Moisture stung her eyes. "How about forever? How does forever sound?" He didn't answer, but she read the longing in his eyes, and looked away, swallowing her own yearning. "Not a good idea. I'm incredibly needy right now."

He touched her face briefly. "Let me worry about the neediness. I can handle it."

His face was full of compassion for her pain. They drew closer, drawn together in spite of the risk by her need to be comforted and his desire to comfort. His lips met hers, and instantly the calendar turned back. The coolness of his mouth, the texture of his skin, with just the barest hint of stubble, beneath her fingers when her hand involuntarily lifted to stroke his cheek, the way his hands rose also, to caress her shoulders and pull her closer – all was instantly familiar, as if the two years they'd been apart had never happened; as if their hearts hadn't been shredded over and over again. Almost she could believe that when she opened her eyes they wouldn't be sitting near her mother's freshly dug grave, but out on patrol, working smoothly together with the ease of long practice.

Her hunger for him, so long denied, flared into renewed life. All she wanted was to lose herself in his arms, let her grief be momentarily swept aside in the joy of his embrace – but after a long, breathless moment she gently pulled away. A series of emotions flashed through his eyes – surprise, disappointment, and regret, but she also clearly discerned relief. She forced a smile. "See? I can handle it too." He took her hand and raised it to his lips.

"Can you stay tomorrow?" she asked him. "I mean, today?"

"Of course," he answered. "I told you I could."

"Good," she breathed, nestling into his embrace and feeling his arms close around her. "Good." She closed her eyes and they stayed there under the tree, holding each other, for a long time. Finally, with a deep sigh, she sat up.

"I better go home."

He nodded, stroking her hair back from her face. "It's late and you need your rest. Besides, Dawn's probably worried sick about you." Standing, he pulled her to her feet.

"Dawn's with Tara and Willow," she told him. "But I am getting tired. I haven't been sleeping well lately." She hesitated, then said, "Angel, would you mind staying with me – in the house, I mean, not my room." She smiled faintly. "No sense pressing our luck too far. You could sleep in Dawn's room. Or – or my mom's, of course."

"I don't mind at all, and the couch will be just fine," he assured her gently as they began walking. She reached for his hand; it was there, waiting, just as it always had been in the old days.

Later, at the house, she helped him turn the living room couch into a makeshift bed. "Thank you," she said when the sheets and blankets were in place, along with a pillow from her mom's room. "I think it will help, knowing you're here."

They exchanged a brief kiss, then she climbed the stairs to her cold bed.

---

Buffy opened her eyes to see sunlight streaming in through the uncurtained window, laying a golden path across the floor. Turning on her back she replayed the second dream in her mind. Why, in the dream, had their kiss not turned passionate as it had in reality, when it had forced them to recognize that Angel could not, in fact, "handle it," that even brief meetings like that were too dangerous for him? Was it merely a reflection of her own desperate wish to believe that it was safe for them to meet? Or could it possibly be more, as the earlier dream had been; this one intended to convey that they could indeed handle it. It had felt the same as the other, with everything preternaturally vivid and clear. But could she trust that feeling?

She thought about the different turn events had taken in this dream. Not only had Angel stayed in Sunnydale that night, he'd helped her to see that Dawn's coldness toward her had been caused mostly by her own behavior; that her attempts to keep the full intensity of her grief and insecurity from overpowering her had meant that she'd distanced herself from her own sister; that she had, in effect, been pushing Dawn away at a time when she needed her most. So later that morning she'd apologized to Dawn, and explained, and the resulting scene had been nowhere near as angry and emotional as it had been in real life. Because of that, Dawn had never attempted to bring their mother back to life - a memory which never failed to send a shiver down her spine.

It was so tempting to believe this dream was more than just desperation and hindsight; to believe that, like the first one, it also had special meaning; that it was a message from the PTB or someone else Up There. But did she dare believe it? Sighing, Buffy rolled out of bed. As she was dressing her ear caught the sound of footsteps in the hall. They stopped for a moment outside her door but then continued on. Angel? Probably. She bent down for her shoes and socks.

And what in the world was the meaning of her third dream? If anything?

Wes sighed. "Cordelia, I'm sure Angel didn't – "

"Stop right there," interrupted Angel. He placed his hands on the counter and surveyed them – Cordelia, Wesley, and Fred. "Where's Gunn?"

"Donut run," Wesley supplied, his eyes intent on Angel.

"All right, then one of you will have to repeat to him what I'm about to say." Angel looked at each one of them in turn, making sure he had their attention. "I understand and appreciate your concern over the state of my soul, but believe me, no one is more anxious that I hang on to it than I am. Buffy and I will not – repeat not – do anything that will put my soul at risk. You can trust us. Is that understood?"

"Well, sure." Fred looked upset. "Of course I trust you. We trust you!"

"Absolutely," Wesley said quietly.

Angel looked at the remaining figure. "Cordy?"

Cordelia regarded him steadily. "It isn't that easy, Angel. I don't believe you would deliberately do anything to risk your soul, but I also know how much you love Buffy and how much she loves you. God, every time you two even look at each other, the sparks fly so much I feel like hauling out the fire extinguisher! I know – okay, I don't know but I can imagine – how difficult it is for you both to keep from ... being closer. Do you blame me for being worried?"

"No," he told her, "but do you blame me for getting a little tired of being put through an inquisition every time Buffy and I see each other? Tired of seeing the anxious glances – hearing the pointed questions? And more than tired of having my private life picked apart? Can you understand that?"

After a minute Cordelia sighed, "Yes. I can see how that would ... get old. " She was silent for a moment, then said, "All I can promise is that I'll try. I want to believe you can be in control; I really do. So I really will try."

"Thank you." Angel inclined his head gravely.

But Cordelia went on. "Angel - it isn't just the soul thing; it's the effect that Buffy has on you whenever you've been together, even if it's only for a few hours. Do you remember what you were like when you first came to Los Angeles, the hours you spent being Mr. Broody, alone in the dark?"

On the upper landing, Buffy paused, listening.

"Every time you see her the same thing happens: You go into brood mode." She began itemizing on her fingers. "There was the Thanksgiving you went to Sunnydale because of Doyle's vision; there was her return visit the next day to see you at the old office – "

Angel looked sharply at her.

" – which the least said about that, the better," she said hurriedly. "But there was also the time she came here when Faith was being all I'm-so-evil-please-kill-me wacko."

Buffy frowned. What was that about Faith?

"Cordy." Angel tried to stem the flow of the litany.

"All right." Cordy threw up her hands. "Fine; I won't name each and every one, except to mention that the time you came back from her mother's funeral tied for moodiness with the record low you set after that day we're not even supposed to mention."

Up on the landing, Buffy wondered what that was all about. Something pretty traumatic for Angel, from the sound of it.

Fred whispered to Wesley, "What day?" He hesitated, then knowing Angel wouldn't want the story of the Day That Never Was repeated, shook his head. "A day that Angel really doesn't want us talking about, Fred."

"Oh. Sorry." She subsided momentarily. "Whose mother's funeral?" she then wanted to know.

"Buffy's," he whispered back. "Her mother died last spring - February or March, I think it was." Fred looked stricken.

Cordelia wasn't finished. "I just don't want it to start up again. In case you don't know, it's really depressing to be around someone who's moping all over the place."

"Cordy." Angel went over to her. "I promise I'll try not to infect everyone with my bad mood if I should start ‘moping,' okay?"

"That's not the point." Her voice softened. "I don't want you to get hurt again."

He put a hand on her shoulder. "I know. And ... I'm grateful for your concern, I really am, but ... it's my life, Cordelia. Or unlife, rather."

"I know," she mumbled. "All right, I've had my say and I'm not going to keep beating a dead horse." She eyed him, and the corner of her mouth quirked. "So to speak."

"Thank you." Angel squeezed her shoulder, then lowered his hand and looked around. "Speaking of Buffy, is she up?"

"I don't think so," Fred offered, glad of the change in subject to something she had knowledge of. "At least, I haven't seen her."

"Nor have I," said Wesley. Cordelia just shook her head. "Isn't she in her room?" she asked.

"I didn't check," Angel answered. "I didn't want to disturb her if she was still asleep. Which I hope she is. She's been through a lot and I don't think she's been sleeping very well."

"I'd be surprised if she were," Wesley said quietly. "I can't begin to imagine the stress she's been through. She was pulled out of death; that must have been an incredible trauma."

"It was," Angel agreed, thinking, And you don't even know the half of it. Aloud, he continued, "Which is why I want her to get all the rest she can."

"Too late," came a voice. "I'm awake." All heads turned to the staircase, where Buffy was descending. Angel went to meet her.

"Hi." The warmth in his eyes made a curious contrast with the hesitancy of his greeting.

"Hi." For a brief moment their eyes caught, then Buffy turned her attention beyond him and smiled at everyone. "Good morning. Is there anything for breakfast? I'm starving."

"Donuts," offered Fred brightly, "as soon as Gunn gets back with them."

"Sounds good." Buffy turned to Angel, but was intercepted by Cordelia handing her a cup of coffee. She blinked. "Uh, thanks."

"I think I remembered how you like it," Cordy said, ignoring her blatant surprise.

Buffy took a sip. "You did; it's perfect. Thank you." Again she looked at Angel. "Can someone take me to the bus station this morning?"

Angel couldn't hide his sharp disappointment. "You're leaving already? I'd sort of hoped you'd stay until tonight, at least. I could take you home then."

