Okay guys, once again I'm sorry for the delay! Thank you to those of you who reviewed, it means a lot. This chapter is a bit long, but it addresses a few things that I couldn't figure out how to address before.
As always, read and enjoy!

"His wife," muttered Buffy with obvious distaste. She held her stake faithfully in her left hand, keeping pace with Angel as the two proceeded on a nightly patrol that they had agreed would be easier to conduct together, instead of at separate intervals and although Angel had felt nervous about it, Lorne's words still echoed in his mind and instilled in him a strong sense of confidence that ran parallel to the confidence he had in Buffy's ability to handle whatever the fates threw at her. "Call me old fashioned," she began, a smile flickering across her face as she realised who she was talking to, "Or... you know, don't, but I'm fairly certain there's a clause in Ye Olde Wedding Vows that explicitly signs the multitude of promises with a kiss and an expiry date of 'Til Death do us part.' I never took that as something open to interpretation."

Angel smiled drily. "Almost never."

Buffy, catching his meaning, said, "Well, we weren't married. And you're not a corpse. I mean a real, honest to God 'Frankenstein, come and get your spare parts' corpse. And you didn't bring me back."

The two kept walking, no danger showing itself. After a few moments of silence and several false alarms, Buffy turned towards her Slaying partner. "Angel, did y–" "

"Sh," he hushed, pointing thirty metres forward. "Over there."

[]

Earlier that night

"I brought her back," Eric stuttered, his face as white as a ghosts as he explained his ulterior motives. "We just got married, in December. She wasn't supposed to... She died. Heart attack. I don't know – she was never sick. It shouldn't have happened. They said there had been heart conditions in her family. I guess she didn't... She never told me that."

"So you did a little voodoo and resumed where your Honeymoon left off?" Buffy spat.

"No! I've never done any magic before. I didn't even know it existed. I was... There was something – I went to a therapist for help about two weeks ago. I was in the waiting room and there was a magazine on how to deal with loss. It seemed pretty normal, but there was a page," Eric lifted a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Buffy. "That page. It said..."

"Nothing." Buffy handed the piece of paper to Angel with confusion. "Can you read that?"

Angel surveyed the paper. "It looks blank to me."

Eric looked, if possible, more frightened. "No, it says right there," he placed his finger on a seemingly random spot on the page. "It gives a number. An address. It says it can bring back the dead."

"And you, having never heard of magic, believed this?" Buffy said, looking unconvinced.

"I was pretty... Drunk, at the time," said Eric, obviously meaning something else.

Angel scowled. "Finish the story."

"R-right, okay, so I went there. Drunk. And they said they'd been expecting me, which didn't make any sense because I hadn't called ahead, and they let me in. It was a good thing I was... Well, their faces. There was something wrong with them: all spiny and lumpy. They asked what I wanted, and I said I wanted Jessica. They said she wasn't gone forever if I let them help me, and then I signed something and she was there. But she wasn't herself. She was..." Eric cast his eyes towards the basement they had taken her down into, "She was that. She kept following me. I tried to talk to her – tried to reach her, but she never came back. It was like this was all there was. Sometimes I could have sworn I could... But she was never there."

"So you signed a piece of paper that a spiny, lumpy guy you'd never met before handed you in exchange for your dead wife, even though you'd never heard of magic before." Buffy glanced at Angel sceptically.

"I didn't see what the harm was. I mean, if it didn't work. I was totally out of my mind." defended Eric, distressed. "Then..." he lifted up his long sleeved shirt, showing a number of cuts, all in the same general place. "I had to do it each day, go there and make a blood sacrifice. It kept her how she was. They said if I stopped we'd both... I figured it would work until I could find you and fix her. I was going to tell you straight away, but then I got scared an–"

"Fine. You said someone suggested me. Who?" barked Angel, unconsciously pounding the desk with his fist. "Did they have something to do with this?" the Vampire threw the silver bracelet he removed from the wrist of the girl downstairs into Eric's lap.

