Postcards from Eternity

Author: Trixie

Disclaimer: Joss created them, and split them up. I merely struggle to rectify the damage he does.

Rating: R

Summary: When disaster reunites Buffy and Angel, will they be able to face their future and survive?

Category: B/A, AU, POV

---

Since it's nighttime, Kennedy is a little quieter than normal. I take my coffee and orange juice and sit down by a large window, overlooking the various runways. Planes are being loaded up, and lights blink in the black sky. I've always hated airports and never known why.

I should never have agreed to take this account. I don't like flying. Just because the investors for this company want to meet with me… doesn't mean I should have to take a plane all the way the hell to Barbados to talk to them. Couldn't they live somewhere ordinary? I take out my business card and stare at it. Buffy Summers… is that even my name? Sometimes I don't know who I am anymore. I used to wear leather and walk the night.

Now I dress in suits and tie my hair back so sleekly it hurts. Right now I'm clad in a khaki pants and a white tank top with a white sweater over it. No need to be uncomfortable on the flight. The flight. Damnit, my hands are shaking.

The coffee burns my mouth. Quickly I sip the pulpy orange juice and it slides down my throat with ease, mending my red lips. My eyes flit to the window again. I can see the plane I will take being loaded with luggage and the animals in their cages. Sometimes I think how sad it is for them, stuck in the dark bowels of the aircraft. But I also think they are more fortunate than us, because they don't know what is going on.

“All passengers for flight 187 to Barbados, please commence boarding at gate 34.”

My legs wobbling slightly, I get up and throw away the paper cups, straightening my shoulders and walking towards the gate. I place my bags on the belt and let myself be checked over by security. Gathering my things, my feet take me to the on ramp.

People crowd past me, talking noisily about what they are going to do in Barbados. A woman wears a Hawaiian shirt and it makes me grin. The promise of a vacation is always so nice. A couple of kids bump into my knees and take off, hitting each other with little fingers. Their bright T-shirts swim before my gaze as I glide on, my footfalls light and purposeful.

An overly cheerful flight attendant greets me, her make-up cracked around her cheeks from the permanent smile. It makes me feel sorry for her, so I'm very polite as she leads me to my seat. It's a small plane, narrow. A steel tube. I sit down and close my eyes immediately. My stomach hurts and I wish desperately for something to put me to sleep. If only I could lapse into drugging forgetfulness until we land safely, as I know we will.

~~~

The person sitting next to me has a burn mark on her knee. I want to ask her about it. It's red and shiny, swathing the pale flesh like a badge. She keeps moving her skirt down as if to cover it and I know she must know I'm staring. Sighing, I turn away and press my face against the cold plastic of the window. It's so small and dark, and all I can see is whirling silvery clouds. I know far below me is blue, blue ocean and maybe some ships, trawling the waves for fish. Cruise boats where people are dancing the night away. And down down down is where the shipwrecks are, and the mermaids and the silence of the deep.

Whenever I see the ocean, I miss Sunnydale. I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's the salt smell of it, or the way it reflects the sunlight. But I do know my heart cracks a little whenever I see it. Maybe it reminds me of Mommy, or of Dawn…of Willow and Xander and Giles. I haven't seen the Scoobies in a few months. Not since the last anniversary when I went to the graves.

There was already some white lilies at my mother's. I lay down a bouquet of freesias, her favourite flower, and touched the stone. It was cold. It always was, no matter how much the sun flooded it.

It's only a short walk to Dawnie's from there, and I strolled through the lush grass, my feet sinking into the mud as I went. Dawn Summers… pretty pink roses adorned the worn grass, and I smiled a little, knowing Xander must have been there. I sat down for a while, talking to her, my little sister. Telling her about my big job in New York City, imitating the accent for her. I could almost hear her giggle…that fresh innocent laugh, as I chatted about nothing and everything. Lying back, I looked up at the sun and pretended she was with me, and that I was stroking her silky brown hair. I always pretend when I go there. It makes it easier.

And then I did what I always do. I walked back to my Mommy. I lay down and felt the hot sting of tears in my throat. I pushed my fingers into the earth surrounding her and wept out all the dull pain that still festered in my belly. The pain of a girl that needs her mother. Everytime I go I think that will be the last time I'll cry. But it never is.

And then I did the last thing I always do. I walk away. Well maybe that isn't the last thing… because I look back. I always look back.

~~~

The restroom is hot and the walls sweat. It smells in here and I take a look at myself in the mirror. My eyes are hollow and so are my cheeks. I think I look like I have a disease. I pee and wash my hands, all normal things that feel normal and are normal so why do I feel strange for a moment?

I'm thrown into the mirror. The glass cracks and my lip splits, spurting blood that drips down to the counter. I stare at it in amazement and realize my head is aching. Opening the door to the bathroom, I am jostled into the flight attendant.

That's when I guess I figure out something is wrong. People are screaming. My stomach lurches as I look down the aisle and see that it is at an angle that it is not straight. It is going down, like a long slide. What did I say about landing safely? Now I wonder. Now I know. No one is starting their vacation tonight.

“Sit down,” the stewardess yells to me, over the rumble of the engines. The plane is not happy, and it's going to let the deep sea swallow us. Have us for breakfast. I feel vomit swell in my throat and fall down into the nearest available seat. My hands are trembling so much I think they are going to fall off and there is a roar in my ears that is louder than the loudest sound.

“Buffy?”

I look and I see him and it doesn't feel real. His voice is scared and his eyes wide. He is still Angel though. Of all the times. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. The plane banks sharply and I can almost feel the pilot struggling for control. We're going up now, and my insides are still going down.

Tears squeeze past my eyelids as I look at my former lover, who I haven't seen since the End of Days fight. “Angel…” I sob and he reaches out and grabs my hand. His fingers are warm, reassuring. Mine are icy. The child in the arms of the woman next to me cries. Her eyes are huge and red with a baby knowledge that something isn't right.

The screaming…if only it would stop…the plane is going up and down, up and down…and then down…down… I can tell the pilot knows we're going to be hitting water soon and wants to make the descent easier. I don't know what's wrong, but I want it over. Angel is trying to crush my fingers with his hand and I'm looking down, swallowing back my vomit, dizzily thinking of all the things I still want to do.

I want to spend a night in Central Park. Find out if you really can live through it.

I want to get married. Wear a wedding dress and eat stupid frosted cake.

I want to have a baby. Get fat and eat because of cravings and then take lots of drugs and yell at my husband for getting me this way.

I want to dye my hair jet black and pretend to be cooler than I am.

I want to go to Paris and walk down by the River Seine.

I want to read books like “Ulysses” and “A Brief History of Time” and understand them. I want the words to touch me.

I want to cry at old movies on rainy Saturdays and eat popcorn and cream cheese bagels and be lazy in pyjamas.

I want to kiss Angel again…

A terrific pain rips through my body, a jolt that hits me and makes my whole being ache like it's been crushed. My ribs cave and I feel like they're broken. We hit the water. I'm still alive. But I can't see anything. Everything is dark and wet…noooo…wet…water laps at me and I realize we're sinking.

“Oh God…”

He isn't listening… he isn't here. We're alone in the deep dark ocean and everyone is screaming at once. Angel grabs me, yanking me up. I assume it's him. I'm blinded in this dark blackness…endless night. We push and pull and the water covers my knees. I can see fire. Fire…fuel…

“Buffy! Come on!” he cries to me and he's dragging me down the soggy aisle as the ocean eats hungrily at my knees. There are so many bodies. A jagged piece of the plane cuts and rips into my arm as Angel tugs me out a gash in the side of it.

We're in the sea and a brilliant fire spits at us from one side of the drowning plane. I can see Angel's face finally. We're treading water and there's nothing below us but death. I know it, and I don't know what we're doing. No one is going to find us in time. No more time… woozily I drift onto my back and blink up at the stars. They are red… and that's when I feel the blood flowing into my eyes. I must have cut my head.

