They would look back much later and wonder exactly how it all happened the way it did. When they were asked about the whole incident, nobody could really seem to remember details. Xander would always look puzzled and scratch his head and say, "I think it was Willow who ran for Angel...no, wait. Maybe Cordelia went instead. Or did Giles go? Jeez, toss me one of those Ho-Hos so I can think better."

And then Cordelia would give him a withering look and say, "It was Willow who stayed in the hospital with her. Oz went to get Angel in that van-thing he calls a vehicle. Didn't he? Because Giles was...ummm...where exactly was Giles?"

Willow would always speak up by now and say hesitantly, "I went to get Angel. Giles and Wesley were in the hospital with Oz."

"I never went to the hospital," Oz would say, and then all of them would look at each other questioningly. For whatever reason, they really could not remember the whole incident clearly, and the two people who did refused to talk about it.

Maybe that was how it was supposed to be, because it really was too horrible to think about anyway. Perhaps their minds had purposely buried the entire episode deeply enough to forget the terrible details, but they could still make out hazy images. A sort of defense mechanism they had imposed upon themselves in order to not remember those heart-wrenching days, and one awful night in particular.

The night the Slayer had died.

---

Several months earlier...

"Is this a joke? It has to be." Buffy stared at Giles incredulously.

"Quite not," he informed her. "It appears that Spike has returned from searching for Drusilla. Unsuccessfully, I might add. He has gathered his minions once again and is on the prowl."

Buffy scowled. The last time Spike had unceremoniously returned to the Hellmouth, he had left heartbreak and injuries in his wake. It had taken months for things to return to a semblance of order, although some things were irreparable. Cordelia and Xander, for one. They hated each other, or at least pretended to. And Buffy knew that Willow and Oz were still trying to repair their damaged relationship. As for she and Angel...well...she had told him when Spike left that she was not going to return to the mansion. Yeah, sure, she thought. That lasted for maybe a few weeks, and then back she was, pretending everything was the same. It wasn't. Spike's brutally honest observation that she and Angel were still in love had hit the mark with painful accuracy.

Spike was not welcome in Sunnydale. Buffy looked up to find Giles watching her over the tops of his glasses, waiting for another response besides her earlier one. "Spike," she said thoughtfully, and repeated herself. "Spike. Nope, can't have that. I think I'll stake him."

Giles looked relieved at the decision and said, "Right, then. I suggest strongly that he be watched for a day or so before any action is taken. He'll be on the lookout for you as well, though I don't suspect he'll realize we discovered his return so early."

"Hey, yeah," Buffy said as an afterthought. "How did you know?"

Giles shuffled some papers around and cleared his throat. Damn. He'd meant to avoid that. "Er, I, that is, well..." he trailed off and loosened his already rumpled necktie.

"Whoa, Giles. Didn't mean to throw you into a vocabulary tailspin." Buffy eyed him strangely.

"I received a visit from Angel. He knew." Giles looked at her from the corner of his eye.

She considered the implications of this. Angel had chosen to speak with Giles regarding Spike, rather than her. He too must have been remembering the vicious barbed words about love that Spike had hurled at them in his drunkenness, although he had never commented on them. It appeared he had stored them in his memory, though. "Oh," was all she said calmly. "So what's the plan?"

Thankfully, Giles told her. "Angel has agreed to watch Spike for the next two nights and report to us on his schedule."

"His schedule? Don't you mean his drunken killing spree? Assuming, of course, that he's still hitting the sauce."

"Yes, well, I suppose that's closer to the truth. And you shall remain here, practicing, in order to be prepared when you do meet up with him."

"I am prepared."

"Now, Buffy, you must listen carefully." Giles stopped for a moment and gave a deep sigh. Teenagers never listened carefully. "Spike has grown strong, and has gathered strong vampires. The minions that obey him have killed several Slayers. Spike also is extremely obsessed with his rejection from Drusilla, perhaps to the point of psychosis."

"Hmmm, and he seemed so grounded in reality the last time he came to tea," she murmured.

"The point is," he was glaring now, "that you do not know him as before. A night or two will be needed to gain extra information about him. If you refuse to heed me, you are putting yourself in grave danger."

"Ha!" she giggled. "I laugh in the face of danger!"

She was not listening. It was time to send the reality crashing home. "If you care so little for yourself, then consider Angel," he said quietly.

It worked. Her expression was wiped clean of all girlish humor, and replaced with a look that served well to define the reason she was the Chosen One. Giles was right. She had not been considering Angel. Spike would still hold Angel responsible for Drusilla's desertment. Remembering what Spike had done to Angel the last time, Buffy felt shame wash over her. She had to think of Angel and his safety.

"Okay," she agreed. "I'll brush up on my skills."

Giles nodded sagely. "That's the right decision. We'll wait until we hear from Angel."

---

Buffy waited exactly twenty-four hours, and then, as the sun was setting, went to find Angel herself. He was at the mansion, and when she slipped in quietly it startled him.

"Hey," he said, turning. "I didn't hear you."

That's a first, Buffy thought. He can hear me a mile away.

"I was just leaving," he said.

"Tailing Spike?"

