Sands of Life

by Laura1

Faith's death brings unforseen consequences for everyone involved. Seventh in a series.

Introduction ~ OK, you're probably going to need some background to this one, so, previously in my freaky little fantasy world….

Faith gave birth to a daughter Hope, then after becoming progressively weaker and weaker, suddenly and mysteriously died. Gunn disappeared runner, leaving Hope at home with Faith to be discovered by a neighbour. Buffy and Angel were in the middle of their wedding ceremony when the news broke.

Cordelia is married to a big Hollywood scriptwriter, but he is away filming on location in England at the moment.

Willow died (I just have this penchant for killing off characters don't I?) and after her soul connected with Oz's on the ethereal plane, they both passed on.

Faith has returned as a ghost to watch over Hope.

Disclaimer ~ They're all mine, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. But now I have to go and take my medication…

A/N One ~ Sorry if you've been waiting a long time for this one, but I've been away on holiday and hence have suffered extreme computer and TV deprivation – very scary.

A/N Two ~ This is gonna seem rather heavy on the angst at first, but again please persist with it. The fluff cometh soon! (And don't just skip to the end to find it either, or you won't understand the story!)

A/N Three ~ There is a particular theory behind the colour of auras, but I don't know it, so I just made something up. OK, I'll shut up now and get on with the fic.

"Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,

And the rocks melt wi' the sun;

I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands of life shall run."

Robert Burns

Buffy held Hope tight in her arms, rocking the baby gently, soothingly, to some primal, maternal rhythm. Hope was awake but she did not cry, or emit any sweet baby gurgles. She just lay there, huge brown eyes gazing up at Buffy, soundlessly watching. It was as if she knew, or at least could sense the aura of silence left in the wake of a death.

After the initial shock had died away there had been no words, no tears, no accusations nor recriminations. Just silence. A respectful hush, as everyone retreated into themselves to process their own emotions. After all, nothing could be said to change the situation. Faith was still dead. Gunn was still gone. And Hope was still without either of her parents.

There had been a note. Tucked into Hope's crib and addressed to Buffy and Angel. It had been hurriedly written in felt tip pen on the back of a used envelope, but its message was clear. Look after her. So, they had. Buffy had taken the infant into her arms and held her close to her breast, hoping the closeness would comfort them both. At first murmuring soft reassurances, then just rocking her, silently. Angel had spoken in a low, urgent voice to the social worker who had been called. We're the godparents – she belongs with us. It's what Faith wanted.

The social worker had looked doubtful then had argued with them. Her face twisted into a hard mask as she hid behind bureaucracy, but she never once raised her voice in objection. She kept to a reverent whisper – always respecting the quiet, the silence of the dead. Eventually her resistance had faded. The baby was perfectly healthy and would obviously be well cared for by this young couple who came to the scene of a death in their formal wear. Her expression softened and she agreed to grant temporary custody to Buffy and Angel, until at least the baby's father could be located. Then she had asked softly whether they had come here from a party.

Buffy looked at the woman blankly, wondering at her insensitivity. "It was our wedding." She said in a flat, hollow voice. Then she turned and nearly ran from the apartment, with the bedroom that had until so very recently held Faith's body.

Angel drove her home, every so often touching her gently. Her back, her shoulder, her hair. Just so she would know that he was there with her, but still giving her space to deal with her emotions, room to grieve. She accepted all this with a numb calmness. She carried Hope upstairs and curled up in a soft leather chair with the baby then just sat. Staring out into space. Rocking. Silent.

She imagined herself a millpond, the surface waters perfectly still, but its depths unknown, unspoken of. Her expression was neutral and her only movement was the rocking, as inside her emotions raged and crashed like stormy seas. She wanted to scream and shout. How could you do this Faith? How could you leave Hope motherless like that? How could you just give up and die? And how could Gunn just run away from everything? How could he be so weak and selfish at the very time he is most needed to be strong? Why did this have to happen? Why, why, why?

But she didn't say any of it. She didn't yell and she didn't cry. That would have been disrespectful. She simply preserved the hush, the quiet. That was all they had now. All the laughter and the fire and the emotion were gone. There was no more Faith. There was only silence.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Cordelia hung up the phone, wiping tears from her eyes. John had been sympathetic, obviously. He had listened to her crying and incoherent ramblings for at least half an hour. But he was still away in England and it was rapidly approaching breakfast time over there. They started filming on an important location shoot for his new movie in just over an hour's time. He didn't have the opportunity or the patience to comfort Cordelia when he was already so preoccupied with his own problems.

Cordy had asked him to come home. She needed him. She didn't want to face something like this alone. But he had sighed and explained that he had to finish his work in England. He wanted to be with her, but he was working on a contract, which if he broke he could be sued. For a single second Cordy hadn't cared. She had wanted John with her holding her in his arms no matter what the consequences. He should just go ahead and break the damn contract. So what if they got sued. It was only money, after all, and what was money worth really? What were riches compared to life and love and friendship?

But John had remained quietly reasonable. She was upset, he understood that, but it would do neither of them any good to go making rash decisions. She should get some sleep and he would call her later. Cordelia had agreed reluctantly. It was the sensible, rational thing to do. She was just a bit upset at the moment that was all. It happened when someone close to you died, but eventually the pain receded and you had to get on with life. Until that happened you just had to suffer and cry a little, or maybe even a lot.

She remembered when Doyle had died. She had gone through all the classic stages of grief. Denial – seeing him disintegrate before her very eyes just served to enhance the unreality of the situation – shock, anger, depression. It had been her first inkling of how cruel life really was. She had known of course that evil existed out there and that bad things happened to good people. She had seen death, after all she did live on a Hellmouth for the first eighteen years of her life, but she had never been touched by it before. It had always been something that happened to other people. The corpses were nameless, she didn't mourn them, just accepted their deaths as a fact of life.

But then she had been hit with it. Struck with the suddenly realisation that all their deaths lurked around the corner. Life was fragile, tenuous and could be snatched away within the blink of an eye. Death didn't send you a postcard warning you of its arrival, it just hit you over the head like a sledgehammer. This was how Cordy felt now, sledgehammered: battered, bruised and aching from the inside. And alone. She needed someone here with her, someone who could share her grief. John was in England and she couldn't go to Buffy and Angel's; they had problems of their own. There was only one more person she could think of who could possibly understand what she was going through.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Wesley downed his fourth brandy of the night. The alcohol didn't even seem to be affecting him, however. He just felt exactly the same as he felt before he started drinking – numb. Brandy was supposed to help with shock, though, he reasoned, and that's what he thought he was in now. Shock. Everyone had known Faith was ill, it had been obvious enough from her behaviour of recent weeks, but nobody had expected her to actually die. They had all thought the illness had been psychological in nature, even the doctor had agreed with them. So, that didn't explain why she had died from it. Suddenly a horrible thought occurred to him. What if Faith committed suicide?

She had been close enough to it before, he remembered. She had even begged Angel to kill her once, but the thought that she would actually take her own life when she had a young child to look after, well that was just too much to bear. Wesley still felt deeply protective over Faith from the days that he was her watcher. He also felt like he had failed her profoundly. He knew that all those years ago, when she had turned to the dark side he had let her down. She had as much as admitted it to him when she tortured him that time. And now he had failed her again.

He was almost positive that Faith hadn't killed herself. She was too much of a fighter. Even when she had been evil she had rallied against it, wanting Angel to kill her rather than losing control completely over her actions and existence. Then she had fought even harder to change her ways and went to the extent of turning herself into the police. Those actions showed the spirit of a woman who wouldn't give up unless she faced the ultimate adversary and Wesley knew he must have missed something. Someone or something had killed Faith and he had missed even noticing that it was happening.

He cursed his own shortsightedness and poured himself another brandy. He was determined to get drunk and let the alcohol drown every single one of these morbid thoughts. He wanted to be drunk and uncaring and to wake up with a hangover that hurt more than the pain of loss inside his heart did right now. He was just about to lift the glass to his lips when an urgent knocking on the door interrupted him. He wondered who it could be at this late hour and hoped it was possibly Gunn come back from wherever he disappeared to upon discovering Faith's death.

When he opened the door, however, it was Cordelia that greeted him there. Her hair was a mess, she wore no make-up and her face was a mask of grief.

"I didn't want to be alone." She said in a small voice.

Wesley was suddenly infinitely glad of the company. He hadn't realised how lonely he was until this precise moment. He pulled Cordy into his arms and let her cry on his shoulder. Soon his was crying too, his tears mingling with Cordelia's on her damp cheeks. They clung to each other in the darkness of his apartment, the raw need for human contact keeping each held tight in the other's arms.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Faith wondered what to do next. Yeah, so, she was dead, but now what? She couldn't just sit there for the rest of eternity. Obviously her soul hadn't passed on for a reason. There was something she was still meant to do, but what was it? She wanted to check that Hope was still all right, but she knew her daughter would be with Buffy and Angel in their apartment and she didn't know how to get there. For now she wasn't quite sure what being a ghost entailed. When she looked down at herself she still appeared the same, she could see her hands and her physical self, even though she was looking across the room at her body, her corpse. It was disturbing, in an abstract kind of way, owing to the fact that all her emotions seemed to be blunted now.

All that she had gathered so far was that nobody could see or hear her. When she had felt her spirit first leave her body she'd been confused. She'd tried to get back, but she didn't know how and she wasn't even sure she wanted to. The physical container for her soul now seemed alien to her. She didn't belong there anymore and the idea of crawling back into a dead body disgusted her. So, she'd just sat there in the corner, watching over her body and waiting for something to happen.

Eventually something had happened. Gunn had returned from work. The first thing he did was check on Hope and he was alerted to a problem by the fact her diaper hadn't been changed for several hours. He carried out the task and went to talk to Faith in the bedroom. When her body hadn't stirred in response to his calls he walked over to shake her, felt her cold clammy skin and realised she wasn't breathing. He made a futile attempt to resuscitate her but soon gave in knowing it was too late. He collapsed over her body and began to weep, then when he'd collected his composure enough he simply packed his bags and walked out, unable to face the situation that he found himself presented with.

All this time Faith had been screaming at him. I'm still here, goddammit! Listen to me! I'm here behind you. I'm not dead! Gunn! But he hadn't heard a single one of her heartfelt cries. He hadn't even flinched when she yelled straight into his ear and when she tried to hit him her fist simply flew straight through his face. That was what had scared her the most. Up until that point it hadn't really sunk in that she was dead, that she was a ghost. A real life, eat-your-heart-out-Casper, genuine ghost. She had reeled back in shock and suddenly stopped yelling. There was no point now; she knew no one would hear her. She simply watched Gunn cry, all the while wanting to put her arms around him and tell him, that she was still here, he hadn't lost her, she wasn't gone. And she died again a thousand times as she realised that there was nothing she could do to alleviate his suffering. Then he'd walked out the door and she'd wanted to follow him, but she was still worried about Hope, whom he'd left there in the apartment on her own.

