"I love you."

The words, whispered against her lips, winged straight to her heart.  His arms held her close and safe as they kissed.  She wrapped her legs around his waist and received him into her body, moaning with each gentle thrust.  Her hands wandered over his back, feeling the play of muscles as he moved against her, more urgently now.  His skin felt cool as her body heated up; gasping, she kissed his shoulder, felt his lips on her neck, and groaned, "Drink me."

"No!"  He lifted his head to show his game face.

"You must!  It's the only way to save your life.  Drink me!"  His teeth pierced her skin just as she climaxed, and she shuddered in twofold ecstasy as he drank.  A moment later he cried out and his body spasmed in turn.  She held him tightly, whispered, "I love you.  I want my life to be with you."

"But I don't."   Unbelieving, she looked up.  He stood before her, completely dressed, as she now was.  His face was back to normal.  "You don't want to be with me?"

"I'm leaving town, Buffy," he told her sadly.  "It's for your own good because you're just a swoony schoolgirl and don't understand that you deserve something better than this freak show.  You deserve someone who can take you into the light, someone who can make love to you."  He turned and started walking away.

"No!  Wait!"  She ran after him.  "I don't care about that!"

He turned on her fiercely.  "I do!  Can't you understand that?  I love you so much and I want you so badly, sometimes it's all I can do not to come to you at night and make love to you until neither one of us can walk!  A part of me doesn't care that it would cost me my soul."

Tears rolled down her face.  "I know.  I lied about not caring; it's the same for me.  I love you so much."

"Goodbye, Buffy."  Making no effort to hide his own tears, he left.  She sank to the ground, crying hopelessly.

Buffy opened her eyes, instantly aware of why they felt gritty and sore.  The pale light of early dawn showed outside her window.  For some time she lay there, thinking about her dream, then she got out of bed and went into the bathroom.  The sight of her face in the mirror made her smile ruefully.

Mental note: Much crying makes for swollen eyes and shiny red nose.  Oh well, just call me Rudolph. Five minutes later she was dressed and out of the house.

Joyce peeked into Buffy's bedroom on her way down to the kitchen.  Her bed was empty, the covers still in disarray.  "Buffy?"  She started down the stairs, shivered at the chill in the air.  Well, it is November.  Guess I better start turning on the heat at night.

"I'm in the kitchen," came the reply.  Joyce found her daughter opening a carton of orange juice.  She was dressed in bright blue and white running shorts over gray tights, a blue tank top dark with sweat, and a gray sweatshirt tied by the arms around her waist.  Her face was flushed, and perspiration gleamed on her neck and arms.  She poured the juice into a glass and drank it down.

"You've been running?" Joyce was surprised.

"Sure.  I told you, I run every morning, weather permitting."

Joyce asked, cautiously.  "Does that mean you're feeling better this morning?"

"In a way."  Buffy held up the carton.  "Juice?"

"What?  Oh, yes, thanks."  Joyce sat down in one of the bar stools, trying to figure out her daughter's mood.  It certainly wasn't anything she had expected it to be.  "Honey, I'm so sorry about what happened last night."  She halfway expected Buffy to close her out and refuse to discuss it.

"Why?  It wasn't your fault."  Buffy poured her juice.  "I suppose it had to happen sooner or later.  I've been carrying all that around for much too long, and it was time to let it go.  Time to face the fact that Angel and I are of the past, and get on with my life."  She handed the glass to her mom.

Joyce literally didn't know what to say for a minute.  "Well, I'm glad to hear you say that, but I'm also surprised.  After last night I was expecting... ."  She shook her head.

Buffy smiled briefly.  "Suicidal depression?  No."  She looked at her mother gravely.  "I had a dream last night."

"About Angel."  That was a safe guess.

Buffy nodded.  "I won't try to tell you what was in it, because you know how dreams are.  They're worse than jigsaw puzzles, and they never make sense when you try to tell them to someone.  Besides, it's not the dream itself that was important; it's what the dream meant."

She paused, running a finger around the rim of her glass, not looking at her mother.  "This morning, while I was running, I was remembering the night that Angel and I made love, and how wonderful it was."

Joyce blinked, much taken aback.  This was not a conversation she had ever expected to be having with her daughter.   "I remembered how loving and gentle he was, and then I remembered - "  Buffy paused, tears filling her eyes.  "I remembered how he changed, afterward, and then when the real Angel came back to me, how he haunted he was by the memories of what he'd done before.  I never told you this, Mom, but Angel tried to kill himself one night after he returned."

