| Part One Chapter Four “I was so busy making plans
I felt I needed both my hands
And when I let go of yours, you were gone” Lyrics from Patty Medina’s “Still Life”. ~~ A week later. It was 10am on a Tuesday morning and Angel was, predictably, stuck in the bustle of the next town on from his village, making a pick up with Nina. The normally spotless white of the company van was covered in sandy dust, as dry and crusted as the sandstone dirt prominent in these parts of England . The south west was currently experiencing an unexpected heatwave. The normally undecided days of May were hot and cloying, causing people everywhere to strip down to the bear minimum of clothes and bake under the unrelenting sun. It was almost like being in LA, Angel thought, except there was no smog or plastic surgery. Here it was just chafed, raw skin, sweat-sheened faces and the wrinkly-kneed elegance of the retired contingent in their shorts. Of course, not everyone wore shorts. There were women like Nina who enjoyed the unprecedented weather in bohemian-style floaty shirts and denim mini skirts. It was hardly what Angel called professional, but he couldn’t really comment. These days, he was rarely out of his old jeans and a ratty T-shirt that Buffy had implored him to give up years ago. Buffy. He froze then, gripping the roof of the van. The name jangled his nerves like a sliver of glass, reminding him of the gaping rip her absence from his life had caused. It had been a week since she had left; just a week. Yet it had felt like forever. He hadn’t slept, he’d barely eaten and he couldn’t remember the last time his face had seen a razor. It was as if the world had shrunk, and everything that he had thought had mattered and defined his existence was meaningless. Meaning had been decimated when he had asked her to leave, when he had convinced himself that their relationship had no future. Now, it was almost as if the same was true for him: he was trapped in a perpetual present, where day blended into night, and his most significant experience was going to the bathroom. He knew that he was pathetic; he did not care. The ability to give a damn had long since left him anyway. “Angel,” Nina called, snapping him back to reality. “Are you going to get manly or do I have to heft all this lot myself?” “Sorry,” he mumbled, turning to look at her as she stood among the crates and canvasses. She smoothed her now wavy hair back, carefully adjusting the sunglasses that were perched just so upon her head. Despite her annoyed tone, she was grinning at him sweetly, a teasing glint in her eye. “Did I ever tell you that the stubbled look really brings out the rough diamond in you?” she purred, reaching out to run a finger along his bare upper arm. He flinched, her touch feeling alien and wrong, but he did not move. This was just a game, another silly little flirt-off that Nina loved to pull. He had no wish to cause a scene over harmless banter. “No,” he grunted, moving towards the nearest crate. Her grasp fell away, but still she gazed at him, the lilt of her smile smouldering into tangible desire. “Well, you should know that there are other women in the world beside Buffy…” she began. He looked up from the crate he had just lifted, completely taken aback. Had she actually just said that? Here was Nina, the woman he had thought of as nothing but a work colleague, in classic seduction mode, pushing out her breasts as if she was a playboy model. This had to be a joke. He closed his mouth, realising that he was gawking. “Uh…” he stuttered. “Come on, Angel, we both know there’s something between us,” she murmured, leaning so close to him that he could feel the warmth of her breath upon his neck. He stiffened but remained still, pressing his fingers into the uneven wood of the crate. “Now there’s no one to stop us.” Keeping his expression steady, he shifted away from Nina, carrying the crate to the van. Slowly he lowered it into the back of the van, trying to give himself time to think of a way to remove himself from this situation. His mind was void of clever, charming one-liners, his only instinct being to continue loading up the van and pretend that nothing was out of the ordinary. But Nina was not to be deterred. She was now behind him, pushing her body against his, her arms coming to rest around his waist. “Nina,” he said warningly as her lips descended to his neck. Then she kissed him lightly, letting her mouth brush against his skin like soft silk. His eyes closed and he gave himself up to her comfort, feeling the loneliness ebb a little. It had been so long, so very long, since anyone had wanted him as much as this. “That’s right,” Nina whispered, nuzzling him softly. “Let me take care of you.” “I think he can take care of himself,” a sharp voice interjected nastily. Angel spun from Nina’s arms, turning around to face the newcomer, his stomach hollowing in dread. Why now, why now out of all the places, did this have to be where she saw him? “Buffy,” he said hoarsely. “Yep, it’s me. Surprise!” Buffy snapped back, looking past him to glare at Nina. “Nice to see things don’t change. You didn’t wait long for his bed to be cold before making your move.” Nina came forward, placing a possessive hand upon Angel’s shoulder. He shrugged it off, not wanting her hands anywhere on him. Things were already bad enough. Unperturbed, Nina pressed her lips to his cheek; Buffy looked away. “Way I hear it, the bed’s been cold a long time, sweetie,” Nina retorted bitchily. Angel watched numbly as Buffy’s head bowed and her lips crinkled; for an awful moment, he thought that she might cry. Then her expression hardened, and she peered at Nina with all the ice of the Antarctic. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” Buffy rejoined. She directed her attention then to Angel. “Nice to see that as always, I can trust you to act like an adult,” she said bitterly. “Good revert to form, I’m impressed. You’re getting over me by getting under her.” The anger flared before he could stop it and he growled, “I was not getting under her!” The words sounded ludicrous even to him, so cheap and sordid. He shook his head in denial, hardly able to believe that Buffy would bring up things he had done before he had even met her. He had been a kid, then: relationships, affairs, liaisons had been just a fun distraction. With Buffy, it had been so much more. “I don’t do that anymore. I haven’t since I met you and you know that,” he said more calmly. From behind him, he heard Nina guffaw. He cringed, staring at Buffy apologetically. “What’s it got to do with her, anyway?” Nina pointed out. She looked straight at Buffy, a gleam of malice in her eyes. “You’re his ex. As in no longer his girlfriend. Okay, honey?” “Nina, shut up,” Angel muttered. “No,” Buffy said insistently. “She’s right. We’re not together anymore; it’s time to move on.” She paused, and Angel thought he saw a tiny glimmer of doubt steal across her face, but then it was gone. “So, I’m leaving.” He stared at her, stunned. “You’re what?” “I’m leaving,” she repeated, more emphatically. “Going to Europe , then maybe Australia . We’re not too sure right now.” He gave her a sharp look but she barely reacted, only confirming quietly, “Yes, I’m going with Oz, but we’re just friends. The band is going too. But that’s beyond the point. This is about me and having some time to think.” He could not say anything for a split second, could only gaze at her softly