Part 11

"Fernando," Buffy answered with a faint smile, "was a song my mom and dad used to like. Or at least they used to play it. When I was singing it, I remembered this one party they had when I was really little."

She leaned her head on Angel's shoulder as she relived the night in her mind.

"I was supposed to be in bed, but I heard the noise and got up to see what was going on. I stayed on the stairs, because I didn't want anyone to know I was up, and I just watched the party through the railing. Everybody was happy...and probably a little drunk," she admitted, "and this song...'Fernando'...was playing. I remember hearing Mom and Dad singing along with the stereo, and they just looked so...right together. I felt so safe and warm and...in the right place in the world...if you know what I mean."

Angel tightened his arm around Buffy's shoulders and rested his cheek against the pillow of her hair. Here, with her, was the only place he ever remembered feeling in the right place in the world.

"I think it's the first really clear memory I have of my parents," she continued steadily. "And then a couple of weeks later, after my fifth birthday party, my mom told me about a very special present I was going to be getting that summer: a baby sister or brother."

He stiffened; he had an inkling of where the story was headed. Still Angel said nothing, letting Buffy find her own way to the truth she had been trying to avoid.

"The thing is...Mom never really told me she was pregnant with Dawn. That's just some memory the monks gave me, to make Dawn fit in better. To make me feel protective of her. But I remember it like it really happened. I can't not remember it, anymore than I can remember a Dawn-less version of anything else in my life. At least not after that party."

"And is that so bad?" he asked quietly.

"No...but also yes." She sighed heavily, twining her fingers through his as she clung to his hand. "When I came back from the dead..." Buffy laughed self-consciously. "God, that sounds so dramatic, but it's the truth. When I came back, I felt so out of place. Nothing was the same, and everything just felt like it didn't fit, or that I didn't fit it. I needed to figure out how I fit in before, but when I started looking back at my life...my first life, I guess we'll call it...I realized that my memories weren't really mine anymore. They weren't real."

"Dawn had been with you for almost a year by then. Hadn't it bothered you before?"

She smiled sadly. "There wasn't time for it to bother me. I found out about Dawn, and Glory was breathing down my neck and Mom was getting weaker and Riley was...well, he was just another problem. Like I didn't have enough already. I mean I knew in my head that my memories weren't real, and sometimes, especially before Dawn knew the truth, she'd start to reminisce or something and I'd feel kind of weird."

"I can imagine."

And he could. He remembered all too well when Doyle innocently brought up Buffy's post-Thanksgiving visit as he recalled it, little knowing the anguish the true memories of that day carried for Angel.

"But I didn't have time to get mad, or even think about the fact that those monks played 52 pick-up in my brain." She clenched Angel's hand tightly, not noticing his wince of pain. "But when I came back I realized that they didn't just put new memories in my head; they changed old ones."

"Buffy...could you just..." Angel pulled slightly at his hand, still an endangered prisoner of hers.

"Oh God, I'm sorry," she breathed, immediately loosening her grasp, though not relinquishing him entirely.

"It's okay," he reassured her. "Just...go easy, okay? I'm a lot harder to break than most people, but I can still dent."

She pressed a light kiss to his cheek, whispering against his pale skin, "I'll be more careful from now on, I promise."

This timeit was he who squeezed her hand, signaling her to continue her story.

"It's just...they changed my memories, Angel, and now I can't find the real ones. They're gone. I remember fighting with my mom so many times over the way she treated Dawn, because I felt like Dawn got special treatment. But I don't know if those fights were originally about something else...or did we really not fight as much as I remember?"

Buffy looked up at Angel with tear-bright eyes as more and more questions piled up, each one clawing for release faster than she could speak.

"Then there's my dad. I remember times he came to get Dawn and me after the divorce and he'd make a special point of taking turns doing things we each liked to do. This trip it was Dawn's choice, the next one was mine. And now I don't know if the times Dawn got to pick...did we do something different? Did he not come at all? He doesn't even know about Dawn; how can I ask him?"

"Maybe it's time he knew the whole truth," Angel suggested, though he had his reservations about Hank's worthiness for such a sign of trust.

