Authors note: Set during and a few days after the BTVS season one ep Prophecy Girl. All lines taken from this episode are copyright Joss Whedon. No infringement is intended.

This is sort of a continuation of my series beginning with The Cross.

Rated PG13.

Feedback is welcome!

Enjoy.

The Prophecy.

The dark haired vampire paces in her Watcher's office, denying his every word.

"It can't be. You've got to be wrong," he tells the human, shaking his head vehemently. The watcher continues, his glasses winking in the light from the small lamp on his desk.

"I've checked it against every volume I have. It's real."

"Well, there's got to be some way around it," the vampire says, whipping around to face the man, who takes a slight step back.

"Some prophecies are dodgey. Mutable. Buffy herself has thwarted them time and again," he answers, holding up the slim volume of text Angel had brought him a few days ago. A volume the vampire wishes he had now never seen, or even heard of.

"But this is the Pergamum Codex. There is nothing in it that does not come to pass."

"Then you're reading it wrong."

"I wish to God I were. But it's very plain. Tomorrow night, Buffy will face the Master. And she will die."

A rough laugh interrupts the two men. Oh god, she heard us.

"So that's it, huh? My time is up. I remember the drill. 'One slayer dies, the next is called.' I wonder who the next one is."

White faced, Buffy walks into the small office, and confronts Giles, who is hemming and hawwing and looking for all the world like he'd like to sink into the floorboards at his feet. For Angel's part, he's wishing he could close his eyes and take back every thing she just heard them say.

"Are you gonna train her? Or will they send someone else?"

He fumbles with his glasses, replying, "Buffy, I…"

She continues.

"Does it say how he's gonna kill me? Do you think it'll hurt?"

His dark eyes intently on hers, Angel walks slowly to the Slayer, and gently puts a hand to her cheek. She tosses his touch away, violently.

"Don't. Touch me."

Her voice wavers, and tears tremble on the ends of her lashes. The vampire puts his offending hand to his mouth, his own eyes burning in heartbreak and sorrow.

"Were you guys even gonna tell me?" she asks, full of rage.

Giles responds, quietly, but devoid of hope.

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to. That there was some way around it."

She stands quickly, facing both of them.

"Oh, I've got a way around it. I quit."

Angel shakes his head, not quite sure he has heard her correctly. "Buffy, it's not that simple."

"I'm making it that simple! I quit! I resign! I'm fired! Someone else can stop the Master from taking over."

Giles takes a step toward her. "I don't know that anyone else can. The signs all indicate-"

"The signs?" Buffy says, her tone low and dangerous.

She picks up a book from the table, suddenly heaving it at the corner of the room, barely missing Giles. The stunned watcher ducks, as Angel just stands there, floundering in his absence of prudent action.

"Read me the signs!" she yells. "Tell me my fortune!" she launches another book into the air. "You're so useful, sitting around with your books. You're really a lot of help."

Giles sighs, defeated. "I don't suppose I am."

The dark haired demon dares to approach her again, laying his hand on her upper arm. This time she doesn't shake it off.

"I know this is hard…" he begins. She cuts him off.

"What do you know about it? You're never gonna die."

He winces as if struck, and increases his pressure on her arm.

"You think I want anything to happen to you? Do you think I could stand it? We just have to figure out a way-"

"I already have! I quit, remember? Pay attention." She shakes his hand off finally.

Ever the watcher, Giles feels he just can't let this go. "Buffy, if the Master rises…"

"I don't care!" she spouts, the unwanted tears sliding down her cheeks at last.

"I don't care. I'm sixteen years old. And I don't wanna die."

Angel's hand flutters in the air, as if he's raising it to answer a question. His soul cries out to hers; it would be the end of everything if she did d- he can't even think the word. But she doesn't feel it. She gazes at him blankly, her hand clutched around the cross necklace he had given her seemingly a lifetime ago.

She yanks on it, and the fragile chain snaps, the whole thing cascading to the floor, where it lands in a heap with a bright "ching!"

She turns on her heel, and strides purposefully out of the room, and though he wishes nothing but to run after her, Angel stays his limbs, and only watches as his destiny storms from the library. Her shoulders are painfully hunched, and though she tries to sufficate them, her sobs flow from her throat like wasted wine.

So many things have changed for the two of them in the past few months.

What's an immortality without her in it?

A few days later, the blonde Slayer, still showing fading bruises from her battle royale, approaches her home, walking slowly, deep in thought. She snaps to attention the moment she feels something, a stirring in her gut. She contemplates running, or turning around and heading to Willow's, or just walking straight to her door and going in without acknowledging him.

But she can't.

Steeling herself, she trods heavily toward the yard, the large oak in it, and the man she alternately dreads and desperately wants.

"Hey," he says, that simple word making her stomach flip flop.

"Hi," she says back, shoving her hands in her pockets. They stand awkwardly facing one another, neither one meeting the other's eyes.

"so, how are you-"

"So, what's the what-"

They laugh, and fall silent again.

She finally puts out a hand, and he gestures to her, go ahead.

"I'm sorry- I know it's been a while since we've seen each other…" she starts hesitantly. He shrugs a no worries, and she sighs, frustrated.

"Angel, look. A lot has happened for me in the past few days. A lot that I don't care to think about or deal with, to be honest. My life, such as it is, sometimes leans toward sucking big rocks. And I thought that having you in it, well, that would be just a little bright spot in the universal blackness that seems to follow me around like a hungry puppy," she says, chewing on her bottom lip. He follows her with his eyes, as she paces in front of him.

Unknown to her, his hands are clenched into fists in his front pockets, fear and doubt pervading his thoughts…is she going to tell him to get lost? Is she going to push him out of her life?

