Part 5

Buffy bustled around the house, up and down the stairs with blankets and pillows she abandoned on a living room chair, and then darting from dining room to kitchen with platters of untasted food. Angel did as he had been told and observed from the sofa for as long as he could stand it, but eventually even his iron control broke.

"Buffy, I can't just sit here," he announced, rising to his feet with great purpose that faltered in the face of the Slayer's stare.

"Angel, you're a guest, and I'm like Suzie Homemaker these days. Sit. Relax," she ordered, never missing a step. "I will take care of this."

"As I recall, I usually didn't get away with that line," he muttered, hovering indecisively in the middle of the living room.

"Excuse me?"

"At least let me clear the table," he begged, following her into the dining room. "I'm used to clearing up after a crowd, and you have no idea how much of a mess Gunn and Wesley can make if they're plotting strategy with chopsticks in their hands. This," he said, gesturing to the half-cleared table, "is a piece of cake in comparison."

She laid the plate of chicken wings on the hutch and crossed her arms over her chest. "And just what am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Sit," he suggested hopefully. "Relax. You look tired."

His voice softened over the last words, unconsciously resuming the tender, husky tones her weak knees remembered all too well.

"Gee thanks." She looked away, trying to draw a deep, yet unobtrusive, breath to steady her traitorous pulse.

"You worked hard on the engagement party, and it showed. But now it's time to take it easy and let someone take care of you for a little while."

That caught her attention, drawing her unwilling gaze back to lock on his dark eyes.

"You were the only one who ever could." Her brow wrinkled as though in pain. "Weren't you?"

Angel was confused by the desperation in her tone.

"I don't...I'm not sure I was the only one," he answered with difficulty. The shadow of Riley still stood between them, taunting Angel with questions the vampire would never dare ask. "I know I did the best I could when...when we were together."

She realized she had unwittingly hurt him. Again. She took a few quick steps towards him, stopping just shy of touching him.

"Since you're the expert when it comes to kitchen duty, and we both know I'm...well, not...why don't you take care of the food and I'll make up the couch?" she suggested. "That way we can both feel useful."

He smiled with relief. "Sounds good to me."

She fluffed cushions and smoothed blankets as he transferred the leftovers to the refrigerator. By the time she finally felt the couch was worthy of him, Angel had started the dishwasher and returned to the living room.

"That looks great, Buffy." He stood uncertainly in the archway, nodding at the profusion of bedding that smothered the sofa. "Very, umm, cozy."

Part of him regretted his word choice a moment later when a flush stole across her cheeks. The other part of him was too entranced by the same sight to hear her answer.

"I just wanted it to...well, I felt bad making you sleep down here." The rosy tint of her face deepened. "I mean instead of giving you Dawn's room or, umm, my mom's. My mom's old room, I mean. But, you know, Dawn is a teenager, so the room is kind of a mess."

Angel came back to earth with a grin as Buffy casually dismissed her teen years, so far in the distant past from the age of almost 21.

"And my mom's room is still...I haven't had the time to really, umm, settle things. If you know what I mean." Her blush faded into winter-pale skin, and the first hint of tears filled the corners of her eyes. "Things got kind of busy, what with the funerals and all. You know, first hers, then mine," she tried to joke. "Busy, busy."

Angel slowly approached her, wanting to offer comfort but uncertain of his reception. She seemed almost brittle, as though one wrong word would shatter her.

"No one expects you to do it all, Buffy," he said softly. "Certainly not all alone." She brushed the back of her hand across her lids, trying to wipe away the tears before they reached her cheeks.

"Yeah, they do." There was tired resignation in her damp hazel eyes. "You know they do."

"I don't."

She couldn't help but smile.

"I know. And maybe the others don't even realize what they're asking." She ran a hand through her hair, pushing a stray lock off of her face as her smile wavered and then melted away. "But I still feel it."

"Maybe it's time you told them," he suggested gently.

"What am I supposed to say? That calling me back from the grave was a little on the needy side? Hello, you 'saved' my life, but who were you really trying to save?" The effect of her retort was somewhat spoiled by the enormous yawn that followed it.