"Giles told you," he said unnecessarily.

"He's supposed to tell me these things," she answered, putting stress on the words "supposed to".

Angel knew she was hurt at his failure to confide in her, and because she was upset, he was too. But telling her about Spike would have dredged up things that they had temporarily buried, things that they had put aside because there were no answers for them. To bring them up again would have meant examination of emotion, and neither of them were ready. So instead Angel had chosen to tell Giles, knowing Giles would pass on the necessary information. "I know that," he said. "That's why I let him know."

She nodded without looking at him.

"I need to go. It's dark." He watched her closely.

"So, let's go," she said, putting her hands in her jacket pockets.

"Not you."

"Hell, yes, Angel. Don't worry. We'll just watch him."

He squinted at her. "Promise? You won't try to jump him or anything?"

No, but I might try jumping you, she almost said, and bit her lip. Where had that wayward thought come from? God, she better control herself. "No jumping. I promise."

"That means no staking. Or shooting. Or punching or kicking."

"Okay, okay. I got it. Let's move."

He didn't say anything else, just moved past her to open the door, and as she walked through it he closed his eyes and inhaled her scent. Daffodils.

When they were out on the dark street together, Buffy brushed Angel's hand with her own and he immediately opened his fingers to grasp hers. Their fingers intertwined, his cool, hers warm, and Buffy felt warmth inside as they walked that way in silence.

After a while Angel said, "He's been holed up in the sewer system, if you can believe that."

"Believe it? From Spike, I expect it. He belongs in the sewer."

Angel grinned at her, and she saw his white teeth flash in the darkness. He needs to do more of that, she thought. When he smiles his whole face changes and he looks so...less troubled.

Soon they had reached the storm drain that led into the maze of underground tunnels and Angel dropped to his knees. Putting his ear to the ground, he listened carefully. "They're still there," he said to Buffy, and stood. "Not for long, though. If they're hungry, which they will be, they'll be out pretty soon. Over there is where I've been watching them from." He motioned to a small copse of trees and brush, and they went to it.

Buffy leaned against a thick tree trunk and rested her head on it. This watching thing did not feel right. Watching was Giles's job. She was the Slayer, therefore, shouldn't she slay? God, she wanted to dust Spike. But one glance at Angel calmed her urges. His safety outweighed everything else. She sighed.

Hearing her, Angel came to stand very close to her, with his back to the opening of the storm drain, and leaned against the tree. They were almost touching. He lifted a hand to brush a stray strand of hair from her face and she closed her eyes. His fingers remained on her cheek while he took in the sight of her: brown eyelashes tipped with gold, silky skin with the faintest pink hue, small upturned nose. His eyes traveled downward to the compact body that he'd only seen unclothed once. Once had been enough to memorize the soft curves and tight muscles. He knew there was a small brown birthmark to the right of her belly button, because he'd kissed it before moving lower. He knew her breasts were soft yet firm, with dusky pink nipples that had hardened at just his burning gaze on them. He knew she was ticklish under her arms because when he got anywhere even close to kissing there, she started giggling madly. Yes, once had been enough to memorize her, but nowhere near enough to calm the burning need he had for her. A million times would not be enough.

"So serious," he heard her say, and realized she had been watching him. "What's so serious?"

"This," he answered, and before he could stop himself he kissed her. He felt her smile under his mouth and she brought a hand up to his shoulder, while the other hand rested on his chest. They stayed that way for a while, lips touching, until Angel touched his tongue to her mouth and she opened for him easily. The kiss deepened then, Angel tilting his head to the side to fit their mouths more perfectly together, and he brought up both hands to clench in her hair. She sighed sweetly and grasped his shirt in her fists as he tasted her and he felt her lean into him. One arm came down and encircled her waist, bringing her up against him, and as he put his back against the tree, she put her full weight along the length of his body.

Kissing her was torture. He likened it to receiving a thimbleful of water after thirsting in the desert for days. What you really wanted was an entire bucket of water, you wanted to be covered in water, you wanted to drown yourself in water. What you actually got was just enough to reveal how good it could be, but never would. But here he was, still kissing her and savoring it, although his body was beginning to reveal its torment in the form of a raging hard-on. He hoped she wouldn't notice.

She noticed. Glancing down between them at the bulge in his pants, she started to pull away. "Sorry," she mumbled, angry at herself for forgetting all the things they couldn't do together.

He stopped her. "It's okay," he said. "I was the one who started it. Don't worry, Buffy. I'm not going to turn into a lunatic or anything. We can still kiss each other. After two centuries, I learned a little self-control." She still looked doubtful, so he pulled her back to him and whispered, "Watch this." And he attacked her mouth hungrily, nipping and sucking at her lips until she opened for him again, and their tongues met and danced together. When he stopped she was gasping.

"Whatever you say," she breathed, looking at his face. "Just do that again."

An easy request to fulfill. He did. Later they would both blame themselves for it, Buffy for asking and Angel for complying, but at the moment they were much too involved with the other to do anything else.

They wrapped themselves up in each other and kissed ravenously, hands searching, and almost didn't hear the cool voice say, "Well, should we find a spigot and turn the hose?"

