"Power Of Love"
by Debbie Nockels
(November 2000)

RATING:  PG-13
SPOILERS:  Seasons 1-4 of BtVS;  Season 1 of A:TS
DISCLAIMER:  I don't own any of the characters from BTVS or ANGEL.  They're owned by Joss Whedon (who ought to treat them nicer), MutantEnemy, Kuzui, Sandollar, the WB, Fox, etc.
KEYWORDS: AU/Futurefic
SUMMARY:  Buffy's in a coma.  Can Angel bring her out of it?  
NOTES: I'm not a doctor or nurse, which is probably obvious in this fic.  Thanks to Shirlz' mother, Marie, for her advice on matters medical.  Any mistakes are mine, not hers.  And many, many thanks to Anja, the bestest beta-reader, for her suggestions and comments.  
NOTES 2:  The lyrics below are from "The Power of Love" by Gunther Mende, Candy DeRouge, Jennifer Rush & Mary Susan Applegate, EMI Songs Musikvertag (GEMA)/EMI April Music Inc. (ASCAP).  It was first sung (as far as I know) in the '80s by both Air Supply and Laura Branigan (beautifully); then re-covered a couple of years ago by Celine Dion, who worked her usual magic to make it a big hit.

____________________________________________________________________

The whispers in the morning
Of lovers sleeping tight
Are rolling by like thunder now
As I look in your eyes

I hold on to your body
And feel each move you make
Your voice is warm and tender
A love that I could not forsake

‘Cause you are my lady and I am your man
Whenever you reach for me, I'll do all that I can
We're heading for something,
Somewhere I've never been
Sometimes I am frightened but I'm ready to learn
About the power of love

<><><><><><><><>

WEDNESDAY, 12:15 A.M.


Joyce burst through the hospital doors, wide-eyed and tense but controlled.  Cool night breezes blew in with her, dissipating the odors of medicine and fear lingering in the air of the Emergency Room.  Giles hurried over to meet her.  

"How is she?"  Vaguely she noted the group beyond him - Riley, hunkered down, leaning back against a nearby wall, with Willow, Xander and Anya standing around him, all looking her way with anxiety plain on their faces.

"I only know that she was unconscious when they brought her in and that they're working to stabilize her," Giles said, his quiet voice edged with tension and worry - and bitterness.  "They won't tell me anything else; I'm not family."  

"Well, I am."  With that, Joyce marched over to the admittance desk.  Giles stayed put, watching her intently. "I'm Joyce Summers.  My daughter was brought in a little while ago."

The woman in attendance glanced down at a list on her desk.  "Buffy Summers?"  When Joyce nodded she picked up a phone and spoke into it briefly, then turned a sympathetic smile on Joyce.  "Dr. Martinez will be out in just a minute, Mrs. Summers.  He's the doctor who's treating your daughter."

"Thank you."  Joyce walked over to the group over by the wall.  "Riley, what happened?  You were together, weren't you?"  Giles silently rejoined them.

"We were patrolling," the young man said, his voice dull.  "Five vampires ambushed us.  She staked two of them and started for the third one.  It ran and she went after it, but . . . I'm not sure exactly what happened, but I heard her cry out just as I zapped the remaining vamp.  I think she tripped or something because when I found her she was lying next to this big rock and there was blood on her head.  She was unconscious, so I called 911 and they brought her here."  

He looked up at Joyce.  "They won't tell us anything."

Just then the inner doors of the ER slid open.  A short, brown-haired, brown-skinned man walked through into the waiting room, his tired, drawn face testimony to the lateness of the hour.  His dark eyes swept over the group, then fastened on Joyce as the only possibly candidate.  "Mrs. Summers?"  

"Yes."  Joyce stepped forward.  "How is Buffy?"  Riley scrambled to his feet, staring at the man with hope and dread written all over his face, expressions mirrored by everyone.

The doctor hesitated, glancing at the group.  "Would you prefer somewhere more private?"  Pleading gazes swung over to Joyce; Giles tightened his lips.  

"No," Joyce answered firmly.  "These are my daughter's friends . . . no, they're more than friends.  They're as much a part of her family as I am."

Giles cleared his throat, obviously touched by her statement.  Joyce had come a long way from the time when she blamed him for putting Buffy in danger and for keeping her life as the Slayer a secret from her.

"Very well," Dr. Martinez acquiesced.  "Your daughter is still unconscious.  Apparently she hit her head on a rock, resulting in what we believe is only a minor fracture to her skull.  We've got her stabilized for the moment  but we need to make sure that the fractured area isn't pressing on her brain and that the bleeding inside the cranium has stopped.  I want to take X-rays and do an MRI scan."

"Of course; do whatever it takes," Joyce responded.  She took a shaky breath.  "Doctor, what if there is pressure on the brain, or she's still bleeding?  What happens then?"

"In either one of those cases there's always the possibility that we may have to perform surgery," the doctor told her.  "But let's not cross that bridge unless we have to.  First let me see what the tests show, then I'll discuss options with you."  

Joyce nodded.  "May I see her?"

"Only for a minute."  The doctor's voice was kind.  "We'll be taking her up to X-Ray very soon."

Joyce hesitated, then turned to Giles.  "Rupert, would you like to come with me?"  Giles looked at her in surprise, then blinked rapidly, swallowed, and said, hoarsely, "Yes.  Yes, I would.  Thank you."  

Riley started to say something, but Willow touched his arm and gave him a look, shaking her head, and he subsided with the words unsaid, although his eyes followed Joyce and Giles yearningly as they entered the treatment area.

The two followed the doctor into a small cubicle where Buffy lay, almost as white as the sheets and blanket covering her.  A bag of saline solution dangled from a tall pole beside her, its liquid dripping through a long tube into a vein in the back of her right hand, and wires ran from her body to various monitors where lights danced across screens in rhythm to blips and beeps familiar to anyone who watched TV.  An ugly, jagged cut two inches long, bristling with sutures, marked the left side of her head, nakedly revealed by the large circle shaved around it.  Bruise marks were already spreading outward from the wound onto her face.  

Joyce made a smothered sound.  Tears sprang to her eyes, but she steadied herself and went forward.  "Buffy?"  She approached one side of the bed; Giles went around to the other.  "Honey, I'm here.  I don't know if you can hear me, but you've been hurt and you're in the hospital.  But don't worry; the doctors are taking good care of you."  

She put her hand over Buffy's, mindful of the tube snaking from it, and gave it a slight squeeze.  Two tears trailed silently down her cheeks.

Giles cleared his throat and took her other hand.  "Buffy, it's me.  Giles.  We're all here, you know.  Willow, Xander, Riley . . . even Anya.  You just concentrate on getting better."  He turned his head as footsteps approached.  A nurse and two orderlies entered the cubicle, pushing a gurney between them.  "They're taking you to get X-rays now, so I'll see you later."  He hesitated, then leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

Joyce also kissed her daughter again.  "I'll see you in a little while, honey.  I love you."  With one last backward glance at the motionless form in the bed, they went back to the waiting room.  "Does anyone know where the pay phone is?  I need to call her father."

Xander looked at her strangely.  "It's, uh, right here."  He turned his head; there, unmistakably, less than a foot away, was a telephone kiosk.  Joyce gazed at it blankly.  "Oh.  Yes.  Thank you, Xander."  She dug in her purse for her calling card as everyone politely moved away to give her some privacy.

"Giles," said Willow very quietly.  "Will Buffy be all right?"

"She's alive and her vital signs are stable," Giles replied steadily.  "Those are encouraging signs.  And as you know, Slayers possess amazing healing powers.  Yes, I believe Buffy will come through this."

They fell silent.  A few minutes later Joyce rejoined them.  "He'll be here in a couple of hours," she told them.  "We should know more by then."  

Again silence fell.  Riley found a chair and sat, leaning forward, arms braced on his thighs, hands clasped between his knees, staring at the floor.  He looked as if he were praying.  Willow and Giles left in search of coffee; Xander and Anya moved back to the wall.  It was almost an hour before Dr. Martinez made another appearance.  He looked even more exhausted than he had earlier, but he smiled at Joyce as she rose from the small couch.

"Mrs. Summers, I have good news.  The fracture is only a hairline; there doesn't appear to be any pressure onto the brain; and the bleeding inside the skull has definitely stopped.  This significantly reduces the probability of lasting brain damage."

"Thank God."  Joyce buried her face in her hands.

Dr. Martinez continued.  "However, it's still possible that Buffy may experience some *temporary* - " he stressed the word, " - memory loss or other mental or physical impairment.  We'll simply have to wait until she wakes up and see."

"When will that be?"  Xander wanted to know.

The doctor shook his head.  "There's no way of knowing; every case of head trauma is individual and unique.  A few patients regain consciousness in only a few hours; others take days or even weeks.  In Buffy's case, with only a hairline fracture, I would not expect this condition to last beyond forty-eight hours."

"But the quicker she comes out of it, the better, yes?"  Giles asked.

"Well," the doctor admitted.  "I'll certainly be happier if she wakes up by Friday.  *But* - " he held up a finger for emphasis  " - that doesn't mean we should despair if she doesn't."

"When can I see her?" Joyce demanded.

"I want to keep her in ICU for a few more hours, just to make sure she continues to be stable," the doctor told her.  "Only immediate family are allowed - "

Joyce interrupted.  "I already told you, this is her family.  She's closer to Mr. Giles here than she is to her own father, who, by the way, is on his way from Los Angeles."

"I'm not family," blurted Anya.  "But that's okay; I don't like hospitals anyway.  Or sick people.  So I don't need to see her."

This statement was so typically Anya that it caused only a slight rolling of eyes; otherwise, the gang ignored it.  The doctor, however, looked somewhat taken aback.  He blinked in confusion for a moment, then obviously decided to ignore the blunt statement.  "Uh, yes.  Very well, Mrs. Summers, I'll permit her friends to go in also.  But only for a few minutes."

Riley was the first to enter Buffy's cubicle.  His eyes flew to her pale face.  Swallowing hard, he picked up the hand not encumbered with the IV tube.  It took him a minute to get his voice under control.  "Hey there."  It came out as a whisper.  "You look a lot better than you did earlier.  Well, except for that big bald spot on your head, but at least they cleaned you up.  You're not all bloody now."

He managed a faint smile, but it immediately vanished.  "I hate seeing you like this, Buffy.  You're so pale and, and quiet.  I can't get used to not hearing your voice.  I don't mean that you're a chatterbox or anything; I mean . . . well, you know what I mean.  God, when I heard you cry out, and then I saw you lying there on the ground . . . I think my heart stopped.  I thought you were - "

He had to stop for a second.  "Well, never mind that; I was wrong, thank God.  You're going to be fine; the doctor said so.  So just rest now and get your strength back.  That's an order, soldier.  I want to take you back to Iowa one of these days and show you off to my folks, so you see you have to get better."  

One of the nurses poked her head inside.  "Excuse me."  Riley turned.  "I'm sorry, but your time is up."  Her voice was kind but her firm expression told him it would do no good to protest.  Sighing, he turned back to the bed.  "They're making me go now.  Wake up soon, Buffy, please."  

He kissed her forehead just as Xander and Willow came in.  The three exchanged glances as Riley left, then the two friends arranged themselves beside the bed, one on each side.  

Xander grimaced at the sight of the wound on her head.  "Ouch, that looks really nasty.  No wonder she's out cold."

"Xander."  Willow frowned at him.  "Just because she's unconscious doesn't mean she can't hear us - or see us, even.  How do we know, maybe she's floating around somewhere over this bed right now."

"What?  You mean like that babe in the Ghostbusters movie?  The one that unzipped Dan Aykroyd's pants?"  Xander squinted above Buffy's bed as if trying to see a transparent floating figure.

The redhead gave him a Look.  "You know what I mean: we should talk *to* Buffy, not *about* her like she's not even here."  Turning once more to her unconscious friend she said, "Buffy, we can only stay a moment before they kick us out.  We just wanted to say that we love you and we know you're fighting to come out of this."

"Yeah," Xander agreed.  "The doc says the bleeding has stopped and everything looks good.  So you rest now and when you wake up you'll be Slay Girl again, just like usual."


SUNDAY AFTERNOON

About to enter Buffy's room, Dr. Martinez found himself waylaid just outside the door.  "What's going on?" Joyce confronted him.  "Why hasn't Buffy woken up?"

The doctor shook his head.  "I don't know, Mrs. Summers; I wish I did.  Her vital signs continue to be good.  The X-ray we took yesterday showed that the fracture is healing at an amazing rate of speed, and there doesn't appear to be any physical trauma to the brain."

"But she's still unconscious," Anya declared.  "That's not a good sign."  Xander glared at her, but before he could say anything the ex-demon continued, "It's obvious that we need to talk to her.  At least, I don't but all of you do.  You're her friends.  She loves you and you love her, though I don't understand why since all she's ever done is put you all in danger and then save you from it."

"Anya."  Willow's eyes indicated the doctor, standing next to her, listening with a puzzled expression.

"Oh.  Sorry."  The former vengeance demon actually looked somewhat abashed at her slip of the tongue.

"Danger?"  Dr. Martinez looked at her quizzically.  

Anya rallied quickly.  "Oh, not *real* danger.  Only pretend danger.  I mean, you know, it's not like she held a gun to anyone's head and forced them to go on that stupid roller coaster last month.  I just don't like heights."  She gave him a weak smile.

"Oh."  Dr. Martinez blinked dazedly, a not uncommon reaction to Anya's off-the-wall remarks.  "Uh . . . well, anyway, you were right about what you said."

Anya looked pleased.  

"Studies have proven that often someone who seems to be unconscious is able to hear what is being said around them.  So I would recommend that you take turns staying with her, and just talk to her."

"Talk?  What about?" Xander asked blankly.

"Anything.  Everything."  The doctor's glasses glinted as he turned to the young man.  "Remind her about past times - the good times, that is."

"Good times.  Oh, yeah, like staking vampires and fighting Frankenstein monsters and averting Apocalypses," Xander murmured sotto voce to Willow.  She elbowed him sharply.  "Ow!"