“Stay awake…Buffy…” Angel cries in my ear and slaps me across the face harshly. His voice is panicked. I smile at him with aching teeth and think about biting him or slashing him across the face with my nails.

“Hold onto me,” he orders and I cough as salty water fills my nose as I loop my thin arms around his neck. My sweater pulls at my skin, like a deadweight. I don't have shoes on. They must have gotten lost.

I can't see the plane anymore. I think Angel is swimming.

Briefly, I look back. Fire illuminates the sky and turns it red, like blood.

My eyes are burning. Salt. Sand. Where am I?

In Hell.

Opening my eyes cautiously, I am immediately blinded by harsh sunlight and blink, choking back bile that floods my throat. I remember it all…the plane, the hungry water, the moments before dying…and Angel. Angel holding me. Angel swimming…

Turning, I feel my bones creak and scrape against my skin. Angel lies beside me, asleep. Or dead. I can't tell. Tears spurt clumsily past my eyelids as I touch him. He's hot and sandy, his flesh red. But he's breathing. Thank you, whoever watches over us.

Standing up, I wobble slightly and swallow, my throat working to produce salvia. I'm ravenously thirsty. And all around me is ocean. Isn't that funny… water, water everywhere, and not a drop to drink… We're on an island, that I can tell, and it almost makes me laugh as I pad down the beach. Stranded on a tropical island with my ex-lover. What a joke. What a cliché.

Palm trees brush the beach, swollen with coconuts, their fronds green and brilliant against the pink sand. Foliage eats away at the landscape, crawling up to the sea and being covered by the waves. I can see rocky shoals in the distance. Looking up, I stare at the endless blue blue blue. Running my hands through my salty hair, I watch the way the fiery sun moves, it's rays like lava red tentacles dripping and swirling into the robin's egg blue of the sky.

It's not beautiful. It's grotesque in its perfection. I think inanely that I should be in a meeting right now. Doing what Public Relations executives do… bull shitting and smiling and generally oozing slime. Making the customer feeling good about investing with the company. I'm so good at it. So good at lying and pasting on expressions of sincerity. Maybe too good.

My feet sting as I walk down the beach again, trying to actually think rationally. There is a way out of here… I mean, there has to be. Of course there will be rescue planes and boats coming out when they hear of the air crash. We can't have been the only ones that survived. “Angel…” I say softly as I near him, and see that his eyes are open. Blank, staring.

“Hi.”

“What are we going to do?”

He shrugs and sits up, rubbing his leg where there is a long angry red welt. “Don't ask me, Buffy…I'm… I don't even know what to think right now.”

“How long did you swim…to get us here?” I inquire and watch the pattern my toes trace in the sand.

“All night…” he informs me shortly and stands, stretching his back. It looks like it hurts him and I know an urge to soothe his muscles with my fingers. I think I might make it worse so I stand still and gaze out at the sea.

“You don't think… that we were the only ones to survive?”

His head snaps around to glance at me and he looks so beautiful and so weary and worn in that moment that I feel a tug in my belly. The part I didn't know still responded to him. “No…no, we can't have been.”

I nod because I want to believe him. Something occurs to me. “How were you on the plane?”

“I work for a travel magazine. I was going to check out a few hotels…” he scratches the back of his neck and turns to me. “You?”

“Going to meet with some investors for a company I represent. They were getting wary…I was going to reassure them.” I laugh harshly. “Guess that's not in the cards.”

He doesn't answer me.

My eyes flood with tears suddenly and spinning on my heel, I take a few steps away. Why were we lovers? I can't remember. I remember his face at the End of Days fight afterwards though. The way it changed when he was granted his humanity. It became… alive. It throbbed with the basic element of life. He looked beautiful.

I remember the way he looked as we stared at each other. I was numb. My sister was dead. My sister had been destroyed by Glory in her insane attempt to gain access to her world. My sister the key. Energy poured into warm, baby-powder smelling skin. I made sure Glory suffered when I killed her. Made sure she felt it.

I remember the way he looked though. His eyes… they drowned in mine and as he walked towards me, I recall thinking, “I hate you. I really hate you.”

When he kissed me, his lips weren't cool, they were hot and pulsing and for a moment, I went into his arms with all my breath and fire, all my mouth and tongue and skin. It was Angel, and despite all that had happened, all I ever wanted was to be safe and close to him. So close that I was practically inside him. I can remember the way I grappled with his shirt and shoulders, pushing myself against him so hard I thought I might break. Neither of us did, but then, we were never breakable.

“Shh…Buffy,” he had soothed me and it was then I realized that I was crying. He stood with me on the mouth of Hell, his heart pounding and my sister dead, dead, dead…and I pushed him away. My fingers flailed and I panicked. I pushed him. He toppled to the floor and stared up at me.

“I can't be with you…” I whispered, my voice caught in the silence of the High School. “After everything… I can't do this again.”

“It won't be the same,” he countered and I could see the way his eyes begged me.

“It'll always be the same with you,” I told him and took a step backwards, my elbow knocking into a piece of jagged wood. He was always making me do things like that. Be clumsy, stupid Buffy. He was always making me want things I could never have. That Angel. Stupid, stupid me for loving him with my eyes closed and my heart open. It was never going to be different. Too much had happened. I knew that right then. I remember it so clearly. The clarity.

But I was weak even then… because I--

“Buffy,” his voice behind me brings me back to reality. Through the blur of tears, I look at him.

“We have to… find food. Do something. It could be a couple of days before they find us.”

“Oh…” I nod. “Island stuff. Why do I feel like I'm in an episode of Survivor?”

“What?”

He looks genuinely confused and I wave my hand, wiping my dirty fingers across my eyes and creating streaks of sand down my wet cheeks. “Never mind… should we…take a walk around the island first? See if there's any life…or whatever?”

“I already did,” he tells me quietly. “After I slept for a while, I woke up and went for a trek around. There's nothing. No animals or people or any sign that people have lived here…” he pauses and clears his throat. “I'm not even sure it'll be on the map.”

I take this in and look down at my hands. My fingers are far away…so small and tiny. They're incapable. I don't have my Slayer strength anymore. We're like ants waiting to be crushed out here, swallowed up by the force of nature. “We should find fruit…” I say suddenly. “Isn't that what people do?”

He smiles at me. A half smile, that ghost of a grin he always graced me with. “People do that,” he agrees and reaches out for my hand.

I stare at it. His fingers are trembling. So are mine. Breathing carefully, I lace my thumbs and knuckles and joints through his and press our palms together. His is warm, a little rough, a little smooth. Strong. Angel. I hate him, I really do. But I think I hate myself even more.

“So what exactly do you do now?” he asks me as we thread our way through the thick forest. A heavy white blossom tickles my nose and I sneeze.

“Public Relations… I work for a small company, and we represent others. Mostly financial firms, or investments firms. The one I was supposed to work on right now is for a fashion house, though.”

He lifts me up a little to help me across a fallen log and his fingers bite gently into my tiny waist. “It sounds interesting. A lot of smiling right?”

That makes me laugh. “Yes, you could say that.”

“What made you get into it?”

A long black stain on the conversation. The past. “After…” I swallow. “After… what happened to Dawn…I just wanted to get away. So I went to New York and I became a waitress. I went to a couple of classes. Basically worked my way up from intern to exec.”

“Impressive,” he murmurs and begins to gather some berries where they grow lushly on a flowering bush. I move to help him, taking off my sweater and loading the plump fruit into the small sac created from the white material.

“You'll ruin your top,” he says low and I feel my breath catch in my throat as I see he isn't looking at my hands busily gathering berries. His eyes are fixed to where my tank top reveals tanned, smooth skin. His thumb touches a small tear in the neckline.