Faith had stayed there pacing the floor, waiting for something to happen, desperate for someone to help Hope. Gunn would come back she was sure of it, or Buffy would call round. But someone, anyone was needed to care for the baby. Her anxiety peaked as Hope began to cry. Faith leant over the cradle and whispered soothing words that she knew her daughter couldn't possibly hear, but she had to do something. The crying grew worse and worse and Faith thought she would go insane with frustration and worry. Finally, their nosy neighbour Mrs Goldstein had come around to investigate and Faith had almost collapsed in relief when the police were called and she realised that someone would finally be there to care for Hope.

She had watched unseen and unheard as the authorities milled around her small apartment. Paramedics checked over her body and a police doctor officially pronounced her dead, something that she wasn't too pleased about witnessing. Then Buffy and Angel had arrived at the scene, Buffy took Hope in her arms and Faith had at last stopped worrying about the welfare of her daughter. That dilemma dealt with Faith had felt compelled to ride in the ambulance with her body as they took it to the morgue. She couldn't face been separated from her physical self just yet, her body felt like too much of a part of her still to just let it be carried away to some unknown destination.

Now, however, she was sick of looking at what she had come to view only as a corpse. The longer she gazed upon the cadaver the less it she began to associate it with the person she once was. Now it wasn't her, it was just a sack of lifeless flesh and bone and she wanted to be as far away from it as possible. But the question was how? How would she survive in this ethereal netherworld? Would she need to eat or sleep or had those physical needs disappeared with her physical form? And how was she supposed to get around? She didn't yet understand the rules of this world. How was it that she could stand solidly on the second floor of a building or sit in the back of an ambulance when she couldn't even touch anything else? It was bizarre and it was going to take a lot of getting used to.

For now, though, she would just be happy to get out of the morgue. She couldn't stand to be around all these dead bodies any longer, even if one of them was her. Especially as one of them was her. So, she used to the only trick she'd learnt so far in this ghost world. She walked over to the closed door and breezed straight through it, in search of the exit to the hospital. Cool, she thought as she felt the high that came from passing straight through solid matter. Maybe being a ghost wasn't going to be all that bad, after all.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Angel had seen a lot of death in his time and he had been the cause of most of it, so he didn't feel the numbing shock that accompanied it. Instead he felt its ramifications. The worst thing about death was that life went on. When you were grieving you wanted the world to stop. You wanted everything about the world to suddenly change now that your perspective had been so drastically changed by the loss you now felt so acutely. But that never happened. The world continued the same. The sun still rose every morning, people still went to work every morning, wars still raged on, lovers still kissed, stand-up comedians still made their stupid jokes on the TV and audiences still laughed at them. Life went on.

He knew that being hit with this realisation could hurt more than the shock of the bereavement did, so he wanted to give the people he cared about time to mourn. He didn't want them to be forced into smiling and pretending nothing was wrong, or to have to make stressful calls arranging funerals. He would do all that for them. He would handle the practicalities whilst the others took the space to vent their grief.

It wasn't that he wasn't grieving himself, or that Faith's death hadn't affected him. He felt her loss as deeply as any of the others; it was just that he was old enough and wise enough to know that death was inevitable and that it would claim all of them eventually. It saddened him to see Faith succumb to it so early in life and just when she seemed to have a rosy future, but he did not feel the same kind of raw despair the others did. He did not feel the anger that comes with the realisation that life is cruel and unfair, because he'd learnt that particular lesson a long time ago.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Cordelia awoke to a pounding headache. It felt as though someone was inserting knitting needles into her brain through her temples. She opened her eyes briefly but quickly squeezed them shut again, as the light only intensified the pain in her head. A nice, long, hot shower would be just the thing to refresh her tired body, she decided, and started to feel her way out of bed, still with her eyes tightly closed. She stretched her hands out before her and was shocked to find that they contacted not with the bedside table as she had expected, but instead landed on a warm, male, and apparently naked, body.

Cordy recoiled almost immediately, yanking her hands away as her eyes flew open. Once her vision had adjusted to the late morning sunlight, streaming through the very unfamiliar window, she looked down and saw – to her horror – Wesley stirring gradually awake beside her. For a moment she was totally confused by the situation then memories of the previous evening began to trickle back to her. She had been upset over Faith's death and had not wanted to be alone. She had turned up on Wesley's doorstep and they cried together then spent the next couple of hours talking and consuming an entire bottle of brandy between them. And then…

"Oh my God!" Cordelia shrieked.

Wesley jerked upright in bed, awoken suddenly by Cordelia's scream.

"What is it? What's happening? Are we under attack?" He asked, bewildered. He fumbled about on the nightstand for his glasses then turned to see Cordy sitting next to him, the sheets pulled up to her chin.

"Good Lord!" He exclaimed. "Did we…?"

"Well you're naked and I'm naked, so I'm guessing uh-huh!"

"Um, yes, well…quite…" mumbled Wesley. He removed his glasses and rubbed his sore eyes distractedly. "I am, um, terribly sorry. I really don't know what came over me."

"You don't know what came over you?" Cordelia asked incredulously. "What about me? What was I thinking? I can't believe I just slept with a guy who throws like a girl and knows more extinct demon languages than he does pick up lines!"

Wesley flushed bright red and turned away from her. "As I said, I'm very sorry." He muttered again. "Perhaps I should leave you to see yourself out." He leant over the side of the bed to retrieve his trousers that lay discarded on the floor.

Cordelia sighed. "I'm sorry, Wesley," she said guiltily, realising exactly how much her words had hurt his feelings. "I didn't mean it to come out like that – you know sometimes my mouth works faster than my brain."

"I also know that you're the most honest, forthright person I've ever met." He replied stiffly. "And I imagine you're pretty much accurate in your evaluation of me, anyway. If I can't rely upon one of my best friends to point out my shortcomings then whom can I rely on?" He finished quietly.

"Oh, Wesley." Cordy now felt even worse about her quick tongue. "You know you're one of my best friends too," she told him softly. "And, yes, I do regret us, uh…doing what after today will forever go unmentioned – but not because it was with you." She paused briefly. "You're a great guy, Wesley and I really believe that. Those things I mentioned about you, they're not bad, they just make you you, which is good thing, because we like you." She stopped and looked at him quizzically. "Am I making any sense at all here?"

Wesley smiled. "Very little."

"More than usual then." Cordelia flashed him a dazzling grin. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, I love my husband and we're very happy together. I'm just mad at myself for doing anything stupid enough to jeopardise that."

Wesley nodded thoughtfully then turned to look at her with a serious expression. "I understand," he said. "And I would like to add my opinion on last night's, um, events. I think that it was very much a consequence of our mutual grief-"

"And our mutual drunkenness." Cordelia interrupted.

"Yes, well, that too," he conceded. "There were certain…situational determinants, rather than it being the manifestation of any underlying attraction we may feel for one another-"

"I'll say." Cordy butted in again. "Sorry," she amended. "Meant to be keeping a lid on that honesty of mine, aren't I?"

Wesley shot her a sharp look then continued with his speech. "My point is that what happened between us belongs in the moment, in the past, therefore it need not impinge upon our future friendship."

She smiled. "I'm not exactly sure I know what 'impinge' means, but I think I agree with the general principle." She held her hand out to be shaken. "Friends?"

Wesley took her hand, returning the smile. "Friends."

"Uh, Wes." Cordy added after a few seconds pause. "Do you think you could do me a huge favour as my friend and help me find my underwear?"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Angel looked down at the police report he held in his hands, a grave expression on his face. He had been shocked to find they were investigating Faith's death as a murder, due the suspicious circumstances that surrounded it. She was a supposedly healthy young woman found dead in her home and her lover, usually the main suspect in these sorts of cases, had disappeared without a trace, so naturally the police had been concerned. But so far they had been able to find no evidence of foul play. Angel was still concerned, however, as he didn't believe Faith had been murdered – he just hadn't got that vibe from the scene of her death and he knew there was no way Gunn would ever have harmed her. This was he was now pumping Ritchie Marks, one of the detectives on the case, for information.

Marks just happened to be a close contact of Angel's. The police officer's girlfriend had been the victim of a vampire attack two years earlier. There were no special circumstances behind the killing, she just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Incensed with grief and rage over the murder, and unaware of its supernatural overtones, Marks had vowed to get revenge against his lover's killer. A very talented investigator he managed to track down the lair of the vampire responsible for his girlfriend's death and stormed into a nest of vampires armed only with his service issue revolver.

Fortunately for the cop, Angel was tipped off to the situation by one of Cordelia's visions and managed to save Marks from an almost certain death, providing him also with some enlightening insights into the enemy he was facing. Since then Marks had become a valuable contact of Angel's, passing on useful information to the vampire whenever he got the chance. In return Angel helped to resolve some of the less conventional cases the LAPD faced.

Now Angel sat in the booth of a local diner with the detective, gleaning from him the details of the investigation into Faith's death. Once finished with the statement submitted by the officers on scene, which spoke of no obvious signs of a struggle, Angel began flipping through the pathologist's report. He skipped the details of the autopsy and turned straight to the last page, which contained the conclusions and the cause of death. He was surprised to find this section blank. He levelled a questioning glance at Marks who proceeded to explain.

"The ME says that the best estimate for cause death he can come up with is cardiac arrest."

Angel looked quizzically back at the detective. "But, everybody dies of cardiac arrest," he pointed out. "It's when your heart stops."

Marks shrugged. "Well, that's all the ME could be certain that happened," he replied. "It would seem your girl died for no reason other than her heart stopping."

"So, you're pretty sure it's not murder then?" Asked Angel.

"We can't call it murder, because there's no evidence anybody killed her. As far as we can determine, she just dropped dead."

"Tox screen?"

"Clear." Marks replied. "Nothing whatsoever in her blood. Plus no needle marks or defence wounds. No pre-existing pathologies or other medical conditions that could have resulted in her death, either. Quite frankly we don't have a damn clue what happened to her."

Angel nodded slowly. "I'll look into it," he responded. "Explore alternative avenues."

Marks grimaced. "Here's hoping you find something we missed." He paused and Angel got up to leave, dropping a couple of dollar bills on the table to pay for the coffee as he did so. "The official party line is still death under suspicious circumstances," Marks called after the retreating vampire. "So, we want to talk to the boyfriend."

"I see him, I'll point him in your direction." Angel answered, before leaving the diner and melting away into the night.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Faith was gradually coming to realise how lonely it was being a ghost. She could see plenty of other people and listen to their conversations but they could see her and she could no longer be a part of the life she saw all around her. It was like having to watch the world on a TV; she was now simply an observer, rather than a participant in it. The situation was driving her crazy.

She managed to find her way across town to Buffy and Angel's apartment, where she watched them taking care of Hope. This sight had made her feel better momentarily. Knowing that her daughter was safe and being well looked after was certainly a load off her mind. But longer she stayed there the more she felt as though she was intruding upon the privacy of her two closest friends. Neither of them were aware that she was there watching them and they shared certain intimate words and gestures that Faith had no right to witness.

It was when Buffy had started to cry softly and Angel had gathered her into his arms, whispering soothingly into her ear, that Faith had finally decided she could intrude no longer. Satisfied that Hope was all right, she slipped out of the apartment and stood on the street outside. She felt completely lost and alone. She had been dead for just two days now and already she had lost her place in the world. She no longer belonged in her friends' lives and they were beginning to learn to exist without her.