"Talk about your friendship," continued the doctor.  "Things you've done together, any future plans you might have made with her - you know, like going on vacation together or something."

"I can do that," Riley said with determination.  "No problem."  His boyish face showed the strain of the past few days.

"Me too," Willow piped up.  "We were planning to go to see a play in L.A. this summer."

Dr. Martinez nodded.  "That's exactly the kind of thing I mean.  We need to give her a reason to wake up."

"Dr. Martinez," Joyce said slowly. ""Are you saying that you think Buffy doesn't want to wake up?"

The doctor hesitated.  "Mrs. Summers, maybe I'm wrong but I get the distinct impression that your daughter's been under a lot of stress lately.  She's seriously underweight, for one thing, but I somehow don't think she has an eating disorder."

"Not an intentional one, anyway," Joyce agreed.  "But you're right, Buffy hasn't been eating well lately, and she has had a lot of stress this past year."  She paused, considering.  "Actually, make that the last couple of years."

"I believe we can stretch that to the three year mark," Giles put in quietly.

"Yeah, " Xander muttered, his expression grim.  "Thanks to Soul Boy's antics."

"That was four years ago and he wasn't Soul Boy at the time," Willow reminded him.  "Which was the whole problem, but anyway it wasn't his fault.  He didn't know about the loophole; nobody knew about it.  Well, except the Kalderash gypsies."

Listening, Dr. Martinez experienced a sensation he'd had all too frequently of late - ever since Buffy Summers had been wheeled into the ER, in fact.  Not only was she herself a puzzle, with her fracture that was healing at a phenomenal rate he would have sworn was impossible, but never had he encountered such a strange and baffling group of people, not even during his internship in New York City or his years of practicing medicine in San Francisco, both of which cities prided themselves on the eccentricity of their inhabitants.

Giles interrupted the squabbling pair.  "Never mind that now."  He looked at Dr. Martinez.  "So you think that Buffy has, er, escaped into herself, so to speak . . . that, in essence, she's had a sort of nervous breakdown."

"Well . . ." Dr. Martinez hesitated.  "Well, yes, I guess you could put it like that.  There certainly is no physical reason that we can detect for her continuing to be unconscious.  And believe me, we've run every test there is."

"Wait," Riley suddenly recalled.  "When Buffy was first admitted, I thought you said it could sometimes take days or even weeks for someone to regain consciousness."

"Yes," Dr. Martinez allowed.  "That's true - but not with a fracture as minor as this one.  So since there is no apparent physiological cause for her condition, I have to wonder if it isn't a psychological one."

"I'm willing to give it a try," Riley declared.  He glanced a little awkwardly at Joyce.  "Do you mind if I go in to her now?"

Joyce smiled.  "Go ahead, Riley.  I'll relieve you in an hour."

Riley smiled back in thanks.  Pushing the door open enough to admit him, he swung it almost closed behind him and went over to Buffy.  He pulled the chair over next to the bed and sat down.  Buffy's arms rested across the coverlet, and he reached over and picked up one hand, chafing it with his thumb.  Its almost skeletal thinness caught at his heart.  He looked at her face, seeing how sunken her features had become.

"I remember the first time I saw you," he murmured.  "It was the first or second day of school, in the university library; do you remember?  You knocked those books off the shelf onto my head, and you were so embarrassed and flustered.  Did I ever tell you how cute you are when you're flustered?"

He gave a faint chuckle.  "Probably not; ‘cute' and ‘slayer' don't really go together, do they?  Then, later on, I saw you in the cafeteria.  You broke the handle on the ice cream machine, and I remember thinking, ‘What a klutz.'  Boy, was I wrong."  He smiled a little.

"I'm not sure when I started really noticing you as a person instead of just someone who was always dropping things and stammering out inane remarks.  One day I looked at you in class and suddenly realized how beautiful you are.  And your class papers that I graded showed that you were really smart too.  Then all of a sudden it seemed as if our paths were always crossing.  Every place I went, there you were too.  And I couldn't get you out of my mind, Buffy, especially after we started dating.  I've never fallen for anyone this hard and fast before.  There's a phrase I remember hearing my father use: blonde bombshell.  That's how I felt, like I'd been hit by a blonde bombshell named Buffy Summers."

Riley smiled again.  "Or maybe Hurricane Buffy is more like it.  An unstoppable force of nature that gathers up everything in its path and sweeps them along with it."  Then he shook his head.  "No.  That's not it.  Hurricanes leave only devastation behind, and that's not true of you.  You battle the forces of destruction, you don't cause it.

"When everything happened with the Initiative . . . when Maggie tried to have you killed and then when they captured Oz and tortured him . . . when I finally realized that they weren't the guys in white hats I'd believed in, it was like my world shattered.  I didn't know who to trust, except you.  I didn't even know who I was anymore.  So much of my identity was bound up with the Initiative . . . I was lost and scared, but at least I wasn't alone.  You were there for me, just like I'm here for you now."

He pressed her hand to his lips.  "I love you, Buffy, and I'm going to bring you back to me.  To us.  I'd hoped you could take a little vacation with me this summer back to Iowa to meet my folks.  I hadn't asked you yet because . . . well, the time just never seemed right, what with Adam and the Initiative, but I was going to, soon.

"You'll like my folks, I think, and I know they'll love you.  How could anyone not love you?  And you should see the farm in the summer; it's so beautiful."

<><><><><><><><>

Buffy opened her eyes.  The leaves of the huge oak she lay beneath filtered the sun's rays and dappled her face with shadows.  She stretched lazily and blinked up at the sky where high white clouds scudded across the dazzling blue.  God, it felt good to be able to take a nap whenever she wanted!  She felt as if she hadn't slept in years.  Well, she hadn't, not really.  What with patrolling and school and homework, not to mention her tumultuous love life, she'd been short on sleep pretty much ever since she was Called as the Slayer, five years ago.

How long had she been here, she wondered vaguely as she had numerous times before, upon awakening.  And for that matter, where exactly was "here"?  The last thing she remembered was . . . fighting vamps.  Of course; what else would she be doing?  And Riley was there with her . . . somewhere.  

As usual the elusive memory slipped away before she could grasp it.  She yawned.  Oh well, it would come to her sooner or later.  A soft breeze swept over the countryside, stirring the foliage overhead.  Mingled with their rustling came a faint murmurous sound, almost like voices.  Buffy smiled drowsily, picturing tiny mouths on each green leaf, and slipped back into slumber.

"You were there for me, just like I'm here for you now.  I love you, Buffy, and I'm going to bring you back to me.  To us.

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PART TWO

WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
(Two weeks after Buffy's accident)


"Please wake up, Buffy."  Willow squeezed the slack hand; her voice was slightly hoarse.  She'd been with the unconscious Slayer for almost two hours, talking about anything she could think of.  "It's really scary seeing you like this.  Riley's about to go crazy worrying about you, not to mention your mom and dad - did you know he's been here every day? Your dad, I mean.  Well, until today, but he had to go back; he has a business to run.  And Xander and Giles are worried too.  And me.

"I miss you a lot, Buffy.  Tara and I even cast a spell and searched the otherworld, trying to find where you've gone.  I know you're there somewhere . . . but we couldn't find you.  You're pretty good at hiding, I guess."  She searched her friend's face for any sign of returning intelligence, but Buffy's expression remained the same: unmoving and unaware.  

"Buffy, I know that being the Slayer hasn't been easy.  In fact, it's been hell for you at times.  You got expelled from Hemery and had to move, so you lost all your friends there.  Then you had problems at Sunnydale High because of the slaying thing.  And of course there was dying for that minute or two when the Master bit you, and, and then the trouble with Angel going all evil.  That was terrible, I know."

Looking down at the hand in hers, Willow missed the faint movement of Buffy's lips.  "But it hasn't been all bad, has it?  I mean, you made new friends . . . Xander and me and, and Oz, before he left.  And even Cordy, sort of.

"And after Angel left you met Riley."  Willow inserted encouragement into her voice.  "I know you haven't forgotten Riley.  He really loves you, Buffy, and - "

She looked up in time to catch the motion of Buffy's throat as she swallowed.  Even though this had happened before, along with other involuntary movements and even occasional sounds, something seemed different this time.   Willow sensed that Buffy - her essence or consciousness or whatever - was closer to her body than it had been since the accident.

"Buffy?"  Sudden hope made her heart beat fast.  Riley!  That was obviously the key; she should have been talking about him all this weary time!  Willow felt like smacking herself on the head.

The pale lips opened.  "Angel. . . ."  It was the merest whisper, but it was unmistakable.  Then the lips stilled and the Buffy-essence she'd sensed a moment ago was gone.

Willow stared.  Angel?  It was mention of Angel that had evoked a reaction, unconscious though it was?  Angel, who had loved her and caused her more pain than anyone?  Angel, who had left her without a word after he'd almost drained her of blood?

Willow remembered the weeks, months really, following Angel's departure - the tears, the depression, the lost, empty look in Buffy's eyes, a look that had only been relieved when she began dating Riley.  She'd thought - everyone had thought - that Riley had replaced Angel in Buffy's heart.  Now, rather obviously, it was apparent that this was far from the case.

"Oh God."  Willow's brow furrowed with distress.  "How can I ever tell Riley?"

<><><><><><><><>

". . . Buffy . . ."

What was that?  Buffy raised her head.  Her eyes searched the area around her.  She'd grown accustomed to the vague murmuring noises that were nearly always present, so much a part of the background that usually she wasn't consciously aware of them.  But something had emerged from the anonymous babble, something that caught her attention even though she couldn't identify it.  She waited to see if it would repeat itself.

". . . Slayer . . . hell for you . . ."

She turned in that direction, but saw only grass and wildflowers.  She frowned.  For a moment she thought she'd heard Willow's voice, something that had occurred several times lately, although it wasn't always Willow she imagined hearing.  Xander, Giles, her mom, Riley . . . she'd imagined all their voices at one time or another.

" . . . Angel going all evil . . ."

Strange; for a second she could swear the wind had even whispered Angel's name.  For some reason her mind turned to the dark period after Angel had lost his soul, when the vampire demon had regained possession of his body and was taunting her at every turn with the fact that it was her fault it had happened.  For an instant Angelus' cocky grin and cold, mocking eyes - so unlike the loving, albeit brooding, expression of her Angel - flashed before her eyes.

No!  Buffy thrust the memory away.  That nightmare belonged to the past.  It was over.  It had ended four years ago when she'd stopped Angelus from destroying the world by sending him to hell.

Except that it wasn't Angelus who'd been sucked into hell by the demon Acathla.  It had been her own Angel, his soul returning at precisely the wrong moment, when she'd had no choice but to proceed.  Using the blood of the body he occupied, Angelus had already awakened Acathla from his long dormancy and set into motion forces that could only be stopped with the same blood.  Angel's blood.  If she hadn't stabbed Angel the souls of every living person on earth would have been inhaled by the waking demon, as he drew in his first breath in centuries.  

Billions of innocent souls - or one soul, however dazed, bewildered and, oh yes, innocent it might be?

It wasn't a stumper.

And so she'd sent her lover straight to the demon dimension called hell.  For the rest of her life, however long or short that might be, she would always remember the shocked incomprehension on Angel's face as the sword sliced into his body . . . always hear his agonized voice faltering out her name . . . see his hand outstretched pleadingly to her as the vortex claimed him.  

Goodbye, Angel.  Do not pass Go.  Do not collect two hundred dollars.  Instead, suffer the torments of hell for all eternity and, incidentally, remember that it was the girl you loved who sent you there - deliberately.

Buffy blinked back the moisture collecting in her eyes.  Angel had inexplicably returned to her only a few months later, after a mere hundred years or so in hell (rather than eternity), but nothing had been the same.  How could it be?  There were too many memories, too much potential for disaster in their love.  For love each other they did, regardless.  Even now, with a hundred-plus miles between them - at least, when she was in Sunnydale that was the case; God knew how much distance now separated them, assuming physical distance was even a factor here - and even with a new boyfriend she truly cared for, she knew she would never stop loving Angel.

Buffy shook her head wearily.  It didn't matter.  She and Angel couldn't be together and that was that.  Yearning after the unattainable didn't help anyone.  What in the world had started her on this train of thought anyway?  Oh, yes, the wind and the rustling of the leaves had reminded her of voices.

"Right," she said aloud.  "Stick Buffy in the loony bin; she's hearing voices."  She shrugged, yawning.  Or maybe she'd just dreamed it all; she was still sleeping a lot.  Most of the time, in fact.  Her eyelids drooped.

Out of nowhere images swam through her mind: first, a young man, tall, boyishly handsome, broad-shouldered, with light brown hair and frank, open eyes.  Riley, Buffy recognized without real interest.  His figure faded from sight, to be followed by that of another man, this one dark-haired with skin as pale as marble and dark-chocolate eyes whose haunted, brooding gaze went straight to her heart.  Her lips parted.

"Angel," she breathed in the instant before sleep claimed her again.

<><><><><><><><><>

"It's not working."  Willow faced Giles.  His eyes, like hers, were ringed with dark shadows.  "She's not coming out of it

"They were in the hospital "cafeteria" - a fancy name for wrapped sandwiches and limp salads and an array of vending machines.  She had gone straight there after leaving Buffy, following long minutes of intense and disturbing thought.

"Willow, we must give her more time," Giles began.

Willow interrupted.  "It's been two weeks since she hit her head, Giles.  One of us has been with her almost constantly for the last ten days doing the Buffy talkathon.  We've hardly slept and we're all exhausted.  We can't go on like this."

Anya raised an interested eyebrow.  Beside her at the table, a bleary-eyed Xander looked up from contemplating his drink as Riley whirled around from the coffee dispenser.  "So what do you want us to do?" Riley snapped at Willow, his voice rising.

 "Just give up?  Just let her slip away from us?"  His eyes, bloodshot and red-rimmed, blazed.  "I thought you were her friend!"

