Best Kept Secrets: The Rosenberg Archives (Entry 27 Part 2)

Author: Kate

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: While I have taken the liberty of adding a few characters of my own creation, all of the original BtVS characters and their world belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and The WB. The lyrics for "Every You Every Me" belong to Placebo. All are used without permission (I'll return them all unharmed) and no copyright infringement is intended (like most that post, I'm broke, so please don't sue).

Spoilers: All 3 seasons of BtVS, BtVS season 4/Angel season 1 implied.

Summary: Well, it's now early into the year 2048 and Aishling Rosenberg is still hard at work creating a formal archive out of a vast collection of letters, stories, research notes, etc. that her grandmother, Willow, left behind when she died.

Distribution: You want it, it's yours, just let me know where it's going to be living.

Feedback: Is there an author out there who doesn't enjoy getting feedback?

Dedication: For Lucy, for all her wonderfully insightful comments! *hugs*

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~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Sucker love, a box I choose. No other box I choose to use. Another love I would abuse, No circumstances could excuse.

In the shape of things to come. Too much poison come undone. Cuz there's nothing else to do, Every me and every you. Every me and every you, Every Me...he ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Best Friend

Archivist's Note: The following is actually a transcript I made from an old cassette tape the was tucked inside the same folder that contained some of the first notes my grandmother had gathered back in 2001, when she first started this... this... whatever it is. The cassette as simply labeled "Xander - Feb 2003". The date implies one of two things. Either it took Grandma a long time to get up enough nerve to ask Xander for his input, or it took Uncle Xander a long time to supply it. When I have him review this entry, I'll have to ask him which scenario is the correct one. That should be fun. Uncle Xander is still a smart-ass. I'm sure he'll have something whitty to say about the whole ordeal.

I started out trying to capture so of the background sounds, as well as some of Xander's personal sounds, but once he moved into the actual telling of the story, for the most part I just let the words speak for themselves.

AAR 31/01/2048 ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Hey Will, gotta say girl, I'm *really* not liking the fact that you want me to talk about all this stuff. Mr. Repression, you know? That's me. And I know you asked me to write it down, but I can't. At least once I start talking I can sort of just go with the flow. Of beer that is! <chuckle> See, the Bufster's old saying's still true... Beer bad.<grunt> Beer make Xander talk when all Xander want is to forget. <sigh> It's been three and a half years since I found you and Angel together. But, hey, pat me on the back 'cause I'm over that part of the whole deal. Even the memories of what we all shared don't give me the wiggins like they used to. I think the thing that still disturbs me is that we all forgot about it. For months it was like we hadn't lived that night, that whole entire weekend in fact. And sorry Wills, I know you love her. Hell, I love her, too and have for a *very* long time! <nervous laughter> Okay, I'm not really over that part, either. It's just knowing that she has that kind power, that *really* freaks me out. The power to make people actually forget parts of their lives? Something's not right with that. Okay, okay. I know, she said we don't really forget anything, obviously. It just gets sort of buried and hard to find. Like hidden treasure, only she doesn't always leave a map behind.

I think I'll amend my previous statement... Beer good. Beer give Xander false sense of bravado, so he talk more. And hey, rest assured, I'm still a lightweight drinker, but I only bought three cans. Wouldn't want the words I'm recording for future generations of Watchers to hear to be slurred! <hearty laughter> Not that you or Gile's could ever come back at me after the way you two behaved this past Christmas. But hey, I think I've stalled long enough and consumed enough of my brewsky... so I guess I'll just get on with it.

Oh, and by the Will, I want you to know that I'm blowing off one of my night school classes just to do this for you. Laying on the guilt. <snicker> When I go to class tomorrow night, I'm even going to tell the professor it was all your fault! I don't Will, think Mr. Finn will buy it? <loud obnoxious laughter>

I gotta say I'm not really sure how to go about telling this. I have no problems remembering the details. Once the memories came back, it was like seeing it all again, for the third time, in 3-D Technicolor with THX surround sound. Wow, talk about flashbacks! Makes those little trips that the left-over 60's hippies take seem like fun. I'll take a funky psychedelic road trip of mind anytime over the reliving of an actual past life. So hey, my point is that I'm just going to say it. I know what I want to say. I've rehearsed my lines at least a dozen times; each one with a different style, but none of them sounded right. Hey, Will, remember back in high school when Snyder forced us to be in the talent show? This is worse. So, I'm gonna tell it anyway it decides to come out this time. Okay, Will?

Oh, man, I gotta go pee first. You don't buy stupid beer, you rent it!

<laughter, followed by the a series of clicking sounds which signal the stopping and restarting of the tape recorder> <sigh>

Well, here goes nothing.

I remember that my hand hurt. I mean my hand *really* hurt. But it was the least of my discomforts.

My pride hurt more.

I hit that fucker with all the force I could muster, and while I managed to leave a nice, deep, and hopefully very painful bruise on the side of his face, it wasn't enough. That's because I knew that when he had hit me in the same way, I'd ended up with a similar facial injury but he had strutted away pain-free. Sure, Buffy had been quick to point out that he didn't *want* to hit me. She insisted that he'd been acting, that he broke my face in the 'good' way, but I didn't buy it. I bugged the hell out of the guy and I knew it. And he might have been able to fool Buffy and all the rest of the gang, but I know he enjoyed hitting me, if only because I'll admit that I've longed to lay him out on more than one occasion. It was a mutual dislike.

My heart hurt.

Willow. My Willow. She'd lain with the devil.

I won't be a hypocrite and try to say that sex should be about love. Hell, I'd hopped into the sack with a psychotic Slayer, and let me tell you there was no love there! *Great* sex though, I gotta say. Until she tried to kill me, that is. And wouldn't you know it, the son of a bitch was the one who rescued me. God I *hate* him.

But this is Willow we're talking about. I mean, I wasn't even sure she and Oz were doing it yet and then I come to find out that she'd spent the last two days in his bed. And obviously in other parts of the mansion as well!

