Rating: umm...I'm thinking along the lines of PG...in the meantime. Who knows what the future might bring:).

Disclaimer: nope, last time I checked, nothing was mine.

Spoilers: well...better safe than sorry: everything up to the end of season 3 can be spoilery.

Synopsis: I have a strange drive to rewrite season 3 of BtVS. I just don't seem to like the way it ended...beats me why. Anyway, so despite the fact that the original plan was to begin with "Helpless" (that's around the time everything really started getting screwed up B/A-wise), as you can see, plan's changed and I'm going to start with "Anne". If you expect to find in this series events/quotes from the original season....I seriously mean it - I'll try my hardest keeping them to the very minimum. But all in all - it's probably a yet another attempt to end the season on a more "positive" B/A level. See how it goes:).

Pairing: the conventional ships: B/A, W/O, C/X. If I decide to torture any/all of them, you'll be the first to know:).

Distribution: ask first.

Feedback: please, yes, please.

****

You are my temptation
You are my temptation
To do what I knew is wrong
What I knew is wrong is you

****

Buffy gazed at the naked form lying before her on the cold floor. She was staying away from him, as away as her heart allowed, her body shaking with astonishment and sobs she was only partially aware of. Was it only a moment ago, that she had intended to leave the mansion? Was it only a moment ago, that the ground beneath her feet shook and caused her to stop…was it a moment ago that the naked body of her dead lover fell from a portal in sky and hit the mansion's floor with a thud that almost made her jump out of her skin?…

She hadn't fully digested everything that had happened to her, she was even only somewhat aware of her eyes starting to ache from looking at the same spot for too long. And she was. She was looking at him. At Angel. *Her* Angel. Who had come back to her.

Processing everything would take time, Buffy knew that, and the mental state she was currently in didn't allow her to process anything. She wasn't able to understand just yet, she wasn't ready to understand. All she cared about was his presence in that room. With her.

Suddenly, after minutes that resembled hours, in which the only signs to him being real were his trembling and panting, he stirred, heavily rotated on his back, and pressed his both hands to his chest, grimacing in apparent pain. Then he started panting again, and slowly rolled on his other side, wrapping his arms around his middle, and bringing his knees to his chest.

The moment his face was turned to her, Buffy's feet suddenly obeyed her and she was able to move them again. She made a few hesitant steps in his direction, and stopped again.

"Angel?" she whispered, her voice soft and broken, hoarse with tears.

He didn't seem to have heard her, but for some reason, buried his face in his knees the second she uttered his name.

Before she grasped what she was doing, Buffy had already been to the mansion's bedroom, and returned with an old blanket, the first thing her hand had grabbed that could be useful. She stepped closer to Angel, until she was standing only three feet away from him. Then she beheld him carefully, for a long spell, searching for any kind of reaction or recognition from his side, but none came.

The Slayer inhaled a shaky deep breath, and closed the remaining gap between them, kneeling next to his lying form. She reached out a quivering hand, but pulled it back right before her fingertips touched his bare shoulder. Instead, she took the comforter, and gently wrapped it around Angel. She released a breath of pure relief when her arms secured around him. The feel of him in her embrace was something she had never thought she would experience ever again.

Disregarding her flowing tears, she picked him up, until she managed to sit him, and he tiredly inclined his head on her chest and closed his eyes, still shivering under the old comforter that shrouded his sweating body.

The Slayer tightened her embrace around him, until he emitted a quiet moan of pain, probably because of the pressure the circle of her arms inflicted on him. "Angel," she whispered his name again, and though he still didn't respond, she didn't care this time. Just the feel of holding him so close was so much more than enough for her. Everything else could wait for later. Nothing else mattered but him right now. "My God, Angel," she kissed his damp hair, burying her face in it.

He didn't once give her any kind of response, he was as if unaware of what was going on around him, what had just happened, where he was... And he probably was unaware of it all…except for one thing. Her arms felt like home.

****

It was still all a blur to her. She didn't know what exactly had happened since his body had fallen from the sky, didn't know how long he had been wrapped in her arms on the cold mansion's floor, how they had found themselves in the bedroom, how she had managed to finally put him in bed… All these were insignificant memories, merely something she might recall, only after the initial shock passed. And it still hadn't.

He held on to her, *had been* holding on to her, for what she knew for sure was hours. She knew, because through the tiny windows in the outer hall, sunlight was stealthy making its way into the dusky mansion. It was already the following morning. She had stayed with him all night…and she hadn't even noticed, hadn't closed her eyes once. Not even once. And no wonder, she wasn't able to stop looking at him.