"I don't...I can't think about that now," she protested, freeing one of her hands to wave away his suggestion. "Besides, it's not just the stuff they changed or added to, but what did they take away? My brain can only hold so many memories, you know. I mean why else would I forget my aunt's birthday, or where I parked the car at the mall? They must have had to clear stuff out to make room for the Dawn-and-Buffy only moments, and how will I ever know what that stuff was?"

His heart was breaking for her confusion, but he didn't know how to help. "You're looking for answers no one can give you, sweetheart."

"I know, I know," she groaned, burrowing her head in his shoulder. "I can't even look in my diaries, because they changed all of them to fit Dawn too. I tried reading some after I came back, but it was no good. I realized that when I got to the summer after high school...Angel, I read about going to the mansion for the first time after you left."

Buffy pulled away from his shoulder so that she could look into his eyes, but he had turned his face away inshame. She reached up and gently pressed her palm to his cheek, needing him to acknowledge her, and the past.

"I didn't really need to read about it...I remember it pretty clearly, at least the revised version. I can remember walking around the downstairs, seeing the sheets and the dust on everything and trying to pretend that you upstairs sleeping. And that maybe you just weren't in the housekeeping mood and that's why the place was such a wreck. I couldn't deal with it...with me...being abandoned."

She sniffled a little and wiped a hand across her eyes; she had to get through this and she had to do it without tears. They would only add to Angel's burden of guilt, as if he didn't already assign himself enough.

"The thing is, Dawn followed me, though I didn't realize it until I was leaving. She didn't say anything; she just took my hand and walked me home. And then that night, when I was lying all alone in my bed trying so hard not to scream, she came in and curled up next to me...and I started to cry. I cried all night long and she never said a word. But she was there." Buffy drew a shuddering breath. "Except she really wasn't. And I'll never know if I cried that night, or screamed, or if that was the day I started locking everything about you in a place so deep I almost convinced myself it didn't exist anymore."

Angel pulled his hand free of Buffy's grasp so he could fold her in his arms. "Buffy, I'm so sorry," he murmured into her neck. "You never told me how hard coming back was for you...and I've been so afraid to push. I didn't want to frighten you away entirely."

"I'm glad Dawn is here; I really am," she whispered, digging her chin into his shoulder. "I can't imagine getting through Mom's death without her, and I swear, those first days back in the land of the living, knowing she was depending on me was the only thing that got me out of bed. But it's so hard sometimes," she confessed. "I don't know who I am because I don't know who I was. Almost all my memories are messed up, half reality and half fantasy. Or maybe not even half real; I have no way of knowing."

"But I do," Angel said, a tiny flare of hope blossoming within him. "Buffy, I don't remember Dawn. Those monks didn't touch my memories, and for the first time I think maybe there was a purpose for leaving me out of the loop." He held her away from his shoulder, running his hand down the length of her tousled blonde locks. "I can't answer questions about your childhood, but I can tell you about high school. So can Cordelia, and even Wesley. Our memories are untouched, and anything we know you can know too."

"But I'd feel so dumb," she murmured, ducking her head down to study the little nub of wool on the front of his grey sweater. "And how am I supposed to know what to ask? Just because Dawn wasn't specifically in a memory doesn't mean it wasn't changed to fit her in."

Angel sighed and tried to think of a more foolproof plan. "Okay, I've got it," he said after a moment. "You said your journals are tainted, but mine aren't. Why would they be?"

She cocked her head to the side and smiled shyly at him. "You keep a diary?"

"Not a diary," he responded uncomfortably. "A journal."

Buffy nodded in a pretense of solemnity, though she had to bite her lip to keep the smile from breaking loose again. "Oh yeah, you're right. Completely different."

"It is," he protested, releasing her in order to slide back on the edge of the stage. "I didn't write in it every day, just when things happened that I wanted, or needed to remember. And I drew in it too..."

"Which is not dear diary-ish at all," she agreed with a nod. "But Angel, didn't you say your old apartment blew up? Or were the dia...journals in Sunnydale? Because if they were, they've probably been rewritten too."

"I gave them to Cordy," he answered simply. He realized it had been a little too simply an instant later, as he saw Buffy's teeth clench. "I couldn't keep them with me anymore," he said, reaching out to touch her cheek. "After you came to see me that one Thanksgiving...I couldn't have them around. They reminded me too much."