curling hair, her mouth and her eyes. Hazel eyes which could be glazed seagreen with passion or fiery emerald with anger - eyes which had gazed at him with love for at least some of the last seven years. Now he could only see regret. “When are you going?” he asked quietly, thinking surely, surely it wouldn’t be for a while. Buffy wouldn’t just leave like that. But her hands were in her hair – she only ever does that when she’s nervous - and she was twisting a long strand around her finger. Twisting it like a knife in his gut. “Tomorrow,” she answered, hugging her purse close to her chest. “Probably just before seven in the morning.” “Oh,” was all he could say. After seven years, “oh” was the sum total of what they had left to say. Apparently, he wasn’t even important enough to be told that she was leaving until the last minute. She hadn’t said a word about it when she came to collect the remainder of her things – including her passport, he thought glumly. He guessed that this was really the end of it for them. They were just exes; they didn’t owe each other anything, anymore. Not even a goodbye. Yet still they were staring at each other, awkwardly, neither knowing what to say. He gave her a slight gritted smile and wished her well. There really wasn’t anything else that he could think to say. She nodded, burbling something about needing to go to the bank. Then she flittered off down the busy high street without looking back. So, she was leaving. Forever. He smashed his hand down onto the crate, but felt no pain. Nina, this time, said nothing. ~~ The heat of the day had cooled a little as evening came around, and under the huge oak tree, it was almost heavenly. Almost – except for the storm of thoughts rolling around and around Angel’s mind. He kept hearing Buffy’s voice announcing so calmly that she was leaving and going to Australia , and seeing the way she had walked off without even looking back. Now he didn’t even qualify for a proper goodbye. And why the hell was she going to Australia , anyway? It was on the bloody other side of the world. Probably was Oz’s idea, he griped, again wishing he could wring the pale skinned freak by the neck. Not that it would do any good. Buffy made her own decisions. But could she have been any more emphatic in her choice of destination? Then again, he mused sourly, Buffy never did anything by halves, be it juggling her sister and a full college schedule or giving up her whole life to move to England . He plucked at the daisies angrily, dislodging a huge clump and flinging them out into the wilting grass. They could rot there for all he cared. There would be more flowers for Wes’ kids, Sarah and Rebecca, to play among, and for Ben the dog to chew. That sense of timelessness and safety had been what he had loved about this place, but now… It did nothing to quell his agitation or the feelings of loss that washed over him as he looked over the same fields Buffy must have gazed at a thousand times. He had to stop thinking about her, and accept that she was as good as gone. Open his eyes and allow his numbed body and mind to come back to life, bit by bit. Nina had said that there were other women besides Buffy. It was true. There was a world of possibility out there that he was ignoring by remaining hung up on Buffy. But if he wanted to live, if he wanted to thrive, he had to creak that door open. He had to move on. Right now, the idea repulsed him. “So why don’t I go after her?” he asked himself, not realising he was speaking aloud. He then heard the heavy, excited panting of a dog and the next thing he knew he was being flung to the ground, with Ben mercilessly licking his face. Despite his foul mood, Angel found himself smiling, and wrestling in jest with the overfriendly Labrador . “Good question,” Wesley said mockingly. “Haven’t quite worked that one out myself.” Calming the dog, Angel looked up at Wesley, giving him his idiosyncratic “up yours” sneer. He noticed, not without a large amount of irritation, that Wesley seemed almost amused. “I thought we’d covered that I wasn’t interested in any more advice,” Angel huffed. Wesley clicked his fingers at the dog, and Ben came bounding over to him, looking adoringly up at his master, his large tail buffing back and forth upon the ground. Reaching into his pocket, Wesley pulled out a small dog chew and held it out in front of Ben, watching with a measure of happiness as Ben gently took it from his hand and then wolfed it down. A dog’s life was enviably simple. “Angel, I’m worried about you,” Wesley revealed, now completely serious. The suddenness of Wesley’s admission completely floored Angel, and he found himself staring at Wesley in shock. Had his behaviour really been so terrible that it was affecting his family? “We all are. You’ve been a shambles since she left and it’s clear you still love her and miss her very much. But what I don’t understand is why you’re not over at that B&B, talking to her,” Wesley goaded him, now stooping down so that his face was fully in Angel’s. “Where are your guts, Liam?” At the sound of his proper name, Angel felt a familiar sense of misgiving. His father, the man who all his life had treated him like a miscreant, was the only person who ever used that name. His mother had taken to calling him her Angel when he’d been a small baby, and soon it had fallen into a habit for everyone. His father, however, had always complained that it made his son sound like a sissy boy, insisting that he needed to toughen up. Even now it made Angel’s blood run to cold to think of the belt his father had wielded whenever he was angry with Angel and his brothers; the way its buckle would tap-tap-tap against his thigh as he stalked towards them…. Now was not the time to remember. “Nobody talks to me like that,” he bit out, pushing Wesley back from him, and then standing to his full height. His father may have spent the entire 27 years of Angel’s life intimidating him, but he would not give Wesley the satisfaction of knowing his deliberate jibe had got to him. “My name is Angel.” “You can’t be,” Wesley shot back. “The Angel I know isn’t a coward.” More insults, Angel groused inwardly. Wesley was really on a mission to snap his mask of self-control “This isn’t cowardice, Wesley,” Angel told him fiercely. “This is me being real. She’s leaving.” Now it was Wesley’s turn to look shellshocked. “She’s what?” he demanded. “She can’t be.” Ignoring his cousin, Angel peered up into the still bright sky and let a strangled chuckle break from his chest. “Heh. That was my reaction about nine hours ago, but it turns out it doesn’t make it any less true,” he snarled. “Come tomorrow, she’ll be disappearing to somewhere in Europe before heading off to Aussie land with Oz.” Wesley took a moment to take that information in, not rushing his response. Angel knew from his silence that he was more upset than he wanted to let on. “She always did like Neighbours,” Wesley quipped dryly, referring to the Australian soap opera that Buffy had been engrossed in, along with probably a good half of the country. Angel acknowledged Wesley’s attempt at levity with a small half-baked grin. “But still, I’d have thought she would have been a little less impetuous.” Angel shrugged, his tiredness overcoming him in a heavy blanket. He bent down to tickle Ben’s ears. “Must be the seven year itch,” Angel responded sadly. “She wanted out.” “You can’t be sure of that,” Wesley reminded