What the hell was she thinking? She gave him a 'happy' for God's sake. She knew what happened when Buffy did that. How could she be so reckless? Why wasn't he Angelus? And why would she turn to him when she could have turned to me?

Okay, fine, are you satisfied? I now know just how Willow must have felt when she learned that I'd slept with Faith. It hurt. Hurt like hell.

The greatest pain of all was inside my head.

Not only was I suffering from the worst headache I've ever had, but also my head was so full of horrible memories that I thought it might explode. Scary, at that point in time the thought of my gray matter being splattered on the streets of Sunnydale was actually preferable to having to live with those blasts from the past. And who's fucking past was it, anyway?

Man, Willow and her spells. Or is it me? Am I a jinx? Every time someone had tried to cast a spell that involved me it's gone haywire. And this time, well, things went way past slightly askew. Lucky us, we got to enter 'The Twilight Zone'...

Hey, it was a simple spell. Or at least it was supposed to be, according to Willow that is. Turns out it was too simple, too generic. It was supposed to help an injured person relax, to ease their pain so they could rest and heal faster. Sounded like a good spell to try.

When Willow had come back from where ever in the house she kept her witchy-wares, she found us both just where she'd left us. I was sitting on the couch; he was sitting by the fireplace. The only difference was that while she was gone we had started to engage in a glaring war. No words had been uttered but the hate between us at that moment was palpable.

"Ooh, will you look at the warm, fuzzy feelings floating around in here!" Willow chirped sarcastically.

We both turned our glaring looks on her.

"What?" she asked defensively. "Only Buffy can make with the flip remarks?"

I snorted derisively; he just wagged his head in disgust.

"Well, excuse me for trying to lighten the mood," Willow replied in disgust. "You two are just plain ugly."

"Sorry," was our stereophonic rebuttal.

It was Willow's turn to glower at us. I almost shuddered as she looked upon me with such contempt in her eyes.

"No you are not. So don't even waste your breath..."

She turned her fiery gaze toward him.

"Or what ever it is you have. [Ouch, that hurt! Ha, better him than me.] Don't patronizing me! Your little displays of false remorse aren't going to win you any Brownie points. So suck it up, gentleman and let's just get this all out in the open, shall we?"

Gee, we groaned in stereo, too.

Willow sat down beside me and handed me a mug full of... something. I eyed it suspiciously and sniffed at it timidly.

"Don't be a baby," she chastised. "It's just tea with some herbs steeped in it. I put lots of honey and lemon in, too, so it tastes good."

I was not reassured.

"Just drink it," she ordered. And with more than a little trepidation, I obeyed.

"Sooo..." Willow drawled. "Who's going to start?"

She looked at me. I hid behind the mug, drinking slowly so as to avoid having to speak first. It worked. Willow turned her eyes toward him.

"Angel?"

He only continued to squint in my direction, his lips pressed tight into a hard, thin line. I couldn't help but notice that his hands where clenched together in his lap, clenched so tightly that the knuckles were white, bloodless. Perfect look for a cold-blooded killer. God I hated him.

"You just couldn't stay gone, could you?"

I hadn't even realized I said the words aloud until I heard them echo in the sparsely furnished room. I almost had him. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but instead only licked his lips in a nervous fashion, then pressed them shut again.

"Don't know what I was thinking," I scoffed. "I mean, sending you to Hell didn't even keep you out of our lives for very long. Why on earth did I ever think you'd just stay away in your own?"

That worked. He stood up quickly and the next thing I knew I was moving toward him. We ended up standing toe to toe, facing off, and waiting again to see which one of us would speak next. Ah, but what the hell, I'd already started, might as well keep going.

"It wasn't bad enough that you broke Buffy's heart, you had to come back to fuck-up Willow's life too? They should have left you in Hell! Has there been anything in your sorry life that you haven't ruined or destroyed?"

"Xander!" Willow cried. "That's enough!"

I turned my wrath on her.

"Well, you wanted to know how I feel. That's what I think. Is it really so wrong?"

Willow didn't answer me right away, so I looked back at the man in front of me.

"Is it?"

"No," he whispered. It wasn't a pitiful whisper, only a softly spoken attestation of his past crimes.

Damn, that took some of the wind out if my sails! Son of a bitch, I *really* hated that guy!

My hand was throbbing, my heart ached, my stomach was a tight, nauseating knot, and my head was starting to pound. I couldn't stand to look at him any more and shut my eyes tight. I just wanted to curl up into a little ball and fall asleep. Maybe I could wake up a few hours later and discover that what had happened had only happened in one of my twisted nightmares. No such luck. I felt Willow put her hand on my shoulder and opened my eyes to see him still standing there before me. Only he didn't look angry anymore. He looked much the same way I felt, like he was in pain.

"I don't get it," I said to him. "How could you be with Willow and not lose your soul?"

"You love her," was his strange reply.

"How I feel about Willow's got nothing to do with what you did to her."

He looked over my shoulder, no doubt into Willow's eyes. I could actually see him communicating with her, using nothing more than a look. I couldn't see Willow, but I felt her movement. I'm pretty sure she nodded, like she was giving him an affirmative answer to an unspoken question. His returned nod was almost imperceptible, then he looked back at me.

"With her, not to her. What we did was something we both wanted."

"And what about Buffy? What about what she wants?"

"I can't be with Buffy in that way, you know that."

"Why, because you love her? Well what about Will? Did I lie to her for you?"

Again with the eye contact between those two.

"Don't you love Willow?" I interrupted their communiqué.

He growled at me, annoyed by my intrusion.

"Yes, yes I do. But it's not the same kind of love. You love Buffy, too. But do you feel exactly the same way toward Willow? And what about Cordelia, how did you feel about her?"

"All right, I get it," I spit at him, more than just a bit petulantly.