He needed to divert her attention, to drive away all the emotional demons that were plaguing her and give her at least one night of peace.

"You're exhausted. We can talk about this in the morning. Or all day long if you want." He could feel a mixture of joy and panic flooding his veins. "I'm not going anywhere."

"And tomorrow you'll be the exhausted one after sleeping on this old thing." She nudged the sofa with her foot.

Angel shrugged. "Hey, I've even managed to sleep in a coffin and you, of all people, know how uncomfortable they can be."

Buffy stared at him in disbelief, stunned as much by his light tone as the sudden, hesitant smile on his face. Abruptly, the Slayer started to giggle.

"I can't believe you said that!" She threw herself back onto the sofa, almost sliding off thanks to the profusion of blankets. As she planted her feet firmly on the floor and pushed herself back up on the cushions, she continued, "Nobody even uses the dreaded "c" word, let alone jokes about it."

He sat down beside her, wedging himself into the corner of the sofa so that he could face her.

"You taught me how. Even in the worst situations, you always manage to show the absurdity of it all." He reached out to her, resting one tentative hand on her shoulder. "That kind of bravery inspires people, you know."

Buffy shook her head, stubbornly refusing his praise. "When I joke about stuff, it's to make it less real. So I can stand it. But you...it's like you need to beat yourself over the head with how real the bad or scary stuff is."

"If it's real it's not going to just disappear."

She smiled crookedly at him. "You'd think that, wouldn't you?"

Angel frowned at the recurring theme he was sensing. "Buffy, I know things have been, well, pretty weird for you the last six months, and maybe you're not sure where you fit in anymore. That's..." he paused, and then continued, "That's something I can relate to. If you need someone to talk to, you know that I..."

"Yeah, I know," she said quickly. "I think tonight I'm just tired and a little early with the birthday blues. Really early, depending on how you count it."

She seemed to be talking more to herself than Angel, but seeing his quizzical look Buffy felt compelled to explain.

"What I'm saying is: which one do I celebrate now? The day I was born or the day I was reborn?"

He felt a surge of anger at the Powers for making her face such a question, but he controlled his temper and tried to keep the mood light. She didn't need his pain to fuel her own right now.

"You're asking the wrong guy. I don't celebrate either, remember?"

"Yeah, but you count from the year you were turned," she pointed out. "So does that mean I'm like three months old now? Cause I hear baby food is really high in calories."

"I lied about my age; so sue me. We old guys do that when we date sweet young things." Angel tried a leer on for size, not sure if he'd gotten it right. It had been a long time, at least for the souled part of him.

She reached across him to grab a pillow to hit him with, telling him he must have done at least a halfway decent rendition. He caught the cushion and held fast, laughing as she initiated a tug-of-war over the object. She was, of course, the victor, finally pulling the pillow to her chest as she leaned her cheek against the back of the sofa.

"That felt good," she said with a breathless grin. "But I'm can't believe how tired out it got me." Her eyelids fluttered as she burrowed her head into the yielding cushions. "Must be getting old."

"Buffy..."

"Mmm...sleep," she drowsily commanded him.

Angel made a decision. The safe thing to do was to wake Buffy up and send her to her own bed...that is to say out of sight, so that he could spend an uneasy night tossing and turning on the sofa alone. But while Buffy's presence brought many of his animal instincts to the fore, self-preservation was not one of them.

With one hand he reached back to the lamp on the end table beside him and switched it off. The other hand slipped between Buffy's shoulders and the sofa cushion, gently pulling her forward until she rested against his chest. She murmured indistinctly in her sleep and brushed her cheek against his shirt as she settled in for the night.

Angel dropped a kiss on the top of her head and rested his cheek against the warm pillow of her hair, giving in to the weariness he, too, felt. With a sigh he closed his eyes and drifted off into his first real rest since the night he had breathed his last breath in Buffy's arms, on a night that existed only in his memories.

