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*She was beside Willow in the library. Giles was nearby, repeating the final incantation over and over. He couldn’t get it wrong. It was a matter of life and death. Her life and death, and perhaps everyone’s.
“Where’s Xander?” Buffy asked, realizing the absence. Cordelia was freshening up, and Oz was looking for something in a book. But Xander wasn’t anywhere. What’s more, she couldn’t remember when she’d last seen him.
“He was here a little while ago,” Willow answered, looking up from her copy of the spell. She glanced around. “He was saying something about distracting Angelus or something.” There was a pause, and Buffy realized what Willow had just said.
“Distracting him? Oh God! I have to save him!” she exclaimed, pausing only long enough to grab several stakes. They were going to start the spell any moment now. In fact, they’d probably do it sooner, since Buffy had rushed off. They had to do it now. It had to work.
She never knew exactly how she got there or how long it took here, but there she was, emerging into the cave. To see Xander. Screaming at her.
“It’s a trap Buff! He’s here!” Xander screamed. And then she was seized from both sides and he was there, behind Xander, bending her friend’s neck, to get to the smooth side of it.
“No!” Buffy screamed, struggling, but the vampires that held her were strong. Too strong.
“Tell her I love her,” Xander cried. His last words. And she never knew which one he meant.
Angel—no, Angelus—killed him right before her eyes. Drank his blood until he slumped to the ground, all life gone from his body. And she could do nothing. She was helpless.
Angelus dismissed the vampires holding her with a wave of his arm. They faded away somewhere, leaving only Buffy and Angelus and Xander’s body. Angelus stepped over the body delicately, his eyes never leaving Buffy’s face. He gloated in the agony he saw there. He loved it, reveled in it.
Buffy wanted to tear his face apart and wipe that horrible expression off it forever. That was not Angel. He would not look like that. It was not his face. But she knew she would lose if she attacked while she was like this. She had to regain her cool. An angry Slayer is a dead Slayer. But he had killed Xander.
“Come on Buffy. Don’t you want revenge for your little friend?” Angelus taunted. And she did. She did more than she had ever wanted anything. Except Angel. Though her heart quailed with guilt from the thought, she realized that deep inside she wanted Angel more than she wanted revenge. And in that moment, she hated herself. And in the moment after, because she got her wish.
“Buffy?” Angel said, a bewildered look entering his eyes. The horrible look was gone, replaced by confusion.
“Angel?” Buffy choked out as she straightened. He nodded, then suddenly realized what had happened. He suddenly remembered. And all the horror and sorrow and guilt of the world were in his eyes at that moment. Angel fell to his knees before her.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I deserve to die,” he said. And maybe he did. But Buffy couldn’t kill him. Her wish had come true.
“Go away. Go far far away. Please,” Buffy whispered. “I love you, but you have to go. Please.” And he went. He stood up and he went, where she knew not. He went for fifteen years. Fifteen years. And she still would have rather had him than revenge.*
Buffy woke up in the dark, shivering beneath the blankets. She had the same dream almost every night, except it wasn’t a dream. It was a memory. Was she a horrible person for loving Angel? Or only because she loved him too much? Or was she only human? She didn’t know.
What she did know was that she couldn’t sleep.
Before she had the chance to get up he appeared in her doorway. The lamp was on in the next room, and all she could see was the shape of him against that light.
“I heard you cry out. Are you all right?” he asked softly, coming towards the bed. She nodded; he could see in the dark.
“It was just an old nightmare,” she told him truthfully. Well, mostly truthfully. Could a memory be a nightmare? Buffy didn’t know.
“What was it about?” he asked. Her eyes were as adjusted as they could get, and she could see his worry in the way he moved. He sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for her answer.
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, avoiding his gaze. Though she couldn’t read his eyes in this light, he could read hers. He caught her hand with one of his, and then placed the other hand on her cheek. She leaned her face into his large, strong hand, closing her eyes for a moment. Then she turned her face and kissed his palm softly. Slowly, she reached for him, putting her arms about his neck and pulling him toward her. She kissed him deeply, still pulling at him, until she lay with him above her. He kissed her back, and kept kissing her as her arms traveled down over his broad back and around to his chest.
They stopped at the same time and Angel rolled off her. He would have stood, but she stopped him with a hand.
“I know we can’t . . . but will you just hold me? I don’t think I can sleep otherwise,” Buffy said.
“Of course,” he said, gathering her into his arms. She pulled the covers up over him and snuggled against his warmth. They
kissed again, then she lay her head on his chest and closed her eyes, happy for this moment at least, whatever might come later.