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Buffy sat in the hospital room, watching Spike as he slept. The rise and fall of his chest was steady—not the sporadic shadow of humanity his breathing patterns had been in the past. The heart monitor continued its steady rhythm, the tiny sound seeming to echo in the silent room.

In…Out…In…Out…

Beep…Beep…

Buffy's eyes grew slowly wider, an almost frightened look on her face as the reality of the situation began to settle on her. Spike was alive—human. He was everything she'd always told herself—and him—that he could never be, no longer what would prevent them from every having anything real.

But what they'd had before had been real—and not just for him, as she'd tried to claim once. She'd realized that long before she'd been ready to admit it. She'd meant those last three words she'd said to him more than she'd ever meant anything in her life, whether he believed them or not.

And now? So much had happened since then. She wasn't the same girl who had defended the Hellmouth for seven years. She was someone new, someone changed.

And so was Spike.

Buffy frowned as she reached out, taking hold of his warm hand as he slept.

*** *** ***

Angel stood amongst the wreckage of his room, his chest heaving with angry, unneeded breaths. He wished he'd staked Spike when Drusilla had first brought him home. He'd done it before to the plaything she'd made before. Why had he decided to let her keep this one, even after the other vampire had begun to grate on his nerves?

Now the bastard had everything that Angel knew should be his. Spike was human. He had Buffy. Angel's lip curled up in a sneer as he thought about Buffy presenting herself as Spike's wife. It made him sick to think that Spike had ever touched his soft, innocent Buffy. And how could she have cheapened what they had had by trying to substitute him—her true love—with just another cold body?

Angel sat down on the floor, his bed and chairs already destroyed by his own hand. Buffy had called asking him about the Shanshu… When Angel had signed it away, he'd convinced himself that it meant nothing. After everything that had happened since they'd first stumbled upon the prophecy, Angel had come to believe that it wasn't real. And even if it was, then it would be his destiny regardless. Nothing could take away his destiny, not even the Circle of the Black Thorn.

But Spike had. Spike, that bleached moron who had done nothing but be the bane of Angel's existence from the moment Drusilla had sunk her fangs into the boy's neck, had stolen what was his. His destiny, his girl—everything. He hung his head in his hands.

"You know, it's kind of hard for someone to take something that wasn't yours to begin with."

Angel glanced up suddenly, staring at the woman who appeared before him. "Cor…Cordelia?"

"Nice to know you remember me, what with all the drama." She looked around. "Love what you've done with the place. When your decorator was done, did he whip a little girl and her house to the Land of Oz by any chance?"

Angel continued to gape. "How are you….you're…"

"Dead? Yeah, you, too, buddy, so don't go pointing fingers. But it seems like the Powers that Be decided I needed to rejoin the world of the, well, mostly living. Something about your complete inability to function without me. I could've told them about that."

Angel stood, walking slowly to Cordelia. He stopped in front of her, reaching out with his hand and tentatively touching her face. When he confirmed she was real, he grabbed her, pressing her against him tightly.

"Um…not so dead I don't need to breathe," Cordelia squeaked. "Think maybe you could cut down on the vampire-strength squeezing?"

Angel pulled away, his hands still resting on her arms. "I'm sorry, I'm just…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Cordelia pulled back from him. "I just want to state right now that I am none-too-pleased with you. I was getting along quite well in the Higher Realms this time, until someone had to go and completely ignore my warning."

"But I didn't," Angel said. "I re-found my focus. I got back on the mission."

Cordelia's expression turned sad, wistful. "No, you didn't."

"I did! I…"

Cordelia reached out, stroking his cheek. "I always knew these obsessions of yours would get you in trouble, Angel. They make you so blind, make it so you can't see anything around you. Sometimes you just have to let go. You have to learn what you can have, and what you can't."

"It wasn't supposed to be like this. Fred…Wes…they weren't supposed to die."

"But they did. Your obsession with Wolfram and Hart, it overshadowed everything. I thought…I thought you'd learn, but you didn't. You let it destroy everything."

"Can I…can I fix it?"

"Maybe. I don't know. But you're going to have to let go, Angel. You're going to have to learn to do that."

"I can. You'll…you'll help me, won't you?"

Cordelia smiled, taking his hand. She'd never seen Angel this vulnerable, and she wanted nothing more than to offer him the comfort she knew she couldn't really give him. "Of course I will. It's why I'm here now."