"He what?" Joyce asked, startled.  "Why?"

Buffy sat across from her.  "The memories became too painful.  Plus he was being deliberately tormented by a demon playing really nasty head games with him.  But my point is that all that time I never realized how unfair I was being to him."

"Unfair to him?" Joyce said faintly.  "In what way?"  She took a sip of her orange juice, hoping to fortify herself against further shocks.

Buffy didn't answer right away but sat staring at nothing in particular.  Finally she sighed.  "By not realizing how much pain I was causing him by keeping him here with me.  I knew how much I wanted us to - to be together again, and I knew that it was just as bad for Angel.  But just because I was willing to live with the constant ... longing didn't mean he should have to."

Her eyes were dark with sorrow.  "He was right to leave, Mom, but not for my sake.  For his."

Once again Joyce was left speechless.  Buffy got up.  "I've told you all this so you won't worry about me.  I'm okay."  She took a banana from the bowl on the counter and started to leave the room.

Joyce found her voice.  "Buffy.  Don't you want breakfast?"  Buffy shook her head.  "Maybe later.  I'm not very hungry.  I'll just have this banana for now."  She left, and Joyce heard her footsteps going up the stairs.  She stared at the empty doorway.  Her daughter never ceased to amaze her.  When had Buffy developed this maturity, and how had she failed to notice it?

---

Late May 2001:

"Whew!"  Buffy collapsed on the couch with a groan.  "I am stuffed!  Great Sunday dinner, Mom - as always."  She smiled over at her mother, who sat down with a weary sigh on the chair across from her.

"It was a fantastic meal, Mrs. Summers.  Thank you for inviting me to join you."  David Larson plopped down next to Buffy.

"David, it was my pleasure," Joyce said warmly to Buffy's current young man.  "I'm just glad to finally meet you.  Buffy speaks of you often."   "Mom," Buffy warned.  "You're going to give him a swollen head."  She fought a yawn.

David snorted.  "Not likely, with you around to keep me in my place."  He groaned and stretched his feet out.  "I don't think I can move, I ate so much.  That chicken was delicious, Mrs. Summers.  And so was the stuffing, and the salad and the potatoes and the broccoli and - what did I miss?"

"Nothing," Joyce laughed.  "Thank you, David.  I'm glad you liked it.  And thank you both for helping with the dishes.  What are you two doing  tonight?  I assume you weren't planning to stay at home watching TV."

"We're meeting the gang in an hour," Buffy said idly.  Her eyes were closed.

"At The Bronze?"

"Where else?" Buffy shrugged.  "Unless we go to a movie or drive fifty miles to the city there's nowhere else to go."

"I heard some people talking about a place called The Cemetery," David put in.  "Where is that?"

Buffy's eyes opened.  "The cemetery?  Where did you hear about this?"

"In the parking lot of the supermarket while I was waiting for you last night.  Some guys were talking about it.  They said there was a lot of action there.  Maybe we could check it out."  He looked inquiringly at her.

Buffy sat up.  "Not a good idea, David.  There is no club by that name; it was a real cemetery they were referring to.  It was probably a gang from L.A. you overheard.  They drive out here sometimes looking for a change of scenery.  If they're planning any kind of action in a cemetery, that's a place to stay the hell away from.  Mom - "  She looked at Joyce.  "I'm going to call Giles and let him know about this.  David, I don't suppose they said which cemetery?"

"Well, no, but how many cemeteries can you have in a little town like this?"

Joyce smiled wryly to herself as Buffy answered, "Twelve."  She ran up the stairs.  David repeated incredulously.  "Twelve?"

"Some of them are from the pioneer days," Joyce told him, then reached for the remote and turned on the television, hoping to avoid further questions.

Strictly speaking, it was true - two of the burial grounds were one hundred years old, from the days of Sunnydale's founding.  She didn't feel up to the effort of concocting a lie to explain the remaining ten.  After a  few minutes, during which they learned that the local weather conditions were mild and clear and the temperature was sixty-nine degrees Fahrenheit, they heard Buffy on the stairs again.  Joyce turned the TV off.

