Note: I know I said this would be the final chapter, but there are two final chapters, the last one following this one.

CHAPTER 20: CADENCE

The time between the notes relates the color to the scenes.
A constant vogue of triumphs dislocate man, so it seems.
And space between the focus shape ascend knowledge of love.
As song and chance develop time, lost social temp'rance rules above.
Ah, ah.

Then according to the man who showed his outstretched arm to space,
He turned around and pointed, revealing all the human race.
I shook my head and smiled a whisper, knowing all about the place.
On the hill we viewed the silence of the valley,
Called to witness cycles only of the past.
And we reach all this with movements in between the said remark.

            ~ Closer To The Edge IV (Seasons of Man), Yes

______________________________________________


It was over.

And now the lights would come up, and the curtain would fall, and all the people of Sunnydale could sleep peaceful. They'd take their bows and go home.

Well, some of them would.

It was all over now.

Except—

The globe danced with muted light, now, its power dimmed through their combined efforts. It was a small thing, tiny and fragile. No more rifts torn in reality, no more people like paper dolls cut into the shape of God to do its will. Paper dolls, lined with veins like black ink—

"Oh, God. Willow."

Faith turned fearful eyes to the edge of the platform where Willow had been. The witch still lay there, limbs bent and splayed unnaturally, body looking as fragile as the glass—but pale… still too pale, and skeletal. She'd been its pawn, its plaything, believing herself its master as surely as it had mastered her. And yes, the globe had weakened—but had its hold?

And then as she watched, Willow's body softened, bones disappearing beneath slowly returning flesh. Black veins surged once then retreated beneath pink skin, vanishing as if they had never been. Her hair shimmered, black opulence rising into the air like a hissing, living thing, and then dissipated into nothingness. With a gasp, Willow became conscious, sitting bolt upright, eyes flying open, and Faith couldn't help but notice how diminished she looked, how weak and wan, how empty now, without the power of the Winnowin filling her. Empty black pools stared out for a split second, an echo of power and hatred remaining yet—and then Willow blinked, and only hazel eyes remained, their depths terrified and filled with incomprehension.

For a split second, Faith realized that Willow didn't know. She didn't remember. Yet. But she would. Faith could see the wave of realization coming in like a tsunami.

"Willow?" she asked.

Wide eyes skittered with fear and memory, and then the wave hit. Faith watched it fall over the witch and consume her like a tidal wave. There was one faint nod as her chest heaved with a racking sob, and then red hair fell forward like a curtain over her face as it broke. Overcome, Willow shoved desperate hands against her choked cries trying in vain to cover them. She pushed at her face, pulled at her hair, tore at herself, sobbing as if her heart had broken. And for an instant, Faith only watched, could only marvel at the raw emotion. And for that instant, she almost envied the release.

And then Xander and Giles and Tara were there, putting their arms around Willow's shaking shoulders, covering her shame from the world, hiding her from eyes that shouldn't see. Faith swallowed once, then looked away, feeling like the intruder she was.

Another movement caught her attention from the corner of her eye, and she turned her head.

Buffy.

The blonde Slayer struggled to rise, disheveled and tiny as Willow, her eyes no less haunted and filled with sorrow. But if Faith felt like an intruder, then she wasn't the only one. Buffy's eyes were locked on the circle of friends, filled with a thousand emotions as she gained her wobbling feet. She took a shaky step, then stopped, wiping the grimy sleeve of her sweater over her mouth as she looked away. Another uncertain glance, as if she wanted to go to them, and then the struggle of decision left her. She sagged, one hand dangling uncertainly at her side, the other crawling up over her own shoulder, as if to cradle herself.

"It's okay," Buffy murmured, and in that moment Faith understood that Buffy couldn't simply go to them, as surely as she herself couldn't. "They'll be okay."

She took a slow step toward the other Slayer, and Buffy started, as she hadn't known Faith was standing there. She shuffled her feet, feeling awkward with the intimate moment. "So will you," she said, then cleared her throat.

Slowly, Buffy turned to look at her with calm, gray-green eyes. Then the tiniest of smiles graced her pale, bruised lips, and she nodded.

"I know."

Another rustle of clothing, and the moment between them was broken.

"Buffy?" Spike approached them from the side, blue eyes blinking furiously against the dazed expression on his face, blond hair tousled and wild. And Faith had never seen him like this. Never seen him quite so soft, so uncertain of himself. The wild, raucous Spike was long gone, and in his place stood a man Faith wondered if she had ever seen before.

