Haunted

by Vashti

Buffy and Angel are dreaming of Angelus, the Apocolypse and each other

Happy Birthday Joanna. Sorry this is nearly two weeks late.

Of course nothing Buffy belongs to me but all thanks go to my wonderful new beta bex. Love ya bex.

§§§

Haunted

"I'll always want you, I'll always need you, I'll always love you and I will always miss you . . ." Poe "Haunted"

Prologue

The sky above was a hazy garish red. Whether it was from the smoke in the air or the approaching dawn Angel didn't know. He didn't care.

Somewhere, he knew, Spike was protecting Dawn with his life -- or they were both dead. Somewhere, he knew, Oz was protecting Willow and Tara with his life while Willow protected the two she loved most with hers -- or they were dead. Somewhere, he knew, Xander and Anya were busy protecting themselves and the promise of a shared future with their lives -- or they were both dead.

He didn't care.

Somewhere to his right Buffy lay dying. They both were . . .dying. He'd protected her with his life and failed. It was dawn that caused the sky to color and he too weak to seek shelter. If only he could find her fingers across the expanse of charred and blood soaked grass. He didn't think about how he wouldn't be able to bury her properly. He didn't think about there being no one to write her epic of battles won, battles lost and a hero's death. He only knew if he just . . .touched her ... fingertips. . .

Pain laced through him when he thought himself beyond that. Their enemy stood triumphant, ruffled but unbloodied, over his broken body -- stood on Angel's outstretched fingers. So close, so close to Buffy he could see her hand over the boot. Reluctantly he looked up into their enemy's eyes no longer able to deny defeat or wanting to.

Slowly he raised his eyes full of surrender to those of . . .to those of Angelus.

The moon had already risen when he woke that night, ill at ease and confused by the sweat-drenched sheets.

Inwardly cursing his bad luck, Angel waited for one of the resident license-having Scoobies to remember to pick him up. Ah well, at least he wasn't alone with his impatience and dark thoughts. A small distance away a black girl checked her watch for the fourth time in the twenty minutes they stood together. He was almost positive she was waiting for a pickup instead of the bus. Too bad she wasn't picking him up. No. She was an innocent. There was no need to drag her into these things not even with his thou--

"Hey."

"Buffy?" She was the last person he expected to pick him up. He thought Giles or Xander or, if he were lucky, Willow and Tara, but Buffy?

"You were expecting Dr. Dolittle?" but her tone was far from playful.

For a moment they simply stared, taking the other in, estimating what time had wrought since they'd last seen each other. "Christina?" someone asked with an English accent to his right. "Joanna?" came the reply. A happy squeal erupted from both girls as they, presumably, flung themselves at each other.

"So you live in Sunnydale when you're not in school?" Correction: she was an Australian. Christina denied it fervently, "It gives me the creeps during the day." Each shouldering luggage the girls chatted amiably away.

"So."

"So."

Slayer and vampire stared at each other in uncomfortable silence.

"So you've been having them too."

Angel passed a hand over his eyes. "For almost a month."

"That's what Giles said."

The graying Watcher was dropping sugar cubes into his tea when they arrived. "Angel."

"Rupert."

"Good to see you again," he said.

Although they shook hands the older man could tell the Watcher was still uncomfortable in his presence. Something else to brood on later. "You too. Has your research turned up anything about my -- our dreams?" That was him, Mr. I-Don't-Stand-On-Formalities-In-A-Crisis. The brood session after this was going to be deep.

Taking a calming sip of tea Giles answered yes. "These kinds of shared dreams are not un-uncommon -- especially between individuals of certain levels of intimacy. I daresay either of you could have had the premonition – yes, I know I called it a dream before but do let me go on Buffy --" he added anticipating his charge's question, "with any number of people you're close to so long as they are key factors in the event.

"Actually," he continued, a thought coming to mind, "perhaps you all ready have."

"Wait," Buffy held her hands up, "are you saying we're all dreaming of some freaky Angelus inspired Apocalypse?" Giles nodded. "What about Oz? I saw him in my dream," she said looking to Angel for support, "but he's no where near here now. We guess."

"That may be but if my theory is correct he is well on his way as we speak."

Angel chose that moment to voice his own concern. "What about Angelus? In the dream I wasn't him, I was fighting him."

With a sigh and reflexive pushing up of his glasses the Watcher said, "That is what must be determined.