Angel and Buffy wrenched apart instantly and whirled around to find Spike standing not three feet away. His arms were crossed and his feet were planted solidly, and the first thing Buffy thought was, Giles was right. There's something different about him. What it was, she couldn't detect precisely. There was just an aura about him, a sense of animal dangerousness that had not previously been there. With him were four very large vampires armed heavily with what looked like medieval weaponry. Buffy swore she could see a ball with spikes over one's shoulder. Behind her, she heard Angel curse in a low voice. "Hello, Spike," she said. "How's Drusilla?"

"Funny little Slayer," Spike said smoothly. "Aren't you the cocky one when you have your guardian Angel. Tell me, little Slayer, has he tumbled you into bed again? Well, I guess that's a ridiculous question, because the answer is right before my face. I don't see any sign of Angelus about, so it appears that he's restrained from giving you a good fucking." He looked up and addressed Angel. "Should rectify that, you pathetic shell of a vampire. Lay her right down and pound into her until she's bloody." He paused again. "Now, doesn't that sound lovely?" Spike looked over his shoulder for confirmation from his lackeys, and they all nodded vigorously. "Perhaps I should show you what I mean." He made a slight move toward Buffy, and instantly Angel was blocking her, his fangs extended and glinting in the moonlight.

"You will not touch her," he snarled, the ridges deep on his forehead and his yellow eyes glaring.

"Well, now, would you look at that?" Spike said wonderingly. "He puts on a good show, doesn't he, boys? He can look just like a vampire when he wants to. I have news for you, Angel my boy. I will touch her if I want to."

"Only if you want yourself covered in my vomit," Buffy said, and raised the stake that she had pulled from the holster at her calf.

"Cheeky Slayer," Spike said. "What are you going to do with that little toy?"

"Put you where you belong," she replied. "In the ground."

Spike started to chuckle, then he was laughing until tears came to his eyes and he had to clutch his stomach. "Oh," he laughed, wiping tears from his cheeks, "in the ground, she says. Please stop. I can't take more jokes." He glanced back at the largest vampire and motioned with his finger. Before either Buffy or Angel even realized what was going to happen, the demon had thrown a nylon rope through the air and had neatly circled Angel with it. Drawing tightly, Angel's arms were bound to his side and he was jerked roughly away from Buffy. The vampire circled the other end of the rope around a sturdy tree, and Angel was effectively trapped. It had happened so quickly that Buffy's mind did not even have time to register what she was seeing until it was too late. She shook her head in disbelief and stared at Spike.

He raised an eyebrow. "You're sufficiently impressed, I see. He's a quick one, Trevor is. Nicely done, Trevor. Kudos all around. Now kill him, please, with that nasty blade you've got, only knock him out first." He glanced at Buffy. "Not out of any mercy on my part, you understand. It's only done so that you can watch him unconscious and unable to defend himself. Won't that simply be terrible for you? Especially since you can't do anything either." As if the words were a signal, another vampire moved toward her with arms outstretched, in an attempt to imprison her.

The rage seething in Buffy at Spike's utter audacity boiled over. Turning to her right, she rushed straight at the vampire that was approaching. The sudden move intentionally caught him off guard and he paused, giving her the opening she needed to plant the stake squarely in his chest. He exploded in a fierce shower of dust. She heard Spike's howl of rage, but ignored it as she set her sights on Angel and headed for the tree he was tied to.

"KILL HIM," Spike screeched to another vampire, "before that blasted Slayer cuts him loose!"

"Buffy," Angel shouted, "stay away! Get Spike first!"

She ignored him and reached the tree just as the other vampire drew back an arm that had a vicious-looking scythe clutched in his fist. The blade gleamed dully in the white moonlight and Buffy looked up at it, mesmerized. As if in slow motion, she watched it fall toward Angel's neck, and what happened next would haunt Angel for years to come. Buffy reached up to deflect the vampire's hand, at the same time placing herself squarely in front of Angel so that the blade had no place to land except for her soft flesh. It cut savagely into her, easily splitting her clothing and carving a wide diagonal slash from her left shoulder to her right hip. Blood immediately welled up and began to gush in a torrent from the wound, and Angel stared, horrified at the sight of her bones and internal organs opened to his view.

"No!" he shouted. "No, Buffy, oh God!"

Buffy turned to look at him, puzzled. Why was he yelling like that? It was hurting her ears, and she opened her mouth to tell him so. The words wouldn't come out, though. She couldn't remember how to make the words with her lips. And was he getting taller? He seemed to be very far above her now. Angel, you're tall, she wanted to say, but couldn't. Her stomach seemed to be itching, so she reached a hand down to scratch it, and it came away covered in an unfamiliar red substance. Ketchup? What did I have for dinner? she thought. Must have spilled something. It was very quiet now. Angel must have stopped yelling. That's good, she thought hazily. I'm tired. Her eyes closed.

