Author: Jill
Disclaimer: let me check ... nope, still don't own them. Sigh! There are several
lines taken from the Angel-season-three episode "Heartthrob". They're not mine.
They were written by wonderful authors who (sometimes) do a splendid job for the
two shows. I'm not making any money off this. The sky was clear, the moon shining brightly, the stars were sparkling as if
there was a competition tonight. It was a night made for lovers, for soft,
whispered words, for gentle caresses, for passion, love, for bliss. The air was
warm, the wind breezing slightly, caressing the skin like a lover, whispering
promises.
Angel groaned and leaned his head against the tree he was sitting under. He
should stop tormenting himself. The same moment he laughed involuntarily. He had
mastered the art of tormenting himself. The laugh broke out again. The sound
wasn't a happy one, as was the man. Or rather, the vampire. He hadn't been happy
for a long time.
The same moment he thought the words, he knew they were a lie. He had been happy.
For a few short months he'd been as happy as he'd never believed possible. And
she had given it to him. A girl who bore the weight of the world on her shoulders, had made them broad enough to give him peace for a while, to let him
feel love.
She had taken him back with open arms after he'd left her, hurt her, even
betrayed her. It was how he felt about his one night with Darla. A betrayal.
Although he knew intellectually that he and Buffy had been separated, that his
thoughts were nonsense, that what he and Darla had shared had nothing to do with
love, and all with despair, the feeling of betrayal wouldn't leave.
She had been with a guy for a night, and with Riley, and still his night with
Darla felt worse. Maybe because she was his sire, maybe because they'd shared
more than a century, maybe because his demon had rejoiced when being joined with
hers, or maybe because he had sex with her although still loving another. He
hadn't just betrayed Buffy. He'd betrayed himself. The love he felt for Buffy.
Their love for each other. And maybe the fact that he'd fucked Darla while she'd
held her dead mother made it even worse.
Angel closed his eyes, became aware of the soft breeze for the first time. He
could feel the wind, could see the stars and the moon, was still alive. It was a
mystery to him. Somehow he had expected he would cease to exist the moment she
did. But he hadn't. He was still there, still … breathing. Sure, he didn't need
to, but he'd become so accustomed to it, he even did it while he slept. Maybe it
was an unconscious act, a need to prove he was human. He had never tried to
understand it, and he didn't try now.
During the last couple of agonizing months he'd often found himself wishing for a
simple, uncomplicated existence. A demon's existence. A demon wouldn't suffer
about this. He would just go on, and not look back. A human couldn't. His human
soul cried out for its other half, stole his sleep, made him weary and lost. He'd
stumbled through the mountains for weeks, slept in barns, or sometimes even in
caves. Hadn't cared for anything or anyone.
Until he'd reached the monastery. It belonged to Tibetan monks, who were well
known for their spiritual knowledge. Angel didn't even know why he went there.
Did he really think some meditating could help? Could really ease the pain he was
feeling inside, that left him emotionally empty? No, he didn't really think that.
He hadn't thought a lot at all the last weeks. He'd been too numb to do any
thinking.
And the monks had somehow sensed it. Had realized he was in deep pain, not able
to share his emotions, not willing to let anybody in, determined to deal with it
on his own. They had let him. Nobody talked to him, unless he talked first.
Nobody expected him to speak. They expected him to work though. So he had taken
over several evening chores, like cleaning the halls of the monastery. And they
expected him to train with them. Angel didn't mind it. That way he stayed in
shape, and he learned a few new tricks, he hadn't known before.
Those training sessions temporarily took the edge off the pain, but it didn't
help really, and somehow Angel couldn't help thinking that instead of getting
better, the emptiness inside of him got worse. He felt more lost than ever.
Thinking about L.A. or Sunnydale was too painful to even consider going back. The
familiar faces would only remind him of what he'd lost, and would never gain
again.
He couldn't stand it. God, he couldn't deal with this. He knew he had a
responsibility towards his friends, especially after letting them down before,
who were expecting him to come back. He knew he couldn't run away forever, but
the mere thought of seeing them, made his stomach heave. Seeing Cordy laugh would
only remind him that Buffy never would again. God, she had only been 20. Who
could have been so cruel to do this to her, he wondered, not for the first time
doubting the Powers.