"No," he said, pain flittering across his face. "I gave that to her. It was... sentimental – I never meant it like this. And they didn't tell me about you. They told me about her. Someone... A guy, I don't know, a preacher. He said you'd," Eric spoke to Buffy now, "died, and you were back in one piece. He said you could help me make Jessica like she was. He told me where you'd be, that you hunted things. I thought that if you put her down there," he indicated to the basement, "for a little while, that we could figure out a way to summon her back somehow–"

"In one piece," Buffy interrupted, unable to contain her fury. "In one piece. You think this is one piece?" She drew closer to Eric's face, her features distorted with anger. "I can't remember anything about the last six years of my life. I can't remember who he is," she jabbed a finger towards Angel, "I can't remember my sister. I can't remember my friends, and I can't remember the last time I saw my mother before she died." Buffy stood back and gestured to her body. "You think that your wife wanted this? You think she wanted you to pull some Goddamned strings to make her a real girl again? She isn't. Wherever she is, it isn't in that... that shell. And her soul isn't where it's meant to be. It's unsettled. It's disturbed. It's lost. Do you really, really think she wanted that?Because the last time I checked, all the dead wanted was some peace. To rest in peace. Right now, all she's got is the pieces you've left her."

Eric's eyes were opened wide as he stared into the distance. "Is she really in pain?"

Buffy shot daggers at him. "What do you think? You let me pummel her, for one thing."

"That was just so that you could bring her back here. She... The shell, it follows me – it was a part of the spell. It can fight, sort of, and when I tried to get rid of her to find you it tried to chase me. I was going to come back for her." He stood, trying to get out of the room. Angel quickly sidestepped to the door and blocked his exit. "We need to get to her. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... Can you put her back? Give her... peace?"

Angel moved aside, but neither man progressed through the door. "We can try. But first you've gotta tell us what these demons are called, and where you find them. Write down what was in that advertisement. Give us everything you know, and if you don't know," he bared his teeth which, even without his vampire visage, were sharp and menacing, "Guess."

Eric hastily grabbed the papers that a fuming Buffy shoved into his chest, along with a pen (which luckily had a lid on it when pressed against him). The wind temporarily knocked out of him, he began to write.

[]

"This is ridiculous, and I'm not just talking about that neck tie you're always wearing, either." Caleb smiled indulgently, saying nothing and maintaining his seat in front of a ouiji board and several other mystical items placed on the coffee table. "The spell is wearing down. I can feel it. This is what we get for trusting a law firm."

"Listen to us, fighting like a couple of old marrieds," chuckled Sahjhan, who had taken every chance able to offend the rules of the religion that Caleb claimed to abide by. However, the trace of humour present in his voice disappated quickly, and he became serious. "Her memory returning is troublesome, but not fatal. The other thing returning is the true cause for concern."

"Enlighten me," Caleb drawled with patronising amusement. "What is it? Her love? Her fire? Her hope?"

Sahjhan looked less enthused, and half heartedly he said, "Her boyfriend. I haven't seen the Powers take this much interest in a love affair since The Bold and The Beautiful started broadcasting interdimensionally."

[]

"It's going to work," Willow hissed to Tara. "I can feel it."

Tara shook her head. "Giles had better be right. This is our only shot, and I don't think you can take much more magic."

"She'll be fine," Spike said assuringly from his seat across the Summers' loungeroom. "She got me, don't she? Any craziness and I can just pop her one in the jaw. Out like a bulb pet, I promise."

Tara stared, unimpressed. "Very reassuring, Spike."

"I'm... Fine..." Willow agreed, placing her hands over her mouth as a gesture for a shushing noise that she didn't have the energy to make. An incorporeal figure rose before her; a sillhouette of Buffy. Willow revised her Latin chant one last time, trusting Tara to utter the necessary segments in English. Spike sat in awe of the shadow, trying to retain his calm. Willow sprinkled the first batch of the herb mix she had prepared onto a picture of Buffy that lay on the table. She closed her eyes, held Tara's hand and began.

"A caelo usque ad centrum."

"From the sky to the centre."

"Ab extra, ab astra, ab fontes, ab mortem; ad hominem."

"From what was, from the stars, from beyond, from death, to man."

"Orbis non sufficit. Mala tempora currunt. Ante mortem, de profundis, ex malo bonum. In dux, lux ex tenebris. In memoriam, lux sit. Memento verere ad vox populi. Mutatis mutandis, surgam quaere tempus rerum imperator. Ad hominem, ab mortem, ante bellum, coniunctis viribus, nunc dimitis statim,"

"In memory, let there be light. For the leader of the people, memories of life. With connected strength, we ask you to send,"

"Animus. Dum vivimus, vivamus! Dum vivimus, servimus! Esto perpetua – deo juvante, vince malum bono."

"Her memory. Overcome evil with good."

