Title: Running from Home
Author: elanor niphredil
Rating: I don't know, I've never done this before, but I guess PG or PG-13
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, or the events from the series. Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. are the ones who can claim that.
Feedback: elanor_cerin@hotmail.com. Please, I need it! It's my first piece.
Distribution: If anyone wants it, just let me know where it goes, ok?
Spoilers : General spoilers, but more particularly to The Yoko Factor, To Shanshu in LA, Into the Woods and I borrowed a line from I Will Remember You.
Author's note 1: It takes place roughly after Into the Woods, only there's no Dawn or Glory.
A.N. 2: I was planning on making an epilogue for this story, but so much time has gone by since I wrote it that I just haven't been able to get back into the story. So, it'll be only this part, which has been revised, for the last time, I think.
Dedication: This is for Freda, who put up with my delays, corrected my mistakes and gave me such wonderful feedback. Girl, you're the greatest! J
Angel woke up with the sunlight streaming in from the window. He loved waking up like that. After more than two centuries unable to see the light of day – well, apart from two very brief occasions – he couldn't stop feeling overwhelmed by it. He rose from his bed and did what he had done ever since he had got his humanity back: went over to the window and just revelled in the sight of the shadows slowly creeping away from the rising sun.
One hour later fully prepared and with the cleaning done, he picked up his canvas and painting materials and set off to another day's work. It was still hard for him to get used to how much the city had changed. As he walked the street lined with sex shops and sleazy hotels, he remembered how that same Parisian hill had been lining with churches and monasteries once.
He had been in Paris for the last three months, the longest he had lingered in a city ever since he left Sunnydale after the End of Days battle, almost a year and a half before. He was actually considering settling down there for a while longer. He loved Paris and he was actually fairing pretty well money wise.
He had been doing portraits of tourists and some scenic paintings in one of the must see sites of the city, Monmartre. The place was always swarming with tourists and quite more than a few wanted to have their portrait made. Which was good for business. Of course it helped that he was obviously one of the best, if not the best of the many artists, or other so called artists, that made their living the same way.
He was just able to capture people's soul in the way only the gifted can (that, along with the fact that he'd been around for 248 years). He could read people real easy. And his talent hadn't gone by unnoticed: a couple of people from art galleries had already approached him to find out more about his work, but he had simply dismissed them. He wasn't interested in recognition, quite the contrary. He wanted to remain as anonymous as possible. He didn't want anybody to know where he was.
After the battle was won he had left right after he received his Shanshu. It would have been too painful to stay… He didn't know why, but that day he couldn't help replaying the events of that last battle over and over again. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to remember. Usually as soon as those thoughts popped into his mind he would try to shake them off. But today... Perhaps it was because the business was slow and he didn't have much to do. He had only made one portrait the whole morning.
And then again, he had woken up with this fuzzy feeling in his stomach, the kind he got when Buffy was near. If that were true, he would have to leave before she could find him! Oh, but how he had missed that feeling of butterflies flying madly around his stomach, that made all his senses become eager for her: to hear her, to see her, to smell her, to touch her, to taste her...
***
When it was clear that the battle was going to happen, everyone had been summoned to Sunnydale. Everyone was there. The Scooby gang, Spike included, which had very much upset him at the time, and Oz, who somehow had heard about it. He of course was there, along with the rest of the L.A. gang and a handful of Gunn's friends. And *Riley* was also present with some of his men. They had all gathered at the forces of goodness' headquarter – Giles' apartment – to discuss the battle tactics and to research for some sort of spell to close the hellmouth for good. Giles' place had never seemed so small, so filled with people worried about not letting the world end, without getting themselves killed in the process, as well as worried about the issues between each other.
Things with Buffy weren't as tense as they had been, after their mutual agreement to the "just friends" thing, but he still loved her so much, wanted her so much. When he found out she wasn't with Riley anymore, he had almost jumped with joy.
He knew it wasn't the time for those matters, though. Nevertheless, he still felt raging every time Buffy exchanged uncomfortable looks with Riley. Had he known what they truly meant, he would never have hoped to tell Buffy about the possibility of his Shanshu, if they stopped the end of the world and, of course, survived the battle.
***
He shook his head, grunting (it was as close as he got to growling these days), trying to snap out of it, but the flood of memories was just too overwhelming. People going by, as well as his "co-workers", looked at him with strange faces. He appeared to be in some sort of a trance. He didn't even notice. He was too busy brooding, his eyes fixed in some remote place of space and time that others couldn't even fathom.