“We should get back to the beach,” I mutter thickly and rush away from him. It's not fair. For anything to still be there between us. But then, why shouldn't there be? After that last time we saw each other…all the things we did… hot, sticky… his arms, my mouth… Oh God, I promised myself I would forget it. I haven't.

Sometimes I wonder if he remembers as well. Or if he blocks it out. I come to the clearing and my footfalls are clumsy as I tread onto the beach and sink into the sand. I know if I turn I will see Angel coming.

But I don't. I want him to stay behind me. Small, in the distance, so that I can barely make out his face.

It's so hot out here. Heat moves and expands and drives people crazy. It's making me feel like I want to climb out of my skin. Run and find another body. Sweat and dirt creeps over my face and neck and my eyes burn with sand. We're building some sort of shelter out of wood, rocks and palm fronds. My back aches and my ears buzz.

Angel is shirt-less and I watch his muscles ripple as he hefts huge logs onto his shoulders. Even without his vampiric strength he can still work. Damnit. I hate him.

I've noticed that seems to be a mantra for me lately. I hate him. I really do. I hate Angel. Why? I don't know. Because he left me? Because he bit me and left me high and dry and wanting needing something…for years and years? Because he never seemed to suffer much in LA? Because he fucked Darla and not me? It's not like I still feel jealous over that.

Maybe it's because I still remember University. I still recall the nights I would wake up with Riley beside me and for a moment…he was a stranger in my bed. My sleepy mind was terrified…who is this man?

Of course it was only a brief second. But it was enough to make the anger building towards Angel well in my throat and choke me. It was enough to make me push Riley farther and farther away. I knew I was doing it, to. I bull-shitted to everyone…why did Riley leave me? Why? Yeah, sure, Buffy. I knew why. Because I didn't love him. Because he wasn't supposed to be the one making love to me, coming inside me.

Some nights I would lie awake and stare at the ceiling. Just stare with empty eyes and restless hands. They'd flutter and shake, and I would press them down on the bed, trying to still the movements. Those were the nights I would go out and hunt, go out and kill. Go out and try to exorcise Angel from me. He was still inside me, breathing down my neck and mocking me with insane desire. So I'd stake vampires, press the wood into their hearts and feel power. Ha, ha guys…you can't exist anymore. Not with me around. Go back to fucking Hell and stay there.

Then there were those nights…they were few and far between. But they'd happen. Riley would have sex with me and do all the things that made me come. He'd do it fine and all would be well. But then later…I'd have pulled away from him in sleep. The clean white sheets under me, the cotton smell in my nose.

I'd dream of Angel.

It didn't happen often, cause I learned how to control it. But there were those nights… where I would dream of him. Sticky dreams that had been panting and moaning under him. That had me screaming his name and wrapping my arms and legs around him so tight that he should have broken. Dreams where I'd kiss him with my gasping mouth and he would drown his tongue against my lips.

Dreams where he fucked me. Dreams where I fucked him.

He wasn't loving me in those dreams and I wasn't loving him. But he was inside me and he was filling me up and I felt like I was breaking into millions of pieces.

Every time I woke up afterwards I would cry. Because I could still taste him and smell him and I was wet. And everything was wrong. Riley didn't look like a stranger when I woke up on those nights. But he did look like someone that wasn't Angel.

Shaking slightly and bending down, I pick up another bunch of leaves and brilliant green fronds, piling them into my thin arms and adding a few flowers for good measure. “Buffy?”

“Yeah?”

“It's done. You want to come see?”

Oh, sure. Sure I want to. I walk over to the edge of the forest where he has built it and gaze in astonishment. I should have know he would be perfect at everything. Damn him. I hate him so much. He has constructed a large shelter made out of logs and rocks with an over hang. Coming closer, he takes the palm fronds gently out of my hands, along with the leaves and begins to intertwine them among the logs. “They'll keep us dry,” he explains to me as if he gets trapped on a tropical island every day and this is old hat.

“Will they?” I answer snarkily and stretch my sore muscles, hearing my bones creak a little. If only I wasn't so thin. Why didn't I eat more when I had the chance?

I hear him let out all his breath in an annoyed rush and then he snaps, “You know…I really don't think of the two people here, you're the one who should be throwing stones.”

“I didn't know I was,” I reply and whirl away to get some more leaves. I don't hear him come up behind me until he grabs my arm and spins me around. My face knocks into his chest. His bare chest. God… I'd forgotten how small I am in comparison to him. I'd forgotten the way he makes me dizzy and alive all at once. I'd forgotten the way he smells when he's sweaty. Like sugar and salt and roses. Like my past and all the nights we would train and I'd want him so badly that I'd bite my lip to keep from screaming. He smells like what I cannot have.

“Angel…please…” I mutter and pull away. “Don't do this. Can't we just not talk and then go home and forget this every happened?”

“We don't know how soon we're getting out of here,” he tells me with brutal honesty and then reaches out to touch my cheek with his palm. “I don't want to fight with you, Buffy. That's the last thing I want.”

Instinctively, I curl a little into his hand and look up at him with weary eyes. “You must hate me… you hate me, don't you?”

“Was that what you wanted when you left?” he asks shortly and takes his fingers away as if he's been burned.

“I don't know,” I answer helplessly. “I just wanted…to show you what it felt like.”

“Thanks,” he responds tersely and rakes his hand through his tousled hair. It is messy, sticking up every which way. “Look…I stopped being angry a while ago. I guess I just never understood…how you could have left. After that night. I thought…I remember thinking we were finally going to be ok. But then I woke up, and you were gone. And the next time I see you, we're on a crashing plane. This is a little strange.”

“Did you…look for me?” I can't resist inquiring as I stare blankly out at the ocean. It is restless, curling on the shore in all its creamy brilliance.

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“I sometimes I think I'll always be looking for you, Buffy,” he informs me huskily and turns away. “We should start a fire. And try and find some dinner. Are you hungry?”

I think about that. “I guess. Honestly, I couldn't really tell you. My stomach stopped growling a while ago.”

His eyes are on my flat belly now and I breathe in sharply as he touches it with his thumb. “You need to eat more. I can see your ribs.” One long sleek finger traces the line of my concave midriff, up to my ribs and back down to my lower belly.

“I… I know…I guess I don't have much time for food.”

“You never really did,” he replies with a faint smile and leaves me standing on the edge of the forest, my world falling down around my knees again.

~~~

I watch the sky begin to blacken with tired eyes. A day here. We've been here a day and there hasn't been any planes or boats or anything remotely resembling a rescue yet. For the thousandth time I wonder if anyone else got away from the drowning plane other than us.

“Do you want some fish?”

Angel gestures to a stone where newly cooked fish lie. He went out earlier with a long piece of wood he sharpened with a rock and speared a couple of fish. Beside them lie the berries we collected. It all makes my stomach turn for a second. I don't like fish but I know I have to eat.

“Thanks,” I say softly and pick up a piece, biting into it. We eat in silence for long moments, beside the crackling fire, the flames jumping and casting strange shadows across our faces.

“Where did you go?” he asks suddenly. “After you left that morning.”

“To the cemetery,” I answer truthfully, swallowing, my throat heavy. “I went to see Mom and Dawnie.”

“I go sometimes to see them,” he informs me quietly and stares out at the black ocean.

“I know.” My voice is soft. “I see the white roses.”

“You must think of them every day,” he says without inflection. “I'm sorry I couldn't save Dawn against Glory. I didn't even see it happen.”

“I know,” I respond and gaze into the middle distance, the breeze across my back suddenly cold. “I didn't either… and I do think of them. With Dawn…it's guilt. I should have saved her…should have known that Glory was going to try and use her. But I was so preoccupied with getting everything together, with fighting the final fight. I tried to look after her as well but I couldn't.” My voice cracks and breaks as I continue. “Do you know…she called for me? When Glory killed her trying to get into the dimension… Buffy…save me… that's what she said. And I didn't.” I can feel the scalding tears on my cheeks, running down my neck and dripping onto my shirt.

Angel is beside me, and he reaches out, drawing me onto his lap. I curve my body into his gratefully and his hands are strong on my lower back. He doesn't say anything. There's nothing to say.