Of what they reminded him, he would never tell her. Nor would he ever be able to tell her how well he understood her current confusion with determining reality. She, at least, bore only one set of memories for any given day, even if those memories had been tampered with. She would never know what it felt like to bear two sets for the same day, and feel herself torn inch by inch away from the sweetest of them by the inexorable progression of time.

"Does she still have them?" Buffy asked doubtfully. "It's been a long time...and Cordy's not exactly the sentimental type."

"You'd be surprised. Anyway, I know she does because I asked her about them after you died. I still couldn't bear to look at them, but I needed to know they still existed." Angel smiled as he remembered Cordelia's answer. "She told me she should have tossed the box after the way I behaved when Darla came back...but Dennis wouldn't let her. I think she was actually saving the stuff as ammunition, in case she ever had to drag out the big guns to keep me in line." He shook his head. "Still not sure of why she didn't."

Buffy cared little for Cordelia's motives, and mention of all that Angel had suffered at Darla's hands, unaided by his friends, still made her see red. The faster they moved on from this topic, the better.

"Can we get them tonight?"

Angel nodded and started to get up. "Sure. We'll go right now."

"Angel, wait." Buffy put her hand on his arm and held him down near the stage. "I've spilled my guts about Fernando. Isn't it time you 'fessed up about your latent Partridge Family obsession?"

* * * * *

"It's not an obsession, Buffy."

Buffy wanted to laugh at Angel's indignant tone and stiffened frame. If it were actually possible, she would say the vampire was even blushing.

"Angel, I know you've had a lot of time to stockpile music...but that's what makes it all the more freaky. Out of two-and-a-half centuries of classical music, opera, jazz, blues..."

"I get the picture," he snapped.

"You picked 1970s made-for-TV music?" she finished, smothering her smile with a raised hand. "It just seems a little...not you, that's all."

Angel drew a deep breath and forced himself to relax. Cordelia and Co. had made him a little sensitive about his musical tastes, but that was no reason to vent his insecurities on Buffy.

"You mean not dark or depressing, right?" He sat back down next to her on the stage. "No death, no destruction, and not even a single violin."

"Well, yeah. And they were on TV. I didn't think you even owned a TV."

"I caught them on afternoon reruns, okay? I don't get out much during the day." He shrugged, trying to project indifference to the idea of television as entertainment. It was a time-killer, nothing else, he assured himself. "Besides, it was thirty years ago, Buffy. People change a lot in that much time."

"Hoping to find that one out for myself," she said under her breath. In a louder voice, she continued, "But moving on...to your viewing habits, specifically. So you're telling me you not only watched 'The Partridge Family,' but you remember all the lyrics to at least one of their songs thirty years later?"

Angel glanced away, focusing his attention on an empty table near the stage. "I didn't say I remembered all the words," he muttered.

"No, Lorne did," she agreed. Reaching out, she pulled his hand into her own and squeezed it. "And I was also standing right next to you. You didn't look at the screen once."

"Okay, I confess, I knew all the words." His breath came out in a gusty sigh. "You know, I spend all this time...decades really...building up a nice sort of dark Byronic image for myself, and then it all gets blown away because I can appreciate more than one style of music."

She slid across the stage until she was pressed up against his side. "I'm not teasing, honest. Okay, maybe I was a little," she admitted with a quick smile, "but now I just want to know why. I mean...why that song? It, umm, it sounds so tentative. I thought...well, aren't you sure how you feel about me anymore?"

Remorse slammed through him like a freight train, sweeping away any lingering traces of embarrassment.

"Oh Buffy, no," he said urgently. "It has nothing to do with that. Nothing in the way I feel for you has ever changed, except to grow stronger. That's really where it came from."

"I don't understand."

"Did you listen to any of the lyrics, really listen? No, of course not," he answered himself. "You had to focus on your own song."

"I know some of it," she offered. "Mostly the 'I think I love you' stuff, though."

He cupped her cheek with one cool hand. "Do you remember the part where the song talks about 'a love there is no cure for'? That was the line I was stuck on."

"You want to be cured of me?" She freed herself from his grasp and turned her face away. "That's really flattering. Way to make me feel like a bad cold."

"Buffy."

She knew he wouldn't restrain her, or draw her back to him against her will, but the way Angel said her name had always tugged at something deep inside Buffy's soul. It pulled her gaze back now, however reluctantly, to meet his own.

