Disclaimer: let me check ... nope, still don't own them. And I have to mention Kelly Rowe's story, “What I Need”, because it gave me the inspiration.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: B/A, and the usual pairings from the show
Distribution: my site (http://www.never-ending-love.de), Land of Denial, if you have any of my stories, take it; anybody else tell me where it goes
Spoilers: BtVS up to the scene in “Passion” where Angel climbs into Buffy's bedroom is a fair game. It slips into AU after that.
Feedback: oh yes, please, and give some to Kelly, too!
Dedication: this goes to Kelly, because her story gave me the inspiration. Thanks, sweetie!

Note: if you want to read Kelly's story, it's at her site, but be aware that it's NC-17 (strong), http://www.angelfire.com/tv2/abt/af/sawhatineed.html

The water in the teapot spilled all over the kitchen counter, Giles' hands were shaking so badly. He knew it was a belated reaction to shock, knew it all too well, because he'd experienced it before, several times in fact.

He encountered demons, fought vampires, averted apocalypses by helping the Slayer to understand their workings, and he'd seen things nobody would believe, but try as he might, he couldn't remember even having been so shocked before.

The evening had started so promising. He invited Jenny to come over, to settle the problems between them, knowing they couldn't go on like this. With Angelus wracking havoc all over town they couldn't afford to ignore her knowledge about the nature of Angel's curse. Besides after weeks of resenting her, Giles realised he missed her dearly, her beautiful face, her fancy clothes, her laugh, and so he'd tried to get over the anger he was still harbouring against her, the disappointment of her betrayal, and had invited her.

And now she was sitting in his living room, wearing an equally shocked expression, he guessed, waiting for him to come back so that they could talk and somehow understand what had occurred last night.

“Tea will be ready in a few minutes,” he called over his shoulder, deliberately avoiding to look at the people assembled in his living room.

To think he'd been worried sick when Buffy hadn't come back to report last night, to think he'd been worried even more when he couldn't find her the whole day. Granted, it was Saturday and for that no school, but he hadn't been able to contact her by phone either. He had called her house, only to find out that her mother had gone, too. Probably one of her art exhibitions.

Giles sighed, realising with dread the tea was ready and there was no way to put this off any longer. Loading a tray with two more cups, the fresh tea, and some cookies, he took a deep breath, then walked back into the living-room.

Summoning a smile, he placed the tray on the table. “Here we go. Some fresh tea, and something to nibble at.”

Jenny laughed nervously, her eyes restless, her fingers entwined tightly, her knuckles white. “Thank you, Rupert.”

The other two persons didn't say anything. They just watched him fill the cups, waited until he sat down, looking at them.

Had there been a tense silence while he'd been brewing the tea, it was awkward now, none of them knowing how to begin, what to say.

Giles finally cleared his throat, “So,” he began. “Anyone explain this to me now?”

They shifted in their seats, exchanged glances, but didn't say a word.

“It could get a little bit one sided if I'm the only one talking tonight,” the watcher went on, not bothering that a sarcastic note had entered his voice. “Besides, you came to me, and ... after the initial shock has worn off now, I find myself quite interested to hear what exactly caused this.” He steeled himself for a moment, then turned his head, for the first time looking directly at the vampire sitting in front of him.

Ever since he'd found Buffy and Angel standing in front of his door tonight, he'd avoided looking at the vampire. He wasn't sure why, maybe because he would hate to see the emptiness in their former ally's eyes, or maybe because he had to acknowledge he was really here. Not just some projection his imagination had made up.

But Angel was sitting there, his eyes showing feelings only a soul could cause.

Or maybe, Giles thought, he'd hadn't wanted to see the deep guilt, the remorse, the shame, he was seeing now. “Maybe you could explain,” the watcher urged, getting more impatient with each passing moment. The adrenaline had worn off by now, and he was anxious to understand what was going on.

The last time he'd seen Angel, the vampire had been evil, vicious, and ... well, soulless. He wasn't anymore.

Giles simply hated being left in the dark.

“Actually,” Buffy managed to speak at last, “we're not sure.”

“Ah,” the watcher nodded. “That's ... er ... not very helpful, I'm afraid. I mean, Angel obviously is in full possession of his soul again, and for all our sakes, I'd like to understand what happened.”

“So would we,” Angel agreed, looking at the older man seriously. “That's why we came.”

Giles quickly glanced at Jenny, only to see her staring at the carpet, then shifted his attention back at Angel. “Fine. Well, maybe it would be helpful if you just told me what happened. Maybe if I knew ... we would be able to find the reason for the ... the change.”

“Maybe someone just cursed him again,” Buffy offered, her voice uncertain, a blush staining her cheeks.

“That's not very likely.” Jenny spoke up for the first time, her voice strained. “I cannot see my people repeating the curse. It was a single act. Born from pain. By a need for revenge. They wouldn't just do it again - hundred years later.”

“They are the ones who cursed him with a stupid loophole,” the slayer replied, feeling anger boiling up inside of her. It was a good feeling. Safe. “It wouldn't surprise me if they held a grudge for even longer. That strange uncle of yours certainly did.”

“My uncle ...,” Jenny looked at the ground again, frowned, then gazed at Angel, “He was very caught up into the traditions of my people. I agree that his ... behaviour, his actions, weren't justified.”

“Believe me, they were,” was all Angel said to it, his eyes serious and so incredibly sad, the gypsy felt doubly ashamed for having been part of this whole affair.

“Angel,” she said, “whatever you did. Or rather the demon did, it didn't give them ... us ... a right to inflict this kind of torture on your soul. I cannot tell you how it makes me feel to actually have supported what happened to you. My only excuse is that I had no idea what I was getting into when they sent me to Sunnydale to watch you.”

“Jenny.” Angel's voice was soft, “I would never blame you. I'm hardly in a position to blame anyone.”

“But I did,” Buffy cut in, “And I'm resenting you for not telling us. You knew Angel and I loved each other, you saw us together. You knew what was going to happen, or at least could have guessed it. But you did nothing to prevent it. You only came out with the truth when it was too late already.”

“Buffy,” the vampire took the Slayer's hand. “Let it go. We shouldn't dwell on it. There's more important stuff we have to worry about.”

She looked at him for a moment, then sighed, “Okay. Fine. Let's forget about it.” Her gaze shifted at Jenny. “Maybe we could start out new.”

The computer teacher's smile was wobbly, “I'd like that.”

“Well, now that we've established that,” Giles' impatient voice intruded their little reunion, “can we come back to the matter at hand. How Angel regained his soul. I still don't understand it.”

He saw Buffy blush again, clear her throat, then she looked away, but Giles had already seen the flash of embarrassment flicker through her eyes. Suddenly feeling uncomfortable himself, he turned towards Angel again.

Taking an unnecessary breath, the vampire got the hint. “Last night I ... that is the demon ... climbed into Buffy's bedroom.” He took another breath, combed a hand through his hair, “I don't know how much the watcher diaries say about Angelus, but in my soulless state I do have a thing for mind-games. And I tend to get obsessed with things.”

“I see,” Giles nodded. “Obsessions like - Buffy?”

“Yes. Like her. The fact that I'm in love with her only adds to the temptation.” He shook his head, “Anyways. I intended to draw a picture, leave it on her pillow, for her to find it in the morning. I even started to draw when Buffy suddenly woke up.”

He grew quiet for a moment, looked at the girl beside him. She gave him a quick smile, squeezed his hand. It gave him the courage to go on. “Well, I ... don't exactly know what happened. She was still half-asleep, and she looked so tempting and ...,” he cleared his throat, not comfortable with the subject, even more hating the fact he had to talk about it in public.

Angel had always been an intensely private person. He didn't go out to share his feelings. Hundred years of brooding on his own had shaped him. This, plus his upbringing at a time when subjects like this were never discussed in public, barely mentioned in private, only added to his distress. For the first time he was actually glad he couldn't blush.

He was glad to see that Giles and Jenny seemed as uncomfortable as he, and he was even more glad to see that they'd obviously understood what he had hinted at. “So you ... uh ... you know,” the watcher cleared his throat, “And what then?”

“Only seconds afterwards he ... he started to groan, clutched his head, then became unconscious,” Buffy told them, realising that this was the part she had to explain. “When he woke up, he was Angel again.” She shrugged, as if to indicate that she had not the slightest idea what had caused this.

“I can't believe this,” Giles said, his movements suddenly jerky.

“Neither could I,” Buffy agreed, suddenly eager to get this over with, pleasantly surprised it was going to well. “I mean, I ... I even handcuffed him. To my bed. And ... and ... and ... God, I was so glad mom wasn't at home. And then he woke up ... and here he was. Angel.”

She shot the vampire a quick glance. She would never tell anybody, how she had felt when she'd finally realised he'd really come back. Nobody would ever know how he'd broken down in front of her, sobbing uncontrollably when his memory returned, when he realised what had happened and more importantly what had caused it. That one moment of true happiness, a moment of beauty, had caused such pain and chaos.

Giles would never know that they held each other the rest of the night and the whole day, needing the contact, the feeling of the other near by, to assure themselves this was true, and not just a dream. That only afterwards they had been able to face the world, to find out what had happened.

These things were private, and would stay between them. It was nobody's business but theirs. And it would stay that way. Buffy knew that the coming weeks would be hard, and she could almost hear Xander. He was already carrying so much resentment towards Angel, she could imagine his reaction. But she would never betray Angel's trust by telling the others what had occurred the last 24 hours, even if it would help for them to understand how it was for him. That Angel - with his soul - was as much a victim, if not even more, than they were.

She jerked almost as if she'd been slapped when Giles suddenly stood up, and shouted, “This was incredibly irresponsible of you. Not to say extremely foolish. He might have killed you after ... well, afterwards.”

“Rupert.” Jenny reached out, but the watcher avoided her touch, gesturing wildly at the couple.

“There is no excuse. You behaved immaturely, and ... I don't know what to say. I can … up to a certain degree … understand Angel. He was a soulless demon after all. But you …”

“I know that,” Buffy whispered, tears welling up in her eyes, her whole body vibrating, “I know it, okay. I know it was irresponsible, and foolish, and ... really bad, but it happened. It just happened. I'm human. I make mistakes. Those things happen.” Her voice had been raising during her speech and in the end she was yelling at him, her eyes blazing.

“You are the Slayer,” Giles countered, noticing with irritation that Angel ran his hand up and down Buffy's bare arm, telling her without words that he would be there for her, no matter what. The watcher knew it shouldn't surprise him. After all Slayer and vampire had touched each other much more intimately already, but it did, and so he added, “You're *not* just a regular human girl.”

“I know that, too,” she shot back. “Don't you think I realise that? I don't have a normal life, I will never have a normal life. It ended the day some strange English guy came into and turned it upside down.” A sob escaped her, and she pressed her free hand on her mouth.

“Buffy.”

She took several breaths, then turned towards Angel. He was watching her with concern, his eyes full of love, full of all the feelings she had missed for too long. “What?,” she asked, trying to calm down.

