Dreams Of Thee

by Deb

AUTHOR: Debbie Nockels (Debnockels@aol.com)
COPYRIGHT: September 1999
RATING: R
CATEGORY: Story/Romance/Mild Angst
SPOILERS: Season 2 of BTVS, particularly "Surprise" & "Innocence."
COUPLES/KEYWORDS: Buffy/Angel, of course! Alternate Timeline
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters from BTVS. They're owned by Joss Whedon (who ought to treat them nicer), MutantEnemy, the WB, Fox, etc.
FEEDBACK: Yes, pretty please.
SUMMARY: What if Jenny had been able to warn Angel and Buffy about the loophole in Angel's curse - *before* it was too late?
NOTES: This story begins with the events of "Surprise" but things take a much more satisfactory turn. Satisfactory to me, anyway. Obviously, in the process I've departed from the canon. Dialogue from the show has been altered, or omitted, but I have tried to keep the characters in character with the exception of Jenny's uncle, who is portrayed here in a somewhat less favorable light than he was in the episode. His name, Enyos, I - uh - borrowed from Buffy the Vampire Slayer: The Angel Chronicles: Volume 3, by Nancy Holder. Also, I am fairly clueless as regards Romany culture and traditions, so pretty much just invented my own.

Buffy knocked at the door again. This time she called out, "Angel?"

"Hold on." Angel's voice came from behind the door. It opened, and he stood there, blinking, sleepy-eyed and tousled. "Hey," he greeted her, obviously surprised by her presence, then his gaze sharpened as he took in her distress. "Is everything okay?"

"That's what I came to ask you," Buffy said. "You're okay, right?" Angel looked both bewildered and concerned. Concerned for her. "Sure." He stood aside, gesturing for her to enter. "I'm fine. What's up?"

Buffy walked inside, turned and looked up at him. "I had a dream, that Drusilla was alive."

Drusilla - Angel's vampire-child, once his bosom companion in evil until his soul had been returned by the gypsy curse, then afterward the partner of Spike, another powerful vampire. Drusilla - dangerous and unpredictable because she was totally insane. In the past she hadn't been a real problem due to her physical weakness. But if she had somehow survived the fire Spike had started in the church so they could escape, that probably meant that the ritual Spike had performed to heal her had worked. And Drusilla at full strength was not someone Buffy wanted to meet head-on.

Angel went over to a chair and picked up a white T-shirt draped across the back. "What happened?" He pulled the shirt over his head, adjusted it over his torso.

"She killed you. Right in front of me." Buffy heard the tightness in her voice.

"It was just a dream," he soothed her. "It wasn't real."

"It felt so real." Her voice shook; she fought hard not to give way to the tears threatening behind her eyes.

Angel reached out and cupped her cheek. "It wasn't. I'm right here." His voice was reassuring. Buffy moved her face into the comfort of his palm, and swallowed. "Angel, it's happened before. The dreams I had about the Master, they came true."

"Not all your dreams come true," he reminded her. His hand moved from her face to the lapel of her jacket.

"No," Buffy agreed. "But some of them do, Angel." Cold with fear, Buffy looked up into his face. "What if Drusilla is still alive? We never saw her body." In her distraught state she forgot that they never did see vampires' bodies, only their ashes, and what with the fire and all, trying to find the remains of a single vampire in the rubble would have been an exercise in total futility.

"She isn't." Angel's voice was firm, his brown eyes steady on hers, comforting. "But even if she was, we'd deal."

She knew he was trying to calm her distress but she couldn't let it rest, couldn't forget the terror of her dream, of seeing Angel killed right before her horror-stricken eyes. Couldn't forget Drusilla's taunting voice as his body disintegrated in a shower of ashes: "Happy birthday, Buffy."

The words stumbled from her lips. "But what if she - "

This time Angel's reassurance was nonverbal: he caught her shoulders, bent down, and kissed her. Slowly. Thoroughly. His lips, as always, were cool, but, as always, their touch sent warmth seeping through her body. Fear-knotted muscles relaxed and, sighing, she leaned deeper into the kiss, only to feel him a moment later gently pulling away. (No, don't stop.)

"What if what?" he asked softly.

Dazed, she looked up at him. Her worry had vanished; all she could think about was him, his physical closeness. "I'm sorry. Were we talking?" Her voice was a mere thread of a whisper. Angel's eyes darkened, and she melted into his arms again, reaching for his lips. Not for the first time she regretted the disparity in their heights. (I need three-inch platforms - or a step-stool), she thought in the instant before all coherent thought fled under the onslaught of his mouth.

Different; this kiss was different. It wasn't the first time by any means that their kisses had turned passionate, so why was it different now? Why was the atmosphere suddenly so intense? Maybe because they were alone together in his darkened apartment, with his rumpled bed where he'd obviously been sleeping before she knocked at the door so enticingly close? And maybe, just maybe, because only moments before Angel had been only half-dressed? She hadn't consciously paid attention at the time but now the memory flashed before her eyes: of Angel standing at his door, shirtless, of his hunky chest and arms pale in the dimness of his room, the trim waist, of the drawstring pants tied just above his hips, loosely, as if inviting her to -

(Oh, God. Time to leave.) Somehow she managed to stop kissing him, even to stand away from him. "I'm sorry, I - I have to go to school," she stammered.

"I know," Angel replied, but his voice was breathless, and as she made her way to the door he followed her and took her by the arm, pulling her back into his embrace. She didn't blame him. How could she, when that was exactly where she wanted to be?

(Oh, God!) Her thoughts in chaos, Buffy strained toward Angel, kissing him, feeling his lips on hers, his strong arms holding her, hands caressing her neck, her shoulders, her back . . . slipping down to her hips. He pulled her against him, hard, and a gasp escaped her throat, a thrill of fire going through her as she felt the pressure of his body through their clothing. "God, Angel, you feel - "

So good, she was going to say, but her breath failed her altogether, her bones feeling as if they'd turned to jelly. Feverishly they kissed and then, incredibly, Angel broke away. She knew the effort it took for him to do that because she was in the same condition. For a second it was all she could do to stand upright.

"You have to go to school," he reminded her - and himself? - his voice low and husky.

"Yes," she whispered, shaken to the core with turbulent emotion. She stumbled backward, staring into his eyes. "All right. This is me. I'm going."

Angel followed closely, step for step, until her shoulders hit the door. For an instant they looked at each other, and what she saw in his face set her heart pounding so that she wondered how it stayed in her body. Then he was there, his body pressing her against the wood, his arms around her, his lips laying cool fire on her mouth, her cheek, her neck.

Buffy reached for his shoulders, pulled herself upward to kiss his face, his mouth, the corner of his jaw. The strong, smooth column of his throat seemed to beg for her lips, and she kissed it, again and again. Just then she felt Angel's lips and tongue on her shoulder. A wave of longing swept through her and in unthinking response she nipped his neck, hard. His little gasp of shock - and passion? - brought her to her senses.

Oops. Biting - probably not a great idea, she thought, and couldn't help but be amused. She looked up and saw by the tiny smile on Angel's lips that he too recognized the irony. They stood, breathing heavily, reluctantly allowing the mood to dissipate, sharply aware of what had almost happened between them. What could happen yet.