"Wait one minute, I'll be right there!" Shuffle, shuffle. Slide. "Ow! I'm coming, I swear." Step, hop. Step, hop. Step, hop. Click. Sigh. "Oh! Um, hi. Uh, W-Willow's not, um, not here right now but I guess you, uh, you figured that out. I-I'm sure she'll be happy to, uh, see you. Not that I'm not happy! No, no, not at all. Um . . .would, would you like t-to come in. You're, you're not going to maul me again, are you?"

Spike and Anya glared at each other over the glass countertop like children.

"Don't you have customers to badger?"

"Don't you have Slayers to stalk?"

"You know," Xander told Dawn as he made yet another attempt at helping her with her homework, "I think I liked them better when they just made faces as they passed by."

Dawn agreed. "But look at it this way . . .um," she couldn't quite make it better though she tried. "Oh, oh, its, uh, like they're getting older. Yeah! They're progressing with their insults and eventually they'll grow up for real." The teen seemed quite please with her prognosis.

"Is there any way to speed up the process?"

"Uh huh!"

"Nuh uh!"

"Uh huh!"

"Nuh uh!"

"Or at least mute it," Xander added. "Tell me, was I like that when I was their age?"

Dawn gave him a strange look. "They're both hundreds of years older than you. I think Anya's older than Spike."

"Exactly."

"I'm going out for a light," Spike announced to no one and everyone.

"Uh, Spike?"

"What Niblet?"

"Unless you wanna get fried, you're going the wrong way."

Spike scowled and made an about face -- bumping into his sire in the process. "Peaches," he muttered, "now it really is fun, fun silly willy."

Angel stared at him a moment as the pop culture reference flew blissfully over his head. "Nice to see you too, Spike. I thought you weren't allowed in polite company anymore."

"That lot?" He snorted. "Even the Munchkin's too young to be polite. Don't know what excuse the other two have. You on the other hand," he went on, "I thought weren't allowed within a ten mile radius without prior warning. Tch, tch, whatever will Buffy say when she finds out?"

"I already know Spike," she said stepping between the vampires before they could come to blows.

Angel grinned maliciously, "See, she knows."

"Boys," she said dangerously, "play nice -- or else."

"Yes, Buffy."

"Whatever you say, Pet."

Resisting the urge to make a retort she led Angel into the store proper. Anya and their argument forgotten, Spike followed them. Murmuring between themselves they went around the Magic Box picking up and putting down items, examining them, carefully placing others in the basket Buffy carried.

Items collected, they moved onto the small collection of books behind the table Dawn and Xander shared. Angel climbed to the mezzanine where books and items not for sale or even public viewing were kept. The platinum blond was uncharacteristically quiet. He watched as Buffy put down her basket to throw her arms around Dawn's shoulders and kiss her forehead. The sisters shared quiet words that even Xander would have had trouble hearing had he been trying. Neither man needed their words because the sisters' tender almost unconscious love shone through every gesture, sparkled in their eyes and the intensity of feeling written in the lines of their bodies.

"Buffy, are you ready?"

She looked up, thereby missing the look of confidence and longing Dawn threw her way. "Yeah," she said as if not sure, then again with more confidence. "Dawn, I'll be at Giles'. There's dinner in the oven. Don't worry I didn't make it, Mrs. Ruebens from across the street did. Uh, if you need homework help you have Willow and Tara's number," to which Xander exclaimed an offended, "Hey!" Buffy continued rattling off last minute instructions. "Uh, let's see, finish your homework, duh, sweep please -- if you sweep I'll take your garbage detail -- and, and that's it. I may not be home tonight Dawn."

"Slayer business?" the teen asked.

Unable to help glancing at Angel she answered, "Yes."

"Oh! Can I come? If I finish my homework," Dawn added quickly.

"Yes."

"Really?"

"Really. Come on Angel, we should motor."

They were well away when Spike called out to them. They stopped and turned. "What do you want Bleach for Brains?"

Yet he was all seriousness when he asked, "What's going on then?"

Angel and Buffy shared a long look. Should he or should he not know? Could he or could he not be trusted? Buffy took the initiative, "It's just another Apocalypse, Spike."

"Just another Apocalypse, eh? What's he here for then?" he asked indicating his grandsire with a nod of his head.

"Don't worry about it, Spike, I have it covered."