* * * * *

Buffy could hear noise in the distance, too far away to recognize. It rhythmically rose and fell, forming an endless circle of sound. She tried to identify it, but the harder she tried, the more indistinct the sound became, until it was just an echo in the back of her skull. Just an illusion.

Reality was the solid breadth of the chest beneath her cheek.

She opened her eyes, and for a moment forgot to breathe. When she recovered the memory, she tried not to anyway, for fear of disturbing this one moment of almost perfect happiness.

She was stretched out on top of the sofa, or rather half on top of Angel on top of the sofa. He still slept, his pale face untroubled and disturbingly beautiful in the dimly lit living room. Buffy understood why she would have taken the opportunity to stay down here with him, instead of her lonely bed; she just didn't remember actually deciding.

Talking to Angel, that she remembered; and she possessed the barest memory of a pillow fight, amazingly enough also with Angel. Then there was only darkness. A safe, peaceful darkness, spoiled only by that annoying song...yes that was it! a song!...that wove in and out of her dreams. She could still hear the music in the back of her head, sending out random bursts of words like a cell phone out of range.

// There was something air that night...
stars were bright,
Fernando //

Angel stirred slightly beneath her, his eyes gradually opening and focusing on her. As always, the intensity of emotion behind his silent gaze pushed everything else to the background.

"Hey," she said softly, trying not to drown in the dark pools confronting her. "Good morning."

"Morning," he mumbled in reply. The hand that wasn't wrapped around Buffy's waist came up to rub the sleep from his eyes. "What time is..." Suddenly he realized where they were...how they were. "What did I...we...what happened?"

She knew she should get up, and let him get up, but Buffy was tired of doing the 'should' route where Angel was concerned. She propped up her elbow against his chest and pillowed her cheek on it, smiling down at his confusion.

"I thought you could tell me. I remember fighting over a pillow and then...boom. Here we are."

Angel's brow furrowed with concentration. "You were sleepy; I remember that. You fell asleep actually, right as I was talking to you."

"Oops. Sorry." She tried to look repentant.

"I was going to carry you upstairs but I thought...well, it didn't seem like a good idea." He knew he didn't need to elaborate; Buffy's flush said she read him loud and clear. "So we both stayed here, on the couch. But we were sitting up when I fell asleep," he added quickly. "I'm sure we were."

"I guess we just...got comfy." She shrugged, satisfied with both explanation and outcome. "Close enough to 'mystery solved' for me."

Angel smiled a little wistfully, memory upon memory crowding into his brain. "It's not like it's the first time," he reminded her. "Though we used to have a tough patrol as an excuse. Guess we're both getting old."

"Yeah, like it was the patrolling that wore you out," she teased. "I remember...I mean I..." Abruptly she sat up and slid down to the end of the sofa, getting quickly to her feet. "I need food. How about you? I can call Willie and see if he'll deliver."

Angel sat up as well, swinging his long legs down to the floor. "Buffy, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said quickly. Too quickly; she could tell that from the deepening frown on his forehead. "I'm hungry, that's all. Well, that and I have the beginnings of beautiful headache." She rubbed her own forehead fretfully, trying to force the pain away with Slayer strength.

Angel started to respond, and then realized his head was throbbing as well. Throbbing to a beat, actually.

"That's weird," he murmured, more to himself than Buffy. "I've got one too. Guess there must have been more of a kick to that beer of Giles' than I thought."

"That explains you, but I behaved myself last night," she said tartly.

"You're underage for two more weeks," he shot back, and winced as the drums began to grow louder.

// And so I just decided to myself, I'd hide it to myself
and never talk about it //

Buffy forgot her own discomfort in the face of Angel's obvious pain.

"Say, speaking of 21s, we're in this thing called the 21st century, and part of the deal with being here is this stuff codenamed 'aspirin'. Word is, it really does the trick on the skull jamborees."

Angel shook his head, gritting his teeth when he realized he was doing it to the beat. "Doesn't work too well on vamps, remember?" Suddenly he recalled what had started them on this particular discussion. "Or is 'remember' a dirty word now?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she protested. "And I do remember about the headache thing; I just forgot, that's all."

