FIC: Almost Home

Author: Jill

Email: Connemara.Scarlets@t-online.de

Disclaimer: I SO do not own them, so please don't sue.

Rating: PG-13 (I guess)

Category: Angst, Drama, Romance

Copyright: January 2002

Distribution: my site, Land of Denial, Ducks Fanficboard, if you have any of my stories, just take it, anybody else please tell me where it goes

Spoilers: the whole B/A thing, AND I'm using a spoiler I've heard that Buffy tells Tara about her and Spike, and of course the whole 'Buffy came back wrong'-thingy. This is my idea what could happen. Oh, and one very important thing. The meeting between Angel and Buffy after Flooded never happened.

Summary: After Buffy goes and tells Tara about her affair with Spike, the Wicca finds out something deeply shocking

Timeline: some weeks into the future

Feedback: uhm, sure!!!

Dedication: This goes to Sara-Lee for the wonderful poem she sent me today. Thanks, honey!

IMPORTANTNOTE: For the sake of this story, the meeting between Buffy and Angel after Flooded never happened. Angel was told that Buffy is back. But they didn't have any contact. Why? You'll find out as soon as you read the story. And the way the BtVS-canon has ignored the character of "Angel" (of course it was vice-versa with AtS, but that's not the point here) I think none of them would have thought anything by Buffy not calling Angel or mentioning him. They think she's over him after all.

IMPORTANTNOTE 2: I haven't seen "Birthday". So for this story it never happened.

The blond woman stopped on the sidewalk, looking at the iron gates. Reaching into her pocket she produced a crumpled piece of paper, and trying to see in the light of the streetlamp she narrowed her eyes.

Yes, the address was correct. That was the hotel she'd been looking for.

She shifted the backpack on her shoulder, then taking a deep breath, she walked through the gate towards the double doors. There was light inside, and looking through the glass, the woman could see people walking around. An African-American who was frowning at a stake in his hand. He was big, not just tall, but big all over. But he had a friendly face and she relaxed instantly.

She didn't know any of the people inside the hotel, and as she was shy in nature, she didn't feel too good about coming here, but she had to talk to someone, and at home, where she came from, there was nobody.

Tears welled up in her eyes, her thoughts wandering to her lover, the woman she'd left. There had been times when she would have gone to her. Not anymore though.

A woman stood behind a counter, rubbing her temples, her eyes closed, her short dark-hair showing highlights. Another woman, her hair long, joined her, carrying something in her arms that looked like a baby.

A baby?

Nobody had ever mentioned a baby when talking about the group in L.A., but then the group in L.A. wasn't mentioned that often, anyway. Or maybe she hadn't listened. Well, it didn't really matter. She'd come here for a reason and the baby wasn't one of them.

Another man came into the lobby, he was older than the other people in the room, with dark hair, glasses on his nose, bookish looking. That had to be the former watcher. She remembered his name. Wesley.

And finally she saw him. Dressed all in black, tall, his complexion even paler than Spike's, or maybe it was just the contrast between his dark hair and his white skin, she didn't know. His eyes were dark, warm, and friendly. He walked over to the girl holding the child, spoke to them, then walked to the African-American, and they laughed.

Taking another deep breath she finally pushed the doors open and entered the building. Inside she stopped, seeing all faces turning, looking at her quizzically.

Then the woman behind the counter, the one with the short hair, smiled. "Hello. Welcome to Angel Investigations. I'm Cordelia. Can we help you?"

A bit taken aback by that kind of welcome, she had to swallow before she was able to form a word of her own. "H-hello," she said softly, hating the tremble in her voice.

"Hello. Is there anything we can do for you?"

Soft brown eyes looked at her, and she felt herself drawn to them. The trembling she'd felt just before ceased instantly. "Are you A-angel?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "I'm Angel. Were you looking for me?"

"Y-yes," she nodded, walked down the steps, smiling shyly at the others who were watching her with interest. "My n-ame is T-tara. I'm a ... was a friend of W-Willow's."

"Willow's?," the woman with the short hair quirked a brow. "As in Willow Rosenberg? The witch?"

Something close to anger flickered through Tara's eyes, but she managed to suppress the emotion quickly. "Yes," she confirmed. "We ... uh ... were f-friends."

"Were?" The man, Tara thought was called Wesley, tilted his head. "Oh, I'm sorry," he apologized instantly. "I'm Wesley. Wesley Wyndon-Price."

"Hi," she gave him a quick smile, then looked back at Angel. "I n-need to talk to you. It's i-important." She closed her eyes for a moment, hating the stammer in her voice, but she felt so nervous about the things she had to say, she couldn't help it.

"Of course," Wesley made an inviting gesture towards his office, but the young woman shook her head.

"No. I need to talk to A-angel. Alone."

"Maybe we should check her for weapons first."

"Cordy!" Angel's voice was sharp, and he gave a curt shake of his head.

"Gee, sorry for caring," the brunette huffed, turned away, started to write at the computer.

"Sorry for that," the vampire apologized.

"I'm sure Cordelia didn't mean any harm." Fred spoke up for the first time. She smiled at the baby in her arms, then looked at the blond woman. "She just wanted to make sure that you weren't some assassin those lawyers sent."

"Assassin?" Tara almost choked on the word, her face turning pale.

Sighing inwardly, Angel shook his head. "It's nothing. Ah. Wes, could we..."

"Oh. Of course. By all means, take my office," the former watcher hurried to reply. "You'll be undisturbed."

"Thanks." The vampire gave him a grateful nod, then gestured Tara to follow him.

As soon as they were both seated, Angel in Wesley's chair, Tara opposite to him, the vampire propped his elbows on the desk, entwined his fingers and rested his chin atop of them. "Alright. Here we are. Tell me what's so important."

Tara bit her lower lip, feeling suddenly uncertain. She'd been so sure after her conversation with Buffy. And now, all of a sudden, she wasn't sure anymore. What if Angel didn't even care? He hadn't seen Buffy for a long time. But no, Willow had told her about his reaction to Buffy's death. He still cared. But knowing he did, made it almost worse when she thought about what she was going to say.

She saw his expectant gaze resting on her, and summoning all her resolve, she said, "It's about Buffy."

Ice-edged panic sliced nastily up his spine. He suppressed it instantly. "Buffy?"

He hadn't allowed himself to think about her for a long time. Of course her name, her face, had entered his mind from time to time but he'd managed to push it into a back corner of it. There was no use in thinking about her. They were living separate lives now. Wishing for the impossible only made things harder. And reaching rock bottom last year was all he could take for a while.

Or so he'd thought.

Then Buffy had died and Angel had understood the meaning of the word despair. The moment Willow told him she was gone, he had been sure he'd die, too. But surprisingly he hadn't. He was still there, was still trying to save souls, was even laughing. Then Buffy was suddenly back, but they hadn't seen each other, hadn't even talked, and somehow Angel had managed to convince himself it was for the best.

He didn't need it. Not now, not when with Connor, a son he hadn't expected to ever have, a new purpose, a new meaning had entered his life. He was happy, he told himself. And he was, wasn't he? They were having fun, he and his little family. He didn't need Buffy now, didn't even want her. Buffy was heartbreak, pain, loss. He didn't want it. Not anymore. He wanted to be happy. Human. Normal.

Buffy didn't fit into this.

But try as he might, just her name brought back so many memories. He didn't want them, but they came nevertheless.

He expected her to say the worst, Tara could see it in his eyes, and God, she didn't bring good news. But she'd come so far, she wouldn't back down now. "Yes, Buffy. Sh-she ... came to me two days ago. She n-needed to talk. And W-willow isn't ... a lot happened in Sunnydale."

"Is she alright?"

The words were out before Angel could stop them. He hadn't wanted to say them, he didn't want to make her life his business again. But, he realised instantly, she was. It would never change. He could try to pretend, but it would never work.

"No, I'm afraid she's not." She saw the concern in his eyes, and hurried to add, "She is ... physically."

He relaxed instantly. But then frowned, "Physically?"

She nodded. "There are things ...," she paused, not quite sure how to go on, then said, "As I s-said, two days ago she came to me. Sh-she needed to talk. I-"

Talk? Buffy had needed a friend to talk? Willow was her friend, wasn't she? Why hadn't she tried to talk to Willow? "You said you were Willow's friend," he interrupted her, his eyes intent.

"I am ... I was ... We were lovers. I helped them ... the group. I'm a witch, too," she said with a smile, "But Willow is far ahead of me. She's ... she always had a thing for dark magic. But ever since she's brought Buffy back the whole thing is getting out of hand. She promised not to use it again, but ... I know she's trying, but ...," she shook her head. "That really doesn't belong here."

He accepted it with a nod, his eyes inviting her to continue. "So she came to you?"

"Yes. Buffy c-came to me and-," she paused for a moment. "I think she would have preferred to talk to Willow, but they had ... have ... problems. So she came to me, I think because there was nobody else."

"What about Xander?" Although he'd never been fond of the boy, Angel knew Xander's feelings for Buffy had always been genuine. And, so he had to admit, a big part of their dislike of each other was the fact that they were both in love with the same woman.

"Xander," the first genuine smile appeared on the blonde's face, "He's busy. He's getting married."

Angel did a double take, "He's, what?"

Tara grinned, "He's getting married. His girlfriend of a year. Anya. She was a vengeance demon, but then, so I've been told, one of her sp-spells went wrong and she became human."

Fate, Angel thought, certainly went mysterious ways. Xander, who'd once hated everything that wasn't entirely human, except Buffy of course, would soon be married to a former vengeance demon. He wondered if Xander ever saw the irony of it.

"I see," he said simply.

She became serious again, "B-but getting back to B-buffy. She ... she was terribly upset. At the beginning her words didn't make sense. I think ...," she sighed, "It was terrible. In the end, however, I found out what it was all about. It's some kind of ... uh ... lacking a better term, I'd call it addiction."

His eyes narrowed. "Addiction? She's taking drugs? Drinking?" He couldn't get himself to picturing Buffy as a drug addict. The shoe just didn't fit.

"No. No, nothing of that sort," she hurried to reply. "It's not as obvious. But," she nodded, more to herself, "Addiction is the right word."

God, this was so hard. From all Willow had told her the relationship between Buffy and Angel had been more than just a crush. Had been very special. "She's addicted ... to ... to ... Spike."

He reeled backward as if she'd slapped him, staring at her as if he hadn't understood. "Spike?" Spike? Addicted to Spike? He tried to form a thought, but his mind failed.

"Yes," she confirmed. And when he still stared at her, she added. "She's sexually addicted. It's out of her control. She doesn't know how to deal with it. She hates it. But she's also enjoying it. She's going back to him. It's been going on for weeks."

He shook his head, tried to clear his mind, "Are you telling me that ... Buffy ... and ... Spike..."

Buffy and Spike. Buffy and Spike. Buffy and Spike.

Sexual addiction.

Of course he'd seen it. Had watched it. You didn't get to be over 200 years old without seeing one thing or two. But those things had nothing to do with Buffy. Buffy was a slayer. She was good. Spike was a vampire. He was not.

"Yes."

The word exploded in his head, made him flinch visibly. Denial was equally quick.

"No."

In a swift motion he was out of his chair, pacing the floor. "No," he repeated. "I don't believe it. Buffy would never do something like that. It's simply not possible." It couldn't be, mustn't be. Not Buffy. Not with Spike. Not the blond girl he lo-, NO! He wouldn't go there. He couldn't. It wasn't like her. But she had died after all. Many things could happen when a person died. He knew it first hand.

Still, it didn't fit. Buffy wasn't a vampire. Willow would have told them. But the redhead had said nothing besides that Buffy was back and well. It made no sense. But the young woman in his, Wesley's, office had told him. And he had no reason to doubt her words. She seemed honest, more even, she was genuinely concerned.

Angel forced himself to look at Tara, "What ... happened?"

"That's difficult to explain," she began slowly.

"Try it," he said. "There isn't much I haven't seen or heard."

She smiled, "Yes, I believe there isn't." She leaned back in her chair, watched him through serious, but friendly eyes. "I think your first reaction was interesting. You said, it wasn't possible. And in a way you were right. Buffy would never do such a thing." She paused, carefully choosing her next words, "At least not the Buffy we know."

His brows furrowed, "The Buffy we know?"

"Yes, that's what I said. The girl who came back ... she isn't the Buffy you know. I already told you that W-willow is drawn towards dark magic. We prepared this ritual. And we used it. I was certain it hadn't worked, when suddenly Buffy was back. W-willow was gone for hours, and then Buffy was back. She never told any of us wh-what she did that night, so I can only guess. But I'm sure the ritual *we* used didn't work."

"So how did she get back?," he asked, after sitting down again. In his head his thoughts were running wild. The images of Buffy with Spike making him sick. The revelation that Buffy ... twisted his gut into thousands of knots. His expression, however, was calm and controlled.

"I don't know," Tara admitted. "But Giles was very a-angry when he found out what Willow had done. I think he knew more than any of us. Or guessed." She paused for a moment. Then took a deep breath, "Anyways. One night, before Buffy died, we were together. You know, girls night, with Willow, Anya, Dawn, Buffy. And I ... I checked auras ... it was just for fun, and I checked Buffy's."

Before he'd known the Host Angel might have frowned at her, but now he simply nodded.

She gave him a quick smile. "Alright. And then ... when she came, telling me about Spike ... I checked it again. It wasn't the same."

He gazed at her for a long moment. "But," he said finally, "isn't that to be expected? She died after all."

"Maybe," Tara admitted. "I think it could be possible. But ... it's not in her case. It has nothing to do with it. The aura wasn't just changed. It's completely different."

"Different?"

"Yes, different. As yours and mine are different," she explained, giving him a pointed look.

He seemed speechless for a moment. "As yours and ... but we're two different people."

"Exactly," she replied, smiling slightly. "Two different people. Like ... the Buffy who was telling me about Spike. And the one who died."

Angel was stunned. Two different people? Two different Buffy's?

"Believe me," the blond said, seeing his reaction, "I was a surprised as you are. Or maybe 'shocked' would be the more fitting expression."

"'Surprised' doesn't exactly describe my feelings right now either," he muttered. "I don't understand. And frankly, I have a hard time believing all this."

"I know. Me too."

"But ...," he ran a hand through his hair, tried to sort through his confused mind, "who is she, if she isn't ... Buffy."

"But that's just the point. She is Buffy. But not the Buffy we knew."

Angel shook his head, "Not the Buffy we know? You said that before. What the hell do you mean?"

"I mean ... I think Willow never brought our Buffy back. The dead Buffy. What happened was that she pulled one out of another dimension."

"What?" Angel was out of his chair in a flash. He turned away, his movements jerky. After a moment he sat down, stood again, his palms on the surface of the desk, Tara could hear him breathe heavily. Regarding the fact that a vampire didn't need to breathe at all, she could only guess how disturbed his was.

She saw him shut his eyes, his fingers clench into fists. "So ... Buffy ... is dead?"

God, no. He couldn't do it again. He couldn't lose her. He'd lost her once. Not again. Please, God, not again.

"Yes," she confirmed, her eyes cast to the ground.

He turned away swiftly, his body rigid.

She continued tentatively, "She is dead. And hopefully in heaven. The Buffy we brought back ... she died, too. But we might have ... intercepted her on her way. Or rather Willow has."

She was silent then, just watching him. His shoulders were awfully tense, and she knew he was struggling for control. After what seemed an eternity, but were only minutes in reality, she said quietly, "I don't know a lot about you and she. They don't talk about it a lot. But from what I've heard she must have been very special to you."

She saw a shudder go through his whole being. He turned slowly, and when he finally looked at her she had a hard time not to gasp at the pain she saw in his handsome features. "Yes," he managed. "She was ... special."

At that moment she realised, 'special' didn't come even close. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault," he replied, finally able to unclench his fists. Slowly the pain made room for a blessed numbness.

"No," she agreed. "Still I was the one who told you."

"Don't be sorry. I'm glad you came. I ... I don't know what I would've done if Buffy ... if I'd heard about her and Spike and thought ..." He took a deep breath, shook his head, "Thank you for telling me."

He lowered his head, stared at the desk. She could almost touch his grief and hated herself for doing what she was about to do. But her conscience wouldn't let her do anything else. She hesitated for a moment, then forced herself to go on. "That's ... not all, I'm afraid."

His head came up abruptly, and for a moment she saw moisture in his eyes, but it was instantly gone. "Wh-what do you mean?," he asked, clearing his throat.

"I came because I ... that is, Buffy, this Buffy, needs your help."

He wanted to shout 'no'. He wanted to deny this was happening. He felt so raw inside, he couldn't think straight. He didn't want to be part of this, didn't want to feel more pain. He couldn't even begin to imagine what it would be like. To see Buffy, and yet, not to see her. He didn't want it, but he also knew he wouldn't deny his help. This might not be the Buffy he knew and loved, but he couldn't turn his back on this. On her.

Struggling for composure, he took a deep breath, "Go on."

A relieved smile appeared on Tara's face. "Because I ... uh ... didn't believe my own eyes at first, I asked some questions. About her l-life. Why she felt so lost and stuff." She saw him listen intently, and went on, "It turned out that in her world, her dimension, or whatever, you died."

His eyes widened, "What?"

"There was an Armageddon. The Hellmouth opened. You offered to give your life, and although she begged you not to, you did."

A vivid memory shot into his mind. Of a giant snake coming right through the floor of the library. Of a fight. He remembered having been unconscious. But he hadn't died. Obviously in the other dimension he had.

Tara saw the expression in his eyes, and nodded, "It seems you know what she's talking about."

"I do." He did. He would never forget the panic and concern in her eyes when he'd opened his. And the joy when she realised he was alive.

"From what I understand, this seems to have been the breaking point. It a-also seems that everything else that happened in our world happened in her world as well. Riley was her boyfriend. She lived, she fought, but after losing you, she lost ... yes ... in a way she lost herself."

He saw the look in her eyes and clearing his throat, he made himself ask, "What is it you want me to do?"

Her eyes were very serious, full of compassion, and also a little sad, "Nothing," she replied honestly, "This isn't about me, or even about you. It's a-about a very confused woman who hurts and has lost her way. What you have to do? I think you already know."

"Yes," he said gravely. "Yes, I do."

The vampire smirked at her. In another time, in another life, another Buffy would have given him a smart-ass remark, beaten him up a while, to kill him in the end. But this Buffy didn't even as much as blink, didn't say a word, simply drove the stake home, didn't watch, didn't care when the vampire turned to ashes.

It had been a long time since anything had mattered to her.

For a while she had let herself believe things might change, might be different. When Riley had stepped into her life

He'd been so steady, so down to earth, so normal. And she had found that attractive. She'd been able to care for him. But after a while it had changed. Today she knew why. Denial only worked for a certain time. Maybe, if they could have spent all their time in bed, lost in pure physical pleasure, maybe it would have worked out.

Because the sex had been good. It had been frequent. When she slept with him she could delude herself into fantasies, could pretend he'd bring her flowers, and that their love could be wild and uncontrolled, something special, earth-shattering, something that made her burn and shake.

But of course it wasn't that way. And she'd known the truth all along. At first he'd loved the excitement that was her, was drawn to her because of the danger, had been attracted to it. But deep inside he would always be the Iowa-farm-boy who wanted a nice normal wife who'd be looking up to him. She didn't blame him for it. That's who he was, he couldn't change it.

But neither could she.

In the end her job had been the problem, what equally meant *she*'d been the problem. Because being the Slayer wasn't just a job, it made you the person you were.

And she was so tired of it.

So tired of being the Slayer, the responsible one, so tired of giving up her youth, her innocence, for a lost cause. That's what it was in the end.

A lifetime ago she had believed this battle would end some day.

She didn't believe it anymore.

She didn't *believe* anymore. Couldn't. Because the moment you believed you could lose. And she'd lost enough already. Enough to last for a lifetime. She could deal with almost everything. But not with loss. Not again with loss.

Sometimes she thought her lack of belief was the centre of her problem. Because losing it had meant losing a part of herself.

She sighed, brushing off the vampire dust from her slacks, ignoring the feeling of disgust when she touched herself. Also another lifetime ago, she would have turned around now, found his smiling face, and kissed him, sinking into him, letting herself fall, knowing he would catch her, no matter what.

Quickly she blinked tears away. She hadn't allowed herself to think about him for long. Had tucked him away, deep down inside, where nobody could touch him, but herself. And she had denied herself to do it, not able to deal with the pain it caused. Not able to deal with the disapproval of her friends when she mentioned him.

What, she was still thinking about him? Could she be more pitiful? It was more than a year, more than two even, almost three.

She couldn't stand it. Couldn't deal with it. As a result she'd stopped saying his name, had tried to avoid anything that might give them a hint she was still harbouring feelings for a vampire that was long dust and forgotten.

Forgotten.

By them. But not by her. She would never forget. His smile, his eyes, his voice, everything was inside of her, close to her heart.

She glanced at her watch. It was too late. Dawn was waiting for her.

Too late.

Much too late.

Walking through the alley she heard a noise, then she felt him. She didn't have to turn to know he was there. The shiver - a mixture of anticipation and disgust - went through her body whenever he was near. If she'd not given up herself long ago she would walk on, not caring that he was standing in the shadows, watching her. As it was, she stopped, turned around.

She closed her eyes and moaned when he pushed her up against the wall, his cool hands finding her zipper. She felt his cool breath, and pretended he was someone else.

Angel threw more clothes into the bag standing on his bed, and tried to ignore Cordelia's presence. The brunette was standing in the doorway of his room, arms crossed in front of her chest, and the vampire could almost feel her disapproval.

He didn't want to deal with her right now, but knew it was inevitable. He felt too raw. The news Tara had given him were too fresh, the idea of Buffy being really dead ... It was all too much.

"What if I have a vision?," she asked now, leaning her shoulder against the door.

"Then Wes and Gunn will take care of it," he said calmly. "They've taken care of it before."

"But the visions aren't their business, they're yours."

Suppressing a sigh, Angel turned towards his drawer, searching for more shirts. "I know that. But this is important."

"I don't like it."

"Believe it or not, Cordy, but I already realised that," he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. He didn't want to fight with her, but her attitude was getting on his nerves. All he wanted was to hide, and pretend Tara had never been there, but it wasn't an option. To deal with Cordy on top of that was testing the boundaries of his self-control.

"And of course you don't even care. It's because of her. Say Buffy's name and Angel leaves all that's important, to stand by her side," she said acidly.

"It's not ...," his hands in the drawer stilled, a new wave of pain rolling over him. "It is not Buffy," he managed finally, tried to control his voice. "I mean ... it is Buffy, but not this Buffy."

"You already explained that-"

"Then why the hell can't you leave it." He whirled around, his eyes dark with new pain, but angry at the same time. "We are here to help people. Buffy ... the other ...," his voice cracked, and he had to clear his throat, "... She needs our help. You heard Tara. She's getting help. Mine."

Her annoyance turned into compassion in an instant. Stepping into the room, she walked to him, put a hand on his arm, "Angel, I'm sorry. I know this is hard for you-"

"You have no idea." He shrugged her hand off, put two more shirts into his back, then opened another drawer in search for socks.

She took a deep breath, "I understand why you feel you have to help," she said slowly, tentatively reaching out for him, but not daring to touch, "But whoever the girl is, she still looks like Buffy. Obviously nobody in Sunnydale even realised she was different until Tara checked her aura. That means you're going to deal with a Buffy-look-alike." She sighed deeply, "Besides, we still don't know if this Tara-person is for real."

"She is," Angel replied, not looking at her. "I remember Willow mentioning her. Besides, I saw her. I forgot about it, but I saw her. With Buffy. At Joyce's funeral." Why the hell couldn't she leave him alone? He'd made his decision. He was going to Sunnydale. He was grateful for her friendship, for her compassion, but he couldn't deal with her anger.

He heard her step back. "What about Connor?"

"What about him?," he asked.

"Well, who's going to protect him? Hello, Wolfram & Hart, Holtz, half of the evil population of this continent after him, does it ring a bell?"

"I'm going to protect him," he told her, throwing several pairs of socks into his bag, then closing the zipper.

"You?," her brows rose, "And how, all mighty Angel, are you going to do it? I thought you were going to Sunnydale."

"I am. So is Connor." Why on earth was he having this conversation, Angel wondered not for the first time?

"So is Connor?" She stared at him incredulously. "You are going to take him with you?"

"Yes. He's my son, Cordelia. Of course I'm going to take him with me. Besides, as you already pointed out, he needs protection. And I'm the strongest around. So he comes with me." He sighed, walked to his nightstand to get the book he was currently reading. Not that he actually thought he would have time for it, but he liked to pack a good book. You never knew when it might come in handy.

"And, pray, who's going to take care of him while you're on your Buffy-saving-mission?"

Her voice had a biting quality now, and Angel wanted to turn and strangle her. He closed his eyes for a moment, counted backward from ten, then did it again. "Tara will look after him," he said simply, putting the book on top of his bag.

"What?," she exclaimed. "She is practically a stranger. You're going to let a stranger look after him? Well, that really shows your preferences, doesn't it. While you barely let us touch him, you're trusting a girl you barely know, and all because your precious Buffy needs you."

"Cordy," he warned, his voice low. He was really getting fed up with her attitude. "Tara is a witch, she can look after him. In case she can use magic to protect him."

"So, uh ... you're a witch, huh?"

Tara smiled at the young woman sitting opposite to her, the baby sleeping in her arms. "Yeah. Sort of," she replied.

"That sounds interesting. I've seen witches before. And wizards. And vampires of course." Fred smiled, too. She liked the quiet blond. She had warm, friendly eyes, and a nice smile. "Angel saved my life. And he brought me back."

"Back?" Tara's brow's rose.

"I was sucked into another dimension," she explained, smiling at the sleeping child.

The blond witch was instantly alert, "Another dimension?"

"Uh-huh," Fred nodded. "Cordelia was sucked into the dimension, too. And so Angel and the others went after her. While they were there, they found me. And when they went back they took me with them."

"How was the other dimension called?," Tara wanted to know. Another dimension? That might be interesting at a certain point. She had heard that Angel had been to a demon's dimension, but so far she didn't know that he'd also been in another non-demon dimension.

"Pylea," Fred replied. "People weren't people there. They were cows."

Cows? Tara raised a brow. "You were glad to leave?"

"Oh yes," the other woman said without hesitation. "It wasn't nice there. But it's not easy to be back. Five years are a long time."

"You were gone for five years?"

"Hmmm," Fred shifted Connor in her arms. "Maybe I should explain now about Connor?," she offered. "You are going to care for him after all."

Making a mental note to ask Angel about Pylea on their way to Sunnydale, Tara gave Fred a smile, and listened to the girl's words.

"I'll be back as soon as possible," Angel looked at Cordelia, reached for his bag.

"Sure," she shrugged, "Ask me if I care. All I see is that you're letting us down, again. For some Buffy from another dimension."

"Cordy," Angel warned again, feeling the anger inside of him.

"I'm not surprised, anyway," she went on, ignored his warning, "You did it before, so it's not really-"

"Cordelia, that is enough." Wesley's sharp voice interrupted her. Glaring at her for a moment, the watcher turned his head, looked at Angel. When his eyes fell on the bag, he asked, "Ready?"

"Yeah," the vampire replied, "I have my cell phone. If there's an emergency you can reach me at any time."

"Sure," Cordelia scoffed. "Because you're going to leave Buffy for something as simple as an Armageddon."

Before Angel could react, Wesley turned towards the brunette, "There is no Armageddon anywhere in sight," he said calmly. "Besides, we can handle L.A. for a while. Angel won't be gone forever. And he's taking Connor with him. So this resurrected vampire hunter and the lawyers will be off our back for the time being."

"So you're supporting him in this?," Cordy glared at the former watcher accusingly. "You're his boss. You should keep him away from her. Far, far away." She felt tears well up in her eyes, and angrily blinked them away. Damn. She wouldn't cry. Not in front of them. They were stupid, just stupid. Didn't they see where this all led to?

Clearing his throat, Angel took his bag. "I'll be in touch. If you don't call me I'm going to call once a day."

"Yes, that's a good idea," Wesley agreed. "And we will keep you updated on any problems that might occur."

The two men looked at each other. "Thanks for ...," Angel trailed off.

"No need," the former watcher smiled at him. "Be careful."

"I am," the vampire promised. "I will be." He stopped, his eyes falling on Cordelia. "I'm sorry," he said softly.

She glared at him for a moment, then her gaze softened, "I'm sorry, too," she said gruffly. "It's just ..." Hating the emotion in her voice, she took a deep breath. "That means I'm going to find myself on the floor again in the aftermath of visions, huh?," she tried to joke.

Angel gave her a warm, grateful smile, squeezed her arm. "Thanks," he said. "I can't ignore this. It's important."

"I know," she replied, sniffling slightly. "And I understand it. It's just that Buffy ... She's never been ..." She grumbled something, then shook her head. "Go already. We're good. It's not as if we're totally helpless, you know."

Angel looked at her for a long moment, then grinned. Then he turned and walked down the stairs.

"How did you do it?"

Tara looked up, blinked, "Sorry, what?"

Angel smiled slightly, not taking his eyes from the road, "I asked, how you did it? How did you find out Buffy wasn't the Buffy we knew?"

"As I told you," she replied promptly. "I checked her aura."

"Yes, I know that. But why did you do it? Was there a reason you doubted her?"

"Oh," she laughed a little bit. "That. Uhm ... I don't know. I ... I think m-maybe ... She just seemed wrong. Like the last time, you know, when Faith stole her body. There was something. The way she talked. I can't really explain."

"You act on feelings," he mused, nodding to himself. "We all do that. Some of us less, others more." He sighed, "I tend to act on them most of the time."

She grinned, "Nothing wrong with feelings."

He chuckled and they were silent for a long time. Then it was Angel who again broke the silence. "How did it happen? Did she tell you? Why she got hooked up with Spike, I mean."

"No," she shook her head. "I think she's too confused right now to think straight. It more or less happened. I should have guessed it. We all should have."

"Why?"

She shrugged, "She was different. Not caring for Dawn. Or at least not really, while before she died, Dawn was the centre of her worries. Sure, there was the whole Glory-thing, but ... Spike made moves before. Buffy only rolled her eyes and shrugged them away." She paused, bit her lower lip. "I think she even initiated it. The whole Spike-thing I mean."

"You think?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "She doesn't avoid him. Even seeks him out. I never thought anything by it, until ... On the other side, S-spike's cockier than ever. He always stayed in the shadows before. All of a sudden he's like ..."

"He might not have initiated it, but he sure as hell worked for it to happen," Angel growled suddenly.

Her head snapped around, "What do you mean?"

The vampire took a deep breath, thinking of times when he, Darla, Dru, and Spike travelled together. "I've known Spike for a long time, Tara. And I probably know him better than anyone else." Sure, Dru was with him much longer, but as her mind was elsewhere most of the time, it didn't really count. "Spike is ... he was always pathetic. His whole life, or unlife, for that matter, he tried to be more than he was."

"Kind of rising above his level?," she asked.

"Yes. And I bet he's realised he'll never be able to rise to Buffy's level, so he does all he can to pull her down on his. He knows he can't do it physically, so he tries the mental path. You say she's emotionally vulnerable. That's perfect for him. It's the way his mind works. The way a vampire's mind works."

"So by pulling her down, he feels as if he's risen up?"

He gave her a quick approving glance. There was a lot more to this girl than the first impression told you. "Yes," he confirmed. He remembered the expression in Spike's eyes after killing the Slayer in China. It had made him cocky, hell, more than that. Hadn't Tara said something about Spike feeling cocky?

"Slayers are strong, not just in body, but also - after enough training - in mind, they are meant to be stronger than vampires. Challenging them was a thrill for Spike, killing them," he paused for a moment, then went on, "It's like reaching his ultimate goal."

"Did you ever kill a Slayer?," Tara wanted to know.

"No," Angel shook his head. "I fought one or two, but never to the death." He thought about it for a moment, then amended, "No, it's not entirely true. I fought one - and she won. Fortunately." When he saw Tara raise a questioning brow, he explained. "It was Buffy. I lost my soul and ..."

"Oh, I remember that. She sent you to a demon's dimension."

"Yeah," he confirmed, "she did. It was different with Buffy. We had a ... connection while I still had my soul. Anyways. No, I never killed a Slayer. Never felt the urge to do so. But then," he chuckled slightly, "I always thought I was the greatest already."

"You mean you didn't need anyone to make you feel more important."

"Hell, no. I've done a lot of things, things I would never tell anyone, but I never had a problem with my ego. It was always big enough. Spike on the other hand ... He was a wanna-be-poet." He had to chuckle again, "God, he was so pathetic. I didn't understand at first why Dru chose him. Later ...," he trailed off, glanced at Tara. "Sorry, I didn't want to bore you. I got off track."

"No," she shook her head, "Not at all. I thought it was fascinating."

One of his brows came up, "You did?"

"Yeah," she smiled. "So you ... assume it's like the ultimate power kick for him to get close to a Slayer. Maybe it's even more so that he's sleeping with her now, not just killing her."

"Probably," Angel looked at her thoughtfully, then snorted in disgust, "Who knows. I'm not going to spend my time trying to understand what's going on in Spike's head. I'd rather find him and end this mess. With a neat wooden stake through his heart."

Tara shot him a startled glance.

He smiled, "Why did you come to me?"

"To L.A.?," she asked, and when he nodded, she explained, "As I said, Willow is ... I can't go to her. We had problems. She was using magic in a way," she sighed loudly, frowned, "I ... I left her. B-because she couldn't control it anymore. And Buffy came to me after all. I think because we aren't close. She's too ashamed to tell her friends."

He nodded. "At least Spike can't hurt her. With the chip and all."

"Oh," Tara straightened in her seat. "But he can," she said, feeling stupid for forgetting to tell him earlier. "That's another thing she told me. He can beat her. And because of it, he told her she came back wrong. That was another reason why I checked her aura."

"Wrong?" The car lost it's track for a moment, but Angel had it under control again. "Sorry," he apologized.

"It's o-okay," she gave him a shaky smile. She'd already seen herself lying somewhere in the ditch. Maybe while he was driving the car wasn't the time to give Angel all the details.

"What do you mean wrong?," he asked, his voice holding a hint of urgency.

"I don't know. That she is from another dimension can't be an explanation. I mean, she's still human. Still a S-slayer, whatever dimension she comes from. And her aura was totally human."

He nodded again, his expression thoughtful. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone, pressed a number. "Yeah ... Wes, hi. It's me. I need a favour. ... Yes, we're fine. Not yet there. Wes, could you please check into Slayers for me ... Oh, I know, ... I know you know all about them, no, what I mean is. How human are they? Can there be a change in their status? ... Fine. And also, how can someone's status change when he's resurrected." He rolled his eyes and Tara suppressed a giggle, "I know, Wes. I know there isn't anything. Maybe Cordy could ... yeah, yeah, I know she's still angry with me. Anyways. Please ask her to search the net. I need every information available. ... Yes. Thanks, Wes," he glanced at the sleeping baby in Tara's arms, "he's fine. We will. Thanks again. Bye."

He sighed, stuffed the phone back into his pocket. "You heard?," he asked.

"Yes. I-I'm not sure he'll find anything."

Angel nodded and sighed, "Me neither. But we'll have to try all sources." He saw the Sunnydale sign passing by, "One thing. Does Buffy know?"

"You mean about the fact that she's from another dimension? No, I didn't tell her. Given her current state of mind I was afraid it might send her over the edge."

"That's good. And I assume you didn't tell anyone about going to L.A.?"

"No," she confirmed. "I didn't. The only person I'm still talking to is Dawn, and besides, I didn't know how you'd react."

He smiled sadly, "You weren't sure if I would help, huh? To tell the truth, if I could've chosen, I would've stayed far away. But ... although she's not really Buffy and ... all. I could never turn my back on her. Not really."

"Yes, I know that. Now," she smiled gently. "But I didn't know you before. And nobody ever talks about you. I mean, your n-name came up sometimes, before she d-died. Ever since ...," she shrugged, "Buffy ... this Buffy of course doesn't mention you, and the others ...," she trailed off, shrugged again.

"I didn't expect anything else," Angel told her. "Buffy and I ... there's been a lot between us ... Most of all hurt." He laughed hollowly, unhappily, "The last thing I ever wanted was to hurt her, and I ended up hurting her more than anyone."

"No." Without thinking, she reached out, put a hand on his arm. "Don't think that. It may be true. But you also gave her love. Incredible feelings. Something very precious." She saw his confused look, and smiled, "This Buffy ... the one, well, the one who's lost you for good, ... God this is complicated. Anyways. She ... when she came to me, I mentioned your name and she ... it kind of poured out of her. I think ... she needed it ... Because obviously nobody ever wanted to listen."

"I see."

"She didn't give me details, you know." She pulled her hand back, "N-no details. B-but there was an expression in her eyes ... " An expression, Tara knew only too well. She'd seen it ... in her own eyes whenever she was thinking about Willow. And once or twice she's seen it in the redhead's eyes as well. It had given her hope and-

"Where are we going?"

Angel's question interrupted her thoughts, "Uh ... Buffy's house. If she isn't there already, she'll be ... soon."

He nodded, took the next turn to the right, then brought the car to a stop in front of the Summers' house.

For a moment Angel felt almost overwhelmed by memories, all the night he'd climbed up to meet her at the window. The times he'd been standing under a tree, just watching, and hoping. God, they'd been so innocent then. And he remembered the night after they'd blown up the high school. He'd never told her, but he'd been standing under her window, one last, precious night.