"Look, I didn't want to say anything back there, you know with the Niblet around and all, but it's obvious to anyone with a working pair of eyes that something's up and it's big. Now what is it?"

Angel was impressed, despite himself, by his childe's maturity -- and disconcerted by his obvious deep feeling for the Slayer. So it was with preparation for the worst that he said, "Angelus may return."

What little color there was in Spike's cheeks drained away. Angel felt the shifting of air molecules as Buffy's head whipped around. Sputtering to find the words, Spike finally spat, "Bloody well near three hundred years old and you don't know how to keep your bloody pants on?!" Had it been any other situation Buffy would have laughed at his impressive lack of imagination. "And you!" he glared at the Slayer.

"We are not sleeping together Spike. I learned my lesson, sex and beer bad," she assured him, suddenly tired.

"Well, then how . . .how?"

Slayer and vampires shared an uneasy troubled look. "Hopefully we'll find out sometime tonight."

"Well at least she bothered to knock," Giles muttered to himself. Opening the front door he said, "Took you long enough Buf- Willow. You're not Buffy."

"And doesn't that just make you smile inside? Not that Buffy's bad or anything," she added hastily, "because Buffy's all of the good. It's just that we, you know, the gang, the Scoobs, um everyone, always got the impression you couldn't well . . .you know."

"Yes, yes, I quite understand. I must agree, I doubt my heart could take it."

"Heart take what? Are you sick, Giles?" Buffy asked stepping through the open doorway over the threshold.

"Um," a familiar redhead stepped around Willow, "I believe the conversation had turned to coronaries and two Buffys."

"Oz."

§§§

Angel understood when Buffy cringed, unable to control, for a moment, her body's reaction to the carnage around them. She took an involuntary step back before composing herself. "I'm the Slayer. This is a dream. I'm the Slayer. . ." he heard her mumble to herself in what they both hoped was a calming litany. The air above was thick with smoke and hot while the ground beneath sucked at their shoes. For a dream it was more than believable.

"You know, if this is what VR's gonna be like I think I'll pass," Buffy quipped dryly.

"VR?"

"Virtual reality. I guess that means 'VR Troopers' doesn't ring a bell either, huh?" At Angel's blank stare she made a face, "Score one for the Buffster."

"You ready to go back?"

"More than ready." Together they stepped over the . . .bodies . . .and parts . . .of people they knew. Buffy turned swiftly away from Angel and threw up in the grass. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand she said with grim determination, "Let's go."

Angel softly but clearly spoke the words that would send them back through the time frame of this dream's reality. In the way of dreams, they were somewhen and somewhere else with their very next step. And somewhen else again with the next step and the next and the –

Someone ran smack into Buffy. Angel remembered her from the bus station. "Know your power," she told the startled Slayer.

A tap on his shoulder: the Aussie friend. "Or if you don't, learn fast," she told him mirroring her companion's smile. Angel turned back to Buffy. The black girl was gone. Whipping his head around the Australian was too.

--last step left them standing in a clearing in the sun.

"Whoa," Buffy exclaimed quietly. "What was that about? I don't remember them in my dream. Do you?"

Angel shook his head. "I've seen them before though," he said and related what he knew and remembered of them. "What they're doing here popping up in- in whatever . . .this is I have no idea."

Xander alternately watched Angel and Buffy facing each other and Oz at the opposite end of the room. Someone, Willow or Giles, had tried contacting him for Joyce's funeral. They weren't sure whether he simply didn't get the message or couldn't make it back in time.

But that wasn't what was making him jumpy.

On the other hand Buffy and Angel had been staring blankly at each other for so long that Anya had made a joke about watering them. Thoughtful Tara -- and yes, thinking about too much Willow and Tara in the Biblical sense always sent a shudder through him that he was not about to analyze on top of everything else -- produced a small vial of eye drops for them. Whenever Deadboy was around, trouble was bound to follow if it wasn't all ready in the process of being researched. Besides, he didn't like him anyway.

That wasn't what was making him jumpy either.

"Jeez Xander. What, do you have termites in your pants?"

He turned. "That's ants in your pants Ahn, not termites. I think we'd all know if it was termites. But, um," he made a visual sweep of the room, "Anya can I, can I talk to you?"

"We are talking."

Xander drew a hand over his exhausted-with-multi-tasked-worry features. "Not exactly what I meant Ahn. What I mean is, can we talk someplace else. Like in private."

