Title: Future's Past
Author: Babs
e-mail: shifty77@hotmail.com
Category: Future fic, Angel
Spoilers: Not really, a very vague reference to Birthday.
Rating: R
Summary: Angel finally gets a gift he's been waiting for, but he's not sure if he wants it.
1 Warning: I've been told by people *cough*soleil*cough* that this ends "meanly," so be warned.
Disclaimer: Really, I promise. They aren't mine. They are owned by people who aren't me. Despite what the voices in my head tell me, but they're quiet now. That's good right?
Feedback: Pretty, pretty please?? Begging doesn't look good on me.
Distribution: You want? Please have. Just let me know.
His long black coat billows in the wind as he stands on his building and looks out on the city before him. It has been years, but still he clings to the old coat as a reminder of what has been. It is the one thing that has stayed the same.
The year is 2106 and evil is rampant. It no longer hides its face in the shadows. Instead, it flaunts itself openly. If he thinks about it, that too is the same, at least a little bit. Evil has always flaunted itself. Before it was a dance; the school shootings and muggings in the streets. Still, these were things that people could merely brush off as flukes in human nature. If before it was a dance, it has now become a battle. The demons run through the streets taking who and what they want, and the humans follow in their wake. He has learned a lot about humanity in the past ninety years. Time has shown him that humans can be the least humane and that a soul makes for nothing without compassion. He laughs when he thinks how for all these years he has been fighting for his humanity when he really had it all along.
His city is covered in blood. Once he stood on the roof of his building and looked out on skyscrapers and thousands upon thousands of lights. He used to stare at the people far below and long for the day he would walk among them. Now his building is one of the tallest buildings left. Tall buildings do too much damage when they come toppling down. Instead of light, darkness envelops the city below him. Demons are attracted to the light. People no longer venture out into the city unless absolutely necessary. Work is done from the relative safety of home where people are secure well within the confines of their cement cells. People have stopped dying in massive numbers like they were fifty years ago, but they have stopped living as well.
He feels it approaching from behind him, has sensed it for the last few moments. He pulls his sword back and with one fell swoop feels it plunge into the flesh of the beast at his back. Turning briefly, he watches as the surly gray beast falls to the ground. Confident that it is dead, he looks back to the city and waits. Sirens sound in the distance, singing the lullabies that now put children to sleep. This is no longer his city, and he turns, steps over the slowly disintegrating beast, and walks inside.
In his room, he strips down to his boxers and glances down at his bare arms and legs. They are covered in wounds that have slowed in their healing. He grabs the first aid kit and methodically applies ointment to the worst of them. His senses have faded too. His vision and hearing are less acute and his smell has been deteriorating for some time now. It is coming. He has known for awhile that it is coming soon. The irony is not lost on him. He will have life when there is nothing left to live for.
Cordy was the first to die. He remembers the day all too clearly, remembers the exact moment it happened. It was 2005. He had just returned from a pretty nasty fight with a gang of vampires downtown and he was listening with amusement as Gunn and Wesley bickered over which weapon worked best in battle.
"Crossbow man. Can't go wrong with a crossbow."
"Oh no. I prefer the flame-thrower. It facilitates more movement while in use because you don't need the precision you would with a crossbow."
"Nah. There's nothin' like hitting a vamp straight in the heart with an arrow. Flame-thrower takes all the fun out."
"What do you think Angel?"
Pausing before pulling the front door to the hotel open, he answered. "Oh I don't know. I've always kind of liked my hurling ax. It always gets the job done."
Wesley and Gunn went back to their argument as they stepped into the lobby. That's when he'd seen her. She was lying on the floor, her body twisted into a position that seemed completely unnatural. Fred kneeled next to her, murmuring something as she held Cordelia's hand. She must have heard them enter because she looked up to watch them. As he rushed to Cordy's side, Fred's eyes met his and he could not deny the fear he saw in them.
The four of them had remained in silence for a moment; the quiet marking the mounting tension. Wesley was the first to speak. "Fred what happened?"
"Uh, I'm not sure. One minute we were talkin' 'bout these shoes that Cordy wanted to buy and then a vision hit. It was bad, real bad. She didn't wake up, and I don't remember her not waking up. Well, except for that one time and that was over three years ago. She won't wake up Angel." She paused for a moment to wipe the tears from her eyes and points down to the pool of red liquid puddling beneath Cordelia's head. "There's blood, too much blood. That can't be good. I called 911. I didn't know what else to do. The ambulance is on the way. I'm so sorry guys. I didn't know what to do."
The ambulance arrived and the paramedics wheeled Cordy away on a stretcher. No matter how hard he tries, he can't remember how he got to the hospital that day. They wouldn't let him ride in the ambulance. At the hospital he raced into her room and the sight before him left him queasy. She was so pale that her skin seemed transparent and there were so many machines attached to her that she almost didn't seem human. In the midst of his panic, he remembers thinking that he is grateful that he wasn't around when Buffy died.
Fred, Gunn and Wesley flanked the sides of her bed and a doctor turned to face him. No one looked happy.
"Are you Mr. Angel?"
"Yes, that's me," he answered not even noticing the name. In normal circumstances he would have cringed at the name and then laughed. These weren't normal circumstances.
"Well Mr. Angel, it seems that Ms. Chase has given you a Power of Attorney for Health Care." The doctor held out a piece of paper for Angel to take.
Almost without thinking, he took it. The language on the sheet looked foreign to him. He didn't know what that meant; didn't know what any of this meant. "What's that mean?"
"Well it basically means that Ms. Chase has given you the power to make all of her health care decisions."
"I don't understand."
Wesley cleared his throat. "I believe what the doctor is trying to tell you is that you get to decide whether or not to keep her on life support."
He didn't want that. He didn't want to hold her life in his hands like that. Demons he could handle, but he wasn't so sure he could make that decision. He looked to the faces of his friends, faces that stared back at him with unbearable sorrow. They were her friends too. Shouldn't they have a say in all of this? Almost in answer, he looked down once more at the paper in his hand. This time he saw something written in Cordy's familiar handwriting. "Angel will know what to do." They were only six words, but to him they made all the difference.
"Turn them off."
"But Angel!" Three voices shouted at him in unison.
"No. Think about it guys. She wouldn't want to live like this. Hell, she wouldn't even want us to see her like this."
Three heads gave unwilling nods of agreement.
"Turn them off."
The doctor reached up, pausing for a moment to observe the sullen friends, and switched of the machines. The humming and whirring sounds previously filling the room were replaced by an eerie silence, and the steady beeping of the heart monitor slowly turned into a steady stream of sounding. He had to leave. Cordelia was more than a flatline.
"Is that it?"
"Yes, that's it. I'm sorry about your friend."
"Me too." They turned and walked away.
He found a nice spot for her. They had her buried in a well-kept cemetery in the city in hilltop plot, tucked beneath a sprawling tree. He figured she'd like the view.
He still visits her from time to time. The cemetery is no longer the place it was. It is no longer sprinkled with flowers and tokens of loved ones affections. Headstones are covered in graffiti or completely knocked over. It has become a mere marker of death when it once was a tribute to life. Still, he visits. He brings flowers, picks her headstone off the ground, brushes it off, and reads the note he found all those years ago.
"Angel: If you're reading this, I'm dead. I hid it in a book that you only read when someone dies, and I figure it was me. I also figure it means that you're brooding. Stop it! Don't be sad. (Well okay, be a little bit sad.) I made you laugh in life, and you better not mope just because I'm dead. It's not your fault. I know you think it's your fault, but it's not. My life was better because of you. I was better because of you. Don't belittle that by mourning it. I love you. I told you that a hundred times, but I want you to remember. You're my best friend. I never told you that, and I wanted you to know. Thank you. ~Cordy."
