The Way It Should Be

by LivingImpaired

If I were writing Buffy and Angel, this is how it would be. Features the perfect solution for B/A and B/S shippers, Dolye, Joyce, and the evil that is Riley! Riley lovers beware!

2. The Other Half

Episode 2

The Other Half

"There are many kinds of love in the world,

but never the same love twice."

--F. Scott Fitzgerald

December 25

           

            Christmas songs played on Cordelia's CD player as she reached under the tree and pulled out a present.  The note said simply, "For Cordelia.  You have to put up with so much, the least I can do is throw you a Christmas present once a year.  Angel."  Cordelia happily ripped into the wrapping as Angel and Wesley looked on.  Finally, after shredding tissue paper in a frenzy, she emerged with her prize: a black, Coach backpack-style purse.  Inside there was a bottle of over-the-counter, migraine strength, painkiller.  The gift giving continued.  Cordelia got a gift certificate to her favorite clothing store, courtesy of Wesley.  She, in turn, reciprocated by giving him a sweater that "accented his facial features." 

            Finally, it was Angel's turn to be on the receiving end of things.  Wrapped in festive, red and green paper, complete with gold and blue stars, the box wasn't exactly large, but it was just big enough to cover his lap.  Uncertainly at first, he ripped open the package, finally ridding it of all the coverings.

            "It's a box."

            Cordelia smacked him on the arm.  "You're supposed to open it, silly."

            He promptly followed her suggestion, revealing mounds of tissue paper, and inside, three pairs of plain, black socks, and one pair that had little coffins and bats on it.  Angel couldn't help but frown at the gift.  "Socks?"

            "Well, don't blame me.  What do you get the vampire that has everything?"  She shrugged.  "I know from long, painful experience that blood and demon goo just never comes out.  Dry clean it till Judgment Day, and you're still living with those stains.  So, I figured you could use a few spare socks."  She picked up a black pair.  "See?  It even matches your entire wardrobe."

            Angel showed her the other pair.  "What?" she retorted.  "I thought it was funny.  Besides, that's not all I got you."

            "I'm almost afraid to look," he replied dryly, but shifted through the tissue anyway.  At last, he felt another box, and pulled it out.  "It's a furby."

            "It's kinda from both of us.  We thought that having a pet would be good for you, but it's very low maintenance."  Cordelia patiently took it from him, released it from the box, and put in the batteries.  It immediately began to spurt gibberish at Cordelia happily, announcing its name to be something to the general effect of "Loo-Loo."

            She handed it to Angel with a smile.  "The good news is that it likes everybody, even a brooding, creature-of-the-night like you."  The moment the mechanical fur ball was in his hands, it gurgled, "I love you."

            Wesley smiled.  "It's cute, don't you think, Angel?"

            At this point the furby seemed to get angry, saying (and this is the best approximation of the noise), "WHHHHHHHENT!"

            Angel hurriedly put the toy on top of his new socks, a safe distance away from him.  "I've been to Hell and back.  That thing scares me."

            Cordelia was about to say something scathing, but Wesley cut her off before she could.  "So, Angel, how about exchanging our presents now, eh?"

            A few minutes later Angel and Wesley were sitting, happily examining the presents they just received from each other.  Wesley had gotten a tremendously old book, and he was thrilled.  ("The Writings of Armashkhan!  I've wanted this forever!  How'd you know?")  Meanwhile, Angel was engrossed in another ancient book that Wesley had gotten him, which was written in some prehistoric dead language Cordelia had never even heard of.  She was guessing it wasn't even a human, which made her wonder just how many languages those two knew.

            She sighed as she examined her new purse.  "Figures you two would get excited over some boring, smelly, old books."  All she got in response was a couple of disinterested grunts from the guys' direction.  "You know, it's too bad Gunn couldn't be here for this."

            "Yeah," Wesley said, not looking up from Armashkhan.  "It's rather unfortunate that he got eaten by that regurgitating Frovlax demon."

            "Yup," Cordelia chirped, while heading into the kitchen.  "I'm getting some hot chocolate.  You guys want anything?"

            "Got any eggnog?" Wesley asked.

            "Sorry.  I've got hot chocolate, hot chocolate, and hot chocolate.  If you don't like hot chocolate, I've got hot chocolate."  Wesley nodded a yes, and she turned to Angel.  "How about you?"

            "I would, but I wouldn't be able to appreciate it," he replied, glancing up from his "new" book, Vriskhi vi le Roshansha di Vichi Ni-kash.  (Roughly translated: Demon Goo and How to Kill the Demon That Excreted It.)

            Angel watched as Cordelia made hot chocolate for two, and his two friends sat down and enjoyed the season.  It took him a moment to realize that he was actually enjoying the holiday himself.  In fact, this was the very first time he could actually remember having an pleasant Christmas.  Oh, he was sure he had a nice one when he was, say, five years old, but he couldn't actually remember it.