§§§

"Anyone else notice the not bursting into flames thing?"

Buffy stared at Angel. "How-how does it feel?"

Her question halted his revelry. Now that she mentioned it, "This isn't exactly how I remember it."

"You remember what the sun feels like after nearly three centuries?" It was touched with more than a little wonder and sadness.

Angel shook his head. "Remember the Ring of Amara? I wore it . . .once . . .to the beach for a couple of hours. Then I destroyed it."

Buffy refused to pity him. This wasn't real. She'd put all her feelings for him behind when he left her. Remember that: he left her. (Besides it wasn't real.) Did that mean she had to be an unfeeling louse about it all? Angel had been there, after all, when her mother had... passed away. Ha, that was a pretty way of saying it, "passed away," when she was really -- Okay, so "passed away" wasn't such a bad little euphemism after all. The point was Angel had been there for her so why couldn't she do a little sympathizing for him?

Because opening herself up that little bit only led to giving everything.

"Spike," Dawn's voice rose, turning his name into two syllables.

For the first time the vampire noticed he was stroking the girl's long brown hair. He wondered what Buffy would look like au naturale and if Dawn would go the way of the Summers women and dye her hair. Good Lord, what did he look like as a brunette? Wasn't like he had Dru around to tell him anymore. "Yes, Pet?"

"How long are they going to be like that?" She leaned into his body as he continued his calming caress.

"Until they save the world, Love."

They'd been in the dream reality for nearly three weeks with no way of knowing how long they'd been sitting on Giles' floor staring at each other. They had nothing to show for it.

"Not nothing, Buffy," Angel consoled wincing at his less-than-perfect grammar.

"I don't know, Angel, this looks like a whole lot of nothing to me." She roughly drew her hands through her hair leaning on her knees with her elbows.

They sat facing each other in the only place they could be sure would be abandoned, the Crawford Street Mansion. (The irony of the moment would be lost on them both.) In this reality it was as if they were the dream creatures disturbing those around them if they interfered too much. Asking questions was about all Willow's spell allowed. "And can you say cryptic? Because my dream self likes to talk in riddles even when she's mid-stake."

Angel nodded wearily. Trying to get straight answers out of the subconscious seemed about as hard as figuring out Cordelia's new obsession with blondness. "Anyone else give you the 'Know your power' spiel?"

"Yeah, myself, my History professor, and Tara. All very sudden, all out of the blue before disappearing. What does it mean?" Buffy stretched but to no relief. They didn't need to eat or sleep but the mental toll --

Stretching his hand toward her, Angel bid her come. "You're exhausted. We both are." She looked at him skeptically. The walls they'd built between themselves with distance and time apart were deteriorating under the vines of proximity. So what more harm could there be in accepting his hand, his comfort? What harm could there be in that?
Taking it and standing she allowed herself to be pulled into his personal space. "Angel, none of this is real, right?"

The air had changed the moment Buffy stood. It wasn't something he could smell or taste or even feel, he just knew. "Yes, none of this is real."

"Good."

"Was there anything else? That happened today," he clarified.

"I walked in on a girl doing some minor spell casting," she said softly, "but nothing else."

She stood between Angel's open legs, hands on his shoulders. "Good." He ran his hands slowly, tenderly, enticingly up her sides. "Good," he repeated as the shivers he created in Buffy surged through him; her head lowering to his, her lips seeking him finding release from their inner unrest in the solid pressure of the kiss.

It had to be the weirdest tableau Willow had ever seen. Knock on wood. Giles was at the computer and not cursing it -- or if he was, it was completely mental. When he wasn't squinting at the screen he monitored Angel and Buffy's . . .um, whatever it was. They hadn't moved in about six hours, by her reckoning. Spike sat on the couch, Dawn stretched out and asleep against his chest. Gently, ever so gently, he stroked her hair, stopping only when she shifted in her sleep. Xander and Anya were . . .nowhere to be found. Thinking about the two of them together with any form of seriousness like, "Hey Willow, Xander and Anya are together right now doing things," always gave her the skin-crawlies. Like now. Stop that! she chided herself.

Then there were Tara and Oz, her lover and her ex. They sat together at the table heads bent together over the ever-present pile of books. It was such a comfortable scene if inhabited by people who, together, made her uncomfortable. As if sensing her stare they looked up as one their eyes filled with an unreadable expression.

