No Ice Cream At the Finish Line
by misscam
Disclaimer: Not my characters, just my words.
Author's Note: Set at some undetermined time after the season finale of Buffy and Angel, though it's implied it's been years. Specific references to dialogue in "Chosen". Makes no references to the season eight comics, though could be set after them as well, assuming a few things have happened since then.
II
There are many ways Angel has envisioned seeing Buffy again. As a human, at last earning that normal life and maybe a not so normal love life. As her partner in one last stand against evil, dying by her side as the fighters they both are. As a shadow in the darkness, watching her across the street, like he has so many times before. As a passer-by, giving her something of importance and maybe even kissing her, but always saying goodbye again.
He hasn't really considered being asked to meet her in Cleveland, only to see her come marching in, placing her fist in his face as he looked up in astonishment and waking up to Willow beaming at him.
Huh. This is definitely not a scenario he had in mind, or is even clear on right now. It feels strangely as he's been out for days. He vaguely recalls chanting, and strong smells, and a burning, white pain seeming to blind him. Either he's been the target of magic, or that demon he took down last night had something peculiar in its blood. (Wouldn't be the first time, after all.)
"Hey Angel!" Willow says eagerly. "Feeling happy?"
"Feeling headache and a lot of confusion," he replies, staring at the unfamiliar ceiling. Right. So he hasn't just been knocked out, he's been abducted too. Which is rather peculiar, since he really would have come willingly if Buffy had just asked. Unless it was for something he really would have objected to.
He's beginning to form a suspicion of the latter.
"Bet you can't wait to feel happy then!"
"I would settle for feeling sane," he observes. "What is going on?"
"It worked."
"What worked?"
"You have your soul now permanently," she says, and he looks up sharply. "No happiness it will ever remove it, even if you overdose on it. I expect you'll be wanting to find Buffy."
"Willow..."
"I made the spell," she says brightly, sounding very pleased with herself. "We used it on another vamp last week. He had some information about an apocalypse we needed. But don't worry, we averted that."
He just stares at her.
"Oh, I was going to use the curse they used on you, but then I thought maybe I could do a better spell and I couldn't really use you as a guinea pig because you might be a bit upset if it didn't work."
He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to digest a lot of rather confusing information. Okay, apocalypse. Vamp with info, unwilling to grant it. So they ensoul it, but not with the curse used on him. With a new spell, one without a clause to remove it. And then Buffy went to get him...
"That doesn't explain the part where Buffy knocked me out," he says, opening his eyes again.
"Oh," Willow says again. "Oh. She didn't mention that. Maybe she thought you wouldn't want to risk it."
"She would be right," he says, sitting up. "Willow, if it hadn't..."
"Oh, we got the other vamp real happy every way we could think of first," she cuts in. "Thoroughly happiness-proof, I assure you."
Her words seem to sink in a little, his mind taking in the implications. His soul is permanent. No curse, no moment of true happiness to take it away and Buffy... Buffy.
"I did it for Buffy," Willow says, her voice dropping the overdone-cheerfulness. "Things have happened that... She's... I know what it's like to let pain overwhelm you. I won't let it happen to her."
"Why me?"
"You helped Faith. You've always been willing to help Buffy and you two still have a bond."
He looks at her, noting the age in her voice and eyes both. She has grown a lot since he last saw her, he thinks, now that he is truly looking at her. But somehow, she's still Willow at heart. Big heart.
"Xander thought you're too attached to your championship in brooding to be much good at happiness," she goes on calmly. "But I know how much you love Buffy."
"Because it's as much as you do," he says, and their eyes meet in understanding.
II
Buffy isn't sure how long she's waited when she finally hears footsteps approach. All she knows is that it feels too long and not long enough, and she's still not sure what to say.
Angel solves that by simply embracing the silence, and her, wrapping his arms around her as she leans her head against his chest. No heartbeat, but still a soul. A soul for definite now.
"Why?" he asks after a while, his voice brushing against her ear.
"You deserve some happiness," she says. "That's why I did it."
"That the only reason?"
"No," she says, and tilts her head to look at him. He's so close she just needs to inch her head closer to kiss him, to feel alive, to...
He lets go of her abruptly, taking several steps back to look at her.
"You punched me out, brought me here and had Willow cast a spell on me to ensure you could get me into bed. Why? Isn't Spike around?"
She gives him a look, but he merely returns it calmly. "No. Spike isn't here. You are."
"Why?" he repeats. "Buffy, I'll want more than just the physical. I'm not a convenient booty call. I love..."
"Don't say that," she breaks in. "That was a long time ago. I've grown up since then."
"I loved the potential in you. Why wouldn't I love how you've turned out?"
"You don't really know me now. Not as you did."
"Maybe. But if that's true, let me get to know you before you decide if I can or can't love you?"
She exhales, then nods just tangibly.
