"Home Before Dark "
Author: Deb Nockels
Email: Debnockels@aol.com
Disclaimer: Lyrics below are from the Broadway play Into The Woods
by Stephen Sondheim and James Lapine.
Notes: I decided to ignore that silly business with the demon ghost
thingy that Buffy brought back with her, because as far as I can see there's
no significance to it. So that whole day and night just didn't happen. When
Buffy wakes up the next morning, it will be to see Dawn off to school, as
per the episode "After Life."
Dedication: To Anja, my beta-reader, because she always has a word
of encouragement as well as help. You're the greatest!
Buffy pulled up in front of the mansion and parked. Before getting out of the car, which Giles had reluctantly loaned her, she sat for a moment, debating. It was three-thirty. Should she or shouldn't she go inside? Aside from the fact that she might disturb his sleep, was she tempting fate by being alone with him in such a private setting? Especially after what had happened last night? A tiny shiver of warmth went through her at the memory.
No! She and Angel were both mature adults. They were in control of their hormones, not the other way around. Setting her jaw, she got out of the car, marched up to the front door, and knocked.
No answer.
She knocked again, and waited. Still no answer. She tried the door. It wasn't locked, so she walked inside. "Angel?" she called softly.
Silence.
Buffy hesitated, then went over to the bedroom, opening the door carefully and slipping inside as soon as there was enough of a gap to allow it. The room was dark, of course, but she was able to discern the figure of Angel lying in the bed
Damn. He *was* still sleeping. A sudden yawn took her by surprise. That training session had really tired her out. She yawned again. Without really thinking about it, she went over to the bed, pulled off her shoes, and lay down beside him.
Angel stirred. "Buffy?"
"Shh," she whispered. "Go back to sleep; everything's fine."
He mumbled something that sounded vaguely like "okay" then turned toward her and pulled her against him, all without opening his eyes. Buffy snuggled even closer, draped an arm across his waist, and drifted off into sleep with her nose mashed against his chest.
(Alone, you are dead.)
Buffy opened her eyes with the words echoing in her head, only to see Angel sitting on the side of the bed, gazing down at her. The memory vanished as he smiled. "Hey, sleepyhead."
She stretched, yawning. "Hi." She noticed that he'd turned on the bedside lamp; she also saw that he was fully dressed. "What time is it?"
"Almost five." Going over to the window he pulled the curtains apart, revealing a dark-blue sky.
"Already? Guess I was more tired than I realized." She yawned again, then patted the area beside her. "Lie down for a minute?" Angel came back to the bed and settled himself beside her; she nestled against him, her head on his shoulder.
"Where's Dawn?"
"With Giles," Buffy murmured. "I'll pick her up on my way home. How come you got dressed?"
She felt the rumble in his chest as he chuckled. "You know why."
"Yep." Craning her head to look at him, she said, "Because otherwise you would have been helpless to resist me and I could have had my way with you."
"You know it," he agreed. He lowered his head and kissed her. Buffy savored the warmth that filled her at the touch of his lips. He shifted position, turning slightly toward her, his arm tightening around her; his free hand cupped the side of her head.
She sighed as the kiss ended. "That was nice."
Angel caressed her cheek. "It was." She rested her head on his shoulder again and for a few minutes they just lay there silently holding each other, content. "Has Giles found anything?" he finally asked, stroking her hair.
"That feels good," she murmured. "Giles thinks he has a lead."
"Already?" He was surprised.
She nodded. "Mm-hm. He's checking on the possibility of using Mohra blood." Angel's hand froze in mid-stroke.
"Mohra blood?"
"Uh-huh, like the one you killed that time." She glanced up. "Did you know their blood heals thing like wounds and disease?"
Angel moistened his lips. "Does it?"
"Yes." She snuggled against him again. "Giles even found an account of it curing someone of a mental illness, so he's investigating further."
"That sounds promising. What made him think of it in the first place?" Angel forced himself to relax, but her next words brought the tension back.
"Oh, I had that dream about the Mohra again last night, the one I had in L.A., and I told him about it." One hand idly caressed his chest.
Angel cleared his throat. "It was the same dream?"
Buffy hesitated. Last time Angel had gotten upset when she told him about the part in her dream where he was human. How would he react on hearing that she'd dreamed they'd spent a whole day and night making love? It would only remind him yet again of the limitations forced on their relationship. He might even think it proved that she was missing the sex - which of course she was, but if being able to see Angel the way they'd been doing since her return meant never having sex again, so be it. Celibacy was a small price to pay for the joy of being with him again.