 "I am her friend!" Willow snapped back.  Giles and Joyce stared, startled by her display of anger.  Xander, who had seen her angry before, only watched her somberly; Anya, with detached curiosity.  "But not facing facts won't help Buffy, and the fact is that she's losing ground.  You heard Dr. Martinez.  Her heart is getting weaker."

 Anya jumped in.  "That's right.  He's even talking about putting her back on 24-hour monitoring if it gets any worse."

 Joyce put her hand on Riley's arm before he could explode.  "Why don't you go back to Buffy?" she suggested in a soothing tone.  "We'll talk with Willow and find out what she has in mind."

 Glaring at Willow, Riley closed his mouth with an audible snap.  Turning on his heel he stalked out of the room, his shoulders rigid with anger – and poorly concealed fear.  Willow watched him leave then turned defensively to Buffy's mother, but Joyce beat her to it.

 "You think we should call Angel."

 Xander stared.  Willow gaped, taken aback, then stammered, "Uh . . . well . . . yes."

 Joyce bit her lip.  "I've been thinking that too, for a couple of days now."  

 "You have?"  Giles gave a faint, humorless chuckle.  "So have I."

 Buffy's mother regarded them wryly.  "So I guess that means we've all known the truth and just haven't wanted to admit it."

 "Actually it didn't hit me until a little while ago," Willow admitted, sighing.  "You're right.  Buffy still loves Angel."

 "Indeed," came Giles' rueful agreement.  "And I have no doubt at all that Angel feels the same."

 "Hold it!"  Xander held up a hand.  "What are you all talking about?  Dead Boy's gone; he's out of the picture."

 The others shook their heads.  "No," said Willow.  "He's very much a part of the picture; we just haven't seen him because he's behind the picture that's in front, the one that we've been seeing.  I guess the one we wanted to see."

 "But . . . Riley!" Xander exclaimed.  He gestured wildly.  "Remember him?  Soldier Boy?  The tall guy we all risked our lives for, to rescue from the Initiative?  The one that Buffy's been joined to the hip to for over a year now?  Riley?"

 Joyce shook her head again.  "I know that Buffy cares for Riley," she sighed.  "But she just doesn't have that . . . spark . . . she had when she was with Angel."

Xander muttered, "You didn't see them at that frat party."  Anya stifled a snicker at the reference to the lust-driven couple they'd finally been able to rescue from the spell in the haunted hall.

 "Buffy spoke," Willow said without further preamble.  Everyone turned to her in shock.  "When I was in with her just now.  She said Angel's name."

 "Did she say anything else?" demanded Joyce.

 Willow shook her head.  "No, she just whispered the one word, then - " She shrugged.  "It was like nothing had happened."

 "Why didn't you tell us before?"  That was Giles, at his most magisterial.

 "Because I didn't want Riley to know," Willow answered gravely.

 "Oh."  The ex-Watcher looked momentarily discomfited, then turned thoughtful.  "No, it's probably best that he doesn't know.  Not right now, at least."

 "Did she actually wake up?" Joyce asked.  Her eyes fixed on Willow hopefully.

 Willow looked down.  "No.  She whispered Angel's name, but her eyes didn't open."

 "But why would she just say his name like that, out of the blue?" wondered Xander.  "Unless - were you talking to her about him, Will?"  Disapproval tinged his voice.

 "No.  Well, not really," Willow hedged.  "I'd been talking about how I knew she'd had a rough time, you know, with being the Slayer and all, and I - I might have mentioned Angel turning evil, but then I reminded her that she has Riley now, who really, really cares for her and is really worried about her and - "

 She cleared her throat then mumbled, "And that's when she said Angel's name."

 Xander looked at her.  "You were talking about Riley, and Buffy called for Angel?"  When Willow nodded, he winced.  "Ouch.  That'll hurt."

 "Do we have to tell him?" asked Willow earnestly.  "I mean, can't we. . . ."  She searched for words.

 "Sneak Angel into Buffy's room without Riley finding out?"  Anya made her first contribution to the conversation.  "How?  He's practically living there.  What are you going to do, put knockout drops in his coffee?"

 Giles looked thoughtful.  "Actually, that's not a bad idea."  As everyone gazed at him he added, "Not knockout drops, whatever they may be, but a sedative of some sort, perhaps a sleeping pill to make him drowsy.  Then we might be able to persuade him to go home and rest."

 When his glance met only continued disbelief, he said defensively, "Well?  Does anyone have a better suggestion?"  Glances were exchanged and, one by one, heads were shaken.

 Joyce sighed.  "We can cross that bridge when we come to it.  But first we need to get hold of Angel.  Do you have his number, Rupert?"  

<><><><><><><><><>

"Angel Investigations.  We help the hopeless," Cordelia almost sang into the phone.  It had been a good week, with real money coming in from another bodyguard position Angel had accepted.  The fact that he had only taken the job because their desperate financial situation left him no choice didn't disturb her at all.  After all, the rent on their new office had to be paid - not to mention her salary.  Oh, and Wesley's and Gunn's too, of course.

Their firm, and Angel in particular, had been recommended by Rebecca, the actress who'd unwittingly released Angelus the year before when she gave Angel a drug "to relax him."  Still guilt-stricken over what she'd caused, Rebecca continued to try to make amends by sending some business their way.  An actress friend of hers was being stalked, just as she had been, although this time the stalker hadn't been hired by her agent.  Luckily Angel had been able to catch the man in the act of attempting to assault her, and he was currently cooling his heels in the city jail while waiting to go before a judge.  Since he had a long and violent record it seemed pretty sure that bail would be set high enough to keep him off the streets before his court date.

The actress friend had been effusive with her thanks, and exceedingly generous with payment, giving Angel, Wesley and Cordelia each a hundred dollar tip on top of what she owed.

"Is this Cordelia?" came a woman's voice over the phone.

"Yes, it is."  Cordelia discreetly modulated her voice, making it lower and softer, almost throaty.  You never knew, this could be a director wanting her for a part.  "Who is this?"

"Cordelia, it's Joyce Summers."  Cordelia blinked in surprise.  "Buffy's mother."

"Of course," said Cordelia in her normal voice.  "How are you, Mrs. Summers?"

"Actually, I've been better, thank you.  I don't mean to be rude, but is Angel there?"

Cordelia mentally groaned.  Uh-oh.  This couldn't be good news.  Buffy's mother calling was just as bad, Angel-wise, as Giles calling him.  Or Buffy.  For that matter, any time one of the Sunnydale gang phoned it always turned out bad for Angel, bringing back memories and stirring up emotions that most of the time lay buried beneath the minutiae of daily business.  And that meant hours of brooding or bag-punching, or both.

"Um . . . I'm not sure.  Let me check."  Putting Joyce on hold, Cordelia sat thinking.  After a moment, though, she sighed and started to get up.  Just then she heard footsteps so she sat back and waited.  Angel appeared in the lobby.  He must have heard the phone ring and come to investigate.

"Who's on the phone?" he asked, his eyes flying to the flashing Hold button.  He walked over to the desk.

Reluctantly Cordelia told him.  "It's Mrs. Summers."

Angel tensed.  "Buffy's mother?"  At her nod he snatched up the receiver so fast that Cordelia jumped.  "Joyce, it's Angel.  Is anything wrong?"

Cordelia watched his face grow bleak as he listened.  Finally he said, "I'll be there tonight," and hung up.

"What is it?" she demanded.

"Buffy's in the hospital, in a coma.  She hit her head on a rock while on patrol."

Cordelia shrugged.  "So?  Her Mutant Ninja Slayer powers will kick into gear any moment now.  She'll be healed by tomorrow and she'll wake up.  There's no need to go rushing to her side.  Remember what happened last time you showed up unannounced."  Reminding him of how pissed Buffy had been a year and a half ago to learn he'd been in Sunnydale.  Of course, most of her anger had been because he hadn't let her know he was there. . . .

Angel met her accusatory glance.  "She was injured two weeks ago, Cordelia, and her condition is worsening.  The only word she's spoken during that time was my name."

"Oh."  Cordelia knew when she was licked.  She sighed and reached under the desk for her purse.  "Good thing I already deposited that check.  I'll go to the ATM to get you some cash.  How soon will you be leaving?"

Angel glanced out the window where the sun was shining brightly even through the L.A. smog.  It was a little after 3:30; three hours until it was safe for him to go outside.  He ground his teeth.  "I'll wait until sunset."

"Good thinking," she said, ignoring the frustration that edged his voice.  "You won't do Buffy any good if you get in an accident because you're speeding, and end up getting crispy-crittered by the sun."

"That's the only reason I'm waiting."  Angel turned and went back down the stairs, presumably to pack.  Cordelia watched his retreating figure.

"I know," she sighed.  Shaking her head, she slung the purse strap over her shoulder and left, hoping against hope that everything would turn out all right in this next exciting installment of the Buffy & Angel Show.


NINE O'CLOCK THAT NIGHT

Angel spotted the Sunnydale Hospital and breathed an uncharacteristic sigh of relief.  He worked his jaw around, trying to loosen muscles and tendons that had been clenched tight during the entire two-hour-plus drive from Los Angeles.  Normally the trip wouldn't have taken that long, but an accident on the freeway had backed traffic up for miles and left him ready to spit nails from frustration.

He'd known the taste of hell many times since the forcible return of his soul by the Kalderash had acquainted him with the 150 years of evil he, as a vampire, had wrought - not even counting the time two years ago when he'd actually gone to hell.  There had been the time, for instance, when he'd almost killed Buffy by draining her blood (even though she'd pretty much forced him into it since that was the only cure for the poison that was rapidly killing him); then the following night when he'd silently bidden her goodbye through the drifting smoke of the high school parking lot and walked away from the only love he'd ever known.   

The Day That Never Happened; the blessed, miraculous day when he'd been human and he and Buffy had been able to love, and make love, without fear; the day the Oracles took back at his request; the day only he now remembered.

That memory was a special kind of hell.

The most recent experience was last year, when she'd told him she was involved with someone else, someone she could trust.  That someone, of course, was Riley.  He'd known that her words were spoken out of hurt feelings due to his defense of Faith, and a desire to hit back at him, but the implication, that she couldn't trust him, had stricken him to the heart, especially since he couldn't in all honesty deny its validity.

Because of course that was the most agonizing part of all:  the knowledge that the most wonderful night of his life, the night he and Buffy first consummated their love, had begun a nightmarish reign of terror for her.  For that consummation, that moment of complete and perfect happiness, had revoked the gypsies' curse, thereby freeing once again the vampire demon inhabiting his body.  His soul, along with his conscience, had fled, and Angelus had returned, triumphant and eager for revenge.

Released from a century of impotence, the demon had reveled in his freedom, and for Angelus that meant doing what he was best at: killing and torturing.  He'd targeted Buffy in particular, delighting in cruelly tormenting her and those she cared for.  He'd killed Jenny Calendar, the computer science teacher at the high school who also happened to be Giles' romantic interest.  All of these deeds, and their consequences, Angel had been forced to deal with when his soul had once more been returned to his body.

But none of these examples compared to the fear that consumed Angel now.

"She'll be all right," he reassured himself for the thousandth time as he swung the convertible into the parking lot.  "She's the strongest Slayer in history.  She's not like the others; she'll pull through this."  

She had to.  Anything else was unthinkable.

Angel found a parking space and killed the engine, pulling out the keys and opening his door in a single smooth motion.  Not bothering to lock it he started for the hospital entrance, each long, hurried step echoing in the silence of the night.  As he neared the door someone stepped forward from the shadows.

Giles.

Angel stopped.  "How is she?"  He braced himself for the answer.

"There's been no change since we talked.  She's still unconscious."

"She isn't any worse?"

"No, there's been no change at all," Giles replied.

Relief slumped Angel's shoulders.  "Take me to her."  Angel started forward but Giles put a hand on his arm, stopping him.

"Wait."  The vampire shot him an impatient glance.  Giles took a deep breath.  "Riley's still in with her."  When Angel stiffened he added hastily, "He shouldn't be there long.  We, er, gave him a sedative in his drink and it should have taken effect by now. We wanted him, uh, out of the way before you went in."

They'd given Riley Finn a Mickey Finn?  Even in his perturbation Angel spared a mental grin at the thought while he studied Giles for a long moment.  "He doesn't know you called me, does he?  Or why."

"Er, well, no," Giles admitted.  "We didn't tell him any of it."

"Why not?"

Giles met his gaze.  "Because Riley loves Buffy.  We didn't see any reason to hurt him like that when . . . er, well. . . ."  He faltered, his eyes sliding away from Angel's.

"When the situation between Buffy and me hasn't changed, regardless of how we feel about each other," Angel finished steadily, realizing what he hesitated to say.  "I understand.  They've been happy together; why spoil it?"

Giles nodded, grateful for Angel's comprehension and selflessness.  His respect for the souled vampire, grudgingly given in the beginning but increasing with every infrequent report from Wesley, grew even greater.  Wesley had told him about the shanshu prophecy.  With all his heart he hoped that the day would come soon when Angel would be rewarded for his fight against evil (both in the world and within himself) by becoming human again.

Joyce appeared, opening the doors.  "They're coming."  The two men drew aside into the shadows, hidden from view when, a minute later, Xander walked outside with Riley, whom he was practically supporting.  Unobtrusively Xander scanned the area until he caught sight of them, giving Giles a slight nod of his head.

"I'm sorry," Riley was saying . . . mumbling, rather.  Xander's attention hastily returned to him as the taller man stumbled a little, almost missing the first step down.  "I dunno what hit me all'fasudden."

Xander cocked his head.  "Well, how about lack of sleep for starters?  Followed by worrying about Buffy and, of course, not eating enough.  Can you say ‘complete physical exhaustion'?"  He helped Riley down the steps.  "Okay, G.I. Joe, just a little way more and then we'll have you home before you know it.  You can sleep tonight and see Buffy in the morning, all bright and rested and ready to do battle for her."

Turning his head he shot Angel a sly, sidelong glance, then turned his attention back to his charge.  Giles, Joyce and Angel watched in silence while Xander maneuvered Riley into Joyce's car and drove off.  As the tail lights receded Joyce turned to them.  "Angel.  Thank you for coming."  Her voice, like her face, betrayed the strain of the past two weeks.