He gave her a slight smile, then his gaze shifted towards Jenny, who hadn't said very much so far, but there was understanding and compassion in her eyes. Finally he settled on Giles. “Yelling and shouting at each other will lead us nowhere,” he said slowly. “I know I don't really have a right ...,” he swallowed, quickly looking at the ground, then back up, “But ... Slayer or no, Buffy is still a seventeen year old girl. She already carries the weight of the world more often than any of us can understand. She didn't ... do what she ... we ... did deliberately. It happened.”

Letting go of her hand, Angel stood, walked towards the door, then back, “Don't think we don't know that ... this,” he gestured at Buffy, at him, “Us. We know that it shouldn't happen. But it did. It does. When we were together the night of her birthday, none of us could know what might happen.”

“Well, one of us did,” Buffy interrupted him flippantly, glaring at Jenny.  The Slayer knew she was behaving unreasonable with this, knew she'd just promised to forget about it, but she just couldn't forget what Jenny had done. The wounds the teacher's actions - or rather non-actions - had caused, were to deep. Angel might have his soul back, but Buffy wasn't certain if she would ever wake up without being afraid she'd lost him again.

The computer teacher fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, shifting uncomfortably in the chair. “I've repeatedly announced how sorry I am for the things that happened. I ... I know I deceived you and deliberately let you believe I was your friend, when I was spying on you all the time. But if you let me, I'd do anything to help. To redeem myself in your eyes.”

The Slayer's expression turned sly. “Well, you could,” she said, “How about you help to find out what's going on. And more importantly, what the state of Angel's soul is now.”

 Part 2

With a sigh Jenny replaced the receiver in the cradle. The phone call had been  for nothing. She shouldn't be disappointed, she knew, but she was. Her cousin had been polite but short lipped and he aunt had refused to talk to her at all. She knew they blamed her for her uncle's death, blamed her for not doing her job, blamed her for being human, she thought angrily.

Yes, she should have known it. From the moment she'd been sent to watch Angel she had felt something was off. She remembered the expression in her relatives' eyes, the unforgiving hatred, it made her shiver at the memory. They were so blinded by their unhealthy revenge, they couldn't think straight anymore. Yes, Angelus had killed her uncle. But it wasn't Angel's fault he'd fallen in love with Buffy, it wasn't his fault that her clan had constructed this insane curse.

They had wanted to punish the demon for it's actions, but were punishing the man instead. Angel was a master in hiding his feelings, but still she'd seen the flashes of pain and guilt, the deep shame whenever his past was mentioned. He'd done nothing to earn it, other than being young, foolish - human. He'd been blinded by a beautiful woman, a woman who promised him the world. A woman that turned out to be a vampire. Darla.

Jenny looked up hearing a noise from the door, and turning her head she saw Giles coming back into his living-room. Buffy and Angel had left earlier. They would meet again the next evening. Slayer and vampire had promised to be careful, and Jenny had to smile thinking how uncomfortable Rupert had been when warning them to do nothing that might break the curse again. He was simply adorable when he was embarrassed.

“What's funny?,” Giles asked, looking at her quizzically.

She shook her head, “Nothing. Actually, it's not funny at all. Aunt Elora refused to talk to me. She told my cousin the matter wasn't open for discussion. They don't trust me anymore, Rupert,” she said, turning towards the window, staring out into the night. “They blame me for my uncle's death.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I'm not,” she replied, smiling slightly to herself. “They are insane with hatred. Blinded by it. I'm glad I'm not part of it anymore. The problem is, it doesn't help Buffy and Angel a single bit.”

“No, it doesn't,” he agreed, walking slowly towards her, resting his palms on her shoulders. “But I'm glad, too.”

She loved the warmth spreading from his palms into her body, “But what are we going to do? We have to help them, Rupert. I've seen Buffy these last weeks. She was only a shell of her old self. But tonight the sparkle was back in her eyes. Did you see how she was touching him all the time, as if to assure herself he was really here?”

Rubbing her tense shoulders, Giles sighed, “I have seen it. And it irritated me - for a while. But I agree, none of us ever realised how badly she needs him. She relies on him. She trusts him.” He paused, not sure he could say the next words, but saying them nevertheless, “She loves him.”

Jenny nodded, turned to look at him, “Yes, she does. And he loves her. I'm too old to think that love overcomes all, but with them ... I have a feeling by separating them we'd destroy Buffy. Angel …,” she paused, thought about it, “he's used to pain. To grief. He will probably be able to find a way to live without her. At least exist without her. But Buffy,” she shook her head, “I'm not sure she can.”

Giles ran his hands down her arms, squeezed her hands for a moment, then let go. Walking back to the table, he picked up a book, “I never wanted to separate them.”

“I'm not saying that,” she smiled gently, paused, until he looked at her again. “On the contrary. I think you were very supportive where Buffy and Angel were concerned. But deep inside, we all thought it was doomed. That it wouldn't last. That it couldn't last. After tonight, I think we were wrong. It will last. And for Buffy's sake, it has to. He might be a vampire, and he might be immortal, but he understands her. On a level none of us can touch.”

He smiled as well now. “It seems you've given the problem a lot of thought.”

“It happens when you're alone at home, feeling guilty. You'd be surprised what things go on in your mind then.”

“Oh, I know,” Giles replied, chuckling. “Don't think you're the only one carrying guilt.”

“I know, I'm not” she said gently, thinking about a time when a demon the watcher had helped to create, had used her as a host. “But sometimes thinking is a good thing. And time. I had a lot of time and I … I ... uh ... translated Angel's curse.”

His head snapped up, “You did?”

Sighing, she nodded. “It's terrible. A cruel curse to punish, to torture. But I thought in knowing the words, we might be able to understand it. Now,” she shrugged a bit helplessly. “I'm not sure anymore. I've read it again and again. There's nothing in it. It's just that. A curse. No secrets. Certainly nothing to help us understand what happened last night.”

“I see.” Giles sighed, too. “Well, maybe I could read over the curse, if you don't mind.”

“I don't mind. I thought we could go over it together tomorrow night.” She glanced at the clock. It was already well past midnight.

“A good idea,” he agreed, then cleared his throat, “Do you ... want me to bring you home?”

She hesitated only for a moment. “Yes,” she answered, “Yes, I think that would be good.”

He nodded, “Yes. I think, too.”

They smiled at each other. They had made a big step tonight towards restoring their earlier relationship. But both knew it was too early for more. It would come later. When they were free to think about themselves.

*

Angel cleared his throat before he opened the door to his old apartment, holding it open for Buffy to enter. She gave him a quick glance then stepped inside. He switched on the light, and she grimaced. “Can you say dusty?”

“I ... uh ... wasn't here after ... you know,” he replied, more than a little embarrassed.

She turned swiftly, putting a hand on his arm, “Angel,” she said softly. “It was a joke. I don't mind. My room looks worse most of the time.”

“Oh.” He had to clear his throat again. “I'm not sure it was the best idea to come here. It holds a lot of bad memories for you.”

“Not only bad ones,” she replied, smiling at him, then frowned, “Which probably isn't really a safe topic tonight.”

“No, probably not,” he agreed. “Not as long as we ...,” he trailed off, quickly looked away from the curtain that separated his bedroom from the rest of his apartment. The images he connected with it were much too vivid, too dangerous. Last night he hadn't been able to prevent what had happened, and regarding the outcome he couldn't feel sorry for it. But he would do nothing that could set Angelus free again.

“Right,” she said shortly. “Maybe I should better leave. You know distance might be even safer.”

“No!,” he said quickly. “I ... I don't want you to go. But ... if you -”

“No. I don't want to go either. Mom won't be home anyway. Not until tomorrow night. So it's not really that someone is missing me.”

“Good,” he released a breath of relief. Then realising how it sounded, he hurried to amend, “Of course I didn't mean-”

“I know,” she cut him off, smiling to show him she understood. He was so tense, so uncertain standing in his living-room, his eyes cast to the ground. They had been so close the last 24 hours, and Buffy wanted it back. She knew they had to be careful, but she couldn't stand the distance that was growing between  them.

“Can I get you something?,” he asked all of a sudden, remembering his manners.

“No, thanks. And I doubt you'd have something anyway.”

“Right,” he nodded, again embarrassment rising inside of him. “Well ... what do you want us to do?”

“Angel.” Not able to stand it any longer, she walked over to him, took his hand. Startled he raised his head, but the expression in his eyes was guarded, and inwardly she sighed. “Maybe we could talk some more?”

“Talk?” He said the word as if he'd never heard it before, stared at her.

“Yes, talk.” She smiled slightly. “You know two people. Their lips are moving, words are coming out of their mouths...,” she trailed off.

He closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head, “Sorry,” he apologized. “Yes, of course we can talk.” He looked at his hand in hers, but didn't pull away. “It's just that I told you everything last night. There isn't much more.”

“No?,” her smile was a bit wobbly. “Well maybe I could talk then. And you could listen.” She hated it, but she felt tears well up in her eyes. “Angel, I ... I need you. I missed you so much. Every time I met your demon, I ... was hoping ...,” her voice broke, and she tried to pull away, tried to turn her back to him.

But suddenly she found herself in his embrace instead. Two strong arms were wrapping themselves around her, bringing her close, his hands stroking her back, his lips whispering, his words comforting her. “I'm sorry,” he said, and she felt him tremble.

She wrapped her arms around his waist, glad the distance was gone. “I can't go on without you again,” she whispered into his broad chest. “I need to be with you. I know we have to be careful, but,” she shrugged, “that doesn't mean we can't hold each other, be there for each other, right?”

“No, it doesn't,” he agreed, cupping her face in his hands. “I love you, Buffy,” he said, kissing her gently, pulling back before passion could stir.”

“I love you, too,” she replied, smiled.

“Okay,” he said after a long moment, pulled back, then holding out his hand for her, “Tell me about you. Tell what I missed.”

“Well,” she smiled, put her hand in his, followed him to the sofa, “you know all the stuff about the judge. But can you believe that my mother had the hots for Xander?”

When she saw his eyes widen in shock, she laughed out loud. For a moment she was almost startled by the sound. She could hardly remember the last time she'd laughed like this. But one things she knew for certain. Angel had been there. With him gone there wasn't any laughter left in her. Now he was back, and she would do what she could to keep it that way.

Note that I call Angel Spike's sire in this. Trying to stick to canon with this as Spike in “School Hard” called Angel his sire.

 Part 3

“I miss my Angel.”

Spike closed his eyes, tried to block out Drusilla's voice for a moment. If it was going on like this any longer, he'd end up with a splitting headache. All thanks to his bloody sire. For all he cared Angel could go straight to hell. Not for the first time he found himself wishing the old Buffy-whipped Angelus was back, rather than the annoying soulless version.

He knew Drusilla didn't see it that way, knew that she missed him. Spike resented him even more for that. It was one thing that Angel had had his girlfriend night after night. Sex wasn't really special for a vampire. Drusilla was a passionate person, and Spike was aware that she'd been seeking satisfaction elsewhere ever since he was bound to that damned wheelchair, and that Angel had existed in her life long before the blond vampire. Hell, he'd made her after all.