As he settles into bed he is familiar with the twinge of grief that rushes over him. He has grown accustomed to the feeling over the years and is no longer surprised by the emotion, even a century after her death. He always feels like this when he remembers, and he knows that he will remember the others as well. If he doesn't allow himself that small accommodation, he knows the twinge will turn into a full-blown tremor. Staring up at the cracks in his crumbling ceiling, he waits.
Cordy's death brought the friends closer together. It was not as cliché as he remembers it now. If he took pause to really think about it, he would recollect that at first her death tore them apart. Immediately after Cordelia's death they all went their separate ways, except for when a mission demanded they work together. They splintered. Cordy's note changed all of that. The note made him realize that Cordy wouldn't want them like this. She would have wanted them to stay together. He pulled them together one night and told them so. *That's* when they started pulling together.
Over time, he watched as Fred and Gunn fell in love. In the beginning, they tried to hide it, but he and Wesley knew what they were doing when they rushed into dark corners and came out with mussed hair and flushed cheeks. He fondly recalls how Gunn would throw Fred over his shoulder and carry her up to her room while Fred would struggle to free herself and blush furiously at his forwardness. They were so sweet together. He was happy for them because they were good for each other, brought out the best in each other. When she was with Gunn, Fred became the woman he had always known she was, confident and happy. When he was with Fred, Gunn showed a new side of himself, he was gentle and soft. He loved watching them as they strolled hand in hand through the hotel.
He was happy for them, even if did make him remember her. The soft kisses exchanged between his friends made him remember what it was to kiss her. Her lips on his as their hands roamed and tongues tangled. When Fred and Gunn rushed off to dark corners, he relived each secret meeting with her moment by moment; the hushed conversations about the things that would never be and the pain in her eyes, his heart, when they parted.
Things weren't bad in the world yet, at least not any worse than ever, so Fred and Gunn were free to love each other. They loved simply and easily, well as simply and easily as anyone can love, and then announced their engagement. There were plans to be made. There was a wedding to plan. It was to be small so it wouldn't take long. They wanted to be married right away. Almost two years after Cordelia's death, they did it. Fred and Gunn said their vows in the courtyard of the hotel under the stars as her parents, Wesley and Angel looked on. It was a beautiful night. It was while dancing with the bride that he realized he needed to see her. This was what life is about after all; family, friends, love.
The drive was long, much longer than it should be, probably because he was weighted with worry. It had been almost seven years since he had seen her face. Of course there had been sparse telephone calls made, but he hadn't physically been in her presence since the time they met after she was resurrected. The car slid by the "Welcome to Sunnydale" and he turns the wheel automatically, heading for the mansion. He parked there and journeyed the rest of the way to her house on foot. There was no need to alert her of his presence before he was absolutely ready.
He stood at the driveway's end and looked at the familiar house before him, so much had happened there. So much good and so much bad. He wanted to make sure he was ready to face it. With a futile breath, he walked up the driveway and carefully climbed the porch steps, not wanting to make a sound. His caution was unnecessary as he heard the laughter pouring out of the house. They wouldn't have heard him anyway. Light flooded out the front window and he stepped over to look inside. For a moment, he felt guilty about spying but he wanted to prepare himself for what was to come. What he saw through that window took his heart away.
She sat on the couch with Dawn and a man, watching a movie. The man had his arm draped around her in the way that only lovers do, and she rested her head on his chest while her hand drew small circles on his knee. This is why he had left, so she could have something normal like this, and he had no right to come back and demand anything more from her. He turned to leave and was face to face with Willow.
"Willow, I um…"
"What are you doing here Angel?" It was said harshly with a coldness that had not existed in the Willow that he knew all those years ago.
"I'm just going to leave."
"No," she reached up and grabbed his arm, a mark of boldness that he didn't know she possessed. "You're not gonna just come and watch and leave. It's not fair to her. You should know that. Why are you here?"
"I don't know. I really don't know. I just needed to see her."
"She's with someone now and she's happy. Can't you just let her have that?" She was angry, and he held no grudge against her for it. "Why are you here?"
"Cordelia is dead." The words spilled out involuntarily. He hadn't meant to say them but they had just come out. He regretted it instantly because the words now remained suspended in the space between them. The old Willow was back at that moment, or at least a part of her was. He saw the statement register on her face and watched as her eyes flashed from fury to sorrow.
"Oh Angel. I'm so sorry."
"I didn't mean to... It was two years ago." Her eyes flickered from sorrow to betrayal. "We would have told you guys, but we were kind of caught up in our own stuff at the time. That's not why I'm here. I just need to see Buffy. Please?"
He was not accustomed to pleading, and she must have known; must have seen it in his eyes. "Just a second Angel. I'll try to get her to come out. I can't promise anything, but I'll try." With her hand on the doorknob, she turned to face him once more. This time her eyes flashed with loyalty. "But I swear to God you hurt her and I'll find a way to hurt you too."
He merely nodded in understanding. "Thank you Willow."
Back at the window, he watched as Willow leaned down and whispered into Buffy's ear. She shuddered and looked cautiously over her shoulder. Quickly, he flattened himself against the wall of the house, trying to get out of her line of vision. He heard movement from inside and he moved once again to the window where he saw Buffy pull Willow into hallway. His view was slightly obscured, but he could tell that Buffy was irritated. The conversation continued for a moment and then, without warning, Buffy whirled around, went back to the couch and murmured something in her lover's ear. Just as quickly, she was gone.
"What the hell are you doing here?" He rotated his body slowly to face her. He was just about to answer her when she grabbed him by the arm and yanked him into the yard, farther away from the house. She was thoroughly pissed off. "Answer me."
"I needed to see you. Who is he?"
"Who the hell do you think you are? Do you really think that you can come here after all this time, say that you need to see me and then pry into my personal life? Seven years Angel! Seven fucking years, and you think that you can just walk back into my life like it's nothing."
"Buffy! Lower your voice."
"What? You don't think I told him? You think I'd just walk out on him to have this secret rendezvous with you because you're that important to me? Get over yourself Angel. I certainly have. I don't lie to him. I don't keep secrets, not anymore."
He was angry too now, amazed that she could make him furious so quickly. Still, he spoke coolly. "I'm glad you've found it so easy to move on."
"Easy." She hissed through gritted teeth. "You think it was easy for me?" Pausing, she shakes her head. "I don't want to talk about this. Tell my you're here."
"I told you. I needed to see you. I thought that we could be friends. I needed us to be able to be friends."
"I thought we agreed that would never work for us. Been there, done that. Failed miserably. Why should it be any different now?"
"Fuck you Buffy. You know I thought maybe you'd changed, thought maybe I'd changed too, and maybe we could do this. Cordelia died Buffy. Cordelia died and tonight two of my closest friends got married and I started thinking. I started thinking about how you were one of the most important people in my life and I just let you slip away. I shouldn't have let that happen. What we had was just too important, but if you can't get over yourself enough to see that, well fuck you. Do think this was easy for me?" Tears streamed down his face. He couldn't even remember when he'd started to cry, but his vision was blurred. He wasn't sure if it was from the tears or the fury. With one last look at her, he started to storm across the yard, away from her.
"Angel. Wait." She ran to catch up to him, put her hand on his shoulders and gently turned him to her. There was still anger on her face, but there was also compassion and a little bit of confusion. "I'm sorry. It's just that…"
"Yeah I know. I'm sorry too. You're right. I had no right to show up here like this. It's been too long."
