These two are really addicting, once you start writing for them again it's impossible to stay away. Note: This fits (or at least could fit) in with show cannon fine but disregards the comics entirely. If that will bother you, best not to continue.
The first time she sensed him she was standing outside her apartment building and she thought that she was imagining things. After all, she hadn't sensed him that way since she was still a teenager, and perhaps more importantly, he was dead. She knew there were far likelier explanations for how she was feeling, for the slight chill that went up her spine and then down again, for the tingle that started somewhere in her core and radiated outwards, everywhere, all the way to the tips of her fingertips until her hands were shaking. After all, it was cold outside- unseasonably cold for September, with a real bite in the air. And of course, her wedding was set for tomorrow. She was nervous, on edge, but everyone had told her that was nothing to worry about, that all brides felt this way.
Of course she knew, somewhere deep inside, that they were wrong and not all brides felt this way. That something about how she felt was wrong, twisted, unusual. Fortunately for her, though, complete honesty was something she'd given up on a long time ago, and she had a special aversion to being completely honest with herself. It just wasn't worth it, when it made it that hard to get through the day.
Even though she was sure she was imagining things she stepped forward into the parking lot instead of just going inside, squinting as though that would help her see something she was sure wasn't there to be seen. As she turned her head left she heard a rustling in the bushes surrounding the lot and instinctively leapt toward it. Even as she did, though, she knew that she must be imagining things, and she felt certain this time. Anything could have made the noise- mice, birds, raccoons, even a breeze. Anything but Angel. Angel was always much too stealthy to announce his getaway.
She called Giles anyway.
As always he was was patient, diplomatic. "Buffy, you know Angel is dead. He died in LA five years ago."
"Yes, but they never found a body."
Her mentor paused before his voice came over the line again, still diplomatic but with a slight edge now, some of the unending patience slipping away. "Buffy, he was a vampire. It would have been quite impossible for anyone to find a body." He hesitated long enough that she knew she wouldn't like what he was going to say. "Are you- ah- absolutely certain that this isn't to do with your wedding? I know you've always felt guilty about what happened in LA but this is supposed to be a happy time-"
"Oh for God's sake, Giles, I know it's supposed to be a happy time," she cut him off. "And it is. I mean, I am. Happy. I am."
To her chagrin this statement was followed by another pause, this one long enough that she knew GIles didn't believe her. She wanted to be angry at him for that, but she supposed she couldn't blame him when she barely believed herself. "Of course. Well, I'll have the counsel look into the matter at once."
"Into my wedding?" she asked blankly, then immediately cringed at her own stupidity.
"No. Into the matter of Angel."
She thanked him and tried to sleep. It was harder than it had been in a long time.
She felt something again the next morning, as she went into the church. She forced herself to ignore the feeling, knowing this time that it was not only nonsensical and crazy, but actually impossible. Even if Angel were somehow alive, she'd never be able to feel him during the day. And so she forced a smile, squaring her shoulders as she went inside.
When she looked at the pictures later, not even she could tell that the smile didn't reach her eyes.
The next time she was sure that she sensed him was a good four years later, exiting the hospital, husband on one arm, newborn baby in the other. The sun was blinding but this time she didn't think she was imagining things, and while her husband went to get the car she turned her face up to the sun and smiled.
"Hi," she said to the sky, not caring that a stooped looking man looked at her strangely as she did so. "I, uh, don't guess you can probably hear me, but I wouldn't have thought you could see me either, so I guess you never know." She paused, feeling awkward, crazy, as yet another person paused to look at her before hurrying away, but she forced herself to continue. "I couldn't, when I was in heaven. See anyone, I mean. But you know that, actually." She shook her head. "I felt you once before, the day I got married. I thought you were alive, then. Or, well, undead. It made me a little crazy. But I know you're gone, now, and so I have to think that- well, either I am crazy, or that you're watching me, sometimes." She hesitated. "Thanks for watching me, sometimes. I'm okay." She paused, thinking hard about what to say. "I'm really okay. And so if- if wherever you are you're worried about me, or think you need to keep checking up on me, you don't. It's not that I don't want you to or that I'm not grateful but- I'm not something you need to worry about anymore. I'm okay, and the world is okay. And I really hope that wherever you are, that you know that."