What really bugged Spike was that Angel was a threat for Dru's affection. For once, Drusilla was Angel's childe. And there had always been a special bond between them. Spike usually ignored it. But with Angel so near by all the time, it grew stronger.

“Aaaaangeeellll.”

“Hell, would you mind stop that whining now?,” he whirled the wheel-chair around. “I really can't stand it.”

She turned slowly, her eyes unfocussed, she was staring into space. “He's gone,” she said, a frown appearing on her forehead. “Someone's destroyed our happy home.”

“Gone?,” Spike studied her face closely. “Are you sure? Because I'd say good riddance then. It's not a minute too early.”

“Oooooooh, Spiiiiike,” she fell to the ground, clutching her head, “My Angel,” she cried, “my Angel.”

Gone? What the hell did it mean? Was the bugger dead? Had he left Sunnyhell? But no, he'd never leave the town. The Slayer was here, and Angel was obsessed with her. Spike could relate to that. He knew all about obsessions and Slayers. No, Angel wouldn't leave. But it was a fact that he hadn't shown up for more than 24 hours. Not that he actually told anyone what he'd been up to. The mighty Angelus never bothered with those things.

Spike looked to the ground, Dru was still sobbing, lost in her own world, while the puppy licked the salty tears from her cheeks. As far as Spike was concerned an eternity until he saw his sire again was still too early.

*

“I can't believe humans actually wrote this.” With a jerky movement Giles removed his glasses, then pulled out a handkerchief to rub them. Giving the paper in front of him a glance of disgust he leaned back, looking at the little group assembled in the library. “It's completely inhuman.”

“I know,” Jenny said quietly, shame colouring her voice.

“It was made to punish a demon,” Angel reminded them softly, “Humanity had nothing to do with it.”

“Oh, no,” Buffy turned swiftly, glaring at her boyfriend, “You're not taking the blame again. Giles is right. It's inhuman.” She looked at him firmly, and he had to smile. Under the table he reached for her hand, squeezed it gratefully. He had not the slightest idea what he'd done to earn this unwavering support of her's, but he wasn't about to question it. At least not at the moment.

Maybe not ever.

The exchange wasn't lost to the others, but while Willow smiled at the recently reunited couple, reaching for Oz's hand under the table as well, Giles and Jenny looked at them with understanding, Xander straightened suddenly in his chair.

“Okay,” he said, “that's it. That's enough. I've got enough of this happy family reunion.” He ignored Cordelia's hand that was pulling at his arm, shook it off angrily. “I didn't say anything so far, but that's it. I was sitting here the whole evening, asking myself the one question nobody's obviously going to ask.” He jumped up, planting his hands on his hips, glaring at Angel, then turning towards Buffy, “Why the hell didn't you just stake him when he was unconscious? Or were you too wrapped up in the afterglow of sex you couldn't think straight?”

“Xander!”

Even before he'd heard Willow's shocked outcry, he knew he'd gone too far, but at the moment he didn't care. They were all behaving as if nothing had happened. Even Giles and Jenny were accepting. Accepting! Xander couldn't believe it. Angel had roamed the streets of Sunnydale for weeks, maimed and killed, tortured all of them, stalked Buffy, and they were taking him back with open arms. Like the prodigal son finally coming home.

Well, he for once, wouldn't welcome Angel. Hell would freeze over first. This thought firm in mind, he raised his chin.

“Actually, I've been asking this myself, ever since I woke up with my soul firmly in place. So far, I haven't been able to find an explanation.”

And like this Xander felt all the steam leave his body. He stared in disbelief at the vampire who'd just uttered the words, feeling like a fool, or - judging the expression on Cordelia's face - like a bug. A very, very low bug.

He saw Buffy turn her head, saw tears in the blonde's eyes when she looked at Angel. She reached out her hand, cupped the vampire's chin. There was an expression on her face Xander had never seen before. It was so soft it made him want to weep. Her voice was a bit wobbly, but he had no problems to understand the words. “I couldn't. Because I love you. I love you so much. And as long as there was a chance to bring you back ... how could you expect me to kill you?”

Angel obviously was at loss of words at that. Xander saw him struggle, and lose. Faster than the boy could see, the Slayer was in the vampire's arms, in his lap, Angel holding her close, his eyes shut tightly, he took several deep breaths. Then his eyes opened again, and he blinked rapidly. He still held Buffy close to him, but cleared his throat. “I'm sorry,” he managed, and Xander suddenly realised that for someone like Angel who rarely showed any kind of emotion, this had to be extraordinary. No wonder he was embarrassed.

Feeling someone tugging at his arm, Xander found Cordelia glaring up at him. “Sit down,” she hissed, and when he did, she added, “And shut up. You've done enough for tonight.”

Feeling even worse, he glanced at Willow, his best friend since earliest childhood, but all he found in her eyes was disappointment. It was like a slap in his face. Ashamed he lowered his head. Maybe he should just crawl into his bed and pretend he was dead. The way Cordy had looked at him, he was sure she wouldn't let him kiss her for a week. He sighed inwardly. And maybe he should just learn to keep his mouth shut. Or think first, and talk later.

“Well, yes,” Giles cleared his throat loudly, rubbing his glasses so hard, Willow thought he would break them. “Maybe we should come back to the reason of this meeting. The reason why his soul was returned to Angel, and what this means for the future.”

“You mean if they can get groiny with each other without the world falling into pieces. Because I really hate to think my life might depend on something as simple as an orgasm.”

Willow turned beet reed, while Xander almost choked, then coughed to cover it.

“Yes, Cordelia, thank you for putting this into perspective,” the watcher said dryly, but had to chuckle inwardly. The brunette might be tactless sometimes, but her blunt remarks certainly helped to ease the tension.

“You're welcome,” she replied, giving him a bright smile.

Shaking his head, he picked up the sheet in front of him. “We have to thank Jenny for this translation. She also made copies for all of you, and I suppose you all have read it by now. As I said before, it's an inhuman curse. The Romani said they were doing it to seek justice, but this has nothing to do with justice. It's vengeance. Plain and simple. And it's disgusting.”

He gazed at Buffy and Angel, who were sitting separately again. Traces of tears were still on her cheeks, but she was listening closely. “Giles,” Angel's voice was low, heavy loaded with guilt, “Believe me. They had every right for vengeance.”

But the watcher didn't have compassion for the gypsies. “That's no excuse. You - or rather your demon - might have done horrible things. But nothing justifies vengeance. A mental torture like this. But what even weighs more is this stupid clause. Whoever created it ...,” he trailed off, shaking his head again. “What did they hope to achieve? The result, and we've seen it first hand, was to set your demon free. It's insane. Who would want your demon to run free again?”

“They wanted to make sure he was suffering eternally,” Jenny spoke up. “Happiness wasn't part of the plan.”

Putting his glasses back on, Giles rubbed his forehead, “No, certainly not.”

“Uhm ...,” Willow held up a hand, “We agree they did a bad job the way they cursed Angel,” she smiled briefly at the vampire, “But does that help?”

“No, no,” the watcher shook his head. “Willow is right. What we need to do, is to understand this curse. The way it works. Maybe to find an explanation for what happened to Angel last night. I'm sure it has to be in here. Maybe hidden.”

“Hidden?,” Jenny looked at him doubtfully, “But I've read it again and again. There's nothing in it.”

“Couldn't there be some kind of hidden code?,” Cordelia asked, staring at her copy. “I mean ... they did have codes then, right?”

“A code?,” Giles tilted his head, gazed at her. Suddenly his eyes lit up, and he slapped his hands together. “Of course, a code. Cordelia, that's brilliant. Why didn't anyone of us think about it. It has to be a code. And it has to be in it. All we have to do is find it.”

“All?” Willow sighed, “I'd say it's going to be pretty difficult. Because so far, nothing I've read didn't even look like a code.”

“Did you hear him, he said I'm brilliant?” Cordelia beamed at Xander.

He rolled his eyes, “Yes, I heard it.” And he'd probably hear it again during the next week. She would certainly remind him. Often.

“Just so you remember it,” she replied, looking at Buffy and Angel. “You owe me.”

“Yes, Cordelia, we do,” Buffy said, sighing, too.

“Don't forget it.”

“We won't,” the Slayer said, and the tone of her voice said, she meant it. Looking back at the words in front of her. “Maybe we should read it aloud. Or backwards. Or ...”

“It's like searching for a needle in a haystack,” Xander muttered.

“It is, but we have to find it,” Buffy said, her voice pleading. “We just have to.” She looked around, at her friends, and was relieved to see them nod. At last her eyes stayed on Xander for a moment. Only after he nodded, too, she relaxed slightly, and concentrated on the text. < P> Part 4

It was after midnight when suddenly a loud yawn sounded through the library. Startled by the noise everyone looked up to see Willow blush, then laugh slightly in embarrassment. “Sorry,” she said biting her lower lip.

“Good God,” Giles smiled at her. “There's no reason to apologize.”

“He's right,” Buffy agreed instantly. “You're all sitting here for hours just to help,” her eyes shifted to Angel, then back at her friends, “us.”

“Hey, that's what friends are for,” Xander spoke up, trying to apologize that way for his earlier slip. “Besides. There's really nothing going on tomorrow but school. And who needs that anyway.”

“Mom!” The Slayer jumped up, her eyes wide in panic. “Oh God. Mom's supposed to get back from her art exhibition in New York tonight. She's going to freak if I'm not there.” She looked at the clock, sighed, “I'm SO grounded.”

“Maybe I could come with you, explain,” Giles offered.

“And say what?,” she shot back. “Sorry your under-aged daughter missed curfew time, but she's the Slayer, who just got her vampire boyfriend back, with whom she had sex. Afterwards he got his soul back, which he lost in the first place because they had sex before on her 17th birthday? I don't think so.”

The watcher frowned, then sighed in defeat. “Point taken.”

“But what am I going to do?,” she asked nobody in particular. “I cannot be grounded at the moment. I simply can't.” “But you're going to be, young lady. And for a very long time.”

Buffy gasped in shock and eight pairs of startled eyes turned to look at Joyce Summers standing in the doorway.

“Mom.” The Slayer's voice was pure panic. “What are you doing here? It's past midnight.”

“Oh?,” Joyce raised a brow, “Well, let me think,” she said sarcastically. “I come home around ten only to find my daughter gone with absolutely no cue where she might be. I call Mrs. Rosenberg, and she tells me Willow isn't home either. Then I remembered Mr. Giles, and thought he might know. So here I am. And I really have to say, Mr. Giles, that I think it's irresponsible of you to call teenagers in for some tutoring at this time of the night without giving any note to the parents.”

Buffy's eyes widened, “Tutoring?,” she asked, staring at her mother dumbfounded.

“Yes, Buffy,” Willow looked at her urgently. “We were learning together. You know, history.”

