A/N: Hello! Wow, this is a super-long episode rewrite! Or maybe it just seems that way. I rewrote the entire episode in one sitting, which, is like hours. And, phew, boy was it a toughy! Lots and lots of Angel broodiness/craziness to deal with! That and I had to twist it to make sense for this timeline. BUT I stayed up until...let's see...what time is it?...3:17 a.m. to write this entire episode and post?

Oh, and before I forget. Even though Oz is not in this chapter (frown), I just want to clarify. In this timeline, Willow and Xander didn't get all "Oh, I like you so much and can't stop thinking about kissing you senseless." Willow is still with Oz, and they are going strong. However, Xander and Cordy are over. Let's just say they filed irreconcilable differences and called it quits, eh? :D Besides, I like Xander with Anya sooooooo much better.

Okay, on with the chapter!

Random Disclaimer: (I don't own Buffy).

Angel: (pouts) I don't like this episode.

Me: (sympathetic frown) Sorry, but you've just got to suffer.

Buffy: (glares) Hey, don't you think he suffers enough?

Me: Believe me, I love him just as much as you do...

Buffy: Do not!

Me: Do too!

Buffy: Do not!

Me: Do too!

Angel: Hey! Cool it, will ya? (grins) There's enough of me to go around!

Me: (fans herself and begins to sing) A dream is a wish your heart makes...

Buffy: Seriously, Cinderella?

Me: What? I love the little mice. They're cute. Don't judge me.

Amends

It was not uncommon for Angel to dream.

It was not uncommon for these dreams to be nightmares.

What was uncommon was the sheer vividness of the dream.

Sight. Smell. It was tangible. It was like forgetting to take a trip down memory lane and instead buying a house and settling in for the indefinite future. It was so real.

Angel was not one to forget the past. Guilt seemed to be his constant companion, and Angel, being the humble, self-deprecating man he was, didn't question it. The past few months, no—the past year had been one hell of a guilt trip. In one year, he'd managed to lose his soul, wreak havoc as Angelus once again, torture his lover and her friends, and even amongst all the things he'd had on his metaphorical plate—he'd still managed to find time to try and awaken Acathla. All in all, it was quite a failed accomplishment in the end.

Willow had managed to re-ensoul him, permanently. His soul wasn't going anywhere, but at the time, that fact hadn't brought him any peace. Angel was still wracked with the guilt of what he'd done. It wasn't the memories necessarily that were so bad. It was the emotions that came with them. The feeling of pleasure he got from snapping someone's neck. The feeling of happiness he got from ending someone's life. It was a thrill, and it was the best, most addictive drug. That feeling of power, of superiority—nothing could touch him. He felt no guilt. No remorse. But that had been Angelus, not him…

Hadn't it?

Was it him? Buffy kept telling him that he and Angelus were two separate beings, yet she did not deny that they were linked. What did that mean? Did that mean that he was a killer? Angel didn't hesitate to answer his own question. Yes, he was a killer. By nature, he was a killer. He was a vampire, not a man.

Angel sighed and rolled over onto his back, careful not to jostle Buffy who was lying so peacefully beside him. Unthinkingly, he reached out and gently brushed back the hair from her face, his lips twitching in a smile as Buffy unconsciously leaned into his feather-light touch.

How could she feel so safe with him?

Regretfully, Angel pulled his hand away and returned to his brooding. Buffy probably thought that he'd left behind the guilt of what he'd done the past year as Angelus, and in all actuality, he'd come close. Having Buffy there, comforting him, knowing exactly what to say when helped. Having the ability to take comfort in her, completely losing himself in her, to love and to be loved in return helped too.

But this dream, this nightmare—it wasn't about what had happened most recently as Angelus. No, this was long, long, long ago…

If Angel remembered correctly it'd been 1838—Dublin. Snow was falling, adding another layer of white to the already white ground. People had been bustling about, fleeing into the warmth and comfort that burning fireplaces provided or finishing up some last minute shopping. He'd been waiting in an alley, waiting patiently for Daniel to pass.