"Well, well well," Spike said, coming forward to nudge Buffy's body with his foot. "Looks like we killed a Slayer. Not what I had planned, exactly, but good enough in the long run." He looked up at Angel, who was staring with tormented eyes at the limp body on the ground. "You were supposed to go first, so she could watch. Well, the other way round wasn't a bad choice either. That damned soul of yours has given you nothing but trouble, Angel old chap, so I'll give you a choice. We can either kill you now, and end that miserable life you have, or you can return like a lamb to the fold."

Angel looked at Spike, emptiness in his eyes, and did not respond.

"Perhaps you don't understand. I'm offering you a chance to rid yourself of that troublesome soul. Jacques over there ran with some French gypsies some few hundred years ago. He knows the way to banish that soul forever. What do you say?" Spike cocked his head confidently.

Angel met Spike's gaze squarely, and Spike unconsciously took a step back at the hate he saw. "I say," Angel seethed in a low, dangerous voice, "that I would gladly die."

"Well, then, ask and you shall receive," Spike said calmly. "I think I'll do the honors myself." So saying, he gestured toward a vampire, and the demon came forward holding a ruthless-looking weapon. It was short and blunt, with a curved hook on one end that had a very sharp point. Spike took the weapon and hefted it in his hands, testing the weight, and noted with satisfaction that Angel's eyes flickered as he looked at it. Spike moved forward, kicking Buffy's still form out of the way, until he was almost nose to nose with Angel. "This might hurt," he said. "Feel free to scream."

A piercing shriek broke the stillness. Spike looked puzzled. "You might want to wait until I start," he told Angel, and then realized that Angel had not made a sound, and was in fact looking incredulously over Spike's shoulder at something behind him. Turning, Spike was met with a pale but determined Giles holding a loaded crossbow only inches from his heart. Xander, Oz, Willow, and Cordelia were huddled like sheep behind him, all holding stakes in their raised hands. Granted, Cordelia's was turned the wrong way, but Angel briefly appreciated her effort. Spike had a short moment to realize that the shriek had come from the vampire called Trevor, and felt a moment of regret that the lightning-quick demon was now just dust in the grass, before Giles pulled back on the bow.

"I'll send Drusilla your regrets," Giles said dryly, and shot him.

Before Spike's dust had even settled, the small group was huddled around the fallen Slayer, while Giles cut the ropes binding Angel. As soon as he was free, Angel dropped to his knees beside her. "Is she breathing? Is she? Get out of the way," he snapped at Xander, who for once in his life had no witty comeback, and obeyed Angel instantly. Angel looked helplessly at her chest, covered in blood, and realized he would not be able to feel for a heartbeat. He tried putting shaking fingers to the pulse point in her neck but was unable to stop his fingers from trembling long enough to detect anything.

Finally, Willow spoke up in a tear-filled voice. "Find a mirror."

The others looked at her blankly.

"A mirror, we need a mirror," she said frantically. "You know, to hold in front of her mouth to see if she's breathing."

"Oh!" Cordelia beamed. "I have one!" She produced it from her purse and handed it to Angel.

"Surprised it's not cracked," Xander muttered.

"You haven't looked in it yet," she shot back.

"Enough!" Giles thundered. "Cordelia, bring your car around. We'll transport Buffy to the hospital."

"Oh, darn it. I just had the upholstery cleaned," she said as she left.

Angel held the small mirror to Buffy's mouth, and they waited anxiously. It took what seemed to be a very long time for a small fog of condensation to cloud the reflection, and Angel bowed his head in relief.

Willow let out a strangled sob, and it seemed to propel the rest of them into action. Angel lifted Buffy's head gently and Giles took her feet, while Xander and Oz supported her in the middle. It was a short distance to Cordelia's waiting car. They laid her in the back, stretched out on the seat, and then they scrambled in however they could fit.

"Go," Angel ordered Cordelia sharply, and she did.

The main hospital in Sunnydale was on the other side of town, and it took them twenty agonizing minutes to get there, with Angel clutching Buffy's hand and staring straight ahead the whole way. The blood, all the blood, he kept thinking, all the times I've drank from humans, I never knew one body had so much blood to lose. Just the coppery smell of it was making him sick, the same smell that used to rouse his insatiable appetite for it, but because it was coming from Buffy, it was different. It was sacred.

Cordelia screeched into the driveway of the emergency room, and Giles threw open the car door before she had stopped. He rushed ahead of them into the hospital, shouting, "Physician! We are in need of a physician at once!"

Two attendants responded immediately, running a stretcher out to the car and whisking Buffy away from the arms of Oz and Angel, and then disappeared back through the doors, leaving the small group to follow forlornly behind.

"We gotta call her mom," Xander spoke up.

"Oh, yuck," Willow said. "I guess I'll do it. Unless you think maybe we should go there instead? Angel? What do you think?"

She turned to him for confirmation, and stopped in her tracks. Xander bumped into her from behind. "Jeez, Will, watch it."

"Angel's gone," Willow said.

And he was.

They kept a faithful vigil for three days, and there was no sign of Angel the entire time. Buffy had been placed in the intensive care unit, and visitors were only allowed in for ten minutes at a time, right on the hour. Joyce Summers did not leave the hospital, and the others left only to go home and shower briefly and come back to the interminable waiting. Giles was silent and withdrawn, and Willow stopped coaxing him to eat after the second day. Xander endlessly flipped channels on the television in the waiting room, not really watching any of them but never turning it off. Cordelia came and went often, asking whenever she came in, "Any change?"