He remembered the day of her mother's funeral. Remembered her words about death
and how unfair it was that her mother had to go so early. And Joyce had been
twice Buffy's age.
Roughly he rubbed his hands over his face. They would all expect him to go on as
if nothing had happened, and he couldn't do it. A part of him had been ripped
away, and nothing, nothing, would be again as it had been. All the time Buffy had
been in Sunnydale with Riley, Angel had thought things couldn't get worse. He'd
been wrong, he knew that now.
Of course it was unfair to think about his friends the way he did. None of them
expected him to go on as if nothing had happened. When he'd returned to L.A.,
they had been compassionate, their faces lined with worry. But had it been about
him, about the pain he was feeling, or had it been the worry he'd snap,
especially after meeting his inner demon first hand in Pylea? No, they were
worried about him, hadn't said a world when he'd announced he had to go away for
a while, try to find a way to deal with it. Wesley had bought him maps, which was
unnecessary because Angel had been here before, although his intents hadn't been
as peaceful then. And Cordelia had searched the net, found the exact location of
the monastery, had e-mailed the monks, announced his coming. Yes, they had been
worried, but somehow he had been too numb to let it matter. What could matter
anyway, when his light was irrevocably gone.
Sighing again, a noise from behind startled him. He was on his feet in a flash,
ready to fight, the sword he carried with him all the time clutched in his hand,
when he saw it was the little, old monk who'd welcomed him the day of his
arrival. Running a hand through his hair, he cleared his throat, his voice
sounding rough from disuse, "Oh .. it's you."
"Yes," the monk said in Tibetan. Angel knew the language, had once spoken it
fluently, but now he had a hard time remembering all the words.
The monk gestured for him to sit down again, then sat down himself, his old bones
cracking. "I was looking for you," he said after a moment, smiling slightly at
the sword Angel still held in his hand.
Putting it down on his lap, the vampire tilted his head, "It's the first time one
of you has been seeking me out."
Slowly the old man nodded, "That is right. But that doesn't mean we didn't notice
you were in great pain. We also knew that you needed time to deal with it on your
own. But I think it is now come the hour to talk."
Thinking about the many little things the monks had done for him, Angel felt he
couldn't outright wish the old man to hell. Instead he said, "I know, you want to
help. But you can't. Believe me, nothing you could say, would help."
The monk smiled, "No. But maybe it helps to tell."
Angel looked at the other man wearily, then thinking that nothing could make this
worse, he sighed, and as if led by another force, he began to speak.
*
Angel just sat there, gazing at the sword in his lap. Not looking up, he said,
"We were ... somewhere ... away ... enjoying life, laughing," his voice broke and
he needed some time to collect himself again. "We were having fun ... more or
less ... while she..."
The monk frowned for a moment, seeing the bowed head of his guest, the defeat
that surrounded him, the hopelessness. "So you're resenting that you live, while
she ... doesn't," he said quietly, watching the other man's reaction. There was
only a minor one, he saw one hand flex into a fist, then relax again.
"I ... maybe," Angel admitted after a while, still not looking up. "I'm ... I
have a hard time understanding it." Finally he raised his head, his face not the
handsome anymore, the monk had seen before, but changed into demonic features,
the prolonged canines gleaming in the moonlight. "I'm a demon. I'm dead already.
It should have been me."
To Angel's utter surprise, the monk didn't even flinch when he saw his features,
and obviously his astonishment must have showed, because the holy man smiled,
"Ah, I understand. You wanted her to go through this instead."
At that the vampire's gaze sharpened, "NO," he protested instantly, forcefully.
"I wouldn't-," he stopped abruptly, stared at the monk, then his shoulders
sagged. "God, I don't know," he admitted, combing a hand through his hair. "I
don't know anymore what I want."
"Yes," the other man nodded slowly, "I can understand that. You are hurting my
friend. And you are resenting the fact that you're able to live although she is
gone. You even hate yourself for that. You need to find your inner peace. Your
inner balance." He stood up, his old bones cracking, then looked down at his
guest. "Come with me."
"Why?," Angel asked suspiciously.
The monk's lips twitched slightly, "I won't tell you, you have to come see for
yourself."
Watching the old man slowly shuffling his path towards a little building next to
the monastery, the vampires sighed, got up and followed. There was nothing to
lose. He'd already lost all he cared for.