~~~

The shelter is jumping with shadows from the fire. Angel has laid huge leaves on the sandy bottom and I lower my body onto them. Angel lies beside me on his stomach, his head resting on his arms. His eyes aren't open, but I know he is aware of every move I make.

I stare up at the moon. It's silvery and blue, so close that I can see the craters. I imagine the way it must feel up there, bouncing lightly, the ground spongy and powdery. I think about looking back on earth and seeing how big it is. Then I think of how small Angel and I are, lost in this massive ocean. Out there somewhere is the wreckage of the plane that twisted our lives and changed our direction.

I wonder why we are always thrown together. And as I roll onto my side and stare at his sleeping face, I wonder why I left him. Why I woke up after I spent the night in his strong arms, after I felt safe for the first time in years… why I awoke and wanted to throw up and pulled on my clothes and left him. Alone in the bed, with my smell still on his skin.

Maybe I because I was tired of being afraid. Or maybe because I wanted to be the one that left, that broke hearts and left and made a new life.

I don't know. But I used to dream of the way his face looked as he slept that morning. Content, smooth, alive.

I'd wake up after those nights with tears on my face and hands that shook.

Sweat drips down my neck as I walk down the beach, in search of fresh water. The sand is so hot it burns my feet and I see red welts rising between my toes. Climbing clumsily over a large hill, I brush aside leaves and palm fronds, stepping down into small valley. My tank top is soaked and I grimace in distaste, licking my upper lip. It's so quiet here, the only sounds are the waves and the silence.

I remember when I went on a trip by myself after I left Angel that night. I took a bus and let my money run out. I didn't talk to anyone for days and found secluded beaches. I ran in the sand and thought I was healed. Everyone's naïve I guess.

I remember the way I would sleep in hostels and cheap hotels. The beds would be so uncomfortable that I had knots in my back for days afterwards. Sometimes I would get movies into the rooms on the TV. Usually comedies. One time they sent me porn by mistake. I didn't complain, just watched it, marvelling at all the different positions they could twist themselves into. I also wondered what the hell was so good about being fucked six ways from Sunday when it looked like the guy didn't care about anything but getting off himself.

Riley was always so preoccupied with if it was good for me. “Was it good Buffy? I want to seduce you, Buffy.” He might as well have just said, “I want to be Angel, Buffy. I want to make love to you like Angel did.” He would kiss me so tenderly and touch me so softly. It was like a whisper over my skin. It made me want to scream from frustration because he never went deeper. I never let him and he never tried.

He just didn't understand I guess. He just never got me. I used to dream of Angel and sometimes even Spike. I shudder to think that. But I did. I dreamed of Spike, of Angel, of Angelus. Of these men, these demons, being inside me and not treating me like something that was going to break. Riley thought I should be breakable. He thought I was a girl and forgot I was a Slayer.

Something catches my eye as I climb over a sugar loaf hill and into a small clearing. Leaves and blossoms brush my face as I walk down into the tiny valley and then see it again. A flash of silver. Praying it's fresh water of some kind, I pad down with my bare feet carefully over the soft grass and sharp rocks. One pierces my foot and suppressing a scream, I let out a “GOD DAMNIT”, sitting down.

Blood spurts into my hand as I hold my big toe and glance at the wound. It's red and weeping. My stomach heaves. I hate myself. I always so things like this. Stupid, Buffy. Looking before she leaps and ending up with a broken arm, or a sword in the shoulder or a stake to the stomach. Limping, I carefully make my way down an incline and see what I've been looking for. A small lake, emptying into a river some miles down. Craning my neck, I glance up and see the source, a water fall. Wow. What a paradise. My foot stings like hell and hobbling along, I manage to get to the beach.

“Angel!” I call. Parts of me hate playing the little woman calling for the big strong man. But the other parts are in pain and don't care. “ANGEL!!”

I slump to the sand and lay my head down. Blood spreads around my foot.

His shadow looms over me as I realize he heard me after all. With nimble fingers, he lifts me up and presses a kiss to my temple. He smells good. Like sweat and sun and salt. Looping my arms around his neck, I murmur inanely, “I stepped on a stupid rock.”

“I'm sure it was very stupid,” he agrees, walking back to our little camp with slow steps.

“Oh, and I found water. A lake and a waterfall and everything. We've got something to drink.”

He breathes a sigh of relief involuntarily. “Great. I guess you got wounded on the journey, though.”

“Well worth it,” I decide and ignore the woozy feeling spreading through me. Angel lays me down inside the shelter, away from the sun. His hands hold my foot and he inspects it, finally wrapping a large palm leaf around it.

“Just lie here for a while, love,” he whispers. “Sleep. It'll heal quickly.”

Obeying him, I close my tired burning eyes and let exhaustion sweep over me.

~~~

I dream of that night.

The last night Angel and I together. I can remember it so clearly sometimes. After I knocked him down and he toppled to the floor, staring up at me, I flayed him verbally. “It'll always be the same with you.” My arms were around my body protectively. I planned to walk away. How could I do anything but that?

He stood up then and reached out to me. His fingers interlaced with mine. “It won't be the same this time,” he told me firmly, tenderly, with that Angel smile and the look in his eyes that always made me weak. That time wasn't any different. And as he leaned down and kissed me, I thought how everything was falling. How my life was out of my control again.

He kissed me though and he tasted so good that I forgot everything else. He lifted me up and took me back to the mansion. His bed was still there, that we used to lie on and talk absentmindedly after patrol. There was no talk this time. His body was heavy as I lay underneath him and he tore off my clothes with fingers that bruised.

God, I remember everything. His mouth was so hot and so were his hands. My arms went around him tightly, crushing his weight to my slim body. I didn't want anything between us. No clothes, no air, no space. Just our skin, pressing against each other. I remember his lips between my thighs. His tongue filled me and I spread my legs as wide as I could. Be inside me, I thought, screamed, writhed. Just be inside me.

His hands reached up and held mine, our fingers locking. My mouth gasped wide as he slid into me and changed everything forever. His whole body shook, and his eyes were almost reverent. “My Buffy…” he groaned and for a second, my mind went blank.

If I wasn't Angel's Buffy, who was I? I'd never been anything but…his Buffy. Even when I was with Riley, it seemed everything came back to Angel. “I want to know what you felt…with Angel.”

His lips closed over mine and my panic subsided. As his pelvic bone grinded against mine, I whimpered and moaned like I'd never done before. He was making love to me, Angel was inside me. And it was all I'd ever wanted. He kissed me when he came and released his breath into my mouth. It tasted sweet, salty, like him and I felt my insides explode.

I dream of the way I felt when I woke up. I was sleeping underneath his arm, it's weight a satisfying pressure against my stomach. It felt warm and the skin under it was slightly sweaty. I remember standing up, shaking. Wanting to throw up. Who am I? Why am I suddenly allowed to be with him again? How can this be…it can't be. I can't be happy with him. No, no, no… Angel is pain. He'll leave and everything will be silent again.

So I left. With my clothes on and my hair brushed. I didn't leave anything behind and I didn't look back. It was as if I'd never been there.

~~~

“Buffy?”

Forcing my eyes open, I look up and see Angel, with the night sky behind him. Framed by the stars.

“Hi,” I murmur sleepily and stretch, sitting up. “Looks like I won't sleep tonight. Did any… planes or anything go by today?”