"I have loved since the moment I first saw you, six years ago. I loved you in hell for centuries longer than I even remembered my own name." Angel delicately traced a line down the back of her hand with the tip of his finger. "And I will still love you when the stars die out and the sky turns black. And yes, that scares me. More than I can say."

She watched him in silence, watched the deep, and supposedly calming, breaths he fought to draw in through long-dead lungs. Watched the faint tremble of his jaw as he struggled for control of the emotions she always brought to his surface. Watched the steadfast glow of his eyes as he told her the truth with his soul as well as his tongue.

"When you died," he began many long minutes later, "I thought I would die too. I wanted to. But..."

"It doesn't work that way," Buffy finished for him. "I remember that too. The summer I ran away because I sent you to hell...I'm pretty sure those memories are real, because Dawn didn't come into it at all. And I know I wanted to die, but my body kept on going anyway." She kicked the stage with the back of her foot. "Stupid body."

"And barring stakes or beheading, my body will probably keep going for centuries. Another millennium maybe." He looked down at his long pale hands, now separated from hers. "Without you."

She reached out instinctively, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his head down to rest on her shoulder. She could feel his arms come up to encircle her, clinging tightly in this moment, against days when he would no longer be able.

"I'm here now," she whispered.

"I know. And you will be for a long time, if I have anything to say about it." Holding her fast within his arms, Angel vowed he would indeed have something to say about it. "But you died, and I had to face the reality that I would always love you, whether you continued to exist or not."

"But I came back."

"Yes you did." He released her with a sigh and gently disengaged her arms from around his neck as well. "I can't even tell you how..." his voice broke, and he had to fight to control it before he continued. "When I knew that you were alive again, I was...I can't even describe how happy I was." He raised his hand to push a lock of her hair off of her face, his fingers lingering in the warm flaxen strands. "But then I realized that it would happen again. You'd been given a second chance at life, and I'd been given a second chance to watch that life from a distance, and then to lose you all over again. And then to mourn you again, this time forever."

Buffy looked deep into his eyes and saw the darkness that shadowed his soul. All she had ever wanted to do was to lift Angel's burdens and bask in the peace she knew only she could bring to him. But the past few years it had painfully been brought home to her that she was the bringer of that darkness, not its vanquisher, and that she could not bear. Moreover, she would not allow it.

"Angel, what were you planning to do when we found those dia...journals of yours?" she asked abruptly.

A frown creased his ageless forehead. "Give them to you; why?"

"So you were just going to hand them off?" she pressed. "No question and answer period scheduled for later?"

"You know you can call me any time," he protested. "I'll answer any questions you want to ask; I already told you that."

She raised her chin and looked away. "Not good enough. I want a guided tour."

"Okay, now I'm confused." He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, forcing locks to spring out at all sorts of odd angles. "When did this suddenly become about those journals?"

Buffy turned back to face him, holding him captive in her hazel-eyed gaze. "Why is that you're the one who speaks like seven languages and yet I always have to be the interpreter? We need each other to get through this, Angel, the same as we always have." She reached up and seized his face between her two hands, trying to communicate with her eyes and her touch as well as her words. "I am going to die again someday; I'm sorry, but I can't help it. And then you will be alone. But I'm here now, and being alone is still a choice, not a gimme."

"It was never that simple, Buffy."

"No kidding." She sighed gustily. "Look, I know that I'm mortal and you're not, and the only way around that would be to change me, which I am not," she slid her finger over his parting lips, "suggesting. I like the way I look with a tan. But since we can't change it, wouldn't it make sense to just...get over it?"

Angel took refuge in silence, trying to buy time to think. Buffy, however, refused to be deterred.

"If I'm willing to take whatever answers I can get from your journals, and let the rest of my questions go, would you be willing to accept whatever time we have together and leave the missing me part for when I'm actually gone? For good, I mean."

He smiled, echoes of remembered pain in his dark eyes. "Never for good, love."

"Okay, then forever. Or at least as long as it takes you to catch up with me."

"Buffy, you said that we need each other, the same as always. Well everything else is the same as always too." He hated himself for pushing her away, yet he was unable to stop. "The reasons I left are all still there."

She nodded. "Yeah, uh huh, and you've had over two years to realize they were a bunch of...hooey."

"Excuse me?"