"You still haven't told me what you want for your birthday," Angel said at last.

Trying to change the subject? Buffy smiled up at him. "Surprise me," she said simply. Angel smiled back at her, that crooked smile she so loved and saw too seldom, usually only when they were alone - and not always then. More often his expression was somber, withdrawn. He never forgot the demonic creature he had been, she knew. Or what that creature had done.

"All right; I will."

Buffy stared dreamily at his face, loving the warm brown eyes, the thin, mobile mouth, the pale, smooth skin that never seemed to show whisker-stubble. (Does he even have to shave?) she wondered. (Maybe his hair stopped growing when he changed. His chest is smooth too; maybe he has no body hair at all.) Abruptly she realized where this line of thinking was taking her, and stopped it. She focused on the moment, savoring the warm glow between them. "This is nice," she breathed. "I like seeing you first thing in the morning."

"It's bedtime for me," Angel pointed out mildly.

"Well then, I like seeing you at bedtime." She heard her own words, realized how they sounded, and grew flustered. She laughed nervously; her eyes dropped. "Uh . . . I mean . . . ," she stammered, then glanced up at him, feeling very young and gauche.

"You know what I mean."

"I think so." Then Angel stared intently into her eyes. "What do you mean?"
The intensity of his gaze caught her, held her. All of a sudden Buffy no longer felt shy. Calm descended on her like a mantle, and the truth came without hesitation. "That I like seeing you. And the part at the end of the night, the part where we say goodbye - it's getting harder."

His gaze never wavered. "Yes. It is." Silently they stared in each other's eyes, lost in dreams and possibilities, then Buffy slid out of his arms. Angel opened the door, they kissed briefly one more time, and Buffy left.

PART TWO


Deep in thought, Jenny walked down the corridor to the computer science lab, absently dodging groups of chattering students heading for their lockers. Buffy's dream from the night before last still worried her and she didn't understand why Rupert didn't seem more perturbed about it. Granted, he was preoccupied with planning for Buffy's surprise party that evening, but still . . . Buffy dreaming about vampires - particularly about specific acts by specific vampires - had never, in her admittedly limited experience, proven inconsequential. Buffy distracted about Angel's safety . . . .

The attractive young teacher sighed. That too bothered her, in more ways than one.
(I don't like how fast this attraction between them has grown - No - ) she corrected herself instantly. (Don't lie even to yourself, Jenny. It's more than attraction; you know it is. It's love, pure and - goddess knows - anything but simple. If Buffy's dream is a true foreseeing . . . )

She entered her classroom, thinking of the nights she had secretly followed the pair when they were on patrol. How many times had she watched in disapproval as they seemed to forget everything but the joy of being together, of being in each others' arms - only to see them snap to instant attention when danger threatened. (If anything happens to Angel, what will Buffy do?) Dumping her armload of papers onto her desk, Jenny stared down at them, then shook her head determinedly and began sorting through them. It was almost time for first period to begin.

"Jen-ny Cal-en-dar." The thickly accented voice came unexpectedly from behind, making her jump. She whirled around. A man stood there, an older man, perhaps in his sixties, dressed in clothing that proclaimed his indifference to contemporary fashion. Old Country clothing. Very Old Country. Her heart sank. (Oh, no!) Her uncle stepped forward, and Jenny composed herself as best she could.

"You startled me."

"You look well." His voice was edged; he was not a happy camper.

Jenny looked down in the face of her uncle's displeasure. Inwardly she sighed, knowing she should have expected something like this to happen. Her letters to the clan elders had grown fewer in the past months. Fewer? She gave a little grimace. How about practically nonexistent? But how could she write reassuring reports about Angel's continued torment from her clans curse when in the depths of her own mind she was regretting that it need continue at all?

"I know I haven't written as much lately. I've been busy."

Enyos' voice was cold, his accent thick. "I cannot imagine what is so important, to make you ignore your responsibility to your people."

Jenny winced. "I've been working," she said lamely, "and - "

He interrupted her. "The elder woman has been reading signs. Something is different."

Jenny looked at him in surprise. "Nothing has changed. The curse still holds."

"The elder woman is never wrong," Enyos stated flatly. "She says his pain is lessening. She can feel it."

Jenny bit her lip. Her uncle advanced on her, his gaze piercing. "There is...." Her voice trailed off. (Damn. I hate this.)

"There is - what?" He leaned forward, his authority as her elder forcing her to reply.

"There's a girl." (Forgive me, Buffy.)
"A girl?" her uncle repeated in disbelief. "How could you let this happen? "

(Excuse me?) Jenny gaped at him. "I have no control over their lives. Besides, the damage was done before I got here. Just how do you think I could have stopped it? By killing her? Killing him? Uncle, I promise you that Angel still suffers. And he makes amends for his past evil. He even saved my life."

"So you just forget?" Enyos' eyes flashed fire. "Forget that he destroyed the most beloved daughter of your tribe? That he killed every man, woman and child that touched her life?"

She looked down at her desk. (No, I haven't forgotten,) she thought but dared not speak aloud. (But it's been one hundred years. How long should vengeance be carried on?)

As if in answer her uncle continued on, voice a muted roar. "Vengeance demands that his pain be eternal, as ours is. If this girl gives him even one minute of happiness, it is one minute too much!"

Jenny allowed her impatience to show. "Angel has suffered for one hundred years, uncle. Believe me, he never forgets the evil he did," she said. "How much harm could one minute of happiness do?"

Enyos straightened, a grim smile on his lips. "Harm enough. One moment of true happiness and it all ends."

"Ends?" Jenny stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that if ever this . . . fiend . . . finds true happiness, the curse is over, as if it never existed."

"But then what happens?" asked Jenny. She frowned. "The curse restored Angel's soul. If the curse ends, what happens to his soul?"

Her uncle shrugged. "He will lose it. Again."

Still she struggled to understand. "But . . . if he loses his soul . . . the demon will once more be in control. Angelus will return."

He nodded. Jenny felt a chill sweep over her. "You can't be serious. That makes no sense at all! Without his soul Angel will once again be a vicious, demonic killer."

Her uncle glared at her. "For the Romany vengeance is a living thing. You know that, Janna, or you should. It passes through generations. It commands. It kills. Angel was meant to suffer, that was the reason for the curse, the only reason. Not so that he could live as a human. One moment of true happiness, of contentment . . . one moment where the soul that we restored no longer plagues his thoughts - and that soul will be taken from him."

"Uncle, this is crazy!" Jenny pleaded. "The girl I told you about is the Slayer. She's in love with Angel and he - "

"A Slayer in love with a vampire?" Enyos laughed with derision. "What nonsense is this? Or does she not know what he is? Has he deceived her too with his angelic face?"

"It's not nonsense." Jenny faced him squarely. "Her name is Buffy. She ignored the look on her uncle's face that said as plain as words, What kind of a name is that for a Slayer?

"She is strong, very strong. Just in the time I have been here she has destroyed more vampires and other demons than I can count. She knows who Angel is and what he has done, and she loves him with all her heart."