“No,” he says without any inflection in his voice. “But I left my watch reflecting off the sun again. Maybe…someone will see it.”

I nod and nudge closer to the fire, my foot stinging only slightly. “Is it ok?”

“Should be,” he answers and hands me a leaf full of water. With hungry lips I gulp it down. “Want to go… swimming tonight?”

I consider only for a moment. I'm dirty, sticky and bloody. “Sure,” I reply and he helps me up, holding my hand as we walk. In his other hand is a long branch lighted from the fire. It casts a strange glow as I lead him to where I found the small lake in the clearing.

Angel sits down on a rock by the water and leans back. “I won't look,” he murmurs almost teasingly and inexplicably I blush, turning away as I take off my tank top, bra, khakis and underwear. Sliding into the water, I dive down immediately and it feels so good that I almost moan with pleasure. The lake flows over my skin like liquid satin, caressing every curve and hollow.

“Nice?”

His voice is husky and I wonder if he is looking at me. I wonder if the torch lights up the water and makes it transparent. I wonder if he can see me. My flesh burns as I shudder a little and dive under again. “Great. Why… why don't you come in?”

I hear his intake of breath. Maybe he thinks that was a little too forward. How can I explain that I want him to come and kiss me and make this all a dream? How can I explain that I wish I could go back to the morning when I woke up and everything should have been perfect? How I yearn to erase all time since then and slide back underneath his arm, feel the weight of it against my belly. Maybe everything would be different. Maybe we would be married with 3.5 kids. Maybe we would still be lovers.

I just know I wouldn't feel so empty.

He was the only one who ever filled me. Angel filled me up and made me Buffy. He consumed me and changed my life forever. I could never be content if I wasn't in his arms. “Angel?” I say his name like I always do. Like a question that needs to be answered.

I hear a small splash and go still.

“Angel?”

And then his wet arms are around me, his mouth is crushing mine and we're kissing. I gasp and the water feels like its fire. He always burned me and I never had the sense to get away. I don't have any sense now either. I lean into him and press my naked flesh into his. His teeth knock into my swollen bottom lip that was split from the broken mirror. The skin breaks again and I moan with pain and pleasure, winding my arms around his shoulders.

“Buffy…” he pants against my mouth and rests his forehead against mine. He says my name wonderingly, like he never thought he would get to say it this way again. I feel the tears then. He shakes slightly and lifts me up, burying his face against my shoulder. Stunned as the salt drips down my neck, I rub the back of his trembling neck and murmur words that mean nothing.

The moon glows from the black sky and I feel as if we're on the edge of the world, about to fall off and be swept down into Hell.

And then sometimes I think we're already there.

Angel and I lie prone under the shelter. My hands are shaking. We didn't make love in the cool water, he cried against me and we walked back to our little camp, not saying a word. I think I should be asking him what was wrong, right now, but my mouth is silent. It's a humid night, heavy with moisture and the scent of the blossoms growing thickly on the bushes.

I shift and tremble when our elbows brush. “Why were you crying?” I ask suddenly and bite my lip so hard I break the skin again. It's a momentary sting and I welcome it, even though I can already imagine how swollen it's going to look in the morning.

He breathes in and out, and out of the corner of my eye I watch his chest. It's dry now, although some drops of water still cling to his skin. “I don't know,” he finally responds.

“Liar,” I reply calmly and turn over on my stomach, pillowing my head on my tanned arms.

He lets that half smile appear on his face and scratches his eyebrow. “I don't think… I don't think I can take you leaving again.”

“I'm not going anywhere,” I say glibly. “We're on an island, and you know I'm not that strong a swimmer and I don't even have a boat so--”

Suddenly I feel his hand on the bare skin of my lower back, and it stops my rush of hurried speech. His fingers trace the hollow there, and they are warm, rough against my cool flesh. “You've had me from the very first moment. And I can't take you leaving… if we do this…it has to be forever.”

I'm having trouble breathing. Turning to look at him, his eyes drown me. “Can you really promise me that?” I ask him, and my voice wavers. “Can you promise me forever?”

“Yes,” he answers without hesitation and his lips touch mine, so brief, so salty and cool. “I promise Buffy.” His hand threads through the heavy weight of my hair and brushes against the back of my neck. Shivering, I lean in closer, always closer, my mouth hungry for his taste.

With strong hands, he lifts me up and brings me down gently on his chest. I feel so tiny, with all of him under me, and look into his dark Angel eyes, those eyes that I love and that love me. The fire crackles and the flames jump, casting orange and red shadows over us and our surroundings.

Only the stars can see us now. I lean down and kiss him, because I want to. Because for once, out here in the middle of nowhere, on the edge of somewhere- I don't feel afraid of loving Angel. His lips melt into mine and we're breathless, desperate, kissing kissing kissing and falling all over again.

His fingers slide off my tank top and pants, as I remove his khakis carefully, kissing his hard belly with my tongue and hearing the slight gasp wrenched from him. His arms pull me up and his mouth closes over my nipples. Shutting my eyes, I give myself over and all I feel is his hot, wet mouth on my breasts, kissing my heart. My head is thrown back, and my golden hair flows over my back like fire.

He makes a sound of desire and rolls me over, his hands opening my legs. His fingers are hot and inside me and I am burning up. My hands slide over his skin and his chest and back and arms, down to his erection, which throbs in my palms. Imagining its heaviness inside me is enough to make me shudder and moan, kissing his shoulders fervently.

“Angel…” I pant, and draw him to kiss him. “I want you inside me… please.”

He groans and then the heat of him is there, sliding deep, so deep and hard. His hands cup my face and he looks into my eyes as he moves against me, and my legs go around his back. No space between us…nothing can be between us. My face hurts because it's clenched so tight and I can't relax it. His thumbs brush my swollen lower lip and he catches it between his teeth, grinding the bones of his pelvis against mine as he slams deeper.

“Ahhh… ahhhh….” I scream, arching my back as I feel the hot drag of his tongue up my neck and my insides convulse around him. Angel shudders and cries low as he thrusts so deep I feel as if I can't tell where either of us ends or begins and he comes inside me. Filling me. He fills me. He always did.

~~~

I dream. I dream of the night I found out that he had slept with Darla. It was quite a few weeks after my mother's funeral and I was patrolling. Running into Spike was normal. I don't think he ever quite gave up his fixation with me. I tolerated it, as I tolerated him. Somewhere, deep down inside, I was attracted to him.

Maybe because he was part of Angel. He had Angel's blood. Maybe because he was bad and had an accent and bleached hair. He was Spike. I would have to have been blind not to see the sex we could have had.

It wouldn't have been like making love to Angel. No soft words, no love.

It wouldn't have been like it was with Riley. All act and no feeling. All him trying to be something he wasn't.

It would have been wild, take take take, his lips, my skin, everything blurry. With Spike, sex would be sweat, blood and rock n roll.

Sometimes I craved that escape. But I never gave in. Not me.

I dream of the way he walked up to me with a cigarette dangling from his lips, his black leather jacket gleaming in the light of the moon. I scowled at him, which I always did. He favoured me with that cocky smile and leaned back against one of the gravestones. “Went up to LA recently blondie.”

LA. Angel. Damnit, Spike irritated me. “And I should be interested in this why?” I snapped coolly.

“Cause I saw Soul boy,” he told me, and grinned, showing his teeth. “Found out some mighty juicy tidbits about the poufter. Slept with his sire. Didn't know he had the balls to risk his bloody soul.”

My world sort of stopped. My ears roared sickly and my stomach felt hot and syrupy, like I swallowed cough medicine. Spike was staring at me as if he expected me to say something flippant. I just looked at him with eyes gone dead. “Buffy?” he questioned hesitantly.

I almost laughed then. Even in my dream I feel the pain. Then I did laugh. I laughed and laughed, until my belly hurt and felt as if it was bleeding. What a fucking joke. I fell down into the grass and just sat there, my booted feet curled up underneath me.

“Buffy?” Spike's voice was soft. He loved me. Don't do that, I wanted to tell him. Cause I can't love anyone. My heart left after High School and it's never come back.

I knocked away the hand he tried to lay on my shoulder. “Don't touch me,” I warned quietly and thought for a moment. Angel with Darla. I knew she was back. I heard from Xander and Willow who had talked to Cordy. I knew she was back, yeah so... so what if Angel slept with her? So what if he slept with the bitch who tried to kill my mother?

My next thought was irrational. How dare he do this to me? Me? Who is that? Buffy Summers…

… “in two hundred and forty three years, I've loved exactly one person”…

Spike sat down next to me. He leaned against the grave of a three- year- old baby girl and didn't look at me. Maybe I was a scary sight. Every so often I sort of breathed out, because I kept forgetting to. Before the sun rose, I let him help me home. My legs were shaking and I was planning all sorts of things like going to LA and staking Angel, like going to LA and tearing out Darla's hair…like killing myself.

I didn't do any of those things. I dream of the way I walked up the stairs, went into my mother's room and curled up in her bed. One of her books was open on the nightstand. I read parts of it and then smelled her perfume. I closed my eyes and slept in her bed, pretending she was holding me and rocking me to sleep.

