"Well, well, well," remarked Cordelia snidely, "the gang's all here."

She stood tall and proud between Doyle and Spike, ready to defend her turf and her friends.

Which included the woman now leaning heavily against Angel, struggling to remain on her feet.

In the short time she had spent in Morghane's company, Cordy had learned to respect the Guardian. Contrary to standard practice, Morghane had not dismissed her as a brainless bimbo as soon as she laid eyes on the former cheerleader. She had even made it a point to thank Cordelia soberly for staying by Angel?s side. And if Angel held her in such high regards - well, that alone made her worthy of Cordelia Chase's esteem.

< Since when do I rely on a socially inept vampire as a personality barometer? > she mused. Then shrugged it off quickly. She might not have been renowned for her perceptiveness, but even she could sense the tension gathering in the overcrowded lobby.

It looked a lot like the L.A. team and the Scooby Gang were facing off.

Willow and Oz stood close to Xander, who looked really ticked off. Anya had been left behind on the Hellmouth. Then came Giles - his expression was unreadable - and Buffy. The Slayer's eyes were riveted to Angel.

Her face seemed to close off when she noticed the Guardian holding onto his arm.

Angel looked lost, obviously misinterpreting Buffy's dark expression.

"Spike."

The blonde vampire turned towards the Guardian, an eyebrow arched in question.

"Can you help me sit down, please?"

Angel frowned when Spike approached and gently led Morghane to the closest chair.

< Smart move >, thought Cordelia. Wouldn't want to stand between the Slayer and her vampire.

"Thank you for coming," said Morghane. "Why don't you all find a place to sit down? This is going to take some time."

 

 

It took a while indeed.

By the time everybody had been brought up to speed the sun was rising and the vampires retreated to Angel's apartment to get some sleep. Morghane had to shoo them out, assuring them that she could make her own way down perfectly well. Cordy made a few phone calls and soon enough rooms had been booked in a nearby motel for the Slayer and her friends. Doyle offered to escort Cordelia home after making sure that the Guardian did not require his presence.

The Sunnydale crowd made a move to follow them out.

"Go ahead, guys. I'll join you in a few minutes," announced the Slayer.

Giles frowned. "Are you sure, Buffy? Do you want me to stay?"

"No, I'll be okay. I need to talk to Morghane. If you don't mind..." she said, facing the Guardian.

"Not at all."

Giles nodded, swallowing back an objection. "Very well. See you in a little while."

And then they were alone.

Buffy sat across Morghane, fidgeting.

The Guardian appeared even more exhausted than she had the previous night. She was so pale. Deep dark circles ringed her eyes like bruises. Her hands were shaking slightly; she looked weak and feverish. The green irises shined, unhealthy. She radiated heat.

"Do you want me to get you a glass of water or something? Maybe I should let you rest, this can wait..."

Morghane smiled kindly. "I'm fine, Buffy. I've been resting most of the night. I'm tired, but not sleepy. And no, this conversation can't wait."

The Slayer looked puzzled. "What do you mean?" she asked, wriggling her hands in her lap.

"You have questions. About the bond. About Angel, you and me. So ask."

Buffy steeled herself, hesitating, then faced the Guardian squarely.

"Were you and Angel lovers?"

Morghane breathed deeply but did not try to escape the Slayer's probing gaze. "I'm not trying to evade the question, Buffy, I promise, but the answer really depends on the meaning you give to 'lovers'... Angel and I were never in love. But we did sleep together once. Before he came to Sunnydale. He needed to feel that he was still someone, and, well, as strange as it sounds, I needed the same thing.

"But we were never... we were not 'together', to employ today's phrasing. We were just friends seeking comfort from each other. It never went further than that. Certainly not after he met you. Can you accept that?"

Buffy kept silent for a long minute. She was not ecstatic, but she wasn't quite distressed either. She could understand what Morghane was saying. And she could accept it.

Was that growing up?

"Yes... yes, I think I can."