"Then she is a fool, and not worthy of her calling." Enyos was contemptuous. "Why do you concern yourself with her? You are Rom - Kalderash. She is gadji, an outsider. She is nothing to you!"

Jenny stood firm. "She is the Slayer, uncle. She is important to everyone, Rom and gadji. Twice that I know of she has saved this world from destruction, and even now I fear that a new evil threatens us."

"Bah!" Her uncle dismissed her words with an angry gesture. "You have forgotten who you are and what your duty is, Jenny Calendar!" He spat out her name as if it burned his mouth.

She stared at her uncle as if seeing him for the first time. How, over the years, could she have failed to recognize the obsession? The stubborn refusal to see the reality of the world? Most Rom held themselves somewhat aloof from the outside world, interacting with it only as much as was needed to survive. But this…her uncle's attitude was beyond aloofness; it reeked of fanaticism, and under the present circumstances that could be fatal.

Jenny's resolve firmed as Enyos turned and stalked out the door. Somehow she would fix this mess. And fast. Some special sense of her own was warning her that time was of the essence.

As soon as her last class was over she rushed out to her car, praying that Snyder-the-All-Seeing wouldn't catch her leaving early. Fifteen minutes later she pulled onto a long, rutted driveway that led to a large three-story house, weathered with age, once-white paint peeling off in long, curling strips. She got out of the car and walked up the sagging steps. The front door lay open despite the coldness of the day. Before she could knock a voice came from inside. An old voice, cracked with age. A familiar voice, though not heard for many long months.

"Come in, child. I have been expecting you."

Jenny stepped inside. Her gaze went immediately to the adjoining room, where an elderly woman bent over a large wooden dining table set up in the middle of the open space. "You were?" she asked, mildly surprised. The old woman moved one palm over the cards laid out on the tables surface. She swayed rhythmically. "The cards never lie," she crooned.

Jenny laughed. "You old charlatan! Now how did you really know I was coming here, aunt?" She walked over and hugged the old woman fondly. Yliana. Her great-aunt, sister to her mother's mother.

The woman straightened up with a chuckle, gestured at a telephone on the floor behind her. "Your uncle called to tell me what had passed between you. It wasn't too hard to guess that you would want to talk to me."

"I need to talk to you," Jenny corrected. She pulled up a chair, sat down. "Aunt, this has gone far enough. Angel must not lose his soul again. The very thought of Angelus walking the earth once more is . . . " She shivered. "Terrifying. It must not happen."

"It need not happen," Yliana said mildly.

"Really?" Jenny looked at her with surprise - and hope.

"Of course not. All you need to do is warn Angel of his danger. I do not believe he wishes to become a demon again."

"No," Jenny agreed slowly, "But - "

"But what?" her aunt asked, looking keenly at her.

"The only way for Angel to stay out of risk is for him to leave Sunnydale," she answered unhappily. "To leave Buffy."

"Ah. This is the girl he cares for?" Yliana looked especially bland, which cued Jenny that something was up.

"The girl he loves," Jenny said steadily. "The girl who loves him. Did my uncle not tell you of her?"

"He did," her aunt admitted. "Is it true that she is the Slayer?"

"Yes."

"Incredible," muttered Yliana, then made a face. "Buffy. What a name for the Slayer! What kind of mother would name her child Buffy, anyway?"

Jenny rolled her eyes. "It's just a name, aunt, and don't try to change the subject on me."

Yliana let it drop. "How could such a thing happen? The Slayer in love with a vampire?"

Jenny shrugged. "I'm not really sure. It happened before I arrived. As best I can tell, Angel started out by warning Buffy when something bad was going down. Then he began helping her when things got a bit too rough. Now - " She shrugged again. "I've seen them in action, aunt, and they're a formidable team. They almost move like one, as if they know each other's minds."

She looked up to find her aged relative watching her with dark, glittering eyes. "You like this girl, this Buffy," Yliana remarked.

"I do, very much," Jenny nodded. She took a deep breath. "And I like Angel." There. It was said.

Silence. Jenny dropped to her knees beside the elderly woman, took one bony hand in hers. "Aunt, hasn't he suffered enough? It's been one hundred years - " She was interrupted.

"If it were nine hundred years, it would not be long enough!" her uncle shouted. He stalked into the room, followed by a group of three men. Jenny recognized them and her heart gave a thump. (Mathiu. Poul. Benjamin. The elders. He's called an enclave of the Elders.)

Enyos turned to the other men. "Hear her words. With her own lips she admits her perfidy. She has betrayed our trust, betrayed her people. She no longer deserves to be called Kalderash. I demand her expulsion."

Stunned beyond speech, Jenny could only stare at him. Poul, a short, wizened man with a thatch of thick, white-streaked hair, spoke. "A moment, Enyos. All I have heard is an opinion, not a confession of guilt."

"Were she true to her people, to her heritage, she could hold no such opinions," Enyos hissed. "Her opinions are betrayal in themselves."

Poul regarded him. "So now we tell our people what they may think or not think? Is that what you believe?" Enyos glowered at him, but said nothing. Poul looked at Jenny. "Janna."

Jenny rose to her feet, inclined her head in respectful greeting. "Elder."

"Your uncle charges that you have failed in your duty, that you have betrayed your trust. What have you to say?" Although Poul's tone was formal, his eyes were reassuring. Jenny relaxed a bit; at least she had not already been tried and judged. Except by her uncle.

"I have betrayed nothing," she answered quietly. "I was sent here to watch Angel, to make sure the curse still held fast. I have watched, and I have seen the curse at work. Angel remembers the evil he has done, and he regrets it. He atones. He suffers."

"But not enough," her uncle said harshly. "Not now, not since he met this girl. His nights should be endless hours of torment and despair. His sleep should bring him no relief. Not for one minute should he be able to forget what he was and what he did! The day he stops suffering for his crimes he is no longer worthy of a human soul."

"And so he loses it?" Jenny retorted angrily. She glared around her. "I said it to you before, uncle, and I say it now, that's insane! You would condemn the world by setting Angelus loose, all in the name of avenging a girl who died a century ago?"

She extended pleading hands. "Don't you see how senseless that is? Angel with his soul intact is a good person. He helps the Slayer, he fights and kills demons. Don't we all benefit from this?"

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" a voice drawled. A figure emerged from the hallway, a man, dressed in appallingly bad taste, a battered hat tilted rakishly on his head.

"Who are you?" Benjamin confronted him, his weathered face creased with displeasure.

"Call me Whistler," the stranger replied jauntily. "For now, at least."

"What are you?" Yliana stood up, came toward him. "You are not human."

Whistler regarded her with respect, bowed slightly. "No, ma'am, I'm not. I'm a demon." He folded his arms and leaned against the wall, looking highly amused.

"A demon?" The third elder - Mathiu - stepped forward. At 6'3" he towered over the diminutive Whistler. He looked him over carefully. "You don't seem very . . . demonic."

Whistler shrugged. "Well, see, there are demons and then there are other demons. I'm one of the other kind."