He quickly shook his head. It wasn't the time to walk down memory lane. But God, to think she would never live here again. He would never hear her smile, never be able to see the sun rise when her eyes lit up.

He felt as if his heart had been ripped from his chest.

God, Buffy.

He staggered on the sidewalk, had to stop, hold onto a tree.

"Are you alright?"

He heard Tara's concerned voice, but couldn't answer. Somehow until now everything had seemed unreal. But standing in front of her house, his mind full of images of better times, happier times, he felt as if something was pulling him underneath, felt like drowning.

He forced unnecessary breath into his lungs, gasped when he felt them dilate. Tears were burning in his eyes, and before he could stop it, a sob tore from his throat, the reality mercilessly crushing down on him.

After going through all this before, he hadn't expected it would be like this. But it was. God, it was so hard, he wanted to scream and shout. Wanted to blame the Powers for doing this to him twice.

He looked at the bright windows of the house, saw shadows moving behind them. There was life there. A future. Even happiness. But not for her. Never for her. She would never come back.

Buffy was dead.

"Tara." Dawn stared at the blond witch, standing in front of the door. "And ... Angel?"

"Hi, Dawn," the vampire greeted her, glad he had his emotions in control again. He'd needed several minutes to compose himself.

"Is there something wrong?," the teenager asked, her gaze darting back and forth between the two visitors.

"I'd like to see Buffy," Angel said, giving her a smile.

"Buffy?" Dawn raised a brow, then looked at Tara as if expecting an explanation from her. But the blond didn't even make eye-contact with her.

"Dawn? Is there someone at the door?"

If Angel's heart had been beating, he knew it would have stopped right now. To know she was dead was one thing, but to hear her voice sounding through the house. The exact same voice, yet belonging to another woman. ... He was glad one of his hands was at the doorframe, steadying him.

"Yes," Dawn replied, "It's for you. It's Angel."

She had said it before either Tara or Angel had been able to stop her. The vampire heard something like a muffled cry, then legs appeared on top of the stairs, and only seconds later Angel could see her face. The exact same face. The face he remembered. The voice he hear in his dreams.

"Dawn, this really isn't funny."

Exactly the same.

Yet completely different.

His hold on the doorframe tightened, his knuckles went white.

And then she saw him. She stopped in mid-step, her eyes widening in shock. The next moment her whole body went slack and she fell down the stairs.

She woke slowly, her head heavy, darkness surrounding her. She heard voices, hushed, concerned, far away. She didn't recognize them, whispers were always hard to identify.

She moaned slightly and the whispers stopped. Her head hurt like hell, and she could feel bruises on her shoulder and over her ribs. What the hell had happened? The vampires hadn't been that bad. She'd killed them quickly, mechanically. Spike had been there, too. They had ...

"Buffy?"

That voice! Oh God, she was going insane. It couldn't be. She hadn't heard the voice for an eternity. Not in real life, that is. It was following her into her dreams. Into her nightmares.

Angel's voice.

But Angel was dead. Had died a long time ago. Right in front of her he'd crumpled to ashes.

Keeping her eyes tightly shut, she tried to move, but a sharp pain in her shoulder had her moan again.

"Try not to move. You dislocated your shoulder when you fell. We set it while you were unconscious, but it's still going to hurt."

His voice again.

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. She was losing it now. She knew he was dead. Yes, he'd come back once. But that was different. He hadn't really died then. Not like vampires usually died anyway.

"Buffy?"

Dawn. The little sister who wasn't real, but who felt real nevertheless. She sounded concerned, frightened.

"I'm okay," she groaned, tried to lift her other hand.

Dislocated her shoulder? What the hell ... And suddenly it was all coming back to her. Someone at the door. Her sister yelling it was Angel. Coming down the stairs. Seeing Angel.

Angel!

"Angel?"

Her eyes flew open.

And there he was. Exactly the way she remembered him. His eyes dark, brown, and soft, watching her with concern.

Oh God.

She stared at him in shock, not able understand, afraid to believe. She squeezed her eyes shut. Opened them again. "A-angel?"

"Buffy."

It was his face. His eyes. His voice. But it wasn't possible. How was it possible?

Her head snapped around finding Tara, Dawn, and Willow, all looking at her.

"Yes, it's Angel," the blond witch confirmed.

Her eyes flying back to the vampire, she stared at him. "How?," she breathed.

"It's Sunnydale," he replied, smiled in an attempt to make it easier for her. The expression in her eyes almost broke his heart. She wasn't his Buffy, his head told him, but his heart was saying something completely different. She looked exactly the same, her hair blond and glorious, her eyes hazel the way he remembered them, slightly dazed, slightly confused.

She even felt to him the way she always had. The familiar flutter was in his gut, the tingling running up and down his spine.

"Angel."

She said his name again. To assure herself it was true.

"Oh God, Angel." Her face crumpled, a sob rose in her throat, broke out, the first tears fell. She tried to stop it, pressing a hand over her trembling lips, but it was in vain. "Angel."

She needed to touch him. Feel him.

And was afraid to do it at the same time.

What if all this was just some weird dream? What if he would dissolve right before her eyes? The way he always did in her dreams. She wouldn't be able to stand it. Not again.

He saw her hesitate and understanding, he slowly reached out, one of his cool hands cupping her cheek, his thumb wiping the tears from her face, caressing her skin. "Buffy," he whispered, locking eyes with her.

She never heard the muffled cry coming from her lips. But the next instant her arms were around his neck, and she felt his coming around her as well. Sobs rose, wracking her body. "A-angel," she whispered brokenly.

"Shhh," she heard him say. "Shhh. It's okay. I'm here, Buffy. I'm here."

"I s-saw you die," she moaned, "I saw you die."

"I know," he replied. "I know. But I'm here. Shhh. I'm here now."

Forgetting the people around them, not caring for their curious glances, they simply held each other. And for that short moment it was enough.

She smiled hesitantly when she returned to her bedroom, wiping her face, she'd washed. "Good." There was relief in her voice. "You're still here."

He wanted to smile back, but knowing what he had to tell her, what she had to know, he couldn't. "Feeling any better?"

"Yeah," she smiled again, tentatively approaching the bed he was sitting on. She'd cried in his arms for over half an hour, all but ignoring her friends. When he'd tried to loosen his embrace, she'd clung to him. In the end he'd just carried her upstairs, held her until she'd quieted down. "I still have a hard time believing it is true."

There were deep circles underneath her eyes now that her face was bare of makeup. But what hurt even more were the shadows in them. They'd been tired and full of pain at her mother's funeral, but not like this ... never like this.

Never ... hopeless.

He cursed inwardly. It had happened again. He had never seen this Buffy at her mother's funeral. He didn't know anything about her, he reminded himself firmly. But God, he had a hard time keeping them both apart. After being with her almost an hour he had noticed all the little things he was used to. The way she bit her lower lip, the way she used to run a hand through her hair. It was short now, but that didn't matter.

There was even the same little mole at the back of her neck ...

Bringing his thoughts to a screeching halt, he took a deep breath, "Buffy, we ... need to talk."

Her smile was nervous, "Yes ... uh ... I suppose we do." Her hand combing back her hair, she bit her lower lip, "I mean I saw you die. A-and now you're back. Just," she gestured at him, "like always. God, I wish Giles was here. He'd tell us what's going on."

She stopped, suddenly horrified. Reached out she put a hand on his arm, "Not that ... I'm not glad that you're back. Because I am ...," she smiled tremulously, "I really am."

He looked at her for a moment, not quite sure what to say, how to approach the matter. "Buffy ... I ... never died."

Her eyes went huge, disbelieving, then she shook her head, "No. I saw you die." Instantly her eyes filled again, "I saw you die right in front of me. Don't tell me you didn't. Because I saw you," she insisted, taking a breath that was more of a sob. She sat down on the bed beside him. "After that everything went down."

He made the fault to look into her eyes again. And this time his heart shattered. There is was again. This utter, and complete hopelessness. He could only guess what she'd gone through the last years, but it was enough. Enough to tear him up inside, to make his heart bleed, make his soul scream. But what hurt even more was that he could see the tiny, little flicker of hope in them, ever since she'd laid eyes on him, and the knowledge that he would destroy it - again.

Angel had to get away and he stood swiftly, turning his back to her, staring at the wall, trying to blank his mind of emotions, failing miserably. He couldn't remember ever having felt like this before. But it didn't happen every day that you were forced to deliver a blow like this. Coming to her he had brought hope, only to take it away again.

"Angel?"

The way she said his name, hesitantly, like a question, tore him apart. He wanted to smash his fist right through the wall, hoping the physical pain might kill the emotional one.

Closing his eyes, he tried to summon all his strength, then forced himself to turn and look at her. "Buffy ...I ...," he had to swallow hard, "The truth is ... we never met each other before."

"What?" She stared at him in bewilderment. Then - almost instantly - it changed into concern, "Of course we met each other. What are you talking about? Did anything happen to you? Don't you remember?"

"No," he shook his head, his hands clenching into fists. "Buffy ...," he forced his fingers to uncurl, ran his hands through his hair, then over his face. "You met ... Angel. That's true. But ... not ... me."

"Not ... you?" She tilted her head, confusion evident in her eyes.

"The Angel you know," he replied, "He ... died." Then taking another deep breath, he added, "In your dimension."

"In my ...," her voice trailed off, confusion slowly giving way to understanding, finally to sadness. He saw her swallow, saw her fighting tears, then swiftly, she stood, turned her back on him, her face directed at the window. "Are you ... telling me that ... I don't belong here?"

"I ...," he didn't know what to say. Didn't belong here? Yes, it was true, she didn't belong her, in the strictest sense. She didn't belong into this dimension, but could it be truly wrong when it felt so right to be close to her, when she felt exactly the same?

God, why on earth was he doing this all the time? Mixing the two of them up all the time? This Buffy wasn't his Buffy. His Buffy was dead. Lying six feet under. And what kind of delusional idiot was he anyway. "His" Buffy? What a joke. She hadn't been his for a long time. Until some hours ago he'd done his best to pretend she didn't even exist.

"How can you know?", her voice cut into his thoughts.

"Tara ...," he cleared his throat, his voice almost failing him. "She ... found out while you were talking to her." And after a heartbeat he added, "You mentioned ... uh ... I was dead."

"Oh." Her voice was very small, like that of a little girl. He could hear fear, confusion, and again it sounded hopeless. It trembled when she asked, "And why didn't she tell me?"

"I don't know," he said honestly, "I suppose she didn't feel entitled to. You two ... you were never close. At least not in this dimension."

"Neither in mine," she replied, visibly trying to collect herself. He saw her taking deep breaths, saw her spine stiffen. Finally she turned, her cheeks wet, her eyes hollow, she had plastered a smile on her face that would haunt him for eternity. "So you survived in this world, huh? And what about Buffy?," her voice faltered, "I ... m-mean this Buffy."

Again he saw her fighting tears. He wanted to reach out and take her in his arms, tell her everything was going to be alright, but knew it would be the worst lie. How could anything be alright when they both were standing there, their hearts ripped out, their hopes destroyed. "She died," he said quietly. "Some months ago she ... jumped into a portal." He saw her eyes widen. "Did you jump, too?"

If possible her eyes became even more hollow. They seemed to stare into space, lost in a memory. "Yes," she wrapped her arms around herself. "I jumped. I thought I died. It seemed alright. After I jumped everything was fine. But then I woke up here. I thought it was home. I never noticed a difference. Everything here is the same. Even the memories I share with my ... her friends."

His gaze flickered to her neck, and the missing scar there. "So everything happened the way it happened here?"

She shrugged, "I guess. Of course you died. I m-mean ... he ...," she swallowed, "We ... uh ... didn't exactly talk a lot the last weeks. But Willow looks the way she looked ... well the other Willow ... God." Again she turned away, her arms trembling around her body. She seemed to think about something "I thought my life couldn't get worse," she said after a moment. Her laugh was harsh, raw, "I was wrong. It sucks beyond belief."

He waited a moment after that, then said gently, quietly, "I know about ... Spike."

"Oh." Again that hopeless little word. "Well," she shrugged, "What can I say. Girl gotta have fun."

He never knew it was possible to die in pieces, but that moment he felt himself die a little bit. For her. For the pain that radiated from her, for the despair that seemed to fill the air around her. It was so sharp, so deep, he couldn't stand it anymore. Ignoring the warning bells in his head, he went to her, slowly, gently put his hands on her shoulders. "Don't," his voice was barely a whisper, but so harsh, so agonized, he almost didn't recognize it.

He felt her stiffen. "No." She tried to shrug him off, tried to move away, but he tightened his hands.

"Buffy, don't," he said again.

She drew a ragged breath, "Please." Her voice was only a whisper now. "I can't."

"Let me help you," he pleaded.

"Help me?," she whirled around, stepped away from him, anger hiding the pain in her eyes for a moment. "We don't even know each other. You said it yourself. How do you think you can help me? I don't belong here." Her voice was shrill in the end, her whole body trembling.

"I don't think so," he said quietly, and knew the same moment it was true. She might be from another dimension, but to him she was utterly familiar.

"But I know so," she argued, "You died. I mean, he ... Angel died. He died," she cried, stifling a sob. "He died."

"I know," he whispered, tentatively walking towards her. "I know," he repeated, "Buffy died, too. I thought I'd die with her."

"S-so d-did I, I th-thought I'd d-die with him." she sobbed.

"But I'm still here. And so are you. Maybe ...," he took a deep breath, tried not to think about the consequences of his next words, but seeing her like this, there was only one thing he could say, "... maybe we can heal together. Help each other."

There was doubt in her eyes, and fear, "Y-you think?"

"We could try," he told her, reaching out with his hand. "Don't you want to try?"

"I ... I'm scared," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Angel, I'm so scared."

"I know," he laughed slightly, "So am I. I'm scared like hell," he said honestly. "But I also know that we cannot just give up. You once said that to me ... I mean ... she," he shook his head. "Anyways. She ... you ... said strong was fighting. That it hurt, but that we have to be strong."

"I know," she whispered, her eyes wide with wonder. "I told you ... him ... this. On the hill. When you tried to kill yourself."

He smiled, "I remember. Seems a lot of things were the same in your dimension."

"Angel."

"Let me help," he pleaded again, held out his other hand as well.

He saw her hesitate, saw her struggle. "This hurts. I'm not s-sure I c-can stand it," she admitted brokenly.

"Yes, I understand," he said gently. "It hurts. I can feel it, too. But I can help you. Will you let me? Will you ... trust me?"

"Trust you?" She said the two words as if they were an entirely foreign concept to her.

But then, after a moment that seemed like an eternity to him, she stepped into the circle of his arms and he closed them around her.

Part 5

Buffy's eyes were puffy and red from crying, and her smile was hesitant when she entered the living-room a little later. Her gaze was searching those of her friends ... and she saw they'd been crying as well.

Crying because they'd lost someone they loved. Someone they thought they'd gotten back, but hadn't.

They weren't really her friends, she realised. They'd been hers. The other Buffy's. The one who had been allowed to die.

Xander was there, Angel noticed. And with him another young woman he thought he'd seen before. That had to be Anya. The ex-demon. Xander's fiancée.

"I told them," Tara said quietly. Then for Buffy's sake she clarified, "About the o-other dimension-stuff."

"I can't believe it," Willow cried, wiping tears from her face. "I never noticed a difference. We were talking and ... you are like her." It wasn't meant to be, Buffy knew, but the last part sounded like an accusation to her.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, because she felt she had to.

"There's nothing to be sorry for." Angel's voice. Not her Angel. But for now it didn't matter. He felt the same. Sounded like him. He even smelled the way she remembered. And his hands were cool. Like Angel's. Like- She inhaled sharply, abruptly and saw Angel looking at her quizzically.

Not ready to deal with the problem that was Spike now, she shrugged, then tried a smile, was glad when it worked. "It's nothing." Then turning back to her friends, she bit her lower lip. "Seems the spell to bring me back didn't work the way it was supposed to."

"No, obviously it didn't," Willow agreed, quickly looking away.

"If you ask me," Anya piped up, her face the only one without streaks of tears. But then, living for over 1100 years probably did that to you. "I think you're doing a damn good job as the Slayer. You're just as good as her." She smiled brightly, and Buffy managed to smile back. She knew Anya meant well, that she was trying.

"It's even scarier than when the Buffybot was around," Xander said in a lame attempt to joke. "I mean she looked like Buffy, but you are Buffy ... in a strange kind of way."

"I can't believe she's really dead," Dawn sobbed, her head on Tara's shoulder. "There's nobody left now. Mom's gone. Buffy. And Dad doesn't give a damn what happens to me."

"That's not true. Dad loves you," Buffy said firmly, instantly realising what she'd done. Effortlessly she'd slipped into the other Buffy's role and with a pang she suddenly realised that the other Dawn - her Dawn - was equally alone now.

But Dawn had noticed it, and didn't accept it. Buffy wasn't surprised, she was her sister after all. "How can you know that?," she spat, anger rising, "He isn't your dad. You're not Buffy." Then with a little frown, she amended, "Not my sister, anyway."

"No, I'm not," the blond said quietly. "I wish I was, but I'm not."

"How about if we all sit down," Angel proposed, lightly touching Buffy's arm. "We could talk. I think there's a lot we have to talk about." "Yes, you're right," Tara agreed. "I put Connor in Dawn's bedroom," she added quietly. "He's fine."

The vampire gave her a grateful smile, glad he didn't need to think about his son at the moment. Connor needed him, but for the moment Buffy needed him more.

"Do you want something?," Willow stood, nodded towards the kitchen. "Anybody?"

"I think tea would be a good idea," Angel said softly, sitting down beside the Slayer. He couldn't have left her side. Ever since they'd left the bedroom she held his hand firmly in hers.

"Okay," the redhead nodded, waited for a moment, then left the room. They heard her moving around in the kitchen, heard noises, heard cups clattering, louder than necessary. With an apologetic smile, Tara slipped from the room.

Then - without warning - Dawn blurted, "What's going to happen now? I mean what's going to happen with me?" Her chin quivered when she said it, her fingers clenched around the armpits of the chair she was sitting on, the knuckles white.

"I ... uh ...," helplessly Buffy looked at Angel. How was she supposed to answer such a question when she had lost control over her own life. When she didn't even know who she was anymore. She'd been ripped out of her own world, pulled into another. A world where another Buffy had left her mark.

Could she live here? Looking like her? Obviously sharing her memories. Or would every step, every gesture be measured? She glanced to her side, her eyes falling on Angel, dressed all in black, so utterly familiar. It was hard to believe he was a stranger, not the man she'd known and loved. Her heart stuttered when he looked at her, her stomach did flip-flops, the same way it always had.

Buffy had never felt more confused in her whole life.

She didn't know if she could do this. But how could she not? She couldn't just go back to her dimension, could she? They thought she was dead, too. Besides - her eyes flickered to Angel again - did she even want to leave?

"Hey."

Willow almost dropped the pot in her hand, the water spilling all over the kitchen isle. She reached for a towel, her movements jerky.

"H-how are you?," Tara asked softly, not stepping closer, feeling the other woman's pain as if it was her own.

"I'm fine." The redhead turned, a fake smile plastered on her face. "I'm good. Why shouldn't I?"

"Willow, I-"

"No." Willow held up a hand. "Don't even try to say it's not my fault," she said firmly, "because it is. It's my fault. Only mine." She threw the towel away, the smile slipping from he face, "God, Tara," her lips trembled, "I messed this up. God, I messed up. Giles was right. He said this was dark magic, and that I didn't know what I was doing. He was right. I did this to her ... to us."

"Oh, baby." The blond rushed forward, enveloping the other woman in a loving embrace, stroking her back, "Shhhh."

The redhead accepted the embrace, letting the warmth surround her, "Oh Tara," she wailed, "I f-feel s-so awful. I... I did this. How am I ... ever going to make it right a-again?"

Tara pulled back, eyeing the other woman suspiciously, "You're not thinking about using magic, are you?"

"No." Willow shook her head emphatically, "No. I've sworn off. I'm trying ... I really am. What I did ... was wrong. I know that now," she looked at her former lover, the woman she still loved more than anything, "But I ... have to do something. I know I cannot make it right, but maybe ... I can ... help. Do something. I know she isn't the Buffy we knew. But ... she looks the same ... and ... and I was Buffy's best friend. Maybe I can ... be friends with this Buffy as well?"

The smile came slowly, but Tara could feel it coming from deep inside, where it had been so cold for weeks, where she'd felt so lonely. "I love you, Willow," she said, kissing the other woman gently, softly. "And I missed you."

Willow's eyes widened, and with a little cry she threw her hands around Tara's neck. "I love you, too. And I missed you. I missed you so much. Oh, Tara."

"We'll find a way to help her," the blond said, hardly able to believe this was happening. "We will find a way."

"We will." Willow's words were muffled against her neck. "We have to."

Incredulously Buffy stared at the baby, "You have a son?." Her eyes were seeking Angel's, finding them. There was love, for the little boy. For the little miracle.

"Yes, I have," he confirmed, a smile playing around his lips.

The light in Dawn's room was dimmed, Connor sleeping peacefully between pillows. There had been no reason to come here, but after a cup of tea and some more talk, Angel had sensed that Buffy needed to get away from the others. There were many things they had to talk about, but there was time later. The emotions were still too raw, they all needed time to get used to the situation.

"But ... how?" Embarrassed, she tried looked away, a flush creeping up her neck. "I ... I mean, I ... know how," she said finally. "Just ... Angel ... in my dimension, he said he couldn't have kids."

"That's what I thought. But obviously ...," he nodded at the sleeping baby, shrugged, "I don't understand it. But I won't question it either. I'm too happy he's here."

"Who?...," she trailed off, biting her lower lip.

"Darla. His mother is Darla."

"Oh?," puzzled eyes flickered to the baby, then back to him. Then she nodded, "I see. In my dimension Angel staked her."

"I did, too," he replied, smiling slightly. "But she came back."

"Back?," she gulped. "She never came back in my world. Or at least I don't think she did. I truly hope she didn't."

"I don't think so either," he said. "She was brought back by evil lawyers for the sole purpose to make me lose my soul. As you can see, it didn't work."

"Your soul?," she frowned for a moment, then looked at him in surprise, "But ... but ... oh ... I see, your soul isn't safe here?"

His head snapped around, his eyes suddenly intense, "Was it safe there?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded. "We found a way to alter the curse. Willow ... the other ... you know ... she found a way to glue the soul firmly in. It kinda happened by accident, shortly after ... he tried to kill himself. Willow more or less stumbled across it."

He had to swallow, tried to absorb the information. "I see." God, was that his voice? "So ... uh ... your Angel could ..."

"Yeah." The first genuine smile came over her face. "It was wonderful. Then I got infected by the demon and to keep me from going insane he took me away. I couldn't hear his thoughts, you know. It was the most wonderful week in my life."

He had to look away, turned his back to her, emotions flooding him, almost choking him. This Angel ... the other Angel ... had had a week with her. With his soul firmly in place. He would have given his life gladly for a week with her. He had given it after just one day.

"And then he died. It was so ...," she had to blink back fresh tears. She'd been good suppressing emotions for years. But seeing him, even if he wasn't the one she'd known, made suppressing impossible. "We had all we could wish for and then he died. I thought I'd die, right there with him. But I didn't. And that was the worst. Realising I could at least exist without him."

"I know," he choked, finding it difficult to speak.

Sensing his distress, Buffy tried to change the subject, "He ...," she pointed at Connor, "he is human?"

"Yea ...," he had to clear his throat, "Yeah. Fully human. We don't know why. But he is. The doctor said he was perfectly fine. There's no reason to worry, aside from the fact that half the evil population on this planet seems to be interested in him."

She looked at Connor, "Yeah. I'll bet. Poor baby."

"Fortunately he hasn't got the slightest idea." He chuckled, when the child smacked his lips in his sleep, "There's something to be said about being totally oblivious."

Buffy laughed, "Yeah. He looks so peaceful. So perfect."

"He does," Angel agreed, stroking the baby's tiny hand with one of his large fingers. Reflexively Connor's fingers grabbed it and held it tight.

Angel turned his head, looked at Buffy smiling at his son, and felt himself losing his heart all over again. He tried to stop, but like the first time, it happened before he could do anything. It seemed that the dimension didn't matter. This was Buffy, and that was all his heart needed to know.

"I'm so glad you are here," she said now, directing the smile at him. "I wouldn't know how to … I mean … I …"

"I'm glad," he said gently. "I'm glad you trust me enough to let me help you. I know there's a lot we have to talk about. And Spike…," his voice trailed off.

"Yeah," she whispered, sitting down on the bed, entwining her hands in her lap, her knuckles white.

He put his free hand on her shoulder and when she looked up, he smiled, "We've got time. We all lose our way now and then." He thought about Darla, about a time when he had lost his way. "It'll be alright," he promised, hoping it wasn't a lie.

She swallowed hard, then nodded. She slowly reached out, stroked Connor's other hand. As he had done it with Angel, his fingers came around one of hers, holding it. She smiled, and Angel felt his insides knot.

Taking a deep breath, he turned back to his son. They would all need a lot of strength to find their way out of this. He could only hope he would be able to handle it, without breaking in the end..

The vampire called Spike, former known as William the Bloody, didn't have a good night. If he was completely honest with himself, and sometimes, even that happened, his night was far from good. In fact it was quite the opposite.

It had started promising. With a good fight and good fuck. But from there everything had gone down. He'd lost a poker game to a demon who could cheat even better than he. Later the demon's buddy had beaten him up. Okay, so that wasn't really bad. At least for a vampire. Afterwards he'd almost felt alive.

Almost.

What really sucked was the Slayer's attitude. He'd felt it before, but it became more apparent with each day, and tonight he'd had to be blind not to feel that she hadn't really participated in their private tango. She'd been there, yeah, he'd felt it intimately. But at the same time she'd been far away. He had seen her shutting her eyes, had shouted at her, but she'd refused to open them again.

If he was a lesser vampire he would have thought she might pretend he was someone else. Someone who had equally cold body parts, who didn't need to breathe. Someone who was just a little bit bigger, a little bit stronger, and had a darker complexion. If he was a lesser vampire, which of course, he wasn't.

Not at all.

Nuh-uh.

Damn.

He threw his cigarette to the ground, then stomped on in with more force than necessary. The bitch was using him. And he, like the love-sick fool he was, craved the bits and pieces she was throwing at him.

Hell, if he wasn't the most pathetic vampire around. What on earth was the matter with him? What was wrong with him that the women he loved were treating him like trash? First Drusilla and now Buffy. And why did he let them?

But no more. It would stop tonight. From this point on he would show her. She would learn that he wasn't just some toy she could use as soon as she had an itch. She would see.

He would show her tonight.

Right now.

His steps widened with determination while he reached for a new cigarette, lit it and inhaled the smoke, feeling eight feet tall all of a sudden.

He would show her. And afterwards he'd forgive her.

Maybe.

If she'd grovel.

For hours.

Yes.

Triumphantly he inhaled again. Was he good or what? Tonight things would change. He would take care of it.

The tap on the door was almost inaudible but Buffy's supernatural Slayer senses picked it up nevertheless. "Come in," she invited, not bothering to look who was actually standing there. She'd left Angel with Connor in Dawn's bedroom, needing to be on her own for a while after what she'd learnt the last two hours. If she would ever be able to understand it … now that was an entirely different story.

At least she could understand now why everything seemed so weird around her, why she'd felt so out of place. This wasn't her home, not her world, not really her friends, even though they sounded, acted, and felt the same.

But they weren't.

And Angel wasn't her Angel.

Although being near him sent the same shivers down her spine, made her head spin, her heart skip a beat, and her stomach flutter. Feelings suppressed for so long, began to spring to live inside of her, and as a result she felt more confused than ever. Her brain was so muddled right now, she had no idea if she'd ever be able to think straight again.

"Buffy?"

She straightened on the bed hearing Willow's hesitant voice coming from the doorway. The Slayer didn't need to look at her to know how bad the witch felt right now. But somehow she couldn't muster pity with her, feeling too raw, hurting too much inside to even care. Claiming friendship, Willow had ripped her not only from where she'd felt safe and something at least remotely resembling happiness for the first time in years, but also into a different world, a world that only felt hostile and cold to her.

"Hi, Will," the Slayer replied wearily, running a hand through her hair. Buffy had a pinpoint spot of pain directly over her left eyebrow that was threatening to explode into one of the biggest headaches she'd ever had in her life. Rubbing the spot she stifled a wince.

"Can … can I … uh … come in?"

Buffy felt Willow hesitating in the doorway, and finally turned around. The witch's cheeks were wet, undoubtedly from crying, her eyes red-rimmed, the knuckles of her entwined fingers white.

"Sure. What gives?" She didn't want to talk to Willow, but somehow felt she couldn't admit it openly. This wasn't really her home after all.

"Buffy … I," the redhead closed the door behind her, but didn't come closer. "I want … you … I'm sorry. So sorry," she finally blurted out. "Giles was right, I shouldn't have interfered with nature, and used that kind of magick, but … we … I thought you were in hell, a-and … you know, like Angel, and … I …," her voice faltered and she bit her lower lip.

What did she want her to say, Buffy wondered. 'It's alright. You made a fault, but at least you are sorry now. So, no harm done?' What she wanted to do was get up and slap her. Hard. Then slap her again. Harder this time. But something inside of her was too numb to really care. "So you came to kiss me and make it better?," she said, not bothering that the hurt she felt was audible in her voice.

Clearly surprised, Willow reeled back as if she'd been slapped. Obviously she hadn't expected Buffy to react that way. But then she wasn't the Buffy the redhead knew. There was no reason she should react like the other might have. After Angel died, and after Buffy had realised how little her friends were affected by it, how they expected her to move on as if he'd never existed, something had died inside of her. Something she hadn't been able to revive. Sure, they'd been compassionate. Willow held her, Giles found the right words, but life went on, and she was expected to do the same. None of them had been the least interested that she couldn't. That she was slowly dying inside and that jumping into Glory's portal was only making it official.

"No," Willow protested after recovering from the words. "I mean … yes, that is, I know I can't make it better. Or change it, for that matter, but … maybe I could be … your friend? I mean, I don't exactly know you, but I was the other Buffy's friend. Her best friend. And maybe … I don't expect to be your best friend, but maybe a friend?"

"A friend," the Slayer echoed incredulously, looking at her lap. She wanted to be her friend? The girl who was responsible for the whole mess wanted to be her friend?

"Yes. If you want." Cautiously the redhead stepped closer, stopping at the end of the bed. "You know, someone you can talk to." When Buffy still didn't react, she added, "Tara said it wasn't a good idea to talk to you so soon. That you'd need more time. But I thought-"

"Maybe you should've listened to her," Buffy interrupted her, looking up, right in time to see Willow retreat again, struggling not to cry. It was clear that she hadn't expected this.

"Oh. Well … I … I see. Maybe I should just … leave? Some other time?" When Buffy didn't react, the redhead opened the door. "I'm sorry," she whispered.

Later Buffy didn't know why she did it, but before the witch could close the door, she stopped her. "Will?"

"Yeah?"

"I … I … I don't know what to say, but … I can't. At the moment … I just can't."

There was a moment of silence, before the redhead answered, her voice slightly stronger, "That's okay. Just take your time. I'll be there if you need me." Not waiting for an answer she left the room.

Buffy still stared at the fingers in her lap, entwined so tightly, it was a miracle they didn't break. She'd promised Angel to let him help her. But right now, she felt so lost, she wasn't sure it was possible. Her eyes dry, she let her head sink on one pillow, hugging the other to her chest, and stared at the ceiling. For a moment her thoughts drifted to Spike, and she wished he was here, taking the pain away, even if only for a short time. As repulsed as she was by the things they did together, at least he could make her feel, although she wasn't sure what. And as she wasn't even from this dimension, maybe she was just dreaming, maybe nothing that happened was real.

And maybe, she thought closing her eyes, drifting off to sleep, she wasn't real either.

Angel ran a hand through his hair while he descended the stairs of the Summers house, and he almost turned around when he stepped into the living-room, and saw Xander sitting on the sofa, a bag of potato chips in his lap, his feet propped on the table before him. After all that had happened tonight, the last thing Angel wanted was a confrontation with someone who'd never made a secret of how much he despised the vampire.

But surprisingly, Xander waved him in when he saw Angel standing in the doorway, "Come in, come in," he invited, "Don't be shy."

Angel chuckled wryly, eyeing the bag with disgust, "You actually eat this stuff?," he asked, sitting down as well. "It smells awful."

Something that almost resembled a grin, appeared on the young man's features, "It's the garlic in the mixture," he said, "Vampire repellent and tasty, the combination for the Hellmouth."

"Figures," the vampire muttered under his breath, not really up to any conversation. All he wanted was to sit somewhere dark, and brood. He wanted to lick his wounds, until he came to grips with his feelings. But underneath the attempt to grin, he saw grief and pain in Xander's eyes, saw the lines of strain on his face. There was nothing left of the teenager he remembered, and maybe that caused Angel to stay. "Where are the others?", he asked, leaning back in the chair.

"Upstairs I guess." Xander frowned slightly, "Well, Tara is upstairs, and Willow. Anya went home. Dawn is at the back porch. She … needed a little time, I guess. I offered to listen, but she," he shrugged, "Anyways. Buffy?"

"Asleep," Angel told him. He'd just checked her room and, to his surprise, had found her sleeping peacefully.

"That's good. I suppose it hit her pretty hard, huh?" Xander's voice sounded carefully controlled, but being a vampire, or maybe just because he'd been around for so long, which was, if he thought about it, the same, Angel had no problems hearing the hollowness beneath.

"Yeah." The vampire sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, "It's a lot to deal with. I cannot even imagine what she's going through right now." Not really eager to discuss Buffy's problems tonight, not when he hadn't found a way to deal with them himself, Angel changed the subject, "I heard you're getting married."

Xander blanched visibly at the comment, almost choked on a chip, "Yeah," he managed finally.

"I also heard that Anya was a vengeance demon once."

"Uh-huh. She was called Anyanka."

"Did I see her before?," Angel wanted to know, "She looks familiar, somehow."

"Yeah," Xander nodded. "When you came to Sunnydale, you know because of the Indians, and … yeah, she was there before Buffy blew up the high school."

Angel remembered having seen Anyanka under completely different circumstances. A sheep was involved, an unfaithful husband and some serious torture, but the vampire was sure Xander wouldn't be all too happy to hear those stories about his bride-to-be. So he said nothing.

Silence settled over the room for a moment, before Xander spoke again. "So you've got yourself a son?"

A smile crept up Angel's tired features, and pride settled in his dark eyes. "Yeah. Connor. He's great." For a moment Buffy and all the problems connected to her were forgotten.

"I heard Darla was his mother. And that she was brought back from the dead," Xander chuckled slightly. "Isn't the world a crazy place. You've got a child by your resurrected sire, and I'm together with a girl who was around when Columbus discovered this continent. That's the Hellmouth for you."

The vampire chuckled, too, surprised by the young man's unexpected sense of humor. Or was it maybe sarcasm? Xander had changed a lot it seemed, not just physically.

Suddenly frowning again, Xander cleared his throat, "Cordy told us you were in another dimension."

Angel's head came up, his eyes wary, "Yeah. In Pylea. It's a strange place."

"Was it … different?"

"Different from our dimension you mean? It was. Very." The vampire tilted his head, studying the other man's face. "Is there a reason why you're asking me that or is it just an attempt to make small talk?"

"You do small talk?" Xander tried another grin, and for a moment Angel was reminded the old Xander, the sometimes silly teenager, but then the young man became serious again. "No, there is a reason."

"Buffy," Angel said simply, trying not to think about Buffy dead and gone. He didn't want to let himself being consummated by anguish. Not now, and certainly not in front of Xander of all people. The boy might have changed, but Angel doubted he'd ever be one of his favourite people. Xander's dislike of vampires was too profound, and somehow Angel couldn't blame him. He wasn't too fond of them himself.

"Yeah," Xander admitted, and let out a pent up breath. "What's going to happen to her? I mean … she's here now, right. And she's Buffy, although she's not … and this is …," he rubbed the back of his neck, shook his head, "pretty confusing. I'm really glad she's here, don't understand me wrong, but I feel guilty, too, because she isn't Buffy and again she is." He gave Angel a wary lock, "And I can't believe I'm discussing this with you."

The vampire's mouth twitched at that, he couldn't help it. "Well, stranger things have happened."

"They have?," Xander looked at him doubtfully, then sighed. "Maybe."

"I know you feel guilty, Xander. So do I. I was glad when I saw her. Because she is Buffy. Even though …, "Angel had to close his eyes for a moment. "But maybe …," he paused, carefully considering his next words, "Maybe we should be glad," he said slowly, the pain almost closing up his throat. He didn't want to think about Buffy. He didn't want to think she was dead. Because somehow she wasn't. She was upstairs lying in her bed, sleeping. Suddenly feeling edgy, the vampire got up, walked to a small table, showing a display of photos. Joyce, Buffy, Dawn. Not able to look at it, he turned away, stared out of the window.

"Glad?" Xander's voice was incredulous, even a bit angry. Then he suddenly laughed harshly. "Well, maybe for a vampire is death more attractive than life. But believe me, for Buffy it wasn't."

The pain was sharp, deep, like a slicing sword. Angel whirled around, his eyes blazing with anger. "Xander, I would give my life if I could have prevented her death. And especially being what I am, I can assure you eternal life is highly overrated. I'd skip place with you in an instant. But don't you think that Buffy might be happy, wherever she is? I believe with all my heart, that her soul went to heaven. Let's call it that way in lack of a better term. But I'm sure she is happy, safe. Don't you want that for her?" He suddenly saw Buffy, sitting at a table with Doyle, drinking whiskey, laughing like crazy with him, and a smile crept over his features.