Is that what love did to a person?

"Spike?" Buffy asked, voice quiet and uncertain. Her eyes flickered with the confusion of memory, trembling on the verge, and Spike's eyes met Buffy's with a pale blue intensity that made Faith's breath catch in her throat.

Was that love?

Love…

"Angel!" Faith gasped, turning to look for him.

Buffy's eyes widened, and the connection between her and Spike snapped with an almost audible sound as she echoed Faith's proclamation.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Angel woke with a sudden, startled gasp.

Eyes that felt like they hadn't seen the world in a very long time trailed over the contours of the ceiling, mind grasping for memory for several long seconds.

Something was different… something was…

He was different.

Memory washed over him in a sudden flood; Willow behind the glass, arm outstretched, power flowing from it, flowing over him, suffocating him, enveloping him… changing him.

I can take your soul away.

For a moment there was nothing but sheer panic, a red-hot explosion through the primitive connections of his mind. Had she taken it away? Had he… was he…?

He sat bolt upright in the consummation of his terror, struggling for a memory, for anything. What had she done? Who was he now?

For more than a hundred years there had always been a voice… that voice… the one that mocked him, that dogged ceaselessly at his heels. The one that whispered and laughed, biding its time, waiting for its moment, coiling around his mind with dark tendrils. The one he'd hated more than anything, because despite his best intentions, despite his noblest deeds, that voice was still a part of him; would always be part of him. And now it was gone.

He reeled with the implications, hands clutching at his body as if he weren't certain he was real anymore; as if he weren't certain of anything.

I can make it permanent.

Could she? Had she?

Get rid of that nasty true happiness clause.

No.

Isn't that what you want?

Oh. God.

His soul. Magic had sewn it to him with a million, tiny agonizing stitches, as surely as Wendy had sewn Peter Pan's shadow to him. Angelus wasn't gone. He would never truly be gone until the day Angel died or his heart beat again. But the demon was relegated to the background, nothing more than far away radio static, unable to reach him across the tether of his soul.

He raised his hands and stared at them as if he had never seen them before.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt tears rise in his eyes.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *


"Angel!" Buffy cried out, and she reached him first, falling to the ground on her knees. "Are you okay?

"I'm…fine," he managed. He stared at her as if he hadn't seen her face in a hundred years, still too overwhelmed to process everything that had happened—that still was happening. "Are you?"

"I-I'm…" Her face worked, and she put a hand against it, as if to bring her emotions under control. Tears rose in her eyes, and her gaze went a million miles away. "Yeah, you know…" she sniffled, trailed off. Gathered herself, tried to speak again. "It's—"

She broke off, pressed a hand to her trembling mouth, the dam of her emotions finally breaking free. Her shoulders shook and she choked back a sob as she rapidly came undone, squeezing her eyes shut against the flood of tears. "Oh, God… Angel. I—"

Slowly, like a man in a dream, he folded his arms around her, took her sobs against his shoulder and let them fall with grace. He couldn't think past the moment, and right then, he only knew that she was there, she was alive, and she was hurting.

Faith stood where she had stopped when Buffy fell to her knees, standing frozen atop the platform like a statue. But statues had more life, more expression.

Dreams broke and illusions shattered as she watched the two of them embrace each other.

Was that love?

Her heart ached in her chest, each beat like a knife against her breast, but still she held her chin high, breathing a bit too fast, perhaps, cheeks a little too flushed, but rigid and solid.

Is that what love did to a person?

Unbreakable on the outside even as she exploded into fragments on the inside. She would never let them know. Never let them see.

So this is love.

Well.

It wasn't as if she hadn't known, after all.

"And that's the way it is," Spike said softly at her side. Eyes fixed on the pair, he slipped his hands into his pockets, and there was a soft sound that might have been a sigh, or maybe just the rustling of leather. "This is what we get."

She tilted her head at the couple, face so tight she thought it might break if she spoke, and struggled desperately to pull herself from the pit of hatred and despair that tugged at her heart. The memory of trembling kisses against her mouth. Strong arms holding her so close. Whispered words. Just words.

People always thought she didn't listen to them, didn't care. And it was true; she went far out of her way to give that very impression. But when it came right down to it, she always knew the right thing, deep down inside, even when she denied it to herself. She always had. After all; that was why she was standing here, wasn't it?

She wasn't going to let it go down in flames of self-hatred. Not this time.

She shook her head, cracked a bitter smile as her words to Angel from so long ago came back to her with finality.