"Well maybe it has, but maybe you're right too." With a sigh, she gestures back at the house. "I love him Angel."
"I know. I can tell. Who is he?"
"Julian." She smiled a small smile at the mention of his name. "He works for the Watcher's Council. He got sent here two years ago when there was talk of a group of demons opening the Hellmouth again, not as my watcher, just for extra help." In explanation, she added. "Giles had just gotten married and had a baby on the way so he couldn't leave England. I should tell you that Julian knows about you, knows about our history. We worked together a lot and things just kind of evolved to the point we're at now. He's a good man Angel. He's kind and gentle and funny. He's even good with a hammer. I think we're going to get married." It was said almost in apology and with a tinge of regret.
He cupped her cheek in his hand and smiled. "It's okay Buffy. That's what I always wanted for you. I'm really happy for you. Truly, I am."
"Thanks. I'm sorry about Cordy, Angel. I know she meant a lot to you. You should have told us."
"I know. I'm sorry I didn't."
Reluctantly she began to journey back to the house. At the steps she hesitated and called back over her shoulder, "Angel wait!"
"Yeah?"
"Friends huh?"
He nodded his head. "Yeah friends."
"Maybe we could give it a try. I mean after all it can't turn out any worse than last time."
With a laugh, he agreed. "No. Can't be any worse that last time."
She motioned to him to come inside. "Come on in. I'll introduce you to Julian. I think you'll like him." As they walked into the house, she stopped him by placing a hand to his chest. "You just have to promise that if you don't, you won't beat him up."
He went inside that night and met Julian. It was a brief and uncomfortable meeting but it had to be done. When it was over, he felt good and he went back to LA with a considerable weight lifted from his chest.
In LA life continued as usual. Fred and Gunn filled the hotel with the joy that newlyweds exude, making work more bearable. He and Buffy kept their promise and began to rebuild their friendship. Short telephone calls filled with awkward pauses became occasional visits. He would go to Sunnydale or she and Julian would come to LA. They'd have dinner and talk. As for Julian? Buffy was right. Dammit if he didn't like the guy, no matter how hard he tried not to.
Buffy deserved to be happy and she was. One year after their encounter on her lawn, Angel drove to Sunnydale to watch Buffy's wedding. He died a little bit more that day as he listened to them exchange vows to love each other for the rest of their lives. This is why he left her all those years ago, so she could live a normal life. He would not begrudge her that.
Two years passed and the world began to grow darker. The demons began to show themselves more, and he and his crew remained busy. He and Buffy saw less of each other, both caught up in their respective missions, but they did their best to keep in touch. Despite the growing darkness, Fred and Gunn announced that they were pregnant. He worried at first about them bringing new life into the world that they lived in, but they soon eased those fears. They would not let evil stop them. Day by day, he watched in awe as Fred's belly grew and Gunn showered her with affection. He cried with them the day they brought their first sonogram home and laughed with when they fought over whether or not to learn their child's sex. Their love was a beautiful sight to see, but all good things must come to an end.
They lost Fred during labor, the baby too. Whenever he thinks about it he can't help but think it odd that she died when trying to give life. Of all the ways she could have died, she died trying to bring new life into the shitty little world. It didn't seem right. They buried Fred and the baby on the hill next to Cordy, and nothing seemed right anymore.
Gunn, of course, was devastated. He remembers watching as Gunn grew more and more reckless in his fighting. He and Wesley had tried to talk to him, tried to make Gunn understand that he needed to take more care, but he refused to listen. They sat helplessly and watched as their friend tried to take everything into his own hands. He denied it, but they knew Gunn sneaked off on his own to fight whatever it was that he was fighting. That's how they lost him. One day, he just didn't come back. They'd searched and searched and couldn't find him and then one day Wesley stepped out into the courtyard and found Gunn's mangled body draped on a bench.
Shortly after Gunn's death, Wes moved into the hotel. The city had grown violent and it was best for them to be together. It made it easier when they had to run out to fight in the middle of each night. They no longer had nights to just sit around and talk, like they once did. Every night was filled with demons and monsters and vampires. He was getting tired so he knew it had to be hard on Wesley, but Wes never complained. He'd just grab a sword and say, "Let's go."
He no longer saw Buffy and Julian. There was no time. Sunnydale was getting just as bad as LA, and they were both too busy. They kept in touch through phone calls and e-mail. They sent Christmas cards and condolence cards, and the condolence cards were coming much too often. He lost Wesley six years after Gunn. It just happened one night and now he had four graves to visit. He knew that she had lost too. First Anya, then Xander, then Willow and Dawn. She even told him Spike died trying to fend of some sort of hell beast. It was only Buffy and Julian left. They told him they didn't feel right bringing children into the world, so they were alone.
More time passed, first years and then decades. The pain of his friends' deaths subsided and he grew accustomed to fighting alone again. One day he received a letter from Buffy telling him of Julian's death. He should visit. He knew he should, knew that she probably needed someone to lean on. There wasn't time. It was awful of him to think that, but it was true. There was too much blood on his hands already, and he couldn't risk any more. If he couldn't save his friends, the least he could do was save the world. So he fought. Night after endless night he fought. Until one night he received the call.
He'd just woken up from a few hours sleep, a rare treat those days, when the phone rang. He remembers thinking that it was odd for his phone to ring. There was no one left to call him. "Hello," he'd answered the phone hesitantly, as if he already knew.
"Is this Angel?" The unfamiliar voice questioned.
"Yes. Who is this?"
"This is Sunnydale General Hospital. We're calling because a Ms. Northrop has been admitted to here and she has you listed as her next of kin."
It'd taken him a minute to remember that was Buffy, that she was no longer Buffy Summers. Hadn't been in some time. "What happened? Is she okay?"
"I'm afraid it doesn't look good sir. She seems to have had a stroke. If it's possible, I'd get here as soon as you can if I were you."
"Yes," he'd said, already searching for his coat and keys. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Tell her I'll be there as soon as I can."
"I will."
"Thanks." He'd nearly had the phone in its cradle when he heard the woman shouting.
"Sir! Sir!"
"What? I'm sorry, yes?"
"She's in room 586."
"Thank you. Thank you very much."
He drove recklessly, thinking only of Buffy alone in a hospital bed. She shouldn't be alone. He arrived at the hospital and stormed into room 586 and saw her lying there. He was surprised that she'd aged. Forgotten that she would have grown older. It had been so long since he'd seen her, but despite the graying hair and weathered skin he knew it was Buffy. She stared at him through glassy eyes, but when he got closer to her, looked closer at them, he saw her staring back at him with the same fight she had always possessed. "Hello Buffy." He said, a little unsure of himself. He was careful not to get to close to her, stayed a few steps back from her bed. "I came as soon as I heard. How are you?" Waving at the air, he stopped. "Sorry. You don't have to answer that. It's a stupid question."
Glassy eyes twinkled at him and her mouth contorted into what he assumed was a smile. A small trail of spit dribbled from her mouth, and he was reminded of what it is that time can do. He reached for a tissue and stepped forward to wipe her mouth, but she brought an arm up to stop him. She would do it herself, and he watched in sorrow as she fought her body to drag her hand across the mouth. Age may have taken over, but she was still the Slayer. "Anglth.." she struggled. "Comeere." She motioned to him.