Buffy caught her lower lip between her teeth, gnawing on it in sudden uncertainty.

"Hooey," she repeated, less forcefully this time. "That is right, isn't it? I was watching this old movie the other night and...well, I thought since you don't seem to be understanding English I'd try for something a little more vintage to get my point across."

"That point being?" he nudged.

Now she was back on solid ground, and armed for battle.

"That you have managed perfectly well the past couple of years to run a business and even make friends, despite your sun allergy. That after having taken a three-month, all-funeral-expenses paid vacation on the Other Side, the phrase 'normal life' has been crossed out of the Buffy handbook. That I have less business having kids than you do, because I can't even guarantee I'll be around the next day, let alone the next twenty years or so." Buffy's breath hitched as she thought of her own mother, who lasted the twenty and then no more.

"At least you're immortal," she added when her voice had steadied. "You'd be around long enough to teach them to ride a bike and stuff, but my insurance agent, if I had one, could tell you I'm not a good bet in that area."

"Don't talk like that," he said, his voice unusually sharp.

She held up her hands, palms facing him, in surrender. "Sorry, sorry. We're back to your pet peeve: that I won't live forever. I repeat, get over it."

"Gee, thanks for your tender concern," he snapped.

"I'm not trying to make it sound like you're overreacting or anything, but if it's the only thing standing between us..." she sputtered into frustrated silence.

"It's not," he answered quietly. "Sometimes my soul can seem like more trouble than it's worth, but I've gotten kind of used to having it around. Can you say 'curse'?"

Lorne suddenly slapped his hand on the bar, forcefully reminding Buffy and Angel of his presence.

"Ooh, ooh," the Host called out. "Angel, have I ever shown you my Joan Rivers imitation?" He rested his hand on his hip and cocked his head to the side. "Can we talk?"

* * * * *

Part 12

"Lorne! What the hell are you still doing here?"

"Well, my large and romantically challenged friend, the last I knew I owned this establishment." The Host slipped around the front of the bar and headed towards the stage. "More importantly, at least to my continued well-being and good looks, I promised Cordelia I would get you two kids back to the hotel before you turn into a dust bunny and that brave little Anya girl has to kill you."

"I'm sorry," Angel quickly apologized. He glanced at Buffy, who was blushing for both of them. "I guess we forgot you were there."

"I shouldn't wonder. You two were doing the angst-tango pretty hot and heavy; an audience was the last thing you were thinking about."

"Uh, yeah. Listen, Buffy, maybe we should continue this discussion while we pick up those books at Cordy's place. Lorne, could you drop us there instead?"

"Sure thing, Angel-cakes, but don't you want to hear what I wanted to tell you?" Lorne pulled out a chair directly in front of the stage and propped his feet up next to Angel.

Angel glared at the bright yellow shoes knocking into his hip, and pushed Lorne's feet back to the floor.

"I'm sure whatever it is can wait until we get Buffy what she needs," the vampire said, the warning clear in his voice.

Lorne tapped his chin with one long green finger. "Unless these ears deceive me, the young lady said you were what she needs. And I just might be the demon to grant her wish."

"Well now that Anya's assured us the Good Fairy has joined the dark side, I guess there's an opening on the other team."

"There's no need for sarcasm, Angel. If I'm understanding the situation correctly, I really can help."

"The, umm, situation, really is pretty complicated," Buffy said, smiling weakly. "You probably caught bits and pieces of it from what we said, but there really is a lot more to it."

"Oh darling, I didn't need to catch those little tidbits; Lorne sees all and knows all." He smiled with satisfaction as he polished his nails on the edge of his coat. "Also," he continued breezily, "Cordelia tells all."

"Cordelia," Angel groaned, as Buffy's lips tightened.

"Well, you can hardly blame the girl. We were talking about the crowds at Neiman Marcus the day after Thanksgiving and the subject of hell came up. From there it was just a hop, skip and a jump to you and the missus."

"Fine, so you know. I'm sure Cordelia also made it overwhelmingly clear there is no point in discussing the curse that led me to hell." Angel looked sadly, but steadily, at Buffy as he added, "It's a done deal."

Lorne sat up straight in his chair, his body taut with indignation. "I should certainly hope so. We wouldn't want that soul of yours wandering off again; if it made it to the freeway it might never find its way home."