him. “Maybe not,” Angel conceded. “But it doesn’t change anything.” And what a shame that was. But Wesley was not so easily upended from his dogged task. “That’s only a matter of opinion – yours to be precise,” Wesley corrected him. “Would you like to hear mine?” Angel did not bother with any kind of a response, knowing that he would hear Wesley’s thoughts anyway. “Well, you have a choice: change her mind or let her go,” Wesley challenged. Angel then looked up at Wesley, certainty for the first time showing in his eyes. He had made up his mind. ~~ Tuesday morning arrived quicker than Buffy had anticipated. When she had first decided to go travelling a week ago, it had seemed like a far-off impossibility, something that she hadn’t really connected with reality. Even when she was packing her cases, collecting her Euros and Traveller’s cheques, it hadn’t sunk in. And now that it was here, she really wished that she had more time. But it was too late for regrets now. Oz was loading the truck and as planned, they would be leaving at 6.30 am sharp. Then they would meet the rest of The Dingoes at Bristol Airport in order to catch their plane to Nice , France . It was all set out, a neat and logical plan. All Buffy had to do was follow it mindlessly and leave all moping until later. So far, it was proving not at all easy, but she wasn’t going to let Oz know that. She had already put him through enough over the last few weeks and he had offered her this amazing chance to put her life back together. So she put on her special Happy Buffy face and went to help Oz with the last of the luggage. She watched as Oz heaved the last of the bags into the back of the van, careful to avoid the guitar that was propped against the wall. He frowned at it a little, then picked it up gently and placed it on top of the bag. Seeming at last satisfied, he stepped back and pushed the van doors shut. “Do you think she’ll be okay now?” Buffy teased lightly, amused at Oz’s attachment to his guitar. “Maybe,” Oz answered uncertainly. “We’ll just have to take it easy over the bumps.” “I guess,” she mused. “Angel always said the potholes around here are the devil.” She stopped as she realised what she had just said, clasping her arms protectively around herself. The name still rolled so easily off her tongue, his advice, his experiences, his opinions still as familiar to her as her own. Angel was the one reason that she wasn’t sure that she could go. “Buffy,” Oz pressed gently, touching her on the shoulder. She startled and looked at him, not comfortable with seeing the concern in his eyes. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t do this. “Are you sure you want to go?” Oz asked. “Yeah, I’m way sure,” she insisted, putting on her brightest and most confident voice. “I’ve got to do it. There’s nothing here for me, anyway.” Oz gave her a doubtful look but mercifully didn’t say anything. She had told him about her little run-in with Angel and Nina, and how certain she was that Angel had looked wounded when she told him she was leaving. But Angel hadn’t said anything more than “oh” and a mumbled “take care”, none of which amounted to him actually wanting her to stay. Perhaps it should have been obvious, but since their breakup, Buffy took nothing for granted. If the seemingly unbreakable foundations of their relationship could crumble, then there was nothing else she could depend upon. And she could hardly expect him to tell her that he loved her and beg her to stay. This wasn’t the movies; this was real life. And when there was so much hurt and so little trust, the romantic hero in people tended to die. “Okay, let’s go then,” Oz said, walking to the van and getting in. He turned on the engine and waited while Buffy bade the village she had spent the last two years of her life in goodbye. “Just taking a moment here,” she murmured to no one in particular, staring up into the creamy blue sky which seemed to spread forever until it blended into the green of the fields. She couldn’t see the cottage from here or Wesley’s farm, but in her mind’s eye, it was as clear as bright shining sunshine. She could see Ben the dog racing towards her, and Rebecca and Sarah swinging wildly on the old tyre in the woods. And then there was Angel, holding her hand, telling her one day that it would be their kids running across the fields and that Dawn would visit and they would all be together again. Why did such simple dreams have to be a lie? Blinking back the tears that were now clouding her eyes, she turned from her gazing and walked towards the van. Without a word, she got in, shutting the door tightly behind her. Oz shifted the van into first gear and then they were away. She watched from the window as Mrs Hirst’s B&B became a faraway memory and the village green and church disappeared into the distance. They were coming closer and closer to the cottage, her home - her former home, she corrected herself harshly. But still she could not help but feel a pang of sorrow as the little white cottage came into view. It was a visceral symbol of all she had lost and all she would be leaving behind. She could only hope that one day Angel would forgive her, and that Wesley, Fred and the girls would understand why she hadn’t been able to say goodbye. The notes she had left them explained her reasons as best she could. Then all thoughts fled from her mind as a figure flew across the path of Oz’s van. She closed her eyes as Oz slammed on the brakes, expecting any moment to hear the sickening crunch of human bones below the tyres. The van came to a screeching halt and then the metallic bang of fists being thrown down upon the van’s hood filled Buffy’s ears. Her eyes shot open, and she stared at the man gazing desperately into the windshield with amazement. “Oh my God, Angel!” she exclaimed, jumping out of the van and hurrying towards him. He smiled at her anxiously, opening out his arms as if to hug her. Then it was if the lines of real life blurred and she was in her own Hollywood romance, where Angel was taking the role of Patrick Swayze in “Dirty Dancing”, but without the snazzy dance moves. Yet, it was better than anything she could have hoped for. She stepped into his waiting arms and pushed herself flat against him, nestling her head against his shoulder. She felt him relax and sigh into her, his arms clinging around her waist as if he would never let her go. It felt so natural, so right and she felt herself falling in love with him all over again. This was it, this was the reason. This was the thing that could make everything alright. She raised her face to his and let their lips meet and then blossom into a sweet and loving kiss. And her heart stopped and the sky went still, and she remembered what it was like to be the only woman in the world who he loved. But still she knew it wasn’t enough. Until she became herself again, she couldn’t let them fall back into this easy pattern, where they forget themselves and all the things they had dreamed. It would suffocate them both. “I’ve missed you, Buffy,” he murmured, gently kissing her hair. “I’m so sorry about everything.” “I know, me too,” she sniffled. “I’ve missed you so much. I didn’t mean to make such a mess of things… I’ve been so selfish and horrible… I didn’t mean for things to get like this.” “Ssh,” he soothed her. “You weren’t the only one to blame. Not by a long shot. I screwed things up, too. I should have made more time for you, helped