Buffy entered the room, her jacket over one arm.  "David, I'm sorry, I have to go out for a little while.  Why don't you go on to The Bronze without me?  It opens in about five minutes and you can wait for me there.  I shouldn't be long."

David looked disconcerted, for which Joyce could hardly blame him.  Being deserted by his date, no matter how temporarily, couldn't be how he had expected the evening to go.  "Buffy," she said.  "Can't someone else - "

"No, Mom," Buffy interrupted firmly.  "No one else can.  You know that."

"Can what?" David asked.  He looked more confused than ever.

"Can do my errand for me," Buffy said briskly, and unhelpfully.  "Come on, David, I'll drop you off at The Bronze.  Mom, I'll see you later."

"Be careful," Joyce told her, then added hastily, "You know what maniacs there are driving around on the streets."

"Always am," Buffy smiled, lying through her teeth as Joyce well knew.  She watched the door close behind the two young people, and sighed.  Sinking back into the chair, she sat and brooded over the past two years.

How she'd hoped things - life - would improve for Buffy once she'd accepted Angel's absence.  And in some ways things were better.  Buffy still came home almost every weekend but she no longer spent most of her spare time at The Bronze.  Oh, she still went there occasionally with her friends, but the time she wasn't at home was spent training or running.  And patrolling, of course.  She spent long hours checking out the hot spots in and around town.

Joyce frowned unhappily.  Buffy was doing far too much, in her opinion, and not getting enough sleep.  She'd lost weight, honed down to nothing more than lean muscle stretched over bone.  Her body fat was less than ten percent.  Joyce knew this because, concerned that her daughter had an eating disorder, she'd insisted Buffy see their family doctor.

Buffy had been patient with her and allowed her to come into the doctor's office once the examination was completed.  The doctor had told them that Buffy appeared to be in perfect health, although she agreed with Joyce that it wouldn't hurt for her to gain a few pounds back - purely for aesthetic reasons.

Of course Buffy hadn't gained the weight - what young woman would?  But more than Buffy's physical appearance, it was her mental and emotional state that bothered her.  It was true that Buffy had begun dating almost immediately after her return to college that Thanksgiving of ‘ 99, but nothing had come of it, in the lasting relationship sense.  None of the young men lasted more than a few months - some not that long.

When Joyce asked her what went wrong, she'd say that Doug or Ryan or Sean or Jensen or whatever the current name was couldn't handle her difficult lifestyle.  The worst of it was that she didn't really seem to care, shrugging it off with the remark that it hadn't been anything serious anyway, they were just dating - or, once, that the young man had been too serious, and she didn't feel that way about him.

She's gotten harder.  Everything's business with her now - Slayer business.  There's no ... no joy in her anymore, the way there used to be before ...

Joyce sighed again.  Before Angel left.  Even through the ups and downs of their relationship, Buffy had a certain ... something . . . about her.  A glow, I guess, though that sounds like something out of a really bad romance novel.  Whatever it was, it's gone.  I can't remember the last time I saw her laugh, truly laugh.  Nothing seems to really touch her now.  Did I make a horrible mistake?  Did he?

Slowly Joyce rose and went into the kitchen.  She dialed a familiar number.  "Mr. Giles, it's Joyce Summers.  Do you ever hear from Angel?"

---

"Hey, David!  Sorry we're late.  Where's Buffy?"  Willow grabbed an empty stool and pulled it over to the table where David sat nursing a drink, alone.  Oz took the seat next to her, and Xander and Anya seated themselves on David's other side.  Anya had just finished her second year at UCLA, and was home for the summer.

"I wish I knew," David said glumly.  "She suddenly had some errand to do that couldn't wait, so she dropped me off here and took off."

"An errand that couldn't wait?" Willow acted casual, though every Scooby nerve signaled Red Alert.  "Well, I'm sure she'll be along soon."  She glanced at Oz, but he was already on his feet.  "Excuse me," he said.  "I have a phone call to make.  Be right back."

David looked after him.  "He's a man of few words, isn't he?"   "Yep," Xander agreed.  "Oz's motto is ‘If you don't have anything to say - shut up.' "

"Who should shut up?"  Buffy materialized out of nowhere.  "Hi, guys.  Sorry I'm late.  Have you ordered yet?"  She looked around, spotted an empty stool and grabbed it, squeezing in next to David.  "Who should shut up?" she repeated.

