+Spilled Tears+
Summary: This is the confrontation (finally) between Angel and Buffy, which follows in sequence the other two chappies.
Disclaimer: Nothing has changed. I'm still dirt poor. I still don't own anything. I still want to slap Joss Whedon upside the head for abusing his characters. But that story is for another day.
A/n: So I'm evil. Eeevil! Some people have expressed the fact that maybe I've had my characters acting a little too harsh towards each other. In all due respect, if the love of your life moved on to another person, wouldn't you be bitter? Angry? In need of psychiatric help if you ever see the little shit? Of course you would. I found that both of them seemed angry, but underneath were pained and hurt that each other could move on so easily. That's it. That's all I tried to write. In this chappy, I had them finally confront. And while a lot of you are going to hate it because it didn't turn out how you wanted, and maybe some of you will like it, I hope that either way you'll review. Pretty please? Thanks.
+!+!+!+!+!+
"You still my girl?"
"Always."
+!+!+!+
He sat alone in the lobby, and she watched him as he fidgeted nervously on the green couch in the central part of the room. Beside him, a couple of feet away, she could see a small baby basket, which presumably held Connor. The Baby. She sighed, still watching him from the safety of the bright sunlight outside the glass doors. Her heart was swimming in her chest, and butterflies were taking nosedives into her stomach.
Holding on hand on the glass, she bit her lip and vowed that she would not cry. No matter what he did or said, she wouldn't cry. She had cried enough for him over the last four years of her life, and now she didn't now if she could cry anymore without shattering to a million tiny pieces, just like fragile china.
Tracing a fingertip over the intricate carvings in the glass, she feverishly wondered if maybe it wasn't the best idea to come here. She had called him soon after she had found out about Cordy and Connor, which had been tense. As she spoke to him on the phone, his usually gentle voice had been filled with a harshness she hadn't remembered, and a simmering hostility she couldn't understand. He sounded angry at her, her beautiful Angel.
Angel heard a slight noise at the doorway, and his dark eyes lifted to meet the sight of a petite blonde girl, that seemed torn between coming and going. Buffy. He sighed softly, more of an unneeded breath of air passing by his lips. He lifted on hand and ran it through the unruly spikes in his brown hair, trying to contain his emotions. When he saw her, he was filled with all the rage he had first been when he had found out about her and Spike. He was also filed by a gentle brimming of peace, but not what he was searching for. He wasn't filled with that all consuming passion anymore. And it hurt.
Her hazel eyes raised, and they met his. For a minute, neither made any move, their eyes locked. Finally, Buffy dropped her hand to the door handle, and let herself in. She walked in slowly, carefully, and then shut the door behind her with a soft click. And then she just stood there, gazing at him with something akin to a stranger's interest. Her eyes flickered briefly over to the empty baby basket, and then around the Hotel lobby. Finally they rested back on him.
Buffy tried to fix her face into the emotionless mask that she had perfected over the last year. But it just wouldn't work when she met Angels' eyes again. He was like she last remembered, dark and dangerous, and absolutely beautiful. Some sick part of her mind realized that her heart wasn't thrumming anymore when she went close to him, and her heart didn't drop to her stomach. She wanted to cry.
To him, she looked the same. Maybe a little more thinner, and her hair a little darker, but otherwise she had become a beautiful young woman. Her face seemed more mature, her eyes harder. Angel didn't know when her face had lost its innocence, when her eyes had seemed to lose her hope, but somehow along the way they had. His head cocked to the side, studying her. She was still his Buffy, but she was a completely different girl at the same time. Almost someone he didn't even know.
"Hey," she greeted softly, her voice falling over him.
He stood up, and tried to smile. But when he looked at her all he could see was Buffy thrashing under Spike, that same golden hair spilled over a pillow as she called his name. He held back his growl and disgust. Now he knew why he couldn't recognize her; it was because she wasn't the same girl at all.
