiting for Giles to jump in beside her before putting it in reverse. Tires squealing, the car sped backwards for several yards before she stopped it with a jerk that flung Giles against the dashboard, a motion that then repeated in reverse as she threw the car in drive and stomped down on the gas pedal. Giles hit the back of the seat with a grunt.

"Jenny!" he gasped. "Be careful!"

She spared him not a glance, intent on traffic. "Better buckle up, Rupert. I'm in a hurry."

"So I gathered," he said dryly. She heard the click of the safety harness, sensed him looking over at her. "What's this all about?"

She was silent a moment. "I'm not sure where to begin." She inhaled deeply, exhaled with a groan. "Rupert, my name is Jenny Calendar, but I also have another name: Janna Kalend. I'm a Rom of the Kalderash clan."

"Rom," Giles repeated. "You mean, Romany? Gypsy? Turn left here."

She executed a skillful left turn in front of an oncoming truck just as the traffic light turned yellow, ignoring both Giles' gasp and the blare of the truck's horn. "Yes. Romany. I didn't come to Sunnydale by accident, Rupert. I was sent here by my clan elders to keep an eye on Angel." At his direction, she made another turn.

"On Angel?" Jenny felt Giles turning sideways in his seat to look at her more fully. "You're of the Kalderash, you say. Isn't that the tribe that cursed Angel? Go three blocks, turn right," he added.

"Yes. I was supposed to make sure that the curse was still working, that he still suffered for what he had done."

"I see," he said. She heard anger in his voice and risked a glance at him. "Stop right here."

Jenny pulled over. "Is this it? I thought you said three blocks."

"Why are you telling me this now?" he wanted to know. "Why do you want to know where Angel lives?"

She looked at him in surprise. He was in full Watcher mode, dispassionate, waiting for answers. "What? You think I want to hurt him or something?" She shook her head. "No, Rupert. I need to find him because he's in great danger of losing his soul again. And you know what that will mean."

Rupert turned pale. "That... Angelus will return?" At her nod he swallowed hard. "Take the next right, it's the second building on the right." As she put the car in gear, he asked, "How does Buffy come into this?"

"She could be the means by which it happens," Jenny said quietly. "Rupert, I only found this out today. The way the curse works right now, if Angel experiences even one minute of true happiness then his soul is lost again." She stopped in front of a large concrete building. "This is it? It looks like a warehouse."

"It was, at one time." They got out. "Angel chose it because it has very few windows. The sunlight, you know." That made sense, she had to agree. As they walked through the entry and turned down the short hall, he continued, "One minute of true happiness. With the way he and Buffy feel about each other... good lord, it's a miracle that hasn't already happened."

He knocked at the thick door. No response. He pounded at it with his fist, called out, "Angel? Buffy?" He pounded again.

A second later the door opened. Angel stood there, looking strange... almost flushed Jenny would have said, if such a thing were possible for a vampire. What he didn't look was welcoming. "Giles? Miss Calendar? How can I help you?" He didn't invite them in.

"Angel," Jenny blurted out, "I'm really sorry for this intrusion but we have to talk to you. It's urgent."

"Extremely so," Giles added.

Angel looked unhappy but stood aside for them to come in. " All right." They entered, looked around the empty room. "Where's Buffy?" asked Giles as Angel closed the door. "I thought she was with you."

"I am," Buffy answered, coming in from an adjoining room. She too looked strange... definitely flushed, her attention not really focused on the visitors. I think the cavalry arrived in the nick of time, Jenny thought with a little shiver.

Buffy smoothed her tousled hair with her hands. "What's up, guys? Suddenly she looked fearful. "You've heard news about Drusilla, that she's alive." Angel went to her and put his arm around her; she leaned against him.

"No, no," Giles hastened to reassure her. "Nothing like that. It's... well, it's something that Jenny - Miss Calendar - needs to tell the two of you." They turned identical glances on Jenny: puzzled, concerned, and still a bit resentful of the interruption.

Jenny sighed. "May we sit down?"

"Of course; forgive me." Angel motioned them over to a sturdy but not overlarge upholstered couch. Jenny settled next to Giles, their elbows touching. "Can I get you something to drink?" They both refused. Through the doorway Jenny could see into the room Buffy had emerged from, where a glimpse of a rumpled bed gave mute testimony as to where this relationship would inevitably lead. Angel pulled two armchairs close for himself and Buffy; their hands reached out and entwined. Jenny was sure they weren't even aware of the action.

"All right, we're sitting," Buffy said. "What's going on?"

Jenny clasped her own hands tightly, rested them on her knees. "You aren't going to like what I have to tell you. At least, not the first part of it. But please hear me out; I promise it gets better." She took a deep breath, glanced at Giles for reassurance, and launched into her tale. When she got to the part about being a Kalderash Rom, Angel stiffened to attention.

"I was sent to watch you, Angel," she told him. "To make sure that you continued to pay for the death of my clanswoman."

"Why now?" he asked quietly. "After all these years?"

"Because our Elder Woman read signs that told her you weren't suffering as much as you had in the past. I was sent to find out why, and to stop it." Her eyes went to Buffy, sitting upright in her chair.

"To spy on him, you mean," she said flatly. Jenny hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. "Yes."

"And what did you find?" Buffy challenged her.

Jenny smiled a little. "You know that already. I found - you. I saw you and Angel together, and I had my answer."

"Great." Buffy's voice was tight, her face cold and hard. "Terrific. Thanks very much for telling us the truth - finally." She stood up. "Now how about you leave?"

Jenny shook her head as Giles interrupted: "Sit down, Buffy. There's more you need to hear. You and Angel." After a rebellious look at Giles' serious face, Buffy slowly sat down again.

"Why did you decide to tell us this?" Angel asked. "What changed?"

Jenny set her jaw grimly. "What changed is that today I learned more about the curse. I found out that if you have even one moment of true happiness, Angel, then the curse will be nullified."

"Nullified? You mean it'll go away? But - " Buffy looked confused. "That's good, isn't it?" She saw the expression on Angel's face, the expression of someone seeing straight into hell, and said again, uncertainly, "Isn't it?"

"No," Angel whispered. "It isn't good. There's nothing good about it." He rose and walked to the far side of the room, where he stood hunched over his folded arms as if in physical pain. "I'll have to leave, Buffy. You're not safe as long as I'm here, as long as we're together." The anguish in his voice wrenched Jenny's heart. Buffy sprang up and went over to him, grasped his arm.

"What do you mean, 'leave'?" she demanded. "Angel, you're scaring me." And, indeed, her voice was shaking. She shot a desperate glance at Jenny and Giles. "Someone explain!"

Giles voice was gentle. "Buffy, if the curse is dispelled then Angel will lose his soul again. The demon will regain control."

Buffy stared at him. "The demon?"

Giles nodded. "Angelus."

Stricken, Buffy looked up into Angel's face. "You wouldn't be... you?"

Angel shook his head. "I'd be him. Buffy, you know what Spike is like." Dumbly she nodded. "As Angelus I'm worse. Much, much worse. I would kill you and your friends and your family without a second thought - if you were lucky."

He briefly closed his eyes; his voice rasped. "Remember what I told you about Drusilla, what I did to her? For your own safety, Buffy, I have to leave."

He moved to embrace her, then stepped back, a hopeless expression on his face. "I'm afraid to even touch you," he whispered, a whisper that ended in a strangled sob. With a soft cry, Buffy flung her arms around his neck; Angel crushed her to him, bent over her protectively. They held each other tight, bodies molded together, oblivious to anyone else in the room.

"We'll make it work, Angel!" said Buffy, fiercely. "Somehow we'll make it work." Angel made no reply, but Jenny saw the shine of tears on his cheeks.

She cleared her throat. "Excuse me. Remember I told you that the news gets better? Well, my great-aunt, who is the Elder Woman of my clan, is working to alter the curse."

Angel lifted his head. "Alter it? Alter it how?" He straightened.

"I don't know exactly how," Jenny admitted, "but she says she can fix it in some way so that this anti-happiness factor is removed."

Angel stared at her. "Can she do that?" His expression changed from despair to wary hope.

Jenny stared back. "She says she can," she said firmly.

His eyes searched hers. "And you believe in her?" She nodded. After a moment Angel looked away, but she noticed that he stood taller now, though his hold on Buffy didn't lessen.

Buffy suddenly released Angel. "What about the demon?" she asked, her eyes bright with sudden hope. "Can't your great-aunt, you know..." She made shooing motions with her hands. "Cast it out or something?"

Jenny looked regretfully at her. "Unfortunately, she believes that the demon is the only thing that is keeping Angel alive - existing, rather. Remember what his true age is."

"Oh," Buffy said faintly. "Not a good idea. Forget I said anything."

Angel asked, "When can she do this? How soon?"