She had no clue as to what she was supposed to do next. She knew she was a ghost for a reason – that was pretty much a given – and up until know she had assumed that reason was to watch over Hope. But now she was not so sure. Hope was being well cared for by Buffy and Angel and even if something did go wrong in her daughter's life, what powers did she have to change that?

She sat down on the edge of the sidewalk and held her head in her hands. She wanted to cry but couldn't seem to find the tears. It all seemed less real, less immediate, now that she was distanced from life. When she lifted her head from her hands she was startled to find that her location had changed. She was now sitting on some steps inside a large stone room, which had no obvious entrances or exits save one wall that was composed of large marble pillars, behind which the space seemed to stretch out as far as the eye could see. In front of her stood two figures, a male and a female, both dressed in flowing robes. They appeared to be human, apart from their skin, which glowed a strange mixture of green and gold and appeared to change colour as the lighting in the room subtly altered around them.

Faith leapt up. "What the hell just happened?" She demanded angrily. "Where am I? Is this…?" She trailed off, suddenly unsure and afraid to finish her sentence, neither wanting the answer to her question to be confirmed or denied.

The woman seemed to get the gist of what Faith was asking, however, and laughed softly. "Hardly," she spoke in a soothing, melodic voice. "No child, you are still very much of this earth."

Faith breathed a sigh of relief; she was not ready to move on, not just yet. "Who are you?" She asked.

"We are the Oracles." The man announced grandly.

"The who?"

"The Oracles." The male repeated, annoyed. "Perhaps you have heard the warrior Angel speak of us."

Faith was about to shake her head until the answer just seemed to drift into the front of her mind, as if propelled there by some unseen force. She now remembered Angel referring to the Oracles as spokespersons for the Powers that Be. "Aren't you dead?"

"Precisely." The man answered cryptically.

Faith was becoming more and more confused. "Huh?"

"It is because we are of the spirit world as you are that we can communicate with you like this." The female explained patiently.

"So, you mean I can see and talk to other ghosts?" Faith asked enthusiastically. Things were beginning to look up if there were other people out there she could interact with.

"You can see other spirits if they choose to let you," the male interjected.

"I don't understand." Faith turned to the female Oracle, who so far had been the most reliable source of information.

"Your visibility is one of the things you will learn to manipulate, along with other skills." She told Faith.

"Like what?" Faith was interested to find out some of the things she would be able to do as a ghost. She had already mastered the walking through walls trick and she figured that there must be bigger perks in return for being dead.

"Like the movement of objects in the three-dimension plane or the relocation of your conscious self to any destination you choose." The male took his turn to speak.

"There are also other talents you may come to possess, such as the infiltration and the manipulation of dreams or the ability to implant psychic suggestions." The female added. "But these tricks must be much more carefully managed and used with extreme caution."

"So, are you guys gonna teach me this stuff?" Faith asked eagerly.

The female shook her head. "No, you will be appointed a guide to the spirit world, another ghost who has experience enough to guide you along your way and help you fulfil your destiny."

Faith looked at her sceptically. "Uh-uh, suddenly not liking this. What destiny?"

"You are a very important figure in the future of the world, Faith." The male informed her. "Your passing was premature, an unfortunate side effect of you being called as a slayer. That was not fated. But what has been done cannot be undone, so, now we will have to work around the situation. This is why your presence on this earth is being maintained as a ghost."

"Hang on a second," Faith interrupted. "Did you just say that me being the slayer wasn't supposed to happen?"

"Yes," the female confirmed. "It was a mistake. No new slayer was meant to be called in the few seconds Buffy Summers died. She is the premier slayer of your generation. Your fate lies in an entirely different direction, as does your daughter's."

"What's Hope got to do with this?" Faith demanded aggressively.

"She is a very special child." Was all the female Oracle would say on the matter. "Now, we must be leaving," she continued. "We have other business to attend to."

"Hey, wait!" Faith cried out in desperation as the figures in front of her began to gradually fade away. They represented the only people she had been able to carry out a conversation with since she had died, and she didn't want them to leave and her to be alone again. "You can't just leave me here!" She implored. "I don't know where I am."

"You will be sent to meet your spirit guide." The male Oracle declared. "Now we bid you farewell."

"Remember, Faith," the female called out as her physical form began to dematerialise and her body became transparent. "Your destiny is important. And look out for your friends, they may be needing your help in the near future." She disappeared completely and Faith was left alone in the strange room, staring intently out into the nothingness that surrounded her. She wondered once again what her next move should be and took an exploratory step forward, only to see her whole world explode in a flash of blinding, white light.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Faith's funeral was a quiet affair, conducted at night for the benefit of Angel and attended only by the remaining employees of Angel Investigations. Gunn was still nowhere to be found, so with some reluctance they decided to go ahead with Faith's burial without him. He didn't miss much, however, as Faith's lack of religious beliefs precluded any kind of traditional ceremony and the gathering of mourners was too small to bother with any kind of eulogy. They would each remember Faith in their own individual way.

So, it was in completely silence that Buffy, Angel, Cordelia and Wesley watched Faith's coffin being lowered into the ground. Buffy cradled Hope in her arms and Angel hovered protectively close to the pair. Cordelia and Wesley stood a distance apart from one another, relations between them still a little awkward. Cordy wrapped her arms around herself and tried desperately not to cry, whilst Wesley held himself stiff and motionless, bearing the proceedings with a stereotypically British fortitude.

When the grave was finally covered over each mourner laid their own floral tribute upon the freshly dug earth. As they knelt down to deposit their flowers they each whispered a private goodbye to Faith. Cordelia laid and extra red rose on behalf of the absent Gunn and they walked slowly away from the graveside, pausing only to glance back at the headstone that adorned it. Buffy after much careful thought had decided upon the epitaph, which read: Beloved Mother. May we gain from you the strength to fight on.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Faith found herself in a light, airy and spacious apartment. The place was devoid of furnishings and the wooden floors were bare, indicating it was currently uninhabited. Faith hardly had a chance to register how disorientating all these sudden, unexpected changes of location were becoming, when another figure appeared before her. This was a young man, in about his mid-twenties. He wasn't particularly good looking, Faith noted, and he was also wearing completely out-of-date, unfashionable clothes.

"OK, lemme guess," Faith addressed the strange man. "You would be my guide to the spirit world."

He nodded shyly. "I'm D-Dennis."

She stuck her hand out to shake his. "Faith." She viewed the apartment appraisingly then turned back to Dennis. "So, what happens now?" She asked. "Do I get some kind of guided tour? Coz let me tell you I was never fond of those coach trips."

Dennis looked at her bemused. "U-usually, spirits my find their own way in this world, but the Oracles asked m-me to h-help you because you're a special case."

Faith raised her eyebrows. "I'm beginning to get that a lot."

"A-are you a friend of C-Cordelia Chase?" Dennis stuttered nervously.

Now it was Faith's turn to look puzzled. "I used to know Cordy, yeah. Why?"

"She u-used to live here." He announced proudly. "She was my friend. W-when the Oracles said you knew Cordelia, that was when I agreed to help you. H-how is she, anyway?"

Faith sighed heavily. Not only was her guide to the spirit world a total dork with terminally dire fashion sense, he also had a major crush on Cordelia. Being dead was so much fun. "She's fine. Tell ya what, why don't we go visit her now? You can teach me that crossing town in the blink of an eye trick."

Dennis shrunk away from her suggestion. "I-I'd r-rather just st-stay here." His stammering seemed to almost double in severity. "I d-don't g-go out much."

Faith mentally added agoraphobic to the list of her brand new mentor's faults. Aloud she said, "so, what are you gonna show me first, teach?"

Dennis coloured as Faith fixed her attention upon him. "I th-thought we'd work on the movement of objects."

For the next half hour Faith struggled to try opening and closing the bathroom door of the apartment, though frankly she didn't understand what possible value this trick could have to her, since in her new state she could just walk through doors with out opening them, anyway. But once she had discovered how difficult the task actually was, she became determined to master it. She practiced mentally willing the door to open without touching it, as well as physically using the door handle, like she would have done whilst still alive. At first it too great effort and concentration and she kept getting distracted and allowing the door to fall back shut again or pushing her hand straight through the wood, but gradually it became easier and soon she was almost as accomplished at opening doors as she was when she was alive. The need to expend so much energy to complete a task which seemed so simple to her only three days ago was incredibly disheartening and she purposefully slammed the door and sank down to sit on the wooden floor.

"This does get easier, right?" She asked Dennis, bitterly.

"Y-yes." He answered. "With practice."

She leant her head against the wall in a defeatist attitude. The last thing she wanted to do at the moment was spend more time practicing the mind-numbingly boring activity of opening and closing a door. All that concentration had given her a headache she was further depressed to note. She had hoped that with the advent of her death and the separation of her spirit from her physical body, she would have said her finally goodbyes to niggling aches and pains like this one. But apparently not. Last night, also, had discovered that ghosts had to sleep as well. But it wasn't sleep in the conventional sense, where you lay down on a bed and dreamed, but more like somebody just switched you off for a couple of hours. She had simply ceased to be conscious of the world around her and when she had 'woken up' again she found that the night had passed and the sun was rising.

She was bored, so she decided to quiz Dennis for further information. "So, how come you're a ghost, then?" She asked in a conversational tone.

He seemed taken aback by the question. "I-I died."

"No, duh." Faith responded sarcastically. "I get that part, but how come you haven't passed on or whatever? I mean not everybody becomes a ghost, right? Otherwise the whole planet would be swimming with all these walking corpses, and I far as I can see, the ethereal plane isn't exactly overcrowded. Now I'm still here because of this big destiny I'm supposed to have, but what about you?"

"I'm w-waiting." He told her quietly.

"For what?"

"When I d-died I was separated from my one true love. Now I have to w-wait for her spirit to join mine before I can leave this earth."

"But what if she doesn't want to join you?" Faith persisted with her objections. "What if she's found someone else since you've been dead?"

"It d-doesn't matter." He shook his head. "We were meant to be together – her soul belongs with mine, no matter who else she may meet."

"Oh." Faith replied sadly, as her thoughts turned to the man she considered to be her soul mate. Gunn. She wondered where he was and hoped desperately that he was all right. But most of all she wondered if he missed her, because she sure as Hell missed him.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Wesley hung up the phone with a heavy heart. Ever since Angel had shared with him the findings (or lack of them) from the post mortem done upon Faith's body he had spent every minute of his spare time trying to find an explanation as to why she died. His industry partially fuelled by guilt, he had concentrated all his efforts into investigating the apparent illness Faith had been suffering from before she passed away. At the time they had all thought it to be psychological, some combined effect of post-natal depression and the trauma of losing her status as the slayer. But since her death Wesley had become convinced there was more to it than that. That if only they'd been more concerned and taken this seriously when Faith was alive then they might have been able to save her before it was too late.

