For a very, very long time, Angel had been weak. An insignificant creature, struggling to survive and failing miserably, sustaining his voracious vampiric appetite on the blood of rats, which proved to be a prey more elusive, than the hunter was effective. For 90 years, or more, Angel had been a miserable, desolate thing. He had been pathetic, and he knew this. He had suffered through incredible, desperate, soul-tearing anguish, that was his private reparation for the terror and tragedy he had personally caused. It was his only cause for existance, the only thing that prevented him from meeting the sunlight one morning. The entire reason for his unlife, was pain.
Until one night, a demon had come to him, and shown him his future.
She had been beautiful, even then. Perfect, gleaming in the sunlight like gold, or some elusive, fae substance even more precious. Carefree. And very, very much alive. He'd been terrified by her, by her grasp on life, by his reaction to her. By the ferocious need that consumed him when he saw her. This, he knew at once. This was his future, his destiny, his love.
So often he'd had to remind himself how young she was. How inexperienced. Angel had lived for centuries, and though he deplored the memories of his time as Angelus, he still had them. He should have been more prepared to handle the desperate passion that wove its way between him and the so-young Buffy Summers. But he had been as stunned and overwhelmed by it as she had. The drunken lout he'd been as a mortal had no experience with this soul-deep love, and Angelus had always taken, never given. As a result, Angel was as unprepared for the intensity of their relationship as Buffy.
It was for Buffy, and only for her, that he had become strong again. He had ceased to be the pathetic creature that he had been, and began living again, not just surviving. It had taken time, but by the time they met in person, months later, he almost respected himself again. He still existed in the torment of his past, but no longer in a nadir of despair that consumed him. Angel could live again, could appreciate the beauty of the world around him.
Over the past three years, so much had happened between them. His heart still cringed each time he remembered the things he had done to her as Angelus. The torment he had caused her. And it rose in joyous disbelief as he recalled how willingly she had forgiven him, had opened her arms to him again. It had taken time, but they had begun to approach a place where they could be together again. To be happy.
And then he'd realized the mistake he'd been about to make. Her fascination over the Prom had just emphasised it. She was still a child. She was eighteen, for heaven's sake. He'd had a bicentenial. He'd berated and tormented himself for stealing Buffy's youth, her carefree ease. How could they live together, when she was so young? She was a creature of daylight, he of night. What right did he have to take from her the chance for true happiness? For a life, a real life.
He had to leave. It was the only answer, the only honorable and respectable thing to do. Angel couldn't stay in Sunnydale, and
not be with Buffy. The past year had made him realize that. Their fervent vows to remain 'just friends' had been broken time and again, the passion and love that lay between them crossing all boundaries. So he must leave.
The pain of the impending meeting - the last of its kind - made Angel feel weaker than he ever had before. His hands trembled, his legs threatened to collapse beneath him, and he felt as though he were suffocating. Which was a ridiculous sensation for a vampire to have, seeing as he hadn't breathed in over two centuries. But he couldn't deny the feeling. Angel paced restlessly as he awaited her arrival. She knew he was leaving tonight. Would she come? She had to come. The parting would be painful, but surely, surely, she wouldn't just let him go without seeing him again?
Angel's frantic pacing paused a beat. She would come. He knew it in his blood. The blood that separated them, that made him what he was, and could never be. Never again be her lover, never be her husband, the father of her children.
A sunlit creature hovered uncertainly beneath the moonlight, indecision etched into her blue eyes as she glanced behind her, resisting the urge to run. Maybe, maybe if she didn't show, he wouldn't leave?
Don't be stupid, something snapped inside her head. Angel was leaving. Her heart quivered a denial, as everything, every ounce of blood in her body, screamed in terror at that thought. Nononononono, she whimpered silently. I can't handle that. Anything else, I can survive anything else, but not that, please God, not that....
These were familiar thoughts, the despair that settled miserably in her heart was well-known to her now. Buffy drew in a deep, shuddery breath and gathered the remnants of her courage, a courage threatening to abandon her at any moment. She must do it, and now, or he would leave and she would never see him again. That thought was so frightening that it galvanized her into action.
She crossed the courtyard with a lurch, clenching her hands into fists as she fought off memories of their times here. She could not be distracted by anything now. Buffy didn't yet know if she would survive this meeting. Pausing as she came to the entrance, her breath tangled in her throat as she saw him.
Oh Angel, my Angel... Her eyelids clenched tightly shut against the pain his presence caused her. I can't do this, she realized, and turned to leave.
"Buffy."
His voice spoke her name like a caress, reaching out to stop her in her cowardly evasion. Her body shook beneath a shudder, as she slowly turned. She kept her eyes downcast, unable just yet to meet those eyes. Those dark, perfect eyes that knew her so well, so intimately. That knew every curve of her body, and every hidden corner of her soul.
"You came," Angel whispered like a prayer. He'd known she would, but the relief that flooded him when he saw her surprised him. He saw the guilt flash over her honest face, and knew she'd been about to leave. Angel could only thank whatever force he believed in that he'd smelt her before she managed to escape. Her scent, so perfect and alive, had reached out to ensnare him. So familiar. How could he let this woman go? Her mother may believe her a child, but Angel knew her better. He'd made her a woman in body, but she was perhaps wiser than he in many other ways.