It wasn't fair. She wasn't supposed to love them both.

Well, Oz hadn't mauled her (that had to count for something). He hadn't tried to approach Willow (that counted for something else), he was helping them all not die (which counted for something more) and he accepted her for who she was, not only another Research Girl, not only a witch, but Willow's lover.

It was hard watching her, watching them, and being on the outside. Each time he came back hoping nothing had changed. At some point during his travels -- he knew the exact moment, but with skilled practice refused to revisit it and its memories -- he had decided he couldn't come here again, decided to never again intrude on her life.

He'd gotten her message (ever thoughtful) of Joyce's death, of her funeral and of the near fall of the House of Summers. Summers' winter, the thought had come unbidden and terribly sad. He couldn't be there in time. If he'd left then he'd only be here now. The decision had been made well before then.

But he was here now. He'd been called. He had the distinct impression he had slowly been drawn back, first compelled to leave the highlands of Tibet for China then India. His stop in Sri Lanka was irrevocably canceled, sending him to Mozambique and the ruins, both ancient and modern, there. On to the peace and imminent danger of the Great Rift Valley but he couldn't stay long, as if he had anywhere since leaving Tibet. Unrest followed him as he traveled the globe from snowy mountains to thick raucous jungles to empty desert expanses until it turned inward and invaded his dreams.

He had to return. To protect them both.

"This is because of the whole end of the world thing, isn't it?" Anya asked, wary.

Xander shook his head fervently. "I'm serious. I've never been so serious about anything in my entire life. Nothing's ever meant so much to me in my entire life."

"You're just scared Angelus is going to come back," she accused, more than a little frightened for the feelings she'd seen trampled on for centuries. Her emotions were too new, too real (too exposed), too exposed to be handled callously. "If you think I'm going to say yes just because you think we're all gonna die soon so you don't have to follow through with all the complicated and very expensive wedding pl-"

Xander put a finger to her rambling lips. "Shh . . .shh. I," he said very slowly, calmly, "fully expect Buffy and Angel to stop whatever evil has reared its scaly, knobbly, magenta-ly all around ugly head. And I fully expect to grow old with you, to love you, to spend my life making you happy. If you'll let me."

Giles alternately turned from the computer monitor to his charge and her former lover. For the moment he didn't see either, lost to his own thoughts and their hauntings.

They lay together caught in the aftermath. Or was it afterglow? Wait, wasn't it supposed to be the afterglow? thought Buffy. But it was more like aftermath than -glow especially that whole -math thing because she always felt moody and crappy after her math class and --

What was with being Ramble Girl? Because otherwise her thoughts drifted to Angelus. Oh, right. Hmm, that seemed like as good a reason as any to go all Willow-speak. And thank God for Willow-speak too, because otherwise all those torture and maiming thoughts, besides the guilt and agony and second-thoughts thoughts she was --

Aargh! She was doing it again. But it was helping, right?

Angel had no such coping mechanisms. He'd told her it wasn't real. But they were. Why hadn't he thought this through? Because three weeks without sleep and three weeks in her presence . . .

There was something to be said for the humbling affects of one's body over one's mind even after two hundred and fifty-some odd years of existence. He was simply a man, no greater, no less and this was further proof. Good one, Angel, his demon scolded, and did you believe that, your first time together? Oh, no, that's right, you were too busy enjoying your moment of perfect happiness to notice you'd set me free. Did I ever thank you for that, by the way, because, believe me, I was grateful, it ended with a sneer

So, to the casual observer they were contented lovers, Angel and Buffy, not ill at ease and anxious-with-unspoken-waiting bedfellows: Angelus, Angel and Buffy.

And I'm haunted.

"I thought only movies and TV shows got the poignant after-horizontal-lambada music," Buffy muttered just loud enough for Angel to hear. "And I always figured mine would be Sarah McLachlan, not whoever this is."

By the lives that I have loved

And actions I have hated

Buffy quickly shut her eye against unbidden tears. She hated that. She hated when songs did this to her -- made her feel, made her remember.

By the promises I made

And now it felt as if it were a voice speaking inside the Mansion rather than an ambiance filling the dream world.

And others I have broken

I'm haunted

By the lives that wove the web

It wouldn't stop. The voices wouldn't let her go

Inside my haunted head

Nor Angel.