"I wish I could stay longer," she said with regret, "but I need to get back. Dawn's pretty insecure these days; she needs me with her."

"Of course," Angel acknowledged at once. "I wasn't thinking. I'm sure either Wes or Gunn will be happy to give you a ride to the depot. That is, if you don't mind riding on the back of a motorcycle or in an old, beat-up truck."

"Gunn has a motorcycle?" Her interest piqued, Buffy sipped again at the coffee. She'd never ridden on a motorcycle; it might be fun.

"No, I do," said Wesley, coming forward, "and I'll be happy to oblige."

"Girl doesn't look crazy," a new voice broke in. "So why'd she want to risk her life riding behind you on a drafty motorbike when she could lounge in comfort inside my vintage truck?" It was Gunn. Ignoring Cordelia's snort of derision at the description of his ride as "vintage," he sauntered toward them and set a large box from Dunkin' Donuts on the counter. Immediately there was a concerted rush toward it by Fred, Cordelia and Wesley.

Gunn gathered the box under his arm protectively and fended them off with an upraised hand. "Manners, please! Where were you all raised – in a barn? Company gets first choice." As Fred drew back abashed and Cordelia favored him with one of her trademark looks, he opened the box and presented it to Buffy with a flourish. "Here you are."

Buffy selected a donut almost at random, only making sure it wasn't coconut (which she detested), and bit into it absently, still trying to wrap her mind around the concept of Wesley even owning a motorcycle, much less riding one. Belatedly she remembered her manners. "Thank you, Gunn."

"My pleasure." Gunn winked at her before saying to the others, "All right, now it's your turn." As he replaced the box, he deftly snagged both a chocolate cruller and a nut-covered donut before anyone else had a chance, then sauntered off. "Mm-mm! These are good!"

Wesley gave him a look of his own and turned to Buffy. "Either one of us will be more than happy to take you to the bus depot, whenever you like. Just let us know." Before Buffy could thank him, he changed the subject. "Did you sleep well?"

She flicked a glance at Angel. "Pretty well, thanks. Of course, it would have been more restful if I hadn't kept having these dreams."

As she'd intended, that caught Angel's attention. However, Wesley also grew alert. "Dreams?" he asked, his Watcher training rising to the forefront. "You mean Slayer dreams?"

"No," Buffy hastened to reassure him. "These were personal."

"Good," he sighed. Fred raised inquiring eyebrows at Gunn, who shook his head to indicate he hadn't a clue. Cordelia glanced at Buffy with a knowing yet wary look, as if to suggest she could guess what the dreams were about and didn't approve, then went to pour herself another cup of coffee. Wesley continued, "I don't think I could handle another crisis just yet."

"Tell me about it," Buffy agreed.

Angel touched Buffy's arm, gently urging her across the room where they wouldn't be easily overheard. They sat on a small overstuffed couch, their knees almost touching. "You had another dream?" he asked her quietly. She nodded. "Was it like the first one?"

"Yes and no," she told him. "It felt the same as the other - you know, way vivid and realistic - but this one wasn't about you and Darla. It was about us."

"Us?" Angel got a funny look on his face.

"Yes. I dreamed about the night you came to see me after Mom's funeral, but it was different."

His expression grew even stranger. "Different how?"

Buffy hesitated, slightly puzzled by his reaction. Cautiously she said, "Well, everything happened just like it really did - until we kissed. And then ... well ... nothing happened." She clarified this. "I mean, we kissed and it was really, really good, just the way it was then, but - it didn't get out of hand. And so you - "

"Didn't leave that night," Angel finished in a low voice. "I stayed in Sunnydale."

For a moment Buffy was bewildered; then it hit her. Her eyes widened. "You dreamed it too," she whispered.

Angel nodded. "I slept on your couch."

"Yes."

"And after we woke we talked about Dawn." Buffy slowly nodded. He went on, "Then you and Dawn had a talk later in the morning and got things straightened out between you, pretty much."

"Yeah, another major difference." Angel looked at her inquiringly, which surprised Buffy at first. "Oh. Of course you don't know, ‘cause you'd already left so how could you? Well, what really happened is that Dawn and I didn't have our little talk until late that night, after she'd tried to bring Mom back to life with a spell."

Angel's jaw dropped.

Wesley shot him a repressive look. Fred said, in a surprised voice. "You really think Buffy's sexy?" Then, flustered, she added, "I don't mean she isn't pretty, because obviously she is. I mean, look at that gorgeous hair, and her eyes. It's just that most guys prefer more ... well, figure . . . in a girl, seems like. Especially up top." She glanced down at her own modest endowments. "And Buffy ... well ... she's like me, she just doesn't. That's all I meant."

"You mean she hasn't got much in the chest department," mused Gunn. "That's true, right enough. But you know what, boobs ain't all that matters, especially in her case. Because what she has got is presence. That girl walks into a room, people are gonna take notice. And in my book that qualifies her as hot."

"Too bad you never met Faith," said Wesley drily. "She fits anyone's definition of a hottie."

Cordelia gaped at him, one hand flying to her chest in a dramatic gesture. "Wesley! Don't tell me you actually noticed that!"

Wesley sent her a wry glance. "I would have to be blind not to have noticed those slinky, low-cut tops and skin-tight pants she always wore."

Gunn's eyebrows rose almost to the top of his shaven head. "Someone remind me to meet this chick if she ever gets outa prison."

"Trust me," Cordelia told him. "You don't want to meet that psycho bitch." Catching Wesley's look, she made a face. "Yeah, yeah, Angel says she's changed. She'll have to prove it, though, especially after knocking me out and torturing you. Those aren't the kinds of things I can just forget, you know?"

"I do indeed," Wesley agreed quietly.

Fred made a mental note to ask about this Faith person later on. By the look on Wesley's face now wouldn't be a good time. Her eyes returned to the couple on the couch. "Are they really as much in love as you said?"

"Oh yeah," Cordelia replied. Wesley said, simply, "Yes."

"Oh." Fred pondered that for a moment. "Kyrumption!" She nodded as if that explained it all.

"Gesundheit," Gunn instantly replied, straight-faced.

"No," Fred laughed. "It's a word. Kye-rumption. It's the one nice word I remember from the Pylean hell dimension."

"What's it mean?" asked Cordelia.

"It's when two great heroes meet on the field of battle and recognize their mutual fate," Fred explained. "It's also a kind of grog made out of ox dung, but that's an archaic usage. They don't actually make that drink anymore."

"Can't imagine why," was Gunn's wry comment.

"They recognize their mutual fate?" Cordelia wrinkled her brow. "That sounds kind of ominous." She cast a worried glance over at Buffy and Angel.

"It just means they recognize at their first meeting that their lives are bound together in some way. It can be bad, sure, but it doesn't have to be," Fred explained further. "There are many legends in Pylea of warriors recognizing kyrumption and fighting together as brothers, becoming great champions. Of course," she admitted, "there are also legends of great enemies having kyrumption and, well, fighting each other to the death. But I don't think we have to worry about that here."

"Probably not," Wesley said in a dry tone. "Unless perhaps Angel were to lose his soul again." He caught Cordelia's eye. "Which of course will not happen," he added firmly.

Oblivious to the byplay, Fred emerged from deep thought. "Moira."

"Huh?" Cordelia shook her head a little. "Who's Moira?"

you think it means what I think it means?"

Angel sat quietly, mulling over everything he'd just heard. At length he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just don't know, Buffy. I know what I want it to mean - "

"Yeah, me too." Buffy looked down at her plaited fingers.

" - and that's exactly why I'm afraid to take it at face value - because we do want it so much. To be able to see each other on a regular basis . . . it would mean so much." His voice died away.

"Yeah," Buffy said again, softly. "Angel, I don't think I could have gotten through these last few days without you. Having you there with me made so much difference. When it got bad ... when it felt like everything was just piling on top of me and I felt like I was drowning or suffocating . . . your presence got me through the worst of it."

"I'm glad I was there for you to talk to," Angel murmured, stroking her hand and remembering some of the bad times she was referring to. It was bad enough that she'd been yanked without warning from a place of peacefulness and well-deserved rest to fight demons once again; but on top of that was added the extra burden of having to pretend to her friends that they'd really rescued her from hell rather than pulled her out of heaven, not to mention the care and responsibility for a teenaged sister. Whenever Buffy's eyes started showing that lost, haunted look he'd made a point of stepping in and giving her whatever kind of support was needed at the moment.

Placing her hand over his, Buffy looked up. "Angel, it wasn't just the talking, although that was part of it. I mean, you're the only person who knows the truth about where I was, so, yes, it's a relief to be able to be myself when I'm with you ... but it's more than that. If all I needed was a confidant, I could have told ... well ... Spike, for instance. He wouldn't feel guilty at knowing the truth because he had nothing to do with resurrecting me, and I'm pretty sure he'd be able to understand the stress involved in coming back from the dead."

"Not that I would," she added hurriedly, as Angel looked his incredulity at her. "Tell him, I mean. Because ... well, because he's Spike, and - it would just be too weird." She made a face and gave a dramatic little shudder, which brought a reluctant smile to Angel's lips, but in her heart Buffy admitted that this scenario was more likely than she wanted to believe. If Angel hadn't been there, with his love and support ... but he had been. He still was, thank God, so she would never need to resort to confiding in Spike. She squeezed his hand.