you to start a business… I shoulda made things easier for you, Buffy. I’ve been selfish - a complete selfish bastard. I see that now. But I promise I’ll make it up to you, however you need me to.” “You don’t have to,” she responded softly. “We’ve both made mistakes. Let’s just put it behind us.” He looked at her then, his eyes filled with bright, flaring yearning. “So you’ll stay?” His tone was pleading, too hopeful and it broke her heart all over again. “I do love you, Angel. More than anything,” she told him, reaching out to touch his face. Her fingers stroked the curve of his cheek, and she felt his breath, warm and safe against her. She hated herself for what she was about to say. “But I can’t stay.” “Why?” The question came out as a wretched croak, and he stared at her woefully with his soft, dark brown eyes. Already, she could feel her own tears coming. “I need to go,” she explained sadly, wiping the moisture from his eyes. “Things haven’t been right for a long time. And I don’t just mean with us. I mean with me. If I don’t take the chance now and find out who I really am, I might not ever know.” He pulled her hands from his face and held them in his hands, tight and fast. “Then let us find out together,” he countered fiercely. “We could go somewhere - start again. Just tell me where.” “Angel…” she said. “Just tell me where,” he bit out again. “I-I can’t,” she stuttered. His intensity entranced her, and she looked at him as she hadn’t looked at him in years, and felt herself fall into him. She didn’t care that she was leaving, that Oz was waiting or that this might be the last time she would kiss Angel or touch him. It was all about the moment they were in right now. He raised her hands to his lips - lips which were gentle and parted, pressing down upon her knuckles so delicately. She unfurled her hands and wrapped them around his neck, letting her fingers stretch up into his thick crop of hair as she took his mouth in a searing kiss. Their lips moved against one another, each drinking the other in thirstily as the passion that had been sealed away broke through and overwhelmed them both. But then she realised she had a plane to catch, and she pulled away from him, gasping, her forehead resting against his. “I’d do anything for you,” he reiterated fervently. “I know,” she whispered. “But… can you let me go?” He didn’t answer her straightaway, but instead pulled her flush against him and kissed the top of her head. “Come back to me soon, love,” he said. She closed her eyes and stepped back from him, unable to look at him as she said the words that would end their all-too brief reunion. “I can’t promise anything,” she warned him. “I don’t know what the future holds for us. Or where I’ll be in six months, or even a year.” “I’ll take my chances,” he answered. She opened her eyes then, giving him the beginnings of a smile. But still her eyes twinkled sadly with a misting of tears. “Take care of yourself, Angel,” she told him. He nodded, arms hanging limply by his sides, all the power and force so quintessential to him now without focus. She had never seen him look so diminished. “You, too,” he replied hoarsely. “Have the time of your life.” She gave him one last look, smiling brokenly, and then walked to the van, quickly getting in before she could change her mind. Oz glanced over at her questioningly, and she signalled for him to start the engine, not trusting herself to speak. She bit down onto her tongue sharply, holding herself together, telling herself over and over again, do not cry, do not cry. Then the van began to pull away and she stared out of the window at Angel’s face for the last time. She saw him mouth “I love you” and give a slight wave, and all she could do was gaze back, her teeth digging into her tongue, her facial muscles aching from the strain of maintaining composure. It was almost killing her. Then the van had passed the cottage and Angel disappeared. She let out a strangled breath and looked blankly out of the window, tasting the bittersweet copper tang of blood in her mouth. Finally, she began to cry. “Hey, Buffy, it’ll be okay,” Oz promised. Right at that moment, it really didn’t feel like it. But her choice was made and she knew somehow that it was the right one. It was time for her to become Buffy again. Then maybe, just maybe, they would have a future together and be able to build new dreams. Until that time, she had to live her own life. “I know, Oz,” she responded, forcing all of her belief into that tiny statement. It would all be okay. ~~ “We've been through this such a long long time
Just tryin' to kill the pain
But lovers always come and lovers always go
And no one's really sure who's lettin' go today
Walking away
If we could take the time to lay it on the line
I could rest my head
Just knowin' that you were mine.” Gunns N’ Roses’ “November Rain”. Chapter Five Buffy Summers stood on a long sandy beach, feeling the sun beat down upon her skin and hearing the surf crash onto the beach. It was not even 9 am yet, and the sun was already strong. She thought of England and a little cottage 12,000 miles across the other side of the world and how stiflingly hot it had been there before she left. Now, in early December, it would be cold. There probably wouldn’t be any snow, but it would have more than its fair share of gusting winds and the lashing rain common to the South West. Here in Sydney , Australia , the weather was on a much more even keel. There was rain sometimes and wind, but nothing like the exposed rural area that had been her home for two years. Back in Devon , the swing tyre in the woods on Wesley’s farm wouldn’t be in use anytime soon – although the girls would be more than willing. Maybe they would rope Wesley into taking them out onto Dartmoor to walk Ben, or get Angel to take them down to Plymouth for a day of Pizza Hut and ice skating. He had always loved to take the kids out with Buffy on his rare days off, and Plymouth had been one of their favourite spots. Maybe it was a reminder of one of the first dates they had been on. After Angel had found out from Willow that Buffy loved ice skating, he had taken her to the nearest ice rink, wanting to impress her. It had been nothing short of a disaster in terms of skating. Buffy hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry when Angel stepped onto the rink, looking terrified and uncertain, and then had promptly fallen upon his ass. That had happened several more times before Buffy had eventually helped him to find his balance and take slow, tentative steps around the rink, gripping her hand. As he had realised how well he was doing, he had smiled at her – a brilliant, beaming smile, which had lit up his whole face. Then he had again lost his balance, and they had tumbled to the ice in a sprawl of arms and legs. Giggling, she had wrapped her arms around him and helped him to sit up. He had asked her whether he had blown it with her through being a giant klutz. She had answered that she thought klutzes were cute. “Well, that’s good then, because I’m the biggest klutz of all time,” he had quipped, bringing his face so close to hers that their noses were almost touching. “Really?” she’d replied, tilting her chin up invitingly. His lips had brushed against hers and she had felt warmth tingle through her despite the coldness of the ice. “But not at everything,” he had assured her cheekily. Even now the memory made her smile, however much