I turned and headed back over to the sofa, flopping down and wincing when I bumped my swollen hand along the way. Willow must have heard me hiss in pain because an instant later she was kneeling beside me. She started stroking my hair soothingly, and whispering comforting gibberish. It took me a minute or two to realize that she was reciting foreign words, casting a spell.

Whatever she was saying, it was working. My hand wasn't throbbing quite so much, my headache was gone, and I felt sleep coming on. I started yawing uncontrollably, my eyelids getting heavy.

I had to laugh though, even in my drowsy state, as I watched him stumble over to the other half of the sectional sofa, rubbing the bruise on his jaw as he sat down. Then he, too, was yawing. And all I could think as I drifted off to sleep was "No fair. Why the hell should Willow make Dead Boy feel better, too?"

Oh, but that's when the really fun stuff started happening.

I was driving into her from behind, fucking her like she was an animal; hurting her and taking pleasure in it. I had her bent over the back of a chair. The long braid she made of her auburn hair was twisted tightly around my fist and I was using it just like I would use the reigns on a horse, directing her movements, forcing her to go where I willed her to go. At that moment I was using my stronghold to keep her head bowed down, refusing to let her look upon my face. I didn't want her to be able to look into my eyes. For despite all my outward bravado, I was coward underneath. I feared she would see the pain hidden behind the hate. And I didn't have the courage to look at her and see the sorrow that would surely be visible in her beautiful moss-colored eyes.

I hadn't meant for it to be like this. Even in my sleep I could still feel the hot tears of anger and frustration flowing freely down my face. I saw them falling into the small of her back, crawling down along her spine, little tiny rivers of tears that made their way slowly toward her neck and shoulders. I knew that soon my tears would mix with hers and I fucked her harder.

Our joining should have been filled with passion, not pain. It should have been like all of our other times together, an expression of the love we had for one another. But fear got the better of me and I turned what would probably be our last time together into something filled with bitterness and degradation. She had betrayed me and much as I still loved her, I could not forgive her for what she was about to do.

The next time I laid with my wife, if I could bring myself to do so, she would be dead.

I had tried to keep that thought out of my mind. But there I stood, sweating and grunting, thrusting into her without any regard for her feelings, her pleasure. All I cared about was my own release and if I hurt her in the process, so much the better.

She was my best friend. We had been almost inseparable since the days of our childhood. And now she was leaving me for them.

I knew this was all some sort of sick dream. But I was trapped in sleep by Willow's spell and so I was stuck in this nightmare as well.

She was already one of the thirteen, having been welcomed into the circle when she was only seven years old. She was the youngest ever to be called, but it had been a wise decision on her elders' part, for she was strong, probably one of the most powerful witches among them.

I had known this about her and had always accepted that part of her life. It was simply what she was, who she was. And I loved her all the more for it because she used her powers for good, to help those she loved, those she barely knew, even those who feared and hated her. She was all about love. But soon, she would be dead. Where would her love go then?

Ah, but she wouldn't really be dead, would she? Later that night, after I'd finished taking what had always been freely given, she would leave me to become one of the seven within the thirteen. She had lived her life, what little there was of it, for she was just shy of twenty-four years, as she had seen fit. Now, for reasons I did not know, she was giving in to them, giving them her life, our life.

She had always stood strong, and true to herself. She did what her heart told her to do, never paying any mind to what the elders and the ancient laws said.

I should have been grateful for the time we had together. Another man had been chosen for her but she loved me and defied the orders of her elders when she took me into her heart and her bed. She chose me as her mate and I was honored to make her my wife.

She boldly disregarded the laws again when the first child she bore me was a son. I don't think it was even a conscientious thought on her part that produced their prized female offspring the second time around, I think it was just the way the goddess had intended for it to be.

But now, as I started to shoot my cum deep inside her, I howled out in pain, my heart as torn as my throat. Because I knew that even if by some miracle my seed were to fertilize her in the next few hours, by morning that small spark of life would be extinguished. It would die along with her.

And in that moment I hated her for choosing them over me.

I know that many of my thoughts and feelings were unjust. Her transgressions of the years on my behalf were innumerable. She had broken so many of the laws to love me the way she did, to give us some sort of a life together while she could. Had she been a lesser creature, she would have been shunned years ago. If she were to deny her calling now, she would most certainly be cast out if not put to death.

How the hell did I know all this? Who was this woman I had buried myself into? My heart said she was my wife, my best friend, and my one and only lover. My head seemed to know all about her and about the time and place in which we lived. 'Cause trust me, Toto, we weren't in Sunnydale anymore, and judging by my surroundings, the dream me didn't exists anywhere near the late twentieth century.

As I continued to spill the last of myself, I pulled on her hair, jerking her head back painfully. I tugged harder, yanking her away from the chair and up against my chest. Then I forced her head to one side and viciously bit down into the exposed curve of her neck. She tried not to cry out, but failed as I bit down even harder, breaking the skin, drawing blood, her blood, which wet my lips and filled my mouth with its sickeningly sweet, yet metallic flavor. I spit the blood back at her before I spoke.

"Is this what you truly want? Is this how you will feed and fuck every night for the rest of your lifeless, immortal existence?"

My cock softened and slipped out of her. I released my hold on her hair and unceremoniously dropped her to the floor. She just lay there in a broken heap, weeping softly as I walked away.

At that moment I wished it was I who was going to die, for I truly despised myself and my inability to love her as she deserved to be loved.

It was night, which didn't bode well. They always held their ceremonies during the day. They were events filled with sunlight and flowers, laughter and love. I would like to be able to flatter myself and say that I was the reason for this change in venue, that the shroud of darkness, which surrounded everything, was meant to be a reflection of my feelings. But such was not the case. She had insisted upon the nighttime for reasons that I did not even want to be to fathom.

I stood in a place of honor, and I felt like such a hypocrite for doing so. I was opposed to all that was about to transpire, and yet I was powerless to stop it.

I looked down at the children by my side, our children.