~~~

When I wake up, Angel is watching me sleep. I smile at him involuntarily and he grins back, touching my lower lip. “I bit you,” he murmurs teasingly. “Sorry.”

“That lip was doomed from the beginning,” I inform him lightly. “It s'okay.”

He sits up and draws me with him, telling me, “I got some berries, water and fish. Feel like a midnight snack?”

“Any chance you found some ice cream on your travels?” I joke and bite into a fistful of blue berries, feel the juice drip down my neck and wonder at what a mess I must look like. Angel looks at me and arches a brow.

“Sorry, they were all out.”

“Mmm…” I laugh and get a little closer to him by the fire. He reaches out and sets me on his lap. That's when I realize he has pants on. “Angel…” I mutter. “How come I have to be naked while you get to be fully clothed? And who told you to put clothes on anyway?”

“I was out gathering food,” he defends himself, his teeth showing as he half smiles at me. I grab my underwear and slide them on, along with my tank top, wiggling my nose at him.

He kisses me and he tastes like strawberries. Sighing, I lay my head on his shoulder. “Angel…do you think anyone's going to find us?”

“Yes…” he says firmly and stares up at the stars, pressing a kiss to my temple. “It's only been a little over two days. There'll be search and recover and search and rescue planes going over the area. We'll be found. It's just going to take them a little time.”

“I guess.”

I'm silent for a moment then ponder, “What are we going to do for the rest of the night? I'm not tired.”

He grins and leers at me, his brows arching. I giggle and feel young for the first time in a long time. “Can we… well, can we wait a little while? It's been a few years for me, and I'm a little…sore.”

He looks remorseful and I blush. “I'm sorry,” he says softly, gently and burrowing against his shoulder, I nod, trying to think of something to pass the time. Inspiration strikes.

“Hey, I know what we can do. We can sing campfire songs,” I suggest, smiling brightly. “I went to a camp when I was young and I loved that.”

“Sing?” he looks doubtful and laughing, I tickle his sides until he smiles.

“Come on…there's no one where but me. Let me think…we could sing anything… um…” I pause and sort through the songs I know mentally, discarding ones I know Angel would never get or like. “Hmm…what about Jack and Diane?”

He looks at me and shrugs. “Buffy, you know, singing? Not really my thing.”

“You love it,” I crow, in no mood for his reluctance and get up, swaying by the fire, warbling one of my favourite songs. “A little ditty 'bout Jack and Diane… two American kids growin up in the heartland. Jackie gonna be a football star, Diane's… don't know the word… back seat of Jackie's car. Sucking on chilli dogs in the back of the tasty freeze… Diane's sittin on Jack's lap got her hands between his knees,” I grin at him and he laughs involuntarily as I grab his hands sway in front of him. I know the fire and the night sky outline every curve of my body and I see his eyes blacken with wanting me. Feeling power, I dance to the beat in my head, continuing to sing: “Jackie say hey Diane… lets run off behind those shady trees… don't know this part… and yeah…” I giggle, “life goes on long after the thrill of living is gone…”

He comes up behind me and picks me up, swinging me into his arms. I shriek and laugh, as he twirls me in the air. The wind rushes by my ears and his hands are hot around my waist. We run up and down the beach, trying to sing. Angel shows me what a horrible voice he has, and I love it. I feel young and sixteen again. Before Angelus, before Faith, before everything. Before we were doomed.

As we run, I look behind me and see the fire crackling, a tiny pinprick of light in the distance, and our shelter, solidly standing, waiting for us to return. It looks reassuring. It doesn't look unfamiliar. Taking Angel's hand, I stop him and try and breathe. He smiles down at me and kisses my lips.

“Angel…” I pant and look into his eyes. “Is this going to work when we get home?”

He looks at me quizzically. “Why wouldn't it?”

“Because…we're on an island. Without the rest of the world. What if when we rejoin society…this all falls apart?”

He takes my face between his hands and calms me with his fingers. “Buffy, the problem was never the rest of the world. It was us. We've managed to not kill each other yet. I think we're ok… and I think we're going to be ok.”

“You promise?” I inquire, and stand up on my tiptoes, winding my arms around his neck.

“Do you need me to?”

“Yes.”

“All right. I promise, Buffy Summers. I promise that we're going to be ok.”

I don't smile, but I do kiss him. Far behind us, the fire waits and beside us, the waves crash on the shore.

As we lie on the beach, Angel's hand rubs my belly lazily. The waves lap calmly at our feet, tickling my toes and, making crashing sounds up and down the shoreline. Every moment or so I stare at the way the orange fire glows against the black bed of sky.

We made love again, and it was sticky and sweet and slow. He went so slow that by the end I was screaming… writhing. His lips closed over my breasts and his fingers filled me so full. I tasted him, kissing his stomach and his lips, his back and neck and shoulders… and everything else. His heavy weight crushed me into the sand and I welcomed the bruises I knew would be on my body the next day. And when he was inside me I shattered around him, my legs and arms like steel bands. Hold me… I thought as he flooded my insides with heat. I bit his shoulder, my teeth sinking clean into his flesh and I gazed up at the moon through blurry eyes. It's cycloptic eye blinked at me and it filled the sky.

He lies on his stomach now, maybe so he can watch me. I don't know. My thighs tingle from being rubbed back and forth against the sand. He has a smile on his face. Little and content. “You look funny,” I inform him and my thumb brushes his cheek.

“Funny?” he catches my finger with his mouth and presses a kiss to it. Every kiss makes my flesh more addicted. I can feel it happening and it scares me so much that I draw my knees up to my chest, lying on my side. Cold seawater sloshes over my knees.

“Happy or something,” I accuse and then smile, raising my eyebrows. “That's a relatively new concept for you, I hear.” He laughs and creeps closer, his lips touching mine softly just for a moment.

He doesn't really answer me, just lies back again, his face pillowed by his arm. My eyes drift to the stars once more, watching the way they swallow the sky. I feel as if I'm entrapped in a bowl of night and there's no escape.

It used to feel that way after my Mom died. I would be doing all the things that were necessary, running Dawn to school, signing her report cards, checking to make sure the orange juice was fresh…

I used to want to escape. Desperately. I'd lie in bed at night and rock myself into a fitful sleep. Mommy… my mind would scream, whisper, scream. Mommy… come back and take over cause I'm just a kid. I can't do this without you. She didn't come back but I'd dream of her and all would be light and sunny. Maybe The Powers that Be gave me those dreams. I'll never know.