Angel gave a little shake of his head.  "You don't have to thank me," he said quietly.  "You know I'd do anything for her."

"I know."  She offered him a tremulous smile.  "But I still thank you."  She put her hand on his arm.  "Come on."  

"Wait."  It was Giles again.  Angel faced him.  "What is it this time?" he asked warily.

"We, er, that is, I haven't told you the entire situation."

Angel's eyes narrowed.  "You said Buffy hit her head on a rock and has been unconscious ever since.  That wasn't true?"

"No," Joyce put in hastily.  "I mean, yes, it's true.  She did hit her head and she is in a coma, but what Rupert apparently hasn't gotten around to telling you yet is that the fracture to her skull was very minor, only a hairline in fact.  And it's completely healed."

Angel frowned.  "Then why is she still in a coma?  She should have regained consciousness within a day or two."

"Exactly."  Giles pulled off his glasses and began absent-mindedly to polish them with his handkerchief.  "Her doctor thinks Buffy hasn't awakened because . . . well, because she doesn't want to.  He, er, gathered that she's been under a lot of stress lately and he believes her continued coma is an unconscious attempt - sorry, poor choice of words.  In short, he believes it's an escape mechanism."

Angel turned away abruptly.  Giles gave him a thoughtful look.  "You don't, er, seem surprised by this.  I confess that surprises me."  He replaced his glasses, adjusted them slightly.

There was a long moment of silence.  Joyce and Giles both waited.  Finally Angel turned and faced them again.  "I've been afraid something like this would happen.  That's the real reason I left, to give Buffy a better chance to survive.  I hoped that with me out of the picture she'd have at least a portion of her life that was normal."  His face was grim.

"I don't understand," Joyce said.  Angel hesitated, glancing at Giles.  "Joyce, are you aware of what the average life expectancy is for a Slayer?"  Giles suddenly looked uneasy.

Joyce blinked.  "Well, no, not exactly.  Buffy said something once about Slayers not having to worry about drawing Social Security, but - "  She stopped, braced herself.  "Tell me."

"Twenty-five."

"What?"  Joyce stared in shock, then slowly turned to Giles.  "Is that true?"

"Er, yes.  I'm afraid so," Giles confirmed, with obvious reluctance.

"Almost seventy percent of the Slayers die before their twenty-fifth birthday," Angel continued.  There was something relentless in his quiet voice.  "Isn't that right, Giles?"

Giles hesitated, then nodded even more reluctantly.  "Yes."

"Seventy percent?"  Joyce was still incredulous.

"The remaining thirty percent - " Angel paused.  "Well, let's just say that in the twelve hundred years since the Watcher's Council began keeping records, only one Slayer has lived to see thirty."

"One?" gasped Joyce.

____________________________________________________________________

PART THREE

"Anjanette Dubois," murmured Giles.  "She died in 1872, two months after her thirtieth birthday, at the hands of one of the Order of Taraka.  She killed him after a long battle, but her injuries were so severe that. . . ."  His voice died away, then Giles roused, blinking.  "What does any of this have to do with Buffy being in a coma?"

"Yes."  With some effort Joyce, too, came back to the matter at hand.  "Angel, I don't understand why you brought this up now."

"Giles, didn't you ever wonder why every Slayer has died young?  Every last one of them?"  Angel glanced at Joyce.  "I mean, so far."

Giles' eyes flickered.  "Slayers lead extremely dangerous lives; you should know that better than most."

Angel nodded.  "Yeah, killing demons is risky work.  But so is fighting fires, and look how many firemen there are in their thirties and forties.  Doesn't it seem just a little unbelievable that in more than a thousand years not one Slayer has managed to survive to see even thirty-one?  Especially considering the kinds of recuperative powers the Slayers have?  Hasn't anyone in the Council ever wondered about that?  Haven't you?"  His gaze at Giles was pointed.

Joyce massaged her temples.  "Angel, please.  I'm too tired for guessing games.  What is your point?"

Before Angel could reply Giles heaved a deep sigh.  "Of course I've wondered; many of us have - many Watchers, that is.  The Council is well aware that the mortality rate for Slayers is unusually high.  Many of the deaths can be attributed to inexperience and carelessness, especially in the case of the younger Slayers."

"That's probably true," said Angel quietly.  "But what about the more mature Slayers?  They're stronger, more experienced; their reflexes are quicker - but still they die, so many of them that an insurance company would take one look at the statistics and raise its hands in horror.  Why, Giles?"

Giles was silent.

Angel persisted.  "Could it be that the stress level simply becomes too much, especially since unlike firefighters or policemen, Slayers traditionally have had no support group?  Even their Watchers are forbidden to become too emotionally involved with their charges, as you know only too well.  You also know as well as I do that Slayers usually become estranged early on from their families and friends.  In fact, I believe the Council encourages that to happen."

"Yes," Giles agreed heavily.  "It's believed that the fewer distractions a Slayer has from her calling, the better."

"But Buffy's friends help her," objected Joyce, frowning.

Angel smiled a little.  "Yes.  Buffy is unique in that, as she is in so many other areas.  Her relationship with you, Joyce, and with Giles and her friends - all of you know about her and are there for her, and she knows that.  She knows that she can count on all of you, and that gives her strength."  He paused.  "She loves you."

"But that's also her weakness," Giles pointed out, quietly.

Angel nodded, sighing.  "Ironically, yes.  Because she cares about all of you, a part of her is always worrying about your safety, especially Willow and Xander and, and Riley-" He stumbled a little over that last name, but forced himself to continue.  "Since those three are the most actively involved with her in the slaying side of things, that puts them in the most danger."

"Which they wouldn't be in if it wasn't for her.  At least, that's the way Buffy sees it."  Leaning against the wall Joyce exhaled loudly.  "So she's not only risking her life battling evil demons every night and saving the world two or three times a year, she feels personally responsible for the safety of her best friends."

"That's why I left," Angel repeated.  "I thought if she could have a normal relationship with a normal man it would take at least one stress out of her life."  Then Angel gave a short laugh.  "It never occurred to me that she'd fall in love with a demon hunter and just add one more person to her list of people to worry about."

"Do you think Buffy didn't worry about your safety, Angel?" Giles asked, giving him a curious glance.  "I can assure you that she did.  That she does."

"Yes," Angel acknowledged, "but she knows I can hold my own in a fight with demons.  I'm not mortal; Riley is."

Joyce said quietly, "Buffy isn't in love with Riley.  She cares for him, maybe she even loves him, a little - but it was you she called for, Angel, not him.  And I think that's just one more stress added onto all the rest."

"What do you mean?"  Angel was more than just confused; he was clueless.  "Sure, Buffy said my name, but she was probably just dreaming or - or something."

"I think it was more than that, Angel.  A lot more."  Joyce smiled a little, but it was a sad smile.  "Deep down, maybe even unconsciously, I think Buffy realizes that Riley is only a make-do boyfriend because she can't have you, and she feels guilty about it."  Again she put her hand on Angel's arm.  "Come on, let's go in."

She led the way inside, through the almost empty lobby to the large reception desk where a security guard was seated.  "Hi, Mr. Adams."

"Mrs. Summers, you're back again?  I thought you left for the night.  I thought everyone had left," the middle-aged man said, his tone surprised, while his shrewd brown eyes gave Angel a swift but thorough examination.  "Hoped maybe you were all going to get a good night's sleep for once."  He cocked a meaningful eyebrow at her.

Joyce gave him a weary smile.  "Not tonight, I'm afraid.  At least, not right away.  Mr. Adams, this is Angel.  He'll be going in with us to see my daughter and I want him to have the same access to her that I do."

"Sure thing, Mrs. Summers," the guard said genially.  He jotted something down on a long notepad.  "Angel . . . what's the last name, son?"

"Jones," Angel replied shortly, suddenly impatient to be done with all the delays and in with Buffy.  Giles shot him a surprised glance.  Of course, Angel realized, he probably knows my real name; it must be in the Watchers' Diaries.

He gave a little shrug.  There'd be time later to explain about the family with the possessed son, when he'd first used the name Jones (actually it was the first name that came to mind) while trying to determine just what exactly was possessing their child.  He quickly banished that unhappy memory, not wanting to dwell on it.

Formalities completed, he followed Giles and Joyce through a set of double doors, then down long, echoing corridors where glimpses into the few open doors revealed only curtains drawn around beds or motionless, sheeted forms surrounded by monitors and/or IV bags.  They stopped outside Room 114.  The door was open but long curtains concealed the bed from sight.

"Before we go in," said Joyce, looking up at him earnestly, "I want to prepare you.  She's been unconscious for two weeks and she's lost weight - "

"Joyce."  Angel cut her off, but gently.  "I've seen a lot of sick people in my time.  I know what to expect."  He gave her an encouraging smile and walked into the room.

Despite his words to Joyce, his first sight of Buffy was a distinct shock.  He felt it like a kick in his stomach.  It wasn't just the weight loss, though he hadn't thought she could get any skinnier than she'd been the last time he saw her.  No, it was the absolute paleness of her skin (how could she lose her tan so quickly?) and the unfamiliar stillness of her body as she lay in the bed.  

They'd turned her over onto her right side, to avoid putting any pressure on the injury site.  She was facing him, and the faint, barely perceptible motion as she breathed was the only movement Angel could detect.  The hair that had been shaved was beginning to grow back, but the ugly wound still showed pink against the now bristly patch of skin.  A closer look revealed tiny holes where the sutures had been, but they'd been removed.  Even the bruise marks had faded until they were barely visible.

The doctors must be puzzled at how fast she's healed, Angel thought, wondering if at some time in the near future Buffy's case would be written up in the journals as a medical mystery.

"Angel."

The vampire blinked.  Willow rose from the chair next to the bed.  He hadn't even noticed her sitting there.  "Willow.  How are you?"  Even as he spoke his eyes returned to the figure in the bed.  

Willow didn't bother to reply.  Instead she walked around the bed, then paused beside him.  She reached for his hand, digging into her pants pocket, and deposited something into his palm, something that gleamed silver.  It was a claddagh ring, the one he'd given Buffy on her ill-fated seventeenth birthday.

Angel gazed at it dumbly.  There wasn't a speck of tarnish to be seen on it; obviously it had been well cared for.  His eyes flashed to his own hand, where an identical ring decorated his left hand, its heart pointing inward to his heart.  He'd taken it out of his dresser drawer before leaving Los Angeles, obeying the little voice in his head that was urging him to take it with him.

"I found this in Buffy's jewelry box," Willow told him.  "She loves you, Angel.  Bring her back.  Please."  Her eyes pleaded with him, then she left the room, closing the door behind her.

Angel sat down in the vacated chair and carefully took one of Buffy's hands in his.  It was cool, and the ebb and flow of her life force weaker than he'd ever known it.  He had to listen carefully to hear her heartbeat, so slow and feeble was it.  "Buffy. Buffy, it's me.  Angel."

Not a flicker of an eyelid, not even a hitch in her slow, shallow breaths to indicate that she'd heard him.  Of course he hadn't expected that easy a resolution either.

That would be a little too much to hope for, he thought wryly.  He looked at the ring Willow had given him.  That same little voice was telling him to put it on her finger where it belonged, but this time he hesitated.  It was one thing for him to wear his ring, with all that it symbolized; he knew he would never love another as he loved Buffy.  But he had no right to impose that on her.

Those days are long past, he reminded himself.  Buffy doesn't know that in my time this was used as a marriage band. She just thinks of it as a love token.  And it just might help me reach her.  Firmly he placed the claddagh on her ring finger.  She'd lost so much weight that he had to hold it in place by twining his fingers in hers.  Which he'd planned on doing anyway.

"You know what this means, Buffy.  It stands for friendship, loyalty, and love.  I love you, and I'm not letting you go, just as you wouldn't let me go when I tried to kill myself that Christmas.  I know you remember it.  I was on the hilltop waiting for the sun to rise. . . ."

Settling himself more comfortably, Angel began talking, reminiscing about their times together, chuckling about how she'd knocked him on his ass at their first meeting.  For the first time he admitted how scared he'd been when he suddenly recognized that the emotion he was feeling every time they were together (the same emotion he'd experienced almost since his first sight of her) wasn't just feeling protective and wanting to help her.  

It was love.

He also admitted his near-panic when it dawned on him that she loved him in return.  "I almost left right then," he now confessed.  "My bags were packed and I was only waiting for the sun to go down.  I remember pacing the room, cursing, because it was still daylight outside and because I was trying not to think about how I'd just killed Darla.

"We never talked about that, did we, Buffy?"  He was silent a moment.  "This isn't the time or the place for a lecture, but Darla was my sire and, for vampires, killing your sire is not only unheard of, it's almost inconceivable.  Vampires can leave their sires, and usually do sooner or later, but killing them?"

He shook his head.  "I don't think it's ever happened before.  It isn't even supposed to be possible; the bond is too strong.  But that afternoon, all at once I realized that I had actually done it.  I'd driven a crossbow bolt into Darla's heart and killed her - because of you, Buffy.  Because I was protecting you.  It was then that I realized that whatever we had between us was out of the ordinary, and I knew something that special shouldn't be thrown away.  Or run away from."

Angel sighed, chafing her hand.  "So I unpacked my bags.  I wasn't thinking very clearly, I guess, because I also decided that I would keep on helping you, but we shouldn't see each other again because a vampire and a slayer falling in love was just too weird."  

He chuckled ruefully.  "Confused much, as Cordelia would say.  Anyway, as soon as it was dark, I went to the Bronze and waited for you - to say goodbye.  And then we kissed . . . and I thought my heart would burst from everything I was feeling.  I couldn't leave; do you remember?  You were the one who walked away that night; and I just stood there and watched you go."

Angel stopped, aware he was treading on dangerous ground.  "Well, maybe this isn't the best subject to be talking about right now.  I remember when Xander came and told me that you'd gone to hunt the Master. . . ."