            Surprisingly enough, he thought, I'm happy not fighting the forces of darkness, for once.  It's nice to take a break.  For the first time in his existence, looking at the Christmas tree gave him—gasp!—a warm, fuzzy feeling.  This is actually turning out to be a nice Christmas…

            The doorbell ringing jarred him from his thoughts.  Cordelia got up to answer it, and the next thing they knew, Buffy rushed in, shouting, "Angel, you've got to help me!   Riley's missing!"

           

            After a few minutes, they managed to calm her a bit, make her some hot chocolate, and get everyone sitting down.

            "Missing, how?" Wesley asked.

            That was probably not the smartest thing to say.  Buffy was in one of those frantic, my-boyfriend-is-missing-and-anything-that-gets-in-my-way-is-going-to-get-its-ass-kicked moods, which no amount of chocolate was going to dim.  It also didn't help that he was Wesley, so he naturally got his head bitten off—figuratively speaking.  "Missing as in he goes for groceries, and doesn't come back.  Missing as in no one has seen him.  Missing as in the fiend that took him is going to die a lot!  Do you know of any other kind of missing?"

            "Loo-Loo" answered for him.  "Boom!  Ker-Pow!  Bye, bye!"

            "Who got the Furby?"

            Cordelia shook her head, saying, "That doesn't matter.  Look, I still don't understand what this has to do with us.  I mean, he probably got eaten by your, average, ordinary, everyday Hellmouth nasty.  It happens."

            "Cordelia," Angel warned.

            "What?  Oh, yeah."

            He redirected his attention to the Slayer.  "She does have a point.  If he went missing in Sunnydale, LA's a bizarre place to go looking for him.  Besides, I would think I'd be the last person you'd go to for help."

            "Cordelia's not the only person who gets visions."

            Cordelia frowned.  "I didn't think Slayers got visions.  I thought you had those dream-thingies."

            Buffy rolled her eyes.  "Same diff."

            "Actually, Buffy's right," Wesley said.  "Both Cordelia's visions and Buffy's prophesy dreams are guidance from the Powers That Be, though Slayers' dreams do tend to be a tad vague…"

            "It was clear enough."  She began to tick off the items with her fingers: "A not-happy Riley, a not-happy Me, a not-happy Angel, and a far too happy Drusilla.  Now what the hell is going on in this town?"

            "That's kind of a long story—" Angel began.

            "Drusilla's in town and we have no idea where she is, what she wants, or what she's doing," Cordelia explained.

            "—and, OK, maybe not so long, after all."

            The Furby: "Goochie, goochie!"

            "All right, that's it," Angel said, grabbing the plastic fur ball, and cramming it into a nearby box.  They could still hear it squawking muffled protests (WHENT! WHENT! WHENT!), but it was better than before.  "Now, where were we?"

            "Oh, well, my vision had Drusilla in it, so she must have kidnapped him."

            "Speaking of the Scooby Gang, why aren't they here?"

            Buffy hesitated.  "Well, um…  That's a good question."

           

            The Scooby Gang had split up to search for Riley, but nothing had been found, so after catching a few hours of sleep, everyone was gathering at Giles' place to coordinate their next move in the great Riley search. 

            Giles heard the door open and close.  "Buffy?" he asked.  He walked into the living room/foyer to find Willow standing there, with a dismal look about her.  "What happened?  Where's Buffy?"

            Willow handed him a piece of notebook paper, on which there was a hastily written note in Buffy's handwriting.  Giles read it aloud for the others' benefit.

I had a dream and I know where Riley is.  Gone to get him.  Don't worry, we'll be fine.  Merry Christmas,

Buffy

            "That's not important now," Angel said, filling the void left where Buffy had trailed off.  "Knowing who took Riley doesn't help if we can't find out where they are."  Angel frowned as he considered his options.  He could follow up on his hunch with Kate, but that would require actually talking to Kate.  Of course, there was always karaoke. 

            Angel picked up the phone and dialed.

           

            The Sex Pistols were blasting out of the speakers, but Spike didn't hear it.  He switched lanes without signaling, causing the driver he cut off to swerve into another lane.  Someone blared their horn, but it was ignored as Spike pressed his foot harder on the gas.

            While the others had gone out in search of Riley, Spike had decided to say behind.  The more people that were out looking for him, the more likely he would be found, and Spike didn't want that. 

            In their panic, no one had noticed that Spike hadn't gone home, so he helped Joyce clean up (after all, it wins brownie points with the mom, and she might pass that on to Buffy).  Joyce was finishing up in the kitchen, so Spike wandered into the family room, looking at the tree.

            It was beautifully decorated, complete with a gold star on top.  They had never gotten to the gift exchange, so there were still dozens of presents, from one Scooby member to another, sitting under the tree.  Spike sighed as he bent down to examine the packages.  He was unsurprised to see that none of them had his name on it.  Well, except for one.  Other presents since been dumped on top of it, and he gently pulled it from the bottom, laying it in clearer view for Buffy to see when she got home.

To: Buffy

From: Spike.

