He remembers all the times they were there for each other.  And just as suddenly when they weren't.  How he had broken both their hearts in a sewer, and how she had selflessly given of herself to save his life.  How he had met her eyes one last time, and how he still had managed the courage to walk away.

            And then there was the time she never remembered.  The one day they had had together in the sun.  On the beach, walking, laughing, loving, and eating a lot of ice cream.  He smiles slightly at the memory, and of Cordelia's "it'll go straight to your thighs!" comment.

            And of all the time after, when the phone calls had become less and less frequent.  He wonders how they both managed to live their own lives and still never once saw each other. 

            She had been so strong.  And had finally gotten what she wanted.  To not be alone anymore.  To not be the 'one girl in all the world.' 

            Why hadn't they seen more of each other? 

            Oh, yeah.  That old albatross.  The curse.

            He knew that even when she had finished 'baking' as she put it, the curse would have been still very much a problem.  In all his years, she was the one thing he couldn't deny.  Ever.

            And for some reason or another, the idea of finding a way to bind his soul had never come up again.  He had kind of forgotten about it, to be honest, after the portal had opened up in L.A.  Kinda busy saving the world.

            And he and his friends had actually done it.  He was now living proof of that fact.

            Living.  Proof.  Poof!

            The word came to him unbidden in the voice of a long dead compatriot.  Ally, maybe, friend, no.  That was another mystery he figured he'd never get the answer to. 

            She loves you, you big dolt.  Go find her.

            Angel shakes his head, all feeling in his legs gone from having kneeled so long in the dirt.  Spike's voice echoes around him, and he's confused because he doesn't remember Spike ever saying anything like that.

            And now it's too late to, anyway.

            The big C.  Takes out a slayer.  Turns out it's not so discriminating as one would have hoped.  Take no prisoners, that kind of thing.  Even magicians are helpless in the face of it's power.  He hadn't believed it at first when Xander had told him what had happened to her. 

            And she never told him.  Not even in the conversation they had had only a few short months ago, about Dawn's wedding and the rebuilding of the town.  She had mentioned that she and the ones that were left were going to move back home, and try to retire, get in some good 'grey hair' activity and such, as she so flippantly had said.  He had promised to visit, then had gotten swept up in the deaths of Wesley and Fred, and the final magics that had saved L.A. again from the ultimate evil.

            Now his closest friends lay in the ground, and there was no one left to share this most important of events with.  No one he cared to share it with right now, anyway.

            He stands finally, too wiped out to keep looking at the words on the stone.

            Buffy Anne Summers.  1980-2028

            Beloved Sister and Friend

            Forever in our Hearts

            Walking along the clean streets of the new Sunnydale, the image of that stone won't leave him.  He can't shake it. 

            He's been through a lot in his 250 plus years.  Been through viscious emotional cycles, countless heartbreak, loss, and unbelieveable joy.  But he can't seem to move past this one.  He stops abruptly, and looks about.  Realizing he has walked all the way to the train station.  Plops down on a bench, pulls his tie askew, suddenly feeling a tightness in his lungs he's still not used to yet.

            Watches the smooth bullet shaped trains enter and exit the station.  Takes note of the weirdly nostalgic old school look of the town.  But so old school that it's vaguely creepy to him. 

            A line he had read somewhere a long time ago creeps into his consciousness, and it makes the hair on the back of his neck rise.

            The world has moved on.

            He feels like a leftover piece of food on a party tray, overlooked and completely forgotten.  There's nothing for him here now, and he sits there, in his black suit and leather coat, same hair, same dour expression.  Nothing's changed.  But everything has.  And he begins to grasp that all the promise of this gift, all the reasoning behind him wanting it so badly, doesn't matter. 

            His connections to humanity are gone.  Dead and buried.  All of them.  And he doesn't know how to fit in any more than he had when his soul had first been returned to him over a hundred years ago.

            A harsh sob excapes his lips, and the couple passing him by give him a weird look before speeding up to pass him.

            He jerks to his feet, and heads blindly in the direction of her house.  Can't leave without seeing Dawn one last time.  He had promised her, after all.

            And there's something he needs to do as well, before escaping from this living hell he's found himself in.

            He knocks on the door softly, and is mortified by the look on Dawn's face when she opens it half a second after he lowers his hand.

            "Oh, thank God," she says, and he winces at the sight of the fresh tears on her cheeks.  Had she been crying for him? 

            He enters the home, freely now and with no invitation.  Although he hesitates briefly at the entry way, as if waiting for it.

            Dawn looks at him, and takes him by the hand.  "Please, come in," she says softly, "I need you here."

TBC.