Angel rolls over and draws me on top of him. “What would happen if no one ever found us out here?”

Cocking my head, I let my hair spill over his chest. “And we lived here forever? I think you'd grow a long beard and I'd go absolutely… crazy…” Murmuring the words teasingly, I kiss his mouth.

“Crazy?” he pouts and his hands press into the hollow of my lower back. “I think I would drive you crazy in other ways.”

“Perhaps.” My tone is doubtful, but breathy, so he can tell I'm lying through my white teeth. He laughs and his tongue drags down my neck, tasting the saltiness of my collarbone.

“Do you love me?” he asks quietly and I remember a time when he inquired that question long ago. In the dimness of my kitchen where we were both afraid of the answer.

“You know I do,” I reply so softly, whispering the words as I kiss his shoulder and then his cheeks and forehead and lips. “And maybe if we stayed here forever… it wouldn't matter.”

That's when I hear the helicopter.

Angel's head jerks and he looks up, craning his neck to the night, trying to see in the darkness. Self-conscious suddenly, I pull on my underwear and tank top, kneeling on the wet sand, my face turned up. The sound gets closer and closer to us. A rescue? Angel gazes at me for a quick moment, before sticking a near by branch into the fire and waving it madly.

It appears from out of the nowhere that we've been surrounded with for two days. A hulking 'copter, circling around us warily. “Hey!” I yell inanely, grinning and giggling. Something man-made. Something grey and ugly. Thank God.

I was beginning to think forever might not be that bad. And forever is a long time. Even for Angel and I. Sometimes I forget that.

~~~

As we fly away, I look back. It seems I always do that. Whenever I visit the graves, I look back. Now, here I am, watching as the shelter gets smaller and smaller. I can't really see it except for the light of the moon. It's small now, tiny. A speck of dust in the still night.

Angel holds my hand and he looks faintly scared. So am I. We've been together for only two days and everything has changed. Sometimes I think I can't handle the hold he has on my life. He can disrupt things in a minute if I let him. If I sink into his presence and soak up his kisses. I'm just a sponge, for Angel. He becomes me. I can't get away from him and I don't want to.

We're so far up here. In this helicopter that feels flimsy to my touch. Leaning against his shoulder, I close my eyes and hope that we won't crash again. Or maybe I hope we will. Then we can find another island full of shuuush and forgetfulness and just be lovers who sit under the sky and feel like there's no end to their world. I need that place again and I'm frightened to be leaving it. Terrified. What if what we have is too tenuous to survive? I'm not sure if I can lose him again and come out of it… whole.

Every time we make love, I leave pieces of myself with him. And sometimes I think I'm never going to be able to put it all back together. Be the Buffy I was at sixteen, before Angel, before everything.

~~~

We fly for a couple of hours and finally see dawn breaking. Pink and gold split the sky. “How much longer?” Angel asks the pilot, shouting above the noise of the wind.

“An hour, tops!” he yells back.

Angel settles back in his seat once more and his thumb caresses my palm. I feel him shaking and wonder if he's as afraid of flying now as I am.

Finally, we see land and let out a sigh of relief. The helicopter sets down gently in the heliport, and hastening to get off, I bump into Angel and knock my elbow into his cheek. It makes us both laugh and he kisses me hard on the mouth, swinging me into his arms as we jump off and our feet land on solid concrete.

“It's good to know in the case of a crisis, you'd push me out of the way to save yourself,” he teases me, lifting me up and walking with me in the circle of his arms. My feet touch only air, but I don't wriggle to get away. I'm where I want to be.

“I'd wait to see if you were ok,” I protest and press a kiss to his chin. He arches a brow.

“Are you kidding? I'd probably need to see a doctor after you'd been done getting to safety yourself,” he mocks and then whines, “I think my cheek bone is broken.”

“Liar,” I say softly and let my lips brush against it momentarily. “Good as new.”

“Better than new,” he growls and his lips melt into mine. I feel dizzy and the world spins as we kiss and kiss, not breathing, just tasting. I sometimes used to think that I wished the air tasted like him. I might have made more of an effort to breathe.

The air out here is humid, heavy and it hangs over my skin like a hot, wet, second flesh. Palm trees sway in the early morning light. We enter the offices in the airport and are immediately escorted through all the legalities. All the paperwork.

“How many people survived?” Angel inquires, and the man in charge answers.

“Only thirty died, and there were one hundred on the plane.”

Only thirty. How nice to be lumped into a sum like that. Your life… well it doesn't mean much, cause there were only twenty-nine besides you killed. We're happy with these results. I stare at him for a moment and go to speak my mind when I feel Angel's hand on the bare skin of my knee. His fingers spread over the shiny flesh. It's burned from the days in the hot sun, but his hand feels wonderfully cool.

“How did you know how to find us?” I ask instead.

“Well, we were able to recover all the bodies, except those of the pilots. And you two were the only ones missing. We began an extensive search and rescue. One of our helicopters spotted your fire, and thank God, because you were on quite a remote island. It's not even on the chart.”

“Well thank you very much for finding us,” Angel replies politely and they all smile. I touch the pilot of the chopper's hand, and kiss his cheek.

“Thanks so much.”

“My job,” he answers with a slight American twang. “But your welcome Ma'am.”

“And Mr. Angel,” the man behind the desk, says, “Your wife is here.”

I stare at him blankly, not understanding, cause they must be talking about someone else. Not my Angel. Cause he's mine and he doesn't have a wife. Turning green eyes his way, I see the paleness of his suddenly trembling skin and shake my head. “No.” That's all I say, and my voice is strangely scratchy.

“Buffy…” he reaches out a hand and I flinch as if he has flames for fingertips, lurching away from him, my hungry bones creaking.

“You have a wife…”

It makes me laugh, saying it out loud. A wife. Angel has a wife. Angel's a husband. My oh my, hasn't he been busy? “A wife…” repeating it makes me giggle, and my stomach heaves as I laugh and laugh, staring at the man who is my lover and a stranger all at once. “When did you get married Angel?”

“A year ago…” his tone is agonized and his eyes fix on me, completely ignoring the stares of the men around us. “But listen, Buffy…”

Cutting him off, I whisper, “Don't say anything… cause I couldn't be less interested. Your… wife is waiting for you,” the words feel like ash in my mouth and I feel them crumble and blow away in the wind. Just like me and my newfound happiness and my newfound fucking hope. That just maybe… things were going to go right. Sure, what a joke. What a lousy fucking joke.

As I turn I hear the step he takes toward me and say, my voice ice, “Touch me and I'll kill you.”

There. I sound like the Buffy of old. Or should I say young? My steps get quicker as I run from the offices, across carpeted floors and onto tile and linoleum, but it's all the same because it's taking me farther and farther away from the man I thought I finally had. The man who used to be burned by the sun. Who used to drink blood. Who used to love me and be faithful to me.

When I reach the outside, I turn my face up the sun, which is rising, so slowly, like a ball of fire.

My eyes blur with tears and I sink down onto pavement, it's rough edges scratching my already fragile knees.

It's daytime and I think my skin is enjoying the rain. It soaks through my clothes, slipping and sliding over my flesh like the past does late at night. My footfalls are purposeful as I walk through the streets of Sunnydale. No one else it out, except for the rare umbrella-covered nobody running home. I am alone and that is how it has always been.

Me, I don't carry an umbrella. I wear jeans and a sweater set, no coat. My hair hangs in streams down my back, dripping with water and creating pools of it around my feet. Every time I take a step, there's a splashing noise.

I came back from Barbados three days ago, after spending a night in the most uncomfortable hotel ever built, and then another on the plane. I decided not to go back to my apartment in New York quite yet. After phoning my bosses and telling them I was alive, I hopped on a flight to the 'Dale. I was coming home. Just for a little while.