            It wasn't much—he didn't want to attract too much attention—but perhaps it was enough to get her to notice him for more than some disgusting vampire.  It was times like this that made Spike wonder how Angel had pulled it off.

            It was then that Spike noticed it.  While digging out his present to Buffy, he had unearthed a small package that he hadn't noticed before.  Addressed to him.

            From Buffy.

            Spike knew that it was time to do something.

            Angel hung up the phone.

            "Well?"

            "Detective Lockley isn't in."

            "Lockley?  Would this happen to be the same cop that was such a pain in the butt last time I was here?" 

            Angel nodded.  "Anyway, she apparently went looking for a missing officer."

            Buffy read the rest off his face.  "What else?"

            "The detective specializes in the 'unusual' assignments.  She's earned the nickname 'Agent Scully.' "

            "So she wouldn't have gone after him if she didn't think there was something supernatural to it," she finished for him.

            "Exactly."

            "Know where she went?"

            Angel looked worried.  "Not yet.  We'll need to make a couple of stops first."

            "I'm going in with you," Buffy said firmly.

            The panic was evident on Angel's face.  "No, you're not."  He frantically looked to the others for support.

            Taking their cue, "Oh, yeah.  Nasty, dirty place."

            "Full of demons.  Ugly demons."

            "Yeah, and smelly ones too.  Really unpleasant."

            "Not that there's anything interesting to see in there."

            "No, not at all.  Very boring."

            "We avoid it at all costs."

            "Oh, yeah, hate the place."

            "Did we mention that it smells bad?"

            Buffy smiled.  "Well, I am big girl.  I think I can handle a few ugly, smelly demons.  Besides, it can't be very dangerous if he's taken you guys in before.  I'm going."

            Angel opened his mouth for rebuttal, but she held up her hand.  "We don't have time for this.  I'm going.  Period."

            Angel was suddenly glad that he didn't have any circulation, because he knew he would have been blushing.  He led her through the doors of the bar, paid for their cover charge, and walked in. 

            Buffy took stock of the place.  A bar was along one side of the wall, across from a stage, and in between tables and chairs were scattered about, inhabited by various demons.  Despite what Cordy and Wesley had told her, the place was clean, and didn't smell bad at all.  However, all these observations were pushed aside by her horror at what was happening on stage.  A blue demon that vaguely resembled a giant bug, was singing Pretty Fly for a White Guy—badly.

            She turned to Angel.  "This is a demon karaoke bar?"

            He never got a chance to respond, because a green-skinned, red-eyed demon approached the two of them, smiling.  "Welcome back.  I see you brought a friend, and the Slayer no less.  You do keep interesting company."

            "You know him?"

            Angel's panic was rising, but the demon ignored him.  "Lets just say he comes in once in a while.  One of my best patrons.  Oh, where are my manners?  My name's the Host," he said, extending his hand.

            She took it.  "Buffy Summers.  Nice to meet a demon that's not trying to kill me, though—if you don't mind me asking—are you some kind of empath demon or something?"

            "Something like that.  Problem is, I can only read well if the person's mind is 'open'—and I don't mean in the 'to new possibilities' kinda way.  Your friend here is very, very introverted.  Makes things hard."  He turned to the squirming vampire.  "You really care about her opinion of you.  It's closing you off more.  I think it'll take at least two songs this time, so what'll they be?"

            "You have to sing?"  She looked at the demon, and he nodded.  She looked back at Angel.  She had never seen him so scared, so she thought quickly.  "Fine, then I'll sing with him."

            "What?"

             "You're doing this as a favor to me.  If you have to go up there and sing, the least I can do is go with you."

            Angel didn't know whether to be thankful, or more embarrassed, but the demon just smiled.  "Even better.  Look, I can see you're in a rush, so you can go up next.  I'll even have the bartender whip up something to help the two of you, on the house."

            Hell was probably just like this: croaking out YMCA with your ex in a bar full of demons.  She'd have to ask Angel once the second song was over.

            They both fled the stage as soon as they finished Wild Horses, exchanging their microphones for the slip of paper with the address.  The Host smiled, put his hand on Angel's shoulder, and whispered in his ear, "She's the other half." 

            The vampire looked at him quizzically.  "The other half of what?" 

            Angel was ignored as he chattered on, "Oh, and try to get that waitress at Year of the Dragon fired.  That fortune she gave you was a load of crap."  He paused for a moment, then added, "Ling was on to something with Cordelia and Wesley, but, like I said, way off on you."  With that, he walked off to greet his next victim without another word.

            Angel did his best not to look at Buffy on the way back to the car.

            Angel was looking in the rearview mirror to see if Wesley and Cordy were keeping up on the motorcycle, when Buffy flicked her wrist, the stake springing out of the contraption smoothly.  She clicked it back into place with a smile.  "I have got to get myself one of these."

            "Keep them.  Merry Christmas."

            "Thank you," she said, a little too heartfelt.  She recovered, saying, "Giles is going to flip when he sees them.  You know, new toy and all."  Buffy flicked out the one on her other arm, and slid it back.  "Think we have enough weapons?" she asked, indicating the back seats, both filled with an arsenal, some things so nasty looking that they defied naming.