She saw her car start to pull up, pulled the baby just a little closer. "But- wherever you are?" she said, softer, as she saw her husband getting out of the car. "I miss you. And- wait for me, if you can. I'm coming. I mean- I hope not soon. But when this is all over, of course I'm coming." She grinned just a little sardonically. "I mean, you lived for what, 250 years? What's another 45?"
The third time she sensed him she was cooking dinner, alone for the first time in what felt like forever. She was drinking wine as she did it, already beginning her third glass and well on her way to drunk, and she was thinking about her mother. She thought about her mother more and more, now that her oldest was a teenager, and she also thought a lot about time. Time passed so quickly for her, too quickly. She'd always thought that as she got older she might be better able to understand Angel's perspective on time, at least as much as he'd ever shared it with her, but it had never quite happened, and she supposed she should be grateful for that.
Almost as though thinking about him had called him to her Buffy felt his presence. At this point it had been 14 years, and she hadn't expected to feel him again, not in this life. Unlike the other two times she'd known she felt him she didn't react beyond gripping the countertop tightly, just for a moment. In truth, she didn't know how to react. It was too bizarre, too unexpected, almost surreal, and she wondered if it was the wine, the slight dizziness from that and the unusual freedom of being alone. Of course it wasn't like she'd ever actually forgotten Angel- she still believed what she'd told him that last time she'd felt him, that once she died they'd finally be together- but in some ways she had moved past him, in this life. She had three children, a loving husband, a satisfying career- even, very occasionally, time to pursue other interests.
She turned back to the vegetables she was chopping, wondering if she really was just drunk, if after all this time she could possibly even accurately remember what he'd felt like, anyway. If it might just be all in her head- if for some reason, subconsciously, she might want to feel him again.
She thought about saying something, reasoning that if she did want him there now, she must have something to say, but she came up empty- anything she wanted to say just didn't really have a place, anymore, should have been said years and years ago when they were both still alive and she'd been too hurt and proud and young to say it.
She turned to throw the vegetables into a pot of water, her eyes flashing briefly to the window in the corner as she did so.
She continued cooking for a few moments before her brain registered something and she turned back to the window, slowly, her reflexes having suffered in the decades spent away from slaying.
In the rapidly darkening twilight she could only really see a flash of eyes, warm and brown and so very familiar, so deeply intimate even after all this time. Her stomach lurched, then twisted as those eyes met her own and didn't look away, encompassing her, enfolding her- drowning her. She grabbed for the countertop again and missed it, somehow managing to knock both her glass of wine and the bottle not far from it to the floor with a sickening crunch of glass, scattered in a red pool of wine that reminded Buffy of nothing more than blood.
She opened her mouth to speak but couldn't speak, and she felt her knees buckling as her heart began to beat double time and her soul, such as it was, seemed as though it were exploding, as though it were crumbling, as though it could burst free of her body, as if it could go to meet his.
Buffy had never fainted but she suddenly knew, in a distant, detached way that she was going to faint- and for just one second she had an out of body experience, the room seeming to glow and spin as she looked down at herself before falling.
When she woke up she was in bed and her husband was beside her. She sat up with a gasp, looking toward the clock on the nightstand, somehow unsurprised that nearly 8 hours had passed and it was after 3 in the morning. At her abrupt movement he sat up, too, turning to look at her in concern.
"Bad dream?"
"No," she replied before amending, slowly, "Yes. How did I get up here?"
He looked baffled, and maybe just a little wary. "I'm sorry? What do you mean?"
"I- I was in the kitchen, making dinner and then I think I passed out. Did the kids find me or-"
He looked at her strangely, more concerned than wary now. "Buff, I think you were dreaming. You were already up here sleeping when the kids and I came home."
"No I- what happened to the wine? There was glass all over the floor-"
Now he did look concerned. "Glass? I have no idea what you're talking about."
"In the kitchen. In the kitchen it was all over the floor, and the wine- it looked like blood, the wine-"
"Have you been drinking?" he asked, not unkindly but seeming to seize on this as something that made sense.
"No! I mean yes, but no- I don't understand, what happened to the wine?"
He called a half hearted protest after her but she was already in the kitchen- the kitchen that was spotless, with everything in place and an empty trash bag freshly placed in the garbage can.
She would have believed it had all been a dream, but there were only 7 wine glasses in the cabinet when they had always, always had 8, and her right arm was badly scratched from where she knew she must have fallen, right on top of the broken glass.