Angel choked out a little laugh as he got to his feet. "What do you say we call it even?" he suggested. "I'll make you breakfast, which will probably cure your headache. And if I can make you smile again, the way you were when I woke up, I'm sure my headache will disappear too."

"Deal." She tried not to let her mind wander back to those first fleeting moments of peace she had know when he awoke; the here and now was closest thing to safety she knew anymore. "You make breakfast while I take a shower and a few hundred aspirin. Then when you feel you have administered sufficient doses of comfort food to a mind diseased, we can work on the tom-toms in your brain."

* * * * *

Part 6

Xander was no stranger to quick awakenings; many was the morning he had been thrown from his dreams by the specter of a demon long since dust...or possibly a murderous and fiendishly clever circus clown. He was not used to being thrown physically from the bed, however, no matter how annoyed he'd gotten Anya the previous night. Yet the morning after their engagement party, Xander woke up just an instant before he hit the floor.

Unfortunately it was also about two instants too late to prevent him from landing full force on his chin and kneecaps.

"Anya! What's with the human discus throw?" He rolled over and sat up on the floor, rubbing his chin as much to reassure himself of its shape as to soothe it. "Did I say something incriminating in my sleep, or..."

"No, no!" she cried out in her sleep. "Bad...bad, evil...no! Don't hit the little...oh why don't you run, you stupid mouse!"

Xander didn't even bother getting to his feet; he slid over to the bed on his reddened knees and scrambled back up, pulling the thrashing Anya into his arms.

"Hey, An, hush. It's okay; it's okay," he crooned, rocking her back and forth.

Gradually she awoke and stared up at him, seeming strangely disoriented by his presence.

"Xander, where are they?" She cast frightened glances about the bedroom. "Is he gone? Or did they all die?"

"Did who die?" he asked patiently. "You were having a dream, Anya; a pretty nasty one, from the look of it. Do you remember what it was about?"

She ran her hand repeatedly over her forehead as she thought.

"Noooo," she said slowly, "not exactly. I remember this evil laughter, and some other sound in the background; sort of like chanting. I can still hear it." She frowned and pushed away from Xander. "It's giving me a headache."

Xander stared at her in amazement. "Honey, I wasn't looking for a morning tumble. I was trying to wake you up from a bad dream."

Anya frowned at him. "Then if I have a headache I'm no longer sexually desirable?" she demanded.

"I can't win," he murmured, shaking his head. "I just can't win."

"I found you desirable even when you were pale and sweaty and disgusting," she reminded him. "And I took care of you so that you wouldn't remain that way."

"And now it's my turn," he said, following her train of thought to the next stop.

"Well I have a headache." Her lower lip came out with the slightest of trembles; a lesson she'd learned well at the feet of Dawn, the Master. "Otherwise you know I would be happy to do my almost-wifely duty."

Xander suddenly noticed her words were coming out in a singsong fashion, or maybe it just seemed that way because of the musical accompaniment his brain was producing.

// There is just one moon and one golden sun //

"You know, An, I'm developing a good case of the galloping mariachi bands in my head too. It's Saturday; what do you say we hide in bed until noon just sleeping for a change?"

She nodded quickly; wincing when she realized the voices in her head started chanting to the rhythm. Xander wrapped his arms around her and together they lay back on the bed.

"It's too quiet," she whispered a few minutes later.

Xander groaned. "Speak for yourself. My head's loud enough to require a variance."

"That's what I mean." She twisted her head to look up at him. "When there's no other noise, all I can hear is the sound in my head."

Instead of replying, Xander stretched out a hand and turned on the clock radio on the nightstand. Music began to fill the room.

Anya shook her head. "It's no good. I can still hear it."

He turned the radio up more, and then louder still a few minutes later when Anya frowned and gestured to him. He didn't protest, even as the volume was maxed out and the neighbors began to pound on the walls.

Because no matter how loudly Xander turned up the radio, it could not drown out the chorus of high-pitched voices resounding in his brain.