            Angel took his eyes off the road long enough to examine her face.  "A guy's got to have a hobby.  Might as well be a practical one."

            Buffy suddenly found herself thinking very inappropriate thoughts, and she fidgeted a little under the weight of his stare.  She looked away, pretending to examine her gift, saying, "Did you made these?"  Conversation.  Yes, conversation was good.  Anything to get her mind off… things she couldn't have.

            "Like I said, got to have a hobby."

            She looked back at him.  "Don't you do anything besides this?"  She gestured to indicate the weapons behind them, but Angel knew she was referring to something more.

            "Not anymore.  I… don't exactly have a life."

            Buffy tried to decide just how to read into the comment, gave up, and asked, "How long until we get there?"

            Angel signaled, and turned into the alley, turning off the engine as they rolled to a stop.  "Right about now."

            They had just stepped out of the car when the others glided up on the bike.  Wordlessly, everyone reached in back, taking whatever weapons they felt most comfortable with.  Angel opened the trunk, grabbing out a couple of swords.  One he slid into the spine sheath along his back, the other he threw to Buffy, who carefully slid it into an identical sheath that she had borrowed from him.  The problem was that Buffy was a much smaller person than the one it was made for, so although straps were tightened as far as they would go, it was still a loose fit.  But it kept her hands free for the crossbows, so she could deal. 

            Cordelia loaded up on crosses and stakes, a gigantic super soaker in hand.  While it wasn't the coolest weapon, no vampire would laugh once it got a face full of pressurized holy water.  Wesley was likewise armed, adding only a small crossbow that could be held in one hand.

            They were ready.

            Riley had never been so scared.  He couldn't see very well, but from what he could, things were very bad.  A single uncovered light bulb hung from the ceiling, giving just the barest of illumination.  He was bound and gagged, sitting in a circle that had been drawn in blood on the floor.  Symbols were scrawled both inside and out, and it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that he was the a main ingredient in whatever the spell was.  He could hear more than see figures beyond the faint illumination the bulb provided.  Finally there was the creepy, disembodied voice, which, oddly enough, seemed to have a Irish accent.

            While some human guy looked on, a vampire—who the human had referred to as Drusilla—picked up an antique-looking knife, holding it before a small, white dove in her other hand.  The bird squawked helplessly, struggling to free itself from her hand.  Then, in a quick, deft movement, she plunged the blade in, spilling blood into the circle that had been carefully drawn on the floor.  Riley could feel the prickle of power along his skin like ants, as Drusilla began to smear the warm liquid across his bare chest.

            One of the figures, a lithe, blonde, female vampire, stormed up.  There was an air of command in her voice as she snapped at Drusilla.  "Hurry up!" eliciting an angry growl in response.

            "What's happening?"

            "Angel's here, and he's got the Slayer and his sidekicks with him."  Riley heard a great deal of venom in her voice, particularly when she said the word Slayer.

            "Interesting…  Uh, well, never mind them.  Let's get on with it.  Shouldn't you be burning incense or something?" 

            Riley squirmed harder at the sound of the voice again.  He took a deep breath, trying to calm down.  OK, Buffy and Angel were here.  He was going to be saved, though at this point, he would be more than happy to be rescued by Spike, just so long as he got rescued.

            Drusilla lit the incense, and Riley gagged at the pungent odor. 

            "OK, good.  Now let's cue the chanting…"

            She began to chant in some strange tongue, and Riley began to feel sick.  He didn't know whether it was the nasty smelly stuff or the spell, but he did know that he needed to be rescued, and now.

            Suddenly a loud banging resonated throughout the warehouse, as the steel door came under assault. 

            Drusilla chanted faster.  "Hail, Hecate, goddess of the mystic.  Hear my plea.  Grant me the power.  Hail, Hades, god of the underworld.  Hear my plea.  Allow me take from your realm.  Hail to the Old Ones, the ones from which I sprung.  Hear my plea.  Give me your blessing.  I make these offerings in your names, and the names of anyone and anything else that will let me finish this bloody spell before they come over here, stop me, and kill me."

            The door fell with a loud crack as Buffy kicked it in.  They were immediately met with dozens of vampires, all rushing at them at once.  Wesley and Buffy took out the three nearest with their crossbows, before discarding the weapons: there would be no time to reload.  Cordelia and Wesley began to lay down a suppressing stream of holy water, as Buffy drew her sword and decapitated another vampire in one, smooth motion.  Meanwhile, Angel had already taken out three vampires of his own with the battle ax, careful to avoid the water guns. 

            More just came to replace the fallen.

            A vampire ducked out of the way just in time, and Angel's ax hit the concrete hard, snapping the handle.  The vamp came back for another pass, leaping in the air… and impaling himself on the broken ax handle.  Wesley and Cordelia ran out of water at the same time, and were now fighting hand to hand with their stakes and crosses.  Both had now drawn what were either long knives, or short swords, depending on point of view.  Angel's sword was already out as he jump-reverse kicked a vampire in the chest, before following through with his blade.