"Meaning what?" Enyos demanded. He advanced threateningly. Whistler glanced at him, unimpressed. "Back off, Enya. Meaning I'm a good demon."

Her uncle swelled with outrage. "My name is Enyos!"

"Enya - Enyos." Whistler shrugged, patently uncaring. "Names don't mean a lot to me. I change mine frequently."

"Calm down, nephew, before you have a stroke," Yliana quelled the irate man, then looked at Whistler. "You are one of those who tries to maintain the balance between good and evil? "

Whistler nodded. "That's me."

"Why are you here?" Yliana persisted. "This matter does not concern you."

He shook his head in reproof. "You know that's not true, Elder Woman. Come on, I know you've seen it in the cards."

"I have seen a great troubling," the elder woman replied slowly. "But also I have seen its ending."

"Look again," Whistler advised quietly. His manner held no trace of mockery now, only chilling sincerity. Jenny wet her dry lips as her aunt walked back to the table and sat down. In silence they all gathered around her, watching while she shuffled the deck and slowly laid out the cards. In silence they waited for her to speak.

Yliana hissed in shock; her face grew white. "I see two evils waiting in the shadows. Both are terrible, both capable of destroying the world. One is much closer than the other; its time draws very near. It must be stopped immediately." She swallowed.

"Bingo!" said Whistler softly. "And if innocent lives - many innocent lives - are not to be lost, Angel must not change back." Yliana looked at Poul, and nodded. "He speaks truth. This also I have seen."

Enyos broke in. "This means nothing! No one is trying to change him back."

"No," Jenny said. "You only want to deny him any chance at happiness."

"He must pay for his crime!" shouted Enyos.

"He has paid!" Jenny shot back. "For one hundred years he has paid! Give the guy a break!"

"Never!"

"What about Buffy?" she demanded. "What has she done to deserve this misery? What crime is she paying for?"

"For her stupidity in falling in love with a vampire," her uncle said with withering scorn. Jenny began another angry retort, but Whistler stepped in between them.

"Excuse me," he said smoothly, "but I want to be sure I understand the situation here. Correct me if I'm wrong. About a hundred years ago the vampire Angelus fed off a member of your tribe, and killed her. In punishment, the elder woman cursed him by returning the soul to his immortal body so that he would suffer eternal remorse and torment."

"That about covers it," Jenny said. Whistler nodded and pursed his lips. He pushed his disreputable hat to the back of his head and surveyed them, hands in pockets. "Uh-huh. Am I the only one who sees the flaw in this supposed vengeance?"

"There is no flaw!" Enyos glared at them. "It was the perfect punishment: eternal suffering."

"But who was doing the suffering?" asked Whistler. He eyed Enyos for a second, then without warning whipped a knife out of his pocket. In the blink of an eye he flicked it open and held it to the other man's throat. Everyone stiffened in shock, but they stayed put.

"You know, Enya," he said. "Using that kind of logic, if I should cut your throat right here and now I wouldn't worry about retaliation at all." He stepped back, fixed them all with a glare. "Because you folks would go and punish the damn knife!"

"He killed the favorite daughter of our clan!" Enyos all but shouted.

"No." Whistler shook his head. "Don't you know anything about vampires? It wasn't Angel who killed sweet little Roscika. It was the demon."

(How does he know her name?) wondered Jenny, then her eyes widened as she took in his words.

"It was his body," maintained Enyos stubbornly. "His hands held her down, his mouth drank her blood until she died."

Whistler sighed. "I guess I have to explain it to you in words of one syllable. Let's have a little game of Pretend." He pointed at his chest. "Me - vampire demon. He held up his knife by the blade and pointed at it. "Knife - Angel." Suddenly he hurled it past a startled Enyos. It stuck, quivering, in the wall behind him.

"Does the knife have control over how it is used?" he demanded. "If I wanted to kill someone with it, could it stop me? Well, neither could Angel. It was the demon, folks - not Angel! Angel wasn't even there! He died when the vampire killed him. His soul was gone! It had been gone for more than a hundred years! And you folks - you called it back! You forced it back into its body - a body still inhabited by the demon, mind you - and condemned it to an eternity of torment."

His tone was scathing. "Angel as a human was a wastrel and a rogue, I grant you. But he never knowingly harmed anyone. He wasn't a killer. Tell me, did he deserve that?"

"He's right," Jenny muttered. "Sweet goddess, he's right. Why didn't we see it?"

"Because we were too intent on revenge," Poul said in a grim voice. "Because our eyes were blinded by grief and rage." He looked around at the others, catching their eyes one by one, and one by one they nodded, except for Enyos who refused to give way.

"By a vote of four to one the Elders have decided to end the curse on the vampire Angel. Yliana," asked Poul, "how can the curse be lifted?"

The elder woman shook her head. "It cannot be lifted, not without setting the demon free. "

"Wouldn't that be a good thing?" Mathiu looked puzzled. "The demon would be gone and Angel would still have his soul."

"It would be good," Yliana agreed, "if we knew two things: First, where would the demon go? Second, what would happen to Angel? His body is more than two hundred years old, Mathiu. The only thing that has kept it alive is the demon inhabiting it. If the demon is set free, Angel might very well die. Probably will, in fact."

Jenny stared at her. "Wait a minute. You're talking as if something could actually be done. I thought those magicks had been lost to our people."

Yliana raised an eyebrow. "Did you?" was all she said. After a second Jenny accepted this. She walked over to Yliana.

"All right, so the curse can't be lifted, but can it be changed, aunt?" she asked. "Changed so that Angel can find happiness without risking the loss of his soul?"

Yliana nodded. "It can be done."

"How long will it take?" Jenny asked. Her aunt handed her a piece of paper. "If you will get these items to me tonight, then all will be ready in the morning. The preparations will take a couple of hours; the incantation less than one."

Jenny stared at it, then at her great-aunt, who gave a slight shake of her head that said, Not now. Instead of the question she had intended, she merely said, "I'll get them, aunt," and slipped the paper in her purse.

"So we just forget the evil done to little Roscika?" Enyos asked bitterly. "Forget that the demon who killed her still roams the world?"

A great light filled Jenny's mind. "No!" she exclaimed. "No. Don't you see?" She looked at her uncle with shining eyes. "The punishment will still hold for the demon. It will still be imprisoned in Angel's body, still curtailed by Angel's human soul. Could there be any greater agony for a demon than to be stuck, helpless, in the body of a good man? It loves violence, but the only violence it experiences is against other evil beings. It craves hot, fresh blood, and only receives it in cold, sanitary plastic bags."

She sank down in a chair and chuckled. "If the curse is altered so that Angel's soul no longer suffers, it is the perfect punishment!"

Enyos stared at her for a moment. Then, slowly, a grim smile creased his face and he turned to the others. "She is right. Very well. I agree with the vote."

"There is one more thing," Liana put in. "Janna, Angel must be told what is to happen. The procedure tomorrow morning will not go unnoticed by him. There will be . . . certain side effects." Her eyes went to Jenny. "He may feel weak or dizzy." She shrugged. "Or it may have the opposite effect. He may be filled with energy, restless, unable to rest. It can go either way."