“Ah, yes, tutoring,” the blond gave her friend a grateful gaze, “We were doing ... history, you know. You know how I flunk in history, and so I thought-”

“Yes, I know all about history,” her mother sighed, stepped fully into the library, joining the group at the table. When her eyes fell on Angel, who was the only one standing beside Buffy, she frowned, “We met before, haven't we?”

“We have,” Angel replied, “About a year ago, in your house.”

“Ah, yes,” she nodded, her eyes narrowing instantly. “And what are you doing here? I thought Mr. Giles was tutoring-”

“Yes, yes, I am,” the watcher jumped up, too, walked over to her, “But Angel ... uh ... his knowledge about history is stunning.”

“Yeah,” Xander cut in, “almost as if he's lived through it himself.”

“That's true,” Willow was quick to agree. “He knows things ... stuff ... you wouldn't believe. He's really smart.”

“It's awesome,” Oz agreed as well.

Cordelia just rolled her eyes.

“I ...,” Mrs. Summers looked around. “Are you a teacher, too?,” she asked finally looking at Jenny.

“Yes, I am,” Miss Calender got up, “I'm the computer teacher. I'm here to explain how to use the computer for research,” she told the older woman with a complete straight face, and for a moment Giles was painfully reminded of her betrayal.

“I see,” Joyce nodded, still not completely convinced, but the fact that two - she glanced at Angel, three adults were present, somewhat mollified her. Still, she remembered the way Buffy had looked at Angel a year ago. And the guy was far too old for her daughter. “But it's still too late. You've got school tomorrow, Buffy. And although I'm willing to acknowledge the efforts you're taking for school, a certain amount of sleep is important, too.”

“Of course,” Buffy nodded eagerly, and, glad her mother had bought the lie, collected her stuff from the table. “I'm ready.”

“Fine,” Joyce looked around, “Good night everybody.”

Good nights from everyone were the response. She turned and behind her back Buffy quickly kissed Angel on the cheek then followed her mother.

*

“Dru, baby, you need to eat.”

“No.”

“But you need to eat. You can't go on like this. You'll lose your strength.”

“No.”

Spike rolled his eyes. He usually loved her stubborn streak, but at the moment, it was more than he could handle. And all because Angel hadn't shown up for two days. Damn him. He swore inwardly. Damn him to hell. Angel had turned Dru's world upside down and now Spike was left to pick up the pieces.

“Boss.”

He whirled around in his wheelchair, raised a brow at Lucius. “What?”

“I brought the food.” He pointed over his shoulder, towards a young man, bound and gagged, his eyes wide in horror. Spike could smell his scent through the whole factory, and it made his belly grumble in anticipation.

He nodded at his minion, then turned back to his lover. “Dru, baby. Lucius brought the food,” he said gently, rolling over to her, touching her shoulder. She was lying curled like a ball on the ground, staring into space. He knew her mind was far away where he couldn't reach her, and he hated it.

She froze at his touch, her shoulders tensed. “Angel,” she whispered.

“God, I hate the bugger,” Spike gritted out between clenched teeth. He had to find out what was going on. And soon. Tonight for the first time since his accident he'd felt a slight stirring in his legs. He hoped it meant what he thought it did. As soon as he was on his feet again, things would change around here.

He gave his lover a last glance, sighed. She had to end some time, but there was no acute danger. She was strong and healthy now that he had performed the ritual with Angel, and she could go for a few days without blood. He would find a way to bring her back into the real world. And together they would rule this miserable town.

With a determined motion he whirled the chair back to Lucius. “Bring me the boy,” he ordered. “I'm suddenly ravenous.”

*

They were leaving the library, and Angel had already walked a short distance when Jenny's voice stopped him. “Angel?”

He turned, saw her standing beside her car, her fingers entwined, playing with each other, her expression uncertain. Trying to ease her tension, he smiled, “Yes?”

“Can I ... uh ... could I give you a lift?” She nodded pointedly at her car, bit her lower lip.

Of course she knew he didn't need a car. As a vampire, if he wanted, he could be almost as fast on foot, but he felt there was more to her offer. “That'd be nice,” he replied, walking towards her.

He saw a fleeting smile cross her tense features, before she climbed into her car and he did the same.

Sitting side by side the tension was almost palpable and after a moment, Jenny turned on the ignition, started the car, and pulled it out of the school parking space. Clearing her throat, she said, “I ... uh ... don't know where you live. I might need directions.”

He looked at her profile, her eyes directed on the street, he could see a muscle in her jaw jumping. “Just drive on, I'll show you. It's not far.”

More tense, silent moments went by before she suddenly blurted out, “I'm sorry.” She shot him a short glance, tried to give him an apologetic smile. Failing, she bit her lower lip instead. Misery was written all over her face.

“There's nothing to be sorry for,” he said softly, not taking his eyes from her. “Whatever your people did to me, believe me, I deserved it.”

Stubbornly she shook her head, “No. That's not true. Your demon did all those things. You ... your soul wasn't even there.”

“But I was responsible it happened in the first place. If I had turned Darla down-”

She cut him off in mid sentence, anger replacing guilt, “You were young, for God's sake. Okay, not that young, but young. You can't tell me you had any idea what it meant to be a vampire. You couldn't know what would happen.”

“No, I didn't,” he confirmed. “But it's a fact I agreed. She asked me if I wanted to see the world. And I wanted it. I didn't ask. I didn't care what it meant. All I wanted was to escape. The funny part is, I don't even remember what I wanted to escape from.” He paused for a moment, considered his words, then added, “Besides. I can't be angry. All that happened brought me to her. To Buffy. Without the curse ... we wouldn't have met. Or maybe we would have and tried to kill each other.” Jenny smiled slightly, then sighed, “We'll probably never agree on this. And I can see the part about Buffy. But you have to admit that creating a curse like yours is irresponsible. It's one thing to curse you with a soul, as cruel as it might be. But to create a curse that can be broken ...,” she trailed off, shook her head.

“They probably didn't think it was possible someone could ever love a monster,” he mused.

“You're not a monster,” she protested. “And don't even try to tell me otherwise. Angel, when I came to Sunnydale I expected ... I don't even know what I expected. But certainly not a man who cared for others, who risked his life to help the Slayer, to help mankind. There is a demon inside of you, but it isn't responsible for your actions. Your soul is. We all have seen you without it, and I think none of us will ever mix you two up again.”

He had to chuckle, “Probably.” Suddenly he frowned, “I ... uh ... am glad you translated the curse. To help, you know.”

“It's the least I could do.”

“Still, I'm glad you did. And I'm glad I didn't know ... you know ... before I got my soul back.”

She shot him a puzzled glance, “Why?”

He laughed, but it was without any humor, “My demon doesn't take those things well. I have no idea what he might have done if ...,” he trailed off, not willing to go into the depth of things, and Jenny realised he was afraid to ponder the possibilities.

She felt a cold shiver run down her spine. “Oh,” was all she said.

“You have to turn right the next corner,” Angel's voice pulled her from her scary thoughts.

“Oh. Right.”

“It's the fourth house. There,” he pointed at a large apartment building. “I persuaded the owner to let me have the basement.”

She laughed slightly, but Angel heard the tremble in it, “That has to be perfect.”

“It is,” he agreed, “The windows are small. It was easy to cover them.”

“That's ... uh ... good then.”

“Jenny.” Angel's voice was soft. “I didn't say what I said to scare you. I will never hurt you - if I can avoid it.”

She stared straight ahead, took a deep breath. “Yes. Yes, I know. That's not ... I think I never realised I put myself in danger by translating your curse. I never even thought about ... your demon ... you know.”

“I know.” Slowly he reached out, took her hand. It was ice-cold, and he squeezed it gently. “Thanks for your help.”

She blinked, then turned her head and looked at him. “You're welcome. You are a good man, Angel. And you're good for her.”

“I don't know,” he said honestly. “But I hope so.” He smiled, “She is good for me, too.”

Jenny smiled as well. “Good Night, Angel.” She glanced at the sky where the night was already fading, giving way to the day and the sun. “Or should I say Good Morning?”

He squeezed her hand again, and with a last look at her, he slipped out of the car, and disappeared in the building.

 Part 5

He rolled away from her, and through the pounding of her own blood she could still hear the roar of pleasure from his mouth when his cold semen had spilled into her. She felt like floating, like not being part of this earth, like having just died a little bit. She thought about a novel she'd once read about the petit mort, the little death, how the French called it, and she knew what it meant. She'd experienced it before, on the rainy night of her seventeenth birthday.

Nothing seemed real. She was only half aware of the half-naked body lying beside her, his breathing as ragged as hers, which was weird as he didn't need to breathe in the first place. She felt sore in secret places, but it was a good feeling, a feeling of being whole, after feeling so empty for so many weeks.

She knew the emptiness would come again, knew it like she knew the sun would rise the next morning. She hadn't made love to Angel, the Angel who had once carried her to heaven. She'd slept with a demon, a demon who wore her lover's face. But not her lover's eyes. Never his eyes.

The eyes of the demon were cold, like a deep, bottomless sea during wintertime, frozen on the surface, the life drained from it, the warmth, the love. And she wanted to weep in the aftermath, wanted to weep for losing what had brought her so far, for losing what had been the most important thing in her life.

And she wanted to gag. The nausea in her stomach came sudden, disgust filling her at what she'd done, at what she'd allowed to happen. She was a human being, and she'd let a demon use her. Had even agreed. He hadn't raped her, and that was hard to accept. It had been consensual, and she hated it, loathed herself for it. She was not a demon, she had a soul.

She wanted to roll out of her bed, run to the bathroom, slam the door and never open it again, when he suddenly groaned beside her. It wasn't a quiet groan, but a noise of agony and her head snapped around. His face was contorted, his eyes flashing amber, than turned back to the familiar brown. The next moment his fangs showed and a growl erupted from his throat, hatred burning from his usually lifeless eyes, a hatred so strong it made her feel instantly cold inside. It was more than she could bear. Lifeless was one thing. She could deal with that, because she knew it was the demon's nature. But she couldn't accept hatred, not from those eyes that once had shown her nothing but love.

Yet, survival instincts, as old as the world, kicked to life inside of her, and with a swift movement she rolled away, grabbing for a stake in the process, her body instinctively alert and ready to fight, her mind focussed on the enemy. The enemy she'd given herself so willingly to.

Fighting down another wave of nausea she stared at him, watched the change in his face, again and again, watched the demon growl, then the human facade return. He clutched his stomach, howled in pain, then became quiet again. And then, without warning, it was over. And it was almost more shocking than before.

He was completely lifeless, just lying there, not breathing, not moving. Dead. A dead body, lying on her bed.

The image hit her full force and forgetting all about caution, forgetting that it wasn't Angel on her bed, she rushed forward, the stake clattering to the ground, she sat down at his side, tentatively reaching out, touching his face, feeling his cool, smooth skin, the texture she remembered so well, would never forget it as long as she lived.