"You know, this is really not my favorite topic to be joking about." Buffy sighed as she pulled her feet up on the stage and crossed her legs beneath her. "Could you just tell Angel whatever it is you want to tell him so we can go? It's been a really long night."

"Sunshine, I'm trying to do just that, if you two would stop interrupting me and sending us off on all these tangents." Lorne shook his head and tisk-tisked over their lack of focus. "I've been trying to tell you that Angel's soul isn't available for interstellar flights anymore, or if it goes anywhere it's going to have to hitch up a sidecar for yours. They're sort of," he held out his hands and twisted them against each other, "stuck together."

"That's very poetic and all, but what exactly do you mean?" Angel glanced at Buffy, but she seemed as much at sea as he was.

"I see souls when people sing; you know that."

Angel nodded, prompting Buffy to do so as well.

"The first time you sang for me, I got a weird reading, but I figured it was a little misfire. I mean, how many vampires with souls have I run across?" He shrugged elaborately. "But every time you came back, I could still see it, and after a while it started to bug me."

"I could probably help more if you'd tell me what you saw." Angel reached over without looking and took one of Buffy's hands in his, preparing for the worst.

Lorne nodded at Buffy.

"I saw her."

* * * * *

"This is starting to sound a little too Harlequin meets Stephen King for me," Buffy said uneasily. "You didn't tell him that 'warming my heart with yours' analogy, did you?" she implored Angel.

"I'm not saying he stole your soul or anything," Lorne protested. "You each still have one, just not...completely your own. I realized it when I met you tonight, Buffy. There's part of Angel's soul in you as well."

"We're back to 'romantic but what's the point,' Lorne?" Angel all but growled in frustration.

Lorne snorted at the surly vampire. "Oh Mr. 'Love-You-Till-The-Sky-Turns-Black' is calling me sentimental?"

"Okay, so we're gonna be doing the leaving thing now." Buffy tugged at Angel's hand. "It was nice meeting you, Lorne, and thanks for the help, but..."

Lorne ignored her attempt at escape, despite the fact that it was intended for his benefit.

"Angel, as I understand your curse, a moment of perfect happiness can lift that little soul of yours out and send it on its way. Or it could. But now, you're not packing all your own soul; you've got some tucked away with Buffy for safekeeping, and that should be enough to hold the rest of it in place." Lorne beamed at Buffy. "And by the way, congrats on the perfect happiness thing, sweetie. Not bad for a rookie."

"Lorne." Angel really was growling this time, but it didn't wipe the smile from the Host's face.

"Oh lighten up, you big galoot. I'm giving you good news."

"This doesn't make any sense," Buffy protested. All thoughts of leaving before Angel took a vampire-sized poke at Lorne had fled in the face of this new, and confusing, information. "I mean, I want it to, but...we're still adding up to a 'not' here. When did this happen? How did this happen?"

"Could it have been the spell Willow used to restore my soul? Did she change the words?" Angel glanced at Buffy. "Or maybe...could Jenny have changed them?"

"Mmm, I'm thinking no," Lorne answered, before Buffy could open her mouth. "Your little red-haired witch does have a certain power going for her, but not so much as that sweet girlfriend of hers thinks. And not nearly as much as she thinks of herself," he added with a pitying shake of his head.

"She did kind of raise me from the dead," Buffy offered gently. "In my book that was a big deal."

"If you were truly and completely dead, the only way she could have brought you back was as a zombie. Or something equally in need of a really good make-over."

"That's what she said," Buffy grumbled, "so she won't have to admit how much fire she was really playing with. But I know I was completely, as in totally, dead."

"I'm sure you were...in body. But your soul still had a connection to this earth." Lorne waved his hand at Angel. "He might not be everybody's idea of a ray of sunshine, but he certainly was the light at the end of your..." Lorne sputtered to a stop, and then breezily changed course. "Well, let's just say the mingling of your souls brought you back from the other side, and I'd be willing to bet it's also what shot Our Hero out of the depths of hell. You tugged and he came back like a boomerang."

"So it was Willow's curse," Angel insisted.

Lorne tipped his head and delicately sniffed the air. "No, I'm getting a definite scent of brimstone around the edges. I'd say you made that bond yourself, Angel-face, while you were in the old hotbox. Must have given the higher ups...or should I say lower downs...a real giggle too, to think of you tying yourself to the other world. They probably thought they'd be getting Buffy in the bargain."