It was only a little over a week later when she sensed him again. This time she was grocery shopping, and her youngest two were with her. It was before sunset which confused her a little, but only a little- she was starting to have the unpleasant feeling that she knew what was going on, and she didn't like it.
Buffy knew she was a good mother. In fact, she prided herself on being a good mother. She was the kind of mother who judged other mothers. The kind of mother who had genuinely never had an irresponsible moment, the kind of mother who knew everyone's schedule 3 months in advance, the kind of mother who ate dinner with her family every night and smiled while she did the dishes afterwards.
And so it was to her own enormous surprise that she told her children to wait for her before rapidly walking away from them, toward the sensation.
By the time she exited the store he was already running across the parking lot. She sprinted after him, out of practice but not truly out of shape- the slayer gene, such as it was, never let that happen to her, no matter how long she went without training.
It was almost immediately obvious to her that she was gaining on him, and quickly, and even though she kind of knew what must be happening she still braced herself to see him looking 20, 25 years younger than her- braced herself for his reaction when he saw her now, pushing 50. But of course it was ridiculous, especially because if this was him- if she was right- he'd already seen her.
It was over in less than a minute. She grabbed his arm and stopped him without difficulty, his back to her. He was wearing a black suit jacket, uncomfortably reminiscent of the first few times that she'd met him, and even from behind she could tell he was breathing hard. She gave his arm a sharp jerk, forcing him to turn, and again he did so easily- too easily.
For a split second she wanted to breathe a sigh of relief- it wasn't him. But as she continued to stare up at him she realized it was him- this was what he would look like, in the sunset. This is what he would look like, if he were 50. This was what he did look like, now that he was 50.
She had stepped back to appraise him, and he flinched as she took a step forward, saying nothing at all. Haltingly, slowly, as though she were 70 instead of 47, she reached out her right hand. Her arm wasn't long enough and so she took another trembling step forward, placed the hand where his heart would be, if he had a heart. If he had a heart that was beating.
He did.
"No," she said, unable to think anything else. Somewhere in the back of her mind she could envision a time when she would have had an emotional breakdown at what was currently happening- in fact she could envision several different kinds of breakdowns depending on the year and her mood- but now that she was actually here all she could do was stand there with what she knew must be a stupid look on her face. "No," she repeated, trying to say the word louder, with more bite, but instead it came out choked, most of a whimper than anything else.
To her surprise Angel looked as though she had punched him, his head actually whipping back at the word as he cringed, not meeting her eye.
She wanted to know when. She wanted to know how. She wanted to know everything. But she found that she could say nothing as her hand dropped from his heart.
Even after all this time she knew him well enough to know chances were he wouldn't speak, and so it was a shock, almost as big as the shock of seeing him there, alive, his heart beating, when he said, his voice rough as though from disuse, and quiet, almost quieter than hers, "I'm sorry."
"You're sorry," she repeated blankly, placing heavy emphasis on the second word without even realizing she was doing it, blinking rapidly, almost like she would if she was trying to hold back tears, but somehow she knew she wasn't going to cry, not now. Maybe not ever again.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, and something in the expression on his face told her that no matter what she said to him he would stand there and take it, but for one of the first times in her life she was truly speechless, not even knowing what she would say if she could speak.
"You've been watching me," she said finally, stupidly, expecting him to deny it, but he didn't deny it, just looked down, still refusing to meet her eyes.
"Rarely. A few times, over the years- not more."
"Not more," she echoed, finding the situation increasingly unbelievable. "And- why now?"
He did meet her eyes then, briefly, before another pained expression flashed across his face and he again looked away. "I wanted to make sure you were alright after what happened last week."
"Last week," Buffy repeated slowly, feeling like her brain was broken. "Why come here last week at all?"
There was a long pause and she was sure he wasn't going to answer as he turned slightly away from her, essentially ensuring it was impossible for her to see his face. " I guess- I guess I missed you."
"No," she said again, shaking her head "I- there's this thing called the telephone. You- if you missed me, you could have called. Hell, you could have rung the doorbell."
"That wouldn't have been fair."
Something in her sparked to life at that and she stepped in front of him, forcing him to meet her gaze. "This isn't fair. You had no right. You have no right."
He shook his head and she expected him to protest that he hadn't meant for it to be like this, that she wasn't supposed to see him, that she wasn't supposed to recognize him, any excuse at all, but of course he'd never been one for empty excuses and it turned out that hadn't changed. "I don't. I'm sorry," he said for the third time, sounding tired, sounding defeated even though she'd hardly said anything at all, and his own defeat took the momentary fire out of her, left just disbelief and something else she couldn't quite identify- something crushing, monumental.