"Every good deed is its own reward, right?"

Spike cut her a sidelong look as if he thought she might have lost her mind, but she didn't turn to look at him. Her eyes were fixed on the couple below.

He opened his mouth, scathing reply on the tip of his tongue.

But she was already walking away.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Willow pulled from her friends, wiping at her eyes, trying to push down the sense of loss, the loss of self that she felt.

She rose to her feet, fending them off, searching for the remainder of her friends.

"Buffy," she whispered, sighting her. Then her mouth turned down, and her eyes grew even more sad, if that were possible. "Angel."

Of the two of them, only Angel seemed to hear her. He raised his eyes to her above Buffy's quaking shoulders, his gaze sad but somehow hopeful.

"It's permanent now, isn't it? My soul. The curse is gone."

She nodded. "It is." Her eyes skittered to Buffy and welled with tears again as lips curled under, trembled with an unreleased sob. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Several yards away, Faith stopped dead in her tracks, breath catching in her throat, stiffening as if a blade had been buried in the center of her spine.

"Willow…" Giles' voice was grave, solemn in its condemnation and disbelief. "You couldn't." She met his eyes with her tear filled ones and said nothing, the weight of her gaze giving him to know that she'd spoken the truth.

"How?" he whispered, stunned.

She swallowed, straightened her stance as she regained control of herself. "The Winnowin."

No one said a word, simply stared.

"We have to destroy it," Willow said, eyes leveling on the glass with hatred so intense her gaze alone could have broken it.

"Can we?" Giles asked, moving to her side. "Is it possible?"

The globe flashed once with white light, as if in warning, and the world trembled around them.

"It can hear us," Tara murmured, glancing around as the echoes faded away.

Willow nodded, then shook her head thoughtfully. "It doesn't matter. We're the only ones that can finish this." Her eyes flicked left, then right, voice lowering. "I'll need all of you to help me. Feed me… one last time."

No one moved. Angel was lost in his own world, and Buffy to her sorrow. Xander shuffled his feet as if he wanted to say something, but his mouth remained as firmly shut as when she had sealed it. Anya looked at her with disbelief, but Giles and Tara were the worst of all, the way their eyes didn't quite meet hers, the way they stared off nervously into the distance. They didn't trust her. They shouldn't.

The globe flickered and flared, as if it could sense her threat, and the earth vibrated around them again.

"I can't do it without your help," she said, and closed her eyes, not able to stand the way they didn't look at her.

Long, uncomfortable seconds passed, and she felt like she was sinking into the ground. She was in pieces, broken, and she didn't know if she'd ever be able to put it all back together again. And it was funny, the sound that silence made, the sound that it made as it pushed in deep. And then a voice—the last voice she'd ever expected to hear—spoke up, worn and weary, but still blithely bitter, still strong somehow, despite everything.

"Use me."

She opened her eyes and Faith met her with a cynical smile. "It's not like there's much left for me to lose, anyway."

The floor shuddered beneath them, and Willow reached out as pieces of the ceiling fell all around them, taking the Slayer's rough hand within her own. Stained with blood, bearing sacrifice, Faith's sins were far more visible than Willow's, but no less real than her own. Dust shivered down from above, giving the world a hazy glow as she watched the Slayer close her eyes, giving herself over to Willow's will entirely.

Slowly, ever so carefully, she felt Tara's fingers snake through her own and tighten. She glanced to the side, flashed her lover a grateful smile, and watched as Xander linked his hand through Tara's, and Anya's through his. Giles linked his hand with Faith's free one, and then it was done, all eyes upon her except for Faith's, who were still closed in the ultimate expression of trust; a trust she was far more grateful for than she could have ever realized.

"When we do it… when it's done, we're going to have to run."

"And this is different from the rest of my life, how?" Xander asked, and her heart was eased by the familiar sarcasm of his tone.

"Angel?" she asked, speaking up, inclining her head toward the vampire. She felt Faith's fingers flex within hers, an unconscious response that nonetheless spoke volumes to Willow.

Angel nodded after a moment, tightened his arms around Buffy. He whispered something unintelligible into her ear, and the two of them rose unsteadily to their feet.

"Let's do it," she whispered, calling their energy home.