"Buffy?" Angel looked down at her.
"Yes, it was the same one," she hastily replied.
Angel was still gazing at her. "But?" When she didn't answer he said, "Come on, I can tell there's something else. What is it?"
Buffy heaved a sigh. "It'll only upset you, Angel."
"Maybe it will," he replied, "but knowing there's something you're afraid to tell me is upsetting me more."
"Not *afraid*," she objected, moving back so she could see his face too. "I mean, it's not like there was a prophecy or an omen of doom or anything important in it. It's just that the dream didn't end in the same place this time. There was more to it and I was pretty sure you'd get upset about the new part, that's all."
Angel braced himself. "Well, I'm forewarned now, so you can go ahead and tell me about it."
She sighed again. "All right. You remember the first time the dream ended with you being human and us kissing on the beach?"
"I remember," he said softly, recalling the wind ruffling his hair and the warmth of the sun on his back as they kissed. He could almost smell the brine, hear the crashing of the waves.
"Well, last night in the dream, after that we went back to your old apartment and we ... made love." Anxiously Buffy watched his face.
Since he'd halfway been expecting this, Angel was able to control his reaction. He nodded. "Of course."
" ‘Of course'?" She eyed him keenly. "You mean it doesn't bother you?"
He smiled faintly. "It seems the natural conclusion to my turning human. I mean, isn't that what we *would* do? I know it's what I would want, at least - to find you and make love to you all night long." If he closed his eyes he could still feel the touch of her tongue, licking the dripped ice cream off his chest.
Buffy's smile was lopsided. "Yeah, me too." Their eyes met for a wistful moment; then, determinedly, she brightened. "And since you're going to find a way out of that stupid loophole in your curse, next time I have that dream I'm taking notes!"
He managed to join in with her chuckle, trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his heart that told him it was only a matter of time before she remembered everything. No. It was impossible; the day had been turned back. She wasn't remembering - at least, she didn't *know* she was remembering. She thought it was simply a wonderful, wishful dream created by their own longings - and that was the way it would remain.
And yet - would it be so terrible if she did know the truth? Well, yes, right now it definitely would be bad if only because of the state she was in. But maybe later ... after Giles had found the way to get all her soul back ... maybe then she'd be strong enough to handle the truth. If he could summon up the courage to tell her.
"Alone, you are dead." she murmured.
Angel started, he couldn't help himself; but he quickly turned the movement into a stretch. "I'm sorry, what was that you said? I didn't quite catch it."
The faint, puzzled line between Buffy's eyebrows smoothed out. She answered, "It was something in the dream last night; I just remembered it. There was a voice saying, ‘Together you are strong; alone, you are dead.' "
"Whose voice was it?" asked Angel.
"Nobody's that I recognized," Buffy shrugged, adding, "It didn't seem to have any connection with the dream, other than emphasizing that we should be together - " She gave him a little squeeze, which he returned, " - so maybe it's just something I read in a book or heard in a movie or . . . something like that."
Angel made a noncommital sound, then asked her, "I hate to mention this, but don't you need to get going? Dawn's waiting for you."
"Yeah, unfortunately," she sighed. Damn, she hated to leave. The only time she felt even halfway normal was when she was with Angel. "Are you coming with me?" she asked hopefully as she sat up and moved to the side of the bed to look for her shoes.
"I'll catch up with you later," he told her. "I need to check in with Wesley, see what's happening at home. At the office," he instantly amended.
Buffy hadn't missed his slip of the tongue, but she smiled at him. "Of course." Of course he considered L.A. to be his home; he'd been living there for three years. "I'll see you later, then."
Angel paused outside the door of the Magic Box, marshalling his thoughts, and his conversation with Wesley had given him plenty to think about. The sky was almost completely dark now, with only a faint glimmer of light on the horizon. Opening the door, he went inside.
At the tinkle of the bell, Giles looked up. "Angel, I'm glad you're here. I'd like to talk with you if you have some time." He came out from behind the counter. There was only one customer in the shop; a young man bending over a display case of crystals.
"That's why I'm here," Angel replied. "I wanted to have a talk with you too." He came further into the store, nodding a hello to Anya, who was cleaning fingerprints off the counter top.
"Oh?" Giles looked sharply at him. "Is everything all right?"
"Everything's fine," Angel assured him, aware of listening ears.
"Good. Let's go in my office. Anya can handle things out here, can't you?" He smiled at the ex-demon.