"Uh, no one," Xander said.  "It was just a - it was nothing.  So, did you finish your errand?"

"Yeah, I took care of it."  Buffy looked around the table.  "Where's Oz?"

"Here."  Oz appeared at Willow's side.  "Had to make a phone call - or thought I did."  He sat down.  "Got your errand done, I see."

"Right," Willow said brightly.  "She's errand-free now."

"Did you have any problems?"  That was Anya.  The Scooby Gang mentally groaned.  Anya, a demon who had lost her powers, still wasn't comfortable in human skin; the idea of polite subterfuge was one that had never really taken with her.  She was a lot like Cordelia in that way.

Xander gave Anya a discreet nudge with his elbow.  Buffy looked at her pointedly.  "Of course not, Anya.  I was just ... visiting a sick friend.  No problems there."

"Oh," Anya said.  "I thought  - " She broke off, probably because Xander again dug into her ribs with his elbow, not so discreetly this time.  "Oh.  Never mind."

Just then a server finally came up to their table, and in the confusion of ordering drinks the subject was dropped, although David kept unusually quiet for the rest of the evening.

"What was that all about?" he asked Buffy later, as they left the nightclub and walked to her car.

"What was what all about?"  Buffy feigned ignorance.  David stopped.  "Buffy, I'm not stupid.  There was something going on tonight, something connected with your mysterious errand, that everyone at the table knew about.  Everyone except me."   Buffy went to unlock the passenger door.  He stopped her with a hand on her arm.  "Look, I know we've only been dating a couple of months, and that doesn't give me a right to pry into your personal life.  But I think I can guess what you were doing tonight."

"Really," Buffy said, noncommitally.  "What do you think I was doing?"

"Well, you said you were visiting a sick friend.  I'm guessing that your friend has AIDS, and that's why you didn't want to talk about it and your friend Anya was acting so weird.  Lots of people still act funny about AIDS but I just wanted to let you know that it doesn't bother me."

Buffy gaped.  "Uh.  It - doesn't?"  David shook his head. "No, it doesn't.  I never told you this, but my father is gay, and his lover died from AIDS about five years ago.  He'd lived with it a long time and I helped Dad nurse him sometimes, so I know a little about the disease.  If I can help at all with your friend, please let me know.  I'll be happy to."

Buffy was touched, even though his scenario was completely wrong.  Hastily she improvised a story.  "David, thank you, but it won't be necessary.  My friend doesn't have AIDS, just the flu. Honestly.  I didn't intend to make a big mystery out of visiting her; I'm sorry. And Anya was just, well, being Anya. She's a little ... weird sometimes."

David stepped back.  "Oh.  Well, good.  I'm glad to hear that.  Uh, I guess we're going back to your house now?"   "Unless you want to catch a movie.  That and the Denny's outside of town are about the only things still open."  Buffy unlocked the car door.  As she moved away David stopped her again, this time by pulling her close and kissing her.  Buffy leaned back against the side of the car and kissed him back.  David's lips were firm but gentle, and he knew what he was doing.  So why did she feel so detached?  After a few minutes she gently pushed him away.  He looked at her, his blue eyes colorless in the street light.

"It's just not there, is it?" he said.  "For you, I mean."

"I'm sorry."  And she was.

He smiled sadly.  "So am I."

"Hi."  Joyce entered hesitantly, unsure of her welcome.

Angel stood up.  "What are you doing here?  How did you find me?"

He didn't sound belligerent, she thought, only dazed.  She came further into the room, closed the door behind her.  "I ... well, frankly, I bullied Mr. Giles until he gave me your address.  I was going to call first but I was afraid I'd lose my nerve.  Or that you'd tell me not to come.  I wasn't even sure if you'd be available, but when I saw how dark the sky was I decided to take the chance that you might still be up."

She stood in front of his desk.  Angel indicated the chair and she sat.  So did he.  They studied each other in silence for a moment.  He's so thin.  And I don't remember those circles under his eyes.  "You've lost weight," she remarked aloud.

Angel made a dismissive gesture.  "I needed to drop a few pounds," he said.

"Not this much, " Joyce said quietly.  When Angel only shrugged, she added, "You look terrible - worse than Buffy."

Alarm sprang to Angel's eyes.  "What's wrong with Buffy?"