"Ante mortem, ante bellum, meminerunt omnia amantes."

"Before death, before war, lovers remember all."

"Untrique parato, untraque unum, in veritate et caritate, dona nobis parcem. Dum vivimus, vivamus! Dum vivimus, servimus! Quaere mens sana in corpore sano, memento vivere. Nunc dimittis animus. Oleum camino. vince malum bono."

"Send the memory, pour oil on the fire. Overcome evil with good."

"Oleum camino. vince malum bono. Oleum camino. vince malum bono. Consummatum est."

Willow collapsed, her roots fading from black back to her natural red.

"Did it work?" asked Spike, looking around for a memory-having Buffy he expected to appear as the spell was cast.

Tara picked up the phone and dialled the L.A. number scribbled next to it. "I don't know. Giles said it might not work straight away; the magic we're trying to penetrate isn't small, it's large scale. Someone put a lot of work into this. Something has to... trigger it, I think."

As she placed the receiver to her ear, Willow sat up. Her breathing was still effected and beads of sweat were present on her face. "It has to have worked. I know put a hole in their spell, I don't know how big. I felt something go through me. Like when I restored Angel's soul," she ignored Spike's derisive snort, "I felt her mind."

Despite the hope that the words she spoke usually endeared, Willow's smile faltered as she said the words.

"What's wrong?" Tara asked, the phone still ringing.

"I... felt her mind. I could read it. I mean, not everything, but..." she trailed off.

"Willow, what is it?" Tara placed the phone down in the cradle when no one answered, but Willow lifted it and dialled again.

Tara now realised that the beads of sweat she had seen on the opposite witches' face were actually tears, and as Willow dialled the number, several of them slid down her cheeks. She lifted her head and for a second she was just a child again: she had broken something important, and she looked to her friends in hopes of advice on how to repair it.

"Will, what did you see?"

Willow's voice shook. "Tara, we pulled her out of heaven."

[]

Buffy followed Angel's lead, and once she realised what they were doing began her own pursuit. The demons ahead resembled exactly the ones that Eric had described; their heads bore both spikes and lumps, and they were an unhealthy blue colour. Angel tried not to think of Doyle, and how similar the demons were. Doyle had died for good people. He had died for the right reasons. He tried to remind himself of this as they closed in on the guilty party.

"Are you the guys who play Prince Charming for vamp change?" were Buffy's first words. As Angel himself had difficulty interpreting what she had just said, he could only imagine the difficulty that the demons opposite him were having. Although he felt no sympathy for them, they did need answers, so he elaborated in reponse for the sake of their confused expressions;

"Zombies?"

The demons – of whom there were about five – nodded, obviously under the impression that they had a new client. Angel searched for a wordless hint of what Buffy was planning to do, unsure of how to proceed. Buffy walked forward.

"We need help. This girl," she held up a picture that Eric had given her from his wallet. "She's on the wrong side of Hayde's River, and we need to cast her right back."

The demons, who seconds ago had looked thrilled by the prospect of a new customer, now turned vicious. Their eyes flared dangerously and they spread out to surround the two. "We do not undo what is done," said the widest one, his shoulders almost twice as broad as Angels'. "A contract was signed – a deal entered. This cannot be reversed for unjustified reasons."

"I've got a feeling that it can, you're just holding back on us," said Angel, his face changing as he prepared to fight. Buffy held up her hand to stop him before he rushed into anything violent. With what Angel found an unsettling calm, she approached the Keshnav demon who had spoken.

"What do we have to do to reverse it?" she asked.

The demon, visibly glad that they had opted for the non-violent route, said, "We've never had a Slayer before."

Angel snarled and Buffy hushed him. "I know what I'm doing," she said, and he was momentarily quiet. Returning to the Keshnav, she spoke coldly. "What do you want?"

The demon looked thoughtful, his stance easing in the face of a negotiation. "You must have, what, three and a half quarts – almost three and a half litres of blood in you? You gotta have at least sixty percent of that if you wanna stay out of a coma, and since you're a Slayer you probably need a little more 'n that for all the fighting. I'm thinkin' we take about twenty percent? Which is about... seven hundred millitres?"

"Wow, demons and math. Didn't think those two ever went together," Buffy observed. Angel stayed quiet while she thought, but prayed that she would see sense. After a minute of deliberation, she said, "You make her how she was in return?"