// There's so much that we share that it's time we're aware... //

* * * * *

Giles awoke with a strange thrumming in his skull, and a raging desire for the taste of nicotine. He stumbled down his stairs, clutching the wrought-iron railing for support as he racked his brain for likely hiding places for the cigarettes he craved. He knew he had never brought any into the apartment; his smoking days were twenty years in the past. But he could be nearly certain that Spike had left a pack somewhere around during one of his many mooching visits. If Giles knew one thing about the blond vampire, it was that he had no clue how to pick up after himself.

// They say there's gold but I'm looking for thrills //

Giles pressed a fist to his skull as he cleared the last step. No more, no more, he swore to himself. No more mixing beer with witch's fruit punch; even Keith Richards would have succumbed to that combination.

He stumbled on the edge of the throw rug as he replayed his last internal comment. Why on earth was he comparing himself to...

Wesley's groan disrupted his query. The younger Watcher was sitting up on the sofa, clutching a blanket with one hand and his head with the other.

"Damn Angel," Wesley was muttering as Giles approached him. "Damn him and his infernal elevator music."

"Wesley?" Giles stood next to the sofa, his own pain momentarily diverted from the center of his thoughts. "Are you all right?"

Wesley looked up at him, eyes bleary from sleep and lips tight with pain.

// His name was Rico,
he wore a diamond //

"Just ducky," he grumbled.

* * * * *

// Well where oh where can my baby be?
The Lord took her away from me //

Tara woke up screaming, reaching for Willow.

"Oh God, oh God," she chanted as she frantically embraced her lover. "You're all right; you're really okay. I had such bad dreams."

Willow sat up with difficulty, still holding on to the clinging Tara as she maneuvered them both back against the headboard

"It's okay, sweetie," she said. "I'm here. I'm fine. I didn't even have a bad dream." She smiled reminiscently as she smoothed her hand over Tara's long hair. "In fact it was kind of nice...I think. I don't actually remember a lot of it."

"Mine was horrible," Tara gasped, fighting the images her waking mind was trying to retrieve from her subconscious. "I'm not really sure what it was about, but..." she shivered, "I know it was awful."

"I'm sorry. Would a nice cup of cocoa make you feel better? We have lots of little marshmallows; I picked them up at the store yesterday."

// Fah who for-aze,
Dah who dor-aze //

Willow shook her head at the image that came to mind at the mention of cocoa. Without thinking, her hand drifted up to rub her temple. Suddenly her happy mood was dissolving in the face of a major hangover.

Which would make sense if she'd had anything but Tara's fruit punch last night.

"Maybe cocoa would help." Tara tried to look positive, to bolster Willow's spirits. She could sense all was not well with her girlfriend either, no matter what Willow said. "But first, since you're up, could you...could you get me some feverfew? My head...it's kind of achy this morning."

// The cryin' tires, the bustin' glass,
the painful scream that I heard last //

"And earplugs...earplugs would be good thing too," she added with a grimace.

* * * * *

"That was great, Angel. Two 'yums' beyond scrumptious. I didn't even mind doing the clean-up for that kind of payoff."

Buffy tried to smile brightly as she entered the living room, but she could see Angel wasn't fooled. The vampire's eyes narrowed as he sat up on the sofa, where he had been sprawling in a vain post-shower nap attempt.

"You hardly ate a bite," he pointed out. "You just pushed the food around on your plate and hummed."

A quick frown dowsed all memory of her feeble smile. "I was humming? I didn't...I'm sorry, I didn't realize."

Angel rubbed his forehead, trying to stimulate his non-existent blood flow. "It's okay," he mumbled. "Nothing wrong with a little music in the morning."

// Before I go insane I hold my pillow to my head
and spring up in my bed screaming out the words I dread //

"Or maybe not," he groaned, hunching over to press both fists into his temples.

Buffy hurried over to the sofa and sat down beside him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she huddled protectively over him.

