Summary: Buffy's a little sad, there's a heatwave, Willow and Giles want to
help her. Read the rest to find out more. :)
Spoilers: Minor through the third season.
Disclaimer: Joss made the characters. I like to think he did it so that I
would be able to mess with them on occasion.
Rating: PG
Feedback: Yummy. It's addictive, ya know.
Thanks to Tracy, an all-together awesome person.

"Ahhh!" Buffy burst through Giles's door, clutching at her chest. Her face
was contorted in what looked like suffering of the worst kind. Giles rushed
over to her from the couch, where he had been reading.

"Buffy! What happened?"

"The drought," she gasped. "I'm dying."

He stopped as he was about to reach her, her words sinking in. He smirked.
"I'm amazed at how many times you manage to make me believe you're sick or
dying." He nodded to the kitchen. "Help yourself to the water in the
refrigerator."

Buffy smiled playfully. "Sorry. It *is* hot, though. And there's been no
rain since that one day in October. And it's soaring past one hundred
degrees lately! I very well could die, Giles," she informed him as she
walked into the kitchen.

"You won't die," he muttered, picking up his book. "But I have a feeling
that you came by to do more than to warn me of your impending doom."

"I did," she confirmed cheerfully, walking back into the living room with a
bottle of water tucked firmly into her hand. "I came to ask you for the
night off. Since it's been so hot and all, I think I deserve it. You know,
before I have to be rushed to the hospital because of heat stroke."

He lifted his eyebrows. "Those are your decisions. I can't make them for
you."

"Funny how you only say that when I'm asking for the night off. I think it's
some sort of guilt ploy. You make the decisions for me every other night of
the week," she rebuffed. "Just because you're not really a Watcher anymore
doesn't mean that you've stopped acting like one. At least in the annoying
ways."

Giles rolled his eyes. "Fine. Have the night off. Actually, I was going to
suggest that you take the entire weekend off, but if you'd rather have
tonight..."

"Both?"

"No."

"I thought I was supposed to make my own decisions."

"I was trying to make you feel guilty."

Buffy grinned. "Fine. I'm taking off the first part of the night, though.
Until around ten."

"I didn't realize you knew how to compromise."

Buffy shook her head, her eyes large. She tried to keep from laughing.
"Why, Giles... You wound me."
* * * * * *

Buffy strolled into the Bronze, looking around for the inevitable mistaken
identity. Every night that she'd gone there since Angel had left, she'd
thought she'd seen him. It would turn out to be one random guy or another,
none of them mattering much when she realized it wasn't him, but she came to
look forward to those little sightings. They sped up her heart in the way
that could only happen when he was around.

Finding Willow, Xander and Oz seated at a table nearby, she approached them
and settled down onto a stool.

"Hey Buffy!" Willow said brightly, smiling. She paused, taking in the look
of her best friend's face. "What's wrong?"

Buffy continued looking around distractedly. "Nothing. Hi."

Xander waved his fingers in front of her eyes. "Nothing in the reference to
something that we always end up using? Or nothing in the sense that nothing
is really going on?"

"Nothing," she murmured. "Hi."

Oz and Willow exchanged an amused look, while Xander mocked being hurt that
she wasn't paying attention to his strange witticisms.

Finally her eyes locked across the room, and Buffy smiled. The group
followed her stare, and settled on a tall man with dark hair. His jaw was
square and his lips full, but Willow could swear that he bore a slight
resemblance to Angel. Her heart skipped a beat, and she looked back at
Buffy, who's smile had fled and face now held a lingering disappointment.

"Buffy?" Willow asked.

Buffy's eyes inched up to meet hers. "Yeah?"

"Could I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure."

Willow gave a shy smile to Oz, and Buffy nudged Xander in the ribs. The boys
looked at each other. "I wonder if that's a hint," Oz smiled.

Xander rubbed his ribs. "If you were sitting where I was, you wouldn't have
to wonder."

They stood and headed away, leaving the girls to talk by themselves.

Willow leaned toward Buffy, lowering her voice. "Do you know that guy?"

"Which one?" Buffy asked blankly.

"The one you were staring at. The one that kind of looked like Angel,"
Willow said, concerned.

Buffy sighed, then smiled. "No. But at least this one looked a little like
Angel tonight. Sometimes they don't at all, and then I know I'm going crazy."

Willow stared at her, and Buffy caught the look, reddening.

"Sorry," she mumbled. "It's the heat. I'm having trouble standing it."

"I know," Willow said sympathetically. "With all your patrols and workouts
and stuff, I'm surprised you haven't passed out from heat stroke yet."

"See?" Buffy asked plaintively. "That's what I was telling Giles! He
doesn't believe that I could die from all the work I do." They shared a
knowing Giles-is-such-an-annoying-adult-sometimes look.

Willow reached across the table and touched one of Buffy's hands lightly.
"What did you mean about the guys?"

Buffy shrugged. "I see them everytime I come here. Well, and a couple of
times when I haven't. I guess I'm hallucinating or something because I miss
him so much. But, really, it's probably the heat. It's disgusting. Way too
sticky and hot. I wish it was like it was last Christmas," she said
wistfully.

"It was almost as hot as it is now!" Willow laughed.

"No," Buffy corrected. "I mean, on Christmas Day. With the snow. It was
sort of a miracle. That was nice, wasn't it?"

Willow's eyes traveled to Oz, who was standing at the bar, talking to Xander.
She smiled. "It was nice. Better than nice."

Buffy checked her watch, then stood. "I need to go. I only stopped by for a
few minutes to say hi before patrol. School work really puts a cramp in my
social life," she grinned. Her face got serious; her eyes looked faraway.
"I had fun in the snow. I wish it could be like that again, that's all."