"I'll tell him tonight," Jenny promised. She hesitated, knowing she needed to leave to get the items needed for the casting but wanting, needing to talk with Yliana. Her dilemma was solved by the departure of the male elders. Enyos paused at the doorway and said, stiffly, "Janna, I was wrong about you. I'm sorry."

Janna inclined her head in forgiveness, knowing how difficult it was for her proud uncle to say even that much in apology. For a second gratitude softened his eyes, then he nodded at her and left. Jenny again turned to Yliana.

"Aunt," she began, then stopped and searched the room with her eyes. "Where did Whistler go?"

"Who knows?" Her aunt made a gesture of tired resignation. "Did you wish to speak to me, child?"

"Uh, yes." Jenny brought her mind back to the business at hand. She fished the list out of her purse and held it up. "You had this all ready for me. You knew you were going to need these things. How, aunt? How could you know . . . " Her voice trailed off as her aunt merely looked at her with dark, inscrutable eyes.

"Never mind," she sighed. "There is another matter, aunt. I don't want to lie anymore. I want to tell Buffy who I am and why I was sent here. And her Watcher."
She felt the color rise in her cheeks. Yliana raised a bland eyebrow. "Her Watcher?" she inquired.

"Yes," Jenny said, striving for nonchalance. "He's the school librarian. His name is Rupert Giles."

"Ah." Yliana studied her face, her old eyes kind and wise. "You care for this man too," she observed.

Jenny gave up. She nodded. "Yes. I do. He's stuffy and he can be pompous and long-winded at times - did I mention that he's British? - but he's kind and gentle and brave, and I - I think I love him, aunt."

"And he?" Yliana wanted to know.

"I'm not sure,' she said slowly. "I think maybe he loves me, but . . . " She bit her lip. "I just don't want to lie to him anymore."

The elderly woman looked thoughtful. "Tell him the truth, my child. I will inform the other elders of my decision."

Jenny stood up and hugged the frail body. "Thank you, aunt."

The woman waved her hand in dismissal. "Thank me by getting me what I need."
"I will," promised Jenny. "Tonight." Then she left.

For several moments after the sound of Jenny's car had faded, Yliana sat staring into nothing. Then she scrutinized the cards displayed on the table in front of her and said, "I know you are here, you might as well show yourself."

"What did you see for her?" asked a voice. Whistler stepped once more into view. Yliana merely looked at him in silence, then put a finger on one card. It showed a black-cloaked and -hooded skeleton wielding a sword and riding a white horse. Death. The demon whistled.

"How?" he asked.

"Angelus," was all Yliana said. Her voice was bleak. Whistler nodded, slowly.

"This is a good thing you are doing, Elder Woman," he told her. "Many innocent lives will be saved. And two deserving people will be given a chance at happiness."

PART THREE

As she pulled out of the driveway Jenny looked at the clock of her car. Heavens, was it only four o'clock? She felt as if an entire day had passed since she left the school, not a mere hour and a half. Well, that was all the better; it gave her more time, and time was in short supply right now.

She glanced at the sky, where low-lying clouds were already tinged with pink from the setting sun. (In an hour it'll be dark. Okay, first things first. Find Buffy and Rupert, and ‘'fess up. Arrange to talk with Angel. Drive to that magic shop and get auntie's stuff, then get it to her. Then attend Buffy's birthday party. Piece of cake – I don't think.)

She drove back to the school, pulled with a screech of tires into the almost empty lot, parking haphazardly across at least two parking spots. Her shoes made little noise on the tiled floor as she walked to the library. She pushed open the doors. "Buffy? " The room appeared to be empty.

Rupert came out from his office, spectacles in one hand, an open book in the other. "Jenny?" He smiled at her, that tentative, Is-she-really-here-to-see-me? smile that normally got her right in the pit of her stomach. Now she ignored it.

"Isn't Buffy here?" she asked him.

He looked somewhat taken aback at her brusqueness. "Er, no. No, she left early, about half an hour ago, to check on Angel. She's worried about him. Her dream, you know."

Jenny was surprised and a bit perturbed. "But it's not dark yet. Won't he be asleep?"

"Possibly he was," Giles acknowledged. "But vampires don't really, well, sleep like the dead, if you'll pardon the expression. They can be awakened just as we can."

"Oh." She digested that bit of information, and frowned. (So Buffy's alone with Angel in his apartment. Oh, no. That's too dangerous just now.) She grabbed Giles' tweed-clad arm. "Rupert, we've got to go there - right now. They can't - I mean, it's not safe for them to be alone - oh, just come with me and show me where Angel lives. I'll explain in the car." She pulled him toward the exit, ignoring his protests. "Come on!"

Once outside Jenny raced to her car, flung herself into it and turned the key, scarcely waiting for Giles to jump in beside her before putting it in reverse. Tires squealing, the car sped backwards for several yards before she stopped it with a jerk that flung Giles against the dashboard, a motion that then repeated in reverse as she threw the car in drive and stomped down on the gas pedal. Giles hit the back of the seat with a grunt.

"Jenny!" he gasped. "Be careful!"

She spared him not a glance, intent on traffic. "Better buckle up, Rupert. I'm in a hurry."

"So I gathered," he said dryly. She heard the click of the safety harness, sensed him looking over at her. "What's this all about?"

She was silent a moment. "I'm not sure where to begin." She inhaled deeply, exhaled with a groan. "Rupert, my name is Jenny Calendar, but I also have another name: Janna Kalend. I'm a Rom of the Kalderash clan."

"Rom," Giles repeated. "You mean, Romany? Gypsy? Turn left here."

She executed a skillful left turn in front of an oncoming truck just as the traffic light turned yellow, ignoring both Giles' gasp and the blare of the truck's horn. "Yes. Romany. I didn't come to Sunnydale by accident, Rupert. I was sent here by my clan elders to keep an eye on Angel." At his direction, she made another turn.

"On Angel?" Jenny felt Giles turning sideways in his seat to look at her more fully. "You're of the Kalderash, you say. Isn't that the tribe that cursed Angel? Go three blocks, turn right," he added.

"Yes. I was supposed to make sure that the curse was still working, that he still suffered for what he had done."

"I see," he said. She heard anger in his voice and risked a glance at him. "Stop right here."

Jenny pulled over. "Is this it? I thought you said three blocks."

"Why are you telling me this now?" he wanted to know. "Why do you want to know where Angel lives?"

She looked at him in surprise. He was in full Watcher mode, dispassionate, waiting for answers. "What? You think I want to hurt him or something?" She shook her head. "No, Rupert. I need to find him because he's in great danger of losing his soul again. And you know what that will mean."

Rupert turned pale. "That . . . Angelus will return?" At her nod he swallowed hard. "Take the next right, it's the second building on the right." As she put the car in gear, he asked, "How does Buffy come into this?"

"She could be the means by which it happens," Jenny said quietly. "Rupert, I only found this out today. The way the curse works right now, if Angel experiences even one minute of true happiness then his soul is lost again." She stopped in front of a large concrete building. "This is it? It looks like a warehouse."