"Angel, I'm sorry. At least I could take some Tylenol. It didn't help," she admitted lightly, "but at least I could try."

"I'll be fine," Angel muttered, trying to convince himself as much as Buffy.

She tugged at his shoulders, gently pulling him upright as she moved back to the end of the sofa.

"Come on, lean back," she urged. "I may be a little shaky on some details, but I seem to remember that for you massages work in ways wonder drugs can only wonder about."

Angel slowly leaned back and sideways, until he was stretched out on the sofa with his head pillowed on Buffy's crossed legs. She lifted his head almost as soon as he had settled it, to slide a pillow underneath, and then she pressed her fingertips to his temples and began smoothing them in small circles across his cool flesh.

She remembered doing this before, after Spike had drained Angel's blood to save Dru. For days afterward Angel had been weak and listless, subject to blinding headaches. No matter what combination of painkillers she had tried dosing him with, nothing worked, until she made him close his eyes and lean back against her, as she massaged his temples. To this day she wasn't sure if it was actually the massage that worked, or just the closeness that they shared.

If she closed her own eyes, she could almost see herself back there, in Angel's old apartment; just the two of them, in that cozy little room. When she shut the door behind her it was as though no one else in the world existed...until the day Dawn decided to follow her and...her thoughts skidded to a halt as Angel began to speak.

"What did you mean about being shaky on details?" he was asking as she pulled herself out of her suddenly painful reverie.

"It's nothing," she answered quickly. "Hey, good thing I still had some of your old clothes in the back of my closet, huh?" She reached down and smoothed a hand along the collar of his shirt, slipping one finger inside to gently stroke the side of his throat. "Kind of embarrassing actually, but at least my humiliation served a higher purpose this time."

"Buffy..."

She quickly pulled her hand back, not sure if he was protesting her gesture for being evasive, or provocative, or maybe both.

"A hot shower, clean clothes, and now a massage," she rambled, trying to restore a relaxed mood. "Not bad hospitality for an unexpected guest, if I do say so myself. We'll even get you some blood as soon as Willie's opens." She paused for a breath, but rushed on before he could get a word in. "How is your head now?"

"Better," he lied. "What did you mean?"

"Nothing," she insisted. "I was making a little joke. You said you admired my sense of humor, remember?"

Angel twisted his head on the pillow, craning his neck to look her in the eye.

"You're the one who has trouble with the word, Buffy; not me."

He made it sound like she wanted to forget, she thought bitterly. Like it had all been her idea.

// I remember long ago another starry night like this
In the firelight Fernando //

"Hey, I just spent three months in the ground, as in a grave. Tell me you wanted to play the "Auld Lang Syne" game when you got back from the other side."

Angel sat up abruptly, and moved to the other end of the sofa, rubbing his temples with his own hands in place of hers.

// This morning I woke up with this feeling
I didn't know how to deal with //

"I killed all the other contestants; what's your excuse?" he growled.

"Fernando, I wish you would just..."

"What did you call me?" Angel whipped his head around to confront her.

She was confused by the question, and by the pain so nakedly apparent in his eyes. "Angel; I called you Angel. That is still your name, right?" His wounded look wasn't going anywhere, making her words tumble out even faster.

"Or one of them anyway. I never felt comfortable calling you Liam even if..."

"You called me Fernando," he said quietly, trying to smother the jealousy beginning to stir in his veins. He had no right to be jealous; he knew that. But still..."Who is Fernando?"

"I don't know any Fernando."

Sometimes it really amazed her the number of men Angel assumed to be in her life, and now he was jealous of one who didn't even exist.

// I could hear the distant drums and sounds of bugle calls //

"Except," she continued slowly, "in this crazy song that I can't seem to get out of my head. It was there when I woke up, and I can't shake it." She pulled her knees up in front of her chest and wrapped her arms around her legs, suddenly needing something solid to cling to.

Angel stared at her as the drum beat intensified inside his skull. "A song? You woke up with a song in your head that won't go away?"

Buffy stood up abruptly and began to pace.