"Of course I can," she sniffed, rubbing vigorously. "I handled them while you were home in England, didn't I?" She scowled, presumably at a stubborn smudge.
"You did indeed," he replied, not having missed her emphasis on the word ‘home.' "And you did a wonderful job too."
"I did?" A pleased smile swept over Anya's face before she could stop it. Hastily she frowned. "I mean, of course I did."
"Exactly." Escaping, Giles followed Angel into his office and closed the door behind them.
"Anya seems a little ... touchy today," Angel observed, settling in the extra chair. He looked around the tiny room. Books, papers, and more books seemed to be the decorating motif. Then he caught sight of a photograph on the desk. It showed Buffy, Willow, Xander, Oz, and Cordelia in front of the high school.
A pang went through him. They all looked so young, so ... happy. Buffy especially. Only three years had passed since that photo was taken, but how much had happened in that short time. His leaving ... Joyce's death ... finding out her sister was the Key to other dimensions ... fighting a hellgod ... dying to save Dawn and the world (again), and then being returned to life, losing part of her soul in the process... .
"That's par for the course with Anya, I'm afraid," sighed Giles. "She's worried that I want to take over the shop again."
It took Angel a moment to turn his thoughts back. "Aren't you?"
Giles shook his head. "My arrangement with her was that I would be a silent partner. Now that I'm back I just won't be silent, that's all; the partnership is still in effect."
"Oh." Angel hadn't realized that Giles' return to England after Buffy's death was meant to be permanent. He'd been such an important part of Buffy's life for so long, it was hard to imagine Sunnydale without him. It just felt ... wrong.
Giles changed the subject. "I talked to Wesley this afternoon."
"I know; he told me." Which was why he'd come to the shop first instead of going straight to Buffy's house.
"Good." Giles sat down. "Then you know that I asked his opinion about using Mohra blood to help Buffy. He's going to check some sources of his own, but I faxed him the information we found today and he agrees that it looks quite promising."
"I agree, but I'm glad you're not rushing into anything," said Angel. "There's already been too much charging ahead without checking all the facts."
"Much too much," Giles agreed grimly. "I'm still researching - or rather, Tara and Willow are - whether anything like this has happened before, and if so, how it was rectified. If it was, of course." He paused. "Did Wesley tell you the other thing we discussed?"
"Yes; that's really why I stopped by. I'd like to see that item in the chronicles." Angel smiled apologetically. "It isn't that I don't trust you; I just need to read it for myself."
"Of course. I was expecting you would." Giles pushed a large tome toward him. "At the bookmark."
Angel read the account of the Mohra/vampire battle, with particular attention to the Council's conclusions about the non-return of the soul. When he finished he was silent for a moment. "Remarkable," he finally said.
"Yes, I thought you might be interested." Smiling, Giles closed the book. "Have you ever heard of anything like this happening?"
"Only once," he replied slowly.
"A different incident?" Giles leaned forward eagerly, eyes alert. "When and where did it happen?"
Angel took a deep breath. "Two years ago. In Los Angeles."
Giles blinked, leaning toward him with a puzzled frown. He gave a little laugh. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"
"I said that I know of another vampire turned human by Mohra blood. It happened two years ago in Los Angeles."
Giles was silent for a minute, gazing at him. Then he said, "Buffy's dream ... isn't just a dream. It really happened."
Angel was impressed as always with the quick intelligence of the other man. "Yes," he admitted, quietly.
"But ... " Giles groped among the many questions whirling dizzily in his mind. "I don't understand. Why does Buffy think it was only a dream - why doesn't she remember it?"
"That day was taken back - erased and started over - by the Oracles," Angel told him. "I'm the only one who remembers it as it was."
"They erased the day?" Giles gave his head a little shake, as if the movement would assist his comprehension. "Why? If their purpose was to prevent something from happening, why allow you to remember?"
"One of us had to," he replied. "Otherwise we would merely repeat the same events."
"One of you," repeated Giles. "You mean, either you or Buffy?" Angel nodded. Giles stared incredulously. "Are you saying that the Powers That Be erased an entire twenty-four hour period and started it anew just to prevent you and Buffy from being together?"
"No." Angel shook his head. "It was done to stop the Mohra from turning me human."
"Why was that so important to Them?"
"It wasn't Their idea," Angel said tightly. "It was mine."
After a stunned moment, Giles sat back in his chair. "You're planning to explain that, I hope."
Angel took another deep breath.
Wesley stifled a yawn. He'd stayed up much too late last night going through the book he'd taken home to research Angel's curse, and working at deciphering the Nyazian Scroll as he'd been doing since arriving at the office wasn't exactly the most energizing of occupations. He glanced beside him at Fred, clicking away at the laptop.
