Author's Notes: Yep, I'm still alive! I will most likely not continue with A Thorn of Fate and Dangerous. With that said, there's a chance this one will go on (I have some possible ideas). We shall see. As far as timeline goes, it takes place after season three but before season one of Angel. As a forewarning, well, you just have to read. Reviews are appreciated. Enjoy!
Midnight fell upon the sleeping town of Sunnydale.
A lone wolf howled in the distance, filling the night with a mixture of regret and longing. It was an emotion someone like her would understand too well. A shudder rolled down her skin as she rubbed her bare arms for warmth.
The only time she remembered that sound was the night her world had turned upside down.
The night that would tear a piece of her heart and destiny forever.
With her mother safely tucked in, she began to pace along her bedroom window, purposefully averting her eyes from the closet door.
It was calling to her, wanting her to come forward.
She shook her head profusely.
Opening that door would spell deep trouble as far as her heart was concerned. She didn't need the memories of the recent past to resurface.
Anything but that.
She knew what the closet contained; what was buried underneath the pile of clothing; a jewelry box that had been untouched since the night.
She didn't need to remember. She didn't need to remember anything about him.
"Because I deserved someone who could take me in the light apparently," she muttered bitterly.
Wracking a hand through her hair, she stopped pacing and strode towards a radio, turning the knob over in hopes that a song would ease the hurt that was slowly blanketing her body despite her efforts.
Since their separation, she rarely allowed herself to deal with the wounds left behind.
They were not yet healed. Not in her heart at least.
She forced herself to suffer through the machinations, almost always on autopilot, pretending to her mother, Willow, Giles, and Xander that everything was fine; that nothing was out of the ordinary.
She was peachy keen, she'd tell them.
But even Cordelia herself became worried.
How she would cope in the years ahead…she didn't know.
To close that chapter of her life and go on living…
She instantly rejected the notion, holding a breath she didn't know she held.
She shot another glance at the white mahogany closet door.
The cross necklace, the Claddagh ring, the letters; all of it lay nestled inside, obscured from her and the rest of the world.
Were they meant to be discarded, never to be seen, held, worn, or touched again?
The question gnawed at her.
A clock ticked in the corner of her room. Minutes passed, or was it forever, before she came to a decision.
She wrapped a hand around the brass knob and turned it.
Falling quickly to her knees, she dug through the pile until she pulled out an intricate box adorned with silver and gold decorations, a small antique key attached to the lid.
Sliding the key into the lock, the box opened with ease.
Her eyes were immediately glued to the cross necklace, his first gift to her. It felt like it had been ages since last worn.
The silver metal felt cool against her hand as she recalled the memory of meeting him in the dark alley.
The Claddagh ring came next. Images of the docks raced through her mind; him presenting the ring as her 17th birthday present. He told her that wearing it with the heart facing towards the wearer meant they belonged to someone.
At the time, she knew she did...
Tilting her head, she tried to retain her composure, but failed miserably.
Wetness slid down her cheeks.
And the letters…
There had been secretive nights when they would write to each other, slipping an envelope either under each other's pillow or door before the first light of dawn.
A dozen handwritten letters were tied neatly in the jewelry box's second compartment, all addressed to her in beautiful cursive script.
"Hello Buffy," an unexpected male voice murmured from behind, startling her out of her reverie. The cross necklace clanked softly against the jewelry box.
She closed her eyes. She would know that voice anywhere.
She heard it almost every night in her dreams, calling to her, whispering loving words in her ear as if they were real.
Love, relief, and anger clashed at all intervals within her.
With the necklace tucked into the compartment, she shoved the jewelry box to its original position before exiting the closet, firmly shutting the door.
She turned to the voice, keeping her expression impassive, unreadable.
"Hello, Angel."
"How are you?" he questioned. An awkward tension suddenly filled the room.
"Peachy," she continued coolly, now leaning against her desk, with arms folded.
Studying her face, he said nothing.
For the next moment, silence was there.
"After all that wanting for me to have a normal life outside of vampires, can I ask why the hell you chose this night to come back here?" she demanded. Her love for him took the back burner as anger became its replacement.
"Because…" Angel began, but Buffy interrupted before he could put in another word.
"Because what? You decided leaving Sunnydale wasn't so much a great idea without me?"
At this, a hurt look accentuated his features. Still, Angel kept mum.
A weariness entered Buffy's voice. Her shoulders slumped as she gazed into his dark eyes.
"Well, since you're hesitating to talk whatever it is you want to say, let me tell you a little story. When you left, you had no idea how much that killed me. No idea how much I tried to hide it from everyone, including Giles. Pretending that everything was hunky dory. It left a hole in my soul. You tried to do what you thought was best for me. The truth was, is, no one knows what's best for me. Only I know what's best for me, and you took that away when you told me you didn't love me. But tell me this Angel: what normal life do you think I could've possibly had if you hadn't been in the picture? I would've still been the Slayer. I was Chosen long before I knew you existed. Did you think that by leaving it was going to change that? That fate would let me have a normal life? That I would be safe? I'm the Slayer and will continue to be the Slayer until I'm forever six feet under, and I'm not sure if you even understood that."
Turning her eyes away, she moved towards the windowsill, looking onward to the night.
Angel remained quiet, her words seeping into his head. He sat at the edge of her unkempt bed, placing distance between them. Under his trench coat, on his left hand, revealed his Claddagh ring.
"Was it that damn hard for me to love you?" she wondered, her back to him.
Angel frowned at her, his eyes crinkled with sadness, unsure how to answer.
She turned her head. "If that's the case, then tell me you don't love me."
"Buffy, I…"
"Just say it."
"If it helps…I..."