His research, however, and the phone call he had just made, had disproved this theory. Though absolved from guilt, as there was nothing anyone could have done to prevent Faith's death, he still thought that he would rather not have found the answer. He cursed his own doggedness and determination to solve the mystery, as the explanation had thrown up many more problems than would ever have existed if the cause of Faith's death had forever remained unknown. Ignorance may not be bliss but it was infinitely better than the sick feeling of dread Wesley felt now in the pit of his stomach. When he considered the impacts his newfound knowledge would have on some of his closest friends, he wished that he could erase the day. Start again, but this time, never make that discovery, never be quite as thorough or as persistent. Never unearth this closely guarded secret.

Angel would have to be told, Wesley realised. This was not the sort of knowledge he could keep to himself; no matter how much kinder it would be to do so. This revelation would impact on the rest of Angel and Buffy's life together, and they would want to know. Immediately.

He found Angel in his office, deep in conversation with Buffy. They held the fingers of each of their left hands entwined together, keeping up the customary physical contact they always maintained when in close proximity to one another. Their voices were low and serious and from the few words Wesley overheard he gathered they were discussing the possible whereabouts of Gunn and the future of Hope in their care. Unwilling to interrupt something so important, Wesley nearly backed out of the room, but Angel had already spotted him. In hindsight Wesley was grateful for that. If he hadn't broken the news straight away, right then and there, then the courage to do it at all may have failed him completely.

He cleared his throat nervously before speaking. "Um, perhaps I could have a private word, Angel. I've, er, deduced a possible explanation for Faith's death."

Angel's eyes met with Buffy's and she shook her head briefly. "If there's anything you've found out, Wes, then I want to hear it too."

"Well, erm, if you're entirely sure…" Wesley said reluctantly. He had really wanted to speak with Angel alone about this, having Buffy present as well was going to make it a hundred times more complicated. He looked towards the vampire for confirmation or a possible get out clause, but Angel simply nodded.

"I think Buffy has a right to hear this as well."

"Yes, quite." Wesley replied then took a deep breath before continuing. "As far as I could determine, Faith's medical problems began in earnest after the birth of her daughter. Now, the conclusion I came to then was that Faith's motherhood had caused her to lose her abilities as the slayer. Unfortunately, I must admit that I was incorrect in making that assumption."

Buffy opened her mouth to comment, but Angel quickly silenced her with a look. Wesley hesitated before continuing, swapping to the much less contentious subject of the research methods he used to investigate Faith's death.

"So, instead of considering Faith's problems in the context of her pregnancy, I went right back to the beginning and researched what it is that is responsible for changing an ordinary teenaged girl into the slayer in the first place." His demeanour became more relaxed as he spoke of a more comfortable topic. "There is quite a mystery surrounding this, but it has been widely assumed to be a spell. Hence, I went through my whole collection of books on ancient magicks to see if I could find a reference. There were a few possible links, but nothing concrete, so I examined some of the old watchers' diaries also. These contained more allusions to a spell that called the slayers, but there was never enough to draw definite conclusions from.

"It was like this giant jigsaw, where I would find clues from different sources and have to piece them together one by one." Wesley spoke enthusiastically as he recounted one of the favourite parts of his job as a researcher. He simply loved to see a mystery unravel gradually before his eyes, sifting the information carefully until the one pertinent fact would suddenly leap of the page at him. He sobered remembering that this wasn't just some academic problem he was dealing with here, but instead the lives and deaths of his closest friends.

"Well, anyway, I finally managed to glean a glimpse of the whole picture." He carried on, his expression serious. "And I phoned an old friend of mine at the council. After calling in a few old debts, he confirmed my suspicions on how exactly the spell does work."

"Well?" Buffy prompted impatiently, after Wesley stopped his tale. "Don't keep us hanging here all night. I'm all for dramatic pauses, but this is taking the theatrics a little too far. How does the spell work?"

Wesley looked apprehensively over to where Angel was listening intently to his every word. Buffy may not have yet grasped the full import of his findings, but Wesley was well aware the significance of what he was saying was not lost on Angel. Anything that effected Faith because of her status as the Slayer would also have an equal effect of Buffy, so this conversation was not just about the death of Angel's close friend but the life of his brand new bride, as well.

"The theory behind the spell," Wesley began to explain. "Is that each of us is born with a finite life energy. The amount is different for different people; hence, we all live to a different age and each have our own individual life expectancy. But girls who become slayers generally have slightly more life energy than the average – it is part of the reason why they are chosen. In other words they have a natural longevity and in ordinary circumstances, they would be capable of living well into old age."

"What do you mean, in ordinary circumstances?" Buffy asked, a hint of dread colouring her tone.

"The average person will consume their life energy gradually, over many years time," Wesley continued. "But, the slayer spell changed this. It condenses the energy, so it can all be used at once, producing superhuman strength and speed in the individual the spell is cast upon. However," Wesley swallowed nervously, he really didn't want to get to this part, but there was no going back now. "There is an unfortunate side effect, in that this means all the slayers life energy will be used in a much shorter period of time than usual, and -"

"And they die, right?" Buffy interrupted bitterly, her face pale, as she finally realised the full meaning of Wesley's words. "Faith died because of this and the same thing is going to happen to me." It was a statement, not a question, but Wesley answered it, anyway.

"Yes," he said, refusing to meet Buffy's or Angel's gaze. "I'm very sorry."

Tears welled in Buffy's eyes and she struggled to control her voice. "How long?" She asked, her voice thick with emotion and barely repressed anger. "How long have I got until I just fade away like Faith did?"

"I-I'm afraid it's impossible to say." Wesley admitted to her, feeling absolutely terrible. He couldn't have previously imagined the pain he would feel when having to inform a young woman, so previously full of fire and energy that she would be cut down in the prime of her life. That she could possibly only have a few more months left of her existence. "I think that the extra stress placed upon Faith's body by her pregnancy and, er, the coma she suffered, would have accelerated the process of her death. You could have anything up to five years left."

Buffy just stared at him with total incomprehension and horror then turned and ran out of the room, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Buffy…" Angel called after her uselessly, his voice suffused with soul deep pain and his expression one of utter devastation.

Wesley left them both alone. His words had hurt them enough for one day.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Buffy paced back and forth about the bedroom. She didn't want to sit down, didn't want to stop. She couldn't bear to be still. Faith had been so motionless in her last few weeks of life, until finally she would never move again. Buffy didn't want that to happen to her, she had to keep going. She had to prove there was still life left in her. She wanted to show Wesley that he was wrong, that she still had all her strength and her energy, that she wasn't just going to fade away. It wasn't going to happen to her. It couldn't.

Five years. It was such a short time. There was so much more she wanted to do with her life. There were things she'd always said she'd do when she had the time, but that she'd never got around to. There were places she hadn't visited yet, foods she hadn't tasted. She wanted to climb to the top of the Eiffel tower or walk hand in hand on a moonlit beach in the Bahamas with Angel. There were things she needed to say to the people she loved. So much to do and so little time to do it in.

Angry tears poured down her face. She had fought so hard all her life, overcome so much and for what? To be told the very people who had relied on her to do their dirty work for them, to squander her life walking in the darkness and cleaning up the very messes spewed out by Hell. These people who had hailed her as so important to their cause, who had called her special and chosen, they had cast her aside when she had exceeded her use to them, then had left her to be condemned to a death sentence.

And you know what hurt most? That they hadn't even thought to tell her. Couldn't the Watcher's council have sent a telegram or something? Dear Ms Summers, stop. Don't expect to live past your thirtieth birthday, stop. Many thanks for all your help, stop. But if she had known would she have done any of it differently. Would she have battled so fervently if she knew that the future she was fighting for didn't exist for her? Would she just have given up long ago, and died somewhere in a blaze of glory? Surely, even that was better than just fading away into the night.

She hadn't asked for this. She hadn't wanted it. All she had ever wanted was to be a normal girl with a normal life. She wished she had never become the Slayer. She wished she'd never found out about vampires or demons or magic spells that sucked the life force out of you. She wished that they'd just left her alone to be that vacuous teenager that cared only about whether she had a date that weekend or whether the colour of her lip gloss matched the t-shirt she was wearing. But then again she didn't wish for any of that at all. If she hadn't have become the Slayer then she would still be that shallow person. She would never have made such wonderful friends, like Xander, or Willow, or Faith, or Giles. She never would have met Angel and known the most earth shattering love imaginable. She never would have lived. But why, now, did she have to die for it?

It was fair. It just wasn't fair! Buffy collapsed on to the bed and started to pound at the pillows in some kind of angry tantrum. She wanted to lash out, hit something, someone. She wanted to make the world pay for what it had done to her. If she was going down then she would do it fighting. She drove her fists downwards with all of her slayer strength and one of the pillows burst open beneath her. The soft down, which had previously stuffed the pillow, exploded out everywhere. Feathers flew through the air and rained gently down upon her. She began to laugh hysterically at the sight. It was so funny, like a scene out of one of those teen feel-good movies, where the kids have a slumber party and play games like truth or dare then have a pillow fight.

Buffy had never had a pillow fight before. Yet another thing to chalk up on the list of missed opportunities. Her laughter turned quickly to tears, great big gulping sobs that made her shoulders heave to force them out of her body. She didn't want to die, not yet. She was too young; she had so much more left to live for. It wasn't fair.

This is how Angel found her, curled up in the foetal position on the bed they shared, surrounded by feathers and weeping uncontrollably. He pulled her tightly into his arms and she clung to him desperately, her sobs gradually decreasing in their intensity and fading to plaintive whimpers. Angel buried his face in her neck and hair, allowing only a few of his own, blood-tinged, tears to escape his eyes. They remained like that for a long time, each locked safely in the others comforting embrace, held together by their mutual despair.

When Buffy had regained enough control over herself to speak she whispered to Angel. "It's not enough time."

He stiffened upon hearing her speak again the words that only he remembered from their lost day and kissed the top of her head softly. "Eternity wouldn't be enough time." He replied, his voice hoarse.

She managed a weak smile, though her bottom lip still trembled with tears not yet shed. "And you would know." She answered, pulling herself up his body so that her head rested in the crook of his neck. "You're going to say that we should make the most of the time we have left, aren't you?" She Buffy said bleakly. "You're gonna tell me that we always knew our time together would be short and that something like this could happen to either of us, at any time." Her voice started to crack. "It's just a fact of our extremely sucky lives."

Angel pulled her even closer to him, holding her so tightly it hurt, yet nowhere near tightly enough. "No," he said with emotion. "I was going to say we'll find a way around this. There must be something we can do to fight it."

Buffy shook her head. "It's too late, remember? I've been dying since the day they called me as the Slayer and there's nothing we can do to change that now. Faith died and now the same thing is going to happen to me."

"We can get Wesley to look for a cure…" Angel said without conviction.

Buffy smiled at him sadly. "I'm sure he's looked already, but he won't find anything. My fate's already been decided and now we just have to deal with the consequences." She paused to fight back the tears that threatened to fall. "I love you," she choked out. "I want you to know that I've always loved you."

"No," Angel said in a strangled voice. "You're not going to do this Buffy. You're not going to say your goodbyes already – we'll have plenty of chances to do this in the future. Five years is a long time."

