“Hey, Buffy, how are you?” Willow asked as Buffy took her usual seat next to her friend.
“Yeah, Giles told us what you have to do. Bummer about Dead Boy,” Xander put in, looking anything but unhappy. Willow hit him and turned to her friend with a concerned look. Buffy still looked dazed, several hours after the news had been given. She’d had a test first period that morning, and she knew she flunked. Her mother would kill her, but at the moment that was the last thing on her mind. She was never going to meet Angel.
“I’m okay, I guess. I can’t believe it. I don’t know what to do,” Buffy said. Willow reached over and squeezed her hand, obviously unsure of how to comfort something like that.
“How did it go with Angel last night?” she asked finally.
“All right. I asked him about when he was turned into a vampire. Remember him coming up to me in a dark street? Well that’s how he met Darla. Exactly the same way,” Buffy said, shivering.
“Oh, that’s horrible!” Willow exclaimed.
“Freaky,” Xander agreed in a slightly subdued tone. Willow cast a look of annoyance at him, then proceeded to ignore him. Xander sighed and turned around in his seat, hoping this would be over soon and they could get on with their lives. Buffy was staring at her desk, wishing there was some other way. Any other way.
“I could just keep going back until the vortex dissipates,” Buffy suggested.
“You could, but would that be fair? I mean, for one thing, if Angel gets turned into a vampire, you might have to kill him anyway. And you can’t just sit there and let him kill his family. Think of Angel. Wouldn’t he be happier living a normal life?” Willow asked hesitantly, knowing the pain she was causing her friend, but needing to say it anyway. Because the answer was yes. Of course he would be happier. But would Buffy?
*What a horrible thing to think!* Buffy told herself. How could she sacrifice Angel’s happiness–not to mention his whole life–AND countless other lives, for her own happiness? And if she did that, would she be able to live with herself?
“Willow, I do–” Buffy was cut off by the bell. Mr. Peters turned to the class and swept the room with his eyes. Buffy looked down to avoid his gaze. She wondered what a normal person would see there.
It was dark again, suddenly. It took Buffy’s eyes a moment to adjust. She was outside of the tavern, waiting. Waiting. It could be that night. She didn’t know exactly how the date corresponded with normal time. Was this the twenty sixth or the twenty seventh? Or was it even January?
A wave of hope swept through her. The time could be totally different! It could be some other date entirely!
Could be, but probably wasn’t. It was most likely the same day of the year. Why would that change? Of course, there was no real reason for the day she had arrived. Was there? Maybe that had been the twenty seventh and she already had prevented Darla from biting Angel, simply by being there. But that wasn’t possible. Angel was still around in her time, so as of this moment he had become a vampire. The only thing that could change that now was Buffy.
She waited for another hour before Angel emerged. He was obviously drunk, but there was no one other than Buffy in the street and he did not stop to talk to any beautiful ladies. She followed him home, just in case, saw him go inside, then made her way back to Sophia’s house. She climbed back in the window and was relieved to find that no one had noticed her missing. Well why should they?
As quietly as she could Buffy got undressed and laid her clothes exactly where they had been before. She climbed into bed, the stakes safely concealed beneath her pillow, and closed her eyes. All she could see was Angel’s face. Angel who she might never know. Buffy turned her face into her pillow and cried herself to sleep.
The classroom clock said 12:00 when Buffy came back. Everyone knew the school clocks were three minutes fast though, so that meant she’d been right about the time. She had second lunch that day though, and still had a half an hour to wait. She didn’t know if she could do that.
She’d asked Sophia about the date *that morning*. Angel’s sister gave her a strange look and told her it was the twenty seventh day of January, in the year of our lord seventeen fifty three. Which happened to be the same day Angel had been turned into a vampire. Which meant she had almost twenty four hours (twelve in each time) until she had to banish Angel from her life forever. How could she do it? But how could she not?
Buffy raised her hand, and waited for Mr. Peters to call on her. She didn’t think she could sit in class for another half an hour.
“Yes Miss Summers?” Mr. Peters asked, noticing her.