            The light was blinding and immediate.  A white world of light replaced the one that was previously there, and for a moment, it was like all time, reality, sanity, just ceased to exist.  All sound seemed to stop, save for Riley's screams, then there was nothing but silence.

            Buffy and Angel's eyes met, and they both knew.  In unison, they sprinted towards the center of the room, leaving the Wesley and Cordelia to deal with the others.  Three vampires had stayed with Dru and Lindsey, acting as a last line of defense.  The leader turned to face them grinning, and caused Buffy and Angel to stop dead in their tracts.

            Darla's smile brightened at the look of shock on their faces.  "What's a matter, Angel?  Not who you were expecting?"

            "You were what Wolfram and Hart raised in the box."

            "Yeah, and it looks to me like you're still hanging with that bimbo.  Have to say, I was hoping that something might have done her in by now, but we can't always get what we want out of life, not can we?"

            Buffy shrugged.  "I don't know…"  Without warning, Buffy whipped a stake out of her belt, and threw it at her, landing squarely in her chest.  Darla looked down at the piece of wood in shock, and as she turned to dust, the last thing she heard was Buffy's voice: "I wanted you dead, and I got what I wanted.  Twice."

            There was no time to savor the victory, as Drusilla leap onto Buffy's back with a scream of rage. The Slayer tried to throw her, but the vampire held on, fingers going for her eyes.  Buffy could feel the nimble digits trying to get in her eye sockets, and she yelled in frustration.  But, before she could do anything, Buffy felt the fingers, as well as the heavy weight on her back, disintegrate.  Buffy stood up and brushed off some of the residual Drusilla dust, turning around to face the vampire.

            "Thanks, Ang…" 

            It was Spike.

            He looked down at the pile of dust he had made, saying, "Serves you right for dumping me, you stupid bent!  Not so funny now, is it?"

            Wesley and Cordelia had finally caught up to them when Buffy asked, "Not that I'm not grateful, Spike, but what are you doing here?"

            He held up a stake.  "I was helping!  Wait a minute…  Did I just hear the word 'grateful' in the same sentence with my name?"

            "Err…" she began, "Thank you, Spike.  You helped alo…  Hold on, how much is this going to cost me?"

            "Just your gratitude."

            "Let me get this straight: You killed Drusilla, your sire, to save me, and all you want out of it is my thanks?"

            Spike looked indignant.  "Is that so hard to believe?"

            Buffy, Angel, and Cordelia looked at each other, then said in unison, "Yes."

            Spike was about to say something else, but looked past them, seeing Riley.  "Hey, if it isn't Captain Cardboard.  Seems you've been found.  New look for you too."

            The others turned to see what he was talking about. 

            Riley—or what used to be Riley—stood up slowly, and they could see that his body had changed, and was still changing.  The skin was turning colors, slowly forming like a bruise.  As the skin turned an odd shade of green, prickles began to poke out of the skin all over his head.

            He looked like a human cactus.

            Angel spoke first.  "They turned him into a Bracken demon."

            "Oh, hi Angel.  Do ya recognize me?"

            Buffy run over before anyone could respond, knocked the demon over, and straddled it, punching it in the face repeatedly.  She began to scream, "Get out of him!"  This probably hurt a great deal, seeing as Buffy had managed to produce some brass knuckles, seemingly out of nowhere.

            The demon was screaming too.  "Help!  Get her off of me!  She's going to kill me!"

            "Buffy, let him go," Angel asked nicely.

            "Like Hell," she said, and punched again.

            "Buffy, do you remember Doyle?  Cordelia once introduced him to you when you came to the first office.  Remember?"

            The question was so unexpected that she stopped mid-punch.  "What?"

            "Doyle: Irish, half human, half Bracken demon, about this tall," Angel indicated Doyle's height with his hand.  "Doyle."

            That earned him a raised eyebrow.  "Vaguely—though not the demon part—but what does that have to do with anything right now?"

            Angel pointed at the Riley-demon.  "That's Doyle."

            Buffy looked down at the demon, then back Angel.  "Sure looks like Riley… if he was a green pincushion."

            "Trust me on this."

            Buffy got up, eyeing the demon as he did the same.  He smiled weakly.  "So I'm not going to die right now?"

            "Not yet, but you better start talking."

            "Oh, good.  'Cause the last time I died, it wasn't fun.  Yeah, well, you know I did the whole being dead thing for a while, and then the Powers That Be came up to me with this mission.  Involved borrowing a body for a while, and doing stuff.  The catch was that I had to get someone to cast the spell to bring me into this world, so I had to find someone that was psychic, yet very gullible.  Drusilla fit the bill perfectly, so I filled her head with all of this 'I'm going to end the world' nonsense, and she bought it.  So here I am.

            "Oh, and don't worry about the body.  The spell is only temporary, so whoever it belongs to gets it back."