"According to the doctor, she's in excellent physical condition."  Joyce smiled wanly.  "According to her mother, she's too skinny.  But it's not her physical health I'm concerned about."

"What, then?"  Angel sat back, watching her.

"Angel, she's changed so much."  Joyce tried her best to describe the differences in her daughter that so disturbed her.  She finished by saying, "It's like she's not really a part of this world.  She goes through the motions, but it's all a facade.  On the inside she's isolated herself."

Angel's gaze slid to a photograph on his desk.  All Joyce could see of it was the back of the frame, but she had no doubt who the subject was.  "A Slayer's life is difficult," Angel said neutrally.  "It's not unusual for them to become estranged from their families and friends."

Joyce nodded.  "That's what Mr. Giles said.  But it's more than that."  She looked him in the eyes.  "I was wrong about you two; I know that now."

"The situation's still the same, Joyce.  So am I.  Nothing has changed," Angel said heavily.

"I know that, and I know that I'm being completely selfish in coming here today."  She took a deep breath.  "Just as I was two years ago when I went to your place to put pressure on you to end the relationship.  Buffy's my daughter, and I love her more than anything."

She blinked back sudden tears.  "So I'll continue to be selfish and ask you to consider coming back to Sunnydale."

"You can't mean that."  Angel shook his head.  "I'm sorry - " He stopped and cleared his throat.  When he continued his voice was flat.  "I'm sorry that Buffy's unhappy.  But she's young; she'll get over it.  She has to."

"Have you?" Joyce asked him bluntly.  "Gotten over it?  Can you look me in the eye and tell me that after two years, even one day goes by without you thinking of her?"

Angel opened his mouth, closed it again.  Finally, "It's not the same," he said.  "Buffy's young; she has her life ahead of her. You reminded me of that, Joyce, remember?"

"I remember."  Joyce regarded him.  "But I think you're making the same mistake I did then.  Buffy may be young but she's not exactly a silly schoolgirl."

Angel started.  Buffy had used almost those exact words on the night he'd broken up with her.

Joyce went on.  "Buffy had to grow up fast when she became the Slayer. She's been an adult in everything but her age for several years now.  It's taken me much too long to realize that, but finally I have.  Angel, she's dying inside, and I honestly believe it's because you're not in her life.  In a few more years there won't be anything left of the Buffy we knew.  If she even survives that long.  She's taking more risks these days.  Mr. Giles is worried about her."

"More risks?"  Now Angel grew worried.  He knew how brash Buffy had always been.  If she was adding recklessness to that boldness ...    "What kinds of risks?"

"She went out patrolling the other night without taking a stake along.  She said she forgot."

"‘Forgot'?"  Angel got up and began pacing, more disturbed than he could remember being in a long time.  Suddenly he turned to Joyce.  "What is it exactly that you want me to do, Joyce?  What do you think I can do?"

Joyce stood and faced him.  "You can return to Sunnydale, Angel.  After that, I don't know.  Will you come?"

Angel hesitated, but only for a moment.  "All right.  I'll be there tonight."

"Thank you."  Joyce hesitated too.  "I think she'll be at The Bronze tonight.  School's out and Mr. Giles has forbidden her to patrol."

Angel gave her a crooked smile.  "Think she'll listen to him?"

Joyce had to laugh, however ruefully.  "I think so, at least for tonight.  He gave her quite a tongue-lashing."  Angel nodded, and after an awkward pause she left.

Angel went over to the window and looked out, but he saw nothing.  All he was conscious of was a deep, spreading happiness, knowing that in a few short hours he would see Buffy again.

Startled, he looked around. Willow stood there, gazing at him. " Willow. Yes, it's me. How are you?"

She ignored his pleasantry. "I couldn't believe it when I thought I saw you lurking back here. I thought I was mistaken again. But it is you."

"I thought we'd established that." Angel turned to face her. "It's me."

"Why are you here, Angel?"

"To see Buffy."

"Why?" Willow repeated. She came a step closer. "You haven't hurt her enough?" She was close enough now that he could see the expression on her face. It matched her voice: hard and angry. This was a Willow he had never seen before.

"I haven't come here to hurt her," he said. "I love her, Willow."

"Hooray for you. That didn't stop you from walking out on her before, did it?" she said bitterly. "How long do you plan on sticking around this time? A month? Three? Until the next time things get tough?"