"I said that, didn't I?" she asked crossly. "It's just some dumb oldies thing; I must have heard it at the party last night and not realized it."

"Buffy I woke up with a song in my head too, and it's not going away either," Angel said. "But I'm sure I didn't hear it last night. I haven't heard it in years."

She crossed over to the couch and sat down next to Angel.

"Is yours...getting louder?" she asked hesitantly, not daring to look at him.

"Uh huh."

"And...not quite all there? I mean bits of it just keep going round and round, like really gullible rats in a cheese-less maze?"

// I think I love you, I think I love you, I think I love you //

He nodded, grinding his teeth from the pain. "Good way to describe it."

"Does it have the name 'Fernando' in it?" she asked hopefully.

"Nope."

"So much for synchronicity. What should we..."

The ringing doorbell provided an answer before she had a chance to finish the question.

* * * * *

"Xander!" Buffy exclaimed when she opened the door. "What are you doing here so early? And what's wrong with..."

"Make it stop," Anya whimpered. She leaned heavily into Xander's side, depending on his arm to keep her on her feet. "It's too horrible. I can't take it anymore."

Buffy quickly stepped back from the doorway and gestured for Xander and Anya to come in. After a moment's hesitation, Xander swept his fiancée up and carried her inside the house.

Angel was waiting in the living room, just beyond the range of the sunlight spilling across the open threshold. Buffy quickly closed the door and joined them as Xander was settling Anya in the wingback chair.

"Is she...too?" Angel looked to Buffy for the answer, but she only shrugged.

"I'm guessing yes, but no confirmation on that score yet."

Xander rubbed his forehead as he stared down at Anya, now huddled up in a tight ball. The fetal position, he corrected himself silently, and winced anew as another chorus hit his brain cells.

"Buff, do you have any aspirin?" he asked mechanically. "Or can I maybe borrow your pet sledgehammer? I...we...have these rotten headaches and..."

"And music?" Angel asked softly, mindful of Anya's apparently fragile state. "One song playing over and over until you think it's going to blow out your speakers?"

Xander looked at him in astonishment. "How did you know? Not just about the song, but about blowing out speakers?"

Buffy smiled faintly as she retrieved a pillow from the sofa to put behind Anya's back. "We've got it too," she explained. "Not the same songs, but the same problem. Ever since we woke up."

Xander's attention was swiftly diverted from matters musical.

"And this waking up part; that would be at the same time?" he asked archly. "Just how do we know that?"

"Cool it, Xander," Buffy replied with a warning glance. "We obviously have bigger problems to deal with than what did not, I repeat, did not, happen here last night."

Xander punched Angel's shoulder. "As a guy, I say 'tough luck, fella.' As a guy who doesn't want to die screaming while the world comes to a fiery end...I say 'way to be, man'."

Buffy scowled at him. "And as a guy who doesn't want to beaten to a pulp with his own tongue by an angry Slayer, can you tell me what song your jukebox is skipping on?"

"Song?" Xander asked nervously. "You mean what it's called. As in the, uh, name of it?"

// It's a world of hope and a world of fear //

"It's, well, it's kind of embarrassing." Xander scratched his head and looked away, focusing on a paint bubble on the wall just to the right of Buffy's shoulder. "I mean there are some songs that a man just should not have running through his head and this is one of them." He appealed to Angel for help. "You're a guy; you know what I mean."

// I think I love you - isn't that what life is made of //

"Absolutely," Angel said fervently.

"Oh great," Buffy grumbled. "And the world succumbs to demons because the male ego has all the resiliency of pudding."

Xander sensed a way off the subject of his musical tastes and ran with it.

"Pudding can be very tough," he said quickly. "You don't know tough until you've tried my mom's tapioca."

"It wasn't demons," Anya groaned. "It wasn't even pudding. It was that wretched fruit punch of Tara's. Why do you people let witches supply the refreshments? Does the phrase 'poisoned apples' ring any sort of a bell?"

// Down came the Good Fairy and she said... //

Anya moaned again and slammed her head into the back cushion of the chair. "Besides the ones in my head, that is."