It's true though. I guess you can never go home again. These streets and buildings, which used to look so huge, look small. My house, my old house… it is sitting empty, for sale. It never sold, and I'm not sure why. Real Estate in California is booming, was booming, has always been booming. But my house… it's not inhabited. Maybe it has too many ghosts.

I stand for a while, staring up at my window, and then, making a conscious decision; I start to climb the old oak. It's harder now, because my muscles aren't as whipcord strong as they used to be. After all, my Slayer strength was something I wasn't allowed to keep. But still, I climb, and feel the wind blow through my ears like a song of yesterday. Nights when I took hold of these gnarled roots and branches… they are so long ago, and whisper around me like screams.

Nights when I stepped up over the windowsill, throwing my bag on the carpet, and he would be there. A dark figure, in a duster, like mist and shadows in the sunshine of my room. I can see him now… lifting objects of mine, his fingers caressing them with all the uncertainty that made Angel… Angel. He never seemed comfortable among my belongings, and he always looked out of place.

Maybe I like the out of placeness of him… because my whole world was a contradiction.

Using legs that are more nimble than I thought, I swing over the sill and step foot in my old space for the first time in years. It has been years now… minutes and hours and days and weeks… and I can't ever go back.

Looking around, I notice how barren it looks, how empty and silent. Dust notes drift, and my feet are making wet marks on the floor. I lean against the wall for a quick second, catching my breath, my lungs choked with tears so suddenly.

I can almost hear it now... (Buffy, can I come in? No Dawn… get out.
C'mon… I'm bored. )

(Who's the man?
You are. A very short, annoying man.)

(Dawn, will you clean up in here?
Why do I have to? What about Buffy?
Buffy has to patrol…
Patrol, patrol, patrol. You know, I bet if someone handed me super powers, I could be a Slayer to. And get out of chores.
Yeah, but you don't have super powers, Dawn, I do. So do as Mom says, damnit, and stop whining..)


(Good night, Dawnie. I love you.
G'night Mom.
Good night Dawn. Is that my book? Damnit… you are always stealing my things!
Oh I did not… shut up, Buffy.
Oh girls… can't you ever stop fighting?
It's Buffy Mom. All the blows to the head have gone straight to her brain.)

I walk down the stairs, softly, slowly, careful not to rouse too much of the dust which blankets everything. With tired eyes I see the place where I found Mom, see where I cleaned up my vomit with a paper towel. It was sad, there was always a stain there that would never wash off. The kitchen… where we all used to sit around make peanut butter sandwiches. Xander joking, Willow stuffing her face, my Mom joining in, making us cocoa with those little marshmallows.

Tears are sliding down my face, but I can barely feel them because they don't burn. They are clean, clear… and maybe finally… I am not looking back. I'm trying to go forward, putting all the blood and salt and laughter behind me. Putting the Scoobies… the Slayer days… the dark nights… behind me. I'm not Buffy, the Slayer anymore. What Buffy am I? Someone I don't even recognize anymore…

Walking up the stairs, I take a step into my room and stop dead.

“Buffy.”

“Angel,” it's involuntary. I don't mean to say his name, but when he says mine, in that husky way he does… I react. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “I decided to come back… to Sunnydale. I haven't been back since the… fight. And I was walking by your house, so…”

“Oh. Bring the wife and kids along?” I inquire coolly, ignoring the way my throat closes over in an effort to choke out those words. Wife. Kids. Not me, not our children. Another woman, another child.

“No,” he replies quietly, and runs a finger along the windowsill, blowing the dust off his thumb thoughtfully. “Cordy and Jeremy are still in Barbados. They're flying back to LA tomorrow morning.”

“Cordy?” I whisper the name and refuse to acknowledge how much I was wishing it was some nameless faceless woman. One that I didn't have to know what she looked like. One that I had no idea of. Cordy… Cordelia. I know the way her hair falls around her face… I know the brightness of her smile, the way she can turn a sharp retort into affection. “You… married… Cordy? And you didn't see fit to tell me about it?”

“Honestly… Buffy, I didn't know how to bring it up. It's not what you think anyway.”

“You don't even want to know what I'm thinking,” I snap and toss my head back. Little droplets of water sparkle in the air like flashes of lightening.

“I married Cordy after Gunn died,” he continues, as if I hadn't even spoken. “He died in a street fight and left her behind.”

“Gunn?”

“Gunn worked for me. After the End of Days, our investigation service was disbanded and he and Cordy married. They had a child. Jeremy.”

Light is beginning to dawn, but it's still raining so I just stare at him blankly, my stomach starting to throb. “What happened then?”

He sighs and leans against the wall in that familiar way he always did. “He had enemies. Lots of them, even though he helped people. One night,” he pauses and I see his mouth tightening with pain. “One night, he died. In a fight. And Cordy was widowed. Most importantly, she was unstable.”

“Unstable?” I repeat.

“She didn't handle it very well. They had only been married two years. They had a baby, a sweet little boy. So…”

“So you married her,” I finish for him, and rub my temples. My head hurts and so does my face. It's clenched, as been since I saw him, and I can't let it go. If I do, I might cry and then he'd want to hold me and I'm not ready yet. “You married her and adopted Jeremy?”

“Yeah,” he says and smiles slightly. “He's the greatest kid. Smart… funny. It was never… never love between Cordy and I. Just friends, that's all we ever were. But we agreed that Jer needed a father, and so we married and tried to give him a family. I wanted… I wanted to forget you and she wanted to forget Gunn. Soon though… we realized it wouldn't work. We were just too good friends, there was no attraction. We split up… no nastiness or anything. We've been legally separated for two months and we're getting a divorce.”

It's a little too much. Spinning away slightly, I bring shaking fingers to my eyes and wipe away the tears. “Why did you do it?”

“Do what?” he questions and his voice is so huskily soft that it grates on me. His voice. His Angel voice. It makes me sick with how much I love him and crave a future with nothing but it… his beautiful Angel voice, whispering in my ear.

“Be the saviour. Why do you have to save everyone?”

I know I sound harsh, cold. I look up and he is staring at me with those eyes that speak of my past, present… and my goddamn fucking future. Everything he does, every gesture, is emblazoned, etched on my heart. Like a map that I can never read, never decipher. He always threw me. He always made me be the Buffy I never wanted to be, and the Buffy I could have become. Had he stayed.

He doesn't answer me, just reaches out and brushes the hair away from my forehead. “I'm sorry,” is all he murmurs.

I wonder how hard it would be too fall back into him again. I take the chance. Take a step. Into his arms, that are always open for me. Always waiting for me. They enfold me against his beating heart. “I'm sorry I left you,” I say into his wet T-shirt.

“I'm sorry I left you to,” he answers, and strokes my hair with trembling fingers. His lips kiss me and he tastes so good that I whimper, pressing closer. For once, my lip doesn't split, it stays intact and our kisses don't hurt.

“I love you, Angel,” I tell him and my voice is firm.

“Buffy…” he says my name and it sounds like a lament. “I love you.”

“Can you promise me forever?” I inquire and a slight smile plays on my mouth even as my eyes fill with tears.

“No…” he whispers and his lips brush my forehead and then my smile. “I can promise you eternity.”

“Same thing,” I giggle and jump up, kissing him again, our teeth bumping. It stings and it makes us both laugh.

“I *have* to buy a dictionary,” he informs me decidedly, tenderly. “I need to find all the words… to make you happy, Buffy Summers. Because that's all I've ever wanted.”

Tears flow down my cheeks and he licks them away. His arms go tight around me in my old bedroom, where we shared so much. Now I know… we may have shared the past. But we're the lucky ones.

We also have the future.

end

| Fiction Index | Home Page | Back |