Hey guys,

this is a brand-new story of mine. The idea just popped out of my head this
morning and I couldn't help but write it down. Please, please, please tell me
what you think, if you think it's worth continuing. If you like the idea and the
first part. Please send feedback!

Hugs
Jill



NOTE: I've heard spoilers for season 6. The story is based on these spoilers.

FIC: The Night Remembers (1/?)
Author: Jill
Disclaimer: let me check ... nope, still don't own them. Sigh!; the title of the
story is the title of a book by Kathleen Eagle, so it isn't mine too
Rating: PG-13 (for now)
Pairing: B/A - eventually
Summary: Set after "The Gift" it's my second attempt of cleaning up the mess Joss
left us with.
Spoilers: the whole B/A-cannon to be sure
Timeline: around Thanksgiving after "The Gift"
Feedback: oh yes, please


Angel took a deep, unnecessary breath, then allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes for a moment. Leaning back against the wall, he deposed his battle axe on the ground beside him and let the warm breeze of Californian air wash over his cool skin. He was tired, God, he was so tired.

Would this ever end, he wondered? This fight of good and evil, this endless,
fruitless battle. He opened his eyes again and looked at the dead demon lying at
his feet, its skull split open, its lifeless, yellow orbs staring into nothing,
its blue blood still tainting the ground. Where was the sense in all this?

When he'd finally gotten over the mess with Darla, found his purpose again, had
been able to reclaim his friends, regain their trust in him, fate had taken the
most precious gift he'd ever received.

Buffy.

Even thinking her name brought a wave of pain, like a knife stabbing right
through his hart, then splitting him open, leaving his guts hanging to the floor.

When there had been nothing in his life, only darkness, self-pity and grief,
she'd been his anchor, his light, the arm fate held out for him, pulling him back from the edge - more than once. She'd made him believe he was more than just a demon, she'd fought for him, believed in him and although they'd spent two years apart, there was still this deep connection, this anchor that held him in this life and made him fight the good fight.

The day he'd seen her in the cemetery, after her mother had died, he'd still felt it. And it had been more than just two warriors sharing the same purpose, it was the merging of souls, of finally becoming one again, even for those short
precious hours in the dark. Holding her, kissing her, knowing that deep inside
they'd always love each other, no matter what.

Yes, their love was forbidden, and yes, they'd probably never be able to live it, but it was still there, like a shimmer of hope whenever fate seemed too hard to bear. It had helped him to finally overcome the whole Darla-business and her to move on after her mother's death.

But now it was gone. Buffy was gone and Angel felt like shouting to the Powers,
blaming them for taking away his only light.

"Hey man."

Gunn's voice pulled him from his heavy thoughts and with a sigh, he bent down,
picked up his axe and then looked at the man standing near by.

"You've got the other one?," he asked, nodding at the demon on the ground.

"Yeah," Gunn replied with a grin. "Put on hell of a fight though," his grin
widened when he added, "Pretty good, I've got black skin. Otherwise I'd be black
and blue tomorrow."

Angel couldn't help but chuckle at that and guilt stabbed through him, thinking
about his friend. He'd lost his sister, had been forced to kill her in the end,
but he still went on with his life. So who was he to give up. Yes, it seemed all
purpose had gone from his life, but he knew Buffy would be the first to shout at
him for giving up and that thought had been his lifeline - so far.

He'd been in pretty bad shape after Willow's visit, ready to let go, to greet the sun, but something - he still couldn't say what - had held him back. A certain feeling that he was needed, that there was still a purpose for him. Inwardly sighing he forced his attention back at his friend, "Yeah," he said, giving Gunn a smile.

"How about heading back then?," the black man asked, putting a hand on Angel's
shoulder. "You know, Cordy and English are still mighty worried about you."

"There's no need," the vampire assured him and when he saw the doubtful gaze of
his friend, he added, "There is none. I know I wasn't ... quite well, but it's
better now."

Gunn patted his shoulder again, "That's good man," he said, flashing the vampire
another grin, "That's really good."

"Yeah," Angel replied, wishing he could actually feel that way. Deep inside,
where he found nothing but emptiness. "Really good."

*

They heard Cordelia's angry voice loud and clear before they entered the Hyperion hotel, and Angel and Gunn exchanged a worried glance before the black man pushed the door open. To their surprise they found four people in the lobby. Cordelia, whom they'd heard before, Wesley, and with them, Giles and Willow. **No, Buffy is dead. There can't be anything more painful.**, were the first thoughts entering the vampire's mind.