            Cordelia walked up to Doyle slowly until she was eye to eye with him, before saying, "Prove it."

            Doyle thought for a moment, then reached out, grabbing the sides of both her arms and bringing her into a kiss.  After a moment, she pulled away and slapped him across the cheek.  "Do you have any idea what happened to me the last time you did that?" she shouted.  "Those visions hurt!"  She kissed him again.  "It was worth it.  God, I've missed you."

            "Gee, I don't know whether to be scared or… I missed you too."  Doyle noticed Wesley.  "Who's he?"

            "I'm Wesley," he replied absently.  "You said something about a mission?"

            "Oh, yeah.  Well, the Powers That Be have decided that Angel's done a bang-up job with the whole superhero thing, so they've decided to reward him."

            "Reward me?  How?"

            Doyle reached out and touched Angel's arm, and the place where their skin touched began to glow.  Suddenly Angel jerked out of the hold, collapsing to the floor.  He could hear Buffy yelling his name, but it seemed like she was a long way off.  Everything was distant, unimportant, a hazy cloud of reality.  Then the world rushed back in a sharp snap, and he could feel the heat begin to flow into his veins, and throughout his body.  A steady beat throbbed in his ears, and he could feel hair brushing his face.  He opened his eyes to find himself being cradled by Buffy, her face etched with concern. 

            "Are you all right?"  He nodded faintly as she ran her fingers across his face lightly, tracing down the line of his jaw, down to his neck, gently pressing her fingers in.  "My God, you have a pulse.  You're human."

            He groaned.  "Oh, this brings back memories."  As Buffy carefully helped him to his feet, Angel suddenly seemed to get very alarmed.  "Wait a minute, Doyle, this can't work.  What about what the Oracles said?"

            "Oh, yeah.  The Powers That Be were taking about that.  You see, they decided that as long as you kept up the good work, it wasn't really necessary for you to be a vampire.  So while you get a pulse and all, you get to keep all your superpowers, and stuff."

            "So he can still heal like before?" Buffy asked.

            "Sure.  I mean, he's not just like a vampire.  Sunlight won't make a dent, same with crosses, and other religious stuff, but if ya stake him or cut his head off, then he does the big poof.  You can get sick too, and you're healing thingy won't cover that, but no biggie.  But, all in all, pretty cool, huh?"

            Angel rubbed the residual headache away.  "Yeah."

            Doyle suddenly remembered something.  "By the way, they said to warn you: 'Don't screw this up.'  You see, if they don't like what you're doing, then they take it back.  Sorry."

            Angel barely heard him, realizing that something was missing.  "Guys, wasn't Lindsey here earlier?"

            Conveniently, Lindsey chose that moment to run up, slugging Angel in the face.  "You killed her, you son of a bitch!"

            Buffy subdued him with a quick punch to the face, as Angel wiped a bit of blood from his lip.   "Let me guess: Kate, two puncture wounds on her neck?"

            Suffice it to say, what came out of Lindsey's mouth at that moment was nasty enough to make Spike blush.

            "Lindsey, you idiot, I didn't do anything to her.  Dru must have eaten her."

            "What?  Where is that bitch?  I'm going to kill her!"

            "Too late," Spike said, running some dust between his hands.

            Angel tisked.  "This whole, manipulating and killing people: it's not so funny when it hits home, now is it?"

            Lindsey was pissed and made sure it showed on his face, punctuating the expression by flipping Angel the bird.  The amused smirks he got in response clued him it to the fact that he had chosen his right hand to make the gesture, so all he was doing was angrily showing them his stump.  Quickly, and as smoothly, as he could—though there really is no cool way to recover from something so stupid—he showed Angel the middle finger he still had.

            "This is just a tip, Stumpy, but next time, you might want to think about what hand you use to do that from now on.  What you did just now," Angel nodded to indicate the stump, "It ruins the effect."

            Lindsey's response was, once again, far to vulgar to put down in its entirety here, but it was roughly equivalent to this:

            "Go copulate vigorously with your mother, who is not only a female dog, but incredibly hideous, grotesquely obese, and gets around.  Furthermore, you are a (there was another reference to mother-son incest) illegitimate child born of wedlock, and you suck all around.  You cut off my (word synonymous with a great deal of dirty sex) hand and you're going to pay for AHHHHHHHHHHH!"

            Lindsey and Buffy—who was still holding him back—screamed together, the space around them rippling as if there was a wall of heat between them and everything else.  Angel ran to them—and slammed into the undulating barrier.  It took him a moment to realize that the boundary coincided with the circle drawn on the floor, and that both Buffy and Lindsey were inside it. 

            He spun furiously on Doyle.  "What the Hell is that?"

            "I don't know!  That wasn't supposed to happen.  For that matter, I should have left this body by now.  Something must have gone wrong with the spell."

            Spike joined Angel, smashing into the force field.  "I'm guessing that the stupid bent tinkered with that sodding spell your cactus friend cooked up."

            "Guys," Doyle interjected, "FYI: That's a tear in reality.  It's how I was able to get here."