Angel let go of her hand and sunk back down to the floor. Cordelia sat beside him, her arm wrapped around his shoulder. They sat in silence for a long while before Angel finally spoke. "I killed them. I killed Wes and Fred."

"They made the choice to join Wolfram and Hart, too. They knew the dangers."

Angel shook his head. "They were following me. They trusted me, and I let them down." He turned to Cordelia then, resting his head against her shoulder as he began to cry, the loss and the pain that had been building up inside him forcing its way out.

Cordelia held him, stroking his hair silently.

*** *** ***

Buffy sat up moving her neck from side to side to work out the kinks from spending the night in a less-than-comfortable chair.

"Good mornin', sunshine."

Buffy stretched as she looked over at Spike sitting up in the hospital bed. "Good morning yourself," she replied. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not long. Been trying to figure out how exactly you got yourself contorted into that position in that chair to sleep."

"Slayer flexibility. Have any doctors or nurses been in?"

"Nope."

Buffy stood. "I'm going to see if I can find one, and hopefully we can get out of here. I don't want to be stuck in a hospital any longer than I have to be."

"Technically, pet, I'm the one who's stuck. You're free to leave at any time."

"I'm not abandoning you in the hospital, Spike. I'll be right back."

Spike nodded and watched her go. He wondered to himself what it meant that she had been by his side ever since he'd somehow become human. She'd even let the hospital staff think she was his wife. Did she want to pick up where they'd left off in Sunnydale?

Spike pushed that thought to the back of his mind. Nothing would make him happier than spending this newfound life of his with Buffy, but he knew he shouldn't get his hopes up. This was merely her looking out for an old friend—nothing more.

Spike settled back against his pillow, waiting for Buffy to return.

*** *** ***

Angel woke up on the floor. Alone. He sat up, rubbing his face for a moment before looking around. "Cordy?" When no one answered, he frowned and called again. "Cordelia?"

Nothing. Not even her scent remained. Angel sighed. He must have dreamed it all.

Slowly, he forced himself to his feet. He could hear activity in other parts of his hotel, and knew that the Slayers were still here, regrouping from their last battle.

A battle he'd caused.

Angel shook his head. No. It had been inevitable. A confrontation with Wolfram and Hart had been in the cards. All he'd done was sped up the deal.

He straightened his clothes, hoping that his late-night rampage hadn't made him look too un-presentable. It was times like these that he really wished for a reflection.

Angel walked out into the hallway, almost immediately running into Willow. "You're still here?"

Willow frowned. "Yeah, nice to see you, too."

Angel looked sheepish. "Sorry. Just…rough night and I haven't had my morning cup of blood."

Willow gave him a half smile. "Right. Well, I won't be here much longer anyway. I've been helping with the Slayer healing, but now that Kennedy's safe to move, we'll probably head on out."

"Kennedy?"

"My girlfriend. She's one of the Slayers. She got hurt pretty bad in the fight."

Angel frowned. "I'm sorry."

"She's going to be okay. She's a tough one."

"Slayers tend to be. Speaking of, has anyone heard from Buffy?"

"She called about an hour ago and said that she and Spike were leaving the hospital. They were going to get some breakfast and then head over here."

"What time is it?"

"Around eleven."

Angel nodded. "I think I'm going to go back and get a little more rest. It's a bit early for a vampire still."

Willow smiled. "All right. We'll let you know if you're needed for anything."

"Thanks, Willow."

"Well, good to see you again, Angel. You know, when I'm not trying to stick your soul back in you."

"Yeah, you, too. Hope Kennedy starts feeling better."

"Me, too."

Angel went back into his room, deciding maybe he wasn't as ready to face the day as he'd thought. Running Wolfram and Hart had forced him to get used to a more human type of sleep schedule, but now he just wanted to rest, if only because it meant he'd be alone.

The disappointment over waking up without Cordelia when their conversation the night before had seemed so real was almost tangible, and his run-in with Willow had only compounded his loneliness. Buffy and Spike were out somewhere, having breakfast together. They'd most likely walked through the sunlight to get to the restaurant, and Spike would be nourishing himself with something other than blood. Angel could picture Buffy sitting with Spike, smiling and laughing as they shared a nice, human meal.

Angel found his mattress across the room from what remained of his bed frame, and dragged it to a clear spot on the floor. He lay down and stared up at the ceiling, wishing more than anything that he could take back the moment that he signed away his destiny.

*** *** ***

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