Without thought, without ceremony or word, power flew from her in an invisible arc. It hit the globe and lit with a rippling golden glow that lifted it up into the air. White light exploded within the golden waves, expanding outward in rage, trapped fast by the power Willow forced upon it. The world trembled all around them, floor shaking beneath their feet, and she barely contained the blast that would have brought them all to their knees, that would have buried them beneath chunks of dirt and stone. And she could see it all as clearly as if it had happened, bodies crushed, closed in by darkness, air running out—she shoved the vision away, shoved its power away, forcing it back into the tiny space that held it. Watched as it began to overload, white light burning her irises as it caught upon itself; light so bright that it burned her through the veil of her eyelids, no matter how tight she squeezed them shut. She concentrated with all her might, shoved the force of power back, trapping it there until she thought the glow would blind her through her closed eyes.

And then there was a high keening sound, like a soulless wail; the sound of shattering glass, thin fragments imploding upon themselves in a music that made her heart shudder within her chest.

The rainbow of possibility in her mind went out, its light utterly gone as if it had died, and she felt tears slip down her face with its loss. No matter how she hated it, no matter how she would fight against it, it had become part of her, and she felt its loss.

She cried out, a grating sound through violently clenched teeth, every nerve, every muscle trembling with the effort of focus as she tried to contain the force of the Winnowin, tried to hold in the supernova of power that expanded even as it collapsed in upon itself.

I will die. But I will take you with me, it whispered with vengeance, voice reverberating through her head, thick with betrayal.

"No!" She screamed, blood choking from her nostrils in a crimson spray. And she wanted to cling to it, show her power over it, force it back into its proper place. She could hold out against it. She could. She had to.

"Let it go, Willow," Faith said. "We stay, we die. That's what it wants."

She wrenched her hand free of the Slayer's, tugged painfully from Tara's, fell to her knees, crimson rivulets trailing down her face as her eyes snapped open, focusing on them.

"Run."

The world exploded in light behind them, so bright that it left an after image of the cave imprinted in their eyes. And still they ran, seeking to outrun the inevitable.

The earth groaned and tore itself apart before the power, stone walls that had stood for hundreds of years laid to dust in mere seconds before it.

I come for you.

You'll never take me, Willow answered, running so hard she felt her heart might burst, running so fast she nearly flew with concussive force of the explosion. And then there were hands grabbing her, pulling her up the ledge. It crumbled beneath her feet, and she nearly slid down into the embrace of cold, eager earth—and then she was pulled free again, set right on her feet, arms pulling her, forcing her to keep running.

The world was thunder and lightning, the most vicious storm any had ever bore witness to, ceiling shivering down upon them in a painful rain of rock, walls collapsing inward just behind. It pursued them with a singular mind that was rapidly disintegrating as the light faded, its dying thought focused on their deaths, its very voice become the roaring of demolished walls that nipped at their heels, seeking desperately to pull them in, pull them under.

She ran on, tears streaming down her face, heart pounding in her throat until she forgot who she was. Until her legs ached and her bones were numb, and still she ran.

And then she could feel it. The cool night air, so close, so teasingly within reach. She raised her face to it, drank it in deep, determined to take it with her if it were the last thing she ever tasted. She stumbled, nearly fell, raised her head to the sky and screamed her rage, and then again there were hands upon her, dragging her, pulling her forward, and then—

And then she lay upon the grass, nose and mouth bleeding freely into the fragrant scent of green, and there were arms around her, concerned blue eyes loving her, murmuring words of life and hope into her ear, reminding her that she was still alive.

Alive. They had made it.

Keep running, the voice prodded, and somehow, she made it to her feet, kept moving.

The thundering echoes faded into the distance.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *          

Old downtown Sunnydale disappeared in one convulsive gulp. Brick and glass and steel slid down an unforgiving earthen throat, devoured in a bright explosion of light that left many of the surviving Sunnydale citizens blind for days.

Some said that for an instant, they glimpsed heaven in the mouth of madness, peaceful fields of green and skies of tranquil blue trapped deep within the ground. Others raved about a well of souls, thousands of faces trapped and screaming within the shifting earth as it swallowed its meal.

When it was done, the Sunnydale museum stood upon the edge, insides spilled out into the gaping hole, a few walls still standing in testament to its existence. Stone and steel groaned on the precipice, and several thousand feet away, a gas station exploded into the night, tanks pulled free and ignited as they vanished into earth and air. From within the museum, one final piece of metal tore free, clinking and clicking as it tumbled down to the edge of the massive hole.

"Sunnydale History". The words flashed as the sign teetered in the moonlight, and then gravity claimed it as it overbalanced, pitch black maw claiming it with a final glint of metallic sheen.