sadness was mixed in with that. She had not seen Angel for over six months. Not since the day that she had left him standing outside the cottage, waving to her forlornly as she drove off without him. It had been one of the most difficult things she had ever done, save for leaving Dawn in LA. Yet, she knew that it had been the right decision, even though there hadn’t been a day when she had not thought of him and wondered what he was doing and whether he was okay. There was a comfort in knowing that wherever she was, that when she looked up at the sky and saw the blazing heat of the sun or the cooler glow of the moon, that Angel could see those things too. In a funny way, he had been with her in every place she had visited. And she had been all over the place, seeing things that she had only ever heard of in geography class in school, or those little travel magazines her mom had loved to read. It was more than amazing; she was having the time of her life, discovering simple pleasures in eating breakfast alfresco, or digging her feet into the sloppy sand just after the tide had gone out. It had been a long time since she had felt so free, so much like herself. She finally felt like she was coming awake after a long dream. After landing in Nice, they had spent a few weeks there in the sun, lazing on the beach, before heading along the coast to Toulon and Marseille, where The Dingoes had gigs. Luckily, Buffy’s very basic high school French had been aided by Oz’s surprising adeptness at the language. She had always known that he was a whiz at standardised tests, but she had had no idea that he was so good with languages. So after the gigs, the band had had some free time and had unanimously decided upon heading north to Paris . And Buffy had loved it. She visited the Notre Dame, The Eiffel Tower and The Louvre, seeing paintings like the Mona Lisa that she had heard Angel and Nina rave about. But for all the madness and culture of the cosmopolitan city, her favourite thing had been wandering about by the Seine on her own, watching the orange seats of the Bateau-Mouche dawdle by as tourists took pictures from the many bridges. One day, one of the artists that mingled around those parts of Paris approached her and asked if he could draw her. She had been a little taken aback, telling him that she had no money to pay for such things. The artist had just shaken his head, laughed, and told her that it was free, a gift from him to her. “Someone so wistful, so full of yearning, I want to capture. It would be my pleasure,” he had explained to her. Reluctantly she had agreed, and very stiffly, she had posed, trying to look aptly artistic. But then he had put his pad down and walked over to her, flourishing for her to look back over the Seine . She had turned and instantly felt the spell of Paris fall over her. “That is what I want,” he had implored. So the drawing had been done and was now sitting packaged in a tube in her suitcase back at the hotel. She wasn’t sure what she would do with it, but one day she fancied that she might show it to Angel. He had always said that he would love to draw her, had he the time. Unfortunately, that had been one of the many things that they hadn’t gotten around to doing before their lives swerved sharply apart. It was strange how the simplest things reminded her of him, when she least expected it. Like the drawing and even smelling the rich swell of the coffee being brewed at breakfast. At first, she had sent him postcards, pretty, bright mementoes of Nice, Marseille, Paris, Strasbourg, Amsterdam and Geneva, Bonn and Saltzberg. She had known that he would love all of those places and wanted him to know that she had not forgotten about him. Her final postcard had been from Rome. She had bought it from a little tourist shop near to the Trevi fountain, and had sat beside the fountain, wondering what to write. Should it be “Hey there, Angel, having a wonderful time”; or, more, “Rome is beautiful and I think you would really like it here”. Both had seemed more like a dig at him than a little pleasant note, and the more she had thought about it, the more it seemed like she was making this separation more difficult for them. She was the one who had decided to leave, who had told him that she needed time to grow and develop. And that hadn’t changed. She still couldn’t give him any promise of a future with her. So, remembering an adage Willow had quoted to her back in junior year of high school, she sprawled “Carpe diem”, and signed her name. Then she had thrown a penny into the fountain and walked to the nearest postbox to mail the postcard. After that, she had confined Angel into the part of her heart where memories lived and tried not to open it again. It hadn’t worked, but it had made the sharp throbbing pain a little duller, and as time passed, she forced herself to think of other things. Things like high school and her mom’s death, people like Willow , Xander and Dawn - more than anything Dawn. And how much Dawn would have loved this trip, how much fun it would have been to share these things with her 21-year-old sister. Dawn had always dreamed of travelling: she said one day she would dance in the Mardi Gras and pull funny faces at the guards outside Buckingham Palace. As far as Buffy knew, Dawn had yet to do any of those things, so she had sent her postcards and letters from every place she had visited. Lots and lots of letters, filled with minute descriptions of the locations, the people she’d met and the things she’d done. She always left a forwarding address, her email and cell phone number, just in case. But she never heard anything back. As with every other example of Dawn’s silence, Buffy had accepted it and moved on, trying not to feel too devastated that her only family in the world would not speak to her. Then, one day it had all changed. After Rome, they had left for Australia on a flight that had lasted almost a day. Eventually, they had landed in Sydney. As soon as she was able, Buffy had gone to an internet café and checked her email. As she logged in, she had been pleased to see an email from Willow, or “Hecate_gaia” as she called herself on Hotmail, in deference to her and Tara ’s growing interest in all things Wiccan. She had scanned Willow’s email quickly, grinning when she read Will’s description of Xander and Anya’s engagement party, and how Anya had refused to let anyone near her ring. Typical Anya, Buffy had thought fondly. After that, there had been the ever-present paragraph asking Buffy if she had spoken to Angel, and when she would be coming back to LA. Groaning slightly at Willow’s persistence, she had scrolled to the bottom of the email to see if there was anything else. And then, like a throwaway line, the thing that she had hoped and prayed for, for the last three years, was there. Dawn says to thank you for the letters and postcards. She said it looked really cool, everywhere you’ve been – especially Rome. She’s looking forward to hearing what Sydney is like; preferably with lots of pics of all the hottie surfer men out there. Her words, not mine. *G* Hope had flared in Buffy, and she had logged off from Hotmail and flown out of the café, barely knowing what to do with herself. Should she ring Dawn straightaway or should she wait and ring Willow? Maybe it would be best to go back to the hotel and speak with Oz, if he was around. Then she remembered that he had said he would be out all day