"Tomorrow morning. Angel, I have to let you know that there may be some side effects as the 'casting takes hold." She told them what Yliana had said. Buffy frowned. "How severe will these be?"

"Don't worry about me," Angel said to her, smiling faintly. "I can deal with it."

"I know, but..." Buffy laid her hand on his chest. "I don't like to think of you in pain."

Angel covered her hand with his own, lifted it to his mouth and kissed it. Jenny blinked. Never had she seen this pair so demonstrative - further proof of where they were headed, as if she needed more proof. Beside her, Giles cleared his throat. She snapped to attention.

"Guys, we need to get a move on here," she said briskly. They turned blank looks on her.

"Doing what, exactly?" Buffy politely asked her.

Jenny opened her mouth, closed it again. "Well, nothing, I guess," she admitted. "I have some errands to do for my aunt but you two... you're right, there's nothing for you to do but wait." And be careful, she wanted to add, but didn't.

Giles rose. "I need to fill Miss Calendar in on recent events. Buffy, don't forget to come by the library at seven?"

"I'll be there," she promised. Angel came forward to escort them to the door. To Jenny's surprise he followed them out to the hallway, closing the door firmly behind him.

"What about the party?" he asked Giles.

"It's still on," Rupert assured him. "The locale has changed, that's all." He gave Angel an address.

"Good," Angel said. "She deserves to have a happy day for once."

"Indeed," Giles agreed. "And I'm going to do everything in my power to ensure that this party is a good one." He hesitated, then said, "Angel - you will be careful, won't you?"

Angel gave him a look. "Do you think I'd let anything happen now?"

Giles shook his head slightly. "I don't mean this thing with Buffy. I know neither of you will risk your soul. I mean Drusilla. Buffy did tell you that part of her dream came true, didn't she?"

Angel looked sober. "Yes. You can bet that I'll be looking over my shoulder. If Dru is alive - " He sighed. "There's no telling what she might do." Then he looked straight at Jenny.

"Why are you doing this? Helping me?"

Jenny fought the involuntary urge to take a step backward; his dark gaze seemed to go straight through her. She had never been so physically close to him, and in spite of everything she felt uneasy at his nearness. "Because I like Buffy and want to see her happy. Because I think ninety years of torment is enough - more than enough. And because I've come to know you, Angel. You're a good person, and I don't want that to change."

Angel blinked. "I'm a vampire."

"Yes," she agreed. "You're also a good person. And, Angel, some day soon, when all this is past, we need to have a discussion about this Angelus thing. I met someone today, a - well, a demon, actually - named Whistler, and - "

"Whistler!" Angel repeated sharply.

"Yes; do you know him?" She was surprised, though on reflection she didn't know why. Why shouldn't he know demons? He'd been living with one for ninety years.

"We've met." He seemed on the verge of saying more. Jenny waited a moment then, when he remained silent, went on. "Well, anyway, he had some interesting comments that I'd like to share with you."

"Let me know when." He turned back to his apartment and Buffy. Jenny and Giles walked to Jenny's car.

"Rupert, what was all that about Buffy's dream coming true?"

He told her about Buffy's mother breaking a plate, saying the same words as she had in the dream. "So Drusilla probably is alive," she sighed.

Giles nodded, said gloomily, "We have to assume so. And worse, she's probably regained her full strength."

(Oh, heavens. That's just what we need, an insane vampire roaming around the Hellmouth. A strong, insane vampire.) Silently they got into her car and she drove back to the school to drop him off. As Giles got out he bent down and said, "Will you meet Buffy here at seven and bring her to the party? Remember, it's a surprise. She thinks we're meeting to go over battle strategy on Drusilla. Tell her ... I don't know, tell her I had to get a book or something."

"Gee, I don't know," Jenny drawled. "Do you think she'll believe that?" Then she smiled. "What was that address again?" He gave it to her, and she drove off to find her aunt's ingredients.

---

(3:30 that same night)

Buffy and Angel ran through the driving rain, headed for cover. As best she could Buffy listened for sounds of pursuit, but apparently they had lost Dru's henchvamps for they reached Angel's apartment safely. Angel unlocked the door and they scrambled inside, bolting the door behind them. He stripped off his dripping coat, let it fall unheeding to the floor and turned to her. "You're shaking like a leaf." His hands stroked her shoulders.

"C-cold," she said, shivering. It was only partly true. She was drenched, water trickling from her hair, mascara no doubt smeared halfway down her cheeks, but she was shaking with more than just the cold. The evening had been one unpleasant surprise after another. Her happiness upon learning about the surprise party had been almost immediately ruined when she was attacked by the disembodied arm she had stopped the vampires from loading on the truck.

Shortly afterward it had been stolen back by the vamps in a bold raid that had caught them unprepared. Later, during a nonproductive research session by the whole gang, she had fallen asleep at Giles' desk and had yet another dream in which Drusilla killed Angel. The horror of it had jolted her awake, calling his name out loud, to seek comfort in his embrace - seeking it, but not finding it. Then, during the reconnaissance she and Angel had done at the Factory, the shock of finding out, first, that both Spike and Drusilla were still alive, and then that the Judge was fully assembled, followed by their capture by Drusilla's lackeys and the fear she refused to allow to turn to panic as the Judge reached out his deadly hand to burn the humanity out of her - all the events of the night seemed to rush together once they reached safety. Death had been close tonight for both of them. Too close.

"Let's get you into something dry," Angel said, going over to a tall bureau. He pulled out a thick sweater and pair of sweatpants. "Here." He handed them to her. "Put them on and get under the covers."

There was an awkward pause. "Just to get warm," he said hastily. Buffy gave him a faint smile. (Of course just to get warm. Oh, Angel, that's not the way it should be!)

"I'll fix you a hot drink," he added. She nodded and walked to his bedroom while he headed for the kitchen. The sight of the neatly made bed made her sigh as she recalled their session on it earlier that day, before Jenny and Giles had interrupted. I suppose I should be thankful they did, she thought. I *am* thankful, really. I just wish there hadn't been a reason they needed to.

She started to sit down, then realized that would get the bed as wet as she was. So instead she tossed the dry clothes on it, kicked off her shoes and began peeling off her leggings. The stretchy fabric clung to her like a clammy second skin, and the cool air made her shiver even more. Thankfully, she left them in a soggy heap on the floor and drew on Angel's soft, dry, blessedly warm sweats. Of course, they were miles too big for her, even with the drawstring pulled as tight as it would go and the hems rolled up like swollen balloons around her ankles.

"Here," Angel said behind her. She jumped. Busy with the sweats, she hadn't heard him come into the room.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you. Just thought a belt might come in handy." He handed her a soft length of fabric that looked as if it might have come off a robe; by winding it twice around her waist and tying it tight she was finally able to secure the pants. He watched her, a coffee mug in his hand, an amused look on his face. "For a minute I thought you were getting lost in there and I'd have to fish you out," he teased, handing her the cup. "Here, have a sip but be careful - it's hot."

Buffy blew on the steaming surface then took a cautious sip. Hot, yes, but not too hot. And it tasted delicious, whatever it was. She took another, bigger sip. Then another, and another. The hot liquid warmed her shivering body like, like...

Like Angel's kisses. "This is good," she said aloud. "What is it?"

"Hot lemonade," he told her. "With just a tiny splash of whiskey."

"Whiskey?" she said, surprised. "Really? Well, it's good."

Angel took the cup from her and set it down on top of the dresser. "Come on, get out of the rest of those wet things now, before you catch pneumonia." He stood smiling down at her. Buffy reached for the button of her drenched cardigan, then stopped and looked at him. A second ticked by before he realized her meaning. She could swear he blushed.

"Sorry," he said, and turned around. Buffy sat on the bed and unbuttoned the cardigan. As she pulled her left arm out of the sleeve, a tender spot on her shoulder blade surprised her and she drew in an involuntary, hissing breath.

"What?" Angel turned his head slightly. "What's wrong?" Alarm edged his voice.

"It's nothing," she hurried to reassure him. "It's just a - a cut - or scrape, or something." She craned her head, trying to see back there.

"A cut?" He half turned toward her. "Let me - " He caught himself. "May I see?"
Buffy swallowed, held the clammy cardigan over her chest, covering the thin knit camisole beneath. "Okay."

Angel came over and sat down beside her. She turned so he could see her back. A moment later his fingers gently swept the straps of her camisole down almost to her elbows, and she felt the garment slide down her back, baring another inch or three of skin. Her shivering returned, only this time it wasn't from the cold or adrenalin reaction. Angel's fingertips brushed along her back; her heart skipped a beat.

"I don't see anything," he said in a soft, husky whisper. "Whatever it was is already closed. You're fine." But he stayed where he was, fingertips caressing her back and shoulders. His arms came around her and she felt the touch of his lips on the nape of her neck. Buffy caught her breath; her heart pounded in her chest. She leaned back; his arms held her close and safe. He kissed her on the neck and throat, again and again, until she could hardly breathe.