The earth shivered to a stop, and the town began to breathe again, erupting into the wail of sirens and the screams of the surviving.

Just another night in Sunnydale.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

They finally came to a halt about a mile from the devastation.

"Is it… is it over?" Tara asked breathlessly, clinging to Willow.

Willow sank gratefully into the embrace, brought her head up and stared into the distance. She reached out with her power—and felt nothing. The same empty space she had always felt. She was alone again. Alone and only as powerful as she wished to be.

"It's over," she said, wiping blood from her face.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

They limped the rest of the way to the Magic Box, no one speaking, ignoring the odd tilt of the cars and houses around them; Tara's arms around Willow, Anya and Xander holding tightly to each other. Buffy and Angel held each other up, faces grave as they made their way, and Giles strode beside them on Buffy's side, one hand upon her shoulder as they walked. Spike trailed along behind them all, face set and stoic, trying in vain to keep his eyes from the couple in front of him.

And if anyone noticed that Faith was no longer among them, they said nothing.

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

Dawn flew into Buffy's arms as the door opened, and the two went down in a tangle of limbs, brown hair over gold as they pressed their cheeks together and sobbed. Buffy stroked Dawn's hair, whispered words meant for her alone, and then after a bit, when Dawn had calmed, she rose to her feet. Turned to Giles and caught him up in a hug so emotional he might have blushed with proper British embarrassment if he hadn't been so happy to see her. He hugged her back, touched her hair and smiled. There was no need for words between them, never had been at moments like this. And then she turned to Xander, enfolding him in her arms with another emotional outpouring, and when he made some sort of smart-assed comment, she choked back a sob that made her realize how much she had missed being home. There was a moment of hesitation between her and Willow, the witch shifting and uncertain, eyes huge and sad for all they had wrought, and then Buffy caught her up in a tight hug, whispering forgiveness, whispering friendship and love. Even Anya and Tara took their turn at being hugged, and Spike watched it all from across the room, Angel and Cordelia nearby.

"Helluva reunion, innit?" he asked, voice snide.

"What? You want a turn?" Cordelia asked, smirking.

"Someone's missing their turn," Angel muttered.

One corner of Cordelia's mouth quirked up in a smile, and she purposely didn't look at Angel as she commented. "Yeah. She's in the back."

He turned, stared at her in surprise. Opened his mouth. Closed it.

"You'd better hurry before the hugging makes its way to this side of the room."

"Aw, not much on the group hug, are you Peaches? Would've thought that'd go right along with the do-gooding soul and the brooding sessions."

"Are you kidding?" Cordelia looked at Spike in disbelief. "Have you seen him hug? It's like… a train wreck! With really… awkward arms."

"Hey! I do not have…" Angel shifted, tried to glower, then stood back and readjusted his posture, glanced self-consciously at his arms.

Cordelia and Spike gave him a disbelieving look filled with knowing as they waited for his explanation.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned. "I should go."

*           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *           *

She stood inside the weapons room in half-light, limned by soft yellow bulbs and shadow, fingering a crossbow with absent thought. She listened to the din of voices outside, the slow, halting explanations, the explosion of caring and group hugs that followed, and she was both a part and apart from them, there only by the grace of her heart.

It was over. It was time to move on.

But to where? She wondered, the ache in her chest by now becoming familiar, settling in with a weight she was all too accustomed to.

"Faith?"

She turned, her heart giving an unexpected leap. She had known it would happen, and yet she hadn't prepared for it. Hadn't known how to be able to prepare for it.

Play it cool baby, remember. She swallowed, took a deep breath, searched for a casual note that would end things just right.

"Yeah, Angel. What's up?"

He was dark and beautiful as he entered, closing the door behind him in a flow of graceful trench coat. It hurt her just to look at him, to remember where he had been, to think of where he would be, when she was gone.

And still he had the nerve to arch a brow at her, as if surprised by her casual manner. He took a few slow steps toward her, hands slipping with familiar ease into the pockets of his coat. She knew that move. Knew so many of his moves now.

"Nothing," he said, still moving closer. "I just wanted to…"

"Say goodbye?" she supplied helpfully, heart catching in her throat a she spoke. But it didn't show. She always made sure it never showed.

"I was never much good at goodbye." He smirked.

She pulled the crossbow she held in her hands against her chest as if armoring herself with it. Fiddled with the unarmed string, not wanting to have this moment, not wanting to have to say what needed to be said. And yet, there was no time left for them to do it otherwise. And how could they leave here, how could they leave now with so much unsaid?

