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Disclaimer: The Joss-man owneth. The Genevieve borroweth. No infringement intended.
Author's Note: B/A *will* end up together! I swear :) oh, and um, this fic just sorta went out of control around the 4th paragraph. The ending's kinda funky. Fics tend to do this to me (eg. Heartaches). Evil things <g>
Dedication: To Sam, because she's been the best slavedriver (it's being written, i swear!) and coolest person imagineable. S/S and G/O forever, right? <g> And to Jess, my FABA-ers and Katie, just because.
He moved briskly, his feet seeming to glide over the surface, barely even touching the grass or the foliage tangled in its fronds. He needed to leave, needed to be free from this place and all the pain it entailed. Needed to establish the empty distance between him and here, otherwise she would come and he would break down and endanger her life all over again.
//Get out of my life, Angel. Leave this place. This is _my_ town.// She had made it crystal clear what she wanted and needed. She'd moved on.
A year ago the smoke had cleared to reveal nothing. From the smoldered ruins of Sunnydale High he made his escape from this cursed town to the City of his namesake. It had not been easy. There were nights when he cried, sick with the feeling of vacuity which ebbed at his soul. There were also days where he was tempted for release and waited with the blinds drawn, toying with the string between his fingers, contemplating oblivion. He hoped the emptiness would go away, that eventually it would grow dull and lie dormant; instead, the hurt grew stronger with every passing day as he kept asking himself why and drawing to the same conclusion time and again. Pretty soon the reasons weren't enough and all he was left with was a shattered heart that no longer beat.
He had endangered the life of her boyfriend. Had endangered the life of those she loved and who loved her in return, and broken the unspoken rule that passed between. Damn fucking town. Always screwed his life one way or another.
While he was busy wallowing in a sea of misery and contempt, he nearly missed her voice rising, seemingly, from nowhere. "Angel!" It echoed through the path. Angel. Him. Her Angel.
He turned swiftly, the dust rising from the sharpness of his movement. He could see her now - she was running towards him, her hair catching the glint of the pale moonlight, wind running through its strands. As she drew closer, he could hear the steady rhythm of her heart beating. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. He stopped and waited for her. When she arrived they stood apart, but the distance was barely noticeable. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, he noted, betraying the exertion she must have gone through in order to reach him. Her eyes were bright with an expression he had never understood to be anything else but for him.
She swallowed. "Angel," she greeted, trying to offer him a smile. His stoic expression stood still against her warmth. It was easier that way.
"Look," she began, tucking her hair and brushing away a stray strand, "I'm sorry. What I said over there - it was out of line. You came to help and you did and I shouldn't have said or done the things I did."
So she just wanted to apologize. Give her gratitude, shake hands and walk away. He wasn't sure which he preferred: her hatred and passion towards him, or her cheerful apathy. At least with the former he knew she still felt something. Indifference meant that _he_ meant nothing to her. At least, not anymore.
He tried to smile for her sake. "It's okay," he assured, "I-I understand." He held his hand out to her and she looked at it for a moment, unsure with what to do or what his intention was. Finally she took it in her own and laced her fingers through it. She closed the distance between them and stood on her tip toes, slinging her other arm over his shoulders and pulling herself closer.
He was shocked momentarily. He wasn't sure what to do. On one hand, he knew that they shouldn't be touching, let alone locked in a somewhat-embrace. His mind was telling him to pull away and let go, to keep her away at arm's length. On the other hand he knew that he couldn't. Her smile, her warmth, her scent... all of it belonged to him. He couldn't refuse himself of her. Not when he knew she needed him.
"I don't think it's ever going to stop."
"What is?"
"The hurt." She let go and looked up at him. Somehow his arms had found their way around her waist and they were locked together in an intimate embrace. "It's like every day it just gets deeper and deeper and it won't stop. And no matter how much I try to ignore it, or to fill in the cracks that came as a result of being without you I couldn't. It's never going away."
He bent down and rested his head against hers. When he closed his eyes he could focus more on what she felt like, and what perfume she was wearing that night instead of the hurt in her eyes. Her body was the same as in his dreams, same texture, same silk... he pulled her closer, the concept of melting into her becoming increasingly seductive. She smelled of vanilla and sunshine, of the memories of mornings that woke in Ireland when he was a child. Sometimes in the darkness he started because he swore he could feel her lightly brushing up against him while he read, or as he moved around. He woke with his pillow torn and down all over the bed because he would dream of their night together and lose himself in her body.
"No," he whispered, remembering, "It won't." He felt her moving, nodding in response and acknowledgment. She drew her arms around him and laid her head on his chest, straining to hear the sound of a heartbeat she knew would not be there. A faint resonation perhaps, a ghost which had died long ago, but not the resurrection of something which had been dead for the greater part of two centuries.
"It makes it easier to be mad at you. If I am then I can forget how much it hurts and it's all okay for a little while." She looked up at him again, eyes wide with repent. "But then I don't realize that it hurts you too and that's not okay."
"Yes it is, Buffy. I made you hurt."
He released her and took her face in both his hands. "One day we'll be together. You just keep holding on to that like I will. For now... we've got to keep fighting."
"Will you remember me?" she asked, voice tiny. She gripped his shirt tightly in her small hands, eyes shut because the tears just wouldn't go away.
"I'll never forget," he promised, speaking for them both. Finally he let her go entirely, stepping back and melting into the shadows. "I love you."
She opened her eyes to search for him and sobbed. His eyes were red and face twisted in a mask of agony so deep she knew without a doubt he felt the same pain as she.
"I love you!" she cried, "With all that I am and am destined to become! Isn't that enough?" Through the blur of her tears she couldn't see him move to leave and once more cursed the obstacles that separated them.
She collapsed on the ground, a broken shell of what once was. He watched her dissolve in the face of agony and once more felt his undead heart wrench with grief. He turned, willing himself to walk away. It was only the wind that carried his message back to her.
"Love is always enough, dear heart. 'Till all the battles are won."