"Buffy," Angel said, then stopped. She turned to look at him.

"What?" she asked, her voice ragged.

"I - " He stopped and wet his lips. "I love you, Buffy." The words now poured out with a rush, as if a dam had broken. "I've tried not to," his voice broke, "but I can't stop." His eyes were wet, as were hers.

"Me too," she whispered, incoherent with joy. "I can't either. "

"I almost lost you tonight. When you kicked the Judge, I thought that was the end," he said hoarsely. "I thought I'd never see you again." She remembered his anguished shout - Don't touch him! - remembered the burning shock of even that brief contact, and knew how real the danger had been.

They kissed, deeply, needing the reassurance of physical contact to counteract the knowledge of how close a call they'd had that night. Buffy let the cardigan drop, knew that her camisole was about to slip entirely off her body, and realized that she didn't care. In fact part of her trembled with eagerness to finally reveal herself to his eyes.

(Yes, look at me, Angel. Touch me. Love me.)

That last thought broke through the passion enveloping her like a thick cloud. Sanity returned in a sudden rush that made her moan out load. With a sob of disappointment, she pulled away. "Angel, we can't. Not yet."

"I know." Breathless, he leaned his forehead against hers, and she felt him trembling with the same emotions - love and need and more love - shaking her own body. "But we will. Later." He reached for the straps of her camisole, pulled them gently into place on her shoulders. Then his thumbs brushed a slow arc along the low-cut neckline. Buffy quivered. Angel looked at her with promise burning in his eyes.

"Later."

He rose, reaching out for the dry sweater still lying on the bed. "Here."

She took it. "I don't think I need this anymore," she said shakily. "I feel quite..." She searched for a flippant quip, but her mind, saturated with emotion, refused to cooperate. She gave up. "Warm."

Angel gave her a little smile. "But your clothes are still wet. You don't want to catch cold."

"No. I suppose not." He left and Buffy finally got out of the wet camisole. She had to admit that the thick, fleecy sweater felt much better. She stood up and went into the next room, where Angel waited for her. "We need to talk to Giles," she said without preamble

"Yes," Angel agreed. He went to the door, opened it. Buffy started past him, but he stopped her. "Wait. Spike knows where I live. He may have posted lookouts." He stepped forward and tested the air carefully. After a moment he came back to her. "I smelled blood."

"It could just be a dead squirrel or something," Buffy said reasonably.

Angel shook his head. "I don't think so. I sensed something else. I think there are vamps out there waiting for us - lots of them. I don't know about you but I don't feel up to another battle right now." She had to agree.

"Will they attack us in here?" For the first time she searched the room for vulnerable spots.

"No. They can't enter. Believe me, I've never invited any vampires inside this place."

She almost stamped her foot with frustration. "So we have to wait til the sun comes up before we can leave? Angel, we need to talk to Giles now. He doesn't even know the Judge has been assembled!"

"So call him."

"What?" She stared at him blankly.

He went over to a small glass-topped table almost hidden in a corner, and picked up a telephone. "Call him."

"You have a phone? You never told me you had a phone." Buffy knew she probably sounded like a dimwit but couldn't seem to help herself.

"Most people do," he told her, reasonably enough.

"Uh... yeah." She went up and took the phone, dialed the school's library number. He answered on the first ring. "Giles, it's me.

"Buffy, are you all right? Where are you? We were worried when we didn't hear from you. Is Angel all right?" Giles' clipped British tone had lost all its habitual coolness. "What's happened? Where are you?"

"Giles. Giles!" Finally she got through the torrent of words. "Giles, we're both fine. I'm at Angel's apartment. We got captured by Drusilla's vamps but managed to escape. No, Giles, we're fine. Listen to me! Spike and Drusilla are both alive and the Judge is activated."

Silence, except for the sound of Giles' indrawn breath. "He's assembled?"

"Assembled and ready for duty," she confirmed. "You could even say, eager."

Another silence. "Giles?" prompted Buffy. "You there?"

"I'm thinking." She heard him sigh. "Buffy, I - I simply don't have any good answers yet. I think you two better get back here right away. We need to put our heads together."

"Yeah, well there's a problem with that," Buffy told him. "Angel's place is surrounded by hungry vamps just aching to get their teeth into us. Or take us to Spike and Drusilla, I'm not sure which would be worse. We'll have to wait til daylight. I mean, I'll have to wait. Obviously, Angel won't be going anywhere because he's a vampire, and you know about the sun and..."

Giles cut through her ramblings. "Buffy? Are you all right?"

She couldn't seem to think. Her brain felt foggy and sluggish. "I don't... know..."

Angel came over and took the phone. She leaned against him, suddenly needing the support. "Giles, she's just exhausted. She's had a pretty rough night; she needs to rest. Can someone call her mother with a good story?"

"It's been taken care of already. Buffy is spending the night with Willow."

"Good. She'll see you in the morning, then." He hung up the phone, then lifted Buffy in his arms as easily as if she were a child and carried her across to his bed, where he set her gently on her feet. He lifted the bedspread and sheet and obediently she slid under them, scooting over next to the wall. Tucking the covers around her, he sat down next to her and said, "Get some rest now." He stroked her hair for a moment, then bent down and briefly kissed her. As he stood up to leave she put her hand on his arm.

"Stay with me, Angel. Please."

He hesitated, but only for a moment before lying down beside her. She slid into his arms, snuggled against his long body, her head resting on his shoulder in that hollow just made for lovers. Even as she whispered good night, she felt drowsiness creeping over her like a blanket. Angel's lips touched her hair, his voice whispered, "Good night, mavourneen," and her last conscious thought was to wonder what he had called her. Then sleep descended and blackness came.

---

Angel waited patiently through what little remained of the night. Tired though he was, he resisted closing his eyes. After all, he'd be sleeping soon enough once the sun rose. He wanted to be awake, to savor these few hours. From time to time he glanced down at the girl sleeping soundly in his arms. His courageous, exhausted, darling Slayer. How he loved her, had loved her from the very beginning when Whistler first showed her to him as she learned of her Slayer destiny.

(You touched me so deeply, even then. I watched you chatting with your friends at school, saw you Called, and I loved you. I knew the hardship and danger you would face as the Slayer, and wanted to protect you. Did Giles ever tell you how few Slayers live to see even their eighteenth birthday? I was determined you would be one of them, and so I decided to help you. How could I have guessed that you would love me too?)

How hard he had fought against that love, knowing the difficulties it would bring to both their lives. At first he'd tried to keep his distance, to stay aloof... only to fail miserably. Then he'd decided that he could handle it, that he could see her, be with her and help her, and still maintain control. That too failed as each such encounter only wound him more tightly in love's coils, until a night without her presence became a night of misery. He grew envious of her friends, of the time she spent with them; jealous that they could see her during the warmth of daylight, while his time with her was confined to a few hours of cold shadows. In particular he'd been jealous of the boy, Xander, whom he knew felt more for Buffy than just friendship.

Angel grimaced wryly. If truth be told, he still felt occasional twinges of jealousy when Xander was around. The lad's constant barbed zings at him didn't help. But Xander had proven himself a good friend to Buffy many times over, and he knew Buffy valued his friendship as she did that of the girl, Willow.

Willow. Angel smiled as he considered her. Sweet little Willow. Shy yet capable of amazing gutsiness. Intelligent. Mature. Computer whiz-kid. Everybody's favorite kid sister - except when it came to Oz. Oz, who amazingly had seen past the shy, girl-next-door exterior to the real person, and liked what he saw. Willow had bloomed since meeting Oz, and Angel hoped their relationship would grow. Anyone who could see a vampire dusted before his eyes and take it in stride was a friend - or boyfriend - worth having.

Buffy stirred, muttered something unintelligible. Her breathing quickened and her eyebrows knit together. She whimpered; one leg jerked beneath the sheet. Bad dream. Angel ran his hand soothingly down the arm resting across his chest. "Shhh," he whispered. "It's okay, you're safe. Rest."

He kissed the top of her head, crooning softly, and Buffy grew quiet. With a deep sigh she relaxed once more into slumber. He lifted her limp hand and kissed her fingers, marveling as he always did that her slender body could hold such incredible physical strength.

His thoughts returned to the events of the past twenty-four hours. What a kaleidoscope of events: Buffy's dream. Learning Drusilla and Spike were both alive. The Judge. And something of at least equal importance, Jenny Calendar's startling disclosure. (Thank God she and Giles came when they did. If they'd been even ten minutes later - well, maybe twenty - they would have been too late. Buffy and I would have made love. We were so close to it. And then - )

He shuddered. Then he would have become a demon again, perhaps the most evil vampire to walk in recent history. The Master may have been the oldest vampire in existence but Angel knew that if the gypsy curse hadn't changed everything, sooner or later he would have challenged the Master for supremacy. Probably not for another century or so, but eventually. (And I really believe I would have won.)