"Hi," he answered back tensely. Her eyes widened slightly but she made no comment. She wasn't stupid. She probably knew why he was angry. For a minute she was silent, her heart breaking all over again. Why didn't he love her anymore? Why did he choose Cordelia over her?
"Is that Connor?" she whispered, gesturing to the basket in blue ruffled trim. Angel felt his chest constrict, but he didn't lash out, or cry. He just looked at his feet, jaw clenching, and he shook his head. His eyes lifted back up to meet hers again.
"No." He said. But the lukewarm anger flared into a red rage, and he couldn't see anything but the vivid red washing over his vision. With a sudden growl, he lashed out and kicked over the baby basket, sending it flying into the nearest wall. It smashed, the weak plastic breaking under the vampire strength. The pieces skidded across the ceramic floor, one handle sliding to a halt in front of a surprised Buffy. But she was quiet, not questioning him. As she always did, she understood that he didn't need a preacher right now, whatever he was going through. She did know him best.
Finally he spoke, slumping down onto the couch again, his forehead supported by his hands. "He was taken away from me. To another dimension . . . a hell dimension. It was last week." Angel said softly, and she could hear the hoarseness in his voice. She wanted to hold him, to tell him it would all get better soon. But it wouldn't get better; it never would.
"Oh, Angel," she hummed, and started over to him, with her arms outstretched and her eyes soft. He looked up at her, one lone tear trickling down his pale cheek. But when he saw her walking over, he jumped up.
"No," he snarled, face a mask of disgust and rage. "I don't need your sympathy."
She stopped in her tracks, eyes quavering. Her arms dropped to her sides, and slowly she began to frown. He saw her pain and hurt, and he relished it. He wanted to hurt her, wanted to break her, and wanted to make her cry. Wanted to make her die, like she had him. But most of all, he wanted to make her hate him so that she could leave and he would never see her again. To make her run away, and never look back. Just like he wanted to do right now.
"What?" she said quietly.
He turned away, eyes closing briefly. Whirling around, his hissed through closed teeth, "You heard me. I don't want your sympathy. I just want you to leave."
Easing back onto the couch, he ignored her sharp intake of breath. Why couldn't this just be easy? Why couldn't he just leave her forever? He didn't love her anymore . . . at least he didn't think he did. It hurt too much to love her. And maybe he just wanted to be free of that pain.
"Angel . . . why are you being like this? I know your son left, but I just came her to . . . to . . ." She trailed of, unsure herself of why she had come here. To confirm her suspicions? To shoot death glares at Cordelia? Or to make Angel hurt, just like he had done her? She didn't know anymore. And maybe she just didn't want to know.
Angel chuckled harshly, his face dark. "I know why you came her. To gloat. To gloat about you and that miscreant of a vampire."
Buffy's mouth dropped open, and so did the floodgates. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she felt a swirl of emotions stream through her. Rage at the fact he felt he could lecture her on her life; satisfaction that he took some pain in her and Spike; relief that the secret was somewhat out; and most of all, sadness, sadness for the fact that everything she and Angel had was lost forever. That hurt most of all.
"No," she said, tears dripping down her cheeks. Angel smirked grimly, watching the girl in front of him as she broke down. What did she expect; him to be joyous that she was screwing Spike? He wondered if she had done this all to make him jealous. But with a pained revelation, he realized that she had done this because she wasn't his anymore.
"Oh yes," he said, moving closer to her and watching her pain. He felt a cruel satisfaction when he saw those big fat tears rolling down her cheek. She deserved to cry, for all the pain she had caused him. He wanted her to cry.
He leered at her. "Was he good, Buff? Is that why you decided to fuck him?" Angel felt his heart break as he taunted her, knowing that he was being an asshole. He was acting like Angelus, and maybe he wanted to be an asshole.
Buffy gasped, her tears momentarily stopping as she heard his uttered words, saw the cruelness in his eyes. He wasn't her sweet Angel anymore; he was a shadow of what she loved. And in that moment, she realized something that made the tears start again. She and Angel had changed too much to ever be with each other again. Too much, too still love each other. Love did fade; it didn't last for eternity.