"Five years is nothing." She replied bitterly. "It's hardly any time at all - especially to you." She held his gaze. "I need to say this Angel, please."

He kissed her briefly and desperately then inclined his head in a slight nod of acceptance. Buffy closed her eyes, blinking away tears and gathering together the remains of her tattered emotions. When she opened her eyes again, she was ready to continue.

"There are things I need to say to you," she took Angel's hand and squeezed it in hers. "I never blamed you for any of the things you did as Angelus. Drinking my blood, leaving me, sleeping with Darla…I forgave you all of it a long time ago. I forgive you everything, there was never any question of that." She spoke forcefully. "And there was nothing – absolutely nothing – you could do or say or that could happen to ever make me love you any less."

Her eyes shone with such love and devotion that Angel's heart broke at the sight. He had done nothing to deserve such strength of feeling yet Buffy bestowed it upon him all the same. He finally gave in and started to cry alongside her.

She held him close for a while, letting him weep, then gently kissed away the salty tears coating his cheeks. She leant her forehead against his and closed her eyes.

"Make love to me." She requested in a throaty whisper.

Angel complied, more aware now than ever how precious every single moment of the time they spent together was.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Faith soon reached the end of her short attention span hanging with Dennis. He wasn't exactly a great conversationalist and there weren't very many tricks she could practice perfecting in the empty apartment. She didn't know how Dennis managed, stuck alone here with nothing to do and nobody to talk to, but maybe that explained why he was a little strange, she concluded. She'd found a dusty quarter dropped in one of corners of the living room and had learnt finer manipulation of objects, lifting the coin of the ground into the air and succeeding in getting it to spin around on its edge. But now she was bored and when she got bored she also got antsy.

"So, how's about you teach me that teleportation trick, then?" Faith demanded impatiently. The idea that she could possibly transport herself magically to any place in the world, just by thinking it, excited her. She had always enjoyed travelling, seeing new places, leaving all her old painful memories behind. If she'd had the opportunity or the funds (and if she hadn't spent most of her young life stuck in jail) she would have done much more travelling. And now she regretted dying without seeing more of the world.

"Teleportation?" Dennis asked, confused.

"What you never see Star Trek?" Faith said, then took in the other ghost's choice of fashion wear, which unmistakably dated back to the 1950s. "Guess you actually haven't, huh?" She amended. "I mean, aren't you gonna show me how to whiz about from place to place, 'cause I'll be damned if I'm gonna get stuck taking the bus for the rest of my eternal death."

Dennis agreed reluctantly and went of to explain how it was best to start out making short journeys to places she knew well, or had an emotional connection to. If a ghost was attached to a place in some way – like he was with his apartment – then their powers were much stronger there. They would also find it substantially easier to mentally will themselves there rather than to some strange or exotic location they had never visited before. He mentioned that it wasn't entirely unknown for ghosts trying to visit some far off place to make a geographical miscalculation and end up, say, hovering above the middle of the Pacific Ocean.

Dennis' advice in the forefront of her mind, Faith decided the best place for her to go would be the offices of Angel Investigations. The location was very familiar there and the building contained her closest friends and her daughter, so there was a definite emotional link. As instructed she closed her eyes and imagined herself in the office, concentrating with all her might in actually moving somewhere. But when she opened them again she was still in the empty apartment.

"T-try again." Dennis offered and she did so.

This time she felt something shift slightly and her eyes flew open. She was greeted with a rather out of focus view of Dennis peering concernedly at her, with the same damn apartment in the background.

"Shit!" Faith exclaimed. This was the hardest task she'd tried yet. "I'm going to need some help here." She addressed her reluctant mentor. "C'mon, you'd like to see Cordelia again wouldn't you?" She grabbed his hand and was relieved to find it solid and warm (slightly clammy, even) in hers. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and willed herself to move. This time there was a definite shift and the atmosphere around her began to feel different. She kept her eyes held closed for a few seconds longer, mindful of what had happened last time then opened them to be greeted with the foyer of the AI office building.

Her heart leapt. "Yes!" She cried out. "Score one for Faith!"

She turned to grin at Dennis, who was still holding on to her hand (she'd never liked needy guys), but his attention was already distracted. He pulled away from her and towards voices coming from one of the inner offices. Faith followed him.

"Oh my God," Cordelia remarked in a dismayed voice. "But that's terrible. Poor Buffy – poor Angel."

Wesley nodded grimly. "And as far as all my research sources and contacts tell me, there's nothing we can do about it either."

Faith began listening with some interest. Obviously something serious was going on here and she was concerned to know what it was, especially if it affected Angel and Buffy, who, not only her friends were also now the sole carers of her daughter. And the female Oracle's warning that Faith's help would be needed sometime in the near future also reverberated in the back of her mind.

"You mean we're just going to have to watch Buffy die, like we did with Faith?" Cordy asked her tone expressing the anger she felt over the injustices of this world. "Just because of some stupid spell they use to call slayers. Why hasn't somebody objected to this before? After all slayers have been around since the beginning of time, you'd think they would have got around to ironing out a tiny problem like this before now."

"Up until now the full effects of the calling spell have never been realised." Wesley explained. "Buffy and Faith are – were – two of the oldest slayers in the history of the spell. Before, them all other slayers have been killed in battle before this, uh, side effect, became an issue. The Council have always closely guarded the details of the spell, for fear it may fall into the wrong hands and slayers may be called for the side of darkness." He levelled an apologetic look at Cordelia. "Even now I can't get hold of the full details of the spell, they are only known by a very select few. If I could then maybe we would be able to work on an antidote, but…"

"Can't you get one of your watcher buddies to slip you the nod, or whatever you British people do?" Cordy asked. "Or we could go storming into their headquarters and drag the answer out of them."

"And get ourselves killed in the process?" Wesley replied. "The Council's headquarters are very closely guarded and they will go to any lengths to protect a secret like this. And quite rightly so."

"You're just siding with all your old pals." Cordy ranted at him. "You'd rather choose those stuffed shirts over two of your closest friends."

"As you well know, I haven't worked for the Watcher's Council in years." Wesley argued back at her.

"Yeah, only because they fired your ass!"

Faith tuned out the rest of the argument, one of many she had heard between Cordelia and Wesley over the years. There was obviously some weird dynamic between those two that they needed to work through. She was much more interested in the implications of what she heard. There was something about the spell that called slayers, which had resulted in her own death and was going to kill Buffy too. It was a difficult revelation to swallow, but she wasn't upset over her own demise. It was too late for her to be saved, anyway, and there was no point getting angry over something she couldn't change. She almost couldn't believe her own thoughts – dying had obviously made her a lot more philosophical.

Anyway, she decided that something must be done to help Buffy. As a ghost she probably had access to a lot more resources than Wesley did. For example, she thought ironically, she didn't have to worry about be killed by the Council for breaking and entering, she was already dead. But that wasn't going to be an option, she realised. She had no idea where the Council's headquarters even were in England and there was no way she would be able to locate the spell in them, anyway. What she needed was the help of a witch. There must be one she knew whom she could call upon.

After wracking her brains Faith remembered Willow. She hadn't seen the redhead in years, but she remembered that Buffy's former best friend had a not particularly healthy interest in witchcraft, and if she'd kept up the hobby then she should be quite talented right now. Faith was just feeling pleased with herself for coming up with a solution so quickly when she remembered that Willow had died nearly two years earlier. But, she brightened considerably, that shouldn't be a problem. In fact it was probably a bonus, as if the Wicca was now a ghost Faith could communicate with her.

She poked Dennis in the arm, distracting him from his googly eyed staring at Cordelia. "How would I go about contacting somebody else who's died?" She asked.

Dennis dragged his attention away from Cordy. "T-that depends." He answered.

"On what?"

"On w-whether the person's a-another ghost or not." Dennis stuttered.

"What if they are?" Faith demanded to know.

"Then it-it's like changing locations, you will yourself to that p-person and you will appear b-before them." He informed her.

"OK." Faith decided she could manage that. "And if they're not a ghost."

"I-if they've P-passed On then t-there's n-no way you can contact them."

Faith scrunched her eyes tightly closed and pictured Willow's face. She would just have to hope that the girl had some unresolved issues and ended up a ghost. Nothing happened, She tried it again, and again, but she couldn't even feel Willow's presence out there. It was no use. Willow wasn't the kind of person to leave anything unresolved, she would be in heaven right now – or whatever passed for it – her soul finally rewarded for its kindness.

Faith gave up trying to track Willow and started again from square one. Well, not quite square one, she realised a second later. In thinking about Willow she had remembered the Wicca's lesbian proclivities from college. She'd hooked up with another girl; she was a witch as well. Perhaps this one could help. Faith's face lit up in a broad grin and she slapped Dennis on the back.

"Come on, buddy. We're going on a witch hunt."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tara ran a retreat in the Appalachian Mountains. She had just seemed to fall into the profession. She'd always had a caring nature and after experimenting with various aspects of witchcraft she found the art at which she was most talented was that of healing. Publicly her retreat was famed for the beneficial effects of the fresh mountain air, the relaxation exercises she encouraged and her various 'herbal' remedies and it was considered an exclusive destination for stressed celebrities and millionaires. These rich clients kept the retreat running and its profit margin steady, but they were not why Tara ran it.

She was renowned for her abilities within the Wicca community and her real purpose was offering help and healing to the truly sick and needy. Witches from all over the country would refer important cases to her and she never turned anyone with a true problem away. Sometimes she asked for a token donation from these lost souls, other times she would request that they made use of a particular skill or talent to help maintain the retreat. Some people she simply helped and sent on their way, without asking for anything in return.

Generally, she was very happy with her current situation. She lived at one with nature, she spent her days relieving the suffering of others and she was busy practising the witchcraft she loved so much. But she couldn't help feeling a little lonely. She was still painfully shy, and although she met a lot of different people in her job, none of them ever stayed long enough to become firm friends with. And to most clients she was their saviour, someone untouchable who literally magicked away their ailments. They didn't want to get know the person behind the healing and find out that she was human too, with her own weaknesses and fallibilities.

In addition to Tara's solitary lifestyle she still missed the only love she had ever known – Willow. Even though the couple had not been together when Willow died, Tara had been devastated by her former girlfriend's death. It had been four years since they had split and yet some mornings Tara still awoke expecting to see a wild mass of auburn hair resting on the pillow next to her. Their parting had been on good terms – they had simply drifted apart, their lives moving in different directions. They had never lost the emotional contact or the love they felt for one another, they had just found it impossible to carry on a relationship when they led such separate existences.

Their problems had started when Willow had been offered a job in Boston. She had been so excited and enthused about it that Tara had agreed to move across the country with her. Willow had adored Boston with all its history and culture and had settled right into the academic community there. Tara, on the other hand, had experienced a few more problems. She had never felt at home living in a big city and didn't feel she fit in with any of Willow's new friends. Gradually, she had become a smaller and smaller part of her girlfriend's life, they spent less and less time together – Willow was always busy – and Tara would spend long hours sitting alone in the apartment they shared. Eventually, Willow realised what was going on and they talked long and hard about it, eventually agreeing the best thing they could do was split up. They no longer moved in the same worlds. Willow was not prepared to give up her newfound life and happiness and she didn't think it was fair for Tara to have to stay somewhere she didn't feel she belonged.