In that moment, his unease subsided and he went to her. Ever so gently, he stretched out next to her, cradling her now frail body in his arms, and he felt her sigh in contentment. Closing his eyes and burying his face in her hair, he breathed in the scent of her. After all these years, she still smelled of lilacs. After all the years of making himself forget, he finally allowed himself to remember. In that brief moment, lying next to her and breathing her in, it all came flooding back to him. The first time he saw her all those years ago out the window of Whistler's car. Their first meeting in that dark Sunnydale alley. Their first kiss, their first dance, their first good-bye. As he held her to him, he remembered the first time he held her in his arms and the first time he made love to her. Remembered the day that time forgot.
Opening his eyes, he settled back into himself, back into reality and realized from the steady rising and falling of her chest that she had fallen asleep. He kissed her tenderly on the forehead and carefully crept off the bed. Turing to walk out the door, he paused for a moment to quietly whisper. "I love you Buffy. Always." It was the last time that he saw her alive.
He arrived back at the hotel in a somber mood. He was alone now. Really alone. The last of his family was gone and he felt a little lost. Dropping his coat on the dilapidated front desk, he was fully prepared to retreat into his bedroom, desperate for some semblance of peace, but a small white envelope on the floor beneath the mail slot caught his eye. He strode over and picked up, saw that it was addressed to him. Buffy. He would know her handwriting anywhere, no matter how shaky it had become.
With nervous hands and an ache in his heart, he tore open the envelope. Sinking to the ground, he took a senseless breath in order to steady himself. Then he began to read.
"Dear Angel,
Over all these years I've had so much I wanted to say, but I've never been able to find the words. In the beginning I refused to speak out of anger and confusion. Then those feelings began to change and I believed that it was best that we didn't speak. It was good for us to move on. I'm glad you came to me all those years ago asking for friendship, grateful that you took that first step. I'm not sure that I would have had that courage. I love you Angel. I've never loved anyone like I loved you. But I'm angry. Really pissed off. After all these years you think that I would have gotten over it, but I can't. When you left me, you became dictator-in- chief of my life, trying to decide what was best for me. Don't you think I could have made that decision for myself? I know I shouldn't do this to you especially with me being dead and all, but I thought you deserved to know. You wanted me to have a normal life, but screw that Angel. I was never normal. For Christ's sake, I'm the Slayer. Okay. I feel better now.
That said, I should also say thank you. Maybe you were right. Maybe we didn't belong together. I don't know, guess I'll never know. But the one thing I do know is that I wouldn't have had the life I've lived if you'd stayed. And I've loved my life. Love every twisted and screwed up second of it. I never would have met Julian and fallen in love and I don't know if I'm willing to give that up. Okay Angel. I'm getting tired now. This old age stuff is bullshit. You're not missing out on anything. One last thing I need for you to know. I loved Julian with all my heart Angel. But my soul? That belongs to you. Always. Buffy"
The memory of her is the last of his thoughts as he begins to drift into sleep. It is not because she means the most to him, although he knows that there were people that thought that. She is the most important, that is true, but they all mean the world to him. They are his family. He would not be who he is without them. Cordy, Wesley, Fred, Gunn, and Buffy. She is last in his mind because she was the last to go, and that is all. But he thinks it fitting that the one who opened the circle is also the one who closes it. A rare smile graces his face as he thinks of it. And it happens.
Pain shoots through him as he awakens and he cannot help but scream. He cannot recall when last he felt such pain. It rips him from toes to nose and he whispers a silent prayer to make it stop. Almost in answer, it stops in an instant and he uncurls himself from the fetal position that he had curled into. Slowly, he stands and finds himself in a large, blinding white room. He has never seen anything so white and he has to fight the urge to cover his eyes with his hands. In a panic, he rushes to the wall and begins to search for a door with his hands. In the distance, a loud pounding beats steadily and he shirks away. It hurts. Everything hurts so much.
Light glints off of something on the far side of the room and he hurries to see what it is. As he is running, his chest begins to burn and almost on instinct he draws in a sharp breath. The oxygen that rushes in and fills his lungs floors him and he stops dead in his tracks. But he isn't dead anymore. He is alive. He needs air. It has been nearly three hundred and fifty years since he has felt the burst of oxygen in his body and he cannot adjust to the sudden intrusion. With caution, he takes slow, deliberate steps to the object glinting in the distance. With each step he thinks. Inhale, exhale. Step, inhale. Step, exhale. How easy it would be to end his life. He only needs to forget to breathe. That isn't so hard to do.
One last step and he is at his destination. He bends down and sees that it is a sword. He picks it up and runs his finger down the edge of the blade and pulls back at the pain. Things didn't hurt that much when he was dead. The red liquid that trickles down his hand intrigues him and he stands for a moment and just watches it. Turning the sword in his hands, he thinks how easy it would be to end his life. He only needs to fall on the blade and it would be over. How odd it is that in death he only thought of life and now in life he only thinks of death. There is nothing left to live for. No one left to love.
"Hello!" He screams as he looks around the seemingly empty room. "Where the hell am I? Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone."
"Ah." A voice echoes from all around him. It sounds neither male nor female and it has taken him by surprise. "He is angry."
"Who are you? What the hell is going on." He spins in a circle searching for a face to confront. "Where are you?
"I am right here. I am all around you?"
"Then show your face."
"I have no face to show. I am here."
In anger, he thrusts the sword through the air. "What is going on? I want answers."
The voice laughs. "You have no patience. This is your reward."
"Yeah. Some reward. But I already knew about this. We figured out a long time ago that I'd eventually get to live. I just never figured the Powers would have such a sick sense of humor."
"What are you talking about? Sense of humor? The Powers have no sense of humor."
"I know that. I was being sarcastic." In an act of frustration, he throws the sword across the room and slumps to the ground, putting his head in his hands. "Forget it. It's not worth it. What I mean is that how is this a reward?" He waves his hands over his body, indicating the new life within him.
"It is life. It is what you want."
"No, it's not. At least not now."
"You misunderstand. This is only part of your reward."
He jumps up, suddenly invigorated by the voice's statement. "What do you mean only part of my reward? What's the rest?"
"Patience. You must be patient."
He is angry again. "Fuck patience. I've been patient for over one hundred years." He is flushed with fury and nearly shouts his next statement. "What is the rest of my reward."
"I will tell you, but not because you demand to know. You will know because it is time for you to know."
"I don't care why. Just tell me!"
"The first part of your reward is that you became human. You know this. What you don't know is that you can go back in time, as a human, to the point that you were happiest and relive your life from that point on."
His newly beating heart begins to race inside his chest. Jumping to his feet, he shakes his head in disbelief. It can't be true. That's too good to be true, but his doubt is soon overtaken by joy. He knows the moment, knows exactly where he wants to go. He opens his mouth to speak, but the voice stops him. "Wait. Don't speak too soon. Think first about where you want to go for where you think you were the happiest might not be where you truly were the happiest. Take pause for a moment and ponder that."
"Okay. While I think about it can you answer a question for me?"
"I can try."
"So if I get to go back human what happens to all the good I've done? Will it be undone?"
"No," the voice sighs. "All the good you have done will stay the same. You will not have fought in vain."
Relief floods through him. He can't believe it. Where will he go? At first glance, there are so few moments when he was happy. He can really only think of one, the first one to go through his mind. He lets the wheels of his memory turn and a few more moments come to his mind. Then it flashes before him in his mind's eye. That is the moment. He opens his mouth to speak. "I know where I want to go. I want…"
"Silence," the voice commands. "Speak not. There is no need. You only need to think of that moment and you will go there. Are you ready?"
He nods and takes a deep breath. As he closes his eyes and lets the memory run through him, a brilliant light flashes around him and he feels like he is caught in a rainbow. He knows exactly where he is going.