Which, she realised all of a sudden, wouldn't be long if she wasn't careful. Jumping from the bed, she went to her box with her hidden Slayer stuff, found what she had been looking for and went back to the bed.

She didn't pause, didn't think, never even contemplated ending it that very moment, the stake on the ground long forgotten, and snapped the handcuffs over his wrist, then slinging the chain through the bars of her headboard, she secured the second wrist as well.

He looked so peaceful, his eyes shut, his features relaxed. There was nothing in him of the cruel demon, there was the face of the man she loved, the man who was lost to her. How could she explain to her friends that she wasn't able to kill him? That she couldn't look at him and end his life, ending any chance to get Angel back, at the same time.

She couldn't do it. She simply couldn't.

She braced herself for the moment he'd wake up. For those eyes to open, to shatter all her dreams. For the cruelty she knew he was capable of, for the hatred, for the pain.

She had lost the time in sitting here, watching him, didn't know how late it was, didn't realise the sky was already turning light, didn't hear the noises of the birds singing for the first rays of sun. Her gaze was locked onto his, was lost in a dream that would be shattered when unconsciousness faded. But until then, she could believe in it, could still hope.

Buffy didn't know when it happened, but obviously sleep had overpowered her at last and when she came to herself again, and opened her eyes she found him looking at her.

 And thought she might dream after all.

Those weren't the eyes of a demon, of a soulless monster. The eyes looking at her were soft and warm, were full of love.

Not able to believe, not daring to hope, she continued to stare at him, not understanding. She saw one of his hands twitch and realised he had been about to reach out for her, then realised he was bound. “Buffy.”

The one word shattered the silence, and Buffy felt suddenly raw, like being sliced open right in front of him. She felt a sob rising in her throat, felt her heart constricting, pressed a hand to cover her lips, afraid to lose it, desperately fighting to get a grip on her emotions.

His eyes were watching her, never wavering, never blinking, steadily focussed on her face, taking in every detail, loving her with it, like a lover's caress.

She blinked rapidly, the tears falling nevertheless, and slowly she eased the pressure on her mouth. She felt her lips trembling under her fingers, her tongue like lead in her mouth, she only managed to say his name. “A-Angel?”

He didn't respond, but she saw his pupils widen for a moment. Then his lids slid shut for a moment, and he groaned. Instantly afraid she reached out, not contemplating her spontaneous movement. He groaned again, then came his voice like a whisper, loathed with such guilt and shame, she wanted to weep. “I would really like to hold you, but I realise I've lost any right to do it.”

And like this her world shifted back into focus. She didn't even think about, she uncuffed him so fast, and threw herself in his arms, the only thing he could do was react and close them around her, holding her, stroking her while she wept, while the misery of the last weeks poured out of her.

*

Buffy woke with a start, her eyes snapping open, not at all surprised to find tears running down her cheeks. She wondered if she would ever think about the last weeks and not feel like bawling her soul out. Maybe one day, when this was just a bad nightmare, and when they found the reason for Angel's soul being returned to him.

It was so good to have him back, she wanted to crawl onto the roof and sing it to the world - just not literally. Not even the disapproval on her mother's face could disturb the feeling of happiness she felt whenever she thought of Angel. The only thing that would make her even happier was if she could be there next to him, lying in his arms, without being afraid to lose him again.

Wouldn't it be the final irony if he came back only to be lost to her forever? If she wasn't allowed to touch him, always afraid to go too far, always scared to cause a moment of perfect happiness, and set his demon free again. She wasn't sure she would be able to stand it. Angel, she was sure of that, wouldn't. She knew that he would rather leave before allowing this to happen.

She would never forget how he'd cried in her arms, remembering all the things he'd done while his soul hadn't been there, remembering the things he'd said to her, the way he'd hurt and taunted her. Clinging to her, he'd finally fallen asleep around noon, completely drained - emotionally and physically - but holding her close to him, his arms around her tightening from time to time, even in his sleep, to assure himself she was there, wouldn't leave.

After having been forced to watch him while he tried to struggle through the onslaught of memories, she didn't even want to contemplate what it had been for him the first time, hundred years ago, when his soul had been returned to him. The Romanis certainly knew about vengeance and torture. Buffy didn't wish this for her worst enemy.

She remembered how disturbed Giles had been after reading over the curse. Her watcher had seen many things in his life, surely read a lot more. He wasn't shocked easily. But he had been white as a sheet last night in the library.

A pity those gypsies were dead and long gone. Buffy didn't see herself as an overly violent person, at least not where humans were concerned. But right this moment she wanted to beat all of them into bloody pulps, and she wasn't the slightest bit disturbed by her thoughts.

Suddenly feeling unsettled, she left the bed, walked over to the window. Looking at the rising sun, she felt a chill, and rubbing her arms, she felt goose-bumps all over them. She didn't know why. Maybe because she felt a longing for the man she loved, the man who was sleeping in another bed, not far away, but equally alone.

She'd spent the last two nights with him. Wrapped up in his arms, listening to his voice, lulled into sleep by it. He had no body warmth, couldn't give her heat, and yet she'd never been cold when he was with her. She had felt safe and protected and like finally, truly, coming home.

Having been deep in thought, she almost jumped out of her skin when a knock sounded at her door, and her mother appeared. “Morning, honey,” she greeted her daughter with a slight smile. Realising Buffy was already wide awake, she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her.

She watched her daughter, standing at the window, for a long moment, then sat down at the edge of the bed, folded her hands in her lap. “You're up early.”

“Uh-huh.” Buffy combed her messy hair from her face, turning towards her mother. “I didn't sleep well.”

Joyce tilted her head, “History getting to you at last?”

“Not really, no,” her daughter frowned slightly. “There's just a lot going on at school.”

Her mother gazed at her folded hands for a moment, then looking back up, her eyes were intent. “Between you and Angel, is it serious?”

Completely taken by surprise, Buffy stared at her. “W-what?”

Joyce chuckled slightly, “I might be an old woman in your eyes, honey, but I'm not dead. Even I can see how attractive he is. And I've seen the way he looks at you. And of course I've seen the way *you* look at him.”

“You have, huh?” Her daughter took a deep breath, walked back to the bed, sat down on top of the covers. “Yeah. We're ... uh ... kind of dating.”

“I see.” Mrs. Summers sighed. “And since when is this going on?”

“Several months,” Buffy replied honestly. “But it's not what you think,” she was quick to add.

“It isn't?” Joyce raised a brow. “That would really disappoint me,” she said slowly, “because I thought you two were in love with each other.”

Buffy stared at her mother. Who was that person in front of her? Her mother was the most oblivious person she'd ever met. But it seemed, as far as boys were concerned, things were slightly different. “We are,” she blurted out. “We ... I love him very much. And Angel ...”

“He's wonderful, I know.” Her mother chuckled again, then reached out and took her daughter's hand. “Just one thing. Please be careful. I don't want you to end up a pregnant teenage mother.”

“Mom!,” Buffy exclaimed, clearly shocked. But of course, her mother was right. Joyce couldn't know that there was absolutely no danger for her getting pregnant. Even if they solved the mystery of Angel's curse. Angel was a vampire, so technically he was dead. Which meant his sperm was, too.

“Just promise me, Buffy. I don't want to hear details about your relationship. But I can see he's older than you. It's also no secret that I'd be happier if he wasn't. But it seems, the relationship is long past the time where any interference might have done good. So, will you promise me?”

“I will,” her daughter smiled, “I promise. You don't have to worry.”

Patting her daughter's hand, Joyce sighed. “I will always worry, honey.” She stood, walked towards the door. “Comes with the territory,” she said before she left. “Get into the shower. I'll have breakfast ready in twenty minutes.”

Before she closed the door completely, Buffy called, “I love you, mom.”

“I know,” Joyce replied, not coming back in. “Don't take my earrings again.”

There was a grin on Buffy's face when she reached for her clothes.

Part 6

Rolling her stiff neck, Willow scanned the text on the page before her, trying to make sense of the something she didn't understand. Looking up she saw Giles, Oz, Xander, Miss Calender, and Buffy equally engrossed into reading, while Cordelia was frowning at her nails, pretending she was reading as well.

Sighing inwardly, Willow gazed back at the text, “It's no use,” she said finally, startling the others. She gave them a little, sheepish smile, “Sorry. It's just ... I don't understand it.” She gestured at the text.

“Finally someone else who feels a little lost here.” Cordelia pushed the sheet in front of her away. “I mean it's English and all, but I don't see anything unusual.”

“Unfortunately,” Giles sighed loudly, “neither do I.”

“But we can't give up.” Buffy's voice showed a hint of panic. “Please, Giles.” The thought of not finding the reason for Angel's comeback, not knowing what it meant for him, for them, was unthinkable.

“We won't,” he assured her quickly. “But I have to agree. It is frustrating. We've been staring at this text for three days - and nights - and none of us have found anything. Even Angel seems helpless.”

“But it has to be here,” the Slayer insisted. “I mean what else...,” she trailed off, when she saw the concern in her watcher's gaze. “What?”

“I know,” he began, pulling off his glasses, “We thought ... hoped ... that the reason for his change was part of his curse. But what ... what if someone did magic on him. It's possible. This is the Hellmouth after all.”

“No.” Buffy shook her head emphatically.

“It's possible,” Jenny agreed softly, her eyes as concerned as Giles'

“I have to go with the computer lady here, Buffy,” Xander chimed in. “I've already seen more crazy stuff anyone's ever gonna believe. So, why not?”

“But ... but ...”

“Buffy,” Giles reached out, put a hand on Buffy's, holding the glasses in his other. “This doesn't have to be something bad.”

She took a deep breath, tried to calm herself. “I know. But ... if someone did magic on him, we might never know. Angel might ...,” her voice cracked and she had to swallow. “I cannot lose him, Giles. Not now. Not after I've just gotten him back.”

“Lose him?,” Willow frowned, then it hit her. “Oh. Oh God.”

Giles nodded. “Yes. Oh God,” he agreed. “As long as we don't know what caused Angel's change, we won't know if-”

“-it's going to stay that way,” Willow finished his sentence, her eyes sadly resting on her best friend who was fighting tears. “Oh, Buffy.” She stood, walked over to the blond, wrapping a comforting arm around the Slayer's shoulders.

Buffy's chin came up, “Well, then ... then we have to find it, right? I mean, as soon as we know what caused the change, we know how to deal with it.”

Giles started to clean his glasses, while Xander cleared his throat, “Uhm ... hating to state the obvious here. But isn't that seeking the needle in the haystack business again?”

“I don't care,” Buffy snapped. “I'm going to find it. I don't like people messing with my boyfriend.”

“He wasn't actually your boyfriend then,” Xander cut in, then held up his hands when the Slayer glared at him, “Shutting up now.”

“Yes, that might be wise,” Giles put his glasses back on, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Jenny do you think, you and Willow might be able to find anything on the net?”

“I don't know-,” the teacher started to reply.

“We'll try,” Willow interrupted her, giving Buffy's shoulder a squeeze.

