Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, the concept of the meeting every year was also stolen…borrowed from Nyxie's story A Thousand Tiny Deaths, which is an awesome story by the way.
Summary: Buffy and Angel meet up once a year.
A/n: I know, I know, another one shot, but I do promise that I am working on a very lengthy one as we speak…or rather read. It's not long, as usual, but tell me what you think. Please, no flames.
She was staying in Washington D.C. She was seeing someone. Keith was his name. He made her laugh. They had fun. She thought she was falling in love.
They met in Miami this year. Every year it was somewhere else. Neither having a home, there was no middle ground.
She drank him in: his porcelain white skin, his broad shoulders. His shining dark eyes and the half smirk he always wore.
They talked. They laughed. They cried. He went his way; she went hers. They agreed that next year, it would be Sydney.
When she returned, Keith asked her to marry him. She declined. She left without another word. She never saw him again.
She was residing in London. Richard was his name. He was charming, handsome, and as wild as they come.
They met in Sydney as planned. They had drinks and an oddly heated discussion about whether or not Australian accents were hot. She said yes; he said no. He bid her adieu in his old Irish drawl and she conceded: Australian accents were worth drooling over, but and Irish brogue was to die for.
She returned to London and promptly discontinued any further relationship with Richard.
She was lodging in Rome. He charmed her with his Italian fluency, his gorgeous smile, and his extensive knowledge of American pop culture.
They met in Paris. They ate. They danced. They argued over whether the waiter was flirting with him or her. He argued that it was definitely her; she wasn't so sure. On their way out, the waiter gave him a card with his telephone number on it. She laughed wholeheartedly at the look of terror on his face.
She returned to Rome and in less than three hours had broken Antonio's heart.
She was located in New York City. This year she had decided that staying single was a good plan.
They met up in Munich. He had a tan. His hair was sun-soaked. His bright smile overpowered his tears as he lifted her hand to place upon his chest-directly over his beating heart. She cried; he held her. She didn't hesitate to say yes when he showed her a diamond Claddagh ring. He slid it on her finger and kissed her tenderly.
She returned to New York. She immediately set to clearing out half of the closet for his things.
They picked out the king-sized bed together as well as the crimson silk sheets.
They met at the altar in New York. They cried as they spoke their vows. They got into a discussion on whether or not Dawn was old enough for a boyfriend. Oddly, she said yes; he said no.
The baby came the next year in April. She questioned him endlessly.
"Do we tell him about demons? How we met? Slayers? That you were a vampire?"
He took it all in stride and asked a simple question in reply. "How 'bout we settle on a name first?"
She didn't argue when he shyly requested 'Liam.'
"Perfect," she had answered.
One week later, Liam Patrick O'Connor was introduced to his very large, widespread family.
"Life just can't get more perfect," she declared.
He looked at the sleeping toddler in the crib. "A second one might add to the perfect-ness."
They met in the bedroom. Feminine giggles and masculine possessive growls were heard throughout the night. And for once, the only discussion they had was where to put the…well, that's private.