*
Tara was worried. It didn't happen very often. Of course that wasn't entirely
true. She was worried ... often ... But now she was ... extremely worried.
Willow had been acting strange for a while now. For weeks. It had started about a
month after Buffy's death, and it was still increasing. Her lover was buried in
books the whole day long. Usually that wouldn't have worried Tara, but now Willow
didn't *stop* reading. At all.
Tara couldn't even remember the last time the redhead had slept more than an hour
when her eyes simply wouldn't obey anymore, and close on their own. Then Willow
would sleep. But it was never fitful, never deep.
She had tried to talk to Xander, but he was still hardly able to function having
lost his best friend as well, and with Giles still suffering in his own quiet
way, there was simply nobody she could go to. Spike was out of the question for
her. He might have helped Buffy, but his aura was still so dark, Tara shuddered
at the mere thought. And these days it was getting even darker.
She had tried to contact Angel, but according to Cordelia the vampire had left
L.A., and nobody knew where he went. He'd been expected to go to a monastery
in Tibet, but six weeks after Buffy's death he still hadn't reached it. The
brunette had sounded so worried over the phone Tara simply hadn't been able to
burden her with her own problems.
When Willow had brought up the idea to get the Buffybot to function, everyone had
been shocked at first, but soon understood the necessity of it. The Hellmouth in
Sunnydale was without real protection since Buffy was gone. Spike was helping of
course, but he was neither as skilled nor as determined as Buffy. He was trying
to be good, but couldn't deny his evil core.
So the idea of getting the Buffybot back to action was fine, and it seemed to
work quite nicely, but what worried Tara was the fact that her lover seemed to
become more and more obsessed with the robot. The whole day long she was trying
to find ways to fine-tune her, to make her more Buffy.
And now, Willow had started to look through certain books, Giles had always kept
away from her, and as it seemed, for a good reason.
"Hey," Tara reached out and tugged a hair behind the redhead's ear. "Aren't you
hungry?", she asked.
"No," came the instant reply, but Willow didn't even bother to look up.
"But it's almost ten o'clock. You haven't eaten since morning," the blond tried
to reason.
"I'm not hungry," her lover insisted, turning the page. "Just let me go."
Tara sighed inwardly. She hated confrontations. Especially with Willow, but it
seemed as if she didn't have a choice this time. "Are you really sure about what
you're doing there?"
Willow narrowed her eyes that were blazing with anger, "I *can* do this."
"It's not what I meant," her lover said softly, her own eyes dark with concern.
"Just a while ago Dawn wanted to bring Joyce back. And we didn't help her. And
now-"
"I'm doing it with Buffy," the redhead interrupted her. "Is that what you're
saying? That this isn't my business, that I shouldn't interfere? Well, I've got
some news for you, Tara. Buffy is my best friend. She is the slayer. And we need
her."
"You've got the Buffybot going," the blond reminded her gently. "She's doing her
work very well."
"Yeah," WIllow agreed, then frowned, "But she isn't Buffy." Tears formed in her
eyes, and she blinked rapidly, "Whatever I do, she'll never be Buffy. She was my
best friend, Tara, and she was but 20 years old. I cannot accept it. Not if I can
do anything about it."
The blond considered her next words for a long time, tried to chose them well,
but knew in advance, Willow would get angry, "Did you ever think about what Buffy
wants."
The redhead's eyes narrowed again, "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying," Tara started, tried a shaky smile, "That there's always a reason
people die-"
"Yeah, so their friends have to suffer," her lover shot at her angrily.
"No," the blond kept her voice deliberately quiet, gentle, "Because there's a
greater meaning. Something we might not be able to grasp. But we're not meant to
interfere with those things."
"Yeah?," Willow asked, her voice rising, "You're a witch too. We interfere with
nature on a daily basis. Why are you so concerned all of a sudden? Afraid that I
might divide my attentions between you and Buffy."
Tara gasped, "Wha- what are you …," her voice failed, she was shocked so deeply.
"N- no. Of c-course not. Buffy has always been your friend. I knew it before we
became ... intimate. Why should I be jealous? You never gave me reason to be. But
you're scaring me, Willow. You're getting so obsessed with this-"
"Obsessed?," the redhead tilted her head. "Yeah, well, those things happen if you
lose someone you care for." Suddenly her eyes turned speculative, "Do you love
me, Tara?," she asked.
