Written for the Choose Your Author ficathon.

Your assignment is:

Character/Pairings you want the story to focus on: Buffy/Angel
Character/Pairings you want in the story: Willow/Oz, Xander/Cordelia
Things you want: jewelry, a spell, Spike as the badass he was back in those days!
Things you don't want: main character death, rape, torture
Extras: Set any time during s1-3 of BtVS, angsty but would like a hopeful or happy ending.

Season three BTVS.

Set post “Revelations”.

Rated PG13

Enjoy!

The wind stings my face as I exit the Sun. Maybe a trip alone to the movies wasn’t the best idea. Oh, not that I can’t take care of myself. I just mean that watching a special screening of The Last Unicorn was not probably the best thing for me to do right now.

I couldn’t get anyone to come with, so I saw it alone. And cried through it alone…which come to think about it, might have been the better idea after all. Sometimes its hard to explain your fascination with a kids movie about unicorns made in the eighties. I know for sure the person I had really wanted to come wouldn’t have gotten it. And besides, when you’ve spent the last hundred years or so in Hell, movies with princessess in them kinda lose perspective.

I am such a huge screw up sometimes. It’s amazing to me how I can do so many things that seem right, then end up being the exact opposite.

Faith, for example. Or not telling my friends about Angel being back. Big sigh. Now there’s a subject I don’t care to think about again. I have never seen Xander that angry.

And the look in Giles’ eyes…I will never forget that as long as I live.

The wind picks up, and I have to lean forward slightly to avoid being knocked down. Man, what is this? Not the time of year for Santa Ana’s.

The little charms on the bracelet I’m wearing bang back and forth, since I’ve got my arms crossed across my chest, trying to create a buffer against the crazy weather.

Angel had wanted me to get rid of it; he said something about it was inherently wrong. But I couldn’t. I can’t.

The spell had been an easy one, break the enchantment that a lazy, and might I say ugly, warlock had placed over a pack of local dogs that were chasing down and catching kids around the neighborhood.

We saved all but two.

And Giles says that at least all the other children have been returned relatively unharmed to their families.

I wanted to tell him, maybe on the surface. But the inside is a whole ‘nother story.

The charm bracelet has eight charms on it; one for each of the dogs, and each one worked in tandem with the other to break the spell. Willow had found it, and Angel and I had worked it. Something to do with ‘supernatural forces’ being the best choice to make it succeed. And well, you can’t get much more supernatural than us.

He had found it, not sure where. All he would say is that someone had owed him a favor. When his long, slender fingers had brushed against my skin accidentally when he had put the bracelet on for me, he had been trembling, matching the deep seated want and denial I had felt in the pit of my gut. Kinda like that feeling you get cresting over the top of a huge drop on a roller coaster. Only not in the fun way, more like the oh my god I’m gonna hurl way.

The spell had been fast, and had transformed the demon aspects of the dogs, returning them to their former normal doggy selves, all panting and confused. We had shooed them out of the warehouse, watching as they had run as fast as their little legs could carry them toward home.

As for the warlock…let’s just say he won’t be visiting the wilds of Sunnydale again anytime soon. Make that never.

As I round the bend at the edge of my street, the wind finally slows down to less than force five hurricane, and I sigh as my hair finally drops back down to its normal place, which is not sticking straight up.

A feeling hits the base of my spine, and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. I see him waiting for me at the end of my driveway, and I approach cautiously, not wanting him to see the bracelet I had told him I had gotten rid of.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Willow said you were at the movies?”

“Yep. Animation night. Nobody else wanted to brave a unicorn fantasy, so it was me by my lonesome. What are you doing here?” I ask, not meaning to be rude, but honestly? I’m not sure I want him around right now. It’s so hard. And that sounds jouvenille, I know. But there are no other words for it. It’s just. damn. hard. To be around Angel, and not be able to touch him, or hold him, or feel his fingers touching mine, or his lips on…

Woah. No, bad Buffy. That way leads to madness and a bad case of the forehead bumpies.