"Yes."

Buffy thought of everything (ice cream, shoe sales,) anything (Dawn's wide brown eyes, her mothe-, Oz, Oz home, Oz had naturally red hair) but the words floating through dream space. (15-minute days and twenty-seven hour nights, that girl who was casting a spell, Angelus, the afternoon They brought Dawn home) God she hated this dream, nightmary evil . . .thing!

"I think it's stopped," Angel murmured above her head.

So it had affected him too. She wondered where his thoughts had led. Of his near three centuries of existence what damned him most? Buffy didn't pretend to even want to begin to imagine.

I'm haunted

"Gah! It's back!"

"What's back?"

Buffy shifted looking up at Angel. "What do you mean 'What's back?' Can't you hear it? I mean I know she's whispering but, come on, loud much?"

"That's an oxymoron Buffy."

Scowling she said, "You know what I mean."

I'm haunted

"Are you sure you can't hear it?"

I'm haunted

"I'm sure Buf- Buffy, are you all right?" Grounding out, "Make it stop, make it stop," she clutched the sides of her head fiercely as if doing so would silence whatever tortured her.

By the hallways in this tiny room

The echoed air of me and you

Unbidden Angelus came to mind.

The voices . . .

Spike knew the moment Dawn awoke. Unlike her sister she came out of sleep in stages, awareness being the last one. "It's all right, Kitten. It's all right," he murmured soothingly as anxiety and fear wafted up.

"Where is everyone?"

"Watcher's asleep in the armchair," he said quietly, "Droopy Boy and the Demoness walked in about half an hour ago. You missed the goofy grin on his-- then again, Pet, you didn't miss much on that front. Wolfie and the witches are probably asleep at the table."

"Xander and Anya left?" She sounded skeptical.

"Nah. They're sleeping in the guest room. And don't worry, you didn't miss any wild monkey sex sounds."

Dawn tittered but quickly sobered when she glanced at Buffy and Angel unchanged. "Spike?" She did that thing again where her voice rose at the end of his name all singsong like turning it into two syllables.

Reminded him of Dru. "Yeah, Pet?"

"You're only nice to me because you have a thing for Buffy, right?"

He was silent for a moment thinking of, for once, a politic but honest answer. "That's not true," he protested, "I liked you long before I admitted I loved Blondie, there. I'll admit when I first got chipped I only tolerated you--"

"I wasn't created yet."

"You know what I mean. Anyway, you I liked. You've got this reckless rebellious side I'd love to set free 'cept for her," they both knew who he meant, "and this thing in my head. I'll admit I didn't feel the way I do for you now until after I started wanting the Slayer."

"And how do you feel now?" she asked tilting back her head trying her best to see his face.

"I would die for you," he said firmly and without hesitation.

"For my sister. For Buffy," she qualified.

"For you and for myself."

Something startled Giles awake. Xander. Ignoring the boy for a moment he studying the living room. Buffy and Angel remained as they were last he woke. Very soon he would have to bring them out of the trance if they didn't do so themselves. If they did not find they answers they all sought, another course of action would have to be taken. What that course would be Giles did not know.

Spike and Dawn were asleep on the couch. At least Giles assumed the vampire slept. He'd awoken a few times to find Spike's hand tangled in Dawn's hair, eyes riveted on Buffy. Now his eyes were closed and his hands still as exhaustion overtook even his immortal body.

"G-man --"

Sigh. "I've asked you countless times --"

"Anya said yes."

"Excuse me if I'm more than a little confused at three twenty-two in the morning but what exactly did Anya say yes to?"

"I proposed."

"Marriage?"

"No, Giles, I proposed we go out to the local Dairy Queen for an early morning snack."

"Yes, well. Well, then. I'm genuinely happy for you. Have you told Willow yet?" Xander shook his head. "Why ever not? Not that I'm not honored, but she's your best friend, why tell me first?"

"Yeah, well, I wanted to tell Wills first," he admitted, "but she looked so peaceful asleep between Tara and Oz I couldn't bear to --"

"Thank you, Xander," he deadpanned, "I feel so much better now."

"Hey, man, you asked."

That girl. That girl hardly noticed her, let alone looked up, when she walked in on her. Walked in? She'd practically fallen over her. She'd been apologizing so profusely she'd forgotten she was only barely corporeal to the girl. But jeez what a hard --

And I'm haunted

"Angel!" Buffy called.