He must have fallen asleep in spite of himself, for he found himself waking with a start. Angel felt a difference in the atmosphere. He glanced at the window. Yes, the dark wasn't as thick as it had been. Only animals were as sensitive to the onset of dawn as vampires; it was a built-in early warning factor.

(It'll be daylight soon; I need to wake Buffy - but not yet. Let her sleep awhile longer.) The day would come soon enough, with more dangers and undoubtedly more surprises for them all. Hopefully the surprises would be pleasant ones but he wasn't holding his breath on it - so to speak.

He thought about Jenny Calendar - or Janna Kalend, to give her her Romany name. She seemed to have faith in her great-aunt, faith that the old woman could deliver on her promise to alter the curse so he and Buffy could love without releasing his resident demon. Please God she was right. Angel tightened his hold on Buffy, moved his cheek caressingly over her hair.

"This feels so good," she murmured.

"I thought you were still asleep." He kissed the top of her head. She moved a little, craning her neck to look in his face. Her face was pale and drawn, her eyes shadowed with fatigue, but their expression, calm and happy, more than made up for it. She smiled.

"I still like seeing you first thing in the morning."

"And I like seeing you," he said softly.

Her eyes examined his face with concern. "Did you get any rest?"

"A little, but mostly I was too busy enjoying having you here with me."

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you." Strange, how easily the words came now when before they had been so difficult to speak. A barrier had been crossed and he knew there would be no returning. Buffy raised up on her elbow and leaned over to kiss him. Her lips were soft and warm, but after a few seconds she pulled away. "Sorry; I forgot about the deadly morning breath. Strong men have been known to turn pale and flee in horror from it."

"I didn't notice anything," he told her, which was true. "As long as it's not garlic breath..." He let his words trail off, gave her a whimsical half-smile.

"Angel!" she exclaimed. "You made a joke!" Her delighted grin lit up her face. Angel couldn't resist; he caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers.

"It's been known to happen on rare occasions," he deadpanned. He gazed into her eyes, gently tugged her head down and kissed her again.

"I better go," she sighed when they stopped.

"Yes," he agreed. "You have to change and go to school."

"And you have to sleep," she said, then a startled look crossed her face. "I forgot! Miss Calendar's aunt is doing her curse reversal thing this morning." Worried, she sat up. "Shesaid there might be side effects. Maybe you shouldn't be alone."

"I'll be fine," he told her firmly. "Don't worry about me."

"I do worry about you. I can't help it." She looked down at him.

"I know. It's the same with me. But it'll be all right, Buffy." He slid out of the bed, held out his hand to her, pulled her to him. "I'll be fine." They kissed, then, reluctantly, Buffy gathered up her discarded clothing and walked to the door.

"I'll come back this afternoon," she told him.

He nodded. "I'll be anxious to hear what you've found out."

One last kiss, and then she left. Angel watched her as she walked away. (Buffy, colleen, take care. Don't let anything happen to you - I couldn't bear it.)

He went back into his apartment and closed the door. Once inside, he wandered restlessly from room to room, unable to settle. He poured himself a glass of water and drank it down, more for something to do than from actual thirst. Outside, the sky grew lighter and he pulled down the blackout shade before going over to the refrigerator to select his dinner. (Some selection. Let's see, shall I have lamb or beef tonight? Or how about pork?) Not that it made much difference; blood was pretty much blood. He grabbed a bag at random.

(I wonder when the old gypsy woman will start her spell? Will I know when she does? How will I know if it really works?) he wondered as he opened the plastic bag. Grimacing, he gulped the contents down. Refrigerated blood had the consistency of thin jelly. It kept him alive - or Undead, or whatever - but sure tasted awful. He'd have to pay a visit soon to the meat market for something fresher or the hunger would grow unbearable.

Without warning, white-hot pain stabbed him. He gasped and dropped the bag, staggered to the living room. The pain struck again; he doubled over, collapsed on the couch.

I think - it's begun, he thought. More pain, but not as sharp. A few minutes later, only twinges, then... no pain. He felt light-headed; the room swam in and out of his vision; his eyelids were leaden. The sunrise? It had never affected him like this before. (What's happening...) His consciousness faded.

---

"Well, the bus depot was a total washout, and may I say what a lovely place to spend the night. What a vibrant cross-section of Americana!"

Buffy strode into the school library just in time Xander's disgusted remark. "Sorry, Xander," she told him. Turning to Giles: "Any ideas?"

"Not yet." Giles gestured with his glasses. "The others have only just got here. I haven't had a chance to tell them."

"Tell us what?" Xander didn't like the sound of that at all.

"Spike and Drusilla are alive. The Judge is active," Buffy briskly summed up.

"Wait a minute." Xander was indignant. "You mean my visit to the Sunnydale Abandon-Hope-All-Ye-Who-Enter-Here Depot was for nothing?" They ignored him.

"Buffy, what can you tell us about him?" Giles asked.

"Not much." Buffy hated to admit it. "I just kicked him and it was like a sudden fever. If he ever got his hands on me..."

"In time he won't even need to do that." Giles sounded tense. "Once he regains his strength he'll be able to reduce us all to charcoal with just a look."

"Also," Buffy added, trying to sound more chipper than she felt, "not the prettiest man in town."

"So how do we get rid of this guy?" Cordelia looked scared. Xander checked an impulse to go over to her. She would only gibe at him, maintaining their public image of two people who despised each other. Their secret smooching sessions remained just that - secret.

"I'll continue my research," Giles said heavily, "looking for a weak spot. The rest of you should get to your classes."

"I better go too." Jenny picked up her purse. "I'll go on the Net and search for anything on the Judge." Giles thanked her, and they all filed out.

"How was Angel this morning?" Jenny asked Buffy as they walked down the hall. "Rupert told me what happened last night. Sounds like you two had quite an adventure, fighting the Judge and Drusilla's men. I mean, vampires."

"He was fine. Tired." Buffy glanced over at her, feeling a confusing jumble of emotion. Anger because the lovely young teacher had deceived them in the first place; gratitude because she had come over to what Buffy thought of as their side and was trying to help Angel. "Miss Calendar, when was your great-aunt going to start the thing - the ritual or whatever it is?"

"She probably began it right at daybreak."

"So about an hour ago. Not long after I left." Buffy looked worried.

Jenny tried to reassure her. "It should be over by now, Buffy. Auntie said it wouldn't take long. I really don't think you need to worry about Angel. He'll be fine."

"Something wrong with Dead Boy?" It was Xander, of course, giving forth with one of his usual zings. Buffy had never been in less of a mood to put up with it.

"No," she said shortly, then needing to vent her worry and frustration somehow, added maliciously, "He was just fine when we kissed goodbye this morning." She was sorry the moment she said it, and the hurt that flashed across Xander's face only made her feel worse. Before she could apologize, however, Xander turned on his heel and walked away. Willow touched her arm.

"He'll get over it, Buffy. Besides, he deserved it," she said seriously. "Angel's done a lot, helping you save the world and all. Xander needs to remember that." Then she leaned closer to Buffy. Her voice lowered suggestively. "So, you were with Angel all night after you left here?"

Buffy had to smile. "Yes, but not the way you're thinking. We got trapped there by some of Drusilla's vamps and couldn't leave."

"And?" Willow prodded. Jenny nodded goodbye as she turned into her classroom. Buffy and Willow plodded on.

"And - nothing." Buffy sighed tiredly. "There's a lot going on that you don't know about, Will, and there's just no time to fill you in right now. Maybe at lunch, okay?" Willow agreed and they parted ways, going to their separate classes.

---

Angel groaned. He tried to raise his aching head and immediately retched as nausea rushed in. Rolling over he spewed his recent meal onto the floor, feeling better the moment his stomach was empty. Gingerly he sat up, then as his head began to clear, stood up.

So far, so good. His first few steps were stumbling and slow, but he persisted and soon regained strength. Not full strength but that, he figured, was partly because it was daytime and partly because he was exhausted and needed to rest. But first he needed to clean up that mess on the floor, which he did, though the sight of the regurgitated blood was almost enough to start him retching again.

Afterward he stood, undecided. He needed to feed; the hunger in him was growing stronger by the minute. He could stave it off for the time being with what sat in his refrigerator, unappetizing though it might be, but he needed a pick-me-up. Walking over to the phone he dialed a number.

"Sam, it's Angel. I need a delivery, today. Yeah, the usual. Five o'clock? Thanks." He hung up the phone, devoured the contents of two plastic bags, and flung himself onto his bed. At once he sank into sleep so deep it was close to a coma.