They would all shake their heads wordlessly. No change. Buffy lay in a deep unconscious state, her body trying to heal itself, while her mind avoided the trauma. She was unresponsive to light or sound, or so it seemed. They had all taken their turn talking to her, stroking her hand while they sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, keeping carefully away from the swath of bandages wrapped around her. She did not react to any of them, and they had all been in to see her. All except one.

They did not mention Angel's name to Buffy, or even to themselves. Inside each of them was understanding for the reason he stayed away. They would never be able to feel the guilt he carried, and they knew it. And they forgave him for it. Yet each of them wished he would come, if only to try talking to her. And if she died? How would he know? None of them wanted to be the one to have to go to him and break the news. They knew that if she died, Angel's already tormented soul would not be able to survive it. They wished desperately he would come.

The fourth night was when things changed, and it was not for the better. Willow had had a sense of foreboding all day, and the gathering clouds outside were ominous. The doctor had reported to them earlier that Buffy's blood pressure was dropping, and although stabilized for the moment, it was a dangerous thing. He came in again close to nightfall. "There isn't good news," he said abruptly. "She has not been responding to the precautions taken against her blood pressure. She is getting weaker and weaker, and her heart has stopped once. We were able to start it again, but may not be able to a second time due to the nature of her injuries. I think it best if you come in."

"Come in? I don't want to come in. I'll stay here and wait," Xander said, hoping against hope that if he didn't come in, she wouldn't be dying.

Willow went to him and took his hand gently, meeting his eyes. "I'll stay right with you," she said softly, and he went reluctantly.

They gathered around the still, pale figure in the bed, their eyes darting nervously to the machine in the corner that was monitoring her heartrate. The small green blip on the screen was moving slower and slower even as they watched, helpless to do anything. Willow reached a tentative hand out and placed it on her arm, and as if on cue, the others did the same. They all placed one hand on their Slayer's body, wanting to feel the life as it left her, and hoping that maybe they would gain some of the strength she had carried. They remained that way until the tiny beep of the monitor was a steady hum, until they could not see her chest rise and fall amid the tubes and bandages, until they were unable to see anything because of the tears blurring their view.

A slight movement caught Willow's attention, and she glanced up through her tears. Angel stood like a statue in the doorway, staring with an anguished expression at the bed. He turned to Willow for confirmation, and she could only stare back at him, too numb with grief to give him the answer he sought.

It was enough. He knew what he had to know, so he fled.

---

It was dark and light at the same time. Weird, Buffy thought. Everything's all hazy and soft. She no longer felt weighed down by tubes and bandages, and looked down to check. Yikes, I'm not even in bed anymore, she noticed. Where am I? She looked around, puzzled yet unafraid, and saw from a great distance the hospital room she had been lying in. Hey, there's me. Weird again. And how come all those guys are crying and stuff? "It's not like I'm dead or anything," she spoke out loud to them, trying to get their attention.

"Well, kind of," a familiar voice said.

Buffy turned in the dark-light to follow the sound. She squinted into the haze, and a figure moved toward her until she could see it clearly. "Angel," she breathed. "Spike killed you."

He frowned. "What? Why would you think that?"

"Because you didn't come," she said simply, and he looked down, ashamed.

"Forgive me," he asked. "I couldn't. I couldn't watch you there, your life draining from you because I didn't protect you."

"And I didn't protect you," she returned. "I let those--those monsters tie to you to a tree."

Their eyes met then, each of them blaming themselves but seeing forgiveness in the other, and they looked away.

"So I died," Buffy shrugged. "It doesn't seem so bad," she said, looking around at the foggy landscape. "And you're here. How bad could it be?"

Angel smiled slightly. "I'm not here. You're dreaming."

"Oh. Well, I've done that before," she said, then blushed. Her dreams of Angel had not been the most chaste. They usually involved skin, lots of it, and lips and tongues and hands, and she always woke up sweating. Sometimes the blankets would be bunched between her legs and she would be grasping the pillow tightly, and then she could never get back to sleep after that. Was this one of those dreams? In a way, she hoped so.

"You're dreaming," he said again, "because you're having one of those near-death experiences."

"Oh, come on," Buffy scoffed. "That stuff only happens to people on 20/20 or Dateline or some other lame show. When you die, you just die." You don't stand around drooling over your vampire lover, she thought.

"Unless there's another plan for you," he said cryptically.

"Well, my life only had one plan as soon as I turned sixteen years old. If there's another one, I'd like to hear it."

"It's not a different plan. You're just not done with the first one, so you need to go back." He explained it simply, though it was shrouded in riddles.

"Go back. Like, just float back down into my body or something? This is too weird. I keep saying that. It's making my head hurt." She pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and shook her head.

He took her hands from her eyes and held them, tracing the backs with his thumbs. "Technically, you can't just go back. You have to have a reason to want to. And someone down there has to need you."

"My mom, I guess," she shrugged, but Angel shook his head.