with Devon and the other guys, probably checking out the Bondi Beach babes if Devon’s track record was anything to go on. Whereas Devon wasn’t a womaniser, he did have an eye for the ladies and wasn’t afraid to use his status as lead singer of the band to earn himself Brownie points. If it hadn’t been for Oz’s less than subtle warnings, Devon would have probably tried it on with her. So with the option of speaking to Oz gone, Buffy had decided to go into a nearby café and give herself time to think. After ordering a latte, she had opened her purse and taken out the little pile of photos she always kept in there. She had smiled wistfully as she looked at the picture of Dawn and herself as young children with their mom and dad, and then at the later one of mom, Dawn and herself just after their dad had left. Even then it had hurt to look at pictures of her childhood, and contrast it with everything that had come later. But this time, she had refused to let herself fall into despondency and had shuffled through the photos, grinning at the ones of herself, Willow, Xander, Cordelia and Oz back in high school, and later ones where Cordelia and Oz had been replaced by Anya and Tara. After pausing upon the pictures of Angel and her in happier times, she had finally come to the picture she wanted. It was of Dawn, Angel and her on a day out to the beach just before Angel had left for England. It was the one picture post-mom’s death where Dawn actually looked anywhere near happy. After Angel had left, Dawn had become more introverted, barely dating or socialising if she could help it. And her grades plummeted worryingly. It looked for a while as if Dawn would be forced to live with her father. But, with Willow and Xander’s help, Buffy had worked to improve things for Dawn, and by the end of her senior year, Dawn was squealing with joy about going to the prom with Greg, and couldn’t wait to start college at Boston in the fall. However, Buffy had decided to leave for England. She had told Dawn that she would be going a week after her graduation from high school; as expected, Dawn had not taken the news particularly well. But what had followed had completely stunned her. And as Buffy had sipped on her latte, she had felt a rush of pain as she remembered their final conversation. Los Angeles, June 2004. Buffy lugged the last of her cases down the stairs, and with a heavy plunk, deposited it beside the others. She flopped down onto the stairs, breathing hard. It was not easy to move so much luggage on your own; she wondered how she would manage in London. Angel had promised that he would pick her up, but what if the flight was late, what if he couldn’t find her, what if she was stranded in London all on her own? Panicking, she put her hands over her face, urging herself to breathe. Everything would be alright. Willow would be over to pick up Dawn and Dawn would stay there until it was time for college. She had her tickets and her passport, and her immigration to England was all set. Willow and Xander would arrange for what was left of the furniture to be put into storage, and the real estate agent would handle the renting out of the house. It was all sorted. But she wished more than anything that she could convince Dawn to come with her for the summer. That was when she heard her sister stomping towards her. “Still here?” Dawn asked coldly. “Thought you were desperate to join lover boy in England .” “Dawn, you know my flight isn’t for another three hours,” Buffy answered as evenly as she could, watching as her sister’s unhappy scowl deepened into a fuming grimace. This was the sign of an imminent Dawn implosion: she decided to act quickly before the situation grew out of hand. “You know I’d love you to come with me for the summer until school starts,” Buffy reminded her. “All you have to do is say.” Naturally, Dawn said nothing, only glaring at her. Buffy looked at Dawn patiently, withholding the torrent of anger she longed to unleash upon her. She had talked this through with Angel and they had both agreed that Dawn needed time to adjust. It was a huge change to Dawn’s life and they couldn’t expect her to just deal with it… but eventually she would. She was on the verge of her own life in Boston and then it wouldn’t matter if Buffy was in LA or London. She would only ever be a phone call away and Buffy would come over to visit her all the time. “Dawn?” Buffy pressed. “What?” Dawn snapped, pushing past Buffy and the row of cases to head up the stairs. “I’ve already said I don’t want to go. Why would I want to be stuck in teabag land with my dumbass sister and her loser boyfriend when I’ve got people here who actually want me around?” That was it. Dawn had finally hit the magic button: the pulsing rock of hate and resentment that was balled inside Buffy. The part that had hated her father when he left, blamed herself when her mother died, and taunted and raged that she was not good enough take care of Dawn. It clawed up and up and up, until Buffy could feel it pressing against her tongue, waiting to burst forth, and the control Buffy had felt teetering on the edge of rage veered violently, and she found herself hammering up the stairs after Dawn, ready to scream if it made her listen. “I’ve given up my entire life to take care of you!” Buffy cried, grabbing Dawn by the shoulder and spinning her around to face her. “I’ve done everything I could to make sure you were safe and happy and had a roof over your head. Do you think Angel and I juggled school, work, and you, while jumping through hoops for the social worker, because it was fun? No, we did it for you. You, Dawn!” Dawn pushed Buffy’s hand off her shoulder, but Buffy held fast, too mired in her outburst to let go. “Get your hands off me,” Dawn snarled, her voice becoming shrill and angry. “You’re not my guardian anymore, and as far as I’m concerned, you’re not my sister.” It hit Buffy like a body blow and she reeled back, her hand peeling from Dawn’s shoulder like slippery clingfilm, unwanted and used. “How can you say that?” Buffy questioned her, devastated. “How can you even think that after everything we’ve been through?” Dawn stood before the door to her bedroom and gave Buffy an icy glower. “I’m lucky I didn’t end up as a ward of the state after the mess you and Angel have made of my life. I thought we were a family but you blew it. He left and now you are, too. Mom’s dead, dad’s gone. I’ve got no one!” “You’ve got me,” Buffy murmured, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from Dawn’s eye. Dawn stiffened at her touch and then flinched, putting her hands up as if to ward away any further contact. “I’ve got no one,” she repeated more forcefully. “Once you leave, that’s it. Don’t ever expect me to speak or acknowledge you ever again.” “Dawn!” Buffy sobbed, watching as her sister stalked to her bedroom and slammed the door. But there was no answer. In the café, at that moment, Buffy had made her decision. She could not leave it like that. So, she had left the café and made a phone call to the sister whom had ignored her for the last three years. “Dawnie?” she had asked shakily. And this time Dawn had not put the phone down or told Buffy to leave her alone. She had answered, and then they had talked and talked and talked. After an hour, Buffy had promised Dawn that she would be coming home to LA as soon as she could. That had been two months ago and, tomorrow, finally, Buffy would be flying