Gunn aimed another dart at the board. "How ya doing there, Fred?"
"Oh, it's a simple equation, really," Fred answered brightly. The laptop sat on the only part of the desk that wasn't covered with papers or books. "The ancient Roman calendar has 1464 days in a four-year cycle. The Etruscan, Sumerian, and Druidian each have their own cycles. You work forward from the presumed day of the prophecy under each calendar, factoring in our own three hundred and sixty-five day calendar and accounting for a three day discrepancy for every four years and - "
She stopped. "Oh. That can't be right - unless the world ended last March." She frowned at the laptop.
Wesley smiled, but said encouragingly, "Try again, Fred. It's not as simple as it looks but I'm sure you'll get it."
Gunn abandoned the darts and took the chair in front of the desk. "So, are we talking Armageddon - or a bad house number? Is it a bad event - or a bad guy?"
Wes shook his head. "It's not clear on that. The Nyazian Scroll predicts the arrival or arising of the Tro-clan, the person or being that brings about the ruination of mankind."
"So it's a two-for-one," remarked Gunn. "Isn't that nice." He made a face.
"And I'm not sure on the translation," Wesley continued, looking down at the topmost page, which was covered with notes and words written in, then crossed out. " ‘Ruination' may in fact mean ‘purification.' "
"Purification?" Gunn repeated. "So this Tro-clan is a good thing?"
"I doubt that," said Wesley in a dry tone, "but it's ‘purification' in Aramaic, ‘ruination' in ancient Greek, and in the lost Ga-shundi language it means both."
"And you don't want to make the same mistake twice." From her desk, Cordy looked over at Wesley with unmistakable meaning.
"No," he agreed shortly.
"What mistake?" Fred piped up, curious.
Reluctantly Wesley said, "There was another prophecy a while back. It seemed to be about Angel and contained the word 'shanshu,' which I thought meant to die and I - sort of told Angel ..." His voice trailed off.
"That he was going to die," finished Cordelia.
Fred's eyes grew wide. "Oh, no."
Wesley hastily continued, "Then I found out it also meant to live. It meant to die *and* to live."
Fred looked confused. "So - which is it?"
"Both," Wesley told her. "In his case it meant that someday the vampire in him might die, but the human in him might live."
"That he would be like a normal man?" she pressed. Wes nodded. "Wow," Fred breathed in awe. "What would we do if that happened?"
Cordelia said briskly, "I'd buy him some plaid shirts and take him to the beach. The boy needs some color."
That got a chuckle. Wesley bent over his papers again and Fred resumed typing. "There," she exclaimed after a few minutes. "That came out better." She scanned the screen; her face fell. "Oh. No, it didn't."
All eyes trained on her. "It's still very preliminary, but ... if these calculations are correct, this bad thing should already be here." She looked around the room. "Well, I - I guess not right *here*, here, but here in L.A. Let me run these numbers again.
" ‘Born out of darkness to bring darkness,' " said Wesley. He looked up. "That's what the prophecy says about the Tro-clan. One of the many things it says."
"Born?" asked Cordelia. "Earlier you said it would arise. Which is it?" She held up a hand as Wes started to reply. "Never mind, let me make a wild guess: Both?"
Wesley smiled wryly. "The Middle English ‘eyrizan' and the Gothic ‘urreisan', both mean to appear, to spring up. There is also a reference to the Tro-clan being ‘boren', which is pretty plain Middle English for being born, to bear." He lifted his shoulders in a resigned shrug. "Take your pick. However this Tro-clan gets here, we can be fairly sure he, she, or it is bad news."
"Well. Another fun day at Angel Investigations researching another prophecy of doom." Cordy stood up. "What do you say we pour ourselves a good stiff -"
"Uh-oh." It was Fred.
Cordy looked at her. "A good stiff uh-oh?" She fell back in her chair with a sigh. "Why do I not like the sound of that?"
Fred sat back, worrying at her bottom lip. "Uh, remember before when I said I thought that maybe, possibly, perhaps I might have been off in my earlier calculations? And you asked Wes whether the Tro-clan was prophesied to arise or be born and he said it could be both? And we all know that the Latin for arrive is ‘arripare', to come to land or possibly in this instance simply to come to, as from a deep sleep - "
An exasperated "Fred!" came simultaneously from Wesley, Cordelia and Gunn.