"Shut up!" she screamed, walking the few steps between them and reaching up to slap him full across the face. He took the slap, looking down into her eyes when she pulled her hand away. Tears still pouring, she glared at him, wanting to be comforted by him, but knowing that it wouldn't do any good anymore. He probably didn't care about her anymore.
"Why?" he whispered sadly, face suddenly dropping. "Why would you do it?"
He gazed at her, and her tears slowed to a trickle as she looked into those dark eyes. The anger in them had faded, replaced by a look of loss and regret, heartbreak and bitterness. She looked up at him in wonder, taking a deep breath and forcing her mind to create words, to think up some excuse other then the truth.
"Because." She answered softly, evading the truth. Right now she didn't want to evaluate her relationship with Spike, she just wanted to see Angel again. Again, one last time, probably forever, before she forgot what the planes of his face looked like in the light, or how the silk of his hair gleamed.
"Alright," Angel said, backing off from the subject. His anger had been sudden and fierce, but now it had drained away to a dull ache in his heart. Though he wanted to know exactly what had been going through her mind when she crawled into Spike's bed, he realized that this wasn't what the meeting was about. It wasn't about them any more, it was about what they had together. What would happen soon.
"Thanks," Buffy ground out, happy that he had dropped the subject. He just nodded softly, shutting his eyes briefly before they slowly opened again, fresh pain swirling within their depths. He slumped on the green couch again, almost in the same position he had been when she had first walked in. she looked at his profile, one she had memorized so long ago. Yet it seemed somehow different, or maybe distorted, like she was looking at him through a fogged glass. Or a haze of hot tears, a thick sheen coating her eyes.
"When did it happen?" she asked him, her voice wavering. New tears threatened to spill over again, but she blinked rapidly, trying to keep them in. His head lifted at her question, and he gazed at her hard before clearing his throat. He knew what she had asked him, though she had spoken no names or actions.
"I don't know. It just . . . was, I guess. Love's like that." Angel muttered, and she felt a slice of pain rip through her. He didn't deny it, didn't sugarcoat the truth. He said it as though it was fact, as though he had no qualms about trying to placate her heart. He said it like it was meant to be.
And maybe, it was.
"I understand," Buffy said, through a ball in her throat. One lone tear spilled over and ran down her face, over her cheek, off her quivering chin. His head cocked to the side as he looked up at her, in sick fascination, as though this would be the last time he would ever see something so beautiful. Studying it, like he would never be given the chance to see such delicious heartbreak, such unadulterated pain, ever again.
Little did she know, he was. Memorizing the shape of her face, the curve of her lips, the shimmer of her eyes, the wisps of her hair.
So beautiful, so heartbreaking.
"Do you?" he accused her, standing up once more. He felt that bubbling anger flare up again, though he didn't know why it kept claiming him. Why he couldn't tell her he loved her, tell her that they would never be again, tell her to leave and never come back. Tell her they were no more.
Buffy felt herself harden against his growl. What was she supposed to do? Drop down on her knees in forgiveness and beg him to accept who she had become, what she was? It wasn't like it even mattered anymore.
"No," she relented, sardonic smile on her pale face. "I don't. I won't pretend to feel the utter desolation and sadness one does when they have no one in this world. The all consuming anger at a life you don't control anymore. The pain in realizing your soul mate left you for a leggy ex- cheerleader. You know what Angel; fuck you."
"Fuck you," she whispered, her eyes cold as she glared at him. She brought a chipped fingernail to her lips and nibbled at the torn tip. Her hand trembling, she pushed back an errant wisp of limp hair. She was waiting.
He relented, tears coursing down his own cheeks now. What could he say now that would make it all better? Nothing. This was what she had wanted, and he couldn't deny her this last wish. Even though it would rip him apart he was to far gone in his own agony to think about repercussions.
She had become such a shadow of the vibrancy she once was, and he couldn't stand it. He would do anything to make her pain go away. Anything.
And he was going to.