"It was, at one time." They got out. "Angel chose it because it has very few windows. The sunlight, you know." That made sense, she had to agree. As they walked through the entry and turned down the short hall, he continued, "One minute of true happiness. With the way he and Buffy feel about each other . . . good lord, it's a miracle that hasn't already happened."

He knocked at the thick door. No response. He pounded at it with his fist, called out, "Angel? Buffy?" He pounded again.

A second later the door opened. Angel stood there, looking strange . . . almost flushed Jenny would have said, if such a thing were possible for a vampire. What he didn't look was welcoming. "Giles? Miss Calendar? How can I help you?" He didn't invite them in.

"Angel," Jenny blurted out, "I'm really sorry for this intrusion but we have to talk to you. It's urgent."

"Extremely so," Giles added.

Angel looked unhappy but stood aside for them to come in. " All right." They entered, looked around the empty room. "Where's Buffy?" asked Giles as Angel closed the door. "I thought she was with you."

"I am," Buffy answered, coming in from an adjoining room. She too looked strange . . . definitely flushed, her attention not really focused on the visitors. I think the cavalry arrived in the nick of time, Jenny thought with a little shiver.

Buffy smoothed her tousled hair with her hands. "What's up, guys? Suddenly she looked fearful. "You've heard news about Drusilla, that she's alive." Angel went to her and put his arm around her; she leaned against him.

"No, no," Giles hastened to reassure her. "Nothing like that. It's . . . well, it's something that Jenny - Miss Calendar - needs to tell the two of you." They turned identical glances on Jenny: puzzled, concerned, and still a bit resentful of the interruption.

Jenny sighed. "May we sit down?"

"Of course; forgive me." Angel motioned them over to a sturdy but not overlarge upholstered couch. Jenny settled next to Giles, their elbows touching. "Can I get you something to drink?" They both refused. Through the doorway Jenny could see into the room Buffy had emerged from, where a glimpse of a rumpled bed gave mute testimony as to where this relationship would inevitably lead. Angel pulled two armchairs close for himself and Buffy; their hands reached out and entwined. Jenny was sure they weren't even aware of the action.

"All right, we're sitting," Buffy said. "What's going on?"

Jenny clasped her own hands tightly, rested them on her knees. "You aren't going to like what I have to tell you. At least, not the first part of it. But please hear me out; I promise it gets better." She took a deep breath, glanced at Giles for reassurance, and launched into her tale. When she got to the part about being a Kalderash Rom, Angel stiffened to attention.

"I was sent to watch you, Angel," she told him. "To make sure that you continued to pay for the death of my clanswoman."

"Why now?" he asked quietly. "After all these years?"

"Because our Elder Woman read signs that told her you weren't suffering as much as you had in the past. I was sent to find out why, and to stop it." Her eyes went to Buffy, sitting upright in her chair.

"To spy on him, you mean," she said flatly. Jenny hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. "Yes."

"And what did you find?" Buffy challenged her.

Jenny smiled a little. "You know that already. I found - you. I saw you and Angel together, and I had my answer."

"Great." Buffy's voice was tight, her face cold and hard. "Terrific. Thanks very much for telling us the truth - finally." She stood up. "Now how about you leave?"

Jenny shook her head as Giles interrupted: "Sit down, Buffy. There's more you need to hear. You and Angel." After a rebellious look at Giles' serious face, Buffy slowly sat down again.

"Why did you decide to tell us this?" Angel asked. "What changed?"

Jenny set her jaw grimly. "What changed is that today I learned more about the curse. I found out that if you have even one moment of true happiness, Angel, then the curse will be nullified."

"Nullified? You mean it'll go away? But - " Buffy looked confused. "That's good, isn't it?" She saw the expression on Angel's face, the expression of someone seeing straight into hell, and said again, uncertainly, "Isn't it?"

"No," Angel whispered. "It isn't good. There's nothing good about it." He rose and walked to the far side of the room, where he stood hunched over his folded arms as if in physical pain. "I'll have to leave, Buffy. You're not safe as long as I'm here, as long as we're together." The anguish in his voice wrenched Jenny's heart. Buffy sprang up and went over to him, grasped his arm.

"What do you mean, ‘leave'?" she demanded. "Angel, you're scaring me." And, indeed, her voice was shaking. She shot a desperate glance at Jenny and Giles. "Someone explain!"

Giles voice was gentle. "Buffy, if the curse is dispelled then Angel will lose his soul again. The demon will regain control."

Buffy stared at him. "The demon?"

Giles nodded. "Angelus."

Stricken, Buffy looked up into Angel's face. "You wouldn't be . . . you?"

Angel shook his head. "I'd be him. Buffy, you know what Spike is like." Dumbly she nodded. "As Angelus I'm worse. Much, much worse. I would kill you and your friends and your family without a second thought - if you were lucky."

He briefly closed his eyes; his voice rasped. "Remember what I told you about Drusilla, what I did to her? For your own safety, Buffy, I have to leave."

He moved to embrace her, then stepped back, a hopeless expression on his face. "I'm afraid to even touch you," he whispered, a whisper that ended in a strangled sob. With a soft cry, Buffy flung her arms around his neck; Angel crushed her to him, bent over her protectively. They held each other tight, bodies molded together, oblivious to anyone else in the room.

"We'll make it work, Angel!" said Buffy, fiercely. "Somehow we'll make it work." Angel made no reply, but Jenny saw the shine of tears on his cheeks.

She cleared her throat. "Excuse me. Remember I told you that the news gets better? Well, my great-aunt, who is the Elder Woman of my clan, is working to alter the curse."

Angel lifted his head. "Alter it? Alter it how?" He straightened.

"I don't know exactly how," Jenny admitted, "but she says she can fix it in some way so that this anti-happiness factor is removed."

Angel stared at her. "Can she do that?" His expression changed from despair to wary hope.

Jenny stared back. "She says she can," she said firmly.

His eyes searched hers. "And you believe in her?" She nodded. After a moment Angel looked away, but she noticed that he stood taller now, though his hold on Buffy didn't lessen.

Buffy suddenly released Angel. "What about the demon?" she asked, her eyes bright with sudden hope. "Can't your great-aunt, you know . . . " She made shooing motions with her hands. "Cast it out or something?"

Jenny looked regretfully at her. "Unfortunately, she believes that the demon is the only thing that is keeping Angel alive - existing, rather. Remember what his true age is."

"Oh," Buffy said faintly. "Not a good idea. Forget I said anything."

Angel asked, "When can she do this? How soon?"

"Tomorrow morning. Angel, I have to let you know that there may be some side effects as the 'casting takes hold." She told them what Yliana had said. Buffy frowned. "How severe will these be?"

"Don't worry about me," Angel said to her, smiling faintly. " I can deal with it."

"I know, but . . . " Buffy laid her hand on his chest. "I don't like to think of you in pain."

Angel covered her hand with his own, lifted it to his mouth and kissed it. Jenny blinked. Never had she seen this pair so demonstrative - further proof of where they were headed, as if she needed more proof. Beside her, Giles cleared his throat. She snapped to attention.

