Disclaimer: Only the story is mine – "The Time Machine" belongs to Colin Raye, and of course Buffy and the gang belong to Joss and the WB.
Rating: PG-13, I suppose, for a little bad language and adult themes, and a whole lot of angst.
Dedication: To all the wonderful folks who reviewed Better Angels – Thank you all so much! And to the city of Portland, for being a great second home!
Author's Note: This is the first chapter of what I hope will be a multi-part sequel to my last work, Better Angels of our Nature. Each chapter will feature a different character's POV. All of this is strictly A/U, of course, as Better Angels was A/U to begin with.
He circled and stared
Nervous and scared
He knew both the thrill and the cost
But he didn't think twice
This amazing device
Was his last chance to see what he'd lost
If time is really a river
And upstream's where he needed to be
He set his sights on the past
Finished his glass
And went back in history
How can this be? She was the slayer – nothing could touch her, certainly not some stupid disease they don't have a name for. This isn't right! Dammit, this isn't right! How can anything hurt this bad? I think I'm damned more with this pain than without a soul. All I've been able to do since she – well, all I've been able to do is sit here in Willy's Place and drink. It's been almost a month now – I drink until Willy throws me out at closing. I stumble home, sleep till nightfall, and then I come back. What else can I do? She's never coming back. All the time we could have been together, and I was Angelus – it's all my fault. If I could have been close to her, maybe we could have seen the signs earlier, given her more time to fight – it's my fault!
To the casual eye it's a bar stoolBut it's really much more than it seems
Just a few drinks and then
She'll be with him again
As he sits on the time machine
So I drink. And I remember that one perfect night we had together – she was so beautiful. God, I loved her so much! In all my long years, she's the only one I've ever met who made me feel like I belonged to someone. She's the only one I would ever have given a claddagh to, the only one I would ever have even considered giving one to. And then I destroyed her. I could make excuses for myself and what I've done, say that it was Angelus who did those things, but I can't accept that. I remember them, and so I did them. Fittingly, of course, it was Buffy who brought me back – her diary. I took it from her hospital room that night – it stays in my back pocket as a reminder of what I've done, and what it cost me. I pray that the little smile on her face just before she went meant that she heard me – but in my heart of hearts I fear that she went to her grave believing what happened to me was her fault, and I just can't live with that. So I drink.
Like all pioneersHe swallowed his fears
And watched the whole room fade to black
He's dying to go
But he's no fool, he knows
How hard it will be to come back
But tonight he's tired of the lonely
And tomorrow will not be the cure
So he'll just slip away
Find yesterday
And spend one more night with her
Her friends have tried to get in touch with me – the Scooby gang, she laughingly called them – but I've gotten pretty good at not being found. I could never look any of them in the eyes after what I've done, and whatever comfort they could offer would be cold. I don't think any of them have truly forgiven me – nor should they. For I cannot forgive myself. And so I've carefully avoided them, paying Willy well to keep quiet about my whereabouts – and I've had to pay him very well, as they've roughed him up a few times lately. Tonight, after I leave the bar, I think I'll mail this letter to Joyce. She deserves to know what it says.
Now as far as these customers can tellHe's just one more fool who talks to himself
But every man in this place would line up
If they knew what that seat really was
I mailed the diary. I hope it helps. But I can't take this anymore. In the alley behind Willy's, I found a sharp stick. I don't think I'll go to whatever place Buffy's gone to, because I've done too many things I can't take back, but if I'm going to be in hell, I might as well be in the real thing rather than this hell on earth. I'll hold this stake to my chest and picture her face, smiling and beautiful and forever young. I wonder if it'll hurt?
To the casual eye it's a bar stool
But it's really much more than it seems
A few drinks and then
She'll be with him again
As he sits on the time machine
Author's Note The Second: Is Angel dead? I'm not sure - that'll have to wait for another chapter!