An hour passed, and still Angel talked on.  He sipped water from Buffy's carafe when his voice began to fail, and then continued.  Another hour went by, with no change in Buffy's condition.  Finally Angel fell silent.

She was there, somewhere, and he knew - how, he couldn't have said, but he knew - that he could reach her.  But it was clear that this plan wasn't working.  No, this battle wouldn't - couldn't - be fought in this world.  He had to follow her to whatever corner of the otherworld she'd fled to.  

Planting his elbows on the bed, Angel sandwiched her hand between his and rested his forehead on their clasped hands, as if he were praying.  He closed his eyes and stilled his thoughts, allowing his memories of Buffy to rise in their multitude.  For he remembered every moment of their time together; good, bad or indifferent, not one second, not one movement or one word, was lost to him.

(Buffy, sitting on the steps of Hemery High, learning about her destiny from her first Watcher, Merrick . . . Buffy, at their first meeting, telling him she wanted to be left alone . . .  Buffy at the Bronze, her lips telling him she understood that they had to stay apart, while her eyes spoke volumes of denial . . . Buffy, drained by the Master, lying lifeless in a pool of water, her white dress spreading out around her like broken wings . . . Buffy fighting vamps, her motions swift and sure and graceful, turning a grisly duty into a deadly ballet . . . Buffy in his arms, soft and yielding and eager, as he was, to finally consummate the love that consumed them both . . . Buffy's trembling voice whispering that she loved him, then telling him to close his eyes, an instant before stabbing him and sending him to Hell . . .

Buffy sending him sprawling with one shove, tearfully demanding, "What about me?  I love you *so* much" . . . gawking along with him in wonderment at the snow-filled sky that prevented the sun's rise from killing him as he'd planned . . . Her sorrowful gaze as together they tricked Faith into revealing her betrayal . . . "Are you still my girl? he asked her, and she instantly replied, "Always" . . . Buffy's face, filled with steely determination as she bade him drink from her, that it was the only way to cure the poison of Faith's arrow . . .  Her eyes staring at him through the smoke and mist of the smoldering school, silently remembering and bidding him goodbye until he forced himself to turn and walk away from her . . . Buffy, clutching at him, sobbing that she'd never forget the day he was human . . . .

With each memory, the sense of Buffy that Angel carried in his heart grew stronger, the warm amber glow that accompanied that sense, as much a part of it as the memories, became deeper, brighter.  With the very last memory that came, of Buffy standing in the dormitory corridor, thanking him for not liking Riley, an amber spark shot before his closed eyes, bobbing and weaving before him.  In his mind, Angel followed it.

<><><><><><><><>

Buffy sat with her back against her favorite tree, the one at the very edge of the hill overlooking the lush valley below.  Not that there's anything there to see, particularly, she thought, her mouth curving up in a faint smile.  Although horses wandered here and there, grazing the dark green grass, no houses or barns, or dwellings of any kind, were in sight.  Or people.  She hadn't seen a soul since she got here, except for the horses and other assorted wildlife, none of it threatening.

It was strange that she'd ended up someplace like this, she mused.  She'd never been the outdoorsy type, never gone in for hiking or bike riding or camping or stuff like that.  No, her preferences for spare-time activities had always been for shopping malls or movies or just an evening at The Bronze with the Scoobies, yet ever since she'd first woken up to find herself in this place (wherever it was) instead of Sunnydale, she'd been entranced by the tranquility of her surroundings.  The weather was always perfect, too; no rain and just the right temperature, neither too warm nor too cool.

At first she'd mostly slept, catching up on what felt like years of deprivation, waking up only to yawn and stretch, then roll over and sink again into a slumber so deep it felt like falling into thick, dark water.  But after a while - days? weeks? - she'd begun having short periods of wakefulness in between her long naps.  The wakeful periods grew longer until now they edged past the time spent sleeping.

It was easier when I slept all the time, she thought, gazing with unseeing eyes at the pastoral scene below.  Then I didn't have to think about anything.  Now. . . .

Now she had no excuse for not noticing the oddities that occurred at frequent intervals.  Such as the voices she continued to hear; familiar, loved voices, twining their way in and out of the constant background noise of wind and leaves and . . . well, she wasn't entirely sure what other sounds contributed to the ceaseless murmur; she only knew they were there.  Just as she knew, now, that the voices too were real, and that they were talking to her.  She heard them and understood what they were saying; she just didn't want to listen.

They wanted her to leave this peaceful land and return to them.  Return to a life of the unending violence and danger that came with fighting evil; a life of constant fear that those she loved would come to harm because they insisted on helping her in that fight, or because some evil entity realized that hurting them would hurt her.  A life where she rose in the morning wondering if she'd live to see the next day.

A life where she couldn't be with the person she loved most in the world because that would endanger his soul and release another terrible evil into the world, an evil she would then have to fight - again.  Ever since the moment Angel had silently bidden her goodbye and she'd watched his back recede through the haze over the high school parking lot, there had been a void in her life, an empty, aching space that refused to be filled.

Her friends helped; in fact, she couldn't have made it without them.  Willow, sweet yet tough; Xander, always ready with a quip to relieve the tension - she knew she could count on their unflinching loyalty even in the worst of times.  Tara, Willow's lover, had also become a friend, though there wasn't the bond with the shy young witch that she had with Willow.  Anya . . . well, Anya was Anya.  Not exactly a friend, but as long as the former demon and Xander continued as a couple Anya would lend her assistance, complete with loudly voiced complaints and acidic comments.

Riley.  Buffy shut her eyes and rested her head against the tree.  Riley helped too, and not just with the demons.  She couldn't deny the feelings she held for him.  His generous heart and devoted nature had attracted her almost from the beginning - not to mention his boyish good looks and impressive physique (buff without being all Schwarzeneggar Guy).  Riley loved her; she knew that.  And she -

Buffy sighed, feeling a deep sadness saturated with guilt, a tangled web of emotions she'd only recently become aware that she'd been carrying for some time.  She cared for Riley.  She did.  She worried about his safety, fretted if they became separated during patrol, and counted on his presence.  He made her feel cherished; he eased the soreness in her heart so she felt less lonely.  Surely that was love . . . wasn't it?  

Two tears escaped beneath her closed eyelids.  It didn't matter.  What she felt for Riley might be a love of sorts, but it didn't even begin to compare with the love she had for Angel, even when, as now, she hadn't seen him for almost a year.  Maybe she loved Riley - but she was in love with Angel.  And Riley deserved better than someone who couldn't give her entire heart to him.  She knew that, had known it for a long time.  She'd just never had the courage to break it off with him, to give up the comfort he gave her.

She heard footsteps coming up on her left but didn't bother turning her head; somehow she already knew what she would see.

"Buffy."

<><><><><><><><>

Straight as an arrow the brilliant amber spark shot ahead of him, but not so fast that Angel couldn't keep up as it led him through the otherworld.  Under other circumstances he might have enjoyed the journey; certainly the glimpses he was afforded of other realities intrigued him and at any another time he would certainly have stopped to investigate more than a few of them.  But not now, not when Buffy lay dying in a cold, sterile hospital room, and it was up to him to persuade her to return to her life.

Abruptly, between one footfall and the next, the scenery changed.  No longer was he hastening through a kaleidoscope of land- and cityscapes.  Suddenly he was surrounded by fog; great billowing banks of it.  But this was no gray, dreary, mundane fog such as he was familiar with.  All the colors of the rainbow and then some, shades he had no name for, coruscated within its roiling banks; every few seconds different sections of the cloud would light up as a dazzling colored sparks blazed into brief life and then faded.

Angel's determined stride faltered.  For a moment he gazed around him in wonderment.  This, he realized, wasn't fog at all.  No, this was the matter of which reality was formed - literally.  He reached out and cupped his hands together, capturing a small amount of the fog between them.  If he desired, and if he had the ability, he could create whatever he wanted out of this. . . .

He let his hands fall apart.  All he wanted right now was Buffy, and he wasn't going to find her standing around here.  With one last lingering look, he marched through the haze.  On the other side of it, he panicked.  Where was the spark he'd followed?  It took several long moments before he spotted its faint glow.  He sprinted after it, determined not to be sidetracked again.  How long he walked Angel never knew, only that at long last he emerged into brightness, and a landscape as lovely as any he'd ever seen.  Then he spotted her.

Buffy was at the top of a hill, sitting beneath one of the numerous trees dotting the landscape, gazing out over the valley.  The surge of relief left him lightheaded and he had to pause a second to let the dizziness pass before tackling the path that led up to her.

She was in profile to him, and as he drew closer Angel grew even more anxious.  If it hadn't been for the occasional blink of her eyes and the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed, he would have thought she was carved of marble.  His footsteps slowed and he crossed the final yards separating them almost hesitantly.  Wetting his lips he said her name.  "Buffy."

"Angel.  What are you doing here?"  Her greeting, if it could be called that, was quiet.  No, not just quiet.  Listless.

"Buffy, you have to come with me.  Please."

"Do I?"  She still hadn't looked at him, her gaze fixed, trance-like, on the vale below them.

"Yes, before it's too late."  Compelled by his sense of urgency, Angel knelt beside her.  "Buffy, do you know where you are?"

Her shoulders moved in a faint shrug.  "Not really.  I know I'm not in our world, if that's what you mean."  The apathy in her voice sent a wave of fear through Angel as she continued.  "Am I dead?"

"No!"  Angel caught himself; he hadn't intended to be so sharp.  "No," he repeated, more gently.  "You're not dead, Buffy, but you have been in a coma for two weeks and - "

He hesitated, not wanting to come right out and tell her that back in Sunnydale she was dying.  " - and your vital signs are getting weaker."

"Oh."  There was a pause.  "So I'm dying."

Angel grimaced slightly.  That was Buffy, blunt and to the point.  "Yes," he conceded with a sigh.  "That's why I need you to return with me."

For the first time Buffy moved, turning her head toward him.  In the same lifeless tone she asked, "Why?"  Her eyes too were dull, with none of their usual spark.

Angel took a deep, unneeded breath, knowing this would be the hard part.  How to persuade her to come back to a life she was trying to escape?  Appealing to her sense of duty wouldn't work.  She knew as well as he that another Slayer would be called as soon as she died.  No, he would have to approach her from a different angle.

"Because you have people there who love you, Buffy; people who need you.  Your mother and father.  Giles.  Willow.  Xander.  And - and Riley.  He's almost out of his mind worrying about you."

He tried to smile.  "They had to put a sedative in his coffee to get him to rest before he ended up in the hospital too."

"And you?"  Her voice was thin.  "What about you, Angel?  Are you worried?  Do you need me too?"

Looking into her too-old eyes, Angel had never felt such a sense of futility as he did then.  What good would it do to rehash their hopeless situation?  It wouldn't make either one of them feel any better.  Frantically he searched for words.  There had to be something he could say, some magical answer that would free her from this suicidal depression.

Her thready voice continued.  "Do you pray each day that the ache will start to get better, the way I do?  Do you dream about me, about kissing me and making love with me, the way I do about you?  Are you living a big fat lie because everyone thinks you've moved on, that you're over it . . . and you let them think it because it's easier than making them understand that you'll never be over it?  Are you letting someone who loves you believe the lie too because you're too much of a coward to tell him the truth?"

____________________________________________________________________

PART FOUR

Joyce was right, Angel realized.  Buffy's guilt at not being able to return Riley's wholehearted love far outweighed any relief from loneliness his companionship afforded her.  The realization brought a tangled surge of emotions: Renewed exultation that despite two years of physical separation, years during which they'd seen each other only a handful of times, she still loved him as he did her.  Bitter, impotent anger because their situation remained unchanged.  But most of all there was fear.

Fear, because he knew her so well, and he understood completely that it wasn't the unending savagery and danger she faced as the Slayer that was the real problem:  it was her guilt and remorse and shame over Riley that was eating her alive.  Those emotions had reduced her to a physical shadow of her former self, even before the accident, and the self-loathing they had inevitably generated was now sapping her of the will to keep on living.

"Buffy."  He cleared his throat, knowing he had to do this, for her sake.  "You say you're living a lie, but haven't you been happy with  - Riley?  Haven't you enjoyed going on picnics with him, lying in the sun beside him . . . hearing his heart beat when he holds you?"

Anger sparked briefly in the depths of her eyes, but just as quickly faded, leaving only a soul-deep weariness behind.  She turned away.  "You still don't understand, do you?  You still think sunlight and beating hearts and picket fences are important."

"Aren't they?"  Angel's throat felt tight.  "Didn't you ever long to walk in the daylight with me?  Didn't you ever wish that when we touched, you could feel warm, living skin under your hand, and not the cold flesh of a walking, talking corpse?"

Buffy looked at him, her expression unreadable.  Then, with slow deliberation she raised her hand and placed it flat against his chest.  "No," she said, simply.

Angel blinked.  The warmth of her palm seemed to permeate his entire body, distracting him, making it difficult to concentrate.  "No what?" he asked stupidly.

"No, I never wished that your skin was warm or that your heart beat.  I never regretted that we couldn't walk together under the sun.  Those were your wishes, Angel, and your regrets, not mine.  And to answer your other question, yes, I enjoyed my times with Riley.  He's a wonderful person, which is why he deserves someone who can really love him.  I can't be that person because I'm in love with you."

Helplessly he reached for her.   She fell into his embrace with a sound very like a sob.  He kissed her hair, whispering her name over and over, repressing another stab of fear at how fragile she felt in his arms, so light, as if she weighed nothing.

"Hold me, Angel," she wept.  "Just hold me and tell me that you still love me."

His heart bled.  Shuddering, he tightened his arms about her frail form until her ribs creaked.  She only moved closer, her face nestled into his neck.  "I love you, he said roughly.  "God help me, there hasn't been one second since I first saw you that I haven't loved you.  Yes, I dream about you, almost every day; and, yes, I pray that being apart from you will stop hurting so much.  Because the pain is always there, Buffy.  I wake up with it, I work with it, and I go to sleep with it."

"Yes," Buffy whispered.

