The vampires fled after the death of their Master. Angel leapt onto the stage, and hurried to Buffy's side. She was asleep apparently, but still breathing.

*Thank god.* he thought as he bent to scoop her up into his arms. *I can't lose you. Not now. Not when we've just won, when I just know what I have.*

She stirred in his arms, and murmured something unintelligable in her sleep. He kissed her forehead tenderly, then left the Bronze, heading at a run for Sunnydale General.

***

"What's her name?"

"Do you know what happened?"

"Were you using drugs?"

"Buffy Summers, she was attacked, there was some sort of fight at the Bronze, it's a mess, and no, we were not." Angel said hurriedly. "Please, she needs help..."

"That's all right, sir, we'll take care of it..."

"You can't come into the operating room..."

"Lost some blood, arm looks broken, bruising, cracked ribs... maybe a concussion..."

Angel was left standing in the waiting room in the wake of the flurry of doctors, drained and worried. He eyes the plastic chairs in the lobby doubtfully, then sighed, raking his fingers through his hair.

"Angel, man. There you are."

He turned around. "Whistler?" It had to be. No one else dressed half as badly as his demon tutor.

"Yeah. You and me, we need to have a talk."

Angel nodded, and followed the demon into a disused part of the hospital. "What is it?"

"Good job with keeping a lid on things. You've done a pretty good job solo. But... man, you've got problems."

"Buffy."

"That's part of it." Whistler glanced down the corridor, then back at Angel. "You know what you gotta do. The girl's human. Innocent. She doesn't need these sort of things in her life. Break it off, make sure she doesn't come back. She can't get involved. It'll only end in grief. We both know that."

Angel scrubbed at his face, somehow not surprised to see blood on his hands afterwards. "I know." he said bitterly. "God damn it!"

"You love her. Shit." Whistler shook his head. "I don't envy you. But it's gotta be done. Tonight, if possible."

"Tonight..."

***

She was in a graveyard/in a nunnery/ in a bed with velvet sheets, and she stood on a plain with winged women, a sword at her side. And she stood at the portal, staring into the impossibly bright face of the apparition before her.

And then she was running through a graveyard, feet pounding, lungs burning, looking behind herself. Wielding a sword. Dancing. Laughing. Crying. Screaming.

There was a shadow on her back, and darkness within her and without and she couldn't get it out, couldn't...

"Buffy? Buffy, wake up!"

"Ugh..."

She felt very fuzzy, and her arm wouldn't move. Grumbling, she opened her eyes. "Mom?"

"Oh, Buffy." Her mother looked very relieved. "They thought you might not wake up because of the concussion."

"Mmmm..." Buffy yawned. "My arm won't move."

"It's in a cast, dear. They said that you fractured your arm and your ribs in multiple places." Joyce sighed. "Evidently the Bronze was attacked by some sort of gang..."

Buffy inhaled deeply, and caught the scent of roses. "Roses..." she murmured. "Mom, did you..."

"No, honey, they were here when I came. There's a card with them."

"Can I see it?"

Joyce passed the card to her. Buffy read it over. Her face went still, and she set it aside, a sad look on her face.

"Honey? What is it?"

"Nothing." Buffy looked over at the window. "It's nothing."

***

"You did what you had to."

"Go away, Whistler."

"You'll see. It'll be better in the end." Whistler clapped him on the shoulder. "Go home, kid. Mooning over her ain't gonna help. It's better if she thinks you're gone. Trust me."

"Right." Angel didn't sound convinced. But he looked up once more at the hospital room window, then turned and moved away.

It began to rain.