Stunned by the question, Tara stared at her lover, "W-why, yes, of course."
"Then stop criticising me. Help me."
Tara met Willow's challenging gaze, daring her to doubt her actions again. She
looked at the other witch, her concern deeper than ever, but she didn't try to
say anything. Willow wouldn't listen anyway. But deep inside Tara had a feeling
what they were doing couldn't be right.
*****
She was looking the way she had when he'd last seen her. Beautiful, full of life,
full of energy, her eyes sparkling, they were looking at him filled with such
quiet peace, he was filled with a warmth he'd never felt before.
"Hi, Angel," she smiled at him, her lovely mouth curving up.
"Buffy." He knew his voice sounded breathless, but he didn't care. He didn't give
a damn if she could read all his feelings on his face, in his voice. All he
cared, was that she was near to him. Finally. He didn't even care that she wasn't
real. His eyes instantly filled with tears at the thought.
"Don't," she scolded softly, "Don't cry for me. There is no need to cry. I'm
happy, Angel. I'm happy and I'm without worry. I feel as if I've finally come
home."
"This is a dream, right?," he asked.
"It is," she confirmed, then amended, "And it isn't. It's ... complicated. Only
you are asleep. But I'm really here. You're not just dreaming it. We're meeting
through some kind of astral projection. They explained it to me, but I forgot all
about it. You know I never was good with all the technical stuff. Willow could
probably explain."
"So we're really talking."
"Yes."
"That's good ... really good," he told her, wanting to reach out and touch her,
hurting, because he knew it wasn't possible. He would give everything to touch
her again, only once. But he knew it wasn't going to happen.
"Yeah, it is," she agreed, smiling again, "But you aren't."
He had to look away from her knowing gaze, "How could I," he whispered. "With you
gone?"
"But you have to. My destiny has found its end. Yours hasn't."
"I can't accept this," he faced her again, not able to suppress the anger. "You
are talking as if you and I ... as if it meant nothing to you."
"That's not true," she objected, scowling at him, "You are talking nonsense. Of
course it meant something to me. It was what kept me going. But the
responsibility, being the Slayer, being the strong one, all the fights, the death
surrounding me, the darkness, and I don't mean the absence of sunlight, was
slowly breaking me apart. Everyone was pulling at me, and I couldn't stand it.
Here, nobody expects me to be anything but Buffy. It's ... wonderful."
The pain he felt at her words sliced through him like a sacred sword, put he
forced it down, "Is that why you didn't tell me the truth about Glory?," he
asked, not able to keep the hurt from his voice. "Did you just pretend being
happy while we were together, while secretly nursing a death wish?"
"NO," she replied forcefully, "No. Don't do that to yourself. I never wanted to
die. But now that it happened, I can live with it," she giggled slightly, "Well,
not actually live, but you get the point."
"Then why did you keep me out of it?," he asked, his voice pleading, "Why didn't
you tell me earlier? Call for me earlier? Confided in me? Together we might have
defeated her, saved Dawn, prevented ... it. You knew I'd-"
"I did," she cut him off softly. "That's why I didn't call you. You would have
come, I know. And gotten yourself killed instead. But it wasn't your destiny. It
was mine. Don't ask me how I know. I just did. Besides. I needed you to live. To look out for them. Something I'm no longer able to do. You are the only person I
trust to do it."
"Trust?," he echoed doubtfully.
"Yes." He saw her reach out her hand, as if to touch him, then pulled it back
sadly. "I wish I could touch you. Only once." She sighed, "Yes, I trust you. I
told you things I never told anyone else in my life."
"I trust you too. Completely," he replied
"I trust you to let go of me. For now. To go on, to do what you're meant to do."
He looked at her, her eyes he would never be able to forget, as long as he lived,
then shook his head sadly, "I don't know, Buffy. I don't know if I can do this -
without you."
"But you have to," she insisted, again cursing the fact that she was only some
weird image, not able to connect with him in flesh. "You have to do this - for
me. I trust you, Angel. You're the only one I ever really trusted, because you
always understood what was happening deep inside of me. If our love is worth
anything, you *have* to go on. You can't just give up."