"Come here," he mumbled, and she walked over to him. Her eyes shone with such happiness and grateful joy that a chocked sob escaped his throat. She stood in front of him, face tilted up to peer in his watery chocolate eyes. How she had loved to gaze in them, a joy that had been taken away, and never able to be returned. That's why she was doing it. Because she could never have all of what she had lost with Angel again, and she couldn't bear to live without it. She wouldn't have to live without it now.
"Can I change your mind?" he whispered as a gentle hand came up to caress her white cheek. He searched her eyes for hope, but he saw none. He saw nothing swirling in their cold hazel depths. It scared him.
"No," she managed to utter, and he nodded. He brushed a chaste, sweet kiss on her lips, a kiss that reminded her of innocent years in his arms, stolen kisses in the graveyards and a smoldering passion that was destined to be set free one fateful night. She cried.
"I'm sorry it got this far," he mumbled, leaning forward so their foreheads touched. "I'll always love you no matter what, no matter who comes between me and you."
"I know," she said back, a wavering smile gracing chapped lips. "It's the same for me."
They stood in silence for many minutes, maybe hours, Angel trying to calm his thrumming pulse. He couldn't do it but would have to. Didn't want to but needed to. For her. For him even more.
So much emotion the air was thick and heady. Last moments spent together with a pair of lovers made for each other, made to love each other, though destined never to be. Soul mates. Eternally.
"Good bye, my love," Angel whispered as his lips descended over her smooth skin.
+Angel's POV+
As I slit your delicate throat with razor sharp teeth, I sighed; you looked so beautiful. Your blood tastes of drowning and despair, of agony so deep it was appallingly delicious. You clutch at my head, urging me to drink. You want this. You always have.
I've given you the one last thing you will ever ask of me. I would never deny you something you wanted since the day you were Called.
Death by my hand, by my lips, by my teeth.
Good bye, my Slayer, my love, my soul mate, may you find some comfort there. I'll never stop loving you, until the day I turn to ashes.
+++++The End+++++
Summary: This is the confrontation (finally) between Angel and Buffy, which follows in sequence the other two chappies.
Disclaimer: Nothing has changed. I'm still dirt poor. I still don't own anything. I still want to slap Joss Whedon upside the head for abusing his characters. But that story is for another day.
A/n: So I'm evil. Eeevil! Some people have expressed the fact that maybe I've had my characters acting a little too harsh towards each other. In all due respect, if the love of your life moved on to another person, wouldn't you be bitter? Angry? In need of psychiatric help if you ever see the little shit? Of course you would. I found that both of them seemed angry, but underneath were pained and hurt that each other could move on so easily. That's it. That's all I tried to write. In this chappy, I had them finally confront. And while a lot of you are going to hate it because it didn't turn out how you wanted, and maybe some of you will like it, I hope that either way you'll review. Pretty please? Thanks.
+!+!+!+!+!+
"You still my girl?"
"Always."
+!+!+!+
He sat alone in the lobby, and she watched him as he fidgeted nervously on the green couch in the central part of the room. Beside him, a couple of feet away, she could see a small baby basket, which presumably held Connor. The Baby. She sighed, still watching him from the safety of the bright sunlight outside the glass doors. Her heart was swimming in her chest, and butterflies were taking nosedives into her stomach.
Holding on hand on the glass, she bit her lip and vowed that she would not cry. No matter what he did or said, she wouldn't cry. She had cried enough for him over the last four years of her life, and now she didn't now if she could cry anymore without shattering to a million tiny pieces, just like fragile china.
Tracing a fingertip over the intricate carvings in the glass, she feverishly wondered if maybe it wasn't the best idea to come here. She had called him soon after she had found out about Cordy and Connor, which had been tense. As she spoke to him on the phone, his usually gentle voice had been filled with a harshness she hadn't remembered, and a simmering hostility she couldn't understand. He sounded angry at her, her beautiful Angel.