Fred looked abashed. "Right; sorry. I believe that whatever this thing is, it's arriving right about - " She looked down at her watch " - three, two, now."
There was silence as everyone looked about them nervously. Then -
"Right," said Wesley. He rose to his feet. "Gunn, I suggest we do a little patrolling, see if we can sniff out any sign of the Tro-clan's arrival. Hopefully it was dramatic enough to attract attention without being catastrophic. Cordelia, why don't you start monitoring the police broadcasts? Fred, do the same with the news channels and radio stations. Report to me if anything comes up. I'll check back in one hour." Grabbing weapons, the two men left.
"Should we call Angel?" wondered Fred, reaching for the remote control to the tiny television that sat in one corner of the office. She pressed the Power button and a local news station appeared on the screen.
"No." Cordy fiddled with the controls of their radio scanner. Static blasted into the room; wincing, she turned down the volume. "Not yet. Buffy needs Angel to be with her right now; there's no point in worrying him until we have more information."
Fred sighed. "I guess you're right."
Angel had to smile, albeit faintly. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Giles at a complete loss for words. "Now you understand why there's no point in researching this any further. I won't put Buffy at more risk than she's already in."
"No." At least, that's what Angel thought he said; it was more of a croak than a word. Giles cleared his throat and tried again. "No - I mean yes - that is, I understand." He regarded Angel with a respect bordering on awe.
How many humans would be willing to make the sacrifice this two-hundred-year-old vampire had? For more than a century Angel had endured the anguish that a soul and a conscience brought with them, had borne the memory of deeds so evil they were beyond most people's imaginings, and suffered all the guilt and remorse those memories could inspire. He'd given up the only woman he'd ever loved because that love endangered his soul, and therefore her life. And then, when a miracle had occurred that allowed them to be together without fear, he'd requested that it be rescinded when he learned that it also meant Buffy's life would be shortened. And he'd done it apparently without a moment's hesitation.
"Buffy can't know about this," Angel was saying.
Giles frowned. "I don't like keeping secrets from Buffy," he began.
Leaning forward, Angel interrupted, "Giles, she isn't strong enough right now to handle it." His voice was still quiet, but intense. "She's under too much stress as it is."
"You're right," Giles acknowledged. "However, this dream she's been having... ." He let his voice trail off, knowing the other man would take his meaning.
"I know," Angel acknowledged. "But first let's get her soul back in one piece, then I'll worry about how to tell her."
Giles eyed him. "Then you do plan on telling her."
"I don't think I have a choice," replied Angel grimly. "Sooner or later she's going to start questioning why she's having that dream."
"You realize there's a strong possibility she won't be pleased when she does learn the truth." Giles refrained from mentioning that in his personal opinion "not pleased" wouldn't begin to describe Buffy's reaction. "Extremely upset" would probably be much closer to the actuality.
Angel closed his eyes. "Believe me, I'm aware of that."
(Her eyes, swimming in tears; tragic. Her broken voice. "How am I supposed to go on with my life ... knowing what we had - what we could have had?")
("You won't. No one will know but me.")
("Everything we did - ?")
("It never happened.")
("It did! I know it did!" The touch of her hand on his chest. "I felt your heart beat.")
(Their desperate kiss, then her frantic look at the clock. "Oh God! It's not enough time!" Her arms in a stranglehold around his neck; his arms holding her as tightly as he could, knowing that moment would have to last him a lifetime. "I'll never forget! I'll never forget!")
Giles noted the strain on his face, the way he was massaging his forehead as though it ached, and said no more.
The evening was calm, only a slight breeze rustling in the tree tops. Stars were beginning to twinkle palely in the east as darkness pushed the last glimmer of light over the western horizon. By contrast, the Magic Box was lit up like a birthday cake, inside the store at least. Outside, the lights were off, the blinds were down, and the door was locked, with the "Closed" sign displayed on it. Seeing the lights and hearing the sound of voices from within, a few would-be customers tried the door anyway, then when it failed to open, peered around the edges of the blinds, wondering what they were missing out on.
Inside, the cheerful atmosphere was further enhanced by the comforting scents of freshly baked cookies and brewing coffee. Buffy and Angel stood together at one side of the room; Xander ambled around, aimlessly checking out new items in the display cases. Dawn watched Giles, Tara and Willow with keen interest as they laid out supplies and paced off a circle, outlining it with a blue powder.
"Would you like another chocolate chip cookie?" Anya proffered the plate to Buffy. "I made them myself. From scratch."
"Yes, you've mentioned that," Buffy replied.
Twice, Angel thought but was wise enough not to say out loud.