“Checking on you after the spell…how are you feeling?”

I retreat to the stairs at the foot of my front door, and sit. He follows me.

It has really taken quite a bit out of me, but I don’t want him to know that. I cross my arms, and the bracelet is suddenly reflecting light from the streetlamps. I try to pull it back, but he grabs my wrist, and shakes his head slightly.

“Buffy, why do you still have this? I told you earlier, something about it…feels wrong.”

“Because, Angel, because. Get off my back, okay? Maybe I like it,” I tell him, jerking my arm back. No way in the world am I telling him I kept it because it’s like he gave it to me. It’s the only thing I feel I can wear in front of him that’s from him now. Can’t wear the claddagh, can’t wear the silver cross he gave me. It would be like rubbing it in his face. And I can’t bear to put them on, either. Too many bad and wonderful and terrible memories wrapped in those two small pieces of metal.

“I’m sorry, Buffy. I just…I don’t know,” he sighs, dropping his chin in his hand. We both know that’s a lie. He knows. Whatever we’ve been going through, or whatever monsters or baddies we’ve been fighting lately, it’s the same. The relationship is strained, twisted, weird. It’s not comfortable to do normal things with him anymore like it used to be. Especially since everybody found out he was back and I hadn’t told them.

I want it the way it was. I want to run through the cemetaries with him, take down a vamp, then make out til dawn. I wanna sit in the library all night and research while playing footsie at the same time.

I want him to brush an errant hair out of my face. I want him to pick up the book I just accidentally dropped. I want him to kiss the corner of my mouth, then smile his half smile at me, until my stomach turns inside out with love.

I want the memory of what Angelus did torn from my brain and burned out of existance. I want the fact that I stabbed my soulmate and spilled his life’s blood to save the world to be a cruel joke. I want the fact that Angel spent a hundred years in hell because of me to be a story.

And yet none of it is. And no one cares what I want.

So I’m keeping the bracelet, as weird as it is, or as ‘wrong’ as it feels to Angel. It’s the only thing I have that he touched that’s now touching me. So that’s enough for now.

My eyes burn, and I twist my hands around one another, trying desperately to keep it together. He tilts his head my direction, his dark eyes reflecting sorrow and confusion.

“You all right?” he asks softly. “Love?”

Its that word that does me in, and I leap to my feet, the hated wetness running down my face in rivulets like a leaky faucet.

“I can’t do this, Angel. I can’t be all jane normal around you. Nothing is normal! We can’t have what we had. And I don’t know if I can live through this. I don’t know if can go to school, be a perfect daughter, and slay vampires without one good thing in my life. Can you help me with that? Can you?”

He recoils as if I had slapped him. Pain etches deep lines on his face, and his eyes are bloodshot suddenly. He stands, facing me.

“You think this is easy for me? I die a little bit everyday. I die a little everytime I see you hurting and I can’t take you in my arms and shelter you from it. I die everytime I see you laughing with Willow, or being serious with Giles, or patrolling at night. I die when you’re near me, and I can’t kiss you. There are moments when I wish I had stayed gone, because the reality of living this half life around you is worse.”

I gape at him like a fish. My heart breaks for the thousandth time, and I raise my hands, flapping them as if I’m chasing away a bee. I open my mouth, then click it shut.

He steps up to me, and I almost swoon from the nearness of him, his presence, his scent.

“I love you so much, I can’t imagine my life without you here with me. But I don’t know what else to do, because Buffy, we can’t be together. We just can’t. You know this as well as I do. Doesn’t make it any easier. But we have to bear it, and go on with our lives. We still do good here. We are still making a difference. And we can be strong, and fight the good fight, and do what God or whoever has directed us to do. Because for us, that’s the only option. The evil in this world is so close to overwhelming the light…and if we can help tilt that balance just a little in our favor, I can bear it. It’s the right thing to do.”

He looks at me, and reaches out a hand, smoothing the tears from my face with the pad of his thumb. I shudder; I can’t help it.