"What I'm trying to say," she went on, "is that knowing you still loved me enough to drop everything when I needed you - "

"Did you ever doubt it?" Angel interrupted her, sadness in his tone.

Buffy looked away. "I ... wondered sometimes, that's all. I mean, it's been a long time since you left, and our last couple of meetings weren't exactly ... happy."

Angel gently tilted her head around to look at him. "I told you once that you're the only girl I've ever loved, remember?"

"In two hundred and forty-three years," she supplied, with a wavering smile. "I remember."

His eyes were dark and earnest; she longed to lose herself in their brown depths. "It's two hundred and forty-five years now," he said, "but it's still true. No one can hold a candle to you, Buffy."

"Thank you," she whispered, swallowing. "You either." Oblivious to their audience, they kissed, softly, gently.

Gunn glanced over at the kissing couple. "I'd say ‘gut physical attraction' fits the bill."

Cordelia snorted. "That's for sure! Those two have had the hots for each other from practically the moment they met."

"It's more than just that," Wesley said quietly.

Cordy set her chin. "It's a big part of it."

"But not all of it," he persisted.

Cordelia sighed, then grudgingly conceded the point. "I know. It's the whole star-crossed-lovers-who-are-also-soulmates thing." She tilted the Dunkin' Donuts box and popped an overlooked morsel of chocolate donut into her mouth.

Fred again was lost in her stream of thought. "I'd been thinking it was Cordy who had the moira with Angel," she mused.

Cordelia choked. Donut crumbs sprayed everywhere. "What?" she gasped.

"Sure; why not? I mean Angel's a hero, obviously, and you are too, with your visions and everything, so I just thought it fit." Fred shrugged. Gunn and Wesley exchanged amused looks.

Cordy looked appalled. "Angel and I, a couple? Nononono! Fred, we work together and, and we're friends, but that is absolutely all there is between us. No moira, no kyrumption, no romance ... just love of the platonic kind, you know, like ... brother and sister."

Fred sighed. "Yes, I can see the difference now." She turned to look at Buffy and Angel. They were no longer kissing, but remained on the couch talking. "Too bad. Everything fit so perfectly the other way. Now ... feels like everything's changing." She bit her lip. "Will Angel be leaving Los Angeles and going back to Sunnydale with - her?"

"What?" exclaimed Wesley. "Of course not! Whatever gave you that idea?"

"I've been wondering the same thing as Fred," Gunn admitted. "Just look at them over there. It's obvious they want to be together."

"But they can't be together," Wesley reminded him. "You heard Angel earlier - or, well, no, you didn't because you weren't here yet, but he told us in no uncertain terms that they wouldn't do anything to endanger his soul. Moving that close to Buffy would most certainly fall under that category."

Angel's smile lit up his whole face. "Really? That'd be great! Come on, there's a phone in the office." They got up. As they walked toward the office, he asked, "What made you change your mind?"

Buffy shrugged. "Why not? As long as Dawn's okay with it and there's nothing cooking at the Hellmouth, why shouldn't I take a day off and spend it with you?" She frowned. "Unless you have something going on, of course - like a case?" They came up to the lobby desk.

"A case? You mean one that actually pays us something?" Cordy snorted. "No such luck."

"But that's good, isn't it?" asked Fred. "It means that nobody's in trouble of the demonic kind."

Wesley smiled. "Unfortunately, all it means is that we haven't been consulted about it. I'm afraid that there are always people in trouble, Fred."

"Right," declared Cordelia grimly. "So what's wrong with hoping that occasionally one of them is wealthy enough to hire us to get them out of their trouble?"

"I guess so," Fred said doubtfully.

"Nothing's wrong with it," Angel asserted. "We want to get paid. We need to get paid or we can't pay our bills. But that doesn't mean we'll turn down someone just because they're not rich." Cordelia glared at him. "Isn't that right, Wes?" he added. Cordy transferred her glare to the other man as Angel showed Buffy into the office.

"I didn't say that," she heard Cordelia - not Wesley - declare. "Our fees are based on what the client can afford, you know that, Fred - and of course we won't not help someone just because they're poor."

Then Angel closed the door, leaving her alone, and the voices subsided to an indistinguishable murmur. Buffy took a deep breath and released it slowly. She picked up the phone and dialed home.

"So when does Buffy want to leave?" Cordelia asked Angel, brightly. "We need to plan our day, you know." Off to one side, Gunn cast his eyes upward, Fred looked puzzled, and Wesley shook his head and sighed.

Angel raised an eyebrow. "Because we're so busy right now that we have to keep to a tight schedule?"

Cordelia ignored his gentle sarcasm. "You never know when a client might show up." She began flipping through the papers on the counter top.

"And if one does appear I'll be reachable," Angel assured her. "Buffy's decided to stay until tomorrow, so I'll be showing her the sights today." Cordelia's head came up sharply.

"I thought she grew up here," Gunn put in. "Hasn't she already seen all the sights?"

"I thought she was so worried about leaving Dawn alone," Cordy said, raising her own eyebrows. "Remember ... poor Dawnie, so insecure and needy after losing both her mother and her sister? Did all that concern suddenly fly out the window?"

Angel looked at her for a moment without saying anything. "She's phoning Dawn right now, to make sure she doesn't mind her staying. If Dawn has a problem with it, Buffy will go home this morning as she originally planned."

Cordelia had the grace to look discomfited. Turning to Gunn, Angel continued, "And yes, Buffy did grow up in Los Angeles, but it's a big city. I'm sure we can find something interesting that she hasn't already seen."

Buffy came out of the office just then. "Wasn't Dawn there?" Angel asked her, his heart sinking.

"No, Dawn was home," she replied with a chuckle. "She was getting ready to go shopping with one of her girlfriends and was running late, so we didn't chat much. She said, and I quote, ‘Really glad you're okay, thanks for calling, I'll see you tomorrow, I hafta go now.' "

That made everyone laugh. "So much for poor needy Dawn," commented Wesley.

Buffy smiled wryly. "Oh, she's needy, all right. Just not right this minute." She rubbed her hands together, looking at Angel. "So, what's on the agenda for today?"

"Angel's planning to find something to take you to that you haven't already seen," Gunn told her.

"Great," Buffy commented. "Fred, do you have any clothes I can borrow, since I didn't think to bring any clean ones with me? You're closer to my size than Cordy."

"Oh sure!" Fred smiled brightly.

"Hey!" Cordelia protested. "Are you saying I'm overweight?"

"No, I'm saying you're overtall," Buffy said, disconcerted by her reaction. "Fred's more my height, that's all."

"Oh." Cordelia subsided, looking rather embarrassed. "Sorry. My clothes are feeling a little tight today, so I guess I'm kinda sensitive about it. Sorry."

"Probably pre-menstrual bloating," Fred commented. "I know it's about your time. It'll go away in a few days."

"Yes, thank you for that observation, Fred." Cordelia turned away, rolling her eyes.

"Come on, Buffy," an oblivious Fred continued, "let's go to my room and get you a new wardrobe!"

Buffy glanced at the dank, curving walls and then at the stretch of tunnel ahead. "You mean checking out the L. A. sewer system looking for this Glue demon really wasn't what you'd planned on us doing today?" She chuckled, determined not to let the memory of the last time they’d been in a sewer - the night he’d told her he was leaving Sunnydale - dim the pleasure of being in Angel’s company now.

Angel smiled at her teasing, relieved she wasn't upset at the change in plans. "Gloogh demon," he corrected, emphasizing the hard "g" sound at the end of the word. "They're small, harmless, sorta cute, and not very intelligent - usually kept as pets by other demons. Its owner is very anxious to find it."

"So Wesley explained. In great detail," Buffy said, adding as they turned down another tunnel, "Well, at least I can honestly say that this is somewhere I never visited while I lived here. So you are showing me something new."

Angel laughed. "A memory I'm sure you'll treasure forever."

"It's funny, though," Buffy mused. "In my dream last night I was down here - with you." They passed a pile of old rags and rotting food and other things she preferred not to look at too closely. She wrinkled her nose at the smell. "Phew! Why do sewers always stink?"

"That's their nature," he said absently, scanning the area for signs their quarry had passed this way. "They smell a lot better now than they did a hundred years ago, let me tell you. What do you mean you were here in your dream? I thought you dreamed about my epiphany and then about me being in Sunnydale."

"I did. This was the third dream."

Angel stopped. "The third dream? How many dreams did you have last night? Did you get any rest?"

Buffy chuckled. "Not as much as I'd've liked, no. I only had the three dreams, and that was plenty, thank you very much. This last one was weird, though. The other two showed me things that had actually happened - well, sort of - but this one was really off the wall. I mean, we've hunted demons together, sure, but not in L.A. Until today, that is."

Something flickered across Angel's face, but she didn't notice. "Oh, and there was that demon - what was its name? The one you killed when I came to see you that Thanksgiving after you left Sunnydale, remember? It came crashing through the window - a Mork demon or something like that. It had that red ruby thing in its forehead that you smashed."

"Mohra," Angel said. He wet his lips. "It was a Mohra demon. It was in your dream?"

"That's the one," Buffy said cheerfully. "Anyway, in my dream you didn't kill it when it first showed up, so you and I were down in the sewers looking for it." She hesitated. "We ... had a discussion about how hard it was seeing each other again."

"Then what happened?" Angel's voice sounded strange. She looked at him. "Are you okay?"