FINE
Author: Babs
e-mail: shifty77@hotmail.com
Category: Future fic, Angel
Spoilers: Not really, a very vague reference to Birthday.
Rating: R
Summary: Angel finally gets a gift he's been waiting for, but he's not sure if he wants it.
1 Warning: I've been told by people *cough*soleil*cough* that this ends "meanly," so be warned.
Disclaimer: Really, I promise. They aren't mine. They are owned by people who aren't me. Despite what the voices in my head tell me, but they're quiet now. That's good right?
Feedback: Pretty, pretty please?? Begging doesn't look good on me.
Distribution: You want? Please have. Just let me know.
His long black coat billows in the wind as he stands on his building and looks out on the city before him. It has been years, but still he clings to the old coat as a reminder of what has been. It is the one thing that has stayed the same.
The year is 2106 and evil is rampant. It no longer hides its face in the shadows. Instead, it flaunts itself openly. If he thinks about it, that too is the same, at least a little bit. Evil has always flaunted itself. Before it was a dance; the school shootings and muggings in the streets. Still, these were things that people could merely brush off as flukes in human nature. If before it was a dance, it has now become a battle. The demons run through the streets taking who and what they want, and the humans follow in their wake. He has learned a lot about humanity in the past ninety years. Time has shown him that humans can be the least humane and that a soul makes for nothing without compassion. He laughs when he thinks how for all these years he has been fighting for his humanity when he really had it all along.
His city is covered in blood. Once he stood on the roof of his building and looked out on skyscrapers and thousands upon thousands of lights. He used to stare at the people far below and long for the day he would walk among them. Now his building is one of the tallest buildings left. Tall buildings do too much damage when they come toppling down. Instead of light, darkness envelops the city below him. Demons are attracted to the light. People no longer venture out into the city unless absolutely necessary. Work is done from the relative safety of home where people are secure well within the confines of their cement cells. People have stopped dying in massive numbers like they were fifty years ago, but they have stopped living as well.
He feels it approaching from behind him, has sensed it for the last few moments. He pulls his sword back and with one fell swoop feels it plunge into the flesh of the beast at his back. Turning briefly, he watches as the surly gray beast falls to the ground. Confident that it is dead, he looks back to the city and waits. Sirens sound in the distance, singing the lullabies that now put children to sleep. This is no longer his city, and he turns, steps over the slowly disintegrating beast, and walks inside.
In his room, he strips down to his boxers and glances down at his bare arms and legs. They are covered in wounds that have slowed in their healing. He grabs the first aid kit and methodically applies ointment to the worst of them. His senses have faded too. His vision and hearing are less acute and his smell has been deteriorating for some time now. It is coming. He has known for awhile that it is coming soon. The irony is not lost on him. He will have life when there is nothing left to live for.
Cordy was the first to die. He remembers the day all too clearly, remembers the exact moment it happened. It was 2005. He had just returned from a pretty nasty fight with a gang of vampires downtown and he was listening with amusement as Gunn and Wesley bickered over which weapon worked best in battle.
"Crossbow man. Can't go wrong with a crossbow."
"Oh no. I prefer the flame-thrower. It facilitates more movement while in use because you don't need the precision you would with a crossbow."
"Nah. There's nothin' like hitting a vamp straight in the heart with an arrow. Flame-thrower takes all the fun out."
"What do you think Angel?"
Pausing before pulling the front door to the hotel open, he answered. "Oh I don't know. I've always kind of liked my hurling ax. It always gets the job done."
Wesley and Gunn went back to their argument as they stepped into the lobby. That's when he'd seen her. She was lying on the floor, her body twisted into a position that seemed completely unnatural. Fred kneeled next to her, murmuring something as she held Cordelia's hand. She must have heard them enter because she looked up to watch them. As he rushed to Cordy's side, Fred's eyes met his and he could not deny the fear he saw in them.
The four of them had remained in silence for a moment; the quiet marking the mounting tension. Wesley was the first to speak. "Fred what happened?"
"Uh, I'm not sure. One minute we were talkin' 'bout these shoes that Cordy wanted to buy and then a vision hit. It was bad, real bad. She didn't wake up, and I don't remember her not waking up. Well, except for that one time and that was over three years ago. She won't wake up Angel." She paused for a moment to wipe the tears from her eyes and points down to the pool of red liquid puddling beneath Cordelia's head. "There's blood, too much blood. That can't be good. I called 911. I didn't know what else to do. The ambulance is on the way. I'm so sorry guys. I didn't know what to do."
The ambulance arrived and the paramedics wheeled Cordy away on a stretcher. No matter how hard he tries, he can't remember how he got to the hospital that day. They wouldn't let him ride in the ambulance. At the hospital he raced into her room and the sight before him left him queasy. She was so pale that her skin seemed transparent and there were so many machines attached to her that she almost didn't seem human. In the midst of his panic, he remembers thinking that he is grateful that he wasn't around when Buffy died.
Fred, Gunn and Wesley flanked the sides of her bed and a doctor turned to face him. No one looked happy.
"Are you Mr. Angel?"
"Yes, that's me," he answered not even noticing the name. In normal circumstances he would have cringed at the name and then laughed. These weren't normal circumstances.
"Well Mr. Angel, it seems that Ms. Chase has given you a Power of Attorney for Health Care." The doctor held out a piece of paper for Angel to take.
Almost without thinking, he took it. The language on the sheet looked foreign to him. He didn't know what that meant; didn't know what any of this meant. "What's that mean?"
"Well it basically means that Ms. Chase has given you the power to make all of her health care decisions."
"I don't understand."
Wesley cleared his throat. "I believe what the doctor is trying to tell you is that you get to decide whether or not to keep her on life support."
He didn't want that. He didn't want to hold her life in his hands like that. Demons he could handle, but he wasn't so sure he could make that decision. He looked to the faces of his friends, faces that stared back at him with unbearable sorrow. They were her friends too. Shouldn't they have a say in all of this? Almost in answer, he looked down once more at the paper in his hand. This time he saw something written in Cordy's familiar handwriting. "Angel will know what to do." They were only six words, but to him they made all the difference.
"Turn them off."
"But Angel!" Three voices shouted at him in unison.
"No. Think about it guys. She wouldn't want to live like this. Hell, she wouldn't even want us to see her like this."
Three heads gave unwilling nods of agreement.
"Turn them off."
The doctor reached up, pausing for a moment to observe the sullen friends, and switched of the machines. The humming and whirring sounds previously filling the room were replaced by an eerie silence, and the steady beeping of the heart monitor slowly turned into a steady stream of sounding. He had to leave. Cordelia was more than a flatline.
"Is that it?"
"Yes, that's it. I'm sorry about your friend."
"Me too." They turned and walked away.
He found a nice spot for her. They had her buried in a well-kept cemetery in the city in hilltop plot, tucked beneath a sprawling tree. He figured she'd like the view.
He still visits her from time to time. The cemetery is no longer the place it was. It is no longer sprinkled with flowers and tokens of loved ones affections. Headstones are covered in graffiti or completely knocked over. It has become a mere marker of death when it once was a tribute to life. Still, he visits. He brings flowers, picks her headstone off the ground, brushes it off, and reads the note he found all those years ago.
"Angel: If you're reading this, I'm dead. I hid it in a book that you only read when someone dies, and I figure it was me. I also figure it means that you're brooding. Stop it! Don't be sad. (Well okay, be a little bit sad.) I made you laugh in life, and you better not mope just because I'm dead. It's not your fault. I know you think it's your fault, but it's not. My life was better because of you. I was better because of you. Don't belittle that by mourning it. I love you. I told you that a hundred times, but I want you to remember. You're my best friend. I never told you that, and I wanted you to know. Thank you. ~Cordy."