home to LA. This would be her last day in Sydney. Tonight, Devon and Oz had organised a going away party for her. She smiled up at the beautiful summer sun of the Sydney sky and felt the waves lap at her feet one more time. She turned, and began to walk away from the beach. She was finally ready to go home. ~~ The club was loud yet strangely cosy, a mix of 60s-style cushioned walls and trendy monochrome fittings. It was a mecca for the various nomadic backpackers that descended upon Sydney , and tonight Buffy could see the group of sunburnt English guys she’d met last week bobbing about to some random rave track. Over the last few months, the club had become a firm favourite among Buffy and The Dingoes, having been one of the first clubs The Dingoes had played in upon their arrival in Sydney. It was one of those places where you could just relax and let go; nobody stared at you, nobody judged you. There probably wasn’t a place in the world that was quite like this. “I can’t believe it’s my last night here,” Buffy commented wistfully, glancing at Oz who was sitting next to her at their table. He gave her a little grin. “I know - it’s strange. It feels like you only just got here,” he answered. “But it’s good that you’re talking to Dawn. I’m happy for you.” At the mention of her sister’s name, Buffy smiled broadly and cupped her diet coke in her hands. She still couldn’t believe she would be seeing her sister in two days’ time. “I know; it’s just beyond good. I can’t wait to see her. I just want to make things up to her,” she said warmly, thinking of the bag full of presents back at the hotel she hadn’t been able to resist buying for Dawn and the guys. Then another less pleasing thought struck her. “Oh God… What if I’ve gone over my allowance for hand luggage?” Considering this for a moment, Oz eventually shrugged, dismissing her worries. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” he assured her. “But how can you be sure?” she questioned him. Again, he just gave that funnily all-seeing Oz grin. “Trust me,” he said cryptically. Peering at him probingly, she tried to interpret his expression, to dig her way under his Oz-shields, but as usual, she couldn’t get a beat on what he was thinking. He’d have been an uber-amazing poker player, maybe even better than Angel, and he was the king of mask-like stoicism when he needed to be. Especially when she was trying to get her own way in a tickle fight and the only way to win was to straddle his larger body and go for under his arms… And now, at the merest hint of Angel, she had forgotten all about Cryptic-Oz and was staring deeply into her drink, watching the ice melt into the dark liquid, little by little.
When Oz brushed her shoulder lightly, she startled and looked up at him guiltily. “Sorry,” she covered. “Just thinking about stuff under ‘The Ban’.” In Rome, after she had decided not to contact Angel again, she had made Oz promise not to let her mention Angel or even mope about him. She had insisted that the conversation in future was referred to euphemistically as “The Ban”. So, she shouldn’t have been surprised when Oz chose to ignore that and forge right on with his own interpretation of “break this rule and I’ll break all your fingers and toes”. “You know, it’s not too late there, either,” he told her. She just gave him the look of imminent scorn and Oz decided to back down, with a placating “I’ll just leave that thought out there.” Devon snorted. “She’s gonna kick your lilly-white ass if you don’t shut up.” Buffy smiled wolfishly; although she was small, she had a temper that was not to be messed with. “I’m done,” Oz announced, deadpan. He then pointed out a gaggle of the English men she’d seen earlier ploughing through the crowds towards them. “Looks like you’ve got company.” Oh joy, she griped inwardly, but outwardly she forced on a bright and friendly smile, hoping against all odds that they weren’t about to hit on her. Right now, she just couldn’t handle the chore of tactful rejection. They were sweet, if not a little on the drunk and leery side, and more interested in getting another notch on the bed post than conversation. At 26, she was well past wanting only that from a man. But still, when the biggest lothario of the group came over to her and grabbed her by the hand, she did not order him to get his hands off her. Even if she didn’t want sex, there wasn’t anything wrong with dancing. It was her last night here and she wanted to enjoy herself. “Come on, Buffy. It’s your bloody last night here,” the taller of the group chided her, shooting a sly look at Oz. “Don’t worry. I’ll get your girl back to you safe and sound.” “She’s not my girl. Or anybody’s here,” Oz replied pointedly, and then added to Buffy, “Go dance and enjoy yourself.” “Okay,” she smiled, letting herself be whisked off onto the dancefloor. She didn’t catch the knowing look that Oz shot Devon, or the way Oz seemed to glance over at the entrance and look at his watch. As always, Buffy was too busy with dancing to notice much else. Beyonce’s “Crazy In Love” came on and she found herself in the middle of a group of five drunken men, clapping and cheering. She raised her arms and swivelled her hips in time to the music, and tipped her head back, laughing, feeling her now almost waist length hair tumbling over her bare back. Oh God, it felt so good to be alive, to be here right now. The chants of “Go, Buffy, Go, Buffy” were now fading away and she could just hear the beat and feel her body moving loosely to the music. She closed her eyes, moving her head back and forth sensuously, rolling her shoulders, smooth like satin… She felt an arm slip around her waist and for a moment she thought it was one of the guys. She went to slap them away good-naturedly, but the body pressed against her and she knew… “Angel…” she sputtered, spinning around to face him. “What are you doing here?” She noticed that although he stepped back, he did not release his grasp upon her. He led her away from the dancefloor and out into a quieter area, all the time letting no one near her. That made her feel safer and more loved than she ever would have guessed. “I’m here for you,” he told her passionately, pushing his hands closer into the small of her back. “If you’ll have me.” She could hardly believe what he was saying and stared at him open-mouthed. “What?” she parroted, feeling his words swirl in her mind in an incoherent bustle as the shouting, cheering, dreamy flurry of “Angel” melted over her. How could he be here? How could he be in front of her right now and be saying those words to her? “Buffy?” he prodded nervously. She snapped out of her dream and looked at him with large, uncertain eyes. “Are you really here?” “I am,” he reassured her, bringing her into his chest and letting her fall against it. She clasped her arms tightly around him and breathed in big, gulping sobs, feeling herself be submerged in him once again: his scent, his soft, soothing caress. Everything. How had she gone six months without him? How had she ever thought that she would want to be without him? “You okay?” he murmured down to her, nuzzling her hair with his cheek. “Yeah,” she managed, pulling back away from him to really look at him. He seemed taller than she remembered, his shoulders more broad and imposing; he had definitely been working out since they’d last seen each other. But the curve of his lips, the brooding crumple of his forehead were the