The demon shook his head. "No can do. A contract is a contract. We can, however, sign it over into your name. It's a legally binding demon contract, pretty much foolproof, but if it's under your name you've got as long as you want to try and disprove that. All I'm asking is twenty percent."

Angel yearned to rip out the throat of the demon, whose smug smirk made his long-dead insides squirm. "Don't, Buffy," he whispered. "We can work something else out."

Buffy shot him a sad smile. "No, we can't. We can't leave that girl stuck in limbo." Turning towards the demons, she said, "Okay. Twenty percent. If you tell me your name."

The other demons, impressed by the deal, whistled, partially drowning out the snarl that blasted out of Angel's chest. They had to want the one thing that he didn't have; blood.

"My name is Lech. For short, anyway," he said, pulling a blade out of his pocket.

"Wait, is there something I can give you instead?" he tried to bargain, addressing the same demon Buffy had.

The demon laughed. "Sorry Dracula, we deal specifically in the... living, elements of humanity. If I need a dust bunny or some beef jerky, I'll give you a call. Feel free to watch, though," he said, his smirk growing wider. Buffy pulled back her long hair, revealing her neck.

"Okay, how do you want to do this?"

Lech recoiled from her neck, holding his hands up. "I don't know how lover boy does it," Angel scowled, "But we prefer a less... repulsive way of doing this. It's a transaction, not a meal. We like our three meals a day just as much as the next guy, and the only A's, B's and O's I'll touch are in my alphabet soup." He pulled out a knife, handing it to her.

Angel stopped seriously this time. He grabbed a hold of Buffy's arm and pulled her away. "Buffy, it isn't your place to do this."

"Isn't it?" she asked. "Because it sounds like I used to help people. Sure, I'm not jazzed at the idea of playing Doctor with Pointy over there, no offence," she added, and the demon waved it off, "but it sounds like this is what I used to do. It's been months, Angel. Soon it'll be a year, then two, then ten. How else am I going to find out who I used to be if I don't try to do what I used to do? I'm not like you, I'm not staying how I am. I'm going to get older, and when I'm old with grey hair on a veranda somewhere I want to know that I did everything I could to make up for the six years I don't remember. I'm going to have lived enough for a whole lifetime, and then some."

"Three, actually," he murmured. "But that doesn't mean you have to do this."

Buffy put her hand on the side of Angels' face, pleading with him for understanding. "It doesn't, you're right. I don't have to give my blood."

"What?" he asked sharply, but without elaboration she turned around and took the knife. He could have sworn she whispered 'but that never stopped me'.

Buffy placed the knife on her palm. After the beatings she had both recieved and given in the past, she no longer feared pain when it was for a good cause. Before she incised, however, she asked, "How do you measure this?"

"You were too hasty," said the demon, and with a click of his finger Buffy's arm elevated slightly.

With a surprised expression, she said, "I'm not doing that."

"No, you're not," the demon agreed, "But you do have to make the cut."

Buffy paused for a second. "If this is an iron clad contract, why am I able to exchange my blood for it? And while we're on that vein of thought–" she smiled at her pun, "Where does this go? I don't go giving it up all willy-nilly."

"All reasonable questions!" Lech gushed. "Your blood can be exchanged for the contract because, Slayer, we aren't actually altering the thing itself – the content is the same, the beneficiary changes. And since our beneficiarys' have, in the past, been prone to... Accidents," a few demons exchanged grimaces, "We find it best to keep that part flexible. The rest is still set in stone. The reason for this is – incidentally answering your last question – that we supply for one client only. A local bar."

"A bar?" Buffy asked, lowering the dagger. "Why does that require zombification in exchange for blood?"

"Because we only deal an extremely rare blood type; AB negative. Only three percent of people in this dimension have it, and it's valuable stuff. Liquid diamond. The magazine the gentleman you're attempting to free was reading had one of our advertisements in it. Enchanted advertisement. We don't just deal in zombification, if his blood is the right type then the magazine will essentially show anything that the viewer wants. He wants, we supply. He supplies, we supply. Viscious circle kind of deal."

"Like the Mirror of Erised?" Buffy asked.

The demon laughed. "Yes, something like that. You can't imagine how long it took us. Anyway, I digress; I'm sorry to hurry you, but we're a bit pressed for time. If you just cut," he pressed along her life line, "Right here. Once enough has been taken, it should stop. Usually it won't heal a whole lot much faster than normal, but with your healing I suppose that's not a problem." He pulled out the contract from behind him, though where he was storing it wasn't Buffy wasn't sure.