When the man had been within arm's reach, he'd reached out and grabbed him by the coat, pulling him into the alley and away from prying eyes. Although that really didn't matter. If anyone saw he'd just kill them too.

The dream had been crystal clear. He'd relived the entire moment…

Daniel? Where are you going? It had been a polite enough question.

Daniel had been filled with fear, eyes wide as he took in Angelus' vampire visage. You! You're not human!

Angel could remember how Daniel had trembled.

Not of late, no. Such a patronizing reply.

Daniel had stuttered, frozen. Wh-what do you want?

Angelus had smiled, as if talking to a child. Well, it happens that I'm hungry, Daniel, and seeing as that you're somewhat in me debt…

Please, I can't!

A man playing at cards should have a natural intelligence or a great deal of money. Sadly, you're lacking in both…

Daniel had tried to run, but it'd had been all too easy to reach out and grab him by his coat.

So I take me winnings my own way.

Knowing he was about to die, pleading for a savior, or perhaps both, Daniel had begun to pray.

Daniel! Be of good cheer! It's Christmas!

And then Angel had killed him.

"Merry Christmas!"

Buffy smiled at the Santa who was outside the store ringing the bell for the Salvation Army. Christmas time was her favorite time of year. It was always so happy and bright and cheerful and all around fun. This Christmas was special for another reason though. This would be her first Christmas with Angel, who, adorably, was out of practice.

"Who are all these for?" Angel asked, though the sound was muffled by the mountain of boxes and bags he carried in his arms.

"The Scoobies, Mom, Giles, Wesley," Buffy listed the recipients off her mental list. "Oh, and I already mailed one to my Aunt. If I timed it right, she should get it on Christmas."

One of the bags began to slip and Buffy decided that Angel was not to be used as a pack mule. "Here," she giggled as she took the slipping bag and a few others.

"Which one is mine?" Angel asked as they continued walking, a childish light dancing in his eye—all thoughts of his earlier dream forgotten.

Buffy smirked. "Please, your gift was the first one I bought!"

"The herb thing?" Angel frowned. "I thought that was for Willow."

Buffy laughed. "No, I bought your gift, like, last week."

"Oh," Angel frowned. "Where did you hide it?"

"Like I'm telling you!" Buffy shook her head. "That defeats the whole purpose!"

"How about a hint?" Angel continued as they walked down the sidewalk. "Is is bigger than a loaf of bread?"

Buffy laughed, but didn't answer.

"Can it fit in an envelope?" Angel tried again.

"I'm not telling!" Buffy managed between giggles. "You'll just have to wait."

"Buffy, I'm two hundred and forty-five," Angel pointed out. "I've been waiting awhile."

"Then you should have tons of patience," Buffy retorted easily. "Which, usually, you do."

"It's all your fault."

"Is not."

"Is too."

"Is not!"

"Is too!"

"Is not!"

"I'm too old to play this game," Angel sighed though he couldn't fight his smile.

The couple continued on in this fashion as they finished shopping, or rather, as Buffy finished shopping. Angel followed her dutifully, holding more boxes, offering advice when asked, and sometimes not—like when Buffy had tried to buy herself a shirt that said 'BITE ME'.

"It's really not that funny," he shook his head at Buffy's maniacal giggles.

"Yes, it is!"

When Buffy finally declared that she'd done all she could do (which was rack up what Angel knew was a very expensive credit card bill that he knew would get her grounded…after Christmas), she decided that they would go to her house, stow the gifts in her closet, and then escape to his apartment where they would rip each other's clothes off and make very passionate love.

Those were her exact words. Needless to say, Angel wanted to get to the apartment as quickly as possible.

They were about to cross the street when Angel froze. It wasn't possible…

Daniel stood on the other side of the street, wearing a terribly sad expression. All Angel could do was stare. This wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Daniel was dead. Angel had killed him. He couldn't be here.