same, as was the soft yet intense spark in his eyes that drew her in and left her gasping for air. He was the Angel she had fallen in love with all those years before. But it didn’t explain why he was here or how he had found her. As if divining these questions from her expression, he explained, “Oz got in touch with me a few months back and told me you were planning to go back to LA. I’d already been in touch with Willow and she must have told him I was planning to try to find you.” He paused and looked at her hesitantly, and she knew that what he was about to say would change everything. “So, here I am.” The full reality of what he was saying finally hit her: he wanted to be back in her life and he would do anything to prove it. Even give up his entire life and travel halfway around the world. He was prepared to forgo everything he had slaved for over the last few years to live with her in LA. But still she needed him to reassure her. “But what about the business?” she pressed. “It’s done. I don’t care anymore. I’ve sold my share to Nina,” he told her. She stiffened at the mention of Nina’s name, but his hands were now on her face, tilting her up to look at him. “She’s got nothin’ on you, nothing. I know what you thought, but I never saw her as anything other than a work colleague. Hell, she wasn’t even really a friend.” Buffy looked at him doubtfully and she hated the way he winced at the inherent accusation. But she had to say this; she had to. “So why did she always come first, Angel? All it took was her clicking her fingers-” “And I would come running,” he finished off matter-of-factly, leaving Buffy surprised at his candour. “I know. I put my father’s wishes before you or anything.” She looked down, contrite. “I know there’s a history there with your dad… I didn’t mean to bring it all up and make you feel bad.” His hands slid from her face and took her hand. “No, you had every right to bring it up. My place wasn’t in England, running around after some stupid art business I didn’t even care about. It was in LA with you and Dawn,” he insisted. She smiled at him wanly, and tried not to show him the tears that were gathering in her eyes. It was so typical of them, so absolutely apt that they realised the cause of all the problems between them when the damage had been done. She had done exactly the same herself with Oz – and that had caused pain not only for herself and Angel, but Oz as well. It could have been so different if only they had talked and been honest with each other. “Buffy, talk to me,” Angel urged anxiously, stroking her hand. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” “I was just thinking how similar we are: that we do things and realise our mistakes afterwards. And we both bottle our feelings up; we don’t talk when things are wrong. It’s what caused all our problems,” she confided. He looked pained, but conceded, “Yeah, that’s true.” “But the worst thing is,” she continued, squeezing his hand tightly, “we lost all that time because of it.” They were silent for a moment as the truth of that statement sank in. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you,” he murmured. “Well, I’m sorry I made you think you couldn’t,” she responded. “That night after… with Oz, I just couldn’t. He couldn’t either. He didn’t want anything like that to happen between us. I-I was… using him. To hide from our problems and the way I felt inside.” She paused nervously as Angel’s lips mashed into a grimace, all the pain he’d felt that night raw again as she spoke, but still he held onto her hand. She almost cried with relief. “He was so angry with me but he understood why.” Angel gazed at her in askance and she knew that he needed to hear why she had almost cheated on him on that night half a year ago. “I was just so lost, Angel. I didn’t know who I was anymore or what I was doing,” she confessed. “He represented so many things to me, Angel. You know, like how things were before mom died or dad left. He made me feel like I was me again.” “God, Buffy,” he said sadly. “I just wish you could have come to me. All I ever wanted to do was protect you - take all the pain away.” “I know,” she told him. “But you couldn’t. Only I could do that.” From the distant dancefloor, they heard the soft guitar intro of a song Buffy vaguely recognised. It was one of those British singers that Fred used to go all sappy over. Except now, as the lyrics danced over the speakers, she didn’t cringe; instead she really listened and understood the meaning in the song. Know no fear, I'll still be here tomorrow
Bend my ear, I'm not gonna go away
You are love, so why do you shed a tear
Know no fear, you will see heaven from here It was everything that she and Angel had finally come to realise as they stood staring at each other. “I know we can’t make everything okay just like that, but… will you give me another chance?” he asked finally. A strange half-puffing, half-sobbing noise came from Buffy, and she put her hands over her face. She could feel herself shaking, but she couldn’t stop it. Alarmed, Angel came towards her and put his arms around her, ready to soothe her, but she quickly interposed. “It’s okay… I’m okay.” He looked at her cautiously. “I want that too, Angel. I want us back together. I want you, me and Dawn to be a family again.” He looked at her with the sweet earnestness that had made her fall in love with him all those years before. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Buffy. That never changed.” There was a pause as she took in his words and then he held out his hand. “Dance with me?” he requested softly. “Here?” she asked. “Here,” he confirmed with a definitive nod of his head. “I’d love to,” she whispered. He opened his arms, and she walked into them gladly, laying her head upon his shoulder. She smiled as his arms snaked around her waist, pulling her tightly against him so she could hear the beating of his heart. This was where she had wanted to be for so long: all those times when she couldn’t remember what it was like to kiss him or trace her fingers across his skin; when the loneliness had been overwhelming and she had shivered from the cold inside herself. And now she was here, and it was right. At last, the final missing piece in her life had fallen into place. “I love you so much, Buffy,” he told her. “I love you, too,” she replied. “I never, ever stopped loving you.” She kissed him then, softly, tenderly, letting her mouth caress his, as her hands rested on his face. It was time to begin the rest of their lives. ~~ "I'll shelter you make it alright to cry
And you'll help too 'cos the faith in myself
Has run dry
We are love and I just wanna hold you near
Know no fear we will see heaven from here
I see real love in your eyes
And it fills me up when you start to cry
I just wanna hold you near
We will see heaven from here
Well it all seems out of reach
I will take the blame if it keeps the peace
My shelf-life's short
Wish they'd make it more easy to follow
And I've been caught with nothing but
Love on my mind
We are love don't let it fall on deaf ears
Now it's clear we have seen heaven from here." Robbie Williams’ “Heaven From Here.” The verse used in the chapter is also from this song. ~~ The End. AN: Thanks to Stephanie, Stars and Isis for the help regarding my questions on US English colloquialisms for "custody" and "a child being taken into the care of the state".
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