***
The battle had been terrible. They had found a spell to close the hellmouth and combined it with another one to make it permanent. The two wiccas, Oz, Giles and Wesley were to perform the spell, placed around the hellmouth so as to be in the vertices of a pentagram. In the front, to protect them, in a sort of a circle shape, were the warriors. The spell was complex, long and could only be performed with the mouth of hell open, so they had to fend off demons and all sort of creatures, which didn't fall under any category known to them, for hours.
They had caused severe casualties, especially considering they were outnumbered – and that was an understatement - but had suffered grave losses too. Gunn's friends, even though fierce, were the first to fall and at such a rate that when only one hour of battle had elapsed they were all down. Anya, Xander and Cordelia acted as the medic team and gathered all the injured they could get them out of there. The commandos also faired serious losses, but kept their ground in spite of it all. Faith and Spike perished towards the end of the battle when the hellmouth was already closed and the demons made their final desperate attempt to, at least, break free. Then as suddenly as it had started, the battle ended.
The ones that could stood there almost stunned when they realised that they had no more creatures to fight off. It was almost unreal. They had won. But there were no celebrations, rather a feeling of tiredness and of sorrow for those who hadn't made it.
Angel, however, did not have the time to go through these emotions. As soon as all fighting was over, he fell onto his knees unable to stand with the immense pain that went through him. He could feel a bubbling warmth starting in his chest that spread itself to every part of his body. All of a sudden he had to breathe if he wanted to stay alive. To stay alive. His greatest wish had been granted: he had been forgiven!
"Buffy, where's Buffy?" were the first ragged words breathed out of his mouth. He raised himself from the ground and looked wildly around for her. He found her eyes, but she was so far away, on the other side of the now closed gate to hell. She gave him a sad smile. She looked exhausted. Then, her face crumpled in shock and he lost her eyes as she run towards the place the former Initiative had been defending. Something serious had happened and he wanted to be there for her. He started to make for the point where everyone was slowly gathering up to.
The ruins of the old Sunnydale High had been put to the ground a few months before, so they were now standing on a field clogged with dead bodies, which Angel had to overcome. And if that would be hard with preternatural strength, as a human it proved a titanic task. He made it there at last, only to be shocked at what he saw and heard. Buffy was kneeling down with an obviously injured Riley in her arms, who was smiling as he heard her words.
"You're going to be just fine" she said in a soothing confident voice "I'm gonna take you home and everything will be all right. I love you."
The world slipped out under Angel's feet. He felt as if a thousand blunt daggers had been driven into his chest as he heard his Buffy say those words to someone else, to another man. He felt like dying. He almost doubled over and heaved, but managed to control himself. All he wanted was to get out of there as fast as he could. Which he did, not even looking back, afraid of what he would see if he did. No one saw him leave.
"Let them think I'm dead, it'll be best all round" was his decision a few months afterwards when he debated whether or not to send word to Wesley, Cordelia and Gunn that he was alive and well. The well part was relative, but still...
He boarded the first freighter ship out of Sunnydale, which by chance was taking passengers, as long as a considerable amount of money was paid, not entirely corresponding to either the accommodations or the service. No questions asked, though. So he ended up in Panama, where he stayed three weeks, most of which were spent at harbour bars getting blindly drunk. Then one night, he told his story to the bartender for the last time. He wiped his tears, paid the bill and went to sleep himself sober.
The next morning he woke up with a heck of a hang over, and he knew that was not what he wanted for his life. Now that he had it, he would make the most of it, Buffy or no Buffy. He owed at least that much to himself. And to her... Even though she didn't love him anymore, he knew she would be disappointed in him if she saw the state he'd got into.
So another ship he took, this time heading to Africa through the Panama Canal. If he hadn't known the African coast before, he'd gotten to know it pretty well. Almost 4 months divided between life in ships, for he changed a few times, and a few days on shore.
It gave him time to think, though, to decide what to do with his new life. He made no long-term plans, but this much he had known: he wanted to see his homeland again.
He arrived in Europe, landing in Lisbon, where he stayed for a couple of weeks. Then he headed for the north of Spain, to Santander, where he took the ferry due for England. From there to Ireland and finally Galway. The journey lasted almost a month, for he'd stop at towns and villages that looked interesting for a few days. Travelling and sightseeing was as good a way as any to try forget what he'd left behind.