“Thanks Will,” the Slayer gave her a grateful look, then turned towards Jenny. “Thanks.”

Startled the gypsy looked up. “Oh. You're welcome,” she smiled at the girl, glad Buffy really seemed to forgive her. She knew how important she was for Giles and that there would be no chance for a relationship with the watcher if she couldn't manage to come to terms with Buffy.

“Xander,” Giles spoke up again. “You, Cordelia, and Oz, can you go through some books, please. Check for anything that could be connected with a prophecy, or ...,” he rubbed his forehead. “Well, check the books.” He avoided Buffy's gaze, turned and walked into the stacks.

*

“You are so pretty. Aren't you mama's pretty girl?”

Spike rolled his eyes, whirled his wheelchair away from his lover. She was getting worse these days. Granted, she didn't whine anymore about Angel, and all in all it was progress, but now she was all over that little puppy he'd given her.

He tried to wiggle his toes in his shoes and stifled a groan of frustration when they didn't obey. He'd been so sure about the stirring in his legs, had felt it again just yesterday, but the damned things wouldn't move.

Patient. One of his minions who'd been a doctor in real life, had said he had to be patient. That it was a matter of time until the feeling came back. Sure, patient, Spike thought bitingly. Well, the minion would never know about it. His ashes were blowing in the wind now.

He didn't want to hear about patience, he didn't want to be bound to a wheelchair, and he didn't want to watch Dru find a new man to satisfy her needs. He was her man, dammit. It had been hard enough to watch her with Angel.

Angel.

The bugger was still gone. He'd tried to get word about him, but there was nothing. He wasn't dead. He would know. Or rather, Dru would know. Spike couldn't see Angel dying without Dru going into la-la-land. So he was sure, Angel was still alive. But where the hell was he? Had they captured him? Had he maybe left Sunnyhell?

No, Angelus would never leave. He was too obsessed with the Slayer. The sexy, little blond. Yeah, a man could get obsessed with a girl like her.

Spike felt a stirring in his pants, and a startled gasp escaped his mouth. He looked at Dru, sitting in the corner, holding the puppy, and the stirring subsided instantly. He shook his head. He had to imagine it. Maybe he was wishing for it too badly, so he was even feeling things that weren't even there.

“Boss.”

Annoyed to be interrupted, he snapped. “Yes.”

“We found him.”

Spike raised a brow, “Found whom?”

“Angelus.”

“And?” He hoped his voice didn't sound too urgent.

“He's in his old apartment. And he ... sees the Slayer again.”

Spike did a double take, “He, what?”

“The Slayer comes to him regularly. And according to my sources he met with her friends, too.”

The blond vampire stared at his minion, then dismissed him with a gesture of his hand. What the hell was going on? It almost sounded as if the Slayer-whipped version was back. Or was Angelus just up for one of his famous mind-games? Damn, he hated being left in the dark. He had to find out what it meant. Soon.

*

Giles found Jenny at her desk, and when he stepped into her classroom, her head came up with a start. “Rupert.” Her voice was slightly breathless, and she quickly turned her face away, but he'd already seen the trace of tears on her cheeks.

“Jenny?,” he asked, tentatively stepping closer. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she nodded, keeping her gaze turned away. “Yes, I'm fine.”

He reached for a chair, pulled it close, and sat down. His voice was soft, when he said, “No, you're not. Is there anything I can do?”

She gave her head a quick shake, and when she looked at him, a smile was plastered on her face. “Why were you looking for me?,” she asked.

“I wanted to know how your web-search was going.”

“Oh,” she ran a hand through her hair and he could see it was trembling. “Willow is at it. But I'm going to help her any-”

“Jenny,” he interrupted her gently, then, after considering it for a moment, he reached out and covered her hand with his. “Don't. Something is bothering you. Please, why don't you trust me?”

“But I do,” she insisted, swallowing hard. “I just ...”

“What?,” he urged, glad she didn't pull her hand away.

“I called my people again,” she admitted finally.

He straightened in his chair, “Oh,” was all he said.

She let out a short, unhappy laugh. “Yes. I know I shouldn't have expected anything else, but ... I tried to explain to my cousin. He is ... we grew up together, we played together. I've known him all my life.” She shook her head. “And now I suddenly realise I don't know him at all. I can't even recognize his voice. There's so much hatred in it. He never met Angel. But he hates him with a passion... It makes me shiver.”

He patted her hand, and when she finally looked at him, he smiled. “Human feelings are a tricky business. And fanaticism is even harder to understand. Your clan, your family grew up hating Angel.”

“I grew up there, too,” she argued.

“Yes,” he nodded. “But then they sent you to watch him. It gave you a new perspective. You expected to see a monster, but you met the man instead.”

“I did,” she agreed, then sighed. “I wish ... I wish they could see him the way I do. See the grief and shame in his eyes. I bet they would change their mind.”

“Would they really?,” Giles asked, and Jenny could hear the doubt in his voice.

“Wouldn't they?,” she replied with another question. “I suppose we will never know,” she added after a moment. With a heavy sigh, she finally pulled her hand away, “I need to get back to Willow. I left her alone too long already.” She stood, “Thanks,” she said softly.

He stood as well, “Thanks for trusting me with your problems.”

She smiled then, and Giles felt warmth spread through him. “You are a wonderful man, Rupert Giles. I'm sorry I didn't trust you from the start. Many things would have been easier.”

“Easier, yes,” he said quickly, when she was about to turn away. “But ...,” his eyes locked to hers, “... that doesn't mean we can't still achieve them.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, “I hope so,” she whispered finally. With a last smile she slipped from the room. < P> Part 7

Once again Angel cursed the fact that he was bound to his apartment during daytime. Of course, it wasn't quite true. He could take a nice long walk through Sunnydale's sewer tunnels, enjoy the sceneray of rats, and other annoying creatures. Or maybe he'd run into Spike and Dru. Now wouldn't that be fun?

Shaking his head over his own train of thoughts, Angel sighed. But at the moment the fact that he had to avoid sunlight was driving him nuts. For once he didn't like that he couldn't help the others to find the reason behind the return of his soul. So far they didn't have a cue.

The other problem was that while he was forced to stay in his apartment, he had time to think. Or brood. He'd perfected brooding over the last hundred years and he was used to it by now. Still, at the moment, there were things he didn't want to deal with, yet knew, he had to. He'd seen Buffy regularely since his soul was returned to him, they talked, hunted together, at night he'd gone to the library, helped with research. It was so good to be with her, be close, but it was also, slowly, driving him insane.

Whenever they were touching each other, they flinched, they were careful not to initiate anything they might not be able to control. Hell, he hadn't even dared to kiss her the last three nights, afraid he might lose control.

Angel wasn't stupid. He was old enough to understand that it couldn't go on like this forever. Being close to her, but not being able to touch her, to express his feelings ... Sooner or later it would destroy the wonderful feelings between them and finally lead to misery. He knew without a doubt that if they didn't find out why his soul came back, and what it meant, he had to leave.

The only problem was, even thinking it was like ripping his heart out of his chest. The mere idea of leaving her had his gut twisted into one gigantic knot. He felt as if he couldn't breathe.

But as painful and unthinkable it was, he knew that somehow he would be able to deal. He was used to guilt, shame, loss, and pain. All those feelings were like old pals for him, had accompanied him for hundred years after all. Somehow he would find a way to go on.

He wasn't so sure where Buffy was concerned.

Angel wasn't vain enough to think he was the only man on earth to make her happy. But he had also seen the look in her eyes when she'd realised his soul was back. They'd been lighting up like beams, staring at him with such disbelief and hope, it had almost broken his heart.

And he also remembered the way she'd clung to him in the library after Xander's attack, after questioning her choice of letting him live. There had been such despair in her voice, and in the way her hands had encircled his neck.

Being as old as he was he had dismissed her interest for him at first, thought it was nothing but teenage infatuation, only to realise that it went far beyond. He knew she loved him, and he also knew that her love was true, strong, and deep. But that was only a part of their connection.

With Angel being a vampire with a soul, he was an outcast amongst his own, a freak, much the same way Buffy felt inbetween normal human beings. She'd been fifteen years old when a stranger had told her she wasn't just a girl, but the Slayer, meant to fight evil, forced into a secret identity, to lie to her friends and family.

She had friends now, Willow and Xander, and Giles, her watcher. They knew who she was, but they would never, not ever, be able to understand what she was going through. They had no idea what it meant to be a Slayer, that it was more than some weird secret identity. That there was a dark side to her, she herself just started to discover. That she couldn't just shake off the whole deal and quit.

Angel knew it scared her, he knew that there were times she just wanted to scream and pretend her life wasn't real. He understood that sometimes all she wanted was for it to end, that she'd already been tempted to give in, had seen it in her eyes, more times he wanted to admit even to himself.

The night when she'd found out about the prophecy of her own death had only been a peak, but there were countless other times, when only her strong will, her determination, had saved her from surrender.

And without giving himself too much credit, he knew without a doubt that part of her success so far was his presence in her life. Not just the love they shared, although it was undoubtedly powerful, but first and foremost because he was able to understand her. In a way none of the others could.

He knew all about dark sides, wrong choices, death, and destruction. He knew what it meant to alone, deep inside, in a place nobody else could touch. It was slowly eating you up, scaring your soul, letting it shrivel, and if you weren't careful it could be so damaged after a while, you'd never recognize it again. You'd end up an emotional cripple without even noticing.

He'd been close, living off the rats in New York, or rather existing in a way he didn't care to remember. And then Whistler had stepped into his life, had shown him Buffy, and on a bright sunny day, a blond girl had touched that dark spot deep inside, has pulled him back from the edge, back into life, had given him hope and purpose in a way he'd never thought possible.

She had touched him. And in a way he couldn't explain, he knew without doubt he had touched her, too. They filled each other, completed each other like two halfs of the same coin. Angel had never believed in fate or destiny before, but ever since Buffy had stepped into his life, he was beginning to.

So how could he even contemplate leaving her, knowing all this? And how could he not, knowing that one wrong move might lead to destruction?

Trying to distract himself, he walked to the fridge, stared at the blood stocked there, a sharp reminder of the differences between him and Buffy.

Don't even go there, he ordered himself. There were enough problems already without adding the fact that there were more than 200 years between them. Maybe he should just sleep for a while. But sleeping wasn't so attractive these days either.

Angel had always been haunted by dreams. But now, after his recent slip into soullessness, they were more frequent. They were horrible dreams. Vivid dreams. They were about Buffy, the pain and hurt in her eyes, about the people he'd killed, and there were the images of Dru, and all the things he had done with her.

He didn't want to think about it, but dreams rarely asked for permission. They came, if you wanted them or not.

Realising he'd been staring at the blood in his fridge for at least five minutes, Angel shut the door with a disgusted sound and was about to find a book when he heard a knock at the door.

The only person knocking at his door was Buffy these day, but it was not even noon, which meant she was in school, unless ...