Willow watched after her as she walked away. She smiled sadly. "I'll see
what I can do."
* * * * * *

Willow knocked softly on Giles's door. After a few minutes, it opened a
crack, and then wider when he realized it was her. "Willow," he said in
surprise, holding his robe tightly around him. "What are you doing here? Is
there something you need?"

Willow walked into his apartment with a nod. "Yep."

He ushered her over to the couch, and then sat down next to her. As she
watched him fumble for his glasses on the coffee table and put them on, she
felt bad for coming by without calling first.

"Well?" he prompted patiently. "It's rather late. I assume it's important?"

"It is," she said softly. "It's about Buffy."

Giles leaned forward. "Is she all right?"

"Oh, yeah," Willow assured him. "Sorry, it's not like that. She's not hurt
or anything. But she's... in bad shape, I think. I'm surprised I didn't
notice it before tonight. I mean, I know that she's been hurting over Angel,
but I didn't realize that it was still... And so much that she's... She's a
really good actress, you know?"

Giles exhaled heavily, lifting his head in weary agreement. "Yes, I'm afraid
I do. I thought she was feeling better of late, though."

"She might be," Willow said softly. "But I still think that 'better' is
pretty bad. And she's been hiding it under the guise of the heat getting to
her. Maybe that's why it never sank it until now."

"So what is it you need? Anything I can do..."

Willow smiled at him; gestured to the phone. "I need the number for another
miracle."
* * * * * *

Buffy sat on the headstone, swinging her legs gently. Absently, she wiped
her brow with the back of her hand, grimacing at the heat. She glanced down
at the fresh grave in annoyance. Did demons never run on time anymore?

With a sigh, she hopped off and began pacing. Her thoughts went to Willow,
who had been avoiding her for the past week. Buffy wondered if she had
worried Willow with all the talk of the previous Christmas, all the talk of
Angel. It was precisely the reason Buffy tried never to talk about it.
Well, that and the fact that it simply hurt too much to think about, let
alone speak about to anyone.

She wondered briefly if it was possible that she actually *was* going insane
from being without him.

Suddenly the dirt on the grave spurted up, and a hand came clawing up. Buffy
yawned, bored, as the vampire worked his way out of his tomb. When he was
finally above the dirt, she took a relaxed stance.

Angel leaving was tough on her. The heat was tough on her. A lowly minion,
she could handle.

The vampire looked up in surprise; his eyes locked with hers. "I didn't know
that they had to-your-door service for vampires," he grinned, chuckling in a
coarse voice.

Buffy shrugged. "I'm the only game in town."

The vampire raised his eyebrows and moved toward her. Buffy rolled her eyes
spun, elbowing him the the stomach. She turned back around to face him, and
slid the stake comfortably into his chest as he tried standing.

He didn't have a chance.

With another yawn, Buffy turned around, intending to leave. She wondered who
the guy would be that night, if she would see him.

A voice stopped her. "That was pretty smooth. A bored Slayer equals
trouble, I think."

Buffy closed her eyes, tears coming into them. Her hands dropped to her
sides, and she inhaled slowly, knowing that if she didn't control herself,
she would surely hyperventilate. "Angel?" she whispered into the air.

When silence greeted her, a dull sadness closed over her heart; the sadness
of a girl who once had wishes made of crystals and beautiful dreams made of
angels and stars. The sadness of a girl who had realized that wishes were
something you believed in when you were little, and dreams were only things
that happened when you were asleep.

Smooth, cool arms slid around her, and Buffy started at the feeling and
familiarity. A mouth tickled her ear. "I shouldn't be doing this right now."

A slow smile crept over her face. "Doing what?"

"Touching you. Being this close."

Buffy turned around to face him, but didn't open her eyes. "What if you're
not really doing it? What if this is just a dream?"

Angel kept his arms tightly around her. "Then I guess we're both asleep," he
whispered.

"We dream together too much," she said, a hint of laughter coming into her
voice.

He nodded, his forehead touching hers. "I was going to say that we don't do
it enough."

"I like that better," she confirmed, leaning her weight against him, cuddling
into his hard chest. She buried her face against his shirt, hiding her
tears, and he lifted her chin back up with the tip of one finger.

"Why are you here?"

She still didn't look at him, but she could feel his smile.

"A certain witch friend of yours thought I might carry some sort of miracle
quality to me that could change the weather. I wasn't too sure, but I was
willing to give it a try," he explained.

"Maybe you do," she said quietly, willing the air to grow cool.

"Buffy?"

"Mmm?"

"I want to kiss you."

"Good."

Finally, she opened her eyes and looked at him, and he drowned in the depths
of them. They shared a secret smile, a smile that only the most intimate
kinds of lovers know, and she lifted her mouth to meet his.

Their lips connected for a long moment. Buffy's arms curled around him, her
fingers sinking into his hair, pawing at his neck lightly. He pressed her
closer, smelling her unique Buffy-scent that was warm and cool and full of
air and sun, and he smiled against her mouth, licking at her lips gently.
She opened her mouth for him and his tongue played with hers, hotly, sweetly
searching for an answer to an unasked question.

Buffy nodded to whatever he was asking, saying yes for always, as the kiss
went on and on.

The crickets around them slowly stopped chirping, and the temperature made a
sudden dip. A cool breeze wafted around them, clasped in each other's arms,
and ruffled Buffy's hair away from her face.

A light, misty rain began falling.

Buffy and Angel noticed at the same moment, but neither of them paid any
attention to the coolness or the soft patters against their skin. They had
both gotten what they had prayed for.

But it didn't seem to matter just then.

The End

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