He stayed in Galway for two months, going all around town trying to identify the still existent places of his youth. The town hadn't changed much, well, not as much as he had expected, but in the end he still felt like he didn't belong there, just like every other place where he had inhabited. Buffy was his home.
As a result, he left for France, ending up in Paris where he still was, but as it turned out, not for long.
***
All of a sudden he snapped out of it. He almost jumped off his stool and hurriedly started packing his things. People round him were startled by his sudden burst of activity and if they weren't thinking he was demented before, they were thinking it now.
He was so nervous he was shaking. Things were slipping out of his hands just like he had butter fingers. He felt he had to get out of there as fast as he could, but of course the faster he tried to go the more slippery things got and the more time he took.
As he was kneeling down to pick up a straying brush that had rolled off underneath his neighbour's stool he heard someone sitting on the folding chair he kept for his clients.
"I'm sorry but I'm done for today. J'ai fini par aujourd'hui" he said while stretching his left arm as far as he could for the brush – to say the space was cramped would be a compliment - and at the same time turning his head over his right shoulder, proving he still kept some of his previous agility, but otherwise leaving him in a most uncomfortable position. When he saw who was sitting there, on his chair, two feet away from him, he almost fainted. The carefully kept balance he'd manage to sustain thus far was totally obliterated and he fell right on his butt, making a strange 180 degrees turn which dangerously shook the foundations of the easel next to him.
The owner of the said easel expressed his "delight" with a set of colourful expressions. Angel didn't even take notice.
"Buffy!" he managed to utter after a few seconds staring incredulously at her. It wasn't like he hadn't guessed her presence in city, but it was still overthrowing. Now she was really there, at arm's reach, a physical presence, no longer a memory.
"Hey. Are you sure you won't change your mind, for an old friend?" she asked, a sweet smile playing on her lips, her eyes suspiciously bright with tears.
"Hum?" he asked confused, completely mesmerised by her face. She looked beautiful, so beautiful Angel almost couldn't breathe, but she also looked tired, like she hadn't had a good night's rest for months.
"I'd like my portrait done. I've travelled so far I think I deserve at least that."
Angel, finally recovered from the shock, rose from the ground where he had been sitting, unable to react. His face was serious and hurt.
"What are you doing here Buffy?"
"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm waiting to have my portrait done."
At Angel's scolding frown she sighed and let out "Isn't it obvious enough? I'm here for you."
Confusion invaded Angel's face again. As much as he wanted to mask his emotions this was just too much for him.
"What about... Riley?"
"What about Riley?!" frustration was obvious in the Slayer's face and voice. "God, Angel, he's dead, he's been for so long, why do you go on with that?"
"He's dead?" He was surprised. "Is that's why you're here? To give the runner up a chance?" he said bitterly.
"What mess is going on in that head of yours, Angel?" She paused. "Look, can we please get out of here and go to somewhere more quiet, where we can talk? Feels like I'm in a freak show, everyone's staring at us," she pleaded rubbing her forehead as if hit by a sudden headache.
"Are you all right?" Angel asked concerned.
"Yeah. Just get me out of here, please," she said, standing up.
He put his duffel bag on his shoulder and grabbed the easel, the foldable chair and his stool all under one arm, completely forgetting about the fallen brush. Then he took her hand in his free one – just that simple gesture made him tremble with the rush that went through him – and led her out of the small square.
Angel guided her down the narrow streets to his apartment. Not that it qualified exactly as an apartment, it was more of a loft with a diminutive bathroom and a gas-burner playing as a stove. But it suited him just fine and it had a great view of the city.
"We're almost there. My place's just a block a away," he said as they came up to his street.
"Good," she uttered, her voice almost inaudible. He surveyed her worriedly. She didn't look good. She was so pale, devoid of all colour. Even her lips were white.
"Are you alright Buffy?" he asked, his voice filled with tenderness and support.
"What?" she asked, as she turned to face him. "Oh. I'm fine," she said dismissively, a ghost of a smile showing on her lips. "So, this is your neighbourhood. Charming. Do you ever make use of the services rendered here?" she mocked, trying to distract him from her.