So, Tara had moved back to California and built her own life there. When the chance had come to open her retreat she had jumped at it. And once she had started work there she knew it had been the right decision. It felt so right, so meant to be and she gained a sense of purpose she had never had before. She finally began to understand how Willow must have felt about her life in Boston. They still kept in touch with each other, exchanging regular letters and phone calls, and Tara had cried solidly for a whole week after she had found out about Willow's death. Even worse was the length of time the news had taken to reach her. No longer one of Willow's intimate circle it had been several days before anybody had thought to contact her, and Tara had even missed the funeral. To think of it now still pained her.

After Willow's death Tara had thrown herself into her work with increased fervour. The business of the retreat flourished, yet she herself became more and more isolated from the company of others. She started taking long solitary walks in her beloved mountains, ostensibly to gather fresh ingredients for her spells, but mainly to be alone to think. On these walks she would think of Willow and the happy times they spent together and would sometimes even speak aloud to her former love, almost as if she was up there watching and listening.

She had just returned from one of these walks and was about to begin cooking herself supper when she felt a strange presence in her cabin. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she realised she was not alone. She searched the cabin for an intruder but knew she wouldn't find anyone – this presence wasn't human, or at least not living human. At first she thought this might be Willow, finally come back from beyond the grave to visit Tara and reassure her in her time of loneliness. But she quickly dismissed this thought. The presence felt foreign and unfamiliar and besides, she didn't even dare hope that Willow would return to her after all this time.

A door slammed shut behind her and she spun around automatically to face the source of the noise. There was no one there and yet the presence was getting stronger, multiplying, like there was more than one person there. She began to feel a little frightened, she had dealt with ghosts before and generally they were nowhere near as malevolent as folklore made them out to be, yet to have them invade her home, uninvited, was a little disturbing.

"W-who's there?" She called.

The only answer was the sound of water running into the kitchen sink. She quickly rushed over and switched off the faucets. Ghosts always had a reason, she knew. They wouldn't just haunt a persons home for kicks, well OK some would, but they didn't just appear out of nowhere, they usually came with the house and had probably died there. No one had died in her cabin; she had lived in it since it was built, so there must be some other reason that the ghosts were visiting here, visiting her.

She rushed over to a chest she kept in the corner of the room, which contained her lesser-used magic supplies. Every self-respecting witch had to have an Ouiji Board, even if she didn't use it all that often. Tara removed hers from the chest and laid it down upon the table. She had barely placed the glass in the centre of the circle of letters, when it started it move.

B-U-F-F-Y-S-U-M-M-E-R-S the glass spelt out.

"Y-you're Buffy?" Tara asked incredulously.

The glass scooted quickly over to 'NO'. Then began spelling letters out again. F-R-I-E-N-D.

"Oh, so you're a friend of Buffy's." Tara replied, still confused.

'YES'. The glassed paused for a second then began to move furiously again.

N-E-E-D-H-E-L-P-M-A-G-I-C-S-P-E-L-L-B-U-F-F-Y-L-A-

"W-wait a second!" Tara interrupted. The glass stopped obediently. "You need help or Buffy needs help?"

B-U-F-

"OK, I get it. Buffy needs help. But why my help?"

The glass moved quickly and impatiently.

W-I-T-C-H-C-R-A-F-T

"So, Buffy needs help with a spell." Tara concluded. "Why didn't she just call?" The glass stayed obstinately still. "OK, stupid question." Tara acknowledged.

Another message began to be spelled out. G-O-L-A.

"Oh," Tara replied. "I can do that, I suppose. I-if Buffy needs me."

O-K-? The glass asked.

Tara nodded and suddenly the presence in the room was gone. She was completely and totally alone again and somehow it was even more upsetting than feeling the intrusion of strangers in her home. Although worried as to what could be going on, she would be glad to see Buffy again. The Slayer was one of the few true friends she had ever had and it would be nice to share memories again with someone who missed Willow as much as she herself did. She grabbed her address book and looked up where Buffy was living now in LA. She would leave first thing in the morning.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Buffy wiped the sweat out of her eyes and began pounding at the punch bag once more. She wasn't sure if it was a good thing to be training (keeping up her strength) or a bad thing (using up what little energy reserves she had left). But she knew that it made her feel better, so she kept at it. She pushed her body so hard that all her muscles started to thrum and the physical exhaustion at least partially drowned out the aching in her heart. It had been over a week since Faith died now, and two days since Wesley dropped his little bombshell and life was starting to get back to normal. Or at least whatever semblance of normal was possible when one of your closest friends had just died, her lover's whereabouts were still unknown, you inherited a four month old baby and you suddenly found out that your own death was uncomfortably imminent.

Buffy swung a particularly vicious right cross and the bag retaliated, swinging back and knocking her to the floor when she wasn't paying attention. Deciding she'd well and truly lost her focus (not that she had much left to begin with), Buffy abandoned training for the day. She rubbed her face dry with a towel and went to hit the shower. To get back to the apartment she had to walk back through the main office and as she did so, she felt Cordelia and Wesley's eyes on her. She turned to look at them and they both flashed her nervous grins. Cordy inquired after her training in a high-pitched tone of voice with rang with false brightness. Buffy answered distractedly. It was becoming increasingly difficult to face Wesley and Cordelia now. Neither of them had the faintest idea what to say to her. She didn't exactly blame them; she didn't know how to deal with this situation either.

On the one hand, she wanted everything to just carry on as normal. After all what had changed, really? She had always known that she would probably face an early grave and that every time she stepped out the door on a case, she risked losing her life. Now there was just a greater certainty about it. Now the 'what ifs' were 'whens', that was the only difference. But on the other hand, everything had changed. Before the possibility of her death had been just that – a possibility. She had never really believed it would happen, because who does? We all know that intellectually we will die someday, but we never really accept that we will actually face the single moment when our existence on this planet just stops. Our life ceases to be.

Buffy had thought about her death a lot more than most people, what with actually having been killed once already. But she had always assumed that it would be a sudden thing. She wouldn't be expecting it. One minute she would be in the middle of a fight and the next – nothing. Maybe she would realise at the last minute. See the sword poking out of her belly or feel the fangs in her neck and maybe she would spare a thought for Angel or the friends she had loved and lost. But never once had she imagined this new purgatory. That of knowing. Knowing that her body was slowly fading away and having long periods of time to think about the implications of that. To worry about how it was going to feel like, or what came after, or what she would leave in her wake. To see the pain her death would cause Angel reflected in his eyes every time he looked at her.

She wanted to forget. She wanted to erase this knowledge from her memory. She wanted death to once again become something that would creep up behind her in a dark alley. Because now she was forced to face the shocking truth - her future was finite. What had once seemed huge and unfathomable, what was once filled with promise and hope and surprises, now was suddenly capped. It was like being told that the universe ended in the next street. It seemed unreal, like a nightmare that she would soon be waking from. And it was only this sense that some terrible mistake had been made, that Wesley would turn around and go 'oops, you're not going to die after all, Buffy' (which wouldn't be the first time he'd made that kind of mistake either, apparently, according to Angel), that kept her from cracking up totally.

Buffy was slowly climbing up the stairs, when she heard the front door of the offices open and Cordelia launch into her 'Welcoming a new client' speech. Cordy hadn't got past the first 'Thank you for bringing your business to Angel Investigations', however, when Buffy's extra-sensitive ears picked up a familiar soft voice stuttering in its nervousness.

"Tara!" She cried out and sprinted back down the few stairs she had already ascended. Maybe seeing an old friend was just what she needed right now to lift her mood out of its current depressed state. She went to embrace the other woman, but stopped herself at the last minute, remembering how sweaty she was from her workout.

"Tara, it's so nice to see you." She amended.

"Y-you too, Buffy." Tara squeezed Buffy's hand in substitute for a hug.

"Oh, so you two know each other." Cordy inquired casually, her tone of voice clearly meant to mask any interest she had in the subject of who their visitor was. Usually Cordelia would only bother being polite to guests if they were paying clients or if she could get some interesting gossip or worthwhile contacts out of them. Buffy wanted Tara to feel welcome, so she decided to push Cordy's 'potential for gossip' button.

"Wesley, Cordelia, this is Tara. Willow's old girlfriend." Buffy replied.

There was a spluttering sound from across the room as Wesley spat out the mouthful of tea he was drinking. "Willow's what?" He exclaimed, then overcame his initially shock and regained his manners. "Er, terribly sorry," he said, getting up to shake Tara's hand. "Very pleased to meet you." He moved away from Tara and over to Cordelia, hissing in her ear just a shade too loudly. "Why does nobody ever tell me these things?"

"C-can we talk?" Tara addressed Buffy.

"Sure," Buffy smiled back at her, slightly puzzled at what this could be about. "Come upstairs. You can have a coffee while I change."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tara followed Buffy the stairs, smiling nervously at Cordelia and Wesley as she did so. The two grinned broadly back at her and Cordy offered a little wave. Buffy merely rolled her eyes.

"Ignore them," she said. "They have a collective mental age of about ten." She opened the door to her private apartment. "I can't wait for you to meet Angel."

Tara nodded, biting her lip apprehensively, she had been thinking about this meeting practically the whole trip over. She had heard so much about Angel in the time she had known Buffy; first from Willow who filled her in on all the details of the curse and Angelus as well as the star-crossed lovers status Angel and Buffy shared. Then later, after Willow's death, Buffy had renewed contact Tara and her letters often contained long rambling passages about how great Angel was and how glad she was they could finally be together. But despite all this second hand information she had received about the vampire Tara still had no idea of what he would actually be like to meet in the flesh. There seemed to be so many contradictions about him that she couldn't reconcile them all into one personality.

She didn't have to wait long to have all her preconceptions shattered, though, as when she followed Buffy into the living room of her apartment they were greeted by a tall, dark man holding a young baby in his arms. Tara blinked at the sight. This was not something Buffy had mentioned in any of her letters and, besides, she didn't even think vampires could have children. Angel passed the baby over to Buffy, who cooed tenderly over it and Tara took the opportunity to study Angel properly.

She prided herself in being to read people's auras – the energy that surrounded them - it was a skill she just seemed to possess naturally and she had spent many years fine-tuning it. For example, she could see Buffy's aura clearly now. It was a bright white light surrounding her like a halo, white indicating strength and purity. It currently had a dark shadow, however, which Tara assumed to be due to whatever problem the ghost had wanted Tara to come and help with. Willow's aura, on the other hand, had been a soft blue, representing her kind, calm and centred nature. Tara could even see a hint of a purple aura surrounding the baby Buffy now cradled, which interested her slightly, as purple generally indicated someone gifted with special abilities.