He was at the door with two steps, images flashing through his mind of Buffy being injured or worse, tore it open, only to freeze the moment his eyes fell on his unexpected visitor, “Mrs ...,” he gulped, cleared his throat, “Mrs. Summers?”

He saw her struggle, and then a faint smile appeared on her lips, “Angel, right?,” she said, her voice slightly rough, betraying the nervousness she was so determined to hide. “I ... uh ... I'd like to talk to you, if it's possible.”

Realising he was staring at her, Angel stepped back, inviting her with a gesture. “Sure, come in.” When she cautiosly stepped inside, he asked, “Can I get you something? Tea? Some juice? I don't have coffee, I'm afraid.”

“No,” she shook her head, her hand fidgeting with the straps of her purse. “Thanks, I'm fine. Can we ... could we sit down?”

“Oh.” Embarrassed with his lack of manners, he showed her to his sofa, glancing at the curtain that separated his bedroom from the rest of his apartment, glad when he found it closed. “Of course. I'm sorry.”

“No, no, it's alright. I realise this is ...,” she sighed, laughed slightly, “I know this is awkward, and certainly,” she nodded, when they reached the sofa, sat down, “unexpected. Maybe it helps if you know, I didn't expect to find myself here with you when I woke up this morning. It was rather ... spontaneous.”

Her eyes darted nervously around, seeing everything, yet seeing nothing. They were the same colour as Buffy's, just older, and for a moment Angel wondered if Buffy's eyes would look like hers in about twenty years. He liked the idea. There was something in Joyce's eyes he felt instantly connected to. Maybe the knowledge that life wasn't easy and that things rarely happened the way you wished them to.

“That's no problem,” he said, giving her a smile of his own, doing his best not make her more uncomfortable. “I've got time.”

“I thought you were in college,” she remarked, eyeing him suspicously.

“Not today,” he said quickly. “No classes today.” He was glad the lie went over his lips so easily. He hated lying, especially to Buffy's mother. But what was he supposed to say? She didn't even know her daughter was the Slayer. Angel had a feeling she wouldn't be so pleased to hear that her daughter was dating a vampire.

“I see. That's fortunate ... for me. Otherwise,” she gave another nervous laugh, “we wouldn't be able to talk.” Placing her purse at her side, she folded her hands in her lap and looked at him, her eyes suddenly serious. “We need to talk. I ... I'm concerned,” she began.

“I realise that-,” he replied, but she cut him off, by holding up a hand.

“Please, let me finish.”

“Of course,” he smiled, “Go on.”

“You are ... older than Buffy. I know she seems mature for her age, but she's still a minor, still only seventeen. You are ... what ... twenty-three? I know it doesn't seem much, it's only six years after all, but at your age, it's ... like a lifetime. Experiences are different, expectations too...,” she sighed, “I know I'm not handling this well,” she said finally, a disgusted expression on her face.

“No,” he said softly. “You're handling it just fine. I understand. You're afraid I'm going to take advantage of her. That I might use her and ... hurt her in the end.” He smiled when he saw her the startled look in her eyes, “Mrs. Summers, I'm never going to take advantage of Buffy, and I will never use her. I can promise you that. But I cannot promise you I won't hurt her. Because even if I don't want to, it might happen unintentionally, and quite frankly, it scares me to death.

“Buffy is so precious to me, the mere idea of hurting her, makes me sick. But I also realise that it might happen, and that I might not have the power to prevent it. But I love her. I love her very much.”

He saw the surprise in her eyes, the uncertainty, the doubts. “That sounds all very nice,” she said finally, “And I'm sure today you mean all those things. But what about tomorrow. What if ... Buffy is only seventeen. You're a grown man...,” she trailed off and Angel saw her blush, saw her shift on his sofa.

“You mean what happens if I want more? Mrs Summers, nothing is going to happen if Buffy doesn't want it.” And nothing had happened so far. Nothing she didn't want, Angel amended guiltily. The first time she'd initiated it, and the second time ... they had both lost their minds, but it had been consensual again. Both times had been wonderful, mind-blowing, deeply satifying.

And they might have been everything they'd ever get.

The thought was like a sudden stab wound through his heart. He didn't want to think about the possibility of never being able to touch her again, of never losing himself in her, of never being able to give her passion, to see her face go slack in the aftermath of a climax, to see her eyes shine with pure pleasure.

Suddenly realising that her mother was still sitting opposite to him, he cleared his throat, hoping that none of his thoughts were mirrored in his eyes. It wouldn't exactly help if she knew he was having lusty thoughts about her daughter, while he tried his best to reassure her.

“The problem is,” she said slowly, “As I said, Buffy is only seventeen. I'm not sure she always knows what she wants. Or rather, she doesn't always know what's good for her. She's *not* twenty-three, she's a teenager. There might be times when you have to be responsible for both of you.”

He tilted his head, “What exactly are you trying to say?”

She let out a pent up breath, ran a hand through her hair, “I don't know,” she admitted, “I really don't know.” She shook her head, gazed to her left, her eyes falling on the Asian statue standing in a glass cabinet. “Oh, my,” she breathed suddenly, giving Angel a startled glance, then standing up, she walked over. “This is beautiful.”

He stood ad well, came to stand by her side, “Yes, I always liked it a lot.”

“Yes,” she looked at the statue in awe. “It's wonderful. Do you have it long?”

“Over a hund- ... I mean ... yes. A long time.”

“So it's some sort of family treasure?”

A what? “A family ... uh ... Yes, a family treasure.”

“I don't know if Buffy ever told you, but I'm sort of the co-owner of a little art gallery here in Sunnydale. We usually sell the pieces we have, but sometimes ...” She looked at him, Buffy obviously forgotten for the moment, “It is wonderful to see such a beautiful piece with someone who seems to really appreciate it.” A little sigh escaped her mouth and Angel stifled a grin.

They might do it under different circumstances, but the two Summers-women made similar sounds of pleasure. The last time he'd heard that particular sound from Buffy ... Bringing his thoughts to a immediate halt, Angel smiled at Joyce and tried his best to forget about Buffy's sounds of pleasure. An instant hard-on was certainly nothing Joyce would find impressive.

Mrs. Summers smiled back, then she giving the statue a last glance she tore herself away from the piece, picked up her purse. “I need to go now. I have an appointment for lunch with someone who's interested to buy several pieces from our gallery.” She bit her lower lip, much the same way Buffy did, and again Angel was reminded of the similarities between them.

Letting go of her lip, she sighed, “I was really determined to hate you for seducing my teenager daughter,” she said finally, laughing slightly, “And now,” she sighed again, “You're not at all what I thought.”

He grinned slightly, “Is that good or bad?”

“When Buffy told me you were a college student I thought you were one of those boys you usually find at frat parties. But now I find you entirely different.” Suddenly she straightened her shoulders, a stern look entering her eyes, “That doesn't mean I've changed my mind completely. If you'll hurt her, I'm going to kill you.”

He stifled another grin, “Yes, ma'am.”

“But ... I can see why Buffy is so drawn to you. And I have to say that I didn't expect her to have such good taste.” She took a deep breath, her face once again softened by a smile, “So what I'm saying is ... I'd like to know you better. How about coming for lunch next weekend?”

Lunch? Not! “Make it dinner and we have a deal,” he replied, opening the door for her. “I have to work during the days on weekends.” Another lie, but he could hardly tell her the truth. “Oh. Of course. Yes, dinner would be fine,” she smiled again. “Make the date with Buffy. I'm sure you're going to see her soon.”

“Probably.”

“It was nice talking to you, Angel. I find myself looking forward to see you again.”

He chuckled, “I'm glad.”

“I thought you were a monster, you know,” she joked, climbing up the stairs. “I'm glad I was wrong.”

The door closed and she was gone. Angel shook his head, leaned against his apartment door, chuckled again. But the smile slipped almost immediately from his face. She didn't think he was a monster. She had no idea.

 Part 8

“You are going to die, girl.”

Buffy sighed loudly and rolled her eyes, the stake firmly clutched in her fingers, “This is getting so old. Really, I wonder if there's a book for sale with all this stuff. 'How to annoy a Slayer with dumb words'.”

“But you are going to die,” the vampire insisted, grinning evilly. He pointed behind his back where three others appeared.

“Are you gonna scare me to death, or what?,” Buffy said flippantly, silently assessing the situation. They didn't seem very old. It wouldn't be easy, but she had no doubt she'd be able to take them.

“Bold words, little girl,” the second vampire, a female, hissed. “I hope you made your testimony.”

“Damn, I knew I forgot something, before I left tonight,” the blond replied. A smile crept across her face, “On a second thought. I think it's not necessary. You look like real losers.” At that two of the four vampire attacked. She staked the first one easily, then tried to get rid of the second who had his arm around her throat in an attempt to apply pressure to her windpipe.

Buffy managed to shake him off, turned and without looking her foot shot out, connecting with a hard chest.

“Umph.”

Her eyes focussed instantly, and her eyes widened in shock, “Angel!”

The dark-haired vampire staggered backwards, one hand clutched over the spot where she'd hit him. He tried to smile, but it was more like a grimace, “Buffy, hi.”

“Oh God,” she rushed over, the vampires momentarily forgotten. “I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't see you.”

“I know.” This time he managed to grin. Seeing her worried gaze, he touched her arm, “Hey, it's no big. It's okay.”

She bit her lower lip, “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he assured her, then shoved her away when the next vampire attacked.

*

“Well,” Buffy grinned, trying to get rid of the vampire dust on her clothes. “That was fun.”

“Yeah,” Angel agreed, one hand rubbing the sore spot on his chest.

She was instantly concerned, “Are you sure, you're alright?”

“I'm fine.” He smiled, “Buffy, I'm okay. It hurts, sure. But it'll heal. It always does. I'm a vampire, remember.” “Good. Fine.” The concern turned to anger, “Are you crazy, sneeking up on me like that? I could've staked you.”

That brought a grin on his face, “No way. You wouldn't do such a thing. Besides, I trust your reflexes. You're too good.”

She gave him a long, hard look, then rolled her eyes. Finally a laugh broke out. “You *are* crazy,” she stated. “What are you doing here? I thought we'd meet later at Restfield.”

Suddenly uncomfortable he averted her eyes.

“Angel?”

“I ... uh ...,” he stammered, knowing he wouldn't like the reason he'd come early. Finally he took a deep breath, “I was concerned about you.”

“That's so sweet,” she said to his suprise, smiling.

“It is?”

“Uh-huh. I love you all protective It's sexy.”

“Sexy, huh?,” he smiled sheepishly.

“Which probably isn't a safe subject. Especially now. With you and me. Alone. In a graveyard.”

“No,” he agreed, sighed, took a step back. “That's something we have to talk about, Buffy.”

“No,” she shook her head emphatically, then pouting she stepped closer to him, “'cause talking about those things would be bad. Really, really bad.”