He nodded and after a doubtful moment she continued. "Well, we decided to split up - I mean, to go look for the Mohra." She frowned. "It got kinda vague then. I got a phone call from Cordy that you'd found it and killed it, then everything went all fuzzy again. You know how dreams are. The next thing I remember is standing on the boardwalk at the beach. I felt your presence - and there you were, walking toward me. In the sunlight. And we kissed."

The memory brought a lump to her throat. Huskily she said, "And then I woke up. Weird, huh?" She cleared her throat. "I mean, God knows I've dreamed like ten zillion times about you turning human, but they've never been based on a real memory before." Shrugging, she glanced at him, rather shy after this disclosure. Angel was standing very still. Her gaze sharpened. "Angel, what's wrong?"

Angel shook his head. "Nothing." He struggled for composure. How had Buffy dreamed about That Day? It shouldn't be possible; as far as she was concerned it had never happened.

Buffy came closer. "Angel, that's not a Nothing face you have on - it's a Something face." She drew in her breath sharply, eyes widening. "Don't tell me you dreamed that one too!"

"No!" With huge effort, Angel pulled himself together. "No, I didn't. I, uh - " For the unlife of him, he couldn't think of anything to say to divert her from this subject. Just then his cell phone beeped. Saved by the bell. He pulled it out of his pocket, almost dropping it in his haste. "Hello? Yes, Wesley." He listened. "That's great. Thanks for letting me know. Yes, I'll see you later."

"That was Wes," he reported unnecessarily, pocketing the phone again. "He and Fred found the Gloogh and it's been returned to its owner. He paid us two hundred dollars." He summoned a smile, hoping it didn't look as fake as it felt. "Now I can afford to take you out to dinner tonight."

"That's good," said Buffy, still watching him with concern. "But let's get back to whatever is bothering you. Is it - my dream? Because you were human in it?"

Angel turned and began walking in the direction they'd come from. Buffy grabbed his arm, forcing him to stop. "Angel, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. I shouldn't have told you about it."

"No." He shook his head. "No, it's not your fault, Buffy. I'm the one who should be sorry. I shouldn't have reacted the way I did. Your dream reminded me of that day, that's all, and I just - don't like remembering it. It was ... painful ... watching you walk away from me."

She slipped her arms around him. "I know." Her voice was muffled by his shirt. "It was painful doing it too." Angel closed his eyes, holding her close and breathing in the fragrant scent of her hair. "Is that the day Cordelia said they weren't supposed to mention?"

Angel gave a little start. "You heard that?"

Buffy nodded. "I was up on the landing." She also recalled Cordy saying something about Angel setting a record for moodiness afterward. Impulsively she said, "Angel, we can't go back to those days, and we don't need to. That's what the other dream was telling us. It was a message from the Powers, I believe that with all my heart."

She could feel his struggle in the rigidity of his body. "God," he said tightly, "I want to believe it; you know I do."

"Trust your instincts," she murmured, tilting her head back to see him, "Listen to them instead of to your fears. Oh, and in case you don't believe my dream, last night Lorne also told me we should be together, that we needed to find a compromise."

Angel closed his eyes. After a second a corner of his mouth quirked slightly. He opened hs eyes again. "Well, that settles it, then. If Lorne says it's okay ..." Bending down, he kissed her.

After it ended, Buffy said rather breathlessly, "Well! I should have mentioned Lorne's name earlier." She studied Angel's face. "You sure you're okay? You still look, I don't know ... strange."

"I'm fine." He smiled, stroking her face. "Thanks to you." Comforted, Buffy smiled back and pulled on his hand. "Come on, let's get me some lunch. That donut didn't go very far; I'm starved."

As Angel fell in beside her the smile faded from his face. How, he wondered again, had she dreamed about a day that didn't exist for her? And what did it mean that she had?

Angel chuckled. "So you're not bored?"

"Absolutely not. The exhibit on women's fashions was really interesting - especially since you had firsthand knowledge of so many of them. I thought the way you knew just how those gowns and underclothes fastened was especially fascinating," Buffy added, straight-faced. "I mean, we couldn't even see the backs of the exhibits, but you knew all about the dozens of hooks or buttons that were there."

"I wasn't the only one there who knew that," said Angel evasively. "Remember that one woman who commented that it was only the rich ladies who wore them, because only they had maids to fasten them up? She knew about it too."

"True," Buffy said, then changed the subject. "I may pick your brain to get ideas for a Halloween costume this year." She thought that over briefly. "Or not. I think the next time I dress up for Halloween I'm going as Xena or Wonder Woman or that girl with the great hair from the X-Men. Storm, that's her name. No more helpless little ladies for me."

"Good idea," agreed Angel. "You never know when another Ethan Rayne might show up."

"Or worse," she said, grimacing. "Two years ago some idiot accidentally summoned a fear demon named Gachnar in the middle of his fraternity's Halloween party. People were freaking out all over the place - hacking off their hair ... hiding in a closet, crying. Oz turned into his wolf form. Not fun." She shivered and took a restorative sip from the cup.

"I can imagine," Angel said, having some knowledge of fear demons. "How did you stop it?"

Buffy sipped at her Diet Coke and shrugged. "It wasn't too hard. I just stomped him out of existence."

"Huh?" Angel frowned in puzzlement. "What do you mean, you stomped him?"

She shrugged again. "Just what I said." By way of illustration she lifted one foot and brought it down hard on the floor, causing the people at the tables closest to them to look around curiously. "Gachnar was only about three inches tall."

Angel stared at her. Then he burst into quiet laughter. Buffy giggled. "That must have made quite a mess," he said, still chuckling.

"There was definitely an ‘ick' factor involved. I had to throw those shoes away," she remembered. Slurping up the last of her drink, she added, "What's next on the agenda?"

Angel looked at his watch. "Three o'clock. We could try to catch a movie before dinner, if you like. Or there's an art gallery a few blocks away."

"Thanks," Buffy said hastily, "but would you mind if we just went back to the hotel? I have to admit, I wouldn't mind resting a little before dinner. Weird dreams didn't exactly make for a restful night."

"Sounds good to me too," admitted Angel. He paid their bill and they made their way to a secluded corner whose door opened into the corridor that led to the sewer access. "Buffy, I need to take the sewers but there's no reason you have to go back this way." Angel's car was parked several blocks away, in a nicely shaded street that would give him plenty of protection from the sun once he emerged from the sewer.

"I don't mind," she told him. "It gives us more time togther."

Looking into her eyes, Angel touched her cheek, then took her hand. "Then let's go."

"How was LACMA?" Cordelia greeted them when they arrived at the Hyperion half an hour later. She came out of the office. "Did you see their exhibit on women's dresses?"

"Absolutely," said Buffy. "I wouldn't miss that. It was good - lots of people there." She hopped up onto the counter and leaned back on her hands, swinging her feet.

"I hear there's a Dior and a Balenciaga and a Chanel in the collection. Did you see them?" Cordelia's eyes were bright with anticipation.

"Uh - " Buffy glanced at Angel, who shrugged. "Yeah, I think I remember seeing those names in the window."

Cordelia looked at her with pity. "You think? Three of the most famous designers of all time, and you think they were represented?" Propping her chin up on her hand, she sighed. "I've been dying to see that exhibit."

"So why haven't you gone?" asked Buffy idly. "Has it been that busy around here?"

Cordy shrugged and straightened up. "It's more fun to go with another person, and so far I haven't been able to talk Fred into it. Fashion isn't exactly her thing, you know. I've got time; the exhibit will be here for three months." She slid smoothly onto a different subject. "Where are you guys going for dinner tonight?"

"Mario's," Angel replied. "Seven-thirty reservation."

Cordelia gaped. "Mario's? How did you get a reservation for tonight? They're booked weeks in advance - months!"

"I called David Nabbit," said Angel. He made a wry face. "Now I owe him a favor."

"I'll say," Cordelia agreed, with emphasis. "A big one! Mario's." She whistled, then looked at Buffy. "So what are you going to wear?"

Buffy grimaced. "Guess I'll hit Fred up again. She had a dark red dress in her closet that should do."

Cordy shook her head. "Huh-uh. I know that dress and it's the wrong color for you." She held out her hand to Angel. "Credit card, please."

"Excuse me?"

"Your credit card," she repeated. "Buffy and I are going shopping. If you're gonna drag the girl down here to help you fight demons without even letting her pack a bag, the least you can do is buy her something to wear to dinner." She cocked her head, wiggling her fingers impatiently.

"Cordy - " began Buffy, sitting up with a jerk.

"I didn't drag her - " protested Angel at the same time. He stopped, looked at Buffy, then back at Cordy and smiled. Pulling his wallet out he extracted a gold card and handed it over. "Thank you," he told her. "Take my car." He gave his keys to Cordy too, and then looked at Buffy. "Have fun."

"Oh, she will," smiled Cordy, tucking the card in her pants pocket. "I guarantee it."

Buffy wasn't so sure. It wasn't that she didn't like shopping for clothes - when she had the time and money for it. She did, just as much as the next girl, but for Cordelia shopping was more than just a means to update her wardrobe, it was more like a religious quest. She had once spent an excruciating four hours in a mall with Cordy, looking for the perfect pair of earrings to go with a certain outfit, and she had no desire to repeat the experience.

"Uh, Cordy," she attempted as she followed her into the office. "I really would like to rest before dinner, and, and take another shower, so - "

"Don't worry." Cordy smiled at her, slipping her purse strap over her arm. "We're shopping for you, not for me. We'll be back in an hour. Well, maybe an hour and a half. We'll need to get you shoes too."