"But when I heard you and Giles of all people discussing me like I was just a…a thing…an means to an end…just a prophecy…it broke me.

"Ultimately I did what I had to do. I'm the Slayer. There's no way getting around that. But to hear you talking about my death as if I wouldn't ever find out," she trails off, and the vampire's dead heart implodes in his chest, the dry husk of it melting to ash quietly.

"Buffy," he implores, regret and sorrow filling that one word. She shakes her head.

"No, lemme finish. I- I have some kind of…thing with you. I think you feel it for me too. But for me to trust you, you have to tell me the truth. You can't keep secrets from me. You can't make descisions for me. Don't worry," she adds, "I'm gonna talk to Giles, too. I just haven't gotten the right words together," she mumbles.

He stops her pacing with his cool fingers on her shoulder, and she halts, turning to him. His eyes glisten in the mutable light from the stars, the streetlamps near her home sparking iffily. The effect is one of overwhelming space, yet she feels the tiny area between their two bodies as if it were electrified.

"Giles had only just contacted me, Buffy. I swear I hadn't heard anything about it until that very moment. I would have told you. Actually, I probably would have tried to get you out of town," he says softly. "Do you think I could stand it if anything happened to you?" he asks her again, and she trembles a little at the intesity in his gaze.

"I- I don't know, Angel. What could you stand?"

He pulls her roughly to him, his coat falling around both of them, draping her in his scent, familiar and yet new, comforting and cloying at the same time.

"I could stand it if you were safe. I could stand it if you were away from here, from the Hellmouth, from me. From the craziness that's invaded your life. I could stand it if you had a normal life, just for a few seconds. But I'm really afraid that's not gonna happen. And I wanna be here to experience all the pain, all the danger, all the freakiness that you experience. Because if anything was to happen to you, I'd want to be there to have it happen to me, too."

They stare into each other, hazel eyes clashing with deep brown ones. He feels a momentary dizzyness; her touch and her presence sweeping away everything but now.

The Slayer still feels that wrongness of him, that vampire of him. But she feels something else too, and she's pretty sure it's his true self. Not the demon, not the evil monster that all vampires seem to be.

She feels his soul, and she knows it's right, and it's hers to worship and adore as she sees fit.

"Angel," she breathes, and he closes his eyes, shuddering briefly as he wraps his arms around her, her nose settling into the crook of his neck just so.

"Buffy," he whispers to the night.

And they stay that way, until the predawn birds start their morning song, and the deathly rays of the impending sun remind them that their love isn't indestructible.

"You better go," she says softly finally, and he nods, his forehead meeting hers.

"Angel," she adds, "I meant to tell you this before…I'm, well…crap."

He laughs briefly, and touches his lips lightly to hers. "I wouldn't say that."

"No, silly," she smacks him on the arm. "ImgoingtoLAforthesummerIdidn'tknowitwasgonnabesohardtotellyou," she says all in one breath.

"You are? When? Why?" he says, his heart plunging to the pit of his stomach.

"The day after school ends…this Saturday. My dad lives there, I'm spending some time with him. Mom said it would be good to have another parental influence around me besides her," she grumps, pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Oh," he replies, not sure what else to say, and horrified at his reaction. He feels like she's run him through with a sword, and his burgeoning romantic feelings hang on it's tip, dripping his bright red life's blood.

"Oh? That's it?"

"What do you want me to say?" he asks, a bit pissily. She crosses her arms, glowering dangerously at the man she's just spent most of the night kissing.

"Have a good time, Buffy? Bring me a present? I'll call you every few days? Maybe for a start," she answers, just as pissily.

He sighs, shaking his head, all anger gone away suddenly. He reaches out, threading his fingers in the edges of her golden hair, running them through it gently.

"I'm sorry. You just, I'm a little taken aback, that's all. I'll miss you…more than you can know."

Her face crumples from it's frown then, and she flies to him, crushing him in her embrace.

"I'm sorry, Angel, I'm sorry. I will call you, I promise. I should have told you earlier," she says, and he shushes her lightly.

"It's okay, really. We don't really know exactly where we're going with this, do we?"

She nods. "We don't."

He takes her hand in his, holds it to his full lips, and presses them to her knuckles.

"So lets see what happens. And I'll say…have a good time, Buffy. Bring me a present. And, I will call you."

She laughs slightly, wiping at the few tears that have leaked unexpectedly from her eyes.

"Okay," she says finally, and turns to climb the Oak to her room. He begins his own trip back to the street.

"Angel," she calls to him, and he makes an arc, facing her. She's in front of him, and places her hands on his shoulders.

"something to remember me by."

She tiptoes, and their lips meet, her small hands sinking into his hair. Their bodies smash together, any molecules of air between them a dim memory.

She runs her tongue lightly against his mouth, and he moans softly, opening his lips. She touches each of his teeth, sucking his tongue into her mouth finally. He gasps an unneeded breath of air, and squeezes her butt, his hands having dropped there unintentionally.

She smiles, and he feels it against his lips. As his right hand runs oh so slowly up her ribcage, she breaks away, planting one last wet kiss on his neck, right where his throat meets his shoulder.

"Guh," is what his larynx garbles out.

"Whoa," is what he meant, which surfaces a moment later.

"See you soon," she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. She shimmies up her tree like a monkey, and disappears from his view.

The swooning vampire just stands there, bolting only when his skin begins to smoke a bitty bit from the emerging sun.

Summer's going to be long for him. But he can wait. He can wait for her til the sun burns down, and the world is shadows and dust.

Two months.

He can wait.

Fin.