Author's note:  feeling a bit angsty at the mo myself, so here's some thoughts that Angel might have had after "Chosen" and "Home."

Disclaimer:  I don't own them. Joss/ ME/ Wb do.  Damn them!

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If you want this for something, just email me and let me know.

If you think I should write a little corresponding piece from Buffy's POV, let me know too.  I'm thinkin' about it. 

Enjoy!

Looking up at the stars, it's easy to forget all the crap that's happened In the past, oh, 72 hours.  And God, do I want to. 

Bright, twinkly.  Just like the poem says. 

My hotel stands empty now, ghostly quiet except for the creaking of the pipes and various rodents moving around in the walls.  It is old, after all.  Kinda like me.

Well, except for the rodents part, of course.

My brain isn't quite right these days.  It seems to want to be, but any time I try to process anything more than, take one step and put your foot down, it clams up on me.  Fade to black, as they say in this town.

Walking up and down the streets in front of the hotel at night, each person or couple I pass gives me a strange look, then walks quickly onward, trying to avoid the crazy guy wearing the leather coat in June.  Not exactly feeling the weather when your blood is room temperature.

Jasmine.  Cordy.  Connor.  Spike.  Buffy. 

The names circle in my head like buzzards looking for carrion.  Does any one of them mean more to me than the other?  They all had something to do with molding me into the man I am now.  Man?  Well, close enough.

Their faces pass in slow, bright ovals behind my eyes when I chance to close them.  Walking does help.  But it'll be light soon, and I can't walk forever.

Or can't I?

Why can't I greet the sun, like I've wanted to deep down since I left the little coastal town that's always in the background of my thoughts, no matter what's going on, not matter who's hurt, who's in trouble, or who needs me.

Because I'm not finished yet.  I'm still cookie dough myself.

I laugh suddenly, because at the time I had thought the analogy was very strange.  Although after spending some time away from her, it actually makes sense.  Having your destiny, your responsibility suddenly split between so many people could confuse you, disorient you.  What do you do now?  Where do you go?  How do you go on?  Why do you go on?

It's amazing, and terrible at the same time.

So many slayers, so little demons.  Although that's probably not true.

I really wish she'd come to see me.

Hmm, that's interesting.  I hadn't thought of it that simplistically before.  I hadn't really thought about it much at all, really.  I heard what happened of course, who didn't?  L.A. is definitely a news town.  "City destroyed, smoking crater all that was left, a schoolbus full of children and one principal all that escaped."

I know she's alright too.

Faith's already called, to let us know what the deal is, as she put it.

They're heading for Cleveland, to help the few watchers that are left to control the remaining demon population, and with newfound power, try to close that hellmouth as well. 

They are stopping in L.A. to see the Summer's girls' father first, who I know for a fact lives not 5 miles from here.

So I'm pacing outside, knowing that they should be in town by now, why haven't they called, why haven't they driven by, they should know I'd be up, or at least around.

Why hasn't she come?

Oh, man.

It's always the same.  No matter what I do, how much I try to change, no matter how much stuff seems to fall in my lap and force me to change, I know that one thing will always be fundamental for me.

And it's her.

Her presence, her scent, her laughter, her eyes, her hair, her strength, her tears, her voice shouting my name in unbearable pain or with unbreakable longing, her small hands in mine…

There are a thousand things I could mention, and I still wouldn't cover it all.

She's my "it."

No matter what, that's the one thing in my life, in my long life, that will never die.  If I live to be 1000 years old, I'll still love her the same way I did the first moment I saw her in the dark alley back when she was 16 and oh so innocent.  Yet not so, at least not as much as I had hoped.  Whistler had told me she was gonna have it tough, but I had so hoped that he had been exaggerating.  Being a slayer was hard enough.  She didn't need added pain in her possibly short but violent life.

I so didn't want to be the cause of that pain.

But imagine falling in love with something so amazing, so beautiful that you thanked your lucky stars that you didn't have to breathe because if you did have to you don't think you could.  And imagine further that this miracle loved you back.  Had the same feelings you did.  You couldn't fathom a world without each other in it.  And the one chance, the one time you were allowed to share your love, the beautiful part of if was ripped away from you, as if the expression itself had been a sin. 

Tell me what kind of world you want to live in that allows this to happen.  And then wonder again why I still entertain thoughts of greeting the sun?

I have loved others, tried to give my life meaning and purpose without her in it.  And I truly did love the others.  One who is currently slipping away silently from me, her eyes closed forever, her sharp tounge and fierce wit silenced, with no way I can fathom to wake her from her death sleep.  And the other, well, that's a whole 'nother kettle of fish, as they say. 

I did prove it.  I do love him.  And he knows no pain now, no remorse, no emptiness.  Just love.  Pure and simple with his plain, human family.  The impossible child of two monsters never existed.  In his place is left a fleeting memory of baby smells, sweet laughter, and a contentment I never thought to feel again without her.  His presence had helped to fill that hole she had left over my unbeating heart.  And now it's even bigger than before.

And so I walk, and look at the stars, and wait for my…other half?  Friend?  Lover?  My reason for going on in the world.  The only reason I have left- to show up, and tell me she's done baking, and that she'll never leave me, and that it doesn't matter that I am once again a dead thing that walks around in the shell of the man I used to be.