My son was already six years on this earth. He was growing up strong and proud. Despite the fact that his mother had flaunted her disregard for the laws by producing a male progeny before giving the circle their female, he was still loved and well nurtured by all the women in her clan. With his dark hair and brown eyes, he looked more like me than like his mother. Unlucky boy.

Oh, but my daughter, now there was a beautiful creature. She was only three years old, but already she was breaking hearts. Her hair was a shimmering strawberry blonde color, her skin fair and kissed with delicate freckles. But it was her eyes that always mesmerized me. They where so large and expressive. She often used them to communicate without words. And their coloring was quite unique.

On a clear, sunny day her big round eyes would take on a blue hue, as they reflected the sky itself. In the soft lighting of the nighttime hours, they would appear to be green, like her mother's. And 'stormy' is the best way to describe their color when she was upset, saddened or angered. Deep, tempestuous gray eyes. They would look just like the turbulent clouds during a gale, or the raging sea of a squall. There was no mistaking the emotions my little girl felt when her eyes took on that color, even if she tried to deny them with her words.

The ceremony was well underway, and loathe as I was to witnessing the events which were unfolding before me, I could not seem to look away for very long.

A large crowd had gathered. People had come from far and wide to behold my wife's Becoming. For some, it was morbid curiosity that drew them. For others, it was a desire to honor my wife for all that she had been and all that they felt she would be.

There were numerous torches lit, but all they seemed to do was add to the surreal atmosphere of the gathering by creating greatly contrasting areas of light and dark, areas that seemed to shift in a very stealthy manner, separating and coalescing at odd intervals.

The firelight wasn't even really necessary. It was the first night of the Full Moon, oddly enough known as the Strong Sun Moon. That's befitting, I suppose, seeing as, unlike most of the other blood-feeders that roam this realm, my wife would be able to stand beneath the sun. She, along with her six sisters, had nothing to fear from its rays, for they were pure of heart, in spite of their animating essence.

And yet I was suddenly thankful for the bright light in which my children and I were bathed, for hidden within the darkest shadows I could see them. For whatever reason, some of their retched kind had come to witness my wife's turning. I knew that they were not well wishers, incapable as they were of stepping outside their own self-centered, self-serving little existences. Was it simply that they too had fallen victim to some sort of aberrant curiosity, seeing as this was the first time they had ever been able to attend such a ceremony? Or did they have something sinister planned? And I couldn't help but wonder at that point if she hadn't chosen the time so that they could be in attendance. She had some misbegotten notion that somehow, someday they could be redeemed. Foolish woman. Their kind was pure evil and had no place here, for whatever reason.

My daughter slipped her hand into mine. Her tiny hand gave my much larger one a reassuring squeeze. She could sense my distress, even though I thought I'd done a good job of hiding it from her and her brother.

I so wanted out of this whacked-out dream! Me a father? Can you see it? Neither can I. Scarier still was the feeling that minute by minute this nightmare was becoming less like a dream and more like a trip back in time. Everything was so vivid, the thoughts and emotions were too real.

I first looked back down at my daughter, then glanced at my son. Reassured that they were holding up well, I turned my gaze back to my love.

She stood in the center of the circle, her back toward me. Of that fact I was glad. I don't think I would have been able to look upon her face during the upcoming portions of the ceremony. If I saw joy there, I would be even more heartbroken than I already was. If I saw fear or regret there, to hell with the consequences, I would have had to put a stop to it all.

Suddenly the crowd went dead silent. Then every creature assembled seemed to gasp in unison as they expressed their universal awe. Those standing directly opposite me on the outer circle began to move, the crowd parting to allow for the passage of someone. Or in this case, three individuals, making their way toward the inner circle.

Now it was my turn to let out an audible indication of my shock as I watched them step forward.

The first to move into the circle was a creature who was both the eldest witch in the coven and the oldest vampire in the clan my wife would soon join. Máthair (Mother). That's what most people called her, in spite of the fact that she looked to be decades younger than most who addressed her as such. Her true name had no translation in any modern tongue. She was believed to be almost three thousand years old. And yet, with her alabaster skin, fiery hair, and deep emerald eyes, she was a vision to behold. Add to that the fact that you could actually feel the magical power radiating off of her in waves, and you can understand why just her presence at these proceedings was enough to cause a stir.

Or perhaps it was the presence of the demon that walked beside her that shocked so many. He had never before accompanied her to any of the rituals or rites that were regularly performed. His name was Gabriel. He was Máthair's lover, her mate and he was one of 'them'. For centuries he had been a killer of humans. But now he was an abomination both to his own kind and to hers. His true nature and his violent past kept him from being truly accepted by his partner's clan. His own kind had turned on him when he had been regained his soul. Now he belonged to no one but Máthair. Then I thought that perhaps Gabriel's attendance was the reason why so many of his kind were present as well, and I foolishly took comfort in that notion.

I must admit that they made a handsome couple. Gabriel had hair the color of wet earth and his eyes were so dark that they appeared to be black. He was tall and muscular; a very nice compliment to Máthair's long, willowy frame. She wore a robe, the color of which matched her rich green eyes. His robe was a deep royal purple.

But it was the third member of their group whose attendance shocked me. A young man, just a few years older than myself, he was their son. Their *mortal* son!

Powerful magic was said to have been worked to beget him. The laws of nature and the rules that govern the supernatural had been broken. And yet my own wife had insisted that his very conception was proof that love could conquer all.

He was dressed somberly in all black, which was not unusual for him. He favored his father in build and coloring, but it was Máthair's temperament he was blessed with. He was soft-spoken and genuinely good-natured. Kind to a fault at times. He was a favorite with all the children in the village and most of the woman, too, especially the younger ones.

His parents had named him Uriel. Like his father, he bore the name of an Archangel. Something in me found that to be a mockery, arrogance that bordered on blasphemy. A demon and his spawn, both named after creatures of God.

I know that my thoughts were prejudiced. Uriel, despite his unique origins, was a human. And long ago Gabriel had been simply a man. So why was it that I couldn't accept them as such? Because I had seen first hand the death that Gabriel wrought, and because I feared that Uriel was destine to become something more than human.

