DISCLAIMER: If they were mine, I wouldn't *have* to write this to feel better:-)
TIMELINE: In the same 'verse as "Dreaming Into Our Past"...after "To Shanshu in LA." Angel has been living with Cordy, as was suggested by the fantatic finale's closing. The world of Season Two Buffster, however, doesn't run parallel to this one...aka, it's not summer where she is. The time in her life where Angel connected to her via dreams was signifigent in itself, which you'll see here.
SPOILERS: Nothing I can think of.
SYNOPSIS: Angel thought he was dreaming about S2 Buffy...turns out he was connecting with her. Also, seems that our beloved Slayer has followed him back into present day. Confusion ensues.
DISTRIBUTION: Sure, just drop a line.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Due to popular demand...here's the sequel! And due to just as much demand, there's no depressing ending that you can yell at me for writing:-) "Dreaming Into Our Past" was intended to be a stand alone, but I had an idea for another installation and couldn't pass it by. If you let me know that you like it, I'd love to write a third ::hint hint:: Anyway, this one's less wordy (at least I tried to make it a little less wordy), and more of a plot. Hope you enjoy!
FEEDBACK: Please, please, *please*. I'll be gone untill Wedns. afternoon, and would love to come back to anything besides "Never write again!" Make sure to let me know if you want another one.
RATING: PG

I enjoy sleeping in the day. I've asked Cordelia to purchase a thicker curtain material utilizing my expenses, but she has yet to make the effort. I don't blame her for her shortcomings . . .in fact, I praise every morsel of her limited humanity in our day-to-day life together. There's a little flicker of an unexplainable fear in her veins, and it reminds me of Buffy. Her eyes soften when she pours a glass of blood for me (at my very apparent dismay), and they look to embrace a tint of emerald if you inspect them just so. When she speaks, her voice vibrates into an innocence of spirit. Pure, unadulterated satisfaction with just being.

I was having the dreams again. I halted my penchant for melodrama and just sat, quietly by my slayer's side, night after night. I tried my hardest not to wake her, delighting in the serenity of each moment in her enclosed quarters. Her eyes fluttered in a small circuitous motion, and tended to dance to the rhythm of her own explosive heartbeat. She is so undeniably alive that it frightens me sometimes. Humans are cycles of facts and being . . . they live, they age, they die. I refuse to picture my human lover as a shell in which only blood pumps within. She is more than that. In an unexplainable way, she is more supernatural than I am.

Some nights she would wake up in spite of my efforts, and I would listen to her stories for hours on end. The simplicity of a sixteen year old is a wild fantasy playing against my ancient heart, and not to be taken lightly. She would speak of teachers, parental restrictions . . . all draining into my attention like a book that couldn't be put down.

The vividness that defined our encounters is what made it the oddest. I sometimes wondered if they really were dreams, or if I wasn't actually passing the barriers of time and reason to communicate inside of her previous conscience. I would consequently, of course, convince myself that that was impossible.

What I had forgotten, was that when it came to Buffy and I . . . anything was possible. As trite as that may sound. Then again, nothing is trite when you're in love.

"Angel!" Cordelia had called to me with growing impatience one evening, her tone reverberating against every wall in the building. "You have to get out here, *now*."

"Why?" I muttered in half attention, flipping through an old copy of "Wuthering Heights". My days had been filled with a great separation anxiety. (Until my dreams came in slumber, and I was back where I belonged...in her arms.) The dark melody of Emily Bronte satisfied my craving for some rich despair in the meanwhile.

"Urgh, get the hell off your decomposing ass and come outside . . . I'm in no mood for your oh so "gee, I dont care", Leo DiCaprio complex. I mean, here I am trying to do you a *favor*, and you just . . ."

"Cordelia?" I raised an eyebrow in the direction of my frustrated friend, proceeding to place the novel carefully under the couch. "Just tell me what's going on, alright?"

She rolled her eyes distastefully, grabbing my arm with a short intake of breath and dragging me to the street beside her. It was quite amusing.

My amusement, however, was halted at the sight in front of me. A young teenager lay huddled in the fetal position, her hair plastered with grime, strands matted roughly on her forehead. Every inch of her body was dressed in a chocolate coat of mud and soot. Tears blinded over her almond eyes, like shutters closing off the sun for a creature of the night. It was Buffy.

A very sixteen year old Buffy.

**********

"So, I don't get it . . . she what? Traveled through time? That sounds highly not possible." Cordelia was delicately placing ice into a small pack, wincing sporadically at its temperature against her skin.

"It would appear so," Wesley marveled quietly, staring literally into nothing. "It just doesn't make any sense. There isn't a single case of time travel known to man."

"Buffy's not a man," Cordy noted with a playful little grin. "She's a super-you-know-what."

She approached the couch slowly, leaving the ex-watcher to ponderously trail behind.