---

Two-forty-five. Classes were over for the day, thank God. "What have you got, Giles?" Buffy demanded the moment the library doors swung behind her. She threw her purse down and perched on the big table while the others - Willow, Xander, Cordelia - fanned around her. Xander was still avoiding her, she noticed with regret.

"Nothing, I'm afraid." Giles looked and sounded defeated. He rubbed his temples. "Absolutely nothing."

"Me neither." Jenny had just entered. She looked as hopeless as Giles. "Zip. Nada. Nothing."

"No weapon forged by man..." Willow murmured despairingly.

"It took an army to kill him, yada, yada," finished Buffy. "Look, there's got to be a way!"

"There is!" enthused Cordelia. "All we need is an army." Everyone looked at her.

"Yeah, well, we don't have an army," Xander said sarcastically. He stopped, stunned by the recollection that suddenly popped into his mind. "Whoa. Whoa. I think I'm having a thought here. Yeah." He took a step forward. "Yeah. That's definitely a thought. And now I'm having a plan." He looked at his friends, excited.

"I've got a plan!"

"Well, may we hear it, please?" Giles enquired with strained patience.

Xander explained, and as they listened wary glances became excited ones. One hour later the group disbanded, confident they knew the strategy and, for the first time, hopeful that they - and the world - might survive.

Willow came over to Buffy. "Are you going to see Angel now?"

"Yeah." Buffy slung her bag over her shoulder. "I want to check on him, make sure he's all right."

Jenny approached. "Do you mind if I go with you?" In response to Buffy's look, she added, "I have an interest in this too, remember?"

Buffy remembered. "Okay."

"I hope everything's all right," Willow said softly. "I mean, I hope everything's all right." She gave Buffy one of her meaningful looks.

"Thanks. Me too," Buffy told her. (You have no idea how much I hope so.)

"My car's here; I'll drive you," Jenny offered. Ten minutes later they pulled up in front of Angel's building.

"He may still be asleep," Buffy said after her knock went unanswered. She knocked again then tried the knob. Much to her concern, the door opened. "He didn't lock it. He always locks it." She was worried. " Angel?" They went a little way inside.

"Angel?" Still no reply.

"The bedroom?" Jenny suggested.

Buffy nodded, went into that room. Angel lay motionless on the bed, still in the clothes he'd had on last night. "Angel." He didn't move. She went over to him, touched his shoulder. "Hey, sleepyhead."

No response. Panic began to spread. "Angel, wake up!" She shook him, and finally his eyes opened. "Buffy?" he said faintly.

"Yeah." She wilted in relief. "I was worried. You wouldn't wake up."

"Sorry." Angel pulled himself more upright, leaned back against the wall. He blinked, obviously still not fully awake. "I'm okay, just a little tired." He rubbed his hand over his face and blinked again, seemed to be slightly more alert. "Hey, how are you feeling?" He looked at her.

Buffy sat down. She was still shaky from the moment when she'd thought Angel was dead. Really dead, not just Undead. "I'm okay. Tired." She gave a resigned shrug and managed a real smile. Angel returned it.

"You look tired," he agreed

Buffy rolled her eyes. "Great. I must really look like roadkill."

"You look beautiful," he told her. His hands came up and cradled her face. They kissed. Buffy relaxed and smiled at him again.

"Excuse me." The sound of someone calling from the next room. Angel looked suddenly alert. "Who's there?" He let go of Buffy and started to get off the bed.

"It's just Miss Calendar," Buffy said hastily, as Jenny herself appeared in the doorway.

"It's just me," she said. "I wanted to see how you were doing."

"I had kind of a rough morning," he admitted. "But I feel better now." He looked at Buffy, who hadn't moved. "Are you going to let me get up?" he asked her teasingly.

"I haven't decided yet," she teased back. "I kind of like you right where you are."

"Do ye now?" A faint Irish lilt sounded in his voice, the first Buffy had ever heard.

She was entranced, thinking of the young man he had once been, so long ago. She tried to answer him in kind. "Indeed, and I do, begorra." She made a face. "Well, that stank."

Angel burst into laughter, full-throated laughter she had never before heard from him.

"Begorra?" he gasped. "Where did you pick that up?"

She laughed too. "I don't know. It was just something I remembered from some old movie."

Still chuckling, Angel put his forehead against hers. "Ah, begorra, but I love you, mavourneen."

Buffy frowned, pulled back. "You called me that last night. Who's Maureen?"

"Ma-vour-neen," Angel enunciated slowly. "It means 'my darling.' "

She was taken aback. "Oh." Angel's dark eyes looked at her with such light, such love. Never had he been so open with his emotions. "You're... different, Angel. There's something new in you, I'm not sure what it is."

"It's hope," he told her, simply.

Jenny cleared her throat. "So the new spell has succeeded?"

"I don't know." Angel looked at her. "How will I be able to tell?"

Jenny hesitated. "Yliana - my great-aunt - said the proof would be in the pudding."

"Pudding?" Buffy was totally lost. "What pudding?"

Angel continued to look at Jenny. "In other words... we won't know until it's put to the test."

Jenny took a step forward. "Angel, my aunt is very wise, very gifted. I would trust her with my life."

"I have," he reminded her bluntly.

"I know. She won't let you down."

"Good." Buffy got up from the bed, all business now. "Angel, we need to bring you up to date. Xander came up with a plan to eliminate the Judge."

"Xander?" Angel looked incredulous.

Buffy grinned. "Hard to believe, isn't it? But remember last Halloween, his gig as Soldier Boy?"

She was referring to the night when a spell cast by a costume shop owner turned everyone into the beings their costumes represented. The streets had overflowed with real goblins, ghouls, witches... every kind of monster imaginable. Willow had turned into a real ghost; Xander, dressed in combat fatigues, became the Ultimate Soldier, and his military skills had helped save their lives.

Buffy hated remembering that night, for she herself had worn the fancy dress of an eighteenth century noblewoman under the mistaken notion that it would impress Angel. What it had done instead was almost get her killed, for that was what she had turned into: a dainty, helpless, clinging-vine who shrieked and cowered at the slightest hint of danger. Luckily Giles had tracked down the shop owner, an old university friend, and broken the spell - just in time for Buffy to come back to herself and beat the daylights out of Spike, who was about to sink his fangs into her neck.

Angel broke into her reverie. "I remember, but what about it?"

"Well, he remembers what he knew then."

Angel looked confused.

"I mean, he still has those memories, the soldier's memories."

Angel got it then. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. "What's his plan?"

"He's going to break into the armory and steal a rocket launcher. That baby should disassemble the Judge, don't you think? Then later we can dispose of the pieces." She frowned. "Somehow."

"Acid."

"Huh?"

He looked at her. "Drop the pieces in acid. See if they dissolve. If they do we can stop worrying about someone finding them and reassembling the Judge again."

"Ewww." Buffy wrinkled her nose. "Good idea, but... ewww. Besides, where would we get that much acid?"

"There's that chemical plant about five miles out of town," Jenny suggested.

Angel nodded at her. "Good idea. Ill check it out as soon as it gets dark."

"No," Buffy interrupted. "Willow can do that, with me. Xander needs you at the armory, Angel. You'll probably have to do the breaking in."

Angel hesitated, then nodded. Clearly he wasn't thrilled about working with Xander, but clearly he was also willing to do whatever it took to get the job done. "What time is it?" he asked suddenly.

Buffy looked at her watch. "About a quarter to five. Why?"

"Nothing. I'm just expecting a... delivery."

Buffy knew evasion when she heard it. She eyed him speculatively. Avoiding her gaze, Angel stood up. He leaned against the wall, obviously dizzy. Buffy forgot speculation. "Angel?"

He shook his head a little, took a deep breath, carefully stood away from the wall and took another step. "I'm all right. Just a little... dizzy. Got up too fast, I guess." She might have believed him if just then he hadn't had to grab at the wall again. She went over to him. "Here, lean on me." She ducked under his arm, but the first step he took caused her to stagger and almost fall.

"I'm too heavy." Angel tried to take his arm from around her shoulders, but she hung on fiercely. "No, you're not. I just wasn't ready."

Jenny moved around to Angel's other side. "Let me help." She offered her arm as support and slowly they made it to the living room. Angel dropped onto the couch, exhaled loudly. "I guess I'm weaker than I realized." He looked at Buffy, worried. "If I can't get more strength back you may not be able to count on me tonight."

Buffy nodded slowly. "That could be a problem. Tell you what, I'll check back in a couple of hours and see how you're doing. Miss Calendar, would you mind waiting outside for me? I need to talk to Angel alone for a minute."

She waited until the slender young woman had left, then faced Angel. "You're hungry, aren't you? That's why you're so weak - you need to feed." He didn't have to say anything; she knew she was right by the look on his face. "Angel, how can I get you what you need?"

