Ghosts of Fever
by Starla - fuzzylittlepackrat@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon and associates own the television series Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all it's characters, etc. I don't own them.
Distribution: Sure, just send me an address. I like to share.
Author's Notes: I started writing this months ago, but I never managed to finish it - finally, I have. Yay.
Summary: Der Kindestod wasn't the only thing the fever allowed Buffy to see....
Timeline: Set at the end of Killed by Death, just after Buffy has killed Der Kindestod.
Spoilers: Anything before and including Killed by Death.
Feedback: Yep. Sounds good.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

Angel stood in shadows, lurking, although he knew that no one could possibly see him. He was no longer part of this reality, and couldn't make contact, no matter how hard he tried.

He was the shadow that shouldn't really be there, the tingles that passed through your body seemingly without a cause.

It was his fingers that brushed your shoulder when you were alone in a room, his voice that called to you at night.

He was mirage, imagination.

But there was nothing he could do about it, nothing he could do to make himself real.

Buffy and Xander entered the room, and Angel was immediately at her side, studying her intently in concern.

She looked terrible. Her hair was soaked with sweat, her eyes bloodshot and unfocused. Xander had to support her as they walked.

She was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

He longed to support her as Xander did, but he knew that he would be of no aid. He could still feel her, but knew that he himself was intangible to her. Because she did not know of his presence, she could not acknowledge it.

Xander helped her over to the bed, and she kicked off her shoes, lying upon the mattress above the covers.

"Is there anything you need?" Xander asked her, leaning down close.

She shook her head sleepily, and Xander smoothed her hair away, smiling softly when he saw that she had already gone to sleep.

Xander straightened and went to the door, flicking the lights off. He paused in the doorway, gazing at his sleeping friend. "Sleep Well, Buff." He said gently, the sadness in his voice echoing in his hoarse whisper.

Then he was gone, and Angel was alone with his love. He went to her side, leaning down and pressing a kiss to her forehead before sitting down and watching her sleep.

He'd spent much time observing her, both before he was banished from his body and after. He'd spend hours watching her sleep, her face relaxed in the effortless peace of slumber.

Since his eviction, he had the chance to see other areas of her life. He followed her to class, watching as she absorbed- or tried to absorb- vital statistics about names and dates in history. He saw her eyes wander occasionally, and wondered whether she was thinking of him.

He sat by her during her lunchtime, watched her grimace over 'unidentifiable foodal objects' and laugh with her friends.

He scowled at the boys who approached her, flirting, asking her out, some of them stammering nervously, some of them filled with egotistical confidence. She'd never told him that she was propositioned so often, and of that he was glad. He was a teeming mass of jealousy now, and he had seen her give them the brush off personally. He was glad that he'd never had to wonder, to doubt her love, even if it was foolish.

He walked home with her from school, marveling at the way the sunlight shone off her hair, and made her skin glow.

And every night, he sat by her while she slept, sometimes crawling onto the bed to lie with her, wrapping his arms around her, trying to comfort her through her tears, even if she did not know that he was with her.

He was always with her. He rarely strayed from her side, these days. He spent a small amount of time observing Angelus, but found it too painful to watch his hands stamping out the flame of love and life, so he always fled back to her, to take comfort in her glowing presence.

Even if it was a little less vibrant now.

"Ah, beloved." Angel whispered in the quiet sadness of her hospital room. "I didn't want to go..."

She shifted in her sleep, but that was the only response.

So Angel sat back, and watched.

***

Buffy moaned as she reluctantly drifted back into the land of the conscious, dreading the headache that would accompany her awakening.

It wasn't her choice, though. The tendrils of sleep had loosened their hold on her, and she was dragged back to reality as if being sucked in by a vacuum.

She groaned again as she let her eyes flutter open, her lashes feeling like crusty blocks of heavy stone. Her head protested as she tried to lift it to look around the room, but she did anyway, struck suddenly by the sense of not being alone in the dim hospital room.

What she saw wasn't at all what she was expecting.

At first, she thought it was Angelus. That he'd come to taunt her, possibly kill her, in her weakened state.

But Angelus could never look at her the way that Angel did, with affection and adoration, with protection and comfort.

He could never love her.

The man before her was, without a doubt, Angel.

"Angel?" She whispered, frozen in place by shock and longing.

There was a long pause in which her lover did not speak. When he did, his voice was soft and surprised.

"Can you...You can see me?" He murmured, his eyes hopeful.

" Angel?" She repeated, unable to get past that issue.

"Yes," He replied, taking her hand and kissing it softly, "It's me."

"But...How?"

"I've been here the entire time," He confessed, staring at their hands. "This is just the first time you've been able to see me."

"You've been with me?" She whispered, her eyes filling with tears, "All this time?"

"Yes."

"Can I...Can I touch you?"

"I...I don't know," He admitted quietly, "I've tried to make contact with you, but..."

"Maybe this is different," She whispered hopefully. Slowly, tentatively, she lifted her hand, her fingers burning for his touch. She reached out towards him, and gasped when her fingers made contact with his. She laced their hands together thankfully. Closing her eyes, feeling a few tears slip down her cheeks, letting a sigh escape. Oh, god, how she'd missed his touch. Missed him.

Angel let his eyes slide shut as he felt her palm press against his, felt the warmth of her skin and the steady blinking of her pulse in her wrist. He lifted her hand and kissed their joined fingers, opening his eyes finally to look at her. "I love you."

Buffy melted visibly. "Right back at ya, Cryptic," She murmured, moving over to make room for him to lie on the bed beside her. He did so, and she curled against him, laying her head on his chest - that broad, snuggleable chest that she had missed so much, covered in the familiar soft touch of silk - and playing with one of his buttons. "I love you so much," She murmured, "I... I thought I was going to die when I realised what had happened." She screwed her eyes shut tight as a flood of tears rushed to her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Angel. So sorry," She said, gasping a little.

"Sorry...Buffy, god, this isn't your fault," He replied, his hand rubbing her back soothingly, "Not at all."

"It is," She insisted, "I pushed you into-"

"You didn't make me do anything I didn't want desperately to do, Buffy," He said firmly. "I wanted you so badly. I still do."

"But-" She started, and he cut her off with a reproachful gaze.

"This isn't the time," He whispered, "I don't know how long this will last, and I just want to be with you."

"Okay," She said, stretching up for a kiss - a kiss that they each savoured, slow and passionate, soft and loving. When they parted, Angel rested his lips against her forehead, til a thought struck him.

"Buffy... " He said, swallowing. "There's something..."

"Angel?" She said, sitting up, a little worried.

"Before Jenny died... Before he...I... Before she was killed, she..."

"Honey?"

"She found the curse."

Joy spread across Buffy's face like sunshine. "Are you serious?"

"It's on a disk," Angel said, "I was watching...It fell...Near her desk somewhere."

Buffy let out a whoop of happiness and threw her arms around him, any discomfort she was feeling because of her illness forgotten. "That means...I can get you back."

"But...It doesn't mean everything will be okay," He said unhappily, "I've done a lot of awful thing, and your friends wi-"

"Later," She said, "We'll deal with that later. Right now," she snuggled into him; "I just want to fall asleep in your arms."

"I want that too," He said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead, sensing her exhaustion.

She took one last loving look into his eyes, then settled against his chest, wishing desperately to remember all this in the morning.

When she woke, free of fever, she couldn't see him.

But it didn't mean he wasn't there.