Author's Note: Yes, it's short. But the next section should be on its own. Due to much craziness and actioniness occurring.

Enjoy!

Angel was curled up on the floor, trying to block out the sounds of his own guilt. The phantoms of the people he'd killed, who kept circling him, round and round, reminding him of his crimes. So much blood on his hands…

"You think you can repent?" said the ghost of Daniel, the boy Angel had killed just before his wedding day. "You think you can shake off what you really are? A monster?"

"I won't do it!" Angel shouted at them. "I won't… sleep with… Buffy doesn't even want to…!"

"Why not? You had no problem forcing yourself on me," came the voice of Nadezhda, the Kalderash girl he'd murdered so long ago. "I always thought I was worthless. Nothing. Then I met the Doctor and Elizabeth, and they asked me to come with them. See the universe. It was the first time I realized that I was more than just the chief's pretty daughter. That I was special." Her voice cracked. "But that just made you all the more eager to prove me wrong, didn't it?"

Angel shuddered.

"Did you enjoy it, sir?" asked Margaret, the servant he'd raped and murdered a hundred years ago. "When you had your way with me? Did you enjoy murdering my son, as well?"

"That wasn't me!" Angel insisted. "That was… a monster…"

"Then why does it hurt so much, remembering it?" asked Jenny Calendar. "Why does it kill you, deep down inside, when you remember snapping my neck with your bare hands?"

"Leave me alone!" Angel screamed.

All at once, the apparitions vanished, and the room fell silent around Angel. He looked around, and found himself alone in the room of his mansion.

No, not alone.

"Hello!" said the man with the big ears and leather jacket, sitting on the bench directly across from Angel. He tucked a blue-tipped metallic device into his pocket. "Ready to talk?"

"Who… who are you, this time?" Angel asked.

"I'm the Doctor!" said the man, giving a wave.

Angel stumbled backwards, the moment he heard the name. His eyes growing wide, his entire body seized with an overwhelming tremble.

"What?" said the Ninth Doctor. "No hugs? No cheers? Not even a, 'thanks for chasing away the monsters conjured up by my own guilt-ridden imagination, Doctor'?"

"No!" Angel said, his voice shaking. "You can't… do this to me! You can't just appear as… as…"

"As someone you're scared to death of?" asked the Ninth Doctor. He grinned. "You're welcome! Think nothing of it!"

"I'm not going to give in," Angel insisted. "You can't intimidate me like this. I… I'd rather… kill myself than force Buffy like that." He set his jaw. "I will kill myself."

The Ninth Doctor gave a sigh. "You know how hard it is, making it snow in Southern California?" He crossed his arms. "Wouldn't even seem like a Christmas miracle, this time."

Angel stared at him, confused.

"So," said the Ninth Doctor. "Like I said before. You ready to talk?"

"I… I won't… I can't…" Angel started. He swallowed. "Is this why you brought me back from Hell? To be some… pawn in your master-plan?"

The Ninth Doctor reflected. "Maybe a bit," he admitted. "After all, one little change, one small request, and the repercussions…" He paused.

"What request?" asked Angel. "What are you…? I mean, what am I…?"

"Hard, fighting a war, isn't it?" the Ninth Doctor asked. "Harder to lose one. Survive one. Decide you don't care, and make mistakes. Then live with the consequences." He glanced back at Angel. "It's why you came back from Hell."

Angel shivered. "What do you mean? Why am I here?"

The Ninth Doctor gave a small shrug. "Guilt."

The Mayor knelt down in the center of the circle, reciting the incantation for the Dedication Ceremony. The incantation that would make him invulnerable to any physical harm. The incantation that would allow him to Ascend.

The power rose around him, as if the Earth itself was buzzing inside his ears, and then suddenly…

The power turned on him.

Seized him.

The Mayor clawed at his throat, his eyes bulging, as he realized what was happening. Who had done it. And why. As he discovered that he had doomed himself.

And as the world faded to black around him, as he felt his life force slipping away, he caught sight of a pale face with spiky brown hair. And dark, dark eyes. Staring at him, through the window.

Then the figure touched a device on his wrist, and disappeared.

"Angel?" Buffy called, that night, as she ran into the mansion. She raced into the main room. "Angel, we've got a way larger problem! Gwendolyn Post isn't after the Glove, anymore, she's after…" Buffy stopped, as she got to the main room, to find Angel, trembling, in the middle of the floor. And a few feet away, dropped as if by accident…

The Glove of Mynhegon.

Buffy stared at Angel. "You didn't…"

"I… I'm sorry," said Angel. "I couldn't. Not without…" He faltered, as he met Buffy's eyes, then looked away. "The information. From the future. I had to... work it out on my own."

Buffy looked between Angel and the Glove. "I don't have time for this," she said, as she grabbed a piece of fabric and snatched up the Glove. She ran back to Angel, yanking him by the arm and dragging him out of the mansion and into the night air. "We can create the living flame in the vineyard. Right now, we've just got to get there. Only a Slayer can pull that Scythe out of the stone, and Faith's on her way."

"Buffy," Angel said. "I have to tell you something."

"Tell me later!" Buffy snapped, as she kept dragging him along.

"No, it's important," said Angel. "The… the reason I'm here… the reason I was dragged out of Hell… the First wants me to kill…"

"I know," said Buffy. She glanced behind her, at Angel, giving him a small smile. "But I also know you won't."

Angel seemed to find comfort in the smile. "You really…?"

"Yeah," said Buffy. She turned back, and yanked on Angel's arm. "Now, come on! Vineyard!"