"This is crazy." Angel shook his head dismissively. "Now you're saying that not only is my soul bound to my body, but that I'm the one who did it."

"When I told you that you had the way out all the time, but couldn't see the slippers for the trees, did you think I was just talking about song lyrics?"

"Frankly, yes."

Lorne leaned forward in his chair, all traces of levity gone. "Take it from someone who's been around the block in a couple of different dimensions, Angel: love is the only real magic, and don't let anyone ever tell you different. There isn't a spell in the world that can make it start or stop, not the true kind. I can't think of any other power you can say that about."

"Are you sure...are you completely sure that there is enough of Angel in me to hold him here?" Buffy demanded.

Lorne held one hand up in front of his face and sketched an 'x' across his buttock with the other. "Cross my heart and hope to never meet the badass demon I can also see inside the big guy."

"That's not what I call a guarantee," Angel said, avoiding Buffy's hopeful eyes.

"Then how about this one, tough guy. How did you feel when you found out she was alive again?"

"I can't...I can't describe it really," Angel stuttered.

"Through the roof?" the Host prompted, receiving his answer in a nod. "Yeah, I thought so. And then when she came to see you, and you could hold her again, and you knew she was really, truly alive and not just some voice on the other end of the phone...how did you feel then?"

"Even more..."

Lorne held up a hand, cutting off Angel's halting reply. "Through the roof and over the moon?"

Angel's head jerked in quick assent. He really couldn't find the words to fit his feelings when Buffy had come to see him; for one brief instant it was every desperate fantasy come true.

"Through the roof, over the moon and down the other side is more like it, if I'm any judge of your hopelessly romantic self."

The vampire recovered his power of speech. "I guess that says it as well as anything."

"Yeah, so, would you, umm, describe that as happiness?" Lorne tapped his chin and tried to look thoughtful, though a mischievous gleam in his eyes somewhat hampered the effect. "Perhaps, and maybe we're stretching the point here, but I have seen into your soul, and I think I know its little quirks by now...perfect happiness even?"

"I...I never thought about it like that," Angel stammered. "I guess I just assumed...and no one ever told me different...I mean I had no reason to believe my soul was safe, so I thought it couldn't be perfect happiness."

"Because that would mean you could stop making yourself miserable over her," Lorne drawled. "Can't have that, now can we?"

"Angel," Buffy said urgently, "do you trust Lorne?" She picked up his hand and held it up against her heart. "Would he lie about something like this, or tell you if was true if he wasn't sure?"

Angel turned his attention from the Host to Buffy, after a long and penetrating gaze into his friend's guileless red eyes.

"No, he wouldn't lie," Angel said. "And it's hard enough getting solid facts out of him; he wouldn't waste his time on speculation."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Then we're okay."

Angel's eyebrows winged downward in a frown. "Why, because Lorne says we can make love without world-endage? That doesn't erase all the other differences between us, Buffy. And they're even greater now than when I left Sunnydale."

"I know." She paused. "But ask me if I care."

Buffy pulled his hand away from her heart and brushed it against her cheek. The shiver she could feel run down his arm at the contact with her skin gave her hope.

"Angel, I don't know much about my life that's real anymore," she began slowly. "From the night of that party, up until about 18 months ago, everything I remember is pretty much up for grabs in the fact department. And there's not a whole lot in the past year and a half that I actually want to believe is true." She kissed the tips of his fingers, one by one. "But one thing I do know that I love you, the you that I see you turning into. And I know that whatever future I can figure out for myself, I want you to be the best part of. It won't have a best part without you."

One dark and flame-filled night about a thousand years ago, Angel had steeled himself to walk away from the only part of his life that mattered, because he knew he wasn't enough to be all that mattered to her. Despite the good even he acknowledged he had done over the past three years, he knew he still wasn't enough.

But looking at her now, seeing the strength and determination in her hazel eyes, he admitted that maybe it didn't matter anymore. Slowly, painfully, he and Buffy had built their own lives. They each had friends they loved, and work they were good at, and a reason besides each other to get up in the morning.