"For the rest of our lives - if she'll have me." Angel sighed. "Willow, I don't blame you for hating me. I hate myself for what I've put her through. But I was wrong, and I've come to ask her forgiveness, and to see if she'll take me back."

He thought he saw a lessening in the hostility of her manner. Willow ran her eyes over him. "Well, it doesn't look as if these past years have been very easy for you either. You look awful."

"So I keep hearing." He gave a little laugh. "And, no, it's been anything but easy."

"Good." The comment sounded belligerent, but her manner had definitely thawed. "So, are you going over there now to talk to her?"

"No. She'll be leaving soon."

"What? How do you know that?" Willow looked puzzled.

"She knows someone is watching her, and in case there's going to be trouble she'll want to go where fewer people could get hurt. So she'll try to lure me outside."

"Oh. Okay. Well, I better go then, and, uh, leave you to it."

"Willow." She stopped. "Thank you for being such a good friend to her." Willow nodded uncertainly, and Angel turned his attention back to Buffy.

Buffy frowned down at her cappuccino. There it was again, that sense that someone was looking at her. She'd been feeling it, off and on, ever since she arrived at The Bronze, but hadn't been able to pinpoint its source. This time she waited until she had a better feel for the direction it was coming from.

Yes, it was stronger now, definitely coming from ... her left. Suddenly turning in that direction, Buffy caught a glimpse of a tall shadowy figure ducking back into the concealment of other shadows. Okay. Time to lure this guy out and see who, or what, he is.

She waited a moment, then casually picked up her purse and walked to the exit, hoping her mysterious watcher would follow her outside, thus reducing the chance of innocents getting hurt if she ended up with a fight on her hands. Once outside she paused, opening her purse as if looking for something. In reality she was listening. Yes, he was behind her; she could feel him. She drew out the stake kept in her bag for just such emergencies, hiding it against her body, and walked out of the lamplight over to a patch of shadow. She turned around.

"I really hope you're not planning on using that." He stepped into the light. The stake fell from her suddenly nerveless hand, clattering to the ground. For a moment her vision swam; the pool of brightness cast by the street light darkened before her eyes.

"Buffy!" Angel moved quickly, catching her by the arms as she swayed.

"I'm all right," she gasped, but she clutched at his jacket for support. He stood still, letting her regain her composure, breathing in the scent of her perfume, dismayed by how delicate she felt under his hands even though he knew the seeming fragility was deceptive. Daringly, he pressed a whisper-light kiss on her hair. Oh, Buffy! After a few moments he felt her move away from him, and reluctantly released his hold on her, letting his hands slide down her arms.

The worn leather of his jacket was soft in her fingers, as soft as the body behind it was solid. Old reflexes kicked in, and for a moment Buffy leaned against his comforting presence, felt his hands caressing her shoulders. Angel ... Angel. Then cold reality reasserted itself, and she forced herself to step back.

Slowly he released her, and as his hands left her arms she had to restrain a cry of loss. She swallowed hard, and looked up to find his eyes fixed on her face, as if hungry for the sight of her.

He's so thin! was her first thought, followed by, He looks so tired. "You look terrible," she blurted out, stricken by his appearance.

"I know," he said. "So do you."

She knew what he meant, and didn't bother to resent his remark. "Why are you here?" she asked. The first numbing shock had passed, and walls she'd spent many long, painful months erecting around her emotions began to crack. She closed her eyes against the ache. "Please go," she said dully, and turned to leave.

"Buffy." Angel grabbed her arm.

Tears flooded her eyes. "Don't," she pleaded. Her voice broke. "I can't do this again, Angel. It'll kill me."

"I can't either." His eyes were wet, his expression anguished. She hesitated, and was lost. With an inarticulate cry she rushed into his arms. They clung to each other tightly.

"Buffy, forgive me. I was wrong about us," Angel whispered raggedly. "Hell was easy compared to this time without you."

"I know," she whispered back. "Me too. Sometimes I thought it would be easier to be dead." She raised her head just as he lowered his, and they kissed. And kissed. And kept kissing, oblivious to the group standing just outside the entrance to the nightclub, watching them.

"Well, I guess that little experiment's over with," Xander remarked caustically. "So what's going to happen now? Nothing's changed, right? I mean, Dead Boy's still going to lose his soul if he gets a happy."