He glared at her, not sure if he was going to play that game. He decided to let it pass, for now. "No, Buffy, I haven't, as a matter of fact. But I hardly think that's any of your business." His face was serious, his eyes stern.
"Maybe, but I'd like it if it were," she said sheepishly, locking her gaze with his.
'God, why does she do this to me?' he thought, averting his eyes and saying, "This is it".
He let her go up first the narrow staircase, made visible by the faint light that managed to peer through the dark clouds heavy with rain, that were forming up in the sky, and the dusty skylight on the roof.
They climbed up silently to the last floor. They couldn't help but feel the eerie atmosphere that hung around them. Angel was feeling trapped and more than ever he was wondering why on earth was Buffy wedging herself like this into his life again.
Angel let her in and indicated his bed "Do you want to lie down? You're still looking very pale."
His concern for her was evident, so she decided to humour him. Truth was she wasn't feeling all that good either.
"I'll make you some tea, it'll help you feel better."
She just nodded at that, as she took off her shoes to lie down. They didn't say a word to each other while he prepared her tea, each too engulfed in their own thoughts. Only when Angel handed Buffy the hot beverage and after he let her take a few sips did he speak.
"So, are you going to tell me what's wrong with you?" he said as he sat down on a stool in front of her.
She sighed heavily. "It's nothing serious, don't make that face like I'm gonna die or something." She chuckled, but he was far for from being amused.
"This is just a secondary effect to my loss of powers," she said bluntly.
"You're losing your powers?" He was stunned. "W... How? Why?"
"Apparently it's supposed to happen once the Slayer reaches a certain age. There's really no point in having a Slayer, in spite of still being strong, that would be weaker than a newly called one. It was always predicted that way. The thing is, with the years they just started skipping that part when they transcribed from manuscript to manuscript, since no slayer lasted that long. Giles had to dig really hard to find the explanation for this."
"But you weren't getting weaker, if anything you were in your prime"
"Yeah, well, to me it happened sooner. I'm already one of the Slayers who's lived longest. Besides there's already another Slayer and, let's face it, how many times have I stopped the world's ending? I think I had it coming, don't you? There's always the catch, though, but these fits will go away, I know it."
He couldn't say anything. He was too amazed at what was happening. Buffy losing her powers, him human, she saying she was there for him. It just couldn't be true. It was too good to be true.
But even if it was, he wasn't sure he should take it like that. He was still too hurt. He couldn't forget her words to Riley. They kept ringing on his head 'I love you', 'I love you', 'I love you'. He was going crazy!
"Angel, say something, please." Her words woke him from his relapse of broodiness.
"What do you want me to say Buffy? That I'm happy for you? I am, but I still don't know why you're here. Last time I saw you it was pretty clear I wasn't a part of your life anymore, at least not the way I want to be. I wasn't going to settle for anything less than that then and I sure as hell won't now."
His desperation and confusion were plain to see, as he got up and took a few steps away from her, as if the distance would protect him from her.
"I don't understand why you think that. Angel, I've always loved you!"
"Look, don't do that. I saw you. I saw you with Riley, after the battle, telling him you loved him"
He choked on the last words, turning his face away from her. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to get his tears under control. He wasn't going to cry, he kept saying to himself.
"Of course I said I loved him, because I did," Angel clenched his fists and his teeth. It was getting unbearable. "As a friend! And as the friend I was, when he asked me to say it to him, I did. He was dying, Angel! He said he wanted to die listening to those words, even if they were untrue, since he never got to hear them in life. Because he knew they weren't true, Angel."
She paused and stood up. "He knew that the only man I ever loved was you. Well, then, only technically man," she said playfully. "You know, turning human made you gain some weird insecurities. Usually it would be the other way round. You'd be the one talking me out of really dumb doubts like this one of yours."
Realisation hit Angel. And happiness. And exasperation for being so stupid. He slowly turned to face Buffy, only to find her only one small step away from him. He was overwhelmed when he saw her beautiful smiling face.
"You're not mad at me for leaving?" He asked, his voice trembling with emotion and disbelief.
"Not mad, furious. But I think we've lost enough time already to be wasting more on useless discussions."
She closed in on him, letting her hands rest on his broad chest. "I love you, you love me, that's all that matters."
Angel nodded, tears running freely down his cheeks now. His arms found his way around her and their lips locked in a kiss that, as kisses go, was well above average.
He was home at last.