Buffy sighed and resigned herself to the invitable. To her surprise Cordelia was as good as her word. Slightly more than an hour after setting foot in the mall they were on their way back, Buffy with a lovely dress of midnight-blue velvet and matching pumps, and Cordy with Godiva chocolates which Buffy had insisted Angel would want her to have.

Cordy had snorted. "Only because he knows I'll keep them in the office for everybody to share in." To which Buffy had replied that in that case they'd get two boxes - one for the office and one for Cordy to take home with her. The two large, gold-ribboned boxes lay on the seat between them. Cordelia glanced at them now. "Thanks for the candy."

"You're welcome. Thank you for taking me shopping. It's a beautiful dress." Buffy eyed her a moment. "Why did you, Cordy? You haven't exactly been all open-arms about me being here."

"I know." Cordelia stopped for a red light. "That's why." She sighed, looking over at Buffy. "I wanted to make up for the way I've been acting. I told Angel I'd try not to expect the worst when it comes to the two of you - so I figure that by helping you find a dress that looks as great on you as this one does, I'm demonstrating my faith in you." Buffy smiled a little at that.

The light changed to green. The car started forward with a jerk that brought them up against their shoulder harnesses. "Sorry," Cordy apologized. She went on, "And I've been thinking about what you said last night - that maybe Angel fired us to try to keep us out of danger ... and I've also been thinking that maybe a part of the blame is ours."

"Yours?" Buffy turned sideways in the seat to regard Cordelia. "What do you mean?"

For a moment Cordy was silent. "When Angel started in with his Darla-fixation last year, we ... weren't exactly oozing sympathy and understanding. We were more of the ‘Get over it already" attitude. We couldn't understand why he was doing those things." She sighed as she negotiated a right turn. "More to the point, we didn't try to understand, not really. And we should have."

She glanced over at Buffy. "Didn't Angel tell you any of this?" They came up to a stop sign. Cordelia braked, glanced to both sides, and went through the intersection.

Buffy said slowly, "All Angel told me was that he got obsessed with Darla; first with helping her when she was human; and then later, after she was Turned again, with finding her and stopping her and Dru. He said it got to the point where it consumed all his time, that he couldn't think of anything else - that he was neglecting the business and his friends."

"Did he tell you why he fired us?" Cordelia's voice was quiet but her hands were clenched tight around the steering wheel. Buffy had no trouble seeing that this was a hurt that ran deep; something she'd already guessed the night before.

"Maybe you should ask Angel that," she suggested gently as they pulled up in front of the Hyperion.

Cordelia was silent while she disengaged the key and unbuckled her seat belt. Then - "Maybe I will." She opened her door and got out. Gathering up their purchases, Buffy did the same on her side, and they walked up the path and into the hotel.

"Hi. Fred said you were looking for eyeshadow. I have some here, also mascara, blush, eyeliner, lipstick - you name it." Going over to the bed she unzipped the bag and dumped the contents onto the bedspread. "Help yourself."

Buffy brightened. "Thanks!" She started opening containers and checking colors. "Fred didn't have much to choose from."

‘Fred's not into makeup, really," Cordy agreed. "Well, like I said, help yourself." She made a move to leave.

"Wait. Would you get my zipper please?" Buffy untied the robe and slid it off her shoulders. Underneath she was wearing her new dress, only half zipped because she couldn't reach behind her to complete the job. Cordy came over and zipped it the rest of the way up. As Buffy pulled the robe back over her shoulders and retied it, she suddenly chuckled.

"What's funny?" Cordelia wanted to know.

"It's just that Angel was telling me this afternoon at the museum about how difficult fashionable women's clothing used to be to put on - you know, with all those tiny hooks or buttons up the back - dozens of them - and how they were a sign of status since only women who could afford personal maids wore them. Women without maids or husbands wore dresses that fastened in the front."

Cordelia chuckled. "Something tells me he was more concerned back then with how to *un*fasten them." She stopped. "Uh, sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"It's okay," Buffy told her, still smiling. "I thought the same thing. Angelus was quite popular with the ladies - before he ripped their throats out." She bent over the bed and selected several items. "Well, I better finish getting ready. Thanks a lot for bringing these, Cordy."

"Sure." The other girl hesitated. "Would you like help with your hair?" she blurted out. "I mean, you were planning to wear it up, right? You usually do when you go out - or, well, you used to anyway. And I'm pretty good at that kind of thing, plus I have some nice clips and hairpins ... combs. You know, hair stuff."

"Thank you, I'd love some help" Buffy said. "Four hands are usually better than two when it comes to hair." Cordy flashed a smile and went out to get her hair accessories. Shaking her head, Buffy went into the bathroom to finish her makeup. This new Cordelia was taking a bit of getting used to.

"I'll *do*? That's the best you can say?" Angel looked down. "Maybe I should put on a different shirt."

Wesley laughed. "Angel, I was joking. You look great."

"Really?" Angel turned to his other two friends. He wasn't *nervous* about this dinner with Buffy, exactly, it was just ... well, it *had* been a long time and he didn't want her to be disappointed with his appearance. The charcoal-gray cashmere jacket was a good match for the pants, even though they'd been bought separately, and the thin blue silk sweater complemented both. He sighed. Sometimes not throwing a reflection was an unmitigated nuisance, as now, when he longed to be able to judge for himself.

"You look sharp, man," Gunn seconded from the doorway, where he lounged against the frame with arms folded. "The girl's gonna flip, I guarantee you."

"Yeah," echoed Fred quietly, then rubbed her arms in a familiar nervous gesture. "Any girl would. I mean, Angel, you're just ... gorgeous."

Angel gave a startled laugh. "I've been called a few things in my time, but that's a first!" Wesley sent Fred a quick, appraising look. "Don't you need to get a move on, Angel? It's getting late."

"Yeah." Angel grabbed his wallet from the dresser top, checked over its contents, patted his pocket to make sure he had his keys, and threaded his way between Fred and Gunn. Emerging into the hallway, he tapped on Buffy's door. His friends followed him, but hung back a little.

Cordelia opened it. "Hi. Buffy's just getting - " She glanced over her shoulder. "Oh. She got it." The door opened wider and Buffy came out into the hall. For a moment Angel couldn't speak. Gunn let out a low whistle, Fred sighed with pleasure, and even Wesley murmured, "Lovely."

She was a vision. Her dress was short, ending a few inches above her knees, and fit snugly, with a halter top and a sweetheart neckline which revealed a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage. The midnight-blue velvet draped sensuously over her body; the glittering silver threads that were sparsely woven throughout the fabric emphasized every plane and curve. Angel recognized the black pashmina draped over Buffy's arms as the one he'd given Cordelia for Christmas last year. He thought he'd also seen Cordelia with the tiny evening bag Buffy held in her hand.

All this he saw at a glance, before his attention was drawn elsewhere. Her hair was pulled back in a sort of modified French twist, from the top of which descended a cascade of blonde curls that bobbed with her every movement. Wavy strands also escaped from the ‘do here and there, delicately touching her face and neck. Gem-studded hairpins twinkled brightly at carefully placed intervals, but their glitter paled next to the hazel-green of her eyes. Softly shadowed, lightly outlined in a muted black, and fringed with long black lashes, they gazed out luminously. Faint color picked out her cheekbones, and her lips - he dropped his eyes to them - her lips were a delicate shade of rose that glistened in the artificial light, giving the illusion they were fuller than he knew them to be, but not hiding any of the beauty of their natural curves.

Angel cleared his throat. "You look beautiful." His voice was husky.

"Thank you," Buffy smiled. "You look pretty wonderful yourself." She gazed approvingly at him.

"Shall we go?" Moving aside, Angel held out his arm. With a soft "See you later" to everyone else, Buffy tucked her hand in the curve and together they descended the long staircase and crossed the lobby floor. "Have a good time," Wes called out from the top of the stairs as Angel opened the front door.

"Thank you, Mother," he returned, then followed Buffy outside and let the heavy door swing shut behind them. The ride to Mario's was mostly silent. Only a few remarks passed between them - comments on the traffic (unusually light for that time of evening), the popularity of the restaurant and how lucky they'd been to get in tonight (with a brief explanation as to his association with David Nabbit) and the weather (seasonably warm). Angel glanced at her. "Do you really think you need that shawl?"

"Restaurants can be cold sometimes," Buffy said equably, "and this dress doesn't provide much in the way of coverage."

Angel smiled, but kept his eyes on the traffic. "I noticed."

A few minutes later they arrived at their destination. A valet opened Buffy's door; another valet handed Angel a card with a number printed on it, and both young men wished them a good dinner. A third person stood guard at the tall, intricately-carved wooden doors, pulling one open as they approached. "Good evening," he said warmly. "Welcome to Mario's. Please proceed to the end of the hallway, where Signor Rinaldi will assist you." Angel noticed the admiring glance he gave Buffy as she passed through. The door remained open a second or two longer than it should have while they walked down the thickly carpeted hall, then the attendant returned his attention to his duties.

Signor Rinaldi turned out to be an attractive man in perhaps his late fifties, with thick dark hair lightly streaked with gray, bright black eyes, and a moderate Italian accent. He greeted them with courteous dignity and inquired as to the name the reservation was under.

"Angel."

