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Part Eight
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I remember looking into the mirror once, Angel at my side, and thinking that my reflection must be lonely; no quiet wall of strength at her side, no lips to pour words of love and comfort to her ears. I remember wanting to cry because I couldn't imagine a life without Angel.
Looking into the mirror, standing in Angel's guest bathroom, using towels that he never would have picked and smelling soaps that a guy never would have thought to buy, I felt worse. It was all so *domestic*, and that hurt, because I had dreams of sharing comfortable domesticity with him. In the world inside my head we lived practically inside each other's skin. We'd share everything, and laugh, and fight over the bills and what colour the new kitchen blinds should be. Invitations would come addressed to 'Angel and Buffy', and we'd compete madly at Monopoly and Trivial Pursuit... and at the end of a long hard day -//night//- we'd make love and crawl into bed together and I'd fall asleep in his arms.
Pipe dreams.
With a sigh, I turned away from the mirror, sliding my long-sleeved top on, giggling as I looked down at the words scrawled across my breasts in black block letters: "My Ex-Boyfriend went to Hell and all I got was this Crappy T-Shirt". The shirt was a custom-made gift from Oz, given to me only after a long night of talking through my issues with that whole deal, and stowing them safely away in the 'there was no other way' portion of my brain. Honestly, the only reason I wore it that day was to ruffle Angel's feathers a little. He was too damn calm.
I pulled my blue jeans on and turned to examine myself in the mirror; my hair hung around me in golden waves, and I wore no make up, and I have to admit I looked pretty damn good. Not that I was making an effort or anything...
I grinned sheepishly at myself and left the bathroom, heading towards the voices I could hear wafting in from the living room.
I still felt nervous about being around Angel's friends. Strangely, I wanted their approval, but I also resented them in too many ways for me to count...he had friends, at home. Family...and we weren't good enough.
Sighing and pushing those thoughts out of my head, I strode into the room with a smile, trying to appear unconcerned about how very out-of-place I was. They were in the middle of a lazy conversation about something or other, so I just smiled politely and sank into an unoccupied armchair to watch.
Angel's eyes met mine, and then flickered down to my breasts - typical guy - to read the words that stood out starkly against the white material.
He raised both eyebrows, pursed his lips, and looked away.
Okay, I must admit I was hoping for more of a reaction than that, but hey, it didn't matter. I look really great in that shirt.
Ooh, and he looked really great in *his* shirt, too. Of course, he'd look better without it...
I started when I realised that Brendan was talking to me.
"So what brings you to town, Buffy?" he asked, sipping at his coffee, looking at me like I was his prey.
It amuses me to know that if I wanted to, I could have killed him with my pinky. Really! I did it to a demon once.
"I needed a break, so I've just been travelling around. Thought I'd drop in on Angel on my way through town."
"Lucky us," he said with another flirtatious grin. I coughed, trying not to laugh when I looked at Angel, who'd obviously already forgotten our previous 'fuck-buddy' talk, and was glaring at Brendan with poorly-veiled hostility. I'm glad I was the only one looking at him, cos if Sam had taken a glance in his direction there'd be a whole party of questions that I wasn't really crazy about answering.
I grinned at Brendan, grateful for his presence. It was making the whole situation a lot more fun. For me, anyway.
Kept my mind *away* from the fact that Sam sat next to Angel, her hand draped casually over his thigh.
That was a *lot* less fun to think about.
--
I remember the last time I saw Angel, before the shanshu, very clearly.
It was one year after the Faith/Riley incident. Two years before Angel's shanshu. Five years before I turned up on his doorstep in Chicago, and was introduced to the wonderful world of Angel and Sam.
We'd just won a battle - a long, tiring, apocalypse-type deal - and we sat on the ground, side by side, panting...Well, I was panting, Angel had given up the unnecessary habit of breathing hours before, when things had started to get way down and dirty.
