Okay, it took way too long to write this chapter. I think I was forcing myself not to until after finals were over, but they've been over for a week and I'm home for the summer with all kinds of free time now, so I don't really have an excuse. Also, I wasn't sure how many chapters would be left after 57, but I was convinced that there would be at least two. I was wrong. This is the final chapter. If it helps at all, it's also the longest. Enjoy! (Oh, and you might notice that my page breaks within chapters now look hilariously like bellybuttons in brackets. Well, the site decided to eat my normal-looking page breaks, so I had to go through and replace them all with something else. *shrug*)

The fighting continued for a few confused minutes during and after the explosion, by which point the Mayor's vampires were mostly attempting to flee, knowing their side had lost. In preventing the escape of one vampire, Wesley came away triumphant, but sported a bloody nose and a left arm that seemed to have been dislocated. He made his way over to the convoy of ambulances that had arrived alongside the fire trucks, a rather silly grin on his face despite his injuries, though it was occasionally punctuated with a wince.

Meanwhile, Angel wandered through the battlefield to survey the damage, and was both surprised and impressed at the lack of human bodies strewn across it—at least until he reached the main platform where the graduation ceremony had taken place, but even then it wasn't nearly as bad as he had feared. He walked on and saw Willow and Oz locked in a tight hug nearby, then spotted Xander and Cordelia gathering up discarded weapons a short distance away from them. He hadn't seen Buffy yet, but wasn't worried. He knew she had made it through the fight.

All around him, students were seeking friends or helping with the cleanup. A battalion of firemen was seeing to the wreckage of the main school building, and smoke from the explosion had begun to drift outward, obscuring parts of the scene from Angel's view. Somebody emerged from this smoke and made to walk past him, clearly intent upon leaving, but Angel snarled and moved into his path.

"Hey! What gives, man?" he demanded indignantly.

Angel chose to reply by punching him in the face, then raising his eyebrows pointedly at his newly revealed vampiric visage. Having already worked out most of his excess energy, however, Angel wasn't interested in a prolonged fight, so he staked him before he could attack.

After resuming his walk, he soon spotted Giles, who was smiling slightly and wiping soot off his face with his handkerchief. Barely five seconds later, Angel could hear the footsteps of what sounded like a fairly petite person running in his direction. He turned just in time to open his arms as Buffy launched herself into them. Their collision was slightly off-center, which caused Angel to spin around. He was soon able to steady himself with Buffy still held securely against him, and they continued to hug very tightly for a long moment.

"It's over," said Buffy in a rather dazed voice.

"Yeah," Angel agreed. While that should have been an easy concept to grasp, it was still rather surprising, somehow. The Mayor had occupied such a major part of all of their concerns, and now he was suddenly gone for good right at the point that he became more of a threat than ever. That the danger was over after being so great was simply incredible.

"And see? Giles found my diploma!" Buffy held up the tightly rolled scroll, grinning vaguely.

"How's it feel to be a high school graduate?" asked Angel, his eyes crinkling into the smile Buffy loved so much.

"Definitely of the good," she said. She giggled faintly. "So, did you notice how I blew up the school with the Mayor inside it?"

"Hard to miss. My eardrums are still vibrating," said Angel.

Buffy pouted—at least, until he kissed her.

"You were amazing," he said warmly.

She giggled again. "That's more like it." She wobbled and fell against him, still giggling as if she had been dosed with nitrous oxide. Evidently, the culmination of everything with the Mayor and the release of all the strain it created had left her in a state of euphoric delirium in her moment of triumph. Angel was perfectly content with his role of keeping her from toppling over, and part of him even felt like laughing too. He didn't, though, because at that moment, Doyle appeared over Buffy's shoulder. His expression was an odd combination of bewildered relief and sulkiness.

"So, I see that we won," he said.

"We did," said Angel. Buffy looked around at Doyle too, though her head remained nestled against Angel's chest. "I saw you in the battle. Looked like you were doing pretty well."

"Oh, yeah. Well enough. Participation wasn't nearly as fatal as I expected." Doyle's tone was light, but once he finished speaking, he sank into a depressed silence that was punctuated by frequent hopeful glances at the people who walked past them.

"Something wrong?" asked Buffy.

"Nah," said Doyle, waving a hand dismissively. "I was just 'opin' to find someone I bumped into durin' the fight." His attempt at nonchalance did not succeed in masking his disappointment. Apparently he realized this, because he changed the subject before either of them could remark upon it. "Right. I'll just be off to the pub to celebrate, then. Care to join me?"

"I'll pass," said Angel. He felt Buffy's arms tighten warmly around his middle at this, and he mused idly that if he'd had her when he was alive, he never would have been tempted to drink so much as a drop of ale.

"Big surprise. Well, if ye need me, I'll either be at Willy's or passed out on the Englishman's sofa." With that, he departed, and after a moment, Buffy and Angel went to find the others.