"No, it isn't, but I've got one: where does it fall?" Lech passed her a thin, glass beaker. It was measured to a litre, and the line where six hundred and sixty was situated seemed to eminate an etheral glow.

"Enchanted beaker," Buffy mused. "Nice touch. Give Angel the contract."

"Ah, not until you've–" Lech began, but quickly handed the contract over when Buffy made the cut.

Buffy stood for a moment, her head turned away from the blood, which, though not unpleasant enough to make her queasy, was something she was perfectly happy not to look at. She met Angel's eyes instead. "Are you okay with this?" she indicated her hand, which was still hovering over the beaker of its' own free will.

"I'm fine. I'm not the one losing twenty percent of their blood." He held her free hand with his. When he noticed how quickly the blood was spilling, he addressed Lech, who he was beginning to suspect was the only fluently English-speaking one of the group. "I'm not going to say I'm an expert," he began, then backtracked. "Okay, I am. Blood doesn't flow out that fast. She's already lost one sixth of what she's giving you. That should take much longer. This whole thing should take hours."

The demon smiled. "Enchanted beaker, enchanted contract, enchanted blade."

"This is a little grimmer than I like my fairytales nowadays," he growled.

Lech bared fangs that had gone unseen until now, in an attempt to smile sincerely. "Well, luckily, it will all be over soon."

The two watched in anticipation as the blood filled up, anxious to see the flow stem as capacity reached a seventh of the breaker. As promised, the flow stopped, and Buffy was given power over her arm, somewhat dizzy.

She had lost enough to feel disoriented, but not enough to stop from her next premeditated move. She ran towards the demon and brought her foot to his face, sending him reeling backwards.

"We had a deal, now it would be wise of you to leave," he said, covering his nose (which she had crushed) with one hand and signalling for his men to remain where they were with the other. "Five against one and a half, in your state? This will end badly for you, girl. The only reason you're still standing is because Slayers' blood is so valuable to us, and I have no desire to lose a drop of it."

"He's right, we need to leave," said Angel, grabbing Buffy's elbow. Although suffering from minimal Slayer strength, she still pulled her arm away from him.

"They brought that girl back! You think they won't do it again? Take advantage of people like Eric?"

"They might, and we'll do what we can. When we're ready. You're no good to anyone dead."

Buffy seemed to ease when his hand slipped into hers. He ripped off a part of his shirt and wrapped it around her arm to stem any further bleeding. She wriggled slightly. "There was so much magic. It'll be healed soon enough, anyway."

"I know," he said, smiling. "But we'd better not risk it."

And with that, he scooped her into his arms and began to walk back. The last of his resistance against the beautiful blonde in his arms broke down, and he held her close to him. They would have to talk, but this time it wasn't going to be in a sewer, and it wasn't going to end with both of their hearts torn asunder.

"What are you doing?" she asked, grinning, but not moving.

"You've lost a lot of blood. Don't want to push it."

"If you say so," she mumbled, tucking her head into his chest.

"Why did you do it?" he asked, burning with curiosity. "Give your blood?" he had a feeling, but he needed to hear her say it.

After a pregnant pause, she began. "After all of this. This... chaos – not," she looked at him for a moment, "that it's been all bad, but after it all, I finally appreciate the value of a little peace. The thought of someone being... in themself, without being able to function – just stuck, that seems like the worst kind of torture. She's kind of like the opposite of me."

"How so?"

Buffy squirmed, trying to get more comfortable. Although she highly doubted that was possible. "Well, I can walk, talk, battle, sacrifice all the blood I want, but I can't remember. All she's got is her memories. At least when I lay myself down to sleep, I can get some peace."

"Mm," replied Angel, easing his pace slightly. The conversation slowed to a stop, and Buffy once again tucked her head into his chest. This was the peace she meant. The peace she cherished – the peace of hope.

"I miss remembering this," she murmured.

"You wouldn't if you remembered how long you went without it."

Buffy lifted her head from her perch, searching his eyes for some definite answer. "Went?"

Angel smiled down at her, memories both sweet and bitter flashing in his mind. She was the key in all of them. "Rest."

For once, she obliged him.