Angel heard a slight noise at the doorway, and his dark eyes lifted to meet the sight of a petite blonde girl, that seemed torn between coming and going. Buffy. He sighed softly, more of an unneeded breath of air passing by his lips. He lifted on hand and ran it through the unruly spikes in his brown hair, trying to contain his emotions. When he saw her, he was filled with all the rage he had first been when he had found out about her and Spike. He was also filed by a gentle brimming of peace, but not what he was searching for. He wasn't filled with that all consuming passion anymore. And it hurt.
Her hazel eyes raised, and they met his. For a minute, neither made any move, their eyes locked. Finally, Buffy dropped her hand to the door handle, and let herself in. She walked in slowly, carefully, and then shut the door behind her with a soft click. And then she just stood there, gazing at him with something akin to a stranger's interest. Her eyes flickered briefly over to the empty baby basket, and then around the Hotel lobby. Finally they rested back on him.
Buffy tried to fix her face into the emotionless mask that she had perfected over the last year. But it just wouldn't work when she met Angels' eyes again. He was like she last remembered, dark and dangerous, and absolutely beautiful. Some sick part of her mind realized that her heart wasn't thrumming anymore when she went close to him, and her heart didn't drop to her stomach. She wanted to cry.
To him, she looked the same. Maybe a little more thinner, and her hair a little darker, but otherwise she had become a beautiful young woman. Her face seemed more mature, her eyes harder. Angel didn't know when her face had lost its innocence, when her eyes had seemed to lose her hope, but somehow along the way they had. His head cocked to the side, studying her. She was still his Buffy, but she was a completely different girl at the same time. Almost someone he didn't even know.
"Hey," she greeted softly, her voice falling over him.
He stood up, and tried to smile. But when he looked at her all he could see was Buffy thrashing under Spike, that same golden hair spilled over a pillow as she called his name. He held back his growl and disgust. Now he knew why he couldn't recognize her; it was because she wasn't the same girl at all.
"Hi," he answered back tensely. Her eyes widened slightly but she made no comment. She wasn't stupid. She probably knew why he was angry. For a minute she was silent, her heart breaking all over again. Why didn't he love her anymore? Why did he choose Cordelia over her?
"Is that Connor?" she whispered, gesturing to the basket in blue ruffled trim. Angel felt his chest constrict, but he didn't lash out, or cry. He just looked at his feet, jaw clenching, and he shook his head. His eyes lifted back up to meet hers again.
"No." He said. But the lukewarm anger flared into a red rage, and he couldn't see anything but the vivid red washing over his vision. With a sudden growl, he lashed out and kicked over the baby basket, sending it flying into the nearest wall. It smashed, the weak plastic breaking under the vampire strength. The pieces skidded across the ceramic floor, one handle sliding to a halt in front of a surprised Buffy. But she was quiet, not questioning him. As she always did, she understood that he didn't need a preacher right now, whatever he was going through. She did know him best.
Finally he spoke, slumping down onto the couch again, his forehead supported by his hands. "He was taken away from me. To another dimension . . . a hell dimension. It was last week." Angel said softly, and she could hear the hoarseness in his voice. She wanted to hold him, to tell him it would all get better soon. But it wouldn't get better; it never would.
"Oh, Angel," she hummed, and started over to him, with her arms outstretched and her eyes soft. He looked up at her, one lone tear trickling down his pale cheek. But when he saw her walking over, he jumped up.
"No," he snarled, face a mask of disgust and rage. "I don't need your sympathy."
She stopped in her tracks, eyes quavering. Her arms dropped to her sides, and slowly she began to frown. He saw her pain and hurt, and he relished it. He wanted to hurt her, wanted to break her, and wanted to make her cry. Wanted to make her die, like she had him. But most of all, he wanted to make her hate him so that she could leave and he would never see her again. To make her run away, and never look back. Just like he wanted to do right now.
"What?" she said quietly.
He turned away, eyes closing briefly. Whirling around, his hissed through closed teeth, "You heard me. I don't want your sympathy. I just want you to leave."