"No. She loves you, she would do anything for her daughter, but she doesn't need you to keep living."

"The world needs me," she said hopefully, but again Angel shook his head.

"What happens when a Slayer dies?" he asked her.

"Another one comes," she said glumly. "Angel, you're not building me up here."

He smiled the smile she loved, the one where he only lifted a corner of his mouth, and said, "Look there. There's your answer."

She looked down, and the hospital room with its group of mourners faded. In its place was a dimly lit room with a still figure sitting on what looked like a bed. The figure did not move, merely sat on the bed with its elbows on its knees and hands in its hair.

Realization dawned slowly. "That's--that's you!" she said in surprise. "But you're here!"

"You're here, but you're in the hospital, too." Angel waited patiently for her to understand.

"Hmmm. The dream thing," she nodded. "I'm getting it."

"So now you should get what I'm showing you," he said.

She watched Angel down below for a moment, before replying thoughtfully, "No. Angel...I mean you...I mean...THAT Angel doesn't need anyone. I know he loves me, because he's told me so. But Angel lived for over two hundred years before me, and he'll go on for way more after I'm gone. He doesn't need me."

"Oh, no?" the dream Angel asked softly. "Watch."

The scene below was dark, and Buffy had to squint to see what was happening. As she watched, the Angel down below got up from the bed and went to the window. Buffy could see the sun rising. He stood there for a long time, not moving, and Buffy said anxiously, "He should get away from the window. The sun--" she broke off then in relief as he moved away, but her relief was short-lived as she watched him walk to the front door. "Hey," she said, her voice rising. "Hey! What's he doing? It's daylight! No! Wait!"

She turned to the dream Angel in panic, clutching at his shirt but unable to look away from the awful display unfolding. "Why are you--he--why is he DOING that?!"

She didn't get an answer, so she continued to stare in disbelief. Angel opened the wide front door of the mansion and the sunlight poured in like warm water, making him squint, but he didn't look away from it or try to shield his eyes. Instead, to Buffy's absolute horror, he took a step forward into the sunshine.

She could not watch any more. She turned her back to the terrible sight and looked at the dream Angel helplessly. "What is he doing? Why is he doing that? Oh my God, he'll be ashes in seconds!" She didn't understand, couldn't understand why Angel would want to scar himself. Scar himself? Looked more like kill himself.

"Do you get it now?" the dream Angel asked softly. "Someone has to need you. He thinks you died in the hospital, Buffy, and that he was the cause. He needs you. The part of him that keeps him sane has died with you. He would rather die than live with the torment for centuries more."

"Okay!" she said frantically. "Okay! I get it! Make him stop!"

"Not me, love. I'm him, remember? You have to make it stop." He looked at her wisely.

"Yes. Okay. I have to make it stop. So send me back, or however it works. Just do it, hurry and do it fast!" She was wringing her hands fearfully. He could not die. He could not die. He could...not...die.

The dream Angel was maddeningly calm. "There's another part."

"Oh, for God's sake, WHAT?" She was shifting from foot to foot now, still not wanting to look at what was happening below.

"You have to have a reason to want to."

"That's it, right there! That's my reason!" She gestured below.

"Nope. Won't work. It has to be a reason for you, not for someone else. Has to be something that you wish for in your life, something you want to do or experience. Something that's holy just to you. You know the cliche: something to live for."

A thought of hot skin and kisses flashed through her mind and was gone. It must have shown on her face, however, because Angel said, "You thought of something."

She shook her head quickly. Surely he didn't mean THAT.

"It can be anything, Buffy. Anything that you would value if you lived." He coaxed her to look at him by putting a finger under her chin, and when he looked in her stricken eyes, he knew what it was. "Well," he said in a low, silky voice. "Let's see. Maybe I can help. Is this part of it?" And he lowered his dark head and kissed her, nuzzling her nose with his own, sweeping his lips gently across hers.

"Yes," she breathed, marveling at how real her dream felt, much much more real than the ones she had alone at night.

"And this must be part of it," he continued, darting his tongue out to touch the corners of her mouth, tracing all along her lips with his tongue until they were glistening wet and slightly open. He took advantage of that, sliding his tongue inside and touching it to hers, and he finally felt her melt and become pliable under his mouth. "What else, Buffy?" he whispered.

"This," she said, bringing her arms up to circle his neck, moving their bodies closer together, "and this." She stood on her tiptoes and buried her face in his neck, smelling him. He reminded her of green fields and trees, and she darted out a tongue to taste him. Even in her dream his skin was cool and smooth, just like she remembered, and she pressed closer to him, feeling his hard muscled body mesh with her soft curves. She reached for his mouth again, tilting her head so their mouths met, and their tongues touched and darted in and out of each other's mouths.

"There has to be more," Angel murmured as he buried his face in her hair. "What else do you wish for?"

She hid her face in his shirt, suddenly shy, and he chuckled. "I bet I can guess. How about this?" He kissed her again, and let his hands wander from her waist to the sides of her breasts. He rested them there lightly as they kissed, as they pressed together hungrily and tried to reach more through their clothes.