[]

"Eric?" Angel called, entering the hotel under cover of darkness. He was guilty of cutting through a few longer streets so that Buffy was in his arms just that little bit longer, and he felt more rested than he had in a long time. He placed Buffy on her feet and she jerked back to attention. Still slightly disoriented from blood loss, Angel placed his hand around her waist to steady her.

Eric walked out of the office, rubbing his eyes and looking like he had just woken up, much like Buffy. "Did you get anything?"

"Come on," Angel knew that Buffy was able to walk by herself, but he kept his hand firmly on her waist, just in case, and possibly for his own benefit.

He lead the two of them downstairs, and Buffy pulled the contract from Angels' hand.

"What did you get?" Eric asked, studying the contract.

"Do you remember this?" Buffy asked, trying to be gentle. She handed him the contract, and after a few seconds his eyes grew wide as he recognised it.

"I signed it. I remember signing it."

"Eric..." Buffy said, "It says that you have to keep making blood sacrifices every day, or you both die."

"What if I just..." Eric held it limply in his hand, "Rip it up?"

Buffy surveyed him sadly. "Same effect."

Hopelessness dances across Eric's face. "So... She's stuck? We're stuck?"

"We can try to fix it, but it seems like a pretty concrete contract."

Eric looked at the shell of his wife, tears welling in his eyes. "And you can't bring her back?"

Buffy looked to Angel for confirmation. He shook his head. "No. This was as close as you could get. But we can... We can figure something out," Buffy assured him, reaching for the contract.

Eric pulled it away from her and took a seat next to the unconscious form of his wife. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry Jess." He looked into the eyes of the woman beside him, then up at Buffy. "She's in pain, I just know it," he said, begging. "How do I make it stop?"

Buffy grew concerned, trying to take the contract away from him. "Come on Eric, we can get to work now and figure out how–"

Before Buffy could finish, Eric turned his gaze towards her, his brown hair falling messily across his face and almost brushing the tip of his sad smile. A tear track streaked down his face and he said, "Thanks for trying, but I've done too much. I hope... you find your peace."

"Eric, don't!" she exclaimed, jumping forward, but too late – in the middle of his sentence he ripped the contract in half. An earth shattering boom sounded and the two bodies collapsed.

Deafening silence echoed in the room for several seconds afterwards.

"It's done," said Buffy, her voice as dead as the two corpses before her. "He's done. She can finally rest."

"Yeah," Angel agreed hoarsely, accepting Buffy as she fell into his arms. "She can."

[]

"Well, that..." Giles began, unsure of what to say. "Sounds like quite the endeavour. Quite the story, for such a short length of time. You barely missed meal time."

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "It was heavy. I guess I'm glad they're both okay now. I hate to go all Shakesperian, but pretty much nothing can touch them further." She thought for a second. "I remember that, and not my best friends? Yeesh."

Giles smiled, amused. "Well, as long as that's, er, sorted."

Angel nodded knowingly. He planned to return the body of Jessica McCormac to its' original place of rest, and bury Eric with her.

A moment later, Wesley descended the stairs, Faith in tow. When Faith spotted Buffy, she grinned. "Ready to cut loose, B? Like old times?"

Buffy looked up at the girl, then to Angel. "Think I can take her?" She grinned.

Angel leaned in and kissed her lightly, much to the surprise of all others in the room. "Like old times."

As Faith leapt off the bottom step, her shirt was momentarily lifted.

Buffy's eyes landed on the scar, and a large bulk of time was suddenly illuminated.

"Well look at you. All dressed up in big sisters' clothes."

Like old times.

Okay, as said above, I know that this was a long chapter, but I had a lot of fun writing it, and to be perfectly honest I'm pretty happy with how it turned out. Originally, I planned to have Erics' story end differently, but this made the most sense to me. I know that his original indifference seems to contrast badly with his ending, but I chalk that down to the fact that he didn't realise he'd really gotten his wife back, sort of. She was in pain, and he didn't realise it. I know it's pretty obvious, but this whole thing addresses Buffy's need for peace in her life. Which, funnily enough, coincides with Angel's finally letting himself be close to Buffy. There's still a lot of trouble ahead, but with Lorne's prediction and the constant presence of His Buffy, he's just about ready to hold up a white flag and surrender. As you can tell, this chapter was all about building the plot for the next chapter, which is going to be pivotal.
The last scene; yes, Willow's spell has worked. To what extent, you'll have to wait until the next chapter to find out.
If you liked it, please review. It makes this worth writing.
Thanks for reading!