Vampires generally didn't have auras, because it was the energy radiated by a person's soul that created an aura. But Angel did have a soul, so hence he also had an aura. However, this was like no aura Tara had ever seen before. It was a whole myriad of colours that were constantly changing and shifting emphasis. There was an underlying darkness with deep red flecks, which indicated pain, passion and rage. But she also detected green, meaning spirituality and generosity, as well as a strong yellow light, which suffused his whole aura, and brightened noticeably when he regarded Buffy. This, Tara realised, must represent his love. Angel's presence seemed to fill the entire room and she felt uncomfortably nervous to be in any close proximity to him, yet she was inexplicably drawn to the vampire in a way she had never experienced before. It was quite unnerving.

Angel walked towards her and shook her hand firmly in his, as Buffy made the introductions.

"H-hi." Tara managed to stutter out. Angel smiled warmly, a gesture that turned his whole aura orange briefly and Buffy handed the baby back to him. "I-I didn't know you two, uh, had, um…" Tara started.

"Oh, Hope," Buffy smiled sadly. "She's not ours, obviously, because you know, Angel…and…well…" She flicked an apologetic glance at her lover. "She belonged to a friend of ours who died recently. We're just looking after her for a while."

"Oh." Tara replied. "I-I'm really sorry about your friend."

Buffy touched Tara's arm softly. "Thanks."

Whilst Buffy had her shower and got changed, Angel made Tara some coffee and they sat drinking it in the kitchen. Few words passed between them, as neither were sterling conversationalists, but the silence wasn't too awkward and Tara used the pause to contemplate what she was actually doing there. The ghost had mentioned that Buffy needed her help with a spell of some sort, yet everything seemed to be alright with her old friend, apart from the strange shadow to Buffy's aura and her recent bereavement. But Tara knew from experience of Buffy that the Slayer always kept her problems to herself, for fear of upsetting others. Just because everything appeared OK with Buffy on the surface, didn't mean that something wasn't going on behind the scenes that Tara should be concerned about.

When Buffy returned from the shower Angel excused himself on the pretence of needing to get some work done. Buffy insisted upon quizzing Tara intensively on how she was and what she had been up to recently, but this didn't take up much time. Tara was fine and she had been busy doing what she always did nowadays - working. She chatted for a while about a new spell she had tried last week and it's amusing consequences, but she never had been a good anecdote teller and to understand the story fully you really had to appreciate the magical consequences of spell casting around the time of a new moon. Suffice it to say, Buffy smiled politely at the tale but her attention seemed distracted elsewhere. Tara noticed the guarded fear in her old friend's eyes and laid one comforting hand over Buffy's.

"Is e-everything OK?" She asked. "Because, I think I may be able to help."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Angel had a strange feeling about Tara, which he couldn't quite pinpoint to any particular emotion. He did not think she posed any kind of a threat it was just that she had some power about her, like a repressed energy. He had heard from Buffy that she was into witchcraft and he sensed that her abilities in this field but be very great, perhaps even greater than she herself was aware of. He also wondered what she was doing here. Buffy hadn't seen her in months and now suddenly she turned up on the doorstep out of the blue, with no particular excuse. Buffy may have accepted this at face value, but Angel suspected that there was something else going on.

His suspicions were at least partially confirmed, when after about an hour's worth of conversation with Tara, the two women traipsed back downstairs again. Buffy's eyes were red and Angel could tell she had been crying. She launched herself into Angel's arms and spoke softly too him.

"I told Tara what was going on with me. And she said she might be able to do something. You know, with magic, or something."

Angel heard the hope in her voice and shot Tara a dark look. Part of him resented the Wicca for implanting in Buffy what would probably be false optimism. The last thing she needed right now was to become convinced there was a cure and then for that possibility to be yanked cruelly away. Tara shouldn't have been giving her false ideas like this. But another part of Angel, the less cynical, realistic part, the part that had fallen in love with Buffy the first time he saw her and from that moment on remained convinced that they would spend eternity together. That part lit up with the same hope now. Perhaps this wasn't the end; perhaps Buffy could be helped. But it didn't matter what Angel thought now, what mattered was whether Tara could actually fulfil her promise to help them.

Tara spent the next few hours deep in conversation with Wesley. He filled her in on all the particular details of the Calling spell that had been cast on Buffy and how he had discovered it. They combed his books and Cordelia even helped with an Internet search, in order to try and find some sort of counter spell. Buffy sat by, with Hope on her lap, occasionally interjecting information she thought may be useful. Meanwhile, Angel paced about impatiently and filled in the time by sharpening some of his weapons. He could tell by the sceptical expression on Wesley's face that the former watcher thought this search was fruitless; nevertheless he was glad they were all involved. At least at the end of this they could be sure that everything possible had been done to help Buffy.

It killed Angel to be giving in like this and resigning himself to watching his only love die, but what other choice could there possibly be? He had accepted a long time ago that the fates had ruled against he and Buffy. They were obviously not meant to be together. It was as heartbreakingly simple as that.

It was well after sunset before the group abandoned their research. Wesley announced that they had exhausted every possible avenue of investigation and closed the heavy tomb he had been studying, with a depressing finality. Angel watched the light drain out of Buffy's eyes and his whole soul filled with pain. He had known this would be the conclusion and yet still the final acceptance of it was crushingly hurtful. And if he felt like this, he couldn't even imagine what Buffy must be going through. He grasped his wife's hand and squeezed it tightly. He was gratified to find that she smiled weakly back up at him. Buffy was strong and they would deal with this together, somehow.

This moment of tentative reassurance was interrupted, however, by Tara's quiet voice.

"A-actually, I think there might be something we can do."

"What?" Wesley asked her. "We've determined that we know to little of the spell to try and reverse its effects and even if we could, it would likely have no useful effect. I really don't see that there's anything else we can try."

"I wasn't th-thinking of changing the Calling spell." Tara replied. "That's not even an option. But there's some other magic we can try, if A-Angel will help?"

Angel turned to Tara and fixed her with a stern glare. He thought he knew what she was suggesting and it wasn't even an option. Of course, when he had first found out Buffy was going to die he had considered it, in fact it was the first thought to cross his mind. But he couldn't do it to her. Not for his own selfish reasons of keeping her alive. She deserved better than that.

"I'll not do it." He addressed Tara, a dangerous tone to his voice. "I'll not turn her."

He felt Buffy's sharp nails dig into the palm of his hand and sensed her heart rate increase. Maybe to everyone else this was an acceptable solution. Maybe they thought he could turn Buffy into a vampire, curse her with a soul and then everything would be all right again. But it wouldn't be. His friends all thought that being a vampire with a soul was an acceptable thing because he was one, and his behaviour met their standards. But Angel had spent one hundred years getting to this point. A whole century of battling with the demon inside him and learning to control his bloodlust. And still sometimes he faltered on his path. Admittedly he had had the guilt of thousands of deaths on his conscious, which Buffy would not have, but that made no difference.

Angel's soul was not the same as it had been when he was human. Sharing a mind with that of a demon had changed him and it would change Buffy too. She would lose her kind nature and carefree spirit. She would be haunted by visions of blood and carnage. She would lust for the kill and come to hate herself for doing so. Angel would not put her through it even if the alternative would be her death, because even if he did turn her, the Buffy he loved would be lost to him anyway. And there was no guarantee that the curse would work on her, anyway. It had been tailor made for Angel and even if they could adapt it for Buffy, it still contained the perfect happiness clause and past history had proved how many problems that could cause. Making Buffy a vampire was simply not an option Angel was prepared to pursue.

Tara flinched. "N-no, that's not what I meant. There's another spell I think can be cast, which will have similar effects as to if you did turn her into a vampire, but without passing the demon on."

"How d'you mean?" Buffy asked.

"W-well, yours and Angel's bodies are both supported by forces of magic." Tara began to explain. "This spell would enable you share some of the magic that keeps Angel's body animated and use it to maintain yourself. So, you would be a creature akin to a vampire, but without the demon inside you. In return Angel will, while it lasts, be a recipient of your magic. Essentially your life energies would be merged."

"But wouldn't that mean that while Buffy lives, I would actually…be alive too?" Angel asked, astounded.

Tara nodded and Wesley exclaimed. "Your Shanshu! Maybe this is what the prophecy meant. Maybe saving Buffy is your reward."

"But I thought that the prophecy meant Angel turned human?" Cordelia asked.

Wesley shook his head. "The prophecy simply said Angel would 'live'. At the time we took it to mean he turned human, because there didn't seem to be any other explanation. But maybe this is it. A vampire with a living body is certainly unheard of, but before Angel came along so was one with a soul."

"Hang on a second." Buffy interrupted. "If I'm going to be using the same magic that keeps vampires alive – uh, undead – then won't that make me, sort of not human?"

"Better undead than totally dead, wouldn't you say?" Cordy commented.

Tara ignored Cordy and focused on Buffy, after all it was ultimately her decision whether or not to go ahead with this. "I don't really know what it would make you," she answered honestly. "I don't think this spell's ever been tried between a vampire and a human before, much less a vampire and a slayer. In fact I don't really know what the results of it will be at all. I don't know if you'll have to drink blood or anything or if you'll be able to go out in the sunlight… They'll just be things you'll have to find out once the spell is cast."

"But…if I'm using Angel's magic won't that hurt him, make him weaker or something?" Buffy flashed a concerned look in her lover's direction.

"No," Wesley jumped in. "I think I'm beginning to understand this now. The magic that maintains vampires' bodies is an ancient one. It is external to the particular vampire. To put it in its simplest terms, the magic is like electricity coming from one giant battery. In doing this spell you and Angel will become joined, in a circuit, like two light bulbs connected in parallel."

"Light bulbs?" Angel repeated incredulously.

"And Tara would be what here, the electrician?" Cordy asked, mocking Wesley's explanation.

"What about my magic?" Buffy inquired. "Where does that come in?"

Wesley thought for a moment. "That would be like an alternative power source. If you imagine your magic as the main generator, then it will power yours and Angel's bodies, until it runs out. Then Angel's vampire magic will take over as the back-up battery."

"OK, Wesley, I think we can stop with the electricity analogy now." Angel interrupted. "Perhaps Tara could explain some of the mechanics of the actual spell?"

Tara flushed as the group's attention reverted back to her. "W-well, there's a ritual involved. It needs to be repeated once a month or the effects of the spell will wear off and your bond will be weakened. You say an incantation then you must drink some of each other's blood-"

"Something tells me Angel's not gonna have a problem with that." Cordelia commented only to be treated to a vicious glare from the rest of the group.

"Then, uh, you have to, um…seal your union." Tara continued awkwardly.

"She means have sex." Cordy supplied.

"Yes, thank you, Cordelia. I think we had all gathered that." Wesley told her with a hint of annoyance.

"Well, it all sounds simple enough." Buffy said with a slight grin. "Do you think it'll work?"

"I-it should do." Tara said hesitantly. "But there are also some downsides to the spell you should probably consider before going ahead."

"Downsides?" Buffy echoed.

"Yes." Tara replied. "As I-I mentioned before. The spell must be repeated once a month, otherwise it will cease to take effect and Buffy will die. And because Buffy is using Angel's energy to keep her alive, if anything should happen to him then she would also die." The group all sombrely nodded at this. "And the other thing is," Tara spoke in a rush. "The spell will not only join your bodies, but your souls as well." She paused to let the news sink in. "This means that if Buffy is killed and her soul leaves this plane, then Angel's would go with her, leaving his body behind if necessary."

