Chapter 3: The Memories
That was the way Willow found him in the morning, sleeping on her couch. She
had to smile at the view and had to sigh inwardly. He looked so handsome, so
young and was yet older than she. She could clearly remember the evening in the
Bronze when Buffy had described her feelings every time he was near. God, they'd
been young and innocent at that time, believing this relationship had any chance
to work.
It had never been a matter of love. She'd never seen two people more in love
with each other. Their love had survived Angelus and Hell, two marriages, three
children, other lovers and still they loved each other. That was the most
amazing thing. Neither of them ever doubted the other loved him or her. It was
just a fact. But they both accepted that they couldn't be together and while
Angel's fate was to stay on his own, Buffy had tried to move on with her life.
And she hadn't done that badly with it. There had been times where she'd been
happy, at her weddings, when her babies were born and many other occasions, but
behind all this there was always a deep underlying pain. Grief for what fate
had thrown upon her. Fate that denied her the man she loved more than anything.
And yet there had been times when Willow had envied her. To find such a complete and utter love had to be beyond imagination.
It wasn't that Buffy was always talking about Angel. In fact she rarely did
talk about him. Never with her men, never with her children, only once or twice
with Willow and sometimes with Cordy when they saw each other. It didn't affect
her relationship with Brian, she'd loved him and he had loved her, it was a
"normal" love. Something that happened more often. Maybe the way Xander and Anya
loved each other. After he'd been killed, Buffy's grief had been long and deep.
He left a hole in her life, but she didn't look for another husband after him,
although she was still smashing. The lovers she'd had, none of them had ever
touched her deeply. Maybe she just decided it was enough pain for her.
And then her two children had died. Children, she had to laugh at that thought.
They'd been both in their forties, but children were always your children no
matter how old they were. Willow had asked Buffy if she didn't want to contact
Angel, but her friend had only smiled and said he would always be with her.
Only that moment the witch had realised how deep their love went.
"Hey," a voice startled her and she looked at Angel.
"Good Morning," she smiled. "You fell asleep I suppose."
"Yeah," he moved so that he was in a sitting position and his eyes fell on the
letter that laid on the carpet. Picking it up, he gazed at Willow, "You know
what's inside of this you said."
"Only the parts regarding Anne," she took a seat opposite to him. "I'm sure
there are some private lines as well."
He just nodded and struggled to keep his emotions in check, "I cannot say what
it means to me, to have it," his voice was hoarse.
"I understand," she smiled again.
"I..," he began, but his throat closed up. Clearing it, he tried again, "Is
there ... I mean, do you have a picture of her?"
"A picture," she looked at him quizzically, "Oh you mean of Buffy. Sure, tons
of them."
"No," he raised a hand when she was about to get up, "Not any picture. I would
... I want to see her. How she looked as an old woman. I've always pictured her
as an old woman, with wrinkles and all," a little bit embarrassed he broke off.
An brilliant smile lightened Willow's features. "Of course," she nodded and
stood. Walking over to a bookshelf she took a framed picture and handed it to
Angel, "That's taken a year ago," she smiled proudly, "when my great-grandchild
was baptised."
"A great-grandchild, huh?" He had to smile at that thought. But couldn't talk
anymore when his eyes fell on the picture in his hand. Her face wore a
brilliant smile, her eyes were shining and looking with love at the little baby
in her arms. Buffy had been 79 when the picture had been taken and she'd never
looked more beautiful. In awe his finger traced the lines of her body and
stayed for a moment on her face. "She's beautiful," he whispered.
"Yes, she always was," Willow affirmed. "There was such a power in her. So much
life...," her voice broke. "I'm sorry," she said and wiped a tear away. "I
still can't believe she's gone."
"I know the feeling," he replied, his eyes still on the picture. "Could I ... I
mean ... is it possible to get a copy of this."
"Of course," she took the frame again and put it back on the shelf. "I'll take
it to the photo-shop and they'll copy it."
"Thanks," he just said. After a moment of silence he changed the subject,
"Where will the memorial service be held?"