Easing back onto the couch, he ignored her sharp intake of breath. Why couldn't this just be easy? Why couldn't he just leave her forever? He didn't love her anymore . . . at least he didn't think he did. It hurt too much to love her. And maybe he just wanted to be free of that pain.
"Angel . . . why are you being like this? I know your son left, but I just came her to . . . to . . ." She trailed of, unsure herself of why she had come here. To confirm her suspicions? To shoot death glares at Cordelia? Or to make Angel hurt, just like he had done her? She didn't know anymore. And maybe she just didn't want to know.
Angel chuckled harshly, his face dark. "I know why you came her. To gloat. To gloat about you and that miscreant of a vampire."
Buffy's mouth dropped open, and so did the floodgates. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and she felt a swirl of emotions stream through her. Rage at the fact he felt he could lecture her on her life; satisfaction that he took some pain in her and Spike; relief that the secret was somewhat out; and most of all, sadness, sadness for the fact that everything she and Angel had was lost forever. That hurt most of all.
"No," she said, tears dripping down her cheeks. Angel smirked grimly, watching the girl in front of him as she broke down. What did she expect; him to be joyous that she was screwing Spike? He wondered if she had done this all to make him jealous. But with a pained revelation, he realized that she had done this because she wasn't his anymore.
"Oh yes," he said, moving closer to her and watching her pain. He felt a cruel satisfaction when he saw those big fat tears rolling down her cheek. She deserved to cry, for all the pain she had caused him. He wanted her to cry.
He leered at her. "Was he good, Buff? Is that why you decided to fuck him?" Angel felt his heart break as he taunted her, knowing that he was being an asshole. He was acting like Angelus, and maybe he wanted to be an asshole.
Buffy gasped, her tears momentarily stopping as she heard his uttered words, saw the cruelness in his eyes. He wasn't her sweet Angel anymore; he was a shadow of what she loved. And in that moment, she realized something that made the tears start again. She and Angel had changed too much to ever be with each other again. Too much, too still love each other. Love did fade; it didn't last for eternity.
"Shut up!" she screamed, walking the few steps between them and reaching up to slap him full across the face. He took the slap, looking down into her eyes when she pulled her hand away. Tears still pouring, she glared at him, wanting to be comforted by him, but knowing that it wouldn't do any good anymore. He probably didn't care about her anymore.
"Why?" he whispered sadly, face suddenly dropping. "Why would you do it?"
He gazed at her, and her tears slowed to a trickle as she looked into those dark eyes. The anger in them had faded, replaced by a look of loss and regret, heartbreak and bitterness. She looked up at him in wonder, taking a deep breath and forcing her mind to create words, to think up some excuse other then the truth.
"Because." She answered softly, evading the truth. Right now she didn't want to evaluate her relationship with Spike, she just wanted to see Angel again. Again, one last time, probably forever, before she forgot what the planes of his face looked like in the light, or how the silk of his hair gleamed.
"Alright," Angel said, backing off from the subject. His anger had been sudden and fierce, but now it had drained away to a dull ache in his heart. Though he wanted to know exactly what had been going through her mind when she crawled into Spike's bed, he realized that this wasn't what the meeting was about. It wasn't about them any more, it was about what they had together. What would happen soon.
"Thanks," Buffy ground out, happy that he had dropped the subject. He just nodded softly, shutting his eyes briefly before they slowly opened again, fresh pain swirling within their depths. He slumped on the green couch again, almost in the same position he had been when she had first walked in. she looked at his profile, one she had memorized so long ago. Yet it seemed somehow different, or maybe distorted, like she was looking at him through a fogged glass. Or a haze of hot tears, a thick sheen coating her eyes.
"When did it happen?" she asked him, her voice wavering. New tears threatened to spill over again, but she blinked rapidly, trying to keep them in. His head lifted at her question, and he gazed at her hard before clearing his throat. He knew what she had asked him, though she had spoken no names or actions.