Uriel didn't follow his parents into the circle. Instead he stopped just inside the sacred ring, standing on its out fringes just as my children and I did. I saw his pull something out from beneath his ebony cloak and I panicked for a moment. I let out a sigh of relief when saw that it was only a roll of fine parchment and some charcoal that he had extracted. Uriel was an artist by trade. He had apparently come to capture my wife's Becoming in a picture.

Both Gabriel and Máthair moved closer to my wife, but once they were a few paces away, Gabriel stopped and stood still as Máthair continued on toward her childe.

Sire and childe embraced. Then, as they held hands, Máthair asked my love if she was certain that she wanted to travel down the path that was now before her. My wife stated unwaveringly and loudly, for she wanted all in attendance to hear, that she was in fact prepared to continue on her journey.

Máthair embraced her once more. I watched as Máthair released my wife's hands and then ran her own long, slender fingers along the sides of my wife's neck. I saw a mortified look pass quickly across Máthair's face when her fingers ran over the bite mark I had left. I was deeply shamed but refused to look away.

Thus far the entire interaction between the two women was gentle and loving, at times even slightly erotic. I was spellbound until I caught sight of Máthair's mouth, with her fangs full protracted, moving toward my lover's neck. Then I could watch no longer. I knew that my wife would feel no pain, but it was the actual taking of her life that I could not bring myself witness.

When I finally found the courage to look back, it was all over, so to speak. Or at least life as I knew it had ceased to exist. In a short time her life would start anew, and with it my life would also begin again. Only everything would be changed not just my wife.

She was still so beautiful, the pallor of death actually her making her appear radiant. She had been laid down upon the ground and carefully arranged. Her head was cradled in her sire's lap, Máthair tenderly stroking her hair as we all waited for her to reawaken. My wife was trapped, caught somewhere between death and rebirth. All I could do now was wait to see how I would actually feel about her once she was reanimated. My fear of rejecting her weighted heavy on my heart.

Gabriel had moved forward at some point. He was now positioned directly behind Máthair, a somewhat threatening scowl upon his face. It appeared as though he was standing guard over his lover and her new childe.

I looked about the circle and noted that Uriel had also moved. His sketching implements were no where to be seen and he had worked his way around the circle until he was standing almost beside me. He too held a menacing stance. What was it that both of those creatures sensed? What had given rise to their protective behavior?

I started to feel my own apprehension grow and searched the crowd for any signs of danger. Seeing no visible indications of impending doom, I turned my gaze back toward the center of the circle.

At that point everything seemed to get mixed-up, the past was blending with the present. My mind was taking the faces of my current friends and superimposing them on to some of the people in my dream. Máthair was now Willow, but my wife was unchanged. I looked up quickly, fully expecting to see Angel standing where Gabriel had been. But he still bore the countenance he originally had. It was Uriel who had become Angel. Now I was really starting to freak out. And while I was lost in my state of confusion, all hell broke loose.

They struck with the speed of light. Every member of Gabriel's old clan charged the circle at once. Their attack was obviously well planned. Before the Master vampire even had a chance to move, a wooden spear was plunged into Máthair's chest. It must have pierced her heart for she let out soft cry of pain then began to crumble right before my eyes. My wife's head fell to the ground as her sire's dust settled upon her face.

Gabriel's howl was ear shattering and full of anguish and rage. He transformed instantly into his demonic form, but rather than going after his mate's killer, he shocked me by bending quickly and scooping up the wife's prone body. With preternatural speed he disappeared into the crowd. At that moment I cursed Gabriel for being a traitor.

All about me was chaos. Humans were dropping so fast it was impossible to keep an accurate death toll. Everywhere I looked I saw the vampires, covered in the blood of my kinsman. The entire scene was soon one of utter madness.

Uriel was now right by my side, doing his best to protect my children and me. But there was only so much one mortal man could do. One human against so many creatures of pure evil, the odds were insurmountable and my son was the first to fall. Before I could move the boy to safety, a pair of talon tipped hands snatched him away from my side. I looked on in horror as the demon drained away his little life and then tossed his limp body aside like is was trash.

Foolish to the very end, I reacted without thinking and rushed the vampire. I was immediately set upon by two of his kindred. I was lost, completely incapable of fighting back against such inhuman strength. The demon that had killed my son was obviously one of greater age or importance for he stepped forward as the other two held me, and sank his fangs deep into my neck.

The pain was unbearable and I couldn't help the scream that tore out of my lungs. I instantly regretted my weakness as I saw Uriel turn to come to my aide, leaving my daughter unguarded. I could feel my life slipping away as the demon drained me at a surprising slow rate. I could do nothing to stop my own death, I could not even cry out to Uriel. But somewhere within myself I found the strength to wrench one of my hands free and to point frantically in the direction of my little girl.

But even as Uriel turned back toward her, I could see Gabriel racing across the still open ground of the now defiled sacred circle. His eyes were blazing with a bright golden light. With his purple robe billowing behind him, he appeared to fly over the distance that separated him from my helpless daughter. He hadn't betrayed us after all. He had returned to fight and was now going to rescue my little girl. But just as he stooped down to grab her on the run, a stake was buried deep into his chest. The last thing I saw before I blacked out was the terror in my daughter's eyes. Gabriel's ashes muddied the tears streaming down her face.

I was frantic now, struggling desperately to find a way out of this magic induced state of sleep. It was all too much for me to comprehend. Sure, sometimes I was unhappy with my life on a Hellmouth, but it was suddenly a much better reality than the life I had led in that dream world.

I was trapped in a place with no light. I thought I was dead in my dream, and I was panicking because I could remember someone once telling me that if you died in your dreams, you died in the real world, too. I shudder uncontrollably as things began to lighten up once more. I was actually relieved for a moment, until Angel's face came into focus.

