Chapter Twenty-Five

Buffy coughed and pushed the rubble off her, brushing dust off her clothes and shakily standing up, gingerly testing her left leg. It almost gave way and she stumbled slightly before righting herself and looking around. Willow was helping Giles up and Spike and Faith were pulled out by some of the Slayers. All around them were the corpses of demons, and Slayer sitting down, nursing injuries. She searched again but couldn't find Angel. Where was he? Her eyes looked at the wounded as she stood rooted to the spot, tears threatening. She couldn't see him.

She heard someone shout her name from behind her. Dawn. She spun around and saw Dawn and Kennedy pulling away handfuls of stone and trying to move a large demon body. She saw a pale hand poking out from beneath it and her heart caught in her throat as hurried towards them, her adrenaline making her toss the demon away and make quick work of the remainder of the debris. Angel was lying, lifeless under the stone, his chest unmoving, his face pale and gaunt. She placed her hands either side of his head and gently whispered to him, before continuing in a louder voice. Why wasn't he waking up? He wasn't dead, well not deader anyway. He couldn't be. He'd be dust if he was.

She moved her hands to his shoulders and shook him. "Angel. Angel! Angel!" There was no response, and his chest wasn't moving in his habitual breathing. That scared her more than anything. "Angel, wake up! Angel!"

Angel heard a distant voice calling his name, but couldn't quite place it, floating in bliss, his eyes closed. There'd been pain and then…ecstasy. He couldn't remember where he'd been before, or what had happened. And he didn't care. All he cared about was staying where he was, in contentment. The voice called him again but he swatted it away, annoyed. Why couldn't he be left alone?

The voice became more adamant and Angel opened his eyes, concentrating on it. Maybe if he listened to it, it'd go away and leave him in peace. Complete peace. Perfect happiness. His heart jolted. Something about that phrase reminded him of something. He shook it away and listened again to the voice. It was so familiar, a woman. The voice was sweet but sounded hysterical and he felt a slight tugging on his body. He looked down but there was nothing there. He frowned. He didn't like this. He didn't like being disturbed. But the woman wouldn't leave him alone.

He could hear her voice, very faintly now, asking him to wake up. Wake up? He was awake. His eyes were open! The voice was growing fainter and he tried to move towards it, not knowing why, just knowing he wanted to get closer to it, hear more of it. It sounded…nice when her honeyed voice said his name. He was moving sluggishly, swimming through a sea of happiness, arms caressing him, begging him to stay. He shook them off. He'd be back. He just wanted to hear the voice again. It was stronger now and he moved even closer. Just a bit further. He stopped when he heard her cry, and his brow furrowed. Crying. He remembered that. Crying. It was sad, it made his heart ache. He didn't want to be sad. He wanted to be happy. But he didn't want her to be sad either. The sound was familiar. He'd heard her crying before.

He had an idea. Maybe he could bring her here too. Then she wouldn't cry anymore. Then she'd be happy. Yes, he'd do that. He swam closer, when something in the back of his mind begged his attention. That cry. When had he heard it before? He concentrated, annoyed when he couldn't quite bring the memory to the front of his mind. He knew it. He knew it. He just had to grasp on to it. He closed his eyes and reached out his hands, grabbing the memory and pulling it to him, his eyes shooting open when he remembered. Buffy!

Suddenly the arms around him weren't caressing him, they were choking him. He struggled, coughing and spluttering as the sea became thicker, drowning him. But he couldn't drown, he couldn't choke. He was a vampire. He couldn't…He kicked out, loosening the grip of some of the arms and pulled his arms and legs powerfully through the sea, moving towards Buffy's voice and her warmth. He needed her. He had to have her. He was so cold without her. Just. A bit. Further…He could see the edge now, could see the light beckoning towards it, could feel her warmth on his skin and he thrust forward into it. Yes!