"You done baking then?" he asks her, and she stares at him. "Remember? You told me you were still cookie-dough, still needing to be done baking before you knew what you want."
"Oh," she says, recalling. "Oh. I must have been very hungry when I came up with that one."
"Cookies and First Evil?"
"And a battleaxe surprise!" she says cheerfully, then looks at him. "I was wrong. Cookie-dough – it gets baked, but humans don't. I'm never going to be done."
"I like works in progress. I like cookie-dough – can't we kill that analogy? It's starting to feel done to death and then raised again."
"Consider it staked."
"And?" he prompts her, taking a step closer.
"I did need to grow up a bit," she continues, remembering how young she once was. "I just think I envisioned some sort of adulthood finish line and diploma and cake, but there isn't, is there?"
"No," he says, almost sadly. "Not even ice cream."
"Adulthood really needs to work on its prizes," she says, and he takes another step closer, close enough that she can reach out and touch his arm. "Or maybe it doesn't."
"Buffy," he says seriously, his hand hovering close to her face. "Do you see a future for us?"
"I can't" she says, and his face falls. "No one can see the future. Only the young imagine they can. I'm not that young any more. But I can see the present."
"What's in the present?"
"Kissing," she says, and then he is.
II
Kissing her has always been the easy part, Angel thinks. It's everything else that's always been the problem. Him being a vampire. Her being a Slayer. Ageing, hers and the absence of his. Stopping, giving what kissing could lead to and couldn't between them.
That's not a problem any more, he supposes, and Buffy is certainly kissing him as if she has no plans to stop. Her fingers are in his hair, almost digging into his scalp as she kisses him fiercely. It's almost desperate, and he kisses her tenderly back, until something in her seems to break a little and she leans her forehead against his.
"Did she tell you who it was? The vamp we ensouled?" she whispers, her lips almost brushing his as she speaks.
"No."
"The Watcher's Council had sent him," she says distantly. "He came here. I was so... I brushed him off. Evening after we found him. If I hadn't... I got him killed, Angel."
"He might have been killed either way," he says carefully. "He came about the apocalypse Willow mentioned?"
"Yes. We prevented it with his help. Couldn't have without. He is going back to England now, to serve the Watcher's Council as a vampire with a soul. As if he can still live exactly as he wants."
"He can still live," he points out. "I did."
"Not the life you want," she says, and he thinks of things he's wanted. Friends. Family. A chance to help others. A life to make a difference. All things he's had the last few years, and some of which he's lost.
"No," he agrees. "But maybe the life I need. I've had the chance to be human. I've given it up before."
"Why?"
"Because the price was too high. What we want isn't always worth what it costs us to get it."
"I want you," she says, and he wonders just when and why she realised that. One day he will ask her, but right now, it doesn't really matter.
"At any cost?" he asks darkly, kissing her, feeling her lips part against his.
"No, not at any," she says, taking his hand and lifting it to her cheek. "But at this one? Yes."
"You know what I can't give you."
"Yes. I also know what you can."
II
'You don't know what it's like to live with the things I've done,' Angel told her once. She didn't then and doesn't now. She's still learning to live with the things she's done.
Survived apocalypses. Loved too much. Loved not quite enough. Died. Been torn from heaven. Seen others die from her mistakes. Tried normality and failed at it. Brushed off a man warning about doom because she was tired and in a bad mood and having him die for it.
And more or less kidnapped Angel for Willow's spell, just on the faint chance he might not be willing to risk it. Though she didn't bring Angel here to indulge in nostalgia, or have him offer some sort of forgiveness. He offers understanding and loving instead, kissing her as she keeps backing towards the bed. She needs that, wants that almost desperately.
He doesn't resist as she slides the leather coat off his shoulders, his hands inside her shirt on an upward path. When she lifts her hands above her head, he lifts the shirt with, tossing it carelessly aside after. One more step, and she bumps into the the bed with the back of her knees. He lifts her up for a moment before lowering her onto the covers, as she hooks her legs around him as he follows her down. His pelvis is already moving a little against her, and she lifts her head to kiss him impatiently.
"Buffy," he murmurs as she breaks the kiss to pull his sweater off. "Restrain me."
"What?" she says, tugging at his pants.
"Please," he says, almost growling as she kisses his chest. "Please, Buffy."
"Willow said the spell worked."
"I can't risk your life on it. Just..."
"Chain you up?"
"Yes," he says fiercely, flipping her on top of him before moving his hands against the headboard. "If it doesn't... If I become Angelus again, he'll be chained and Willow can redo the original curse."
She looks at him for a moment, his eyes so dark with need and a little fear. Wordlessly, she gets up, rummages through the chest until she finds what she is looking for, and returns. The chains make almost a tinkling noise as she fastens them, idly wondering if he's realise the headboard is unlikely to be much good against Angelus. But if it makes him feel safer (and maybe her just a little too), then they will be a little good.