"Look, Angel. I…" She broke off, gritted her teeth and damned herself for not being able to get out the words. She'd helped save the world but she couldn't have an honest conversation with her… boyfriend? Was he her boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend? God, how high school was that? And really, when you got right down to it, wasn't this whole thing about that ridiculous?

She sighed and steeled herself. The words had to be said, and she could do this. She could give this much, after all she had given before. Couldn't she?

"Angel…" she began again, and his named rolled over her tongue with a familiarity that hurt her even more than looking at him. When had that happened? When had she begun to think of him as hers, even though she'd known better? Even the taste of his name was intimate, and it shouldn't be like this. Should never have been like this. There were walls and miles between them, and if she'd ever had any doubt of that, she had only to look as far back as the memory of Buffy, nestled safe and lovingly in his arms to know better.

And somehow, that image alone gave her the courage to push on.

"Look. I don't wanna make a big deal or anything," she said, shrugging with a casualness that surprised even her. "I figure we say our goodbyes quietly, spare ourselves the big 'Shakespeare in Love' parting scene, go our separate ways."

"I love that movie," he said softly.

She smirked, shook her head, amused despite herself. She hated the way he touched her, the way he always caught her off guard and surprised her, slipped right under skin and got to her heart. "You would, you big sap." She took a breath, forced the lightness of her words. "Does Buffy know you're such a sap? Because if she doesn't, I feel like I should give her fair warning, you know?" And good, she was doing good, tone flippant, not revealing a single sliver of her broken heart.

"Buffy?" he asked, as if he didn't understand. And damn, he was going to make her do this. Make her say it, even though she didn't want to.

"Yeah. I… know how you feel about her… and I saw you…" She paused, pushed past the hurt to find the words. "With her. After. And now that we're through this, now that she's back and she's right again…" She hesitated, drew a deep breath and shook her head, small smile forming on her lips.

Even when she'd been a traitor she hadn't been able to lie convincingly. And now that she wasn't a traitor anymore, she found she didn't have the heart to even try.

"Funny thing." She tilted her head to the side, weighing the words even as they left her lips. "I know what I'm supposed to say, but part of me is glad we saved her… and the other part…" She lifted her shoulders, shrugged, kept the troubled look from her face with sheer effort of will. "The other part thinks maybe you and me would've been a lot better off if we hadn't."

He shuffled inside his coat, and she couldn't see his face, because she didn't want to look.

"You really think that?"

"Don't you?" she countered, barriers going up again as she raised her eyes to him. "Angel, your curse is gone, your soul is permanent. And then, on the one hand, you've got Buffy, the great golden hero, your first true love; the one girl you loved more than anything, the girl you could never be with because of the curse attached to your soul. And on the other hand you've got me. The girl who's never given you anything. The girl who's tried to kill you on more than one occasion."

"Well, there was that one time you only tried to turn me evil," he offered with a faint smile.

The corner of her mouth twitched; the ghost of a bitter smile, and then she laughed, despite herself. "Yeah, there was that." Silence held for a moment, a comforting moment that almost felt… good. Then the rough smile vanished and she shrugged again. "But that's exactly what I'm talking about. Not much of a choice, when you look at it that way."

He blinked, confused, and she suddenly wanted to punch him right between his dark little-boy eyes. "Between you and Buffy?"

"Goddamn it! Can't you ever just let things go, Angel?" she exploded. "Do you always have to poke and prod and get the maximum brooding potential out of a situation?" Couldn't he see how much she hated this? Her face hardened and she brought her chin up, storms brewing on her brow and in the darkness of her eyes. "Haven't you been paying attention?"

"Haven't you?" he asked with a challenging incline of his head.

"What the hell are you talking about?" she asked, anger flaring. She took a step forward, flung the crossbow down, patience snapping like its bow string as it hit the floor. "I'm trying to make this easy for you! Easy for both of us! You wanna play dumb? Make this harder than it has to be? Fine. But I'm not playing."

"Neither am I."

She cocked her head at him, hands tightening into fists. Her heart strained in her chest and she beat it back with a force of will. "Then why are you still here?" Her voice was desperate, but with anger, she hoped, rather than the faint hope that still burned inside her.

"Maybe because it isn't that simple."