He was asleep now, or so it appeared, even though one of his hands clutched hers with a force she didn't understand how his enervated body could possible possess. His other palm was clasped in a fist, so firm that his knuckles had paled at some point, but she had no idea what was the object inside it. The only thing she knew was that he would moan in protest every time she would try to release either her hand, or to open his fist.

And these wounded-animal-like moans were the only sound he had made ever since she had enfolded him in her arms for the first time. That, and random whimpers and groans of pain. But not one word. He hadn't said one thing. He hadn't even said her name.

A sudden cognizance struck the Slayer. What if he didn't even know her name? What if he had forgotten it…her? God only knew what they had done to him. If he ever talked again, it certainly wouldn't ever be about Hell. And what if he *never* talked again? What if she was never to hear his voice again? Nothing was more beautiful to her ears than the way he said her name.

"No," Buffy shook her head in sudden recognition. No, what she was pondering over wasn't even an option. She sighed, and carefully tried releasing her hand from Angel's, which, to her surprise, resulted in success. In a few seconds, she was free, and her eyes, already dry, but still wet from crying, wandered from his slumbering face to her hand. Then, before she knew it, her eyes lay again on his hand, and she almost reached for it, to clasp it in hers again. Almost.

But the Slayer drew back in the last possible second. What was she thinking?! Well, she knew what she was thinking, she was thinking that she'd need to cut down on school a little, to spend more time here, that it would be a lot more comfortable for her to take care of him if she moved him to her house…

"God!" she hissed, gripping her head with her palms and smoothing back her blond locks. She suddenly wasn't sure if her rational side was still functioning, or even existed. Suddenly her expression softened, and she cast her eyes on the sleeping vampire. It was Angel, her Angel…alive. A tear trickled down from the corner of her eye as she reached a wavering hand to his cheek and gently cupped it. She held it there for a while, getting used anew to the cool refreshing feel of his flesh against her skin. It was almost intoxicating. So much, she subconsciously closed her eyes to absorb every aspect of that experience.

She would take care of him. She would make him well, and she would hold him up through what she knew would be a very long and agonizing healing process. What would happen later…she would cross that bridge when she'd come to it. It wasn't important now.

He wasn't her Angel anymore, deep inside she knew that. She had to earn that right allover again, and considering the consequences of their relationship in the past, she knew she wasn't allowed to even reflect upon the possibility.

Sudden noises from outside tore her attention from her thoughts and the vampire they evolved around. She sighed, and slowly rose from the bed, careful not to make any moves that might wake him up, and exited the bedroom.

****

"Willow," Buffy froze on the spot, the second she descried the intruder, momentarily forgetting how to breathe. She blinked and swallowed, releasing the air stored in her lungs, then swallowed again. What in Hell was she going to do now?!

The redhead eyed the Slayer, inwardly discussing whether coming there was a good idea. She didn't even know what had brought her there – to the mansion, of all places, or how she had known Buffy would be there. And now that she was there, what was she going to tell her? She had had an entire, relatively flawless, speech memorized by heart only a few seconds ago, and now she felt as if she had forgotten every word or phrase in the English language she had ever encountered.

"This…isn't a good time, Willow," Buffy carefully opened their conversation, hoping to close it as quickly and prudently as only was possible. She would have probably trusted Willow with this. In fact, the redhead would have probably been the only person in the world the Slayer would have trusted…had things turned out differently from the way they had. She and Willow hadn't had one decent conversation ever since Buffy had come back from LA, or *any* conversation at all, and still had a long way to go. But there was no time for it now. The blonde paced across the room, unbeknownst to Willow, drawing the redhead further and further from the bedroom.

Willow sighed, dogging Buffy through the mansion. "When will it be a good time, then?" she asked. "We need to talk."

"I know that," the blonde stopped moving and rotated to face her friend. "But it *really* isn't the time," she repeated huskily, and only then Willow descried she had been crying.

"What is it?" she inquired with concern.

"Nothing," Buffy shook her head. "I just need to be alone right now. How," she blinked, grimacing slightly, "how did you even find me here?" She cast her eyes to the floor. "Aren't you supposed to be in school now, or something?" she added lamely.

"So are you," Willow retorted. "And I…I don't know why I thought you'd be here. I just did," she shrugged. "We need-"

But Buffy was way past caring about actually receiving answers to her questions. She held up her hand, averting her eyes, straightforwardly indicating for Willow to stop talking. "You need to go now," she told her, still not looking at the other girl. "I can't talk now," she looked up. "There are things I can't explain…not even to you…not even to *me*, while we're at it. Just, please…" she groaned softly, "please, go."

Before the redhead could reply, a heart-rending scream reverberated through the mansion.

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