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Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters, they belong to Joss Whedon, the WB, Fox, Mutant Enemy, if I owned them their lives wouldn't so screwed up in the first place! I just get to fix them up and make them happy and then return them to their original owners as good as new..
Author’s Notes: This takes place the night of the prom in the episode, well, "The Prom"...it's from Buffy and Angel's respective PoV's (probably pretty obvious). Basically my very own form of therapy...don't get depressed about Angel leaving, just change it! Anyway, I love comments, so email me!
Buffy
People always say that the world collapsed on them. But that’s old. It’s
happened before. Losing Angel and gaining Angelus was my world collapsing.
Sending the only man I’ve ever loved to Hell was my world collapsing.
Listening to Angel tell me he doesn’t want to be with me is something far, far worse.
I told Willow I couldn’t breath. That’s only the beginning. I couldn’t–I can’t–think or feel or interact. I feel like a thing, like my humanity was his and he threw it away. I’ve defined myself as a lot of things in the past few years, but the two that have always endured are the Slayer, and the woman that loves Angel. Those two things have shaped my actions, my emotions. My life.
Now I’m just the Slayer. He won’t let me be anything else. He won’t let me love him. No, that’s wrong. He’ll let me love him. I can’t let myself. If I love him, all will be lost.
And I can’t stop loving him.
He gave me my perfect prom moment. Maybe he should get points for that. But he also gave me hope, even a tiny bit and I can't have hope either. Hope only makes it harder. I’ve hoped so much, so many times, and it just makes it hurt worse.
If I hurt worse than this, I’ll die.
I don’t know why I’m not dead now. I don’t think I’m living. Can you be not living but not dead? Technically, Giles might dispute the definition, but I think he’s a little too technical sometimes.
It’s surprising how rational you can be when your heart’s dead. I guess you mind’s still going. The soul though…is it possible for a soul to die?
Oh God I want to die.
Without him, what’s the point of living?
I feel like I’m giving up. I’ve survived without him before. Why do I feel like this now?
Now, it’s his choice. Now there’s no chance of him coming back. Before it was fate that tore us apart. Before there was always the tinest possibility that maybe, someday, I would get him back.
He’s never coming back. I can see it in his eyes. He’s leaving me to the darkness.
Oh God, the darkness is so cold.
Angel
It’s for the best. I keep telling myself that and sometimes I even believe
it. This is the right thing. In the long run she’ll be happier. She deserves
the world and I can’t give it to her.
She deserves passion and never, in a thousand years, can I give her that.
She deserves children, and days on the beach and sunset strolls. She deserves to grow old with someone, to hold their hand and watch their grandchildren and great-grandchildren play on the lawn.
Maybe she won’t have that. She’s the Slayer. But I have to give her the chance.
I’m making this about her and it is. But it’s about me too. It’s so hard to watch her sleep, so young and innocent and beautiful and not know she’ll be safe. Maybe going away won’t help that. Maybe not even trying isn’t the answer. But staying isn’t working.
Maybe I’m not worthy of a life, of people. But maybe I am. I’m not getting that in Sunnydale. I have Buffy and that’s only some of the time. Everyone here knows too much about me to pretend it’s all right. To pretend I’m like them.
I’m not like them.
All I had was here, but she was so much.
I can’t protect her if I stay, and if anything ever happened to her, I’d die myself. I can’t do that, to myself or to her. Watching her grow old and wrinkled? It would hurt us both. She would resent me for not doing the same. She would become jealous and think I didn’t love her anymore, as if looks was the only thing that mattered.
And there’s always children.
Now she says it doesn’t matter. But it will matter. Someday she’ll wake up and she’ll want a baby, someone to love and teach and protect. And I can’t give her that. She would grow angry and the anger would fester and eventually she would hate me for keeping her from what it is she wants more than anything. I couldn’t live with her hating me.
Love isn’t everything. Love alone will not make a life together.
There are so many reasons why this is right. But I didn’t think an unbeating heart could hurt so much.
I told her I missed her. I missed her. Like it was even a shadow of the emptiness. I thought I’d lost her before, but this was different. Is different. This time it’s forever.
And I miss her so very, very much.