"Buffy, don't - " he protested faintly, but she rushed on. "You're too weak to go anywhere; tell me what to do. Where can I go?"

"Buffy." He took her hand, but refused to look at her. "It's taken care of."

She looked at him for a moment, then made the connection. "The delivery you're expecting?" He nodded, eyes still averted. Just then someone knocked on the door.

"I'll get it," she said.

"No!" Angel struggled to get up. Buffy put her hand on his shoulder. "Stay here," she told him gently. "I'll get it." She went to the door, talked briefly to the man there, and a minute later came back to Angel, carrying a large paper bag that made a clinking noise when she set it down on the floor at his feet.

"Here." Buffy knew he didn't want her to stay, so she added, "I'll be back in a couple of hours." Bending down she kissed him, then walked outside to where Jenny waited.

---

Angel waited until he was sure Buffy had left before opening the bag. Inside were three quart jars of fresh animal blood, still warm though cooling fast. He grabbed one, wrenched off the lid and avidly gulped down the contents. The second jar emptied just as fast. He couldn't remember the last time he had been this ravenous. Well, yes, he could. It was the evening Whistler had found him hunting rats to stay alive. The evening he had first seen Buffy.

Buffy. He cringed in shame that she had even seen, much less recognized, his need, and marveled at the miracle of her love, that enabled her not to shrink from the demands of his vampiric nature. Already he could feel the healing effects of his meal. He eyed the third jar. He had taken more than he usually allotted for one feeding. But his physical weakness was undeniable, as was the fact that he was needed tonight - and needed at full strength.

Slowly he reached down and picked up the jar. He hated to do this, knowing that ingesting this much fresh blood at one sitting would only make it that much harder to go back to the refrigerated kind. His vampiric side would rebel against it all the more fiercely for having tasted this banquet. He began drinking, more slowly this time. (I might as well be as civilized as possible about it.)

Two hours later, showered and changed, teeth vigorously brushed and the minty taste of Scope in his mouth, Angel waited for Buffy. A knock sounded. Right on time, he thought fondly and opened the door. It was, of course, Buffy. She had changed into something better fitted for tonight's expected activities. She wore black: black spandex leggings; black pullover sweater, and black boots. A black beret covered her blonde hair.

"Hey," they chorused in duet. Buffy looked him over and smiled. "Two minds in the same gutter, I see." Angel too had dressed entirely in black; in his case a black one-piece jumpsuit. "You look ready for trouble."

"If trouble comes, I'll be ready," he agreed. He motioned for her to come in but she shook her head.

"If you're ready we better go." He was, so they did. "You're feeling better," Buffy observed.

"Yes." He hesitated then said, with difficulty, "Thank you."

"You'd have done the same for me." Angel couldn't deny it. They walked toward a car parked at the curb. He recognized it as Cordelia's, and sure enough, that young woman stood at the driver's side. She whistled softly as they approached. "Look at you!" Her eyes ran over Angel, frankly appreciative. "Good enough to nibble on!"

Angel saw Buffy clench her jaw and hastened to defuse the situation. "Thank you, Cordelia. You look - " Too late, he saw her outfit. "Uh, you look - "

"Trashy," she contributed. "I know. It's part of Xander's plan for tonight."

"Why?" he asked, totally at a loss.

She shrugged. "You're asking me?" Opening the door, Cordelia got inside and looked in the rearview mirror, checking her makeup. Angel opened the back door for Buffy, and they slid in. Cordelia turned to look at them. "I'm just the wheels for this outfit. No one has bothered to fill me in on the plan I'm supposed to be a part of." She flounced back around, turned the key, and off they roared, CD blaring something Angel couldn't identify.

"That's because Xander hasn't filled us in on it either." Buffy's voice was tart. Angel squeezed her hand, then put his arm around her shoulders. She stayed tense for a moment, then relaxed and leaned against him.

"You do, you know." He had to bend down to hear her.

"I do what?"

"Look good enough to nibble on." Her glance at him was coquettish. He tilted her chin up and kissed her. "So do you." They kissed again, then again, more deeply. Angel pulled Buffy onto his lap, cradled her in his arms. Cordelia, catching sight of them in the mirror, rolled her eyes, but a moment later watched them furtively... and wistfully.

"We're here, guys. Better untangle yourselves."

Buffy and Angel jerked apart. The car rolled to a stop a few feet away from a group of people on the sidewalk: Giles, Jenny, and Willow. Buffy and Cordelia got out of the car. Angel remained seated, heartily wishing he had worn something a little less revealing of physical... activity.

"Angel?" called Buffy, looking back in surprise. She stopped and headed back to the car. Hastily he got out on the street side, keeping the car between them. "I'll be there in a minute."

"What's wrong?" She walked around the back.

"Nothing's wrong." Casually - he hoped - Angel leaned against the car. (Maybe if I sort of fold my arms and slouch... ) It was no use.

"Something's wrong," Buffy persisted, coming closer. She stopped.

"Oh." A myriad of emotions ran over her face. Surprise, embarrassment, gratification, and then, of course, amusement. Angel sighed in resignation. Why did girls always find this so funny?

Buffy got her voice under control. "We're waiting for Oz. Why don't you go scout out the area? Make sure the coast is clear." Angel nodded and walked toward a cluster of trees that was really the only possible hiding place around. About ten yards away he stopped, his predicament forgotten in a sudden rush of adrenalin. Someone was in there. Before he could react, a figure stepped out of concealment. Angel relaxed.

"Xander." He walked on until he joined the young man.

"Angel."

"Is everything quiet?" Angel glanced around.

"As far as I can tell, but maybe you better check it out too. Your senses are keener than mine."

Angel gave him a wary look. "That almost sounded like a compliment."

Xander shrugged. "It's the truth, that's all." He looked straight at Angel, his eyes cool to match his voice. "I don't like you. You know that. But Buffy made it pretty clear today where things stand between you two, and I have to respect that. Just make sure you understand this: If you ever harm even one hair on her head, I'm coming after you. I'll find you, and then there'll be a hole in your chest big enough to drive a truck through. Got it?"

"I've got it," Angel answered quietly. "Are we through with this subject now?"

"Yeah. For now."

"Then maybe we should get back to the others. I think that's Oz driving up." Silently they rejoined the group, Angel wondering just what Buffy had said to bring about such a reaction.

The strategy was gone over one last time, then they moved. Xander's plan worked flawlessly; Angel didn't need to break into the building after all. Xander and Cordelia cajoled and bullied the guard into letting them into the munitions room on the grounds that it was "so sexy."

Once inside Xander drew on his soldier's memory and located the desired weapon in record time, hoisting it through the window to Angel who in turn carried it to Oz's van, where he and Willow anxiously waited. At least, Willow appeared anxious; Oz, as always, seemed unflappable. "So, do you guys steal weapons from the army a lot?" Angel heard him ask. Willow's response: "Well, we don't have cable so we have to make our own fun," surprised a laugh out of him.

They drove down a side street where they picked up Xander and Cordy, then everyone reconvened at the library to load up on the more usual Slayer weaponry and head out to the factory to stop the Judge.

---

The factory was deserted; no flowers, no decorations. All the party preparations Buffy and Angel had seen earlier were gone, only fragments of leaves and paper streamers left behind to litter the floor The group milled around, frustrated. "Where would they have gone?" Adrenalin coursing through her veins; Buffy was ready to kick some vampire butt. "The judge needs bodies, right? They'll go someplace with people. Lots of people."

"The Bronze?" suggested Willow.

Xander negatived that. "It's closed tonight."

"There's not a lot of choices in Sunnydale," noted Cordelia. "It's not as if people are going to line up to get massacred."

"Uh, guys?" Oz, calm and cool. "If I were going to line up, I know where I'd go."

Concealed in the shadows, Spike sat in his wheelchair and listened. He wasn't worried. He knew his Dru and was confident she'd survive their plans.

---

Oz had guessed right. From his position on the stairway at the Sunnydale Mall the Judge stared down at them, powerful and arrogant. Buffy had just shot him in the chest with an arrow - to get his attention, she quipped. Of course it had hurt him no more than a mosquito bite. He reached up and yanked it out, threw it down. "You are a fool," he sneered. "No weapon forged can stop me."

"That was then," Buffy said. She raised the rocket launcher, switched it on. "This is now."

Around them hundreds of panicked shoppers fled, shouting and screaming. Dru, standing to one side of the Judge, took one look at the weapon on Buffy's shoulder and jumped over the stairs to the floor below. She obviously knew the damage it could do, and the foremost thought in her mind was getting the hell out of range. Landing hard, she whimpered and scrambled for safety, followed by her wigged-out lackeys. The Judge, created centuries before the invention of mass destruction weapons, didn't move.

