Every day following Wesley's discovery of Angel's curse, right through the middle of December, he would bring a new book for Angel to read during the long, lonely hours between his visits, in exchange for which Angel recounted to him those parts of his past that weren't written in any of the Council's records. This wasn't the sole topic for discussion, however. Sometimes, Wesley would ask his advice on whatever he happened to be researching at the time and, after discovering just how many languages in which Angel was fluent, he occasionally brought documents in need of translation for the vampire to look over.
All of this could be done in increments of only a few minutes at a time, because Wesley knew none of the other Watchers who worked at headquarters would be very understanding if they discovered that he was becoming fast friends with their undead prisoner, soul or no soul. In an unhelpful twist of fate, Angel never said anything to make Wesley realize that he thought they were in the year twenty ninety-eight, and in turn, Wesley never said anything to disabuse him of this notion.
Despite his continued ignorance of his current temporal setting, Angel was the happiest he'd been in that dungeon so far—though he still had quite a long way to go before he could actually be considered happy by any stretch of the imagination. His dreams of Buffy were a comfort he hoped he would never have to give up, and he now had someone he could actually consider a friend, who confided in him, valued his opinion on any subject that came up, and gave him something to do besides sitting in a depressed stupor during the endless hours in his cell.
As vocal as Angel had always been about his gratitude towards him, Wesley felt more and more that his efforts to improve Angel's situation were woefully inadequate. Whatever Angel said to the contrary, Wesley remained convinced that he was innocent of every crime his soulless counterpart had committed. He already felt the guilt for it and had literally been through Hell; wasn't that punishment enough? He deserved better than confinement to that dark stone cell where he could be used at the Council's disposal. Especially with Christmas so near.
Wesley had considered attempting to break Angel out, but he couldn't think of a way to do this that wouldn't result, one way or another, in Angel being recaptured and him being stripped of his title as Watcher. And that was only the best possible outcome. While he waited for something more foolproof to occur to him, he continued their usual routine. When last he had asked Angel about his past, they had finished covering the two and a half rather depressing decades he'd spent in alleys and sewers, living off rats. They were almost caught up to the present now, and Wesley had decided to save his questions about the Claddagh ring until they reached it.
[o]
Buffy emerged from the shop, her arms laden with many packages and parcels, while her mind was far away. The last few weeks had been tense among her group of friends, of which Cordelia had not been part since her return from the hospital. Oz was almost as distant, but at least he was not treating the rest of them with cold and haughty contempt. Xander had attempted unsuccessfully to laugh off his misery at the consequences of cheating on Cordelia with Willow, but Willow had remained forlorn, upset, and guilt-ridden—not at all her usual bubbly self. She did, at least, seem to be making better headway at repairing the damage she had caused than Xander. Buffy had seen Oz's gaze follow her best friend with unmistakable wistfulness on more than one occasion as they neared the Christmas holiday.
Faith, as the only one unaffected by this drama, had rapidly become the most fun for Buffy to hang out with, their issues resulting from the ordeal with Gwendolyn Post now quite forgotten. But Buffy was loathe to abandon Willow in her unhappy times in favor of partying with Faith, for she had not forgotten how many hours Willow had spent in the library with her during the fall, trying to discover the meaning behind her dreams.
Dreams that continued still, and which Buffy had no desire to see the end of, despite her increasingly defensive assertions to Willow, Xander, Giles, and even her mother that she had moved on but was simply not interested in dating at the moment. She heaved a sigh and dragged her thoughts back to the present, only for her heart to miss a beat before beginning to hammer wildly. There, at the mouth of an alley not thirty feet away…
"Angel?" she gasped, her Christmas shopping tumbling from her arms. She could see his face; it was definitely him. She ran forward, pushing her way through a group of shoppers heading in the other direction, causing them to cry out in indignation. "Angel!" she called more loudly. His gaze found her face, and her breath caught in her throat. But his expression hardened and he turned and disappeared into the alley next to him. Buffy reached the gap between the two buildings and stared desperately into the shadowy space, but Angel was nowhere to be found. She looked down in dismay and noticed that the wet, muddy grime coating the alley floor was undisturbed by footprints. Had she only imagined him, then?
[o]
"Good morning, Angel," said Wesley brightly, hanging the lantern and tossing him a new book.
"Morning, Wes," said Angel. He looked down at the book's cover. "A Christmas Carol?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Well, I know you're fond of existentialism," said Wesley, "but I thought this seemed fitting, given that Christmas is only a few days off." He frowned for a moment. "Have I not mentioned that?"
"No, but that's alright," said Angel, chuckling, though he thought that Wesley's choice of holiday entertainment was, perhaps, a little too fitting. They traded bottles, and Angel thanked him as usual.
"Where did we leave off yesterday?"
"With you in…New York, I believe," said Wesley.