The maitre d' straightened up from the list without having checked it. "Ah, yes, Signor Angel, of course. Signor Nabbit spoke with me personally. We were delighted to be able to accommodate you and your lovely lady." Angel discreetly handed him a folded bill, which he as discreetly pocketed with a slight bow. His dark eyes flicked over their hands. "May I ask if this is a special occasion, perhaps an anniversary or a birthday?" Taking the menus from the hand of his assistant, he waved her back and personally escorted them to their table.

The dining room was as lovely as everything else they'd seen. Soft lights illuminated the area from behind frosted glass fixtures, both on the walls and on the ceiling. The tables were a comfortable distance away from each other, set with spotless white linens. Crystal vases with fresh-cut flowers decorated each one, along with a softly-colored glass candle-holder.

Angel smiled down at Buffy. "Neither of those, but yes, it is a special occasion. Very special."

"Ah." An understanding smile spread over Signor Rinaldi's face as he pulled out a chair for Buffy. "Signor Nabbit instructed me to convey his best wishes to you and that he hopes you will accept his gift of a bottle of champagne with your dinner."

Seating himself, Angel looked inquiringly at Buffy. "Champagne sounds wonderful," she replied, taking the opened menu proffered to her. A red-jacketed young man placed on their table a selection of breads and lit the candle; a red-jacketed girl came up with a glass pitcher of water so cold there were beads of condensation rolling down the sides. Ascertaining that they would prefer bottled, Signor Rinaldi sent her away again with a spate of Italian. She returned a moment later carrying an equally cold dark-blue bottle of what proved to be excellent-tasting water. Signor Rinaldi gave them another slight bow, hoped they would enjoy their dining experience, and finally left. At that point the wine steward, a young blonde woman in a white jacket, approached them to inquire whether they desired wine with their dinner. They declined.

Another person, this one a brown-haired, somewhat portly man wearing a black jacket, came to the table and asked if they would like a cocktail. Declining this also, they were then informed of the appetizer specials available that night, and left alone to consider the menu.

"Whew!" Buffy sat back in her chair. "I've never had so much attention in a restaurant. Is it because of David Nabbit?"

"I'm sure that's part of it." Angel was watching the activity around the room. "But look at all the attendants here - almost twice the number you'd find in most places. This is the way all good restaurants used to be - even the moderately-priced ones, for that matter."

"You mean, a hundred years ago?" Buffy teased. "I guess that's one of the perks of having a vampire boyfriend - learning about the trivia of other centuries." She received a wry chuckle in response. Just then the wine steward came up with a bottle of champagne. He showed it to Angel, who raised an eyebrow in surprised appreciation and nodded. During the uncorking process Angel told Buffy, "This is an excellent label. I haven't had it in years. I think you'll like it."

When she tasted the champagne, Buffy agreed wholeheartedly. She had to restrain herself from drinking it too quickly, knowing from experience that too much too fast would only result in a bad headache. Their waiter returned and took their order for appetizers, then quietly left.

Out of the blue Angel said, "Have I told you tonight how lovely you are?" His gaze was intent - and filled with warmth.

A faint blush colored her cheeks. "Thank you. You mentioned something about it earlier," she replied in as casual a tone as she could manage.

"Good. I wouldn't want you to think I hadn't noticed." Angel picked up his champabne flute and held it out. "To the most beautiful woman in the world."

Tears stung Buffy's eyes even as she smiled at his exaggeration. Taking up her own flute, she lightly touched it to Angel's. "And to the handsomest man in the world." For a moment out of time they gazed into each other's eyes, then they sipped their champagne.

"By the way," Angel said, setting his glass down, "I love the dress."

"Cordy found it," Buffy admitted, "at Lord & Taylor. It was on sale," she hastened to add.

Angel dismissed that with a slight gesture of his hand. "It's very becoming on you."

"Thank you." Buffy studied him. "That's a really nice outfit you've got on too. I love that sweater with the jacket, and apparently so does that woman two tables over."

Folowing the movement of her eyes, Angel involuntarily looked to his left just in time to see the dark-haired woman sitting there casually return her gaze to her companion, another woman.

"Someone you know?" inquired Buffy.

"No, never saw her before that I remember. Why do you say she liked my clothes?"

"Because she was totally checking you out," Buffy informed him, "which means she's a woman of great taste because you look really hot tonight. How come you never wore things like this when you were in Sunnydale?"

Angel focused on the last sentence, ignoring the part that came before. He chuckled. "I don't dress like this very often here either. In fact, I think this is only the second time I've worn these. Demon-fighting doesn't usually lend itself to fine clothes, as you know."

"You can say that again." Grimacing, Buffy twirled her glass gently, watching the champagne bubbles float up to the top. "Between demon blood and demon claws or teeth, I sometimes think I should just give up and buy all my clothes at Goodwill." Suddenly she grinned. "Remember our first date?"

"For coffee, at the Bronze. Of course I remember it. You were late."

"Because those vamps delayed me," she reminded him. "Anyway, you weren't exactly missing me, if you remember. Cordelia filled in for me very nicely."

"I was missing you," Angel corrected. He reached out and put his hand over hers where it loosely curled around the stem of her glass. "I kept watching the door, wondering where you were. Cordelia just plopped herself down at the table and started talking to me. You know that."

"Yeah, I know; you told me." Buffy made a rueful face. "I'll never forget it, though - showing up for our first date covered in vampire dust, my clothes torn, and hay sticking out of my hair. And then seeing Cordy there with you, looking like she stepped out of a fashion magazine, laughing and chatting." She sighed, then brightened. "And here we are again, out on another official date. And it only took us, what, four years to get here?" She laughed, but beneath the laughter lay sadness.

"At least this time there was no fight," said Angel lightly, releasing her hand and sitting back. "No dust or goo or straw."

Buffy smoothed the soft velvet. "No, thank goodness; I would hate to ruin this dress." She paused. "It's funny. I thought it would feel strange . . . awkward ... having this date with you. I mean, it's been over two years, for one thing, and it's not something we've had much experience at, for another. Well, not with each other. But it doesn't feel awkward at all. In fact, it feels ... really natural. Does it feel that way to you?"

"Like we've never been apart," Angel said softly. He thought that over. "No, that's not it. It's that the years apart don't matter - not really. Sure, there's a lot we need to find out about each other, things we've done, ways in which we've changed... but it's as if we never stopped being together, not down deep where it counts." He gave a rather embarrassed laugh. "Doesn't make much sense, I know."

"Yes, it does." This time it was Buffy who joined their hands across the table. "It makes perfect sense. That's exactly the way I've been feeling, like you've been away on a trip and have now come back and I'm waiting to hear all about it. You know, like did you have a good time, what sights did you see? That kind of thing. Which is kind of weird because just a couple of days ago I was thinking how much you'd changed and wondering just how deep those changes went and if there were other differences I hadn't seen yet."

Her eyes shone earnestly. "But then I came here with you, to L.A., and we fought together just like we used to, and ... suddenly none of that mattered. Because you're still you, and you still love me and I love you. And that's what's really important."

"Yes." Angel raised her hand to his lips. The candle light danced in his dark eyes, and his lips were cool. Buffy felt her heart clench. It was probably just as well that their appetizers were brought to the table at that moment.

The rest of the evening was spent in playing catch-up. Over dinner, Angel heard for the first time the details of why Riley left. As they lingered over their dessert - and linger they did - Buffy learned about more of Wolfram & Hart's devious schemes and how they had affected Angel and the others. By the time they returned to the Hyperion it was almost ten-thirty.

"It's such a lovely night, let's walk in the garden," suggested Angel. Buffy assented and they went out onto the terrace. The moon was high and the annual santa ana wind was scudding the clouds across the sky.

"We can see the stars," murmured Buffy.

"The wind blew the smog away," Angel replied. They gazed a while longer before descending into the garden, strolling hand-in-hand along the smooth stone pathway that meandered through the bushes and flower beds, which decades ago had been one of the Hyperion's premier attractions. Most of the plants were dead now, but a few hardy varieties of shrubs had managed to survive the years of neglect, although they were hugely overgrown. They stopped in amazement before a flower bed teeming with marigolds, zinnias, asters, and several others Buffy couldn't put a name to. Of course, since it was dark out, most of the flowers were closed and little could be seen of their colors.

"I think Fred's been doing a little gardening on the sly," Angel commented. "She mentioned once that she's always liked growing flowers."

Buffy admired them. "She's done a good job. I bet this is beautiful in the daytime when they're all opened out."

"Some beauty can't be dimmed, even by the night." Angel's voice was husky. When Buffy look up in surprise at his intensity, she found he wasn't looking at the flowers. The moonlight that was silvering his fair skin also turned his eyes into dark fathomless pools, and they were trained on her face. Her heart skipped a beat. Swallowing, she came a step closer.

Angel whispered her name. Then she was in his arms and he was kissing her, long and slow and sweet, and his lips were cool and his arms strong and tender and his kisses burned all the way down to her toes. How long they stood there she never knew, only that she wished she could stay like that forever. No demons, no slaying, no friends who mustn't learn what they'd done in bringing her back, just Angel and her, locked in a loving embrace, lost to the world.

Finally they broke off the kiss, but they remained in each other's arms for a long time, Buffy resting her face against Angel's unmoving chest, her arms clasped around his waist, his arms holding her close, neither of them speaking, just holding each other, refusing to think of the parting that lay ahead.