"... and I could kill you, do you listen," the former cheerleader shouted. "How
could you do this? Have you any idea what he went through? How could you not
tell...," she became aware that her visitors weren't looking at her anymore and
following the direction of their gazes she whirled around. For a moment she
stared at the two men as if she'd never seen them before, then suddenly a blush
crept into her cheeks and she laughed self-consciously. "Angel, Gunn, hi. Good,
to see you're back. Did you kill those demons?"

Angel tore his gaze from the visitors and looked at her curiously, "Yes,
Cordelia. They're dead. And now if you pray, what is this all about?" He quickly
glanced at the two people from Sunnydale, "Hello Giles, hey Willow," he greeted
them, then his eyes were back on the brunette.

"They ... uh ... came to see you," she said hesitantly. "They just arrived."

"I see," Angel nodded, then walked over to Buffy's former watcher and held out
his hand for him. "Giles," he acknowledged him again and the two men shook hands. The vampire smiled at Willow, instantly noticing her uneasiness and the way she averted her eyes.

**What the hell is going on?**

His eyes darting between Cordelia and Giles, he asked, "So," he crossed his arms
in front of his chest, as if to protect himself from a blow. "Would now anyone in this room enlighten me, what this was all about?" He had no idea why he felt so ... uneasy ... what could they possibly tell him, after this last, almost lethal blow?

"Maybe you should sit down first," Cordelia suggested, plastering a false smile
on her face, but wasn't able to hide the worry in her eyes and Angel couldn't
help the foreboding deep in his bones.

"Yes," Wesley stood and looked at the man, he'd come to see as his friend. "This
might be a good idea."

"Just say it," the vampire turned towards the visitors from Sunnydale, "Giles. I
assume it has something to do with your visit. So why don't you tell me what this is all about?"

"Yes," Giles put his glasses off and began to rub them with a tissue he pulled
from his pocket. His movements were stiff and weary at the same time. Angel saw
the frown on his forehead, then he saw the watcher's spine straighten, and then
Giles looked him straight in the eye. "Angel, I ... that is we, Willow and I,
came for your help."

"I see," the vampire replied slowly. "Maybe you'd be willing to elaborate this.
At least a little, but of course I'm willing to help you. That goes without
question. Still it would be good to know what you want me to do."

"Does anybody want coffee?," Cordelia chirped from behind him.

Angel's eyes narrowed, but he didn't turn at her, "No," he hissed, "We don't need coffee. At least I don't. What I need, is to know what's going on!"

"Angel."

He felt Willow's hand on his arm and managed to suppress the anger he was
starting to feel and to focus on her eyes. They were wide and ... compassionate.
"What?," he whispered.

"Angel," she repeated his name, her eyes still locked with his. "She is alive."

"What?," he asked again, not understanding, not daring to hope, not ... "Alive?," he heard himself ask. "Who is alive."

Willow's hand on his arm squeezed, "Buffy. Angel, Buffy is alive."

The first reaction was a flickering of his eyelids, his orbs staring at her,
still without understanding, then his gaze snapped to Giles, who was nodding his
head, his eyes holding the same expression as Willow's. "W ...," Angel's voice
cracked and he suddenly felt a hand on his back. Cordelia's.

Clearing his throat, he tried again, "What?" His legs felt like rubber, his gut
as if armies of bugs were running through it and he wouldn't have been surprised
if his heart would do a dead start right now. From the corner of his eye he saw
Wesley hovering close and inwardly he had to smile at the concern of his friends and a warm feeling was surrounding him at that.

"It's true," Giles said after a long silence. "Buffy is alive."

"But how?," Angel heard himself whisper. He wasn't so sure he was still in
control of his body. Somehow he felt strangely standing beside all this. As if
watching some weird dream. Crunching his brows in concentration, he tried to
focus on Willow's eyes that were still watching him with concern.

"We," she began, giving him a tight smile, "Tara and I, that is, we brought her
back. A lot of magic was involved and stuff, but finally we had her back."

"I see," the vampire replied with a curt nod, then pulled his arm from the
redhead's grasp. Looking around he said, "I don't know about you. But I need a
coffee right now." And with this he walked off into the direction of the kitchen.

Cordelia stared at his retrieving back, "Angel," she shouted. "Didn't you hear
..."

Gunn's hand on her arm stopped her in mid-sentence and when she turned her teary
eyes on the black man she saw him shake his head in the negative. "Let him," he
said softly. "He needs to be alone for a moment."

*

As soon as he crossed the threshold to the kitchen, Angel felt heavy sobs rising
in his throat, felt his lungs constrict, his stomach churn, his mind spin and
with a sound that resembled nothing he'd ever heard before he sunk to the ground, his back against the fridge, his large frame began to shake like a leaf.

She was alive. Not dead. Not dead. Not dead, his mind repeated again and again.