Xander narrowed his eyes, "It must be comforting for you being able to think that way," he said, "But I for one can't. I knew Buffy. Buffy wanted to live. And now … I'm so angry. And think about Dawn," he gestured in the general direction of the back porch. "What's going to happen to her? She's got nobody now. Sure, her father's there, but for all I know he doesn't give a damn shit what's going to happen with his kids. Well, no surprise there, but Buffy is dead." Angel saw him stifle a sob, then collect himself, "She," he pointed upstairs, "might be Buffy, but she isn't the one we know. Is she going to stay? Take the other Buffy's place? Or will she maybe leave? Return to her own dimension?"

"I can't answer that," Angel replied honestly. "I don't even know if Buffy could answer it. When Willow pulled her into this world, Buffy didn't come with a map attached, showing how to bring her back. Until yesterday everyone thought she was at home. Now we know she isn't. I wish," he rubbed his forehead, "I suppose, we have to wait and see." But inwardly he wanted to scream. The mere thought of losing Buffy, even this Buffy, for a third time, was too much to bear.

"Wait and see, huh?," Xander blinked, and Angel saw he was fighting tears. "Well, that officially sucks big time."

The vampire looked at the human, who was trying hard not to bawl in front of him. For once all he could do was agree.

It sucked. Big time.

Cordelia stifled a yawn while she tried to concentrate on the new customer who was sitting in Wesley's office, shaking like a leaf all over, trying to control his stammering as he tried to reveal the reason he'd come in the first place. Not that his story wasn't interesting, because it was. In a really boring sort of way. At least, as the man had come to them for help, she could entertain the hope he might be a paying customer for a change.

The brunette crossed her legs, cursing inwardly when the note pad slipped from her hands and down to floor in the process. Four pairs of eyes turned towards her, and she gave them a brilliant smile, bent down to pick up the paper, but Gunn beat her to it and handed it to her with a smile of his own.

"Thanks," she said, not making eye-contact with him, then turned to the customer. "I'm sorry." She heard Gunn chuckle beside her, and frowned.

Wesley, who was sitting behind his desk, hands folded under his chin, much the same way Angel usually did, gave her a sharp look, before he directed his gaze back to Mr. Heller. "Now," his voice was all business, all watcher, and Cordelia rolled her eyes when she saw Fred was hanging on every word. "You told us that this," he looked at his own notepad, "green, alligator-like, creature turned up in your cellar without warning last night. It said you had to move out of your house before the end of next week and then vanished?"

Mr Heller, a wiry, little man with a balding head, and spectacles that were too big for his face, nodded emphatically, "Y-yes. He said his name was Gator."

"Truly original," Cordelia muttered under her breath, and received another sharp glance from Wesley.

"Gator. Hmmm," the former watcher's gaze turned thoughtful. He looked up, "Does this ring a bell with anybody?"

"No," Fred replied quickly. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry, English, never met a talking reptile."

Wesley frowned for a moment, then taking a deep breath, he gazed at Mr. Heller, "Well, that's not a problem. Coming to Angel Investigations was a very wise decision. I'm sure with our resources we'll find this Gator in no time. And I'm equally sure we can convince him to leave you alone in the future."

Mr Heller fidgeted with his tie, before he looked up, and directly at the former watcher, "You are not … going to kill him?"

"Kill him?," Wesley smiled, "Why do you want to know."

"Well, I …," the wiry man corrected his tiepin, before he said, "It's the first time I ever … saw something like that before …," his voice wavered dangerously for a moment, but then he managed to get it back under control. Clearing his throat, he stroked over his remaining hair, "Well, I suppose you are more experienced. Me, I … usually deal with accounts and numbers. This is … very disturbing for me."

"Yes, I can understand that." Wesley stood and reached out his hand to Mr. Heller, who took it instantly. "Don't worry, we'll deal with the problem. We will have to inspect your cellar of course."

"Of course. When can I expect you?"

"How about tomorrow morning?," the former watcher proposed.

"Excellent." Mr Heller seemed relieved at the prospect, and Cordelia was about to comment that she didn't care about spending her days in cellars, when a vision hit her like lightning. The notepad and pen fell to the ground and she reached wildly not to join them. Between blood, pain, and screams in her head she remembered that Angel wasn't around to catch her this time.

But like a miracle she was caught in two strong arms, and she found herself leaning into a broad chest. "Easy, honey, easy," a soothing voice drifted to her ear, and with irritation she realised it belonged to Gunn. Honey? If her head wasn't hurting like hell this very moment, she'd give him honey. What the hell did he think he was doing? "Oh God," she moaned when another wave of pain hit her.

"Come on, Cordy," Gunn said softly, slinging an arm around her waist, pulling her towards the lobby. "Vision?," he asked leading her to the sofa, gently helping her to sit.

She slapped his arm away in an impatient gesture and glared at him, almost feeling as if her head was split in half. "No. I was just trying to get your attention. Of course it was a vision. And of course Angel is gone to save his precious Buffy, leaving us to deal with this alone."

"Tell me," Gunn put a hand on her thigh, didn't care when her glare intensified. "What did you see?"

She took several deep breath, and smiled gratefully at Fred who had rushed after them, carrying a glass of water and some pills. Gulping them down, Cordy put a hand on her forehead, trying to remember. "A … house. … No! It was more like … an old warehouse. But …," she broke off, stared at Gunn, her eyes incredulous, "And I've been there before. It's … in Sunnydale."

Part 7

Spike flipped the cigarette butt into a corner of his crypt, swearing loudly, frustration rising high. Nothing was going the way he'd wanted it to. His plan had been foolproof, or so he'd thought, last night. He'd find Buffy, make it perfectly clear to her he wouldn't play her sex-toy any longer, and maybe, after she'd beg him, he'd kiss her gently and she'd realise how lucky she was to have him. The plan had been excellent, the stroke of a genius even.

But of course, this town being Sunnydale, nothing worked the way he wanted. First he'd been delayed by two vampires with a death wish, taunting him because of his chip. Well, their dusty remains were now floating in the air. When he'd finally arrived at Summers' house the ex-demon's loser of a fiancée had told him the Slayer was asleep, not to be disturbed, and that he should get lost. Then he'd slammed the door in Spike's face.

The vampire had been tempted to rip the idiot apart, but because of his chip and because it wouldn't bring him any points with the Slayer, he'd suppressed the urge. So, giving up the idea of dismembering Xander Harris, Spike had turned away from the house only to see a familiar car standing in the driveway. He'd missed it before, too occupied with images of the Slayer begging on her knees for a second chance, and maybe doing other, more wicked things. But seeing it then made his blood run cold.

He had seen the damned thing before, on one of his less successful trips out of town, he didn't really care to remember.

It was, undoubtedly, the Angelmobile. Which meant Angel was in Sunnydale, and if the fact that the car was standing right in front of Buffy's house was any indication, it meant that his bloody grand-sire was in the house. With her. Maybe even in her bedroom.

Blind rage rising inside of Spike, a haze of red mist swimming in front of his eyes, he clenched his fists, even now, hours after he'd found the evidence of Angel's presence in front of her house. Spike swore again, pacing his crypt like a caged animal, which given the fact that it was bright sunlight outside, was exactly what he was.

Angel was in Sunnydale.

It was like being punched in the gut, then dismembered and quartered.

Angel.

Spike kicked the wall with a vicious curse on his lips, howling when he heard the bones of his toes crack at the impact, his rage almost reaching the boiling point.

It was Angel's fault. All Angel's fault.

Dru.

Buffy.

Angelus.

Limping to his chair, Spike plopped down, combing his hands through his hair, feeling the desperate urge to rip someone's throat out, sink his fangs into it, and not let go until the bugger was dry.

Damn the chip. Damn it all to hell.

He had to think. There had to be a reason for the Poof's presence. Maybe someone had called him. But why? And who? Had they found out about he and Buffy? No. He quickly dismissed the thought. Knowing Angelus, the bugger would be here already, ripping him to pieces. His grand-sire was more than just slightly territorial and he wouldn't take it too kindly to hear about Buffy's latest sex-toy. But there had to be a reason.

Angel had kept his distance for years now. Spike knew he'd been here after Joyce's funeral, had smelled him all over the Slayer. But he'd left again and the scent on Buffy was only minor, no sexuality involved. Besides, it had been different then. She hadn't been Spike's woman then. Now she was.

Buffy was his. She belonged to him. To Spike. He was fucking her, loving her, and although he knew she didn't feel the same, it didn't matter. She'd be his in the end. She was weakening already, and he knew exactly how to use it to his advantage. He didn't want anybody to interfere.

Spike got up from his chair, started pacing again, tried to ignore the pain from his toes shooting up his leg with each step. He felt too restless to sit, wanted to go out and hunt, but could do neither at the moment. He would go out tonight, but he couldn't hunt anymore, thanks to Captain Cardboard and his friends.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

The blond vampire turned, stopped, for a moment confused by the ragged breathing sounding through his crypt. He needed a moment to realise it was his own.

Damn.

Spike closed his eyes, took several deep, unnecessary breaths, trying to calm down. He was getting too worked up, when he needed to be calm and in control. Angry people and vampires made faults. And he mustn't make any, not with Angel close by, ready to strike the moment he messed up.

Bloody hell.

He didn't want to think about this, didn't want to think about the bloody chip, or feeling like a puppet on a string every time Summers was near, and first and foremost he didn't want to think about his bloody Poof of a grand-sire.

Why, oh why did he have to fall in love with Buffy Summers? A Slayer of all people?

What the hell was the matter with him? First he'd been totally hung up on Dru, letting her walk all over him, treat him like a bug, and now Buffy did the same. No wonder Angelus had never respected him as an equal.

Angelus.

His name alone let bile rise in his throat, let him roar in rage. He grabbed the next best piece which happened to be an empty bottle and smashed it against the wall, watching in satisfaction when it burst into pieces, imagining it was Angel's head and not just glass, evidence of him having gotten drunk, frustrated after another unsatisfying meeting with the Slayer. It was a good thing he couldn't end up with a cirrhotic liver, because he'd consumed quite a lot of booze lately.

He turned away from the shattered glass, sighed, and was just considering if maybe the telly could be a good distraction, when he heard a noise outside his crypt, and a smile crept up his face.

She'd come to him after all. Who else would seek him out at this time, and he'd known she'd come, he told himself. She couldn't stay away, was already too addicted to the pleasures he could give to her. He still remembered the last little moan when he'd entered her, the way her lids had closed, the breath had left her lungs when his cock had touched her womb. He was getting hard just thinking about it, and could hardly wait to bury himself inside of her again. But he'd be damned if he'd show her. No way he'd let her know he was pining away for her.

He took another deep breath, and he managed to keep his face carefully neutral, raising a brow when the door opened, ready to give her a cool greeting, determined to pretend it didn't matter if she came or not, to show her he didn't care at all.

To show he was the one in control.

Angel stood at the stove when Willow stepped into the kitchen shortly after Xander had taken Dawn to school. Not that it was a surprise to find a vampire in the kitchen. With Spike sticking around all the time that actually happened quite open, but so far the blond had only taken blood from the fridge or sipped at some cocoa. Angel himself had spent time there this morning, cooking breakfast for all, but the image of the vampire cradling a child in his arms, while trying to test the temperature of the bottle, was certainly something new and Willow couldn't help the awe she felt at the picture.

"Hi, Angel."

His attention still on the bottle and the baby, Angel smiled, "Hi, Willow. Dawn on her way?"

"Yeah," she nodded, not quite sure how to act around the vampire. She'd seen the disapproval in his eyes yesterday, and although she knew that Angel wasn't basically a judgemental person, she would bet all her money, which, admittedly, wasn't much, that he was already feeling pretty protective of Buffy. It didn't really surprise her, Angel was the protective type after all, but it was certainly something she had to get used to again.

Angel had left Buffy more than two years ago, and although she knew that not lack of love had caused the separation, they were living separate lives now, and at least in Buffy's life other men had been important, Riley being her steady boyfriend for the better part of a year. Having gone through similar changes herself with Oz, Willow knew that distance could change feelings. Oz would always have a piece of her heart, she would always love him. But she was in love with Tara now, and that certainly had changed her perspective. Sure, Buffy had not been in love with Riley the way she was in love with Tara, but still. The commando had been a part of the Slayer's life for a long time, which Angel hadn't. Not forgetting the little part where Buffy wasn't really Buffy.

Realising that she was staring at him, she cleared her throat, "You … uh … thanks for feeding us all this morning."

He shrugged, "I didn't do anything special. In L.A. I'm cooking all the time. Glad you liked it." He held the bottle to his cheek, and made cooing noises towards his son, who was starting to fuss. "Shhh … your baba will be ready in a moment. Shhh … don't start to cry … please …"

Willow saw him rocking the baby slightly in his arm and offered, "Do you want me to take him?"

"No," he shook his head. "We're just fine. I'm used to do this on my own." When the bottle had the temperature he wanted, he held it out for the baby and after a short hesitation the child took the nipple and started to suck. Turning around, Angel settled the boy comfortably in his arm, then looked at Willow. "So … did you want to talk to me? Or did you just happen to be in the kitchen by accident?"

There was no accusation in his voice, and the redhead relaxed visibly. "I .. yeah … I wanted to talk to you."

His responding smile was gentle, yet his eyes were still serious, "You want to talk about Buffy."

Not really surprised by his insight, he was over 240 years old after all, she smiled back. "Is she still in bed?"

Angel stifled a wince the last possible moment, "Last time I checked, she was still asleep, and I'm glad," he told her, shifting the baby in his arms, adjusting the bottle so Connor had better access.

He'd only meant to see if she was alright, he assured himself surely, when he'd slipped into her room ten minutes ago to check on her. But instead he'd lost control and touched her in the way he'd been aching to for far too long. He'd pushed her blond strands from her face, tracing the delicate skin of her face. True, he'd managed to hold it to the merest brush of his fingers against her cheek, but only by sheer force of will and it had taken every bit of discipline he had, to remove his hand and to leave the room.

As if he was nothing more like a good friend. As if he wasn't hurting to touch her in much more intimate ways.

He straightened, looked at Willow who was watching him curiously, his mind backing off the dangerous thoughts. He hadn't forgotten the literally hellish price he'd once paid for losing control, for letting himself being swept away by love. He never would risk that again. He simply couldn't. Mustn't.

For a moment he felt irrational jealousy thinking about the other Angel in the other dimension who'd been free to love Buffy all the way. But then Connor moved in his arms, and he thought about Buffy sleeping upstairs and the feeling slowly subsided.

He cleared his throat, hoping that nothing of all this was showing in his expression, "She had a pretty rough night."

The smile slipped from Willow's face. "I heard," she admitted, walking over to the isle, then sitting down on one of the high-stools. "I heard you talking in the morning. Not the words, but I heard you murmuring …"

Yes, Angel thought, he and Buffy had been talking last night, but they had kept the conversation on safe ground, only talking about her experiences while she was gone, and her feelings now that she was back, in a strange world, with people who felt like friends, but were complete strangers to her. They'd both been feeling a bit awkward around each other, but for completely different reasons. While she found it difficult to talk to him, a man she knew, and didn't, he'd mostly done the listening part last night, which had left too much time to look at her and let his thoughts drift to dangerous territory.

" … I … tried to talk to her last night, but it didn't go well." Willow tried to smile, but failed. The way Buffy had made it clear she wasn't about to forgive her any time soon hurt. Somehow it didn't matter that this Buffy wasn't the one she'd known for years. There were too much alike, and Willow kept mixing them up, and her feelings for them.

"What did she say?," Angel wanted to know, firmly slamming the door shut on his forbidden Buffy-thoughts. And forbidden they were. For one, he, unlike the other Angel, still had a very shaky soul. But even if it weren't the case, and even if Buffy would be the Buffy he'd known, it was more than ridiculous to think she'd actually fall into his arms the first possible moment. And he hadn't even let himself think about the whole mess with Spike so far.

The witch shrugged, "At first she … I think she didn't want to talk to me. Later … she said she couldn't. And I understand," she hurried to add, "I mean, I really do. I feel pretty bad about … messing up and all, but … all I want is for her to give me a chance to make it right. To … to help her to adjust."

"I know," the vampire shifted his son yet again. The baby had finished his bottle and Angel held him up now, over his shoulder, patting his back for a good burp. Willow couldn't help but admire the way he handled the baby. It seemed so natural, so - right. She looked up when the vampire spoke again. "She is … confused. And scared. She's afraid she might not be able to handle the situation. We're all strangers for her, but at the same time we are familiar. Add the fact that I was dead in her universe," he slightly shook the head, "It's weird enough for me to imagine. For her," he shook his head again, "She must be freaking out."

"I guess." The redhead bit her lower lip, then ran a hand through her hair, letting out a weary sigh. "It's pretty freaky for us, too. To think there's Buffy … and yet, she isn't Buffy … and then, again, she is. It's more than just confusing." She paused for a moment, before she asked, "Do you … Do you think she'll ever be able to adjust?"

He had not the slightest idea how to answer her question, and his face must have given away his thoughts, because Willow added, "I … I mean, do you think she would maybe start to actually like living here in this world? That she could? With us helping her, I mean. Buffy, our Buffy, liked to live here."

Knowing all the things he did now, Angel wasn't so sure of that anymore. He remembered Giles words, shortly after Buffy had died, how eagerly she'd taken Dawn's place, and jumped into the portal. The teenager had described her gaze as far away, and the vampire couldn't stop wondering if she'd maybe welcomed death as an escape route. He felt his gut tighten at the thought, felt guilt stabbing deep. He didn't want to believe it but couldn't shake off the feeling that maybe things would've been different had he stayed.

Connor's burp dragged his mind back to reality, and Angel sighed wearily, knowing that Willow expected him to have answers she didn't. He looked at the witch, who was nervously wiping her hands at her pants, "I hope so, Willow," he said finally, looking at her seriously. "I truly hope so."

"Hi, Spike."

His left eyelid flickered for a moment, the only indication that he felt as if being punched right in his gut, but for once all his years on this earth paid off and he managed to smile, hiding his trembling hands behind his back. "Nibblet. Isn't this a time to be in school?"

Dawn shrugged, strolling into the crypt, her eyes sweeping around, taking in every detail, before she gave him a derisive snort. "I really don't think anyone's gonna even notice it."

"Big sis will," he replied, eyeing her curiously. Something wasn't right, he could feel it, right to his already healing toes, and he didn't like it at all. "She's pretty tough on you these days."

Dawn snorted again, her eyes again darting through the crypt, stopping at the shattered glass on the floor, then flying to his face, "What happened?"

It was his turn to shrug, "Got a little drunk last night." No way he would ever tell Dawn what really had caused the mess on the floor.

"Oh." She nodded, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her shirt, a frown appearing on her forehead.

Spike tilted his head, "What's wrong?"

The frown deepened. "Anything interesting on the telly?", she asked, and he realised she'd avoided answering his question.

"Don't know." After a moment of consideration he walked to her, and, putting a finger under her chin, he forced her to look at him. "What's wrong?," he repeated his question.

"Did you know?," she asked suddenly, accusation entering her blue eyes.

"Know what?," he asked, not understanding a thing.

A little laugh left her lips, but it wasn't a happy sound, "Well, that's a relief. At least I wasn't the last to know."

He felt annoyance, but somehow managed to keep his voice soft. Gentle. "To know, what?"

"That Buffy isn't Buffy."

She was floating. It was a feeling like no other. A feeling like being not of this earth. Like nothing could harm you. Hurt you. But it wasn't real. She didn't belong. But the hurt almost tore her apart.

Buffy moaned in her sleep, her head moving restlessly from one side to the other, her lips slightly parted, her eyes moving underneath the closed lids. Her hands clutched the white crisp sheet, while shivers ran over her body.

Dawn was smiling at her, the Dawn she knew, her blue eyes sparkling, her dark hair shining in the sunlight. The sun was so bright, Buffy had to squint her eyes to see. She reached out, wanting to touch, needing it, but her hand was only grabbing empty air, her sister vanishing right before her eyes.

Her head moved again on the pillow, left and right, her fingers clutching the sheets a little tighter.

"Dawn."

Her sister's name came from her lips, like a plea, but she already knew it was in vain. Dawn wouldn't come. Her Dawn, that is. There was another Dawn, standing right in the spot where her Dawn had been standing before. But this Dawn wasn't smiling. There was no sun behind her, only darkness. So dark, Buffy couldn't see a single thing. Just the girl's eyes and there was only accusation in them.

"No." Buffy moaned again, tiny pearls of sweat appearing above her upper lip, her breath coming in little gasps. "No. No" The moans intensified, as did the trembling.

"Mommy." A tear slipped from her lashes. "Mommy, help."

But her mother didn't answer. The darkness around Dawn crept closer, surrounding her little sister, swallowing her dark hair, leaving only her fair skin and the accusing eyes.

Angel. She needed Angel. But Angel was dead. Long gone.

No, no, no. Again her head moved on the pillow. He was here. She knew he was here. She'd been in his arms only yesterday. He'd been holding her, offering his help and support.

But he wasn't coming now.

There was darkness. Only darkness.

When she looked back at Dawn, the young girl was gone.

"Noooooo." With a long wail Buffy bolted upright on her bed, then pressing a hand on her mouth she stifled a sob, feeling drained and tired although a quick look at the clock at her nightstand told her she'd slept eight hours straight. She should be rested and ready for action, but instead all she wanted was to crawl under the covers and never come out again. The images that haunted her dreams were still clearly in her head, but she didn't know what to think of them.

Dawn vanishing right before her eyes.

Buffy felt her body shudder underneath the sheets, felt cold creeping up her spine. With a groan she closed her eyes, ran a weary hand through her tangled hair, then hugged herself, rocking back and forth on her bed, trying to get rid of the cold, the hopelessness that was crawling into every cell of her being.

That was how Angel found her when he stormed into her room, shaken by the agonized wail he'd heard sounding through the house. It hadn't really been loud, but with his supernatural hearing he hadn't missed it. He'd pushed the baby into Willow's arms, ignoring the witch's yelp of surprise when he'd stormed from the kitchen. Normally he would've taken Connor with him, but the sound coming from Buffy's room had been so desperate he had no idea what he might find there.

Now, seeing her like this, her body drenched in sweat, hugging herself, her eyes closed, his feelings tangled somewhere between relief and dread. Relief, because it could've been worse, and dread because seeing her that way, made his heart clench. And the fact that she hadn't even noticed his not so silent entry only added to it.

Trying to keep his voice calm, his movements deliberately slow, he stepped closer, "Buffy?"

She didn't look at him, but wrapped her arms even more tightly around herself, and he could see goose bumps on her bare arms.

"Buffy," he tried again, slowly sitting down at the edge of her bed, "Buffy," he repeated her name, trying to soothe her with his voice, hoping it might pull her back from wherever her mind had retreated to.

Another shudder went through her body, but still she remained in the same position, and after considering it for a moment, Angel finally reached out for her shoulder, his touch soft, like a caress, repeating her name yet again.

She jumped like a wild animal, away from him, her eyes wide and frightened, her pupils dilated with shock, her breath coming in gasps, she stared at him as if he was a complete stranger for a moment, that seemed like an eternity to him. He'd never seen her like this before and it broke his heart. What had happened to her to cause this, he wondered? It had been bad enough to see her last night, scared and lost, but this was worse than anything he could've imagined in his nightmares. He still had them, although he was much better at keeping them in check, had learned not to let them rule his life. As it seemed, Buffy wasn't as successful with hers.

"Shhh," he tried to soothe her, reaching out again, then stopped his hand in mid-air when he saw her tense, and she started to hyperventilate. "Buffy, it's me. Angel."

"No." The one word sounded as if ripped from the depths of her soul. She shook her head emphatically, her eyes wild. "N-no. No. Not Angel. A-angel is d-dead. H-he d-died. I-I-I s-saw him d-d-die."

"Yes." He forced himself to stay calm, to keep his voice gentle, soothing. "He died. In your dimension. But in this dimension, I'm alive. Remember? We talked, yesterday. See," he reached out again, tentatively touching her thigh through the sheet, "it's me."

For a moment she stiffened, then, suddenly, she blinked, her gaze flickering to his hand on her thigh in bewilderment. When she looked up again, there was a frown on her forehead, her eyes full of confusion. "Angel?"

Her voice was soft, his name sounding like a question from her lips. "Yes, Buffy. It's Angel. I'm here."

The frown deepened while she obviously managed to focus her gaze on his face, and after a moment he saw recognition dawning in her eyes. "Angel." Her chin started to quiver, and tears welled up in her eyes. "Angel," she repeated his name, before she covered her trembling lips with one hand. "Oh God." Her voice was muffled, but he understood. "Oh God, Angel. Dawn. … Dawn just … she was gone. She didn't want to stay with me. … Oh God," her face crumpled, "I left them. And now … now they are leaving me. They're all leaving me. It's what they always did … all my life …"

She was in his arms before either of them could think. Angel didn't know if she'd launched herself at him, or if he'd pulled her, maybe it was a combination of both, and somehow it didn't matter. All that mattered was the trembling body pressed close to his chest, the hot tears falling from her eyes in his shirt, her arms wrapped around his neck, it seemed as if she couldn't get close enough, as if she wanted to crawl right into him, become a part of him, and God help him, for a short, insane, moment he wanted it, too. He wanted to hold her, and never let go.

But sanity returned, and with sudden clarity Angel realised that it wasn't a moment for those kinds of thoughts. The situation might be intimate, but it wasn't sexual. She was clinging to him, because she was hurting, because she felt lost and lonely. She had died trying to save the world, and because of Willow's flirt with dark magic she'd been pulled out of wherever she'd gone to, and brought to a world that was not her own. To friends that weren't hers, to a sister who was foreign to her. And into the arms of a vampire who looked exactly like the love she'd lost, and yet wasn't. And to Spike …

Angel pushed the sudden, burning rage away, knowing that it was not the time for it. He'd have to deal with it, he knew, but later. And deep inside he also knew that he didn't have any right to react that way. The girl in his arms, the girl who'd been with Spike, wasn't the Buffy he knew and remembered, the one he'd loved.

But, God help him, lying in his arms, his hands stroking her back, she felt exactly the same.

"Are you alright?"

Dawn narrowed her eyes at the vampire, who'd been frozen for at least a minute, his blue orbs unblinking, his face without motion. He hadn't moved an inch, even forgot to breathe, and for a moment she wondered if he'd been turned into a statue. She'd found him sleeping once, unmoving like now, but he'd been lying then, while right now he was standing. And frankly, it was freaking her out. The expression 'walking corpse' sprang into her mind, and although she knew Spike wasn't a zombie, the fact he was a vampire was suddenly very apparent.

So far she'd seen him as an ally, a friend even, he'd saved her life more than once, had helped protecting her from Glory. He always had an open ear for her, when it seemed that nobody was understanding her, when nobody had time to listen. Still, she felt a shiver run through her body, at the very obvious reminder of his true nature. She couldn't stand it for a moment longer. "Spike," she said more loudly, touching his shoulder, shaking him. "Are you still in there?"

He blinked, and Dawn flinched, surprised by the unexpected movement. She'd thought that she'd be relieved seeing him move, seeing he wasn't really dead, although she knew he was, but in a very strange way his blinking eyelids were even more disturbing.

"Dawnie?"

She frowned. He didn't usually call her Dawnie. Only Buffy called her that. Or used to, anyway. Buffy who was dead. But who was also in their house. Lying in her bed.

Talking.

Walking.

Buffy.

Wrong.

It was all wrong.

She'd come to Spike to complain, but right this moment he seemed wrong, too. What the Hell was happening? She wondered. Was the fact that Buffy wasn't really Buffy turning her whole world upside down? She'd asked what was going to happen to her, but nobody had known an answer. Buffy had insisted that their dad would take care of her. But Dawn's dad wasn't Buffy's dad, so how could she know?

For all Dawn remembered, Hank Summers had never given a shit about his daughters, or had Buffy conveniently forgotten all the missed birthdays and dates? Sure, they'd spent their holidays with their father, but while her big sister had always tended to overlook Hank's faults, Dawn hadn't been so blind. She'd seen that he always tried to relieve his conscience by spending money for his daughters, buying them clothes and shoes. But the times he'd hugged her, or taken the time to talk … She tried very hard to remember them now, but failed.

Remembering where she was, she swiftly turned away from Spike, needing distance. She ran a hand through her hair, while her gaze travelled once again to the shattered glass on the floor. An accident, the vampire had said. And she hadn't thought about it. But now, looking at the pieces again, she felt herself frown. Something just didn't add up, because all of a sudden it looked very much as if someone had thrown a bottle at the wall. And the only one living down here was the other person in the crypt right now. Which meant that Spike had been lying.

"What did you mean?"

Startled by his words, her mind still dealing with the fact that Spike had been lying to her, her head came around. "Huh?"

"You said Buffy wasn't Buffy." Spike's voice was sharper now, his eyes narrowed and inquiring. "What did you mean by it?"

She'd come here to talk to him, to get rid of the frustration and pain she'd felt since she'd known the truth about Buffy, to find a friend who understood, who'd been nothing but honest, but somehow - all of a sudden - it seemed wrong. There was a feeling in her gut, a feeling she couldn't name right now, but it made her insides tingle in a way that let the bells in her head ring in alarm. Again her eyes darted to the pieces of glass on the floor, then back to the vampire's gaze, that didn't look the way she knew it, but dangerous, like a stranger, she'd never seen before.

She shrugged, feeling uncomfortable in his presence for the first time, "Nothing in particular. Just … Buffy is … she's different. As if she isn't … really Buffy."

He wasn't buying it. She should have known. Dawn could see it in the way his eyes narrowed even more, the way he tilted his head, his unblinking stare directed at her. An uneasy feeling crept up her spine, sending cold shivers over her skin. Now more than ever, she was aware of the fact that he was a vampire. He was old. Older than anyone she knew. Okay, so Angel was older, but he wasn't living in Sunnydale anymore, and didn't really count, having a soul and all. Sure, Angel had been evil, but he wasn't as a rule.

"That's not what you were saying when you first came here," Spike replied, stepping closer. "You said, you wanted to know if I knew. Or if you were the only one who didn't. And that Buffy wasn't Buffy." He frowned suddenly, "So what is it I'm supposed to know?"

She shrugged again, avoiding his inquiring eyes, glad she was safe from him because of his chip. She was suddenly very aware that underneath he was a dangerous being. "Well, I … uh … Don't you think she's changed?" It was another first. So far, the fact that he was evil had never bothered her. He was her friend. Period. Now - all of a sudden - it seemed to matter.

"Changed? Changed, how? She's got all the Slayer vibes." Spike was more talking to himself now.

"Uh-huh," Dawn nodded, trying to sound casual. The more she thought about it, the more she regretted coming here in the first place. School suddenly sounded very tempting. "Well," she edged away from him. "It's been nice talking to you, Spike. But now I really need to go to school. I've got maths, and Mrs. Cunningham is already pissed because I forgot my homework last week. Bye."

Without looking back she slipped from the crypt, glad the sun prevented him from following her. She could hear him call her name, and again felt the uneasiness entering her gut. Her pace increased and when she reached school she was practically running. She didn't know why. Spike was her friend. Buffy had told her time and again that Spike was a monster, a vampire, evil at the core, and she hadn't believed it, hadn't wanted to hear it.

And although he'd done nothing to her today, with the chip firmly implanted in his head he couldn't after all, for the first time she couldn't shake off the feeling that her sister might be right.

Angel smiled when he saw Cordy standing the living-room, a tangle of the respect and admiration he'd had for her lately welling up in him. Just before Tara had come to L.A. it had been mixed with something new, something he hadn't dared to follow, hadn't dared to explore. Maybe it had been triggered by Connor's unexpected arrival, the way Cordy mothered over him, he didn't know. There had been a softness around her, an air he felt irresistibly drawn to, in a way that went beyond the boundaries of friendship.

But seeing her now, surrounded by Wesley, Gunn, and Fred, smiling up at him, he felt nothing more than friendship, and a deep gratitude that she had accepted it and gave it in return. He tried to find the earlier, deeper feeling, but couldn't. He wasn't sure why, but although it had been a nice, human feeling, he was glad it was missing now. Maybe Buffy's return into his world, or rather his into hers, had made him see, had erased any other romantic interest in his life.

Romantic interest?

Right now, it seemed so absurd, he had to chuckle. All he could think about was Buffy. Confused and lost.

Maybe being near her again had reminded him what really counted.

"I have you know that those …those freaks made me get up at six o'clock in the morning to go to Sunnydale," Cordelia said as a matter of greeting, waving at the people surrounding her. "I know nobody is really interested in this, but do you even know what that means to a woman's skin. Lack of sleep can be deadly. And I'm not even mentioning the fact that I had to come back here. To Sunnydale. This is so bad."

"Hey," Angel smiled at his friends, his eyes resting on each of them for a moment. "Good to see you." And it was good, although he wasn't so sure he was ready to deal with this vision on top of the problems with Buffy. She'd quieted down in his arms after a while, and another while later she'd disentangled herself from him, embarrassment painting a faint pink on her cheeks. She'd managed a smile, then slipped from the room, into the shower, which was when he'd heard the doorbell ring. He'd known his friends had arrived, when he'd heard Cordelia talking to Connor, who was now safely tucked into her arms.

It was a nice picture, Cordy holding his son, but unlike before nothing shifted inside of him, nothing stirred, and Angel realised he was taking a deep, liberating breath, as if a burden had been taken from him. Cordy was his friend. He loved her. But he loved her like a sister, and it felt - right. The confusion he'd felt for the last weeks was finally gone.

"I swear he's grown." Fed was craning her neck to get a glimpse of the baby.

"Oh please," Cordelia rolled her eyes, "It's not even twenty-four hours since you last saw him."

"Still, I think …," Fed moved to the seer's other side, "Just look at his hands. They're still tiny, but don't you think his fingers seem longer somehow?"

There was bewilderment in Willow's eyes when she leaned towards Angel, "Are they always like this?," she asked, amazement in her voice.

Angel had to grin, "Yeah. Pretty much all the time."

"I can't believe this is Cordelia," the witch replied, a smile playing around her lips. "Are you sure it's still the same girl? You're not playing with magic over there, are you? I mean, maybe you exchanged her soul without knowing."

"I've heard this, Rosenberg," the brunette's stern voice sounded through the living room. "And I have you know that people actually do change." She raised a brow, giving Willow a pointed glance, when Tara stepped into the room, greeting the L.A.-crew with a smile. "As you certainly know best," Cordelia added.

Angel resisted a comment, his eyes searching Wesley's gaze, "Do you know more about Cordy's latest vision?"

Before the ex-watcher was able to reply, the brunette did it herself, "I saw the old warehouse, three blocks behind the Bronze. At least that's where it was last time I was around. Of course it's been a while and …," she looked at Willow.

"Oh," the redhead nodded, "The Bronze is still there. Completely redecorated though."

"They redecorated it?" Cordelia was clearly shocked.

"You know," Gunn spoke for the first time. One broad shoulder was leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed in front of his chest, a grin was tugging at his lips, "people do that kind of stuff all the time."

"Duh." The brunette shot him a icy look. "I know that. But redecorating the Bronze. It's taking away my youth. Not that I'm old, but still … It's like … burning down the High school, I wanted to say, only that … Buffy already did burn it down." Before anyone could comment it, she shook her head, "Anyways. There was more. Green, scaly…," she gestured with her free, left hand, "… something's. I think it's a safe bet they are demons. With large red eyes," she shivered visibly, "covered in yellow slime. Why do they always have to be covered in the stuff."

"To make you see you're still wearing the wrong shoes and clothes for the job?"

Cordelia narrowed her eyes, "Not everyone can have your fashion sense, Mr. Gunn. Because if that was the case, the world would be lost."

"Yes, well," Wesley looked back an for the between his bickering friends. "It seems that whatever it is they've planned will be going down tonight." His eyes found Angel's and they exchanged a look, when there was a noise from the doorway, and they all turned around.

Buffy was standing there, her eyes still red-rimmed from crying, but after taking a shower she looked refreshed and more like the Buffy Angel remembered from times when he'd still been part of her life. She'd been so quiet, nobody had heard her come down the stairs. She gave the guests a tentative smile, then gazed at the vampire. "So, are you going to explain what's going on, or do I have to guess?"

The bad of containing human chilled human blood hit the wall with a thud, the red liquid painting it in an irregular pattern.

The vampire swore loudly, his amber eyes glowing in the semi-darkness of the crypt. God, how he wanted to kill. How he longed to sink his teeth into smooth human skin, and taste the coppery, warm juices that were like nothing else on this world. He cursed his entire existence for what had to be the hundredths time today. Maybe he could taste Slayer blood one of these days. He'd bitten her already, but so far she'd always drawn the line at sucking. The last time he tried she'd shoved him away.

Was she afraid he was going to kill her? That he wouldn't be able to stop?

He'd wondered it himself, but somehow he doubted he'd kill her. He loved her after all. But maybe he'd be able to convince her to give him a taste. Just a nip.

He groaned, feeling himself harden at the mere thought of penetrating her both ways. It was incredibly erotic.

But then he looked at the blood on the wall and his thoughts turned back to Dawn and her strange remarks this morning. How could Buffy not be Buffy? She sure as hell felt like the Slayer. There was no way he could have mistaken the vibes for something else. They were strong, sometimes even painful, hurting his guts, having his sworn enemy close that way. But it was also thrilling, a mixture of pleasure and pain, a combination that went into a vampire's blood like drugs. Hell, not like drugs. Much better than that. He would never forget the exhilaration he'd felt the first time he'd had her. It was a feeling like no other.