At long last they straightened and drew back. Still without speaking they made their way back to the hotel and up the stairs. In front of Buffy's door they paused. Angel took her hands, his thumbs caressing them. "See you in the morning." Moving forward he leaned over and kissed her, softly.

Buffy swallowed. "Good night." Opening her door she went inside, still feeling the touch of his lips on hers.

"I hope that wasn't the most enjoyable part of it," Angel tried to joke.

This time the smile made it to her lips, however briefly. "Definitely not."

Silence fell. "How did you sleep last night?" he finally asked. "Any more dreams?"

"No, thank goodness," she replied. "I could do without dreams of that kind for a while. Not that I'm not grateful I had these - well, the ones about your epiphany anyway - but they're kind of draining, you know?"

"I imagine so." Another silence followed. Then - "Are you sure you'll be okay?" Angel asked her softly. "I can go with you if you want me to and if you can wait until the sun sets." The glass doors of the Hyperion gleamed brightly in the morning sun, and he was careful to stay away from direct contact with the light streaming through them. In an uncustomary display of tact and consideration, none of the others were around; they were quite alone.

Buffy's eyes stung. Of course she wanted him to come home with her - and never leave. Or, barring that, she wanted to stay in Los Angeles, with him. But she knew better, and managed a tiny smile. "No, you need to stay here. After all, you have a business to run."

"The business will do fine without me for a little while longer." His hands caressed her shoulders. "Wesley and Gunn are extremely capable, as you know, and so is Cordelia and even Fred - well, she will be, I'm sure. In time."

"I know," she nodded. "But I need to start figuring out how to live my life again. I need to - I don't know - learn how to be an adult, I guess. Dawn's depending on me and Willow said something on the phone this morning about a leaking pipe in the basement and that Xander was going to bring over a plumber friend of his to give an estimate. Guess I'm going to find out why Mom always spent so much time going over our finances."

His heart ached for her. She was so brave, this young woman he'd loved almost at first sight, and it was so soon after the stress of her resurrection - less than a week. He knew a part of her still mourned the loss of the peace she'd known during her brief death, still longed to return to it, but she wasn't dwelling on it. Instead, she was preparing to face what they both knew would be difficult times ahead just as she'd always done, with determination if not enthusiasm.

"If you need me, just call. I'll be there in a flash."

"In a flash, huh?" Again the faint smile appeared. "Is teleportation a vampire ability you forgot to tell me about?"

"No, but driving at 100 miles an hour is," Angel said lightly. He was trying to keep the moment from becoming *too* painful, but another heavy silence descended despite his effort, a silence that was broken by the unmistakable sound of a motorcycle outside. Wesley had arrived. Angel suddenly wrapped Buffy in his embrace. "Call me when you get home, okay? So I know you got there safely."

"I will," she whispered, holding onto him tightly. Just then the hotel doors opened. Reluctantly they looked up. Wesley strode inside, wearing a black leather jacket, black helmet under one arm and the pink one Angel had once worn dangling by its strap from his hand.

"Buffy, I'm ready whenever you are." Wesley's eyes flickered over their faces. "I'll ... just be waiting outside. Uh, there's no rush. You have over an hour before your bus leaves and the station is only fifteen minutes away."

She nodded, fighting back tears. "Thanks, Wes." He nodded and quietly exited. Buffy took a deep breath. "Well ... guess it's time."

"Yeah." Angel's throat felt tight. "You have money, right - for food and stuff?" He'd used his credit card to purchase her ticket over the telephone. Buffy nodded again. "Yeah. Don't worry about me, Angel. I'll be fine."

"I know," he said huskily. "I just - " He stopped. There was no point in going there; neither one of them wanted her to leave, but they both knew she had to. "I'll see you Friday night if nothing comes up to keep me here."

"I know." She took another shaky breath. "Let's get this over with, okay? I can't stand much more." Angel leaned down and they kissed, long and deeply. When they finally parted, Buffy couldn't speak. They shared one more look before she backed away and retrieved her bag from the floor where she'd set it, hoisting it over one shoulder. "See you Friday," she whispered, then turned and walked away.

"Friday," repeated Angel. He watched her go through the doors into the bright, deadly sunshine where he couldn't follow ... couldn't even get close enough to watch Wesley helping her on with her helmet and instructing her in proper passenger behavior. Involuntarily his hands clenched. In a few minutes he heard the bike start up and then the receding sputter as it took her away from him.

Suddenly a hand clapped him gently on the shoulder. "She's gone, huh?" asked Gunn sympathetically.

"Yes."

Gunn nodded. "I'm sorry; wish she could've stayed longer. That's one special girl you've got there, man. I like her."

"Yes, she is," said Angel quietly. "Very special." He forced himself to turn away from the empty entrance. "So ... is anything going on?" They began walking toward the office.

"Not unless you count filing as something," Gunn replied. "Fred was ‘helping' by instructing Cordy in correct alphabetizing methods - until Cordy threw her out."

"I did not ‘throw her out,' " that young woman corrected, coming out with a sheaf of papers in her hand. "I merely suggested that she should go through this morning's paper to see if there was anything that might be of interest to us professionally."

Gunn grinned. "Right - you threw her out."

Cordelia pointedly didn't dignify that with a response. Instead she asked Angel, "Buffy get off all right?"

"A few minutes ago."

"Good." With that mild but somewhat ambiguous comment she turned to go back into the office, then turned around again. "Angel, when you have a moment I'd like to - "

Just then Fred came running down the stairs, brandishing a newspaper as she came. "Guys, look at this!" They waited until she'd reached them and spread the paper out on the counter. "Here." She pointed to an article.

Angel read it aloud. " ‘Police found the body of twenty-six-year-old Woodrow Raglan in a two-bedroom suite at the Elondria Hotel. An unnamed witness said it was as if his insides had just -‘ "

Gunn's voice joined his. " ‘ - collapsed.' " His eyebrows furrowed. "You know, there was something else like that - maybe a week ago."

"There was?" Fred breathed excitedly.

Cordelia frowned. "Uh, may I just point out that no one is actually hiring us to look into this and that we should be doing more important things?"

"Like what?" retorted Gunn. "Filing? Followed by a little dusting maybe? Hang on a mo'." He hurried into the office, returning a moment later with an open file folder from which he fished out a clipping. "Here it is. Ten days ago, a body ... found in another hotel room, under similar conditions. The maid said the body ‘looked like it just caved in.' "

"What do you think?" Angel said, taking the clipping from him and perusing it. "Spell, curse ... serial demon?"

Gunn shrugged. "Tough to say, but I think it's worth a closer look."

"I'll say." Angel gave the clipping back to Gunn. "Cordelia, open up a case file. We have to get on this right away. I'll go get my jacket." He moved away in a hurry.

"Angel - " Cordelia began, then stopped as he ignored her and ran up the stairs. Frustrated, she turned to Gunn. "Will you tell me just what makes you think this might be a case for us?"

Gunn pointed to a line in that morning's newspaper article. "Collapsing insides?" He waved the clipping. "Caved-in body? That's a little weird, even for this town. Besides " - his voice softened and he cast a glance at the staircase - "Angel needs something to do right now and what else do we got going on?

Cordelia sighed. "Right. At least it'll take his mind off Buffy for a few hours." Suddenly she gave Gunn an approving smile that transformed her face. "Good thinking." Starting to return to the office, she stopped suddenly. "Gunn - make sure he doesn't go barging out into the sun, okay? I think he's forgotten it's daylight outside."

"Not yet," Willow said, looking serious, "but - "

Tara put in, "Money's definitely becoming an issue."

"As in your being almost out of it," came Xander's contribution. In a state of shock, Buffy leaned back against the cushions. As explanations about life insurance and hospital bills and houses eating up money broke out around her, she had a sudden urge to hop right back on the bus that had brought her home and go back to L.A. and the shelter of Angel's arms.

(I can't do this, it's too much. Mom, why did you have to leave us?) It took every remnant of control she had to remain in the room, especially during the bizarre conversation that ensued following Anya's suggestion that she charge for her slaying services.

(Charge who?) she wondered. (Does Anya actually think the City Council would approve an appropriation for vampire slayage? What am I supposed to do, put the ashes in a Ziploc bag and collect a bounty? And what does Spiderman have to do with anything?)

"Guys, enough!" she finally broke in. "I'll take care of this. I ... just don't know how, yet." Catching sight of Dawn's worried expression, she smiled at her reassuringly. "Don't worry, Dawnie; everything will be fine."

Later, alone in her room, she stood at the window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass. Eyes closed, she remembered all the times Angel had been on the other side of that sill, perched on the roof below ... how they'd talked and kissed ... and kissed some more. Her longing for those days was an ache inside her entire body.

(All I had to worry about then was slaying and not getting caught sneaking in and out of my room. Mom was alive and Angel was in Sunnydale, not two hours away. I had it good back then and didn't even know it.)

Sighing, she moved away from the window and began unbuttoning her shirt. If she was going to try to persuade the bank to give her a loan, she better dress for the part, not in jeans and a cotton shirt that had seen better days. No, a skirt and suit jacket were definitely indicated here.

Angel swivelled around. His startled look was quickly replaced by a wide grin. "Well! Hey, sweetheart. Where have *you* been hiding?"

Sweetheart? "Uh, you know, up in my room," she replied, flustered. Worrying about the Angel/Buffy situation, but she wasn't going to admit that - not to Angel. Not yet. "Everybody keeps saying 'Fred, you should get out more,' so, well ... I came down to see if Cordy was here and wanted to go out." She gave a little shrug.