            "So?"

            "Essentially, there is no way of helping Buffy and the other guy, nor is there a way of predicting what will happen to them."

            "There's nothing we can do?"

            Doyle thought for a moment.  "Pretty much."

            Suddenly, a second flash of light erupted from the portal, filling the room with its blinding presence.  Then, as abruptly as it happened, the light imploded in on itself and the portal blinked out of existence with a pop.

            Angel opened his eyes to find himself on his back once again.  He rolled onto his feet with a groan, only to see that Spike was ahead of him, looking around frantically and calling out for Buffy.  Angel was quick to do the same.  A swift glance around saw Cordy, Wesley, and Doyle—whose transformation must have been completed, as he no longer resembled Riley—were all accounted for. 

            He felt the beginnings of hysteria creep in.  The only light bulb in the whole warehouse had blown out with the second explosion, and although the sun was beginning to rise, it was still nearly impossible to see anything.  He began to think of the horrible possibility that Buffy may not have survived.  It seemed a cruel trick of fate that as soon as his dreams of humanity and forgiveness had been granted, the one person he wanted to share it might have died.  Then all thoughts came to a screeching halt as he caught sight of the crumpled body on the floor.

            He was by her side in an instant, brushing the hair away from her face.  Angel found himself able to breathe again just as Spike caught up with him.

            "Is she all right?"

            "She's fine, just knocked unconscious."

            Spike frowned when he saw her.  "What happened to her face?"

            Angel looked at her a second time, amazed that he hadn't noticed it before.  A small, white scar marred her lower lip, as if it had been split years before and had never healed quite right.  "That wasn't there before…"

            "Buffy's scar—I mean, the bite marks on her neck, that is—they're not there anymore."

            Spike was right.  "She's not Buffy."

            "What?"

            "Whoever this person is, she's not the Buffy we know.  She's someone else."  Angel gently placed the woman's head back on the ground, making sure she was in a position that wouldn't hinder her breathing.  With that, he got up and resumed his search.

            "Uh, Angel?"

            "I'm a little busy now, Spike."

            "I think she's awakAGHHH!"  UnBuffy reached out, grabbing Spike by the throat.  "What the Hell just happened?  Where am I?"  Spike just continued to make gurgling noises, clawing at her fingers.  Then she suddenly let go, opting to gape at Angel instead.  "What the…  You're dead."

            "Not anymore," Spike interjected, rubbing his throat.

            He was ignored.  "What do you mean, dead?"

            "I saw you die.  That vampire staked you in the back.  I think I killed him…  Don't you remember?"

            Doyle seemed to be the only one not confused.  "Oh, this must be some alternate Buffy."  Noticing the puzzled expressions he was getting, he clarified.  "If things had gone differently, this is what our Buffy might have been like.  The reality vortex must have brought her into this universe."

            Angel took a deep breath, trying to calm down.  "OK, now for the sixty-five thousand dollar question:  Where is our Buffy, and how do we get her back?"

            The other Buffy waived her hand.  "Hello?  I'm still here.  What about me?"

            "Yeah, that's right," Spike added.  "We need to figure out how to send her back, and, while we're at it, send me with her, because a world without Angel is where I need to be."

            "You don't like him?" Other Buffy asked.

            "Are you kidding?  Can't stand him!  So whiny and broody… If the stupid poof head is so bloody unhappy with his pathetic existence, why doesn't he just do the world a favor, kill himself, and save us from his incessant moping?  Why, were you all snuggly with him and your world?"

            "Oh, God, no.  I don't, well didn't, even know him that well, but even then, I didn't like him much…"  She suddenly caught on to the implications of Spike's question.  "Oh, please don't tell me I—err—she dated him… and oh, I think I see her."

            Buffy, the real one, was limping towards them slowly, before being assisted by Angel.  "Someone please tell me what just happened."  

            Doyle caught her up to speed, as Buffy examined her other self.  "OK, so now that we know what happened to me… us, what happened to Lindsey?"

            The world was in chaos.  Willow cursed loudly as Oz impaled her on a protruding piece of wood, and all around there was pain, screams, and death.  Lindsey didn't know what had happened, and at the moment he didn't care, as he looked franticly for an exit. He turned to find himself face to face with a vampire that closely resembled a giant bat. 

            The Master smiled.  "Interesting trick, Slayer.  I don't believe your kind is known for their shape shifting abilities, so I'm guessing personal talent.  What a waste."  Then, in one, smooth motion, the vampire grabbed Lindsey's head and twisted, smiling at the satisfying snap.

            Buffy stared at the smeared circle on the floor.    She looked up, meeting the gazes of Doyle and the second Buffy, then threw up her hands in a sudden, jerky motion.  "Well, no more hole in reality!  Looks like the two of you are here to stay!"  There was a wild look in her eyes, leaving the others at a loss for what to do.