He buried his face in his trembling hands, soon drowned by a flood of tears
running from his eyes, heavy sobs almost tearing his body apart, as all the
tension of the last months let go. The relief was streaming through his body,
opening all the floodgates of emotions, pent up for what seemed like an eternity
in an attempt to exist.

Alive. Alive. Alive. Alive.

Like a heartbeat the word shattered through his system, opening closed doors he'd believed shut forever.

Drawing a deep, liberating breath, Angel raised his head again and leaned it back against the fridge as well. And then he didn't try to stop the tears anymore.

*

It was almost half an hour later when he joined his friends in the lobby again.
There had been no conversation, no talk, while he'd been gone, but Angel
instantly saw the relief in Cordelia's eyes when she saw him coming from the
kitchen. He gave her a quick smile before he took the spot beside her on the sofa and felt oddly comforted by the warm hand she instantly put on his cold one.

Taking another deep breath, Angel looked over at Willow and Giles, "So, she is
alive," he said, finally breaking the silence.

"Yes," Giles nodded again. "She is. But there is a problem ...," he began, only
to be cut off by Cordelia, who was glaring at him.

"Tell him," she demanded hotly, ignoring the vampire's irritated gaze. "Tell him, Giles," she demanded again. "Or I'm going to do it."

"Tell me what?," Angel asked.

"Yes ... er ... what Cordelia means is, and what we didn't tell you so far, she
didn't just return yesterday."

"She didn't," the vampire said, not understanding.

"No," Willow said softly. "The whole magic thing. Angel, Buffy's been back for
six weeks."

**Six weeks**. Angel's sharp intake of breath was like a knife slicing through
paper and with a stiff, controlled movement he rose and walked to the far end of
the hall.

"Yes, six weeks," he heard Cordelia behind him. "And no one in Sunnydale felt we
needed to know."

"That's not true," Willow tried to defend herself and her friends. "We told you,
there are problems ..." her voice trailed off when she saw the brunette's angry
eyes. And then she added in a whisper, her looking at Angel's back. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry," Cordelia almost spat in her face. "God, you people are incredible. Have
you any, *any*, idea what you did to him. The hell he went through."

"Cordelia, stop it," at Angel's angry shout the former cheerleader's mouth shut
audibly. The vampire returned to the table, only the slight trembling of his
hands giving away the effort it took to keep his control. "So she came back six
weeks ago," he said finally, when he looked back at the watcher who almost
flinched at the pain in the vampire's eyes, something Angel wasn't able to
conceal, it was too raw to hide.

"Yes," Willow replied.

"Six weeks," Angel said again, taking a deep, shuddering breath, "So I assume, it went well without us. Then what is the problem all of a sudden?"

"The problem is," the redhead said slowly, "that she's lost her memory. She can't remember her name, her friends, and certainly not the fact she's the slayer."

Clearing his throat, Giles was finally able to speak again, "The council didn't
call a new slayer, because Faith is still alive. They didn't want to have two
slayers again," he explained. "So the hellmouth is almost without protection. Last night Xander and Anya were almost killed. We tried to take over the slaying
duties but failed miserably. Sunnydale has become much more ... active ... since
the time Buffy ran away for a summer."

"What about Spike?," Angel wanted to know, pushing the memory of that particular
summer in a hidden corner of his mind.

"He helps," Willow told him. "But he's still Spike. And then there's still Dawn
and he insists he needs to look out for her. Says he's promised Buffy. So he
won't leave her for too long."

"The influx of demons has been ... impressive ...," Buffy's watcher continued
explaining. "Last week Spike staked eight vampires in one night. He almost
didn't make it."

"Not that this would be a loss," Cordelia muttered under his breath, but shut up
when she caught the angry eyes of the vampire.

"And what do you want me to do now?," Angel gazed at the Englishman. "Do you want me to miraculously reinstall her memories, or what?"

Giles flinched at the sarcasm in the vampire's voice, but took the blow, feeling
he'd somehow earned it. "Well, that would be indeed a miracle, but no. We're here to ask for your help to guard the hellmouth and ... with Buffy. Because,
honestly, we've run out of ideas."

"And now he's good enough," Cordelia snorted at him.

"Cordelia," Angel's voice was gentle but firm and he slightly shook his head at
her. He was angry. No skip that, he was boiling inside, wanted to scream at the
watcher and the witch for not telling him, for letting him go through hell for
six more weeks. **Six weeks.** But he wouldn't let them feel what they'd done to
him. And this was about Buffy, and he would do anything to help her. So he turned back to the watcher and slowly nodded. "Alright," he said, holding the other man's eyes. "When do you want me to be there?"

End of Part 1.