Everything was quiet. I don't know how long I was unconscious, but I awoke to find Uriel squatting down beside me. I could tell by the look in his eyes that I was a dead man. Not literally at that moment, but soon. He tried to offer me some comfort.

"Your wife is safe and your daughter..."

Uriel parted the front of his black cloak to reveal the small body of my daughter hidden under its full folds.

"Da!" she cried out, before either of us could stop her.

"Shush," I whispered. "Ya be a good girl and go with Uriel. He'll take ya to Mum."

She did as she was told, silently turning away, burying her face in his chest as he enfolded her in his arms once again.

"Go now," I instructed him.

"I can not leave you like this. If they come back and you're still alive they will turn you."

I nodded my consent but he looked unsure of himself.

"Do whatcha havta do, man. I don' wanna be somethin' other than the man I am."

It was Uriel's turn to simply nod and I watched him withdraw an athame from the folds of his cloak. I recognized the blade immediately. It had been his mother's.

"Please protect them," I begged him. "Love them for me."

"I gcónaí," Uriel replied, his voice choked with emotions I did not even want to begin to fathom.

I closed my eyes and silently said my farewells and my prayers.

My eyes finally flew open and I screamed as I shot up off the couch. Angel bolted upright on the seat across from me, completely vamped out, and he growled at me. That only made me scream louder and I stumbled back down on to couch as I tried to escape. He lunged at me then, but his face had shifted back to that of a human before he pounced on me.

"Did you see her?" he shouted as he grabbed my shoulders and started shaking me.

"See who?" I asked. I was still trying to shake off the dream and my thoughts weren't very clear.

Angel snarled at me, obviously frustrated.

"The woman who was turned? Did you see her face?"

I was afraid to answer him. I knew he wouldn't like what I was about to say, but I couldn't help that.

"Yeah, yeah I did, I'm sure I did but now I can't really remember her."

"Can't you recall anything about her? Her face or just her eyes? Her hair color?"

"Red," I said, grasping at straws. "I-I think her hair was red, like Willow's."

"She wasn't Willow!" Angel snapped at me.

That was when Willow let out a little cry and Angel and I both turned to find her.

She was seated on the floor in front of the fireplace, curled up in a ball, hugging her knees to her chest. Tears were pouring down her face, and she was hiccuping as she tried to catch her breath.

"Oh God," she sobbed. "I was a vampire."

Angel rushed to side and sat quickly down, drawing her into his lap and trying to comfort her in any way he could.

"What the hell was that?" I shouted, demanding some sort of an explanation from the two people present who seemed to have some idea of what was going on.

"It was a dream," Angel stated very matter-of-factly.

"That was no fucking dream," I hissed at him. "We were... we *were* those people in that place."

Angel didn't try to deny it. In fact, he silently nodded in agreement with me. And that only made Willow cry harder.

I saw her shudder before she looked up at Angel with the most haunted eyes I've ever seen.

"But I was your mother," she gasped. "That makes what we did in--"

He quickly put his fingers to her lips, stopping her from ever speaking the word aloud.

"No it doesn't, Willow," he assured her gently. "We may possess the same souls that those people did. But the soul is only a part of what makes us who we are. We aren't related that way in this life, Will. What we did isn't wrong."

"I can't deal with this," I said to no one in particular. "I'm outta here."

That said, I started to bolt without looking back. I was half way to the door when Angel called out to me.

"Xander, stay."

It wasn't a command, it was a request and the almost pleading tone of his voice made me pause in mid-stride.

"Why should I?" I asked, my back still to them.

"I'd like for the three of us the talk. We need to share what we each experienced while we were dreaming so that maybe we can try to make some sense of it."

I turned around and glared at him.

"Did you ever think that maybe I don't want it to make sense? Maybe I just want to forget it. It was only a dream, right? You said so yourself."

"I lied."

"So, what else is new?" I spat at him. "Ever since that Parent/Teacher Night when you dragged me into the school to meet your old buddy Spike, I've known you were an undead liar guy."

"Xander, please," Willow spoke up, as she moved out of his lap and back onto the floor beside him.

"Angel's just trying to help."

"Oh yeah, like I've never heard that line before," I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster.

Angel rose and started to walk toward me. I automatically took a few steps backward. He stopped moving any closer and put both his hands up, as if to silently say, "Okay, Okay, I'll keep my distance."

"Look, Xander, I know you don't like me. You've never kept that fact a secret. And I've got to say that I admire you for your honesty. You're true to your own feelings and that 's good. Lord knows that in the time I've known you I've given you more than enough reasons to hate me. But you've distrusted me from day one. Instinctively you knew there was something wrong about me. And that's good. You should always go with what your gut tells you. It's kept you alive this long and it'll always serve you well, if you don't fight it."

I will admit that I puffed a bit with pride at that point. You see, to be honest, where Angel is concerned, I have very mixed-up emotions.

Hey, the guy's a vampire, okay. I just can't ever seem to get past that fact. Vampires are evil by nature, right? And soul or no soul, he's still a bloodsucking creature of the night. And he was right. My first instinct was to not trust him, even before I found out what he is. It was like something inside me knew that a really big part of him was bad.

Just when I'd find myself having to trust him, or a few times even wanting to trust him, Angel would go and do something to spoil it. Like get caught in lie, hurt Buffy, turn evil, pretend to turn evil again, feed-off of Buffy... I think you get the point. At times I hated him for what he did to us.

I think what I really hate is the fact that at times I actually admire the guy, and what he thinks of me somehow matters. Is that twisted, or what?

Angel's a survivor; I gotta give him that much. He may not have lived a very long life as a human, but as vampire, he's managed to stay around for over 240 years. He's a very smart guy, well educated and street-wise. It's a lethal combination when he's soulless. But when he's got a soul, it's not his brains that keep him alive. It's his heart. Something deep inside him compels Angel to go on living in spite of all bad things that he feels.