"Angel?" Buffy asked, having walked a few steps out into the road before noticing that he wasn't right behind her.

Angel continued to stare at Daniel, unable to look away or fight the sudden, overwhelming guilt that flooded through him.

"Angel?" Buffy asked, noticing his gaze and looking in the general direction. She didn't see anything. "Angel?" she asked again, worried.

Her tone cut through his daze, and Angel offered her a weak smile. "I'm here," he said as he immediately moved to her side, unthinkingly grabbing her hand and twining their fingers together. "I'm here," he repeated mostly to himself, though he added in his head. And Daniel's not.

Buffy frowned and squeezed his hand comfortingly. She was surprised by how tightly he squeezed back, almost as if she was his lifeline. Though Buffy didn't mind, she did wonder what had upset him so. Buffy might not have the centuries of experience of reading people like Angel, but she knew Angel. Something was bothering him, and just now, she'd seen genuine fear in his eyes as he'd gazed at nothing across the street.

"He was just looking at nothing," Buffy explained to Willow as they stopped at their lockers the next day at school. "It was weird."

"Angel? Weird? What are the odds?" Xander said sarcastically, earning a glare from both Buffy and Willow.

"Do you think something's wrong?" Willow asked as she put some stuff in her locker. "Maybe you could ask Giles?"

"No, I don't want to bug Giles," Buffy hesitated. "He's still kinda twitchy when it comes to Angel."

"What about Wesley?" Willow offered. "He'll help."

Buffy brightened at this idea. "Yeah, yeah he will—if it comes to that," she added with a frown.

Seeing Willow's questioning look, Buffy explained. "Well, I know that Angel has nightmares sometimes," Buffy explained with a frown. "And afterwards he never goes back to sleep, he'll just get up and work out the rest of the night."

"Does he know you know that?" Willow questioned as they began to walk to their next class.

Buffy shook her head. "I always pretend I'm still asleep. He had a nightmare the night before last, and even though he had the whole 'staring at nothing' episode later…" Buffy frowned as she remembered the fear in his eyes. "I just don't want to panic and tell Wesley if it's only gonna a onetime deal. I mean, Angel has nightmares—more than I like—but maybe this last one just cut a little deeper."

Willow frowned as she thought of everything that Angel had to deal with. "Yeah, I guess it'd be smart to wait and see."

"Okay, so how about that English test next period?" Xander not so subtly changed the subject. "Is it to be or not to be?"

"You do know the test is over Macbeth, not Hamlet, right?" Willow raised her eyebrows.

"Really?" Xander asked. "I thought it Romeo and What's-Her-Face…" he joked with a grin.

"Juliet!" Willow and Buffy laughed.

"Is it really over Macbeth?" Xander asked as they took their seats.

"Yep," Willow and Buffy chorused.

Xander's head hit the desk with a thud.

Buffy meandered through the many rows of Christmas trees, searching for the perfect one. School had been slower than normal, ridiculously so. She'd spent the entire day worried about Angel, and wanted to go to him as soon as possible, but her mother had insisted on getting the tree today.

Buffy let her mind wonder as she followed her mother through the trees. Something was bothering Angel. It was obvious, and the thing about Angel was that nothing about him was obvious. He was subtle, reserved, mysterious, and not obvious—at least to the casual observer. Buffy knew better though.

He'd had a nightmare that much Buffy knew for sure. Should she ask him about it? Buffy was hesitant in carrying out this thought. Did she want him to dredge up the memory? Should she let him work through it on his own? Would he even tell her if she asked? One thing that made Angel, Angel was his annoying, yet noble, habit of carrying his own guilt. He didn't want to burden anyone else with his troubles.

How could she help though? A kind word? A gentle touch? What could she do? Buffy frowned.

"Do you not like this one?" her mother asked, misinterpreting the reason for her daughter's expression.

Buffy blinked rapidly. "Uh, no not really," she shrugged. "Too poufy."

Joyce looked back at the tree. "You're right," she said and once again she was on the hunt.