Looking down at her, Angel braced himself.  "But I live with it, Buffy.  I have to.  You told me once that being strong meant fighting; that it was hard and it was painful and it was every day."

"But we have to do it," she nodded sadly.  "I remember."

"You also said we could do it," he added.  

"Together," Buffy interjected.

"What?"

"I said we could do it together.   That's the difference.  As long as you were in Sunnydale and we could see each other, even if it was only once a week, I could stand the pain of knowing that we couldn't . . . be as close as we want to be.  We were still fighting  the pain together."

Buffy's voice went flat again.  "But then you left, and I had to fight it alone.  I guess I'm just not as strong as you are, Angel.  I don't want to fight anymore.  I can't."

"Buffy, it's been two years since I left."  Angel ran a distracted hand through his hair.  His emotions were in greater turmoil than ever.  "All that time you've been coping, no matter how hard it might have been.  What happened to change that all of a sudden?"

She was silent for so long that Angel glanced down in alarm.  Finally she whispered, "Riley asked me to marry him."

Why this should come as such a shock, Angel couldn't say.  It took a few seconds before he had his voice under control.  Ignoring the sudden clenching of his stomach, he asked, "What did you tell him?"

He felt Buffy stir.  "I took the easy way out – the coward's way.  I told him I had to think it over."  The contempt in her voice – contempt for herself – snapped Angel to attention.   "For over a year I've lied to Riley and led him on.  For over a year I've let a good, decent man fall deeper in love with me, knowing that I didn't return the feeling, that I couldn't return it.  But I didn't tell him that.  No, I let him think that I loved him, even though I never actually said the words.  I deceived him, Angel, for a whole year."  Slow tears wet her cheeks.  "And now he wants to spend the rest of his life with me."

It was Angel's turn to be silent while he thought harder and faster than he'd ever done in his existence.  Finally he shook his head and with certainty said, "No."

"No what?"  Buffy asked dully.

"No," repeated Angel.  "It didn't happen that way."

Buffy moved back, looking at him.  "What do you mean?  You think I'm lying?"

Angel shook his head.  "No, I think you believe what you're saying.  But I know you, Buffy, and you would never deliberately lie to Riley.  You've never done that in your life. "

Buffy looked away.  "People can change."

"You haven't ," he stated flatly.  "Not that much.  I'd know if you had.  Buffy, maybe you weren't completely honest with Riley, but the person you've really deceived is yourself.  You wanted to love Riley."

Buffy started to speak, but he put his finger on her lips.  "You wanted to love Riley," he repeated.  "As you said, he's a good, decent person, and you liked him.  You still like him.  You - you were lonely and hurting and he made the pain go away - "

"Only some of it," she whispered, making Angel's own heart ache.

He continued, " - and you made yourself believe that what you felt for him was love.  You managed to keep believing it, until Riley asked you to marry him.  It was the idea of making that kind of commitment that shocked you into realizing you don't really love him.  I'm guessing that he proposed only a short time before your accident?"

"The day before."  

Angel nodded; it all made sense now.  But Buffy went on, her eyes filling with tears.  "I tried to love him.  I really did."

"I know you did," Angel gently told her.  "Buffy, love can't be forced.  Stop beating yourself up for something you couldn't help.  Stop hiding from an honest mistake.  Come back to Sunnydale.  Face the music . . . face Riley and tell him the truth.  Or are you really too much of a coward to do that?"

If he had need of breath, Angel would have held it at this point.  After several long minutes during which Buffy stared into space, silent and unmoving, she pulled away from him.

"You're right," she said in a flat monotone.  "I have to go back; I owe Riley that much at least."

"Yes," Angel agreed softly.  "You do."  Just as he knew there was something he had to do, something he'd been uncertain about until now.

"So how do we go about it?  Getting back, I mean."  Her voice was still devoid of expression, and she avoided his gaze.  

"Buffy."  Still she refused to look at him, but Angel barged ahead anyway.  If he didn't tell her now, his new-found courage would desert him.  So he took a deep breath and plunged in.  "There's a prophecy that sometime, after the End of Days, if I survive, I'll be rewarded by becoming human."

That snapped her head around.  "Human?"  He nodded, and she stared at him.  "And you didn't think I deserved to know this?  You weren't even going to tell me?"  Guilt flooded him at the hurt look on her face.  He reached for her, but she drew back.  His arms fell back to his sides.

"I thought you were happy with Riley," Angel quietly told her.  "And we don't know how many years it might be until this happens.  If it happens.  It could be decades, Buffy.  How could I disrupt your life over something that might never be?"  He hesitated.  "Besides, I didn't know if - "

"If I would even care," Buffy finished for him.  "If it still mattered to me."

Angel nodded.  "I thought you had made a new life with Riley," he repeated.  After a second Buffy also nodded, reluctantly.  "I guess I understand," she whispered.  "But it still hurts."

"I'm sorry.  I didn't know how things really were."

"Well.  Now you do."  She started to get up, but fell back onto the grass with a startled look.

"Buffy?"  Angel frowned in concern.  Buffy gave a shaky little laugh.  "Sorry.  I don't know what happened.  I felt – I don't know – dizzy or something."

Angel stood.  "Let me give you a hand."

Buffy reached up and Angel clasped her hand.  It was cold.  His glance flew to her face, which was pale.  He pulled, and it took more of his strength than he was happy about to get her standing, for she was able to help hardly at all.

"Angel, what's happening?"  She swayed, clutching at his coat lapels to keep upright.  "Why am I so weak?"

"We have to get back," he said urgently.  "Right now."

"Why?  What's going on – "  Her voice failed.  Her knees buckled.  Angel grabbed for her, but she was dead weight and he staggered.  "Buffy!"

Gently he lowered her to the ground, kneeling beside her.  Her eyes were closed.  He laid his head against her chest and listened.  Several long seconds dragged by before he heard the alarmingly faint thub-dub of her heart.  He knew what it meant:  back in Sunnydale her body, separated for too long from her soul, was giving up its laborious struggle for life.  Buffy was dying.

"No!"  He pulled Buffy into his arms, tangling his hands in her long golden hair.  Her eyelids fluttered, only half-conscious.  "Stay with me, Buffy.  Don't you dare give up now!  I won't let you!"

Deliberately Angel kissed her lips – as deliberately as she had kissed his fanged, vampiric mouth years ago at the ice rink, after fighting the Tarakan assassin sent to kill her.  There was no response, but he persisted, kissing her softly and whispering her name.  After a few moments her body twitched a little.  Then she drew in a long, shaky breath, and Angel felt the pulse of her life force return.

"Don't leave me, Buffy," he whispered.  "I love you; I've never loved anyone but you.  I need you."  He stretched out on the ground, holding her, and rained kisses on her face and neck.  She gave a deep, shuddering sigh.

"Hold me," was all she said.  "When we get back we won't be able to do this, so hold me now, as long as you can."  Angel held her, tightly, as her thin arms strained to embrace him and she pressed herself against him.  They stayed like that, moving only to exchange tender kisses that slowly grew more passionate.

Suddenly, without warning, Angel felt himself being pulled away from Buffy by a force that reminded him of Acathla's vortex, so powerful was it and so helpless was he to resist.  "No!" he tried to yell, but the word strangled, unvoiced, in his throat.  There was several moments of extreme disorientation, then the world grew steady again.  Blinking dazedly, Angel lifted his head.

He was sitting beside Buffy's hospital bed, his hand still clasping hers.  His eyes flew to her face.  Her eyes were still closed, but her respirations seemed stronger than they had been earlier.  Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed it.  "Buffy?"

Her eyes moved beneath their closed lids, then the lids twitched.  Her head tossed on the pillow and she drew in a deep, ragged breath.  "Buffy, it's okay.  I'm here," Angel said encouragingly.  Leaning forward, he brushed strands of lank hair back from her face, then kissed her mouth.

A long sigh came from between her lips, then slowly Buffy opened her eyes.  It took almost a minute before she was able to focus on his face.  Her dry lips moved, but only a faint croak emerged.  She struggled to sit up.

"Here."  Angel poured some water into the plastic glass on the bedside table, then sat down next to Buffy and held the glass to her lips, supporting her against him while she drank thirstily.  "Not too fast."  He allowed her only a few swallows before replacing the cup on the table.

Buffy moistened her lips, swallowed a couple of times, and tried again.  This time her voice made it through, although it sounded rusty.  Not surprising, Angel mused, since she hasn't used it in two weeks.

"Testing one-two-three," she rasped.

He smiled at her, so relieved that tears sprang to his eyes.  "Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty."

Her lips moved in a slight answering smile.  "Did you wake me with a kiss?"  She moistened her lips again and swallowed, then made a face.  "Uck.  Actually, I kind of hope you didn't.  I don't suppose there's a bottle of Scope handy, is there?  The inside of my mouth tastes like a litter box."  Her voice sounded better, less like a creaky gate and more like herself.

"Does it?"  He tilted her face up, and then he echoed words from their past.  "I didn't even notice."  Deliberately he bent down and kissed her again.  A voice inside his mind was warning him that this wasn't smart, that it would only cause more problems, but Angel ignored it.  He knew their time together was limited, and knew that Buffy knew it too.  By God, he was going to make the most of it, within the limits of his soul's safety.

Her lips were soft and warm, but she kept them closed (no doubt because of her admittedly rank breath).  Even so, his kiss was willingly returned; with eagerness, even.  As much eagerness as she was capable of, anyway; she was very weak.

Angel placed another soft kiss on her mouth.  "Sleep now," he murmured. "You'll feel stronger after you've had a good night's, I mean day's, rest."

Buffy ignored his little sally.  "Will you still be here when I wake up?" she whispered, looking at him with shadowed eyes.

Angel hesitated.  Reason told him he should return to L.A., but love pleaded with him to stay.  Love, and his own wishes.  "I'll come back this evening," he finally said.  "After the sun goes down."

Her eyes brightened, but Angel's attention was caught by the motion of her door opening, slowly, almost stealthily.  He tensed, releasing Buffy and readying himself for action.  Sunnydale's demonic residents could only be delighted at the Slayer's incapacitation.  It was a mystery to him why none of them had yet tried to make her condition more permanent - as in dead.  Maybe this was that attempt.

A head peered around the door, and Angel relaxed.  It was Joyce.  Her eyes widened at the sight of Buffy sitting up in the bed.  "Buffy?"

Buffy smiled weakly.  "Hi, Mom."

Joyce hurried into the room and sat on the other side of the bed.  She took Buffy's hand.  "Oh, honey, thank God you're back."  Then she turned her head.  "And thank you, Angel.  You're the one who did it.  You brought her back to us."  Tears swam in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks.

Embarrassed by her gratitude, Angel only shook his head.  He searched for something to say.  "I didn't do it for you" didn't seem quite the appropriate response.  Before he found any words, Buffy spoke.  "Where's Riley?"

In the act of wiping her cheeks, Joyce stopped.  Her eyes flashed to Angel, then back to Buffy.  "We, uh, sent him home to get some rest.  Not his home - he's sleeping in our guest room."  She sounded uncertain, and  gave Angel a matching glance.

"What did you give him to make him sleep?  How strong was it?"

Angel realized Buffy was trying to estimate how long Riley would sleep, and smiled to himself.  It was a sad smile, though, recognizing that even as weak as she was, Buffy's stern conscience was pushing her to "face the music" with Riley as soon as possible, and that wouldn't be an easy scene to go through.  Not at all.

Joyce blinked, taken aback that Buffy knew about the sedative.  "I don't know.  It was something Rupert had.  He, uh, said it was strong enough to knock a horse out, so it ought to work on a thick-headed soldier."

"Especially one who was already exhausted."  Buffy's pale lips moved in a faint smile.  "So Riley probably won't come barging in til later this morning?"

Barging in?  Angel looked at her curiously.  Joyce shook her head.  "Rupert said he'd be astonished if Riley shook off the effects before ten or eleven o'clock."

"Good."  Buffy yawned.  "So, Angel, you can stay with me for a while."  She yawned again.  Caught by surprise, Angel hesitated.  He looked at the clock on the wall.  It was ten to two.

"The sun won't be up for hours yet," mumbled Buffy.  "You're not in any danger."  Turning on her side again, she slid down in the bed, nestled against him, and was asleep in about two seconds flat.

He stroked her hair, thinking vaguely how horrified she'd be when she was awake enough to be aware of its neglected condition, not to mention the huge bare patch on the left side of her head, and looked at Joyce.  What was her reaction to Buffy's . . . request?

Joyce smiled and gave a little shrug.  She stood.  "I'm going to tell everyone the good news.  Angel, I'll come back at six to relieve you, if that's all right?"

Angel smiled gratefully in return.  "Thank you.  Yes, that'll be fine.  I can spend the day at the mansion and come back here after sunset."  

Joyce walked to the door, then paused.  "Angel."  He looked up from his contemplation of Buffy.  "What's going to happen now?"  Her gaze was gentle, and worried.

He knew what she meant.  What kind of relationship would he and Buffy have?  How much more complicated would her daughter's already complex life become?  How much more stress and heartache would be added?  Angel could only shake his head.  "I wish I knew the answer to that," he said quietly.  "I only know that things won't be the same.  They can't be."

She regarded him for a long moment, then sighed and nodded her head.  Casting one more look at her sleeping daughter, she said, "See you at six," and vanished out the door.

Angel settled himself more comfortably beside Buffy, moving carefully even though he was pretty sure it would take an explosion to wake her now.  Wryly he hoped that the End of Days wouldn't occur any time soon.

He'd intended to spend this time while Buffy slept thinking over their situation - brooding, Cordelia would call it - and hopefully coming up with possible solutions.  But not long into his deliberations, to his surprise Angel found his own eyelids drooping.  Then he yawned.  It had been a long and stressful night for him too, especially since he no longer slept all day, every day.  Or what passed for sleep with vampires.

Since opening Angel Investigations he perforce stayed up later in the mornings, and more often than not rose before sunset.  There was research to be done, clients to meet with, witnesses to question, sites to be investigated.  Sometimes these could only be accomplished during daylight hours, and Cordelia and Wesley couldn't do everything, so slowly Angel's sleep habits had altered to accommodate the needs of his business.  Now he "slept" whenever he could fit it in.