"Guys, we need to get a move on here," she said briskly. They turned blank looks on her.

"Doing what, exactly?" Buffy politely asked her.

Jenny opened her mouth, closed it again. "Well, nothing, I guess," she admitted. "I have some errands to do for my aunt but you two . . . you're right, there's nothing for you to do but wait." And be careful, she wanted to add, but didn't.

Giles rose. "I need to fill Miss Calendar in on recent events. Buffy, don't forget to come by the library at seven?"

"I'll be there," she promised. Angel came forward to escort them to the door. To Jenny's surprise he followed them out to the hallway, closing the door firmly behind him.

"What about the party?" he asked Giles.

"It's still on," Rupert assured him. "The locale has changed, that's all." He gave Angel an address.

"Good," Angel said. "She deserves to have a happy day for once."

"Indeed," Giles agreed. "And I'm going to do everything in my power to ensure that this party is a good one." He hesitated, then said, "Angel - you will be careful, won't you?"

Angel gave him a look. "Do you think I'd let anything happen now?"

Giles shook his head slightly. "I don't mean this thing with Buffy. I know neither of you will risk your soul. I mean Drusilla. Buffy did tell you that part of her dream came true, didn't she?"

Angel looked sober. "Yes. You can bet that I'll be looking over my shoulder. If Dru is alive - " He sighed. "There's no telling what she might do." Then he looked straight at Jenny.

"Why are you doing this? Helping me?"

Jenny fought the involuntary urge to take a step backward; his dark gaze seemed to go straight through her. She had never been so physically close to him, and in spite of everything she felt uneasy at his nearness. "Because I like Buffy and want to see her happy. Because I think ninety years of torment is enough - more than enough. And because I've come to know you, Angel. You're a good person, and I don't want that to change."

Angel blinked. "I'm a vampire."

"Yes," she agreed. "You're also a good person. And, Angel, some day soon, when all this is past, we need to have a discussion about this Angelus thing. I met someone today, a - well, a demon, actually - named Whistler, and - "

"Whistler!" Angel repeated sharply.

"Yes; do you know him?" She was surprised, though on reflection she didn't know why. Why shouldn't he know demons? He'd been living with one for ninety years.

"We've met." He seemed on the verge of saying more. Jenny waited a moment then, when he remained silent, went on. "Well, anyway, he had some interesting comments that I'd like to share with you."

"Let me know when." He turned back to his apartment and Buffy. Jenny and Giles walked to Jenny's car.

"Rupert, what was all that about Buffy's dream coming true?"

He told her about Buffy's mother breaking a plate, saying the same words as she had in the dream. "So Drusilla probably is alive," she sighed.

Giles nodded, said gloomily, "We have to assume so. And worse, she's probably regained her full strength."

(Oh, heavens. That's just what we need, an insane vampire roaming around the Hellmouth. A strong, insane vampire.) Silently they got into her car and she drove back to the school to drop him off. As Giles got out he bent down and said, "Will you meet Buffy here at seven and bring her to the party? Remember, it's a surprise. She thinks we're meeting to go over battle strategy on Drusilla. Tell her . . . I don't know, tell her I had to get a book or something."

"Gee, I don't know," Jenny drawled. "Do you think she'll believe that?" Then she smiled. "What was that address again?" He gave it to her, and she drove off to find her aunt's ingredients.

PART FOUR


(3:30 that same night)

Buffy and Angel ran through the driving rain, headed for cover. As best she could Buffy listened for sounds of pursuit, but apparently they had lost Dru's henchvamps for they reached Angel's apartment safely. Angel unlocked the door and they scrambled inside, bolting the door behind them. He stripped off his dripping coat, let it fall unheeding to the floor and turned to her. "You're shaking like a leaf." His hands stroked her shoulders.

"C-cold," she said, shivering. It was only partly true. She was drenched, water trickling from her hair, mascara no doubt smeared halfway down her cheeks, but she was shaking with more than just the cold. The evening had been one unpleasant surprise after another. Her happiness upon learning about the surprise party had been almost immediately ruined when she was attacked by the disembodied arm she had stopped the vampires from loading on the truck.

Shortly afterward it had been stolen back by the vamps in a bold raid that had caught them unprepared. Later, during a nonproductive research session by the whole gang, she had fallen asleep at Giles' desk and had yet another dream in which Drusilla killed Angel. The horror of it had jolted her awake, calling his name out loud, to seek comfort in his embrace – seeking it, but not finding it. Then, during the reconnaissance she and Angel had done at the Factory, the shock of finding out, first, that both Spike and Drusilla were still alive, and then that the Judge was fully assembled, followed by their capture by Drusilla's lackeys and the fear she refused to allow to turn to panic as the Judge reached out his deadly hand to burn the humanity out of her - all the events of the night seemed to rush together once they reached safety. Death had been close tonight for both of them. Too close.

"Lets get you into something dry," Angel said, going over to a tall bureau. He pulled out a thick sweater and pair of sweatpants. "Here." He handed them to her. "Put them on and get under the covers."

There was an awkward pause. "Just to get warm," he said hastily. Buffy gave him a faint smile. (Of course just to get warm. Oh, Angel, that's not the way it should be!)

"I'll fix you a hot drink," he added. She nodded and walked to his bedroom while he headed for the kitchen. The sight of the neatly made bed made her sigh as she recalled their session on it earlier that day, before Jenny and Giles had interrupted. I suppose I should be thankful they did, she thought. I *am* thankful, really. I just wish there hadn't been a reason they needed to.

She started to sit down, then realized that would get the bed as wet as she was. So instead she tossed the dry clothes on it, kicked off her shoes and began peeling off her leggings. The stretchy fabric clung to her like a clammy second skin, and the cool air made her shiver even more. Thankfully, she left them in a soggy heap on the floor and drew on Angel's soft, dry, blessedly warm sweats. Of course, they were miles too big for her, even with the drawstring pulled as tight as it would go and the hems rolled up like swollen balloons around her ankles.

"Here," Angel said behind her. She jumped. Busy with the sweats, she hadn't heard him come into the room.

"Sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to startle you. Just thought a belt might come in handy." He handed her a soft length of fabric that looked as if it might have come off a robe; by winding it twice around her waist and tying it tight she was finally able to secure the pants. He watched her, a coffee mug in his hand, an amused look on his face. "For a minute I thought you were getting lost in there and I'd have to fish you out," he teased, handing her the cup. "Here, have a sip but be careful - it's hot."

Buffy blew on the steaming surface then took a cautious sip. Hot, yes, but not too hot. And it tasted delicious, whatever it was. She took another, bigger sip. Then another, and another. The hot liquid warmed her shivering body like, like . . .

Like Angel's kisses. "This is good," she said aloud. "What is it?"

"Hot lemonade," he told her. "With just a tiny splash of whiskey."

"Whiskey?" she said, surprised. "Really? Well, it's good."

Angel took the cup from her and set it down on top of the dresser. "Come on, get out of the rest of those wet things now, before you catch pneumonia." He stood smiling down at her. Buffy reached for the button of her drenched cardigan, then stopped and looked at him. A second ticked by before he realized her meaning. She could swear he blushed.