It didn't surprise Angel that Willow, Oz, Xander, and Cordelia were all demonstrating varying degrees of the same state of bewilderment that currently had Buffy in its clutches. Xander hid it beneath his usual humor, even if it seemed a little forced, and it was only apparent in Oz in that it had made him more overtly philosophical than he would normally be. Not unlike Buffy, Willow alternated endearingly between giddy enthusiasm and dazed silence, and remained glued to Oz's side throughout. However, Angel was most intrigued by Cordelia, who kept glancing around in a manner that strongly recalled Doyle's behavior before he left.

Wesley joined them after a few minutes, looking perfectly cheerful even though his formerly bloody nose was still swollen and bits of rolled up tissue were stuffed in his nostrils, his no longer dislocated but still exceptionally sore left arm was in a sling, and the beginnings of a spectacular shiner were forming around his right eye. Everyone except Xander was highly amused by the way he and Cordelia determinedly ignored each other until they all went their separate ways.

[o]

Buffy awoke, as she often had, to find that she was comfortably entwined with Angel beneath the covers. Among the more noticeable differences from usual were that they were in her room at Revello Drive rather than at his apartment and that they were both clothed. It took a moment of attempting to wade through her very hazy memories of the previous evening before she realized that she must have fallen asleep shortly after leaving the wreckage of the school. It wasn't hard to guess what had happened after that: Angel had carried her the rest of the way home, removed both of their jackets and shoes (as well as his shirt, she noticed), then joined her in the bed, where they both slept like rocks for the rest of the night—and, judging by the strong glow of daylight behind the tightly closed blinds, most of the following morning.

As carefully as she could, Buffy extricated herself from Angel's arms and got out of bed. If everything went according to plan, she'd be back with minty fresh breath, clean clothes, and perfect hair before he noticed she had left. It wasn't until after she had finished brushing her teeth and was halfway done with her hair that she noticed the bandage still taped to the place where her neck met her shoulder. She moved her hair out of the way and tentatively peeled back the gauze. The wound left by Angel's bite hadn't fully healed yet, but it was at least closed, so she pulled the bandage the rest of the way off and threw it away.

That task accomplished, she removed the previous day's clothes and tossed them into the hamper, and, feeling no inclination to get properly dressed for this day yet, substituted them for one of the shirts she'd stolen from Angel's wardrobe. Then she turned back to the mirror and leaned close so that she could examine the bite mark in more detail. She decided that if anyone—including her mother—asked, she could say it was a dog bite. She was grateful to have such a reasonable explanation for it, because it wasn't something she wanted to share with anyone but Angel. Ever. She even wished that Giles, Wesley, and her friends didn't know. Hopefully they'd be tactful enough to pretend they didn't.

Now that there were no longer any major threats to worry about, she finally allowed herself to think back to two nights ago. There had been pain—of course. She had expected it and was ready to endure it. What she hadn't expected was how intensely she had felt connected to Angel while he drank her blood, or how powerful and intimate the experience would be, or that she would be able to feel her life making him whole. If she had known it would be like that beforehand, she wouldn't even have contemplated using Faith to cure him. Only a fraction of that connection lingered, but it was still incredible. It was as if Angel's arms were around her wherever she went. But, of course, she thought wryly as she walked back into her bedroom, why settle for the ghost of the feeling when the reality was so close at hand?

To her slight chagrin, Angel had woken up during her absence, a fact he made known by tickling her when she attempted to slip unobtrusively back into place. She shrieked with laughter, but was soon able to squirm away and hit him with one of her pillows.

"So that's where that shirt went," he said, smirking. "I've been looking everywhere."

"You can't have it back," said Buffy. "And you're gonna lose that one too if you're not careful," she added, pointing at the one that lay neatly folded with his jacket on top of her desk chair.

"Hmm, we'll see about that," said Angel. He then kissed her so thoroughly that she nearly forgot about her plots for hoarding as many articles of his clothing as she could.

"When do you want to start looking at places in L.A.?" asked Buffy, who was determined to at least have this conversation before they became too distracted.

"Soon. If I don't, Wes'll probably kill Doyle."

"True. But how soon is 'soon'?"

"Depends. There's something I've got to do first, somewhere else."

Buffy pouted and scooted a few inches away. "You mean now?"

"No!" he said quickly, pulling her back. "It can wait."

"Good. 'Cause, you know, my mom's not going to be back until tomorrow."

"It can definitely wait."

[o]

"How many times do I have to tell you, Wes? Don't pull your punches. You might be a foot taller than me, but I'm the Slayer, and you've only been doing training that was worth anything for a few months. You really don't have to worry about hurting me."

As the library was now so much soot-blackened rubble, this training session was taking place in the great room of the mansion. Wesley, whose injuries from the battle had now healed nicely, decided not to clarify that it was less the thought of hurting Buffy and more the thought of how Angel might react if he found out that he had hurt Buffy that was causing him to pull his punches.

Buffy glared at him suspiciously, and he wondered if his face had been a little too transparent regarding his thoughts. "Look," she said sternly, wagging a threatening finger at him, "if you don't stop pulling your punches, then I'm going to stop pulling mine."