As he settles into bed he is familiar with the twinge of grief that rushes over him. He has grown accustomed to the feeling over the years and is no longer surprised by the emotion, even a century after her death. He always feels like this when he remembers, and he knows that he will remember the others as well. If he doesn't allow himself that small accommodation, he knows the twinge will turn into a full-blown tremor. Staring up at the cracks in his crumbling ceiling, he waits.
Cordy's death brought the friends closer together. It was not as cliché as he remembers it now. If he took pause to really think about it, he would recollect that at first her death tore them apart. Immediately after Cordelia's death they all went their separate ways, except for when a mission demanded they work together. They splintered. Cordy's note changed all of that. The note made him realize that Cordy wouldn't want them like this. She would have wanted them to stay together. He pulled them together one night and told them so. *That's* when they started pulling together.
Over time, he watched as Fred and Gunn fell in love. In the beginning, they tried to hide it, but he and Wesley knew what they were doing when they rushed into dark corners and came out with mussed hair and flushed cheeks. He fondly recalls how Gunn would throw Fred over his shoulder and carry her up to her room while Fred would struggle to free herself and blush furiously at his forwardness. They were so sweet together. He was happy for them because they were good for each other, brought out the best in each other. When she was with Gunn, Fred became the woman he had always known she was, confident and happy. When he was with Fred, Gunn showed a new side of himself, he was gentle and soft. He loved watching them as they strolled hand in hand through the hotel.
He was happy for them, even if did make him remember her. The soft kisses exchanged between his friends made him remember what it was to kiss her. Her lips on his as their hands roamed and tongues tangled. When Fred and Gunn rushed off to dark corners, he relived each secret meeting with her moment by moment; the hushed conversations about the things that would never be and the pain in her eyes, his heart, when they parted.
Things weren't bad in the world yet, at least not any worse than ever, so Fred and Gunn were free to love each other. They loved simply and easily, well as simply and easily as anyone can love, and then announced their engagement. There were plans to be made. There was a wedding to plan. It was to be small so it wouldn't take long. They wanted to be married right away. Almost two years after Cordelia's death, they did it. Fred and Gunn said their vows in the courtyard of the hotel under the stars as her parents, Wesley and Angel looked on. It was a beautiful night. It was while dancing with the bride that he realized he needed to see her. This was what life is about after all; family, friends, love.
The drive was long, much longer than it should be, probably because he was weighted with worry. It had been almost seven years since he had seen her face. Of course there had been sparse telephone calls made, but he hadn't physically been in her presence since the time they met after she was resurrected. The car slid by the "Welcome to Sunnydale" and he turns the wheel automatically, heading for the mansion. He parked there and journeyed the rest of the way to her house on foot. There was no need to alert her of his presence before he was absolutely ready.
He stood at the driveway's end and looked at the familiar house before him, so much had happened there. So much good and so much bad. He wanted to make sure he was ready to face it. With a futile breath, he walked up the driveway and carefully climbed the porch steps, not wanting to make a sound. His caution was unnecessary as he heard the laughter pouring out of the house. They wouldn't have heard him anyway. Light flooded out the front window and he stepped over to look inside. For a moment, he felt guilty about spying but he wanted to prepare himself for what was to come. What he saw through that window took his heart away.
She sat on the couch with Dawn and a man, watching a movie. The man had his arm draped around her in the way that only lovers do, and she rested her head on his chest while her hand drew small circles on his knee. This is why he had left, so she could have something normal like this, and he had no right to come back and demand anything more from her. He turned to leave and was face to face with Willow.
"Willow, I um…"
"What are you doing here Angel?" It was said harshly with a coldness that had not existed in the Willow that he knew all those years ago.
"I'm just going to leave."
"No," she reached up and grabbed his arm, a mark of boldness that he didn't know she possessed. "You're not gonna just come and watch and leave. It's not fair to her. You should know that. Why are you here?"
"I don't know. I really don't know. I just needed to see her."
"She's with someone now and she's happy. Can't you just let her have that?" She was angry, and he held no grudge against her for it. "Why are you here?"
"Cordelia is dead." The words spilled out involuntarily. He hadn't meant to say them but they had just come out. He regretted it instantly because the words now remained suspended in the space between them. The old Willow was back at that moment, or at least a part of her was. He saw the statement register on her face and watched as her eyes flashed from fury to sorrow.
"Oh Angel. I'm so sorry."
"I didn't mean to... It was two years ago." Her eyes flickered from sorrow to betrayal. "We would have told you guys, but we were kind of caught up in our own stuff at the time. That's not why I'm here. I just need to see Buffy. Please?"
He was not accustomed to pleading, and she must have known; must have seen it in his eyes. "Just a second Angel. I'll try to get her to come out. I can't promise anything, but I'll try." With her hand on the doorknob, she turned to face him once more. This time her eyes flashed with loyalty. "But I swear to God you hurt her and I'll find a way to hurt you too."
He merely nodded in understanding. "Thank you Willow."
Back at the window, he watched as Willow leaned down and whispered into Buffy's ear. She shuddered and looked cautiously over her shoulder. Quickly, he flattened himself against the wall of the house, trying to get out of her line of vision. He heard movement from inside and he moved once again to the window where he saw Buffy pull Willow into hallway. His view was slightly obscured, but he could tell that Buffy was irritated. The conversation continued for a moment and then, without warning, Buffy whirled around, went back to the couch and murmured something in her lover's ear. Just as quickly, she was gone.
"What the hell are you doing here?" He rotated his body slowly to face her. He was just about to answer her when she grabbed him by the arm and yanked him into the yard, farther away from the house. She was thoroughly pissed off. "Answer me."
"I needed to see you. Who is he?"
"Who the hell do you think you are? Do you really think that you can come here after all this time, say that you need to see me and then pry into my personal life? Seven years Angel! Seven fucking years, and you think that you can just walk back into my life like it's nothing."
"Buffy! Lower your voice."
"What? You don't think I told him? You think I'd just walk out on him to have this secret rendezvous with you because you're that important to me? Get over yourself Angel. I certainly have. I don't lie to him. I don't keep secrets, not anymore."
He was angry too now, amazed that she could make him furious so quickly. Still, he spoke coolly. "I'm glad you've found it so easy to move on."
"Easy." She hissed through gritted teeth. "You think it was easy for me?" Pausing, she shakes her head. "I don't want to talk about this. Tell my you're here."
"I told you. I needed to see you. I thought that we could be friends. I needed us to be able to be friends."
"I thought we agreed that would never work for us. Been there, done that. Failed miserably. Why should it be any different now?"
"Fuck you Buffy. You know I thought maybe you'd changed, thought maybe I'd changed too, and maybe we could do this. Cordelia died Buffy. Cordelia died and tonight two of my closest friends got married and I started thinking. I started thinking about how you were one of the most important people in my life and I just let you slip away. I shouldn't have let that happen. What we had was just too important, but if you can't get over yourself enough to see that, well fuck you. Do think this was easy for me?" Tears streamed down his face. He couldn't even remember when he'd started to cry, but his vision was blurred. He wasn't sure if it was from the tears or the fury. With one last look at her, he started to storm across the yard, away from her.
"Angel. Wait." She ran to catch up to him, put her hand on his shoulders and gently turned him to her. There was still anger on her face, but there was also compassion and a little bit of confusion. "I'm sorry. It's just that…"
"Yeah I know. I'm sorry too. You're right. I had no right to show up here like this. It's been too long."