"New York." Angel paused thoughtfully and drank some of the blood. "When I was still drinking rats and doing my best homeless guy impression." He gave a short laugh that held more revulsion than humor. "I might have stayed that way for a few more decades if it hadn't been for Whistler."
"Whistler?" asked Wesley.
"Well, that's what he told me his name was, anyway. He made it sound like it wasn't his only one. He was a benign—or at least neutral—demon, and he wasn't going to let me rot down those alleys any longer. I was suspicious at first—I mean, the last time someone came looking for me, already knowing who I was, was during World War II—but even for a self-flagellating guy like me, twenty-five years or so was long enough to live like that. I figured I'd hear him out—I had nothing to lose, right?" His gaze was getting steadily farther away as he relived the memories. "I had no idea how much that decision would change my life."
As usual, Wesley made quite the attentive audience. He was utterly riveted by the tale and always watched Angel's face closely to try to read the emotion that was behind the story. But even though Wesley had proven that Angel could trust him with his life, Angel didn't think he could tell him about Buffy. To talk about her in the past tense would make her death real to him in ways he wasn't ready for.
As the seconds of silence stretched on, the suspense became torturous for Wesley. Noticing this, Angel decided that they could both be content with at least a vague account. "Whistler took me to California. He showed me a girl. She was in high school, and her life, like mine, was about to change forever, but she had no idea what was in store for her. One look at her and I knew I would do anything in my power to protect her." Angel closed his eyes, which were suddenly burning. He had failed.
Even though Wesley was desperately curious, he could see that this was a very difficult topic for Angel. "Why don't we, er, stop there for now?" he offered.
"You sure?" asked Angel.
"I should be getting back anyway," he said, shrugging. "Enjoy the book."
[o]
Buffy couldn't do it anymore. She had to talk to someone. Dreams were one thing, but seeing Angel when she was awake was something else. She had been able to maintain the illusion of normality perfectly well when it was just the dreams, though she was perhaps slightly terser with people than she would have been otherwise, but she wouldn't be able to keep it up if she saw him walking up another street. Biting her lip, she reached out to knock on the door of Willow's balcony, hoping she wasn't making a bad decision by coming to see her this late.
A light turned on within the room, and a second later, Willow opened the door. "Buffy!" she said, surprised. "What are you doing here? N-not that it's not good to—" She broke off, noticing the look on Buffy's face. "What's wrong?"
"Can I come in?" she asked.
"Yeah—sorry, I should've…yeah," said Willow. Buffy entered and closed the door behind her, and she and Willow moved to sit opposite each other on the bed.
Buffy took a deep breath. "Okay. Please don't hate me for this—"
"What?" interrupted Willow. "Why would I hate you? Sorry. What is it?"
"Remember when I said that the dreams stopped?"
"Yeah. Why, did you start having them again?"
"I never…stopped having them," she said.
"Oh." Willow just looked at her for a moment. "Why didn't you tell me? We could have kept researching—"
"I didn't want them to stop, Wil," Buffy admitted, averting her eyes.
"Oh," said Willow again. Knowing a little better now what it felt like to be without the one she loved, she reached out to take Buffy's hand. "You still miss him, don't you?"
Buffy nodded, and her eyes were bright with tears when they met Willow's again. "The dreams, whatever they are, they make me feel like I'm close to him. But today when I went Christmas shopping, I saw him."
"What do you mean?" asked Willow.
"He was just standing there by this alley. I ran over to him, but he was gone."
"Do you think it was like a, uh, hallucination or something?"
"What else could it have been?"
They sat in silence for a while, then Willow straightened up a little. "Could it have been his ghost?"
"That would make me feel a lot more secure about my sanity," said Buffy in a weak attempt at humor. "But why would he come back like that?"
"Could it be because of what happened in May?" asked Willow hesitantly. "The day that—with Acathla?" She squeezed Buffy's hand reassuringly. "You can tell me, Buffy. What happened?"
Buffy sighed. It meant the world to her that Willow was being so understanding and supportive now, but that day was still a subject she didn't like discussing. "I was too slow," she said, swallowing hard and looking down. "I was going to fight Angel before he could get the sword out of Acathla, but one of the minions with pretty impressive ninja skills held me up, and then it was too late. I fought him, I was about to kill him, and then he was back. Maybe if I'd known, I could have bought more time. Killed the other one faster." She looked up from the little yarn pieces knotted on top of Willow's quilt, and was surprised to find Willow staring hard at her.
"You didn't know? What didn't you know?" she asked.
"That you were going to…put his soul back," said Buffy slowly, frowning. Willow's expression was becoming steadily more shocked and horrified.
"But you should have known," she said insistently. "Xander was supposed to tell you I was going to try again."
More Angel and Wesley bonding! Yay! New unfun for Buffy! Less yay. And here we go with this version of "Amends". Dun-dun-dun.