The Guardian grinned. "I didn't expect any less from you, Buffy." She paused. "But there's more on your mind."

"This 'empathy' thing is sorta unnerving, you know that?"

"Sorry, so I've been told."

Buffy shook her head to dismiss the apology. "S'okay. And you're right. There's one more thing I'd like to know. Well, many more things actually, but this is kind of the key issue... Hm... Do you... do you love him?"

Morghane gave her the same answer she gave Spike.

"Of course I do."

"Oh."

The Guardian sighed. Buffy was an amazing woman and Morghane had the utmost respect for her. But she was still a teenager. A wounded, confused teenager at that. She couldn't expect her to understand right away.

"Buffy, I know it sounds cliché, but there are many different kinds of love. Sometimes I think it's a shame that we live in a society which insists on putting names on everything and having definitions for all sorts of relationships, but that's the way things are. I'm not making much sense, am I?"

She shook her head, fighting the bone-deep exhaustion. Buffy needed to be reassured right away.

"Angel is very dear to me. More than I can express. I love him like you must love Willow and Xander, like you love your Watcher, your mother. Maybe in a different way, because..." She suppressed an exasperated groan. This was so hard to explain. "A hundred years ago, when Angel's soul was returned, I was... I was ready to pass on the charge of being the Guardian to another. I had seen so much, been through so much. Try to imagine your lifetime up to now multiplied by a hundred.

"I was barely human anymore. I didn't have friends, no family, I was alienated from the Slayer, no allies... I didn't have time or even the desire to form any close relationships. I couldn't feel much of anything. My empathy had become more of a burden than a gift. And I realized... what good is a Guardian who cannot feel anything for humanity any longer? Who doesn't care? And I just couldn't dredge up the strength to care. Not about my life, not about the lives of others. I was just going through the motions. I was dead in all the ways that count. And I understood that I had to give up. Too much depended on the Guardian for me to go on like that.

"And then the Kalderash returned his soul to Angel. I had never felt anything like it before. It was... there really are no words. It was like the fabric of the universe had been torn apart and my self with it. The agony... indescribable. But it marked the return of feelings. Anger, at first. Then caring. I created the bond between me and Angel, and suddenly I was linked to him. To this amazing being who could feel so much, who cared so deeply.

"Yes, for a century I shared mostly pain, loneliness, anguish and guilt. I wish I could have been there for him in a more meaningful way... but other obligations got in the way. Still, it was something. Like being reborn. Recreated. I owed him so much. So when you were called, I decided to interfere with the Slayer in a way I had never done before. I sent him to you. And I relearned. Love, the feeling of belonging - to a place, to someone - friendship, acceptance, loyalty, support. All the things you gave to him. All the gifts he offered you.

"So you see. Yes, Angel is a part of me. But that doesn't make what you share with him any less meaningful, or any less exceptional. And believe me when I say that Angel has enough love in him for you, for me, for the whole world to share. Trust me. I've seen his soul. I know."

Morghane fell silent, slumping slightly in her chair. Talking for so long had depleted the meager reserves of energy she had left, but she was glad she had finally shared this with someone. With the Slayer.

Buffy dragged a trembling hand through her hair, over her face, shaken. All the things Morghane had shared with her. And she understood it all. She felt gratitude - recognizing the significance of this gift, of the insight she had been given.

Then the pain returned.

"We're not... not together that way anymore. He told me... told me he didn't want to be with me. Then he left without saying good-bye."

Morghane stared into the shining, tortured eyes of the Slayer. Feeling her own heart break to pieces. Gathering the frayed remnants of her strength, she leant forward and drew Buffy against her without a word.

Unresisting, the Slayer wrapped her arms around the Guardian gratefully - shredded - muffling a sob in the copper strands of hair, her cheek against Morghane's throat.

"It still hurts so much. Why, why does it hurt so bad?"

Morghane shushed the young woman with soft, nonsensical sounds, caressing her back soothingly though her satin shirt.