We've all seen the pain in Angel's eyes, times when he's let it show. Like when he confessed to having fed from Buffy. It was plain to see that at that moment he really hated himself. And you know me. I just couldn't resist the opportunity to help him sustain those feelings for a while longer, so I hit him with my best verbal shot to date. In a sense, he asked for it, so I didn't feel bad about doing it.

But it was the times when he didn't realize that anyone was looking at him, when his stoic mask has slipped a bit, then I saw the real suffering he lives with. It's like the door to his soul swings open just a crack, and my morbid curiosity always gets the better of me, and I sneak a peak inside. You'd think I'd have learned after the first time I did it, but noooo, every chance I got I looked. I was always overwhelmed by those small glimpses at all the hurtful things he keeps inside himself. Thank god he slammed that door shut before I ever had the chance to step into that black place. I'm not sure I could have found my own way back out.

"Xander, are you okay?"

The sound of Angel's voice pulled me out of my deep thoughts. I shook my head to clear it then looked back at him, surprised to see a very honest look of concern on his face.

"Not really. How 'bout you?"

Angel let out a wry chuckle, and got that quirky smile on his face.

"I've been better. But I've been lots worse."

I nodded my head, appreciating his candor.

"Yeah, I suppose you have."

"So, you'll stay for a while?" Willow asked as she walked up and stopped halfway between Angel and me.

I looked from Willow to Angel and then back to Willow. Fear suddenly came rushing back over me. I could actually feel stuff in my gut going all squishy. I couldn't find the right words and so I shook my head, trying to express my doubts without them.

"Please, for me?" Willow pleaded, giving me the same beseeching look that she's used on me since she was about six years old. Damn she was good. It always worked.

I simply nodded and Willow held her hand out to me. I stepped up to her, took a hold of my lifeline with my good hand and let her lead me back over to the couch. She pushed me down into the deep cushions then turned toward Angel.

"Would you start a fire?" she asked him.

"Sure."

"I'll got make some tea."

"Okay," he replied.

Then she looked back at me and smiled before walking off to the kitchen.

When Willow returned, I was just where she'd left me. Angel, having completed his assigned task, was sitting on the other section of the sofa, occupying the corner furthest from me. She put the tray with the tea on the trunk before us, then she actually shocked me by choosing to sit at my side instead of his. She leaned forward, chose a mug, then sat back and sipped at the hot beverage before speaking.

"So, Angel, just what do you think is going here?" she said as she put the cup back on the tray.

He took a moment to gather his thoughts, or maybe to chose the words that would best explain his thoughts, then he spoke very calmly, sounding quite sure of himself.

"I believe that the dreams we've been having are an expression of collective memories."

"Dreams? As in the plural of dream?" I asked, not sure I heard him correctly.

"Yes," he simply replied.

"Okay, needing background story here," I said, once again looking back and forth between the two of them.

"We've both been having the same dream for months now," Willow said softly.

"The one I had tonight?"

"No, a different one. But like the one we had tonight, Willow and I shared the visions."

"Like you and Buffy did?" I asked Angel.

He shook his head.

"No, this is different. With Buffy, it was like she got pulled into my dreams. They involved memories from this life, events that took place in my past, in Angelus' past."

"But the stuff in my dream never really happened, right?" I was starting to freak-out again and you could hear it in my voice.

Angel and Willow both seemed to find something very interesting to look at down on the floor. Neither one of them would look at me. I started to panic.

"Oh God...." I groaned.

They both looked up then.

"You're trying to tell me that it's real, that those are actually memories I have inside me? But you two weren't in the dream when it started, you guys got mixed in near the end and it looked like everything happened a long, long time ago, and.... and..."

Angel and Willow were too calm, to accepting of the whole situation.

"And oh God, it's real. We were those people?"

"A part of us was," Angel said. "I think that our souls are one and the same, that we share some of the basic essence of those people."

"Oh, great, we've got recycled souls."

"I think reincarnated is the correct term, Xander," Willow offered.

"Yeah, okay, whatever. It still boils down to the same thing."

"Pretty much," Angel said, validating my grasp of the situation.

"So you were Uriel, and Willow, Willow was that witch..."

"Máthair... yes."

"And she was your mother?"

"She was Uriel's mother."

"And we know all this because?"

Angel suddenly looked as lost and confused as we did, and I suddenly felt a bit better. It was nice knowing that the smart guy wasn't so smart after all.

"I'm not really sure," he admitted. "There are a lot of different theories and beliefs when it comes to reincarnation. One thing they all seem to have in common is that there is usually some catalyst, some out side force that triggers the surfacing of the memories. For Willow, I think it was the Mayor's Ascension that set it off. She and I started having the same dream right around the time that he started all the required pre-rituals."

"This is so not good," Willow groaned, leaning forward and hiding her face in her lap for a moment. Then she sat back up and looked to Angel for support.

"But it's not bad, is it?" she asked him with a hint of fear in her voice.

Angel held his hand out to her and I was both pleased and jealous when she accepted his invitation and left my side for his. He was doing his best to comfort her, to ease her unrest, and for that I was grateful to him. Willow's my best friend, and I love her so much. I don't want to see her hurt or upset. Still, I was jealous that she turned to him instead of me for that comfort.

I watched in silence as Angel held Willow close, stroking her hair, placing soft kisses on her cheeks and forehead, trying to calm her before answering her question.

"No, mo cara, it's not bad," he whispered to her.

"But it's not really good either." Angel said the second phrase much louder, meaning for me to hear it clearly.

"Obviously things ended on a very violent note that night," he continued. "I think that people died before they actually had the chance to fulfill their destiny. That's why we've all come back, that's why we've all come together again."

"Is that what drew you and Buffy to Sunnydale?" Willow asked him.

"I can't speak for Buffy, but it was Whistler who showed her to me. Still, maybe he was sent to push me in the right direction."

"Buffy was my daughter," I gasped as the realization of that fact hit home.

"Well, that would explain some of why I was instantly drawn to her, why I have this overwhelming need to see that she's safe. You charged Uriel with protecting her and your wife. It appears that I am bound to do the same."

