Title: Fleeting Ghosts

Author: Settiai

Disclaimer: "Buffy the Vampire Slayer," "Angel," and other related characters are all properties of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and other related corporations. No infringement is intended. This story, such as it is, was written as a sign of respect and love for the characters, the show, and their creator. I claim no ownership of the aforementioned show and characters.

Rating: PG

Summary: One night she met a ghost that wanted her to give him a future.

Feedback: Comments and helpful criticisms are always appreciated.

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"Do I know you from somewhere?"

As soon as the words left her mouth, a little voice in Buffy's head started screeching idiot, idiot, idiot over and over. "And that wasn't supposed to come out like some cheesy come-on," she quickly added.

The dark-haired man laughed, his eyes quickly moving over her. For just a second, something akin to excitement flashed in his eyes, but it disappeared so quickly that she wasn't even sure she had seen it in the first place. "It didn't come out like one," he assured her. "I'm Francis, by the way."

"Buffy," she replied, her eyes moving over his face. "And I was serious about my question. You… seem familiar."

He cocked his head and met her gaze. "I get that a lot," he said. He stared at her for a moment. "Are you seeing anyone?"

"Not at the moment," Buffy replied, startled, an uncertain expression on her face. "I had some… family troubles… that caused tension. He left."

"His loss," Francis replied, grinning. "Mind if I buy you dinner?"

Buffy was so surprised that she couldn't do anything but nod.

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Buffy curled up against Francis, relaxing against the warmth of his bare skin. "You must think I'm some sort of slut," she said tiredly, "hopping into bed with someone I just met."

"I just think that you needed some companionship," Francis replied gently. "Just like I did."

For several minutes, neither of them said a word. Buffy's eyes began to drift closed, and she was halfway toward falling asleep when Francis spoke again.

"Would you believe me if I told you I'm almost dead?" he whispered. "That I'm caught between dimensions, split between this life and… whatever comes next?"

Buffy snorted as she settled back against his chest. "Uh-huh," she muttered sleepily, "and I'm the queen of England. You don't feel like a ghost to me."

"What if I said I were only here for one night?" he pressed on. "What if I told that I was supposed to convince someone that I was real so that they'd help me get back to this world?"

"I'd say that that bottle of wine we had earlier went straight to you head," Buffy shot back, her words slurred slightly with sleep.

Francis paused for a moment, his hand resting on her cheek. "Do you remember meeting someone named Doyle last year, when you were in Los Angeles?

"Doyle?" she mumbled, barely awake. "Angel's friend?"

Francis let out a soft chuckle as he ran his hand through her hair. "Yeah," he replied gently. "Angel's friend."

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Buffy reluctantly opened her eyes, and she let out a sigh of disappointment when she saw the empty space on the bed beside her. "They're never here in the morning," she whispered, pulling herself up into a sitting position.

As soon as she did, however, she felt her jaw drop. A piece of paper was propped up on her dresser, several lines of words written on it in bright red ink.

Cordelia called to tell you that I died because of a band of demons called the Scourge. Angel wanted to warn you in case they headed north toward Sunnydale, but he was too chicken to make the call himself. I don't know what you said, but it made Cordy roll her eyes and slam down the phone.

As Francis's words from the night before sprang up in her memory, astonishment rushed through Buffy's blood. "He was telling the truth," she said, shocked.

Eyes widening, she grabbed the phone by her bed and quickly dialed. She waited a few seconds, and -- upon hearing the familiar voice on the other end -- cut in without even waiting for her friend to finish talking.

"Willow, call everyone," she said firmly, reaching down to grab some of her clothing from the floor. "Tell them to be at Giles's place in fifteen minutes."