And without even knowing, I’m walking to her house.
Buffy
I changed out of my dress when I got home. Giles drove me; Angel left as
soon as the prom ended. I didn’t want to rumple my dress. It didn’t get to
the closet though; his scent was on it and somehow I couldn’t let go of it.
I can’t let go of it.
Part of me wonders how I’ll get the wrinkles out. Part of me wonders how whoever’s singing on CD can sound so good. My voice cracks if I sing that high.
Part of me wishes I could cry. All the tears are gone. I’m empty, totally, completely empty.
Part of me wonders if I should close the window. I’m so cold. The air outside is warm, but I’m so cold.
I turn to see the night, but he’s there.
Oh, he’s there.
Angel
It breaks my heart all over again to see her. She’s laying on her bed,
wearing sweats, with her blond hair spread on the pillow. She’s clutching
her prom dress. Her eyes are dry, but I’ve never seen such pain. It’s like
there’s nothing there, nothing except maybe pain, except something
resembling death.
I’ve seen death. I know what it looks like.
She looks as if someone ripped out her heart. Someone. Me. And maybe I did.
There’s hardly a reaction when she sees me. Like there’s no reactions left in her. What have I done?
I climb in the window, my eyes never leaving hers. They follow me, now blue, now green, but besides that she doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Nothing.
I step closer to her bed. There’s music playing, a woman’s voice transcendent.
I sit down on the bed, watching her, hurting for her. The fabric of the dress rustles as the bed shifts. I put out a hand to touch it–I’m not brave enough to touch her. Her eyes move to my hand, and then to my face, and then something seems to shatter inside her and it’s over. The nothingness is over.
Buffy
"Why did you come back?" I scream, sitting up suddenly. I feel like
something inside me just broke. Like everything inside me just broke. "Why
are you even here?" He looks surprised. He didn’t expect anger.
"I wanted to see you…I don’t know…I thought–"
"No! You didn’t think! What about me? You wanted to see me…What about what I want?"
"Buffy, I–" he begins in an anguished voice, but I can’t let him speak. I can’t. There’s this thing inside of me and it needs to come out. I doubt it will help, but it needs to come out anyway.
"Don’t. I don’t want anymore of your explanations. You’re doing this for me, right?" I demand. He doesn’t try to answer but his eyes tell me that’s exactly what he thinks. "Just keep telling yourself that." Surprise again, but different now. Like he’s heard it before.
Maybe he has.
I smile bitterly, coldly; there’s no joy, no human, no nothing left in me. Except pain. "That’s an excuse you know. Maybe you even believe it, but it’s just an excuse. You aren’t doing this for me. You’re doing it because you’re scared." A spark of opposition flares in his eyes. No man wants to be told he’s frightened.
"I’m scared?" he asks in a quiet voice.
"Scared," I repeat. "You scared that one day I won’t love you anymore, that I’ll wake up one morning and say, ‘Wow, I made a mistake, I don’t want to be with you after all’. You’re scared that something will happen to me and you won’t be able to handle it. You’re scared that you’ll look at me one day and realize I’m old and wrinkled and dying and you’re just the same as you are now. You’re just plain scared and you’re running away and that’s not okay!"
And the worst thing was, the truth of my words was echoed in his eyes.
I wanted so much to be wrong.
Angel
She’s right. She is totally, absolutely right. I am afraid. And I am running
away. There is silence, and for a moment I think she’s finished. Our eyes
meet for a long time and I wonder what she sees in mine. Does she see her
own triumph? Can she tell that yes, she’s been right all along?
Can she see my fear?
"Maybe I am afraid," I say slowly. "But that doesn’t make our relationship any more successful."
"No," she says, surprising me. I didn’t think she’d agree. But then I see her eyes and realize that’s not what she’s saying at all. "No, it doesn’t. It makes it worse. I thought you loved me Angel. I thought you loved me."
"I do love you," I insist, shocked that she doubts that. I thought, of everything in the world, that was the one thing we could each be sure of. She’s shaking her head, shaking and shaking and there’s despair on her face, and fury.