And yet, in spite of his best intentions, they also still had each other. The bond between them hadn't frayed or faded in the interim; it had grown stronger as they had each grown stronger. He could walk away again and pretend that distance would make it easier to lose her some day, or he could face his fears like the man she always believed he was.

The man he wanted to be, not just for her, but also for himself.

"So what now?" he asked, the old seductive huskiness creeping into his voice.

She gripped his hand tightly. "Did I hear an 'uncle'?"

"No, you heard that I love you, and I need you, and that you completely scare me to death, but I know when I'm beat." He shrugged and laughed softly, trying to look defeated. "I'm a vampire, you're a vampire slayer. You're supposed to win."

Lorne clapped his hands in delight as Buffy pulled Angel's head down for a long-overdue kiss.

"Oh, now that's what I like to see," the Host gloated. "Happy endings really do boost the good vibes in this place. And since my insurance rates went up after the first of the year...well, I appreciate the help."

"This doesn't magically fix everything, you know." Angel pulled back slightly, though he still kept Buffy within the circle of his arms. "We lead two very different lives in two different cities, and it's not going to be easy to find a middle ground."

"I live for a challenge, and so do you. And you know our lives aren't really so different anymore."

"Buffy, we're sitting in a demon karaoke bar that I come to on a regular basis...and not always just for information." He grinned at her obvious disbelief. "Still think our lives aren't different?"

She pushed his arms away from her waist and stood up, leaning down to offer him a hand once she was on her feet.

"I think we can work out a compromise," she said sturdily. "I'll learn to appreciate the subtle art form of karaoke if you promise to stop looking for the angst in bubblegum rock. I mean, Angel...the Partridge Family?"

He sighed as he stood up, still holding her hand. "And we're back to picking on Angel's taste in music. Have you been talking to Wesley?" He stepped off of the stage, pulling her along with him towards the exit. "You know, his selections aren't exactly anything to brag about either. And the singing! Especially if Gunn and Cordy are with him; they take all the class out of Motown classics."

"Umm, kids," Lorne called after them, lazily waving a hand to get their attention. "I was going to give you a ride to the..."

"What's Motown?" Buffy asked, completely oblivious to anyone but the man walking beside her. At last walking beside her.

"Hotel," Lorne continued. "Which is a long way away..."

"What's...oh Buffy," Angel groaned as he drew her up the stairs. "You really better live a long life this time, because I have so much to tell you about."

"From here," Lorne finished, more to himself than his inattentive friends.

"Angel, I didn't come back from the dead for music appreciation lessons, so I hope you have a few more subjects in mind." Buffy pulled her hand from his and slid her arm around his waist, molding her body to his. "And, umm, show; don't tell."

The last Lorne heard of them was Angel's wicked chuckle floating down the stairs.

"Ah, young love," the Host sighed.

The door clicked shut at the top of the stairs, leaving Lorne alone in the dimly lit club. From the edge of the stage, an abandoned microphone began a siren song, luring him over to seize it in one triumphant fist.

As he wandered around the club, straightening chairs and putting away glasses with his free hand, Lorne crooned into the mike clutched in the other.

// The very thought of you
And I forget to do
Those little ordinary things
That everyone ought to do //

He paused in front of the stage and turned to face an imaginary audience.

"Don't they make the cutest couple, folks? Don't you just want to eat them up?" The Host slapped his hand over his mouth and shook his head, feigning embarrassment. "Oops, silly question with this crowd."

One quick step up brought him center stage.

"But you know, I do hope our Romeo realizes they're wandering around without coats or cab fare before that poor half-starved Juliet of his turns into a Popsicle. Romance with a side of bronchial pneumonia only sounds sweet till the hacking begins." He tapped his chin and began to stroll. "Hmm, now where was I? Oh yes, Lady Day."

// I'm living in a kind of daydream
I'm happy as a queen//

"No cracks from the cheap seats, fella," he paused to caution an empty chair.

// And foolish though it may seem
To me that's everything

The mere idea of you
The longing here for you
You'll never know how slow the moments go
Till I'm near to you//

"At least till he springs for a Rolex."

// I see your face in every flower
Your eyes in stars above
It's just the thought of you
The very thought of you
My love. //

(the music fades)

"Good night, everybody."

(the lights dim)

"You've been a wonderful audience."

(and the rest is silence)

(And that, folks, is how we would have written "Buffy: The Musical.")

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