AN: Sorry, this will be a long note for a short oneshot. I'm moving house tomorrow so that's going to suck up a lot of time for the next week, but I wanted to upload something so I thought I'd dust off one of my short pieces. I have this new writing software called Quoll, which I love, and it has a feature where you write warm-ups of 500 words or 30 minutes, and the first sentence of this piece was my prompt. It is a quote from Creatures of the Light, by Sophie Wenzel Ellis. I've never read or heard of the book).

This is set in a nebulus future after Season 7. Buffy, Giles, and the new watchers' council are in England somewhere. Angel is too. He is trying to convince Buffy to live with him, to leave with him. Giles is hanging onto her. Buffy is doing ok- but not great. The curse isn't a problem, but a 8 years of hurt are. Vaguely inspired by Project Paranormal and tkp's fic.

By the time they reached the open field, the snow stung their flesh like sharp needles, but it was not yet thick enough to hide from them a hideous fact. Sophia was dead. Buffy let out a low cry, and Angel's heart clenched to think that this would still cut her so deeply, after all that she had suffered and seen. He didn't know if he should be relieved or sad as he traced over her distraught features. The cold had turned her eyes and nose red, and brought a flush to her cheeks. She looked beautiful, and vital, and alive.

Something inside of him wondered what it would be like to bear her to the frozen ground, to sink himself into her, and listen to her screams. Would she close her eyes, or would she look at the other girl on the hill, the other blonde naked and covered in blood, he wondered. He held back a shudder.

"Call Giles," he told her, his tone careful to make it clear that it was a suggestion, not an order. She had trouble with those- she always had, but he had not been so used to giving them the last time they had truly been together. Buffy acted as though she hadn't heard him though, and gently untangled her mittened hand from his cold dead one. She took a few steps closer to Sophia before he laid a hand on her slim shoulder, so delicately that she did not react as though he were restraining her.

"Buffy," he said. She was still for a moment before turning to face him. There were snowflakes on her eyelashes and her lips were faintly tinted with blue. He watched her, almost dispassionately, as she held back tears. When she spoke, her voice was low.

"He did this," she stated. "This- Alban."

Angel did not reply, watching her carefully. She was taking her grief and guilt and packing it away, letting rage and determination fill her up like a vessel. He watched her eyes become hard, saw the glint sharpening. They looked so green in contrast with the redness. She looked so bright.

It rarely snowed in this part of the world, but it did happen a few times during winter. Angel could faintly remember some winter past, when he had been alive, meeting friends on a hill in the night and lighting a big bonfire. The snow had been wet and cold and new to him, and he had marveled at it, and at how it so quickly became water again when held in a man's hand. The heat of the fire had made a wet ring on the ground where all the snow around it had melted. It seemed appropriate that Buffy had always reminded him of warmth- sunshine and fire and other bright things.

The tension in her frame drained and she looked away from him, returning her gaze to the dead slayer.

"This is my fault," she said softly.

"No," he disagreed.

"You even warned me," she said, facing him again, "You-"

"Buffy," he interrupted, "You can't guard the girls all the time. If they want to sneak out, they will." She didn't reply, and he knew that he would have to repeat the sentiment frequently over the next few days. And besides, he had warned her.

"Will you call Giles?" he asked, shrugging out of his coat. She nodded, took a deep breath and then held out her hand.

"Phone?"

He pulled his cell out of his pocket and handed it to her. When she stepped away and he heard her voice, and the distorted sounds of Giles', he pulled out the jewelry box that he hadn't yet removed from his coat and stuck it in his pocket. He walked over to the dead slayer and placed his coat over her body. Her blue eyes were open. He was reminded of a hundred other dead girls, left like this in the cold for their loved ones to find. He straightened, putting his hands into the pockets of his slacks, rubbing a thumb over the velvet of the box. In the aftermath of Sophia's death, Buffy would want to stay close to the girls more than ever, no matter how it cut her just seeing them every day. Giles would be saddened by the death of Sophia, of course, but he would also use Buffy's guilt and worry to try to convince her to stay close to the new Council headquarters, close to him.

The necklace was a pretty bit of jewelry; Buffy would like it. The bright diamonds in their delicate settings would complement her elegant neck. What he really wanted to give her was a ring, but he knew she wouldn't accept it at the moment. He would need to cancel the plans he'd made at the little French bistro in the village, he thought. The flowers. His latest gambit in his attempt to convince Buffy to live with him was ruined.

She moved the phone away from her mouth, closing it, tucking it into the waistband of her pants. She wrapped her arms around herself and tugged down her light sweater, trying futilely to cover the little strip of skin it revealed. Shivering, she stared up at the grey and sunless sky. Angel moved behind her, tucking her into his frame. He could give her no warmth, but she could shelter her from the wind at least. The naked trees in the clearing rattled slightly in the wind and Angel could hear nothing but the sounds of the far off motorway, the steady beat of Buffy's heart, and her uneven breathing. Oh yes, Alban had a lot to answer for.