She threw back her head, uttered a mocking laugh. "Of course it's that simple. Do you think I'm stupid? Soul in place, Buffy's back. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to know where your heart is. You're not doing me any favors by pretending." Her voice turned icy, eyes frosty as they met his, and oh, she hadn't wanted to do it this way. "Just go, Angel," she said, voice quiet with defeat, still laced with anger. "Get out and don't make it any worse than it has to be."

"You'd like it if it were that easy, wouldn't you, Faith?" he asked, taking another step closer to her. Dark eyes pinned her knowingly, and she hated them in that instant, hated that they always seemed to see right through her, no matter what mask she put in place. "If I just walked out on you and you could file me away under the same category as every other guy who ever hurt you. Safer that way. No risk that way. You get exactly what you want and you never even have to try. Never even have to care." His expression was dead serious, eyes burning, locked on hers, and he took another step. "Another broken dream to add to the pile for poor little Faith."

"Fuck. You," she grated out, eyes flashing with fury.

"Easier to let me walk away and have it be all my fault, isn't it? Then you can keep your perfect little screwed up world where you were right and everybody else was wrong. Is that what you are, Faith? A coward?"

She brought her fist up and he caught it, expression never changing, eyes still boring into hers as he shoved her wrist down, let it go. "Because I thought there was more to you than that."

She tossed her hair back, brought her shoulders up proudly. "What you see is what you get," she answered with a sneer.

His expression changed like quicksilver as he took another step nearer to her, and she backed away, caught off guard by the sudden change. And damn him to hell for being who he was, for being able to look at her like that. For being able to look through her like that.

Eyes suddenly warm, face gentle and kind with understanding… and something more. Something she couldn't name that held her rooted to the spot despite her belligerence. He lifted his hand to her face, fingers pressed against the line of her jaw, thumb trailing down her cheek to brush against her lips.

"You know what I see when I look at you?" he asked, voice low, caressing her like his fingertips. "I see a strong, beautiful woman. I see a heart that loves like no other, but never speaks the words because it can't. I see loyalty and honor and the determination to be better, to do right by the world because you've done it so wrong in the past." He leaned closer to her, bringing her chin up, making her look at him. "I look at you, and I see myself. I see someone who could share my life because it's the same as mine. And every day I'm afraid that you're going to figure out that you don't need me. That you'll understand you can do this all on your own. And every time I think it, it breaks my heart."

"Angel," she whispered, and shuddered unwillingly against his hand. She didn't want this. He was making this hard, making it so that she didn't want him to go, and she knew he was going to leave. She'd been prepared for damned near anything. For him to tell her she was right and walk out on her, for him to be all mystery and ambiguity and leave her wondering, but never in a million years had she expected this. She was crumbling, melting before him as he slipped past her defenses with the sweetness of his touch, his voice. And she couldn't stand it. Couldn't stand the way it was going to hurt—how much it already hurt. "Angel… please. Just go."

"I love Buffy," he answered, voice still gentle, so vulnerable that it made her heart ache. "I'll always love Buffy."

"I know that!" she seethed, jerking away from his touch. "What the hell do you think I've been trying to say?"

He paused for a moment, then continued on, voice still calm and gentle and infuriating. "But she could never be part of my world and be happy. It's not what she wants." He shook his head once, slow and sad.

"Oh, I think it's exactly what she wants, Angel," Faith said through a bitter chuckle.

"Buffy wants a normal life. It's what she's always wanted, no matter how much we love each other. I've always known that. It's the reason I left." He hesitated, then spoke again, even more softly. "She's not like you and me."

"Yeah," Faith snorted. "You mean because she's never been evil?"

"I mean she doesn't know what it's like to have failed… to regret. To want to be good because it's the only way you can make up for the ache inside your soul. Buffy is a hero, and she's never been anything else. She accepts me despite what I've done. She loves me. But you… you understand me. You care about me because you can see what I've done. You can live with what I've done and what I might do again, and you can still touch me, knowing the truth of it." He shook his head slowly, and she was mesmerized by his eyes, his words, his fingers as they trailed again over her jaw line, so tender. "And if you want me to walk away from that, now that I can actually have it… I will." His voice hardened a note, and his fingers pulled ever so slightly away, and she could feel his will sagging, could feel him pulling back, giving her a choice. "But not unless you tell me to."

She didn't have to look into his eyes to know it was the truth; would have broken if she'd looked at him now. She knew it was true, knew it deep down in her bones, deep down in that dark, scary place where she cared far more than she wanted to. And it scared her more than anything ever had. For him to choose her… for them to be together; committed, solid… that was completely different than the borrowed time they'd been living on. Everything about him scared her. When she could only have part of him, it had been one thing. When she had expected to lose him, it had been safer. But he was here and he was touching her and telling her words that made her want to believe, words she could scarcely comprehend.