Angel's eyes lit up. "Fred! Now this is more like it." While she was wondering what he meant, he took another sip from his glass then got up and walked around the desk to stand in front of her. His eyes roamed over her in a way she'd never seen before. Not from him anyway. "Have I ever told you you are a very beautiful woman?"

Huh? What was going on here? "Um ... no," she faltered.

"Do you like olives?" he asked her, pulling the toothpick with the olive out of his drink and offering it to Fred. Growing more confused by the second and not knowing what else to do, she hurriedly ate it off the toothpick.

"Tell you what," Angel said, still with that strange smile. On anyone else she would have called it a smirk ... maybe even a leer. "I have some work I have to finish up here. Why don't you go on upstairs and put on something pretty and we'll go out on the town."

"Really?" In spite of her bewilderment Fred brightened at the prospect.

Angel touched her on the nose with the toothpick. "And that's just for starters." He winked at her.

Fred took a backward step. "Okay, I'll just - I'll go and - okay." She hurried out. All the way to her room, and while she was changing, she argued out loud with herself. "Okay, so he's acting a little ... different. I mean, he called you sweetheart and ... and ... acted strange with the toothpick and all. And he's never smiled at you like that before. But he's been through a rough time lately. First he thought Buffy was dead and then he found out she was alive again - that's enough to make anyone act weird, isn't it? Sure it is. And, and she just left yesterday and that was really hard on him, even though they've talked on the phone twice since then, so he's feeling lonely and probably just wants to talk about her. Then I showed up so he asked me out. I mean, no one else is around so who else *could* he ask?"

She surveyed her reflection in the mirror. "Looking pretty good, Fred, for someone who was living in a cave five months ago, if I do say so myself. And now you're going ‘out on the town' with Angel. I wonder what he means by that? Dinner probably, maybe a movie or something afterward? He probably doesn't dance," - sighing regretfully - "but anyway he needs a friend right now so you're going to be his shoulder to cry on. Or at least the ear he talks into."

Picking up her purse she made her way downstairs - slowly and carefully, because it had been five years since she'd worn heels and she still tended to slip and turn her ankle when she had them on, and stairs were especially tricky in that regard. Entering the office she started to announce her readiness - and stopped, shocked into immobility. Angel was half-lying on Wesley's desk, with a woman beneath him, a woman he was kissing passionately. It wasn't Buffy, which was her first startled thought. Huh-uh; this woman had dark hair.

Silently Fred backed away. Moving as quietly as she could she escaped back to her room, where she immediately locked her door and grabbed the phone. Punching in a number she waited breathlessly for the other person to answer. "Wesley? It's Fred. Listen, you guys have to get back here right away! Something's terribly wrong with Angel. He's on top of your desk making out with a woman. No, it isn't Buffy. This one's a brunette. Oh, and before that he was drinking a martini and acting like ... I don't know what. I think he was making a pass at me! He called me ‘sweetheart' and asked me to go ‘out on the town' with him and winked at me and tapped me on the nose with a toothpick!"

Ignoring Wesley's stammered questions, Fred lowered her voice - even though there was no one to hear her. "Listen, I know this sounds kind of strange ... but I don't think it's the real Angel in there. What? Who's Angelus? Oh." She gulped. "But why would Angelus want a martini? Okay, yeah, I'll get my cross right away just in case, and then I'll sneak out and meet you in the garden. ‘Bye."

She stripped off her dress, tossing it carelessly onto the bed, and re-donned the clothes she'd just changed out of, sighing with relief when the more comfortable shoes were back on her feet. Then she hung a large silver cross around her neck, grabbed a stake from the supply she kept in a drawer, and cautiously opened the door. The corridor was empty. She started for the stairs, scarcely daring to breathe. When she came out onto the landing Angel - or Angelus? - suddenly stalked out of the office. Her heart almost stopped as she froze in place, but he crossed the lobby and left the building without ever once looking in her direction.

Waiting a minute to make sure he wasn't coming back, she scurried into the office. Five minutes later she was pacing in the garden, impatient for the others to join her. When they arrived she immediately led them to a nearby stone bench, where several large books lay open. "He's gone - left right after I talked to you, but these books were in the office. This is the way I found them."

Gunn and Wesley crouched down, scanning the pages. Cordelia craned to see, leaning on Wesley's shoulder for balance. A few moments later they exchanged puzzled looks and straightened up. Fred said, "Why would Angel need to read up about vampires?"

"He wouldn't." Frowning, Cordelia shook her head in bewilderment. "And neither would Angelus."

"It would seem," Wesley said slowly, "that whoever this is didn't know about vampires. And you say he was acting strangely, Fred? Unlike himself?"

"I'll say!" stated Fred with emphasis. "He was acting like a playboy bachelor from an old Thirties movie. Calling me sweetheart and saying I was beautiful. And drinking a martini - with an olive in it!"

"He ate those breakfast burritos this morning," Cordelia remembered.

"Yes," Wesley said thoughtfully. "This case we've been working on, each of the victims exhibited wild, uncharacteristic behavior just before they died. They weren't themselves."

Gunn nodded. "Oh! So you think Angel's been infected by whatever got into those gym boys."

"Not 'whatever' - whomever." Wesley turned. "Cordelia, when you and he were at the gym, did anything unusual happen to Angel?"

"No," the young woman answered, her brow wrinkling as she thought back. "I was with him pretty much the whole time ... except for when he went across the street to the retirement home!" Her eyes lit up with grim excitement. "I think we'd better go pay them a visit, don't you?"

---

Xander sat back in his chair and surveyed the piles of open books that covered the table. How long had they been researching this demon that had broken into the bank in broad daylight? "You know, I still don't get it. I mean, what kind of a demon would rob a bank?" He looked at the others. "And I still can't believe that guy wouldn't give Buffy her loan after she saved his life. What a - " He caught Dawn's eye. " - jerk."

Anya said brightly, "The kind of demon that wants money!"

"How can you research that? What do you even *call* that?" Xander exclaimed, closing his book with a frustrated bang.

Dawn held up a large book. "This?" A picture of a demon was displayed on the open page. "I'm guessing on how you say it ‘cause it's got an apostrophe. I think it's Mmm-Fashnik. Like ‘Mmm, cookies.' "

Leaning forward, Xander scanned the page. "Or maybe, Muh-Fashnik. Like Muh ... " Realizing too late that he couldn't think of an ending to go with it, he finished lamely, " ... Fashnik."

Just then Buffy and Willow emerged from the back room. Dawn turned the book toward Buffy. "This your guy?"

"You do research now?" Buffy asked. "Want a cappuccino and a pack of cigarettes to go with it?" Inwardly she winced. Just because she was worried and on edge was no excuse for jumping on her sister like that.

Dawn gave her an angry look. "Would you just look at the picture?"

‘I'm sorry, Dawnie," Buffy sighed. "It's just hard for me to realize that you're growing up. I still think of you as the kid who had to be threatened with no dessert before she'd do her homework, so it's a little startling to see you volunteering to help with our research."

Mollified, Dawn smiled at her. "Research isn't homework - not unless a teacher is making me do it. Besides, demons are way more interesting than geometry or ... well, just about anything we learn in school."

"Doesn't exactly fit the profile for your typical bank robber," Xander commented, still studying the picture.

"Maybe they turned down his loan application," Buffy muttered. She gave Willow a wry smile since they'd just discussed that very subject, then looked at Dawn's book. "That's him. Big bad. This thing was strong, guys. No weapons that I could see, but - " A movement by the door caught her eye. She looked up, stared, and heard her voice finishing the sentence without her conscious volition. " - still ... real ... dangerous."

There was the sound of cloth rubbing against wood as everyone turned in their chairs to see what she was looking at. Xander half expected it to be Angel, except that it was still light outside so how would he have gotten to Sunnydale? Instead he saw Giles standing just inside the door, two suitcases still in his hands, staring at Buffy as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

Buffy swallowed. Here was another hurdle for her. How was he going to react? But no more than a few seconds passed before Giles let his bags fall to the ground with a thump and started walking toward her. Swallowing again, but from a different emotion this time, Buffy went to meet him.

A tremulous smile went over his face. "Oh God, Buffy." His arms went around her. Giddy with relief, Buffy hugged him back, feeling that her world had just become more normal. Giles was back, and that was almost as good as having Angel or her mother there.

"You're alive," Giles whispered, his voice full of emotion. "You're here. And you're still -" His words grew strained. "- remarkably strong."

"Huh?" It took a moment for his meaning to penetrate. "Oh." She released her tight hold on him. "Sorry," she told him sheepishly.

Giles shook his head a little, dismissing her apology. "Willow told me, but I didn't really let myself believe." Buffy saw that his eyes were wet. A strange shock went through her. She'd never seen Giles cry before, not even after Jenny's death. She also felt tears threatening, and instinctively resorted to a quip.

"I take a little getting used to. *I'm* still getting used to me."

"It's ... you're... ." His voice faded away.

"A miracle?" she supplied lightly, trying not to wince the way she did whenever one of the gang used that word about her return. Her smile began to twist but she was able to stop it before he noticed.

Giles nodded. "Yes. But then, I always thought so." He touched her cheek tenderly. Buffy started to get that suffocating feeling again and had to force herself to remain in place for a few seconds before stepping back. She turned around.

Everyone was watching them, smiling happily.

 

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