"I loved you," she said dully, almost emotionlessly, a fact, like the season or the year or what she'd had for dinner the night before. Realizing that it perhaps hadn't sounded convincing she repeated it, trying to sound stronger, but just as when she'd said 'no', the second repetition didn't come out like she wanted. Instead of sounding strong, sure, she just sounded disbelieving, empty.
Even though she should have known better than to expect anything at all, she still expected him to say something maudlin about how he'd loved her too, something about protecting her, something like all the things he used to say, but he didn't, just continued to look away from her. Slowly though, almost reluctantly, he tilted his chin slightly, seemed to force his eyes to meet hers.
"Buffy," he said, and she waited, expecting him to say something else, desperate for him to say something else- an excuse, and explanation, a story, anything, anything at all other than this all encompassing silence- but instead he just repeated her name, his voice cracking slightly. "Buffy."
She felt her legs starting to give out and fought to stay upright. Even after all these years no one had ever said her name like that and she knew no one ever would again. Reverently, almost as though he were afraid to, but also with respect, command- and a hint of something she would have called love, once, but she knew now must be something else, since no one who really loved someone could possibly stay away from them for 25 years under these circumstances.
He took a step toward her as her knees started to buckle, reaching out an arm in a way that implied he was ready to catch her if necessary, but of course he didn't touch her, just waited to see if she'd get control of herself, and after a moment that felt far longer than she was sure it actually was she did.
"Why?" she managed to get out, more of a moan than anything else, and he just shook his head, his eyes dropping again, and she didn't know if that meant he didn't know, or that he couldn't explain, or just that he wouldn't explain, that he didn't want to. Of course it might also mean he wasn't sure what question she was asking- why didn't you tell me, or why did this happen, or why aren't we together?
"Your children- your children are beautiful, Buffy." he finally said, and she marveled at the complete change of subject, wondering fleetingly whether he had any children of his own and realizing immediately, sharply, that she didn't want to know, not ever. It wouldn't occur to her until nearly a decade later that this might have actually been his way of trying to answer her question- or at least of partially answering her question. Instead she just felt confusion, and a dawning awareness at the mention of her children, as though she were awakening from some kind of dream.
"Thank you," she said distantly, absently, feeling oddly detached from the whole situation. "I should- I have to get back."
"Yes," he nodded as though this didn't surprise him, the expression on his face shifting, just slightly, but she couldn't read his expression, had no idea what he was thinking. "I'm sorry," he repeated for the fourth time, sounding like he meant it, but she still had no idea what he was apologizing for, exactly, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know that, either.
"I'm sorry too," she said finally, seeing his hands clench tightly into fists even as his expression didn't change, even as he still wouldn't meet her eye.
She knew that she would never see him again.
But she was wrong. She did see him again, just once, almost fifteen years later.
This time she was dancing with her ex husband, at their daughter's wedding. She was happy, calm, just ever so slightly tipsy- and then, out of nowhere, she shivered, feeling cold, feeling dizzy, feeling transcendent .
Her eyes shot up to where she somehow knew she'd find him, in a corner, lurking, looking better than anyone had a right to look at 65. His hair was gray, and it gave him a certain air of dignity, of gravitas, a certain primal attractiveness that seemed unfair, though Buffy had never been one for false modesty and she knew that she, too, looked unfairly good for her age- something else she supposed she had that pesky slayer gene to thank for.
His gaze was questioning, and unlike the last time she'd seen him he did meet her eyes and he didn't look away.
She could tell he was seeking something- to know that she was okay, and maybe also forgiveness, for whatever he'd tried to apologize for the last time he'd seen her, some kind of benediction, or at least a sign that he'd done the right thing.
Buffy averted her gaze for a long moment, trying to decide what to do and whether she actually had the strength to do it. For some reason she thought of Giles, when she hadn't thought of him in years, of asking Giles to lie to her when she was still only 16, of Giles doing it.