"The mansion," she replied simply and held his gaze. "She would have wanted it,
you know. I'm going to get us some coffee," she said and disappeared in the
kitchen.
"Yes," he whispered. Running a hand over his face, he tried to get a hold on
his emotions. The mansion. That meant it still existed. A building full of
memories, full of love, of pain, of forbidden passion. A vampire and a slayer in
love, desperately, passionately in love. Against all odds thrown at each other by fate, but not allowed to live it, but not able to deny it either. The mansion, where she'd sent him to hell, where her love had brought him back, where she'd nursed him back to his full strength, where she'd slept in his arms, where they had laughed together, he'd comforted her, held her ... there was so much he remembered now. Almost too much.
He wasn't entirely sure if he would be able to go through with it. He'd never
been there again after he'd left Sunnydale. And now he would be going there
again to say good bye to Buffy.
"There we are," Willow entered the room with a tray loaded with coffee and a
doughnut for her and interrupted the train of his thoughts.
"Who will be there? Will I know anyone but you?," Angel wanted to know.
"I don't think so. My daughter will come tonight, she's Buffy's god-child. You
remember Alicia?"
"Yes," he nodded. "She was an bright teenager the last time I met her."
She had to laugh at that, "And now she's a granny herself. Thinking back it
seems as though time has been racing."
"It just seems that way," Angel replied, his voice grave. "They were long
years."
"Yeah," she admitted after a moment. "Especially my last without Oz." She
sighed, "I miss him, but I suppose I don't have to tell you. You understand."
"Oh yes," he took his mug and sipped at his coffee. "When will I see her?"
"Anne?," Willow asked and when he nodded she watched his face for a moment.
"She'll be here at noon. I phoned her last night after ... well, after I
blurted everything out. Thinking about it, I suppose it wasn't that bad. Maybe
it's better you'll see her before the memorial service."
The vampire looked puzzled, "Why?"
Her eyes took on a mysterious expression, "Just wait and see."
End Chapter 3.
That was the way Willow found him in the morning, sleeping on her couch. She
had to smile at the view and had to sigh inwardly. He looked so handsome, so
young and was yet older than she. She could clearly remember the evening in the
Bronze when Buffy had described her feelings every time he was near. God, they'd
been young and innocent at that time, believing this relationship had any chance
to work.
It had never been a matter of love. She'd never seen two people more in love
with each other. Their love had survived Angelus and Hell, two marriages, three
children, other lovers and still they loved each other. That was the most
amazing thing. Neither of them ever doubted the other loved him or her. It was
just a fact. But they both accepted that they couldn't be together and while
Angel's fate was to stay on his own, Buffy had tried to move on with her life.
And she hadn't done that badly with it. There had been times where she'd been
happy, at her weddings, when her babies were born and many other occasions, but
behind all this there was always a deep underlying pain. Grief for what fate
had thrown upon her. Fate that denied her the man she loved more than anything.
And yet there had been times when Willow had envied her. To find such a complete and utter love had to be beyond imagination.
It wasn't that Buffy was always talking about Angel. In fact she rarely did
talk about him. Never with her men, never with her children, only once or twice
with Willow and sometimes with Cordy when they saw each other. It didn't affect
her relationship with Brian, she'd loved him and he had loved her, it was a
"normal" love. Something that happened more often. Maybe the way Xander and Anya
loved each other. After he'd been killed, Buffy's grief had been long and deep.
He left a hole in her life, but she didn't look for another husband after him,
although she was still smashing. The lovers she'd had, none of them had ever
touched her deeply. Maybe she just decided it was enough pain for her.
And then her two children had died. Children, she had to laugh at that thought.
They'd been both in their forties, but children were always your children no
matter how old they were. Willow had asked Buffy if she didn't want to contact
Angel, but her friend had only smiled and said he would always be with her.
Only that moment the witch had realised how deep their love went.
"Hey," a voice startled her and she looked at Angel.
"Good Morning," she smiled. "You fell asleep I suppose."