"What does that do?" the Judge asked, eyeing it with real curiosity. He found out a moment later when the rocket impacted, blowing him to smithereens.

"My best present ever." She handed the rocket launcher back to Xander with a smile.

"Knew you'd like it," he smirked.

"Do you think he's dead?" Willow came up beside Buffy.

"We can't be sure," she replied. "Keep the pieces separate until we can get them to the acid."

ONE HOUR LATER

They looked down at the huge barrel. The surface hissed and bubbled, seething with activity. Shapeless lumps of blue - skin? - and bits of - bone? - bobbed to the surface before dissolving.

"I'd say that disposes of the Judge once and for all, wouldn't you?" Jenny remarked.

"It's difficult to imagine anyone being able to put him back together now," Giles agreed. "How does one reassemble sludge?"

"Good riddance." That was Willow's determined contribution. Oz, standing next to her, nodded solemn agreement.

"Hasta la vista, baby." Xander gave his best Schwarzenegger imitation - which wasn't very good.

"Don't say that," Willow told him. "That means 'til we meet again' or - well, something like that."

"Okay then, how about 'adios, amigo'?" This time it was John Wayne he mangled

Cordelia remarked, "You were right, Buffy. That guy was mucho uglio. Was that skin he had, or scales?" She shuddered.

Angel and Buffy stood slightly apart from the others, making no effort to join in the round of comments. Buffy leaned back against Angel, felt his arm come around to hold her close against his wonderfully solid body. "Is it really over?" she asked. Strange; all she felt was tired. Really, really tired.

"It's over," he said, and kissed her hair.

Giles overheard and came over to them. "Yes, it is. Well, except for Spike and Drusilla, of course."

Buffy made a face. "You had to remind me?"

"You're in no shape to do anything about them tonight," Giles told her. "I want you to go home and get a good night's sleep for once. That's an order." His half-smile told her exactly how seriously he expected her to take that last sentence, but for once Buffy had no desire to flout his authority. She knew his concern for her was very real, and she had to admit she had no desire to face anything more exciting tonight than her bed. Well, almost nothing.

"Don't worry," she assured him wearily. "That's exactly what I'm going to do."

Jenny drove her and Angel back to town. At Buffy's request she dropped them off two blocks from her house. They walked slowly through the moonless night, holding hands but saying nothing, content merely to have the danger past and to have this down time with each other. At some point during the night's events Buffy had lost her beret; her hair shone silver in the moonlight and Angel thought he had never seen anything so beautiful. As they came to her house they stopped. The closest streetlight had burned out and they were shadowed by a tree in the front yard.

"Buffy, I was going to give you this last night, but what with the arm and the Judge and everything, well..." He pulled a small jeweler's box from his pocket. "The timing just didn't seem right." He opened it, revealing a small silver ring. Buffy had never seen anything like it: two hands supporting a crowned heart between them.

"It's beautiful," she said, touched. (For me? He got me a ring?)

"It's a claddagh ring," he told her. "My people... before I was Changed... they would exchange this ring as a sign of devotion. The hands represent friendship; the coronet represents loyalty; and the heart..." His voice grew husky. "You know what the heart means. If you wear it with the heart pointing toward you it means you belong to someone. Like this."

He showed her his hand. A ring exactly like hers encircled his third finger - with the heart pointing toward him. Buffy swallowed sudden tears. (I was wrong; the rocket launcher isn't the best present ever.)

"Put it on," he urged. She shook her head, whispered, "You put it on." She held out her hand. Angel took it in his own and carefully slid the ring down her finger, its heart pointing at her heart.

"I love you." He entwined his fingers in hers; the moonlight glinted off the two identical rings, now resting beside each other. Buffy's tears spilled over. Angel bent down.

"Happy birthday," he whispered. Then he kissed her, a slow, gentle kiss that entered her soul like warm honey and filled her with joy. Even after the kiss ended they remained in each other's arms for long moments.

"Angel," she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"I want to introduce you to my mother."

He pulled back to look at her. "You already have - last year. Remember?"

"Yes, but..." She glanced away for a second. "I don't want to hide you any more. Angel, there are so many things in my life that I have to keep secret from my mom, because of the Slayer thing. I don't want you to go on being one of them. I want to be able to tell her when I'm with you, instead of pretending to be with Willow."

Angel had misgivings, she could tell, but he acquiesced. "All right. If you're sure that's what you really want. When did you want to do this?"

The porch light came on. Joyce Summers opened the door. "Buffy? Are you out there?"

Buffy grinned faintly. "Well, no time like the present, I always say." She took him by the hand and they walked to the front door. "Mom, you remember Angel, don't you?"

Her mother looked uncertain, then her face cleared. "Of course. He tutored you in History last year. Nice to see you again, Angel. Won't you come in?"

---

Buffy's heels tapped briskly on the sidewalk. It was a cold, clear night, and she snuggled more deeply into her warm winter coat. Giles could scoff all he wanted about Sunnydale's winter - or, in his view, its lack of one - tonight was *cold*. Her heart beat in rhythm with her steps as she thought of Angel's gift, waiting for her the day before when she got home from her after-school training session with Giles. Tired, sweat-soaked, and dreaming of a long, hot shower, she had stopped in surprise at the sight of a bouquet of flowers lying in front of the door, and was even more surprised to read the card and learn they were from Angel:

Friday. Seven o'clock. My place.
Angel

The warm glow that filled her then was with her still. The note could mean only one thing: that Angel had finally come to a decision about their relationship - more important, the right decision, for if he intended to suggest they slow down he wouldn't have invited her to his apartment.

The week since they defeated the Judge had been both awkward and tense. Their love, their need had grown so great that a look or a touch was all it took to ignite them both. Kissing had become torture - almost as unbearable as not kissing. But always Angel had held back, out of fear that perhaps the gypsies' curse still remained unchanged, that the "fix" Jenny Calendar's great-aunt had worked on it hadn't succeeded. Fear that the act of making love, or rather the happiness achieved from it, would force his soul from his body, freeing the vampire demon within him. And no one knew better than Angel the evil that would release on the world.

Buffy paused in front of Angel's door. She raised her hand to knock but let it fall back to her side, suddenly nervous. Taking a deep breath she silently scolded herself, and knocked. It opened immediately, as if he had been standing there waiting for her arrival.

"Hey." Angel sounded uncertain, almost...shy. He swallowed.

"Hey." Her voice came out less assured than she would have liked. She cleared her throat and tried again. "May I come in?"

"What?" Angel only then seemed to realize that he was blocking the doorway, just standing there looking at her. "Of course. I'm sorry." He stood aside to let her enter, followed her inside. "Let me take your coat." He helped her off with it, placed it across the back of couch.

Buffy felt Angel's eyes on her, and tugged nervously at her dress before turning around. She had tried on almost every outfit she owned before deciding on a simple dress of soft, dark-blue jersey shot through with silver threads. It had elbow-length sleeves and a scoop neckline that was low but not too low; the swing skirt stopped about two inches above her knees.

She had dresses that were much shorter or revealed more cleavage, but had decided on the less obvious style of this one. The jersey, though not tight-fitting, outlined every curve, clinging as she moved, and she had made sure the curves were there by not wearing a bra. Not that she could have worn one anyway, for the back of the dress was almost nonexistent, exposing her whole spine from the neck, where a single button held the dress together, down to the beginning swell of her hips, but the lack of a bra added a whole new dimension. The first time she had tried it on and realized that her nipples were clearly outlined, she had blushed bright pink. Tonight the realization brought satisfaction, and anticipation.

"Nice dress," was all Angel said, but she could hear his unspoken thoughts in the tone of his voice, and secretly she smiled.

Outwardly she kept her composure, turning to him with an oh-so-innocent look.

"Thanks. It's new," was all she said.

"It's... nice," he repeated.

"You said that already," she said gently. Oh, she was enjoying this...this heady feeling of power, of being in control.

"Yes, I did, didn't I?" Angel seemed to regain some poise. He added, "Would you like something to drink? A glass of wine, maybe?"

"Well..." Buffy began, doubtfully. In her opinion wine was highly overrated, especially red wine. How something such a beautiful color could taste so nasty was beyond her comprehension.

"Try this," Angel said. He took up a long-stemmed glass and poured out a tiny amount of clear white wine - about two swallows' worth. "It's soft and light; I think you'll like it."

Buffy eyed it doubtfully, took a sip. "It's not bad," she said grudgingly, and slowly drank the rest. Angel reached out for the glass; their hands met. It was if she had touched a live wire; a spark ran through her. Instantly she had trouble breathing. Looking at Angel, she read the same reaction in his face. She wet her lips, watched his hands set the glass carefully to one side then return to cup her face, urging her to look at him. His eyes probed hers.