"Well maybe it has, but maybe you're right too." With a sigh, she gestures back at the house. "I love him Angel."
"I know. I can tell. Who is he?"
"Julian." She smiled a small smile at the mention of his name. "He works for the Watcher's Council. He got sent here two years ago when there was talk of a group of demons opening the Hellmouth again, not as my watcher, just for extra help." In explanation, she added. "Giles had just gotten married and had a baby on the way so he couldn't leave England. I should tell you that Julian knows about you, knows about our history. We worked together a lot and things just kind of evolved to the point we're at now. He's a good man Angel. He's kind and gentle and funny. He's even good with a hammer. I think we're going to get married." It was said almost in apology and with a tinge of regret.
He cupped her cheek in his hand and smiled. "It's okay Buffy. That's what I always wanted for you. I'm really happy for you. Truly, I am."
"Thanks. I'm sorry about Cordy, Angel. I know she meant a lot to you. You should have told us."
"I know. I'm sorry I didn't."
Reluctantly she began to journey back to the house. At the steps she hesitated and called back over her shoulder, "Angel wait!"
"Yeah?"
"Friends huh?"
He nodded his head. "Yeah friends."
"Maybe we could give it a try. I mean after all it can't turn out any worse than last time."
With a laugh, he agreed. "No. Can't be any worse that last time."
She motioned to him to come inside. "Come on in. I'll introduce you to Julian. I think you'll like him." As they walked into the house, she stopped him by placing a hand to his chest. "You just have to promise that if you don't, you won't beat him up."
He went inside that night and met Julian. It was a brief and uncomfortable meeting but it had to be done. When it was over, he felt good and he went back to LA with a considerable weight lifted from his chest.
In LA life continued as usual. Fred and Gunn filled the hotel with the joy that newlyweds exude, making work more bearable. He and Buffy kept their promise and began to rebuild their friendship. Short telephone calls filled with awkward pauses became occasional visits. He would go to Sunnydale or she and Julian would come to LA. They'd have dinner and talk. As for Julian? Buffy was right. Dammit if he didn't like the guy, no matter how hard he tried not to.
Buffy deserved to be happy and she was. One year after their encounter on her lawn, Angel drove to Sunnydale to watch Buffy's wedding. He died a little bit more that day as he listened to them exchange vows to love each other for the rest of their lives. This is why he left her all those years ago, so she could live a normal life. He would not begrudge her that.
Two years passed and the world began to grow darker. The demons began to show themselves more, and he and his crew remained busy. He and Buffy saw less of each other, both caught up in their respective missions, but they did their best to keep in touch. Despite the growing darkness, Fred and Gunn announced that they were pregnant. He worried at first about them bringing new life into the world that they lived in, but they soon eased those fears. They would not let evil stop them. Day by day, he watched in awe as Fred's belly grew and Gunn showered her with affection. He cried with them the day they brought their first sonogram home and laughed with when they fought over whether or not to learn their child's sex. Their love was a beautiful sight to see, but all good things must come to an end.
They lost Fred during labor, the baby too. Whenever he thinks about it he can't help but think it odd that she died when trying to give life. Of all the ways she could have died, she died trying to bring new life into the shitty little world. It didn't seem right. They buried Fred and the baby on the hill next to Cordy, and nothing seemed right anymore.
Gunn, of course, was devastated. He remembers watching as Gunn grew more and more reckless in his fighting. He and Wesley had tried to talk to him, tried to make Gunn understand that he needed to take more care, but he refused to listen. They sat helplessly and watched as their friend tried to take everything into his own hands. He denied it, but they knew Gunn sneaked off on his own to fight whatever it was that he was fighting. That's how they lost him. One day, he just didn't come back. They'd searched and searched and couldn't find him and then one day Wesley stepped out into the courtyard and found Gunn's mangled body draped on a bench.
Shortly after Gunn's death, Wes moved into the hotel. The city had grown violent and it was best for them to be together. It made it easier when they had to run out to fight in the middle of each night. They no longer had nights to just sit around and talk, like they once did. Every night was filled with demons and monsters and vampires. He was getting tired so he knew it had to be hard on Wesley, but Wes never complained. He'd just grab a sword and say, "Let's go."
He no longer saw Buffy and Julian. There was no time. Sunnydale was getting just as bad as LA, and they were both too busy. They kept in touch through phone calls and e-mail. They sent Christmas cards and condolence cards, and the condolence cards were coming much too often. He lost Wesley six years after Gunn. It just happened one night and now he had four graves to visit. He knew that she had lost too. First Anya, then Xander, then Willow and Dawn. She even told him Spike died trying to fend of some sort of hell beast. It was only Buffy and Julian left. They told him they didn't feel right bringing children into the world, so they were alone.
More time passed, first years and then decades. The pain of his friends' deaths subsided and he grew accustomed to fighting alone again. One day he received a letter from Buffy telling him of Julian's death. He should visit. He knew he should, knew that she probably needed someone to lean on. There wasn't time. It was awful of him to think that, but it was true. There was too much blood on his hands already, and he couldn't risk any more. If he couldn't save his friends, the least he could do was save the world. So he fought. Night after endless night he fought. Until one night he received the call.
He'd just woken up from a few hours sleep, a rare treat those days, when the phone rang. He remembers thinking that it was odd for his phone to ring. There was no one left to call him. "Hello," he'd answered the phone hesitantly, as if he already knew.
"Is this Angel?" The unfamiliar voice questioned.
"Yes. Who is this?"
"This is Sunnydale General Hospital. We're calling because a Ms. Northrop has been admitted to here and she has you listed as her next of kin."
It'd taken him a minute to remember that was Buffy, that she was no longer Buffy Summers. Hadn't been in some time. "What happened? Is she okay?"
"I'm afraid it doesn't look good sir. She seems to have had a stroke. If it's possible, I'd get here as soon as you can if I were you."
"Yes," he'd said, already searching for his coat and keys. "I'll be there as soon as I can. Tell her I'll be there as soon as I can."
"I will."
"Thanks." He'd nearly had the phone in its cradle when he heard the woman shouting.
"Sir! Sir!"
"What? I'm sorry, yes?"
"She's in room 586."
"Thank you. Thank you very much."
He drove recklessly, thinking only of Buffy alone in a hospital bed. She shouldn't be alone. He arrived at the hospital and stormed into room 586 and saw her lying there. He was surprised that she'd aged. Forgotten that she would have grown older. It had been so long since he'd seen her, but despite the graying hair and weathered skin he knew it was Buffy. She stared at him through glassy eyes, but when he got closer to her, looked closer at them, he saw her staring back at him with the same fight she had always possessed. "Hello Buffy." He said, a little unsure of himself. He was careful not to get to close to her, stayed a few steps back from her bed. "I came as soon as I heard. How are you?" Waving at the air, he stopped. "Sorry. You don't have to answer that. It's a stupid question."
Glassy eyes twinkled at him and her mouth contorted into what he assumed was a smile. A small trail of spit dribbled from her mouth, and he was reminded of what it is that time can do. He reached for a tissue and stepped forward to wipe her mouth, but she brought an arm up to stop him. She would do it herself, and he watched in sorrow as she fought her body to drag her hand across the mouth. Age may have taken over, but she was still the Slayer. "Anglth.." she struggled. "Comeere." She motioned to him.