"Okay, you know what's really bugging me now?"

Angel and Willow both gave me a "no, what?" look.

"I know who you guys were, but who the hell was I?"

Angel laughed. For once I didn't take offense. It wasn't a mocking laugh, it was just his way expressing the humor he saw in the fact that in a sense, I didn't know my own name. And that humor wasn't lost on me. I'll admit that it was funny, in a warped sort of way.

"Suibhne (Sweeney)," he supplied.

"As in Mad Sweeney?" Willow asked excitedly.

Angel laughed gently at her eagerness.

"That's whom he was named for, but remember, Will, Suibhne was also the King of Dal Araidhe before he started wandering, and later became the King of the Hunt."

I was shocked. Willow was just nodding her head in agreement, like she understood just what Angel was saying, while I, on the other hand was completely lost.

"Great, just great... I was named after a madman."

"He wasn't really mad, Xander, he--" Angel started to explain but then suddenly stopped in mid-sentence as Willow caught his eye. It was like Willow had caught herself drifting away from the conversation at hand and was telling him to stay focused, too. I watched in awe as Angel and Willow did that visual exchange of thoughts thing, then he spoke again.

"And that's completely off topic," Angel sighed. "Willow will give you a book to read later, if you want," he added contritely.

I had to laugh myself then, because he was actually doing just what she wanted him to do. What a hoot! Big, bad Angelus whooped by little ol' Willow. Then again, she was his mother! Ha, ha!!

Eeww, okay, that's sick. I don't want to go down that path again. Knowing that they'd had sex and knowing what they had been to each other in that past life... well, that combined knowledge led to a bad, bad visual place.

Time to follow Willow's lead and get back to the real topic of the hour.

"Okay, so what set it off for me?" I asked.

"I'm afraid that's our fault. First you were upset after learning we'd been... together. And then Willow cast that spell and it somehow sucked us all in. I'm sorry, Xander. We weren't... what happened, it..." Angel was again struggling to find the right words.

"What I did with Willow, it was wrong."

"Angelus, *no*," she cried softly.

It upset me to see the pained expressions on both of their faces. Angel didn't want to hurt Willow, he was being brutally honest for my sake. But her cry was not one of denial; it was a plea for him to allow her to share in the burden of guilt.

Willow took a hold of one of Angel's hands and I could she her squeezing it tightly, as she looked at him. I couldn't see her face at that point, but I could see his. An angry look settled on his face and I swear I saw his eyes flash with a bright golden light for just an instant before that fierce look melted into one of resignation.

Willow turned to look at me then.

"This is the last time I'm going to say this, to either of you." She showed us both her 'resolve face' before continuing.

"What Angel and I did is really nobody's business but our own. We didn't set out to hurt anyone. It doesn't feel wrong, at least not to us. Knowing what we now know, I think that our coming together was some how inevitable. It just happened too soon. Now, Angel and I are going to have to deal with the fact that you know about us. And you, Xander, are going to have to decide what you want to do with that knowledge."

"What about the other people in the dream, like Buffy? Do you think they're starting to remember things, too?"

Willow looked to Angel for support, but he only gave her non-committal shrug of his shoulders.

"It's possible," he said.

"So, who's left, aside from Buffy? Who else am I going to have to keep secrets from or share memories with?"

"Well, who else from the here and now switched places with people in your dream?" Willow queried.

"You and Angel."

"And Buffy," Willow added. "You said that Buffy was your daughter."

"Yeah, but she didn't really change, not like you guys did. Maybe it's because there was such a big age difference. You know, maybe my mind could quite switch her out. But I still know she's Buffy now. It's... it's..."

"Her eyes," Angel whispered.

I could have hugged him I was so glad he figured that out, or remember it himself.

"Yeah, it was the eyes. And not just Buffy's, but everyone's. Even before your faces changed, your eyes were the same."

"The eye's are the windows to the soul," Angel said in a voice that was barely audible.

"Wow," Willow gasped.

We were all speechless for a few minutes, pondering that last revelation. It was Willow who broke the silence.

"So, that's it? Just the three of us?"

I could only give Willow a look that said, "how should I know". Then I saw Angel hang his head and shake it slowly.

"No," he croaked, obviously choking on some serious emotions. A few moments later he looked up, and I was shocked to see bloody tears in his eyes.

"There's still Suibhne's wife," he managed to whisper before he started to cry.

Willow moved over on the sofa, then pulled Angel down beside her so that his head was cradled in her lap as he curled-up into tight little ball.

"And you know this because?"

Well, obviously those two had shared a lot more than just their bodies, because it was Willow who answered my question, not Angel.

"Because he's dreamt about her every night since he was sent back from Hell."

"But that doesn't make sense. She didn't change in the dream. She can't be someone from the here and now."

"She's not a someone, Xander. She's a something, remember? Máthair turned her. She's a vampire now."

"And what makes Angel think that she's still alive?"

"She was with me in Hell."

Well, that did it. One too many cards added to an already unstable foundation. That last straw was the one that broke the camel's back. That final revelation was the one that sent me running.

"You know what, guys, that's just one piece too many for this bizarre puzzle. I... I just can't process anymore. I... I need to... to think. To ponder of all this... long and hard pondering, that's what I need. I need to go, to be gone, to be elsewhere."

No one tried to halt my exit that time.

After wandering about the streets of Sunnydale for a few hours, I found myself standing before the heavy wooden door of the only person I felt could help me at that point. It was just after dawn and tucked under my injured arm was my booty, my bribe. A box of one dozen jelly doughnuts.

I used my unbroken hand to rap on the door and then held my breath as I waited for Giles to answer my knock.

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~*When Willow returned, I was just where she'd left me. Angel, having completed his assigned task, was sitting on the other section of the sofa, occupying the corner furthest from me. She put the tray with the tea on the trunk before us, then she actually shocked me by choosing to sit at my side instead of his. She leaned forward, chose a mug, then sat back and sipped at the hot beverage before speaking.