"Maybe," Willow said slowly. Oz gave her a quizzical look. " ‘Maybe'?" he said. "Have you got something up your witchy sleeve?"

"Maybe," she repeated. She turned to Anya. "Anya, you know all about spells, don't you?"

"I'm not a witch," Anya reminded her. "I'm a demon - or I was. We're more familiar with curses."

"That's even better. This is a curse, a gypsy curse. I have it on my computer at home. Will you look it over with me?"

"Gypsies," repeated Anya. She cast a shrewd glance at Angel. "His curse?" Willow nodded. Anya looked thoughtful. "The Romany have always followed their own path, made their own rules. This problem intrigues me. Yes, I'll take a look at it. But, Willow - no promises."

Willow only said, "Come on." They headed for their cars: Oz's beat-up van and Xander's equally decrepit Ford. Xander looked back at Buffy and Angel, and asked, "Shouldn't we let them know?"

Willow shook her head decisively. "No. Not unless we have something good to tell them."

Xander still looked doubtful. "But what if they - "

Willow was impatient. "Xander, even if Angel was willing to lose his soul, do you think Buffy would let it happen?" He had to acknowledge she was right. Once they were in Willow's bedroom she pulled up the file on her computer, and she and Anya perused it carefully, line by line.

"Look - right there." Anya pointed at a line of text. Willow read it hopefully. "You think that's it?" Anya nodded. "That's it," she said with utter confidence. "That's the part that makes him lose his soul if he's happy." Oz and Xander crowded around them, seeing for themselves.

"Can it be deleted?" Oz asked. "Or changed?" They all looked at Anya.

"Let's see what happens to the curse as a whole if we take that part out." She deftly cut that section out of the text and they all read through the revised curse.

"It doesn't change the intent at all," Willow finally said. "He still remembers and suffers, but now his soul is safe. Right?" She looked at Anya, who nodded agreement. "Right," she said, adding, "They really wanted him to suffer, didn't they? Absolutely nothing was left to chance. I'm impressed." She made an impressed face.

"What do you mean?" Willow said, puzzled.

"The guilt impositions they built into the curse."

Willow looked blank. Anya said, surprised, "You didn't notice them? Look. Here, and here." She once more pointed to pieces of text.

Willow looked. " ‘The memory of his evil shall haunt him for all his days ... He shall suffer guilt for all eternity,' " she read aloud, " ‘and his torment shall be tenfold.' " She turned to Anya. "I guess I don't understand. Doesn't that just mean that because Angel remembers all the bad things he did, he'll feel guilty?"

"Willow, you're a witch," Anya said in a noticeably patient voice. "You know that in spells the word is the deed. It's the same for curses."

Willow stared at her, then turned and read the entire curse through one more time. "Oh my God." She sat back, staring open-mouthed at the screen. "My God, how could I have missed that?"

Xander and Oz exchanged surprised and concerned looks at this uncharacteristic profanity. "What?" Xander demanded. "What's all the drama about?"

Oz touched her shoulder. "Will?"

Willow sprang from her chair and started pacing, gesturing excitedly. "The gypsies' curse. It didn't rely on Angel's own conscience to work. I mean, it did, but it also intensified his feelings of guilt and remorse. That's the ‘tenfold' thing. They made sure he would suffer by adding suffering to the curse."

"Whoa." Xander looked thoughtful. "You mean that without this extra torment thing, Mr. Personality might actually crack a smile once in a while?" He shook his head. "I don't know if I could handle that."

Anya commented, "He must have an unusually strong character. Most people would have snapped after the first decade or two. Angel's been living with this burden for a hundred years."

"I'm wondering now whether we've ever seen the real Angel," Oz said quietly. "Except possibly for Buffy. No wonder the poor guy's so moody all the time." He glanced at Willow, who was staring into space. "Will, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Anya, can you rewrite the curse?" Willow demanded, turning to her. "Take out all the added guilt and make sure his soul is safe?"

Anya shrugged. "Sure. It'll take me awhile, though. It's a very intricate - "

"Good." Willow grabbed Oz's hand. "Come on. We've got to find them." She all but dragged him out of the room.

" - structure," Anya finished drily. She glanced at Xander, who shrugged and sat down next to her. "So, how long will it take you to debug the Dead Guy?" he wanted to know. "And is there anything to snack on while you do it?"

 

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