Chapter Thirteen: Haunted

"Damn it!" Angel thew off the covers and got out of bed. He glanced down beside him to make sure that he hadn't woken Cordelia, before pulling on his pants and stepping out onto the balcony.

He'd been dreaming about Buffy again. About Buffy and Spike.

Angel still wasn't sure that he had done the right thing. Yes, Buffy had woken from her coma, but had it been worth it? Couldn't he have found another way if he had just waited? If he hadn't been so damned impatient?!

Every time he closed his eyes he saw the same scene playing out before him, over and over again - Spike and Buffy in the bathroom - Spike trying to rape Buffy.

The memory haunted him, twisted in his gut and cut through him like a jagged sword. He had allowed that monster to be brought back. He had begged for Spike's life, even knowing what he was. Spike would come back from the dead, and Buffy would welcome him into her heart with open arms. Who was going to save her? Who was going to protect her from giving herself to such a monster?

There was only one thing Angel could do. He had to make things right. He had to protect Buffy. He had to make Spike pay.

Angel ran an agitated hand through his hair as he gazed out over the horizon. He was starting to worry in earnest now. He didn't quite understand what was going on - why Buffy was trying so hard to pretend that she was fine, or why there hadn't been any word of Spike yet. Whatever it was, wasn't good. Buffy had promised to call if anything unusual had happened. Why the hell hadn't she called?

Angel felt a presence move up behind. He knew who it was. He didn't even have to turn around.

"You're doing it again," Cordelia said, from just inside the doorway.

"What's that?"

"Worrying about her." She moved closer, coming to stand directly behind him. She put her hands on his shoulders comfortingly. "She'll be all right. She's a big girl now Angel."

He turned around, pulling out of her hold. "She's confused and she's scared."

"And grieving."

Angel scowled and turned away from her. "She shouldn't grieve that bastard, not after what he's done."

"Angel." She tried to touch him again.

He pulled away. "Don't."

"You can't protect her forever you know. Someday you're going to have to realize that you're not her knight in broody, dark armor anymore. You can't protect her. Let it go Angel. If she wants to love Spike, let her love Spike. Get over it."

"Not until he's dead," he said darkly.

"Oh great, here we go again. Why even bring him back if you were just going to kill him yourself?"

"Because I will forever treasure the feel of my hands breaking his neck."

"Fine," she said exasperated, "when Buffy calls and tells you that Spike's alive you can ride the first vengeance train back to Sunnydale and break his neck, or sever his head, or offer him a stake through the heart. Whatever you like. But until then, let it go. Or Buffy won't be the only girl who loses her vampire lover," she said, as she turned and walked back into the bedroom.

Angel turned back toward the cityscape below and gripped the railing tightly. Another day. Two at the most. Three tops! And then he was going to Sunnydale, with or without the call. He needed to see Buffy. Needed to talk some sense into her. And he needed to see Spike. See him, and kill him.