No, Buffy was the Slayer. There was no doubt in his mind, or in his heart. Yet, he couldn't forget Dawn's look when she'd first entered his crypt today. Something wasn't right. She'd tried to cover it up, but hadn't been very successful in doing so. Something just didn't add up. They were hiding something from him.

He whirled away from the wall, striding purposely towards the entrance of his crypt, opening the door, then shied back when the sun caused a burning sensation on his hand.

Slamming the door shut, he changed back into his human features. Maybe he wouldn't find out right now. But there was always the night. He could wait for some hours. It wasn't as if he was getting any older.

"Angel I'm the Slayer, I'm strong, remember. Besides, this is my town, my job. I'm responsible for the demons around here." Buffy shot Angel an exaggerated look. "Don't treat me like some fragile china … thingy!"

He frowned at her, then ran a hand through his spiky hair, "I don't. Treat you like a china doll, I mean. But you," he gestured at her, sitting cross-legged on her bed, in black trousers and a pink shirt, bunny slippers on her feet, "aren't well." When he saw her rising a brow, he shook his head, "Not well enough, anyway."

She sighed, understanding what he tried to do, liking the fact that he was concerned about her. The others always leaned on her, Angel offered his shoulder for her to lean on. It was one of the reason she'd always loved him so … And of course she hadn't loved this Angel at all. She rubbed her forehead, tried to get rid of the confusion in her mind. How were you supposed to keep the two apart when they looked and felt the same? But now wasn't the time to be confused about feelings, there was a demon waiting in an old warehouse, and as always duty came first. She'd learned that the hard way - a long time ago.

She suppressed the acid feeling the word 'duty' evoked in her, and forced herself to look at him, "I am fine," she insisted. "True, I'm confused, I even admit that I was … am an emotional wreck. But that doesn't mean I can't function as a Slayer. I'm still strong. Maybe even stronger than ever, I can do it."

Angel stared at her for a moment, then shook his head wearily, "Alright, I can see you are determined to come with us. And if I've learned one thing then that it's no use to try to change your mind if you've set it on something." He saw the beginning of a grin form on her lips, and held up a hand, "But … this is one of Cordy's visions. Which means it's my job to deal with it. So I am going to deal with it. You can come, but I have to slay."

"Agreed," she replied quickly, glad he'd given in so easily. Angel, her Angel, wouldn't have. He would've argued with her for hours. But maybe this Angel had done some growing up, learned that she could make her own decisions, that she didn't need anyone to protect her, that they could be equal partners in this. Her Angel hadn't learned it. It had finally cost his life.

"Fine," he let out a tired sigh, looked at her from the corner of his eye, "Were they the same in your world?," he asked. "I mean Cordy and Wes … and," he stopped abruptly, turned his gaze fully at her, "In your world I never left Sunnydale. What happened to them?"

She smiled and patted the spot beside her. After a short hesitation he joined her and sat down. "Cordy left Sunnydale after graduation," she told him, glad to feel him beside her. It was so familiar, so soothing, she was tempted to lean her head on his shoulder, take his hand in hers. But because he wasn't her Angel, she kept her hands to herself, and her head against the headboard. "She went to L.A. I think. We never heard from her again." She frowned, tried to remember, "Wait, that's not true. She sent Xander a Christmas card once. Told him she was rich and famous, living in a mansion outside the city. Some guy - he was involved in filming - had offered her a contract." She chuckled, "She didn't say it with words, but between the lines we understood that she'd been moving in with him." Shrugging, she sighed, "Well, that's Cordy for you. She always managed to fall on her feet somehow."

Angel thought about a guy and a mansion where Cordy had almost been killed, where he'd saved her life by rescuing her from a vampire in disguise. He wondered if it was the same guy, if he maybe made her a vampire in the other dimension. Probably, he thought, but restrained himself from telling Buffy. She didn't to know that on top of everything else. She wasn't responsible for Cordelia, but knowing her, she'd blame herself nevertheless.

"And Wes," she grinned suddenly, "He wrote Giles a letter that he was re-established with the Watcher's Council and that he was now one of their vice-presidents." She'd always thought that kind of career suited the stiff Brit, but seeing him this morning, relaxed, in pants and a shirt, his hair slightly dishevelled, laughing with Cordy and Gunn, she wasn't so sure anymore. This Wesley certainly was different from the one she'd known, and she found herself actually liking this improved version. She looked at Angel from the corner of her eyes and wondered if he ever realised what an impact his presence in this world had on people. It was not only Wesley. As far as she could see from the short time they'd spoken today, Cordelia had changed, too. And only for the better.

Angel chuckled, "You should tell him one day. I'd like to see his reaction. He might have been in Travers' place one day. And all he's got instead is a slightly shady agency, with a vampire, a seer, and a street-guy with an attitude for employees, and a lot of trouble thrown our way."

"I think he has the better deal," she replied quietly, earnestly. She saw him smile at her and smiled back. It was downright creepy. They knew each other for not even a day, but were talking like friends, and at least for her he felt as if she'd known him all her life. And somehow, she thought later, this was the reason it just blurted out of her, that she couldn't stop the words before they were spoken. "Spike was important for me these last months," she said, her body suddenly tense, afraid how Angel might react to her admission.

She knew that he had avoided the subject for her sake, and maybe even partly for his, but that he hadn't said anything to give her the opportunity to tell him as soon as she was comfortable. Well, she wasn't comfortable with it, probably would never be, but it was eating at her, because it was hanging over them like the sword of Damocles.

She saw that his hands clenched and unclenched, and that he took a steadying breath before he said, "Important, how?"

He had to make himself ask the question when all he wanted was to yell and rage. He had to summon the last bit of his self-control to let his voice sound normal and relaxed. But he couldn't help his hands clenching into fists. He was a vampire, yes, but his very human soul could only take so much. He'd known the subject would come up, had even been tempted to ask her about Spike once last night when they'd talked. But he hadn't. He knew it was cowardly, but if he could he would've preferred to forget about his grand-childe entirely.

"I … when I came back, when," she had to wet her lips, they were dry like sand, "Willow brought me into this dimension … Of course I didn't know then that it wasn't my world, but still … You cannot imagine how I felt. As if I was pulled into hell. As if … Nothing felt right anymore. They were so proud they brought me back … and Spike … He was the only one I could talk to. I didn't need to pretend with him. He was evil, I couldn't hurt him. And … he hadn't been part of the 'rescue'-team. He even told me once that he would've prevented it had he known. I don't know if it's the truth or if it was just an attempt to points with me, but …" She broke off, shook her head, still not really understanding what had been happening to her. Would she ever really understand it, she wondered?

"Why … didn't you talk to Giles?," Angel asked, a part of him hating the fact that he needed, wanted, an explanation. He had no right, dammit, but he couldn't help it. "He wasn't around either when they brought you back."

"No, he wasn't. But …," she shrugged, "Maybe I felt somehow that he wouldn't stay. He was … different somehow. Don't ask me to explain it. I don't even know if I really felt it or if … Anyways. Somehow I ended up telling Spike all the stuff … And he listened, and he … understood. I think because he is a vampire, because he died, too."

"That's different," he said. "Buffy, waking up as a vampire is painful, it's confusing, but … you don't have a soul. You feel free and careless. How could Spike even begin to understand? He's never had a soul for a single day since he was turned."

"Sometimes I wonder," she muttered, but he'd heard her nevertheless. His head snapped around, his eyes even darker than usual.

"What do you mean?"

Again she shrugged, "I don't know. Spike is … Did Tara tell you he can hit me?" When he nodded, she went on, "He can even bite me. And yet he never made an attempt to kill me."

"Because he knows you'd kill him the moment he tried," Angel said darkly. "Buffy, Spike isn't stupid, at least not as a rule. He's dangerous. He might seem different sometimes, but deep inside, at his core, there is evil. Period. There isn't a soul. When it comes down to it, he will only care for himself. Nothing else matters for a vampire in the end."

"He saved Dru," she reminded him and when he she saw the confusion in his eyes, she added, "When he performed the ritual all those years ago," she stopped abruptly, "Did he do it in your dimension?"

"Yes," he nodded, "He did. And I know what you mean. But Dru is different. She is his sire."

"I know, but he is different," she insisted. "He always was. I know he is evil," she said, when she saw the protest in his eyes, "But Spike is … I don't know. It might be the chip. Maybe he's been forced for so long to go against his true nature that he had to adapt. That he had to develop human traits. But anyways," she took a deep breath, "What I wanted to say is that … I … I enjoyed having sex with him. A part of me anyway. Another part of me was disgusted, tried to stop it, but couldn't. I even …," she looked away, casting her eyes to her lap where her fingers were tightly entwined, "I was the one who started it. Yes, he always tried to … but in the end I jumped his bones. He didn't protest very hard, but still…," she trailed off, a frown marring her forehead.

She didn't flinch when she felt his hand enveloping hers. Again, this was so utterly familiar, she wanted to weep. His cool fingers were tracing the lines of her palm, his thumb rubbing the back. She felt as if she was launched back in time, to a place where in her world things had not been perfect, but had been filled with love and hope, even though there had been demons. But with Angel by her side she'd been able to bear it. After his death everything seemed to have lost sense.

"Buffy, you were confused, lost. It's only human to react that way. Spike is the one to blame, or he would be, was he human. As much as I hate to say it, but for a vampire, his behaviour is understandable."

She turned her right hand, entwined her fingers with his. "But I couldn't make it stop. And deep inside I didn't want to, Angel. When I was with Spike, everything seemed - not better, but at least bearable."

He hesitated with his next question, scared she might give an answer he couldn't live with, but in the end he forced himself to ask, "And - now?"

A little laugh escaped her mouth, not actually a happy sound, but not sad either. "Now? I'm not sure, Angel. I still feel … or maybe even more than before, I feel lost. I'm not in my dimension after all. It's a lot to deal with. But being with you helps, even though you're not the Angel I remember. You're funnier, you know. You laugh, you often smile. Angel, my Angel, he rarely smiled. He was always so … serious. So full of grief and pain."

"I'm still feeling all those things," he told her, pulling her hand in his lap, "I just learned to cover them up. To live with it. To not let it rule my whole life."

"I know that," she said softly, "And I like it. You are … You are like I always wished him to be. I wanted him to learn to deal with his demons. He didn't get the chance." She expected to have to blink tears away, but surprisingly there weren't any. It was hard to miss someone when he was sitting right beside you. God, this was so strange. How was she ever going to understand this? Without even noticing she was falling hard for Angel - again. It didn't matter that she hadn't seen him before yesterday or that they didn't share memories. Sitting beside him, her hand in his, felt - right. Utterly, completely right. After feeling lost for so long, she finally felt whole again.

Again he had to force himself to ask the next question, "What … uh … what are you going to do with Spike? Now, I mean."

"I will tell him that we're over," she replied without hesitation. She didn't know how or when it had happened, but slowly the mist in her mind seemed to lift and she had a certain feeling the man beside her was the main reason for her epiphany. She suddenly had no problem anymore to see what she wanted. "It wasn't a healthy relationship in the first place. It's suddenly crystal clear for me," she smiled at him, "I wonder why I didn't see it before?"

He smiled back, suddenly almost feeling giddy, "Sometimes you need time to figure things out."

"Yeah," she agreed. They continued to sit together. They didn't talk. But it wasn't necessary. For now, just being together, was enough.

Gunn took the cup of coffee Willow held out for him, and gave her a grateful smile. He was leaning against the doorway of the kitchen, surveying the assembled crowd of people. There were the people he knew and l…iked, Wes, Cordy, Fred. And the others he'd just met, Willow and Tara, the witches - and lovers, Xander and Anya who'd just joined them half an hour ago. Anya was a little weird in his eyes, always letting her gaze travel up and down his body, as if checking him out. It was even weirder because Tara had introduced her as another man's fiancée. But then, there wasn't a lot Gunn hadn't seen in his life, and he grinned inwardly. Having a female looking at you appreciatively … there were certainly worse things to endure.

Like fighting some demons in a basement in the middle of the night, then to drive to a God forsaken town like Sunnydale at dawn, with a cranky Cordy on the back seat, and an ex-watcher behind the wheel who thought going 50 miles was fast. He inwardly shook his head. He'd come a long way from a street kid to this, standing amongst people who every sane being could only describe as weird. Watchers, Slayers, demons, witches. And even the humans could only be described as colourful.

Xander, Anya's fiancée, was another interesting character, judging the way his eyes had widened the moment he'd spotted Cordelia in the house, and the way she'd rolled hers, when she'd gotten aware of his presence, and Gunn was instantly sure there was more between them. He'd bet a month's salary that they'd been lovers once, or at least high school sweethearts. He felt a grin tugging at his lips and quickly lifted his cup to his mouth, covering it effectively. But he almost choked on it when he heard Xander's next comment.

"You have short hair," the guy remarked, looking at Cordy, "It sure makes you look older."

Didn't Xander know that you didn't say those things if you wanted to live a nice, quiet life? Maybe he didn't know Cordelia as well as Gunn had thought.

And of course the brunette's eyes narrowed instantly, but instead of shouting at him a devilish expression entered them, "At least I have improved. Which is more than I can say of you, Harris."

Or maybe Xander knew Cordelia a lot better than anyone, Gunn thought. He felt a sharp pang and hated it instantly, because it felt too much like jealousy for his comfort. No way he would feel jealous. Cordy hadn't given the slightest hint that she might be interested in him, and besides, he'd seen the way Angel had looked at her lately. That look had been completely gone though, this morning. Instead the vampire hadn't been able to take his eyes from the little blond Slayer, and Gunn knew that whatever Angel might have felt for the brunette, it couldn't compete with what he felt for Buffy. The connection between vampire and Slayer was almost a palpable thing in the room. No wonder the guy always brooded. No wonder he'd gone to Asia to get over her death.

It must be strange for Angel that she was back now, and yet wasn't. Gunn had always thought his life was tough, and the night he had been forced to kill his sister, he was convinced that there were not a lot of people who had a worse deal. But Angel certainly topped everything. Not that he didn't think the vampire hadn't earned it. Without his soul Angel had killed hundreds, probably thousands of people, but that didn't mean Gunn wasn't able to see that the vampire did all he could to make amends.

"Not to mention the fact," Cordy was continuing, "that you're working for a construction company and are about to marry an ex-demon. Classy, Xander, very classy."

"Hey," Anya yelled.

"I can see how working for a vampire with a soul is so much better than that," Xander retorted sarcastically, slipping a supporting arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. Gunn had a feeling they fit perfectly. "Didn't you leave to become some famous actress?"

"I'm not working for Angel," the brunette told him. Gunn saw she was severely tempted to throw something at Xander, and stifled a chuckle.

"Not?," Xander's brow rose.

It was Wesley's turn to clear his throat, but before he could say a word, Fred spoke up. "She's Wesley's employee. We all are."

"Wait a moment. Are you going to tell us that Wesley is owning Angel Investigations these days ?" Xander couldn't stifle the grin that formed on his face. "Ex-watcher, Wes? Oh, I really want to see that."

"Wesley is a wonderful boss," Cordy told him. "He's changed a lot since he left Sunnydale."

"Thank you, Cordelia," the man in question said, stepping over to the isle and placing his cup on it. "Yes, indeed Angel Investigations is my business now." He cleared his throat, "Certain circumstances … Well, there were things happening in L.A.," he shook his head, "Let's not get into it. We need to discuss tonight, as soon as Angel comes back down."

"If he comes down at all. Seems he and Buffy are attached at the hip - again," Cordy's voice was acid, and Gunn wasn't so sure anymore that only Angel had developed certain feelings for the brunette. Cordelia always tried to appear strong and unflappable, but underneath that raw surface she hid a very fragile soul, she protected fiercely. Gunn didn't know, of course, because for all her bravado she was very hesitant in sharing anything intimate, but he thought it was a good guess that she'd once been hurt deeply. Maybe even by Xander when he was reading the signs correctly.

"I am sure he'll come down," Wesley spoke quietly, but firmly, and Gunn chuckled when he saw Xander raise a brow. "I think we have to give him some space. All those news about Buffy…," he sighed, pulled off his glasses and cleaned them at the hem of his shirt, "It's quite a lot to digest." He gave Cordelia a sharp look when he added, "And not only for him."

It seemed he hadn't been the only one who'd noticed the change in Cordelia's and Angel's relationship, Gunn thought.

She rolled her eyes, "Relax, Wes. I won't give Buffy a hard time. I can see how shaken she is." She sighed, ran a hand through her short hair, "I wouldn't want to be in her place. I still remember waking up in Pylea, believe me I can relate. It might be a kid's dream to travel through dimensions, but it's overrated. An I was treated like a princess there." Sighing again, she reached for her cup, "I wouldn't want to be in Buffy's shoes." She smiled at Wesley and the ex-watcher smiled back.

"Who is that and where did Cordy go?," Xander asked, looking at her in amazement.

"You might be up for a surprise," the brunette replied sweetly. "As I said, I have changed."

"I'm tempted to believe you."

Gunn chuckled. He might not have wanted to drive to Sunnydale. But maybe it wasn't such a bad deal after all.

"I don't like this." Angel paced Buffy's bedroom with long strides, glancing at Connor from time to time. The baby was lying in the middle of Buffy's bed now. He'd been crying in Dawn's room, and they'd brought him over to feed and change him. Later he'd fallen asleep in Buffy's arm, a picture Angel would never forget as long as he lived. It was his ultimate dream come true. Buffy sitting beside him, his child in her arms. It was almost perfect. He'd dreamt about it. But in his dreams, the child had been hers, too.

"Angel," she stood close to her desk, a brush in one hand, "We talked about it. I want to talk to him. I need to talk to him."

"There is no need," he insisted stubbornly. She knew it was only out of concern, and she wanted to hug him for it. Still, he had to understand that it was important to her.

"There is," she replied, and continued to brush her hair. She'd done it in the morning, but Connor had been playing with it before. "I need to talk with Spike face to face. I owe him, Angel."

He stopped his pacing, ran a hand over his face, "I don't like it, Buffy. You said he can hurt you. What if-"

"I'm the Slayer, remember? I'm stronger than he. He won't do anything. He won't risk it. You said so yourself. Besides … I don't think he'll do it anyway. He never tried to hurt me before."

"You never tested his limits," he muttered. "Spike can be … difficult when he doesn't get what he wants. And just to say it. You owe him nothing."

"But I do. He helped me through a difficult time. I know he didn't do it for unselfish reasons, but it doesn't matter. Without him I wouldn't have made it," she said softly. "Angel, I'm glad you're concerned for my sake. But because you care for me, I need you to understand that I have to do it. I started it, I have to end it."

She saw he was struggling with himself, but finally he nodded, "Alright. But be careful."

"I will be," she smiled at him, put her brush down. "I'll be back in an hour, two hours max. Angel," she added when she saw the doubt in his eyes, "I'm going to his crypt. It's daylight. I can leave whenever I want and he can't follow. It's perfectly safe."

"Nothing with Spike is perfectly safe, but I understand. Just be careful, alright?"

"I promise. Thanks for being there for me. It's … important. More important than you might know."

He forced himself to smile. "You're welcome."

"I'm so glad you're here. You don't know what it means to me." With a last smile she slipped from the room.

"I know," he whispered, "because it means the world to me." But she couldn't hear it. She was already gone.

Lilah leaned back in her chair, her fingers busy playing with a pen, she tried her best to act as if nothing was wrong. And silently she was congratulating herself for her performance. Maybe, if Wolfram & Hart ever got tired of her, she could find a new job as an actress. But then the firm usually had its own way to depose former employees which had nothing to do with finding a new profession and all with people disappearing from the face of the earth. There were moments when she envied Lindsey. He had to be the first who left Wolfram & Hart and was still alive. But then she thought about her nice apartment, the money she earned each month, or the car she loved so much, and knew that she had all she wanted - and right this moment even more.

Which brought her attention back to the woman who was standing in a corner of her office, admiring a one million dollar painting. "Now," she said finally, lifting her eyes to her guest. "I never thought I'd see *you* again. Not after Darla became dust anyway."

"I was lonely. With Grandmum gone life is no fun anymore. And Angel was so mean." Drusilla stepped from the shadows, her raven hair falling almost to her waist, her nails blood red , her lips of the same color, a fascinating contrast to her almost translucent skin. She was a beautiful woman if you could overlook the emptiness in her eyes, and the fact that she was a soulless mass-murderer. Lilah could still remember the panic she'd felt when Angel had shut the door to the wine cellar.

Drusilla sat down opposite to the lawyer and trailed the fingers of her right hand over the flawless skin of her left forearm. "He burnt us. It hurt," her voice changed into a whine, "And it smelled. I didn't like the smell. I went to see Spike, but his heart reeks of the Slayer. And his mind is all funny. There is a little chip in his head. And that hurts him when he tries to bite. Aaaand," she sighed dramatically, "I heard I got a little brother," her eyes took on a dreamy look, while a pout appeared on her lips, "And it's not fair of Daddy to keep him away from me. He knows I always wanted a baby."

Lilah stifled her own sigh. Maybe the firm wasn't paying her nearly enough for what she had to do. Dealing with Darla had been difficult, before and after she was turned, but at least she'd been sane, as much as a vampire could be called sane anyway, but Drusilla was a completely different matter. She was a vampire, *and* insane. That could be a lethal combination and Lilah treasured her life far too much to take any risks with it.

"And you came to us, because …?," she asked after a moment, letting her voice trail off.

She shrank back when the vampire rose from her seat, and leaned over the desk, her eyes darkening, giving the impression that her mind was suddenly far away. "You're all afraid," she said, her head swaying from left to right and back, then lolling backward, "Your head is full of fear."

Lilah couldn't stop her own eyes from widening. If she'd ever thought the mind-readers the company kept were scary, she'd just learned differently. Of course she'd been reading about Drusilla's 'gift', but for the first time she was seeing it, and being at the receiving end of that gift wasn't something she found intriguing. She pulled herself together, straightened in her chair, and looked squarely at the vampire, "Nonsense. Why would I be afraid. You came because you want something from me. You're not going to hurt me."

Drusilla's head came up slowly, but there was a knowing smile playing around her lips, when she looked at the lawyer. "Not because of me, silly," she giggled. "You are right, I'm not going to hurt you. Not now, anyway. I just had myself a nice young lawyer," she giggled again, her tongue darting out, licking the blood-red lips. "Noooo, you're afraid of him. Angel. They're all afraid of Angel. They always were. He was the best. He still would be but now his mind is confused all the time. He doesn't know who he is, where he belongs. There are two Angels inside of him. And they fight all the time."

Well, that wasn't actually news. Lilah faked a yawn, "If you came to bore me, you can leave again."

"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk," Drusilla lifted her forefinger, wagging it back and forth at the lawyer. "You're not listening. I've been offering you a trade."

Intrigued, the lawyer leaned forward, "A trade? What kind of trade?"

"Hmmm." The vampire sat back down, running a hand through her hair, "I know you want my little brother. I could bring him to you."

Lilah's stomach flip-flopped at the prospect. Gaining control over Angel's child, that could be the breakthrough she'd been waiting for all her life. The bosses would bow to her feet. "You were talking about a trade. What do you want in return?"

"Just a little favour. Nothing big."

"What?" Lilah hated it that her voice sounded sharp, but the anticipation was getting to her. She could hardly wait to get her fingers on the baby.

"That's for me to know and for you to guess," the vampire replied cryptically, laughing slightly. It was a sound that sent shivers down the other woman's spine.

But not under any circumstances she would let the undead see that she was scared spitless. A cool brow rose with long practiced slowness, "Guess? I'm a lawyer. I deal with facts. You have to give me a hint, honey."

"Honey?," Drusilla's eyelashes batted, "Oooooooh," she crooned, "he used to call me 'honey' and 'luv' and 'pet'. He was such a good boy, my Spike. And now his mind is confused with magic."

"If it's magic," Lilah said, faking ignorance, "this should be your department." Of course she knew exactly what Drusilla was talking about. She wouldn't be in her current position if she didn't.

The vampire sighed loudly, then slowly rose from her seat, "That's the problem, see. I can't do anything. And it breaks my heart." The placed her hand over the point where the organ lay still in her chest. "It hurts. He was magnificent once." She smiled again, giving the lawyer a last glance. "I'll be back tomorrow." With that she swept from the room.

Lilah took a deep breath, and put her hands on the surface of her desk, trying to steady them. But the shock sat too deep. She'd never bothered to look into Drusilla's eyes, not even the night where the vampire had almost killed her, but she had tonight, and it had shaken her to the core. She'd seen vampires. Hell, she dealt with them on a daily basis. It didn't bother her. But none of them had eyes like the raven-haired beauty.

Her still trembling hands reached for her notebook. She almost ripped out the pages flipping through them, then finally found what she'd been looking for. Dialling a number, she waited for the other party to respond and when she heard a voice at the other side, she let out a breath of relief. "Hello, Clive. It's good to hear you," she said. "Tell me, are you still such a hotshot in brain surgery?"

There were several things Buffy had dreaded in her life, the list topped by her walk towards the mansion to confront Angelus, but although this wasn't nearly as disturbing, it didn't rank a lot under it either. How did you go and break-up with your lover, she wondered? She hadn't done it before. All the men in her life had left her. She'd never been forced to say the words, although she knew, with the distance of almost a year, that she'd unconsciously pushed Riley away, leaving it to him to say the final words, sparing herself to be the one to blame.

The cemetery was almost empty. Buffy saw an old woman placing flowers on a grave. Maybe that of her husband. Had they been happy all their life, able to live it together, to enjoy children, grand-children? The woman had difficulties straightening her back, her movements slow, no doubt her joints were aching from arthritis, but right now Buffy envied her tremendously. She remembered a time when she had harboured dreams of a normal life. She chuckled unhappily at her own naivety. God, had she really ever been so young and innocent? Continuing her way to Spike's crypt she could hardly believe it.

Giles had tried to explain it to her, had tried to tell her, but she wouldn't listen. Hadn't wanted to listen. It was understandable, of course. What teenager wanted to hear that because of some sacred duty crap you could never have what all the other people took for granted. None of them knew how lucky they were. Sometimes she wanted to shout at them when they were complaining about their life. Didn't they see what a precious gift they'd been given. A human life. Love. Children.

There was nothing of it in her life. The man she'd loved had been a vampire who died to save her life. She would never have children. There was no way she was going to make their lives miserable as well. What kind of life would they have with a Slayer for a mother. Besides, there was nobody she could see as the prospective father. The only guy she could imagine had a shaky soul and sperm as dead as his body.

Startled by her own thoughts she stopped, blinking against the sunlight. When had she started to think of the Angel in this dimension in terms of a prospective father, she wondered? She didn't even know him 24 hours, but already the lines were unclear, already the differences were fading. Plus, she'd seen the way he was acting around Connor. He was a wonderful father. He was acting exactly the way she'd always thought he would. She blinked again. Angel, this Angel, had produced Connor. With Darla. Could it be that he wasn't just shooting blanks?

Buffy shook her head, barely able to believe her train of thoughts. With a chuckle she continued to walk, her smile fading with every step. There was nothing funny in what she had to do now. Angel might blame Spike for the whole mess, but she knew better. She knew that she was equally responsible. True, she'd been confused, but Spike hadn't done anything she didn't want him to. She'd been seeking him out, time and again. And damn, she'd enjoyed sex with him. He was a skilled lover. Not like Angel. Nobody was like Angel. But he definitely knew what to do with a naked woman. And with a not so naked one, too.

He had understood, even if Angel doubted it. But Angel would never trust Spike. Maybe because he knew the difference a soul could make. He couldn't believe that a soulless demon could be anything but evil, and yet Spike was … different. Yes, he was evil. Buffy was too much the Slayer to delude herself. But she knew him well enough now, to see that there were changes. Angel hadn't seen Spike for a long time. Not since the chip had been planted in his head and the blond vampire had been forced to suppress his true nature. Buffy knew there was still the demon underneath, but she also believed that Spike really loved her. And that made everything so much worse.

He loved her, at least the way a soulless demon knew to love. And all she'd done was using him. She couldn't deny that she liked him, but love … She would never love him. Could never love him. Because she would never get over the fact that his soul, his essence, was missing. Deep inside she would always ask herself if his feelings were real, or maybe just an act. And besides, her heart wasn't free to give. Hadn't been free ever since she'd met her destiny in a dark alley behind the Bronze.

Again a smile played around her lips. She still remembered his white shirt, the dark jacket. She still had the cross he'd given her.

(( I'm a friend.

Maybe I don't need a friend.

I didn't say I was yours.))

She'd kept all the things he'd given to her. She'd even saved the painting Angelus had made one night. After Angel's death every single thing seemed even more important. She still missed her Claddagh ring, lost in the mansion and never recovered. She had kept Angel's, lying on the floor in his ashes. She still visited the spot where they had buried them. It was all lost to her now. It had stayed in the other dimension, the one where they thought her dead.

But on the other hand she'd gained something much more precious. Something she still had a hard time believing.

Angel was alive here.

He was alive. She still felt his arms around her, the coolness of his hand enveloping hers. And again the limits were blurring. Did it really matter that this Angel wasn't the Angel she'd known. This Angel felt familiar to her, she knew the texture of his skin, could see his thoughts in his eyes, could read his body language like no other. They didn't have to speak to understand each other. Didn't that mean that they were meant for each other, too? Could it mean that dimensions didn't matter? Could it even mean that things were meant to happen?

She was afraid to believe it, but could it be that for once the Powers were giving her a second chance? The way they had given it to Angel by bringing him back from Hell? Yes, he had believed that the First Evil was responsible, but Buffy had never believed that version. What would the First Evil gain in bringing him back? No, she was convinced that it was part of something bigger, more important.

She'd been so deep in thoughts that she was almost startled to find herself in front of Spike's crypt. The door was closed, but her Slayer senses had already picked up the vibes of a vampire inside. Adding the fact that it was bright sunlight out here, she hadn't expected anything else.

Taking a deep steadying breath, she pushed the door open.

"Ah look who's arrived," Spike crossed his arms in front of his suddenly surprisingly small chest - she was comparing him to Angel now, something she'd never done before, and smirked, "Am I the lucky guy or what? Both Summers' girls visiting me on the same day. Maybe I'm blessed." He wiggled his brows, "Managed to escape the big Poof for a roll in the crypt?"

Buffy ignored his last question for the moment, and concentrated on his first comment, which she didn't like at all. "Wh-what? Dawn was here? It's morning. She should be in school."

"Which seems to be a trait she's got in common with big sis," the vampire replied, leaning one shoulder against the wall, while his eyes were wandering appreciatively up and down her body. "If I remember correctly you weren't quite the schoolgirl either."

She let that go, and took a deep breath. No reason delaying the reason why she'd come in the first place. "I have to talk to you."

A brow rose, "Really? That'd be a first. Usually you just jump my bones."

He tried to sound cool and unaffected, but Buffy could hear the hidden bitterness underneath and hated it. Hated to know she was responsible for it. He might be a vampire, and according to Angel he might be evil, but she hated that she'd hurt him. Used him. "Unfortunately I can't argue the point. Though I wish …," she sighed, and stepped fully into the crypt. In passing she switched off the television where some soap opera flickered over the screen. Maybe she should've left it on, she thought. It would have fitted as a background to what she had come to do.

"So, talk," he offered. "But make it short. I've got an itch to scratch." To emphasise his point, he let a hand trail over his fly where Buffy could clearly see the outlines of his arousal.

Again she wetted her dry lips, before she was able to speak, "No," she said, cursing her voice for betraying her nervousness. She cleared her throat, "I didn't come for … it."

"You didn't?," the other brow came up as well. "You know, I don't care. Because I sure as hell want you. And after all that's happened, I think I've got a right to get my way for a change." He pushed himself off of the wall and advanced her, but stopped when she held up a hand.

"Don't," was all she said, but the warning in her voice was unmistakable. "We are going to talk. Or rather, I will talk. I came to tell you that … that this is over. We're over. I can't do this anymore. It's … it's wrong, and-"

She wasn't able to finish, because he interrupted her, his eyes blazing fire, "Oh, no, honey. It doesn't happen that way. You can't just come around and tell me it's over. I'm not going to let you treat me like a dog you scratch if you've got an itch, and who you kick if you don't need him. Not anymore, luv."

Her eyes filled with tears at his words, knowing that at least partly they were true. She hated herself for it. "I'm sorry," she whispered, backing away towards the door, "I never wanted to … I'm sorry I hurt you."

"Yeah?," he asked, his voice cold and bitter, his lips drawn into a sneer. "Honey, I don't care if you're sorry. You can't hurt me, remember. I'm a soulless vampire. We don't feel."

"Spike, don't," she pleaded hoarsely.

"Don't, what?," he spat. "Don't tell you the truth? Don't make you feel bad? You used me, Slayer. I was your escape from a reality you couldn't face. You had a great time when I fucked you. You were all over me, pet. And don't even try to deny it, because-"

"I don't." She would never deny it. How could she?

He went on as if she hadn't said a word, "-it's the truth. And I'll be damned if I let you run over me again. Just because the big poof decides to drag his ass into town you hear harps playing. Not this time, honey. Not ever again."

And without any warning he launched himself at her, slamming her against the wall of his crypt, he started kissing her brutally, bruising her lips, shoving his tongue into her mouth. He was mindless, and Buffy could feel the hurt in him, could feel it in the way his hands were tearing at her clothes, were ripping apart her shirt, the buttons flying through the room.

Somewhere deep in her mind she knew she should fight him, shouldn't let him do this, but she couldn't. It was as if she was watching one of his beloved soap operas, a shell participating in some tragedy that wasn't real. And when she felt him entering her with brutal force, she arched her back, and let herself fall into oblivion.

Angel felt restless when he entered the Summers' living-room some hours after Buffy had left the house. She'd said two hours max. But the time had long passed and she still hadn't returned. Once again he cursed his existence that made it impossible for him to follow her, to assure himself she was alright. He shouldn't worry, he knew, she was the Slayer after all. She was strong. But he did worry. He couldn't help it.

The problem was he knew Spike, knew all about his childe's twisted mind, *and* he knew the state Buffy was in. Regarding all this, he was wondering that he could still act so reasonable.

He was just discussing if he should pat his own shoulder for his performance, when he stopped in the doorway, his eyes falling on Cordelia who was sitting on the sofa, flipping through a fashion magazine that lay in her lap.

"You can come in, you know," she said without looking up. "I don't bite," she added, then frowned at her own lame joke.

"Where are the others?," he asked.

"Fred went with Willow to the mall. I think the two really hit it off." She closed the magazine, put in on the table before her, and finally looked at him. "Wes went to the Magic Shop with Xander and Anya. Not a moment too early, if I may add." She sighed, "Wes wants to research the vision, to have us prepared. And Gunn," she sighed again, "I think he felt caged in and had to get rid of his energy."

Angel nodded, crossed the room and sat down, his elbows resting on his thighs, his hands dangling between them, he couldn't stop his fingers playing nervously with each other.

"This is ridiculous, you know."

His head snapped up at the sound of her voice, and for a moment he just stared at her. "What?"

"You're here not even 24 hours, and she isn't really Buffy, but you've got the Buffy-face already."

He frowned, "Buffy-face? Cordy, you-"

She held up a hand, "No, don't even try to deny it. I've been there for the whole Buffy and Angel drama. I know a Buffy-face when I see it. And besides, you've been looking at the clock three times since you came in a minute ago. Want to tell me why?"

Angel closed his eyes for a moment. His friends knew him far too well for his peace of mind. Looking back at Cordelia, he sighed, "Alright. Yeah, I'm concerned."

"Why?," she asked. "Buffy is the Slayer. Or is there something we all don't know?"

"Cordy, can't you just let it go?," he pleaded.

"Honestly? No. Angel, I don't like to see you getting all worked up. You were fine, before you left L.A. You were smiling, laughing, joking. I know that part of it wasn't really you, but still. But the moment I walked in here this morning, I could see it."

Because she let it hanging in the air, and because if he didn't ask he'd have to worry about Buffy again, he asked, "See, what?"

"Brooding," she replied, giving him a 'duh' look. "The dark, heavy cloud hanging all over you. You even," she gestured at his burgundy shirt, "wear your old clothes again."

Thank God for that, Angel thought, but didn't tell her. Cordelia had chosen one of his new sweaters and he didn't want to hurt her feelings. She would never understand that pale peach just wasn't his colour. At least he didn't think so anymore. The day she'd brought the piece to him, he had smiled and hugged her. It seemed that Buffy's presence in his life had caused more than just one epiphany.

Coming back from his musings he found Cordy watching him, and he shifted in his chair, folding his hands in his lap, "I know you are concerned. But I need to do this. And she needs me. None of you have even the slightest idea how it feels to come back from death. But I can. Because I've been there. Granted, it is not the same, but it's certainly better than nothing. I know you never were friends, but did you look at her this morning, really look at her?"

The brunette gave him a long, scrutinizing look, then finally let out a loud breath, throwing her hands in the air, "Fine. Fine. I admit it. She didn't look good. And I don't talk about her clothes, well, let's not go there. I can see that this is no time to talk about fashion. You are right, she seems tired, and her eyes," she shook her head, "I never really paid attention, mind that," she grinned when Angel gave her a small smile, "but, she was an almost worthy opponent once. While now … I think I could walk right over her and she wouldn't even notice."

"Don't kid yourself, Cordy. She's still strong."