Buffy forced herself to be polite. "They're really good, Anya, but I'm too wound up right now to eat. Maybe afterward." She managed a faint smile.
"Sure." Anya gave her an understanding nod. "That's smart. I should have realized your stomach would be all fluttery right now - I know mine would be in your position - and we don't want you vomiting during the ceremony, do we?"
"No," agreed Buffy solemnly. "That would definitely not be cool." Beside her, Angel stifled a chuckle.
Xander, standing a few feet away, intervened. "I'll have another one, Ahn." He came over and selected a cookie off the plate, giving Buffy a wink.
Anya surveyed him critically. "No more after this one, Xander. Those pants are already getting tight. Not that I mind seeing you in tight pants but I don't want to have to sew up another ripped seam."
Xander remembered the last - and, hopefully, only - time she'd repaired a seam, and with a sigh replaced the cookie. "You're right." He glanced over at the trio, now busily tossing crushed herbs into the circle they'd made. "When do you think they'll be ready? They've been fussing over one thing or another ever since I got here."
Willow answered without looking up from her task. "We want to be sure we get it right this time. Besides, you were early."
Xander shrugged. "Couldn't wait. It isn't every day one of my best buds gets magically healed." A second later he added, "You're sure this is going to work, right? I mean, positively, cross-your-heart-and-hope-to - " He stopped. "Uh, I mean, you're absolutely sure?"
Giles glanced his way. "There are very few absolute guarantees with magic, Xander. But we've researched this backward, forward, and upside down for over a week, not to mention consulted with experts in the field, and no one could discover any reason why using the blood to repair Buffy's soul shouldn't work."
He didn't add that obtaining the blood had cost him big time, not so much in cash, although money had also been exchanged, but in the favors he now owed to several ... beings. Mohra blood was a rare commodity, and cost accordingly.
Angel squeezed Buffy's hand. She looked up. "I'm okay," she murmured, in response to his inquiring look. "I just wish it were over. I can't wait to feel like myself again."
"I know." Angel stepped closer, wrapping her in his arms. The last week had seen a rapid deterioration in Buffy. Her energy level had declined to the point where she hadn't gone on patrol the previous three nights and she'd had to force herself to do even simple tasks like fixing dinner for Dawn. She no longer came to the mansion to greet him when he woke up, and when he arrived at her place he usually found her sitting on the couch staring listlessly at the television. Although she still took a daily shower she'd stopped bothering with makeup, and her pale face made his heart ache.
Buffy sighed and rested her head on the comforting solidity of his chest. For a split-second she was surprised not to hear a heartbeat, but then she wondered why she was surprised. He's a vampire, she reminded herself ironically. His heart doesn't beat. He doesn't breathe, either - remember? Except in your dreams. Mentally shaking her head, she closed her eyes and relaxed in Angel's embrace. His arms now provided almost the only link to normality remaining to her. Even Dawn roused only faint stirrings of emotion these days.
Xander glanced around the room. "Shouldn't the atmosphere be a little more, I don't know ... serious? All these bright lights, looks like we're having a party in here, not a healing whatever-you-call it."
Willow looked up; her voice was testy. "Exactly. It's a ceremony, not a seance, Xander. We don't need shadows and gloom."
Tara, anxious to avoid conflict, added soothingly, "We can dim the lights before we start if they're bothering you."
"No, no," Xander said hastily. "That's all right. I just thought we needed more ambience or something." Sheepishly he went over to Anya.
Tara and Willow stopped their activities, followed a moment later by Giles. All three surveyed the results of their labors for a moment before Giles pulled a paper out of his pocket. "Let's go over the checklist," he said. After each item had been confirmed by one of them, he stood another moment in silence, then caught the gazes of the two woman and nodded. He went over to the entwined couple.
"Buffy, we're ready. Do you need me to go over it again with you?"
Angel released her and she turned, shrugging. "It isn't complicated. You're going to cast a healing spell or something on me, then you're going to cut my arm and smear the blood on it."
Dawn objected, "Why do you have to cut her? Couldn't you just prick her finger with a needle or something? It worked for Sleeping Beauty."
It was Angel who answered. "Mohra blood isn't like human blood. It's thicker, for one thing. If the wound is too small or too shallow the blood won't be able to enter Buffy's system." His lips pressed tightly together, visible evidence of his dislike for needing to hurt her. Buffy patted his arm.
"I'll be as gentle as I can," promised Giles.