"Buffy - have you changed your mind?" His voice, soft and husky and hesitant, touched something deep inside her. "If you have, it's all right. I'll understand - "

Buffy kissed the palm of his hand, kissed it again. Letting the tide of emotion rise she took his hand from her face, kissed the wrist, unfastened the cuff of his silk shirt and pushed it up his arm, trailing it with slow kisses. Angel caught his breath audibly, and she looked up. His eyes darkened, their expression intent. He bent down and kissed her. Instantly she felt the difference. This kiss burned the bridges behind them; there would be no return. For a moment she wavered, and Angel drew back.

"Buffy?" he whispered. Querying. Making sure.

A wave of emotion swept through her. "I love you," she replied, and stood on tiptoe and captured his mouth, pressing against him. Angel's arms wrapped around her and held her close. They kissed, and kissed again. Buffy unbuttoned his shirt and caressed the flat planes of his chest, then ran her hands over his back. She had never touched him that way before, and yet the feel of him was familiar - smooth, firm and cool. She felt the tiny tremors that shook him at her touch, and quivered in response.

Suddenly he lifted her in his arms and carried her to his bed, setting her down on the side of the mattress and kneeling on the floor in front of her. He kissed her throat and the crescent of chest exposed by her dress. She gasped and arched toward him, catching his head with her hands and holding it to her. For the first time ever their heads were on a level, and Buffy took advantage of it, running her hands though his thick hair, raining kisses on his face. He leaned closer and instinctively her knees parted. He moved between her legs, pulling her against him.

"Buffy." His voice was strangled, his breath hot against her throat. "I love you. I need you!" The sentence ended in a groan. Before she knew what was happening, Angel reached behind her, unfastened the button at her neck, and gently pushed the sleeves down her arms, causing the bodice to fall in a heap in her lap. Taken by surprise, Buffy made a reflexive movement to cover herself, but Angel forestalled her.

"You are so beautiful," he whispered before he leaned down and kissed the hollow between her breasts. Then his head moved to one side, and she felt the touch of his lips on her breast. His tongue caressed, his lips pulled, and Buffy cried out loud in response to the incredible sensation. He moved to her other breast, and repeated his actions, then raised his head and kissed her on the mouth. Buffy moaned and kissed him feverishly. Still kissing him, she pushed him away from her, kept pushing until several inches divided them, though their lips remained locked. Then she fell to her knees and spread the edges of his shirt, pushing it over his shoulders. It slithered down his arms, landing in a silky pool on the floor. She wrapped her arms around his neck and shivered at the sensation of his bare chest against her breasts.

Angel pressed her to him. He let out a deep sigh. "You feel..." The words became entangled with a groan. Her response - "So do you!" - carried even less coherence, but it didn't matter. They remained kneeling on the floor, holding each other close. Buffy kissed his shoulders, his chest; Angel's hands ran caressingly over her back.

(Buffy. So small, so fragile. How I love you.) Angel kissed the satin skin of her shoulder, shuddered at the touch of her lips leaving a trail of kisses across his torso that burned into his very soul. He threw his head back and felt her mouth on his throat, wrenching a groan from him. A tide of passion swept through him and with horror he felt himself changing. His features twisted and morphed into his game face. (No! Not now!)

With an inarticulate cry he jerked away, only to feel her hand on his face, caressing his vampiric features just as she had done that evening at the ice rink following their first battle with the Order of Taraka. "It's okay, Angel. Don't worry." She pulled his head down and pressed her lips to the thick ridge of his brow, his cheek. "It's all right," she breathed just before kissing him full on his vampire's mouth.

A voice swam in his memory: Darla's silky, derisive voice, mocking the idea of him having a relationship with a human: ("What did you think? Did you think she would understand? That she'd look at your face - your true face - and give you a kiss on your true mouth? That she'd love who you really are?")

Sudden joy made his senses swim. (Yes! She will. She does!) He kissed Buffy with love and with gratitude, and felt his features return to normal. Time slowed to a crawl. How they ended up on the bed, or even when, Angel never remembered. He only knew the heat of her body along his, the satin softness of her skin under his hands, the intoxication of her shy touch as she explored his body. And foremost in his mind was the thought that he must be careful, must be gentle with her, *must* ... *not* ... *hurt* ... *her* ... (Oh, God!)

She arched off the bed, crying out his name. "Buffy," he managed to choke out before his body clenched impossibly tight then exploded in ecstasy. When, long moments later, awareness returned, he realized he had to be crushing her with his weight. He raised up on his elbows, saw the tears in her eyes and knew them for tears of happiness - just as his own were. "Are you all right?" he asked her softly, just to be sure.

"You know I am." Buffy urged his head down and kissed him. With a sigh he rolled over onto his side, and she snuggled close. "Ewww!" She pulled away with a grimace.

"What's wrong?" He was alarmed.

"I think I just found that wet spot I've always heard about." She looked down at the sheet with an expression of distaste. Accustomed as he was to her openness about things that in his day wouldn't even have been whispered aloud, Angel found himself embarrassed. He got up and went into the bathroom, returned with a towel and spread it on the sheet. "There." He saw Buffy staring at him and realized he was nude. He started to apologize but was interrupted.

"God, you're gorgeous." The look in her eyes was unmistakable, and to his surprise he responded to it. (It's too soon... I was never able to... not *this* fast.) His thoughts quickly grew even more chaotic when Buffy slid over and began stroking him.

He hardened with a speed that astonished him. Buffy drew him onto the bed. On the verge of entering her, he hesitated, afraid of hurting her, that it was too soon. She seemed to read his mind.

"You won't hurt me," she whispered. He watched her face carefully, ready to pull out if necessary, but aside from a slight wince at his first entry it became obvious pain was not a factor. He intended to go slowly, gently, but within minutes his good intentions were abandoned in the frenzy of their lovemaking. The bed creaked an accompaniment as they rolled and scooted across it, hands groping, mouths kissing. Buffy's shudder of orgasm preceded his by only a few seconds. Afterward, they lay exhausted, Buffy curled up next to him, her arm across his chest. She yawned, hugely.

"Is it always this exhausting?"

Angel smiled, kissed her forehead. "Not always. Sometimes it can be quite... bracing."

Buffy yawned again. "You'll have to teach me that one later." Within seconds she was asleep. Angel watched her for several minutes before deciding he too needed to rest. He kissed her on the forehead again. (Sleep well, mavourneen.)

---

Buffy slowly regained awareness. For just a moment she was confused, then memory rushed in. Angel. Apartment. Last night. She reached over, but Angel wasn't in the bed next to her. Sitting up, she looked around. There was enough moonlight that she could make out the shadowy outlines of the furniture - but no Angel.

"Angel?"

"I'm here." He came into the room, carrying something in his hand. She saw with disappointment that he had put on a pair of sweatpants. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I just went to get some water." He offered her a glass.

"Thanks. You didn't wake me. At least, I don't think you did. I just ... woke up." She tried to hide a yawn, not very successfully. "What time is it?" She drank some of the water, handed the glass back to him.

"About two, I think." Angel set the glass on the dresser. "Buffy, what about your mother? Won't she be worried?"

"Trying to get rid of me?" she asked, raising a brow.

He chuckled and lay down beside her. "You know that's not it. I just don't want you to get in any trouble." Buffy made herself comfortable, snuggling up close.

"Mom's in L.A. Some big art exhibit. She won't be home until Sunday."

"Sunday?" She heard the smile in his voice. "And how do you plan to fill those long, empty hours until she gets back?"

Buffy smiled smugly. "Somehow I don't think that will be a problem." She patted the waistband of his pants. "Do you really need to have these on?"

"With you around, apparently so," he told her, then ducked in mock fear as she pretended to threaten him with her fist.

Hours later, shortly before dawn, Buffy prepared to leave. "Why don't you come over to my house tonight?" she asked Angel as they stood outside his building, kissing goodbye. He agreed, and they kissed again. And again. Finally they broke apart. "I wish I didn't have to go," Buffy murmured.

"I know," Angel agreed. "But I won't be very good company for the next seven or eight hours."

"No." Buffy sighed. They kissed again. At last Buffy pushed herself away and said, determinedly, "All right, I'm going. See Buffy go." With only one more kiss for the road, she turned and walked away, Angel watching her as long as she was in sight before returning to his apartment. Neither of them saw the slender figure hidden in the shadows across the street, a figure that watched them in silence until they went their separate ways. Only after Angel had shut the door of his apartment behind him did Drusilla step out of concealment.

"You two think you've got things the way you want them, don't you?" Even in a hiss her accent came through strong and clear. "Think you can steal my Angel and get away with it. Think you can go panting after that Slayer slut, killing your own kind, and not pay. Think again, pets. It won't be next week, maybe not even next month. But when my Spike is well again, then there'll be a showdown." Then, with a worried glance at the sky, which showed the first light of false dawn, she ran for their new lair.

The End

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