“I don’t feel good. Can I go to the nurse?” Buffy asked. Willow shot a questioning glance at her and Buffy gave a tiny nod. Peters was watching suspiciously.
“I’ll expect a note from the nurse when you get there,” Peters said. Buffy nodded at once, then gave him a tiny smile of thanks and picked up her bag, trying her best to look sick as she left the room. It wasn’t that hard; she FELT sick. Not in the regular way, of course, but in the *my world is ending* kind of sick.
Buffy stopped at the nurse’s office and made some excuse about having food poisoning from the night before. She didn’t have a temperature, but the nurse said she could lay down for a few minutes, then go back to class. By the time the nurse had written her out a note it was lunch and Buffy dropped the note off on Peters’ desk before going straight to the library where Willow and Xander would be waiting. Not that she really wanted to see them. She really wanted to see Angel, but that was impossible right now. He was holed up safely in his basement apartment, where light couldn’t ever reach. The human Angel, the one of the past could have been with her. But he was in another time, and could never be in hers. Never. Soon the only Angel she had wouldn’t be with her either. Wouldn’t even exist.
“Are you feeling all right?” Willow asked as Buffy came in. “As well as you could expect. I mean, I’m not sick or anything, but I have to . . . you know,” Buffy replied quietly. Xander, hearing her voice, peeked from around a bookcase.
“She’s finally here! How’d it go?” he asked.
“I didn’t do it yet, if that’s what you mean. I left there a little before noon on the twenty seventh. Next time I go back, tonight, I’ll have to do it. Probably. If he stays in the tavern long enough it might be after that. I don’t know,” Buffy said, sitting at a table and looking down at the floor.
“Hey, Buff?” Xander said quietly. Buffy looked up at him. “I’m sorry.” Buffy looked down again, and nodded.
“I know,” she said. “Not sorry about Angel, but sorry for me.” Xander opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again.
“I’m sorry about Angel!” Willow exclaimed. “He saved our lives, remember? And he’s been really nice. We could have died if not for him! Hey, what if we do die because he’s not there? That would be bad!” Buffy looked up. If there was another reason. An excuse . . . *Please let there be an excuse,* she thought.
“Very bad,” she agreed. “Maybe I shouldn’t do it.”
“You have to,” Xander broke in. Both girls looked at him in amazement. “Okay, so I’m the last guy that’s going to sacrifice myself, but think of all the people Angel killed! His whole family, and lots of others, plus he made Spike and Drusilla and we’d all be a lot better off if they weren’t around!” Willow looked down, then back to Buffy.
“He’s right. I mean, I don’t want to die of poison gases, but there’s a lot more lives at stake. Besides, we might not have died. Been unconscious certainly, but someone might have rescued us,” Willow pointed out.
“Yeah. Once you defeated invisible girl you would have come and found us,” Xander said. Buffy turned away, not able to meet there eyes. Her one hope, dashed. And what if they all died? How could she go on without her Watcher and her friends, not even mentioning Angel who she would lose for certain? She couldn’t do it. No one could. Being Slayer was bad enough, but being responsible for all these lives? For everyone she held dear?
“It’ll be all right Buffy,” Willow said behind her. “I promise.” But how could she know? How could any of them know?
For the second night in a row Buffy knocked on Angel’s door, though this time she waited not a moment past dark. He opened it and looked suprised to see her. She bit her lips to keep them from trembling and tried to blink back the tears in her eyes. This was the last time she had with him. After this, she would be alone.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” she whispered, “but please Angel, just hold me?” He nodded, his face very serious and took her into his arms, closing the door behind her and half-carrying her to the couch were they sat. Buffy buried her face in his shirt, feeling the familiar warmth, smelling the particular scent that was Angel. They sat like that for a long time, and Buffy began to cry. Never again would he just hold her. And he didn’t know. He had no idea and she couldn’t tell him. What if he said she was worth all the pain? What if he said she wasn’t?
There were just a few tears at first, creeping out of her eyes and onto his shirt, and then a flood of them, soaking him. He held her, whispering soothing words she couldn’t quite catch into her hair while she cried. Never again.