I held Buffy's trembling form in my arms, caressing away the tears, massaging her weak limbs . . . gently taking the hair away from over her eyes. Every stuttered breath she took was another stab in my heart, and I felt myself die over and over again in her embrace.

"She's still out?" Cordelia whispered, handing over the icepack she'd created.

I nodded grimly, softly applying its pressure to a discolored bruise on her forehead

"She . . . she hasn't made a sound since we've gotten here," I heard my voice reply hoarsely.

"We should get her cleaned up, Angel. She has . . . has a great deal of open wounds," Wesley swallowed deeply, wincing at the pain etched into my face. "There's a possibility of infection."

Cordelia turned to me in a hesitant manner. "I could do it . . . If you carry her to the bathroom and everything. I mean . . . if this really is junior-Buff, chances are you haven't done the nasty yet. And her waking up semi-naked with you might just . . ."

"Agreed," I cut off simply, nodding to Wesley to help with the task of lifting. My strength could easily carry her, but I wanted every muscle supported in this unconscious state.

"We can get started afterwards," the Brit remarked as we began to walk.

"Get started on what?" Cordelia questioned from a few feet away, opening the door for us.

"Research," I stated matter-of-factly, eyes intent on the breath escaping from my small beloved . . . studying every bodily function in my mind.

**********

"It isn't Crogmod."

"Crog what?" Cordelia looked over Wesley's shoulder, eyes scanning every inch of the ancient text before him.

"Crogmod. An ancient ritual in which one . . ." he began to read, " . . . sacrifices dead toads in order to achieve time travel."

"I thought 'no man ever has'? And you're supposed to be super-book?"

"It's a fable of anceint Mesopotamian sects, Cordelia . . . it never truly came to pass." He closed the book over with a sharp sigh, removing his glasses and placing them lazily on the table top.

"Nothing else?" I asked, slightly taken aback by the hopeless tone my voice provided.

"I'm sorry, Angel. Perhaps we'll know more once she awakens."

"Yeah," Cordelia chipped in, attempting support, "Maybe she can tell us herself, or something. And then we can send her back."

"I don't want to go back." Like a choir of angels, I heard her soft voice fill the room with its cool texture. "That's why I came."

"Buffy . . ." I approached her slowly, watching in horror as she trembled like a frightened child.

Wesley and Cordelia stood in an instant, backing away as I grew closer.

"You're awake."

"I'm awake." Her eyes were so different . . . like a song you can listen to over and over without ever discovering each note. "I can't say that I'm OK, but hey . . . I survived. Yay me."

"Survived what?" Wesley inquired gently.

"Who . . .?" Buffy examined him carefully. "Have we met?"

"We . . . we should talk, Buffy." I addressed her seriously, motioning back to the bedroom. "I need you to tell me everything."

"OK," she agreed quietly, leading the way in a hesitant fashion.

I closed the door quietly behind us, an awkwardness emanating from my every thought.

She was so young.

She sat down at the bed's edge, rubbing her shoulders and glancing nervously around the foreign room. Cordelia had slipped her into one of my bulky shirts, and it flowed around her with comfortable reverence. Our scents seemed to combine on her skin, and my heart leapt with tentative joy.

"So, uh . . . you live with Cordelia now?"

"Temporarily," I smiled gently, and she gave a small chuckle in return.

"Things are so different. You're so different."

"In a good way, or bad?"

"Good. Always good." She smiled shyly, crossing and uncrossing her legs. "So . . . how did it work?"

"How did what work?"

"How did we restore your soul?"

"You . . . what we . . . you and me have . . .?"

"Made love, yes." She found a sudden, courageous strength overcome her girlish qualms, and looked me straight in the eye, "It was beautiful, Angel. It was . . . the best night of my life."

A tear found a slow path down my cheek, as I smiled into my little princess. "The feeling's mutual," I replied, the memory sweetly singing into my mind.

"I just knew, you know? When you started coming into my dreams . . . I knew it was real. And then you turned into grr. . . ," She swallowed back a tear, playing with the edge of Cordelia's comforter. "So, I decided to follow you."

"Follow me?"

"You always left through the window in my dreams. So, I just got up and did the same. It seemed perfectly within the realm of logic; one plus two equals three. Then I wake up here, feeling like a house fell on my head."

"You traveled through the dream," my mouth gaped in realization, wonder surging through me. "There were two ways out of the dream: your mind and mine. And you went through mine."

"Pretty cool, huh?" she attempted a silent casualness, her face betraying her true feelings.

"What did it feel like?" I found myself asking, slowly approaching the bedside, and sitting eyelevel beside her.

"I don't really remember." She cocked her head to one side, letting memories flood through, I assumed." I just remember alot of pain...like I wasn't supposed to be there or something. Then: wham-o. I'm in a whole new world. And you're living with Cordelia."

"I thought we covered that already?" I jabbed with a small smile.