Angel pressed his hands against her shoulders, holding her away from him, “Buffy-”

“No,” she insisted, tempted to stomp her foot to the ground. “Angel,” she whined, “We're together. Here. We could just ... hold each other ... like friends. Good friends. Loving friends. But still, just holding. That's safe, don't you think?” She gave him a hopeful smile. He looked at her for a moment, then shook his head, letting out an audible breath, “We cannot just pretend the problem doesn't exist.”

“That's not what we are doing,” she said firmly, “We'll be careful. Angel ... it's the first time we're alone together for ...,” she threw her hands in the air, “days. And it's not as if we're jumping each other now. Tearing each others clothes off.”

He had to swallow hard, pushed away the images her words had caused in his mind, his whole body instantly hard. “Buffy, this is too serious to just ignore it.”

“I already told you, I don't want to talk about it,” she snapped, turning away.

“Buffy,” he said softly, reaching out for her, but not daring to touch, “We have to talk about this.”

“NO,” she replied defiantly, wrapping her arms around her middle. “I. Don't. Want. To. Understand? There is nothing to talk about. Because if we do,this is going to be some big, ugly crying feast. You're going to tell me how much of a problem this is going to be. That this is all wrong. Knowing you, you might even consider leaving me for my own good.” She expected him to argue, but when he didn't say a word, when there came no sound from him, she felt her stomach drop through the bottom. She whirled around, her eyes watering, “That's it, right? That's what you were thinking about. Leaving. God, Angel.” Angrily she wiped the tears away with the back of her hand, her chin coming up. “Well, I won't let you.”

“Buffy-”

“Don't Buffy me,” she cried, anger blazing through the tears in her hazel eyes, “I cannot believe you're even contemplating something so stupid. Don't you see that I need you? That I love you? Doesn't it mean anything to you?”

“How can you say that?,” he shot back, the pain in her eyes almost tearing him apart. She stood there her clothes and hair dishelved, tears streaming down her face, and all he wanted was to take her in his arms and never let go. But at the same time the rational part of his brain told him he mustn't.

He was suddenly furious with the situation he couldn't control, furious at her for not understanding what he was going through. And the words just tumbled from his lips, angry, desperate, like a volcano exploding without warning, words he wouldn't have thrown at her under different circumstances, “How can you stand there, knowing all the things that happened and ask me that? All I want, all I dream about, is to stay with you forever. But I also know what happens if I turn again. Or have you already forgotten what happened? The way I hurt you? The way I killed? The way I threatened your friends? *I* cannot forget. Because I was there. I dream about it. Night after night.” He ran a hand through his hair, “And as long as I can prevent it, it won't happen again. Not. Ever. Again.”

“Angel-,” she whispered, hating the pain etched on his features, wanting to reach out, not daring to.

He went on as if she hadn't said a word, “Don't you think it's tearing me apart. Do you think this is easy for me? Do you think I'm saying this to hurt you? Don't you think I'd give everything to change this? But I can't. We don't know why I got my soul back, Buffy. And as long as we're not certain, we cannot risk this. It's too dangerous. Do you have any idea how it feels to be afraid to be too happy? To be afraid to smile, afraid it might be the last time you do it with your soul intact. Have you ever thought about that?”

His voice was loud and angry in the end and Buffy flinched at the pain underneath. God, what kind of a selfish brat was she? She had never thought about it that way. Never seen what it meant for him. To live with that kind of fear. She wanted to say something, anything, to help him, but she couldn't find the words. And because she couldn't, because she felt helpless, the way he did, anger rose.

She saw him taking a deep breath, his voice calmer now, controlled, “And besides. I'm not saying I'm going to leave. Not right now, anyway. Not before we haven't tried to find a solution for this mess.”

And that more than anything, that ability to calm down, to shut down his anger and his feelings, let her own anger explode all of a sudden. Deep inside she knew her feelings were irrational, knew that tomorrow she would hate herself for doing this, but at the moment, just this moment, she didn't give a damn. The pain inside of her was so deep, so raw and all she wanted was to lash out.

“Oh,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “So what you're saying is that I might have a boyfriend in four weeks time, but maybe he'll be gone? Well, that really is a big help. You know what? Why don't you just leave? Why don't you just pack your bags and leave? It's not that I need you anyway. I mean, I've been fine without you here. You made the disappearing act before and I was fine. I'll be again.”

The pain was like a holy sword slicing through his insides, and Angel managed to stifle a gasp the very last moment. In a muddled part of his brain he understood what she was doing right now, that the words were spoken out of anger and pain, that she didn't really mean them. Still he wanted to grab her and shake her until she came to her senses.

And maybe if he'd done exactly that, Buffy might have been able to see through the red mist that swam before her eyes. But instead she saw him shut down, his eyes going blank. And it was too much. All of a sudden she couldn't bear it, couldn't stand him standing there, as if nothing mattered, while she was bleeding inside.

Her palm connected with his cheek with a loud slapping noise. She gasped, only now realising what she had done. She saw him reach out, took a step back. If he touched her now, she'd fall apart. “I hate you,” she whispered, blinking the tears away, “I hate you,” she repeated, then turned and ran.

He wanted to follow her, wanted to shout at her, wanted ... he wanted so many things, but he did nothing, just stood, rooted in place, sighed as he looked after her while she sprinted away from him through the cemetery. It was for the best, he assured himself, taking a deep breath. He'd done enough for tonight. He shouldn't have started anything, not yet. Not when he didn't know for himself what was the right thing to do.

With a final sigh he turned away, his steps and heart heavy when he made his way to his apartment.

He was so deep in thoughts, he never saw the figure behind the bushes, the figure that overheard the whole conversation, the figure that turned and left the cemetery into the other direction.

And he never saw the shadow following him into the alley.

*****

Willow had been dreaming something really nice and comforting, when there was suddenly a knock on her bedroom window. Her dream had been about Oz, and then had shifted to Xander. It was a bit disturbing, but she didn't mind. She'd been dreaming about Xander for so long, one more dream couldn't do any harm. They were less frequent these days, and that made her feel a whole lot better.

So when she was jerking upright, she was annoyed for a moment, being pulled out of a beautiful dream, and needed a moment, blinking her eyes, yawning, to understand what was happening.

“Wh-what?,” she mumbled.

The knock came again, and then she heard a muffled voice, “Willow. Come on, open up.”

She blinked again, only a shadow visibly on her balcony, “Who is this?”

“It's me. Xander.”

“Xander?” She pulled back her blanket, shifted her legs over the edge, and fishing for her bunny slippers, stood. “I'm coming,” she whispered, listening for a moment, afraid her parents might be awake. Content when she didn't hear anything, she shuffled to the door, opened it, “Xander? Is something wrong? It's in the middle of the night.”

“I know that,” he replied, “It's just ... I need to talk to you.”

“Uhm ... hate to state the obvious, but one usually talks during the day. Nighttime is sleeping time.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, then not waiting for an invitation he pushed the door wide open and strolled past her into her bedroom.

Willow quietly but firmly closed the door, a bit overwhelmed by his behaviour, “You know the Rosenberg-rule about boys in the bedroom, right?”

“Oh, come on, Will. I've been in your bedroom more times I can count.”

“That was before you became aware of the differences between girls and boys,” she remarked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“That's what your parents like to think,” he joked, “Truth is, I matured early. Besides, Angel was here. You told me yourself.”

“That was an emergeny, and besides, my mother never knew.”

“You have a boyfriend now,” he pointed out.

“Who my mother knows nothing about. It was hard enough for her to see her only daughter wearing a cross around her neck. She would have a heartattack, knowing I'm dating someone who plays in a band.” She grimaced, “If we'd actually talk, that is.”

“So Oz never ...”

Willow sighed, slowly getting annoyed. She was tired, her eyes hurt from being glued to the computer screen for a whole day, and her bed had never looked so tempting. “That would be a big no-no,” she replied. “Of course he never....” She reaised a brow, “Why?”“

He shrugged, turned towards her desk, “Just curious,” he said, deliberately trying to sound casual, not wanting to betray the joy he felt that Oz and Willow hadn't been intimate so far. He didn't love Willow, well, he loved her, but didn't love-love her. It was more like a brother loved his sister. And like all big brothers, and he felt he was exactly that, he didn't like the idea of Willow getting naked with a man. Any man.

“Okay, Xand. It's in the middle of the night. You're standing in my bedroom. Spill it.”

He whirled around, facing her, surprised by the sudden change in her attitude. “This is about Buffy-”

“Now that is news,” Willow said sarcastically, “Xander's thinking about Buffy.”

“-*and* Angel. About the whole Buffy and Angel keep your hands off of each other stuff.” “Ah,” the redhead nodded, suddenly angry. “Well, if you came to ask if you might have a chance with her now that Angel might be out of the picture? Forget it. That's so not going to happen. He's still around. And even if he left, Buffy doesn't feel that way for you.”

“I know,” he bit out. “That's not ...,” he took a deep breath. He had come to talk to her about something important, not to fight. “That's not why I came. I mean, sure, I still think she's attractive and all. But *hello*, I've got an Cordelia now, and besides, Buffy is all lovey-dovey about Angel, every idiot can see that. Not ... that I think I'm an idiot ...,” he sighed, then muttered, “although by dating Cordy it might have just proven that.”

“Huh?”

He shook his head, “Nothing. Anyways. I just happened to be in the cemetery ... thought I might give Buffy a hand ...,” he saw Willow look at him knowingly, and shook his head again, “Not to impress her. Hardly. Just ... you know ... giving a helping hand, or rather, the ear of a friend... Well, anyway. I was standing there and she was fighting those vamps and then Angel showed up-”

“Are they okay?”

“They are fine. Will, there were four vamps. Against Buffy *and* Angel. They didn't stand a chance. But that's still not ... Afterwards they were talking and Angel ... he said something about maybe leaving Sunnydale, and she started shouting, then crying, it was a really big fighting thing, and then she ran away. And I can hardly believe I'm saying this, but ... it didn't make me feel all better. In fact, it made me feel bad. Really bad. The Buffster's been crying far too much lately.”

Willow nodded, “I agree. But Xand, we're trying already. We're working all the time to find something to help them. I don't know what else we can do.”

He looked at her a long moment, then his shoulders slumped in defeat, “I know. It's ... just,” he shrugged weakly, “I really feel bad. I thought if Buffy would finally see that Angel isn't what she needs and he's gone I'd do the Snoopy-dance, but instead I feel really bad, just thinking he might leave. When they were just fighting, I wanted to jump in and hit their heads for behaving so stupid.” He took a deep breath, ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “And I can't do anything to help them. What does that make me?”

Her expression was warm, “A good friend.”

“Friend? I feel like a loser. We have to do something, Will. We cannot just stand there and see it happen. I hate to say it but it's gonna destroy her. Not on the ouside, you know. She'll show us the happy-Buffy-face. But inside she's gonna die.”

Willow couldn't hide the suprise she felt at his words, “What happened to you, Xand? When did you get so wise?”

He shrugged again, feeling slightly embarrassed. He picked up a bear from her bed, squeezed it, then threw it back down, “So,” he took a deep breath, “Any ideas how to help them?”

Go to Part 9