It was just the two of us. We'd left the others, our extended family, at Giles' place to worry and wonder and wait for us to return... even Spike. It was strictly a warriors-only event, as prophecized. If we couldn't beat it, no one could.
As it turned out, we could and did beat it. Whupped the hellspawns collective asses back to their own territory.
Go team, go.
So anyway, afterwards, Angel and I were stuck in the old Sunnydale High building until night fell once more, him because he didn't fancy getting a crispy skin tan, and me because of my reluctance to leave him, and so we talked... all day.
As quiet as he appears to most people, Angel and I used to talk all the time. I'd tell him everything, and he'd tell me - well, it took a while, but eventually he got to the point where he'd tell me stuff too. It wasn't easy to get him to pull down those barriers and let me see inside his soul, but when I did, I would luxuriate in him.
I never saw Angel as human, and I never saw him as a vampire. Don't look at me like that, it's not like I thought he was a hippopotamus or an astronaut or anything, I just saw him as *Angel*. He was what he was. He'd done stuff, yeah - but that didn't bother me, apart from the whole 'dozens of girls like that' thing.
What I'm trying to say is that the vampire thing was never my problem. Admittedly I felt some initial discomfort when I first discovered his 'true nature', but I quickly got over it, and things were, for me, full steam ahead on the Buffy-and-Angel-mobile. I just wanted him around. The only reason his vampiric nature ever bothered me, was when it bothered him.
Angel was constantly trying to protect me from himself, because he was afraid - //I can't understand why you'd love me, Buffy! I'm a monster!// - that I'd be tainted by what I saw inside him, that just sharing his pain would somehow make me hurt in ways I couldn't handle. He was afraid that one day he'd look into my eyes, and all I'd hold for him would be loathing and disgust... and I don't know what he was worried about, because all I ever found inside his soul was strength.
I found strength in him that day, after we defeated yet another foe together. I'd been lonely, and down - my relationship with Riley felt incredibly hollow, not that I told Angel that - and he filled me with faith and hope once more, something I'd been lacking for a long time.
"I dunno, it's just - " I sighed, looking at him, letting my eyes run over the gash across his forehead, "I try to look at the big picture, and then I realise that I don't have one... I have one of those tiny little folk art pictures, or a square of a mosaic or something. I'll fight, and then I'll die...and that makes me feel less like fighting, in which case I'll definitely die, cos it's all like, 'Hey, bitch! Throw a punch!' 'No!' 'Okay, I'll kill you anyway!' and then there's generally lots of beating up on Buffy."
I said all that on pretty much one breath, and by the end it was pretty much a 'waiting to exhale' deal.
Angel looked hesitant for a minute, and then he reached out and took my hand, squeezing it, bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss, which sent shivers of desire down my spine. God, I missed the feeling of his body pressed up against mine...
He squeezed my hand again. "I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that you'll never die, Buffy, no matter how much I hate the prospect of a world without you in it." His eyes flickered away from mine for a minute, but then we locked gazes again, and it was like coming home. "You will die one day. Maybe soon. You're human, and you're the Slayer. It's inevitable."
I glared at him half-heartedly. "The key word in 'pep talk' is 'pep', you know. This is not 'pep'."
Ignoring me, he continued, "What I will tell you is that the whole world is your big picture. You will live on because the world will still turn; your legacy is the sun, and the stars, and the moon...It's every beating heart, and every drop of laughter. You're fighting for something that will be preserved for millennia after your death. It's all here because you fought for it."
A tear tracked down my cheek, and he gently wiped it away. I sniffled. "Y'know, I'd settle for you and me and a big bed and maybe a choc-caramel sundae, but okay..."
He laughed, and kissed my brow. We were both very aware that when night fell, we'd be separated once more.
"Angel?" I asked him a moment later, looking at him out of the corner of my eye. He turned to look at me, something I didn't quite recognise in his eyes. "Will you still love me when I'm a decaying corpse?"
He brushed a piece of my hair out of my eyes. "I'll always love you."