She managed a smile. "I know. Don't worry about it." She went with him over to the large circle of crushed herbs. "I assume I stand in here?" Everyone gathered around as Buffy positioned herself in the center of the circle. The pungent fragrance of the herbs around her wafted to her nostrils, and she resisted the urge to sneeze. They didn't smell bad or anything, just ... strong.
In the training room, a figure silently entered through the window. It remained motionless for a long minute, listening intently, then cautiously opened the door leading to the main room. It paused again, making sure it hadn't been sighted before slipping through and darting stealthily as a shadow to the concealment of a tall bookcase where it could watch unobserved. Intense eyes found the dark-haired vampire, and the intruder noiselessly edged out until he had an unobstructed view of Angel. Lips drew back in a soundless snarl, and the weapon in its hand began to rise.
The ceremony began. Tara lit the candle in her hand. "We call on the Powers of Good, on behalf of your beloved daughter."
The weapon halted its upward swing. The figure in the shadows craned its neck as if trying to hear better.
Willow lit her candle. "As she has protected us, let us now protect her."
The candle in Angel's hand flared up. "Let our love sustain body and spirit, til she is whole inside as out. As we ask, so mote it be." His tone and the expression in his eyes turned his words into a prayer.
Giles took up the second round. "We call on the Powers of Good, on behalf of your chosen warrior."
"As she has protected us," Tara softly chimed in, "let us now protect her."
Willow completed the blessing. "Let our strength sustain body and spirit, til she is whole inside as out. As we ask, so mote it be."
"We call on the Powers of Good, on behalf of your selected champion." As Angel started the chant for the third time the lights suddenly dimmed, although they didn't go out entirely. Dawn looked over her shoulder at the shadows suddenly springing to life throughout the store, and rubbed her arms uneasily. A breeze appeared out of nowhere, lifting the ends of Buffy's hair.
Giles continued, "As she has protected us, let us now protect her."
"Let our strength sustain body and spirit, til she is whole inside as out. As we ask, so mote it be," Tara finished, and the fourth round began.
"We call on the Powers of Good, on behalf of our beloved friend Buffy," chanted Willow.
Specks of glowing light streamed out of the four participants, joining together in the circle where they whirled around Buffy in a luminous spiral. She stared in bemusement as several of the sparkles landed on her bare skin with no more sensation than if they were dust motes. She could hear the voices outside the circle, but they were muted ... far off.
"As she has protected us, let us now protect her." Angel's dark eyes had never left her face.
Giles continued, "Let our love and strength sustain body and spirit, til she is whole inside as out."
Then, as a group, strongly: "As we ask, so mote it be."
Handing his candle to Tara, Giles stepped forward and with a swift gesture slashed Buffy's upper arm. Even though she'd been expecting it, Buffy gasped at the pain and involuntarily jerked out of his grasp. Blood immediately welled up, and Dawn passed her a folded handkerchief to hold over the wound.
Willow handed Giles a tiny vial containing a fluorescent light-green liquid. He muttered some words over it and tugged at the cork. It came free with a tiny "pop!" as the seal that had preserved the contents for almost a century was broken. Quickly Giles brushed the handkerchief away and poured the blood over the cut.
The viscous stuff didn't run down her arm; instead, for several seconds it sat on top of the injury like some sort of transparent neon bandage. Then, slowly, it seeped into the open wound. Knowing what would happen next, Angel set his candle down on a nearby table and went to Buffy. From the hiding place, the hard eyes watched his every move.
Buffy watched the green blood with curiosity and slight trepidation. Her arm felt warm where the fluid lay on it. Seeing the stuff ooze into her body was disquieting, but it didn't hurt. Just the opposite, in fact - the throbbing from the cut was fading.
"Wow, that feels better already," she said, then stopped with a loud gasp. Her entire arm began to burn with invisible fire. The heat spread rapidly across her shoulders and up her neck to her head, then down the other arm ... her chest ... waist ... abdominal region ... both her legs and feet. Buffy was vaguely aware of Angel's arm around her, supporting her, but the fire within her body and mind commanded all her attention.
Images flashed before her eyes: a long fall through a maelstrom of sounds and sensations ... clear blue skies and warmth, and her mother smiling at her, arms wide open ... Kendra's throaty chuckle ... Jenny Calendar's wise dark eyes ... peace and happiness and safety... .
As suddenly as it had begun the burning stopped, and Buffy straightened up with a sigh of relief. "I'm all right," she said to the anxious friends surrounding her. She paused, assessing her condition. "In fact, I haven't felt this good in a long time."