"Yeah, I know. It's not what I mean, I-"

"I know," he smiled, then grew serious again, "So you have seen what I'm talking about. She is … I never saw her like this before. Not even when her mother died. She was grieving then, hurting badly, but this," he shook his head wearily, "I hope I'll be able to help her at all."

"Just don't forget that there's a demon waiting for you tonight."

He saw the concern in her expression, and a warm feeling flooded him. It was so good to know they cared for him. So important. It gave him the strength to do what he had to. Made him feel less lonely. Made him able to live with a big emptiness in his life, to live without Buffy. Day after day. Night after night. Although he had no idea how he'd manage after seeing her again, and seeing how much she needed him. And, he didn't kid himself, how much he needed her.

He reached out and took Cordy's hand, giving it a quick squeeze, then letting it go again, "I won't, I promise. And Buffy will be with me. Everything will be okay."

Buffy realised three things at the same time when she woke up. The first was that she was lying on the hard floor of Spike's crypt, the second when she opened her eyes was the vampire lying beside her, and finally that they were both not wearing any clothes. Somehow during the hours of animalistic rutting - and there was no other way to describe what had just happened - Spike had managed to get rid of his own clothes. Buffy could see his pants hanging from the television, his shirt lying near by, while her own things were scattered all over the crypt, most of them ripped apart, proof of the vampire's initial anger.

A part of her had wanted to fight him, but another part, the part who felt disgusted with herself, with the situation, and with the fact that she let a soulless demon fuck her, had not been able to. And there was another, not so tiny part, that felt she owed him. She had used him. Plain and simple. She had known he loved her. It hadn't really mattered. Well, maybe it had mattered, in an unconscious way she wanted to believe that the love he insisted to feel had made her finally give in, and not because she thought she didn't earn anything better, that a soulless demon was the kind of lover that fitted her. The first would at least save a little part of her self-respect.

Although right now she wasn't sure if it really mattered anymore. Right now all she wanted was vomit. She wanted to retch out her guts, hoping it would clean her inside out, yet knew it would be in vain. Before things had been bad enough, but now, they were worse. Because she had told Angel she would go and talk to Spike. He had voiced his concerns and she'd waved them away.

Oh God. Angel.

God, he would be so disappointed seeing her like this. Maybe he would even hate her, and he would be right doing so. How could he ever love a person who did the things she had done. A person he could love wouldn't fuck her brains out with an evil vampire.

With a sob she scrambled to her knees, reaching for her torn clothes, she tried to pull them on, tried to arrange them so that they would at least cover her. Silent tears were streaming down her face, but she didn't bother to wipe them away. Maybe this was another way to feel clean again. God, she wanted a shower. She wanted to scrub herself clean, wanted to get rid of her skin, wanted to-

"You alright, luv?"

Killing a vampire didn't sound so bad right now, either. But somehow she didn't even find the strength to do that. Besides, he hadn't earned it. Okay, so he had, but for killing humans, not for fucking a Slayer who hadn't offered any resistance. But as weary as she felt, one thought was perfectly clear in her mind. A fierce determination, not to ever let it happen again. She turned to look at him, and the moment her eyes met his, she saw he knew it, too.

"It's over," she said, and there was no emotion in her voice, while she tried desperately to hold the edges of her torn shirt together, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the idea of him seeing her naked. It was utterly ridiculous. He'd seen every inch of her, but right now it didn't matter.

He was staring up at her, completely unconcerned of his nakedness, "I know." He reached for his shirt, pulled a cigarette from the breast pocket and lit it. Usually she didn't mind him smoking, didn't mind the smell of cigarettes on him. Today it made her nauseous.

"I'm … uh-"

He chuckled humourlessly, "Don't say you're sorry. We both know you are not. And we also know it's because of him."

"No." Her denial was quick and sharp, but she had to avert her eyes. Spike knew her only too well. He'd always been a master in reading her, in uncovering the feelings she tried to bury deep inside. When she looked back at him, she saw his raised brow, and let out a weary sigh, running a hand through her hair, "Yes," she admitted finally, "You are right. At least partly. Angel is responsible for this, but not the way you think. We aren't back together or something, but he made me see that this is wrong."

"I see." Spike nodded, blew a cloud of smoke in the air. "Well," he shrugged, "We both knew it wouldn't last."

She bit her lower lip, "I guess. Yeah. It wasn't right of me to do this. It wasn't fair."

"Don't worry, luv," he replied, a leer creeping up his face, "I got my share out of it." He wiggled his brows to emphasise his point.

Her eyes narrowed at that. In this moment she hated him. Of course she was hating herself more, but she didn't realise it right now, all she could see was that he was grinning at her, while she felt as if she was ripped apart. "That's good for you," she said. "I hope you realise that half of the time when I closed my eyes, I was pretending it was someone else." She hadn't wanted to say it. But as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she knew they were true. She had tried to pretend he was Angel. Not all the time, but very often.

For a moment she saw hatred flicker through his eyes, but he covered it quickly. He shrugged again, took another drag from his cigarette, "As I said, it doesn't matter. You aren't the first who thought that way. And I got my share. I got to fuck a Slayer. Don't think there are a lot of us around who can say that. Might even be enough to let them overlook my little problem."

She reached for her keys she saw lying on a tomb, "Don't ever come near me again," she warned him, but didn't look at him. "If you ever try, I'm going to kill you."

He was quiet for a moment, and when she turned back to him, she saw that he was pulling on his pants. "I didn't rape you," he said. "You wanted it."

"I know," she said quietly, pulling the door open, "But it doesn't change anything. Stay away from me. And stay away from Dawn. I don't want you around us anymore. I cannot force you to leave town, but I think it would be best." Without another look, she left the crypt.

Angel could feel the sundown coming, when the door finally opened. He already knew it was Buffy, had felt her even before she'd entered the house.

He'd been ready to tear something apart, worry and frustration eating at him, and the fact that Cordelia was still sitting beside him, flipping through another magazine, and sighing from time to time didn't really help to make him feel better. He had been about to ask her if there was nothing else she had to do, when Buffy arrived.

He was about to relax, releasing an unneeded breath of relief, when his senses perceived a smell, his mind refused to accept. But as much as he wanted to deny what his nose told him, it became brutal reality the moment Buffy came into view.

She was clutching her shirt in front of her chest, the material was torn at her right upper arm, her pants had several tears as well. Her hair was dishevelled, and Angel instantly saw the bruises on her face and neck. His hands clenched into fists.

From the corner of his eye he saw Cordelia was staring at Buffy as well, and the moment she had taken in the blonde's appearance, the brunette gasped. "Oh my God, Buffy." She jumped up from the sofa, rushed to the Slayer's side. "What the hell happened to you. Were you attacked by some demon?" She reached out to touch a colourful bruise on Buffy's arm, and Angel saw the blond flinch. "You should have gone to a doctor."

"No." Buffy's voice was hoarse, and Angel saw the traces of tears on her face as soon as she turned her head. "I'm fine. Really, Cordy. I'm just going to change my clothes and use some antiseptic and I'll be fine."

"Do you want me to help you? Because I'm doing that kind of stuff all the time. You cannot imagine how Angel …," she trailed off, giving vampire and Slayer a sheepish smile. "Well, it's not really important, is it? The point is, I know what to do."

"Thanks, Cordy, but I'll manage."

"Okay. You can call me if you should need me," the brunette offered with a smile.

Angel had followed the exchange with growing tension, and by now a red mist of rage was swimming before his eyes. He was hardly able to contain himself anymore, but with great difficulty he managed to let his voice sound almost normal. "Cordy, would you please leave us alone. I need to talk to Buffy."

"Talk to Buffy?," the brunette asked incredulously. "Surely that can wait. Don't you see the state-"

"Cordelia, please." His voice was still controlled, but he knew that Cordy had no problem to hear the steel in it.

"I don't think-"

"Not now." This time his voice was a low growl, and after a moment of hesitation the brunette rolled her eyes and disappeared into the kitchen.

Buffy was still clutching her torn shirt to her chest, but tried to summon a shaky smile, "I … uh … ran into some trouble." She nodded at her clothes, trying to make light of the whole situation. No way she wanted Angel to know what just had happened. But she should have known that the attempt to hide something from him was in vain.

"Don't," he growled, his face a stony mask of controlled fury. Buffy almost took a step back. She'd never seen him that way before.

"Don't, what?," she asked, "Angel, I-"

"Don't do it," he warned again. "Don't think I'm a fool. I can Smell Spike all over you. And I'm not as easily fooled as Cordelia. I know those bruises are not the result of some demon attack."

She gulped, and felt her stomach clench painfully. "Angel … I … please, I can explain."

"Explain?," he echoed. "Explain, what? That you slept with Spike?" His voice rose at the last words, and he clenched his fingers even harder, the knuckles turning white.

"I …," she started, but didn't know how to go on. She saw the raw pain beneath the fury in his eyes, and knowing she had caused it, she felt like slapping herself. "I …," she tried again, "It's … I … I hurt him and … he just … he … he didn't rape me."

"I know," he replied, his words harsh. "Believe me, you don't smell like a woman having been raped. But what do you mean by you hurt him? Buffy he is a vampire. A vampire without a soul. You cannot hurt him. At least not the way you can hurt someone who has a soul. He is a master of mind-games, I have to give him that. Don't you see what he did? He has you so confused, he even made you feel sorry for him. He made you feel guilty for something that damned as Hell is his fault. You were hurting. You were confused. He knew exactly what he was doing."

She blinked, not quite able to process his words, then shook her head, "No. Spike … he has changed and-"

"Don't tell me anything about changes. I know about his chip. He cannot hunt. Don't expect me to feel sorry for him because of it. He killed more people you can imagine, and he did it with a smile on his lips. He enjoyed it. He doesn't feel bad about it. He doesn't lose sleep over any of them. He. Doesn't. Care. He might not kill because he can't, but a chip is no soul. Don't confuse them. And don't confuse him with me. He's nothing like I am."

"I know that," she defended herself, wiping tears away that were falling freely. "But I … it was the last time. It just … happened."

"Yes. It did. And you didn't even try to stop it," he shot back, feeling like a heel for hurting her, but the rage in him was so boiling hot, he was barely able to keep his demon in check.

Angel knew he was behaving irrational, knew he had absolutely no right to act like this. All Buffy had done was end a relationship that never should've started. In order to do it, she'd slept with her lover of the past months. Intellectually Angel knew it was only natural, that break-ups happened that way all the time. It had been sex, nothing else. Besides, he and this Buffy weren't lovers, had never been. They had no past together, and maybe not a future either. They were … hell, he didn't even know what they were right now. He'd thought, hoped, they could become friends. Right now, he wasn't so sure anymore.

She stood before him, with tears in her eyes, waiting for him to say something, maybe waiting for his absolution. But as much as he wanted to give her exactly what she needed, he didn't find the strength inside of him. He couldn't feel anything but the burning rage that had started to built the moment he'd smelled Spike all over her. He knew he should say something, but all he could do was stare back.

Several times he cleared his throat, but the words just wouldn't come. He saw her tears fall and a part of him wanted to reach out and comfort her, while the other only wanted to rip her clothes apart and prove her that she was his, then go out and find the one who'd done this to her, and stake him on the spot.

God! He was going to lose it.

He turned away from her, tried to get a grip on himself. His fingers were numb, they were clenched so tightly. He didn't feel any of it.

"I'm sorry," he heard her whisper. "I know I owe you an apology. You trusted me and I …"

An apology? Did she really think this was about apologies? They were the last thing on his mind. Although he wasn't so sure anymore. Right now, he wasn't sure of anything. He only felt the rage, the fury, and knew that the moment he let lose he would come undone. So he didn't react to her words the way she needed it, instead he shrugged, "You owe me nothing."

"I …," he heard her hesitate, then continue, "I … didn't plant to … I mean, I never intended to have sex with Spike - again. Or ever, for that matter.

"It's your life," he replied, glad his voice sounded normal. Wasn't he a master of disguise, he thought disgustedly.

"We're over," she said, stepping closer. He felt his back tense and she stopped, obviously aware that he didn't want her near him right now. "I mean … Spike and I … It won't happen again."

She sounded so lost, so scared, and he didn't have the heart to yell at her, tell her what he thought about that kind of break-up. "I'm glad," he managed. "If for nothing else, I'm glad for you. He isn't good for you."

"I … I know that now. But …"

From the corner of his eye he saw her shrug, a helpless lifting of shoulders, her hands silently reaching out for him. He should turn and take them. But he couldn't. He could only think that those hands had stroked Spike only hours ago, that they had touched the bleached blond vampire intimately. He didn't trust himself to touch her, afraid he might lose control, do things, that would be unforgivable later. Still, he realised he had to say something , anything and so he opened his mouth to speak when suddenly the doorbell rang.

They both flinched at the sound, but then Buffy pulled herself together and went to answer it. Angel heard her gasp and looked up. The sight of Riley Finn standing there was like the final blow. No longer trusting himself, Angel gave Buffy and her guest a long measuring look, and without another word left the house.

"What the Hell is he doing here?"

Buffy knew that Riley had spoken, she'd even heard the words, but she was still too busy staring tearfully at Angel's retreating form, to react. When she was finally able to tear her gaze away from the darkness that had just swallowed the angry vampire, she stepped back from the door, but didn't do anything to invite Riley in, just left the door ajar, and walked back into the living-room, knowing her ex-boyfriend would follow her anyway. When she heard his steps behind her, she said, "I could ask you the same question. Last time I saw you, you were leaving for Belize, because I didn't love you enough."

"Yes, I did, and judging from what I saw only a moment ago, it wasn't a day too early."

She sighed loudly. She was too tired for this. And she felt too broken by Angel's sudden departure, and by her recent encounter with Spike. All she wanted was to get rid of her torn clothes, burn them, and then to scrape her skin raw to at least get rid of Spike's scent, if she wasn't able to get rid of the nausea that was now attached to his very name. Would she ever feel clean again, she wondered?

She looked up and found Riley watching her. He looked the same she remembered him. Or had he gained weight? Was he taller than usual? No, grown up men didn't just add some inches. Maybe she was just feeling so small right now. Probably. She felt small and dirty, and in no state to have a deep conversation with a man she hadn't seen for almost a year. "Riley," she spoke his name on a weary sigh. "Why did you come?"'

She saw him taking a deep breath, then combing a hand through his short hair. He was wearing army fatigues, and Buffy realised that he might have come in official business.

"Is there an apocalypse we didn't notice?," she asked, only partly interested. An apocalypse, the idea of sudden death, was momentarily not such a bad idea.

He chuckled then, and shook his head, "No. No Armageddon. But we are on our way to a mission to Alaska. We are staying in L.A. for a few days and I thought it was a good idea to come and see you. For closure, you know."

She raised a brow, a ridiculous part of her almost disappointed that he hadn't come to ask for another chance, before she reminded herself that this Riley had never been her boyfriend at all. God, this was weird. She didn't belong here, but with each passing second she more and more felt like it. She was slipping into the role of the 'belonging'-Buffy without really noticing it.

"I see," she replied coolly, clutching her blouse a little bit tighter. No way this Riley was ever going to see her private parts. One of them intimately acquainted to her was more than enough. Not even mentioning an evil vampire who was probably raging through his crypt right now. At least he couldn't harm anyone. Buffy had never been so glad about the chip than she was right now. "So you came to see me, to assure yourself it was the right - decision?"

"Sort of, yeah," he admitted, again running a hand through his hair. He nodded at her, "What happened to you? Met an angry demon?"

What had she ever seen in him, she wondered. He'd been her boyfriend of one year and her swollen, bruised lips told him nothing? Okay, she hadn't actually seen if her lips were swollen, but they pretty much felt like it. "Yeah, something like that." She shook her head, "Look, Riley, I really need to change and have a shower. Why don't you sit down and … I'll be back in a few minutes."

He nodded, "Sure," he gave her a smile. "I've got time. Don't hurry. I can just," he gestured at the table, "read some stuff."

Buffy followed his look, saw Cordy's fashion magazine, and stifled a grin that was tugging at her lips. "Fine. I'll be back." Glad to escape to the privacy of her own bedroom she would've run up the stairs, but her aching thighs, another part of her that was bruised by Spike's angry possession, weren't obeying. She had to stifle several groans while she was climbing. She just hoped she wouldn't meet anyone else on her way. She was in no mood to explain Dawn her present condition.

Angel ran through the night like a man possessed. Or a demon possessed which was undoubtedly worse. He could feel the demon roaring inside of him, raging himself into a frenzy at the thought that his childe had dared to touch his mate. It had been bad before, but actually smelling Spike's scent on her … He had to get out of the house, or he might have ripped Riley apart, only because the guy had been Buffy's lover once. It would've certainly helped to ease his fury, but once regaining some sort of sanity again, Angel knew he wouldn't have forgiven himself for it.

Although, right this moment, he wasn't sure that sanity existed at all. At the moment sanity was so far from his mind, he wasn't sure it would ever return. How could there be sanity somewhere while he felt like a bit, bleeding, hurting mass. If someone asked him right now, he wouldn't be able to tell if he had still hands or legs. He was moving, sure, but for all he felt, there could be wheels underneath his body.

Nothing seemed to matter anymore, and for a moment Angel wanted to be a werewolf to be able to stop and howl at the moon, to scream out his rage and pain, to clean himself inside out. Bile burnt like acid in his throat, and Angel knew that something like this could only be triggered by the twisting knots in his gut, because as a vampire had no circulation, there was no bile produced in his liver.

God, how could he ever live again, could trust himself to touch someone as innocent as Connor when he had lost it that way? He'd thought after the disaster with Darla that nothing could throw him anymore, that he had learned once and for all that going into a frenzy didn't help anybody. But all reason had fled the moment his nightmares became reality.

Yes, he was angry at Buffy for giving in, for letting Spike do that to her, but that anger was nothing compared to the rage he felt that the vampire had taken advantage of her. Or that Buffy had been so desperate to let him do it in the first place. What must have happened to her to break her spirit, her self-esteem, that she let a soulless vampire degrade her, use her, make her a victim.

Angel was old enough, had seen enough, to know that there was no love between Buffy and Spike. His grand-childe might be claiming to love the Slayer, but Angel knew better. He had claimed love, too, while he was without his soul, had been sure he loved Buffy, but Angel with his soul knew better.

Darla had been shocked to hear he had never loved her, but how could he. Without a soul, without a human essence, there was no love possible, just instincts, and needs, and maybe memories of a time where human emotions were ruling your mind instead of a demon's twisted feelings. She had claimed to love him. The way Spike claimed to love Buffy. Which only proved Angel's theory. Vampires were talking about love, convincing themselves they were in love, but it wasn't real. Could never be real.

In the end, so Angel liked to think, Darla had understood. She had insisted it was only Connor's presence in her womb, that made her feel that way, but Angel wasn't so sure of it. He had seen first hand what a child could do to you, what kind of feelings it could arouse. They were so powerful, so profound, maybe not even a vampire could resist them. If a father could feel the way he did, what feelings might a mother have who felt the child long before the father could ever touch it? He was convinced that somewhere, deep down, maybe because she'd had a recent setback to humanity, Darla had loved Connor. Hadn't she given her life so he could live? But even if it was a lie, even if she'd been right, he would tell Connor only the good things, would tell him that his mother had loved him, despite all.

He thought he'd been running wild, without destination, but the moment he turned around the next corner he saw the gates to the cemetery, and knew that unconsciously he'd been going to Spike's crypt. Willow had told him where the blond lived. It was already dark outside, so he had no way of knowing if his childe was still there. But at least he had a point to begin with. He could take his scent and …

Angel stopped, taking a deep breath, realising how badly his hands were still shaking. If he met Spike right this moment, he would stake him without a second thought. After beating him up of course. The blond hadn't earned to die quickly. Maybe he could just take him prisoner, and torture him for days, just for the fun of it. And then when Spike begged him, he would kill him. By pouring Holy Water over him, or burn him. A stake was too easy. Right now, Angel wanted to see Spike die. Slowly. Painfully.

He took another deep unnecessary breath, remembering Cordy's vision in a flash of returning sanity.

**Glad it still exists after all.**

Wiping his shaky palms on his pants he turned away from the cemetery. Maybe if he'd just run around for an hour or so, it would be enough to keep himself in check for another while. Then he would return to Buffy's house, meet his friends, slay the demons, and hopefully tired from the fight, he'd be able to deal with this rationally. And that was the same moment he saw the door of a shady bar open, a figure came stumbling out, a bottle dangling from his hand, and his bleached blond hair gleaming in the moonlight.

Riley had reached the third round of trying to remember the names of all his classmates in high school when he heard a noise from the doorway, and found his gaze landing on a striking brunette, with a fashionable haircut, and equally fitting clothes. She was looking at him curiously, but there was also annoyance in her eyes. One of her delicate eyebrows rose and Riley shot from his chair, remembering the manners his mother had more or less successfully tried to teach him.

"Hello there," the woman's voice was melodic, appealing, and she held out a perfectly manicured hand for him, "I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Cordelia Chase."

Taking her hand, the commando gave her what he hoped was a charming smile, "Riley Finn. Nice to meet you."

Her other brow rose as well, her gaze wandering up and down his form as if assessing a slave on a market. In the end she nodded once, "Ah. The Ex. I see." She pulled her hand from his grasp, "I'm a former high school classmate of Buffy's. And I have to say that I never thought you were … well, the way you are."

Riley couldn't help but wince at that, "Is that a compliment … or not?"

The corners of her mouth lifted into a smile, but before she could reply, there were footsteps on the stairs and a moment later Dawn stood in the doorway. "Cordelia, do you know what happened to Buffy. I knocked at her-" Suddenly becoming aware of the commando's presence the girl paused, and to Riley's utter surprise her expression cooled visibly. "Hi, Riley," she said finally, not smiling at him.

"Dawn," his own smile was broad and warm. "It's so good to see you."

"Yeah, well," she defensively crossed her arms before her chest, "At least one of us is happy to see the other. That's not bad."

Riley was completely taken aback by her hostility, and not sure what to say, he smiled again, "You have grown. And you've become more beautiful, if that was even possible."

In response she rolled her eyes and groaned, "Oh please. You never paid attention before. And I'm not beautiful. My breasts are too small, and I have a zit right here on my nose," she uncrossed her arms, pointed at the spot in her face. "So save your flattery for someone who actually wants to hear it."

Again he couldn't believe his ears. Granted, he and Dawn hadn't been close, but if nothing else they'd been friendly to each other, and Riley could say without hesitation that he genuinely liked Buffy's little sister. "Dawn, I-," he started again, but she held up a hand.

"No. Save it." And suddenly without warning, her face crumpled, "If it wasn't f-for you, Buffy w-would still be there. It's … it's all your fault," she shouted at him between sobs, then turned and ran back up the stairs.

Riley stared at the spot she'd been standing only a moment ago, and shook his head, "What the hell was this?"

"I don't know her so well," Cordelia replied, crossing her own arms, "But I could make a guess and say she's pissed at you."

"Yes," he nodded, "I've noticed that. I just can't understand why? I never … I mean we never had problems. I always liked her. And I thought she liked me, too."

The brunette shrugged, "Well, teenagers. If you ask me, they don't know half the time what they're saying. They're raging hormones held together by unclean skin and complexes."

Riley couldn't help but smile at the comment, and dismissed Dawn's behaviour for now. Maybe he'd get a chance to talk to her later. But then he remembered one of his comments. "What did she mean by 'If it wasn't for me, Buffy would still be here'? Buffy is here, or did I just have some wacky hallucination?"

"No," Cordelia shook her head, then with a dismissive gesture of her hand wiped the subject away. "It's a long story. Maybe someone will tell you. I'm too tired right now, and also a little bit too occupied. Damn, Angel, where are you?," she spoke to herself now, and Riley flinched when he heard the vampire's name, "It's dark outside already." She turned to the commando, "That's just so typical of him."

Not quite sure what to say, Riley decided to say nothing at all, just cleared his throat, when the front door opened and he heard Willow's familiar voice.

"Well, that was fun. I'm sure I've gained two pounds. Do you always eat so much ice-cream?"

Her red hair came into view, and she stopped in the doorway, a young woman with long brown hair, he'd never seen before, right behind her. "Willow," he greeted her, and smiled.

Her eyes widened in surprise, "Riley?"

"Riley?," the other woman asked.

"Oh, sorry." Willow shook her head slightly, then introduced the two strangers. "So," she asked finally, glancing at Cordelia who was staring out of the big living room window, no doubt trying to see a glimpse of something Riley didn't care to meet again, "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see Buffy," he replied without hesitation. It was no secret, he had nothing to hide. He'd come to see his former girlfriend, had expected to talk to her, laugh a little bit with her friends, but right now the whole thing was turning into something awkward. Buffy had fled the room to change clothes that barely covered her, and with the exception of Cordelia, who more or less ignored him now, the people who he once believed to be his friends, were treating him like an outcast. Okay, so that would maybe stretching it a little, but they were not friendly either. Only another indication that he had never really belonged to them.

"Buffy?," Willow raised a brow. "Whatever for? You left her almost a year ago. You never wrote. Not even after her mom died."

That shot through him like fire, and his genuine shock showed on his features, "What?," he asked breathlessly, felt his knees start to tremble. "Joyce is dead?"

"Yeah," the witch tilted her head, "Didn't you know?"

"No," he ran a shaky hand through his hair. Joyce was dead. He remembered her smile, her laughter, the way her eyes always took on a concerned expression when Buffy left the house after dark. And he also remembered her support for his relationship with her daughter. God, she had been barely over forty. She couldn't be dead, could she? "What happened?," he heard himself ask, barely recognizing the hoarse voice as his own.

"She had brain surgery, you remember?" Willow said. "All seemed fine. But then an aneurysm ruptured in her brain." She had to swallow, "Buffy … Buffy was the one who found her. Dead."

"Oh God, Buffy," Riley whispered, feeling shaky all over. He took a step back and sat down, running both hands through his hair, then over his face. "When?"

"Not long after you left. It was a lot to take in for her. And on top of it Glory," Willow shook her head, "Well, it was a lot."

"But she came through," it was more a statement than a question. "She always comes through."

"Actually-" the redhead started to say, when once again the door burst open, and Xander's loud voice boomed through the house.

"God, Wes, you drive even worse than Giles. He had that really pretty new car, but he still drove it the way he drove his old Citroen."

"That's because like Rupert I like to live a little while longer, and preferably not in a wheelchair. I had the experience before, and believe me it's enough," the voice of a stranger replied.

"Do tell," Riley heard the grin in Xander's voice and a smile tugged at his own lips as well. Xander Harris had always been his friend, maybe his only real ally during the final weeks of his and Buffy's doomed relationship. "Are you going to tell me you were hurt doing something heroic?"

"As a matter of fact, he saved another man's life." Cordelia had turned away from the window and was now looking at the doorway where Riley saw Xander, Anya, and a third man appear. He was older than the rest, but not quite as old as Giles, he guessed. The man's gaze rested shortly on him, and then as if dismissing his presence altogether, he gazed at the Cordelia.

"Where is Angel?," he asked. "I need to talk to him. I think we had a breakthrough in research."

The brunette shrugged, "Who knows."

"What do you mean, who knows? There are some demons in a warehouse, he has to fight in a few hours. Exactly at midnight, to be precise."

"Well," Cordelia's voice sounded angry now. "Tell him. He and Buffy had … a fight I guess. God, I knew that was going to happen. She's never been good for him." She paused, took a deep, steadying breath, before she went on, "Anyways. He sent me out of the room, so I can't tell you what it was about, but I still heard them shouting, and when I came back in here, he was gone, Buffy obviously went upstairs because the shower has been running for hours, and he," she gestured vaguely into Riley's direction, "was all on his lonesome. By the way, his name is Riley Finn and he's Buffy's ex-soldier-guy."

"Ah," Wesley nodded, obviously used to the brunette's ramblings. "Well, nice to meet you. Still, it doesn't solve our problem and that is, where can we find Angel?"

Spike let the door slam behind him and took another gulp from a bottle of beer that really didn't deserve the name. But the alcohol was at least making him feel a little bit better about the things that had happened today and so he drank it anyway. Somehow the bitter taste fitted this thoroughly lousy day. There had been a couple of them in Spike's long life, but today he would gladly forget if he could. Just erase the day, wipe it from his memory. Only yesterday he'd still been in the Slayer's graces - and pants -, had been a member of their gang, and today he was an outcast, someone Buffy kicked out of her life like a dog, the way he'd promised she would never do again. She had even warned him to come near her friends again. Or Dawn.

He chuckled, took another drink and grimaced at the taste. Maybe he should've told her that the little sis had been running from his crypt. There had been no way of mistaking the fear in Dawn's eyes.

What the hell had gone wrong?

There was only one thing different from yesterday, only one thing that could be the cause.

Angel.

His blasted grand-sire had decided to make an appearance and like always Spike's life had changed for the worse. With a vile curse on his lips the vampire smashed the bottle against a wall, wishing it was Angel, wishing he was watching his grand-sire dissolve into ashes instead of the glass scattering into pieces. Angelus was like a louse sitting in his fur, a louse Spike couldn't get rid off. God, he wanted to hit Angel right now, wanted to pound into him, until the older vampire begged for mercy.

He swore again, turned around and gasped in shock. He was staring right into the furious glowing amber eyes of his grand-sire.

Part 13

Buffy slowly opened the door to Dawn's room, and tiptoed inside. Hearing the noise Tara raised her head, smiled at the Slayer. "Hi," she whispered. "He just fell asleep." She nodded towards Connor who was lying in the middle of Dawn's bed, Buffy's teenage sister sitting beside him, a soft expression on her face.

"I just wanted to see if everything's alright," Buffy whispered back, anxious not to wake the sleeping baby. "Are you okay, Dawnie?," she asked her sister.

The girl shrugged, not taking her eyes away from Connor, "Sure." A frown appeared on her forehead, "What is Riley doing here?"

"The Initiative is on their way to Alaska. They stay in L.A. for a few days, so he thought he'd stop by and visit."

"A-are you glad he came?," Tara wanted to know, her wise eyes, so often looking older than her 21 years, resting on Buffy with a warm expression.

Buffy sighed slightly, "I'm not sure. Yeah, I guess. I mean … he left in such a hurry, we never had time to really talk, but … right now …," she shook her head. "Maybe in one or two weeks it would've been better. Plus there is the little problem that I didn't really meet him before. I mean … most of the things seem to have happened the same way here and there, but how can I know if we remember the same things?"

"Why don't you just tell him?," Dawn gave her sister a curious look. "Not that I think you have to. Right now, if it was up to me, Riley could just leave and never come back, but … wouldn't it be the easiest way?"

"I guess," again Buffy sighed, then ran a hand through her hair, removing it from her neck in the process and giving Tara and Dawn full view of the bruises there.

The teenager gasped, shot from the bed, and rushed to the Slayer's side, "Oh God,
Buffy. What happened?"

Only now realising what her sister was referring to, Buffy quickly rearranged her hair, "They are …," she looked at Tara, glad that there was only warmth and acceptance in the other woman's eyes, and a deep knowledge, telling Buffy that the witch already understood. "Spike and I had a fight."

"And he hit you?" Dawn's voice was suddenly loud and shrill, but when the baby moaned in his sleep, she clapped a hand over her mouth, "Sorry," she sent Tara an apologetic gaze. Then urgently, but quietly she hissed, "He hit you? But what about his chip? I thought …," she paled all of a sudden, her hands shaking, "Oh God, his chip doesn't work anymore."

"No," Buffy grabbed her sister's hand, immediately noticing the dampness of the girl's palms. "It has nothing to do with you. He still can't hurt you. Just me. And Tara thinks … she thinks the reason might be because I don't really belong here."

Dawn flushed, at the reminder of Buffy's state, and the Slayer realised with surprise that the teenager had obviously forgotten that she wasn't really her sister. It was a good feeling to know that other people had the same problem
keeping them separate. "Oh," the girl took a step back from the woman she'd just been reminded was not really her sister. "Yeah, I guess that explains it." As if looking for assurance her eyes were seeking Tara's.

"Well, at l-least that's what I think. It makes sense, somehow. B-but maybe there is another explanation."

Buffy sighed, "Maybe. Probably we will never know. This is … so weird. I feel human. Normal. Angel says I … I mean he is a vampire, so he should know, right, and he says I'm completely human…," her voice faltered, her thoughts turning to Angel. Angel who had looked at her with such rage. Angel who had not taken her in his arms. Angel who had run from the house.

"He'll be back," Tara said gently. And when she saw Buffy's surprised face, she added, "I heard you talking - before. I went down when Connor had to get his bottle. I thought maybe Angel wanted to feed him. That's when I heard you." A
blush crept up her face, "I … didn't listen very long."

"It's okay." Buffy nodded at her. "He … he was angry. I …," unconsciously her hand moved to her neck, touching the bruises there.

"Angry, why?" Dawn's voice was sharp from the bed, and again the baby moved uncomfortably in his sleep. "Sorry."

"Because … Spike … oh, Dawnie, this is difficult. I don't know how to explain."

**And I sure as Hell don't want to.**

"He was angry at you, because Spike beat you up? Is Angel crazy or what?"

Buffy wanted to hug her for that. Dawn was taking her side, being completely loyal, but of course her sister knew nothing of the real circumstances, and the Slayer dreaded telling her, fearing she might hate her the moment she heard what had occurred. Even more because of what she'd become. What she'd done. Again, Buffy felt the urge to shed her skin, to get rid of the scent that still seemed to hang on her, even after she'd been in the shower under hot water for almost half an hour.

A soft knock on the door pulled her away from her thoughts. Willow and Fred appeared in the doorway, the brunette instantly rushing to the bed, her eyes on Connor. "Oh," her voice sounded disappointed. "He is asleep."

"We came to ask if you might come down any time soon." The redhead looked at the Slayer. "They are all waiting for you."

Buffy sighed again, wishing she could forget about everything for a moment, but knowing from experience that there was never an escape. "Riley didn't miraculously disappear?" The question was of course just rhetorical. Buffy knew
her ex well enough to expect him to still be there. It was just the way he was.

Willow shook her head apologetically, "No." Then after a short hesitation she added, "He didn't know about your mom. I … uh … wasn't very friendly at first, thinking he didn't care." She smiled sheepishly at the blond.

"Really?," Buffy looked at her in surprise. Almost from the first day, Willow had kept pushing her at Riley,  telling her how wonderful he was. The Slayer had been tempted to ask why she didn't date Riley herself, if he was so fucking great. Only later she had understood that the redhead had an almost pathological urge to keep everyone around her happy. She couldn't bear when people she cared for were sad for too long. Yes, Willow accepted grieving, but after a certain point she expected people to get over it and move on, and be happy again. She lived that way. She had found Tara, had fallen in love again, convinced herself it was even deeper than before. The chapter Oz for her was definitely closed.

There had been days when Buffy had envied her for it. For her practical way of dealing with things. But then she remembered about all the sweet things Angel had done for her, all the touches and smiles. No, she couldn't forget that. But for the sake of her friends she'd buried it deep, shown the expected happy face, while she'd been slowly dying inside.

"She was really fierce," Fred piped up from the bed. "Like 'Riley what are you doing here'. And her voice sounded dangerous. A lot deeper than usual. There's actually a purely chemical reason for it. See, if you are angry, you take deeper breaths, your lung widens and your voice sounds deeper and …," she broke up, nervous red spots appearing  on her cheeks, and casting her eyes on Connor, she attempted to straighten the sheet he was lying on. "Sorry, I know I tend to babble."

"That's okay," Buffy said, feeling bad for the shy woman. Angel had told her about Fred. About her five years in Pylea. She'd been transported to another dimension. A world that was entirely foreign to her. Well, this world wasn't exactly foreign to Buffy. With the very important exception that Angel was alive here, everything was familiar. Still, Buffy felt a strange kind of kinship with Fred.

"I  think we … should really go down now, before Wesley's going to explode. He's been pacing the living-room for the last twenty minutes. If you're staying up here any longer, he might wear the floor down," Willow tried to joke, but failed
finding it funny herself. "Plus, Angel has still not come back and he has to fight the demons at midnight."

Buffy could feel panic rising. Angel still hadn't come back. God, what if … No! She mustn't do this. She couldn't lose control, couldn't give in to panic. She'd done that for weeks, and look what it had done to her. So she mercilessly pushed the feeling away, took a deep breath, and turned towards the door, Willow and Fred following her down the stairs.

Before they arrived in the living-room, the brunette looked at her shyly. "I … uh …"

Buffy stopped on the stairs, looked at her, "Yes?," she asked, offering the other woman a smile to invite her to say what she obviously needed.

She saw Fred gulp, before she managed to speak, "I just want to say that … I think you and Angel are … I … idiotically thought he and Cordy … you know… I mean they look good together … I still think they do … but …"

Buffy's eyes sharpened and she felt a sharp stab of jealousy in her gut, despite everything that way going on. Cordy and Angel? Cordy and Angel? CORDY and ANGEL?????

Obviously not realising what her words had caused, Fred babbled on, "… but I can see now that I was wrong, and … I just wanted to tell you that I think you and Angel really belong together." She let out a long breath, then looked at the
Slayer, anxiously waiting for her response.

From the corner of her eye Buffy could see Willow looking nervously from one woman to the other, without doubt realising that Cordy and Angel was still a touchy subject. Hell, any woman and Angel was a touchy subject. But Buffy also knew that it wasn't Fred's fault and that there had to be something that had triggered that idea. Plus there were still people waiting for her, not to forget some demon's in a warehouse, so she just took a deep breath, and forced herself to smile, "Thanks for telling me, Fred. I'm glad you think Angel and I belong together."