"Oh, you know honey," Joyce began as she scanned for the perfect tree. "I was thinking we should invite Faith to spend Christmas Eve with us."

"I don't know," Buffy hedged. "Faith and I don't really hang out much or make eye contact lately."

Buffy had thought that eventually, after getting to know each other, she and Faith would mesh—as it turned out, she was wrong. She would always be Buffy and Faith would always be Faith. There was no give and take. Buffy had her rules and Faith had her rules—which seemed to be one rule, and that was that there were no rules. At the moment, the only thing they had in common was being a Slayer and fighting all the bad. To Buffy, that was really the one thing that mattered above all else. Whether she and Faith got along or not wasn't the big picture. The big picture was slaying demons and making the nighttime just a little safer for everyone else.

"Do you really want to let her spend Christmas Eve all by herself in that dingy, little motel room?" Joyce asked as she examined another potential tree.

"You're still number one on the guilt trip, Mom," Buffy smiled dryly.

"I try."

Buffy gave in. "I'll ask her."

"You're a doll."

"What about Giles?" Buffy asked. "He doesn't have any family."

"But would he really want to spend Christmas around all us girls?" Joyce's eyebrows furrowed.

Buffy shrugged. "Can't hurt to ask."

"Okay," Joyce sighed as she came to a stop, her hands on her hips. "Let's divide and conquer," she suggested. "You zig, and I'll zag."

"And break!" Buffy joked, going to the right down a little path.

She came to a stop when she saw a whole group of dead trees. Frowning, she looked at the surrounding green trees and then back at the dead ones. "Bunch of them up and died on us," a tree seller came up behind her. "Don't know why. If you want one, I can make you a hell of a deal."

Buffy shook her head, her frown still in place. "No, thanks." That was odd…

"Oh, honey! I found it!" her mother called from across the lot, and Buffy gave the dead trees one last look before turning to see which tree her mother had deemed worthy.

Angel jerked awake, panting unnecessarily as he adjusted to his surroundings, his real surroundings. It was real. This was real. His apartment. His books. His artifacts. Buffy's scent. Buffy's heartbeat. Buffy's life. This was what was real.

Not the nightmare.

Not the people.

Angel threw back the covers and got out of bed, quickly dressing and then going out the door with only one destination in mind. He walked briskly, not paying any attention to the people he passed. They didn't matter. The only thing that mattered right now was answers. He needed answers. He needed to know why.

Knowing that his person of interest wouldn't have yet left the school library, Angel walked through the doors quickly, hurrying down the hall. The doors to the library swung open dramatically as he entered, causing Wesley to look up from his book.

"Ah, hello, Angel," Wesley greeted as he closed his book. "How are you?"

"I need to know why," Angel didn't bother leading up to the topic of conversation.

Wesley frowned, unable to follow. "Why, what?"

"I need to know why," Angel repeated frustrated. "I need your help."

"Alright," Wesley still wore a frown. He'd never seen Angel so seemingly unhinged. "What can I do for you?"

"I need to know why," Angel growled as he began to pace. "I-I been having these…nightmares lately—about the past. It's—it's like I'm living it all again. It's so, so vivid...I need to know—I need to know why."

Wesley thought for a moment. "And these nightmares just started?"

Angel nodded, his eyes begging for an answer. "Come on, Wes, dig around in that brain of yours. Tell me something, anything."

"It's believed that Vincent Van Gogh might have been a Yanuk demon—very artsy types, but a little off-kilter," Wesley offered.

"That was helpful," Angel deadpanned.

"I'll look up some things," Wesley cajoled.

"I don't need you to look up some things, I need you to give me answers," Angel snapped, causing Wesley to sweat at the dangerous, wild look in his friend's eye.

"Why does this have you so worried?" Wesley asked nervously. "Aside from the obvious?"

Angel swallowed unnecessarily. "Because I'm pretty sure it's only going to get worse."