Glancing at her arm, she broke out in a wide grin. The slash was closing even as she looked. "I think it worked, Giles. No, I *know* it worked!"
Matching grins appeared on every face. Willow hugged Tara, then turned and threw herself at Giles, who was also enduring a back-thumping from an enthusiastic Xander. Only Angel saw Buffy's face change. "Buffy?"
Her eyes were fixed, staring at nothing. "Buffy, what's wrong?"
She didn't answer. Once again she was awash in images and sensations. And voices. Hers. And Angel's.
(The warmth of the sun on her back as they kissed ... "Mmm, this is a dream. You're human for like a minute and already there's cookie-dough-fudge-mint-chip in the fridge" ... "That time you just spent in the kitchen? That was enough time apart" ... the taste of ice cream and warm, bare skin ... tumbling in the bed with Angel's arms around her ... his naked body above her . . . "No, I want to stay awake - so this day can keep happening" ... "Sleep. We'll make another one like it tomorrow" ...)
(... "Together, you were strong. Alone, you are dead" . . . fighting a tall demon with a glowing red jewel in its forehead ... Angel, hurt, lying in a crumpled heap ... "I'm guessing that expression isn't because they were out of fresh o.j. at the deli" ... "I went to see the Oracles; I asked them to turn me back" ... "If anything, I'm a liability to you" ... "How can we be together if the cost is your life, or the lives of others?". . ." A minute? No! No, it's not enough time" ... "How am I supposed to go on with my life knowing what we had? What we could have had?" ... "No one will know but me" ... "I'll never forget, I'll never forget"... .)
Tears filled her eyes and flowed down her cheeks.
"What's wrong with her?" Xander demanded. Dawn's hands clapped over her mouth; she began crying. Giles shook his head helplessly and looked at Angel. "Do you know what's happening?"
"No," Angel said tersely. Just then Buffy gave a long, shuddering sigh and slumped against him. "Buffy? Are you all right? What happened?"
"Oh my God." She raised streaming eyes to his and touched his face. "It wasn't a dream."
Angel felt as though he'd been turned to stone. "What?" he choked. She couldn't mean what it sounded like she meant. Giles caught his breath, giving Angel a swift glance.
"It really happened," she whispered through trembling lips. "All of it. You were human and we were together. I told you I'd never forget, but I did. I did - and I'm sorry. God, Angel, I'm so sorry!"
"Huh? What's she talking about?" Xander demanded. He looked at Willow and Tara, who shook their heads; at Dawn, who though no longer crying, also looked bewildered and a little scared; at Giles, who only motioned him to be quiet. Behind the bookcase, the eavesdropper frowned in confusion.
Angel struggled to speak. "You ... remember?"
She nodded, still caressing his cheek. "Everything. Kissing you in the sunlight at the beach, kissing you in your kitchen - " Her hand moved down, gently flattened over his heart. "I felt your heart beat."
"You don't ... hate me?" he whispered, still in shock from the unexpected suddenness of it. This wasn't at all how he'd planned on telling her. Not that he'd actually *had* a plan, not yet, but this sure wouldn't have been it.
"Hate you?" Buffy gave a small sob, shaking her head. "How could I possibly hate you? You did it for me, to keep me alive."
Slowly the intruder's weapon lowered again, until its tip pointed at the ground.
Xander frowned. "But - you died. I mean, I don't understand anything that's going on right now, but you did die, Buffy. Remember?"
Buffy hadn't looked away from Angel. "Six months ago, yes. But if Angel hadn't sacrificed his humanity for me, it would have been sooner. Can you ever forgive me?"
"For what?" whispered Angel.
More tears spilled down her face. "For forgetting. All this time you've had to live with the memories of what we had, what we could have had. You must have felt so alone. I'm sorry." Her breath caught in another sob.
"Keeping you alive was worth every second of the pain," he whispered, then they were in each other's arms, kissing.
Giles cleared his throat. "Er, yes. Well, er, perhaps we should, uh, start clearing this stuff away." He motioned toward the candles and herbs. A slight sound caught his ear. He turned sharply. "Who's there?"
Buffy and Angel pulled apart and instantly looked around for weapons. Grabbing up a nearby chunk of crystal, Giles stared at the bookcases. From the shadows at the end of the row, another, shorter shadow slowly detached itself. As it emerged into the light, it revealed itself as a man; a man with long, tangled hair, wearing old-fashioned clothing and carrying a crossbow aimed directly at Angel's chest.
"Hello, Angelus. It's been a long time."
It took Angel a moment to find his voice. "Holtz???"