When her sobbing quieted she pulled away just far enough to look at him. She needed to see his face. To memorize it, so she could hold it in her heart forever, even if she wouldn’t remember it the next day. Wouldn’t even remember that it had existed.
He brushed the tears from her cheeks with a calloused thumb, his eyes catching hers and holding them. There was a question in his dark eyes. A question she couldn’t answer.
“I love you,” she said softly. “I love you more than anything in the world. You ARE the world to me.” He was silent, watching her, looking deep into her green eyes.
“I . . . I love you too,” he said after a very long moment. “I love you. I tried not to, but I couldn’t help it.” He had never said that to her before. She had known it of course. She had known it forever, but it meant something to hear him say it. She stored that in her heart too, knowing that tommorrow she wouldn’t remember the words or the voice that said them.
“What’s wrong?” Angel asked. “What happened?” Buffy felt the tears coming again.
“I can’t tell you,” she sobbed. “I can tell you anything but that.”
“Is your mother hurt?” She shook her head, and kept shaking it as he kept asking. “Giles? Willow? Xander? It’s not Spike or Dru?”
“No, no, no, no, and no. I wish it was Spike or Drusilla. I hate them but at least I can . . . can fight them,” Buffy said raggedly.
“Can’t I do anything? If you can’t fight it maybe I–” Buffy shook her head and he stopped.
“You can’t help. I wish you could. I wish you could so much. Oh Angel! I love you!” Buffy cried, not knowing what else to say. He had to know. He had to know that she was doing this because she loved him. Because whatever he might say he would be happier as a human. She had seen the eyes of a human Angel, and the eyes of a vampire with a soul. The joy in the first far outweighed that in the second. In the second was mostly sorrow, in fact, with just flashes of joy and light from Buffy. She had seen him in the sunshine. How could she let that be taken from him? “Kiss me,” she said finally. He did. He kissed her as he never had before and never would again. She’d been kissed before. She‘d had a boyfriend in L.A., after all. But that was nothing like kissing Angel. He was everything she had ever dreamed of. It was like fireworks going off in her head.
Never again.
Without consciously thinking about it Buffy’s hands slid down his chest and pulled at his plain white shirt. He helped her, breaking the kiss only to pull it over his head. Buffy let it slide to the floor and ran her hands over his chest. She looked up and met his eyes.
“Are you sure?” Angel asked, very softly. And she was. Because this was her last chance to be with him, and she loved him. She wanted this. She knew it; had known it for a long time. She wanted him.
Buffy nodded.
He kissed her again, his hands sliding her jacket off her shoulders, reaching to the zipper on her dress. He scooped her into his arms suddenly, holding her easily, and stood. She rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes; kept them closed even when she felt the softness of his bed beneath her, as his mouth was on hers again. The tears came anyway, and refused to stop. This was her only chance, all the time she had. She loved him and soon he would be gone forever.
And then her clothes were gone, and so were his, and there was only the two of them, and the tears pouring down her cheeks. His hands were on her everywhere, and his mouth was sweeter than it had ever been, but there was always the pain there, the sorrow that she could not banish, even with Angel. Especially with Angel. Because this was the last time.
There was joy in being together, joy in their love and in the velvet feel of their skin touching. There was joy in their joining, though it was tempered with pain, and there was joy in the ending, but there was never a moment of joy unadulterated. Because the tears would not stop. Buffy knew that no matter how much joy there was now, this would be the only time. She would never have this again. And Angel only knew that something was very, very wrong, even through the rightness of what happened between them. And in that sorrow was the anchor that held him to the world, though neither knew that.
Buffy fell asleep in his arms after, her sorrow forgotten for a moment in joy and exhaustion. Angel could not sleep though, and lay awake, fighting a battle with a demon. Joy battled with worry for the woman in his arms. The small, beautiful woman who was really a girl and whom he loved more than he had ever loved anything or anyone. She was his life, and she trusted him so much that she would sleep in his arms. She loved him so much she had given herself to him. Her whole beautiful, fiery self. And there was something wrong, something that hurt her. Something he could not fix for her.
Worry won. And so did Angel.
Buffy stirred, felt him beside her and smiled; remembered, and cried.