"Was that a semi-joke? Who are you, and what have you done with my boyfriend?"

I was sorry that I couldn't laugh for her. It was the images...nightmares of her in the bed of Riley Finn. Boyfriend. What did that even mean to the Buffy of present day? Bed partner alone?

"Angel? Are you ok?"

"Yeah." I forced my mind to snap out of it, snap out of things that couldn't be changed. "Just thinking."

"Hmm...you're good at that, huh?" She squeezed my hand seductively, preparing to lean in for a soft kiss. I gathered up all the courage inside of me, and tried to casually look away. She seemed rather taken aback, but hid it expertly. Perhaps she didn't know how truly I knew what rained down into her soul, "So anyway...none of that matters now. We're here. We're together. That's all that matters to me."

That look.

If it were physically possible, I just may have melted into a puddle right before her eyes. I remembered each time she had graced me with those eyes enlarged, those lips curved ever so slightly. What had happened to this loving goddess who sat before me?

"Buffy...I..." I didn't know what to say, how to speak." You're not planning on...on staying here. Are you?"

"What? Why do you think I came?" She sqeezed my hand tighter, squeezing all the resistance out of my soul. "Look. I know that something happened. I don't know...maybe you left Sunnydale after you were turned back by Miss Calender, or some other gypsy type-ish. Maybe it was something even more horribly wrong. Whatever. All I care about is that you told me you needed me. And here I am. I'm yours, Angel. I belong to you...nothing will *ever* change that."

"We don't belong to each other, Buffy...not anymore. We belong to the world...I learned that the hard way."

What I wouldn't give to ban forever the look that graced her face. Still so innocent, so hopeful. She had a stance...that our love could conquer the greatest of obstacles, and that I was being unfaithful to that pact. I had believed that once. Then I had rationalized that certain powers just take more control than we can stand.

"The stuff that's happened in the time I kinda skipped over...I know it probably sucked. And you can tell me about it someday. And we'll deal with it *together*. But for now, ...can't we just..." she hesitated, staring down in shame.

"What? It's ok, you can say it."

"Can't we just be together? And cuddle? And sleep under a blanket? And wake up next to each other? We don't have to...you know. We can just *be* with each other. Like...this." She began to stroke my face lovingly with her index finger, small gentle repetitions. I could do nothing but close my eyes, and let a rainbow of sensations overtake me.

We had tried this kind of relationship before. It didn't work. She needed...more.

"You can't stay here, Buffy," I whispered hoarsely, utilizing all the strength I could muster. "The world needs you. Changing history...it could result in alot of pain. Not to mention death."

"Yeah? Unfortunately, I came here in a dream. I wasn't exactly thinking clearly. And I can't go back. So we're just stuck like this. You're stuck with me. Gee, did I mention how sorry I was for that?"

"Buffy..."

"No, forget it. It's perfectly fine. God! If history was going to change, don't you think things would already start to show up? We're just gonna have to deal. And in case you've forgotten, that's what love is about. Our love. No excuses for things. We have to be one unit, and deal with things like a team. Because if you really love me..." her precious little frame burst into fits of sobs, and she fell in a heap against my chest. My heart joined her tears, and I squeezed her as tightly as I could.

"I love you, Buffy. I love you more than anything on the face of this earth, and don't you ever think otherwise. I'd do anything...*anything* for you."

"Oh really? Then stop making me feel so guilty for loving you! Is this...is this really how things end up for us? Did we fall this much out of love that you can't even see it? I mean...why am I not here now? You know,*other* Buffy? Where's she? With someone else?" she snorted, very amused by what seemed an unthinkable act.

"This isn't the time for me to tell you everything. But...I will. I promise. You want to know the truth? I'm scared. Not because I want you to leave...but because I want you to stay,...more than anything I've ever wanted in my entire life. Oh god, Buffy. If you only knew how much I missed you...every second of every day."

"Shhh..." she stroked my hair gently, proceeding to cup my face in her smooth hands,"It's not like I have a choice, buddy. I'm not going anywhere. At least...at least not until we figure out the logistics of my 'Back to the Future' stint."

I chuckled, nuzzling subtly against her palm.

"Angel?"

"Hmm?"

"Am I allowed to kiss you yet? Cuz, you know, you look great in that shirt and..."

A rush of bliss surged over me, and I found myself silencing her with a kiss that transformed into blinding colors and an ancient magik, all combined into her delicate soul. I lost myself in the security of those lips I loved, worshipping her the best I could with my mouth. When I pulled away, she had a look of a giddy teenager plastered ear to ear. I couldn't help the pang of happiness that arose out of giving her that smile.

"Wow" she gushed in a whisper, bringing my hand up to her glorious lips, and blessing it with the sweetest kiss I'd ever received in all my long eternity, "We'll make this work, right?"

"We will."

And I remembered what it felt like to fight for love.

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