"I don't know. It just . . . was, I guess. Love's like that." Angel muttered, and she felt a slice of pain rip through her. He didn't deny it, didn't sugarcoat the truth. He said it as though it was fact, as though he had no qualms about trying to placate her heart. He said it like it was meant to be.
And maybe, it was.
"I understand," Buffy said, through a ball in her throat. One lone tear spilled over and ran down her face, over her cheek, off her quivering chin. His head cocked to the side as he looked up at her, in sick fascination, as though this would be the last time he would ever see something so beautiful. Studying it, like he would never be given the chance to see such delicious heartbreak, such unadulterated pain, ever again.
Little did she know, he was. Memorizing the shape of her face, the curve of her lips, the shimmer of her eyes, the wisps of her hair.
So beautiful, so heartbreaking.
"Do you?" he accused her, standing up once more. He felt that bubbling anger flare up again, though he didn't know why it kept claiming him. Why he couldn't tell her he loved her, tell her that they would never be again, tell her to leave and never come back. Tell her they were no more.
Buffy felt herself harden against his growl. What was she supposed to do? Drop down on her knees in forgiveness and beg him to accept who she had become, what she was? It wasn't like it even mattered anymore.
"No," she relented, sardonic smile on her pale face. "I don't. I won't pretend to feel the utter desolation and sadness one does when they have no one in this world. The all consuming anger at a life you don't control anymore. The pain in realizing your soul mate left you for a leggy ex- cheerleader. You know what Angel; fuck you."
"Fuck you," she whispered, her eyes cold as she glared at him. She brought a chipped fingernail to her lips and nibbled at the torn tip. Her hand trembling, she pushed back an errant wisp of limp hair. She was waiting.
He relented, tears coursing down his own cheeks now. What could he say now that would make it all better? Nothing. This was what she had wanted, and he couldn't deny her this last wish. Even though it would rip him apart he was to far gone in his own agony to think about repercussions.
She had become such a shadow of the vibrancy she once was, and he couldn't stand it. He would do anything to make her pain go away. Anything.
And he was going to.
"Come here," he mumbled, and she walked over to him. Her eyes shone with such happiness and grateful joy that a chocked sob escaped his throat. She stood in front of him, face tilted up to peer in his watery chocolate eyes. How she had loved to gaze in them, a joy that had been taken away, and never able to be returned. That's why she was doing it. Because she could never have all of what she had lost with Angel again, and she couldn't bear to live without it. She wouldn't have to live without it now.
"Can I change your mind?" he whispered as a gentle hand came up to caress her white cheek. He searched her eyes for hope, but he saw none. He saw nothing swirling in their cold hazel depths. It scared him.
"No," she managed to utter, and he nodded. He brushed a chaste, sweet kiss on her lips, a kiss that reminded her of innocent years in his arms, stolen kisses in the graveyards and a smoldering passion that was destined to be set free one fateful night. She cried.
"I'm sorry it got this far," he mumbled, leaning forward so their foreheads touched. "I'll always love you no matter what, no matter who comes between me and you."
"I know," she said back, a wavering smile gracing chapped lips. "It's the same for me."
They stood in silence for many minutes, maybe hours, Angel trying to calm his thrumming pulse. He couldn't do it but would have to. Didn't want to but needed to. For her. For him even more.
So much emotion the air was thick and heady. Last moments spent together with a pair of lovers made for each other, made to love each other, though destined never to be. Soul mates. Eternally.
"Good bye, my love," Angel whispered as his lips descended over her smooth skin.
+Angel's POV+
As I slit your delicate throat with razor sharp teeth, I sighed; you looked so beautiful. Your blood tastes of drowning and despair, of agony so deep it was appallingly delicious. You clutch at my head, urging me to drink. You want this. You always have.
I've given you the one last thing you will ever ask of me. I would never deny you something you wanted since the day you were Called.
Death by my hand, by my lips, by my teeth.
Good bye, my Slayer, my love, my soul mate, may you find some comfort there. I'll never stop loving you, until the day I turn to ashes.
+++++The End+++++