"Angel," she whimpered, "I want this so bad, all the time. I think of you and dream of you and worry about you, and I'm so careful to not let things get out of control. And all I really want to do is let things get out of control. It's what I wish for." She was almost crying.

"I know, little Slayer," he said. "I wish it too. I can show you what I wish for, if you promise to do the same. Do you want to know?" He was whispering in her ear, and she nodded.

"I wish for this," he said, and moved his hands lightly to cover her breasts, and she closed her eyes. It was heaven when he touched her. He rested his lips on her warm forehead while his fingers traced her nipples over her clothes, teasing them into standing up for him. He cupped her breasts then, and ran his thumb over the protruding nubs while she let her head fall back slowly and she clutched his waist. "Now you," he said.

"I wish for this," she told him, and tugged his shirt out of the waistband of his pants, lifting it so she could run her small hands over the broad expanse of his chest. She could feel tight muscles under her fingers and flat male nipples that hardened in response when she scratched over them with her fingernails. "And I wish for this," she said, unbuttoning and pushing his shirt off his shoulders so he stood bare-chested before her. She brought her mouth to the spot in the middle of his chest and licked it gently, then moving slowly to the right and taking the first flat coppery nipple into her mouth and tasting it. She did the same to the other, loving his feel and smell and taste, and loving that she could feel him getting hard between them.

"I wish for this," he whispered, sinking to his knees. "I wish I could just sit here and watch you undress."

She hesitated for only a fraction of a second, then she was peeling off her clothing and shedding it where she stood. Her shyness was gone, because this was Angel, and anything done in love for Angel was nothing but right. She stood there naked, letting him look at her, and the worship in his eyes made her glow.

He reached up for her with a hand and pulled her down next to him, laying her out on her back and leaning over her. "I wish to look, and touch, and love you," he said, bowing his head.

"Then I wish that you would," she replied seriously, touching his face.

He discarded his pants somewhere and then came back, using just the tip of a finger to follow the outline of her curves from her neck to her feet. Goosebumps rose on her skin in response, and she laughed and flinched when he dipped his finger into her belly button. She didn't laugh, however, when his finger wandered lower, just took a deep breath as he traced the soft folds of her lower lips and caught a drip of moisture. She watched him, mesmerized, as he brought his finger to his mouth and licked it, and then went back for another drop. Again, he licked it as if he were tasting fine wine, as if there were nothing else on earth he'd rather have.

There really wasn't anything else he'd rather have. He was dying to taste her.

"What else do you wish?" It was a plea from Buffy, hoping desperately he would wish for the right thing.

Angel knew what she wanted. "Oh, I wish for this," he said, and dropped his head to her soft mound, blowing gently on the fine hair and using the tip of his tongue to catch yet another drop of moisture. She bent one leg at the knee and entangled her fingers in his hair while he savored her slowly, drawing out the pleasure for her and himself as well, running his tongue into all the hidden crevices.

Buffy couldn't help writhing a little beneath him, his tongue was so soft and wet and was hitting all the right spots. This had been in her dreams at night, among other things, and it was always one of the things that made her wake up panting and sweating. Kind of like now, she thought, hearing her own breathing increase as Angel found the small bud in her center and concentrated on it. The pleasure was radiating in waves now, and Angel was relentless in his pursuit of it for her, pushing and nibbling at the little spot at her core. She couldn't lie still any longer, and twisted back and forth while pushing herself down onto Angel's tongue.

It was getting stronger, she knew it was coming, and with a huge effort she wrenched away from him. He looked up in surprise and confusion. "I wish for something else," she managed to get out.

He cocked a brow inquisitively, and she said in a rush, "I wish to feel you inside me."

He could not deny her any more than he could deny himself blood to drink. Swiftly lifting her under her arms, he brought her down onto his lap and plunged up inside her. The position allowed him to go as deep as possible, and the feeling was so unexpectedly intense that they both gasped. They kept their eyes trained on each other while Angel set up a hypnotic rhythm, lifting her up and down on his shaft. He reached down between them and found her swollen nub, and lightly rolled it between thumb and forefinger.

"Keep going," she whispered, putting her own hand on top of his to guide him. "It's just right, Angel. Just right..."

He felt her legs tighten around him as he exerted more pressure, and then she was gasping against his neck and calling his name, and he could feel her inner muscles ripple around him with the force of her orgasm. It broke his restraint finally, and he stroked harder and harder, until he could only clutch her back and growl deep in his chest as he felt himself come, and shot deeply inside of her.

They sat entangled in each other for a few minutes, Buffy smoothing his hair back from his forehead and he planting small kisses on her cheeks and nose.

"Now THAT is something to value," he said after a while, and instantly Buffy remembered.

"Oh, my God," she said. "Angel. The other Angel. He needs me." She untangled herself from him, a bit regretfully, and scrambled to dress. The dream Angel watched her.

"You know that what we did can't really happen," he warned her.

She stopped her mad dash and looked at him sadly. "I know," she said. "It's just a dream."

"But you have to value it, Buffy. Value the one night we did have. It's as good a reason as any to want to live." He smiled at her then, a real smile, and began to fade.

