Part 2

He stared at his cell phone as it rang, echoing loudly in the large, empty room. He didn't have much use for the damn thing anymore, at least not in his own home, where he would come at the end of a long, hard day (well – night, technically) to brood. But he always brought it with him instead of leaving it at the office in case there was an emergency. However, as of late (meaning for the past year, at least) there had been no emergencies, and even the regular work at the office was thinning out. He wasn't sure whether that was a good sign or bad one.

The shrill noise of his phone brought him out of his momentary thoughts, and at the fourth ring he picked it up and looked at the caller ID.

Unavailable.

He frowned and almost threw it back onto the mahogany desk when something rushed through him suddenly, a vaguely familiar electricity that made every hair on his body stand. It was a feeling from what seemed like a lifetime ago (he'd lived through a few of those by now), a memory of something he'd buried deep within him (like the demon that the gypsy curse chained in a dark crevice within so his soul could forever torment him) trying to bubble to the surface, but it was too dull and too distant to be fully registered. The phone rang again (he made a mental note to change the annoying ringtone) and the memory nudged again, this time less fuzzy and more electrifying, and he felt that shiver slice down his spine. He pressed the talk button on his brand new Blackberry (Giles had insisted he get himself one because it was the cool, business-thingy thing to do) and brought the gadget to his ear.

"Hello?" He said gruffly, half annoyed that the shiver still danced low in his spine. He was a goddamn vampire, he didn't shiver. Well, at least not since…

His frown deepened when he realized that the person on the other line was purposely staying quiet. "Hello? Who's there?" He asked again (demanded, actually), and he thought he heard the caller's breath hitch in her (her?) throat. And the low-laying shiver shot up his spine, like a crescendo in a beautifully tragic, timeless, eternal symphony (he was familiar with just one, but even that had slowly faded through the years as he began to think their symphony was not forever, but that it had actually forever ended), and he almost dropped the phone as though it was a cross burning his hand (he still wore one scar over his heart, or at least a hint of a scar because that, too, had faded with time).

"Talk," he ordered with much annoyance (more at the hairs that still stood up at the back of his neck than anything else), "or I'm hanging up right now." If he actually had breath, some irritating voice told him he'd be holding it right now as he waited for a response. The caller remained silent for another moment, and then the line went flat. And with it the crescendo fell, and he nearly trembled (it was something akin to the dull hum of orchestra instruments as they slowly stopped vibrating long after their masters finished moving their strings, waiting for the deafening applause). It took him a moment (minutes, at least) to recover from the unexpected prank call (what else was a prank call supposed to be other than unexpected, annoying, and just a little bit intriguing?) and he found it a little less than easy to lie to himself that the shock had come only from the unexpectedness of the entire incident. He found it a little less than easy to ignore the fact that every so often (meaning everyday), he thought of her. And it didn't help that the hitch of the caller's breath (maybe he'd imagined it?) was exactly like hers.

He knew that hitch better than he knew his own soul (which had done a fine job of tormenting him for almost two centuries now) – it was the same intonation (almost inaudible, but he had pristine vampire senses after all, which incidentally went into overdrive any time she was in question) he'd heard (and would forever treasure) the first (and only) time he'd made love to her (well, the only time she remembered – but he could never forget the pure ecstasy of loving her all day long); it was the same intonation he'd heard when Angelus had roughly kissed her at Sunnydale High the first time she'd realized what kind of a monster had been unleashed (his expression darkened as the chained demon growled viciously within him); it was the same intonation he'd heard when he hugged her after having his soul restored (now the demon whimpered in defeat); and it was the same intonation he'd heard when he had dropped to his knees and clung to her tiny form for dear life (the irony here was that he'd still been undead, but she gave him life) after returning from hell.

All these memories assaulted him mercilessly, but he relished in the bittersweet pain they brought to his thoroughly battered, lonely soul. It was a soul that only she had the power to mend, to love, to hold next to hers forever. In moments of sheer lunacy he would delude himself into thinking that even now, with so much time and space wedged so painfully between them, their souls met every so often and continued to dance to the eternal song only they knew, and he took as much comfort from this thought as he could because it was the only thing that kept him going. She had given him that tiny sliver of hope the last time he'd seen her in Sunnydale (even though they both knew the cookie analogy was completely ludicrous and, well, childish), and had even hinted at it the last time he'd seen her in Rome with the Immortal. His face darkened and the awakened hope dwindled (if only for a moment) when he realized he was no longer special. He was no longer the only vampire she'd been with, and certainly not the only vampire with a soul, so why would she ever come back to him?

Forever. How does forever sound?

He could swear that he felt her breath against his face even now, and his cold, pale skin tingled. Were they really forever? Did they really have forever with each other, or was it some impossible fantasy he'd formed (one she'd stopped nurturing) and still carried with him wherever he went? Would it still be with him long after her bones had turned to dust in her grave and her soul enjoyed the ecstasy of heaven while his was tormented on earth forever? Something painful sliced through his heart (heart?), like that time in the alley when his soul was ripped from his body, and he knew. The day she died, he would die as well. She wouldn't be there to save him from the rising sun, there would be no magic snow, there would be nobody telling him he was loved so much. And his soul would go straight to hell.

The phone rang again, and he had half the mind to smash it against the wall.

"What. Do. You. Want?" He ground out furiously before the first ring was up. There was a hesitation on the other side of the line (but no hitch of breath – thank God no hitch), and then a voice.

"We, uh…we have work to do. As in, we need to prevent an apocalypse. Possibly the last one."

He shot up from his leather chair immediately. Good. He definitely needed a distraction, and fighting some bad guys was definitely it. Plus, it was an opportunity to save the world, again.

~*~

She was still holding the phone in her hands long after she'd hung up, her heart thundering in her ears until she was sure it would explode. His voice was still the same, but it was laced with a tinge of melancholy she was not accustomed to hearing. Much like the time in the sewer when he had broken up with her (and had broken her heart) when he told her he couldn't take her into the light. Well, she decided, maybe that was just it. Maybe it was the other way around. Maybe she needed to take him into the light. And she was finally ready to do so.

No more brooding, no more misery, no more dead ends. She was finally, truly looking into the future and all she saw was him. All she saw was them.

Forever.