"No," she says, her voice shaking. "You don’t. You can say it till the world ends–which actually could be soon–but it won’t make it true." I try to protest but she stops me. "I’m not saying this because you’re leaving. I’m saying this because you can’t love me, not and be afraid of what you are." I blink and reach out to her, unsure of what she means, of how to react. She jerks her arms out of reach.
"You don’t even get it, do you Angel?" she cries. "Love isn’t just passion. It’s trust and it’s belief. Belief that the other person will be there for you, will love you, no matter what. And you don’t believe that of me. You don’t believe that I’ll always love you, even though there’s nothing, nothing in this entire universe that could ever stop me! Don’t you think it would have happened by now? I watched you go around killing people for four months! I thought I’d never see you again! We couldn’t touch and I still loved you! Nothing will ever change that Angel! Yet you truly believe I’ll just suddenly, one day, decide you can’t give me what I want anymore and therefore I don’t love you! It doesn’t work that way! Not for me! I know you think I’m young and silly but I’m not-I’m not like that!" Buffy catches herself on a dry sob.
"You don’t know what it’s like Buffy. You don’t know what it will be like," I say, and I believe it. I know. I do love her and I do believe in her, but she doesn’t know.
"I don’t care!" she screams back. "It doesn’t matter! Maybe someday I will chance, things will change, but that’s no excuse to run away now! If you really loved me, you would stay, you would try. But you don’t. You can’t even try! My god Angel, you’re pulling this cryptic, ‘it’ll be better’ act because you’re not even strong enough to try! You don’t even care enough!" She starts hitting me now, weak, ineffectual blows. I don’t move, don’t try to stop her. I deserve it.
Buffy
I want to hurt him. I want to hurt him like he’s hurt me, like he’s hurting
me. I’m dying and he’s just sitting her, he’s just sitting there. Shouldn’t
he at least try and stop me? Shouldn’t he fight back? But he doesn’t. He
just takes it. I want to hurt him.
But oh, I love him so much.
I thought him leaving was the worst thing that could ever happen to me, but it wasn’t. This is. Because he doesn’t believe I love him and he doesn’t even want to. He won’t even try.
And then suddenly, as quickly as the anger rushed into it, it stops. And then I have nothing, not even the anger. Just the knowledge that he doesn’t love me. Not really. Not enough.
And it hurts so much.
"Oh God Angel," I whisper. "Oh God." And the tears come, finally they come, pouring out of my eyes like a waterfall, and the sobs wrack me until I can’t speak, I can only cry and I collapse into his arms and he holds me so tightly and I don’t even have the strength to tell him not to because maybe this is the last time and I love him so much.
And then I hear it, through the haze of darkness and the shuddering sobs that rip through me. I hear his voice.
"I love you," he says. "Really truly, as you mean it. I trust you, I believe in you. I love you. And yes, I’m scared. But I want to try. If you want me, I want to try." My soul screams. I can’t talk, I can’t say anything. And I want him. I want him so much. He lifts me up and our eyes meet and then our lips do and oh Angel, he’s going to stay!
Angel
All of sudden, everything became very clear. Like I’d been seeing through a
veil and then Buffy began to cry and the veil was lifted and I saw the
truth. I see the truth. I see how much I hurt her and how much I would have
hurt myself as well, if she had let me.
Maybe it’s wrong. Maybe it’s stupid. But I can’t just walk away. I can’t leave her here, not thinking I don’t love her, I never have. She’s my life, my light.
I’m not convinced that everything will be well. I can’t be certain she won’t realize in ten years that she needs more than I can give her. But I believe she won’t. I believe in her and in her love. And I know I love her. That was never in doubt; not to me anyway.
We break apart, a millimeter maybe, no more. "You’re staying," she whispers tremulously, afraid to believe that I won’t hurt her more.
"Forever," I reply and she tries to smile. It’s a small, painful smile, but it’s there. She will heal. I hurt her so much, but she’s who she is and she will heal. "I’m so sorry Buffy. For what I did to you. I’m so sorry." The tears still pour down her face, and down mine now, too. I never cry. I don’t remember the last time I did; maybe when I was human.
"I don’t know if I can forgive you," she whispers and my heart stops. "But I can love you anyway." And all the light in the world is around us, and I love her and we’ll be together, till death do us part or even beyond.