Value it, she thought, watching him go. Value it...value it...value it...

She did not awaken slowly, like they did in the movies or on television. On TV they always made tiny motions with their fingers or twitched an eye, or some other insignificant movement that always made everyone go running for a doctor. She did not return that way. Her eyes opened widely, and she turned immediately to focus on Willow.

"Hi, Will," she rasped in a gravelly voice, and five heads shot up at once.

"Good God," the doctor exclaimed, and rushed to her machines to check them.

Xander stared in disbelief and then looked at Giles, who was also staring open-mouthed at Buffy.

Her mother burst out in dramatic tears.

Only Willow responded to her. "Hi, Buff," she said in a small voice, as though everything were normal, and took her hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Kind of ouch," Buffy winced. The doctor was doing something annoying to the small intravenous line running from her hand, and it was hurting.

She looked at Xander and Giles, standing next to each other and still gaping like fish. They would not be the ones to help her right now, and considering her mother was weeping noisily into a tissue, she was out of the question as well. Looked like Willow was her answer. She squeezed Willow's hand tightly. "Angel," she said. "Find him."

"He's probably at the mansion," Willow said softly. "I'll go in a little bit. I want to hear what the doctor says first."

"Willow." Buffy was firm, and Willow saw that her eyes were clear and lucid. "Please. Go to him, Will. And do it fast."

The shy redhead proved her friendship to Buffy in that moment. Willow got up from the bed, and without looking or speaking to anyone, left the hospital. Buffy lay back on the pillow, feeling weak and sleepy, and prayed.

Willow half-walked, half-ran through the streets, passing the cemetery and Buffy's house, until she came to the old dark mansion. Puzzled, she noted the open door and wondered at it. If Angel was home, which he had to be, considering it was morning, he would be asleep. Maybe a trespasser was sneaking around or something. She approached warily, looking for movement, and she saw it.

She did not immediately understand what she was seeing. Someone who looked like Angel was stepping from the doorway into a puddle of sunshine on the front step. It couldn't really BE Angel, her mind told her, it had to be someone who just looked like him, because everyone knew that vampires, even ones with souls, burned in sunlight. So it couldn't really be Angel. And then the someone who looked like Angel began to give off a slight curl of smoke as he stood there bravely in the sun, a slight wisp of smoke that suddenly turned into a full cloud of white smoke as his clothes began to smolder. And then the realization hit her that this was Angel, and Buffy had known. Willow began to run at a full tilt, just as a flicker of flame began to take hold, and reached him only moments before he would have begun to burn in earnest. She jumped at him as hard as she could, managing only by sheer adrenaline power to knock him off his feet and back into the blessed shade of the mansion.

Ripping off her jacket, she smothered him with it, putting out the flame and leaving him smoking on the floor. He did not get up. He lay where he had fallen, staring at the ceiling. "You have to leave sometime," he said calmly. "When you do, I'll do it again."

Willow's blood ran cold at the lack of emotion in his voice, the lack of any kind of feeling at all. "Angel, no. You're making a mistake."

He laughed shortly. "One of many. Go home, Willow. Just leave me alone. You can't save me."

"She's alive."

"She died," he returned. "I killed her."

"Angel, I'm here for her! Listen! She is alive and asking for you. Just come, and you'll see." She was pleading now.

"Alive..." he turned the word over in his mind. Was she? He lifted his head from the stone floor to look at Willow. Ridiculous to think Willow would lie just to save him. Maybe it was the truth. He sat up slowly. "I can't go out," he said thoughtfully, squinting out the door at the sunshine that had nearly ended him.

"Tonight, then. At dusk. I'll tell her you're coming." Willow looked hopeful.

"Tell her at dusk."

---

He passed Giles in the waiting room without speaking. Giles had looked up from a book and their gazes met, then looked away. Angel continued down the hallway to her room, hoping to find it empty of visitors. Thankfully, it was. He entered quietly and stuck close to the wall. It was true. She was alive. Something inside him sang.

"Dusk didn't come fast enough for me," Buffy said softly, and he went to the side of the bed and knelt down. Bowing his head, there was silence. She waited.

"You died." He said it in a voice full of anguish.

She put her hand on his head. "I didn't. Well, I kind of did. But I came back."

"I wanted to die, too."

"I know. I saw. That's why I came back. That, and...oh, nothing," she finished, remembering the parts that had made her blush. "I just came back to you."

A very small round drop of blood landed on the sheet, and Buffy looked at it. Another fell beside it. She tugged at his hair until he lifted his head, and there were faint pink trails on his cheeks. "You never cry," she said in wonderment.

"I haven't in two hundred years," he said honestly, and then didn't talk anymore. She patted the bed beside her, and he crawled up and curled against her, taking care not to bump or push. The Slayer and the vampire slept.

When he left, he passed Giles again in the waiting room. Something in Giles's expression made him stop. The two men faced each other warily.

"I would be remiss if I did not express how I felt about something," Giles said.

"Say it."

"I feel you were very lucky to have her come into your life," he said simply.

Angel narrowed his eyes, and did not look away. "Lucky?" he replied. "I feel it was a damn near miracle."

 

The End

 

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