The doors opened then, and both Angel and Wesley looked to see the new visitor. Giles came in and stopped short for a moment, seeing Angel. It was then that Giles noticed that the vampire looked like he'd seen a ghost.

Angel couldn't believe his eyes. Jenny was here. She was right beside Giles. She too, looked sad. She ran a loving hand down Giles' arm, but the ex-Watcher didn't react.

Because she isn't there. Angel reminded himself.

"What?" Giles finally asked, growing uncomfortable.

"Don't you see her?" Angel couldn't help but ask.

"Who?" Giles looked around, his brows furrowed in confusion.

Angel shook his head. He was going crazy. He was seeing things. That was the first sign…or was it hearing voices? Either way, something was wrong. He was wrong. The world was wrong. Buffy was wrong. Everyone was wrong. Nothing was right. Nothing would ever be right. Nothing made sense. Nothing would ever make sense. Jenny was here. Jenny was dead. Daniel was here. Daniel was dead…

"I can't," Angel mumbled, quickly fleeing towards the exit, completely avoiding Giles and the fake/real Jenny.

Giles looked from Angel's fleeing form to Wesley, confusion splayed all over his features. "What the bloody hell was that about?"

Buffy walked into Angel's apartment quietly setting her things down. She'd just gotten back from Faith's motel room. As she'd expected, Faith had turned down her invitation to Christmas Eve dinner and Summers Family Fun. But Buffy did feel better knowing that she'd offered, even if she'd only done so initially because of her mother's insistence.

Buffy scanned the room for Angel. The only light in the room came from a single, flickering candle. Buffy knew immediately that Angel had had another nightmare. He stood in the middle of the room, going through the motions of a very graceful Tai Chi workout.

Buffy knew it was Tai Chi. She'd asked a few days ago. Well, this seemed like the perfect time to learn.

Instead of slipping on one of his shirts (she did love to sleep in them), she changed into some yoga pants and a tank top. She came to stand beside him, and waited for him to acknowledge her. After about a minute, realizing that she wasn't going to move, Angel glanced at her.

"Teach me," Buffy demanded gently.

Even though he was trying to calm his own frenzied state, Angel was unable to deny her request. Maybe it would help. Buffy was the best medicine. She always helped.

He showed her a few basics, and then went back to his routine. Buffy mirrored his movements, and caught on quickly. Soon it was like she had been doing Tai Chi just as long as Angel had. They were perfectly in sync, moving in one fluid motion. Buffy had never felt calmer than she did now. She was so relaxed, so focused. She realized now why Angel always resorted to Tai Chi after his nightmares.

Buffy turned then, and brought her arms down, exhaling slowly. However, all concentration was lost when Angel's arms came down over her head. He pulled her to him as his arms wrapped tighter around her torso. Buffy looked over her shoulder at him, and was surprised by the heat of his gaze.

Her stomach began to flutter in anticipation, her heartbeat sped, her breathing quickened. Angel's lips crashed down on hers and it was like a fire ignited, quickly consuming them both. Angel had her undressed before she could even blink, and she was falling onto the bed before she could catch her breath. Anywhere Angel's hands caressed her it sent shockwaves of pleasure through her. His lips had strayed from hers, journeying along her jaw and behind her ear before continuing on down to her neck. He seemed to linger there more than usual, worshipping her neck with long, sucking kisses and playful, biting nips—and Buffy wasn't about to complain.

She was at a dinner party. There was laughter, clinking glasses, little kids running around—a merry time. Buffy looked around, confused. Her imagination had gotten a whole lot more creative. Usually, her dreams were kind of boring—except for the dreams about Angel, and those just made her blush.

So, needless to say, Buffy was somewhat surprised to see Angel in the dream. He was underneath the staircase, talking to a woman.

But none of this made sense.

Buffy took a closer look at her surroundings. The tapestries, the people, the accents of the people…she was in Ireland. Buffy took in their clothes. The fancy, poufy dresses, the shiny shoe buckles…this was 19th century Ireland. That meant…

"Please!" a whispered voice pleaded.