“Shh, it’s all right. It’ll be all right,” he murmered, cradling her in his arms. She shook her head, ands the tears kept coming. They’d been coming all night. She hadn’t known she could cry so much.
“It won’t be all right. Not ever. You are so beautiful and wonderful and I love you so and it can’t be all right. Never,” Buffy sobbed against his bare chest. She was undressed too, and that brought back all the memories. All the wonderful memories. It had been more than she’d ever imagined . . . And it was the last time. The only time.
She kissed him again, and lay with her head on his chest, his arms around her and their legs entangled for a long time. If only she could stay there forever . . . but she couldn’t. Even if she never got up, she would be pulled away, and when she did come back, it wouldn’t be to Angel’s apartment, to his bed, to his arms. It would be . . . probably to her own bed, she supposed. She couldn’t know. She couldn’t know anything.
“Do you have to go home?” Angel asked after a moment. Buffy propped herself up on his chest to look at him and shook her head. There were no tears now. For the moment.
“I called earlier and told my mom I was staying over at Willow’s to study,” Buffy said. Angel gave her a startled look and Buffy smiled slightly.
“I didn’t plan this, if that’s what that look means. I just . . . didn’t want to go home,” Buffy said. Which was true. She didn’t. She couldn’t. She couldn’t go anywhere, because wherever she went it wouldn’t help. Nothing would.
“Why not?” Angel asked. Buffy lay down again and closed her eyes, unable to answer. There was a long silence, and then he slid out of the bed. “I’ll turn off the lights so you can sleep.” She almost told him she wouldn’t be able to sleep anyway–which was true–then realized she should at least try. After all, she had another twelve hours to be awake and then she had to kill a vampire. Even if she knew she wouldn’t be able to, she should try.
The tears started again as she watched him. She started to smile, seeing his lithe body which could do such things to her . . . but only the tears came, because whatever he could do, this was the last time.
“Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” Buffy whispered, suprising herself. Shouldn’t it be Willow quoting that line?
“What?” Angel asked, turning. He switched the lights off and she could see the shadow of him coming towards her again.
“Nothing,” Buffy whispered louder, trying to block the tears that burned in her eyes. She had cried so much already, surely she was done. But when he climbed in beside her and she felt his flesh again, she knew she was only beginning.
Buffy snuggled against him, trying to rid herself of the chill that grasped her, though the blankets were very warm. He turned and took her in his arms and Buffy closed her eyes and tried to sleep. There was a clock beside his bed though, and all she could see when she closed her eyes were the numbers on it. 9:49. Two hours and eight minutes left with Angel. With HER Angel. Forever.
She did try to sleep, she really did. She’d tried to take a nap that afternoon as well, but it obviously hadn’t worked. She had to stay awake for twelve more hours, and then fight a vampire. Even though, that long ago, Darla probably wasn’t that powerful, and she would have Angel to help her.
Except Angel, as a human, probably couldn’t fight. She’d almost forgotten that. She’d wanted to forget. She could only hope that she would have a few moments after she killed Darla to say good-bye to the only Angel that would ever know her then. She was going to tell him that she was going back to America, and that she loved him. So he would know, even if he never knew her really. Even if she couldn’t have her Angel, in who’s arms she lay at the moment.
She thought about Angel while she waited for sleep to come or the clock to change. She thought about the feel of his hands on her face and body, his mouth on hers. She thought about his eyes, and the sorrow in them, and the joy she could put there. She would never see them lighting in that particular way as he laughed at her teasing, or leaned down to kiss her . . . She would never have that again. But he would have the sunlight.
She almost drowsed, lost in memories of Angel. Lost in the feel of his body, holding her. His breathing was steady, soft. Buffy thought he was asleep. Thought until she opened her eyes and it was 11:56 and she made a sound that was half sorrow and half terror. One minute left. And then she found that he was awake because his arms tightened and he bent his head to kiss her again.
Even as she kissed him for the last time, Buffy felt the tears pouring down her face, their salty taste bringing bitterness even to the taste of Angel’s mouth on hers.
The blackness tore Angel away, leaving Buffy alone. Forever.