< Your soul's weeping for its loss, little one. But I'll set things right, if it's the last thing I ever do. >

And it would be the last.

"Shh, now, Buffy. It will get better. It will. Give it time. Shh. It will all be okay. I promise. I promise."

And Buffy's tears mingled with Angel's on Morghane's skin.

 

 

 

"So can we recapitulate what we know about the Sepulcher?" asked Buffy, her mug of coffee firmly in hand.

Xander pinned her to the wall with his best killer stare.

To no avail. She wasn't even looking at him.

None of them had had nearly enough sleep - not that this was such an uncommon occurrence for the Scooby Gang - and the Slayer was far too chipper for Xander's taste.

He didn't quite understand Buffy's latest mood swing. She had been moping for all she was worth in the passenger seat of Oz' van on the way to L.A.. Her eyes had been planting virtual stakes in her ex-honey's heart the minute she had stepped into the office earlier that morning - which had given Xander a massive happy.

And now she was acting like the levelheaded, determined leader-of-the-pack she knew how to be in times of crisis, taking charge, driving them to find a cure for Morghane. As if the Guardian was her new bestest-of-all-best-friends.

That just did not make any sense. Buffy wasn't supposed to act all composed and responsible. They were in L.A. In Angel's office. With Angel. Trying to save the life of a woman who, in all likelihood, was one of Deadboy's old lovers for the love of God. By all rights the Slayer should be a basket case.

And to top it all, Cordy kept running interference each time Xander tried to take a dig at Angel. She was even subtle about it - at least when the vampire was in hearing distance. Xander's ears were still ringing from the stern talking-to she had delivered after cornering him in Angel's office.

And the whole time, Doyle and Spike had been grinning like maniacs in the background.

God. Even Blondie was playing bodyguard to Angel. What the fuck was going on? Were those people insane?

Spent too long in Tinseltown?

Xander didn't have a clue about the best way to deal with this new situation. He was in L.A. and he felt like he was trespassing on Angel's territory. Among people who Angel called friends.

Who called him friend in return.

< What next? The Nobel Peace Prize? >

It wasn't easy adapting to new circumstances so fast. He had avoided thinking much about the souled vampire since Angel had left Sunnydale - until that whole business with the ring of Amara anyway. Now he had to find a way to cope with his resurfacing resentment and awkward feelings of inadequacy.

His hatred towards the dark-haired vampire was in some way the simple way out and he knew it. His life was complicated enough, he didn't want to try and see things in any other color than black and white. Couldn?t keep track of all the shades. Angel and Angelus each embodied one end of the spectrum. Trying to reconcile both and face a single man was more than Xander could handle.

And righteous anger was such an easy mask to wear. Undemanding. Didn?t require more than one facial expression at a time, and it was the perfect outlet to all his pent-up teen angst.

Yet now he was faced with a second challenge to his clear-cut, comfortable, narrow appreciation of good and evil.

The Guardian.

Morghane had obviously gone out of her way to make the Slayer's life - Buffy's life - easier. Not to mention longer. For that Xander could only be grateful. But she was also the one responsible for Angel's presence in Sunnydale in the first place. And Giles did not, to be fair, hold her in his heart any way you looked at it.

Although, now that he thought about it, the Watcher was much more civil to her here than he had been in Sunnydale. Probably because she was dying. Yep. That would do it.

Xander respected Giles.

Xander loved Buffy.

Xander despised Angel.

Angel, who, appearances to the contrary, Xander had, at one time, considered a friend - until the vampire tried to kill them all.

Giles was Xander's mentor. The father figure, occasionally the big brother too. And a deep, bonding camaraderie with Oz was nowhere in the near future. Angel should have been his most meaningful male friendship. Could have been.

Had been.

Xander wasn't quite sure who should be blamed for the destruction of that relationship - the loss of that opportunity - any longer.

More uncertainty.

No. Surely, sticking to the old patterns was the way to go here.

Surely.