“I know, Angel,” I finally whisper, and hate how broken my voice sounds. His eyes get that far away look again, like he’s imagining us off somewhere, free of the constraints and duties set for us. I know I am.

“One day, Buffy, you won’t have to do this anymore. I pray every night for that for you,” he answers, and I crumple against him, his arms catching me in a crushing hug.

I sob onto his sweater, and he rests his cheek on my hair, sighing my name into it. He runs a hand over my back, in circles that are meant to soothe me.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, Angel,” I cry, and he shushes me as he gathers me closer.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he answers, his voice cracking, as if he can’t swallow.

I finally stop, and just stand there in the circle of his arms, wasted and worn out. God, if I could stop crying in front of this man it would be great. The way things are going however, that doesn’t seem a possibility.

The wind sighs in the trees, and whips the large one in my front yard back and forth. My hair picks up again, and he looks up, letting me go.

“Strange night,” he murmurs finally.

“You got that right,” I answer, shaking my head. I turn to go into the house.

“Will you be all right?” he calls out, and I stop. I reply without facing him. If I turn and look at him, I won’t ever go back inside my house again. I’ll just grab him and take him anywhere away from here.

“Willow’s coming over later…Oz has a gig out of town,” I say. I can feel him nod.

“Good. If you need anything,” he starts, and then doesn’t finish his thought. Good thing.

“I’m going upstairs,” I say, ignoring his statement. He’s suddenly next to me. I feel him approach in a rush of air like wings.

“Buffy,” he says gently. “Go easy on yourself. For me, okay? If not for you.”

Now that’s not fair. Cause he knows I won’t unless he thinks I think it’s for his benefit. Damn it. I’m really in the mood to treat myself like crap.

“I’ll try.”

He brushes a strand of hair off my shoulder, and the feather weight of his fingers about makes me lose it again. This time I keep it together.

“Goodnight, Angel,” I say, and he shoves his hands in his pockets. I finally risk a sideways glance at him, and when I do, his forehead is creased, and a line is etched between his eyebrows. Hurt dances like fireflies in his shadowy eyes, and I feel bad until I see Willow heading up the walk, just in time to distract me.

“Hey, Buffy! I didn’t know you’d be busy,” she says in her Willow like apologetic way. Angel and I face her as she heads up the stairs towards us.

“I’m not…Angel’s just leaving,” I say shortly, and he looks at me once, then nods.

“Nice to see you, Willow,” he tells her, and then he’s gone. Silent as the grave…whatever that means. I hope I never find out.

“Hey. You okay?” she asks me, blowing out a breath that makes her hair ruffle. “Weird wind, huh?”

“The weirdest, Will. Let’s go inside. I’ve got pop tarts and John Cusak movie goodness.”

“Ooooh! I love him. Say Anything?” she puts her arm through mine as we enter the house.

“Yep.”

I hope she doesn’t notice the dark circles or the dried tears on my face. If she does, she’s too good a friend to say anything. I close the door behind us, and glance out just once, just because I can’t help myself.

The street is empty except for the leaves being blown by the night gale.

I face her. “Will, you go get the movie and the food ready…I have one thing to do upstairs, and I’ll be there.”

“Okay, Buffy, no problem,” she says, a smile on her pretty face. What would I do without her?

“Be right back,” I say, and head upstairs to my room.

Opening my closet, I pull out a small lacquered box that my father had gotten me in one his many travels for his job. This one is from Russia, and it’s got a painting from one of my favorite ballets on the front. The Firebird.

I open it up, and slide the charm bracelet off my arm. It feels cold and empty without the weight of the silver there.

I put it in the box next to two other things.

I stare into it, the light from my room letting me see perfectly the sad little mementos I have left of my life with Angel.

Three little things. A ring, a cross, a bracelet. So much, and yet nothing at all.

“Buffy? You coming?” Willow’s voice floats up from the living room.

“On the way, Will,” I call back, and shut the lid of the box. One tear manages to track it’s way down my face, and hits the fuzzy material inside the container just as I close it.

Perfect.

Fin.