There was a silence as all present digested the meaning of Tara's words. If things went wrong with the spell then Angelus, whom they had all thought safely bound, could be released.

"And-" Tara carried on.

"There's more?" Buffy asked. The enthusiasm she felt earlier now slightly blunted.

"Y-yes." Came Tara's answer. "As you know, vampire's are made eternal by the magic that sustains them. So, if you use this magic to sustain you, Buffy, then you will also become eternal. And because of your bond with Angel, you would have to spend the rest of you days with him."

Buffy's eyes locked with Angel's and she reached for his hand. "Eternity. Together." She breathed.

"Do you think you could handle that?" Angel asked seriously.

"I've never wanted anything less." Buffy answered and his face broke into a smile. He brushed a stray hair out of her face and leant down to kiss her softy.

"OK, Romeo and Juliet!" Cordelia rudely interrupted. "Break it up now, please. We've got some spell casting to be getting on with."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tara manoeuvred Buffy into position, next to Angel. They had chosen to perform the ritual in the couple's bedroom, in order to best cater for its later stages. Tara had marked out a circle on the floor and places one of the four basic elements (a bowl of water, a candle flame, a handful of earth and a jar of empty air) at each of the four compass points of the circle. Now Angel and Buffy would stand within the circle and clasp each other's hands, forming their own circuit of energy, while Tara read the Latin incantation. As the ritual became more familiar to them Buffy and Angel would be able to speak the chant themselves, but now, to ensure everything went right, Tara would be overseeing the actual casting of the spell. The sealing of the magic would be conducted in private, however.

Tara checked and double-checked the spell words she held on a piece of paper before her. It was important she didn't make a single mistake; after all it was life and death she was dealing with here. She was absolutely petrified to be casting a spell of such significance, and on one of her closest friends. But the simple and familiar preparations reassured her and she soon fell into the natural confidence she always exhibited when it came to the practise of witchcraft. She hoped desperately that the spell would work out as planned, for everybody's sake. She knew exactly what it was to lose the person you loved most in the world, and she wouldn't wish it one anyone.

Tara stood outside the circle and extended one hand into the empty air between Buffy and Angel's bodies. She checked her notes one last time and was about to start, when Buffy interrupted nervously.

"Am I going to grow fangs?" She asked with a half-giggle. "Because I'd just like to be warned in advance of the fact."

Tara lowered her arm and regarded Buffy; clearly the other woman hadn't worked through all her issues regarding the spell yet. It was important that she did so, because any negative energy could disturb the magic they were trying to create here. Tara felt a new wave of nerves course through her. This spell would be interfering with Angel's soul and she was more than aware of the inherent risks of doing that. All the players must be fully committed to completing the spell before they began, or something drastic could go wrong in the middle, which would result in all their deaths.

"Y-you won't have any of the traits associated with the demon." Tara explained. "That includes fangs, a vampire face or-or an aversion to crosses."

"What about bloodlust?" Angel asked quietly.

"I-I don't know." Tara replied apologetically. "She might need to drink blood, but not from humans and she won't feel the urge to kill in order to get it."

Angel seemed satisfied by her answer and turned back to Buffy, gazing long and hard into her eyes. "Are you absolutely sure about this?" He asked.

Buffy smiled slightly, never shifting her gaze from his. "I'm sure. I'm terrified, but I'm sure. What about you? Are you OK with doing this? Because eternity spent with me, that's gotta be a pretty scary prospect. "

Angel matched her smile. "I wouldn't want to spend it with anyone else."

"Are you ready?" Tara asked.

Buffy and Angel both nodded and Buffy leant upwards to kiss him briefly on the lips. "I love you." She whispered.

"I love you, too." He returned. "Forever."

And then Tara began.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Buffy let the Latin words wash over her. She understood none of them and although she knew she should be paying attention because these words would become an essential part of her future, right now she had more important things to consider. Like what 'forever' actually meant. She had been surprised that Angel had been so willing to go through with this procedure. To him eternal life had always been a curse rather than a gift, therefore, Buffy thought he would have been more reluctant to pass it on to her. But on the other hand, his only alternative choice would have been to watch her die years before her time, and she knew that there was no way he would allow that to happen if he could help prevent it. And to Buffy the choice between living forever and dying before she was ready had seemed a simple one. As long as both she and Angel were alive and together then that was all that mattered. Everything else was just details.

"And so mote it be." Tara uttered the only English words in the whole ceremony and Buffy jolted out of her reverie. She met Angel's eyes and they echoed Tara's words together in perfect synchrony.

"So mote it be."

Tara lowered her raised hand and backed away from the circle. Buffy realised she didn't feel any different, but could she really expect to? After all, the ritual wasn't even complete yet. She realised one of Angel's hands and turned to Tara expectantly. The witch handed over a silver dagger and chalice.

"N-now, you must each take three sips of the other's blood." Tara instructed.

Buffy looked awkwardly over at Angel who was studiously avoiding her gaze.

"Y-you should probably do this in private." Tara started to back out of the room. "Just make sure neither of you break the circle until the exchange of blood has taken place."

Buffy waited until Tara had left the room, before turning back to the reluctant Angel. "I'll go first if you want." She offered.

Angel nodded and took the dagger from her. He ran the blade swiftly over his left wrist and held the wound over the chalice Buffy still gripped, allowing a thick trickle of dark red blood to fall into it. They both watched intently as in under a minute Angel's accelerated vampire healing kicked in and the flow of blood slowed to a few drops and then ceased altogether. He then withdrew his wrist and wiped away the last dregs of blood from the cut on the bottom of his sweater.

Buffy smiled shyly up at him, before shifting her gaze back down to the contents of the chalice. She tried to pretend that it was simply red wine that she was about to drink, but quickly gave up on that idea. The liquid was too opaque and viscous to keep up any semblance of the pretence and she had never liked red wine that much, anyway. She raised the chalice slowly to her lips and took an experimental sniff of the blood. It didn't smell of anything and she wondered why she had expected it to. She tentatively took her first sip and swallowed it down fast. It didn't taste nearly as bad as she had expected it to. It was sweet and cool and yet it burnt the inside of her mouth slightly, like aniseed. She took a second sip and held it in her mouth a little longer, trying to identify the subtler flavours. It seemed to inflame all her taste buds at once and she detected saltiness as well as a bitter, coppery aftertaste.

What she had not been prepared for, though, she realised as she took the third mouthful, was the emotional response that came with ingesting the blood. It felt as though she were taking in some of Angel's soul. She could taste his fear and his love for her, as well as his arousal. Was this what it was like for Angel every time he drained a person? Did he take in their hopes and their dreams as well as their blood? Or was this just some eerie side effect of the ritual they were now performing? She could not even imagine what Angel must be experiencing at this moment. Before now she had always seen drinking blood as a violent and depraved activity, but now as Angel's eyes burnt into her and she consumed the liquid that contained so much of his essence, she began to appreciate the more sensual aspects of the act. And if was like this for her, then how must it feel to a vampire?

Having taken her required three sips of Angel's blood, she handed the now empty chalice back to him. He gave her the dagger and she held it poised over her own wrist, braced ready to make the cut. Then she changed her mind and lowered the dagger. Angel looked at her with a question in his eyes and, never once dropping her gaze from his, she slowly and deliberately brushed her hair away from her shoulders and offered him her neck. Angel shook his head almost imperceptibly, but she felt his eyes lingering on her throat, anyway.

"I trust you." She whispered.

"You don't know what you're asking…" Angel responded, his tone and expression stricken.

"I trust you." Buffy repeated. "Please…"

Angel seemed to lose some internal battle and he lowered his face to her neck. He kissed her shoulders gently then moved upwards until his still blunt teeth were poised over the scar that remained from the last time he had bitten her. Buffy felt his face shift into its vampire countenance and the light graze of his fangs on her skin. Her slayer instincts were screaming at her to push him off and her grip on the dagger she held in her hand tightened involuntarily. But she forced her body to relax in Angel's strong embrace. She felt no fear, only anticipation.

Angel sunk his fangs deeply into her neck and she emitted a low gasp of intermingled pleasure and pain. He remained there for a few moments and she squeezed his body, reassuringly, telling him wordlessly it was all right. She then felt his adam's apple bob up and down, as he took three deep swallows of her blood. His visage immediately changed back to its human appearance and he tenderly licked the wound closed. Buffy sighed softly. She didn't know whether it was the spell or the intimacy of the experience they had just shared, but she had never before in her life felt closer to anyone than she felt to Angel right at this moment. And this was just the beginning…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tara stretched painfully. Spending the night on Buffy and Angel's sofa had left her uncomfortably stiff, but she had felt compelled to stay in order to check that everything had gone successfully with the spell. She hadn't wanted to interrupt the couple last night, considering the nature of the ritual that she had left them to perform, but now sufficient time had elapsed, she decided to make sure they were both all right. She wasn't stupid or naïve, she appreciated that if Angelus had been freed by the procedure, she would be dead right now instead of softly knocking at Angel and Buffy's bedroom door. But that wasn't to say something else hadn't gone wrong. Tara hadn't felt this nervous about her magic since the first time she had cast spells at her first serious Wicca meeting, and visions of Buffy and Angel hopping about as toads haunted her imagination. Of course she knew it wasn't possible, not with the incantation she had read, but one never knew with magic…

When she got no answer, she tentatively pushed open the door to the bedroom. She breathed a loud sigh of relief when the sight of Buffy and Angel, sleeping peacefully wrapped in each other's arms, sheets entangled about them, greeted her. Being careful not to disturb them Tara crept over to the bed. Standing over Angel she placed on hand lightly on his forehead. He was warm – body temperature warm. Of course that meant nothing as the room was also pretty hot and he was snuggled very close to Buffy, but he was also breathing steadily, and when she held two fingers to his neck she felt a pulse. Tara smiled broadly and quietly left the room. It had worked. The spell had actually worked!

She scribbled Buffy a quick note, leaving her phone number and a cursory excuse for her departure, then exited the apartment. Downstairs, she encountered Cordelia and Wesley, just arriving for the morning. She fielded their questions over Buffy and Angel's welfare and reassured them everything went well. They both burst out in broad grins and Tara felt gratified to have helped. Cordy hugged her tightly before she left and extracted a promise that she would come back and visit soon. Tara found herself looking forward to this. The atmosphere of family and closeness that existed amongst Buffy's friends was something that she found severely lacking in her life and it was nice to be a part of it, even for such a short time.

She walked out of the offices, still smiling. When she reached her car she was surprised to see a message scrawled in the layer of dust that covered it.

"THANK YOU" it read.

THE END

A/N ~ If you're wondering what happened to Gunn (and I'm sure you are), hopefully it will all be explained in the next fic I write in this series, which will be devoted solely to his adventures. But you'll have to be patient and wait for that one, mainly because I need to get up the motivation to actually get round to doing it. And yes, lots of lovely feedback will help me there! Once again thank you for reading.