Ok, I don't own Angel or Buffy or what have you, everything belongs to Joss
But that doesn't mean I'm not trying
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An annoying inconvenience; that was what he had been, just an annoying inconvenience in a time when the little things didn't matter, especially not him. Things probably would have gone a lot better if he hadn't come along actually, unneeded tears may not have been spilt and those English bastards wouldn't have shown up. But then again, if not him, it would have been someone else. Someone else? Impossible to imagine now, how could it ever possibly be someone else?
He wasn't something to worry about, after the shambles of graduation, the final heave ho in Sunnydale and the leaving of a love he was not expected to be seen again. It was always quite a surprise to find a person aiming a crossbow at one's head, it had to be said, but for it to be him… what are the chances?
It was of course the cooking that did it, he was always a sucker for a full English breakfast, but it was liked to be thought that his belly wasn't the only reason he stayed, it was hoped there was something else. A conscience, perhaps, a drive to do what was right.
After the explosion, the worrying moment (where was the pulse?) the compassion started to kick in, the secret smiles, a little bit of comfort in a world so bleak. Even after the darkness he was still there, smirking and pouting and frowning, barking orders like a schoolteacher, what a bastard. Didn't even care he had his belly ripped open, carried on as normal, snobby and English, only now he was in charge.
He liked being in charge, it could be seen, it was obvious in Pylea with those savage rebels, and it started to be respected, by all of them. But the problem with being a leader is that it comes with a certain sense of isolation, however much one tries to ignore it.
It was then that it started, to be honest, the feelings began to grow, friendship and respect developed into something more. He was never told though, what was the need? It wasn't like he was going anywhere. He was going to be there forever (where else could he go?) and forever was an awfully long time, so dreams of passionate kisses and all those silent wishes could be kept firmly under wraps for the time being.
Anyway, how could the feelings be disclosed even if it was desired? Certainly not with her there, his love, the only one he looked at in that way. It wasn't fair; she was new, couldn't he be happy with what he already had?
But it wasn't always so. With all great love comes betrayal and this was no exception. How could he? How could he break the heart of a friend, that friend? It wasn't understood, not by a long way, and the love, once so strong, turned to hate, hate fuelled by lust and emptiness and the tears of a broken heart. It wasn't right, not him. He should have been told, the feelings should have been brought out in the open, but then again they probably would have just scared him away.
There was a lot of time to think about it, after all, fish weren't all that much company. But he fixed that, didn't he? Just like he was suppose to, knight in shinning armour and all the legends that went with it, and he couldn't stay angry with him after that now could he?
So he had changed, but it had been expected, all stubbly and tanned and bad, a regular dark horse in the city of Angel's. But still sexy, very sexy now, not that he could be told, of course.
But then there was the sex (and not with the person it was supposed to be with) but with another, a dirty little individual, a known enemy. But the anger couldn't hold out for long and it was chosen to be ignored, for all the good it would do.
There was no way it could have been possible after that, to admit to the feelings. A single parent living in L.A. with a dysfunctional teenager was a recipe for disaster, after all. But it still prevailed, the love, after everything that happened, the secret looks and smiles when they were all alone.
Then it was gone, his memory, and he was back to being old stuffy English guy, not that it really mattered (but the rouge version was kind of sexier). And they had been happy, happy and rich and friends, and everything had been hunky dory and lovely and great.
It should have a happy ending this tale, shouldn't it? The two princes realise the love they harbour and ride off into the sunset on a white stallion, live happily ever after? Of course, that type of thing only happens in fairy tales and this certainly was not a fairy tale.
Then she died, she who he was with, and his world collapsed. The discovery of his memories was too much for him to handle, caved in on himself and that was that.
But he was still meant to be forever. Still meant to be there, forever, until the one day when the courage was finally plucked up and the love was confessed and in each others arms they rested, at ease with themselves and the rest of the world.
He had not been prepared when the smurf (he called her that, why couldn't everyone else?) broke the news. Shock, that was the only way to describe it, a complete and utter numbness that paralysed him, held him where he stood.
The pain in his heart was too great, and it became even greater when the battle started, and a sharp piece of wood managed to find itself in there.
It looks like forever just got a hell of a lot shorter.
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Ok, weird? Review, you know you want to.
Also, any reviews for 'Fresh Blood and Old Books' would be welcome (so far I have a grand total of 0)