And damn him for it. Damn him for all of it. He was right. She didn't want a choice. She wanted black and white. She had wanted the truth she knew in her heart, and she had wanted to hear him say it. But now that he was there, that truth tasted an awful lot like fear, and she was choking on it. She pressed her lips together, trying to kill the taste, and bowed her head.

"You know," she said, voice quiet and wry. "Back there, when me and B were in the spirit-world, I think I actually died for a second. And you know; it wasn't bad. Kind of peaceful, really. Quiet, dark. I made my big hero stand and went out in a blaze of glory. Felt like I finally knew who I was and what I was supposed to do." Her mouth curved in an ironic smile. "Like I became one with the universe and all that Zen bullshit. And for just a second, I thought… you know; if I could go back now, if I got another chance, everything would be different. Everything would be right."

She shook her head slightly. "I guess it's easy to think like that when you're staring death in the eye." One shoulder came up in a half-shrug. "And here I am, and wow, no big shock. Everything isn't right." A hesitation, and she let her shoulder fall. "But it's better. I know I'm not automatically forgiven just for dying. Not even for saving the world. I might not ever be forgiven for what I did—might not ever forgive myself. But it doesn't matter." She lifted her eyes to his. "I'm not afraid of myself anymore."

She let her eyes fall away, turned her face to the side, felt her chest tighten. And oh, she really didn't want to do this. Apocalypse, death; and still, just uttering a few simple words seemed harder than any of that. They twisted in her chest, searing her with truth, and still she couldn't force herself to speak. She could hold them back, she knew. Swallow the words, choke on them, keep the truth from him just like she'd always kept her heart from everyone. It should have been easy; she'd been doing it so long that it was second nature… and yet she couldn't make the feeling go, couldn't banish it from her heart. And she owed him this much, at least, after all they'd been through. She owed it to herself.

She licked her lips, took a deep breath. Tried to speak, failed. Her mouth trembled, and she pushed against her reluctance with anger, felt something vital give way inside as she forced the lock from her fear. She took another deep breath, straightened, and reached for her tattered cloak of bravery.

"I'm not afraid of myself anymore, Angel…" She folded her arms over herself self-consciously, gave a slow, simple shrug, the admission coming free with stinging pain like a barb pulled from her flesh. "But I'm terrified of this."

She could feel him looking at her, could almost feel the weight of his gaze against her skin, could imagine the intense look on his face as easily as she could have seen it if she had lifted her eyes a few inches.

"So am I," he answered, and his voice nearly cracked beneath the weight of emotion, so sincere and heartfelt. The sound of it hit her like a bolt in the chest, piercing her heart and giving her lungs pause. She closed her eyes against the truth of it.

Long seconds passed and she searched for words, and for once it wasn't that she had none; it was that she had too many. Too many things she wanted to say, too many things she felt, and she could feel the moment slipping away, could feel her chance passing by. His fingers trembled against her, and she felt them wilt, felt him begin to draw away. Felt the gossamer of her dreams begin to fade, felt everything, the only thing that had been right in all of this, begin to fade.

She remembered the night when he'd touched her like this, after the spell, when he'd told her he loved her. Remembered how terrified she'd been as she'd stood upon the precipice of belief… and leaped. Remembered how it had hurt when he'd let her go, when he'd let her fall. All this time she'd spent thinking that he was the one with big barriers, that Buffy was just another brick in the walls between them. And now that he'd taken them all down, now that he'd opened himself to her, she discovered that once again, it was her. All her.

Fingertips grazed her skin and then were gone, and she felt her heart go with them.

She reached out, caught his slipping hand. "No." His fingers faltered and she pressed them tight against her cheek, holding them there as she opened her eyes. "Stay."

He said nothing. Only looked at her with that way he had that made her feel like he was staring into her soul.

"Angel," she said again, eyes flickering up to his, emotions crashing through walls and spinning her world upside down. "I…" And it all welled up on the tip of her tongue, bright and burning and so difficult to say.

And he only shook his head, dark eyes deep with knowledge of everything she hadn't said, for everything that passed through her. "Shh…" he said, pressing his fingers against her lips. "I know."

She let go, leaning into the kiss of his fingers, eyes closing. His fingers slipped away and his lips replaced them with sweet, aching understanding.

"I know," he breathed.