"You realise you're wholly in my power now?"she asks as she leans down, brushing herself a little purposely against his naked chest.
"Always was," he says; she remembers using that a-word about their relationship when she was young. She didn't know what the word entailed then. She still doesn't, but at least she now knows she doesn't.
"Always," she agrees. Maybe by the time she knows the meaning of it, it will be true, after all.
II
It is a strange sort of torture not to touch and just be touched, Angel reflects. But then, he has inflicted it on himself.
Still, he watches and thinks of all the things he will want to do next time. (There will be. Must be. Fate cannot be as cruel twice over.) Cup her breasts and kiss them too. Rest his hands on her hips as she moves, feeling her rhythm. Bury his head against her neck, kissing the skin and tasting the salt of it. Let his fingers coax her along and kiss the rude exclamation from her lips.
Instead, it is she who leans down and kisses him as her body trembles a little, and the words on his lips are not curses at all.
II
Afterwards, she doesn't sleep, and he doesn't either. They both wait, seconds seeming long and minutes endless.
And nothing happens.
"How long did it... Last time, how long after before you...?" she traces off, remembering last time and the pain that followed then. No. That won't happen again.
"I'm not sure," he says. "Memory's a bit hazy."
They wait.
Still nothing happens.
"It's not just the sex," he says after a while. "I don't even know if I can be that happy again, after all that's happened since."
"I know what you mean," she says, remembering. "It's like I've lost something. "
"Do you want to go back? Be that innocent and young again?"
She thinks about it, watching his face and seeing no change on it at all. Still Angel.
"I remember kissing you and thinking you were my whole world," she says distantly. "Now, the world feels so great and people so small. No one can be everything."
"But they can still be something," he says. "You taught me that."
"How very Dr. Phil of me," she says and he smiles briefly, and something in her feels very young and old at the same time as she remembers how the rare catch of a smile would make her feel. "I don't think I would want to go back. I would just have to grow up all over again. I was very young, wasn't I?"
"Yes," he agrees softly. "You were young. I loved that in you. I lived that with you, maybe a little through you. I was a young man with an old demon. You let me be the young man and not define myself by the demon. But it wasn't all I loved you for."
"What was the rest?" she asks
"Do you have the whole night to listen?"
"I think I can spare it."
He smiles, kissing her temple lightly. She closes her eyes to it, feeling not young, but not old either, wondering if she can shape the distance between those two just how she wants.
"Your heart," he starts, and she listens, his words almost like a fairytale she's not too old for.
II
In the morning, he finally falls asleep and dreams of nothing in particular. When he wakes, it hours later, and he is unshackled and alone. But still Angel, all Angel and if the moment of realising that isn't happiness, nothing is.
He goes to find Buffy, ending up finding Xander and Willow talking in the kitchen instead. The temptation to lurk is too much, and he doesn't announce his presence.
"Did she look happier this morning? I thought she looked happier," Willow says, sound wistful.
"Buffy and Angel having sex... We're going to have another apocalypse, mark my words," Xander says, and Angel has to bite back a few words about what Xander's certainly marking.
"They're not going to end the world by saving sex," Willow says firmly, then seems to consider it. "Are they?"
"They're not," Buffy says firmly behind him, walking past him into the kitchen. He follows a little sheepishly, wondering if his lurk-detecting skills are getting rusty. "But they might kick your ass."
"You wouldn't," Xander says, then lifts his gaze to Angel. "Youwould."
"Angel!" Dawn says delightedly, and he turns around to see her come running at him, hugging him happily. "I didn't know you planned to visit."
"It was a bit of a surprise," he says truthfully.
"How long are you staying?" Dawn asks, and Xander and Willow also look at him, Buffy purposely not.
"As long as I am wanted," he says, keeping his gaze on Buffy until she finally looks at him.
"That might be a long time," she warns him.
"Time is one thing I have in abundance," he replies, as finally, she does smile.
II
Angel can't seem to stop touching her, and she clings to him as his fingers trace the arch of her back and his lips linger at the pulse in her neck. He's hard inside her and skin next to her and she wants, oh she wants and has and takes.
Selfish, she knows. But she can't be selfless without a little selfishness, and after all she's learned to live with, she wants something to live by, too.
Afterwards, she rests her head against his chest, while his fingers slowly trace lines on her skin, almost like scars to come. There will be, she knows. Can't have happiness without pain. Can't have a Slayer without vampires. Can't have Angel the man without Angel the vampire.
Can't grow up without letting certain things go. Just not everything.
He tilts his head to kiss her tenderly, and she leans blindly into it. She can't go back. But maybe, just maybe, she can still take some things with her; first love of her life to also be later love in her life.
(If she can't have ice cream at the finish line, or a finish line at all, at least she can have someone to keep running with.)
FIN