Xander woke up screaming.

Launching himself out of bed, he looked around wildly. Nothing. There was nothing there. The house was silent. Buffy was still on patrol; Dawn was sleeping over at Kit's house. He clicked on the bedside light to be sure. Empty room.

Gasping for breath, he sat down on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. Ever since Mexico, his nightmares had left him terrified. Most of them happened early in the night, at least early by Buffy patrol standards. They had agreed that he would go to bed "at a reasonable hour" and she would wake him up when she got back from dusting whatever there was to dust. That way, they had time together.

Together. He snorted. Be honest, Xander, he told himself. That way, they had time to have sex. Which had become just about the sum of their relationship. He got up early to get to the job site. She got up late for her carefully scheduled afternoon classes. He picked Dawn up from school and gave her dinner. She came home from class, changed into hunting gear, and went out on patrol. She'd wake him up around 2 a.m., they'd have sex, she'd go to sleep.

"This has got to change," he said. His hands were still shaking when he took them away from his face. If he was just able to patrol with her; but she wouldn't let him. She claimed he was too valuable to her, too precious.

"More like too fucking useless." His voice sounded loud in the empty room.

The nightmares were all the same. Xander gets attacked, Buffy fights bad thing, Buffy dies an excruciating slow and painful death in Xander's arms. The sad thing was, they could come true at any time. According to Giles, most Slayers didn't make their 20th birthdays. The oldest Slayer on record was 25, for God's sake. Buffy was 22 now. How much longer would he even have her?

If she was going to die, he couldn't be sitting in a bedroom with his head in his hands. He would be there with her.

Causing it.

Mexico had shown what a liability he was. He could still remember the smells of the Acapulco hospital where she had lain near death for two days, receiving transfusions. A vampire-free honeymoon, Giles had promised when he gave them the tickets at the bridal shower. He had researched it, it would be perfect.

Bullshit.

Half-tanked on margaritas, they had literally stumbled into a group of vamps attacking a bunch of teenage girls. Buffy had done amazing things with a few pieces of a broken mop.

Until one had grabbed Xander.

He ran his hand over the scars on his neck, where the vampire had fed on him. Hanging on to consciousness by a thread, he had called her name. And opened her up to being attacked from behind when she turned.

They had drained Buffy to the point of death.

And it was his fault.

It was no consolation to know that he had managed to dust the three remaining vamps himself, all while bleeding at the neck like a stuck pig. And that he got her to the hospital in time.

He twisted his gold wedding band around his finger.

Had he really thought this through? he wondered to himself for the millionth time since the wedding two months ago. He loved Buffy. Loved her so completely that his interest in other women's bodies had all but vanished. Even Anya hadn't been able to do that.

But was love enough? And what would happen when she died – permanently? How would he go on living? Knowing he would never again hold her, touch her, feel her hair against his shoulder, her body pressed to his….

He grinned wryly. Sitting here recovering from a nightmare that had driven him screaming out of bed, and just thinking about Buffy's body had given him a hard on.

"You may not be getting any younger, but I'm not sure you're getting any older, either," he told himself.

"I can't just sit here. Not any more." He got out of bed and pulled on the jeans he had dropped on the floor earlier in the evening, throwing a T-shirt on over his head. He stuffed his feet in his steel toed construction boots, the nearest thing at hand. Collecting some stakes, a cross, and a very large ax, he thudded down the stairs.

Buffy was patrolling the cemetery on the south side of town tonight. Only blocks away. He would walk. It might help clear his head.

He heard them before he saw them. Buffy's voice, laughing. Then another voice. A man's voice. Xander felt as if his legs had turned to lead, but he forced himself forward. Maybe it was just Giles. Maybe he had come to help.

But he knew that ripple in Buffy's voice. He knew it wasn't Giles who was bending over her, laughing with her, face inches from her face. It was him. It was Angel.