            Doyle spoke first.  "Look, Buffy, if I had any idea what would have happened…"

            Buffy cut him off with her hand.  "I don't want excuses.  I don't want regrets.  I don't want 'Maybe if it had happened differently' or 'If I had only known.'  What I do want is answers.  What happened to Riley and how do we get him back?"

            Doyle stared at her for a moment, carefully choosing his words.  Finally: "I don't know, and to be honest, there's no way of getting him back without knowing exactly what she did.  I'm sorry."

            "So that's just it?  Poof!  No more Riley?"  Slowly, Doyle nodded his response.

            Angel reached out to her tentatively.  She collapsed against him, too numb to play tough.  It was official now, and maybe it was shock, but she didn't feel as bad as she thought she would.  Oh, the pain would come.  With grief, it was inevitable.  But as she leaned into the warm comfort of Angel's arms, watching the room grow lighter with ambient sunlight, she knew—not now, but soon—things were going to be all right.

Epilogue

A few months later...

            Doyle leaned against the wall next to Cordelia and surveyed the new office with an appraising eye.  "What do you think?"

            "Looks good."

            "Well, I know that.  We just spent the better part of a week fixing it up, so it better look good.  I was actually referring to our chances of making it."

            "We did just fine in Los Angeles.  Why shouldn't we do well here?"

            "LA has a much bigger population.  More people to help."

            "So?  LA didn't have a Hellmouth.  Here, there's a higher concentration of people that need help.  Besides, now I'm doing the same stuff that the Scooby Gang does, only I get paid for it.  Gives me some mud to throw a Xander next time he's being a jerk."

            Doyle snaked his arm around her neck, and she leaned into him.  "Not to mention the fact that your boyfriend is much more handsome than he is."  He began to dip his head closer to hers.

            "Far more handsome."

            "And you're much cuter than Anya."  Their lips brushed.

            "Of course," she breathed, then finally kissed him.  It wasn't a gentle one.

            Doyle broke off first, out of breath.  His voice came out in a husky tone that only Cordelia knew he was capable of.  "You know, Buffy and Angel should be keeping themselves busy for a while, patrolling and stuff.  They probably won't even be back tonight.  And Wesley, he's not due in until at least tomorrow night…"

            Cordelia smiled as she caught on.  "Yeah, and Angel's new desk is rather large."

            "And, after all, there's no reason anyone would ever have to know…"

           

            "I don't know if it was right leaving Doyle and Cordelia to finish up like that.  I mean, I don't want them to think I just decided to ditch them right before the job's done," Angel said, looking absently off into the woods beyond the cemetery.

            Buffy shrugged.  "You didn't ditch.  No ditching.  You just left them to go do slay-like stuff, which, I believe, is somewhere in your job description.  Anyway, they're two grownups.  I think they can handle themselves.  Besides, how much trouble can they get with just the two of them?"

            They both looked at each other, simultaneously deciding not to answer that particular question aloud.  For a long while, they walked together in silence.  The wind rustled in the trees, and somewhere off in the distance a dog barked.

            Buffy stopped abruptly, turning on him.  "God, will you stop it!  I'm sick of this."

            "What?"

            "Look, stop making the confused face, because you know damn well what I'm talking about.  You've been like this for months, ever since it happened.  It's like you're walking on eggshells every time I'm around.  You've spent a great deal of effort trying not to say what's on your mind, but I'm not stupid, Angel, and I'm not blind.  What is it?"

            He fidgeted for a moment.  "I can't.  I won't…  I'm not going to take advantage of you."

            "Angel, Riley's been dead for months now.  I've moved on.  God, I've…"  She stopped, swallowing the rest of her sentence.  After a moment, she looked back up into his eyes, her own filling with tears.  "You're the love of my life.  Can't you quit being so damn chivalrous for just one min…"

            Angel reached out, pulling her to him and crushing his mouth to hers.  Buffy made a small noise of surprise, before reaching her arms around his neck and opening her mouth to him.  They stood like that for what seemed like forever, taking turns exploring each other.  They finally separated, Buffy resting her head on his neck, her breath coming out in ragged gasps against his skin.

            He held her, running his hand through her hair.  Then, at that moment, Angel finally got it.  "You're my other half."

            Buffy looked up to see his face, and nothing more needed to be said.  They kissed again, before progressing to groping.  After a while, Buffy managed to get out, "Listen, my mom's home with Dawn tonight, so it'll have to be your place."  Angel nodded in response, beyond the point of words. 

            As they ran off, they were in too big of a hurry to notice that neither Spike nor Anne (They decided to call the alternate Buffy by her middle name in order to avoid confusion) had shown up for patrol as promised.  Furthermore, they failed to notice the laughter coming from the woods that Angel had been looking at only a few minutes before.

            You see, as it turns out, Anne had a taste for blonde bad boys with British accents.

Final Note:  You're probably wondering about the significance of the prologue right about now.  You know, the one with Timmy, Sam, and the regurgitating Frovlax demon.  The truth is that it had nothing to do with the story.  It was just a nice, flashy opening, going straight for the violence to get your attention.  If you've made it this far, it must have worked.