Author's Note: I haven't typed anything in months, so to make up for my absence, I figure I start out with a random one-shot. I wanted to write a what-if scenario where love and hope might not have the chance to save someone that is too important to Buffy, and if fear would play a part. It takes place during season three. Enjoy.
High kick. Block. And…oh, hell. Here comes the uppercut. This is gonna hurt.
She saw an array of stars, but it wasn't enough to keep her from wiping the blood dripping languidly from the mouth. It glistened angrily under a pale moonlight, mocking her.
Damn stupid vampire.
It didn't matter that the bloodsucker she fought moments ago had been obliterated. The encounter left her cursing. It should had been quick and precise. An easy kill. But the slaying, and the evening, wasn't turning out as easy as it should have been.
Physical and emotional exhaustion weighted heavily along the blades of her shoulders, reaching through the leather seams of her blood stained jacket; a strong reminder of what she had gone through only recently.
A barn owl hoots, and she slides against an isolated crypt, closing her eyes to the cool air for a brief moment to compose herself. Tears of frustration and weariness were scratching its way to the surface.
Then something began to gnaw at her.
A memory became the end result of that gnawing. Her stomach coiled in a circle of cold fear, as it had done so many times on repeat. For reasons that were still unknown, Angel had returned. Beaten, bloodied, but still alive.
But there had been a price.
He had returned with a soul too broken beyond what the Slayer, or anyone else, could repair.
The power of love didn't appear to have worked the first time she took him in. Nor did the caress of her hands or lips on his mutilated skin brought any sense of comfort.
Her soothing words had fallen on ears that couldn't comprehend the world around him.
He wasn't human nor vampire, but a remorseless beast too wild to tame. Twice, he had come close to harming her. And tonight, she would have to spend it securing him in layers of shackles, binding him to the cement walls of the mansion, keeping a watchful eye.
It was something she wasn't willing to do, but she had no other choice. None of the others had wanted to go near him unless a stake was in distance.
Despite the danger, despite the guilt of having to kill him, despite the wariness and fear, the love for him somehow continued to burn like an endless flame. She never stopped loving him, not really, in spite of the times she convinced herself otherwise. But whether he could be saved from himself was up to time and fate to decide.
She hoped it wasn't too late. She had lost so much.
The thought of it all brought goose bumps to her skin. She wanted to crawl under a blanket and sleep with no care in the world instead. But she forced herself to her feet to leave the now quiet cemetery, the mansion her next destination. She braced to meet the one person who made her tremble with fear, but also filled her with a kind of love that continued to linger in her heart and soul. She didn't know why the love for him was still there, but it was.
She placed a hand within the pocket of her leather jacket, and felt the cool smoothness of the claddagh ring.
A flicker of hope grew.