Part Eight
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I remember looking into the mirror once, Angel at my side, and thinking that my reflection must be lonely; no quiet wall of strength at her side, no lips to pour words of love and comfort to her ears. I remember wanting to cry because I couldn't imagine a life without Angel.
Looking into the mirror, standing in Angel's guest bathroom, using towels that he never would have picked and smelling soaps that a guy never would have thought to buy, I felt worse. It was all so *domestic*, and that hurt, because I had dreams of sharing comfortable domesticity with him. In the world inside my head we lived practically inside each other's skin. We'd share everything, and laugh, and fight over the bills and what colour the new kitchen blinds should be. Invitations would come addressed to 'Angel and Buffy', and we'd compete madly at Monopoly and Trivial Pursuit... and at the end of a long hard day -//night//- we'd make love and crawl into bed together and I'd fall asleep in his arms.
Pipe dreams.
With a sigh, I turned away from the mirror, sliding my long-sleeved top on, giggling as I looked down at the words scrawled across my breasts in black block letters: "My Ex-Boyfriend went to Hell and all I got was this Crappy T-Shirt". The shirt was a custom-made gift from Oz, given to me only after a long night of talking through my issues with that whole deal, and stowing them safely away in the 'there was no other way' portion of my brain. Honestly, the only reason I wore it that day was to ruffle Angel's feathers a little. He was too damn calm.
I pulled my blue jeans on and turned to examine myself in the mirror; my hair hung around me in golden waves, and I wore no make up, and I have to admit I looked pretty damn good. Not that I was making an effort or anything...
I grinned sheepishly at myself and left the bathroom, heading towards the voices I could hear wafting in from the living room.
I still felt nervous about being around Angel's friends. Strangely, I wanted their approval, but I also resented them in too many ways for me to count...he had friends, at home. Family...and we weren't good enough.
Sighing and pushing those thoughts out of my head, I strode into the room with a smile, trying to appear unconcerned about how very out-of-place I was. They were in the middle of a lazy conversation about something or other, so I just smiled politely and sank into an unoccupied armchair to watch.
Angel's eyes met mine, and then flickered down to my breasts - typical guy - to read the words that stood out starkly against the white material.
He raised both eyebrows, pursed his lips, and looked away.
Okay, I must admit I was hoping for more of a reaction than that, but hey, it didn't matter. I look really great in that shirt.
Ooh, and he looked really great in *his* shirt, too. Of course, he'd look better without it...
I started when I realised that Brendan was talking to me.
"So what brings you to town, Buffy?" he asked, sipping at his coffee, looking at me like I was his prey.
It amuses me to know that if I wanted to, I could have killed him with my pinky. Really! I did it to a demon once.
"I needed a break, so I've just been travelling around. Thought I'd drop in on Angel on my way through town."
"Lucky us," he said with another flirtatious grin. I coughed, trying not to laugh when I looked at Angel, who'd obviously already forgotten our previous 'fuck-buddy' talk, and was glaring at Brendan with poorly-veiled hostility. I'm glad I was the only one looking at him, cos if Sam had taken a glance in his direction there'd be a whole party of questions that I wasn't really crazy about answering.
I grinned at Brendan, grateful for his presence. It was making the whole situation a lot more fun. For me, anyway.
Kept my mind *away* from the fact that Sam sat next to Angel, her hand draped casually over his thigh.
That was a *lot* less fun to think about.
--
I remember the last time I saw Angel, before the shanshu, very clearly.
It was one year after the Faith/Riley incident. Two years before Angel's shanshu. Five years before I turned up on his doorstep in Chicago, and was introduced to the wonderful world of Angel and Sam.
We'd just won a battle - a long, tiring, apocalypse-type deal - and we sat on the ground, side by side, panting...Well, I was panting, Angel had given up the unnecessary habit of breathing hours before, when things had started to get way down and dirty.