**And after all this is over I might just kill Cordy and get over with it.**

Spike had never been a religious person, not even while his soul had still been sticking around, but for a short moment he felt as if God had answered his prayers. Ever since Buffy had left his crypt, no, ever since she'd told him she'd
been pretending he was another, the thought of beating that other up had been almost consuming him. Yet, seeing the rage in the other vampire's eyes, he wasn't so sure anymore if God, or maybe the Devil, had listened to his plead.

Angel's eyes glowed dangerously in the moonlight, his fangs shining white and lethal, and the constant growling that came from his chest told the vampire that his grand-sire was hanging on the edges of his self-control. Spike had seen
Angelus in rage. But somehow - and unexpectedly - this furious Angel was looking even more dangerous. Maybe because the blond suddenly realised that rage based on instincts was nothing compared to rage based on true human emotions. After all, the most vicious killers on this planet had never lost their souls. True, Spike had always liked to hunt and kill, he had even liked to torture or rape his victims, but he was following his very nature, like a cat playing with a mouse. A human … someone with a soul, they did it on purpose. They had a chance to choose, and took the wrong turn, or the right one, from whatever perspective you were looking at it.

But although Spike felt a slight uneasiness starting to built up in his gut, he squared his shoulders and with a grin raised a cocky eyebrow. "Look, who's here. The white knight in shining armor." He stopped, clucked his tongue, "Ooops, my bad. Not a white knight. And shining is kind of difficult if you have to avoid the sunlight."

"You must have a death wish, boy," Angel growled, taking a menacing step towards his grand-childe. "If you treasure your life, you should watch your tongue. I'm in no mood to play."

"Saw your honey, Angelus?," Spike's grin widened. God, it was so good to get back at the bastard. It felt almost as good as fucking the Slayer. He had dreamed about this, but not in his wildest dreams it had ever felt so good. He remembered each night in that factory when Angelus had had his fun with Dru, and Spike in his wheelchair had to sit outside and listen. And he remembered the cocky grin on his grand-sire's face afterwards. "Looked kind of used, huh? I always liked to leave my mark."

At that Angel's control finally snapped. His fist shot out so fast and with such brutal force that the blond vampire flew backwards against the wall, the concrete cracking at the impact. That brought back memories of another building and
another cracking wall. Spike recovered quickly, and wiping his bloody nose, he grinned again. "Ohhh. You're so dangerous, Angelus. I'm already wetting my pants. Does it feel good? To beat me. But you know, it won't change anything. I still had her. I had her in so many ways, and she loved it, she craved it, she always came back for more. She begged-"

He wasn't able to finish the sentence because Angel's fist connected with this face again, this time even more forceful, and Spike's nose snapped as if it was made of glass. But this time he didn't give his grand-childe time to recover, to make another rude comment. He just continued to beat him, raining blow after blow at the other vampire, noticing with grim satisfaction when rib after rib broke, when the blonde's jawbone shattered.

He wasn't even consciously aware anymore that he was hitting the other man. He didn't feel that Spike, who had fought back at the beginning, had broken Angel's nose as well, didn't move anymore, that only Angel's hand on his collar was holding him up. All Angel heard were the painful groans each time his fist found its aim, and the pleasure the noise gave him. He saw Buffy's tear streaked face before his inner eye, and delivered blow after blow, wanted Spike to suffer the way Buffy had.

Crack

He heard another of Spike's bones break, and suddenly a part of his mind registered that his grand-childe wasn't fighting back anymore. Blinking, he loosened his grip on the vampire's collar and Spike finally slumped to the ground, not even groaning because he was unconscious. Angel gave the unmoving form a final kick in the gut, disgusted at himself, at the situation, for losing his control in that way. But a twisted part of him, the demon who was constantly
living inside of him,  was pleased with the result. He had shown the whelp who was the master, he's taken revenge for touching his mate. Spike was lying on the street, bloody and bruised, his features barely recognizable.

Angel didn't notice his own bloody hands, didn't notice how hard he was shaking, now that his anger was giving way to exhaustion. He had beaten up Spike in an insane frenzy. Mindless, merciless, effective. Three of his own ribs were broken from Spike's brutal blows. He felt weak and slightly disoriented. He stumbled when he took a step back, but managed to stay on his feet.

With a last disgusted look at the form on the ground, he turned away and disappeared into the darkness.

They were all there when Buffy entered the living-room, none of them had miraculously disappeared, and the Slayer hadn't expected them to. Wesley was still pacing, absentmindedly running his hands through his hair, muttering
something unintelligible, while Xander and Anya were sitting on the sofa, watching him, both with a suppressed grin on their faces. Leave it to  them to find amusement even in the most horrible situation.

Riley was standing in the opposite corner talking to Gunn who had obviously returned during Buffy's absence, and Cordelia was staring out of the window. There was only one thing she could be looking for and again the Slayer felt
jealousy stabbing through her gut. Again she pushed it away. She would deal with it later. And she would find out what exactly was going on.

"Ah, there you are." Unnoticed Wesley had stopped his marathon through the living-room, and was now looking at the Slayer. "Are you alright? Riley said you had to fight a demon on your way back home. It doesn't have to do anything with our mission tonight, does it?"

"Uh … no," Buffy managed to reply, images of Spike intruding her mind. "That particular demon was … well, it had nothing to do with tonight."

The ex-watcher released a breath of relief, obviously afraid he might have overlooked something, "Good, good. Fortunately Mr. Giles has left a lot of his books, and so I was able to narrow down the possibilities of tonight's
confrontation. No doubt he's got access to an extraordinary collection these days, being so near to the Motherhouse of the Watcher's Council." He sighed, then catching Cordelia's raised brow, he straightened, "These particular demons seem to be killed best with a combination of magic and force."

"You mean we cannot just cut their heads off," Gunn stepped to Wesley's side, "Man, I really hate it when you have to do some kind of mojo."

"Yes, well, fortunately we do have one … two … experienced witches at hand and …"

"No." Willow's voice was sharp, the underlying panic impossible to miss. "No. No magic. I'm not going to do any magic. I mean I do … but only simple stuff. No doubt this needs more and I …," she took a step back, her palms spread in front of her body like protective shields, "I cannot do it."

"Will …," Buffy reached out for the redhead's arm, "It's okay. We understand. Okay?" She looked intently at her friend and slowly the fear left Willow's eyes. Turning her attention back to the others, the Slayer explained, "Willow had some … problems controlling magic lately. She cannot help us. Tara however could. She could go with us, and Willow could look after Connor."

"Connor?," the redhead seemed confused for a moment, then a relieved smile crept up her face, "Yes, yes. Of course I can look after Connor. Dawn and I will have a good time doing exactly that."

Cordelia suddenly looked at Buffy as though a thought had popped into her head, and the Slayer wondered if it was lonely up there. Rationally Buffy knew it wasn't fair, but right now nothing was rational anymore and so why should she be? She sighed inwardly.  Cordy might have been many things, but stupid had never been one. That was solely Harmony's department. Still, ever since Fred had dropped that little bomb about an attraction between vampire and seer, Buffy couldn't help to feel pissed towards the her old high school nemesis.

"I was wondering," the brunette said, tapping her forefinger against her chin. "What exactly was your fight with Angel about?"

"I don't think it's any of our business," Wesley tried to interfere, his voice reasonable.

Of course Cordy didn't share his opinion, "Oh, but I think it is. If Angel runs away, and forgets about his mission, it damn well is. I'm not going to sit by and let him push us away again. Once was more than enough."

"I have to go with the Princess here," Gunn agreed, crossing his arms. "Don't understand me wrong, I'm all for privacy. But with Angel," he shrugged, "let's just say, privacy can easily lead to disaster."

"See," Cordelia placed her hands at her hips, "I'm not the only one who sees the danger."

Buffy wasn't able to listen to this for another second, "Hey," she yelled, satisfied when they were all looking at her. "Fine," her voice was calmer, but still firm. She was all Slayer now, overtaking the role of the leader. "Listen to me. Yes, Angel and I had …. an argument. We didn't really fight. He was angry, and he left. But that's none of your business. I'm so sick of everyone sticking their noses into our problems. Angel and I are warriors, but we're also people." She heard a snort from Riley's direction and shot him a quick glare that had him cast his eyes to the floor.

"We are also people," she repeated, emphasising each word. "Meaning that we do have a private life. Angel needed some space to come to terms with … some things. Period. It's not even ten o'clock. We've still got enough time until midnight. And unlike you I have faith in him," she nailed Gunn and Cordy with cold eyes. While the African-American coughed uncomfortably, Cordelia stared right back.

"So," Buffy ended on a deep breath, "Are we clear?" When nobody, not even Cordy said a word, she nodded. "Fine. Don't understand me wrong. I know you are our friends. We're glad you care for us. But sometimes you simply need to back down."

"Sure."

"No prob, Buff."

"Of course, Buffy."

"That goes without saying."

The Slayer looked around, then nodded again. "Okay. Thanks. Can we now come back to those demons? I'm sure Angel will be back soon."

She could only hope he really would.

Part 14


Lilah shut the door to her apartment, and, leaning against the door from the inside, released a breath of relief. For a moment she closed her eyes and let the silence soothe her nerves, kicked her shoes off her feet. She pushed herself off of the door, walking towards the direction of the kitchen, contemplating what she wanted to eat tonight, only to cry out in shock when a dark shadow materialized right in front of her.

Her whole body trembling like a leaf she stepped back, tried to find her voice. "Wh - who is there?"

"Oooooh … look you're all afraid again."

At the sound of the voice her trembling intensified, and Lilah had a hard time keeping her teeth from chattering. "D-drusilla?"

"Of course it is Drusilla," the vampire replied, her voice soft and melodic. "Who else would come and see you, lonely girl? That's what you are, aren't you. So powerful, so much money, but no friends, nobody who shares your life. Isn't it
sad?"

Finally managing to get a grip on herself, Lilah took a deep breath and straightened, "What are you doing here? How did you get in? I never invited you."

"But you did," Drusilla's teeth were very white against the darkness when she
smiled, "Your doormat says 'entré'. Which is a French word of course, but I can
understand it nevertheless. It invites me in." She sighed, swaying slightly, "I
remember Paris, you know. It is such a lovely city and the French …," she trailed
off, licking her forefinger to emphasise the comment.

If she hadn't been so used to vampires Lilah would've run screaming, but as it
was, she merely cocked a brow, "So, now that you are in my home, what can I do
for you?"

"How about a midnight snack?" Drusilla laughed at her own joke, then shook her head, "No. I won't bite you. I'm not even sure I'd like to drink your blood. You don't seem very passionate to me. Your blood lacks heat." Again she sighed, "And your head is so full of plans." She slowly reached out, her hands cupping the lawyer's cheeks, a smile creeping up her face when she felt the colour draining from Lilah's face. "You can hardly wait to get my little brother. He must be very special. A human being born to two vampires. It's a miracle, don't you think?" She laughed again, let go of the other woman and suddenly began to dance through the room, her wide, red gown swaying with the movements.

"This is all very sweet, your little family talk almost makes me weep, but can we stick to why you came in the first place?" Lilah was slowly getting annoyed. The first shock had faded, and an insane, dancing vampire wasn't her idea of spending a nice, quiet evening.

Drusilla stopped in midstep, slowly turned around, her eyes huge, dark, and intense. "But family is so important. Don't you know that? No, of course not, you don't have one. Or rather they don't want to have you around. I'm sure it hurts.
Humans," she shook her head, "such complicated creatures. No wonder we drink them. Anyways," she snapped her fingers. "Did you talk to your friend?"

"My friend?"

"You know, your friend with the clever, little fingers. Your friend who is going to help my Spike."

Lilah thought about her phone call, and nodded, "Yes. I did. And he's willing to help. As long as you keep your side of the bargain. We want the child. You bring the child and we will remove Spike's chip. That's the deal."

"That's the deal," Drusilla echoed. "How human that sounds. You want the little brother. What if I want to keep him? I always wanted a baby."

"Then there is no deal. No baby, no help for Spike," the lawyer retorted, her voice cool. She was through playing games for tonight. Or ever, for that matter. Drusilla had come to her, not the other way around. And although her hands almost started to shake again thinking she might soon hold Angel's child, she knew that you could never trust a soulless vampire. True, you couldn't trust most humans either, but that was a completely different matter. For vampires deceiving was almost part of the breed description.

Drusilla giggled, "Fine, fine. I like you when you are all bossy. It's very sexy." Her voice dropped to a throaty whisper that had the hair in Lilah's neck standing up straight.

"Thanks, but I'm not interested," she hissed, hating the tension in her voice.

"Too bad," the vampire sighed again. "Two women can do such nice plays. Angelus once showed me …," she trailed off, then shook her head. "I'm not going to tell you. You haven't earned yet to hear any nice stories," she turned, reached for the door, but before she slipped out, she winked, "But maybe if you are nice, and Spike is Spike again, we're going to show you."

Lilah still heard her giggle after the door was closed. The deal sounded really good. She only hoped she would survive it.

Buffy almost wept in relief when she felt Angel's presence near the house. A knot, she hadn't been noticing before, began to loosen in her gut, and ignoring her friends, she was on her feet and at the door before Angel could ring the
bell. But when she opened it, and saw the vampire standing there, she couldn't help but gasp.

He looked terrible. His face was bloody and bruised, she could see his nose had been broken, although it was healing already. His hands didn't look much better, like if they had repeatedly connected with something hard and unyielding what was probably exactly what had happened. Spike was usually quite unyielding, and Buffy had no doubt that the blond vampire had caused those injuries. Angel's right hand was lying  over his ribcage, no doubt holding together several broken bones, while he clutched a plastic bag in his left.

He swayed slightly, when he became aware of her in the doorway, but didn't say a word, just stared at her with his right eye partly shut by swelling. She had changed her clothes he noticed, and Spike's scent was barely recognizable
anymore. She smelled clean and fresh, but the look in her eyes, the look that had haunted him the past hours, ever since he'd left her standing in the hall, facing Riley, was still there. It was a mixture of guilt and shame and Angel hated to see it. Hated it almost as much as his own behaviour towards her. She'd needed his help, his understanding and had only gotten anger and a cold shoulder.

He'd run away from her as if she'd done something to him, as if she'd gone out and slept with Spike on purpose. Damn it, he thought, damn it all to Hell.

She was still looking at him, concern now thrown into the mix of troubled feelings in her eyes and it made him feel worse. There was so much she had to think about already, she didn't need to worry about him as well. He had behaved like an idiot - she should just boot him into the night and watch him burn in the morning.

When he realised she wasn't going to talk first, he finally made his voice work. It sounded rough, and strange even to him, and almost startled Angel realised that Spike must have crushed his larynx with one of his blows. "Buffy," he
croaked. He tried to clear his throat, but knew it wouldn't help much. The damage would just have to heal, and then hopefully his voice would return to normal. Until this happened, he had to be satisfied with the current situation.

"Angel," was her only reply, her fingers tightly entwined, the knuckles white, she wasn't quite sure what to do. Should she just step back to make room for him, should she rush to his side, maybe risking that he would refuse her help. That, she knew for sure, she wouldn't be able to take. The one rejection tonight had been painful enough. She could understand it. She was so disgusted with herself right now, she would refuse to touch her, if it wasn't impossible to avoid, because it was her own body, but it had hurt nevertheless. Angel, who always understood, who never judged, who had sworn to love her no matter what - who had died for her … who

Her thoughts came to a screeching halt, her mind only now registering that this wasn't the Angel who had promised her all those things, who had held her, who had wept in her arms after coming back from hell, who had sacrificed his life for her. She had not the slightest idea what had happened between this Angel and his Buffy. He hadn't died for her, he had left her, out of his own free will. That was different, wasn't it? On the other hand this Angel's soul had never been fixed. Would it have been different here if it had happened she wondered. Would this Buffy may be alive then? And more importantly, would she, the Buffy from another dimension, be here?

No, she thought. If this Buffy was still alive there wouldn't have been any reason for Willow to play with dark magick. She wouldn't be here, wouldn't be looking at Angel. She would still be in this place she'd left so unwillingly, she'd wished herself back so many times. She had resented her friends for doing what they did, had refused to accept this life, had hated it so much that even going down with Spike seemed better than living again. Yes, she would still be in
that place where she'd felt so safe, but - she realised with startling awareness - there wouldn't be any Angel either.

As if waking from a dream, she forced herself to move and rushed to his side. "Oh, Angel."

Before she could take his arm, their eyes locked for the tiniest moment, but he quickly averted his, not able to see that look in her eyes any longer. "I'm okay." He coughed, feeling it difficult to squeeze words out. It was a good thing
he was a vampire, otherwise his voice might have been irreversibly damaged. But then, without being a vampire, none of all that would have happened in the first place. He sighed inwardly, too tired to contemplate the deeper meaning of it. It was futile anyway. He was a vampire, and shanshu or no, he might even die one. So why  try to make your life miserable by wishing things were different. Hadn't he decided just last year that he had to learn to accept things, that there was no greater power, not greater scheme? Had he already forgotten all those things?

And besides, did he really wish it. Without being a vampire there wouldn't have been any Buffy either.

"Oh my God!"

Cordelia's shocked outcry pulled him back to the present and he looked up, seeing the brunette stare at him with wide eyes, while trying his best to ignore Buffy's steadying arm lying around his waist. Only meant supportive the gesture was far too intimate for his current state of mind.

"You don't look too good, bro." Gunn came to stand behind Cordy, worry in his
dark eyes. "I wonder how you're going to fight these guys tonight."

"No problem," he croaked again, "I just need some rest. And I need to feed."

"There's stuff in the fridge," Buffy said, already steering him into that direction. "We … uh … I mean…," her voice faltered, and Angel understood.

"No, thanks," he refused. No way he would touch Spike's blood. Fortunately he'd thought about it before coming back. "I brought my own." He nodded at the plastic bag he was holding in his left hand.

"I hope you realise this was highly irresponsible?" Wesley's voice was stern, but his eyes were full of concern, and Buffy realised with a pang how close the L.A. group was. They were more than just friends. They were family. His family. Like Willow, Tara, Dawn, Xander, and Anya were hers. Only they weren't. Not really. Her own family had stayed in the other dimension, probably still grieving her death.

"I'm going to be fine," Angel insisted, still too aware of Buffy's arm around his body. As much as he liked it, he didn't trust himself at the moment. He was much better than before, but he still felt raw inside, and his demon was still raging. Angelus, without doubt, wouldn't have left Spike lying in the street. He would've killed him.

"Sure, fine," Cordelia scoffed, blinking rapidly. "You look dreadful. And I knew this was going to happen. I knew Buffy would mean trouble. Look at you, dammit." She turned away quickly and he saw her wiping her cheek.

"Cordy, I'm fine. And this isn't Buffy's fault. Leaver her out of it."

"No," she shot back, "And you are not fine. You look as if a truck ran right over you." She turned back, her eyes dry again, "You are in no condition to fight."

"I will be," he told her, "I promise." He looked at Wesley, at Gunn, at Fred, who'd come up behind the two men. "I'm a vampire, remember? We heal quickly."

"Maybe there's something I can do?," Riley suddenly offered from the living-room.

"Yes," Buffy replied gratefully. Not that she really wanted Riley to stay. But given Angel's present condition, another trained fighter didn't sound so bad.

"No." Angel said at the same moment. With a jerky movement he finally managed to get rid of Buffy's supporting arm that seemed to burn  through his clothes. As if the night wasn't already bad enough. No way he wanted to spend some hours with another of Buffy's ex-lovers.

Riley looked bewildered for a moment as if he didn't know what to think of the two different answers to his offer, then he obviously decided to ignore Angel and looked at Buffy. "Just tell me what to do."

She managed a weak smile, "We will, as soon as we discuss the strategy for tonight."

"No strategy," Angel's voice was curt. "I already told you. This is my fight. It was Cordy's vision, meaning it is my business. And if you excuse me now," he added, turning towards the stairs, "I need to feed. And I have to check on
Connor."

"May I suggest to-"

"Wesley," the vampire's voice was even sharper now. "I'm going to be okay. Don't worry." He sighed, realising how this must have sounded to his friends. His voice softer, he gave them a weak smile, "See you in half an hour."

With that he walked up the stairs leaving his friends staring after him.

Nothing was more soothing than holding a baby in your arms, Angel realised now that he looked at his son sleeping in his arms. Tara and Dawn had left the room some moments ago, and after emptying two cups of blood, he was finally able sort out his confused mind.

Seeing Buffy so quickly after his confrontation with Spike had been hard. He hadn't been able to look at her - again. Because of it he'd hurt her - again.  God, was he ever not going to hurt her, he wondered?

Maybe she'd instinctively turned to Spike, had looked for someone who couldn't hurt her in the end, because she'd known all the time that she would never be in any danger to fall in love with him? She'd used Spike to ease the pain but eventually she'd always be in control. Maybe she hadn't even consciously realised it, but fact was that it was exactly what she'd done.

And suddenly everything seemed so clear, so logical. He'd thought he was jealous, and he undoubtedly was. Only the idea of Buffy with Spike made his blood boil, but jealousy was such a stupid, selfish feeling, more fitting a demon, than someone who claimed to have a human soul. But he'd felt it nevertheless, yet all the rage had not only been triggered by jealousy, he realised now, but also by the idea of Spike taking advantage of Buffy, of using her weakness for his own purpose. Angel had seen the tears in Buffy's eyes, had seen her despair, just before he left the house, he held her the night before, had listened to her voice. He'd felt all of it, how lost she was, how desperately she needed someone to hold onto, and no doubt Spike had felt it, too.

Meeting his grand-childe had unlashed all the fury, and in beating him up Angel had been able to unload all the tension that had been building ever since Tara had entered the Hyperion. But as much as he had wanted to punish Spike for hurting  Buffy, Angel also understood that deep down inside, he'd also tried to punish himself. Tried to inflict pain, knowing Spike would only too gladly comply.

Spike might have used her, taken advantage of her situation, but he was a soulless demon after all. It was his nature, he didn't know better. He was led by instincts older than mankind. And Angelus had taught him most of the stuff. But
if that wasn't enough already, Angel knew he'd done worse. He'd neglected her, by pretending she wasn't there, by trying his best to forget all about her. Too wrapped up in playing happy vampy and perfect dad, he'd almost forgotten the woman he'd once claimed had been the only love in his long life.

He'd even managed to convince himself he was falling for Cordelia, who he loved, but who - so he had to admit - he would've used the same way Buffy had done it with Spike. But Spike was a soulless demon, while Cordy certainly didn't earn such a treatment. She didn't earn to be no more than a substitute or a remedy to kill the pain, the emptiness. Cordy was lonely, unhappy, and for that would've been an easy victim.

Unconsciously he'd fallen into the pattern his demon had used a thousand times before. He'd seen a vulnerable spot and jumped on it. He'd been tempted to use Cordelia's weakness for his own purpose.

Maybe it would've worked for a while, maybe they would've managed to get rid of the loneliness, but Angel knew without doubt that there was no way it could have lasted. Worse, maybe in the end they would've become one of those couples who were lonely although they were together. It would've killed their friendship and Angel wasn't sure if he'd been able to live with it.

Not really liking the image he'd been mentally painting of himself, Angel cautiously placed the sleeping child on the bed, stood up and walked over to the window to stare into the night.

The simple truth was he hadn't been much better than Spike, and in some ways he'd been even worse. He'd been tempted to do the exact same thing, but with the little difference that he had a soul, that he should've known better. He shook his head, but his thoughts came to a halt when he felt a tingle in his gut.

When the expected knock came from the door, he didn't turn around, afraid she would instantly read all the stuff he'd been thinking about in his eyes. He knew it was Buffy stepping inside quietly, closing the door behind her, had known it from the moment the tingling had started. He never felt it with Cordy. It should've told him something. But he had conveniently ignored it.

"It's only half an hour until midnight."

Her voice was soft, cautious, and the uncertainty in it made him feel like a heel. She'd been comfortable around him until he'd turned against her in a moment when she would've needed his love and understanding.

"How … do you feel?"

He couldn't bear it. But now was not the time to tell her. They had to fight demons at midnight, and as always business came first..

"I'll be fine" His voice was still rough, even though it sounded much better than before, and the roughness this time had nothing to do with a broken larynx, that already had healed nicely, but all with a guilty conscience that was clogging up his throat.

"That's … uh … good. I just wanted to let you know that we're all waiting for you. Willow and Dawn are going to stay with Connor."

He felt her retreat towards the door even while she was talking to him, and knew that no matter how important the demons were, he had to at least clear the air between them. "Buffy," he called her name, turning around, and she stopped. "Would you … can we talk?"

"Talk?," her voice sounded high, nervous, and he wanted to kill himself all over again. "Sure, what do you want to talk about? I already know I'm an idiot and I-"

"Buffy," he turned around quickly, and with two long strides was right in front of her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders. Startled her gaze shot up to him, her eyes uncertain and full of questions. "Don't. Please don't." He reached out, his fingertips stroking the satiny skin of her cheek. "I'm so sorry I bailed before. I had no right to react the way I did. But I … Seeing you … with your clothes torn … smelling Spike all over you …," he let his hands fall away from her, wearily ran them through his hair, "… it threw me. I just lost it. And I … Then Riley was standing there and I wasn't sure I could trust myself around you anymore. I had to leave. But … it was wrong. And I'm sorry."

With eyes even more confused she stared at him, "Y - you're sorry? But I … I thought …"

"You were wrong. It was wrong. It was wrong to let you think I was angry with you. I mean I was angry … but not …," he shook his head, desperately wishing he'd find the right words, afraid he might hurt her more, if he didn't. "I was angry," he began finally, "But more with the situation, with myself. I … I failed you. I should've been there. Then maybe …," he let out a breath, suddenly realising what he'd said, and a chuckled came from his mouth. "Listen to me. I'm talking as if we have a past together. We haven't met each other before yesterday, but I seem to be confusing you with her all the time."

Her lips twitched slightly, "I am guilty, too," she admitted. "I keep thinking about you, and I … I can't seem to keep you apart. And right now, the way you're talking to me, with these eyes so … You're exactly like him." She finally managed to smile, "You loved her very much, didn't you."

"Yes." It was good to say it, he realised. God, it was so good not needing to pretend anymore. "Yes, I loved her. Very much. But I … kept forgetting it. It was easier. Thinking about her, and not being able to be with her … it was tearing me apart. I couldn't risk it. I'd been so close once already …," he stopped, thinking of Darla, of a downward spiral he'd not been able to stop. Only waking up one morning with the wrong blond head on the pillow besides him had saved him in the end, had caused his epiphany.

"You left her because of the curse?"

Tough question. He had asked himself the same time and again. Had it been the curse? Had all the other stuff he'd told her just been made up to make it more believable? The more he tried to understand, the more had had problems to believe himself. "I … I'm not sure. When I made the decision, I convinced myself that it was for the best. I told myself that she would never be able to have any kind of normal life as long as I was sticking around. That I was holding her back. And …," again he trailed off, thinking about his deepest fear, the darkest reason why he'd left her.

"And?," she probed gently, putting a hand on his arm.

"I thought … that … She was only eighteen. Young. Beautiful. Passionate. I was afraid one day she was going to wake up only to find herself stuck with some old dead guy, who couldn't even make love to her. That we'd end up hating each other. It was more than I could bear. So I thought maybe it was for the best. And yeah, the curse was a problem, too. I could hardly keep my hands off of her, and who said that only sleeping with her could break the curse. Ever since I came back from Hell I was afraid to laugh too much, or be too happy. I had no right to pull her down with me. She was so vibrant, so …," he shook his head, "I just couldn't. So I left. And convinced myself I had done it for her."

"And now?"

God, her eyes were the exact same he remembered, looking up at him, soft, understanding, and he wanted to drown in them, to lose himself. "Now," he managed with great difficulty, "Who knows," he stepped back, needing distance. "Maybe it was selfish, too. Hard to believe, though, when you find yourself in a dark, unfriendly apartment, cut off from mankind." He'd spoken more to himself, but found her listening intently.

"I see," her voice was as soft as her eyes. "And I understand. It must have been hard."

"Yeah," he nodded, again drowning in her gaze, "Hard." Jesus, he had to get a grip on himself, or he would do something unforgivable. Like kissing her. Fishing for the next possible subject he came back to the matter at hand. "I really am sorry," he said quickly. "For storming out of the house. I can't remember when I lost control like-," he stopped abruptly, then wearily rubbed the back of his neck. "No, actually, I remember pretty well the last time." He shook his head, "I was so sure when it was over, that it would never happen again. But I … was wrong." A chuckle escaped his lips, "I suppose I really forgot what can happen when I'm around you."

**Sure, go on, you idiot. I thought you wanted to change the subject.**

Not quite understanding his words, she tilted her head, looking at him quizzically.

"I … uh … I was angry, and … jealous," he admitted finally, knowing that this was dangerous territory. There was still the curse. And there were demons waiting for them. And she wasn't really Buffy. But somehow he couldn't find it in him to care.

"Jealous," Buffy breathed in awe, still trying to sort out the concept of Angel going on a rampage because of her. Of him beating Spike up, and being beaten up himself. They hadn't known each other 24 hours ago, but obviously it didn't
matter, nor that they were from different dimensions, that they had loved their other selves before. Nothing suddenly seemed to matter anymore. Only the man who was now standing right in front of her.

"When I … when I smelled him all over you … I … something just snapped. Not just me, not just … but the demon, too," he explained, unconsciously bridging the distance between them with a single step, "I could feel it roar inside of me. And then Riley … I had to get out. I never wanted to … it was just by accident that I stumbled over Spike. And I still was … I wanted to … but then he opened his filthy mouth and …," he trailed off, shook his head again. Speech failed him, all he could see those eyes. Buffy's eyes. They were beautiful, and huge, and they were the eyes he saw in his dreams. There, where he couldn't control his feelings, Buffy had never been far from his mind.

"Yes," she breathed, moving even closer.

"Buffy," he swallowed hard, licked his lips, "Maybe we…"

"I know," she whispered, touching his lips with her fingertips. "But you know what? I don't care."

He had not the slightest idea if it had been an invitation, but before he could form another thought he was already kissing her, his arms coming around her waist, while her body was folding itself against him, her hands burying in his
hair, pulling him down. He heard the little moan coming from her, felt her warmth invading him, and knew that he'd finally come home.

Part 15


Spike didn't know how he'd managed to get to his crypt in one piece. He was hurting so much, he could feel every broken bone in his body, feel every bruise, every smashed internal organ. They would heal without doubt, but right now the vampire wasn't so sure dying wouldn't have been the better option. Sometimes being human did have certain advantages.

While he was making his - very slow - way through the graveyard he couldn't shake off the feeling he was followed, but he was in no condition to really care. Besides, maybe this someone would end what the Slayer and Angelus had started and finish him off for good this time.

Hell, he really had a death wish tonight. He remembered the first words his grand-sire had spoken when they'd met and realised they were true. And not just because he'd gotten familiar with more bones in his body he'd ever cared for.
What really stung was the way the Slayer had kicked him out of her life. He knew she was sorry for using him, but damn, he hadn't been used, he'd been using her and …

… he'd been love's bitch again.

Why the hell did this keep happening to him? Did he have a banner on his head saying 'Here comes Spike. Need someone to spit on - he's for free'? He was an evil vampire for goodness sake, he was meant to be superior, or so Angelus had told him. They were the strongest race, the ones meant to rule. Problem was, though, he didn't feel much like a ruler right now. And if he was honest with himself, he never had.

Worse even, he was nothing but a pathetic excuse for a vampire at the moment. Look at him, Spike who had killed two Slayers, he had been brought down by a stupid chip, implanted into his brain by a bunch of soldier-wanna-bees, his foolish infatuation for a blond girl, and a vampire with a stinking soul.

If that wasn't pathetic he didn't know what was.

With the last of his strength and an agonized groan he dragged himself through the door of his home that was even more pathetic than him. What self-respecting vampire lived in a crypt? None, was the embarrassing answer. Once they'd been forced to hide in a mine-shaft because he'd been cocky and stupid and for punishment Angelus had given him the beating of his life. Or so he'd thought. Giving his current stage, however, Spike knew that his grand-sire hadn't done more than playing then. He was now the living, walking proof of what Angel was really capable of.

On the other hand he'd done the unforgivable, he thought not with a small amount of glee. He'd had Angel's woman. Not once, not twice, but again and again. He could still hear her moan, feel her arch against him, himself sinking into her … she'd been so sweet, so tempting, her honey filling his senses. It was the combination of danger, love and tasting a forbidden fruit that had him almost go off without even touching her.

He felt his groin tighten at the image, and noticed with satisfaction that not every part of his body was as dead as he felt. God, he'd give his soul to have her again, just once. If he had a soul to give in the first place. He snickered,
instantly regretting it when his broken ribs protested against the movement of his chest muscles.

But it was worth it, he thought. Everything had been worth it. He'd seen the jealousy and the rage in Angel's eyes and it had given him the high of his life. Angel had beaten him up, but that couldn't change anything. He still had been her
lover, he still had had her. And Angel would always remember it. Whatever he did, whatever he said, he knew his grand-sire could never forget. It would eat him up, slowly, burning through his whole being. The way Spike had been burning up, hearing Drusilla scream out her ecstasy all the long nights in the factory.

Spike sank on his bed, his knee wobbly, the broken bones in his body cracking. They would be healed in the morning, but he knew he wasn't going to be able to sleep. He'd just have to endure the pain. A smile crept on his lips. It was a cheap prize for what he'd gained in the end. Being a vampire, he realised, wasn't half-bad.

In a backroom of her mind Buffy knew that there were demons waiting for them, that there was duty waiting, but the moment Angel's lips touched hers, his arms encircled her waist, nothing seemed to matter anymore. Her head started to spin when she opened her lips for his tongue, the blood in her veins rushing through her body. This, she wanted to scream, this was right.

She pulled him closer, buried her hands in his hair, needing to hold onto him, while she folded her body against his. She breathed his name into his mouth, nibbling at his lips with her teeth.

"Buffy," she heard him whisper, and closed her eyes, not wanting the kiss to end, never wanting it to end. This was so achingly familiar, this was what she'd been missing all those lonely years. She heard a sob, but didn't realise it was her own. She heard someone chant his name when his lips found her cheeks, trailed down her neck, his fingers digging into the flesh of her back, holding, stroking, while his cool lips initiated fires along their path.

It was madness, pure madness, but God, she never wanted to be sane again.

And suddenly he was gone. Buffy needed a moment to realise that his hands weren't touching her anymore, that there wasn't a cool body close to hers. Her eyes flew open and in shock and confusion she tried to understand what had happened. Searching the room, she saw him standing with his back to her, his hands clenched into fists, his back rigid, he was staring out of the window, obviously fighting for control.

Her heart was still pounding like crazy in her chest and she was trying to catch her breath, her emotions running high, she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to replace the loss of his embrace, but knowing it was impossible. Feeling raw inside, but knowing he wouldn't speak first, she tried tentatively, "Angel?"

His back grew even more rigid if it was possible, and she could hear him exhale slowly.

"Angel … I …," she had to swallow, her mouth suddenly dry, she was desperately trying to find words to explain, words to ease the horrible tension in the room. But she had none. And she wished he would speak because she needed to hear his voice so badly. She wanted him to tell her that it was alright, that it wasn't a fault, that he felt the way she did. Raw. Shaky. But craving for more. So much more.

She wanted this, him, all the time. She wanted what she'd thought lost back. It didn't matter that he wasn't the Angel who had died right before her eyes. Because he was. In a way, the most important way, he was Angel. Sweet, caring,
understanding. Yes, he was different from the man she remembered, was angry sometimes, and  he smiled a lot more, he laughed, but deep inside she knew that all those wonderful emotions had been in him all the time, only subdued by guilt and pain, doubled after his time in hell.

A sudden thought shot through her mind, "Did you … have you been in hell?"

"Wha - what?"

She heard the confusion in his voice. He obviously never expected her to ask this question - at least not right now. "In my dimension, Angel was in hell, and I was wondering, if…"

He cleared his throat, his firsts slowly unclenching. "Yes. Yes, I … Why do you want to know."

She shrugged, "No particular reason. It just popped into my mind."

"I see," he said quietly, finally turning towards her, his gaze controlled. When their eyes met, he didn't flinch. At the beginning his unwavering gaze had sometimes unnerved her. Not anymore, though, and so she looked right back.
"Buffy, I-"

"No," she held up a hand, afraid he might say something she wasn't ready to hear. What if he was sorry? She couldn't hear it. What if he had been thinking about- ,"What's between you and Cordy?"

For a moment he looked at her as if he hadn't understood, then he frowned, "Why?"

Suddenly embarrassed, Buffy cast her eyes to the ground, "I … uh … I know I have no right, not because of some stupid kiss," she heard herself laugh nervously, and wanted to die on the spot. She was behaving ridiculous. She took a deep breath, "Fred … she," she shrugged, fidgeting with her fingers, "… said something. So I was wondering…"

"You seem to wonder a lot tonight."

She heard the smile in his voice and dared to look up. There was no anger in his eyes. Instead they were warm and a smile was tugging at his lips. "Yes … well … I"

"There's absolutely nothing between Cordy and I," he said softly. "She is a friend. Maybe the best I have. And maybe, for a little while I tried to convince myself that there could be more, but it would've been wrong. It never would've
worked."

They exchanged a quick smile. But there was one thing Buffy still needed to say, "I'm not sorry for the kiss," she suddenly blurted, blushing furiously the moment the words were out of her mouth. "I … I mean … I-"

"I'm not sorry, either," he interrupted her, his smile widening. "But it's …," all of a sudden he became serious, "there's still the curse. And some demons waiting at midnight."