He was at her side in moments. "It's started again?" She nodded. "Okay, tell me what it's saying."

Taking a fortifying breath she repeated after the whisper in her head, " 'And I'm haunted by the lives that I have loved and'" she faltered, " 'actions I have hated.'" By the time she spoke the last words tears were slipping from her closed lids.

Angel enfolded her in his arms. "You know," she said wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands, "I can handle nasties on a nightly basis. I can deal with fatigue. I can take all of Dawn's crap and all of Spike's barbs and bottle them for posterity. But this, this is inside.

"Do you know what I see every time it whispers in my ear?"

"I know."

Buffy went on as if he hadn't spoken. "I see us and I see Angelus. I see me with the Sword and your soul coming back a day too late and you chained up at the Mansion and that girl --"

"Buffy," he interrupted her heartsick ramble, "what girl?"

She looked at Angel confused. "The girl."

"Buffy, what girl? Willow? Tara?"

She shook her head to both. "The one I disturbed that day. While we were here."

"The one doing the spell?" She nodded. "Do you remember any of it: the ingredients, the words?"

Buffy thought a moment trying to put herself back in that moment but listening for the details she'd picked up without realizing it. "I don't know herbs but if I saw them again I could point them out." Something to do when they got back. "But I think I can remember some of the words. En memor- en memori--"

". . .et memoria mea culpa?"

"Yes! Yes that's it. How did you know?"

"I saw her too," he replied grimly. "Course I didn't remember till just now. As for the spell, it is a common one. Pretty masochistic actually. It calls on Hades to give seemingly unlimited power to the caller's darkest fear and make it realized. A sort of self-flagellation."

"How does that affect us?"

"Easy, she did it wrong. Her Latin's off. Technically all the words are right but the form isn't. Instead of directing the punishment inward, to herself --"

Buffy made the next logical leap, "She's projecting it."

"Worse, she's making it all inclusive."

"So it's not just her greatest fear but --"

"All of Sunnydale's too. The world's."

"Angelus."

"Angelus," he agreed.

"Will, I love you."

Great. Just great. Exactly what she didn't want to hear. Well, maybe this was just a dream. She was still half-sleep. Maybe it was like that time where she dreamed that because Xander twisted his ankle -- in the dream -- and couldn't go to fourth period -- or was if fifth? -- gym, she didn't have to wake up on time to go to school. Hey, was it her fault the snooze button looked so tempting? Somehow Sheila and Ira Rosenberg hadn't seen their daughter's flawless sleep-logic point of view. Their loss.

He was giving her that stare. Darnit! Why couldn't this be another dream? Somebody important was mad at her, had to be. Wasn't Angel always going on about those so-called Powers That Be? She could see it now; the new MTV hit "My So-Called Powers That Be." Darn he had more to say.

"And because I love you I want you to know that I respect you and Tara," duh, been there, said that, "and if the worst happens I'm willing to die for you -- both."

Oh. Well then. That was different wasn't it?

"Willow, Tara -- oh good, you're awake. Oz, do wake Tara please. Willow, come with me."

Witch and Werewolf exchanged a significant glance -- Giles was pretty sure of its significance -- before complying. "Has something happened, changed?" Willow asked.

"No," he answered, smoothly removing his glasses for a necessary cleaning, "but I don't want to risk them further. Neither can go without nourishment forever, Buffy least of the two. Besides the mental toll is far greater than the physical one."

"But --"

"We'll send them -- although I'd prefer someone else -- back, if we must, but for now they will fare better if they are well." Stepping into the kitchen he muttered, "And they cannot be well sitting like that for much longer."

Soon all the temporary housemates were up or pretended some semblance of wakefulness. "Me and Willow just need you guys to be quiet while we do th--"

"We know what to do."

All eyes turned to Buffy struggling to stand. Angel was only slightly more stable. "Here Pet," Spike offered his hand. She took it gratefully but withdrew immediately once she was on her feet.

"Thanks for remembering your sire, Spike."

"Only my sire 'cause you're Dru's."

"Buffy," Giles quickly interjected, "you were saying?"

Nodding slowly she answered in a surprisingly strong voice, "We know what's going to happen and we know how to stop it. No one has to die tonight," she said unconsciously slipping her hand into Angel's.

Fin