It was just the two of us. We'd left the others, our extended family, at Giles' place to worry and wonder and wait for us to return... even Spike. It was strictly a warriors-only event, as prophecized. If we couldn't beat it, no one could.
As it turned out, we could and did beat it. Whupped the hellspawns collective asses back to their own territory.
Go team, go.
So anyway, afterwards, Angel and I were stuck in the old Sunnydale High building until night fell once more, him because he didn't fancy getting a crispy skin tan, and me because of my reluctance to leave him, and so we talked... all day.
As quiet as he appears to most people, Angel and I used to talk all the time. I'd tell him everything, and he'd tell me - well, it took a while, but eventually he got to the point where he'd tell me stuff too. It wasn't easy to get him to pull down those barriers and let me see inside his soul, but when I did, I would luxuriate in him.
I never saw Angel as human, and I never saw him as a vampire. Don't look at me like that, it's not like I thought he was a hippopotamus or an astronaut or anything, I just saw him as *Angel*. He was what he was. He'd done stuff, yeah - but that didn't bother me, apart from the whole 'dozens of girls like that' thing.
What I'm trying to say is that the vampire thing was never my problem. Admittedly I felt some initial discomfort when I first discovered his 'true nature', but I quickly got over it, and things were, for me, full steam ahead on the Buffy-and-Angel-mobile. I just wanted him around. The only reason his vampiric nature ever bothered me, was when it bothered him.
Angel was constantly trying to protect me from himself, because he was afraid - //I can't understand why you'd love me, Buffy! I'm a monster!// - that I'd be tainted by what I saw inside him, that just sharing his pain would somehow make me hurt in ways I couldn't handle. He was afraid that one day he'd look into my eyes, and all I'd hold for him would be loathing and disgust... and I don't know what he was worried about, because all I ever found inside his soul was strength.
I found strength in him that day, after we defeated yet another foe together. I'd been lonely, and down - my relationship with Riley felt incredibly hollow, not that I told Angel that - and he filled me with faith and hope once more, something I'd been lacking for a long time.
"I dunno, it's just - " I sighed, looking at him, letting my eyes run over the gash across his forehead, "I try to look at the big picture, and then I realise that I don't have one... I have one of those tiny little folk art pictures, or a square of a mosaic or something. I'll fight, and then I'll die...and that makes me feel less like fighting, in which case I'll definitely die, cos it's all like, 'Hey, bitch! Throw a punch!' 'No!' 'Okay, I'll kill you anyway!' and then there's generally lots of beating up on Buffy."
I said all that on pretty much one breath, and by the end it was pretty much a 'waiting to exhale' deal.
Angel looked hesitant for a minute, and then he reached out and took my hand, squeezing it, bringing it to his lips for a quick kiss, which sent shivers of desire down my spine. God, I missed the feeling of his body pressed up against mine...
He squeezed my hand again. "I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that you'll never die, Buffy, no matter how much I hate the prospect of a world without you in it." His eyes flickered away from mine for a minute, but then we locked gazes again, and it was like coming home. "You will die one day. Maybe soon. You're human, and you're the Slayer. It's inevitable."
I glared at him half-heartedly. "The key word in 'pep talk' is 'pep', you know. This is not 'pep'."
Ignoring me, he continued, "What I will tell you is that the whole world is your big picture. You will live on because the world will still turn; your legacy is the sun, and the stars, and the moon...It's every beating heart, and every drop of laughter. You're fighting for something that will be preserved for millennia after your death. It's all here because you fought for it."
A tear tracked down my cheek, and he gently wiped it away. I sniffled. "Y'know, I'd settle for you and me and a big bed and maybe a choc-caramel sundae, but okay..."
He laughed, and kissed my brow. We were both very aware that when night fell, we'd be separated once more.
"Angel?" I asked him a moment later, looking at him out of the corner of my eye. He turned to look at me, something I didn't quite recognise in his eyes. "Will you still love me when I'm a decaying corpse?"
He brushed a piece of my hair out of my eyes. "I'll always love you."