"Sorry," he said, and turned around. Buffy sat on the bed and unbuttoned the cardigan. As she pulled her left arm out of the sleeve, a tender spot on her shoulder blade surprised her and she drew in an involuntary, hissing breath.

"What?" Angel turned his head slightly. "What's wrong?" Alarm edged his voice.

"It's nothing," she hurried to reassure him. "It's just a - a cut - or scrape, or something." She craned her head, trying to see back there.

"A cut?" He half turned toward her. "Let me - " He caught himself. "May I see?"
Buffy swallowed, held the clammy cardigan over her chest, covering the thin knit camisole beneath. "Okay."

Angel came over and sat down beside her. She turned so he could see her back. A moment later his fingers gently swept the straps of her camisole down almost to her elbows, and she felt the garment slide down her back, baring another inch or three of skin. Her shivering returned, only this time it wasn't from the cold or adrenalin reaction. Angel's fingertips brushed along her back; her heart skipped a beat.

"I don't see anything," he said in a soft, husky whisper. "Whatever it was is already closed. You're fine." But he stayed where he was, fingertips caressing her back and shoulders. His arms came around her and she felt the touch of his lips on the nape of her neck. Buffy caught her breath; her heart pounded in her chest. She leaned back; his arms held her close and safe. He kissed her on the neck and throat, again and again, until she could hardly breathe.

"Buffy," Angel said, then stopped. She turned to look at him.

"What?" she asked, her voice ragged.

"I - " He stopped and wet his lips. "I love you, Buffy." The words now poured out with a rush, as if a dam had broken. "I've tried not to," his voice broke, "but I can't stop." His eyes were wet, as were hers.

"Me too," she whispered, incoherent with joy. "I can't either. "

"I almost lost you tonight. When you kicked the Judge, I thought that was the end," he said hoarsely. "I thought I'd never see you again." She remembered his anguished shout - Don't touch him! - remembered the burning shock of even that brief contact, and knew how real the danger had been.

They kissed, deeply, needing the reassurance of physical contact to counteract the knowledge of how close a call they'd had that night. Buffy let the cardigan drop, knew that her camisole was about to slip entirely off her body, and realized that she didn't care. In fact part of her trembled with eagerness to finally reveal herself to his eyes.

(Yes, look at me, Angel. Touch me. Love me.)

That last thought broke through the passion enveloping her like a thick cloud. Sanity returned in a sudden rush that made her moan out load. With a sob of disappointment, she pulled away. "Angel, we can't. Not yet."

"I know." Breathless, he leaned his forehead against hers, and she felt him trembling with the same emotions - love and need and more love - shaking her own body. "But we will. Later." He reached for the straps of her camisole, pulled them gently into place on her shoulders. Then his thumbs brushed a slow arc along the low-cut neckline. Buffy quivered. Angel looked at her with promise burning in his eyes.

"Later."

He rose, reaching out for the dry sweater still lying on the bed. "Here."

She took it. "I don't think I need this anymore," she said shakily. "I feel quite . . . " She searched for a flippant quip, but her mind, saturated with emotion, refused to cooperate. She gave up. "Warm."

Angel gave her a little smile. "But your clothes are still wet. You don't want to catch cold."

"No. I suppose not." He left and Buffy finally got out of the wet camisole. She had to admit that the thick, fleecy sweater felt much better. She stood up and went into the next room, where Angel waited for her. "We need to talk to Giles," she said without preamble.

"Yes," Angel agreed. He went to the door, opened it. Buffy started past him, but he stopped her. "Wait. Spike knows where I live. He may have posted lookouts." He stepped forward and tested the air carefully. After a moment he came back to her. "I smelled blood."

"It could just be a dead squirrel or something," Buffy said reasonably.

Angel shook his head. "I don't think so. I sensed something else. I think there are vamps out there waiting for us – lots of them. I don't know about you but I don't feel up to another battle right now." She had to agree.

"Will they attack us in here?" For the first time she searched the room for vulnerable spots.

"No. They can't enter. Believe me, I've never invited any vampires inside this place."

She almost stamped her foot with frustration. "So we have to wait til the sun comes up before we can leave? Angel, we need to talk to Giles now. He doesn't even know the Judge has been assembled!"

"So call him."

"What?" She stared at him blankly.

He went over to a small glass-topped table almost hidden in a corner, and picked up a telephone. "Call him."

"You have a phone? You never told me you had a phone." Buffy knew she probably sounded like a dimwit but couldn't seem to help herself.

"Most people do," he told her, reasonably enough.

"Uh . . . yeah." She went up and took the phone, dialed the school's library number. He answered on the first ring. "Giles, it's me."

"Buffy, are you all right? Where are you? We were worried when we didn't hear from you. Is Angel all right?" Giles' clipped British tone had lost all its habitual coolness. "What's happened? Where are you?"

"Giles. Giles!" Finally she got through the torrent of words. "Giles, we're both fine. I'm at Angel's apartment. We got captured by Drusilla's vamps but managed to escape. No, Giles, we're fine. Listen to me! Spike and Drusilla are both alive and the Judge is activated."

Silence, except for the sound of Giles' indrawn breath. "He's assembled?"

"Assembled and ready for duty," she confirmed. "You could even say, eager."

Another silence. "Giles?" prompted Buffy. "You there?"

"I'm thinking." She heard him sigh. "Buffy, I - I simply don't have any good answers yet. I think you two better get back here right away. We need to put our heads together."

"Yeah, well there's a problem with that," Buffy told him. "Angel's place is surrounded by hungry vamps just aching to get their teeth into us. Or take us to Spike and Drusilla, I'm not sure which would be worse. We'll have to wait til daylight. I mean, I'll have to wait. Obviously, Angel won't be going anywhere because he's a vampire, and you know about the sun and vampires . . . "

Giles cut through her ramblings. "Buffy? Are you all right?"

She couldn't seem to think. Her brain felt foggy and sluggish. "I don't . . . know..."

Angel came over and took the phone. She leaned against him, suddenly needing the support. "Giles, she's just exhausted. She's had a pretty rough night; she needs to rest. Can someone call her mother with a good story?"

"It's been taken care of already. Buffy is spending the night with Willow."

"Good. She'll see you in the morning, then." He hung up the phone, then lifted Buffy in his arms as easily as if she were a child and carried her across to his bed, where he set her gently on her feet. He lifted the bedspread and sheet and obediently she slid under them, scooting over next to the wall. Tucking the covers around her, he sat down next to her and said, "Get some rest now." He stroked her hair for a moment, then bent down and briefly kissed her. As he stood up to leave she put her hand on his arm.

"Stay with me, Angel. Please."

He hesitated, but only for a moment before lying down beside her. She slid into his arms, snuggled against his long body, her head resting on his shoulder in that hollow just made for lovers. Even as she whispered good night, she felt drowsiness creeping over her like a blanket. Angel's lips touched her hair, his voice whispered, "Good night, mavourneen," and her last conscious thought was to wonder what he had called her. Then sleep descended and blackness came.

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