He shook his head again, "Buffy-"
"I know," her voice was like an intimate caress, soothing him, taking away the
edge of his pain, and for a short moment Angel wondered if they were teaching
those things there, wherever it was. "But I'm happy here. Well, as happy as I can
be without you. But it's so peaceful here. Fear simply doesn't exist. And I'm
going to wait for you, to join me. The time will come, trust me. Just not right
now."
"But when?," he asked desperately. How should he be able to live years,
centuries, without her, he wondered. At the moment it seemed simply impossible.
"That's not for us to know," she smiled again, her voice caressing him for the
second time. "But we'll be together. You have to believe ..." her voice began to
fade, the connection breaking.
Angel felt panic rising in him. She couldn't go. Mustn't go. He wasn't ready...
"Buffy", he shouted.
"... believe ... believe ... believe...," it sounded through is dream.
With her name on his lips he bolted upright, "BUFFY!"
***
Angel gazed at the horizon where the sun was drowning in the darkness of the
night. The moon was up already but still too pale to be seen with human eyes. His
vampire vision, however, had no problems, noticing it.
It had been three days since the monk had taken him to the little house next to
the monastery, had proposed for him to try to relax and dream, had given him some
strange tasting tea, and had initiated his meeting with Buffy in the dreamworld.
It had been pure agony at first, to wake up, realising she was really gone, and
that she didn't even mind, that she had looked happier than ever. But slowly he
had come to accept it. Had dealt with the fact that she was at peace where she
was. His Catholic upbringing helped. That and his own experiences with death,
with losing his soul and regaining it, made him understand certain things, made
him believe.
Not for a moment he doubted it had really been her he had been talking to in the
dream. It might not have been her human shell, but it had been her, the part of
her that really counted, her soul. And he knew it because he had felt his own
soul reach out and touch hers, sighing in contentment for being joined with its
other half again.
After the first shock of the dream had faded, he could almost feel the peace
settling inside of him. And he knew it was exactly what the monk had intended to
happen. To make him find his inner peace, his inner balance. The question was,
now that he found it, what would he do with it?
*
Angel looked around the room, seeing the red-robed monks lying on the ground,
when the old Tibetan monk came to his side. "What happened?", he asked, gazing at
the dead bodies behind the vampire.
"Demon monks," Angel replied, snorting slightly, then turned to look at the dead
monks again. And suddenly he realised that his work wasn't over.
He turned back to the monk who had induced his dream that had led him to Buffy. A
dream that had saved him when he'd been on the verge of giving up. The monk's
eyes were concerned, understanding, and for the first time in months Angel felt a
smile form on his lips. He patted the other man's shoulder, "I'm leaving
tomorrow," he said. "Thanks for everything."
His response was another smile, "That's good, my friend. We will miss you."
Angel thought about the demons he had been fighting and his smile widened, "Yeah.
I will miss you too, my friend." It was good to smile, to finally be able to feel
again. "But I can't stay. There's somewhere I have to be. I'm going home."
END
Go to Midnight Sun
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: B/A (strong in this part!), and the usual pairings from the show
Distribution: my site (http://www.never-ending-love.de), Land of Denial, if you
have any of my stories, take it; anybody else tell me where it goes
Summary: Set after the end of seasons 2/5. After staying in Sunnydale for several
days Angel takes off for location unknown. While he tries to find a way to live
with what happened to Buffy, their friends are struggling with other problems.
This is set into canon, in an attempt to make the whole series more B/A-friendly.
But don't expect too many smootchies!
Timeline: this takes place during the break between seasons, and deals with stuff
we never got to see on the show. I've taken references from canon, but mostly
this is my own imagination.
Spoilers: the whole B/A-canon to be sure, follows loosely "Midnight Angel",
"Midnight Whispers", "Midnight Rainbow", "Midnight Hour", "Midnight Memory",
"Midnight Protector", "Midnight Letter", "Midnight Encounters", "Midnight Eyes,
"Midnight Lovers", "Midnight Kiss", "Midnight Song", and "Midnight Rose ". You
should probably read it to understand this. And you should have seen season 5/2
or at least read the transcripts (http://www.psyche.kn-bremen.de), or you won't
know what they're talking about.
Feedback: oh yes, please
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