"I had to," Buffy mumbled, finally lifting her eyes to meet his. Her stomach sank as she did, because all of a sudden the conviction that she let him go peacefully, without begging him to stay, vanished. "Please -" she half-whispered, taking a quick step closer, then halting and closing her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said softly, frozen in place with horror and guilt. "It's your choice. I know that. You want to go, I have to... To let you go."
She felt a cold, familiar hand slide around hers, and let out a whimper. His other hand reached for her face, cupping her cheek and gently lifting her face to meet his. Angel's wavering conviction nearly faltered totally in the face of those eyes, already lined with tears she was struggling not to shed.
"No, Buffy..." His own voice broke as his emotions rise to the surface. "I understand how you feel. I feel the same."
The disbelief, swiftly concealed in her eyes, was quite nearly his undoing. She didn't believe him, he realized with a cold shudder down his spine.
"I do," he whispered fervently, his fingers clenching tightly around her. "I know it doesn't seem like it, but I hurt too."
Her eyes lifted again, and their souls locked together, darkness and light, night and day, each consuming the other. The passion of it threatened to burn them both into oblivion but instead, they slid into a familiar place; where the missing pieces of the one found their whole in the other.
"Angel..." she whispered, her fingers clutching convulsively at his. The need was shining in her eyes, obvious in her trembling lips. With a groan of anguish, Angel's arms pulled her to him, pulled her into the nebulous, transient safety of his arms. Buffy trembled in the embrace, even as she clutched him to her desperately. Angel felt the slender, tiny body shudder once, twice, and then heard her whimpered cries, muffled against his chest. The pain in those quiet sobs tore at his already bruised heart, and he joined her in her tears, the moisture sliding a familiar path down his cheeks.
His arms tightened around her, as did hers around him, and the two lovers cried together over the pain of their imminent separation. The two hearts wound around one another, sharing the anguish and their love burned brighter than it ever had before. Later, neither would be able to say how long they stood like that, buried in one another's embrace, in one another's touch. It was an endless time, necessary to both.
"I will be with you forever, Buffy," Angel whispered in her ear, as he pulled back from her a little. She seemed to resist that movement, wanting to hold him even closer. For a moment vampiric strength battled Slayer strength in a very subtle battle of wills, before Buffy moved back as well, still loosely held in his arms.
"I promise," he told her, his husky voice caressing her soul like his arms caressed her body. "In here..." and one hand broke free to rest over her heart. "I will be with you always, here."
Her lower lip trembled against an onslaught of further anguish, but she struggled for, and gained, control, lifting her own hand to rest over his chest. "And I'll be here," she whispered back, a promise, a vow.
"Always," Angel murmured, holding her close again. Always. It was the promise he'd written on her birthday present, the book of poems. Buffy remembered what else he'd said that day: that he wanted to keep her heart safe with his own. Now he would, but why, why did they have to be apart for him to do that?
For an eternity or more, they held one another, locking this one, perfect, blissful memory away for safekeeping. Something that they would pull out and remember when it got too hard being apart. When they woke from dreams of the other, or the memories got too strong, too painful. This perfect, bittersweet memory would sustain them, and they clung to it, afraid to let it end for it would mean their end.
But time is relentless, and cares nothing for the heartbreak of two lovers trying to catch a few more precious seconds with each other. Angel pulled back slightly.
"I have to -"
"You have to go, I know." Buffy looked up at him, tears streaked down her face, and sniffled. "It just hurts so much," she whispered, her eyes watching him fiercely, needing to remember him perfectly. He would have photographs. She would only have memory.
"Remember me," his voice whispered by her ear. It send a tremor racing through Buffy, beating through her body. How could she forget him? He was her first love, her only love. Nobody else would ever make her feel the way she felt with him. She nodded blindly; remember him she would, for the rest of her life.
He didn't say anything more, he just released her. His arms slid away, and with the elusiveness of melting snow, he was gone. She wanted to reach for him again,
please just one more moment, but he was gone, stepping back towards the door.
She watched, and even as she watched he faded away. Her eyes tried to pierce the darkness, for just one moment longer of seeing him, watching him, being close to him. Feeling his eyes on her. She needed it, needed him. But the darkness swallowed him up, the darkness he had come from. And all she had was his voice, one last promise, carried to her on the winds.
"I love you Buffy."
He was gone, and she was alone. Buffy felt her legs buckle and she fell to the ground, terror bringing fresh tears, loss making her curl up around herself. As though, perhaps, if she were small enough, the pain would miss her, overlook her, and she wouldn't die of it. She wrapped her arms around herself, and sat looking out at the darkness that had taken him. Forever.
She was past denial, past anger. All there was was pain, and loss. In her heart was an emptiness that threatened to swallow her up if she let it. A dark abyss where she would be trapped if she surrendered. Instead, she concentrated fiercely on that last memory, that last touch, that last kiss. A sad, lost little smile shaped itself upon her lips, as she whispered the last words she would ever say to him.
"I love you, Angel."