"Yes, yes, of course." The curse, yes, there was still the curse in this dimension. They couldn't just forget and be selfish. Oh God, she wasn't sure she could bear it. Having him close, but not being able to touch him, not being able
to show him. She remembered the first agonizing weeks after Angel came back from hell, how cautious they'd been around each other, and she remembered the joy when Willow stumbled over the solution purely by accident.

"But, but …," she began, biting her lower lip, "I mean … in my dimension Willow found a way to alter it and -"

"I'm not really sure it's that easy."

He was even more serious now, and although she wanted to deny it, she understood. She might have forgotten he wasn't her Angel while they were kissing, but now, looking at him, she knew. They were not exactly strangers, but neither did they know each other very well. Angel, this Angel, had lived a completely new life in L.A., and he'd become a different person. While she …  And who said that he'd known she wasn't his Buffy all along? Maybe he hadn't forgotten the way she had, and maybe because of it he'd pulled back. Maybe he felt guilty for kissing her in the first place. Her shoulders slumped. "No," she agreed. "I suppose it's not."

His eyes never leaving hers he stepped closer, "Buffy it's not that I don't want you, because I do. After what happened before I think it's pretty obvious." The smile was back on his face, and Buffy felt herself returning it. "But there's a
lot we have to talk about. And don't mean the curse. I had a long time thinking about it, and I'm sure if … But the point is, we have to know each other first. Purely physical attraction isn't enough. Not if it comes to you."

She knew he was right, but she still had to know, "Is it … because I'm not her? Not this Buffy."

A startled chuckled escaped his lips, before he said, "When I was kissing you, I completely forgot about it."

The beam on her face could've lit up the whole universe.

"I can't believe you could fight like this after what happened before."

Riley heard the awe in Buffy's voice and wanted to gag. The guy was a vampire, for goodness sake. To heal fast was part of being one, as was being strong. There was nothing to it, so why did she have to make it such a big deal? Although he had to admit, and not without a small amount of jealousy, that watching Buffy and Angel fight was something to be remembered. They'd moved in complete sync, two well oiled machines, their movements fluent, they'd been kicking and punching, and while Tara had been chanting, they were beheading one demon after the other.
Riley had managed to kill one in the same time they'd finished ten.

Unconsciously Slayer and vampire had covered each others backs, as if they'd done this a hundred times before, and probably they had, Riley thought, feeling the odd jealousy again. He wondered why he felt it at all. He had left Buffy, it had been a year ago, and he was over her, for goodness sake. Or wasn't he?

He saw Angel smiling down at the little Slayer, and had to keep himself from punching him. "I'm a vampire, remember. We heal fast."

Hadn't he said it? The whole thing was no big deal.

"But you've gotten so much better and …," Buffy trailed off in mid-sentence, casting her eyes to the ground. "Sorry," Riley heard her mumble. "I forgot."

The vampire put a hand on her shoulder. It was a simple gesture, but it seemed oddly familiar and intimate and the commando had to look away. "Hey, it's okay," he heard the other man say. **Man! Screw that. The other thing.** "I take it as a compliment. I had a lot of practice in L.A." Looking back, Riley saw Angel grin, "And I had to train Cordy. She hits really hard."

The brunette scoffed, "Yeah, sure. And I'm going to hurt you really hard if you ever pull a stunt like that again. Wes was right, it was irresponsible to let yourself beat up right before a big fight like this."

"Cordy, relax," Gunn's arm came to lay around the woman's shoulder, but she shrugged him off. "We won, didn't we. And Angel was great. A real champion."

"We certainly got rid of the demons," Wesley agreed, walking beside Tara and Fred. "Also thanks to Tara's magic skills, that are very advanced, if I may say so."

The witch blushed, "Oh tha- that was nothing."

"Nothing?," Fred turned to look at her, her eyes bright. "That was … I never saw something like that before. You held up your hand, and fire was coming from your palms, burning the demons right on the spot. It was amazing." She suddenly frowned, "Is it something you can learn?"

"Uh-oh," Cordelia muttered, "Don't even think about it. I've lived with a witch long enough. I had to endure her through all my high school years. They never do anything good, besides stealing boyfriends. It sucks."

"I cannot believe you're still holding a grudge about that," Xander shouted from behind the group. He was walking with Anya, her body pressed close to his, anchored by his arm.

"I am not holding a grudge," the brunette's voice had a dangerous edge. "Getting rid of you was the best thing ever happening to me. And anyway. If I really would've tried to hold you, nothing of it would ever have happened. That should tell you something, Harris."

"You still sound like a woman scorned," Anya piped up. When Cordelia stopped and glared at her, she shrugged, "I have quite some experience with them. I know one when I see them."

Pretending to ignore the comment, the brunette continued to walk. The battle had gone smoothly. True to his promise, Angel was recovered, although a bit slower than usual, but with the combined help of the Slayer, the Scoobies, and Riley the L.A. crew had had no problems  killing the group of twenty Grallagh-demons. They were an Irish clan Angel had explained, after they were finished. Living off the brains of humans, not unlike Glory, but instead of using the energy they used the thoughts, then sold it to the highest bidder, leaving the previous owner as an empty shell. Cordy still felt shivers thinking about it. She still remembered when someone had tried to rob her 'gift'. She didn't like it when business hit close to home.

And talking about business, "You still haven't told us what this getting beat up was about." She looked at Angel who seemed to develop a sudden interest in the trees they were passing.

"I really don't think we have to discuss this now," Buffy replied, shooting the vampire a nervous glance.

Uh-oh … something wasn't right here. "So what did you meet? A bunch of vampires?" No way she would let it go. Angel was part of her family now, and that meant he owed them an answer. Only because Buffy was suddenly part of his life again, she wouldn't let him forget about the people who were fighting by his side day after day, or who had to suffer from head-splitting migraines so that he could find his redemption.

"Something like that," Angel muttered, still not looking at her.

He and the Slayer exchanged another private glance, and Cordelia's eyes narrowed suspiciously. What the hell was going on here? First Angel had gotten beat up, and then he and Buffy had come down from Dawn's room, the Slayer not able to stop beaming, while the vampire was hardly able to tear his eyes from her. She hadn't said anything before, but that didn't mean she hadn't seen the way they had tried to act deliberately casual around each other, or in general. Exactly like someone who had something to hide.

"Do you realise that scowling will get you wrinkles?"

She glared at Gunn who was grinning down at her. God, could a guy be more annoying? Just because he had a nice body … and maybe she was going mad! A nice body? Gunn had a nice body? Where the hell had that thought come from? She gave him a haughty look, then glared again when he started to laugh. She took a deep breath and with great difficulty managed to ignore him. "So did you?," she gazed at Angel, "Run into a bunch of vampires, I mean?"

Buffy and Angel exchanged another quick glance, before the Slayer spoke, "Cordy, do you remember what I told all of you before Angel came back?" Her voice held a definite warning.

But Cordy had never been one to back down, and she wouldn't start doing it now. Besides, Buffy had been gone from Angel's life for years. And anyway, this Buffy didn't really know him at all. She stopped, planting her hands firmly at her hips and shot daggers at the blond, "And who do you think you are, little Miss I-save-the-world-and-therefore-I-can-have-an-attitude? You didn't even know Angel before last night. What do you think gives you the right to tell me-"

"What do you mean she didn't know him 24 hours ago?"

Riley's shocked exclamation stopped her cold. Shock registered on her face at what she'd blurted out. God, she'd fallen right back into bitchy Cordy, the immature teenager who hadn't cared for anyone and anything. "I … uh … that wasn't meant literally," she tried to cover her slip. "But they haven't seen each other for a long time."

The commando might have been born in Iowa, but that didn't mean he was stupid. His eyes narrowed, and he didn't miss the nervous glances the group exchanged, or the daggers Angel was shooting at Cordelia. "Yeah, and I was born yesterday," he said sarcastically. "Is anyone going to explain or-"

"Alright," Buffy's voice sounded weary. She left Angel's side and stepped close to Riley, "How about you sleep in our living-room tonight?," she offered. "And we can talk about it tomorrow over breakfast. How does it sound?"

Not too bad. Especially given the fact that the vampire was staying under the same roof. So he could keep a close eye on them, and maybe understand what the hell was the matter with him?

Part 16


Spike woke up with a start but his still fuzzy mind needed a while to realise he'd obviously fallen asleep after all. The second thing he noticed after forcing his eyes open, was the door of his crypt which was standing wide open, the
sunlight streaming inside, hitting a spot only inches away from his left foot.

Maybe he'd really nursed an unconscious death-wish last night, he thought, not quite wanting to leave his bed so soon. The sheets still smelled of her, and he could remember the last time she'd lain with him, smiling like a content little kitten, his golden goddess-

"Finally. You are awake. I almost fell asleep waiting for you to wake up."

And talking about goddesses. He could also remember a time when there had been a black haired one.

"Drusilla," he greeted his sire, rising his upper body and looking into the general direction the voice was coming from.

She emerged from the shadows, her eternal beauty the same it had always been, and with a flash of annoyance Spike realised he actually found it boring. The image of a human face kept flickering before his inner eye, a human face he wasn't so sure he was going to forget any time soon.

Damn.

"What are you doing here?," he asked, a growl coming from his throat, that had nothing to do with the woman in front of him, but all with another, who had booted him out of her life. "I thought when you left the last time you left for  good."

She looked at him for a long moment, then shrugged, "Grandmum died," she informed him. "It was lonely without her."

So the bitch was finally dust, was she? Well, Spike wouldn't lose a tear over her. She'd always been an overbearing slut. She'd gone down for hundreds of men before she was turned, but she'd always been too fine to do it with him. Arrogant bitch. "I never thought you were particularly fond of Darla," he replied casually, not really caring for an answer. Dragging himself up from his bed, carefully avoiding the sunlight, he went to his fridge, pulled out a cup of
blood, then slumped into his favourite chair.

"I made her," Drusilla replied, walking to the door and closing it. "Very careless of you," she remarked, "Or do you have a death wish?"

Like father like daughter he thought, another growl coming from his throat. It wasn't enough that she had invaded his home again, now she was also quoting Angel. "What do you want?," he repeated his earlier question.

He was startled when she moved up behind him, one of her cool hands trailing over his head, burying in his hair, stroking his skull. "I can still feel it," she whispered, bowing down to his ear, her unnecessary breath tickling his ear, "My wonderful little Spike is caught in there. Bound by bad magic. Do you want your mum help you?"

Help him? For the first time, something remotely feeling like interest was rising in him, "Help me, how?"

"Do you want me to remove it? This pesky little chip is almost as annoying as Angel's soul."

"Can you please not mention that name in my home," he growled, squashing the empty cup of blood in his hand. "And how are you going to remove the chip? Have you suddenly become a neurosurgeon or what?" He chuckled at his own joke, but she just sighed and walked away, surveying his crypt. A fact that made him shift uncomfortably in his chair. Sure, she'd seen his lair before, but somehow this time it was even more embarrassing. He wondered if this was how humans felt if their mother-in-law came inspecting their first apartment.

"No, of course not," she laughed at his question. "But I have friends. Powerful friends."

One of his brows rose, "Friends?"

"Hmmm," she made, "They will remove your chip."

"They will?," he didn't want to sound quite so eager, but he couldn't help it. There was nothing he wanted more. To think he could get rid of the chip… But Spike wasn't stupid enough to think something like that came without a prize.
"What do I have to do for it?"

She grinned, obviously pleased that he'd gotten her point so quickly. "You have to get the baby. The Slayer trusts you. So it will be easy."

Not anymore, Spike thought, but wasn't about to tell her any time soon. To get the chip removed he'd do almost anything. And then it hit him. "What the hell do you mean? What baby?"

She looked at him as if he was out of his mind, then she sighed, "Poor Spike, you will have to do a lot of catching up as soon as we've gotten rid of that chip in your head. You used to be so clever. Well, you will be back to your old self
soon. But first we have to get the baby. We have to kidnap Angel's son."

Ever since starting his business of saving lost souls in L.A. Angel had slowly developed the habit to sleep at night, at least for the better part of it, and staying awake during the day. The change had needed some adjusting on his part,  but in the end he'd done it gladly. Staying awake during the day meant he was able to communicate with his friends, and it helped to keep up the image of being human, something Angel had become very good in pretending. Especially since Connor had come into his life, a human child, his son - a fact he sometimes still found hard to believe - it was a real advantage. Although it was good, he didn't need a lot of sleep either.

Angel smiled to himself climbing down the stairs, thinking of Connor in his arms, his greedy mouth sucking at the bottle, smacking his lips in-between. There was nothing more peaceful he could imagine.

Tonight, however, Angel hadn't been able to rest. He was still to wired, Buffy would call it, his thoughts still racing through his mind. He couldn't stop thinking about Spike, couldn't stop seeing the triumph in the younger vampire's
eyes telling him that nothing would change that fact that he had Buffy. Angel's love. The irony that it had never been Buffy, not the Buffy Spike thought anyway, wasn't lost to Angel. But somehow it didn't matter. Somehow the two Buffy's had long melted together in Angel's head. They were different, the one still sleeping upstairs even more sad than the one he'd known, but deep down inside there was no difference.

And they certainly felt the same when kissing.

Running a hand through his hair, trying to push the feeling of Buffy melting into his arms aside, Angel stumbled into the kitchen intending to make coffee. It did nothing for his circulation of course, for he didn't have one in the first place, but it was another habit the vampire had adjusted to, he didn't intend to break. Drinking coffee with his friends in the morning was always a good way to start the day. They would talk, laugh. Be human. Plus, he hadn't forgotten the Slayer's addiction to the strong black brew. Without it she wasn't able to function, she'd once told him.

But when he became aware of a tall, blond figure standing at the isle holding a steaming cup in his hand, he wasn't so sure the idea of morning coffee wasn't overrated.

"Morning," he mumbled, trying his best to ignore Riley's presence in the room and the fact that the commando had made the coffee, while he was pouring himself a cup.

"Good morning,"

Somehow the vampire had known the commando wouldn't let him pretend he was on his own. The moment he'd stepped into the kitchen he'd felt the tension and the barely restrained aggression in there. "Sleep well?," Angel asked, not quite knowing what to say, not really interested in the answer either. Not that he wanted to make small talk with Riley, but it was better than giving in on the impulse to rip out his throat. Angel closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning to look at the commando.

"No, not really," the blond replied, resting his elbows on the isle, staring at the other man over the rim of his cup. "The sofa is a little bit short," he added for explanation.

"Ah," Angel said, cursing himself for sounding like an idiot. But the truth was there was absolutely nothing he wanted to say to Riley, nothing he wanted to talk about. They had nothing in common. Except Buffy, but Angel couldn't see them exchanging bedside stories, not without danger of bloodshed, that is.

"I suppose you had a good night's sleep, huh?," Riley's eyes were cast on the coffee. "I always thought Buffy's bed was really comfortable."

And maybe there would be some bloodshed anyway. Angel felt his body tense at the comment, but decided it was enough to beat up one ex-lover within twenty four hours. At least for now. "Yes, it is," he replied, thinking that two could play the game. Plus he had the certain advantage of having spent the night in Buffy's room. Of course nothing had happened. They had only slept, or rather Buffy had, Angel had been staring at the ceiling. He also kept on his clothes, and Connor had been sleeping between them, but Riley didn't know that. And Angel had no intention of changing that.

Riley nodded, sipping slowly. "Isn't it," he looked up again, his eyes calculating, "I dunno, dangerous?"

Angel's expression didn't change. He was not really surprised Riley knew about his curse, Buffy had after all loved the guy once. And as much as he hated it, it also meant she'd trusted him with her secrets. "There are ways around it," he said, sitting down on one of the high-stools opposite to Riley. To his amusement he saw anger flickering through the commando's eyes but he covered it quickly.

"I see," Riley said tightly, again sipping from his coffee. "Is she awake yet?"

"No," Angel shook his head. "She was tired after last night. You are in good shape by the way," he said suddenly, surprising Riley as much as himself with the compliment. But it was true. For a human Riley was a good fighter, and remarkably strong.

The commando shrugged, a faint blush creeping up his neck, "Thanks, that's what I'm trained for." He paused for a moment, before he said, "It's still a bit weird for me to see a vampire fight for the good cause. I mean I saw Spike help Buffy, but you are the first who's actually believing in what he's doing. Spike only did it for one purpose."

He let the words hang in the air, but Angel had no problem understanding their meaning. Spike had tried to get close to Buffy, to get into her good graces, for his final goal, to possess her. "Yeah," Angel replied darkly, frowning into his
cup.

"I once almost killed him," Riley went on, obviously lost in memories. "I still can't understand why I didn't, but …," he trailed off, shook his head.

"I know what you mean," Angel muttered under his metaphorical breath, still not quite understanding it himself. Maybe it was a the knowledge that it was more torture for Spike to know that he wouldn't be able to come near Buffy again, than to become dust. "Why did you leave her?," Angel asked suddenly.

Riley shrugged again, "It's a long story. I loved her, she never loved me. Or not …," he sighed, "I had a lot of time to think about it. Maybe I expected more than she could give. Who knows."

"And now?," the vampire tilted his head, eyeing the commando closely. "Why did you come back?"

"I thought I needed to see her. You know, talk to her. Leave the chapter behind me for good. My departure was quite … sudden. But now," he shook his head, amazement entering his eyes, "It's strange, but … I still feel attracted to her." He looked at Angel, "Not that I didn't expect I wouldn't be. Because I did, but …," he chuckled all of a sudden, "Look at us, we are meant to hate each other and now we're having a deep conversation about Buffy. God, isn't this world a strange place?"

Angel chuckled as well, "Yeah. I guess it is. So you … still want her?," he asked, not quite sure why.

Riley looked at the vampire for a long moment, before he sipped the rest of his coffee. Then he stood up, put the cup into the sink and walked to the door. Before he left he turned, "I suppose I'll always want her. But then, this should
be something you understand."

Angel stared at the open doorway where Riley had been standing only moments ago. Yeah, he thought. He understood. Only too well.

"Angel's son?" Spike knew he must look like an idiot staring at her, with his mouth hanging open. "Dru, do you have lost all your marbles now? Angel is a vampire. His seed is as dead as mine. He cannot have a son. And I doubt anyone's going to let a vampire adopt a baby."

"But there is," she insisted. "He and Grandmum did the forbidden, nasty thing. And then she was pregnant. She killed herself so the baby could live."

It seemed the wacky wasn't quite over in his life. "Dru," he said, his voice clearly lacking patience. How had he taken up with her nonsense for so long, he wondered. "Again. Angel is a vampire-"

"I know, I know," she interrupted him, growling. "But it's still true. There's this little prophecy. The people I know, the ones I told you about before. They want the child. It's important."

Could it be true? Could there really be a child? A child by two vampires? It did sound insane, and regarding the fact that Dru had told him about it, it could very well be, but somehow she looked pretty rational at the moment, and besides … stranger things had happened. Okay, so he had to admit there weren't a lot of things stranger than a child of two vampires. But still … This was the Hellmouth and you had to be ready for anything. "And what is this child?," he asked cautiously.

"A human baby," she replied, smiling. "A boy. Angel called him Connor." She frowned, "Well, I'm not sure Angel called him Connor, but … never mind," she made a little gesture with her hand, a gesture he'd once thought sexy. Now, nothing stirred at it. "But my friends, they want the baby. And I …," she batted her lashes, "want you."

Over my dead body, Spike thought, then realised the words didn't quite fit. But no way he would fall for her again, or for any other woman for that matter. He'd been love's bitch his whole life. It would end. Once and for all. As soon as he got that chip out of his head, he'd leave Sunnydale and bring as much distance between himself and the Slayer as possible. But first the chip had to be removed. And if that meant pretending he was happy to see her, he could certainly manage that. Reaching out a hand to her, he smiled, "Well, baby. That sounds really interesting. So, tell me, what exactly do I have to do to get rid of that thing in my head?"

Part 17


"Hey."

His head bent over the opening of the dishwasher, Angel almost bumped his head
when he heard her voice from the doorway, still a bit rough, holding traces of
sleep. "Hey," he replied softly, instant warmth flooding his system at her
presence in the same room. No wonder he was always feeling chilly in L.A, where
the cure for it was so far away. He hadn't really been aware of it, but now, with
her so close, he realised it with startling awareness.

"I didn't hear you leaving," she said, walking over to the coffee machine. "When
did you get up?"

Looking at her back, he frowned slightly, remembering their night together on the
same bed, with the baby between them, "A while ago. I'm not … I  … ," he thought
about the kiss they'd shared, thought about all the things that weren't possible,
"Sometimes I have problems sleeping after a battle." It was a lie. He always
slept like a rock, but it was better than admitting her kiss had left him shaken
to the core. Last night, while kissing her, he, in a moment of madness, had let
himself believe everything seemed possible, but after a night of lying awake
beside her, and in the light of new day, things were a lot clearer, and although
he hated it, Angel knew that he could only accept them the way they were.

Not that he hadn't enjoyed spending the last nights with her in her bedroom,
because he had. But it had also shown him how impossible the situation was. The
longing he felt being so close to her, was slowly driving him crazy. So crazy
that he had behaved with Riley as if Buffy was his. Jesus, he was really losing
his mind. But after his last encounter with Riley in the streets of Sunnydale and
in Buffy's dorm he hadn't been able to back down. Call it the male ego, call it
jealousy, but even in 250 year old vampires it sometimes overruled any rational
thinking.

She turned then, steaming mug in her hand, and Angel was sure she was the most
beautiful creature he'd ever seen in his life. Her hair was still mussed from
sleep, he wanted to bury his hands in it, inhale its scent, drown in it. Her eyes
were still a bit sleepy, her skin warm and soft, and Angel felt his groin tighten
almost to the brink of being uncomfortable. He was glad he was wearing a pair of
sweatpants this morning. God, he wanted to grab her, hold her, kiss all traces of
sleep away, and bury himself inside of her -

He stifled a groan the very last moment, and turned quickly, busying himself with
some more dishes that were still standing in the kitchen from last night. They'd
all devoured a midnight snack after the battle with the demons, but had been too
tired to take care of the dishes. He saw his hands shaking from the effort to
keep himself together and cursed under his metaphorical breath. This was sheer
madness. He wanted to hold her, and never let go, knowing that it was completely
forbidden to him. There was still the curse, first and foremost. Now, with Connor
in his life, more than ever, he had to be responsible. He knew that the moment he
lost his soul the demon would go after the baby and kill it without even blinking
an eye.

He knew what it meant. Knew what he had to do. Even if it killed him. And his
conversation with Riley just before had given everything a completely new
perspective. God, it really sucked to be a vampire with a soul. He took a deep
breath, and slowly turned back to her, "Riley was looking for you."

Her head that had been bent over the cup came up with a snap, her eyes sharpened
on him, "What?"

"I said-"

"Yes, I heard." She sipped from her coffee, never taking her eyes from him,
confusion evident in her hazel orbs. "I promised him that we would talk. Did you
… fight? Because everyone here seems to expect bloodshed with you two under the
same roof."

Angel shook his head, "No. We talked."

A brow came up, "Talked?" A grin tucked at her lips, "Does the fact that you
still look the same mean that Riley doesn't have cuts and bruises either?"

The vampire sighed, his heart breaking a little at the hopeful expression in her
eyes. With sudden clarity he realised that she wanted him to be jealous and
possessive, would take it as a true sign of his affection. "We're adults, Buffy.
No hormone driven teenagers. I admit that we once …," he trailed off, suddenly
realising that there had never been a confrontation between he and the commando.
"Anyways. There is no reason to fight. We are friends, you and I. Nothing more."
Yeah. Right. God, he was the world's biggest liar. Friends? What a joke.

The grin vanished instantly, "Friends?," she drew her brows together. "But I
thought … I mean … last night you said-"

"Last night," he gave another weary sigh, "I wasn't thinking clearly, Buffy. I've
not been thinking clearly ever since I came to Sunnydale. Every since I met you
again. Seeing you …," he paused, running a hand through his hair, closing his
eyes for a moment, "It was a complicated situation. After I thought you had died,
you came back. And then suddenly," he looked at her, not able to hide the sadness
in his eyes, "there was this whole different dimension thing." He shook his head,
chuckled, "It was so confusing, and it was so good to be with you again … I …
started to let myself dream of things. Impossible things. "

"Impossible things?"

She was staring at him with such confusion in her eyes, he wanted to weep. "Yes.
Impossible. Buffy things were different in your dimension, but here … After I
came back from Hell, things were … pretty difficult. Anyways. What I wanted to
explain was that I was already confused and after meeting Spike-"

"You mean after beating him up."

He shot her a look, "I was ... I wasn't able to think things through. This," he
gestured at her, then at himself, "isn't possible. It never was. For a moment we
let ourselves believe it could work, but we both know it can't."

"Not possible?" Her eyes were filled with unshed tears. "But you said … I don't
understand. Is it because of the curse?," she asked, her voice small, lost.

Angel felt his gut knot at the expression on her face, but he kept his voice
firm. He'd been through this before. He could do it again. "The curse is part of
it, yes. I won't deny it. A big part. A major part," he chuckled humourlessly, "I
cannot risk it, Buffy. There is too much at stake."

"Connor."

"Yes, Connor," he agreed, "but also you. Don't think I'll ever forget the way I
behaved then. The things I said. And with the recent events…," he shook his head,
"He would destroy you, Buffy."

"But I told you," he heard the way she tried to keep her voice calm, and his
heart broke for her, "Willow … in my dimension … she found a way to alter the
curse. Maybe we could-"

"But we can't live a life on maybes, Buffy. I have responsibilities. Not just
Connor. There are my friends. The agency in L.A. The people I help every day. I
cannot risk it." And speaking the words, Angel knew without a doubt, they were
true. But that didn't change the fact that he was ripping his heart out of his
chest with every word. That the idea of walking away from her, again, felt like
dying in pieces.

She sipped again from her coffee, and Angel noticed the slight trembling of her
fingers. She said nothing for a long time, but when she finally looked up, her
eyes were huge and accusing, "Was that what you said to her?," she asked, and
Angel flinched as if she'd slapped him. "Was that the way you left her and broke
her heart?"

"Buffy-"

"NO," her voice was suddenly sharp and she straightened. "I don't want to hear
it. I already know it. And I … understand. You're going to leave. You told me
you'd be there for me, and you lied. But that's … okay … really. I'm going to
live. I managed to live after you, he, died." She set down her mug with slow,
deliberate movements, and Angel realised she was trying her best to keep herself
together. He wanted to reach out, wanted to take her in his arms, beg for
forgiveness for hurting her, but knew it would be wrong. So he did nothing, just
clenched his fingers into tight fists.

He saw her taking a deep breath, and when she was looking at him again, her face
was controlled, her eyes bare of emotion. "So, you said Riley was looking for me.
Can you tell me where I find him?"

"I wonder if they're still alive, or if there's some serious medical work to be
done as soon as we arrive." Cordelia was staring out of the window of the rental
car Wesley was driving, talking mainly to herself, therefore missing the way
Fred's eyes widened and the young woman was nervously chewing her lower lip.

Her gaze darted to Gunn who was sitting beside her on the backseat. "Alive?," she
asked, not quite able to follow Cordy's thoughts. Willow had told her that Riley
was Buffy's ex-boyfriend, but Fred was sure of the keyrumption between Buffy and
Angel, so what was there to be afraid of? "Medical work?"

"Cordy thinks Angel and Riley might beat each other up," Gunn replied, grinning
to himself.

"Oh," Fred nodded quickly, not wanting to appear dumb, although she didn't
understand, not really.

"I really don't think we need to worry," Wesley said, always the voice of reason.

"If there's going to be a fight it's her fault entirely," Cordelia narrowed her
eyes, squinting at Gunn through the rear mirror. "I always said she wasn't good
for him."

"Well," Gunn leaned forward, his crossed arms resting on the back of Cordelia's
seat. "Don't think we haven't seen the way you were looking at him lately."

The brunette almost choked on air, "What?," she shouted, turning her head and
glaring at him. "Are you crazy? Did one of the demons last night hit your head? I
was looking at Angel? No! No, no, no. There was no looking. No looking at all.
Angel is my friend. F R I E N D, capito? Understand? I like my boyfriends with a
pulse and circulation, thank you very much. And then there's Buffy. He might have
managed to have a productive life without her, but she's still looming in the
back of his mind. And no way I'm going to play some kind of substitute. Thanks,
but no thanks. I'm too good to be just the second choice."

Gunn lifted a hand, "Hey, I'm with you there."

"The problem is," she went on as if he hadn't spoken, "that their relationship
was doomed from the start. But Angel being Angel, and Buffy being the
troublemaker she's always been, they couldn't keep their hands off of each other.
And I'm not blind. A fool would see that they still love each other." She
frowned, "Someone … a friend … once told me that nothing can come between those
two. And he was right. Look at them," she gazed at Gunn, at Fred, then finally at
Wesley who was trying his best to concentrate on the traffic, "From different
dimensions and still hot for each other. If that doesn't tell you something."

She sighed. "But even though I know it, I don't like it. I never did. I've seen
Angel in full brood and gloom after her visits. But … there's only so much we can
do. He's grown up after all. More than grown up, actually." She sighed again, and
rubbed her temples where a headache began to form.

"We all know you are concerned," Wesley gave her a quick smile. "We are, too.
We've all been through his downward spiral, remember? I don't care to live
through another one. But then, I think Angel has learned a lot since then."

"I agree with English," Gunn said sharing a smile with Fred. "We've slayed the
demons. And now after a nice breakfast with friends we're going to head back to
L.A. Back to business."

Cordelia shot both men a doubtful glance, then continued looking out of the
window, although there wasn't a lot to see. Sunnydale was as dull as ever. "I
hope you are right," she told them. "But if everything goes down I want you to
remember that I told you so."

"We will," Wesley reached over and patted her arm. "But I'm sure it will be
alright."

Cordy gazed at him and tried to smile. But somehow she couldn't shake off the
feeling that the problems weren't over.

"Good Morning."

The commando was sitting on the porch, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand,
obviously deep in thought.

"Buffy." He nodded without turning, patted the spot beside him. "Why don't you
sit down?"

She had been searching for him, wanting to get over with their talk, and didn't
hesitate when he invited her now. And now, after talking to Angel, he was
suddenly like a safe haven, she needed desperately. "So," she said, as soon as
she sat. "How have you been?"

"Not too bad," he replied, sipping from his cup. "You on the other hand look as
if you had it rough."

She laughed at that, but it wasn't a happy sound. "You can say that," she agreed.
God, he had no idea. "I died." She saw him choke on his drink, "Yeah, it's true.
It was the whole Glory-thing. I died. Then-, " she paused, staring into her own
morning coffee thinking about Angel, and the things he'd said to her, before
sending her to the porch, to Riley. She began to understand how this Buffy had
felt.

"Then?," he probed gently.

"Willow brought me back." She sipped once, twice, before going on, "But I … uh …
I came back into the wrong world." Only - it didn't feel that wrong anymore.
Because in this world she'd found her heart again, something she'd thought lost
forever. Or so she'd thought. But that was before he'd ripped her heart out and
trampled on it. She stifled a sob that was threatening to choke her. Yesterday,
after the kiss she had been so sure there was a way to … But the man in the
kitchen had looked and talked like a stranger.

This time Riley did look at her, "I still have problems with the concept of you
dying. You know with you sitting right next to me and all, but into the wrong
world? Come again?"

"We found out just recently. By accident," she explained. "Tara discovered there
was something different … and so … I'm not from this dimension."

A deep frown appeared on his forehead, "Not from this dimension? But … how?"

"I have not the slightest idea. Our best bet so far is that we - this Buffy and I
- were somehow mixed up," she shrugged, sipped again, "I suppose we'll never find
out. Tara only discovered it because she checked my aura and it was different."

There was silence between them, a companionable silence even, something they'd
never shared before and Buffy found herself wondering if this Riley was
different, too. Also his reaction to her revelation surprised her. The Riley she
had known wouldn't have taken this so well. He probably would've dragged her to a
shrink. Or wouldn't he? On the other hand almost a year had passed since their
last meeting. Was that enough to change the other Riley as well? She would
probably never know. This one sounded so much mature.

When he spoke, he sounded wistful, "So you and I never …"

"No," she shook her head, watching him from the corner of her eye. "We never. But
there was a Riley in my dimension, if that helps any."

"And you and he…?"

"Yes," she nodded. "It seems that almost all the things happened the same in your
and my dimension."

"Really?" He sounded surprised. "Well, maybe we were destined to be together,
after all."

Buffy studied his profile in the morning light and felt a little tug at her
heart. She had never loved Riley, but most of the time she had sincerely liked
him, and she knew he'd loved her. He'd told her more than once, and he'd left
because of it. Because it hurt too much to love a person but not to be loved
back. "He left," she told him, "And I didn't really try to hold him back." Maybe
if she made an effort. Maybe then she could-

He laughed out, "Sounds familiar. She didn't try to hold me either. But in the
end," he looked at the sun, blinked, "it was maybe for the best. If I hadn't left
I'd have probably started hating her." He stopped suddenly, sucked in a sharp
breath, before his gaze snapped to her, "That means …," he swallowed, while his
eyes became moist, "Buffy is d-dead?"

"Yes," impulsively she reached out with her free hand, touched his thigh. "I
suppose she is. Unless-." Her eyes widened instantly, a horrible thought shooting
through her mind. What if the other Buffy was in her world now. A lot of things
seemed to have happened the same in her world and in this. So what if the other
Willow had tried to bring Buffy back as well, what if they'd really gotten mixed
up? On the way.

"Oh God." Letting go of Riley's leg, she pressed a hand on her suddenly trembling
lips, surged to her feet, the cup clattering to the ground, breaking into a
million pieces while the coffee splashed over the ground, missing Riley only by
pure luck.

"Buffy?"

She heard him behind her, only seconds later one of his large hands came to lie
on her shoulder. "Buffy?," he asked again. "What is it?"

She shook her head, too confused to answer, too shocked to be able to put it into
words. Nobody had thought about it so far. Could it be? Could Buffy - this Buffy
- be in her world? Living with Dawn, and Willow, all the people she loved and-.
Her thoughts came to a staggering halt. She had wanted to say missed them, but
did she really? It was a horrible thing to say, but if she was honest with
herself, she had to admit she didn't. "I …," she cleared her throat.

"Shhhh," he made, turning her gently, pulling her into his arms. And she let
herself fall, remembering his embrace, remembering the comfort it had always
given her. She wrapped her arms around him, glad to be held, to feel warmth. His
arms were stroking her back and she sighed, burying her cheek in his chest,
wishing it was one without a heartbeat.

Angel turned away from the window, his hands clenching into fists, the pain
lacing through him like a sacred sword. His first impulse was to jump onto the
porch, sunshine be damned, and  rip the other man's throat out. He felt the demon
inside of him roar at the image of Buffy in Riley's arms. It was even worse after
the kiss they'd shared last night.

He knew he was a hypocrite. Hadn't he left her more than two years ago so she
could have exactly that? Dates with her boyfriend in the sunshine? Something
beside the darkness. Something normal. And besides, as much as he wanted to rip
Riley apart, Angel was sure, the commando loved Buffy. Not to forget about the
fact that he was a good fighter. For a human anyway.

But Angel could still feel her lips on his, could still feel her body close, her
heat penetrating his skin, warming him inside out. A kiss. That's all it was.
Just a kiss. Nothing special. Right. - Yeah, sure, and he had taken on
sunbathing.

But he had sent her out there. He had pushed her away in the kitchen. He couldn't
blame her for seeking comfort with another.

The vampire swore under his metaphorical breath, risking another glance at the
couple on the porch. They were still standing together, looking at the sun,
Riley's arm around Buffy's shoulder, she was leaning her head against it.
Granted, Riley was a little tall, and Buffy … but somehow they fit. Both blond.
Both fighters. Both human. He should be glad, seeing them together, but inside
his demon raged, and his human soul wept. You are a fool, he scolded himself. An
idiot. You have no right to feel that way. You knew from the start that this
wasn't meant to be. But he'd let himself dream. Let himself believe the
impossible could happen.  Let a kiss sweep all his doubts away.

He should be glad that Riley was here and that he cared for Buffy. He had all
what Angel so longed to give her and couldn't. He was human. He didn't have to
shy from the sun. Plus he knew about demons, was even a pretty good fighter, for
someone without super powers.

God, these thoughts were so familiar to him. Not that they had been connected to
anyone in particular before, he'd just wanted her to find a real life, and it was
even harder now, having the embodiment right before his eyes. But although he
despised Riley - he wouldn't be a man in love if he didn't - he also knew that
the commando cared deeply for the little Slayer, had seen it in the depth of his
blue eyes. If he liked it or not, he had to admit were perfect for each other.

God, it really sucked to be him.

Part 18

"This was a really bad idea. It'll leave me scarred for life." Cordelia pushed
back a lock of her hair with a recently manicured hand, and released a long,
suffering sigh.

Angel, who was standing next to her, exchanged a meaningful look with Gunn over
her head. The African-American chuckled, "The music isn't quite my taste either,
but it's not that bad."

The brunette narrowed her eyes at him, and Gunn realised she was doing it quite
frequently these days. "Not the music. This," she gestured vaguely around her. "I
ruled this club once. And now, look what's become of it." Another long sigh
followed the first.

"I think it is a nice club," Fred piped up from Wesley's side, "And the music
is," she paused, then winced when a heavy-metal song came on, "loud."