Or, as now, when his body demanded it.  Vampires had exceptional powers, but even they needed to rest eventually.  I'll just close my eyes for a while, Angel told himself.  Besides, even if he did drop off Joyce would wake him before dawn.  Within a few minutes he lay in the trance that was the vampire equivalent of sleep.

He was walking with Buffy, in one of the many cemeteries they'd patrolled together for two years.  Something, however, was different: The sun was shining directly on them, and he hadn't burst into flame.

"I can't get used to it," he told Buffy, his head raised to look at the blue sky.  "It still feels like a dream that I'm going to wake up from."

She smiled indulgently.  "It's not a dream, Angel.  It's real.  I'd think that would have sunk in by now.  I mean, it's been two months since your shanshu prophecy came true."

Basking in the sun's warmth, he laughed out loud with sheer delight.  Two months that he'd been human.  Two months of uncursed, ensouled humanity, which he and Buffy had taken complete advantage of by going away on their first vacation together.  It had actually been only for two weeks and they hadn't gone far, just to Acapulco, but they'd stayed at a luxury hotel where they could sit in the bar, under a canopy to protect Angel's delicate skin, and sip tall, cool drinks while looking out over the ocean.

Two months during which they'd made love so often that the quart jar Buffy had insisted they drop a penny into every time they "did it" was filled almost to the brim with copper coins.  Two months in which to discover that their love wasn't dependent on them being Vampire Warrior and Slayer; that being just Angel and Buffy worked just fine.  Although, of course, Buffy was still the Slayer.  Nothing would change that but her death, and he was determined that event would be many, many years in the future.  He'd begun training, both with Giles and with Buffy, to get himself in the best physical condition possible so he could help her, as he'd always done.

Suddenly the sky darkened.  "What the - ?"  They gazed upward.  Huge black clouds had appeared out of nowhere, blocking the sunlight.  Suddenly Angel felt a hand on his shoulder, yanking him away from Buffy -

The floor came up and hit him.  Dazed and disoriented at being jerked from a sound sleep, he didn't resist as someone pulled him to his feet and sent him crashing into the wall.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!"

Blinking, he looked into the enraged face of Riley Finn.  Riley's lips were drawn back in a snarl, exposing his clenched teeth, and contempt blazed from his bloodshot eyes.  Angel's sweater was bunched in his fists, and with each sentence he banged the vampire against the wall.

"You just couldn't resist it, could you?  Couldn't resist coming here and forcing yourself on her!  You just had to get your foul hands on her!  Knowing that she's unconscious, that she wouldn't be able to tell you to get lost!"

____________________________________________________________________

PART FIVE

"Riley, stop!  What are you doing?"

Riley's head whipped around, his eyes huge with shock.  "Buffy?"  His hands loosened their hold on Angel's sweater, and the vampire took the opportunity to slip out of his grasp.  Riley paid no attention; all his attention was focused on the figure sitting up in the bed.  "Oh, my God.  Buffy.  You're awake!"

He started toward her, stumbling a little and almost falling onto the bed.   He gave a little laugh.  "Sorry.  I'm still a little groggy; I can't seem to wake up.  God, Buffy . . . I can't believe it!"  

Riley sat down next to her and gathered her up in an embrace.  "I mean, I do believe it, I kept telling everyone that you'd wake up and you'd be all right, and . . . you are!"  

He released her, cupping her face lovingly.  "You're here.  You're awake and alive and conscious and you're fine, and, and God, I'm really babbling, aren't I?  I can't help it, I'm so glad to see you.  Oh, Buffy!  Thank God.  Thank God."  Tears of joy streamed down his face, and he hugged her again.

Angel winced.  Buffy's eyes met his over Riley's shoulder, silently asking him to leave.  Fighting an irrational surge of jealousy, he nodded.  It was unlikely that Buffy would take this moment to tell Riley they were through, not after this highly emotional display, but even so she didn't need him lurking around right now.  He took a step toward the door.  Just then there came a tap upon it, followed by Giles' diffident voice.

"Angel, it's six o'clock."  The door opened and Giles peeked around the corner.  "Joyce asked me to make sure you -" His smile vanished as he caught sight of Riley.  "Riley!  What, what are you doing here?  I mean, uh, I thought you'd still be sleeping.  At the house."  He cast a quick glance at Angel, who shrugged resignedly.

Riley released Buffy, turning to face Giles.  "I was, but I woke up and was worried about Buffy, so I decided to come here.  Why didn't someone call and let me know Buffy was awake?"

"Well."  Giles cleared his throat, coming into the room.  "Well, it only happened a little while ago and I, we, knew how exhausted you were, so, er - "

"Shh, be quieter, Rupert.  We don't want to wake Buffy."  Joyce crowded past Giles and stopped cold.  "Riley!"  Her tone of voice exactly matched what Giles' had been.  Riley gave her a curious look as she stared in consternation from him to Angel and back again.

"Yes," Giles said, too-brightly.  "He woke up and came to check on Buffy."

"Oh!"  Joyce's voice, too, was bright.  "Well, that was good of you, Riley, but you really should have rested longer."

"Wakey, wakey, rise and shine, Angel o' mine!  It's time for all good little vampires to go back to their coffins."  It was Xander's bright and utterly annoying voice, followed a second later by the young man himself.  Angel groaned to himself.  Could this situation possibly get any worse?  

Xander took one look at the occupants of the room and rocked to a standstill.  "Ah.  Riley.  You're, uh, here.  And Angel.  You're here too.  Uh-huh.  Well, if anyone needs me I'll be in the lobby where it's safe.  Buffy, great to see you're not drooling onto your pillow anymore.  Toodles, everyone."  With that he vanished.

"All right, what's going on here?  Why is everyone acting so weird?"  Riley got to his feet, looking both puzzled and grim.  "First I walk in and find him lying on the bed with my fiancee, touching her with his filthy hands."  He shot a furious look at Angel, who glared back.

"No one was doing anything except sleeping," he reassured a startled Giles and Joyce.  "I fell asleep, that's all."

"That wasn't all."  Riley flushed angrily.  His hands clenched.  "I saw you.  You were draped over her like - like - "

"Like he'd been holding me and had fallen asleep," Buffy cut in.  "That's all it was, Riley."

"How would you know?" Riley shot back.  "You were asleep!"

Buffy sat up, folding her legs under her.  Already, with only a few hours' rest, she looked stronger.  "Because I know Angel.  And let's get something straight, Riley.  I am not your fiancee."

Riley's flush subsided.  "What?"

"I never said I would marry you.  That makes me not your fiancee."

Angel decided now was a good time to leave.  "I, uh, have to go now; the sun will be up soon."

Riley's arm shot out and grabbed Angel as he passed by, spinning him around.  "Hold up."  He sounded grim.  "Why are you here at all, Angel?  You have no right to be here."

That was too much.  Metaphorical hackles rising, Angel stared directly into his face.  "I love her.  That gives me the right."

Riley's eyes flashed, but before he could reply, Joyce said, "Angel is here because I called and asked him to come."  Riley stared at her incredulously.  "What?  Why would you do that?"

Joyce hesitated.   "Because Buffy asked for him.  Yesterday, when she was still in the coma, she said his name."

Still Riley stared.  "So because she was having a nightmare about her ex-boyfriend and said his name when she wasn't even conscious, you asked him to come see her in the hospital?"

Giles stepped forward.  "It's because she was unconscious at the time that we did it."

" ‘We'?"  Riley's glance went from Giles back to Joyce.  He swayed, giving his head a little shake, obviously still under the influence of whatever sedative he'd been given.

"It was my decision," said Joyce.  "But I agreed with it," Giles said firmly.

"So you sneaked him into her room behind my back when I finally collapsed from exhaustion."  Riley stopped suddenly.  "No.  No, it couldn't be."  His now-suspicious gaze again traveled between Joyce and Giles.  "Tell me you didn't put something in my coffee to make me sleep."

Giles immediately looked guilty and began to fidget with his glasses.  "Well . . . er . . . yes.  I'm afraid we did.  It was just a sleeping pill, that's all."

Riley's eyes flashed.  "So that's why I'm so groggy right now."  

"Yes," admitted Giles.  "By rights you should have slept until at least ten o'clock, by which time you would have been rested, Angel would have been gone, and - " He made a comprehensive sweeping gesture with his hand - "none of this would have happened.  You would never even have known that he was here."

"Yes, he would," came Buffy's voice.  "Because I would have told him."

Riley turned to her gratefully.  "Thank you.  It's good to know that one person at least wasn't planning to lie to me."

Angel saw Buffy flinch and sent her a sympathetic look.  Then he glanced at the window, knowing it would confirm what his vampiric senses were screaming at him.  The area around the edges of the blinds was no longer dark but a pearly gray.  It was almost dawn.

Giles noticed it too.  "Angel, you better go now, before the sun comes up."

Angel hesitated, torn between wanting to stay because of Riley's unstable emotional state and knowing that his presence only made matters worse.

"Please, Angel," Buffy said.  "It's okay."

Still he hesitated.  Buffy, although stronger now, was still weak.  Weaker than normal, anyway.   "Are you sure you'll be all right?"  He glanced at Riley, who glared.

She smiled at him.  "I'll be fine.  Now go."  Her eyes relayed a silent reminder of his promise to return that evening, and he gave her a reassuring nod.  "All right."  Nodding to Joyce and Giles, he glanced again at Buffy, ignoring Riley, and walked out of the room.

"What was all that about?" Riley demanded as soon as the door swung shut behind the retreating vampire.  "Why wouldn't you be all right?  What did he think I was going to do, beat you up or something?"

"Riley," Buffy tried to soothe him.  "Angel didn't mean anything; it was just . . . the male in him coming out."

Riley looked at her, then a reluctant smile twitched at his lips.  "Somehow that doesn't make me feel better about it.  Besides - " He paused.

Buffy's right eyebrow rose.  "Yes?"`

"Well, I was going to say that he had no business feeling male around you, but then I decided that might not be very smart."  He walked over to the wall and leaned against it.

"Good decision," she murmured.  Her eyebrow descended to its usual position.

The tension in the room began to dissipate.  Joyce breathed an unconscious sigh of relief; Giles visibly relaxed.  Someone tapped on the door and he opened it a few inches.

"Willow?  What are you doing here at this hour?"

"Giles?  I didn't expect to see you here," came Willow's voice.  "I just came to see if Angel was still here and, and if he'd had any luck."  Her voice faltered.  "Did he?  Did it work?"

"You know," Giles interrupted hastily, "I could really use a cup of coffee.  Why don't we go to the cafeteria together and get one?"  With a brittle smile over his shoulder at Buffy, he slid through the barely open door and closed it firmly behind him, but Willow's voice came through anyway.

"What's wrong?  Is she still in the coma?  Couldn't Angel bring her back?  Ow!"  Then there was only the sound of footsteps hurrying away, leaving the three left in the hospital room looking at each other in silence.  That is, Joyce (after one swift glance at Riley) looked at nothing in particular, and Riley looked at Buffy.  

Buffy closed her eyes.  Damn.  Why did this have to happen now?  She wasn't ready for it.  She opened her eyes again, straight into Riley's gaze.  He looked as if someone had punched him.

"So that's why Angel was here.  To reach you when we couldn't.  When I couldn't.  And he did it.  He called you back."

Joyce slipped quietly out of the room.  Buffy couldn't look away from the honest eyes that normally revealed only love and kindness, but now held deepening realization and naked, rapidly growing pain.  Her heart twisting, she reached out her hand.  "Riley - "

"No."  He moved away from her touch, sliding off the bed, and stood facing her.  "Don't.  Not any more.  I've been a complete fool, haven't I?  All this time I thought you loved me.  I thought I'd made you forget him, but - "

Now Buffy interrupted, although as gently as she could.  "Riley, I've never told you that I loved you."

Riley stared at her without speaking for a long moment.  Finally he looked away.  "No, you never did.  I should have known from that.  You can live a lie but you can't tell one."  

Buffy flinched, feeling like he'd slapped her.  Almost immediately Riley said, "I'm sorry.  That wasn't fair.  I know you didn't purposely deceive me."

In a low voice Buffy said, "I tried to love you; I really did.  I like you so much, Riley.  You're fun to be with, and sexy, and nice.  I honestly thought I loved you.  I wanted to love you."  Her eyes filled.

"But you couldn't," he said in a flat voice.

"No," she whispered.  "Not the way you want me to."

"Not the way you love him," Riley finished.  "Angel.  It's always been Angel, hasn't it?  All this time."  He didn't wait for a response, but walked over to the door and opened it.

"Goodbye, Buffy.  I hope things work out for you," he said heavily.

"Riley - "

He was gone.  Buffy stared at the door until her tears obscured it from sight.

<><><><><><><><><>

Angel watched from the shelter of the parking garage overhang.  Several people had come out of the main building, but none of them was the one he was currently endangering himself for.  He was certain the young man would show up before long, though.

So why am I standing out here, inches away from being fried by the sun, waiting to talk to a man who might hate me now, instead of just being jealous of me?  Not a logical thing to do.  So why am I doing it?

He knew the answer.  It was because he had to let Riley Finn know that Buffy would be in good hands, even if they were his.  If Buffy had told him, that is.  Just then Riley emerged from the double glass doors.  One look at his face told Angel that he knew the truth, and reluctant compassion filled him for the pain the young man was enduring.  He knew what it was to feel as if your heart had been ripped from your body.  As he'd hoped, Riley's path brought him within hearing distance.  "Finn."

Riley stopped, looking around.  Angel stepped out of the shadows, careful to remain beneath the overhang.  Riley's face tightened; his hands clenched.  "What do you want?"

"I do love her, you know," Angel told him quietly.  "I always have and I always will."

Riley moved closer and looked him calmly in the eye, although his hurt and grief and anger were plain to see.  And, yes, there was even more than a touch of resentment.  "I guess you do.  But frankly, right now all I want to do is drag you out into this nice bright sunlight and watch you go up in smoke.  How can you possibly make her happy?  You can't even make love to her."