"Yeah," he moved so that he was in a sitting position and his eyes fell on the
letter that laid on the carpet. Picking it up, he gazed at Willow, "You know
what's inside of this you said."
"Only the parts regarding Anne," she took a seat opposite to him. "I'm sure
there are some private lines as well."
He just nodded and struggled to keep his emotions in check, "I cannot say what
it means to me, to have it," his voice was hoarse.
"I understand," she smiled again.
"I..," he began, but his throat closed up. Clearing it, he tried again, "Is
there ... I mean, do you have a picture of her?"
"A picture," she looked at him quizzically, "Oh you mean of Buffy. Sure, tons
of them."
"No," he raised a hand when she was about to get up, "Not any picture. I would
... I want to see her. How she looked as an old woman. I've always pictured her
as an old woman, with wrinkles and all," a little bit embarrassed he broke off.
An brilliant smile lightened Willow's features. "Of course," she nodded and
stood. Walking over to a bookshelf she took a framed picture and handed it to
Angel, "That's taken a year ago," she smiled proudly, "when my great-grandchild
was baptised."
"A great-grandchild, huh?" He had to smile at that thought. But couldn't talk
anymore when his eyes fell on the picture in his hand. Her face wore a
brilliant smile, her eyes were shining and looking with love at the little baby
in her arms. Buffy had been 79 when the picture had been taken and she'd never
looked more beautiful. In awe his finger traced the lines of her body and
stayed for a moment on her face. "She's beautiful," he whispered.
"Yes, she always was," Willow affirmed. "There was such a power in her. So much
life...," her voice broke. "I'm sorry," she said and wiped a tear away. "I
still can't believe she's gone."
"I know the feeling," he replied, his eyes still on the picture. "Could I ... I
mean ... is it possible to get a copy of this."
"Of course," she took the frame again and put it back on the shelf. "I'll take
it to the photo-shop and they'll copy it."
"Thanks," he just said. After a moment of silence he changed the subject,
"Where will the memorial service be held?"
"The mansion," she replied simply and held his gaze. "She would have wanted it,
you know. I'm going to get us some coffee," she said and disappeared in the
kitchen.
"Yes," he whispered. Running a hand over his face, he tried to get a hold on
his emotions. The mansion. That meant it still existed. A building full of
memories, full of love, of pain, of forbidden passion. A vampire and a slayer in
love, desperately, passionately in love. Against all odds thrown at each other by fate, but not allowed to live it, but not able to deny it either. The mansion, where she'd sent him to hell, where her love had brought him back, where she'd nursed him back to his full strength, where she'd slept in his arms, where they had laughed together, he'd comforted her, held her ... there was so much he remembered now. Almost too much.
He wasn't entirely sure if he would be able to go through with it. He'd never
been there again after he'd left Sunnydale. And now he would be going there
again to say good bye to Buffy.
"There we are," Willow entered the room with a tray loaded with coffee and a
doughnut for her and interrupted the train of his thoughts.
"Who will be there? Will I know anyone but you?," Angel wanted to know.
"I don't think so. My daughter will come tonight, she's Buffy's god-child. You
remember Alicia?"
"Yes," he nodded. "She was an bright teenager the last time I met her."
She had to laugh at that, "And now she's a granny herself. Thinking back it
seems as though time has been racing."
"It just seems that way," Angel replied, his voice grave. "They were long
years."
"Yeah," she admitted after a moment. "Especially my last without Oz." She
sighed, "I miss him, but I suppose I don't have to tell you. You understand."
"Oh yes," he took his mug and sipped at his coffee. "When will I see her?"
"Anne?," Willow asked and when he nodded she watched his face for a moment.
"She'll be here at noon. I phoned her last night after ... well, after I
blurted everything out. Thinking about it, I suppose it wasn't that bad. Maybe
it's better you'll see her before the memorial service."
The vampire looked puzzled, "Why?"
Her eyes took on a mysterious expression, "Just wait and see."
End Chapter 3.