"Yeah, loud," Angel agreed, for once not happy with his advanced hearing ability.
He wondered if Xander had chosen the song simply to torture him, then dismissed
the thought. The boy had changed a lot. There wasn't a lot left of the once
angry, jealous teenager. He looked at Anya who stood near her fiancée. She was a
strange girl, but obviously very good for Xander. Regarding the fact that she'd
been a vengeance demon for over 1000 years, she was dealing remarkably well with
her current situation. It couldn't be easy to wake up human like this.

"I still can't believe you forced us to stay and come here," Cordelia folded her
arms in front of her chest, turning her eyes towards Angel. "One would've thought
you could hardly wait spending time with your honey."

"Dawn insisted on it," the vampire defended himself. The teenager had insisted
they all should have a party at the Bronze that night. To celebrate. He knew she
meant his reappearance in Buffy's life. Cordy hadn't been amused at the idea. But
Angel had convinced them to stay. And not only because of Dawn. It was bad enough
to be forced to see Buffy with Riley all the time, but without his friends around
it would be unbearable.

"I don't want you to think this music is even remotely my taste, but I think it's
not that bad here." Wesley was looking at the dance floor where Xander and Anya
had started to sway to the music - a love song this time - one of his feet
rhythmically tipping the floor.

"Why, Wes, you're quite the party animal and never told us about it. Who would
have guessed?," Gunn joked, grinning broadly. He was enjoying himself thoroughly.
The club wasn't bad, his friends were around and- Well, friends and … - he
glanced at Angel - someone he knew.

"Yes, not ba-" Angel stopped in mid-sentence when the door opened and Buffy and
Riley strolled in. They weren't touching, but to him they looked like a couple.
Stop it, he scolded himself. That's what you wanted. She does what you wanted her
to do. So stop behaving like an idiot. But God, she was beautiful. She wore a
pair of black pants, and a pink silken blouse, hugging her curves like a lover's
caress. Angel stifled a groan the very last moment.

Gunn whistled through his teeth, "Wow. If she isn't the looker, the little
Slayer. Angel, man, there might be a pattern in your taste in women, but who
could blame you?"

"Don't tell me you think she's good looking," Cordelia's eyes were narrowed
again. "She's … okay she's nice, but there's nothing special. I will never
understand why all the men are swooning at her feet."

"No, because you're not a man," Gunn replied, his grin never wavering.

The brunette snorted, then reached out for Wesley's arm, "Come on, boss. If
you're enjoying yourself so much, you can dance with me."

"I- I …," he stuttered, but followed her without protest.

Angel's eyes followed the couple to the dance floor, but the smile in them
vanished the moment they fell on another pair. They were dancing close, the man's
chin resting on her head, they looked as if they were glued to each other.
Looking away, Angel reached for his glass. What did he expect? He'd practically
handed her over to Riley. Bereft at the thought, Angel swallowed hard, sipped
from his drink and studied Dawn who was talking to Tara in the opposite corner.
The witch was on her own, while her lover was watching Connor at Buffy's house.
Angel guessed that Willow had offered it out of a feeling of guilt. She was still
carrying a lot of it, the vampire knew, he was the expert after all.

Not able to resist, he looked back at Riley and Buffy, the commando's hands lying
around her waist, hers against the back of his neck. Her cheek was resting at his
chest, the expression on her face content. Happy. It felt as if his heart was
breaking all over again. **You're a bit like the dog in the manger, you don't let
yourself want her, but you don't want anybody else to have her either.**
Disgusted with himself, Angel took another large gulp of his drink.

"They are a nice couple," Fred said tentatively from the side. She didn't quite
understand what was going on. Last night Angel and Buffy had looked like they
were a couple. And now suddenly Riley and Buffy were together all the time. "But
I … uhm … thought you and … she...", she trailed off, giving him a quizzical
look.

Angel couldn't blame her. The last days he had certainly acted around Buffy as if
they were a couple again. And it wasn't as if their conversation this morning
were common knowledge.

"She looks happy," Angel whispered, not able to tear his gaze from the scene
before him.

"Wait a minute," Gunn narrowed his eyes at the vampire, "What's with this
noble-sacrifice crap?," his voice was full of disbelief. "You're not going to
pull that stunt again. You know, I-love-her-enough-to-let-her-go?"

As Angel watched, Riley tightened one arm around Buffy's waist, then used the
forefinger of the other hand to tilt up her head. He smiled, and kissed her
slowly, tenderly. She was the one, probably the only one Angel was ever going to
truly love, and he was going to lose her to Riley - again. Well, he hadn't
actually lost her the last time, because he'd been the one who'd done the getting
lost thing, but still ...

"I was thinking about it, yeah...," he replied, "But I might throw up instead. I
probably could do both simultaneously."

"So you love her enough to let her go, huh?," Gunn gave his friend a thoughtful
gaze, his forefinger tipping at his chin. He sighed, lifted his glass, sipped,
"That's real sweet, you know, but give yourself a break, Angel man. You'd rather
love yourself enough to fight for her. Besides, look at her body language. I
gotta tell you, she isn't comfortable, kissing him. She's not sold on this guy -
not yet."

Angel desperately wanted to see it, but couldn't. All his mind registered was the
fact that Buffy was in someone else's arms. Riley's arms.

Gunn put his glass down, spotting Cordelia in the other corner. She and Wesley
had finished their dance, and she was standing at the bar, waiting for a drink.
He patted his friend's shoulder, "Don't be a fool, man."

A fool? Yeah, he was a fool. A stupid idiot. All he wanted was to step between
them and claim Buffy as his, and yet he'd told her to go to Riley. Only this
morning he had pushed her away and into the commando's waiting arms. God, he'd
done it again. He'd behaved in the same stupid way he had before. And hadn't he
told her that he realised that it was wrong? That he'd been making up reasons.

He almost jumped out of his skin when a hand settled on his arm.

"Angel," Fred said softly, "Wes and I are going back to Buffy's house."

His brows drew together in bewilderment, when he saw the ex-watcher standing
behind her, "What?"

She smiled, "We promised Willow, remember? She is watching Connor right now. But
we want her to have some fun, too. So we're going to release her, and take over."

Angel's eyes found Wesley's, "You sure?"

"Of course," the ex-watcher nodded, "Besides, it isn't as if I'm dying to have
this noise around me all the time."

"It's music," Fred said with a smile.

"Music," Wesley sighed dramatically. "In the end Cordelia will insist I have to
dance with her again."

Angel looked at Gunn and Cordy who were now dancing together, but he didn't say
anything. "Okay. But are you sure you can do it? I mean, Willow is a witch and if
there's a problem she can always-"

"Angel," the ex-watcher gave the vampire a confident smile, "Nobody even knows
the baby is here. And besides it's not as if we don't know how to fight. It's the
way we earn our money. There is another thing," he was serious again, "If you
have time - later. I need to talk to you about something."

"We can talk now," the vampire offered.

"No," Wes shook his head. "Willow waited long enough already. We talk later. Have
a nice evening."

The vampire wanted to argue, but then thought otherwise. Wesley was right. They
were in Sunnydale, not in L.A. Nobody knew Connor was here. "Alright. Thanks."
Maybe he should go himself, he thought, watching them leave. But he had promised
Dawn to attend the party, and he knew how disappointed she would be when he left
early. And the mere idea of leaving Buffy on her own with Riley made his blood
boil. He would stay. So he could at least make sure that the commando wouldn't
overstep his bounds.

The vampire turned away from the window and then carefully lowered himself back
to the ground. His body was still sore, even though vampire healing had taken
away the edge of pain.

"Is it there?"

Spike almost groaned at the excitement in Dru's voice. If it wasn't for his
damned chip he wouldn't have taken up with the insane vampire again. "Yeah. It
is."

"Then let's get it. I know you're invited." Her forehead creased into a frown,
then without warning she smacked his cheek with long, red-nailed fingers.

"Ow," he yelled, then shot a startled glance at the window above. It wouldn't do
any good if they knew he was here. He was pretty certain that Buffy hadn't told
her friends about him, but Angel knew, and he had no intention to meet up with
his grand-sire again any time soon. "What was that for?"

"Because you are a bad, bad boy. Your heart still reeks of Slayer poison. That's
not very nice, Spike," she pouted,  "Not nice at all. If you don't stop, I'll
have to punish you."

Spike resisted the urge to stake her on the spot, and instead reached into his
pocket for a cigarette, "We cannot get him. The little witch is in there. She
says she's sworn off magic. But I'm not taking it to the test. She's powerful,
she could turn us into a toad."

"You," Drusilla replied, giggling as if he'd just told her the most hilarious
joke. "I'm not going in. I'm not invited. You will get the baby."

"Besides," he growled, "I cannot knock her unconscious."

"Poor, poor Spike," this time her slender hand stroked his crown. "Such a nasty
thing to do. Can't hurt humans."

Had her touch really excited him once? The blond vampire restrained himself not
to push her away. But the prospect of getting his chip removed was too tempting
to make a mistake now. He blew smoke into the night air, watching it floating
away. Only a few days ago, he would've buried himself inside the Slayer, and
today he was reduced to listen to the loony bitch. He drew at his cigarette
again, when a noise from above had him looking up.

"Something is happening," Dru hissed behind him.

"I can hear that," he replied, not trying to hide the annoyance in his voice.
"You stay down here. I'm going to check. And you, hide in the shadows."

She was standing at the bar now, and although Angel knew it was the absolute
wrong thing to do, he pushed himself off of the wall, and was about to cross the
room, when Riley was suddenly standing in front of him.

"Planning to trespass, Angel?"

That spiked his temper. As if Buffy belonged to anybody ... "I didn't know she
was your property."

"Leave her alone," Riley gave him a knowing gaze. "You just upset her."

Angel resisted the urge to change into his game face, and to rip the other man's
throat out. Bloodshed in the Bronze wouldn't gain him any friends. Swallowing his
anger at the commando's behaviour, he managed to keep his expression neutral,
"Maybe you should go there then," he said, "She shouldn't be on her own."

Riley raised a brow, clearly surprised at the vampire's behaviour, then without
another word turned and walked over to the blond Slayer who was sipping at a
glass, her gaze unfocussed. She looked up when the commando joined her and
smiled. Angel closed his eyes.

"Angel."

He turned his head at the voice finding Willow beside him. "How's Connor?"

"He was sleeping when Wes and Fred came. He's such a good baby." Willow smiled at
the vampire knowingly, "I always hated Arthur Dimmesdale."

"Hmmmm." He wasn't really listening, too busy to watch Riley with Buffy. But then
he realised she was looking at him, "Huh?"

"Arthur Dimmesdale, the guy from the Scarlet Letter, you know, the novel? I
always hated him. Even in highschool."

What the hell was she talking about. "You did?"

"Uh-huh," Willow nodded, "He spends the whole book bemoaning how badly he's
treating Hester, but he can't stop it. I always thought he was a wimp. And she
was a jerk to put up with it." She face the vampire fully, "I think men, or women
for that matter, who constantly beat on themselves probably should stay out of
the love game."

He almost choked on his drink, "Love game?"

"Uh-huh."

"Willow, I-"

She held up a hand, "I really don't want to know, Angel. But I've learned
something these last days. She might not be the Buffy I know, but some time ago,
I tried to push the other one at Riley. It didn't work out, because she couldn't
love him the way he wanted her to. Why do you think it'll be different this
time?"

Angel sighed, ran a hand through his hair, "Willow, you know that there are
problems, that-"

"Yeah, I know. There's the curse. But Buffy - this Buffy - told me that I found a
way to reverse it. In the other dimension, I mean. So why don't we throw all our
energy together, try to find a solution instead of feeling miserable?"

"She isn't feeling miserable, she's with Riley. Willow, she looks happy," Angel
argued.

The witch raised a brow, "Does she? Really?"

They both turned their heads towards the dance floor, where right that moment
Buffy and Riley were once again dancing together, Buffy looking up at him,
obviously hanging on every word.

"Does she not?," Angel wanted to know.

But before Willow could answer, Buffy froze in her movements, took a step back
from Riley, and then before Angel could even blink punched the commando in the
jaw, sending him flying backward against some chairs.

"No, she doesn't," Willow said with a small grin. She had not forgiven Riley for
leaving Buffy when she needed him most. And all because of his hurt male ego.
Damn the man. Tara would never do such a thing. Sometimes being a lesbian was a
real comfort.

"Right," Angel agreed when Buffy stormed from the club, not caring that everyone
had been watching the display. "Willow, I-,"

"Go," was all she replied, already pushing him towards the exit, towards Buffy.

He caught up with her two blocks later. She'd been running like lightening at
first, but as soon as she'd brought a safe distance between herself and the
Bronze, she slowed down, and she was walking now when he saw her at the corner.

"Go away," she yelled, not turning around. Of course she'd sensed him. For a
moment he froze, stunned completely. She had sensed him? She was from another
dimension and still could sense him? Of course she could. He could sense her,
too.

"Buffy, wait."

"No," she replied, increasing her pace again. "Leave me alone. I don't want you
here. Why did you even stay? Why didn't you just leave with your friends." She
spat out the last word as if it was poison. "Go to them. I don't need you."

"No. I'm not going to leave you like this."

She stopped, but didn't turn, "Why?," she asked, her voice low, "You're going to
leave me anyway. It doesn't really matter when."

"Buffy, please," he wanted so badly to reach out, but knew he had lost the right,
when he told her they couldn't be together. "I didn't say the things I said to
hurt you-"

"No?," she asked sarcastically. "You still did a pretty good job."

His stomach clenched painfully, "I'm sorry," he said softly, "I never wanted to
hurt you. But I know I did. And I'm sorry. It's not as if I liked doing it. It
hurts me too, you know. Do you think I want to leave? Do you really think that?"

"I don't want to hear it," she told him, started to walk again. "All I know is
that you're not even willing to try. And why should you. I'm really not worth it.
Look at me, I'm stupid. Look what happened with Riley."

Again he resisted the urge to reach for her, to make her stop. "What happened
with Riley? Did he do anything?"

"Do?," she asked, and stopped once again. "No, he didn't do anything." Slowly she
turned and the look in her eyes was worse than the any torture Angel could
imagine. She looked more lost, more hurt, than ever. The pain in her hazel orbs
was like a punch to his gut, and Angel was glad he didn't have to breathe,
because it became impossible all of a sudden.

"Buffy-"

He was interrupted when she suddenly started to laugh, a low, harsh, unhappy
sound. "No, he did nothing," she repeated, when the laughing had subsided enough
to make speech possible. "You want to know what happened?," she asked, and Angel
realised that he didn't. All he wanted was for her to stop, but the pain, the
hurt, was pouring out of her now, and her voice became shrill. "Well, here it
goes. You can see how stupid I am. Oh, he was sweet and thoughtful and … great,"
she laughed again, and it tore through Angel's heart like a stake.

"He is a great guy. Everybody told me so. Willow couldn't stop talking about him,
and Xander actually blamed me when he left. And now you're pushing me at him. But
you know what," she blinked and Angel realised she was only a blink away from
crying, "The great guy, the one you wanted me to be with to ease your conscience,
the great guy is married."

Angel winced at her reference to his conscience, not quite able to dismiss her
words, when her last sentence registered in his mind, "He is - WHAT?"

Another shrill laugh came from her throat, "Married, yes. He told me so. Right
out there on the dance floor. That he had a nice, homely wife, back in Iowa. But
that she was very understanding, if you know what I mean."

"He-," Angel swallowed against the acid he tasted in his mouth, tried to see
through the red mist fury swimming before his eyes. He didn't know what he hated
most. The fact that Riley was married and had offered Buffy an affair with him,
or that he had been too blind to see that a love like theirs was worth fighting
for, and that only guilt had let him talk to her the way he had in the morning.

"Yeah," she nodded.

"God, Buffy." It came from his lips in an agonized groan. "God," he whispered
again, the agony at her words slicing though him.

"Yeah, God. But unfortunately he's not here," she said, "He's never been here.
Not for me anyway." With a last long look, she turned and walked away.

"Buffy, wait," he shouted, but she didn't, instead she started to run, faster and
faster, and only due to his vampiric state Angel was able to keep up with her. He
couldn't let her go like this. True, it was his fault that she was looking at him
that way. He had done his best to destroy her trust in him, had stomped on her
feelings, had pushed her away, and into Riley's waiting arms. But watching her
with the commando, listening to Gunn, and Willow, had helped him to clear his
mind. Had made him see what he was throwing away. And by God, he was not going to
do it again.

He knew he had hurt her, that she was probably hating him right now, but he was
willing to grovel, to crawl, to beg for her forgiveness. There was still the
curse, but Willow was right, they had found a way around it in the other
dimension, so they could do it here, too. And a normal life? Buffy was never
going to have a normal life. She was the Slayer. They didn't work 9 to 5, they
couldn't take care of families. And if normal meant guys like Riley, men who were
married to one woman and playing with another, she was better off with him. He
might not be able to walk in the sun, but he wouldn't cheat on her. Ever.

He was so deep in thoughts that he bumped into her in front of her house.
"Buffy?," he looked at her quizzically.

Her only response was to nod towards the door. The door that was hanging from the
hinges.

Part 19


"What was that?"

Willow looked up into Xander's inquiring gaze, then turned her attention back to
Riley who was still struggling to get up from the floor, Tara near by, lending
him a hand. It was so like her lover, to help without questions. "I don't know,"
she replied, narrowing her eyes. She didn't have a clue why Buffy had hit Riley.
But in her book it was long deserved. She didn't feel any pity.

"Wow, I call that putting your ex in his place." Cordelia came rushing over to
her two highschool friends, her voice slightly breathless. She'd seen the whole
thing from the other side of the Bronze.

"Enjoyed it, huh?"

She narrowed her eyes, giving Xander a glare underneath lowered lashes,
"Actually, that's what I wanted to ask Willow here. I saw a delighted sparkle in
her eyes right from the other side or the room. I on the other hand was just
wondering. Not that our Buffy isn't the violent type. Because she is. But
punching her ex on his nose right in the middle of the dance floor is a bit
extreme, even for her."

"Gee, you think?" He shook his head,  then turned to Willow, who was still
looking at Riley, wiping his bloody nose with a hanky Tara had obviously given
him. "And you really don't have a clue?," he asked.

"No," she replied absentmindedly, although it wasn't entirely true. She'd felt
the vibes coming from Angel. Defensive. Angry. And above all, jealous. Something
must have happened between he and Buffy. They had been close ever since he'd come
back from L.A. and suddenly it had changed. And then she'd gotten all cosy with
Riley. Just the way she had after her return from L.A. two years ago. But
something had happened, probably something the commando had said. She just didn't
know what.

"What happened?" Dawn joined the group, her brows raised, her nose crunched.

"If you ask me, it's the typical reaction of a woman scorned."

Cordelia drew a deep breath, then slowly raised a brow at Anya, who had slipped
her hand through Xander's arm in a deliberate possessive gesture. "Actually," the
brunette started, then caught herself when Gunn joined the group. She made a
vague gesture instead. Snapping at Anya wouldn't get her any points here. And
where the hell had that come from? Points with what? With Gunn? Ridiculous! With
an inward snort she instantly dismissed the thought.

Anya only saw the raised brow and nodded, "Truly," she insisted. "Women scorned
tend to violence. Or they summon someone who does. I've been in the business for
a long time, and it was never boring."

Xander sighed, but didn't comment. Instead he looked at Dawn, "We don't know,
Dawnie."

"Angel ran after her," the teenager's eyes were on the exit, where her sister and
the vampire had just disappeared. "Did you see?"

"Yeah, we saw," Xander replied.

"Right after Riley kissed her, and she hit him." A deep frown appeared on the
girl's forehead. "Why the hell was she kissing Riley? I thought things were good
between her and Angel."

Willow finally managed to tear herself away from her thoughts, and smiled at the
teenager, "Don't worry, Dawn," she told her, wrapping an arm around Dawn's
shoulder, glad when the girl didn't evade her touch. "Everything's going to be
fine." Her head lifted, her eyes seeking those of her friends, meeting them in
silent agreement. "We'll take care of it."

"Connor."

With that one word Buffy watched Angel storm into the house and after a heartbeat
she followed him, their argument instantly forgotten. She heard him shout the
name of his son, then alternatively Wes' and Fred's, then at entering her house
she saw him coming from the living-room, his eyes wild and scared in a way she
had never seen before. He was scared for his son, she realised. For the
beautiful, helpless child who was so precious to him. The child the whole demon
population of this planet was after.

His gaze didn't rest on her, and in a flash he was running up the stairs,
throwing open the first door, and obviously not finding what he was so
desperately looking for, appeared in the hallway again. The feeling of dread that
had started blooming in her gut the moment she'd seen the entrance door hanging
in its hinges, intensified to a twisting pain, turning her intestines into a
gigantic knot.

She stormed after him, her own legs shaking so badly she was surprised she was
able to keep up with his speed. Finally they reached the door to her own bedroom,
and even as Angel opened it, Buffy knew their worst fears would come true. She
almost moaned when her eyes fell on Wesley and Fred, both lying on the floor,
unmoving, the face of the young woman deathly pale, her broken glasses lying
close. The former watcher's body was lying in a twisted angle behind Buffy's bed,
his clothing torn, his face covered with bruises, and the Slayer could hear Angel
draw in a sharp breath when their eyes simultaneously fell on the two tiny
puncture wounds on his neck.

Connor was nowhere to be seen.

"Wesley!" Angel crouched down beside his fallen friend, his shaking hands
searching for a pulse, he almost collapsed in relief when he found it throbbing
under his fingers.  "He is alive," he announced, not taking his eyes from the
ex-watcher. "What about Fred."

"Just unconscious," Buffy replied, kneeling beside the other woman. "And she has
a bump on her head. Probably a concussion. But she seems unharmed besides that."
She bit her lips, looked at the bed, feeling close to tears, "Angel," she said,
"Connor-"

"I know," he interrupted her, his voice harsh, so raw, Buffy wanted to weep.
"Call 9-1-1." He was already pulling out his own cell phone, punching in numbers,
then waited impatiently. "Gunn," he said urgently,  "It's me. Someone took
Connor. … No. We don't have an idea. Wes and Fred are hurt." He turned, saw Buffy
at her phone, "Buffy's already calling an ambulance. Get Cordy, and the others.
Now." He shut down the phone, looked at Buffy again. For a moment their eyes
locked and held. Then he turned away, trying to suppress the panic that was
threatening to consume him.

"Make him stop."

Spike resisted the urge to roll his eyes, and decided to ignore Drusilla's plea
instead. She was standing in the corner of his crypt, her ears covered with her
hands, her face contorted to a mask of pain. Obviously it wasn't enough to have a
chip in your head, to be the laughing stock of the whole vampire community, not
to forget the Slayer's boy-toy, whom she'd cast aside without a second glance,
something he didn't want to announce anywhere. Contrary to what he'd said to
Angel it wouldn't get him any points with his fellow vampires to tell he'd jumped
a Slayer's bones.

"It hurts."

The blond vampire sighed then gazed at the crying baby in disgust. Without doubt
Angel's son was a whiner. Damn. He had not the slightest idea how to treat a
baby. He was tempted to let Dru suck him dry, but knew that the people who wanted
to have the kid, wanted him alive. They'd been very specific about that on the
phone. A living baby was the only delivery they would accept. Or they wouldn't
keep their part of the deal.  And more than anything, Spike wanted his chip
removed, even if it meant he had to find a way to deal with a crying baby.

A crying baby, a crazy sire.

With a loud groan, he pushed himself off the wall, grabbed the diapers and the
baby food  they'd gotten at an all night supermarket on the way, the shopkeeper
had been Dru's midnight snack, and strolled to the tomb they'd used to put the
baby in. Angel would have a fit, Spike thought with an inward snigger, if he
found his son that way. "Go away," he ordered, and Dru moved without protest.
Then hoping his supernatural sense of smell would survive the next ten minutes,
he started changing the baby's diaper.

"Ohhh, Daddy's baby," Dru crooned half an hour later, when the baby was finally
asleep, having been changed and fed, a duty Spike had only been able to endure by
thinking about his delight at Angel's pain when his grand-sire found out that his
son was gone. The slurping noises the kid made while emptying its bottle could
make a vampire's stomach turn. Humans were simply disgusting. A good thing
vampires couldn't procreate - or rather weren't supposed to. It was an
abomination in itself, this human child of two vampires. And it was even more
embarrassing to find yourself related to something like that.

"It's my brother, Spike. My little brother."

Dru was again standing at the open tomb, her red-nailed fingers stroking over the
baby's blanket, an expression of pure delight on her features.

"Go away and shut up," Spike muttered. "If you're not careful the thing is going
to wake up and cry again."

"I once had a little brother," Dru went on, ignoring Spike's comment. "A little
brother and sisters. Did you know that?"

"Yeah, I know." God, why had he ever decided Sunnyhell was a good place to live.
When his chip was removed he would leave, and never look back, Angel and the
Slayer be damned.

"But Daddy took them away," Dru giggled. "He killed them all." She finally left
the tomb and came over to Spike, her voice dropping to a conspirational whisper,
"Because…," another giggle, "he wanted me all for himself. Just for himself. But
then the bad gypsies came and took Daddy away. And then he fell for the little
girl. It's only fair we get his baby now."

"We won't keep him, Dru," Spike said with a hint of annoyance, "Remember? Your
friends will get him. And they will remove my chip in exchange." He managed not
to flinch when she combed her fingers through his hair, her nails scraping the
skin.

"The bad, bad chip," she whispered, then giggled. The same annoying, insane
giggle he remembered. He had loved this woman once. Had loved her completely,
with his heart and - thank God - not his soul. Life had been easy, but then the
Slayer had come into and tainted everything. She had found a way into his undead
heart and nothing would ever be the same. "Yes, they will remove it," he heard
her hiss into his ear, her unnecessary breath tickling a very sensitive spot
behind it. He remembered Buffy kissing it, remembered his instant arousal. With
Dru, he felt nothing.

When she turned back to the tomb, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to dream
of a time where the chip was gone, and the world would finally be his again.

"Oh my God."

Buffy and Angel looked up and saw Willow and Tara, and the others hurrying
towards them and the two ambulance vans where paramedics were busy loading the
unconscious forms of Wesley and Fred.

"Are they going to be alright?," the redhead asked with concern.

"Fred's going to be okay," Angel informed them. "Wesley is beaten up pretty
badly. And he's been bitten. But the paramedics are positive that he'd going to
make it, too."

"Still no idea who did this?," Cordelia came to stand beside Angel, but didn't
touch him. He was so tense, she was afraid he would break.

"No," this time the answer came from Buffy, who seemed equally tense, her face
almost as white as Angel's, the skin over her cheekbones unnaturally tight. A
sure sign of distress. "But it is strange. As Angel said, Wes has two puncture
wounds. But how can a vampire come inside? Fred and Wes aren't ignorant. They
know better than to invite anyone inside."

"And the fact that almost everyone is after Connor, doesn't help either." Cordy
sighed in resignation.

"We could try a," Tara started, then quickly glancing at her lover, she amended,
"I could try a spell. I'm not sure it's going to work, but maybe we can trace
something. A smell, an aura. Anything."

"That would be great," Buffy smiled gratefully, while Angel's face remained an
unmoving mask. Only his eyes, darker than usual, shadowed by pain and despair,
gave away what he was feeling. "Angel and I are going to the hospital. Let's hope
Fred will wake up soon, and can give us a hint."

"Alright," Willow nodded, glad when she saw Tara reaching for Dawn's hand. The
girl was in shock, ever since Gunn had received Angel's call. "We're staying.
Trying to find something. We'll let you know."

"Thanks," the Slayer took her friend's hand, squeezed it. Then she followed Angel
who was already walking towards his car.

She was, Buffy realised, slowly going insane. Staring at the still closed doors
of Fred's and Wesley's rooms, she was reminded of the fact that patience had
never been part of her personality. She wanted to go out, kick something, wanted
to get rid of the frustration, wanted to get her mind off the gut gnawing fear.
In a matter of days, she thought not with just a slight feeling of surprise,
Connor had become important to her, too. Not to forget his father, who was
sitting next to her, unmoving, his eyes closed, his head resting against the
wall. Outwardly he seemed completely calm and composed, but Buffy knew that
inside he was trying to hold on to his own sanity.

He'd looked absolutely gorgeous tonight. Even in her current state, the Slayer
couldn't help to notice. He had hurt her this morning with his declaration that
they couldn't be together, but even in Riley's arms, she hadn't been able to
ignore him. He'd been standing with Gunn, all big and grouchy - no doubt because
of the loud music - and was still the most attractive man she'd seen in her whole
life. God, she loved this man, she thought with sudden clarity. Nothing would
ever change that, not death, not different dimensions. And the fear, and pain,
she knew he had to be experiencing, broke her heart.

"Angel-," she started tentatively, not sure if he even wanted her to talk to him.

He stiffened at the sound of her voice, stood and walked to Fred's closed door,
then stopped, as if frozen in mid-stride. Not looking at her, he turned away from
the closed hospital door, ran a hand through his hair. "I knew it. When Wes told
me he and Fred were going to watch Connor, I had a bad feeling. But I …," he
paused, shook his head, "We don't even know who took him."

"Oh, but we do."

They turned around, saw Willow and Tara standing a few feet away, their faces
wearing similar serious expressions.

"What do you mean, we know?," Buffy was instantly alert, felt Angel go into
fighting-mode beside her. In a moment he had turned from concerned, frustrated
parent and friend to a dangerous animal, ready to strike.

The redhead stepped closer and pulled her hand from her pocket, opened her palm.
She held it out for vampire and Slayer. They looked at it, drew both a sharp
breath, then quickly glanced at each other.

"You two stay here," Angel ordered, already walking towards the elevator, Buffy
in his tow. He hadn't said a word for her to follow, but he didn't have to. "Call
me on my cell phone if anything changes with either of them."

"We will," Willow assured him, glad when Tara took her free hand and squeezed it.
She watched the doors of the elevators open, saw her friends step inside and the
doors close again. Giving the object in her hand a last look, she tossed it into
the garbage can.

Part 20


"So where the hell do you have the kid?" Lilah had finally reached the end of her
admittedly not well developed patience. She was tired after endless phone calls,
a two hour drive to this God forsaken town, and on top of it had to deal with an
insane and a chipped vampire with an attitude. It wasn't as if she hadn't dealt
with vampires before, but that didn't mean she'd ever come to like that sort of
conversation with someone whose brain was solely situated in four prolonged
canines.

"Not so fast, lawyer lady." Crossing his arms in front of his chest, his left hip
partially resting on an old headstone, Spike was thoroughly enjoying himself. It
was nice to be in charge for a change. "Where is the doctor who's going to remove
my chip?"

"Not here," Lilah gave the blond vampire a scrutinizing glance. "Don't make a
mistake, Spike. You're not the one in command here. You might have something we
want, but don't underestimate us, we have resources you can't even imagine. If we
want to find the child on our own we can do that. We're simply doing you a
favour."

"That's not what I hear. As far as I know you haven't even been close to the kid.
Angelus isn't someone you can just throw over, he isn't your regular vamp." Spike
unfolded his arms, reached into his pocket for a cigarette. "Not that I like
him," he continued, stuffing one into his mouth, then lightening it. "On the
contrary. I don't care what you've got in mind for him." He grinned when he saw
something flicker in the woman's eyes. "I might look stupid sometimes, lady, but
I'm not. I know that Angelus is the big player you're after. Dru here told me all
about your little Darla-scheme. Nice try. But of course completely useless. The
big Poof's too hung up on the Slayer. Darla hasn't been in the picture for a long
time." He blew out smoke, watched when the rings dissolved in the night air.

Lilah exchanged a short glance with the three muscles she'd brought with her, all
employed as bodyguards with Wolfram & Hart and used to deal with vampires. They
were the firm's most recent development, completely supernatural, computerized
and reliable. And  trained to do what they were told, just the kind she needed
tonight. Of course as long as she didn't know where Angel's son was, their
talents were worth nothing.

"Ohhhh."

Her head whirled around at the sound of Drusilla's voice and Lilah felt the now
familiar creepy feeling crawl up her spine. She wasn't afraid of vampires, but
this one had always given her the willies. You usually could predict the actions
of vampires, they thought with their teeth, but with Drusilla nothing was
predictable. And she had the feeling Spike wasn't too stable either. There was
something in his eyes, something she couldn't clearly understand, something that
made her want to run and hide.

"What?," she snapped, glaring at Drusilla.

"You have bad thoughts, lawyer lady," the dark-haired vampire said, her mouth
turning up in a smile that made Lilah shiver. "The baby is at a safe place." She
came forward, stood beside her childe. She raised a hand, wiggled a finger at the
other woman, "Bad, bad girl. We want to see the doctor first. I want my Spike
back. Then you can gave the baby." Her lips turned to a pout, "I'm not keeping
it. It's crying all the time."

Alarm shot through Lilah, "He is still alive, right? Our deal's only for a living
child."

"Sure he is," Spike blew out another cloud of smoke, "We're not going to kill
him," he grinned, "yet. But as you know vampires don't have a lot of patience."

Yeah, she knew, Lilah thought. Neither did she. "Fine. I'll get the doctor here.
Is there a place where he can perform," she gestured at his head, "the
procedure."

"We'll find something," he replied, tossing the cigarette butt down, then
grounding it under his toes. "Meet us again tomorrow. Behind the old church
outside of town."

"Fine," she retorted, hoping she'd find the church. This damned town had more
churches than streets. "Same time. Don't be late. And bring the child."

"We'll see," Spike gave her another superior grin and she hated the fact that she
couldn't just let her companions kill him. Instead she had to watch when the two
vampires faded into the night.

More than ever, Buffy was glad for her Slayer speed. Angel's long strides carried
him through the cemetery, and would she have been a mere human, Buffy wouldn't
have been able to follow. Of course without being the Slayer, she'd never met
Angel in the first place. Too tired to see any sense in that thought, she pushed
it aside, and concentrated on following Angel through the darkness, tried to
steel herself for the upcoming confrontation, she knew was inevitable. Had known
ever since she'd seen  the cigarette butt lying on Willow's palm, and had hardly
been able to believe her eyes.

Spike.

Spike had taken Angel's son.

A part - a big part of her had tried to deny it, had tried to find explanations -
even excuses. Spike wasn't the only guy smoking, he had the chip in his head,
wasn't able to attack Wes and Fred. And yet - the evidence was condemning. Who
else would go into her house, and leave a cigarette butt of the same trade mark
Spike usually smoked. Besides, it was so like him to flip it away, and now even
care. Or maybe even have done it by purpose, for Angel and everyone to see.

The answer was simple and clear, if she liked it or not. The man - the demon -
she'd been sleeping with for the last couple of weeks had taken Angel's son.

She wanted to close her eyes and ears, and run. But of course that wasn't an
option. She was the Slayer. A human being was in danger. A demon had taken him.
It was her job to help, but the little girl inside of her still wanted to run and
hide. God, what had she done? And how much of the fact that she'd allowed him to
fuck her, had made him believe he could take the baby? She had allowed him to
come into her house, into her life, she had treated him like an equal. Although
all her senses had warned her, she had eventually trusted him.

And there had been reasons. He had saved Dawn's life. He had kept her secret even
as Glory tortured him, had fought by her side, had listened when nobody else
would, had given her a reason to go on. The worst part was that she was now
questioning everything. What of it had been real and what just fake. He hadn't
faked his orgasms, that was for certain, but what had been lies and what not? Had
he been faking his concern for her sister? Had everything been a lie? And why the
Hell should she care at all?

And what - in consequence - did it make her?

No. Her mind shied away from the question, and she tried to concentrate on the
current situation instead. Now was not the time to beat herself up. Connor was
missing,  Spike had taken him. All that counted was that they had to find him. As
soon as possible. Spike couldn't hurt him, but he had a twisted mind. And he
hated Angel. Spike would hurt him with a smile in his heart.

"He isn't here."

At Angel's words, she stopped, and looking up she realised they'd reached the
crypt. "What?," she asked, not quite back in the present.

"There's no heartbeat inside. And there are no vampires around. Certainly not one
that carries my blood. I'd feel it." He didn't look at her when he spoke, his
eyes were busy scanning their surroundings. "Spike was always stupid, but even he
must have realised that staying in his crypt wouldn't the be wisest thing to do."

"Yeah." Buffy hated the fact that her knees almost went weak with relief. What
was the matter with her, dammit? It wasn't that she cared for Spike. So why was
she dreading this confrontation so much?

Angel ran a hand over his weary face, then through his hair, and she could see
his fingers were trembling. God, she was an egocentric bitch. He was almost sick
with concern for his missing child and she was thinking about her own minor
problems with Spike. Reaching out, she touched his arm, and was glad when he
didn't flinch. "We should go and find Tara. Maybe she can do a locator spell or
something. And maybe Wes or Fred are awake and can give us a hint."

"I doubt Wes will wake up so soon," the vampire looked down at her, his eyes like
dark gems in a dark pool. "I'm not a doctor, but vampires can sense some things.
He was weak. But maybe Fred …," he trailed off, held up a hand."

"What?," she whispered.

He held his forefinger against his lips, and Buffy was again reminded of the fact
that vampires could hear a  lot better than a Slayer. She was about to ask again,
but Angel relaxed suddenly, released an unnecessary breath. "Nothing," he told
her. "I thought I heard something." He shook his head, rolled his tense
shoulders.

Buffy thought about massaging them, then dismissed the thought. "I've been trying
to understand why he did it," she said after a moment.

"He hates me," Angel replied without hesitation, "but I don't think it's all.
It's just a pleasant side-effect. No," he shook his head again, "Spike is going
for a trade."

"A trade?," she asked, although she already felt she knew the answer.

"Yeah, a trade. The baby for," he locked his eyes with hers, "his chip. And I
have a good idea who is going to be eager to make the deal."