Wesley gulped. From the edge of the room, Doyle whistled, while Giles appeared to be halfway between amusement and disapproval. Xander passed Willow and Oz the popcorn as the sparring match resumed, and this time Wesley made a valiant effort not to hold back. The fact of the matter was that they both preferred to spar with Angel—Buffy because they were so in tune with each other that the fights were more like dances, among other reasons, and Wesley because fighting with Angel didn't require him to attempt to hit a girl—but that wasn't an option at the moment.

Willow uncurled her legs, which were starting to feel stiff from being tucked close to her body for so long, and stretched them out. In doing so, she accidentally knocked Buffy's backpack over. She moved it back to where it was, but a notebook fell out in the process, and she was distracted by the intricate design drawn in pencil on the open page.

"Hey, what's this?" she asked vaguely, pulling the notebook all the way out of the backpack and looking at it more closely. Xander and Oz glanced at it briefly, but it couldn't hold their attention for long, because Buffy had just caught one of Wesley's punches and used it to flip him to the ground. Giles, smirking, walked over to see what Willow was talking about. She held the notebook out to him when he reached her, and he took it and looked at the drawing.

"Ah, this is Angel's tattoo, yes?" he said.

"What?" said Buffy, who was somewhat preoccupied with helping Wesley back to his feet. She glanced over and saw that they were referring to her notebook. "Oh, yeah," she said before turning back to the fight.

"Wow," said Willow. "I-it's so pretty! I didn't know you could draw, Buffy."

"I can't. But I've seen it a lot, so—" Having realized what she was implying, she went pink and fell silent at once. Giles coughed and put the notebook down rather hastily while Willow, even though her face also had a rosier hue than usual, glanced at Oz conspiratorially, to which he replied with a raised eyebrow and an almost imperceptible smile. Doyle grinned and Xander looked revolted. Wesley wasn't sure he wanted to keep sparring anymore, but evidently it wasn't up to him, for at that moment he was forced to duck hastily to avoid Buffy's fist.

Buffy, still blushing furiously, noticed everyone's reactions and became indignant. "Leave me alone," she said irritably, knocking Wesley's retaliatory blow aside almost without looking at it. "I miss him, okay?"

"He'll be back soon," said Willow soothingly, while shooting glares at Xander and Doyle. "It's already been three weeks, so he should be there by now."

"I still don't get why he couldn't have just taken a plane," said Xander. "Is it really that hard to avoid sunlight?"

"Maybe he just doesn't like flying," Willow suggested.

[o]

Angel had to remind himself of how far he had traveled in order to muster the resolve to knock on the door. Eventually, he managed it, and then hurriedly seized the thick letter sitting in his inner coat pocket and held it out in front of him like a protective talisman. The door opened to reveal a petite woman with thick, curly black hair and olive skin. Her eyes traveled quickly up his form and widened with recognition and then fear when they reached his face. Several shades paler now, she made to slam the door shut.

"Wait!" he said imploringly in Romanian. She froze, eyes still fixed on him, hand on the doorknob. He held the letter out even further, so that he could feel the knuckle of his forefinger brush against the invisible barrier keeping him out. "You don't have to invite me in, but take this, please. It's from Wesley Wyndam-Pryce."

Her hand whipped out and snatched the letter so quickly that he barely saw it, heightened senses notwithstanding. She clutched it to her chest and stared at him searchingly for a few more seconds. "Wait here," she said.

Angel nodded meekly, trying to look as friendly and unthreatening as possible, and suddenly wishing he'd worn a little less black. Her eyes didn't leave his face until the door closed between them.

He spent fifteen highly discomfited minutes by himself on the front steps before the door opened again. The petite woman was now accompanied by her husband, who was easily a few inches taller than Angel and a good deal bulkier. In one large hand, he held Wesley's letter.

"You are not here to demand we lift the curse?" he asked rather bluntly, waving the letter.

"No," said Angel. "I'm here to thank you for it."

The End

So! That's it for "Worlds Apart". I suppose this is a good place to thank my reviewers, and boy do you guys deserve it. I never expected to get so many, and I'm very grateful. Particularly for the ones that obviously took some time and effort, and also yours, Reader, because I could never reply to any of them even though I totally loved them. Now then, I know a lot of you want me to write a sequel. If it happens (and that's definitely an "if", not a "when"), it won't be for a long time, because I need to finish some other stuff first (and it would also help if I knew what I wanted to write in the first place), I'll let you guys know by posting an alert/preview/something or other about it as the chapter 59 to this fic. I seriously don't have the time or inspiration to work on it now, so pestering me about it will only irritate me and make it even less likely that I'll write it. In the meantime, though, you could always read my other stuff if you haven't already. Also, with this one finished, "The Slayer and His Vampire" is no longer on hold. It might be a little while yet before an update, though, because there's only one chapter left in "Finis Vitae", and it's been way too long since I updated "Season 9".