Title: The Secret Spell
Rating: K
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel
Author: Singing Violin
Summary: A fill-in-the-blanks explaining some mysteries surrounding Buffy's death and resurrection.
Disclaimer: The Buffyverse and characters therein are not mine.
Feedback: Always welcome and appreciated, as long as you've actually read the story.
Archiving: Feel free to archive this elsewhere, but please let me know where and/or ask permission first.

Chapter Title: Intense Encounter
Summary: What might have happened when newly-resurrected Buffy met Angel in between Sunnydale and LA.

He stares at her, unbelieving. He still can't quite grasp the fact that she is back, after six months of being dead. He shouldn't be surprised. After all, Wolfram and Hart brought Darla back from oblivion. But they are an evil law firm powered by unknown demons and demigods, most of whom don't even reside in the same dimension as he does. Buffy was resurrected by a mousy redhead from Sunnydale, an ordinary human being. Or not so ordinary...she apparently is an extremely powerful witch.

He wonders, for a moment, whether that witch had anything to do with the fact that he was okay after Buffy's death. Not just dealing, but really okay. The love of his life, gone forever, after all he'd sacrificed so that she could live, and he was barely phased by the grief. He'd spent three months trying to figure out why he was okay, and ended up battling demons and coming home without an answer. Willow wouldn't put the whammy on me...would she?

He shakes his reverie aside when he notices that the small blonde is moving towards him, slowly, and speaking his name. He rushes towards her, envelops her in his arms.

She stiffens. "You're so cold."

He pulls away slightly, keeping his arms on her shoulders. "I'm a vampire," he reminds her. "It never bothered you before."

She steps out of his touch, turns away, crosses her arms as if to hug herself. "I was so warm," she admits. "I just want to be warm again."

"What?" he asks, genuinely confused, then thinks of something. "Here, have my jacket." He takes it off and drapes it over her shoulders.

She touches it contemplatively. "It's cold, like you," she points out.

"You'll warm it up," he says hopefully. "You have body heat."

"Yeah," she agrees noncommittally, though she doesn't take it off. Instead, she pulls it around her shoulders, and he takes this as a positive sign.

"How are you?" he asks awkwardly, and she turns around again, startled, as if she's forgotten he's there. "I mean, other than being cold."

She smiles slightly, enigmatically. "Trying to be okay, I guess."

He nods and frowns, even more worried than before. "How can I help?"

For a moment, she looks longingly at him—hungrily, really, the way she used to. Then she looks down at the floor, still clinging to the sides of his jacket. "You can't. Not without...you can't."

And for a moment, now, he is angry. Angry that they've both come all this way, and she's shutting him out. "No, Buffy," he insists. "You pushed me away before, and you got killed. I won't let you do that again. I don't..." His voice cracks slightly. "I don't want to lose you again. I can't."

He hopes she'll return his anger, his fire, his passion. He longs to press his lips to hers. But she is deader than he is, inside. She merely looks into his eyes and says, "I'm sorry."

He sighs. "You have nothing to apologize for. I just...tell me what it was like, where you were. If anyone can understand, it's me."

He lets the memory of his own time in hell—sent by the girl in front of him, via a sword through his heart—and his unexpected return, lost and wild, centuries of torture behind him while she'd lived but a few months without—hang heavy in the air as he waits for her reply, and when it finally comes, it stuns him.

"No, you can't," she retorts. "Everyone thinks I was in some sort of hell dimension, like you, but I wasn't. I was happy. Warm and happy. Peaceful. This..." she gestures with her hands, "this is hell, being back on Earth, having to fight every day. Responsibilities, demons to fight... a sister to take care of. I'm in hell now, Angel, and nobody can get me out of it. I can only hope that someday I'll get to go back."

He freezes, then clasps her shoulders once more, trying to comprehend what she's just said. "Are you saying you want to die again?"

She looks up at him: trusting, vulnerable. "No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know. All I know is that I was happy, and now I'm not. But," she interrupts as he's about to speak, reading the panic on his face, "don't worry, I'm not going to kill myself, because that's probably a sure way of damning myself to eternal hell. Or so I've heard. Plus, responsibilities. Dawn."

"I can't imagine what you've been through, then," he admits, and he's hoping she'll be smug, just to experience some emotion at all, but if she is, she's not showing it. "I still want to help. Name it, Buffy. Anything..."

"Except the one thing I want from you, the one thing that might make it all okay, if only for a moment," she pours out. "Because that would be the last moment things would be okay. Just like last time. Angel, I haven't even cried," she admits.

His eyes grow wide, then he pulls her towards him again. "I'm here now. Cry if you want."

She pushes him away, gently. "I can't. If I could, I would have. Anyway, it wouldn't help."

He sighs, or rather imitates a sigh, because he has no breath. "If there's nothing I can do, then...maybe someone else can," he admits. "I'm so sorry about what happened with Riley." Her cheeks redden slightly, remembering that embarrassment and heartbreak, and how Angel had asserted to her, no holds barred, that he did not like her new beau. "I promise I won't object again. Unless...he's evil and wants to hurt you."

"Like you were and did?" she deadpans.

He meets her eyes, unflinching, unhesitating, "Yeah, like me," and his voice is tinged with deep sadness.

"I'll keep it in mind," she says. "No evil boyfriends...again." But somehow, she knows she will break this promise, and soon. She shakes the feeling , then takes off his coat and hands it back to him. "I should probably go."

He nods. "Yeah."

She turns to leave. "Buffy," he calls after her. She turns around. "If...when there's something I can do, to help, I want to."

"I know," she says, and then she is gone.