"It wasn't the fruit punch," Angel said. "I didn't have any and I've got a song in my head too. It must have been something else."

"We all had different drinks, so that's a wash." Buffy began to pace, trying to force her muddled mind to work around the continuing din in her skull. "Maybe something in the food?"

"What, someone cast a spell on the cheese puffs?" Xander scoffed.

"Shrimp," Anya whimpered from the depths of the chair cushion.

"No, I didn't have any of the shrimp," Xander countered quickly. "You said they were going bad so I steered clear."

Buffy glanced quickly from Xander to Anya. "No one told me the shrimp were bad. Why didn't you guys just put them away or something? There could be a lot of guests with food poisoning out there." She clutched her stomach. "Including me."

"There could be a lot of guests out there going Phantom from their own private operas, Buff; let's focus."

"So we need to start getting in touch with people," Angel said slowly. "Find out who has it and who doesn't." He pressed a fist to his skull. "Damn! This isn't brain surgery; we've done the drill a hundred times before. But this songs makes it so hard to concentrate for more than a few minutes at a time."

Buffy moved over to his side and wound her arms around his arm. "Angel, relax. Like you told me, nobody expects you to do it all, all by yourself. We'll figure it out together."

"Together," he echoed, smiling down at her as he rested one hand over hers on his sleeve. "Does that make this a duet?"

"More like dueling barbershop quartets," Xander said. "Now can we have a little more action and a little less bonding, please? Some of us prefer our music with commercials...and sports breaks."

"Angel, you have your cell with you, right?" When Angel nodded, Buffy continued, "Could you call Giles and Willow and ask them to come over for a post-party research party? Xander, you take the downstairs phone and start calling your relatives. I'm going to take my cell and call some of Dawn's friends. They weren't at the party."

"Good point." Angel nodded, the wrinkle on his brow clearing slightly now that there was a plan. "We need to know if it's town-wide or just party-wide."

"Just," Anya huffed.

"Hang tight, An." Xander dropped a kiss on her head. "The Buffster's home now; she'll take care of it, just like she always does."

Angel growled faintly, unnerving Xander and amusing Buffy.

"I thought we said we'd handle this together," Angel ground out. "As in all of us."

Buffy withdrew her arms from Angel's and patted him on the shoulder. "My hero." She reached up with her other hand and laid it on his chin, gently turning his head to face the coat rack. "Now be a good little superhero, grab your phone from your coat pocket and start dialing."

Suddenly the phone in the hall rang, forcing one and all to cover their ears.

"No more noise!" Anya shouted, her voice breaking on the last word. "It just makes it louder," she continued in a soft whimper.

Buffy ran to grab the instrument of torture before it could go off again.

"Hello? Giles, is that you? You sound so...Giles stop huffing and tell me what...cigarettes and what? Floyd who?...Oh, them...yeah, old guys with guitars; I remember now. We've got them too." She cast a withering glance over her shoulder at Angel and Xander. "At least some of us admit we do." She returned her attention to Giles when her dig failed to produce a confession. "That's what I said...Angel and Xander and Anya and I...And Wes? And Tara and Willow too?...He thinks what?...Well, we kind of thought...yeah, come on over. We need to research, and I think it's going to take all of our heads together to make any progress against Woodstock 2002."

Angel started pacing from the living room to the hallway as Buffy hung up the phone.

"So they've got it too? All of them?"

"Yup." Buffy nodded her head, and then clutched it before it completely detached from her neck; it seemed a very real possibility at the moment. "And Giles says that Wesley says it's your fault."

"What? Why me?" Angel searched his overburdened conscience for a shred of guilt to claim as his own, but for once he came up empty. "How is this my fault?"

Buffy smiled, despite the throbbing beat pulsating through every vein in her skull.

"Good answer. And I have no idea."

"I guess none of us are thinking very clearly at the moment." Angel frowned. "Which doesn't bode well for a research party, does it?"

// I think I love you so what am I so afraid of? //

* * * * *

Go to Part 7