In that moment, his unease subsided and he went to her. Ever so gently, he stretched out next to her, cradling her now frail body in his arms, and he felt her sigh in contentment. Closing his eyes and burying his face in her hair, he breathed in the scent of her. After all these years, she still smelled of lilacs. After all the years of making himself forget, he finally allowed himself to remember. In that brief moment, lying next to her and breathing her in, it all came flooding back to him. The first time he saw her all those years ago out the window of Whistler's car. Their first meeting in that dark Sunnydale alley. Their first kiss, their first dance, their first good-bye. As he held her to him, he remembered the first time he held her in his arms and the first time he made love to her. Remembered the day that time forgot.
Opening his eyes, he settled back into himself, back into reality and realized from the steady rising and falling of her chest that she had fallen asleep. He kissed her tenderly on the forehead and carefully crept off the bed. Turing to walk out the door, he paused for a moment to quietly whisper. "I love you Buffy. Always." It was the last time that he saw her alive.
He arrived back at the hotel in a somber mood. He was alone now. Really alone. The last of his family was gone and he felt a little lost. Dropping his coat on the dilapidated front desk, he was fully prepared to retreat into his bedroom, desperate for some semblance of peace, but a small white envelope on the floor beneath the mail slot caught his eye. He strode over and picked up, saw that it was addressed to him. Buffy. He would know her handwriting anywhere, no matter how shaky it had become.
With nervous hands and an ache in his heart, he tore open the envelope. Sinking to the ground, he took a senseless breath in order to steady himself. Then he began to read.
"Dear Angel,
Over all these years I've had so much I wanted to say, but I've never been able to find the words. In the beginning I refused to speak out of anger and confusion. Then those feelings began to change and I believed that it was best that we didn't speak. It was good for us to move on. I'm glad you came to me all those years ago asking for friendship, grateful that you took that first step. I'm not sure that I would have had that courage. I love you Angel. I've never loved anyone like I loved you. But I'm angry. Really pissed off. After all these years you think that I would have gotten over it, but I can't. When you left me, you became dictator-in- chief of my life, trying to decide what was best for me. Don't you think I could have made that decision for myself? I know I shouldn't do this to you especially with me being dead and all, but I thought you deserved to know. You wanted me to have a normal life, but screw that Angel. I was never normal. For Christ's sake, I'm the Slayer. Okay. I feel better now.
That said, I should also say thank you. Maybe you were right. Maybe we didn't belong together. I don't know, guess I'll never know. But the one thing I do know is that I wouldn't have had the life I've lived if you'd stayed. And I've loved my life. Love every twisted and screwed up second of it. I never would have met Julian and fallen in love and I don't know if I'm willing to give that up. Okay Angel. I'm getting tired now. This old age stuff is bullshit. You're not missing out on anything. One last thing I need for you to know. I loved Julian with all my heart Angel. But my soul? That belongs to you. Always. Buffy"
The memory of her is the last of his thoughts as he begins to drift into sleep. It is not because she means the most to him, although he knows that there were people that thought that. She is the most important, that is true, but they all mean the world to him. They are his family. He would not be who he is without them. Cordy, Wesley, Fred, Gunn, and Buffy. She is last in his mind because she was the last to go, and that is all. But he thinks it fitting that the one who opened the circle is also the one who closes it. A rare smile graces his face as he thinks of it. And it happens.
Pain shoots through him as he awakens and he cannot help but scream. He cannot recall when last he felt such pain. It rips him from toes to nose and he whispers a silent prayer to make it stop. Almost in answer, it stops in an instant and he uncurls himself from the fetal position that he had curled into. Slowly, he stands and finds himself in a large, blinding white room. He has never seen anything so white and he has to fight the urge to cover his eyes with his hands. In a panic, he rushes to the wall and begins to search for a door with his hands. In the distance, a loud pounding beats steadily and he shirks away. It hurts. Everything hurts so much.
Light glints off of something on the far side of the room and he hurries to see what it is. As he is running, his chest begins to burn and almost on instinct he draws in a sharp breath. The oxygen that rushes in and fills his lungs floors him and he stops dead in his tracks. But he isn't dead anymore. He is alive. He needs air. It has been nearly three hundred and fifty years since he has felt the burst of oxygen in his body and he cannot adjust to the sudden intrusion. With caution, he takes slow, deliberate steps to the object glinting in the distance. With each step he thinks. Inhale, exhale. Step, inhale. Step, exhale. How easy it would be to end his life. He only needs to forget to breathe. That isn't so hard to do.
One last step and he is at his destination. He bends down and sees that it is a sword. He picks it up and runs his finger down the edge of the blade and pulls back at the pain. Things didn't hurt that much when he was dead. The red liquid that trickles down his hand intrigues him and he stands for a moment and just watches it. Turning the sword in his hands, he thinks how easy it would be to end his life. He only needs to fall on the blade and it would be over. How odd it is that in death he only thought of life and now in life he only thinks of death. There is nothing left to live for. No one left to love.
"Hello!" He screams as he looks around the seemingly empty room. "Where the hell am I? Why can't you just leave me the fuck alone."
"Ah." A voice echoes from all around him. It sounds neither male nor female and it has taken him by surprise. "He is angry."
"Who are you? What the hell is going on." He spins in a circle searching for a face to confront. "Where are you?
"I am right here. I am all around you?"
"Then show your face."
"I have no face to show. I am here."
In anger, he thrusts the sword through the air. "What is going on? I want answers."
The voice laughs. "You have no patience. This is your reward."
"Yeah. Some reward. But I already knew about this. We figured out a long time ago that I'd eventually get to live. I just never figured the Powers would have such a sick sense of humor."
"What are you talking about? Sense of humor? The Powers have no sense of humor."
"I know that. I was being sarcastic." In an act of frustration, he throws the sword across the room and slumps to the ground, putting his head in his hands. "Forget it. It's not worth it. What I mean is that how is this a reward?" He waves his hands over his body, indicating the new life within him.
"It is life. It is what you want."
"No, it's not. At least not now."
"You misunderstand. This is only part of your reward."
He jumps up, suddenly invigorated by the voice's statement. "What do you mean only part of my reward? What's the rest?"
"Patience. You must be patient."
He is angry again. "Fuck patience. I've been patient for over one hundred years." He is flushed with fury and nearly shouts his next statement. "What is the rest of my reward."
"I will tell you, but not because you demand to know. You will know because it is time for you to know."
"I don't care why. Just tell me!"
"The first part of your reward is that you became human. You know this. What you don't know is that you can go back in time, as a human, to the point that you were happiest and relive your life from that point on."
His newly beating heart begins to race inside his chest. Jumping to his feet, he shakes his head in disbelief. It can't be true. That's too good to be true, but his doubt is soon overtaken by joy. He knows the moment, knows exactly where he wants to go. He opens his mouth to speak, but the voice stops him. "Wait. Don't speak too soon. Think first about where you want to go for where you think you were the happiest might not be where you truly were the happiest. Take pause for a moment and ponder that."
"Okay. While I think about it can you answer a question for me?"
"I can try."
"So if I get to go back human what happens to all the good I've done? Will it be undone?"
"No," the voice sighs. "All the good you have done will stay the same. You will not have fought in vain."
Relief floods through him. He can't believe it. Where will he go? At first glance, there are so few moments when he was happy. He can really only think of one, the first one to go through his mind. He lets the wheels of his memory turn and a few more moments come to his mind. Then it flashes before him in his mind's eye. That is the moment. He opens his mouth to speak. "I know where I want to go. I want…"
"Silence," the voice commands. "Speak not. There is no need. You only need to think of that moment and you will go there. Are you ready?"
He nods and takes a deep breath. As he closes his eyes and lets the memory run through him, a brilliant light flashes around him and he feels like he is caught in a rainbow. He knows exactly where he is going.
FINE