"I don't know," Angel returned, still quietly but with a sudden edge.  "But it didn't work out too well when we were apart, now did it?"

Bitterness spasmed over Riley's features.  "Touche."  Without another word he turned and walked away, still composed, still suffering.  

Damn!  Angel looked after him with regret, cursing himself for losing his temper.  It didn't matter that he knew Riley Finn was a thoroughly decent young man who loved Buffy probably as much as he did.  Let him get within ten feet of the guy, or talk directly to him, and something inside seemed to snap.

"Way to hit a guy when he's down and damn near out," came a voice from beside him.  It was Xander, who somehow had come up without Angel hearing him.  "Why didn't you beat on your chest and do a victory dance while you were at it?  Because, you know, I'm not sure Riley's feeling bad enough yet."  He stared at Angel, his brown eyes accusing.

Angel controlled the irritation Xander always seemed to evoke.  "That isn't what I intended to - " He stopped and started over.  "I wasn't trying to make him feel worse.  I know he loves Buffy and I thought he would like to know that I wouldn't walk out on her again."

"Yeah, ‘cause he so wants to hear that right now," came Xander's dry response.  "Angel, Riley's just found out that the woman he loves never really loved him at all, and worse, she never stopped loving her ex-boyfriend, who just happens to be an undead creature of the night like the kind they normally killed together.  Do you really think anything you can say is going to make that better?"

"No," Angel admitted, then sighed.  "I should have known better.  Pretty much the same thing happened the last time we met."

"It did?"  To Angel's surprise Xander didn't seem to know about his confrontation the year before with Riley.  And Buffy.

"I see one more display of testosterone poisoning and I will personally put you both in the hospital!"

Buffy's words ran through Angel's mind, prompting a wry grin.  It was true.  One look at Riley Finn and instinct surged to the fore, overpowering any puny little emotions like compassion or understanding that lay in its path.  Unfortunately for Angel's peace of mind, however, not all of that instinct could be blamed on the demon residing within.  A good portion of it was born and bred in the bone through generations of proud, possessive males.  This man had dared to touch his woman (never mind that he himself had walked away from her because he thought she was better off without him) and for that he should pay.

Angel shook his head in disgust.  Stop it, Angel.  You're not in the eighteenth century anymore.  You're not even in the *twentieth* century!  Besides, you know you're not going to harm Riley Finn.  For one thing, Buffy would probably beat you to a pulp if you did.  For another, you don't *want* to hurt him.  Not really.  Well, not very much, at least.  And nothing permanent.

"Xander!"  A young woman about Buffy's age was almost running toward them across the parking lot.

"Who's that?" Angel asked.

"That's Tara," said Xander, frowning.  "Willow's girlfriend."  The young woman stopped in front of him, breathing heavily.  "What's up, Tara?  Is anything wrong?"

Instead of replying, Tara looked at Angel.  "Y-you're Angel."  Angel acknowledged his identity.  There was something about this young woman - something different - but he couldn't put his finger on it.  She wasn't especially pretty, yet her face was one that would stay in your mind; the eyes in particular.  Something appealing and shy and vulnerable looked through those eyes.

‘N-nice to finally m-meet you," she said, offering him her hand.  A bit surprised at the gesture - most folks weren't that anxious to get touchy-feely with a vampire - Angel took it.  He intended only a quick shake, but got another surprise: Tara put her other hand on top of his, sandwiching it between her own, staring him in the eyes all the while as though trying to read his mind.  Or his soul.

Finally she gave a tiny, almost imperceptible, nod and released him.  "Willow was right."

Angel blinked.  "She was?" he couldn't resist asking.  "About what exactly?"

"That you're a good person trying to make the best of a terrible situation."

Angel couldn't think of a reply to that.  While he was trying to come up with one, Xander broke in.  "Tara, you didn't answer my question.  Is something the matter?"

"Oh, s-sorry."  She gave him a deprecating smile.  "No.  I was just w-wondering where Willow is.  There's, uh, s-something I need to talk to her about."

"Oh.  Well, last time I saw her she was in the cafeteria with Giles," Xander offered.

"Thanks."  The young woman hesitated.  "Um, X-xander, why don't you join us there, when y-you're through talking to Angel?  We, uh, can f-finish making our plans."

‘Plans?"  Xander looked blank.  Tara sent him a look.  "Yes," she said firmly.  "Our p-plans.  You know the ones."

Xander stared at her, and Tara frowned at him, a frown Angel recalled seeing many times on Willow's face when the young man was being particularly obtuse about something.  He wondered what Xander had forgotten about this time.

‘Oh!" Xander said, brightly.  "Yes.  Our plans.  For the . . . thing that we're planning . . . together."  It was obvious that he still hadn't a clue what she was talking about.  Angel raised an eyebrow, hoping it wasn't anything very important.  "I have to go," he told them.  "It's past my bedtime."  He cast a glance at the sky.

"Yeah, you could get a nasty sunburn if you're not careful," Xander put in.  Tara said, "Y-you'll be back this evening, won't you?"  Her tone was anxious, and Angel looked at her curiously as he told her he would.  

"G-good!"  She smiled broadly.  "S-see you then, Angel."  She was obviously waiting for Angel to leave, so he pulled his coat over his head and ran like hell for his car.

"Good," Tara sighed.  "He's gone.  N-now I can tell you."

"Tell me what?" Xander demanded. Tara shook her head.  "N-not here.  Let's find W-willow first."

Willow was still in the cafeteria, as was Giles.  "How could I be so stupid?" she groaned as Tara and Xander came up to the table.

"Willow, you didn't know he was there," Giles said comfortingly but with an air of having just repeated himself for the umpteenth time.  He looked up.  "Hello."

Concerned, Tara immediately went over to Willow.  She put an arm around her lover's shoulders.  "What's wrong?"  

Willow groaned again.  "Oh, nothing much.  I merely informed Riley that Angel had brought Buffy back from the land of the wanting-to-be-dead, that's all."

"Riley w-was here?" asked Tara.  "I thought y-you guys knocked him out."

Giles sighed.  "It appears that his worry over Buffy prevented the sleeping pill from working the way it should have.  He woke up and decided to come back here.  Angel was still in with Buffy, and they were sleeping together."

"What?" exclaimed Xander.

Giles quickly corrected himself.  "I mean they were asleep in the same bed, not - anything else.  Riley walked in on them."

"Oh no," Tara sighed.

"Unfortunately it's 'oh, yes,' " returned Giles drily.  "Then Joyce and I came in to warn Angel of the sunrise in case he had fallen asleep.  Things were a little tense.  But then Angel left and Riley was starting to calm down when Willow - "  He broke off.

Willow continued, dejectedly.  "When I popped up and announced how grateful I was that Angel had been able to bring Buffy back.  And I was hoping Riley would never have to find that out.  I've ruined everything."  Her forehead hit the table with a thump.

"You've done nothing of the sort," Giles told her firmly, as Tara placed a comforting hand on Willow's hair.   "Riley would have found out before long."

Willow looked up.  After a moment she said, slowly, "You mean Buffy would have told him anyway?"

Giles nodded.  "Buffy wouldn't deceive Riley once she realized the truth."

"That sh-she doesn't love him, and she still l-loves Angel," put in Tara.  "No, Buffy's too honest to go on l-living a lie, once she r-recognized it was a lie, anyway."

"You're absolutely right," Giles said, with some surprise.  "Although I think she might have postponed it until she was feeling a bit stronger.  Willow, all you did was make the inevitable happen sooner than it might have otherwise."  Willow didn't look consoled.  

"Willow, I n-need to talk to you," Tara blurted out.  "And you, Giles.  I think I've found out s-something, but I w-want you to double-check it for me."

"Sure."  "Of course."  The two voices came simultaneously.  Xander pulled up a chair and parked himself on it with an expectant air.  

Tara sat down at the table and pulled a couple of papers from the canvas bag slung over one shoulder.  "L-last n-night I asked a f-friend of mine to translate the curse Willow used to bring Angel's soul back."  

"Why?" Xander asked.  "It worked.  What else do you need to know?"

Tara cleared her throat and looked at them nervously.  As always when she was apprehensive, her stammer grew worse.  "M-my f-friend is an e-expert on Romany c-culture and the occult, and she s-said she'd never h-heard of a happiness l-loophole in the S-soul Curse like the one Angel h-has.  Th-that's why I a-asked her to take a l-look at it and t-translate it for me."

"She knew about the curse itself, though?" asked Giles, interested.

Tara nodded.  "She s-said it's a very old curse, that's only been cast a f-few times in the entire history of the R-romany."

Giles looked extremely interested now.  "Indeed.  I had no idea.  Er, please go on, Tara."

"Anyw-way, what Karla - my friend - said made me w-wonder if maybe the curse that was originally used on Angel - I mean Angelus - wasn't the traditional one."  Tara was more at ease, the stammer less obvious.  "So l-last night I e-mailed her the one that Willow found on M-miss Calendar's diskette."

"And?  What did she say?" Willow prompted her.

Tara took a deep breath.  "The c-curse I sent her *is* the traditional Romany Soul Summoning Curse."

Giles shot straight up in his chair.  Xander looked blank.  "What are you saying?" Willow asked, slowly, her eyes huge with disbelief.  "Tara, do you mean that the curse I did to bring Angel's soul back - "

"H-had no anti-happiness clause."  Tara handed her the papers.  "H-here's the original printout of the one that M-miss Calendar had on her disk, and here's my friend's translation.  S-see if I'm wrong.  If we're wrong."

Giles and Willow bent over the printouts together, starting with the translation.  After a minute they looked at each other, then at the others.

"The translation certainly contains no mention of a moment of true happiness," Giles admitted, sounding stunned.  "Not even a hint.  And the curse itself appears to be quite straightforward.  It calls the soul back to the body as punishment for sins committed by the person while still alive, so that the person can endure further retribution.  Also, it sets a time limit of - "  He looked at the paper as though he didn't trust his memory.  "Yes, of one month."

"One month!" Xander exclaimed.  "But - Angel's had it for more than a hundred years!"

"Yes."  Giles looked thoughtful.  "I imagine that one month is the point at which death can no longer be held off."  He glanced at a confused Xander.  "This is not a nice curse, Xander, even as curses go.  I would guess that it was used only for the most heinous of crimes.  Basically it calls a guilty soul back into a body which has already died.  The natural processes associated with death are slowed when the soul returns, but they're not stopped, merely delayed."

Xander looked sick.  "You mean they'd still decay . . . and they'd be there?  In the body?"  At Giles' nod he looked even greener.  "Excuse me while I puke."

"And Angel, the real Angel with the soul, wasn't alive when the sins were committed," Willow said.  She too looked stunned, and slightly sick.  "It was the demon who was the bad guy, not the real Angel.  I - I never thought about it before.  Giles, this curse should never have been used on a vampire.  It's completely unfair, because it punishes the wrong person."

"If this translation is accurate," Giles said slowly, "I don't believe it was ever intended to be used on vampires, although one could argue that the demon is being punished by not being allowed to act on its evil nature.  However, it would appear that the curse laid on Angel - Angelus - was a, a viciously bastardized version of the traditional curse, one that the Kalderash tribe adapted to accomplish their desire for revenge.  But - I have no way of checking that the translation is accurate.  The original - "

He perused it.  "The original is a mixture of Latin, medieval Rumanian, and what I'm guessing is Romany.  I know Latin, but the others - "  Giles shook his head.  "Tara, I'm not doubting either your or your friend's honesty, but you must see that we can't take this at face value.  There's simply too much at stake.   I must know what her credentials are."

Tara nodded.  "S-sure.  Karla's the h-head of Eastern European Studies at Oxford."

"Karla?"  Giles opened his mouth and closed it again.  "Oxford?  Eastern European Studies?  You - surely you aren't referring to Karla Lowesky?"  His voice was faint.

"Uh, y-yes," Tara replied, her eyes widening.  "D-do you know Karla?"

Giles sat back in his chair.  "She's probably the greatest living expert today on Eastern European history and languages, not to mention its occult traditions.  Are you telling me that this translation was done by Karla Lowesky?"

Tara nodded.  "She's m-my godmother, s-sort of.  Unofficially."

"Good lord," Giles said faintly.  He set the two papers on the table.  "Well then, there's certainly no question in my mind that this translation is accurate.  The only question now is what to do with the information."

"We have to tell Buffy."  Willow had her Resolve Face on.  "And Angel."  Then she looked sick again.  "Do you realize what this means?  What I did to them?"  Groaning, she buried her face in her hands.

"They could have been together ever since Angel returned from hell," muttered Giles.  He took off his glasses and began polishing them with agitated swipes of his handkerchief.

"Almost three years ago," contributed Xander grimly.  

Tara glared at them both and put her arms around Willow.  "Willow, you didn't know.  No one did.  Probably Ms. Calendar didn't even know, and it was her clan that set the curse in the first place."

"Either that," Giles said thoughtfully, "or Jenny was trying to make amends for the injustice the Kalderash visited on Angel by doing away with the happiness clause.  Unfortunately, before she could tell anyone - "

He fell abruptly silent, then replaced his glasses.  "Well, I don't suppose we'll ever know.  Right now I'm concerned abut Buffy's state of mind.  She's still weak from the coma, and I'm sure she's upset about Riley.  News like this might be too much for her to handle at this time.  Perhaps we should wait a few days, just until she's stronger."

Willow uncovered her face.  "No," she said flatly.  "We have to tell her right now.  And Angel, as soon as we can."

"Giles," said Xander pointedly, "You know Buffy.  She'll find out how long we've known all this.  Do you really want to be the one who decided she shouldn't know as soon as we did?"

"Good point," Giles replied at once.  "Er, yes.  An excellent point, in fact.  Very well, I shall go up right now and let her know what we've discovered.  Er, what Tara discovered.  Good job, Tara, I must say.  Thank you."

Tara looked embarrassed.  "Y-you're welcome."

PART TWO

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