She looked down, trying to remember happy moments from her relationship with Angel and finding it harder than she would have expected. Their relationship had been passionate and all consuming, permeating many of her thoughts and actions for years- for decades. Even her marriage had ended, in all reality, because he'd said maybe 50 words to her after twenty years, nearly a fifth of which were 'I'm sorry' and none of which indicated he wanted to be with her or that he ever truly had. But for all the passion and obsession, the relationship had been very short, incredibly painful, and ultimately doomed. She forced herself to focus on the good, though- their first awkward coffee date, kissing in the park, that night on the docks, with the claddagh rings-
With an effort she lifted her eyes again, absolutely unsurprised to see Angel still standing in the same corner, still looking at her like she was the only thing in the room. She took a deep breath and then flashed him a brilliant smile, trying with everything within herself to look content, to look carefree, to look happy with her life, happy to see him, even though none of that was precisely the truth.
After a long, long moment he smiled back, a smile that was peaceful and sincere, if slightly sad, but in all the time she'd known him she'd never, not once, seen him smile like he meant it and so she supposed that, from him, this was probably as good as it could get.
His head tilted slightly then, with an unspoken question, and somehow she knew what the question was. She also knew that this lie about her happiness was all that she could give him and so she gave it, freely, forcing herself to continue to smile as she nodded, definitely, just once.
Her ex-husband tightened his grip on her, then, and shot her a quizzical look. "Everything okay?"
She closed her eyes and thought of happier times with him- a much easier task than thinking of happy times with Angel, when all was said and done, and different kind of smile came onto her face, less brilliant but more sincere. "Yeah."
She felt rather than saw Angel leave as she continued to smile up at her ex, and she counted to 20 slowly, just to make sure, before she let her smile fade and started to sob, quiet, ugly sobs that surprised no one more than herself as she clung to him in a way she never had in all their years of marriage, feeling emptier than she ever had in her life.
"Buffy!" he exclaimed, and his voice was warm, concerned as he tried to meet her gaze.
"I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm just so happy," she sobbed, burying her face in his chest, not caring that she was making a spectacle of herself, that her whole family was looking at her in concern as she did it. "I'm just so terribly happy."
"This is Anne," Buffy said as she picked up her cell phone, the name ringing slightly false to her even after all these years of using it with everyone other than her sister and her ex husband.
"I'm sorry, I think I might-" a tentative voice began on the other end of the phone before the man cleared his throat and started again. "I'm looking for someone named Buffy?"
"Oh," Buffy said after a long moment, wondering who on earth could possibly be trying to reach her at this number, with that name. "That's me. Or- that was me, once."
If the man on the phone found anything odd about her statement he didn't show it, just exhaled in something that might have been relief. "That's great. I'm calling because I think you know my dad."
"That doesn't really narrow it down," Buffy said, not unkindly, even though it kind of did- anyone who would be looking for Buffy would have to be someone she'd known five or six decades ago, now, or that she and her ex husband had been very very close to what was still many years ago. "I've known a lot of dads over the years."
"I'm sorry, you probably have," the man said, sounding flustered for the first time. "I'm Connor."
He clearly expected that to clarify things for her, but the name jogged nothing in her memory whatsoever, and so after a long moment she shrugged, even though he couldn't see it. "I'm sorry," she said, stealing his line. "Is that supposed to mean something to me?"
There was a pause that was so long that Buffy thought they'd been disconnected. "Maybe I do have the wrong person?" the man questioned. "I'm looking for Buffy Summers? Or actually, I think you're married now-"
"No, it's me," she asserted. "But I'm not sure-"
"I'm Angel's son," the man said, and Buffy dropped the phone. It took her a moment to bend over and pick it up, her head spinning the whole time, but when she did put it back to her ear her voice was calm, steady.
"Oh," she said, as though there hadn't been any pause in the conversation, as though this were all completely normal. "How nice to hear from you."
"Thanks," Connor replied, sounding doubtful but evidently also determined to pretend the conversation was normal. "I've heard a lot about you."
And I've heard nothing at all about you, Buffy thought just a little bitterly, but out loud she just forced a small chuckle. "All good things, I hope?"
"My dad is dying," Connor blurted, and even with the seriousness of the words it didn't escape Buffy that he'd neatly evaded her question.
"Your dad can't be dying he's-" Buffy caught herself just before saying immortal, amazed that after all these years certain thoughts and thought patterns could be so impossible to alter. "I mean- I'm really sorry to hear that.
"Sure," Connor said, again sounding somewhat doubtful, though Buffy wasn't exactly sure about what. "But- that's not why I'm calling. Or, it is, but it's not the whole reason. I'm calling because he's been asking for you."
Buffy dropped the phone again.