Buffy looked back under the staircase. The man she was staring at was not Angel. It was Angelus.

That was only confirmed when she saw Angelus grab the poor woman, Margaret, and bite her neck viciously. He drained her quickly, letting her body drop carelessly to the floor.

Angel stepped out of the staircase, and looked up at her, shocked. Buffy was pretty sure she looked to be just as shocked as he did.

Both Buffy and Angel bolted upright in bed, Buffy clutching the sheet over her chest as she drew in shaky breaths. She turned to look at Angel, who was already staring at her, wide-eyed, but Buffy could easily see the shame in his eyes.

"Okay," Buffy blew out a long stream of air. "That was weird."

"Buffy—"

"Yeah, really, really weird…"

"Buffy—"

"Like seriously weird. I'm think I'm freaking out…"

"Buffy—"

"That was like a twenty on my Weird-Stuff-O-Meter," Buffy continued to babble. "My scale was only one to ten…"

"Buffy!" Angel finally caught her attention. Seeing her wide, innocent, and yet still trusting green eyes stare up at him expectantly caused him to avert his gaze.

Sadly, the next place he looked made him feel worse.

Buffy unknowingly sported a gloriously purple hickey on her neck. Normally, this wouldn't have bothered him too much. But as Angel remembered his thoughts when he'd made that mark on her neck, it really bothered him. He'd wanted to bite her, to claim her as his. He wanted to Mark her as his. Her blood had been singing to him, calling him. He'd really wanted to bite her.

"Angel?" Buffy's eyes were confused and worried. He knew this was not the first time she'd tried to get his attention. "Angel, what's wrong? What's happening?"

"We shared a dream, my dream," Angel answered as he ran a hand through his hair.

"That really happened though, didn't it?" Buffy asked hesitatingly. "That wasn't just a dream…it was a memory."

"Yes," Angel replied emotionlessly. "It was a memory."

"Okay…what do we do?" Buffy looked up at him again with her innocent, trusting eyes and Angel couldn't take it anymore.

"We are not doing anything," Angel said abruptly as he rolled out of bed and hastily put his clothes back on.

"Where are you going?" Buffy demanded, meaning to sound authoritative, though she only managed to sound confused and hurt.

"Out," Angel answered simply.

"Angel," Buffy began, but Angel interrupted.

"Don't Buffy," he shook his head. "Just don't."

Buffy stared up at him, and Angel couldn't help but feel even worse at the trust he still saw shining in her eyes. Still. She trusted him. How? Anger began to pulse through him, anger at her for trusting him with all that she was after all that he'd done to her as Angelus.

"Why?" he demanded suddenly, causing Buffy to frown.

"Why, what?"

"Why do you trust me?" Angel demanded to know. "Why?"

"Because," Buffy answered simply.

"That's not an answer," Angel argued.

"I don't have to think about it, okay?" Buffy tried to explain. "You never had to earn my trust. You had it from the first moment I saw you. I can't explain it, I can't define it. I can't give you an exact moment when I realized that I trusted you with my life and my soul, okay? I just trust you." Buffy looked up at him earnestly—trustingly. "I love you," she said simply, as if it explained everything.

"You're wrong," Angel shook his head, and looked away, missing the tears that sprung to Buffy's eyes at his words. "You can't love me. It doesn't make sense—none of it makes sense."

After all that he'd done. He'd thought he'd been able to put it behind him, he'd thought he'd been able to move on from his latest stint as Angelus. And maybe he had to an extent. But now it was becoming clear. These dreams were showing him what he was, what he always had been, what he always would be. Maybe they were a good thing. Maybe they were helping him to see how he could protect her from himself.

The thought of leaving her was physically painful, but Angel was no stranger to pain—so he left, slamming the door behind him.

Buffy winced at the sound and didn't bother to stop the steady flow of tears that trailed down her cheeks.

Yes. I ended it there. Don't worry! There's a part two! :D

Review and make me giddy,

ArthursCamelot