By the time she arrived at the hospital, one too-long plane and taxi ride later, she already knew he was gone, but as she walked down the hallway she hoped against hope that she might be wrong, that there might be another reason she couldn't sense him.
Of course, though, there wasn't, and as Connor awkwardly shook her hand she felt something inside her give way.
"He's gone?" she asked, knowing the answer, and Connor just shook his head, looking toward the closed door that led to the room where she knew Angel must be laying.
"He's gone," Connor repeated belatedly, almost anti-climatically, before gesturing to an elderly woman who was standing beside him. "Buffy, this is-"
"Hi, nice to meet you," Buffy interrupted, extending her hand before he could finish, having no idea who this woman might have been to Angel and finding that she couldn't bear to deal with actually knowing.
Both Connor and the woman looked surprised but neither seemed inclined to push the issue, and the woman extended her own hand with a smile that seemed genuine. "Anne," the woman supplied, and for a moment Buffy thought she was referring to her before realizing that she was actually telling Buffy her own name.
"Hi," Buffy said again, stupidly. "Was it- was he-"
"He was in some pain but he was pretty delirious by the end," Connor supplied. "He- he said to tell you he'd be waiting. He said you'd know what he meant." He hesitated, looking anxiously at Anne. "He, uh, said some other things too, but like I said he was pretty delirious."
Buffy wanted to ask more but didn't know if it was wise, and so she just stood there, letting the silence stretch on awkwardly.
"Sorry," Connor said what could have been seconds or minutes later, as though he were the reason for the silence. "I- we thought you'd be older. I thought you had to be in your 80's by now."
"I'm 82," Buffy said, slightly amused when neither seemed to wholly believe her. As she thought about it, though, she looked at Connor more closely. "And I thought you'd be younger."
Connor looked at her as if she might have grown a second head. "My dad really never mentioned me," he finally said, as though the possibility were occurring to him for the first time.
"Nope," Buffy replied honestly, suddenly feeling very tired. "Can't say that he did."
Connor's mouth opened, then closed in a way that might have been comical under other circumstances but just struck Buffy as tragic now.
"Can I-" she questioned as the silence dragged on, gesturing to the room where Angel was still laying, and to her surprise Connor nodded easily, almost too easily.
"Of course."
Buffy took a deep breath as she entered the room. It was dark, and quiet, and if she didn't look too hard it was entirely possible to pretend Angel was just sleeping- to pretend he was just an old man, asleep in his bed. But it was hard to pretend that when she knew that if he were alive she'd be able to feel him, just like she always had.
"Hi," she said quietly from the doorway, hovering uncertainly. "Sorry I'm late."
Some part of her almost expected him to answer, but of course he couldn't answer, and so she took a deep breath before taking three large steps forward and sitting in the chair by his side. After a long moment she took his hand. She expected it to feel odd and foreign in hers but her memories of holding his hands always involved them being cold, and so it felt strangely right in hers as she grasped it tightly, trying to ignore the fact that he wasn't grasping her hand back.
"I would have liked to have seen you again," she said, and then cringed at the stupidity of the statement, when she was in fact looking right at him. She took a deep breath, grasped his hand tighter. "I thought a lot on the plane ride here. And what I really wanted to tell you is I'm sorry. Not- not for the reasons I thought I was, but mostly because I wasn't happy for you. I should have tried to be happy for you. I knew your humanity was what you wanted more than anything and still all I could think was 'why doesn't he want to be human with me?' and I realize now that was incredibly selfish. So I wanted- I hoped I'd get to tell you that I am happy for you, honestly, that you got to experience that, and that I hope you were happy."
Buffy bit her lip, uncertain as to whether she could go on, but after a moment she did. "I- also wanted to tell you that it was always you. And I know now that doesn't necessarily mean that we should have been together or anything like that. But it does mean that I was going to ask you again if you'd wait for me, after. And- it means a lot to me that you told Connor you would. Because when I'm done here I do believe I'm finally coming to you. So-"
Buffy took a deep breath. "So I'll see you soon, I think. And I'm really looking forward to it, because I've missed you, Angel." She shook her head, unexpectedly fighting the urge to cry. "I've really really missed you."
She knew it was just her imagination, but she cold almost swear she heard him whisper in her ear "I've missed you too."
Thank you for taking time to read my fic- I truly appreciate it! If you enjoyed please consider leaving a review- all reviews are beyond treasured by me :)